#Mini prompt

[livinghalfway]

Mini Prompt: Adoption Day!

Damian meets Danny at the animal shelter we’re they’re both volunteering at. The two slowly becomes friends with each visit. Eventually they’re doing all their tasks purposely together. Feeding, walking, and bathing the animals as they talk.

With them getting to know each other Damian learns that Danny, despite being the same age as him, lives alone in an apartment in Crime Alley.

This greatly displeases Damian, and he’s honestly not sure what to do to help his friend. Especially, when Danny refuses any monetary assistance.

That is until the animal shelter announces their annual adoption day event.

Bruce when Damian first started volunteering at the shelter said that he wasn’t allowed to adopt any of the animals. He never said that he couldn’t adopt a sibling.

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

i neeeed drunk arthur sneaking into reader’s tent for your writing sprint!! 🫶🫶🫶 all the fluff and arthur being touchy yet uncoordinated

Haha this one is so sweet and fun!! Loved writing it!! Thank you so much for your ask, little anon 🫶

A close sound suddenly pulls you out of Moprheus's realm, the darkness of the night still deep and thick as your eyes struggle to open. There's definitely someone outside your tent, a blurred form moving at the entrance.

The flaps suddenly open as the person stumbles inside, boots bumping into the little piece of furniture you use as a dressing table, dragging your belongings down with it. You hear the intruder curse an annoyed "Ah, shit!" and mumble an unaudible complaint.

"Arthur, is that you, honey?" You manage to ask in a sleepy voice, amusement starting to creep onto your face as you're realising what's happening. The outlaw snaps his head in your direction, and you catch his toothy smile even in the obscurity.

"Dar -hic!- ling! I didn't want t-to wake ya up."

He instantly let all the objects he had gathered to clean up his mess go, your little mirror crashing onto the ground. You sigh in a half-amused, half-desperate way. He is so drunk. "It's okay, big boy, come here." You whisper to him, pulling up your blanket and opening your arms.

Arthur doesn't even bother (or remember) to undress. He walks with difficulty to your cot, tripping at every step, hat falling on the ground during his final swing to you. He collapses almost entirely on you and instantly nestles his head into the crook of your neck, his burning body pressed against yours as your arms close their embrace around him. He's all messy and clumsy, the opposite of his usual attentive and restrained self, almost crushing you under him. You can still feel his huge torso hiccup and one of his legs is hanging off the bed. He speaks against your neck, the sound entirely muffled, and you assume by his intonation that he had said he loved you.

"Love you too, sweetie." You coo to him fondly. One of his hands not so subtly reaches for your chest, grabbing one breast and sighing contently. By the weight of him on your chest, you can feel he's already almost asleep, feeling his beatific smile on his face against your skin.

His snoring and heat soon accompany you back to sleep, too.

[justhereforsomethingnice]

In many fics Danny gets his phd. In many fics Danny is the ghost king. Now I need a fic where just for maybe one sentence, they use the sentence ‘dr. King Phantom.’ For some reason or the other. The title just seems hilarious to me.

[hihomeghere]

megan, sweet sunshine, i have a soft request for you with our darling strong man. 🥺

can i please request #12, #13, #54, #55, & #61 with charles? i need some tooth-rotting fluff with this man in my life. it’s what makes my heart happy. 🤍

thank you dearly! i am so beyond excited to see what you come up with here!

Charles Smith / Reader

Jay, I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!!! Hope you had a geat thanksgiving, smooches <3

Word count : 1k, a lil guy Prompts : 12 "You look so much softer, so much calmer, I wish you could see yourself as you sleep."13"Sleeping with you was the best sleep I've gotten in years." 54“Here, take my blanket.”55 “You’re cute when you smile, you should do it more often.” 61 “I said I’d take care of you.” Warnings/tags : Readers gender is unspecified, reader has hair long enough to tuck behind ear, Charles is shirtless teehee, Charles Smith x reader, mention of guns, reader has repressed feelings whoops, Charles is a sweetheart, let me know if I forgot any. Divider by @saradika

The sunlight creepy through the sliver in the tent flaps, rousing you from your sleep. You groaned, turning your head to bury your face in your pillow. Only to be met by a solid wall of body heat. You blinked your eyes open, squinting slightly against the harsh glare of the sun. A dark hand raised to block the sun from your eyes. You couldn't help the smile that spreads across your face as your eyes landed on Charles. Both of you stared at each other for a moment or two before he broke the silence. His deep baritone, rumbling through his chest.

“You’re cute when you smile, you should do it more often.�� He hummed. That was something you simultaneously loved and hated about Charles. He always spoke his mind, he didn’t beat around the bush or try to save feelings. You appreciated his honesty in a world so overrun with deceit, especially in your kind of business. 

It was refreshing, but at the same time, you had no idea how to combat it. So when you felt your cheeks heat up at his comment, all you could do was bury your face in his bare chest. He laughed, soft and sweet as he wrapped his arms around you.

“How’d you sleep?” He asked as he ran his hands up and down your spine. 

“Sleeping with you was the best sleep I’ve gotten in years.” You replied, his honesty was infectious. It made you want to speak your mind more often. Which after years and years of lying to survive, was a dangerous thought. He chuckled, pressing his lips to the crown of your head.

What the two of you had was new. Only having confessed your feelings three weeks ago. Although it felt like a lifetime. It was easy with Charles, like breathing. Nothing had ever been this easy. You pulled back, meeting his near obsidian eyes. You pressed your lips to his, and it was like coming home. Like this is how it was meant to be. Like you were one person, torn apart at the beginning of time, destined to find each other. Destined to be one, once more. He engulfed you, pressing you back against the bedroll as he moved on top of you. A shiver ran down your spine as you looked up at him. 

“You cold sweetheart?” He mumbled against your lips, “Here, take my blanket.” He said pulling the blanket over his shoulders as he covered the both of you. A sly grin spread across his lips.

“You are something else.” You chuckled, biting your lip as you looked up at him. He hummed in agreement, laying almost his full body weight on you. You let out a soft sigh, running your fingers up and down his warm back. Your ears perked up as you heard him mumble something into your neck. “Hm?” You asked softly.

“I like watching you sleep.” He mumbled, a bit clearer this time.

“The hell are you talking about?” You laughed, turning your head at an awkward position to look down at him.

“You look so much softer,” He said, propping himself up on his arm, “so much calmer, I wish you could see yourself as you sleep.” He didn’t meet your eyes as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I wish you looked like that all the time.” 

You knew what he meant. You wished the same thing. Wished that you were safe, that you didn’t have to constantly be on guard. Ready for the next attack, your fingers itching for your pistol or shotgun, just in case. A world where you had a real bed, in a real house, not some flimsy tent. A world where Charles and you could have something together, a family.

“So you want me to be unconscious all the time?” You teased weakly, trying to make light of the very heavy meaning to his words. If it was anyone else, they probably would have laughed along and dropped the subject. 

But Charles wasn’t anyone else.

“I want you to be safe.” He clarified, even though he didn’t need to. Your heart stuttered in your chest. You looked up at him, finding his piercing gaze already trained on you. And it was like time had stopped. Like some higher being had frozen the world outside of the little tent the two of you shared. You swore that even the birds stopped their chorus as you stared into his eyes. Searching for some type of deception, something to prove to yourself that this was too good to be true.

But you couldn’t find anything. 

Instead his hand moved to gently wipe a tear from your cheek. You hadn’t even realized you were crying. 

“Sorry.” You chuckled wetly, shaking your head. 

“It’s alright.” He cooed softly, almost like he was comforting a small child. ”You don’t… you don’t have to be this ‘tough outlaw’ with me.” He said with a small smile, “You can just be you, just y/n.” He leaned down, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. Your throat felt tight as you tried to swallow past the lump in your throat. You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling of his breath puffing against your cheek. His scent, a deep spice that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. The heat that seemed to radiate off him like a fire, like he was blaze within. 

“I love you.” You whispered, and for the first time in your life you actually meant it. He chuckled softly, a smile spreading across his lips.

“I love you too.” He hummed, his words carrying so much weight with so little effort. He spoke like he was merely saying hello to a passerby, like he meant it.

“Charles-“ You started, the rest of the words left unsaid, hanging in the air. That you didn’t want to have to be so damn tough all the time, that you wanted security. That you wanted a home, that you wanted Charles. That you wanted him forever. 

“I know.” He mumbled, and you believed him. “I said I’d take care of you didn’t I?” He asked.

“Yeah,” You agreed breathlessly, “you did.” 

[inscribedlighter]

Hellooo

I have an Arkayne request <3 in which Arthur is about to get killed by some creature and Kayne decides to intervene.

We know that is never going to happen but I think it'd be interesting if he did save him at least once because he doesn't want to lose his favorite pet yet.

Thank you!

Malevolent Mini Prompts are open! Any malevolent relationship or pairing and I'll try to write at least a short scene. Askbox open.

Tags can be viewed on Ao3

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

Arkayne, The Prey

Beings that know themselves to be gods didn't understand flight, flight, or freeze. They didn’t know instinctual terror. Most of them were too divorced from reality because they were anti-reality. They were too ignorant to understand it. Those ones he can pop the head off of and move on. 

Some were just stupid. 

Taking Arthur. His Arthur. Was stupid. 

Continue here or on Ao3

And yes, it was easy. It was so pathetically easy to kill an ant when you have access to a magnifying glass and the fucking sun, even when said ant had a fucking nuclear reactor powering its eyes, but it was poor taste to try to scoop up an ant from HIS antfarm. Kayne’s, Do Not FUCKING Touch had been written in sharpie in the very fabric of that reality. 

But it didn’t matter. Fight, flight, freeze could FUCKING be taught. 

Even to himself. 

He followed the music, that old familiar tune that he’d yet to grow tired of.

This reality was ahead of Arthur’s time, but not too far ahead. The taste of cesium-137 in the air.

He was in a school. A university somewhere. It didn’t really matter where. It didn’t really matter when. It didn’t even really matter what reality. 

He kicked in the door because he felt like it.

It was a lecture hall, a grand piano at the bottom. There was Arthur, bending into the music as if each press of the key was a hit to his soul. 

“Catchy, isn’t it.”

There was a man. He wore white. White on white. He had a labcoat overtop. 

That little detail pissed him off.

Oh! all of it actually. All of it REALLY pissed him off. 

Arthur looked up, hearing the door, but not knowing his knight in shining armour had arrived until:

It’s Kayne! John sounded confused, which wasn’t a new look for him. The thing, and he still wasn’t sure what to call it anymore (Fragment? God? The King in Yellow? Man? Was he really just John? The John sounded like Kayne was going to take him out back and suck his-anyway), billowed yellow cloth and shadow that no one on this plane could see veiled Arthur in his golden form as if it might protect him. He was clinging so tightly, so panicked. John was afraid. Afraid for Arthur. That wasn’t new either. 

He kicked in the door. He looks angry—

“Mister Lester,” the man in white said, patiently, with only a slight note of rebuke a professor might give to an unruly student. “Continue if you please. I didn’t say to stop.” 

Arthur had paused the song at Kayne’s grand entrance. He gave a startled inhale. His fingers were back to dancing on the keys.

Kayne slowly started clapping. What else could he do? “Wow. Wow!” 

“Mr. Kayne, is it?” The man in white turned his attention from Arthur (armour gone, in a gray pinstripe suit, yellow tie, hair brushed into order, clean shaven, oh and the colour choice was fucking noted too. Dressed his human up nice and pretty for this grand display). 

Kayne slowly walked down the stairs.

“Does that fucking matter what I call myself?"

The man in white gave a delicate little snort. “Of course. None of the other names fit anymore. None of them matter anymore. Just the one you gave to him in a fit of amusement. Only Kayne remains.”

“Then that would mean you’re … Mr. Bell.” Kayne said nastily. 

An unamused eyebrow raise.

“Abe Bell. I would know you anywhere!” Kayne spread his arms as if to offer a long lost brother an embrace. He skipped down more steps, but was still far from the bottom. 

“Oh, yes, very amusing, I see,” Bell rolled his eyes. “I suppose, if that will make you feel better, fine. Abe Bell—Mr. Lester, please do behave yourself.” 

Arthur had stopped playing again instead reciting a chorus of fucks and Jesus Christs. Usually music to Kayne’s ears, but not what Mr. Bell was looking for.

Does that mean he's fucking-they're both-Jesus Arthur we're so fucked. 

The man in white stepped closer and put his hand on the back of Arthur’s neck and Kayne’s hackles rose. John shut the fuck up immediately.

Arthur went back to playing, something different now, yet another song dedicated to his dead daughter that rang so pure that the universe itself would use it as a backing score. 

“So…” Kayne said slowly, putting his hands behind his back. “Why’d you take him?” He decided to start reasonable. He was curious actually. Arthur was-well... he was... he NEEDED Arthur. This particular Arthur. Middle C Arthur who was HIS Arthur now. 

He had taken so many realities. Killed so many of himself. He didn't remember if he had had his own, but it didn't matter anyway, this one was HIS now. 

Mr. Bell removed his hand from Arthur’s neck. He reached forward and pulled Arthur’s head back by his chin, gazing down at him. John’s golden eyes glared back.  

“A beautiful lure.” The appreciation in his tone made Kayne gnash his teeth. “No, no, keep going Mr. Lester, you don’t need Hastur���s eyes to see the keys.”

Now Arthur, he knew about fight, flight, and freeze, down to his bones. So his fingers ran, his body kept perfectly still, and of course his mouth tried to start a fight.

“His name is John Doe, not Hastur. Now what the fuck is this about?” he demanded.

Mr. Bell gave an amused snort. “John Doe?” He let Arthur go. A little smile played on his lips as he turned his attention back to Kayne.

“I do see why he fascinates you so.”

“Bait,” Kayne said, even angrier now. “You’re using them as bait? I’m insulted! You think I care about—”

“Yes, of course,” Mr. Bell interrupted. He hadn’t moved from Arthur, still too close. “I know how I am about my projects. Mr. Lester must be a wonderful distraction to you. A pure source of pleasure. That isn’t even including the unique events that have allowed him to house the King in Yellow. Not to mention his similar resonance to the Black Stone. The unbridled joy he must bring you. Such a rarity.”

Oh, Kayne hated this guy.

“So … it’s like the city. I’m a lure,” Arthur said, unable to shut his mouth, his little detective brain putting the pieces together. “You needed him to come to you, you couldn’t go to him… because you’re not like him,” Arthur realized.

“OH!” Fuck Kayne wasn’t used to being a step behind fucking Arthur Lester. 

What do you mean? Dandelion asked, who was all too familiar with the feeling. 

“He can’t … move across the keys… like Kayne can.” Arthur guessed. 

Mr. Bell turned, looking surprised. “Well,” he muttered, half impressed.

But he got us. If he can’t move between worlds—shit. He used the Dreamlands as a bridge. No matter who I am now I’m still connected to them, and their connection to reality is thin. He got us when you were sleeping. Lillith weakened the walls trying to control you, he took advantage.” There was a reason he liked Johnny. 

“Oh, that’s cute,” Mr. Bell said, as if he were watching a couple of kittens smack a ball of yarn around. “Yes, boys you’re hypothesis is quite correct,” The fucker was pleased as punch. “Hastur—pardon— Mr. Doe is a bridge to the Dreamlands, my daughter walks in the nightmare paths, and I hold power over the Dreamlands and authority over the gods of Earth. With her opening Mr. Lester’s mind it was simple enough grab hold of Mr. Doe and pull you both here, even without Mr. Kayne’s ability.”

“Kayne has…” Arthur muttered.

How else could he have put Yellow in your head? John sounded scared now. We knew he was powerful, but—

“But enough about me,” Kayne said, voice hard. “Let’s talk about me!” he grinned. “I thought I was so thorough! I thought I had gotten every single one of me.” 

“Not all of us are bat-fiends haunting churches,” Mr. Bell said in disgust. “I knew you would show up one day. I made my preparations.”

“And how did you know that?” Kayne asked. “Other than my own spin offs everyone else was so surprised. Eager to ask me to explain my little trick. Most of them didn’t see the knife coming.”

“Why don’t you explain it to him, Mr. Lester.”

“Uhm?” Arthur’s eyes widened. When he stopped playing he wasn’t badgered this time. 

How the fuck are we supposed to know that? John growled, lashing out now that the fear had overwhelmed him.

"That's my boy!" Kayne cheered on John's anger. John only had half a limb, but he loved to fight. 

“Oh,” Arthur said quietly. He turned his head in Mr. Bell’s direction. “You’re him. So the thought crossed your mind.”

Bell winked. “Oh my dear boy, I do wish I could keep you.” he smiled at Kayne a familiar kind of unhinged humour, but contained. No burst of laughter, but it was the same feeling, Kayne could see that. “It’s so rare that a little thing like you can know even a fragment of us so plainly.” 

Kayne snapped rapidly bringing their attention back to him. “Right, right, right. I see. So you think to yourself one day: huh, wouldn’t it be swell to dance along the keys of the universe? And you find the grey stone, easy enough, most of us have, even papa’s favourite idiots. They don’t ask the right question though, but you do. They ask about the Black Stone and waste their fucking time, but you ask. You ask the right question. See exactly how to do it, but you don't follow through?”

“No, no follow through,” Mr. Bell agreed. “But infinite possibilities.”

“So you knew someone would decide to do it,” Arthur said, somewhat rhetorically, they had all got there. "You knew Kayne was coming because there had to be a version of you that would make that choice."  

“John, tell toffee cake I’m rolling my eyes at him,” Kayne snapped.

“That’s right, Mr. Lester,” Mr. Bell said patiently. He had his hand on the back of Arthur’s neck again. “That’s far enough, Mr. Kayne.”

Kayne stopped his descent down the steps, only ten steps to the ground. He growled. “Stop touching him.” 

He wasn’t possessive by nature or else John would already be back sobbing for mercy in the Dark World, but against this he felt a thread of pure rage. That was his . 

Golden Eyes was an exception because he was also his in many ways. 

But. Not. Bell. 

Arthur’s breath picked up, aware that he was in deep shit.

Kayne’s here now, John said, trying to sound calm. He’s the one you’re after. Let us go. We’re nothing to you. 

“Hm?” Mr. Bell glanced down at them. “Oh no, Mr. Doe, you don’t understand at all. I—”

Arthur shrieked. “FUCK!” his voice was high with pain. 

Arthur!!

“I just broke his foot, Kayne. Please don’t test me.” 

“You think I care if you break some of his bones?” He took another step forward. “I don—”

A pained howl answered him. Less surprised, but just as pained. 

“FUCK!” Arthur yelled angrily.  “Jesus Christ! Fuck you!” 

“I don’t care if you hurt him, I like when he—” Kayne took another step.

A loud crack and Arthur was clutching his knee, tears streaming down his face. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck both of you, goddamnit!”

Arthur, your leg, it—

“Fuuuuuck,” Arthur hissed. “I know, John! I fucking know!” 

“I suppose we can trade bone breaks for steps if you like,” Mr. Bell said. He had the nerve to squeeze Arthur’s shoulder as if to offer comfort. “But he won't live long if you if you do reach me.” 

Kayne! Fix him! Do fucking something! John ordered. 

“Of course you wouldn't know. I’m afraid he can’t do anything to help your friend, Mr. Doe,” Mr. Bell explained gently, his eyes never leaving Kayne. “Not until he kills me. Until he does, he can’t manipulate this reality and what's in it. That’s how he… gains keys if you like. Still a dangerous force to me, but not as powerful on a universal level.”

Then fucking kill him! John roared at Kayne. 

“Working on it, daisy-dear,” Kayne sang, murder in his heart. 

“Let’s drop the act, Mr. Kayne,” Mr. Bell suggested. “Whatever he is to you he’s important, you need him.”

“I can get a new one,” Kayne shrugged carelessly, lying through his goddamn teeth. 

“You wouldn’t have bothered to come if that were so,” Mr. Bell countered. “Do you think he’s the first lure I’ve tried?” He stroked Arthur’s hair back in mock-tenderness.

“Now, where were we? Oh yes, Someone would do it. Someone would decide to kill every single version of himself in the multiverse—more than one. I take it you took care of the others?”

“Came right to me,” Kayne said. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Arthur muttered his emotions spiking like he had just figured something out. 

Bell put both of his hands on Arthur’s shoulders. “My, you are clever. You've got it, haven't you?" he whispered in his ear hungrily. "I shouldn’t be so surprised. We don’t take interest in boring creatures. Why don’t you play something else?”

“Because you broke my fucking leg, you bastard!” 

Bell placed his chin on top of Arthur’s head and squeezed his shoulders a little more forcefully. “Play something else, Arthur. Do you know Holst?”

“I never did much classical and he wrote for orchestra—”

“Mars.” 

Arthur’s fingers trembled, but he reached out and started the dark repeating bassline. Hard and angry.

“Very good,” Bell took him by the head and kissed his crown, like a father might a favoured child and stepped away again.

“Alright, we have the mood music, are we going to do this or what?”

Bell shrugged, smugness radiating off of him.  

“It’s a trap,” Arthur said. “It’s a fucking trap, Kayne.”

“John, tell him I’m rolling my eyes again.”

“No!” Arthur hissed. “Don’t you see? He’s doing what you did to us! He lured you here because he couldn’t get to you himself. He ensured there was a stick to keep you manageable. You’ve done all the work for him. You killed all your alternate selves! He wanted the version of you that killed everyone else. One person to kill instead of thousands! He made sure he was fucking ready for you!” 

“He’s not fucking ready for me, Artie, don’t worry your pretty little head about it. You’ll be back to work before you can say—

Arthur coughed blood onto the white piano keys. 

Fuck! Fuck! Arthur! Arthur!

And Bell still didn’t make a move. Just smiled at him with a serene, joyous smile. “That’s enough hints, Arthur. I’m surprised, I thought you would be one of the smart ones, Kayne, but I see now you’re sentimental. A romantic. Were you going to save Daddy, or stab him in the heart I wonder." 

And still nothing happened save for Arthur’s pained whimpers, clutching his neck, vocal chords ripped out from the inside. 

It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. But John was begging, pleading that it actually would be, his hand shakily trying to hold a neck wound that wasn’t actually on the outside.

It wouldn't kill him, but Arthur wouldn't be talking without some godly intervention. 

“Fine. It’s a trap. A great fucking trap. When the fuck are you going to spring it?” Kayne demanded. “So far all you’ve done is rough up Arthur and smugly tell me about your boring backstory.” He began to pace. “If you had anything you would have used it immediately.”

Which meant.

“Which means we’re not working on your timeline. We’re working on someone else's… okay, okay. You’re me. A boring lazy version of me that lets others have all the fun and get their hands dirty. But you have your projects, you… why don’t you want Arthur?” Kayne asked suspiciously.

Bell grinned at him.

He didn’t say he didn’t want him, John growled, his soul flaring. He said he wished he could.

Which would imply… 

“Ah fuck. You are good. Johnny! Gonna need you on this one.”

Oh good, that confused Bell.

Arthur is—

“Going to die if you don’t manifest your ass immediately!” Kayne said. “He’s not a fucking lure, he’s an anchor and we’re in Hiroshima!” 

And Kayne was moving. John flared out of Arthur’s soul. Didn’t take much to make him do anything when Arthur was concerned.

Oh and didn’t he HATE that he was in a similar position.

But sharing with John he could take for that very reason. 

As expected John took the brunt of the blows meant to fuck up their human. Nothing Kayne couldn't fix later. John howled exploding with golden power. Arthur collapsed against the piano, not from Bell’s attacks, but from John’s energy flare. He wouldn’t die from that though. 

Kayne couldn’t heal him here. Not until the fuck was dead. If Bell fucked Arthur up badly enough Kayne wouldn’t be able to do anything for him until after the fight. Bell had counted on a stalemate. No one being able to move until the grand finale.  

Bell staggered back, not expecting an attacking old god (new god?). It was like an angry cat defending a bird from a tyrannosaurus, but the startlement was enough for Kayne to finally close the gap. He launched his fist into his own smug face. 

“We’re in fucking Hiroshima!” he screamed at himself. “You’re trying to kill me with a fucking A-bomb?” 

Another punch. 

Bell cackled. He elbowed Kayne in the face, and pulled away, trying to get back to his feet. Kayne bit his fucking leg. 

And it would be enough. It would be e-fucking-nough because he wasn’t attuned to this plan of existence. If he survived he would be severely weakened and then Bell would finish him off. 

He dragged himself over Bell, pinning him down.

Funny thing when you’re completely equal, it all cancels out. Using what a human would refer to as magic or godly powers would be a waste of energy. 

Punching him into a fucking pulp though? Very effective.

“First you steal my human, then you try to drop a bomb on him? Do you know how FUCKING long it took for me to find him? He’s special! But you? You’re a dime a dozen.”

Bell grunted, taking another blow to his nose. 

Kayne grinned evilly as dark red blood started splattering on his face. “He’s irreplaceable. Just like me. Do you know why I’m going to win? Why ALL OF YOU HAVE DIED? Because I’m not the crawling chaos, or the haunter in the dark, I’m not the herald of Azathoth, I'm not Abel ripe for slaughter. I’m not YOU anymore, I’M FUCKING KAYNE!” 

He looked up. John had retreated back inside his host. Arthur had dragged himself over, meeting his eyes. He pulled out—

He took the dagger and plunged it into Bell’s skull. Darkness shattered all around them. 

He moaned in ecstasy, feeling it. This reality was HIS now, just like all the others. One more key on his piano.

He snapped his fingers and Arthur and John were whole again. Arthur gasped, but didn’t have time to revel in the lack of pain. Kayne had grabbed him in a princess carry. 

“Wh–-Kayne!” 

“About to go nuclear in here, precious. Time to go!” 

And with a snap they were gone.

They were on the top of a majestic mountain, looking down. He couldn’t just miss it after all. Arthur was squirming in his arms, but he didn’t let him go. 

Then he screamed at the sound of it. 

The explosion was bigger than anything the world had ever seen. A path to the destruction of humanity. Part of him admired it, the voices inside him applauding for such a fine version of their original end goal. 

He scoffed.

What was the Atomic Bomb compared to the Day of Wrath? He let Arthur down, but continued to hold him. Tears streamed down Arthur’s face as John described the devastation.

“H-h-how is that? Will that—that’s going to happen?” 

Kayne kissed him. 

Arthur stiffened, not expecting it. 

John’s hand was already smacking his back. 

He let go.

“Sorry,” he laughed. “There is absolutely nothing hotter than murdering myself and then getting to see such a beautiful view with you in my arms.” 

“God,” Arthur said, aghast.

“Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am a romantic,” Kayne snickered. He ruffled Arthur’s hair and let the detective stumble a few steps back. 

He sighed. Arthur framed by a mushroom cloud did wonderful things to him. 

Still.

“Well, that was embarrassing,” he announced.

“What even was that?” Arthur asked, too overwhelmed to be scared of him right now. 

Someone found his weakness, John said, subdued. 

“Don't like to share, Blondie?” Kayne shot back. “We REALLY need to work on your jealousy.” 

“What? Are you talking about me?” Arthur asked, flabbergasted. “Kayne needs us to get the black stone. I suppose we’re a weakness as far as being a tool not easily replaced.”

Kayne giggled, then broke into loud unbridled laughter. “Oh what the hell? I’ll let you have it.” He turned and grabbed Arthur’s hand. “Arthur Lester, I’ve done so much twisting and bending and breaking to make you dance with me.”

He pulled him close. 

“I like you far more than just being the exact right tool I need, and if anyone tries to fucking take you from me again I’ll fucking slaughter them, so keep safe, kay?”

“W-w-what are you… what are you even—?” 

There’ll be more! John said angrily. More will come after us because of you!

“Hm?”

Bell can’t be the only one of you to use the time to hide from you. There are other realities that you have yet to conquer and they will KNOW about him. 

“Hm,” he hated when John was right. He had thought he caught them all, but no. One meant there would be more, and not all of them would sacrifice Arthur, some of them would get handsy. 

Oh well, now he had threads to follow. “Well, you’re close to the end of this chapter. Get my stone and I’ll worry about copycats stealing Artie.” He pinched Arthur’s cheek. He was still stunned trying to parse what the fuck they were talking about. 

You said you would release us!

“Hah? No, no I didn’t actually. I said one baby girl and two separate bodies. That doesn’t stop me from putting him in a golden cage at the end of it. Gold? Hm, that’s more your thing. Hm, I suppose you're rubbing off on me.”

John was getting cranky and Arthur was hyperventilating. Time to put the boys down for a nap.

“Alright, alright. There’s no reason to worry yourselves over it,” he beamed. “You’re not going to remember a single fucking thing from this shitshow!.” 

Oh you son of a—

Kayne snapped. Arthur fell limp. Kayne caught him before he hit the ground. John’s aura wrapped around the human like a child with a teddy bear.

“Ugh,” he said to himself in disgust thinking how sweet they were. He kissed Arthur’s forehead tenderly and with a snap sent them back to where they came from. 

It had made him angry, seeing Arthur tortured, beyond his own possessiveness. Azathoth’s cock was he really going to keep him? He’d never live this down. 

He shook his head. Never mind for now. He had hunting to do. His boys were close, very close, but there was still time for something to fuck it up. 

And he would make sure it wouldn’t be on his end.

He would make every goddamn version that was left understand. He was not the prey.

They were.      

[kinardsevan]

Bucktommy prompt: Tommy has an identical twin he doesn't get along with.

apple fritters and nose bleeds

Evan doesn’t even know about Anthony for the first six months of their relationship. And like, it’s not because Tommy is trying to keep anything from him; he just doesn’t talk to Tony. Not out of any personal ignorance, either. They just…stopped talking. 

It wasn’t always that way. Obviously, being a little kid, the twin thing kept them pretty bonded. They leaned on each other a lot when they were hiding from their dad as elementary-aged kids. Both of them would do just about anything if it meant they could keep the attention off their mom and focused on one of them, especially as she got sicker with cancer. But at some point—Tommy’s not sure entirely when, but they hadn’t made it out of elementary school, and their mom had already passed—something changed. 

He didn’t really notice at first, maybe because they were both actively trying to avoid their father and his drunken antics. But after a while, it started dawning on him how often he was getting in trouble for things that both he and Tony did. Granted, it had been that way in the past two—the both of them throwing themselves on the sword for the other if a moment called for it—except Tony wasn’t falling on the sword anymore. It felt like every time Tommy turned around, he was in trouble for something else, getting the wrap for both of them even if he had nothing to do with it. 

As they got older, it got worse. Tony was the son their father always wanted: tall, muscular, straight. He enlisted in the marines before he’d even graduated. By comparison, Tommy wasn’t viewed the same way. Even though they both went through puberty at the same time, Tommy struggled in his teens. His weight fluctuated, he struggled to fit in, and he didn’t take part in the same sports his brother did. After Tony enlisted, all Tommy heard about was how great his twin brother was, how built he was, how much better of a son he was. 

So he enlisted too, in the army. He started spending more time in the gym, and by the time they both got home from basic training the summer after they both turned 18, they were passing as identical twins again with no veritable way to tell them apart. 

Still, time in the military affected them differently. Tony did his four years and got out. Tommy did his time and then signed up for pilot training, which kept him in longer. His brother settled down, got married, got a regular day job in corporate something. Whatever it was, their father raved about it the view times over the next few years that Tommy bothered to call home and mention where he was at. When he finally did get out of the military, Tony was still rarely around, and Tommy didn’t have any interest in seeking him out. He’d left California for a while, and never bothered to mention he was back. Which would’ve been fine, except, Evan. 

They’re in their favorite cafe early one morning, trying to cram in breakfast before they fly out for a trip they’ve had planned for weeks. The place is crowded—it’s Saturday and apparently there’s some parade coming in the next hour and everybody has decided that their little cafe where they had their first successful date is the place to be. People are pressed up against one another, some arguing and others whining about needing space, as he and Evan try and get through to get out to their table with their drinks and the pastries Evan insisted on getting. Did they really need apple fritters? Tommy wasn’t sure. 

But somewhere in the middle of it all, Evan gets turned around while trying to grab napkins while Tommy is a crowd of people away, watching him. He continues to watch, first in amusement, and then in horror, as Evan crosses halfway through the space, and then seems to turn off in a direction that is decidedly not Tommy, up to another man, leaning over into his ear and whispering something that, based on Evan’s face, is not going to go over well. 

And then, the other man is turning on his heel, and a fist is flying into Evan’s face before he even has time to react. 

Tommy rushes through the throng of people as they suddenly make a hole around where Evan’s at, and that’s when Tommy realizes, as he comes to perch next to Evan on the ground. 

“What the fuck, Tommy,” Evan asks, wiping at his face and coming away with blood. He looks up at Tommy perched in front of him, and then up at the man in front of him, and then does a double-take, suddenly very confused until it dawns on him. “Y-you’re not Tommy.” 

Tommy lets out an exasperated sigh as his eyes drift up the legs, torso, chest, and then finally meet the face he recognizes from the mirror. 

“Anthony.” 

“Is everything okay,” Katie calls from behind the register, pushing herself high to see over the counter. “Oh my god, Evan, do you need tissues?” 

Tommy looks up at her. “That’d be great, Katie, thanks.” 

Tommy shifts both of the coffees into one hand and slips a hand underneath Evan, pulling him up into a seated position before Evan’s able to amble himself back to his feet, just as Katie is coming around the counter with tissues while also trying to get the throngs of people refocused. She passes them to Evan with an apologetic look before glaring at Tony. 

“Take these,” Tommy tells him, practically shoving the coffees into Evan’s hands in exchange for the tissue. 

“But the apple fritters,” he complains as Tommy starts wiping at the blood on his face, only to realize there’s more still coming down. Great.

“Katie we need two more apple fritters,” he calls out loud enough for her to hear, still entirely focused on Evan. 

“Coming up,” she calls back. 

“Look, I didn’t even know you were here,” Tony comments, forcing Tommy to acknowledge his presence for the first time. 

He glances over at his brother, anger still present on his own face. 

“Why would you? You don’t call, you don’t reach out. You’re the one who left the state while I still live here, but you would assume that if someone comes up to you while in town that they’d be looking for you and not me,” Tommy growls at him. 

“Two apple fritters for Buckley and Kinard,” Katie announces from the counter. Tommy turns on his heel towards the counter and grabs the fresh pastries—in a bag this time—and then drops a ten in the tip jar for her, mouthing a thank you. He looks back at Evan again, sees the blood still soaking into the tissues. 

“We need to get this looked at,” he tells him. “Lucy’s around the corner for the parade.” 

Evan groans. “But the coffee and pastries-..” 

Tommy tilts his head at him in the we’re not arguing on this expression he’s known so well for, before he shoots one final glare at his brother. 

. . .

Around the corner, some ten or so minutes later, the bleeding has finally stopped, and Lucy has managed to convince them that Tony didn’t break Evan’s nose, but he’s likely to have some serious bruising over the next few days. 

Great. Tommy thinks. Just what they both want in all their vacation photos. Black eyes. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a twin brother,” Evan asks, shoveling his apple fritter into his mouth after Lucy walks away. He’s more than clearly decided to move on from the violence inside the coffee house from just a few minutes before. 

“The physical violence didn’t give it away,” Tommy replies sardonically. 

“I mean aside from that,” Evan states. “Seems like that would be an important bit of information to share. Especially given what just took place.” 

Tommy sighs, turning on his heel to face Evan in the middle of the sidewalk. 

“Look, Anthony made a decision a long time ago to attach himself to my father and his ideals, and when I realized that neither of them were going to show up for me the way that they should, I had to disconnect myself from it all.” 

Evan frowns. He swallows down his bite of the apple fritter. 

“Doesn’t that hurt, though,” he asks. “I mean with the whole twin thing?” 

The twin thing. There’s going to be a Wikipedia hole in the next few days about all of this, Tommy just knows it. 

“I mean yes,” he admits honestly. “Of course it does. But if I stayed wrapped up in that, I’d never get on with my life.” He leans forward and kisses the bridge of Evan’s nose, wary of its tenderness as Evan flinches slightly under his lips. “Now can we please get out of here before the parade rolls through and we get stuck for three hours? We have a flight to catch.” 

Evan smiles at him, leaning forward and nuzzling against Tommy’s nose even though his own is still sore. 

“Yes.” 

He lets Tommy pull him along back towards the truck, only glancing briefly over his shoulder when he sees the man that looks so much like his boyfriend step outside of the coffee shop they’d just come from and their eyes catch for half a second before people are in between them, blocking Evan’s sight further. 

Something more, Evan thinks, as Tommy opens the passenger door of his truck for him to get in. He needs to know more. More about Anthony, more about the discourse, more about it all. Because he can’t imagine what it’s like for Tommy to deal with the twin thing, with a sibling who’s so out of sync with him. And the part of Evan that lives to fix things thinks he just found his new project. 

(damn it now this is going to need more. see what you've done @hmg621 😂)

[pandafishao3]

Prompt for @slashtakemylife:

"Oh oh oh!! I love your fic about the Alpha pound and the collective!! So I'll throw in an aob prompt I've played in my head and see if it helps inspire you, it's pretty basic. After finding Bucky and afraid of him being taken away to jail him, Steve decides to mate Bucky and whisk him away to Avengers Tower to protect him, the avengers want to help Cap but some are uneasy on his methods and also Bucky is now in a gilded cage scenario although is better than Hydra or jail"

"Steve, what did you do?" Tony asked him, staring in shock at the rain soaked assassin cowering behind Steve. His scent was terrified and his eyes kept flickering between the Avengers and the walls as if he was trying to find an escape route.

"I rescued him". Steve's answer was deflective; his eyes voided Tony's.

"No, what did you do?" Tony demanded to know. Because even through that rancid scent of distress, he recognized the smell beneath it.

"...I mated him" Steve admitted in a quiet voice. His right hand was holding onto Bucky's arm, not letting him step far. And now that he was Bucky's alpha, it would be far harder for him to just dart away and escape.

"You WHAT?!" Clint exclaimed in disbelief, throwing his hands out.

"Steve, that's not just any stray omega, that's the Winter Soldier. You do realize that, right?" Sam frowned with his arms crossed.

Steve threw him a look and scowled. "He's my friend. And now he's my mate, so you can't expect him to leave" he defended Bucky, drawing the muscular man closer. Since Bucky was curling in on himself, he looked smaller than he was, but everyone in this tower had seen him in action.

"Come on Cap, don't be an idiot. Hydra's gonna come looking for him, to say nothing about the government. Hell, he's probably wanted by every government on Earth right now!" Tony exclaimed - he was furious Steve had taken this decision without telling any of them. As a Captain, he was too used to just going his own way.

But at the mention of Hydra, Bucky suddenly whimpered and for the first time willingly drew closer to his new alpha. Ignoring the others, Steve hurried to turn and cup the back of his head, soothingly nuzzling over it. "Shh, it's okay. They can't reach you here with me, I'll protect you now" he whispered.

"Steve, they'll come eventually - "

"They can bloody well try" Steve growled, taking Bucky's hand and marching them both straight past the other Avengers. The conversation was over.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

Bucky was shaking like a dog when Steve got him back up to his own floor and herded him into the bathrooms. The rain had soaked through all his clothes and he was dripping on the floor. Steve was rummaging around the cupboards, and when Bucky thought he wasn't looking, he observed the alpha carefully. The memories were blurry and faded, but they were still there - Bucky did know this man. He'd known him way before back when Steve had been small and they had both been omega. The serum had made Steve alpha, but obviously Zola's botched version hadn't done the same for Bucky. Instead, he was this monstrous version of an omega. The only part of his altered body that even revealed he was omega was the small cocklet between his bulging thighs. It had always stayed the same, and Hydra's soldiers had found that very amusing. Those memories stung like poison ivy in his head.

But now Bucky had a second marker of an omega. On his neck was the still sore bitemark that Steve had given him in his run-down apartment where he'd found Bucky. The assassin had been tensing up to bolt, prepared to flee rather than have to face this blurry figure of his past, but Steve had grabbed him. He'd grabbed him, wrestled him down, used electric stingers to knock out his metal arm, and then taken his neck in a Hold. Only then did Bucky calm down. His heart had still been racing in panic, but Steve had held him anyway, and just...looked at him.

"I'm taking you home, Bucky. I'll keep you safe" he'd promised. And Bucky wanted to believe him so bad it hurt.

Steve had given him the bite right there to claim him. Now when they were home, and Steve was stripping him naked of his wet clothes, Bucky knew he would finish his claim by mounting him.

"You'll have to take a bath so you won't catch a cold" Steve mumbled softly, tugging off his pants. Bucky just went along with it numbly - at least Steve wasn't going to beat him when he was naked. Right?

"I can't catch colds" he admitted back, because his alpha probably expected him to speak.

Steve met his eyes. "Right. But I still want you to get warm" he said with a gentle smile.

Bucky was scared all throughout the bath, just waiting for something bad to happen. For Steve to move the washcloth aside so he could put his fingers inside Bucky's ass, or pinch his cocklet, or pull his hair. He didn't do any of those things. He simply washed his new omega gently, until he was clean and warm and pink. The function in the metal arm was slowly coming back to him too. As soon as it did, Bucky might be able to overpower Steve and escape.

But to do so, he'd now have to push through the dominant hold Steve had over him as his alpha. Steve had been right - it would be a lot harder for Bucky to run away now.

And besides, what if he did? What if the government found him, or worse, Hydra?

Whatever they would do to him, Bucky knew it'd be a lot worse than having to spread his legs for Steve Rogers.

No, Bucky would stay. He would bite a pillow, keep still, and accept it if his alpha wanted to knot him. Even if he wanted to do it every day. Bucky would accept it, because he figured it was his best chance at protection. He'd acted the soldier before, now he'd act the bitch.

As he looked up at Steve, he felt a familiar emotion move through his chest, like seeing something glimmer at the bottom of the sea. He knew him. Bucky swallowed through the uncertainty, and Steve smiled like he was glad to have him there. Maybe...just maybe...he could find a way to enjoy what was coming tonight.

[beautifulsouls5]

Mini story-prompt: something in the air!

There’s always something in the air this time of night. A feeling that lingers, a sense that forced the hair on the back of your neck to stand up it comes in waves soo hard, soo strong that this small town turns barren, soo much so that if you did not know that the people hid behind shutters, laying low in the basement, you may be wrong to think that the town was indeed abandoned. Stories are whispered about what happens to those who stay out after the first wave hits, questions continue to beg with no answers. So many believe nothing will happen, yet they themselves cannot withstand the waves that knock them down and force them to flee.

How horrified they would all be to find out that it is all me.

[wickcipher]

*steve oof sound*

[cheer-nympho]

Steve had been conned into chaperoning the kids to a ren faire.

Admittedly with very little resistance, but he was keeping that to himself. Once there and with their bags packed away into some apparently theme appropriate tents he had shrugged on some medieval casual clothes and…immediately lost track of all of them,

But a figure he did spot was a long haired Jester entertaining a small entourage with juggling,

Steve finds himself laughing slightly condescendingly at the jingling man. Why do people find juggling so impressive?

He picked it up straight away with some hackey sacks while bored between practices. He’s just good with his hands.

When he looks back up to get another glance in however, the jester isn’t perched on top of his little rock anymore and the crowd has merged with the other dweebs.

Steve stares at the empty space for a moment before a jingle right by his ear spooks him into turning around.

“Art thou not impressed by my amazing skills, your lordship?” The jester asks, swaying on his feet and causing the bells all over him to ping, grin wide and mocking.

And up close Steve notices one very important, very dangerous thing.

This court jester is really fucking hot.

He looks like an idiot, a nerd, a dweeb. Its hard not to in a pointy hat. But he also wore it too well, looked too perfect like that.

Steve notices the…is that..? Yes, the corset wrapping tightly around the mans waist, red and black diamonds decorating the sides and leading to small puffy shorts. His legs are covered in tight black leggings which should look ridiculous. It should.

An obnoxious cough and head tilt-jingle make Steve aware that he has been staring at the mans waist for way longer than was ‘bro code permitted’

He looks up with a wince, expecting a look of disgust ranging from mild embarrassment to punch-your-lights-out.

He was, instead, greeted by a smug and knowing smile. The red and black triangles painted over the mans eyes warped where the grin reached them. “Or maybe thou art impressed, but skills are not what draw thine eyes.”

Shit. Fuck. The stupid hot nerd is using stupid nerd speak on him. And Steves stupid nerd, apparently ‘very accurate’ pants are getting tighter. He needs to say something. Anything.

“You’ve got…bells.” Okay, maybe not anything. He used to be better at this shit.

He is rewarded with a wild, joyous laugh as the jester throws his head from side to side. “I do! Isn’t it amazing?The staff insisted on it so they could hear me coming.”

“It certainly makes an impression-“

“Eddie, names Eddie. And what does my lordship go by?”

“Steve is fine.”

“That he is…” The comment was punctuated by a less than subtle glance, almost a leer. “However, Fine Steve seems unimpressed with my merrymaking. As the official court jester, I cannot let that stand.” He stamps his foot, causing another cacophony of jingles.” “Therefore…”

“…Pick a card any card!” A pack of standard cards was presented to him with a flourish, but all he could do was roll his eyes.

“Come on, really? This shit is basic. All I have to do it watch your hands. You’ll swipe my card out and put it back in later, or mark it somehow.”

“Ooo his highness has it all figured out doesn’t he. Well then, princess, you have nothing to lose by picking a card, do you?” And that was…true. Plus he could maybe try to fix his previous fumble and try to claw a number out of this disaster.

So with another bitchy roll of his eyes, Steve plucks a card from the deck and hides it behind his palm. Two of Hearts.

Then out of nowhere… “You know, Stevie, if you think I’m pretty you can just tell me. I know the kingdom would approve not of a noble like yourself marrying a commoner like me, but they need know little of how we…” He begins to reshuffle the cards, motioning for Steve to place his chosen one back in before making some very obvious, very crude movements with his fingers. “…get to know each other in the meantime.”

He was going to die. In the middle of a nerd fest.

“Well, my lord…” Eddie continues, circling him while dragging a finger across his arms and shoulder blades before coming to a stop in front of him. A very bold hand takes Steves jaw and forces his head up, pretending to inspect something on his costume for any bystanders.

“If you would like some more…close up demonstrations…” He leans in tightly, still holding Steve’s jaw in a tight grip. “You can pay me a visit in staff cabin 23 tonight.” He strokes a piece of hair gently behind Steve’s ear before pulling out a card, as if from said ear.

Steve was glad that Eddie took the initiative to carefully pull his hand up and place the card into his palm, because currently Steve was too preoccupied with staring like a fish out of water into Eddies eyes. Everything about him was just so captivating, so alive.

Maybe that’s why he did little more than step forward aimlessly, with small grabby hands when Eddie pulled away. Before Steve could even process it, the bells and jingles had mingled back into the crowd. But that was…that was okay. Cause he could go to the…cabin?

But how was he supposed to- Oh. He looks down. On the card was a loosely clipped room key with a ‘23’ crudely engraved into the edge as if by a pocket knife.

The card itself, to his horror, was the Two of Hearts.

Shit.

He forgot to watch the fucking hands.

[stealingyourbones]

Barry Allen’s relationship to the Speedforce is very science based because of the technological 50s and focus on nuclear technology and sciences in general media.

Wally Wests relationship to the Speedforce is spiritual because new wave religious movement was big in the 90s. A primary focus of the bad guys Wally fights in his comics are cults too because of this.

With that in mind: I feel like there should be a lot more ideas where Wally West handles various ghost king summoning cults rather than the Bats. That man experiences cults every other day istg.

[livinghalfway]

Mini Prompt: Teach me to be like you

Damian (who I’m thinking is 16-18ish) learns that he has a younger half-brother named Danny.

Now Damian can still be very blunt and brash at times, but has matured greatly when it comes to family relations. So when he learns about Danny he is momentarily miffed at the thought of no longer being the only blood son, but that surprisingly changes when he learns that Danny is going to be living in the manor.

Because Damian sees himself in Danny. A young kid having to leave behind the life and people he grew up with to live in a house filled with strangers.

So, wanting to make that experience easier for Danny can only think of one person to ask for help; his big brother Dick.

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

Grinding through clothes and having to be quiet with Arthur for your little writing sprint? 🤲 (gn?)

OOOOhh yes anon, I have such a kink for this and I will definitely do it justice! Got a little carried away!

(I'm going to publish a few last mini prompts answer this weekend!! Don't worry if your ask isn't answered yet, it's coming soon! 🫶🏼)

The way Arthur handles you tonight is almost too much for you.

Just at the edge of camp, while everyone was busy celebrating Jack's reunion with the gang, Arthur had been quick to steal you away from the festivities and pin you against one of Shady Belle's old walls, barely hidden from everyone. The way he holds you up against it is almost ridiculously easy for him, as if lifting up a bunch of feathers; his hips settled between your legs, arms strongly holding them up and open, you're trapped between this eager furnace of a man and the coldness of the shabby wood against your back.

"H-how many did you had, Arthur?"

"Not that much... Just enough to give me the balls to man up and have my way with ya." He smiles at himself, pathetic bastard. "Not enough to make me forget about all this tomorrow morning, though..." He assures, voice a rough whisper, his lips crashing against yours in a deep and direct kiss, humming when he feels their soft plumpness.

He can't help it, you're just so pretty, so perfect, and tonight, after feeling the sting of saving the son of someone else to reunite a family that wasn't his, to be forced to only observe the love and fulfillment only a blood link could bring, never able to feel it anymore, he couldn't hold himself; craving. Craving for some kind of attention, any kind, from you.

He's already hard in his jeans, he has been for a long moment to be honest, since he saw that grin of yours he loved so dear, since you had whispered those filthy, teasing things into his ears right by the campfire, knowing damn well what you were doing. You should have seen it coming. His hips starts to press against your core, and with your thighs open and your dress pulled up, you can feel the hard line of his shaft grind aaall against your pussy in a long, deliberate movement.

"Oh!" You can't help but moan at it, your hands locking on his shoulders, trying to hold on to something, anything, to keep yourself grounded on Earth.

"Tut-tut, girl, you gotta keep quiet," He reminds you, a smug smirk on his lips, so fucking pleased with himself. He instantly rocks hismelf against you again, his clothed cock rubbing right where you need it against your pulsing clit, the tightness of his jeans emphasizing the hardness and pression of it against the fabric of your undergarments.

You can't stop yourself. You try to muffle it, but another sigh of pleasure is quickly turning into a whine, and he grunts, more quietly than you, barely a pleased exhale.

"What did I jus' say, hm? You want one of these fools come walkin' on us, uh? S'at what you want?"

"It's not that easy!" You protest, voice low but indignated. Wanting to prove your point, you suddenly aim for his neck, lips attacking his flesh, tongue and mouth suckling at his scarred skin, and this time, you're the one grinding your wet core against him.

And feeling you doing it to him, oh Lord, it's a whole other thing. Arthur is losing all sense of decency. He moans like he's been hit by a bullet, sinful hands sliding to your ass, grabbing each cheek with one hand, pressing you even more against him, encouraging your movement.

"S-see? Who's making noise, now?" You tease him with a triumphant smile, still whispering.

"Shut up," He growls, unable to resist anything anymore and hating himself for being that weak. He looks at you, angry stare mixed with so much desperation and lust that the whole world's limits are blurred. Without any more warning, he bends his head to yours and searches for another kiss, tongue sliding against yours, both of your tastes blending, the borders between you and him collapsing even further.

Accompanying the kiss, your body naturally rubs against his in a sensual, demanding move, and he responds instantly. It's a long moment of your two sexs grinding against the other, muffled moans mixed with a few loud pants and groans, Arthur wincing at the pain the frabic is causing him on his cockhead but not stopping for the wolrd, you moaning more and more as his large cock presses and grinds and rubs hardly against your clit. It's almost a competition now, seeing who would pull out the biggest sound from the other.

"Oh, for God's sake, Arthur you have an actual room for this now! Use the damn thing, goddamn it!" Hosea's paternal voice cuts through the air and stops your unholy throes of passion.

The outlaw in question grumbles as all answer, slipping his arms under your legs and lifting you up from the wall in a quick jump, marching as fast as he can inside the sheltering mansion.

There, at least, he would be able to take all the time he needs to treat you like you deserved, and make you pay for those cheeky moves of yours.

[clori-eden]

Young Four with Ezlo~ a quick colored sketch a did for backstories prompt in LU Discord.

[hihomeghere]

Prompt 53 and 45 with javier?

Word Count : 1.2k

Warnings/tags : Cursing, angst, happy ending

Prompt: "You heard me. Take. It. Off.” "Do I look like I’ve moved on?”

Divider by @saradika

I couldn’t wait until tomorrow, so y’all get it a day early

Sean was back, which was cause for celebration. Everyone’s spirits were high, if not by the great news then by the copious amounts of alcohol that were flowing through camp. A slight chill blew through camp as the sun descended past the horizon. You could hardly feel it, your cheeks flushed from the beer you had gleefully partaken in. 

It felt good, having something to celebrate after all the damn hardship you’d been dealing with. The mess that happened back in Blackwater, on the run from the law and Pinkertons alike. Even if what you were celebrating was the return of a foul-mouthed Irish man, instead of some prodigal son. Although if you asked Dutch, they were one in the same. The evening had been going so well you had almost forgotten about Javier. Almost. But that infectious melody from his guitar strings had managed to wind its way over to where you were sitting. You could even hear it over Dutch’s gramophone. His voice carried through camp, as he spoke words you couldn’t quite understand, but ones that you could feel. Ones that made your heart clench painfully in your chest. 

You tried to better your mood, uncapping another bottle as you watched Karen and Sean. A small smile tugged at your lips, you were happy for her, truly. Even if she cursed his name half the time, you could see how much she loved the man. And he seemed to be pretty smitten with her, too. Told half the camp in too much detail about how he felt for her, well what he’d do to her. 

A bitter feeling started to settle in your belly as you took another swig, your own romantic predicament weighing heavily on your mind. 

Javier.

You huffed, pushing yourself off the crate you were sitting on. Perhaps you just had to get closer to the gramophone to fully block out his voice. You plopped yourself down on the grass in front of Dutch’s tent. Nursing your beer as Dutch spun Molly around.

“Lookin’ a little down there miss.” Arthur’s voice rang out, an easy smile on his lips. “Up we go” He said, holding out his hand for you to take. You sighed, letting him pull you to your feet. “Reckon you’ve had about enough of this.” He said, gently taking the bottle out of your grasp. 

“Arthur.” You huffed, shooting him your best glare. 

“Excuse me.” He chuckled, holding up a hand in surrender. “Would a dance make it up to ya?” He asked. You hummed, pretending to mull it over.

“Alright, fine. But only because you look so terribly lonely.” You said, your words relating to your own situation rather than his.

“Unfortunately miss, that is too true.” He said with a small chuckle, spinning you around in a small circle. 

“Why ain’t you dancing with someone you like?” You asked, your hand returning to his shoulder.

“I like you, now don’t I?” He said with a small pout.

“You know what I mean.” You said, rolling your eyes.

“Well I could ask you the same question.” He said with an amused huff.

“I don’t like anyone in camp.” You huffed, wishing you hadn’t said anything at all. Arthur had a way of drawing the truth out of you, too much like Hosea in that regard.

“You and Javier still hung up on that little quarrel?” He asked, furrowing his brows. “Life’s too short.” He shook his head, “One of you's got to be the bigger person here. Don’t let something as stupid as pride keep ya from each other.” You pursed your lips, avoiding his eyes as you danced. You knew he was right, you still loved Javier, even if he was a bastard sometimes. 

“You outta be wearin’ a coat, don’t need ya getting sick.” He sighed, pulling away from you to shrug off his jacket. He placed it around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “Think we got ourselves an audience.” He mummured into your ear, your eyes flicked upwards. You hadn’t noticed a certain guitar had stopped playing. You caught Javier’s piercing gaze, his lips pulled down in a frown. Arthur kissed your forehead before pulling away, and you swore you saw fire dance in his dark eyes. You tore your eyes away from him, walking towards the Pearsons wagon. You had to get something in your belly before the night was over, or you knew you’d regret it in the morning. But with the amount of butterflies currently swarming in your stomach, eating was the last thing you wanted to do. 

“Take it off.” You jumped, turning to find Javier standing a few feet from you. His arms crossed over his chest as he glared at you.

“Pardon me?” You asked, furrowing your brows as you tried to calm your racing heart.

“You heard me. Take. It. Off.” His tone was indisputable, his dark eyes shooting straight through you. You had once upon a time loved that they seemed to see through you, able to pull you apart at the seams. Now you just wished he’d look away. 

“The hell are you talking about?” You huffed, crossing your arms. 

“La chaqueta- the jacket.” He huffed, throwing his hand up. Irritation laced in his tone. You wrinkled your nose, looking down at yourself. Why did he want you to take it off so bad? “So Arthur’s your new lover, hm?” He growled, his eyes narrowing.

“My new lover?-“ You scoffed, shaking your head, “Do I look like I’ve moved on?”

“It seems pretty clear to me.” He huffed, motioning to his coat. 

“Oh lord, it was cold! It is cold. He was being a gentleman.” You threw up your hands, rolling your eyes. The two of you glared at each other, the air thickening as though a lightning storm was brewing. You gave in, shrugging off Arthur’s coat. “There, happy?” You asked, folding his coat under your arm. His lip twitched, but he didn’t say anything. “Unbelievable.” You muttered, pushing past him. His hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist. 

“If you were cold you should have come to me.” He huffed.

“And why’s that?” You snapped, “You made it clear there was nothing between us.”

“There is everything between us!” He said, tightening his grip on your wrist. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make sure you couldn’t escape from the conversation. “Everything. You have crawled under my skin, where I go- you go. Stealing my heart away like a damn thief in the night.” He was rambling, the words spilling front his lips like water from a font. “I wake and my first thought is of you. I cannot eat, drink, rest, without thinking of you. So do not tell me there is nothing between us.” His chest was heaving with each breath, his eyes wild as he stared at you. 

You threw yourself forward, crashing your lips against his. His facial hair tickled your lip, your hands grasping his face as you pulled him closer. He wasted no time in reciprocating your actions, his hands gripped your waist, holding you tightly against him. You only parted for air, panting as you pressed your forehead against his. 

“You are a foolish man.” You whispered breathlessly, looking up into his mocha eyes.

“For you? Always.”

[inscribedlighter]

Hi! Can I request some John/Arthur downtime from the horrors, just something mundane and pleasant? A walk in the woods in S5 or a chance to gossip during S4 or a little chat in the car at the end of S3... Any brief moment of gentle togetherness. :)

@forgive-and-take

Malevolent Mini Prompts are open! Any malevolent relationship or pairing and I'll try to write at least a short scene. Askbox open.

Tags can be viewed on Ao3

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

Jarthur, Apple

“Oh I don’t know… sweet and tart, crisp, juicy.”

That doesn’t help at all. I have no concept of ‘sweet,’ Arthur, beyond that of a personality trait. One I don’t experience very often. John grumbled. 

Another bite was taken. It sounded hard between Arthur’s teeth, but he seemed satisfied in crunching it. 

“Ha, ha,” Arthur answered sarcastically after he swallowed. 

Tart is far more familiar

“The utter cheek of you.”

Continue reading here or on Ao3

Not unpleasant, John admitted with his own mild amusement. But as a flavour? 

“Well that’s fair,” Arthur leaned back against the fallen log. “The King didn’t eat?”

Not how you eat. Let’s put it that way.

“Mm, right, say no more,” Arthur waved his hand. He tossed the core into the fire pit. “Alright. Sweet. Sweet is like…it’s bright. A bright light.”

A bright light?

“Right, and so… yes, so bright. Like spring. A relief from dullness, but too much for the tongue at first if there’s too much of it.”

Hmm.

“Tartness cuts it. It had a sourness… tart, it’s sharp. Like the cut of a knife against your flesh. It’s too fast to feel much pain, but it’s there.”

That sounds unpleasant.

“Well… in some ways it is, but it balances well with sweet.”

A bright spring day and a slice to the skin. Yes, Arthur that does sound like a wonderful experience. 

Arthur huffed. “Speaking of tart. And then you add a crispness to it. It’s… like a snap of cold wind. There’s something satisfying about it, even though it stings.”

Does it sting like an open knife wound and the bright light in your eyes? 

“You’re being difficult on purpose.” 

No, no, you’re doing a fine job, Arthur. An apple. Sounds like I’m really missing out.” 

Arthur huffed, running his fingers through his hair pushing it back. It was already growing long again. It was annoying when it got in his eyes, but John didn’t mind it too much. He played with the ends of it now between his thumb and forefinger. It wasn’t greasy yet, the rain had helped.

Arthur was pouting.

“Well, you’re better at it than me.” 

Oh?

“I can’t always picture what you describe to me. I was never very visual. I remembered conversations and musical phrases, things like that. Having a sense of space wasn’t really something I concerned myself with. You do communicate it though, even though I have my complaints sometimes.”  

You’re the one that can’t tell right from left, not me.

“And yet,” Arthur said warningly, but there was no real heat behind it. “I can always… feel it. The things you describe to me. Cityscapes, fields, the sky, a person. You should be a poet.”

What? Me? A poet? John felt a rushed sensation at his core. Flattered and unsure. I don’t know… I don’t … it’s just words.

“Yes, that’s what poetry is. Words. Words that make you feel something,” Arthur kicked out his legs closer to the fire and sighed. It felt good on their shared foot that had started to ache during their second day of travel. John knew his whole body must be sore. Rough sleep, miles of travel. For all Arthur's grumbings he rarely gripped about those things, not unless it was really bad. It was always the little things. How he’d like a shower, a cigarette, a comfortable chair. Comforts John had little reference for beyond practicality, yet now, trapped in a long ago past on a mission from a capricious monster, John wished for all those things and more, if only to watch Arthur enjoy them.  

I don’t know… the ones you shared, it seems like a lot more than just words. He said unable to move away from the subject. 

“Well,” Arthur said. John could see their body move with a shrug. “You still have some of those memories, of being the King. The insignificance of humanity. A life span so short we may as well already be dead.”

I don’t believe that now.  John felt a wave of frustration at himself. For giving up. For forgetting. For letting both the King and Kayne—

He let his hand fall, gripping the grass beside them. 

“I know,” Arthur said reassuringly. He reached over, touching where the feeling in his arm started and then followed it down to pat John’s hand. It was sticky from the juice of the apple, but John didn’t push it away. Instead he moved it up so that they could clasp hands on Arthur’s stomach.

It was getting hollow again, John thought mournfully. Kayne hadn’t given him a time limit, he shouldn’t have rushed things in New York. Been more patient. Encouraged more moments like this. 

But it had been an impossibility the moment the Butcher had found them. Everything after that just… it felt like dominos. 

“What I mean is human life that the King in Yellow could never understand or appreciate with all his centuries as a god, that’s poetry.”

The King was fond of art.

“But I bet he didn’t really understand it other than an aesthetic quality, did he? And dreams. His dreams were beautiful manipulations. Nothing meaningful beyond his whim. 

You might be right about that. It’s hard to think like that anymore.

“Nor should you have to old friend,” Arthur said lightly. He was in a good mood. The apple had helped … sweeten his tartness from the road. 

Bright light, a stinging knife. Perhaps not flavour, but didn’t that describe Arthur so perfectly? 

He supposed it was a good combination when he thought about it in that context. 

Bright light, a stinging knife Sticky joy on a dear friend’s hand.  The campfire soothes our feet For our miles across this land. Short days, eternity’s wake A time we’ll never see,  But eons they can keep, I’ll have my days with thee.

Arthur inhaled quietly.

What? See? It’s stup–Arthur?

The fire went misty from the tears in their eyes. 

“That’s beautiful, John.” 

Oh. John said softly. You... you really think so?

“What’s it called?” Their eyes squinted from Arthur’s smile. “You just thought of that?”

Oh, I… well yes, John said cautiously. He looked down at their joined hands. I suppose it’s called: Apple.

“Apple,” Arthur repeated approvingly. “I’ll treasure it.” 

Well… th-thank you, Arthur. You should get some rest. The sun has dipped below the horizon now. The sky is clear. We’re sheltered by the outcropping of rocks so we should be safe, but I’ll keep the watch. 

“Goodnight then… and… if you think of more, do share them…

I… yes, maybe. 

“Thank you.”

Arthur curled up, putting their back to the log for cover and used their old bag as a pillow for their head. It used to take longer for Arthur to fall asleep, but necessity and exhaustion saw to it that he was out within minutes.

John stroked his hair. Usually he would think about things while touching the different textures that surrounded him as something to do while he waited. 

Maybe he’d compose a poem. Something to amuse Arthur in the morning during their walk toward the castle.

He couldn't help but like the idea.