#first time writing this pov

[starry-bi-sky]

(Part of this post with older brother danyal al ghul)

...Okay, look. Sam knows she's staring. She knows very well that she is staring. And that if she doesn't stop staring it's gonna draw her unwanted attention, and that will only have to make her explain why she's staring. Which she doesn't want to do.

She's trying not to stare, which she thinks she should get brownie points for. She tries to look away, to find a spot on the wall to stare lifelessly at, maybe she can burn holes into some of these annoying socialites' heads. But eventually her eyes drift, and suddenly she's back to staring again.

Can you blame her though? Damian Wayne looks like a very close mini-me of her fucking best friend. Seriously, it's like looking into a mirror to the past. If that mirror to the past had green eyes rather than blue and a distinctive lack of a facial scar.

The first time she sees him when her parents drag her over to Bruce Wayne to butter up to him she has to do a doubletake. Then a triple take. Then a quadruple take, just for good measure that she was seeing what she was actually seeing. She was sure she looked like one of those stress toys that when squeezed had their eyes pop out comically like a Saturday morning cartoon, that's what she certainly felt like anyways.

Look, Danny's come a decent way from being that scowl-y, jerkish little ten year old she first met when he arrived like the wind to Amity Park five years ago (even if he was still occasionally scowl-y and jerkish), but one thing that's stayed the same is how reserved he is about his home life prior to being taken in by the Fentons.

He doesn't talk about it much, and Sam's come to know that he's very good at changing the subject when it gets brought up. Even after being friends for nearly four years, the only thing she and Tuck know for certain is that he has a little brother that he refers to as 'starlight', whom he cares a lot about but left on really bad terms with. And that he's never met his father, but wants to and knows who he is.

He's never told her or Tucker who he was though, and glancing at Bruce Wayne, Sam is realizing why. She can begrudgingly acknowledge all the good he's done for Gotham, but... well, if Danny told her that Bruce Wayne was his dad, she wouldn't have believed him at all.

But she's starting to see the resemblance, as subtle as it is.

And she sees the resemblance to Damian Wayne, her eyes dropping back down to him as he wears a very Danny-like scowl on his face, arms crossed behind his back as his eyes swept around the ballroom. He was five years younger than Danny, and god it was so, so weird.

His eyes turned on to her, and they locked gazes for a moment.

Involuntarily, Sam makes a startled noise and looks away. Fingers tap against her purse, black and purple and unfortunately a clutch that only held her phone and her wallet in it. She would have kept a knife on her, but her parents put their foot down and there was a security detail at the door. Only in Gotham.

Silently, she was hoping that the little Danny-me didn't say anything. Or at least, he hadn't noticed her staring. Which was a tall order if she ever heard one -- and unfortunately, her silent prayers went unanswered as her mother's eyes dropped down onto her.

"Did you say something, Samantha?" She asks in a sickeningly sweet voice, a sound that makes Sam's skin crawl. Her dad and Bruce Wayne's attention also turns onto her, and she glowers at her mom from the corner of her eye.

"I didn't say anything." Sam says, barely keeping her tone polite as she turned her head away. Her mother clucks her tongue, disapproving, but from her peripherals doesn't pester her more

Bruce Wayne, the bastard, takes that time to turn to Sam and grace her with his dime-a-dozen billboard smiles. "I've been talking with your parents this whole time, Miss Manson, you must be terribly bored. How is your schooling going?"

Sam eyes him up and down. On one hand, she immediately wants to be snarky. It's none of his business what her school life is like, she doesn't care for his fucking small talk.

On the other hand, this was Danny's whole father. Someone who she knows that Danny has wanted to meet for, what she's assuming, his whole life. He's never brought it up much, but she remembers that very quiet, solemn conversation she and Tucker had with him where he admits to having never met his dad. But god does he want to.

And... wait. Sam's eyes narrow, and she meets Bruce Wayne's eyes. Does this man even know Danny exists? She drops her gaze down to Damian, who was staring at her suspiciously, and then back up to Bruce, and she alternates between them.

Why was Damian living with Bruce, but not Danny? Why hasn't Bruce done anything to reach out to him - what was going on with Danny's biological family that Danny had to be separated from them, but not Damian? Danny's always been kinda mysterious, but now things weren't adding up.

Was Danny given up? Does Bruce just not want Danny, but wanted Damian? Why the fuck does Bruce Wayne know about Damian but not her best friend -- or does he know and just not care? He's fought for custody for his adoptive kids before, does he just not want to fight for his other biological son? Does he think Danny's not worth it?

She's never cared much about the Wayne family before, other than to hear about the advancements on WE's eco-friendly tech, but Sam thinks she's gonna have to look into why Damian Wayne was living with the Waynes.

Slowly, with a protective anger beginning to burn in her gut and crawl up her throat, a scowl slowly curls at the corner of her lip as she redirects her glare from her mother onto Bruce. "It's going fine," She says curtly, jutting her chin out defiantly. "Me and my friend Danny started a petition to fix the leaky faucets in the girls and boys' bathrooms in order to conserve more water for the rest of the city."

She eyes his face, waiting to see if anything like recognition flashes through it. And- and nothing. Sam breathes in slowly through her nose, trying to quell the red that's blurring the edge of her vision -- does he just, not know where Danny is?

Her parents however, make vaguely displeased expressions. "Our Samantha is... quite passionate about her pet projects." Her dad says, laughing low and nervously, "she's very vocal about silly things like that."

"Her friend Daniel is perhaps even worse than she is sometimes." Her mother adds on, fanning her face with her perfectly manicured hands with a sigh. "I swear, he's the one that keeps dragging her into these things."

Sam's anger turns on its head, and she whirls on her heel like a fire-breathing dragon. "It's Danyal." It rolls out like instinct. Danny's told them both that he hates the Americanized pronunciation of his name, but in a rare moment of restraint, puts up with it for reasons unknown to her. "And Danny doesn't make me do anything, it was my idea."

The name, Danyal, seems to ring some kind of bell in Brucie Wayne's head, because she sees him and Damian quietly perk up like two cats pricking up their ears. Her eyes flick onto him immediately, something dangerous rearing its head. So Bruce Wayne knows about Danny. And he's not reaching out to him. Is he? She's not sure.

She does know that she's gonna rip his throat out if she finds out that he's known about Danny this entire time and has been ignoring him while favoring his little brother. She'll hunt down Aragon herself and steal his dragon-shifting amulet and wreck house on Bruce Wayne if that's the case. Batman and his league of vigilantes be damned. Her parents don't notice her slowly turning head towards Bruce.

But Bruce does, and she makes direct eye contact with him. His smile doesn't falter, he just tilts his head like a curious puppy and looks at Sam's parents. She hopes Bruce can read minds, she hopes he can hear her threatening him.

"Danyal?" He asks, and Sam doesn't know if she hates the fact that he said it correctly or not. She just continues burning holes into him and hoping he might spontaneously combust.

Her mother waves her hand dismissively, tilting her nose up poshly into the air. "Our dear Samantha's little... foster friend from school," she says, not even bothering to hide her disdain, "a creepy little boy with the most garish scar on his face. He's a rude little thing, not good for polite company."

Scratch that, Sam mentally alternates between ripping into her parents and Bruce. She whirls on them. "Do not talk about Danny that way." She all but snarls, and they all but ignore her.

(She's tearing up the upholstery when she gets home. She's going to paint over the fine china. She's going to do something to make them pay for this.)

"Oh yes, he was taken in by that freaky Fenton family a few years ago." Her dad continues in lieu of her mom, and they both shake their heads disapprovingly. "It's just what our city needs, another menace."

"Danny is not a menace." Sam continues, raising her voice while her hands shake with rage. Her parents finally look at her, but she can already tell that they're going to scold her for raising her voice. She bulldozes over them and jabs her black-painted finger at them. "He's got a bigger heart than the both of you combined."

"Samantha, please." her mom says, exasperated. They both give her disapproving looks, Sam thinks about grabbing champagne off the tray of a nearby waiter and throwing it in their faces. "You defend that boy far too much. What do you actually know about him and his family?"

Sam sets her jaw, puffing herself up like a dragon protecting its hoard. She steps into her mom's space. "I know that he loves the stars; you can ask him anything about astronomy and he could give you an entire lecture on the formation, class types, and various gasses that stars are made up of. He can tell you how the Earth was formed, he can tell you about the visible light spectrum and about light curves, and a whole ton of other stuff that I don't really understand. But Danny loves talking about it."

Her face twists and scowls, "I know he cares a ton about the environment and about fixing light pollution, and preserving the forests and natural habitats of animals." She nearly jabs her finger into her mom's chest, "I know he loves dogs, and that there's one he feeds every day on the way to school that he calls Cujo, its a St. Bernard puppy and Danny carries him around whenever he sees him after school, and is in the middle of training him."

It's not a total lie, but it's not the whole truth either. Cujo doesn't need food, but Danny gives him it anyways. "I know he likes spicy food and loves movies but specifically only sci-fi and horror, and he hates most martial arts movies. His favorite superhero is the Martian Manhunter, but Batman comes in at a close second." For reasons to her that were pretty unknown, but it didn't matter.

"I know he loves wordplay and making puns, which I would have never expected from him when we first met, but it's so unbelievably Danny-like that I can't imagine him not making puns." And she smiles a little to herself, she remembers the first time Danny intentionally made a pun once and it got startled laughs out of both her and Tucker.

Her smile suddenly falters, and she swallows. Her lips purse up, wobbling, and she very quickly glances over to Damian Wayne, of whom is watching her with a vaguely bewildered expression alongside Bruce.

She turns her eyes back onto her parents. "And I know that he worries a lot, even if he has a shit way of showing it. I know he had a little brother that he hasn't seen since he was adopted by the Fentons, and he doesn't talk about him often but when he does he he calls him 'starlight'." From the corner of her eye, she sees Damian jerk.

"So- so, so what if he's not 'good for polite company'." Sam's voice, embarrassingly, cracks down the middle. But she's so angry over Danny's behalf that she doesn't really care. "Or that he can be mean, and critical, and stubborn. He's learning, and he's becoming kinder by the day. That's more than I can say about you."

(She remembers when Danny finally admitted to her and Tucker being his 'closest friends'. It was sometime before the portal incident, and it felt like a milestone because beforehand he only really referred to them as his companions or allies.)

(At the time, he'd looked unsure of himself. Skittish like a stray in the back of an alleyway, almost shy in his own way. It had come out stilted, slow, like an infant taking its first steps, and it would have been endearing if it hadn't been heartbreaking.)

Her parents rear back like she'd struck them, and her mother holds a hand against her chest in aghast. Sam doesn't care, she blinks the sting out of her eyes. "Samantha." Her mother starts.

Sam cuts her off, "I don't care what you have to say, you-- you pricks." she snaps, around her, there are gasps. Belatedly, she realizes she's grown an audience, but again she doesn't care. "Danny might be an asshole, but he cares. And I'd rather be around someone whose mean but cares, than someone whose nice but doesn't."

With that, she whirls on her foot and turns on Bruce Wayne, who has been silent the entire time with a surprised expression on his face. He starts to shake out of it when Sam turns to him, but she doesn't give him the chance to speak. "Enjoy your party." She snarls, and then stalks away.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #danyal al ghul au #older brother danny #sam is one protective gal. this scene went differently in my head. way differently. but alas. i am not complaining. #sam: if bruce wayne abandoned my best friend i'm gonna physically transform myself into a dragon and incinerate him. how dare he. #bruce and damian got to watch in real time as a random girl who knows danny suddenly realizes he's related to them. which is comical to me #because she suddenly goes from being disinterested but weirded out by damian. to suddenly looking at bruce like she's gonna kill him #which is very funny to me bc from their pov at first its like this random girl just speedran hating bruce. and then her parents bring up he #friend danny and then she calls him danyal. and suddenly its starting to click into place like 'oh fuck wait we may just have a lead on -- #-- finding danyal and his whereabouts.' especially after sam's mom mentions the scar on his face. like wow. what a crazy ten minutes. #not seen but def happened: sam gets her phone out to go text danny in the corner. she's not gonna bring up the bruce thing yet. she needs #a pick me up. related note: danny and tucker know she's gone to some gala thing with her parents but not to a wayne gala. if danny had know #he may have told her that he was related to damian wayne. just to prepare her for that. not so sure on the writing in this one folks #but i also dont wanna go through and edit anything its like half past one in the morning and i also dont wanna wait until morning to post #when i can just do it now. and get instant serotonin. i thought of this scene in various ways. like sam calling damian 'danny' out of shock #and then quickly correcting herself. and then excusing herself very quickly. or her mentioning that damian resembles her friend danny a lot #so she was just thrown off by him. because i def think that could happen if sam has no reason to think that she needs to hide danny from th #waynes. i also thought about her parents mentioning that damian resembles danny a little bit. only for one of them to go 'oh no no couldn't #- be. how insulting to damian since the daniel they know has this horrid scar on his face.' and then go from there. either way i thought #a scene like this would be fun. get to also kinda explore how danny looks like from his friends' povs. of which he is #'our lovable jerk who is an ex-cult member and whom we will maim someone over.' #not a scene that was added but i wanted to: sam mentioning in parenthesis that she and tucker think danny was part of a cult prior to the #fentons. and that sometimes danny will say something alarming and sam and tucker will stare at him until he frowns and goes #“that... isn't normal. is it?” and tucker will clap his shoulder and cheerfully go “no buddy. no it isn't” bc i think the idea is funny. #sam is so focused on the idea that bruce abandoned/ignored/was unaware of danny's existence that she momentarily forgot that bruce may have

[wolfjackle-creates]

broski I beg of u to tell me about your Danny is Clark’s nephew wip im so intrigued

@hailsatanacab also asked about this one! I shared two snippets for them so check out Part 1 and Part 2. (about 900 words total between the two asks.)

This was inspired by the discussion on a prompt you made ages ago, actually! Here's the post. The main prompt isn't the inspiration, however. It was the comment about Danny joining the JL and [insert spiderman meme here].

Let's see if I have anything I can add. (I changed things enough when posting the first bits that everything else I have doesn't fit anymore.)

Eh, fine. Just went through and wrote another 600 words.

-----

Danny winced. “Yes, Uncle Cl— Kal. Uncle Kal.” Danny glanced next to him and realized Constantine had moved several feet away and was deliberately trying to not attract attention. He bit back a smile and pulled on the Prince Phantom persona Queen Dora had forced him to learn. “Thank you for your assistance, Laughing Magician. I now declare our deal complete and will make no further claims on you.” He waved his hand producing a piece of parchment which he handed over. “As promised, your payment.”

Constantine grabbed the paper and backed away quickly. “Great. Glad to do business with you, your highness. Hope your family reunion goes well. I’ll just—” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, then changed something and disappeared through a portal even as several of the League members present tried to yell at him to stop.

Danny rolled his eyes as he fell back into his more relaxed demeanor. “Oh, please. What more did you want from him? I’ll talk to Uncle Kal and he can decide what is important to pass on. Magician Constantine already told you most of what he knows.”

“Just… come on, Danny,” said Uncle Clark. “We need to talk.”

---

Finding a place to talk to Danny wasn’t the problem, Clark quickly realized. Shaking off his coworkers, however… Bruce in particular did not want to be left out. And Wally was too curious to be put off.

“Danny?” called Clark when he realized the kid wasn’t with him.

“By the viewing window,” said Bruce. “He seems to enjoy the view.”

“Right. Should’ve guessed.” Clark cursed himself silently for forgetting how much the kid loved space. “Batman, please. I know you like to know everything. But can I just talk to my nephew alone? I’ll explain everything I can after, but I need to know how this situation could’ve happened in my own family without my knowledge first without you being there inserting Opinions.”

“Very well. I’ll collect Flash and we’ll leave the two of you alone. But I expect a full report after.”

“I’ll make a peach cobbler, Ma’s recipe, and head to the Manor tomorrow to tell you everything.”

“I’ll let Nightwing know.”

Clark sighed. “I’ll make two cobblers.”

Bruce’s lips twitched upward, but he turned without saying anything more. “Flash! Since this matter is going to be delayed, I believe you still have to file your report on the incident last week.”

Clark chuckled as Flash protested. But he didn’t listen to their discussion, instead joining Danny by the viewing window. He settled an arm around his nephew’s shoulders. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“I can’t believe you get to come up here and look out at the stars any time you want.”

“I don’t get up here as much as I’d like, I’m afraid. And when I am up here, it’s because something somewhere is going wrong so I don’t get to appreciate it as much as I’d like to.”

“So, if you’re an alien, does that mean Dad’s an alien, too? Is that why he is the way he is? Am I part alien?”

Clark laughed and ruffled Danny’s hair. Like this, it felt almost insubstantial, like passing his hand through mist. “Fraid not, kid. No one knows why your dad is the way he is. I can’t remember how often he was tested for the meta gene.”

“Once a year every year from the time he was six until he was twenty-two and graduated undergrad and started living on his own. Then he stopped for a few years. Until he started dating Mom. He accidentally broke her apartment door once and she insisted he get tested again.”

Clark wanted to laugh, but all he could remember was Danny’s earlier statement. “Danny… Are you…safe with your parents?”

-----

Again, anyone is free to continue this! If anyone wants, I can combine everything into one post to make it easier to do so.

#dpxdc #danny fenton #clark kent #danny is clark's nephew #clark is danny's uncle #first time writing clark pov #hope there's no glaring errors

[frownyalfred]

Bruce: trying his very best to not connect with any of the trainees who he’s being made to train for slaughter

Duke: hey-o I’m from Gotham

He’s from Gotham!! And he’s smart enough to notice things going on around him. Two big reasons Bruce will like him. And then hate himself for growing close with another kid he has to watch Kal let die.

#bruce wayne #batman #dc #myfic #asks #theresurrectionist #anon #Duke Thomas #it was fun writing from his pov!! #my first time I think #eye in the sky #injustice

[kikarouflames]

First Time

(18+)Nsfw:

Levi x reader

Having sex with Levi for the first time is so unbelievably good. He would be desperate to hold you and feel your skin. His ever so present self control evaporates and the the burning need to finally have you coruscates within him.

He is a man who refrain from indulgence but something about you makes him want more. He wants to feel the texture of your skin, remember every detail on your body and self, he needs to provide you warmth and in the moment dissolve all your fears, agony and pains.

He would be so desperate but so gentle for a man whose life was so rough. He treats you with care, asks you if you're okay with certain things. He keeps your pleasure first and foremost. Makes sure you come first.

He starts off kissing your body slowly but with desperate hands he maps your body. Looks at your face with the most tender grays. His eyes aren't stormy and thunderous as they are when he kills titan or deals with the pigs from the capital, they are so soft and clouded by lovelorn lust like a pleasant incoming of drizzle with sweet and loving petrichor.

He thrust so gently at first, exploring the feel of your walls. He slowly speeds up the more he feels you, the more you whimper and moan the more he loses his control. He takes notice of which way you like it, remembers the corner that made you scream when he drilled into it. The sex progressively gets rougher, with him asking if you're okay with it. For him your pleasure comes first, he would make you come first, but seeing your expression he isn't too far either. He buries himself into you with an intention to melt away with you in this fury. He wants to hold you so close after it all, make sure you're okay, pat your head, give you kisses and hug you to sleep.

Bonus: when you wake up he has already make you tea and readied your breakfast, brings it to you even though he usually doesn't like eating on the bed, but since your body is aching from the last night he makes sure to take his day off work to spend more time with you and take care of you after the glorious first time.

->This is my first time writing smut, especially an x-reader one.

#levi ackerman #attack on titan #aot #levi aot #levi attack on titan #levi #shingeki no kyojin #snk #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi x you #levi smut #levi fluff #first time #rough yet gentle sex #pov levi #kikarou writes smut

[luckycharms1701]

HI, HELLO!!

I see your requests are open and— I’m begging on my knees here— please, just a Raph story!! A crumb!!! Anything 😭 🥺

-🌱

shhhhh anon-chan, you don’t need to beg, i am here to provide! hello! i already had a little something for our big boy planned, hope you enjoy!

❤️ He wakes up slowly.

It's both a blessing and a curse. As all things, in his experience, tend to be. He's survived one day, but now he needs to live through another. And so his existence marches on.

Raph groans a bit and rubs a hand on his face. He really needs to learn how to be a morning person like Leo and Mikey, maybe then he wouldn't wake up so... weird.

He goes to roll over and out of bed, resigned to his fate. Something soft against his side stops him. He pauses, and a chastened smile pulls at his lips. How could he forget the one blessing that didn't come with a curse?

Your hand slides across his plastron as you snuggle further into him. You are laying along his side, one leg thrown over his thigh and your head pillowed on his bicep. He carefully shifts so that he is facing you.

His eyes trail over your features, and just like every time he sees you in his bed, he can't stop the silly grin from spreading across his face. He gently grabs the hand that lays on top of him and holds it.

He still doesn't quite believe that this is his, that he's allowed you, but he's starting to.

The churr catches him by surprise. It really shouldn't at this point, he muses as his smile softens into fondness. He always seems to be churring around you. He is always happy around you.

You shift and mumble slightly, and he holds himself carefully still. He really doesn't want to wake you, you deserve as much rest as possible. You settle a little bit closer to him with a smile, and his heart swells as his breath catches.

His churr continues as he contemplates you. Your kindness, your humor, your honestly breathtaking bravery. He will be trying for the rest of his life to deserve what you give him.

It doesn't seem like such a bad thing, now, his life. Even in your sleep you make everything brighter for him. His gratitude overwhelms him, and he squeezes your hand.

Your nose crinkles in protest, and you turn slightly to bury yourself in his plastron as you wake. He chuckles. "Sorry sweetheart," he rumbles, "didn't mean to wake ya."

You bury yourself deeper in him as you weave your fingers together. He feels a kiss pressed over his heart, and he curls around you, unable to express himself except through the slide of his skin against yours.

He follows you back into his dreams.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

head bonks: @yorshie @avery73 @justalotoffanfiction @thejudiciousneurotic

#talking tag #writing tag #bayverse raph #bayverse raph x reader #tmnt #i almost accidentally posted this with only the first sentence written #and it cracked me up because. here. a crumb. this is what you wanted right. #first time doing his pov too *sweats a lot* #he is getting a little easier though i think #hopefully you'll be screaming as much as i was while writing this #fucking soft raph murdering me

[lightseoul]

cw. gn!reader, reader works in forensics, pro-hero!bakugou, aged-up (26), some cursing

thinking about an emotionally constipated pro-hero!bakugou who's in denial about his feelings for you, his workmate in forensics :( thought he was immune to crushes because only ambition-less idiots had those. turns out he's a dumbass as well—even at 26.

his gaze always seems to gravitate toward you when you're in the same room. also has to consciously stop himself from staring too much, especially when his other pro-hero friends are around to tease him about it. (dunce face is so far the loudest and greatest at inducing embarrassment).

but what else can he do? your pull is so strong, he's going crazy and starting to think that maybe—just maybe—he can want other things than just being number one.

"...bakugou-san?"

he snaps out of his reverie, disoriented. he looks to the front and finds you with a folder clutched against your chest.

pretty, he thinks to himself, which is immediately followed by what the fuck am i thinking.

"are you okay?" you ask, worriedly.

NO, I'M FUCKING NOT AND IT'S YOUR GODDAMN FAULT, he wants to scream. rather than shouting at your face, though, he nods curtly. "is that the report on all the crime scenes from yesterday?"

"yes, sir. i—"

"i thought i told you to stop calling me sir."

he did, after you finished your last case as partners—him as the pro-hero-in-charge and you as the head of the forensics department. he doesn't know what possessed him to say that back then. all he knew at that moment was he hated being called sir by you.

if he had his way, you would call him yours.

fucking hell.

"sorry...bakugou," you trail off awkwardly. "yes, this is it."

you carefully place the folder on the desk in front of him before straightening up, locking eyes with the man.

"thank you," he says, voice low.

he hopes you're getting the hint. most people in his agency only ever receive a grunt or a disinterested scowl.

"my pleasure!" you beam. "i'll be in my office if you need me for anything."

with that, you turn to exit his corner office, leaving bakugou with the documents and a heart thrumming at 160 beats per minute.

you're going to be the fucking death of him.

as always, reblogs, comments, and tags are appreciated <3 have a lovely day!

#first time writing using bakugou's pov! #this was fun #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou fluff #bakugou imagine #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bkg

[crazy-fangirl2524]

Tsc 2 should end with the Trojans winning the championship just like how tkm ends with the foxes winning

#pls the poetic parallel of it if this happens plsplsplspls that’s all I ask for #I rlly wanna read how Jean plays an actual exy game because the way Neil describes it is so urgh makes me wanna play exy so bad but as #Jeremy observed Jean doesn’t hate exy so like I wonder how his pov will be during an exy game #will it be as intensed as Neil’s?? or just whatever because he doesn’t care but he can’t not care cuz that’s his life on the line #I just need to know I need to read the trojans playing against the foxes for championship and Jeremy getting the win he deserves #and Jean and Kevin facing each other on court for the first time in so long pls #Ngl pls Nora write a third book and just dedicate the entire third book to exy games I’ll read the shit out of it #like second book can solve all the issues then third book all the exy games #literally never been so obsessed with a sport like #like I can read forever about it #aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court #aftg series #aftg fandom #andrew minyard #aftg incorrect quotes #neil josten #andrew joseph minyard #the sunshine court #tsc

[meraki-yao]

RWRB Movie Analysis: The Placement of Alex's Speech

Alright I’m really fucking sick of people complaining about the placement of the speech. (I swear, I write half of these essays out of irritation. But I’m happy while doing it so it all checks out)

Two things.

Regarding Henry’s consent

Use context clues people. Henry says, “Your speech was beautiful. Made me very proud to be your boyfriend.” It’s clear that Henry approves of the speech.

Again, what can be shown explicitly is restricted by the format. The point of Henry’s montages during the speech is to show how trapped and helpless he is in the situation. (for more, I wrote about it here.) The scenes need to keep that atmosphere/feeling of isolation and pain. If let’s say, we have a scene where the prime minister asks Henry about admitting and coming out, it would take away the consistent feeling of Henry’s pain. Cinematically, it won’t work. But that doesn’t mean in universe, it didn’t happen.

Also, Alex fucking loves Henry with every inch of his soul. He’s willing to fight for them, but he’s also willing to be patient for him. After getting his feelings sorted out and knowing with 100% clarity that he’s in love with Henry, he is never, ever going to do something that so obviously would hurt Henry. He would rather get hurt himself than hurt Henry. (Corresponding Book Quote: “Alex wants to go to war for this man, wants to get his hands on everything and everyone that ever hurt him.”) He wouldn’t make the speech without knowing Henry is okay with it. He just wouldn’t, that would straight up be out of character. So the fact that he did, means one way or another, he has Henry’s consent. And Henry later approving the speech in the piano scene, proves that. (It’s completely possible that the script itself meant to explain it this way, but if at any point they might have explicitly discussed coming out, my guess would be the Kensington breakfast scene, Prime, I’m coming for your hard drives—)

Regarding the placement of speech

There are two reasons for this.

One irl reason, is again, the format of the medium, and movie story telling. You want the tension to continuously build, increase and move upwards, then get a big but concrete resolution, and then this part is over. Having the speech as a conclusion after the balcony wave will not feel as well resolved as directly having the speech, then ending this part of the story with the big, big protest and balcony wave.  

But there’s a diegetic/ in universe reason as well.  

A lot of people, especially those who complain that Movie Alex is a himbo (also spite writing an essay on that, WIP, stay tuned), forget that Alex is a budding politician, and in fact, is a damn good one.

He, despite being kind of confused about his sexuality (read this essay for more), figures out Miguel’s flirting is mostly trying to get his statements for his articles, and in a fairly polite and classy way, Alex declines. (The state dinner slip was because he was way too entranced by Henry) He was a speaker at the DNC. His Texas campaign ultimately won Ellen the election.

When is comes to these things, he knows what he’s doing, and he’s good at what he does.

Making the speech before the crown can make a statement, was a strategic move.

Henry told Alex about his grandfather’s stance on this during the Paris date. He also told, well, yelled at Alex about the pressures he has from the crown during the Kensington confrontation. Alex knows the King will disapprove of their relationship and attempt to shove Henry into the closet.

So he has to be the one to control the narrative. He needs people to listen to, and believe in his, or rather, their side of the story.

And here’s a bit about human psychology. When receiving a new piece of information, our first impression and subsequent judgement of said information tends to be persistent. If we are provided with a second piece of contradicting information, we will tend to treat the second piece with much more criticism and suspicion. The mindset would be “prove to me the first one is wrong” instead of “Which one of these is right”.

Therefore, for Alex to get more people on his side, he must speak first.

(I almost imagine this is the reason the White House blocked communication with the palace. That bugged me for a while, until I thought, if the White House doesn’t block communication and receive a demand from the palace, they aren’t really on grounds to refuse it without a diplomatic mess. It’s the equivalent of avoiding talking to someone you don’t want to approach with the excuse “Oh my phone was off sorry”)

Imagine it. If the crown does what the King originally proposed and claims all the emails are fabrications and denies that Henry is gay and in a relationship with Alex, then Alex’s speech will be viewed through tinted glasses of “this is a fabrication, this is a lie” and it will take much more persuading for people to believe in Alex, because their first judgement of the issue, would be the crown’s lie of a narrative.

But by making the speech first, people’s first judgement of the issue, would be Alex’s explanation, of it being an invasion of privacy, and of it being true. Even if the crown denies it, with the first judgement being Alex’s narrative, it would make it much easier to see through the lie, because in people’s head, they already assumed that Alex is telling the truth.

By making the speech first, Alex has won both himself and Henry, the pen to write history.

Making the speech first is in no way Alex disrespecting Henry.

By playing politics and strategy, Alex is protecting Henry in the most familiar way he knows.

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb movie #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #henry hanover stuart fox #firstprince #nicholas galitzine #taylor zakhar perez #rwrb thoughts #i am so sick of people criticising these things without actually thinking #alex fucking loves henry alright #i usually write from henry's pov because I get him more #first time writing alex pov #fun though #got to pull out my psyc notebook for this lol #rwrb analysis #meraki essay

[14dayswithyou]

OMG I CAN FINALLY ASK YOU STUFF??! (REAL)

I have two questions

What will Ren do if angel wants to get hus name tattooed on themselves? I know he did his tats by himself SO WILL HE DO IT FOR THEM OR WILL HE HIDE HIS TATTOO ARTIST SKILLS?

aaandd...

How will Ren take care of an angel who is hella self destructive (e.g. doesn't eat, doesn't drink, sleep deprived, overworks themselves, etc)? Will he sorta be a caring bf or will he be too scared to ask them to do something?

I love ren and I love you for making this game saint 🙏🫡 all hail bald ren 🥚

✦゜ANSWERED: Wahhhh no, thank you for all of the amazing art you've made!! ;v;

"Y'sure? This is permanent, y'know." A mess of dark hair blocks out most of your view as your boyfriend gently runs a gloved thumb over your skin. "Or… Semi-permanent. D'ya feel like paying for a tattoo removal appointment?"

"I'm sure," Comes your curt response — alongside an affirmative nod and a gentle squeeze over his bicep, "I wouldn't ask you to do this if I wasn't."

"...You're really sure?" No longer hunched over, he looks up at you this time. Soft, blue eyes hold your gaze as he decides to pull another answer from you. "Positive?"

"Yes," His name slips off your tongue easily, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. "I'm positive."

"Alright then."

Despite his calm demeanour, internally [REDACTED] was screaming and vibrating and bouncing around the walls of his brain. You wanted a tattoo of his name.

His name.

His real name.

Surely you must've known how much that gesture meant to him? I mean, sure, he was the one who impulsively tattooed your name on his throat and hip years ago, but it was merely to show just how dedicated he was to you and how far his feelings went. He was entirely yours — both physically and emotionally — and wanted everyone to know it.

Did that mean you felt the same way?

He figured you would've been sick of him by now after all these years, or at the very least... annoyed. Annoyed with him always asking you to eat something, even if it was a little bit. Constantly making sure you weren't overworking yourself, whether it was by sharing the workload or offering you a massage. Invariably dragging you to bed early with promises of endless cuddles, kisses, and warm blankets.

Despite all that, you still wanted him around?

Finally moving from his hunched-over position over your body, your dark-haired hacker looks up at you with the softest look in his eyes — almost as if you were the reason the moon rose in the sky every night. And as if he was the endless ocean, constantly gravitating towards you because it just felt right.

You held back the urge to move his bangs aside to get a better look at his face, and instead let the dark-haired man lean even closer into your personal space to place a chaste kiss upon your lips. Cherry and mint flood your senses as your boyfriend gently cups your jaw, and you can practically feel the adoration and appreciation radiate from the kiss he was giving you.

He doesn't seem to pull away from you for what feels like hours, but when he does, he doesn't stray far.

"What was that for?" You break the silence.

"…Felt like it."

Yet another curt response was given before he looks back to the patch of your skin he had prepared earlier. Giving you one last final glance, he picks up his tattoo gun with a determined glint in his eyes and starts to ink in the first letter of his name.

The name you came to love.

#Pov: an egg gives sans undertale a tattoo 🥚 /j /ij #When days are bad I think to myself how great it must be to live in a timeline where Bald!Ren x Sans exists #Anyways!! [REDACTED] would def spend another 20 mins preparing you for the tattoo if it's your first time; but I didn't wanna write that ^^ #Sowwie!! #🖤 — sai writes. #💜 — 14dwy fics. #💖 — about ren. #💖 — 14 days with queue.

[sallowapologist]

fluffy sebastian x reader imagine because i was experiencing something similar earlier and realised how lovely it would be with someone special.

You’re struggling to sleep one night, the upcoming O.W.L.S plaguing your mind. You decide to sneak off to the astrology tower past curfew, stargazing always seemed to comfort you.

As you get to the deck, you find there’s a cool wind wrapping your frame- a light rain tickling your face. You stand at the railing of the tower, looking up into the night sky. Inhaling the crisp air, you shut your eyes and your thoughts finally settle.

Suddenly, a warm pair of arms snake around your waist from behind. You’d jolt- but only one person would expect to find you here at this time of night, and you knew who those familiar freckled hands belonged to.

“Hey,” he whispers, hot breath fanning across the back of your neck, shivers running down your spine.

Sebastian Sallow.

You rest your head against the curve between his neck and shoulder, tilting your head backwards whilst your eyes stay shut.

“Hello,” you whisper back, tilting your head to the left as you feel soft lips pressing innocent kisses against your cold neck.

“What’s on your mind?” he mumbles against your skin.

“Just…” you let out a sigh, “…just school things.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, he just hums in acknowledgment and tightens his embrace. You can feel the vibrations of his chest against your back and the soft beating of his heart. It’s soothing.

The two of you just stand there for a while, in silence, absorbing each others presence.

It’s peaceful. It’s warm. It’s home.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow imagine #sebastian sallow x reader #this is my first time writing in this pov help

[dearestaeneas]

Pappappappappap.

Turn left. Up three slats. Forward for a bit. Hang a right.

Ancient drywall dust speckled the ground at his paws, the wood old and dry and at risk for splintering. It was an absolute playground.

The rat did not know this, but the house had been abandoned for years. On the other side of the wall sat dusty furniture and heavily graffitied wallpaper, empty glass bottles, and general litter. The town had debated knocking it over, putting up a parking lot, but decided against it.

There wasn’t even a shopping mall. What would we need the lot for?

So there the house remained. Abandoned and unloved by humans. The teens who hid in the leaf-filled kitchen to smoke after school did not love the house, with its 3 floors and creaky stairs. The college students who appeared each Thanksgiving night to drink and reminisce, pretending they were anything other than babies in the world did not love the house’s study, home to an elderly desk that no one cared enough to look in. The rats and birds and insects and squirrels did not see the need for the money, or the books, or the gold watch that still, despite it all, ticked.

Pappappappappap.

His little feet pounded ever forward, his little round body squeezing effortlessly upwards between wooden planks.

The little rat, with his round body and busy feet, loved the house. He did not care about the once-expensive looking rugs, or the elegant, but stained, crown molding, and he did not care about the ornate door knobs. The little rat, in no particular order, loved these things about the house:

He loved the still-somewhat-silver silverware that sat in a kitchen drawer for the noise it made when he scurried over them (knives make for a particularly pleasant noise, with their flat edges that slide off of one another).

He loved the bookshelves that lined the walls of most of the rooms, because they made for excellent perches to sit on to survey the floor (not to mention that if one of the books could be knocked over, a page could be taken for a nest with incredible ease).

He loved the plushies left behind in one of the smaller upstairs rooms. There was one that looked like him! Although this was not his favorite (that honor belonged to a little brown bear, who lay on his back, leaving his stomach open for the most wonderful of naps), it pleased him. A mirror had been knocked off the bathroom cabinet and shattered, its shards sparkling on the floor. The little rat tended to avoid that room, knowing simply that the little silver points were bad news, and not needing more information than that. However, he had not come to this conclusion without first exploring the room, for the initial shattering had mimicked the pleasant sounds of the silverware, but times a thousand. He was intrigued by the other little round-bodied rat who looked back at him from one of the shards. He hoped he was not lonely in there.

But the little rat did not love the house for what it contained. Its contents were beneficial and made life interesting and wonderful, but he would have loved the house if it were vacant and cold and bare and boring. The little rat loved the house because it was his home, and because his home loved him.

His home protected him from the rain and the snow and the cold and the heat, his home kept him entertained and safe and happy. He needed nothing and wanted for less.

Pappappappappappap.

He wanted to do something nice for his home. But what did he have to offer? He couldn’t fix the leaky roof, or replace a cracked tile, couldn’t put a chair back upright or even change a lightbulb.

Ultimately, he decided the best way he could show his love would simply be to live in his home. His home would understand his limitations, while still seeing that the little rat stayed because he wanted to, and because staying was important to him.

He climbed higher and higher, ascending more and more wooden slats and boards, scurrying from opening to opening, until finally: a break in the wall.

Drywall parted, and the little rat felt himself becoming giddy. He inched forward, his little nose twitching furiously, his little black eyes boggling.

He panted slightly, having climbed all the way up to the second floor. A journey that would take a human seconds had taken him several minutes. He looked out from his little hole in the drywall to see the ancient chandelier at eye level. If he wanted, he could climb all the way to the very top, and look down onto the chandelier. He’d done this several times, and would, inevitably, do it again.

But there was something magical to being eye level with the sparkly glass. He would say nature played a cruel joke on him, leading him to his home and cursing him with his blurred vision, stopping him from admiring the intricate details of the crystal before him, but the simple problem with this is that he didn’t know any better, didn’t know there was a world outside of the outlines and colors he saw. He loved his home for its outlines and colors, for the way that the chandelier caught the light at certain hours of the day. He loved the sparkle of the rainbow that was cast about the entryway.

Nature was not cruel, nature did not punish him or play jokes. It loved him. It loved him the way he loved his home, it protected him and marveled at him and delighted in his joy.

He sat there, squeaking with great contentment as the sun went down and its rays caught the glass, bathing him and the home he loved in color.

#i've been having some crazy writers block lately. here's the beginning of something i originally intended to be a one off #but i fear i'm gonna add to this more later. i'm having fun! i want to write something with a happy ending! for the first time in a while! #writers #writers on tumblr #writer #original writing #original story #third person pov #third person perspective #rats #rat #ratblr #fiction #fiction writing #adventure fiction #adventure #adventure writing #cute #wholesome #short story #short fiction #writeblr

[thewolvesof1998]

Fuck it Friday

Here's a little more of my Christmas Fic they don’t know (your name is already mine):

They all pile into the elevator, Bobby and Athena last, as the doors close he whips out his phone to send another text to Buck. Bobby: Doc says Eddie’s going to be fine but he’s staying the night, please call me when you get this.  He watches and waits for the three dots to appear but they don’t and it only causes the feeling in the pit of his stomach to widen. He tucks away his phone and grabs Athena’s hand, she immediately squeezes reassuringly and it helps ground him. “How’d you even know we were here?” Bobby hears Chim ask from somewhere behind him. “I-Me and Ravi were having…drinks,” Albert says, Bobby shares a look with his wife, apparently her hunch about that had been right, her smile is a small ‘told you so’ one.  “Without the rest of us?” Chim asks outraged and oblivious to the blatant lie. Bobby fights back a smile.  “Chim,” Hen says and Bobby can practically see her head shake without turning around, “Maybe there was a reason why they didn’t want us there.” “It is because we’re old? Because I’ll let you know I can still-” -The elevator dings as they arrive on the third floor, interrupting Chimney's rant and reminding them all why they were there.

Previous snippet first snippet

tagging: @wikiangela @wildlife4life ​ @eddiebabygirldiaz @disasterbuckdiaz @spotsandsocks @try-set-me-on-fire @jesuisici33​ @bekkachaos @buddierights @spagheddiediaz @911-on-abc @hippolotamus @shitouttabuck @911onabc @exhuastedpigeon @malewifediaz @your-catfish-friend @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @watchyourbuck @king-buckley @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese @daffi-990 @fortheloveofbuddie @steadfastsaturnsrings @mangacat201 @theotherbuckley @hoodie-buck @eowon @rainbow-nerdss @nmcggg @pirrusstuff @evanbegins @giddyupbuck @sammysouffle @smilingbuckley @jamespearce9-1-1 @carrierofthepaperclips @jeeyuns @callmenewbie @thosetwofirefighters @monsterrae1 @princehattric

#first time writing bobby's pov and god it was so hard #I'm gonna need to do major edits so it actually is believably him #also I'm jumping between this and my secret fic which I'm writing smut for so its really weird going from #Bobby turns to take in a frazzled Eddie Diaz standing there hands flat on the top of the desk and hair looking like he’s been running a han #to #Eddie pulls Buck’s track pants down his dick springs free half hard & already leaking god Eddie loves how messy and wet his boyfriend gets. #9-1-1 #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #thewolvesof1998 writes #buddie fic #fic: they don’t know (your name is already mine) #911 #fuck it friday

[blindmagdalena]

Say It

18+ 5.2k homelander x f!reader, second person (no y/n), possessive behavior, dubious consent, mild torture (not of the reader), canon typical violence, psychological warfare, unhealthy relationship. AO3 link

Homelander finds you in an empty hall with a man he doesn't recognize.

You don’t know the man either, and he doesn’t know who you are. That doesn’t stop him cornering you against a wall to ask your name and tell you about what good money he makes, about how good he’d treat you if you would just let him make use of that pretty mouth of yours.

If he knew who you were, he wouldn’t have done that in Vought Tower, even if the floor is supposedly empty, under construction. You certainly hadn’t thought anyone would be here.

“Well, hey there.” The sound of Homelander’s voice sends a sharp chill down your spine. Anyone else would hear the smile in his voice, but you know better. His jovial tone is a veneer, his smile is thin and stretched too wide. Your heart races. You want to be relieved, but you don’t know what he’s going to do. “What’s goin’ on here?”

“Nothing,” you race to say. The man leaning over you simultaneously stands up straight. His smile looks sincere, maybe even a little awed.

“Wow! Homelander, wow. Big fan!” He says, and you want to shake him. Yell at him to stay away. How does he not see it? Looking at Homelander, you don’t see America’s favorite hero. You see a wild animal without bars, shoulders squared, hands folded behind his back.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Homelander throws right back at you, his stare piercing. He hasn’t even acknowledged the man standing next to you. “Sure didn’t sound like nothing,” he says, and that’s when something begins to click with the man who’d cornered you.

Of course he heard everything. He’s The Homelander, and you belong to him.

“Nothing happened,” you correct yourself. You take solace in the idea that if he truly heard everything, he knows that. He heard your rebuffs. You haven’t done anything wrong.

Looking between you and where Homelander is blocking the hallway exit, the man gives a nervous chuckle. He’s finally picked up on the miasma-thick tension in the air. “Hey, listen, I don’t want to—“

“What were you going to do with it?” Homelander cuts in, the weight of his stare leaving you and landing squarely on the man. This man has no idea that he’s fighting for his life right now.

“What?”

“Her mouth,” Homelander answers, his smile still broad, teeth pearly white and sharp. “Let me guess. You wanna fuck it?”

The man’s own mouth hangs open, and he begins to fumble up a response, but Homelander lifts a finger, and starts closing the distance between them with slow steps, like a stalking tiger. “Ah, ah. C’mon. Let’s be real,” he says, voice low. “You wanted to fuck her mouth, right? I mean, I get it,” he says, voice fading off into a mirthless laugh. “I do it all the time.”

You feel your cheeks turn hot, your stomach churning. Beyond the humiliation, it’s like you aren’t even here. Just a useful object to be discussed.

“I didn’t know,” the man says, lifting his hands placatingly. “I didn’t touch her, I swear to god—“

Homelander takes hold of the man’s head and slams him against the wall so close to you, you feel the sleeve of his jacket brush your arm. You throw your hands over your mouth to muffle your own cry of surprise, pulling away from the wall with stumbling steps backwards.

The man looks delirious. His head is sunken back into the perfectly shaped indentation his skull has just made in the wall. “I don’t give a fuck what you swear to god,” Homelander hisses in his face. “You’re talking to me.”

“Don’t!” You plead, horrified. The sound of his skull cracking against that wall is still echoing in your mind. “Oh my god, please don’t kill him!”

“Oh, relax,” Homelander dismisses, laughing airily. It’s frightening how rapidly he can bounce between these moods, looking at you like you’re the one overreacting. “What’s wrong, were you enjoying yourself? Did you want him to fuck you?” He asks, tone remaining perfectly even, despite the way his jaw sets at the thought. His tone drops again, “Is that why you didn’t break his fucking nose?”

“No,” you answer immediately, mortified. “No, no, I didn’t want—“

“Say it. I want to hear you say it,” Homelander cuts you off, his palm pressed over the man’s mouth, muffling the gradually building sounds of distress. “Say ‘I wanted him to fuck me.‘“

You can hear the wall strain with the pressure Homelander is applying. The skin around where those red leather gloves press in has already begun to darken.

“Stop it!” You’re not above begging, but you know what he’s asking you to do. He’s setting you up for punishment. He will use this to justify whatever he deems necessary to keep you under his thumb. “Homelander, please—“

“Tick tock, tick tock,” he taunts, his smile curled up like a snarl. The man’s screams are dulled behind Homelander’s palm, but they’re loud in your ears. Veins are straining in his neck. His nose is covered, he can’t breathe. You’re not sure if he’s turning purple from that, or because of the building force Homelander is pressing against his face with. Homelander practically sings your name, dragging out each syllable. “You gonna let him die?”

A bone somewhere in the man’s face cracks, and it shatters something inside you.

“I wanted him to fuck me!” You sob, covering your ears, screwing your eyes shut. You don’t want to hear this man die. “I wanted him to fuck me! I wanted him to—“ 

Gloved hands close over top of yours. It’s not until you feel how steady and unyielding Homelander is that you realize how badly you’re shaking, each sob tearing through you. When you open your eyes, vision bleary through tears, Homelander’s expression is serene. Amused, even. His golden hair is backlit by the fluorescent bulb above, giving him an artificial halo. He’s beautiful, a perfectly manufactured angel.

Homelander gently pries your hands away from your ears. Even when he’s careful with you, his hands feel like thousand pound machines. Resistance is a joke. He makes that clear every day.

With your hands down, you hear now that he’s hushing you, his lips pursed slightly. He brings your hands down to your sides, and then places his hands on your shoulders. Your ears are ringing. The man is limp on the floor, but you can’t bring yourself to look at his face.

“Well…” Homelander begins, thoughtful. “No more wandering around empty floors, hmm? Next time you want some attention, you can just ask, you silly-billy,” he says, giving your shoulders a subtle little shake. His smile isn’t so thin anymore. He looks delighted.

You’re doing everything in your power just to breathe. You hear him purr a soft ’awwww’ as he pulls you in against his chest, the textured fabric of his suit pressed to your cheek. You know he likes you best like this. Tormented, fully at his mercy. He’s made it clear that you’re a plaything, but what’s important is that you’re his plaything.

Homelander strokes your hair. It’s gotten longer. He prefers it that way. His other hand is splayed firm against your lower back, but when you don’t reciprocate the affection, hands hanging limply at your sides, he does take a moment to lift each of your arms, wrapping them around his own middle before he returns his hands to their positions.

“You made a mistake, didn’t you?” He prompts, giving you an opening. You know that it’s a baited trap, but you nod anyway. You even hug him a little tighter, and you feel him lean into you when you do.

“And you’re gonna make it up to me, aren’t you?” He pushes further. You feel like there’s a giant knot in your stomach, balling up and getting heavier with each word he speaks. Your throat is too tight. You just nod again.

“Good,” he says. You can hear his grin. “There’s my good girl.”

Chapter 2

The first thing Homelander tells you to do is take a shower.

“I can still smell him on you,” he says derisively. “Make it snappy. And don’t bother getting dressed.”

This in and of itself isn’t uncommon. Homelander’s not exactly a germaphobe, but he is sensitive. He always wrinkles his nose when you’ve been around cigarette smoke or alcohol too long. You’ve started bathing daily, sometimes twice, just to abate his temper. He’s significantly more pleasant with you when you only smell of your clean vanilla soap and him. Almost kind. Sometimes you can lose yourself in those moments, and forget everything else. You can pretend he really is the hero, and that you’re both in love. Those are the times that you hold onto.

You keep the shower short for your own sake as much as his. You’re beginning to dread what’s waiting for you on the other side of the bathroom door, worrying that every moment you spend away, he’s making it worse. Beyond some incidental bruising, Homelander has never hurt you, he doesn’t need to do that. He even likes to make a point about calling men who beat their women cowardly.

You think that he also likes pretending he’s the hero.

Stepping out of the shower, you wrap a fluffy white towel around yourself. Even now, you swear you can feel the weight of his stare through the walls. He’s never been shy about the fact he watches you through the walls, sometimes through several floors of Vought Tower. It’s left you with a perpetual paranoia, making your every move careful and hyper aware. You brush your teeth for good measure, but otherwise don’t dally long.

When you open the bathroom door, he’s seated on the bed, hands on his knees, his gaze already perfectly at your eye level. You were right, he was watching. His lips spread slowly into a cheshire cat grin, the kind that highlights the lines at the corners of his eyes. He sniffs in a deep breath, and then exhales from his mouth. “That’s better,” he says, lifting a gloved hand to beckon you to him with two curling fingers. “C’mere.” You approach him steadily. The marble floors are cool beneath your feet, a stark contrast to the cozy rug that encircles Homelander’s bed. He stands once you’re within arms reach, putting his gloved hands on your hips to swap places with you, the backs of your legs brushing up against the edge of the bed.

Your hair is still dripping wet from the shower, droplets of water streaking down your arms. Homelander extends his hand out to you, palm facing up, and you already know what to do. You pull the glove off for him, watching briefly the way he flexes his bared fingers before you move to the other side, sliding off that glove as well. You turn around to set the gloves on the nightstand, but before you can turn back to face him, Homelander presses in behind you, bare hands curling around your upper arms.

Homelander blows faintly on your neck to change the trajectory of a drop of water, rolling it down your chest, where it disappears into the towel. You can hear the amusement in his little huff afterwards. You’ve noticed that it’s the little things for him; quiet moments of intimacy, of complete comfort in another person’s body.

You lean back against him, tilting your head out of his way. You feel his nose graze from the shell of your ear to the side of your throat as he breathes you in. “What was his name?” Homelander asks, his voice a low rumble in your ear.

“I don’t know,” you answer, closing your eyes. You hear Homelander sigh like he’s disappointed, and he turns you around to face him. You open your eyes, but the expression you’re met with isn’t what you expected. Homelander’s eyes are half-lidded, pupils dilated, his lips slightly parted. Where you had expected to see impatience or irritation, there is only heat. Homelander gives a thoughtful hum, moving his hands from your arms. He untucks where you have fastened your towel, and peels it away from your body, exposing you properly. The towel falls to the ground in a heap, and his gaze drifts slowly down, evaluating you. You can hear the dry click of his mouth opening as he says, “You really oughta know the names of the guys you’re fuckin’."

Your lips part, words delayed by bewilderment. “I do. I never fucked that man. I’ve never even—” “Sssshhhh.” Homelander lifts a hand and uses his thumb to caress your nipple in slow circles, coaxing it erect. Goosebumps erupt across your chest, all the way down your legs. He brings his opposite hand up to do the same on the other side, watching with rapt attention. He’s always had a fascination with your more involuntary reactions, teasing your body into responding to him. It’s working. You can already feel a faint pulse between your legs. You keep your focus on his face, your lips pressed tightly together.

Homelander cups both breasts, stroking his thumbs along the tops of them, massaging lightly. There’s something almost clinical about it, despite the intimate familiarity, as if he’s examining you. You make a noise before you can stop yourself, a tight little whimper that escapes the back of your throat.

Predatorily, his gaze snaps up sharp to your face. The corner of his mouth twitches in several almost-smiles, like he can’t quite decide, before settling back into a neutral line. He looks back down at your breasts, and his hands move further down, along your ribs. He pauses there, squeezing in a way that makes your breath hitch. The gesture feels like a reminder that he could break you in half if he wanted to. “Alright. Go ahead,” he prompts, smoothing his hands further down your body. They settle on your hips, where his thumbs press in right at your hip bones, anchoring his grip. He looks back up at you, expectant. “Name them.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “You.”

“I said name them ,” he snaps, voice dropping to a near growl. His thumbs dig hard into your hips and you gasp at the sudden pain, grabbing reflexively at his wrists. His grip on you is infuriatingly gentle, and yet the power in just the press of his thumbs is enough to have you keeling into him. “Say it.” “Homelander!” You cry out, pushing down as hard as you can on his wrists. You might as well be trying to pry a steel vice away. “Just you, it’s only you, Homel–” Homelander swallows the word right off your tongue, kissing you with a fervency that steals the air from your lungs. His thumbs ease up and you suck in a breath of relief through your nose, your grip on his wrists becoming less desperate in turn. Finally, you understand fully what he wants from you. He lets go of your hips so that he can grab hold of your face, leaving a dull ache pulsing where his thumbs had dug in.

“You’re the only one,” you manage to say, slipping in each word between the hungry presses of his lips. Your words only spur him on, make his kisses more feverish. He wants assurance, you realize. To be wanted. “The only one I want.” You’re right. Homelander makes a sound like you’ve wounded him, exhaling a sharp breath against your lips through his gritted teeth. There’s a neediness to the way he holds you, his fingers tangling in your wet hair, pressing his forehead to yours. “More.” Your heart is racing. “I want you. I need you,” you tell him, stressing each word. He groans low in the back of his throat and relinquishes his hold on your face, dropping his hands down to hurriedly unclasp his golden belt. He lets the accessory hit the ground with a thud.

“Don’t stop,” he grits out. You hear the harsh hiss of him yank down the zipper of his pants, and then he’s taking hold of your hand, wrapping it firmly around the length of his cock, closing his own hand over top of yours. He sets the pace immediately, practically using your hand to jerk himself off.

“I–I want you,” you fumble, trying to focus on what he wants to hear from you, and not the way you can feel his cock growing harder in your hand. You wrack your brain for something, anything. “No one makes me– makes me feel the way you do.” “No one,” he rasps, his hand coming up to the back of your neck, pulling you in for another bruising kiss. You open easily when he pushes his tongue into your mouth, licking up the fresh mint taste of you. “I’d rip out their fucking spine.”

With every stroke of your hand, you feel more wetness spread from the head of his cock. He’s fully hard now. You yelp when he abruptly pulls your hand away and pushes you back onto the bed, your legs hanging off the edge. You get up on your elbows and try to move yourself backwards, but he snatches hold of your ankle and effortlessly pulls you right back to the edge of the bed, back to him. “Keep talking.” It sounds equal parts like a warning and a plea, like he’s barely keeping himself together. “You want me to fuck you.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you echo without hesitation, wide-eyed and breathless. “I want you to be mine. You be mine, I’ll be yours.” The corners of his mouth twitch, and you see his tongue roll along his top teeth, over those pronounced canines, like the fangs of a wolf. He moves in between your legs and descends over you, kissing you while grabbing hold of both of your legs, hiking them up around his waist. In your addled mind, you wonder for a moment how he’s managing this, before you remember he can fly . He starts kissing your neck, trailing a line down to your collarbone.

“Mine,” he murmurs. “Yours,” you answer. “Yours.” “Mine.” He’s at your chest now, brushing his lips along the swell of your breasts. Almost tentatively, he flicks his tongue out along your nipple, making you jump. His eyes flicker up to yours, devilish, and he holds your stare as he sucks you into his mouth, swirling his tongue in rhythmic patterns. You bring both hands up to grab hold of his hair, exhaling a harsh breath, the heat of his mouth intense. His eyes eventually flutter closed. Between your legs, you feel his cock prod, eventually settling in the crease of your thigh, where he begins to rock back and forth, smearing his precome.

You gasp when he grazes you with his teeth, and reflexively yank his hair. That earns you a sharp look up through his lashes, though his pupils are blown black, and he doesn’t actually seem to mind much. He just nuzzles back in against you, minding his teeth and sucking like you might develop something to yield. You reward his gentleness by pushing your hand through his hair, scratching along his scalp with your nails. He rumbles at that, and you take that as encouragement to keep going, watching as his eyes fall shut. You’re just starting to get sore when he switches breasts, leaving you cold on one side and swallowed by a sudden heat on the other. Meanwhile, two fingers press in between your legs without warning. Your whole body jolts, and you feel him smile against your chest. His index and middle finger are swirling circles on your clit, his hands softer than any you’ve ever known, impervious to scars or calluses.

Homelander uses his middle finger first, breaching you in a smooth, albeit impatient glide all the way down to his knuckle. Even the way he fingers you is needy, thrusting his hand back and forth to open you up as quickly as possible, demanding you make the space for him. He adds a second finger and you start rolling your hips, meeting each thrust of his hand. He makes another pleased noise at that. “Feels good,” you tell him. If he likes when you talk, you're going to talk. “ You feel good inside me.”

His eyes open at that, and he lifts off your breast with a wet noise, withdrawing his fingers. You think for a second that he’s done with that, but instead you watch as he lifts those slick fingers to his lips, and sucks three of them knuckle-deep into his mouth, wetting them generously with his tongue. Your stomach flips at the sight, at the shameless way he laps up the taste of you. You can smell yourself on his fingers, and now on his lips. Homelander pulls his fingers out with an obscene slurp, and immediately returns them to your cunt, pushing all three inside. You moan with it, a chill shocking up your spine. Without thinking, you fist your hand tight in his hair and kiss him hard, wringing a noise from his throat that sounds suspiciously close to a whimper. He reciprocates readily, fucking his tongue into your mouth in time with his fingers pumping in and out of you.

You suck the taste of yourself from his tongue. He curls his fingers and gives you his thumb to grind your clit against. You wonder briefly who taught him to finger like this, but the thought disappears as quickly as it had appeared. He shifts his fingers just right and hits a spot inside you that makes you moan loud against his lips. “There, right there, don’t stop,” you keen, feeling an exquisite pressure building low in your belly, stemming from where his thumb is slipping wetly against your clit. He obeys effortlessly, maintaining the exact same pace without so much as a stutter. He’s relentless, his endurance inhuman. When you meet his stare, the intensity in his eyes borders on terrifying. He’s not even grinding against you anymore, focused wholly on taking you apart, feeling you dissolve around his fingers.

“I’m going to make you come,” he breathes, barely above a whisper. You nod fervently, lips parted on shallow breaths, but that’s not enough for him. “ I’m going to make you come,” he says again, voice sharper now, words pushed through gritted teeth. “You’re going to make me come!” You assure him, remembering yourself through the haze of your steadily building climax. “Homelander, I’m going to– you’re making me come! Homelander! Homelander! ”  Your voice crescendos into a scream as your orgasm hits. Your eyes shut, but you snap them back open when you feel a hand on your throat, strong fingers giving a brief squeeze.

“Look at me,” Homelander snarls, teeth bared. “You fucking look at me.” You do. Every breath you take sounds like a whimper, wave after wave of pleasure rolling through you. His fingers feel bigger, heavier inside you, but it’s just the way your cunt tightens around them, quivering. Your hips are still, but he hasn’t stopped moving his fingers. Your pleasure dissolves into sensitivity.

“T-too much,” you tell him, squeezing your knees in on either side of him. That finally snaps him out of it, and his hand stops abruptly. His eyes flicker back and forth between rapid blinks, examining your face. His jaw is tight. You can still feel his hard cock throbbing against your thigh. He withdraws his hand, and you keenly feel the emptiness he leaves in his wake. Homelander takes his hand from your throat and settles it on the bed next to your head. You finally feel his weight sink the mattress down around you as he drops fully from his hover, landing on his shins. He puts his hands on your knees as he sits upright and spreads your legs wide, staring down at his own handiwork. When he glances up at you, his expression is expectant.

Breathing hard, you already know what he wants. You know that he’s not seeking permission, he doesn’t need that. He needs you to want him. Say it. “I want you to fuck me,” you tell him, slipping your hand down between your legs. Spreading two fingers, you open yourself to him. Your heart is thudding wildly in your chest, your body still coming down from the high of your orgasm. His eyes drop to your presentation, and his lips draw back around his teeth like he’s ready to devour you. “Please. Please f–” The ‘please’ must hit him particularly hard. You don’t even get the chance to finish your sentence. You choke on your own words when the fat, slick head of his cock pushes into you with ease. It’s free of friction, but no less a shock, splitting you wide open.

You throw your head back with a breathy cry, grounding yourself by pressing your feet to the bed. He grabs you by the hips, and pulls your lower half slowly into his lap. He enters you now the same way he did with his fingers– a single unrelenting slide until you feel him bottom out. The thatch of hair at his groin presses firmly to yours. He’s girthy, and long enough to touch the deepest parts of you. You try to breathe deeply, but you feel stuffed too full of him to get in a proper breath.

You’re not the only one affected. Homelander’s brows are knitted tightly together, eyes screwed shut, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think him angry. He’s exhaling each breath through his teeth, inhaling through his nose. You can see the strain in his expression, but you know it isn’t from exertion. It’s restraint. He wants to fuck you, not shatter your pelvis. You reach out to gently touch the side of his face, thumb caressing the wrinkles at the corners of his eye. When his eyes open, you’re shocked to see they’re glassy.

He looks stricken, leaning his weight into your palm. His expression is vulnerable enough that he triggers in you an overwhelming urge to comfort him. You hush him softly, thumb delicately stroking the high of his cheek. “It’s okay,” you say, immediately bringing your other hand up to the opposite side of his face, cradling him between your palms. “Good. You’re doing good. Feels so good,” you praise, unsure if you’re helping or hurting his cause. He lets go a frayed breath, pushing into both of your hands now. Luckily for your pelvis, you think it’s helping. He begins to move in earnest, grinding into you with slow, shallow rolls of his hips. Gradually, he begins to build momentum, thrusts becoming longer, deeper. He never takes his eyes off you, instead looking at you like you’re the only thing holding him together.

As Homelander moves, pleasure begins building back up in you. He moves in close to kiss you, and you welcome him. You push your hands up into his hair and cradle him against your lips, coaxing him to move his mouth more freely against yours. You try to ease the tension from him, but you can still hear in his breathing how he’s struggling. “Homelander,” you murmur, nails soothing along his scalp. “That’s it. That’s so good… You fuck me so good. You’re gonna make me come again,” you tell him, voice hitching precariously. He groans against your lips, and suddenly he’s pulling away from you, lifting himself upright, leaving your hands empty.

Taking hold of your legs, Homelander hikes them up over his shoulders. He practically bends you in half when he pushes back close to you, hands falling to the bed on either side of you, just above your shoulders. The position brings him even deeper, and the shift in angle makes you see stars. “Oh, fuck!” You gasp, dropping your hands to twist them up in the bedding below. You know he’s still holding back, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s fucking you better than any purely human man could hope to. The sound of flesh hitting flesh is loud in your ears. The pressure that had begun building back up is suddenly spiking, each snap of his hips like the strike of a match.

Homelander hisses your name like it’s an expletive. He’s unraveling inside you, moving with speed in place of force to keep himself from breaking you. “Touch me,” he says, but all the bite is gone from his bark. He sounds wrecked, desperate for it. You oblige him, bringing your hand back to his face, tangling the other in his disheveled hair. You touch his bottom lip with your thumb, and he surprises you again when he immediately takes it into his mouth, sucking fiercely at it. It makes your stomach flip. You lick your own lips, fixated on the way his are closed around your thumb while his eyes remain focused solely on you. Each thrust punches these breathy little sounds from you. You know in the morning you’ll be battered and sore from your hips to your cervix, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re at his mercy, and for once, he’s at yours. Still sensitive from your first orgasm, you can’t catch your breath. Every grind of his hips hurls you closer to another eruption.

“Yes, yes , fuck yes, fuck me. Make me come on your cock, you’re so good, good boy, fuck me so fucking–” You don’t get the chance to finish the thought. Your mouth falls open on a silent scream, your whole body seizing on an orgasm that hits you harder than any you’ve felt before. Your vision goes to white. Homelander isn’t far behind you. He thrusts a handful more times before he’s lost to the vice-like grip of your orgasm, your cunt milking him for absolutely everything he’s worth. You only vaguely feel him relinquish your thumb and bury his face into the crook of your neck. You’re far more keenly aware of the spill of him inside you, liquid heat that borders on burning. It spreads through you like molten metal, harboring the same heaviness. The two of you stay like that for what could be hours or seconds, you don’t know. Homelander has at least enough thought to lower your legs. He lays himself right back down against you, resting his head on your chest, between your breasts. He’s a solid weight atop you, and each breath feels hard fought.

You feel like you’ve just run a marathon. He moves again, but only to snake his arms around your waist, nuzzling against your breastbone. You muster the energy to move your hand to his face, where you can feel a wet streak down his cheek. Tears?

Shaken, you move your other hand to the back of his head, cradling him against your chest. You stare dazedly at the ceiling, unable to properly process everything that just happened. Embracing him like this, you think you better understand the story of Icarus, and why he was so compelled to fly to the sun, even as it scorched him.

There is an inexplicable feeling that comes along with holding close something that burns so hot.

“I love you,” Homelander murmurs against your skin, words slightly slurred in the hazy afterglow of his pleasure. He doesn’t need to prompt you this time. “I love you, too.”

Chapter 3

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fic #homelander fanfiction #homelander x ofc #the homelander #uhhh hello everyone this is my first homelander fic #and my first published fic in UHHH 7 years?? #also only my second time with reader/second person pov #i have an idea for a smutty sequel but lets see how this one does first #enjoy! #my writing #say it verse

[queen0fm0nsterz]

After weeks of writing, I can finally announce that I am writing a new story! 

I’ve seen so many Thin Dad AUs, so I decided to try my hand at a Lady Mom AU! I’d say it’s more of a character study turned into fanfic, but aren’t all my fanfictions like that at this point... Let me know what you think! 

#little nightmares #six #little nightmares six #ln six #six little nightmares #the lady #ln the lady #the lady little nightmares #my art #my writing #Seafarers (Lady Mom AU) #little nightmares au #little nightmares 2 #IM SILLY AND WHIMSICAL OKAY #IM ACTING OUT #THESE ARE MY DEMONS #I HOPE YOU ALL LIKE IT........ THIS IS THE FIRST TIME I ACTUALLY WRITE FROM THE LADY'S POV #WHICH IS LIKE INSANE CONSIDERING MY HISTORY #BAHSHAJDJSAHSHA #I'LL SEE YOU SOON BYEEE

[soullessseraphim]

May I present to you...

My take on a potential Valdemar bath scene

because I am one thirsty slu-

I was standing at the edge of the pool, waiting for them. They contemplated the water for a moment, as I did, listening to its soft ripples. I then started to undress. They did too, but much more slowly. I entered the warm water with a satisfied sigh, looking up at them with a playful smile. The process of unbuttoning their lab-coat seemed tedious, but to them, it was natural. I had never seen them in anything different, so it was already quite strange to watch them take of those long leather gloves of theirs. But it was even more surprising to me to see they weren't wearing anything underneath other than bandages.

They weren't fully wrapped in them, like a mummy would. I think I would've found it even stranger. bits of their green skin appeared here and there, the areas most covered and invisible being mainly their torso. The bandages were more sparse around their elbows and knees, leaving their arms and thighs half covered and their forearms and calves bare. They stepped in the water with me, and I looked at them, still smiling.

It wasn't the typical bathing attire, but it suited them. I was about to speak up, but it didn't look like they wanted to discuss yet, therefore I closed my mouth, tilting my head slightly, in a mix of concern and confusion. They looked right at me, with those red irises that always pierce so easily into my soul. I didn't mind. I got used to sustaining their gaze... But there was something I could see, this time. I couldn't fathom what, but there was an emotion there, other than their usual excitement and morbid curiosity, or the spark that usually accompanies their sinister grin.

They walked one or two steps away from me, pushing a floating flower aside with surprising gentleness before turning to face me. I was about to ask again if anything was wrong, but then... They loosened the bandages, letting them delicately fall off their shoulders and hips and into the bath's water.

I had a feeling they just made me a most precious gift... A sight that few, if any, had seen before. I couldn't help my jaw from going slack and my chest from growing warm as I looked ; delicate droplets of water glided down their skin, nestling near their collarbones.

I looked back up at their eyes, which gauged my reaction. They had not spoken yet. The silence went on for a while as I stared at them, a mixture of feelings flowing through my veins. But overall, I could only say I was moved : they'd trusted me enough to show themselves to me... I found them beautiful. All of them.

"Thank you."

It was all I could say while looking back in their eyes, full of gratitude.

They relaxed ever so slightly, as if they'd been anticipating a more intense reaction on my part. And then they smiled. Not one of their usual unsettling grins, no... A soft smile. A rare instance where the tiny bit of humanity left in them resurfaced. It was another gift in itself. I felt as if I could cry in joy.

They invited me to sit comfortably in a corner of the pool, our bodies half sunken in the water. They let me wrap my arms around their waist and rest my head against their shoulder as we looked at the sun go down behind the horizon. We did nothing but bask in its warmth and let our precious moment sink in.

I knew they wouldn't offer me anything else, and I was perfectly content with that, for I didn't need anything more.

#roast it #headcanon? #the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana visual novel #the arcana valdemar #the arcana x reader #valdemar #quaestor valdemar #quaestor valdemar x reader #the arcana fanfic #reader's gender not specified #fluff #pov #pov fanfic #that was a very impulsive decision #just sum good old self indulgent body appreciation because I need it #asexual friendly #It's my first time writing any kind of fanfiction #don't be shy give me feedback #enjoy #I just wanted to write something deep and sweet ; do tell me if I failed #valdemar x reader

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 11: Papa Time

Touring takes its toll, but there's nothing a ghoul pile can't fix.

Thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together, and to @ghuleh-recs for making the dividers! <3

If Copia wished to know anything about touring before he had become the frontman of the Ghost Project, he wished he had known just how exhausting it was.

He rubs at his temples, slumped on his back on the couch in the front lounge of the tourbus. It rockets down an American highway, one that he can't remember where it starts or ends up. It's late, a tear-down run late, another run of Rituals upcoming. The rocking of the bus, usually soothing, is enough to shift and rattle his protesting brain.

Copia's subconscious tells him he needs to ask Aether for some healing quintessence, but then he remembers he's back at the Abbey, helping to pick up some slack in the infirmary, taking a step back from the spotlight. Aeon is a skilled guitarist, but needs some more time and teaching to get a handle on their magick.

He tries, Lucifer he tries to sleep, he knows he needs it, but the headache pounds on the inside of his skull like a kick drum. Copia huffs, slinging an arm dramatically over his mismatched eyes in a pitiful attempt to block out the light, already turned down for the night.

He's just managing to slip into a restless sleep when a tiny hand touches the sleeve of his tracksuit. Copia grumbles, blinking blearily up at his smallest ghoulette.

"Come join us, Papa?" Aurora asks, voice melodic even when she's just speaking. There's traces of Ritual paint still smeared around the corners of her mouth, the fine lines around her eyes.

"My ghoulette," Copia hums, trying to keep his voice down. "My head is not agreeing with me currently. Perhaps, eh, a rain check?"

Aurora's dainty fingers, clawed with sharp nails even in human glamour, curl around the cuff of his sleeve. "Papa, we all want you to join us. Come join the pack. Promise we'll make it better."

He cracks a smile, and she's been wrapped around his little finger from the moment he helped her stand after pulling her through the brimstone of the summoning portal, and he lets her pull him up from the couch. He groans as his back creaks. Aurora leads him back to the back lounge. As they get closer, the sound of seven purring and chuffing ghouls gets louder and louder. She slides the door open, and seven pairs of glowing eyes snap open.

Copia's eyes adjust to the darkness, watching as all of his ghouls sit up, expressions brightening at the sight of him.

"You got 'im, borealis," Cirrus says, her feather tipped tail swaying lazily where it's wrapped around Cumulus's thigh.

"Did'ya think I couldn't?" Aurora giggles as she leads Copia to the ghoul pile, snuggling up in between Swiss and Dew, who nuzzle up to her. Cirrus reaches over and ruffles her bubblegum pink bangs.

"Never doubted you for a second."

Copia hesitates, eyes darting within the mass of limbs and tails, trying to figure out where he'll fit in best. You've been in ghoul piles before, his mind oh so helpfully provides. Just get in there-

Before he can spiral any more, two big hands shoot out of the pile and wrap around his wrists. Mountain and Rain, in sync, pull him gently into the pile with an oof.

"Evenin', Papa," Mountain purrs sleepily, helping him arrange himself comfortably in the pile.

"How long were you waiting for me?" Copia asks, hoping he hadn't kept his ghouls up any later then they'd wanted.

"Not really that long," Rain shrugs, nuzzling up to Copia's side, skin cool against his warm, human body.

"Just didn't feel right without you," Swiss says, glowing gold eyes blinking shut in the darkness. "Me, Bug, and Rory all could feel it, your mind racing. You need some juice, Pop?"

Copia hums, headache just barely beginning to subside, knowing how safe he is, in the middle of his pack of loyal hellbeasts, ones he trusts and loves. "Eh. It would not hurt, my ghoul."

There's a flash of teeth in the darkness, and Copia fights the animal impulse of fear at the sight before Swiss reaches over, touching his temple. There's a shock of something tingly rocking through his nerves. The ache and pressure eases, and he sighs in genuine relief.

"Grazie," he says, sinking further into the pile of limbs and tails and bodies. Something deep inside of him relaxes, finally at ease.

He rests his head on Mountain's chest, listening to the deep rumble of the earth ghoul's purr. Aeon shifts in the pile, resting their head on the soft pudge of his stomach, chuffing happily and wrapping their arms and tail around him. Copia reaches down, playing absentmindedly with their white forelock, and the chuffing gets louder. Not overly so, definitely soothing. The warmth and contact and the bone-deep, draining exhaustion of touring all creeping up on him.

"Sleep, Papa," Cumulus hums, voice trilling softly. "We'll be here in the morning."

He smiles, reaching to pat her arm fondly before he falls into a much-needed, restful sleep.

#this is the first time i've ever written copia as a pov character please cut me some slack lmao #I don’t think I have his voice down quite yet #i mean he's been a side character in both of my multichapter fics but the focus was always on the ghouls lol #this was a good challenge for me lmao #dot's writing #mushy may 2024 #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #copia #aurora ghoulette