#Joke and Crow did the most

[bitchthefuck1]

It's always so funny to me when people call Kaz a serial killer or a murderer bc like. boy do I have news for you about the other crows.

[katyspersonal]

Although I never trashed "Mohg did nothing wrong" / "Griffith reference Miquella" people (I just didn't understand the appeal of these interpretations and had my own idea), @ the characters I am now like:

[sbcdh]

On the morning of August 19th 1966, the merchant marine vessel Pelican unloaded its cargo into the port of Los Angeles. Recently declassified information about the Pelican’s ship manifest confirms that the ship was carrying experimental materials for a nascent project Clover. Of the 425 drums of material, only 424 were accounted for. 

While government officials have not confirmed exactly what was in the lost barrel, its contents are believed to be approximately 55 gallons of an experimental substance similar to LSD. 

To anyone with a passing interest in the 1970’s music scene, this will not come as news. Tall tales of a lost ship full of experimental drugs were as common as disco, though the stories have been exaggerated. The most common form of the story features a drunk crane operator loading a shipping crate onto the wrong train, though in reality it was only a single barrel that went unaccounted for. The more outlandish forms of the legend include everything from a daring heist by a crew of rocker-pirates to shadowy government entities vanishing the entire ship for their own nefarious purposes. 

The reality was a simple logistical mixup, a mistake that can be tracked back to a simple addition error on an inventory sheet, an ordinary yet deeply embarrassing mistake on part of the government. Additionally, The information that revealed the lost barrel came alongside a report detailing project clovers lost asset tracking protocol. Protocol that reads as comically naive in hindsight, with guidelines including “monitoring local jazz bars” or keeping an eye out for “feminist thought.” With the benefit of retrospective, it is no surprise that agents were not able to track the barrel. 

Declassification of the Pelican’s manifest prompted an unexpected crossover with another niche legend of the 1970s Los Angeles music scene: the disappearance of the Knights of Altonia. 

Even today, many consider the Knights of Altonia to be a myth, but scant references to their existence can be found. According to a review from a 1977 issue of Jam! Magazine, the Knights of Altonia were a “D-List psychedelic glam metal outfit with more style than skill, known more for their disappearance than their music.” Though a 1997 retrospective from Tempo calls them “A band too ahead of their time to be properly appreciated” noting their flamboyant stage costuming and its significant influence on the aesthetics of the genre. 

To the frustration of music historians seeking to separate fact from fiction, the band featured an elaborate mythology, with each member claiming to be a “Wizard-Knight of the Mystic Tower” who traveled from their world to ours “on a journey through the Nine Realms to find the secret stone.” This has been the source of innumerable urban legends around the band. A common joke among hobbyist historians at the time claimed that the Knights did not vanish, but simply “returned to the Nine Realms.” Information on the band is so muddled that many music historians doubt their existence entirely. In fact, the only confirmed, physical evidence of the band’s existence is a photograph at the bottom of the Jam! Review, it features:

Lead singer and guitarist Donald Hawkins as his stage persona “Zozimos the Wise.” He sports a mane of dreadlocks, and a classic blue wizard hat and robe decorated with yellow stars.The robe is worn open to reveal Donald’s bare chest, along with velvet short-shorts and a pair of thigh-high leather boots. The article states that the glittery bright purple guitar in his hands was named “Excelsior.”

Rhythm guitarist Jon Todachine as “Wan the Witch King.” He wears a deerskin jacket, also open at the front, decorated with what appear to be crow feathers and small animal bones. The theme of bones continues to his belt buckle, which features an as-of-yet unidentified animal skull. This figure is presumed to be Jon, although it should be noted that the broad hat he wears features a curtain of beads that obscures his face. 

Bassist Riley Knox as “Chulainn the Horned.” He wears a full deer skull, along with a lit candle that appears to be slowly melting down over the mask. Most of his upper body is obscured by what appears to be a cloak of leaves. Beneath the cloak he appears to be wearing a pair of Nike Blazers. 

Drummer Marcus Wilson as “Magnus Fire-Weaver.” He wears a viking helmet over intricately braided red hair, a chain-maille loincloth, a pair of medieval bracers on his wrists, and nothing else. 

Most notably, a speaker on stage left is placed upon a large steel drum identical to the ones used by project clover. 

Study is ongoing. 

[mattyriddlesbitch]

Model

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Warnings: Like one dirty comment

You knew Mattheo a little from classes. You shared a few here and there throughout the years and would talk when you were sat next to each other. You wouldn’t exactly classify him as a friend, more like an acquaintance. You, of course, knew his reputation-the fights and drinking and smoking, being the Dark Lord’s son. It wasn’t exactly good and pure. Yet he was always kind to you when you spoke, making jokes to make you laugh. You didn’t exactly see him as this purely evil boy that people make him out to be. Sure, he got into fights and did things he wasn’t supposed to, but don’t most guys do that anyways?

You noticed a lot of things about him, just from observing him. Things like he preferred sweets over anything else, he always loaded his coffee with sugar and creamer, he befriended some of the animals around Hogwarts like the stray cats and crows, anytime he got new converse, he would draw on them the first day. None of these things exactly screamed “evil” to you.

The one thing you never noticed about him though, would be in the classes that you did have together that you were apart from each other in, he would draw you. He liked how focused you looked in class as you took notes. He liked how the pen looked in your hands. He liked how your legs looked, especially the softness of your thighs when you sat down. He liked the little bit of your chest he could see when you unbuttoned the top buttons of your shirt when it was too hot. He liked how soft your hair looked and the small strands that fell whenever you’d put your hair up. He liked how you’d pull the school robe around you whenever you got cold in class. He liked you.

So, instead of focusing on class, he would sketch you. It could be your hands, or your face, or the back of your head, or your legs when you crossed them under the desk. Whatever he could see or whatever caught his attention the most. 

His friends would joke around and call him creepy or a stalker, but he just thought you were too beautiful not to draw. How could he not when you just looked so…he had no words to really describe how he thought. Beautiful was okay. Gorgeous, maybe. Ethereal? Yeah, that would be the closest he could get to how he felt.

“You know, you could easily be a model.” Mattheo said as he was sat across the desk from you in one of your classes, his head resting in his hand as he looked at you.

You blushed and smiled. “Thanks, but I’m not sure about that.” You said, looking up from your work to look at him.

“Why not?”

You shrugged. “I don’t think I’m that pretty.”

He raised his eyebrows. That was just absurd to him. “Would you mind modeling for me anyways? I’d like practice drawing from a live model.” He asked, biting back the urge to tell you how wrong you were.

“You wanna draw me?” You asked with a bit of amusement and disbelief.

“I’d like to try something new rather than just drawing nature.” He said, and it was a half lie. It definitely wasn’t new to draw you, but it would be new to draw you posing for him.

“I suppose I can do that. What’s in it for me?” You asked, tilting your head with a small, teasing smile.

“My company.” He smiled back, just as teasingly.

“And what makes you think I would want that?”

“Who doesn’t? I mean, look at me.” He leaned back in his seat and gestured to himself.

You shook your head and rolled your eyes. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Not a ‘no’, though.”

“How about you get me some butter beer next time we’re at Hogsmeade and you got a deal?” You say, leaning back in your seat and crossing your arms over your chest.

“Are you proposing a date with me, Miss (Y/L/N)?” He teased, his smile growing.

“No, simply saying you owe me, Mr, Riddle.”

“Deal.” He said just as class ended. “Meet me tomorrow after breakfast in the courtyard, yeah?”

“Okay.” You said as you both were putting away your things. “See you then.” You shot him a smile as you stood up and left the classroom.

The next day was Saturday, so there were no classes. You ate breakfast in the Great Hall before heading out to the courtyard and spotted Mattheo standing under the tree. He was smoking, but immediately put it out as soon as he saw you walking towards him.

“Smoking this early?” You asked teasingly.

“Yeah, yeah. I know the speech. It'll kill me, I should stop, find another outlet.” He said sarcastically.

“Am I that predictable?” You joked, smiling at him as you stopped just a couple of feet away from him.

“How about you drop the sass and just sit here and look pretty for me?” He cocked his head, challenging you.

“So bossy. You're gonna draw me out here?” You asked, looking around.

“Best lighting here this time of day.” He said. “You're not backing out on me now, are you?” 

“I didn't say that. Where would you like me?” You said as you looked back at him.

“Here.” He gestured to one of the stone arches where you could sit.

You sat down on the arch, crossing your legs. “How would you like me?”

He tilted his head as he stared at you for a moment. “Lean back on your hands.” He said as he sat down a little away from you.

You leaned back on your hands, otherwise not changing anything else. “Like that?”

“Yeah.” He nodded as he grabbed his sketchbook from his bag. “Now just sit and look pretty for me.” He gave you a cheeky smile before starting to draw you.

You sat there for a few moments, just letting him draw before speaking up. “You know, when you asked me to model for you, I thought you were gonna try sneaking in some way to get me naked.”

“I was gonna work my way up. Earn your trust.” He said playfully, smirking as he glanced up at you.

You took a pinecone next to you and threw it at him, just grazing his arm, before getting back in the pose.

“Hey! I was joking!” He laughed, brushing the dirt from the pinecone off of his sleeve. “Though, I definitely won't complain if you did wanna pose naked for me.”

“You're disgusting.” You shot back in a teasing manner.

“Okay, okay, I'll leave it alone.” He said before going back to drawing. “Now sit still.”

“Demanding.” You muttered.

“You know, most models don't talk when they're being drawn.”

“Is that your way of telling me to stop talking?”

“I was trying to be subtle.”

“Rude.” You muttered again and he gave you a playful glare, but made no further comment.

You let him draw you in silence from there, minus his quiet mutters to himself. He loved being able to look at you with an excuse, he loved admiring all the small details-any scars, freckles, moles-all the imperfections that he thought made you look perfect.

He finally finished, looking between you and the drawing, making sure he got everything.

“Alright, I'm done. You wanna see it?” He asked, giving you a moment to stretch.

“Yeah, let's see it.” You said as you stood up, walking over to him.

He turned his sketchbook around towards you, looking just a little sheepish.

“Woah.” You took the sketchbook from him to get a better look. “Are you sure this is me? This person is way too beautiful.” You chuckled.

“That's how I see you.” He shrugged, trying to make it seem like it's not a big deal.

“You think I'm this pretty?” You asked, looking up at him now.

“I don't think I could ever do you justice, if I'm honest.” He admitted, the slightest blush dusting his cheeks. That was so embarrassing to admit for him.

“You mean that?” You asked softly.

“Yeah.” He said and stood up. “I, um…I’ve always thought you were pretty. Well, ‘pretty’ doesn’t even begin to cover how I think.” He gave you a cute, but embarrassed smile, rubbing the back of his neck as the blush deepened.

You could feel your own face heat up. “Well, I think you did a really good job with the drawing. This definitely does me justice.” You said, turning your attention back to the drawing.

“I could always use more practice, you know.” He said, not looking away from you.

“Are you asking me to model for you again?” You asked, eyes flicking back up to him.

“Yeah.”

You smiled, looking back at the drawing for a second before looking back at him. “Fine, but that means you’ll owe me two butter beers.”

“I guess I can do that.” His smile widened.

Taglist:

@jeannie-beannie @mixvchelle @helendeath @evaslytherpuff @leandre2006

@yours-truly-5 @hpnsfwaddict @mayamonroem @brittney-121 @leovaldezsbitch

@dracoslovergirl @littlemadamred @mattheoriddleluvbot @acornacreacure @opheliamalfoy236

@delulugirl2000 @akira1246 @queenshu @prettypinkprincess15

@jolly4holly @st0n3dbarbi3 @kurumbukaari @whydoireadanymore @sweet-afternoon

@ilovehpb0ys @satosugu4-ever @rcailleachcola @mattiesgirl

@alwayslatetothefandoms @satosugu4-ever @whydoireadanymore @dustie-faerie @mcdonaldshelppage

@shaquilles-0atmeal @gillyweeds @pluto-9456 @jooniebluesworld

@hereticdance @cindyss @saint-marvel @atadoddinnit

@simpforromance @yours-truly-5 @kenjikishimotoswifey @fallingblackveils @simpforromance

@strxwberri-s @nickirae @esmerai-artemis @blu3b3rrymuff1ns @m1lilachp

@roseofsharron438 @abeoavita @rafesba @ter-luer @slutsluvpaola

@lhotse8801 @eneywey @suna-rintired @maxsisly @ur-local-wizard

@notavailibles-world @tantrumbaby @peonies-and-unicorns @dorkyfangirl24

[nosyrobin]

Prologue: The little boys savior

||Batfamily x Gn!reader||

Warning: abuse mentions, drugs, and typical Gotham behavior

(Robins au)

Prologue ||

[Your pov]

Waking up tired and feeling like shit is always a magical moment….what a damn joke. Your parents died because they wanted to be drug lords. But of course that didn’t work out. Shot straight to the head when you were just 6, it’s been ten years later after that happened and you got put into the orphanage when it happened in one night. You sighed at that damn memory, you can’t get out the memories of your parents on the floor as you whimper.

You got out of your bed, swearing as you felt a headache hit you like a truck. Frowning, you quickly take some Advil. You got dressed and ready, ready to go to a school of hell and bullies. Walking down the stairs of the orphanage, you see little kids running around smiling, some are scared, some are new and are crying already, and some are just emotional or emotionless.

You felt bad for the kids who just got here as you gave them a sad look, walking out of the big building with your book bag in hand and your phone in the other. You smiled thinking of watching some gameplay marathons of your favorite YouTubers. You had a weird tactic of thinking stuff as if it’s a video game. Or even your actions. It actually does come in handy for you to think about things. That’s how you cope with stuff like your thoughts, actions, and even abuse in the orphanage. You think a lot, thinking helps you relax. Thinking about things in a light of where children are stuck in a mind space. It’s not like the adults in the hellhole you live in how can stop you since you are the oldest of the bunch of children in the building. You were about to make a turn when a guy in a black coat pushed you by harshly. Making you fall to the ground with a hard “THUMP!”

Your bag was half opened as you try to push your things in your bag. “Fuckin asshole!” You yelled out, getting up and grabbing your bag you didn’t notice a three kids with different styled middle parts. “Come back with our brother stranger!” One with a high pitch voice yelled, he was the youngest and shortest of the three. All had black hair and blue eyes, making them look the same but different. One with a bandaid over his cheek looked at you with urgency, “hey! Help us catch that man!” The boy with a ruffled up middle part says, pointing at the running man.

You looked at your bag, and the kids. “Uh oh..” you thought as you felt like time was slowing down. Feeling like a based decision game, you grabbed your bag. One of the boy’s eyes looked like his faith had fallen. But that was before you quickly opened your bag, pulling out a sharp binder and throwing it hard. The three boy gasps, you just deadpan thinking the binder would not even make it to hit the stranger. But oddly it did, the sharp part of the binder hit the thief straight on his head. Knocking him down, your jaw was open along with the black haired boys that stayed by your side.

“THATS NOT SCIENTIFICALLY POSSIBLE??” You screamed inside your head. You and the three small amigos go run to the knocked out body. You at first kicked it, seeing if he was really knocked out. Which he was before taking a tanned skin baby that looked…angry. Not even crying, or screaming. Just an angry little thing that wants to go back to bed. You gave it the one that seems the most eager to hold his brother.

“Thanks!” He said with a smile, his other brothers crowed him. Making sure the baby was fully okay. Soon a masculine voice called out across the streets. “Boys! Boys!” You turned to the voice only to drop your jaw..BRUCE WAYNE?! THE BRUCE WAYNE?! You stood shock while Bruce collectively hug his sons. “You boys alright?” The three boys nodded with a smile. The one with a bandaid points to you. “They knocked a man out and got Damian back!” Bruce raised a brow and looks at you. “Thank you for saving my son, I wish I could repay as of now but we’re in a hurry….” The tall man starts to analyze you. “..you look a little bit young to be out here. Don’t your parents know you’re out here?” Your eyes widened. You didn’t know how to answer..but man you wished you had a QTE to avoid this. Or even a pick of dialogue.

“DONT say orphanage.”

“Don’t say orphanage…”

“DONT even lie at all!”

"Press X to lie" randomly popped up in your head, before you could comprehend your own thoughts. Words spurred out your mouth.

“My parents are working! Yeah…they’re working.” You said awkwardly. Bruce raised a brow as Tim was pointing at your school bag. “And where are you supposed to be kid?” “…uuuh I’m just trying to go to school when suddenly this happened!” You said quickly, holding the straps of your book bag tightly to your chest. “Damnit I lied!” You cursed yourself mentally. Bruce hummed, making you look around nervously while the three children and one baby stare at you as if you lifted up the stars and sun. You waved at the little kids, the one with a neat middle part waved excitedly, while one with not much of a clean middle part just partly waved at you.

“Hmm stay safe now.” “I will!" you immediately left the billionaire, swearing under your breath as you ran. Bruce Wayne and his kids stared at the teen when they turned their back. “Dad…” Bruce looked down at Tim who was pulling his leg pants. “They’re lying about their parents.” “I know.” Bruce says, he starts to walk the direction he came from. The three young boys followed suit, but the boys couldn’t help but stare at the fading figure of the teen who saved their little brother’s life.

[manikas-whims]

LADS men + Halloween Costumes

Now with Sylus solo banner upcoming, the possibility of getting a Halloween quad banner is nil. And i’m happy for it cuz this has saved me from making a really bad financial decision 😆

anyways here's some mulling over the LIs costume choices..

SYLUS

Option 1: Vampire

If we consider Sylus’s overall aesthetic, then Vampire is the most obvious choice for him. He can't go out in the daylight for some inexplicable reason; definitely a creature of the night. He has red eyes that glow in the dark. And even during Destiny Café interactions, he playfully sinks his teeth into your palm. No doubt he'd enjoy sinking them more into your neck 🤭

Also like imagine a 5 star Sylus Halloween card where MC begins suspecting Sylus to be a vampire. And the whole card revolves around her trying to collect evidence. Even Luke and Keiran begin to suspect Sylus thanks to MC and the 3 join forces. The card ends with Sylus playfully scolding all of them 😆 and laughing in disbelief, in that deep cadence that he has 😊

Option 2: Demon

Another obvious choice. If not a vampire, then the red eyes and dark aesthetic are also quite befitting for a Demon attire. A very charming demon who lures you into sinning by offering his black card 🤭 and ofcourse you willingly sell your soul to him.

Option 3: Bounty Hunter

You know those charming sorts of outlaws that everyone loves and roots for? Yeah, that would fit so well with Sylus. Especially the steampunk aesthetic. So yeah..a steampunk style, bounty hunter Sylus with an array of weapons strapped all over. He only works solo but will definitely make an exception for you 😌

Option 4: Crow

Unlike the other two, this option involves a big, poofy bird suit. A crow outfit to be specific. And he looks simply adorable in it 🥺 Imagine yourself trying not to laugh as you sneakily take millions of photos of him in this outfit 🤭 while he sneers at you but there's no actual anger behind his gaze.

XAVIER

Option 1: Werewolf

It may sound unusual upon first thought but this will play so well into his overall persona of the “wolf in sheep's clothing” or “wolf in bunny clothing”. He did nibble on your finger and sniffed your scent in the No Restraint card. And I'm damn sure he has a thing for biting and marking. So just imagine him putting on the wolf ears, claws and fangs, and he starts acting more sly than ever, saying he's only playing the part 😉

Option 2: Royalty

Another obvious choice. Xavier is pretty used to this cause he is royalty afterall. So assuming a position of power comes easy to him (remember Floral Blessing?). Maybe some sort of chivalrous and gallant prince because he can easily add his swordplay skills to it. Seeing him regard you as his queen will be a treat sweeter than all the candies 😌

Option 3: Lumiere

You think it's the most hilarious inside joke— Lumiere hiding in plain sight amidst the crowd of Linkon on one night where a large majority would be dressed as their legend. Their hero. Xavier absolutely hates it! And he hates the amount of people he spots in Lumiere costumes. But he'll put it on upon your insistence. Just be ready for the consequences later on cause this man is jealous of his own superhero alter-ego 😭

Option 4: Angel

Xavier with large white wings protruding from his back would be another fitting sight with his overall white/silver aesthetic. Imagine him as your guardian angel, always watching over you, protecting you and trying his best to guide you on the right path, despite his own desires for you.

Option 5: Bunny/Alien

If not the above choices, then some cute/sexy bunny costume (though we've already got our bunny butler). Or a really silly alien costume that somewhat resembles his sticker set. We know he'll look squisher than ever in those 🥺

ZAYNE

Option 1: Mad Scientist

Something similar to Dr. Faustus or Dr. Frankenstein (yeah Frankenstein was NOT the monster but the name of the guy who created the monster..in case some people still don't know 😭). Zayne’s personal goal– his obsession and drive– to keep MC alive is somewhat similar to Dr. Frankenstein’s obsession with unraveling the secrets of life and well..ultimately beating death by bringing someone to life. And Zayne's hunger for knowledge is also similar to that of Dr. Faustus’s who readily sells his soul to the devil in exchange for knowledge.

So yeah..Zayne as a mad scientist, obsessed with knowledge and the drive to keep you alive would be intense 💯/💯

Option 2: Tutor

He'll sigh, take off his glasses and pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance, like he always does. But you'll somehow convince him to do it because he's incapable of saying no to you.

It starts as a silly costume idea but the moment you see his legs clad in those unusually tight-fitting slacks and the pointer stick in his hand, you realize you might have a tutor kink and that you wouldn't mind misbehaving cause you'd actually enjoy getting punished by him 🫣

Option 3: Snowman/Penguin

The cute option! Definitely Dr. Carter, Yvonne and his other co-workers coaxed him to put it on for the little kids visiting Akso hospital throughout the week. When you stop by for a scheduled check-up and stumble upon him, you can't help but take loads of pictures of him with the kids 😊

RAFAYEL

Option 1: Merman/Siren

Just like Xavier as Lumiere, Rafayel as a merman on halloween would be such a spectacular inside joke.

At first he'd be offended because the fake tail you bought for him would feel like an insult to the real thing. He would pout and narrow his brows but after your constant cajoling and sweet-talking he'll agree to indulge you. And it's all fun and games until you realize why all those sailors in fiction are so terrified yet turned on at the mere sight of a merman/siren. He'll entice you so easily with his velvety voice 😵‍💫

Option 2: Assassin

Don't fall for his pretty face. Rafayel can be cunning, deceptive and deadly when he wants to be. (in the main story and also as Abysswalker). As such, putting on the attire of an assassin would come easy to him. His charm is as lethal as the numerous daggers he conceals within his clothes. He’ll strike you right in the heart. Can totally imagine him doing finger guns at you 😉

Option 3: Chick

Pouty babie in an adorable chick costume with a beret and paintbrush, like his sticker pack. Imagine him struggling with the bulky costume, trying to waddle towards you in annoyance, demanding you to immediately help him take off the costume. Despite it all, he'd let you hug him and take selfies. He'll hate every minute of it but still pose properly when you take pics 😆

these are just some silly thoughts..what are your costume ideas for each LI 🤔

» MASTERLIST «

[strwbrychffoncke]

"santa, baby,, 3.2k words synopsis: after being spoiled by sylus all year round, you struggle to find the perfect thing to gift back— so you decide, what better than to gift yourself ? contains: sylus x f?reader (no phys. desc. but later described to be wearing a dress so take that how u will) not specifically lads mc but u are a hunter (there's just one line from his melodic waves (?) card + called "miss hunter" by the twins) ,lots of fluff ,starts off w unestablished relationship (& later unfolds.. the feelings are mutual) ,slight yearning ,angst if you squint hard enough ,sylus throwing money at u bc he can ,decorating ft. the twins ,kinda needy sylus ,teasing (goes both ways) ,soft!sylus ,kissing -> makeout ,slight marking (receiving) ,sylus slings you over his shoulder (wander in wonder style.... heart eyes) ,implied suggestiveness + twins shenanigans at the end LOL that should be it.... note: managed to write an excuse into the story for releasing this after christmas heh.... i seriously was so stuck & maybe it was bc the amount of fics i cranked out after not writing fics for so long?? but i still like this & hope you will too :x dedicated to the sylus lovers: i love u i hope u can forgive me for being late w this

-

sylus has never been one for the holidays.

he didn't really have a reason to celebrate anything, so he didn't go out of his way to do so, continuing with business as usual while barely registering when these dates would come and go.

the only tell that such holidays were close was the small decorations set up around the base, courtesy of the twins.

he grew accustomed to walking into his office, a small christmas tree set up on his desk along with a string of little red lights draped across the front of it, small crow embellishments hanging around the place and paper snowflakes strung from the ceiling.

and he doesn't think he can forget the sight of the twins struggling to fit a ridiculously-sized (and real, mind you) spruce tree through the front of the door.

at the time, sylus only shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"what do you two think you're doing?"

"oh, hi boss!" they'd said in unison before kieran continued.

"well, you know, christmas is coming up already," he started.

"-and you don't have a christmas tree!" luke finished.

"...did you two cut this one down yourselves?"

"why, of course!" they answered together proudly.

sylus only sighed in response.

"do whatever you wish..." he trailed off, walking out of the living area back down the hall, some classic holiday song fading as his steps receded further.

this was all until you entered the picture.

as your relationship (whatever it may be) continued to grow with sylus, so too did your visits to the N109 zone, and by extension, his mansion.

for this reason, your more frequent visits reflected in the usually dark mansion: a cute yet out-of-place mug in the sink, pink towels in one of the bathrooms, some clothes left astray in the guest bedroom, even some cute lamps and decorations in the main living area (that sylus would make a teasing comment about once noticing, but make no move to take down, even encouraging you to add anything else you like. to him, his space was yours).

but in your most recent visit to sylus' place, you noticed the sheer lack of any change since you'd last stopped by about a week prior.

—not that he was one for decorating in the first place, but did he really not have any festive cheer anywhere in his little den?

when you barged into his office and spoke out about how the place looked exactly the same when christmas was so close by, joking about him having no holiday spirit, he only let out a hearty chuckle before offering you his card with a simple "then why don't you fix that, sweetie?"

he watched amused as your eyes glimmered with excitement, snatching up his card before happily scampering away to your laptop to begin your shopping, his eyes following you all the way till you were out of sight.

"such a simple kitten," he muttered to himself, smirk adorning his lips before he got back to work.

in no time at all, the halls were adorned with shiny silver tinsel (in which mephisto had so generously helped you put up), a faux black christmas tree was set up in the living area with cute twinkling lights, and silver and red ornaments came in several boxes (among all the other small decorations you had to put up in other various rooms).

when luke and kieran stumbled upon you opening the ornament boxes, they basically offered themselves up to help you with the tree.

you tilted your head at them, confused.

"you two really want to help me?"

"please, miss!" luke begged.

"we won't cause any trouble, swear it!" kieran finished.

"no, its not that— you can help, that's fine, but—"

"yay!" they cheered in unison.

"—if you guys like to decorate, then why didn't you put up any decorations for christmas?"

they blinked at you behind their masks.

"did you miss our decorating job?" luke tilted his head.

"yeah, we did more than we usually do!" kieran piped up.

you blinked at them.

"what are you—"

"didn't you see the little christmas tree in boss' office?"

"and the little hat by mephisto's perch!"

"not to mention our hand-cut snowflakes... those are difficult, you know???"

"...you call that decorating?" you deadpan. "what's so different about them this time, then?"

"ah," luke began, excited.

"we put up a bunch of mistletoe!" they spoke in unison.

"thats—"

"now, lets get to the tree!" kieran quickly changed the subject.

"yeah, im itching to put these up!" luke finished, eyes trained on the boxes of ornaments.

in your momentary shock, they seemed to have closed the distance in the blink of an eye, sorting through the boxes themselves and beginning to map them out on the tree.

while they begin their fun, you imagine being caught under the mistletoe with sylus, imagining the look in his eyes as he looks down at you before closing his eyes, leaning in, his lips moving closer and closer—

you snap back to reality, shaking the image out of your head.

you breathe out a sigh to try and calm your racing heart, turning around as you wonder if sylus put the twins up to that, or if they decided to hang them all up on their own accord.

you push the thought away as you join the twins in embellishing the tree, ignoring their bantering as they babble about how perfect mephisto would act as the tree topper instead of some lousy star.

-

"hey," you pipe up, hanging an ornament on a free spot between the branches. "what would you two like for christmas?"

the twins stop for a moment before looking at you behind their masks, tilting their heads.

"huh?"

you look back at them.

"what do you want for christmas?" you ask again, eyes darting between both masks trained on you.

the idea being foreign to them, they think about it for a long moment before ultimately shrugging.

"dunno," they answer in unison.

"well, try thinking of something. a new gun, another type of weapon, new matching masks, anything at all."

"hmmm...."

while they're lost in thought, muttering to each other about how their current gear could benefit from an upgrade even if its still perfectly intact, your mind drifts back to sylus.

what would sylus want for christmas?

you think about everything that he has, how he so easily either hands you or swipes his card without batting an eye, and where you are right now: in his mansion.

what could you possibly gift to a man who already has everything?

-

a couple of days later, sylus takes his leave for a deal, expecting it to be over quickly. he tells you to stay at the mansion if you wish while he's gone before he's out the door (not without taking one lasting glance at the decorated tree, a pleased smile subconsciously curling on his lips before the door clicks shut).

having him leave is both a blessing and a curse: you can easily brainstorm more ideas of what to get for him out in the open, but your heart seems to long for his presence within an hour of him gone.

which is how you find yourself plopping down into his office chair, spinning back in forth in it as you let out a sigh, allowing the lingering scent of him to envelop you as you think.

anything you thought up either seemed too simple, or it was something he could easily have.

jewelry? he had plenty, for you and him both, and could easily obtain more.

cologne? he already had a small collection, but would favor the ones that you said you liked the most.

vinyls? not a bad idea, but you weren't sure if you were willing to sort through his entire collection to find one that he was missing (or if one you got him would even be his taste).

when you asked the twins, they both answered "a new karaoke machine!" to which you swiftly shut down and left the room, mumbling about how they were no help at all.

not that his actual singing voice was any bad per se, but....

you shuddered at the ego boost he'd undoubtedly get from receiving such a gift from you.

like you needed to inflate it any further.

your mind wanders to him; the way he seeks you out in the form of bugging you, always finding a way to turn the tables on you and tease you after he started something, the way he'd never back down when you bite back, the constant petnames and lasting glances—

the way he'd playfully (or not) respond to something you said, on several occasions:

"i'm not sure friends is the right term for us, kitten."

you jolt at the memory of his words hearing his voice crystal clearly, remembering how close he was when he murmured them to you, the way you looked back at him wanting so badly to close the distance when the moment was interrupted, leaving you wondering if there was truth to his words (the look in his eyes definitely suggested it) or if he was simply teasing you again.

and suddenly, it hits you.

what if... i gift myself to sylus for christmas?

you ponder the idea for a moment.

as ridiculous as you think it is, you want more than anything to go through with it anyway.

in the worst case, he may just laugh it off and tease you to no end.

embarrassing at most, sure, but nothing you (probably) couldn't live with.

and in the best case?

"..."

you shake your head, taking deep breaths as you try not to work yourself up with your wishful thinking before rolling the chair back slightly.

with the anticipation of sylus' reaction to this genius idea, you start thinking about an outfit that would be fitting for the occasion.

and given the nature of your gift, the only thing you really need is some ribbon.

-

sylus was tired. the meeting of the deal lasted much longer than anticipated, and all he wanted was to return back to the mansion and spend his precious time with you.

he had half a mind to call it off and blow the place up for wasting his time before dashing back to you, pulling you close and never letting you go.

—but this client would serve to benefit him, so he restrained himself enough to power through it

(images of your cute, angry expression at pulling such a stunt almost tempted him but the thought of you berating him crossed his mind served in helping him to resist the urge).

when the day finally came to return home to you, he wasn't afraid to hide how eager he was, wrapping everything up swiftly before letting them deal with the rest, and hastily making his way back to you via driving.

when he arrived back, the first thing that floated through the entrance was some festive, almost flirty christmas tune.

he shut the door, making his way through the place before pausing at the sight before him.

-

sylus had texted you over an hour ago, with a simple "be home soon, kitten," leaving you to run around and prepare your surprise, ultimately resulting in your current position.

"come on..."

you're sat by the foot of the tree, trying to tie the last piece of ribbon over your head when it slips from your grasp yet again.

"ugh..."

for your outfit, you settled on a cute off-the-shoulder knitted dress paired with some stockings, leg warmers, and some pretty jewelry to finish it off— it was the cutest outfit you could put together while also ensuring you'd stay warm (considering you weren't too sure how long you'd have to wait, and the mansion seemed to have a natural cold air about it, even with the fireplace running).

you'd tied the ribbon into bows around each of your wrists and ankles, even going as far as to add a silly stick-on bow that was meant for wrapped gifts onto your chest, giggling to yourself at the absurdity of your plan.

you grasp the ribbon you're struggling with, curling it around your neck instead, thinking it a better place to tie a bow when a voice interrupts you.

"well, this is a surprise."

you almost jump at the voice, turning your head to meet with the man of the hour, hands on on his hips, head slightly tilted, and most notably...

his sharp, crimson gaze directed completely on you.

sylus' eyes drag over your figure, admiring the way the dress hugs you, accessories sitting pretty (your bare shoulders seeming to beg for his attention), adorned with cute ribbons all tied up around you, short laugh escaping him at the sight of the bow stuck to your chest.

"we-welcome back," you breathe out, suddenly nervous under his intense gaze.

he slowly steps towards you.

"how did this pretty little kitten find her way under my tree, hm?"

at his tease, you manage to get over your initial shock enough to bite back a response.

"you know what it means for something to be under the tree this month, don't you?"

he's right before you now, eyes dancing with amusement as he continues gazing down at you.

what a sight you were this up close.

"hmmm, its been awhile. why don't you remind me," he bends down to your level. "kitten."

"well," you tilt your head slightly. "during this month, presents are placed under the tree, waiting to be opened by their recipients on christmas day."

"go on..."

"the presents are also wrapped up in pretty paper and sometimes decorated with bows."

"uh-huh," he nods along.

you've dragged out the explanation knowing he already knows all of this, and he's still waiting for you to explicitly say why you're there yourself.

"so... it seems you've gotten a pretty expensive gift this year."

he smirks.

"oh? the sender must be quite.. generous."

"quite generous, indeed." you agree.

he kneels down properly now, hand reaching out to grasp your chin between his fingers before tilting it up.

"this... gift... wouldn't happen to come with an instruction manual or anything, would it?"

his free hand is slowly tugging at the bow you'd just tied around your neck, loosening it as he keeps the end grasped between his fingers.

his gaze holds both mischief and something else.

admiration? adoration?

who knows.

you laugh.

"nope. the only thing you need to know about this gift," you reach a hand out, holding it against his chest. "is that it's all yours."

and thats what does it for him.

the second he processes those words, no other response is given except his lips crashing into yours, his scent (the real thing) enveloping you as you're slowly consumed by him.

before you know it, you're lying on your back against the floor, sylus hovering over you as he continues, lips dancing with fervor against yours, silk ribbon lost somewhere between you both leaving your neck more barren— not that you really noticed.

when he separates to catch his breath he does so for only a moment before diving down to kiss your jawline and down your neck. your arms are wound around his neck, panting as you try to catch your breath.

"sylus..."

"you are all i've ever wanted," he speaks against your skin, kissing across your shoulders before nipping at the skin.

"well, i th-thought, you might appr-eciate the pre-sent, hah" you manage in between gasps due to his ministrations.

he pulls back to look into your eyes, the love and adoration circling his dark gaze so deeply you momentarily get lost in them.

he cups your cheek in his warm hand, watching as you immediately nuzzle into it.

his eyes rake over you again, now slightly disheveled, still catching your breath in puffs of air through your parted lips, watching him expectantly as pretty marks already begin to bloom across your exposed neck and shoulders.

he shudders.

"i think... id like to play with my new gift someplace else."

before you can ask him what he means, your vision is turned upside down as he easily lifts you up with one arm, slinging you over his shoulder before standing upright, and making his way towards his bedroom.

though, on the way, he's interrupted (much to your embarrassment).

he's halfway down the hall when a voice pipes up out of nowhere.

"boss! oh- and miss hunter!"

its none other than the twins.

"sylus, sylus! put me- put me down!" you plead from behind, hitting at his back and kicking at his front.

"what is it?" sylus speaks curtly, paying absolutely no mind to your pleads and hits, instead bringing his free arm to hold your legs down firmly against his front.

"first of all, welcome back!" kieran starts.

"secondly, we were wondering..." he trails off, feeling a little strange.

"—when we'd get to open our presents!" luke finishes for him, kieran nodding along excitedly.

sylus deadpans.

"what?"

"well, miss hunter said she would get us presents—"

"—and we want to know when we can open them up!"

sylus lets out a short, pleased laugh.

"is that so? well, miss hunter, what do you think?" he turns his head slightly, awaiting your answer.

you've given up fighting him at this point, having gone limp in sylus hold, but respond anyway.

"you're supposed to open them christmas morning—"

"but didn't we miss that because boss was gone?" kieran interrupts.

"yeah, you insisted to wait for him so that we could open them all together!" luke accuses.

sylus' expression takes one of surprise suddenly.

"oh? is that true?"

"yes!" the twins answer for you.

"well in that case.. you can't make them wait forever, miss hunter," sylus teases, dragging out the pet name as he jostles you slightly in his hold.

the movement elicits a sound of surprise from you, gripping onto sylus shoulder with one hand and his arm that's holding you securely with the other, steadying yourself before lifting your head up slightly, enough to speak into sylus' ear.

"they can open them once we're done!"

you glance back at the twins as a pleased smirk curls on sylus' lips.

"you'll get to open them soon enough, just practice exercising a little more patience. we'll be ready shortly."

and with that, sylus walks past the twins, whisking you away to his bedroom and making sure to lock the door (should the twins get any ideas in their inevitable impatience).

a light snow had begun to fall and a quiet calm enveloped the base as sylus took his time to unwrap you, savoring you and keeping you warm from the cold, finally uniting together and become one another's in the truest sense, words of love and affirmations warming you both to your cores.

and sylus thought maybe, just maybe, the holidays really were worth celebrating, so long as it was with you.

-

extra:

the twins had watched sylus make the rest of his way down the hall with you in tow, waving at you as you mouthed apologies behind his back before you both disappeared behind his door.

"do you think theyre—"

"oh definitely," luke answered, knowing what his brother was thinking.

"hell yeah, boss man!" kieran cheered, fist pumping in the air.

"but in that case... how much longer do you think we'll have to wait?" luke wondered aloud, mask turning to look at his brother.

"hmmm...." kieran gave it a long thought.

"..."

"we're definitely not opening them tonight."

-

a/n: omg i finished it??!!? im quite pleased w this one, might need one more editing job later but i feel satisfied.... to the rafayel kissers.... what would u say if i said i had not a single idea for his fic.... im sorry ill figure it out, promise, i'll take a short (short) break from this one before trying to draft it & see how it comes out... thanks for your understanding......

[butchvamp]

i did Lucanis's inner demons quest last night and have some thoughts [everyone groans in unison]

i admit that i definitely have a bias for Lucanis, i really like the crows (or i should say the crows from previous games & the lore around them) and my Rook is a crow so i'm inclined towards him in general.

that being said i feel i'm just. missing huge bits of information about him. he exists entirely in a void. i don't really know anything about his relationships with Illario or Caterina, the game glosses over so much of his role and what exactly he does within the crows (beyond just talking about how he was the Demon and the Magekiller) i suppose it's just too icky for the game to truly acknowledge outside of a few jokes about Lucanis poisoning the gang's food...

i know from seeing people posting excerpts from his novel that Caterina did, in fact, physically abuse him; i figured this was the case considering she's a high ranking member of the crows and thus no doubt had a role in torturing recruits, even if the game pretends like this is a thing that doesn't happen. you get a bit of banter early on where Lucanis, talking about Illario's behavior, says something along the lines of "My relationship with Caterina was complicated, too, and I was her favorite." implying some level of friction between them as well as conflicting feelings about her death.

but then that's it. we get nothing else. this should be a major piece of his story, a part of why he feels the way he does, and exploring Caterina's role in his and Illario's abuse would better expand upon Illario's resentment and make his and Lucanis's relationship more compelling beyond "Illario is a big jealous meanie."

i really wanted to like the inner demons quest more than i did, because conceptually i enjoy going into the fade/Lucanis's memories with Spite, so far Lucanis's quests have felt the most Dragon Age to me (fighting a naked woman in a giant pool of blood + seeing Spite lose control, him and Illario butting heads and having a competitive relationship before this (as the crows all should...), etc. these are fun!) but just like the rest of the game it's still holding back.

when you confront the memory of Caterina all you get are these choices:

none of these are particularly satisfying if you actually know the things Caterina has done... "Your love for him" is actually vile lol

this entire questline is a linear walk through fragments of the Ossuary & Lucanis's memories, there is nothing interesting here, Rook just plays therapist for about twenty minutes and then you make a nothing choice at the end that has no affect on anything at all... and most egregiously, we have learned literally Nothing new about Lucanis that the game hasn't already made an effort to tell us repeatedly (a real problem the game has in general, constant hand-holding and repetition).

there's Quite a bold choice to compare this quest to the Fade section in origins right at the start, with Rook and Spite joking about getting past the guards: "What did you expect, to turn into a mouse or something?" like yes, actually, i did expect something a bit more! even if you want to say the warden does the exact same thing with their companions in that quest, their dialogue is FAR better-- again, Rook's is all clinical therapy-speak (where did she even learn this shit? did the crows pay for her to get a degree in psych and become a licensed counselor?) and in origins, we do actually learn something new about each companion as well as getting to see them interact with their fantasies and/or nightmares. we get nothing here...

we could have seen him and Illario training together, being competitive, the early seeds of resentment being planted between them by Caterina's goading and abuse. we could have seen the guilt Lucanis feels about this, about Caterina's favoritism and how it's affected his relationship with Illario. we could have actually seen what happened to him when he was captured and in the Ossuary, we could have seen some of the horrible things he's had done to him and that he himself has done to become the Demon of Vyrantium, we could have learned more about why the demon inside of him became spite specifically-- because if what Zara's echo said is true, it started as an Envy demon-- so it was influenced by Lucanis in some way. what makes him spiteful? why is it spite that keeps him alive in the Ossuary...? is it spite as in defiance-- defiance of the Venatori, of Caterina's expectations and abuse, in defiance of Illario's betrayal...? unfortunately, Lucanis never really feels spiteful at all. determined to survive the Ossuary, but afterwards, never has he come across as spiteful (Spite is mostly just petty and a bit bitchy).

in my opinion the Envy demon fails because Lucanis was never envious of Illario or the First Talon position, only crushed by the loss of their relationship and guilty over Caterina's favoritism. obviously Caterina's expectations weigh heavily on him, but he knows he's the favorite, and he doesn't envy Illario for not being so-- he seems very aware of the fact that it doesn't equate to Illario having it "easier." but the game barely addresses this, only in weak voice-overs, while the majority of the quest is spent convincing Lucanis that he's not actually a demon. Lucanis is wholly a good guy that only kills blood mages and loves his poor grandma and his inner demon is entirely Literal and just him feeling bad about being an abomination :(

nevermind all that yucky complicated stuff. Illario is Bad and Jealous and deserves to be punished for... doing exactly what crows have always done.

of course it's easy to make Illario look bad when all of the other crows are treated like a found family, when we know that's not the case at all. crows have been competing and scheming and killing each other since origins. this isn't meant to make light of Illario's betrayal (in fact i still think it's quite significant given their history and the two of them being the last of their family) but instead Illario is very obviously suspicious from the start, the reveal of his betrayal was not surprising, it's predictable because, again, he is presented very differently from all the other crows we've seen in this game-- he's the Bad one, and Lucanis is the Good one. no nuance!

in his short story, The Wake, Illario is actually depicted as being extremely remorseful, getting very drunk and reminiscing on old childhood memories of Lucanis while Viago has to carry him home... of course there's no way of knowing the exact intent behind this story or what changed since (published in 2020 and written by Mary Kirby, after all) but either way, we don't get anything like that here. somewhere along the way we lost the depth and complexity of both characters; we don't get to confront this big ugly thing between them because the game refuses to engage with anything ugly at all.

[fayes-fics]

Right In Front Of You

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Sometimes, the thing you most need is right in front of you...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, vaginal fingering, smidge of dirty talk, orgasm. Friends to lovers, only one bed.

Word Count: 3.5k

Author's Note: Request fill for @eecummingsandgoings, who asked for only one bed trope with Benedict. Thanks to the awesome @colettebronte for beta reading and for the title suggestion! This is a seasonal-ish fic set in early December. Enjoy! <3

“You guys are so late!” 

Melanie draws you into a bear hug after her fond chastisement.

“Blame this one,” you roll your eyes and signal a thumb over your shoulder to Benedict as he wanders up the path behind you. “He was supposed to be on map-reading duty after we ran out of phone signal.”

With a big smile, he mimes being stabbed in the chest before he receives a welcoming embrace as well.

“He’s been shit at directions since uni; why the hell did you have him navigate?” she chimes, taking your coats as you peel them off and hanging them in the hallway cupboard. 

“Because you have experienced his driving,” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, good point,” Melanie guffaws.

“Starting to take this personally now,” Benedict pipes up with a good-natured chuckle as she ushers you both further into the cottage.

“This is nice!” you comment as you survey the place.

Its snug warmth is like an enveloping embrace on this cold, early December day. It's an Airbnb rental in the Lake District and looks suitably rustic but modernised with an open-plan layout—a perfect venue for a uni friends reunion. 

“Well, I'm afraid you two are so late that everyone has already nabbed the good bedrooms,” she announces. “You will have to share the other attic room, two floors up.”

“I'm sure we will be fine,” Benedict blithely responds. 

“It's only got one bed,” she cackles.

“Bagsy the bed!” you crow, turning to look at him triumphantly.

“Fine, I’ll take the floor,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes.

While chivalrous, it also seems fair payback, given that he got you so horrendously lost on a single-track country lane, going miles in the wrong direction. Sharing the drive up from London was supposed to take about five hours, not the almost seven that it ended up being by the time you eventually got back on the right road. 

Leaving your bags in the hallways, you greet and join the gaggle of friends in the living room area, crowding onto the sectional sofa and beanbags. Melanie, always the mother hen of the group, stands across the room at the kitchen island, stirring a huge casserole dish that smells delicious.

“Alright, you bastards, come and get it,” she calls not long after you settle.

So, all twelve of you decamp to the long table, and drinks flow as you tuck into a hearty, tasty stew. The group have come without their spouses or other halves, except Dave and Andrea have been together since the second year and are still going strong more than ten years later—well, and one other exception.

“Matt brought Vanessa?” you comment into Melanie’s shoulder while conversation flows in little groups.

“Yeah, I know,” she winces. “Sorry…”

“No, it's not that. I just think it’s a bit odd. She’ll have to endure so many old uni tales and in-jokes all weekend. She’ll have little idea what we are all on about…” 

Matt is your ex, yes, but you broke up almost a year ago now. You didn't get together until five years after uni, and in hindsight, you wish you never had. Vanessa is his first girlfriend since your breakup. You've been alone since—the only singleton left in the group.

“Drink up,” Melanie advises sagely, refilling your wineglass almost to the brim. “They have the other attic bedroom that backs onto yours, and even though the stone walls here are thick, I've heard rumours she is a loud one.”

“Urgh…” you take a large gulp, not savouring the idea of hearing your ex and his new woman having sex through an adjoining wall.

The rest of the evening passes pleasantly: wine flowing, a lovely time as you all catch up and trade stories. Jon recounts a hilariously disastrous holiday in Portugal that ended happily with him meeting his current partner Simon on the plane home, which earns him a round of applause. 

The first to turn in is Matt and Vanessa, and not long after, others start to yawn and make their excuses, the drive from various corners of the country taking its toll on everyone. 

Benedict grabs your bag as well as his, you trailing behind, making your way slightly gingerly up the second, narrower, steeper staircase to the attic rooms.

“I guess this is us,” he notes, nodding to the only door without a faint lamp glow leaking underneath.

You follow him into the room as he dumps the bags and flicks on a sidelight. It's not big but it’s homely, if a little chilly compared to downstairs, heated by the fireplace as it was.

“Ben, you can’t sleep on the floor; there's a draught,” you remark as you sit on the bed and pull off your fuzzy socks, a coolness wafting over your toes.                                        

“I’ll be alright,” he assures genially, opening the wardrobe to gather a pile of blankets.

“And there's not much room,” you assess, realising the floor space is minimal unless he lays near the chimney, likely the source of the problem. “Seriously, we can share.”

An odd expression clouds his face briefly before he agrees and quickly excuses himself to the bathroom. You do the same after he returns. He is already under the covers, peering at his phone through reading glasses when you shuffle back into the room in your PJs.

“Are you sure about sharing?” he checks as you round the bed to climb into the other side.

“Yes, you idiot,” you chuckle, playfully swatting his leg through the duvet. “Nothing for Paul to worry about,” you add in jest, referring to his boyfriend of over two years now.

He goes so still that you twist to look at him. He is biting his lip with an almost sheepish mein. 

“We, umm, broke up about a month ago,” he elucidates quietly.

“God, I'm so sorry; why didn't you say before??!” 

It strikes you as odd that he never even mentioned it in the hours you were stuck in the car together. He had just sat dutifully, supplying supportive words as you lamented the dating scene. 

“Well, you’ve been away travelling…” 

“I meant today.”

“Oh, well, I guess I didn't really see the point, seeing as everyone has left their plus-ones at home,” he shrugs, then tilts his head back. “Well, apart from that idiot,” he adds, referencing Matt through the wall.

“Yeah, I thought that a bit odd he brought her… but anyway, do you want to talk about it? Paul?” you offer, wanting to give your good friend the opportunity to vent.

“Very kind,” he smiles briefly. “But no. I'm sick of talking about it, to be honest. Daph has been non-stop trying to agony aunt the situation, and Eloise has been plying me with alcohol and barbs about all of my terrible life choices, not just Paul,” he grimaces mildly.

You chuckle, knowing exactly how that has likely been going.

“You know he just brought Vanessa to make you jealous, don't you?” Benedict changes tack, keeping his voice soft even though it's unlikely to carry through the thick stone wall.

“Maybe,” you hesitate, then sigh: “I'm over him and his nonsense, to be honest.”

“You were always far too good for him.”

“Hah!”

“I mean it,” he insists, an abrupt intensity to his gaze that causes butterflies.

There’s no point denying your attraction to Benedict; he's a very handsome man. But it's always felt like a harmless crush; you doubt you are his type, and he’s not been single for many years. 

“You are just trying to butter me up before you take over the whole bed like an octopus and snore in my face,” you deflect with humour.

“You never could take a compliment, could you?” he chastises gently, taking off his reading glasses and setting aside his phone.

“Please, I would never take any compliment from you seriously,” you riposte dryly. “I knew of your charmer reputation from the very first day of uni. Everyone did. Your Bridgerton reputation preceded you.”

“Entirely unfair to be tarred with the same brush as my lothario of a brother,” he sighs with mock burden. “I mean, yes, okay, at uni, I was a little…”

“Slutty?” you interject

“... adventurous..” he corrects with a narrowing of his hazy eyes, “but nothing like the rumours suggest. I just got with a couple of raconteurs early on who vastly overstated my abilities and skills,” he demures.

You know the truth is somewhere in between the polyamorous, bisexual playboy reputation and the modest version he is claiming.

“Besides, that was years ago,” he points out with a dismissive gesture. “I've had a total of five lovers in the last ten years.” 

It is indeed true. Before Paul was Tilly, Tessa, Gen and Henry. He’s been surprisingly monogamous since his earlier, sluttier years.

“Ready to sow your wild oats again?” you ask, bumping him lightly with your shoulder.

“Hah!” it's his turn to scoff.

Just then, a distinct female moan filters through the wall. When it happens again, your eyes dart to each other.

“Oh god, Mel warned me this might happen,” you grumble, burying your head in your hands.

“Told you,” Benedict clucks. “This is definitely designed to make you jealous.”

“Pfft, please. Believe me, he's not that good; she's just a really vocal one, apparently.” 

For some reason, you are keen for Benedict to know Matt is not the best you've had. Not bad, but not exactly worthy of the decidedly rousing review Vanessa is now giving through the wall.

“Want to beat him at his own game?” 

His face is all permission and danger, making your pulse race, uncertain about what that could mean. But then he breaks into a goofy grin and throws back the covers, athletically jumping to his feet on the bed next to you, looking equal parts adorable and attractive in navy tartan pyjama bottoms and a dark grey t-shirt. He takes a few test bounces, the metal springs of the bedframe under the mattress squeaking mildly in protest as he does so.

“C'mon!” he coaxes, grabbing your arms and hauling you upwards onto your feet. “I think with a few bounces and choice noises, we can make our point.”

Perhaps it's mostly the three glasses of wine, but it seems like a funny idea. You both start to bounce, grasping each other's hands and giggling, the bed beginning to rattle against the adjoining wall as you work up a jumping pace.

“Make it sound like you are having the time of your life,” he proposes, laughing.

Your attempted noise of pleasure has you flushing with embarrassment at the feeble result.

“Oh, I know you can do better than that!” Benedict incites, eyes glittering with mischief. 

“I really can't,” you protest.

“Follow my lead. I’m not above a touch of theatrics,” he winks.

Benedict groans loudly, and despite the absurdity of the situation, it makes something run hot and electric through your body. He peers at you expectantly, awaiting your rejoinder. 

You cringe as, once again, your second attempt is lacking.

“Loosen up,” he rags lightly before repeating his very distracting noise. “C’mon, just imagine I am the best sex of your life.”

Your traitorous mind finds it remarkably easy to settle on that idea. Supplying a vivid picture of Benedict looming over you, a beguiling lopsided grin on his face as he takes you apart with long fingers buried between your legs. Just the thought has you biting your lip, but not before a feral noise escapes entirely without you meaning it to.

“Oh yes, that's much more like it,” he looks slightly taken aback but entirely approving. He leans in close as he requests: “Just a little louder.” 

Then with a grin, he turns to face the wall and pounds his fists onto the thick, rough stone. 

“Yeah baby!!”  His decidedly Austin Powers-like call echoes up along the ceiling as he tilts his head back, going fully theatrical.

“WE GET THE FUCKING HINT, BRIDGERTON!!”

Matt’s muffled, annoyed yell through the wall has you exchanging looks before collapsing back down onto the bed and rolling around in fits of quiet giggles.

“Well, it worked… I don’t think you were much help at all, though, if I’m honest,” Benedict opines breezily. “I definitely did the heavy lifting.”

“Perhaps I’m just not a loud sex noises person,” you posit.

“Then you haven’t been having the right sex. Which, given you were dating Matt, is sort of a foregone conclusion,” he needles genially.

“Not all of us are Vanessas… or apparently Benedicts.” 

He laughs heartily before countering: “I bet you could be. I’d happily try to have you screaming the roof down if I thought you’d ever bloody let me…”

It's a record-scratch moment that has your stomach flipping even as outwardly, all you do is scoff at the patently ridiculous idea. He must be kidding. He has never given you any vibes of being remotely interested in you in that way.

“Let you?! Bitch, please. As if you’d want to!” you rebut, wine stealing your filter. 

He turns towards you, seemingly in slow motion, breathing slightly heavy from the recent exertion, his cadence dropping low with words that sound like a warning. 

“Don't play that game.”

“I’m not playing any game,” you frown even as your heart speeds up at the challenging glint in his eye. “Ben, honestly, I… I'm not,” you stutter, all your assumptions about him scattering. “I… I didn't think you saw me that way…”

He twists up to hover over you. It appears he reads the honesty behind your stilted words, surprise rippling across his features before a breathtaking, troublesome look takes its place.

“You never could see what was right in front of you, either, could you?” 

Although rhetorical, you have no response anyway. Buffering as his lip quirks appealingly, a burst of heat behind your ribs as he leans down closer.

“Will you let me?” 

“Let you what?” 

Your whispered response is entirely too breathy and wanton. A delicious crackle in the air as Benedict stares down at you, inches apart, lips and cheeks flushed dark, likely a mirror of your own.

“Test your theory.”

The slow sweep of his glistening tongue over his lower lip breaks your resistance.

“Yes…” 

Your shaky exhale of permission may be barely audible but seems so loud to your own ears. 

And suddenly, his mouth is on yours.

The kiss starts soft and almost hesitant, but alcohol and desire coursing through your veins make you impatient, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck to tug him closer, craving his weight and heat to engulf you. And that is what he does as his lips part yours, his tongue seeking permission you readily give as he presses you into the mattress. It’s a blur as you take from each other greedily, open-mouthed, demanding kisses that never seem to end.

“I need to hear you make that sound again,” he rumbles, kissing over your cheek, snagging your earlobe between his teeth, breath gusting hot into your neck.

Boldly, you grab his wrist and, throwing all caution to the wind, guide it lower between your legs. His fingers curl into the cotton, sinking into the heat, knowing you are seeping through the thin material.

“Are you always so wet?” He whispers, impressed, kissing a line over your throat.

You don’t answer, not wanting to say that it’s all him, instead pulling him in for another searing kiss, hoping he will get the hint. Sure enough, as you suck greedily on his questing tongue, he slowly swipes, locating your swollen clit with just one move. Just that slight nudge has your body alight, stuttering into his mouth, spine arching up off the bed, pushing your breasts into him. 

“I want to make you come,” he admits breathily, dilated pupils trained on you as you squirm under his touch.

“Please do.”

His groan is poetic, an insistent mass nudging your hip promisingly as he leans into you. You glance down, mesmerised by the veins on his hand as he moves to pluck at the bow at your waistband until it relents. His touch spiders under the material, trailing through your trimmed hair and then between your legs, a delicious noise in the back of his throat as his bare fingertips slide into your wetness. 

You want to ride his digits until you are screaming, want them buried in you so far you see stars. Want him to make you suck your juices from between his knuckles, him calling you all the filthy words under the sun as you do so.

“Whatever you are thinking of, tell me,” he pleads, his other hand sweeping into your hair, cradling the back of your head, a slight pull on your scalp that just heightens everything. “I just want you to use me. Take what you need from me; just please make that perfect noise again.”

“God Ben….” You stumble, never having had someone make such an offer before. So much pent-up desire you are quaking as you answer without artifice: “I was thinking of your fingers inside me.”

You don’t even have to ask him for it, he twists his wrist, and you moan as two fingers breach your weeping pussy, a slick noise filling the air as your body suctions onto his invasion. He utters a curse, perhaps taken aback by just how soaked you are. You inhale sharply, grasping the corded muscle of his forearm as he slides deep, his knuckles grazing your walls, reaching places you cannot.

He begins to softly stroke you, massaging in a rhythm that has your mouth slack, staring at him wide-eyed; then his thumb nudges your clit at the same time, and you are unable to prevent the loud staccato groan it elicits.

“Yessss, there it is..” he hisses triumphantly, kissing your temple. 

You nuzzle his cheek until he takes your hint, kissing you again, plundering, you making the noise again, open-mouthed, against his teeth and tongue, dripping onto his palm as he takes you higher, an electric hum racing under your skin. His thumbnail catches deliciously under your clitoral hood as he strums your swollen nub. Somehow it feels illicit, both of you still clothed in your nightwear, a tented outline in his pyjamas nudging your hip as you shamelessly ride now, a dewyness gathering inside your tank top at the flush of desire enveloping your skin.. 

“Come on, sweet girl,” he goads, “ride my hand properly. Use me.”

That term of affection would usually make you bark a laugh, but right now, it’s just blisteringly hot, him wringing the most filthy sodden noises from your body as he rocks in and out of your pussy. 

So you do. 

Scrunch your grip into the duvet beneath you and undulate on him, baring down as he surges inwards, moving like a wave together as he makes noises of encouragement, his lips warm on your cheek. His eyes don't leave your face except occasionally to glance down your writhing body, gaze lingering on your nipples pebbled against your vest. 

His feet entwine around your ankle, holding you down just a little bit, giving you just a little fight that you need, reading you like a book. With a nod and lopsided smirk, he silently bids you to keep going. And you do, getting overheated, chasing that high he is aiding and abetting.

“Don’t hold back,” he tutors silkily into your damp temple, intuiting that you are swallowing back some of the noises you want to make. 

So you follow his bidding. Stop modulating yourself, letting go, leaning into the simmering in your body, each perfect glide of his fingers spiralling you so high it's almost dizzying, your desire running down between your cheeks now. Something daring in you wants to be louder than Vanessa. To make the whole house jealous. Hell, for the entire world to know how good this feels.

He angles to catch your g-spot as well, and it hurtles you rapidly over into the blissful abyss; unable to stop yourself from spasming almost violently, screaming out, him fighting against your convulsions as you fracture apart and reassemble, breath stolen, blood pounding in your ears. You float both high above yourself and grounded in your body as that wondrous quake spreads to every corner of your being.

“That was bloody perfect,” he exhales, a thread of pride etched into his tone as you collapse down, heaving breaths as he withdraws from inside you.

“WE GOT THE FUCKING HINT EARLIER!!” 

Matt’s yell through the wall makes you both still, eyes going comically wide before you both start giggling. Benedict lands a kiss on the tip of your nose as he rolls on top of you, his rigid cock nestled against your inner thigh.

“Well, that just sounds like a challenge to me,” he quirks a seductive eyebrow. “Let’s give them something to really complain about…”

Then, without warning, his soaked fingers yank down the neckline of your vest, his warm lips suctioning onto your nipple, and you are calling out loudly once more. 

masterlist • wips��• taglist (must follow this blog to be tagged)

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[gz-missfit]

So... I want to talk about this clip.

There's always been this joke amongst the crows that Phil's bird instincts cause him to perch a lot and in his playstyle that's something that just makes sense. It helps him be safe from threats while also getting a good view over the situation so he can come up with the best plan to deal with it.

Now why is this the time where I want to bring this up? Because Phil doesn't have a reason to perch technically. The room is small enough that he could easily see it all from the ground and he's not getting swarmed nor is there any direct threat so why did he perch as soon as forever left?

Cause he's cautious, anxious and scared. He already had a gun pointed at him mere moments ago, he's watching a good friend of him fall apart without him being able to do anything about it and he is unsure of what to do because one wrong step could be disastrous.

Perching is Phil's way to assess a situation, to analyze it and to find a good way to deal with whatever is happening at hand, this obviously doesn't work when the threat isn't necessarily physically but mentally. But it still gives him that same sense of comfort.

Perching means safety. It means analyzing. It means caution. And most importantly it's a sign of worry.

There's a reason why he instantly jumped to the ground as soon as Forever came back, Phil didn't want him to know how worried and scared Phil was. Phil knew he had to keep some type of front up, so this was the closest he got to showing how he truly felt down in forevers base

[anxious-witch]

I know, I know we talked about the forest scene with Monty, Edwin and the Cat King to death. But, but. Hear me out.

Edwin was ready to both forgive Monty and thank the Cat King right then and there if they didn't push him, aka crossed a line in the sand for him.

When the Cat King initially informs him of Monty's betrayal, this is Edwin's reaction:

He looks confused, he looks hurt. But he doesn't look angry. Not yet. When he says "Were you just pretending to be my friend" he sounds hurt, but when he sees how Monty is affected, he still looks oddly touched. Especially when Monty says: "At first, yes! Then...no."

I know we joke about Edwin being awful at reading people, but Monty is obviously distressed and Edwin reacts to it. Besides, Monty is his friend. He wants to believe it wasn't all a ploy. But then, Monty makes a fatal mistake and brings up Charles. Immediately, Edwin's expression falls and then it turns angry and says: "Even if it were true, you are a bloody crow!"

We see Edwin forgive Simon, his killer, the person who was responsible for sending him to Hell, in mere minutes, once he finds out why Simon did it. I don't believe for a second he wouldn't have forgiven Monty in a heartbeat if Monty properly explained himself, instead of falling back to his hurt feelings and in turn, trying to hurt Edwin the same way by bringing up Charles. Which is a shame, because they really could have used each other's help.

As for the Cat King, I think it's a very similar story too!

Immediately after Monty walks away, Edwin closes his eyes and says: "I am such an idiot." And the Cat King nods, but you can already see most of the anger Edwin held towards Monty dispersing.

When the Cat King stops him from leaving and says: "I came all the way into this ridiculous forest to save you, I think I am at least owed a thank you," Edwin doesn't seem mad. I'd even go as far as to describe his expression as soft surprise. I think he is thankful, in that moment. And why wouldn't he be? The Cat King did save him from a trap.

It's only when the Cat King brings up a second kiss, implying he should thank him by kissing him, does Edwin grow angry again.

Also, importantly, the way Edwin pushes the Cat King away is almost gentle. Bitchy, and pissed off, for sure, but also gentle. Like, if it was someone who I genuinely didn't want anwhere near me, I'd shove them away by the shoulders, and with much more force. And sure! Edwin isn't a type for violence, but c'mon. We know he is capable if pressed, as seen when Esther hurt Charles.

Edwin keeps his anger tightly locked, only letting it out through his words. He practically spits out "I am not your toy to yank around." But even so, the only tense action we see from his is the way he cocks his head and demingly looks thr Cat King up and down.

Only after the Cat King threatens him, does Edwin get up in his personal space and almost violently(by his standards) shows him the bracelet, saying "This is all that you are. Do you understand?"

My point is, if both the Cat King and Monty essentially told/showed Edwin their actions are somehow tied into his reciprocation of his feelings. Funnily, enough, I feel like if either of them didn't base this interaction on that, and instead rather connected with Edwin emotionally, they would have had a shot at getting exactly what they wanted that night. Monty, Edwin's forgivness and the Cat King, Edwin's thankfulness, perhaps even a sense that he owes him, next time they see each other.

Which is great! Because it shows us sm about the characters, their flaws, and their priorities! But yeah. Talking about shooting themselves in the foot.

I also think that, for all we joke around Edwin holding grudges, he is actually incredible in how quickly he forgives people, as soon as they show the skightest initative for change/goodwill. Part of me hopes he and Monty meet again, just so Edwin can understand his pov, the same way he understood Simon and thr Cat King's but alas. I suppose we'll see

[caplanbuckybarnes]

In The Lonely Shadows (2/2) Dean W.

Summary: Crowely's always there to help convince you everything's going to be okay after Dean leaves with Lisa & Ben.

the first part of this was requested by my beloved wife @midnight-moonlight-and-mars sometime back in March.

Request: I've got a Crowley request! It can be platonic or romantic. It takes place the year Sam is resurrected and dean is living with Lisa. The reader was close with the Winchesters but after the fight with Lucifer dean abandoned the reader to be with Lisa and cas never answers ( unrequited love maybe?) so the reader teams up with Crowley and becomes like a bounty hunter for him for Lucifer loyalists. 

A/N: It's technically not Crowley x reader since she's pining for Dean. Oops, but I hope you enjoy this all the same, my love.

A/N #2: people were rabid about asking me for a part two. So please, enjoy!

WC: 1.7K

Warnings: mentions of loneliness, and blood, the reader feels abandoned and unloved, crowley’s nice, dean returns. sassy & protective crowley

[READ PART ONE HERE]

Read on Ao3!

--

Dean watched as your chest heaved up and down with every breath you took. The wind was howling outside, with rain pouring down. He was only partially soaked, having run for cover under teh pitiful awning above your hotel door. A suitcase was tucked into one hand and a backpack filled with supplies slung over the shoulder. He'd wanted to say goodbye before he left. But he couldn't. He was a coward, after all. He'd had a few visits from Castiel and Crowley, neither of them saying a word about you.

Though, he asked. He hasn’t spoken a word about Sam, either. The horror of watching Sam fall into the pits of Hell with Adam devastated him. So he ran away. He ran away to the person who would get him away from the hunter’s life, Lisa and Ben. He played pretend for as long as he possibly could.

Until he couldn’t keep up with the facade anymore. All he did was think about you, and the life the pair of you could have had. He’d find himself hovering over your name in his cellphone but never pressing the call button. Oftentimes, he’s stay up late at night, while Lisa laid peacefully next to him sleeping.  He knew he couldn’t lie to her forever about what - or who - truly had his heart.

Oftentimes, when he dreamed, it was about you, your face and your hands wrapped tightly in his as you started behind him on hunts. Thats what he loved about you the most, how much you trusted him to protect you.

So months after he departed, he located you in this dingy motel, where rodents and garbage littered the parking lot, and a few street lamps flickered dangerously in this damned storm. He’d gotten a replacement key to your room, claiming to the sketchy old man at the kiosk that he was your husband and you didn’t leave the key outside for him. So, on the threshold of the hotel room is where he stood, his fight or flight response kicking in the moment he laid eyes on you again.

He hadn’t seen you in months, far too long. But not long enough to forget the way your cheeks puffed out while you were embarrassed or the way your hair always fell into your face when you’d laugh at his stupid jokes. He couldn’t forget the way you would shuffle into his warmth at night, either.

God, did he miss the way you infected all of his clothing with your perfumes. 

He hesitantly stepped into the room, only to stop midway through in almost a panic. What if you moved on? What if you didn’t want to see him? What if you shot him? He wondered at that moment if you held any protection on you, or if you’d thrown all of it away.

But he took the chance anyway and stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him quietly. He quietly toed out of his shoes and turned around before fully surveying the room. He couldn’t see any other person’s belongings in the room, so he assumed you were indeed alone.

Nervously, he tiptoed to the bed and studied your face for a long moment. He remembered everything about you-- your eyelashes, the dimple on your cheek. He wanted to reach out to you, nearly stopping himself as he felt his arm move without his command. He brushed his fingers against your cheek before he knew what he was doing and stepped back as your eyes had flung open in terror.

“Y/N,Y/N, it’s me, it’s Dean,” he said, reaching behind him for the pistol he always carried with him, though, he would never attempt to hurt you in any sort of way. “Hey, hey.”

“Dean?” you blinked through the darkness of the room. You must have been sleeping. Because you thought you heard Dean’s voice. And you thought you seen him standing mere inches away from where you slept on the bed.

Before he could get the chance to respond, another voice filled the room, a voice you’d come to recognize and acknowledge throughout these last few months.

“She doesn’t need you, Squirrel. She’s doing great without you.” Crowley’s voice echoed in the small room. 

Pulling yourself into a sitting position on the bed, you wiped at your eyes before switching your gaze between the pair in front of you. Crowley had been watching you over the weeks, which you had grown weirdly accustomed to, so it was no surprise that he had appeared out of the blue. What had startle you, was the other man standing mere inches away from you. If you just lifted your arm a few inches, you would be able to clasp your hands together.

“You left her high and dry after Moose had fallen into the depths of Hell, where, mind you, he’s been shacking it up with Lucifer. You should hear the agonies and woes from him.”

You could see the agitated twitch in Dean’s cheekbones, even in the poor excuse of light shining through the cracked window curtains.

“But now, back to the matter at hand, hmm?” Crowley snapped his fingers, and the two-night lamps turned on, casting the room in sudden brightness that none of you was prepared for.

“How’s Lisa and Ben?” Crowley smirked as Dean looked entirely uncomfortable at the jabs. “Didn’t want to be a family man anymore, huh? Did she decide she didn’t want your baggage?”

“It’s none of your business, Crowley,” Dean quipped. He snuck a look towards you and almost melted at the sight of tears in your eyelids. He wanted to erase the heartbreak he had caused you. He wanted to erase the pain away from you.

He only wanted you to forgive him. He wanted you and only you. He wished he hadn’t run off after Sam had gone to Hell, but he was broken and insecure. He was scared that you would leave him as well, so he did the only thing he could think of doing at the time: He ran away.

He begged for Lisa to forgive him, and she did. She took him in immediately, even after he explained all that went down with Lucifer and Adam and Sam. She took care of him. And for a while, he could forget all the pain. He could mourn the loss of his brother in peace. But there had always been a hole in his heart that Lisa nor ben would veer be able to fill.

He hadn’t known it at the time until he had sat up the night before and wallowed in misery after having nothing but dreams and nightmares about you for months.

“No harsh words, Not Moose?” Crowley taunted as he took a step toward you, causing Dean to nearly topple backwards onto the bed you were still sitting on. “No quips? Nothing? What do you have to say for yourself? Because while you were playing house, I was left to pick up the piece of her broken heart! How noble of you.  Leave her behind to wallow in misery, and now what? You expect her to swoon because you're back? Pathetic."”

You never thought you would see the day when the king of hell would be red in the face at the Winchesters. But here he was, pointing a threatening finger in Dean’s direction while the other man looked like a kicked puppy. 

You wanted Crowley to stop the insults at Dean. But the fact that he was protecting you in this way meant so much to you. You never knew how much Crowley actually cared about you. 

"I bet she’s just thrilled to have you back. Nothing says 'I care' like a good old-fashioned abandonment, right?" Crowley scoffed.

“Crowley, enough,” you sighed as you finally pushed the duvet away from your body and stood up, causing Dean to look at you with hope. With your request, Crowley quieted down, though he didn’t cease the glare or scowl on his features. Ignoring him, you took a breath, taking Dean’s height in stride. “So, what? You show up at my doorstep and nearly scare me to death, for what?”

“I was wrong,” Dean swallowed, blinking slowly as tears piled against his eyelids. “I never should have left you the way i had. You were mourning Sam as well, and I was a coward for leaving you. I never once stopped thinking about you. I never once let you out of my mind. Lisa knew it, Ben knew it.’

“I’m not forgiving you, Dean.” you held your ground, even as you had to wipe the tears away from your cheeks. “How could I forgive you? Do you know what the hell I’ve been through? You weren’t the only one to lose a brother, you know? Sam was my family as well.”

He opened his mouth, only for you to cut him off.

“It’s been fourteen months, Dean—fourteen long, terrible months. I celebrated Sam’s birthday without you. I celebrated your birthday without you. Crowley was the only one to check with me. Do you know he saved me from death on numerous occasions? That could have been you.”

He looked utterly defeated at the mention of the birthday celebrations. He could only imagine you singing to yourself with some cheap cake and a gas station lighter, wishing for the family you once held as you blew out the candles.

“Dean, I don’t know whether to hit you, kiss you, or put a bullet in you.” you scowled, pushing past him to walk over to the bathroom to wash your face. Leaving the door open, you heard Dean shuffle around Crowley to get to you again. 

“I can’t leave you, not again. Never again,” he watched your reflection as you grabbed for a hand towel and wiped the water from your face. 

Glaring at him momentarily, you sighed heavily before turning around and leaning against the counter. “Crowley will kill me for this. But I can’t help but think that I’m still in love with you. We can talk more about this in the morning. I had a long few weeks, and I’m absolutely exhausted.” 

Eagerly, Dean followed you out of the bathroom, barely noticing Crowley’s absence as he tucked you into the bed before he climbed in himself.

--

**totally up for a part three IF people want it. So please, please, please, if you enjoyed this reblog this & leave comments.

[kjack89]

New year, same bullshit. I’m sorry I’ve been so MIA, friends, but I hope you accept this drabble as an explanation of sorts. Love you all ❤️

“Should I be worried?”

Grantaire’s eyes flicker up to Enjolras’s, his cereal spoon halfway to his mouth. “Do you mean, like, in general?” he asks. “Because I mean, like, it’s 2025. And we’re all fucked. So.”

He sticks his spoon in his mouth and shrugs. Enjolras doesn’t smile. “That’s on me for not being more specific, I guess,” he says, scrubbing a hand across his mouth before crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You’re not painting.”

Grantaire swallows. “Well, no,” he allows, “mainly because I’m eating breakfast at the moment.”

“Be serious.”

Grantaire’s lips twitch. “It’s somewhat less funny when you know it’s coming.”

Enjolras arches an eyebrow. “And yet that’s never stopped you before.”

“Fair.” Grantaire twirls his spoon between his fingers before pronouncing, like the well-worn, inside joke it had become, “I am wild.”

Almost certainly despite himself, Enjolras smiles, just slightly. “Yeah, you are,” he agrees. “But you’re also not painting.”

Grantaire’s answering smile fades. “Could be,” he says, a little sullenly. “It’s not like you’re around enough to know.”

It’s a low blow and he knows it, but Enjolras doesn’t flinch. “Maybe not but we live in a late capitalist surveillance state so I have my ways of finding out.”

“Well, well, well, typical white man, complaining about the system except for when it directly benefits you.”

“Yep,” Enjolras says. “Are you going to keep deflecting? Because I can do this all day.”

For a moment, Grantaire’s tempted to take him up on it, to see just how long he’ll actually allow this to drag on. It’d almost certainly be good fun, and it isn’t like Grantaire’s got anything better to do.

But he can also see that Enjolras is genuinely worried, can see it in the tightness of his shoulders and the lines at the corners of his eyes that he tries to claim aren’t crow’s feet because he’s not old enough to have crow’s feet. And considering Grantaire’s previous point about all of the other things that are almost certainly more worth Enjolras’s worry, he supposes he owes him at least a semblance of the truth.

“Yes, I haven’t been painting,” he says, dipping his spoon in his bowl of cereal and stirring it, mostly to give himself something to do with his hands. “No, you shouldn’t be worried.”

Enjolras nods like he didn’t really expect a different answer. “Are you depressed again?”

Enjolras’s bluntness, characteristic though it may be, still startles a laugh from Grantaire. He sighs and looks down at his cereal bowl. “There’s not really a way to say this that won’t worry you.”

When he sneaks a glance at him, Enjolras meets his eyes evenly. “Try me.”

Grantaire jerks a shrug. “I’ve never really not been depressed,” he admits, which isn’t really a dirty secret so he’s not entirely sure why he’s saying it like it is.

Maybe because he really doesn’t want Enjolras to worry. They don’t talk about this, really, other than for Enjolras to reiterate more times than Grantaire can count that he’s always there to listen if ever Grantaire wants or needs to talk.

He knows that Grantaire’s in therapy, and takes meds, and had some very low lows previously, but Grantaire’s never felt the need to fill him in on the specifics.

It was depressing enough living it the first time.

He made that joke, such as it was, to his therapist, who didn’t laugh. “Do you frequently feel like you’re a burden to your loved ones?” she asked in response.

Of course Grantaire does, but again, he won’t tell Enjolras that.

Enjolras taps his fingers on the table, the way he does when he’s deciding on the best plan of attack or how to most effectively dismantle whatever asinine argument Grantaire’s brought up. “I thought you were doing better,” he says hesitantly after a moment.

He doesn’t pitch it as a question but Grantaire still nods. “I was.”

“What happened?” Enjolras asks, before pausing and asking, “Did something happen?”

Grantaire sighs and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “It doesn’t always work that way,” he says. “It’s not always triggered by something happening.”

Enjolras’s brow furrows. “Right,” he says shortly, something like disappointment flitting across his expression.

It took Grantaire a very long time when they got together to realize that this kind of disappointment isn’t aimed at him, but at a problem Enjolras can’t fix, an enemy he can’t fight.

At least, not directly.

He clears his throat. “But in this case, I think probably everything over the past few months played at least a contributory role, shall we say.”

True though it is, he mostly says it for Enjolras’s sake. Enjolras just nods slowly. “Are you not painting because your depression is bad again?”

Grantaire exhales sharply. “I’ve painted a lot while depressed.”

Enjolras’s expression doesn’t shift. “Another excellent deflection.”

Grantaire barks a laugh and scrubs both hands across his face. “You know me too fucking well.”

“Or just well enough.”

Grantaire lowers his hands and sighs again. He doesn’t quite meet Enjolras’s eyes as he says, “Every time I go try to paint…it’s like I can’t see it anymore, you know?” Enjolras almost certainly doesn’t know, but he’s struggling to put it into words in a way he can understand. “Like I can’t picture it in my mind, how I want it to look, or how to get there. It’s– it’s like trying to paint in fog.”

It’s not an exact metaphor, but it’ll do.

Enjolras nods slowly. “But I don’t need to be worried.”

“No,” Grantaire says, before wrinkling his nose. “Yes? I never know what the correct response is.” Enjolras just gives him a look, and Grantaire tells him, “No, you don’t need to be worried.” He pauses, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth before telling Enjolras with an almost tired conviction, “It’ll come back. It always has.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire cracks a smile. “Then you can worry.”

Enjolras takes a deep breath. “Ok,” he says simply.

Grantaire eyes him resignedly. “You’re going to worry anyway, aren’t you?”

A smile twitches at the corners of Enjolras’s mouth. “Newsflash, asshole, I’ve been worried this whole time,” he says dryly, and Grantaire’s smile widens at the quote.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Enjolras’s smile disappears.

“What? Why?”

Grantaire shakes his head, mostly because he knows Enjolras won’t like his explanation. “Because you shouldn’t have to—”

Sure enough, Enjolras cuts him off with a scowl, though his voice is gentle as he tells him, “That ship I’m pretty sure sailed when I fell in love with you. Or, frankly, probably a good deal sooner than that.”

There are so many things that Grantaire wants to say that, but he can’t bring himself to. Instead, he stretches his hand across the table and tells Enjolras, sincerely, “I love you.”

Enjolras takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. “I know,” he says softly. “I love you, too.” He squeezes Grantaire’s hand before adding, “I hope it comes back soon.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire agrees. “So do I.”

[semiweirdshipper]

Slashers attempting to seduce an asexual reader. (Written for my asexual viewers).

Notes: This is meant to be purely humorous and fun. I wrote it for my asexual viewers in the hopes that I can put a smile on their faces. All the love in the world to you, my dears! 💜🤍🖤

-

Albert Wesker

After killing two survivors in the trial, Wesker took his time unbuttoning his shirt. Then he slid off his glasses and ruffled his hair- something he never did unless it was for someone very special.

Ever since he had arrived here, countless people had tried getting into his pants. He was used to it, honestly. And while the attention felt good, he wasn't interested in anyone else. No.

He was interested in 'you'.

Anticipating your arrival at a generator, Wesker casually leaned against the hill and posed, showing off his smooth, veiny muscles and glistening abs. His sleeves were rolled up, showing off the divine luxury of his biceps.

Oh yes, (y/n), look at him. Take it all in. Stare at the wondrous array of his beauty, his irresistible essence. There was no way you could resist him, no one could. Any second and you would either come running, or he would catch you staring at him like a red faced fish.

Grinning big in confidence, Wesker was midway through running his hand through his hair when he turned to see what your reaction was. He expected you to be excited, flustered and breathless, but instead...

You were rummaging through a chest, your side to him and your attention completely focused on the task at hand.

Ok, umm... What!?

Wesker pushed himself away from the hill. You were searching a chest? What? Why? What was so bloody important about 'that'? You should be paying attention to him.

Unable to believe it, Wesker watched as you proudly lifted up a flashlight that you clicked multiple times before standing up and tossing your old toolbox at the poor chest. Then you turned around and skipped away without a care in the world.

In the abyss, Wesker was left frustrated, humiliated and determined. Don't think that this was over with, (y/n), because it's not. Wesker isn't a man who likes to give up.

He'd have your attention eventually.

Herman Carter

He unlatches his mouth and head restraints and sheds his torn lab coat. His eyes glow a light pink as he unfastens his belt, untucks his shirt and purposely rips certain areas of his clothes thus leaving more lush, gorgeous skin to shine through.

They say that you were hard to get, But Herman liked to believe otherwise. Being one of the most popular people in the realm, his fame made him confident and certain of himself. If he wanted someone's attention, then he would get it.

Casually swinging his weapon around while guarding his perimeter, Herman kept an eye out for you. Any second and you should be returning to finish the generator.

When he finally saw you approach, he stretched, one arm moving behind his head to show off the gorgeous curve of his back and his strong muscles. His bare arms crackled with teasing electricity as he stroked his body, his fingers tugging at holes in his clothes and exposing the exciting view from within.

That's it, (y/n), look at him. Don't be shy. Bask in his charm and handsome, good looks. Stare at the way his muscles moved. Watch his strong thighs flex and let your imagination run wild. Yes.

Chancing a look in your direction, Herman expected to see you flustered, intimidated or frozen in awe, but instead...

You were talking to a crow.

Herman nearly dropped his weapon.

Are you joking him right now?

You were talking to a crow. Literally. You were kneeling down with a stick in your hand in which you tried to use to serenade the crow. Your back was to him and you were completely submerged in your essential conversation.

What on earth? Herman sighed in disbelief and frustration. Why were you talking to a crow? Were you mad? Look at him! He was practically famous- not to mention extraordinarily good looking. You shouldn't be paying attention to no crow.

Seeing as how he wasn't going to get your attention today, Herman sighed and walked away. You were certainly unique, but that only made him want you more.

Soon, (y/n). Very, very soon.

Frank Morrison

He was almost shaking with excitement as he took off his jacket and shirt. Today was the day. Today was the day that he finally got a rise out of you, and he would be the first. Everyone says you're unresponsive to this kind of act, but he begged to differ.

You just haven't got to see him in action yet is all.

Going so far as to unzip his pants, Frank then took his mask off and leaned against the rumbling generator. His plan was in motion. All he needed was to wait for you and everything would fall into place exactly how he wanted it to.

When he saw you come into view, Frank leaned back against the generator, stretching his arms and legs and glancing in your direction.

Go on, (y/n), look at him. Take it all in. Witness his exposed body and come undone. If you're good, he might even help you with all those flustered emotions. All you had to do was ask nicely.

Glancing in your direction, Frank catches you looking at him and he grins maliciously. Yes. That's it. He looks at you further, his body turning towards you as he gets ready to gesture you forward. Be good now, (y/n).

After a few seconds of staring at him though, something else caught your attention, and suddenly you were jogging off to a set of pillars nearby.

"Hey," Frank immediately protested as he pushed himself away from the generator. Where were you going?

Following you a bit, Frank's hands flew up in complete and utter disbelief.

A totem? You were cleansing a dull totem? Are you serious right now? What the heck!

Frank was utterly baffled. All of his hard work, and you barely even noticed him. Did you even have any kind of reaction at all? And what the hell was so great about a totem???

For a minute, Frank watched as you cleansed the totem and began searching the area for more, not a second glance given to him or the generator. Growling in frustration, Frank kicked the ground and wandered back to his stripped clothes.

They really weren't joking when they said you were unresponsive. Well, Frank wasn't joking either. He would get your attention one day, and he can guarantee that.

Evan MacMillan

He had worn his apron and jeans specifically for you. After he killed off at least two survivors, he shedded his apron thus leaving his upper body bare. Taking off his mask came next, and then he sat on a crate, patiently waiting for you to come around.

Most people love seeing him show off his strength, which is what he planned to do with you. If he could lure you in enough, then he would intimidate you, steal the words right out of your stuttering mouth and tell you what he knew you wanted deep, deep down.

Feeling himself burn with excitement, Evan nearly stood up too fast when he saw you come into view. Turning around, he kicked the generator, putting his muscles and strength on display. Then he grabbed a trap and kneeled down to set it, the air tickling his exposed crack.

Evan knew that he had a good body, and he wanted you to look at it. Look at it and imagine all the things it could do to you. Think about his strong thighs and thick waist. Think about his rough, calloused hands and fingers. Take it all in and imagine the possibilities.

Planning on playing the victim to your staring, Evan turned his head back, fully prepared to see you gawking at him. But instead...

You were looting David's belongings in which he had left after dying on a hook.

What in God's name?

Evan stood up, confused and somewhat irritated. Had you not noticed him? He growled, watching as you tossed out unimportant tools from a toolbox, completely focused on your own tasks.

You gotta be kidding him. This is what you were interested in instead of him? A toolbox? Really?

Crossing his arms, Evan sighed. He wasn't mad. He knew they had said that you were hard to get. Sure, he hadn't imagined you being quite this clueless, but still. It was strange.

Evan watched as you got your tools collected and skittered off in a different direction, and he shook his head in amusement. One of these days he was going to get a reaction from you. Just you wait.

Ji-woon Hak

They say you can't be seduced? Well, Ji-woon would like to prove otherwise. After all, who can resist the practical God of good looks? No one!

Wearing none other than his fancy swim shorts, Ji-woon was pumped with confidence and optimism. Getting your attention was going to be a piece of cake.

Waiting on top of a hill, Ji-woon waits until you come into view and then shouts to get your attention. You stop in your tracks and look at him. He smirks and takes out his throwing knives.

Facing a nearby fence, Ji-woon throws and throws his knives until he creates a heart shape in the old wood. Huffing in pride, he skillfully twirls a knife around while waiting your reaction.

You were staring at the fence, seeming to be in awe.

Ji-woon grins and strokes his hair, mumbling arrogant phrases in Korean as he begins to walk down the hill. On his way, he pushes his shorts down a bit, exposing the fine ridges of his pelvic bones. Then he trails his fingers down his sides and over his abs.

By the time he looks up to give you a wink, he sees you staring at him with a somewhat emotionless face. He smiled, ready to throw out the grand finale.

But suddenly...

Something passed by your face. It was a butterfly. A butterfly that had you gasping in delight and grinning big. Not but a few seconds after it flew by, you began chasing it.

"Eh?" Ji-woon was dumbfounded.

You. Were. Chasing. A. Butterfly?!

How could you be chasing a butterfly instead of paying attention to him? Come on. He just put on a big show for you. You should be falling to pieces in admiration and lust.

And yet you were chasing a freakin butterfly!!!

Cursing, Ji-woon covered his face and shook his head. You really were a difficult person to please. But, no matter. The more challenging the person, the more fun the possibilities.

Chuckling fondly, Ji-woon fought against chasing the butterfly with you. Instead he watched, adoring your childish nature.

Don't worry, (y/n), he wasn't giving up. One day he would steal your heart. One day...

[lairofsentinel]

Mourning with the Crows

Warning: I apologise in advance for my bitterness that sometimes spills into the text like the Blight when it comes to the murder of the Lore and tone that Veilguard has done to the DA world.

I've not seen this quest on YouTube or anywhere, so probably it's the only "extra" content you can have for Lucanis, and curiously is the only time where we can ASK HIM about something personal [his opinion on a topic that is not boring coffee or killing].

As it is obvious, it can only be triggered when you let Treviso be blighted.

Before this event, you have to do 3 quests that are the same one copy-pasted three times: go find X, they have became darkspwan, so you have to kill them. This is the fate of 3 crows we interacted with a bit more if you save Treviso: Heir, the crow-trainer [I laugh so much with this character, she can't be less crow at all, what they did to the lore?]; Fletcher, the faction vendor; and Chance Candide, an Orlesian Crow [yes, Orlesian... I'm dying, what's this?!] who gives you some quests about an affair between a Venatori and a Crow if you saved Treviso [and he is totally fine with a Crow abandoning the Crows for love... I'm mourning with the Crows too, for the Crows, for the whole lore]

Anyway, we go to the memorial that has an imposing statue of a Crow, as usual a nice touch of Antivan dramatics, probably the only thing they preserved about the lore.

Teia and Viago are there, and we see them remember the three Crows that we had to kill because they were too far blighted.

No matter what option you pick, Lucanis appears out of the blue with a very sceptical tone:

We are informed [implicitly] here that Lucanis certainly had no friends, just few acquaintances among the crows and local merchants and, of course, cafe workers. Still he wanted to return to that level of familiarity once he recovered his life from the Ossuary, despite the irreversible changes in him.

And here, only here, for FIRST TIME in the whole game, you can ask him something personal, something that makes him a bit more than just coffee jokes and assassin stuff: Do you believe in anything? The most ambitious, brutal question [for dav parameters, of course] we have in this game which has denied us not only the social conflicts of Thedas [and Tevinter in particular!] but also the religious ones. Of course, his answer is as bland as the game in general on these topics: He basically is an atheist, that due to an excess of pain and suffering, "wants to believe" that there is something else hearing people's cries. It's a strange argument to make, since suffering may reinforce the atheist vision of characters, but maybe this small bit of hope he wants to grab was inspired by his own situation in the Ossuary: maybe he found in Rook's action the answers to his pleas for the nightmare of the Ossuary to stop. And maybe he is hoping that after all this pain on Treviso, somehow, some power can help them to heal the city, as his pain was stopped with the presence of Rook in his life. Wishful thinking, Neve would say.

Still, the whole tone of this scene gives a constant atheist vibe to him: he knows there is too much suffering in the world for a big power not to act and help, so maybe, the natural conclusion is that there is no such power at all.

At the end of the scene we have the option to toast for 3 different concepts, each of them "attached" to each of the Crows in the screen: The memory of the dead, to Viago; The future, to Teia, and Vengeance, of course, to Lucanis.

[mistyorchid]

Breakfast For Dinner

Old Man!Logan x fem!reader

warnings: MDNI, no use of y/n, established relationship, love makes logan sappy + corny, age gap, reader is 21+, some suggestive actions/dialogue, logan calls himself old man, pet names (bub, baby, princess). wc: 730

an: I love the sweet housewife/partner fics but this is for the girlies that can't cook. aka me

Logan scrunches his nose. He picks up the familiar scent that tangled in the sheets you shared and lingered in the living room, where he reads the morning paper.

Another sharp inhale sends notes of bacon and burnt flour into his adept nostrils. His back aches after the hellish shift he endured, but the alarming thought of a grease fire destroying the home you share propels his body forward.

He senses your panic the second he steps inside the door. The chemical calling cards of fear—pheromones released from sweat—trigger a hollow throbbing in Logan's heart. His claws sink back into the tender flesh between his knuckles when he realizes you're not in immediate danger.

Your lame attempt to hide the charred remains of the dish forces an embarrassed laugh to tumble from your chest in short bursts. Hands on your hips, flour on every kitchen surface, including you. It was a stupidly endearing sight.

Logan loosens his tie, pulling open the collar of his dress shirt. He sighs, content with how beautifully mundane life has become. "Hey, bub. What's cookin'?" He asks with a teasing quirk of his brow.

He walks towards the kitchen island, slowly taking up more space until all you can feel are the hard plastic stove top knobs digging into your lower back.

You indulge in the broad plane of his chest, pulling Logan in by the front of his dress shirt. "I missed you," You admit, sighing as you run your hands over the garment.

A sly grin spreads across Logan's face. "Yeah? Enough to make me—?" His eyebrow quirks, questioning what culinary treat was filling the kitchen with smoke.

"It's supposed to be a quiche. Figured you'd be hungry after your shift. . . sorry it's burnt." You're suddenly captivated by a crack in the concrete floor. Insecurity seeps into your brain, unraveling the work you put into fostering your independence.

A gentle caress on your cheek disrupts your negative thoughts. Logan's voice is firm, yet tender. "Stop that. I know what you're thinkin'."

Shit. He could always see right through your bullshit. It was tough indulging in self-deprecation when you had the world's most menacingly protective man for a partner.

You find your way back to Logan's eyes. You always do.

"Nothin' to be sorry about, baby. I don't expect you to make me anything, you know that." You can feel the pleasant hum that ricochets against his chest, inviting you deeper into his embrace.

"Hey, wanna ask you somethin'." Your lashes flutter against your cheeks. Logan's mouth stretches into a subtle grin.

"Can I get a quiche?" He quips, indulging in the way your nose twitches and the corners of your eyes crease with crow's feet.

A lighthearted laugh bubbles within you. "Did you just make a joke? You? The Wolverine?"

"Mhm. Anything to see that sweet smile on your face," He admits. A soft sigh leaves your mouth as you kiss Logan's; the feeling of him physically showing you how much you were missed while he was at work makes you dizzy with love.

He pulls back slightly before swiftly untying the dirty apron from your neck and waist, fastening it around himself.

Logan then forces himself to pull away from your body, allowing you to move off the range. He notices you soothing the sore indents on your back and orders you to rest on the couch.

"You look so pretty waitin' on me, princess. Let your old man cook dinner, and then we can have dessert."

He busies himself with slicing ingredients using his claws, feeling satisfied when he hears the sound of a horror movie playing in the adjacent living room.

An abrupt pause in the film causes Logan's ears to perk up. "Oh, we're out of ice cream!" You shout, worried about yet another error on your part. You fantasized about taking care of him, about embodying a picture-perfect role as his partner.

You could never be a Stepford Wife.

You start toying with the hem of your shirt as the silence that lingered after your confession seemed to stretch forever. Logan whips his head away from the kitchen island, promptly sheathing his claws.

A wicked smirk spreads across his face. "Not exactly the kind o' cream I was thinkin' of, baby."

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