#and looking up magical ways to get him to do it from beyond the grave

[wield-the-mighty-pen]

Okay, but what's going to happen when Adrien takes a Biology class in school and learns that "Identical Twin Cousins" aren't a thing and are virtually impossible?

[illbegottenfaith]

merry christmas, please don't call

one year on, you look back on the fight that ended yours and theo's relationship (theo nott x reader)

a/n - and that's a wrap on the christmas fics! I had a few more ideas but I'm working on pacing myself/not burning out so maybe next year :)

tropes/warnings - angst, no happy ending, exes to...exes?

word count - 2.6k

Dec 23rd, 5.49 pm

You were frozen in the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor. You had arrived for a Christmas bash which doubled as a reunion, even though it had only been a year since your friends had graduated and gone their separate ways. A reunion where you'd once again see your ex-boyfriend, Theodore Nott. You knew you'd inevitably have to see him again, but to coincidentally arrive within five minutes of each other? You fidgeted restlessly, willing the house elf to hurry.

You hadn't seen him in...a year, was it? He looked unexpectedly grave, dressed in navy blue and wrinkles that aged him far beyond his years. He even had a subdued grey scarf tucked under the collar of his coat. Unable to pretend you didn't see each other for any longer, the both of you made awkward eye contact.

"Hi."

Theo nodded. "How are you?"

"Good." You scrounged for something to say. "I've just gotten accepted into the auror recruitment programme."

As far as conversation supplements went, it wasn't the best. Still, it seemed to do the trick. Theo smiled suddenly, as if he couldn't help it, immediately looking years younger. Clearly, your time apart hadn't made him forget how badly you had wanted to be an auror, and how tirelessly you had been working towards it. "That's fantastic. Congratulations."

You felt yourself warming up to him. While his usual charms never worked on you, you were a sucker for those glimpses of sincere joy. "Thank you. What about you?"

"I'm at the Ministry of Magic now. My department's based in Scotland."

"Ah. Scotland. How nice. Looks like it agrees with you. The Scottish air, I mean," you hurried to clarify, tripping over your words. Seeing an ex again was hard for anyone, you tried to convince yourself. It was perfectly justified for you to get a little tongue-tied. "You look - you look good."

"Thank you." He almost looked...embarrassed. You had never seen Theo acting this bashful. It was curious, how much could change in just a year. He gave a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "So do you."

By then, the house elf had returned to show to your separate rooms. You turned to say goodbye, but Theo was already halfway up the stairs.

Dec 23rd, 6.17 pm, one year ago

Malfoy Manor was filled with opulent, excessively elaborate bedrooms like the one you and Theo were staying in. Theo was hidden somewhere in the recesses of the large room, getting ready for the Christmas dinner party. You were sitting up on the bed, trying to find the right words when Theo emerged from the dressing area, nearly ready. His eyes swept over you as he frowned.

"Why aren't you dressed?"

The dread coiling in your stomach stung like acid.

"I'm not coming for dinner tonight."

Theo stared at you for a beat, then two. Then he gave a bark of sardonic laughter, walking back into the dressing area.

"I don't know why I'm surprised."

You grimaced. Even though you had braced yourself for it, his callousness stung. "I don't particularly like your family, Theo," you snapped. "This isn't news."

Theo stepped out from behind the wall, tie abandoned half-tied around his neck. You shrank into yourself under the full brunt of his displeased stare, wishing he'd go back to getting dressed. You knew he'd never raise a hand against you. He didn't have to, not when he was more than capable of inflicting psychological harm. Still, you'd be lying if you denied finding him intimidating on occasion.

He dropped the mocking tone. It was almost a kindness. "But you agreed to come to this."

You smoothed down the covers of the bed, refusing to meet his eye. "Yeah, well, I thought I'd feel up to it. But I don't."

Theo fiddled with his cufflinks aggressively. "Do you have any idea how much of a mess you've made that I have to clean up? I'm going to have to sit there for hours, coming up with half-baked excuses for why my girlfriend is missing Christmas dinner."

You laughed incredulously. Was he being purposefully obtuse? Was that all you were to him, some ornament to make him look even more dazzling? "I'm sorry, Theodore," you said sarcastically, "I'm sorry I'm making things so difficult for you just because I don't want to sit through hours of sickening affectations from some of the worst people on the planet."

His demeanour flipped like a switch. He straightened, an obstinate undercurrent to the tension in his jaw.

"I don't ask or expect you to bend over backwards for me, so you can quit acting like I do."

"You don't? You're throwing a hissy fit over me skipping out on one dinner!"

"For Merlin's sake, Y/N, it's a fucking dinner party. How hard is it to have a meal and hold some polite conversation for a couple of hours?"

"When it's with your family? Pretty fucking hard."

"Then why did you even agree to this in the first place?"

"I didn't want another fight."

"We're fighting now, aren't we?"

You didn't know what to say to that. Theo disappeared inside once more. You felt traitorous tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

"I just - I just feel like lately...all we do is fight." You hated how small your voice sounded. You flinched as the memory of your last fight insistently pressed on barely-healed wounds. I don't hate you, you had said. I don't - I could never. No. I could never hate you, Theo. Over and over, you had repeated it like a mantra. What had you done all that for? Why did you care so much?

"Tough luck, Y/N," Theo said, his voice bouncing off the marble walls. "This is what couples do. They fight."

You drew your knees to your chest, trying to regulate your breathing. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. "I'm sick of it, Theo. I really am. Aren't you sick of it?"

Theo reappeared, swearing under his breath, having resumed the struggle with his tie. He walked towards the full-length mirror at the corner of the room.

"Maybe we wouldn't be fighting so much if you didn't have to be so difficult all the time."

You were speechless. Theo took the opportunity to duck back into the dressing area, muttering something under his breath about dinner parties. You felt yourself retreating into your shell, smarting under the sting of his words. But it was more than that. You could feel yourself pulling away from him.

"I don't want to do this, Theo. I don't want to...make you an enemy."

"Then don't." Theo walked out of the dressing area for the final time, impatiently holding out the crimson dress you had picked out weeks ago. "Enough of this. Get dressed so we can go."

Enough of this. That was the problem, wasn't it? To Theo, this was all just one big temper tantrum he could discipline you out of.

You finally looked up to meet his eye, taking in his entire appearance. Merlin help you, but he looked ridiculously handsome in burgundy. His tie was just a smidge crooked like it always was every time you weren't around to fix it for him. Something twinged inside your chest at the sight of him fully dressed, ready to abandon you any minute now for the quiet, murmuring chatter that was beginning downstairs. Theodore Nott, virile and headstrong, was forever going to press on, with or without you.

You wished it didn't have to be this way.

"I wanted to make things easier for you, Teddy," you whispered, looking past the dress he was holding out. "I really did. You have to believe me. Please."

He wasn't going to browbeat you into getting his way. Not this time.

Theo flung the dress on the floor where it pooled at your ankles like a puddle of spilt blood. Like a condemnation. You closed your eyes and pressed a hand to your clammy forehead. You felt physically sick.

"I'm late for dinner."

present day

Dinner was a pleasant enough affair. As per your seats, Theo wasn't completely hidden from your peripheral vision, but that didn't matter once you started catching up with your friends. Afterward, everyone migrated to one of the living rooms, drinks in tow. It was a riot, seeing all the old crowd under one roof once again. Had they all always been this funny?

By some curious happenstance, Theo ended up next to you on one of the loveseats. As the night wore on, you found yourself gravitating towards him, leaning into him more and more with every bout of hysterical laughter. Eventually, the party started breaking up into smaller groups and dwindling in size as people started excusing themselves, one by one.

So here the two of you were, alone, drunk enough to pretend like the past year hadn't existed. It reminded you of the celebratory parties after Slytherin's victories during Quidditch season. You'd leave early, but in a couple of hours a completely wasted Theo would show up at your door (Merlin knows how, even absolutely smashed, Theo could reach the girls' dormitories), complaining about his head hurt.

You'd entertain his whining, fussing over every scrape he had sustained during or after the match, kissing it all better. You secretly loved those nights - it was the only time he ever let you baby him. Or, as Theo might have considered it then, let you have the upper hand. Even then, you had your differences, but they never stopped you from staying in sync with one another.

If only that were enough.

Now, you were nestled into his side, your head resting on his shoulder and your drink on his thigh. It was quiet, too quiet, even with a fire going in the fireplace. You glanced up at him. His eyes dropped to your lips. You knew where this was headed. Maybe you'd known, or hoped, ever since you'd received the invitation. In all honesty, you were too miserable to push him away.

"Theo," you murmured against the shell of his ear, "what are you doing?"

"Remember how good we had it?"

Your glass of wine drooped in your slackened grip. Most of the time, you were happy being single, but then again, most of the time you didn't have your ex-boyfriend drunkenly pressing hot, distracting, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

"What I remember is how we left things, and why."

"Remind me."

With a considerable effort, you righted your glass, squinting blearily around the dim living room. Honestly, all this estate and not a single coffee table to put a drink down? "We were, um, we were falling out of sync."

"Right," he said drily, plucking the glass out of your hand as if he had read your mind. "So out of sync that we couldn't help but arrive at the exact same time."

"Five minutes."

"Hmm?"

"It wasn't the exact same time. I arrived five min-"

You abruptly forgot what you were saying, deciding that it didn't matter when your mind was fogged with the delirious pleasure Theo was inflicting on you. Frustratingly, Theo pulled away after a minute, lightly flushed.

"My point is, don't you miss it?"

It took you a moment to regain your bearings. You blinked at him. In the flickering light of the fireplace, his eyes shone with such aching sincerity that you nearly forgot that all of this had been his fault.

You wondered if things would be different today if you had slipped into that dress and forced yourself to put on a brave face. After all, it was only a couple of hours. Maybe you wouldn't have ended things that night. Maybe you'd have worked through what might just have been a rough patch.

Or maybe you'd still be together, more miserable than ever.

The cracks were showing. You could have ignored them for only so long.

You pushed him away, suddenly disgusted by more than just the stench of whiskey on his breath.

"Shut up, Theo. You made me feel like an island. Our relationship was crumbling and you didn't give a damn about any of it." You retrieved your glass from where it was surprisingly steadily propped up between the cushions. "You didn't give a damn about me."

Sitting here, your third drink in your hand, the sting of embarrassing tears brought an unpleasant realisation. That had been the worst part, hadn't it? You couldn't even say that it was because he hated you, not when he didn't care enough to. Why didn't he care? Were you too boring? Uninteresting? Not worth his attention, positive or otherwise?

"Cara mia," he whispered urgently, as if English alone couldn't convey his distress. "I promise, I did care about you. You have to believe me. I just - " he faltered, his eyes dropping to the floor. "I didn't express it very well," he finished quietly.

"Like that means something. You were awful to me, especially towards the end."

He had the gall to look genuinely stricken. "Tesoro, please. Don't say that."

But now that you had begun, you couldn't stop. "I begged you to care, Theo. Do you know how humiliating that was? I begged you to care and you just couldn't find it in you." Your heart felt heavy. It was the first time you had let yourself grieve what you once had with Theo. With considerable difficulty, you pressed on. "Just like I couldn't find it in myself to put on that dress and act like everything was fine."

You took a sadistic sort of pleasure in his grimace. Good, he should feel uncomfortable. If anything, the time to feel uncomfortable had been last year, but that ship had sailed long ago. "So forget it. I've had a lifetime's worth of begging for scraps of your affection."

Something in Theo's face changed. It was as if he hadn't entertained the possibility of failing to sweep you off your feet, like he had done so many times before. When he spoke, it was with none of his usual embellishments or charms.

"I know you probably hate me now. As you have every right to. As you should." He paused. "Merlin knows I've hated myself every day since."

You wanted to laugh. Theodore Nott, with a head three sizes too big, hate himself? "Hate yourself? What for?"

Theo scratched his face, staring into nothing, in a distractedly hopeless sort of way. "I don't know. Too many things. For raising my voice at you. For pretending I didn't notice us..." He trailed off, as if he were too embarrassed to finish the sentence. He swirled the little amber liquid left in his crystal glass. "For making you feel like you couldn't rely on me."

"Is this your way of apologising?"

Theo laughed weakly, and when he looked up, his pale blue eyes dull with the sheen of a naively boyish desperation you hadn't seen in a while.

"Would it change things? An apology?"

You pressed your lips together in a thin line. It was all the confirmation he needed. Silence descended on the two of you.

"We were good. Once."

Perhaps. But once upon a time was too flimsy of a reason to fix things now. You took one last look at Theo, fighting the wild impulse to kiss him on the cheek in some half-hearted bid to piece together the shattered man sitting next to you. Even now, after all that had transpired between the two of you, you couldn't help but feel some sort of moral responsibility for his happening. It was curious, how nothing had seemed to change over the past year.

When you spoke, it was with a tone of finality that glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

"Merry Christmas, Theo," you whispered as you stood to leave.

Please don't call.

[spiritsonic]

Hi Evan! Big fan here, hope I'm not disturbing you at an inconvenient time. I love your work as an artist and writer, but it's not just Sonic that you work on. It would be cool to know more about your work Ensouled. What is it about? Who is the ghost guy and the human girl?

Sure, I’ve been wanting to write some new character bios. Check it all out under the break!

CHARLEY PARKHEARSE

Once, long ago, Charley was the best teamster in Santa Alma county. His stagecoach flew over treacherous mountain roads, One crack of his whip could snuff a candle’s flame from six yards, and any bandit who dared to stop his stage would meet the business end of a rifle. Anyone who cared to comment about his sour temper or murky past knew to keep their voices low… and God help any fool who questioned Charley’s refusal to remove his heavy greatcoat, no matter the weather. 

But Charley’s fame was bound to earn him enemies… When the bandit Sugarfoot learned that Charley was in fact born a █████, the secret spread like wildfire through the mountains. Charley was ruined. He thought his life was over, until he was visited by a being dealing in black magic; a devil known in his human guise as Aurelius Flood. This devil promised to erase Charley’s secret from the minds of Santa Alma’s people, restoring Charley’s reputation, in return for his soul. Charley accepted, though he would not learn the depth of his folly until the night he died… and was raised as a ghost by that same devil, now bound to his service. Still, the devil was true to his word. Charley’s secret was safe, even beyond the grave.

At one point in the many decades since his death, Charley thought he could escape Aurelius’ control. But today… he’s given up that hope. He haunts the roads he was once the master of, frightening drivers to meet his quota of Soul and waiting ‘till his memories fade away, taking the pain of his mistakes with them. That is until, in a flash of ill-advised mercy, Charley spares the life of a young woman he scared off the road…

(Charley is LOOSELY based on Charley Darkey Parkhurst, a real historical figure. Look him up! He's a really cool example of a queer, probably trans person ((by today's standards)) in history. The real Charley's dying wish was to be remembered as a man; a wish that has not been respected by history. I want to explore the pros and cons of living closeted or stealth in an ever-changing world, while also honoring his memory and wishes as best I can in a modern context.)

SEQUOIA LOGANBERRY

Sequoia would like you to believe that she is a monster. It’s easier that way. Ever since her father left for a mistress on the east coast in her senior year of high school, Sequoia has been working a dead-end job at the local amusement park and doing her damndest to drink and drive herself into an early grave. And she almost does it… Until a friggin' SKELETON GUY fishes her out of the lake she drove into?! And now she’s getting these insane migraines and seeing spooky shit everywhere???? 

After a close encounter with death (and Charley), Sequoia develops an unpredictable 6th sense that threatens to finish what she started in her car the other night… Until she’s found by the misanthropic wizard Monty and his much nicer siren husband Luka, who help her get her new powers under control… in trade for her helping them with a few odd jobs. Nothing crazy, just, oh, infiltrating the local magical crime lord’s fey court. Sequoia is just the wild card they need to break a fifty-year standoff between the supernatural powers vying for control over Santa Alma. Sequoia will need to learn fast, about both magic and herself, or else end up a pawn in other people’s plans. Will she be able to make the friends she desperately needs and find direction in her life before she’s swept away?

OTHER CHARACTERS INCLUDE...

MONTY MOUROS, aforementioned misanthropic wizard. Older than he looks. Came to Santa Alma in the 1930’s to earn his fortune, and ended up embroiled in one of Charley’s bids for freedom. It didn’t go well, and he still holds a bitter grudge. He’s guarded the local amusement park, the Boardwalk, from Aurelius Flood for years, but other than that has hidden himself from both the magic and mundane worlds for decades.

LUKA, a siren who lost his singing voice in a trap set by Flood. If not for Monty, it would have taken his life. When they were young the two fell in love, and Luka defied his family’s traditions to be with Monty. They’re still together, and Luka is the only person who can get past Monty’s harsh exterior. Luka now runs a speakeasy for spirits hidden beneath the Boardwalk, where he mixes magical cocktails and turns the rumor mill. He is a kind soul who defines himself through service to others…perhaps to a fault. 

AURELIUS FLOOD, The mastermind behind most of Santa Alma’s woes. A cruelly ambitious leprechaun who thrives on greed, he’s been following the money since the time of the Romans. In the 1800’s he came to the new world, where he found fabulous opportunity during the California gold rush. Assuming a human disguise he carved out a business empire in the mundane world, and a criminal one in the magic world. He built Santa Alma himself, engineering the city’s growth. Fattening a pig for the slaughter. Now, the only thing standing between him and his ultimate payday is Monty and the pivotal bit of territory he controls at the Boardwalk. It’s stymied him for years, but he’s got a new plan…

SUGARFOOT, Flood’s left-hand man. As the illegitimate son of a powerful Californio rancher and an Ohlone woman trapped in the California mission system, fate did not deal Sugar a kind hand. After his father’s family lost their rancho, Sugar turned to a life of crime. He got his sarcastic nickname from a festering leg wound he earned in a shootout with Santa Alma’s top teamster, Charley Parkhearse. As his infection grew, so did his hatred… These mountains should belong to him, not some johnny-come-lately from New Hampshire. So he turned to another stranger for help; Aurelius Flood. In trade for his soul, he gained information; a secret that, if it were to get out, would ruin Charley forever. Sugar leapt at the deal, and got exactly the revenge he’d wanted… until Charley came for him, blinded by rage and shame, and shot him dead in the street. In death, Sugar and Charley found themselves in the same situation… bound to serve Flood forever. As coworkers. Hell would have been a mercy. 

(Sugarfoot is also based on a historical figure of the same name, but almost nothing is known about him other than he was a bandit with a very stinky foot. IRL Charley shot him when he tried to raid his stagecoach.) 

ZINNIA LOGANBERRY, Sequoia’s annoyingly precocious little sister. While Sequoia turned to delinquency after their parents’ divorce to avoid her feelings, Zinnia threw herself into her studies for the same reason. She has become the model student and daughter, earning their workaholic mom’s favor… but man, this kid is Burnt. Out. When she finds out about Sequoia’s new adventures with the supernatural, she throws herself into this new world as a release from her demanding daily life only to once again take things too far. And now, the consequences come with fangs, and hair, and claws…

DEBORAH LOGANBERRY, Sequoia and Zinnia’s mother. She knows she could be doing better by her daughters, but ever since her no-good husband left them, she’s been the family’s sole provider. Her job in the city’s planning and zoning department is the only thing keeping them off of the streets, and the price of housing in Santa Alma is only going up. It’s a matter of survival; surely, once they’re more financially stable, she’ll be able to patch things up with Sequoia. And maybe something will come of the new friendship she’s struck up with Mr. Flood. He IS quite the successful developer, after all… perhaps they could be more than friends?

[thequeenofcurses]

A Love Beyond Death

f!Reader x Gojo. Reader visits her husband!Gojo’s grave one year after his death and something magical spicy happens. mdni. word count: 3k. beware manga spoilers

December 24th, today

One year. It’s been a whole 365 days since the world was destroyed. Your world. Forever ruining the Christmas season. 

The early morning snow lightly covered the cemetery. The Gojo clan had reorganized a lot since Yuta Okkostu took over as clan leader. Knowing how much you meant to him, Yuta always allowed you to visit Satoru’s grave privately whenever you needed to.

You told that idiot to let you help him fight Sukuna. Every day since, you regret not being there. Maybe your technique could’ve helped him survive. Maybe you could’ve distracted Sukuna and given Satoru an opening. Maybe you could’ve sacrificed yourself for him. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe…

December 24th, 2018

“Babe, I know you’re a great sorcerer, but we both know I can’t go all out if you’re there” you remembered your husband’s voice to you as he was getting dressed. “I can’t risk you getting hurt. I need you to stay here. Stay safe.”

You pouted sadly, but nodded your understanding. “You better come back to me,” you demanded. “Satoru, I swear to God if you die…”

“Shh, shh, shh,” the tall white haired man pulled you into his chest and placed his head atop yours whilst rubbing your back. “Don’t worry about me, ‘kay? I’ll win. I always do.”

Even though you believed him, your eyes continued to flow with salty tears full of worry. “Satoru,” you whisper with a shaky breath. “I love you.”

He stands back a few inches, taking off his blindfold to look you directly in the eyes. “"Hey, don’t cry too much, alright? I don’t want people thinking I left you all heartbroken over me.” He gently cups your face and wipes your tears with his thumbs. “I love you.”

The kiss he gives is everything you need. He lifts your chin then connects his soft lips with your waiting ones. It was gentle, yet passionate, but it left you needing more. 

“Satoru, please.” You look up at him, your heart nervously beating through your chest. He could die today. The terrible thoughts flooded your mind. If this is our last time together, I want to show him how much I love him. “I need you. Please.”

Gojo hesitated for a moment, then smiled. “I know, baby.” He kisses you again then picks you up by your waist. You wrap your legs around him and he carries you to your shared bed, never breaking your kiss. He gently lays you down before crawling above you. “Show me.”

Even after a year of (secret) marriage, Gojo still makes you blush. You push the nervous butterflies in your stomach down and bite your lip. You kiss Gojo again quickly. “I love you.” He lets you flip him over to where you’re straddling his lap. Blindfold still off, his cerulean eyes watch you through snowy white lashes. “So much.” Your hands travel underneath the shirt he just put on, rubbing his taut chest. You quickly pull his shirt above his head, giving him another kiss thereafter. 

Gojo continues to watch you as your hands make their way down from his neck, down, down, down, to his waist. You tug at his pants with need, sliding them and his boxers off in one pull. “Now I’m all naked,” Gojo smirked at you. You giggle at his silly comment before kissing him once more. You use one hand to pull your shirt above your head while your other grips his length, precum already leaking out of it. “Mhhmp,” he groans. You worship his length. Kissing his cock up and down as he continues to get hard for you. You lean down into his lap to take him into your mouth, no hands, as you continue worshiping your husband’s perfect cock. 

With both hands free now, you pull down your shorts, and finally feel your own wetness. Straddling him again, Gojo slides his hands up your thighs. His left one stops at your pussy, while he holds you with his right. He gently rubs your clit with two fingers. “My girl is so wet for me,” he mused.

“Ahwh, ‘Toru” you moan. You gently rub his cockhead against your slick folds. “Need you, inside”.  

Gojo smirks and sits up a bit. “Show me how much you need me baby,” he breathes. 

Instead of responding with words you grip his length and line it up with your entrance. You ever so slowly sink down onto his cock. Slowly inch by inch, until your pussy is tickled by his pelvic hair. You both deeply gasp at the feeling. “‘M so full ‘Toru.” You throw your arms around his neck and start to move. A bit slow at first until you find a good rhythm. Quickly bouncing up and down. Up and down. 

“Ff-fuck princess,” Gojo groaned. “Riding me so good.” He kisses your neck, then trails down to your breasts. Left then right. Giving each one their deserved attention. He puts one of your hardened nipples into his mouth while his hands land back onto your waist, steadying you. You ride him fast, and hard, focused solely on his orgasm. “You’re so beautiful,” he says while giving your nipple a lighthearted bite. 

You throw your head back in pleasure, slowing down your vertical attack on his cock. “Satoruuu,” your moans echo throughout the room.  

“Legs getting tired baby?” Gojo jokes, noticing your pace slow down. The second you nod he effortlessly flips you onto your back and gets between your legs. “Let me take over doll.” He aligns himself at your entrance once again, then thrusts hard, filling you to the brim. The slap, slap, slapping of his balls bullying your clit as he gives you fast, hard thrusts mixed with both of your moans become a cacophony of sound. “I can’t get enough of you,” he admits. 

Each long thrust of his brings you both ever so closer to orgasm. “Gonna cum, ‘Toru” you admit. “C-can’t hold it.”

“Yeah, sweets?” Gojo turns your head up so you're forced to look directly into his eyes then places that hand on your throat while his other hand goes back to rubbing your clit. “Come on then, wife.” He thrusts hard with each word. “Cum. For. Me.”

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck, Satoru,” you gasped through a short breath. His ministrations paid off. Your legs start to inevitably shake as his thrusts bring you closer and closer. He leans forward, kissing you and looking directly into your eyes once more as you cum on his cock.

“I’m right here baby,” he says. His hair was disheveled, forehead was slick with sweat, as was the rest of his body; yet he still never looked more beautiful. “Princess, I’m cumming,” he slows down his murder of your pussy, but doesn’t pull out completely; filling your cunt to the brim with his seed.

He releases his hold on your neck and gives you a deep loving kiss. As you both come down from your high. “You okay, doll?” He begrudgingly pulls out you.

“Yes, ‘Toru. I’m okay.” you reassure him. You look up and see the light from the window molding into a series of oranges and pink, signaling sunrise. Your heart feels heavy and the worry fills your being once again. “I’m just worried–”

“Shh,” Gojo shushes you once again with his finger to your lips. “No worrying about me. C’mere.” He pulls you into a loving warm cuddle. He rubs the back of your head while he explains. “Not to toot my own horn but, I am the strongest. Besides, I have to come back to give you your Christmas gift.”

You believe him. So you both shower together, being intimate one more time. After showering, you help him get ready and he takes off his wedding ring and places it in your hands. “I need you too, y/n,” he kneels down. “And once all of this is over, we’ll have a proper wedding. Promise. No more of this secret shit. I wanna show you off to the world. Keep that safe for me, yeah?” You can’t help, but smile. You pull him into one last hug.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

You glance at Gojo’s phone on the bed and see the name. Iori Utahime. 

It’s time.

December 24th, today

“Liar,” you cried out. “You fucking promised.” Your hand was full of blue iris’. His favorite flower. They reminded you of his eyes. Oh God, those eyes. It was stressful for him to have them uncovered, so you didn’t see them too often. But when you did have those special romantic moments with your husband or sometimes during training, he would remove his glasses or blindfold. He mostly did it with you only, because he knew you loved looking into his eyes (plus he knew eye contact would always make you blush). “You damned liar.”

You kneeled down to the headstone, wiping away the dusty snow that just started to appear, gently placing the flowers down.

Satoru Gojo

December 07, 1989 – December 24th, 2018

Beloved Son And Teacher

They couldn’t even put “loving husband” on his gravestone. With your marriage being secret, only a handful of people knew about your relationship. 

You had zero control of your tears. They flowed freely, running down your reddened cheeks. Fuck. The winter chill was making your nose run and your body shake, yet you remained in front of the grave. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you cried. “I wish I was there, I wish I could've saved you. I wish–” your shaky breath breaks. The wind lightly picks up, wisping your hair around your face. You sat there, telling Gojo about your year and everything that has happened since your last visit. You told him that you were proud of Yuta for taking over the clan. You informed him how you adopted a puppy because you were too lonely without him. You explained that you had hoped and prayed after his death that maybe his seed had land that you would still have a part of him, but alas, every pregnancy test you took back then was negative.

You even explained how much you hate Christmas and winter now because all of it reminds you of him.

You talked his ear off. Or the grave’s ear rather, if it had any. You promised Yuta you wouldn’t be here for too long since he mentioned wanting to come visit Satoru with Yuji and some of the other students. 

“I love you, ‘Toru.”

Standing up, you wiped the snow off your bottom and turned.

“I love you too.”

You turned your head back and forth, searching for the owner of the voice. It must be your head. I must be getting delusional. God, I miss him.

“y/n”

You whip around and do a 360° turn. “Who’s there?” The graveyard was eerily quiet and there were no signs of anyone else nearby. Yuta promised you’d have private time, so where could this voice be coming from.

“Princess,” Gojo whispered. 

Your heart fluttered hearing Gojo’s voice again. It had been so long. Wait, no. Satoru died a year ago. This is impossible… But apparently Suguru Geto had come back from death, maybe it was possible Satoru could too? No, no, no. That was someone’s technique. This is impossible.

“Sweets, I miss you.” Another whisper. Oh God. The only person on the planet who called you that was your husband. 

“Satoru?” you questioned quietly, still turning your head back and forth. Tears started to well up in your eyes again. “Fuck, I miss you so much.”

“It’s really me baby,” you felt a wispy feeling on your face, as if a hand was there; yet you couldn’t see him. “Please don’t cry for me, doll.” Your face leaned into the wisps’ palm. As if reading your mind, the wisp gently brushed the tears off your cheek. “I don’t know how this is possible, but I heard you… talking to me. And now I’m here. I don’t think we have much time though.”

Your heart sank down to your chest. Of course you wouldn’t be lucky enough to have him truly come back. Gojo sacrificed everything, everything, for the world, yet when he wants something that’ll make him happy, he can’t have it. Life truly is unfair. 

Not knowing how much time you had, you try to tell him the entirety of what you may have left out earlier when you were talking to his grave. The words come out like vomit, quickly, making sure he knows exactly how you feel and how much you need him.

As if God was finally giving Satoru something he wanted, the wisps near you form a very light blue cloudy silhouette of what seemed to be Gojo. Almost as if you were seeing his infinity. You still couldn’t see him fully, but at least you had some idea of where he was.

“Baby, I love hearing about all your little adventures.” The wispy silhouette pulled you into a hug. Somehow it’s filled with warmth. “God knows I’ve missed coming home to you.” You leaned into his chest and that’s when you felt it. 

You looked down, still not seeing any physical form of Gojo but his lower outline started to bulge out. “‘Toru is that…”

“Heh, sorry sweets,” he apologized. “I just haven’t touched you in so long.”

“Would it even be possible…?”

“We could try,” you could hear the smirk in his voice.

It stopped snowing, yet it was still very frigid. Gojo kissed you, slowly guiding you to his headstone. You unzip your coat and lay it on the ground, but keep your sweater on. “I want this, but I don’t want to freeze.”

“I promise, you won’t freeze.”

You nod, believing him somehow, even though he broke his last promise to you. Your sweater flies off of you just as quickly as he pulled your boots and pants off. The first kiss he gave you was filled with so much warmth and love and need.

“Last time, before I, y'know, died. We fucked and it was amazing, perfect even, but this time, I want to make love to you.” If you could see those blue eyes right now it would make you burst into tears again. “I love you so much, y/n. I’m sorry, I broke my promise.”

“It’s okay,” you reassured him with a kiss.”I love you too”.

For the next hour he made slow, sensual love to you, in every romantic position possible. Gojo made sure to take care of you. You felt him and his throbbing length while you rode him and he littered your body with warm kisses. He might’ve even left a hickey or two on your neck. 

Your first orgasm was when he had you in missionary while you pleaded for him to fuck you harder, faster. Of course he declined, wanting to keep this as a love making session until you were absolutely begging for it.

You came again when he had you laying in front of him, cuddling, and he had his arms wrapped around you. Never stopping his relentless pounding into your pussy. A perk to being dead is never running out of stamina.

And you came again, for the third time when he had fucked you hard into a mating press. Your legs above your head. You came again and again, while Gojo declared how much he loved you over and over.

“Princess?”

“Mhmm,” you babbled out.

“M’im gonna cum,” he gasped out. “Gonna fill you right up.” You don’t see it, but you feel him stuffing your cunt full of his cock and his cum. He pulled out of you, rubbing his cock up and down your pretty pussy. He caught some of the cum that leaked out of you with his cockhead and stuffed it back inside of you. “My beautiful girl.”

He cuddled with you for another moment, keeping you warm while you both watched the snowy clouds up above. “Baby, I think, it’s time for me to go.” Your heart fluttered. This was the moment you both knew was coming. You looked where you knew his eyes would be at. "I love you. Always. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever move on from you,” you admit. “I just want to be with you”

“Baby…” Gojo’s voice is soft, barely a whisper. “Please, try. Live for me.” He ends his reasoning with a kiss. You shiver, his touch starting to become less and less warm. Whatever technique or spell that was keeping him here must be starting to wear off. He grabs your clothes and pulls you up, helping you get dressed. “After all, I know I’m the best,” he joked. “But you have to move on. Please? For me. I hate seeing you so lonely.” He pulled you into a final hug, his body becoming more cold and less tangible. 

You nod into his chest.

And then you feel nothing.

A six sided snowflake landed on your nose before melting instantly. A reminder for you to get back inside. 

Maybe the Christmas season won’t be so bad anymore.

EPILOGUE

Six Weeks Later

“It’s positive,” Shoko read the results. “You’re definitely pregnant.”

Your mouth was still agape. “But, but, that’s impossible.”

“Well the test isn't lying, y/n” Shoko said with a laugh. “Are you sure you didn’t get drunk around Christmas and have a one night stand?”

You thought back to six weeks ago. You tried to move on from Satoru, but none of the men you went on dates with truly interested you. And you definitely didn’t sleep with them. You remember visiting Gojo’s grave on his death anniversary and having a very vivid dream with him. But it was only a dream…

A/N: Did you just fuck a ghost? Yes, you did. My bad if this was too long. And sorry if this is cringe; this is literally the first time I’ve written a story with a smutty-type scene in years. In fact, it’s only the second one I’ve ever written, so I’m sorry if it’s awkward. 😭

“Shoko…” you started. “Would you believe me if I told you I think this baby might be Satoru’s?”

masterlist | jjk masterlist

[whoops-all-jennas]

Past Lives pt. 10

Wednesday x witch!reader

"I've got this strangest feeling."

"This isn't our first time around."

Summary: You and Wednesday try to prevent the Hyde from stealing the mayor's body.

Warning: Descriptions of blood and injury, specifically cut injuries

I find myself staring out my window, the pitter patter of raindrops being the only sound besides my thoughts.

Wednesday told me the mayor was investigating the Gates Mansion yesterday when she was there. He was on the way to tell the sheriff something before he was hit by a car.

Of course, someone discovers too much and they get killed.

My thoughts are interrupted by Wednesday opening the door. "Hey Wednesday, the funeral was faster than I imagined."

Wednesday puts her umbrella up before looking back at me. "Whenever the dirt hits the coffin I'm gone."

Wednesday takes a few steps towards me. "Tonight we'll stake his grave. They will pay for what they did to Eugene."

I find myself dazed under her statement, my heart rate accelerating at the thought of having to use the death curse on anyone or anything. I push back my anxiety, forcing a nod in response.

"We need to talk about the books they stole from us Wednesday."

Wednesday is silent for a moment. "What is there to talk about?"

I sigh, a bit of my stress carried in my air. "More specifically, the book of curses. If they can perform magic we're in serious danger with that book. That is if they haven't memorized some of the spells from it already."

"We'll deal with this before it's an issue." Wednesday states, naively. "What spells should we look out for from the book?"

I sigh again, looking at the ground. "First there's the spell you told me study, the death curse. That one's kinda self explanatory."

I look up to find Wednesday's eager eyes on me, thirsty for more information. "Next one is the imperious curse, it makes the caster in total control of whomever the spell was cast upon. Some times, if the will power of the castee is strong enough they can fight back the curse. Which is where this last curse comes in."

I'm silent for a moment, the anxiety of the power the enemy now holds settling in further. "Lastly, the torture curse. This one is also self explanatory, it causes an excruciating pain all over the castee. It's also used on people under the imperious curse to attempt to destroy their will."

Wednesday looks to the side, letting the information sink into her brain. Her eyes soon find mine again. "We won't give them a chance to perform these spells."

She looks at me with confidence and reassurance in her eyes. "Tonight, we'll end this."

I look down from Wednesday's eyes to find the necklace I gave her around her neck.

"There's someone else we have to deal with before tonight." I say, meeting her eyes again.

The sun is beginning to go beyond the horizon. My fist meets the wood on Xavier's door, soon met by Xavier on the other side.

"Hey Y/n, what's up?" Xavier gives me a slightly anxious look.

"Hey, uh. Can I come in?"

He stares dumbfounded for a minute. "Oh, yeah! Sure." Xavier takes a step back, giving me space to walk past him before closing the door. "Did you think about my apology?"

I'm silent for a moment, finding a seat on Xavier's bed. "I haven't come to a conclusion yet." My eyes meet Xavier's.

"So, why'd you come here then?"

I take a deep breath. "Wednesday and I want to ask you a couple questions about your latest vision."

Xavier looks to the ground for a moment. "I uh, yeah I can do that. Where's Wednesday?"

"We want to discuss it at your art studio if that's alright" I ask, my voice shaky.

Xavier examines my state for a moment. "Are you okay?"

I quickly nod. "I've just been anxious about why I've been banned from leaving the school." I lie through my teeth. "Wednesday is waiting for us at your art studio."

Xavier examines me one more time, his eyes looking me up and down. "Shouldn't keep her waiting I guess."

Xavier opens the door to his art studio to find Wednesday set up a chair and cooler full of a random assortment of snacks and drinks.

Xavier quickly turns around, confusion in his voice. "Y/n whats-"

"I'm sorry, Xavier." I pull out my wand, pointing it at him. "Stupefy."

A red light emits from my wand, the projectile hitting Xavier in the torso. He falls backwards in the art studio unconscious.

I sigh while putting the wand away. "Let's get this over with."

Wednesday and I struggle to drag his lanky body fully inside the art studio, leaving the light on as we lock him inside.

Wednesday and I are hiding behind two different tombstones. I look at my watch, reading the time is 12:30. My heart rates accelerates as the time comes closer, having lost slight control of my breathing.

The chirping of crickets fill the air, soon gone silent in the presence of vicious footsteps entering the cemetery.

Wednesday looks at me expectingly. I stand, my legs shaking as I reach for my wand with a trembling hand.

I'm a good 20-30 feet behind the Hyde, it's already digging in front of the mayor's fresh grave. It flings the dirt behind him, landing near my feet. The fog met with the light of the full moon creates an ominous atmosphere.

I point my wand at it, unable to keep my wand steady.

I go to shout at it, my voice restricting itself along with my airway.

More dirt flies by my feet, soon followed by Wednesday's voice. "What are you doing?!"

The sound of scratching on wood fills the air. The Hyde turns around to find me standing there, pointing my trembling wand at him.

My vision starts to get blurry as my eyes become glossy. Why can't I do it? "I- I-" My voice is trembling with anxiety.

"A- avada. A-a-" I find the incantation impossible to utter, a tear streaming down my face.

The Hyde starts to ignore me, the cracking of wood filling the chilled air as it breaks through the casket.

"Y/n! Do it!" I hear Wednesday shout, muffled by my thoughts.

The Hyde pulls the mayor's body from the grave, looking at me one more time before turning away to run. The sound of his footsteps fading as the crickets return.

I tightly grasp my wand in both of my hands, bringing it close to my chest, feeling the anxious beat of my heart worsen. "I couldn't do it." I utter quietly to myself, looking at the now comfortable looking ground.

Wednesday quickly stands, running to me. "Y/n what happened."

Her steps slow down as I drop down to my knees, my sobs taking dominance over the chirping of the crickets.

"Y/n?" Wednesday asks in a worried tone.

"I couldn't do it." I say between sobs, the tears meeting at my chin before dripping to find my trembling hands. "It hurt so many people, and I couldn't do it."

Wednesday is silent for a moment, finding her way in front of me. She's looking down upon me. "I'm sorry Y/n, I shouldn't have ask-"

"Why couldn't I do it?!" I my neck straining from suddenly looking up to see her face, my voice trembling between the sobs. "Why, I don't-" I find myself lost for words.

Wednesday kneels before me, putting her hands on my clenched ones. She slowly pulls my hands away from my chest, resting them on my legs. "Do you remember when we first met?"

I find myself silent, returning to reality at the sound of Wednesday's stoic yet comforting voice. "You healed a small cut on my forehead, even though you never met me."

Wednesday gently prys at my tightened grip around my wand, starting with my index finger. "And then in the woods, when you saved Eugene's life."

My brain remembers that night vividly at the mention of him. Wednesday is now prying at my ring and pinky fingers.

"If it wasn't for you, he likely would have died." The sound of my wand landing on the dirt reaches my ears, as Wednesday loosened my grip.

Wednesday stares at my red hands, tense from gripping the wand so tightly. "It's your hands, they're not meant to kill."

I find the tears rekindling, my red puffy eyes tensely closing.

"They're meant to give life. I'm sorry I asked you to do this"

I find the sobs uncontrollable, practically shouting into the wind as Wednesday grabs my hands. I throw my head into her chest, met with her arms moving to hold me comfortingly.

I wake up on the ground of my art studio, my head throbbing. I sit up, resting my head on my hand. "Ugh, what the."

I soon stand, wobbling back and forth trying to restabilize my footing. I nearly fall as I approach the door, finding it locked on the other side.

"You can't be serious." I utter to myself, pulling my phone out. I scroll through my contacts before finding Bianca. I stare at the icon I set of her for a second before calling.

"What do you want?" I'm instantly greeted with Bianca's remark.

I take a deep breath. "Y/n snuck out."

"What?! Where to?!" Bianca asks, worried about how Weems is going to act.

I find myself staring at the painting. "I have an idea. I think we should tell Weems, she'll know what-"

"I think you're insane." Bianca overly announces the I. "If she knows we failed, she'll personally disband the Nightshades."

"I think whatever reason Weems is trying to keep Y/n on school grounds is probably more important than our roof parties and virgin drinks." I state sarcastically.

Bianca takes a deep breath, pausing for a moment. "Where are you now?"

I hold Y/n close, her tears running dry. "Are you ready?"

You nod, grabbing your wand off the ground before standing.

"I hope I'm not interrupting your date."

Y/n and I turn towards the voice to find Tyler at the entrance of the cemetery. You rub your eyes in an attempt to wipe any forgotten tears.

I see an opportunity to make something useful out of tonight. "Tyler, we need you to take us to the Gate's Mansion."

I find you standing next to me with a new found courage at my words.

Tyler looks at us for a moment, biting his tongue as he weighs his options. He sighs. "That wasn't really a request was it?"

We start to walk towards him till we're a few feet in front of him. "Where's your car?"

The engine cuts off, parking in front of the Gate's Mansion.

We all get out of the car simultaneously, approaching the garage door.

You pulled out your wand, making a circular motion with your wrist as you point it at the doorknob. "Alohamora."

You went to turn the knob, met with rattling. "It's stuck."

I approach from behind, You give me space as I try to force the door open. The door doesn't budge.

"Let me try." Tyler states, before shaking the door with full force. Still nothing.

"We'll probably have to find a different way in." He says, as you pull your wand back out.

"Step back." You point your wand at the door as we follow your demand.

"Bombarda!" You shout, met with a loud explosion on the door, forcing it open. You walk inside with Tyler and I following behind you.

I take the tarp off the car in the garage. "This is the car that hit the mayor." I state flatly.

"This just took a dark turn." Tyler says, looking between both of us for a moment. "I didn't sign up for this."

"Feel free to wait in the car." I state, before heading to the door that leads inside the house.

You have your wand emitting a light from the end to light the hallway. The house is decorated with cobwebs and dust, the only other light being the pale moonlight of the full moon through the dirty windows. "This is the night I'm gonna die." Tyler says as we find our way to our first room to investigate.

We end up in the study. The room lacks any windows and is decorated with animal head mounts on the walls, cobwebs between the antlers of the deer heads.

I find my way to the bookshelf, inspecting every inch under my flashlight for any sign of disturbance over the dust. I point the flashlight up to notice a square design at the top of the bookshelf is clean.

I push the design, it caves inward with the sound of gears shifting. The noise of wood scratching against the floor fills the room as a hidden door is opened.

Behind the bookshelf reveals a shrine dedicated to Joseph Crackstone. Next to the painting of him it says in red text on the wall.

THE MOON WILL BLEED

WHEN I RISE

Y/n and I make eye contact for a moment with Tyler behind us. "Who doesn't have a family alter in their study?" Tyler says sarcastically.

"Ours is in the living room." I say before touching the wick of a candle. "It's still warm."

I find a necklace in front of the painting. I grab it, instantly met with the feeling of electricity coursing through my veins. You catch me as I fall back, entering a vision.

I find myself on the soft grass within an old cemetery. The full moon lighting the scene. There are people in pilgrim attire and masks surrounding a casket with some sort of runic marks on the floor surrounding it.

I look to the side to find Elsie hanging on a hook by the rope tied around her wrists. Her white hair flowing in the wind.

The figures start to place jars of body parts on top of the runic symbols until all the runic marks are covered.

"Draw her blood." One of the masked figures state. Another one unsheathes a dagger before approaching Elsie's vulnerable figure.

"Please don't-" I hear her cries, unable to do anything. The man grabs her legs, sliding a big cut across it. Her blood streaks down her leg, staining her clothes.

"Stop, please!" Elsie cries through her winces of pain.

He lifts the dagger, before starting another cut down her other leg.

She releases a bloodcurdling scream, unable to contain her pain anymore. Crows flock at the sudden exclamation.

One of the figures grabs a cloth, wrapping it around her mouth muzzling her. "It'll be easier if you bite." He says.

The man with the dagger has now given her multiple cuts on her legs, the blood pooling to her bare feet. The blood trickles to a bucket beneath her.

He draws the dagger to her arms next, gliding the dagger across her skin. Elsie's screams of pain are muffled by the cloth in her mouth, drenched in her saliva.

After cutting on both arms equally, the blood staining her white bed dress, he leaves one more cut on her arm as the pale light of the moon shifts into an ominous deep red.

The light illuminates the foggy graveyard, giving everything a blood red glow. The runic symbols begin to glow a pale blue, contrasting the moon. All the figures stand around the casket as a black fog emanates from it.

It suddenly makes sense to me why Weems wanted to keep you protected on school grounds. Fear fills my body as the vision continues.

Goody runs into the graveyard, quickly but quietly approaching Elsie. She grabs her by the waist, lifting the rope tied around her wrists off the hook, causing Elsie to collapse onto her as Goody struggles to run under her weight.

Goody runs past me, carrying Elsie over her shoulder, her blood staining Goody's clothes. I look back to the casket to see a figure I recognize on the other side of the fog. If the Hyde and their master succeed, it won't be Joseph's first time coming back from the dead.

I soon turn around to follow Goody and Elsie. After a few minutes of running they go inside a building, placing her on a bed.

Goody pulls out her wand, interrupted by Elsie holding out a necklace. Her blood trickles down the chain. "I- I want you to take this." Goody slowly grabs the necklace by the talisman attached to it, the chain slipping out of Elsie's grasp.

The talisman is decorated with black tourmaline against the silver of the rest of the talisman. A shield is inscribed in the reflective metal.

"It is a protection talisman, enchanted and given to me by my parents." Elsie says, her voice strained from her screams. Goody holds the talisman tightly in her hand before putting it over her head. She hovers her wand over the edge of one of Elsie's wounds, guiding her wand across it.

I open my eyes to the carpet of the study in the Gates Mansion. I quickly stand. "We need to leave." I look around only to find Tyler in the room.

"Where's Y/n?" I ask, fear in my voice. I put the Elsie's protection talisman around my neck.

"She went to investigate the rest of the house." He says calmly, in contrast to my panicked state.

I rush outside of the confined room to find the pale moonlight from before replaced with the harsh deep red I saw in my vision. I rush to the window to confirm what I'm seeing, finding the moon to be an unnatural red.

I turn my head to the noise of an engine of a car turning on from the garage. "Wednesday what's going on?" I hear Tyler frantically follow me.

"Y/n's in danger." I state flatly, trying to control my emotions.

I run outside, slamming the door open, to find the blue car that hit the mayor screeching past the gate of the mansion.

My eyes are stuck on the silhouette of the car as it makes more distance.

Tyler runs past me to his car, stopping in front of the driver seat. "Are we following them or not?"

His voice brings me out of my daze, running to go into the passenger seat. The sound of Tyler's engine fills the car as he twists the ignition.

His wheels kick up dirt as Tyler presses on the gas. After the car stabilizes, we quickly catch up to the blue car.

Fear and worry find shelter in my eyes as I stare at the car in front of us, reflecting the ominous light drawn from the blood moon.

Part 11.

Past Lives Masterlist

a/n: hoho things are happening. one of the moments in this part is heavily inspired off of Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood. Idk if it's just me, but my writing feels kinda off in this part? I can't place it, so sorry if the writing is weird.

taglist

@oishiiiz @jessiemariano21494

[flicklikesstuff]

How about rambling about your top favorite Epithet characters?

Uh oh, I’m afraid you’ve unleashed a great beast my poor, poor Anon….. But if you insist :)

Introducing My Top 5 Favs:

AND full doodle page ;)

(⚠️HUGE EE Spoilers below⚠️)

1. Rick Shades

UGHHHHHHHHH. LOVE this man 💖💖 A pathetic and pitiful wizard dude with one of the coolest epithets! My favourite bit of him is that he’s introduced as some creepy weirdo who sounds like he’d backstab you BUT turns out to be a really fcked up guy with no social skills and genuinely really does want friends. I LOVE it when stories twist expectations for a character and Epithet Erased just keeps doing it a lot.

While Rick is mostly silly and used as comedy relief through POP really, his tragic backstory adds in so much depth and the narration treats the horrors he went through with respect. Chapter 8 has repeatedly dug my grave each time I listen to it. I’m going insane with any Rick/Toidei thoughts. There’s so much I could say about how his traumatic childhood affected him so much and how it shows through his mannerisms and behaviour that we’d be here all day. (Oh wait- I’ve already indulged into his character in like 4 posts.)

Anyways, in general, I would offer my soul to the scary magic man and treat him to a nice day at the beach.

2. Dr. Sylvester Ashling

Sylvie was the reason I got into Epithet Erased in the first place 😂. My favourite thing about him is his DESIGN and POWERS. The swirls and cloud/sheep motif looks sick and his epithet showcase in the museum arc is beyond awesome. Like omfg, it’s just so genuinely amazing to look at.

He seems fun to bully, especially with that pretentious grown-up attitude he puts up. But underneath that, Sylvie’s character is just depressing to the point where it’s intriguing for me. The choice they made to quickly grow up and skip childhood? I wonder what made them decide to do that. Despite what he says, Sylvie really just wants someone to talk to and he really does care for people. He’s just scared to loosen up and become vulnerable in front of anyone.

Sylvie wanting friends but having trust issues and not knowing how to make some? Honestly, what a mood-

I got too insanely happy hearing his short little cameo in POP, even though they weren’t around for too long. He was in there waiting and looking for his only friend awwwwww.

3. Molly Blyndeff

Molly my CHILD 🥺🥺!! Her bear motif is adorable and her character arc within the museum is so wholesome and satisfying to watch. Reading POP just cemented her as my top 3rd fav because her inner dialogue and way of thinking hit way too close to home for me. I was so close to tears many times throughout and I just LOVE her.

Molly just overall learning to stand up for herself and making it very clear she’s no longer taking any sh*t? She’s the character I wished my younger self got to know earlier because it’s what she would’ve needed at the time.

4. Giovanni Potage

Is it much of a surprise he’s in my top 5? Why wouldn’t I like this total sweetheart who would lift the earth for his minions? I adore how he has like one of the lamest-sounding epithets but his insane level of creativity makes up for it completely. I also really found his unique view on bad guys really interesting. The stark contrast between being evil but also absolutely wholesome makes for a great character I love seeing interact with everyone!

Hoping he gets some sort of character arc though. So far, he’s still the same Gio we know from the beginning and it would be very interesting to see him go through a struggle or make tough decisions.

5. Ramsey Murdoch

Haha funny ratman. As I’ve mentioned before, my expectations for him were twisted and I LOVED it. My fav character in the Redwood Run Arc because poor dude isn’t allowed to catch a break. Even outside the show within the streams, he gets absolutely bullied by the plot. This is entirely what he gets for being 1 of 2 people (the other is Molly) that have the braincell to question the bizarreness of….well, everything.

Ramsey is an impressively intelligent character who just has the hilarious misfortune of having things almost never go his way. He’s entirely the reason he and Percy manage to survive Zora and he STILL gets screwed over by getting arrested. Anyways, yes. I love his dynamic with Percy being a subversion of the typical buddy cop trope. Looking forward to having more of him in the next book: Sweet Escape :33

…………..

If you haven’t noticed already, this ask led me to go through multiple trials of tests to see which brushes and colouring process I prefer digitally.

Rick’s was my first attempt and it’s just… terribly basic really. I wasn’t used to Procreate at that point 😅.

Sylvie’s was next and after watching basic tutorial videos, I turn to really like the colouring style I did for them. Wasn’t fond of the rough outline though.

Gio’s was the exact opposite of what I’ve done with Sylvie. While I liked how it popped out in a comic-style kind of way, I wasn’t a fan of the solid shading.

For Ramsey’s, I was a lot closer to finding out my preferences. I pretty much just combined what I liked from Sylvie and Gio’s drawings. Softer shading and a smoother, thicker outline.

Molly’s was my last attempt and one I’m heavily satisfied with! :D It’s the same as Ramsey’s, but I added a lot more detail to the eyes, coloured in some outlines and even added an overlay!

The whole trial and error process was so much fun and very much worth it too! X3 💖💖

[rainystarters]

๋࣭ ⭑𓆩✧𓆪🗡ྀ࿔ 〖 stories and songs . . . 〗 a collection of sentence starters inspired by various codex entries from the dragon age rpg series. some prompts usfw. adjust details as necessary.

the wind that stirs their shallow graves carries their song.

heed our words, hear our cry.

oh, fair damsel of the garden!

surely your work is far too vital to be interrupted by one like me.

i was a fool to pluck that flower.

you are not a man known for your honor.

you allowed me to live once, and so now i do the same for you.

i am humbled by your words.

but some things cannot be repent.

there is something in here with us.

death is certain, either way.

you have been my rock and my shield.

strike true, do not waver. and let not your prey suffer.

as the sapling bends, so must you.

you are lost, and soon you will fade.

go forth and claim the empty throne of heaven.

you have brought doom upon the world.

magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.

they shall find no rest in this world or beyond.

there is but one truth.

all things in this world are finite.

each night in dreams you may always remember me.

the light shall lead you safely.

i am but your faithful servant.

if blood must be shed and used, so be it.

step away from this folly, before it consumes us all.

i long to dance with you beneath the moonlight.

do not despair. for it is not you, it is of me.

my most heartfelt apologies for the ripped bodice.

such depravity i have never been forced to suffer!

let them hunt, and dread finding me.

truth will hold you for that is what truth does.

i shouldn't have doubted your resolve.

please accept my humble apologies.

in truth, it is i who has been most vulnerable.

the seals are already weakening.

it must be protected at all costs.

of unknown metal and magic keen, a finer blade there's never been.

any army is only as good as its equipment.

blessed by the vine in spring, i shall not fear the winter's sting.

only fools ignore the history of the ground they walk and the people they meet.

i could use an extra pair of eyes to keep watch at night.

i hope they found peace.

blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.

in blood, my will is written.

we are forever in your graces.

the oath you have taken is all but broken.

can you be forgiven when the cold grave has come?

once we raised up our chalice in victory.

why change the past when you can own this day?

the wolves are our allies.

always keep an eye out for the noble owl.

nothing burns like the first cup.

gallows master, hold they hand. hold it back awhile.

look away, look into the sun.

you know we all are dying.

alas, i cannot stay.

we'll beat down the bastard, and then we'll get plastered!

what of the old secrets the burn in our hearts?

now we pray for a dawn that will never arrive.

but it is our blood he seeks.

you will realize the smiles are false, and behind them lies revenge.

for all your fancy intrigue, you have spent your life creating nothing of worth.

it moves on without you, uncaring.

who could bear the weight of a people destroyed by his hand?

what was your vision of our purpose?

so buy the lads a round.

i'm ashore for the night and seeking company.

i'd still rather die.

why be what i am when i can be more?

have you threatened to cut out anyone's tongue today?

for have i not grown in skill and measure?

binding a demon of higher power is dangerous...

let it be my choice to have served and died.

i'm not staying to watch you die like a fool.

the undead you have been fighting are people i killed with my own hands.

here is my soul, trapped in a cage of bone.

turn around, face the shadows. don't blink.

just going to lie here for a while.

chopping off their heads should do the trick.

i am empty, filled with nothing.

arrogance becomes our end.

i'm here to die. but i won't go quietly.

i don't want to die like this.

cry for the past; only there does glory dwell.

so the forest grows, a reflection of our might.

mourn the past and all that was left there.

mastery of the self is mastery of the world.

suffering is choice and we can refuse it.

pride disguises itself in its surety.

[stars-in-a-jam-jar]

Moar Buddy Dawn Shit in relation to this post

Buddy was dead for about 10 to 15-maybe-20 minutes. Kristen and Gorgug at the top of Freshman Year were only dead about 3 to 5 minutes and they still got some form of time in the afterlife, (side note: Gorgug not knowing what Orc Heaven looks like and being Deeply Fucking Terrified and shellshocked by the entire experience is So Juicy To Me, like. Something that should by all rights be familiar to him being foreign. Of deep spiritual significance, but not in the way it was 'supposed to be'; he didn't even know how it was 'supposed to be' at the time or after he learned it, he's still not really sure if it was ever a 'supposed to'.) so I'm quite sure Buddy experienced Something beyond the grave and chose to leave it for this nameless aspect of Ankarna. The version of her which exists as a result of her complete death and incomplete resurrection/preservation.

In that 10 to 15 minutes, Buddy passed into the place he was going. Perhaps some cornfield out on the edge of Helio's domain where Helio figured 'I'll get to him or he'll find me sometime, there's literally infinite time here'. Perhaps as a petitioner on the Astral Sea- wait, no, I'm thinking about Rolling With Difficulty cosmology, the Astral Realm is not a sea in Fantasy High. (also go listen to Rolling With Difficulty) Regardless of if he went to the afterlife the adults all told him he'd go to if he'd been a good boy or to some more limbo-like place, he had just enough minutes for the reality to sink in that he's Dead. He's dead and the feeling of a hand gripping his shoulder as if to hoist his assailant high enough to slit his throat presses like a cold weight on his skin. As if this body has skin, no, he's just a solid soul given form in this place.

So jarring. Resting dead in some corner of the cosmos like finding the one empty room at a big loud party where you've mostly been taking things in, sticking close to people you know, not doing anything you're not supposed to. Sitting down on the unfamiliar furniture or swaying idly in place as you listen to the murmur of this foreign world around you. Only it's not like that, not truly at all. You're not at the party anymore, the echoes of your life aren't some thing you're taking a break from to rejoin or building up the nerve to excuse yourself from to get a proper change of scene. There is no going back or moving forward.

He's dead. Buddy Dawn is dead.

How many minutes did it take him to lose composure? Did he even? When the ultimatum was posed to him, did he harden his heart to any regrets about abandoning his original faith, or did he relax into knowing he could live again, in service of something that reached for him and he reached back towards?

Why was he so chipper saying 'Dang, y'all, I worship a nameless god of rage.'? He didn't sound horrified by his decision in much the same way he didn't sound in touch with reality when he said 'Sometimes I raise my hand and magic that burns folks to a crisp comes out, but that's just the lord Helio working through me.' His death didn't change him so much as it fixed his gaze onto something new.

He is still a Cleric. Through and through. His soul needs a divinity to latch onto. And this is the first time he has latched onto a divinity wholly and completely for himself. He was not taught how to live for himself. He was taught how to live and die for a cause. For Helio. He earns a nice afterlife via sacrificing his autonomy to whatever the church tells him is good and right.

But he doesn't want a nice afterlife.

He wants another life.

And he no longer has faith that Helio will deliver him from any hardship, because even after he's just barely grasped how dead he is and has been for the past 11 minutes, his soul is wrent into an ultimatum by a different power. Go back to his body and continue living under a new banner, or be trapped in a dark, solitary purgatory which his soul may never be free from.

It's an easy decision, really. Barely requires any thought, only following a feeling. He no longer wants to stand by the god who allowed him to die so unceremoniously and so unfairly. He honestly feels more betrayed by Helio than he does by Kipperlily. Kipperlily hardly made any promises to him, just asked for him to be the party's cleric. He never expected her to do that, sure, but... His whole life he was promised that every bad emotion he ever felt in response to every wrongness in his life would (should, must, has to) simply evaporate away in the golden light of the corn god. And it's been an eternal 12 minutes, but he only feels worse and worse.

And if all Helio could promise him was a flat expanse of farmland overseen by someone who didn't even properly greet him when he walked in (if the celestial bureaucracy were even doing their jobs and funneled the soul of Helio's cleric to Helio instead of some cosmic waiting room or other), but this nameless deity can promise him a life for himself? Then by god he's taking that ultimatum, come back to life, sit up with a slightly surprised little smile and announce to the world (as he has been taught is right to do when you are devoted to a god) 'I worship a nameless god of rage!'

And he'll be happy with this choice-that-is-not-a-choice which he was betrayed and coerced into. Because it truly feels self indulgent to choose anything. To choose ragefully living for himself instead of obediently dying for an unfulfilling promise. He'll choose the intensity and the darkness because the gentle constant pressure cooker of walking in the light gave him nothing but sunburns and a slit throat.

[danikamariewrites]

more dark batboys x dark reader pls i’d literally give you my first born for more, maybe they sit together and do a debrief of all mysteries in velaris. like the boys have been trying to solve this one criminal that kidnaps primarily men sith bad reputation and reader joyfully says oh that’s me!! :)) and their jaw drop nv they’ve been investigating for over 20 years and now they’re in awe and want to know exactly how her brilliant mind did it🧎‍♀️

Cold Cases

Poly!batboys x reader

A/n: I think this has been one of my favorite ‘series’ to write for besides the ddlg stuff

Warnings: mentions of injuries, murder, torture, and mentions of abuse

Azriel had laid out all his unsolved cases from the past decade. All missing males or murdered. He stood, his hands behind his back, as he waited for you, Cassian, and Rhysand to come in.

Rhys pushes the door open giving Azriel a questioning look. He just nods at the table and Rhys just lets out an ‘Ahh’ before taking his seat. You have your arm entwined with Cassian’s as he leads you to your seat.

You plop down kissing Cassian’s hand in thanks and turn your attention to Azriel. “What’s all this Az?” You gesture at the files across the table. Azriel sits, pulling the closest one to him flipping it open. “These are all unsolved cases. All males either missing or murdered, so I wanted to go through them with you to see if you knew anything.”

“Ooohhhh a stroll down memory lane. Ok read ‘em.” You say excitedly. A deranged twinkle in your eye as Azriel reads out some of your greatest crimes. The first three cases were duds. You were almost offended he thought you did it.

Once Azriel read out the fourth case that devilish smirk that told them you knew something they didn’t spread across your lips. You let Azriel finish before you said anything. “Yeah that was me. He’s dead, I buried him in the Dark Forest. The asshole was beating his wife, so I stopped it.”

Cassian gave your shoulder a supportive squeeze as Azriel moved the file to his ‘solved’ pile. The next few were also you. Majority dead, all in different and very creative ways, as Rhys put it. This went on for two hours and over seventy percent of Azriel’s unsolved cases were you.

The last case was an interesting one. The male was missing and still alive. You wouldn’t say what he did, it was far too vile to repeat. The female that was his victim didn’t live in the long run. “I-I wanted him to live with the pain he caused her.” You seemed to be struggling to get your words out.

The boys knew this was clearly personal. But they wouldn’t push. You’d tell them the story on your own time. “I psychologically tortured him for years. His friends and family thought he’d gone crazy, magic really helped there. Once I got my hands on him I kept him tied up for days. I broke his mind to the point where he didn’t even know who he was.” You let out a shaky breath, laying your sweaty palms on the cool wood table.

“A few days after that I dropped him in a random Winter Court village. Gave him a whole new identity and a face fucked up beyond recognition. He’s confused, alone, and scared. And he will be for the rest of his life.” Your eyes had gone distant, like you were in that Winter village watching the male. A grave look had taken over your usual chipper demeanor.

Shaking your head a little, you snap back into yourself. That smirk coming back along with the glint in your eyes. “That all of them Azzy?” “Yeah,” he nods. “I’m very impressed darling. And not a single person suspected you.”

You shrugged, standing from your seat. “What can I say? It’s a talent.” As you left the room the boys shared a look that said they were impressed yet terrified of where you draw the line.

[virginiathegray]

the lovers and death for the rook asks!

AH! Tysm for the ask :) The Lovers: Who is your Rook's most significant relationship within the Veilguard? How do they help Rook feel seen and understood?

My (most recent) Rook is a spirit of Change who discovered an abandoned elven baby in the lower levels of the Necropolis and somewhat accidentally took on its form (Cole you will always be famous). She doesn't remember ever being a spirit, but she has still always had a connection to the Fade and spirits despite having no inherent magic.

That said, she is closest to Emmrich. His wonder and love for the Fade is something she echoes, and his compassion for spirits + eagerness to test the limits on what a spirit can be in this world feels healing for her in a way she can't quite describe.

She does also feel close with Manfred, Spite, and Solas, for opposite reasons. Spite and Manfred feel familiar to her somehow, and she's compelled to guide them through his new world, though she has no idea why she's qualified to do so. Solas on the other hand, is so very old, and a part of her (the part that was once a spirit of Disruption who died and fractured during the fight against the Evanuris) still respects him and looks to him for guidance even when she knows she can't fully trust him.

Death: What part of Rook do they need to kill to become the best version of themselves?

As Change, evolution was the only goal for my Rook. Letting the past die and forging a new future. Even now, without her memories of being a spirit and having lived for some time in the waking world, she carries that proclivity for change within her in ways that get her in trouble and can make her blind to the benefits of remembering/honoring the past. It's definitely made it tough growing up in the Necropolis, a place where the dead continue to have a say beyond the grave.

Part of her journey in Veilguard is realizing that change has to be purposeful and informed by the lessons of the past, and that sometimes change is as simple as the laying of a single new brick on a foundation built long ago. She has to shed the aspects of change that brew chaos so that she can be an agent of real, lasting change for the benefit of her friends and allies.

thanks so much again for the ask!

from this post

[odditycircus-2002]

Medusa!Reader and Shang Tsung MK 1: Part 5

PREVIOUS

NEXT

Spoilers for Story Mode: Proceed with Caution

The Imperial soldiers aren’t too gentle when they throw you into a cell; luckily, Johnny Cage’s unconscious form broke your fall. You were still blindfolded and tied up, yet you quickly picked up Baraka’s familiar grave voice. He asks what happened as he removes your gag, but you stop him from removing your blindfold by putting a hand over his. You first explain that you lost your mask, so it’s not a good idea for him to remove the blindfold yet. Then you recall what happened upstairs, although Kenshi is the one who reveals it was Mileena being treated for Tarkat. You hiss at Kenshi for disclosing such sensitive information casually. He’s lucky he’s already injured, else you’d give him a good reason to see a healer!

While understandably upset by you withholding the truth, the Tarkatan can’t find it in himself to be mad at you. You were only upholding your vows and doing your duty diligently for the Royal House.

Baraka then asks about your welfare, carefully skimming his hands over your form to check for injuries. You reply that you’re okay before asking Baraka to close his eyes so you can check over him, too. The latter insists it’s some scrapes and bruises, so there's nothing to care for; nonetheless, he complies with your request when you press. After preliminary checking on Baraka, your hands lingering around his face longer than necessary, you look over Kenshi.

However, there wasn’t much you could do for the now blind man since your apothecary bag was confiscated besides using your minimal magic to stop the bleeding. There wasn’t anything else you could do for the others besides wait for them to come to; you were able to turn your attention to the horrors right outside your prison.

You have treated soldiers during your training on the front lines without falter. You have carved open your fair share of cadavers without so much as flinching while digging around in their insides for medical studies. You had even helped dispose of your fair share of cadavers by gathering them to be burned in a pit without issue. Yet what you saw before you trumps all of that and more.

The first thing to hit you was the smell, by the gods' awful smell of death, both new and old. Which mixed with a sickly sweet smell reminiscent of mildew. It was intensified for you since you and your snakes could TASTE it on your tongues. You gagged as it threatened to be the only thing you’ll ever taste again. Then the sounds you’d only ever expect to hear from the Netherealm’s damned souls languishing in eternal torment.

Empty cages hang from the ceiling, with cells lining the walls on your side. You could see arms poking out from between the bars of these cells, desperately trying to scrape for the bloody remains all over the stone floors, which were stained with freshly spilled and hardened blood. From the position of your cell, you could see giant tubes filled with a mysterious green substance and malformed bodies obviously inflected with Tarkat. You felt bile rise in your throat from the dread filling your stomach.

You... you recognize some of the experiments from your mind. All those times you shared your theories and hypotheses with Shang Tsung... Is this all because of what you put into his head??? No! You always, ALWAYS, explicitly expressed how they would be crimes against nature! You did not create such depravity with your hands! Yet, it did nothing to alleviate the guilt already burrowing into your head.

Still, the amount of information that must've been gathered from these- NO! NO! You will not even indulge in such dark thoughts! Shang Tsung has twisted your research beyond recognition of their original intention! This whole lab shouldn't existed! After putting your blindfold back on, you desperately get to work to assist Baraka in breaking out of your prison in more ways than one.

Despite hours of effort, the bars were too thick and deeply embedded in the stone to rip apart. Kenshi eventually speaks again, asking you and Baraka to help take his mind off their current situation. You listen to the ill man retell his life before his disease, about his family and former vocation. Though you have heard it many times before, your heart broke for Baraka when he reiterated how Tarkat took his entire family. Not for the first time, you say that you would've loved to have met Baraka before his misfortune, met his family since they sound so lovely, and seen him happy. You then add how you two would've been good friends even then.

You don't see Baraka's thoughtful expression as both Johnny Cage and Kung Lao begin to regain consciousness. The first quickly remembers Kenshi's condition and rushes to check on his state. You explain to the actor that you did your best, but your apothecary bag was confiscated. Johnny and Kung Lao had understandable reactions when they realized the nightmare they'd woken up in. All your attention then turns to a lone figure entering through a heavy sliding door.

You let out a gasp as you recognize the figure to be none other than Syzoth, Shang Tsung's "assistant." You call out to him, catching the Zaterran's attention. Judging by how his eyes widened and he took a step back, he wasn't expecting you, of all people, to be down here.

The Zaterran avoids looking in your direction out of guilt; even if it was safe to make eye contact, he wouldn't be able to look you in the eye. He then turns his attention to the now blind Kenshi crouched on the stone floor and inquires about his condition. Syzoth then digs around in your apothecary bag next to your cell to pull out a jar of cream you made to dull the pain. He then hands the pot to you first, asking if this is correct. After opening it to give it a sniff, you confirmed he was right before handing it over to Johnny. Johnny offers you a pair of his shades to pay you back, citing you'll need to see. While the latter cared for his friend, you could feel Baraka's questioning gaze.

After commenting on how Syzoth is vile to be a part of Shang's schemes, he questions how you two know each other. You explain that you thought Syzoth was a lab assistant Shang brought along and a friend, the last part you add bitterly. The Zatteran looks at you and the rest in remorse before firmly stating that while you are Shang's prisoners, he is his slave. Your eyes widen behind your new sunglasses as Syzoth explains that the Sorcerer has his family hostage. While he's genuinely sorry for what Shang did to you and everything he was forced to do, he must obey Shang to keep his family alive. You felt conflicted in your sudden urge to strangle Syzoth and your sympathy for his plight. It does dawn on you that having his family hostage explains Syzoth's behavior around Shang Tsung. You weren't surprised to learn that Shang learned shapeshifting from Syzoth, as the latter has demonstrated the ability to you before.

However, you did try to warn Syzoth that, given what you know by now, Shang won't keep his word to him. Baraka assures you that you don't need to show your form if you don't feel comfortable, but you insist otherwise. That's when you removed your hood and cloak from your form to reveal the true extent of what Shang Tsung has done to you, reminding him of the day your life changed forever. The Zaterran barely swallowed his gasp in horror at the sight before him. Your entire body was covered in scales; you had a nest of living and slithering snakes atop your head; your teeth were sharpened points; you had some small spikes on your shoulders and on your forearm; you also had two bat-like wings reminiscent of a Vaternian's, flare from your back.

Shang teleports in front of you not long after revealing your new body. He glances in your direction briefly, taking in your changes with a look of interest. Baraka growls at the Sorcerer before moving in front of you as you put your hooded cloak back on. Shang scowls at the Tarkatan before happily informing the rest of your fellow prisoners of the gruesome fate that awaits them. He directly addresses you after boasting about how he can't be apprehended so easily.

"I truly did want to spare you of your fate, my sweet. Rest assured, my benefactor has told me you are still needed alive for her goals. I will be back soon, dear Y/N."

"... I hope the Netherrealm claims your soul."

After instructing Syzoth to "take care" of you, he teleports away, leaving the rest to their doom. After you and Baraka implore Syzoth that he doesn't have to obey Shang, the Zaterran glances toward you before restating that it's either you or his wife and son. When he raises your cell's gate and a cell containing dozens of Tarkatan abominations, all of you fight back. You finally put your petrifying gaze to use in combat, stopping three combinations in mid-pounce before they could pile on top of Baraka. Kung Lao watches in a mixture of horror and amazement when the three stone hybrids shatter to the ground.

After Baraka defeated some of the larger hybrids, you and Kung Lao assisted him in freeing the others who were put in electrified cells, much to Syzoth's dismay, who knew that Shang Tsung would torture his family to punish him. Before Baraka shifts his stance to fight the Zaterran, you tell him not to blame him for Shang's evil doings. Baraka acquises by not killing Syzoth, informing him that he would've done the same if he were in the Zaterran's shoes.

You go to help up your scaley friend right when Shang reappears. The Sorcerer scowled, displeased at seeing his prisoners free and his experiments killed. You and the rest stood ready to fight as Shang berated Syzoth for ruining his plans for vivisection. Seeing he's surrounded, Shang then uses his magic to release what you instantly recognize as poisonous gas. After revealing that he's killed Syzoth's family long before, Shang teleports away before the enraged reptiloid can grab him.

However, the Sorcerer quickly appears behind you, forcing your mask on your face before you bite him. However, one of your head's snakes managed to nick him on the finger. The last thing you hear before teleporting away is Baraka screaming your name.

[aviiarie]

GHOST STORIES — event masterlist.

there's a chill in the air, and the sweet smell of candy filling your senses. the night is lit up by candles, casting shadows across the room. can you feel your heart racing? can you feel your hairs stand on end? that's the halloween spirit!

still not scared yet? you will be soon! below are all of our spooky stories that are lined up, ready to be told over the days leading up to halloween.

“ready for a scare? well, here's the stories that we'll be telling tonight...”

note: completed fics will be linked below when they are posted. entries will be posted from the 22nd of october until the 31st!

DAY ONE: TRICK OR TREAT — feat. inosuke you take him out to go trick or treating! dressed to the nines in matching costumes, it's a night to remember, for sure.

DAY TWO: THAT'S THE SPIRIT! — feat. tengen (+ wives) they might be gone from this world, but they'll never leave your heart. or your side. or you alone. they loved you in life, and now they have a whole afterlife to spend haunting you.

DAY THREE: SCAREDY CAT — feat. heizou it seemed like the perfect way to spend the spooky season: watching old horror movies together and laughing at how hilariously not scary they were. but this one is much more... chilling than you were expecting.

DAY FOUR: BUTTON EYES — feat. lyney (coraline au!) despite appearing picture-perfect, there's something sinister about this other world... you know you have to escape, before you're trapped forever.

DAY FIVE: IN PLAIN SIGHT — feat. kazuha you know for a fact that your new next-door neighbour is a supernatural creature of some kind, and you're determined to prove it.

DAY SIX: HAUNTED HOUSE — feat. lyney your new house is a bit strange. doors keep slamming, there's whispering in your ears, and you have the distinct feeling you're unwelcome here.

DAY SEVEN: UNLIKELY COMPANION — feat. kyojuro you're certain that the creature that keeps visiting you is something completely inhuman, but you don't mind. he seems quite fond of you, and always tries his best to look after you, so who are you to complain?

DAY EIGHT: HOCUS POCUS — feat. shinobu you found out the hard way that the 'witch' that lived at the end of your street was telling the truth about her magic, after you knocked over a potion in her house and accidentally cast a spell on yourself.

DAY NINE: TIL DEATH DO WE PART — feat. kaveh (corpse bride au!) you were practicing your wedding vows near a grave, and accidentally brought a corpse back to life. trouble is, he now thinks you two are married.

DAY TEN: HAPPY HALLOWEEN — feat. kagaya you go to a halloween party along with some friends, but in between games and snacks, you notice some... strange things about this party, and its host.

“hehe, you didn't get too frightened, did you? either way, i hope you enjoyed youself, and happy halloween!”

if anyone wants to be tagged in the event or any specific fic, i would be more than happy to! but thank you for everyone who's shown their love for this event already, i'm beyond excited for this <33

© aviiarie 2024. do not copy, repost, translate or use my work to train ai.

[yulesmistress]

My first story I’m finally publishing, hope you lot enjoy it lolz.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warning: This is SMUT.

Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/369395515?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details&wp_uname=yulesmistress

There I sat..in a studio, with the bass guitar that had lingered and taunted my dreams since I was a young lassie. God, it was beyond ethereal...the way the polished wooden neck felt upon my honored left hand, the girthy twang of the strings ringing as my rough fingers plucked and strummed them. Now before this, I would've thought,

"Shit, this is THE dream, my dream...it couldn't possibly get any better than this."

I can't even begin to fathom that fucking stupendous thought.

Why, you might ask..?

A sweet, sing-songy voice suddenly strokes my eardrums, contrasting with the low, gravely sound of my bass. Mmm, how could I possibly ignore this painfully familiar voice, the voice in subject that I had studied for many, many hours. The person to which the voice belonged to I had also, madly, studied. His low eyelids slowly unveiled his tantalizing globes, just like how the sun peeks over a horizon, as his eyes greet mine in his usual stern manner.

Geeeeooorrggee Harrison.

He crept me a shy smile, appreciating me only from the corner of his eye before continuing to rehearse Old Brown Shoe with the lads. I bit my lip, hoping to sustain the violent quivering that activated as soon as his gaze shone on me.

I still cannot believe I am in a studio...with the Beatles...playing with George Harrison and the bassman himself Paul McCartney. I questioned my worth as I sat so feebly in that room full of musical geniuses. I wasn't sure how to contain myself—how to manner myself. But, obviously, I had no other choice but to conceal these brash admiral feelings...as they all felt I was a pretty impressive artist. After all, they had invited me to jam with them, and I wasn't going to fuck it up by revealing the fact I was somewhat of a fangirl. I couldn't.

bannerrrrr

After a few eventful hours of mindlessly jamming and productive writing, lunchtime came around. With Paul, John, and Richie's temporary absence, George and I were abandoned in the studio with only the suffocating tension of one another. I resumed on my bass quietly, slouched on an uncomfortable chair as I faced the ceiling. However, the subtle sound of George stumbling over some thick wires had deflated the dome I was in.

"Fucking hell.", he cussed sharply under his breath.

My slightly tired eyes shifted to the cigarette that was once in his mouth, noticing it was now lying on the ground. He was still venting the smoke through his lips from the previous puff he had taken, which I had found oddly attractive.

"Tragic."

I shot him a fake-sympathy frown, which earned a low chuckle from him.

"You don't 'appen to have a Marlboro on you, do you, Madame?"

George's words interrogated me slowly and smoothly, his thick accent tickling the tip of my tongue as I pulled out the precious pack of cigarettes I luckily had. A wide grin magically appeared on his cheeky face, causing me to chortle at his reaction as his hand began to eagerly reach for a ciggie.

"Ah-uh."

I cooed, averting the pack of cigarettes from his grasp as I swayed them tauntingly in his face. George shot me a befuddled look, his propped up eyebrow leaving that hint of playfulness in his expression that his face so beautifully displayed.

"My, where are your manners Mr. Harrison..?"

I noticed a cherry hue that enriched his cheeks as I teased him. Did he enjoy this?

"Oh, my sincerest apologies, me gracious queen.", he sarcastically remarked.

With a swift movement of his long fingers, he managed to snatch a ciggie and prop it in between his glistening lips, then without warning, approached my face daringly close to slowly ignite his cigarette with my own. My eyes shifted down at the touching tips of our cigarettes...steadily watching as a familiar ember glow emerged from the toxic paper. George then clasped the smoke with two of his slender digits once it was properly lit, and exhaled a cloud of toxicity right in my face. I noticed his bashed expression and prominent features through the sheet of smoke that was now flowing between both of our faces.

Why was that hot? I panicked internally.

This was only one of the subtle, steamy moments I had encountered with George.I had noticed it, and I knew I wasn't going fucking crazy.

He had to be into me.

The shameless flirting that painfully teased me, oddly leaving me wanting more. The sheepish glares he would sneak my way from across the studio, followed by the rather riskier glares that would trail from my operating fingers...up to my lips...down to my tempting cleavage which—of course—I had left there on purpose. The way he'd somehow always seemed to find an opportunity to interact with me in any way. The stone ball of tension that would clump up in my chest everytime his presence neared me. His peculiar shyness and tint in his cheeks when I would catch him staring particularly hard. His admiration of my musical abilities that he was never afraid to express; How my skills were a sort that he has "never seen before and should be more recognized." George saw me...saw me as a woman with "crazy good taste", with personality, not as the stereotypical 60's birdie who would try her hardest to be the perfect girl for her man. Who would make sure to shut up and stay to the side, only arising when a man needed her for sex, children, food, marriage, comfort...for anything he wished for. Because that was all women could be according to society. However I refused to stay within these ridiculous boundaries society had set up for me, and actually be a woman who was aware of her own wants and feelings in life, and wasn't afraid to express these things in any way she pleased.

I mean shit, it wasn't illegal was it?

George saw a true character in me, and so I did him. Although he had usually been the discarded one during band sessions, his lack of brashness only melted me into him even more. I knew he was a genius. After all, the ones with the finest ideas are forced to keep quiet, so the egotistical ones can propose as they please. George had this perplexing detail about him...about his aura...about those eyes that had grabbed me by my heart and reeled me in shamelessly. I wanted to know all of him—not just what the papers had claimed.

Shifting back to the present moment from my short tunnel of thought, I quickly noticed the blinding gray haze had already slipped away, leaving George's gradually red face and mine only mere inches away. My eyes widened for a split second and an alarmed cough heaved from the edge of my throat, as I attempted a fake smile.

He definitely noticed.

And it definitely turned me on.

"Hey-uhm..I was actually working on some stuff last night for..."

I didn't finish my sentence, for the reason that when I stood up and positioned my hands to prepare to strum a new bassline, George had halted my fingers with his own, turning my beloved bass in a different direction.

My heart did not jump.

No—it damn near performed backflips at his sudden taking of action. I swallowed quietly as that overwhelming feeling overcame me; y'know, that suffocating warmth where you're sweating but you're not really sweating..? He had noticed my use of gimmicks to attempt to change the subject, but he didn't want to change the subject. Nor did I, at least not anymore after weeks of this anticipation-filled taunting of ours. I shifted my attention up to his eyes and they were already fixated on me, just as I expected them to be as I felt his gaze sifting through the tender grooves of my ego when I was looking down at my instrument earlier. He sent me a look that I can only decipher as need.

"Y/n"-

His yet to be gathered words are quickly cut off before he can even finish my first name. That look was all George needed to do to send me over the edge. I dropped my bass (which pained me to a great extent, but at that moment I couldn't care less) in order to grasp his face with both hands and pull his lips to mine in a heated kiss. I felt his body jerk the slightest bit, in reaction to the sudden feeling of my lips daringly welcoming his. Both of George's eyebrows shot up, eyelashes fluttering shut as he proceeded to kiss me back in a slow, painfully sweet manner.

I am literally kissing George Harrison right now.

It was incredulous. The sentiment of his lips were incredulous. With each rhythmic pucker in which his mouth morphed into mine, a fluid saccharine dispersed through my veins. After 5 incredibly steady seconds, our lips parted with only the sound of a wet smack followed by synchronized panting. I inhale shakily, parting my swollen lips in awe as I peer up at his flustered face. Something was suddenly...different about George's demeanor. From his taunting frame displayed an aura that was 10 times more powerful than it was five seconds ago, that had me questioning whether I should be scared—or excited—or both.

"George..."

My words trailed off into a cry as George longingly pressed my figure against his, demolishing any space between us that could interfere with the intertwining of our rutty bodies. With one of his hands applying pressure to my lower back forcing my crotch to bump against his, and the other holding the back of my neck to ensure I was strictly only inhaling the air that left his mouth which still had a smoggy hint to it, he kissed me once again deeper than before.

We were in a rut, like caged fucking animals who haven't been able to interact for years. The slow, sentimental kissing we had partaken in just seconds ago had quickly turned into a hot, sloppy make-out, as several chairs, guitars, and drinks had been repeatedly knocked over consequently from our passionate fondling. Oh, how passionate it was. The harmonic "huffs" and "puffs" reverberated off the studio walls, blending with the sound of George's groans, which I earned from from occasionally tugging at his silky brown locks I cherished so much. He had then slipped his eager tongue past my inviting lips, as it explored every empty space inside of my mouth and occasionally swiveled its wetness around mine. After traversing around the room in a lustful tango for what seemed like forever, I eventually felt a cold collision between my back and the wall behind me.

"Shit, Harri...", I wept to his right ear, the grip I had on his shirt growing even tighter from the shifting levels of our hot clothed sex down below. Our bodies were inseparable at that point, being so close that I could sense the heat that radiated from George. Suddenly I felt the corners of his moist lips expand into a smile against mine.

"What 'appened to 'Mr. Harrison?'"

The pitch of his voice steeped lower than usual, however he still had that undertone of mockery that rang through my ears and shot signals down to my aroused areas. Huffing a light chuckle through his nose, he urged to continue his hand's exploration of my vulnerable body...however I had interrupted his hungry gestures.

"You're gonna have to prove yourself for such a title...", I whispered as I took both of his veiny hands within my grasp and started to slither them down over my chest, then eventually to my stomach...then lastly I guided him to where it ached for his infectious contact the most. When I shifted my attention back to his face, his peering velvet pools indicated he had took me on to this "challenge".

George had surely understood the assignment.

We both heaved out a sigh as his yearning fingers started to slide under the waistline of my jeans, and very slowlyyyy dipped into my sopping panties. I bit my lip as my eyebrows caved in, anticipating the electric touch of his fingertips. He tapped the slick residue from my aching heat, almost as if he was testing the waters, jaw clenched tight from the wet abundance that coated his fingers. I could tell it was turning him on like crazy. While humming blissfully through pursed lips, George gently pushed his independent digit inside of me making sure to curve it at that perfect angle which ever so slightly hit my sweet spot, before drawing his drenched finger back out. A whine escapes my mouth at the emptiness of my needy muff.

"Fuck, I can't", he exhales while looking at my squeamish body.

"What do you mean"-

"I can't wait any longer, I want to taste you."

Leaving a beam of excitement shooting through my core, he lifted me up with both hands supporting my ass, and lied me on the piano. As the shock of the cold surface raised my restricted nipples almost immediately, George skimmed his hands down my body, then slid down my pants so only my lacy underwear remained.  The corner of his lips formed a coy smile when he noticed the decently sized dark spot that lingered on the fabric of my crotch. Then as he licked his lips once more, he pulled my panties aside with a singular finger, exposing my—

"Pretty cunt", he buzzed while he admired the not-so-still picture that was now displayed for him. His word choice seemed brash, but the way it slurred of his tongue was so gentle...in a way that made him seem strangely humble.

He's unreal, I thought as a wave of shyness came over my body in reaction to the sight of him observing my sacred parts, urging me to quickly close my legs. However before the skin of my thighs could smack together, George pulled them back apart, revealing his cheeky smile.

"Ah-uh."

A tingling pink hue scattered through my face when I realized that he was mocking me from our little Marlboro situation. The sass of that man.

George didn't waste a second re-entering his finger into my seeping twat, following that slow, steady rhythm he had performed just seconds ago. He knew exactly where to hit. Every dip and protrusion of his experienced feeler that rubbed against my sensitive walls shot pulsing signals through my body— and catapulted me into a fucking orbit. My stomach caved in as I tensely watched his finger disappear in and out of my pussy, each time coming out shinier than before. My front teeth sank into my bottom lip in attempt to hide restrained whimpers that escaped my mouth...until he snuck in a second finger (it wasn't sneaky at all) with a wet kiss to my clit. Unable to bear the dilated size and girth of his two fingers alone pumping into me so sweetly, my head flew back and I started let every gasp and moan he triggered spill shamelessly from my lips. I couldn't tell if he wanted me to beg for mercy...or serve me by satisfying any desires and fantasies that I wished. George was so alluring...so complex. I loved it.

"Yes...thats it, love, don't hold back. Am I makin' you feel good?"

He knew what he was doing. He was fully aware of the dramatic effects he had on my body, but he just wanted to partake in toying with me further. George's thick accent that bled through his vocabulary only turned me on so much more with each syllable rattling my core—making it so much more harder to choke out words, therefore I only nodded my head obnoxiously to satisfy his question.

"Mm-mm, I need to hear you. Let me hear how good my fingers make you feel. C'mon...", he encouraged as his tall frame draped over mine; long strands of chocolate hair gracefully tickling my hot cheeks. As he serenaded my soul with his words, his fingers were gradually fucking my insides faster and faster, each stroke producing a raunchy squelch that became more and more audible. Torpedos of pleasure repeatedly shot through my body with each time George flawlessly curved against my G-spot, never missing a beat. Finally, I folded my neck to desperately look at his eyes which were keenly observing every facial and bodily reaction that was fingered out of me. His staggering orbs then peered into mine, hassling me to give him that audible closure he yearned for, as his locks shuddered from his jerky movements. I managed to to cry out one more shaky moan before panting out,

"Yes Mr. Harrison, it feels so good. I want you so bad...I want to come all over your fingers. Please."

George plastered an appreciative smile on his face in attempt to mask the fact my pleading and name-calling had drove him fucking feral; the suffocating protrusion in his pants making it evident already. His right hand crept down to the band of my undies, retracting it so it would audibly slap against my skin. His eyes shot up to mine.

"May I?", he questioned as he continued the fiddling of my intimates.

I bobbed my head once and with that, he hooked his fingers under the east and west ends of my panties and sluggishly pulled them down to my ankles, slick rubbing off on my thighs on the way down. George took his time enjoying every twitch and squirm of anticipation that ran through my legs, subconsciously swiping his tongue over his lips several times before I was finally free of any restraints. His attention shifted to the wall clock for a brief second before returning back to the helpless—dressless—woman that was now naked and ready for him.

"Sorry, love. Im going to have to make this quick", he says before flashing a smirk.

Why?, I thought as I turned my head around to try and look at the clock, however my thought was mercilessly pushed away by George's wetness invading my eagerly displayed pearl. My teeth almost immediately captured my bottom lip at the surging pleasure that quickly dispersed through every nerve that claimed my system.

Boy, did he have some magical tongue.

George steadied himself by setting his hands on my jerking hips as his tongue flicked heavy stripes and circles around my clit—every motion erupting huffs, moans, groans, and squeals from my core to the edge of my lips. And with every lewd sound and dirty prompt that shamelessly spewed from my mouth, a groan, hum, or chuckle from him followed...each one a wet vibration to my clit. His encapsulating eyes flicked up second after second to capture every reaction that was sucked so graciously out of me. Every once in a short while my eyes would meet his, and I could tell this man was enjoying every jerk and squirm my body made, every cave and expansion of my stomach, every pant I heaved like a dog in heat, every direction my eyes would turn whenever he hit a particularly sweet spot....he made sure to absorb everything. While my hands were desperately trying to grab something for support, they just so happened to meet George's messy mop, tugging tightly until it urged a groan from his lips—and an addition of two fingers inside of me.

"Oh god..." , I whimpered as the mixed sensations of Georges gentle kisses and licks to my jewel and his skilled digits rhythmically pumping inside my heated walls pushed me closer and closer to the edge. I watched tentatively, noticing how between kisses his gaze would shift constantly between the hot sloppy juices that exited my body and coated his fingers, and the priceless facial expressions that morphed my face...almost like he struggled deciding which view was better.

"Right there..?, he cooed with his mouth hung open, being entranced by the image before him and wanting more of it. I helplessly nodded my head as he continued to course his curious muscle around my clit, pleasantly tossing it around and sucking it occasionally with his pillowy kisser. With a few more bumps his fingers had flawlessly pressed to my G-spot, that all-too familiar sensation started creeping up from the depths of my core like a volcano, as I felt the earth-shattering eruption overwhelm my body.

"George..!", I cried, squeezing his left hand that still rested on my waist—which was now elevated a few inches off the piano—I experienced a high I've never done before. Patches of color and patterns masked my vision in a striking haze as I bared the painfully-sweet orgasm that possessed my body.

Damn, all he did was eat me out.

Once I recovered, I fluttered my eyes open to see George below me—messy hair, flushed cheeks, and...wet clothes? I quickly scanned the area and noticed the piano speckled in a water-like fluid, along with my own clothes.

Oh.

Once I realized what George had evoked out of me, I shot upwards and closed my legs shut, hands flying to my mouth in embarrassment.

"My, where are your manners?", he mocked once again with a stupid smile tweaked in his lips, standing up straight to uncover my bashed face with his hands.

"Don't act so posh now, you devil."

He mumbled something sultry under his musky breath before dipping his head in for another kiss, however before the edges of our lips could meet, a parking vehicle catches our attention from outside the window. Our heads turn simultaneously as our eyes slowly track a familiar figure strut out of the car and closer to the studio building.

It was Ringo.

[boasamishipper]

Hello! You are my go to expert for Night Court and Dan/Harry, so I would like to ask, which episodes would you recommend watching for particularly shippy Dan/Harry moments or storylines? Thank you <3

i am beyond honored to have been bestowed such a title, thank you nonny! <333

there are so many excellent danharry moments and storylines across all nine seasons, but here are my (very painstakingly selected) top five danharry episodes in chronological order:

1. S3E9-10 The Wheels of Justice (Part 1 + 2)

every time i think about this episode i go fully insane charlie kelly standing in front of the pepe silvia conspiracy board style. admittedly the first episode doesn't give us a lot of danharry content beyond harry smiling super fondly at dan while dan screams at bull's tiny tv, but the SECOND episode. jesus CHRIST. dan talking harry out of his slump in that pool hall........'you were good, harry! very good. you were impartial. you were fair. passionate. compassionate. understanding. and i admired you.'............dan hugging harry after harry apologized and said he would come back to court........the way harry and dan looked at each other after harry's line about taking the good with the bad no matter how bad the bad gets...........dan's smile while harry tells mac that dan is the only reason he left the pool hall..........and then. of course. this.

what is their DEAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2. S4E1 The Next Voice You Hear...

'emily,' night court nation says. 'this is not a danharry-centric episode.' you are correct! 'then why is this on your list?' because after harry found out his mother was dead, mac's first instinct was to call dan, and dan dropped whatever he was doing to come and console harry. they're best friends!!!!!!!!! and i cry about it Every Day

3. S4E5-6 Dan's Operation (Part 1+2)

this is THE danharry episode. every other danharry episode go home (except please don't, you're all wonderful). seriously though if someone told me when i first started watching night court that harry would fall asleep on a comatose dan's chest after begging him to wake up (AFTER they had a huge argument earlier in the episode) and dan's first instinct upon waking up is to stroke harry's hair and also Not Move Or Say Anything Because Harry Is Sleeping and THEN they would have ANOTHER argument that ended in both of them saying 'i love you' to each other, i would have died on the spot. and then i watched these episodes and i DID die on the spot. larroquette won his third emmy award for his performance in these eps and it is extremely well deserved.

4. S5E14 I'm OK, You're Catatonic/Schizophrenic

a danharry episode that raises more questions than it answers. what do you mean dan just randomly took a nap on harry's conference table. what do you mean dan kidnapped mel torme for harry. what do you mean dan said re: his kidnapping of mel torme '[harry's] gonna kiss me on the lips for this'. what do you MEAN dan handcuffed mel torme to a chair using 'a trick harry taught him' with 'magic shackles' that HE KNOWS CHAFE and WHAT DO YOU MEAN HARRY DOESN'T EVEN HAVE MAGIC SHACKLES AT ALL. SO WHAT WAS DAN TALKING ABOUT. someday i will get a ouija board so i can talk to reinhold weege from beyond the grave and ask him hey man!!! what was up with this episode!!!!!!!!! and also harry destroying dan's car in retaliation for dan accidentally destroying his mel torme record collection (on top of harry strangling dan upon receiving the news and also screaming I'M GOING TO EAT THAT MAN'S EYEBROWS) is proof that these two match each other's freak like no one else and that's why they should be endgame, thank you and good night.

5. S5E22 + S6E1-2 Danny Got His Gun (Parts 1-3)

1980s sitcoms were operating on a whole other level because if even an iota of this plotline happened to one of my otps on any of my currently airing shows the entire fandom would burst into flames. dan is presumed dead!!! his plane goes down north of hudson bay!!! and harry is the first one to receive the news!!! and the first one to receive further telegrams from the army and also dan's belongings!!! in his will dan left harry his 'heartfelt gratitude'!!! harry had to plan dan's memorial service!!! he had to write dan's eulogy!!! he had to sit there and watch everyone in attendance including the funeral director (barring roz) not be able to say a single nice thing about his best friend!!! then said best friend CRASHES HIS OWN MEMORIAL SERVICE!!! dan is alive!!! he has a beard!!! he smells awful!!! which i will maintain to my last breath is the only thing that prevented harry from kissing the breath out of dan right there in the funeral home!!! they!!! looked!!! at!!! each!!! other!!! like!!! this!!!

LIKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[houseofbrat]

You don't just "sit this one out" if you're the future Queen. A state visit is a must attend for her (and she looks capable of attending) so there are weird shenanigans going on here. I really can't stand all the lies. I so wish the truth would come out from someone, anyone. It's beyond odd that the lid has been kept on this thing so long.

Whoa, she is OUT.

Kate loves getting glam for the cameras and what a great way to reintroduce her to the public after whatever happened to her. It does seem like she’s being punished and seriously she’s been nothing but loyal. She went after Meghan with that same Rottweiler energy Cam showed Diana. That wasn’t worthy of a reward? It just shows we know nothing of these folks. But they’re having a much harder time pretending they’re normal, aren’t they? The magic spell is getting threadbare…

Why should she be there? Why should she get to wear a pretty dress and jewels when she can’t be bothered to do any actual work?

She’s recovered enough to do multiple photoshoots and a video shoot to tell us she’s “not out of the woods” so nobody expects her to show up at a patronage but somehow healthy enough for glam events like Wimbledon or Trooping.

KP leaked that she’s not attending because she wants to focus on her Carol concert 🙄 Or even if this is her being “punished” which is to say held accountable for not wanting to do the boring day job, I see no issue with it.

She looks really unhappy, like on the verge of tears almost. What the hell is going on?

Nothing is worth this and it’s pretty obvious that dealing with him is terrible for her health. She’s good at playing the long game. I don’t know why she doesn’t divorce him, lay low, outlive him to spit on his grave, and have her son take care of her in her old age.

She will always be taken care of, but I am assuming they are holding custody of the kids over her so she can go nowhere.

What do you mean? They're obviously so in love! Every gesture, every glance shows it. You people are just jealous of their eternal bond

/s XD

What a difference a few months make ... thinking back to that stunning smile in the carriage at Trooping the Colour. In June, it was like she had the upper hand. But she should have realised who always had the power - and it's not the one who marries into that family. It is a cursed title from that point of view.

Whatever she's had to agree to, it is too much. No wonder they looked so awkward at the Qatari reception. It was like a divorced couple, trying to be civil. The body language screamed "Get me out of here!"

William's ONLY JOB is to put on a happy face for the public and he can't even be bothered to do that. He's riding in a goddamn carriage for 5 minutes and the effort of seeming OK was too much for him to manage. This is a hair away from being Kate's version of Diana's Taj Mahal photo. They look as miserable as Chuck & Di did their last few outings. The only difference is that Kate can't bolt like Di did

One habit I noticed from Prince Phillip was that he generally walked with his hands clasped behind him. Because he didn't have to worry about carrying anything (he always had staff around to take care of those kinds of tasks), it made him seem more powerful. When William walks with his hands clasped in front of him, he looks like he's uncertain, vulnerable, protecting himself.

The point of royals attending events isn't to just talk to each other! Jeez. They're supposed to mingle. They are part of the fucking host family

I have had warmer conversations with waiters. The Press must be paid a ransom to keep quiet about this, but there again cancer silences all questions from utter lack of work ethic to why can you not bear your wife?

Their behaviour to the King has been vile from moment one and it continues into this cancer charade. I feel they would have rained on any of the king’s parades figuratively and literally. From Coronation to cancer. Odd her illness was announced on the pre planned press release date of the King’s planned prostate surgery. Nothing, including lateness at a coronation happens by accident.

Finally why is she the only person dressed as though she has popped in post church? Her dire coats dresses and that hideous hat, why? If we only get her a few times a year trot her out in high fashion designs from up and coming British designers. Their cos playing middle class people is frankly embarrassing for state funded multi millionaires who don’t pay their tax

Why the hat? It does look silly. No one else is wearing one. Something is going on. It looks like they are about to have a heated argument. She is talking at William and he looks over his shoulder to see if anyone is listening behind them. They both look totally unengaged and disinterested.

I know this is stated over and over again, but for someone with such enormous privilege and without the demands of modern motherhood, she looks like hell.

So basically she's only showing up for fancy dress photo-ops? It's giving half-in, half-out. You know, the same thing her BIL and SIL were prohibited from doing even though they were wanting to be financially independent.

Exactly. It is beyond me how so many people do not see this.

[profoundfics]

Tertiary Opinions I/II

Unorthodox Introductions - II: Lighthouse

Rating: Mature - Canon Typical Violence and Sex

Pairing: Rook Ingellvar x Emmrich Volkarin (Neve Gallus x Lucanis Dellamort | Lace Harding x Taash)

(A03 Chapter Index) | (Tumblr Chapter Index)

-- --

The Eluvian in the middle of the main hall glowed with magic that Emmrich never thought he would live to see. The surface shimmered, and beyond was a land mass with floating masses visible in the distance like cheap fantasy landscapes of The Fade that cold be procured at any market. It was humbling to see the reality.

Rook glanced up at him. ‘This really is something,’ she said. ’Nothing any of us have ever read or dreamt could even begin to prepare us for what is really through there.’ Her hand reached up, touched the glass then passed right through it.

‘Come on,’ Bellara encouraged, and he followed Rook through the mirror.

The air left Emmrich’s lungs, replaced by something lighter that coursed through his veins, renewing his vigour. Around them, four mirrors towered over them, their surfaces shimmered as the one they had passed through. Buildings hung suspended in the air, some twisting lazily and to his left was the twinkling of gold atop a spire of - .

‘Well, Professor?’

Rook was a little way ahead of him, watching him over her shoulder.

‘This that The Black City?’ He asked jerking his head in the direction of the city like structure and golden spire. ‘So close,’ he mummered when Rook nodded her head.

’No wonder Bellara had so many questions,’ he said as she emerged through the mirror behind him. ‘Where are we exactly?’

‘This is part of the Crossroads,’ explained Rook.

‘I thought they were closed off after the Inquisition foiled the Qunari plot at the Exalted Council,’ said Emmrich, moving to follow Rook as she started to walk towards an archway.

‘The guardian here, The Caretaker, says this place is not exactly the same place as that,’ explained Rook. ‘Perhaps that is something else you might be able to help us understand. Come on, there’s more to see, lots more. At present, this is the safest part of the bar for Beacon Island. Spirits started to return after we cleared Venatori and Guardians from the area. They even have a shop.’

Rook stepped aside to reveal a plaza full of spirits; everything from wisps to entities having taken various mortal forms congregating around stalls and caravans.

‘Extraordinary,’ he managed, pausing beside her, head turning bearly able to take it all in.

‘Are you Rook?’

The voice pulled him from his speechless thoughts to look at the woman in question. She had already began walking towards the Grey Warden hailing her. Rook walked with her back straight, one hand resting over her sword’s pommel. She stood in profile to him, the Fade’s dreamlight accentuating her face in a way the gloom of the Necropolis had not. He had already noted she was beautiful; sharp, defined jaw with high cheekbones. The facial tattoo favoured by the Mourn Watch Reapers only served to highlight the regality of her bearing.

‘How was passage through the Heights?’ She asked the Warden.

‘Nothing we couldn’t handle and worth it for the decreased travel time,’ replied the Warden. ‘But how do we get to Minrathous. These are the supplies Davrin requested via Evka.’

He listened as Rook directed the caravan leader to one of the other mirrors they had just passed.

‘And our contact is Neve Gallus?’

Rook nodded. ‘You’ll likely find her at the Cobbled Swan. And...’ She bowed her head for a moment before meeting the Grey Warden’s eyes. ‘If there is anything you can do for Ashur - please help him.’

The Warden’s expression turned grave as she nodded. The two women shook hands and Rook returned to him and Bellara, her gaze sombre, corners of her lips downturned for the first time since they had met.

‘Do you think they can help him?’ Bellara asked once Rook was back with them.

Rook shrugged. ‘I think it’s more a case of whether he’ll let them help him. Davrin said any cure would be a high price to pay.’ She blew out a sigh before she turned back to Emmrich. A smile fixed in place that didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘Shall we finish the tour? Then you can best decide how to help us?’

--//-*-\\--

The Lighthouse was a marvel to behold. Once he had seen it on their approach to Beacon Island, Emmrich made his decision that the work required would be best undertaken from within Rook’s base of operation rather than remaining in the Necropolis and using the Eluvian network to reach them. Besides, it had been a long time since he had left the Necropolis and stepping out into the bright light of the outer world had warmed him.

Keeping track of everything worth studying was proving to be difficult. He had ended up dividing his thoughts across multiple journals to keep it all indexed for future reference. His growing curiosity resulted in multiple trips back to the Necropolis with Manfred in tow to gather more books and equipment. It would have been helpful to have additional skeletal servants to assist with moving items from his apartment, office and teaching lab to the Lighthouse but he had swiftly come to the conclusion that Rook’s assembled associates would not be comfortable with such a display.

They had been polite in their introductions but he had not missed the cautious whispers. Necromancy, Rook reminded him one evening when she offered to help with unpacking his books, was viewed with the same fear as blood magic.

‘We’re facing things far worse than the most dangerous Necromancers can conjure,’ she said, sipping a glass of wine as she watched him work perched on his desk. ‘They’ll come around.’

‘They don’t fear you,’ Emmrich remarked, struggling to keep the frustration out of his voice.

‘I think they forget I’m a Necromancer; hex-spells and wardweaves that destroy the undead and banish maligned spirits back to The Fade probably seem like acceptable magic whereas animating corpses and speaking to the dead does not.’ Then her face lit up with an expression of mischievousness that made her look years younger. ‘Besides, I don’t have a skeleton assistant following me around.’

‘They can’t surely be afraid of Manfred?’

Rook laughed at the incredulity in his voice, her lips curving up and eyes bright with amusement. ‘Maker, no,’ she exclaimed. ‘But outside Nevarra, the risen dead is not a good thing.’

‘I shall bear that in mind,’ he replied soberly as she scooted of the desk, setting the goblet aside and looking at the shelf he had been populating.

‘Do you have Ebner’s Index memorised?’ She asked with a curious lilt, referring to the tombscript system used to classify bodies of work by topic.

‘Not as such,’ he said, watching her straighten, eyebrow raised as she raked her fingers through her wavy lilac hair to tuck it behind her ears so it fell down her back. ‘Although, that does remind me,’ he continued when she picked up her goblet again. ‘Myrna sought me out today, some spirits within the Belfry were displaced in the commotion caused by the Venatori and asked if we might be willing to assist in drawing them back to their rightful place.’

Rook took a thoughtful sip of wine. ‘Harding still hasn’t had any luck on the dragon hunter front, so why not?’

‘There may also be stray Venatori within the chambers surrounding the Belfry.’

‘Then it’s a good job we have an expert in killing Venatori on hand.’

--//-*-\\--

‘He might be able to advise, Lucanis, if you just ask.’

Rook’s voice rang out through the library as Emmrich approached from his study. He emerged on the mezzanine to see the Rook and Lucanis across the table from one another. True to her previous decision, Rook had abandoned her leather travel wear for her Mourn Watch issue armour; interwoven chain, metal plate and robes were draped over her willowy frame giving her an ethereal appearance that resembled the Greater Spirits of the Necropolis. It was not a set of armour Emmrich often saw in use around the Necropolis but Rook embraced the appearance.

Across from her, Lucanis paced. Emmrich had detected the spirit residing within him the moment they had met. It cried out from within Lucanis for release, thrashing against the Crow’s mental defences.

‘He’s a Necromancer -‘

‘I’m a Necromancer,’ Rook emphasised harshly.

‘You don’t raise skeleton’s from the dead and turn them into manservants,‘ Lucanis countered.

‘Just because I haven’t got one, doesn’t mean I lack the capacity to make one,’ Rook pointed out.

‘Then why can’t you help me with Spite?’ Lucanis demanded, coming to a halt in his pacing and spinning to look at Rook.

‘Because it requires more than bashing you with a shield,’ replied Rook harshly. ‘Although, you seem to need some sense knocking into you, so perhaps it will be a start.’ She heaved in a frustrated breath before closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. ‘You need to communicate with Spite. Emmrich can help you with that. All I can do is kill you and end you both.’

‘Do not. Kill,’ screeched Spite, lunging forward with Lucanis’s body, stepping up onto the table and jumping down.

Rook dodged the attack, spinning out of reach in a spiralling flow of purple and green fabric, pulling her sword free. ‘Settle down,’ she commanded when she had some distance between them, pointing the jewelled pommel at Lucanis. ‘It is not my intention to kill either of you.’

‘Sorry,’ Lucanis now back in control, ‘he is -‘

‘Getting stronger,’ said Rook, completing the sentence, sheathing her sword with a fluid movement. ‘Speak to Emmrich,’ she finished with an order.

Lucanis opened his mouth to speak again, but closed it, shaking his head while turning on his heel. He took the stairs down to the Vi’Revas while Rook blew out a breath, her shoulders dropping before she looked up. Their eyes met and her lips quirked upwards ina dismal smile for a brief moment.

‘You’ll help him?’ She asked. ‘When he’s ready?’

Emmrich replied with a slow nod.

‘Then we’re ready when you are.’

--//-*-\\--

Rook paused the moment they emerged onto Beacon Island, the singing resonance of the dagger filled the air and Emmrich watched Rook pull a dagger from her belt. She held it up to the light, studying it for a moment. From its colour, Emmrich was able to deduce that a large quantity of Lyrium was used for it and its construction, with a circular pommel was more suited to ritual use than battle. He could detect the vibrations through the eddies of the fade, resonating with something nearby and he followed Rook’s attention to an ornately constructed golden tree that stood in the plaza below. She stowed the blade back in her belt and moved down the steps at a jogging pace. Lucanis followed a moment after, catching up to her while Emmrich moved at a slower pace, scrying the eddies around them as voices seemed to echo over them.

‘So it’s the present we’re hearing,’ she said, reaching out to the tree and touching it.

‘And what if they can hear us?’ Lucanis demanded.

Rook stepped back. ‘I don’t think they can,’ she said slowly. ‘I’ve heard voices from here before and assumed they were echos from the past.’ She put her hands on her hips and looked at the floor. ‘Solas wouldn’t have risked his operations by creating something like this if they could hear us. Wonder how it works?’

‘Bellara and I could take a look at it to see if we can find any indication as to how it might work,’ Emmrich suggested.

‘Yes,’ said Rook. ‘If only to put our minds at rest. Come on.’

She stepped away from the tree and headed towards the pier that took them to the Converged City. The journey was quiet, an uncomfortable silence wrapped around the three companions leaving Emmrich glad when they were able to disembark.

‘So, you’re a Mortalitasi?’

Emmrich turned his gaze on Lucanis. The umber eyes of a dread assassin, a famed mage killer, bore into him. ‘Mortalitasi is a general term,’ he explained, turning a ring on his finger. ‘I belong to the Mourn Watch.’

‘The difference?’ Lucanis enquired mildly.

‘Well, you are a Crow, but I presume not all Crows belong to House Dellamorte,’ replied Emmrich to which Lucanis nodded. ‘The Mourn Watch is an elite circle of Mortalitasi Mages with the ultimate authority over The Grand Necropolis and Funerary Dead, as well as other duties outside the Necropolis.’

‘But you’re still a Necromancer?’ Lucanis pushed.

‘Yes, certainly.’

‘And Rook is a Necromancer, too, but a different type of Necromancer?’

‘Indeed,’ replied Emmrich. ‘Rook is a Reaper, while I am a Spirit Caller. There are a number of specialisations within our ranks.’

The assassin hummed thoughtfully but didn’t continue his questioning as they reached the mirror to the Necropolis. Rook stood before it, hands on hips, gazing intently.

‘They’ve moved it from the Upper Mortuary Halls to The Shrouded Halls,’ Rook announced.

‘Myrna and VORGOTH are leading the efforts to cleanse the chambers we discovered when unchaining the Sunken Star,’ Emmrich explained. ‘I should have mentioned it to you.’

‘At least we don’t have to worry about getting stuck in the lifts,’ she remarked, stepping through into the cool world beyond.