#I don’t know where this came from

[arkangelo-7]

I need Battison to have a Robin.

I need him to carry around a little bundle of joy in his arms. I need him to risk his life saving him from the movie’s big bad. I need him to hold his tiny hands or cradle his tiny face. I need him to crack the smallest of smiles when Robin makes a pun.

I need him to walk into the penthouse, tired and angry and sad, and see his little Robin sprawled across the floor, giggling as his crayons draw him and Alfie and B—their little family.

I him to crawl out of the darkness with Robin. His Robin.

[bluemotifofsleep]

Appetite

suna rintarou x reader

- and when he’d kissed you that first time, with all of the hunger of a man at the end of the world indulging in his last meal, you should have seen it as the sign it was.

content: alcohol consumption, swearing, slight dub-con but very slight, smut, unsafe sex, corruption kink, size kink, choking (oops) , plot what plot, inappropriate amount of use of the word ���baby” , not beta read

this came from a very decrepit part of my mind, enjoy.

~

“ya look real stiff, ya know. loosen up.”

for atsumu to tell you those words was like asking a fish to breath air. it was wholly against your character to “loosen up”, especially at a party like this one.

you’d been dragged here by the twins, both arguing that “it’s collage! yer gonna miss out on all the fun if ya stay in yer room readin’ books the whole time.” and for the first time, you’d had nothing to negotiate with. you had no upcoming assignments, no papers due to otherwise busy yourself with. and so you’d been dragged.

it was not your scene.

the bustle of the party jostled you every now and then in the unfamiliar kitchen you were standing in. the bass of the music loud enough to drown out your own heartbeat in your ears, the rush of blood that started when you’d entered the place and hadn’t stopped since.

you felt like a dolphin dropped into the sahara desert. a lone imposter amongst the other students your age. the people shouting and frat-flicking and on a completely different planet than you were. you feel entirely alone in your predicament.

you really, really shouldn’t be here.

and it’s not your first party, but most others were small hangouts, things that probably wouldn’t even qualify as parties at all. this one was huge, the sheer number of people making you feel claustrophobic in the small student apartment you were all crammed into. your only saving grace was the twins, who you’d made promise you they wouldn’t ditch your side the whole night.

the twins who are currently bickering on over who can make a better cocktail, even though you’d assured them you didn’t want it regardless. but now atsumu is shoving a red plastic cup smelling strongly of vodka that’s somehow already sticky on the sides into your hands and telling you to “drink up!”.

you… really shouldn’t. last time you drank with the twins all three of you ended up taking turns puking into your toilet, and the hangover the next day was something for the ages. you really shouldn’t.

but alcohol gives you the promise of drowning out this buzz under your skin, the need to hide from all these prying eyes. it’ll ease your tensions a bit, make your mouth looser and enable you to have a decent conversation with someone without the fear of saying something wrong looming over you.

alright, you’ll just have one drink. just one.

well, four cups later and you’d already forgotten your quota. it’d been a while since the last time you drank, so the alcohol made quick work of fucking up your system, leaking into your muscles and making your eyes droop. your thoughts were little clouds floating across your skull, not sticking around long enough for you to worry about them at all.

maybe the music was getting louder, or maybe you just started paying attention to it better. it felt like the bass traveled up through your feet and into your skull, rattling your nerves and adding to the buzz your whole body put out.

you vaguely register that the twins are fighting again, something about grey goose or absolut tasting better. all of it tasted like trash, you wanted to say, but the words got stuck like peanut butter to the roof of your mouth as a chill went up your spine.

someone’s staring.

even in your inebriated consciensness, you can feel eyes on you like a dagger in your back. it manages to slither in before the alcohol can subdue it, tickling up your spine like a snake.

before you can turn around to find the culprit, atsumu is lighting up and yelling “sunarin!” over your shoulder, way too fucking close to your ear in your opinion.

and more like a wild animal than a man, suna rintarou creeps around the side of you and into your vision, and you realized that the feeling of being watched never left.

“where ya been? haven’t even seen ya all night.” it’s osamu speaking now, and you notice that his words are slurring slightly. it makes you feel better that your not the only one fucked up.

“me and gin just got here, i like to show up later to these things.” his voice is like honey in your ears, and for some reason it reaches through your drunkenness and scratches at something gooey inside of your chest. you can’t tell if you like the feeling or not.

“this is sunarin, he’s on the volleyball team with me n’ ‘samu.” atsumu slurs to you, and you want to say “i know, dumbass. i watch you guys all the time” but the words get caught in your throat when suna turns to you, looming over you like a predator.

“i’ve seen you before, in the stands.” the thought of him picking you out of a crowd of strangers scratches at that weird thing inside you, and it makes you feel a bit trapped for some reason.

all that comes out of your mouth is your name, a poor introduction but one nonetheless. the alcohol is making it hard to form thoughts, or maybe it’s just the way suna is looking at you.

when he repeats your name, your ears light up bright hot, blood rushing to your head and making you feel dizzy with his voice.

“oh yeah? sunarins noticed ya.” atsumu waggles his eyebrows stupidly at you, and you didn’t notice he’d put his arm around you but he jostles you side to side like a prize to be won. you want to punch him in the gut.

“ah, there’s gin. let’s go say hi ta him.” osamu says, and then both of your safety blankets are leaving you with this man that you barely know who does weird things to your stomach. you have half a mind to shoot your hand out and grab at osamu before he gets away but you’d feel like a baby if you did, so it says shock still beside you.

when you look up at suna, he’s already looking at you. something you can’t name in his eyes. if you saw it on a wild animal in the woods you’d think you’re about to be eaten alive. but on him? you don’t know what it makes you think. maybe that you should have grabbed osamus arm when you had a chance.

“hey, you doing okay? you look a little out of it.” his words ring out in the space between you, and there isn’t a trace of genuine concern in his voice. it sounds smug to your ears, something too sharp for your drunk brain to register. somehow it feels like a warning. a bright neon sign saying “turn back now” or “wrong way”.

it’s just you, you want to reply to him. it’s just him making you sway slightly from side to side, it’s just him causing the buzzing under your skin, it’s just him clouding your thoughts and making it hard to open your mouth and reply.

“i think i, um, might need some water.” comes out instead, and he smirks like he’s been waiting for you to say that, like you’re a bug that just crawled under his shoe.

“i’ll get you some.” and then he’s gone, taking with him his suffocating presence that had been slowly squeezing you tighter. you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your shoulders sinking with it.

who is this guy?

he returns with a glass of water before you can answer your own question, but when you reach for it he just shakes his head.

“i’ll do it, so you don’t spill all over yourself.” you want to reply im not that drunk, then you realize that your hands are shaking, and you wonder if it’s the alcohol, or if it’s-

the cup in his hand descends towards your mouth before you can finish your thought. against your better judgment, you part your lips so he can fit the cold rim of the glass in between them. he puts his hand on your shoulder to steady you, but his thumb creeps upwards towards your neck, dangerously close to your throat, thumbing at the soft skin there. the touch makes tingles shoot out from the point of connection, and you almost forget how to swallow when the water touches your lips.

when the first rush of cold water enters your mouth, you gulp it down greedily. this is normal, right? he’s just helping you, making sure you don’t ‘spill all over yourself’, there’s no other intention behind his actions. but when you look up and meet sunas eyes looking down at you, you almost choke on the water in your throat.

the look is something you can only describe as hungry. you feel like you’re looking into a black hole, something with no end. something you could fall into and never reach the bottom of, free falling with your stomach in your throat, and you can’t tell if your leaning towards it or away from it.

you feel dizzy, partially from a lack of oxygen and partially from his gaze washing over you in a flash of heat. goosebumps prickle up from your skin, an accute awareness in where his hand is sitting on your shoulder.

you grab at his wrist and tug to get him to pull the cup back, because it didn’t seem like he wanted to stop anytime soon, like he was trying to fucking drown you. you gulp the air into your lungs greedily. the feeling in your head gets doubled, a whirling feeling like you can’t tell up from down. luckily his hand is still on you stabilizing you, or you embarrassingly might’ve have fallen.

“all better?” and fuck, you’d missed his voice in the few minutes since he last spoke. the shivers running down your spine are getting addictive, the rush of adrenaline awakening something inside you that’s been dormant for years.

you want to tug him down into you and show him just how much better you’re feeling but you hum out a conformation instead, the vibrations flowing through you and adding to the buzz your feeling.

he gulps down the rest of the water you’d left behind, and you watch his throat swallow greedily. you want to reach out and drag your fingers along it, feel his pulse and confirm he is human and not something sent down from heaven to test your resolve.

he doesn’t break eye contact while he drinks, looking at you parched as if he isn’t drinking water at all. the cosmos’s that are his irises threatening to drink you instead, merge you into one.

it’s getting harder to say that you don’t want that, too.

the only break you get is when he places the empty glass on the counter, and then his gaze is eating you up again, clawing at your nerves. when he breaks eye contact, you realize it’s just to get a better look at you, the whole of you. it feels like you’ve suddenly stripped naked in from of him, shedding your skin and muscle too. giving him unlimited access to your nerves, your heart.

“you sure? you still look out of it.” his words are goading, trying to convince you as much as himself; trying to wriggle into your mind and turn off the switch that lets you have your own thoughts, trying to take control. “you want to go somewhere quiet?”

as normally innocent the words would be on their own, the look he’s giving you indicates it’s a very important question. life, or death. up, or down. will you sink, or swim?

will he drown you?

just like you took that first sip of alcohol that night, you slip your hand into his waiting one. you choose the path you shouldn’t, but it’s tugging you down regardless.

the face he makes when you do, though, almost makes you regret it. it’s something just past the point of hunger, something a predator makes before they pounce. before you have time to reconsider, he’s dragging you down the dark hallway into a room along the side of it, shutting the door behind you. you can’t tell if he locks it, a thought that tingles along the back of your spine in trepidation.

“you should sit down.” it’s worded like a suggestion but his voice falls flat. instead of waiting for you to make the decision on your own, he backs you with his tall frame and wide shoulders until the back of your legs hit the matress. unfortunately, you don’t have the balance to stay upright so your ass lands on the bed with a bounce, causing him to loom over you even more than he already did.

this entire situation feels like a game of chess, analyzing his moves, but you don’t know if you want to win or lose. should you concede? flick your king over so he can advance?

you dont have to, he’s already moving in. you dont need to give him permission, spread your legs to make room for him, he’s bending down and making room for himself.

kneeling in between your legs, he doesn’t look any smaller, and it’s an insane thought. he’d tower over you laying down.

“i’ve noticed you, at every game you’ve been to.” his hand is reaching around your throat, somehow dwarfing you again in a new way, tilting your head up towards him. “fuck, how could i not.” then he’s squeeeezing his hand ever so slightly with his words, and your eyes are almost fucking crossing at the pressure, the feeling between your legs changing from an ache to a throb.

“with your cute little skirts, barely even covering your ass.” he’s flipping the skirt your wearing now up, flashing your panties and making your cheeks warm even hotter.

“and the way you congratulate the twins after every win, almost makes me jealous.” there’s that feeling again, something hot in your chest that makes you want to run out of here before you lose yourself completely to him, before you get swallowed whole.

he’s leaning his mouth down to where he has your chin tilted up with his thumb, so even if you wanted to run, your legs turn to jelly underneath you, useless.

and, ah, this is where those hungry gazes come to fruition. because if you thought his eyes were eating you alive, his mouth was devouring you.

your head tilts back against his onslaught despite yourself, your neck losing the ability to keep your head up properly, but he’s squeezing your throat to keep you in place. his other hand makes its way from your thigh to the back of your head, giving him the power to deepen the kiss into something even more decrepit and dangerous.

he licks into your mouth, and it feels like he’s exploring your mind with it, and you fucking mewl.

the kiss is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, not that you had much experience to begin with. should it feel like this? he licks along your gums, unable to get enough of your mouth. should it feel like drowning?

when his hand moves from your neck, it slides down your body. you almost think he’s reaching for your skirt again until he goes back up, under your shirt.

the first squeeze of his big hand on you causes your lips to open against his and you breath a moan into his open mouth. he sucks it in greedily.

“fuck, baby. so fucking sensitive, huh?” just to prove his point, he reaches a thumb under your bra to flick at your nipple, and all you can do is squeeze your legs around him and whimper into the air between you.

he groans, something deep and guttural, and it washes over you in another wave of heat. you want more. you want to hear what other sounds he can make.

all you can express outwardly is another whine when his mouth descends onto your neck. he’s sucking on the skin there, and you feel devoured again. especially when he ads his teeth to the mixture of pleasure, dragging them against your fragile skin while his hand that used to hold the back of your head drops to your panties.

the first swipe of the thumb against the outside of your underwear has any remaining thoughts slipping from your mind. your spine threatens to give out completely underneath you, and you teeter against suna before you fall backwards into the matress.

you make it as far as one breath full of air before he’s following you down, climbing over you and lifting beneath your armpits to slide you further up the mattress, pressing one of his legs in between yours.

when he leans back down to kiss you again, your moan has no where to go while he rubs his thigh against you, his hand still shoved up your shirt.

fuck, you feel overwhelmed. his presence shrouds over you and overrides your nerves, making your limbs feel useless and liquid beside you. when he pulls back to look over you again, he smirks at what you only can imagine is the image of a disheveled mess.

“suna,” jesus, since when does your voice sound so whiny? you can’t worry about it much when you need his mouth back on you, you need his hands everywhere. “please.”

he grins like he’s caught you, something wide and full of teeth.

“please what, baby?” you can feel his hand dragging back up your front, tugging your shirt up with it and letting cold air onto your steaming skin. “need me to go get you some more water?” but he looks like you’d have to drag him off you, no intention of leaving, his question coming out teasing instead of genuine.

fuck, how can you explain what you need from him? need you everywhere, you want to say to him, but he’d probably take that as an opening to tease you again. instead of words, you’ll show him what you need.

despite you arms feeling numb, you drag them up your torso and start unbuttoning your shirt with suna’s hand still tucked underneath. unfortunately, you’re too drunk (yeah, you’ll blame it on the alcohol and not on him) to get the buttons out. fortunately, suna takes pity on you.

not before smirking wolfishly at the blatant display of what he was doing to you, of course.

he makes quick work of your shirt and then his own, tossing them somewhere you scarily cant see and then giving the same treatment to your bra. when you’re bare except for your skirt and panties, he doesn’t give you time to be embarrassed before he’s leaning down and kissing you again.

suna kisses like a man fucking starved, his tongue finding places in your mouth you didn’t even know you had. it makes you so delirious you don’t even realized he’s pushed aside your panties with two fingers. so when he sinks those same fingers into you, you bite down on his lip, hard.

all he does is groan again, in that same deep way that makes you feel a bit lost inside him.

“fuck, baby, you’re sucking me right in.” why did he have to have such a filthy mouth? you want to cover your face with your hands, hide from his hungry gaze. but he’s right, you can hear yourself over the sound of your whimpers, the thick squelch that tells you his fingers are finding no resistance at all against you.

“suna, i need- ah!” before you have the chance to tell him to fucking move he’s curling his fingers expertly against you, finding a spot inside you that makes pleasure shoot out into your arms and legs, causing you to moan unabashedly into the air while your spine arches against him.

fuck, you hope he locked that door earlier.

“you look so good like this under me.” his words don’t even register to you when he starts pumping his fingers in and out, the drag of them against your walls something delicious and addicting.

your eyes are slipping shut in pleasure, your head dipping back against the pillow behind you, but a hand grabs at your jaw and tilts it up again.

“nuh uh, sweetheart.” he does something particularly wicked with his wrist that has your eyes shooting open and a filthy moan falling from your mouth. “good girl, keep your eyes on me. i’m going to make it all better, okay?.”

make what better? make this fire inside your gut go out? yes, please, you want to say, but all your throat seems capable of doing is whining brokenly.

when his fingers pull out of you, you almost feel like you’re going to cry from the loss. then you hear the sound of his pants unzipping and you don’t have the brain power to miss his fingers when his cock is pressing against your entrance.

when he slides home, it feels like an epiphany. an “aha!” moment that you can’t help but feel tracks back to that first moment you’d felt eyes on you, like this was bound to happen. the second he’d seen you, he’d set your future in stone.

he groans like he’s just tasted water after hours in a desert, like the feeling of your pussy wrapped around him was something he needed to survive.

it feels like he’s hitting ground zero inside you, striking up the nerves deep inside and causing fireworks to explode in your stomach. you can’t help but let out a gasp when he pulls out half way, and slams back into you twice as hard. you grip onto his shoulders just to feel grounded, just to have something to tether you back down to earth, and he gasps when your nails dig into his skin.

then he’s pulling back, and fucking into you for real. hard thrusts that make you see stars every time they connect, hitting that point inside you that threatens to shatter you in two.

“fuck, baby, this what you needed?” you’re moaning, whimpering in agreement to his words. “that first time you looked up at me, ah fuck, this is what you were begging for, right?” but his words are lost on you, because he’s reached his hand down onto your throat again and starts squeezing.

there’s something devastating building up inside you, something so powerful you feel tears threaten to spill down your cheeks. the pressure on your throat is limiting blood flow to your head, causing a floating sensation that just ads to the fire building in your core.

he reaches down and kisses you again, and you’re fucking gone.

it’s absolute oblivion. something that feels like it tears through you and leaves nothing behind. all you can do is dig your nails harder into his back and chant suna, suna, suna against his lips.

he groans like your cunt clamped down on him hurts, but he just thrusts harder into you, chasing his own end.

when he does, he moans into your mouth, and in your post-orgasm dazed brain you think it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever heard. he thrusts one more time, hard and deep into you and then he collapses against you.

you’re spent. your limbs are limp against the mattress, your breathing stuttered, your heartbeat fast and fluttering against your ribcage.

you can vaguely register his lips kissing your collar bone, but your consciousness is starting to leak out of you. a result of your epic comedown, an adrenaline crash that sucked the life right out of you.

just as your eyes flutter closed and the darkness fades in, you hear suna one last time.

“knew from the fucking second i saw you, baby,” and your brain is leaking into oblivion, your thoughts a slew of darkness seeping across the inside of your skull. “that i could make you mine.”

~

[beebopboom]

silly headcanon time

Maggie actually texted her message to Aziraphale but because he doesn’t have a modern phone it arrived through the mail slot

[jesuistrestriste]

cw (18+): sub!art, afab + femme!character, age gap, crying/dacryphilia, art being a sad and lonely hot guy in his forties, tashi and art never really got together, creampie

˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢

dilf!art getting with a pretty young thing from down the block. . .

he always admired her effortless confidence and the way her body moved when she walked down the street to the corner store every weekend.

always watched her return from his brownstone apartment window; a pack of cinnamon gum and a case of peach seltzer in her hands.

she’s beautiful and bouncy and everything he didn’t get to have in his youth when he was too sucked into tennis to let himself live a little. he lost tashi to patrick. that was that. and he never tried dating again until about ten or so years ago.

they were all flings that crashed and burned their way through his thirties. meaningless moments where all he was left with was a wet dick and a heaviness in his chest. he hated it. he was done with it.

until her.

she was different.

she sparked a conversation with him one day when they ran into each other outside his doorstep. she was cracking jokes that only made her seem more intriguing because art didn’t understand the social context behind them— he was no longer hip and cool, he’d accepted it. but that, combined with the pop of her hip she did when she was making him laugh (not to mention the way she smacked her gum + batted her lashes when she smiled; all pearly whites) made him feel like even more of a creep.

but now she’s bouncing on his cock and gazing down at him while he gasps and squirms like a livewire underneath her.

they’ve only really known each other for a week and a half.

“say thank you, Artie,” she purrs, her hand tracing the spattered flush on his chest, “say it.”

he bucks his hips up as much as he can to meet her movements, and bites his lip hard enough to taste metal when his tip bumps her cervix.

“thank you, oh my god, thank you— thank you, thank you—! ha-aah-!”

he babbles; a broken record of whines and shaky moans. his throat hurts from all of the sounds being pulled from him when the most he’s talked all month has come from just a couple of boring, remote interviews about his athletic career.

and her, of course.

god, it’s all her..

he swallows and keens, and then his eyes are watering.

and then he’s sobbing. he’s choking on his tears and yet he’s still feeling the tight coil of warmth tense further and further and further-

“don’t cry,” she whispers, leaning down to kiss the wetness from his cheeks, her hips swiveling to ride him harder just as the first slimy blurt of his orgasm spills inside, “you’re a good boy, okay? you’re perfect… a total catch…”

she smells like candy. she’s wiping his tears now.

“oh fuck, thank you-uu—hnghh!”

art lifts his hips, his face crumpling with pleasure and sadness, before he yelps and his climax wipes him out. his whole body trembles as he feels his cock pulse and coat her pussy with gooey clots of his spend. he’s practically wheezing.

he grips onto her hips fiercely; like if he doesn’t squeeze hard enough she’ll just go *poof*, and then he’ll be alone again.

“.. ungh, ‘m sorry, im cumming inside you, im cumming, im so sorry,” he whimpers, the aftershocks leaving him feeling bare and weak. stripped of all of his armor. if he even had any left to begin with.

she kisses his shoulder gently, and then she’s dipping her glossy lips down to whisper right next to his ear. her dainty necklace chills his skin when it dangles from her body and meets his collarbone. she’s so close to him.

“don’t worry, Mr. Donaldson…

you’ll be a great daddy.”

[eterniravioli]

oh.

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

Remember to enrich your Archivist daily by putting him in a surveillance room and letting him Watch! It is recommended you do this for at least an hour, otherwise your Archivist may start to Watch strangers across the street, causing discomfort amidst the public.

It is reccomend you do further research into Archivists before taking one in!

[thestuffedalligator]

“It’s… not what I expected Fairyland to look like.”

“You said you wanted the safest route.”

“Well, yes, but — where are the woods? The forests? The mushrooms with gnomes living in them?”

“Yeah, right — look, all that twinkly enchanted forest crap was made by humans who came here in the 1800s. Capital-R Romantic artists. They hated industrialization and loved nature, and they wanted an escape from the modern world.

“And Fairyland loves humans who want to escape from the modern world. It makes for easy bait. So when artists came here in the 1800s, it made itself look exactly like what they wanted it to.”

“And people want this?”

She gestured out to a world painted in pastel shades of pink and green, and lit with a blaze of neon lights. Every surface gleamed and twinkled with starburst sparkles, and the air smelled sticky sweet with a chemical whiff of hairspray.

Every building was neatly geometrical. Every window was a view into a Norman Rockwell painting. On the wind she could hear the sounds of music and the words: “Sandman, I’m so alone, I’ve got nobody to call all my own…”

It was like being dunked headfirst into a bucket of the 1950s.

But… but there was a weirdness to it. The children playing in Davy Crockett caps and cowboy hats looked like goblins. The gleaming cars with glittering tailfins had huge, sad, colourless eyes instead of headlights.

A gaggle of beehived housewives stood on a corner and watched her pass with glittering, hungry eyes. One of them parted perfectly painted lips and licked its lion’s teeth.

The guide shrugged. “Of course. Every now and then someone falls into Fairyland who loves mid-twentieth century Americana, who wishes they could go back to ‘the good old days.’ Fairyland opens its arms and offers them a world where things are simple, where pixies wear poodle skirts and elves wear aprons, and men are men and women are women and all the jukeboxes in all the soda shops play Mr. Sandman.

“And then this place eats them alive.”

She swallowed. “But it’s safe for us?”

“Do you dream about going back to the fifties?”

“God no.”

“Then it’s safe.”

[hmslusitania]

Suki: this is my boyfriend Sokka and that’s his boyfriend Lee (from the tea shop)

Random citizen, maybe a cabbage merchant, idk: isn’t — isn’t that the firelord?!

Sokka: he’s literally just Lee (from the tea shop)

Zuko: the firelord’s scar is on the other side

[dykebeckett]

I only yank that thing when it’s narratively satisfying

[foxybouquet]

ME: *offers Ghost lore speculation number eleventy-thousand, niche Italian translation, random thirst posts, bc I’m desperate to recapture and maintain that Ghost fandom “high”*

EVERYONE: …

ME:

[ninyard]

what is your most unhinged neil hc

(tw; animal cruelty)

there's a line in tkm where neil says he "hadn't progressed past cutting up hunks of dead animals" and that two of nathan's people taught him to use a knife.

i had to search for a while to find the exact quote because i thought it was "neil hadn't progressed on from just killing animals". it's only because i read it over my partner's shoulder yesterday or the day before that i even remember that line existed, and I remembered it wrong. but instead of ignoring that old oopsie daisy of my memory, i propose to you this;

when andrew suggests the idea of getting a cat, or arrives home one random day with a kitten in his arms, neil freaks out. he'd never had a pet before, or thought about having one, but for a second he's back in his childhood home and remembering those few months where his father's people handed neil a knife and curled his fingers around it like the handle in his palm was his purpose.

chunks of meat turns into dead mice and then rats, then alive squirrels or birds, but one day he's sitting with romero maybe, and he is talking neil through the best places to stab someone for them to bleed out slowly, when lola comes into the cellar with her coat wrapped around something. her smile is evil, it's disgusting, and when neil is stupid enough to ask her what she has, she laughs.

i think you're ready for it, junior, she says, with her lips curled into a grin, sharing a glance with romero as she turns to show him what she's hiding in her hands. romero matches her laugh with a pleased nod. all this practice has to mean something, doesn't it?

so she pulls this tiny animal out of her pocket, no bigger than her hand, her fingers almost making a full loop around it. when neil looks closer at the kitten, there's no way it can be older than a few days old. he tells lola hes not doing it. she tells him he has no choice. and so he has no choice.

when andrew comes into their apartment, and his hair is all soaking wet because its pouring down outside, neil doesn't see lola in the room until he hears the quiet meow of whatever andrew is keeping dry under his jacket.

neil remembers how he threw up, how he was beaten for crying, how he begged and begged not to have to do it, which just got him in even more trouble. this tiny, helpless kitten in andrew’s hands triggers him to the point where andrew finds a box to keep it in and after punching some air holes in it, he hide it away in their closet, away enough that Neil can’t hear it’s incessant meows.

neil feels awful in that moment, remembering what he did, remembering what he was forced to do. he gets over it slowly, quietly. but before that, andrew tells him in seriousness if he wants him to get rid of it he will, if neil can’t have a pet like a cat, if it’s too much of a trigger for him. neil sees how much andrew looks after the abandoned little kitten, and he can’t. he can’t tell him to get rid of it, even though every time he looks at it he’s overwhelmed by guilt and trauma enough to leave the room.

in the end, it’s ends up being really healing, neil having a relationship with that little kitten. andrew tells him he found it on the road, alone, abandoned. it would have died if he hadn’t stopped to save it. it would’ve died if neil hadn’t let it stay. it’s like a second chance for him, to show the love he can have for such an animal, to try to get over the guilt of what he did, what he can’t take back.

[dark-mnjiro]

Making out with Endo in a dark alley. His body cages you in and his arms on either side of your head preventing any escape. His leg sneaking between yours, pressing his knee against your core. Your phone rings, he demands you answer it. It’s your boyfriend on the other line as Endo forces you to speak to your boyfriend and try to hide the pretty little sounds coming out of your mouth as his movements become almost unbearable. You finally end the phone call, smacking him before he grins and says, “admit it, he can’t satisfy you the way I can.”

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

On a Harry Potter kick rn. Soulmate prompt: Harry Potter (male or fem) and Luna Lovegood romantic soul bond, preferably in fourth or fifth year unless you have a specific idea. Type of soulmate mark/indicator is up to you.

I just really adore Luna as a character and the small peeks we get of her dynamic with Harry in the books, so I'd love to see your take on them as a couple and discovering their bond

If you want a good Rec Ignore the Dementor is a Fantastic Luna/Harry fic.

Note: this is not intended as bashing. Rather is is a bit of a ‘expecting people to end up together is dumb’ and how people often get caught up in fantasy dream worlds. The only person I poke at who I mean to be a bad person is Snape.

People take Soulmates seriously. You’re expected to be utterly perfect for one another. In the Muggle World, it’s illegal to marry anyone not your soulmate unless both your Marks have faded. In the Wizarding World it’s not ullegal but it isn’t common unless you’re Pureblood and your Soulmate not.

Marks appear on the younger Soulmate’s fifteenth birthday. Generations of teens have done rituals and little spells to get a glimpse of how it is. There isn’t a solid way to see though, as Fate tends to hide these things.

(There are other Rituals to, forcing a Mark to be fake. Fate burns those who do these, and promises the victims of them salvation. They work but at a cost, a cost that takes and takes. That gives them their worst dream come true. And then they always break. It doesn’t stop the Rituals. Doesn’t stop people from trying.

It never lasts.)

While there is no true way to tell who your Soulmate is, expectations often abound. Oh those two will be Mated. No they’re just friends! I thought she would end up with her not that girl!

These expectations are considered rude. No one knows after all. Dating before your fifteen is permitted, but expecting your soulmate to be your partner is rude. Trying to date someone with the belief they are your Mark is even ruder.

Still it isn’t uncommon.

Harry knew this, and when his best friends ambush him to try and talk about it points it out.

“No mate, you don’t get it.” Ron said, shaking his head. “Mum saw you don’t have a Mark and her eyes lit up Mate. Me and Hermione-“ he smiled at the bushy haired girl who smiled back, the Marks in their neck obvious “-think she assumed either Hermione, me or Ginny for you.”

“When we didn’t get a third and you said you had no Mark, she began saying of course. Look at Ginny! She’s to young. And then she began talking about weddings.” Hermione said.

“What?” Harry asked in shock.

“Sirius told her off. Said back off as it wasn’t a sure thing and she didn’t know. Also said she might claim he sees you as your dad but she’s certainly trying to shove you into that role since she mentioned you marrying Gin would be like your parents again.” Ron reported. “She was right pissed.”

“It doesn’t help everyone else but Remus seem to agree with her,” Hermione scoffed. “I told Ginny to move on. That she couldn’t be sure and her crush would just worsen things for everyone.”

“Nothing wrong with hoping but expecting? Ick.” Ron made a face. Harry had to agree.

The rest of the summer was uncomfortable. Molly kept trying to have him sit next to Ginny or spend time with her. Ginny tried to be less shy but her blush would occur as she looked at him.

Ron and Hermione were safe places. So was Remus and Sirius.

“We were expected to Match,” Sirius told Harry. “Never mind I don’t like men.”

“I prefer men,” Remus admitted. He smirked. “And yet you met my wife.” Tonks had been around during their third year, much younger then Remus but the two were stupidly in love.

“My Mark… she died,” Sirius admitted. His face was pale. “I don’t like talking about it. But there were so many people shocked and the belief some dark ritual was cast.”

“Wait those rituals are real?” Harry asked. He’d heard rumours and the stories but never knew they were true.

“Oh…” Remus said, realizing something. Sirius sighed.

“Your father woke his birthday with a smear where his Mark should be. Someone had tampered with his Soulmate,” Sirius said bluntly. “We took him to the hospital wing and luckily it seemed that it was the more common ritual used. One the nurse could break.”

“Your mother collapsed at breakfast. And the boy she thought who was her soulmate did to. They were rushed to the hospital wing, and that’s when it came out Lily was James’ soulmate.” Remus finished.

“My mom was under a dark ritual?” Harry asked in horror.

“She was, and the fucker who did it got away since he claimed he didn’t,” Sirius sneered.

“It could have been his Soulmate,” Remus said, though his tone said he didn’t believe it.

“Who was it?” Harry asked but they wouldn’t tell him.

It didn’t matter. Not when Harry saw how they glared at Snape when he came through the door, how Tonks refused to go near him.

It was a sickening thought.

(Did he? Did he not? Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.)

While the buffer of his friends and godparents was good, Harry still found himself trapped in a small compartment with Ginny. Across from him was a girl with long blonde hair who blinked at him.

“The Nargles are after you,” she said dreamily.

“What are Nargles?” Harry asked, desperate to not talk to Ginny.

What followed was actually pretty fascinating, and Harry couldn’t help but ask more questions. Luna was pretty damn brilliant, and snarky like how she talked about Snape obviously being under the influence of a Grease Mister that damaged his brain. Harry about died of laughter as Neville chuckled and Ginny giggled.

It was a rather nice start to the school year.

-

“Murtlap works,” Luna said as she studied Harry’s hand. Her tone wasn’t her normal one, harder and angrier. “But so does this.” She dug into her bag to pull out a lotion she began applying.

“Thanks Luna.” Harry said. He was tired. Tired of Umbridge. Tired of the murmurs that followed him. Tired of Snape. Tired of Dumbledore refusing to meet his eyes.

Tired of knowing looks when Ginny talked to him and how everyone seemed to expect. It was driving him bonkers. Worse was when Ginny’s boyfriend tried to pick a fight. It was insane.

“Would you like to visit the threstals with me?” Luna asked.

“Sure,” Harry smiled at his friend, letting her lead him off. Visiting death horses was better then worrying about things.

It set up a pattern of Harry seeking Luna out. If them spending time together outside of the lessons Harry taught his fellow students.

Hermione and Ron found it sweet, teasing Harry about a crush. He wasn’t sure if he liked her like that or not. He liked her though. A lot.she was kind and so smart.

When people began commenting about how he was neglecting Ginny he’d turn around and ask what they were expecting. Most shut up after that, wincing at the reminder it wasn’t set in stone.

Luna ignored the whispers and told Harry that it wasn’t his fault people were infected by Nargles. Or Whispims. Or another creature she talked about.

It was nice.

(“Can you stop hanging out with him?”

“He’s not yours Ginny.”

“No but-“

“Are you expecting it?”

“… that’s not fair.”

“Look to your boyfriend.”)

-

In February, specifically the thirteenth, Harry woke with his cheek tingling. Ron glanced at him and paused, before chuckling.

“Well then, looks like expectations are wrong.” He said, purposely loud. Seamus glanced up and stared at Harry who quickly went to their bathroom to check. A Mark had spread across his cheek, silvery and beautiful.

Luna. He knew it was her birthday.

A hope stirred in him and he dressed fast. He hurried down the stairs. He didn’t care it was a school day.

“I’ve got your bag!” Ron called after him anyway, and Harry barely paid attention as he ran past a group of Gryffindors who stared in shock. One of them was Ginny, whose face crumpled as soon as she saw the Mark.

Running to the Great Hall, he skidded to a stop upon seeing Luna waiting.

Her Mark glowed on her cheek as she smiled at him.

He beamed back.

Note again: Snape did not cast the ritual but he DID in fact know who did it and supported it. It was his soulmate, Bellatrix. She didn’t want to be tied to a halfblood and offered the choice to him. He took it.

[topeka-commission-for-the-arts]

Yeah babe I’m a hardcore gamer

I didn’t use a walkthrough to beat a Nancy Drew game

[commandingdaylight]

I just woke up from a long dream where I gave my family what must have been a 40 minute speech about

A. Why Rise of the Titans was awful

B. Why Jim deserves a break and some exemptions on his homework while saving the world

The crown jewel line was "You see, it's not unlike Hannah Montana. They're both teenagers in Southern California living double lives"

[delirious-donna]

Hiromi only gets to bring his work to bed with him if he promises to read his case files out loud. Nothing gets you worked up more than hearing his whisky-laced voice narrate some complicated legal definition whilst a pen bounces against his cheek and a rogue highlighter rolls across the sheets.

He stops asking to work in bed the fourth time that his hastily scrawled but very important notes get defiled by fluids of… ‘unknown origin’.