#FLINGING MYSELF OFF A BUILDING INTO THE VOID

[mintytrifecta]

10000 posts!

[symbiomancy]

boutique —minotaur

—summary: Your minotaur companion ruined your underwear after your speed date, so he makes good on his promise to replace them.

// AO3 // monster masterlist

—cw: minotaur x reader, smut (p in v sex), creampie, belly bulge, squirting, size difference, mentions of fantasy racism (I tried to stop myself from adding plot obviously I failed ok)

—wc: 2,2k

—a/n: part 2 of this! also I'm switching to shorter smut for a while, I watched the haikyuu movie yesterday and I gotta write sth for my stupid rooster head captain on my main.

You exchanged phone numbers after your little tryst in the bar bathroom.

And you’re content to write it off as a one-off fling until he calls you on Tuesday evening to invite you shopping — because he still has to make up for the pair of panties he ruined (and kept). You cannot contain your grin as you settle on the time and place, and you confirm you’ve received the text with the exact address.

Said address leads you to a fancy boutique. You glance down at your yellow sundress, wipe off the imaginary lint, and ignore the thought of being underdressed to shop in a place like this. You glance at your phone to double-check the address. It’s the correct building.

You nearly jump out of your skin when the front door of the boutique opens with a flourish and your minotaur companion greets you with a wave. Some pedestrians pause and stare, and you duck your head and hurry over to the store door, press past the minotaur’s body to escape into the building.

The interior is nice, fancy even: high, arched ceiling and tall windows, pillar with intricate carvings situated around the store, cream-colored walls with black shelves, black tables displaying merchandise. Sculpted models of bodies are erected onto said tables and shelves, a different monster everywhere you look. One table has a naga statue, a shelf has something with tentacles you can’t make out from the distance, and a third displays a sculpted orc lady. Her tusks are capped with gold.

Other than you, the minotaur, and the display bodies dressed in gorgeous lingerie, the store is void of life.

“Nobody’s here today,” the minotaur says.

“Oh?”

“I take care of the business part of running a business; my sister works with designers to order from. She also arranges models and sculptors for the display models.” He places his hands on his thighs, and runs them up and down once as if he’s nervous. “It’s just us today. I hope that’s okay.”

You nod, and let a small smile curl your lips up. The minotaur motions you along with the sweep of his hand, leading you through the showroom, winding around the displays — they’re gorgeous, obviously not mass-produced — until you arrive at a section with models of familiar build on the tables. Humanoid.

He follows a few steps behind you as you make your way around the tables, stop to pick a garment up to examine it, then carefully place it back. They’re gorgeous: lace-trimmed pieces, bejeweled pieces, crotchless pieces — your face heats up when you pick up a cute pink thong and realize it’s crotchless. The minotaur behind you pointedly looks away.

There’s a plush seat outside the dressing rooms and the minotaur takes a seat, and motions you towards one of the stalls. Though it’s much less like the bathroom stall from your previous encounter and more like a small but spacious room carved into the wall, separated from the store by a curtain.

You stare at the array of lingerie sets on their hangers and reach for the red one, fold your dress, and place it onto the long seat in front of the mirror.

The red… looks good. You twirl in front of the mirror, place your hands on your chest, onto ur thighs, onto ur ass, turn again and again and again. You… look good. It’s comfortable, too; the bra doesn’t dig into your skin and the seams on the panties don’t itch. You reach for the curtain and take a deep breath, then pull it back.

The minotaur looks up from his phone, lets it slide between his thigh and the chair armrest. Heat rushes to your cheeks but it’s way too late to back out, so you give him a slow twirl. He’s silent, staring at you, a closed fist pressing against his mouth. The silence stretches, drags.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You look amazing,” he says then, voice strained. Your entire face explodes in warmth and you nearly trip over your feet as you step back into the dressing room, yanking the curtain between you. “Sorry, I —”

“No, like… I wanted to ask why you approached me at the speed dating event.” You shrug off the red set of lingerie and place it on top of your dress. You slide the white set off its hanger and — oh fuck, the crotch area is just see-through lace.

“You’re gorgeous. I wanted to meet you.”

Your face might melt off at this rate.

“Well, I mean, humans have a… reputation, and attraction to anything non-human is considered sexual deviancy on a fetishistic level — as if anything other than straight vanilla sex isn’t also considered sexual deviancy. High school health classes were miserable enough and they chose to spread the propaganda spiel about how you shouldn’t fuck anything non-human because they’re below us. ‘Humans are the superior race’ or whatever — what a load of crock, how are you smarter than something with three heads and three times the brain?” The white bra is even better, makes your tits pop.

On the other side of the curtain, the minotaur chortles. “The amount of lectures we got about not hooking up with human women…” he huffs. “Sexual deviancy part matches up, though.”

“Oh? Were your reasons more interesting than ours?”

“Well, they liked to say human women specifically would use us for our cocks, then cry about assault and have their males skin and wear us… Men would wage war even if it was consensual because they think we’re below them.” You wince at his words. “History sure isn’t pretty, huh?”

“Yeah.”

You pull the curtain back and step out, do your little twirl for him. He hums appreciatively, motions towards the large mirror next to the dressing room. You step up and angle your body back and forth as he looms behind you, arms crossed over his chest. His biceps bulge through the button-up shirt he’s wearing. His heated breath caresses your bare back.

“Are those two the only ones you picked?”

“No, there’s one more.”

The minotaur nods and steps back to allow you passage into the dressing room.

Inside, you nearly keel over when you realize the last set has crotchless panties. But considering your companion has once already rearranged your guts in objectively worse conditions… You pull the curtain back to stick your head out.

“I’m not coming out in this,” you say and motion him inside with the jerk of your head. He adjusts himself and stands, and oh — you pointedly ignore the bulge in his pants as he slips through the curtain. He doesn’t stray far from you, stands so close you can practically feel the heat rolling off his body. Slowly, you turn to give him the full view of the piece, try and fail to ignore the shape of his cock through his pants, fuck he’s huge, stop when you can look at him head-on in the mirror again.

The minotaur raises a hand, drags his fingertips across your skin, leaves goosebumps in their wake, up your thigh, over the curve of your hip, up your stomach. He pauses at your breast, places his large palm over it, and pinches your nipple between his fingers. You gasp, press back against him. The beast in his pants rests at your lower back.

His other hand finds purchase on your hip, drags over the front of your panties. You slide your legs further apart and his breath hitches when his fingers find your uncovered cunt. They stall on your clit and you try to grind against them, pushing your ass against him even harder.

The minotaur pulls the hand on your clit back and you want to whine as it relocates to your upper back. He pushes you forward. You nearly trip, barely bracing your hands against the plush seat with your dress and discarded items. He undoes his belt buckle with one hand and when he’s pressing against you next, the tip of his cock drags through your folds. You press back, try to grind against him.

“So impatient,” he tuts, pressing against your entrance. You’re almost shaking from excitement — every orgasm you’ve tried to draw out on your own between now and your little bar bathroom rendezvous on Saturday has been okay but not nearly enough to be thoroughly satisfying. Your own fingers are good but there’s something about another participant, one whose actions you cannot control and who could do whatever they want with you has something in your brain short-circuiting. He could use you as his personal fleshlight and you’d thank him just for being full of his cum.

The minotaur slowly pushes in and fuck, you can feel him everywhere. You stifle the moan in your throat as he bottoms into you — fuck, fuck, fuck, he’s so big you swear you can see him in your guts when you look down — and he pauses, exhales slowly. He’s thick, warm, you can feel every ridge, every pulsing vein on his cock pressing against your insides.

He moves, pulls out nearly all the way, and thrusts back in as far as he can. It drives the air from your lungs and with it, a loud gasp. Your face erupts in heat and you look down, away from your reflection in the mirror. He sets a slow pace at first and you push your hips back against him, skin slapping against skin. It echoes in your ears over the roaring blood, lewd and wet the sounds your pussy is making, and you try not to focus on it, yet it permeates through you, bounces around in your skull. He keeps the pace and lets his hands run over your body, petting and groping and tugging. His fingers catch your nipple through the sheer lace of your bra.

You cum right then and there, clench around him with a moan from the back of your throat, arms shaking under your weight. He slows and you frantically shake your head.

“More. More,” you manage between choked breaths, push your ass against his pelvis. He speeds up, hands traveling again, exploring. One rests on your right hip, the other cups the underside of your thigh and raises it, thrusts in and you nearly shout when he hits something so deep in you but it feels so good, so full.

So good and too much. He’s too big, too deep. He picks up the pace, every ridge and curve of his cock dragging against your insides. Your pussy dribbles around him, accommodates for his size even though it feels like he’s about to split you in half but he feels so good, he’s so deep. Every nerve in your body is alight, fingertips buzzing, mind fuzzy. You cannot form a single coherent thought, let alone words, and find yourself babbling nonsense mixed with pleas for more on his huge cock as he pistons in and out of your ruined pussy.

Maybe, maybe, those fuckasses had a point when they claimed human women would line up to be fleshlights for monsters.

Your vision blurs with tears — he’s too much, too much for your sanity, for your sopping cunt, as if he’s rearranging your insides with every thrust to fit himself in and you welcome it, meet his thrusts halfway with erratic hips. His hand moves, your thigh clutched in his palm, dragging your legs even further apart. He’s deep, so deep and his cock touches something and you see white, squirt around his cock as the orgasm hits you. Your body is on fire, heat rolling through your cunt to your torso to your extremities. Your arms are shaking under your weight.

Your fluid splatters over his pants but he doesn’t even react, mutters something under his breath, and picks up to pace to chase his own high in your spasming cunt. His thrusts are brutal, thick fingers digging into your flesh, fuck, you can feel him in the back of your throat. His breathing is loud and labored and even then it’s barely audible over the smacking when your skin meets and the squelch of your pussy as he pistons in and out.

The minotaur grunts, digs his fingers into your flesh so hard you nearly shout, and buries himself deep into your pussy. His cock pulses — fuck, you can feel it pulsing, spasming in your cunt — and cums with a groan. He presses in further, as if he has any room left, cums and cums and cums. There’s so much it seeps out of your pussy, coats your thighs as it traverses the length of your leg as it surrenders to gravity.

Everything aches. Your skin is sticky with sweat and cum, yours and his. Your breathing is erratic, chest heaving to take in oxygen.

He pulls out slowly, stifling a hiss. Pearly cum dribbles out of your pussy, lands in the puddle on the dressing room floor. Your legs give out but he’s there, large, warm, secure hands on your waist to keep you from falling. He picks you up with ease, lowers himself onto the plush seat, and rests you on his lap. You hear his heartbeat thundering under your ear but yours is no better right now.

“Would you…” he begins after a moment, still panting, and pauses to swallow. “Would you like to go out? On a real date, I mean.”

“Even though mingling with humans is the fetishistic kind of sexual deviancy?” You ask. Your minotaur laughs. It’s a pleasant sound, you find.

“Yeah.”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

banners by @/cafekitsune

[mirror-to-the-past]

Okay, now I've finished-finished KH2, and like... I don't have *terribly* much to add (post-mortem edit: lie), since I was pretty much on the brink of the final battle when I last posted about the game, but DAMN. That was actually really sweet/heartwarming.

First off, holy SHIT that final battle was movie-like as all hell. The choreographed action and reaction commands... woah. I was such a dumbass during multiple Xemnas phases, though, it was a wonder I beat him first try. Buckle up for my dumbass endeavors, it's a trip.

That part where you're flying to his little throne thing and he's tossing buildings at you was fun, because I kept launching myself against his fucking barrier and getting repelled/damaged and Xemnas was all "why do you despise the void," over and over again. I was so confused, but just... kept trying like a bullheaded idiot until my health was nose-diving and Riku started healing Sora. Cue me screaming into the void like "WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?" Started playing Marco-Polo when Riku would say "Sora!" every time his health dropped, and eventually found him on a building at the bottom of the map I was supposed to fling at Xemnas apparently? 😂

Two other cringe-fails on my end... when Xemnas was tasering Sora and you briefly shift into Riku to complete mission 'Save His Guy,' I was beating the decoy Xemnas to death like "DON'T WORRY SORA, I'VE GOT YOU," only to realize right before Sora bit the dust that you were supposed to walk up to the other Xemnas actively doing the electrocution and just... y'know... tap the reaction command. I'm sensing a common theme here...

And to top it off, on that scene that would Otherwise Be Really Cool where Sora and Riku are meant to deflect the lasers from Xemnas, I must've missed my chance for the reaction command, and it was really fucking hilarious to watch actually, because you have the action movie sweeping spiral shot, where Riku's Understood The Instructions, leaping around and deflecting everything like a ninja, whereas Sora was utterly stunlocked, and just sort of... standing there... getting hit over and over again... it looked so pathetic, haha.

Anyway, actual plot aside from me being bad at the game, and by plot I mean Sora and Riku just being the heart and soul of the cracked out finale, apparently:

(Although shout-out to Roxas for making me feel all weepy just by saying "Look sharp," I'm eternally sad. Someone free him.)

I just... I don't even know where to start, guys. Riku being angsty, "How am I gonna face everyone?" only for Sora to go "Like this!" And make the goofiest little face to cheer Riku up, and it WORKED. That was just... I cooed, y'all.

These faces (I tracked down the GIF because I was just appalled the animators in a 2006 game had them make goo-goo eyes at each other, Sora looking away like that is what gets me):

Xemnas trying to pit them against each other in his boss fight, but you know it just wouldn't matter, because of *course* Sora trusts Riku, he can't imagine thinking otherwise, and of *course* Riku was jealous of Sora in some aspects (which was addressed later, wooo), but it didn't matter, because he just wanted to be able to be with Sora over any misgivings he might've had about his self image.

(Side Note: What in the Sam-Hill did Xemnas mean when he said there were falsehoods in their hearts? Excuse me? Will that be expanded upon? What are they denying??)

And like... they literally ended up trapped in KH Hell-equivalent, and they were just... fine?? with it?? Just completely zen on the beach (I can't help but find it interesting that the realm of darkness is a beach like Destiny Islands, and wonder if there's some light/dark parallels about the trio involving that), staring out at the water side by side, fully knowing they could just wither away there, but it was cool, because they were together. "I've got something you could never imitate too," (Which was being Riku's friend, godDAMN Sora you're gonna make me cry 😭) says Sora, just chilled out as all hell.

For further laughs, in the post credits scene where and Riku and Sora were sitting on the Paopu tree, and Sora was like 'where'd the door to light come from?' and I was all excited like a kid paying attention in class or something "Kairi Princess of Heart ex-machina, she and her letter must have been tied to-" and then Riku poked at Sora's heart and was like "From here 😌 It's closer than you think," and then I'm over here, being a vaguely disappointed nerd, like "Oh, no lore. Just... Riku saying Sora is filled with light. They're just... still having a moment. That's fine." (And they were just looking and smiling at each other while the camera was focused on their faces, which is completely interrupted by Kairi running up, pfft- bless her for the tonal whiplash)

Edit: I also loved that credits clip of Sora walking through the secret hideout cave and running his hands along the drawings, you could see his eyes combing over the memories, it was so touching. I loved when he found the drawing him and Kairi made, because I thought of that KH1 cutscene of them as small children carving it out, and you could *see* it in his eyes that Sora had a "Look where I am now," kind of moment. I will never stop screaming about the facial animations for these games.

Anyway that ended up being longer than I expected. The boys are back together and they're mushy. Kairi still has abandonment issues and they'll probably just get worse from here. Someone, somewhere curls up into a fetal position every time a KH villain gives another darkness/light monologue with the dumbest sounding lines known to man. Maleficent's entire subplot this game was just her house-hunting. Michael Mouse acts like a war veteran, and it would be hilarious if post-Ansem the Wise (I missed hearing your voice, Christopher Lee RIP) explosion he starts having survivor's guilt too. Roxas makes me want to cry, and Naminé does too. The mystery of Kairi's Keyblade has not been answered. Nobody has told Sora about Castle Oblivion even though Naminé was Right There. Next time... on Kingdom Hearts...

I wish I could caption this in the KH subtitle font but I'm too lazy to figure out how zip files work at this hour so here's comic sans

[yourfavsinbg3]

Your Favs In BG3: Cuno, from Disco Elysium

This is 2 of 3 Disco Elysium builds! Is it any surprise that this little shit is a gnome barbarian? I don't think I have to explain myself here, so we'll move right along to build.

The build here is quite simple: Berserker barbarian with 3 levels of rogue, choosing the Thief subclass. This helps maximize what I affectionately call the "Yelling Yeeter" class, more commonly known as the Tavern Brawler. Here's how it works:

You max out your strength as soon as possible; because I mostly play on tactician and this is a frontline build, I like to start off with 16 in both strength and con. Once you get to the Druid's Grove, you'll be picking up the Ring of Flinging. At class level 4, you'll get the Tavern Brawler feat. These two things open up huge amounts of damage, as long as you always have something you can throw. Class level 8 should allow you to take an ASI to get, at minimum, 19 strength.

For leveling, we're going with a 9/3 split with Barbarian/Rogue. You'll need the Berserker Barbarian subclass for the enraged throw bonus action. After three levels of Barbarian, immediately pivot and take three levels of rogue, picking up the Thief subclass for an additional bonus action. Congratulations, you can now throw up to three improvised weapons per turn. Anything within your reach and within your inventory can now be turned into a deadly weapon. Go nuts!

Pros of this build: Incredible amounts of damage. There are two 'returning' weapons in the game, making it much more streamlined to throw and get your shit back. This also synergizes with any caster focused on dealing lightning damage; by throwing bottles of water on an enemy, you inflict the 'wet' status and make them weak to lightning damage. It's also incredibly fun. Maxed out strength means all but the heaviest enemies are at your fingertips as 'improvised weapons', and throwing a motherfucker at another motherfucker is just efficient battle strategy.

Cons of this build: Doesn't fully come online until level 6, when you'll have had a chance to get both Frenzy barbarian and thief rogue. Rushing frenzy is a good option to get the core of the class, but if you're impatient like me this might be a good class to re-spec into. The tavern brawler feat bumps up the wait time to level 7, but the build is fully functional without it. This is also a good build if you like hoarding and picking up dozens of weapons post fight. On top of that, returning weapons occasionally bug out and don't actually return. I also wouldn't throw any weapons you're particularly attached to, as sometimes they get stuck in floor and ceiling geometry and are lost forever. (This comes from experience: my multiplayer file nearly lost a Sussur Bark dagger after it got stuck in the ceiling. Took us about 30 minutes of finagling mage hand to get it down. We haven't thrown it since, but several normal daggers have just been lost to the void.)

[beihonglin]

I’m rly sitting in a Starbucks crying he really Went and Sang phantom of the opera perfectly without a backing track his voice is the most beautiful thing I’m in tears I love !!!!!! Zheng Ruibin !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[thepremedthatwrites]

Isolated

request: You had married Peter as an arrangement.  There was no love involved.  At least that’s what you thought but things can change.  While you may have been unsure of your feelings for the High King, you were certain of one thing: your loneliness.

warning: slight smut in the beginning 

part 2 | part 3

Peter’s warm breath tickled my neck as he moaned into my ear.  I could feel him spill into me, my back arching in response.  We stayed in place for a moment, both of us panting, until he climbed off of me.  Peter slowly climbed out of bed, his back muscles flexing as he bent down to grab his clothes.  I watched motionless as he put on his clothes.  “Are you going to get dressed?” he asked, his voice void of any emotion.

“Yeah,” I replied, my voice hoarse causing me to clear my throat.  “In a minute.”  He nodded, quickly fixing his clothes before leaving the room.  I let out a sigh, staring at the ceiling.  My heart rate had returned to normal as I rolled out of bed.  I quickly dressed, fixing my hair before leaving the room.  

I toyed with the ring that rested on my ring finger as I made my way down the hall.  I opened the large doors to reveal a nursery.  I smiled as I picked up the child from the crib.  “Hello Ollie,” I said, rocking the baby back and forth in my arms.  He had his father’s bright blue eyes which were wide with bewilderment as he reached out to grab a strand of my hair that hung over him.  I chuckled, gently removing the hair from his grasp.  “That’s mommy’s hair silly,” I said softly.  

“I still don’t get why you married her,” a voice on the other side of the door said.  

“Susan, we’ve been over this,” another voice replied calmly.  It was Peter’s.  “It was the best way to calm the tension between our nation and Calormen.”

“It’s stupid is what it is,” Susan replied.  “You were in a perfectly happy relationship with Maria.”

“I know,” Peter sighed.  “But I have to put my nation before my feelings.”

“Well, what about Maria’s feelings?  Don’t you think hers are important too?”  Peter stayed silent.  “I guess Narnia is more important than her too.”  The sound of heels could be heard getting gradually softer before being completely inaudible.  I could hear Peter sigh before the door to the room slowly started to open.  

I immediately turned my head to Ollie who had already started to suck on my breast.  “I didn’t know you were in here.”  I turned to Peter.

“I always feed Ollie at this time,” I stated before turning my attention back to my baby.  I could feel Peter linger near the door.  I turned to see him looking around the room.  “I’ll be done soon.  Then you can be with him.”  Peter nodded at this, putting his hands behind his back and walking around the room, inspecting the decorations.  

“You didn’t hear anything before, did you?”

“Hear what?” I lied, suddenly glad that Ollie had decided that he was full.  

“Nothing,” Peter said as I put Ollie back in his crib and adjusted my dress to cover myself.  I inhaled sharply as I felt Peter make his way to the crib, his body only inches from mine.  “He has your nose,” Peter pointed out.  

“And your eyes,” I replied.  I hoped that my heartbeat wasn’t as loud as I thought it was as Peter smiled down at Ollie.

“He does, doesn't he.”  I nodded, clearing my throat and sliding away from Peter who had slowly made his way closer to me.  “He’s all yours,” I said quickly, already making my way towards the door.  

“Thank you,” Peter replied.  I turned to him, giving a quick nod before leaving the room.  I felt my face burn up as I made my way to the library.  My brain replayed the feeling of Peter’s body so close to mine.  The doors slammed behind me as I made my way to a secluded corner, not wanting anyone to see me in such a state.  Why was I freaking out over something so small?  Surely Peter and I had been in much more intimate situations.  But the way we were standing so close, looking down at the child we had both created.  It was like we were a true family filled with love and admiration.  No.  That was stupid.  

Our relationship was not one of love but one of power.  This thought only turned my attention to the conversation I had overheard.  I could already feel the tears burning my eyes as a loud sob escaped me causing me to cover my mouth with my hands as I sat on the floor.  I had been in Narnia for almost a year now and I felt just as much of a stranger as when I had arrived.

I missed Calormen.  I missed the familiarity of my castle, the servants who always gave me friendly smiles, and my brothers who would turn boring days of study into fun adventures.  I missed feeling at home.  The sound of the library doors opening caused me to silence myself.  I quickly wiped away any remaining tears as laughter rang throughout the room.  I got up from my seat on the floor, smoothing out my dress, before walking through the shelves of books.  

I glanced around the corner to see Lucy and Edmund at a table, a chessboard between them.  “You’re cheating,” Edmund complained, causing Lucy to deny the accusation.  I shifted my weight causing the floorboard beneath me to creak.  I winced as the two turned towards the noise.  I revealed myself to them.  The smiles that had been on both of their faces slowly disappeared.  

“Sorry,” I muttered.  “I was just looking at the books.”  I quickly grabbed a random book from the shelf before turning around and walking to the door.  I could hear them whisper behind me as I left the room.  I let out a sigh, mentally cursing myself for being so careless before making my way to my bedroom.  Peter was most likely in a meeting which meant the room would be empty.  

I threw the book onto my nightstand before flinging myself onto the bed.  Almost immediately, tears started to stream down my face.  I was not wanted in Narnia and Narnia had made it very clear to me.  My body shook as I continued to cry until my body could produce no more tears, leaving my body to only shake as pure exhaustion overtook me.  I felt myself start to drift off, wishing to be in my bed in Calormen instead of the bed of loneliness that I laid in.  

“I’m pregnant,” I announced as Peter started to undress.

“When did you find out?”

“Yesterday.”  I watched as he put on a pair of pants before climbing into bed with me.  

“I’ll alert the others tomorrow.”  I nodded.  A year had passed since I overheard Peter and Susan’s conversation and though I would never admit it, I was hoping that being able to produce another child for Peter - for Narnia - would prove my worth to everyone.  We both laid in silence.  Soon enough, the sound of light snoring could be heard from Peter.  My eyes adjusted to the darkness as I studied the man lying next to me.  I wondered what it would be like if we were actually in love with each other.  Would Peter respond with great excitement when I informed him of my pregnancy?  Would we cuddle together to stay warm during the cold winter nights?  I wondered what it would be like to have his strong arms wrapped around me.  

I turned around, now staring at the dark room around us.  Why was I thinking of this?  Was it because I was lonely or because I actually had feelings for Peter?  Maybe it was a mixture of both.

The next morning, I entered the dining room to see the other royals sitting around the table.  “Peter told us you’re expecting,” Susan stated.  Although there was a smile on her face, it didn’t quite meet her eyes.

“Yes, I am,” I replied, taking my seat next to Peter.

“Congratulations,” Lucy said.  Her smile seemed to be a bit more genuine.  Of all the royals, Lucy had been the kindest when I had arrived although I could still sense a slight feeling of disdain from her.  Though I wasn’t sure if the disdain was for me or the arranged marriage I was in.  

“Thank you.”  I could feel Maria staring at me, her brother Caspian sitting next to her.  I focused my attention on my breakfast, feeling the guilt build within me.  I barely ate anything as I felt the intense stare of Maria the entire time.  Instead, I pushed the food around my plate before excusing myself after an acceptable amount of time had passed.  

Meals seemed to occur the same way for the next month.  Maria’s eyes seemed to be looking right into my soul, judging every sin that I had ever committed.  My guilt would eat away at me, inhibiting me from eating anything on my plate.  

I closed the door behind me after another horrendous dinner where Maria had reminisced of the times Peter and she used to have.  I couldn’t bear the reminder that I had stripped Maria of her lover.  I was too exhausted to worry about table manners as I excused myself almost immediately after she had started speaking.  I now laid down in bed, almost too tired to even keep my eyes open.

“(Y/n)?”  I opened my eyes to see Peter walking into the room.

“I’m sorry for leaving like that,” I said, my voice weak.  “I just couldn’t handle it anymore.”  

“(Y/n) I’m worried,” he said, making his way to me.  “If you continue to not eat, you could lose the baby.”  I could feel the tears forming at his words.  

“Don’t you think I know that?” I said, my voice a bit louder than before.  “I’m trying Peter.  I’m really trying but it’s hard when I’m not even wanted here.”  I could hear my voice break at the end of the sentence causing me to wince.  Peter seemed to freeze in place as tears streamed down my face.  “Goddammit!” I sobbed, burying my face into my hands.  I hated this.  I hated feeling so alone.  I hated that I could feel my health deteriorating.  I hated that I was crying.  And I especially hated that I was crying in front of Peter.  I could feel Peter watching me in silence as I broke down in front of him.

I felt the bed bend underneath the weight of another body.  I felt a pair of arms wrap around me, hands rubbing my back soothingly as I sobbed into Peter’s chest.  “I’m so sorry,” Peter said softly, repeating the phrase over and over again as I continued to sob.  Eventually, my sobs turned into whimpers before turning into silence.  My entire body felt heavy as I continued to lean into him, his arms remaining where they were.  We both sat there in deafening silence. 

That night, my question of what it would be like to cuddle with Peter was answered.  His strong arms made me feel protected as I fell asleep in them, our legs tangled together like vines.  Our relationship was not perfect.  In fact, it was far from it.  But we had each other and maybe that was enough.

[vinnival]

Y'know what, I really liked how you wrote that last one so I'm gonna request a bit of a short story based around it considering you do those. I would like one that takes place during Madness 10, where the reader, hank, and sanford fight the Auditor, and instead of Hank using Auditor's newly found halo to power himself up, the reader decided to give him the new arm with lightning, also gives Sanford some powers because why not (you choose what power to give him)

IF KRINKELS ISNT GOING TO GIVE SANFORD BAE A COOL POWER OF HIS OWN

THEN IM DOING IT MYSELF

edit: I dropped something heavy on my toe and I have now seen god is this my punishment? what have I done wrong?

Desperation

"Yo, those main ANTI-AAHW fuckers are here, we should get going to help," one of the Soldat soldiers said to his teammate, flicking his cig away.

The other hesitantly looked around. "Man, we just killed one of the top ones, another just got MAGged, and another has Jebus' abilities... We should stay away..."

The first one rolled his eyes, "Ayder, why are you hesitating?! You're literally part of the top agents. You volunteered to risk your life. Might as well pull through. Stop being a wuss."

Ayder was about to answer when yelling was heard outside, and the two immediately aimed for the nearby door.

The other Soldat approached the door, only for it to be slammed open by a very angry looking Auditor.

"Boss!"

He growled, pushing past them and speed-walking deeper into the building. There were multiple bright red holes, visible around his void-like body.

"Those fucking beetles are right out there, DO something about it!"

The two turned to each other when their boss disappeared around the corner. "Did you see the halo..." Sol was cut off by the door once again slamming open, and he screamed.

There... Stood the newly revived MAG Hank, the one with no shirt, and the one with the halo-band.

Ayder rushed in front of Sol, trying his best to protect his (now scared) comrade.

"Ironic, huh?" Ayder snickered out before he was soon decapitated by an impatient and angry Hank.

Sol followed right after.

You, on the other hand, panted in pain- burning with the intensity of 1,000 suns, it seemed.

Your halo-band reacted to Auditor's newly acquired halo, and electric bolts shot out from it. It ripped through your body, but it looked like the void of a man was in more pain than you. Which was big, considering NO ONE'S attacks were landing on him.

You thought it over once the Auditor ran off after making his towers, and decided to try and transfer that power to Hank, as he seemed to be the one that was willing to get the most physical with him. You had a feeling it would be painful to harness that energy again, since it felt like you were being tasered by WAY too many tasers at once when you first felt it.

Eventually, you had no other choice but to give it to him...

Your group was interrupted in their travels by a new MAG, ready to attack. Sanford desperately kept flinging his hook at the thing, and Hank was trying to punch his way out of the thing's hold, but this MAG was bigger and stronger than all of them physically.

You steeled yourself, and ran at Hank, who was stuck in the MAG's hand still.

"HANK, OVER HERE," you yelled out, reaching out your hand. He automatically reached his giant new arm out, and you transferred all of your electric energy to him for him to wield.

It hurt like a BITCH.

You were lucky Sanford immediately followed you to make sure you didn't do anything stupid.

(He doesn't want to lose another friend...)

He dragged you back so you can recover healthily while Hank harnessed his newfound power to rip a hole into the MAG, killing it off with one final punch to the head.

He trudged over to you once the dust settled, and let out a low grunt at your curled-up form, sat in Sanford's arms.

Heaving for air, you showed them both a shaky thumbs-up. The band on your wrist was still as sparkly and gold as ever.

They both helped you stand up, and you coughed out a thanks.

It wasn't long before you began thinking about Sanford. You were resting your burning nerves while the other two managed to easily take out the many grunts in the way, so you had time to think as you limped along.

Sanford... He's worked so hard, he's suffered so much, and what has he to show for it? You have your halo, Hank has his new form, what about him?

Once you three got to a new resting stop in the tower, you reached your hand out and gingerly touched Sanford's back.

He flinched a little, but only looked at you, an eyebrow raised.

You smiled gently, "You've worked hard, let me reward you, Sanford."

Instead of the painful electricity, you focused on the soothing flow of water, running through your body and flowing into Sanford's own. A blinding light overtook him. He was calling your name in confusion.

When you and Hank saw him again, he was sat on the ground, clutching his hook closely.

Wait.

You looked closer.

The hook was ATTATCHED to him?!

In fact, his skin looked very spiky, and his hands were glowing a dark grey- huh... one of them were just his hook a moment ago, right?

You watched as Sanford studied it in awe. Wait, whoa!

His hands changed shapes! His hook, a gun, his hand, a CROWBAR, all of that formed right in front of everyone's eyes!

The moment didn't last long, though. Rumbling ripped through the tower that the man of the void created. Sanford quickly thanked you, before you all rushed out to finally fight The Auditor.

Finally, you felt like you were prepared.

It is 3 am. If this seemed very all over the place plot-wise I blame my tiredness

[promisedenddreams]

Dream 49 pt. 1

I found myself on the run from Texas law enforcement, grabbing a bottle of water from a nearby gas station and getting on my horse. I booked it across the fields, making sure to keep out of people's property. Because of this, the cop that was after me started gaining on me.

The cop tried to get the farmers to help impede my progress but the farmers did want to because I hadn't gone on their property.

I started making my way across a reddish prairie with the cop hot on my tail when suddenly this blood-red hand reached out of the ground and grabbed the cop, pulling him into the earth.

There was an eerie burrowing as if something just below the surface was tunneling towards me at a fast pace. It got to me and time slowed down as it grabbed me.

A voice whispered in my ear, 'do you want to give up your last memories to buy yourself some more time?'

I shouted 'yes'.

The hand retreated into the earth and a black cat on a fence held up an hourglass in one paw, an empty crystal skull in the other.

I forgot why I was here and what my name was- all I know is I have to run. I got back on my horse and we headed fast towards a cliff. The horse stopped right at the edge, flinging me over the edge into an endless grey void.

Various floating walkways go off unconnected into the distance as far as I can see. They had substances on them that are bubbling violently.

I was able to grab one of these platforms as I fell past and carefully made my way across the repeating platforms.

Eventually, I reached a key and out of instinct grabbed it and jump, holding the key like a hang glider. I floated down and landed in my house. I don't recognize it but the setting makes sense somehow.

I got up and looked around. I heard arguing and someone say that my grades have been certified. I feel the air build up with static and run out of the house.

A large bolt of lightning strikes the house, creating a large hole in the roof. Though the lightning doesn't discharge into the ground but instead builds up inside it, making the house glow like a red hot piece of metal.

I run.

The lightning spreads out, crackling and zapping everything it touches with mini explosions along its length. It makes its way towards me, almost hitting me from the fence. It moves like an intelligent snake.

One more lash out and it is going to hit me.

[wondernimbus]

tired — regulus black

pairing: regulus black x female!reader

prompt: regulus loses himself to the dark lord, but she won’t let him.

requests are open. gif credit goes to @elioperl. please refrain from plagiarizing my work!

The entire castle seems to be asleep. No sound pierces the otherwise complete silence aside from the occasional hooting of an owl or two in the distance.

But in the Slytherin dungeons, a girl paces restlessly, eyes darting to and from the grandfather clock in the corner of the common room as though in anticipation for something to pop out. Worry is etched deep into the lines of her face, tugging the corners of her lips into a frown and weighing heavily on her chest.

She wrings her hands nervously the same way she has been doing for the past ten minutes now, chewing on her bottom lip and barely even registering the fact that she is beginning to draw blood. No, she can't register much, actually—not right now, when all she can think about is—

"Regulus!"

The door to the common room slides open and reveals from behind it the very person [Y/N] had been so anxious to see. Letting out a breathless sigh, she rushes towards Regulus and, without pausing to even look at him, wraps her arms around his middle.

Relief. It's a wonderful thing to feel.

"You're okay," she whispers into his chest, closing her eyes as she nods compulsively to herself. "You're okay."

[Y/N] feels the vibrations of Regulus's voice in his chest, feels his warm breath on her hair. "I'm okay, love," he whispers, placing his hand on the back of her head as he strokes her hair soothingly. "I'm okay."

The pair of them stay like that for several more moments, basking in the feeling of each other's presence. [Y/N] feels as though a heavy, suffocating weight has been lifted off of her shoulders. He's okay is all she can think to herself; it's the only thought that grounds her to reality, that keeps her sane.

When she finally finds it in herself to pull away, she keeps her hands wrapped around his torso and looks up at him.

Regulus looks tired. He always does these days, but [Y/N] still can't quite get used to it. The hollow bags, the dull hue of his skin and the suddenly more pronounced lines on his face are all signs that something is out of the ordinary, but perhaps what is most alarming is the lack of warmth in his expression. The regular person wouldn't be able to see it, but [Y/N] knows every inch of Regulus better than she knows herself, and the vacancy in his eyes is what makes her grip on his torso falter.

"What happened?"

[Y/N] doesn't know why she'd even bothered asking. She knows that like every other night he left the castle, Regulus had probably stood by the Dark Lord's side as he murdered yet another innocent person. And then a part of her wonders—had it been Regulus who had done the killing this time?

Her arms fall to her sides and she steps away from him, blinking stupidly at the thought.

Regulus's eyes skitter away from hers; she feels a mixture of dread and uneasiness blossom in her stomach like a hideous, deadly flower. He reaches up to adjust the tie around his neck, adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows and opens his mouth to say something—

"No, don't," [Y/N] cuts him off, sighing. "Just.. nevermind. I don't need to know."

And just like that, the night has turned cold and the relief of seeing Regulus alive and whole is gone. The tension between the two of them is palpable—or perhaps Regulus has gotten so numb to things that only [Y/N] can feel it. The idea sends a dull stabbing pain through her chest, and she swallows, bows her head briefly, and says to the floor, "I'll turn in for the night."

"[Y/N]—"

"I don't—" she purses her lips tightly, shaking her head. "I don't want to fight right now, Reg."

"I wasn't planning on it," Regulus mutters.

They fall quiet again. The silence is everything but comfortable; there are a million words between them that need to be said—that [Y/N] wants to say—but the cowardly part of her wants to hang onto the delusion that everything is as normal as it has always been. That Regulus isn't one of the Dark Lord's many ruthless followers—that he is the same Regulus she has always known.

But he isn't. [Y/N] turns around to head to her dormitory, and the thought reverberates through her head again like a plea begging to be heard: he isn't.

It's that thought that causes her to stop in her tracks, turn around and say in a pained voice—"What happened tonight, Regulus?"

He meets her gaze—and she almost wishes he hadn't, because the look in his eyes makes the answer clear even when he refuses to tell her.

"You don't need to know, [Y/N]," he winces. "I'll see you tomorrow—"

"What happened tonight?" she repeats, voice tight.

Regulus squeezes his eyes shut like he's in pain. "[Y/N]—"

"Tell me what he made you do. I want to know."

But all he does is shake his head and turn his body away like he can't bear to face her. [Y/N] doesn't want to walk away from this like it's nothing—with tears of suppressed frustration prickling at the back of her eyes, she takes a deep breath and says quietly, "Did you kill someone?"

Regulus looks up at her, brows furrowed. "No—"

"Did you watch someone get killed?"

"I—"

"Or did you sell one of the Order members out?"

He exhales heavily. "Let me—"

"Or—let's see," her tone of voice rises into a near-shout as all of the frustration she has felt for the past few days builds up in her chest and spills out of her mouth in the form of words; "Did you torture an innocent Muggle? Which one, Regulus?"

Regulus runs an aggravated hand through his hair and groans. "Why do you need to know?"

"Because I'm SCARED for you!" she practically screams, hating the single angry tear that leaks out of her eye. "Do you even realize the risk you're putting yourself in? Do you? Because I do, and I can't stand the thought of you dying or—or worse, losing your head and becoming a mindless serva—"

"I've already told you I won't," Regulus cuts her off through gritted teeth, fists clenching as he turns away. "I know what I'm doing."

"You think you do but you don't—"

"I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING!"

She pauses. Regulus has turned around to face her, eyes blown wide as his chest heaves with deep breaths. With his fists clenched painfully tight and his brows pulled in together at the middle in a nasty scowl, he advances towards her and jabs a finger at her chest—"Did you think I went into this blind? You are daft for thinking you know better than me—I know fully well what I've gotten myself into—I know that I'm putting my entire life on the line and I wouldn't have decided to take that risk if I didn't bloody know that I COULD HANDLE IT!"

She should probably back off at this point. A part of her thinks about apologizing—considers reigning it in before things get worse—but [Y/N] is tired. This isn't the first time they've argued about this. She's tired of it—arguing—but beyond that she is sick of having to say goodbye to him whenever he goes on his little quests with the Dark Lord, not knowing when she'd ever see him again or if he'd even be able to come back to her.

[Y/N] is tired.

And because of this, she doesn't back down. Instead, using as much of her pent-up anger as she can muster, she shoves him by the shoulders. It doesn't have its desired effect—Regulus is much too strong for someone her size—but he does stagger back a little.

[Y/N] is tired.

She shoves him again—and again, and again, until he stumbles and trips over the table behind him, falling on his arse. [Y/N] can't put the anger in her chest into words; all that tears its way out of her mouth is a scream of frustration, and at that moment she wants to grab Regulus by the shoulders and shake him to his senses—

But she doesn't even want to touch him anymore at this point.

"I'm doing this—" she cries out angrily, speaking through the tightness in her chest, "I'm doing this because I care about you! Do you think you're special to him? Do you think you're his—what—his right-hand man?" she lets out a mocking scoff, shaking her head. "You're just a fucking puppet to him—"

"I—"

"Something he can throw away anytime he wan—"

Getting to his feet, Regulus seethes, "You don't—"

With a pointed finger jabbing into the air at each word, she shouts in a voice so broken it's a miracle she's able to form words at all, "YOU—ARE—DISPOSABLE!"

Regulus's arm lashes out, but not to hit her—no, he grabs a vase on the table and flings it across the room, where it breaks with an ear-splitting sound into a hundred tiny pieces. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he fumes, eyes wide with an almost manic kind of anger, "He needs me—"

A humorless burst of laughter slips past [Y/N]'s lips. "Don't kid yourself, Regulus."

"He needs me—you don't understand, you will never understand but he needs me—"

Feeling frustrated more than ever, [Y/N] takes a step towards him, spurred on by the white-hot anger in her chest. "I do too!" she chokes out, finding it harder to speak as the raging emotions inside her chest threaten to swallow her whole. "I need you too—that's why I'm doing this—" She's pleading. Pleading with him to listen. To understand.

But he doesn't.

Regulus shakes his head. He doesn't even look at her; he glues his eyes to a random spot in the room, gaze stony. "Not as much as he needs me."

Silence.

Oh.

Her shoulders slump. Her fists uncurl. She feels as though all the fight has died in her—and it has.

That's it, then.

[Y/N] nods, taking a shaky breath, feeling a thousand words die in her throat. There is nothing more left to say—she's tired. And she has heard enough.

"Okay," she swallows, hands trembling at her sides. "Okay. We're done."

Regulus doesn't look up.

"We're done," she repeats, more to herself than to him, voice now void of any anger or frustration or sadness—now she just sounds tired. "I'm done. We're done."

And then, turning on her heel, she leaves the common room.

Regulus doesn't look up.

[heartbreakgrill]

Serious; Luke Hemmings (Pt. 2)

a/n: I have so much drama in my heart❤️

description: he came with the fall of the leaves and left with winter cold. maybe, this time, he’d stay.

It didn’t feel like five days had passed; but they did.

Luke came each morning, every single one. The first one, a Tuesday, he was bearing coffee and donuts- your favorite flavor of each. The fact that he remembered surprised, as well as the gentle kiss he lay upon your forehead when you answered the door.

You hadn’t expected him that early- 7 am. He’d remembered you woke up at that time, too. You’d slept for nearly 12 hours, exhausted from your reunion on Monday, and already feeling the emotional distress you’d experience in a week. When he knocked, you were still in bed, having naturally woken, but snuggled up in your phone. The sheets still smelled like him, so you slept on the side in which he’d lay. It was warm when you first moved, not long after he’d left, but the heat slipped into your bones and replaced itself with the shape of the air in your apartment.

You fumbled out of bed, slipping on the forgotten socks from yesterday, a random t-shirt- his, random, Van Halen shirt- and pajama bottoms. You hastily tied your hair back as you neared the door, barely peering through the peephole before swinging it open.

He smiled softly at you, adored by the way your face was flushed and puffy, sleep in your eyes and a yawn creeping up your throat. He stepped in, hands full of a bag of donuts and a holder for two coffees. Luke stepped inside, towering over you, and kissing your forehead. You blushed, shutting the door softly as he found his place at a stool at your kitchen island.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he finally spoke.

You burned under his stare, carefully removing your coffee cup and accepting the donut he held out to you. “G’morning.”

“Did you sleep well? You fell fast in my lap,” he laughed a little bit, but his voice was gruff from obvious exhaustion.

You shrugged and sat next to him. He turned on his still to face you, knees knocking against your own. There were slits in his black jeans, allowing the white skin beneath to kiss your own. It was a simple gesture, but your heart swooned.

Why was he being so affectionate?

“Yeah, I did,” you furrowed your brows, teeth biting off a hunk of donut.

As you chewed, he replied, “Good. I’m obviously still tired. Jet lags a bitch.”

Luke watched as you ate, drank every once and again, your eyes boring into the kitchen floor and feet swinging back and forth. Your brows stayed drawn together, expression full of something he couldn’t quite reach.

“You okay?” His voice dropped in volume, stepping carefully around you.

You swallowed firmly before meeting his gaze, head turning up. “Why are you being so affectionate?”

Luke grinned at this. You automatically bit your lip, face scrunching up in a, ‘oops.’

He reached for your hand, twisting the fingers between his own. “I wanna make last year up to you. It was a shitty thing to do, when I stopped messaging back. I mean, everything I did was shitty. So I’m trying to redeem myself.”

You frowned deeply, “So it’s...pity?”

Luke suddenly looked shocked, his face that of a heartbroken puppy dog. He had changed so much; the strong, guarded heart of a rockstar had morphed into a confident, yet somewhat vulnerable sweetheart.

You firmly gripped his hand, as he stuttered. “No-no. I’m sorry it seems like that. It’s not like I’m doing this just because I feel bad. I do have feelings for you, I-“

“Feelings?” You braced yourself, a smile inching up your neck.

Luke flushed this time, the heat prickling the tips of his ears which stuck out from the hair tucked behind them. He shrugged, “Yeah. I’ve always had feelings for you and just being around you again brought them back.”

“And this time you’re not completely taken up,” you mumbled. You stood from the stool and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

He embraced your waist, thumbs circling into your hipbones. “I’m all yours.”

“Okay,” you scrunched your noses before leaning into a kiss.

You didn’t believe him.

-

On Wednesday, you decided to actually go out and do something. He had to be back earlier today for an extra long sound check, because at yesterday’s show, his mic was screwed up. So, you got dressed before he was even there, messages from last night planning out your day.

He’d unblocked you on Snapchat, followed you with his private account on Instagram. Luke had sent you dozens of videos and photos from the night prior: A mirror selfie with the caption, ‘I kinda wanna do makeup onstage;’ a video of his outfit, the crowd from backstage, when he was out drinking afterwards. You sent back just as many selfies, feeling elated by the attention and affection (pretty girl, baby, heart eyes, kisses, blushing emojis.)

You were trying to grasp into the moments as best you could because you knew it would be over. Yeah, you’d talk for a month or two, and then he’d get back into the LA nightlife and fall back into step with his groupies for the rest of your. You would take what you could, knowing you could never have his entire heart.

You took Luke to private locations most tourists wouldn’t frequent: Underground coffee and record shops, trying way too many frappes and kissing foam off his lips. He wore a baseball cap, sunglasses, and an all black outfit, trying to just fit in with the rest of the crowds. At one point, someone pointed at Luke, but you watched to see him and his friend seemed to agree that it wasn’t Luke.

Your day ended at 1 pm, on the steps leading up to your apartment building. You were on the step above him, bags hanging off your wrists from the things he’d insisted on buying you. Luke had a hold on your waist, pressing kiss after kiss to your lips.

Though you were giggling, leaning in for more, you felt so out of place.

After he left, you unpacked the few things he bought you and showered. Your skin felt loose, like it was void of a brain and skeleton, yours hanging up in the closet. You scrubbed at it just to feel a little bit of stinging as if it would ground you.

It was an awful feeling, being a stranger to yourself.

But this was so unlike you.

You, adult you, mature you would turn him away and tell him to fuck off. You’d been a side chick without even knowing it until he went back home, and continued to put out for a taken man until he turned you away. And he broke your heart, telling you he couldn’t leave his girlfriend for, ‘some fling he’d had.’

Yeah, ghosting you didn’t mean he didn’t give you his two-cents before doing so.

But you were so, so lonely. And men like him came once every lifetime.

So, on Thursday, you woke up with the intentions of going to his show.

He’d texted you to let you know he couldn’t bring you coffee today because the guys were suspecting him of something. You sent back a frowning selfie in his tshirt, teasing him with skin and lips.

He came over an hour later.

Hands, hips, perfume and cologne infused into bare skin and transferring between oils and kisses.

He’d told them he was meeting a friend, even had someone to cover for him, and got out just to see you naked beneath him.

It felt good being his priority, even if it was only for three percent of his life.

When your chest returned to a normal breathing pattern, you curled into his side again, let his hands cover your back and hair, his lips your own in lazy patterns of some sleepless song. Your lips formed words now, exchanging secret dreams in the morning.

“I don’t know how you handle the fame,” you’d said after a few words exchanged about his career.

Something about guitars splintering his fingers (which you knew, you’d felt them) and being exhausted all the time, unless he was home for more than two days.

Luke huffed, “I don’t know either. I can’t even get a fucking slice of pizza without being followed.”

“I almost,” you hesitated, “I almost feel bad for you.”

His warm breath rolled over your skin and it shifted in rhythm when you said this. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” you wiggled around slightly, “I just wish you could have your career without all the crazy fans.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Luke agreed. “Don’t get me wrong, I love them. Without them, I’d have nothing. But the ones who come to the airport and follow us around and spam our inboxes on Twitter make me want to give up everything just to have a normal life.”

“I know I could never do it,” you laughed.

But the air froze. “What do you mean?”

“I,” you began and moved in his arms to look at him better, “I could never give up my privacy for fame. For anything, honestly. I wanna be able to go on dates or walk down the street without photos being taken. God, how do you even have a private relationship like that?”

Luke sat up, his arms lightly pushing you off of him. You hugged the sheets to your body, taken back by his attitude.

“So you couldn’t be in a relationship with me?”

Your brows furrowed, fingers lightly resting onto his bicep. “What?”

“You couldn’t bear all that, sacrifice all that, for me?” Lukes faze was fierce, sharp.

Luke suddenly stood, shoving on clothes and shoes in a flash. You stood, following him to the door, “Luke! Luke, what’s going on?”

Your mouth hung open, grasping for words that wouldn’t come. “I...I don’t know that you can ask that of me.”

He stopped at the front door, hand grasping the handle so that his knuckles were white. Luke turned to face you, his expression making your shoulders roll forward in vulnerability.

“What are doing this for, then? You just using me for a couple days?”

You scoffed, anger fueling confidence you wished you didn’t have. “Oh, be fucking honest to yourself, Luke. Do you really think this is going past next week? You’ll forget about me again, or you’ll suddenly tell me you’re in a relationship and my time will have been wasted. Thanks for the sex, but maybe it’s my turn to break your heart.”

“Oh, so it is just for these two weeks, then? When did you plan on telling me you didn’t want me like I want you?” Luke spat back.

You laughed sardonically, “Oh, come on! When are you going to lose the facade? Luke, we haven’t spoken in a year, and when we did speak, it was for maybe two months. You barely know a thing about me. You don’t know my mannerisms or where i even want to be in five years. But, hey! Maybe you’ll stop by again, every year, make it a fucking tradition. Come back when you’re in New York or simply when you’re horny, I’ll get you off, and you can ask me how the careers going.”

Luke went quiet. He cleared his throat, but the simple noise cracked from the tears in his eyes. “I have to go to sound check. Can we just stop this for now? Please.”

“I don’t think I can come to the show tonight,” you replied, backing away with a few steps.

Luke nodded, “I figured.”

Despite the tension, the unfinished argument, the inevitable heartbreak, you both reached for the other and embraced a tight ‘for-now’ truce. He kissed you and left.

And he came back the next day, and the next.

TAGLIST: @mantlereid , @boxofteenageideas @dinosaursandsocks , @ashhdaniellee95 @stephaniemelvie @zhangyixingxing1 @verlaneswiftie13 @kingxnichole

[weakzen]

Echoes

Mason doesn't play the sax.

pairing: female detective/mason rating: m wc: 1.5k+ prompt fill: 05. Let N serenade you on the violin or convince M to play you a song on the saxophone?

also submitted for @31daysofwayhaven day 26 – past ♥

AO3 version

At some point, the auditorium sat proud, tall, and full of life, but now it slumps over like a rotting carcass picked half-clean.

Water damage streaks down the high walls, cleaving paths through the paint and sound panels, ceiling to floor, and near the bottom, where both of those haven't peeled away in long, crackling strips or simply fallen to the ground, there's graffiti. A scrawling expanse of interlocking color and twisting line, layers of jumbled chaos occasionally interrupted by bursts of artistic order and collapsed ceiling beams. Beneath that even further, empty beer cans and cigarette butts cover the moldering carpets, along with a multitude of other random garbage and a general layer of musty grime that burns acrid at the back of my throat with every breath.

And all of it—everything in here, every choking mote of dust, every piece of trash and row of decomposing seats and fallen light fixture, every millimeter of this filthy, decrepit, cavernous fucking room, from its sloping floor to its broken roof and the patches of starlight peeking through—all of it trembles and aches beneath the weight of his echoing notes.

So do I, as I walk slowly forward, down the center aisle toward the stage, boots crunching softly over splintered wood and shattered ceiling panels, Volt bumping against my thigh with each step, and each step coming heavier and heavier as I approach.

My flashlight swings heavy in my grip too, but it's turned off. Unnecessary, at the moment.

Somehow, electricity still pulses through this husk of a high school, providing just enough intermittent lighting—strategically placed and flickering, of course—to make the corridors outside as creepy as possible. In here, it just powers the lights above the stage. Which is creepy in its own way, I suppose, an echo of earlier times in this space, like if I squint hard enough to hide the ruin, I can see into the past and how everything used to be.

Maybe that's why he initially climbed up on that stage, pulled forward. Maybe that's when he spotted the saxophone too, picked it up.

Then where, for reasons I can't even begin to guess at, he decided to play it as well.

And he does. Play it well.

Which doesn't surprise me so much as it makes me curious—and worried.

I'm no musician, but I can tell by sound the instrument has known better days. He makes it work, though. Somehow.

Even if some of the notes come at odd, uncomfortable angles.

There's still a mournful beauty to it.

And I don't know if it's because of that, or because he's the one playing, or because we're in this particular place, this dead building with its stifling air and all these empty, torn seats and the ghosts of memory still lurking here, but…

My chest is so tight. And I just feel so fucking sad.

Maybe it's because of the song itself.

The long and low notes wavering into loneliness. The way they twine and weave together into this visceral, haunting melancholy that just… digs into my heart and aches. It's almost overwhelming, the sheer, raw emotion carried on his melody, the honesty too, coming out of that shitty fucking sax to peel me open in layers, burrowing even deeper until it whispers directly into my soul, truths that could never be shared any other way or expressed in words at all because there simply isn't a language vast enough to hold them and everything they have to say.

It's hard to breathe. And it hurts, hearing it now, feeling the weight of everything spoken by this bluesy music, but I swipe my jacket sleeve across my eyes and keep going anyway.

A few moments later, the edge of the stage looms above me, almost a meter over my head. It's no concern. I tuck the flashlight into my belt loop and clear it easily enough, one hard jump later before I'm pulling myself up and into the bright lights.

The floorboards sink slightly beneath my feet when I take a few steps toward him but, if they creak, I don't hear it.

Mason doesn't seem to, either.

He plays with his back turned almost entirely to the audience, though he's still angled enough for me to catch his long fingers working the keys. Pressing and holding and releasing, tendons in his hand shifting with the rise and fall of his shoulders, the quick inhales of breath and the impossibly slow, meandering exhales. His lips and cheeks probably move in tandem as well, but I can't see through the curtain of hair that hides his face and expression.

My arms fold and nestle, tight and comforting against my body. I don't know how long I stand there watching, heavy with that ache. Time passes in measures of note and the subtle movements of his body. The world recedes too, until there's nothing but this stage surrounded by darkness and rotting velvet, nothing but this scene unfolding atop it and whatever uncertain roles we're both playing here.

Maybe mine is just to listen.

So I do.

Trembling, knotted, heart in my throat and aching with something I can't describe and only barely understand, I listen, until his performance ends and that final note stretches out, fades, and disappears into deafening silence. Until all that remains in this void is the faint buzz of hot lights, distant dripping.

And us.

If he hadn't detected me on approach, then I know he's aware of my presence now. I know he can feel me and the weight of my gaze and all of my unspoken questions.

But he doesn't turn around.

He doesn't move.

And if there's a line I'm supposed to say here, I never received the script for it.

My brow furrows deeper—I take a shallow breath and improvise anyway.

"I didn't know you played, sunshine."

The words come out quiet and thick, seeming to catch in the air, even as they echo faintly.

His fingers tighten on the instrument for a moment.

"I don't."

Then he rips the strap over his shoulder and flings the sax hard into the darkness backstage.

It smashes against something with a harsh clang that makes me flinch as it stabs into my ears. The sound echoes sharply through the auditorium and he turns with it, even sharper, to stalk toward the edge of the stage. As he passes, I reach out to touch his chest and—

Mason catches my wrist before I make contact, but he stops anyway.

He doesn't look at me, though. Only glares straight ahead, into a distance deeper and darker than just the auditorium. And as he continues to gently hold me in his grasp, I can't help but wonder what he's seeing out there beyond the ruin.

What glimpse of the past he caught when he squinted.

His gaze softens, and his hand squeezes slightly in answer.

He doesn't want to talk about it. Not now, anyway.

My eyes fall half-shut, ache twisting just a little deeper as I bite my lip and brush my fingertips against his chest. He allows it, fingers shifting to trace over my knuckles, thumb rolling softly around my palm too. And he doesn't resist when I slide forward to spread my hand over his heart, just moves his thumb out of the way before he rests his touch on top of mine.

Then he sighs, and the tension falls from his shoulders.

From mine as well, as we close our eyes.

I don't know how long we stand there like that, either. Time passes in measures of heartbeat and the small strokes of his fingers. The world recedes even further, until the stage disappears too, until there's nothing left but us and all of the things we're speaking to each other that could never be shared any other way or expressed in words at all.

Because there simply isn't a language vast enough to describe how much I love him.

Or how much he loves me.

But we've never needed one when we have this.

I make a soft noise of reassurance and rub his chest.

Mason sighs again, then curls his hand around mine and brings it to his mouth. He drags my fingers against his lips, breath teasing warm over my skin before he starts pressing wet kisses to my knuckles.

“There's nothing here, sweetheart,” he murmurs, glancing to me. “We should regroup with the others.”

I crack a faint grin. “Aw, already? Just when I was getting used to breathing in the asbestos.”

He snorts, smile spreading across his face even as he nips me. I hiss out a chuckle, then press my fingers over his mouth.

“Guess I better get you out of here quickly then,” he mumbles through them—right before he sucks a couple into his mouth.

Of course.

I inhale sharply, encased in that soft, wet heat. Then exhale a shuddering breath. His tongue slides around my fingers, between them, licking rhythmic strokes in time with the hard suction of his mouth. Heat begins to pool and throb elsewhere in my body, only stoking the desire in his eyes. Mason smirks around me, and his other hand comes up to grab my ass and pull me into him.

“Hm. First the sax—” I gasp slightly, eyes closing momentarily as he slides me fully inside “—now my fingers.” I bite my lip, moan catching low in my throat while I smirk back. “What else you gonna put in your mouth tonight?"

He slides me out with a lewd pop, then presses a lingering kiss to my fingertips.

“You'll find out soon enough.”

Dark amusement glitters in his eyes, familiar amusement, paired with sharpened canines.

Indicative of incoming vampire bullshit.

Chuckling, I grab the flashlight to make sure it doesn't fall. “Think the far left one looked biggest.”

His smirk widens.

Mason curls his hand around the back of my head and pulls me into a brief kiss, then a prolonged kiss, an eager kiss, his movements edged with neediness, with affection, appreciation.

And gratitude.

When he finally pulls back, I'm dazed, grinning, and slightly breathless—which is the only reason why I yelp as he scoops me up.

That, and the fact I'm settled firmly in his arms rather than my usual spot slung over his shoulder.

He doesn't give me time to question it, just leaps off the stage and speeds into the darkness, arms wrapped tightly around me while I clutch at his neck, and then we're rocketing upward, bursting through the hole in the roof, flying high into the crisp night air.

We hang for a long moment, suspended in moonlight, building shrinking below, city lights glittering in the distance, hair floating and stomachs doing that slow, anticipatory flip before the drop.

I smile into his skin, and call him a show off.

He holds me securely against him as we start to fall, answering smile on his lips.

One that tells me I like it.

[leoswritingcorner]

Dru and Aaron content cause @randomheadcanons asked a billion years ago and now I’ve provided 😘

Aaron isn’t sure still how he allowed Drusilla to convince him to let her give him a ride home. She did claim vampire hunters where more becoming more rampant, and it was raining…

“Come to my house,” Drusilla insists again. Music blares loudly from the radio speakers. “We can lie away a drunk, have a nice night cape..” she goes on, smiling sweetly. “I can show you after how much better I am then my sister, too.” She adds lowly, her eyes glancing to him.

Aaron’s grips his fists, his exasperation growing. “No.” He answers firmly. “Just take me home.”

“But I have a new silk set,” She tries with a pout. Aaron rolls his eyes. “I want you to see it!

“And I want to go home,” Aaron replies shortly. Maybe it was his complete irritation that led him to say “to Desdemona. My girlfriend.”

The air became heavy in that moment.

“Do you want me to hit someone, Aaron?!” Drusilla shouts over the thumping bass. The car makes a piercing screech over the sleek street as she jerks the steering wheel violently.

Aaron’s eyes grow wide with horror as the neon headlights shine on a woman and child. They only have time to look into the car as Drusilla lays on the gas.

“Drusilla! Please!” Aaron yells, his throat going raw. He wonders if he can fling himself out of the car and grab them. Would he even be fast enough? Before his hand could move for the door handle, Drusilla veers away at the very last moment. Aaron could clearly see the very fear in the woman’s eyes as the car speeds by. With his muscles still tensed, Aaron slumps against the seat. “You’re mad. You’re completely insane…” He mutters, covering his face with both hands.

Drusilla’s knuckles turn white, her grip shaking on the steering wheel. “Say that again, Aaron.” She challenges. Her voice is calm, yet in no way veiling the deadly tone it carried.

A heat of anger flies through Aaron’s chest, and he turns his head to face her. Drusilla’s eyes remain on the road. Blood is seeping from her lip, obviously from biting into her lower lip.

“SAY IT AGAIN!” Drusilla screams shrilly, her eyes wild when her head twists towards him.

“YOU'RE INSANE!” Aaron bellows without a thought.

The music fills the dreadful void of silence between them for a moment. It’s broken by a sharp and biting laugh from Drusilla. “Insane…” she repeats to herself. “Insane!” She hits the steering wheel and lays on the horn. “Insane! Let’s show these humans just how insane I am then!”

Aaron feels his stomach drop as the car veers off once more. Over the median, and into oncoming traffic. Blinding headlights and loud horns fill his senses and Aaron nearly feels human again as all his vampire instincts seem to vanish. Drusilla speeds through the cars, and opens the window, yelling out, “He thinks I’m insane!”

When the last car passes, she turns the car furiously at an intersection. “I hear lots of humans cross this way,” Drusilla says, grinning widely. “Let’s see how many are fast enough…or I can always just ram us into a building.”

Aaron’s hands tremble as he reaches for her slowly. “D-Dru, I’m sorry. Please, just stop.” He tries gently. His throat aches from the yelling. His eyes scanning the street for anyone who could end up in danger. “Don’t hurt anyone.”

“You called me insane, Aaron.” Drusilla hisses, her foot becoming heavy on the gas once more. A group of humans stood by a bar unaware. 60 miles...70 miles….80 miles…

Aaron can only close his eyes tightly.

The crashing sound of metal echoes through his ears and the car jerks to a violent halt. There’s screaming and commotion outside.

It’s when Drusilla swears and screams that he dares to open his eyes. A shaky sigh passes his lips.

Desdemona removes her hands from the totaled good of the car, and dusts them off. The humans stand mere feet away behind her, unharmed.

Aaron’s short relief fades when he sees the deadly fire alight in Desdemona’s eyes. They stay on Drusilla.

“You ruined my ca-” Drusilla starts, fumbling out, a crack drowns her out and her head lurches back, when Desdemona’s fist slams into her face.

Aaron quickly leaps out. The humans by now where watching, talking loudly, and the sounds of camera shutters at work fill the area. A police siren echoes from the distance. “Mona…” he starts, looking at her. Desdemona stands over Drusilla, fist clenched.

“One more time,” Desdemona warns. “I’ll rip your head off myself.”

Aaron touches her shoulder. They share a small look before running into the darkness of the alley way and then vanishing all together.

[drzenlin]

*Flings trashcan lid*

Okay, I’m back. For more ramblings. (How long did it take me to build up the courage to scream to the void on the cursed website? Far to long. I am neither proud nor taking any questions at this time.)

I would like to apologize now, in the beginnings. 

Now, werewolves. I’ve mentioned them a couple of times. I have also received someone speaking to me. That wasn’t a sibling. (Firstly, thank you. Secondly, why would you do that? I’m deranged. I’m three raccoons stacked on top of each other in a trench coat, wielding plastic cutlery. And thirdly, though I don’t think you’ll see this (I don’t know how tagging works..... nor do I wish to find out. I  can’t address people!) but this is not an attack or anything of the sort. Nor... is this an issue? A pet peeve of mine, perhaps. But nothing of concern.) 

So, werewolves. I like them. Werewolves are great. But it would seem there’s a little bit of a mix up and I suppose I shall bounce in mild irritation and squeak at those who will hear me. If I do not, who will? (It.... doesn’t matter that much. Not really.)

Anyway, I mentioned that I wanted to see more monster content in the mha fandom, namely focused around werewolves. (I love werewolves.) And someone mentioned, in the notes.... (How do you even do that? Notes are a concept beyond me. Witchcraft, really.) That they couldn’t search up werewolves without getting a lot of mha content on ao3. And, well, it’s not quite the same. 

See, a trope came out, probably within the last... Oh, five or six years or so? (Maybe longer. I’m not good with dates and times and if you add in events, it all becomes a swirling vortex of chaos in the cavity of my skull where a brain should sit.) That trope is called omegaverse or a/b/o. (I personally prefer calling it omegaverse. It’s a lot easier to type rather than slashes. My mastery of the keyboard is tenuous at best.) Anyway, this trope came out and hit the fandom spaces by storm, so much so that it began bleeding into original fiction. (I have no complaints about this. I enjoy omegaverse, quite a bit, in fact.) (Also, this is all information that you probably already know. I don’t know. I’m just rambling.) 

For those who may not be aware of what omegaverse is, it’s basically based off of an outdated, and disproven study, about how wolf packs operate and function. (It’s also where we get the ‘alpha male’ stereotype.) Basically, you have alphas, betas, and omegas. Alphas are usually aggressive and dominant, betas (which are never explored in any fanfiction, not really. There’s a few rare fanfics floating around that focuses on betas and I salute you.) Betas are pretty much everyone else, honestly, and omegas which are the... breeding side of the whole complex shebang? (This is a dumbed down version, for I am not very bright. If... you really want me to explain the whole thing? (Why would you? I’m three raccoons in a trench coat) I suppose you can ask and I’ll type something up from what I myself have seen and read and written.) I’ve seen it twisted and altered and changed up every once and awhile, which keeps it fresh and interesting. But people like omegaverse. There’s a lot of content made of it. 

So, what’s my point? My point is is often times people tag omegaverse content with werewolves but... it’s not the same. They can be combined, yes. But they’re still not the same trope. Werewolves are the big, shifting, wolf-y type monsters, like in Underworld or An American Werewolf In London. (I read a lot of werewolf paranormal romances, too. I enjoy this, yes. *Nods vigorously*) This is also slightly different than the Lon Chaney wolf-man. (I’m sorry, Teen Wolf. It’s not the same and it’s not nearly as cool. I understand werewolf costumes are expensive and hard to make look real without looking derpy but it’s still not the same.) Give me werewolves that actually shift into half wolf, man, beast, monsters. (I also accept larger than normal wolves. This is also good content.) But these are not exclusive tropes. You can have them together. You can have them apart. You can have aspects of one or the other mixed into the other. But they aren’t the same. And, when searching up the tag werewolf, you see a lot of omegaverse content without the... big.... hulking.... wolf men. (Or women. Or non-binary. I am bisexual and down for any werewolves, honestly.) A lot of times, you get the pretty, normal, human faces with werewolf attitude. I still argue that’s not the same. We don’t get that shift between two forms, the dichotomy of man versus the beast inside. (That dichotomy isn’t nearly as important as, like.... werewolves. I’m obvious and I know that. And, no, I am not taking questions at this time.) 

So, the content I’d like to see more of is of the werewolf trope. I wanna see Deku, itty bitty, sweet faced and kind hearted Deku, Shift into a large, intimidating werewolf. I want to see the reaction (Bakugou’s namely) of seeing this side of Deku that he hadn’t known before. (I like the well kept secret, “my childhood friend cannot know” aspect of this scenario. Sue me.) And this is probably just me being picky as all get out. But I can’t help it. We don’t get any of that sort of reveal in fandom spaces. And I’m a sucker for it in paranormal romances. 

Now, if anyone can help me find that trashcan lid, I’d much appreciate it. *Looks around, scratching head*

[beihonglin]

rip vivi goodbye farewell yall never seeing me again 

[sweetiepie08]

Rebelz Chapter 5

While analyzing Zim’s PAK for weaknesses, Tak discovers strange coding that sends her on a search for answers. The clues lead her to uncover a conspiracy that governs all of Irken society. When the truth sends her on the run, she has no choice but to return to the one place the Tallest would never willingly go: Urth.

Meanwhile, Dib has noticed odd changes in Zim’s behavior. Has the invader simply grown bored of his mission over the last few years, or is there something more interesting going on?

People who asked to be tagged: @incorrect-invader-zim , @messinwitheddie, @reblogstupids, @cate-r-gunn, @agentpinerulesall​

If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list feel free to message me. Also, if you’re on the tag list and you changed your name, please just let me know.

(thought I posted this a month ago, but either I forgot or it got eaten by the tumblr void.)

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8.  Chapter 9. Chapter 10.

[-]

Jerry had just smashed Tom’s foot with a hammer when Dib realized he was watching the robot’s cartoons more than he was watching the house. He’d been staring at these screens all day. Tak hadn't shown up at all. Zim did turn up for a few minutes, but that was hours ago and he hadn't come back since. There were no fights, no screams, no explosions, or at least not that Dib could see. The only noteworthy thing that happened was Zim choking on a soda. Was there really nothing going on?

His eyes drifted to the clock. 6:30 already? He'd just wasted most of his day watching old cartoons through a security feed. His stomach rumbled reminding him he hadn't eaten since noon.

Dib looked back at his monitors. Tom chased Jerry around the room. Jerry ducked into his mousehole and Tom rammed his face into the wall. The robot laughed. Dib’s stomach rumbled again. The idea of a break started to sound appealing.

“Hey Gaz,” he called hitting the record button, “You hungry?”

“Yeah,” she called back.

“You want to order a pizza?” He slid off his chair and started out of the room. “I was thinking we could have dinner while we watched that documentary.”

He headed downstairs and found Gaz in the kitchen. She already had the phone in one hand in the Pizza Factory menu in the other. “I'm thinking Peppers and onions,” she said, not dialing the phone.

“How about sausage?

Her face twisted in disgust. “No pork.”

“Okay, fair enough,” he conceded. That shadow hog thing still weighed on his conscience. “Cheddar cheese? Oh, and get garlic bread.”

Gaz nodded and put the phone to her ear.

Dib smiled. It actually felt good to be out of that room. This break would be good for him. He’d get some food in his stomach and watch something he’d been waiting to see. Then he could get back to surveying the base later. Besides, with the camera recording, he wouldn’t miss a thing, if anything even happened.  After all, he got nothing all day. What could he miss in a few hours?

[-]

Gir laughed every time the cat on TV let out that loud yelp. He liked the yelling. It reminded him of someone. And it was funny.

As he laughed, another robot walked into the room. Gir looked over. A new friend? Maybe. Did master build it? Nah, he would have said something. Wait, he remembered this thing. This was Tak’s robot. What was it doing here? Oh yeah, they friends now. She gave him a present. They must be over to play.

“Want some nachos?” Gir asked.

Tak’s robot lifted its head and looked curiously at the nachos. What was wrong? Maybe it didn't know what nachos were for.

“You do it like this,” he said stuffing a handful in his mouth.

Tak’s robot just stood there. It still didn't get it. “Here, let me help.” Gir got off the couch, walked over to the other robot, and smushed a handful of nachos in its face.

Tak’s robot wiped the nachos away and shook off the remaining cheese. It’s eyes narrowed and glowed red. Oh it looked mad. Maybe it would start yelling at him. But it didn’t.

Oh wait! He got it now! “Hey, you don't gots no mouth,” Gir said, leaning real close to get a good look at the robot’s face. “That's not right. You need a mouth for nachos.”

This was a problem. If it was going to be his friend, it needed a mouth for snacks. “Oh, I know!” Gir screamed. He ran for the trash can/elevator. He'd seen master go down this way earlier. Master could build a mouth. “This way! This way!” He dove head first down the elevator shaft and Tak’s robot followed him.

[-]

“No, it's not!”

“Yes, it is!”

“No, it's not!”

“Yes, it is!”

“No, it's not!”

“Yes, it is!”

“No, it's not! It's not!” Tak shouted. The can in her hand spilled gignzor on the ground as she gestured wildly. “You cannot tell me! You cannot tell me Foodcourtia is worse than Dirt!”

“It is! It definitely is!” Zim yelled back, punctuating each sentence by slapping the computer control panel.

“It's definitely not!” She slapped the control panel as well. “Dirt is a garbage planet made out of garbage! Everywhere you go, it's garbage! Everywhere you look, it's garbage! You close your eyes and, still, all you can see is garbage!”

“But there's no customers! Zim countered, flinging his empty can across the room. “No one screaming at you all day! No one yelling because their order is late, or cold, or they got the wrong thing! No one saying they want blogrings on the side, but they won't tell you on the side of what. But when you guess, they start yelling! And you're trying every side you can think of, but nothing works! And sometimes they still haunt your thoughts late at night!” He grabbed Tak’s shoulders and shook her. “What side did he want, Tak? What side did he want?!” He kept shaking until she slapped him away.

The sound of a “Whee-hoo” came from the ceiling. It got progressively louder until Gir splat-landed face-first on the floor. Tak’s Sir unit slinked gracefully down and landed beside him.

Gir sprang to his feet. “My friend needs a nacho hole,” he said pointing at the other robot.

“MiMi,” Tak commanded, “Get away from that pile of junk.” The SIR unit nodded and slink to her side.

“Hey!” Zim pointed an accusing finger at her. “You don't get to call my Gir junk!”

“Yeah!” Gir screamed.

Tak smirked. “I built Mimi myself out of spare parts and she’s still more advanced than the standard SIR units issued to the invaders.”

“Well I got a mouth!” Gir shot back.

“Yeah!” Zim shouted. “Hey wait, does your SIR unit talk?”

“No,” Tak sighed. “I couldn't find a functioning vocal chip on Dirt.”

Suddenly, Zim’s computer made an alert sound. “Sir,” computer said, “there is an incoming transmission from the Massive.”

Zim's hands flew to his head. “Oh no, the Tallest can't see me drunk.”

“The Tallest can't see me at all,” Tak added.

“Well, get out of frame, then.”

Tak scooped up Mimi and they ducked under the control panel. Zim tried shaking a bit of his drunkenness off. It didn’t seem to do much, but he answered the call anyway. An Irken in a navigator’s uniform appeared on the screen.

“Um, Invader Zim?” the navigator said, putting a strange emphasis on Zim’s title.

“Yeah,” Heh, he said ‘invader’ funny… Wait a second. “Hey, you're not The Tallest. What is this?”

“The Tallest are very busy at the moment,” the navigator replied. “A traitor has been identified.”

“Traitor? Pfft…” Zim waved his hand. “I don't know anything about a traitor, definitely not one with any conspiracies.” I am nailing this nonchalant performance.

“Uh, you wouldn't.” The navigator said, raising an eyelid. “A notice went out to all Irkens on planet or in the Armada. I've been tasked with informing all those out-of-range to be on the lookout for her.” He paused. “What was that about a conspiracy?”

“Nothing. I said I didn't know anything about a conspiracy, remember?” Totally nailing it.

“Yeah, but why would you bring it up in the first place?”

Shoot. He was asking too many questions. Better get rid of him. “Yes, yes. Anyway, I got your message,” Zim dismissed, reaching to cut off the transmission. “I'll be sure to look out for Tak. Now you can move on to-”

“Wait, I never said the traitor's name.”

His hand froze. Fuck “Uh, yes you did.”

“No, I didn't.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No. I didn't.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn't!” The navigator shouted impatiently. “And I can playback this conversation to prove it.”

Zim started to sweat as he contemplated his next move. Before he could say anything, however, Gir dove under the control panel.

“Found you!” Gir squealed.

“What was that?” The navigator asked.

“My SIR unit,” Zim answered. “He lost his�� uh… contact lenses!”

“SIR units don't wear contact lenses.”

“Your turn to hide.” Gir said. Zim could hear a scuffle going on.

“No, stop.” Tak whisper-shouted. “Stop pushing me, you metallic hunk of-” Tak flew out from under the control panel and landed on the floor with an “omf.”

No, no, no, no, no! Zim slapped a big fake grin on his face. “As I was saying, I'll be on the lookout for that traitor and I’ll get back to you if I see her. Bye!” Zim cut the transmission and the screen went black. He let out a long breath. “I don't think they suspect a thing.”

Tak got up and brushed herself off. She glared daggers at him and snarled, a retort forming on her lips. Before she could speak, the entire base shook violently, knocking them off their feet.

“What's happening?” Zim struggled to stand up, but another shake sent him back to the floor. The base continued to rumble and, with each new quake, the room shrank in size, along with the tech in it.

“You idiot!” Tak shouted, managing to pull herself up. “It's cubification!”

Zim blinked. “Uhh…”

She scowled and rolled her eyes.” When The Tallest believe an invasion has been compromised beyond salvation, the remotely cubify the base, destroying all evidence and crushing any organic matter left inside.”

“I knew that.” Zim jumped to his feet. “Why are you explaining things I already know?”

“You moron, were going to be squashed!” Tak screamed, grabbing the front of his tunic. “And I refuse to let my cells mix with yours!” She threw him down and called, “Mimi!”

Tak’s loyal SIR unit slid up to her side. Mimi saluted, wrapped her arms around Tak, and flew them both up the elevator shaft.

“Gir!” Zim commanded. “Get us out of here!”

Gir bounced up. His eyes flashed red as he gave a salute. He then ignited the propulsion jets in his feet, flung Zim onto his back, and rocketed them up the elevator shaft.

As they flew to the house level, the walls around them closed in at a steadily rapid rate. It became a tight squeeze toward the top. Zim’s waist became stuck in the trash can lid for a moment before he managed to wiggle out.

By the time he made it to the living room, the ceiling was only a few feet overhead. Tak pulled at the doorknob with all her weight, but it wouldn't budge. She let out a cry of frustration and her laser cutters unfurled from her PAK. The lasers on all four tips joined into one large square of energy which blasted a hole in the wall. However, that hole shrunk just as quickly as the rest of the house.

Tak dove through and MiMi followed. Zim looked around for his service unit who was busy giggling and bouncing off of the encroaching walls. “Gir, quickly!” he commanded, pointing to the hole. Gir launched himself through, squealing. Zim followed after, feeling the ceiling brush the tip of his antenna on his way out.

He landed on his hands and knees on the lawn. Once he gathered himself, he turned to watch as his beautiful base crushed itself into a cube about the size of an Urth child’s alphabet block.

Zim’s mouth hung open. “Six years on this miserable ball of filth,” he murmured, scooting up to the teal cube on his knees. “Now look at you.” He flopped face-first on the yard and made pitiful noises. Gir sat down next to him and patted him on the back.

“Get over it, Zim,” Tak grumbled, activating her human disguise. “At least you still have a ship. Mine’s crushed in there with everything else.”

“Everything?” Zim snapped up. “Wait, where’s Minimoose?”

“NYAH,” Minimoose squeaked as he floated into Zim’s line of vision.”

Zim jumped up and threw his arms around his creation. “Yeah! Minimoose! I knew I shouldn't have to worry about you.”

“Quit hugging the moose, Zim,” Tak snapped. “In case you haven't noticed, we have a real problem here. We're stuck on this dirtball with no shelter, no resources, nowhere to go, and we're out of gingzor.”

“Yeah, well, whose fault is that?” Zim retorted, stomping up to his ship. He reached in, pulled out a spare dog suit, and flung it out Gir. He then began applying his human disguise and he continued. “My base would be fine right now if they didn't catch you hiding out in there.”

“Well they wouldn't have caught me if you could control your sorry excuse for a SIR unit,” Tak shot back.

“Hey!” Zim jumped down from his ship. “Gir is a specialized unit! Operating him takes a deft hand. Simply shouting out commands won't do.”

“why? because then he'd work properly?” Tak smirked.

Zim let out an exaggerated gasp. “How dare?! I just lied my butt off for you and you repay me by insulting my Gir?”

“Oh yes,” she scoffed, “thank you so much for blurting out my name before they even told you who the traitor was. You are a true master of deception.”

Zim put on a smug, mocking grin. “You're welcome.”

Tak growled and kicked nearby rock into the street. After letting out an huff, she turned back to him. “Well, you've been on this planet longer than any other advanced species. Where is a good place to lay low?”

Zim thought about this as he picked up the teal cube and turned it around in his hands. His base wasn't completely destroyed. Everything shrunk as it was being cubified. Perhaps it was all still in there. If he could reverse the effect… “It'll have to be a place with access to a lab. With the proper tools, I could possibly find a way to get my base up and running again.”

“Oh! I know! I know!” Gir squealed, jumping on Zim’s back.

“No, Gir. We're not doing that.”

“But… but…”

“No, Gir,” Zim said again, crossing his arms. “I won't allow my pride to sink that low.”

“But we've done it before,” Gir pointed out.

“Hmm? What's he talking about?” Tak asked sternly.

“Doesn't matter.” Zim answered, waving a dismissive hand at her. “It's not an option.”

“Yes it is,” Gir argued.

“Zim…” Tak growled, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him up to her eye level. “Where is it?”

[-]

Gaz flipped open the pizza box and steam rose off the hot, fresh cheese. Dib reached into the takeout bag. The garlic bread was still hot, too. He bit into a slice, enjoying the warm, steamy goodness and hoping the documentary wouldn't bring up any cow disembowelment's while he was eating.

This was shaping up to be a pretty good evening. Good documentary, good food, and he and his sister were just chilling together. There were no fights, no aliens (except the ones in the documentary, of course), no plans for world domination, no nothing. Just pizza, sibling bonding, and the dulcet tones of the narrator explaining bizarre happenings in Utah.

Gaz was right. He needed to take breaks more often. In fact, he was pretty content to spend the rest of the night relaxing. He could do without dealing with Irken nonsense for one night.

[castielsshield]

Blink

Title: Blink (Leave A Message Part 4)

Pairing: Female OC/Sam Winchester

Synopsis: After losing Jess, Sam continues to leave messages on her phone as a coping mechanism. Unbeknownst to Sam, that number has been adopted by another person.

Word Count: 1,871

Warnings: Fire, character death, minor violence

Part 3 || Part 5 || Masterpost

— • —

          “Ash! On your left!” Alexander called out to me. I pivoted on my heel and lashed out with my silver dagger as the werewolf jumped toward me. She shifted her weight in the air and avoided the blade by inches. Instead, she landed on my right side and raked her claws across my shoulder. I cried out in pain and clutched the wound with my right hand. Stumbling forward, I tried to buy myself some time as well as put some space between the werewolf and myself. As gravity and momentum pulled my body forward, I glanced over to where Alexander was fighting off the other monster. 

          Alexander and I had thought that it was a single werewolf but, as it turns out, it was a pair that was working with each other. The male, the one Alexander is fighting, hid while Alexander and I crept into the cabin the wolves were hiding out in. Once we were inside, he flanked us and attacked Alexander from behind. Now, here we are, each fighting our own monster.

          The moment before I hit the ground, I reached out and caught myself on the wall the she-wolf had just pushed herself off of. I pressed my back up against the smooth drywall and faced her. Pulling back her lips and baring her teeth, the werewolf released a snarl. The muscles in her legs tensed, the only sign of what was about to happen. She grinned maniacally before flinging herself at me once again. I twisted my body to the side as she descended on the spot where I had previously been standing. I turned back around and pressed my forearm against the back of the werewolf, holding her against the wall. I drove my dagger into her heart, twisting the handle. She drew a sharp breath before I pulled it back out, the limp body falling to the floor.

          Behind me, I heard a thump and footsteps making their way toward me. “Good work, kid,” Alexander said as he placed a hand on my shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. “You’ve got skill, more than I’ve ever seen on a new Hunter.”

       ��  Ignoring the compliment, I nodded my head and pulled a cloth out of my pocket, wiping werewolf blood off the flat of the blade. Turning around, I looked up at Alexander and shrugged. “My dad taught me how to fight. It comes naturally now.”

          “Well, I’m sure your dad would be proud to see that his teaching paid off.” He takes a step toward the door and gestures for me to come with him. “Let’s go, kiddo, our work here is done. I can give you a lift home if you want.”

          I follow him out the door, wrapping the blade of my dagger in the cloth and placing the bundle in the inside pocket of my leather jacket. “Do I get to drive?”

          “Hell no.”

 — • —

           “You know, we made a pretty good team. Don’t you think?” Alexander leaned out the driver’s side window and rested his arm on the edge.

          “Please, I did all the work. You just stood there and looked pretty.” I grinned at him, knowing that I would have never gone on the hunt if he hadn’t asked me to join. His light-hearted laugh suggested that he knew it as well. “Call me if there’s ever another hunt around my neck of the woods. You’re not the worst p...Are you okay?” Alexander's attention was no longer on me, the eye-contact we had broken. Instead, he was looking past me and toward my house. His eyes were narrowed and he seemed almost...concerned?

          “Do you guys have, like, a double chimney or something?” Alexander asked, unbuckling his seatbelt to lean farther out the window. He gripped the sill on the window to support his weight as he lifted his body off his seat.

          I turned my body around to follow his gaze. “No, why-” My words cut off as the earth seemed to rock and sway beneath my feet. A plume of smoke rose from the cabin, its sooty, swirling tendrils gripping and clawing at my lungs. Adrenaline shot through my body, liquid fire overtaking chilled blood. My mouth fell open and my chest heaved. I tried to speak but the words were choked out by the thickening smoke. “The house…”

          “It’s on fire.”

 — • —

           People use the phrase “I’ll be back in a blink of an eye” to say that they’ll be back shortly. Standing there, watching my house--my home --slowly turn to ash, I realized that life is too short for a blink to not be long. So much can happen in a blink, too much for anything to be permanent, too much for anything to be safe. In that moment, I understood: given time, nothing can withstand the gentle ferocity of a blink. 

          Blink.

 — • —

           Nothing but instinct kept me from running into the house. Raw, animalistic instinct. Until a spot of blue caught my eye; a cerulean sun on the green void of grass, hidden behind the house. He had insisted on getting it, even after I told him that it wasn’t a very fitting car. That is what pushed me to run into the house, what moved my feet forward and flung open the door with my hands. That is what made me call out for him. I had to find him, I had to save him. “Dad!”

          The fire cast deep shadows and flickering light as juvenile flames licked the walls. I lifted the top of my shirt to protect my nose and mouth but it provided little relief from the smoke-clogged air. ‘ Forget it.’ I released the fabric as another body crashed through the door. “Ash, what the hell are you doing?!” Alexander yelled through the crackling of the flames. 

          “My dad! He’s here!” 

          Alexander’s eyes widened and he pointed down the hall. “You go left!" He didn't leave time for a response as repeated the motion I had done earlier with his own shirt. Doing his best to stay below the smoke line, he crouched over and ran off down the hall.

          I did as he said, neglecting to put my shirt over my face. I ran to my father's bedroom first and frantically searched for any sign of life. There was none. A sharp cough racked my lungs as the constant smoke began to build up in them. I ignored my rising panic as a sudden thought came to my mind. ‘ His office.’

          I rushed out of the room and back down the hallway. I stopped in front of the door--the door I'm not supposed to open--and hesitated. Something was knawing my mind, something was off. The next round of coughs hit like a freight train. I doubled over, clutching the red of my flannel. I almost dropped to the floor, but a crash from within the office awakened something, some shred of clarity. If I sat down now, I wouldn’t get back up. I pushed off the wall at my back, throwing my weight at the door in front of me. The hallway outside was bad, but this room was worse. It was raging with fire and overflowing with smoke.

          There he was. He was just yards away, coughing and burnt, but alive. “Dad!” My head was pounding and the room got darker. Maybe it was my vision blurring; I couldn’t tell.

          “Get...get the hell--out of here,” my dad shouted back. I ignored him and did my best to run to him, my smoke-drunk body refusing to work.

          I would have cried but the heat was too much. Throat-shredding yells were the only reaction I could show. "I'm not leaving you!"

Footsteps came from behind me. It was...it was? “Go, Ash! ASH!” My father threw a leather-bound journal in my direction. I leaned forward and caught it as something in the back of my mind detected another person in the room.

          Arms wrapped around me. “Ash!” There it was again, that word that was my name. My name was that word. My name was the very thing that my home was becoming. Ash is who I am. The arms pulled me, dragged me away from my father. My father who wasn't moving. My father's body. 

          My head was heavy. The light was fading. I was exhausted and my eyes were screaming for relief from the heat and black smoke. The black soot; ash...

           Black.

           Light. 

           Heat. 

           Pull. 

           Black. 

           Light.

           Door.

           Grass.

           “Ash!”

           Blink