#and you sent this a WHILE ago sorry

[the-broken-pen]

“I’ve never used a gun before,” the hero swallowed, mouth dry. They had never needed to, but now—

The villain’s head lolled over to look at them. A lazy grin spread across their face.

“Don’t worry,” they held the hero’s gaze, unflinching. “I have.”

The gun went off. Across the room, one of their enemies dropped, blood splattering against the wall.

Still, the villain didn’t break eye contact, content to shoot without looking. They hit their target every time, but still—

“Can you please look where you’re pointing that thing?”

“Why,” the villain tipped their head, and that shit eating grin was back, “Am I making you nervous, hero?”

The hero grimaced as the villain sent another target sprawling onto the floor. Surely they had to run out of ammo eventually?

When the hero didn’t respond, the villain laughed.

“Oh, I am. Well, that’s adorable, frankly.”

The hero flinched at the next gunshot, and the villain nodded their head towards the hero’s gun. “If you were to—and bear with me this is a crazy idea—help me, this would be over with way faster.”

The hero looked down to their gun, shifting it side to side in their hands. It didn’t look all that hard. Point, aim, shoot. They could do that, right?

They lifted their gun, aiming at the nearest combatant—

The villain slid to a stop next to them, tsking, and their hand settled onto the hero’s gun too quickly for them to see. “Not-no not quite like that,” they hummed in the hero’s ear, and though they couldn’t see their face, the hero knew they were amused. 

The hero’s jaw clenched with irritation.

“First,” the villain murmured, far too close, “Safety needs to be off.” They clicked something on the hero’s gun, repositioning the hero’s hands as they did. “Second,” they continued, and the hero shivered. “Don’t aim at me, love. You like me too much to kill me.”

“You’re awfully sure about that.”

The villain half rested their chin on the hero’s shoulder, batting their eyes. Their free arm jerked up, firing a shot behind them at someone who had evidently gotten too close to the two of them.

“I am,” they grinned. Their hand rested over the hero’s once more. “Now, aim,” they guided the hero’s hand towards the nearest enemy. Their finger slipped over the hero’s on the trigger. “And shoot.” They pulled down on the trigger, trapping the hero’s finger underneath theirs, so when the gun fired, they fired it together. The hero winced.

It was louder than the hero had thought it would be.

Across the room, the body dropped.

“Good,” the villain praised, voice low, and something stirred in the hero’s chest. “Again, love.”

They guided the hero through the motions once more.

By the time there was no one left to fight, the villain was staring at them with a look they couldn’t decipher. It was all encompassing. Hungry. Wild.

The hero cleared their throat, and the villain smirked like they knew what the hero was doing.

They eyed the hero, still with that look on their face.

“God, you’re pretty with a gun in your hand,” the villain cursed. They stepped closer. The hero didn’t move, holding their breath as the villain wiped a splattering of blood off their face. “Pretty covered in blood, too, but that might be a bit too insane for you, hm?”

The hero’s face went hot. It wasn’t, they thought. They wanted to kiss the villain so badly they worried it might be a sickness, twisting their mind, something terminal. But still, that smile—

The villain stepped away. They scanned the hero’s blushing face, and grinned harder at whatever they saw.

Gently, they took the gun from the hero’s hands, vanishing it behind their back.

“The next time you need someone to show you how to shoot, give me a call,” they nodded towards the hero’s hands. “I wouldn’t want someone else touching my hero, now would I?”

The hero couldn’t stop the smile that spread across their face.

The villain winked, stepped back, and was gone.

My hero.

Oh, the hero was well and truly fucked.

[ragnarokhound]

*puts disguise on to get more treats* trick or treat!!!💖🎃

Welcome, trick or treater who I've never seen before in my life! 🥸 Have some jaytim teacher AU ehe uhu hoho:

Tim meets him after school, the day after the last show. The set still needs to be taken down, and Tim is willing to use it as an excuse. To concede with grace. He's confident Jason won't turn down free hands, even if they're Tim's hands. They need to talk. Too bad Mr. Todd is so himself. "So you admit that you were wrong," Jason says once Tim's said his piece, unbearably smug like the sore winner he is. Tim scowls. "Of course not," he snaps. "Don't get it twisted. Just because you were also right, that doesn't mean I was wrong—" Jason groans, interrupting. "Can't you ever admit a fault? You are such a stubborn, competitive, overconfident—" "Like you're one to talk, you dramatic—" "Oh, sure, call the drama teacher dramatic, like I've never heard that one before—" "Like calling the coach competitive?" Tim snaps back. "You know, I was trying to be gracious, I was trying to make fucking peace with you for the sake of both of our programs and our students, but can you say anything without needing to get the last fucking word in?" He glares at Jason, and Jason glares back. It's dim backstage with only the house lights on, but Tim can see Jason's narrowed eyes perfectly fine, standing this close to the beautiful fucking bastard. "Can you?" Jason says, obnoxious and snide and Tim opens his mouth to prove him right, again— —but he can't, because they're kissing. Jason has him shoved up against the back of the set, painted plywood at his back, the cheap wood grain biting into his shoulders beneath his dress shirt. Jason himself is hot all along his front, and Tim doesn't waste a second. He bites at Jason's infuriating mouth, and (finally) gets his hands in his hair, on his jaw. "Guess I won't have to worry about an HR complaint," Jason pants, dragging his mouth down Tim's neck. Tim groans, makes a fist in the back of his shirt as their thighs become acquainted. "Shut the fuck up, Jason, oh my god— hah—" A loud creeeaaak splits the air as the house doors open. "Hey, Mr. Todd?" Jon's voice suddenly cuts through the empty theater, dumping ice water on both of them. They spring apart, wide-eyed and panting. "Are you in here? We need to get into the prop room but Damian dropped the spare key down the floor grate again—" "I did not drop it, I was pushed—" Fuck, that's right. There are still students here.

(For the trick or treat ask game! Send me a trick or treat ask and I'll share jaytim WIP snippets, or new 3-sentence -paragraph fics, etc :^) through the 31st!)

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

questioning sexuality is so exhausting

[scalpho]

Gorgug gives magnificent hugs on a skill level and is generally pretty physical affectionate but they are also:

a barbarian (always a little bloody, sweaty)

an artificer (one RNG substance on them at any given time)

a jock (nullified post mid s3, sweaty x2, grass)

tall as shit (Fabian, Kristen, and Fig are all in the sweaty area danger zone)

so you really want to get your hugs in early in the week or 6ish hours post bloody fight

yes exactly. gorgug hugs save lives and also make you really consider buying him some deodorant. just sweat and motor oil galore

[crownedcrowrow]

Idk if this has already been said but I love the way you draw the boys! They look so huggable I love it so much!

WWAAAAA THANK YOU!!!! Iv seen you in my notes ily so much your so sweet!!

This genuinely made my entire month so much better and makes ma smile so much!!!

Lil mikey hug for you!!!

[skenpiel]

@eebie DANCE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! the dance is from this video ♪(^∇^*)

[unwillingtoreachout]

i wrote it would you like it

Yes, pretty please <3 my ao3 should be worthlessandembarrassing

[enbysiriusblack]

prompt: narcissa visits alice at saint mungo's

The nurses stared at her, whispering to each other in hushed voices as she steadily walked down the white halls and made her way to the janus thickey ward.

The guard unlocked the doors as soon as he spotted her approaching, opening the door for her and standing to the side. She passed through.

The front desk easily told her the room where the Longbottom's stayed, but not without questioning glances sent her way, a want to ask why exactly she was visiting them on the tip of their tongue, but not a sound coming out. They could lose their jobs by angering her.

She stood outside the door, preparing herself to enter, when an old woman walked out of the room, followed by a young boy, the same age as her draco.

The boy stared into the room he had just left, tears streaming down his face. A silent sadness. The old woman walked on, making her way to the front desk and not noticing the boy was no longer following her.

Narcissa picked off a flower from the potted plant in her arms and crouched down next to the boy, holding out an azalea flower between her fingers.

He took it, waringly, and smiled down at the pink petals.

Narcissa caught the wide grin, the large hazel eyes, and mousy brown hair. The boy stood there, a young mix of Alice and Frank.

"I'm here to visit your parents, are they in here?"

The boy frowned, "You know my my mum and dad?"

Narcissa nodded, a thin smile gracing her face, "We're old friends."

"Neville!" The old woman called.

The boy gave a wave to Narcissa before quickly running back to his grandmother's side.

Narcissa stepped into the room.

It was bright- curtains drawn back and windows open. Frank was staring out of them, seemingly in daydreaming. And in the bed next to him sat Alice. Her hair had grown out, and Narcissa knew she would've hated the look of it, she was dressed in her own clothes- comfortable jumpers and loose trousers.

Narcissa slowly approached her, crouching down in front of her.

"Hi Alice."

Alice's gaze moved, staring into Narcissa but not a single emotion came.

"I brought you this", she held up the azalea plant, putting it in the nightstand in between Alice and Frank's beds.

Alice stared.

Narcissa took one of her hands in her own, clutching it, "I'm sorry. About what happened. Bella she- she was hurting."

Alice turned away, gaze moving to the wall.

Narcissa felt her heart racing, "She made a mistake, a huge one. I won't- I will never forgive her for it, I promise. Merlin, I loved you... I still love you, Alice. I'm so sorry, for everything."

She stood up, hand's leaving Alice's embrace.

Alice suddenly seemed hurried, panicking as she searched around her bed, the table by it, and the surrounding floor. She opened a drawer, pulling out a small gum wrapper and with the same wide grin Narcissa knew so well, she held it out for Narcissa to take.

Narcissa delicately took it, holding it in her hand like it was the most precious thing in existence.

"For me?"

Alice just stared back. She reached around to the plant, pulling a petal off and staring at it. She smiled, tracing her finger along the sides, completely enthralled in the pink petal.

A memory surfaced, Narcissa saw again the teenage Alice, sitting in the greenhouses during Herbology, Narcissa opposite. Alice picked a pink petal off one of the plants nearby and held it out for Narcissa.

"For you", She had grinned.

Frank had lifted his head up from the table, sitting next to Alice, he laughed, "A narcissus petal would be more fitting."

Alice smiled, staring at Narcissa, "But Cissy suits pink so much more. Makes her look even hotter."

Frank had groaned, mimicking wretching. And Narcissa had taken the petal like a lifeline.

Narcissa now felt a tear rolling down her cheek and quickly wiped it away. She turned from the room and left the ward without a glance back. The wrapper clutched in her hand like a lifeline.

[fella-lovin-fella]

Check out this flower lol

[bucketofchum]

do you have a commission sheet?

Oh yeah I do!!

Sorry idk if I ever uploaded it here!

I also take suggestions if you ever have any fandom related things you wanna see (meme redraws or characters in outfits or expressions), but I can't guarantee I'll draw them

Commissions are the best way to make sure your thing gets drawn!!

I love drawing fandom shit but I also love OC stuff!

[tigers1o1]

YIPPEE!! Modern FnC AU:

Chip cooks a lot. He's really good at it, and he cooks Gillion meals all the time. He takes note of what Gillion seems to like and tries to perfect those meals

Gillion once listened to Chip's "fun playlist" and absolutely HATED it (it was too hyper for him), but he keeps listening to it because all the songs remind him VERY MUCH of Chip

Chip often takes Gillion down to the beach, and they walk with pinkies linked on the sand near the water

:D <3

I’m SOOOOOOO normal about themmmmmmmm

I also now consider this all canon to the Fools Gold universe, just btw

[lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks]

I'm issuing a warning. I think the porn-bots just got smarter. I just got a slew of new follows where they had exactly one post, so I didn't delete them automatically.

oh dang that's alarming, thanks for the heads up!

[paleangels13]

Nooo Prince Charming don't let yourself go 😂 Your fiancée deserves clean feet 🙈

She does :'D and we do too if he's showing them online 😔✋🏻

I mean I don't like feet either way but THIS is worse 🥲😂

[nyxronomicon]

your tags in that reblog have me 🫶🏼😞 sobbing with love. thank you so much, it means a lot to me coming from you. i love you so much and i'm always thinking about that fic i first read of yours about toji + a reader with pierced nipples. you have a great mind and it's always fun to talk to you and brainstorm ideas

aww my love <3 <3 ugh the toji with pierced nipples reader is STILL a fave that I've written!

honestly I don't remember what fic I read of yours first but I wanna say it was the stepcest geto one... (um and yes it has lived rent-free in my head ever since)... I just re-read that one in fact and now he's living in my head again (suguru just has SUCH a little sis complex to me)

I also very vividly remember the stepcest goth gamer choso bc I won't lie I fantasized about that scenario MANY times (suddenly learning a lot about my priorities bc I think I have read every single one of your stepcest fics RIP... this one was bc of the goth and the cockwarming tho i promise)

BUT ALSO the band au choso..... you're a top tier choso writer for sure <3 <3

idk how we have the exact same taste but it's really such a blessing bc I am just browsing your ao3 drabbles like "whoa how have i not read that" like I didn't realize you had so many Toji drabbles in there (bull toji... 👀)??? and you and I both know that goth is the superior aesthetic for men and all men should get goth drabbles ok

[comvi]

i think you've been talking more since i followed here i'm happy for that

ive gotten a lot more confidence in speaking and in my art!!! i use it to express myself a lot so for people to enjoy it means so much to me 💛💛

not even just with my art, but a lot of people enjoy my company including you (and ive started to believe people could enjoy having me around) so being on here makes me a lot happier

[ravencromwell]

Ros Vortalis trans headcanons

There are some remarkable trans Holland fics and headcanons, but can we talk about Ros Vortalis, whom all of his friends simply call Vor? Who, even when he’s _dying Holland calls Vor, to be expected, but also Vortalis which’s so much longer than Ros.

A bit of googling informs me Ros is “protector” in German, which’s chef’s kiss one hundred/ten no notes V.E. But it’s also, more frequently, a diminutive of Rosalind. Disclaimer before I start these that I respect and love! the headcanons of Makt as fairly gender nonrestrictive, with power being more of a defining factor of treatment. My Makt, however, is more complicated, with gender and gender transitions being imperfect but still a site where joy can be created, much like the rest of White London existence. Putting the rest of these beneath a cut with that in mind because as a trans person, I know some days I can’t handle transness as careful complication to be navigated and don’t want to inflict it on anyone unprepared. (Though, I promise! there’re fluffy as fuck nsfw Vor/Holland and Vor/friends headcanons in here to cut the angst.)

Ros retains a shortened form of his given namefor business purposes within the Shal—we know Shal means “market” in Red London, and I tend to think it means the same in White, such that when Holland calls him a “thug from the Shal” he’s referring to Vor being in the merchant/smuggling business. When he transitions, he’s relatively young and honestly to flagrantly demand a name change would be seen by too many as blood in the water. His greatest focus, always, is Makt rather than his personal happiness and he’d rather be burdened with the “nickname” Ros and be capable of rising in the Shal in service of becoming king.

There’re two ways of transitioning: the easiest and least painful is utilizing a spell similar to Astrid’s with Lila and stealing a face and voice. But that spell fades with death and though Vor understands that his body is likely destined for desecration once he’s gone as Makt’s people drain its blood and magic, there’s still this stubborn demand that they destroy a body without the face that made him shudder every time his child self caught a glimpse (he is so grateful for a lack of mirrors in Makt for much of his young adulthood.)

So he chooses the harder, excruciating method: finds a bone magician to permanently reshape his body. Session after session, over months traveling abroad on a ship with only the open sea and crew to hear him scream himself hoarse.

The first time they share a bed, Holland strokes along the broadened shoulders, runs fingers along the scars on his chest—eyes fixed on Vor’s all the while— and murmurs: “If they did not believe you would hold the throne, they were fools.”

“I’m flattered.” He’s bright-eyed, with that deep, rolling-sea laugh.

“After this, very little would stop you.” Fools have marveled at the extent of spells across his body, and inwardly he howls in hysterical laughter because there is very little to dull pain in Makt, and the shipboard pain was so vast it made everything else feel like pinpricks by comparison. He’s never bedded someone who would know that as intimately as the man who had done his damndest to use that same magic in stopping Vor’s fist before it connected with his face, and the admiration uncoils something deep in his chest. “Sometimes I’m certain I can’t keep it. One moment it will be there and then not.” He manages a farse of a smile “Foolish, after all these decades, but such is the weakness of your future king, Holland.”

“Lucky you would have an Antari to put it back, then.”

By the time he returned to London, voice rumbling deep from an expanded chest, people understood quickly to use “Ros” with the proper pronouns or see just how effective the runes on his hands were. But well…Ros is an easier shirt than Rosalind to slip into, but it will never sit comfortably. As he develops allies, he finds that Vor and Vortalis fit easier. And it becomes a good gauge for trust. Those who understand implicitly how painful his given name is and respect that, are people worth keeping. It becomes easier, as fewer and fewer people survive who remember Rosalind.

There are far too many moments to count when former friends or lovers try to use “Ros” as a weapon, with a little smirk that says: “You never said we _couldn’t call you that.” And he’s deeply glad he made a relatively small name fuss and provided only a small chink in his armor. (Those sorts of people tend, inevitably, to cause the use of his knives. As though letting them close and showing kindness is an invitation for open season. But such are the risks in Makt, and he is a man who craves touch and closeness. What good to craft the ideal body only to never have it appreciated. The way Holland simply…withdrew from people after Talya is something almost unfathomable. Whether they’re the closest of friends or both king and night and! king and beloved—which’s pretty much always in my head—there’s a deep, profound ache that he could never touch Holland enough to make up for too many years alone.

It’s the dimmest flicker every time he sees the “knight” and “Antari” masks slip, when Holland leans against his shoulder or puts his head in Vor’s lap, eyes half-closing at fingers in his hair. But, simply because the task is nigh on impossible, doesn’t mean he won’t do his best. Vor touches Holland Vosijk a hundred thousand times in those two years of rule—and so, so many more if they both survive—and is so very, very grateful he could take the touches the best of his lovers and allies offered over the last thirty years. (On a slashy front, can we also just talk about how, as a couple, there’s an incomparable way arousal and awe intertwine for Vor _every time Holland reaches out and shows affection: a kiss against his temple as Vor lets their foreheads rest together; a hand moving slow and easy down his back. To be trusted enough for the most guarded man he’s ever met—it took Vor _months to convince him to kill Gorst and he’s never had to work so hard or wanted so desperately for someone to say yes in his life—to touch him is such a valuable thing that he has immense responsibility not to break.)

Also in couple’s verse: If Vor has a small regret, it’s that the bone magicians are far more skilled with outward, above-the-waist presentation—because the best of them have not only done this for trans people, but for criminals etc. seeking a disguise. Thankfully, they had no trouble cutting him open to ensure he would never be with child—he doesn’t have the vocabulary for dysphoria, but the idea of his stomach rounded and heavy is one of the few things that can make him viciously soul-deep terrified. But the below the waist equipment well, it’s not a magic Makt has the luxury of learning.

By the time he meets Holland, it’s the very faintest of regrets: he has a collection of strap-ons for when he and a lover want to indulge in that particular fantasy—and is comfortable enough in his skin it’s an indulgence and not a requirement. It’s beautiful to watch lovers slide to their knees and take them in their hands or mouths or slide inside and watch them arch with pleasure. But oh, oh he wishes he could _feel it. It’s not a complaint worth voicing, and honestly after he becomes king, there’s very little time to indulge.

But one day, Holland comes back, smelling of flowers holding a box, tells the guards to wait at the end of the hall because he has crucial business from “the other London” for the king’s ears alone, which has Vor intrigued and concerned because he hasn’t come close to asking Holand to send a message. But before the concern can swell to anything beyond a flicker, he sees a flush so faint anyone would miss it who wasn’t watching. (Even before the Danes, Holland held his feelings and desires in an iron grip; Vor learned early in sharing a bed that Holland loathed the idea of being heard by those not his lovers when losing control: not merely a discomfort that could add spice to an evening, but viscerally, the way it would take everything Vor had to turn his back on an armed opponent.) This is pleasure, not business and he flicks his fingers in a silent command before they can even turn to look.

"Go get yourselves some dinner,“ he says for good measure, "If there is a foe Holland cannot protect me from, there’s little more bodies can do.”

When he opens the box…there are the usual straps but the cock. The cock feels like _skin. “The Arnesians-” and oh, there’s still so much contempt in those words “With their infinite supply of magic have learned to transmute. From earth to bone, and then something softer. There is an illusion for the Arnesians who want to forget the straps.” There were layers upon layers beneath that statement: neither of them wished, at least then, to go begging for scraps, but to _take a little of the bounty Arnes had hoarded,

“_Yes!”

Neither of them know how the illusion works: it is as mysterious as the fireworks Holland has seen that fool his eyes into certainty dragons fly across the unbearably vivid Arnesian sky. It does not matter; in those moments when Holland’s mouth is hot on skin, Vor is utterly, entirely certain Holland is swallowing down the cock he has always had.

It’s almost too much, leaves him speechless for the first time in decades, has Holland scrambling up and onto the bed even as his eyes are still glassy from watching the king come undone to wrap himself around Vor’s back until the world comes into focus again. “Is it only good once or-” he asks, finally and Holland’s smirk is wicked.

When he’s upending the Ost table and coughing up blood—, so much, too much kajt I hope Holland can take the throne because whoever these bastards are they can’t rule, the thing he clings to: more than “Stay with me"—though he _tries—, more than the raw panic in Holland _swearing—is the name. _Vortalis, he says when the table overturns—though it would be such a forgivable mistake to use Ros. Vor, he says while chanting stay and one of his blood spells. He will die as who he made himself, not as he was born.

The three threads of coherence for Holland are the blood spell. That Vor _has to stay. And that if he cannot be enough to stop this, he _will not let Vor die hearing him use the wrong name.

In verses where Vor lives, they both know the "thank you” when he wakes is not for the healing, though to be alive is a joy.