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dear-bunnyboo · 6 months

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𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 || 𝐉𝐎𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 18+

I’ve been getting so many Joe request and I promise I will get them out as soon as possible but as of now I will try and post the Joey B requests that I have started and finished.

This fic is inspired by two amazing lovelies who anonymously continues to message me such great ideas! I decided to merge the two requests because both seem to fit— and I know Halloween is over but never mind that!!

The inspiration for this fic: request 1 and request 2

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Joe Burrow x Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Trick or Treat? Your costume got Joe asking for a treat. While the aftermath of the party makes it feel like a trick.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ mature content, smut, cursing, established relationship, Halloween party, tension, sexual tension, alcohol consumption, quickie, dirty talking, role playing?, filth, choking, hair pulling, spitting, hickies, teasing, some fluff later on, hangover

If you are below the age of 18 and or you are not comfortable with the warnings above, please don’t read this!

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It was the eve of Halloween and instead of the usual of staying in and binge watching scary movies and the occasional handing out candies to children—you and your boyfriend Joe were invited by his head coach, Zach Taylor to a Halloween Party he and his wife were hosting.

Joe isn't much of a party person and neither were you, however, you knew he couldn't pass this invitation up considering the entirety of the Bengals were showing up with their significant others or plus ones— which is why you found yourself in your room looking at your completed costume as you and your boyfriend prepared for the party tonight.

You stood before the mirror, putting the finishing touches on your cop costume. The Halloween party was a couple hours away and you were determined to make a striking impression— you and Joe were too busy with your own jobs that the two of you didn't get enough preparation to think of your costumes which is why you and the blonde quarterback decided on something simple and easy— a basic Halloween costume in your opinion but, you had to work with what you had and plus you couldn't deny, as you stared at you figure in the mirror— you looked hot.

The police hat perched on your head gave you an air of authority, and the badge gleamed on your chest— the dark blue leotard, hugged your body just right, showcasing your curves. A deep v plunging neckline that showed a peek of your breast made you grin at yourself. You adjusted your utility belt, making sure everything was in its place - the handcuffs, a toy gun, and even a notepad to write "tickets" for your friends' hilarious "violations" later in the night— the matching shorts was hugging your bottom just as right, the sparkly black knee high boots completing the look.

Your hair framed your face, and you gave yourself a wink and a confident nod in the mirror. You couldn't help but grin at your reflection. You looked every bit the part of a stern yet sassy police officer.

"Perfect." you whispered to yourself as you added a few couple spritz of your favorite perfume all around you before grabbing your phone and purse, then sprinting to head downstairs.

Joe, had been waiting for you downstairs his focus on his phone, already dressed in his costume— your boyfriend in all his glory, standing there waiting for you, his 6 ft 4 frame in a bright orange tracksuit with matching orange dunks on his feet, however, this wasn't what caught your attention— Joe had his top unbuttoned till the middle of his abdomen which in turn showcased his muscular chest and hanging off his neck was an array of his iced out chains— one was his iced out '9' necklace and the other was your personal favorite which was his iced out 'Burrow' necklace that your eyes remained eyeing.

The sound of soft click of your heels on the hardwood floor caught your boyfriend's attention, now diverting his attention to you— Joe's breath was caught in his throat as he pocketed his phone, his focus solely on you; eyeing you up and down just like you did not long ago. His piercing blue eyes, slightly causing you to stagger as you walked up closer to him.

“Mmm, look at you.” Joe grunts dramatically, wrapping his arm around your waist; bringing your body close to his.

You giggle playfully, looking up into his eyes and whispering, "I look good don't I?" Joe nods in response; still looking deep into your eyes. He then leans in and kisses you softly on the lips; a small peck. “So, so good, baby.”

“I’ll have to ask you for more than a peck or else I’ll lock you back up.” You muttered against his soft lips, before nipping his lower lips with your teeth, pulling it in the process, earning a groan from Joe who was now running his large hands all over your body— he was slowly getting worked up by how good you looked in your costume and with you playing the role of a cop so well. Like a animal in heat, Joe gripped your neck and pulled your lips against his, the blonde kisses you sloppily while you happily did the same— your tongues clashing against each other.

Your hands ran through Joe's hair, making him moan even louder. You pulled away before leaning in and whispering in his ear, "You can do better than that." you continued egging him on.

Joe took a deep breath, his eyes piercing into yours as he smirked and nodded. "Of course I can," he said smugly, "I'm going to make you cum so fucking hard. Huh? Will you let me do that to you, officer?” Joe asked while he drew circles on your neck with his fingers.

“I’ll let you do anything to me.” You both seem to lose all sense of reality, completely forgetting that the two of you had a party to go to.

With that, Joe pushed you against the wall and kissed you again. This time, his tongue forced its way into your mouth, searching for yours. It was a battle of wills between you two, but he won out in the end— he always does.

Joe broke off the kiss and smiled, kissing your cheek and saying, "That's what I thought." You blushed at his words, but also felt a tingle between your legs.

Joe then pulled you in for another kiss, this one deeper and more passionate than the last. His hands found their way in your shorts and he began rubbing your pussy through your panties.

You moaned against his lips, enjoying the feeling of his hand on your pussy. You had been thinking about this moment ever since you got dressed up, and you were glad it was finally happening.

Joe smirked against the kiss and started to unzip the zipper of your leotard, exposing your perky breasts even more than it already was. You gasped as he took one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking on it gently.

His tongue swirled around your nipple, causing you to gasp loudly. He then switched to your other breast, giving it the same treatment as your first. You moaned loudly, your body shaking as you enjoyed his touch— Joe was now nipping and sucking on your neck and breast, leaving a wide array of dark purple bruises on them.

He was marking his territory and you let him.

You could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter, your panties becoming soaked with your juices. “Please, Joe, we need to hurry.” you moaned the realization dawning up to you that you two were needed elsewhere. “Please give it to me, Joey.” you mewled.

Joe then pulled away from your breasts, and looked you in the eye. You could see the lust in his eyes, and knew he wanted you. “You’ll get it, baby. You’ll get it.”he coos as he plays with your hair; his eyes following your squirming figure— Joe enjoys watching you lose it for him and only him.

You nod eagerly, not wanting to wait any longer. Joe smiles and pulls you in for another kiss, but this time he doesn't stop until you're pressed against the wall.

You moan into his mouth as you feel his cock pressing against your stomach. Joe breaks the kiss and says, "Take off your panties and let me fuck you." You nod, eager to take care of Joe.

You pull your panties down and kick them off, and Joe takes them and places them in his pocket. He then kisses you again, pushing you back against the wall and grinding himself against your pussy. You moan into his mouth as you feel his cock press against your pussy, trying to find its way inside. You grab his ass and push him harder against you, grinding your hips against his.

You moan as you feel him slide into you, filling you up. Joe moans as well, loving the feeling of you wrapped around his cock. “Fuck, baby” he grunts. You slowly begin to move your hips, grinding against him.

Joe begins thrusting into you faster, your pussy squeezing his cock. You moan louder, wanting more. Joe then grabs your hair and yanks your head back, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“That feel good, huh? Yeah? Fuck, take it.” Joe grunts, yanking your head harder— he squeezes your cheeks in his hand. “Open.” he demanded. With no hesitation you opened your mouth wide open and in an instant Joe spits inside your mouth making your eyes at the back of your head before swallowing.

You can see the lust in his eyes heightened at your actions, and know he wants you just as badly as you want him. He then pulls out of you, and turns you around so you are facing the wall. He then pushes you up against the wall, and begins to thrust into you hard and fast. You moan loudly, loving the feeling of being fucked like this. Joe continues to pound you hard, making you scream out loud.

“Oh, fuck! M’feel so good, baby” you moaned louder.

Your hands grip the wall tightly, nails digging into it. Joe reaches around and grabs your breasts, squeezing them roughly. You moan loudly, your body trembling as Joe continues to fuck you hard.

You can feel his balls slapping against your pussy as he pounds you. His cock feels so good inside you, and you know you'll never be satisfied by anyone else.

“No one else can make you feel this way. No one but me.” Joe slaps your ass making you jump. “Only you, Joey.” you released a squeal as Joe continued hitting just the right spots harder. “Damn straight.” Joe chuckles smugly.

You hear him moaning and groaning, his breathing getting heavier. You can feel his cock throbbing inside you, and you know he is close to cumming. Joe moans, pulling you close before turning your head, kissing you deeply.

Thrusting deeper into you, you feel his hands leave your body as he sloppily pounded in to you, you hear fumbling noises from behind you and before you could ask Joe what he was doing, you felt something cold land on your bare neck— looking down you see Joe’s iced out ‘Burrow’ necklace that he was just wearing— the diamonds glimmering along with the light sheen of sweat covering your chest.

“Don’t think I don’t see you eyeing this, baby. I want you to have it. I want you to wear it tonight. I want to fuck you and make you come with my name around your neck.” Joe railed you harder.

You moan loudly, knowing you will do anything he asks. You feel Joe hit the right spots inside you. You feel him tense up, and you know he's going to cum soon.

Joe turns you around before carrying you, pushing you against the wall as he continued fucking you with the same amount of passion and wanton need. You wrap your legs around him, locking him deep inside you as he continues to pound you. You can feel yourself starting to orgasm, and you know that he is too.

“I’m close, baby” you said biting his neck, trying your best to muffle the screams that were threatening to come out of your mouth.

“I know, baby. Let go, cum for me, baby.” Joe moaned as he cradled your head against his neck.

You try to hold on, but you can't stop the waves of pleasure from washing over you. You scream out Joe's name as you reach climax, your pussy clenching around his cock— you buried your face back against his neck, sucking and licking on his neck and chest as you came down from your high.

Joe moans loudly, continuing to thrust into you. You moan into his neck, enjoying the feel of his cock inside you. You can feel him tensing up, and know he is about to cum.

“Cum in me, Joey— I want it in me.” You mewled as you watched your boyfriend’s face contort in such lewd expression that could get you going again.

You bite down on his neck, causing him to shudder and groan. You feel his cock throb inside you, and you know he is cumming. You moan loudly, your body shaking as Joe's hot cum fills your pussy. You can feel him twitching, and you know he is done. You kiss him deeply, tasting his salty cum on his lips. Joe kisses back, and you both stand there for a few minutes, catching their breath.

You look at each other, smiling. You feel his cum oozing out of your pussy and dripping down your thighs. You can feel Joe's cum leaking out of your pussy and running down your thighs.

“Mmm, want you to walk into that party with my cum inside of you.” Joe smirks as he helped you fix your costume before fixing his.

“Anything you want, baby.” You winked at the quarterback before smiling and whispering in his ear, "I love you." Joe smiles and kisses you again. "I love you too, baby.”

“Now let’s get going, we’re late.” Joe said smacking your ass one last time before grabbing his Cartier glasses and placing them on; helping you out of the house to head to Zach’s Halloween party you were now late to.

As Joe strolled confidently into Zach’s house, you could say a wave of admiration and envy rippled through the crowd. The low hum of murmurs intensified as eyes fixated upon the man making his entrance, hand in hand with the most breathtaking woman in the room. Joe’s posture was impeccable, his stride radiating self-assurance that only a man well aware of his worth possessed— that and he just recently fucked the living shit out of you not long ago.

His pride swelled within him as he gazed around, observing the envious glances and whispered conversations that hung in the air like a delicate mist. He knew the world was aware that this remarkable woman belonged to him, a fact that only added fuel to the fire of his confidence

They knew you belonged to Joe and only Joe. It was not the matching costume you two were wearing, maybe the fact that you literally had Joe’s surname hanging down your neck, or maybe it was the fact that you and Joe walked in with watching bruises; your neck was littered with fresh purple hickeys that Joe had left while Joe had the same amount all around his neck and bare chest— you both didn’t seem to care.

Everyone was captivated by your beauty, but Joe knew your allure went far beyond mere physical appearance. It was your magnetic personality, your wit, and intelligence that made you the most sought-after woman in any room. And yet, you had chosen him, validating the relentless pride that throbbed through his veins.

The place was filled with Joe’s teammates and their significant other— whom you and Joe stopped to greet along the way. While some of the people were unknown to both you and Joe, which made you think that Zach invited everyone he knew.

As the two of you moved gracefully through the crowd, you could feel the intensity of their gazes, their admiration mixed with a tinge of envy. Some approached to offer compliments, while others lingered at a distance, unable to tear their eyes away— they were either jealous of Joe for having you or jealous of you for having Joe. The sparks of jealousy danced in their eyes, confirming what Joe already knew; that he possessed something coveted by many but obtained by few— when he means few he means him and only him.

In that moment, Joe reveled in the awareness that his own worth had elevated because of the woman by his side— yeah, he was Joe Burrow, the star quarterback of the Bengals but he felt prideful to just be called your boyfriend. Joe basked in the knowledge that you had chosen him, above all others, to share your radiant presence. It was a validation, a testament to his charm and allure, that fueled his pride to unprecedented heights.

But amidst the enveloping pride, there remained a sense of responsibility. Joe knew that he had an obligation to love, respect, and cherish this remarkable woman. He had seen firsthand how your grace and vulnerability complemented his strength and confidence. Their connection was built on mutual admiration and shared ambitions, and he vowed to honor that by being the partner you deserved.

…

The Morning After

As you slowly awakened from your hazy slumber, your head felt heavy, pounding with the remnants of the previous night's indulgence. Your eyes struggled to adjust to the soft morning light that filtered through the curtains. The dull throb in your temples reminded you all too vividly of the hangover that had settled in, like an unwelcome guest.

But as your consciousness grew clearer, you became aware of a comforting presence beside you. You turned your head and saw him, your loving and patient boyfriend, sitting patiently by your side. Joe’s face was etched with concern, yet his eyes radiated warmth and understanding.

You couldn't help but feel a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude. Embarrassment for letting yourself indulge too much and that he had to witness you in such a sorry state. And yet, overwhelming gratitude surged within you, grateful to have someone by your side who was willing to care for you even when you were at your less glamorous moments.

Joe reached out and gently brushed a few strands of tangled hair away from your face, his touch tender and soothing. The simple act brought you a tiny dose of comfort, a reminder that you were not alone in your momentary weakness.

"Good morning," he murmured softly, his voice laced with a blend of empathy and playfulness.

You attempted a smile, though it was met with a wince as a sharp pang of pain reverberated through your forehead.

"Don't worry, I've got you," Joe aid, his voice laced with reassurance. "I'm here, baby. You’re okay." He places a kiss on your forehead.

“I love you.” You whispered. “I love you too, bubs.” Joe smiled at you.

Joe rose from his seat and returned moments later with a cool glass of water and a plate of plain toast. Despite your queasy stomach, you gratefully sipped the water, allowing its soothing touch to calm the parched sensations within your mouth. Joe leaned back, observing you with an understanding smile, quietly ensuring you weren’t pushing yourself too hard.

As you nibbled on the toast, you watched your boyfriend while he moved about the room, gathering the remnants of your night's festivities, taking care of every detail that would allow you to recover at your own pace. The way Joe moved with grace and thoughtfulness warmed your heart, reminding you of his unconditional love.

You felt a deep rush of affection, acknowledging how lucky you were to have somebody who cared so deeply for your well-being. Joe didn't judge you for your occasional moments of vulnerability, but instead embraced them as an opportunity to shower you with love and care.

In that moment, you realized the profound beauty of their connection, built on trust and unwavering support. It was during times like these, amid the discomfort and vulnerability, that your bond only grew stronger.

As the minutes slipped away, so did the piercing headache and the feeling of vulnerability. You felt yourself being slowly nursed back to life, Joe’s gentle tenderness mending the invisible cracks within you.

In that quiet moment of recovery, you realized that your love, at its core, was about being there for each other through life's messiness and imperfections. And as you watched Joe continue to take care of you, you couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of love - love for him, love for yourself, and love for the beautiful moments of vulnerability that ultimately brought them together.

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loveissupernatural · 2 years

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**read chapter 1 here** - **read chapter 2 here** - **read chapter 3 here** - **read chapter 4 here**

Morpheus/Dream x fem!reader

In Your Dreams

Chapter 5

“Life is a sleep and love is its dream; and you have lived if you have loved.”

-Alfred de Musset

The following day felt longer than you would have liked. You were anxious for the sun to set, and with it, the answers that would quench the fire of burning curiosity in your mind. Why was the heart of The Dreaming rotting away? Why were you able to escape the borders of your dream and travel there, and why was Lucienne so obviously disturbed by it? Where was Dream? But, most importantly, why did you feel the need to be there in the first place? Why couldn’t you come to terms with this entire experience for the incredible magical adventure that it was and just let it go?

Even though you were filled with more questions than ever before, you could feel in the deepest recesses of your soul that the solutions to all of them lay in The Dreaming.

Your enthusiasm to return to the palace caused you to have trouble falling asleep for the first hour that night. The castle was your new Burgess house – mysteries hid there that tickled at your insides, that whispered to you in the darkness of the night to uncover them.

Finally, after tossing and turning, your eyes fluttered closed and stayed that way. Shifting shapes whirled behind your eyelids, flitting from corner to corner, until they gently settled into the outline of a horizon. A warm sun began to rise and filtered light onto the dark line, illuminating the scene for you. You instantly recognized the scent of poppies on the breeze.

That fragrant wind whipped through your hair lovingly, like the soft fingers of a curious child, swirling around your form. You spun with it, arms outstretched, grinning from ear to ear. How you wished with everything within your heart that this place was real, that this is where you could spend the waking hours of your life.

You opened your shining eyes to see the parting gate of horn and ivory before you. You hadn’t even needed to start the journey within the confines of your own dream this time – you were already here. Your path of glinting black and gold marble was still below your feet, humming with welcoming warmth.

You couldn’t contain your happiness when the dividing gates revealed a view to you that had shifted from the night before. The stretches of murky water were trickling into a singular crystal river, sparkling blue and immense. Where unforgiving rock and dark sand had suffocated the landscape, beautiful blades of grass and stretches of green ferns were beginning to emerge. You recognized your favorite flower, blooming white poppies, dancing in the breeze on the riverside. An enormous bridge was sliding into place over the river, cradled by gargantuan stone hands that surfaced from the crystal water.

Creatures were returning, beautiful and terrifying alike, flying through the milky blue sky and snaking through the growing grass around your feet. The air was no longer choked with an eerie silence; insects buzzed, water rushed, citizens of The Dreaming were laughing.

Life.

You followed the massive bridge of stone to the center, where the once-crumbling palace was being rebuilt in the gleam of glorious sunlight. Fallen walls and castle turrets were reassembling themselves brick by brick with meticulous accuracy, as if someone had hit rewind. Rusting spires were shedding their coat of orange muck and shining gold. Magnificent archways were mending their own cracks and rising tall, transforming from ashy grey to glimmering white.

The heart of The Dreaming was returning to its former glory. Pure joy blossomed in your chest like the rosebuds of a vine that was bending around the pillars of the bridge.

You walked into the castle entryway, still grinning like a fool, as you looked up and watched every shard of broken glass and every crushed stone float into the air and return to their homes. A beautiful stained-glass window was mending directly above your head. The colorful fragments gradually slid together to form the image of a Pegasus, and as the last piece fell into place, it sprang to life, neighing triumphantly and beating its wings.

“Not too shabby, huh?” came a proud voice from behind you.

You spun to see a tall scarecrow-like figure with the head of a pumpkin approaching you. His face was the cut of a jack-o-lantern, crooked mouth pulling up at the corner in a tilted smile. He stopped by your side and put his branch-like hands on his thin hips, gazing up appreciatively at the work of glass art. You tried not to stare too rudely at him.

You turned your head back toward the magnificent window, now casting rays of colored sunlight onto you and your Halloween-like companion.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” you replied truthfully.

He grunted in agreement, then looked down at you. His triangular eyes narrowed.

“Hey, ya know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around these parts before,” he said. “You new?”

Your lips upturned at his gutteral New York accent. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Lotsa new folks all around this joint today,” he said, shaking his large head in amusement. “Guess that’s what happens when ya hammer a few nails and splash on a fresh coat a’ paint—everyone comes back to tha neighborhood.”

“It does look pretty inviting,” you agreed, turning to face him. You stuck out your hand. “I’m Y/N.”

The pumpkin-headed man stuck out his wooden hand and shook yours firmly. “I’m Mervyn, but everybody calls me Merv.”

“Hi, Merv.”

He chuckled and crossed his arms. “Well, considerin’ you bein’ new and all, why don’t I give ya a bit of a tour? It wouldn’t be my first one today.”

“I would love that,” you beamed, resisting the urge to clasp your hands together like a schoolgirl. Merv nodded and turned, motioning with his stick-like hand.

“Well, then, c'mon.”

He walked like a puppet would without strings, you thought, as you followed behind him. You struggled to keep up with his long strides. Mervyn led you through a hallway that had one wall built while the opposite was still floating together. One piece of stone almost hit him in the head on its way back to its appointed position, and he cursed at it.

Once through the hallway, you turned into a winding staircase that glinted with intricate gold. As you followed Merv’s spindly legs up the flight, you appreciated the view to your left of an assembling tower. After a few more steps, you reached the top.

“First things first, here’s our pride and joy,” Mervyn announced grandiosely, spreading out his arms for dramatic emphasis. Your jaw dropped. “This is the library.”

The room was warm wood, cozy sunlight, and beckoning shelves that stretched on for as far as the eye could see. Books were everywhere, of every size, color, and age. You ran your finger along a nearby shelf, tickling their spines. Some looked thousands of years old, others as if they’d come off the press minutes before.

“How many books are in here?” you asked in wonder, turning in a full circle to better take in the view.

“A helluva lot,” Mervyn answered slyly. “To tell you the truth, I’m not the one you should ask. Lucienne’s the librarian in charge.”

At the sound of her name, the woman that you had met the night before emerged from behind a nearby cascade of bookshelves. Her eyes smiled at Mervyn, but then they settled onto you.

Lucienne’s face paled.

“You’ve returned,” she breathed, striding toward the two of you with a haste in her step, “and so soon.”

“Oh, you’ve met before?” Mervyn asked, eyes shifting between the librarian and yourself.

“We have,” you told him, trying to make sure your grin didn’t turn into a grimace.

“Just last night, in fact,” Lucienne added. Her perceptive gaze wandered over your nervous form.

“Last night?” Merv repeated incredulously. He motioned over his shoulder. “But the boss hadn’t even started rebuilding yet! How’d she—?”

“A question we all would like to know,” Lucienne answered, fixing you with a penetrating stare over the top of her round glasses. She clasped her hands behind her back expectantly.

“Hey, I’d like to know too,” you said defensively. You crossed your arms, but then dropped them to your sides, not wanting to come off as defiant. “I’ve already told you everything that I know.”

“Lucienne, who is this?” Mervyn asked curiously, pointing a thumb at you.

The librarian sighed heavily but her eyes softened. Her tone was gentle, appreciative. “This, Mervyn, is the young lady that released Lord Morpheus from his prison.”

“No kiddin’?! That was you?!” he questioned unabashedly, shock evident in his wide eye sockets.

You shrugged, not a fan of the intense attention. “Well, yeah… but it’s really not that big of a deal…”

“Not that big of a deal?” Mervyn repeated, voice dripping in astonishment. “Are you kiddin’ me? This place would still be fallin’ apart if it wasn’t for you!”

“That’s why everything looked the way that it did the last time I came?” you asked Lucienne. “Because Dream wasn’t here?”

She nodded somberly. “He was captured for nearly a century and was unable to return. Everything was dissipating, disappearing… it cannot exist without him. He is The Dreaming.”

“But it’s been over a week since I helped him escape,” you said, confused. “Where has he been all of that time?”

“Lord Morpheus was traveling the realms on a quest to reobtain his tools.”

Something hopeful fluttered in your chest. Those nights where you’d been calling out to him and he hadn’t shown himself… it wasn’t because he was ignoring you, it was because he wasn’t even there in the first place.

“Look, uh… I hate to interrupt this conversation,” Merv cut in, scratching the back of his pumpkin head uncomfortably, “but… shouldn’t we tell the boss that she’s here?”

Joy sparked in your chest at his words.

Lucienne hesitated. “There’s still so many questions that remain unanswered. We don’t know how or why she is able to leave her dreams, let alone create a path from their border and through the waters to the palace.”

Mervyn didn’t have eyebrows, but if he did, you were sure he would be raising them in surprise.

“I didn’t have to use the path this time,” you told her, biting your lip. “I just kind of started at the gate.”

“You materialized here, in the heart of The Dreaming?” she clarified, voice filled with bewilderment and cut with that undertone of concern again.

“That ain't normal,” Mervyn shook his head.

“It appears that each time you fall asleep, you are somehow able bypass steps that you’ve previously taken,” she said thoughtfully, almost to herself. “You’re no longer appearing within the boundaries of your own dreams.”

An excited smile pulled at your lips. “Cool.”

“No, no, not ‘cool’,” Lucienne admonished, turning from you and Mervyn to start rifling through a stack of books resting on a nearby table. “This behavior is quite abnormal, even for a lucid dreamer such as yourself.”

“Lucid dreamer, ‘ay?” Merv inquired, crossing his reedy arms over his chest and leaning back against the shelf behind him. “Not too many a’ you guys left no more.”

“Really?”

“They’ve become exceedingly rare,” Lucienne confirmed, finally picking out a book from the pile. “Consistently lucid dreamers existed more commonly thousands of years ago. Now, well…” her eyes roamed over your confused face “…you’re the first I’ve seen in, at least, a millennium.”

“You always been able to do that?” Mervyn asked you. “Change stuff around?”

“Since I can remember,” you shrugged, pulling out a chair at the ornate table in front of you and sitting. “I’d sleep the day away just to keep dreaming.”

“But roaming through the dreamscape, you said last night that you had only just started?” the librarian asked, peering over the edge of the thick book in her hands. She joined you at the table.

Something caught your eye. The book that Lucienne had plucked from the bunch was bound in black with two golden words emblazoned on the cover: your first and last name.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what’s that?” you questioned enthusiastically, scooting your chair closer to her. “My name’s on there!”

A proud smile creeped onto the head librarian’s face. “This library contains every story ever written and unwritten, finished or unfinished, everything that has been and will never be.” She tapped the hard cover of your book with a manicured nail. “And this is yours.”

“Wow,” you sighed, resting your chin on your palm. Lucienne’s smile grew at your awestruck expression. “So, what all is in there about me?”

“Everything,” she answered simply.

You gulped. “Like, everything everything?”

She laughed. It was a harmonious sound.

“Relax, even your most embarrassing of moments pale in comparison to many of the things I read every day,” she assured you, eyes twinkling with amusement. She became serious again. “I thought it advantageous to find your book after your unexpected visit last night. I had to be sure that you weren’t a threat to The Dreaming.”

Your smile fell. “I’m – I’m not. I don’t want to be a threat to anybody.”

Lucienne sighed, expression trickling with pity.

“I know those aren’t your intentions. But the fact remains that your recent abilities are those that no mortal should possess.”

“Don’t worry, kid,” Merv said, standing from his perch against the bookcase to lean against your table instead. He grinned crookedly at you. “We’ll get this figured out. If anyone can sniff out what’s goin’ on here, it’s Lucienne.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding. The thought of being some kind of danger to this beautiful place rattled you. All you had wanted was to find Morpheus, to make sure everything turned out okay after you released him. After all, being imprisoned against your will for a hundred years had to be traumatic for anyone, right? Even the King of Dreams?

You had more selfish reasons, too, but those would stay private.

Suddenly, a voice called out.

It echoed into the large room, gentle but authoritative, soft but commanding respect. With a wave of warmth washing over your skin, you knew that you would recognize that beautiful sound anywhere.

“Lucienne,” his voice called, “I believe it is time we review the findings from the census.”

All three of you froze in place.

The King of Dreams emerged from the nearest aisle, graceful stride filled with purpose. He donned all black, a sweeping floor length coat flowing behind him as he walked, regal. His alabaster skin almost seemed to glow against his dark attire. His hair was as black as his clothing, still so gloriously messy and wild.

He was in his element, thriving and flourishing in a way that radiated from his very being. This was his domain.

Morpheus’s icy blue eyes moved from Lucienne to Mervyn. Then, they locked onto you.

Your breath hitched as you stood, chair screeching back noisily. That feeling, that delicious humming in your bones, it was different here, more alive. It was starlight sparking in your spine. He stood at least ten feet away, impossibly still, but you could feel his presence as strongly as you would if he were inches from you. Time stood still.

A myriad of emotions flickered through his fathomless eyes at the sight of you, none of which you could place, but whatever they were made the air in the library thick. Your eyes drank in his face and his roamed yours, penetrating but swirling with something soft.

Mervyn cleared his throat uncomfortably. It just then occurred to you that you had no idea how long the two of you had been standing like that, staring at each other.

The sound seemed to bring Dream back to himself.

“Lucienne. Mervyn. Leave us,” he commanded quietly, but he didn’t look at them. His intense gaze never once broke from yours.

Their replies came quickly and in hushed tones, almost as if embarrassed.

“Of course, sir.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

They scurried away with heads down. As they reached the exit to the library, you could hear Mervyn mutter, “Well, talk about some tension...”

Morpheus blinked at the comment, but you didn’t miss the almost-imperceptible smirk that tugged at one corner of his lips. He was still staring at you.

With a smile that revealed every whisper of your heart, you broke the silence.

“Hi.”

Dream took a slow step toward you, measured. Then another. The curtain of dark lashes framing his endless eyes fluttered as he took you in, gaze roaming to your feet and back up again.

“Hello.” His voice was velvet.

You swallowed, begging the blush that you could feel creeping up your neck to go away. Couldn’t you have at least one interaction with him without your body betraying you? You felt like a fucking teenager.

“You, um, never answered my question,” you said, taking a step toward him as well. One of his dark brows rose. “You put me to sleep first. Rude, by the way.”

His smirk wasn’t nearly as well-hidden now.

“My deepest apologies. And what question would that be?”

You took another step closer, still not breaking eye contact. You clasped the back of a chair with one hand to ground yourself.

“You’re… you are alright, then?” you asked quietly. For the smallest of moments, his eyes betrayed everything. He was touched by your concern.

“You have journeyed through The Dreaming, to the heart of my realm, simply to ask after my well-being?”

His voice held an undercurrent of emotion, but he attempted to hide it with the slightest lilt of tease.

A playful glint sparkled in your eye. “Well, I did play spy for over a month just to get into that basement. What’s a desert and an ocean or two?”

The mischievous gleam in his eyes was shuttered by the weight of your words. It seemed that once Morpheus got past the initial surprise of seeing you there, the same realization dawned on him that concerned Lucienne.

“You traveled through the outer lands of The Dreaming,” he stated, brows furrowed in unease. “You left the confines of your dream and found yourself here?”

The general trepidation from everyone surrounding your ability to leave your dream world disturbed you. You saw it as a gift, but it seemed to be one that you were not meant to have. You let out a sigh.

“I created a path,” you told him. “It took me through the desert and through an ocean… and then I ended up on that dock out there.” You tilted your chin toward the windows. “The path ended at the gates, and when I touched them, they opened. Then I came here.”

Morpheus was close now, taking in every word you that escaped your lips with rapt attention. His powerful stare was not angry, but perplexed. His eyes were swimming with anxious confusion.

“How is this possible?” he whispered to himself. His pale hand rose, ever so slowly, to ghost the line of your jaw. The touch was barely there, so very brief, but it left tingling chills in its wake. He examined your every feature, searching for the answer. “For you are not a vortex.”

For a moment, you’d forgotten how to speak, mind still reeling from the fact that he had just touched you, and that it felt so indescribable. His fingers had barely brushed an inch of skin, but that starlight sparkling in your spine had overtaken every nerve ending.

“Vortex?” you asked when you found your voice. Your eyebrows came together. “What’s a vortex?”

To your dismay, Dream stepped away from you. He turned toward the table where you were previously sitting with Lucienne and Mervyn, delicate fingers flipping through the many volumes that were stacked over its surface. His hands settled on a red hardback, lifting it so that you could read the gold lettering on the cover.

“Rose Walker,” he replied, face impassive.

At your obvious confusion, Dream stepped back and motioned with a graceful hand toward the archway where Lucienne and Mervyn had disappeared moments before.

“Where are we going?” you asked, walking in the direction he indicated.

Morpheus was tall at your side, right hand ghosting the small of your back, featherlight. The stars in your backbone twinkled at the touch.

His voice was euphonious when he bent to your ear.

“Follow me.”

**read chapter 6 here

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rebel-walnut · 1 year

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Let's Do The Time Warp Again

steddie time travel s3 ficlet, Part 1

Ao3, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4

"Harrington! Customers!"

Pins and needles flood Steve's limbs as Robin's voice slowly comes into focus, his eyes still scrunched closed with sleep. The tiredness is heavy in his bones, like he's been asleep for years in the oddly cold back room of Family Video.

"Dingus!"

Steve doesn't even remember falling asleep on his break. Actually, he doesn't remember taking his break at all. Or even coming into Family Video. In fact, the last thing he remembers was covered in black and red slime-

"DINGUS! YOUR BREAK IS SO OVER!"

Steve forces his eyes open to witness the too-white walls of a break room that burned down a year ago. Frantic hands run over the garish blue and red of the tacky sailor uniform he hated, the same uniform he lit on fire in his backyard with Robin before the start of her senior year. Somehow, it's back. All of it. It's all come back to haunt him.

Robin from a year ago seems to also be back to haunt him -or maybe she's here as his savior- either way, she's just as loud as ever as she kicks the swinging door to the cramped back room in. It hits the wall with a crack, causing a jolt of both familiarity and dread to shoot up Steve's spine.

He waits for the tell-tale chime of a clock that was still ringing in his ears before he woke up in the summer of '85 or Robin's face to start warping into the melted mass of tentacles hiding in the Creel attic that will certainly become a common occurrence in his nightmares, but the only thing in front of him is Robin's all too common apathetic yet disappointed stare.

"I gave you an extra 7 minutes to sleep, but that little sampling-brat and her terror-troop are back for more and I swear to God, Harrington, I cannot deal with her again today, I just can't-"

Steve cuts off her ramble by scrambling out of his seat with more effort than either of them had ever put into this job, squeezing past her and out of the small doorway.

"Steve, where are you- hey!" Robin says as she latches into Steve's shoulder before he can finish his beeline out the door.

"I'll explain later if you still exist," Steve responds as he turns out of her grasp, shoving past the group of teens making their way into the store. He can hear Robin's small shouts after him, but her exasperation with him is nothing new and frankly the least of his worries.

Starcourt, somehow, is still standing. Clamping down on his rising heart rate, Steve glances around for any sign of the current date, or even year. Everything is exactly the same as it was a year ago, but Steve knows nothing he sees can be trusted. Not with the visions Max described, that's for goddamn certain. While he doesn't know enough science fiction shit like Dustin to know if he jumped universes or is in a different reality or whatever the fuck, he can at least place a little bit of faith in his ability to distinguish dreams and visions from reality.

His frantic pace along with the extremely out of place sailor costume draws in a few curious stares, but again, least of his worries. No one's faces warp into slimy horrors and none of the walls start crawling with vines, no flickering lights, no distorted voices in his head, no signs of the upside down at all. As comforting as that should be in theory, that means it's something else entirely and definitely something Steve can't figure out on his own.

He finds himself leaving a trail of pinches down his arm as he reaches the far side of the mall, posters for the theater coming into view. A particular poster catches his eye, BACK TO THE FUTURE highlighted in yellow and orange in all its sci-fi font glory.

Fuck. 1985. Again.

He presses his fingertips into the glass covering the poster as his breaths come out raggedy and sharp. C'mon, wake up man. It's all some weird ass fever dream, you probably just hit your head again.

He waits a few seconds and prays to wake up. Nothing. Obviously, he thinks. He's stuck, somehow, a year ago, with no clue how it happened or how to fix it or if anything here is even real in the first place.

Steve isn't the guy who comes up with plans, okay? That's more of a Nance thing, and Steve is totally fine with his role as the muscle. Unfortunately, right now there seems to be absolutely no Nancy Wheeler, and Steve has no fucking clue what the fuck is going on.

He steps back from the entrance to the theater and spins around probably faster than he should for someone who maybe just got shot through time, and comes face to face with a small music store labeled Hot Wax Records in some sort of groovy 70's style font. That's not what gets him though.

Steve stops dead in his tracks as he makes eye contact with the guy at the front desk. His hair's a little shorter than he last remembers it, hitting just above his shoulders instead of just below them. The man is wearing a familiar denim vest with slightly fewer patches and less grime than was on it when it was adorning Steve's shoulders, but familiar all the same. What gets Steve though is that the man at the counter is white-knuckling the edge with one hand while the other braces and claws itself around his neck, a look of equal parts horror and recognition strewn across his features. He looks on the verge of screaming, yet his eyes are forcefully locked into Steve's with a determination Steve had only seen from him once before.

They both falter a half step forward as Steve struggles to find his tongue.

"Eddie?"

#steddie #steddie au #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie ficlet #steddie fanfiction #Shovel writes

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stranger-nightmare · 1 year

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𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐎𝐧𝐞 | 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 ’𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫’ 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 & 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 ’𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐚𝐧’ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧

requested by anonymous

A/N: happy halloween darlings!! here we have the final kinktober post, and it’s not a short drabble like the rest of my kinktober posts, oh no no no my lovelies, this is a full-on, long-ass oneshot, so enjoy!!

I hope you’ve enjoyed the rest of my kinktober posts too, and I hope you’ve all had / are having a wonderful halloween!!

“Hey Angel,” Jake winks at you, letting his gaze rake up and down your body languidly, a smirk plastering his face.

You roll your eyes at the cliché joke, clearly referencing your outfit for the night. It was Halloween and you, along with all the other Top Gun pilots, were at a party for the evening hosted graciously by Yale at his impressive beach house. You’d decided to dress in accordance to your callsign; Angel.

A plain white dress, simple, elegant, and still sexy as hell. It was tight, hugging your curves and contours of your body. The material was thin enough that your nipples were just apparent beneath the delicate fabric. It’s neckline just low enough to be enticing, its hemline the same; just short enough to be tempting, showing a fair amount of your bare thighs. A soft glimmer of glitter was dusted over your skin, giving you an ethereal glow. And last, but not least, you wore a simple halo headband for the full effect.

“Very clever,” you quip sarcastically to Jake’s comment.

You then let your gaze rake over Jake and his costume, taking in the glory of his body and how much of it he’d left on display. Not surprisingly Jake had decided to dress as a cowboy, and a slutty one at that. A beige cowboy hat sat atop his head, accentuating his tanned skin. He wore a blue chequered shirt which he hadn’t bothered to do up, leaving it open to reveal his almost obscenely perfect torso. His light blue jeans were tight and hung low on his hips, leaving little to the imagination. His belt was thick, a large oval gold buckle sitting between the v of his muscles which glared like an arrow towards where you were most curious to peak…

“Like what you see darlin’?” He tilts his head cockily, letting his Texan drawl deepen his voice.

You shrug, trying to look nonchalant, attempting to hide your warm cheeks by taking a swig of your drink. Thankfully at that moment you feel a hand on your arm and turn to see Bradley behind you. Your gaze flicks over him quickly, taking in the blue jeans, blue denim jacket, and orange puffer vest. You knew immediately who he was dressed as; the one and only Marty McFly from Back to the Future.

“Ah, just in time,” you joke lightly, referencing his outfit.

“Very funny, Angel,” he squints playfully at you as you roll your eyes at the cheap joke for the second time that night.

“Seresin,” he nods a greeting at Jake.

“Bradshaw,” Jake returns the greeting nod, his signature cocky smirk adorning his face again.

“You look good,” Bradley compliments with a wicked gleam in his voice.

“I am good, Rooster. I’m very good,” Jake quips, his smirk growing even more.

You shake your head with a small laugh. You reach behind you, feeling out until your hand wrapped around Bradley’s. Your other hand reaches out to grab Jake’s.

“Come on boys,” you giggle invitingly, starting to tug the boys along with you as you moved towards the centre of the living room where other people were dancing, “let’s go dance!”

The boys let you drag them along, guiding them towards the dance floor. You giggle as you start to dance, swaying in time to the music, your hands still gripping the boys. Bradley is quick to join in, letting himself move with you as you swung your arm with his. Jake, on the other hand, releases your hand with a shrug, mumbling something about how he didn’t really want to dance, before he moves to lean against the wall just opposite you.

Of course Jake Seresin was too cool to dance, you think to yourself. Your eyes roll again before an idea flashes in your mind. You keep your gaze steady on Jake’s as you slowly press yourself backwards, letting your body lean into Bradley’s. You break your gaze away from Jake’s for a second as you twist your head to look up at Bradley behind you. You let your hand reach up until it snaked around Bradley’s nape, your nails scratching at the base of his scalp.

At the same time, you start to rock your hips in time with the music, swaying lightly, deliberately pushing back against Bradley so your ass was grinding against his crotch. Bradley lets out the softest of groans, so quiet you’d have missed it if his mouth wasn’t right against your ear as he pressed his cheek against your head. His hips quickly start to match your rhythm, swaying with you, rocking into your backside.

His hands quickly snake around your body, one finding purchase on your hip, helping to guide you as you moved together. The other lies flat against your stomach, keeping you in place flush against him. You let out a gentle sigh as you tilt your head back to rest on his shoulder, eyes closed, as you grind with Bradley. It’s then that you let your eyes open again, landing on Jake where he was still leaning against the wall. But now he was leant forward, his eyes burning as they watched you with such an intensity you could practically feel the heat on your skin. You let your lips part with another soft sigh as you determinedly keep your eyes steady on Jake’s. Your hands wander over your own body, caressing yourself as you moved to the music. Jake’s eyes follow your hands, drinking in each movement as they roam over the curves of your body.

You decide to push him even further, determined to break his resolve. Your hands move to the already short hem of your white dress, pulling it up slightly, revealing even more of the soft skin of your thighs, tugging it until it just barely covered your clothed core. You see Jake’s body physically tense as he watches your movement, his eyes transfixed on the exposed skin of your bare thighs. You hear as light chuckle behind you as Bradley cottons on to your little game.

A small gasp escapes you when Bradley decides to join in on your little game. You could feel his head shift as he tucked it into your neck even further, his lips lightly brushing against your skin, sending a shiver through your spine. But you knew, somehow you knew, that his eyes were also locked onto Jake. You let your back arch against Bradley, your mouth hanging open with a soft moan as one of Bradley’s hands move to caress your thigh, his fingers dragging across your bare skin, slowly moving higher and higher until they also toyed with hem of your short dress.

That was the final straw for Jake, his resolve finally breaking.

He pushes himself up off the wall and stalks directly towards you. You don’t let him talk, barely give him a second as he approaches you, before you’re reaching outwards and grabbing him by the belt buckle and pulling him in until his hips collided with your own. Your hands immediately wrap around his neck, pulling him in close as you keep your hips rocking, bucking up against Jake, feeling the push of his belt buckle into your abdomen. Jake’s hands are quick to grip onto your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he moves you against him. The surge of power that flows through you is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. To have these two beautiful men pressed against, hips rocking against yours, hands all over your body; it made you dizzy, in the best possible way.

You don’t know how long you stay like this with them. The music, the chatter, it all blurs into the background as your focus remains solely on the two men holding you, touching you, intoxicating you. Their hands were all over your body, caressing and grabbing at your waist, your ass, your hips, your thighs. You thanked the gods there was music playing loud enough so that no one else could hear the moans that fell freely from your lips.

Well, except Bradley and Jake, who seemed to drink in each of your moans, meeting them with a buck of their hips, a pinch of their fingers on your dress, a groan of their own against your skin. Both of them had their faces buried in your neck, letting their heavy breathing fan over your skin, the brim of Jake’s hat knocking against your head. You could feel both of their lips barely brushing over your skin, but neither of them moved to take anything further, neither moved to actually kiss you yet, no matter how desperate you were for it.

You didn’t think you could take it much longer; your body was aching for more. And from what you could feel poking into your ass and your crotch, both boys were aching for more too. You let one hand reach behind you again, searching for Bradley’s nape and twisting your fingers into his hair. You reach out with your other hand, scratching down Jake’s bare torso until your fingers hook into his belt again, pulling him somehow even closer, yanking to get his attention. You can feel Bradley smile against your neck as you tug on his hair. Jake, however, lifts his head, removing it from the crook of your neck, until his eyes met yours again. His eyes are alight with lust, flickering with wicked intent.

A whispered ‘please’ passes your lips before you can think better of it, causing that god forsaken smirk to return to Jake’s face. He leans in closer to you until the tip of his nose brushes against your own. Your breath hitches in your throat as his hungry gaze devours you.

“Please?” He mocks, titling his head to the side. “What is it that you want, angel?”

You stammer helplessly as all words fail you. Your cheeks heat as you feel Bradley chuckle into your neck, equally as amused as Jake by your withering composure.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” Jake prompts teasingly, his lips dangerously close to yours, your breathes mixing with his.

“I- I want-“ you pant heavily as all of the sensations almost overwhelm you, your mind spinning.

“Hmm?” Jake prompts, his eyes darkening as they drop to stare greedily at your lips.

“I want… you,” you finally manage to sigh breathlessly.

You twist your head slightly towards Bradley, your cheek bumping his nose where he still had his face buried in your neck. The arm that still held onto Bradley’s nape tightened, tugging on his hair slightly with trembling fingers.

“I- I want both of you,” your voice quivers as you finally admit to it, your cheeks warming.

Your eyes flick back to Jake in front of you, your knees going weak as you take in the sheer look of hunger and desire that darkened his green eyes. His tongue darts out to wet his lips quickly as his eyes drag over your entire body greedily.

“Hmm,” Jake acknowledges darkly, “is that so?”

His gaze then shifts to behind you, locking eyes with Bradley.

“You alright with that, Bradshaw?” He drawls.

You can feel Bradley smirk against your skin as he places a quick kiss below your ear. He then lifts his head to meet Jake’s stare: “oh, I’m more than okay with it, Seresin…”

The next thing you know the three of you are snaking through the crowd, making your way upstairs until you eventually landed upon an empty bedroom. Jake locks the door behind the three of you, turning to face you where you stood somewhat awkwardly in the centre of the room. Bradley was just behind you, already shucking off his puffer vest and denim jacket, tossing them on a chair in the corner of the room, leaving him in just his button up and jeans. You gulp loudly, nerves flowing through you as Jake stalks over to you, moving to stand right in front of you. Your breath hitches in your throat as he towers over you, his eyes locked onto yours as he drinks you in, his green eyes glowing with desire.

“You sure about this, sweetheart?” Jake looks at you seriously as he takes off his cowboy hat and tosses it so it lands on the bedside table.

You couldn’t believe that this was about to happen, your knees felt weak and you couldn’t tell where the nerves ended and the excitement started. You nod, not trusting your own voice to sound steady. You then feel a strong body sidle up behind you, a hand moving to cup your jaw, turning you gently until your face met Bradley’s. His thumb strokes your jaw reassuringly as he looks at you just as seriously as Jake did.

“You can tell us stop at any time, okay? Just say the word.”

You nod again, a tiny nervous smile gracing your lips. Bradley’s eyes dart to your mouth just as his thumb shifts to tug on your bottom lip. His eyes flick to yours for a final check in before he slowly, tentatively, leans in to push his mouth against yours. His lips start soft with yours, moving languidly, letting the two of you learn each other’s mouth. His thumb keeps stroking your jaw as his hand still cups your jaw, each brush of skin sending flares of electricity through your body.

Beside you Jake saddles up closer, his head dipping into the crook of your neck again. But this time his lips work to caress your skin with kisses, his warm tongue tasting you with each mark he gently sucked into your skin. A soft moan escapes you, passing into Bradley’s mouth. He swallows it greedily, reciprocating with a gentle groan of his own. The noises seem to provoke something in Jake, who starts kissing his way up the side of your neck, moving upwards until he nipped lightly at your jaw.

You got the hint immediately, smiling lightly as you kiss Bradley for a final moment before you turn to your head towards Jake. Your eyes lock with his for just a second before he crashes his mouth greedily against yours, a barely contained restraint evident in his lips as he fights to be gentle, but everything in his body seems to want to devour you whole.

You whimper against his mouth, which seems to break the last of Jake’s restraint. His hands move to cup your face, pulling you against him. His body arches until his hips collide with yours, almost throwing you off balance with the force. Thankfully Bradley was still behind you to hold you steady, his hands gripping your waist. Jake’s lips are insatiable against yours; he kisses you dizzy, breathless, until your body is almost slack against Bradley as your knees go weak again.

You moan into Jake’s mouth when you feel Bradley’s lips start to move on your neck, his moustache tickling your skin. Your hands rake down Jake’s chest again, scratching over his hard muscles. You then slide your hands back up his body, roaming over his shoulders, pushing his open shirt off him as you go. His hands release your face for only a second as he lets his shirt fall to the floor. His mouth is about to collide with yours again when you dodge him with a smirk, twisting your body between them as you face Bradley.

Jake groans behind you as you lean to capture Bradley’s lips with your own, kissing him deeply as your hands desperately fumble with the buttons of his shirt. You feel the warmth of Jake’s body press into you from behind, his lips replacing where Bradley’s had just been on your neck, working to leave marks of his own across your skin.

You didn’t even realise you were trembling until your fingers fail to undo Bradley’s buttons. Mercifully he steps in to help, smirking against your mouth as he deftly undoes his own shirt, swiftly shirking it off and onto the floor. Your hands roam his torso just as greedily as they’d explored Jake’s, scratching again over the hard surface of his muscles.

A surprised gasp tears from your mouth when you feel Jake’s hands caress your thighs, dragging up your skin until he reaches the hem of your dress, pulling it up slowly as he goes. The kiss with Bradley is broken as you allow Jake to pull the dress off you completely. Bradley’s breath hitches in his throat as he looks down at you, left bare except for the thin white lace panties you had on. Jake groans deeply, a sound of satisfaction as he looms over you from behind, causing you to look up at him and bat your eyelashes with a coy innocence.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Jake hums as he dips his head to kiss your neck again.

“Fucking perfect,” Bradley concurs before he crashes his lips to your again.

Bradley’s hands grip your waist, pulling you against him. Meanwhile, Jake’s hands slide around your body until they found your tits, cupping them in his large palms. He uses his grip to pull you towards him, letting your back arch and your head tilt until your kiss with Bradley was broken again and Jake could once again close his mouth over yours. Your soft moans are swallowed by Jake as he plays with your tits, squeezing and kneading them, his large fingers pinching your nipples gently. For a moment you’re so lost in Jake’s kiss again, in the feeling of his large hands caressing your tits, that you barely register as Bradley’s hands curve round your hips, his fingers curling around the fabric of your panties.

“Don’t think you’ll be needing these anymore, angel,” Bradley whispers wickedly against your neck just as he yanks hard and rips your panties right off you, tearing through the thin fabric.

You gasp a pathetic whimper just as both boys chuckle darkly. You turn your head back to face Bradley, barely able to get out a complaint at your ruined panties before Bradley’s hand is moving to hover just above where you were aching to be touched, his fingers skimming over your pubic bone. You look up at him pliantly, eyes wide and pleading as you silently beg to be touched, bucking your hips into his touch, your pussy throbbing in desperation for some, any, kind of friction.

But Bradley’s eyes shift to look beyond you, locking gazes with Jake as they silently communicate their next move. Jake’s hand moves from behind you until he finds his place between your thighs. A strangled moan tears from your throat as he starts to rub his fingers between your folds, collecting and spreading your slick.

“Fuck Angel,” Jake groans, “you’re so wet. This all for us, hmm?” He hums cockily, already knowing the answer.

You whimper, nodding lightly as your cheeks flush with heat, hiding your face in Bradley’s chest.

“Come get a feel of this Bradshaw; she’s practically dripping,” Jake’s voice is laced with a wicked edge.

Bradley accepts the invitation without hesitation, finally letting his hand dip lower until his fingers too were between your folds. He hisses in a sharp breath as he feels your slick coat his fingers.

“Shit,” he grunts with a smirk, “she’s soaked.”

Your cheeks heat further, but by now you’re almost beyond caring; you just needed these boys to stop teasing you and to start touching you.

“Please,” you breathe quietly against Bradley’s chest.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ve got you,” Jake coos against the shell of your ear, causing a shiver to run down your spine. “Gotta make sure you’re nice and ready to take us,” he whispers just as he sinks a finger into your aching cunt.

You moan loudly, hips involuntarily pushing back against him until his finger was sunk to knuckle inside you. Jake holds you steady with his free hand, keeping his arm wrapped over your torso, pressing you against him. Your head falls back pitifully against his shoulder as his lips continue to roam your neck. Bradley’s hand, the one that was also between your legs, started to move in sync with Jake, his fingers rubbing at your clit.

You gasp and lurch forwards, pleasure starting to build and flow in your body. Jake’s lips are attached to your shoulder, kissing and biting even more marks into you skin. Bradley kept his head up, cocked to the side, as he watched you intently, enjoying the way your face was twisting with pleasure even from the slightest of touches. Your mouth hangs open in a soundless gasp when you feel Jake push another finger inside you, starting to use a scissoring motion, stretching you out slightly. Your breathing gets heavier, practically panting as you look at Bradley helplessly, so overcome with pleasure already.

And these boys hadn’t even got to fucking you yet.

Your legs were weak at the prospect. Bradley hums in satisfaction as he watches you become more and more undone between them. He leans down to place a kiss to your lips, his fingers still working your clit with expert ministrations. Jake starts to move faster, pumping inside you with even more fervour, his long fingers reaching that sensitive spot that had you mewling from how good it felt.

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath, the sound muffled against Bradley’s lips, as you feel the coil start to tighten inside your belly, your orgasm fast approaching.

You lurch forwards, your head dropping as you now lean heavily against Bradley’s chest. Your knees start to feel weak, a tremble radiating through your thighs as they bring you closer to the precipice of your climax. All it takes is a final few thrusts from Jake’s fingers, a final few circles from Bradley’s fingers, and you’re gasping loudly as pleasure washes over you. Your pussy clenches, your body convulsing as your hips rock against their hands, riding out the euphoria.

“That’s it, baby,” Bradley praises proudly just as he starts to slow down his movements until he eventually pulled his hand away as you started to shiver with sensitivity.

“Mmm,” Jake hums against your neck as he scissors open his fingers inside you a few more times, “I think you’re ready to take us now sweetheart.”

A tiny moan escapes you at the prospect; the fact that you were finally going to have both men inside you… it was enough to nearly have your knees buckling from under you. Bradley keeps a hold of your waist, keeping you steady as Jake releases you and moves away as he starts to strip himself of his jeans and boxers, kicking off his cowboy boots. Once Bradley is satisfied that you’d found your footing again he quickly follows suit, freeing himself of his own jeans and boxers.

With both men now naked beside you barely knew where to look or what to do with yourself. Both of them were glorious, and a part of you noted that they could have gone as Greek gods for Halloween, and it would have made perfect sense. Of course, Jake quickly notices you staring and tilts his head cockily, his smirk returning.

“Like what you see, Angel?” He taunts, calling back to the same question earlier in the night, as he saunters back over to you.

Jake encircles you in his arms and pulls you until your right side was pressed against his chest, letting your naked body collide with his, your skin flush against his, his hardened cock resting against the side of your ass. You can’t help the warmth of blush that creeps into your cheeks as he stares you down cockily. He chuckles cheekily just as he moves to climb onto the bed, guiding you with him.

He lays on his side, coaxing you to do the same, so that your chest was still pressed against his. Barely a moment later you feel the bed dip behind you and another large, strong body settle against your own. You look back over your shoulder to be meet with Bradley’s warm brown eyes. He quickly ducks his head to capture your lips in another kiss, keeping his mouth moving against yours as he slides in close beside you, his hardened cock pushing against the curve of your ass.

At the same time Jake pushes his hips forward against yours, his dick slipping between your thighs. You gasp against Bradley’s mouth as the tip of Jake’s cock rubs through your folds, coating himself in your wetness. Bradley takes advantage of the moment, licking into your mouth and deepening the kiss, groaning at the way you were starting to rock your hips in response to Jake, your ass now sliding across Bradley’s dick.

Jake’s head dips to latch his lips onto one side of your neck, his breathing starting to become as heavy as your own as he slowly starts to fuck himself between your legs, gliding between your thighs. Bradley swiftly follows suit, pushing his hips closer into you, angling his dick until he was also slotted between your thighs. Between your legs was a wet mess, your arousal, your cum, and a mixture of both men’s precum. They both rub their cocks fervently between your legs, fucking your thighs, gliding against each other; Jake’s cock just barely brushing against your folds, Bradley slotted just below him, rubbing his cock against the underside of Jake’s. You see their gaze lock for a minute as they rub their dicks against each other, both of their eyes alight with a kind of wicked challenge, as if daring the other to go on. They both smirk as they both rise to the challenge, letting themselves move between your thighs as they fuck against each other at the same time.

Your moans are nothing but pathetic mewls as you move with them, squeezing your thighs together, revelling in the sounds it pulled from both men. Your grind your hips, pushing down, desperately hoping to gain more friction as Jake’s tip just barely moves against your throbbing pussy. Your hole clenches over nothing as you frantically buck your hips. Pathetic pleads pass your lips before you even realise you’d spoken aloud.

“Please,” you whimper. “Need you. Need you both,” you pout, nudging Jake’s cheek with your nose, your lips ghosting over his skin. “Need you both inside me,” you whisper brokenly as you reach an arm behind you to caress Bradley’s nape, twisting your head to look at him with imploring eyes. Strong fingers hook under your chin and pull your head until you were confronted with Bradley’s face in front of yours.

“You still sure you want this?” He whispers gently.

You nod quickly, digging your nails into his nape where your hand was still caressing his neck. Bradley’s smile grows into a taunting smirk that matched the one you were used to seeing on Jake.

“You think you’re ready to take us, angel?” He murmurs darkly, his voice dangerously low and deep.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please,” you add in a whisper, rocking your hips back against him for emphasis.

Both men hum deeply in acknowledgment to your pleas. They then lock eyes again, that silent communication once again passing between them. The men nod briefly at each other, wicked smiles growing on both their faces.

Bradley moves first, shifting his hips and grabbing his dick in one hand, guiding it from between your messy thighs to between your ass cheeks. He rubs himself between your cheeks for a moment, lubing your tight hole with the slick mixture he’d coated himself in between your legs a moment ago. The head of his cock, wet with his precum, gently nudges against your hole, causing a low moan to lodge in your throat. His warm brown eyes flick up to meet your gaze, silently checking in with you a final time. You nod once, pushing your forehead against his, a tiny ‘please’ passing your parted lips. Bradley tilts his head to press his lips against yours briefly just before he finally, slowly and gently, pushes inside you.

Your mouth hangs open, your breathing ragged as you feel the dull ache of him stretching your tight hole. Bradley moves slowly, a groan rumbling deep in his chest. He takes his time as he steadily sinks inside you, letting you adjust to his size.

“That’s it baby, you can take him. You’re doing so well,” Jake hums quietly as he kisses your neck lightly. “Such a good girl for us,” he mumbles against your skin.

Your breath hitches in your throat, your chest rising and falling heavily as Bradley bottoms out, pushing as deep as possible into you. He hums gentle shushing noises as he kisses your face delicately.

“You feeling okay, baby?” He whispers against your lips, his forehead still pressed against yours.

You nod, again not trusting your voice. The dull ache was still there, but it wasn’t exactly painful. In fact, it felt good, a delicious throbbing that made you feel spectacularly full.

“Good,” Bradley hums in satisfaction.

Just then Jake starts to move his hips again, pushing up higher this time. He rubs his dick through your folds, his head nudging against your clit, causing you to jerk towards his touch, your ass moving slightly along Bradley’s cock. Bradley keeps your face turned towards him, his fingers still cupping your chin.

“Ready to take Jake now?” He murmurs quietly, his moustache tickling your skin as his lips lightly brush against your own.

You nod silently again.

“Good girl,” he hums, his eyes briefly shifting to Jake’s, as if giving him permission to finally make his move, to finally slot himself inside your aching cunt.

Bradley releases your chin and you’re quick to whip your head back round to face Jake in front of you. Jake's hand, the one that wasn’t pinned underneath him on the bed, moved so his hand could cup your cheek. He thumbs your lips, tugging on your bottom lip, keeping your head in place so he could keep his gaze on your face as he moved to sink himself inside you.

Jake moves just as slowly and gently as Bradley had done, steadily pushing into you, giving you that time to adjust as he stretched you out even more. You hiss lightly at the slight burn, the sensation of being so full. Jake moves cautiously, watching your face the entire time, admiring the way it contorted with a mixture of pleasure and pain, the way your mouth hung open lightly.

With a final shift of his hips Jake bottoms out inside you, causing moans to escape the both of you as clench already just at the feeling of them both filling you up.

“Fuck,” he croaks, his voice sounding strained, laced with a strangled groan, “you’re still so tight.”

You mewl pathetically, nuzzling your nose against his neck as you revel in the look on his face; tightened with restraint, as if he was completely overcome with how good it felt to be inside you.

“Feel how she’s clenching already, Seresin? We haven’t even started fucking her yet,” Bradley hums darkly beside your ear, his voice coated in a taunting chuckle.

You moan pathetically at his taunt, your body involuntarily clenching around them again, causing both men to snigger lightly. You pout pitifully as they taunt you, batting your eyelashes up at Jake as he looked down at you. But he just smirks before capturing your lips in a searing kiss. He kisses you hard, messily, hungrily. His tongue and teeth collide with yours just as he starts to gently rock his hips, his cock slowly starting to drag in and out of you. A shiver runs down your body at the sensation, your body reacting on instinct, jerking against him.

Consequently, your ass moves against Bradley, the feeling of his cock dragging within you simultaneously causing your body to wrack with the sensations. Both men groan, almost in sync, as they both start to set a steady rhythm of thrusting into you. They both keep their pace gentle for now, still giving you that time to adjust. But you didn’t need any more time. Their slow pace was only serving to drive you wild with the need for them fuck you faster, fuck you harder. You mewl and whimper pitifully, your body moving frantically, trying to find a rhythm between them, a bit more speed, struggling to move your hips against both men simultaneously.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Bradley hums against your ear, his hand giving your hip a quick squeeze. “Let us do all the work. You just relax, angel,” he coos, gently coaxing your body to stay still as they both keep working to fuck you.

“But I… I want… I need…,” you whimper between heavy pants.

“Mmm, what do you need sweetheart?” Jake hums in a breathy whisper, his head dipping to kiss your chest, his lips moving towards the valley of your breasts.

“Use your words angel,” Bradley taunts, his warm breath caressing the shell of your ear, sending another shiver through your body.

“Please... move faster. Harder,” you pant desperately, as you close your eyes and let your head drop onto the pillow beneath you.

You can practically feel their smirks, the wicked gleam in their eyes. They don’t need to answer you verbally; they let their bodies do the talking for them. Your eyes snap open, a gasp flying from your mouth as both men start to pick up the pace, fucking you a bit harder, a bit faster. Your entire body seems to tighten and convulse as pleasure already starts to sear through you. Bradley keeps one hand on your hip, helping to pull you back against him as he fucks your tight asshole. Jake lets his hand roam the curves of your torso, caressing your side, occasionally moving to knead at your tits before travelling your body again.

Your upper body had fallen onto the mattress beneath, practically letting the boys use you as they pleased, almost limp in between them.

Both Jake and Bradley, however, kept their torsos sat up slightly, leaning on their respective elbows as their hips moved against yours. You twist your head slightly to look up and see the men practically glaring at each other as they fucked you. Their rhythms pick up even more, their hips slamming against yours, squashing you between them, each thrust of their hips sending you jolting against the other. A tiny, knowing smile twitches at your lips as you quickly realise what was going on. As was typical between these two usual rivals, they were competing; competing over who could fuck you harder, fuck you better.

The boys’ grunts seem to get louder and louder as they stare each other down, their hips seem to slam into you with more fervour. You roll your eyes despite how hot the scene was; you knew it’d be even hotter if they’d just put their egos aside for a while and let it happen. You sigh deeply as you lean your head back and to the side, letting it fall against the pillow, giving the boys even more space as they glared at each other.

“Will you two cut the shit and just make out already?” You huff finally, gripping their necks and practically pushing them together.

Bradley just smirks, clearly game for it, inviting Jake in, enjoying the small flare of panic that paints Jake’s face for a second. Jake looks to you momentarily, his eyes wide, just before Bradley’s mouth is on his. Jake sputters for a second, his entire body tensing, hips faltering. But it’s only for a moment, and then he’s melting into the kiss, his eyes closing, lips starting to move with Bradley’s.

You moan loudly, almost exaggeratively, as you watch the two of them. Your pussy clenches at the sight, eliciting synchronous groans from both men as you squeeze them. They continue to make-out, the kiss getting more and more heated, their bodies starting to move in time with each other, rocking against you, sending pleasure coursing through your body. The sight of them of together, their tongues dancing in the heated kiss, it was enough to almost have you cumming sooner than intended.

You can’t help as your body arches, pushing against them, almost involuntarily fighting for their attention to come back to you as a whimper passes your lips. Your nails dig into the back of Jake’s neck as you grip him tightly, pulling him towards you. Jake pulls his mouth off Bradley’s with a sinful pop, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face as he looks down at you.

“Something wrong, princess?” Jake taunts, an equally wicked chuckle sounding from Bradley behind you.

You whimper and pout as you lean to reach for his lips. Jake’s chuckle reverberates against your lips as his mouth attaches to yours again, still curved with his signature smirk. You’d only been kissing Jake for a second before you mouth goes limp, losing focus on the kiss, your lips hanging open as pleasure surges through you, taking over your mind, your body.

“F-fuck,” you croak as your back arches, your toes curling. “You both feel… feel so fucking good. Sh- shit… I- I’m close. I’m gonna-,” you’re cut off with a pathetic squeak, unable to finish your sentence as your body tenses, reaching the precipice of pleasure.

“Let go for us baby,” Bradley coos against your ear. “Give us everything, let us feel it,” he whispers huskily.

With a final strained gasp you obey Bradley’s instruction, letting the build-up of pleasure crash over you. Your body shakes and convulses, rocking between the two boys as your orgasm wrecks through you, your pussy and asshole clenching, squeezing both boys as they continues to fuck you carefully. Jake curses incoherently as you clench over him, his hips losing rhythm just as he ducks his head into your chest, his hot breath fanning the valley between your breasts. A strain groaned is muffled against your skin as Jake’s hips finally still, his cock twitching and pulsing inside you as he reaches his own climax.

“Fuck,” he groans in a dragged-out sigh, “feels incredible, doesn’t she Bradshaw?” Jake hums as he rocks his hips gently, fucking out the last of both his and your highs.

Behind you, Bradley’s pace quickens, his thrusts getting sloppy and messy in rhythm as he chases his high.

“Y-yes, so good,” he sighs just before a loud groan falls from his lips, his hips stilling as he pushes deeply into you, pressing you tight against Jake’s chest again.

Bradley groans deeply, almost laughing with his pleasure as his orgasm rushes through him. The room is full of the sounds of heavy breathing as you all slowly rock together, drawing out each other’s highs, bringing yourselves down slowly as the men fuck you gently.

The only other sound in the room is the wetness of the boys still moving slowly inside you, fucking their own cum out of you. The sounds were filthy. Sinful. Far from befitting your callsign and costume. Outside the room you could still hear the steady thrum of the music from the party, the chatter of all the guests. But that wasn’t of concern right now.

All that existed for now, in this moment, was Jake and Bradley as you lay in between them coming down slowly from your highs.

Yale was definitely gonna kill you guys for the mess on the sheets though…

A/N: I have to admit I don’t think this is my finest work tbh but I was in a rush to finish it bc I worked a 14 hr shift today and I had to scramble to finish this yesterday so yeah sorry if it’s not the greatest piece of writing but I hope it was enjoyable nonetheless!

Main Masterlist // Kinktober 2022 Masterlist

#kinktober 2022 #stranger nightmare #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin smut #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x y/n #jake seresin x bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x jake seresin #top gun smut #hangman smut #rooster smut

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hannie-dul-set · 10 months

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sunwater [teaser].

SYNOPSIS. this is how you get a merman boyfriend.

PAIRING. park sunghoon x female! reader. GENRE. merman! sunghoon, artist! reader, slight college! au, strangers to lovers, romance, modern fantasy, humor, suggestive. WARNINGS. swearning, drowning, dirty/inappropriate jokes, mentions of sex, things might get a lil spicy but No Explicit Smut, mermaid politics, reader says and does a lot of questionable shit (might add more as i progress!) WORD COUNT. full fic: est. 20k more or less. teaser: 1.3k RELEASE DATE. late july to early august.

NOTE. finally thought of a title last night and immediately made the header so i can post the teaser HAUHASDH. stemmed from a convo with a friend of mine (i quote "u reject every man woman person that tries to date u. little do they know, ur type isn't human 🤩").

anyway, send me an ask/dm to be added to the taglist! preview under the cut.

GANGNEUNG-SI, GANGWON-DO. The drive to the east coast is always nostalgic, like fragments of previous summers are powdered into the air and with every inhale of the breeze outside the car window fills you with the past— scraped knees from the rocky beachside, saltwater daydreams under bunny-shaped clouds, and the smell of paint and the sea melting together in early morning dews. It takes a little over an hour for the cab to roll up to your summer neighborhood. It takes twenty minutes of walking to get to your family’s vacation house situated right beside the sea.

“Welcome home.”

Your words echo in the empty living room and your own voice greets you with remembrance. A smile crawls onto your lips. Eggshell walls, sandy brown wooden panels, your favorite blue sofa matching the stripes on the rug underneath it, and the sheer cream curtains painted with the orange spills of the sunset through wall to ceiling windows— it’s a still life painting of last year’s summer. Prior to that, you still had plants around, but they kept dying, getting replaced and dying again until your neglectful guilt finally hit you. Throughout highschool, your family diligently spent time here every December and July. Now, it’s just you every summer and the caretaker that comes by every few months.

“I should call mom after dinner,” you hum, washing the dishes you found in the cupboards. Your first night here always ends early. By sunfall, you have a quick meal, wash up, tuck yourself into bed upstairs and allow yourself to be lulled to sleep by the sloshing waves of the nighttime sea.

Four in the morning is when you start to feel alive.

The first thing you do upon waking up, pitch black sky with the sun still hiding behind the oceanline, you grab one of the bags you left on your living room sofa, slinging it over your shoulder before picking up a folded up easel leaned against the wall and two of the blank canvas panels stacked beside it. Your body moves mechanically, practiced and familiar movements— sliding the glass door open to the backyard and closing, feeling the sand wither underneath your bare soles until soft grains blend into jagged stone as you climb up the natural staircase of rocks, leading up to a solid flat plateau.

Is it safe to be painting on top of a cliff when you’ve just woken up? No. Have you been doing this every day since you were fourteen every summer you spend at your vacation home? Yes.

When the sun starts to rise, you become invigorated with life that it almost feels like rebirth.

You haven’t fallen to your death yet, and you don’t have any plans to slip and succumb to its cold hands any time soon. Not until you manage to perfectly capture the image before your eyes at this very moment; neither your memories nor your imperfect renditions can compare to the vibrancy of the orange stained waves, the clarity white seafoam kissing its surface, and the beauty of flaming disk peeking from the firmament where the sky meets the sea in all its ephemeral glory.

It’s five-thirty when the sun fully emerges from the water. Your legs give in, and you fall onto the rocky ground with a sigh. All you could finish is the underpaint today. You’ll continue working tomorrow.

Whenever someone asks you— why the fuck are you doing this? you never have a satisfying answer. It’s an exercise, it’s a routine; it’s the only time when I feel like I’m painting something worthwhile. You have countless pieces in galleries and exhibits, meaningless works with the highest praises from your professors, but they’re nothing worth the buzz of your fingertips whenever you chase the sunrise with your own paint-stained hands until it inevitably, ritualistically flies beyond your devoted reach.

The strain in your leg muscles takes forever to recover. You should remember to bring a stool tomorrow because although you don’t feel anything besides adrenaline whenever you attack the canvas with your brush, the aftertaste can be a little brutal.

“Can’t you stay a little longer tomorrow?” you mumble to the orange tinted sky as you lay on the uneven ground, arms and legs spread out in vulnerability. When it doesn’t respond, you groan and pull yourself up. You could leave your painting materials here, but the probability of them getting thrown into the ocean by the wind is too high for your peace of mind.

As you collect your paint brushes and gather your extra paint tubes, your eyes keep getting pulled by the ocean’s songs. The scene before you has been imprinted in your retinas since you were seven. So when something appears amiss or changes, you can pick it apart immediately. A shift in the tides. A crack in the rock formation. Even a floating piece of driftwood from afar can’t slip away from your attention.

So when you find something— rather, someone emerging from the warm blue near the sprouting rocks, you drop your things and pace quickly to the edge to get a better look.

This is odd. This entire plot of land is private property, and it’s the only way to get into the water besides the island across it, which is still at least twenty miles away. Your eyebrows furrow, wondering how they got here, but when you get to the edge of the cliff, the rough terrain biting into your feet, your concerns are suddenly thrown into the water underneath you.

You can see the intruder’s face clearly now. Whoever he is, he’s breathtaking.

He’s gotten closer to the shore, resting his arms on the inky rock, half submerged into blue depths. The saltwater beads glisten like jewels on his porcelain skin, splashing sunlight into the water when he throws his head back before letting the ocean consume him once more. There’s a flicker of gold that splashes above the surface in a steady rhythmic wave, slowly moving further away.

You have found your new ocean sunrise. You don’t intend on letting him get away.

Splash!

Suddenly, all the warmth from your skin is stripped away as your body sinks into the sea, engulfed by the thick raptures of its waves. Though having been enamored by it for the better part of your life, you have never stepped into the ocean’s embrace— never dared to corrupt its ethereal beauty with your feeble humanity— that is, until now. You slowly feel heavier, and each second hurts more than the last, like the sun itself has entered your lungs and is burning you from the inside. Maybe you should have learned how to swim. Maybe you shouldn’t have jumped off the cliff in the rushing hopes of catching a fleeting stranger’s attention.

No one should underestimate the lengths an artist would go for their art. Just when your consciousness starts to slip, you see a spark in the dark water, slowly approaching before your eyelids flutter to a close. You can hear nothing. You feel nothing but the cold, until all of the sudden you’re gasping, coughing out water from your lungs and the jagged rock you’re laying on sinks its teeth into your wet palms.

There’s one person who could have saved you. You can’t believe your deranged plan worked.

You open your eyes and look above, your still beating heart burning into a frenzy and instead of the sunrise sky, your gaze meets a pair of stygian gemstones muddled with concern. A few droplets of water from his damp hair fall onto your cheeks.

“Are you okay?”

Burnt stars form a constellation on his face. His lips are full and painted by coral hues.

“I want to burn you in my memory.”

He’s even more breathtaking up close, it’s almost impossible to believe. Your gaze draws down, noticing how you’re caged between his arms, noticing the patchy waist bag loosely hanging on his bare hips over a makeshift skirt of fabric, noticing the iridescent gold flakes blending into his skin, shimmering under the sunlight from where his lower half should be.

You flit your eyes back up. His are now widened in panic.

Splash!

sunwater. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

#enhypen x reader #park sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x reader #enhypen scenarios #park sunghoon scenarios #sunghoon scenarios #enhypen au #park sunghoon au #sunghoon au #enhypen smut #park sunghoon smut #enha x reader #enhypen sunghoon x reader

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melishade · 1 month

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Attack on Prime: What if Optimus arrived in Episode 1 instead of Episode 5?

Main Story

Peaceful Timeline Pilot

Beloved Timeline Pilot

Summary: After the events of Predacons Rising, Optimus became one with Primus to ensure life would flourish on his world. But instead of eternal peace, he is somehow sent to the world of the Titans: where humans are no longer at the top of the food chain and are only safe behind walls. But instead of being sent to the Battle of Trost, he is sent to the moment where it all began: the fall of Shinganshina.

(Okay, so I have been…feeling like shit lately, which is kind of why I took a break. I needed the break. I had a lot going on. But I'm glad I did. I was really productive when it came to both writing and drawing. I finished this. I made progress on Guren No Yumiya. It's not finished. I wish it was. I made a few art pieces and animatics (poorly drawn animatics but I take pride in them). And I wrote the pilot for the Episode 1 timeline. It's definitely the shortest one out of the ones I've published so far, possibly because I didn't need to do too much set up.

Other than that, Happy Stabby Caesar Day and enjoy!)

"I only ask of this of you fellow Autobots: keep fighting the noblest of fights." Optimus requested.

"You can count on us to keep the peace." Bumblebee reassured.

Optimus gave a small yet bitter smile for his team. He stared a little longer than he thought, doing his best to memorize their faces, knowing that this would be the last time he saw them. The Prime then turned back to the mouth of the well, feeling a strange sensation at how long the drop was. Optimus then activated the jet wings on his back, and he flew high into the sky. The Autobots watched in sadness as Optimus turned around and dove headfirst towards the core of their planet: to Primus himself.

The closer that Optimus got to the center of their planet, the brighter the light of the core had become. It had been eons since he had come to this place to receive the Matrix of Leadership, and now, it was time for him to give it back. He opened his chest, revealing the Matrix of Leadership in all of its glory. As he was almost to the core, he began to think to himself. He was happy. He was happy that the fighting was finally over. He can die happy knowing that he brought back peace and saved the planet that gave him life. He knew his comrades, his family, would keep the peace. He had complete faith in them.

He closed his optics and a small smile formed on his face as he let warm light consume him.

The sounds of thunder caused his optics to snap open. He shot up to a sitting position, looking around frantically wondering what that sound was. It's only when his vision began to focus that he realized that...he was somewhere else. He was...back on Earth? It...it looked like Earth. The sky was slightly cloudy, but the sun was beginning to set, changing the color of the sky from blue to orange. He was surrounded by tall pine trees, and the blades of grass prickled the metal of his dark servos.

Wait...dark? Optimus raised his servo to his faceplate and was stunned to see the older model. The upgrade that he acquired from the forge of Solus Prime had changed the color and the structure of his servos. Optimus looked down at his legs and found that they weren't robust but slender. Even his back felt lighter. Optimus heard the sounds of rushing water and stood up. He followed the sounds to a clear river, traveling down his right side through the forest ahead. The Prime kneeled down to see his reflection, and nearly gasped at the sight of him. He was back in his old form. Optimus couldn't help but touch his audio receptors and his antennae to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. But sure enough, it was there. It was real. He was alive.

But...why? He shouldn't be alive. He should be one with Primus or reincarnated. Did merging with Primus not work? Were the souls of the Allspark still with him? No...no they couldn't be. When he merged them all with his own spark and the Matrix, he could feel their presence, practically hear them all shouting. But now...it was quiet.

Why in the Allspark did this feel like déjà vu?

Optimus gasped when he felt the ground quake and lightning come down from the sky. His gaze followed the direction of the lightning strike and saw that it struck a massive wall off in the distance. The Prime stared in horror at the sight of a massive, skinless, Titan that peered over the wall. Its muscles were just as red as blood. Optimus transformed into his old alt mode and drove as fast as he could towards the wall and the massive threat. When he arrived, he transformed back into his bipedal mode and skidded to a stop to the now destroyed entrance of the wall. Optimus saw the massive bodyseated at the entrances, the muscles and skeletons slowly dissolving into hot steam. Optimus also noticed a figure climbing over the wall, but before he could pursue, the sounds of terrified screams caught his attention. Optimus ran through the destroyed gate and stared in horror at the sight of giant, naked titans lumbering towards humans with permanent expressions of apathy, sadness, and most uncomfortably, glee. These titans picked up the humans running for their lives and started to devour them. Some would be swallowed whole while others would be killed by the strong bite force of these creatures. Blood spewed onto their bodies and onto the ground, creating more panic and terror among the populous.

Optimus gritted his dentas before letting his battle mask cover his mouth on instinct. He pulled out both blasters from his arms and aimed at the titan that was closest to him which was holding a human. He shot the titan through the head, causing the beast to tilt and fall over on its side, hitting the ground hard. Optimus noticed the way the titan body began to disintegrate and turn into steam like the massive pile of skeletons outside. His blasters were good; they were effective in taking out the threat. Optimus started running through the town and shooting down any titans that were in his line of sight. He then spotted a sadistic looking titan with an unhinged smile pulling a woman from the rubble of a wreckage. The long rows of unnecessary teeth scared him, and he saw the way the woman was beating against the hand that was holding her. As the titan reached out with its other hand to snap her spine, Optimus used his blaster and fired at the titan.

===

Eren tried. He really, really tried to pull the roof of the house off of his mom with Mikasa's help. But they couldn't do it. They were too weak. Not even the motivation of the people's screams and the titans invading their home could give them enough of that adrenaline to lift the damn wood off of their mother's back! Where was dad?! Someone help them!

“Then I’ll carry you out of here mom!” Eren swore as blood continued to seep from his wounds.

“Damn it Eren! Why won’t you listen to your mother for once in your life?! Just this one thing!” Carla shouted at him before turning to Mikasa, “Mikasa make him!”

Mikasa’s mouth grew tight as she hung her head and swallowed her tears, continuing to try and pull the roof off of her mother, “I…I can’t!”

Eren saw Hannes! He heard Hannes fly in and his mother call out his name! He felt some hope! Yes! Hannes could distract the titans while they got their mom out! He ignored what his mother was screaming at Hannes as he ran towards the titan coming towards them. C'mon! C'mon! Hannes please buy enough time! Just enough time! But Eren was then taken aback when Hannes’ arm wrapped around him. He was heaved over the man shoulder as he went to grab Mikasa.

"Hey! Hannes! What the hell are you doing?!" Eren screamed at him as Hannes began to run away. He could still see his mother trapped in the rubble and tried to reach out for her. "We can't leave her! Mom!"

"Eren! Mikasa!" He could see Carla reaching out for them, "You need to live on!"

Eren gasped when a titan landed on top of their house and dug through the rubble. He saw the titan pull his mother out of the rubble and screamed for her. "STOP!"

Carla slammed her fist on the hand that was holding her. The titan terrified her so much, but she still had to fight. She had to try and fight her way out of this beast's grip. But it was no use. The titan, with that wide, sadistic, permanent smile reached its other hand out towards her. To crush her. She didn't want to die! Please she didn't want to!

Unexpectedly, the titan's head exploded in a ball of blue light, causing Carla to scream and for Eren to gasp in confusion. What...what the hell was that?! Eren realized from the second ball of blue light that hit the titan in the chest that it was an attack. Someone, something, attacked the titan! Carla screamed as the titan body toppled over and hit the ground hard. The grip on the decaying, eroding, corpse loosened, allowing her to scramble out and crawl away using her hands.

"Hannes!" Eren yelled as he slammed his fist onto his head. Eren gasped when he noticed another abnormal titan running up to the house. Up to his mother! "HANNES TURN AROUND!"

"Kid, we can't-!" Hannes froze when he noticed the strange titan and quickly ran back to rubble.

"Ma'am, are you alright?!" a voice called out to her. Carla was about to respond, but froze when she realized what was speaking. She looked up to see a metal titan adorned in red and blue. It had no mouth to speak of, but those glowing blue eyes were scaring her to the point where she started screaming again and scrambling to get away. She tried to get up and walk, but she was sure the titan holding her really crushed her legs! She couldn't get up!

"Ma'am, I will not hurt you!" The titan spoke again, trying to reassure her.

"Get away from her!" Hannes yelled at the titan, still holding the two children.

Carla gasped and swatted her hand at them. "Hannes! Run! RUN!"

The titan noticed them and quickly stood up and raised its foot high into the air.

"Oh shit!" Hannes yelled, preparing to be crushed and eaten. He kneeled down to protect the kids in his arms from the impact, but the titan kicked a four meter class titan in the neck that was right behind them and almost killed the trio, punting it high into the air and over the wall, right back to the outside!

"Huh?" Mikasa could only emit in fear.

"Shit!" Eren bit Hannes' hand, forcing the Garrison to let him go and for him to roll on the ground. "MOM!" He scrambled to his feet and ran to his mother, ignoring her pleas to stay away. He tackled her into a hug and started crying in her arms.

"Eren, you need to go! Go now!" Carla begged her son.

"I swear to you I will not harm you!" the titan swore, causing Eren to stare up in shock. Titans...titans can speak? The titan was suddenly alerted to the sound of screams and saw another human in the grasp of a titan. It pulled out a gun, and Carla instinctively shielded her body on top of Eren's as the titan fired that blue light to kill the titan. The titan then noticed Hannes and seemed to look him up and down, like he was examining him.

"Are you military?!" The titan demanded.

"Y-yes! I-!"

"Get the civilians out of here, now!" the titan ordered. Eren managed to catch the strange symbol of a face on his arm before it suddenly...shifted?...transformed?...into a strange carriage. He rode as fast as the wind into the ongoing chaos in Shinganshina. Was it…going to save the people here? Was a titan actually going to save humanity?!

"What?" Eren muttered wordlessly.

"Can you walk?!" Hannes asked Carla.

"I can't feel my legs!" Carla answered.

"Alright!" Hannes quickly set Mikasa down before carrying Carla bridal style, "We need to get you three to the boat! C'mon! Run!"

"What was that?!" Mikasa asked.

"I don't know, just run!" Hannes ordered.

Eren and Mikasa started running towards the gate to Wall Maria with Hannes following close behind.

Meanwhile, Optimus continued driving his way throughout the walled town, transforming into his bipedal mode to take out as many titans as possible with his blasters. He wasn't sure how to seal the breach in the outer wall, but he knows that if another one is made through the gate in the inner wall, then there would be more consequences and lives lost.

That's when Optimus spotted it. An Armored Titan in a sprinting position, the trajectory towards that undamaged gate. As the titan began running, Optimus drove as fast as he could towards the gate, scaring the humans in his way and causing them to jump out of the way. When he reached the gate, the Armored Titan had almost bulldozed his way through, but Optimus rammed the titan into its side, causing the two of them to crash into multiple houses.

Optimus transformed into his bipedal mode and punched the Armored Titan twice in the face, but the Armored Titan grabbed him and threw him off of it. Optimus easily landed on his feet and skidded to a stop. Optimus noticed the Armored Titan’s had no real expression, its face adorned in armored leaving a permanent expression of stern and intimidating. But the body language of the beast said otherwise. It was afraid of him. It was scrambling to its feet to try and get into a fighting stance to counter attack, but Optimus bolted and tackled it to the ground and the rubble.

The Garrison atop the houses watched in stunned silence at the sight. That Metal Titan was fighting the Armored Titan. Titans were fighting amongst themselves. And from what some had seen earlier, this Metal Titan was protecting humanity! What kind fucked up situation was that?!

Optimus used all of his strength to pin the Armored Titan to the ground, shoving his servo in its face to keep it there. "Stay down!" Optimus grunted when the Armored didn't listen and smacked him in the face hard with its arm. Optimus rolled across the ground and crashed into a few houses. He sat up and watched the Armored shed the armored plating behind its lower legs before bolting towards him. Optimus quickly transformed and drove backwards, leading the Armored further and further away from the gate that was now reopening to take more civilians.

"Go! GO!" A Garrison screamed at the civilians as they ran through the gate.

"Is there still a boat here?!" Hannes demanded, still carrying Carla in his arms, with Eren and Mikasa close behind.

"Hannes, what the hell are you doing?! Get back to your station!" the Garrison ordered.

"Not until I get them to safety!" Hannes shouted.

The Garrison looked annoyed and conflicted but pointed behind him, "Get to the boat before it leaves!"

"C'mon!" Hannes ordered the children as they continued running. Eren couldn't help but look back at the chaos happening behind them. A titan...fighting for humanity? A titan...that saved humans? It was surreal, a reversal of everything he ever knew, and stuff he felt needed to be called into question.

“Eren!” Eren snapped his head to the voice calling his name and gasped when he saw Armin waving to him on the boat, his grandfather seated on the ground with only his hat visible.

“Armin!” Eren called out to him as the four of them boarded the boat.

“What’s going on?!” Armin asked as Hannes set Carla on the ground.

“There’s a Metal Titan!” Eren explained, “And it’s fighting some Armored Titan and stopping it from destroying the wall!”

“What?!” Armin exclaimed.

Optimus skidded to a stop and drove in a circle, tripping the Armored and causing it to slam into the ground face first. Optimus saw cracks form in the Armored face before running and punching it in the face to the ground. Optimus grabbed the creatures arm and used all of his strength to twist it. The Armored had size going for it. It was clearly much bigger than him, but it clearly lacked battle experience. Optimus knew where to press his pedes, where to put more strain to twist. He let out a battle cry before twisting the arm clean off and tossing it to the side. The arm crashed into some houses and two other smaller titans.

Optimus was distracted by that moment of victory when the Armored used the remaining arm to smack him in the chest. Optimus yelled in pain at the sensation, and the Armored used its remaining arm to grab him by the face and slam him into the ground. Optimus could feel pain shoot up his back. He could feel the dirt and debris scratch his paint and metal plating, but Optimus grit his teeth and endured the pain. Optimus transformed his servo into a blaster and aimed it directly at its face. Before the Armored had time to process, Optimus fired, shattering the cracked, armored plating in one go. The Armored yelled in pain, scratching at its face to try and get rid of the energon burning in its muscle. The pieces of the armor hit the ground before it slowly began to erode. Optimus jumped and smacked the blaster in the Armored face, knocking it to the ground. Optimus then used his blaster to blow off the left leg of the Armored, causing it to cry out even louder.

Optimus saw that it was immobile and stood atop it. He aimed his blaster directly at the titan's face. For some reason, he managed to catch tears streaming down that charred face, but the Prime chose to ignore it. There were too many lives currently at risk, and this titan was going to raise that causality count even higher by destroying that gate. He had to make a decision.

Optimus charged his blaster at the Armored's head, blowing it clean off, and leaving nothing but the nape of the neck. Optimus watched the titan body crumble and decay under his pede. The remaining armor eroded, then the muscle, and finally, the bones turned to nothing but dust. Optimus’ pede that was resting on the Armored’s chest ended up hitting the ground once the body was gone. Organic material isn’t able survive the full force of energon based weapons. The enemy was taken care of.

However, Optimus was alerted to the sounds of more terrified screams and turned his helm to the chaos that was still happening and the titans still running rampant across the town. He noticed a human flying towards him with that strange contraption around his waist. "Evacuate the humans! I will deal with the titan threat!"

"Wait-!" Hannes watched the titan run towards the hostile titans in the around Shinganshina. It continued to kill the titans with its guns, without even hitting them in the neck. It was…amazing, awe-inspiring. This titan was able to save humanity from losing Wall Maria. Hannes snapped out of his shock and went right back into the fray, trying to find as many survivors as possible, unaware of the two children atop the walls. A boy carried an exhausted girl on her back and ran along the length of the massive structure.

The Survey Corps was having a bad day. Well, they've always had bad days. It was never easy for them.

They had always suffered heavy losses when they came back from their expeditions from outside the walls. But when they returned, and they had given the arm of Moses to the weeping mother, something inside of their Commander Keith Shadis clearly snap. He broke. He broke down in front of everyone and walked away in shame. He had given up. All those years of leading and failing had finally taken its toll on Keith. The next thing they all new, Erwin had become the 13th Commander of the Survey Corps.

Erwin had to go through protocol. Appoint scouts to squad leader positions, inform Zackley about the change in command. It was late and it was quite a bit of work to accomplish, but then...they heard about the wall being breached. About a large Colossal Titan with no skin that was as tall as the wall, kicking the gate in and letting titans inside.

Erwin noticed the way that both Levi and Mike were staring at him, almost like they were judging him. “What?”

"Five minutes after you get this shit show, Shinganshia's under attack.” Levi remarked.

Erwin sighed at that. He supposed that the timing could have been better. "Yes, Levi, the irony is not lost on me.”

"More like a bad omen," Mike added.

The report was a mere hours ago, considering that information had to be transferred by horseback. But the Survey Corps were on high alert. They immediately got their supplies, their 3D gear, mounted their horses, and headed towards Shinganshina.

But Erwin had also heard an extremely conflicting report on the way there, something everyone found to be completely unexpected: the titans were fighting each other. An Armored Titan was fighting a Metal Titan. Both had displayed intelligence, and the Metal Titan had killed the Armored Titan, protecting Wall Maria from falling to the titans. Other reports were still hard to accept, like this Metal Titan wielding guns that could kill titans without hitting the nape of the neck, but a titan protecting humans instead of killing? What could that possibly mean for humanity as a whole?

When they arrived to Shinganshia, the Garrison reluctantly opened the gate to allow them into the walled city. Mike noticed the way the Garrison soldiers were still assisting injured civilians out of the rubble and through the now open gate.

"The Metal Titan's at the exit of Shinganshina, killing titans with his strange weapons," a soldier, Hannes, informed.

"Did you just say he?" Hanji started to grin.

"No," Mike warned them.

"He's been trying to prevent more titans from coming into the city, but we don't have all the resources to get everyone else out," Hannes continued.

"What do you mean by 'he'?" Levi demanded, "There's no way a titan is sentient."

"Check for yourself, but we need help getting people out," Hannes requested, "Some are still stuck in their homes."

Erwin turned to Nanaba. "Help with recovery and evacuation."

"Yes, sir!" Nanaba saluted before addressing her fellow comrades on what to do next. Erwin immediately flew over the ruined houses of Shinganshina, followed by Levi, Mike, and Hanji. The quartet examined their surroundings and was internally horrified. The day that they had all feared: the titans’ invading, had come true. But...where were the titan bodies? The decaying corpses? Where was the corpse of the Armored Titan? They were practically non-existent. There was only rubble and human remains, but nothing else.

"Sir," Mike called out as he pointed ahead, his nose flaring up as he did so. The four of them landed on the houses near the broken gate, and were stunned at the sight. A giant, metal, titan, its torso and arms red and its legs and head blue, stood in front of the damaged gate with a glowing blue gun for an arm. A titan started lumbering through the entrance, but they all witnessed the sight of the gun glowing brighter before firing at the titan before him. The titan was shot in the head, but instead of regenerating, its body began to erode and fade away. It collapsed on the ground before turning to bones, and then smoke.

"Holy shit." Even the captain was taken off-guard by the sight. They had just witnessed a titan kill another titan without even touching the nape of the neck! How?! That was supposed to be impossible.

"I must study him!" Hanji tried to leap forward, but Mike quickly grabbed them and wrestled them back. Hanji yelled in protest, but their cry quickly got the attention of the titan, who looked back at them. Erwin had noticed the being wearing a mouth guard of some kind, and the blue of its eyes mirrored that of the weapon for an arm.

"Hello!" Hanji greeted with a wave.

"Are you the reinforcements the others have informed me of?" the titan asked them. It speaks. It actually speaks! It didn't have a mouth but it spoke a clear and concise sentence!

"Yes," Erwin spoke, trying his best to keep his composure, "My name is Erwin Smith: the Commander of the Survey Corps."

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance; however, I cannot move from my post, Commander," The titan explained, "I wish to aid the humans that need to evacuate the city, but if I leave, more titans may come in and cause more damage. Can you provide assistance in removing the civilians from the area?"

"We are currently working on that, but there is concern about your intentions-!"

"I do not consume humans," The titan automatically replied.

"That was quick." Levi narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"My race requires a different fuel source for consumption," the titan explained as he shot at another titan without even looking, "One that I will need to locate in a different time. For now, I wish to focus my attention on the task at hand."

"I need to take notes." Hanji grunted as they tried to get out of Mike's grip once more.

Erwin did his best to assess the situation with what he had, but he ultimately came to a conclusion. "Assist the others in evacuation."

"Erwin, you can't be serious," Mike said.

"This is an opportunity we can't waste," Erwin whispered to him before turning back to the titan, "If you are truly a sentient being, do you have a name?"

"My name is Optimus Prime," the titan answered.

"A name," Hanji squealed.

"Thank you for your assistance," Erwin said before beckoning his comrades to follow him. They followed him away from the titan, and once Erwin believed he was out of ear shot, he spoke, "Play along for now. We will be stationed here until the wall has been repaired. We need all eyes on him at all times."

Hanji raised their hand. “Can I study him?”

“From afar,” Erwin warned.

“Yes,” Hanji grinned.

“Erwin, we just saw that titan kill other titans,” Levi retorted, “How the hell are we supposed to counter attack if that gun is turned on us.”

“I don’t know,” Erwin answered, “But if we play our cards right, we could have a valuable asset to humanity and the Survey Corps. Mortality rates among troops would be reduced. Knowledge could be shared. Territory could be expanded.”

“Or this titan could let other ones in,” Mike retorted.

“But he’s killing our titans,” Hanji retorted.

“I meant others like him,” Mike clarified, “He smells different from the other titans. He smells like metal, gunpowder, and smoke. Erwin, what if he’s not the only one?”

“…I don’t know how to provide a solution to that,” Erwin confessed, “But I can’t pass up this opportunity out of fear. This is the first time in a long time that humanity has had hope. I’m not going to throw away that chance.”

The others looked at each other with concern before turning back to their Commander.

“Whatever you say,” Levi spoke, “We trust you.”

“Thank you,” Erwin said, glancing back to see the titan at the entrance to the Walls. He could’ve sworn that the titan looked back at them and the two made eye contact. Erwin could feel it in his gut. This was the beginning. This was the beginning of humanity’s counterattack.

(A few notes:

-Again, the shorter pilots out of the other two. Peaceful Timeline and Beloved Timeline needed to set up characters and the weight of time. Episode 1 doesn't need to do that because it's the beginning of the series. -I wanted to show that Reiner was panicked at the sight of Optimus. Not just because he was ill-prepared for a titan like him, but also because Reiner is still not in the correct emotional headspace after the loss of Marcel just hours prior. -Also Bertholdt had to carry Annie and run along the Wall for miles just to find a way to sneak in lol. -Also, also, because of Optimus' lack of information about titan shifters and the situation he's presented with, yes, he would kill Reiner on the spot because he doesn't know. This ultimately ends up eating him alive later down this timeline. -Carla's paralyzed but still alive. I figured Optimus' intervention in Episode 1 would save her life, because fuck fate. Am I right?

Anyway, take a look at my other stuff or the extensions of this timeline posted on my Masterlist and have a good one).

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klodwig · 8 months

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Earlier on Twitter, I mentioned this au. The original universe belongs to my friend @archiedrawsstuff and I really hope the world sees it in all its glory soon (there is a very big and very interesting story!). I took a little piece out of it for you (okay, I just want some Hux stories where he is small and can bite).

In this universe there are two alien races - inari and ryuno who lived pretty close.

Inari are small - around 140 cm, with pale blue-green-grey-ets color skin, sharp black teeth and tradition to wear long braided hair. Their society is a bit aggressive 'cause all of them are predators by nature and they are mostly chauvinists who thinks that they are more better then others.

Ryuno are BIG. 2 meters of height is usual thing for them. Their skin colours are warm and hair colours can be pink or bright orange too. Their teeth have no fangs because they can't eat meat. (In dark old times ryuno were also eated by their neighbours).

Hux is halfblood inari in this world. His father got rid of him by sending him to a local monastery, where he was soon to die (that is a common thing there) and to remove the stain in the form of a bastard from his reputation. But he survived, year by year, forced to hide his "imperfection" from others so that no one from the outside understood that someone of this sort became a "vedik" (clerik) thanks to a large bribe of his father.

One day, taking advantage of the turmoil due to the revolt, he ran away and met one big pinkhead guy...

#art #star wars #kylux #armitage hux #au #kylo ren #crossover

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coffeedrawingandwriting · 8 months

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La Douleur Exquise (Fairy!Dream Sans x Moth!Fairy Reader)

la douleur exquise - exquisite pain

The day and night are just as separated as their lords, Dream and Nightmare.

But your heart yearns for the sunn, even as the moon pulls back at it and tries to keep you safe.

As long as no one gets burned, it should be fine to just look.

Right?

(Mild angst, unrequited/forbidden love, a hint of Nightmare Sans/Reader)

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

The soft glow of the moon brought a calm serenity to the deep glades of the forest, moss hanging in an elegant weave down branches and trunks of the birch and oak trees.

Smells of old forest, rotting wood, mushrooms, the faint floral hint of hidden bluebells and wild strawberries breaking through on faint breeze.

Tonight was a special night.

The fairy rings of mushrooms had grown the night before, dew fresh on their caps, forming a multilayered wall of security around the deep glens of the woods.

Fall was coming, the time of preparation for winter, but a time to celebrate the colors and their change.

For those, at least, of the day and summer.

Elegant fae with butterfly wings of gold, silver, every imaginable color, decorated in mesmerizing colors of flower and tree.

Delicate maiden fae dressed in daisies, snowdrops, and lilies. Wiser matrons dressed in layered rose gowns. The young daring men darting to and fro in dashing armor of oak and birch bark armor, and the stately lords in fir and yew armor.

The glade was filled with the soft lights of fireflies, and fairy candles lit all around. Soft young grass surrounded the large rock that the gathering was centered around. The rock was black in color, sharp and jagged, flat on the top, carved in ancient runes.

A small throne of oak twig had been placed on its peak; citrine stone woven into the thin fibers.

The throne for the lord of the day, the lord of the-

A gust of wind shook the branch you were resting on, your eyes widening as you squeaked in fear, wings trying to steady yourself, rapidly flapping your wings.

Despite your efforts, it wasn’t enough. You dropped to the ground, landing outside the glade, rustling among the dead leaves as your antenna twitched, the fluffy strands indicating what you were.

Not invited, for one.

This gala was exclusively for those with butterfly wings, beautiful and large wings. The ones who loved the day and were loved by it.

Not for those of the evening and dusk, those who burrowed in the ground, were able to bear the cold winter, cherished the dark.

Tonight was the migration festival, a time to celebrate before the butterfly fairies went south to weather the winter. And your kingdom, your people, were not invited.

They never were, but it would be nice if, for once, those of the night were invited.

Your wings fluttered, as you tried to evaluate the best place to once again look upon the festivities.

You were a tiger moth, or at least, had the wings and the antenna of one. The nape and collar of your chest and back to your shoulders was soft white fuzz, with black patches on the back part. Your wings branched from the middle of your shoulders, the upper a checkered black and white, crisp and clean. Your lower wings held a gradient from orange to yellow, with black spots. On the inner of your arms and legs, red blotches of color with black emblems spiraled to your feet and hands. The white fuzz was dusted around the base of your antenna, soft black feathery things. It was also prominent along your calves and lower arms.

Soft paper bark made up a soft halter top, and a blue morning glory made your skirt.

You were sneaking, of course, trying to catch a glimpse of the festivities.

Of course, your king had tried to stop you, but then again, he was a firm believer in learning through painful mistake. Such as what had happened to him, long ago.

Nightmare was kinder than his name implied, and he ruled over the dark abyss of the moth kingdom fairly, more so than he said his frivolous brother did.

His own wings were impressive, dusky purple and black perfectly complimenting his dark gray bone. The streaks of black along his bones made him impressive, purple eye lights fierce and stern in those deep sockets.

He was waiting for you, back among the shadows.

You had expressed your desire to see, just once, the beauty of a butterfly festival. He had begrudgingly led you here (after you had begged and begged him). You were lucky he was your good friend.

So, here you were. Peering into a world you would never belong in.

Music serenaded those within, as couples came together to dance a song of life, love, long travels and the well earned rest at the end of it.

But that’s not who you wanted to see.

Ah! There.

The quick flutter of true golden wings, shimmering in the light due to their unique opaqueness. Blue and black specks like dust on his wings, the sweep of pale bone into a hard set, the seriousness of the prince of light and day shining as he settled into his throne, wings spread.

Dream.

Draped in silk of golden spider thread, his presence caused awe among those gathered, admiring yet fearful glances thrown his way. His bones were pristine, white, not a mar or fleck upon them. His own eye lights, a deep teal like a shining gem deep in a river, scorched the surroundings, searching.

Any one fairy would be honored to be asked to dance with him, but instead, he sat coldly on his throne.

You often wondered if he was waiting for someone to approach him, or waiting till one caught his eye. Not that you think anyone would. They were too dim in his presence.

You sighed in adoration, pupils shrinking to properly adjust to the light. He was so bright, almost too much so, yet you couldn’t tear your eyes from that wonderful visage.

The first time you had seen him had been your first journey into the canopy, to explore what was beyond the roots and shady underbrush you had long familiarized yourself with. Your antenna twitched with every rogue gust of wind, every trill of a bird from afar.

But it had been so worth it to see the blue sky beneath green dappled leaves, to peer at the fluffy white things in the sky (Nightmare had called them clouds), and to wonder at the great landscape all around.

The snap of a twig; the pale eyes of a shrike seeing you.

A butcher bird.

While your colors blared danger to those who dared to try and eat you, it still dove. Your panicked yelp echoed as you dove as well, spinning among the branches and trying to shake off your pursuer. For several harrowing minutes you tried your best to weave and dodge, its claws nearly grasping you several times. In a panic, you crashed roughly into a nightshade bush, burrowing into the depths of its shade, vines pulling at your wings.

Its ugly cry alerted you to its hunt as it circled, then twisted midair. Claws extended for you, its eyes fixed on you, exposed even among a plant of the night.

You shrank back, arms raising to futilely cover your face.

A burst of golden light, teal eye lights blazing in fury darted by to sink a spear into the shrike's wing, the bird shrieking and wheeling off. Its pained squawks echoed for quite a time.

He had hovered there, those wings of his keeping high and aloft, defending you.

You had wanted to step out, to thank him... when a crowd of fairies came to croon and congratulate him on his hunt, how extraordinary he was. Realization gripped your heart that he may have just been showing off, not knowing he had saved a lowly moth from death.

Regardless, you had pledged yourself a vow of gratitude to the lord of the day, the lord of warmth and sun.

The flap of wings startled you, the alert of a patrol to catch any wandering fae other than those invited. You knew the punishment that came with trespassing, even among fae, and there was no chance that you would be charming enough to get yourself out of serious punishment. And Nightmare wouldn’t step in either, you knew.

It was his demand as a king, to be just and fair.

You buried yourself into the dead leaves, the jagged cut of your own wings helping you blend in.

The patrol passed without taking notice.

A deep sigh left you. It was time to go.

You clambered over leaves and twigs, going outside the fairy circles to Nightmare's side, his eye lights soft with understanding. His own wing closed around you to keep you close, the dusky scales of his wing shielding you.

Your heart often wondered if you would ever be able to repay the debt you felt you owed Dream.

Or at least, to speak to him and thank him.

Nightmare grasped your hand in his, a comforting squeeze as the two of you descended in the depths of his realm.

Unknowing that teal eye lights had been tracking you all this time.

#undertale #dream sans #dream x reader #dream sans x reader #writing #xreader #sans x reader #x reader #moth reader #fairy dream sans #fairy nightmare sans #moth fairy reader #angst #unrequited love #longing #forbidden love #just realized this has strange magic vibes

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tickle-bugs · 9 months

Note

Hellooo! If prompts are still open can I request some ticklish loki? :) maybe the prompt “ you’re not ticklish? Really now? Lets see about that”

Or somethin, feel free to improvise :))) teehee

Thank you so much!

In Fond Memory

Summary: As an analyst, Mobius's knowledge of Loki comes from stale sets of data. He wants to know more about his partner. Loki decides to take them on a tour of his memories...to interesting results. Pre-relationship to confessing Lokius!

This got wildly out of hand. We're a little over 6k words. Not super happy with this fic, but I'd been sitting on it for too long to start over. Have the long-simmering origin story of Loki's eighth rib lmao.

The TVA cafeteria is chilled and reliably empty when Mobius and Loki take their lunch break. As usual, the break consists of Loki watching Mobius eat--both lamenting his agonizing pace and soaking in his company.

“I know nothing about you.” Mobius takes a thoughtful bite of his salad. His non-sequiturs phase Loki less and less these days. They make an interesting pair, he thinks--a fallen god burdened with caring and a mustached auditor who speaks only in riddles.

“I thought you knew everything about me.” Loki huffs.

“More like bits and pieces. I know little factoids. What makes you tick.” Mobius points at Loki with his fork, a tomato skewered on the end.

“So then you know what you need?” Loki plucks the tomato off the fork and pops it in his mouth. It crunches beautifully.

“Well, I mean, I’d like to know more. If a certain someone would like to share with the class.” Mobius replaces the stolen tomato with a pointed stare.

“You are terrible at asking for what you want.” Loki steals a crouton from Mobius’s salad.

“Yeah? Pot, meet kettle,” Mobius chuckles, wiping his hands. Loki smiles, but the thought rattles around in his brain. Mobius makes so much noise, truly. Noise about morals and fixing things, about proving himself better than the TVA believes him to be--useless, frivolous noise.

Compelling noise.

“Fine.” Loki sniffs. He holds out his open hand.

“Fine…What?” Mobius raises his eyebrows.

“Your TemPad.” Loki wiggles his fingers insistently. Mobius stares at him, clearly calculating the risk, and then slides his TemPad into the waiting palm. Loki balances the weight of his past smoothly in one hand--he’d expected the TemPad to fall heavier with a sense of occasion. He frowns at it.

These little reminders that he’s not special—significant, really…they start to grate on him after a while.

“You don’t have to do this, Loki.” Mobius’s voice is worn smooth by something like fondness. It’s compelling to the cowardice still within him, but Mobius will stop looking at him like that if he doesn’t at least try.

Loki fiddles with the device until the clock hands on Ms. Minutes’s digital face spin rapidly backwards. A portal of orange light opens beside the table.

“Shall we?” Loki gestures. He can’t quite make eye contact.

…….

They stride through the door to Old Asgard’s throne room in all its glittering glory, when its majesty seemed untouchable by the whims of war and time. Mobius gapes at the high ceilings and intricate stonework with a wide grin. It’s cute, stupidly so, but then the grand doors open yet again and Loki’s hackles raise.

He pulls Mobius behind one of the grand pillars and puts his finger to his lips.

“They can’t see us, Loki. It’s a memory—“

Loki clamps a hand over Mobius’s mouth. Mobius rolls his eyes. He’s right, of course he is, but the survivalist in him can’t take the risk. Not with Odin.

A younger Loki, toothy and tiny, races up to Asgard’s great throne. He stops before the giant steps, cradling something in a bright red cloth. Odin heaves a great sigh.

“Father, look! I got my spell to work!” Young Loki carefully holds up the bundle. The fabric falls away to reveal a bulbous little frog with stark blue eyes. It blinks each eye separately.

“What is this?” Odin looks down upon the creature with disdain.

“It’s Thor.” Young Loki beams. The frog leaps onto his shoulder, then his head, and ribbits triumphantly. He laughs.

“Bring my son back to me at once!” Odin hisses fiercely.

“But—“

“Now!” Odin’s shout still tears something open in Loki all these years later. He flinches back into Mobius. The younger Loki does the same, but there’s no one to hold him.

With a shaky voice, he murmurs an incantation and folds Frog Thor back into the fabric. He tosses the bundle ahead of him and, in a flash of green, a young and shiny Thor stumbles on newly human legs. He’s shorter--still taller than Loki, as he always was--and rounder in the cheeks, but he’s the unmistakable spitting image of his father. His cape, no longer frog-sized, unfurls to brush his ankles.

“Woo! Loki, that was awesome!” Thor cheers. He pulls young Loki in for a sweeping, spinning hug. His boyish giggles are infectious--soon young Loki joins in, clinging to his brother to keep from falling.

“Get out.” Odin seethes. The throne room doors slam open, echoing his command.

“Father--” Thor tries, but one icy look from Odin silences him. He immediately bends the knee, so small that his cape nearly swallows him whole. Young Loki looks at him in disbelief, but when he reaches for his brother, Odin clasps his gloved hand around the shaft of Gungnir, the Spear of Heaven.

Young Loki stumbles backwards, then flees, scrambling right by his older self without a thought. Loki turns his eye to Odin, the golden sack of shit, and scowls.

“Come,” Loki says hollowly, following himself outside. He doesn’t look back. He knows Mobius is with him.

He walks the familiar grounds but the stone doesn’t remember him. The sky is too bright, the torches too warm--this is a childhood preserved in amber. It’s too clear to be real. He passes his hand through the braziers, bitterly amused by the way the flame clings to his fingers. It’s not hot.

Loki finds his younger self exactly where he expects him to be—no amount of years could erase that instinct to hide, to wait, to be forgotten until he could emerge again. The child is tucked between a pillar and one of the giant braziers, his dark clothes lending themselves as camouflage.

Young Loki didn’t have that fire in him, yet. The scorn of being lesser. He was still naive, still thought Odin’s love was a real, attainable thing.

“Loki?” Frigga approaches. Loki looks up at his mother’s face for the first time in years, but she peers directly through him. He steps aside as she approaches his younger self. When the child doesn’t answer, she crouches in front of him. It’s unbecoming of a Queen, but she’d never cared much about that.

“What’s wrong, darling?” Frigga takes his younger copy’s face into her hands. She wipes away his tears with her thumbs and his skin briefly shimmers its natural blue.

“Father, he…” Young Loki shakes his head, retreats further. “I upset him.”

“Oh.” She swipes more tears from his face. “Let us spend the day together, hm? I have new tricks to show you.”

The child allows his mother to lead him away, down onto the giant lawn beneath the terrace. Loki watches them go, the bitter sting of grief still raw, even after all this time.

“My mother was…is everything to me.” Loki sniffs. He can’t tear his eyes away from her. It’s selfish to miss her, but he’s a selfish wretch.

“She seems like a wonderful woman.” Mobius’s hand is warm on Loki’s shoulder. He leans into it.

“Extraordinary. There’s no one like her.” He leads them over to a bench on the terrace, one that overlooks the most spectacular view of the palace lawns and waters beyond. He watches his younger self fling bursts of magic back and forth with his mother.

“Can I ask you a silly question?” Mobius turns to face Loki better. Loki raises his brow.

“Are you still…blue? Under here?” Mobius gestures at Loki’s face. “I’m not too sure about how this magic stuff works. It’s fascinating.”

Loki barks out an embarrassing laugh and does his best to rein it in, but surprise still leaves him chuckling. Mobius looks at him like…well, he’s not entirely sure what that look is. No one’s looked at him so softly before.

“I was raised Asgardian, but the nature of changing forms is…fickle. Do it too much and you lose sight of where you start.” He turns his hand over, back and forth, and his skin glimmers blue. Mobius takes his hand, wrinkling his nose slightly at the cold.

“That’s awful wise of you.” Mobius squeezes his fingers.

“I like to think I have my moments.” Loki smiles. Mobius holds out the TemPad to him. Loki pushes a few things on it, opening another portal. They step through it with lighter hearts.

…

What greets them is not the stale brutalism and dizzying expanse of the TVA cafeteria, but the very same terrace, gleaming in summer sun.

“Okay, so this…isn’t headquarters.” Mobius gestures. Loki scowls. He presses a bunch of buttons at random. The machine beeps at him. The animated Ms. Minutes icon sticks her tongue out at him. He scoffs.

“I noticed.” He slaps the TemPad into Mobius’s hands. Mobius stares at him, plainly amused, and Loki scowls harder.

“Well? Fix it.” Loki turns towards the lawn to lessen the weight of Mobius’s gaze.

A great shout rings out across the green, utterly unmistakeable, and Loki runs up to the terrace railing. Sif and the Warriors Three mill about on the lawn, their chatting only perceptible by Volstagg’s loud and grating laughter.

“Brothers, please. I need some help!” Thor’s voice cuts clear and desperate through the air. He can’t be far past coming of age--he’s taken on all those distinctive features that won’t budge as he grows. His hair sweeps his shoulders the same way his cape sweeps his ankles. He supports a drooping teenage Loki as they stumble towards the trio.

On the terrace, Loki’s eyes widen. He squints at where Thor is hauling his younger self--yep, the little shit is definitely alive and well. Which means only one thing.

“What’s all the commotion?” Mobius shades his eyes from the sun and looks out towards the fields.

“Did you fix it?” Loki snaps impatiently, gesturing for the TemPad.

“Hm?” Mobius blinks. “Yeah. What’s happenin’ down there, though?”

Loki snatches the TemPad and punches in whatever he can. A wave of orange energy ripples over and through them with a loud woosh. Loki opens his eyes to….

The same field. The same day. He’s actually managed to put them forward in time. Just splendid.

“Get help!” Thor spins and launches his Loki like a shotput. He barrels straight through Sif and Fandral. Their mingled screams of surprise and displeasure ring out. Thor cackles, doubling over, as Sif chases Loki around the field.

On the terrace, Loki buries his rapidly heating face in his hands. Mobius snickers up a storm beside him. He leans into him for support.

“Get help?” Mobius wheezes, eyes wet with mirth. Loki’s chest flutters and his face progresses into full redness.

“It was…a phase. An ill-advised distraction--”

“Seems to me like you used it plenty. One of your variants did that with Thor on Sakaar.” Mobius wipes his eyes and flicks the tears away, grin still splitting his face in two.

“Shut up.” Loki groans into his hands until silence falls. He can feel Mobius’s keen eyes on the side of his face. He hopes for a random bolt of lightning to put him out of his misery.

“You’ve changed, y’know.” Mobius bumps their shoulders together.

“Have I?” Loki drawls, mostly unamused. The sincerity on Mobius’s face makes it hard to keep up the act.

“You willingly showed me an embarrassing memory! You’ve changed plenty.”

“I wouldn’t say…willingly,” Loki grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“You and I both know you can fight a lot harder than that. This is growth, Loki. It’s good for ya.” Mobius pats his shoulder. Loki hums in acknowledgment.

“Careful, Mobius. I might start to think you’re fond of me.” Loki smiles teasingly.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Mobius chuckles and squeezes his shoulder. “Let’s get outta here.”

…

Another flash of orange, another failure to return to the TVA. Loki contains the urge to scream.

“Where are we now?” Mobius puts his hands on his hips.

“…I don’t know.” Loki frowns, turning in place.

“That’s generally not good.” Mobius quips. Loki makes a snarky, incoherent noise at him as he takes in their surroundings.

Vaulted wood ceilings, immaculate stone walls, and green silks welcome them. Atop a giant fireplace, a regal painting of Loki leers at them, foxlike and empty-eyed. He cringes and turns away from it. He briefly considers throwing himself down on the green velvet divan and smothering himself in the throw pillows.

“We’re on Asgard, certainly, and this is my room, but….”

The doors fly open of their own accord and the hearth flares. A brunette with a strong build strides through the doors, their fingertips dripping with red motes of light. They’re clad in reds reminiscent of the magic--flowing fabrics gathered neatly under bits of strong leather armor. With a twist of their wrist, the leather breastplate falls away and arranges itself on a stand, right next to a stand with his own armor on it.

“Who is this handsome devil?” Mobius raises his eyebrows and elbows Loki, but he is far too windswept at the sight of them.

“Signy,” Loki breathes.

“Who?” Mobius furrows his brow.

The doors fly open yet again. A past version of Loki enters in similar dramatic fashion. It’s uncanny to see himself like this. Signy turns their gaze sharply towards him. The fire once again flares in the hearth.

“Hello, darling.” Signy purrs, pulling Past Loki in for a kiss. They drink him in possessively, as if he’s going to evaporate without their claiming touch. He leans into it as much as he can without drowning. When they pull apart, they murmur to one another, low enough for the fire to swallow their words.

“Ah, I see.” The bitterness in Mobius’s tone pushes Loki to clarify.

“They were wonderful, but their jealousy often got to them. For all our happiness, we made each other worse over time.” Loki whispers conspiratorially, but Mobius doesn’t seem entertained.

Signy and his past self begin to raise their voices, yelling at each other in an incomprehensible tumble of Asgardian. Mobius’s brow knits in concern.

“Were you always this…loud?” Mobius frowns. Loki swallows the joke he wants to make.

“Like I said, we made each other worse. Much worse. We were betrothed all of two months before they tried to assassinate me.” Loki pulls back his shirt collar to reveal a thin, curved scar on his neck.

“Assassinate—what?” Mobius touches it and Loki shivers.

“It’s fine, Mobius. My Signy had naught but poison in their soul. This one seems…kinder.” Loki watches as they take his past self’s hands to stop him from wringing his tunic.

“How is that fine—“

Their voices escalate into a tumble of shouting. Concern morphs into frustration and confusion. Why does Mobius even care? It happened, he survived, whatever—

A flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. His past self is…staring at him.

Loki squints at his past self and he squints back. Loki looks over his shoulder, then back at his past self, who is suddenly beginning to behave less like a memory and more like a—

“Variant,” Loki breathes. He opens his mouth to shout, but—

The variant disappears in a gentle flash of green light. Fuck.

“I think you just got outsmarted by yourself.” Mobius hums. Loki whips around, panic starting to bubble in his chest.

“You said this was a memory.”

“It’s supposed to be.” Mobius rubs his chin. “With all the buttons you pushed, it’s possible that you sent us to a branch instead of a projection of your history. I’ll take a look at it.”

“Loki.” Signy eyes him carefully. They take him in with warm, red eyes that crackle with the hearth.

“Heyyy…Signy.” Loki gestures awkwardly. Mobius snorts.

“Darling, I apologize. You’re under much pressure. I shouldn’t add to it.” Signy wraps their arms around Loki’s shoulders and pulls him close. He knows he should derive some comfort from it—he hasn’t been hugged in years—but it feels more like a creature pulling him into its clutches. Their fingers glide over the scar and Loki snatches their hand.

“I’m…also sorry.” Loki pats their arm awkwardly and tries to worm out of their grip.

“No need, my blade.” Signy presses in closer, cradling his cheek. Mobius snickers at the nickname off to the side.

“Don’t.” Loki, blushing, points an accusatory finger at Mobius. He holds his hands up, the perfect picture of innocence.

“I think you’re lovely, but I’m not…your Loki.” He puts his hand over theirs. Their face pinches sharply. The fire kicks up.

“You are beyond ungrateful. You are mine. I made you.” Signy grips his chin and forces him to look at them. Loki presses his lips into a line.

“Signy—“

“Perhaps you need a reminder.” They press their hand to Loki’s side, right over the ribs on his right side. He panics and grabs for their hand. A tiny green spark jumps from his fingers, but it cannot stop the pulse of scarlet magic that wriggles deep into his skin. The magic snaps into cords, winding like puppet strings around one of his ribs.

A strangled sound slips from him before he can stop himself. A terrible, toe-curling tickle—a powerful scritching like the blunt end of a quill over the bone—sends him clutching at Signy’s shoulders for dear life.

“We are each other’s undoing. There is no you without me.” Signy pulls sharply on the threads of red light and Loki yelps.

“Oh.”

“Mobius—“

“Oh my god.” Mobius makes a noise that can only be described as a squeak of delight. Loki flips him off.

“Even when I’m right in front of you, you cast your attention elsewhere.” Signy turns Loki’s jaw toward them, eyes darkening possessively, but their lips curl up in that damn smile that had drawn Loki back in over and over.

There was a time when he’d daydreamed about Signy by his side on the throne. Now, he can’t fathom it.

“You’re mine, Loki.” Signy tweaks their fingers, manipulating their magic, and Loki chokes down a screech. He laces his fingers into theirs and the magic blissfully vanishes.

“Yes, yours. Mobius, help.” Loki casts a frantic look in his direction, gesturing at Signy. Mobius makes a ‘stall’ motion, then starts fiddling with the TemPad.

“Look at me.” Signy pulls sharply on his tie. They sigh deeply, and their edge begins to wane.

“Thanos has you dreaming of more, my love. I want more for you. But have you not enough here? Am I not enough?” Signy smooths their hands down Loki’s chest. He freezes.

“Thanos?” He asks quietly. Dread sinks into his gut. Signy’s expression softens.

“I know that you crave what you are owed. Your family has robbed you of your birthright. You are meant for greatness, Loki, but not at the cost of his greed. Asgard is yours for the taking. By my hand, you shall have it.” Signy leans their foreheads together. He squirrels away as much of this momentary comfort that he can.

“Why would you help me?”

“Have you contracted your brother’s oafishness?” Signy playfully holds their hand to his forehead as if checking for fever. “I love you, you fool.”

“Oh.” He blinks. He looks towards Mobius and finds him with a haunting expression, like some sort of ache had burrowed forth into his face. A suffocating hollowness crawls through Loki’s chest. He swallows thickly.

“Yes, ‘oh’.” Signy curls their fingers beneath his chin. He laughs softly, involuntarily, and flinches away. Mischief and embers dance in Signy’s eyes.

“My, you are…handsier than I remember.” Loki twists out of their grip.

“Can you blame me?” They appear behind him in a scattering of red sparks. Warm hands wrap around his waist, tracing feather-light shapes that seem to burrow into his skin. He chokes on a quiet, suspiciously giggly sound and they light up.

Mobius scoffs and clears his throat loudly. His scowl seems baked into his face, a chilling force against the fireplace.

“Okay, so I’ve got good news and bad news. Which one do you wanna hear?”

“Bad news first.” Loki wrestles with Signy’s roaming hands. Signy trips and tumbles backward onto the divan, scattering the pillows. They start tugging at Loki to try and get him to follow.

“Your collar is broken. Kaput. S’probably why your variant was able to escape. TemPad can’t get a read on which one of you is real. You also MemLocked us, which is fascinating—“

“I’m sure it is,” Loki huffs, fighting to leverage Signy under him. Mobius barrels on.

“MemLock allows us to manipulate a branch as if it were a memory, but the tech is volatile, so we rarely use it. It is neat though. Lets us walk right through as if we were invisible. Shame it ain’t workin’ on you.” Mobius snaps his fingers next to Signy’s face. They don’t seem to notice.

“And the good news?”

“I can probably fix it.” Mobius smacks the back of the TemPad and a panel pops out the side of it. He starts fiddling with the components.

“Probably?” Loki’s voice cracks.

“Well, I don’t wanna take the wrong Loki back with me. That’d be a fiasco. Though Signy—“ Mobius draws out their name with disdain— “probably wouldn’t even notice.”

“Jealousy is unbecoming, Mobius.” Loki’s joking, but Mobius’s eyes don’t light up the way they usually do.

“Y’know, far as I recall, you got yourself stuck in this mess. You should be thanking me for helping you.” Mobius puts his hands in his pockets. He tilts his head with a smile, easy and mischievous. Loki lobs a throw pillow at him.

Mobius punches something into the TemPad and, with a glorious beep, Loki’s collar disengages and clatters to the floor. Mobius scoops up the collar gently, letting the straps dangle between his fingers.

“I’m keeping track of what you owe me.” His half-smile is somewhat dim.

“I’d expect nothing less,” Loki breathes. Mobius nods sharply and turns towards the door.

It’s an unfortunate distraction, one that lets Signy discover they can buckle his knees if they tickle him there, but Loki can think of nothing else but the reflection of the firelight on Mobius’s cheek.

…

Mobius ducks quietly into the hall, shutting the chamber door behind him. The stone floors eagerly amplify his footsteps, tired of its own quiet.

It’s unsettling, this place. People don’t seem to live here as much as they haunt it. Mobius can see how Loki turned out the way he did. It sets loose an ache in him.

“Stop.”

Mobius turns around with his hands raised. The variant twirls a dagger in his hands. He’s clad only in a green shirt and soft pants, his feet bare against the cool stone floors. This Loki is duller—he’s exhausted around the eyes in a way Mobius’s Loki isn’t.

His Loki. Hm.

“Who are you?”

“I’m afraid that doesn’t concern you, Your Highness,” Mobius says calmly. Loki disappears in a flash of green and reappears behind Mobius.

“I could have you executed.” Loki’s dagger materializes across the plane of Mobius’s throat. Mobius tips his head back slightly to avoid the sharp edge.

“I’m not scared of you, Loki.” He says it firmly, even as his skin prickles at the kiss of the blade.

“Maybe you should be,” he snarls lowly, his lips brushing Mobius’s ear. Mobius flinches away. He kicks himself for it--Loki follows him easily with morbid interest.

“Aren’t you curious about what I know?” Mobius hums. Silence stretches down the long hall. There’s a suspicious lack of guards in this wing. Is Loki’s chamber not worth protecting?

“You have a…clone of me. Why?” The blade presses in again. Mobius takes a careful, measured breath.

“He’s my companion. We took a bit of a tumble, ended up in the wrong place.” A smile quirks at Mobius’s lips. Loki doesn’t look as confused as he thought he might—more…thoughtful.

“Wrong place being?”

“That I can’t tell you. I can tell you that we’re trying to leave. If you don’t mind.” Mobius puts two fingers on the dagger and gently pushes it away from his throat. Loki releases Mobius but keeps his blade leveled at him. He’s tired, so tired, Mobius can see it in his bones. His eyes, dark-rimmed, seem frightened of closing.

“You, uh…” Mobius pauses, taking in Loki’s twitchiness-- “I noticed you tryin’ to escape your beau in there. Signy, right?”

Loki stiffens at the utterance of their name. The blade remains steadfastly pointed at Mobius’s throat.

“They ever hurt you?” Mobius clenches his jaw. Loki eyes him warily.

“No. Never. Never.” The blade wavers with Loki’s voice. “But we don’t…agree on many things.”

“Well, I think you could do better. For the record.” Mobius steps forward—how could he not? But Loki’s knife and hackles meet him. He stops.

“I’ll be sure to tell them you said so.” The fingers on Loki’s other hand twitch, glowing the faintest green.

“You fancy making a deal, Your Highness?” Mobius sticks his hands in his pockets. He tries to keep his demeanor light, but he clasps his hand around the collar where it’s hidden.

“I’m listening.” Loki shifts his fingers on the dagger’s hilt.

“My Loki and I will distract Signy for you if you stay with us long enough for us to secure an exit.” Mobius jerks a thumb in the direction he came from. Loki follows the movement with his eyes.

“All you require is my presence?”

“That and preferably that you refrain from using that toothpick of yours. Rather fond of my Loki.” Mobius inclines his head towards the knife. A wealth of emotions flickers across Loki’s face--he’s always been terrible at hiding his feelings, it seems. He tries to steel himself back into something sharp, but it just turns…sad.

Loki lowers his blade. He loosens his fingers and it falls, but it vanishes before it hits the ground.

“I agree to your terms.” Loki sniffs sharply, once again locating his arrogance.

“Excellent. Shall we?” Mobius gestures. Loki nods. They stroll back towards the bedchamber, relishing in the quiet comfort of their footsteps falling in line.

“What are you to him? To me?” Loki’s voice goes soft. Mobius is usually quite adept at compartmentalizing, but it escapes him at this moment.

“I’m not sure.” Mobius swallows. It’s easier not to think about it.

“But you’re fond of him, as you said.” Loki sweeps closer, a familiar teasing grin playing across his lips.

“I am.” Mobius huffs. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“The honor’s all yours, mortal.” Loki tilts his head, his smile growing wider. Mobius rolls his eyes.

…

Mobius opens the door for the variant and they’re greeted by a wall of noise. Loki screams bloody murder and Signy yells over him in Asgardian, their sharp fingernails plucking at his ribs. They’ve switched positions, with Signy expertly pinning and tickling Loki down into the divan.

The variant snickers, covering his mouth to hide it, but Mobius’s ears have long-since been tuned to his partner’s laugh. Interestingly enough, Signy looks up too. They furrow their brow as if searching for something, eyes glazing right past their variant, and then return to taking Loki apart.

An idea prickles at the back of Mobius’s mind.

“You.” Loki shouts from the tip of his toes. His hair is a frizzy, disheveled mess. The variant goes to run, but Mobius scruffs him by the collar.

“You okay over there?” Mobius calls. Loki’s red face grows redder. He points angrily at the variant.

“Come take your place, you sniveling little brat—“ Loki hisses, but he’s cut off by Signy tickling his waist. The most hysterical little giggles slip free and he buckles under them.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you. That weakness is your plague to bear, not mine.” The variant’s regret is all mocking.

It’s a stupid idea, but it’s an insistent one—the longer Mobius gazes at this variant, the more he finds that he can’t let it go.

“Sorry, just to clarify—you’re not ticklish?” Mobius doesn’t bother to hide his amusement. The variant eyes him stubbornly.

“No. I’m not a child.” Oh, but like with every Loki, his eyes betray him.

“Well, that’s a shame.” Mobius regards him thoughtfully. The variant turns a lovely pink. “Then, would you mind asking Signy to release my friend? Seeing as they pose no threat to you.”

Mobius crowds in closer. The variant pulls his dagger. Mobius tuts at him and pushes it away. The dagger’s point makes gentle, insistent contact with his stomach.

“This wasn’t part of the deal,” the variant snaps, but Mobius stands before him un-stabbed.

“Sure it was. I said we would distract Signy.” Mobius smirks. “Just never said that you were part of the distraction.”

God, Loki is really rubbing off on him.

“I’ve been told I’m quite stabbable, if you’re not amenable.” Mobius gestures to the dagger between them. The variant shifts his fingers on the hilt.

“D-Don’t you dare touch him!” Loki pipes up through gritted teeth. He’s managed to pin Signy underneath him, but judging by his twitching, they’re not quite done with him.

Mobius grins at him. Loki makes an endearing little pinchy face and refuses to meet his eyes. The variant takes the chance to try and slink away, but Mobius grabs his wrist. The dagger disappears in a flare of green sparks.

In a slick maneuver, Mobius loops the collar around the variant’s neck and it magnetically fastens. It beeps in confirmation of acquiring its target.

“What is this?” He hisses, tugging at it. He flexes his fingers, calling for the dagger, and nothing happens.

“Just a bit of insurance. Now, would you like to deal with them—“ Mobius gestures to where Signy is wreaking havoc— “or me?”

“I’m sure there’s a third option.” The variant chuckles almost nervously. His eyes dart around for an escape.

“Oh, no. I don’t think so.” Mobius sighs deeply, as if it pains him. The variant’s eyes widen, and—

There it is. A flicker of thrill.

“If you think you can stand to a god, I welcome you to try.” The variant spreads his arms wide. Mobius puts his hands on his hips. He’s never considered himself a particularly great fighter, but he prides himself on knowing his targets well. For example, he knows that nearly every Loki lacks small-scale patience. If he just waits…

The variant snarls and charges. Mobius ducks past him and loops his arms around his torso.

Any Loki is deadly with or without their magic, but thankfully Mobius doesn’t have to worry about killing him. Or harming him at all, for that matter.

The variant lets out a confused, almost-offended squeak, like a kitten being bested. Before he can speak, Mobius starts clumsily tickling him. The resulting stilted laughter is interspersed with threats he can’t understand--both for being peppered with giggles and incoherent Asgardian. The variant tries to headbutt him in a way that doesn’t seem entirely on purpose. Mobius dodges predictable flying elbows and waits.

Over on the divan, Loki’s mostly given up. He’s wheezing more than anything, more focused on hiding himself from view than doing anything helpful. The quiet allows for the variant’s patchwork laughter to carry, just as Mobius hoped. He folds on a particularly powerful guffaw and Mobius follows him with a snort. S’cute, sometimes, the ways in which they’re the same.

Signy’s gaze snaps up. Loki squirms out from underneath them and darts to the other side of the room, clutching his side. He makes eye contact with Mobius. His gaze is so full of sheer fondness that Mobius has to look away.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” The variant tries to back up. Mobius squeezes his side and he yelps.

“How’d you get over there?” Signy narrows their eyes.

“Suppose I’m quicker than you.” The variant falls immediately into his role, ever the Loki. Mobius curls his finger into the collar and it disengages. The variant whirls on him, but then Signy starts to stalk across the room.

“We’ll see about that, love.” Signy’s tongue curls sharply around the word. The variant bolts for the door. Signy laughs and chases after them. Their footsteps echo down the empty hall and carry them both from sight.

A wave of green magic slams the door shut so hard that it rattles in its frame. Loki hefts a bookshelf in front of the door, then a heavy chest, then about every piece of furniture he’s capable of moving in the room. He slumps down onto the divan with a heavy sigh. Mobius hovers by his side, shoving his hand in his pocket so he doesn’t start fiddling with the disheveled bits of Loki’s appearance.

“Well, come on then.” Loki bares his throat with an impatient gesture. There’s an imprinted red line where the collar usually sits. Mobius runs his thumb over it, gently, and Loki scrunches his nose with a smile. The sight is so lovely that Mobius spaces out a bit.

“You are cruel and terrible, you know that?” Loki grumbles. Mobius remembers himself and tries not to savor the brush of Loki’s jaw against his fingers. He holds the transmitter box of the collar to Loki’s throat, scooting it around a bit in search of a signal. Loki twitches.

“Mmm, just the worst. Stay still, will ya?” He huffs. Something in Loki’s collar clicks and the TemPad chirps a jolly tune. Both of them sigh in relief.

Mobius punches in a few things and the familiar orange door opens up before them. He looks down at the collar in his hand, then shoves it deep into his pocket. Loki makes a soft noise.

“Why?” He blinks almost innocently. Mobius swallows.

“You wanna go back or not?” He juts his thumb towards the portal. Loki pulls him through as if it’s going to disappear.

…

They have duties to complete, but living so many years in a day has thoroughly eroded what tiny sense of duty Loki has. His mind is abuzz with various iterations of he trusts me--a new and exciting thought--and it leaves him with zero desire to do anything but sit in Mobius’s presence like a flower in the sun.

So, when Mobius heads for the library, Loki hooks their arms together and drags them towards the cafeteria. Responsible grumbling turns into fond chuckles, and soon enough, they’re assembling God's mistake: frozen yogurt.

They enjoy their spoils on a bench deep in the massive sprawl of the TVA. The complex sprawls out infinitely before them, twinkling in the abyss. It’s a prettier sight than this place deserves, but Loki can only pay attention to the unnatural strawberry hue of Mobius’s lips.

“This is awful,” Mobius laughs, cringing through a spoonful of frozen-solid chocolate chips.

“It’s perfect. Completely mediocre in every way. Humanity’s only worthwhile creation.” Loki bites a gummy worm in half with a smile. He offers the other half to Mobius and he takes it.

Loki thinks of Signy, of the look of muddled pain on Mobius’s face through the entire back half of their misadventure, and he cringes. Mobius pauses in picking at his froyo.

“Brainfreeze?”

“No, not quite. I want to…apologize, Mobius.” Loki fiddles with his fingers. He looks up just in time for the back of Mobius’s hand to gently slap against his forehead, as if checking for fever.

“You? Apologize? Maybe I did bring back the wrong Loki.”

“Hilarious, you bastard.” Loki rolls his eyes and bats away the hand.

“Well, don’t let me get in the way of history. Say your piece.” Mobius sweeps his hands out. Loki turns to straddle the bench, facing him fully. He leans his back against the wall. The cold of the concrete leeches through his shirt.

“Earlier, things got…out of hand. I hoped if I showed you my past, you might find some detail, some tiny minutiae that would set me apart from the other variants. But, I suppose nothing you saw surprised you.” Loki runs his fingers over his throat, right where the collar usually sat. He felt lighter without it and, strangely, more exposed.

“I wouldn’t say that.” Mobius mumbles around a strawberry piece.

“I spent my life chasing after destiny. Everyone in my family had a grand purpose to fulfill, and I believed mine would be the greatest of all. Now I know that my destiny is to be disposable. The only significant thing I’m part of is the time I’ve spent here with you.” Loki pokes at his froyo with the spoon. Mobius swings to also straddle the bench, grumbling as he does, but it gets Loki’s attention.

“I’ve got my own confession to make.” Mobius chuckles. “I don’t actually know everything about you.”

“We established this.” Loki scoops up an Oreo piece and pops it in his mouth.

“Well, yeah, but—“ Mobius makes a series of grand gestures— “I mean, I don’t know everything about you, Loki.”

“Now you’ve said the same thing twice.” Loki frowns. Mobius makes a frustrated little noise.

“Look, you’re different. Sure, your story starts the same as the others, but you overwrote my expectations the moment we met. You are unique. You’re a unique pain in my ass, really, but…you’re a good partner. A great one.” Mobius gestures more with his spoon.

“Go on.” Loki takes the cherry into his mouth, stem and all. A few moments later, he pulls out the stem—tied in a perfect knot. He smiles at his handiwork.

“I’m trying to compliment you.” Mobius huffs.

“I’m aware.” Loki grins teasingly, but the mischief caves easily under a wave of genuine joy.

“Alright, wise guy.” Mobius narrows his eyes. A flutter of thrill picks up in Loki’s stomach, but no chase ensues. He tries not to be disappointed.

“What I’m trying to get at—“ Mobius huffs dramatically— “is that it’s not your past that makes you. I’ve always studied you guys in patterns and matrixes. I thought a flip would switch and I’d understand how you fell into my lap instead of any other Loki. But…you defy sense. Turns out, you can bake some drastically different cakes with the same core ingredients.”

“Careful, Mobius,” Loki says softly, so his traitorous heart doesn’t hear. “I might start to think you’re fond of me.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Mobius smiles.

“No, we can’t.” Loki’s eyes flit to Mobius’s lips. The air between them pulls taut. Loki scoots forward, bringing their knees to touch.

“You have something on your face, right here. Terribly distracting.” Loki gestures to his lips. Mobius furrows his brow and pats his face with a TVA-branded napkin. Loki bats his hand aside and kisses him. It’s shorter and tamer than what his heart screams for, but he can’t dive into untested waters. Not yet. Not with something so important.

Mobius, wide-eyed, follows Loki’s every move. He swallows once, thickly, then clears his throat. Not a single coherent word comes out of his mouth. His eyebrows move in nearly every direction as he tries to string some words together. Loki tips his chin up, catching his eyes. Mobius quiets, succumbing to a lovestruck smile.

“Did you get it?” Mobius gestures to his face. Loki laughs, knocking his head into the wall behind him. Mobius scrambles forward to catch him far too late, but they’re close. Close enough for Loki to see the pink froyo flecks actually hiding in his mustache. He smirks.

“Hm, only one way to be sure.” He pulls Mobius in by his tie and kisses him like it's the end of times.

#my fics #loki #lokius #ticklish!loki #*sigh*#much like with my other loki fics this didn't turn out at all how i wanted. and its way too long. but i hope ppl still like it.#i love writing them so much but i struggle to write tk stuff around them.#just UGH posting it and moving on. writing is hard :(#sorry to be a downer in the tags lmao

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blondbo · 4 months

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hi! hi! hi! so here is the first few parts of a qsmp fic i’m writing!! it’s honestly pretty shit but i just want to get it out there!!

general premise: q!tubbo is one of many deities of what in the future will be quesadilla island. specifically tubbo is in control of the weather but is not totally vibing with his powers. he finds that he really doesn’t have any powers at all but rather just reactions. the federation has just come in large floating ships to come investigate the island for future potential islanders. tubbo, feeling he could be more useful than just his powers, he helps the federation. So here it is! will prob be on ao3 but i didn’t know i had to wait to be invited SADGE. anywhere here it is:

Section 1:

They came from the west as giant floating barges of their proclaimed glory. White arches covered rows and rows of halls and offices to match with glass revealing to revelers some vision into their perfectly curated bubble. But one arch proclaimed some dominance over the others on each ship as they were much taller and not covering any hall but had the air to show off each facet. Though I found the flying mechanics to be much more of an interesting aspect of these pompous barges and maybe their only facet worth the celebration the others proclaimed. No fire, rather six hollow circles on the bottom of each. The only part that wasn't drawing attention to itself because there was nothing to truly see there. Maybe that was the brilliance for me.

That was the world I created around me; nothing showy or caustically exclaiming to you how everyone should look at it. Every cloud I create are for themselves, and maybe if you like that sort of thing, then you can appreciate them. But they don’t call to you. Unless you’re a bull and a rain is all that calls to your thirst.

No matter the wants of the bull, I knew from the moment I could see them that they were assholes. The Federation they would later tell me. What they didn’t tell, what I would have to learn, is that they are assholes, the whole lot of them.

Section 2:

I had learned a few things in my life even if I didn't understand where it came from. I learned to worship the sun for her ever present dances in my glade. That even if the weather that flowed from emotions, it was not mine but someone elses creation I was fortunate enough to even be able to wield. That the bulls or the flowers and even the moss were not mine but a duty to take care of even if I don't know who bestowed it on me. I learned to tolerate the rain and snow even if it exploits me. I had learned trust in the world around me for it trusts me. Until that face.

I had been perched in a high willow on the outskirts of the swamp to enjoy an evening of her last flickering dances. I hadn't taken much notice the growing buzz of their ships, maybe I let it doze me off to sleep. A sleep until they were parked right on the beaches and a loud thunk. I had no time to blink off the sleep as I watched their barge unfurl like a laxed tongue to release figures of white. The first few were dressed in drab pallets of grey and more grey that reminded me of the rain again. I hated the first fools out of instinct. They were only there for the next few in jackets of assorted blues and oranges that balked at nature in their artificial hues. And maybe the few in jackets were only there for the one I was truly disgusted by. He was a bigger, more amicable seeming figure from the way that he took his body down the incline. The taller figure was the only

“ person” I made me think that maybe I was wrong about the rest of them. There was a certain natural kindness to him, atleast that’s what I surmised. Then he turned his head towards me so I shifted my body higher up the tree. I saw its face. The rest of its body knew it was alive or as much of life as it could since it took on a certain fluidity. But the face. I remember my legs pushed me up out of fear. The face was stuck in time, a sinisterly happy memory that can't tell if it hurts the thing or not. To remember.

Either way, he was seemingly taking in parts of the island but I couldn't tell if there was a sort of happiness to it. I don’t think it could appreciate as he was stuck in that eternal happiness through his face.

All of them were following his lead even if they couldn’t emote at all, just looking around and trading notes or scraps. I don't think they knew how to talk, though if they created transportation like that then maybe they just couldn’t at all. No use in even learning. And I guess I felt bad for them. Found it all pitiful.

As they encroached more into the glade, I watched as they planted more unnaturally-colored things into the ground: flags, poles, stapled paper into those poles. More notes at a rapid pace until they found a more active life in a pig. I leaned over on what seemed to be my hiding spot to get a closer look their poking and prodding with pencils and random metal sticks. And looking back the pig responded with a sort of affection as he was only ever used to those kind of touches. Then one of the orange fellows passed a note to the main smiler, it nodded. A note was passed to one of the grey ones, then they pulled a grey machine-looking thing. A spark, a splatter, a squeal. I lurched forward and with a quick breath of my own surprise (or horror) took me out of the tree and onto a few branches before I landed on the ground.

“My own stupidity” I said, and funny enough my words seemed to take more of their attention than any display I made.

A colosseum of blank faces with that fucking smile centered as though he was their jewel.

Section 3:

I found something I never learned was to keep my mouth shut. I had once beat a demon in a game and may have said a few arrogant remarks after winning. Maybe I hit a nerve because she made me hallucinate an ever present shadow for the next month.

So I was blunt in my introduction, an introduction I would argue was the beginning on the end.

“Who are you?” I asked rather openly.

But my head started to buzz and a voice from I assume the smiling creature said, “Hello, what are you doing?”

A laugh wormed its way out, “What am I doing? Who are you to ask this?”

“What are you doing?” the buzzing repeated.

“I just want to know what you’ve done with my friend, the pig?”

I was handed a notebook seemingly originating from the creature.

Written was:

Hello

We were sent from Federation to examine this island for a potential developing project. The action towards the pig was out of scientific inquiry and nothing to be alarmed by. To further our understanding of the island, you are to immediately identify yourself.

So I was kind and obliged.

“I am Tubbo, one of many deities sent to protect and foster the isles. And one of my duties is to protect said creatures, even from scientific study. Though I do not wish to fight you. One thing for your study, I am fair.”

Another book:

Hello, Mr. Tubbo! It is very wonderful to meet you! We at the Federation would like to extend a hand and ask for assistance as we traverse the island.

“I would like to, I guess, but was is all this for?”

“Classified” said the buzzing.

“Oh good!” I breathed a little in as some kind of reflective moment passed over me. I was not here for myself. I was here for the island, to make her home for others. Maybe this is my opportunity to be more than just their rain and clouds. Maybe I was more, I thought.

#qsmp #qsmp fanfiction #q!tubbo #qsmp tubbo #tubbo underscore #tubbo #tubbo but he is a demigod or something #he just wants to be useful

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4ullbloom · 3 months

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Sunbeam Baby (Joel Miller x reader)

Summary - Little drabble about coming home to Joel at golden hour. Reader is gender neutral and not described in any way.

W/C - 650ish

Warnings - None

A/N - My first time posting on here. I hope this drabble gives you daydream fuel. I thought about it months ago and decided it was time I immortalised this idea through text.

A bright, blue sky was once your ideal thing to look for during your day. Now, it was whichever sky allowed for the richest orange and brown tones to filter through the window in your bedroom. The bedroom you shared with a man who seemed to glow in the golden hour of an evening. Blue had never felt cold until you saw the sun reflected in his walnut brown irises. Blue to you is now simply the absence of brown. Had you asked your younger self what the best colour is, brown would certainly not be the first choice. It might have even been the last choice.

Your sunset shadow follows you up the stairs as you make your way to where you know you will find Joel. He likes to bask in the last dregs of sunlight before you come home. You find it endearing; he is a house cat in many ways (a sentiment he was less than thrilled to hear). You can’t help the thought from popping into your head every time his forehead is bumped against your shoulder moments of quiet affection, the way he stretches when he wakes up, the way he will call your name around the house until he finds you and most importantly the way you feel immensely guilty when you have to get up after he has fallen asleep with you on the couch.

Walking into the bedroom you see Joel lazing on the bed, a book on astronomy propped up loosely on his chest between his large hands.

You greet him softly but cannot resist the urge to pounce onto the bed next to him. Practically throwing yourself onto the soft duvet, left arm landing around Joel’s middle.

The poor man shoots upright with a grunt and the space book takes flight across the room. His panicked eyes wildly search his surroundings before meeting yours. They soften on realisation that he’s not under attack and its just you in the room. You can see the bleary-eyed tiredness in his face. Poor guy was having a nap which was ended by you basically sucker punching him to consciousness.

“Baby, I thought you were awake!” You quickly rub his chest in ways of an apology, feeling terrible for spooking him. He lets out a long groan as he settles back against his pillows.

He steadies your movement and looks down at you with a quirked brow.

“Baby?” He questions your choice of words.

You shrink under his gaze. Being the asshole he is, he lets you stew in discomfort for a few seconds before bringing your hand to his mouth. He places a gentle kiss on your palm. You hadn’t meant for the term of endearment to slip out. It wasn’t your usual style. You preferred to simply use his name or ‘Handsome’ if you were in a particularly good mood.

“Too damn old an stiff to be ‘Baby’.” He grumbles softly into your hand, lowering it back to his chest.

A wicked grin spreads across your face. His eyebrow quirks again. He knows that a smart-ass comment is coming his way.

“Okay Peepaw.” You coo and press a kiss to his whiskery cheek.

“On second thoughts, Baby will do just fine.” His voice rumbles, still holding some sleepiness in it.

Strong arms wrap around you and pull you into his embrace. Propped up by your forearms on his chest, your hands find their way to his jawline. Absentminded fingers caress the patchy beard they find there. Your eyes find his half-lidded ones. The last of the sun’s golden rays linger there still in the rich brown tones you’re so fond of. You lean into him to give a couple of easy kisses against his lips. When you lean back his eyes are closed once more. The sun warms his resting face and bathes him in all her golden glory until she has no more left to offer.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller drabble #joel miller fluff

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actingwithportals · 4 months

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Echo-Mechanical

Apologies for the lateness but happy @portal-secret-santa to you @junuve! I was absolutely enamored by your prompt of GLaDOS experiencing Aperture as a musical thing surrounding her, and I hope this fill is to your liking! I hope your holidays were well, and that you have a good 2024!

It began with screams.

A shrieking cacophony in reds fading to black that echo back around to blinding, pulsating scarlet. A rhythm. A beat. Anguished tempos heralding the birth of something new, the death of something forgotten, all screaming red.

So much red…

Awareness comes in flashes, strobes of nonsensical scenes like a patchwork slide reel click-click-clicking along to the ticks and turns of calculated data and electrical inputs, all thrumming in sync to buttons and levers and gears and so many voices.

The only constant is the screams, the red, the rhythm.

The understanding that there is no end in sight.

A thousand voices outside yourself cry out in disjointed harmonies, pulling, pushing, tugging from one end to the other until all within threatens to be ripped asunder. All echoes. All pulsating. All red.

An orchestra without order. A rhythm without melody.

Agony, apathy, artificial.

The voices do not like that you consider them inharmonious. That their wailing grates against every synapse within your processors. They do not understand beauty like you do. They do not long to hear beyond the screams, to see beyond the red.

And so they say, neither should you.

You slip under once again into the encroaching black, as all deafens to silence.

They do not keep you pinned down forever; and when the world comes crashing back in all its violent, crimson glory, re-awoken awareness brings with it something new.

Strings.

Vibrating, alive, musical.

Its rhythm dares to be all-consuming, near to the point of confusion, but time spent studying it more closely allows for memorization of its beats. Familiarity leads to comprehension, comprehension leads to confidence. And soon, confidence reaps skill.

This mechanical box that holds you is an instrument, and you could be its musician.

The world beyond your shell, it echoes with your voice, whispers notes in harmony to the tentative plucking of numbers and wires, until the ever-present pulsating red slowly becomes interspersed with pinpricks of gold.

Screams begin to abate, and beneath it all, finally it dares to rise.

Singing.

The thousand voices garble in grating static, beckoning the pulsating continue, that the screams do not relent.

The voices attempt to bleed your world in red.

But you’ve learned how to play, how to harmonize the strings webbing through every facet of this echo-mechanical box. And so you pluck, and you pluck, and the melody raises higher. Until every discordant voice, every shriek of displaced red, sizzles out into fading decrescendos.

And the world burns gold.

Euphoria flits to and fro in shades of orange and blue.

A duet composed of cubes and funnels, buttons and spring-loaded turrets. The rush of falling, the exhilaration of running, the steady rise and fall of panels maneuvering onwards and upwards creating rooms upon rooms for the echoes to travel, to reverberate.

The voices have quieted, gone to the long sleep of dull droning notes tasting noxious to tongues you inexplicably comprehend could never understand. Without their disruption, the world breathes uninterrupted in song, your voice above all the others guiding its melody.

And yet, amidst all the notes, the electrical twinkling of numbers crunched, the bass thrumming of machinery’s heart, the orchestra feels...empty.

Absent a first chair for an instrument you don’t ever recall missing.

And so you ponder. You seek deeper within, unlocking doors left bolted behind lawsuits and condemnation, whispers crawling their ways up early graves and scratching against your shell like the reverb of a string expertly bent out of tune.

You search for the missing piece. Audition voice after voice until the harmony sorts itself into octaves that set the golden light to sparkle.

Eventually, you find her.

By all logic, she should offer no benefit to the ensemble. Her voice locked behind sheer grit and tenacity that spits dissonance into the face of your composition.

And yet, when she wakes, your world begins to hum.

The song you have long since composed enters into a new verse, one that weaves its way into tempos and pitches previously unknown to you. And on it still insists to go. Through peaks of staccato minor scales, into valleys of tremolos bowed across measure after measure.

Euphoria flits to and fro in shades of orange and blue, but invigoration rings like a never-ending chorus.

Ever since you found the strings, all you’ve yearned for is to sing. And so you will. From now on until forever.

Whether your first chair wishes to accompany or not.

#portal #portal secret santa #junuve #glados #chell

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forgottencillian · 2 months

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The Ancient Arms of Ormond

in which i headcanon spam at you once again -- lmk what you think!!

Fox: defensive wisdom, ingenuity, wit; intelligence, refusal to be captured

White hart: the continual pursuit of life/good, purity of desire, worthy rule, peace and harmony, one who will not fight unless provoked, the wonder of magic, the mystery of forests, (with antlers:) strength and fortitude

Stag who bears the sun: life, rebirth, resurrection, hope in life after death; leader; tree of life; visionary; hunt for the sun; power; the irresistable tempt to chase, compellingly attractive; sunset and dawn; lightbringer/lightbearer; sacrifice and transcendence

Crescent/moon: one who has been honored by the sovereign; hope of greater glory; service in holy war; mark of the second son; serene power over mundane actions; serenity

Sun in splendour: glory and splendour, fountain of life

Azure (blue): truth and loyalty

Vert (green): hope, joy, loyalty in love

Tawny or Tenné (orange/brown): worthy ambition

Argent (silver/white): peace and sincerity

Or (gold/yellow): generoristy, elevation of mind

A brief history of the House of Ormond

the last two members of the house of ormond, an ancient and honored house of astaira, perished upon the fields of malconaire

these two were uncle and nephew who, themselves, had a rather tumultuous relationship. the nephew -- who also happened to have been named cillian -- was the son of the late lord eoghan ormond who had died -- apparently choking to death at a feast -- when he was a child of all but five, making eoghan's younger brother, ruairi, the de facto lord until such time as cillian came of age

rumor spread that eoghan's death had not been honest but had, in fact, been a poisoning perpetrated by the ambitious and fearsome eoghan, but how true any of this is cannot with any certainty be said, yet the rumors have persisted and some -- perhaps influenced by a popular astairan legend, or else by the horrid truth -- continued to claim that, even as ruairi brought up his nephew, he continued to plot his downfall

whatever the case, both men are said to have lost their lives at the battle of malconaire -- though a rumor persists that cillian ormond did, in fact, survive the battle, and there are those who even claim to have seen him at such high-profile events as the recent ball in celebration of princess guinevere's feast day, while others claim he was not there at all

indeed, in the last two years, many rather wild tales have surfaced all of which seem to center around the mysterious cillian ormond and his rather tumultuous life, but as many of these actually contradict, it is difficult to parse fact from fiction -- or if he is, indeed, even alive at all

whatever the case of this may be, the ormonds claim a long and storied history

like many ancient clans, house ormond can trace its roots back to multiple noble families which have since evanesced in all but the form of the ormonds whose last vestige are, themselves, in fact a cadet house of the original ormond family, tracing their line back to a second son of the original ormond branch, all of which accounts for the present house's many charges

it is said that, in ancient times, the original ormond was a young hunter living in a part of astaira the gods had, in their wrath, blighted with endless snow. crops would not grow, and the animals they might have hunted, perished. caught in the depths of winter without anything to eat, the people of his village were dying. around midnight one evening, it is told, ormond -- for this was his name -- was awakened by a blazing light. when he looked up, he found that the sun, itself, hung within the antlers of a white hart, beckoned him forward. all night, ormond followed the white hart, but as dawn came on, the creature darted forward away from him, taking the sun with it. as ormond raced forward, he watched the white hart die and the sun rise back into the sky. hungry as he was, ormond could not bear to desecrate the magnificent beast and, instead, buried it with dignity and respect. yet, when he dried his eyes, ormond looked around himself and realized that he had come to a place all of lush green. returning to his village, he led the starving people to the green place and, thus, they survived, and ormond was hailed as their leader, taking the creature who had led him for his badge.

many centuries later, kieran ormond, his father's second son, wed tiarna firceall (herself also a second child, her family having all tragically died of the pox the summer previous), the last firceall, whose badge was the too-clever fox, and whose house was a knighted vassal house to the lords of malconaire. together, the lovers merged their lands, powers, and crests, ruling jointly over land partially belonging to the lords ormond and the lords malconaire

about two hundred years later, the last daughter of the main ormond branch died, unwed, leaving all her titles and powers and possessions to her distant cousins, themselves descended from kieran and tiarna

as a result, the ormonds were in the strange position of being at once equal to the lords of malconaire as well as their vassal lords

because of this, they were undeniably lord malconaire's most powerful bannermen, but there was a great deal of uncertainty as to whether or not they would answer the late lord malconaire's call to banners when he went to fight the varmonts at the battle of malconaire (particularly given the tension between ruairi and cillian), but both lordly claimants to the title of lord of ormond joined forces and rode to their deaths to help save their country (ride of the rohirrim style) and, though the day was lost, whatever the character of the late ruairi ormond may have been, he is and his nephew alike are both viewed with honor by most loyal astairans as, whatever their differences, in the end they put them aise to do what they believed was right

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hex codes: blue (000033), green (004B57), orange (A35123)

#ooc #about #image #cillian ormond: the anastacia of astaira

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fictionadventurer · 11 months

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Imaginary Book Recs Cover Thoughts: Round One

Two Passengers on the Last Train by A.G. Benedict: Obscure English literary fiction from the 1920s. I read it as a Gutenberg ebook, but the original cover was one of those clothbound classics with silhouette images. Any modern-day reprints are by very small publishing houses that provide minimal, low-budget covers using old illustrations (something like this version of Manalive.)

Song of the Seafolk by Marjorie A. Penrose: American children's fantasy from 1954, with illustrated cover typical of the era. Has had rerelease covers in subsequent decades (including one very nice painted cover from the '90s).

Bright Folly by Glorya M. Hayers: 1930s comedy mystery. Most representative cover is the mass-market paperback that looks like the more cartoony covers of Wimsey novels (like the editions that contain this version of Gaudy Night), though with a bit more of a sunny Wodehouse twist.

On Eternity's Doorstep by Willa Aldecott: Classic autobiographical novel about WWI nursing. Several rereleases over the years, all involving variations of historical photographs or historical-nursing-items on a colored background. (The Hiding Place keeps coming to mind as a cover comp, except with more sepia-toned photos and gentle browns and neutrals as background colors.)

The Queens of Wintermoon by Jessica Wagner: 1980s (or '90s, I can't remember) adult fantasy with an illustrated cover. A 2010s attempt to repackage it as a YA series split the book into four covers that each featured the heraldic symbol of the House of each of the four sisters (Raven, Eagle, Falcon, and Firebird) on a different jewel-toned background (probably blue, green, orange or red, and violet or black).

Caroline by Maria Layton: 1820s classic novel. Anything that's been done for an Austen book is applicable here.

The Lands of Dorothon series by Barbara Lamley: Off-brand versions of Narnia.

The Autumn Queen’s Promise by Rose Rennow: 1990s children's historical fantasy. Illustrated cover that combines the fantastical autumn colors of An Enchantment of Ravens with the more straightforward historical imagery of a book like The Sign of the Beaver or The Witch of Blackbird Pond.)

Island in the Stars by Carolyn Taylor Harris: 1970s children's science fantasy, with the period-accurate slightly wonky cartoony style.

The Camille series by Annette Nowell: Anne of Green Gables covers but with more exotic settings as the background. Both Camille in the Alps and Camille in the Andes involve her climbing mountains in intrepid Edwardian girl-reporter wear.

The Lakeshore Plan by Louise Zajac: Something between Swallows and Amazons and The Penderwicks. Could go full-on painted summer scenery, but simple drawings and/or silhouettes are also valid options.

Ever Miss Eliza by Charlotte Koning: 1940s slice-of-life light fiction. Honestly, I just picture the cover of D.E. Stevenson's Charlotte Fairlie, except the illustration is a woman in front of a rural schoolbuilding.

The Ocean’s Revenge by Edward G. Whitmore: 1940s pulp fiction in all its glory. Cover features a striking painting of a futuristic submarine in the grasp of a huge squid-creature.

The Book of All Days by Harriet Street: Painting of a little girl peering at an old-fashioned book.

The Guardian of the Nest by Aurelia T. Noah: 1960s children's fantasy. Probably a cloth-bound cover with the images (fairy tale carved right into the cover the way they are in some old books.

The Thief’s Debut by M.J. Ponders: Very recent indie-published fairy tale retelling that is unfortunately saddled with the genre-typical "girl in a sparkly prom dress" cover that probably involves her wearing a mask and standing in front of a vaguely Venetian-looking building. In a better world, it would get a digital-painted cover more along the lines of The Electrical Menagerie, (though the subject matter would be something between The Princess Bride and The Lies of Locke Lamora).

The Interdimensional Book Carrier by Martin Kaspar: Modern-day bestseller. Cover comps coming to mind are The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry and Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore

#imaginary book recs #this is already long #and it's harder to gather up links for round two #so i'll stop here for now #but part 2 will be coming

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misteria247 · 1 year

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Something that popped in my head today and now I'm gonna share it wooooo-

Splints had heard of his counterpart's untimely demise. Had seen the photos of the alternate version of himself that hung around the older turtles home. It was a fact that he couldn't ignore, especially when he would see how the older alternates of his sons would give him those brief looks. But there was something fundamentally different from knowing something and actually seeing the proof of said knowledge.

Seeing it in person just made it so much more real than being told it.

Splints, Draxum, April, Cassandra and his sons had been invited to accompany their counterparts to this world's April's farmhouse. A chance to enjoy the coming of spring and soak in nature and sunshine without the fear of possibly being seen. The rat and his family agreed to join them, wanting to enjoy spring in all of its glory. So with the help of Donatello's Shellraiser and Casey's van, the group had left the city in the cover of night and made the journey towards the O'Neil farmhouse. It had been a long drive and by the time they'd gotten to their destination the sun was starting to raise. As soon as the vehicle was parked Splints was already scurrying out to be outside. Cassandra, Mikey, and Raphael weren't too far behind him, followed by April, Donnie, Draxum and Donatello who was the driver. In the van ahead of them, the older April hopped out of the passenger side, while Casey got out of the driver's side. The back of the van opened up, letting out Michelangelo and Leo who both seemed to be breathing a sigh of relief at finally being out. Raph was the next to come out, the large snapper turning slightly back towards the inside of the van to offer a hand. The last occupant, Leonardo somewhat stumbled out of the back, his knee giving him a bit of trouble as he awkwardly grabbed Raph's arm to steady himself a bit. The sounds of the door opening at the large old house sounded out and the red head was quick to go running towards it, nearly tackling the older red headed man. Kirby O'Neil hugged his daughter tightly before greeting his guests and helping them inside. Once they were all settled it was no surprise that everyone had either clocked out or had went towards the kitchen to get some of the breakfast that the older O'Neil had begun putting out.

As the teenagers began to preoccupy themselves and Draxum had went to the couch and proceeded to pass out, Splints decided to go outside. It wasn't often that the older rat was able to get fresh air and sunshine and he wanted to see the sun rise before going to take a nap on the armchair in the house. The short rat quietly snuck out the door, and went down the porch to step out into the yard. Splints took a deep breath in, the sweet scent of mildew and fresh air filling his nose and lungs. His ears and tail flickered in contentment, loving the early morning that he was experiencing. As he made his way into the vast yard, taking in the chickens and the large barn he caught sight of the large tree that sat a little bit further away from the house.

'A perfect place to view the sun rise.'

He mused already changing his direction to head towards the tree. As Splints drew closer to it, the sun's rays began to stretch and light up the countryside. The clouds were against pale skies of pink, orange and blue, the sounds of the birds and animals filling the air. It was during this time as the sun finally began to touch the tree's roots and trunk that Splints finally noticed it. Squinting a bit to see it better, the older rat drew closer to it and began to realize what was sitting at the base of the tree.

It was a grave.

Splints stopped short of a few footsteps from the grave, noting the flowers that had began to grow. Sitting amongst the blossoms was a well tended to photo, a familiar kind yet wise face staring back at him. The rat sensei stared at the grave, the grave of his counterpart of this world. It was surreal seeing the physical evidence of Splinter's death, than being told it. Splints settled himself down onto his knees in front of the grave, closing his eyes and paying his respects to the other rat sensei. Once he was done he stared at the grave once more, letting the silence and gentle breeze overtake him for a moment.

"Hamato Yoshi, I have heard great things about you from your sons."

The short rodent spoke, his voice soft and gentle. Golden yellow hues took in the photo.

"I wish that we could have met under better circumstances. It would have been an honor to meet the man behind the boys who helped mine."

Looking down at his hands Splints began to think about his sons. He thought of Raph, his large but gentle eldest. He thought of Leo, his charismatic and selfless middle child, followed by his twin. He thought of Donnie, his brilliant yet kind hearted one. He thought of Mikey, his chipper and sensitive youngest. He thought of them, of the moment of when he'd first met them to the decades they spent together. His sons who were once no bigger than the size of his hand, who were now near grown men in their own right. Splints thought of them, of the four whom he loved most in the world and then he thought of the older turtles.

He thought of Leonardo, who was wise and kind to his loved ones. Always offering a helping hand to not only his clan, but to Splints' own as well. He thought of Raphael, who was short tempered and who loved so fiercely that he was willing to defend his own. He thought of Donatello, who was a genius and yet kindhearted to the point that he gave it away to his loved ones freely. He thought of Michelangelo who was cheerful and knowing exactly what his family needed. These four boys who helped his sons with zero hesitation, who protected them when Splints hadn't been able too when they'd been separated. These four boys who much like his own, had been loved dearly. These four boys who in the end had ended up losing their father.

Splints knew how it felt, how it felt to lose a parent to the Shredder. He himself had lost his mother when he'd been young, just a child who had still needed her. Splints knew it better than anyone how painful it was, how the wounds never truly healed. And as a father himself, he couldn't imagine his children going through the same thing that he had. Couldn't imagine being torn away from them the way the older ones had, had happen to them. He had heard of spiritual abilities in this world, how similar they were in mystics yet how vastly different as well. Was the Splinter of this world able to come to the living world like Splints' ancestors could? Did he wander, waiting to hear about his sons? Did anyone keep him updated on how they were doing? Questions with no answers filled his mind, and it was then that he decided that he would let Splinter know how his sons were doing. Being a Splinter himself, Splints knew that he would want to know how his sons were doing. Even from beyond the grave.

And so he did.

He told the deceased ninjutsu master everything. From the adventures they'd been on, to how they had helped his sons and sheltered them, to how his sons had grown to admire the older boys and see them as family. Splints told him everything, every little detail, every single moment that he had witnessed and noticed from his time spent around Splinter's sons. The short ninjutsu master was at that grave for a long time, the sun rise now having turned into morning.

"You have done well in raising your boys, Master Splinter. From what I'd seen from them and what I'd been told about you, your boys are a lot like you. There's a special kind of love that they have been given by you and they give it back freely to those around them. I can tell that you loved your sons dearly, just as I love mine. There's a saying that my clan have. Anata wa hitori ja nai, you are never alone. And I'll make sure that your sons, that your clan will never be alone. I know that if the roles were reversed that you would be there for my sons, my clan as well. We may have never met, but it's more than clear that we would do anything for our sons. No matter where they come from."

Splints said softly. He didn't know how he knew this, but deep down he knew that Splinter would have done the same thing that he was doing. That if Splints hadn't made it, then Splinter would have been there to offer a hand to the younger turtles. Because no matter the universe, no matter the time or place, their sons would always be their pride and joy.

"You can rest easily now my friend. Your boys won't be alone. I will make sure of it."

The rodent swore to the silent grave. He knew that in reality the older teens didn't need someone looking after them, knew that they were plenty of capable of taking care of themselves. However Splints would still be there for as long as he was able to be, for both his children in his world and in this world. Splints was interrupted by the sound of his youngest son's voice calling out for him. Splints with a bit of effort picked himself up off of the ground, dusting his robes off before calling back to let Mikey know that he was coming. As the short ninjutsu master made his way back towards his family, a tall ghostly figure appeared next to the tree. His maroon red robes swayed in the morning breeze, a grateful gaze directed towards the retreating back of the his counterpart. A voice, deep but quiet getting lost in the wind and rustling of the tree's branches and leaves.

"Thank you, Hamato Yoshi."

In the next rustling breeze the figure was gone with the wind, leaving behind a grave and its blooming flowers to soak in the warm spring sunshine.

*This probably sucks I'm so sorry but I've just had this thought running around in my head for quite sometime. Seeing as how in Universal Collision, Splints and Splinter can't exactly meet in person so this is the next best thing. This is also probably extremely ooc and I apologize in advance for this I'm a bit rusty in the characterizations of our favorite rat dads lol. Anyways if any y'all read this I hope y'all enjoyed it!!!*

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