#but then last year was my a level year and around that time I was having a lot of tests

[southern-gothic-comic]

Page 95

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(Author's Notes)

Panel 1: They seek shelter for the night in a cramped garden shed, huddled close together amid various gardening implements. Laudna, pillowing Imogen's head in her lap, tucks a blanket around her to keep her warm.

Imogen: You don't reckon anyone'll find us in here?

Laudna: Not on a night like tonight. Probably not even until spring, but I don't think it's a very good place to stay. Although it does remind me of the little shed I was living in when I met Pâté!

Imogen: Is this gonna be a story about you findin' a dead rat in a shed?

Laudna: Oh, no! He was an alive rat back in those days. But it's not really a story.

Imogen: Remember it for me? I'd like to see him.

Panel 2: A flashback commences. The newly-Hollow girl opens the door to an abandoned farm shed, looking inside hopefully.

Laudna: (VO) If you like. It was about this time of year, actually.

Panel 3: It's empty, and the only occupant is a solitary, scruffy rat living in a nest in the corner. He scurries back inside at the intrusion.

Laudna: (VO) Right around Winter's Crest. I had only been on my own -- and well, dead -- for a little while, and I was lonely. I think he was, too. Rats are very sociable creatures, you know.

Hollow One: Oh, I'm sorry. I don't mean to intrude. Are you alone here? 

Panel 4: She sits down against the wall near the nest and opens her satchel, taking out a stale heel of bread and preparing to eat it.

Laudna: (VO) He reminded me a little of home.

Hollow One: Do you mind if I sit down?

Panel 5: But the bread is too hard for her to bite into and she spits out a tooth into her palm in dismay.

Laudna: (VO) Nothing was thriving in Whitestone in those last few years except the rats, the crows, and whatever they were in the woods that looked like wolves but weren't, you see.

Hollow One: Oh . . .

Panel 6: She sets the bread down outside the rat's nest instead.

Laudna: (VO) I've always been rather fond of rats, though.

Hollow One: Here. You can have it.

Panel 7: She lies down on the floor to be at eye level with her new housemate. As he emerges from the nest and begins nibbling the bread, a slight smile alights on her face.

Hollow One: You look like you're having a hard winter, too . . .

Imogen: I'm glad you two found each other.

[runninriot]

when it's love, it lasts forever

another fill for my @steddiebingo card

prompt: mixtape | rated: T | wc: 1.733 | tags: post Vecna, established relationship, romantic fluff, reminiscing about the past | also on ao3

   “Oh my God!”

Eddie’s stunned voice filters in from the other room, causing Steve to stop what he’s doing. He sighs, feels mocked by the piles of clothes still scattered around the room, waiting to be organised into the newly put up dresser.

Steve cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders, trying to ignore the dull ache in his muscles. He is tired. Exhausted from the long drive, physically drained from loading and unloading the van, from carrying boxes and furniture – there’s so much that still needs to be done, which is why he hates to leave his task unfinished.

But curiosity wins, so he walks into the living room to find his boyfriend sitting on the floor with his back turned, surrounded by boxes he was supposed to unpack. Instead of him stacking up the bookshelf like he said he would, it seems like something else must’ve caught his attention. Not that that’s new; Eddie gets so easily distracted sometimes. Steve doesn’t mind, has long since learned to keep up with his boyfriend’s antics – he’ll get there eventually and a little distraction doesn’t hurt anyone.

   “What you got there, babe?” Steve asks when he walks closer, trying to look over Eddie’s shoulder to see what’s gotten him all excited.

   “I can’t believe you still have that.”

Eddie blinks up at him with big, round eyes that have gone all soft, revealing the small treasure he’s cradling in his hands.

It takes Steve a moment to recognise it but when he does, his heart does a little flip.

   “Oh.”

He crouches down to get to Eddie’s level, can’t help but smile when his eyes catch the familiar drawings on the paper inlay peeking through the plastic case – the two bats in the centre, one with nails and one with wings; a heart in the top left corner with their initials in its middle, and a scatter of flowers to fill the empty space. Eddie’s handwriting at the top, ‘THIS IS MUSIC!’ screaming back at them in bold letters.

   “Of course, I kept it,” Steve finally says after clearing his throat, feeling oddly sentimental now. “I kept all of them. Everything.”

It’s true. Steve has kept every little piece of memorabilia he collected over the years. From the movie theatre ticket stub of their first unofficial date to the little note Eddie had left after spending the night at Steve’s for the first time. From the faded and wrinkled flyer of the first Corroded Coffin show Steve ever went to, to the mixtape in Eddie’s hands.

Maybe he should feel embarrassed about it, but instead of making fun of him for being such a sap, Eddie just smiles, eyes so full of love that Steve’s insides turn into a mushy, gooey mess.

   “This one’s my favourite,” he confesses, stroking a thumb over the case whose scratched surface shows all the signs of passing time and overuse.

   “It was all I listened to for weeks.”

He’s not even exaggerating, knows every song on the tape by heart from listening to it on repeat. Played the cassette so many times it’s a miracle it didn’t break, unwind or outright combust.

   “God, I remember how nervous I was to give it to you. So scared you’d hate it.”

Steve remembers, too, can see it so clearly before his mind’s eye.

After spending months in physical recovery – after Death had unsuccessfully tried to snuff out his life – Eddie had finally gotten the all clear from his doctors. ‘I’m as good as new,’ he’d announced when he entered the Harrington home, a six-pack of beer in one hand, joking about being ready to get drunk on his first sip after having been forced into abstinence for so long.

Eddie and Steve had become quite close during their time of healing, when everything kind of seemed on hold while Hawkins slowly came out of the state of shock it had been trapped in for months.

For the most part, people had thankfully remained unaware of the true horrors, eating up the highly dubious cover-up stories they’d been fed by the government. But Steve and Eddie and their little band of misfits had a lot of coping to do. Kept holding on to each other, finding strength in the support of their tightly knit circle of friends to deal with all the shit they’d been through together.

Despite everything, Steve would be lying if he said that he wished none of it ever happened because without it, he never would’ve learned what true happiness feels like. Would’ve never gotten to know Eddie the way he had after the almost-end of the world.

It was then, in their time of dealing with the aftermath of their final war against hell, something had started to sprout and bud inside of Steve.

Something that grew and kept growing until it was in full bloom, impossible to ignore anymore. Until, with a bang and a crisis and a lot of emotional support from Robin, Steve finally realised that what had blossomed over time, was actually love. Love born out of trauma and friendship and trust and survival.

They hadn’t talked about it then, that day Eddie came to celebrate his newly recovered life with him. But even though his own feelings had yet to be formed into words to be spoken aloud, Steve had noticed a shift in Eddie’s demeanour over the course of their growing closeness. Had this lingering impression that maybe he wasn’t the only one having to deal with a riot of unsorted, confusing feelings.

He could sense how nervous Eddie was that day. Could feel the crackling tension between them when they were sitting side by side on the back porch, brushing fingers when passing their shared cigarette from one to the other.

    ‘Got something for you,’ Eddie had said after finishing his beer, cheeks red, eyes cast down to where his right hand kept playing with the pocket of his jean vest.

   ‘What is it?’ Steve had asked in return, sounding breathless for reasons unknown to him at the time.

That’s when Eddie retrieved a cassette from his pocket, a mixtape he said he’d made just for him, with songs that reminded Eddie of Steve and songs he wanted Steve to listen to because they meant something special to him. And all Steve could do was stare. Stare and wonder and hold his breath, scared of opening his mouth, of possibly saying something he’d regret. Not realising how long he must’ve stayed quiet. So long in fact, Eddie started to pull back the hand holding the tape.

   ‘It’s- it’s stupid. Sorry.’

After weeks of fighting himself, Steve couldn’t hold back any longer. Couldn’t fight the urge anymore, the overwhelming need to break down the last remaining barrier that had kept him from finally telling Eddie the truth.

Only he didn’t say what he wanted him to know and instead, balled his fist in Eddie’s shirt to pull him in, crashing their lips together without warning. Kissing him in a way he’d hoped would be enough for Eddie to understand what he was trying to tell him. Pouring all his feelings into every press of lips, letting love spill from his tongue.

Love Eddie reciprocated in a way that was almost too much for Steve to handle – unashamed and unfiltered, confessing his feelings like it was the easiest thing to do.

That night, after Eddie had gone home, Steve lay in bed, not asleep but with his eyes closed, listening to the mixtape Eddie had made for him. Letting the music take him back to the moment in the Upside Down, brushing shoulders with the frazzled, doe-eyed man on the run – ‘Ozzy Osbourne? Black Sabbath? He bit a bat’s head off onstage?’ – laughing at himself for how clueless he’d been about so many things.

Steve has learned a lot since then. Not only about the seemingly endless list of things Eddie’s interested in but also, more importantly, he learned so much about himself.

   “Wanna listen to it while we ignore the mess and get to the good part of finally having an apartment to ourselves?” Eddie winks at him, the mischievous glimmer in his eyes telling Steve everything he needs to know.

   “You mean jumping into our new, giant bed so you can cuddle me until I fall asleep?”

   “Something like that, yeah.”

Tomorrow, Steve will be mad at himself for letting Eddie seduce him with his dorky charm, when he wakes up to the chaos of all the boxes still unpacked. And Eddie will be mopey as hell when he realises that they haven’t even recovered the coffee maker and cups from whatever cardboard prison they’re still stuck in.

But right now, none of that matters. Not when they’re kissing and touching each other to the sound of the music that means so much to both of them, memories locked in songs, every beat of drum a matching tune to their hearts’ rhythm. Sating their hunger for flesh and that deeper kind of love. Holding each other close in the comfort of their intimate bubble of you and me while Eddie – Van Halen, not Munson –  strums his guitar and sings along to the voice of Sammy Hagar, filling the background with a song that feels like it was written for them.

    How do I know when it’s love?

    I can’t tell you but it lasts forever.

    How does it feel when it’s love?

    It’s just something you feel together.

Later, when the music has long stopped and Steve allows sleep to slowly take a hold of him, he remembers the words and silently agrees. Love isn’t something that can be categorised into how or when or why. It’s something you just know is there because you can feel it in every part of your being. It’s something you can share through touch, and show through little things, and express with words – but even without all of that, there’s no doubt that their love, just like the song rightfully claims, is made to last forever.

It’s the essence of Steve’s existence, the one thing he can always hold on to, no matter what. This love for a man whose appreciation for life – after almost losing his fight against death – makes every day extra special. A man who constantly reminds him of how beautiful life is, and continues to make it so.

[sharky-teeth]

anyone looking for more wincest fic recs?? nobody?? okay here you go anyway. i have a bunch of fics i couldn't fit into the other list, so i needed to make a brand new one with more variety this time around. i organized it by wordcount to make things easier, however i rarely read long fics, so these are mostly pretty short. once again this list got way out of hand...

(for mature or explicit rating, you can assume it's [sometimes implied] bottom sam, or it isn't discussed. for bottom dean or versatile samdean, i made a small separate section of my favorites.)

1k~5k

Remember the Mountain Bed by nigeltde (G, 1k): post canon. sam and dean jr. one of the only fics that have ever made me cry and with only a thousand words! this one is so very dear to my heart, heartbreaking in its details, yet warm and soothing at the same time. just gorgeous.

Are You by lovetincture (G, 1k): one of my favorite gen fics. i adore second person POV and this is a great example of how it can maximize impact.

I Was the Dirty Little Boy (E, 1k): a quick weecest sparring session turning into spanking... you know. the good stuff.

Stealth Run by LaughableLament (E, 1k): late seasons + established relationship + possessive dean + slutty sam. i love this author a lot.

State of Mind by lovetincture (M, 2k): the summary goes "It's legal in the state of Ohio." yes it is as good as suggested. the tension in this fic mwahh

The Euphoria Emporium by Laughable_Lament (E, 2k): sam and dean visit a sex shop and dean gets jealous. quick and nasty.

Be Mine by De_Nugis (T, 2k): first part of a short series. for people who love silly, goofy samdean. this is no plot, pure crack. the kind that actually makes you laugh out loud.

Dating for Dummies by sevenfists (M, 3k): there's not enough first time aftermath fics. this has ruined me because it is the exact level of lighthearted i love, where the brothers continue being brothers first and foremost, even after boning.

We Are Drinking Beer at Noon on Tuesday by whirlpoolsleep (M, 3k): neat outsider POV. always love seeing the brothers through normal people's eyes.

With Mercy for the Greedy by whiskyandoldspice (E, 3k): unmatched weecest pwp. the amount of hits/kudos doesn't always mean quality but for this one it absolutely does. this is pretty much flawless in my eyes.

August 5th, 2001 by coricomile (M, 4k): established weecest! this was cute and tender with the right amount of angst surrounding sam's imminent departure. bittersweet ending.

Run It All Over by runawaydr3amer (E, 4k): first part of a series. the classic "brotherly handjobs" scenario, but it immediately stood out to me. really on point voices and hot amosphere.

Dean's palm would be rougher by FrancesHouseman (M, 4k): hand kink! i think we can all relate to sam here. this has a scene that's hotter than many pwps i've read lol

Know when to walk away and know when to run by deirdre_c (E, 4k): brothers playing strip poker goes too far... set in s3. great sexual tension and a super satisfying first time.

At Least It's Only One Song by ADeedWithoutaName (E, 4k): dean-gifting-sam-a-lap-dance fic. another outsider POV with an instantly likable OC. she can tell there's something off about those guys...

sticks and stones and weed and bones by aeroport_art (M, 5k): sam seeing a therapist at stanford. really great character study and winchester family dynamics. the conclusion to this story is just... crazy. so well done.

Shadows on the Sun by Linden (M, 5k): soft weecest first kiss! the thing i liked most in this story is how protective they both are. nice brotherly feelings.

wretched creation (M, 5k): one of my favorite reads of last year! criminally underrated work with less than a thousand hits. angsty feels and an unsettling atmosphere. dean facing a demon who knows more about his feelings toward his little brother than he'd like.

Forty-One by themegalosaurus (E, 5k): angsty unnegotiated kinky sex with lots of hell trauma. the kind of porn that's so nuanced and well written it doesn't get me horny (that's a compliment!)

Monumentally Stupid by strive2bhappy (5k): dean helps sam shave and it was hotter than i could ever imagine. great banter, tension, and emotional weight.

Double Solitaire by objectlesson (M, 5k): post mystery spot. amazing character study through a very creative concept. this is one of the authors who really knew how to write dysfunctional wincest.

6k~10k

this bullet inside me by missroserose (E, 6k): who's up for angsty first time in a long time? if you enjoy hathfrozen (i'm sure you do), this will definitely hit a similar spot.

Belonging by strive2bhappy (6k): wifey sam. i repeat Wifey Sam!!!

Lucky Streak by merle_p (M, 6k): thirsty pining done so right. incest that gives you butterflies in the stomach, believe it or not.

You Can't Lose What You Never Had by nigeltde (E, 6k): nigeltde is an incredible writer. from beginning to end this fic is insane. angsty, desperate, emotional, shameful, this takes you on a rollercoaster of emotions. top notch characterization.

How it Works by Dyed_Red (M, 6k): this is probably in my top ten fics of all time, peak codependent, obsessive, dysfunctional samdean. this particular fic really nails their dynamic and the most delicious, fucked up aspects of it.

Taking to Give by Dyed_Red (M, 7k): lovely character study. this one is a bit softer than most Dyed_Red works, it offers an emotional view of sam and dean growing up. heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time.

Wire Inside Me by merle_p (E, 7k): the sam-is-carrying-lucifer's-baby fic. this story is great for how it deals with the pregnancy pushing dean over the edge. the first time tension here is excellent!

Dean is badass. Sam has always known it. by FrancesHouseman (E, 7k): very interesting dynamic with sam and dean playing mind games to see who gives in first. i like this cocky sam a lot.

Hush Little Baby by hellhoundsprey (E, 7k): CNC weecest. sam and dean go to a haunted house and get up to some nasty freaky shit. it's even better than you can imagine. fyi there's dean in a clown costume.

they said it was the fall of man by jukeboxhound (M, 7k): set in s6, the aftermath of sam getting his soul back through dean's POV. pure angst and overwhelming emotions, beautifully written, it hurt so good.

Man of Steel by glovered (T, 8k): THE lighthearted incest fic for me. along the lines of paxlux's 'Artery', at least to me. this borders on crack, a hilarious, feel-good story that always makes me smile when i think about it.

Disney Princess Hair by Dyed_Red (T, 8k): gencest/weirdcest in its best shape. sam as sleeping beauty! and obviously dean being very very very weird about handling the curse. i loved how this touched on the obsessive aspects of their relationship while keeping the tone light.

Architecture of Choice by Dyed_Red (E, 9k): yes another Dyed_Red work bc they're my favorite author. this one has one of my fave tropes (fuck or die) and it deals with sam's lack of bodily autonomy in a visceral way.

Pull over by jjtaylor (E, 9k): for my piss play enjoyers! this has lots of great tension and it goes way beyond kinky sex.

This Is All Very Meta by road_rhythm (E, 10k): loss of virginity roleplay fic. except it's sooo much more than that. i thought this would be fun and lighthearted, couldn't have been more wrong. the emotional depth delivered here caught me by surprise, but it shouldn't have, given the author. flawless characterization as usual.

God will forgive me but by sammyatstanford (E, 10k): weecest with lots of pining!sam and angsty yearning. brothers who need each other in sick, twisted ways. there was also a great amount of actual brotherly feelings, which is always a plus in my book.

>10k

Acid by Goshen (E, 12k): to this day one of the most insane things ever written. this fic is a classic, it's a surreal experience, a fever dream. dissecting the brotherfuckers, no stone left unturned.

Baby Blue by Edwardina (E, 13k): sam gets hit with a curse that makes him need to suck on a pacifier 24/7. it turned out to be way less sexual than i expected, this is for caretaker!dean lovers.

Learn to say the same thing by glovered (T, 14k): great case fic. sam and dean go to a single's retreat in the mountains for a case and eventually have to confront their incestuous feelings. every glovered fic just fills me with joy.

Supersize Me, Sammy by awabubbles (E, 16k): sadly one of the only size queen sam fics ever written, but it is absolutely perfect so i made my peace with that.

Only Natural (Be My Hands) (E, 17k): sam manages to break both his wrists so dean steps up to take care of his needs. and i mean all of his needs.

Relapse by ani_coolgirl (M, 21k): lebanon AU. i adore this fic, i'm in love with it, i think about it all the time and will think about it forever probably. everything here was done incredibly well, one of those fics that feel specifically made for me lol

Edges by glovered (M, 23k): amazing banter and lots of UST. set in stanford era but it's not really angsty. the tone was just perfect for me, this fic had me GIDDY.

Driving Down the Darkness by Nutkin (M, 39k): one of my faves in terms of Brotherly Feels. extremely well written and thoughtful, super slow burn. outstanding early seasons getting together fic that everyone should read.

Like a Ghost with Two Voices by Dyed_Red (E, 46k): my favorite demon!dean fic. some of the wildest scenes i've ever read. pretty disturbing and incredibly delicious. if you're into fucked up consent stuff, this is a must read. it has a happy ending!

bottom dean and versatile samdean recs:

Take Backs by saltandbyrne (E, 2k): swesson + switching. hands down one of the best PWPs i've ever read, which was to be expected from saltandbyrne. it really doesn't get filthier than this.

How to Wear Polka Dots by homo_pink (M, 6k): swesson. this one is so so weird. and so charming. interesting and refreshing writing style, i had so much fun reading this.

Here's Your Future by autoschediastic (E, 7k): weecest with teasing!dean for a change. loved the power dynamics here, and the intensity throughout the whole fic. desperate, guilty first time, badwrong at its finest.

Enduring Love by oschun (E, 7k): really enjoyed the relationship study here, insightful and well written.

there will be better days by deadlybride (E, 9k): my favorite heaven fic! so warm and peaceful and emotional, full of love and longing and happy reunited soulmates. just thinking about this story makes my heart ache in the best way. really really beautiful.

Yeah, I'm a Back Door Man (E, 22k): established relationship. dean's hell trauma. this was a rollercoaster, great character study, good mix of angst and schmoop as well. probably the best bottom dean i've read so far (along with a couple Goshen works)

Yesterday, minnesota by Goshen: (E, 29k): speaking of applecrumbledore... this fic truly rewired my brain. the queen of "fucking for years without talking about it until one of them snaps". brilliantly executed, one of my favorite deans ever.

yay it's finally over! still i wish i had more long fics to rec lmao do check tags carefully before reading! enjoy the wincest goodness!

[axetivev]

~ Warning! Batkids are Bruce and Reader's Biochild!

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids who would be the one who would and picked up Damian who got detention/suspended because Bruce was too busy.

"So you're telling me, you suspend my son, Damian Wayne because he protected his friend..?"

"W–well. Mr. Wayne... in this school, we don't—"

"Oh so you don't allow nor teach violence but allow harassment? Racism? You know what. Damian, call Bruce. You're changing schools."

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids who would force Tim to go to bed. No is not an option. And would never be. Then, Papa!Reader would lecture Tim about sleeping.

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids who would read them bedtime stories. And they'll have to agree with one, which led to fights (unfortunately).

"Pa! Can we get a bedtime story?"

"Of course, what do you guys want?"

"Oh! Oh! How about a story about..."

"Tim, you've requested yesterday!"

"Ca–Cass! At my defense—"

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, where papa!reader hugged and gave Dick lunch money who was becoming Robin for the first time. In the end, this became a routine as the Robin legacy continued.

"My love, Dick can do it... Y–you don't have to—"

Papa!Reader who gave Dick his money. "Shut it Bruce! My poor baby can't fight crime empty handed! Are you really gonna buy him something when he's hungry!?"

Year later...

"..."

"M/N—"

"Here, Damian. Here, 100 bucks! Spend it for something useful, m'kay?"

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, when Jason died, he drowns into depression. Struggle—unable to move on. He felt himself being a failure of a dad. To a level to skip meals.

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, after Jason was back alive. He was crying. Hugging Jason as tight as he could to his 6'0 son. He can't, he can't lose another child.

"Forgive me for everything, Jason."

"Pa... I'm here. Really, I'm fine now... I'll be extra careful next time."

"Please be... I don't want to lose you and others again..."

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, who would secretly bring the kids out if Bruce grounded them. But when he was the one who grounds them. No one. No one can save them.

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, who have boys and girls time. For boys, he'd basically spend his time with the boys (basically, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Duke) and the girls (Stephanie, Cass).

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, who would work in Arkham Asylum while his kids were looking for him from afar to make sure he was safe. The kids would usually switch but of course they'll fight about it.

"Hey! It's my time to look over pa!"

"Cut it Richard. You've done that last week."

"C'mon! Why don't you guys let Duke and Damian!?"

"FUCK YOU CASSANDRA!"

"OH FUCK YOU!"

Meanwhile Papa!Reader who watched from afar while drinking his tea.

"Kids these days..."

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, when his birthday rolls around, the kids would give him something. It could be a father—son/daughter time, or them spending their money to buy him something—anything. They'll basically spoil you, because you deserve it!

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, who would be his literal bodyguard. Even after Papa!Reader told them he's alright. What can I say? Your kids are too loving. Even too clingy sometimes.

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, where the kids would argue to Bruce about who should have "Papa time" first. Being neither Dick or Damian who leads and Tim gathers information and key details others would light the fire even more. While Papa!Reader tried to calm the kids while Alfred just smirked to himself.

"Well, father. At our defense. Papa spends more time with you. He would prepare you for work; tidying your tie as you go to work, as Batman. Papa helped you with gathering some information with Barbs."

"If not. You two would cuddle on the couch from day and night!"

"Therefore?"

"Therefore, we deserve our own papa time!!!"

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, where if there's a parent brave enough to say something horrible to his kids, Papa!Reader won't hesitate to break them mentality. This also applies if some soul dares to speak to you horribly. The kids would casually show no mercy.

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, when Bruce looked at every single child of his. He would look at Papa!Reader, eyes staring at your very soul as he towered you.

"I want more kids."

"Bruce, we literally have 7 kids, multiple dogs, a cat, a cow, and many others. We have—"

"That's not a question."

[atsadi-shenanigans]

FSBE 12 - Emotional Damage

You make an observation.

On AO3.

Y’all walk. Everything is dim and gloom. Things move outta the corner of your eye and whispers skirt along the edges of your hearing.

Shadowheart seems to still be immune. Her eyes is fever bright.

The fuck does it mean to be in a cult in a place with literal, physical gods.

Fuck.

After an hour or two, Astarion comes drifting back down the line. Dread curls tight in you.

But y’all’re dating. Right? That means communicating. That’s what everybody says. That’s what most of your therapists talked (at) to you about. You just ain’t, like, listened very well.

You take a breath. This is about more than just you. This is about someone other than you, too. So you turn to him. “Good mor—”

“I wanted—” Astarion says at the same time.

The both of you shut up. Then do a little verbal dance, like trying to out polite somebody through the door in front of you.

You win.

“I wanted to apologize,” Astarion says first. There’s a hint of his usual lilting smarm, but it’s too clipped around the edges to be entirely smooth. “For last night. I’m usually, ah, better up to the challenge.”

Oh. When he, well. But you read that plenty of guys do that. Girls, too (you came on his hand in maybe a couple minutes last night, which might be a personal record). You were both going at it, so you don’t really see any reason for him to be so stiff about it. But he’s striding around like some Victorian butler, back yardstick straight, chin perfectly level to the ground (you read British royals train themselves to walk like that).

This man is usually all twirling hands and shoulder shimmies.

You debate it. Decide to take your chances. Lift your hand and flick the shoulder of his armor.

“It’s all good,” you say, when he glances (sharply) to you. “I liked. Um. Being with you.”

“How encouraging,” he says.

The rest of the group is mostly in front of y’all, with Karlach taking up the rear. You hope like hell they mind their own damn business, since half of them got pointy ears and you assume that means they all got super hearing. Fucking close ass quarters.

“How’re you doing?” you say. It’s usually the next step in small talk.

Astarion smiles. There’s something off about it. It’s a little too…perfect. Composed, even.

Fake.

“I’m quite well, all things considered. Rather eager to show you a full sampling of my portfolio, once we get the chance.”

Is he just nervous? Ashamed, maybe? There’s a whole parody song about coming in your pants. He might be worried he, what, disappointed you?

(It did the opposite. It…kinda went to your head in the moment, before he ran off. What an interesting thing to learn about yourself, his soft grunts filling your memory as he clutched at you and the glimpse of his face drawn tight—).

You shake your head. You’re having a conversation, goddamnit, not daydreaming about how he sounds mid-orgasm.

Although you could hear it again. Tonight, even, he seems to be offering. Twenty-five years, give or take, since puberty and you didn’t care much about all that. Felt horny, sometimes, but not really connected to any person (you did have your collection of toys, though, cause you’re a curious kind). Now this man got to you and woke up something in you and your body perks up at the slightest hint of him like a starved dog.

Still.

There’s a weird remoteness to him. And you don’t wanna push things too fast. Right?

“I’m getting kinda rusty on the Chondathan, actually,” you say.

“What?” Comes out flatter than fucking Kansas. The man nearly stops dead.

Ah fuck, you fucked it. Ryan fucking Meadows ghosted you for being frigid and weird and you’re difficult and isolated and, and…

“Chondathan? That you was teaching me?” Because by god, this was the road you turned down and you can’t pull a u-turn now. You just gotta plow further on. “We haven’t used that. Since the Underdark. And I think I’m forgetting it. But it was fun. And seemed important?”

The way he rolled the r’s back at you. The way the words twisted in his smooth voice. The only thing human (kinda) down there. The only other living (mostly) thing that spoke. The tether that meant you wasn’t alone.

“I,” Astarion says. Blinks. Then that weird smile slips back on. “If you like. I do have a few books we’ve picked up along the way.”

And you cannot, can not stop the high sound you make. A month or more. Fucking weeks of sitting around at night, waiting to fall asleep. Sore. Aching. Too tired. Fucking bored.

“Holy fuck, I miss books so bad. Brainworms and monsters and murder and all that shit, I could deal with so much better if I could fucking read.”

Astarion’s lips purse, and he taps his chin with one finger. “Yes, you did mention a ridiculous public library.”

Gale makes a sudden movement ahead.

You kinda doubt he’s got any kids books, though. Nothing you could sound out, let alone comprehend on the little you’ve grasped so far (yet).

“What’re your books about?” You hope to hell they ain’t all religious texts or old essays collections of Old Man Philosopher Yells at Clouds. Historically on Earth, those were the only things valuable enough for people to want to preserve, all copying by hand. Unless they got printing presses here. In which case, could they have novels?

Astarion leans in close (it’s goddamn ridiculous how distracting he smells) and says, “I honestly haven’t a clue. I snatch them up to sort out later.”

Practical, if heavy. Well, maybe not for the average person. Who didn’t grow up in a fuck ass cult out in the sticks that treated anything not the Bible or the printed pamphlets of the Pastor as contraband (you’d been so nervous the first time you ever stepped into the city library) (the lord was gonna strike you dead) (the devil was gonna enter your soul and possess you) (holy shit there was so many and you wanted all of them).

“We can do a book haul,” you say. Which you then have to explain, and this time Gale just stops to let y’all catch up so he can listen in, not even bothering to hide it).

The road curves down and ends in a fuck off giant of a dead tree, fallen on its side over a crevasse. What looks a lot like wagon ruts carve up along that dead trunk.

You’re careful to follow in the exact footsteps of Wyll out front, and absolutely not look anywhere but your next step and the bank beyond. And not visualize your foot slipping, ankle folding, the tumble into the long dark below.

“Would you,” you start, mostly so you can distract yourself. Only to realize how presumptuous you’re being. But Astarion lifts an eyebrow, cause you started a question and need to finish it. “I mean. I don’t wanna be rude. Or demanding or nothing. But um. Would you mind? Reading to me? You can say no.”

“Doing alright back there?” Wyll says, once y’all are across.

You lift a thumb. Which you also then have to explain. Some gestures are the same here, but that one ain’t. Weird.

Astarion watches you, head cocked. Something strains around his eyes. Disappears the second you return your attention to him.

“Of course, my dear. It just seems a waste when we could be enjoying our time with other means.”

His hand in your pants. Maybe even your hand in his pants.

Your body flushes hot and tingling. Greedy. But also, y’know, fucking books.

Gale makes an odd sound and falls back further to join Karlach. You can feel her grin on the back of your head.

“I. I do, um. Like that,” you say. A lot. You’d probably ruin your panties here in a minute or two as your body starts to holler about it. “But, I dunno. That’d get boring if that’s all we do, huh?”

Astarion’s face changes. Or the angle does, or the torchlight hits it odd and you been spending too much time staring at him. Like repeating a word too many times, until it don’t sound real. A twitch, a flicker of something, and he looks like a different person.

His eyes. They’re…round. Ain’t never seen them that young. It makes him look…younger. Softer, maybe. Only for a second. Just enough to clock it. Then he twists himself back to smarm. Lifts a hand and presses it to his chest all offended southern belle, and gives a tiny gasp.

“Boring? Oh darling, have I left you so unsatisfied? Perish the thought. Only, you sounded quite pleased when I joined you last night.”

Said loud enough for everybody to hear. Do not glance back, Shadowheart. Don’t she fucking dare. She fucking offered you birth control, she knows what y’all’re about.

“Oh, what an interesting stone formation over there,” Gale says behind y’all.

You want to swat Astarion’s arm. You want to swat him so bad.

And the reply comes to you. Perfect. Sharp. A glance to his crotch and a crook of your eyebrow and you could say “really” all flat and he would know exactly what you was talking about.

But he ran off last night. Fucking apologized to you about it, and this seems…this is covering. All of it. It washes over you all cold and syrupy. His approach, what he’s said, his offer. He’s…worried. What, that you don’t like him no more? That you don’t want him no more?

That perfection in your mind would hurt him. Maybe more than you even know. You can see that clear as day, and the thought makes your heart ache (jesus fuck, you’re in so fucking deep).

You ain’t gonna do that to him. And fuck everybody else being nosy or judgy to you. You gagged down enough shame on the farmstead for years. You ain’t gonna choke down one drop more. Especially not here. Like this.

You lift your chin. Meet his gaze. “My people got a saying about too much of a good thing turning it sour. If all y’all eat is chocolate, you get sick. So yeah, I did like it. And if you don’t mind, darlin, I’d like you to read to me tonight. You, you got a nice voice.”

Probably didn’t need the last part, judging from Karlach’s tiny squeal and Shadowheart’s face pinching so hard you can see it in fucking profile. But it happened, and it seems to have whammied your target. Man actually takes a step back before he catches himself. And there’s them wide eyes again. Like…like you. In them early days. When Sasha or one of the group home neighbors baked some cookies and brought them to you, and you wasn’t used to getting anything but basic rations and a new dress when yours got too roughed up to patch, because asking for more was a sin. Decadence opens the door to the devil.

To this man, one compliment is a whole tray of cookies. A gift he wasn’t expecting. Something that didn’t even occur to him.

Your heart hurts again.

“I, of course,” he says, all quiet.

Up ahead, Wyll calls out. “I see light ahead!”

[lsunstreakerl]

I always feel so embarrassed to enjoy a/b/o fics but the pack dynamics will suck me back in EVERY TIME 😭 I really need to know how the pack dynamics work as the drivers start including Max... like the rb garage is pack bonded now?? Will Max just have two packs or does he have to pick one?? (also does Charles have any feelings about them neglecting his boy👀)

you're embarrassed reading it, I'm literally writing it 😭 this is coming to my grave with me. anyways- worldbuilding below the cut!

kind of talked about in one of the last ficlets, but garages aren't really set up to function as packs- sometimes smaller subgroups might form loose pack bonds, but they almost never include drivers, because the nature of driver contracts makes being a pack with your team a bad idea. if you're only around for a year or two, and then you leave for another team- breaking that pack bond hurts. it's one of the things daniel really struggles with when he leaves.

additionally, (at least in my universe here) packs can undergo "pack strain", which is when there's a divide in authority on pack alpha. it's really, really easy for that to happen to a garage pack, which is the other reason they don't form. the divide between a pack alpha and a team principal makes it impossible for one person to cohesively lead the team all the time.

a team principal is too busy running the garage as a team, getting everything done they need to for racing. they don't have the time or emotional bandwidth to also be a pack alpha on top of that, so the role has to be delegated.

the person the pack might pick as pack alpha could be several stations below the team principal in the actual team, which can lead to problems on race day. it puts everyone else under strain too- who do they listen to? their boss or their pack alpha?

pack strain is the name given to the actual condition that arises from that. it's characterized by high levels of anxiety in a pack, difficulty submitting to authority, and the regular members of the pack (not the pack alpha or "challenging" pack alpha) become codependent on each other, trying to fill in the gaps.

"Sunny, how did Redbull avoid that for two years?"

everyone say thank you gianpiero. GP is the RB pack alpha, but he's unique in the sense that even in the pack he shows a clear respect for Christian. This is atypical just because it's hard to find an alpha willing to do that, but the team is doing this for Max. They're not unaware of the dangers of pack strain- but after the airport incident they recognize that Max has pack bonded to them, so the RB garage being a pack is a bit of a crisis response.

the drivers pack was initially formed to prevent drivers pack bonding with their garages. that's practically its entire purpose. ideally for RB, Max joins the drivers pack and starts naturally shifting towards them, and the team can ease out of the pack bond. It's not a strict break- more of a natural erosion. They'll still need to have a professional Pack Dynamicist around to monitor the situation while they're readjusting, but it won't be traumatic.

[lantur]

I have been having an amazing time with my cousin and her husband in Orlando!! They took me to the wetlands today and helped me live my dream of seeing gators in the wild!

Yesterday we went for a lovely lake walk, out to gelato, and to a play in the evening - Imogen Says Nothing, which was very original and fun. Today, we went to the farmers market, out for coffee, to the wetlands, and then got delicious Italian ice, walked their senior doggo around the neighborhood, and went out for dinner :)) It’s been SO good for my mental health to be with family, get a break from my work and school, and be out of the horrible cold and snow and lack of sun, in the warmth and sunshine.

I really needed this on a deep level. I was pretty close to the end of my rope over the last two weeks with work and personal stuff going on. It’s been so great to spend time with my cousin for the first time in over a year and a half too since we have so much in common 🥹

[deejadabbles]

Hello, friends. I know it's been a while. I've been meaning to make and post this for forever. Below I'll go into a bit more detail about what's been going on, but the tldr is basically: Life has dealt me some not great hands this past year, and during that time I lost my muse for the fandom.

I wanted to let everyone who followed my works know that I will no longer be updating my fics. At least not for the foreseeable future. My brain likes to cycle through fandoms, so I might cycle back around (its happened before!), but for now at least, I probably won't be writing/posting anything.

Thank you to everyone who read my fics and continue to read them, you mean the world to me and I'll still be around if you ever want to chat 💙

tag list: @sev-on-kamino (@returnofthepineapple ) @starrylothcat @sinfulsalutations @commander-sunshine @dystopicjumpsuit @littlemissmanga @wings-and-beskar @freesia-writes @idontgetanysleep @523rdrebel @moonlightwarriorqueen @briefartnaturewolf @kimiheartblade @littlemissbshine @chubbyhedgehog @ladytano420 @trixie2023 @wizardofrozz

There's a bit more detail about personal stuff under the cut, but you absolutely do not have to read if you don't have the spoon to <3

So, I won't go into graphic detail, but over the last year I had several life upheavals. Including losing my job, my mother falling ill, and several other deeply personal things. Thankfully, my loved ones and I are managing, and for that, I'm thankful.

I've been struggling with my mental health during all of this, too, and I don't think I realized just how bad it was until I saw how poorly my physical health had gotten as well. I'm currently taking steps to better both my mental and physical health, so don't worry <3

In fact, taking some of those steps this week is what really made me realize that I probably won't be writing for the Star Wars fandom for awhile. It looks like my rolodex brain is choosing to fixate on comics again right now lol (BTW I do have a comic themed side blog if anyone wants to follow it)

I'll still be around on this blog, of course. SW is and always will be a huge part of my life, I just wont be interacting with fanfiction on the same level. Not to mention that I've met so many wonderful people I've come to cherish in this fandom, I'm still just a message away if you ever want to chat! I've missed you guys a lot over this last year

Thank you, if you've read this far. I won't lie and say I'm doing okay (especially with the state of america right now) but I'm at least surviving and trying to get better. If anyone else want to come chat and catch up, please feel free to. In the mean time, keep fighting and ily💙

[xdanisgfx]

ʚɞ IRL — 06 who tf is this !

y/n often takes her spidey-sense for granted, and now was one of those moments.

too busy singing her lungs out to an overly loud song, she failed to see a black-clad figure crossing the night on an obviously red light until it was 3 meters away from crashing onto her hood.

her eyes widened when she finally realized, clearly setting the car on park and getting out to help up the girl who had fallen down from fright.

"oh my god, i'm so so sorry are you okay?" she squatted down to be in level of her victim, holding out a hand to pull her up. she succeeded, apologized about four more times, and they finally locked eyes.

"y/n?"

"jimin?"

"is it really you?"

expressions of respective confusion and panic melted into ones of realization, familiarity softening their mouths into wide smiles. jimin was the first to move, taking one step forward and falling the rest of the way into y/n's embrace. "y/n!"

y/n's arms wrapped around jimin's out of instinct, still partly paralyzed from the speed in which things were going. once her brain caught up with the situation, she returned the enthusiasm.

"what the hell, jimin, what are you- how are you here- how have you been??"

"you can't bombard me with questions after almost killing me," jimin wagged a finger in a joking reprimand.

"dude, i'm sorry."

2 hours later and they were still chatting, now comfortably situated in the quieter, cooler atmosphere of the cafe that y/n worked at. it was technically breaking the rules — it was supposed to be closed, but it was the closest and y/n felt as if she had to make jimin's drink herself.

"you got taller since i last saw you," jimin said, breaking the silence.

the corner of y/n's lips quirked up, knowing that her growth spurt relied mainly on something secret. "i was always taller."

"you were not," the older girl denied, scowling. "i can't believe it's been four years. how's yunjin?"

"i just left a party i was with her in," y/n admitted. "i had to leave for something, too bad, though."

"that's okay."

the younger of the two glanced down at her phone, finding the time. "you think we can end here? i'm not supposed to be at the cafe at this time.."

"oh, yeah, sure. sure, i can't have you getting into trouble like you used to." jimin teased, reaching over to playfully ruffle y/n's hair.

"hey!"

"can i have your social media accounts? just so we can to meet up again. you and me."

y/n's cheeks pinked. "um, okay."

"with yunjin."

"okay."

"when's your shift?"

previous ʚɞ masterlist ʚɞ next

taglist! — @meganskiendielsbtc @sunshinez4 @fruityg0rl @wtfisthisnoclueman @winnmin @1luvkarina @peanutbutterlover05 @hiraizyo @kristalag @haerinkisser @zindoriyo @bandaidss320 @xochitlisbest @leotapes @yeetaberry127

author's notes! — ohoho what is karina doing here?!??! also oops i meant 12am

divider by @bernardsbendystraws

[queenharumiura]

Blog Activity

((Figured I'd take the time to say something. My activity is kinda come and go a bit these days (most of it was bc of the vday event), but outside of that, I've not been the biggest presence, or i'm a bit slower to reply to things than usual.

I do want to state that this is nothing against anyone else. I'm just trying to learn to slow down and actually take my time. I am trying to make myself understand that no one is going to get mad at me if I take my time to reply. I can go slow if I want to. I don't need to feel guilty.

Another reason why I'm not as big a presence online is because I've learned from the end of last year, how horribly RPC can tank my mentality if something happens. I haven't tanked that hard in years to the point that it was lucky if I even had the willingness to even eat most days and nearly passed out because of it.

That's why you've been seeing me binge-reading or binging old shows more frequently now, because i'm trying to revive some old hobbies of mine to fall back to. It doesn't help that my health just continues to rollercoaster, so my energy levels is also--- yeah.

TLDR: I am still around in RPC, but not as much as I normally would be. I'm trying to distance myself a lil bit from RPC as a whole as I'm still trying to regulate my hurt. I'm also just more tired because of medications, so sometimes I just can't stay awake. I apologize. ))

[writeshite]

“Careful now.” Mr. Milchick cautioned, his left palm just beneath yours as he’d stopped you from nearly dropping the small, neatly wrapped box. He guided your left hand back to a level height, around ninety degrees at angle from elbow to hand. “We wouldn’t want to break that.” His right hand was set atop yours on the top side of the gift box.

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Milchick,” you sighed in relief. “My apologies, my outie overexerted himself this past weekend.”

“Yeah, that’s called sex,” Dylan snarked, pointing to the hard to cover hickeys trailing to the back of your ear. You weren’t exactly eager to promote or detail your outie’s sex-life.

“It’s his outie’s wedding anniversary,” Mark rectified Dylan’s crass statement.

“I’m aware,” Mr. Milchick responded, “Five years, seven months, and twelve weeks.” His left hand softly traced your wedding ring. If you didn't know any better, you'd say his smile took a softer tone; the usual dead joy in his eyes looked almost enamored. “My congratulations to your outie. I imagine the annual exhaustion indicative of a successful and joyous marriage."

Dylan's yearly crude joke on the matter was cut short as Irving placed a hand on his mouth. "I believe so too," you beamed, "alongside the presents, of course." You nodded to the gift in your hands. "Thank you for hand-delivering this year's gift, and last year's, and the year before that. You really don't have to; I'm sure there are better things to do." You glanced down at the gift; his hands had yet to leave yours.

"Nonsense," he assured you, "It's no trouble at all." Mr. Milchick squeezed your hands and, with one final smile, left the space. Irving made a disgusted sound as Dylan licked his palm and darted into the supply closet for a tissue.

Dylan pursed his lips, glancing over at the door; once certain Mr. Milchick wasn't returning soon, he teased, “Get a room next time, will you?”

You rolled your eyes. "It's hardly sexual to talk to a coworker."

"It is when you and Milchick do it," Dylan pulled a face in good jest. "Tell him, Mark!" He attempted to corral Mark to his side, "The eyefucking is abysmally disgusting." He dramatically exclaimed.

"I mean," Mark pursed his lips momentarily, "I don't really see anything of the sort," his words caused disbelief to rise on Dylan's face. "Besides, isn't Milchick married?"

Both Dylan and you turn to each other, then Mark, before shrugging, uncertain as to the answer. "How can you be sure?" Dylan asked.

His question was met with no answer as Irving returned and sternly expressed Mr. Milchick's preference for privacy: "What extracurricular activities Mr. Milchick has have no bearing here; he hardly enjoys sharing facts about himself outside of work, we should respect that." Dylan pouted and directed a not-so-quiet 'party pooper' at Irving; the latter turned to you and smiled earnestly, "Besides, aren't you more excited to find what anniversary present our friend has this year?"

Dylan half-shrugged, and he and Mark turned their attention to the gift box as you tore away the purple wrapping. This year's gift was an appropriately and mildly decorated set of custom sticky notes. "Your outie's husband is quite thoughtful," Irving commented, glancing at the stickers. He's a lucky man."

[ephie-om]

Barbatos' Job

CW: Violence

Barbatos plucks at each fingertip of his pristine white gloves, tugging them off bit by bit and placing them precisely in the center of the small table to his right, along with his small silver cufflinks. His footsteps, though light, echo down the stairs. He walks calmly, no sense of urgency in his movements. The candles flickering from their sconces lend him an eerie, almost ethereal aura as his features are bathed in the warm light bouncing off the bare stones. His feet stop just before the chair in the center of the room, and his horns clatter softly as he looks down at the face of the demon tied and gagged before him.

Swollen lips, still oozing blood slowly from one of the deeper cuts, saliva spilling over onto their chin. One nostril, clogged with mucus and blood, and the other flaring as the demon struggles to breathe. Matted hair with chunks ripped out, exposing bare scalp slowly scabbing over. Eye sockets, slowly starting to color with bruised purples and blues.  Eyes, almost entirely bloodshot, gray irises, terrified. 

Barbatos is reminded of a human idiom he once heard, “The eyes are the window to the soul”. He bends slightly to peer into their eyes for a long moment, trying to decide what their soul must look like, and their body starts to shake with fear. Tears well up in their eyes, but they don't dare to move. Not even when the tears spill over their eyelids and soak into open wounds, making their muscles twitch erratically as the pain lances through their face. 

Barbatos finally straightens, finding nothing of worth in their eyes. His long, pale fingers flip the cuff of his shirtsleeve over onto the sleeve twice, rolling it so that most of his forearm is exposed. He mirrors the action on his other arm slowly, methodically. The cool underground air swishes around his bare arms as he lowers them.

“I assume you know why you were brought here,” he says calmly. The demon stares back at him, petrified. “A simple nod yes or no will suffice.” Their head bobs up and down once, eyes still locked on him. “Good. I will not waste any time in explaining, then.” 

His arm moves from the shoulder faster than the demon’s eyes can track, delivering a backhanded blow across their face with a crack. They cry out in pain, head snapping to the side. “According to your records, you have been a documented Devildom citizen for over four hundred years,” he continues, putting a slight emphasis on the last two words. “One would think that as a consequence, you would have a basic level of understanding of the society in which you live. Unfortunately, it seems as though you have deliberately chosen to ignore every reminder of your Prince’s position.” He delivers another strike to the space just below the demon’s ribs, knocking the breath out of them, and he allows himself a moment to relish the sight of the demon hunched over as far as their bonds allow, unable to fill their lungs. 

“I should not have to reiterate that treason is punishable by death. Speaking about your Prince with the intent to form a plan to harm him falls under the definition of treason. Do you understand me?” The demon raises their head just enough to give him another nod. Barbatos’ eyes trace their cowering form with displeasure, and with a wave of his hand, the ropes binding them tighten, pulling them upright. Mucus streams from their face as they fight for breath against the ropes pressing against their lungs, and Barbatos can smell their blood roiling in their veins, driven on by the adrenaline dumping into their arteries. 

He walks behind the chair, past their field of vision, and picks up a flat metal spike, impossibly sharp, about the length of his forearm. “My job as the Prince’s butler goes far beyond that of a typical servant.” He steps around the chair into their view again, and watches as their eyes go wide. Barbatos trails his fingertips lightly down the front of the demon’s upper chest until he finds the small notch he’s looking for, right where the sternum joins into itself. He places the tip of the spike there, parallel to the floor, no pressure behind it. “I draw his baths, curate his teacups, and coordinate the color of his bedsheets.” 

The putrid smell of ammonia wafts up to his nose, and he glances down to find a slowly growing puddle on the chair. The demon squirms in their own mess, trying to get away from him. He looks up to meet their eyes again. “He also trusts me to… solve other problems. The distasteful situations that the Prince’s status is too high to touch.” Barbatos leans in close and starts to push. The spike pierces the skin slowly, millimeter by millimeter, and they scream through the gag, their head hitting the back of the chair with a thunk. “But make no mistake,” Barbatos murmurs, his voice tickling their face. The spike inches further, through the thin layers of muscle and hitting bone. Only a bit more pressure, and starts to cleave the bone in half just where the small strands of cartilage connect. It makes a metallic grating noise, one that vibrates through the demon’s skeleton. “I love my job.” 

With one calculated push, the spike drives deep into their body, splitting apart muscles and organs with ease. The demon screams, convulsing in their chair violently. Barbatos keeps pushing until he feels the spike pierce the wood in the back of the chair. He steps away, admiring his work. Watching the demon thrash around reminds him of an insect pinned to a board, struggling through its last breaths. Their muffled screams echo around the empty walls, and he closes his eyes, relishing in the symphony of his own creation.

[ourladyoftheflytrap]

Saw all these beautiful women with long hair today and thought to myself "why do I want to do that" so now I'm debating if I want to chop all my hair off again

[batwynn]

I hate that I’m here… again. I’m so sorry that I’m here again. But once again I’ve been trapped in a difficult situation that I’ve tried literally every way to avoid, prepare for, and roll-up-my-sleeves and do it myself. But at every turn we’ve been ignored, let down by professionals, etc. until I’ve been forced to go into debt just to heat my home because others can’t seem to take any responsibility for things that they’re responsible for. This is genuinely my last ditch effort to find even a little help. I can not go through this again. I’m exhausted, sick, and trying my best to scrape together some commission work while dealing with a really bad flare up of my autoimmune disease. (Hooray) I’m coming up short no matter what I do, and I’m desperate.

Please, if you can, donate and/or signal boost this!

For every donation received, there is a ‘anything goes’ offer of art! Please contact me here or anywhere on social media/email if you’d like to request something!

[thedreadvampy]

unfortunately the world is too fucking messed up so I am currently unable to give a shit about how messed up everything is because it's all too big and if I get upset about any of it my entire ability to be a person will come crashing in

normal service will resume as soon as possible

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...