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wintaerbaer · 1 month

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things we don't say: part 6 (TEASER) (kth)

banner credit: @itaeewon

summary: Three years after graduating college, everything seems to be falling into place for you: stable job, cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend with a ring box hidden in his desk drawer. But when a mutual friend makes a remark that your best friend of nearly two decades is clearly in love with you, you realize that life may not be as simple as it seems.

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (with some VERY brief Seokjin x Reader and Yoongi x Reader)

rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

genres: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, slooooow burn, angst, fluff

word count: 1.2k

teaser warnings: a very sad boy, references to sexual situations, brief mentions of child abuse, vomiting, someone has a wet dream, guilt, shame, a haircut

a/n: sincerest apologies that this series has gone so long without an update. i was struggling with some aggressive writer's block these past few months, but i think we're back in business! <3

PREVIOUS // SERIES MASTERLIST

To say he falls into a state of depression may be an understatement.

He barely eats, barely sleeps, and while Taehyung has always considered you to be the center of his universe—his entire being oriented to you like a star—you’ve begun to haunt him in ways that you never have before. Reminders of you creeping into every minute of his days.

It’s passing your favorite ramen place on his way home from a photoshoot. Or finding a can of your favorite sparkling water buried in the back of his fridge. Or flipping past the cooking show you used to watch together or stumbling upon one of your sweatshirts in his closet or the fact that he still has that damn photo of you hanging up behind his desk.

You’re everywhere—your being so deeply ingrained into his life that he couldn’t erase you even if he wanted to.

And he certainly doesn’t want to erase you; he’s too selfish for that. Even now, even after he’s fucked up to catastrophic degrees by forcing his feelings on you, he still can’t bear to face you directly. Because he knows it would be the end of him for you to reject and abandon him too, even if he can’t blame you for it.

It keeps him up at night, thinking about what he could’ve done differently. How he somehow lost his handle on the control which he has always internally prided himself on (sans a drunken conversation with Namjoon last year where he spilled his guts as was met with a lack of surprise on his friend’s part). He’s always promised himself that he would never burden you, that his love for you was not your responsibility but something for him to manage on his own.

And yet, with you sitting so close on the hotel bed—looking absolutely beautiful in your simple PJs even after he spent the day with you all dressed up—his defenses had crumbled the second you pressed into his side and asked him the final question of your fateful game.

How could he not kiss you then? How could he not give you what you asked of him when he wouldn’t hesitate to lay down his very life if you required it?

But still, he spends hours each night staring at the white expanse of his ceiling wishing he had held back like he always did. Years spent training himself to resist the way his blood calls out for you reduced to naught the second he got his first taste of your lips. And now you likely hate him.

And as if it’s not enough for his brain to put him through this nightly torture, the guilt eating him alive, when he finally does manage to scrounge up a few hours of sleep, there’s the matter of the dreams.

He revisits the hotel room every night. Can taste you again, hear your moans, feel your mouth on him and your warm skin underneath his hands as his mind drags him back through every minute detail on a loop. It’s agony, having to both wrangle with the knowledge of how it felt to be with you as well as face his sins every time he closes his eyes. Realize just how badly he fucked up when he wakes to once again find the other half of his bed empty.

Because in spite of him spending years convincing himself that you were never meant to be, there’s still a small part of Taehyung’s subconscious that’s always carved out space for you in his life. It’s the part that stocks your favorite drinks in his fridge, keeps that photo of you pinned behind his computer, leaves a side of the bed open for you because he became so damn accustomed to sleeping next to you in high school.

He’d found that the bruises from his father didn’t hurt as much when you were sitting next to him making him laugh in your bedroom. That his brain would quiet enough from the terrors to allow him to sleep if you were there lying next to him. That he didn’t feel the dull pain, only the gentle touches of your fingers, as you carefully applied makeup onto the dark patches of skin before school.

It had been easy, then, to dedicate himself to providing you with the same support and care you had shown him in any way he could. To wish for your happiness above all else—his guardian angel through and through.

At least, that is, until he lost control in that hotel room.

One night, after a particularly vivid dream involving your body under his, he awakes to sheets that are soaked around his middle. He blanches at the evidence of his body’s desire for you even now, the horror at the audacity of his unconscious mind causing bile to churn and rise in his throat.

He bolts for the bathroom, barely making it there before he empties the contents of his stomach into the toilet. His body shakes as he retches above the porcelain, guilt rattling his bones until he can hardly keep himself upright.

When the waves of nausea stop, when he can finally pull himself up to lean his elbows against the sink, he stares hard at the mirror and man he sees there.

He looks haggard, dark splotches sitting under his eyes and hair hanging limp around his face and over his forehead. The pale skin of his cheeks and lips is surely due, in part, to the vomiting, but there’s no denying that he’s a shell of his former self. A ghost just going through the motions of a past life.

And it’s there, peering through the darkness at his own reflection, that Taehyung decides he hates himself.

He’s not sure if it’s the raw disgust or the unrelenting shame that has him reaching for the hair clippers, but as his sable tresses begin to fall in chunks over the bathroom counter and floor, Taehyung thinks he deserves this.

He deserves the torment of his dreams. That disturbing combination of his wildest fantasies and nightmares rolled into one.

He deserves to wake up alone. To be reminded of his transgressions at the break of each day.

And he deserves to lose you.

Hell, he never deserved to have you.

The silence that follows the buzz of the trimmer seems at odds with the roaring in his head. Still, he manages to scoop the mess of hair into the trash before dragging himself back to the tangle of his sheets.

He finds himself right back in that cursed hotel room.

When he shuffles into the living room the next morning, still fighting the lingering tastes of bile and your lips, Jungkook and Jimin are already awake at the kitchen bar drinking coffee. They freeze at the sight of him; the pastry that Jimin was halfway to putting in his mouth hits the ground with a thud as Jungkook lets out a low whistle and simply shakes his head.

“That bad, huh?”

a/n: may or may not go back and revise this again for the final draft. in the meantime, a reminder that my ask box is always open! <3

#taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #taehyung imagines #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fic #bts fanfic #taehyung smut #bts smut

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dead-dove-yandere · 2 months

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OC Intro - Noah

Voyeur Yandere

Male ♡ 21 ♡ Human ♡ NEET

TW: Stalking, non-consensual photography, voyeurism, obsession

♡ - By all accounts, he’s a nobody, a loser. A former latchkey kid with an emotionally absent family, no friends, constantly teased and bullied growing up.

♡ - All he had to satisfy his need for connection was the ever growing collection of horror films.

♡ - Everyday after school, he’d watch them over and over, taking pictures of his favourite actors and actresses from magazines and posters and carefully pasting them into scrapbooks for him to worship later.

♡ - He’d spend all of class daydreaming about meeting all his favourite stars and how they’d love him, not ignore or mistreat him like everyone else in his life.

♡ - He barely managed to graduate high school and afford a small apartment, with nothing but a mattress on the floor, piles of his movies and a cheap portable DVD player to watch them on.

♡ - He only just manages to scrape by, scrounging up enough each month to pay his bills. With no job and no social life, he falls into a spiral of depression.

♡ - Until he met his darling. You.

♡ - Dragging himself to the convenience store one evening to search for dinner, he saw you, practically glowing under the fluorescent lights and he knew he had to do absolutely anything to worship you.

♡ - It started small, frequenting that same store in hopes of seeing you again. Then he escalated. He scoped out other shops you went to. Collected receipts that fell from your pocket. He scoped out where you live and stood outside, trying to find the best angle to peer into your bedroom window.

♡ - With what little money he was able to scrounge up he bought a camera and started taking photos of you surreptitiously, first through your bedroom window, then from afar at your place of work, and eventually even from right behind you as you walk down the street, once he plucks up the courage.

♡ - Every photo is treasured, loving printed, cut out and pasted into his scrapbook just like all of his favourite movie stars.

♡ - It isn’t long before he starts filming you too. With no job of his own, he has all the time in the world to secretly follow you and film your every move before burning the footage to a disc and watching it over and over - his own found footage horror film.

♡ - He can’t wait to meet his favourite star. For now he’s too shy to try to introduce himself. But for now, perhaps it’s better he loves you through the screen. It’s what he knows after all.

♡ - But soon, he’ll make his move - after all, he wants nothing more than to show you all his favourite films.

♡ - He’s a sopping wet pathetic loser of a nobody, but he’ll be damned if he isn’t going to ensure that he is your sopping wet pathetic loser.

Personality

Noah is a NEET, prone to bouts of low self esteem, but he is easily motivated by his darling. He worships and reveres his darling like they were a deity, the same way he obsesses over film stars and celebrities, who he used to get attached to as a teen. He’s shy and feels it’s a lot easier to just watch his darling, whether it be through the thousands of photos and hours of footage he’s amassed or whether it be engaging through voyeurism more directly. That being said, he dreams of finally working up to courage to talk to his darling, and take them back to his apartment, even if he is embarrassed about how bare it is. He’s obsessive, devoted and utterly pathetic and would bend over backwards to please his darling even if it would hurt him. He’d do almost anything - except let his darling go, of course. A lovesick puppy of a yandere, completely in denial about anything being wrong whatsoever.

This is my first time writing something like this! I hope it is okay!

More OC intros and writing involving my characters will be coming soon - I plan to open requests for the first time once I have built up a larger catalog of stories and OCs :))

Dividers Credit: See Pinned Post

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merakiui · 10 months

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PLEASE, elaborate more on the idea of being a vulnerable maiden who became a general's spoils of war. Honestly, I wouldn't mind being criticized by that man, let alone being full every night after he used me.

OTL I need him carnally. Just war-driven, mostly heartless Lilia who isn’t afraid to do what must be done for the sake of victory in battle!!! >v<

Imagine General Vanrouge who, in the wake of a battle that leaves your defenseless village in ruins and aflame, finds you amidst the debris. You’re injured and cradling your stomach; he assumes you may have sustained an abdominal injury with how desperately you clutch the area, and he surmises if it isn’t treated you’ll eventually bleed out or it’ll become infected. So he’s sensibly callous when he decides he’ll put you out of your misery, as there’s no way he’s taking you along. He needs to lead his men elsewhere to recuperate and regroup after a hard-fought battle. But just before he can deliver a killing blow, your arms shoot out in defense and he spies the rounded bump you were once previously protecting.

Ah. He understands now. You’re with child.

Normally he wouldn’t care. Life and death are essentially much the same when you’re trapped in war: it’s cruel suffering. But something about you strikes a chord within him. He bends down to where you’re huddled on the ground and slides his mask up so you can be at ease. Even bloodied, bruised, and broken, you’re a pretty thing. He’s not normally swayed by tears or pleas for salvation. War hardens anyone, especially those on the frontlines. Yet there’s so much potential growing inside you—a little one you love and care wholeheartedly for. This is the only time he’ll make an exception. No one says anything when he lifts you with ease, carrying you like one might carry a bride, and gives the signal for his men to regroup at the designated checkpoint. You’re terrified, too startled to move in his arms, but you’re not dead. And being scared and alive is a fate far more relieving than death. Or so you hope.

You’ll be allowed to live under a few conditions. One: You must be watched over by soldiers in intervals, as Lilia can’t take any risks. You might be a spy or a danger to his troops. He has to think objectively. Two: You’ll live like a soldier. Of course there will be some degree of leniency, considering you’re carrying a child. Lilia will make sure you’re safe and well-fed (or about as well-fed as you can get with war rations) so that you won’t lose your baby. Three: You must always be honest. Though General Vanrouge can be intimidating, he isn’t a monster. He’ll listen if you voice logical complaints. He’s somewhat softer on you knowing you’re pregnant, so if something’s wrong you must tell him. This is especially important as the months pass and your due date draws near. Lilia has to make appropriate plans for the day when you’ll inevitably give birth, so knowing ahead of time will be useful. Four—and this one is a strange one: You must service General Vanrouge whenever he wishes, as it’s a fair trade. He wants to be rough, especially if he’s frustrated with the outcome of a battle, but he keeps his strength in check. You’re allowed to set the pace, to ride him if it pleases, to pick which positions he fucks you in because it has to be easy and comfortable on your body, especially depending on how big your bump is. You’re the only one he’ll make these exceptions for. It’s a special, rare honor.

The soldiers observe their general’s taken quite the liking to you. But then they all love you, too. You know how to cook delicious stews when they manage to scrounge up enough ingredients for one. But no one can love you more than Lilia. He’s grown fond of his sweet spoil of war. <3 it’s a good thing he claimed you, otherwise Death himself would have made you his and Lilia is always defying him on the battlefield.

#twisted chit chat #yandere twst #n/sfw #he’s taking over my brain help orz #i need him!!!!!

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mci-writing · 2 months

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Hi I saw that your requests are open. Can I request a senku x female reader where he has a crush on an older tattooed foreigner who was on vacation in Japan when the world was petrified

I've had this sitting for a minute tbh, but mostly bc I didn't want there to be too many spoilers for anime-onlys 😭😭 mostly for how tattoos work,,, Don’t be surprised if there’s a heavy focus on language plot wise, I’ve been working on a lot of linguistics homework 😞

Anyways, hope you enjoy

Science Makes Age Complicated (Ishigami Senku x Reader):

Warnings: technically an age gap but also not (reader was once 2 years older than Senkuu, but now they're the same age due to time shenanigans), fem!reader, some language use (a few swears here and there), reader is American (RIP but it’s plot relevant), reader is implied to know an insane amount of languages (bc this is Dr Stone and it’s relevant to world-building)

"Think you can scrounge something up for her, Yuzuriha?" Senku parts the lush shrubbery for his friend, unresponsive to her obvious surprise at the sight before her. He figured it would go that way, considering how kept away the whole area is, but he'd rather start the spectacle with her big reactions instead of the loud and boisterous version involving the rest of their crew, "I'm more than sure you'll manage to make her something she's 1 billion percent comfortable in."

He'd considered this statue his secret weapon for the next part of their excursion. Well, that would be his explanation as to why he'd waited so long to unveil her and finally free her from her encasement. Really, he could never find the proper time to finally revive her, especially when every time it would feel right to, something else would arise that would require them to use the revival fluid for someone else.

When talks of traveling to the Americas came up, he knew it'd be the perfect time to properly reveal her and, hopefully, ease her into their current predicament. While Gen is a great diplomat, thew mentalist isn't exactly fluent in as many languages as the girl in the statue before them. Even more, if they are to run into more people (which they very likely are), it's better to have at least two representatives to talk things over. That's going to be his reasoning, anyway.

Deep down, he's a little nervous to finally see her again, especially now that he's technically older than her by a few months at least. The last time they'd seen each other had been the day before the petrification light, the two decided to spend time with each other before he went back to school. She was visiting Japan for a bit, a trip she'd planned to make at least once a year since the two had officially met in person while he had been in America. Back then, she'd been 17 to his 15, owning an American driver's license and a tattoo sleeve that left many of the older members of society scandalized.

"I don't think she's going to take being younger than us well," Yuzuriha mentions as she finishes up sewing the outfit she'd made for (Y/n). She worked fast, wiping the sweat that had accumulated on her forehead once she finished. She takes a step back once she's finished, watching as Senku steps forward, "Especially when she finds out how long it took for you to bring her back."

"She'll be fine. I'm 1 billion percent sure she's going to be grateful for it," He responds, popping the top off the tiny vial between his fingers. He doesn't stop the grin from spreading across his face as he lets the contents of the vial drip from the top of her head. The two watch expectedly as it eases its way down her body, stone cracking and parting in its wake, “She’s going to get to visit home, after all.”

The stone falls from her body, the life slowly coming back into her (e/c) orbs as more of her skin is revealed. Her tattooed sleeve remains, now accompanied by the petrification markings on her face and other parts of her body. A wave of confusion hits her as she takes in the unfamiliar surroundings, but her shoulders relax a little as she takes in the two familiar figures next to her, "Senku...? Yuzuriha...?" "Hey, (Y/n)," He immediately greets in response, an excited light coming to his eyes as ruby meets (e/c), "Looks like we're the same age now."

Yuzuriha flinches at his greeting, sighing with a shake of her head as she takes a small step closer to their friend. A nervous smile forms on her lips as she takes (Y/n) hands into her own, leading her out of the hidden away area into the light of the new world. She feels the grip tighten as (e/c) eyes dart around the surrounding forestry in an attempt to better understand the circumstances and environment, "We have a lot to catch you up on, but I'm sure if we ease you in slowly it won't cause you too much whiplash-"

"We don't have time for that, Yuzuriha. We still have to load the ship back up and travel to America," Senku waves the notion off, walking past the two of them and leading them back into the village. Neither of the girls miss the smirk on his face as he continues, unmoving as they gape at him like fish, "(Y/n) will catch up along the way."

He's bluffing, which they realize a little later when Ryusui recounts the plan to spend the next few days loading the ship and replacing the items they used on their last voyage. (Y/n) is assimilated faster into their new society than she can process, the rest of their group taking the basic information they're fed and working with it. Yuzuriha is eventually forced to leave her to fend for her own after a bit to attend to her own assignments and Taiju only stops to catch up for a bit (which is mostly him speed talking and making assumptions about how much she's been made aware of) before continuing to move along.

Senku doubts he'll ever admit it out loud, but he is grateful that they're the same age, even if he's technically older by a few months now. Standing next to (Y/n), who hadn't aged a day past the last time he'd seen her, was the reassurance he secretly needed about his own development. While his growth spurt, a result of the final pushes of puberty during the Stone Wars and roughing it during the New Stone Age, was the only difference he could notice next to her, (Y/n) had been hit with the whiplash of every other development.

To her, it felt like both a lifetime and a long night since she had seen Senku, yet he looked almost completely different and exactly the same. The remainder of his baby fat had rounded out of his cheeks, his face maturing nicely into that of a young adult, and he'd sprung up quite a bit in height. He was still lithe in comparison to Taiju, till thin and very much not built for too much physical labor, but he'd gotten a bit of meat on his bones to fill his arms out a little more. Despite that, he still looked like him, like the jerky boy she'd met by chance in middle school who would be the first person she'd show her newest tattoos to when she was 16 to get some kind of rise out of him.

Taiju and Yuzuriha were a further reminder of the weird passage of time, the two more developed in their own rights. He was beefier, still ever-muscular in a more defined way. His hands seemed rougher, but she didn't know if that had been due to the rougher circumstances or if they were always meant to get so rough with all the handy work Senku would put him up to. Yuzuriha had filled out a little, a few scars littering her hands from what (Y/n) could only assume was from her thread work she'd seem to consistently be working on since they'd gotten back to their stronghold. Her silky brown hair, which had once reached her waist and made a few of the girls from their school envious of its length, now barely reached past her shoulders in its bobbed shape.

She feels so out of place...

~~~~

The rush of information coming to people’s senses is always amusing to watch, but (Y/n) is taking a little more time to process than usual. Even now, a few days into her now being free from the stone prison, she still has more questions. They aren’t particularly scientific, more so just random observations that she really wants the answers to. She’s also hyper-analyzed the villagers' speech patterns, having them repeat their newer slang and pronounce random words in Japanese, English, and German (something they did not realize they were fluent in until she came around). In return, they ask her questions about the past (mostly Senku, Yuzuriha, and Taiju), the sleeve on her arm, and why the hell she knows so many languages already.

Senku can’t really be mad about it slowly down progress, he’s sure he’d slack off a little too if they didn’t have so little time to prepare for their trip across the sea. Neither of them miss the way their eyes longingly stare at one another, meeting a few times before either is dragged away by the others they’re surrounded by. It’s even worse that (Y/n) feels she hasn’t been able to get any time alone with him since they made it to the village. She’d been made aware of their plans once her confusion died down a little, even taking the time to freshen up on the main languages she’d be focused on for their trip and doing what she can to pitch in. Unfortunately, their different preparations would barely, if ever, cross over. Lowkey, it had been killing both of them inside, but they kept up appearances for the sake of getting things done.

She’d learned from Gen, who gave her brain a break by speaking in English with her, that Senku had kept her relatively well hidden. He’d visit her often, but no one had put together that’s what he’d been doing until now. Yuzuriha made it clear she’d only learned of (Y/n)’s whereabouts a little before they’d revived her. However, the brown-haired girl did mention that a few passing statements he’d made in the past were starting to make sense.

It took the last night before the Kingdom of Science would set sail again for (Y/n) to find time away from the others. Despite the various discussions scratching her brain in the best way possible in a new world, the dark blue of the night accompanied by the low noises of crickets and crashing waves gives her the solace she needs. While everything has mostly settled, or settled as much as it can, it's still moving so fast. To her, everything was normal yesterday and then dark for longer than she thinks possible to comprehend, "Maybe this is how Sleeping Beauty felt..."

"I doubt that," A familiar voice speaks up from behind her, the heels of his shoes clopping along the ground as he approaches. The gravel scrunches as he shifts to sit next to her, deep zircon-colored eyes staring out towards the ocean's expanse. He scoots a little closer to her, his head tilting as his pinky reflexively reaches to dig out of his ear, "Considering she typically is depicted to have been a young preteen when she first fell asleep and an older teenager when she wakes, I doubt there were many technological changes to throw her for such a loop, especially if the story takes place in a fictional version of the middle ages."

His eyes shift to peak at her instead, his typical grin filing onto his face. Somehow, they're one of his few features to remain the same despite his growing age. He's one of the reasons she's out here tonight, gathering her thoughts privately one last time so she can tuck them away to focus her attention more on to returning civilization.

Of course, she always thought he was good-looking, most people did. However, where they were turned off by his passion for science and technical engineering, she found it to be all the more endearing for his character. He had his pesty moments, but so did everyone else in some way. It added to his charm, "Didn't see you as the fables type, Senku."

"Had a friend who was super into literature. She read it in different languages to challenge herself," He teases in response, his gaze turning back to the sight before them, "Wonder where she is now..."

(Y/n) tugs her knees up to her chest, the irony of the comparison not lost on her, though made completely on accident. She pulls them closer, resting her cheek on them as she takes in the boy next to her, "Maybe she's trapped somewhere in a stone prison back in the woods."

She watches his chest rumble with his chuckle, a soft breeze picking up and spreading the smell of salt water. He's closer now, the smaller changes staring her in the face and taunting her. She'd wanted him this close to her again, just for the reassurance, but now... She kind of regrets it.

"I would've found her by now," He mumbles, the sound just barely reaching her ears. A fond smile slowly eases across his mouth as he returns his gaze to her, "Would've taken me a while to finally see her like this again, but I think it'd finally be worth seeing her again. Even with the circumstances."

"I'm sure she'd be grateful to see you again too, even with the circumstances."

#ishigami senku #ishigami senku x reader #ishigami senkuu #ishigami senkuu x reader #senku ishigami x reader #dr stone x reader #senkuu ishigami x reader #did not think it would get so sentimental in the end I'm so sorry #I tussled with how to write this for a year and still feel there's further ways I could've taken it but it already feels pretty long so #I may revisit this again later but I won't hold my breath either 🤧#also had this idea that reader was Senku's interpreter in America but I didn't want to get into too much spoiler territory with that idea #she totally teaches him some silly phrases in the different languages she speaks and does mix languages up to mess with people #he doesn't realize he's into her until she goes back home one year and they fight on her way out #I imagine her tattoos are different phrases that she really enjoys and maybe a few doodles here and there #also wanted to wait until Matsukaze was introduced so ppl knew how tattoos work post petrification bc I kinda didn't wanna spoil it

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tokkias · 7 months

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we all know i love a good writers game but i've done the wip game so many times that it's genuinely become redundant so i've decided to make my own little game!

rules: share the first line (or two or more!) of every current wip you have (that you feel comfortable sharing) and tag some writer friends! feel free to add the titles of your documents if you see fit

bro she's fucking cold Lucy Heartfilia and the cold were two things that were wholly and completely incompatible. A light breeze at the beginning of fall was enough to have her teeth chattering and she somehow lacked the ability to ever pick a seasonally appropriate outfit at the beginning of the day.

Cuffing Season The warm summer months bring with them a surge of job postings tacked upon the board at the guild, which always have everyone eager to get in on the Jewel rush before settling down as the temperature begins to drop with the change of seasons.

drunk lucy 2 The sunlight that streamed through the window would have been pleasant any other morning—Lucy would have revelled in the light and warmth it provided to her, relishing the feeling for just a moment or two longer than she needed as she snuggled up nice and cosy in her sheets before she woke up, refreshed and ready to take on a new day.

well i can't share the doc name bc thats a surprise so you just have to think one up yourself Somewhere in the drawers of her kitchen lay a scrapbook of all of the recipes Lucy had scrounged from recipe books and magazines over the years.

grocery shopping Natsu wasn’t entirely sure how he’d managed to get himself dragged into this. There were few things he hated more than grocery shopping—there were too many people, and sounds, and lights, and decisions, and food that he couldn’t eat until he got home.

hair time Glancing up at his reflection in the mirror, Natsu dragged his hand through his hair as he made note of his appearance.

insecure natsu teehee Finishing up their job should have been a quick affair. Hand in the bad guys, get the reward money, head back home to Magnolia. Should, being the key word there.

kinktober 19 (this one isn't gonna get done for kinktober sorry lol) Lucy was a creature of routine. Thursdays were her self-care nights—something she made abundantly clear to anyone she thought might interrupt her alone time (Natsu and Happy).

kiss compliation Lucy still felt giddy every time they so much as brushed hands and Natsu never made any attempt to hide the wide grin and heart eyes he sent in her direction every time they were around.

NATSU HAS A BREEDING KINK!!!!! The dialogue and subsequent laugh track playing from the television went in one ear and out the other, little more than background noise as Natsu lazed around on the couch.

natsu is a perverttttt The sigh of relief that Lucy lets out as they step into her apartment is a familiar one—one that Natsu has heard a million times over at the end of the day, after a job well done.

shirt For as much as Lucy loves cute clothes and getting dressed up all nice and pretty, she also values being comfortable—something that some of her cuter clothes do not afford her.

something there that wasn't there before “Knowing not that this was indeed the legendary sword called Excalibur, Arthur tried to pull it from the stone. He tried once, to no avail. He tried a second time, but still he could not pull it out. Then, for the third time, Arthur drew forth the sword-”

Lucy paused her monologue, waiting for her partner to interrupt, as was written in the script, only to be met with silence. Upon looking over at Natsu, she found him lying on the bed lazily looking over the script in hand but clearly not paying any mind to his scene partner.

too many beds The soft tap of fingers against keys filled the quiet as the receptionist looked through the vacant rooms of the inn, Natsu and Lucy waiting patiently on the other side of the desk.

“And was that one bed or two?” The woman asked, looking up at the couple.

“One.” “Two.”

tagging: @bumblebeehug @nostromo13 @teleiapotami @katana-no-neko @grayseyebrowscar & anyone else who wants to do it! have no shame in stealing this from me even if i didn't tag you. i just wanted to start a silly little chain that people could have fun with

pls tag me if you do this! i wanna see what everyone's workin on :]

#mya's mumbles #nalu #writers tag #writers tag game

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freesia-writes · 2 months

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Crosshair x Reader, Post Episode 3

SPOILERS for the first three episodes of The Bad Batch season 3.

Just a little drabble of where Crosshair and Omega may have gone while trying to figure out what to do next after escaping. I originally wanted it to be a lot more touchy/romantic/comforting/warm and fuzzy/etc but it just didn't come out that way cause it felt like it would have been forcing it. So here's 2.7k words of just... comfort.

GN Reader, 2.7k words, SFW. Previous intimacy alluded to in one sentence. Dividers by @ve-ti-ver. <3

The knock on your door is so quiet, it seems as though the person on the other side is second-guessing every move. You pause your holofilm, glancing at the clock and grumbling that it’s far later than you thought. Must have lost track of time as usual. Pulling your robe around you and fastening it around your waist, you shuffle to the entryway, grabbing your blaster out of habit. No matter how much of a backwater planet this is, you’ve heard stories of the Empire showing up with zero warning and wrecking an entire way of life, and you’re not about to lose everything you’ve worked so hard to protect.

A glance through the peephole freezes you in your tracks.

You look to the side, scanning the perimeter cameras to see if there’s anyone else on the property. You can’t believe your eyes. But something inside of you is compelling you, more strongly than you’d ever have anticipated, but then again, you’d never have thought something like this would happen. You press the button and the front door whooshes open.

“Crosshair?!” you whisper in disbelief, taking in his very different appearance. There’s a girl at his elbow, looking tired but curious, and they’re both in some weird white outfits covered in mud and grass stains. “What the kriff…”

“Can we come in?” His voice is broken. Weathered. It taps at the edges of your fortified heart.

“You alone?”

“Very.”

* * *

The fire has grown low in the hearth, reduced to the occasional flicker above glowing coals that emit a cozy scent. The girl, Omega as you’ve learned, is fast asleep on the couch, and Crosshair is hunched in the armchair across from you. You’ve never seen him look like this – his silver hair is gone, replaced by a hint of stubble and a hideous scar. He seems a shell of what he was, and you yearn to ask him everything, but he looks so, so tired. They’d both been grateful for the soup you offered, but no amount of insistence on your part had been able to convince him to take a nap in your bed. So instead you sat quietly in the living room, alternating between sporadic, pointless conversation and long stretches of silence.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” you confessed, trying to keep your tone neutral.

“Sorry,” he muttered, saying nothing else.

“What… uh… What are you doing? Like… Why are you here?”

“The long-range communicator on the shuttle was damaged. We need to contact our… Some others.”

“Ah. I don’t have anything like that…”

“Where’s the closest comm center?”

“I can show you tomorrow.”

“Mmm.”

“Crosshair?” you said, more softly now. The faintest wince crossed his face before disappearing without a trace. He lifted his sharp eyes to your face, his face completely passive, and waited. “I don’t know what all you’ve been through, but…” You faltered, unsure what you were even trying to express. A quick sigh, a shift of the gaze, a reposition in your seat… “Well, just let me know how I can help.”

He nodded, eyes drifting back to the floor beneath shoulders that hunched beneath a thousand regrets.

* * *

You’d apologized a few times about the scattered assortment of food in front of your guests, having had to throw together a dinner the next day with what you had left in your cooling chamber and cupboards. Money was tight and the added mouths made it difficult. But you’d managed to scrounge something acceptable, and Omega had gratefully proclaimed that it was more than enough. Better than the bland nuggets she’d survived on for months, at least. Crosshair was silent, but the way he ate – intentionally and without hurry – hinted at a bit of enjoyment.

The comm center had been mercifully empty, allowing them to get a transmission out, but there had been no reply. Crosshair’s encryption knowledge was impressive, and you made plans to return the next day to see if there would be any response, although he seemed fairly certain there would not be. Omega refused to believe such a thing, insisting that things would only get better from here.

Another night of staring silently at each other across the tiny living room, with the girl sleeping fitfully on the couch and your feet stretched out opposite his. He’d slept in the armchair the night before, and you’d accidentally woken him with a start when you appeared in the kitchen, feeling terrible for the awkward way his tall frame was bent and crumpled in slumber.

“It’s been… what… almost five years?” you said quietly, staring into the flames of the hearth as it pushed away the nighttime chill, encompassing all of you in its warm glow.

“Who knows,” came the curt reply.

“I’m surprised you even remembered where I lived,” you pointed out, unable to decide if you were pleased or paranoid by that revelation.

“Hmm.”

Conversation stopped and started, and you found yourself noticing more about him that seemed different from before, although you weren’t sure your memory was accurate. You’d only seen each other a handful of times, when he was the signature snarky member of Clone Force 99 during the war. When the Republic became the Empire, everything seemed to hit the fan, and nothing had been quite the same since. Now, he was carefully guarded, seemingly unfazed by anything, but the occasional twitch of a muscle seemed to indicate pain or trauma of sorts. There was a tremor in his hand that was always quickly stifled by a clenched fist or grasp from the other, as well as a grimace of frustration. But most of all, the haunted look in his eyes chilled you to the core. You were known for your compassion, and the impact of the war on so many innocents across the galaxy rested heavily on your shoulders. It was easy to spiral if you dwelt on it too long, so you pushed it away and worked hard to fortify both your heart and home.

* * *

“Crosshair! It’s there!” Omega exclaimed, tapping rapidly on the control panel at the comm center. “Look!”

He sidled up beside her, leaning over her shoulder to squint at the screen. A transmission had indeed come through, although by the look on his face, you couldn’t tell if he was relieved or repulsed.

“Good news, I hope?” you asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

“They can meet us in a few days!” Omega read, tracing her finger across the lines of text. “They just have to… drop off a few… kids?” She glanced at Crosshair with questioning eyes, and his expression almost made you laugh aloud.

“Hunter is so kriffing soft,” he muttered, face sour with disgust.

“Well either way… We’re going home!” she insisted, eyes filling with tears. You felt a sense of awe at the girl’s ineffable hope in the face of so much pain, and you hoped her attitude would inspire Crosshair a bit too.

“There is no home,” he spat, turning to exit the building, arms clasped around himself.

No such luck, it seemed.

* * *

Things felt somehow lighter that evening. You’d picked up a large pot of soup from a friend on the way, effusive with thanks and promises to make it up to him, and had enough supplies at home to make a large loaf of bread. It felt like a good night for a candle, creating a distinctly cozy atmosphere as the three of you crowded around your tiny table, bent over steaming bowls of fairly bland soup.

“So how did you and Crosshair meet?” Omega asked, realizing that part had somehow been left out so far.

“Who cares,” he grunted, casting a sideways glance at her.

“I do,” she said simply, and you found yourself smiling at the stark contrast between the two of them.

“His squad was here a few times during the war. The first time, they were held up for… what was it? Technical issues?” You glanced at him, hoping for a better memory than your own, but he barely made an effort to lift a single shoulder in a noncommittal shrug, so you continued. “Well, something like that. The other times, I’m not quite sure what happened.” A wry smirk tugged at the corner of your lips. “He just happened to find himself here.”

“Hm. Well it’s nice to have old friends,” she nodded, missing the tiny look you flashed his way as she moved on to ask about your own life experiences.

* * *

Another day of work, another evening of sitting by the fire. The quiet felt soothing, somehow. Perhaps you were imagining it, but it seemed to be some sort of salve for whatever he’d endured, and the sight of him allowing himself to relax, just a little, warmed your heart. You felt a bit jittery too, however, having come up with a plan that you hoped he’d agree to, but you were fully expecting to get raked over the coals for it too. So when Omega was fast asleep, and he had slumped further and further in his chair with the passing minutes, you rose to your feet, stretching the stiffness away.

“Can you help me with something?” you ventured tentatively.

“No,” he said, not moving a muscle as he sat there with his eyes closed. You were equally miffed and amused, but the slight reminder of his old snark goaded you on.

“Then get out,” you quipped. He cracked an eye to assess you with a squint.

“No.”

“Okay,” you chuckled, “But please come here.” Your tone softened, an honest request, and he got up with an eyeroll. You led the way to your bedroom, which was really just a single bed stuffed against the wall with some space on the side and at the foot.

“No,” was all he could say when you set foot inside and turned to face him, earning a little eyeroll and chuckle from you this time.

“That’s not what I’m–”

“Just leave me be,” he snapped, with a slight sharpness that sobered you up very quickly.

“Alright, stop it.” You’d had enough, for now at least. “I get that you’ve been through it. And you can make yourself pay for all your terrible deeds for the rest of your life. But you’re not accomplishing anything by this… martyr stuff.”

“Say what you want,” he sniffed. “I’m not sleeping with you again.”

Now you did laugh, clapping a hand over your mouth at the flash of affront that quickly dissipated behind his sardonic expression. “Nope,” you shook your head, “Not where I was going. I want you to sleep here–”

“No.”

“--and I will sleep on an air pad in the living room,” you finished. “I borrowed one from my friend when we picked up the soup.”

“No.”

“Maker above, Crosshair!!” you breathed, thoroughly exasperated. “Just get one night of rest for your pathetic, sad body and stop insisting on being miserable!”

“How insensitive,” he hissed, lips pressed together as he scrutinized you with dark eyes.

“If you don’t, I’m waking up Omega and kicking you both out.”

“Going after the kid? That’s just cruel,” he taunted.

“Yeah, well, I mean it,” you said, and he could tell by your tone that you did. There was a frustration that had risen like a dragon out of deep slumber, and your eyes glittered with challenge. “Now stop arguing with me, take a hot shower, and allow yourself one kriffing night of comfortable sleep.” Without waiting for a response, because you were fairly certain you’d start yelling if he said “no” one more time, you turned on your heel and marched out of the bedroom, closing the door behind you.

You waited a moment in the hallway, half expecting him to come right back out, but it was quiet. A thought crossed your mind, based on what little you knew about what had happened to him, and you turned back, knocking once before opening the door.

“Changed your mind?” he drawled.

“No,” you said obstinately. “But… I mean… You’re not a prisoner in there… But just… Like… You can go wherever you want… except… I want you to sleep there… So… Stay there… But you’re free to go… Oh kriff.” You could swear you saw the ghost of a smirk on his sharp features as you waved him off and closed the door again, and the tiny snort of mirth that reached your ears definitely wasn’t a figment of your imagination. The memories that surfaced suddenly were surprising in their potency – his strong fingers entwined with yours, hands clenched together on your pillow, his heavy breath against your neck – and you fought them off as you made your bed in the living room, trying, and not always succeeding, to write them off as relics of a past life.

* * *

You knew one night of sleep wasn’t going to magically fix him, but there was a muted look on his face when he emerged the next morning, accepting your proffered cup of caf with a wordless tip of the chin. You left for work with the standard lecture of where everything was and how to avoid getting into trouble, which both he and Omega received with good-natured eyerolls and nods. They were scheduled to meet their friends the next morning, and you’d been shocked at the magnitude of care you felt toward both of them after just a few days. From what you’d gathered, they’d both been through suffering beyond belief, and you wished you could just snap your fingers and make it all go away.

You made some tea that evening, as you returned to your customary seats by the fire, and he took the mug from your hand without any protest. You noticed later that he never actually drank any but left it steaming on the table beside him. The conversation was sparse, and you couldn’t quite determine why it was that he seemed so dreary when he was about to be reunited with his family. But there was no need to press, and you were grateful that he tolerated your company at all, considering the shell of a person he seemed to be.

After a long silence, he got up, grimacing through some stiff stretches and turning to head toward the hallway.

“Ahem,” you said, arching an eyebrow as he looked back. “Where do you think you’re going?” You made no effort to hide the playful smirk on your face, thoroughly undeterred by his narrowed eyes in response.

“Bed.”

“I said ‘one night’ of comfortable sleep,” you jabbed, watching him press his lips into a thin line at the way you’d caught him in a tricky position. He turned without a word to head back to the chair, but you were on your feet quickly, waving both hands with a dumb grin on your face. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Please. Go.”

He cast one last steely squint in your direction before disappearing, and you hoped that his old spark would continue to return, inch by inch, wherever he ended up.

* * *

The next morning, they were packed and ready at the door. Omega had given you a short, chaste hug and heartfelt thanks before heading outside, pausing to take a deep breath of the fresh air. Crosshair lingered for a moment, staring at the ground before muttering something under his breath.

“What’s that?” you poked, stepping closer and tilting your head to try to catch his gaze.

“Nothing,” he grumbled, lifting his chin to look at you evenly.

“I believe the words are ‘thank you’, but if you need to get a few ‘no’s in there first, I’ll allow it.”

He snorted.

“I hope it all works out for you two,” you said, moving on to some sincerity. “I… I’m sorry for all that’s happened.” His brow furrowed for a moment before relaxing back into an expressionless line, and he stood silently, leaving you room to shift awkwardly on your feet and flex your hands at your sides. Everything simmering under the surface was hard for you to ignore, and you lifted one shaky hand toward his face, pausing as he stiffened at the sight of it.

You lowered it slowly.

“Sorry,” you whispered, returning it to your side.

He reached forward suddenly, taking it and shaking it briefly, holding on for a split second, then letting go.

“Thanks for everything.”

I really wanted there to be some cheek-cupping and head-stroking and the slow closing of the eyes in quiet allowance of affection. But he's just not there yet, in my estimation. So I kinda want to apologize for this existing at all, LOL, but whatever. 😂

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bigskydreaming · 1 year

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Like, I am very conscious of the aid people have given me and try not to ask any more than is absolutely necessary because I do not enjoy asking for charity like at ALL. But I am less than a year out from when I had a twenty thousand dollar (out of pocket) surgery to address a longterm disability caused by a gaybashing when I was nineteen and that flared up about seven years ago and caused constant, daily migraines, chronic pain and other issues that limited my ability to work while I spent the next six years doing literally everything I could to save up for that surgery while maintaining an expensive as fuck insurance plan that was the only option for getting the surgery DOWN to that ‘manageable’ price tag in the first place. Between that and the costs of just staying alive for those six years, even with e-begging and lots of help from people, I wiped out every cent of my savings and put myself in massive debt and tanked my credit as that was the literal only way I could afford that surgery and regain a decent quality of life. I STILL don’t even have fucking TEETH because every single one had to be pulled in order to do the surgery since to realign my jaw properly, I needed an even bite and after years of destroying my teeth every time I used one side of my face and one side only to do my best to chew and eat food, pulling every single one of my teeth and getting as-literally-cheap-as-possible-dentures instead of trying to repair my teeth first was quite literally the only real option without further dragging out the surgery timeline because I was basically bedridden by the time I actually did get it. After years without being able to work regularly, my ability to go back to my old careers are basically nil and I’ll have to start over from scratch - when I can even afford to - as in the meanwhile, my job options were limited by having a years out of date resume and pretty much all of my paycheck does go to managing my debt, trying to rebuild my credit, and basic cost of living while scrounging together pennies to try and save up now for the many bone graft surgeries I’ll need if I ever want to get teeth implants instead of relying on dentures for the next several decades. So yeah, I ask for help, mostly just when I don’t have money left over for food or the couple hundred dollars I spend monthly in meds because lmao, my various neurodivergencies don’t really help with all of that and I literally can’t afford to go off my meds or miss my regular schedule with them without risking everything I HAVE managed to pull together in terms of routine and income-generating ability.

So do I enjoy e-begging? Fuck no. Am I constantly trying to figure out better ways to supplement my income? Hell yeah. I’ve been trying to put together things like a patreon where people actually get something in exchange for money sent my way, for like, months and months but when I’m not working I’m fucking exhausted because grinding nonstop for six years through constant chronic pain and stress with zero days off will do that to a guy, and I haven’t exactly been able to kick back and enjoy myself even since the surgery.

And I do my best not to put shit like that on my posts and just keep things to the bare minimum because not only do I not love dwelling on all that, I’m genuinely not trying to guilt people into anything or play the sympathy or pity card because when you used to pride yourself on being independent and self-reliant pretty much from the age of ten because your family taught you from an early age not to rely on anyone but yourself, it’d take even more therapy than I have now to actually be okay with the fact that I’d probably be dead by now without the kindness of internet strangers having helped me stay alive at times when I hadn’t eaten in days because I was busy keeping a roof over my head instead.

But sure, random internet anons - my little post about asking for $5 or $10 is an attempt to make people feel bad about getting blue checkmarks or their financials in general, as opposed to whatever that was.

#yes Im being defensive and self conscious because lmao Im defensive and self-conscious #I DO genuinely hate being in this position every time I do send that post around. i hate it more than I can ever express #it makes me feel like even with all ive done Im STILL fucking at the mercy of random douchebags from almost twenty #fucking years ago who enacted consequences on my life I'm still dealing with decades later #ITS NOT FUCKING FUN

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nicklloydnow · 10 months

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“IN THE ANNALS OF ROCK HISTORY, Chinese Democracy is a punchline and a cautionary tale. Guns N’ Roses spent more than 14 years working on it. At the beginning of the process, they were still arguably the biggest rock band in the world. By the end, they were Axl Rose fronting a collection of musicians who could’ve staffed a rock & roll fantasy camp.

Much of the band’s core when they began making the album — Slash, Duff McKagan, Matt Sorum, Gilby Clarke — either quit or were fired (or both) along the way. New members reportedly had to be approved by Rose’s spiritual adviser, an aura-reading psychic from Sedona named Sharon Maynard, who was often referred to as “Yoda.” At various points, the band’s lineup included ex-members of Nine Inch Nails, Primus, the Replacements, Devo, and the Psychedelic Furs. The list of musicians who auditioned, contributed, or visited the sessions includes Dave Navarro, Brian May, Sebastian Bach, Moby, and Shaquille O’Neal.

You could write an entire book about the tenure of avant-garde guitarist Buckethead, who communicated with bandmates through a hand puppet, and for whom a chicken coop was constructed in the studio, where, according to Zutaut, the guitarist would record his parts and watch porn. Zutaut also once claimed that, after Rose’s wolf puppy took a shit in said chicken coop, Buckethead resisted efforts to clean it up, claiming he loved the smell.

The entire project wasn’t only time consuming, it was wildly expensive, with costs reportedly running to a quarter of a million dollars per month at some stages, and a final tab of at least $13 million. The protracted recording process was a function of, among other things, Rose’s desperate effort to match the sound coming out of the speakers to the sound in his head. A less charitable reading was that he’d simply lost the plot, and without a strong creative counterweight — someone like Slash or Duff who was equally invested in the outcome — there was nobody to help him find it.

(…)

Within the insular confines of the GN’R fan community, though, there were devotees like Dunsford and Madeline, for whom Chinese Democracy wasn’t an embarrassing bomb from a megalomaniac who’d alienated his most important collaborators. It was an overlooked magnum opus by a misunderstood genius. If GN’R’s early albums bottled a certain amount of anti-social rebellion, Chinese Democracy represents a kind of counterrevolution, in which its relative unpopularity has only intensified the passion of its adherents.

Madeline told me that for years on GN’R forums, “85 to 95 percent of fans wanted nothing to do with Guns N’ Roses unless it was discussing the old lineup. Then you have people like me — we call ourselves five-percenters. All we cared about was Chinese Democracy.”

(…)

Amid this void, the less-dedicated fans lost interest, leaving a hardcore group who feasted on any scraps of information they could scrounge. Every paparazzi photo of Rose would be studied for clues to his mind state. Fans would discuss a stray quote from a band member with the dedication of Talmudic scholars.

This sense of scarcity was foundational to the fan community. Anyone with access to new music or information — or anyone perceived to — has cachet. Unreleased music is the most prized of all currencies.

GN’R fans who manage to procure unreleased tracks, or even snippets of them, fall into two basic categories: hoarders and leakers. Hoarders keep whatever they find for themselves or share only with a handful of trusted friends. Leakers distribute it to the rest of the fans. Within the community, hoarders are both despised and venerated. They’re viewed as anti-democratic elitists, but they’re insiders with something everyone wants. On occasion, a hoarder may sell unreleased material or trade it — and some make real money doing this — but they intuitively understand the scarcity principle. If they distribute music widely, it not only puts them at risk legally, it also erases the music’s value and endangers their heightened status.

(…)

By the time of Chinese Democracy’s official release, most of its songs had already leaked, occasionally in dramatic fashion — including one, bizarrely, when then-New York Mets catcher Mike Piazza brought a CD-R of unreleased songs to Eddie Trunk’s radio show. The album’s anti-climactic arrival fed the fans’ thirst for more music. Suggestions from Rose and others that the album was intended as part of a trilogy, and that there was enough music to fill several albums, convinced some fans there was a lost classic just gathering dust in the band’s vault.

In light of this, many fans have come to resent GN’R’s secrecy and stinginess with new music. “The band should’ve figured out a way to manage their community online in a more positive way, instead of keeping them in the dark for so many years,” says Kooluris. “They’ve created all these monsters who just want to pillage, steal, and grab whatever they can get because they don’t feel like they’ve ever been appreciated by the band.… It’s like Stockholm syndrome. They’re chained up in the basement, they haven’t been outside for years, so they act in unhealthy ways.

“It’s more than the music,” he continues. “These people are looking for belonging.… But these guys invest so much that it distracts them from being happy. Because you’re not going to be happy if you’re all in on GN’R.”

(…)

The studio was Village Recorder, the legendary birthplace of Steely Dan’s Aja, Fleetwood Mac’s Tusk, and Dr. Dre’s The Chronic. GN’R moved their base of operations there in 2000. Nineteen of the CD-Rs Bird found in the locker were rough mixes from the 2000-01 Village sessions. They included complete songs, instrumentals, rehearsals, and alternate versions of previously released material. The sessions were legendary among fans. Nothing had ever leaked from them. This, they believed, was where they’d find their lost classic.

(…)

Fans have now been waiting nearly as long for a Chinese Democracy follow-up as they waited for Chinese Democracy. Whispers swirl about the imminent arrival of a new full-length culled from this batch of leaked material. But is this stuff any good?

Within the GN’R community, views diverge. “There’s plenty of material that could really be a legendary album,” says Dunsford. Kooluris is less sanguine: “These fans think Axl’s got another ‘Paradise City’ or ‘November Rain’ in the vault, and he fucking doesn’t.” There’s widespread enthusiasm for the raw, guitar-driven “Hard Skool,” which was released as a single in 2021 and hearkens back to pre-Chinese Democracy GN’R. It’s a particular curiosity because many fans interpret the lyrics (“You had to play it cool, had to do it your way/Had to be a fool, had to throw it all away”) as a shot at Slash, who rejoined the band with Duff in 2016, and ultimately contributed guitar parts to the finished song.

Many of the leaked songs aren’t hard to find online. Listening to them, it’s easy to convince yourself that with a little polish, “Atlas Shrugged,” the tense, dramatic “Perhaps,” and “State of Grace,” an industrial-tinged midtempo creeper, could’ve anchored another classic GN’R album. Other tracks feel half-baked. But judging these songs based on rough mixes feels unfair. Exploring ideas that never get fully fleshed out and trying things that don’t succeed is how the creative process is supposed to work. This, of course, underscores the moral argument against leaking unreleased music. “Ultimately, there’s only one truth,” says Kooluris. “It’s stolen music. These guys try to rationalize it, but it’s not theirs.”

(…)

One of his long-running motivations around leaking music has been to stick it to “the hoarding putzes,” though he recognizes the biggest hoarder of all is Rose himself. “He doesn’t owe anybody anything, but sometimes he teases like he’s going to do something, then nothing happens, and people get frustrated,” Craig says. “It’s almost like drug addicts.… You’re so desperate for a fix you’ll do things not within the norm to get your fix. All these kids are acting like they’re members of a spy ring.… You don’t see that with Metallica or Faith No More.”

(…)

Being a music fan has changed a lot in the past 20 years. Collecting an artist’s every release was once the sign of a true die-hard. Now, we all have that for nearly every artist in existence for the price of a monthly subscription fee.

So, in this time of instant access and overwhelming abundance, what defines real fandom? How do you prove it? Well, if you’re Rick Dunsford, you do whatever it takes to get your hands on the music nobody else has. When being a fan is easy, you do what’s hard. These GN’R fans — not just Dunsford, but the whole collection of crazies — understand that.”

“This, in the Year Punk Broke A.D., was months before Nevermind, and a year before Kurt Cobain, on the exact same journey as GN’R, rocked a “Corporate Magazines Still Suck” T-shit on Rolling Stone’s cover. But even as grunge and punk revivalism supposedly unseated mainstream rock in the Nineties (or so the myth goes), Guns N’ Roses, who’d been covering punk groups the U.K. Subs and the Misfits for years, were playing in stadiums alongside Metallica (another band that covered the Misfits, as well as punks Fang years before Nirvana). Mainstream rock, with all its primordial influences, was still bigger than ever and would remain so for at least a couple more years. This box set, memorializing the 30th anniversary of Guns N’ Roses’ overwhelming and intimidating Use Your Illusion albums — arriving, in true GN’R fashion, a year late — presents some interesting alternate facts for the alternative explosion.

(…)

The albums, in hindsight, present the paradox of a band of outsiders who have become the biggest band on the planet but still want to be rebels (see also: Neil Young’s fable of Johnny Rotten, and Kurt Cobain’s fable of Kurt Cobain). It’s a portrait of an identity crisis and it eventually tore them apart. But at the time, they rose to the challenge and reaped the rewards, even if by all accounts the Use Your Illusion albums are still Too Much Music.

(…)

By this point, the band had been called up from the streets and had risen to the occasion. They were still working together, and, gosh, maybe even liked each other. Three decades since their release, we know understand how the Use Your Illusion albums represented the most of what they could do, and they secured their legend. If they had called it quits completely after the tour, like the Police did after Synchronicity, and avoided all the nasty press digs, it could have been a clean break and we probably still would have gotten Chinese Democracy. But Use Your Illusion was a testament to their determination, which is still their driving force. Not grunge, not Spin, not good taste (or even bad taste) could hold them back then or now. This is a portrait of the kings of the jungle.”

#axl #axl rose #guns n roses #chinese democracy #use your illusion

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voidthewanderer · 9 months

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I’m just so… tired. I’m tired of constantly being pulled every which way. Of having to choose what to do on what days, but then being told by people that you should be able to do everything you want to do in a single day.

Oh really? I should be able to do everything I want to do in one day? Really? With schedules that are so sporadic that I’d rather stand under a goddamn tree during a lightning storm? Yeah, OK.

When I’m working in the one store; it’s a 30~40 minute drive to and from work. So, if I’m working a midshift, which can range anywhere between 9-5 to 12-8, I have to get up at least an hour before I have to leave if I want to eat and bathe before work. And then with the 30~40 minute drive home? I have to get home, do my household chores that I need to get done (laundry, cleaning, etc). That’s already nine hours that I’ve lost in my waking day just working.

I can’t get up at exactly six in the morning like I’d like to because my father’s downstairs stomping around because he’s getting ready for work at the same time as my brother. I can’t just go to the gym whenever I want because, y’know, despite being thirty years old, we have to act like I’m still a child. I can’t work on my art as a career because it’s “not a real job”. I can’t make it a real job when y’all literally fucking harass me into not working. I can’t work on my writing for the same fucking reason. I have no time to read because I spend all day at work and that cuts into other things I need to do too.

None of this would have been an issue if I hadn’t been forced to get the goddamn retail job not even two months after my colectomy. I wasn’t ready to go back to a retail job, not that I wanted to in the first fucking place. Had I been left alone, I could be making my art right now.

Granted, yeah; I could probably leave my job, pay off my debts with my savings; and just leave to “work” and work on my art somewhere private. But people have been visiting me at work, which is like; hello? Again, I’m fucking 30 stop keeping tabs on me. If I don’t want to work at a job that makes me feel the way I do, I’d rather not work there. You can’t say that I need to do what’s best for my health, but then get mad when I go to do what’s best for my health.

It’s not like I ask for money online. And, honestly? If I do, I want to be able to give back to people who give me money. That’s just how I work. Even if it can’t be individualized pieces. A big “thank you” piece or something. Anything.

I wouldn’t be losing my health insurance as I’m somehow still on the state health insurance. Which is even better than the stuff I get through my work. I’d just have to renew the insurance come the new year, not a big deal. No, I wouldn’t get unemployment, but I understand that.

For me, my health, both mental and physical; are far more important to me. I’m stuck in a rock and a hard place because I totally could take sketch commissions now. But then I’d have to figure out how exactly I’d deliver the amount I need to pay things off and make enough money to still live.

Honestly; even if it was just supplementary right now. Just so I can work up into something just a little more stable. Like, even just $100 worth of sketch commissions a week, y’know? Just until I can figure out something more steady or figure out some sort of time management system (though I don’t see that happening with my hours).

I’m just tired of being miserable and it feeling like it’s for no reason. Applying to jobs makes me miserable because places just never get back to you. Even when they cry “we need help immediately!” Working this job that doesn’t give a damn about me makes me miserable. Not being able to see my friends and my partner makes me miserable.

This is not normal. This way of life should have never been normalized. Just scrounging for any shreds of time always from a place that you shouldn’t have to spend 24% of your week working and still not making enough money to live your goddamn life; not that it matters because you should be spending another 24% of your week sleeping.

It would make sense if it was a job that made people happy. But it never is. I am not Vincent to my job. I am a string of numbers. I have to check the fact that I am a human being at the door and have zero emotions.

I just want to feel human again.

#shut it void #I needed to vent I do apologize #I just don’t know what to do anymore I feel like I’m wasting my life away

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deathbysatellite · 2 years

Text

Curious Household: Week 1

Note: This post will probably be kind of boring compared to previous uberhood posts for two reasons. 1) Not much exciting stuff happened for most of it; it was mostly taking care of babies. 2) I took a 4 month hiatus in the middle of this round, so my memory of what happened in the first half of the week isn’t as strong as it is for the second half. If it weren’t for the file names, I would have very little clue what happened in the first half. But I’ll do my best.

We start the week off with Lazlo and Pascal joking around while Vidcund looks through the telescope.

Honestly not surprised that Science turned out to be Vidcund’s preferred hobby.

The scripted events may be broken, but that’s not gonna stop me! I’ll just cheat my way into moving the storyline along!

Pascal and Lazlo show no concern for the fact that their brother just got abducted.

It’s not until Vidcund is finally dropped off at home that Lazlo starts to get concerned. Pascal on the other hand just laughs at him.

Not even five minutes after returning, and Vidcund already want to be abducted again!

Very shortly after, Pascal goes into labor.

Took me three tries, but I finally ended up with a boy with green skin. And thus, Tycho was born!

Lazlo seems pretty excited to be an uncle!

Pascal’s already rolling a Want to Study about Parenting. Do I suspect a secondary Family Sim?

(The answer is yes. I did end up giving him Family as his secondary Aspiration.)

Vidcund decides he want to hire a maid. Probably a good idea, since the house gets really messy with Lazlo’s lack of Neat points.

The maid turns out to be Kaylynn.

All of Vidcund’s Wants are about aliens. Every. Single. One. Of. Them.

Look, ma! No hands!

The welcome wagon arrives, consisting of Erin Beaker, Ophelia Nigmos, and Olive Specter.

Olive seems to be here to scope out the hotties. Although, given the fate of her husbands and ex-fiancé, she could be here to scope out her next victim.

Pascal invites over Nervous, who brings along Kennedy Cox (I honestly didn’t know Nervous and Kennedy were friends).

These two continue to be cute.

Lazlo wanted to get a bird, so meet Newton! Newton keeps escaping his cage, because somebody keeps forgetting to close it. Lazlo actually seems quite fond of his new pet, since he keeps rolling Wants to play with him, but that could be because I gave him Pleasure as a secondary Aspiration.

He then goes outside to greet a little dog named Grace.

Newton does not like Grace one bit, and the feeling seems to be mutual.

Pascal gets to know his future mother-in-law, while Nervous finally meets his cousin.

Vidcund finds out something came back with him from his little trip into space.

The next day, Pascal rolls a Want to buy clothes. Didn’t really feel too sure about this one.

I think this is the one I ended up going with.

The rest of the day is spent hanging out with their sister and nephew. I honestly can’t remember if I invited one of them over, or if they just randomly showed up to hang out.

While Lazlo chats with Jill on the phone, Johnny decides to take care of his baby cousin.

I’ve never seen this Want before! That is so sweet!

Pascal spends a sleepless night taking care of Tycho.

All three brothers had a Want to go fishing, so they hop in a taxi and head downtown to Sim Center North.

While there, Lazlo bumps into Bianca Monty.

Exhausted, everyone returns home. Poor Vidcund just barely misses his bedroom before passing out in the hallway.

Yeah...about that, Jenny...

The days fly by and soon it’s Tycho’s birthday.

Yeah, I’m definitely getting him new clothes and hair.

Pascal is already rolling Wants to teach Tycho his toddler skills!

I finally manage to scrounge up money for the car Lazlo’s been wanting.

Pascal spends another sleepless night with Tycho.

Like Vidcund, Pascal’s preferred hobby is Science. What a surprise.

Presumably because he has the day off (I honestly don’t recall), and Pascal and Vidcund were likely exhausted, it’s up to Uncle Lazlo to by Tycho some better clothes.

Soon, it’s time for Vidcund to give birth.

And we welcome a baby boy named Alcor! I picked that name for two reasons. 1) It’s the name of a star, referencing his extra-terrestrail ancestry. 2) It means “the forgotten one” or “the neglected one”, which felt fitting since the Sims community seems much more focutsed on Pascal’s alien baby than Vidcund’s.

Vidcund, it’s literally raining!

Tycho takes the rain as an opporunity to splash around in puddles.

Pascal rolled a Want to buy a robot making station. He made a few toy robots, and then didn’t roll any related Wants for the rest of the week. There’s still a toy robot on the bench ready to be sold.

Never the less, Tycho seems to love his new toy.

“Lay down the bingo” turned out to be the wrong choice this go around. Vidcund lost enthusiasm in Games for this.

The Smiths visit again, and both try to take care of Alcor.

Meanwhile, Pascal nets himself a promotion!

The next day, Lazlo invites over Crystal Vu, and puts on the charm.

With his wedding in a few days, Pascal heads into town to buy a tux.

Along the way, he meets Melissa Adams, the Infallably Good Witch.

Pascal comes home to find the computer broken, and tries his hand at fixing it himself. How hard could it be?

A lot harder than it looks, apparently.

Lazlo and Crystal are too busy flirting to notice Pascal’s near-death-experience.

Came back four months later to the hilarious reminder that Pascal was still singed.

Lazlo manages to sneak his way into Crystal’s heart.

Poor Vidcund just has the worst luck with chance cards. He ended losing over $800 this time. I’m a little worried that he’s gonna get fired due to a chance card one of these days.

Tycho, obviously being a toddler, thinks it would be a good idea to drink from a spoiled bottle. He learns the hard way that it isn’t.

He and Crystal seem to be getting along well. It’s honestly adorable!

Vidcund arrives home from work with Phil Jimakusol.

Phil offers Vidcund, a mid-level job in the Slacker career. It’s a few career levels up from where Vidcund currently is in the Science career, but it definitely doesn’t seem like the sort of job he’d want.

I suddenly remembered that Smart Milk exists, so I put that to good use here.

Pascal seems to have much better luck with chance cards than Vidcund, as he managed to net himself a promotion!

Once gain, Tycho’s birthday arrives, and he ages up in some pretty appropriate PJs.

Between two kids and an upcoming wedding, there simply weren’t enough bedrooms, so I had to expand a little.

Tycho, having 9 Playful points, immediately goes to jump on his new bed.

I honestly thought that Alcor’s birthday was the day after Tycho’s, not the same day, so he ended up aging up without a cake. Kinda living up to his name.

Vidcund managed to discover a star while trying to get re-abducted.

Pascal books his honeymoon for him and Nervous.

I’ve never come across this want before. But then again, I used to give all my Sims 5 points in each personality category. Tycho has exactly 0 Nice points.

And that lack of nice points keeps leading him to teasing his poor cousin. I have a feeling they’re not going toget along as they grow up.

He at least has a good relationship with his dad.

Tycho discovers his love for Games.

Vidcund, I don’t think the bathroom is the best place to teach your son to walk.

Tycho comes across a cat named Sake.

It takes them a little while to get along, but they eventually get there.

Finally, the wedding begins.

Nobody bothered to watch, so I had to teleport them all outside.

Both Pascal and Nervous immediately rolled Want to Adopt a Child!

I honestly love the Cut the Cake interaction. The animation is so cute!

Nervous get to know some of his new in-laws, and finds out how much he loves Sports along the way.

And with the wedding over, they were both off to their honeymoon.

And autonomously start acting like the newlyweds that they are.

Pascal attempts to jump off the diving board at the hotel’s pool. Key word being “attempts”.

The two begin playing marco polo.

Johnny, Troy, and Steven Fratster. They look like they’re going to some sort of convention for vacation dads.

Pascal joins the Fratsters in a hula dance.

Yet another gesture to spread like the plague back home.

Room service meals were too expensive for them, so they grabbed dinner at a food stand on the beach.

Pascal watches a fire dancer while Nervous buklds a sandcastle.

Nervous tries out a hammock. Pascal joins him.

The food stand was also pretty expensive, so they get omlets at resteraunt at Twikkii Beach Hotel.

They then go and visit some rather touristy looking ruins.

Kina makes me wonder how many famous ruins around the world have had their integrity and original purpose sacrificed for the sake of tourism.

Nervous adds some soap to the waterfall. There’s no way this could go wrong.

It goes wrong.

Pascal manages to scorch his hand by accidentally sticking it in the lava.

They unwind a bit by relaxing in a hot spring.

I finally put Nervous’ treasure map to good use, and they arrive at a hut owned by a Witch Doctor in need of some home repairs.

I unfortunately can’t use the tab key on this lot without the camera going all wonky. So we’ll have to deal with the UI for now.

While Pascal does some repairs, Nervous makes use of the Witch Doctor’s broken bathtub and steals his food.

It’s a good thing there’s an espresso machine, because Pascal started refusing to continue with the repairs due to exhaustion.

Exhausted, hungry, smelly, and awake in the wee hours of the morning, Pascal finally finishes repairing the Witch Doctor’s appliances, and receives a gift from him. I don’t really see Pascal or Nervous being the type to use the voodoo doll, but with how much of a little jerk Tycho is in my game, I think he’d get great use out of it.

They arrive back at the hotel, and I check them out a day early so we don’t have to pay for a third day at the hotel.

They newlyweds arrive back home exhausted, and shortly after, Vidcund gets woken up by Alcor, and spends the next few hours taking care of him in the middle of the night.

While Vidcund grabs a quick snack before tucking his son back into bed, Alcor splashes around in the puddles left behind by either Lazlo or Nervous from the shower.

And to end off the week, Uncle Lazlo lets Alcor out of his crib when he wakes up a couple of hours later, and Tycho entertains his cousin while Lazlo makes everyone breakfast.

#sims 2 #ts2 #gameplay #ts2 uberhood #long post

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

Text

I’m Only A Crack In This Castle Of Glass (Hardly Anything Else I Need To Be) PT. 7

Batfamily x Batsis Story

Word Count: 2.1K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst

Author’s Note: Anyone order a part seven? Cause I got a part seven for y'all. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Ever since the meeting that night, she’d gotten more letters from her family than she’d ever received in twenty-one years. Not that she decided to read them. The first line from Dick’s letter was, ”I never wanted you to leave because of me. If only I’d known…”. She couldn’t keep reading, and she wasn’t sure if it were from guilt, sadness, or anger, but there was something there that she didn’t want to face.

It didn’t stop there though. They kept coming even if she tacked a return to sender on it and sent it back. She’d even labeled one and written, ”Stop writing me.” but that didn’t stop them. Wally texted her every other night on top of the letters and she wanted to strangle him through the phone.

She knew though, that if she could keep holding out for three more months, she’d be home free. Wherever home was at this point. Every city she kept thinking about had some type of vigilante and there was nothing that didn’t; eventually she decided on Coast City. Somewhere warm and sunny, and as far from Gotham and Central as possible.

Of course that little voice in the back of her head just kept telling her to talk to them, but she was going to be as stubborn against it as possible—but time was dwindling, and so was her resolve.

***

“Ophelia, have you seen the extra bag of espresso beans? I can’t remember where you put them the other week.” She waited for a response. “Ophelia?” she turned and frowned. “Why did I accept the manager’s position when I can’t even round up my workers?”

She walked out of the storage and wiped her hands on the rag at her waist. “Ophelia?” A giggle sounded at the counter and when she walked out, her eyes went wide at the sight.

Jason was leaning against the counter with that smile he used to use on the models at the galas. He smiled at Ophelia. “Tell me, what do you make better, the cappuccinos or lattes?”

“Well, I make a —”

“She makes a mean ‘get in the back and find my espresso beans’,” she grunted and both of them jumped.

“Melisandre!” Ophelia stuttered, pale cheeks flushing pink. “I thought you were in the back.”

“I was. Think you can go find the coffee beans you put away?” She shot Ophelia a stare that screamed ‘scram’ and the girl nodded, hurrying to the storage room.

“Aww, why’d you run the cutie off, Melisandre?” Jason queried. “I was going to ask her out on—”

“Can I talk to you?” she interrupted, voice barely containing her seething rage. “Outside.”

Jason shrugged and shoved his hands in his jean pockets. “Sure, but be careful, people might get suspicious.”

She grunted and walked outside, listening to him follow and when the door shut, she turned around and hissed, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just getting coffee.”

“Oh, don’t play dumb with me, Jason. We both know that’s a load of bullshit.”

His eyes narrowed and he noted, “You’ve really gotten comfortable using foul language. You know that, (Y/N)?”

She glared at him. “What. Do. You. Want.”

“You won’t answer our letters,” he shrugged. “Didn’t have a lot of options to talk.”

“And showing up at my job is the better option?” she griped.

“It was that or your house, (Y/N). Take your pick but you can’t have both.”

“Well, maybe my silence is supposed to be the answer to those letters. Did you think about that?”

“I did,” he nodded. “But after the third letter being rejected, I decided to go big or go home.”

(Y/N) growled. “Go home.”

Jason smirked. “No.”

“I’m not fucking joking here, Jason. I don’t want you coming here. Ever.”

“Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn,” he retorted then stepped forward and grabbed her wrist. “You don’t wanna talk willingly, fine. I’ll make you talk to me. And if I have to show up here every day, I will.”

“No, you won’t.”

Jason cocked a brow and tightened his grip. “You wanna bet? Because I’m not Dick and I’m sure as hell not Bruce. I don’t have a day job to get to.” He smirked. “I can do this all day.”

(Y/N) bit the inside of her cheek and thought for a moment then sighed and yanked her arm away. “Fine. Come to my apartment after five. We’ll talk there.”

“Thank—”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she interrupted coldly. “I’m agreeing for one meeting and then you fuck off back to Gotham City and leave me the hell alone for good.” She spun on her heel and started back for the door when his voice reached her, tired and pained.

“Do you really hate all of us? Do you really hate us like you make yourself think you do?”

(Y/N)’s feet felt like lead and she stopped, gazing at the glass door. “I don’t know, Jason.”

“Then let me help.”

“You can find the apartment on your own. I know you’re good at looking for homes.” She slipped in the café door, leaving him standing there shocked and hurt.

***

Sure enough, a minute after five o’clock, her doorbell rang and she called, “It’s open.” The door opened and shut, and she looked up from the little kitchenette, watching the way Jason walked into her apartment, gazing around the empty living room.

“Shit, do you live in a home or a prison cell?”

(Y/N) grunted. “Nice quip. Come up with that by yourself?”

He wandered into the kitchen, leaning back against the counter as she prepared dinner. “What’re you making?”

“Chicken marsala,” she replied. “You’re here to talk. Start talking.”

“Are you going to be a bitch like you were the other night or can I ask about life in Central the last three years?” she shot him a glare, warning him, but he paid it no mind. “You going to school?”

(Y/N) nodded. “I go to Central City Community College. Take classes all week at different times.”

“What are you studying?” he asked.

“For now, general studies, but I’m minoring in political science.”

“Planning on a four year after you graduate?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.” Her hands stalled for a moment. “I don’t have the money for a big school to get a bachelors.” Shaking her head, she chopped up the vegetables. “Figure if I can get a job in the area, I can scrounge up enough to start the process though.”

“Might take years,” Jason noted, and she nodded.

“Yeah, hard work usually does.” (Y/N) glanced at him. “What’s Cassandra like?”

He blinked, evidently not expecting that, though he recovered and smiled. “She’s great honestly. Kicks ass better than anyone I know.”

“Even Batman?”

Jason huffed a laugh. “I’m sure she could wipe the floor with each of us if she decided to not hold back. Her mom’s Lady Shiva and her dad’s David Cain.”

“I don’t know who they are but I’m assuming from the tone that they’re not exactly the best parents in the world.”

“No…they’re not.” He agreed. “David didn’t teach Cass how to speak so she’s been mute all her life.”

“I’ve heard the few interviews she’s given,” (Y/N) replied. “She’s very eloquent when she does.”

“Shakespeare’s influence. And probably Emily Dickinson.” He smiled. “I leave her a lot of books to read so I can be her favorite.”

She snorted. “Yeah, that sounds like you.” Sliding the cast iron skillet into the oven, she sat at the crappy metal dining table, Jason taking the seat on the other side. (Y/N) scratched at the table. “Does Bruce like her?” she questioned lowly, and he nodded.

“Loves her like she’s his own.” He her with cautious eyes. “Just like he loves you.” Jason watched the emotion flash across her face, quick as lighting, a deep sorrow, then she was humming.

“Well, that’s good then.” She cleared her throat and looked at the clock. “How’ve you been? I hear a lot about Outlaws.”

Jason chuckled. “Yeah, that’s my band of renegades. Me, Roy Harper, and Koriand’r.”

“Remind me, those were Speedy and Starfire, right?”

He snorted. “Arsenal and Starfire. But yeah, close enough.”

(Y/N) got up and pulled two glasses from the cabinet before going to the refrigerator and getting the lemonade. She poured them both glasses and sat back down. “How’d you manage to wrangle two of the Titans into your posse?”

“Kori willingly tagged along, and Roy won’t leave me alone,” he griped, sipping his lemonade.

“Mmm…and how does Dick feel about you stealing two of his exes?”

Jason choked on his drink, spilling it on the table and down his chin. “That’s not—” he coughed. “That’s not what that is.”

“Uh huh, sure it’s not.”

“It isn’t,” he glowered.

“Riiiiiiight,” she drawled out with a grin, then took a sip and set her glass back down. “Figured you’d get Cass along with you. she seems like she’d be fit for Outlaws.”

He shook his head. “Nah, she’d be better off with Tim and his Young Justice weirdos.”

“She non-lethal?”

“Mhm.”

They dwindled into silence until the timer went off on the oven and she pulled the skillet out and set two plates on the table. “You’re gonna feed me?” he asked as she handed him a fork.

(Y/N) scoffed. “Duh. I’m a bitch, but I’m a bitch with manners.” She smiled sweetly. “But you have to leave afterwards.”

“Mmm…can I crash on your couch?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

He shrugged. “Figured I’d try anyways.”

They ate in silence, occasionally speaking about their lives the last three years, and when the food was all gone and the lemonade drunk, he sighed and reclined in the chair.

“What?” (Y/N) questioned and he shrugged.

“Dunno…I’d like to do this again soon.” His teal eyes found hers. “It’s been too long since we were together.”

“Tread carefully,” she murmured, looking at the wall and he sighed.

“Sis, talk to me,” he begged. “Even if it’s just to tell me how much you hate me, just talk to me.” She didn’t respond and he sighed again, standing from the table. “Thanks for dinner.”

“…I hate that you all put Gotham and every civilian before our family.” Jason stopped dead in his tracks and turned, gazing at her, though she didn’t tear her eyes from the wall. “I hate that the only time I felt like anyone paid any attention to me was when we were at galas and even then, the attention was just for show. It didn’t matter because all anyone wanted to do was get the hell out of the manor and go on patrol. It didn’t matter because I wasn’t like any of you. I wasn’t a part of the real family.”

Tears gathered in her eyes. “I hate that I spent more nights sitting in a dark and silent manor than spending them with my family. I hate that I never had a normal family growing up where we’d go for ice-cream after school and attend school performances. I hate that I got stuck with a bunch of siblings hellbent on giving every piece of themselves to the world and they couldn’t take one night off to have a family night to save their lives. To at least pretend to be normal.”

(Y/N) finally took her eyes from the wall and he felt his heart tighten as the tears slipped down her cheeks and she breathed, “I hate that I was born Bruce Wayne’s biological daughter and I’d give anything and everything I have to be someone else’s daughter and sister.”

Jason’s mouth felt dry, and he didn’t have single thing to say to her and she whispered, “Is that what you wanted to hear, Jason?” she blinked. “Because that’s what I feel every morning I wake up.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, and she cleared her throat, wiping her cheeks.

“Yeah well, I’m three years passed sorry.” (Y/N) nodded to the front door. “You should leave now.”

Jason nodded but his feet didn’t move. For a moment, he couldn’t move them, then he sucked in a breath and started edging back to the door. When he neared the door, he pulled it open and paused, looking back at her. “(Y/N)?” she didn’t answer but he said it anyway. “I love you. More than you’ve ever known.” He sighed and stepped out, closing it behind him.

(Y/N) buried her face in her hands and sobbed alone at the dinner table.

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Tags!: @itsnottilly @cloudyskylines @starflyer-104 @iwillstaywiththemforever @justine-en @weirdgirlfromtx @notsostraightweeb @candlestudy @willowoo @peterxwade24 @the-atlantic-french-fry @bad-bouquet-of-emotions @vvipgot7be @pure-princess-97 @atomicsoulhumanspy @foreverthefloor @natatawa-ako @impactshawol @bethabear12 @adazzlingsakura @kimhanbiin @thatanonymouschocolate @mischief-writter-24-7 @lostinwonderland314 @elz-zalarrr @lady-of-the-abyss @peqchynero @d3m0n8ch1ld @goldenguki @fallen-wolf22 @battlenix

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tenthgrove · 3 years

Note

Apologies if this is a little in depth/perhaps a bit of a big scenario (or too angsty? I do intend it to be hurt/comfort though!): La Squadra [individual] with a civilian s/o that, through some way or another, ends up getting targeted due to their connection with their partner and is kidnapped and tortured for information regardless of the fact they know very little about their partner’s hitman career/is simply aware of their partner being in passione and not much else. Of course, whomever they’re dating manages to save them, but S/O is absolutely traumatized from the encounter to the point where they’re barely like their former self, are terrified to be left alone for too long, and need near constant reassurance that they’re going to be okay?

Recovery

La Squadra x Reader, Romantic, SFW

Content Warnings: PTSD, Depression, General Trauma Reactions

Formaggio- He was always so laid back about everything. He had you both convinced that nothing bad could ever come of your relationship, even if he was a hardened criminal and you weren't. Is it possible that, if he had urged you to protect yourself more, this never would have happened? Seeing you so traumatised completely breaks his heart. The way you no longer react to his corny humour wrecks him. He is sympathetic to your pleas not to be alone, and comes up with the solution to shrink you into his pocket for missions. But then again, taking you to situations that could potentially remind you of your trauma might not be helpful. He'll let you decide for yourself between that, and having him leave his phone in his pocket while it's on call to you, so you can hear his voice all the time as he's away on his work.

Illuso- You always did want him to spend more time with you. Now every moment you weren't together is a deep regret. If he was there, he could have saved you before they even harmed a hair on your head. At first, his main concern was your physical health, yelling and snapping at Melone to work faster as he tended to your wounds, but over the next few days it became clear your mental scars ran far deeper. Partially brought on by his own terror of you being hurt again, he asks permission to keep you in the mirror world as much as possible for the immediate future, when there's nobody who can be with you. Chances are, you'll want this anyway to feel safer, and it also helps you feel assured about him. You know that no matter what, if you're in the mirror world, Illuso is alive. When you leave the mirror world, it's always at his side.

Prosciutto- Of course he blames himself. As your lover it is wrong, no, reprehensible, for him to have failed to protect you from this danger, and the guilt destroys him for a long time. Prosciutto always felt himself good at motivating people but it's different when their joy has been completely torn from them from the inside. So he is largely quiet. If you were not already living together Prosciutto moves you into the room at the base so he can take care of you properly, and let those he trusts do it in his stead when he's not able to. He apologises to you profusely for what happened, and comforts you with touch when his words fail him. He tries to be rational in assuring you that this will not happen again- describing how secure the base is and how thoroughly they eliminated the group that took you in revenge for your pain. If it helps, he'll even get you a jar of your chief abuser's ashes, to remind you always that he is dead and gone.

Pesci- He cries a lot. You both do. No matter the circumstances of your kidnapping, he is convinced his failures are to blame. He despairs, convinced he doesn't deserve to have you after what he's done. He waits on you hand and foot 24 hours of the day, rushing to bring you whatever you wish and cuddling you tight for comfort. As much as Prosciutto despises Pesci slacking, he fully appreciates the sensitivities of the situation and lets him have the first few months attending to you fully, before gradually ushering him back to his training. Pesci is completely lost on what to do with you, but the one thing he knows is that you feel better when he's with you. So he'll stay with you, day in and day out, until your old self comes back. If there's anything else he can do to help, just ask.

Melone- He knows a fair bit about trauma. Psychology is an interest of his and he reads up on it often. Still, nothing could prepare him for actually seeing such a mental state play out on the person he loves. If anything, his knowledge only makes it worse for him- forced to watch as a textbook case of PTSD unfolds in the weeks after your rescue. He wishes he could take you to a therapist but that's not possible without endangering the team further, so he's forced to use whatever techniques he can scrounge together to try and help you through it himself. With your informed consent, he encourages you to gradually be more open about what happened so you can come to terms with it, all while exposing you to his bottomless affections in order to stimulate the love hormones that will help you recover.

Ghiaccio- This shouldn't have happened. He was the strongest, right? He should have been able to stop this from happening. Though he doesn't mean to, Ghiaccio somewhat shuts down himself in response to what happened to you, and it far from helps your deterioration. He alternates between the most vicious rants about how he should have saved you sooner and periods of terrifying quiet, the two of you just sitting there together, appreciating you're both still alive. The one thing he can do is reassure you this won't happen again. He might have been vigilant before, but now he's going to hold back nothing. He completes his missions at record time and races right back to be with you. He swears to god that he'll never let this happen again.

Risotto- He supposes it's no surprise they came after you when you're the partner of the squad's leader. He should have seen this coming, he should have done something. The first time he sees you after you're physically lucid, he drops to his knees to beg your forgiveness for failing you. The loss of your old self wounds Risotto deeply, and he'll do anything he can to bring it back. Taking you to old date spots and reliving activities that used to make you happy might just go a long way to helping you enjoy life again. The good news is that the bulk of Risotto's work is just planning for missions, so you're welcome to sit nearby if it helps you feel safer. The rest of the team all respect Risotto greatly, so they're happy to take his in-person missions for however long it takes for you to start to feel better, so he can be with you as much as possible.

Sorbet and Gelato- They've never felt their blood boil like it did when they learned of what had happened to you. They actually kept the guy who personally tortured you alive, for a while, tied up in their basement so they could make him suffer longer. But seeing them come out all bloodied frightened you too much, so they finished him off quickly. With you of course, they are nothing but soft, reminding you day in and day out everything will be alright. If it isn't, they'll fight god to make it. They swear their love for you every moment, kissing your scars and squeezing your hand in a silent gesture of reassurance. Every night, they lay you down between them and cling to you tight, their warmth reminding you that they are always there.

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deniigi · 3 years

Text

Please take this section from a piece about Baby Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon bonding post Bandomeer.

I’m sure that this isn’t how their master-apprentice relationship was formed but I refuse to read so this is it for me 🙃🙂

Title: platelets

Summary: After the smoke clears on Bandomeer, the Agricorps gathers 12yo Obi-Wan into their ranks and prepares to train him to become one of their own. Qui-Gon thinks they should wait a damn minute here. He’s had a change of heart.

---

Obi-Wan was no longer in the med bay. It took Qui-Gon two hours to find him and two years off his life trying to look casual under the irritated gaze of so many suspicious Agricorps members.

The foreman (forewoman) was the first to crack under Qui-Gon’s very charming smile—and she didn’t so much as crack as tell him that his attempts to be subtle disgusted her to the core.

Obi-Wan had been given over to a young lab manager. A friendly man in need of his first supervisee. He was soft at heart and, according to the foreman, very good with kids.

Qui-Gon understood implicitly and rapidly that this was his new competitor.

He asked the foreman what the knights had done to incur the corps’ ire and she told him to search his fucking feelings.

She closed the door behind him, effectively locking him into one of the Agricorps terrarium-lab bubbles.

Qui didn’t like to snoop. He loved to snoop.

Nothing was more satisfying then having a poke through the lines upon lines of glasses and test pockets that covered the tables. He had a sniff around the experimental cuttings taking root in their glasses and then took cover when he heard a voice break out into a laugh.

He peered over the edge of the counter and spotted the familiar green smock-tunic of the corps. Its owner had tan skin and narrow eyes and his back stooped into an arc. Qui-Gon craned his neck and found that the arc came over the tuft-y red hair of his future apprentice (because there was no real question here, regardless of the corps’ agitation; the knights would always get first choice over the initiates).

The lab manager, however, gave no sign of trepidation. He held in front of Obi-Wan a handful of seeds that sprouted and curled under his smile. Obi-Wan watched them with wide eyes. The manager turned his gentle face down towards Obi-Wan and nudged his hands until Obi-Wan was holding the mass as it grew.

“Look, you’re a natural,” the man said.

Obi-Wan sucked in a lip and focused hard. One of the plants’ first adult leaves began to unfurl.

“Well done. Fantastic,” the manager said. “Look at you already. Great job and for that, a reward.”

“A reward?” Obi-Wan asked, handing the tangle of roots off as the manager held out his hands for them.

“A reward,” the manager agreed, plucking one of the fat stems from the bunch and holding it out to Obi-Wan, “A snack.”

Damn. This guy was good.

The foreman was smug as a dungbeetle in shit when Qui-Gon skulked out of the lab. She asked him how his proposal had gone. He scowled at her and made off back to his quarters.

Normally, he would call someone to lament the traitorous actions of these supposed-allies, but no one was going to be sympathetic right now—not even Tahl. She was going to say what everyone else was going to say which was “Man, you had how many chances to get this right?”

He smashed his face into the pillow of his bunk, then flung it off and flattened his cheek against the mattress.

There had to be some way to turn these tides back in his favor. He wasn’t losing to the Agricorps. Master Dooku would have a heart attack. Qui’s failure in this—more than Xanatos—would kill him and then he’d have to live with that guilt for the rest of his life.

UGH.

Alright, Jinn. Think.

He had a brilliant plan. It involved a lightsaber. Obi-Wan loved lightsabers. Qui-Gon had witnessed him loving them many a time.

He scrounged up some tools and squeaked past the Agricorps security for a quick bounce off to acquire a crystal. A blue one. Obi-Wan looked like a blue saber sort of kid. It took a while to find one because everyone, everywhere, was conspiring against Qui-Gon on this. Even the Force seemed to be telling him that he was too late.

But for once, he didn’t care. There were only so many times you could fuck up before you started fucking up at least in the right direction.

He got the crystal. He brought it back to the corps headquarters and went on the hunt yet again for his (his damnit) future apprentice.

This time, Obi-Wan was in the dormitories. Qui-Gon almost gasped in horror to find him outfitted in an over-large green smock-tunic. He flapped the too-long sleeves with a goofy smile while his lab manager reached around him and tightened the belt at his waist as far as it would go.

“You’re so scrawny,” the lab manager told him. “We’ll fix that.”

Obi-Wan beamed up at him and held up his sleeve-covered hands.

“I like green,” he said.

A small piece of Qui-Gon screamed internally.

“I think you’re more of a blue, actually,” the lab manager said. “But this is what we’ve got for now. When you get bigger, we can see if there’s a blue that fits you.”

“There are so many colors,” Obi-Wan said as the manager trapped his arm and started rolling up one of the sleeves. He tried to do the same with the other on his own, which just made the manager’s job harder.

“There are,” the manager said.

“Do you get to pick?”

“You sure do.”

“How do you pick?”

The manager patted Obi-Wan’s head and turned around to hunt down something else from the spare clothing supply.

“It comes to you,” he said, muffled.

There was a long silence. Qui-Gon had just decided to step out of hiding, when Obi-Wan, looking at the rolled edges of his sleeves said,

“I think I want to leave.”

Qui-Gon’s heart stopped. The manager’s rummaging did, too. He pulled himself carefully out of the cupboard.

“Leave?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Obi-Wan said to his sleeves. “I think I want to leave.”

No.

“You’re a little young to leave, aren’t you?” the manager said awkwardly.

“Maybe,” Obi-Wan said. “But I’ll figure it out. If I can survive those people in the mines, then I can figure it out, can’t I? And then I can pick my colors out there. You get to pick, right? Maybe I’ll do blue after all.”

Fuck. No. Qui-Gon was gonna—

“Hey, why don’t we do this?” the manager said, setting aside a set of gaiters to kneel down in front of Obi-Wan. “Let’s give us a trial run, huh? Two months, max. I know we didn’t make the best first impression, but give us two months—eight weeks—and after that, if you don’t like it, we’ll make sure you’ve got somewhere to go when you’re ready to leave. Does that sound okay?”

Qui-Gon held his breath. Obi-Wan studied the knuckles of the hands holding his. He rubbed his split lips together.

“Eight weeks?” he asked.

“That’s all, no more and if you really, really can’t stand it, then even less,” the manager said.

“And you’ll help me? Even if I say I don’t want to stay?”

“Even if you don’t want to stay.”

Maybe Qui was operating on another, less child-friendly level here, but why in kark’s name you’d even give the boy the illusion of choice was beyond him. The answer was, truly, that the second Obi-Wan set foot away from the jedi, he’d be signing his own death sentence.

Xanatos wouldn’t care if he wasn’t Qui-Gon’s true apprentice. He wouldn’t ask those kinds of questions. He’d just seize the opportunity the moment Obi-Wan no longer had someone standing behind him, and when he was through, he’d bring the body to the Temple and lay it out cold and open-eyed on the front steps.

There were no other options for the child now. Qui-Gon was being kind with this process of trust-building. In reality, if he really needed to, he could contact Yoda and acquiesce to his previous wisdom and arguments for Qui-Gon to take the kid on. Yoda would then change the boy’s assignment and orders; he would return to the temple and thereafter again go through the selection process. But this time, Qui-Gon would select him without hesitation.

That wasn’t how Qui-Gon wanted to do this, but if the boy thought that he was going to leave, to step out into the cold of space, then to spare him a cruel, meaningless death, Qui-Gon would.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said quietly to the manager.

“Anytime, hon,” the manager said. “Who knows, anyways. You might even like it here.”

The trouble with the damn Agricorps was that they were phenomenal talkers. They talked to people about their problems and all these insecurities and they gave them food and drinks and told jokes and laughed and hefted their littlest supervisees up onto their shoulders and all that served to make their members loyal to each other to a fault.

In short, Obi-Wan’s lab manager was winning this battle more every day.

This was not helped at all by the fact that Qui-Gon had discovered through a surprise meeting that Obi-Wan was afraid of him.

They’d bumped into each other in the hallway as Obi-Wan came from the mess hall and Qui-Gon went to drop off some documents, and the kid scrambled away from him and flattened himself against the corridor’s wall.

Some serious meditation (and agitating Mace, great tower of sleep-deprived wisdom) had brought Qui-Gon to the conclusion that yeah, a month in forced labor, being banished to a mine, food deprivation, physical assault, and so on really did a number on a twelve-year-old’s trust in people and their associates.

Further, Mace pointed out that Qui-Gon was approximately ‘half a mile tall and covered in overgrowth.’

He did not appear to be a soothing presence to children. Mace said that if he’d deigned to join him and the other masters in chatting and cuddling the younglings in the crèche, this wouldn’t have been a problem, but alas, Qui, you stuck-up nerfherder. You reap what you sow.

Mace’s hind and foresight was, as per usual, invaluable.

Qui-Gon decided that he was going to be the nice version of himself. He was going to smile at Obi-Wan. That would do it.

It didn’t do it.

The foreman came to Qui-Gon’s quarters to gleefully tell him not to approach the corps’ young supervisees unprompted. He was giving the children hives.

He explained to her outright that he intended to take Obi-Wan on as his apprentice.

She told him good luck. Obi-Wan, she claimed, was already settling in with the others. He was making friends. And Qui-Gon wasn’t so cruel as to separate such a traumatized boy from such comfort, now was he?

But there, she was mistaken.

He definitely was that cruel.

The foreman told him to die miserable and slammed his door.

It took another two tries, but eventually, he managed to find Obi-Wan tucked away on one of his breaks from his training in the lab. He appeared to be at a loss for what to do with himself. He’d settled against a window and had splayed both hands on it as he stared out into the cracked soil of Bandomeer.

Qui-Gon watched him for a little while and then cleared his throat.

Obi-Wan jumped. His eyes came up for the briefest second and then his head went down.

“Master,” he greeted.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon replied. “You seem bored.”

Guilt colored the boy’s cheeks in a flush.

“I’m not bored, Master,” he said, fidgeting with his rolled sleeves.

“May I sit?” Qui-Gon asked, gesturing next to where Obi-Wan knelt. He nodded and arranged himself in a more dignified posture. Qui-Gon let him; he sat down next to him, grumbling and creaking and popping.

His bones weren’t what they used to be.

Once he was finally more or less comfortable, he turned to notice Obi-Wan staring at him with eyes like a cat’s.

“What? You never seen an old man sit?” he asked.

“What happened to your hair?” Obi-Wan asked.

Oh.

“It’s in a bun,” Qui-Gon explained, reaching up to release the mane. It tumbled down over his shoulders and cheered for fresh air.

Obi-Wan’s gaze became even more cat-like. Qui-Gon fought off a smirk.

“You want to touch it?” he asked.

The kid looked away abruptly.

“It’s okay. You can touch it,” Qui told him. “It looks better than it feels, I must say. Needs a trim—look at these ends, little one. I ought to be arrested for crimes against decency.”

Aha. Gotcha. Look at that wobble in those lips. Trying not to smile. They’d see how long that worked, now wouldn’t they?

He badgered Obi-Wan until he finally broke and reached up to brush his fingers against the hair Qui-Gon put within his reach. His attention snapped into place.

“It’s soft,” he said, amazed.

His fingers started combing without permission. Qui-Gon let it happen.

“Very useful for cold climates—have you ever felt a snow-yak, Obi-Wan?” he asked.

The boy shook his head. Of course, he hadn’t.

“Do you know what they look like?”

Another shake.

“Well, perhaps one day, you will see them,” Qui-Gon said indulgently. “When I was a boy, my master told me not to try to pet them—he told me at every step of the way, he knew me well. But you know what I did?”

There was that smile now.

“You pet them?” Obi-Wan asked.

“I sure did,” Qui-Gon told him. “And you know that they did?”

“Kicked you?”

“Me? No. I was too small a target. They charged my master—Master Dooku; you may have heard of him.”

Obi-Wan shoved his giggles into his palms.

“I want to pet one,” he said.

“Yes, you do look like the type,” Qui-Gon said. “Tell me, Obi-Wan, what are your feelings on pathetic lifeforms?”

“What’s that?”

“You tell me. What’s a pathetic lifeform to you?”

Obi-Wan settled in and thought about it as he gazed out the window’s thick glass.

“Me,” he decided.

Bless him.

“You?” Qui-Gon said incredulously. “No, no. You saved a jedi master. I said ‘pathetic.’”

“Me,” Obi-Wan insisted again.

Qui-Gon held a finger out between them.

“If you are a pathetic life form, then I am in grave danger,” he said.

The giggle this time wasn’t hidden. It make Qui-Gon’s own grin grow.

“I was thinking a lothcat,” he admitted. “Or a dragon—love a dragon. Of course, the yak—perhaps not pathetic to my master, but to others yes. They’re not smart, Obi-Wan, poor things.”

“You like animals,” Obi-Wan said.

Qui-Gon weighed this statement with his head.

“’Animals’ isn’t quite broad enough, but yes, they fall into the category,” he said. “I’m also a big fan of rescuing the plants that no one can keep alive.”

Obi-Wan brought up his knees and wrapped his arms around them. He settled a soft cheek onto the top of the right one.

“That’s what I’ll be doing here,” he said.

“Indeed,” Qui-Gon said.

There was a long pause. The boy sniffed softly.

“You will be happy here,” Qui-Gon told him gently. “They will take care of you.”

Another sniff. An eye scrubbed with a too-long sleeve.

“I’m sorry I’m not good enough,” Obi-Wan whispered.

Well, this was a conversation Qui-Gon hadn’t wanted to walk into. There were, from his vantage point, a few ways out of it, but at the end of each of those paths was a set of brown eyes framed by intense, wispy green brows.

“You are good enough,” Qui-Gon said. “I am just a foolish master. You deserve someone better than me, Obi-Wan.”

“There is no one else,” Obi-Wan said.

“There will be,” Qui-Gon said.

“No, there won’t. I’m out of time. All that’s left for me is...this,” Obi-Wan said, gesturing to the landscape beyond the window.

Qui-Gon studied it; the cracks in the soil, the piles of broken stones.

“It is a little bleak,” he admitted.

“What is it like for non-jedi people?” Obi-Wan asked. “Do they go to school? How do they find somewhere to sleep?”

“You will not be a non-jedi person,” Qui-Gon said.

There was a long pause.

“What?”

Qui-Gon sucked in a breath and let his shoulders fall.

“Unless you really want to be one,” he added. “Apologies, I spoke without thinking.”

Those blue eyes were the same color as the crystal in Qui-Gon’s pocket. He put his hand inside of it and pulled the carefully wrapped parcel out so that Obi-Wan could see it. He rolled it slowly until only the crystal sat in his palm.

“There is greatness in you, Obi-Wan,” he said. “And I am not a good enough Master, but you are more than a deserving padawan.”

The eyes flicked from the crystal to Qui-Gon’s face once, then twice.

“Do you mean it?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Are you okay with having a silly master?” Qui-Gon asked. “I will not sugar-coat it—one of my students has already fallen. I am the type of person who Master Windu has been dreaming of the unfortunate demise for since we were children.”

“Why?” Obi-Wan asked with eyes only for the crystal.

“Excellent question. I am told that my brain is fundamentally ill-suited for human interaction,” Qui-Gon said with a smile.

Obi-Wan huffed.

“Does Master Windu really dislike you so much?” he asked.

“He speaks to me in such ways only out of love. My other friends say that I am dedicated intensely to the flight of fancy.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Obi-Wan said.

“You know, funny thing,” Qui-Gon told him, reaching over to take his hand and press the crystal into it, “Neither do I.”

#Obi-Wan Kenobi #qui-gon jinn #I think Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon should be the kind of apprentice and master who deserve each other #and by that I mean that they both do shit that make the other's teeth grind but they bear it with a smile #fic #ficlet

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probsjosh · 3 years

Text

Bumblebee

Schlatt Coin origin story.

Dad!Schlatt x reader but I made it fuckin sad.

edit: I fucking forgot to mention this is GN!Reader I'm such an idiot

Warning: mentions of alcohol, cheating/affairs, abandonment, gambling, not explicit but reference to murder, angst (if there’s anything else I missed please tell me)

So uh, Dad!Schlatt angst aye?

_________________________________________

It had been a great Friday afternoon. Schlatt decided he’d wanted to take you, his spouse, and son out for the day to have some fun, going to having lunch, then visiting the local ice cream shop before stopping at an arcade to spoil Tubbo for the night. It was rare for your family of three to have these outings but it made it all that much more special when you had the time and money to do so.

After playing and collecting tickets for the better part of two hours, Tubbo had finally scrounged up just enough tickets to get the giant bee plushie he’d been eyeing all year. It was bigger than his torso, square-shaped, and undeniably adorable. What was even more adorable was this pudgy little three-year-old waddling his way up to the prize counter, holding an unreasonable amount of tickets in his arms. There’s a small moment of panic when he realizes he can’t quite reach the top of the counter when his dad comes to the rescue, lifting him up so he can open his arms and let the tickets fall in front of the impressed employee.

“Gimme da bee,” Is all he says, his contagious laughter ringing out as the bee is retrieved and handed over to the giddy child. “Tank you!” is all the employee gets before he buries his face into the plush. Schlatt laughs and hugs him tighter, he kisses his forehead as you look at them awestruck, a loving smile on your face. It was moments like these that reminded you how much you loved your family. Tubbo managed to peel himself away from his newfound love long enough to yell at you, “Look! I got da bee! Look!” You laugh as you come closer to them, pressing a kiss onto Tubbos forehead, “My little Bumblebee has his own bumblebee!” His little giggles muffled by the bee as he nods, “I got a bumby bee!”

Once you were all back home, there was a knock at the door. You were sitting in the bathroom with Tubbo, who was enjoying a bubble bath, so Schlatt went to answer the door. There was some muffled talking before he appeared in the bathroom doorway. “I’m gonna go out to the casino with the boys for a while. Think you can survive a few hours without me?” Tubbo emerges from his mountain of bubbles, giggling before he dove back in, “I think we’ll be okay,” you laugh as your son piles the bubbles onto his head like a hat. Schlatt smiles and gives you a quick kiss before heading out. “Don’t get too shit-faced!” you call after him, you hear a soft, “I’ll try!” before the door shuts.

He apparently didn’t try hard enough. He stumbles in the front door at 4 a.m. reeking of booze, the lingering smell of cigarette smoke staining his clothes. You came downstairs to help him into the bathroom. “I think-” he hiccups as you sit him on the rim of the bathtub, “I think I got a little too shit-faced.” He smiles apologetically, swaying lightly, before reaching into his pocket, “I made some money though.” You smile back, but chastise him for drinking and coming home late anyways, but you knew he probably didn’t mean to get as drunk as he did and it seemed like he’d had fun.

It wasn’t a problem at first. At first, it was just a weekend a month. Then one weekend became two, became every other week, became if he wasn’t at work, he was at that damn casino, became you weren’t even sure if he still had a job. You weren’t even sure when it started but you very quickly realized what a problem it had become. Schlatt was never home. And if he was he would only appear to drop off a wad of cash, give Tubbo a hug, try to show you any semblance of affection which you outright rejected, and he’d be out the door again. You’d stopped trying to keep him at home, seeing as he’d just disappear no matter what you told him, no matter how much you asked for him to stay, he never did.

Your breaking point was when Tubbo just stopped asking where his dad was. It was almost as if he’d forgotten who his father was, and the only person to blame was Schlatt. So one night you asked your neighbors if they could watch Tubbo for just a little while, they agreed, and you were off to the casino to drag your alcoholic, gambling addict of a husband back home.

It wasn’t difficult to spot him in public, his ram horns like a crown atop his head made him a beacon for attention, and he was definitely getting it. He sat at a Roulette table, a rather large crowd gathered around him, towers of chips in front of him, one arm slung around some twink, the other arm knocking over towers of chips to signify him placing his bet. He was always one to put on a show.

“Always bet on black!” he shouted, and the crowd around him roared, as the dealer pushed his newly won earnings towards him. He took a sip of his drink before he leaned down and kissed the man pressed against his side.

That made you see red.

You stormed over, the crowd parting like the red sea at the sight of your fury until you were met with JSchlatt himself. “Hey, what happened...” was all he could say before he turned to see you standing there in front of him, furious and heartbroken.

“How could you?” You sounded so angry at first. “How fucking could you.” But it melted away into sorrow. The tears flowed down easily, you didn’t bother trying to hide how much he’d hurt you. But after months of never seeing him at home, did you really think he would remain faithful to you? Did the thought of Schlatt living out of a casino, on a never-ending gambling train, never make you think that he was doing something, or rather someone, else?

No. In all honesty, it hadn’t. You’d been naive enough to trust the man with the Devil’s Horns with every aspect of yourself, thinking that maybe if you loved him enough, he’d love you just the same. And as you stood in front of the man you once called the love of your life. The father to your gorgeous child. The man that promised to love you till the end of your days.

You saw the pure horror in his eyes.

Not the shame you’d expected, nor the anger at the fact that he’d been caught. He was terrified. Of what, you couldn’t be sure and you honestly didn’t care. Anger clouded your judgment, as you saw him take a step towards you, an arm extended out to reach for you. You swatted his hand away and sobbed. Hot, angry tears streamed down your face as you yelled. Profanities, curses to his name, wishes that you’d never met the wretched man, and he was so taken aback, he stumbled back and into the table. Every single one of his chip towers fell, the dealer didn’t bat an eye and accepted his entire haul as a bet. Schlatt realized too late as he turned to see the wheel spin.

Red, 16.

You’d stopped yelling by now, trying to collect yourself, as you felt both his hands clamp onto your arms, “Honey, darling, I’m gonna need you to listen to me, okay?” You tried to pull away, fighting against his grip, but he apparently wasn’t as drunk as he made it out to seem. “Please, I know I fucked up, just please for the love of God listen to me for just one fucking second.”

The urgency and desperation in his voice caught your attention and you knew he was being serious. You stopped fighting in his grip and met his gaze.

“I need you to go home. I need you to take Tubbo, take any cash you have left, and nothing else. And I need you to run. As far and as fast as you can. Do you understand me?” The fear in his eyes suddenly made sense as you nodded twice. He let out a choked breath before he whispered, “I’m so sorry,” as he let go of you. You didn’t say anything in return, only giving him one last look of pained understanding as you turned on your heel and ran as fast as you could.

Schlatt stood there, staring at the spot where the love of his life had stood. He closed his eyes, trying to stop the tears from coming down when he heard the awfully familiar voice of the casino owner as he walked onto the floor. As it turns out, Schlatt had been in that casino 24/7 because he owed someone powerful a lot, and I mean a lot, of money. “JSchlatt. Friend. We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” Schlatt flinches as he feels Dreams' hand land on his shoulder. He opens his eyes, the shit-eating grin he’d come to perfect settling on his face so fucking naturally, as he turned to face his demon. “Dream! Ah! What a lovely surprise-”

“Cut the shit Schlatt. What the hell just happened to my money.” It's not a question. He knows what happened, he just wants to see Schlatt squirm.

"I can— I can get it all back. I promise. I promise— please just," he swallows what little pride he has left and he begins to unravel in front of Dream, "Just leave my spouse and kid alone." Dream tsks and looks Schlatt over once, pausing for just a second before he sighs and reaches into his pocket.

He takes Schlatts wrist and presses a single gold coin into his palm, closing the drunks fist around it. Schlatt, grateful for this second chance, almost sighs in relief, but before he can, Dream speaks again, "Your last coin, Schlatt. Be smart with it." Immediately Dreams lackeys rush past them, out the door, and into the night looking for blood. Schlatt realizes far too late. "NO—" Dreams grip on his wrist tightens, as Schlatt stumbles and falls in front of him.

“I told you Schlatt. There would be a price to pay.”

Schlatt finally breaks in front of Dream, gripping the coin in his hand, as he screams for the family he knows he's already lost.

You stumbled up to your neighbor’s door, slamming your fists repeatedly on their front door before a panicked woman opened the door. It was well into the night at this point, and you’d feel much more sympathy for her if the fear and adrenaline course through you weren’t making you as panicked as she looked. You rushed pasted her, picking Tubbo up from where he lay sleeping, thanked her profusely before you apologized, and bolted out of her house. You gripped Tubbo to your chest as you ran down the street and into the city, pasted closed shops, and speeding cars. Tubbo never once stirring from his slumber, his little arms wrapped around his bee plush, his blanket catching all your tears as you bolted haphazardly through the city.

You didn't know much about the man who ran the casino but you knew what happened to the people that crossed him.

You didn't have it in you to outright hate Schlatt for this. It may have been his actions that lead to this but it was obvious he never meant to put either you or Tubbo in harm’s way. The look on his face was enough to tell you he still loved you with every fiber of his being but that was not enough to excuse him for what he'd done. You didn’t think you’d ever forgive him for what he’d done to you and Tubbo, but you knew that didn’t matter now. What mattered was making sure Tubbo was safe.

You came across an alleyway that went into the forest bordering the city. You knew there was only so much you could do in the city, so you chose to gamble your chances in the woods. After hours of dodging trees, bushes, and boulders, getting as far away from the sounds of the men coming after you as you could, you manage to find yourself on the other side of the forest. The sun was rising in the distance as you came to a clearing. A road that lead out of the city and into the undeveloped land surrounding it.

Then you spot it.

A box. A simple box sitting on the side of the lonely road leading out of the city. As you got closer the words "FREE ITEMS" written on the side in bold black marker made it clear that this was a donation box. You knew this is Tubbos’ only chance. Frantically, you search the box and luckily find the very marker used to write on the box that had been tossed in by its original owner. You carefully lower Tubbo into the box, uncap the marker and on the inside flap quickly scribble "His name is tubbo, take care of him, please.”

You don't even realize you're crying until your vision is too blurry to see the words. You hear a shout coming from the woods and you know you have to go. Suppressing your sobs, you quickly press a kiss into his forehead for the last time, "Goodbye my little Bumblebee." A sad smile comes onto your features as you close the flaps of the box enough to hide him before turning back into the forest and running in without looking back. A newfound determination in you as you make as much noise as you can, hoping that they would be satisfied in only killing you and leave your baby alone.

A few hours pass and there are screams coming from within the forest that are abruptly cut off. Tubbo stirs in his box and awakens as the sun comes up, spilling into his new temporary home. He sits up, confused and alone when he hears a voice coming up the road. Fear gets the better of him and he ducks down into the box as he hears a small voice yell, "Dadza! Dadza! Can I check what’s inside that box?" There’s a low chuckle, and a soft, "Sure son, go ahead," before Tubbo can hear small footsteps quickly approaching him.

Tubbo grips his plushie as he hears the small footsteps slow down, before stopping completely. Suddenly the box flaps open and a little blonde boy’s head pokes out over the edge, blue eyes peering down at him. A moment passes as both boys stare at each other in confusion before the blonde boy calls out again.

"Daaaaad! There's a baby in the box!" The heavy footsteps stop suddenly. "A what?" The footsteps start up again, and suddenly a man in a green and white striped bucket hat appears. Confusion turns to worry, as the man’s eyes settle on the message scribbled into the box. “So. Tubbo? Is it?”

Tubbos’ grip on his plushie becomes even tighter, but he nods slowly, eyes dancing between the boy and the man. “Well, Tubbo. Guess I’m your dad now. My name is Philza,” he gestures to the boy, “and this is Tommy.” Tubbos eyes meet Tommys, and Tommy grins at the boy in front of him. “Hi, Tubbo! You’re gonna be my best friend!” At these words, Tubbo smiles and stands in his box, dropping his bee in favor of hugging Tommy. “Hi, Tommy.” Is all he says as Tommy hugs Tubbo back. Philza smiles at the boys in front of him, unable to find it in him to worry about how his twins would react to the family’s new addition.

Back in the city, Schlatt stumbles back home for the first time in weeks, being greeted by a cold and silent house. He shuts the door behind him and slumps down onto the floor. A bottle of Jack Daniels already half-empty meets his lips as he begins to cry again. Longing for the family that he lost the moment he struck that stupid deal with Dream. His fingers play with the singular gold coin he has to his name.

Schlatts coin.

Bonus:

He liked to walk the length of the city during the day. The sights and sounds were enough to drown out his hungover thoughts. He'd be sober for most of the day before he returned to the casino to drown his sorrow in liquor, but for now he could relish in the warm sun as he came to the edge of the city. There was a playground near where the forest and city collided that he usually avoided, in fear of breaking down over hearing the children's laughter, but for some reason today he felt nostalgia for the happy times he'd once had.

He walks the sidewalk, tears coming to his eyes as his guilt comes crashing back. Coming to a bench, he sits down, hands cradling his head, as he tries to get a hold of himself together. Suddenly he hears him. He hears his son shouting, "Dad! Dad!" followed by his laughter.

Thinking he'd finally gone insane, he looks up expecting to see some random kid yelling for their father. Instead he's met with the sight of his Tubbo running around the playground as fast as his little feet will carry him, giggling as a little blonde boy chases him. "Tub-Tubbo?" his own words are nothing but whispers, but his son is shouting, "Dad!" another giggle, "Dadza! Dadza!" a man with large black wings stands from his bench to catch Tubbo as he launches himself into his arms, "Tommy's chasing me! He's chasing me!" the man laughs as the other boy, presumably Tommy, runs into the man's legs, "We're playing tag dummy! I'm supposed to chase you!" the three laugh as the man sits down once again, Tubbo still in his arms, and Tommy clambers onto the bench as well.

Schlatts face is wet with tears. He's alive. Tubbo was alive. His son was alive and happy and‐ and without him. Without his parents. Grief rocks Schlatts body once more, a single sob escaping him before he rubs his eyes, takes 3 deep breaths, and collects himself.

What mattered here was that Tubbo was safe. He was alive. And he was happy. Schlatt stands, sparing a final glance at his son, silently thanking the man for taking him in, and he begins to walk away without turning back.

Tubbo turns in time to see a man with ram horns turn the corner as he walks away. "....dad?" his smile dropped as he pulled away from Phil, walking to where he saw the man. "Tubbo? What's wrong?" Phil asked, the concern evident in his voice. Tubbo says nothing and instead makes his way over to the sidewalk, Phil and Tommy close behind.

As he stepped into the middle of the walkway he saw no one. His little eyebrows knit together as he turns back to face them. "I thought… I thought I saw my dad...but I haven't seen him in so long- it probably wasn't even him." There's an odd mixture of emotion laced in his words as they make their way back to the bench. "'M sorry Tubbo. Do you want to go back home?" Tubbo nods, taking Phil's hand and Tommy goes over and grabs Tubbos' other hand. He smiles at the younger boy, and Tubbo finds it in him to smile back.

As they begin their trek home Tubbo thinks about the man he saw, and how he could've sworn he recognized his horns.

He could've sworn he recognized his dad's horns.

384 notes · View notes

idabbleincrazy · 2 years

Text

When Doves Cry

Fandom: Angel (Buffyverse)

Rating: E

Pairing: Spangel

Word Count: 4355

Warnings: angst, smut, post-NFA, use of Sire voice, feral smut, rough sex, biting, blood drinking, nipple play, pain play, oral, rimming, anal fingering, blood as lube, praise kink, anal, d/s undertones, vampire dynamics, animalistic smut

Summary: Months after The Battle, things finally come to a head.

A/N: written for @leatafanfiction for her song prompt for the Be My Bloody Valentine event. Sorry I couldn't manage to beat the muse into submission on any of the other prompts. This was meant to be posted on Galantine’s Day, but I can’t wait another day XD

Squares filled: Hopelessness for @lgbtqbingo , Free Space for @anyfandomfluffbingo

Wanna be tagged? Add yourself here! Comments and reblogs feed the muse!!

He didn't know exactly when the bickering and annoyance turned into something more, he just knew that they had been building their way up to this at least since they had walked out of that alley as the sun threatened at the edge of the horizon; if he was completely honest with himself, probably since that moment in a darkened school hallway seven years ago. After holding back for so long, it was no surprise that when they finally let go, the result was explosively chaotic.

They had just gotten back from a patrol of the city, doing what they always did in the downtime between attacks from Wolfram and Hart, keeping the fight going strong and the demon population as low as could be expected for L.A.. Spike had shed his duster on one of the couches of the hotel’s lobby, left his blood and ooze coated axe on the floor, and headed out into the courtyard as he had every night since the fight that should have killed them all.

Except this night was different. This night, he hadn't waited for Angel to fetch the first-aid kit, hadn't waited until they'd patched each other up, as they did after every other rough fight. He hadn't gone to heat up their mugs of blood, hadn't scrounged up Angel's favorite bottle of whiskey, that he always sniffed out no matter where he'd tried to hide it. The routine Angel'd come to grow used to over the past few months was completely ignored. He'd simply walked right past Angel and out the other door.

Angel stared after him for a few moments, contemplating, before following after him. He knew the younger vampire had been injured in the battle, nothing major, but enough that the scent of his Grandchilde’s blood filled his senses, the rich spice of Aurelian blood, of family, overpowering the cloying scent of jasmine that usually kept him away from the courtyard. Beneath the scent of blood he could smell the storm of emotions brewing within the smaller blonde; the scent of Spike’s arousal, he expected, any fight worth its salt never failed to get both of them aching for release, the anger and desolation, however, he had not. What had made this night so different, he’d never know, Spike himself probably didn’t know, and he didn’t plan on asking him anytime soon; he wasn’t so sure he’d like the answer.

He briefly wondered if he should attempt to snap Spike out of his weird mood by nagging at him for leaving his stuff all over the lobby, but quickly dismissed it. He didn’t want to fight, he was tired of fighting, tired of the way their arguments had been escalating more and more lately, even more than they had before the alley. He felt that each yelling match, each little jab they took at each other was bringing them closer to a breaking point, and he didn’t want to think about what might happen once they reached it.

Still hovering in the doorway to the courtyard, he watched Spike walk over to the back wall of the property, kneeling beneath the birch sapling that marked Wesley’s grave. Confused further, Angel couldn’t help the sharp hitch in his breath when he suddenly smelt the salt-tang of tears that tinged the night breeze. Maybe they had reached their breaking point sooner than expected, without even the satisfaction of one final, knock-down, drag-out fight; Spike rarely ever cried, and usually only over the loss of love.

Angel felt a brief pang of jealousy wash over him at the thought of Spike crying over the loss of Wesley’s love, but quickly tamped it down, tossing the thought aside. It had been months since that dreadful night, and Spike had shown no more grief over Wesley’s death than expected of someone who had barely begun to become a friend of the deceased Watcher. No, these tears were the result of something more, something much longer in the making. He hesitated still when he saw Spike stand from his spot on the earth and cross over to one of the stone benches that were set around the yard and sat down. A bird let out a cry somewhere in the distance, and as if it had broken some spell that had been keeping Angel rooted to the spot, the elder vampire moved forward, quickly closing the distance between him and his Childe.

He stopped a foot away from Spike, their eyes meeting as Spike finally lifted his head to face him. The turmoil etched on his face made Angel wince, and he ached to reach out and brush away a tear that clung to his eyelashes.

Spike’s frown turned into a scowl as he stared up at Angel, and before Angel could prepare for it, he leapt from the bench, knocking the larger vampire down to the dirt. He straddled the brunette, his fists landing blows to Angel’s torso, his lips twisted in an ugly gash as he shifted into the face of his demon, fangs glinting in the moonlight that broke through the surrounding trees.

Angel let Spike pummel him, taking the hits and watching the tears continue to slide down his Childe’s face. As Spike’s rage seemed to flag, his punches losing force, Angel thrust up, flipping them over. Grabbing Spike’s wrists, he pinned his arms above his head as he pinned his body to the ground. He stared down at his anguished Childe, tempted to sink fangs into the stretched column of flesh of his neck as Spike turned his head away.

“Look at me, Spike!” Angel growled, his voice taking on a tone he hadn’t dared to use against Spike in decades, too reluctant to dredge up the emotions and memories so deeply enmeshed within the threads of that dominant timbre. “Childe, look at me, and tell me what the fuck that was about. Now.”

Spike let out a barely audible whimper and whipped his head back around to look up at Angel, unable to fully meet his stern gaze.

“Why?” Angel’s own eyes blurred at the wretched sound of just that one word, and he had to force himself not to stop Spike from speaking further. "Christ, Angel, I'm the only one left. The humans have all gone, the Blue Meanie's gone off God knows where. Slayer's livin' her life normal as she can, like we wanted for 'er. Even Dru has left her stars behind in favor of the sun. Months it's been, with no one to get between us, I've been there, by your side at every bloody fight, so why? Did I expect too much? Why haven't you come to me?"

Angel’s eyes narrowed against dawning realization, not wanting to understand as well as he did, unable to maintain ignorance, all the same. Still, Spike sobbed on.

"Did you think I don't know exactly why you run off to your bed as soon as we're through fixin' each other back up? Did you think I've forgotten the scent of your need? Did you forget mine? Months now, months, I've waited. For a look, a touch, anything. I know you want me, every time we argue, I know. Yet you've done nothing! God, how I've wanted to fuck you through the floor every bloody day, take you against every dirty brickwall in every dark alley."

"Then why haven't you?"

Angel couldn’t stop the question from spilling from his lips, and once spoken, needed to know the answer desperately. Spike blinked, mouth working silently as he processed the halt in his rant. He let out a shaky, incredulous laugh as he found his voice again.

"Because, you pillock, I couldn’t! Angelus ain’t so far gone from you that I’d risk you having my hide if I tried makin’ the first move to start things back up again. Learnt my lesson, didn’t I? Christ, mate, you nearly sent me out that sub through the torpedo hatch for it the last time. Was only lucky the lure of all that hot blood surroundin’ us had you riled up enough to give in. Me arm still hadn’t healed up completely ‘fore you made me swim for it. So, yeah, ‘s been up to you to take that step, pet.”

Angel let go of Spike’s wrists and sat back on his heels, his mind reeling. He’d let so much time go to waste, thinking that if Spike had wanted him, had wanted to start up again what they'd left behind so long ago, that he would have initiated it. He’d thought that Spike would have made some -probably loud, definitely vulgar- show of his desire as he had with every other thing he’d wanted from Angel over the years. Had he read everything so wrong?

Spike sat up slowly, demon face still to the fore as he haltingly closed the distance between them, his gaze lingering on Angel’s parted lips before flicking up to meet his eyes. The look on his face hardened, and Angel could feel him slipping away from him again, could see the walls going up behind his eyes, locking away the emotions he had allowed to break free.

“I’m done, Angel. From now on, we fight separate. I’ll still be here to help if some world-ender shows up, but I patrol alone. Try to keep your needs taken care of before you return after a fight, yeah? If it’s still unbearable, I’ll move out. Now, if there’s nothin’ else, mind movin’ your fat arse off me?”

Angel felt his face shift as he surged forward the final scant inches that separated them, his fangs nearly slicing through Spike’s bottom lip as he covered the pouting mouth with his own. Cool lips yielded easily to his with the whisper of a plaintive gasp, and Angel eased the body beneath him back to the ground as hands gripped at his back to pull him ever closer. The taste of Spike’s blood mingled with his own on his tongue as their fangs pricked each other's lips as they explored never-forgotten territory, and Angel growled into the mouth hungrily devouring his own.

His hands clawed desperately at Spike’s t-shirt, shredding the worn fabric with sharpened nails in his need to feel the cool, smooth flesh hidden beneath the black cotton. As he ran his hands over Spike’s chest, he felt him tugging urgently at his shirt, pulling it out of the waistband of his slacks, slim fingers reaching underneath to slide up his back, gripping at his skin. He broke the kiss, pulling back to quickly tear the shirt off, and stared down at his Childe, the yellow of his irises barely visible around wide-blown pupils, mouth gaping and panting with needless breath. Beautifully wanton, chest heaving, and hands endlessly running over any inch of skin he could reach, trying to urge the elder vampire back down to him. Angel wanted to kick himself; how could he have almost lost this glorious creature?

Bending back down, he bypassed Spike’s lips and nipped his way down his jaw, teasing blood to the surface of the pale skin, fangs pricking lightly at his earlobe before he finally spoke.

"Foolish Childe, I've never, never, stopped wanting you. Even through everything that came between us, that need has always been there. Have I forgotten your scent? I would know the scent of you among a crowd of thousands. It tore me up, smelling you, how hot you get after a good brawl, and not being able to ride you into the nearest surface." That tone was still threaded through his words, his chest rumbling with it as he spoke. He felt Spike shudder against him, the already heady scent of his arousal ramping even higher, causing Angel to suppress a groan as he inhaled deeply. "I will never not want you, Spike. I was just too stubborn to act on it, too proud and too scared to reach out to you again, never sure if that hatred you showed for me was really all an act. Every fight between us just solidified my belief that you wanted nothing more to do with me. You aren't going anywhere, Will, not now, not without me chasing you down and dragging you right back here. That enough of a first move for you?"

“Yeah, daresay it is, pet”, Spike moaned into his shoulder, mouthing ceaselessly at any inch of skin he could reach. “Fuck, Angel, we’ve both been so bloody stupid. No more talk, yeah? Wasted too much time already; it’ll keep till tomorrow. Need you.”

Angel growled his agreement into Spike’s ear, eliciting another full-bodied shiver, and teasingly dragged his fangs along the slope of his neck. As he flicked his tongue over the Siring mark on the curve of his shoulder, he felt Spike’s fingers pressing hard at the nape of his neck, a pleading keen falling from his lips. He sank his fangs into Dru’s mark, slipping easily through the pale flesh like a knife through warm butter, a gasping moan of pleasure filling his ears as the sharp tang of family blood filled his mouth. Spike arched up into him, fingers stroking over his skin soothingly as he swallowed down a few mouthfuls of the rich fluid.

Disengaging reluctantly from the closing wound, his tongue laving over it to clean away any last drops, Angel let his demon have a little more control, instinct taking over, and a purr of appreciation and approval rumbled up his throat at his Childe’s offering. He nuzzled briefly into the bared throat, Spike’s replying needy whimper telling him instantly that he wasn’t the only one reverting to his truer nature. Angelus crowed within him, and his already painfully hard cock pressed even more urgently at the zipper of his pants.

Letting his desire guide him, he quickly explored the expanse of smooth, hard flesh writhing deliciously beneath him, pausing only to lave his tongue over first one pebbled nipple, then the other. A steady stream of wordless sounds fell from Spike’s lips as Angel teased the pink buds to straining peaks. Sinking a fang into one of the taut nipples ripped a howl of pleasure from the younger vampire's throat, fingers fisting tightly in his hair as he lapped up the bead of blood from the flushed skin.

Continuing his path down the slim, trembling body, he licked and nipped at curves and muscles, swirling his tongue into Spike’s navel briefly before dragging his sharp teeth along the flat plane of his abdomen to one hip bone jutting starkly from the waist of his jeans. Sucking brusingly hard at the skin, he ran his hand up one quivering leg to paw at Spike's straining hardness. Angel growled hungrily at the spreading patch of wetness he felt dampening the denim and began to tear at the offending piece of clothing separating him from the eager flesh beneath. Silencing Spike's half-hearted snarl of offense at the sound of rending fabric with a warning growl, Angel raised up onto his haunches to hastily pull off Spike’s boots and shed his own pants, tossing them aside with uncharacteristic carelessness.

When the body he'd ached for for so long was finally bared to him, he wasted no time in swooping down to engulf the weeping cock within his mouth. Spike cried out in pleasure, hips arching up to thrust further into the wet coolness that surrounded his throbbing shaft.

"Christ, Angel!" Spike's voice was a breathy gasp, hoarse with the restraint he exerted in not coming at the first flick of that talented tongue over the head of his cock, one hand tangling in Angel's hair, pulling at the short strands as the other clawed at the dirt in desperation. "Sire, luv, please. Too much, gonna cum too soon; wanted this too long, please…"

Angel growled around the heavy length, pulling a deep groan from the blonde, and released his cock with one last slow lick over the leaking head, savoring the taste of his Childe's pre-cum. Gripping Spike’s thighs firmly, he spread his legs wider, baring that hidden ring of muscle to his pleasure. Dipping his head lower, he teased his tongue down over Spike’s heavy sac, delighting in the way he twitched and moaned at the feathery touch.

"Oh, gods, yes, please."

Slipping his tongue down along Spike’s perineum, Angel eased it between the spread firm globes of his ass, over that darker patch of skin that he had been away from for far too long. Working the slick muscle around the tightly furled ring, he felt his cock twitch and leak against his stomach as the rich, erotic, scent and taste of his Childe filled his senses. As the muscle relaxed, Angel pushed his tongue into the tight hole, earning another desperate keen as Spike tried to bear down on the intrusion, his legs trembling in the elder vampire’s grasp.

Licking deeper into him with each thrust, Angel let go of Spike’s legs, allowing them to hook over his shoulders, and pushed his hands under Spike’s ass, fingers flexing, digging into the clenching cheeks as he feasted ravenously. Feeling Spike clench more urgently around his tongue, he begrudgingly eased up his ministrations; he was determined that his Childe would only cum on his cock, and was unsure how well Spike would be able to hold back, as ramped up as they both were tonight. Licking lightly around the loosening ring for another minute, he pulled away.

Spike’s legs fell back to the ground as Angel rose up to his knees, and Angel nearly came himself at the sight he was treated to. Spike’s cock lay flat upon his stomach, the plump head fully exposed now, reddened and angry-looking, and leaking pre-cum copiously. He was heaving great gasps of unnecessary air, his body undulating fruitlessly in its effort to seek friction against the empty air above him. Such a beautiful, desperate picture he made, Angel groaned deeply and gripped tightly at the base of his cock to hold back the impending release he felt surging up from his balls.

Tearing his eyes away from the wriggling blonde, he brought his arm up to his lips and tore into his wrist, letting the blood run down his hand to coat his fingers. At the potent smell of Angel’s blood, Spike snarled and made to rise up from the ground, stopping only at the rumbling growl from his Sire. Carefully and quickly slicking his cock with the fluid, Angel dropped back over Spike, claiming his lips as he easily plunged two thick digits into the slick hole. Spike moaned against Angel’s lips, bucking down against the probing fingers as Angel scissored them, stretching him as efficiently as he could as he fought against the demon urging him to just tear into the tempting body squirming under him. Even running on instinct, he didn’t want to cause Spike unnecessary pain.

“Liam, please…” Spike breathed out, fingers scratching at Angel’s back, his knees digging into his sides as he tried to gain a more substantial leverage to push against. “Sire, please, need more.”

Thrusting a third finger into the widening hole, Angel pumped into him faster, pulling at the edges of the clenching ring of muscle. He felt Spike’s cock brush against his as the blonde arched up into him, drawing a groaning hiss from his lips. With one last fevered kiss and a final thrust of his fingers, he withdrew from the body writhing beneath him, rising back up on his knees. Spike whined at the loss and grabbed at him, trying to draw that reassuring bulk back down on him.

“Turn over”, Angel ordered, his demon pleased at the haste with which his Childe hurried to comply, a purr rumbling deep in his chest at the sight of the younger vampire rising onto all fours to present to him. “Good boy. Always so perfect, my little one”

Spike whimpered and visibly shuddered at the praise and possession, the demon responding to the approval of its elder. Angel growled hungrily at the arousing picture his boy made; ass high and wriggling enticingly in anticipation, legs spread wide, that slick hole visible and clenching against nothing, pale, lithe back sloping downward as Spike braced his head on the pillow of his hands. It was a sight he had sorely missed over the long decades, and his cock twitched, a thick drop of pre-cum dripping from the tip as he shuffled closer.

Settling between Spike’s legs, his hips pressing firmly against the trembling, pale cheeks, he spread Spike open to him further, his thumb dipping into the gaping hole testingly. Satisfied, he took himself in hand and notched the head of his aching cock at the rim of that tantalizing hollow. Pressing in on one smooth stroke, Angel let out a loud groan as he bottomed out, one hand gripping tight at Spike’s hip, the other sliding soothingly up his spine as the blonde keened and tried to buck further back onto him. Angel fought not to cum at the feeling of the tight muscle gripping his cock so greedily, his chest heaving with a panting snarl.

When the looming orgasm subsided, Angel leaned over Spike’s supple form, planting the palms of his hands flat to the ground, and began to thrust into him, short, fast strokes that pulled a series of whines and whimpers from the younger vampire's throat. Shifting his stance, he sought out that spot deep within his Childe that he knew would bring him quickly to the edge. As he felt his cockhead press against that spongy bundle of nerves, he was rewarded with a mewl of pleasure from the body trapped under him.

Thrusting steadily against Spike’s prostate, Angel dipped his head down to bury his nose in the curve of his boy's neck, snuffling against the skin as he let the demon take over again. Spike arched into the touch, turning his head to bare his throat in blatant offering. With a feral growl, Angel sank his fangs into the stretched column, his pace quickening as he felt his balls tightening, his climax once again rushing upon him.

Determined to bring Spike to completion first, he rutted against him, the tip of his cock punching brutally against his prostate with each stuttered thrust. Spike rocked back against each push into him as best he could, his nails clawing at earth, his vocabulary reduced to animalistic yips and yowls as Angel rode him into the dirt. Feeling Spike’s orgasm closing in on him, Angel shifted his weight onto one bracing arm, offering his wrist to him to complete the circuit of give and take. Spike tore into the proffered flesh, that first burst of rich blood on his tongue propelling him into his climax.

Angel let out a muffled roar around Spike’s throat as his muscles clamped down on him as he came, the smell of his Childe’s cum adding to the heady mixture already filling his head. Thrusting erratically into the tight hole milking him, he drank deeply from the blonde and let his orgasm overtake him, long spurts of cool seed shooting high into the tight channel that clenched around his pulsing cock.

As Spike’s climax subsided, Angel felt more than heard the rumbling purr that began deep in his Childe’s chest. He had retracted his fangs from Angel’s wrist, lapping up the spare droplets of blood from the closing wound with soft licks. Angel let out a responding purr of contentment as the final shots of cum expelled from him, his thrusts slowing to a soft rocking in and out of that grasping, slick, hole, unwilling to extract himself from that welcome softness just yet.

Spike collapsed to the ground, Angel following the movement, cock still buried deep within the pliant body. He nuzzled back against him, taking comfort in the bulk that covered him, a safety he hadn’t felt in years washing over him as he lay there beneath his Sire, his demon sleepy and sated.

Still attached to the blonde by cock and fang, Angel lifted his head from Spike’s neck, tongue flicking over the wound to clean away any remaining traces of blood. As his demon settled back down within him, he felt his softening cock slip from the friction-warmed embrace of his Childe’s hole, a whimper of loss sounding in his ear as Spike shifted slightly beneath him. Angel licked up the length of Spike’s throat, his demon face shifting away as he kissed a path along his jaw to the corner of his lips. Spike turned, his own face back to human form, and captured Angel’s mouth with his own. Tongues sought each other out, languidly tangling together as Spike maneuvered himself onto his back under Angel.

Feeling the mixture of blood, cum, and dirt caking his skin, Angel broke the kiss and pulled Spike with him as he stood up. Spike stared at him warily, cock laying still half-hard against his thigh. Angel felt his cock twitch at the sight of his dirtied Childe, hair mussed and skin bruised from his eager explorations. He smiled softly at him, and took his hand, tugging him along across the courtyard.

“We’ll talk tomorrow, remember?” Angel sensed Spike relax slightly behind him at the assurance and he pulled him to his side as they reached the door into the lobby, looking down into bright blue eyes. “Right now, all I want is a long, hot shower, preferably with you in it, and a good day’s sleep in a soft, clean bed, definitely with you in it. Now, my little one, are you going to come willingly, or do I have to go get the chains?”

Spike shuddered at the words and the images they conjured.

“I’ll come willingly if you promise to get the chains.”

Angel barked out a laugh and guided his insatiable Childe into the hotel ahead of him, his demon waking slightly at the prospect of the blonde bound to his bed for his pleasure. Whatever tomorrow brought, he could deal with, they could deal with, together.

All Things Spike: @leatafanfiction

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