#random word drabble

[karinasbaby]

the concept of boxer black panther hybrid jake..

always confined between the walls of the gym, engulfed between the tightly knotted ropes from the posts of the boxing ring. he never knew or recognised anything besides roughness and the harsh reality of his nature. how his ancestors were all made to hunt and to prey— and years later he was still following their steps.

he was never gentle. never had the voice of a loving mother whispering for him as she caressed his cheek softly, never had the guiding hands of a father that helped him take his first steps. he’s been alone since he could remember, since he could function.

and he was used to it. he grew independent and isolated, he might’ve craved the unknown tenderness the world never offered him some time ago, but now he only wanted to become stronger.

so his fingers were calloused, his scars deep and dark on his body, his heart completely out of reach. and he believed that he was protected, that this was his destiny, to be so secluded away from everyone. he was safe.

but that was until you came along. with feather light touches, fingertips always grazing his scars that he hid beneath his hoodie with the utmost love. soft hands that held his wounded ones whenever you cleaned his bloodied knuckles and helped him to tie his wraps around his palm. your arms were open for him all the time, warm and comforting. and your eyes— they saw him.

they saw past the scary, dangerous panther that clawed at him from the inside. saw past the boxer that has ruthlessly punched and beat other people, you saw jake. the abandoned, lost soul that was never held with love.

he might’ve barely craved the affection he read about in between pages of dust-ridden books or the cliche movies he saw— but the moment he felt it, the moment your lips connected with his, carrying the epitome of the care and love he lost all his life, he fell so hard.

suddenly he couldn’t breathe without your body next to his, couldn’t live without your shadow next to his, he couldn’t sleep if he didn’t feel your heartbeat right above his.

it was like you cleared every single cloud from his foggy sky, you took every hurt from his wounded body and kissed it to heal. “you make me feel like i’m alive, babylove.” and he meant these words with his whole heart every time he whispered them to your skin.

[fbfh]

did you know that Dean wakes up one morning and realizes he has a fucking bombshell of a wife/husband/spouse, a cozy (slightly rural) suburban house, and not one but three fucking daughters???? Did you know that he woke up one morning to toddler giggles and little kid bickering and baby babbling????? and your girls come charging in hushing their little giggles so they don't wake up mommy and daddy and so OBVIOUSLY he has to pretend to be asleep so he doesn't foil their plan. he focuses all his energy on keeping his face and body relaxed, keeping his breathing even. they're whispering and babbling and Dean peeks an eye open and looks at the love of his life and these three angels with their daddy's attitude and their mama's heart. they have your eyes and his smile. they're... the best parts of both of you, and there's something entirely new and beautiful in each of them too.

Bobby Dean is your oldest, and her 4th birthday is just around the corner. She's 3 and 3/4 right now, and won't let anyone forget it.

Your second is Jodi John, or JJ informally. She's fought her way half way through the terrible twos and is already getting a head start on the whole 3 going on 13 thing.

Mary Cass, or Cassie, is your youngest. She's just over a year old, and wants to do everything her big sisters do.

And Dean is looking at your little girls, and at you. He sees the way the morning sunlight dapples in through the window and illuminates their tangled hair and disney princess nightgowns. Your face is all puffy from sleep, and you still smell like the apple pie you made yesterday.

it's real, he realizes. that pipe dream that apple pie life.

you gave that to him. you did that. you turned his deepest, most unspoken desires into a reality like it was nothing. and every ounce of joy and love and peace he feels every moment of every day, he owes it all to you. You try to tell him on occasion when he gets all sentimental on you, he deserves it. he deserves every good thing he feels, and he's so great with the girls, he's a natural dad and you couldn't possibly dream of a better husband to do it with.

Because at his heart, Dean is a family man. He's your family man.

[batsvnte]

𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐘 — Blade was one who you never expected to be with. Being part of the Stellaron Hunters has its ups and downs. The first months were light for you since you were sticking with Kafka. Occasionally Sam or Silverwolf would tag along if they were needed, rarely it was Blade. You didn’t push immediately to form some sort of relationship with him. You’d rather kept at a safe distance from the swordsman till the time was ready. Which was sooner than expected.

The inner turmoil sparked within him at the beginning. His goal was directly towards death. Taking every opportunity to throw himself into battle without any repercussions. During the few days he was developing feelings, he took precautions onto what he chose to battle whenever you were near. Protecting you was one of his priorities as it was for everyone else he was around. Kafka would often point out how he seemed to be showing off at rare times.

You on the other hand had an entirely different goal than what Blade had. Only Elio knows what it was since he was the one you came to. Often you would refuse to speak on your lifelong wishes, but as far as anyone knows it’s one of the more tamer goals you had. Fighting wasn’t the main concern, but it was something else that was more off the field.

The habits with Blade started out subtle but it was beginning to become noticeable. There was a day where nobody had seen him. Not even Silverwolf. When you entered your shared room during the night, he was there. Standing there with an blank look on his face. You could’ve sworn he was there the entire day since he wasn’t part of the script. He acknowledged your presence when he saw the movement out of the corner of his eyes. And yet he stayed, wanting to be with you after being gone for so long.

Anywhere you would go, he was there somewhere within your presence. It only took a few seconds (actually three according to Kafka) before he was there by your side. He’s grown comfortable after some time to finally trust himself to be physically affectionate with you without the fear of harming you. Sometimes he would have his arm around your waist, his hand holding yours or just standing close to you to where you might lightly bump shoulders. He wasn’t the type to admit things out loud. Rather let actions speak louder for his words.

But another thing was he was silent as hell. You lost count of the amount of times he had scared you since he was silently follow you and wouldn’t warn you about anything. It’s just seems like he appears out of nowhere when he’s there the entire time. Just going out for some fresh air, he was leaning against the wall with his eyes fixated on you. Going to the kitchen for a snack, he’s already grabbing it for you when you were just looking for it a second ago.

At times you would back up and accidentally bump into him out of nowhere when you thought you were by yourself. You would ask him to at least give you some sort of sign that he was there. Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn’t.

It rarely ends well when he comes back from mission in the middle of the night covered in blood.

[atimesfeeler]

They were kissing, and there was blood in their mouths Wade didn’t care to wipe away. It was one of Logan’s kinks, and Wade wasn’t one to slut shame. He also wasn’t particularly surprised when he found out. Did you see the way he smiled when Wade’s blood dripped onto his teeth? Nasty.

The blood was from their brawl in the living room over something Wade couldn’t remember . The only thing he remembered was that he started it, purposely riling Logan up to get him to pounce. Technically, Wade won, but Logan used a different rules than he did, declaring whoever was on top was the winner. Wade thought it was common sense that the first one to do something sexy lost. And that included biting his neck and then licking clean the healing wound. Obviously a prelude to super sexy times. There was nothing gayer, actually.

Wade yanked his head back, breaking their kiss solely to run his mouth. He loved kissing. Kissing was great. Kissing with a bloody feral man on top of him was even better. He also loved talking. So far, he hadn’t found a good way to multitask those two things yet.

Logan clearly didn’t have that problem as he set to work kissing and biting down Wade’s neck.

“Bloody brawls really do it for ya, huh?” Wade gasped, arching into the teeth pressing threateningly against his collarbone. Hot breath puffed against the thin skin and pebbled it. “Enough to get you to forfeit?”

“Didn’t forfeit,” Logan rumbled, the words closer to a vibration against Wade’s neck than an audible sound. “I won.”

“Just keeping telling yourself that,” Wade goaded and jerked when Logan closed his teeth around his collarbone like a dog who thought he could rip it out of his skin and bury it in the back yard.

“It’s starting to be a habit, you know,” Wade teased around the little noises of both pain and pleasure zinging through him. “Is beating me up your favorite-“

Wade frowned.

“Shit.”

Logan paused. “What?”

“What’s the word? Pre-game. No, that’s not it.”

Logan attempted to distract Wade by pulling his shirt over his head. Wade just glared at Logan’s fuzzy tits like they held the answers.

“Pre-game. No. It’s- what is it?”

Logan sighed, realizing he was, yet again, losing a battle, and sat back in Wade’s thighs.

“Motherfucker. It’s going to bother me. What’s the word for pre-game but for sex?”

Logan stared at him with a long suffering look. Wade looked around and patted the floor beside his head, looking for his phone to google it.

“You mean foreplay?” Logan deadpanned.

Wade snapped his fingers, “Yes, that’s it! I knew it had something to do with sports. If you ask me, it probably has something to do with the inherent homoeroticism of all male sports. I mean, have you seen those Italian soccer players? Straight up SEX on the field. It’s disgusting. I’m so jealous.”

Logan’s look clearly conveyed that Wade had ruined the mood and something along the lines of why do I even like this idiot?

“So, are we gonna have sex now? Or are you gonna keep daydreaming about Italian soccer players?”

Wade grinned manically up at him. “Depends. Would you consider wearing a soccer uniform?”

[fidgetspringer-art]

Anyone want some angst? Cause I found some random angst laying around. With the bonus of Martin and Gabe interacting for the first time.

It’s 7am when Gabriel gets the call. The one he’s spent the last ten years dreading, knowing full well that sooner or later it would inevitably come.

-

Gabriel walks through the halls of the large hospital in a daze. Trying his best to follow the directions given by the nurse down at the front desk.

He pauses outside of what is supposed to be Noah’s room, staring at the door. His hand shakes when it comes up to twist the handle.

The figure in the bed at the far end of the room wouldn’t be recognizable if not for the fact that Gabriel could pick Noah out of a crowd with his eyes closed.

His face is so swollen and bruised Gabriel doesn’t think he could open his eyes even if he’d been awake to try.

His lip is split in several places, blood hastily wiped away.

His knuckles must be busted too, if the bandages covering his hands are any indication.

Gabriel sinks down into one of the free chairs in the room. There are two beds in here, separated by a thin curtain. The other bed is empty. Maybe just because it happens to not be needed right now, or maybe intentionally left as such, considering Noah’s case is likely a police matter.

Just a few more hits short of being a murder case.

Gabriel reaches out and rests his hand on Noah’s chest. Feeling the slow and steady beat of his heart against his palm. Just to remind himself that Noah is still alive.

In the countless times he’s imagined getting that call in the past, he’s never once imagined Noah still breathing at the end of it. It just hadn’t seemed likely.

But he’s here. Lungs inflating in his chest, rising up to meet the gentle touch of Gabriel's hand.

Noah is going to survive this, just like he’s survived everything else he’s put himself through. There is no other option.

Gabriel just hopes he won’t be too changed for it.

Gabriel sits with him for a few hours. Just watching him rest. Hands never leaving him for long.

He thinks about the last time Noah was at the studio. How happy and carefree he’d seemed. Gabriel had known from the moment he’d turned up, exactly where he’d come from, could always tell when he’d been spending time with his cowboy.

Gabriel blinks. Martin.

Unlocking Noah’s phone is an easy matter. There are no secrets between them, not even pin codes. The phone is thankfully accounted for in the plastic bag holding Noah’s small collection of items.

Gabriel steps out into the hallway to make the call, he’s not sure why. It’s not like Noah is going to hear him. But he needs a moment to himself anyway. Needs to take a breath.

Finding the right name in the contact list isn’t an issue, there aren’t that many names in there, but actually hitting the call button is harder than Gabriel was expecting.

He rips the band-aid off and brings the phone up to his ear. Cracked screen rough against his cheek.

It rings for a long time, long enough to have him second guessing himself. He’s almost sure no one is going to pick up when finally the line connects.

“Noah?” It’s urgent. Scared. “Noah, where are you, what's wrong?”

Gabriel’s chest aches. He can hear himself in Martin’s voice. Knows that if Noah called him out of the blue like this he’s be saying exactly the same words. Knows that he too would be fearing the worst.

“Noah! Talk to me.”

Gabriel shakes himself. Shuts his eyes. “Martin Hart?”

“No.” Martin’s breath leaves him with the word. “No, no, no, no, please-”

“He’s alive.” Gabriel is quick to clarify. “He’s alive.”

He can practically feel the relief in the silence across the line. He opens his mouth to continue, but no words come out. Martin’s fear for Noah’s life has rocked him. To know that someone else cares as much about Noah as Gabriel does- it’s stunned him.

“But he’s hurt?” Martin asks, finally breaking the silence between them.

Gabriel nods before he realizes Martin’s can’t see him. “He’s-” He swallows. “He’s unconscious. Broken a few bones too. They don’t know how long he’ll be out for, or if he’ll be himself when he wakes up, or-” His voice cracks. He hadn’t realized he was crying, but his cheeks are suddenly wet. “Can you-” He’s not really sure what he’s asking for, just knows that this is too much, even for him.

“I’m on my way, Gabriel.” Martin says, he must have assumed who was calling, there aren’t that many people in Noah’s life, after all. “You keep him company, yeah? I’ll be there as soon as I can, just tell me where you are.”

Gabriel rattles off the address. It’s a six hour drive from wherever Martin is, apparently. The thought of sitting in that hospital room alone for six more hours is enough to have Gabriel feeling sick.

He listens to Martin move around on the other end of the line, likely getting some things together before he heads out. The sound is soothing, less lonely, but then Martin tells him he has to hang up, that he only owns a landline, and Gabriel swallows down his dread and lets him go.

A nurse stops by a few hours later to check Noah’s vitals and to make sure he’s comfortable.

Gabriel watches her work with a numb sort of detachment. She’s humming and chatting, seemingly to the both of them, about nothing in particular, and Gabriel doesn’t bother answering her. He just gives her a tight smile when she comes to give him a pat on the shoulder before she leaves.

He can’t help the way he keeps checking his watch. He’s subconsciously counting down the hours until Martin gets here. He feels childish. Like he’s a kid waiting for an adult to come help them through a situation they can’t handle on their own.

He doesn’t even know this guy. Yet he sort of does. Noah is always talking about him, about his farm and his animals and the way Martin cooks for him. Real, actual food when Noah rarely gets to have anything besides junk food.

He remembers how distrustful he’d been towards this Martin guy when Noah had first told him about him. He'd imagined some older creep, manipulative and taking advantage of a young man desperate for his own place in the world.

He’d expected Martin to try to pin Noah down. Or to use him and discard him when he got too much. Wouldn’t have been the first time. But it’s been four years now, since Noah first met him. And every time Noah finds his way back to Gabriel’s studio after having spent time with the guy. He’s happy. Happier than Gabriel ever gets to see him.

Gabriel can always tell when Noah is leaving him to go stay with Martin too, even if he doesn’t let on that that’s where he’s headed. There’s an excitement to him that is unmistakable. Like he can’t wait to let his bike eat up the miles between them.

Of course there are times when Noah comes to him in a bad mood. They have their fights, every now and then. Mostly it’s Noah’s fault, but even so, Gabriel always feels a twinge of anger directed at Martin too, even if it’s almost never warranted. He just can’t help it.

With almost an hour left on the clock, there’s a timid knock on the door.

Gabriel doesn’t bother calling out or standing to open it, and he doesn’t have to, because only seconds later a tall, weathered man steps into the room.

He looks so much like your stereotypical cowboy it almost makes Gabriel want to laugh.

He’s wearing a red plaid shirt with an old work jacket pulled over it. He’s clutching a brown hat to his chest, just as dusty with red dirt as his well worn jeans and boots.

He freezes in the door, eyes going wide at the sight of Noah on the bed. He looks like he’s been physically stuck by the image.

Gabriel wonders then, how often Noah comes to him with bruises on his face. If he reserves that privilege for Gabriel alone, or if it’s just as common of an occurrence for Martin as it is for him.

“Hey.” Gabriel says, his voice comes out hoarse, raspy with disuse.

Martin doesn’t startle exactly, but he snaps out of his shock enough to look over. He blinks. “You Gabriel?” His voice is deep. He almost sounds stern, except Gabriel can tell he isn’t trying to be.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “You speed all the way here or what?” He has to have been, to have gotten here this early.

Martin just shrugs. He slips out of his jacket and pulls up a chair, sitting next to Gabriel, facing the bed. He stares at Noah for a long time, silent.

“He woken up at all?”

Gabriel sighs. He reaches over and places his hand back on Noah’s bandaged one. “Not yet. They don’t know how long he’ll need. Something about the swelling on his brain going down first.”

Martin nods. “Do you know what happened?”

He knows Martin must have drawn the same conclusions as him. That he must have assumed Noah had a wreck until he saw his injuries. The way they don’t line up with those of an accident.

“Not really. I haven’t heard from him in weeks. Thought he was out your way.”

“He was. Left a few days ago, said he was heading this way but, you know-”

Gabriel does know. Noah has always been bad at keeping him in the loop. He knows he’s even worse about doing so for Martin. “Thank you for coming, by the way.”

Martin smiles at him, and for a second he understands why Noah was drawn to him in the first place. He has a warmth to him, a steadiness that is sorely lacking from Noah’s life. He feels like a rock, sitting beside Gabriel like this, even as he’s clearly going through a lot in his own head, he projects an outward calmness that does a lot to soothe Gabriel’s worries.

“Thank you for calling me. I’m grateful for you letting me know. God knows he’d never call me himself.”

Gabriel huffs. Doesn’t he know it.

“I figured he’d want you close, when he wakes up, even if he would never admit to wanting either of us here.”

The cowboy deflates. “I hope so. I hope I’m not overstepping, I never quite know where I stand in all this.”

Gabriel feels a stab of sadness for the man. He clearly cares so much about Noah, and true to form, Noah is making loving him as difficult a choice as possible.

“He would want you here. I know he would.” It doesn’t feel like enough, so he adds. “He never stops talking about you, you know.”

Martin looks over, eyebrows raised. “That true?”

Gabriel nods. “I think I could name every single one of your chickens by now.”

That makes Martin chuckle. Deep and hearty. “He loves those birds.”

“He sure does.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, just the beeping of the machines filling the room. It’s getting later in the day now. The little bit of sunlight hitting the far wall through the curtains is golden against the stark white of the walls.

Gabriel sighs. The sound drawing Martin’s attention. “I need to go see if I can track down his bike before it gets stolen, if it hasn’t been already.” He stands up, wishing he had thought to bring a jacket with him. “Call me if anything changes, yeah?”

He gives Martin the pin code to Noah’s phone and shows him how to find his name in the contact list. It’s obvious the guy has never held a smartphone before, but he figures it out quickly.

“Go.” He says, when Gabriel hesitates in the doorway. “That bike is his whole damn life.”

And isn’t that the truth.

Gabriel spends the next two hours scouring the streets of the downtown area for any sign of the bike.

He knows from the nurses where abouts Noah was found, but it was down a back-alley in an industrial area. Far from the usual kind of place Noah might haunt. And not an easy area to get a motorcycle into. He opts to rule out the more likely places first before trying his luck there.

He checks the streets around every single bar and pub and club he can find, peering into alleys and side streets with no luck.

Next he checks the local motel parking lots. No bike.

Every time he sees a parked motorcycle on the street his heart skips a beat. But it's never Noah's.

He’s about ready to give up and head back to the hospital when he decides to finally go look at the area Noah was found in. He just feels the need to see it for himself. Like maybe it will clear things up somehow. Give him some answers.

Finding the exact alleyway isn’t hard.

There’s police tape all around it. It’s a full on crime scene.

Gabriel doesn’t go beyond the tape. Scared to disturb anything that might be important to finding whoever did this to him. Even if he knows the investigation will inevitably end up closed before anything comes up. It’s not worth the resources. Not for some homeless biker with a track record of petty crime and picking fights.

Standing at the mouth of the alley, leaning over the tape, Gabriel looks down into the darkness between the old buildings.

He doesn’t even need to bring his phone’s flashlight up to see the pool of blood on the ground.

There’s a pallet by the wall that’s splintered, like something impacted it. Fell on it maybe, or was pushed. Between it and the pool of blood lays a rusty old steel pipe.

It paints a picture well enough.

Gabriel turns away before he makes himself sick. He knows he should head back to the hospital, but he can’t bring himself to go just yet. He feels like a failure, both for not having found the bike, but also for not doing more to prevent this from happening in the first place.

He should have been a better friend. Should have talked Noah out of this kind of lifestyle, kept him safe.

Not that it would have done anything except push Noah further away from him.

He walks down towards where he knows the river will be. The old docks are silent around him. The only sound the humming of the lights illuminating the area, and the occasional seagull looking for a place to hunker down for the night.

He’s getting dangerously cold. He’s been walking around for hours, having left his car back at the hospital so he could ride the bike back if he found it. Now it’s looking like he’ll be walking back too. He’s not dressed for this. He should go before-

He almost doesn’t see it.

He’s following the river back into town when he passes underneath a bridge. The rumble of traffic above him loud enough to drown out his thoughts.

It’s pure chance that he glances up and into the darkness underneath the cover of the overhanging structure.

It’s Tansy.

She’s tucked up against a massive support beam, half covered by Noah’s trusty old tent haphazardly pitched against her side on the asphalt.

Noah’s things are all there, by some miracle. His backpack is hidden inside the tent along with his helmet, and upon closer inspection, his saddle bags are untouched.

Gabriel shakes his head at Noah’s luck. It’s always a theme with him, luck. He seems to have endless amounts of it, always working in his favor. Even now, stuck in a hospital bed with injuries bordering on incompatible with life, yet he’s facing decent odds, if the doctors are to be believed.

Pure luck, they’d said, that he wasn’t worse off.

Gabriel swallows down the bile in his throat and starts taking the tent down to pack it away.

Noah’s keys feel good in his hand when he pulls them out of his pocket, and he feels a surge of pride and relief when he turns it in the ignition and kicks the bike to life.

Tansy starts up just as willingly as she always does.

Gabriel lets her idle while he puts Noah’s helmet on. It’s far too tight on him, and he can already tell he’s going to have a banging headache by the time he makes it back to the hospital.

“Did you find her?” Martin asks as soon as Gabriel comes through the door. He’s sitting in Gabriel’s chair now, pushed up close to Noah’s side.

Gabriel holds the helmet up in answer. “Pure luck. But I did, in the end.”

“Good. Here, I’ll-” He goes to stand up, but Gabriel stops him.

“Sit. It’s alright. I’ve been with him all day.” Martin looks unsure, but he nods and sits back down. The way he takes Noah’s injured hand in his own is so achingly tender Gabriel has to look away to keep himself from letting his already worn thin walls crumble.

He’s exhausted, emotionally and physically drained, but he can do this. He can hold it together for a while longer.

[blackjackkent]

Incredibly self-indulgent and questionably canonical drabble time! Set not long before Rasaad's admittance to the Sun Soul monastery.

(This was gonna be short but it got out of hand as usual whoops. XD )

-----

Rasaad: "You are familiar with Calimport then?" Khalid: "Oh y-yes! I spent many a h-happy hour at the Jet Jambiya. Wonderful ale." Rasaad: "I remember it well. My brother and I would often linger outside the better taverns, looking for inebriated patrons to, ah, relieve of their valuables." Khalid: "I can't say it didn't happen to me from t-time to time. Perhaps you picked my pocket!" Rasaad: "Oh. Yes. Forgive me, my friend. I feel great shame for much of what I did before finding Selune." Khalid: "I'm sorry, Rasaad. Making you uncomfortable was the l-last thing I wanted. Please, think nothing of it." Rasaad: "I shall try to do so. I suppose I have not entirely put those days behind me. Even now they find a way to disrupt my serenity." - Baldur's Gate: Siege of Dragonspear

The air of the khanduq market is hazy with late afternoon heat. Rasaad, at seven years old, is by now hardened to Calimport's desert landscape; he knows the heat will pass, but more than that, he knows how to operate within it, keeping to shadows in between his 'fishing' expeditions with Gamaz.

His older brother is the better thief of the two of them. Rasaad is quick and clever but a poor liar, and not as practiced at spotting a good mark in the ever-shifting city crowds. Today, though, Gamaz is busy fishing in the inner market, so Rasaad is left to his own devices, drifting aimlessly among the taverns that surround the khanduq like a blanket.

The taverns are rather hit-or-miss when it comes to pickpocketing. Most of the time, the bar patrons of this district have only as much coin as will buy them a night's ale. Gamaz has little compunction in stealing even from those just as destitute, but even at his young age Rasaad finds it disquieting in some way he doesn't yet have the words to define.

But every now and then, the drudach plays host to someone more important, some visitor from the rich districts come to sample the stronger (and cheaper) ale of the markets. And today, Rasaad spots one such - a merchant by his clothes, trotting on horseback down the street with his family behind him.

The man is tall, good-looking but with his looks offset by a haughty sneer that twists his mouth up at one corner. His wife, dressed the same gaudy and gold-embroidered style, bears a matching expression, as do his two young sons, each astride their own pony and marching in lockstep behind him. Behind them is a younger boy about Rasaad's age, equally well-dressed but not on horseback, trudging along wearily behind.

A good mark, Rasaad thinks. His little face twists in concentrated thought as he tries to consider what Gamaz (two years older and much wiser in the ways of thievery) would think. The two younger men are the best target; each carries a fat purse on his belt and neither seems to have much of an attentive eye, as they are both arguing with each other as their ponies trot along the street.

He watches as they dismount at a tavern door, all swinging from their horses with practiced grace and making an ostentatious show of sweeping the dust from their fine clothes. Each of them hands the reins to the boy that was following behind, leaving him with the four creatures to manage as they disappear into the tavern's dark and noisy interior.

Good, Rasaad thinks. They will get drunk, and perhaps their sons too, and the gold and silver and copper fish in their pockets will jump to the hook. In the meantime, he examines the boy with the horses, who is awkwardly fumbling with the various sets of reins to tie them all off to the hitching posts. A servant, presumably - and a rather nervous one too, as he jumps when Rasaad approaches.

"I can hold them for you," Rasaad says gravely. It is strategic, of course; if he can fall into talk with the servant boy, it will be easier to get close to his rich patrons when they come wobbling back out of the bar. It has, of course, nothing to do with the fact that the boy looks a little overwhelmed trying to hold all four creatures in place long enough to tie them off.

The boy flinches, squinting at Rasaad warily. "Y-you will not steal them?" he stammers doubtfully. "F-father says there's n-nothing but thieves up this d-district..."

Rasaad is not a very good liar, but luckily at this moment he can tell the truth. "I won't steal the horses," he says honestly, and holds his hand out. The boy relaxes, and then grins, placing two of the sets of reins into Rasaad's palm.

"Th-thank you," he mumbles. His voice is high and earnest, touched with a stammer that thickens the occasional syllable. "I'll have it all d-done in a moment. I'm b-better with the horses than Ayaan and Jamari."

Rasaad, who has never had occasion to ride a horse ever in his life, finds that they are rather stronger than he expected; one of them tosses its head and nearly yanks him sideways off his feet. But he sets his legs hard and holds on, not wanting to look like a fool in front of the other boy. "Who're they?" he asks, trying to sound nonchalant.

"My b-brothers," the boy explains. He jerks his head towards the tavern, and Rasaad blinks.

"Why en't you in there with them?" he asks, perplexed enough to break his thin veneer of disinterest. "That was your father?"

"My b-brothers are their mother's sons," the boy says glumly. "I am not. So they care little for me, and I walk b-behind, and wait here." Then he brightens a little. "B-but the horses are nicer than b-brothers, anyhow. They don't kick me."

Rasaad frowns. His memories of his own father are muddled, and all too dominated by the smear of red with which he ended. But he knows about brothers; he has Gamaz, and would not trade him for anything, as it is the two of them against all the hard world of the Calimport streets. It is hard to imagine a life with brothers where that bond is not everpresent and unspoken.

"Your brothers kick you? You should kick them back," he says matter-of-factly, hopping up on a nearby crate, his dark eyes suddenly smoldering with mild indignation on behalf of this stranger. He doesn't usually like the rich boys he's encountered, but this one doesn't make a show of it. He seems quiet - kind, even, judging by the way he's petting each horse's nose as he Rasaad wonders if he sees much of his father's coin. "Or I could kick them for you."

The boy looks alarmed. "N-no! They would have the amlakkar on you," he says, shaking his head. "It's-- it's all right. J-just the way of things." Then he smiles, just a little, leaning against the tavern wall. "But th-thank you," he adds with a sheepish chuckle.

Rasaad grunts, folding his arms across his chest. "Why did you come around here?" he asked.

"F-father has a new business deal," the boy explains. "We-- they-- are celebrating." He frowns, not quite meeting Rasaad's eyes. "He likes t-to come this way when he wants to feel important," he adds in a low voice.

Rasaad scowls. Yes, he knows many merchants from the rich districts like this; they come to the less ostentatious corners of the city just to enjoy the way all eyes turn to them when they walk through. They make good marks, usually - but that doesn't make Rasaad like them. "Think a lot of themselves, do they?"

The boy blinks, then glances furtively over his shoulder to check that no one is listening. Then he grins a little, and nods, and hops up on the crate next to Rasaad. Rasaad grins back; he's starting to get an idea.

They've been sitting half an hour or so in cautious conversation when they're interrupted abruptly by a shout from inside the door.

"Khalid!" The boy jumps at the word - his name, evidently - and then scrambles to his feet hastily as the two brothers come staggering back out of the bar. They smell not of ale but of expensive Moonshae whiskey, which they have evidently downed with significant rapidity.

One of them claps a hand none-too-kindly on Khalid's shoulder. "Ready th' horses again," he slurs. "Th' proprietor here was not - properly - respectful, so we'll not be stayin'--" he breaks off, squints at Rasaad. "What're you looking at, boy?" he snaps abruptly.

Rasaad slides slowly off the crate, peering up at the young man and not bothering to conceal his dislike. With exaggerated politeness, he bows, backpedaling a few steps. "Nothing, saer," he says. "I was admiring your garments. If you'd step this way, I should like to see them a little better in the sunlight..."

He trails off, takes a few steps back out into the street, and his eyes narrow in sudden focus as he gathers up everything Gamaz ever taught him to the front of his mind. The two rich young men - too drunk to question the idea that someone might wish to admire them - follow him agreeably towards the shaft of sunlight painting the thoroughfare... and he strikes.

It is, perhaps, one of the deftest bits of fishing he has ever managed, and he is only sorry Gamaz isn't here to see it. He manages to make it look entirely accidental, but shifts his body as he comes off the curb as if he has tripped, and strikes his full weight into one of the boys. At the same time, he lets his opposite leg catch the other boy at the back of the knee. The dual impacts send both boys sprawling out into the street, a cloud of dust rising up around them, and as they fall, his fingers flick across their belts, lifting both heavy purses from beneath their tunics and into the wide hidden pocket in his own.

"You impudent little cur!" The older of the young men comes up off the street, and Rasaad is pleased to see that a measure of horse dung is liberally mixed with the dirt now painting the front of his finery.

"Clumsy fool!" snaps the other, who has climbed to his knees and is wiping fruitlessly at a damp bit of mud that has smeared across his face.

Rasaad lets his dark eyes go very wide, and backpedals a few steps away, holding his arms out to the side in a placating gesture. "I'm so sorry, saers. So sorry!"

"Get out of here right now, if you know what's good for you!" snaps the eldest, raising a hand. Rasaad darts backwards with practiced ease to avoid the blow, and looks past the two disheveled men to the young boy still standing by the horses. Khalid, out of his brothers' line of sight, has a wide, delighted grin on his face, his eyebrows lifted to his hairline.

Rasaad grins back, then turns and bolts, disappearing into the crowd and down a nearby alley into the shadows.

-----

(edit: forgot to include the tag list! <3

@scribblingface @writer86 @thedarkstrategist @marigoldbaker @krawwan

@eluvisen

Want to join one of my tag lists? Click here!)

[thewormofyourdreams]

to all carat writers on tumblr,

i need yall to stop writing cute, slice-of-life imagines/drabbles of svt members where they're married and/or acting domestic.

that 400 words drabble affects me more than a 15k angst i had to take a breather or I'll imagine my life living with them and trust that we DON'T want that.

sincerely,

im losing my grip on reality.

[starrylevi]

Levi and the Gym

Levi prefers to work out at home, public places like gyms are breeding grounds for germs. However, you begged Levi to come with you. You said you wouldn’t be able to go without him due to your anxiety. So he does, begrudgingly. He brings his own cloth and cleaning solution. He doesn’t trust anyone to properly sanitize the machines. He wipes your machine down before he lets you touch anything, making you chuckle a little bit but it’s adorable. He’ll work out with you or in different areas depending on what you want to work on that day. He’ll even spot you. Make no mistake, Levi may be short but the man is strong. He can easily take on any of these gym heads. He, of course, won’t say that but you know it. When he’s away from you, he’ll glance over to you every once in a while to check up on you. The one thing that irritates Levi is when others check you out. Sure, it’s a free country but that doesn’t give others the right to ogle you. When he catches someone leering at you, his eyes narrow slightly at the person, being subtle about his stare. Most take a quick glance but this one is taking his time and that makes Levi uneasy. He doesn’t like it one bit. He quickly, but quietly, makes his way over to the voyeur.

“Direct your attention elsewhere.” He says in a low and even tone.

“Or what?” The voyeur counters.

Levi gets closer to the man, looking up at him with steely eyes, his stare piercing. “Do you really want to find out?” Levi’s not one to make scenes but he will if the situation calls for it.

The man walks away with a huff.

“Wise choice.” Levi mutters before making his way over to you on the other side of the gym.

When you see him approaching, completely oblivious to what happened prior, you light up, smiling like a goof.

“Missed me?” You tease as you lean into him.

As you wrap your arms around his waist, he playfully rolls his eyes, placing a chaste kiss to your temple. “Maybe.” He says with a hint of a smile.

Without you having to ask, he’ll stay by your side the rest of the time at the gym, making sure you’re not overexerting yourself. He’ll motivate you from time to time; it’s like you have your own personal trainer but better.

[shining-gem34]

Farewell Longing Firmly For Reunion

||Personally, this is my spite writing regarding Dan Heng reaction about Cloud-Piercer breaking. Also Dan Heng and Cloud-Piercer in general.

Song Inspiration/Drabble Title: Ado エルフ, Gentle Hands (ENG Ver.)- Tomoyo Mitami

HSR 3.0 Spoilers

Years before Dan Heng joined the Astral Express, he once heard a glass artisan say, “Anything that has a form will eventually break. If there is a beginning, there is an end.”

Those words struck something within him. They tug his heartstrings and turn into threads. The holes left in his soul and mind are being patched up by the stirrings of his emotions. They're forcing him to remember memories that should've remained forgotten. The past that was supposed to be washed is a rock refusing to be swallowed up by the ancient sea.

The clinking of their cups meet as the party toasts to another victory. They toast to another reunion after a long battle. They toast for better days to come. Their happiness, however memorable, is as brief as the leaf blown away by the storm.

Something breaks, and someone screams.

The glass artisan words remained with Dan Heng even after joining the Astral Express. There are times he will forget it between maintaining the data bank and exploring new planets. It is only when he takes care of Cloud-Piercer it will return. His hands polishing the spear will pause to ponder.

When he was exiled, Cloud-Piercer became his companion through the best and worst of his lonely wanderings. He did his best to maintain his weapon. To polish and sharpen the spear, Dan Heng learned from blacksmiths who admired the craftsmanship of it. The familiar motions, and their inquiries of its creator, brings forth blurred memories. Indistinct faces and arrogant voices discussing Cloud-Piercer makes his heart ache.

He does not remember the name of the man who crafted his spear.

Yet a single truth is seared into his soul.

The moment Cloud-Piercer was placed in his hands, Dan Heng knew it belonged to him. This spear is his, and no one shall ever take it away from him.

But he forgets his beloved spear is linked to a past he denies.

Throughout the short journey with Jingliu, Dan Heng ignores the anxiety gnawing in his stomach.

She is not Kafka whose honeyed voice is dripping with poison. Jingliu speaks gently like a winter breeze brushing against the sleeping dragon. Coaxing him to awake before she strikes and drags his head to look at the crimson skies. To force him to confront the past as she reminds him he cannot escape no matter what. Even if he covers his ears, her voice still reaches out to the depths of his soul.

“Combat is like smelting — purging the impurities with burning flames and exposing a person's true nature.” Jingliu states, her tone carrying a bittersweet note of nostalgia.

Behind her blindfold, Dan Heng can feel her piercing gaze on him as she asks.

“Those are the words of the one who made Cloud-Piercer for you. Do you remember?”

Amongst the burning sea and destruction, the High Elder can only hear his human heart shatter once again.

If anything has a form, then the body is also considered one.

Every form will break under pressure, and Dan Feng can feel the cracks forming since returning to the Luofu.

No, they were always there- he simply never acknowledged it.

Now, they’re spreading faster than what he can keep track of. Before Dan Heng realizes it, everything collapses and the ground under his feet gives out. He falls between the cracks, but his body falls apart rapidly. His hand reaching out for solid ground breaks into pieces and are swept up by merciless waters.

He opens his mouth to scream, but not a single sound comes out.

When Dan Heng sits up in the Archives with a gasp, he turns to Cloud-Piercer. His spear rests against the nearby wall. He takes a deep breath before outstretching his hand and in a moment, Cloud-Piercer appears on top of his palm. He holds it against and closes his eyes. Their solid weight keeps him anchored to reality, a soothing balm to his heart after a nightmare.

As his thoughts start to drift away, he can hear the pluckings of guzheng strings echoing in his dreams. Shortly, the thunderous clapping of the drums joins. The both of them moving in tandem with a certain craftsman humming.

So quietly, Dan Heng falls asleep to their lullaby echoing in his mind.

In the heat of the battle, Dan Heng charges forward with Cloud-Piercer in his hand.

As he faces the unknown swordsman in Amphoreus, the archivist watches the events unfold in slow motion. With a smile, the swordsman swings the Trailblazer bat and parries his spear. His absurd strength or the timing of his strike, or both, are more than enough to break Cloud-Piercer in two.

Teal eyes widened in surprise as the blade stabbed into the ground behind him.

The uneasiness he felt for the past few weeks has accumulated for this moment. Every nightmare he had, he brushed it off and moved on with his day shoving it in the back of his mind. After all, Cloud-Piercer has lived for more than seven hundred years. With diligent maintenance to keep it in pristine condition, why should Dan Heng believe it would be destroyed so easily when it has existed for so long?

How ironic he chose to remember the glass artisan words shortly after his spear broke.

“Anything that has a form will eventually break. If there is a beginning, there is an end.”

Fortunately, Phainon kept true to his word and recommended a craftsman capable of repairing Cloud-Piercer.

Dan Heng is no expert appraiser or engineer.

By observation alone, he can't find any faults in his spear. There is not a single crack where the pieces are melded. The welding is smooth with the material showing no signs of color variation. He takes a step back to make room to test his spear.

It is easy to fall into a rhythm of swinging and twisting the spear in his hands. There are no changes in its weight as far as he can tell.

Satisfied, he lowers his spear and nods to Chartonus, “Thank you, Sir Chartonus. And to you as well, Phainon.”

The Trailblazer beams and claps their hands together, “That's great, Dan Heng! Cloud-Piercer and Cold Dragon Young duo are back in action! We are sooo back to the ass kicking. I can see it now: Galactic Baseballer and Cold Dragon Young rising from the ashes! If only our Ice Queen was here with us to make it a trio…”

“Please act normal.” Dan Heng said bluntly. He's used to the Trailblazer antics, but they shouldn't be weirding out their acquaintances.

Chartonus remains impassive as ever. In contrast, Phainon looks amused and comments, “You both are really energetic. The day never gets boring with you two around.”

“Oh, you would get along with our other friends just great, Phainon! I just know it!” The Trailblazer said proudly, placing their hands on their hips.

Phainon responds with a smile and a nod of his head. A hint of something unknown flickers in his crystal blue eyes.

Soon, the Trailblazer was distracted by a shiny object in the forge. Led by their curiosity and instinctive need to investigate, they walked further inside. They weren't alone because Chartonus was keeping an eye on them to make sure they didn't break anything. Dan Heng can't help but shake his head fondly at his companion.

“Dan Heng.” Phainon calls out, placing a hand over his chest. His expression becomes sheepish as he says, “Again. I am sorry for any offense I've caused during our first meeting.”

“Your course of action was understandable, Phainon. If I were in your shoes, I would've done the same thing. I assure you, I am not offended or upset.” Dan Heng reassures him, because he finds it ridiculous to hold a grudge over something out of their control.

Still, the archivist's sense of Phainon wasn't entirely convinced. He looks almost like a kicked puppy he can't help but want to tease. However, he refrains and says instead, “You already repaid the debt by keeping your word and had my weapon repaired. That's more than enough for me.”

Those same crystal blue eyes look over him. Whatever Phainon found, and hopefully it's his sincerity, he relaxes and smiles, “Thank you, Dan Heng. I'm glad to have mended things between us.”

“As I said, what happened was neither of our faults- only circumstances. Besides…” Dan Heng can't resist being a little cheeky and adds, “...I am open to revisit our first meeting with a rematch, Phainon. Without the element of a beautiful surprise.”

To his delight, Phainon turns sheepish once more. There is no mistake the swordsman is flustered by the pink blush dusting his cheeks. He coughs lightly and excuses himself to talk to Chartonus about something. 

Dan Heng, radiating smugness, watches him retreat into the forge to talk to the craftsman. 

With his friend and acquaintances occupied, he takes a moment to look at his spear again. There is not a single mark to indicate it was broken previously. He does not doubt Chartonus skills, but a single question comes to mind.

“What would he think if he saw this?”

If he closes his eyes, he can hear the indignation in Yingxing's voice. The craftsman steadily grows louder between scolding him and grumbling about another craftsman touching his spear. He would take Cloud-Piercer from his hands and inspect it thoroughly. His violet crimson eyes scrutinize every detail to make sure the repair is done to his impossible standards.

If not, Yingxing might undo it himself and fix it to his standards.

And what would Dan Heng Feng do?

He stands to the side and observes the craftsman work. The dedication to his craft is unmistakable, so focused to the point he is humming once more. A passion so hot it's as if he's engulfed by the very flames of the forge itself. He can't stand to look away or else in a blink of an eye, there will only be ashes after the flames.

When Yingxing is done, he’ll return Cloud-Piercer to him. An arrogant smile on his handsome face, callous fingers gliding on the sharp edge of the spear, and a playful reminder that rouses the vindictive side of him. 

But Dan Heng sees another man overlapping Yingxing. The hunter who chased him throughout the stars. The ghost of his past who refuses to let him forget their sins. His beastly eyes look straight at him. A maniacal smile splits his face in half as he grabs Cloud-Piercer by the Blade. Uncaring of the fact he’s injuring his own hand, blood spills from the cuts and stains the spear crimson.

“This spear is sharp enough to pierce dragon scales. Be careful, High Elder, lest you hurt yourself with it.”

Opening his eyes, the illusion of bittersweet memories disappears. 

Unlike before whenever the dream ends, the urge to dig his claws into his skin until it bleeds is barely present. The need to tear off his own face and hide in a corner is not as strong as before. If there is anything he feels, it is only the hollowness in his chest accompanied by a yearning so powerful it will move the moon, the stars, and the sun. 

Shaking his head, Dan Heng banishes the thoughts away. This isn’t the appropriate time or place to drift away into nostalgia. 

Still, while the others are busy some feet away, he allows himself a moment to observe Cloud-Piercer again. The metal shines under the torch fires nearby but once again,he is impressed how there is not a single crack where it broke. 

The urgency of the situation since arriving in Amphoreus left little time for Dan Heng to think or feel. Now, he recalls the shock he felt seeing Cloud-Piercer break. A brief few seconds of heart-wrenching grief for a treasured companion, a legacy of his journey, and the most precious gift of a beloved. But then, he had to push such emotions aside and reassured the Trailblazer he would be fine. 

And he meant it.

They had to move forward for the sake of their journey and explore Amphoreus, and then find a way to communicate with the Astral Express. After all, the signal to outside the planet is jammed leaving them unable to report the situation to Himeko and the others.

That’s not including the dilemma Amphoreus itself is experiencing presently. 

Yet amidst the chaos, Dan Heng lets out a sigh of relief knowing Cloud-Piercer is repaired.

He traces the character “Dan” engraved onto the spear. The glass artisan's words come and go in his head, but Dan Heng understands another perspective of his wisdom.

“Anything that has a form will eventually break. If there is a beginning, there is an end.” Dan Heng repeats quietly to himself. Wordlessly, he puts his spear away and grasps the traces of its blue light, “Likewise if there is an ending, there is also a new beginning.” 

“Dan Heng! Hurry up or I’m leaving you behind, slowpoke!” 

Upon being called by the Trailblazer, Dan Heng lowers his hand and moves to join his companion. Hopefully, it wasn’t too obvious he was smiling or else they’ll feel inclined to pry into the reason. Or worse, they’ll start taking pictures for March 7th and revel in the fact they caught him smiling. 

“If there is an ending, there is a new beginning. The form will never be the same again, but it will bear the scars and continue living.”

[sterek-stuffs]

The rescue mission

"Okay, so, we'll surround them—"

"And then shoot them in the face," Stiles interrupted, "as an incentive—"

"NO!"

"But Scott, they've got Derek!" 

"Yes, and we're getting him back, but we gotta be careful!"

Stiles glared venomously.

"Look, they freak out, Derek might end up hurt—" Stiles' glare got colder. "—and we're not gonna let that happen! You're a cop, you know how this works!"

Stiles scowled. "Okay. But one wrong move and I'm shooting them. In the face."

Scott nodded. "Okay, buddy!" 

Stiles walked away and Scott turned to Allison. "I can't believe they let him have a gun."

[arcadecarpetgay]

help theyre making me make an intro post

hi i'm bagel or thyme! i'm 19 and i use any pronouns

my ao3 is bagelistyping

i mainly write for malevolent, tma, and hatchetfield, but can be convinced to write drabbles for other things sometimes

i dont do commissions but if you have a short fic idea and want someone to write it im never upset to see people messaging me or tagging me in prompts, j no guarantee ill get around to it

my favorite insect is the ant and my favorite recipe is this one

_

all my fic posts and writing things are under #bagels typing

i have a few short malev fics you can only find here on tumblr, you can find them under the tag #bagels secret drabbles or under the cut :>

dollins:

purring (from prompt w @lightlysaltedsalt)

reunion (from comic by @izel-scribbles)

housewives (prompt from @ivorybilledwoodpecker)

old habits

add-ons to fics:

honeysuckle (addition to vanity)

epilogue (to vanity for @bizarreohmart)

bailed out (addition to prime cut)

[atefingersdagger]

I'm Bound to You, You're Bound to Me

500 word Clato drabble (as a challenge to myself)

“I’m bound to you, you’re bound to me.”

Clove whispers underneath him, breath hitting his cheek like a hot steam that rises. She’s vulnerable, a rope in her hands as she lies on the ground. It has its many uses, such as tying wrists up above her head if he asked.

Daylight cascades through the flowing leaves, leaving more shadows than his form that covers her. Cato keeps himself steady on his thick arms, palms against the pine and dirt on her sides. His stare is intense, but she doesn’t falter because she knows he’s truly no threat to her.

For all the other tributes, yes, he is. On the other hand, she’s impervious to his violence. Untouched by the harsh or the sharp. And she got him wrapped around her finger within a mere few weeks.

“Are you saying you’re mine?” Cato’s cockiness is as hardened as his..

“I am. But it goes both ways.” Clove runs her free fingers over the cut on his arm, the swollen skin around the abrasion and the scab of dried blood that shows it's healing. They treated it this morning, his jacket still wrapped around his waist despite the chilly breeze. “Like a knife might slash.”

Cato raises his blonde brow when she puts the bundled up rope on her chest. They found it after losing the rest of their supplies, one of the only things not burning in the explosion. Although there’s no obvious need for it, they took it anyway.

“What do you want to do with that?”

“Tie me up.”

He laughs softly. “In the middle of the arena? On camera?”

“Just adds to the fun.”

“You’re a real freak, you know that?”

He takes it, pushing himself up and then pulling her with him to stand. Clove is pressed to a tree quickly, unbothered by their surroundings and how infinitely stupid this might be. Before she knows it, she’s only in her shirt while her hands are knotted to a strong, low hanging branch.

She’s still got her feet on the ground when Cato kneels, pressing his lips to her stomach. Then, her legs are over his shoulders and it’s easy to keep them there. Hickies are forming quickly where his mouth goes on her skin.

Clove thinks she might be able to snap his neck with her thighs if she squeezed tightly enough, but that’s the last thing she wants to do as he’s tasting her. His large hands hold her hip, keeping her from squirming around too much, and she couldn’t have underestimated how fucking hot this is. A whine rips out from her throat to sing some praises while her arms strain from holding her weight.

The bark of the branch is rough on her palms, Clove scratches and grips at it when she tries to find something to take her pleasure out on. He could leave her hanging here, but by his tongue, she knows he won’t. Cato is far too bound to her.

[levisonlylover]

Flu season with Levi (2)

(this time he got sick, poor baby.)

After a few weeks of your own recovery, Levi got sick. But he didn't want to show it. He doesn't like showing weakness but he fails to do so. The moment you saw him, you knew he was sick. He looked drowsy and he kept tissues around him. When you two get home, you prepare his medicine and meal. Levi is a stubborn man, sometimes you have to force him to drink it. You would make his favorite tea and even clean the house for him as he lay and rest. The words you'll hear most would be "I am fine and capable of cleaning and working, Y/N." As he coughs and sneezes. You both know you aren't buying it. But there are some days where he won't be stubborn. But when you're away to buy something he gets needy..he would cuddle you more than usual and even hug you in your sleep. After a few weeks though, he becomes well. He would thank you, by taking you out for dinner or even a simple act of service.

[luxaofhesperides]

been thinking of opening ghostlights requests next month but before that.... want a halloween ghostlights treat?

something like "give me a halloween/autumn themed word and i'll give u a few paragraphs of ghostlights based on that"

[cephalog0d]

Batkid Drabble - "Articulated"

“It doesn’t even look like him,” Damian said, arms crossed and glaring.

“Sure it does. Pointy ears, logo that looks like a bat that hit a windshield, frowny face, and patented, realistic Bat-punch action!”

Steph held the toy out and pushed the button on its back; one tiny fist shot out and hit Damian’s bicep with a little “thock”.

“Devastating,” he said flatly.

Steph hit the button repeatedly in rapid succession.

“Stop that!”

“Admit defeat.”

“You want realistic Bat-punch action?” Damian raised a fist.

Steph moved the toy and pushed the button again, giving him a little plastic fist bump.

((Also on AO3))

[twinsunstars]

it is human nature

to want love

to make mistakes

to want a hug

to want guidance

to be cared about

yet these all

involve pain along the way