#Whoops fire is everywhere

[tothesolarium]

purposefully making these ending chapters really short to show time moving quickly has been fun and challenging

except for This chapter. Because the MAN I BEG YALL TO NOT SURE INTO A HOT VILLIAN, he is the worst and this not even a page long chapter really gets as overt with it as im gunna get. and the poem a few prior but-

we're building up to something something Big

[jjangwonie]

DOUBLE LIFE

DOUBLE LIFE MASTERLIST

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ summary: With your anonymous Twitter account, you've acquired a pretty good following and popularity, throughout your school as well. Jake, your long-time crush, is one of them, head over heels. Yet when you once confessed to him, he had rejected your confession, saying that he already has his eye on someone else. What happens when he finds out that his online crush is the person that he rejected? And... How are you going to deal with this?

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ word count: ~2k

TWENTY NINE - 1 - 0 [written]

The sun beat down on the field as both teams fought through the final minutes of the first half. The scoreboard still read 0 - 0, but it wasn't for lack of trying. The tension in the air was palpable as both teams had come incredibly close to scoring multiple times.

Jake had been a constant threat on the right wing, making several dangerous runs that kept the opposition's defense on their toes. He'd nearly scored with a powerful shot that curved just inches wide of the post.

And Riki, playing as a midfielder, had been everywhere on the field, his stamina seemingly endless as he tracked back to defend and pushed forward to support the attack.

During a brief break between matches, you made your way down from the bleachers with water bottles, your heart aching at how tired Jake and Riki looked dragging their feet to the benches.

"Delivery," you said softly, handing them the water bottles. They accepted gratefully, both breathing heavily as they drank.

"I don't really understand all the rules," you admitted, "but I can tell you guys are playing really well. Everyone up there keeps saying so too." You nudge your head towards where the rest of the boys are sitting.

"Doesn't feel like it right now," Riki managed a weak laugh between gulps of water. "not when we can't even change the score."

"Well, the other team hasn't either," you continued, fidgeting slightly with the empty bottle in your hands, ", and we can all see how hard you guys are working. That counts for something, right?"

Jake looked up at you then, his hair messy and face flushed from exertion. Something about his tired smile made your heart skip a beat.

"Besides," you added, trying to keep your voice steady, "you both look really cool out there. Like those sports movies, you know?" Their shoulders seem to relax at your silly comparison, relieving some of the stress that they were carrying.

The referee's whistle blew in the distance.

"Just... don't give up yet, okay?" you said softly, gathering the empty bottles. "We're all here for you."

As you turned to leave, you heard Jake call out a quiet "Thanks, y/n."

You hurried back to your seat in the bleachers, just as the match was about to resume.

As they walked back onto the field, Jake's eyes lingered on your retreating figure, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"She's really sweet, isn't she?" he murmured, almost to himself, too caught up in the moment to realize he'd said it aloud.

Riki, walking just behind him, caught the words. Surprisingly, his jaw clenched involuntarily, an unfamiliar tightness settling in his chest.

He watched as you made your way back up, his eyes following where you joined back to sitting next to Sunoo and Jungwon.

"Go Riki! You got this!" Sunoo's voice rang out clearly across the field, followed by Jungwon's equally excited whooping. Their genuine enthusiasm cut through. He shook his head slightly as if physically shaking off the thoughts that had started to strangely cloud his mind. This wasn't the time to be confused.

With just a few minutes left on the clock, the exhaustion was visible on every player, but there was a renewed fire in both Jake and Riki's movements.

The opposition, sensing the time pressure, had pushed higher up the field, leaving spaces behind their defense. Everyone has just one thing on their mind:

The game could end any second now.

The ball pinballed between players in the midfield, neither team able to maintain solid possession.

A mistimed tackle from the opposition gave Jake's team a free kick just inside their own half. But just 42 seconds.

In just 42 seconds, they have to turn this around. Their breath leaves their mouth in small clouds, exerting a warmth into the air, similar to the heated tension.

As players jostled for position, Jake and Riki exchanged a quick glance - they weren't gonna end it on an unsatisfactory tie.

The whistle blew.

The ball was launched forward, and Jake made a diagonal run, drawing two defenders with him.

His movement created a pocket of space that Riki immediately exploited, sprinting into the gap.

Jake, with his back to goal, received the ball on his chest, holding off a defender with his body.

25 seconds.

In one fluid motion, Jake flicked the ball backwards over his shoulder, a move that seemed almost impossible given his exhausted state.

The ball arced perfectly into Riki's path as he burst through the defense. The goalkeeper rushed out. He tries to close the angle.

Riki, running at full sprint, didn't break stride. In the corner of his eyes, he could see the red letters counting down the seconds almost in slow motion.

10 seconds.

With his last burst of energy, he met the ball just as it dropped, striking it first-time with his right foot.

The ball curved away from the goalkeeper's desperate dive.

The stadium held its breath...

The ball sailed into the top corner of the net.

It kisses the underside of the crossbar, before nestling into the back of the net...

1 - 0.

The crowd erupted in loud cheers and Jake was the first to reach Riki, jumping on his back in celebration as their teammates swarmed them.

The bench players rushed onto the field, their fatigue forgotten in the euphoria of the moment.

In the stands, you and the others were on your feet, screaming and arms flying up.

Still buzzing with adrenaline, you rushed down from the bleachers, your heart racing with excitement. Jake spotted you first, his face absolutely beaming as he jogged over, still catching his breath but too elated to stay still.

"Oh my god, we won!" Jake exclaimed, his eyes bright with joy as he reached you.

"We actually won! Did you see that?" His enthusiasm was contagious, his whole body practically vibrating with energy as he jumped up and down like an excited puppy while holding your shoulders.

"That was amazing!" you laughed, caught up in his excitement and trying to ground yourself from getting shaken around. "You guys were incredible-"

Before you could finish, you felt yourself being lifted off the ground from behind. You let out a surprised yelp as Riki hoisted you over his shoulder in one swift motion, spinning around as the crowd continued cheering around you.

"Champions!" Riki's voice was filled with pure joy, his laughter mixing with yours as he spun. "We won!"

Your hair was probably a mess from being upside down, but you couldn't bring yourself to care as your laugh mixed with theirs.

"Riki, put me down!" you managed in between. "You're all sweaty!"

"Nope! This is a victory lap!" he declared, adjusting his grip to keep you secure as he continued celebrating, basking in the cheers and the moment.

Jake stood there, still riding the high of their victory, watching as Riki walked around while you punched his back. Your laughter carried across the field, mixing with the crowd's cheers, and something in his chest tightened unexpectedly.

The sight of you and Riki, bathed in the stadium lights, it created an odd sensation in his stomach that he couldn't quite place.

'They look good together,' he thought automatically, then immediately questioned where that thought came from. Why did that observation feel... uncomfortable?

The rational part of his brain tried to brush it off - of course, you'd be celebrating with both of them, you were all friends. This was a team victory. A shared moment of joy.

So why did watching Riki make you laugh like that make him want to step forward? To do... what exactly?

Jake ran a hand through his sweaty hair, confused by the direction of his thoughts.

This was y/n, Sunghoon's sister, their friend, the girl who'd just brought them water and thrown that sweet smile over to him, who had been so fun and comforting to be around, so nice, who shouldn't give him that weird feeling in his chest that intensifies when he thinks of her just like now...

'Oh,' he thought, the realization hitting him like a tackle from behind.

He caught himself staring at your smile again and quickly looked away, suddenly very aware of his racing heart - and not just from the match anymore.

Since when did your smile affect him like this? Since when did he care about who made you laugh?

'This is not happening,' he told himself firmly, even as his eyes drifted back to where you were now playfully shoving Riki. 'This is definitely not happening.'

He slowly walks over, suppressing his expression on his face as the rest of the boys come down. "Victory dinner on me," Jay says, making everyone cheer again.

The celebratory meal was exactly what everyone needed after such an intense match. The table was littered with empty plates and half-finished drinks, the air filled with animated retellings of the game's best moments and comfortable laughter.

As Riki excused himself to the bathroom, you started gathering your things, stifling a small yawn.

"I think I'm gonna head home," you announced, standing up. "I've got an early start tomorrow."

Sunghoon looked up from his conversation with Jay, his chopsticks pausing midway to his mouth. "Already? I was thinking of staying a bit longer..."

"That's okay," you smiled, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. "I can go by myself."

"At this hour?" Sunghoon frowned, his protective instincts kicking in.

"I can walk you to the bus station," Jake offered, the words coming out before he could really think about them. He tried to keep his voice casual, even as his heart picked up speed.

You smiled at him, that same smile that had been messing with his head all evening. "You don't have to-"

"It's no problem," he interrupted, already standing up and grabbing his jacket. "I could use some fresh air anyway."

Sunghoon looked between you and Jake, a familiar suspicious glint starting to form in his eyes.

"It's just to the bus stop, Sunghoon," you said, rolling your eyes at your brother's expression.

"Fine," Sunghoon conceded after a few seconds, though his eyes narrowed slightly. "Text me when you get home." You nod at him.

As you and Jake said your goodbyes to the group and headed toward the door, neither of you noticed Riki returning just in time to see you both leaving together, his expression unreadable as he watched the door close behind you.

The street lights cast a soft glow as you both walked, your footsteps falling into an easy rhythm. The silence felt comfortable until you broke it with a soft laugh.

"You guys looked really cool," you admitted while looking towards the pavement. "It was funny to see the rest all fired up. Heeseung was ready to jump onto the field when that guy tackled you."

Jake chuckled. "Yeah? I couldn't hear much during the game, but I did catch Heeseung hyung's threatening to fight the referee at one point."

"Oh god, don't remind me," you groaned. "Sunghoon had to physically hold him back. And then Jay started listing all the rules the other team broke."

As you laughed, Jake's eyes drifted to the oversized jersey you were wearing - number 10, Riki's number. Something about seeing you in it made that now-familiar feeling stir in his chest again.

"That's Riki's football shirt, right?" he asked while you two came to a halt at the bus stop. When you nodded, he continued, aiming for a playful tone despite the slight flutter in his stomach. "Maybe next time you could wear mine."

You looked at him questioningly, and he added with a small smile, "You know, for luck. Maybe if you wear my number, you'll be my lucky charm and I'll make the winning goal. Who knows?" He shrugs it off.

The words hung in the air between you, the sound of the bus approaching not merely as loud as your heart drumming against your chest. "...Why not?" You eventually respond, making Jake's head whip back to face you.

The screeching of the bus wheels made you quickly turn and hop on, but not without turning and waving at him with a haste goodbye.

"Later, y/n." He waved back with a reluctant smile.

He made sure to watch the bus that you're in go around the corner, before heading back to his friends. But although the walk back was silent, Jake now alone, the storm that was forming in his mind wasn't.

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©jjangwonie 2024

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[brilliantfantasticgeronimo]

thought to myself u know what. i havent watched falsettos enough. so here's a couple things i noticed in my latest impromptu rewatch (rewatch number 52th probably?? 67th?) + just some nice bits n parallel that are always Good (tm):

"he loves another" "i agree" with ("-man") going unsaid

the chess games following trina's song about stupid men and their little games

"that's the king. please protect him" That's marvin saying "please protect me. don't hurt me"

whizzer moves the pieces randomly in the revival but i like to imagine he's actually beating marvin at the game in the end... and the whole thing was him pretending to not know how to play, and that hurt marvin's ego more than anything

"now marvin, bend" as a sexy moment but later gets re-framed as a "unwillingness to change perspective" moment

"nothing is everything to me / except sex / and money" in that money whizzer is playing to marvin's insecurity that he's only sticking with marvin for his money- is so needlessly cruel (and thus such... delicious character writing lol)

"and he loves me so" that "so" at the end is sort of a "loves me so much" but also a dare. he loves me, so what can you even do about that?"

"ask me if i love him, it depends on the day"// "do i love him?… no"

"son with a brain, and nice bright mother" showing mendel is like marvin (+ many, many men) and wants a wife half just to do domestic labor for him (goes well with the "washing your laundry, washing your socks!" line)

"he loves his father" // "i love things i never had"

"im everything he wanted" here trina finally realizes how she was such a insecure woman for such a long time and why she could put up with so much / settle for so little ("love me for what i am, not what i try to be" etc)

i love that "what ive done to you is rotten" is the slap to trina, is not taking to jason about his sexuality, and is Also telling trina and jason he "never ever, wanted to love" them. triple treat of bad parenting lol (but our man gets there in the end #bless him)

"a man kid, you'll be kid, whatever your song" the kind of reversed coming out metaphor of it all. ugh. so good!! (also i always cry at this bit bc... i will never have this with my parents :) rip haha whoops)

"pretty boys are in demand" just a good line for the whole gay men dying everywhere + the 'dating frenzy' energy of the era

"im not a giant man" /"good" // "one day i hope to be / as mature as my son who is 12 and a half / and this tall… that's all i want to be, that's all"

"we'll spent BILLIONS of dollars" and then the actual thing plays the way it does

"making the most pathetical errors" as a metaphor for marvin's arc…. making constant errors in love but making a homerun at the end

"should i take this new promotion OR should i take this IBM job?" is an amazing, anti-corporate lyric that fits greatly w/ the most explicitly political (likely authorial) song in the musical that, imho, shouldn't have been cut in the revival. in hindsight tho i imagine the revival people felt very proud and """progressive""" when they made that cut lol is very much a typical liberal move: "cant have true emancipation or revolutions but u cant have some \~upward mobility in the job market xoxo". also on the same vein, cutting the line "i'll change my life, and hire a maid" from the og "and fire the maid" like it's this huge feminist moment lol ughhhh hh

(other line-cuts that frustrate me… "it's queer, mr. marvin", "i could use a little drink" and "i just bought a family" . i feel w/ all of these they tooks some "edge" of the OG characters and kind of attempted to make them "nicer". but it really just makes them a little flatter, a little less real) ( and also some scenes just plain make less sense (marvin's drink line leading to his outburst)

(but bc it's not All Bad sdklfj in fairness, i belie the whole "why don't we tell him, that we don't have the awnsers? (…) this is the start to his becoming a man" bit - is SUCH a great part for mendel, it goes so hard and from what i remember is not in the original falsettos? correct me if im wrong but if it was a new addition in the revival, imo it's a huge improvement to the scene flow… and dare i say, brings the whole climax together, and spells out The Aesop for people who hadn't gotten it by the end of Act 2) -"let me go, im not ashamed to have loved you" // "what's the matter trina, darling, why cant you let go?" -"feel all right for the rest of your life" The Message of the play implicit in it.. "even if it's cut short"

"you save lives, and i serve chicken fat / i can't fucking deal wit hthat" / "maybe is not dumb the way this whole thing ends / the food tastes really yummy!"

"it's about growing up, getting older, living on a lover's shoulder" /"but i confess, you grow up, you get old, you hate less"

"the ground shifting, the rules keeps changing" and it's when the set changes for the first time!!! (/eats all my walls)

"isn't it enough i love you every night?" "who?" // "we had trouble parking, just like on our second date" "i hyperventilate"

"good men never fail" // "but i can't help but feeling i've failed " proving once again those machista lessons marvin learned when young were wrong.... it's clear that him showing weakness at that moment to whizzer was The Right Thing To Do. and what the moment called for.

"the last little mountain ill climb" sound of music ref? maybe?

i only wanted to love and not be blamed " // "who would i blame my life on?"

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

The Rift - Chapter Seven

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Marcus Acacius x Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: E (18+ only, explicit smut)

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: dream/nightmare sequences, mentions of spouse death and hypothetical child death (in the dream sequence), angst, references to smut, m/m/m/f dynamics

Summary: Each Marcus deals with conflicting emotions after spending the night together.

A/N: WHOOPS, who let all the angst in here???? Sorry about that!

Masterlist | Chapter 6 | Next chapter>>

(Moreno)

Marcus Moreno is about to die. Alien tentacles ooze toward him out of a strange crack in the world itself, moving with terrifying speed. He can choose to draw his swords and ready himself, or to shove the people beside him away and out of danger, but not both. He’s somehow both controlling his body and observing the scene from the outside as he turns to see a pretty young woman with fierce eyes, a man dressed in Roman armor, and the FBI Agent he admires so much that it hurts. They all look at him with fear in their eyes as he lets out a strangled yell and throws them out of harm’s way with all of his strength. They land on the pavement several feet away, but it’s not far enough. The tentacles engulf them, and Marcus cries out in anguish as he draws his swords, slashing and hacking frantically, spilling thick, black blood everywhere as he tries to reach his loved ones.

He throws off the last of the writhing black mess, but somehow, the three people he had thought had been there before have changed. Now, only two bodies lie broken and bloodied on the pavement–one much smaller than the other. When he sees the eyes of his late wife staring unseeingly up at the sky, he drops to his knees with a guttural scream of grief and pain. He can’t bring himself to look at the second body, knowing exactly what he’ll see when he does. 

No, he whispers as tears fall down his cheeks. No, no, no, no–

He shoots up in bed, gasping for air. He’s soaked in sweat and shaking uncontrollably, heart still pounding in his chest from the remnants of the dream. It’s only when something shifts behind him, a broad, bare chest turning and facing the other direction does he remember he’s not alone. 

He breathes a sigh of relief when he realizes his movements hadn’t woken anyone else. Carefully, he scoots down the bed, avoiding several pairs of legs, and retrieves his phone from the pocket of his discarded pants before retreating to the living room. 

Hey, he taps out a message. How’s college life?

He stands in the middle of the room, staring down at the bright screen and feeling rather awkward in his nudity, not really expecting a response at this time of night but wishing with every atom in his body for one anyway. 

He’s about to give up and try to force himself back to sleep when three little dots appear at the bottom of the screen.

M: Who’s asking, leader of the Heroics or my papá?

Marcus snorts softly.

Do I receive a different response depending on my answer?

M: 1. I am studying at the library, or 2. It’s dollar beer night at Lotus.

He smiles. 

I choose option 1, obviously.

M: The real question is what are YOU doing up so late? 

Couldn’t sleep. Just felt the need to check in on you. Everything okay?

M: Everything’s fine. Are YOU okay? You haven’t sent me Worried Dad texts in the middle of the night in a while.

Marcus begins tapping out a response, deletes it, starts again, and deletes that too. He sighs, glancing warily back at the bedroom. I’m afraid to let anyone else into my life, he wants to tell her. You’re my only success story, and I worry every day that I’m going to lose you, too. 

It’s too much to lay on his twenty-one year-old daughter, so he turns it into a joke instead.

I’m short on my Dad quota and wanted to make sure the Dad Boss doesn’t fire me.

M: You’re weird.

Ever heard the saying ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?’

The message is left unread for several minutes, and he imagines that her friends are all goading her to get off her phone and rejoin the fun. Good. He does all the worrying for both of them, so that she can remain carefree. He smiles softly and taps out one last text.

Have a good night, bug. Call me sometime. xo 

He locks his phone and holds it at his side, but remains standing in the same place, mulling over his thoughts. 

He hadn’t been exaggerating earlier when he said it had been a long time since he’d had… well, anyone really. The last time he’d had sex was during a disastrous no-strings-attached hookup after one of his coworkers convinced him to download some app and set up a profile. That was… shit, it had to be almost two years ago now. He hadn’t realized it had been quite that long. 

The last time he had a relationship was more of a trick question. He dated a few people on and off, once Missy had been able to mostly fend for herself at home, but they never lasted long or ever became serious. None of them had even met his daughter. The real answer to ‘when was your last relationship’ was ‘not since his wife died.’

It wasn’t just that no one could compare to her. It was that he couldn’t allow them the opportunity to even try. The closer people are to him, the more danger he puts them in. 

But ever since a certain FBI Agent waltzed into his office and asked so earnestly for his help, he found himself wanting to let someone in for the first time in a very long while. 

And now, to his great surprise and bewilderment, he has not just one more person he cares about, but three. Can he let himself get closer again? Can he afford to?

He looks at the book left open on the coffee table. At first he thinks there must be something wrong with his eyes, because the words all look like gibberish, but then he realizes the book is in Latin. Oh. Somehow he had forgotten that Marcus Acacius did not actually belong here. He can’t tell if the thought troubles him or relieves him–knowing that one less person will be in danger because of him.

The Heroic debates sleeping on the couch for a few moments, but the remnants of the dream still trickle unpleasantly through his bloodstream, and he doesn’t want to be alone. Carefully, he pads back into the bedroom and crawls back into the still-empty space that he had vacated. 

He lies awake for a long time, listening to the sound of breathing.

(Pike)

Marcus stirs, cracking open his eyes to see the first rays of daylight reflecting on the wall opposite your bedroom window. He rolls onto his back, being careful not to wake you as he turns over. Moreno is snoring softly beside him, looking peaceful. This is the only time he hasn’t seen worry lines etched on the man’s forehead, and he wonders about the burden of one man trying to protect the entire world. 

The Roman is already awake, piercing brown eyes meeting his with a mischievous twinkle. Marcus nods to him in greeting and gives him a small, crooked smile. The other man reaches over the Hero to run the tip of his index finger down the length of Marcus’s arm, and he shivers softly. 

“Early riser,” he comments in a whisper. 

“I have always risen with the sun.”

“Makes both of us,” Marcus grins. 

“And decidedly not our hostess.”

They both laugh quietly, not wanting to wake the other occupants of the bed. 

“Coffee?” he asks the Roman. 

“I would love some.”

Marcus helps himself to your kitchen, knowing exactly where you keep your coffee grounds and filters. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt so at home in someone else’s space; he’s spent more time here over the past several weeks than he’s spent at his own apartment, and from the beginning he had secretly preened over the excuse to get to know you better.

At first, your temporary houseguest had been a slightly befuddling distraction–his distinctive presence ensured that he looked completely out of place in every environment, and his constant refrain of “Quid est, quid est, quid est” was equal parts endearing and frustrating. Marcus didn’t often feel like a small man, but he couldn’t deny that the way the General’s broad shoulders seemed to fill every room had him feeling some kind of way about it. 

It’s a fascination, he had told himself so many times. A temporary infatuation that’s distracting you from the woman of your dreams. 

When the translators were introduced, and the Roman’s sharp wit and mischievous sense of humor could be understood for the first time, the pull became even stronger. It didn’t help that the man seemed to be a shameless flirt with everyone–himself, you, and when Moreno began spending the odd evening here, him too. 

Even so, the events of the previous night had been so far beyond his imagination that he can hardly make sense of it. Marcus has always been a serial monogamist, hopping from one way-too-serious relationship to another and hoping against all odds that the next one wouldn’t end in disaster. He’s never been able to do anything that could remotely be considered casual.

He had no concept of what last night had meant. 

He pours the coffee into two mugs–dumping a fair amount of cream and sugar in one, and far less in his own–and hands one to Acacius. 

“You are pensive this morning,” he remarks, his voice still carrying a light rasp from sleep.

“Just thinking.”

“You and the Hero both strike me as men who are inclined to think themselves into an early grave.”

Marcus snorts. “That might be true.” Might be. Everyone he’s ever known has called him an over-thinker. “You're a great tactician when it comes to war,” he challenges the man. “Surely you appreciate the benefits of analysis.”

“There is analyzing a situation, and then there is helpfully standing in place wondering what action you are going to take while the enemy completely surrounds you.”

Marcus pauses, coffee cup halfway to his lips, and really looks at the man beside him, leaning casually against the kitchen counter. He tries to imagine him in the armor he had been wearing that first night, bruised and bloodied, leading the armies of Rome with a fierce battle cry. “I don't often find myself surrounded by an army.”

“The enemy can be many things. There is a word for this, no?”

“A metaphor?”

“Mmm,” he grunts in assent. “When is an army not really an army?”

Marcus smiles to himself, setting the mug down on the counter and staring into the middle distance. “So, what do you think my enemy is?”

The General looks him up and down. “The things that you carry with you.”

His eyes snap to Acacius in shock and surprise. The man is discerning–alarmingly so, at times. Marcus’s breath catches in his throat when he responds thickly, “What is it that you think I’m carrying?”

“This is not for me to know,” the man remarks casually, raising one eyebrow. “Unless you are wanting to tell me something?”

“What are you two chattering about?” your soft voice cuts through their conversation. Marcus turns to see you padding toward them wearing only a shirt and looking satisfyingly mussed. 

“A soldier that carries the weight of his past failure into the next battle will surely lose,” the General says cryptically. 

You stare at the two of them blankly. “Yeah, I’m gonna need some coffee if you’re going to be talking like that.” You look at Marcus shyly. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” 

Marcus doesn’t know what to do. Does he kiss you? Is that rude? He wants to reach for you, to take you into his arms, but the two other men have him at a loss–how does one act after group sex? He has no blueprint for this situation.

“How lucky we are to have such a beautiful woman in front of us, still looking so well-fucked from our attentions last night.” The other man croons, moving closer to Marcus and nosing the shell of his ear. 

Feeling emboldened by the other man’s candor, he extends his arm to you, and you immediately fill the space perfectly, your head resting against his bare chest. Marcus presses a soft kiss to your forehead. With the General at his back, he feels completely surrounded by warmth–and wonders, despite himself, if he might be lucky enough to hold onto this feeling. The only thing better would be…

“Our other Marcus still asleep?” he jokes.

“The Hero was awake for some time in the night,” Acacius comments. 

Ah. That explains it. “We’ll let him sleep, then.”

“Or,” you say with a sultry smile, “or we could all three of us go back and… wake him up.”

(Acacius)

Marcus Acacius likes this more than anything else. More than any of the hedonistic acts that had come before, more than the thrill of building sexual tension between partners, is this: 

The utter decadence of sweaty, sated bodies, limbs tangled together… delicious. 

The hero lies boneless, half-sprawled over him. A man who has been pushed into a position of strength all his life, he finally appears free of all those expectations here. The General has always been able to read people, but it hardly took any effort at all to see that Marcus Moreno desperately craved the ability to let go. His breath shudders slightly on the exhale, and the other man curled around him makes a soft noise of inquiry.

“Feel okay?”

“Mmhmm,” the hero mumbles, not opening his eyes, and Acacius smiles.

The Agent, on the other hand, is much like himself, in that he seems to be just as comfortable in a position of power as he is in submission. Marcus hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off the man as he guided the hero through his first time receiving–gentle, but firm, one hand wrapped around the man’s cock and the other grasping his shoulder for leverage, his fingers always reaching possessively for his neck. Marcus Pike does not simply take a lover, the General concluded, he desires to own them.

It was that obvious possessiveness that had kept Marcus from insisting the Agent share with the others the night previous, allowing him to be the sole proprietor of your pleasure–but the way the man had shuddered at the sight of his beloved with his own thick cock down your throat gave him less qualms about the matter today.

And if that resulted in Marcus delighting in the hot, wet clutch of your cunt for himself, that was simply a fringe benefit, was it not? Oh, you were a sweet one, and it was easy to see why Pike was completely enraptured. You whimpered so beautifully when he broke you open for the first time, squirming around his cock with a little wrinkle of discomfort on your forehead. When the Agent reached down to palm your cheek and soothe you through it, you greedily sucked his thumb into your mouth and bit down gently, eliciting a soft groan from the man. 

Marcus eventually flipped you on your stomach to take you fast and hard, mirroring the intensity of the two men beside you. You were delirious, drunk on your own pleasure, but still had the presence of mind to reach out and stroke the cheek of the Hero, who was moaning into the pillow next to you. You smiled softly, seeing the other man’s overwhelmed expression, and moved yourself closer to him. The two of you were still tangled together when you reached the point of ecstasy.

You’re curled into Marcus’s chest now, your soft breaths disturbing the smattering of hair and your warm body leaving his own glistening with sweat. You beside him, the Hero sprawled bonelessly on top of him, and the Agent with his arm draped over top, his fingers brushing against the top of his pubic bone–and Marcus Acacius feels utterly at peace. 

[angelsnkisses]

thinking about softdom!danny cooper <3

A/N: everyone's so adamant that he's a sub (no judgement here, i love me some sub!dan 😩) but oh my god i can't stop thinking about how he would be the sweetest dom.

💟 nsfw - mdni 💟

warnings: softdom!danny, sub!gn!reader, unprotected sex, overstimulation, biting, creampie

• softdom!danny, who praises and praises you like no other. it's mostly for your pleasure, but that doesn't mean it doesn't turn him on, too.. in fact, he lives for the way you get all flustered at his compliments, the way you tighten around him with every gentle coo of sweet encouragement, the way you whine and moan for him and only him, all of it.

"you feel so good, darling. so, so good,"

• softdom!danny, who loves overstimulating you until you blubber and cry for him to slow down. he's nothing but sweet the whole time, but that doesn't mean he's necessarily fair. no, he's anything but. he knows your body even better than you do, and he knows exactly how to have you practically screaming into the pillows in no time. he thoroughly enjoys fucking you dumb, molding you into a melty, crying mess.

"come on, angel.. one more for me. just one more? there you go.."

• softdom!danny, who has a bit of a biting problem. he can't help it, he loves how you jerk at the sudden pain, how your surprised yelp will warp itself into a blissed moan. he'll sink his teeth into your thighs while he's giving you head, though it's never hard enough to break the skin. more often than not you'll find faint, crescent-shaped bruises on the supple surface the morning after.

"was that me? oh.. whoops. okay, okay, i'm sorry!"

(he's not)

• softdom!danny, who's allll hands when it comes to you. he can't keep them to himself, and believe me, you rarely want him to. he'll always have a firm grip on your hips, your thighs, your ass, your wrists, your chest, your neck, everywhere. best believe he showers you with praise while he's touching you, too. calling you his perfect slut, telling you how soft you are, how warm you feel.. he's very vocal, and he loves when you are, too.

"let me hear you, just like that.. you sound so pretty, baby,"

• softdom!danny, who talks you through it. he'll flip his voice to a low, comforting hum, putting his lips at your ear so he's all you can focus on. well, aside from the mind-blowing pleasure he gives you. i can literally hear his cooing, shaky voice HELP ME.

"it's too much? oh, honey, you can take it. shh, c'mon.."

"doing so good for me, hm?"

• softdom!danny, who whimpers.. a lot. need an audio-visual? watch intruders. he gets especially vocal when he's close to finishing, his voice getting gradually more wobbly until he's almost as much of a mess as you are. he'll hold you tight, his head falling forward and his eyes fluttering shut as he tries to get you to your release before he gets to his.

"gonna cum? yeah, come on, cum for me,"

"so fucking pretty, my pretty slut, f- oh, fuck,"

• softdom!danny, who babbles praises and 'i love you' over and over when he fills you up. either that, or he smashes his lips to yours in a messy, desperate kiss, swallowing up your mirrored moans greedily. he can't help but push himself as deep as he can, his rooted desire to watch his cum leak out of you fueling his fire like no other. he loves it, though he won't actually admit it..

"that's it, you take me so well.. mmhm, you do,"

• softdom!danny, who is the KING of aftercare. anything you need, consider it done. you want some tea, cuddling, and a movie? of course, anything for his sweet angel. you want some space to listen to music or take a shower? absolutely, he'll be waiting for you when you're done. one thing about danny is he loves you, and he'll do anything he can to show you just how much <3.

[rosileeduckie]

I believe the demon Crowley invented it

Which he does, on occasion, do on purpose.

Crowley makes up something special for a certain angel someone. So season two is a thing. I made a thing about Crowley making a thing because I needed more things. I hope you like the thing! :) No spoilers for new season, no worries

SFW. Potential warnings: none. Good Omens/Ineffable Husbands tickle fic.

Word count: 6,003

~*~

It took Crowley a while to want to fly again. To be expected, really; falling, cast from the heavens and plummeting to the depths amid a cacophony of agonized screaming and terrified wailing of the damned all plunging downward into jagged rock and sizzling sulfur–it wasn’t an experience he was eager to repeat. He kept to the ground for a while. Crawling, slithering, was much calmer. But one day, he caught a breeze. Sitting on a crag, sunning himself, the downy feathers of his large dark wings felt a cool gust and began to fluff up. He stretched out the limbs, welcoming the wind, and his long gossamer flight wings began to shiver as well. The wind whistled through him, beckoning him to stretch further, to go faster, to fall. And, with a deep breath and golden eyes wide, he fell. Tucked his wings tight against his back, feeling the wind batter him, rocketing down the mountainside–and then threw them open wide, like floodgates accepting rain, like garden gates accepting fire. He caught the wind, the wind caught him, and he was no longer falling but flying. The wind, the sky, embraced him, surrounded him, whipping through his long crimson hair and tousling it a thousand directions, pinning a hysterical smile to his cheeks, drying tears before they could fall from his eyes. Flapping, swooping, diving, soaring, Crowley shrieked in whooping laughter, utterly free. He wasn’t doomed to the depths; he was up, left, right, down, and everywhere. The sky was his to ride, the earth his to explore. He was alone, and he was free. 

He did a lot of flying after that. Still walked often, sure; humans and their antics were much easier to see from the ground. But his heart pounded loudest and brightest up in the atmosphere.

Speaking of heart pounding.

One day, as Crowley flew, he spotted a large white shape in a tree below him. He couldn’t say offhand where he was–it wasn’t like he often flew with a destination; as much of the world as there was, humans hadn’t filled it with all the fun stuff they would one day–but he could see plenty of empty open desert to catch him when he landed. So, he angled his flight downward, and, just for fun, somersaulted into the dry scrubland, loving the feeling of sand freckling his grinning cheeks and grass adorning his mussed hair. A hop, skip, and a jump, and he’d crossed the distance to the curious tree and was perched on a branch beside its familiar inhabitant.

“Hey, angel.”

“Hello, Crawly,” said Aziraphale. Prim and polite as ever, albeit looking painfully bored. The angel’s eyes were wandering the fuzzy desert horizon, hands folded in the lap of his obscenely white robes which billowed gently around his crossed ankles, which swayed subconsciously back and forth. His wings were folded at his back, appearing tight and stiff from disuse. Crowley counted back in his head how long it had been since their paths had crossed and wondered how much of that time Aziraphale had been made to spend as a tree ornament.

“Crowley,” the demon corrected, feeling antsy just watching Aziraphale sit so still and so standing up on his branch, which creaked protestingly against the first real new movement in a while, and reaching up to ruffle the foliage with his fingers.

“Right,” Aziraphale said, furrowing his brow and shaking his head with an embarrassed smile. “Crowley. I wasn’t expecting to see you. What brings you here?”

Crowley’s fingers found purchase on a higher branch, and he gripped it tight, using it to swing himself up and around and hang upside down from the taller vantage point by his knees. His long curls hung down like a red willow, but his own black robes hugged dutifully to his corporal form. (Even if he didn’t have the human habit of shame, he wasn’t keen to let gravity have his clothes; the wind could get cold even in the desert). The blood rushing to his head made Aziraphale’s question not quite register right away, and Crowley blinked. What had brought him? He stretched out his onyx wings and flexed them demonstratively.

“Ah,” Aziraphale chuckled. “I mean, what are you doing?”

The demon stuck out his lower lip thoughtfully and narrowed his eyes. “Nothing?”

The angel tipped his head, brow furrowed. “What do you mean, nothing?”

“Just that, I guess. Flying quite a bit, having fun. Not like demons really have anything we’re meant to be doing, so.” Crowley curled forward, reaching up to his hanging branch and pulling himself upright before laying down on his stomach, resting his head on his arms to look down at the angel. “Yeah, whatever I want. Nothing.”

Aziraphale sputtered, and Crowley chuckled.

“’We have no time to waste, the Almighty has much work for us to do,’” said the demon in so impressive an impression of the head archangel that Aziraphale held a hand to his lips when a titter startled him by escaping. Crowley grinned. “Even if I’m not on God’s payroll anymore, time’s hardly wasted for us, is it? We’re not mortal; we don’t have a limited amount of time to get done all the things we should.” Crowley closed his eyes with a deep sigh. “So I’m doing none of them. Too much earth to enjoy to get busy with work.”

When Crowley slowly opened one eye, he saw Aziraphale turning his ring over on his little finger, white wings twitching and puffing out, subconsciously agitated.

"Could show you, if you want. Come fly with me, I'll take you on a tour."

"What!" In an instant, Aziraphale's wings went from anxiously fidgeting to defensively spread, puffed up and rigid and making him look much bigger and more threatening. Or, it would have, if he hadn't whipped his head around to look at Crowley with the biggest eyes and flapping mouth and reddening cheeks. He looked positively scandalized.

Crowley couldn't help it--he laughed, a hissing snickering sound that he buried in his arms. He noted Aziraphale's flush looked even darker when he lifted his head, but the thought didn't even occur that it could have been from something other than the words from his mouth.

"I- I- I-! I couldn't possibly--!!"

Couldn't possibly, Crowley sighed, hiding the way his smile began to fade by pressing his cheek into his forearm. Couldn't possibly be seen flittering about with a demon!

Aziraphale settled himself, clearing his throat and smoothing his ruffled feathers. "Couldn't possibly. Far too busy."

"With what?" Crowley scoffed, smiling again when Aziraphale's blush rebloomed. "Looked to me like you were doing as much nothing as I was." He pushed himself up, looking through the verdure to an empty desert. "Unless I'm mistaken, not much of a garden here for you to guard."

"Precisely, there isn't," said Aziraphale, visibly brightening, more confident, when Crowley furrowed his brow and opened his mouth in confusion. "Humans are free to roam about wherever they like now," Aziraphale explained, "even if they're harder to keep track of. And angels are tasked to give them inspiration and blessings."

"Yeah, but," Crowley said, reluctant to disagree when the angel had given so content and cute a wiggle in his seat, "doesn't look like there's many humans around for inspiring or blessing."

"No," Aziraphale relented, casting his gaze downward and fidgeting with his fingers. "Actually, there aren't many yet at all, certainly not enough for all us angels to keep busy, so I- I'm waiting for them to do their whole--" he scrunched up his nose and flapped his hands in front of him, “’go forth and multiply’ing… thing…”

“Uh-huh.” Crowley leaned to once side and then the other before tipping off his branch, catching himself one the perch with one elbow and swinging one leg up to hang from his knee. “And, while you’re waiting for that,” he said, tipping his head back to look at Aziraphale, “you could come fly with me to–”

“I most certainly could not.”

“You should,” Crowley countered. “If for nothing else, because you’ll get stiff just sitting there.”

Aziraphale gave his head a quick and resolute shake. “But I won’t.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “You won’t get stiff?”

“No,” Aziraphale huffed with an exasperated smile, “I won’t go flittering about. Angels aren’t meant to…” He trailed off, brow furrowed as he sought for words. Instead, he gave a shaky wave with his hands, as though that gesture wasn’t equally vague.

“Fly?” Crowley guessed.

Aziraphale gave another huff, part impatient and part amused. “Obviously. We, no, um… There’s a certain level of professionalism to…” He’d run out of words again. Crowley wondered if the Lord’s precious humans would be so kind as to one day make up a way for someone to communicate with their hands for beings like poor Aziraphale. (Probably would, clever things.) As it was, the angel said no more, but his inability to articulate in concert with his anxious hands and wide eyes spoke bounds.

Professionalism, hm? Ah. Crowley guessed again, words slow and eyebrows rising. “You’re not meant to have fun?”

At that, Aziraphale nodded, the tension in his shoulders and wings dropping, and a relieved smile gracing his cheeks. An answer, even one delivered so astonishedly as Crowley’s had been, evidently was enough to settle him. “Yes. Far too busy.”

“Let me get this straight.” Crowley unbent the two limbs suspending him from his branch, languidly loosing them so he could drop down sit beside Aziraphale on his lower branch. “Lord of all light and goodness,” he wiggled his fingers upward, “made all this world for you to serve and forbade you to enjoy any of it?”

“Not forbade, but serving does come first” Aziraphale replied, seeming only have just realized Crowley was now beside him. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands in his lap. Crowley cocked his head curiously; no more hand-flapping or chin-wagging, then. The angel had let himself out of his box enough for one day.

“Well,” said Crowley, clapping his palms to his thighs and pushing off until he tipped backwards and into freefall. His wings caught him with practiced ease just beneath the tree’s canopy, but he definitely delighted in the angel’s startled jolting and almost reaching to try and catch him. “Have fun sitting in your nest.” He gave the angel a salute, then touched a finger to his head. “Or don’t have fun, I guess, whichever. I’ll be up there.” Crowley pointed upward, then snorted. “I mean, ‘up there’ like the sky, not ‘up there’ like– you know what I mean.”

The last he saw of Aziraphale before flying off was cherub cheeks glowing an embarrassed pink and hands all but anchored to his robed lap. Crowley’s wings beat fast and hard, arms thrown wide, and soon he was back amongst the cloud. Which way he’d been intending to go, he had no idea, so he hailed the first wind gale and let himself float along it. His thoughts, which usually wandered just as aimlessly as the winds, were stubbornly pointed downward and behind him.

Oh, an angel didn’t want to have fun, what a shocker. Let him sit in his tree, bored, all he wanted. Angel didn’t know what he was missing.

Crowley’s wind carried him to an ocean that would one day be called the Red Sea, passing him off to an air distinctly cooler and tasting of salt. Beneath him, the blue vastness stretched on toward the horizon, in no time at all swallowing up the desert he’d come from until he was flying over only sea. Ocean above, ocean below, even from so high up, he could see no end to either. Beautiful. Peaceful. Lonely.

The sighed Crowley exhaled was ocean-deep. Angel didn’t know what he was missing.

Banking hard, Crowley dove under and out of his wind current, flying lower and closer to the sea as he trekked back toward land. A spray-laden breeze spurred him on, carrying him like a leaf riding the rolling waves.

He couldn’t just pull the angel from his tree. Well. He could, of course, literally. But he couldn’t pull him from where he’d metaphorically rooted himself. Maybe there was a figurative middle ground at which to meet him.

Literal ground came into view, and Crowley slowed until he’d lighted on a beach. He stood there a moment, hands on his hips and lips pursed and wings stretching, thinking. Stewing. Any other angel, Crowley probably wouldn’t have been so stuck on. But Aziraphale wasn’t any other angel. He had a little devil in him, or he wouldn’t have talked with a devil in the first place. An angel’s stuffiness didn’t suit him; even if he was prim, it wasn’t like he’d had much chance to be anything else. To try anything else. He wanted to have fun; Crowley knew he did. Crowley watched the waves tumble onto the sands with thunderous yawns, listened to the gulls’ distant disgruntled cries as they squabbled over dinner. The ocean was just as vast from below. If only he could have Aziraphale standing next to him, get him to see all there was to see.

Something scuttled over his foot, and he brought his gaze down. A small crab, no bigger than his thumb, had elected that the risk of invading a demon’s personal space was worth the few seconds it’d safe on its journey. Crowley stepped back–obligingly, not because the creature had startled him; he was far scarier than a crab, thank you–and crouched down to watch the crab scurry on. The sand beneath them both was warm and deep, too, shifting beneath Crowley’s feet in miniscule landslides of grains too many to count. Crowley snickered; some poor angel had to have been saddled with the task to count sand and pour it out on the earth, he was sure. There were shells atop the sandy scape, too, and stones already being smoothed down from the waves’ crashing. Crowley picked up one of each, a pretty little brown spiral and a slate rock hewn quite flat. After a second of consideration, he reeled back his arm and tossed the stone out across the ocean, grinning when it jumped four times across the surface before sinking into the water. Like it was skipping. Snickering proudly, he scooped up another such stone and tucked it safely alongside the shell into one of the many folds of his robe. (Like gravity, the robe was willing to ignore space and mass to allow Crowley to carry more things. Very considerate.) He walked a few paces further, gathering up a small piece of driftwood, another rock with an interesting texture, and, deciding the risk of getting pinched was worth it, the crab. Then, back into the air, he went.

Time was still funny. After the big seven days at the beginning had been counted, the calendar had gotten a little messy. Humans would probably benefit from it, get a few more weeks or years or centuries in change from days not counted for the sun having forgotten to have been set. Maybe some angel would be appointed to sort that out eventually and keep time organized. As it was, Crowley didn’t know how long he’d been gone from Aziraphale’s tree. A few hours? A few days? It was easy to get lost up in the air and up in one’s thoughts. What he did know was that it had been long enough for Aziraphale to fall asleep.

Angels didn’t need to sleep. It had been a design feature. Too much to do. But, as Crowley clambered into the tree once more, he saw a blonde head tipped back, eyes closed and jaw relaxed.

“Hey, angel!” Crowley crowed and jabbed a finger into Aziraphale’s side, already grinning.

Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open, and he jolted forward with a yelp, floundering with his wings to get his balance back while one hand gripped his branch and the other was pressed affrontedly to his heaving chest. When was no longer in danger of falling, Aziraphale’s focus shifted squarely to Crowley, all dagger-glares and flushed cheeks. Crowley couldn’t help laughing, which, he realized, was all too easy to do around Aziraphale. “Crowley! That was–! You startled me!”

With a shrug and lingering snickers, Crowley moved to Aziraphale’s perch, sitting down beside him. “Just helping you out, angel. You were working so hard before; would hate to see your higher-ups find you dozing.”

Whatever retort or further scolding Aziraphale had intended to give fizzled away in his flapping mouth. He pressed his lips tight together and turned his pink face away slightly, and Crowley wondered if he was trying to keep himself from coming up with an excuse or, God forbid, breathing a lie.

With a chuckle, Crowley reached into his robes, elbowing Aziraphale’s side as he did. “I’m just teasing. I wouldn’t want to see your higher-ups at all.” At that, the line of Aziraphale’s lip wobbled, the muscle of his cheek twitching like it ached to pull upward. Crowley’s grin was unabashed. “Anyway, hopefully this will make up for it.”

Aziraphale jumped when he found himself with hands full of small silly objects. “What’s this?” he asked, juggling them for a moment before laying the treasures in his lap. The offended crab stayed determinedly pinched to the hem of his sleeve, but the other trinkets spread out nicely upon the fabric his white robe in a flattering little display.

“Figured,” explained Crowley, holding a hand out to catch the crab when it eventually tired, “since angels are allergic to having fun and going to new places, it’d be a shame for you to not even see things from those places.” Moreso, it was its own temptation, but nothing Crowley had been instructed to do. He hoped that, if Aziraphale saw pretty little things from somewhere else, maybe he’d want to go there more than he’d want to do his nothing job. Maybe want to do nothing together. Maybe.

“Oh.” The angel’s gaze hadn’t left the little exhibit. His eyes wandered between the objects, and, slowly, he let his hand–the one not currently being clambered up by a crustacean–trail over them, tentative and featherlight. Gentle. Reverent. Crowley tore his own gaze from Aziraphale’s hands back to his face. The flustered blush had faded, and his eyes were as bright as Crowley had ever seen them, positively shining. “Thank you. I suppose.”

The verbal response was so detached from the visual one that Crowley snorted. Right, so, angels didn’t know how to receive gifts (albeit, admittedly, they were as new to the concept as any other earthling). Maybe that was enough of an excuse to give him more gifts.

"No one's ever given me-- ow." Aziraphale looked up from his treasures to the crab that had scaled his sleeve and delivered a disgruntled pinch to his arm. He smiled, regarding the little creature with eyes still bright. "No one's ever given me a crab. Excuse me, my fine little fellow?"

"Well, I wasn't planning repeats anyway, but definitely no crabs next time." Crowley jabbed at the crab with his finger. "Oi."

The crab promptly let go of Aziraphale to brandish both pincers at Crowley.

"Ow," he said when the crab latched onto his nail. "Fine, read you loud and clear, I'll give you a lift home." He tucked the little devil into his pockets and looked back to Aziraphale, who'd gone red again. "Don't look so terrified, angel. He's safe in there, you're safe out here."

Aziraphale's response was quiet. "Next time?"

"'Next--'?" Crowley's eyebrows furrowed, then rose to his hairline. 'Next time' that he brought the angel a gift. Well, he hadn't meant to speak that implication into the universe. Whoops. "Ahm, s-- so. You want to come with me to escort the little thing home?"

"I can't," Aziraphale sighed, but he was cradling the smooth stone and tracing it with his fingertips.

"Busy, right." Crowley scooted forward and off the branch, into the air. "Well, sleep tight."

Maybe not the best time to tease when the angel had a stone in his hand, but Crowley could get used to seeing Aziraphale blush before flying off.

He was still seeing red, and is was just as adorable, while he lay on his belly on the warm beach sand, fending off the little crab from pinching his nose with one hand.

"You were no help back there," Crowley told his tiny bloodthirsty foe, parrying away a jab with his index finger. Only after delivering a few nasty blows to Crowley’s knuckles and fingertips was the vengeful crab, at last, satisfied, scuttling off into the surf. Crowley mussed his hair with both hands before letting his head loll forward, resting his forehead on the sand and mindlessly scratching lines into the sand with his fingers.

Not a total failure of a plan, but not a complete success, either, with or without the aid of Captain Stabby. He hadn’t gotten the angel out of his nest, but at least he now had something to keep from being bored to sleep. Crowley wasn’t usually averse to giving up, but he could be pretty stubborn. And maybe he had a pretty big crush. But that wasn’t the point! Aziraphale was perhaps the only angel to speak to, let alone be kind to Crowley after his fall. He was too sweet a soul to deserve being benched from all of Earth’s joys for a few centuries just because he didn’t technically have work to do. Crowley couldn’t let him be stuck like that.

Resolved, Crowley lifted his head and determined to come up with another plan. Watching the waves crash and turn over, so he shuffled through the thoughts and ideas in his mind. Giving Aziraphale things hadn’t swayed him enough to move from his perch, even if those things had obviously delighted him. (More than obviously, but Crowley didn’t yet know how Aziraphale had carefully tucked all of the little beach treasures safely into his own pockets.) Perhaps, instead of showing the angel how much fun could be had somewhere else by collecting things from that somewhere, Crowley could make him feel that right where he was. Hard to replicate the feeling of being on a warm beach, soaking in the sun and listening to the sea, while in reality sitting in a gnarled old tree. A different feeling, perhaps. A different place. Crowley’s most favorite place was the sky; as an angel, Aziraphale would be well acquainted with how good flying could be. But how to make him feel that way from the ground? It wasn’t like he could collect bits of cloud and wind.

Crowley looked up at the clouds, following the bright white hilltops and grey flat plains with his eyes. No angel designed them or upkept them; the wind pulled and pushed and shaped them, taking them and making them to its whim. Like it took Crowley. From in their midst, clouds looked mostly like great pale curtains. From below, Crowley could almost see fluffy sheep and snowy mountaintops in their formless shapes. Chaos, random chance, channeled to make something substantial. Collecting hadn’t work to replicate feelings; why wouldn’t making something?

Demons loved making stuff. Creativity had been made to be a human trait, but demons, by principal, had the bad habit of doing things they weren’t supposed to. It was fun in so many ways. To come up with and then make something overcomplicated, accidentally brilliant, or absolute bullshit nonsense–and then to see what humans did with it. It was invigorating, cathartic, and hilarious.

What, what, what could Crowley make for his angel? It actually wasn’t too hard yet, to think up something unique, occupying such an early chapter of history. Still, he wanted it to be special. Moving. Figuratively and literally. What did he feel when flying, and how could he make that happen down here? How to ruffle an angel’s feathers without wind?

Crowley looked at the squiggling furrows his fingers had left in the sand. They had been made without intention, for the satisfying scraping sounds and gritty shifting texture as he thought. But, now, they gave him an idea. Hands could ruffle feathers, sure. He looked over his shoulder and reached back to give his own feathers an experimental ruffle. Yup, that could work. Like the waves crashing over one another, Crowley’s thoughts started to race, spurred as he looked backward. Hands ruffling feathers, fingers buried in sand, feet bare in soft grass. He thought of one human he’d seen poke another in the side and how the second had recoiled with a smile before they’d both gone back to fishing. He thought of how it felt when an itchy leave wriggled its way down his robe. He thought of how it felt when an angry little crab scittered across his skin. He thought of an angel’s beaming smile and bright eyes. He had many thoughts, but he had one idea. One idea for something absolutely nonsensical and extremely silly, and, when he eventually workshopped a name for it, he’d call it tickling.

But, one unnamed idea in hand, Crowley flew up from his sandy sunning spot and back in the direction of a now very familiar tree.

“I saw you coming this time,” Aziraphale declared when Crowley all but crashed into the tree with how fast he’d been flying.

Crowley scoffed, picking twigs from his crimson hair. “I would hope so, between how many eyes you have and how much noise I was made landing.”

Aziraphale set his eyes heavenward, as close as he seemed to get to rolling them.

“Why?” Crowley said as he sat down next to the angel. “Were you watching for me?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d come again,” Aziraphale admitted, cheeks going rosy and fingers worrying a small brown shell.

For a moment, Crowley’s heart beat loud and eager in his ears. He kept it. No time to be swept up in that thought, though; he was far too busy with the task at hand. Crowley cleared his throat and shrugged, moving to sit close enough to Aziraphale that their knees touched. “Had to. I had another gift for you.”

“Oh?” The angel’s eyes lit up excitedly, even as he tried to look professional. “From where this time?”

“From me. I made it up. For you.” Crowley stuck out his tongue and cursed his own ears for burning. “Ngk– I’ll show you.”

Before the angel could offer any turnabout teasing for Crowley being the one flushed and at a loss for words (because, Crowley just knew, there was enough devil in Aziraphale to absolutely turn the tables given the opportunity), Crowley thrust his hands beneath Aziraphale’s folded wings, wiggling his fingers to muss the feathers and scribble at the muscle beneath.

“Ah–!” Aziraphale yelped, his wings swinging out wide to escape the surely strange feeling. Crowley only targeted the space closer to Aziraphale’s shoulders instead. “What are you–?” Aziraphale tried to ask through laughter that seemed to be building and bubbling quite irresistibly from his chest, “What are you doing?”

“I’m tickling you,” Crowley explained, crawling his wiggling fingers from Aziraphale’s wings, down his shoulder blades and under his arms. “Not sure about the name yet, but I figured vessel nerves usual react for preservation. Why not make them react to something fun?”

Perhaps for preservation against this new attack, Aziraphale tried to lean back and away from Crowley, flapping his wings and batting at his hands. The tickling under his arms, though, had him curling up and laughing enough to mostly rob him of words once again. “This isn’t–!”

“This isn’t fun?” Crowley guessed, puffing out his lower lip. “Now, is that because it’s actually not fun, or because you, as an angel, could not possibly be having fun?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale squealed, and Crowley grinned, downright devilish.

“I mean, if it’s not fun, why are you laughing? Laughing means you’re happy, yeah?” he teased, slipping his hands from under Aziraphale’s arms to set his dancing fingers loose upon his stomach.

Aziraphale was nearly horizontal, leaned so far away from Crowley and wings and hands flapping weakly. When Crowley’s next attack targeted his stomach, Aziraphale loosed a merry wail before tumbling into bright laughter that made the lines by his eyes crinkle happily and the breath in his throat catch wheezily. And oh, his laugh was perfect. All the pristine stuffy angel was gone, drowned out by the loud, head-thrown-back, wrinkled nose, toothy, shoulder-scrunching, belly-shaking laughter. It suited him.

Crowley had some mercy, switching from digging and scratching to poking and wiggling. “It is supposed to mean you’re happy, right?” he asked, for a moment concerned he might accidentally kill the angel. He certainly looked happy, and he hadn’t been doing much to push Crowley away, but… “I came up with tickling, but I’m not yet fully clear on…”

A still-giggling Aziraphale blinked through laughter-induced tears–tears were sad; had he become so happy, he was sad?–to look at Crowley, his gaze an odd but warm mix of fond and sympathetic and sweet and teasing and just losing the edge of hysterical. Just that look nearly bowled Crowley onto his back.

“Oh well!” Crowley exclaimed, a little too loudly. “I’ve got to perfect my new little game for you. And you,” he grinned as Aziraphale grew all the redder and scrunched his neck, “you just stop laughing if you stop being happy.”

Aziraphale didn’t stop laughing, but he didn’t stop squirming either. In fact, when Crowley set out to practice until perfect by testing other techniques to see what would tickle and started squeezing the soft spots of Aziraphale’s stomach and sides, the angel thrashed so exuberantly that he rolled right off the branch. Crowley followed, and, in a mess of feathers and flapping wings, the two tumbled from the tree and into the desert scrub grass.

With how much of a reaction squeezing had gotten, Crowley continued doing it, chasing Aziraphale’s laughter down along his thighs and behind his knees. With more ground on which to metaphorically stand, Aziraphale did put up a bit more of a fight, and Crowley was sure no one who pictured wrestling an angel would conjure that image. Of the angel with a wide smile beaming like the sun, of the demon getting the upper hand by jamming his thumbs into the angel’s hips until the later collapsed backward with a snorting cackle, of the adoration in the demon’s eyes as he tickled the angel apart piece by piece. Crowley rounded back, at last able to get one of Aziraphale’s wings pinned under his knee and burrowing the fingers of one hand into the wing pit and the fingers of the other into the soft stomach and vibrating both sets until the angel was wheezing.

Crowley had had about a dozen other ideas for this tickling thing once Aziraphale had actually been under his hands, but he had actually succeeded in getting Aziraphale from his tree, and he didn’t want to overwhelm with too much of his brilliant new idea. He pulled his hands back to a featherlight crawl, tracing the fair hair of Aziraphale’s forearms with the tips of his fingers and the tops of his feet with the tips of his black wings. The angel, thoroughly spent and thoroughly happy, lay giggling and content, hands twitching and stomach jumping but otherwise still. Eventually, all Crowley’s movement stopped as well, transfixed by the sight beneath him.

Here lay Aziraphale, opalescent wings thrown wide and with feathers mussed, perfect curled hair a tousled mess, hysterically happy smile stuck to his cheeks, tears drying on his cheeks, chest heaving from a belly full of screaming laughter. Crowley fell from on top of him, laying beside Aziraphale with a smile of his own. Perfect.

“That was fun,” Aziraphale said, eyes closed and smiling so gently that Crowley simply couldn’t bear to gloat just then. (He would eventually gloat. A lot. But not just then.)

“Yeah, it was.” Crowley lay beside Aziraphale, reveling in the validation of a successful plan and good idea, as well as the echoing angelic laughter still gracing his ears. He turned his head when Aziraphale pushed himself to sit up.

“Well, it will be a bit before humans fully populate the earth anyway.” Aziraphale stood, brushing off a bit of sand from his robes and producing the shell and a rock from them to make sure they had survived the fall, and holding out a hand to Crowley. “You can lead the way to that ocean you were so keen about, and you can tell me more about your creation. I haven’t ever laughed like that, have you?”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and stood, shaking his head. “Just when I catch a really good breeze, but even then…”

“Ah. Well, I liked your gifts. Can I share this one?”

The demon was struck with the absurd image of angels dropping like flies around the old garden under the menace that would be Aziraphale the tickle angel. He snorted. “Sure, if you want.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale wiggled his shoulders happily and stretched out his wings. “I’d like to tickle you then, so you can laugh like that, and I can see it.”

Something in Crowley’s mind popped. Full of ideas as it had been minutes earlier, it was amazingly empty at Aziraphale’s proposal. With all the excitement the demon had had coming up with the idea and developing it, he had not once considered it being turned against him. Regifted. He was struck with another image, this time of himself, pinned under Aziraphale, at his mercy, laughing like flying. That image actually struck him as quite lovely, but it did also make his ears burn like hellfire. “Well!” Crowley said, kicking up off the ground and hovering a few feet above it. “One fun thing at a time. Ocean?”

Aziraphale nodded, smiled, and shot up into the air like a feathery stone shot by a sling. “Race you!”

“Hey!” Crowley laughed, chasing after him.

~*~

Crowley had come up with it, but Aziraphale had made it his own. And had inspired Crowley to coin the term ‘tickle monster.’

Such inspiration came to Crowley in an instance much like the one he found himself in at present: head tipped back against the cottage bedroom door, cheeks and chest aching from laughing, knees wobbly, so high and happy that the only thing keeping him from floating away was Aziraphale holding him (quite nicely after so evilly pinning him there earlier), stroking his fingertips along Crowley’s hips and sides, slow, featherlight, gentle, reverent.

“This may have been the best gift ever given,” Aziraphale chuckled, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s neck and leaning back with a proud wiggle.

Crowley lifted his arms, still a bit jelly-like, to wrap around Aziraphale’s shoulders, holding him close and keeping himself upright. “And it got me a hefty promotion way back when.”

Aziraphale laughed, “What?!”

“Yeah,” Crowley grinned, crooked and dizzy. “’Oh, Crowley, what an ingenious torture method, all the fun of hysteria with no marks left behind!’”

He let his head fall onto Aziraphale’s shoulder, giggling, as Aziraphale smothered his own laughter in his hand.

“But,” Crowley said, lifting his head but still too boneless to actually hold it up and so letting it thump back against the door, “you are by far more evil with it, so I may have taken credit where I was not due.”

“How rude,” Aziraphale tutted, giving Crowley a little scratch to one hip that had him crumpling sideways and squeaking. The angel caught him easily, supporting him around the waist and gently tickling his back to get him to purr and slump further into Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Well, whatever the offices took it for, I am very grateful.” He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s forehead and smiled. “Very happy with it.”

“Good,” Crowley mumbled, “because I didn’t keep the receipt.”

[sparxwrites]

Joel remembers things after the accident in flashes. 

The accident itself, he remembers fine – don’t mess around with enchanters, kids, stay in school, and especially don’t mess around with an enchanter, a chest full of various potions, a charged creeper, and several untamed wolves – but everything after it? Not just a blur, but gone. Other than the flashes. Funny little snippets of memory, half-order.

-

First: Him, on the ground, in a crater. Enchanter, gone, wolf corpses, still very much present. There’s broken glass everywhere; he’d forgotten he was storing potions in the next room. His body aches like he was hit by a truck, burns like he was hit by a bolt of lightning, and is– whatever the fuck the correct adjective for feels like he’s mainlined a month’s caffeine intake directly into his brainstem is. It’s not a great combination.

There’s also a Gem beside him, crouched carefully down in the grass. She’s saying something. His ears are ringing; he can’t make out the words. She looks worried.

She reaches out to touch him, and Joel’s entire body hurls itself at her without his conscious permission, jaws agape, fury rising like a red and mad tide. Everything goes black before he makes contact, but the terror on Gem’s face burns itself into his retinas before it does.

-

Next: He wakes up, alone, unclear where he is, struggling to move. His mouth tastes of blood. He’s lying on a mattress, wrists and ankles bound down. There’s something over his mouth. And Etho is there, too. Etho with a sword. Which doesn’t make much sense.

“Hi, Joel,” says Etho. “How you doing? You know where you are?”

Joel feels like shit, and has no idea where he is. But when he opens his mouth to say that, the only thing that comes out is a croak. He tries again, nothing, only pain, and then gives up. “Face,” he says, instead, voice raw like he’s been howling. He tries to lick his lips, and they taste of blood too. The sword, slowly, starts making sense.

“Uh. Oh, yeah.” Etho shifts in his chair. “We had to muzzle you. You’ve been, uh– well. The teeth have been a problem. When you… you’ve been like. Blacking out. And biting people. So…” He gestures, vaguely, at Joel’s prone body. “But it’s just a temporary measure. Some of the others are working on it. We’ll get it fixed soon.”

Joel wants to say more, wants to ask more, but things are fading. He can feel them fading. The black wants him again. “Hurts,” he says, raw as gravel, as his vision begins to tunnel.

“Yeah,” says Etho, soft, sympathetic. His hand is very warm, where it touches Joel’s wrist. “I know, buddy. I know.”

-

Last: He’s on fire, he’s burning, he’s fucking burning, they’re burning him alive, holy shit, why is no one trying to help him? 

There’s a dog somewhere nearby howling, or else a child screaming, or a horse being murdered, or maybe just a grown human in spine-melting pain. Hard to concentrate when he’s busy being ripped apart. Difficult to hear. His ears are ringing, vision blurred and half-dark, skin crawling as it tries to get away from the agony. 

Dimly, distantly, through the pain, he sees Jimmy. That’s when he knows he’s dying; no Jimmy on Hermitcraft. And also he called him Jimmy, even if just in the privacy of his own head. Sure sign of imminent death, that. 

The Jimmy who is not real looks at him, eyes calm and kind, and says, “Well, you’ve really fucked it now, Joel, haven’t you?” And then, before Joel can say anything back, he’s gone – and so, blissfully, is the pain. So, blissfully, is everything else

-

He wakes up, and hurts like someone has tried to make taffy of his bones. Everything aches, deep and abiding. But– he wakes up.

“M’alive,” he says, surprised, and his throat is full of knives, but the words still make it out. He could whoop from that alone. If not for the knives.

“You are.” That’s X’s voice, and when Joel flops his head to one side, the admin’s stood there, hands outstretched over Joel’s chest and belly. Even through the helmet, he looks tired. “I don’t know what you did, Joel, but I’m going to have to ask you to never do it again. Please.”

“Yeah, Joel.” Grian. Who else. “Or we’ll kick you off the server.”

“We won’t kick you off the server,” says Xisuma, exhaustedly. “...But I might want to.”

Joel laughs, but the knives, so it comes out more as a dry wheeze. He needs water. He needs a piss. He needs some painkillers, and to sleep for maybe two or three days. What he says instead, though, before he can help himself, is, “Jimmy. W’s Jimmy ‘ere?”

He expects Grian to laugh. It’s a mark of how bad things were that Grian doesn’t. “No, Jimmy wasn’t– Do you want Jimmy? We could maybe whitelist–” He looks at Xisuma.

Xisuma sighs. “Sure. Let’s invite the whole Empires server, while we’re at it.”

“’d be nice,” mumbles Joel, and then, “g’nna. Mmm. Sl’p now.”

“That’s fine.” Grian’s voice, and there’s a hand stroking his hair, which is nice. That might be Grian’s too but, since his eyes are already closed, he can’t tell. “Sleep, Joel. Jimmy’ll be here when you wake up. Which you might regret asking for, actually. Ah well.”

[lyssak09]

Hello :D

I love your writings!!!!

And I love your dbd Yandere Leon x killer reader story :3 can you pls make a part two? I would love to know how it will continues :D

Thank you so much for your amazing work!!!!!!

Also have a good day :D

Of course! Your super sweet I'm so glad you like my writing. So I actually started working on a part 2 after seeing your comment. But your ask just really made me work more on it. So thank you for requesting! Also, I tried to make this as gender friendly as possible. If I messed up anywhere Im so sorry. I hope you guys enjoy it 💙

Yandere Leon with Killer! Reader pt 2

Leon is a clingy needy dude after he's yonked you from the killer's realm. So expect a lot of cuddling, no personal space, and following you everywhere you go in the apartment. 

He isn’t THAT weird, and lets you use the bathroom in peace.

You think anyway.

The best part about him following you like a puppy is the fact that you can basically make him do anything with a simple sentence. 

You could ask for water, and he will zoom over the fridge to get you some water.

Hungry?

Food has been cooked and brought to you.

You are treated like a god dang queen/king/royalty. 

As you should be.

He took you without your permission, and has been keeping you basically hostage. 

This is the least that he could do for you. 

Now, is his cooking very good?

Not really.

He is used to cooking food over a fire and, after joining The Entity’s realm, not eating at all.

If someone came to visit you guys (99.98% not gonna happen but it doesn't hurt to hope) like a friend of his, who didn’t hate him for kidnapping you, he would be giving them a death glare until they leave. Lucky for them that they're friends with Leon or else you'd have a giant mess to clean up and some laundry to do if ya catch my drift.

Btw, Leon 100% wants you to be his house spouse.

You are so missed by your friends. And are enraged and appalled that Leon has done this to you and is able to.

A lot of the killers don’t care tho, since they’ve seen much worse.

But the survivors do, they're also extra pissed he is the one who did kill them for a while as of late.

But hey, not everything was too bad. 

He let you have hobbies, as long as you were still inside of the apartment.

Like sewing.

If you were really interested in it, he would ask you to sew some of his old clothes with big holes.

“Y/N,” he would whisper, before sitting down next to you. You were just sewing up old holes in a pillow case that you found in the back of the closet, hoping to maybe get some use out of it. “Can you sew up this hole for me?"He showed you an old, black shirt with a bullet hole on the chest. “Laurie got me good with a pallet, it put a hole in my shirt, and I haven’t been able to find someone to repair it.”

If you try to stab him with the needle or scissors to skedaddle then your butt is gonna get whooped. 

"WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?" He yelled at you while you tried to break the front door down. "To get away from you! Duh!" You replied before body slamming the door. Leon let out a string of curses as he quickly wrapped his wound with scraps of fabric from the table. Leon soon grabbed you by your waist and dragged you to the bedroom. "Damn it! Let go of me!!" You screamed and held on to the door frame of the bedroom. Leon covered your mouth and pulled you into the room. "You have no reason to scream yet." He hissed in your ear and shut the door. 

If you like reading, he would ask force ou to read to him.

“But, if the werewolf liked the girl, then why wouldn’t he keep her? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?” he asked. You rolled your eyes, "because the vampire one already had dibs on her. And healthy relationships don't involve kidnapping!" You told him and continued reading. "They obviously don't love her like I love you" Leon mumbled.

If you like drawing, he would ask to see what you’re drawing and he would try to make sure to get stuff for you to draw more. 

Like pencils and pens.

“What are you drawing?” He would ask, standing above you as you leaned over the table. “Is it a zombie?”

“No.”

“A cat?”

“No.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a tree.”

"Oh…"

Leon would frame and or put any drawings or doodles on the fridge.

If you have other hobbies, he would try his best to get you stuff to be able to do the things you loved. 

If he couldn’t, he would watch you and learn what you were doing.

If he had to go to a trial while you were at the house by yourself, he would lock the doors and take the key.

That way you wouldn’t be able to get out while he was gone.

While that did stop you from getting out, it did allow you some time alone without him hovering over you.

You could do whatever you pleased for the few hours that he was gone. 

Wanted to catch up on some extra sleep that got taken away from you?

Then nap time it is!

Want to draw something without him looking over your shoulder?

Freedom to draw whatever you want.

Though, you would have to hide them, since he does go through your stuff regularly.

Especially your drawing notebooks.

But remember, he had to find things that were hidden before he was forced into The Entity’s realm. 

So it won’t be easy to try and hide things from him.

Especially if he is suspicious of you hiding something.

“What did you do today?” He asked, walking through the door and plopping on the couch next to you. “Nothing much really, just took a nap and tidied up a bit.”. “Then why are the pencils out of place and why are their smudge marks on the table?” He asked, looking at you. He knew you were lying about what you were doing. “I know you were drawing.” He looked at you with an upset glare, “You don’t have to lie about what you do when I’m gone, you know I love your drawings.” He grabbed both of your hands in one of his, his other hand on your upper arm, “Where is it? I would love to see it.”. “I told you, I didn’t draw today. I tidied up, and that included moving some of the drawings I’ve already made.” You ripped your hands away from his. He started to get angry. "Why are you lying to me?" Leon yanked to towards him. "You didn't draw some boy or girl you think like like right? Because I'm the only one you can see in that way!" He was growling at this point. "Damn it Leon! I didn't draw today, and besides, is it really such a bad thing if I don't want you to see my drawings?" You were sweating now. You may or may not have drawn a hot character you had a crush on. But what's the harm in that? And aren't you allowed to have some privacy? "DON'T FUCKIN LIE TO ME!" he screamed and pinned you to the wall. You got the wind knocked outta you. "You know I don't like secrets." You stayed silent.  “I’m going to find it, even if I have to turn this whole place upside down!"

Yeah…he doesn't like secrets

Especially from you. Couples share everything right?

But if you dont draw and play games instead then maybe you get a game system or a game boy.

Or whatever you need/want for your hobbies

Anywaaays when he is forced to chill in the Killer camp he likes to ease drop on the killers and survivors who were you friends before you got yonked. (Yes you were friends with most of the survivors. You were a pretty friendly and chill killer) 

Leon started to hear rumors of him making a deal with the entity. Which wasn't wrong. But he still didn't you two to be discussed about with these asshats

He also started to hear your friends talk about plans to take you back and beat the utter crap outta our RPD boi.

But sadly for you, that's not happening. The Entity has gotten so much rage from Leon taking his anger out on his once friends. (He gets angry because someone isn't reciprocating his feelings fast enough. 

And Entity is also getting rage and despair from the survivors

To be perfectly honest, I don't think you're ever getting out. Leon's kills is more than making up for you no longer being able to do trials. So the entity is probably gonna leave you in Leon's hands. Forever

"You're mine you got that?" He hissed at you as you kicked and screamed at him to let you go. You had just tried to escape again and Leon caught you. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!" Leon screamed and dug his nails into your jaw, breaking the skin and causing blood to trail down your neck. You mumbled out a yes. "Good, because you're never leaving me."

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------- little fun bonus if wanted —-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Maybe one day the Entity decided to let you guys out into the real world for a while since Leon has been so so useful as of late 

That also meant everyone could join.

Leon was pissed about this idea. He only wanted you and nobody else.

Besides, his ex-teammates aren’t probably the happiest with him

You know, killing them and all that.

Killers also didn’t really like him either.

They missed you being around the campfire with them.

But he made a deal, and The Entity was one to never let their side of the deal fail. 

Neither was Leon though.

He always kept his side of the deal.

And he wasn’t going to let anyone else come near you.

You already knew that though, and it wasn’t like you haven’t tried to bargain with The Entity either. 

But at least you could enjoy a day in the real world near your friends. 

So, yay

[braxiatel]

Goodtimeswithscar is a sexyman and I will prove it to you

If you are still on the fence I encourage you to look at the sexypedia - a wikipedia dedicated to tumblr sexymen - and checking out their tropes page. Scar meets 35/62 on a list where recent winner of the tumblr sexyman poll Cecil Palmer of WTNW fame only has 8 listed on his character page!

35!

Scar is Textbook, and if you need proof I have gone through all the tropes and explained why they apply to him!

VOTE SCAR!

4th Wall Blurring: This one is arguable due to the nature of the medium but I’ll include it

Animal Theming: See: animal hybrid headcanons and designs. Cat Scar, panda Scar, hyena Scar, avian Scar - they’re everywhere!

Angst: That cactus ring… magic mountain. need I say more? This boy has angst. 

Bait: *gestures at the shirtless skins*

Capitalist: she sells sea shells on the sea shore but the value of these shells will fall due to the laws of supply and demand no one wants to buy shells cause there’s loads on the sand step one you must create a sense of scarcity 

Chaoslord: HotGuy! [snipes you for no good reason]

Criminal: shells will sell much better if the people think they’re rare you see bear with me take as many shells as you can find and hide them on an island stockpile them high until they’re rarer than the price of diamond

Con Artist: step two gotta make the people think that they want them really fucking want them hit ‘em like Bronson influencers product placement if you haven’t got a shell then you’re just a fucking waste man

Dealmaker: three it’s monopoly invest inside some property start a corporation make a logo do it properly shells must sell that will be your new philosophy swallow all your morals they’re a poor man’s quality

Distinctive Voice: I do not need to make any arguments here. Have you heard him???

Quotable Catchphrase(s): well hello there, scarred for life, “a-ma-zing”, etc.

Distinctive Laugh: I think I autism stole Scar’s laughter (whoops) so I’m giving him this one too, but also that gigle is just very good and we all know it, right?

Dominating: from the trope description: “Characters who assert their power over others. Could be through manipulation, magic, smugness, or force of personality.” Yes. 

Duality: Convex did not put their whole entire vexussies into that possession storyline for us to forget about it. 

Egotistical: This one is arguable and a question of characterisation, but I think that we can all agree that on some levels, yes. 

Eldritch: From the trope description: “Since the typical sexyman is a tall mostly human looking pale twink, in a vast majority of the cases the eldritch is a heavy implication lying just under the surface.” Hello? Vex Scar?? 

Gay: See subsection: 

LGBTQ+ Coded: That cactus ring. Mumbo “eye candy” Jumbo. The season 7 mayoral race. Concorp. His jolly rancher arc. This man has so many boyfriends. 

Girlboss: listen I think a lot of characters who aren’t traditional girlbosses get called so, but with Scar I think it’s accurate okay. Did Scar utilize girl power effectively when he and Cub were blatant war profetiers during the season 6 civil war? yes. Absolutely. Girlboss. 

Glowing Neon: vex blue anyone?

Hot-headed: Don’t let his calm exterior fool you. Remember. Scar when someone steals his horse: *sets their whole entire house on fire*. 

Intelligence: yes but also see subsection

Smartdumb: Okay listen. Scar is Smart. Scar is very smart. And I specifically have to make sure you know I am talking character only here because cc!Scar seems to me to be a Very intelligent person with a wide field of knowledge. But uhm. c!Scar dies so much and so often in ways that are completely unavoidable. He does silly things without thinking of the consequences. I have seen enough people calling him a himbo (beloathed term) enough times that I do not need to argue this point. He is smart but also babygirl Why are you like this.

Johnlocked: “When two characters are shipped extensively by fans despite the pairing not necessarily being canon (or even present) in the original work.” it started out with a cactus ring how did it end up like this, it was only a cactus ring, it was only a cactus ring

Knifemurder: Hotguy! [snipes you a second time] 

Magnificent Bastard: This Is The Whole Point. Scar oozes charisma even when he is the villain and that’s why he is so beloved. He is smart, he is stylish, he is charming, even while he is killng you. This is the point. 

Marked Canon/Fanon Divergence: “Sexymen with a large gap between how they are in the original work (Canon) and how they are commonly portrayed in fanworks (Fanon)” see : the fake crystals vs Scar actually having magic, the abs being painted on vs shirtless Scar everywhere, etc.

Monster Features: vex scar vex scar vex scar

Nonhuman: like the vex thing is literally canon it’s not fanon those cons sure did vex 

Pale Twink: We could have done many things with this collection of blocks people, and yet my dash is full of shirtless twinks/twunks every day ending with a y. Curious. 

Perpetual Smiler: Okay listen this is partially the nature of the medium but also 1) that is a distinctive smile and 2) have you see the fanworks? 

Power: This man tried to sell fake magic crystals and we all just decided he can do magic. He was an elf once and now fae/elf Scar headcanons are everywhere. 

Scars: I- I’m not explaining myself here. yes??? 

Tall: I can think of one, maybe two portrayals of Scar that have made him short. 

Theme Song: four expand, expand, expand clear forest make land fresh blood on hands five why just shells why limit yourself she sells seashells sell oil as well six guns sell stocks sell diamonds sell rocks sell water to a fish sell the time to a clock seven press on the gas take your foot off the brakes then run to be the president of the united states eight big smile mate big wave that's great now the truth is overrated tell lies out the gate nine polarise the people controversy is the game it don't matter if they hate you if they all say your name ten the world is yours step out on a stage to a round of applause uou're a liar a cheat a devil a whore and you sell seashells on the seashore

Unkempt: so those rugged life series Scars, huh? 

Villain: Scar has been the villain several times and has a Long list of crimes to his name

Technically Antagonist: see 3rd life

Villain Protagonist: unreliable narrator Scar my beloved. I love how he just *does terrible things edited to make him look like he’s just a silly little guy having some harmless fun*

Well-Dressed: Hmmm I wonder why waggon/tycoon Scar routinely wins every Scar skin poll. Also he has enough outfits to include these sub categories too: 

Suitguy: “Characters who typically wear formalwear, specifically suits. Often includes waistcoats, top hats, bowties, and pinstripes. Other neckwear may also be worn.” Again. The tycoon skin really lives rent free in all out minds, huh?

Long Coat/Cape/Robe/Etc: bathrobe wizard Scar my beloved but also do you know how many thirst trap last life Scars I’ve seen?? 

White Twink Humanization: He is made out of blocks in canon. We did not need to make him like this and yet we did. 

White Hair: last life Scar beloved by many <3

VOTE SCAR!

[punsmaster69]

1/APR/20XX

[After checking the page again, the words have ACTUALLY been written properly this time - with a working pen.]

[A small attached sticky note reads, "heheh. couldn't not, sorry."]

i'm carried out of bed and immediately served chocolate pancakes as papyrus briefs me on the day's plan - all before i even finish waking up fully.

"YOU WANTED TO GO TO AN ARCADE, SO THAT'S WHAT WE'LL DO FIRST - EVERYONE ELSE IS GOING TO MEET US THERE, SO DON'T SAVOUR MY COOKING 𝘛𝘖𝘖 LONG."

" 'k."

"AROUND LUNCHTIME, WE'RE GOING TO STOP BY GRILLBY'S... UNFORTUNATELY."

"AFTER... WE'LL JUST HANG OUT AT MS. TORIEL'S HOUSE FOR THE REST OF THE NIGHT; CONSIDERING IT WOULD BE THE CLOSEST."

"ok."

"sounds good."

"...."

he looks over his shoulder to see me still yawning, giving an eyeroll gesture and placing a cup of hot coffee in front of me.

"CAN'T HAVE YOU FALLING BACK ASLEEP IMMEDIATELY, SO DRINK UP!"

"...doesn't work, remember?"

"..RIGHT."

beside it, he places a cup of ice water.

"THAT SHOULD, RIGHT?"

i mumble an affirmative response. papyrus takes this as good enough.

——

"Yo!"

undyne high-fives papyrus, then grabs me for an aggressive noogie.

"Excited for today, you decrepit bag of bones?!"

"PLEASE BE CAREFUL WITH HIM, UNDYNE."

this diverts her wrath onto papyrus instead.

"PLEASE BE CAREFUL WITH 𝘔𝘌, UNDYNE!!!"

me and alphys fistbump.

"Good choice."

"figured you'd approve."

"S-Still wish they hadn't plastered that creepy ice cube's face EVERYWHERE in this place. Can't even have one bare wall."

"whaaat? ice-e's an icon."

"Of weird c-corporate marketing."

"and unsolvable puzzles."

"They were always that way, then?"

toriel and frisk - flowey wrapped around the kid's arm - wave as they approach.

frisk nods.

"Even the first one Sans and Papyrus set out for me back in Snowdin was unsolvable."

"IT WAS?!"

"Weird letter inconsistency."

"SANS!! YOU NOT ONLY PUT OUT A 𝗖𝗥𝗢𝗦𝗦𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗 OF ALL THINGS, BUT AN 𝘐𝘔𝘗𝘖𝘚𝘚𝘐𝘉𝘓𝘌 ONE?!?"

"whoops."

"SIGH."

"REALLY, I DON'T KNOW WHY I SIMPLY DIDN'T DO IT ALL MYSELF!!"

"I CERTAINLY WOULD HAVE CAPTURED THE HUMAN WITH EASE."

"ER-"

"I'M!! GLAD I DIDN'T THOUGH, NOW!!!"

we chat for a while more before actually going inside -

"I MISS THE SUN ALREADY."

- and splitting off towards the games each of us preferred. toriel simply stuck by me to observe whatever i decided on.

somehow, at some point, we ended up just playing air hockey really badly.

𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬. 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬. 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬.

"Is this how you play??"

"is this how you play???"

repeatedly smacking the pushers together, the puck was ignored.

——

papyrus won a scary amount of tickets and used them to redeem two dart guns. one was instantly hijacked by undyne, who cackled after ricocheting a dart off papyrus' skull. she was going to fire at me, but

"You're spared for today. Don't think I won't get you another time, though!!!"

"..cool."

grillby's wasn't far, and the weather was pleasant, so walking was actually pretty alright.

the bar erupts into noise as we show up. there was a barrage of questions and comments about everyone and everything, but the chaos made any recollections of it blurry. (fun chaos, don't get me wrong.)

i waited for the right moment - somehow, i knew it would happen.

my brother raises his glass of milk.

"WILL EVERYONE PLEASE RISE AND GIVE A TOAST TO MY BROTHER, SANS, WHOSE BIRTHDAY IT IS TODAY?!"

a roaring sound that resembles a "YEAH!!" as everyone in the restaurant rises to their feet.

i move quickly, placing one on each seat - unnoticed amidst the commotion.

"THREE..."

"TWO..."

"ONE!"

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SANS!!!"

appearing beside my brother as if i'd not moved at all, i clink a bottle of ketchup with the various other beverages being lifted.

and then a loud,

deafening,

𝙋𝙋𝘽𝘽𝘽𝘽𝘽𝙁𝙁𝙁𝙏𝙏𝙏𝙏

as everyone sits back down.

it was beautiful. enough to make a grown man cry.

tears of laughter, that is.

a magician clown never reveals his secrets, but i sure was asked "HOW?!" a lot.

——

the sun has just finished setting. for the first time today, it's quiet. a gentle breeze cools the day down. toriel and i hang around on the porch to take it in - myself sat upon the rail.

"Are you truly alright with not getting much...?"

"yeah."

"spendin' time with you folks is all i wanted."

"and i got it, so."

"seems like a pretty good birthday to me."

"Still, it feels lackluster to have shown up empty-handed."

"i mean. you brought cake."

"That is a given."

"here."

"if you're really concerned about me not getting any gifts..."

"..."

i gave her a goofy grin.

"gonna be corny for a sec, hope you don't mind."

"I do not have a 𝘤𝘰𝘣-lem with it."

"In fact, I am all 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴."

in that moment, i couldn't have been more certain.

i push myself up into my knees to deposit a quick kiss on her cheek.

"...that can be my gift."

dropping myself back down to sit on the porch rail.

". . ."

"sorry for suddenly 𝘱𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 that onto you. wanted to 𝘦𝘢𝘳nestly-"

puns were halted as my mouth became suddenly occupied with something else.

when she eventually let go, i found myself sputtering momentarily trying to find my words.

"There. You being on the receiving end makes it much more of a gift, does it not?"

"i-"

"i, uh."

"thought i was supposed to initiate it??"

"The cheek is close enough. And that one, you did."

"I will count it."

"....."

"there's another thing i'm s'posed to do."

"a ques-"

toriel puts her hand over my mouth.

"Do not ask it today."

"We would have to celebrate our anniversaries on your birthday."

"what? you don't want a double-event?"

"There is a multitude of reasons."

"shoot."

"...?"

"gimme 'em. gimme the reasons."

"Firstly, birthdays are to be spent with a multitude of friends and loved ones. Anniversaries are for spending with the romantic interest. To do both of those at once would be impossible."

"Secondly, it would subtract from the specialness of each as well."

"Thirdly-"

"it'd be easier to remember."

she hadn't noticed me slowly inching my face closer and closer to her own until i spoke.

"Th-"

"birthversary rolls right off the tongue, too."

"..."

"I'll show YOU a tongue."

she suddenly sticks out her tongue. my proximity causes me to have to back away quickly.

too quickly.

toriel leaps forward and wraps an arm around me to stop me from going completely backwards off the rail.

"I did not mean for that to happen."

"good catch."

"Oddly, not the first time you have fallen from my railing."

"yeah, i'm gettin' 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭 good at doing that accidentally."

"Hehehe."

"Do I need to install rails for my rails?"

"gonna box me in, huh?"

"If it will stop you from falling, then maybe I will."

𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬, 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬.

"WE'VE DECIDED ON A SLEEPOVER-"

we both looked to the back door.

with a blanket draped over his right arm, papyrus stopped speaking to stare at us blankly for a moment.

arms wrapped around each other, being bent over the rail, her hips between my legs...

"..I ASSUME YOU ARE BUSY."

"....."

"might be a minute."

promptly spinning 180 on his heels, papyrus went back inside; carrying the same expression the whole time.

immediately bursting into laughter, tori lifts me up the rest of the way and places me on the porch.

"Awkward-looking situations seem to be your forte, my dear."

"no kidding."

"At least it was Papyrus."

"yeah."

"..."

"so, can i ask you the-"

"Another time."

"ok."

[atom-writings]

Sleepy cuddling with Ivan :3c

(HWS Russia x Reader) Sleepy Affection!

(Gender Neutral) Scenario ~ A/N WAIT THIS IS A A THOUSAND WORD.S WHOOPS. UM. IM NORMAL ABOUT RUSSIA (LYING LYING) I HAVE NOT BEEN DREAMING ABOUT THIS FOR YEARS (LYING I AM A LIAR I AM LYING)

Trigger Warning: None, just Fluff!

Meteorologists had predicted a large snowfall. While you had told Ivan that you would leave before it got too bad, that plan ended up dead in the water. Or more accurately, dead in the snow. Before you knew it, the ground nearly rose to your knees. That’s fine, right? It’s really no problem, staying with your boyfriend. That was… until the power went out… along with the heat.

He tugged on your shirt lightly, rubbing the collar between two of his fingers. In the background, the fire crackled quietly. The scent of a warm fireplace nearly drowned out your boyfriend’s faded cologne. He always smelled faintly of roses, something close to what you’d find in your grandmother’s home.

Months earlier, you recalled him mentioning that he had lived in this home for centuries. Which, to be fair you could’ve guessed. Normally it would be nothing more than an annoyance, how it creaked and groaned keeping you up at night. But now, its ancient architecture meant you two had nothing to worry about. The fireplace meant you two could make it through the night in comfort.

So there you two lay. A short distance away from the fireplace cuddled up on an old mattress he had dragged downstairs. On top of you lay layers of quilts and ratty old blankets, all of which smelled of must and people you’d never meet. 

“Крошка? Are you still awake?” His voice startled you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah…”

“Why?” He readjusted himself, sitting up and facing you.

“W-Why? This isn’t the ideal situation to sleep in, Vanya.” You replied, looking up at him in confusion. He paused for a minute, lost in thought, before reaching out and holding your shoulder tightly.

“I understand. We just have to get through one night. I am sure your hotel will have the power back by then, and you will be alright.” 

He laid back down, “Will you let me warm you?” 

A light pink rose to your cheeks, and you rolled to look away from him. Sure, you had been plenty affectionate with each other before, but nothing like this, “If you’re fine doing so… aren’t you cold too?”

“Of course. But I have been cold many times before,” Ivan responds as he presses himself against your back, “Besides, I cannot help but be slightly delighted by this arrangement.”

“You’re happy about this?” Your tone rises.

“As I said, only slightly. It reminds me of many nights I have had before.” He wraps his arms tightly around your waist, drawing you closer. You can feel his hot breath on the back of your neck, along with his eyes resting intently on you.

“I would have thought that an immortal would try to ignore any memories. Don’t they just make you sad?”

“Sometimes, yes. The world has changed very much. But I try to not let that bother me. It is all about looking on the bright side. Years ago, I could not have been seen with you. But now…” Ivan leans forward, laying his head in the crook of your neck. “We can be here… together.”

Smiling to yourself at his sudden affection, you begin tracing light patterns on his arms. Quickly, you hear him sigh, muffled by your neck.

“Be the romantic all you want, I still want our power back at least.” You joke.

“Really? I do not mind.” 

“Psh, of course, you don’t. But I’m a little used to the comforts of modern life.” He returns your playful tone with a smile.

“I enjoy this. It reminds me of nights spent with my old family. We would have to sleep like this often in the winter as well.” Although he smiles, you can hear his tone drop.

Although you had been dating for almost a year now, he rarely talked about his family. You had gathered that he had sisters… at least one… and maybe a brother at some point. There were pictures of this home, filled with people, placed everywhere throughout the home. Yet, they never seemed to be the same people. And anytime you would become curious as to why he would brush your questions off.

“Your family?”

“We never had much money. I was lucky to receive this home from the Tsar many centuries ago. It protected us well.” He lets go momentarily, just to grasp for your hand as his voice falters. 

You wiggle out of his hold, turning around to face him. His eyes soft, lost in memory, suddenly transfixed on you as you grabbed his hand. He leaned into your touch as you caressed his cheek and squeezed his hand tightly.

“It’s nice to know you have happy memories with them. Whenever you mention them usually, you seem so sad. I can’t stand to see you like that.”

Ivan closes his eyes, relaxing his tense face. “Those are not happy memories. It makes me sad to think about those why we had to huddle in those winter nights.”

“Then why did you bring it up?” Your face turns to concern as you begin running your hands through his soft, silvery hair.

“Because I am not sad right now. Regardless of how it reminds me of my old family.”

“H- Why? I know I would be upset if I were you right now.”

He opens his eyes, staring intently into your own, “Because I have done this with my old family,” he smiles lovingly, “and now I have done it with you.” 

As you look up at him in confusion, he simply draws his quilts tighter to the two of you. Grinning, he continues, “I did not think I would ever do this again. It means that even in this world I do not always recognize, I will still find my new family.”

Bringing your hand, still tightly holding onto his own, up to his face, he kisses your knuckles lightly, “You will be my new family. We are together here, like I was once with my family, and that is all that matters, любимый.”

Despite the intense emotionality of what he just declared, his face betrayed nothing but peace. “V-Vanya…” you pause, “I love you.”

“I love you too. While you sleep, I will make sure you are safe.” He put one hand behind your head, pulling you forward to kiss your forehead.

“Thank you, my love.” You say before closing your eyes, leaning back into his chest.

“Сладких снов,” he whispers, before falling asleep to the crackling fire himself. With you safe in his arms, everything felt just as he had wished it to be for centuries.

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep2 Musings - At the Chateau

More random musings; this time specifically about The Hunt at the Chateau.

I hate these two wenches specifically, but NGL, they look cool here.

Ohhhh, AMC knew what they were doing, going RIGHT for my ovaries! 😍 DADDY TUAN PHAM! 😍😍

Sincere is one thing. HONEST is another, though. Y'all knew those Americans were sus, Armand. They're not buying that "Bruce" BS, Louis, don't sleep on them!

I am SO BUMMED that we didn't get to SEE this scene; I was so excited!

Now I'll never get to see Louis so bored out of his skull by Santiago's thespian charms that he starts snoring in the middle of the play. U_U

Mr. I Could Not Prevent It, what were YOU doing to protect your man? You slaughter random innocent fledglings just for blinking, but you let your whole coven plot Louis & Claudia's demise right under your nose?

Bull frikkin crap!

Daciana been knew. U_U

Who is the coven LEADER, and the coven MASTER?

"COMPLICIT" finna be my favorite word this season, istg.

SO well said, Louis; as this beastly monstrous coven has TWO heads, these SNAKES, this immortal Hydra that only dies when Hercules cuts its head off and cauterizes the wound.

I am SO ready.

I loooove this transition frame; the Moulin Rouge as the most famous French theatre in pop culture, as Louis snaps his sad photos and Claudia whoops and the Theatre Louis sets on fire takes them hunting to a chateau they'll set on fire.

Reminds me of what Lestat said: "there is a veil between us; but it is a THIN veil." Louis will never be "one" with y'all. He's already bound by "a cord you cannot see, but it is real;" all your Mind Gift's mindscrewing can't un-screw Lestat out of Louis' blood! 😜 Louis drags that camera EVERYWHERE, ducking behind the lens, seeing the world thru a Glass Darkly; a warped perception of time & space. Cuz he's STRUGGLING; looking for God; looking for ("the wrong kind" of) love in all the wrong places.

Look at the things he takes pictures of! He's documenting DEATH; a MASS MURDER--"you are chronicling a suicide"--as the coven rides their bikes to the house they're gonna KILL everyone in. This isn't a mere road trip; this is a HUNT.

Equestrian statues & triumphal arches--monuments of blood-soaked imperialism & colonialism.

Hedonistic bacchic revelries. "I want food, I want sex, I want to go home."

Meanwhile, Claudia's high as a kite, on cloud 9.

EVERYBODY, Claudia? As they pan to Louis? "I hate you both!"

I wanna throw up when I remember Claudia's ashes got mixed with the coven's when the Theatre burned down. U_U No justice, and no peace. Claudia, I would've become the most notorious Parisian poltergeist in history--the Pope himself would've had to come up to perform the exorcism, on god I'd make my death everyone's problem.

But the LOOK on Louis' face, omg.

Whole 5 stages of grief in reverse:

Acceptance: he TRIES to "be one with us," taking on the "collective hunger;" smiling (fake AF) as he tries to soak in Claudia's ecstasy; riding in Armand's sidecar, flirting with the "Maitre," cozying up with his potential new beau

Depression: knowing full well he hates the rampant bloodlust & violence, the carnage in the chateau on fire behind him

Bargaining: Mr. I Only Eat Once Every Other Day, refusing to take part the the slaughter but still standing by--you are all COMPLICIT--while they were being killed; and agreeing to have Armand teach him how to be a better killer by honing the Mind Gift, etc.

Anger: The Fire Gift WHENNNNNNN? Foreshadowing AF! Claudia, you WILL be avenged!

Denial: Lestat WHO? Being told straight to his face that Armand knows he's lying, knows he's been collecting alimony & child support checks from Roget, knows Claudia wants to join the coven that set up a frikkin shrine to the dude, knows Santiago's a cheap imitation of Lestat, knows DreamStat's gonna keep haunting the narrative, I can't

An EFFED UP Gothic Romance.

The book stans who keep complaining about this show are just willfully ignoring what AMC's doing here. There is PLENTY we can complain about absolutely! But overall this adaptation is a slam dunk.

[thelikesofus]

✨Writing Patterns✨

tagged by the wonderful @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @thekristen999 xx

rules: list the first line(s) of your last 10 posted fics and see if there's a pattern!

Hearts Beat (Louder Than Bombs) (markhyuck | 25k ongoing)

There is a rush of commotion outside, disrupting what had been a thankfully quiet morning.

merry go 'round (buddie | 772 words)

“Why are you calling me, Buckley?” Taylor sounds groggy and vexed, which Buck supposes makes sense and in all honesty, he isn’t sure he has an answer but he’s been pacing his apartment for hours and the sun set without him noticing, and then it started rising again while he was still pacing.

ring the bells (buddie | coffee shop au | 5k)

"Order for Evan!"  If ever Buck was to die of happiness it would be in this moment.

the forest for the trees (buddie | 1k)

"I see you." Is the first thing that Eddie says when Buck opens the door to his apartment to find his best friend standing in the hallway at eleven o'clock in the evening looking all kinds of distraught.

when the night is cold as it is long (buddie | 4k)

Eddie is shivering when he wakes up and his chest aches as he gasps for every breath. The light from the moon and street lamps outside is filtering through the thin curtains over Eddie’s bedroom window and yet his vision is too hazy to recognize his own hand in front of his face.

steady steady (buddie | 970)

"You didn't have to wait up." Buck says as he closes the front door behind him and toes off his shoes in the pale light of the hallway lamp.

waiting on you kid (buddie | buck & bobby | 420)

Bobby’s hand hangs limply, hovering over the door knob. He’s been standing in the hallway for three minutes, the same length of time it took to drive Buck to the hospital. Those three horrible, stretching, shrinking minutes, yet as he stands now, they pass in a single blink.

wild child be still for me (buddie | 644)

Eddie’s heart is already in his throat even before he watches Buck lunge for the rope, swing across the gap, and slide to a stop. He doesn’t take a breath until Buck pulls himself to his feet, throws his hands in the air with a whoop, and jogs back towards the truck.

like coming home (as easy as breathing) (buddie | 960)

In the hospital, Eddie couldn’t bring himself to look. His eyes darted everywhere but Buck’s limp and pale form. How small he looked under the hospital sheets in a loose gown.

love always wakes the dragon and suddenly flames everywhere (buddie | 875)

Eddie has always kept his emotions, like cards, close to his chest. No point playing with fire when all it does is burn your fingers and leave your throat coated with soot. 

well......quite consistently starting with dialogue or the character's name if that means anything???

tagging @lilbuddie @thosetwofirefighters @rogerzsteven @shortsighted-owl @911onabc @loveyourownsmiilee @tomlinpun @sibylsleaves @disasterbuckdiaz @jobairdxx @spaceprincessem @loserdiaz @eddiebabygirldiaz @monsterrae1 @bekkachaos @elvensorceress @heartshapedvows 

[t-z-gow]

First off, THANK YOU for writing for Brok. Sometimes I feel like the only one who likes him lmao. Also this got long whoops

I think he shows love with his smithing. He knows damn well he’s good with a hammer and uses his skills to improve the possessions of the loved ones around him. But I feel like he’d really go all out for someone he has romantic interest in.

So imagine this. You’re bringing him a weapon of yours, asking for a simple fix. He brings it back fixed, sharpened, chock full of enchantments and decorated to the nines. You question him about it, and he just gives you a Brok-ism and waves you off. Meanwhile, Sindri is just laughing in the background, having just watched his no-nonsense brother burn the midnight oil over a weapon with a a 5-minute fix, just because it’s your weapon.

You're welcome! To be honest I think most people don't write for him because the way he speaks is so hard to nail down. At least that's what I struggled with ^-^;

Anyway, enjoy!

Brok x Reader ~ Your Company

You hated this weather. This Gods awful, frigid, skin-freezing weather. Your feet tracked through the snow, your coat tightly wrapped around your frame. It almost reminded you of when you were a kid wrapped up in your blankets hiding from non-existent monsters. The thought gained a small smirk from you, though the bitter cold quickly wiped it away.

You should have been home right about now, warming by the fire, enjoying the hot meal of your recent hunt. That, however, wasn't meant to be.

Your bow had broken. Not the string, but the wood. Snapped right in half when a draugr sent you down a hill. You still managed your kill with the knife you had left, but if you planned on surviving this never-ending winter then you couldn't afford to have a broken weapon. So, in spite of your loathing for the weather, you sought out the only two you knew that could craft you a new one. The fabled Huldra brothers.

Finding them wasn't always easy. Sometimes they showed up the moment you needed them, other times it took a bit of wandering around their makeshift workshops a while. They couldn't be everywhere at once, you knew that. You just hoped one of them would show up soon-

"What's gone and got you all the way up here?" a familiar voice rang. You swiftly turned in their direction, relieved to have found who you had been looking for, Brok.

"I was looking for you" you replied. Your answer seemed to startle him slightly, his eyes flashing to you with a wide smile to match before quickly turning away again.

"And what's would be the reason?" He asked, his question similar to the first as he went back to collecting whatever he came here for. You took the broken pieces of your bow, laying them on the table in front of you.

"I broke my bow" you answered, causing him to pause and, had you believed there to be a reason, you would have said he looked almost disappointed. You quickly brushed it off though, suspecting you might have caught him at a busy moment. However you couldn't leave without the bow fixed, not in this place. So, despite believing you might be annoying him, you didn't take your leave.

He quickly stopped what he was doing, walking over to the broken pieces placed before him, his eyes focused on the items.

"S'ain't worth much now. I'll have ta make ya a new one" he proclaimed as he inspected the broken item. You nodded, reaching into your bag for your coin.

"And how much will that cost me?" You asked as you dug around. He turned his back to you, your broken bow in hand, seemingly returning to his rummaging.

"Won't cost ya nothin'!" He answered, your head shooting up once he spoke it, bewilderment covering your face.

"Are you...are you sure? I have plenty-"

"Course I'm sure! Right positive!" He spoke enthusiastically, though that did little to calm your confusion on the strange answer. You weren't going to argue your way out of a free new bow though, so you held the word 'why?' on your tongue, not letting it escape your lips as it had many times before when seeing the blue-skinned man.

"Alright..." You removed your hand from your bag, instead returning to hugging the warmth of your jacket closer, trying to avoid the nipping cold once more.

"How long should it take?" you asked with understandable concern. Earning his attention once more, his eyes fell over his shoulder and onto you, then turned to search for the sun in the sky before he found his answer.

"Not before s'dark if that's what you's askin'" a strange tone was held in his voice as he stopped his searching, instead quickly moving to put some things in a bag before fully turning back to you.

"Ain't safe goin' round in this shit hole without a weapon. You's best stay with me for the night" he stated flatly before beginning to walk off.

This wasn't an uncommon occurrence when you met with Brok. He did often take much longer to finish his work than Sindri, always saying it was about quality or something to that effect. Either way, it had led to you staying at the dwarves' home more than a couple of times. So you didn't put up a fuss as you followed, knowing it was simply a waste of time to argue with the stubborn man.

You both entered through a portal, finding yourselves in a place familiar to you, yet different than the last time you had seen it. They seemed to have built out even further. You admired the home for a moment as it was certainly a lot more aesthetically pleasing than your temporary homes found in the sides of mountains. You only lingered a moment before following Brok forward and into the house, as beautiful on the inside as it had been on the outside, likely Sindris doing.

"We got company!" Brok suddenly yelled, his voice echoing as he did before he immediately turned to his workshop, busying himself with your bow and likely other weapons. It was then that your eyes fell onto unrecognized faces that sat in the odd corners of the building. They turned to you upon Broks yelling, giving you the same looks of caution that you did to them. A moment of silence occurred before another voice cut through.

"Y/n! I wasn't expecting your company" The man coated in gold armor yelled from atop the stairs in a tone of joy with a hint of tension, likely from failing to inform him of your company ahead of time. He quickly made his way down the stairs as you took off your shoes, stepping further into the building. A smile of recognition falling upon your face as you did.

"Sindri! It's been a long while, hasn't it?" You spoke as you met him at the bottom of the stairs, his own smile now forming.

"And what brings you to our neck of the Yggdrasil?" He questioned, his body leaning away ever so slightly, though that was to be expected.

"My bow broke" you answered for the second time this evening, earning a knowing nod from him.

"I didn't know you had other company" you spoke as your eyes turned to the tall man who stood above a cauldron of food along with a young boy sat talking to a...head?

You brushed off the weird scene, comforting yourself with the thought that you've seen stranger.

"Yeah well it was originally just the boy and his father but uh...others followed" his voice held noticable annoyance for a moment though you didn't take offense to it. You knew how stressed Sindri became with company, having overheard him and Brok arguing the first time the blue dwarf ever brought you here unannounced. The thought made you smile a moment, though you had most certainly not been smiling then.

Quickly knocking yourself out of the memory you turned back to Sindri, only to see a thoughtful look on his face as he stared, focused on something in the distance. You were about to turn to see what caught his attention but was stopped when he spoke again.

"Anyway! I have...work I have to do. So feel free to make yourself comfortable! Though not too comfortable. Oh and uh, you should speak with Brok. He enjoys your company" his words were slightly scattered as he spoke, quickly walking off. Before you could question him any further he disappeared, leaving you with only his words as a guide. Quickly deciding you'd rather do that than introduce yourself to new people, you walked over to where you had seen Brok leave to earlier: his workstation. As you walked you let the words Sindri spoke rest in your head, a certain sentence sticking in your mind.

'He enjoys your company'

You wondered what Sindri had meant by the comment, if anything at all. The man had seemed in a hurry to leave your presence so it was likely just strange wording. Still, you couldn't find yourself parting with the sentence, inscribing more meaning to it than Sindri had likely meant by the comment.

Approaching the workstation you let a smile fall on your lips, seeing just who you thought you would.

"So I heard you enjoy my company?" You spoke, causing the man hard at work to jump slightly, turning over his shoulder. Upon recognizing it was you he gave a short nod before turning back around. It took a moment for him to process what you spoke before waving his hand at the words, knowing exactly where they had come from.

"Sindri told you that, didn't he? The little bastard's terrible at keepin' his mouth shut" he answered, earning your intrigue quickly.

"Is it true?" You asked. He still had yet to turn to you, even as his body tensed at the questioning.

"S'pose so" he hesitated when the words left as he quickly busied his hands. You gave a hum of contentment at his admitting to it.

"Not so bad yourself" you replied, moving further into his forge, soon finding a place to sit and watch. There were a few moments of silence between the two of you, a silence that felt a little strange yet not uncomfortable. Still, you decided to break it.

"Got any new stories I should know of?" You asked, earning a chuckle from him. You couldn't help but smile at the sound, it always felt so nice hearing him laugh.

"Well I do. They ain't no happy stories though" his eyes focused on his work, even as spoke with you. You let out a short laugh at his words, causing his eyes to flick towards you in slight confusion, especially upon seeing the joy that wrote itself on your face.

"Oh please. You could make death seem like a daisy field" you snickered as you spoke. His confusion melted into a soft smile at the compliment, feeling his chest burn at even your smile.

"Really? That weren't nothin' I've heard! Usually s'the opposite!" His voice rose slightly before he joined in laughter with you.

Both of you were fully unaware of the listening ears nearby.

"Mimir," the boy whispered

"Aye, I see it too lad" the head responded, his words more exasperated than intrigued.

"Why's he acting so weird?" Atreus asked, eyeing the strange situation. Mimir chuckled at the boy, knowing full well what was going on. Atreus turned to him about to ask why he was laughing when another voice suddenly rang.

"Sad isn't it?" The boy jumped, quickly turning and, to his relief, seeing Sindri. He settled back into his seat before moving his questioning stare to the dwarf instead.

"What?" Atreus asked, though was seemingly ignored when Mimir spoke up again.

"For such a brash man he really doesn't know what he's doin'" Mimir replied, Atreus only further bewildered by the strange conversation.

"I've tried to help him, you know? But there's only so much I can do. He doesn't make it easy" Sindri continued and was, at this point, outright ignoring the wide eyes and furrowed brows of the young boy.

"Aye, I wouldn't expect him to-"

"What are you guys talking about!" Atreus, utterly confused and at this point frustrated, cut through the two's conversation with desperation at his unsatiated curiosity. The two looked at him for a moment before Mimir held back a laugh and finally, with great amusement, answered the boy.

"Broks boot-over-head for that stranger over there" Mimir explained, a chuckle in his voice.

"Oh," the boy quickly spoke, still not fully understanding what he meant. That was until a few seconds later when it really hit him.

"OH!" He exclaimed, earning a hefty round of laughs from both Sindri and Mimir, leaving the boy more than a little embarrassed. He tried to get the two to shut up, but when their laughs only grew louder he felt himself too red-faced to stay there anymore.

"Screw you guys! I'm going to bed" Atreus yelled, quickly leaving the scene to save what little bit of his pride he had left. The boy was right to leave though, as tiredness began to grip at most of everyone nearby.

This included you; your eyes drooping and exhaustion building. With a few more words exchanged you spoke your goodnights, even if the moon never met this place, before leaving for bed.

-

You arose from your sleep in the makeshift bed you had made yourself, with the help of Sindri. You would have asked Brok to help, but he was already doing a great favor for you, so you didn't want to bother him any more than you had.

Not that it matters now, your eyes blinking back into the waking world, a yawn escaping your lips as you sat up. You stretched before standing and, hoping to be out of the way as quickly as possible, you grabbed all you had come here with, preparing to take your weapon and leave.

Upon leaving your room you found that the place was rather quiet, at least quieter than the night before. It didn't unsettle you as you had been some of their only company before, but it did allow you to immediately notice the sounds coming from the workshop. You rose a brow towards the sound, taking a few careful steps forward, letting the forge come into view, only to see Brok, still hard at work.

"Brok?" You questioned, the man not so much startled this time as he was surprised. He turned to you, his eyes a little bloodshot and with dark circles beneath them. You gave him a concerned stare, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Mornin'" was all he spoke, moving to complete whatever he was working on. You continued to stare, a little worried that he'd been up all night. He was a grown man though, so you weren't about to dig into his business.

"Morning...what are you working on?" You asked, curious as to what took up so much of his time. He didn't say anything for a moment, seeming as if he was doing a few final touches. You were going to ask a different question, assuming he might not have liked the first one, when he turned around.

"Yer bow" he spoke proudly, gently laying the item in front of you. Your eyes widened at the piece, as it was more than you could have ever asked for. Covered in beautiful carvings and runes, laced in gold and silver. You stared at him wide-eyed as if waiting for him to take it away, for him to say it was a joke, for him to make fun of the face you were making. When he didn't, you truly had no clue what to do.

"Brok this is...this is beautiful" you spoke the words, having frankly nothing else you could think to say. His smile grew at your astonishment, seeming pleased with himself. Your hands reached out for it, but retracted a moment later.

"I can't just take this. Surely there's something you want from me-" you tried to reason, confused as to why he would let you even near such a beautiful weapon. He didn't even let you finish your protest before speaking again.

"Ain't a thing" he spoke assuredly. You looked at him with another hesitant stare. Why did he do this then? Why did he make this for no coin? And stay up all night to make it? And make it so perfect?

All of these thoughts wandered through your head as you stared at him, his motives unknown and his smile crumbling your weariness by the second. You finally turned back down, picking up the shining piece of equipment before you. It felt so important in your hold, as if meant to only be held by a god. You moved the item within your hands, observing all of its finer details, along with the weight of it in your grip. After a moment you turned away and pulled the string of the bow back to test its resistance, but was surprised to see it sparkle with a blue magic. You put the bow at rest, turning back to Brok with an amazed look. It was truly the highest quality bow you had ever seen.

"I don't know what to say" you spoke, still blown away by its beauty. His face was lit with glee. He seemed truly proud of himself.

"Weren't nothing. Here. Made ya a couple'a arrows too" he knelt under the table as he spoke before pulling out around fifteen gorgeously shaped arrows, the colors matching your bow.

And it was then that you couldn't hold that word on your tongue. The word you knew only ever got you a blank answer from the man, yet a word you couldn't resist saying anyway.

"Why?" You asked, your gaze turned to look straight at him. His smile fell slightly, his look hard to decipher for a long moment before he turned away again, distracting his hands, his mind.

"Cause I enjoy your company" he answered frankly and you knew you would get no other answer. Truly you were surprised to get even that. Without another word you placed the arrows into your quiver and the bow on your back before beginning to leave. However, where most times you would simply just go, you hesitated. His back was turned to you, yet now you knew that he wouldn't mind you staying.

But you knew you couldn't. You had responsibilities and work to do, as did he. So instead you reached into your bag, pulling out the only valuable thing you could offer in return for his extreme generosity.

The flower of your mountains. Rare and undying. You placed the flower upon the bench your new bow once sat before finally taking your leave.

You hoped you'd find yourself in his company again. Hopefully sometime soon.

-

Brok stood still as a wall, his calloused, toughened, burned and bruised hands holding the delicate, soft flower in his grip. He didn't know what to think, or if there even was anything to think. He simply held the flower at a loss, your astonished look from earlier repeating in his mind, in his soul.

"Did it go well?" A voice called, startling him for the hundredth time in the past day. A strange occurrence for the man usually so hard to sneak up on.

"Would y'all stop with the sneakin' up on me!" He yelled, yet still held the flower gently. Sindri's eyes turned to it, a smile shining clear on his face.

"Was that from them?" He asked, almost teasingly.

"That ain't none’a your damn business ya rotten nosed snitch!" He yelled once more, hiding the flower from his brother's view, embarrassed that he'd seen him with it. A quiet fell between them for a moment, neither daring to say a word. Eventually Sindri realized that whatever had happened, it hadn't been a confession. So he ended the quiet.

"You know you're going to have to tell them one of these days-"

"I know I know. It just-...it weren't today" Brok turned away, finding something that resembled a vase to place the flower in. He would find it water later. He was currently preoccupied with another task, his feet leading him to a semi-reclined chair

"But for right now, I'm going ta fuckin' bed" he said those final words before practically collapsing into the chair, snoring only moments later.

Sindri slightly shook his head, grabbing a coat from nearby to place on him. He would tell you eventually, Sindri was sure of it ...

He only hoped he didn't wait too long.

[suntaeshine]

Hey! What kinks do you think nct have?

deep breath,, this is fine,, im not familiar with all the technical terms so stick with me on this

smut below the keep reading tab

MINORS DNI (go study and grow i love you and you are the future it’s not too late to turn back)

Taeyong: watching you masturbate, roleplay, wax play, power swap (you’re both switches and it’s f u n)

 Johnny: size kink, soft choking, roleplay, dirty talk (to the point you’re there like johnny shut the actual fuck up)

 Yuta: bondange, choking, roleplay, slapping, coursing, hard dom he will make you cry or else you didn’t really have sex

Kun: ‘sir’ kink, spanking, vanilla sex on occasion to make you feel ~feelings~

Doyoung: ‘sir’, ‘boss’, ‘master’ kinks, power play (not really dom he just likes being in Charge), handcuffs, oil massage into sex

Ten: literally like fifteen positions while having sex, flexible and acrobatic shit, pet play (you are his kitten and you have a collar), anal (but he doesn’t want to tell you until he’s sure you’re into it too)

Jaehyun: ‘daddy’ kink, creampie, 69, impregnation kink (what is the actual name for that ??), hands on your throat but he wont like Choke you Choke, ya know?

 WinWin: praise kink, praise kink, praise kink, praise him, he will praise you, eye contact during sex so he can watch your facial features as close as possible, he also has this Thing where he wants you to try and not react as he fucks you (he thinks it’s a game)

Jungwoo: ‘baby’ kink, no dom/sub (he wants you to be equal and just love each other whole heartily), holding hands, roleplay (cliche ‘i’m stuck’, doctor, and pizza man shit that you usually laugh during and break character)

 Lucas: size kink, size kink, size kink, roleplay, he has a thing for pinning your hands above your head with one of his hands and teasing you with the other, dirty talk, slight degradation until you’re both close and then praise praise praise

 Mark: this little shit likes games (like that try to not react), phone sex, oral all day every day (’i knOw WhaT I wANt foR DeSseRt’ type shit), dirty talk and communication (he doesn’t want to hear no ‘green light’ shit he wants to hear you say how much you enjoy how deep he is in you)

Xiaojun: eye contact don’t you fuckin dare even BLINK, dirty talk, he loves any position but please ride him sometimes bc he will crumble and give you the entire world, he also has a Thing for making promises ?? like ‘say it and i’ll make your dreams come true’, ‘i’ll give you everything love’ like it’s a niche thing but he can’t help it, also he wants to make you make as many noises as possible until he hears something you’d never done before

 Hendery: voyeurism, mirror sex, oral (suck his fingers PLEASE), dirty talk with slight degradation, hair pulling (both ways do it to him and he’ll make noises like a pornstar)

Renjun: degradation (but you don’t figure that out for a long time), wax play, holding hands during sex, he absolutely has to say ‘thank you’ and tell you how much he loves you

Jeno: size kink but mostly strength kink ?? like you ask him often if he gets turned on by himself when looking at his muscles in the mirror (he does), mirror sex, ‘sir’ on special occasions

Haechan: mouthy little shit please degrade him because he has so much stored back to fire right back at you, spit kink (please spit in his mouth), he also likes roleplay but only cute shit like you’re friends and uh oh we kissed now what whoops

Jaemin: he’s going to slap you everywhere,, like your cheeks (face and ass), your ass, your sides, he’s just,, he’s GOING to slap you without even noticing he was really doing it, pet play (you are his ‘puppy’), and soft choking

YangYang: switch of all switch (when you degrade him, will he moan or cry? sometimes both?), power plays (you are not equals but you also don’t have your fixed roles,, switch switch switch), hair pulling (both ways), spit kink (both ways), slapping (both ways), he’s down for anything as long as the person with the idea is the one in charge for that session

[bad-witchcraft-smp-ideas]

What if this entire smp was actually just children playing at the school playground

Scott trying to bring his beloved back (actually just a mud scuplture/pet) and has a black notebook with the title "Necromancy Book" taped to it

Lauren just joins the fun as a sand-witch because it was the first thing she could think of (*looks at her pb&j sandwich* "I guess this is me now") but also because she can now throw sand at people with this title

Tiff was the nature kid who liked talking to the flowers at the playground ("Mother Nature" is what she calls her mom)

Joey brings warm and ice cold water one day and calls himself the "fire frost witch"

Pris is a dramatic threatre kid talking about her dark backstory and lore

Shubble likes sprinkling water everywhere saying that she's making it rain

El brings a blanket/coat that she wraps around herself ("I'm invisible now! You can't see me!) or others ("I blinded you!")

Cleo is the one who keeps track of time, telling them when recess/lunch is over (they call her the time witch because of that)

And Bertha is that cool teacher that hangs out with the kids

The competition for "Supreme Witch" is actually just kids bickering about who's better and asks their teacher to decide

(I didn't mean for this to be long, whoops)

ANDJHWHCBW,,, i love that. Bertha would be a fun teacher