#a ritualistic sacrifice? okay

[mazzystar24]

Name a historic battle?

Easy

An immigrant student vs student finance and the evidence section of the application

[keepingupwiththeboltons]

My bet on if they cave and add nettles to the show, is that they wont have her pop up behind a rock and suddenly exist and already have claimed sheepstealer, but instead theyll do something insane and stupid and have her claim the cannibal or some shit instead

[cogitrot]

I was really excited for a Tomb Colonist ES.

Whelp.

[leonsrightarm]

okay well i finished the ruins by scott smith

as far as contemporary horror goes, it's definitely way up there in terms of writing on a technical level. and i think if you go into it just to enjoy a well crafted piece of writing you will be happy. that being said, it's really not scary in the least. it's not really horror but just like. distilled malice and grief. there's basically no suspense and once it starts you pretty much know exactly where the train is headed.

also. there are no ruins in the ruins.

like there's an implication that there might be something of archeological significance there but there are no actual ruins. ?

[hedwig221b]

Heey, was wondering if you could recommend some magical stiles fics, preferably sterek.

Thank you 😊

Magical Stiles, my beloved!!! 💖

My Mother Told Me by Renmackree

Stiles joined the Emissary program to help Alpha wolves settle into their new roles and to follow in his mother’s footsteps. She had always told him he was destined to run with the wolves, but he thought she meant Scott and his pack. Instead, Stiles finds himself sent to Thingvallavatn, Iceland, with Alpha Derek Hale. It's clear the Alpha is hiding a part of him that Stiles can’t reach, but when a monster comes to threaten the pack, it’s always great to have someone in your corner with a little mischief up their sleeve

My, What Big Shoulders You Have (The Better to Help You Carry the Weight) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“Talia was just telling me an interesting story,” his dad informed him. Stiles didn’t have the nerve to glance over at him, because he knew no matter how much he argued, the proof was all there. The wolves had found him, Parrish had picked him up on the side of the road, he had a fucking picture on his phone. He was screwed. No point in arguing, all it’d do is piss his father off even more. “You don’t say,” Stiles offered slowly. “What uh—you know, I like stories. Is it a uh, good one?” “It seems to be a matter of opinion,” Talia said with another kind smile. “I hear you had quite the night last night.” Okay, time to cut his losses. He was already fucked, all he could do was apologize and hope she didn’t press for him to get fined and arrested. Given he was her husband’s friend’s son, he had high hopes. “I’m really sorry,” Stiles blurted out. “It was stupid and-and irresponsible and just—I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have crossed into your territory. I should’ve known better, I do know better! It was a complete lapse in judgement and I am just—I am so sorry.”

Came For The Spark, Stayed For The Flame

Derek felt the panic build up in his chest as Jezebel held out a hand. He smelled it before he saw it, because who could forget the scent of what destroyed your life? Fire and spark and smoke curled from Jezebel's hands, and the wood stacked at Stiles' feet flared up. When Stiles and Derek get bonded as Emissary-and-Alpha, hidden attractions become a lot harder to hide, secrets are kept and secrets are surfaced, and an evil teenage girl is planning even more ritualistic sacrifice. Canon divergence from the end of 3a.

A Letter From Mom by StilesIsMySpiritAnimal

After waking up at the age of 11 without any memories of his past Stiles spends eight years with his father in the tiny town of Shelter Cove, California. After his father's death he receives a notice from a storage facility in some town called Beacon Hills. Stiles is confused and thinks the manager made a mistake until he finds a letter that should have been for his 18th birthday that his dad never gave him. It's from his mother, who he has no memory of. Weirdly enough, her letter mentions Beacon Hills and some woman named Talia, who he's supposed to trust. Confused and angry at his father, Stiles sets out for Beacon Hills anxious and determined to find out what his dad had been hiding from him all these years.

Truth in Pretense by wanderingeyre

Stiles took the straw from his drink and started chewing on it. He pulled it from his mouth and stood. He grinned at Derek. “Stop frowning, Sourwolf. I have a solution that will solve all our problems.” “And that would be?” Derek didn’t move as Stiles moved closer to him. Stiles winked at Derek. “We get married.” --- The one where Derek and Stiles pretend to be mates to help out a neighboring Pack and find there is some truth in pretense.

Actions Speak Louder than Words by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“I apologize.” The cop finally looked back up at his face, seeming thrilled. “It’s just—it’s been so long. And we finally have you.” That was a bad word. Not found. Have. Stiles wrenched his hand free and took a step back, but before he could even think up a gameplan, he felt a prick in his neck and jerked away, reaching up to slap one hand against it and twisting in the same moment. One of the others had come up behind him while he hadn’t been paying attention, and his vision began to swim even as his eyes caught sight of the half-empty syringe the guy was holding.

If You’re Going Through Hell (Keep Going)

Stiles thought everything leading up to Allison’s death was hell, but he was wrong. Spending senior year dealing with the pack’s dismissal of him while secretly training to be Deaton’s replacement was hell. Feeling guilty and hating himself for what the Nogitsune did was hell. Being in love with someone who would never love him back was hell. Well, if you’re going through hell, keep going.

Striking Matches by eeyore9990

Stiles has only ever wanted to protect his family and his pack. That’s not easy to do when you're human and sarcasm is your only defense. Now Deaton is telling Stiles he’s a spark, and if that’s a weapon in his arsenal, he’s sure as hell going to learn to use it. All Stiles needs now, to complete his transformation into a true badass, is a training montage and a decent soundtrack...

A Similar String by snarkatthemoon

Strong bonds made for a strong pack, and he needed a strong pack. They spent a long time in silence, Derek thinking hard about how he was going to cement the bonds. It needed to be done, and not just because they had the threat of the witch hanging over them, but for the good of the pack. It felt like hours had passed by the time he came around; he had been so deep in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed Stiles moving around on the couch so that his head was resting on Derek’s thigh, his long legs hanging over the arm on the far end. He wasn’t sleeping, but his eyes were closed and his heartbeat wasn’t as fast as it usually was, as if he was just on the edge of sleep. It should have felt weird, having Stiles in such close contact, but Derek found that it really didn’t feel weird at all. His head was a comforting weight in Derek’s lap, another anchor tethering him and keeping him calm and in control. Or, the one where Derek meets a witch, gets his betas back, and seemingly develops a sense of humour. Also, Stiles is totally magic, manages to accidentally join a werewolf pack, and asks too many goddamn questions. What could possibly go wrong?

here in the heart (of my sanctuary) by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli)

Talia accelerates through the tunnel, and Derek looks up, watches the light that makes it through the bramble dance and shift over the hood of the car as they drive, fingers gripping the sides of the tank. It’s beautiful, like a gateway to another world. He’s lived in the preserve his whole life, and he didn’t know this was here. She eyes him. “You should know this man is very important to me. I take the responsibility of his care and counsel very seriously. Handing him over to you…it’s not a small thing. Please keep that in mind.” No pressure, then.

A Teenage Love Song by HaleHathNoFury (My_Trex_has_fleas)

Stiles is sick and tired of how much he fucks up. His dad is disappointed, his step-mom judges and his step-brother can do no wrong. It's not that he doesn't love them, he just gets so tired of being different. Now he's being moved lock, stock and barrel to Beacon Hills aka the town his mom grew up in so they can go live in his grandma's house and his father can get him back on the straight and narrow. It's going to suck.

Other fic recs: pack mom!Stiles | angsty fics | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | possessive Derek | smut | hurt/comfort | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | mafia | BAMF!Stiles | omegaverse | bad friend Scott | witch!Stiles | creature!Stiles | unrequited love | werewolf!Stiles

[phantomrose96]

twice now ive started and not finished silt verses. (no particular reason i didnt finish, ive really enjoyed it both times and keep thinking that i gotta get back to it.)

a moment that really hit me, and i think i'll always remember, is in hayward's first episode. the series starts with carpenter, so we know that worshipping the trawlerman is illegal and a bit about what that worship is like, but not much about how worshipping other gods works. even with the deer/hound people (who i forget if they happened before or after hayward's intro), that's another illegal and hidden religion. it leaves space to assume that the deadliness and the human sacrifice is WHY these gods are forbidden.

and then hayward's ep happens. and he says, offhand, like it's something completely unremarkable (paraphrased), 'people following those kinds of gods wouldn't get in trouble over it if they could just be reasonable about these things. there's a right and wrong way to do this, like how every new building starts construction by drowning two criminals in the cement foundation.' hearing that, and hearing how casual he was about it, i felt my entire understanding of the setting shift drastically.

legality wasn't about whether a group of worshippers do or don't kill. it was about what worshippers kill the acceptable targets, in the right way. and suddenly i find myself much more distrustful of a society that's motivated to create acceptable targets than i ever was of how carpenter and faulkner do things.

its a really chilling and well done bit of writing.

someday ill get past five episodes. im sure i'll really enjoy it.

Yes!!! YES!!!!

I've mentioned once or twice in my ramblings here that that was also my biggest "Oh" moment for TSV.

I started out episode 1 vaguely thinking of Carpenter and Faulkner as if you'd made a podcast following TMA Avatars as main characters. We know right off the bat the Trawlerman's people are human-sacrificing cultists. Obviously Nana Glass wasn't a good person. She killed people! And she got killed in a police stand-off because she was a mass murderer. And we know Carpenter and Faulkner are following in her same line of work so, really, we're following antagonists aren't we?

And then my "Oh" came later with (not necessarily that Hayward scene specifically) but when I went "Oh. The Trawlerman's people are being persecuted by the authorities not because they're human-sacrificing cultists. But because they're the losing human-sacrificing cultists."

Because actually, the legal authorities, the politicians, the corporations, are all very much part of human-sacrificing religions. That part is allowed. These "backwards hick" gods are illegal and horrible, because their kind of human sacrifice is uncivilized. Unlike the civilized people's human sacrifice, which is allowed because the corporations and the institutions have okayed it :).

They do so much with it over the series.

Also I see you're only on episode 5 so actually I'm putting this part beneath a readmore since I checked and this is about episode 7

The episode with Paige recounting what happened to Vaughan is what drove it in for me, I think. It plays out line-for-line like a corporation going through lay-offs "These are tough times :(. We understand this is difficult for everyone leaving us today :(." but they are... just... allowed to kill these employees they're letting go in a ritual sacrifice. To a legal god. And Paige thinks surely they won't--surely good people won't do that--but they do, very much, kill Vaughan.

Money is tight and times are hard and ritualistic human sacrifice is, in fact, incredibly allowed... As long as you're one of the legal powers, doing it the correct way.

[proffesionalalpaca]

OKAY!!??

Official title : Avatar 3 - Fire & Ash

D23 Ash Concept art

I was hoping they’d go into that dark, ritualistic (getting major hellblade Senua’s Saga vibes) vibe but Goddamn this is went hard and is genuinely terrifying imagery - I LOVE IT!!

Severed Kurus worn as trophies, sharp claws (extensions?) and even a long serpentine tail with a lack of tail tuft. Fairly close to the forest Na’vi but ghostly pale and lacking stripes/ markings of any kind.

They also appear like most besides Varang herself are starved and emaciated (man in the back may just straight up be a sacrifice/mummified corpse) , desperation may be their main motivation - not sure if they’ll do full blown cannibalism. They’ll probably tone it down for the official film but I really hope it’s not too much.

In another concept we see that the ash Na’vi ride a new species of ikran - a gnarly looking creature with many horns and pale colouration. And there are A LOT!

This implies the ash people number in the hundreds if not thousands - a force well prepared to go against any of Jake’s Na’vi forces.

This version of Varang seems closer to what we’ll probably be seeing in the final film - wearing her riding pants and minimal wardrobe that we saw in the motion capture render footage last year.

And if my eyes don’t deceive me - flying right behind her is a Na’vi man carrying a firearm - who I’m betting is Quaritch. Will he be cosying up to the ash Na’vi temporarily for short term gains or will this be for a more long term goal?

Varang’s signature face paint seems to be a forehead triangle - we saw that exact style on ‘Quaritch’ in this leaked image, so he may be wearing her mark during a big battle.

I’m so F*CKING EXCITED!

[deepdisireslonging]

No Cum November Part 6: Dripping

The Reader is used in a ritual to summon the ghost that’s been terrorizing campus.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester

Warnings/Promises: canon-level danger, ritualistic SMUT, bondage, wax play, double penetration (split-roast), bukkake (of a sort… just, the boys get messy, okay?)

Word Count: 670

Note: Really had fun with this one. Whew! Let me know how you guys are enjoying the series, I love hearing from you guys. Happy reading!

Part 5: 2 AM Quickie

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” Dean paused in tying the next knot around your wrist.

“You guys are gonna be here, right?” You breathed a sigh of relief as Sam nodded.

“The whole time. You remember how to get out of the knots?” He waited for your affirmative hum. “Good girl.”

It may have been just another run as bait for you, but this ghost was going to be summoned with your actual arousal. At first, the ghost had been summoned by the group of horny freshman with a book from the archives. Having found it during your excursion with Sam in the library a few days ago, the possessions and deaths had stopped. But, through trial and error, you three found out that the spirit was tied to the campus, not the book. Nobody knew of a potential grave. The only way to end it permanently was to summon it.

The team was happy to oblige.

Which is why you were currently tied to a desk with candles fluttering all around. The boys had taken turns massaging protective oil into your skin. Dean tied the last slip knot and nodded at Sam, who picked up a candle dripping with wax. He started to chant the summons. Drip by hot drip, he guided the weeping candle over your body. You hissed and writhed under the sensation, and under the gaze of the Winchesters. They watched your chest heave. How your thighs quaked. They panted in time with your mouth falling open to moan. After a few minutes of chanting with no response, Dean took his position.

He filled you slowly, accidentally dripping wax on your lower stomach. You arched, spearing yourself on him faster than he anticipated. He fell forward, stumbling in his words. Sam took over with the chanting, leaving his brother to take care of you.

Maybe the summons was working. Or maybe the way you twisted under the candle max was doing something to Dean. Either way, he gripped your hips tighter, pulled you onto him harder, needed more than ever to hear every way you could scream. His nails scraping up your stomach worked loose some of the wax, leaving ridges in their wake. Sam’s chanting stumbled. The sight of the wax remnants of Dean’s act resembled a way to claw into your skin like never before. He touched himself while refocusing on the chanting.

This was taking too long. Not that you could complain. But the ghost wasn’t coming. When Sam said as much, Dean didn’t hesitate.

“Be a shame to let such a pretty sacrifice go to waste.”

He continued to thrust into you, letting more wax drip around your breasts. Sam’s chanting of the spell switched to chanting your name and whispering filthy things that made your skin flush. You opened your mouth wide for Sam’s cock, happy to relieve some of the pressure he’d built watching Dean ravage you. Filled from both ends and covered in wax, you were too floaty to want to cum. When they needed to spill, the Winchesters added their cum to the ritualistic drippings already covering your body.

They helped you out of the knots. And massaged your joints that had been tied down. Dean wrapped you in the fluffy robe they’d brought after Sam wiped down your sweaty brow. They would clean you the rest of the way at the hotel. While Sam gathered the candles, you removed the tablecloth you’d used to cover the desk. Not a speck of evidence of the failed ritual would remain in the room.

Still, Dean needed to adjust himself.

“Dude, we just fucked her ten ways past Sunday, and you’re still hard?”

With a shrug, Dean grabbed the books. He held them to his chest, looking very much like a guilty student. He caught your eye. “Can we- for the bunker, we can buy candles, right?

You pulled the collar of the robe over your smile. “We can definitely buy candles.”

***

Series Masterlist

Part 7: Double Possession

[lincolndjarin]

The Dragonfly & The Moon

main masterlist ✧ kinktober masterlist ✦

kinktober : day nine - afab!witch!reader x joel miller

prompt : blood drinking [ 18+ mdni ]

word count : 1.9k

summary : you and joel decide to take the next step in your relationship.

warnings, etc. : language, knives, cutting, ritualistic sex, religious symbols, blood, consensual violence, blood drinking (surprise surprise), gore, sort of body horror i suppose, premature ejaculation, and i used the middle name i head canon for joel whoops

a/n : hello my lovelies, i just finished this up before work i hope y'all enjoy this silly little story

“And you’re absolutely sure you’re okay with this?” You set each blade down in front of him, letting him watch as you soak each one in alcohol. He’s sitting up on the table, knees bent, elbows resting on his thighs.

“I did say I wanted to participate in your hobbies more.” He keeps his eyes on each one, you know he’s nervous despite the act he’s putting on but you just want him to be comfortable. 

“This is a bit more than a hobby.” You set the final blade down on the cloth, walking around the table to take his hand in yours.

“I really want to, I promise.” He murmurs before bringing your hand to his face, placing a kiss to your palm. 

He’s wanted to get married for ages now but you’ve been reluctant. It’s not that you don’t love him, of course you do, you’re just so… different. He’s a traditional man. He wants the wedding and the house with a white picket fence and the kids and the growing old together on a porch swing, and you want to live in the woods and sacrifice virgins to your dark lord. 

But hey, opposites attract. (At least that’s what he says every time you try to have this conversation.)

And while he isn’t fond of your so-called hobbies, he’s been understanding. (Although it took a lot of convincing. He refused to believe you until you cut your own hand off and walked it across the table to him before promptly reattaching it.) 

So when he got down on one knee you couldn’t say yes. Since then he’s been adamant that he be more involved in your life, desperate to prove that this could work. 

Initially you’d told him you were busy tonight, your lord required an act of depravity as sacrifice and he’d been all too eager to offer to help. 

He looks less eager now that he’s face to face with several of your blades. 

“You really don’t have to do this-“

“I’m doing this. End of story.” You arch an eyebrow at his stern tone but nod. 

“Okay. Take off your shirt.” You pick up the cloth with your knives on it, moving it to the counter as he unbuttons his denim top. He tosses it onto the chair as you light a few more candles around the room before lifting your sweater over your head and throwing it on top of his shirt, turning to him in just your bra and skirt. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” He mumbles as you pick through the knives before settling on your favorite, a double edged small blade, the handle is shaped like a dragonfly. 

“You have to pick one.” You turn so he can see the selection. 

“I’ll take the one on the far left.” He nods in its direction as you take it by the blade, holding it out to him. You’re a bit surprised by his pick as you watch him examine the boline knife, tracing the curve with his finger before setting it on the table next to him. 

You whisper a quiet prayer to yourself in latin, praying not just to your god to accept this sacrifice, but also to make this easier on your partner. You can think of several occasions where he had chosen to be especially cruel and a small part of you is aware of just how dangerous this situation is for Joel but you push that down, ignoring it. 

You put the blade between your teeth, holding it in place as you climb up onto the table, straddling his lap before putting your hands on his chest, pushing him down flat onto the cold wood. You look down at him one last time, looking for any signs of resistance, when you see only determination in his eyes you whisper one last prayer before letting your own eyes roll back, feeling something darker course through your veins as it takes over. Your vision is clouded when you look back down at him and you know all he sees from them is white. You tenderly take the knife from between your teeth, spinning it in your hand. 

“Still good?” This time when you mumble you’re vaguely aware of the fact that your voice is being layered with another, much deeper voice, his eyebrows shoot up in confusion but he just nods. 

No reason to put this off any longer, you take his hand, entwining your fingers and lifting his arm up. You take the blade, gently drawing it across the side of his forearm, making an incision about four inches in length, watching as the thin line of red appears in its wake. You see his jaw tense but he doesn’t flinch. He gasps as you lean forward, dragging your tongue across the wound. You let out a shuddering moan as the sweet metallic tang coats your tongue. 

You went over the ritual in great detail with him beforehand. You explained everything you would be doing and everything that would be expected of him but his eyes still wide with surprise as you begin to lick his wound, not wanting to waste any of him, you feel the bitter, sweet liquid settling in your stomach, sending a flood of warmth through you.

You try not to be too loud but when you’re in this state your inhibitions are lowered, he tastes like heaven and you can’t contain yourself as you raise your blade once more, slicing him horizontally, making a cross on his skin. You watch the crimson bloom as you hold him still. The sight of it makes your pussy ache as you lean forward, lapping at the bleeding cross as you subconsciously grind your hips against his.

In a moment of weakness you bend down, biting his shoulder hard enough to pierce his skin, sucking in harshly as you drink him in.

“Christ…” He mumbles, gripping your waist as you recoil. 

“Fuck-“ You hiss. “Don’t say that, it makes you go sour.” You wipe the excess gore from your mouth on the back of your hand as he gives you an embarrassed smile.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize.” You watch how the blood rushes to his face, his cheeks flushing a divine shade of red. You can’t help it when you tangle your fingers in his hair to hold him in place, you aren’t in control anymore. You’re extremely precise in your movements as you carve a rune into the sun kissed skin of his cheek, careful not to go deep enough to scar. Once you’re pleased with your work you let out a content sigh before flattening your tongue against it. Thanks to the quick incantation he’s gone sweet again, an almost bitter sweetness that overwhelms your senses. “Jus’ a little more.” You mumble in your intoxicated state as you languidly drag the shimmering blade down the center of his chest. 

He inhales sharply once but when he realizes you aren’t applying any pressure he relaxes some. Much to your delight you feel a stirring beneath you, you angle your hips instinctually to rest your throbbing cunt against the substantial bulge forming in his pants. 

“Joel Arthur Miller, are you actually getting off on this?” He doesn’t respond, simply blushing harder as you scorn him with a breathy laugh, raising your knife again you press it into the soft flesh of his chest, tracing patterns into the salt and peppered hairs sprinkled across his sternum before finally digging the blade into the meat of his pectoral, a spray of blood gushing up at you. Your face is flecked with gore as your mouth falls open to eagerly lap up the rosy ichor, you feel the distinct sensation of his cock straining and twitching in his jeans as you do so, an orgasm fully driven by the pleasure you derive from the vulgarity of the act your performing is forming in your belly. 

As cold and unforgiving as your patron is, he has been known to be generous to his long term subjects, you know he’ll push you over the edge just like this if you’d like. 

And he does. Your teeth sink into the flesh surrounding the wound still spouting blood as you come undone with a snarl, your hips feverish and frantic as you grind against him, the force of your bite drawing more blood. The sensations swelling and filling your entire being consume you one last time as you sharply suck in, a rush of fresh blood flows into your maw and you hungrily drink it all in before finally sitting up with a satisfied look on your face, you chin coated in gore as your eyes return to their usual state. 

“Are you okay?” Your voice has returned to normal now as you search his eyes for a sign that this crossed a line but you never find it.

Joel still doesn’t speak, he merely stares at you in awe, nodding. 

“Your turn.” Your voice echoes throughout the house as he sits up, keeping you firmly in his lap as he grabs his chosen knife, bringing it between the two of you. “Remember, you can do it anywhere.” You murmur, anxious to feel the cool steel against you. He slides the curved blade down your sternum, hooking it on your bra.

“And I only have to drink a little for your spell, right?” His voice is quiet, he sounds positively enamored with you as his nearly black eyes stare into yours. 

“You only have to drink a drop if that’s what you want.” You cradle his face in your hands, he draws a hushed gasp from you as he slices through the center clasp of your bra, letting it fall before tossing it to the floor. He’s far more delicate than you were, opting to not pierce your flesh just yet. Instead he just traces little shapes into the curves and valleys of your chest. You bite back a moan as he runs the blade along the outline of your nipple before finally drawing blood on your shoulder.

One clean horizontal line, only an inch deep but six inches in length, the moment he’s made the incision he tosses his own blade aside, latching onto you. His hips stutter and his tongue traces the gash wildly and with a fervor you’ve never seen from him before. He isn’t deterred in the slightest by the fact that your blood runs a crimson so dark it basically runs a shimmering black, he just drinks, lewd slurping sounds fill the kitchen followed by an inhumane groan from your partner and in an abrupt instant a soft howl fills the space and the candles go out, both of you freezing in place.

“Shit, I guess we did it?” You sit up a bit, feeling a little confused as you light a small flame in your palm. “That usually doesn’t happen until the ritual’s done…” You furrow your brows as you look at him in the flickering light, a sheepish expression on his face before it clicks for you. “Wait, did you-”

“Sorry.” He mumbles, you reach down between the two of you and sure enough the front of his pants are soaked in a warm dampness, his cock now soft. 

“You are just full of surprises, aren’t you?” You can’t help but grin as you lean forward, kissing the bridge of his nose. 

Maybe opposites do attract.

a/n : happy oct 9th :)

[sandwormb]

review sherlock holmes the awakened or we riot

My notifications tried to hide this ask but I won’t let them get away with it…

Okay so. I initially bought it because I was bored and I thought it would be silly and stupid, and it was like $10 on the e-shop. It’s actually soooo fun even though I suck at detective games and it took me a little while to figure out the mechanics.

Holmes and Watson are silly and whimsical despite the Horrors. I feel like Holmes’s model is a little too pretty for my liking buuuuut you can customize him AND Watson so that’s a plus.

I haven’t gotten that far but my brain is LOCKED IN to this now. Anyway so far 10/10 I loved the sudden tone shift from “realistic and canon-compliant missing person mystery” to “ritualistic nightmare sacrifice that takes Holmes into Eldrich horror land.”

Also Granada Holmes would’ve had this handled in 40 minutes I’ll tell you that

[endawn]

dragon age verse masterlist ( nothing too huge but to keep in mind ): general tw for body horror.

dao -

his awakening.

lothering.

gift giving.

under the sloth demon.

use the litany.

morrigan can teach him shapeshifting.

broodmother fight / deep roads.

opinion on ‘sophia’ ( + wants to eat avernus ).

da2 -

possible for him to show up to help make sure the dao crew is okay when they make their cameos. very brief guest star.

dai -

breach opening.

introduction, lies to the herald when he reaches haven.

siding with the mages and getting thrown into the future will reveal his possession. can confront him.

breach closing.

searches for the inky after the attack in haven.

is captured by venatori & experimented on.

sera.

varric.

winter palace halla hunt.

winter palace outfit(s).

court introduction.

full name disclosure.

will lose court approval having ser pax along.

interaction with morrigan

hunger is growing stronger and becoming harder to manage. cole helps subdue it.

airdropped in the fade at adamant ( here, too ).

well of sorrows. doesn’t want a high inky or romanced to drink but won’t stop them.

post dai -

crossroads on his half - elven nature.

deteriorating condition / beginning to merge.

finding a ritual to end possession / exorcise hunger

mercy.

hunger’s obsession.

is able to shapeshift into a dragon thanks to mercy & by invoking akatosh

miscellaneous -

ritualistic sacrifice. - what possession can feel like ( and this ). - let the man cook. - dragonskin + dragons blood. + falcos. ( sort of all goes together ). - divine crusader. - devouring corpse. - hunger. - cyrodiil. - dump post. - undead mounts. - perils of s..ex ( more lighthearted here ). - akatosh. - abomination form. ( what it looks like ) - shapeshifting. - doesn’t remember what he looks like ( no reflection ). - voice. - thin veil.

[seasonal-depression-of-punk]

Ritualistic sacrifice

Chapter three:

Drown in this love

Rating: mature

Summary: Drew finally gets his revenge on Punk in Chicago at the filming of Smackdown

WARNING: this chapter includes way more blood and violence than the other chapters

Authors note: this may be the last chapter of this fic but I’m not entirely sure. Tell me in the comments or asks if you want me to continue this

Previous chapter

Tags: @thlayli-ra

It was Friday night. CM Punk was on Smackdown and Drew knew this. It had been impossible not to know. It was being filmed in Chicago and Phil was Chicago’s (not so sweet) sweetheart. Drew had been hiding in the catering while Punk was busy opening the show. The anger and hatred that flooded him the second he saw the older graying man mention his name was noticeable from the fact that the glass he was holding started to crack. Soon enough the glass reached its breaking point and shattered into pieces in the hands of Drew, but the man didn’t flinch. The man’s attention to the screen was unbreakable. Not even the pain of many little cuts in his palm distracted him from it.

“Drew, are you okay? You’re bleeding” the bleach blonde and blue eyed champion asked when he was leaving the cafeteria, not being able to miss the big man breaking a glass with only the power of his hand and get worried by it. “Why won’t you focus on your own business Cody!? What makes you think I’d need your help on anything!?” Drew snapped at the undisputed champion and stormed away from the catering that was filled with confused faces of his coworkers.

-

While Drew was washing his hands and cleaning his right hand from all of the micro shards, he continued to mutter exploitatives and curses targeted to the man he was here to destroy. He may have said to everyone that he was here to end his contract, but that wasn’t true. He was here to end his suffering. To get the devil off his shoulder.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to do it without a weapon?” Drew heard a familiar echoing voice. A voice that was way too familiar from his dreams. The soft but arrogant voice of young CM Punk. When Drew turned around, he saw the figure sitting right there, blonde, covered in blood and wearing those old white basketball shorts that were now dripping blood. His mouth was bleeding just like last night in his dream.

“Yes I am. Could even do it to you” Drew hissed at the imaginary Punk whose bleeding mouth was smirking at him. “No you wouldn’t. I’m inside your head” he laughed at Drew’s face. This made him furious and raised his bloody fist. He fastly approached the blonde imaginary man and tried to hit him. Like the mocking man had said, Drew wasn’t able to hurt him. The figure that had been in front of him, was now gone. Though he wasn’t visible, he heard the younger Punk laughing mockingly.

This made Drew more mad than before and he started to scream. “WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU!!” He howled and ran around the bathroom trying to look for the figure that was only in his mind. He only stopped slamming the bathroom stall doors, when he heard a loud but deep voice that was way too familiar for anyone who had watched WWE in the past years. “hey! What the hell are you doing?” LA Knight’s slightly raspy voice yelled. Drew quickly turned around and got very close to the slightly older man. He slammed Knight on one of the stalls. “WHERE THE FUCK IS HE!!” Drew screamed at him. Spit flying on Knight’s face, forming into small droplets on his beard.

“WHO THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!” Knight yelled, grabbed the bigger man’s wrists and tried to push him away. “DON’T YOU DARE ACT DUMB! TELL ME WHERE HE IS!!” The stronger man pushed back and slammed Knight harder against the door of the stall. “Who?! CM Punk?” The short haired man yelled more calmly but still tried to fight back. “OF COURSE CM PUNK! WHERE THE FUCK IS HE!” Drew continued to yell, making Knight wipe the spit off his face.

“Can you just calm down you psycho?! He just got backstage! Can you just let me go now?!” Knight demanded and hit the wrists of the giant man who basically was behaving like a hungry wolf. This calmed Drew down and he dropped Knight back to his feet. Knight stayed on the floor and rubbed his shoulders. “What the hell?” He muttered and watched Drew storm out of the bathroom.

-

Drew continued to walk past other talent and crew while trying to track the man that had started to haunt his head even when awake. He had already been frustrated and ready to get done with Punk, but the fact that this beautiful representation of his younger self was now mocking him outside dreamland was too much to handle. “You can’t even locate him Andrew? You’re this stupid that you can’t find a man who’s still uncleared from an injury?” The mocking voice of the blonde man from those tapes from the early 2000’s kept telling him.

The big man tried to ignore the insulting voice in his head but it was getting really difficult. “You started the job and now you can’t finish it? You’re a big strong cat and he’s a weak old dog and you can’t even find him?” The voice kept on going. “Shut up. I know you’re not real” Drew muttered and wiped his hair off his face. The voice laughed at his words and scoffed. “Yeah. Sure you do. Like you didn’t try to punch me like a few minutes ago. You’re insane Andrew. You’re messed in the head. You just have to accept that. You’re obsessed with me and what I become” the voice mocked and ridiculed him.

-

Drew was slowly losing his hope on ever finding Punk. Every corridor felt more empty than the last one. He decided to give up and go outside. When he walked to his car, he saw the one he wanted to see.

Punk was talking calmly on the phone while leaning against the wall. He didn’t even realize Drew was approaching him until he felt a strong hand around his neck. Drew slammed him against one of the walls and had a mischievous smile across his face. “I finally got you” he said and tightened his grip around the now squirming man. “DREW! LE-LET GO!! I CAN BARELY BR-” Punk tried to resist and yell but Drew just tightened his grip, making Punk completely unable to breathe and stop moving. His hands gripping on Drew’s wrists started to loosen and fall weakly on Punk’s sides.

“I don’t care if you can’t breathe. That’s what I want” Drew whispered into Punk’s ear and licked his ear. He was going to do everything Punk had done to him in his dreams. Now he was going to be the nightmare. Be the thing to haunt. And he wouldn’t be nice. He will never tell Punk how to get rid of him. That dumbass needs to figure that out by himself.

When the tattooed older man was too weak to fight back at all, Drew saw this as his opportunity to start his torture of Punk. He looked at Punk’s half lidded eyes and listened as he gasped for air. “Honestly… you look really pathetic when you can’t breathe. Let me help you with that, Phil” he muttered menacingly while approaching Punk’s face.

He moved his hand to hold the graying man’s face, placing both of his hands on either side. He stared at the desperate fearful expression of the man’s face and loved every inch of it. So much fear and uncertainty in one expression and every bit of it had been deserved. After a while, the big man attacked and gave the smaller man the most aggressive kiss that he could’ve ever imagined.

Drew worked his tongue in Punk’s mouth and picked his tongue up into his own mouth. He started to suck it and take all that he could have of the tongue that haunted his dreams. Once he was satisfied with how much tongue he had in his mouth, he bit down and felt the piece dance on his own tongue. The muffled screams of pain that Punk had let out was something that gave Drew so much pride that it was hard to put into words. He pulled away and watched as the dark blood gushed from the giant wound that used to be Punk’s tongue.

Drew spat the piece of tongue out on his palm and looked at it, not even paying attention to Punk slowly losing his consciousness from the blood loss. “Look at that. I can see the scar of your tongue piercing” Drew chuckled with a twisted grin on his face and put the piece of tongue in his pocket. He’ll save it for later. He didn’t want to lose it.

Once Punk was out cold, Drew let go of his neck and let him fall on the ground. The bigger man stood and stared down at the heavily breathing bloody mess that he was supposed to call his coworker.

-

“Great. You have the man. What are you gonna do now?” The too familiar voice of the insulting imaginary man echoed in his mind. “Shut up. I want to take every bit of enjoyment out of this moment and you talking ruins everything” Drew growled at the voice. That made it go silent and he let out a sigh of relief.

Drew picked up the motionless Punk from the ground into a fireman’s carry and started to walk to the stage area, going past many other performers. He didn’t even realize how the other performers and staff were looking at him. He really didn’t even care. He wanted them to be shocked.

Drew carried the bloody unconscious punk in front of the crowd and flopped him on the floor. He walked next to him and looked at him. The gasping bloody man struggling to breathe was an image that would never leave his mind. Drew didn’t really see beauty in suffering until Punk.

Drew kneeled next to the suffering old man and looked at him. He ran his bloody hands across his right arm and took his hand on his. He brought the inked hand close to his face and kissed it before the security started to pull him away.

While Drew was dragged away from the stage, he still was grinning proudly with no remorse.

He knew this would ruin everything for CM Punk.

That was the plan.

Ruin everything for Phil Brooks.

That man had ruined enough things for others and especially with his words.

But now, the cat had caught the old, small and fragile dog’s tongue.

[galaxymagitech]

I hadn’t originally posted about the goblins in The Church on Ruby Road, because I felt like I might be overreacting. I couldn’t find anyone discussing it here, so I figured that maybe it was just me. But I recently did find a post on here about this issue, so I wanted to share my thoughts.

I was watching the episode and trying to get into it but it just felt like something was crawling under my skin. I liked certain parts of it—loved the 15th Doctor, thought Ruby was cool, liked the thing about the foster family making such a huge impact, etc. But the goblins made it hard to enjoy. It made it difficult for me to enjoy Christmas too. And I was watching this episode with my Jewish granny and I kept glancing at her, like “I’m sorry that this is my favorite show.”

Now, throughout history, the fear of someone stealing your baby has been a common one. It’s not necessarily antisemitic. Babies are so precious to societies and parents that of course people are terrified of them being stolen. But…

The baby-stealing was associated with a type of creature that has consistent antisemitic associations.

The goblins have a ritualistic and vicious ceremony to prepare the baby for eating, and they’re sacrificing the baby to a higher power (their king). Strong associations with blood libel here.

The goblins don’t have long noses (which I’m sure the people involved with making this absolutely specified and thought was enough) but they do have horns. It’s hard not to associate that with the myth that Jewish people have horns. I don’t know why they gave the goblins horns, it’s such a completely unnecessary detail.

This was on a Christmas episode, which really makes it worse.

Again, having a group steal babies is not inherently antisemitic—many cultures have myths about monsters who will steal your baby. But. Having horned goblins steal a baby to sacrifice in a vicious ceremony to a higher power on a Christian holiday…ugh.

Doctor Who has been putting in so much effort to be as sensitive as possible, recently. And that’s great. They didn’t want to portray characters with disabilities as evil, they wanted to portray a trans character well, etc. But because of that, the goblins stick out like a sore thumb.

I don’t want to ruin this episode for anyone who enjoyed it. I enjoyed many parts of it. But I’m just so confused how this happened, when the second they came up with “baby-stealing creatures” their immediate thought should’ve been “okay, but be very, very careful.” And instead they just went full speed ahead with the horned goblins committing blood libel.

[asirensrage]

Bestowed

Title: Bestowed Fandom: Star Wars (AU) Rating: M Pairing: Kylo Ren x Undescribed.Reader Word count: 1345 Warnings: kidnapping. sacrifice. assumed murder. stalking. magic.

Summary: Based on the scary story prompts from @darkpromptsyouneveraskedfor. Prompts include: 13) "I don't think of it as a curse, more a blessing." and 13) You wake up in the dark, on a slab of stone, with a pentagram drawn around you.

Notes: This is part of the Horror prompts series here.

You woke up slowly. And cold. That was the first thing you noticed. You tried to sit up but your arms don’t move the way you want them too. They’re bound together. The area is lit by candles and the fear that was growing in the pit of your stomach skyrockets to your throat. You’re on stone. It’s marked with something that you can't entirely make out in the flickering light, but it’s easy to trace the fact it goes around you. And under. 

“Don’t move.” The voice was deep and you looked around, trying to figure out where it came from. “It’s alright.”

“Pretty sure this is as far from alright as it gets,” you snap back. You lift your hands up, trying to tear at the binding with your teeth. Anything to get you out of here. It takes a few minutes before you even realize that every rip you manage to make heals itself. The bindings look as unblemished as they were before you started. “What the fuck?” 

“You won’t get out,” the voice tells you. “They won’t release for anyone but me.” 

“Then let me out.”

A figure moves into the candlelight. He’s tall and broad-shouldered. You can make out dark hair, pale skin, and a prominent nose. “I can’t do that.”

Your throat tightens but you try to ignore the fear that’s building. “Why?” 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he says. “For longer than you know.” 

“Well, I’m not really into stalkers,” you try to be polite but firm and ignore the way your hands are shaking. “Next time, just ask a girl out for coffee, okay? Now can you untie me? My family is going to be looking for me.” 

“Ah yes. The sisters.” He starts to circle you and it’s hard to twist and keep him in sight. “There are five of you now, correct? Two passed away. One at birth, one as a child.”

You clench your jaw tightly. It was a painful reminder of the siblings you lost. The ones who came before you and just…never made it. They didn’t even get a chance. “How do you know that?” 

“I told you, I’ve been waiting for you. Public records and the internet do the rest if you know where to look.”

You shift, trying to throw your legs over the side of the platform you’re on. You need to get out of here. You need to go…as far away from here as possible. 

“It has been increasingly difficult to find one like you. The seventh child of a seventh child.”

“My dad really wanted a boy,” you explain. It hadn’t happened but they tried. They stopped with you. It had been your mother’s demand. She couldn’t take anymore. “That doesn’t fucking mean anything.” 

“It does.” He says it with complete assurance. “I have been waiting. Others have too. I won’t wait any longer.” He moves forward, shoving your legs back on the stone slab. “Don’t move. It’ll be less painful if you stay still.” 

“For what? Being ritualistically sacrificed? I think I’ll pass.” 

“It’s more than that. I am offering you something in return for what I will take.  In fact, something you yourself are not able to access due to your heritage. Others would simply rend the power from you and discard the husk that was left no matter what it did to you.  I call this a fair trade.”

“I don’t want it. I don’t want anything you’re going to curse me with.”

“I don’t think of it as a curse, more a blessing. Regardless, you do not have a choice.” 

He says something you don’t understand and lightning shoots down your spine. It feels as though you’re being electrocuted. The flames on the candles grow and the heat in your stomach increases. You cry out, tears building in your eyes and falling as it feels as though the blood in your veins is boiling. 

“Please! Stop!” you beg but his voice continues, echoing in your ears. 

The fire increases, your head swims and all you can do is scream until you black out. 

-

The next time you wake up, it's on something soft. 

Everything hurts. Your muscles keep twitching but you don’t feel like you can move. At least until one of your feet and calves cramp up. You can’t stop the tears or shooting up to sit, reaching for your leg. You don’t get the chance to. Someone touches you, fingers digging into the sore muscle. You swear but as the pain releases, you can’t help but fall back, exhausted again. 

You stare at the ceiling, ignoring the hands that continue to ease the cramping muscles. “What did you do to me?” 

“An exchange. Your lifespan is now tied to mine in exchange for access to the power you cannot reach for yourself.”

“What?” You force yourself to sit up, ignoring the pain. “What are you talking about?” you demand again when he doesn’t answer. 

“You have always been beyond…mortal. Now you are more.”

“I don’t want to be!” 

“There was no choice.” 

“There’s always a choice.”

You slap him without thinking. Your head whips to the side, cheek stinging. He hasn’t moved but you feel as though you’ve hit yourself. You stare at your hand in shock, wondering what happened. 

He gets up and you think you see a red mark where you know you hit him. As soon as his back is turned, you let yourself wince and mouth out an “ow”. 

“Here. Eat.” A plate is thrust into your vision. There is a small selection of fruits and granola bars. 

“Uh…thanks?” 

He nods and sits back down where he was before. He waits until you pick at one of the orange slices. “You’re an attractive target for those seeking to increase their power.” 

“...” You stare at him for a moment. “How is that possible? I’ve never done anything.” 

“You don’t need to. Power crosses from father to daughter or mother to son. It is inaccessible to the offspring, but not to one like me.”

You frown slightly. “What does that even mean?”

“But you cannot take something for nothing,” he continues as though you haven’t spoken. “There is always a price. I gave as much as I thought I would receive.” He leans forward. His hand touches the growing bruise on his cheek. You can see it fade, and as it does, sparks tingle under the skin of yours. His eyes bore into yours. 

“I don’t understand. Why didn’t you say any of this before kidnapping me?” 

“Would you believe me?”

“That doesn’t matter!” 

“You want the truth?” He waits until you nod. “After scrying for you, I…got sloppy with the search and I had to deal with two others who were on your trail. My home is warded for intruders and the ritual was done quickly. Neither of us is in danger anymore. You won’t be a target unless they kill me too.”

“That doesn’t solve everything,” you say, wondering if he’s going to ignore the kidnapping. 

“It does,” he nods. He pulls back slightly and reaches for something. You watch as he lifts a small bowl filled with a dark red liquid. He sets it down on the edge of the bed before reaching and grasping one of your wrists. You try to yank your hand back but his grip is firm. He dips his finger into the liquid and brings it to her skin. You watch as he draws a sigil. “This is where the magic pools.” He repeats the action with more symbols on your other wrist and neck. The marks burn slightly and your protests at the action fade as you realizes that the pain in your body is gone. Your psoriasis is even gone.

“Holy–”

He leans forward, blowing on the mark on her wrist. They light up, glowing red.

Your breath hitches as the sensation. You glance up, meeting his dark eyes as he watches your reaction. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. “What’s your name?”

“Kylo. You can call me Kylo.”

taglist: @raith-way @zeleniafic @jvstjewels @veetlegeuse  @chickensarentcheap @residentdormouse @themaradwrites @kingsmakers @far-shores

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

Satanic panic: 8 Oct. Suptober

"Okay. Okay, here's the thing," Sam said, clearly struggling to keep his volume low and still be heard over the milling police, sounds of a crowd cheering on the other side of the venue's stage, and the weeping wailings of several nearby… 

Castiel wasn't sure what they were. Leather-bound, pentagram-tattooed lizard people? The rest of the band, he was given to understand.

Sam continued, "Satanic panic, 1980s style? Fake news. Never proven. All the pearl clutching and accusations about ritualistic satanic sacrifices and abuses, totally unsubstantiated. At best, you could say, yes, people did panic, but wholly without cause."

"Yeah," Dean said.

"Now, this so-called death metal – Satan metal – band is on its fifth lead singer in five years."

"Right."

"Except they've all been the same guy."

"I thought the first one was different," Castiel interjected.

Both brothers shook their heads. "Same guy," Dean said. "Different, y'know, whatta you call 'em." He snapped his fingers a couple of times. "Vestments." 

"Vestments, names, personas, et cetera," Sam huffed. "Different positions in the larger cult."

"Only it's not really a cult?" Castiel was having a hard time keeping up.

"Right, it's all phony." Dean rolled his eyes; he'd been loudly vocal, earlier, about his distaste for this particular band.

Castiel asked, "Is it important that all of the lead singers were only one man?" 

Sam gave a grin like a grimace emoji. (Castiel liked sending texts with that one.) "It's relevant, possibly, because part of the lore – the storyline – of the band was that every lead singer was 'replaced'." He made finger quotes. "Which is to say, 'murdered'." 

"But it was just the one man changing costumes," Castiel deduced. "That's somewhat clever."

"Some people think so." Dean looked askance at Sam.

"Several of their songs are great, pointedly political commentaries about the corruption of modern life and the downfall of empires," Sam said, in a tone that indicated the debate with Dean was ongoing.

"It's a shame then," Castiel said, squatting to pull the bloody sheet down from the face of the corpse sprawled halfway out of the dressing room doorway, "that the lead singer seems to be literally dead this time."

He didn't have to ask why this case warranted the Winchester's skillset. The singer's eyes were burned clear out of his head.

He looked up at Dean and Dean nodded, grimly.

-

"What are you reading?" Dean manhandled Cas enough to be able to crawl into bed behind him, his thighs bracketing Cas's hips. As it was one of Dean's usual nighttime routines, Cas allowed the interruption without complaint.

"In this story, apparently we're investigating the killing of a famous singer who leads a made-up satanic cult." Cas showed him the screen of the old tablet Sam had given him. 

"Pretty sure most satanic cults are made up," Dean said, hooking his chin over Cas's shoulder. "And I'm sayin' that even though I've met actual Satan."

"Throughout the ages there've been more than a few cults dedicated to Lucifer," Cas admitted. "But most of them didn't really know who they were worshiping, and certainly not in any way that would've been useful to Lucifer."

"I guess that's comforting to hear," Dean muttered. He coughed into Cas's shoulder. "Hey. We get up to anything sexy in that story?"

"Hmm." Cas scrolled back up to the top of the first chapter. "It's rated General Audiences."

"Ah," Dean said, his fingers tickling up Cas's ribs while Cas turned in his arms. "Guess we'll have to write our own fic."

[smilingformoney]

Incorrect Quotes: Soul of Ice/Professor Snape II Edition

Severus: Enough! How dare you mock me in such a manner!?

Abbie: Well, how would you like me to mock you? I take requests.

Severus: What's going on?

Abbie: Teenage rebellion.

Severus: [sighs] What did I say to you this time?

Abbie: I'm going the fight the next person who insults my father. 

Severus: I hate myself. 

Abbie: Alright, square up.

Severus: [gently taps table]

Abbie: [taps back]

Lucius: What are they doing?

Persephone: Morse code.

Severus: [aggressively taps table]

Abbie: [slams hands down] YOU TAKE THAT BACK —

Sephy: You remind me of the ocean.

Severus: Because I’m deep and mysterious?

Sephy: No.

Sephy: Because you are full of salt and you scare people.

Severus: Now, Abbie, before I leave, you are not to partake in any of the following.

Severus: Drugs, kissing, tattoos, piercings, ritualistic animal sacrifices, cooking.

Severus:

Severus: Oh my god, I’m giving you ideas.

Sephy: I want to wake up with you every day for the rest of our lives.

Severus: I wake up at 4.30am.

Sephy: I want to see you at some point every day for the rest of our lives.

Lucius: What did you two do?

Abbie: …

Draco: …

Lucius: You’re not in trouble, I just need to know whether I need to lie to the Aurors again or not.

Sirius: Were you dropped on your head as a child?

Severus: Bold of you to assume I was even held.

Sirius: …

Severus: …

Sephy: Severus, we’ve talked about this.

Abbie: Any idiot would know that!

Harry: I knew that!

Abbie: See?

Sephy: Who traumatised you?

Severus: Do you want a list?

Sephy, sharpening a knife: Yes, actually.

Abbie: You’re not jealous, are you?

Draco: No!

Abbie: Good, because I consider my fake relationship with you a lot more meaningful.

Severus: WHOEVER MADE THIS MESS IS GOING TO —

Abbie: It was me.

Severus: …be forgiven because everyone deserves a second chance.

Severus: I expected better from you.

Abbie: Well that was your fault lmao I got nothing to do with that

Severus: If a stranger came up to you and said “I’m your dad’s friend, he told me to pick you up,” what would you say?

Abbie: I’d say, “You’re lying, my dad doesn’t have any friends!”

Severus: Not where I was going, but okay.

Severus: You’re annoying.

Abbie: But you love me!

Severus: That doesn’t make you any less annoying.

Abbie, in a high voice, holding Barbie: Hey, Ken! I was thinking about going back to school and starting a career!

Draco, in a low voice, holding Ken: Nonsense, Barbie. You’re staying home and having my kids.

Severus: What the fuck are you two doing?

Abbie: Playing systematic oppression.

Abbie, peeling a banana: May I take your jacket, sir? Hahaha.

Severus: Do you think other people can’t hear you?

Sephy: What if we went to dinner… not as friends?

Severus: As enemies?!

Sephy: 🤦🏼‍♀️

Sephy: Severus and I are dating.

James: [gasp]

Sirius: [gasp]

Remus: [gasp]

Severus: [gasp]

Sephy: Sev, come on.

Severus: Sorry, I’m still surprised.

Severus: [refusing to go to bed]

Sephy: Sev, you need to sleep. I don’t want to press charges.

Severus: ???

Sephy: For resisting a rest.

Sephy: Absolutely not.

Abbie: 🥺

Sephy: What did I say about those puppy dog eyes?

Abbie, sadly: It only works on Dad.

Sephy: You gotta walk in rooms like the gods sent you.

Severus: As a punishment.

Sephy: Can you turn on the lights?

Severus: I don’t need to. You’re the only light I need in my life.

Sephy: Darling, that's really sweet but I can’t see.

Severus: Sometimes, I don’t realize an event was traumatic until I tell it as a funny story and notice everyone is staring at me weird.

Severus: I love you, Abbie.

Abbie: Love you too, Dad.

[silence]

Severus: We both love you as well, Sephy.

Sephy: Thanks, I was feeling left out.

Severus: That’s ridiculous! Lucius isn’t in love with me!

Sephy: Yes, he is.

Narcissa: Yes, he is.

Lucius: Yes, I am.

Abbie: I should have my father kill you for that.

Severus: [bursting in] Who am I killing?

Abbie: What? No, I was joking.

Severus: [drawing his wand] I wasn’t.

Severus: You know, you can’t just walk in here and expect everyone to like you, you’re not Abbie.

Lucius: Not everybody likes Abbie.

Severus: Who doesn’t?!

Lucius: What?

Severus: Names! I want names!

Sephy: Can you carry this for me?

Severus: I don’t know if I can, I can barely carry the weight of my own sins.

Sephy: Just carry the damn book, Sev.

Sephy: I know everything about you.

Severus: Oh yeah? What am I allergic to?

Sephy: Being appreciated and thanked for helping others.

Severus: What’s that?

Sephy: It’s my to-do list.

Severus: It just has my name on it.

Sephy: Yes.

Abbie: Who thinks I can fit 15 marshmallows in my mouth?

Severus: You’re a hazard to society.

Sephy: And a coward. Do twenty.

Sephy: I think we can be evil, as a treat.

Severus: We?

Sephy: We :)

Draco: Do it or you’re straight.

Abbie: [loud gasp]

Abbie: Look under there.

Harry: Under where?

Abbie: You fool. You absolute moron. You are such a monumental idiot that you don't even realize what you just said. I am a verbal magician —

Abbie: If Mum and I were both drowning, who would you save?

Severus: I don't know, both of you?

Abbie: No, you could only save one of us.

Severus: Well, I would probably save your mother because she can't swim that well and I happen to know you're an excellent swimmer.

Abbie: Suppose I was holding an anchor. Who would you save then?

Severus: Well, why don't you let go of the anchor?

Abbie: It's a family heirloom.

Severus: I'm leaving.

Severus: [fully immersed in a new book, listening to classical music, very focused]

Abbie: [upside down on the couch] Do you think ducks have feelings?

Sephy, admiring a sleeping Severus: You’re so cute.

Severus, sleepily: I could beat you up.

Sephy, lovingly: I know.

Narcissa: You know, Severus gives Persephone flowers all the time, I wish you’d do that too.

Lucius: Okay.

[later]

Lucius: [gives Persephone flowers]

Persephone: ?? Thank? You??

Lucius: I am just as confused as you are.

Abbie: I don’t like men.

Draco: You’re a MISANDRIST?!

Severus: Has anyone seen my top?

Lucius: Persephone is in the other room.

Severus: Excuse me?! I’m a switch and you fucking know it!

Abbie: I’m begging you, just be cool.

Draco: Hey, who’s cooler than me?

Abbie: Everyone.

Abbie: If I'm paying rent, I expect some basic fucking privacy!

Severus: You don't pay rent.

Abbie: AND I WON'T!

Severus: You want me to have friends. The thing that killed Julius Caesar.