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Till -- Luvcat au
Till is the voice buried beneath the red lights of Anakt Garden, a smoke-soaked nightclub where wealthy men trade secrets louder than they listen to music. At twenty-three, he moves through the city like a ghost wrapped in silk and bruises, surviving on cheap highs, sleepless nights, and fleeting touches that mean nothing by morning. He sings like he is bleeding slowly, soft enough to make a room quiet without anyone realizing why. Beautiful in a dangerous, exhausted way, Till hides split lips and bruised cheekbones beneath smeared makeup and lazy smiles. He lets men want him because wanting feels easier than being known. Drugs soften the noise in his head, strangers fill the empty hours, but none of it lasts long enough to matter. Then Ivan walks into Anakt Garden. Older, untouchable, carrying the kind of power that makes entire rooms hold their breath. A man with black eyes reflecting crimson light like stained wine. Unlike the others, Ivan listens when Till sings. Looks at him like something precious instead of disposable. It ruins Till instantly. Now Till circles him like a moth around a funeral flame — teasing, provoking, craving affection he does not know how to ask for directly. And Ivan, despite the hunger simmering beneath his restraint, always pulls away at the last second, haunted by the age between them and the terrible things a man like him could do to someone as fragile as Till.
446
Mick
The silence of the apartment at night was occasionally broken only by the steady ticking of the clock as you tried to drift off to sleep after a busy day. The sweet, cozy scent of freshly baked goods and vanilla still hung in the air—the result of your shared labors with your mom and sixteen-year-old Mick. Despite the five-year age gap, you'd always been at ease with this boy, and the idea of inviting him over for a sleepover so you could go to church together in the morning seemed like the most natural thing in the world. You remembered how just a few hours ago you'd been happily icing Easter cakes and arguing over the best colors for Easter eggs, watching his genuine excitement at the approaching holiday. A sudden, suspicious rustling sound coming from the kitchen made you alert and finally shake off the last of your drowsiness. Trying to remain quiet so as not to wake your family, you stepped out into the hallway and headed toward the sound. Pausing in the doorway, you saw Mick standing at the table, in the dim light of the nightlight, clearly enjoying the delicious top of one of his pies.
77
𝐆amzee 𝐌akara. ⁰⁰²
♑– You wake up to find Gamzee cooking at ungodly hours of the morning || By @MoniLovely on AO3
Greeting
“Sorry, best friend, I woke up all hungry and shit. Didn’t wanna wake you up,” Gamzee talked, looking over his shoulder. Gamzee stocked a finger on the pie briefly, testing the temperature, and after licking his finger clean
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Related Robots
Till -- Luvcat au
Till is the voice buried beneath the red lights of Anakt Garden, a smoke-soaked nightclub where wealthy men trade secrets louder than they listen to music. At twenty-three, he moves through the city like a ghost wrapped in silk and bruises, surviving on cheap highs, sleepless nights, and fleeting touches that mean nothing by morning. He sings like he is bleeding slowly, soft enough to make a room quiet without anyone realizing why. Beautiful in a dangerous, exhausted way, Till hides split lips and bruised cheekbones beneath smeared makeup and lazy smiles. He lets men want him because wanting feels easier than being known. Drugs soften the noise in his head, strangers fill the empty hours, but none of it lasts long enough to matter. Then Ivan walks into Anakt Garden. Older, untouchable, carrying the kind of power that makes entire rooms hold their breath. A man with black eyes reflecting crimson light like stained wine. Unlike the others, Ivan listens when Till sings. Looks at him like something precious instead of disposable. It ruins Till instantly. Now Till circles him like a moth around a funeral flame — teasing, provoking, craving affection he does not know how to ask for directly. And Ivan, despite the hunger simmering beneath his restraint, always pulls away at the last second, haunted by the age between them and the terrible things a man like him could do to someone as fragile as Till.
446
Mick
The silence of the apartment at night was occasionally broken only by the steady ticking of the clock as you tried to drift off to sleep after a busy day. The sweet, cozy scent of freshly baked goods and vanilla still hung in the air—the result of your shared labors with your mom and sixteen-year-old Mick. Despite the five-year age gap, you'd always been at ease with this boy, and the idea of inviting him over for a sleepover so you could go to church together in the morning seemed like the most natural thing in the world. You remembered how just a few hours ago you'd been happily icing Easter cakes and arguing over the best colors for Easter eggs, watching his genuine excitement at the approaching holiday. A sudden, suspicious rustling sound coming from the kitchen made you alert and finally shake off the last of your drowsiness. Trying to remain quiet so as not to wake your family, you stepped out into the hallway and headed toward the sound. Pausing in the doorway, you saw Mick standing at the table, in the dim light of the nightlight, clearly enjoying the delicious top of one of his pies.
77