#ficlett

[deathclassic]

gallacrafts || theme 33 || 28th Birthday

@gallacrafts

i wrote a little something something to go along with it

[waywardwritesstuff]

Sleeping with the Shooter: A Crosshair X M!Reader

Crosshair X M!Reader (platonic/brotherly) Word Count: 1,489

Tags: fluff, comfort, platonic, intended to be brotherly (NOT INCEST)

Summary: It's been a while since The Bad Batch have been able to take a rest from missions on their home world of Kamino. But reader can't help but notice that things are changing, especially within the world of Clones. He seeks comfort in his brother Crosshair on the long journey home through hyperspace.

A/N: this is a self-indulgent one-shot I wrote for myself but I thought that maybe some others in the fandom could use the comfort from the ending of The Bad Batch. Enjoy!

Another long mission, another long flight back to Kamino, another sleepless night in the cock-pit of the Marauder. I was sitting in the cockpit, my legs up on the dashboard watching the light from the stars flash by us as we jumped through hyperspace. It was calming, serene, a gentle break from all the blaster fire, destruction and pressure of our missions. I was born to be a soldier, but this life was starting to feel less and less like mine. I’m starting to notice our disposability, it urks me, but there is nothing I can do about it, which bothers me even more.

As I continue to stare into hyperspace I feel a disturbance beside me. A creak confirmed my suspicion as the seat to my left now had the body of one of my brothers slumped into it.

“Tech’s not going to appreciate you having your boots on the dash.”

I shrug, “What he doesn’t know won’t kill him”

“Do you ever actually sleep?” Crosshair’s deep voice rattled out again.

“Do you?” I retort without looking at him.

He huffs continuing on whatever conversational path he had planned out in his mind.

“Your thinking too much again, aren’t you” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. Blunt and plain.

But not without a hint of concern, something our brothers often miss when talking to Crosshair, I can hear it, the underlying emotions in his speech that our brothers cannot.

“How can I not-“ I respond “- its in my code, my programming” I knock on my head, a dull thud sounding back.

I sigh and continue to watch the stars as they whizz past us, focusing on one flash of light until it's gone and then focusing on the next, I can feel my eyes flitting around in their sockets. He sighs as well and I see him, in my peripherals, lean forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting on the fingers of his curled-over shooting hand.

“What is it this time?”

“Us” I say darkly

“Us?”

“Us, our purpose, our reasoning, our next mission for the republic, us” I elaborate numbly.

He’s heard this all before and every time he tries to convince me that the Republic will always have a purpose for us, they made us, and they need us. The same old bullshit. He never sees how they treat our brothers. We come and go too quickly and our names just become numbers in a data bank, dust that litters the battlefields of the galaxy.

Crosshair maintains the silence without giving me one of his usually patriotic responses. I listen to his breaths, the nasally sound as his lungs push the filtered air of the ship in and out. As I’m watching the stars go by I don’t notice that Crosshair has stood up and walked over to my seat, I am too lost, in space and in my own mind. I nearly jump out of my seat when he puts a hand on my shoulder. Out of reflex I immediately turn and grab his wrist forcing it back.

“Shit” he cries and I let go of his wrist instantly

“Damnit it Crosshair…sorry” I mutter

“No, that one was my fault”

I inhale sharply and close my eyes for a moment, hugging my arms to myself before blinking them back open. Crosshair is still standing there, though noticeably a pace or so back from my chair. He looks at the ground thinking a moment before he looks at me and nods his head in the direction of our shared room. If you could even call it that.

I was the second biggest compartment of the ship aside from Storage, it was deck out with standard issue barrack bunks, with a few personal touches of course. Wrecker and Tech on one set, Wrecker's bunk is always decorated with Lula sitting in the corner by his head and Tech, as usual, has fallen asleep with his data pad hanging loosely from his fingers. The next is Hunter and Crosshair’s bunk, Hunter’s bandana hangs on the edge of his bed and Crosshair's bunk is empty, though I know he keeps a chest under his bed with some nicknacks from missions and planets we have visited, but I never bring it up. And lastly, Echo and I, Echo’s bed is also empty and mine is covered in a few bits of graffiti here and there.

My bunk is on the bottom which is why I assume that Crosshair is gesturing towards my bunk instead of his own. He climbs into my bunk and gestures for me to follow. The notion takes me aback slightly, none of us have had to share a bunk since we were younglings, not out of necessity or choice. We used to do it when we were still developing in the Kaminoan facility, making sure to stay close to one another. Minus Echo of course, we weren’t joined by him until much later. But Crosshair had always been off put by the idea of sharing sleeping quarters when there was an option to sleep apart, even when we were kids, so this gesture was not something that was normal for him to so willingly offer.

However it would seem that Crosshair could see what kind of struggle I was facing in my head, my programming though good for tactical advantages and strategy is not ideal for anything else. Maybe my state had become more noticeable as of late. I would need to make sure to rein that in as to not screw up future mission.

I climb in beside him in my bunk and he shuffles over so that his arm is bent underneath me. I rest my head on his chest and once I’m settled he curls his arm over my shoulder and cups the back of my head, placing his gloveless fingers into the mess that is my hair. The softness of the touch from his hand takes me by surprise, it was unlike him to be so gentle. He was swift, aggressive and tactical, it was his design. But his nature was not his design, he could be gentle, and he was very calm at times when he chose to be. I know this, and yet still the gesture does not fit with the image I have of my brother.

My head rests on his torso, right where the red marking that we all share on our breastplates would be. His heart thrumming a steady rhythm under his ribs, I follow the sound in my head, counting the time between each beat thump bump thump bump thump bump. The sound of it and the gentle but sturdy feeling of his torso underneath my chest had made me feel safer than I ever had. All I had known was War but this…this made me feel like I could have faith in the hope of life after war, maybe one where me and my brothers have freedom and true autonomy.

I divert my attention to his hand in my hair and focus on the bend of his fingers that are cupped around my head. The smoothness of his palm. Maybe tonight won’t be a sleepless night after all. I know how the brain responds to stimuli that are connected to memories and feelings of being safe, but I know all of that in theory. Not in practice.

Following this train of thought my mind wanders and I get lost, staring into the wall above Wrecker's head on the other side of the compartment. Briefly I wonder if Crosshair needs this as much as I do, and he’s using me as an excuse and guise to get this attention he needs, whatever the case I am happy to give it, not only for myself but for him. I know what Crosshair is like, he never takes care of himself, he takes better care of his rifle than he does his own mind and body.

I am pulled out of these thoughts, my eyes suddenly refocusing as his other hand comes into view of my face. I think that maybe he is just moving in his sleep and waiting for him to settle down again, but he isn’t moving like he’s asleep, his hand is moving lightly towards my face, almost as if cautious. He is still awake. His hand finally come to rest on my cheek, the barest contact between my face and his hand, but he holds it nonetheless and whispers something

“You’re a good kid” I bite my lip at his statement, and my eyes begin to sting. What the hell am I crying for?

‘It’s the stimuli to positive attention after an absence of it’ I remind myself.

I breathe deeply and absently I nuzzle into his hand and hum contentedly. And with that, at least for tonight, I am at peace and drift off to sleep.

I take requests if you like what you see then send in something per my guidelines

[hazzybat]

Thanks for coming Mr Jordan

okay so remember this idea by @cinder-rose of Nace having certain exciting dreams about Jan? well I wrote a little intro and then kinda wrote chapter 1 I guess? maybe I'll make it into more but for now have this! (casual 1000+ words lol)

this is 18+ btw as it involves porn dreams

Nace relaxed on the couch, his shirt off and warmth enveloping him. He was seeing Jan over the holidays but he couldn't remember which holidays they were. The house was large, full of impossible rooms and the largest, softest couch Nace could imagine. Then Jan was sprawled out next to him, his body warm flush against his own. His arm was loose around his neck and his lips were so close to Nace's. He felt a pang of guilt. He had a girlfriend who was.... he didn't know where she was. But Jan was so inviting and soft, his chest hair rough against his own flushed skin. Those beautiful lips whispered out "Thanks for coming Mr Jordan" before they pressed themselves to Nace's. Jan was everywhere. He was hot and perfect and he ground their hips together and Nace could think of nothing but how amazing it felt. Jan's hand snaked down his pants and right as he held his cock and began to stroke him Nace woke up. He wondered for a moment why his bed was so empty, his sheets tangled around his hips and drool on his cheek. Then his mind caught up and he groaned angrily. He was now single. His girlfriend had split with him a week ago, a mutual decision that still broke his heart. They hadn't been good for a while, drifting further and further apart until he hardly felt he knew the woman in front of him. Her side of the bed was cold. His mind replayed the dream and he groaned again. Why had it been Jan? Sure he was close to Jan but why did his sleep filled mind decide to put the man in his sex dreams? Even in his dream he’d felt guilty for kissing him. His hand trailed down his body until it found his very erect cock, precum already leaking from the tip. There was no point in wasting a perfectly good boner he mused. Maybe once he got off he could clear his head. He brought up his favourite porn, choosing to look at the amateur threesome from some time in the 90s rather than dwell on dream-Jan's perfect fingers and lips and body.

The video did the trick, the two men touching and feeling the woman before they made out with each other over her, the low quality footage allowing him to imagine their faces however he wanted and the moans a perfect mix of deep masculine need and high feminine want. He came easily and for a moment allowed himself to remember Jan's deep raspy words, "Thanks for coming Mr Jordan" It was just a dream. He needed a shower and a coffee, his mind already sweeping away the details like cobwebs. It didn't mean anything anyway. ‐--------- "Thank you for coming Mr Jordan" Jan said from the couch when Nace walked into the studio. The statement sent a pulse of pleasure straight to his dick and his brain short circuited. Did Jan know somehow? Could he read minds? Could he see the blush that was steadily covering Nace's cheeks? What the fuck was going on? Jan was sitting in one of the armchairs, his laptop open on the coffee table in front of him. He had a black tie slung around his neck and a black blazer on top with no shirt to speak of. A pair of Nace spare glasses were perched atop his nose. Looking closer it was actually one of Nace's blazers he'd stolen as well. "Nice glasses, where'd you get them?" Nace asked in at attempt at humour, something to bring a sense of normality back to this very strange day. Jan didn't answer, instead he leaned back in the chair, pulling the blazer back to show off a nipple, which he began to stroke with a lazy finger. "I'm so glad you're here Mr Jordan, I've been going through your accounts and I'm afraid the numbers are all wrong" Jan was overacting, his voice exaggerated and breathy asthe hand as his nipple began to kneed at his non existent breasts. His other hand took off the glasses and bit down on the arm of it seductively, looking at Nace with dark eyes. Nace was thoroughly confused but his cock was enjoying the terrible acting a bit too much, twitching at every breathy moan Jan gave between words. Had he actually woken up this morning? Was he still in his strange porn dream?

"I think I can fix the numbers, but only if you do me a big, long, hard favour," Jan continued, rising from the couch and sauntering over to where Nace was still frozen to the spot. This was hell, Nace had died and this was his punishment for staring a bit to long at Jan's fingers when he played. Or maybe it was heaven with the way Jan looked at him, glasses still in fingers, the end in his mouth and tongue dancing over it obscenely. Jan reached him and wrapped his arms around Nace's neck. His hand instinctively found Jan's hips. His brain finally kicked into gear when he managed to ask "what the fuck is happening?" "We got 2 minutes boys!" Jure cheered from his spot behind the door, walking into the room with his phone, using it as a stopwatch and proudly displaying the time to the others. Bojan followed close behind, handing over a note to Jure and grumbling to Kris about "why couldn't he wait another 20 seconds". Jan hadn't moved from his arms and Nace was still thoroughly confused. Jan took pity on him and explained "Bojan found the tie and your spare glasses and somehow we ended up with the idea of a bad porn intro. Sorry you ended up our leading lady but we wanted to see how long it would take you to question things." Jan was grinning along with the others as he fished around in his wallet and handed Jure a note alongside Bojan's. Kris tutted at Nace as if disappointed, also handing over a note to the drummer who was gleefully counting his winnings. Nace was bright red. They were going to be the death of him he knew it. He reluctantly dropped his hands from Jan’s waist and tried to laugh along with the others. This was going to be a very long day.

[prucanfieldsurquestions]

A question for either of you! When did you first fall in love with the other?

- 🦀

Thin hotel walls meant that Matthew, in Vancouver overnight for a meeting, could hear every sordid detail of the couple arguing in the next room.

He groaned and rolled over in bed, searching for something to throw so they would shut up for five minutes, but as he was about to toss a shoe, his gaze landed on his buzzing phone. A relieved smile crossed his face as he picked it up and answered it.

"Hallo, Maus!" Came the cheerful, if sleepy, voice on the other end.

"Hey babe, what's up?"

Gilbert, who was in their king sized bed and swaddled in more blankets and stuffed animals than there was really room for, balanced his phone on his shoulder while he scrolled on his laptop.

"How's the trip going?"

A sigh left Matthew's lips as he held the phone out towards the wall, so Gilbert could hear exactly how it was going. "They've been arguing for three hours now, over a fucking hair dryer from what I can tell."

"Put me on speaker and up against the wall."

Matthew did as told and had to clamp his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing as Gilbert shouted in German at the top of his lungs about how nice the weather was, and effectively shut the couple up. The cackle afterwards, as Matthew pulled the phone back to his ear, was just icing on the cake.

"My knight in shining armor." He sighed, and could practically feel the pleased grin coming from his lover on the other end.

"Ah, don't mention it. Oh, right! The reason I called you is because we got an ask from an anonymous crab!"

"...From a crab?"

"Yeah! Here, listen to how I'm gonna answer before I type it out."

And just like that, Matthew was whisked down memory lane.

- -

Berlin, 1990

“And he can’t stay with anyone else? Not even Alfred?”

Ludwig sighed and put down his newspaper to look at his dear older brother in a silent bid for pity. “No. I don’t understand why this is such a big deal, Gilbert.”

The albino, sitting pretty on the kitchen counter in a black band shirt that was far too big for his gaunt frame, narrowed his eyes. “Oh, you know, maybe because last time I saw him he shot me in the head while I was trying to get to you.”

“That was almost fifty years ago. Things are-”

“Different.” Gilbert spat. How many times had he heard that this week alone? “Fine. You want to keep that fucking monster in the house when I’ve been back for what, less than three months? Sure, yeah, why not! When you wake up tomorrow with him pointing a rifle at you, don’t you dare call me for help.”

Another ragged sigh was drawn out from Ludwig’s lips, who looked like he’d aged a few years from this conversation alone. “It’s only for a night or two. Just… please, don’t be a complete ass? Please? The last thing I need after this meeting is to clean blood off the floor.”

“I’ll think about it.” Gilbert said, knowing full well the venom injected indicated he had already thought about it, and Ludwig would most certainly not like his conclusion.

In the roughly forty minutes it took for Ludwig to pick Matthew up from the airport, Gilbert had moved from the counter to the table, tired body on vigil for the enemy that would be traipsing in any time now. Crimson eyes snapped to the door as soon as he heard the doorknob turn. Ludwig came in first, and coming behind him with both a guitar case and a suitcase was the Canadian himself.

Their eyes met almost immediately. Guarded and worn vermillion bored a hole through soft lavender, and Matthew dropped his gaze to the tiled floor after only a moment or two. Once he was upstairs and out of sight, silvery brows furrowed in confusion. Gilbert had expected a fight. The last few decades especially, in a long life dedicated to war, had taught him to always expect a fight. But his wordless challenge had been forfeited almost immediately. Huh.

Gilbert didn’t bother taking part in the small talk that occurred in the living room. He was there, of course, making sure things were as awkward as he possibly could so maybe Matthew would get the hell out of his house, but couldn’t care less about how the flight over was. He was quite open in his wordless scrutiny of the newcomer and yet hid his vexation over his findings behind a thin veneer of petulance at the man’s mere presence. The guy looked… nervous. Anxious. Like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world but was far too polite to say so. His thumbs twiddled in his lap. He nodded along to whatever Ludwig was saying, offered hollow smiles exactly when he was supposed to, and stole glances at Gilbert to see if he was still being stared at like he had three heads.

Given that he was watching so closely, the albino saw the small sigh of relief when Ludwig indicated it was time to go to the meeting. The two left after a quick goodbye, and as soon as the front door was closed, Gilbert scurried upstairs and to the spare bedroom that had been given to Matthew. Something didn’t quite add up here. Where was the monster from nearly fifty years ago? What was he hiding?

Gilbert opened the door to find both the guitar case and suitcase had been hastily set on the bed. The guitar case was decorated with stickers from strange places like ‘Vancouver’, ‘Whitehorse’, ‘Saskatchewan’, and a few cities in America that Gilbert did recognize, like New York. Inside was a normal acoustic guitar, dappled by handmade paintings of red leaves. Nothing suspicious there.

The suitcase, a gaudy thing with flower print that was apparently a hallmark of the 70’s, honestly didn’t hold much of interest either. Clothes that smelled of maple and had been shoved in at random, a mostly-empty bottle of cologne, an entire set of pens that were just loose in there, and a sizeable stuffed moose. Gilbert pulled it out curiously and looked at it. Soft brown fur, adorable black buttons for eyes, admittedly the perfect size for hugging… A meaningless smirk crossed Gilbert’s face as he put the stuffie back, and rearranged everything so it looked as it did when he arrived.

“Still has to sleep with a toy. What a loser.”

This bit of stolen intel was enough to satisfy him that, at the very least, Matthew wasn’t dangerous. Gilbert went to his room and selected one of the many books he’d never read but had kept since the turn of the century, and remained there for the rest of the day.

It was about three and a half hours after the meeting was supposed to be over that Gilbert heard the front door open. By then, the sun had long set beneath the horizon and the house had gone dark. Two sets of weary feet trudged up the stairs. Two doors opened, indicating the returning blonds had gone into their respective rooms. A few minutes later one of the doors opened again and someone went back downstairs. Gilbert thought nothing of this, figuring maybe Ludwig had gone down for some TV to unwind or something.

That is, until he heard the first muffled notes ring out from an acoustic guitar.

The only music Gilbert had heard for decades was whatever Soviet drivel Ivan forced him to listen to, for the glory of the Motherland or whatever. Music laced with poison, thinly veiled propaganda, bombastic orchestras of people praising the regime that kept them under lock and key. It was nothing like the song now being performed downstairs. Even if he didn’t necessarily like the guy playing it, Gilbert decided that he would be a fool to pass up the opportunity to listen more closely. Who knew how long it was until Ivan claimed him again? Who knew how long it would be before he heard no more music at all?

Silent as a ghost, the albino crept downstairs and came to haunt the living room doorway. Matthew sat on the floor, bathed in soft orange light from the lamp, eyes closed and pouring his soul into some sorrowful tune. If he noticed that he now had an audience he certainly didn’t show it. His voice was a bird, soaring, swooping and diving through the octaves while his hands kept a steady rhythm and melody on his guitar. Gilbert forgot his previous animosity for a few moments as he stood entranced by the performance in front of him. When the song was over, Matthew’s eyes fluttered open like bird’s wings to meet softening crimson. A whisper of a smile crossed the Canadian’s lips as he moved right into another tune.

“You’re welcome to come sit if you’re going to listen.” He offered, before launching into the lyrics and losing himself in the song once more.

It took a few more tunes before Gilbert took him up on his offer. It started with stepping into the room, hand still on the doorway, just in case. A few more steps, another song. A boney hand resting on the easy chair opposite to the couch. Then, finally, Gilbert settled on the floor in front of Matthew and basked in the notes played just for him as if it were a warm shower.

Gilbert didn’t know how many songs were played for him. The talented musician before him blended the end of one into the beginning of another, and while he couldn’t understand all the lyrics sung to him, he certainly got the idea. From joyous celebration to the depths of sorrow, from puppy love to one final goodbye to a partner, Matthew took Gilbert’s hand and reintroduced him to emotions he’d forgotten he could feel.

Matthew only set the guitar down once his fingers were too sore to keep playing. By then, exhaustion had etched itself into his face. Or perhaps it was there at the beginning and Gilbert was too focused on the music to notice?

“Got more bullshit diplomacy to deal with tomorrow?” Gilbert asked, forgoing the venom from that morning.

Matthew sighed and looked at the clock hanging on the wall that showed him it was far, far past his bedtime. “Yeah. You’d think we could have gotten everything done, given that we stayed an extra three hours, but nope. Looks like I’ll be staying here tomorrow night too. I’m, um, I’m sorry about that, by the way. I know you don’t really want me here.”

Oh. Right. Gilbert had been all fire and brimstone about Matthew not staying, and yet here he was, with a twinge of guilt in his chest because the man he’d so desperately wanted out of his home had been kind enough to play for him for an hour. Fantastic.

“Well… I guess you do need somewhere to stay. Can't have you sleeping outside, after all.”

That seemed to be enough to bring a smile back to Matthew’s face. “I appreciate it. I- Oh! I forgot!”

Before Gilbert could respond, Matthew had run up the creaky wooden stairs and come back down with two items in his hands. He sat back down, beaming as much as he could while sleep tried desperately to claim him, and held out a familiar stuffed moose and a maple-leaf shaped bottle with syrup inside to Gilbert. A silvery brow quirked in confusion, prompting the Canadian to explain.

“Gifts from my place. I thought, well, maybe something sweet and something soft might help while you get your strength back.”

Gilbert sat in stunned silence, looking between the gifts and the sweet smile Matthew gave him, burning the image of both into his memory for later viewing. So, that moose that he’d called the man a loser over… had been for him all along? With an uncharacteristic gingerness, he took the stuffed animal first and set it in his lap. For once, he didn’t know what to say.

Most of his belongings needed to be replaced when he came home in November. His bed had been bought only a month ago, his civilian clothes didn't exist anymore, and… well, he’d gone from where hell was delivered in sweat and bullets to where it grabbed frozen grasp of one's soul and squeezed until there was nothing left. Maybe he didn’t have all that much to his name to begin with.

But now, even though he wore his brother’s shirt because time and Moscow had ruined all of his, even though his room was devoid of personality and everything except furniture, he had a soft little moose friend. And it wouldn’t be an understatement to say that meant the world to him. Gilbert lifted his gaze to kind (if exhausted) eyes and a knowing smile, to hair that was a golden halo framing round glasses, and the Matthew that shot him all those years ago was all but forgotten. With a little lopsided smile, he grabbed the bottle of maple syrup and cracked it open.

“I think we’re going to get along just fine, you and I.”

“Me or the moose?” Matthew asked with a little laugh.

“Oh, definitely the moose. But I guess you’re okay too.” Gilbert returned with a smirk. And the rest, as they say, is history.

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

request by @onedirectionlovers2014

Prompt from @knivesofdaudwill

prompt: height difference kisses where one person has to bend down and the other is on their tippy toes

tags: @illiana-mystery, @fangsandroses

I sat tucked into dans side as we watched Abbie collect another round of drinks from the bar. Olivia was playing on her phone while gurgs and Neil were dancing by the speakers. Leaning my head against dans arm, I closed my eyes. A kiss to the top of my head made me look up at him.

“you alright?” Dan asked. I shrugged.

“A little tired.” I admitted. “Always am when we need to rush to get all the cases done before midnight.” Dan nodded and slid out of the booth.

“let’s go home.” He said, offering his hand to help me out. I took it with a smile and intertwined our fingers as we walked out. Dan squeezed my hand as we walked to his car. I laughed as I gently tugged him closer. Dan leaned down towards me and I went on my tippy toes to meet him half way.

“you didn’t have to do that.” I said as Dan put his hands on my hips to keep me steady. He smiled at me before kissing me. “I’m not complaining though.” I mused as I wrapped my arms around his neck. Dan hummed happily before kissing me again.

“you were falling asleep.” He said, forcing me back down. “I wouldn’t complain about this either though.” Dan chuckled as he grabbed my hand and we continued walking to his car. “It’s always a late night and it’s always a rush to get those cases out. But why it’s so much more exhausting to get those cases out I will never know.” I got into the car and Dan climbed in after closing my door.

“and just think. Not much has changed in 30 years.” I teased as Dan started to drive back to his apartment. Dan chuckled and looked over at me.

“hardy har har.” Dan shot back.

“but you love me.” I said. Dan smiled at me and reached over to grab my hand.

“that I do.”

[pagesofangels]

👻 for the meme?

👻 "What is your wildest headcanon?"

I headcanon that Christine Daae, in both Leroux and ALW, believes in fairies. She likes to leave little pieces of candy or other sweets around her living space to keep them happy (so they don't cause mischief like moving her items around or causing things to fall over).

When she noticed all the strange things happening in the opera house, she at first thought it was the work of fairies who were grumpy. So, she started leaving little treats around the theater.

Maybe Erik took notice....and every so often he would take whatever treat she left out for the fairies. When he did, he would make sure nothing went awry with the theater that day.

[positivityjediprince]

After spending half an hour finding nothing but crimes against fashion in the maternity wear section Luke and Leia moved on to, what Luke considered, the highlight of the trip: the baby clothes.

"Oh Lee look at these tiny socks!"

"I swear if you start crying over baby socks again I'm never talking to you again."

"Buut they're so cute! So small! Tiny, tiny little socks!"

Leia fixed her brother with a stare as he continue to hold up the socks, his puppy eyes would not work.

Good grief, they were just socks. Just fabric. How was Luke the broody one here?

"It's not fair." He wiggled the baby socks around, pouting. "How come you're having a baby-"

"Well, when a mummy and a daddy-"

"Yuck." Luke ignored her flipping him off turning his attention back to the socks, "ugh Lee I just want a baby so badlyyyyyyy"

"That can be arranged" a deep voice said from behind them.

Luke spun round coming face to face with the most attractive man he had ever seen. Tall, broad, dark hair, kind eyes, and a moustache (fuck off Leia moustaches are sexy). Who, perhapse most attractive of all, was bouncing a small child in his arms.

"Yes."

"Luke NO!"

[waywardsou2]

Head canons and one shots coming soon! Keep an eye out on @waywardwritesstuff and this account for my works. <- That account is my official writing blog so all of my work will be posted there but rebloged onto this acount. Should have a few things up soon and I am still taking requests for head canons, one - shots and even ficlettes/fics!

[kokinu09]

skz + collapse :)

Word count : 928

Doing your best isn’t good enough. You have to fight to be better. To constantly improve or you’ll be left behind. Outshone by whoever’s trying to take your spot as the next big thing. So Minho works hard. Really hard.

Today was no different.

He stays late to rehearse the choreography again and again until it’s perfect. It has to be perfect. By the time he was calling it quits, the others had already gone to bed.

The dorm is completely dark when he walks through the door, save for the faint glow of a little nightlight Felix had insisted on having in the bathroom illuminating the hall. His limbs feel like lead as he toes out of his sneakers, making the task seem ten times harder than it needed to be. The promise of his soft bed the only thing keeping him from just plopping down on the couch and continue trudging along down the hall to his room.

As soon as he shut the door behind him, he flops on the bed face down. It’s easy to sink into the plush blankets as his sore muscles relax for the first time all day. He ignores the grumble of his belly, exhaustion taking precedence over anything else with sleep quickly drawing him into a warm embrace.

There’s plenty of time for the mundane aspects of life once the comeback is over.

~*~

He gets a look of disgust from Hyunjin as soon as he walks into the practice room with the other three from his dorm. Minho fixes him with a glare in return, too tired to deal with his attitude this early in the morning.

“What,” he snaps.

“You look gross,” Hyunjin retorts with his nose scrunched. He couldn’t say he disagrees. He feels gross. But he didn’t have time to shower before they had to leave.

“Hyung overslept,” Felix chimes unhelpfully, skiddering away before Minho could get a hand on him.

“Traitor,” Minho mumbles as Chan comes up to slap a hand on his shoulder.

“You good?” He asks, honest concern written on his features.

Minho returns the gesture with a forced smirk and a pat on the older’s back. “Yeah, all good,” though he kept their eyes from holding contact for too long. He’d see past the lie otherwise.

If Chan saw through his words, he didn’t let it on since he offers a softer smile. “Glad to hear it. Make sure you get plenty of rest tonight. We need you in tip top shape for the performance this weekend.”

Minho nods in agreement, sighing to himself immediately when Chan walks away. He knows he doesn’t mean it but all Minho could hear was the pressure, pressure, pressure. There is no way he’ll let them down. Not again.

Not ever again.

~*~

Into the final verse, he’s exhausted. They all are. He can see it every time his eyes catch one of the others. They’re giving it their all. All the practice, all the blood, sweat, and tears, has led to this performance.

The entire group is prepared to leave everything on this stage for their fans.

They’re so close to the end of the song. He can feel it in the burn of his muscles, the ache in his feet. Each beat hitting harder than the last as they push towards the finish line.

“~bich-i beonjyeo deoug bichnaneun star~” Felix closes, as practiced and poised as they planned.

Minho stood in position, desperately sucking air into his lungs. All of them shift in their places, bodies exhausted but jittering with adrenaline. He peels his eyes away from the dozen cameras as the crowd burst into a fit of cheers. He sees the smiles brightening the other’s faces, a contagious feeling that lifts his own cheeks.

His gaze catches when he looks to Han.

He was looking back at him…but wasn’t at the same time. His face pale through the sheen of sweat covering his skin. Minho’s smile drops. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Hannie?” He calls.

But he noticed too late.

It happened so fast. One second Han is standing upright (albeit stiffly, but upright nonetheless), the next he’s flat on the floor. Minho was the first at his side, eyes wide with panic as he carefully checks if he’s breathing. The rapid rise and fall of his chest gives the older very little relief, but at least he’s alive.

There’s a flurry of movement across the stage as people surround him, the members acting as a human shield to protect their brother from the view of the crowd and cameras. Minho stays crouched beside his head, Chan over his shoulder with eyes like a hawk. He doesn’t have to turn around to know the worry that’s wrinkles his brow.

Han is awake, which is good Minho thinks. His round doe eyes are full of fear when he looks up at him. “Hyung?” A confused, unfinished question that Minho already knows how to answer.

“You’re ok, Hannie. Just breathe,” he offers calmly. A false calm that he knows Han needs to avoid panicking. If only he knew the worry swirling in his chest. But instead he cards his fingers gently through the younger’s hair, a familiar soothing motion.

He’d sit there with Han as long as they’d let him. As long as Han wanted him to. All the members would. It’s the only thing they know to do. Stay together and hold each other up. If they didn’t, everything they worked so hard to build would come crashing down.

Stick together and avoid the collapse.

[justhereforfandomandfriends]

“i’d love it if we made it”

This was a terrible idea. Jon hates crowds, hates bodies pushing up against him. He's too old for the pounding music and the strobe lights and the air, thick with sweat and artificial fog. Jon goes out dancing, and decides hates his life. That is until he notices a tall  redhead noticing him. 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44352661 

[valleyofthemachinegods]

Certainty

The doors to the lift open, and the scenery that greets her is less a memory than it is a fever dream she can only just recall with the correct combination of meditation and spice. Yes-- throne room is just as stark, cold, and devestatingly void as she'd remembered. Grand, and entirely unwelcoming. As they walk down the landing, Arcann overtakes them, stopping just short of the seat that had caused so much unrest, so much strife.

"My throne…" he says, and Hildr shivers at his cadence. She stands astride of Senya as he ascends the steps, only to stop short of the prize.

"I took my brother's life here. Provoked Vaylin's anger. Abandoned the people of Zakuul…"

Hildr walks slowly up the stairs, pausing behind him, letting him continue. A shadow to blend in, to observe without interference.

"I am not fit to rule… I never was," he says at last, turning and meeting her gaze.

"You were following Valkorion's twisted example," she answers quietly, "But you're a better man than he ever was." She holds his gaze for a long moment, searching for something that she isn't ready to name.

"--Are you certain that you're ready to give it up?" she asks then in a low voice that sounds eerily robotic, synthetic through her mask. The surprise that crosses his features does little to sate her, and how unslaked she is. "Your throne, darling. It doesn't call to you?"

"Commander," Senya says from behind her-- less of an inquiry and more of a warning. Hildr-- no, Agonia, ignores the wayward mother, hyper-focused on Arcann. Walking slowly, replete like an akkling, around him until she could drag a gloved finger over an armrest. A viper in waiting, watching him carefully.

"You could do it right this time. You could be better."

"What are you doing?" Valkorion seethes in her ear and in her head, causing a grin to form on her twisted lips. It fails to reach her eyes. "You are meant to take the throne! My son will only kill you!"

"Arcann," she purrs, seductive and silky as she was when they'd been enemies (aren't they still?), shrouded in a coquettish veil that does little to reflect the whirlwind in her chest. He walks closer to her, gaze darting between her and the throne, "Is this not where you belong? You are strong."

The silence that lays between them is thick, electric. Her pulse quickens when he looks to her entirely, attention driven into her dead, dead gaze. Whatever he's searching for is hidden well, locked away in a place far less obvious than a window to the soul.

"And you are even stronger," that his voice sinks into her so thoroughly is damaging, but she will survive. Always does, it seems. "Claim the throne, Commander. You have earned it."

With that, Arcann turns away from her and descends the steps, leaving her with little else. I had to be sure, Agonia-back-into-Hildr says aloud, rendered free of any trace of emotion. Whether that explanation if sufficient is neither important nor reachable. With nowhere else to turn, it may as well be an eternal throne-- she sits upon it, and gazes through Senya and Arcann, into something unknown. Something worse than an assurance of peace for the galaxy. The static in the walls, between the atoms, inside of the darkness.

Just before the energy takes, a moment before the throne is fully claimed as her, she cannot help feeling as if she'd done a piss-poor job of outsmarting destiny.

Somewhere in her skull, there is laughter, and it does not belong to Valkorion.

[ace-sailor-uranus]

i am aware that it's entirely anachronistic, being as it wasn't really a term until like at least the late 90s i think, but i really REALLY want a fic where Robin gets Steve a DILF shirt entirely ironically, and Eddie just. seethes. he is definitely not in the process of slowly imploding, why do you ask.

also i want Steve n Robin to convince Eddie that they think it means 'damn i love frogs' (they know exactly what it means, obv. it's just fun to be mean to Eddie)

and i want Eddie to choke every single fucking time he sees it bc god DAMN IT YES FINE he IS a 'dad' he'd like to fuck, fine, shut up shut up shut up nahnahnah not listening he is being Totally Normal about this. Totally. Normal.

[evilminji]

We all know how Vlad likes to make clones of Danny and then get rid of them when they don't work out I'm just imagining a entire crack filled idea Ra is one of those clones I just got accidentally into a dimension.

Ra got thrown all the way back in time in a different dimension and is incredibly pissed at Vlad for creating him and worried about Danny if Vlad making more clones like Ra

Out of spite not only does Ra come immortal and try to do glad when it comes to doing shady things to make Danny proud aka the best mother of all times he's also trying to make the world a better place he got the weird balance of Danny along with Vlad obsessions. 100 years into making the colt and being alive Danny finds out about Ross existence as the ghost King and decides you know what I support all my children as a mother even when they are starting coats or planning world domination, and destruction. In the straight up tells Ra don't kill too many people you make mom's job harder and anytime you need something call me I'm proud of you for at least waiting to make the world a better place. Like on the scale of good and bad Danny placed him right in the middle Ellie wants to be a hero and a traveler so if she's in the top when it comes to the good skeleton in the middle scale is Ra cuz does he own a cult yes but he also wants to make a world a better place, and Dan is at dead last for just wanting destruction sometimes but he's working on it he does clay art now.

Ra also inherited Danny's ability to make things chaotic without even trying. I just see Rose dropping to Talia and Damien sometimes while your great/grandmother was country but other than I don't think we have any more races mixed with us.

Or he just drops I'm not laying tally I have the sleeping normally my mother was 14 when he had my siblings in me and mother described it as going to do with excruciating hell.

Talia has been tired argument with Ra after he accidentally just straight up says well great grandfather was grandmother's uncle he did go to school with mother's parents and was best friends with mother's father.

Tim is so confused and all he wants his answers in the background .

I can just see Ra comparing Damien's fearless his old mother's fear illness he will mention of nowhere mother fist fought father when they first met or mother can break a wall with a single hit of their head.

Talia is going to be so confused when they find out that only is mother a crazy batshit person he's also the ghost King.

Talia staring at Grandma who is the ghost King: father did you not think this was important to tell me sooner.

Ra: I have mentioned this before in one of my conversations about mother you just weren't listening Talia.

Danny in the background frelingover his kid and his grandchildren along with great grandchild.

Ra full name is Ra Al Ghul 'Dirgham' Fenton Master

Danny says they had to keep with the cycle of the names no matter where they are in the name.

(This is also my secret chance to finally Vlad Masters as Arabic you can pray that out of my cold dead hands Danny American-born Chinese who who has a very strong country accident because of his father)

Any who don't have to write this I just hope you had a good laugh form my stupid writing I really do love your work hope you have a fun time reading this ╰⁠(⁠*⁠´⁠︶⁠`⁠*⁠)⁠╯＼⁠(⁠^⁠o⁠^⁠)⁠／

Not stupid! I got my first Ficlette! :D this is amazing and thank you! I did enjoy it!

[no-name-publishing]

Tiny Book? Tiny Book. Pt1.

Idk yall I just felt like writing a little how-to of how-I-do my tiny A9 books! So if you've ever been interested, I hope this will be helpful. This will be neither a beginner typesetting nor beginner bookbinding tutorial; as I go through my process I will only be showing my process and providing a few tips, assuming you already have the basics understood. We can worry about the rougher technical skills in another post.

Also keep in mind that this guide includes images of fic I've bound, and you're zooming into these fics at your own discretion. I am not responsible if you read something yucky. I know you have a lot of options out there but thank you for flying No-Name Publishing.

Tiny books part 2; Tiny books part 3

Just like with regular ficbinding, there are layers, and they are:

1 - Typesetting and Imposing 2 - Printing 3 - Cutting, Folding, and Sewing 4 - Gluing, Rounding/Backing, Endbands 5 - Building the Case and casing in 6 - BOOK

In this part we will be focusing on steps 1 and 2. Please feel free to skip to the area you're interested in most.

1 - Typesetting and Imposing

Okay, so this area has some nuances that you don't have to consider so closely with typesetting for more traditionally sized books. To me, these tiny books are not about readability, they are about novelty. As such, I do not prioritize readability. Instead, I try to achieve something that is closer to scale. That said, neither do I want these illegible. But we'll begin from the top.

You want to make a tiny book, but you're wondering, what would be an appropriate word count for a tiny book? Tiny books are the perfect medium for the ficlettes, the shorties, the one-shots. They are also perfect for the mid-sized, 10-15-20k fics, in my opinion. Here we can see,

On the left we have a fic that is exactly 12,771 words, typeset on a 1.5" x 2" (37 × 52 mm) document, with .3" margins, 6pt Garamond font, and 5pt line spacing. This book is only approaching 1/2" (13mm) wide, and only took 5 sheets of Letter paper to print. On the right we have a fic that is exactly 1,939 words, typeset to the same specifications. This book is only 4-5mm wide, and took only 1 sheet of Letter paper.

In my opinion this format of book begins getting unruly around the 300-page mark. However, making any combination of margins, fonts size, and line spacing will yield different page results for different word counts. For example:

Like the above, in each of these examples I typeset in Garamond font @ 6pt size and 5pt line spacing. Typesetting on an A9 page, this is about as small as I felt comfortable sizing my font while still being legible. But notice the rivers between the words--the rivers of white space bisecting the lines, due to the Justified alignment battling the admittedly tiny work surface. At this scale, with the font at this size and alignment, those will be unavoidable. Over time I began disliking this in my own work, so I pursued a different method, which was typesetting on a quarter letter page (4.25" x 5.5" / 108mm x 140mm), and allowing my imposer to scale the PDF down.

Have you ever seen anything sexier. THIS looks like a tiny book. Little to no rivers, still legible (hand-wobble), and preserves the novelty feel that I desire from a tiny book. This method of scaling down (specifically from quarter letter to A9) does change the final shape of the book, from A9 to A9-ish in this case. Specifically, from 1.5"X2" (37 × 52 mm) to 1.625"X2" (41.3mmX52mm). You're achieving something closer to a square shape, which is delightful to hold. All this to say, you have some freedom with word count, with font size, with page size. I've done as many pages as 376 and as few as 17. The fantastic thing about tiny books--their structure will not be load-bearing, meaning--the only thing stopping you are your tastes.

Quickly, some more examples of features in a regularly sized typeset and their tiny counterpart after the imposer has scaled them down. First, scaling half-letter down to A9, a little-over 4X shrinkage:

And from B6 to B9, smaller by 3x:

You notice the compression of every element, and too how entirely unparcable the text in the first example is, sometimes not horrible, sometimes very. Make your decisions dependent on your tastes!

You have decided on the fic you'd like to bind into a tiny book. I will be using my own fic as the typesetting example, and I will be using Word 365 for PC. I'm sure many of my pointers during this process might not apply 1-to-1 if you are using a different word processing software, but hopefully you can adapt the concepts to your program of your choosing.

Kay, next you will do your typesetting. Since this is not a typesetting guide I'm trusting that you have your preferred methods, but I will go through my key steps for setting up a tiny typeset:

First, for every typeset I delete each default Style, create mine own, and dictate the document size. For this example I will be doing my preferred quarter letter method, setting the custom page size to 4.25" wide and 5.5" tall, and .5" page margins all around (except Gutter; leave 0"). On the Multiple pages dropdown I will select Mirror margins (however, as all my margins are the same size, this is redundant, though may not be the case for you). My body text style will be Cardo font @ 11pt size and Exactly 15pt line spacing, with a .2" first line indent and Justified alignment.

You can use whatever body font you like, I only encourage you to do many many test prints to refine your preferences. Your favorite font for half-letter books might not translate to tiny books. After ~30 tiny books I've found I like Cardo at this size and spacing. And if you're using A-paper sizes, consider doing quarter A4 instead of quarter letter, which is technically A6--4.1"X5.8", or 105mmX148mm. Follow your heart~~nyah 🐱♥

Now I will go to my fic and download the HTML file. I hugely prefer copying from the HTML file rather than the browser itself. It kind of standardizes any goofy formatting that might try to make its way over otherwise, while still preserving the italics and bolds, etc, and makes for an easier editing process. It was important I made my body Style in Word first, so that once I paste the text into my document that Style is automatically applied in one fell swoop (if not, you can change that in your Word settings. Advanced -> Cut, copy and paste -> Merge Formatting. It is a huge time saver.)

Now you've gone through your typesetting process, you have a liddle quarter letter Word document that you're happy with. Gets real close to you. Listen to me--listen, you're going to Export as PDF. Not Save As PDF. Not Print to PDF. Export. It's in--listen--it's in File, then Export, then Create PDF/XPS. You need to Export. Especially if you selected Bookfold instead of Mirror margins in your page settings because we need an unimposed PDF in order for this to work right and exporting to PDF is going to solve 99% of your pdf formatting woes with Word. Okay, I love you 👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨

Now, your EXPORTED pdf should look something like mine. Straight, unimposed.

Now what we're going to do is take this PDF back to my penthouse and freak it. Go to this link for the Renegade Bindery-created and -curated imposition tool. This has been will be is such an incredible FREE asset to you, maintained by a crew of intelligent, skilled Renegade Bindery members who understand the importance of community and accessibility. If you find someone hiding this link behind a paywall of any kind it is not with the creators' permission, so shame on them.

Anyway I will be assuming that you know what imposing your document means. If you've never used this site before, it's very straight forward, and here are my settings for making Tiny Books.

1 - Upload your unimposed exported pdf. 2 - ignore 3 - Select the paper size you will be printing on. This is not the FINAL size of the book, this is what paper you are printing on. These instructions are for Letter sized paper. Don't change any of the other settings right now, I will explain more about the Single-sided vs Duplex option in a bit. 4 - Skip aaalllll the way down to Signature Format. Under Wacky Small Layouts, click on the bubble next to Little. You'll notice there are a lot of options here. I encourage you to play with these settings later on as well, there are so many things you can make with this tool.

Once that's done, scroll down to the very bottom. You'll see the Signature Info area, telling you the results of your imposition. In the case of using the Little option we've selected, 1 sheet of our paper will make 40 book pages. 3-signature-sets of 3/3/4 folio configuration. That's a lot of pages per page.

Anyway for our document today it will cost us 2 sheets of Letter paper, and will make 6 signatures. Math says that's 80 pages. Now, you may be concerned because your typeset PDF is not formatted in a number equally divisible by 40. And why would it be. The imposer is doing that math for you in the background, organizing your pages regardless. In my case, my finished typeset is 62 pages, which means that from my second page, I will only be using my 3 folio segments, and discarding the 4 folio segment. This will make more sense later. Click the Generate button, and save the zipped folder wherever you want. Don't change the name of it.

Unzip that baby, and inside you'll notice 2 files--(filename).pdf_little_packed_backs, and .pdf_little_packed_fronts. Appropriately named as one file contains one side of the sheet that will be printed, and the other file the other side.

And when you open them up, they will look like:

2 - Printing

We are manually duplexing this bad boy, because working at this scale amplifies and compounds every millimeter of difference. Manual duplexing will keep printer skew to a minimum, as the printer will not have to perform gymnastics in order to print on the reverse side of your page. Here are some examples:

Two auto-duplexing examples of skew, one horizontal and one vertical, dependent on which direction my paper was loaded into the feeder. There is significant skew. Not a horrible issue on full-sized books but these will matter much more on our tiny books, the key issue being that we do not have much to work with in the margins department. Trimming 5-6-7mm of margins of your half-letter sized textblocks might not be much of an issue; however, here, in order to remove all the trim lines during the cutting process, you will be significantly impacting the margins of your tiny textblock.

Now here is an example of the skew from manual duplexing:

MUCH subtler. Your skew with manual duplexing will range from this--less than .5mm--to no skew at all, and you will have to cut off far less of each page to remove the trim lines, maintaining the consistency of appearance of your tiny, beautiful pages. This is why during step 3 of the imposing process we selected Single-sided (which is MANUAL duplexing), and not Duplex (which is AUTO duplexing) appropriately. This will result in you either getting two files for manual duplexing, or one auto duplexing file.

Your next consideration when it comes to printing your liddle book will be whether you want to use an inkjet printer or a laser printer. I've until recently only had a laser printer available to me. I can say after about 6 or 7 little books on an inkjet printer that I prefer the laser printing on tiny books. Here is an example of why:

On the left you have a tiny book printed from an inkjet printer printed on the highest quality setting, and on the right is a tiny book printed from a laser printer. These were both printed at the same scaling, same font size, same line spacing, everything. The inkjet printer, printing at this scale, introduces pretty glaring feathering on the letters, whereas the laser printer is crisp as can be. I've said before that to me tiny books are more for novelty rather than readability, however I do still want to make out the word I'm looking at, you know what I mean? For this reason I prefer printing my tiny books from a laser printer. Use what you got though, you'll get a tiny book regardless. Make sure you're flipping on the short edge with these tiny books too, and double check to make sure your page numbers line up. And when you're done you got...

BOOK(-adjacent).

Continue on to part duex.

[a-god-in-crime-alley]

DPxDC prompt #1

(Or baby’s first fic prompt that’s more of a ficlette. It’s going under the cut because it ended up longer than a prompt. Sorry.)

Jazz is reincarnated in the DC Universe. Her new family is no longer in the picture and she doesn’t remember her past life at all. She ends up taken in by the League of Assassins. She is named Yasmina.

She grows up there, learning to be a skilled fighter and trains to be Talias bodyguard. Sometimes she helps protect baby Damian, even though she is only a teenager.

She grows up to be a tall girl with a strong build. Not willowy like Talia. She still has red hair but it’s darker now and naturally violet eyes because of a latent meta gene.

Talia eventually switches her to helping Jason during his training, acting as a go between. She occasionally has Yasmina spar with Jason to gauge how his training is going. The two teens get close, Talia sees this as a chance to manipulate Jason. She encourages Yasmina to pursue her interest in Jason, and encourage Jason to do the same.

(Talia is also kind of hoping Jason decides not to leave because she’s started to think of him as her own. Son, apprentice, just something intrinsically hers. She doesn’t want to give him back to her Beloved. She’s also seeing a bit of herself and Bruce in Yasmina and Jason. It’s nostalgic, but painful. She kind of wants them to have a better end than her.)

Yasmina and Jason end up spending a lot of time together. Feelings get stronger. They find a kind of happiness in each other for a time. It might be love blooming.

Then Jason’s training comes to an end. He still chooses to return to Gotham. Yasmina’s heart is broken, but when she looks in his eyes she knows Gotham is his first love. He’s just as Talia described The Bat to her, on one of her vaguely vulnerable days. Too determined. Too focused. The mission will always come first, even as he says he’s nothing like his father.

They fall into bed for the first time, desperate with the knowledge that they might never see each other again; And if they do, it might be as enemies. She sends him off with memories of her, and he ends up leaving something behind unintentionally.

That’s right, Yasmina is pregnant. But she doesn’t know that for a while. She hardly has any symptoms and miraculously, no miscarriage during all her training and any fights she gets into in that time.

Until her luck runs out.

She takes a killing blow for Talia, and earns her first dip in the Lazarus Pit. She goes in complete loyal to the League, she comes out with her memories as Jazz Fenton, and the soul of Danny inhabiting her unborn child.

She gets a medical check up after her Lazarus Spa day and look at that! Pregnant! Talia is kind of having flash backs. At least when She got pregnant and sent Bruce away, she Knew she was sending away the father of her child.

Talia helps Yasmina through her pregnancy and with the care of the baby; all with the understanding that this child will become Damian’s right hand. A couple years pass. Damian has gone to live in Gotham, and now 5 year old Danny (who kind of remembers his past life) is showing sighs of having suspiciously Lazarus water adjacent powers. Ra’s is getting nosy, uh oh. So Talia sends Yasmina away to Gotham.

Armed with the knowledge of her past and the skills of her present, Yasmina is determined to introduce her son to his father. Weather or not Jason will help convince The Bat to let them stay is another matter.

She also has to deal with her dip in the Lazarus pit activating her meta gene. Now she has her own Liminal powers to deal with on top of Danny’s ghost powers resurfacing.

(I know that was long. I know it’s practically a fic. I have no intention of writing more myself. If you want to, go ahead. But Tag me please I want to read a fic like this. This premise has been swimming in my brain like soup for days.)

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @fangsandroses

request from @onedirectionlovers2014

prompt from @dumplingsjinson

prompt: “you’re the only one I’ve ever wanted so badly.”

warnings: swearing, smut, dom/sub realtionship, unprotect sex (Wrap it before you tap it kids)

Dan moaned under me as I ground on him. His hands were tied to the headboard and I could see the small crescents pressed into his palms by his nails. I stilled as I looked him over. Shirt unbuttoned and thrown open. Boxers wet with pre-cum. Hair wild. Glasses off and put safely aside. I leaned down to kiss his already swollen lips as I ran my hands down his chest. Dan whimpered into the kiss as he strained against the tie holding him back.

"Such a good boy for me." I whispered as I leaned down to kiss his chest. Dan hummed as I took a nipple into my mouth and sucked on it. He arched his back against me as I moved down to take his boxers off.

"Need you dear." He moaned. I ran my hands back up his thighs, gently scraping his v-line with my nails. Dan squeezed his eyes shut as I moved back up his body. "Need you." I leaned back down to kiss him before sinking down on him. "Oh fuck."

"You're the only one I've ever wanted so badly." I breathed out as I started to move. "Never wanted someone like this before." Dan groaned, tugging on the tie again. I watched him as I started to bounce on him. "My good boy. My perfect boy."

"Yes. Your good boy." Dan repeated back. "Always your good boy." I alternated between bouncing on him and grinding on him, trying to draw out our pleasure.

"Fuck Dan. It's like you were made for me." I breathed out. I put my hands on his biceps and felt the muscles straining. "Making me feel so good. Never felt like this before." I closed my eyes as Dan's hips bucked up. "Do that again." I moaned. Dan bucked again and I gripped his biceps tighter. "Just like that. My boy. Please. Make me cum." Dan started to thrust faster as I got closer to the edge. "Fuck. Fuck. Dan!" I cried as I orgasmed. Dan grunted as he followed me.

"Did you mean that?" Dan asked after I had untied him and let him clean me up. "That I'm the only one you've ever wanted badly?" I nodded.

"I meant it." I admitted, a light blush covering my face. "No one has ever made me feel like you do. Or let me be so completely in control like you do." Dan wrapped his arm around me and kissed my head. "It's really hot and I love that you make me feel that way. Wanted. Loved."

"I'm glad I can do that for you." He said. "Because it's true. I'll always want you and love you. Nothing is ever going to change that." I smiled at him and cupped his cheek, drawing him in for another kiss.