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[kmhonco]

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[spitxlfields]

Since the new DLC is out, we’ve been playing a lot of Cult of the Lamb again, and is it just me or does anyone else think that Helob sounds exactly like the Japanese voice actor for Undertaker in Kuroshitsuji ?????

Anyway, that got me thinking about the short part in both the first anime and the manga (I think both??? Forgive me, I have not interacted with that piece of media in literally a decade) where Undertaker is just vibing in a barrel of salt. And then that eventually peculated into a headcanon for Mortimer:

 Mortimer keeps large quantities of anhydrous ethanol (or depending on availability, Everclear or comparable spirit) in a large vat in his basement for the express purpose of taking a dip in when it gets too hot in the summer. Because ethanol evaporates so quickly, it is extremely efficient at getting his body temperature back down since he cannot regulate it on his own. He comes out looking a little more desiccated than when we went in, but he bounces back to normal quickly.

[moomuzan]

⋆·˚ ༘ *𝖔𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊 𝖏𝖚𝖎𝖈𝖊

ᴛᴡ

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ they find out about your eating disorder

ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ chuuya , dazai , akutagawa

The red-haired had always admired your strength. Carrying yourself like a quiet fire that seemed impervious to the storms of life, unyielding under the weight of the underworld’s chaos. You were his protégé, the one he poured himself into, the one who embodied everything he once longed to be but couldn’t. His pride. His light. The proof that even in the darkest corners of the world, something radiant could exist. But even the brightest flames can flicker, and it was in the faint tremors of your hands, the tight smiles, and the hollow laugh that he began to notice cracks in the armor you wore so well.

When you were alone, the emptiness gnawed at you. It was a beast you couldn’t tame, one that whispered lies into your ear about control, about worth, about the ugly truths buried in your reflection. Those nights, after the world fell silent and your facade could finally shatter, you found yourself in the kitchen, hands trembling as you pulled open cabinets, rifling through anything you could find. Bread, chips, sweets, anything to fill the void, anything to quiet the roaring need that felt like a punishment and a salvation all at once. You ate until you couldn’t breathe, until your stomach screamed in protest, until shame curdled in your veins like poison. Then came the guilt—a black wave that crashed over you, suffocating, pulling you under. And so, you purged, desperate to rid yourself of the weight, of the regret, of the proof of your failure. It was a ritual of suffering, one you endured in silence, hiding it from the world because no one could ever understand.

Therefore, food had always been the battlefield. Chuuya had no words for how your face tightened whenever a meal was placed in front of you, how your laugh sounded strained when he joked about how little you ate. At first, he thought it was preference, something trivial. But then came the patterns. The way you’d push food around your plate, the careful excuses that masked avoidance, the too-frequent trips to the bathroom after meals. He dismissed it, once, twice, too many times, unwilling to shatter the image he had of you—unbreakable, invincible, beyond fragility.

Until one day, he couldn’t.

Upon a quiet night, after a grueling mission, the two of you were eating together. He had cooked, something rare, almost celebratory. He wanted to see you smile, to hear your laugh ring genuine, unguarded. But the moment was stolen by the slight twitch in your brow, the way you forced yourself through each bite like it was a penance. And then you were gone, chair scraping against the floor as you muttered some excuse about needing the bathroom.

The mafia executive wasn’t sure why he followed. Perhaps it was the gnawing pit in his stomach, the accumulation of every unease he’d ever felt about you but hadn’t wanted to name. Or perhaps it was the way you hadn’t looked at him when you stood, the way your eyes seemed fixed on something far, far away. Whatever it was, it pulled him from his seat, silent, careful, until he stood outside the bathroom door.

A choked sob, raw and jagged, as if your chest was being ripped apart—the sound hit him. Then came the gagging, the frantic, broken attempts to purge what little you’d eaten. His heart clenched at the sound, a violent, suffocating force that left him frozen for a moment too long. When the retching stopped, there was silence, and then another sound—one that would haunt him far longer than any gunfire or scream. You were crying, but it wasn’t the kind of crying he could soothe. It was feral, unrestrained, the sound of someone drowning in their own skin.

He pushed the door open, and the sight gutted him.

You were on the floor, knees pressed to your chest, fists clenched so tightly your knuckles were white. Tears streaked your face, mixing with the remnants of your futile attempts to purge. Your shoulders shook violently, your breaths ragged and shallow, as if the weight of existence itself was pressing down on you. too lost in whatever storm was tearing you apart from the inside, you didn’t even notice him at first.

As he called your name, his voice broke, soft but weighted, you flinched as though struck. Your head snapped up, eyes wide and wild, filled with a mixture of shame, fear, and something he couldn’t name.

“Don’t—don’t look at me,” you choked out, your voice shattered, hands scrambling to shield yourself from his gaze as though his presence alone was enough to destroy you.

But he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. How could he, when the person he cherished most in the world was falling apart in front of him? When the strength he admired so fiercely had been a mask for a torment so profound it left you hollow? His hands curled into fists at his sides, trembling—not with anger, but with helplessness. Chuuya Nakahara, the Port Mafia’s finest, a man who had survived horrors most couldn’t fathom, didn’t know how to fix this.

And yet, he moved. Slow, deliberate, he crossed the space between you and knelt down, ignoring the mess, ignoring everything but you. He didn’t speak. What words could possibly touch the depth of what he felt? What comfort could ease the anguish that had been festering in your soul long before he’d ever noticed? Instead, he reached out, his gloved hand trembling as it brushed against yours.

Although you tried to pull away, he held on, firm but gentle, grounding. Your protests were weak, broken, crumbling under the weight of his quiet persistence. Eventually, you stopped fighting, your hand going limp in his as the sobs wracked your body anew. He pulled you into his arms then, holding you like you might shatter, like the world itself would crumble if he let go.

Heavy and suffocating a silence followed. Though in it, there was an unspoken promise. A vow etched not in words but in the way he held you, in the way his gloved fingers gently stroked your hair, in the way his own shoulders shook with the weight of what he’d just realized. You weren’t invincible. You weren’t unbreakable. But you didn’t have to be. Not with him.

Truthfully, chuuya didn’t know what came next. He didn’t know how to help you, how to fix the cracks in your foundation. But he did know one thing: he would never let you face this alone again. You were his pride, his light, the fire he’d chased his entire life. And no matter how fragile that flame might be, he would protect it with everything he had—even from yourself.

,

Dazai had always known how fragile you were, even when you didn’t realize it yourself. It wasn’t just your body, though the sharp lines of your frame had always seemed on the verge of disappearing, as if you weren’t fully of this world. No, it was something deeper—a fragility that resided in the quiet spaces between your laughter, in the way your eyes lingered on the edges of mirrors as though you feared what might look back at you. He had been drawn to it, at first. That strange contradiction of strength and delicacy, the way you carried yourself like a wisp of smoke in a room full of storms.

But even smoke can suffocate.

It began so subtly that Dazai almost missed it. The way you picked at your food with a practiced indifference, your careful avoidance of meals disguised as nonchalance. He watched you fold excuses into your routines like origami, delicate and precise—“I already ate,” “I’m not hungry,” “I’ll grab something later.” Lies so thin they barely held their shape, but he let them pass because he thought he understood you. You were his quiet escape from the chaos, a tether to the normality he so desperately sought. But now, as the days turned into weeks, and your sharp edges grew sharper still, he realized your fragility wasn’t simply a part of you—it was consuming you.

The obsession, your obsession, was was unsettled him the most. The way you clung to control, as if it were the only thing keeping you alive. He saw it in the numbers you counted in your head, the mental calculations that flickered behind your eyes whenever food was near. You moved constantly, restless and relentless, as though standing still would unravel you. And yet, despite your need to escape the shape of your own body, he saw how you lingered in front of mirrors, tracing the lines of your collarbones and ribs with trembling fingers. You hated what you saw, yet in that hatred, you found power. A twisted kind of triumph.

Dazai, for all his sharpness, didn’t know how to confront it. How could he, when you had built your cage so carefully, so intricately, that he feared any wrong move might trap you further? He watched in silence, a ghost hovering at the edges of your pain, his own heart growing heavier with every meal you skipped, every lie you told, every step that carried you further away from him. Naturally, you didn’t know, couldn’t know, how much he had come to love you—not in fragments, not as something fleeting, but entirely. Utterly. You thought you were a passing indulgence, something temporary to fill the void in his life, but you were so much more than that.

Fighting demons, he waited until the night he couldn’t stay silent anymore.

You’d spent the day evading food with a grace that was almost artful, your avoidance so practiced it might have been rehearsed. By the time evening came, you were a shadow of yourself, moving through the room like a ghost. Dazai sat at the edge of your shared space, watching as you ran your hands over your arms, up and down, like you were trying to prove to yourself that you were still there. Your fingers brushed against the sharp jut of your bones, and for the briefest moment, your expression flickered—triumph, control, and then disgust, so fleeting he might have missed it if he hadn’t been looking.

“You’re hurting yourself,” he said, his voice soft but resolute.

Hands lingering in the air before it dropped to your side, you froze “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you murmured, the lie falling from your lips like ash.

He stood then, crossing the room in slow, measured steps. There was no anger in him, only a sorrow so deep it felt like drowning. “You do,” he said simply. “You’ve known all along. You’ve been counting every bite, every step, every ounce of control, but you can’t see what it’s doing to you.”

While your chest tightened your eyes darted away from his, searching for an escape. “I’m fine,” you whispered, but the words rang hollow, as brittle as your frame.

“No, you’re not.” His hand reached out, but he stopped just short of touching you, as though afraid you might break beneath the weight of his concern. “You think this is control, don’t you? That if you can keep shrinking, you’ll finally be enough. But you’re already disappearing. You’re fading, and I…” Being the first sign of the turmoil raging beneath his calm facade, his voice cracked, “I can’t lose you to this.”

Tears welled in your eyes, unbidden and unstoppable, spilling over as the dam finally broke. “I don’t know how to stop,” you confessed, your voice trembling with the weight of your admission. “I don’t know how to be enough for you, for anyone, for myself.”

Closing the distance between you then, his arms reached around your trembling frame. You felt impossibly small against him, as though you might dissolve entirely if he held you too tightly. “You’ve always been enough,” he murmured into your hair, his voice low, raw. “I didn’t fall in love with you because of how you look, or because of the shape of your body. I love you because you make me want to live. Don’t you see? You’re the only thing that’s ever made me feel alive, and I can’t lose that—not to this, not to anything.”

Then you collapsed against him, your sobs muffled against his chest as his words sank into the hollow spaces inside you. For the first time, the control you clung to felt less like power and more like a chain, one you weren’t sure you could break alone. But in Dazai’s arms, in the steadiness of his voice, there was a flicker of something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hope.

And for a moment, in the fragile quiet of that night, you allowed yourself to believe it.

,

When you came back from the hospital, Akutagawa thought you were better. Not whole—he knew better than to believe anyone could walk out of that kind of war unscathed—but better. You were quieter, more restrained than before, but he chalked it up to the aftershocks of what you’d endured. He wasn’t one for excessive concern or sentimentality, so he gave you space, trusting that your resilience would guide you forward.

Working alongside him, just as you always had, you carried out the ruthless tasks of the Mafia with precision and poise. But there was something in your movements that had changed—something more deliberate, almost rigid, as though you were holding yourself together through sheer will alone. At first, he dismissed it as adjustment. You’d been through a storm, after all, and even the strongest took time to rebuild.

What he didn’t see was how the storm had followed you.

In the dead hours of the night, when you were alone in your quarters, the thoughts crept back in—quiet at first, like whispers. You’re too much. You’ll fall apart if you let go. Control is the only way. They slithered into your mind, wrapping themselves around the fragile progress you’d made, and you welcomed them like old friends. You told yourself you’d stop before it went too far, that it was just temporary, just a way to feel steady again. But control was a ravenous thing, never satisfied with half-measures.

Like an old, repeating pattern, you began skipping meals—not all at once, but enough to convince yourself it wasn’t dangerous. A missed breakfast here, a lighter dinner there. You avoided eating in front of Akutagawa whenever possible, claiming you weren’t hungry or were too busy. When you couldn’t avoid it, you picked at your food, calculating every bite, every calorie, with a precision that bordered on obsession.

Of course, you thought you were hiding it well. Learning to wear looser clothing to disguise the weight you were losing, staying late in the training rooms, pushing your body until exhaustion numbed the gnawing hunger, you told yourself this was strength, that the growing sharpness of your cheekbones and the hollows beneath your collarbone were proof of your control. But the truth was, you were spiraling, and you were too afraid to stop.

Akutagawa, on the other hand, didn’t notice at first. He was consumed with his own duties, his own battles, and you were careful to keep your mask intact around him. But as the weeks passed, he began to see the cracks. The way your energy faltered during missions, the unsteady tremor in your hands when you thought no one was watching. He noticed how your voice grew quieter, how your laughter—rare as it was—disappeared altogether. And then there was the weight.

Now you looked fragile, as though a strong wind might shatter you. He told himself it was stress, that you were still recovering, that if it were serious, you would tell him. You had promised him once, after all, that you wouldn’t keep him in the dark again.

But you didn’t tell him.

One evening, after a particularly grueling mission, he caught you lingering in the shadows of the Mafia’s base. You were leaning against the wall, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as though trying to hold yourself together. He approached silently, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took in the gauntness of your face, the dark circles beneath your eyes.

“You haven’t been eating,” he said bluntly, his voice low and steady.

Stiffening, you didn’t turn to face him. “I’m fine,” you replied, your tone carefully controlled.

“No, you’re not.”

Heavy and unrelenting, his words hung in the air. Slowly, you turned to meet his gaze, and for a moment, he saw the truth in your eyes—the fear, the shame, the desperation you’d been trying so hard to hide. But just as quickly, you looked away, your mask snapping back into place.

“I said I’m fine,” you repeated, your voice sharper this time. “I don’t need you to worry about me.”

He stepped closer, his presence as unyielding as his gaze. “This isn’t about need,” he said. “It’s about what I see. And what I see is you killing yourself.”

As your hands clenched at your sides, your nails were digging into your palms. “You don’t understand,” you said, your voice breaking despite your efforts to keep it steady.

“Then make me understand.”

For a moment, the room was filled with silence, heavy and suffocating. And then, like a dam breaking, the words spilled out of you.

“I thought I could handle it,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I thought I was past it, that I could stop whenever I wanted. But it’s always there, Akutagawa. The need to control, the fear of letting go. It’s… it’s like drowning, but I’m the one holding myself underwater.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t speak. Then, slowly, he reached out, his gloved hand resting gently on your shoulder. “You’re not alone in this,” he said quietly. “You never have to be.”

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. “But what if I can’t stop? What if it’s too late?”

“It’s not too late,” he said firmly. “And even if it takes everything I have, I’ll make sure you remember that.”

There was no grand gesture, no dramatic declaration. Just the quiet promise of someone who refused to let you fall. And for the first time in weeks, the walls you had built around yourself began to crack.

a/n: i‘d like to leave a few words actually, i got this request around midnight but i wrote it on sitting and got pretty emotional (yikes) i never wrote something like this so it might come off as stiff. i had anorexia myself, and am now still dealing with bulimia. help. i spent all my teenage years counting calories. i still do , sometimes. this disorder leaves you with nothing but despair. i don’t mean to romanticise it so i tried making it realistic — though it probably sucks. well whatever. if anyone is struggling with this, please get help—even if it’s just online, reaching out won’t make it disappear but easier. love you all so much!

[bamfaholic]

From Eden to Sit at Your Door | Part 2 |

Kurt Wagner x Reader | 2.1k words

A/N: Not my favorite chapter so far, debating on going back and editing. Slightly proof read

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

You can also follow this piece and read my other works on my AO3!

You awoke on your beaten down couch in your flat. Your head pounds and swims at the same time. You try to scrape your mind for any fragments of what happened before. This is the worst hangover ever.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, and a tan trench coat slumps down into your lap. The scent of scorched embers assaults your nose, making your neurons fire off. The fuzzy memory of a blue man, quite literally, leaving you on a rooftop comes to mind. His hands rummaging your wallet. How chilly it felt…

You shiver as you throw your legs over, setting the coat down beside you. You begin to slowly get to your feet but notice something in its pocket. You pull it out, running the cool, smooth beads through your fingers. It’s a rosary, and a beautiful one at that. Made of what seems to be genuine mineral rocks and rose beads. The sculpted crucifixion of Christ has gold painting the edges, but it’s clearly worn down through touch.

You chew the inside of your cheek. Things are growing curiouser and curiouser. You place it back down on the coat and shamble off into your kitchen. You bend down, gathering your kettle from the cabinet, but freeze. You hear the soft, airy breathing of someone else. It’s faint, but there.

You grit your teeth, close your eyes as you take a deep breath and rise. You go on with your little task, filling the kettle with water. The breathing is still there, so at least you’re not hallucinating it. The kitchen is dark, and you blink as you read the clock as 2 a.m. What the hell happened to you? You would, normally, flick on the lights to make it much easier to see, but that could tip off whoever is here. Luckily, you could navigate your flat with your eyes closed.

Once the kettle was full, you whip around. In one fluid movement, you throw nearly the entirety of its contents out in front of you.

Out comes a yelp, and you look to see two yellow lights, beaming at you. “Friend!” He huffs, hair drenched. “What was that for?” He jumps off the top of your fridge, approaching you with his palms visible to ease you.

“Kurt?” You cock your head to the side and place the kettle down. “What are you doing here? Why on top of my fridge?” That alarmed you most, instead of, perhaps, the fact he seemingly broke into your home.

Water dribbles and drips down your fridge, creating a puddle on the linoleum. “I was taking care of you, friend.” He sighs, grabbing a small dish towel to try and get the loose water out of his hair and off his clothes. “It is not a wash day.” He grumbles to himself. He shakes out his limbs, like a dog, before offering a toothy smile. “I was worried, friend.”

“Worried?” You wince, the headache ebbing in intensity. You hold your temple. “What for?” Your patience at your own inability to remember is diminishing. “I just… I remember having tea and then…”

“And then?” He repeats, his tail flicking to your table, wrapping around an apple and bringing it forth to his mouth. He takes a bite. “You don’t remember the rooftops? The police?” He asks, chunks of apple in his maw.

You shake your head, laughing even. He must be insane. “No, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But then, you stare. You stare at him, like before, inching closer to truly get his details. You get a sense of Déjà vu, realizing this man is blue and does have a tail. What?!

He rips another bite from the apple’s flesh. “Oh dear, well then I must enlighten you.” He reaches into a pocket, pulling out what looks like a long slender tube that comes to a needle-point. There’s English inscribed on the side. “Do you remember this?”

You narrow your eyes, your gut telling you it’s familiar. “A… A little.”

“It’s a mutant tranquilizer, friend.” He begins, lackadaisically tossing it in the air, like a toy. “It only works on mutants. It feels freezing cold, like… Drenched in water.” His eyes dart to the empty kettle before letting out a hearty chuckle. Your cheeks flush pink. “You were hit, in the liver. I had to leave you at a bell tower, for which I am greatly sorry, but it was necessary.”

His summary is jogging your memory. The events of a few hours prior begin to bleed into your mind. “R-Right.” Adrenaline starts to pump through you again. The panic of the chase, the shot, everything comes crashing into you at once.

“I had to do some digging. I found your address by your ID, but I am no fool. They don’t call me The Great Nightcrawler for nothing.” He offers you a wink and a smile. It eases you a smidge. “I scouted out the area, ensuring you would be safe, and then brought you here. You’ve slept off the drug.”

“Is it completely out of my system?” You lean back, resting your palms on the edge of the kitchen counter.

“Absolutely, my friend, I assure you.” He grins wider. “You don’t need to fret, there is no side effects. And even if there is, I have a barrel of antidotes.”

You tumble his words in your head, trying to make sense of it all. “Wait… You said it was mutant tranquilizer. Does it work on humans?”

He shakes his head, “No, it does not. Something in its makeup has it target those with the activated X gene.”

“But… Then that means…” You shake your head, your world, your perception, shattering and crumbling before your very eyes. “I’m not a mutant.” You’re adamant, but an anxious laugh slips out. “I’m just blind, that’s it. That’s it!”

Kurt steps closer, gently taking your hands in his. The warmth is comforting, the touch is alien. Your cheeks burn a little hotter, your breathing hastening. His two fingers are an odd sensation, expecting the normal five, but you hold on nonetheless. “Friend, dear, do you remember sitting at the table with me? You were able to hear the police blocks down from us, and through the chatter of the crowds. That is not… ‘Normal.’”

You nervously rub circles into his one knuckle, chewing your cheek to the point you taste iron. “But, I-“ You scramble to build some defense, some excuse. “I don’t-“ You have to admit it. “I didn’t know it was… Inhuman.” You lower your head, glancing away. You stare at the grout of your kitchen  tiles, focusing on the pathways and intersections to calm yourself. “I never… I never noticed it being strange to others. I always chalked it up to the idea of missing one sense heightens the others.”

“Friend, you were able to notice me. You, who lacks sight, noticed me. Even the best of the best struggle to find me in the dark.” His smile is sweet, sweeter than any cup of tea you’ve had. “You are just like me.”

His words dance in your head, your heart flutters. Like him? You are a mutant? As a child you played with the idea, as many did. Due to the delay in expressing the X gene, commonly in puberty or under great duress, children of all ages played with the idea of becoming the next superhero. Even you.  

But now that it was staring you dead in the face, you wish you could take it all back.

You swallow, opening your mouth to speak, but the words get stuck in your throat. Kurt offers a squeeze. “It’s alright, it’s okay to be scared.” He drops his voice to a whisper. “I was too, you know.”

That has you snort. “You? Scared?”

He nods. “Yes, I was. I was scared when the X-Men came to my door, seeking me out. I thank God they came for me.”

Wait. Hold on. The X-Men? “The X-Men? Kurt, you don’t mean to say-“

“Aye.” He puffs out his chest, grinning. “I am not only The Great Nightcrawler but I am an X-Man!” His nose crinkles, smile lines framing his eyes. “In truth, I was here to find a mutant, but it seems another stole my attention.” His tail gently places the half-eaten apple on the table, the spade-shaped tip gently pushing under your chin, having you meet his gaze.

You absolutely burn up, forgetting to breathe for a moment. “What now?” You barely whisper, your words wobbling. You completely give away that you are out of your element.

“Now…” He clicks his tongue, tail whipping behind him. If he wasn’t so… Demon-esque, you’d swear he’d be part dog. “Now I ensure your safety and see if Charles would like to meet you.” He glances back to your living room before resuming his sights on you.

“Charles?” You inquire. “Who is that?”

“The man who saved me.” A fang peeks out from his lips in his smile. “A smart, kind, honest man. But for now, you should rest. You are still recovering.”

Kurt doesn’t allow you much protest, bringing you back to the couch, forcing you to lay down.

“Could I have a blanket, at least?” You meekly ask, you didn’t want to seem rude with rejecting his coat.

“Ah, of course!” His tail flicks more.

You guide him to getting you a quilt, and he gently tucks you in. He gets you everything you could need, being as polite as a saint. He does teleport the few feet, back and forth, which you find amusing. Why not take the few steps?

“Now, you are all set to rest.” He grins, taking his position on a chair across from the couch. He crouches down, resting his weight on the balls of his feet.

“What about you? Aren’t you tired?” You look him up and down, only seeing his silhouette with the darkness and your impaired vision. “Isn’t that uncomfortable?”

“No, no.” You can even hear his smile. “I quite like sitting like this. Besides, I need to be prepared.”

“Prepared?” You muse. “Prepared for wha-“

God really has a sense of humor. You were far too focused on the fuzzy man to notice the rumbling of armored trucks, the slams of metal doors outside your apartment building. As if this was scripted, the windows to your flat shatter. In an instant, Kurt is on top of you, reeking of Brimstone. He shields you from the shards with his back.

“For this!” He shouts over the booming noise of boots and shouts of commands. Grapple hooks sink into the lip of your windowsills, a whirring noise following. Men armed to the teeth begin pouring into the tiny apartment.

Kurt whips around, and you see shards of glass lodged in his back, primarily near his shoulder blades. Deep indigo weeps from the wounds and begins to stain his clothes. He pulls out two long swords, thin and nimble. You find it insane you never noticed them before, but it has been dark.

He’s fluid, like a dance, as he cuts down the men. He teleports around the room, using the walls and ceiling as leverage, much to his advantage. Blood seeps into your carpet. With a large chunk of men rendered dead on the floor, and Kurt properly out of breath, he heads for you next.

He hooks an arm around you. You realize now, you were too stunned to do anything. You haven’t even uttered a word. You begin to, but Kurt beats you to it. “Hold on!”

Oh god. Here we go…

Nausea hits you in your gut as you’re hurled through space. Rooftop to rooftop you go, thrown over Kurt’s shoulder. You keep your focus on the glass. It must hurt, you wonder, but know better than to touch or even try to pull out the debris. Yet, Kurt seems unaffected.

You both soar, soaking in the moonlight as the quiet city rests below. Kurt is huffing and puffing, his shoulders heaving, when you arrive at your destination. A church, a very old one at that. You recognize where you are, a rather historic district in Germany. These streets were once the ghettos of the Jews. What once was a temple, now stood a run-down Catholic church.

Kurt takes a few steps toward the front door, knocking with his knuckles. It echoes, with no response. His tail is practically dragging on the floor as he’s still struggling to catch his breath. Yet, he still has that trademark toothy grin as he turns to you.

“Welcome to my home.”

Keep up to date and read my other works here on my AO3.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

[hippolotamus]

Sentence Sunday ✨

I can show you lies 'Cause I'm a real tough kid, I can handle my shit They said, "Babe, you gotta fake it 'til you make it" and I did Lights, camera, bitch smile, even when you wanna die I was grinning like I'm winning, I was hitting my marks 'Cause I can do it with a broken heart

Beloved mutuals and pocket pals... I honestly don't know what to say for myself. This is a case of 'I listened to a song too much, I had an idea I knew I was never gonna write' turned 'I'll just throw it out as a prompt' --> 'I'll just make a moodboard' --> 'Oh god, I've written over 1k words in place of a summary'. SO. Have... whatever this is, T Swift influenced Buddie actor au. Under the cut to save your dash.

Honestly, if the world still exists in the morning, Eddie Diaz doesn't really give a fuck. His girlfriend left, claiming he's still not over his late wife, and his teenage son, the last thread connecting him to said wife, went to go live with his grandparents. After, of course, blaming Eddie for pushing 'yet another one' away. Christopher wouldn't even look at him before he went.

Then there's Anita Mills, his agent, who is probably a few blood pressure points away from a stroke at this point. Assuming she doesn't fire him first.

Let her, he thinks, grabbing a bottle of Maker's Mark from the cabinet. He has a string of blockbuster films to his name, not to mention a commendable collection of Oscar's and Emmy's. Not that they made his parents proud or kept his wife from leaving him before she died. But they exist as proof that he's had a successful career. Between investments and liquid assets he has more money than he would know what to do with in a hundred lifetimes. So, fuck it.

Eddie breaks the wax seal and twists off the red cap. He doesn't even bother with a glass, not really seeing a need. He's never been a big drinker, but lately his tolerance has grown considerably. Indulging until he passes out seems like an ideal use of his time right now anyway. If he wakes up after? Well, he'll consider that a success.

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"Hey! What the hell?!" Eddie manages, coughing and trying not to choke on the ice cold water hitting his body. He opens his eyes to see Mills towering over him, glowering and holding an empty vase. He swipes a hand across his face. "Seriously, Anita, what the fuck was that?"

"I don't know, Eddie, you tell me." She disappears for less than a minute, returning with a hand towel she unceremoniously drops on his chest. "Help me out here. What's today?"

He wriggles himself to something resembling sitting and leans back against the coffee table. "What's today?" He parrots back dumbly.

Anita crosses her arms and quirks an eyebrow. "I asked you first."

Today, today, today. Where was he supposed to be- "Shit! The interview with, uh, fuck." He snaps his fingers and racks his brain trying to remember a name or a face. All he knows is they're important.

"Claudette Collins. Very good, Eddie, you got it part way."

"Give me ten minutes, I'll put myself together and we can go," he says, fighting the violent wave of nausea that hits as he scrambles to stand up.

"Save your poor carpet from getting puked on and sit the hell down."

"What? No, I can-"

"Eddie," Anita interjects, "the interview was five hours ago. The interview with the Claudette Collins. The one that took me months of phone calls, groveling and cashing in favors to get for you."

Fuck. "Anita, I'm so sorry. How-"

"Save it." Anita holds her hand up, effectively silencing him. It takes him back to being seven years old and having to explain why his dad's truck had an enormous dent in it. She rests her hands on her hips, pacing back and forth as she purses her lips. Eventually she sits in the leather armchair situated in the corner. "Eddie, you and I have known each other a long time. A long time. I've been your agent since you walked into my shitty office back in Dallas. Given your impressive display of awards, I'd say we've done pretty well together."

She inhales sharply, rubbing at her temple. Anita doesn't mince words, it's part of why he's always liked her. He never has to question where he stands. She says 'jump' and he knows exactly how high. It's not difficult to guess what's coming next.

"Eddie, I know you're going through a rough patch. What you're dealing with is hard enough without seeing it splashed on every tabloid and trashy website. Not to mention none of those places knows the real story, so it's all a bunch of 'she said he might have said' bullshit. But you've made it through tougher things." Anita doesn't need to clarify that she's talking about Shannon's death and how his parents tried to take Christopher. "I don't know what's happening this time, but I need to take a step back. My wife has made it very clear that all of my attempts at stress management are not working and that if I can't get it under control I shouldn't be surprised when I come home to an empty house. So."

Eddie swallows, waiting for the inevitable and cursing himself for pretending he wouldn't care.

"I've talked to a few friends in the business and found someone willing to take you on."

What?

"What? You're not firing me?"

Anita's features soften. "Technically, yes. I am very much dropping you like a scorpion I found in my boots. However, like I said, I found someone willing to work with you. The name is Bobby Nash. He runs a smallish agency but don't let that throw you. He's cobbled together some pretty impressive talent. I assume you've heard of Evan Buckley?"

Eddie scoffs. "Of course I have. Who hasn't? Christ, he's everywhere you look. I can't pass a damn bus stop without seeing his face." A few details begin to click into place within Eddie's muddled brain. "Bobby Nash is his agent?"

"Sure is. And we all know the stories about Evan's past aren't the type you trot out at parties. My advice is that you don't look a gift horse in the mouth, go with Nash and do whatever he tells you to do. He even has a role in mind for you, costarring with Buckley. What do you say?"

What else was there to say? If Eddie didn't want to get blacklisted or wind up as some washed up tragic Hollywood story, being gossiped about where everyone - including his son - could see what a failure he was...

"I guess I say- when can I meet him?"

"Good answer." Anita clasps her hands together and gives him her signature smirk that tells him she approves. "Just leave everything to me."

Up to this point, Eddie has trusted Anita implicitly with all the messy business that comes with having him for a client. Why stop now?

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[quilly72]

Part 1

It wasnt often a small factory in the middle of Kansas made a breakthrough that could change the world. A new growth formula for plants had been concocted by their best operators and researchers. They called it MiracleGro. It specifically targeted the female aspects of the plants causing them to grow anywhere from 5 to even 50 times it's original size depending on how much was used and how concentrated it was.

Hitomi and her team were ecstatic. They had made a strawberry plant capable of creating strawberries that were as big as someone's head or fruit trees that soared above the 5 story factory.

They were so close and so excited they just needed to figure out one little side effect for whatever reason their growth formula had the inverse reaction on any male parts of the plant. Decreasing pollen and the ability for these plants to reproduce. If they wanted to use this they would need to figure it out.

1 week went by and nothing

2 weeks and the pressure started to mount up. The world wanted to see it work. Rival companies tried to steal the formula.

And management was getting antsy for results.

Stress started to build up mistakes started to happen more often. Something was bound to go wrong. Week 3 was the worst mistake yet Gary under stress and the sound of machines whirring around failed to double check that the lines had been repressurized. Spreading a coworker with the miracleGro. Alarms went off authorities were called but it was too late in seconds thee inspector caught in the midst started to shrink and slide further into his clothes. In seconds he disappeared underneath them and was lost forever.

Gary was fired almost immediately. He begged pleaded and cried and then on his way out threatened but it was no use. Ypu just wish they had taken his threat seriously.

Week 4 day 3 Hitomi thought it was a normal day. Mixing chemicals in tablets larger than her car trying to perfect the formula. They were close they just needed time. Time that they didn't have. As the machine stopped mixing the formula they waited with baited breath for the light to turn green. Instead it illuminated red. It was no good. The sound of a liquid vacuum was heard as the facility flushed and disposed of the formula. Back to square 1. Hitomi started to walk off she needed to vent she needed a break they were so close yet so far. As she started to want she noticed the fire exit was propped open. Um guys who opened the door. She looked around but no one was willing to dress up. Removing the pack that held the door open she knew something was off but what

Suddenly a large bang was heard in the adjoining room. Like a cabinet had fallen. Then screams and shouts. Hitomi ran over as she tried to see what was happening. They the glass windrow she saw Gary a blockade formed over the door and a small fire trail being formed to which Gary was pouring a gasoline trail for right on over to the main tank of formula. Hitomi yanked and tried to solve the door open as the sound of metal and concrete dragged across the room. Gary don't do it Gary please think about what you are doing. He ignored her he looked drunk and based off the amount of unconscious people in the room he also wasnt looking to reason

Hitomi continued to try and shove the door open as an alarm was heard across the factory. All personal evacuate. All personal evacuate immediately. Flashing lights and walking alarms filled the floor as Gary took a lighter and sparked it on. Hitomi shoved her entire body into the door. The door finally pushing forward enough for her to start forcing her way in right As the emergency fire doors started to shut and close access off. Scrambling over the metal cabinetry she barely made it as the fire proof door snapped shut. But ultimately it was too late as she begged him to stop Gary dropped the lighter. It lit up in second talking over to the main tank. Hitomi finally squeezed her hips and legs thru the door as she grabbed a fire extinguisher. She tried to rush over as Gary swing a 2 by 4 at her. Hitomi dove for the floor as he blocked her path. Gary you can't do this. Just let me put it out we can talk about this. Gary swung again. Hitomi backed up tripping backwards as she fell to the floor. Panick filling her body. The alarm blasting and walked across the concrete walls and the metal roof. The sounds of people running and screaming as they tried to make it out of the building. The for spread around the room quickly. Boiling the tank from underneath as Gary pointed her to the floor. Hitomi screamed and kicked as she tried to get him off of her. But it was no use he was stronger and more determined. Her breathing was being cut spurt by the 2 by 4 that was being slowly named into her throat. She gasped for anything as she heard the rivets of the tanker start to pop off. The metal expanding and buckling as the temperature of the room skyrocketed.

More alarms sounding as critical systems started to fail. Hitomi felt herself blacking out as blood pressure to her brain was being constricted finally grasping the extinguisher as she sent it at Gary. He buckled in seconds as he collapsed without another word.

Hitomi stood up as she rushed to the panels. The button hot to the touch as the flames lapped at her body. She flipped the switches and started the formulas evacuation process trying to flush the system free as she heard the metal groan again. A couple more rivets bursting as small drops of condensation started to accumulate on the outside of the metal.

Come on COME on she muttered as her body sweat under the heat. The system at her fingertips starting to fail. Coolant offline. Pressure skyrocketing emergency backup generators cut off. Hitomi hit the emergency flush system as she heard the pipes start to rattle the tanker flushing the miracleGro out of the factory to be disposed of as she heard a hiss of heat break above her.

Hitomi dove as a splash of thick green sludge sprayed the walls above her. The tanker was bursting not all the formula had been taken out the rest of it finally exploding out. Hitomi looked up to see the pipes and other tanks started to fail as she looked at her control panel.

Her face turned gaunt white as she saw the words critical failure pop up. She heard it before she saw it. Right before the pipes left the building and dove underground the flushing system malfunctioned. The heat was too much the rest of the formula sprayed explosively against the ground and immediately vaporized against the heat of the flames. Hitomi tried to to run but before she could make it to the other room the steam enveloped and filled the entire room. She dove and broke out in to the adjoining room as the fire door flung open. Hitomi scrambled across the floor as she swung the door shut the last of the vapor trickling across the ground at her legs before dissolving harmlessly away.

Hitomi leaned across the wall as she felt the cool air finally envelop her trying to calm herself down as she struggled to breath. Her lungs felt like they were on fire. Her skin was vibrating and shivering as hitomi struggled to find energy to take herself outside of the factory to her assigned evacuation rendezvous.

As she finally caught her breath she started to stand up supporting herself against the wall. The sounds of the fire and pipes and metal breaking still heard from the other side.

Hitomi finally got up to her feet. Her body ached. She felt so sore and tired. Her body still shivering especially her legs. They couldn't even support her with how bad they wobbled. Hitomi pressed her hands against her knees trying to stabilize them as she heard a rumble shake across her entire body from within her.

Before she could blink she shot upwards with the force of a bullet. Her legs spasmed underneath her as she fell back against the wall. Her dress shrunk and shriveled on her as her shoes burst open her toes crawling out in seconds. Her body groaning and stretching her clothes as they constricted her breath.

Fuck no it's not possible I thought I got out in time this can't ...fuck

Her body violently soasmed again as she soared up another foot. Her face grimacing against the pressure as she cried out in pain. Her boobs exploded forward busting her zipper in half as her ass dragged it off her chest. Her dress feebly folding down her body and falling at her sides. Her back scratching against the concrete as she soared up to 6 ft tall. Her bra struggled against her new breasts as they lifted up and dug into her shoulders.

Fuck owww no get this off please fuck fuck FUUCKK. Hitomi surged again another Two feet. Her dress withered off into the corner as the fabric finally gave. Her hips spring her thong off as well as her bra gave out from the shoulder and back straps fluttering to the floor in seconds. Her head bobbed up crashing into the roof as she bent forward. Her head bending the metal roof up as she tried to squat down.

She was massive her boobs the size of volleyballs her hips were a foot and a half wide. Hitomi tried to get somewhere abit more suited for her but before she could even really try she grew again and again and again. Her neck and shoulders hit the roof as she fell to her knees. Her breathing filled the room as her chest bobbed higher and higher. Bulging out further and further. Her feet dragged across the floor as she fell to all 4s her head still dragging across the metal tiles and breaking them upwards. Her butt cushioning over legs as she struggled to find room. A table and cabinet full of cleaning supplies was first to succumb and burst after falling under her. Her legs pressing them into the walls and then splintering them around her. Soon her head broke thru the roof into the floor above as her legs broke down the concrete wall and dragged into the next room. Floor after floor room after room as she cried and screamed. Her body too feeble to even try to stop the onslaught.

Outside her coworkers watched as the fire started to die down the smoke dissipating as a giant green cloud of vapor rose up above them into the rainclouds above. They didn't have Long to worry about their fate as the ground under them shook. A giant cry washing over the fields as the factory started to collapse and break. Sounds of metal grinding and folding. Concrete crumbling as the ground shook again and again. Then hitomi burst thru. Her body folding out of the fourth floor. Her legs tearing down the foundation ad she rolled and collapsed. She was easily 100 ft tall or more. It was hard to tell as she failed across the ground. She shook so violently most of the bystanders fell to the ground as she grew again. Her feet digging into the soil as dragging forward. Her head approaching closer as her arms flailed outwards. Her hips crashing the rests of the building down into her. The final puffs of green vapor distributing out across the fields. The grass growing the trees groaning as they stretched taller. Even some of the evacuation groups seeing the men shrink or some of their woman to grow no assets or grow a foot or two. Their houses or factory wear breaking off.

It didn't matter though another surge sent hitomi enveloping the closets groups underneath her. The trees and grass folding under her. The wheat being smashed tk the ground as she towered above the hills.

The furthest groups accepted their fate as a final surge sent her body piledriving over them. Hitomis cries for helps serving them no use as they all fell underneath the curves of her body.

By the time it was all over a helicopter caught hitomi in her new beauty. Measuring her at an astounding 236 ft tall. However the world caught hold of anew fear. The clouds above turning a sick green as they approached the nearby towns. The rain causing all the local plants and wildlife to grow and surge taller as it approached closer and closer.

[marigold-hills]

The Black Wizard (Part 3)

PART ONE | PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART

There is a peculiar emptiness to the room. It goes beyond sparseness of furniture or lack of decoration - a stark contrast to the rest of the Castle, and what Remus observed to be a significant amount of clutter.

There is a bed here, a little chair and a little table looking out through a little window, but the air is strangely thin, as if it wasn’t really formed. As if the room isn’t sure what it is or where it is, or if it is at all.

Remus has the strangest feeling that it wasn’t anywhere - not before Sirius spoke of it. He’s heard of magic before - his very existence proof of the strange things in life - but to feel it touch his skin like the softest gust of wind is a sensation beyond his expectations. Beyond his understanding.

He has no belongings to put away, none bar the book hidden in his chest pocket. They had been sparse since his parents' house had been taken back by the township, but even the small box of things he had stashed in a forest outside of Hogsmead had to be left behind. He had no time to retrieve it, no strength to carry it with him, and he spares a moment to think of the old blanket his mum knitted that’s at the very bottom of the chest.

He’s not willing to part with the things he does have, the stolen wallets and the one ring he plucked off a drunk stately man’s finger. It’s a pretty thing, a green stone laid between a cradle of golden leaves. Too dainty for Remus’ own fingers, calloused and scarred as they are.

I’ll leave in the morning, he tells himself, settling on the bed still dressed in his outdoor clothes - ready to flee in the night. Keep going North and find another town to live in. Get away from here with an intact heart. 

And he means it, too. 

Remus never was any good at predicting how things would unfold.

✨✨✨

He tries to sneak out in the morning, but the fire spots him first - a creaky floorboard gives him away. 

“Sirius left you tea and sandwiches on the hearth,” he says with his voice like kindling.

And indeed, there it is - a pot of tea, still hot, the air around it shimmering with some kind of magic Remus can taste but not feel (peppermint, cloves). A plate with a small loaf of breath, stuffed to fullness with crumbly cheese and honeyed ham. And next to it…

“The cake’s for you as well.”

It’s the kind of indulgence Remus only got to taste once: his seventh Candlemass, when his parents were still alive. His dad with a particularly lucky streak in hunting, his mum commissioned to make a dress for a lady with more money than sense. It was a good few months for them, and one lazy afternoon Remus watched his mum mix flour and eggs with an extravagant amount of melted chocolate.

It was the best thing he’d ever tried.

This cake? It lacks the love he saw in his mum’s, but it’s luxurious: dark chocolate sponge, roses of icing, a golden dusting of sugar over the top.

A bit awkwardly, Remus manoeuvres both the plates and the teapot into his hands, heads to the dinner table and pulls a chair out with his foot.

There are books stacked high on it, and spread all across the table, too. Remus pushes them away with an elbow to make space for his plates and tea, then picks up the stack from the chair and puts it to the side.

“Your name is James, yes?” He asks the fire, looking around the room for clean cutlery and a mug. There is a little kitchen counter set into an alcove, a cabinet filled with plates and bowls, a wide sink with a window over it, strangely coloured water sloshing happily as if it was just disturbed.

“That’s me,” the fire responds. The tips of it are reddish-brown and wild, like messy hair. “Oh, there aren’t any mugs,” he reads into Remus’ wonderings. “Sirius had some mishaps with a spell and they all exploded. Quite marvellous a sight it was.”

Remus looks at his pot of tea and mourns it: it smells like heady divinity, something rich and fruity and spiced. He’s not had a warm cup of tea in a few years.

It’s that thought that pushes him to grab a small bowl instead. He fills it with the tea, holding it with both hands. The heat comes through the porcelain and touches his fingers. That, too is a surprise. Remus has been living by himself, getting by on the streets of Hogsmead, for so many years that he’s forgotten the feeling of a warm plate. 

NEXT PART

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[anemos-orca]

But a Furious Requiem of Stupidity

wanderer x irritated!fem.reader

cw: fluff, est. relationship, cussing, cynical themes, pessimism, comfort, not proof read, probaby more qnq

a/n: apologies for my lack of activity, ive had a bit of a writing slump lately :( im still here though, i promise qwq ah anyways, i apologize if this is not a good read

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Usually, Wanderer was home first. He would get there before you almost every day and (im)patiently wait for your arrival, only to put on a cold-front once you walked in. You knew him though, so you knew that it was nothing more than mere instinct- a special little trait that he was conditioned to own due to his less than savory backstory. You were like him in the fact that you couldnt care less about others and what they did, thought, or believed, whether it be about you or not. You were often compared to both him and Alhaitham, having overheard the, "Shes like... if Hat Guy and Alhaitham had a kid," countless times. Admittedly, you knew they werent wrong. Although you had met the Scribe but a few times, you knew how he was, so you knew that you were, in fact, just like him- if not "worse" than him.

Today was a different-feeling day. Wanderer came home just as he usually did, stepping inside and shaking off his flamboyant getup to swap it for a more "Im incredibly poor and could really use some new clothes" look. His ugly, overused hoodie was far too big- the once bright blue sleeves, now washed out and dull, hung below even his fingertips, the hood could cover his face and then some, and the front pocket- well, it was more of a pouch, but thats besides the point- was big enough to fit an entire meal for two inside (a theory the two of you tested, wanting to sneak your own food into the House of Daena instead of snacking on the pathetic, drywall-esque food bars they provided). His shorts were nothing special; though, neither of you knew where they came from. Yes, they were one of the, "are these black shorts yours? theyre not mine, so they must be- what do you mean theyre not yours?" pieces of clothing everyone seems to have.

Stepping into the kitchen, Wanderer was met with the pitiful sight of you sitting on the cold stone floor with your back pressed against the once nicely polished Adhigama wood cabinets. He narrowed his eyes at you, looking you up and down as though he believed you to be a fake. You werent one to miss work, no matter how much you hated it.

"I got fired," you groaned, not even so much as turning to look at him. Your tone was more deadbeat than usual.

"Im surprised you didnt get the pink slip earlier," he scoffed, sliding his back down the cabinet to sit beside you. You yanked on the hem of his hoodie and pulled it over your head to join him, earning an irritated growl from your boyfriend as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

"Its a real shame, too," you sarcastically retorted, leaning your head on his shoulder, "i was hoping that one day, id wake up and head off to that wretched place, only to find that it had exploded overnight."

Wanderer couldnt help but snicker at your cynical wishes, "Is that what got you fired? Id fire you if i heard you say that."

"Shut the fuck up and let me finish talking," you said with a growl. Even though you couldnt see it, you could feel that stupid sly grin on his face and those disgustingly dreamy eyes rolling at your bitching. It was normal for you two to talk this way with one another- in fact, it was your way of bonding and the thing that brought you together in the first place.

"The Akadeymia is full of idiots. A graduate student asked me- genuinely asked me," you cleared your throat and began repeating the students words in a mocking tone, "wait, so do i use 'their' or 'there'?"

Wanderer hung on your every word, waiting for the inevitable explosion of, "How is he a graduate student?" and "What was he going to ask next? Which 'to' to use? Which 'your' to use?" with increasing intensity. However, it never came. Instead, you simply shrugged, sighing in relief.

"I ripped his paper to shreds and threw it into the air like confetti before walking out without saying another word."

"So, you quit?"

"No, i was fired."

"You said you walked out without ano-"

"I didnt say another word, but the student, his friends, and the professor had some words. A lot of words."

"Hmm. Im sure they did. People from the Akadeymia sure do have a lot of words."

"A lot of words they dont know how to use. Its hopeless, but its also not my problem anymore. Itll eventually devolve into a nothing more than a joke and a waste of time."

Wanderer was quiet for a moment, taking his next words into great consideration as to not say the wrong thing, "You know, im usually the pessimistic one, but youre being a real downer right now. Even I know that humanity isnt that stupid."

You let out a careless sigh in response.

"There will always be people you meet that are so unbelieveably stupid, they make you wonder how they got past the age of seven," he grumbled, seemingly annoyed at just the thought of them, "But theres also people like you, like us. Sure theyre few and far between, but theyll come to you. Theres no need to sift through the endless waves of brainless idiots. Anyone with even an ounce of self respect will stick out like a sore thumb."

You hummed in thought, seemingly not believing him.

"Dont hum at me. Think about it- its how you me, not to mention those blabbering fools you call friends. Alhaitham, Tighnari, Cyno, Kaveh- even though theyll never live up to the bar ive set, theyre still above the rest of the crowd."

You sneered up at him, teasingly smacking him on the back of his head, "You bonehead! If anything, youve lowered the bar!"

Wanderer glared down at you, shoving you away. However, due to being in the same hoodie, he was inadvertedly pulled with you as you flopped onto the floor. He managed to fall on top of you, smushing you down to the floor and effectively trapping you. With a devious grin, he moved his hands up to your cheeks, forcing you to look at him, "Tell me you love me and that im better than everyone else."

You raised an eyebrow at him, "I loathe you and go to sleep every night hoping youll dissolve."

Wanderer narrowed his eyes, his nose crinkling in irritation as he squeezed your cheeks together, "Say it."

"Or what?" You protested in a purposefully bratty tone.

"Or no kisses. No cuddles. No-"

"Alright, alright, damn! I love you and you are slightly above everyone else."

"Wrong. Say it the right way."

"Youre so irritating, just give me a kiss, blockhead!"

"Guess ill be sleeping elsewhere toni-"

"NO N-" you clear your throat, a bit embarrassed that you reacted so strongly, "N-no, i love you, i do, and you really are better than everyone else," you begrudgingly admitted, a slight blush creeping in on your cheeks.

Smirking with satisfaction, Wanderer released your face from his hands and leaned down to press a gentle, loving kiss on your lips, "Thats better. You know, youre awfully cute when you get all flustered and blushy like that."

"WANDERER!!"

He snickered, thuroughly enjoying how easy it was for him to get under your skin no matter how pissed off your expression was. Besides, it was hard to take you seriously when your cheeks were bright red.

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[sundrop-writes]

Sundrop's Harry Potter Masterlist

Kisses Like Fire Whiskey - Fred Weasley x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader. Best Friends to Lovers. Fluff (with very slight Angst). When you come back from a long apprenticeship in France, you and Fred catch up over drinks, reminiscing about your days as mischievous rebels. In the drunken haze, some important things are realized. (7,500 words.)

My Bleeding Heart - Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader. Arranged Marriage. Angst (with a Fluffy Ending). When Draco finds out that you are pregnant, he is worried because he doesn't want his child to be just another pawn to the Dark Lord. So, then and there, he makes a very important decision to risk everything in order to protect you and his future child. (3,400 words.)

Downhill - Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader. Arranged Marriage/Hesitant Lovers. Smut and Extreme Emotional Angst. (Prequel to the above fic). Draco comes to you when he is having issues with The Vanishing Cabinet, and the two of you spend the night fixing a lot more than some enchantments and dark spells. (You don't know it yet, but you may just have saved his life - even if he thinks that he's ruining yours.) (20,100 words.)

King For A Day - Poly!Golden Trio x Fem!Reader. FWB to Poly Lovers. Smut (with very slight Angst). While Horcrux Hunting with your closest friends, the dangerous influence of Slytherin's Locket causes Ron to snap. And it turns out - he brings on something that everyone in the tent really needed. (Sex.) (22,400 words.)

The Way You Miss Me - Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Emotional Angst and Smut (with a Fluffy Ending). When you are called in last minute to help with the Seven Potters mission, you are horrified to find out that it involves flying because you have a crippling fear of heights. Luckily for you, Fred would never let you fall. And somehow, the worst night of your life turns into one of the best when a terrifying, near-death experience brings you and Fred closer than ever. (18,500 words.)

The Restricted Section - Hermione Granger x Fem!Reader (x Harry Potter). Accidental Voyeurism upon an Established Relationship. Smut/PWP. Harry has an argument with Hermione over something in the Half-Blood Prince's book, and, determined to prove himself right, he puts on his Invisibility Cloak and goes to the Restricted Section of the library to find some proof to back up his point. But he soon completely forgets what he went there for when he finds you and Hermione doing something that he never would have expected from the two of you. (4,400 words.)

What if they walked in on you changing? - George Weasley | Draco Malfoy |

Note: The rest of these link off to AO3, but I am hoping to have them edited and posted on Tumblr sometime soon.

Whiskey Dick - Auror!Ron Weasley x Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to ‘Lovers’. Smut/PWP. One night, Ron comes back to his office - and he’s mad. You knock on his door, hoping to lend him an open ear, but he wants something else instead. (An open, wanting mouth to take out his frustrations on.) (3,500 words.) 

Caffeine Cold - Auror!Ron Weasley x Fem!Reader. Secret Relationship. Smut, Emotional Angst, Unhappy Ending. (Sequel to the above fic.) Three months after your unexpected tryst with Ron in his office, the two of you are still sneaking around, going at it. Even if you saw it coming a mile away - when things crumble, the consequences are near deadly. (12,500 words.) 

[fairy-writes]

Hi is this where I send requests in? If it is then could I request hc of Dazai, Chuuya and Jouno (if you write for him) with a s/o who has an ability that allows them to change size at will. Like the s/o can go from 1 inch to 30 foot tall in a second and the s/o is very mischievous so they hide in places that shouldn’t be possible to try and surprise the boys. I can imagine sitting on top of chuuya’s hat when he searches for me. I hope I explained this well and don’t feel obligated to do this <3

PRANKSTER

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Bungou Stray Dogs

Pairing(s): Dazai Osamu x Reader

Nakahara Chuuya x Reader

Saigiku Jouno x Reader

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, not proof read

Notes: Hey hon! I hope you like your request! It was super fun!

Also I’ve never written for Jouno before so this was interesting!

__________________________________________________________________________

Dazai Osamu:

You have to get creative with Dazai.

Because one: he’s a literal genius and would instantly know where you’re hiding if you’re tiny.

And two: his ability would nullify yours which might make for some very awkward situations.

You already wear special clothes that grow and shrink with you at will so there’s no more embarrassing moments where you are in the nude.

Anyway! Back to Dazai!

Like I said you have to get creative and even when you do, you have a 95% chance of him finding you before you can surprise/scare him.

Probably the best way to scare him is by hiding in his coat pocket.

Just be careful because he puts his hands in his pockets a lot.

You’ve actually ripped his pockets more than once by scaring him.

Well… scaring is a bold word.

More like you surprise him and he acts scared.

“You scared me, my belladonna!”

Nakahara Chuuya:

Probably the easiest to surprise out of the three.

Your idea of hiding on the brim of his hat when he’s wearing it has me CACKLING.

Like you’d think he’d be able to feel the slight difference in weight but I headcanon that when he’s really focused he kinda loses spacial awareness of his surroundings.

So you take advantage of this when you’re feeling particularly mischievous!

Another great place to hide is his wine cabinet.

He’s lowkey an alcoholic but in moderation?

If that makes sense?

Like he’ll enjoy a glass or two after work every other day or so but nothing overboard.

Chuuya likes to pretend that he has a high alcohol tolerance.

He doesn’t.

I’m getting distracted again.

But hiding in the wine cabinet is a sure fire way to break a few glasses so use this move sparingly.

He doesn’t get mad per say when you scare him.

Just annoyed and a bit embarrassed.

But a kiss to the cheek or lips is a sure fire way to get him to forgive you ;)

Saigiku Jouno:

Kinda like Dazai, you have to get creative with Jouno.

Like he can hear your heartbeat pretty much at all times so hiding really doesn’t do much good despite him being blind.

He can also hear the rustling of your clothes, the smell of your perfume/cologne, etc.

So you have to resort to using the other Hunting Dogs in your scheme.

And they’re happy to help! (Mostly, it’s usually Tecchou)

Like they’ll hide you in their pockets or up their sleeves so your scent and heartbeat is mingling with theirs.

It takes some work, but ultimately is possible if you try hard enough!

And also like Dazai, he doesn’t get really scared.

Maybe he’ll subtly flinch.

But that’s about it.

He’s also the most likely to get upset with you.

Like he knows you’re joking.

But you’re most likely a fellow Hunting Dog and therefore should act accordingly.

[oceansafetysupplies]

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[sitp-recs]

I love your rec list so much, it’s like my comfort page. You have an oblivious Harry list but what about when Draco is oblivious or in denial about Harry’s possible feelings?

Thank you, I’m so happy to hear that! Sure thing, here are some fics I don’t see recced often. They’re a nice mix of oblivious Draco and Draco in denial, hope you enjoy!

Professor Potter and his Magical Menagerie by @dracogotgame (T, 7.5k)

Harry Potter descends on Hogwarts with a horde of magical beasts. Professor Malfoy is not amused.

Proof of the Pudding by daisymondays (T, 10k)

When Greg's bakery opens on Diagon Alley, Draco doesn’t expect it to the place he ends up finding love, but then again Harry Potter has always defied Draco's expectations.

What Real Thing? by @l0vegl0wsinthedark (E, 12.6k)

They don’t cuddle, they don’t talk about their relationship (or lack thereof) and they certainly never fall asleep in each other’s arms.

The Year of Non-Magical Thinking by whiskyandwildflowers (E, 13.6k)

"I don't know what I'm going to do, Potter. I'll think of something. So will you. But this is my journey to self-actualization," Draco managed to smirk. "You can fuck off and get your own."

Take the Moon by @tackytigerfic (M, 15k)

Harry Potter has always wanted a family of his own, and when a deadly blood curse forces him into a marriage bond with his best friend Draco Malfoy, it looks like he might just have found one. It's just a shame they’d always planned to break up after a year…

Vanishing Cabinets by @romaine2424 (E, 18k)

Take one Wizarding Family Values politician who has a secret life, and add one Auror who detests discrimination of any type, but becomes a bit obsessed with said politician, and you have enough sparks to ignite a Beltane fire.

With Great Yawns and Stretchings by sugar_screw (T, 22k)

The coffee is very good. Really. And the cats are so cute. That's why Harry goes so often.

Better To Burn Than To Fade Away by Ren (E, 23k)

Harry Potter is a legend in the world of broomstick racing. He's won almost every cup, trophy, and bowl – except for the historical London-Nome which has been on hiatus for the past several years. Now the London-Nome is starting again, and Harry will do anything to pull off one last big win.

the strength to stay by violetclarity (E, 29k)

Draco and Harry are the best Senior Aurors in the DMLE, which is why they’re working the case about Wings – a dangerous new potion that sends users into a dreamscape from which they may never return. When Harry is kidnapped by the group behind Wings, Draco takes it upon himself to go after him, and is forced to confront the reality of Harry’s feelings for him, which he’s been ignoring for years.

A Secondary Education by Thunderbird587 (E, 234k)

Fleeing the aftermath of his recent divorce, Draco Malfoy takes up a post as the new Potions Master at Hogwarts. At first he believes his hopes for a fresh start are dashed when he sees that a certain boyhood rival is on staff there as well. But Harry Potter is being weirdly nice to him, leaving Draco no choice but to play along.

[alexandriaisburning]

+005: Tetris Forever is marketing disguised as a documentary

CANON FIRE is made possible by the generous contributions of readers like you. Support more writing like this on Patreon. Thank you!

The latest in Digital Eclipse’s game/documentary hybrids, Tetris Forever presents a view of history that omits so much it’s nearly historical revisionism. Ironically, for a documentary about a Soviet export, Tetris Forever is more concerned with its capitalist success than anything else. 

Multiple chapters are spent on the saga of Henk Rogers’ acquisition of the rights to the game, the business deals that led to its financial success, and the total ownership that the Tetris Company finally achieved.

Rogers talks about buying out the remains of the Soviet ministry of computer technology, shutting down a successful Tetris clone keychain, taking ownership of Bombliss from designer--and Pokemon founder--Tsunekazu Ishihara, and it's presented as if they were inspirational stories, not ruthless business decisions. He even adds that he paid Ishihara 100 Yen per unit, “because it was the right thing to do”, even though he legally didn’t need to.

Tetris Forever’s narrative is not the story of Tetris, but the Tetris Company. It’s a story of great men doing great things, mythmaking for people who have very literally already bought in. You can see it in the collection’s roster of games, which only includes titles developed by Bullet Proof Software, games that Rogers had a hand in directly, and are outright owned by the Tetris Company.

For as much as they hype up the Game Boy as a key to the Tetris’ worldwide success, its absence leaves a gaping hole in what’s supposed to be a historical collection. Even if it's already well known to many, its absence makes it hard to take Tetris Forever seriously as a historical archive. 

Alongside Tengen Tetris, which they fought a protracted legal battle to bury, and NES Tetris, which has exploded in popularity recently with a number of world records, a growing competitive scene and a recreation in Tetris Effect, there’s several milestone releases that are not only not playable, but not given little focus in the documentary. 

The greatest of these omissions is easily SEGA Tetris. While Tetris dominated the console space in the West, SEGA’s arcade entry was highly influential in Japan, becoming the de facto representative of the series there, spinning off into competitive entries, and becoming the groundwork for several fan games of the time, and eventually Tetris the Grand Master. 

Together with TGM, SEGA Tetris would play a huge part in defining the “feel” of Tetris. Mechanics like lock delay, ghost pieces and wall kicks were created here, in arcades, then rolled into the official Tetris Guideline, the blueprint of what a modern Tetris game should look like. Rogers himself has said as much in other interviews. 

In leaving out those entries, Tetris Forever buries a slew of other stories. The stories of how a collaboration between ex-Street Fighter devs and Japanese comedians would change the series forever, how feedback from an office lady led to a game defining mechanic, and how the game would make an international name for itself years after its release due to streaming. 

Instead SEGA Tetris is limited to a single paragraph, a short video of Tetsuya Mizuguchi talking about watching it in arcades, and a summary basically saying “it’s influential” TGM and Arika are given even less, with the only comment being that TGM is known for its speed. It’s about the same level of attention as they give to the times they made Tetris cabinets that were REALLY BIG. 

And where are the stories of the NES game champions? THe ridiculous limitations that make the NES version uniquely difficulty to play, the absurd techniques that players developed to get around the physical limitations of the controller they play with? 

Where are the showcases of speedruns and high level competition? Why aren’t there interviews with the devs of different titles, like the experimental N64 entries from H2O Entertainment, or the composer of the CDI Tetris? Digital Eclipse had a chance to showcase the diversity of people and ideas that have touched Tetris, but all of that is barely mentioned, if at all. 

Licensing was surely a factor here, but as Tetris Forever points out, the Tetris Company has fought many battles over rights. Why stop when it's time to tell your story? 

Instead what we get itls historical revisionism by exclusion. A story canonizing what we already know, and leaving out the contributions of the many hands that have touched the game in the decades since its success. 

Tetris Forever would have you believe that's Tetris’ success is the story of Alexi Pajitnov discovering a diamond, and Henk Rogers convincing everyone it was valuable. But a gem's value isn't in its raw material but the refining process--something I'm sure the son of a gem merchant like Rogers would know.

Tetris’ refinements have come as a result of decades of community contributions. From fans making works in both official and unofficial capacities. Tetris is the story of a conversation between a game and its players. It's a cultural phenomenon built by many hands. 

Perhaps, comrades, that's the real legacy of what they once called THE SOVIET MIND GAME.

[eastern-lights]

I know Loghain's betrayal is very open to intepretation motivation-wise (mostly because he himself tells us fuck all even if the Warden befriends him), but there still seems to be a lot of straight up misconceptions.

For one, I don't believe for a moment that Cailan dying was his plan all along.

I've seen the opinion that his desertion was premeditated because he's a papa wolf who knew how badly Cailan treated Anora. This isn't really that out of character, but as we see in Return to Ostagar, Loghain had no idea Cailan was planning on marrying Celene.

Another proof of premeditation that I've seen is the fact that he had Eamon poisoned. Now, I'm not defending that course of action in the slightest, but I don't think it was connected with Cailan's death. What we're forgetting is that Loghain and Eamon had personal beef. Eamon was a traditionalist who resented commoners in positions of power. He didn't much care that Loghain and his wife had been elevated to nobility, to him, Anora was the daughter of a freeholder and a cabinet-maker. And Loghain knew that, just as he knew Eamon had Cailan's ear. He didn't for one moment trust Eamon to give Cailangood advice, so he made sure Eamon was ot of the picture long enough for the crisis to subside (remember, the poison wasn't actually lethal).

Now here's my own two cents:

The most important thing to know about Loghain is that he loved King Maric. It doesn't matter whether you interpret that love as platonic or romantic. From the day he became a soldier, almost everything Loghain did was in some way motivated by his devotion to Maric and I believe Cailan's death is no different.

During the rebellion, at the battle of West Hill, Loghain faced a choice that amounted to saving Maric or saving the army. He chose Maric. And afterward, Maric was wracked by survivor's guilt so bad he made him promise he would never do that again.

Paired with other factors, like the signal fire being delayed due to a certain ogre incident at the Tower of Ishal, I think Loghain looked at the battlefield and saw that same choice. And he remembered his promise.

It wasn't that he hated Cailan and wanted him dead (if you read the Calling, you learn that for the three years after Queen Rowan's death, he was more of a father to him than Maric was). It was just that to Loghain Mac Tir, there is nothing more sacred than a promise made to Maric Theirin.

[eddiegettingshot]

Re: Prev anon… Not Buck baby proofing the UPPER CABINETS what a dork!! He got so excited and bought a 50 pack of cabinet baby proofing things on Amazon and baby proofs everythingggg including the motherfucking fire station kitchen cabinets!! Because the baby will be at the station Eddie we need to be safe!!

YAYYYY HE IS BABY PROOFING EVERYTHING AND EDDIE IS LIKE WELL BUCK WHAT DO YOU THINK WE’RE DEALING WITH HERE. DO YOU KNOW SOMETHING ABOUT OUR BABY THAT I DONT? But. whatever the baby does need to be safe. from the upper cabinets