new fic !!!! i wrote dan being sappy and affectionate when drunk because hi hello have we met of course i wrote dan being sappy and affectionate when drunk

i started writing some fic snippets i would love to turn into a bigger story but i probably wont ever do so. whoops.

still, have some lines i think go hard, the topic being basically "what keeps the chain awake at night" (angsty thoughts)

but when his emotions run high and things get serious, i think Danny loses a little control over the shape of his ghost form; his teeth get longer and sharper, and were his fingers always claws? and the temperature drops and static electricity makes all your hair stand on end and you know you're in Danger. Phantom doesn’t have actual hackles to raise, but there’s green lightning crackling down the ridge of his spine and it can’t be anything but a threat.

alright first writing post, my name is Mylo and enjoy ;) . this will be a series inspired by @defire's post about reactions of being slapped, you can find that post here.

~

The sound of Whumper's hand connecting with Whumpee's cheek was loud- echoing through the bare room, sending Whumpee's head flying to the side.

Whumper ran a hand through their hair, catching their breath for a moment before fixing their suit, "I didn't want to do that Whumpee, you know I didn't. But you also know I am not a man to mess around with."

Whumpee's face was still turned, their messy-curly fringe slightly off-put and they look at the ground, cheek burning red-hot. Their tongue darts to the corner of their mouth, soaking in the blood as their eyes fill with tears.

"Take him away." Whumpee hears from the side of the room, "I'm done with him for now."

And then heavy hands were on him instantly, dragging him away to the miserable holding cell.

-

Pairing: Regulus Black/James Potter

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 7k

Tags: Modern AU Setting, Bodyguard!James, DataAnalyst!Regulus, Dom/Sub Undertones, Daddy Kink sorry bro don't look atme

Read on Ao3

“Aren’t you just the littlest bit proud of me?” Regulus asked. “Made it all the way back home without you knowing.”

“Six security officers watched you climb and then fall off a fence. We have it on camera. You could’ve just told me you wanted to leave. I would’ve taken you out the back, you muppet.”

Regulus stifled a laugh. Maybe he wasn’t as sober as he thought.

x x x

Regulus is the unwilling son of the foreign secretary. James is his six-foot, sex-on-legs, Krav-Maga-wielding, Margaritaville-loving "Specialist Protection Officer".

omegaverse day 1 babyyyy

i totally did not forget about this ahah what do you meann

They always hurt, but when Orym puts his hands on them sometimes, that ache turns almost sweet. Ashton can tell the difference between pain and want, and Orym's small hands break through the noise enough that Ashton's started to dream about it. They should put a stop to it, probably, because Orym has no clue the kind of feelings he's causing. Probably better to just say it hurts too much and walk away, but then Orym's face would do that thing where he gets all disappointed and that's a completely different kind of hurt. So they let him . . . They never ask for it, but Orym always seems to know what they need.

Ashton is thinking about kissing Orym but it's the wrong time, the kind of desperate irrational desire that surges through their impulse control when they panic. Orym's conscious but covered in blood--his own, someone else's, it's probably too much for one halfling, right?--and Ashton's hands shake around the cork on the potion bottle. What the fuck are they even doing here, why did they get involved in this mess, they're on the wrong fucking continent and Orym's going to die--

"Hey," Orym manages, feverish green eyes staring unfocused at Ashton. "Breathe. I'm okay."

Ashton's going to burst into tears so instead they muffle a sob against Orym's bruised lips. Orym freezes for a moment, but then goes soft and pliant under Ashton. This touch . . . Their body sings. It's a good touch.

Orym gently breaks away but doesn't go far. He leans his forehead gently against Ashton's and cups their cheek.

"Let's talk after, okay?" Orym says. Ashton can taste the healing potion on their own lips and nods.

"That's a fucking promise, yeah?"

Altaïr was always chasing something within his life.

As a baby he chased birds, his legs were too short and was unable to catch up with their flight.

As a child he chased silhouette of his father framed by the closing gate, there was too many hands reaching out and pulling him back.

As a novice he chased that speck of golden light in his eagle vision, it was always there, present no matter where and when.

Altaïr liked to think it's his father's spirit watching over him proudly.

The light was a man in Damascus.

A man with droopy dark amber eyes and short spikey brown hair, slightly sunken cheeks and deep-set eyes. his face….

He looks so much like father at first glance it hurts.

"are you alright?" he opened his mouth and Altaïr can't stop the tears from falling out of his eyes.

No.

It hurts.

He is not alright.

He hasn't been for a long time.

Desmond,

The man's name is Desmond.

He is a scribe living in the poor section of Damascus and knows medicine. He hoards trinkets and books like they are gold. He offers his services cheaper than what he should. He adores animals, especially cats.

He wakes up everyday as the sun rise and gets ready for the day, cooking him a meal and feeding stray cats and orphans even if he can barely keep himself afloat on some days. He would then climb to the tallest rooftops nearby his home and stand there for a moment climbing back down and opening his shop up for the day. Sometimes when there is no business he would leave and go and help around the neighborhood or sit on a rooftop and observe the people walk by. He favors his left arm and walks with a slight slouch.

And he loves Altaïr wholeheartedly.

His wandering eyes would soften when it lands on Altaïr, he would grin from ear to ear when he sees him, he would cook meals for him every time he visits despite not needing it. He would hug him tightly and praise Altaïr proudly every time he does something right and would teach him how to be kind and how to navigate a conversation politely. He would call him little eaglet lovingly and ruffle his head.

He never looked down on Altaïr, never babys him like a child or put him high on a pedestal.

To Desmond, Altaïr isn't Eagle of Maysf, the assassin prodigy, he is just….

Altaïr, a kid who cried into his chest on their first meeting and shares blood with him.

Altaïr never knew he needed someone like this, but he is so glad to have Desmond who he can go too when he knows he can't go to Al-Mualim for.

He made a grave mistake, Kadar's dead.

Desmond was always there, a shoulder for him to cry on or a person he can rely on…

…

Desmond?

Altaïr stood in the empty room, all Desmond's valuables is stored in the neighboring home.

The elderly grandmother of the family next door informed him that Desmond showed up a week ago late at night, asking them a great favor of keeping his valuables safe as he travels elsewhere for a short while. They were confused at the timing and concerned at how urgent Desmond sounded. They accepted the request but before they can ask anything Desmond was gone.