#(I'm so nervous)

[sceletaflores]

A Different Kind of Compensation.

part two!

pairing: mike schmidt x fem!reader

prompt: you’ve been babysitting abby for mike nearly three months now. he constantly apologizes for not paying you yet, you constantly tell him it doesn't bother you. one night he comes back from his shift at freddy’s and has a different idea on how to compensate you for all of your hard work.

warnings: 18+, oral (fem receiving), vaginal fingering (kinda???), munch!mike.

word count: this was supposed to be a short dirty work that somehow turned into a 2.2k monster. told you i love to ramble.

authors note: remember when i said i might write smut if i was just so moved by an ask? well turns out my very first ask moved me. y'all are nasty, i love it. mike, of course, is a munch because why would he be anything else? i never, with a capital N, write smut so please bear with me if it sucks. i hope whoever requested this loves it! i wrote it instead of finishing my scientific article for bio so it better be decent hehe.

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗ ╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

The sound of the front door opening followed by heavy footsteps woke you up from where you were dozing off on the couch. You gazed at the clock on the side table near you and sure enough, 6:10 blinked back at you. Mike was finally home. You heard him shuffling around in the kitchen, most likely shedding his work vest and hanging his keys on the little hook by the door.

You yawned, trying to rub the sleep out of your eyes as you sat up on the couch. The blanket you used to cover yourself falling to pool around your waist. Mike finally made his way to the living room, sitting on the couch with a soft grunt. 

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice rough from lack of use. “Abby eat anything?”

“Yeah, a little,” You mutter back through a barely concealed yawn, head lolling to rest on the back of the couch. “You know how she is.”

He hums in acknowledgement but stays silent apart from that, keeping his gaze trained on the infomercial playing on TV. A comfortable silence settles over the two of you. You sit up even further on the couch, leaning against the arm rest facing Mike. The blue/green hue of the TV bathed him in light, his hair was unruly with curls sticking out at awkward angles. He had deep bags under his eyes. Just as you thought about getting up to take off, he spoke up again. 

“I promise I’ll get you the money,” he says softly, not taking his eyes off the TV, “I…I just need some time.”

You scoff in mock annoyance, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Mike, you know I don’t care about the money. I don’t mind doing this for you.” You reply, nudging his knee with your foot softly then just leaving it perched on his lap.

Mike finally turns to look at you, there's a strange look on his face that you can’t quite place, but you give him a small smile all the same. He stares at you for a few beats, you can practically see the gears turning in his head. 

“You deserve something,” he whispers, his brows furrowed in frustration. “You do so much for me, it’s only fair.” As he speaks, he slowly moves his hand off the couch to your ankle still resting on his thigh, he starts rubbing slow circles over the skin there. His eyes never left yours as he touched you, a very obvious question in them. Asking if you wanted this.

Heat instantly rushed to your belly, cheeks turning a light shade of red at his touch. You’d always thought Mike was attractive, but you never would have imagined he’d want to be anything more than friends. Since he was already so busy with taking care of Abby and his hellish new job.

You swallow once before speaking, your throat feeling dry all of a sudden. “What are you suggesting?” You ask so softly, wondering if he even heard you. Mikes’ fingers stop in favor of trailing his hand up your calf in a featherlight touch, disappearing under the blanket to seek out more of your soft skin. Your heart is beating so fast you think you might die, the sound of it echoing in your ears loudly. 

Mike's big brown eyes stare into yours with a newfound intensity, visibly shocked that you're reacting so viscerally to his touch, his pupils are blown to hell. Chocolate brown being swallowed by black.  His tongue coming out to sweep over his top lip.

“How about you,” he says slowly, scooting closer to you on the small couch. He crowds into your personal space like he belongs there. Mike’s lips inches away from yours. He smells like old leather and dust from being cramped in the security office at Freddy’s. Your chest heaves as your eyes flit back and forth from his eyes to his lips. Seconds drag by like hours as you painstakingly wait for him to finish his sentence. “Stay right there while I make you feel good.” He finally says, his breath fanning over your face hotly. You can’t even speak, afraid of how desperate you might sound, just nodding your head roughly, not looking away from his hungry gaze.

Mike’s hand runs up your leg quickly after you give him the green-light, slipping further under the blanket and higher up your leg until he reaches his destination. He rubs you gently through your shorts, your breath hitches sharply at what should be just a simple touch, but you’re still so worked up from earlier that it feels ten times more extreme. You grasp the blanket still strewn over your lap tightly in your fists, it's the only thing keeping you from seeing Mike’s hand at work between your legs.

Mike reacts to touching you for the first time like he can feel it too. His breath stutters out of his chest, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your already wet folds through your thin cotton sleeping shorts. “Fuck.” He breathes out quietly, so quietly you doubt he even meant to say it out loud. He opens his eyes again, breathing slightly rougher as he stares at you through his arousal induced haze and heavy eyelids. 

Seeing your face must spur him on because he starts rubbing with more fervor than before, his clever fingers applying more pressure making you moan softly. You cut yourself off quickly, eyes darting down the hall to Abby's bedroom door. It's still closed, there's no light leaking through the crack between it and the floor.

"Shit, Mike." You whine quietly.

Mike groans softly at the sound of his name leaving your lips, body trembling slightly with the feeling. Suddenly he wrenches his hand out from under the blanket, and rips it off your lap frantically. You gasp sharply at the cool air breaking through the bubble of warmth the blanket provided, involuntarily closing your legs.

Mike pushes up from his position on the couch next to you, knee walking over so he's kneeling in-front of your clenched thighs. You're still slightly sprawled across the cushions, leaning on the arm of the couch.

"Do you know how crazy you make me?" He asks roughly, putting both his hands on your still closed knees. It takes a second for your brain to catch up to answer him, after a few moments you finally manage a faint shake of your head.

"No?" He asks, tilting his head to the left slightly. "Let me show you then."

Mike grabs your wrist, tugging you closer to him, and leads your hand down into his lap. Your breath catches in your throat when he places your hand directly over his clothed erection, but it gets drowned out by Mike's louder whine thanks to you touching him for the first time. You drag your eyes downward, his dark grey sweatpants leave little to the imagination. He got more worked up touching you than you first thought, if the wet patch forming near the tip of his hard-on was anything to go by.

As soon as you started to rub him with purpose, Mike grabbed your wrist, halting your efforts. "No," He said breathlessly, practically panting. "No, this is for you tonight. Just wanna focus on you."

He let go of your wrist, turning his head in your direction. Both of you failed to realize how close you'd gotten when he dragged you to him. Your noses practically touch when he turns, catching you both off guard. His eyes travel down to your lips, staring at how red and puffy they'd gotten from you biting them to muffle your moans.

"How sweet of you, Mike." You whisper, leaning in just a tad closer. He lets out a guttural groan and closes the distance between your lips, claiming your mouth with his own. He leans forward, gently guiding you to lay back on the couch. His body completely covering yours as the two of you makeout, his arms on either side of your head and his hips slotting against yours, letting you feel the hard length of his cock against your cunt. You moan into his mouth, your hips bucking up to meet his.

Mike breaks the kiss with a whine, trying to muffle the noise by shoving his face in your neck. You bring your hands up to tangle in his curly hair, yanking it roughly as he starts littering kisses all along your collarbones. Nipping and sucking in-between his gasping little moans as you twist and pull his hair in your grip.

He tears his mouth away to stare up at you through his lashes, his lips are swollen and red. “Please,” He gasps out, his hips unconsciously grinding down into your thigh. “Let me eat you out. Please. Tell me I can, say I can.” He babbles, hips rutting faster every second you don’t answer him.

“Yes.” You exclaim as quietly as possible. “Do it, Mike. Eat me out.”

Mike’s whole body shudders at your words, eyes falling closed for a second before he quickly slides down your body, leaving an odd kiss here and there as he goes. He brings his hands up to grip the waistband of your shorts, pausing to take a single steadying breath, then he tugs them down along with your panties and tosses them aside. He stares down at you in awe for a good few moments before he lays on his stomach, right in front of your dripping cunt.

Mike kisses along the inside of your thighs for a bit, licking everywhere but where you want him to the most. “Thank you.” he mutters, tone way too earnest for the situation at hand but you don’t have much time to think about it before he’s diving face first into your thighs.

“Fuck!” You let your voice get way too loud in the quiet atmosphere of the house, but you can’t help it. You didn’t think Mike had lots of experience because of some late night drunken talks before, but he was either lying or holding out. He works his tongue expertly along every inch of you. Every swirl, flick, or suck has you catapulting to the edge way faster than you’d imagined.

It doesn't help that Mike keeps letting out these noises. Small needy whines or deep guttural groans that you can feel. He’s moaning like he’s the one getting head, unashamed and authentic. It’s so fucking sexy.

“Shit Mike, I’m close. I’m so close.” You whisper too quietly for him to hear with his head trapped between your thighs, but it doesn’t matter. Mike brings his thumb up to lightly circle your clit as he laps against your entrance, and you're gone.

Your thighs shake as you release, grabbing on Mike’s hair for dear life as you go through the most intense orgasm ever. He moans into your cunt, working you through the aftershocks. He laves his tongue along you until the overstimulation gets to be too much and you drag his face away by his hair.

He sits up, the bottom half of his face covered in spit and slick. That visual alone is almost enough to get you ready for round two. It’s silent except for the heavy breathing coming from you both.

After he catches his breath, Mike retrieves the blanket from behind his back somewhere to cover the lower half of your body. Your thighs are still shaking as he lays next to you, it’s a tight squeeze but neither of you seem to mind. He kisses the side of your face sweetly, throwing his arm around your waist to pull you in even closer.

You finally regain enough conscience to speak. “Are you sure you don’t want to get off?” You ask, “I mean I can’t feel my legs but I’m sure we could think of something.” Mike only laughs quietly, shaking his head. “Maybe next time, this was about you.” He said, beginning to rub his fingers back and forth on your hip. “Plus I, uh, I already sort of…” He trails off, a flush forming on his cheeks.

It took you a second to realize what he was saying, but when it clicked you couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped your mouth. You lifted up the blanket covering the two of you, and sure enough Mike had an impressive wet patch seeping through his sweats.

He pinches your hip lightly, offended by your giggling. “Don’t laugh at me,” He complains with a smile, yanking the blanket back up. “I couldn’t help it.”

You stifle another laugh to the best of your ability, though your shoulders still shake ever so slightly. You turn your head to press a kiss to his lips. It’s different from the previous kisses you shared tonight. It’s slower and softer, full of a new emotion that you both feel, but know that it can wait to be talked about later. For now you’re both just basking in the afterglow.

You break the kiss first, pulling back only slightly to lean your forehead against his. You both smile at each other for a second.

“Okay,” You give in, brushing a strand of sweaty hair away from his face. “But believe that tomorrow is all about you.”

[ruthlessness69]

The Man and the Sea (Epic the musical fanfic)

main ship: Poseidon x Odysseus

(English is not my first language, please keep it in mind)

notes:

• It's the first part of the beginning. I don't have an AO3 account yet, once I get it I'll post it there and share a link 🩵 (upd. the link is ready!!)

• I know that gods' blood is called "ichor", I just wanted to stated out that it's blood. And it was red in Epic, so I'm kinda sticking to that source.

• I want to say a big THANK YOU to those who helped me with corrections!! You rock, guys 😍

• I guess I should note that the fic is R-18?? Idk how to rate it correctly yet, please feel free to correct me in the comments. Okay, let's go :>

part 1.

🌊🌊🌊

- After everything you've done, how will you sleep at night?

- Next to my wife.

***

He said it and left, finally he's reached his shore. The shore which was consuming god's blood at the moment. Poseidon was lying still, spread out, his feet couldn't move and the blood was running free from all his wounds. He couldn't die, that's true, he could feel pain though. It was burning through him, pulsating, unstoppable. He was defeated by his own weapon and by his own philosophy, which was even more painful.

A hoarse laugh bursted out of his throat.

- You've become the one you were destined to, just as I thought. You never came home the same. It's no longer you.

***

Late at night Odysseus had a long neverending nightmare. Styx. His dead comrade's cries. Water. The water was everywhere, it was surrounding him, pulling him in. Poseidon. He was dragging him down, to the bottom, there was no escape. Trying to reach the surface, Odysseus was ripping off his shoes, his clothes, he was ready to rip off his legs and arms, and his very skin, anything to be set free from this torture.

- Enough... stop!!

King of Ithaca was suddenly wide awake in his bed. The sound of the tidel waters filled the silence of the night. A peaceful, unhurried whisper coming from Penelope took him back to reality.

- Honey, sleep a bit, sleep a bit more. It's okay, you're home.

Penelope wasn't fully awake, she was talking in her sleep, she was already used to her husband's nightmares after two years and didn't have to be fully conscious to calm him down and carress him back to sleep.

Odysseus slipped out of the bed and went to the balcony.

The sea is always near. It surrounds you everywhere.

The surf was licking the sand of the shore, waves were coming down still and quite, over and over again. But Odysseus knew the quite was deceiving.

Did he really stab Poseidon with his own trident? Or was it all just a bad dream? Was he really at home? Or did he drown after god's final attack? Could this all be just his agony before he finally dies?

- When will you stop torturing me, - Odysseus hid his face in his arms, covering it, whispering curses and prayers.

The surf seemed to talk to him. But Odysseus didn't know the language it was talking in. He had no intention to talk to the sea god. He didn't care about what he has to say.

He came back to his wife's arms, coming back to have some more anxious sleep before the dawn.

The surf was slowly turning into a storm, but it couldn't wake Odysseus up anymore.

***

He didn't go sailing anymore. Their son was inviting him once or twice or more, but Odysseus wouldn't even go near the beach, let alone go to the ship. Penelope could sense that there was something more than just a phobia. He made it home, but something was broken deep inside of him. He mentioned his last encounter with Poseidon once, briefly, one night he told her that he won a battle wth the sea god before finally coming back home. Penelope was a really smart and delicate woman, she didn't have to interrogate her husband to feel the depth of his pain. She guessed that that very moment was something that changed Odysseus, something he perceived as horrible. She could constantly feel his fear. And yet she couldn't help him, she didn't know how to. She couldn't even tell what was it that he was so afraid of. At first glance, it seemed to be the fear of water. The ocean. But... no, it might be different. Penelope didn't want to push any more pressure on him, so she just decided to be near him without taking any action. Some wounds should just heal, right? By themselves.

***

Poseidon's wounds were healing slowly and reluctantly. The trident was a formidable weapon, but yet it couldn't hurt Odysseus. What a bullshit. Might be someone's divine intervention, no doubt. The god of the seas didn't ask for Apollo's help, so that he wouldn't have to listen to other Olympus inhabitants laugh. And when Hermes brought some medicine from the god of healing, all those flasks were thrown aiming him right in the head.

- My dearest uncle, you simply can't hold grudges for that long, they'd all gone sore, - the impudent god teased him, dodging with ease. Dexterous, as always.

- How dare you show up here?!

- Oh thank you, I'm glad you've noticed my audacity, - the messenger of gods gave out a little laugh. - And still. You can't be THAT mad at my great grandson. I suppose you aren't that mad for a couple of years already. I can't even imagine how you could stand being mad and furious for so long!

- Who would've thought, you're too flippant, just like Aeolus, - Poseidon spitted, wrinkling up from a sudden pain in his chest.

- Still water turns into a swamp, dear uncle. But you're never still, right? Always raging. Why didn't you kill Odysseus?

The question was so sudden and plain, it knocked the ground out of Poseidon's feet, although he never really needed it in the first place.

- You were threatening him, but never really went too far and never actually did anything to him, - Hermes was smiling cunningly, moving everything around in Poseidon's chamber.

- The fate was on your impertinent great grandson's side, - the sea god growled.

- Yeah, that's right, your son knew it long before, - Hermes chuckled, turning around on his toes. - But!

- But what?

- You were competent to find him and kill him anytime you wanted. But you were always hesitating. You wasted so much time and affort in declaring your philosophy and expressing your rage, you even killed lots of his flee, but not him. And also, - Hermes squinted his eyes and smiled really slyly. - You were the one to throw him at Calypso's. You placed him in paradise. What were you up to, master of the seas?

Poseidon wasn't famous for his temperance, so he immediately reached for his trident.

- Oopsie, gotta go! - Hermes giggled, flying out of the chambers. - You just think about all that, Uncle Poseidon~

The trident was thrown into the wall. Poseidon had no intention on thinking about anything. He didn't want to see anyone. He didn't want to know anything, to Tartarus with it all.

***

The sea is different everyday, but it always remains to be the sea. At times the water is sparkly and shiny, going from light turquoise to deep ocean blue, sometimes nearly black, and at times it's muddy and brown because of the dirt and mud being raised up from the bottom. The sea never hides it's secrets, they are just lurking down below. They are always ready to come up to the surface and be a shocking surprise to anybody. The sea was hiding lots of skeletons of the past and also lots of treasures. And it was completely ruthless.

Telemachus really loved being in the open sea and feeling the unity with this force, playing with it, making it obey or obeying himself to it, surrending to the waves. Finally, he was no longer a boy who couldn't even protect his mom. Finally, he was living his own story! And the sea was way more easy on him in this story than it's been in his father's one, although it was unexpected. Even storms seemed to just frighten him a little bit, but never really touched him or his crew. He once told his dad about it, which made dad froze up for a moment, like a statue, then his face expression's changed as if some kind of shadow layed between his eyes. Telemachus could not help but notice it although it lasted just for seconds. And then his father just chucked, returning to his usual expression - sly, but a bit tired. He said nothing regarding the situation, just told Telemachus to keep his guard up nevertheless. The son always looked up to his father, and also he was really fond of the stories about his journeys. Although dad wasn't really fond of telling them. Usually it was someone else retelling of retelling, going from one teller to another. It wasn't easy for Odysseus to tell stories about a journey where all his people and friends died.

A salty splash of water covered Telemachus face. He just laughed.

- He doesn't like sailing anymore, but I think he just needs time, - Odysseus' son smiled, looking at the waves dancing.

He was heading for places from father's stories. He was intending to make a path through the land of the Cyclops, and Odysseus knew nothing about his intentions. Telemachus didn't want his dad to have a heart attack, so he simply didn't tell him a thing.

***

His hot tongue was sliding down the wet salty skin. Sharp teeth stuck into the neck, pressing the flesh, digging in, but not biting it to blood. After a long trembling sigh the pressure on the neck went down and the tongue licked the place of the bite as if in apology.

Odysseus' body was melting in these arms like a malleable metal in Hephaestus' forge. The king of Ithaca was only able to make some fuzzy moans while hands and arms and other body parts of the sea god touched him. Everywhere. He was everywhere, just like the water. He was enshrouding and pulling him deep down. Poseidon was teasing Odysseus with his touch, claws, mouth, teeth, almost like a hungry animal. As if he wanted to devour him but couldn't. Almost suffocating, finally Odysseus found the strength to raise his arms and took the god's face into his palms, making him distance himself from his neck for once.

- Posei...don, - the mortal breathed out hoarsely.

His neck and collarbones were glowing red after all the bites, the blood could be seen in some places. It was oddly oozing up and to the sides - after all, they were underwater.

- You know this will never ever happen, right? - asked Odysseus with a light and exhausted smile, caressing Poseidon's face softly.

The god stumbled in for a second and just kissed his mortal as tough and deep as he could, leaving the question unanswered. He was drowning Odysseus in this kiss without realising that he's drowning too, with him.

Poseidon suddenly woke up right at the moment when Odysseus' hand touched his tunic between his legs. He burst his eyes wide and gave out a heavy groan, realising it was only just a dream. A damn dream. He slept a lot recently, he was still recovering. And this damn dreams... they were haunting him every time he went to sleep for quite some time already. Sometimes he was dreaming about Odysseus' life on the land, and sometimes... sometimes this. Passion, neverending mind-numbing passion. And the obedient pliable mortal who was happily giving up his body to him. Poseidon covered his face with his hand, trying to catch his breath and clear his mind.

If only Hermes didn't come here with his stupid questions. "Why didn't you kill him, why-why".

He was not interested in these dreams. It all was some kind of delusion, a bullshit. He'd forget about it once he recovered. Maybe he's been alone for too long. Maybe there's a point to seek some pleasures outside the sea? No, the only thought of it made him sick.

He had to get rid of these dreams and thoughts. One of the supreme deities surely had much more important stuff to do.

Feeling dizzy, Poseidon layed back down in his bed. He rolled around and closed his eyes. He would never in his life admit it, but he was trying to recreate the sensations he had in that dream. Odysseus' skin, Odysseus' scent. Why wasn't he stabbing him again in these dreams? Why was this mortal making him feel the indelible shame again and again?

- Odysseus, - the god mumbled, hiding his face in sea satin and nacreous sheets.

Nobody could see him in his private chamber, nobody could even visit him cause he himself strictly forbade it. He didn't want to see anyone. And no one would see him as he was right now.

Pathetic, wounded, vulnerable, just like a mortal.

Slowly falling back to sleep the sea god was hoping in the very depth of his heart that he'd dream of the king of Ithaca again.

to be continued

[angel-fruitcake]

guys i'm scared about this election and i miss castiel

[simplepotatofarmer]

Fandom: Dream SMP Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Characters: Technoblade, Dream, Philza; minor Ranboo and Quackity Status: complete Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Canon Compliant, Implied/Referenced Torture, One Shot, Missing Scene, Coda, First Kiss, Mutual Pining, Prison Arc

Summary:

Dream had known the moment he saw the rose bushes that Techno had grown them for him; they were so different from the hardy, resilient dandelions that he preferred, finicky and difficult and often rewarded the gardener with a prick of a thorn. There's probably a dumb metaphor in there, thought Dream. or techno's favorite flower is dandelions. dream loves roses. it's something that stays constant despite the chaos and complications that surround them. the other constant is the feelings they have for each other but it never seems to be the right time. will it ever be? dandelions grow in the arctic, can roses?

this is my fic for the @dsmprarepairbb! consider it my c!dnb manifesto <3 <3 i hope everyone enjoys it.

please check out the companion pieces by @awesamblr here and @twic0rd here!

[mastemamothpriest]

I got a driver's test today... KinitoPet save me

[carlyraejepsans]

mechanics test today👍 frowing up

[captainfairygodmother]

It's time...

Should I do Commentaries per episode this time, given the length of the season?

[elwynsdream]

I love jegulus, but there are moments sometimes where I question certain things about the fandom. I'm a trans boy, and it's nice to see the popular headcanon of Regulus as a trans man, but cmon!! Why is he always the girl when people talk about jegulus variants? I know we have the right to be whatever we want (fem, masc, etc) but it's really uncomfortable to see Regulus constantly be feminized (? If I can call it that. Anyone can be trans, there is no requirement; you are who you are and that's it. But when we talk about media, which is a reflection of how large groups of people see reality whether we want it or not, it feels weird to see mlm ships where one of the characters (usually white) is made to be "dainty, delicate, needs help or protection" and the other one (usually POC) is "masculine, dominant, the protector type". I don't want to ruin anyone's fun, because fandom should be a safe place for everyone to enjoy their favorite characters however they want, but I wish to see if anyone feels the same (:

[m1dnight-blu3]

Ghelekul: Treasure of all treasures

First fanfic (ever, actually) for the Year of Bagginshield organized by @acorns-and-oakleaves

Inspired by the Rebel Prompt

Tags:

Married Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield

Fluff

home sick thorin

Consort Bilbo Baggins

Reunions

Short & Sweet

Ghelekul: Treasure of all treasures - midnight_blu3 - The Hobbit - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

Summary:

With a sudden collapse in the mines of Iron Hills, Thorin sets into a short travel to his cousin’s domain to help. With their marriage celebrations coming in just a few months, Bilbo has to stay in Erabor to organize everything. Cue to 3 weeks of pure torture of Thorin missing his husband and making this everyone’s problem. Or in which Royal Consort Bilbo pretends to steal from Thorin just to see him.

A small preview:

Thorin sees himself coming back to his tend by himself. He got a habit of looking into the horizon, waiting for Bilbo’s crow. The Iron Hills are not that far from the Misty Mountains, so they have been exchanging letters ever since Thorin left Erebor. No crow in sight, however. It has been a few days, and no word from Bilbo yet. Bilbo is most likely busy trying to organize their wedding birthday party. Their anniversary was coming in just a few months and there was much to do – people to invite, menus to decide, clothes to choose. The kinds of activity that would bore Thorin to early death, but that are the most fun hobbies for a gentlehobbit such as Bilbo. Thorin enters his tent with a small smile on his lips. When they first got married, one of Bilbo’s major issues was his anxiety about being a decent consort. 7 years later and Middle Earth has never seen a more graceful and clever consort. Bilbo might have been raised to be a gentlehobbit, but the crown suits him well. His quick thinking and, according to Bilbo himself, his outstanding experience dealing with unbearable family members, made him perfect for the more social part of ruling. Bilbo is able not only to remember the names of every single important ruler of Middle Earth but also their offspring and little details about them. Because of his flawless job, Erebor has strong allies and good relations with all neighbor kingdoms. The little hobbit has enchanted even the elves, to the point that he has been given a Elven name, Táralóm, the hidden hero – an honor that very few have ever received. Bilbo always had some self esteem issues, especially before the mission to reclaim Erebor. So it has been Thorin’s greatest honor to see his little love to bloom into a confident, graceful leader. Thorin can’t help but scowl. He misses his husband.

[splatoon3]

KL dump + just one knife

[hydrogenuranium]

after reading too much of @sunsetcougar 's Lyrebird AU, I decided to make my own AU. I call it:

The True Army AU

This whole AU hinges on a couple of lines that Carmilla Carmine says about the Exorcists

These ones: "Angels attack quickly viciously, and without mercy. You'll need to defend better than that."

"That shows in how you fight. You leave yourself open with every swing. You fight like someone unafraid of harm and this is what you'll take advantage of. Angels wield no shields, little armor, and fight with reckless abandon. Strike them here, here and here."

What the AU is (a summary):

-So based on the info Carmilla says about the Exorcists, it's clear they aren't the best army

-Don't get me wrong, they definitely are skilled but they do to adjust their tactics

-So I thought, 'hey what if, the exorcists weren't the real army? Or like a lower level...of army"

-basically that's this AU is: No matter how scary the Exorcists are, there will always be the larger, scarier, and infinitely more dangerous True Army

-And after finding out about what happened to there little sisters in ep8 (the True Army's name for the Exorcists) they aren't going to be happy

-But worry not, unlike the Exorcists, the True Army would never go barreling into a fight without a plan, they'd be more likely to settle things...diplomatically

LORE (about the Army):

(very small amounts of lore but LORE NONETHELESS)

-It's led by Micheal (Lucifer's brother)

-Instead of killing sinners they kill hell-born demons

-Sera tends not to check up on them often, because she already has enough to do

-Are kinda like the "varsity" army, while the Exorcists are the "JV" (junior varsity)

[poetryvampire]

Man I'm getting my wisdom teeth out next week and I just know I'm going to be weird. Like there's a non zero chance when I'm on those good good pain drugs I'm gonna start rambling about how Zevlor would be a prefect husband, or arguing why Rolan is a sub, or crying at the concept of Gale.

Like?? The stream of dumb shit i think about cant just released like that.Rip the poor nurse if I bring up tiefling cock or info dump my oc lore

Gods save them

[citrusbatsandhoneybees]

-The Fading Star-

-Part One-

Part 1 Part 2

Haha! I've never done this before, but I've been so obsessed with Hazbin Hotel (especially Lucifer) ever since it came out. Everything everyone makes is so inspiring, so I figured I'd try to make something myself. Take it easy on me please! <3 Also if it wasn't clear this is purely self-indulgent, but I hope you enjoy anyway!

Anyways..

Lucifer Morningstar X Female Self Insert

Content Warnings: Mentions of blood, injury, angst, brief mention of cannibalism, and angst (I think that's it? Let me know if I missed anything)

Quick Synopsis: Tsuki was made to keep Lilith company during her marriage with Adam, but finds herself unwillingly, falling in love with a certain archangel. Then after many millennia the reader, Tsuki, reunites with Lucifer.

Golden lights flicker around an angel as she flies through a portal, and is instantly hit with the smell of sulfur, floating ash and blood. The sound of guttural screams fills her ears, as she flies herself closer to the bottom of the hill that the hotel once laid atop of. With a roll of her shoulders, her wings retract into her back, and her halo fades away with small glitters that fell from the place it once was. While walking up the hill, she assesses her surroundings. She finds pale skinned sinners adorned in vintage clothing and stains of shimmering golds and deep crimsons. Wanting to gag, she watches them shred her fellow angel’s bodies with only their teeth and claws but continues her pace up the hill and toward the hotel. Dread starts to travel through her as she thinks to herself. Shit am I too late? Before the angel could rush towards the broken-down hotel, she stopped in her tracks feeling a familiar sting thumping against her chest. Looking around the view of the rubble, she spots a hunched over figure hobbling away from the current scene. Naturally her hand reaches out toward the scarlet form, and small violet sparks spawn a small circle, and the shape expands big enough for her to step through. 

Alastor lets out a deep, guttural groan as he lays back against some rubble. He kept his hand across the deep cut that was ripped into his chest, placing pressure against it to stop anymore blood from pouring out the wound, but to no avail. He feels sweat run past his brow, as he allows a sick laugh through his lips and places the back of his other hand across his closed eyelids. This blocks out the flickering red light that stood above him. The radio demon tries to focus on riding out the pain but is quickly interrupted by the sounds of a low hum accompanied by sparks fizzling in the air. Alastor’s ears twitch back as he quickly grasps his wound a little harder; on guard, he glares down a portal that forms only a few feet away from him. 

As the angel walks through the portal, she moves her hands forward, and keeps her eyes on the sinner in front of her. She attempted to make him feel safe with a soft smile as she walked closer to the deer-like demon. 

“Hey, hey it’s okay! I-”

The atmosphere turned frigid, as she was interrupted by the growing sounds of a radio crackling and hissing. Large shadowy tendrils rose around him ready to strike, and although Alastor’s wicked smile remained, his eyes told a different story.

“I advise you not to come any closer, I wouldn’t normally hurt a dame such as yourself; however, I won’t hesitate if necessary.” 

As he adjusts himself against the rubble behind him, a groan accompanies his words and his eyes squint ever so slightly. 

The angel raised her hands in defense, as she continued to walk slowly closer to him. Her eyes were soft as she examined his injury as much as she could from the distance she was at. 

“I am only here to help, I know what I’m doing, you can trust me.” 

Alastor allowed her to walk closer, watching every single movement she made, but to her surprise, as she knelt down in front of him, the dark tentacles dissipated around the two. He continued a watchful gaze on her, seeing her slowly raise a hand over his chest. 

“Are you okay with me healing you?”

The angel stares intently into his eyes, keeping a gentle expression. His eyes squinted a little, looking over her face for any trickery behind it. 

“Strange question dear, but yes if you are willing.”

She nods in response and a quick flourish of violets and sparkling particles erupt from her palm. She stayed focused as the injury was quickly sealed and stitched together with a magical winding string that flowed from her palm, leaving nothing but a small purple line across his chest where the cut once was. Her eyes return back to the deer’s, giving him a small smile. His own return to hers after grasping his chest, feeling no pain where the gash once was. He eyes her up and down, his smile never wavering. She thinks to herself watching his actions. What a strange one… 

“Now, let me help clean you up.” 

She referred to the state of clothing and skin; they were now crusted with the evidence of his gash. She was about to form a cleaning supplies and clothing before Alastor interrupted her thoughts. 

“No need my dear, I believe I can handle that!” 

She narrowed her eyes while watching him quickly stand up and shadows encapsulate him for a moment but release him to reveal that his suit was reverted back to the way they once were. Alastor bends forward, offering his hand to her, and she takes his offer of help up. 

“You have my gratitude Dear, is there anything that I could do for you?”

His tone had an underlying sense of interrogation, as he watched her closely. The angel raised her hands and shook her head with a smile. 

“I don’t need anything, really! Glad I could help, but I should really go now.” 

Her eyes glanced around her, looking towards where the hotel once was, but replacing it, there are now walls with scaffolding wrapped around it. Jeez that was fast. She was about to head towards the structure, until the cold touch of claws fell to her shoulders. 

“Nonsense! There has to be something that I could do!"

She shudders from the sudden touch, and turns around to face him. 

“If you insist, do you know Miss Charlie Morningstar? I need to speak to her.” 

His smile widens hearing her question.

“How interesting, I was curious as to why you were over here. Either way I would be happy to introduce you!”

Shadows suddenly encapsulate the two of them. Shivers run through the angel’s back, as she feels the ground pull out from underneath her. However, the falling feeling only lasts a few seconds before she arrives in front of the hotel that was very close to being finished. She admires the new building from afar as golden flashes of magic flourish and create things inside and around it. Her heart stutters at the sight, feeling the growing pit in her stomach, she turns to look for the red-haired demon, only to be faced with no one there. Allowing her eyes to close, she lets out a long sigh as she places two hands onto the back of her neck, rolling out the stress that had formed there. After she hears the crack, she drops her arms to her sides and starts to trek towards the hotel.

On the way there, the sounds of a hopeful song blessed her ears, but she continued her pace and watched as the hotel finished. The new building was massive, truly a sight to behold.  The angel stared in awe. A large array of light fixtures covered it: golden bulbs, neon lights, and several signs pointing to the entrance. Windows lined the sides of the building and along with the towers that were placed towards the front of the building. One of the towers was decorated with a simple apple themed level on the top with the other being a sharper and darker level adorned with antennas similar to antlers. The last thing the angel looked at before she arrived at the front of the new Hazbin Hotel was the large key structure that seemed to be staring down at her. She winced and wanted to shrink underneath the stare but shook it off, looking towards the grand doors of the hotel. 

Alastor and the rest of the group had just walked into their new home, walking up to the bar to celebrate their victory before a knock had sounded at the door. Everyone was suddenly on their guard from the intruding sound with Lucifer being the first to start walking towards the front doors. He wasn’t going to allow something bad happen to his daughter’s hotel. The rest of the group had kept up a few steps behind him, but before Lucifer could step up to the door, he was quickly interrupted with Alastor slipping out of his shadows, to place his hand on the knob and pull it open. 

The angel was about to knock again before the door was pulled open in front of her to be faced with the tall demon once again.

 “Oh there yo-” 

The radio demon interrupted her by walking to her side, leaning forward, and placing an arm around her shoulders to pull her forward. She was quickly pulled along to face Charlie, Vaggie, and the rest of the sinners. The angel was prepared to give them her best smile, greet them, and make the best first impression she could, but this was all quickly put to a halt as she noticed the being in front of them all:

Lucifer.

“I have someone to introduce to you all! This is.. Oh I’m sorry my dear; I don’t believe I ever got your name!”

Alastor turned to look down at her to only see that her face had drained of color, and her eyes were fixated on the fallen angel in front of her. He turned his head to follow her line of sight towards Lucifer; his eyes examined him, and his smirk grew when he saw Lucifer staring at her too. 

His presence caused panic to wash over her, as her breath broke into shaky, short ones. Any sounds that the rest of the group made was drowned out by the loud ringing that sounded in her ears. She froze in this position as time seemed to stand still. Her brain and heart were filled with harsh, overwhelming, conflicting feelings; they were screaming at her to run away or towards him, but her thoughts were interrupted from the voice that her heart longed for. 

“Tsuki?”

[nayushikisses]

if kamala wins, i draw ryu and shiki sloppily kissing passionately

[simplepotatofarmer]

if everything goes right...... final 'rabbit run' chapter tonight or tomorrow..... how we feelin', chat.

[ohgeesoap]

@deadbranch for the 50 word fic challenge. Set not long after the events of og mw.

His letter informs you that he's been injured and he's lost someone close in the process.  You fear he won't make it, but the last thing he's written says that's not a concern of his. 

“You ever think of helping me lead a squad of little MacTavish's? Be home soon.”