#//drabble or you can reply.

[technically-human]

Hi i'm absolutely in love with the reverse au!!

I want to know, in this verse does edwin still confesses to charles? if so how is it different? i feel if he did he would end it by apologizing, you know, religious guilt and all

There’s a train that goes through Hell.

Its journey starts in Wrath, and it departs already full of souls. It took Charles far too many years to realize that there were separate, more spacious wagons that demons could board. Not that he could understand why anyone, hellborn or not, would want to get into the damned thing. He certainly hadn’t.

Actually, Charles couldn’t recall ever boarding the train. As far as he could tell, he just appeared there one day, and had spent the next tortuous decades trying to get out. It was part of the torture. Getting out was entirely possible. More than that, it was necessary.

The train had no regular schedule that he could discern (not at first, though he had always been good at finding patterns, and was eventually able to crack it) but it would make quite a few stops before finally returning to the Wrath ring. Souls inside the train were already angry and far too close to each other (close, so close not even air could squeeze in) but when they got really violent was when the train made a stop.

Getting out didn’t mean you were free, no matter where you managed it, be it Sloth or Gluttony, Pride or Lust. No, as soon as the train finished its journey, you would appear back inside, in Wrath where you belonged, suffocating once again, getting ready to claw your way out for the millionth time.

Because if you didn’t get out, The Conductor would get you.

If he thought about it calmly, Charles could probably say that he got out of the train more times than not. Still, being caught by The Conductor once was bad enough, as there was no coal in Hell, and something had to serve as combustible. Souls could not burn to death, and the whole journey always felt longer than eternity when he was caught. Once it was over, he would be inside again, and fight with more desperation than before, not caring who stayed inside so long as it wasn’t him.

He couldn’t understand why anyone, hellborn or not, would want to get into the damned thing. He certainly hadn’t. But as the souls pushed and bit and clawed and punched their way out, Edwin boarded the train. And that wasn’t even the most groundbreaking revelation Charles had that day.

ko-fi

[nyoomerr]

wowwow drabble requests! if you've got time, it'd be fun to see some of binggeyuan daily life where sy realizes that bingge DEFINITELY knows how to do/can easily learn (insert mundane modern-day life skill) but he's playing it up and asking sy to teach him in order to babygirlify himself HAHA

once bingge accidentally stumbles on the benefits of being a pathetic soggy dog for his yuan-ge, he can't help but try and replicate the effect!!

---

Things have been… weird, recently, when it comes to Luo Binghe.

Not that there’s necessarily a ‘normal’ when it comes to demonic ex-emperors living in modern China, but before, it was at least an expected weird. A constant low-lying fear for his life, sort of weird. A constant, less subtle fear for his pride because Luo Binghe is living in his messy apartment, sort of weird.

But then - 

Listen, Shen Yuan really hadn’t meant to change things to this degree, okay! It had been completely accidental! If he knew Luo Binghe would start acting like this, he wouldn’t have - he wouldn’t have…

…No, he definitely would have. 

Faced with Luo Binghe’s face, damp from tears that he couldn’t swipe away fast enough and blotchy and red and ugly from the embarrassment - 

Faced with the small, panicked hitches of Luo Binghe’s breath, and the way his mouth had fallen slightly open to try and breath through the tears - 

Faced with the way Luo Binghe’s eyelashes had matted together and his lips had shone from the way he had nervously wet them with a perfectly pink tongue, and the way his skin had smelled like salt and fear and - 

Shen Yuan has to very forcibly dismiss the thought. He frequently has to dismiss the memory of Luo Binghe crying, the smell and feel and look of it burned into Shen Yuan’s very core and yet wildly distracting. 

And… other feelings. Other feelings that had led to that first time, where Luo Binghe had cried and Shen Yuan had stared at him, enraptured, until he’d done something utterly foolish that ended up turning Luo Binghe weird!

“Yuan-ge,” Luo Binghe whines. Shen Yuan steadfastly does not look at him. “Yuan-ge, I don’t know how to do this…”

If Shen Yuan doesn’t acknowledge it, it isn’t happening! Luo Binghe will not be so - so -!

“...Yuan-ge, I really don’t know…” Luo Binghe sniffles.

Fuck!! Shen Yuan thinks. I’ve done this!! I’ve turned him weird!! I’ve turned him - pathetic!!!

“It’s the dishwasher,” Shen Yuan grits out, still refusing to look. “You have definitely used the dishwasher before.”

“No,” Luo Binghe lies, “I’ve been washing things by hand because I didn’t trust your machine to get it right.”

“Then wash it by hand this time too,” Shen Yuan says mercilessly.

“...I cut my hand making dinner earlier, so the dish soap would sting.”

Shen Yuan turns to look at Luo Binghe, confused. “What? Can’t you just heal it -”

There’s a moment that seems to happen in slow motion: Shen Yuan catches Luo Binghe’s eyes, and they look very, very satisfied, in the dangerous way that a manipulative little bitch looks before getting you exactly where they want you. 

Caught you, that expression says.

And then Luo Binghe’s expression morphs into one that actually matches the whiney tone he’d been using, his eyes going wet and shiny and his lips pursing in a devastating pout. Shen Yuan… really never should have looked, no matter what lines Luo Binghe threw out!!

“Yuan-ge, come show me?” Luo Binghe simpers. 

Shen Yuan tries to look away. His gaze catches on the way Luo Binghe’s face is starting to turn a ruddy pink, and the perfect pearl of liquid pooling in the corner of one of his eyes. He fails to look away.

Still, he valiantly tries to resist. “...Just press the button, Binghe.”

“Which button? There’s - there’s so many, Yuan-ge…”

Shen Yuan swallows thickly. His mind is replaying the sound of Luo Binghe’s voice cracking over and over and over.

“The - the one that says ‘start,’ obviously, stop asking questions you already know the answer to -”

Luo Binghe sniffles. It’s an ugly wet snotty sound, and Shen Yuan should be grossed out by it and should be able to look away. 

Shen Yuan’s eyes follow the movement of a tear falling in a sad wet line down Luo Binghe’s cheeks instead, enraptured. 

Still, he manages to stay right where he is, not coming a step closer to Luo Binghe where he stands by the dishwasher. It’s a little late to fix this weirdness from Luo Binghe entirely, but - maybe it can be mitigated if Shen Yuan stops feeding into it!

There’s a moment of silence, the two of them only staring at each other. 

Then - Luo Binghe’s expression doesn’t change entirely, but there’s suddenly an edge to it that wasn’t there before. It doesn’t quite suit the pathetic, wet look he’d clearly been leaning into a moment prior, but - 

Shen Yuan swallows again uselessly. It suits Luo Binghe very, very well, looking clever and manipulative even as he cries.

“If I ask the question I really want to know the answer to, then,” Luo Binghe says slowly, sniffling for dramatic effect, “will you promise to answer it?”

Shen Yuan definitely should not agree. 

“Okay,” he agrees weakly.

“Then: how much more do I have to cry before Yuan-ge decides to top again tonight?” Luo Binghe asks sweetly, even as another tear slides down his face.

…Ah, fuck, Shen Yuan really went and messed up a perfectly good stallion protagonist!! 

[queenimmadolla]

After Penny & Wayne, shortly after the condom incident, she overhears you and eddie having sex so you leave that one for eddie to deal with.

inspired by the tiktoks of parents coming up with excuses for the noises and the slapping sounds 🙈

you guys are so freaking funny, a follow up to the condom incident lmao I'm calling this one

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖-𝐖-𝐄𝐬

(dad!eddie munson x mom!reader)

The question comes at breakfast, both Penny and Eddie are chowing down on cereal while Wayne plays with his food in his high chair, chewing too long on a soggy piece of waffle. Eddie’s  busy shoveling his sugary cereal down, eyes scanning over a potential contract Robin had already looked over for him. It’s nothing huge but it’s something, and you’ve been encouraging him to pursue music a little more, do something that makes him happier than tuning up cars–and he really does love it, it just gets annoying real fast; a side hobby he forced into a job. Took the enjoyment out of it. 

  Penny’s been staring at him all morning, glaring at him through her lashes with a firm scowl on her face. You’d noticed it when you got her up and ready, but she didn’t respond to your ‘why so glum, chum?’ with much enthusiasm, just pouted and you’d briefly been able to kiss it away. Then you’d sat her down for breakfast with her dad while you disappeared back to your bedroom to continue getting ready and the scowl returned. 

Eddie reaches for his coffee–also crammed with creamers and sugar–and just so happens to glance Penny’s way when he notices the death glare directed at him. He’s taken aback, leaning into his seat. 

  Neither of them say anything, just stare (in Penny’s case, glare) at each other. Eddie slowly reaches for his spoon, gathers the last bites of his cereal and is about to shovel it into his mouth just as you come out of your room, adjusting an earring and Penny grits out between her teeth. “Why. Did. You. Hurt. Mommy.”

  You frowned and so did Eddie, the both of you exchanging looks of confusion. “What are you talking about, Sweet Pea?” Eddie asks, popping the spoonful in his mouth. 

“I heard you hurting mommy in your room last night. She was crying and you told her she was a bad girl!” Eddie chokes, pounding on his chest with a closed fist as he attempts to dislodge the cereal he’d accidentally inhaled from his throat. You catch on pretty quickly to where this conversation is going so you start packing up your purse, lips pursed and just shy of a whistle to seem inconspicuous and not draw attention to yourself. Eddie coughes a couple more times, having finally swallowed his cereal and beat death. He was panting from the exertion and rush of it, eyes wide in horror, “WHAT?!” “Mommy is not a bad girl! Mommy is good! Mommy is a good mommy and you better stop being mean to her and hurting her or–or–or else!” The five year old packs a surprisingly large amount of malice in the threat, pointing her spoon at her dad menacingly. You barely manage to keep yourself from laughing, rolling your lips as you move around the table to kiss Penny and Wayne’s curly heads. 

“OKAY! Mama’s gotta go to work. I’ll see you two later, okay? I love you so much!” 

Eddie’s staring at you, mouth dropped open with a glint of amusement in his eyes. You’re not really gonna leave him with this conversation, right? Right? Baby? You lean over the table to press a kiss to his lips, it’s firm and briefly distracts Eddie until you pull just a little aways, red lips curling into a smirk as you whisper, “Have fun.”

Then you practically run out the door, leaving him flabbergasted, a little turned on, and at the mercy of a five year old who’d accidentally overheard the two of you going at it the previous night and was demanding an explanation. 

  See, this is why he didn’t regret giving it to you that hard. You were, indeed, a bad girl. And you’d be getting it later. “WELL–UH?” Penny snapped and Eddie closed his eyes, tilting his head up to the ceiling. 

“Okay, Sweet pea. I wasn’t hurting your mom,” If he was hurting you, it was a good hurt. You’d made that clear. “Uh, we just…we play pretend.”

Penny’s unamused stare and pout on her lips conveyed her disbelief in his explanation and he sighed, running his hands over his face as he prepared for the dreadful conversation.

“Alright, kid. When a daddy and mommy love each other, they like to wrestle.”

  “Like on TVs?” “Yeah. And because your dad is super cool and the best wrestler your mom has ever been with–I mean, gone up against, she tries to do that thing where she fakes being hurt so I let my guard down and she can tackle me, get the upper hand.” “Oh,” Is all Penny says, eyebrows unpinching as she purses her lips making them duck like. “Did she get you?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, tip of his tongue swirling around his canine tooth, “Towards the end, yeah. She pinned me pretty good.” Yeah, you were so gonna get it. You'd be . . . brawling tonight and there was no way he'd be letting you up.

[limitlesses]

'𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓, 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔?' 𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 -- 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐂𝐑𝐘, 𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 ---- 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔, 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔, 𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐒𝐄 𝐏𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐓... 𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐈𝐏 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐔 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐈𝐌, 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋... he mourned and he mourned and he wanted to go back in time to deny this thing the chance to wrap its claws around his Suguru.

Were it not for the binding forces of the awakened and activated Prison Realm nullifying all of his enormity and power... Satoru would've done away with the stain here and now, wipe them out of existence with a swiftness that'd only be followed by more reawakened grief. But he'd mourn the ashen leftovers, yes, that'd be far better than letting this terrible fate befall his lover's body.

Satoru flexed his fingers the miniscule amount he was allowed to move them, wrists bound behind him, brought to his knees by such an insidious trick. He couldn't've been defeated any other way, he mused with a wry acknowledgement. Ultimately... this was deserved, to be undone by Suguru like this. It had to be him.

He could make a shred of peace with that, knowing that he... -- it was always him, yes -- he'd accept his fate if it was by his hand, no matter how indirectly.

But then that hand flew to Suguru's own neck. Suguru. Suguru was choking himself, cutting off Kenjaku's flaunt and gloating mid-sentence, grip so bruisingly tight for a moment Satoru feared he'd snap his own windpipe. Satoru felt a nauseating amount of hope well up in his throat. He almost couldn't choke out the next word -- spoken in a far less challenging air, one that was quiet and brimming with disbelief and welling emotions he thought he buried, a freshly healed wound of one year reopening in seconds -- bleeding, weeping ---- tears abruptly blurred his vision. Oh, Suguru, you're still in there ----

❝ -- Suguru? ❞ He spoke softly, gently, lacking the entirety of his prior bite. This wasn't Kenjaku looking back at him anymore, he recognized the shift in demeanor, albeit frazzled, strained, fighting to break through and winning ---- of course he was winning, THEY WERE THE STRONGEST ----

But the Prison Realm's walls began to close in, tears streaming down his cheeks and dripping onto the floor as he sucked in a breath in realization -- it was going to begin eclipsing his glassy vision soon enough ---- he had seconds, seconds to reunite, to ----

❝ ---- it's okay -- you're okay, you're back. I knew you were ---- in there, somewhere, and -- Suguru, I -- I'm so sorry, it's not your -- it's not your fau ------ ❞

Snapping shut, the darkness of the Prison Realm swallowed Satoru whole.

@svgurugeto's overridden Kenjaku au.

[heterochromatica]

Problem solving is not his strongest suit or at least that's what he thinks of himself most of the time. Even as a pro-hero. Thankfully when emergencíes arise Shoto is equipped with admittedly incredible reflexes and reliable gut-feelings on how to deal with it.

With a swoop of his arm and a stomp on the ground the road ahead of him turns into a solid crystalline surface and the temperature around them drops several degrees, his icy breath forming small puffs of frozen air as he closes in on them. This was the chance he had been waiting for. Chasing a car until they took a turn where he could finally get ahead and block their path. Frozen spikes, crawling up the skyscrapers, covering up the road, blocking the gaps between the buildings, creeping over the paths, the streetlamps, the sidewalks.

He's learned to control his quirk well enough to avoid any human beings in it's path when applying it to such a large area, but that did cost him a lot of energy. Well, up and downsides.

Now that the villains way of escape is blocked, they will have to either face him together or scatter and try to run for the hills, first and foremost they will have to exist their car and as if on cue, they do. The doors fly open and people pile out. Their vehicle is uselessly stuck in ice now.

They are many and he's alone but he's handled less fortunate situations. He's not a teenager anymore, he knows how to fight at a disadvantage for as long as necessary. He's already called for back-up too, but he doesn't know how long it's gonna take for anyone to reach him in this urban canyon with people panicking in a stormy ocean of screaming faces, crying and yelling. Shoto has to take it all in, consider it carefully, trying to think ahead. The thing he's most worried about, is people getting caught in the crossfire, he will have to avoid that at all costs.

[thedomesticanthropologist]

NSFW drabble- Gale x You

Gale would wake you up a little early, but make up for it with a hot cup of your favorite coffee/tea set down beside you

Followed by full body rubs from your shoulders to your feet as you slowly rotate and slide out of bed, enchanted by the smell of your morning treat

He pauses you half off the bed and bends you back over. The massages turn into him making love to you slowly as you rest with your head in the sheets, him moving inside you from behind

The room full of soft gasps and sighs, he's attentive to every sound you make- this is for you, for him, for both of you. He finishes first, pulling out like a gentleman because this is the early morning, he wants to make sure you don't have to clean yourself up.

In a moment he's on his knees at the edge of the bed, licking every trace of his own spill from your skin as he works his fingers inside of you, pulling you close rand closer to the edge. It's unhurried, unrushed. You're still waking up, blinking and arching and enjoying every second.

The heat coiling slowly within you builds to a heady crescendo as the wizards tongue joins his fingers and he rides out every contraction, twitch, and shiver until he is completely satisfied that he's wrong every second of pleasure from your body.

A warm, damp cloth tidies you as you yawn, followed by a dry one patting away any evidence of damp.

"mmm, is my... drink still warm...?" You murmur, standing finally with a languid stretch. Turning, you're faced with a smirking wizard whose hands briefly glow around the mug, causing it to steam anew.

"Of course it is, my love."

[my-ohh-mai]

Her mun DID indeed humiliate her. Mai was like a puppet on strings, her mouth opening to sound out the two, forbidden, syllables. Dad-dy. No better than a captive Pinnochio that simply just could not lie.

"Happy birthday, Daddy!" Mai said in front of everyone on the dash, publicly humiliating herself. Her creator has written it so; in her very code. This cannot be undone. The clinking of strings pulling her wooden limbs about, jingling faintly. She is into the controversial "k1nk", and there is absolutely nothing she can do about it.

"No..." Mai cries through gritted teeth, blushing feverishly at the fact that everyone knows, including Kaiba himself !

Cue the lewd, power play thoughts that she reveals to no one because of tumblr restrictions.

For: @kneel-to-seto-kaiba 🎂

[angie-long-legs]

This isn't fucking working.

Angel had done what he was supposed to. He had opened up by telling Husk how he was feeling and allowed himself to be seen. He had written down all his stupid, ugly thoughts and torn the page to pieces. He even tried those dumb grounding strategies Charlie had recommended: he slowed and steadied his breathing, he stretched his body and splashed his face with cold water. And when none of that worked, he cried, he threw things, he punched his mattress and screamed into his pillow.

He didn't touch the stash he had hidden under the floorboards. He didn't head to a club to spend the night dancing in a drugged-up daze, he didn't go out looking to forget his problems in someone else's bed. He didn't hit up Val in the hopes that the moth was in the mood to dote on him, to give him a sweet fix of validation that always hinted at healing the hole in his heart.

He did everything right.

And yet, when Angel lay down on his bed in the early hours of the morning, the feeling remained. That gnawing sensation that churned his guts - the ache he knew so intimately, as though it were family. It twisted and stroked and squeezed, omnipresent and unrelenting.

It was unbearable.

What the fuck was the point in all this? Why try to do it right when it didn't make a damn bit of difference?

Utterly exasperated, the spider tossed and turned, cursing the futility of his efforts. He had never bothered to make better habits before the hotel became his home, he didn't care that his behaviours were self-destructive because he didn't care about himself. But now, he had people who did. People worth trying for.

But was it worth this? This raw, screaming pain that refused to budge, no matter how many good intentions Angel threw at it?

This is fucking useless.

Resentful, Angel scorned those he was trying to clean up his act for. Why shouldn't he get high to numb this misery? Didn't he deserve a little relief? Did his friends want him to suffer? Why did they want him to do all this self-help bullshit if it didn't do jack shit?

In a last-ditch effort to drown himself out, Angel reached for his phone and selected a playlist of suitably intense dance music, turning the volume up as loud as it would go before switching off his lamp and curling up into a ball. This would have to do. This would fill up the empty crevices in his mind where the darkness crept in.

This was as good as he could get.

[raitrolling]

my greatest achievement... getting someone who does not give a fuck about sports to care about my favourite sport......

but thank u for reading and loving my extremely niche series of drabbles :] im glad my love for fast cars translated into something that was actually fun to read for more than just myself LMAO

[crowncursed]

The door opened in front of him. She sauntered into the room with a laugh as he pushed himself back against the wall as much as he could, holding the knife out in her direction. Despite the blindfold, he could feel the weight of her gaze.

"Drop the knife, Simon."

His grip tightens on the weapon as his hands shake.

"You're making this harder than it needs to be."

In an instant, she's right beside him, practically breathing in his ear. He yelps and swings the knife, but she catches his wrist with one hand. The other has the blindfold.

"You will submit your will to me..."

Her voice echoes in his mind. Go, get me blood. Now.

[lighthouseborn]

  Henry’s relationship with his dreams veered in a similar pattern to his ongoing battle with his impulses. Some days he managed them well, and never so much as flicked a little piece of paper at his friend while they were talking. Others, he jumped into the channel even though there were drifts of snow two feet tall upon the bank. And so, some nights he thought nothing of them. They came as vivid parades of nonsense, and turned to naught but smoke or the vague sense of seeing an old friend when he woke. Others he sank straight to the far edges of pain.

  Agony, maybe, was the better word for it. (If he wasn’t saving that one for something that truly seemed it could get no worse.) All-encompassing for the way it bubbled out of him, pulling out of the very middle of him, where it teetered on the brink of ripping something vital right out. It’s the first and only thing to exist, like it was waiting for him. Then he heard her.

  “Henry! Henry!” dotted with high whines and the patter of paws on the ground. Lektra.

  He discovered himself, then, laying face down on cold, smooth stone. The fabricated kind, devoid of any natural character or merit. It was just hard. Cold. Henry, driven by his dæmon’s anxious fussing, found it I himself to lift his head and open his eyes. The sight forced understanding.

  Steel bars surrounded him, and the heart of his heart was some number of meters away, similarly caged, pacing and whining. Some sort of amphitheater surrounded them, equipped to seat hundreds, though for what purpose he could not imagine. It did not matter at all- he focused on pushing himself up onto his arms. Dragging himself forward. Pressing himself at the gaps between the bars as if there was any hope at all of fitting through them. Even with his shoulder as far out between the bars as he could get it, reaching toward her, they were too far apart. The pain eased only as far as resetting a broken bone put it a millimeter closer to rightness, but did not undo the harm; the idea –the feeling– of a cord pulled nearly to breaking remained.

  Any further from each other and it’d tear.

  “We’re alright,” he said anyhow, voice echoing across the empty void between them, “hey- hey. It’s alright.” Lektra whined again, but stopped pacing. The bars surrounding her were the same as his, as thick around as to squelch all notions of bending them even with the strongest of arms, only lined with a double layer of mesh sealed to the metal, as if expecting the chance of smaller occupants who might slip through the thicker gaps. Henry got the sense that she would have pressed herself against it, fur poking through the little holes, except that would mean she was unable to keep both eyes on him. His eyes welled. He sniffed sharply and reached as far as he could, fingers straining toward her. We’ll be alright.

  From the shadows at the edge of the empty plain stepped a woman. She wore dark robes and darker makeup, her body concealed and her face painted into a mask of sorrow so great it seemed mocking. The eyes were too down turned, the mouth twisted and wild. She approached the middle of everything. Not quickly, but not tarrying. Dutiful, one might say. When she stood just before the imaginary line Henry had reached out along, the one drawing him to Lektra, the woman stopped. She looked at Henry. Her pale eyes were like the stone beneath him. She looked to Lektra. The dæmon ducked down, her head well below her shoulders.

  In a flourish of sleeves rustling and whipping through the air, the woman produced a blade. She held it high aloft, so that the light caught its edge, making it ripple like silver fire. The sight of it alone instilled in Henry a sense of dread so visceral he flinched. Across from him, so far away, Elektryona bared her teeth in a silent snarl. She liked it even less than he did. But why? It was only a little knife, why should they fear it so? But the question did not come to mouth, or reach the air.

  The woman began to speak in a language that had no words. The sounds twisted and danced like hurricane winds, ripping through the air, howling and moaning in shapes that were almost familiar. That Henry almost believed he understood, if he could just listen a little better, but the effort escaped him. Like he’d forgotten how. The woman swayed as she spoke, the long tendrils of her dark hair brushing the ground. Then she stopped. Stopped swaying, stopped speaking. She even seemed to stop breathing. She slowly extended her arm, the knife gripped just-so, and drew the blade down… and down… she stopped at a height roughly around what would be the lowest of Henry's ribs when he was standing. Then, in the air between Henry and Lektra, she made a cutting motion.

  Henry almost laughed. It was such a strange act of pantomime so far from anything flesh and blood, so mundane after the sense of arcane profanity her formless speech and wild swaying brought on. Then he felt it catch.

  So small. Like the barest of misses while learning to cook with his mother, a little too eager at cutting root vegetables for the first time with young, unpracticed hands. So brief. So shallow. And yet this ran all through him in shudder, jarring loose a soft cry of shock and fear. Worst of all was the yelp that sounded in exactly the same moment as Henry’s cry. Their eyes met: soul and body staring in turn at all that belonged to them. Then the woman gestured again, and this time struck true, sawing at the bond stretched thin between them.

  A cry of anguish split the air. Elektryona howled.

  Henry surfaced with the same lack of effort it had taken him to sink. One moment here, the next there; now back again with all due confusion as to where he truly was and how he’d gotten there. The only clear thing, in this new place where he lay on his back instead of his front, was the weight of a wiggly, furry body on his chest, wedging herself under his arms.

  “I tried to wake you.”

  He lifted his arms enough to let her near, paws poking into his shoulder and elbows sharp against his ribs. Her golden fur felt like silk under his hands. No bars or mesh between them.

  “I heard you,” Henry said, “I heard. I just- I didn’t know that’s.. what it was.” The only bit of speaking that had made any sense: Elektryona calling to him. His answer.

  “We’re alright,” she promised, pushing her nose up alongside his cheek. She licked at the tears sliding back across his temples.

  Henry could not respond. He was thinking, still, of silver flame blades and heart-rending howls. It was a noise he’d never heard her make before or since. Perhaps because it matched that and only that feeling.

  Being torn apart.

  He drew her tightly to his chest. Counter-intuitively, the crush made it easier to breathe.

[ulirblood]

The most intangible things take the longest to prepare.

Even as the date approaches, even with all of his practice under Lady Deirdre's tutelage, as diligent as his practice with the bow had been all his life, Andrei remains unsure of his decision. It would be easier, he knows, to simply acquire a trinket with his limited funds, as he had the previous year. There would be no chance of failure, and Edain would accept it, would appreciate it, would find it meaningful.

(After all, she expects so little of you that anything you have to offer would be a pleasant surprise.)

But it wouldn't have been as meaningful, not to him. He'd known what he'd wanted to do, had known ever since his ill-fated return to Jugdral had been a failure. If he cannot be allowed to rectify his mistakes... he would at least attempt something truly right and good, for once. Even at the risk of Edain not quite understanding the significance of such a gesture, coming from him, it is something he needs to do.

And so it is with this conviction that he seeks her out. "There's... something I'd been practicing, that I wanted to show you," he says, the only explanation he gives before reaching out with palm up, a silent gesture for her to take his hand. Should she comply, Edain would find her brother's fingers, slightly cold to the touch as usual, closing over hers. A beat of silence, then—

Warmth, and a soft, white glow, blooming over her hand.

It's easier to cast a Heal spell without the presence of a physical wound. It's what beginners are set to practice, over and over, until they are deemed ready to work their magic on living beings needing treatment. For all intents and purposes, this is not a difficult task for Andrei, who had worked tirelessly to master the spell in the lessons given to him. Still, his expression holds the same utter concentration as when he'd shot his first arrow, under Brigid's watchful eyes.

(This is important, so he cannot fail. A sentiment unchanged across time and circumstance, for better or for worse.)

The light finally dissipates. Andrei squeezes Edain's hand, his own still warm from the lingering magic. A small, inadequate repayment for the kindness she'd given him since their reunion, but an earnest attempt all the same.

"It's not really much of a present, but..." he trails off. It's not a present, but at the same time, it's what he'd wanted to show her. That she'd left a mark on him, one as potent as that of Lady Sister Brigid, though he'd been blind to it nearly all his life. That he sees her, that he'd always seen her, as important, even if he'd tried his hardest to convince her — and himself — otherwise. That her faith in him isn't completely in vain, despite how much he might stumble.

That he would choose to take her hand, as long as she is still willing to extend it to him.

"...Happy birthday, sister."

once upon a time her brother had berated her at the thought of her becoming a priestess. there wasn’t anything to be had in nunhood, he would have scoffed a long time ago. how would they find lady sister if not as a bow knight of the beige ritter?

and she had subscribed to that idea too, for a long while— for longer than she should have, perhaps. she’d grown up dreaming of becoming an esteemed knight of the beige ritter— with no mark of ullr, there should be nothing else for her. yet she learned the role of the priestess, ones who did not hurt but healed. women and men serving bragi and the crusaders and using that faith to help the people around them. she was never the religious sort beyond her appreciation for her ancestor and crusader ullr. yet still, edain knew she wanted to be part of that. andrei at that time would still have insisted that the bow is the only path for them.

but maybe, just perhaps, what if ullr was telling her to follow her heart?

it was those few gran that she spent in agony, constantly wondering if the bow was how she wanted to help people. if the bow was the only way that she would ever see her twin sister, or if there was some other way that they would be reunited. 

that’s why she remembers far too vividly andrei’s confession of hatred after she had said she would go into nunhood and become a priestess. he’d accused her of giving up— as if such a thing was ever possible for lady edain of yngvi.  the announcement had ended up in tears and their separation, with andrei telling her that he hated her.

she remembered that moment for a long long time, could never quite get rid of that memory forever. with time she had managed to justify the memory— they were both kids with a lost sibling people were giving up on finding, how could they ever have been expected to communicate properly? the maturity was not there. their decisions were informed by the trauma of losing their dearest sister. all sorts of little statements to herself as if to keep herself sane.

but still, it stuck in her mind despite her best efforts to not let it affect her emotional health. it wasn’t until she met up with him in fodlan after belhalla that she had finally gotten closure on that relationship. he had never said it out loud, but she knew that her brother had really loved her the entire time. first it had been the way he had said he didn’t hate her— and then it had been his recurring presence now for her birthday. little things that had her believing he loves her that added up over the last few gran.

it is safe to say that their relationship is doing far better now than it was doing only ten gran ago. still, she does not expect him to ever take interest in her faith and her profession— and that she would never blame him for. she recognized how different it was from their ancestor’s way of handling things, after all. how different it was for a yngvi to go into healing, of all things. even her sisters of nunhood had scoffed at the idea of a noble princess like herself becoming a priestess until she proved herself to them.

so when he takes her hands and tells her there is something he wants to show her, she does not know what to expect. she looks down, larger more calloused hand embracing her own soft and dainty one. the warmth of a heal spell does not quite hit her right away.

but when it does, her eyes widen in surprise. she looks up to see the concentrated expression on andrei’s face. the very same one she used to see at the training grounds in the duchy of yngvi when he would pull the string of his bow back. “andrei…” she whispers his name in disbelief in the brief silence between the two of them. it’s not really much of a present, he says.

he could not be more wrong. “you…” she swallows and looks down at the ground, shaking her head as she feels tears forming in the corner of her eyes. “you idiot. this means the world to me.”  did he know what this really represented for her?

it was once again more evidence that he loves her, but this piece larger than anything she’s seen from him before. a reminder that she was seen for what she believes in and a reminder that she was not the only one putting effort into their relationship. 

“thank you.” she sniffles briefly, pulling her hand away and moving in closer to hug him tight and bury her head into his  shoulder. she did not even stop to think where he’d learned this from, only the meaning behind it all. “this is the best present you could have given me, brother.”

[katikis]

Blood sprouts freely from chapped lips, red roses blooming in waterfalls down their chin and forming crimson lakes under what's left of them.

"Ah... Fuck..."

Somehow, it all had mostly gone exactly as they expected. It showed just how helpless they were, the fact even knowing beforehand didn't do anything for them. Because what could they do? Sukuna had been smart, even beyond Ten Shadows, he had picked the one person Satoru could never kill, no matter what he needed to do.

"...Gumi...Megumi..."

Once again, they had not been able to do what was expected of them, what was necessary. Once again they had failed. They had always feared this, that eventually they would do the same mistake they did with Suguru once again, but they didn't expect it to manifest this way. They promised themself they would never love again like they loved him, strange to the fact there are many kinds of love, just as strong.

Romantic love stopped them from killing Suguru back then, and now familial love stopped him from killing Sukuna, dooming the world, and Megumi himself.

"I'm sorry... forgive me... please..."

Bright blue is glassy, eyelids barely open as watching him, barely focusing enough as to make out the figure. And yet, there's still a slow, soft smile, that makes its way to their lips, resigned, but fond.

"I couldn't ever be... a father... or mother.... but you're still... my son..."

At the end, even with all their power they still couldn't save anyone. They could never be enough.

"I love you... never forget that..."

"..."

".."

"."

[nonhumen]

it's a victory for the mafia. with the permit validating their activities, it should be cause for celebration. but the air in old world was the farthest thing from jovial. every day for almost a week, dazai sat at the bar staring into an untouched glass of whisky. the sound of pool is quiet in the distance as the flags watch over their youngest member helplessly. any attempts to console or cheer up dazai had died on the first day when it was clear that their usual antics would not pull the executive from his mood. but they still watched over him all the same -- better in here than finding his corpse floating down the river.

the night chuuya comes back from his trip overseas, dazai is absent from the pool hall. he stands in front of a single unmarked grave that hadn't been here a week ago. the sun sets behind him, painting the sky in deep reds as if the very heavens know what dazai intends to do. the gates of hell have been opened. a new demon king will be born tonight. he stares at his phone, the yet-unsent text to chuuya burning into his iris. having dinner with the boss tonight. come to hq.

there is still time to back out, to close the phone and go back to old world. but then, there would be no point. he would continue to be a wandering soul aimlessly traversing the darkness. the moment odasaku died in his arms, there was only one way forward. the digital clock on his phone changes to the top of the hour. chuuya should be just getting off the plane at this point. thumb hovers over the button for a single, extra moment before he hits send.

he rides the elevator alone. it's twilight now, yokohama's nightlife starting to shimmer below him. and then there is darkness save for the low light of the headquarters' upper levels. chuuya is waiting for him outside the dining hall. if he says anything, dazai doesn't hear it. there is only one thing he's focused on. the executive pushes open the doors to reveal the long table adorned with an assortment of food. and at the far end of it is him.

the dinner goes smoothly. mori and dazai speak of upcoming operations. chuuya talks about how his mission went. dazai and chuuya end up arguing as they always do. it was productive, normal, even. and then it was time for dessert. dazai stares off as the entrees are replaced with cakes and pudding. " you should have opened the windows, mori-san, " dazai murmurs. " you can see the moonlight on the water from the full moon. " he speaks the code language he shares with chuuya. it's a trap. that should be enough to make chuuya cautious, though he will find out whose trap it is with everyone else.

dazai watches the dessert wine be poured with a sigh. eyes flick from the glass to chuuya for a split second before auburn gaze is staring into the red liquid. mori tries to reassure dazai that this is not a wine chuuya picked before any more quips can fall from the teen's lips. " fine, fine, " he all but huffs as he takes the glass and drinks it. out of the corner of his eye, he sees mori do the same.

it doesn't happen instantly. dazai is in the process of grabbing himself a small slice of cake when he hears the sound of a fork clatter onto the floor. he turns his head to see mori stalk still with a pale face and wide eyes. his twitches as if he were locked in a cage of his own body. " what's wrong, boss? " those violet eyes zero in on dazai as elise appears, rushing forward to strike the executive with intent to kill. but she disappears as soon as her syringes touch him. dazai stands, his one eye burning with the very color of hell. " what's wrong, boss? " elise appears again, but this time goes directly for chuuya.

but she disappears before she can even reach him. dazai has his hand on mori's arm to nullify vitae sexualis. " ah, now you understand what's wrong, don't you, mori-san? " a low, smooth voice comes from the human-shaped thing that calls itself dazai. there is a smile on his face as he moves to sit on the table in front of the boss. " i'm sure you've already figured out what was in the wine. a simple paralysis drug from your very own stock. after all, it's one of your favorites to use on your patients. " dazai raises his hand, showing how his fingers twitch before they curl into a fist. " i've built up quite the tolerance to it, thanks to you, but it seems that just that small bit was enough to paralyze you completely. "

he leans down, reaching into mori's coat to pull out one of the scalpels he keeps on hand at all times. dazai leans back, holding the blade up to watch the candlelight dance across its smooth surface. " tell me, mori-san, if i were to look at your will, would i be in it? did you truly give me everything? " in the half-light of the room, staring at dazai's silhouette is like staring into the very void itself. " well, you of all people know that it doesn't really matter, in the end. "

arm extends to hold the blade out against mori's neck. " you taught me a very important lesson last week. " he once again leans in close, pressing the scalpel against the carotid artery. " for the good of the organization, everyone is expendable. " this cannot continue. " even you, boss. " he flicks his wrist and the blade cuts cleanly through the artery. blood sprays, covering dazai's face. it stains the white tablecloth and red carpet. he watches the last moments of his father's life leak out of him before everything is silent.

dazai sits up slowly. " he knew this would happen. " mori holds a smile on his face, even if death. " he knew i would one day put a knife to his throat and take his position for myself. i suspect it would have been a couple of years from but he sped up the time table himself by killing odasaku. " blood soaks the bandages on his face, making them heavy. dazai reaches up and pulls the now-crimson cloth from his head. " now then, chuuya, will you kill me and avenge the death of mori ougai? " he turns to face his partner, eyes holding a depth of darkness so monstrous that is looks like grief.

and it is sad. it is so very sad. because on the face of a demon are hot tears cutting through the blood upon pale skin. " or will you protect the new boss of the port mafia? " / @chaosbled

[imprvdente]

@collidingxworlds sent: 😘 [[ Abigail & FBI Fish? :3 ]] from: Send 😘 to kiss my muse.

Abigail and Fish were standing by Fish's front door, hovering there with the awkwardness one could feel at the end of a date, when it was time to either part ways or... go inside.

It had been a very good date. So far, every date with Abigail was a very good date. Fish wasn't used to her romantic life going so well, since usually most of her partners got tired of her career (and dedication to it) very fast. But it seemed no last-minute cancellation and no "I'm sorry I have to go, work thing" could deter the cute cook. It was even more impressive that Fish was currently working on a gruesome new case that was taking up most of her time.

"Do you wanna go inside?"

And so, the rest of the evening was sealed. Invited inside, Abigail was quick to take advantage of the offer and all it entailed, pressing Fish against the wall to kiss her. It wasn't their first kiss, but it was their first kiss inside of Fish's apartment, a fact that held many promises. Obviously, she kissed her back.

The embrace was hungry and impatient. Fish's hands had already started exploring Abigail's back, sliding under her shirt. When their lips parted, she asked in a short breath: "want a drink?" hoping of course, Abigail would say no.

[thekoopacosmetologist]

“I know I’m a little late with this, but... Happy Pride, everyone! Many of us here at Shelly’s Salon and Koopa Kutz are part of the LGBT community - yours truly included - and we fully support being who you want to be and loving who you want to love. For those looking to be loud and proud, we have a special deal this month just for you: When getting a dye job, you can pick three colors for the price of one! Perfect for folks who want to show their Pride Colors in the flashiest way possible, right?”

“And for those of you who are still exploring who you are, we have something for you, too. If you’re just coming out and trying to find a new look that reaffirms who you really are, we will be more than happy to help with a special discounted makeover package. And that’s not just for this month - that offer is always available, because not everyone is ready to come out during Pride.

“Whether or not you take us up on any of these offers, always remember: It doesn’t matter who you are or who you love, whether you live here in the Mushroom Kingdom or elsewhere. You are wanted. You belong. Happy Pride.”