#Like an hour ago or something I was thinking about them in the trenches… they are struggling

[critterishere]

shout out to that au in my head where these two experience manmade horrors beyond their comprehension together 🗣

original image down here🏃

[selanaris]

DPXDC "Lurks in Shadows" pt3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

TW: blood, cult summonings, sacrifices, references to prostitution and trafficking, canon character deaths & undeaths

Two Hours to Midnight - Gotham Heights - Urban Nest Apartments

Thomas ‘Tom’ Kirk, GCPD detective, rich kid, dreamer, new brother, and zombie with his head screwed on. He scrolled through his phone, waiting for his newly acquired ‘brother’ to pick a face and exit the bathroom. “Simon! Hurry up if you want a ride to Park Row!” Tom yelled and knocked on his bathroom door. His apartment was clean, a place paid for by his parents’ rich money. He was privileged, he never denied this. Got into the nicest district of GCPD, placed on the street with the lowest crime of all of Gotham. Everything was set for him to push papers and get paid, but he refused. He saw a case of a missing college student and immediately went looking into it. He dug into old theories of a serial killer from two years ago. He did find what he was looking for and much more. 

Kirk sat on his couch, leaned forward, and placed his hands around his neck, a habit he had picked up recently. He was feeling for his pulse, one that was not there. He went through the actions of breathing, but no air circled his body. He could not feel warm or cold, soft or hard. That night, he followed the trail, his partner bailed on him, and he pushed forward. He died that night, cut up into tiny pieces by Eddie the Machete. He felt the stitches that welded his arms together, permanent scars. 

The bathroom door opened at this moment to reveal his savior from that night. Simon Dark, named after one of those dumb Gotham nursery rhymes just like that one about the owl Parliament and grungy, or what its name is. Simon is a teen, about 16, he wore a long black trench coat, leather gloves, baggy black pants, and most iconically, a red and black striped shirt. Simon always had flat black hair that went past his shoulders, but his face was something different every time. It would remain a pale white, but Simon could not control who the face was. “What’s his name?” Tom asked.

“Jack… We… I think… he liked to be called Jack,” Simon said while feeling his face. Simon was different from him; both of them were zombies, but where Tom had all his original parts, Simon had too many parts. 

Simon had picked up every piece of him from Eddie and that cult he worked with before he could be used for a ritual. Simon carried every part in a trash bag and brought it to Gus Farmer, who put him back together and back to life. Now he’s here with his new brother in undeath solving occult crime. What is his life?

“Well, I don’t think Jack liked being a Freddy Kruger ripoff,” Tom told the kid. He stood up and grabbed his jacket and keys. He told the kid he would take him to Park Row for some investigation he was doing for Gus. Tom would like to think that being far from The Village would keep him from investigating the cult without backup, but he will have to put his money where his mouth is.

“We have no idea who that is,” Simon said and picked up the little leather book he had been reading for the past week. At the bottom corner were the initials ‘J.C.’ and the button strap around it was cut. 

The newer zombie pats Simon on the back, “It’s just a horror movie, no point in watching them when your life is a horror movie.” Kirk went on ahead while Simon followed. Their apartment had a garage for the car. It was a newer black model, one that he certainly should not be bringing to Park Row, but he had no other choice. 

The drive was quiet, and Simon was reading that little book while making little fires at his fingertips. Because, of course, it was a spell book. “Where did you get that?” he asked. The last thing he wanted was more magic near him.

“Borrowed it…” Simon said and put the fire out. “Sad trenchcoat man.”

“You mean you stole it.” Kirk sighed not liking any implication of stealing from a magician of any kind. “Any chance of returning it?”

“Yeah… When we are done reading it. He can pick it up then.” Simon spoke and tried out a different spell that created a very small flower in his hand before promptly decaying it.

“Just don’t destroy my stuff,” he said and was only met with silence. The closest to an acknowledgment he is going to get. They drove for thirty minutes to get to Park Row. At this point, Simon put the book away and was focused on the street. This was the part where he had to trust the kid. The people up and down the street were staring at his car as he drove, having to slow down to allow the kid to look.

“Stop,” Simon said, and immediately, Tom stopped the car. They were stopped between two condemned buildings and an alleyway. Tom could make out some small figures running down the alley.

“Are you sure-” the cop never got to finish his sentence before Simon was already getting out of the car. “Hey- Wait!” was left unheard as he was now forced to get out of the car. Simon was already making his way down the alley. When Tom left his car he was stopped by a woman in a tank top and skirt.

“Just let the kid go. You deserve the break.” She said while reaching for his hands and slipping her hands up his sleeve. 

He quickly pulled his hand away when she touched the stitching. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I am really busy tonight.” he looked around and noticed he couldn’t see Simon anymore. “Did you see where the kid went?”

She was already making her way down the street. “Sorry, I’m really busy. Bills to pay,” she said. 

Tom sighed and moved to start following Simon. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Said a voice from behind him. 

Tom groaned, then turned around. It was The Red Hood, “Shit.”

“Yeah, Shit is right. What are you doing in Crime Alley? Especially in that.” The crime lord pointed to the fancy car he drove. Honestly, all things considered, it was very suspicious. 

“I was dropping off my brother, but he just walked off the moment we parked.” Tom sighed, “Whoever said brothers were great to have lied.”

Red Hood snorted in response. “Why the hell did you bring a kid to Crime Alley? That’s just stupid.”

“I know, I know,” Tom said and started to step towards the alley. When he wasn’t immediately shot, he took that as his cue to continue making his way in. “He said he was investigating something.” 

“Uhuh, and is something that has to do with my boys going missing?” Red Hood accused him.

Tom immediately knew what he meant. There was no official report ever done, but Simon was a direct consequence of it. “You know about the missing children?”

The direct response to that was to feel the hard barrel of a Glock against his head, signaled by the click of the safety turning off. “You want to specify how you know about the missing kids? This is my territory. Everyone agreed to keep kids out of any criminal activity; trafficking itself is forbidden. In two years, I’ve had 23 teenage boys go missing. No kids have gone missing this month, then you are magically here poking your head in this specific alley. So I will only ask once. What do you know about the missing kids?”

At this point, Tom had completely stopped breathing to stare at Red Hood from the corner of his eyes. “23 missing kids, three in the last four months, correct? All males ages 13 to 17. I know about them. My brother and I were investigating it. I promise we have nothing to do with it, only that we were both victims.”

“Victims… Not buying it. You’re too old to be a teenager, so try again.” Hood said and shoved his gun further into his head. 

“I am telling the truth. I am sorry. They are dead… Eddie the Machete has been killing them all. 36 victims.” Tom felt his head shoved to the side, but he was free and began to make himself breathe again. Red Hood turned the safety back on and shoved his gun back into his holster.

“Fuck… FUCK!” The crime lord yelled and kicked a trash can out of the alleyway with a loud bang. “Get the fuck out of here. I don’t want to see you back in Crime Alley. I need to go kill something. If I find out you had anything to do with this. Or lied in any way. I will find you and hang you by your jacket. Now fuck off.” Red Hood punched the brick wall on his way out with a resounding crack. He turned out of the alleyway and the revving of a motorcycle could be heard.

Tom sighed and looked behind him to see Simon crawl from under the fence at the end of the alley. Right behind him were two other kids. “Kid, where the hell did you go?” Tom asked while he got a good look at Simon in the light. Simon’s face was melting, for lack of a better description. His face was once a sculpted replica of Jack, but the face had begun to sag a bit and return to its pallid tone held together by thick patchwork. 

“No time. Geo was here. They stole our… my book. We need to get it back, now.” Simon spoke and moved to gesture to the two kids behind him, “You need to take them home.”

“Whoa, slow down, kid. We are supposed to meet with Red Robin tonight, remember. We can get the book when we get back up.” Tom glanced down at the kids who held pinched faces while looking at the cop.

“No time. It can summon very powerful demons to Gotham. Kids, go with our brother. He will take you somewhere safe.” Simon points back at Kirk before holding his hands together in front of his chest like a prayer. He pushed his hands out and moved them down in a slashing motion. The action ripped out a green swirling rift. The action scared the kids enough to run from the teen and to the cop.

“Don’t you dare! Wait for back-” Simon walked through the rift, and it closed behind him. “-up.” Why did he even try? Tom looked down at the two kids. “let’s get you home,” he told them and went to the entrance of the alley and back to his car. He immediately stopped and stared at his car. His wheels were gone, windows smashed, frame bent, and the words ‘Pig’ were carved into the sides. He could hear the kids behind him giggle. He turned around to see them already running with other kids crawling out of windows and nooks to follow them. Great. He loves Gotham.

Tom looked at the time on his phone and sighed. He still had time, but he did not know if Simon had time. He called a towing company to pick up the remains of his car. He honestly did not care what happened to it. He made his way through Park Row and towards Downtown for his meet-up. 

Getting a meeting with Red Robin was a bit difficult, and required several emails to the commissioner himself before he got a response from an unknown email that allowed him to set up the terms of the meeting. A Batburger in downtown Gotham. This had its reasonings. Geo Populus often watched the roofs of Gotham, keeping a strong eye on every vigilante that patrolled. It’s how they never got caught. The second reason was keeping witnesses around. There was a guarantee to be at least one other witness to their discussion, the employee. It was bad to get the workers involved, but it was to keep them all safe as long as they stayed in one room together. 

It took Tom almost an hour to walk and bus to Downtown. He was frustrated at the entire situation, but at least he was not tired. Perks of dying, one might say. Not enough perks, in his opinion. He approached the Batburger and could see inside the window, Red Robin. Perfect. Maybe something will go right this night.

He walked into the fast food joint and felt a weird chill down his back the moment he saw the employee. It was the saddest Batman he’d ever seen. The costume hung off the teen’s thin frame, and the kid looked like he was going to throw up the moment Tom walked in. He continued to keep an eye on the kid, not just out of worry but because there was an itch in his brain that said that he knew the kid. The kid looked only slightly older than Simon should be, but someone needed to get this kid a proper burger… and maybe a new life, because this was sad to watch. 

Tom got to the booth and sat down in front of the vigilante. He took out his badge and showed it to him. He needed to confirm that he was who he said he was, or at least he assumed so. Red Robin took his badge and looked it over then handed it back. Kirk nodded and placed it back into his jacket before looking at the food and drink that was bought for him.

One of the saddest things he lost when he died was his ability to eat… or at least eat normally. Everything tasted like ash and would not last in his stomach. His body did not function as it needed to, therefore, food did not pass through, at least not normal food. Raw meat and blood. That was his new diet, albeit an unnecessary one. He and Simon did not need to eat or drink anymore, but for some magical twist, they could consume raw meat and blood. Mostly useful when they are injured as it helps replenish the missing parts, allegedly. 

The honest answer is that they have no idea how it works, just that it does. Gus was the friendly necromancer, but he’s never been dead himself, and Simon has no idea what it’s like to be alive. So, as an undead pretending to be alive, that left him to fake breathing, drinking, and at this moment, eating. He inspected the food, then stuck a fry into his mouth and chewed it around before taking his napkin and faking wiping his face when he was spitting it out. He did not feel like clearing out his guts tonight. 

The discussion began. Tom told the bird everything he believed was necessary. He could not give too many details, but he hoped he gave enough to get them involved without harming Simon and himself. In the conversation, he noticed that the employee had left. If he still had a pulse, he was sure that his heart rate would skyrocket. The witness was gone, which leaves Red Robin, the employee, or himself at risk. Tom needed to calm down. He checked his phone for any response from Simon, nothing. 

While discussing the case, he started to pick at his untouched food. He was tearing off little pieces bit by bit as an anxious habit. He pushed the tray away from himself and explained the fact that the missing people were dead. He needed to raise the stakes for the vigilante, and speed up the process at which he received backup. Tonight preferably.

Bringing up the fact that the victims were murdered instead of just missing, and correcting Red on the quantity, only seemed to bring suspicion upon himself. They stared at each other in silence. The tension in the air is like a solid brick. A brick that was pierced by the ringing of his cell phone. Tom picked up the phone the moment he saw the caller ID, Simon. 

“Where are you?!” he asked, trying to keep his anger down.

“Tom, we need a pick-up… and our first aid kit. My head won’t stay on, and the cult summoned the Ghost King. We- I took care of the summoners, but there could be more. I don’t think the Ghost King likes us very much…” Simon’s voice spoke rather quickly, but none of that mattered as only one thing was stuck in Tom’s mind. What the Hell is a Ghost King?!

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, GHOST KING?!” Tom yelled and stood up from the booth. Red Robin stood up along with him and looked with his jaw dropped. “You know what? We will discuss that later. Where do I need to go?”

“The Village, underneath Starlight Cafe. Three streets down from Webb’s Market.” Simon answered clearly, but the sound of a door and footsteps could be heard. “Get up already. We do not have time to expunge ourselves.” Simon said to whoever else he was with.

“Fine, stay put. I am on my way with backup.” said the cob then he ended the call. He looked up at the vigilante. “You want to help, right? My brother found the new base. How fast can you get both of us there?”

Red Robin let out a very mischievous grin. “That depends… Have you ever ridden a motorcycle before?”

The answer to that is no, and the response was a very fast ride to North Gotham with the cop hanging onto the teenager for dear unlife. Why the hell did he always end up in situations where his existence depended on teens?!

[rusalka52]

Tell me I’m pretty

↝completed

part 1 || part 2 || part 3 || part 4 || part 5

Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin!Reader

Summary: It’s time for your detention with Sirius! What sort of tomfoolery will he get up to now?!

cw: Sirius is a bit of a fiend, mention of smoking, blood-purist attitudes

3.5k words

A/N: sorry for the late update I got sick during the week and was simultaneously fighting and losing in the trenches of the “idgaf about my situationship” war but we pulled through!! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and don't forget to like reblog etc etc and let me know if you want to be added to the series tag list !!!!

The rest of your week went by fairly quickly, filled with your regular routine along with stress because of the upcoming exams and your daily, demanding classes.

After completing your assigned homework, your entire Tuesday afternoon was spent cleaning the mess in the bathroom with Barty, since he was one of the perpetrators alongside you. The stains on the mirror were so set in that not even magic could remove them so you had to resort to regular muggle cleaning products.

Wednesday was spent watching the Ravenclaw quidditch team practice for their upcoming tournament while Barty was gossiping with you about each player on the team. Who had a crush on who, who shagged who’s sister and so on. After the team finished you and Barty started gathering your things and were about to head to the library along with one of Barty’s friends when the Gryffindor team took to the field. You were halfway through the pitch on your way out when your eyes accidentally landed on Sirius’ toned arms as he was passing the quaffle to James. You might have stared a bit too long at the veins running along his arm and the way his muscles flexed when he caught the ball because you ended up walking right into Barty. You quickly regained your composure and prayed to Merlin that a blush wasn’t tinting your cheeks.

“He’s not even in the team, why is he on the field?” You complained to your friend.

“Why are you staring at him?” Barty teased. You huff and walk faster towards the castle.

On Thursday you taught Regulus how to roll cigarettes behind the herbology greenhouses.

“Now, Regulus, put the tobacco leaves in the rolling paper. No, no- stop. You have to leave space for the filter!”

“I can’t figure it out. I’ll just get the normal cigarettes, they taste better anyway.” He says sitting up.

“No! That’s not the point!!!” You whine, pulling him back down.

Your last class of the day on Friday -Charms, double period no less- was cancelled thankfully because Flitwick had a cold or something you didn’t really pay attention to the announcement. You sat under the enormous oak tree in the courtyard with the Slytherin girls from your year, discussing the upcoming Hogsmeade trip the next day.

“Ugh, I still haven’t figured out what I’m going to wear tomorrow!” You groan, thinking about the clothes you packed from home.

“Umm, you’re not going, remember?” A catty brunette girl from your year, who’s name you can never seem to recall, chimes in.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You spit back annoyed, she was always causing trouble with anyone and everyone for no reason. She was itching for a fight.

“Did you forget what you have tomorrow?” She giggles, side-eyeing her friends.

“Wha- Ohh… yeah… I remember.” You groan, hiding your face in your arms. The detention with Sirius had completely slipped your mind. It felt like it was assigned ages ago!

“Hmph, I really don’t understand why you’re complaining. I’d give anything to be locked in a room with the Sirius Black for an hour.” She snickers. “He might be a blood traitor but at least he’s a sexy one!”

You look at her with a disgusted expression as the conversation goes back to Hogsmeade.

~

At 1:30pm on Saturday you arrive at the classroom you were told to wait at for McGonagall and push open the wooden door. As you enter Sirius is already sat at one of the desks near the back and he makes eye contact with you, a smirk rising to his lips.

“Hello, love.” He says in a sing-song voice.

“Hi, Black.” You respond monotonously.

“Aww, why are we back to last name basis, what happened to pretty-boy?”

You grimace as the concert night escapade comes to memory. Choosing to ignore the question you sit down at a desk away from him and near the blackboard in the front of the classroom.

Sirius was about to protest and move closer to you but before he could do that McGonagall opens the door and enters the room holding in her hands a stack of papers.

“Sit down both of you and stay quiet.” She says. “I have a few more assignments left to correct and then we will continue to your detention.” She sits down at the desk in the front of the classroom, dropping the massive stack of papers with a loud thud.

“Excuse me, professor,” you whisper quietly trying to not disturb her, “but what will our detention be?” You have to prepare mentally for whatever task you’ll have to complete. If you have to clean the bedpans in the hospital wing without the use of magic again you might as well fake being sick to get out of it.

“Professor Slughorn is running low on potion ingredients so you will have to pluck some plant leaves and organise them in jars in the potions store room, without magic of course. More than a fair detention considering that you two did not bring your assignments two weeks in a row! Don’t you think?”

“Yes, professor…” You two say in unison.

“Good, now be quiet.” She picks up her quill, dipping it in the red ink and continues correcting. You begin zoning out thinking about all the assignments you have to get done, the exams you need to study for, what your friends are doing at Hogsmeade right now, are they even thinking of you? Will they bring you the chocolate frog you asked for?

Not even 5 minutes go by when suddenly you feel a crumpled piece of parchment hit the back of your head and fall to the ground. You look back at Sirius -bloody hell with an aim like that he should try out for chaser or beater- and glance at McGonagall making sure that she’s not paying attention to you. She hates it when students pass notes amongst one another and has no hesitation reading them out loud in front of the entire class. You remember one time last yeaf when she caught Dorcas red handed passing a note to Marlene. You can still clearly see Dorcas’ and Marlene’s faces get 5 shades redder as McGonagall read “your bum looks amazing in your skirt, Marls, winky face” aloud for everyone to hear and you shudder.

You drop your pencil next to the note as a distraction and swiftly pick up both of them.

“Hogsmeade, tomorrow, you + me = <3

What do you say?

-pretty-boy S.O.B”

You read Sirius’ neat handwritten note and roll your eyes. It must be a Black trait to have nice handwriting, they definitely took calligraphy classes in their youth you imagine. You decide to humour him seeing as you don’t really have anything more interesting to do and McGonagall was still busy with the grading.

“What do you have to offer me if I decide to go?

P.s. you’re not that pretty”

You scribble back right underneath his question and toss the paper back towards him. The answer to the question was of course going to be no but it’s important to see what he’s offering.

A second goes by when you hear a ‘psst’ behind you. You turn your head and the paper ball hits you right in the face and see him suppressing a giggle. You tut in annoyance but nevertheless you still bend down to pick it up.

“I can offer you my cock my love :)

P.s. that’s not what you said last Friday...”

You groan. He is so unbelievably haughty and arrogant. You are about to write back a response when McGonagall clears her throat and stands up. You quickly shove the paper in your pocket and stand up. She looks at you disapprovingly, shit she probably saw you scribbling something but thankfully decided to ignore it. Your dignity would not be able to take it if anyone else saw the vile things Black was writing to you.

“Come, follow me.” She announces as she exits the classroom.

You and Sirius follow behind her as she makes her way down to the dungeons towards the potions store room. As you’re walking you suddenly feel Sirius nudge your shoulder but you choose to ignore him.

“How about I show you my… um… love now that we’re going to be left alone.” He whispers in your ear making the hair on your body stand up. He’s obviously referencing the note he sent you a few minutes ago and you subconsciously tighten your first around the parchment paper still in your pocket. You snap your head towards him.

“Shut up!” You walk faster almost right next to McGonagall. You try to ignore the irritable expression that crosses Sirius’ face at your rejection.

~

You arrive in front of the potions store room and she turns back to look at you two.

“You will need to dittany leaves since professor Slughorn is running low on his supply, be careful to not get burned. Afterwards, sort them in jars and put them in the correct spot.” She instructs while outstretching her hand. “Give me your wands, you will need to do this task without magic. You can have your wands back after you are done.” You comply with her request, albeit a bit hesitant. You always feel uneasy going anywhere without your wand. How do muggles do it!?

The door to the potions store room closes behind you and you’re left alone with Sirius. You approach the desk in the middle of the room and sit on the stool on the left while Sirius sits next to you.

You attempt to break the ice and ignore the tension that arose between you two a few moments ago after you ignored his advances in the hallway. He’s just trying to make you feel guilty for not wanting him, you think to yourself.

“I mean, I guess it beats polishing trophies.” You say, making casual small talk. You can’t handle the awkward tension in the air especially considering the massive pile of dittany leaves you have to pluck. “It is just flowers at the end of the day.”

“They’re not just flowers. If you use them in a mixture with silver it helps cure werewolf bites, you know. It prevents the victim from bleeding to death, but it doesn’t cure them of lycanthropy of course… Plus they sometimes release flammable vapours, so be careful” He replies, still sulking. His mood changes were making you dizzy. One moment he’s cheery and flirty and in an instant, as if a switch flipped inside of him, he starts moping around at the smallest hint of criticism.

“You seem to know a lot about lycanthropy.” You muse, attempting to lighten the mood which clearly didn’t work as he just lets out a “Hm” as a response. Whatever, if he doesn’t want to talk you’re not going to bend over backwards to get him to make conversation.

~

Around 15 minutes pass of you quietly picking the leaves off the stem and dropping them in the correct jars in total silence, something that was rare for Sirius Black. You hear him huffing and puffing next to you, pushing his long raven curls away from his face and trying to, unsuccessfully, tuck them behind his ears. You are not about to offer him your pink hair tie around your wrist after he completely iced you out moments ago. If he wants it, he can ask for it.

“Can I borrow your hair tie?” He finally relents as if on queue after realising you’re not about to offer yours.

“No.” You respond, not taking your eyes off the plant. “I’ve seen how you treat hair ties. You completely stretch them out and toss them away. I’m not going to give you mine as well. You continue. He snorts in response.

“What’s so funny?” You question, turning to look at him.

“Are we still talking about hair ties or..?” He answers with a smirk on his face.

“Yes!” You slap his arm suppressing a giggle. You’re not going to laugh at his stupid innuendos. “I was not being allegorical, you freak, although I suppose that applies too.” He chuckles.

“Please.” He whines tapping your arm. He is seemingly back to his teasing mood. “I will give it back to you after we’re done, I promise!”

“No.”

“Please.” He’s shaking your arm now. You look at him and he’s giving you his best puppy-dog eyes. There really is some puppy-like quality to him that you can’t quite point out.

“Ugh, fine! Turn around.” You acquiesce.

“Oh, kinky! Why? What are you gonna do?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you, his voice dropping an octave.

“So I can tie your hair up!” You roll your eyes at him, grabbing his shoulders and roughly pushing him to turn around in an attempt to hide the smile that you involuntarily broke into.

“Love, if you wanted to touch my hair so badly you could have just asked! I would have gladly let you, no need for all this scheming!” He announces, turning around in his chair, mirth lacing his voice.

“Merlin, Black, how did you figure it out!? That is all I’ve ever wanted, thank you so so so much!” You reply sarcastically, smile evident in your words. His hair really is soft, no wonder he takes so much pride in it. As you pull the ponytail through the loop of the hair tie you catch a whiff of his shampoo, vanilla, and you breathe in. Shit, he really does smell good. You quickly exhale hoping he didn’t notice.

“Although, from the back, your hair is almost identical to Snape’s!” You tease as you finish tying up his hair and tapping his shoulder. He spins around, mouth hanging open in shock and playful offence.

“How could you say that!” He gasps dramatically.

“It’s true! I’ve even gotten you two mixed up more times than I can count.” Your smile broadens as you go back to plucking leaves off the plant. Only a couple more branches left.

“Oh, now I know you’re lying! My bum is way sexier than Snivellus’ and you know it!”

“Hm, I suppose it is.” You giggle.

“Huh? What did you say? Can you repeat that one more time, just a bit louder, I didn’t quite hear you?”

You’re about to tell him to piss off when a sudden heat erupts from the plant, scorching your index and middle finger.

“Ow!” You exclaim in pain looking down at your burned fingers. It was the very last leaf on the branch that burned you as well! Just your luck.

Sirius quickly looks over at you, eyebrows raised in concern.

“Fuck, are you okay? Just- wait a second.” He says standing up and walking over to his bag. He swiftly returns to the desk with a roll of bandages and kneels in front of you, pushing your knees slightly apart to make room for himself.

“Give me your hand.” You comply and he gently takes your hand in his, bandaging up the burn. It didn’t even hurt that much anymore; you were just interested to see this side of Sirius. This was completely different from the usual bad boy facade he put on. He was caring, almost nurturing as he bandaged each finger tenderly, careful to not hurt you.

“Does it still hurt?” He looks up at you through his eyelashes, your hands still in his. You nod in response.

He then raises your injured hand up towards his face kissing each finger, not breaking eye contact with you. His eyes seem to glaze over as he continues to kiss up your hand and your breathing quickens. You’re almost panting as you look at him placing delicate kisses to your wrist. You suddenly pull your arm away from him, unable to contain your urges anymore. You cup his face in your hands and pull him roughly against your lips. He takes a second to register what’s happening and he reciprocates the kiss immediately, with as much fervor and intensity as you. He stands up from his kneeling position between your legs, pulling you up with him and pushing you back slightly against the stacked potion shelves. You can hear the jars and vials filled with various potion-making ingredients clatter above you as he pulls away for air, finally trapping you against the shelves with his arms. Your hands reach up and grip his ponytail, pulling him closer towards you.

“Fuck, I’ve been waiting all week to taste you again.” He whispers against your lips. “You’re even better than I remember, I’m so glad I’m sober this time.” His lips crash into yours once more and he deepens the kiss. He nips at your bottom lip making you gasp, allowing his tongue to freely explore your mouth.

He’s first to pull away for much needed air after the kiss and as you're about to lean into him again when he pulls back even further. You whine in response, he's being so unfair!

“If you want me to call you pretty again, it’s not happening.” You huff, realising what he wanted to hear you say. “You're not as pretty as all those girls make you out to be and I stand by that .”

“Really?” He leans in once more to tease you, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. His tongue darts out to flicker at your ear before he nips at it with his sharp teeth, making you shudder.

“No.” You whisper with a smirk on your face as you slip underneath his arms that were holding in place against the shelves, returning back to your seat. You truly did not want to pull away, relishing in the attention he was giving you, but you would rather avoid having McGonagall find you with Sirius’ tongue down your throat and your work unfinished. Godric knows how many house points she would deduct and the consequences you’d have to suffer after that.

“Wha-?”

“Come on now we still have work to do.” You interrupt his protest as he looks back at you, lips parted and swollen, his appearance not much dissimilar to your own. “If you're a good boy and we finish on time I might even reward you!”

“Yes, ma’am!” He exclaims returning to his seat excitedly immediately and picking up the jars of dittany again.

You continue with the few branches you have left, working silently and ignoring the longing, almost hungry, glances he shoots your way. As you’re finishing up McGonagall opens the door, signifying the end of your detention, right on time.

“Very well, here are your wands, you are free to go.” She says after thoroughly inspecting your work. You exit the store room and McGonagall disappears into the hall, headed towards her office no doubt. Sirius lingers next to you.

“Soooo… about that reward you promised…”

“I said I might reward you, I didn’t promise anything.” You respond to him slyly.

“But I was a good boy! And we finished on time!” He whines.

“I’ll think about your reward next Saturday on our date to Hogsmeade, okay?” You say as you walk past him towards the Slytherin common room, brushing against his shoulder.

“I- um, y-yeah okay!” he stutters behind you. You just made the Sirius Black stutter. Unheard of!

He better not make you regret this.

~

You walk through the arching snake statue and into the Slyherin common room with an involuntary smile on your face. This is the first time you return from detention in a cheery mood so it’s not difficult for someone to deduce that something positive happened. You greet Regulus who was splayed out on the couch with a fiction book resting in his lap.

“You smell like him.” Regulus comments not even bothering to lift his head from his book as you walk past him towards your dorm. You stop dead in your tracks behind the head of the dark brown leather couch and your smile drops.

“Well duh, we just had detention together.” You try to play it off. “Anyway, what's the book you're reading about?”

“Was your detention to snog him for an hour?” He questions, completely disregarding your poor attempt of changing the subject.

“I did not snog your brother, Reg, drop it, we just had to pick dittany leaves.” You roll your eyes.

“And did the leaves make you smile so broadly or..?” You smack the back of his head and run up to your dorm before he can argue. You’ll have to tell him about your date with Sirius one of these days or risk having him find out through the numerous Hogwarts gossips.

~

“WAKE UP TWATS, WE’RE GOING ON A DATE NEXT SATURDAY!” Sirius exclaims as he bursts through the doors of his dorm room, scaring the rest of the boys.

“Are you jealous, Prongs?” he winks, teasing his friend.

Before he can even think about continuing his jibes he is interrupted by a pillow hitting him square in the face, courtesy of James.

tags: @gastroentred @beekeepingageissome @is-it-better-to-speak-or-todie @lolalleins

Likes and reblogs help a lot! If anyone wants to be added to tag list for the fourth part just let me know!!

Requests: open :D

[lexdelioncourt]

So I'm sure I'm not the first person to think these things and I'm sorry if it's been talked about a million times already and I've just missed it. But I have a lot of thoughts, many of which are probably unhinged and I need to let them out. This is probably pretty half-baked but whatever I'm way too deep in the Devil's Minion trenches.

SO ANYWAY..

So after Louis burns in SF and Armand has finally put him in his coffin, Armand gives that last little speech before he says he's gonna leave him to himself. Then he tells Louis to “rest” and closes the coffin. Louis then comes out pretty soon after to stop Armand killing Daniel. But are we supposed to believe that Louis, who appears to barely have the strength to walk across the room and sit down properly, had the strength to both break out of Armand’s “rest” (which no one ever seems to do until he lets them) AND push the lid off his coffin and climb out of it?

THEN we don't actually hear Louis tell Daniel the whole speech he ends up putting in his book, right? We see them talking but we don't hear what they say. When Daniel says he's “a bright young reporter with a point of view” he says that to Armand, really quietly, when he's all up in his face. He doesn't say it in front of Louis. Also, when Daniel reads the passage from his book that mentions that line, language-wise, it doesn't really sound like something 70s Louis would say. It also doesn't sound like something you'd say to a random guy you met in a bar 10 hours ago. In fact, the language and tone sounds more like something Armand would say and it even has some echoes of Armand's “easeful death” monologue that we just heard. The passage also has the whole “these are the words you'll hear in your mind” part and who's words is Daniel always hearing in his mind in the DM chapter, even before he's a vampire? Armand's.

To ME that passage from Daniel’s book reads more like something someone would say in a very loving way to someone they know really well, but who they reluctantly want to let go so they can be free. It's got a sense of melancholy to it. What if Daniel DID conflate two events but they just weren't the two events he thought he conflated? What if that passage is something Armand said to him right before they broke up in the past? It sounds almost like a breakup speech and him telling him to go get his shit together. If you listen to both the “easeful death” monologue and the passage from Daniel's book back to back, they almost sound like they could bookend a long relationship. Especially with the repeating of the “bright young reporter with a point of view”. ESPECIALLY when you go back and see the look on Armand's face when old Daniel says that line in the first episode of season 2.

Anyway, that's my incoherent ramblings of the day. Rolin please give us Season 3 already so I can go back to being at least semi-normal.

[avocado-writing]

Poly aziracrow based on 2x04, where Crowley and R react to Aziraphale during this scene👀

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZM2KFemoQ/

notes: yes. this isn’t the first time I’ve had a request about his voice in this scene. and I will NEVER get tired of them ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

pairing: aziraphale x reader x crowley

rating: M (smut at the end)

tags: the light, the dark, and the space in between-verse; references to ptsd; slightly Dom!Aziraphale

You hate this bloody war. 

You’ve been part of a few, and all of them have left their scars on you. In you, buried in your soul. You remember your time in those trenches barely thirty years ago and bile claws at your throat. 

No. Don’t think about that. Concentrate on this. Concentrate on this horrid little demon who’s threatening the two people you love. Hands behind you, you finger a decorative paperweight, wondering if minions from hell are susceptible to being thwacked over the back of the head. 

He finishes his little tirade and tries to read Aziraphale’s name from a book (you’re amazed that the cretin is literate). But his demonic lips can’t make heads nor tails of the syllables. 

“Azil-pha-pha-la-luh—”

Aziraphale’s brow furrows just slightly, lips purse.

“Aziraphale.”

It’s not often you see your angel reach the end of his tether. He is a holy being after all; the pinnacle of patience, epitome of virtue. But sometimes, when something grinds his gears just right, that voice will come out. 

It does something to you and Crowley both, and the two of you exchange a glance across the room. This will be explored later. 

The demon, irritated, snaps his little book shut, then does a double take as his gaze passes over you. He didn’t even notice you were here. You try to look the picture of innocence as you ready the paperweight, thinking about the best way to swing a bludgeoning weapon when he has that ridiculous hair. 

“And you? What’s going on with you, why are you here?” He steps forward and takes a deep sniff. “You don’t smell divine.”

“Oh god, don’t bloody smell me!” you hiss, planting your hand on his chest and shoving him backwards. Aziraphale and Crowley move towards you to intervene if needed, but you wave them off. 

“Don’t bother with him, nightingale,” Crowley sighs, voice unbothered and bored, “he’s not worth your effort.”

You turn to the mirror in the dressing room instead and focus on smoothing out your clothes, ignoring the foul little gremlin until Crowley and Aziraphale sort him out. Which they do, inevitably, because they’re very clever and wonderful. The three of you head back to the bookshop for a very necessary glass of wine, and within the hour you’re all piled on the sofa, slightly blotted and very glad for each other’s company after a rough day. 

You and Crowley are either side of Aziraphale, each with a leg hooked over one of his plush thighs. You’re doing that thing they love where you compliment them about how smart they both are, and they get all smug and silly (and you love it); but halfway through you catch Crowley’s eye behind those dark little glasses and something shifts subtly. 

“You know, angel, you really gave that lapdog a dressing down earlier.”

“Oh, well, I’m not sure I’d go that far,” Aziraphale says, but he’s all puffed up like he gets when he’s flattered. Crowley runs a finger up the seam of his trouser leg, gently, slowly. 

“And you know what really sealed the deal? That voice you used on him,” you continue. “There was something quite dominant about it. Sexy.”

You snake your hand up his chest. Finally he cottons on. 

“Oh.”

“I think we both just wondered what it might take to get you to use it again.”

Aziraphale takes a final sip of his wine before carefully placing the glass on the table. He sits back, looking between the two of you, and there’s no missing the glint in his eye. 

“If you wanted me to tell you what to do,” he says lowly,

and you shiver, “you need only ask. I’m sure I’ll do it if you both behave.”

Crowley shifts. You can see the effect Aziraphale’s had on him: the tightening of his trousers, the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows. 

“So. Will you behave?”

“Yes,” you and Crowley both whisper at once, voices thin and needy. 

Aziraphale smiles. 

“Then I think you’re both wearing far too many clothes.”

Your clothes end up a muddled pile on the floor, and between the two of you, Aziraphale doesn’t leave the couch for the rest of the evening. He has you ride his thigh while Crowley swallows him down his pretty little throat, whispering his praises to both of you in that delicious voice. 

“Look at you both. Being so good for me. I love you both so much, my darlings.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, face burning with desire. He has Crowley fuck you over the arm of the couch as he watches the show, palming himself through his trousers, telling you where to touch each other. You’re happy to be his puppet, his plaything, anything. 

So long as he keeps talking.  -

taglist: @angiestopit @dazed-soul  @foolishprincipalitee @smile-eywa@staygoldsquatchling02 @underratedboogeyman @specter-soltare @candlewitch-cryptic @cool-ontherun-world @emilynissangtr @willbedecided @bdffkierenwalker @cool-iguana @ilyatan @civil-groupie @willyoubethepookietomypookster

[venomvalley]

a badass reader and chris redfield simping..idk abt u but thats my babygirl! who is also a dilf!

bestie u sent this in over a month ago and im so sorry but i FINALLY finished it!! i wrote this with post-re6 chris in mind but feel free to choose whichever chris you want!!!

we got a gn!reader, canon-typical gore/body horror/violence, and these two being very cute

Being on the same mission as your lover is a special kind of hell. Pretending that he isn’t likens to wading through a minefield sea. If your CO ever found out, likely by way of campfire gossip, you would be promptly removed from the most important mission of your career.

Chris is the obvious choice to keep—years of battlefield experience, Project Zero levels of Umbrella involvement. A leader charismatic enough to drag his team to the ends of the earth, and you’ve never even heard them complain.

The forest chills you, even beneath all the gear and Gore-Tex. Two days in, you found a hole in your boot that left you a few hours away from trench foot. The rain refuses to stop, pours down in sleeting buckets, and you miss the sunshine something awful. The thick canopies overhead provide no relief.

After weeks of searching for the bunker—weeks of poor conditions, bland MREs, and shitting in the woods—morale plummets into a boiling tension that blankets each soldier. For the first time since you met him, Chris suffers from it, too.

“Hey, Lieutenant. You finally realize they forgot about us?” asks Tornado, chewing angrily on a piece of deer jerky. 

You glance over at him from where you sit, hunched atop an overturned log, mixing up your bag of watered-down pasta. “We’ve been over this already. Our comms are fucked from all the rain.”

“Then why haven’t they sent a bird? I mean, shit, we’ve been MIA for a good three weeks now. If anything, they’d wanna court-martial us for desertion.”

“Because that’s stupid.” The camp falls into silence. Heads turn to where Chris leans against a nearby tree, watching over the group. Ever vigilant. “I like to think they sent capable people who know what they’re doing. Don’t you?” 

He commands each space he occupies, demands attention just by appearance alone. Intimidation needing no words—an amusing sight to see, given your own immunity.

Tornado nods his head, peers down at his last bite of jerky. “Yessir. Sorry, sir.”

When nothing else is said, the camp returns to small conversation. You fetch a spoon from your pack then skirt around soldiers to join Chris at his assigned tree. “Well, I can finally check ‘seeing Captain Redfield make a man almost piss himself’ off my bucket list.”

He looks at you from the corner of his eye, exhales a humorless laugh. “Your team uses you like an emotional punching bag.”

“Not everyone can be like you.” With a sweet smile, you present to him your bag of pasta, still warm in hand. “Speaking of, you need to eat.”

He shakes his head. A reaction you expected. “I’m fine.”

Another trait he’s picked up somewhere along the way: martyrdom. Sacrifice for no other reason than self-flagellation. He always comes last, and he refuses to budge, and you loathe when he falls face first into this mindset. It takes pulling some teeth to bring him out of it.

You lower your voice to a whisper, ensuring that your sentiment reaches his ears only. “Okay. Then I won’t, either.”

You can be impossibly stubborn, too. An equal match, a level playing field. Give as good as you get. Training taught you the importance of adaptation.

With a defeated glare, he takes the food and the spoon from your hand. “Happy?”

“You are in a horrible fucking mood.”

“Like everybody else here.”

“I’m not.”

He stirs around the pasta before taking a bite. Twists up his face in disapproval. “So you just hate me.”

“Hey, food’s food. Can’t be too picky out here.”

“Then why aren’t you eating it?” You simply stare at him, and his lips twitch at the corners, threatening a smile. “That’s what I thought.”

He scarfs the pasta down anyway. 

After finishing meals then packing up then setting out again, you spot the bunker a few hours later, far off amongst the thicket of trees, and the group fights back a resounding cheer. Everyone is dead on their feet, aching from the month-long hike, but Chris sends out a group as soon as you’re settled into your new camp. A group that you’re conveniently absent from.

Being on the same mission as your lover is a special kind of hell. 

You storm into his tent, anger simmering to a boil as you watch him stock his supply belt. That should be you.

“What the fuck, Chris?”

“You’re staying here. End of.” He doesn’t even look at you. Knows the decision is wrong and fucked up and you’re so angry you can’t even think straight.

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

You scoff. “How mature of you. I bet if you could, you’d pull the superiority card, too.”

He holsters his pistol, and only then does he look at you with eyes that mirror your own frustration. “HQ gave me final say. You’re not going.”

What the fuck was the point in even coming, then? Spending the last month in a mirage of forest hell? Becoming a meat suit for your team to take out their frustrations?

“This is bullshit. You know I’m capable, and you know—“ you cut yourself off to step up close, to lower your voice, “you know I’ve talked about this for months. Finding that fucking hard drive.”

“And you’ll get it. I promise you. But the team needs you here.”

“Just admit it, Chris. You don’t think I’m capable.”

If you were anybody else, he would’ve screamed you out of the tent. Humiliated you so badly you’d request a permanent transfer.

But it is you, and he puts up with your shit over the basic fact that he cares, no matter how shit he is at showing affection.

“You know that’s not it.”

“So you’re coddling me.” He blows a frustrated breath through his nose, but says nothing. “I deserve to be with you. I’ve trained my team well. They’ll be fine.”

He slides on a thick pair of gloves, feeds the strap through the loop then presses together the velcro. Adjusts them for a long few moments. “Swear to me that you won’t do anything stupid.”

Your heart jumps against the well of your chest, and he shoots you an expectant look, high-browed, mouth flattened to a serious line.

“I swear to you I will not do anything stupid… outside of reason.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but decides against it. Heaves out a sigh and waves you toward the tent flaps. “Get your gear on before I change my mind.”

Twenty minutes later, the bunker is pitch-black inside, wrought by the musk of mildew, blanketed by thick layers of dust, a desperate energy to the strewn papers and opened drawers and tossed tables. 

Muscle memory controls the sweep of the area. Tornado stays right on your heels, watches your six as you venture through each room, down dampened corridors, through muck and garbage and thick puddles of blood. Still fresh.

Chris chatters through the comms with the other members of your team, spouting orders like a birthright. Team A and B clear their sections without fuss, and declare their return to the meeting room.

You aren’t as lucky.

A body once human, slumped against a wall inside the lab, now little more than a mass of flesh—chewed up bone, strung out viscera. It misses a bottom jaw. An eye. Half its teeth imbedded vertically in a gnarled row as if grown that way.

Once human. 

You flip up your night vision goggles and switch to the warm glow of flashlight, and find the sight more intolerable in color. Still a mutilated corpse. 

“Alpha, we might have company down here,” radios Tornado. “Gonna need backup.”

“On the way. Stay put,” Chris says, before three sets of far-off footsteps echo against the metal grating on the floor above.

Tornado lowers into a crouch beside the body, shifts its head with a sickening crunch. “What do you think this is?”

“Personal opinion? Experimentation. By the looks of it, another Tyrant prototype.”

“How do you know?”

“They all have that patchwork look in the beginning. Like the flesh here,” you motion to an elbow. “Looks like it was put on backwards, doesn’t it?”

“Fucking Christ. You think this scientist we’re after is responsible?”

“No doubt.” You rise to your feet and turn away, gaze drifting between each set of open doors on either side of the room. Perfect for an ambush. Not good. The hair at your nape rises. Dread brews in your gut. “He doesn’t have the funding anymore to actually succeed, and I don’t know if that’s better or worse.”

“I would assume it’s better.”

“This is your, what, third mission now?”

“Fourth, actually. Why?”

You grunt out a laugh. “Because it shows.”

He scoffs, and the tense line of his shoulders bleeds offense. If you weren’t being honest, you’d almost feel bad. “What about you, then?”

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t know?”

“I wouldn’t be asking otherwise.”

You cradle the stock of your rifle beneath your arm, stretch a finger against the trigger’s frame. Your feet ache, and the rest of the team continue to take their sweet time. “Joined the military as soon as I turned eighteen. Got scouted by the BSAA a few years after it was formed, and I’ve been here ever since.”

“Scouted? Damn.”

By scouted, you mean: Chris Redfield has a way of making grand speeches that sound less like willing suicide and more like saving the world. A world that you would follow him endlessly through.

Everything is normal, calm, okay, and then it isn’t. A never-ending pattern, an always. 

Tornado looks away from the creature. The creature rises from the dead (typical). Blood sprays from the new hole in your partner’s face, right between the eyes.

You act, fall back on decades of training, revert to muscle memory. The thing is fast—faster than you can shoot, and its backward elbows house long arms that punch through the wooden table you crouch behind. 

It expels a creaking groan, pauses long enough for you to duck through the doorway but catches you halfway down the hall. Knocks your feet from beneath you, runs in a straight line—a straight line. Take the shot. 

Several in this case. Half a magazine gone, and the thing still crawls your way, exposed organs and severed limb and bullet wounds and all.

“Christ, Rabbit, you alright?”

Fucking Rabbit. A callsign you haven’t heard for the better part of a decade, when your age hadn’t caught up to you yet and your feet still carried you like the name suggested. 

You stroll over to the still-moving creature, empty the rest of your bullets into its head, until there exists nothing but mushy brain matter and seeping blood. For Tornado. Tommy. “Haven’t heard that name in a while, Redfield.”

He gave away your familiarity, a relationship decades in the making, close enough to recall the nickname that never stuck—for good reason. 

You shoot him a glare that warns: be a little more discreet, for the love of God. You switch out magazines and take a moment to settle your breathing. The adrenaline is safe, comforting. Reminds you of mortality, of your own strength. You’re used to this feeling, crave it, miss it when it leaves. “In any case, it was nice of you to finally show up.”

“This place is a goddamn maze,” huffs Umber Eyes as the rest of the team spread out to search the floor.

You move to crouch down, to search the body, but Chris approaches. You’re alone in this room, covered in the blood of your friend, and it hurts. 

It hurts a little less when he rests a hand on your shoulder, gives you one of his smiles—a ghost of a thing, an attempt at encouragement, and you soak it up like mid-day sunshine. “I have to say, I’m impressed.”

“Goddamn. Chris Redfield, impressed?”

You both speak hushed, tender and intimate. A private moment stolen away, tucked precious between the wrinkles of your heart.

“Don’t be an asshole. I’m serious.”

“And I told you I’d be fine.”

He attempts to rid your face of blood smear, but does little more than spread it thick over a cheek. “It was more of a me issue this time.”

“I’m aware.”

“You are being very smug about this.”

“Shouldn’t I be? I love when I’m proven right.”

He stares heavy at you from beneath the tired dip of his eyelids. Wraps a hand around the nape of your neck and pulls you into an affectionate kiss. Leans away to whisper, “Are you aware of how much you piss me off?”

“Somebody has to keep your ego in check.”

“I worry more about yours. I’ve spoiled you.”

Translation: he lost-puppy protects you to quell his fears of losing yet another person to the thankless fight against Umbrella. You know it. He knows it. An unspoken dynamic—you let him do his thing until he gets in the way of your thing, and then you argue over the issue until he caves. He always caves. 

Okay, maybe he has spoiled you. 

“You’re right about that one.”

A call of Chris’s name on the comms snaps you back to the present. To the situation you find yourself in. The death of Tommy affects you a lot less than you know it should—he had a whole life ahead of him, a family who cared, and you brush off the weight of his corpse like it never bothered you in the first place. 

You learned early on the value of compartmentalization. That sometimes a stab wound is better left ignored for a while. The longer you think about it—holy fuck I’ve been stabbed, I’ve been stabbed, I’m going to die, am I bleeding out? this is so much blood way too much blood I’m fucking dying—the more excruciating the pain and the worse the dread becomes.

Tommy is dead and your time-stopping grief will never bring him back. You’re still alive, still blessed with the ability to move on, and that’s all you can bear to think about. 

And then comes the aftermath. The mission is a success. Tommy got his justice, and you got your hard drive. The hotel has fantastic food and the sheets are soft and Chris lay warm against you. 

He tries, more like. You can’t bear to part with your laptop and its overflow of company secrets. Secret projects, secret promotions, secret affairs. He watches with a cheek heavy on your shoulder, nods off every few minutes, and you try to tell him to sleep but he refuses. Would rather suffer through the exhaustion to encourage your own rest—a surefire way of getting you to actually give a fuck about your health, and you deserve it after the whole watery-pasta incident. 

“So,” you begin, once your laptop begins charging on the opposite-wall desk and you rejoin him beneath the covers. “You really were impressed?”

He exhales a laugh, close-eyed and content. “I don’t see you fight often.”

“That’s because I don’t.”

“What a shame.”

“A shame?”

“You’re good at it. That’s what I mean.”

The most you’ll get from him. Chris wouldn’t know flattery if it killed him, and even if he did, he would refuse to entertain it.

But you know him. He gives you the most praise out of anybody.

“Would it kill you to be more romantic?”

He blinks over at you, eyes squinting. “It actually might.”

“Well,” you tug him close, chests pressed together, his chin atop your shoulder, “it’s a good thing I have enough for both of us.”

It doesn’t bother you really. You knew who he was when you started this relationship. Makes his shows of praise and pride and lock-jaw love all the sweeter.

And he knows you’re fucking with him. Glares at you all grumpy, lips pursing to hide his smile.

“I’m just kidding,” you say. “You really do spoil me.”

[mischiefmaker615]

Ghost (Loki Love Story) Ch.3

Summary: Somehow Loki is back from the dead and.. quite literally, stuck with you! and his methods on trying to 'fix this' seems a bit to exotic for your taste.. but dead or alive, a god of mischief is still a god of mischief.

Rating: R

Theme Song: Ghost by Confetti

‘’blood is a bond, what breaks the bond is completing the contract. When you placed your blood onto my attire- accident or not, you must have been thinking about something.. something that you wished assistance with or something completed.. I help you, and we might be able to separate.’’

Loki’s words ran through my head as I paced back and forth in my apartment, Loki relaxing on the couch not to far away after finishing a sandwich I had made not to long ago and I prayed he was thinking just as hard as I was.

Luckily the thing called Doordash would buy us some time for groceries and with my wing and shoulder being hurt, work has dismissed me so there was no real reason to leave the apartment. Aka keeps Loki out of site and gives us both more thinking time.

‘’you are about to dig an impressive trench If you pace a few more times darling’’ Loki said with sarcasm, his hands cradling his head from behind as he relaxed in a comfy position. Didn’t even bother looking in my direction.

‘’I hope your coming up with some ideas with your rare moment of silence over there’’ I snap, giving him a look that he didn’t even see anyways as I pause to go over to take a bite of my own sandwich. The events of the day didn’t exactly build my appetite, let alone his criticisms from his own food. Ungrateful asshole..

‘’I have come up with a few possibilities, yes’’ he said a little to calmly that made me practically grip the back of the couch as I went over, looking down at him with a forced calm reaction.

‘’I hope you just came up with them now since it’s been more than an hour’’ I said with a sarcastic sweet voice as he smirked up at me from his unmoving position.

‘’would you like them or not?’’

‘’yes.’’ I say through my teeth and backed off immediately so we practically didn’t bonk heads as he sat himself up.

‘’you need something complete, as it seems through the blood magic.’’ He starts, keeping his shoes on the couch as an arm rested on the back of the couch so he could look at me.

‘’if it’s even involving blood magic-‘’

‘’lets say it is; do you remember thinking about something in particular when you’re blood fell upon my attire?’’ he asked, genuinely curious that caught my own attitude off guard.

I stare at him for a moment, doing my best to remember amongst the battle, the pain of getting shot, the glass shards in the wing, the- my expression went blank at the last image and it seems to get his attention as he raised a brow.

‘’what is it?’’

‘’..nothing.. I wouldn’t know how it would tie in anyway-‘’ I shake my head as if it’s a silly thought and move away to return to my food. This didn’t seem to be brushed off easily and Loki was already on his feet and around the couch.

‘’you don’t know that, perhaps I could find a way on how it does-‘’

‘’I would have already done so already’’ I shake my head and take another bite as he narrows his eyes at my back.

‘’are you referring to yourself as more intelligent?’’

‘’I’m not the one who tried to take over an attire planet the way you did.’’ I say with a small shrug.

‘’that is not the point-‘’ Loki hissed, wanting to drop the subject as he crossed his arms. ‘’what is it?’’

I hesitate, of course my stubborn ass not wanting to tell him anything as my cheeks reddened a little. To be honest, I’m not sure why and I’m glad my back was to him as I set down my plate. ‘’..the last thing I saw was your outfit, of course my blood catching my eye afterward.’’

Loki nodded slowly as his eyes wandered, almost analyzing me without even my knowledge before I slowly turned to face him. ‘’alright.. its only natural to be thinking about the particular subject your eyes lay upon to spark brain function’’ his comment almost sounded like he was calling me stupid as he began walking around to look more at my household, as if doing it for the first time.

‘’then perhaps it’s a matter of helping me’’

I scoffed as I watched him, my arms crossed as I leaned on the wall. ‘’I am not helping you take over a planet’’

Loki waved me off as his mind wandered in thought. ‘’not that love, but perhaps sending me back. Destiny says I died.. as much as I am not so much thrilled to be killed, its perhaps what needs to be fixed on my end..’’

‘’as much as I wouldn’t mind killing you, what do you mean by your end?’’ sarcasm and curiosity in my voice as I watch him.

‘’blood bonds are for both parties. I need to be sent back, but what about you?’’ he thinks out loud, rhetorical than a question as he looked around more. ‘’..how long have you been living here? by yourself..’’

‘’um.. maybe a couple years maybe? I was at the tower for awhile when we were helping to defeat Thanos and then joined my people here..’’ I answer, unsure what he was getting at.

‘’you’ve never had a partner?’’

My cheeks heated up as I looked at him like he were crazy. ‘’a bit personal don’t you think?’’

‘’answer me.’’ He says almost to calmly as his eyes move up to mind, seriousness in his face that almost gave me no choice but to answer.

‘’y-yes..’’

‘’then darling, it’s only logically making sense. I need to be sent back, and upon your last memory that brought me back here with your blood.. and how you don’t necessarily need any fixing in other matters, the only logical explanation is..’’ he paused, almost not being able to say it himself as I gaze at him like a child with anticipation.

‘’you love me.’’

There was a moment of silence between us as we stare at each other, my expression asking if he were crazy and his showing how he was dead serious.

My lips parted to try to find the appropriate answer as my arms loosely came down to my sides. ‘’are you-‘’

‘’think about it Y/N, why else am I here? you don’t need fixing in your life, true but perhaps its because you lack companionship. A partner. You saw me- well, my attire before you blacked out and your blood brought me through your last thought being of me.’’ He explained, fully facing me now as he slowly took a step closer as he spoke.

‘’that’s pretty conceited of you-‘’

‘’I am the god of lies darling, look upon me now.’’ He says, his voice deadly serious as he took his place before me, my back up against the wall as our heights showed themselves off and their differences. ‘’do you love me?’’

My cheeks heated up, knowing he could tell lies but.. I didn’t love him- but.. what the fuck- I push his shoulders and walk past him to around the couch, my hand running through my hair as I push the thought away. ‘’you’re crazy.. we barely know each other even on Asgard.’’

‘’perhaps, but you very much caught my attention.’’ I could almost see the smirk on his lips as he turned to look at me- my back once again. ‘’so I’m sure you saw me as much as I saw you.’’

‘’of course I saw you, you are a royal and I worked in the palace.’’ I shake my head, keeping my back to him as his voice drew nearer.

‘’you know what I mean Y/N. but I know denial when I see it’’ he said in a calm voice manner. ‘’but the only explanation is right here in front of us. You need to accept your true feelings, even if I have to try to woo you. and in the end just to make sure things are definitely clear between you and I, and this bond,’’

I spin around to call him crazy, to tell him to shut up, that he’s wrong, but he’s already nose to nose with me in a second that closes my mouth instantly.

‘’we need to have sex.’’

[fkmarrycill]

One Shot: At Ease

(Not my GIF)

Tommy Shelby x OC

1190 words, 🔞 for implied shagging and naked canoodling 😉

I've finally gotten my act together and finished something! ☺️🙌🏽 It's a one shot, which is the kind of story I write the most. In it, a single version of slightly older Tommy meets with a lover from his past at the local hotel–their regular rendezvous spot. It's tender and a little angsty.

Thanks for reading! ❤️

The phone rang while Ada was talking, and the scowl on Tommy's face softened. There were only a few people who had access to Tommy's direct line, and only one who wasn't family. He assumed it was her, since they hadn't talked in a while.

“Apologies, sister… An urgent call awaits my attention.”

“It's her, isn't it?” Ada smiled the canary-eating grin she always smiled when Tommy was thrust into a situation that tugged at his heartstrings. She welcomed any crack in the stoic demeanor he'd brought back from France after the war.

Tommy sighed, removed his glasses, folded them closed, and placed them on his desk. “I don't know who you think it is, but–”

“–It’s alright, brother,” Ada interrupted with a smirk. “I'll leave you to your secrets and consider myself in charge for the next few days.” She rose to leave the room and smiled a knowing smile, pausing long enough at the heavy wooden door to hear Tommy's quiet but terse “thank you” before closing it behind her as she exited.

He picked up the phone. The conversation was brief. They'd meet at the hotel in an hour. He poured himself a whiskey and lit a cigarette, a short break to shift his mindset before heading out.

***

Tommy lay on his back, on top of the fine white cotton sheets of the king-sized bed, his naked body flush from his emotions as much as from their hungry lovemaking. “Bloody hell, Veronique…” She still made him feel as woozy as opium when they got together.

“It's good to see you again, too.” She winked and kissed him tenderly before hopping out of bed. Rather than the kimono he found her in when he arrived, Veronique donned Tommy's white button-down shirt and sauntered over to the desk. He admired how his shirt accentuated the sun-kissed light brown of her skin. She rifled through her satchel, found a folder, and gave it to him.

He sat up. “And this time, you were in…? Ah, New York,” he said, after seeing the first document, a photograph of the Statue of Liberty. He put on his glasses to examine the scene that was captured in black and white. “Is that Yankee bird as green as they say she is?”

“She's French, like me, but yes. And much, much taller than you,” Veronique teased as she always did, being slightly taller than Tommy.

“But height had fuck-all importance when I was on top of you a few minutes ago, eh? Take my shirt off,” Tommy commanded when Veronique rejoined him in bed.

She complied.

“Mmm… Mine…” He groaned softly and rewarded her with a wet kiss to her neck and his fingers lightly tracing the nipples of her large breasts. Then his hands migrated to her full hips and held her gaze, not with the glare he fixed on most people he encountered, but one of unshakable fondness for his old lover. He brushed her shoulder-length hair aside, cradled her face, and drew a light mewl from her with a kiss much less urgent than the one he delivered when she opened the door.

Veronique was his favorite prostitute in France, one he visited as much as he could on leave and fantasized about when the tunneling and trench life got too bleak. They bonded over being different–Tommy being Romani, and Veronique being biracial–and often scorned by others. Since war time, she'd parlayed her connections into a photography career. It was an unusual choice for a woman, but photography was a cherished hobby she'd picked up from her older brother. Besides, she was used to being unconventional and loved the need for constant travel that came with the job.

She visited Birmingham whenever she could and always brought Tommy photos from her travels. Tommy, for his part, paid for the well-appointed room monthly, giving them an easy way to meet whenever she was in town, plus a second bedroom with heavy curtains and red lighting that served as Veronique's dark room, always stocked with her supplies. She knew he used the main bedroom with other women while she was away, but that was the last of her worries. She'd retired from her old profession, but she still attracted men with ease and chose the best the world had to offer to share her bed, wherever she made it. They cherished the strong connection they'd developed over times of war and peace but could never confine it to conventional rules after everything they’d experienced.

Tommy continued to shuffle through the rest of the photos, settling on one at a nightclub. The patrons were integrated, and the band was Black. He lingered on the photo.

“That one's in Harlem. I had a fantastic time there, always do. I'd love to show you around there one day...”

“Hmm…” was all Tommy uttered as he continued to study the picture.

She massaged his bare shoulders, finding an array of knots to tackle. “You don't get out as much as you used to, do you? The war, your family business, and now the MP role? It has all changed you so much.”

Tommy returned the photos to the folder and placed it and his glasses on the nightstand. He leaned back into Veronique’s capable hands. “You're not wrong… it changed all of us. You, so much for the better. Me, I question it every fucking day...” He closed his eyes and let her hands smooth his pain away.

“You made this possible for me,” she declared, softly kissing his neck as she continued to massage him. “And you damn near single-handedly created a much better life for you and your family. You've gotten everything you wanted, no? Why are you still fighting?”

Tommy had wisely suggested to his superiors that Veronique be recruited as a spy. She was multilingual, and it gave her wealth, power, and favor with her government, having the ability to collect valuable bits of information from the high-ranking German officers who opted for the “French experience" rather than frequent the tents behind their front that were filled with imported German women.

“Let me take care of you, Thomas,” she continued. Her hands migrated from his strong shoulders to his head for a gentle massage.

Tommy’s eyes were still closed, but his mouth hung slightly open, allowing his contented sighs and murmurs to escape and quietly fill the air between them. The feel of her fingers waltzing through his hair and across his scalp was mildly electric and soothing. “I've not been to New York yet, but it does seem like my sort of town.”

“I know you'll love it. And I will get you there one day.”

“One day… Yes...” Tommy shifted to lay on his back, and she snuggled close to him, resting her head on his chest. As she usually did during their trysts, she lazily traced his tattoos with her fingers and told him story after story of her adventures in the city. He asked her questions and listened intently until his eyes grew heavy and he drifted off. During their stolen moments was the best he slept these days.

[galacticnova3]

Gotta say! Never expected you to be someone who enjoyed something like LOOK OUTSIDE, but in hindsight, considering your flagship oc is basically boat body horror turned boat body horror but with teeth and eyes and flesh, it isn’t that surprising.

1. Neither did I, but what can I say, I like me some good body horror every once in a while. I watched a video covering the demo a few months ago and was intrigued, but only found out that the finished version had come out out yesterday when I didn’t have 7 or so hours to throw at the no commentary videos I was watching. The writing is stellar, the music and sound design are fantastic, and of course the creature design is top-notch. More spoiler-y thoughts under the cut. Huge recommend to anyone who likes body horror and eldritch horror!

2. PLEASE NOT HIM I CANT LET HIM BE MY FLAGSHIP OC

The teeth family storyline is heartbreaking and really shows the heart of the game with how you’re able to play with the one kid before he completely loses himself, the whole Fredrick storyline is a great mix of sad and hilarious(the way god Fred just drops the act and lights a cigarette when called out on it being a scam was GOLD), not to mention all the character interactions being pretty realistic. I love how even some of the most horrifically warped people are still sane and trying to just live their lives. I love the rat baby thing but honestly my favorite party member is probably the roaches just because of how nonsensical yet charming they are. The way it starts as just one roach writing little messages on a scrap of paper because you didn’t kill it, and then it draws a little picture, and then eventually you get to recruit a bunch of roaches in a trench coat? THE COMPLAINT ABOUT HAVING TO FILE TAXES INDIVIDUALLY? Incredible. Outstanding. 10/10. Not even the apocalypse will save us from taxes I guess.

I appreciate how varied the designs are and how they gradually get more and more fucked up over the course of the story without just universally devolving into incomprehensible gunk— body horror tends to lose my interest when it just gets to the point of just being like, miscellaneous flesh slop with eyes or whatever. At that point it’s less body horror so much as just gross-out horror; if you can’t tell it was ever a body in the first place, and there’s no buildup to it being unrecognizable from a previous state, it isn’t really BODY horror anymore. LOOK OUTSIDE perfectly manages escalating the horror without relying purely on making it more grotesque via the “more eyes more flesh more teeth” route. You get that to some degree, but you also get a monster made almost entirely out of needles, or ones that are made up of one or more people now fused to and spilling out of various twisting pipes, the ones that are just people made of different combinations of hands or fingers, the worms, the security guard fused to a bunch of TV screens and a chair, the meat cars, etc. So much creativity.

Also this is a relatively minor thing but I think a lot of the names are also really good, too; the Cop Car, Typewrither, and Not A Cowboy Hat come to mind, though I’m probably forgetting a lot that appeared earlier. OH YEAH. PHILIPPE. Giving a regular human name to any kind of monster immediately makes it funnier. I want to hit them with a car

[enkisstories]

The rebel base on Ajan Kloss. Two weeks after Exegol.

With the big fight against the 709th legion at hand, it's time to lock the prisoner up.

The skeleton crew that'll stay behind on Ajan Kloss consists of primarily underage and noncambatent volunteers that were instructed not to interact with this particular captive under any circumstances up to and including signs that indicate a life threatening condition.

Drawn out as space battles may feel, they're decided in less than an hour, less than fifteen minutes, usually, so even Hux himself feels a little overprepared taking two bottles of water, a heat-up ready meal, a fruity granola bar, an emergency aspirin and a bedpan with him into the cell. But he cannot help it, it's simply in his nature to always have a contingency ready.

At first Hux seems compliant enough, but the moment the door has shut behind him and his escort, he grabs Ben.

Hux: "Halt, Solo!"

Ben stops cold, but not from the command. In all the years they've grudgingly worked together, Hux has never made a secret of the fact that he considered having to talk to Kylo Ren the worst predicament. Touching the other - what would have been a very unwise move anyway, but that aside now - had been unthinkable.

Hux: "I know you are not play-acting and that your apology on Batuu was as sincere as you can be. I still don't want it. I want you to protect Rose, Finn, BB-8 and Rey. And, uh, Poe Dameron."

Ben: "Say again?"

Hux: "You heard me! You bring them back to me! Alive and in a condition with many more years ahead of them!"

Hux: "I don't care about the cost. If it means your stupid Resistance winning this encounter, then so be it. If it means you having to let the First Order win, then you swallow your pride and do that.

Fail to protect my friends and I'll find a way to haunt you for all of eternity."

Ben: "Or you could, you know, do it yourself. Get off your high horse and into the trenches with the rest of us, General!"

Hux: "Us, you say? As if YOU'd face the same level of risk as the rest of the Resistance! My killing from afar isn't any different from your mowing through vastly inferior victims with a lightsaber and superpowers, "Lord" Ren."

Ben: "That I'd see the day when you're right... But then again, not so long ago I didn't think I'd see another day period. Not many get the chance to mend the wrongs they've done. Forget my phrasing, just know that the offer to join the Resistance was on the table from the moment you set foot into this forest."

Ben: "How about it? If acting as a tactician still feels like a too direct way to aid us to you, then there's always something to do for a skilled technician during a battle."

Ben: The Resistance could use your expertise. You need your friends. And who knows, a healing such as ours might have a profound effect in the Force, too, sending notions of confidence and hope into everyone's hearts.

Hux: "Don't forget the keys."

Ben: "Hey! You can't just...? Hux?"

Ben: "You don't do this! You either run away and hide or you turn into a cornered rat, but you never... I never saw you... ... ...surrender."

Hux: "You have your instructions, Solo."

Ben: "You're such an idiot! The worst I've ever stared into the face and that includes looking into the mirror every morning!!!"

BB-8: "Beeeeep..."

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine one-shot "Wanted" (Rated G)

Summary:

Kurt is immensely excited about his latest accomplishment, that he is dedicating to his husband and his best friend. But when the two men see it, it turns out it's not exactly what Kurt thinks it is...

Notes:

Part of the Lord of the Manor 'verse. Written for the December Klaine fanworks challenge 2024 prompts misplace and trench. I love the Kurt/Blaine/Sebastian friendship in this story, so I couldn't help writing something else for the three of them. XD (1,656 words)

Read on AO3.

"Where...on earth...are you taking us...my Love?" an exhausted Blaine entreated his young husband. He scanned the land stretching on and on before him. It was rare that Blaine ventured out at this hour, and it had been a while since he had walked his property in its entirety. Now, it seemed, Kurt was determined to accomplish both this morn.

And the need was urgent.

When they first started out on this journey, the sun was barely a glow on the horizon. A stiff wind rustled the tree tops, so Blaine tossed on his thick overcoat. But within minutes, the sun had fully established itself in the sky, and Blaine's coat felt fit to smother him.

Kurt, on the other hand, was a ball of energy, his excitement contagious. When he approached the Earl with plans for a morning walk to visit his latest endeavor, Blaine could not wait. After half an hour of arduous walking, Blaine's steps slowed, and his breathing labored more and more with each passing second.

"You will see, my Lord!" Kurt reached behind him and took his husband's arm to help him forward. "Tis not much further."

"Give or take a mile," Blaine grumbled. "Forgive me if I am having difficulty believing you, Husband, since you said the same about a hundred paces ago."

Kurt gasped and brought their party to a stop. "Are you accusing me of bad faith, my Lord?"

"Certainly not. But I am beginning to think you may have misplaced this destination of yours."

Kurt placed a peck on Blaine's flushed cheek and soldiered on, to the dismay of his husband. "I promise, my Lord, we are nearly upon it!"

"Could you at least clue us in to what it is, milord?" Sebastian asked, following closely behind, ready to lend a hand should the Earl need one. Kurt had personally invited Sebastian on this excursion, had raced down to the stables at the break of dawn bearing a bribe of coffee and scones. Even though Sebastian knew the Earl cherished time alone with his Count, Kurt claimed he would be particularly favored if Sebastian joined them. So, of course, Sebastian could not deny him. But Sebastian knew firsthand what it felt like to be run around the property by the Count until his lungs were ready to burst.

As amusing as this adventure was, he sympathized with Kurt's poor husband.

"Not a whit!" Kurt scolded. "You shall see it for yourself soon enough! I wish it to be a surprise!"

"Can we at least slow down, my Love?" Blaine pleaded. "It will not be a pleasant surprise for me if I drop dead before I get there."

"My dear Husband! Always with the dramatics!" But Kurt did stop, mainly because they had already arrived. He pointed, arm shaking as he bounced on the balls of his feet. "There it is! In the clearing between the wisteria. Do you not see it?"

"I see it, milord," Sebastian replied, grinning since he managed to speak before the Earl could sufficiently catch his breath. He did not actually see it, however. He suspected but was not entirely sure. But that was good enough for him.

Poking fun at his Lord and friend was his favorite pastime.

"Look at it, Husband! Is it not glorious!?"

"It is...uh..." Blaine squinted into the sunlight, distressed at his lack of intuition. "What exactly are we looking at, my Love?"

"I believe we are looking at this glorious plant here, milord." Sebastian gestured to a tall, woody stalk festooned with red buds and dark green, pointed leaves. It seemed a new addition to the property, so Sebastian assumed it had to be the answer.

He was right. And Blaine burned with jealousy.

Kurt clapped his hands together with glee. "Correct! What do you think?"

Kurt helped his husband closer. Blaine's eyes popped as they inched near. He stood as straight as he could, but the stalk dwarfed him by a few feet at least. It stood like a sentinel and darkened the view. "It definitely is...something, my love."

"And you grew this, milord?" Sebastian asked. "All on your own?"

"I did indeed." Kurt puffed his chest with pride. "I gathered the seeds on our last journey to my sister's. It was growing amidst her prized roses. I knew the moment I saw it that it must be a prize as well."

"Why did you not ask Mr. Smythe for his assistance? I assume he has some knowledge in this area," Blaine jabbed.

"Only a scant amount, milord," Sebastian jabbed back.

"Because I wanted to surprise you! I wanted to show the both of you that I could do this on my own, as thanks to my husband, who supports me in all of my pursuits, and to you, Mr. Smythe, who has been so instrumental in keeping Anderson Manor in the shine of its former glory."

"Well, milord," Sebastian said, folding his hands in front of him and giving Kurt a small bow, "I commend you on this horticultural marvel you have cultivated."

"Thank you, kind sir." Kurt giggled, and the jealous knot in Blaine's chest tightened.

"I concur," Blaine said, not content with being outdone in the eyes of his husband. "It is definitely a masterpiece. Well done."

"Thank you, my Love." Kurt leaned toward his husband and gave him a more fortifying kiss this time whilst Sebastian politely assessed their latest acquisition. "Alright! You two rest here. I am going to fetch some water for my thirsty plant. If you would excuse me."

Both men watched Kurt ramble down the hillside, leather satchel thrown over one shoulder, to a nearby trench so full of water it was in danger of becoming a creek. Blaine waited until Kurt was out of earshot before he returned to the plant and gave it a more critical once over.

"That is..." Blaine cleared his throat, searching for the right words. "Truly something. Is it not, Mr. Smythe?"

"Indeed, milord," Sebastian replied, lips pinched tight to avoid his grin spreading. Oh, he was so glad he came! His Lord's discomfort at this moment was more than worth the trip.

Blaine took a deep breath in and let it out long. "Tis a weed, is it not?"

To his Lord's question, Sebastian let a bit of laughter slip. Luckily, Blaine either did not hear, or he let it slide, all things considered. "That it is, milord."

"I thought so." Blaine sounded defeated. "I recall your father yanking these from the property left and right when I was a child, after a particularly dry winter." He sighed. "We have spent all morning hiking the grounds to admire a weed."

"Are you disappointed, milord?" Sebastian's humor quelled at the thought his Master might begrudge his husband this joy.

Blaine looked offended by the question. "Of course not! I just do not want to see my husband disappointed if he knew what all of his effort was for."

"A weed is a plant, like every other, milord. And this one is quite lovely."

"That it is, I must admit."

"One must remember that a plant is only a weed if it is unwanted. And it seems that Count Anderson wants this one ever so much."

"Hmm. That seems to be what my husband does best, is it not?" Blaine mumbled, almost to himself.

"And that is, milord?"

"Fall in love with weeds."

"If you say so, milord," Sebastian answered simply, vaguely, not wanting to step foot into a trap. But it was not one. It was simply an observation. But a wrongful observation. Blaine may consider himself a weed, but Beth certainly was not. She was more like a peony, the Queen of all flowers. And if he asked Kurt, his husband would number Blaine among the roses, the wisteria, or the birds of paradise.

Even if it would take Blaine more time to see himself as so.

Blaine shook his head. Now was not the time for this self-deprecative thinking. It was time to marvel at his husband's great accomplishment. "Is this weed dangerous?"

"Not to my knowledge, milord. But we will keep an eye on it, make certain the other plants remain healthy in its presence."

"We?" Blaine laughed. "I think you overestimate my ability to make the trek out here every day. Maybe if I could borrow the reach of your legs, I would be able."

At this, Sebastian bit his lips together so hard they almost split straight down the middle. "Begging your pardon, Lord Anderson, but I meant the Count and myself."

Blaine's head snapped in Sebastian's direction, and Sebastian nearly lost his composure.

"It would be no trouble, milord."

"Indeed," Blaine returned suspiciously. Deep down, he knew that Sebastian was only kidding him. But Sebastian did like to niggle Blaine on the subject of his husband. Which is why Blaine made it a point to keep up appearances. Far be it for him to ruin Sebastian's fun. "So it doesn't grow poisonous thorns? Weep any irritating fluids? Kill wildlife?"

"Not in the slightest, milord."

"Excellent!" Blaine clapped his hands together to emphasize his approval but also to keep his hands from going numb. "Well, I would like to construct a fence around it. Make it a feature, if you will. Plus, I would appreciate it if you would plant some vegetables along the way, from the manor to here. Lettuce, carrots, cabbage, that sort of thing."

"Certainly, milord. But may I inquire why? This is primarily a flower garden. Vegetables are planted closer to the manor."

"For my horse to eat. If I cannot walk out here with my husband, I intend to ride, Mr. Smythe." Blaine matched Sebastian's smirk with one of his own. "That way, I can save you the trouble of making this journey with my husband, and you can better focus on your work."

To that, Sebastian barked a laugh. "Touche, milord. Touche."

[sgiandubh]

Hey, Miss Marple

You posted this "lesson" (your words) roughly three hours ago:

...when you probably already knew I posted also this, by the time you were wasting precious energy that could surely be better used towards compiling new timelines:

How do I know you couldn't help but still go for it?

Precedents exist. And your army of terracotta sock accounts, too. You used it before: last winter, to be exact, the last time somebody (SHW) challenged you openly. Since she does not take asks and submissions, you or your minions had to send DMs. Too bad.

The same thing happened to me ever since I dared blocking you. At least 5 to 10 sock accounts are blocked on a daily basis. Particular Anons: very telegraphic, quite nasty and different from the usual Mediterranean circus. Most never make it in here.

You then proceeded with velvet poisoning. A slow enterprise, very satisfactory, I think. You first compared me to Emily and almost called me a lunatic, with a sort of cold violence that speaks volumes. Afterwards, you managed to mention me, always in a faintly derogatory way (fair's fair, I suppose), but always altering the truth.

You did it again today:

Just a reminder, geachte mevrouw. I wrote this a while ago and it pissed off many, many people on your side of the trenches:

Yes, that pretzel logic post:

Where I did not analyze anything, let alone a video I never watched. What I did, is expressing an opinion and (isn't it ironic?) pleading for decency. That yes, I very much did and I hope you realize that writing down what you think about something is not punishable by law in a democratic country.

You also manage to call me arrogant, hungry for clicks, stupid and intolerant. All in one post that, objectively speaking, gathers less notes and reblogs than a Scottish ballad being shared on this blog. But this is not a pissing contest, madam and I will stop here with this kind of arguments.

You do you. I do me.

I always own my actions and I always edit my posts or amend my judgements when proven wrong. Always. It is a matter of morality.

Do you?

Thank God I am not always right. Thank God I have a wonderful job and a formidable family. Thank God I have many friends and a very rich life and past, already. And thank God for all the kind people on this side, who are not 'my sheep' (I think you might know very well what I am talking about) and whom I very rapidly grew fond of. All of them and despite our clear differences in understanding the mechanics of SS SamCait.

And if I can do something good for this terrible place, so be it. Your very deep, very ugly, gratuitous hatred will not stop me.

Your obsession with S is not my problem anymore. Cynically speaking, it was fun to watch for a while. I now have the full map of your character and I am very sorry to say: the thing that always bothers me the most is a lie.

I do not guarantee I will not mention you anymore. That would be an empty promise. But I now know more about the person behind the page and will stick to very cursory reference. Not a pretty picture and I am very sorry to say that: I never do it lightly.

[iamheretoyell]

HEEEEEEEY

Whenever someone makes fan art for me, I wanna cry cause WHAT I LOVE Y'ALL WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU LIKE MY STUFF ENOUGH TO WANT TO DRAW IT I'M JUST A SILLY LITTLE RAT IN A TRENCH COAT ATP

(my third meeting for today got cancelled and my payroll is basically done so I'm likely going to be extra loud on here for the next 2-4 business hours (after I finish catching up on this fic))

I CAUGHT UP AND AM DOING HOMEWORK ON FUCKING PARALLAXES LIKE WHAT

I kinda wanna work on Revelations... Ignoring the voices fr rn

3:55 update, guys they fucked around and made my homework like, fun??? --- specifically the kind of fun that my neurodivergent lore-hungry ass dies for. WHY DID THEY DO THAT?? WHY AM I MAD THAT I HAVE TO DO SHIT THAT ISN'T MY HOMEWORK RIGHT NOW????

5:49, I just want you guys to know, since the game has been concepted, I will randomly just think about the ships in it, especially now that they're all tagged, and I just laugh about the fact that I literally own majority of the ship tags. And like, another two of them, I am like one of the only people who actively writes them. And that's genuinely so fucking funny to me like I always get a laugh out of that.

Don't ask me where I got them because they wrote themselves. (Except for Damien/Brimmy, and yes, there is a huge rant about it ready for the day someone opens up the Pandora's box of "how the fuck did you get a ship out of that??" I mean, it also wrote itself, but in a completely different way and there is a very clear cut progression from me having no idea who the fuck Brimmy was literally not even a year ago to them being one of my favorite doomed ships to write.)

But I bring this up because I'm killing time and laughing over this at the moment.

BUT AT SOME POINT I DO WANT TO POST A POLL BC I GEN WANNA KNOW WHAT Y'ALLS FAVORITE SHIP THAT I HAVE (QUESTIONABLY) CREATED IS. LIKE I'M SO FUCKING NOSY BC I HAVE ONES THAT LIKE--- I love as I live and breathe. And then there are ones that just like, fit for the story, are me playing around with dynamics bc I take nothing seriously and sometimes I just do that, or some other random fucking reason I've put a ship together (for example, the ship isn't even real, they're just being forced together for the sake of a manufactured story within a story, and this example is so not super specific and has nothing to do with anything I've ever written, am writing, or will write in the future).

I got off topic. Whatever. I'm taking my leave to go act like a village idiot because it's literally halloween.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE.<3

I MAY OR MAY NOT COME BACK TO DRUNKENLY POST--

Holy shit it's Friday tonight????

Let's fucking go I guess???

ANYWAYS MAY OR MAY NOT COME BACK TO DRUNKENLY POST AN ANSWER LATER.

Also p.s. if anyone's actually reading An Answer,

A. do you want to beta???? pretty please????

B. did you fall into my trap??? are you completely put off by the creek in it yet??? wait idk how far I even am post wise. WHATEVER MY POINT STANDS BC IT'S NOT EVEN JUST THE CREEK. ARE YOU PUT OFF BY THE STORY AND THE WAY IT'S BEING TOLD AND THE WAY THE CHARACTERS ACT?????

I really fucking hope so cause that's like the whole point LMAOOOO LIKE An Answer was so experimental on my part which in hindsight was maybe a bad idea because like-- we rarely get Mysterion being the villain and I was like

oh let me try something I've NEVER done before!!!

hope it carries!!!

but in the same breath, I don't really care because it will never be that serious and Kenny is also the villain in the Trin series. Maybe. Questionably. Kind of. At some point.

AND WITH THAT I'VE ACTUALLY SAID TOO MUCH BYE FOR NOW<3

[leavingsunsets]

"What a shiny car."

You find Kalim injured and tend to him, with a twist.

(Just a drabble fic for a mootie.)

Shenanigans were a norm in NRC.

There'd be Adeuce and grim causing a ruckus, the tweels running about, and the voice of Sebek being heard a mile away. Really, despite how wild it all is, nobody takes it that seriously.

I mean, at the end of the day, they have their housewardens to keep them in line, and reign them in when things go too far. What's to worry about, right?

...

A lot of things, actually.

Scarabia was in chaos.

You see, Jamil's not here. Already a very bad sign. He's been in the clinic since getting into an incident during basketball practice. And so, due to a coincidence and an inconvenient conversation, you were to assist Kalim in his place instead. He only allowed it because he was only going to be gone for an hour or so.

Problem is, Kalim is nowhere to be found.

So, right now, you were in the middle of dodging magic spells being thrown left and right. You tried to deescalate the situation, you really did, but it seems unless you were either a certain assertive dancer or a white haired merchant's son, they didn't care what you had to say.

You hiss a curse under your breath, crawling across the ground like a soldier in the trenches. Kalim was usually present whenever everyone gathered, and that fact that he wasn't made you even more worried.

But finally, after 5 minutes of crawling, you get to the mirror. You quickly pass through it, but not before a pen hits your back as you hurry out.

------

Heaving, you're bent over, hands on your knees as you try to catch you breath. It would've been relieving to know you're out, but the emergency isn't over. So, with a groan, you think over where Kalim could possibly be.

"Uhh, c'mon, think brain, think."

....

"Maybe the light music club?"

Well, there's not much time for hesitation now, so.

Soon enough, you find your way there, and burst through the door.

"KALIM, THE DORM'S-"

Kalim lies buried under a cabinet, only his hand is out. And you could tell it was him because he was holding a drumstick. The literal stick, not the chicken leg, but I'm sure there wouldn't have been a difference anyway. Or would it? A chicken drumstick on the ground would be a much more concerning matter. A devastating waste of food. Anyways, back to the injured boy.

Alarmed, you immediately rush to push the cabinet off him. It doesn't move it much, but it's enough for him to wriggle out.

"Kalim! Are you okay?" you blurt out worriedly, helping him get up on his feet.

"I'm fine!" he reassures, chuckling nervously as he takes your hand. "Just might have rocked too hard a little is all, hehe." the boy even does a little laugh as if he wasn't buried under a 7 foot cabinet a few minutes ago. "Oh, but you were yelling something awhile ago. Did you need me for something?

"Yes, actually, and since you're fine, we need to go now." taking his hand, you start dragging him out the room, and out to the courtyard.

"Wh- Huh? But where are we going?" Kalim questions, stumbling along despite his confusion.

"There dorms in chaos right now. I tried to fix it but they just won't listen to me! Some are trying to help but-"

Suddenly, a vehicle crashes through the hallway in front of you. Dust from the rubble get all up in your faces, sending both of you into a coughing fit.

However, the moment the dust clears, you see it is a blue chevy equinox! And it's coming straight towards you!

You stumble out of it's way in a hurry, tripping on the grass. Kalim was less fortunate, having been blinded by the lights, and screams as the car vrooms toward him.

He collides with the vehicle, rolling on the hood with broken yelps. The driver doesn't even stop, they just keep driving until they crash into another building.

Then, a familiar voice speaks up from afar.

"What the fuck?"

Standing by the corner, is Jamil, frozen in place at the sight of a bruised Kalim groaning on the ground and your figure right beside rubble and a busted wall.

Crowley also takes a sudden appearance beside him, about to chide Jamil for his language until he sees the crashed hole in the wall.

He starts screaming something something about insurance while Jamil rushes toward you both.

"I swear to the SEVENS I can't keep my eyes off you for 5 MINUTES." He hisses through gritted teeth, brows furrowed in annoyance. He helps Kalim up while you try to pat the dust off your clothes.

"What happened?" The boy queries, putting an arm around a disoriented Kalim to lead to the clinic.

"A very long story."

Jamil sighs.

[nectaric]

happy birthday, zeus !! (may 24)

in honour of ten years of zeus birthdays (and 11 years of writing him), i wanted to do a little something to celebrate all my amazing roleplay partners and talk about how important y'all have been in either a) influencing my writing, b) influencing my portrayal, or c) being a reason i want to come here and write ten years later.

as many of you know (or are about to learn), zeus has been the actual love of my life for over a decade now. he was one of the first characters i ever roleplayed, and i have stuck with him pretty consistently this whole time. i could wax poetic forever about how much he means to me, and how important writing him has been in my life, but i'll spare you all a glimpse into my crazy. just know, zeus means the world to me. and if he has gone through growth in all the time we've worked together, then so have i. i was an extremely nerdy, extremely obsessive little teenager in her basement bedroom with big dreams and now i'm married, working the job i have always wanted, with a beautiful dog and big plans. it feels kinda crazy that i get to share so much of that with all of you.

and so many of you amazing people have been apart of that journey or have just joined and are giving me reasons to keep writing!

it wouldn't be right if i didn't start off with @ichoric. accepting me into your little roleplay group almost 11 years ago literally changed the trajectory of my life. you are literally one of my best friends in the entire world - we have seen each other grow through so much, have been there for each other through good shit and the bad. not only have you seriously influenced me as a writer through all of our shenanigans (drowning hazel, titans 2, scary ares, the time we sat next to each other on my couch and roleplayed the entire aphrares wedding for hours), but you have genuinely influenced me as a person. forget how much i love your portrayals, and the depth and creativity you pour into them, so much life and love and intensity that is a delight to behold - but so much of becoming who i am now has been with you at my side and i love you so much i'm lowkey crying as i type this. thank you for 10 + great years and i can't wait for more!

@kissofthemuses amber, i think getting to write zeus / hera with you permanently altered my brain chemistry. its crazy to think about just how long we've actually known each other -- but getting to see everything you get up to, all your cosplaying and adventures, has been a gift <3 not only do i feel like i have become a more mature individual thanks to being taken under your wing a little, but i also feel as though my zeus has fundamentally changed because of your portrayal and that's so powerful.

@pistolslinger nat maybe i'm just an emotional goober but you have always been such a beacon of light on my dash, long before you went off and became a crow. writing with you has always been so wonderful and enriching and i just know i can count on your for a laugh or heartbreak or general tomfoolery. never mind that you're so kind and open to everyone you seem to come across, but you're also really talented??? in so many ways???? i still think about our jason n zeus superhero au sometimes. incredible, thank you <3

@stygicniron talk about an og!!! hilary, we have been writing together for so long and every interaction is an absolute gem. you and i have been in the trenches of this fandom and somehow come out the other side relatively unscathed and i know part of that is how kind and wonderful and creative you are, but also because of how talented and solid your portrayal of nico is. i have seen few people have as good of a grasp on a character as you and its always an absolute joy to get to write anything with you. thank you for coming on this journey with me!!

@littleblackqrow khristle, you have been such a constant in my online life for years its genuinely difficult to remember a time before we followed each other and wrote together. the fact that i get to write with you despite fandom changes (because you have impeccable taste) is really so awesome and i've just really loved getting to write with you, talk with you ooc, and just experience being your rp partner for so long. between apollo, qrow, and grif, we've written so many heartwrenching and hilarious things, and i'm just super grateful you've been here !

@rheaeaseandflow marie i think you are one of the people i have been writing with the longest and don't think that goes unnoticed! your rhea is incredible and has honestly helped me to form so many important headcanons and opinions about my own characters that i think is so significant. you have always been this kind, warm, welcoming presence who i always look forward to writing with, and when i think about the "early days" of zeus i often think of you!

@singofus apis i literally cannot imagine this little corner of the rp world without you. i think greek myth and you are one of the first people who comes to mind. i remember when you and i both wrote significantly less muses on different blogs, but now we're here with our hoard, and our beautiful little headcanons we're still getting to develop, and its genuinely made my time here so much more enjoyable! you're so creative and thoughtful and you have seriously influenced so many of my portrayals i wouldn't even know where to start. here's to a lot more writing, and a lot more time well spent!

@asoulunbound krys!!! greek myth without you is like a pb&j without the pb. you occupy such an important space in this community and also just. in my world and i genuinely appreciate how much thought you put into your muses and the generosity you show to others. not to mention, the fact that you and i engage in very similar niche communities makes me feel so much more connected to you and i enjoy getting to write with you and see you on my dash so much !

@seekesotsibteadmist kyrian if there was an award for most supportive roleplayer ever it would be you. i feel so seen by you and you're so encouraging no matter what the circumstances are. i love getting to write with you (honestly, i could be better about it) because i can just feel the love and creativity you throw into S. i always enjoy getting an ask from you or seeing your ic posts and i am so grateful to have you in my little world, so thank you.

@seaprofound another day, another og !! gods sunny i feel like we have known each other for decades at this point - i think of this rpc, and i think about you and the constant beacon of sunshine (pun intended) you have always been. the absolute depth of your devotion to poseida is astounding and your love and care for the people around you is an example i think a lot of us could learn from. thank you for being so authentic and kind and creative and a part of my life for so long!!!

@stolenbythegods beth i know we don't write as much together these days but i will genuinely never forget you or ganymede or how much fun we have had writing together. you are so talented and sweet and i adore your ganymede with everything i have. your portrayal has altered the way i view not only zeus and gany's relationship, but also how i view zeus, and that's a really big achievement in my books. i miss you, and i'm so grateful for you!

@kallistcs unni aside from the level of sheer talent you possess and the care and detail you pour into your portrayals (which i appreciate so much my heart is FULL), you have also always been the one who swoops in and saves my day. i feel like i can always count on you to be the voice of reason to my emotionally driven, passionate rants about vague myth concepts with your frankly impressive knowledge of myth that i both admire and envy (fondly <3). i love having you around and i genuinely enjoy our threads so much i look forward to getting to write them every time i log on (even if i am Slow)

@saccharic MY SON !!! giuli. i'm not even going to talk about writing because you are talented and ily and i enjoy it but that's not what matters here. i remember when you were abt 14 and i have gotten the joy of watching you grow and become so so so successful and such a wonderful little lady and i could not be more of a proud dad. i feel like this is such a rare gift and i cherish it, i really do

this is a shoutout to others who have been a constant on my dash and who have contributed significantly to how much i enjoy being here. you're all wonderful, and talented, and i'm absolutely grateful to have you around <3

@appleyed @eriny3s @eileithyiia @anthcs @tragillary @ofprevioustimes @reastless @deadshe @luxcruor @thecs @withinycu

and to those of you who i haven't written with much yet, but who i genuinely look forward to writing more with! thank you for following me and letting me invade your space <3

@caeloservare @candlewick-corporation @aestasrosis @sunguns @hxntresses @unseenking @allbains @kuokuana @eiiskonigin @noirbeast

[ben-guy]

Undertale Month Day 9: Papyrus

UT month origins

< Day 8 < ★ Day 9 ★ > Day 10 >

Hey y'all! I decided I should probably just do something involving Papyrus' "puzzle party" that I alluded to on days 1 and 4, meaning we're back to the ninth monster liberation day anniversary continuity! I wonder if anyone reading these has gotten every single little reference I've done. Not just the obscure references to stuff in game, but the references to stuff like the newsletters and the alarm clock dialogue. Sometimes I worry it'll make this less accessible... ah well. Day 9!

Papyrus scratched his chin, trying to figure out what was wrong. He'd worked through the night making sure it was perfect. There was a maze to get to the front doors obviously, which he'd made out of mirrors this year, with a shortcut for Asgore per Undyne's request. It had taken hours to find him after he'd gotten lost last year, so Papyrus had finally conceded. The punch bowl fishing minigame was ready, little fish made of ice and all. The colored tile cookies had their rules printed on them, in edible ink of course. Finally, he walked over to examine the flamethrowers, carefully examining them with suspicion.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE IT. SANS MUST HAVE MESSED WITH THEM!"

Papyrus pulled out a protractor, examining the exact angle of the devices. Now he was certain of it. Each had been shifted by several degrees. The feng shui was all off. With two quick tugs, he realigned them, double checking with the protractor. All good... but... hrmmmm... no, something was definitely still wrong. Had he forgotten something? He grumbled in annoyance. The invitations/liability waivers had been sent out well ahead of time, the pet rock had been fed, the streamers and signs were all up, and he'd even made sure it was all up to code with city hall. What was he missing? After a moment, he stamped a foot, looked towards the house, and called out to his brother.

"SANS, COULD YOU COME OUT HERE? I THINK I'M FORGETTING SOMETHING."

Sans came out and looked around carefully.

"are the trenches in the backyard dug?"

"OF COURSE!"

"and you put all the keys in place for the maze?"

"CERTAINLY!"

"the flamethrowers are in position?"

Papyrus squinted at Sans.

"THEY WEREN'T A FEW MINUTES AGO, BROTHER, BUT I FIXED THAT."

"no clue what you're talking about. The bucket of MTT brand glitter on the top of the door?"

"THAT ONE WAS VETOED BY CITY COUNCIL, REMEMBER?"

"yeah, they do get a bit touchy about war crimes. 'dunno papyrus, everything seems set to me."

Papyrus sighed, shaking his head. He supposed that it couldn't be too important if he'd forgotten. He walked over to one of the house's windows and crawled back inside, locking it behind him. Now, the only way in was truly through the maze. Inside the house, he performed one final sweep... only to be met with his worst nightmare in the kitchen.

Marinara stained paw prints. Stray noodles on the floor. A cooking pot full of dog residue. Papyrus fell to his knees.

"DAMN YOU, YOU ACCURSED HOUND! DAMN YOU A THOUSAND THOUSAND TIMES! DAAAAAAAMN YOOOOOOOOOU!"

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