#(drabble.)

[sircrocodillian]

He was rarely up this early, and even more rarely would he go out this far, but he wanted the morning to himself, away from the tents. The sun was rising in the horizon, basking the first warmth of the day across the morning dew of Karai Bari. Today was a day where Crocodile often would retreat to be by himself. Not that many noticed, as he was a very private man. He would return to the congregation soon enough, but for right now, he would sit against the roots of a dried out, dead tree and light up a cigar.

Crocodile took a drag from the cigar and let it linger in his mouth, tasting that mix of citrus and cloves that only came from a good brand. He only pulled these out for special occasions. Triumphs. Celebrations. Honors. The times when he could bask in the essence of a job well done. Yet, for right now, it was just a comfort. He took the cigar out and held it between his fingers, looking at the end glow in the still purple-black light of dawn, and let the smoke blow out from his mouth. A moment of contemplation. A moment of remembrance. He absently brought his hand up to his stomach, lightly tracing the spot over the layers of clothing and padding he had now acquired, almost two decades later.

A night where everything had changed for him. A night where he had decided that he couldn't stay where he was. A night where he had figured that he could never go back to the man he had once been. Had it been that long?

He took another inhale of his cigar and dashed the ash down along the roots of the tree. He wouldn't crush it. That would ruin the taste. No, maybe he would just sit here, for a few moments more. Just a time to himself, and a time for the man he had been so long ago.

"Heh," he chuckled through a billow of smoke. "Happy birthday, kid."

[p4lepixie]

Thinking of… ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Swan!reader who is delicate, high-maintenance without saying a word, with a face too pretty to ever hear the word “no.” She's cold to most people, polite but distant, always dressed in soft cashmere, silk, pearls — the kind of girl who looks like she belongs behind glass. Rafe is obsessed from the first second. Her silence, her sadness, her elegance — it all drives him insane. He chases her hard, reckless and intense, until she caves and lets him in. Around others, she’s still graceful and untouchable; around him, she’s a quiet, needy thing, clinging to him like a prayer. Their relationship is toxic-sweet: he spoils her, worships her, but owns her violently too. Sex is desperate — he handles her like she might break, but he still leaves bruises where no one else can see. She cries during sex sometimes — overwhelmed, too fragile — and he *loves* it. He kisses the tears off her cheeks, whispers that she’s his perfect little thing, his swan, his baby, no one else’s. She lets him ruin her lipstick, tear her lingerie, mark up her throat — because deep down, she doesn’t want to be perfect anymore, she just wants to be his.

[istvrgrl]

yeah sorry i don't have anything pretty to write here right now. i wish i did, but all that's on my mind is knight!simon chewing up that duchess coochi like it's her last meal 💔 she's got munch in her veins i swear! i hope you're not too much of a fan of those hand - woven damask silks because she will have you ripping them to shreds before dawn breaks. . .

[fortuneforsaken-if]

if you're not following my main blog (which you should, i make funne joek sometimes lol) then you should know that my kitten massacred my charger cable to the laptop and i've yet to get a replacement.

in lieu of an update, here's a concept piece about how you would've met maluset for the first time in game. it's scrapped now for something better (hopefully) but it's still an okay piece of writing if i do say so myself. think it was some sort of a fever writing so let's not look too close okay.

It's cold. The mansion is always cold, of course, but this feels unnatural. Like the sun itself blotted out, a chill that seeps into your bones, a freeze after submerging in icy water.

No. You stop your steps and scan your surroundings. The mansion is quiet as well, void of the hustle and bustle of the maid always scurrying around. Something has shifted. 

"What the fuck is going on," you hear the voice from atop of the grand staircase, the keeper of your chains aggravated as they tie the sash around their bathrobe. "What the fuck did you do?" They hiss, each step down the staircase filled with anger, theyr eyes on you in accusation.

But you didn't do this, did you? A cursory glance at your hands, and they're shaking. Why? Why can't you stop them? A tug at your heart could be anything; fear, exhaustion, panic, but those are emotions you've long buried. No, there is something else too. A familiarity, a longing, you felt it for the first thousand years, but it has since lain dormant. 

"I-" you begin, interrupted by the rumble you feel underfoot. It's minimal at first, barely there for you to sense, but it grows stronger, stronger, until a vase perched on a side table crashes into the floor. 

The heir grabs onto the bannister and curses. Another figure falls against the bannisters upstairs, a familiar, exhausted visage now with frantic eyes looking across the room, eyes meeting yours in question. 

It peaks and recedes, slowly, shakes becoming tremors, and tremors becoming subtle vibrations. The heir stomps up to you with a finger raised, but they get no word out before Rami is down the stairs and grabs their arm. "Wait, do you see -"

"Rami, you're my brother, but I will break every single one of your fingers if you so much as touch me aga-" and he does, grabs them by the head and turns them to look at the front entrance, the massive windows that show an opulent garden outside.

Or they should, but there is nothing. Only darkness. 

Oh. You feel the realization creep up your neck like a soft desert breeze, warm in midst of the cold that has otherwise settled. It cocoons you like your mother's hugs, protective, adoring. Alive.

"What the fuck," the heir offers eloquently yet again, bare feet stomping to the door and yanking it open. Light that should spill out from the open door sits still at the threshold. "That's not normal," Rami mutters, but you can only stare into the abyssal darkness. 

At the sand collecting at the porch, grains coming together to form a vortex before it solidifies into a figure. 

The heir stumbles back with a cry, landing on their behind as they scurry back. You stand still, hands ny your side, but you want to reach. You want to welcome an old friend, but you get no chance. 

He's here. After so many years, he's here. The robes fall effortlessly over his shoulder, the moving glitter of starlight the only differentiating element from the darkness beyond. A divine vision clad in shadows, the human features swirling as if not keen on being in that form. You see the galaxies in his eyes consolidate into an iris, the full weight of it set on the heir sprawled in the ground.

"Ashar tehk nuḥ senet akhet."

Your breath stutters at the inhale. It's been so long since you heard your tongue spoken, the words like an old-forgotten hymn you thought you'd never hear again.

I have come to retrieve the one you have stolen from me.

You could think he came for a relic, or anything else of material value. The spark of hope you've nursed flares to life when he turns his eyes to you, the vastness behind them softening as he takes you in, his shoulders easing only a fraction. Another gust of a warm breeze flows over your cheek.

He really did come for you.

[ogalactus]

A DRABBLE. when galan & taaia reunite.

taaia in this universe first encounters galactus, her child, above earth as the lifebringer during the final conflict against the black winter. she sees the force that ended their universe destroyed, poetic justice the silver surfer would say, only to then see galactus fall. golden life energy fading into the cold expanse of space. he falls to earth. but there is no devastating impact, as the fantastic four are ready, sue using her abilities to cushion the fall. laid to rest within a lake beneath the warmth of the sun. the last time taaia set eyes on galan was when he was a young child a handful of years ago. for galan it has been billions of years. time never dulled their love of their mother, however. emotions only buried in the deepest recces of the once mortal heart.

she screams her child's name, weeps for him as the waters around his dimming colours ripple with little movement. norrin attempts to ease her with a gentle touch & word that he still senses life, yet even he cannot contain his concern. the knowing of what is to come. they are both upon him attempting to rouse from unconsciousness.

within the mind of galactus a small form of what once was sits within a white sea of encroaching darkness. echoes from beyond come & go & stir no response. what a terribly cruel thing fate can be. to be born into a dying universe & fail at saving it, to be its sole survivor, only to consume the next ... all in the name of the ever frail universal balance. there was never any resentment. grief? tremendously so. for what else could anyone who cherishes life feel? at the dawn of galactus's existence there had been a whispered tale carried from the last, & the time before that, & the time even before then. that one day the devourer of worlds would give back to the universe far more than ever taken. this was a tale his mother once brought to life with such joyous tellings as a child ( before she was never seen again ). the ancient story of lifebringer one & the anti-all of the third cosmos. the first hero against the darkness. all this to say ... there was always hope.

then the day dawned at the beginning of the eighth cosmos when the lifebringer was born. a necessity for eternity. the weight of quintillion souls never grew any lighter ... but there was a kind of relief, of knowing the screams & cries of life would no longer be the final sounds heard from worlds stepped upon. nor would the agonizing pangs of hunger haunt near every conscious moment. for a time galactus felt happy. no longer simply surviving, but existing. as he used to be. but it could never last. still, this drop of life in an ocean of eternity had felt ... like an eternity. there could never be any resentment. not to the All who had chosen him, & certainly none toward the universe they have come to cherish very much.

but galan was tired. so very tired.

would it be so terrible of him to remain here? to allow the self to be consumed by what begins again to feel so enticing? would that be so selfish?? he could not fail eternity. the echoes from beyond grow louder & they sound familiar, one of them painfully so ... truly, his mind must be close to collapse. but then all falls silent & a silvery hand is upon his shoulder. the bond between herald & master is a close one, intimately so, for just as galactus could sense the mind & heart of those bestowed with a portion of his essence, so could they of him. the silver surfer could feel his anguish. they sit & talk for a time. they talk of life, what must be. of the past & what is to come. norrin would not abandon him during such time of need. nor would someone else who has longed to find him ever since stepping foot in this universe.

beyond the mental realm, norrin & taaia are sat upon the armoured chest of galactus linked by hands. the power cosmic allowing connection. within, galan lays eyes upon his mother for the first time in billions of years. tears fall from her as her child far older than she is pulled into a hug. words lost to the tides of emotion. from taaia there is only sobbing, from norrin a sad little smile as he stands in silence, & from galan ... the child who lost his mother billions of years ago falls into the embrace.

when taaia had discovered what her little galan was to become some years past in an adventure with the defenders, there was tremendous grief. if she were to return to their own cosmos all would be forgotten. to forget would be to abandon him ... to stay would be the same. in her stay on earth & meeting the fantastic four, they had spoken of galactus & his nature, & of past encounters. johnny, who had once been a herald & so touched his mind, spoke of the science master galan had become & his efforts to save taa. to say taaia was proud would be an understatement. so she would remain with little guilt, knowing her child would grow into a good person.

she would stay with him as he becomes the devourer once more. aureate armour peels away to reveal old magenta & blues. as would norrin radd, who vows to continue as herald. after many an hour the lake in which galactus rests begins to ripple & wave, & then slowly ... galactus rises without word. only the sound of raining waves & ancient creaking metal lifting into the evening sky. norrin & taaia soaring closeby on a silver board. below, the fantastic four watch with sorrow in their hearts. civilians scurry away in fear. for a moment galactus remains a floating form still without word. his expression impossible to read. taaia looks to norrin, who has no words for how heavy the grief he feels emanating from his master.

then, as the pangs of hunger begin to return, galactus is gone. returned to his ship. with him ... two precious souls who would travel the ever expanding & wonderous cosmos with him. taaia, who would share his burden & learn more of her child & all the unfamiliar stars of this universe. marveling at the scientific expanse of taa-ii. & norrin, who would guide the devourer once again to worlds of nourishment ...

there is a balance to all things. where there is great pain, so something good must happen. & what greater good is there to be reunited with a long lost loved one.

[predctory]

td:lr : Hank is the only person selfless enough to ask Greer what she needs. Hank is the only person to ever quiet the beast.

Alright it’s the 70’s — Greer barrels into the Avengers team while Yellowjacket is being a massive cock. We know the history. We know what happened. Greer hates the fucker.

Fast forward to WCA — it’s the 80’s, Hank’s taken a ( forced ) break from the Avengers. Greer’s finding her feet, trying to figure out her place on this new team. Hank joins, adamant that he’s gonna just be Jarvis 2.0. She can tell something is different: this isn’t the insecure macho man she came to associate with Hank Pym. This man is a storm of emotions but he’s kind & sweet & generous & actually kind hot, wtf? She pounces, coz what she wants, she gets. Tosses Simon to the back-burner for now, coz damn, this nerd is intriguing af.

She likes him, a lot, but she’s a mess & for the first time in a long time, she gets introspective. She knows he’s really struggling, like really fucking struggling but she just went through hell & back ( literally ) & now she’s got a fucking tail. She can’t help Hank coz now she’s gotta learn a new way to sit down. Thank God Bonita was there.

She likes him: he’s lamely funny & his smile is warm like sunlight but now they’re going to Hungary coz his dead wife might not actually be dead ( & wow wouldn’t that be nice, maybe, if Bill wasn’t actually dead & this was all some crazy fever dream & she woke up with black hair & pale skin & she went back to university instead of agreeing to become a fucking housewife ). Hank’s come a long way: he’s more confident & joyful & the she swears that she catches him staring at her from across the pool sometimes.

But Marc is there to distract her because damn he’s even more of a tornado than Hank was & she doesn’t know the reason ( spoiler: it’s Khonshu ) but she cannot for the life of her get a read on him & the curiosity got the cat, & they’re at it like animals. Literally.

& then the team blows up & all the boys are ganging up on Bobbi & fuck that because okay maybe she hasn’t killed anybody ( yet ) but neither did Bobbi. Bobbi just let that cunt Slade fall off a cliff just like Greer let that cunt Donalblain put a bullet in his head. Marc sides with them, obviously because he’s the worst of all of them. They go their seperate ways.

They come back eventually but everything is different. Marc doesn’t stay, Janet is there now. Which is cool, she likes Janet ( who doesn’t? ) but Hank doesn’t look at her anymore. Simon is looking at Wanda. She’s on her own, probably for the best.

Years go by — they’re teammates but they’re not friends, her & Hank. It’s not effortless between them like it is with Steve or Tony or Jim or Clint or Simon. She doesn’t know why. They used to talk & fuck & laugh together. She’s not sure why it stings.

Now everything is fucked. Friends are becoming enemies; they were hunting each other. They lost Marc & Steve & now she’s in fucking Arkansas of all places. At least Jim is there. She never thought anyone would see her as a mentor, but all the good ones were already taken, she supposed.

When Hank showed up she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. He’s different, though. He’s more confident ( quietly, always quietly ) & he’s more sure of himself & oh my god is he flirting with her!?

It’s so easy — it’s so damn easy falling back into bed with him. They laugh & he cooks her dinner & he eats her out until she’s a shaking mess & the next month is bliss, even between the military style training & the constant travelling & all the tangled string she’s caught herself in.

& then he’s on the TV & she’s two weeks overdue for her period & there’s fucking Skrulls everywhere.

She shuts it out & can’t stop thinking about it at the same time. It was all a lie. It wasn’t him: it was a fucking alien. She goes over everything; dissects every memory of him & her together & wonders when it all started. Why didn’t she see? Why didn’t she notice? Why didn’t anybody notice?

She has the baby & he’s fucking perfect thank the Cat Gods thank every fucking God out there because that means everything is all worth it. Vance asks her to be a part of a new Avengers Academy & she’s said yes without even really thinking about it because it’ll keep her busy & if she’s busy then she doesn’t have to deal with all the fucked up shit that she’s been through in the last six months.

Oh but — he’s there. Hank’s there. Headmaster Ant-Man. Fuck they even smell the same. He knows, right? He must. Everybody knows. Not about little William but about her & the Skrull. Of course he knows, look at the way he’s looking at her. Wait but that’s not sympathy — well some of it is but it’s… remorse. Regret. For what? He didn’t do anything…

She tries not to be alone with him. More for his sake than hers — if the animal in her gets set off she’s liable to murder. She wouldn’t even be able to stop herself if she tried. It wasn’t him. But they’re alone in the faculty lounge & he plonks a coffee mug in front of her with her usual cream & 2 sugars ( he remembered : so not all of it was false ) & he offered himself up to talk whenever she was ready to.

Yeah, right. She’s not a talker. She’s an ass kicker. But then those fucking kids find that fucking video & she’s got no choice. Hank holds her tight as she shakes with rage & shame & then they talk & talk & talk.

& she’s a little lighter for it. & she gets lighter every time they talk. She asks him to test her son’s DNA. He agrees ( even though he knows the outcome ). William is — genetically — his. She’s relieved because that means Norman Osborn has nothing on her & he won’t come after William because he has no Skrull DNA. But she’s also scared because Hank has problems, big scary mental problems that she’s ignored because they were never really her problems, were they?

& he didn’t want kids because of that reason & she’s telling she doesn’t want anything from him because — William’s not anybody’s son but hers. He’s relieved she can feel it but he’s sad, too. She doesn’t know why.

He comes in one night & wakes her from a nightmare: the Skrull coming to take her baby away. It’s taken his shape again, & she pounces, she pins him against the wall & she’s the most animal she’s ever been & she almost tears his jugular out with her teeth & he doesn’t even try to stop her. & something registers & she realises that this is Hank Pym — the one she met in Palos Verdes who had a storm inside him & almost succumbed. She knows it wasn’t all a lie.

It’s a bit easier after that. They talk & they help the kids & they save the world & each other & they’re all a weird family. He’s fantastic with the kids even though he doubts himself. He lets William climb all over him even though she told him not to. He fixes her her morning coffee & lingers in the door of her classroom & tells Humberto & Brandon off for making jokes about her bikini.

& she managed to convince him to throw a party & she invites all her Initiative crew & she dresses up & he tells her she’s gorgeous & means it. Everybody’s having fun & laughing & Melati smuggled in some booze but she doesn’t care because Hank’s asked her to dance & they’re close & his heart is jackhammering & she’s nervous & excited & she tells him she doesn’t blame him because he’s just as much a victim as she is & oh Christ something’s stirring & she needs him now & he needs her too & they slip away.

It’s not like it usually is: it’s timid & shy & almost virginal — the way they slowly strip each other, the way he asks permission, the way she checks her strength, the tenderness of it. They’re interrupted of course & she regrets not taking the alcohol from Melati now but damn, did she need it. She needed the control back, she needed the choice back.

There’s lot of teasing after that. She’s swinging her hips on purpose when she’s walking in front of him & she’s staring at him from across the teacher’s lounge & she’s making a meal of her coffee but everything is moving so fast & oh now their school is destroyed & they’re living in a hotel room in Chicago & her dad hasn’t even called her. Her dad doesn’t even know that he’s a grandfather.

She’s so angry: she had to lie to the kids & she told them whatever it takes without ever really thinking about the consequences because she’s let bad people die before & she’s never had to think twice about it because they deserved it. But Ken & Maddie are in turmoil & now she’s thinking ( knows ) she’s a terrible person for even giving them this awful idea in the first place. What kind of mother is she being? Hank is a balm: he takes her in his arms & pets her hair & tells her she did the best she could under the conditions & not to doubt herself ( & she can feel it eating away at him too, he’s shouldering the blame because that’s what he does, it’s what he thinks he deserves ). She has good instincts, he reminds her. Not always, she wants to say but she stays present: she stays in his arms & his words ring true. It feels right, being in his arms. Maybe it shouldn’t but it does.

A few of the kids leave, so does Vance. They can’t stop them as much as they want to. Where else can they go? Nostalgia hits one afternoon as they’re watching the kids play in the hotel pool — the old Wackos compound is all but deserted. They could fix it up, make it new again. Make it home again.

It’s hard work but Pietro’s a whizz & she’s super strong & together they make light work of it. The quinnjet ride is light, full of all the excitement that second chances bring. Hank tells her he admires the woman she’s become & that she’s a hero & a great mother & he loves her & oh my god… she loves him too. Probably always did…

The fresh start is just what everybody needs. New students & new friends, even visits from old ones. Clint comes in for a bit & makes jokes & burgers & lewd comments as she sits in Hank’s lap. It’s like the good ol’ days.

Hank moves into her old bungalow with her & William. He cooks dinner because god knows she’s terrible at it. They cuddle up on the couch as she reads to her son — their son. Hank teaches Will how to properly stack his building blocks so he’s got a solid foundation. He watches from the shade of a tree as mother & son climb as high as they can. Who would have ever thought either of them could build something so wonderful?

So… perfect.

[monstyrigone]

when you were born, your mother tells you that lives shifted. they didn't change entirely, because something was already there, blooming the longer you baked in her belly, but it came to the surface. it swelled and filled the man you call dada to the brink, until there was too much kindness and love in him that he had to leave. she has told you this story since before you could understand what it meant, and when you were old enough, she explained it as more than just a story. she explained that when you were conceived, he was very sick, but he was also very brave. that before you came, he passed away, but he fought so hard to stay long enough to see you. you've seen photographs of him around the houses. you think he looks like a dork, now when you're older, but back then? oh, back then all you could see was an angel.

that something filled papa, too, though. your mother shows you photographs of papa and her together, cuddled up and oh so sweet. you don't believe anything but that they are perfect for your whole life. you see them dancing in the kitchen in the wee hours of the morning when they don't think you're awake, no music to be heard and no conversation between them. just silence. just love.

you want something like that, some day.

papa doesn't talk about dada at all, but that's okay. you can tell in the way that he avoids speaking on it, that there is still a lot of hurt in his chest. maybe some day he'll be ready to share, but until then, you keep a photograph you stole from the box under their bed in the golden locket around your neck of all three of them. so happy, so wonderful.

when you're ten and learning about how the birds and the bees work, your brows furrow and you raise your hand in class. you have two daddies, but you also have a mommy, and no, none of them are excluded from your blood. your teachers and friends brush you off as chasing a dream, but the children that aren't your friends beat you down. they laugh and point and call you crazy or stupid, because it's just not how any of that works.

it only took one shiner coming home from school for it to stop, and you suspect papa had something to do with it, but you can't confirm, and he won't talk about it. he does, however, teach you to utilize what you've got. he puts your fists up against himself, smiles big and cheesy when you land your first good punch into his palm. you get ice cream that night, and even mama looks proud of you.

that pride remains on their faces when you're sent to the principal's office for knockin' the lights out of tommy bucksley. he didn't learn his lesson in messing with you like the other kids, so you put him on his back at before-school recess in fifth grade with one solid punch. papa took you out to get whatever you wanted that morning when you got expelled, and mama was all pink and red faced when you came home with a little fluffball of orange and white and whiskers that papa jokingly called petunia junior. your cat never quite shook the name junior when it came to papa.

from then on out, mama and papa took turns homeschooling you, showing you everything you needed to know and teaching you some things you didn't think you needed along the way. you took up ballet like mama for a while, but your movements were too blocky, your steps to heavy. you were more suited to fighting, and papa loved that. he put you in any class he couldn't teach you himself that you asked for.

it's after the competition for kickboxing around your sixteenth birthday that he takes you out to sit by the beach by himself. he's so proud of you, and there's no doubt about it, not that there ever was. you remember that sunset so clearly.

you were drinking lemonade from a cart up the boardwalk, and he had one that went untouched the whole time you sat there in the sand, watching the sun crawl down. ten minutes into you sitting there, talking about your big plans for when you'd eventually move out and start your life on your own, papa sat up more, wrapped his arms around his knees and did something you've never seen before.

he cried.

it wasn't heavy, or dramatic or loud. you could see the red staining his face that he didn't bother to wipe away when he looked at you. you knew this wasn't how normal people cried. you knew it hurt him to do it. you leaned on him and wrapped your arms around his, waited for him to open up, if he was going to.

after the sun's finally gone down, he does.

your dad would be so proud of you, ricki. i just hope he's proud of me, too.