#THAT FUCKING SKULL WAS THERE FOR A GOD DAMN REASON AND I KNOW IT

[seriously-nobody]

So I've had this idea. Or theory? maybe headcanon thing? Rattling around in my skull since I watched HM 2023 for the first time. Mostly because it felt like a huge loose end, possibly for maybe another movie or series or piece of media in general. Spoilers under the cut. Go watch the movie.

Ok so we all know that the dream team banished Alistair at the end of the movie.

(hehe)

We don't know where he was banished to, all Harriet and Madame Leota say is it's a banishment (spell). So, he is somewhere, we just don't know where exactly.

It could be assumed that he's banished to the Region Beyond, but to me it's not likely because Harriet says, "when a soul passes and goes over into the Region Beyond, if it’s at peace, that’s where it stays." Taking that into consideration Alistair is most definitely not at peace so he ain't stayin' there. Harriet also makes the Region Beyond sound like "the good place" to go when u die so for them to banish him there just doesn't make sense to me.

This is the part where I might lose some of y'all if I haven't already, but I promise I'm trying to make sense.

What if that green pit is like one of the portals, we saw in the ghost realm in the mansion? So, Madame Leota and Harriet were opening a portal to the place he is banished to. Now we don't really see where Alistair goes, he just kinda flails around until the ground covers back up. But I have a theory of where he might have landed.

What if he landed back at his manor? But why? Because his head (or his skull rather) is still there. At least we are led to believe it's his skull because his hat was on it. It felt like such a loose end to do basically nothing with it. I get Travis not wanting to touch it mostly because it's a skull but also the spider. But for 1, to have Travis see it and say absolutely nothing about it whatsoever to anyone, and 2 to just leave it there and slowly pan out from it???? like cooommme oooonnn dude.

It's been bothering me for months now that nothing was done with it. I think the most plausible, real-life answer to this is that this was meant to be an opening for another movie or at least maybe that's what the people working on it wanted it to be. But I'm sure that Disney, the company, saw the movie as a flop and, from my perspective, I don't see them picking it back up for another movie unfortunately. But that's not to say that there isn't room for one! There definitely is, and the damn skull that's been messing with my brain for months is proof of it.

So do with this information (and my torment) what u will. If y'all have anything that debunks or supports my ramblings let me know, I've been thinking about this for a long time, so I'd love some fresh perspectives. Thanks for reading to the end!

[mmmichyyy]

inspired by this snippet from the las culturistas podcast to write this silly gallavich ficlet 🥪

it's two in the afternoon, and ian is bored out of his skull.

the office temp job was supposed to be, well, temporary. an easy way to earn some cash, contribute to the squirrel fund, save a couple bucks for a rainy day.

but three months later he's still the office bitch - ordering office supplies, organizing files, killing a couple trees a day because documents can't be printed double-sided for some reason, getting everyone's coffee order, messing up everyone's coffee order (god forbid brenda drinks a latte with foam once in a while) - while spending every waking minute fighting the urge to blow his brains out.

ian checks his watch. two hours, fifty-five minutes, thirty-six seconds until he clocks out. thank god it's fucking friday, at least.

the great thing about being a lowly temp worker is the fact that no one pays him any attention. his cubicle is in a dusty corner with a desk and a worn out swivel chair that endless other temps have sat their ass on before him. as long as he finished his tasks for the day and people are sufficiently caffeinated, he can be on his phone and no one can say shit.

so obviously, he's swiping grindr on company time, because what the hell else is he going to do?

mickey. 23. dick me down hard or fuck off.

hm. the guy only has two pictures - one mirror selfie, blurry, though his slicked-back dark hair and blue eyes standout on milky skin. damn. already ian is into him.

but then. the other mirror pic, taken of his backside, is what makes ian believe in some kind of higher power up in the sky. because holy shit this guy might just have the nicest ass he's ever seen?? round, plump, partially covered in soft grey briefs, and ready to be devoured. hello?? yes??

ian: free tonight? i can dick you down good and hard :)

mickey: how long

ian: however long you want baby

mickey: i meant your dick dumbass

ian: oh

[attached image: my_dick_morning_wood_69.png]

mickey: meet me in 30 mins

ian blinks. thirty minutes? he glances at the time. 2:18pm. what kind of guy wants to meet for a hook-up in broad daylight? is he a sociopath? or a murderer who likes to see their victim clearly as he stabs them multiple times?

whatever. for a quality ass like that, it's a risk he'll have to take.

as usual, no one in the office even glances his way as he hastily grabs his backpack and bolts towards the elevator.

ian: address?

*

"i think you broke me," ian pants, flopping on his back, boneless and completely satiated. "oh my god. how... where did you even learn how to do that?"

mickey shrugs and casually lights a cigarette, as if he didn't just rock ian's entire world. twice. and again. "lots of practice."

"i didn't even know someone could bend that way," ian says in awe, completely fascinated by the magical gremlin with the nimble fingers. "and the thing with your tongue?? are you a trained acrobat or something?"

mickey blows out a line of smoke and offers up the cigarette between his fingers, to which ian eagerly accepts.

"i know what i like, and i'm good at it." mickey lightly pats ian on the cheek. ian responds by melting into a pile of goo. "you weren't so bad yourself, stud."

oh. oh no. ian is done for.

before he can say anything or unhinge his jaw wide open for round three? four? his stomach gurgles out a loud groan. very unsexy, quite possibly the least attractive sound, ever. ian blushes, hoping mickey didn't hear it. but then–

"you wanna get a sandwich?"

ian twists his neck to the side so fast, he nearly gets whiplash.

"what?!"

mickey snatches the nearly finished filter from ian's hand and stubs it out on the side table ashtray. jumps up from the bed and tosses over ian's shirt from the floor. "c'mon, get your ginger ass up. there's a deli down on the corner that makes a mean spicy meatball sub and the parm is to fuckin' die for. been thinking 'bout it all day."

"you wanted to have sex in the afternoon and now you want a sandwich? with me?" ian has had his fair share of hookups, but never has he met someone so sexually deviant yet simultaneously endearing like mickey. is he dreaming right now? "seriously, who are you??"

mickey scoffs. "you think i'm going to take it up the ass after eating a meatball sub? you're a fuckin' idiot. so you wanna go stuff yourself with tomato sauce or not?"

yeah. ian is in love.

[batfam-my-beloved]

AU where Batman has a "no killing" rule but that only applies to Batman

Bruce understands that people have their own form of morality and justice. He's not going to fault a soldier for doing what they have to do to protect people. It's just that he personally would probably never go that far. Not that he can't, mind you, he's fucking Batman! Just that the mental and emotional toll would fuck him up so bad he'd be a danger to himself and society.

So when it comes to his murder happy children his rule for them is: "Wait until you're 18."

Bruce: "Dickie, I know Tony Zucco killed your parents and he deserves WAY worse than a punctured lung, two broken legs, a fractured skull, and a dislocated shoulder. But you're also 10 yrs old and the parenting books say that murder at such a young age is not good for a child's emotional development. So how bout we keep him locked up in jail, good and tight, and if you're still mad about it when you turn 18 then you can have at it. Sound good chum?"

Dick, pouting and kicking rocks: "I guess."

Tim "forever 17" Drake is just counting down the days until his 18th birthday because that mother fucker has a list. He doesn't mind waiting because he god damn knows there are worse things than death one can do to someone.

Damien has been killing since he could walk and hold up a sword, so when he comes to live with his father under the "no killing until 18" rule he is NOT happy about it. Until his brothers start poking fun at him.

Damien, pouting: "It isn't fair! Todd gets to go out and kill people!"

Bruce: "Jason is over 18 yrs."

Jason: "Yeah! And besides, its not my fault you're just uncreative in how you beat up bad guys!"

Damien: "What is that supposed to mean!"

Tim: "It means that there are worse things than death but you're just too dumb to know it."

Damien, furious: "Am not!"

Jason and Tim, teasing: "Are too!"

Damien: "AM NOT!"

Jason and Tim: "Are tooooo!"

Dick, tired: "Guys, stop making fun of him. He's just gunna take it as a challenge."

Damien, determined: "Well I accept this challenge! I'll provide my superiority as a vigilantly by taking out the enemy in non-lethal yet appropriately brutal ways of punishment! Just you watch!"

Bruce, weary yet appeased: "Well at least he's not gunna attempt murder for a while."

Jason didn't come with an automatic kill switch so Bruce didn't really have to worry about it. But then Jason died and Dick got to see first hand as to why Bruce had a no killing rule for himself. The insurmountable destruction, the overall apathy for the harm to others around him, the deep seated rage ready to just destroy everything he comes in contact with. Alfred tells Dick that they need to stop him because Bruce won't just stop at the Joker, he'll go after Jason's mother (in this au I'm making Sheila live for the extra angst factor)and whoever else he deems even remotely responsible for the death of his son. Bruce won't care if it starts wars and conflict across nations, he will NOT stop until he gets his revenge.

So they stop him, practically have to sedated Bruce with enough tranquilizers to put down an elephant 10x over. And then they lock the Joker up in the deepest underground pits of Arkham with a broken spine and enough security measures that it's very much impossible to brake him out least you're the Batman himself. Bruce isn't happy about it at first but Alfred and Dick are there with him through it all and it helps a lot.

When Jason comes back he still doesn't know about the "no killing until your 18" rule, nor does he know the reason WHY Batman doesn't kill. So he's still angry and does his whole thing as Red Hood but when he reveals himself to Batman as Jason Todd Bruce is just so happy to see him again. And Jason is confused cuz like: "I just killed a bunch of people, aren't you disappointed?"

And Bruce is like: "I am a bit mad that you hurt Tim but other than that you are technically over 18 yrs old now so I'm going to assume you understand the weight and responsibility that is put upon you when killing someone."

Jason, softly: "What...the fuck?"

Then Jason quickly snaps back into gear with his plan, demands Bruce to choose between killing the Joker or him and Bruce hits back with: "Oh, I'd like nothing more than to kill Joker but I promised Dick and Alfred I wouldn't after almost starting an international war that one time."

Jason, extremely frustrated that his plan isn't going how he wanted to: "What. The. Fuck!"

So Jason dips and tracks down Dick so he could explain what the hell was going on. And Dick does explain. He explains the absolute monster Bruce almost turned into when Jason was murdered and how Bruce would most definitely not stop at the Joker if given the chance.

Dick: "You don't understand Jay, it was bad! Like really, really bad! He was going to kill your mom!"

Jason, shocked: "The fuck?!"

Dick: "He still has her on a tracker! We found him just before he killed Joker, but he still managed to paralyze him from the neck down!"

Jason, slightly disturbed: "That was him!"

Dick: "He was beating Joker's ass with a crowbar! And even after we managed to sedated Bruce and pull him off the clown we still had to make sure that Joker was locked up good and tight underground because if Bruce even caught a glimpse of him in a photo he'd go into another spiral!"

Jason, horrified: "What....the fuuuuuck???"

[logictoinsanity]

Do you ever think about Logan being terrified of thunder and fireworks (too proud to ever ever admit it, of course he's not scared of shit) both because of PTSD from the wars and also because his enhanced hearing makes those sounds 100x louder for him than anyone else.

And how he's always been shut out and alone so it was easy to hide it and hide away until it's gone but now he's living in a tiny apartment with Wade so there's no way to keep avoiding it

WELL NOW I HAVE

And you're so fucking right, he'd never want to admit that he's scared of thunder storms and fireworks of all things, he's the fucking wolverine, he's seen things regular people can't even imagine, and he's scared by the fucking weather??

He tries so god damn hard every time to just be okay and power through it, he knows it can't hurt him, but every time no matter how prepared he is and how hard he tries, with the first crash hes spiralling, it feels like someone shot a gun right next to his face, his ears are ringing and his head starts hurting and he looks around and all he can see are trenches and guns and the dead bodies of his fellow soldiers. Before Wade, he'd always just find somewhere to hunker down and wait it out, pretty much in a constant state of flashbacks and panic attacks until it finally stopped.

This is just me projecting but I feel like Logan would feel safest in small spaces where he can shove himself into a corner, so he knows no one can sneak up on him, so he spent a lot of stormy nights and fourth of Julys shoved into the closest of a shitty motel.

I also think that it reminds him of the night the X-Men died, like most things do. He'd run off to go drink himself into a coma at a nearby bar, and a storm picked up while he was there. He didn't think anything of it at the time, but later realized that it had probably been Orroro's last attempts to save herself and her friends. He blames himself for not thinking of that at the time, just one more reason to hate himself.

But then he moves in with Wade, and it doesn't occur to him at first to even worry about it, so much happened so fast, storms and fireworks were pretty low on his list of concerns with a whole new universe.

Luckily, Wade isn't home when the storm hits, neither is Althea. Unluckily, Wade returns about 30 minutes after. He almost thinks Logan went out, since he isn't in his usual spot on the couch, or anywhere else for that matter, until Wade goes into the bedroom and hears the tiniest shifting sound coming from the closet.

Logan freezes when the door opens. He'd been hoping Wade would stay out until after the storm, but when did Logan ever get a lucky break? For a solid ten seconds, it's silent, Wade staring down at Logan, Logan remaining squished in the back corner of the closet, knees to his chest, looking like he can't decide whether he wants to stab Wade through the skull or bolt out of the apartment into the rain.

Wade opens his mouth to say..something, he hadn't actually figured out what yet but it didn't matter because before he got the chance there was another crack of thunder, and Logan jolted like the lightening had hit him square on his head. His eyes went distant and dark like they did when he just woke up from a nightmare and he slammed his hands over his ears, pressing his face into his knees. Wade felt kind of stupid, once he realized what was going on, of course Mr. Logan every-war-ever Howlett would have a problem with noises like that.

Wade panics, for a second, because scared of not, this is still Logan, and he's well aware of how Logan tends to feel about being caught in a vulnerable position, but then he sees Logan's hand shaking, and hears a sound that if he didn't know any better (he doesn't) he'd call a whimper (it was), and his heart just shatters, he can't stand seeing Logan this afraid, so he quickly steps into the closet and closes the door behind him. The closet is hardly big enough for one grown man to crouch in, much less two, but Logan is clearly in no state to leave, so Wade shoves himself into the corner between Logan and the door, careful not to lress up against him incase the touch is to overwhelming.

At this point, Logan has recovered slightly from the most recent crash of thunder, and he lifts his head, though he still won't look at Wade. He wants to be angry, mad at Wade for catching him like this, he wants to scowl and tell him to fuck off and leave him alone, but he's been panicking for thirty minutes now, flashing back with every clap of thunder, slowly starting to calm down only to be yanked right back into his own mind when it happens again, he's exhausted and just doesn't have the energy, so he just sighs, swallowing thickly to try and stop his voice from shaking and grumbling something about how he's fine, it's just loud, Wade can go about his day and he'll be out in a bit.

Wade honestly only understands about half of what he says, between the mumbling and the shaky voice and the storm outside, but he's sure as hell not gonna leave Logan to deal with this alone, and besides, the closet isn't to bad, kinda cozy once you give it a chance, and hey what're the odds they have a closet big enough for this in such a shitty apartment anyway? pretty plot convenient if you ask him. He ends up telling Logan all of this, partly to reassure him he doesn't mind but mostly to buy time while he figures out what to do. After a moment he lets out a quiet gasp and stands up, assuring Logan he'll be right back. Logan just nods and puts his head back on his knees, resigned to his fate of riding out his PTSD episode stuffed into a closet with fucking Deadpool.

Wade comes back a minute later with a small assortment of items in his arms, shuffling to sit back down. First, he sets down a small electric candle that he had laying around for some reason, because even if Logan can see in the dark closet, he can't, and he explains as much as he turns it on and the soft, warm light fills the space. Wade's heart breaks just a little more now that he can see Logan better, the way his whole body is shaking with every breath, the tear tracks covering his face, some dry, some fresh, but he does his best not to make to big a deal out of it and moves on.

I'm gonna put something on your head now, Peanut. You trust me? Wade asks, trying to keep his voice low and even.

No. Logan grumbles in response, but he leans towards Wade just slightly, and Wade places his gaming headset over Logan's ears. Logan pauses, evaluating, before giving a small nod and relaxing ever so slightly. He can still hear the storm, but it's better. Wade grins, trying desperately to keep his cool as he shows Logan the rest of his items. He brought a bag of Logan's favorite chips, a water bottle, and a bottle of whiskey.

They spend the next hour and a half in that closet together, alternating between Wade talking (much more quiet and restrained than usual) and Logan nodding occasionally in response, to out of it to say much but appreciating the distraction nonetheless and, with every crack of thunder, Logan panicking, and Wade doing his best to keep him tethered to reality.

It still sucks, storms probably always will for Logan, but it's better, and when the storm finally ends Wade leads him out of the closet, and he doesn't make a big deal out if it (like Logan feared), He doesn't make fun of him or think less of him, he gets it. And damn it if that doesn't make Logan feel more cared for and understood than he has in years, maybe ever, even if that fact alone pisses him off to no end.

[qtboni]

cowboy simon x f!reader???

I don't know what else to add, it would be nice if it was smut yk??

I just saw a video where a masked man dressed like a cowboy aslo he still has a naked torso and he is so tall and in very good shape and when I saw this video for some reason it reminded me of Simon

(sorry, english is not my native language, sorry if there are any mistakes!!)

HAI ANONNIE !! OMIGEE COWBOY SIMON IS SO HOT !? like he can yeehaw me every damn time wtf ☝️😍

╰﹒ 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐁𝐎𝐘 !

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

OVERVIEW: Simon indulges you in your pretty lil fantasies <33

C/W: MDNI. smut w/ fluff + dom!simon riley, sub!f.reader, petnames (love, baby, pretty girl), lotsa teasing, neck kissing, lil manhandling, lil belittling, lotsa praises, thigh riding, humping, clit stimulation, aftercare

W/C: 1.9k

"You're so easy to please, love," Simon chuckles as he had you in a state where you were unable to move, or speak, or even think rationally. Not after when he had obliged to indulge in your naughty little fantasies of being fucked by a cowboy in the late night hours. You could only let out a whimper for him.

You claimed you were joking. But you weren't, really. You had been dropping little hints about those fantasies all the time, asking if he would be up for a cowboy roleplay in the bedroom. He had grumbled a "sort of" agreement when you asked if he was down for it, but you hadn't realized he was really on board for it.

That is, until now, when you found yourself sprawled on your back on the bed, completely weak under his touch.

Simon was dressed with a black cowboy hat atop his head, a sexy red bandana encircling his neck, a thick cowboy belt wrapped around his hips, and dark jeans hugging every curve of his delicious thighs. And to top it all of was his famous skull mask, hiding his face. No shirt. No top. He was beyond shirtless. And my gods, were your pussy right now is dripping with need when you looked over at his abs.

You find your heart racing and your hands trembling as Simon leans in, his breath brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Do I make you nervous?"

You feel a shiver run down your spine at the thought of him being so close, his warmth and presence filling you with a sense of exhilaration that's hard to contain.

"...Yes," you whisper breathlessly in response, your voice dripping with need. Your heart is pounding with excitement, and your body feels on fire with desire as you look into his eyes.

You watch as Simon moves closer, his lips ghosting gently over your throat as he kisses your neck. Your mouth parts and you moan softly, your body tensing and shivering with arousal as he lightly nibbles on your sensitive skin. Your breath quickens and your heart beats faster, overwhelmed by the thrill of it all.

With your arms wrapped around his shoulders, you pulled him close to you, desperate for more of his touching. Your body responded to his kisses, jolting with pleasure as his lips nibbled down your neck. Your hips writhed and squirmed under him as he suckled on your sweet spot.

The heat was building up inside you as Simon's kiss roamed down to your shoulders, and your entire body was buzzing with sensuality. You were lost in pleasure with each sensation of his touch, and the world around you seemed to fade away that you fail to notice Simon pinning your hands above your head.

Simon whispered softly to your ear, "Always so obedient for me, hm?" while he suckled on the skin under your ear. You couldn't help but to squirm and whine with need, your needy whimpers begging him to make you feel good. It made his cock painfully throbbing with need.

Simon's raspy chuckle drove you mad with arousal, as he licked a long striped line from your neck to the base of your ear, leaving a wet trail. You moaned and tried to move your hips to relieve your aching pussy, but Simon firmly gripped your hips and held you still, his touch driving you mad with lust and desire.

"Behave."

Your mind was swimming with pleasure as you looked into his half-lidded eyes through the skull mask.

"Please..." You tugged on the red bandana wrapped around his neck and pulled him down to you, intending to kiss him. But Simon's hold on you was strong, and he pulled you back, his teeth digging into your ear.

You cried out, but the sound was quieted when Simon's mouth covered yours in a hungry and rough kiss. His tongue plunged deep into your mouth, exploring in a demanding and passionate way. He broke the kiss only to move his lips back down your neck to suck and bite your skin, his touch driving you wild with lust.

Your hands tangled in his hair as he continued exploring your mouth with his skilled tongue. You sighed softly as his passionate and rough kisses sent waves of pleasure through your body. But the sensation was not enough, and you wanted more.

You pressed your body against Simon's, your hands roaming along his chest and thighs as you yearned for satisfaction. But Simon had other plans, and rolled you over so that you were now on top of him.

"Ride me, pretty girl," Simon mumbled against your ear, his voice raspy with desire and need. He was looking up at you, his eyes blazing with passion as his hands gripped your hips. You felt your body shiver with arousal, as you moved your hips to hover just above him.

With your naked pussy pressed on top of his bulge, you started to grind down on him, your hands planted on his pecks. You let out a soft moan as the friction made you feel wetter.

"No, baby, ride my thigh," Simon purred with a low chuckle, as he stopped your hips from moving, gripping at it hard. His voice was filled with heat and lust, his eyes dark with desire. He pulled you closer to him, his touch gentle but firm as he guided your hips to glide along his thigh. You let out a moan of pleasure as this felt even better than before.

"Good girl," Simon growled as he continued to guide you in grinding down on his thigh using his arms. His voice was raspy with lust, and his words were an encouraging challenge as his touch grew more intimate. You let out a moan of pleasure as you felt your legs trembling with excitement. Your hips slid along the curves of his thigh, and his touch sent electrifying shivers down your spine.

He tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you closer to him as he whispered in your ear, "You like that, don't you, baby?"

You mewled when his fingers trailed up your back, sending warm tingles all over your skin. Your breathing grew heavier as you felt yourself becoming lost in his touch. You couldn't resist grinding against him harder, craving the pleasure he was providing. With each movement, you felt your desire building stronger and stronger.

"Simon.."

His lips curl into a smirk as he hears your plea, the desperation in your voice fueling his own desires. He moves his hands from your back, letting them trail over the sides of your body, his touch light but lingering. He can feel how your cunt was completely drenched with your precum, seeping through his jeans, leaving a wet spot in its wake.

"You're doing good, baby," Simon groaned as he grabbed your waist tighter, his voice thick with desire. "Keep going," he whispered eagerly, his grip firm and his touch thrilling as you continued grinding down on his thigh. The sound of his encouraging words, and the feel of his presence made your body squirm with enjoyment.

"I'm trying, Si'.. Please." You breathed heavily and moaned softly, as Simon coaxed you into grinding down harder and faster into his hard thigh. His hands gripped the sides of your waist firmly as he made you move even more quickly.

"Better," he breathed softly in between pants, his words filled with praise and encouragement. The sensation of his firm thighs in contrast to your weeping cunt made your eyes roll back in pleasure.

Groaning, Simon grabbed his black cowboy hat from his head and placed it on to yours, smiling seductively.

"You're so hot like this, baby," he said in a low, raspy voice. He looked into your eyes with a knowing smirk, and his touch made your skin tingle and the heat build up inside you.

Wanting to indulge into his fantasies too, you placed your hand on top of the hat and smirked at him as you grinded your hips harder. You watch as Simon's grip falters and tosses his head back to the feel of your cunt rubbing on his now stained jeans.

With every frantic thrust you did, your eyes fluttered with pleasure as the trail of fire reached your lower stomach, the familiar sensation making your thighs tremble. You sobbed out on to his shoulder, lazily nuzzling into his neck, seeking comfort and support.

Simon bit back a moan as he heard your sounds, his cock already twitching with desire. He wanted this moment to be special for you, but the sight of your pleasure was enough to overwhelm his senses and stir his primal urges. He had to have you.

As you breathe heavily into his neck, you feel his hand gently caressing your back, feeling the tension and tightness in your muscles as you collapsed onto him.

Your body was still trembling from the pleasure, and you felt a wave of tiredness wash over you. Your breath was shaky as you were in a state of pure bliss and satisfaction, and Simon's gentle caresses felt like a comforting hug.

"Shh, it's okay, baby," he whispered gently as he lifted you from his lap and laid you on the bed. His caresses continued as his breath brushed over your neck, sending a tingle of pleasure down your spine.

Your muscles felt relaxed and loose, and your body was breathless from the wave of pleasure you just experienced. You felt languid, and in a state of contentment and bliss. His gentle caresses felt wonderful against your skin.

Simon softly kissed your forehead and smiled gently at you, his touch still sending chills down your spine. You were breathless and content, and every moment with him felt like a dream. So it was a blur when Simon cleaned you up with a wet towel, your body still trembling from passion. He wiped away the cum, as well as the rest of the arousal on your thighs.

He had also tenderly rubbed out the sweat and the redness on your face and neck with gentle caresses as helped you feel clean and fresh again. When he was done, he lay down beside you on the bed, and pulled you close to him, putting the cowboy hat on the bedside table.

"Did so good for me, hm?" Simon said gently as he cupped both your cheeks and looked into your eyes, making you smile. The love and warmth in his gaze made you feel comforted and safe, and you could feel your heart beating faster with excitement at the thought of being with him.

You hummed in agreement as your eyes fluttered in slumber. Your body was still trembling from the pleasure, but a small giggle came out from your mouth as you mumbled out, "You'd be a great cowboy.." With your body completely relaxed and content, you let yourself go and slipped into a deep sleep in his arms.

Simon laughed softly at your sleepy statement, and bent to kiss you on the lips, carressing your cheek.

"Sure am, love, with the prettiest cowgirl in my side."

navi / masterlist !

[captainuranium543]

Looking back erza and laxus had INSANE beef. Legit I counted and early on almost every single time he's on screen hes slandering her for no damn reason. I thought this was kinda funny cuz like, my man what is your damage??? But then I thought about it and it makes sense.

Imagine you are laxus at 15, your father is constantly preaching that the guild isn't strong enough and all these weaklings are dragging it down. You believe him of course because he is your father and obviously we all need to be strong, that's why dad forcibly implanted a lacrima into your skull because you needed to be stronger to remain in the guild. Then enter gods most pathetic kid who barely speaks, knows almost nothing about magic and looks like she's been run over by a bus a couple times and the master just, let's her in?? How on earth is that gonna make this guild stronger old man. Ivan was probably pissed and laxus just picked it up by extension.

Not only that this little jerk who should be like, inherently weaker then you by your fathers logic, manages to make s class only 2 years after you, making her the youngest wizard in fairy tail history to become an s class at 15 (cough a title that used to be yours).

Oh and also, as time goes on word spreads about how powerful she is and people start calling her titania queen of the fairies, while you are literally in line to inherit it. if anyone is the queen it should be you.

You finally have enough of this and at 23 years old you create this whole elaborate plan to become the guild master you hold the entire city hostage with a ring of insanely volatile lacrima around the city that will nuke whoever attacks them so they can't be removed from the sky. Perfect plan right? Wrong. That same fucking ginger destroys 89% of them even after you inform her that she will die she does it anyway and has the nerve to survive. That asshole.

Years later all that is behind you, sure you'd love to be guild master but the guild has disbanded and honestly you aren't totally sure you deserve it. You joined blue Pegasus with some of your buddies and it's going ok until suddenly a hoard of your old guildmates burst in and tell you fairy tail is back! Great news! Except who's the guild master? Well you're never gonna guess.

[theyanderebin]

Yantober Day 6! Unothodox Gift!

Not gonna lie was less inspired to write day five so, uh- Just scooted over that one. I've got something for it. Just not feelin' it!

This was fun though! I thought the energy of this one was a little bit funny.

Briefly noted fem reader, in only like the 2nd paragraph i think-

(As always, prompt courtesy of @ozzgin's yantober list which is right here!)

It's about 850 words!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a throbbing inside your skull, screwing your eyes tighter. Your body on something significantly harder than your soft mattress at home. Arms bound securely behind your back and your ankles simply ties together with a thick rope. "What the fuck?" You thought, your stomach twisting as fear bubbled up inside it.

"Now really," A familiar voice, from where? "You know that's not her colour at all dear." The woman chided someone. "I was just suggesting. I mean we only have so many options.." A man replied gently. You knew these voices… why? Cracking one of your eyes open, standing over you were a roughly middle aged blonde woman in a lengthy cardigan looking over at a man with dulled black hair and a tiredness to his face. "Oh.." rang through your head, "Oh! what the fuck!?" Your eyes staring widened at them both. "Well we have time," She said, "And if we don't find the perfect colours tonight we can simply go shopping for more." She reached in into a dark cloth bag and pulled out a ribbon of slightly shiny fabric. A simple blue. "This is much nicer." "Would it be fair to choose a monotone pair?" He suggested, hand on his chin thoughtfully. "Like black and white?" "Yes! It would be simple and effective." He remarked in a cheery tone. "Hmm.." she hummed, head tilting to the side. "I suppose it would put more focus on her than the wrappings.." With a sigh she turned.

Your eyes locked with her soft green ones, as you both stared silently at each other. Great. Excellent. Your ex's parents. What. The. Hell. Her husband turned away to pull a black swathe of velvety fabric and a hank of shiny white ribbon from a bag on the floor nearby. "How about this?" He turned back in the direction of you both., "Or is it too dark-? Oh!" He blinked somewhat owlishly. You stared back up at him. Your voice cracked out, "What the hell.." "Hello.." He tacked on a greeting with an awkward smile. His wife audibly cleared her throat. "Well.. uh. I suppose there is some explanation due here.." She pushed her blonde hair away from her cheek, placing down the bag. "As i'm sure you know our precious boy's birthday is coming up. We simply wanted to show him how much we care for him." She reasoned as if this was even bordering on normal. "He's so broken up ever since you left him, so.. We couldn't bear to see him so sad." He rested a comforting hand on her shoulder as her voice choked up. "So we brought upon ourselves to bring him a gift that would make him the happiest.. and.. well.."

They gave no more explanation after that, simply moving right into carefully wrapping you in a soft velvet fabric and securing it with the white ribbon. Once sufficiently wrapped and unable to do anything about it, you were carefully moved to a much softer spot. A bed tucked away in the guest room in the back of the house. They couldn't have you developing any more bruises after all. He gave you a pat on the head before he left. Truly the father's choice of reassurance. Or at least attempted. You were alone. The only company in the room the quiet ticking of a clock. You weren't exactly sure how much time had passed, only that they made sure you ate three meals a day, whether you particularly liked it or not. The only thing you knew was you wanted away from that damn clock! Counting seconds had gotten so old, SO long ago!

You fell asleep one night. Awoken to jostling in the morning. Her humming heard just over the rumble of a car engine. You were almost certain you knew where you were headed. But god! at least you're away from the infuriating ticking. When you finally stopped, their car parked in the garage. You could hear their muffled greetings and birthday wishes through the car windows.

When he finally got a hold of you it was almost far too tight. Desperately having to keep his eyes off of how precious you were. "Wow.." The ecstasy blooming in his strained voice, "You didn't have to." His mother only smiled, "Of course we did! We want to see you happy sweetheart." She leaned over to peck a kiss on his forehead, he wouldn't even think of denying her with how perfectly they chose his lovely gift. "You two have fun, alight!" she finished cheerfully as his father clapped him on the shoulder. Your expression? A blank stare locked onto an empty wall as the two of them took their leave, not wanting to 'disturb the lovebirds'. Ew.

Feeling his arms snake their way around your body, you shuddered. Pressing his face to the top of your hair and taking a deep breath. "I missed you…" He breathed, "So.. So much.." A finger hooked it's way around the white ribbon securing your fabric, "How bout' we get you unwrapped, hm?" You could hear him grinning.

[noctiva]

Despite how much I love Toby when he’s a total dick I do also love him when he’s super nice and caring like idk sometimes I need him to hold me like I’ll break at any moment and just comfort me and tell me it’s all gonna be okay as long as he’s here lowkey Toby is perfect for hurt/comfort best of both worlds- 🪽

he really is,,, the perfect man truly <3

If you wanna kno how I really feel tho I have two separate headcanons on how I think toby would act - it’s dependant on whether or not he got to keep his memories

a) if he did somehow manage to keep his memories, he’d treat you like fucking golddddd dude. growing up in an abusive household he’d much rather die then ever raise his voice at you or - god forbid - lay a hand on you. he’s seen first hand exactly what a volatile attitude can do to a relationship, to a family, and he’d be damned if he followed in the footsteps of that wretched man.

b) if his memories were wiped however… well first of all idek how you’d manage to bag him because that man is ERRATIC. Waking up in the middle of nowhere with no memory of how he got there,, constantly flipping between mania and depression because his fractured mind doesn’t know how to regulate his emotions in a normal, healthy manner. He’s more focused on his job than anything else, like a loyal dog who only wakes at the call of his master.

being in a relationship with him would be… rocky, to say the least. I again, don’t think he’d ever hurt you physically, because even if he can’t remember it I think the trauma would run deep (even if he didn’t know where the fear came from). would he raise his voice at you though? most likely. Start arguments just for the hell of it? Disappear for days, weeks, at a time with no explanation? Not know when to distance himself if he’s having a fit? Yup, yup, and yup. The type to call you irrational just bc you’re mad that he snapped at you for no reason.

he would always make it up to you though… sort of. like randomly cooking you dinner, or bringing you back a cool animal skull he found in the forest - placing it on the bedside table when you sleep with a little note that just says ‘sorry’ and nothing more.

[uv-ray-writes]

“What did you do?” The hero’s voice was flat, the words sharp like an accusation, though their eyes betrayed a flash of something—hurt? Confusion? It didn’t matter. They didn’t get to act like they were the victim here.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the villain shrugged their shoulders, trying to look as casual as possible. They couldn’t let the hero see how much this was eating at them—how deeply it hurt, even if they wanted to pretend otherwise.

“Don’t be coy.”

“Well, maybe you should be more specific.” The villain grinned, a little too wide, a little too innocent. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Where is it?”

“Where is what?”

“Your mark,” the hero said through gritted teeth. “It’s gone.”

“Oh. That.” The villain took a step back, glancing at their now-bare wrist, the place where the mark had once been—where their bond to the hero had once lived. “I guess it finally decided to take a vacation. I hope it’s having fun, you know, away from the whole ‘soulmate’ thing.” They paused, letting the words sink in with a mischievous glint in their eyes. “It might’ve needed some space. Some people had real strong opinions about it and they weren’t shy about making their opinions known.”

“For good reason.”

“There’s never a good reason to tell your soulmate to fuck off, you know,” the villains scoffed. “Aren’t all of you goody two shoes supposed to know that? That’s like chapter one on ‘How to be a Decent Human Being’.”

“Not everyone’s soulmate goes around murdering people.”

“Oh yeah, because you’ve never killed a single person in your entire life,” the villain’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“It’s not the same,” the hero ground out, barely holding back the rage.

The villain crossed their arms, their voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Oh, it’s very much the same. You kill people because they don’t agree with you, and I—” They spread their arms with a slow, mocking flourish, “—do the exact same thing. Only, I’m honest about it. You’re just a hypocrite in shiny armour.”

“You don’t get to compare us,” the hero hissed. “You kill because you like it. I do it to protect people, to stop you.”

The villain let out a short laugh, bitter and sharp. “You really still believe that, don’t you? That you’re the good guy? How precious. We both know you’re just as capable of cruelty as I am.”

“That’s not—” The hero took a deep breath, trying to steady themself. “We’re soulmates. That should mean something.”

“Should it?” The villain raised an eyebrow, their voice laced with venom. “Because it doesn’t feel like it means a damn thing. You never wanted it. I was the one who tried to make peace with it, to accept it. You rejected it. You rejected me.”

The hero’s eyes flickered with a flash of guilt, but they quickly masked it with anger. “You’re a villain. You’re everything I fight against.”

“And you’re the hero, right?” The villain’s lip curled into a sneer. “The shining knight who thinks they have all the answers. Well, guess what? I don’t need your approval. I didn’t need your mark either.”

The hero’s voice was dangerously low. “What did you do?”

The villain gave a dramatic shrug, their hand flapping in a dismissive gesture. “Oh, nothing major. Just broke up with fate. Made a deal with a god, got it erased. No big deal.” They grinned. “You wouldn’t believe the paperwork, though. Gods really need to streamline their processes.”

The hero was silent for a moment, processing what they were hearing. “You… erased it? You got rid of it? You didn’t... you didn’t have to do that.”

“Didn’t I?” The villain tilted their head, letting the sarcasm drip from their words like honey. “Because, from where I was standing, it seemed like you were the one who couldn’t even look at me without trying to burn a hole through my skull. So, yeah, I thought maybe it was time to call it quits. Anyway, funny story about that.” The villain stepped closer, their playful tone still dancing in the air. “You know how they always say soulmates are a gift? So I just walked up to fate and demanded a refund.”

“Stop making jokes about this,” the hero snapped, frustration creeping into their voice. “You don’t just get rid of your soulmate’s mark. That’s… that’s insane.”

“Well, call me insane then.” The villain grinned wider.

The hero narrowed their eyes. “You don’t get it. This was supposed to mean something. We were supposed to mean something.”

The villain’s face flickered with something—something soft, almost sad—before they masked it with another flippant grin. “Oh, trust me, I get it. I’ve always gotten it. You were the one who never wanted this. You were the one who couldn’t even look at me without cringing. At least I gave it a shot. But you? You hated it. You hated the idea of being connected to someone like me.”

“Stop,” the hero said sharply, their frustration mounting. “I never hated you. It wasn’t like that. I just—”

“Couldn’t accept me, right? Yeah, I know. Don’t worry, I get it now.” The villain waved a hand, interrupting them with a grin that was all sharp edges. “I’m a villain. You’re a hero. We’re so star-crossed. Shakespeare would’ve had a field day with us.”

The hero’s face softened for a moment, a flicker of guilt flashing across their features. “I never said that.”

“Oh please.” The villain scoffed, crossing their arms. “You couldn’t even stand being in the same room with me. Every time you looked at me, I saw the disgust in your eyes. I wasn’t your soulmate, I wasn’t even a person to you. All you saw was a villain, a person you had to hate because it made you feel good about yourself.”

The hero was quiet, the accusation hanging in the air. But the villain was already moving on, their playful tone back in full force. “Anyway, it wasn’t like I had much of a choice. I made a deal, and bam! Problem solved. No more mark. No more weird soulmate obligations. No more you looking at me like I’m about to tie you to a chair and spout an evil monologue about world domination.”

The hero clenched their fists, trying to hold onto their temper. “Why didn’t you fight for us?”

The villain’s eyes darkened, the bitterness creeping into their voice again. “Do you really think I didn’t try? Do you think I wanted to be free of you? But I couldn’t do it anymore. The pain of knowing I was nothing to you? The constant reminder of what I could never have?”

“You could’ve fought for it,” the hero argued, their voice shaking with frustration. “For us. I didn’t want this. But I would’ve—I would’ve tried if you had.

The villain’s face hardened, the smile fading. “No, you wouldn’t have. I could see it in your eyes every time you looked at me. You couldn’t even say the word ‘soulmate’ without making a face like I’d just spat in your coffee.”

“You’re pushing me away,” the hero accused.

“Oh, please.” The villain threw their hands up, exasperated but still oddly charming in their annoyance. “I’m not pushing you away. I’m letting you go. There’s a difference. I figured it’d be kinder this way. You’d just end up tying me up and trying to reform me, like some kind of twisted, dysfunctional romance movie. Trust me, we’re better off without each other.”

There was a long silence, the weight of their words sinking in, but the villain was already backing away, their eyes twinkling with a mixture of mischief and something else, something more vulnerable that they didn’t want the hero to see.

The hero stood still, staring at the space where the villain had been, feeling a strange emptiness fill the space between them. The hero wanted to chase them, to argue, to fight for something—anything—but the words stuck in their throat.

“Well, that’s that,” the villain called over their shoulder. “You can go back to your clean, shiny world of righteousness and moral superiority. And I’ll just, you know, keep being the bad guy. No biggie.”

With that, the villain turned and walked away, their footsteps light, but there was a heaviness to their departure that the hero couldn’t ignore.

And as much as they hated to admit it, the hero felt like they’d just lost something they never really had.

[kyhora]

AN ANALYSIS ON THE NEW ENEMY

SPOILERS FOR FRAUD. IF YOU WISH TO REMAIN BLIND. AVERT YOUR GAZE ELSEWHERE.

PROVIDENCE, THE FALSE ANGEL

In my previous analysis of the Fraud trailer, I made the comment on how Providence was an angel, but after further analysis of the Providence enemy, I believe it may infact, be a demon.

Initially I believed it to be an angel for the obvious reason of "look at the eye, and the wings, that's typical angel looks". And wanted to theorize that maybe the reason why it could still see was because it has some immunity to the influence of Hell but I think the reasoning falls flat after a few minutes of thinking on it.

THE EYE LIES.

Looking closer at the design, it looks much more obvious that this isn't right. Far from it.

Look at its wings, is something... wrong about it.

If confused still, maybe this shall help:

If there is one visual with angels that are common, it's that their wings are much more like bird wings, but Providence ? Those are wings, just not feathered wings. They much more resemble insect wings.

That's already weird, but I'm not done just yet.

The eye... Isn't it bizarre how we have an EYE on an enemy ? It's funny how we have yet to see much discussion about that yet when it's the most important part of Providence's design.

Eyes are a very important visual in ULTRAKILL, nothing has as much meaning as the eyes, and having an enemy's design be about its eye? PROVIDENCE? THE EYE OF PROVIDENCE? THE DIVINE CONCEPT THAT GOD IS ALL SEEING ? ALL KNOWING ?

THAT EYE ? THAT DAMN EYE THAT WE'RE TALKING ABOUT ? YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE IN ULTRAKILL IS KNOWN TO BE OMNIPOTENT AND VERY AWARE ?

H E L L

So basically, the eye of providence was twisted by Hell to instead refer to the idea that H E L L is the all knowing being of this realm, not God. Which ngl is raw as fuck when you think abt it.

Will also note that there is a clear lack of blue in the design, which is a notable color in angel designs, such as the ever so humble Virtue and Archangel Gabriel. Not as much of a thing to point out since characters can defy those color norms, like how soldiers are modified strays and yet they are somehow white instead of pink/red.

But there is one point I shall provide that truly solidifies the theory for me.

HELL ENERGY

HELL ENERGY ? IN MY FUCKING "ANGEL" ?

Look at the skull in the orb, that's a dead give away that it's Hell energy, this then implies this thing uses hell energy, and if it's an angel... why is it using hell energy ? That's not very angelcore imo. This one realization was all that I needed to really start thinking more about the whole "PROVIDENCE IS A DEMON THEORY" and I think that is the final piece of evidence that further proves the true identity of this...

(oh dear forgive me for saying this...)

FRAUD.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

FSBE 41 - A Bad Feeling

I forgot to put a chapter summary. Fever brain!

On AO3.

Naturally, y’all get jumped immediately. Fucking walking skeletons in armor. You accidentally pull a Brenden Frasier and jab the skull of one, only for the spearhead to stick in the eye socket and pop the damn thing off the body. And you get no time to try to shake that off before you gotta jab another one. Fucking skull-kebab. You sure are glad Lae’zel thought to start you with spears and not some dipshit sword. Stabbing things at a distance is a little easier.

Astarion whirls through the fight in a snarling, white and black blur. Seems especially vicious. But once it’s over and y’all stand around, poking piles of bones and armor, you sidle up to him.

“You good?” you say.

He wipes down his knife before sheathing it. “Just fine. Perhaps a bit eager to be done with all this.”

You ain’t sure if “this” is that fucker Raphael, the brainworm cult, or the ridiculous, underground goth cathedral.

You’re about to join in on the bitching session, but he moves off before you can say nothing.

Man’s worked up. It’s understandable.

Ain’t no reason for the twinge of hurt.

Shadowheart is all for heading right down the throat of the gauntlet. There’s a straight-shot hallway doing just that, far as y’all can tell. There’s also two other hallways that branch off, one to either side.

The group debates each, but you’re watching Astarion. Notice him pad towards the right-hand branch, frowning. Watch him scent the air. His scowl deepens.

“We wanna check the corners before activating them trials, right?” you say.

Shadowheart’s mouth opens. But the others is already nodding.

“Been ambushed in something a lot like this,” Karlach says. “Whole hoard of barbazu came screaming down this canyon. Broke my ax in one of them’s skulls, and had to use the horns on a severed head to hack my way out.”

A good half of the group gives her some real appraising looks. You rock back and forth a couple times to make sure your knees don’t go full jelly.

Shadowheart throws up her hands. Don’t quite stomp after y’all. Lets y’all walk along for several moments before catching up to you.

“Do you know what a cleric is, exactly?” she says. Takes you a second to realize she’s talking to you.

“Umhm?” you say.

“A kind of priest. One who channels the power of the god or goddess they serve.”

You ain’t sure what to say about that, so you only nod.

Shadowheart sighs. “My Lady is the source of my magic, Eleanor. I doubt this immortal general will go quietly, even if we find a way to remove that immortality. If we’re to better our chances, it would be a good idea to make sure all of us are as prepared as we can be.”

When you nod again, “Dark justiciars are second only to a Mother Superior. They hold the Lady’s favor. I could channel her power better than I ever have if I can claim that. Once I complete the gauntlet. You like staking the odds in our favor.”

Ah. She’s noticed that, huh? She’s trying to appeal to you to, what, help her?

For all her fucked up goddess seems to wallow around in, she is a god. You guess. Those are real things here (Gale used to fuck his) (fucking weird). And you do want to collect any and all advantages you can get, because there’s no such thing as a fair fight.

You look at her. Black hair cut into harsh bangs to frame her face. Her thick eyeliner, the scar over her nose and the almost…pleading in her green eyes.

She don’t need your permission. She don’t need anybody’s. So why is she so desperate?

“What you do with your life ain’t up to me,” you say. “I wouldn’t do any of this, but I ain’t you. If…I’ll support you. Whatever you decide, I got your back.”

If she decides to go through with it, well. You don’t know about the place enough to make a solid judgement. But if she hesitates, if that pleading is something else, she needs to know somebody will reach out to catch her. Should she need it.

Like you did.

The relief takes ten years off her. Her smile crinkles her eyes for the first time in a long while, and she gives you a clipped nod. There’s the woman who helped you.

Behind y’all, Lae’zel says, “Something smells of death.”

***

“—if I hear one more snide remark about my whiff of undeath,” Astarion whispers as y’all scuttle up to an open archway.

“You’re actually not as fragrant as I thought you’d be,” Shadowheart says. “For a walking corpse.”

“And you’re exactly as tasteless and tactless as I’d expect you to be, for a Sharran.” The last part said with an oozing simper.

You’re about ready to clock their heads together. Stupid fucking elves. Half-elves. Whatever.

“Do y’all need to go back to the hotel?” you say. “Because it sounds an awful lot like we need to turn this car the fuck around.”

It buys you a baffled second or two of squinting perplexity. Before Wyll creeps back out into the hall.

“Looks clear,” he says. “But I have a nasty hunch it isn’t.”

“It isn’t,” Lae’zel says. She’s stationed herself on the other side of the round archway y’all hide behind, and you can’t help but think it’s to get away from the bickering. Right now, though, she leans out to stare into the horror chamber beyond.

You caught the stink of it before y’all actually found it. Metallic rot and the almost-sweet stink of dead things. You caught one glimpse, maybe ten second in total, and stepped back before your stomach could process it.

You ain’t exactly a stranger to horror in an academic sense. You seen farm injuries and read about way worse. But an actual, human spine with a head still attached? Pink muscle and white gristle and ligaments half chewed off?

Like them beef bones they sell at the supermarket around the holidays. Just regular cuts of an animal, that’s all. Just meat, just a hog for slaughter. You dealt with all those.

Those didn’t have no ear attached. With a ring still pierced through it.

Fuck fuck jesus fucking shit fuck.

“It seems a good chance that this is the lair of the devil Raphael was talking about,” Gale says.

“It’s a lair of something,” Astarion says.

Karlach peers in again, giving it an almost thoughtful—in a pants-shitting kinda way—frown.

“There was a second story in there,” you say after gulping down excess spit. “Like a busted-off balcony. Think we can sneak off and find a way up there? Circle back around?”

Wyll nods. “Approaching from the high ground.”

There’s more doors down the hall. Got to be a way up. Cause walking right in seems a real fucking stupid—

“No more hiding,” something says.

Ain’t one, goddamn human thing about it. The voice is less a voice and more the impact of a hammer to the side of a face. An ax blade crunching through an arm. Screaming and squealing and mangling formed somehow into words.

You reach out to catch yourself before you can topple over. Even Lae’zel has to give her head a shake, blinking fast.

“Come in,” the thing says. “No use for the entertainment to run. Yet.”

“The fuck,” you whisper, voice so dry your throat clicks in the attempt.

None of y’all really say nothing else. No looks of agreement. It’s like a barbed hook jabs you through the guts, reeling you into the room on jittering legs. Past more body parts. Past a mound of pink and gray, rotten viscera humming with bloated flies and white, wriggling—

You force yourself to look straight ahead as a new gag catches in your throat.

The floor above done crashes down, at some point. A couple torches cast weak, orange light here and there, but leave a lot of the place in shadow. The deepest shadow is at the top of the smashed-down ramp.

It steps outta that rancid darkness. Huge. Broad. The air screams in horror around it, even before you register the skulls hanging like a beaded necklace over its thick chest. A bull-like face, eyes literally glowing a hateful orange.

“Holy fuck, it’s a fucking orthon,” Karlach breathes. You ain’t never heard her like that before. Even Wyll’s got a distinctly gray cast to him.

The thing’s got hands with three-inch claws on them. Inhuman feet, like a deer hoof the size of a dinner platter, but broken up like they was trying to shatter into grotesque fingers. The man-sized sword barely registers against all that.

“You’re too fresh for this place, aren’t you?” it says. Its breath is carrion stink and what you can only describe as battlefield rot: ripped bowels and blood and fear. It feels oily, somehow. Like rancid grease slathered over your skin. “There’s a hint of the surface to you.”

The fucks an orthon? you shove at the others, mostly a gibbering scream.

Karlach answers: flash of fire and a screaming sea of devils. Hulking shapes amongst them, charging through smaller enemies like a dragon smashing through a forest.

War devil. Carnage incarnate.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck, you’re all gonna die. You made a bad call, finally.

Then them glowing eyes shift. Fix on something behind you. “You. Tiefling. You’ve got the stench of the hells about you. A servant of Zariel if I’m not mistaken.” It sniffs the air, a gross, wet noise like an oversized hound snuffling around a bloated carcass on the side of the road. “I’d know the stink of infernal machinery anywhere.”

Somehow, Karlach keeps herself steady (you wish you was bundled up in her strong arms). Looks straight at that thing and says, “What do you know of infernal machinery?”

The thing regards her a moment. Claws tap on the hilt of its giant, fuck-off sword. “Only what I smell. And whatever engine burns within you, it’s grinding to an inevitable explosion. Burning and fear; you reek of it.”

You can feel its attention on her. Slick and sharp and terrible. A horrifying anticipation.

Then the not-quite words sort of register, and you blink and look over. Karlach don’t meet your gaze.

What? Explosion?

Another snuffle. A pig around its fallen owner, tusks slicked with saliva as it chomps, chomps, chomps. “There’s something else, though. Cherries, musk. And sulfur.”

When it snarls your bladder damn near releases. Them eyes blaze like them hell pits over in Turkmenistan. Like an opening in the heart of a volcano.

“Raphael,” the thing bellows. “I can smell him all over you. Where is he?”

You’re gonna tell him whatever he wants to know. Do whatever he tells you. Go throw yourself over the railing outside and plunge into the depths just to get the fuck away.

You used to go blank something like this when the Pastor uttered your name. When Mother found you amongst the congregation or when one of the Aunts reached for you.

Shaking, panting like a winded horse, you look up. Though chattering teeth, you manage, “You. Uh. Know him?”

“That perfumed trickster swindled me. Trapped me here.”

He should die for that, you want to say. Want to offer to do it yourself. Anything to get away. Anything to make this thing not look at you, not notice you. Give it whatever it wants.

“I. I know what you mean. About him.” Got no corn-husking idea how the fuck you’re forming words, but somehow you are.

“Where is he. Spit it out. Now.”

He lifts that sword. Didn’t the Japanese make something like that? Made for taking down fucking horses?

“I don’t really know where he is right now. But maybe. Maybe we could help each other? With him? He done us dirty, too.” You’re not actually talking, so much as babbling. Barely aware of your own words. A little toggle stuck open and pouring out shit you can barely comprehend.

Shadowheart is all alarm, like licking a battery. “Careful. I’m not sure we want Raphael as an enemy.”

The thing laughs. It sounds like snapping bones and crushed skulls. “Bargaining, are you?”

And then he tells a story. Slaughtered concubines. Children. A skull as a…codpiece?

They got codpieces here. Oh look, a random detail you can latch onto, turn over like a smooth rock in your pocket again and again.

“You can do nothing,” the thing says. “It’s not just walls that keep me here. I am bound by a contract. If I leave this place, I will become Raphael’s slave.”

Of fucking course he would. Ratfuck sonuvabitch fucking devil’s asshole. That explains why the poncy prick ain’t coming down himself. He don’t want this guy dead, does he? Or not just dead. Cause bad people go to hell, so what happens to demons if they die? Probably some kinda desertion, for these fuckers.

You still send that question to the brainworm group chat. And yeah, devils just go back to hell when they die.

Raphael is using y’all to enslave this thing.

Jesus titty-fucking christ.

Shadows move above. Hellbeast ain’t alone. And you’d rather try to chew through a redwood with your teeth than fight this thing. Cause you’ll die. One hundred percent, y’all cannot win this fight.

“What’s the contract?” you say.

“What are you doing?” Astarion hisses in your ear.

“I got experience with contracts,” you say.

Filing them, mostly. Standing in as witness or backup to the witness. True crime shit or that youtube lawyer’s videos.

It’s a fucking hail mary, is what it is. But so far you are still breathing, and if that ain’t already a giant, fucking hail mary. Worst case scenario, you fuck up and get bitten in half in a few minutes rather than dying to brainworm cult or fucked up hyenas or some new bullshit later.

You glance to Gale. His lips is moving silently, fingers twitching in a tiny pattern. He gives you the world’s tiniest nod.

He’ll open a portal. Y’all might have a chance to run.

“Do you now?” the walking catastrophe says. It eyes you. Then sets the tip of the sword to the floor and rests its hands on it like an old timey cane. “Very well. It’s been some time since I’ve heard a proper grovel.”

And he starts to…sing?

It’s the wailing of the dying. The shriek of a man disemboweled alive. Screeching and sobbing as limbs are ripped off, ribcages smashed in. Torment and horror shoved into a sack and dragged over a pit of burning gravel and for the second time in twenty-four hours, you damn near piss yourself.

“Spill all the blood sworn to night; Silence all prayers, smother each rite. Wander Shar’s halls, hungry to slay; Leave no justiciar alive to obey."

You ain’t look at Shadowheart. Can barely keep focus on your body to stop it shaking to pieces.

“Leave none to hear it, then be set free; This is your oath. Swear, swear it to—”

It hits you like a crack over the head. Can’t say what, exactly, in that moment. But that instinct, that shining line snaps you in the face and before you can process anything, you slam through the bleating animal terror in your head.

“Stop!”

You ain’t especially loud. Voice ain’t especially sharp. Compared to the soul-shattering horror of that thing singing, you ain’t shit.

But you catch it off guard, you think. Probably ain’t used to being interrupted. And why would it? Fucking demon kaiju up there. Only a total dumbshit would do something that suicidal and oh, you was the dumbshit why would you do that?

“Oh fuck,” Karlach says.

The thing up there blinks its hellfire eyes slow. Almost placidly. And in the voice of a nuclear detonation, it says, “What did you just say?”

[postersofleon]

RE4 leon x reader. i'm trying to get out of my writer's block, so yeah. infected!leon and infected!reader but no smut. just implied friends or probably more

"Oh, my god," you grabbed your head, "Leon..." A small growl was at the end of your sentence. Everything you saw was almost completely blurry thanks to that dick ass creature who threw up a sort of acid. Despite constantly repeating it, you still didn't understand that the people in this village had bug DNA in them. Your mind wanted to make a list of all the probably insects they were, but you clutched your face and growled even louder. "Fuck." You closed your eyes and your knees gave out into the ground.

Leon hurried to your side, "I'm here. I'm here." His hand was on your shoulder to assure your safety. His other hand gently cleaned away the spit with a rag, the slime was still around your nose and cheeks, but at least it didn't burn anymore. "Thanks." You tried to look at Leon, but he still looked a bit blurry however you could spot his awkward smile. Your eyes narrowed a bit, "Thank you, Leon." You whispered softly. Leon pushed off his side bangs before properly sitting down beside you.

It was just a tiny break from this hell.

Luis just died in your arms thanks to your Major whom you trusted with your entire heart. The Major that caught you how to heal a fellow comrade. Krauser didn't like you like he liked Leon. That stung more than you would like. You liked the praise and you liked the harsh training. You wanted to see that you were worth it and just a lousy weak girl.

But in the end, you were a lousy girl.

You allowed yourself and Leon to get infected. You allowed Luis to die. You were a secondary character in Leon's life story because Krauser didn't even mention you. You weren't Leon. Now, thinking about it, you didn't know why Leon wasn't sent alone because God knew he could've survived without a person covering him from above or her stupid patching abilities.

You were just a girl who was suppose to die. A girl wasn't allowed to train beside Leon.

You were nothing.

Leon slowly looked at you, "Hey, are you okay?" He asked gently. He was treating you like a wounded animal, you wish you could be offended by it, but you knew if he didn't speak to you in that tone. You would think of running off or making an excuse on running off. But all that question made was you slump over.

"I'm tired." You mumbled. "I'm tired of dealing with merchant. I'm tired of chasing around Ashley. I'm so fucking tired." You hugged your legs against your chest. Leon nodded his head, "I can see why." He answered in that same tone of yours.

A small flashback appeared in your mind, you remembered how Leon came back from Krauser's training with cuts and a sore body. That same bitterness came into mind once again. Burning your skull with your useless self.

He has a true reason to be tried while all you had was your sorry ass kicking itself over and over. Begging for pity.

You stayed quiet. Feeling that damn bug, walking around and making her feel worse; Leon's hands cupped each other. You two were alone. Both struggled with an issue neither wanted to talk about, but you knew your issues, so that was enough.

Your finger scratched the inside of your ear.

"I'm," You struggle to even find your own words because every word after that ends with a wall, "I'm sorry." You whispered. Your legs crossed underneath your body, you wanted to say more, but what else there to say. "If I did a better job saving Luis," Your mouth turned dry, "If I," Your fingers squeezed together and repeated hit your chest, "I did a good job as your partner. This wouldn't end like this."

Leon tried to call out your name, but that anger of yours stood more. "I wanted to make myself proud. Make sure I can handle this."

"Handling this doesn't make it easier for me either." Leon remarked quickly. You nodded your head, "Well, you are Leon S. Kennedy. The president's favorite agent and everyone's favorite rookie." You mumbled annoyed.

"Seriously?" He scratched the back of his head, "You are just," Leon looked around the empty section of the castle they cleared out, "Jealous of me?"

"Envious."

"Well, I'm not." Leon folded his right leg and let his left leg stretched out. "I hate my life. I'm given a responsibility I never wanted. Krauser just saw me as his younger version of himself." Leon ruffled his blond locks of hair. "And that dick turned evil. That's fun." His head tilted a tiny bit towards you. Leon squeezed his thigh.

"Well, I'm nothing compared to you." You mumbled. "They don't even bother remembering my name." You recalled how everyone knew Leon's name, but Krauser being behind of this made more sense. "I'm just..." Your flashbacks betrayed you when Luis looked at you.

He smiled at you.

He saw you.

"I don't know who I am." Like it or not, you wanted praise for your achievements. Before Leon could answer or even you to hate yourself- Leon and you feel even more to the ground. The bug was picking more inside of you, running around and making itself a space. "Leon!" You cried out weakly. Your hand stretched out to get his hand. He grabbed your hand tightly with his.

The pain was running throughout the body. The black veins around your body were growing around your arms. You felt the burn with every inch. The veins crawled up. Up your neck and slowly up your face. You grabbed Leon's hand tighter, desperately trying to find peace and hope in this situation.

What will happen once the plagas effects them? Will they be mindless creatures every once in a while crying out 'Las Plagas' or muttering about the Lord Saddler?

Your stomach was gnawing at itself, bubbles of acid raised inside of your body. The damn bug was biting and biting. Controlling your stupid nervous system. You couldn't speak. It was grunts. Whines. Your body twitched over and over as the bug clawed and clawed. Your hand squeezed his tightly, your nails clawed and drew out his blood from his forearm.

Leon growled with pain, his arms instinctively twitched to hold you, but his own bugs was making his body hurt yet he tried to protect. His arms wrapped around your body, holding your clawing arm against his chest. Both of your body twitched over and and over. Clashing against each other. Who knows how long it lasted? It could've been days. Seconds. Weeks.

But once it ended, Leon and you were in that small silence. His arms around your waist. You let out a small sob, and your forehead rested on his chest. No matter the situation, blood and wounds always tied you two together. Leon's hand gently held your cheek, it was silent a moment as he comforted you with his touch. Like it or not. You were his partner and you loved it.

[tired-enby-thats-obsessed]

Been thinking about Dragon Age Inquisition.

Specifically, Trespasser and how it just absolutely rips the soul from your body.

Massive spoilers ahead.

It is a slow, foreboding march.

Even when I played it the first time, their were two inevitable conclusions that loomed over the story.

Solas did this. (Something that's actually pretty nicely foreshadowed. Don't get me wrong, I would absolutely crack the egghead open if given the chance, but he is a brilliant character.)

The second is that the Inquisition isn't politically convenient anymore. And that only ends one way. (That's made obvious by the fact that the Inquisitor either has the relinquish all power or let the the powers that be have final say.)

And every interaction along the main story, just fills you with more dread. It becomes more and more apparent that there isn't a good ending here.

This is what happens after you got the 'good ending', where everything was wrapped in a neat bow. The thoughts about probable implications for the holy war you started just are swept away.

The best part about Trespasser is that it claws you back into an epilogue where you have to face those implications.

Given the Dragon Age world and universe, it actually seems a lot more like the ending we should've gotten in the first place.

In fact that's the worst thing about Trespasser, is that the true ending/epilogue to the game was put behind a fucking paywall. (and new game plus because god EA is a dogshit company)

There's also just an air of finality. This is the last time the Inquisitor is going to be around their inner circle, so you're all the more compelled to see everyone's dialogue and really take in the downtime. Because you know that by continuing your heading towards the destruction of everything you've built up for the last 40-60 hours.

Your companions have other things they need to pursue, they promise they'll provide whatever aide they can to help the Inquisitor find Solas, but the quiet part.

The unspoken trade off, is that means the amount of allies the Inquisitor actually has side by side with them, dwindles each time they're promised the nebulous all aide that can be offered.

Then Solas takes the last thing he can. I fully believe he intended for the Inquisitor to die after ripping the anchor from them. He only paused the reaction killing them, so he could have one last opportunity to justify his actions, in hopes that person he was about to murder in cold blood didn't think him a monster.

And there's the opportunity to give him exactly that.

If promised that he can be changed and it doesn't have to be like this. Then everything he's done, the skulls he's crushed, and the bodies he has left to bury, were all for a higher, greater cause, and even one of the people, or the person he betrayed most, in some small way can see that.

If promised, he will be defeated. That changes nothing, that prospective comes from someone that simply can't see reason and barely a threat worth considering.

Either way, he leaves the Inquisitor to die, to be consumed by the very magic he helped create, one final act of betrayal that it wouldn't even pass his mind to rectify.

The thanks, the celebration, the accolades after that.

After your Inquisitor had lost who they were to be a religious martyr for a god and a country they might not even believe in.

After they potentially save the lead monarchy.

After they purged the world of the apocalypse that literally scarred the sky.

After defeating lost legends and long dead gods.

After stopping yet another war from breaking out.

After having their arm severed from their body because the people around them couldn't handle the thought of them dying forgotten in such a place.

They have to walk into a room of people who have hated them and every god damn thing they have stood for since the start.

There is no hesitation in being handed the entire list of the things you and your inquisition have done to piss these people off.

A complete bombardment, the full intention to spell out every good deed that will not go unpunished.

Finally there is that ultimatum.

Do you keep the Inquisition's forces with direct and full communication with both governments, that barely get along at the best of times. And face complete military retaliation if you step a single foot out of line.

Or.

Do you disband the Inquisition. Let the world take the very last thing it can from you. Give into the final set of demands made, and hope that the bonds with allies made will be strong enough to survive complete, willful annihilation.

The closing scene is the Inquisitor in a room and dagger in a map, pointed to Solas, Tevinter.

Then there's my Inquisitor. Salmon.

A Dalish Elf. An archer. Iron Bull's lover.

All of these things just add to the tragedy of this ending.

He always promises to kill Solas. It's just what needs to happen.

The game, and surrounding dragon age lore, makes it pretty clear that Lavellan doesn't really have a place back with their clan. They've strayed to far. Gotten to involved in human politics for the clan to be anything but a target if they were to return.

Even if the keeper welcomed them back, the act of returning would in itself be irresponsible.

Then there's the lost of an arm.

Apart for the general rehabilitation that would need to take place, an archer specifically, would lose just another piece of their identity.

Sure Salmon would preserve with another weapon, but he would never be able to use a bow again, something he's probably had with him from birth.

And then Iron Bull. Another thing made clear is that Iron Bull doesn't bring the Inquisitor along for a far amount of the mercenary trips. Even in the base game ending, this is true.

(This is the one thing thing I also know to be confirmed in Veilguards)

So he probably spends months, by himself, learning how to fight again, using whatever connections he has, focused on the one goal of finding Solas, just so he has a fleeting chance to kill him.

It's just so sad to think about.

Trespasser is a depressing, miserable, spiteful, loathsome experience if you cared about this game. Which I clearly do.

And I haven't even gotten into the whole 'the elven gods are the only true gods and thus centuries of oppression and hate were over complete falsehoods' and what that means for any of the Inquisitors.

And yet, it has got to be one of the best endings to a game I have experienced.

It was a crash grab. I'm not even going to deny that. It was the entire set up to selling a fourth instalment.

However it felt like dragon age. All of the other games had similar themes for the endings, where yes, you saved the world, but at what cost?

There was always that effort to make you think of the sacrifices you had to make in order to get that far. And I think Trespasser just did a really good job of that, by literally stripping the Inquisitor of everything they cared about.

You can't even marry Cassandra if you help her achieve her dream of being Divine.

Even if you romanced Iron Bull, he'll still betray you if you didn't do the Charger's mission, or let them die in said mission.

Dorian is going to Tevinter and you can't follow.

And then there's the fucking Solas romance.

And that's top tier. I adore the fact that there isn't a happy ending here.

It makes subsequent playthroughs a lot more interesting, in the fact that making certain decisions that seem like the right thing only ends in fucking you over more in Trespasser.

So do you play, in a way that makes the Inquisition's death sentencing a little easier, or do you go through in spite of it.

That your inquisitor is going to end up stripped of all personal identity, so should they do the best with the one they're given. Or lash out and make it everyone's problem, because they won't be remembered as who they are, and depending on your choice in Trespasser, they probably won't be remembered as the Inquisitor.

I don't really know how to end this whole rant.

But do keep in mind if any of this changed or was recontexualised, or was just reconned in Veilguards, I don't have knowledge of that.

I haven't played Veilguards, I don't plan to, so I'm not familiar with any of that game's canon/lore. And to be fair both DA O and DA 2 are more like hazy memories to me at this point as well.

So yeah, I just wanted to rant about Trespasser and how it pretty much making the rest of the game redundant or that it meant nothing, actually worked here.

[coffee-n-some-cream]

get back here and let me hold you motherfucker

With no other options left, Casey chucked his empty beer can at the guy. He jumped as it bounced off the alley wall with a clang and landed crumpled on the asphalt by his feet. Finally, he looked up and spotted Casey leaning over the edge of the rooftop, his asshole face scrunched in confusion. “What the hell? How’d you get up there?”

“Don’t worry about that. Where’s the turtle guy you were with earlier.” His words slurred together, and he knew he probably sounded drunk off his ass. Whatever.

He cocked his head. “Raph?”

Casey’s fists clenched at the fact that this random guy he’s never even met knows Raph’s name. It took three encounters and more than one fistfight before Raph told Casey his name, let alone anything else. “Yeah. Raph. Where’d he go?”

The guy stared up at him for a moment, then said, “Why? What do you want with him?”

The nerve of this guy. “None of your damn business. I’m a friend of his. Who the hell are you?”

Crossed arms. “I’m a friend of Raph’s too. And I’ve never met you.”

“Hey, that’s my line, asshole.” Casey jabbed a finger toward him and swayed with the movement. “I’ve been Raph’s best friend for years, and he’s never mentioned a washed-out grub of a guy who doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself.”

The guy froze for a moment. Then, “Casey Jones?”

Oh, perfect. The guy knew his name too. “Yeah? And? Who the hell are you?”

“Oh. I guess I have heard of you. I just didn’t expect you to be, uh…” He shrugged. “I’m Woody, Mikey’s friend. Raph took off looking for you a while ago.”

Oh. Now that he mentioned it, the name Woody had been said to him a few times before. New guy, Raph says Mikey is totally into him. Well. “Great. Catch ya later.” He turned to go, then paused and looked back. “Raph’s not big on people touching him. So. Maybe just tone that down.”

Woody squinted at him, an infuriating smile tugging at his lips. “When did you see me…?” He glanced back at the bar he had walked out of. “Were you watching us earlier? Through the window?”

Casey’s face was suddenly hot. “Nevermind,” he muttered and took off, hoping to god that this Woody guy wouldn’t go blabbing about this conversation to Mikey or anyone else. But knowing Casey’s luck, Raph would hear all about his weirdly possessive shovel talk by the next morning.

_

Casey stared up at the water tower, teeth chattering around the cigarette in his mouth. He’d stayed there for a solid twenty minutes before deciding it was a lost cause, then a few more because he needed to have a cry over how much of a lost cause it was. The warmth of the beer had worn off a while ago, but the woozy feeling hadn’t, and now his face was tacky and his nose was snotty. 

This was their spot. If Raph had been looking for him for a while, he had probably already checked here and given up. He had probably also tried texting or calling Casey with no answer. Not for the first time, Casey wanted to strangle himself when he pictured his trusty old cell phone shattered against the sidewalk. Raph had no way of tracking him down. No reason to either, considering how much of a dick Casey had been earlier, storming out on him like that. Hell, he’d probably given up already. Gone home to his family. Or maybe back to the bar, to Woody with his touchy hands and casual smiles. He’d told Woody that Raph didn’t like being touched, but he hadn’t seemed to mind all that much when Woody’s hand was squeezing his arm. It had taken Casey months to get to that point, when a touch or a tap didn’t have Raph doing a double-take.

Yeah. Raph was probably doing what any reasonable person would do. Staying inside where it was warm, being with people who were nice and normal and didn’t freak the fuck out at you for no reason because they had too many feelings all jumbled up in their thick, stupid skulls. And here was Casey, standing out on a rooftop on a frigid February night, shivering his ass off and wishing the guy he was in love with was stupid enough to come find him.

He let his head hang down for a second. Let himself feel just how pathetic he was. He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his hoodie, trying to keep the snot from dribbling onto his lip. “Stupid…” he muttered. “I’m so fucking stupid.” He dropped his cigarette, ground it out with his sneaker, and turned to go.

A clattering from across the roof made him freeze, and then Raph was pulling himself from the fire escape onto the roof. He looked at him, brown eyes shining, skin dark and flushed. “Case,” he said, voice breathless like he’d been running. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere. You didn’t answer my calls.”

Casey stared back, mouth hanging open.

Raph looked him over, frown pulling his lips down, and took a step forward. “What the hell are you doing up here? Why’d you run off like that?”

Casey shook his head, suddenly overwhelmed by the way Raph was looking at him. His eyes were locked onto him, his body leaning forward, like Casey was the only thing that mattered right now. “I–” He needed to say something. “I went back to the bar.”

Raph’s frown twisted with confusion, another step forward. “You did? When? I didn’t see you.”

“I saw you. With that Woody guy. You were s-smilng–” He clamped his mouth shut on the hiccup, hoping Raph hadn’t noticed.

He glanced up. Raph looked horrified.

“Are you… crying?”

Yeah… yeah, he couldn’t do this. “Uh. I’m gonna, um. I’m freezing my butt off out here, I’m gonna go home. Night.” He turned and, since it worked so well last time, bolted for the edge of the roof.

“Casey!” Raph shouted, and he barely had time to register the sound of footsteps pounding behind him before strong hands were yanking him back by his jacket and pulling him from the edge of the roof. 

He struggled, it was instinct. The edge of the roof, freedom and escape, was right there, if he could just wriggle out of Raph’s hold. “Let go, I’m fine!”

“Would you just–!” Raph managed to get an arm around Casey’s waist, wrestling him back toward the middle of the roof. “Quit. Running. Away!” He grabbed Casey’s arm, yanked him around, and pulled him forward. Arms clamped around him, squeezing him against Raph’s body in a tight hug.

Casey struggled once, twice more against the firm hold, then slumped. As if all the fight in his body left him at once. Raph was hugging him. Hugging him tight, like he was afraid Casey would slip through his fingers if he let up even just a little. It felt good. He closed his eyes.

They both stood still, breaths coming out as labored, white puffs in the night air. Raph was warm against Casey’s chest, the smell of his leather jacket familiar, and Casey pushed his snotty nose into his shoulder. Raph’s hand came up to hold his head there, fingers twisting into his hair.

Casey sniffled. “’m sorry.”

Raph sighed, but didn’t let up on hugging him. “What are you cryin’ for, Case?” His voice sounded a little hoarse, wrung-out, and Casey felt a tug of guilt at being the cause of it.

“Nothin’, I’m just drunk.”

A huff, and then Raph was leaning back to look at Casey’s face. He put calloused hands on either side of his head. Casey sniffed, trying not to look too snotty and gross as his sort-of-boyfriend inspected him. Raph’s thumbs rubbed along his cheeks, wiping at old tear tracks. He looked worried, his eyes dark in the dim moonlight.

“Talk to me, Case. You’re freaking me out.”

“Don’t mean to. You just. I just always feel like...” He clenched his eyes shut for a moment, wishing he was more sober. He gripped the lapels of Raph’s jacket. “I love you.” He heard Raph’s breathing stop, but kept going. “And sometimes it feels like I love you so much it’s gonna just– just tear out of me, like some kinda monster. Like, it hurts, sometimes, in my chest.” He put a hand against his chest, and leaned his cheek against Raph’s hand, which hadn’t moved. “And when you– when you do stuff like last night. When you act like it’s nothing, I just–”

“Casey,” Raph said, his voice low and unsure.

“And then when I went back to the bar, I saw you with that guy and he was– you let him put his hand on your arm, just like that, and you were smiling at him. You know how long it took before you let me do that? Before you smiled at me like that? I thought…” He shook his head, opening his eyes only to train them on Raph’s chest, memorizing the way the leather wrinkled between his fingers. “I don’t know what I thought. But basically, I love you. That’s it.”

Raph was silent. His thumbs moved along Casey’s cheeks in continuous circles, but he was silent. They stood for long enough with nothing but the sounds of New York between them that Casey worked up the courage to look up. He blinked.

Raph looked scared. He was staring at Casey’s tear-streaked, reddened, snotty face, and he looked scared. “Casey, I…” he said, breathy, but didn’t continue.

Casey sighed, gave his best wry grin. “You don’t gotta say it back, Raph.”

Raph frowned again, bit his lip. He shook his head. And then he was tugging Casey forward and pushing warm, dry lips against Casey’s chapped ones. He closed his eyes and let Raph pull him closer, curling an arm around his shoulders. They had kissed before, but this was different. Slower, sweeter. Tender in a way Casey didn’t know Raph was capable of. Raph had never kissed him in a way that made him feel like broken glass, like he would fall apart if Raph’s arms weren’t holding him together. It was a moment suspended, the only sound the wetness between their lips, the only sensation Raph’s teeth pulling at his bottom lip, Raph’s thumb against the soft skin under his ear, Raph’s breaths against his cheek.

Raph pulled back and looked up at him. Casey looked back, unsure what to make of the glint in Raph’s eyes. He’d never seen this one before. It was new.

“Casey,” Raph said, voice still low and breathless.

“What?”

“I let Woody touch my arm because he’s my kid brother’s best friend. I was being real fuckin’ nice. But I want you touching me way more than I want him touching me. You get me?”

Casey stared down at him, then nodded.

“Casey.”

“What?”

“It’s freezing out here. I’m taking you home. Don’t run away again.”

Casey shook his head. “I’m not gonna run away again.”

Raph kissed him one more time. “Good.”

AO3

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Adam vs Mammon

Based on the rp blog @fanofstuff01

Adam: Do I have to go to this meeting? You always complain about how boring and what a waste of time they are.

Lucifer: Well, as Hell's newest King it's only a matter of time before you'd meet all the sins anyway. Might as well get it out of the way before Sinsmas.

Adam and Lucifer were currently riding in the limo down to the other side of Pride where the Sins meeting was going to take place. Since recently getting married and with twins on the way it was important that Adam get well acquainted with the sins.

But that also meant dealing with that loud mouth Mammon.

Adam: Yeah I guess so.

He placed his hand on his belly and gently rubbed they were so excited to be having kids together at long last.

They pulled up to the building and got out of the limo, Luicfer helped Adam out and they went inside. They sat on the thrones at the high end of the table. Since Adam was crowned King now he had to start attending these meetings at least before the twins came.

Adam sat beside Lucifer holding his hand and the other on his belly. It was like the damn thing grew overnight. He's four months or 17 weeks along.

The sins started to pile into the room and Adam tried not to give Mammon the stink eye. Fucking fat bastard thinks he can just step on Lucifer like he's a bug under his god damned shoe? At least Satan apologized when he broke Lucifer's thumb accidentally.

Lucifer: Good, everyone is here so-

Mammon: Why the fuck is he here?

Lucifer clenched his jaw, they haven't even been here five minutes and already this shit show was acting up. Adam glared at him.

Lucifer: Don't start. Adam is here to-

Mammon: To be an eye sore? Because honestly Lu you-

Adam didn't hear the rest of what he said because his temper flared, something hot inside his core ignited and it wanted out. It wanted out now.

Adam slammed both hands on the table, he felt like a man possessed as he stared down the sin of Greed on the other end of the meeting table.

Adam: The only eye sore in this room is you, you fat ugly piece of Christmas jester garbage. STOP interrupting him!

Luicfer's eyes went wide, what the Hell had gotten into Adam? Sure Mammon was a rude sack of shit but Lucifer could handle him. This little outburst where the other sins were stunned, made Mammon burst out laughing.

Mammon: Oh please!

He got up from his seat and circled the table until he was right by Adam, Lucifer was ready to snap him in half in case he tried anything. Mammon stuck his finger out pointing at Adam..

Mammon: Really Lu? This? You really ought to get your bitch in lin- INE!!

Adam felt that heat only got stronger and he grabbed Mammons finger and with strength he didn't know he possessed, snapped his pointer finger like a twing. He shoved the sin of Greed so hard he landed on his fat ass making the meeting room quake.

Lucifer: .... Adam?

He peered around to look at his husband and was shocked to see his eyes were wholly red, no other color there. His face pinched in a snarl as he glared at Mammon.

Mammon: Why you little bitch!!

He got up and was about to charge at Adam, but Adam held out his hand and in a burst of Hell's flame his guitar axe appeared and he used it to smack Mammon directly in the face making him stumble back before Adam came down and embedded it into Mammons foot.

Step on his fucking husband.

Mammon howled in pain, that shouldn't hurt!? What the fuck?

Mammon: The fuck is that made of angelic steel!?

Adam: Yes actually.

He twisted the blade more, black blood pooled and gushed onto the floor.

Adam: Or did you forget who the fuck I am? I was a commander for a fucking reason you cunt, so I suggest you sit down, stop interrupting my fucking husband or the next place this axe will go is in your fucking skull!!

That last part came out more demonic, flames escaped Adams mouth and the lights flickered.

Mammon actually looked nervous.

Lucifer went over and placed a hand on Adams shoulder, which made Adam relax.

Lucifer: I think he's had enough for now, Addie.

Adam blinked, his eyes going back to that beautiful golden shade Lucifer loved so much. He turned and pulled his guitar out of Mammons foot. Lucifer guided Adam back to his seat as Mammon limped away to his own.

He kept an arm around Adams waist for the rest of the meeting, more so to keep his husband in place. And to feel his lovely curves.

Lucifer: Anyone else? No? Good, let's get this meeting underway.

[hope-luvs-hrtstppr]

my tlt annotations! part two: Harrow the Ninth (by Tamsyn Muir) *spoilers ahead*

- “Nonagesimus, nobody is coming to save you. Not God. Not Augustine. Nobody.” (Muir, 15) starting off strong

- i love ianthe calling harrow “harry”

- “The past is dead, and they’re both dead, but you and I are alive. What are they? What are they, other than one more corpse we’re dragging behind us?” (Muir, 16)

- “Sometimes you would forget who you were, and at recalling yourself, weep like a child.” (Muir, 30) HARROWHARK GET BEHIND ME

- “‘And you shouldn’t call me God either,’ he said. ‘You don’t comprehend the word, and I don’t want to be God to you yet.’” (Muir, 39) ianthe and harrow are the first lyctors to become god’s hands after growing up worshipping him. augustine, gideon, and mercy have known him since the beginning. they understand that to worship god is to let him use you. that god doesn’t want ‘his hands’ clasped together in prayer, he wants ‘his hands’ balled up in fists. harrow must learn that from teacher before she can know him as god.

- “‘Ortus Nigenad died thinking it was the only gift he was capable of giving,’ you said, ‘and I have wasted it—like—air.’” (Muir, 45) GOOD GOD this hurts. griddlehark’s pseudo-lyctorhood is painful enough, but all the cavaliers that were fully absorbed by their necromancers?? pyrrah and gideon, cristabel and mercy, alfred and augustine. to be so devoted to someone that you offer your life on a silver platter so that they, your other half, can become full without you. jod when i catch you jod. jod when i catch you!!!! (not saying that all the cavs consented to being absorbed, just spiraling abt lyctors as a concept yk)

-the only reason harrow is alive is because “she had cost too much to die”. her life was never her own, it had always belonged to the 200 children of the ninth (plus the latest addition, gideon nav). she fights so hard to stay alive (despite her personal desires to die) because she’d be damned if she let the souls inside her die twice.

- “Love had broken her life into two separate halves: the half before she had fallen, and the half afterward.” (51) THE WAY GIDEON IS DESCRIBING HARROW’S LOVE FOR ALECTO BUT IT’S TRUE FOR HARROW’S LOVE FOR GIDEON TOO

- when harrow recalls that “There had been another girl who grew up alongside Harrow—but she had died before Harrow was born.” (54) she’s not wrong. pre-lobotomy harrow grew up alongside nav, and nav died before post-lobotomy harrow was born

- ianthe calling harrow a skull-faced fruitcake

- “You staggered over to the Body, standing so quiet by the wall, and you buried your face in her thighs.” (67) i’m picturing the “there goes my babyyyyyyy” pose

- THE EGGS YOU GAVE ME ALL DIED AND YOU LIED TO ME

- taking a moment to acknowledge that this series has vastly expanded my vocabulary. i would include a little word bank of all the words i had to look up in order to comprehend what was going on, but that feels too boring to subject other people to

- harrow’s brain conjuring the image of baby-nav’s corpse while in the river for the first time is so beyond fucked

- IS THIS HOW IT HAPPENS?????? (spoiler: it isn’t)

- ianthe looking down harrows robe at cytherea’s funeral is so classic ianthe

- the girls are fighting!!! (the girls being ortus and harrow in harrow’s dreams)

- “But when she was scared, she was a child again, and she was almost afraid of being a child again than anything else in her life. Almost.” (133) :(((((

- i feel like harrow’s the type to eat uncooked pasta

- can someone get harrow a tshirt that says “i heart my frozen corpse wife”

- “… because Ianthe was overfamiliar and frankly a pervert.” (161) LMAOOO

- “‘I want that sword,’ said Ortus the First. / ‘What?’ / ‘Give me her damned sword,’ said Ortus the First. / ‘You’ve already got a whole complement of oversized weapons, greedy.’” (191) this whole exchange reminds me of Schmitt at the aquarium demanding a lion fish (New Girl reference lol)

- “For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams / Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.” (196)

- harrow may have repressed everything besides her beef with septimus lmao

- i like to think that the whole of tlt so far was just elaborate world building for the real story: a commentary on gun control (starring Commander Awake Remembrance of These Valiant Dead)

- i have so little respect for g1deon. bro really attacked A NAKED TEENAGE NUN.

- harrow = that one snoopy picture that’s like “belly full of soup”

- “And the Saint of Duty lifted his cigarette to you in an unmistakable salute.” (235) oooh he’s so nonchalant

- the scene where harrow regrows ianthe’s arm feels like an inverse sex scene. like a reverse orgasm.

- “That first night in her bed, you’d placed your bone-dressed sword between you, and felt better…” (258) ah, yes. me, my gf, and her ex’s six foot two hander

- “You do know there are children present? Should I kill them, or what?” i love mercy so fucking much

- ianthe is so me, my first instinct when drunk is also to kiss the homies

- the question is: would harrow be so devoted to worshipping the locked tomb if ‘the body’ wasn’t hot?

- “Kill me all you like. I would know you in the blindness of my eyes…in the deafness of my ears…as a shadow smudged against the wall, annihilated by light…stop. Not here. Not now. Let it go, love. I just want the truth…after all this time.” (Muir, 291) HELLO?!??!??????!!?

- harrow when she runs into camilla on a planet she’s meant to kill: “my main goal is to blow up and act like i don’t know nobody heheheheh” (please tell me you get the reference)

- TASMSYN MUIR LET GIRLS KISS CHALLENGE ( harrow trying to kiss the body:( )

- “…the Emperor of the Nine Houses had someone, and then, like all his Lyctors, the Emperor of the Nine Houses had lost someone.” (346) this reminds me of that Langston Hughes poem, “I loved my friend. He went away from me. There’s nothing more to say. The poem ends, Soft as it began,— I loved my friend.”

- “And you walked to your death like a lover” goes hard

- rip BARI-star au you will always be famous <33

- the scene where harrow remembers gideon is sickening. the grief of losing gideon hitting harrow all over again after months of repression. her body crumpling and her throat raw from screaming. “She dug her hands into the mattress and she cried for Gideon Nav.” (380) LIKE HELLO?????

- YOU SAWED OPEN YOUR SKULL RATHER THAN BE BEHOLDEN TO SOMEONE. YOU TURNED YOUR BRAIN INTO SOUP TO ESCAPE ANYTHING LESS THAN 100 PERCENT FREEDOM. YOU PUT ME IN A BOX AND BURIED ME RATHER THAN GIVE UP YOUR OWN GODDAMNED AGENDA. ¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡HARROWHARK, I GAVE YOU MY WHOLE LIFE AND YOU DIDN’T EVEN WANT IT!!!!!!!!! (390-391)

- “…probably because i am a good girl and you are an evil nun…” (391) god i missed you, gideon

- both ortus and harrow feeling crushing guilt over gideon’s death:(( so much guilt over a situation with no one to blame (although, the real villain here is capitalism. but that’s another post.)

- “Child, that bee smashed you.” (406) my fav line in the whole book.

- “‘Hell no! I’m going to pull your whole ass off,’ I said. ‘You want that? You want Harrow to grow you a new bone ass where I pulled off the old one? Let’s dance, Tridentarius.’” (429) i just missed nav so much you don’t understand

- gideon and harrow not reuniting despite being so close (GIDEON IS LEGIT INSIDE OF HER) ((ayo)) gideon is a part of her mind but still can’t see how harrow thinks of her. she’s operating her body but can’t feel how much it misses her touch. FUCK THIS BOOK BRO

- as a dancer, the way harrow describes watching matthias nonius and wake fight is how i feel when i watch people dance. the admiration for different approaches to movement stylistically, and making inferences about the intentions behind their movements. the appreciation for different skills in different areas and the keen eye for artistic choices. anyways.

- a reminder from marta: chickenshits don’t get beer.

- “She had not said goodbye. Harrow so rarely got to say goodbye.” (458) MUIR WHY WOULD YOU SAY THATTTTT

- “… meet Commander Wake Me Up Inside, sincerest apologies if I got that wrong…” (468) HELP

- gideon meeting her mom for the first time as a soul taking over the body of a lyctor she and harrow killed, after briefly having had a thing for said lyctor while she was impersonating a woman she’d never actually met— is messy, to say the least.

- “…Were you ten, Harrow? Was I eleven? / Was that the day you decided you wanted to die? / You remember how the fuck-off great-aunts used to say, Suffer and learn? / If they were right, Nonagesimus, how much more can we take until you and me achieve omniscience?” (477) they make me ill. i can’t even dissect this. just know i am ILL.

- mercy making jod say that he loved cristabel and never wanted any harm to come to her as a sort of final confirmation he was who she feared he was. because they both know that he let mercy kill her knowing full well she didn’t have to die. the fact that he is able to look mercy in the eyes and refuse to be honest, after all this time; the way he still won’t take accountability for his actions; confirms that the lives of others mean nothing to him compared to revenge.

- PYRRHA DVE HAS ARRIVED Y’ALL

- the thing at the bottom of the river with all the teeth and tounges??? like who thinks of this shit

- “‘There’s a difference between keeping a shred of a dance card’ said Harrow Nonagesimus, ‘and saving the last dance.’” (502) tamsyn muir is just toying with us atp

hi!! so this was… long. if you’ve somehow read all of this then you deserve a medal and ur favorite snack:) i hope you enjoy these!

part 3 (ntn) is on the way!