#* regarding / open starter .

[venalos]

@tempestation

"C'mon, wake up!"

Was this the first time Ameth was careening towards the ground from high up in the sky? No. Neither would it be the last time.

Was this, however, the first time Ameth was falling from the heavens while his partner-in-crime was seemingly unresponsive? Absolutely.

"WAKE UP!!!"

With all the desperation one could imagine, he repeatedly clicked on the Poké Ball's central button, pressing it over and over with full knowledge that his life could literally depend on it. He paused to turn his gaze towards the rapidly-approaching ground -- a big mistake -- and he yelled before starting to click the button even faster than before, paired with furiously shaking the ball and even whacking it against his palm. Air rushed past him, whistling in his ears, and the ground came closer and closer.

He looked down again, down towards his rapidly-approaching fate. The Pokemon within the sphere was unresponsive, and there were no options. What else could Ameth have done in this precise moment other than gritting his teeth and shutting his eyes tight?

And to think, he could not even recall why he was falling to begin with...

[distortedkilling]

PERMANENT STARTER CALL! Like this post if you'd like to receive one. !(•́⌄•́ )૭✧

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[lycorisblooms]

"So maybe I'll go on a date at our next stop. Apparently there's some cool places to visit in the land of dreams. But there's the part I'm concerned over." Grey haired woman SIGHS. "Who do I take?!"

[abimopectcre]

His whole countenance is enigmatic, and it's perhaps for many reasons. He doesn't care which people choose. The most likely to decide whether to loathe or fear was really his only concern. He doesn't know why his own companions choose to settle in the halls of this vessel blessed by AKIVILI. He tends not to trust aeons ( but if ELIO trusts them, he supposes he can settle for bare trust. )

"Elio has seen that you stay alive for now. Though I can't guarantee what he saw about...HIM." He closes his eyes with a gruff sound. "The one you are destined to CHALLENGE."

[becomedecay]

starter status: open

where: twisted sisters pub

who: torbjörn

setting: tor, feeling disheartened by his inability to write seeks comfort in alcohol. being the mouthpiece of mortis, it's rare for him to be able to go out and enjoy life. do you recognise him? if you do — how will you approach? if you don't recognise him, great, maybe you'll be able to make conversation with him. maybe you don't recognise him from mortis, but you've seen him around town with his daughter astrid—or you've taught her, taken care of her in the moon & sun daycare centre or babysat her when he's needed the help.

cap: 4/4 — capped!

He's been engrossed in his notebook, writing out poetic meanings and phrases that could stab the heart—none of it works, his pen scrawling and scratching the paper until it breaks through to the page beneath. Huffing & sighing, Tor accepts that writing songs under stressful conditions just wouldn't do. Closing his notebook, he slips it away into his tattered messenger bag and decides it's in his best interest to just approach the remainder of the day as if he didn't just try to write more gothic, hell—worshipping music laced with hints of a love song.

It's all part of the mourning. The yearning. She's still unseen, her presence a knife in his chest. God, he misses her.

Slinging the bag strap over his head and across his chest, Tor leaves the ugly mug diner, knowing that the only cure for the lack of creativity is a hard beer. Hands tucked in his leather jacket pockets, he braces himself for the mid-evening chill as he walks to the twisted sisters pub, the only place he's found so far that makes him feel at home.

The walk felt so long, minutes dragged like hours but he makes it eventually, pushing through the main doors into the warmth and cluttered sounds of the pub. Immediately he feels more at ease, softly grinning to himself as he takes it all in. If only she could see this place.

Approaching the bar, Tor gives a happy wave and greets the bartender with relief. "Hey! Can I get a beer whenever you're ready? Thanks." He asks, leaning onto the bar with both his elbows. Instinctively, Tor begins fiddling with the drink mat they put down, twirling it in his hands.

As soon as someone comes and stands beside him, he stops, aware that the presence of another person means all his actions will become observed. Looking up, he straightens his back and acknowledges the new arrival with a gentle smile. "You've come at the right time. Place isn't too busy so you won't be waiting long." He's never been good at small talk, and this shows it in all its raw glory. Stifling himself from saying anything else potentially useless, he turns his attentions back to the mat, placing it flat on the bar top just as the bartender brings over his drink. "Cheers." Tor mutters, taking a sip to shut himself up.

[soulsbetrayed]

"Why am I friends with those three again?"

[coollyinterferes]

//thinking about

✨ t h e m ✨

[anderwhohn]

"Haven't I done enough?!" Isabela snaps in frustration, an ominous aura of dark energy flaring around her, her hands clenched into tight fists at her side as she clearly struggles to hold herself back even as she shouts. "I’m sick and tired of being the one who has to make the sacrifices! The only one sacrificing anything - and everything, it seems! I have literally died in my efforts to protect the galaxy, and you would think that meant I'd finally get to rest, but no! I get brought back to life - against my will, I might add - by a fucking human supremacist terrorist organisation that was the very fucking reason my entire unit died on Akuze and I'm supposed to just be okay with it? And be grateful, even?!"

"And in an oh so shocking turn of events, the Alliance fucking abandoned me, disbanded my crew, censored their communications with each other, and had the audacity to defame me after using my image for months for recruitment ads after they decided I wasn't even useful for that much anymore! All the while pushing out statements of how my claims of the Reaper threat were proof of my mental instability caused by the events of Akuze and every other traumatic mission I've been on since then, and Eden Prime was just what finally made me crack!"

[battlelaine]

"Ey, do me a favor. Taste this." Without any more of a warning Nita shoves an Orange and Lemon Meringue Macaron into the hands of the other before her. She stares expectantly at them. "Well? How is it??"

[bcneheaded]

💬🥀 — There's screaming... just around the corner there, just beyond this alleyway. Somewhere near the location of Artemis' shop, but far enough away to make the lesser demonic and shadow entities feel a little too brave, perhaps. To make the scouting goons of the demon's rival, a vampire lord, feel a little too at ease.

" 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎. " Comes a hoarse whisper; voice low as though murmuring a secret. A strangled whimper, and then something wet spattering to the ground. Whatever it was wasn't human, at least. But did that truly make the pain inflicted any better?

Rounding the corner, one would see the suited demon standing within the empty, narrow street, holding aloft an inky black imp-like demon in his gloved hand... Black tendrils wrapped around the smaller entity's throat, face, and arms... squeezing. slowly burning it with infernally heated tar. He was torturing it. playing with his food, so to speak. "𝙸 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑." Artemis' voice rings out in a hushed tone, words still level but scathing; biting; sharp within the undertones. He hated this creature. Hated it's kind. Hated his kind... hated them... 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌. There's a squelching noise-- black tendrils of tar wringing the creature hard enough squeeze out a strained gargle of pain-- and then there sound of something pouring to the ground. A heavy thump moments later.... and a sigh. Yellow pin-pricks of light stare in disgust at the crushed form of the demon at his feet, it's fetid blood trickling down the pavement-- threatening to soil the elder demon's pristine wingtip shoes.

And then he turns his sharp gaze slowly to meet that of the onlooker, seemingly hiding by the wall in the shadows. He says nothing, for now. He simply stares.

[familiaanteomnia]

Multiple layers were not enough, he needed an heater strapped to his body and yet the cold weather persisted. Trudging his way from the parking lot with motorcycle helmet in hand. Lack of seeing the certain individual he was looking for- so when spotted another student. Sure it was an risk but offered an friendly smile. "Hey uh sorry to bother you but have you maybe seen Nathan P.rescott around?"

[lycorisblooms]

Nightmares.

The blond doesn't have them often, but it's always the worst when he does. It leads him to leave the safety of his home he shares and walk outside to get fresh air. EVENTUALLY he just hopes he'll have a pleasant sleep. He barely gets rest anyway.

Fingers course through blond, tugging at his scalp as he's settled on a bench, hair all askew.

[abimopectcre]

He has picked the PRETTIEST stones to inlay into the hairpin the high elder has requested of him. [ The stars have all chosen their spots, he has sat outside to watch the sky simply to see what might be inlaid into the gemstones. It's as if he's CALLED the stardust into the pieces. ]

"What will you do when I'm not here." He murmurs out loud to the nothingness of the stars, speaking to whoever. [ He is a SHORT LIFE species. HE will die first, his own flame starting to burn out slowly. ]

[corkinavoid]

I'm pretty sure this has been done before (and several times), but brain going brrr, so

DPxDC John Constantine's How To: Ghost Kids

Bruce doesn't even get to say anything when the door to his study opens with a slam against the wall, and before he knows it, he gets an armful of kids. As in, a bouquet of them.

"I'm so done," John Constantine breathes out, raspy and exhausted, looking like a trainwreck incarnate. Granted, the man always looked like one, but right now, the effect has been greatly worsened. The dark circles under John's eyes are, in fact, black, and it looks like he hasn't shaved in at least a week.

Bruce looks down to the small gaggle of children in his lap that he caught in his hands by sheer reflex.

All three of them look up at him with identical, sky blue eyes. They could be twins if it was not for their obviously different ages - the girl looks no older than three, while the boys are probably around five and six.

The older boy scrunches his nose. The girl pouts, but it looks directed at Constantine rather than at him.

Bruce looks back to John, a silent question in his eyes.

"They are- Well, not mine, for starters," the man begins, placing his hands on the table right over the sheets and documents, and leans on it, hanging his head down. Then, he raises one hand up and waves it in the air, "Not yours either, thank the Gods for that." He takes a deep breath.

Bruce's eyebrows raise all the way up to his hairline. The girl starts trying to wiggle out of his hands, but the middle boy holds her back, keeping her in Bruce's lap. She pouts harder.

"And you've brought them here why?" Bruce breaks the stretched out silence, gently repositioning the kids into a more comfortable hold. John raises his head up at him, and the magician's eyes look straight up pleading.

"You're the only person I know of who is, one, a parent, two, acquainted with supernatural, three, a man of great patience, and four, owes me a favor." Constantine lists off reasons that don't really make sense all together, especially regarding kids. Then he thinks for a moment and adds, "Five, owes a shitton of liquor."

"John, what-"

"Listen, I've been dealing with them for a week, I'm at my limit," Constantine interrupts him, desperate and close to whining, "I haven't slept in more than three consecutive hours for days. I don't remember the last time I ate. Or took a shower."

Yes, Bruce can see that. Or, rather, smell it. But that answers none of his questions as to who, why, and how.

"I would kill for a bath," John admits, like it's some sort of a secret. The middle boy opens his mouth, but Constantine points an accusing finger at him, "No, the puddle of melted ghost ice does not count for a bath. And don't come at me with your death puns."

The child rolls his eyes but closes his mouth back and slumps. Bruce resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, but only because he is holding three kids. His hands are full, quite literally.

"John, I need you to explain," he asks, somewhere between a demand and a careful inquiry. Because, really, the man looks on the brink of losing his sanity, that much is evident. Bruce might not like the man, but he can at least partially sympathize with dealing with kids.

His bare minimum of sympathy - and isn't it a bizarre thought, emotionally sympathizing with John Constantine of all people - does not ease his growing worry and irritation. The girl starts trying to get out of his hold again.

John takes a very deep breath, holds it, and then-

"I stole them," he says, looking Bruce dead in the eye, with a sense of resigned, if a bit unhinged, determination. And, before Bruce is able to ask literally anything else, he keeps going, "Their parents are shit, a branch of government is out for their guts - as in, literal guts - there was- there is a backdoor to the afterlife in their basement, and also they are dead and because of some Realms fuckery and their spiritual granddad being a huge pain in the ass, they are all wrong ages."

Bruce blinks. Then blinks again. Processing that sentence turns out to be a lot harder than he estimated.

The oldest kid in his lap gives John a middle finger, nearly sneering. The girl starts snickering, somehow making it soundless.

"Oh, and they are under a silence charm because if I hear one more references to fucking Ghostbusters I will shoot myself," Constantine finishes matter-of-factly.

Distantly, Bruce wonders if John can make that spell into some sort of an amulet. God knows, Dick really needs one sometimes. Steph does, too. And Jason. Actually, all of them need one.

He looks over the kids again. They don't seem scared or unsettled, neither by the fact they are sitting in a lap of a stranger nor by Constantine's bullet point version of a summary to their lives. They mostly just look annoyed and grumpy, and a bit embarrassed in case of the middle boy.

Bruce sighs and decides to start somewhere.

"Do they have names?"

[part 2 ->]

[domjaehyun]

i ❤️ hot nerds (l.dh, n.jm) — preview

PAIRING. pervert!nerd!haechan, pervert!nerd!jaemin x popular!fem!reader  GENRE. smut, slight fluff CONTENTS. explicit smut (kissing, fingering, oral (receiving), titfucking, breast play, lots of drool and spit, overstimulation, snowballing, dirty talk, rimming, anal play, missionary, riding, mating press, breeding/creampies) WORD COUNT. 8.7k; teaser wc: 525 words SUMMARY. when your professor pairs you with the two smartest students in your class for a group project, you find yourself making an interesting deal with them. or, alternatively: the one where you have to help two nerds learn to get girls so you can pass your class. PLAYLIST. n/a NOTES. remember when i said i was up to something with these two? this is it! the full fic is already posted on my patreon here, and i’ll be posting it in full to tumblr on september 30th!

“You don’t get it—we need to be fuckable!” Haechan stresses, and you roll your eyes in exasperation.

“Haechan, you’re already fuckable.” you explain calmly, and he opens his mouth in preparation for some witty remark, but after processing your words, his eyes widen and his mouth hangs open uselessly, his accusingly pointed finger now pointing meekly at the floor at an angle. 

“I—So—so you would fuck us?” he stammers, and you nod slowly, looking from him to Jaemin.

“Why do you think I let you get away with your numerous dorm violations?” you snort in amusement, and he blinks hard.

“I thought you just took pity on us, y’know? Like you had a soft spot for nerds or something.”

“I don’t have a soft spot for nerds.” you answer. “I have a soft spot for hot nerds, though.”

His mouth opens and closes pathetically as his normally quick-witted brain scrambles to process the information you’ve just presented to him. Jaemin is quicker to act, sitting forward so suddenly the move could be considered as predatory, and you’re not sure if it’s the lighting reflecting off of his glasses or what, but there is most definitely a glint in his eye as he regards you, his lips gradually stretching into a toothy grin.

“So you let us get away with stuff? Because you like us? Like what?” he questions, and you tilt your head to the side as you think. 

“Your candles, for starters. Haechan’s tapestry, your many many noise complaints from your neighbors when you two get too heated as you’re gaming,” you start to list off on your fingers, and you cross one leg over the other, not missing the way both of their eyes shift to your newly exposed skin and how… hungry they look. “The way you—” you point at Haechan, “always try to get away with looking up my skirt.”

Haechan’s face flushes a pretty shade of red, and you smile, amused, as he scrambles to defend himself. Before he can, you hold up a hand to silence him. 

“Haechan?”

“Yes?” he replies meekly.

“If I minded, I would have said something by now. I certainly wouldn’t have kept wearing skirts and accidentally flashing you.” 

His eyes roll back into his head with a whimper and he nods in understanding. 

“And you—” you round on Jaemin, who’s still perched like a lion about to pounce, and the male just smiles wider, tilting his head to the side curiously.

“What about me?”

“You probably think you’re slick with the little lingering touches on my back and waist when you’re ‘trying to get by,’ but I only let you do that because I like it.”

His grin widens more than you even thought possible, the glint in his eye now unmistakable. “Oh, yeah? Where else do you like being touched?”

“I mean,” you hum, uncrossing your thighs and smiling as both of their gazes hone in on the space between your legs, “I could tell you, but I think you’d rather have me show you.”

“I have a better idea,” Jaemin murmurs, moving towards you slowly. “How about you let us find out?”

reminder that the full fic is already posted on my patreon if you don't want to wait!

[unshackled-instinct]

“So Kyo’s worthless sycophant has finally shown himself...”