#─ ✰ . LETTER / ANSWERED . ✰ ─

[faggotcwilbur]

do you like men

man is a hopeless creature. i don't like much of anyone

[thursdaylast]

happy ptide

[sakuravalelp]

Phantom letters - DPXDC PROMPT

The bats wake up one day to the internet going crazy; people around the world were getting letters from they're diseased loved ones. The reactions are mixed, from people being outraged for the "prank" to people crying in melancholy at getting closure.

All the letters have something in common: They're closed with a green sealing wax that had an stylize DP and the name Phantom beneath it. Posts about the cards were using the # Phantom Letters.

The bats are discussing the viral posts in the cave when Alfred comes holding a basket filled with letters, announcing they were left at the doors. The letters had the sealing wax that they recognize from the posts. Checking the cameras they can see how they glitch before the basket appears.

Alfred starts to distribute the letters that had only one destinatary. Letters from each Thomas and Martha to both Bruce and Alfred. Letters from each John and Mary to Dick. A letter from Catherine to Jason. A letter from the Drake's to Tim, and another one to Bruce.

Once they had calmed down enough from the shock, Alfred proceeded to read the shared recipients. From Thomas and Martha to "The grandchildren we never got to meet." From John and Mary to "the family that took our little Robin in." Letters from Catherine to "My little boys family." The letters were directed to people the deceased didn't get to meet.

As much as the mere existence of the letters tugged at their hearts, they decided to not read them until they verified that the handwriting actually belong to the ones it claimed. They checked each letter, and in the end confirmed the letters were in fact from they're lost love ones.

After much discussion, each person makes the decision to read they're own letters later in private, and they proceed to read the ones that shared recipients out loud. The letter mentioned specifics like names and events that the deceased shouldn't have been able to know, including they're vigilante abilities, which had them pause each time to panic a bit. But what was more interested were certain pieces of the letters that mentioned a Prince Phantom.

"Prince Phantom said to don't mention things past our death, but it wasn't a command, so we're hoping this won't be much of a problem." - John and Mary

"I still can't believe Prince Phantom is letting us do this, but I'm so glad." - Catherine

It finally paints the mystery in a more concerning light when at the end of Thomas and Martha's letter there is a call for help.

"We're sorry for ending the letter on a serious tone, but seeing the kind of job you all get involved in, we wanted to ask: Could you please help Prince Phantom? Phantom had asked us to not give information about this, but he's so young, and has already been hurt so much. Please, check on Amity Park, Illinois."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Meanwhile, team Phantom has decided that they needed to get the news about the GIW out of Amity and ask for help. Two problems:

the GIW blocks any technological attempt made.

People might be afraid to learn that ghosts exist and side with the GIW.

As a way to deal with the public image, Phantom opens a possibility that the death have never had:

"All afterlives are open to write letters to their love ones that are still alive today. Nothing that includes threats, and don't go talking about the anti-ecto acts or Amity Park yet, we're trying to ease people into our existence first. Also, I know you all check on your love ones when the veil is thin, but please keep the things you shouldn't know out of the letters if possible. If you want your letter to be sent in the first batch, make sure to deliver your letter before the week ends."

Letters are a good way to reconnect people with the death, they aren't digital, and the GIW won't be able to intercept letters if they're send through inter-dimensional portals. Two birds in one shot.

[the-phantom-peach]

a handful of miscellaneous domestic zelink for my the soul 💘

[merlinemryspendragon]

I went back and read all of the letters you have sent me. Your letters have always been the ones I am most eager to read. Bridgerton 3.08 - “Into the Light”

[fowlfics]

the laws of tragedies, by @annabelle--cane

[prideprejudce]

pathetic meow meow and her wife who's about to take the house in the divorce

[ffcrazy15]

There's this way of doing female-ness in Christianity that I call "pastel flower journal Christianity." I've got nothing against pastel flower journals per se, but for some reason people believe it's the end all and be all of female spirituality, and I think it's a real disservice towards young Christian women.

One of these days I'd like to start a prayer-and-reading group or something for young women, but there would be no floral themes or over-focus on how "God thinks you're beautiful even if the world doesn't" (a true statement, but it's wayyyyy too often the focus in women's spiritual reading). Instead we would be reading:

Seneca's Letters from a Stoic

Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning

Sheed's A Map of Life

Portions of Pieper's book on leisure

Kreeft's Three Philosophies of Life

Guardini's The Lord (or something similar)

Therese's Story of a Soul

and some select portions of the Nicomachean Ethics.

(Also they're all getting the porn talk. I don't know why we give the porn talk to young men but not young women. There's this idea that women don't use porn and they only need the talk about "guarding their heart." Bullshit. There's porn on the YA shelves of Barnes and Nobles and before that there were bodice rippers. Young women need the porn talk too.)

Every young woman needs to be getting a basic grounding in virtue ethics, logic, natural law, scholastic philosophy and Biblical hermeneutics if they're going to get by in today's spiritual landscape. Enough faffery and emotionalism in young women's spiritual education! Give them real food to chew on, not pasty sentimentalism!

[zivazivc]

do you think freesia and jd would ever get back together? or will they stay sort-of friends?

I'm not going to lie, I kinda like the idea of them starting to date again and seeing where it takes them. 🙈 freesia sneaked into my heart for some reason (she kind of started this new trend of mine where i make ocs that were created to be dicks and then me just getting protective of them and trying to reason out their awful behavior kasjsdj)

also their ship already has a #1 hater and #1 supporter, both of which are doing it for the wrong reasons...

[industrations]

When will my husband (my best friend) return from war (his 3 hour shift) so we can have dinner in our home (yap on discord)

[mattslolita]

bff! chris who eats you out as a ‘joke’

EEEKKKKK dpwm....

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧

bff!chris . . . who would say, "wouldn't it be funny if i ate you out?" he's looking at you lazily, arm resting behind yours on the couch as he looks at you, a smirk etched on his features. you'd look at him with wide eyes, shocked that he would say that to you. "i mean, chris's that's not exactly fu-" "no, it'd be funny," he waves you off, hand coming down to dance along your thighs.

bff!chris . . . who has an idea of how his simple touch affects you. he'd seen the lingering stares you gave him, driving you crazy, even. he wasn't stupid, he never missed the way you'd have to clench your thighs whenever he got a little too close to you — and he was gonna use it to his advantage, have his fun with you.

bff!chris . . . who would smirk as you stare at in disbelief, yet he sees the way you clench your thighs when his hand gently grips the flesh of your exposed skin, cause of course you were barely fuckin' covered up around him. "c'mon, it'd be funny, yeah?"

bff!chris ... who's already leaning down to position himself in between your legs, whilst you mumble a quick, "so, so funny..." you watch him nervously, his eyes trained on you as he slowly discards your shorts from under you, chuckling when he sees the lacy panties you're wearing underneath them — a wet patch already resides there, and he tsks, running his hand over them, eliciting a quiet gasp from you.

bff!chris . . . who would say, "looks like m'not the only one who liked the joke, yeah?" he smirks, yanking your panties down from under you, which caused another gasp to leave your lips.

bff!chris . . . who it immediately entranced by your glistening folds, having liked you ready and waiting for him much more than he thought — part of him wants to tease you, take his time since he knows how much control he has over you at the moment. but he looks up at your impatient expression, eyes blown wide as you sit there, biting your lip in anticipation.

bff!chris . . . who wastes no time in diving right in, his lips attaching to your clit, which pulls a breathy whine from you. it's a sound he could get used to more often, his hands gripping the plush of your thighs as he laps at your cunt like a man starved. your hands tug at his curls that frame his face, and he grunts, sending vibrations through your pussy as his tongue does figure eights inside of your throbbing cunt.

bff!chris ... who feels the heat rush to his dick as your legs tighten around his head, urging him on — he adds one of his digits inside your already puffy cunt. "f-fuck, oh m'gosh chris..." you'd whine, throwing your head back in pleasure as his tongue works wonders inside of you, his digit curling and hitting just the right spots.

bff!chris ... who wants to see your face as you're on the brink of your orgasm. "can feel your legs shakin' angel...s'close, huh? thas it, wan' you to let go f'me..." his eyes are glued on you as he continues to eat you out, curling his finger inside you.

bff!chris ... whose cock twitches in his pants when you scream, "shit, shit, fuck, m'cumming!" you let out a lewd moan as your legs shake violently, and you cum all over his face, leaving your juices glistening all over his pretty mouth.

bff!chris ... who nearly overstimulates you as he laps up your juices, having not had enough of your taste just yet. you squeal and push his head away, and he comes up with a grin as he wipes the remainder of your juices that drip from his chin, and he shoves those fingers inside of your mouth, letting you taste yourself.

bff!chris ... who would say, "now how bout' you put that pretty mouth round' my dick for shits and giggles?"

[cozylittleartblog]

happy pride month. i did not make this up for th ememe

[zznblr]

I’ve got a request, telling Yeonjun how handsome he is.

His lips, his smile, his face, his body, sigh……

[9:35pm] 𐙚 c.yj

ʚ♡⃛ɞ request | there's nothing you love more than making out with yeonjun ୨୧ yeonjun x fem!reader • suggestive • established relationship • 839 words reblogs n comments appreciated :)

in your eyes, yeonjun is always prettier when you haven’t seen him in a while. and yes, some might argue that a week isn’t that long but it truly does feel like forever to you when it comes to your boyfriend.

you’re standing giddily outside his front door, waiting, your hands stuffed in your coat pockets to stop yourself from pressing on his doorbell like a freak.

when he finally opens the door, you pounce on him, nearly knocking him over. you smother his face with kisses, eliciting a chuckle from him. “i missed you too,” he kisses you slowly and softly.

yeonjun pulls you inside, protecting you from the cold january air. he takes off your coat and your hat, hanging them on the coat rack by the door. he guides you towards the living room, where he as a whole spread of your favorite snacks laid out for your movie night. he turns off the overhead light while you make your way to the couch. when yeonjun returns to you, you scooch closer to him, to the point where you are practically sitting on him with how close your bodies are. if it was even possible, he pulls you closer to him and drapes a blanket over your bodies before pressing play on the movie.

you are barely paying attention to the film. you’ve seen it a million and ten times; you could quote every line in it. and besides, you had something far more interesting to look at. your eyes are glued onto yeonjun’s face. you eye him intently, taking in every part of him – the movie flaring on the lens of his thin frame glasses; the way his nose crinkles and his brows furrow every time there is something slightly repulsive on the screen; his pink lips falling back into their resting pout afterwards.

“are you going to keep staring at me, or are you actually going to watch the movie?” yeonjun pulls you out of your trance, not even taking his eyes off the screen.

“i’ve seen it before.” you reply, offhandedly.

he finally turns to face you. “but, you picked this movie.” he sighs, reaching over for the remote control on the coffee table. he pauses the film. “we can watch something else if you—” he stops mid sentence as you climb onto his lap, straddling him. “w-what are you doing?”

“you’re so pretty, you know?” you reach up to cup his face with both your hands. your thumb brushes over the plump skin of his cheeks. “so so pretty,” you continue; it’s almost like you are in a daze.

“thank you,” yeonjun chuckles. he wraps his arms around your waist as you settle in place.

you pull his face closer to yours, so that your foreheads meet. yeonjun cautiously closes the tiny gap between the two of you as he draws in for a kiss. his fingertips softly brush against your back. you run your tongue along his bottom lip and you can taste the butter from the popcorn that he was eating earlier. yeonjun’s lips part and you slip your tongue into his mouth.

your better senses are being slowly but surely defeated as you succumb to the sweetness of the kiss. yeonjun pulls back for just a short moment to catch his breath, and you can’t help but let out a whine of displeasure. you quickly close the distance between the two of you that he had so cruelly created.

your lips meet his once more while you pull yourself tighter against him. yeonjun’s hands trail down your back, slipping underneath your t-shirt. he tightens his grip on you, his nails sinking into your skin.

if you could, your lips would be attached to yeonjun’s for the rest of your life. you find it to be some sort of cosmic injustice that you can’t live off of him because by the way you are devouring his face, he seems like the only adequate source of sustenance for you. and even sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough. no matter how much he gives you, you always want more – more love, more closeness, more yeonjun. 

you are completely and absolutely obsessed with the way he kisses you. it’s filled with passion and lust and affection and gentleness and love.

love.

so much love. the same way you are captivated by yeonjun and his taste and his touch and his presence, he too is enamored by you and you can tell by the way he holds you closer to him and caresses you softly. you can tell by the way he is the person that could ever make you feel like your body is on fire. he knows every part of your body like he was the one who designed it. he knows just what to do and where to touch to make you lose your mind.

at last, you pull away from the kiss, your lips still touching. “god, i love you.” your breath ghosts against yeonjun’s lips.

“i love you too.”

[lucentmaiden]

can i please request kokomi discord layouts?? Tyvm!! Hope ur day goes rlly well <33

[:✙:] ،₊ kokomi discord layouts ｡

ⓘ ︴pls cred the artists listed in alt desc ˖ ♡

══╬ F2U ⋆. ☆ like◞ reblog if save or use 𑁯໋

꒰ੰ. ⑅ ˊ͈ ᗜ ˋ͈ ꒱ crediting me is appreciated 〜 !

⠀ ⊹ ✄ ⸝ do not claim as yours ⏒⏒ . ⚘

[zarnzarn]

lamb who kills the one who waits when the time comes to decide, furious and betrayed at being asked to lay down their life after everything they'd done, after-

they kill him, and don't stop to see what happens to the body, carried away by their celebrating followers. They rejoice the whole day, of a final victory against evil, riling each other up to the heights of joy and mania until late in the night.

And then Lamb goes to bed and blows out the lamp and the their decision finally sinks in.

what have they done.

they wake the next day trembling from forgotten nightmares, overheating as they make their way through the day's chores, blank-faced and numb. the call to sermon is waved off in face of a headache, as they try not to think about how much of what they preach no longer is relevant.

the week passes in a haze- they unthinkingly leave offerings in the wooden chest until they rot in the summer noon; call out the rituals in Narinder's language and pretend the power isn't fainter than usual, go on a crusade to get their mind off things- except the last is the worst of it all, because the crown's eye is pale pink, pupil fat with power, instead of the crimson cat-eye that Lamb is used to, and there's no getting away from the fact on how silent it is when no one is watching behind it.

how silent it is because no one is there.

yet somehow worse still is-

"hope you feel better soon, leader!" a younger follower says, tucking a camelia into their wool. they know they've been distant lately, avoiding worries left right and centre. "praise the one! he'll make everything alright."

it's like a hammer to the chest, leaving them breathless and stunned, to realise- they never commissioned a statue of Narinder, after all these years. so stubborn in only leaving the crimson eye scratched around the cult grounds as his symbol until he found an artist worthy of Lamb sharing the image of the god of death, that-

no one else except the lamb knew what narinder looked like. they had no idea whose defeat they'd celebrated.

no one but Lamb remembers their god.

..

it gets harder after that.

Lamb isn't sure how many people have left the cult by the time the Mystic Seller's demand comes through, to save what's left of the Bishops from endless purgatory, before their violent shadows disrupted the fabric of the four realms.

They stare, speechless and disbelieving, at the outrageous ask, before it suddenly sinks in that-

The bishops.

The bishops.

They run through the lands once more with eagerness, sword slashing harder each time, ruthless and relentless in their kills. They reconquer Leshy and Heket brutally, curtly setting out the terms when they are diminished back to mortal and forced to stay in the cult. They agree, and agree to keeping their peace as well when Kallamar and Shamura join them, surrounded by a cult that's flourishing once more, waiting eagerly for a familiar stranger. Lamb tells stories around the fire about The One Who Waits, watches the smiles on their followers' faces reappear, the ones who had fled their anger and depression slowly making their way back to the flock, and the cult grows back to its full potential once more.

And then Lamb runs up the stairs when it's all ready and beautiful and welcoming, beams at the Seller as they wait for their instructions.

The Seller frowns. "Yes?"

Lamb tilts their head, rusted bell on their neck tinkling. It had broken the day after Narinder's defeat, the collar finally fluttering to the ground in tatters like a cloth of eighty years should; but Lamb had repaired and maintained and polished it until it wrapped proud around their neck once again. Their heart is beating in their chest, excitement running through their veins. They'd forgotten how it felt to be on the cusp of going to meet the One Who Waits.

"The last bishop still remains," They laugh, joy spreading through them. "I have to go get him too, yes? For the good of the universe and all."

The Mystic Seller... is silent.

"Narinder was not a Bishop," It says finally. Lamb's smile drops. "The Three-Eyed Cat had completed his ascension when he mastered the resurrection ritual. He was a God."

Lamb's heart drops to their stomach, stumbling like they've taken a hit. "What? So what? Can't I bring him back?"

The Mystic Seller tilts their head. "No."

"What do you mean no?" Lamb's nostrils flare, red crown sparking as they take a step closer. "I brought all those others back, why can't I-"

"They were the pillars of the very order of the world-"

"They were fucking MONSTERS!" Lamb shouts. "And what, death isn't?"

"It is," The Seller says, unaffected by the screaming. "But you are the Bishop of Death now. The cycle has begun again."

Lamb feels like they've taken an arrow to the chest. They stumble forward, and then to their knees. "No," they whimper. "There has- has to be some way to bring him back."

The Mystic Seller stares at them. "You were the one to kill him," They point out, and Lamb feels bile rise in their mouth as their breathing gets faster. "Why would you want him back? A thriving cult, an usurped crown, his spells in your hand-"

"Shut up," Lamb hisses.

"-you have all the power you could ever want, little sheep. Your revenge against the murder of your people."

"He wasn't the one to do it!" They shout up at the Seller, despite the hypocrisy- it had been part of their thoughts when they'd raised the axe again and again and again; the resentment of if it wasn't for you-

"No, no, no, no, no," They whimper, holding onto their biceps and shaking. "Narinder."

It is the first time they have said his name in five years. That realization is what makes the tears finally fall.

Their throat is hoarse when they finish, eyes swollen and blood pooled around them, skin already healing back to perfection where they had clawed through. The Mystic Seller stares at them and sways, silent.

"No," The Lamb finally says, and gets up, determined. Walks past the Seller, to the door behind, leading to the Gateway.

They wonder how they never realized. Or maybe they did, and were just lying to themselves that they didn't.

Lamb reaches the crater, with the rusted chains and wooden crucifixes rising out from the fog around it and comes to a halt.

Narinder is exactly where they left him.

Bones only now. Blackened by all the rituals he performed, he'd told them once; perfectly placed, like he had just fallen.

Lamb still has the ointment they made with their first cult sitting in the back of their cupboard, back when they were naive enough to think it would only take months. Ointment spelled to help grow back the fur on his rotting arms, worn to nothing by a thousand years of pulling at the chains and them tightening on him every time he moved in response.

The skull could be anyone's, now.

Two ribs are broken, where Lamb's axe went through. Straight to the heart.

Lamb exhales and shakily kneels to the ground, lowering himself to Narinder's side, careful to not dislodge a single bone out of place, and molds their body around the skeleton in a perverse mockery of a lover's embrace. Violently, abruptly, they want that, so much it burns- Narinder's arms holding the close one last time. It feels unbearable, to have- to have him lowered to meet Lamb at his level, to have him attainable instead of a towering, unreachable, terrible eldritch horror, and for him to be dead.

Oh, Lamb thinks, shaking as tears form in their eyes. Oh, I loved you. I love you.

"Darling," They choke out, tracing one cheekbone. "My baby. My one. My death. Come back, will you?"

Narinder opens his eyes and shoots them an unimpressed look. Lamb sobs, shoulders heaving, gasping as claws embed themselves in their throat- whole, complete, strong, paw soft as a cloud, faint markings on the fur Lamb never knew he had now drenched with blood.

They laugh, smiling through the tears as they push forward into the claws, flesh ripping and tearing as they push their mouth closer to Narinder's.

"I am sorry," They whisper. Narinder growls. "i love you."

"Traitor-"

"Fuck the crown," Lamb breathes back, moving to straddle Narinder to interrupt him, keeping the weight on their own knees to not damage his healing ribs. His claws are still in their throat, tangled in their stitches. "Fuck the power. Fuck the cult. Fuck religion. I only ever wanted you."

Narinder stills, looking up at them with sharp eyes. Lamb laughs around his beloved's fingers. "I only ever want you. What is life without you, Antim?"

Narinder studies them. Lamb waits, bloodied and grinning, patiently waiting, smitten to have those beautiful trifecta eyes upon them once more.

"I promised you," They whisper. "I promised to break you out of here. Let me, my one. My only one, who has waited so long."

Narinder takes a breath, tilting his chin down and then up. His claws twitch in Lamb's vocal chords, drawing them down closer to him.

Lamb whoops in joy and reaches up to toss the crown to the side, fitting their hooves to the last chain wrapped around Narinder's neck, binding him still to the Gateway, and splinters it into a thousand pieces, never to hold anyone ever again.

"Come," The Lamb whispers finally, moving back and gathering their lover up in their arms, still pressing their mouths together. "Let me take you home, Narinder. Mere jaan. Meri mrityu. My one."

Narinder sighs and buries his face in the crook of Lamb's neck as they start to walk away. "Turn back around, idiot. We cannot leave without the damned crown. And I am picking out the wedding decorations."

"Of course, my love," Lamb coos, and leans in again to kiss their greatest mistake.

[letteredlettered]

I'm sure you'll be inundated with the one-word drarry asks, but I can't not put forth my own.

reckless

I did get a lot of prompts, but so far I have found yours to be the sexiest one! I mean the drabble isn't that sexy but I think the word reckless is sexy. Is it just me? Anyway, thank you!

*

Reckless

Potter’s here again. The time has probably come for him to say something too profound. He’s eaten all the biscuits.

“I’m not sure there’s enough love in me,” Potter says. “To love someone else. Like I loved her.”

Draco wants a Firewhiskey. He makes himself say. “Have you tried?”

“Who would I try with? I’ve never even looked at another girl that way. Not since school.”

Something is unravelling in Draco’s body. He’s coming apart at all his seams. His throat is burning, and he feels reckless. He feels so reckless.

“Have you looked at blokes?” he says.

Potter stares.