#damn i rambled quite a bit huh

[moss-utmv-pockets]

ok ok, enough screwing around. im gonna ramble a lil abt my version of fluffytale now.

so, iirc the original creator of fluffytale is black-nyanko here on tumblr, and the story mainly focuses on ccino sans, who owns and works at a cat cafe with lots of lil kitties that bear suspicious resemblances to various sanses across the multiverse. this is amazing and wonderful and i love it dearly. however. as always, i would also like to think about the other characters.

so uh. what if, in fluffytale, each of the main cast specialized in a different critter? maybe taking care of non-magical animals has become a tradition underground, perhaps because mundane animals are simply more common in fluffytale, perhaps as a direct fuck you to all the humans who thought monsters were inherently evil and heartless, perhaps just because hehe kity.

anyways. heres the guys

sans takes care of kitty cats, and has even opened a cat cafe. obvs. same as og fluffytale

papyrus takes care of dogs, and is always either really good or really bad at training them. if no one can get your dog to stop being a lil menace, bring it to paps! he might just be able to help. it might not LOOK like helping, but chances are after putting papyrus through the ringer, your dog will return to you much calmer and less likely to act out.

gaster.... has some stuff goin on in the og that im not fully up to speed on, but i think he also used to take care of dogs. in fact, so did sans, but he also has a soft spot for cats, and understands that dogs and cats dont always mix. besides, papyrus is more than capable of handling the dogs.

undyne specializes in reptiles of all kinds, but typically cares for snakes and lizards. especially lizards, although snakes tend to be more popular with others. she claims it's just because she understands how to take care of scaly things, since she herself has scales, but anyone who's seen her interact with the royal scientist knows better.

speaking of alphys, she doesnt specialize in any animal per se (partially because she feels like she cant really properly look after any living thing after what happened with the amalgams OOPS) but instead builds terrariums and other habitats! she mostly ends up building stuff for reptiles, but also for fish and amphibians. she'd have to ask for a friend's help to build a proper habitat for cats or dogs though- they tend to need a lot more space, and they certainly aren't her specialty.

mettaton isn't really much of a pets guy- or at least, that's what he tells you. but he is clearly interested in more exotic pets that are often more difficult to take care of of- obviously because they're so unique and glamorous. not because he has a soft spot for anything different. unless you're friends, of course, in which case he's very open about how interesting he finds rarer pets.

napstablook still takes care of snails. just thought id mention them.

toriel takes care of all sorts of small things, namely bugs! snails too, and worms and such, but mostly bugs. she just thinks theyre neat! and tasty! ....and, chara was also rather fond of bugs.

asgore didn't originally intend to specialize in any type of animal pet- he was rather busy with his flowers, after all. but gardens tend to attract bugs, and bugs tend to attract birds- and, well, he kinda realized how much he loves the feathery lil guys. and they make so much noise too, the house is never quiet anymore. he can't bring himself to change the house's layout, but he has added lots of little bird cages and stands and feeders and such in and around the royal house, and birds can often be seen flying in and out of the windows. if you're ever lost in new home, just look up - you will likely see a bird flying to or from the royal house, which is in the center of the city.

[thewordsofanerd]

it is... something navigating this world being so sure of one part of me, but still being absolutely clueless of another. Like, I have had time to connect with myself and really figure out who I am, that neglecting who I am into feels so much more complex. 

I like guys, that’s always been a given, I believe. But then I remember the rare crushes on people who aren’t guys and that’s where I stumble. I feel like an imposter using any of the multi-attraction labels because I have always just defaulted to saying that I’m gay- it’s just been the easiest label to use for myself. 

[em-prentiss]

I’ve got my eye on you

----

You’re really in no shape to be at work. Aaron coaxes you home.

Cw: fem!bau!reader, reader is on her period, newly established relationship, fluff, use of pet names, no use of yn

Wc: 1.9k

if you have any Aaron requests, lmk <3

----

Your stomach cramps again as you walk out of the elevator. Wincing, you hurry into the bullpen, desperate to sit down and ease the ache in your lower body. 

Morgan looks up at you as you dump your things on your desk and sit down with a sigh. 

“Twenty minutes late, princess,” he grins. “Late night?”

“Not today, Derek.” You stuff your face in your hands, the pounding in your head intensifying. Your voice is low, strained, nothing like the usual teasing tone you take up with him. 

Morgan immediately frowns in concern. “Hey, are you okay?” He leans over the divider between your desks and takes a closer look at you.

“Fine,” you mumble, your voice muffled. You lift your head and give him a weary smile. “Just tired from last night’s case.”

He nods and leaves you alone as you turn on your computer and sigh at the stack of paperwork ahead of you. Looking up out of habit, you smile at the sight of Aaron in his office, his head bent as he works on something. 

The two of you had your first date just before this previous case. He got you flowers, specifically ones that wouldn’t trigger your allergies, and when he told you that with a flustered smile you felt yourself fall impossibly deeper. You had kissed him to stop his rambling, threaded your fingers through his as he walked you to his car and opened the door for you. Like a gentleman, you’d thought giddily, your heart bursting at the image of him in your head perfectly meeting reality.

He got you ice cream after dinner, intimately aware of your sweet tooth, and you were left wondering if it was too soon to think about marriage.

It had been a perfect night, one that left you wanting for more of him just like this; funny and relaxed and soft. You’d wanted so badly to push him into your apartment, have him take off your dress and press his lips to your skin. But you forced yourself to say goodbye at the door, his chaste kiss sweet against your lips. You wanted to take it slow, to do it right. He wasn’t going to be a quick fuck for you and you wanted him to know that. 

Because you’re in love with him, have been for years. And you’re pretty damn sure he’s in love with you too.

You’re broken from your reverie when you hear Emily approaching, a steaming mug in her hands. You give her a questioning look when she sets down the mug on your desk, the light color of the liquid telling you it’s some kind of herbal tea instead of coffee.

“You’ve got that first day period look about you,” she whispers before you can ask. You smile and pick up the tea, taking a sip and feeling the scalding liquid burn all the way down.

“That bad, huh?” You close your eyes when Emily brushes your hair away from your forehead. Her short nails scratch soothingly against your scalp and you hum, resting your head lightly against her stomach. 

“You’re a little pale,” she murmurs. “Did you eat?”

You say nothing and bring the tea to your lips again, avoiding your friend’s gaze. 

“Typical,” Emily sighs—quite boldly of her, knowing she’s no different. “Hotch won’t be happy about that,” she teases softly, her lips turning up in a gentle smile. She may or may not have given you and Aaron the final push you both needed.

You shrug as your cheeks tint pink. “I’ll eat in a bit,” you say, in no hurry to do so with the way your stomach churns. “The pain really blocks my appetite.” You scrunch your nose. 

Emily hums, all too familiar with the feeling. “I’d tell you to take some meds, but you need to eat for that.” She strokes your hair soothingly, making you lean into her touch.

“I will, Em,” you smile up at her. “When my stomach settles. This is helping by the way, thanks.” You tilt your head to the mug you’re now holding against your stomach, the heat of it seeping through your shirt.

“You’re welcome,” Emily squeezes your shoulder and heads to her own desk. 

Sighing, you tip your head back and adjust your grip on the mug in your hands, wishing you had something for your thighs too. And your head. And your lower back. 

You give yourself a few seconds before you rub your eyes and sit up straight, trying to start on your report. 

The words blur on the page in front of you and you blink, trying to bring them back into focus. You sip your tea, hoping it’ll kick start your brain into writing something, but your head pounds incessantly, jumbling up the words in your head.

The next sip of tea brings a sudden nausea with it, the liquid sloshing around in your empty stomach with nothing else. You set it down with a grimace. 

Fucking great.

Morgan and Reid are bickering incessantly behind you, Emily clacks away at her computer and Anderson is talking louder than usual, his voice piercing your head. You blow out a breath and grab your pen, forcing yourself to ignore them and look at your paperwork. You squint at the paper, the bright fluorescent lights of the bullpen like needles in your eyes.

You give up and slump on your desk with a groan, welcoming the darkness and the cool wood against your forehead. You cross your arms tightly over your aching stomach, feeling the frustrating press of tears against your closed eyelids.

Aaron leaves his office in search of coffee and catches sight of you with your head on your desk, your hair shielding your face. Your back shudders as you inhale, the ragged rise and fall of it visible even from a distance.

He hurries down to you and gently touches your shoulder, your name falling softly from his mouth. You tilt your head up to look at him, too tired to lift it from the desk. “Aaron, hey.” You give him a worn out smile. 

Your hair falls into your face. Aaron gently brushes it away and notes your crossed arms held tightly against your stomach, your nails digging into your biceps.

“Are you okay?” He asks worriedly, eyeing your tired face and the bags under your eyes. “You look pale. Are you sick?” He presses the back of his hand against your forehead, but your skin is cool.

If the cramps weren’t currently tearing your body to shreds, you might have felt the butterflies at his obvious concern. “I’m not,” you say slowly, wetting your dry lips. “I’ll be fine, my head just hurts a bit.”

A bit is a gross oversimplification, and from the look on Aaron’s face, he knows it too. “Just your head?” He raises his brows, his eyes pointedly drifting down to your stomach.

A strange heat rises to your cheeks. “I’ll be fine, Aaron.” You insist as you lift yourself up against the chair. The light shines directly into your eyes and you wince, pressing your palm against your lids.

“Clearly,” he mutters, looking at your desk and the still empty paperwork and reports you have yet to fill out. “Go home. You can finish this tomorrow.”

“No,” you shake your head adamantly despite the roiling in your stomach. “I’m fine, I just—” You shut your eyes and blow out a shaky breath when you feel a sudden cramp in your abdomen, “I just need a minute.” You rasp.

Aaron eyes your dull skin and the way you tightly grip your seat, your knuckles sharp as you take in ragged breaths. He sighs and crouches down in front of you, the gentle way he says your name forcing your eyes open. 

“Please. Go home or I’ll drive you myself.” His brown eyes are soft with concern, his brows furrowed and lips tipped downward.

You want to shake your head, but a sharp pain in your stomach almost makes you gasp. You bite your lip and look down at your watch. “It’s only 11.” You protest weakly. 

Aaron shakes his head at your stubbornness, your pain clear in the way your face twists. “You’re in pain, sweetheart,” he whispers, unable to stop himself from saying it. Your eyes widen slightly at the nickname, but he continues, undeterred.

“Please. Go home, take care of yourself. You can be here first thing tomorrow, I promise, but you’re not well now.” He’s using the same soft, soothing tone he uses whenever Jack is sick and refusing his medication, and it seems to have the same effect on you.

You wilt against the seat and nod. “Okay,” you finally relent, the relief obvious in your voice. 

Aaron smiles slightly, dimples poking out in victory as he stands up. You don’t even have to pack anything, your purse still closed on your desk. You pocket your phone and stand, your hand reaching for Aaron’s elbow when you stumble slightly. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. 

“Shh, you’re okay,” he steadies you with a hand on your back. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.”

You don’t protest and allow him to walk you to the elevator. A part of you is surprised that he’s showing this side of him at work, uncaring of the team’s piercing gazes that you can feel following you all the way out of the bullpen. 

You lean into his side a little when you’re out of sight, the warmth of his hand on your back seeping into your skin as you wait for the elevator. 

You’re almost disappointed when it dings.

The doors open and you walk in with a quiet sigh. Aaron walks in with you too, ignoring your surprised look. You open your mouth to protest, but he speaks first.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay driving? I can take you,” he offers.

You smile. The thought does sound nice. But you shake your head, despite your aching body and the long drive ahead of you. And the crushing need to let him take care of you. “I’ll be fine.” You force yourself to say. “Thank you, though.”

Aaron nods. “Drive safe.” He smiles at you gently. “Text me when you get home.”

“I will.” Your fingers magically find their way into his hair. You push the soft strands away from his forehead, biting back a smile when he involuntarily leans into your touch.

His hand finds the curve of your waist. “Maybe I can come by later?” He whispers. 

You feel your body grow warm, a comforting glow that he always brings out in you. You smile, momentarily distracted from the pain in your body.

“I’d like that. But I won’t be much fun,” you gesture to yourself with a shrug. The elevator stops and the doors slide open into the parking lot. 

“That’s just nonsense,” Aaron tilts your face down to kiss your forehead, his palms warm on your cheeks. “Be careful, honey.” 

“I will.” You stamp a quick kiss on his lips, your cheeks warm, and head to your car. Aaron holds the elevator doors open and waits until you get in before heading again to the sixth floor.

He walks back into the bullpen, past his team gathered at Emily’s desk, including Garcia. They smirk at him and he glares back.

“Not a word.” 

[elliezlils11utt]

Dbf!abby pt 2

contents: nsfw!! age gap (reader is early 20s Abby is mid-late 30!) risky sex! no descriptions of reader..? (I think) fingering, pt 2 to a post I’ve already made and won’t really make sense if you haven’t read pt 1? (technically you can read it w/o pt 1 tho)

pt 1 here!

summary: Abby fucks you while you, your father, and her are watching a movie together.

Wc: 1.5k?

proofread?: no babes sorry

A/n: some of this is quite literally copy and pasted from c.ai. I did not want to write this bc it’s boring. (Hence why it took literally a month to get out!) I hope it lives up to your dreams tho!

taglist: @seraphicsentences @tohoko

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She chuckled at your reaction, stepping away from you just as your dad opened the door. You could tell Abby was disappointed too, but the look in her eyes hadn't completely left.

"Ah, there you are! Come give your old man a hug."

Your dad called out to you, a big smile on his face. He hugged you tightly before looking at Abby.

‘hey dad! how was it?’ your dad replies, rambling on on about a stupid dinner party. To be completely honest you don’t remember half of the shit he was saying really. your eyes too focused on the tempting looks Abby was giving you from behind your fathers back. your heart jumping around in your chest. you’re sight stayed on Abby. bluring out your fathers useless talking. when he finished dragging on his spiel he ruffles your hair, Turing to look at Abby.

‘thanks for watching my little trouble maker, I really appreciate it’

your gaze turns to Abby, looking up at her figure you force your eyes into a puppy dog pout. you take your lip between your teeth, biting the flesh in your mouth. you wink.

‘yah abs, thanks for watching me.’

she rolled her eyes, annoyed at your teasing antics. but truthfully your making her go insane. fuck. she groans at your wink before giving you a warning look, silently telling you to cut it out..

‘yah it was no problem!” her words seem so genuine, a sweet smile flashed at your father before her face deadpans back to you. your father looked between the two of you. raising his eyebrow slightly. you turn to you’re dad giving him a questionable hum.

“Hm?” you act clueless. you can feel Abby’s gaze on you. feeling her eyes trail down your body. your dad seemed slightly suspicious but her jst laughed and let it go.

“nothing, nothing! but hey, Abby if you don’t have any plans, wanna watch a movie? you know all three of us! like old times!”

“what do u say abs? you down to stay a while?” you give her a look, a knowing, begging look.

she raised the corner of her mouth at this offer. her eyes drift from your father to you, then back to your dad.

“Yeah sure, I don’t see why not!” It’s not like she could ever deny you. you and your god damn puppy eyes. your pleading pathetic look. god you were so pretty to her.

“alright im going to go set up the movie.”

“alright daddy, call us in when it’s all set!” you watch your father walk out of the room, when he’s out of sight your catch your lip between your teeth before looking up at abs.

“your a bit of a brat, huh angel? you love teasing me infront of your dad don’t you? little minx.”

“mhm, you love it tho. the adrenaline of almost getting caught, don’t you abs?”

She chuckled and stepped closer to you, her eyes darkening with desire.

"You're very observant, aren't you? How about I test that theory?"

Abby whispered in a low, seductive tone. She ran her hand over your arm, feeling the goosebumps form on your skin. She leaned in, her lips only millimeters away from your ear.

“How about we make sure we don't get caught..?”

“yeah? but oh, what if we did. what if I ran and told daddy right now that his best friend was about to fuck his innocent little daughter? What would happens then abs.”

you say in a teasing, almost daring tone. She paused as you spoke, her eyes darkening even more at your teasing remark.

"Oh really, angel? You're testing me, huh? I'm sure your dad would love to see his daughter pinned against the wall, writhing and moaning because of me."

Abby smirked, her voice dripping with provocative undertones. your lips crash with hers, desperation winning. It was dangerous, your father just in the other room. But the thrill made it even hotter. Abby responded to your kiss passionately, her tongue eagerly slipping into your mouth. She pressed her body against yours, the adrenaline of getting caught making the moment even more intense. She felt your tongue against hers, the taste of you making her dizzy. Abby's hands found their way to your hips, her fingers digging into your skin. It was so dangerous, but so damn good. you hear your father call out from the other room, telling you the movie was set up. You slowly pull away from Abby, looking into her eyes. A string of spit connects your lips to hers. your hands dragging down to hers, pulling her in the living room.

“stay quite okay?”

You can feel her breathing heavy, her chest rising and falling. Her cheeks are flushed, lips parted and eyes darkened. Abby is practically speechless as you pull her into the living room. She nods slowly, her voice barely audible as she whispers.

“Okay."

you drag her into the living room plopping down on the couch. Patting the seat next to u. acting as if nothing happened in the room next door. Abby follows you, her heart racing. She takes a seat next to you, trying to compose herself and act nonchalant. Her eyes are fixated on the tv screen, but her body is still buzzing with the adrenaline from your encounter. She leans slightly towards you, her leg grazing against yours under the blanket. you pull her hand onto your thigh under the blanket, turning to her. She looks at you, feeling your touch send sparks through her body. Abby turns towards you too, her fingers tracing circles on your thigh under the blanket. She smiles softly at you, knowing damn well how risky this whole situation is. You drag her hand higher, closer to where you want her. hoping she takes the hint. She feels her heart race as her hand moves higher, her breath hitching. She glances at you, seeing the desire in your eyes. Abby moves even closer to you, leaning in so her breath tickles your ear.

“You're being quite daring tonight, angel. Do you enjoy the danger? Do you want us to get caught?"

you whisper into her ear

“maybe, maybe not. fuck around and find out.”

She shivers as your breath touches her ear, and your whispers send her heart racing even faster. Abby lets out a soft laugh, and her hand continues to move higher, getting closer to where you need it. She leans in close, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers back.

“You little... devil. You know what you're doing, don't you?"

“of course I do.” you giggle softly. you feel her hand palm your heat. the contact making you jump. you look at your father, he’s completely interested in the movie. paying no mind to the two of you. her fingers slide your sleep shorts to the side. her digits rubbing your cunt over your painties. you close your eyes, enjoying the pure bliss of what you’ve been wanting for so long. her fingers work at your cunt. feeling your slick build up on the cotton of your painties. you bite down on your lower lip. hard. holding back desperate little moans. how pathetic. her hand slides under your painties. feeling your slick flesh. you bite back a moan, bucking into her hands.

“shhh shh shhh, quite baby.” a low voice whispered into your ear. how the fuck were you supposed to be quiet when her fingers were slipping into your drooling pussy? she starts out with one finger. slowly pushing it into your clenched hole. then she adds another. you try to hide the fact your dads best friend was inside of you but it was kinda hard. your hand flings up to ur mouth when she curls her fingers into u. your gaze turns back to your father who’s falling asleep in his chair. her eyes remain on the tv. never breaking and never looking at you. she knows what she’s doing and refuses to look at you. under the blanket her digits pump in and out of your hole. faster and faster. you wiggle around in your seat. Practically dripping. you whimper slightly. causing Abby to stop completely. she looks at you with a piercing stare, her eyebrow raised.

“m’ sorry.” you whine quietly. and with that her fingers return their unforgiving pace. you feel yourself at the brink of your orgasm. you bite down on the back of your hand holding back your whimpers and moans. you squirm in your seat as you cum on her fingers. her eyes still never leave the tv as your cum all over her. Her digits work you through your orgasm. you struggle to keep quiet. You calm down from your high. looking at your dad to see if he heard your sad attempt to stay silent. he’s passed out. you turn to Abby who has a shit eating grin plastered across her face. you punch her playfully, rolling your eyes before laying your head on her shoulder.

“whats happening in the movie?”

“I don’t know I haven’t been watching”

“yes you have?”

“you think I can keep focus on a dumb movie when you look so cute trying to be quiet from me?”

A/n: this sucks. ilyyy!!!

[greenishghostey]

Squirting thots continued from yesterday: imagine if you squirted while Eddie was fucking you hard and deep while holding your knees next to your head, and he pulled out, slapped his cock against your pussy a few times to get it nice and soaked, and you had came so much it was literally creating little splashes

Damn ain't this A CONCEPT. Let's write some filth about it.

18+ Content MDNI

///

The slick squelching from your puffy cunt was just so loud. All you could hear was Eddie's wet pounding, his guttural moans and your own whining. His thick fingers were covered in your wet, having fucked you for what could have been 5 minutes or an hour with his hands earlier. The vice grip on your sweaty thighs had his nails biting into your skin.

"C'mon, one more of me, yeah?" Eddie panted, hiking your legs up by the backs of your knees. "My little lady can do one more, can't she?" He wanted an actual answer. "Use your words, babe, or I'll be annoying as all hell."

You could barely string a thought together. The majority of your day had been spent with some part of Eddie in you. Fingers, tongue, cock, he hadn't let up for what felt like hours. Only stopping for bathroom and snack breaks - he bought you the sandwich stuff you liked and even cut it diagonal for you. A far cry from the perv that was currently trying to get you to soak his mattress.

"One more. Can do one. Mhmm." You rambled, panting and fidgeting in Eddie's hold. The tension in your thighs and how deep Eddie was inside you had drool pooling in your mouth. You could feel him in your fucking stomach.

"Great," Eddie quickly pushed your legs up and back, your knees close to your head. "You're gonna be real sore after this. But I'll fix it later."

The pace set was nothing short of brutal. It felt almost unhinged in a way. Eddie's soaked cock was pounding into you and you couldn't do anything but lie there and take it. He was somehow deeper now and slamming into your g-spot, making the drool slide from your mouth.

Your mind was almost entirely blank. It was bliss, if anything. All you could focus on was the stretch and strain of Eddie and the burning that twisted in your stomach.

"God, I love when you look like that," Eddie groaned, lidded eyes trained on your face. "You're fuckin' drooling all 'cause of me. Because I'm the only one who can make ya feel this good, huh?" It amazed you that he could still think and talk.

"Fuckin' good, so good Eds - fucking god." You moaned, well aware that you were close but you couldn't articulate it anymore. Eddie would just have to figure it out. The twisting heat in your stomach moved down your abdomen. It felt like you had to pee. You knew this distinct feeling and it was exactly what Eddie was aiming for.

"Just one more big one, uh huh?" Eddie panted, leaning in closer - impossibly close so he could feel everything you were going to give him. "Soak this fucking bed." He whispered through clenched teeth directly into your face.

The release felt like a dam breaking. You screamed into Eddie's waiting mouth as he smiled down at you. You came in wet spurts, coating Eddie's lower body and the mattress under you both. He had made a joke about wanting some new stains to jazz the place up a bit.

The world was hazy as you gasped and caught your breath - any tense quickly leaving your body entirely. Eddie had let your legs rest on the bed again and slipped out of you just as fast. It took you a few seconds to notice what he was doing.

Eddie furiously pumped his cock in his fist, heavy lidded eyes focused on your messy cunt - his handiwork. You liked to watch him. It was raw and actually quite pretty in a feral sort of way. The jerking off just wasn't cutting it, however, so Eddie began slapping the leaking head of his cock in your mess. You twitched at the new stimulation, mewling and whining and only bringing Eddie closer to cumming.

"Jesus Christ, babe," He whined, fucking his hand and sliding his cock through your cum. "So so good for me. Just for me. Want me to cum on your pussy? Make more of a mess?"

You honestly wanted to cry because you wanted it that badly. "Mhmm, messy, please."

The wet slapping of Eddie's cock on your cunt had started to cause small splashes. They hit his torso, your tits and his bed - creating even more little stains. The experience was new, but exhilarating. It led you both to moan in unison into each other's mouths, a wet and desperate kiss to muffle Eddie's eventual yells.

[devilfic]

girl. the honeymoon series. LIVING FOR IT. this is a really like loose request, but could you do like a charity event night? not really sure what to happen but the thought of having to reallllly sell the whole marriage thing to everyone at the event is just quite interesting. thriving rn

❝honeymoon❞

IV. sugar-coating.

parts: previously / next plot: an ex corners you, bringing up bad memories. bruce offers you super illegal catharsis. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: arranged marriage, friends to enemies to (fake) lovers, implied history between reader and bruce, angst, eventual fluff, reader has a scummy ex, bruce is allowed to be a little bit chaotic as a treat and so are you. words: 2.8k.

"So. Wayne, huh? How's that going for you?"

You laugh behind your glass, feigning innocence with a light and fluttery "What do you mean?"

Coulson is a family friend, as much yours as he is Bruce's, and even though he's the competition, he treats you and Bruce with as much respect as you could hope for in your line of work. Bonds formed in boarding school tended not to break easily, "It's just... gotta wonder what you did to make it up to him. Last I checked, you didn't even exist to him."

You swallow your champagne, just for something better to do than flinching, "Yeah, well, he found it in his heart to hear me out. Love like that doesn't really go away."

Coulson's eyes narrow for a second. He doesn't fully believe you. In an attempt to steer toward calmer waters, he elbows you in the side, "Must've learned some impressive tricks if it got that skirt-chaser to commit." But calmer didn't mean desirable.

You really don't want to discuss what you and Bruce (don't) do in the bedroom right now, so you steer the conversation a different direction, "And how is your new girlfriend, Coulson?"

He has a lot to say about her. A violinist in the Gotham City Orchestra with two degrees and a tour coming up later this year. He tells you he'll send you and Bruce tickets, tells you that one of the tour dates is in Spain and it will line up with your anniversary next year. The mention of your anniversary makes your stomach knot up a bit; the wedding was still weeks away, and you'd only just gotten on decent speaking terms with Bruce.

If anyone here knew how thin your marriage's facade was, it would be more than an embarrassment. Your mother would waterboard you in your own blood and tears.

It helped that most people didn't have a clue. Sure, there was gossip and the occasional rumor, but it was all for "fun". It never went anywhere, and any whisper that got too big for its britches could be easily stamped out with a little effort.

But Coulson? He was a friend. He'd known you a long time. If anyone were to put weight to a rumor about you and Bruce, it would be him. Which is why you couldn't let him figure you out.

"...For a while there, I swore you and Bruce weren't on speaking terms at all." Your ears catch the last bit of Coulson's rambling, right as he settles into a silent, knowing smile. "Care to catch me up on the rekindling?"

Well, you see, there's this little thing called blackmail- "When the board appointed me as acting CEO, I felt it time to reach out and make amends. It'd been years since we'd even talked, and with him so busy with his projects, we never really saw each other either. I was surprised that he even had the time, so we met up and just talked. About everything. About the company, about his work, about... what happened. It was a little while after the flood, so it just sort of lined up at the right time."

Coulson nods, impressed and seemingly unaware you'd just pulled that out of your ass, "Damn. Near-death experiences really do wonders for the heart. And now you have a wedding coming up." He catches it before you do, the micro-expression of discomfort. You swear his smile gets bigger, "What's that? Don't tell me there's trouble in paradise already?"

"No, sorry. Not trouble. Just stress. Lots of wedding planning and company business at once. I was kind of hoping to get away from it all here, focus my efforts on alleviating others' stresses." You tip your glass in the direction of the giant banner at the entrance that reads, "Hope For Homes: Housing Gotham's Youth One Helping Hand at a Time".

Coulson doesn't take his eyes off you for a second, "Had I known you were ready to settle down, I wouldn't have let Bruce beat me to it."

“I’m sorry?”

Your friend's smile doesn't waver. You feel a chill settling in your chest, a warning that he’d taken control again. You try to casually scan the crowd for Bruce but you find him in deep discussion with some business partners and your stomach twists. He’s turned, he can’t see you. You can’t call for help.

“Ah, you know,” Coulson steps forward, a friendly distance to anyone else, “saw you and Brucie together and just got to thinking about us. You remember, don’t you?” You keep a solid expression, much to his amusement, “Or was I just a step on the ladder too?”

It’s supposed to be a joke. You ought to laugh it off. You do, stiffly, pressing your sweating glass to your inner wrist to ground yourself, “We were… 17. Weren’t we?”

“The first time, yeah.”

“How could I forget?”

“You did always like Bruce better.” Coulson comes closer. He’s close enough now that anyone would think you were just two childhood friends gossiping, reminiscing on your youth and laughing all about it. Coulson keeps up a pretty smile even as your heartbeat accelerates, “Always worried about him. Always running after him. He didn’t even give you the time of day.”

You keep smiling, “He was angry. I understood-“

“Bullshit,” and he says this so loud that a few people turn and look, but with such a joyful expression that they don’t look long, “you were obsessed with the guy! Couldn’t stand the idea of him knowing what you really are.”

Your blood curdles. You know you should correct him, but your jaw is locked tight.

"That's okay. Bruce is... fickle. One day he's in love with you, the next you're a bug on a windshield. You're no bug now, are you?"

Now he's pushing it. The hand that captures your chin is lightly scented with cardamom, what should smell pleasing and sexy and disabling. It should sweep you into familiar arms, whisk you off into a whirlwind affair that gets the whole party talking. It should spark controversy. It should make you excited to ruin your mother's plans.

Your heart pangs as you remember the look on Bruce's face. Standing in the hall, one hand on the door to the library, yours and your mother's faces illuminated in flickering candlelight. You must've looked like a monster to him the way he fled-

You grab his wrist and tug, peppering a laugh in as if this is all just one big joke, "Let go."

Coulson's eyes spark alight, "I like you the way you are. You know what you want."

"I am not a gold-digger."

"But you are. Even if mommy's pulling the strings, you like being pulled. Only someone with something to gain would play along."

He'd looked at you once like you'd hung the sun in the sky, and now you were the devourer of light. You had consumed it, put out its burning devotion in one fell swoop. And then nothing. As if you were nothing before and would never be anything after. You were nothing as he told you, in no uncertain terms-

"Coulson, let go."

"I wouldn't mind, you know. Brucie is too soft for you. My girlfriend, you know, love her to death, pretends she's not in it for the money. People like that? They come into our world and think that we don't see how it changes them. How they're driven by it just like the rest of us are. She thinks she has to prove to me that she's different. You don't have to. You're committed, I respect that. But it doesn't have to be Bruce."

Your hands tremble at your sides. Almost more than you've ever wanted anything in your life, you want to give him a shiner that would put you out of high society. Your dominant hand curls into a fist, delighted by the idea.

You go to bat off the hand that touches your hip, but when your skin meets theirs, you recognize it isn't Coulson's. You feel the coolness of their ring against your sweating palm and almost sag into it, "I leave you alone for one second, and vultures descend." Bruce places a cool, gentle kiss to your temple. His lips hover there as he turns ever so slightly towards your ex. Coulson releases your chin. "Coulson. How's Lydia?"

You shouldn't delight in the way Coulson tightens up as much as you do, "Bruce! Good to see you. She's fantastic. Tour starts later this year. You lovebirds should come."

"It's a shame she couldn't make it."

"Oh, you know how it is. I'm still in good company. Right?" Coulson turns to you, winks. His smile is rigid.

When others are around, Bruce would snap back into a Wayne: all propriety and good will. You take a look at his expression and it is unreadable. There's a faint smile there, but nothing else he gives away. He is studying Coulson quite intensely though. You don't think he's blinked in a minute.

His eyes flicker down in fake-bashfulness, "I should thank you for that. You know once the board starts talking numbers, they can't stop. Not even for a good cause." Coulson nods politely along, half-listening, "You did good seeking this one out instead. I'm sure you've heard more than enough about numbers after this past month."

It was a simple statement. Most of the people in this room had been spending their days stuffed into board meetings for the end of the fiscal quarter, talking about finance, watching the stock market, money and more money... but it was the bit at the end that did it.

Coulson's eye twitches just so. He hesitates on asking but just can't help himself, "How do you mean?"

Bruce's smile takes on a patronizing color, "Oh, the boys and I were just discussing... sorry, I thought... I assumed it was public knowledge by now, forgive me." He laughs, just a touch awkward enough that it looks like he didn't mean to say anything at all. Now Coulson's smile is falling.

Even you are curious.

Coulson crosses his arms, hugging himself, "It was... a minor error reallocating funds. Nothing more. It isn't public knowledge because it's been handled. Who told you about it?"

"Has it? Been handled, I mean."

You glance between the two of them. For the first time since he'd come over, Bruce looks back at you.

Coulson clears his throat, "It has. Anyone saying otherwise must not have anything better to talk about."

Bruce hums. His mouth falls from your temple to your cheek, placing another kiss there, then another behind your ear. The hand on your hip moves to close around your neck, holding you close so not a word slips out of the space between you and him, "Let's go."

You keep your eyes on Coulson's, watching the gentle flicker between annoyance and politeness. You throw in a giggle for good measure, "Sure thing."

Bruce peels back from you, acknowledging Coulson with little more than a nod, "Good seeing you, Coulson. I'd stick around longer but I think I'm gonna steal them home, if you don't mind."

"Not at all! I envy how much you two are obsessed with each other, truly." Coulson sips his champagne and in a bitter tone, shifts his focus to you, "Think on what I said, hm?"

The nerve.

Bruce is whisking you toward the front doors without giving you a moment to respond. He kisses you more, leans into you with an arm thrown around your shoulders and a giddy smile as he sets his barely-touched champagne on a waiter's tray.

It isn't until you two are outside by the curb that you break your silence, "Thank you."

Bruce doesn't fully acknowledge you with his body, even as his arm remains slung about you, helping keep the chill of the night off you. He sends off a message for your driver, "What for?"

That was right. You'd never actually gotten to talk to Bruce about Coulson, "He... he was questioning the marriage. Questioning if you were the right fit for me. Saying that maybe I'd be better off with someone who understands me," you grit the next part out, "the real me."

"And?"

You look at him. He's watching cars pass as your eyes prick with tears. "I don't think he understands me at all. He never did."

He appraises you out of the corner of his eye, "Could've told you that years ago."

"You wouldn't even give me the time of day four months ago."

You've got him there. You're shocked to find that he isn't annoyed, or defensive, or even ignoring you. He sucks his teeth and shrugs. Presses the bottom of his shoe into an old cigarette on the sidewalk, snuffing out a flame that had died a long time ago. "You were going to hit him. I saw you." You feel heat crawl up your neck as you remember. "I don't know what he said, but he would've deserved it."

"I... couldn't. You know I couldn't."

Bruce turns up his nose as if he's smelled something foul, "It would've felt good, though."

"Yes."

The two of you wait there, just wobbling in the wind, watching cars go by as music and chatter and people flutter out of the ballroom behind you. You don't know what you're waiting for, but you can indulge yourself once in a while. If Bruce wants to stand on the street with his arm around you doing nothing, then maybe you ought to take the time to do nothing.

A few minutes pass before Bruce releases you, nodding for you to follow him up the street. You do, even confused.

He stops right in front of a bright red convertible, a shiny and expensive thing, parked just far enough out of the way that the music is fainter here. "C'mere," Bruce instructs, walking around the front of the sports car, and you follow him, watching your step lest you fall prey to a puddle, "hold this."

He removes the handkerchief from his front suit pocket and lays it over your open palm, much to your bewilderment. Then, reaching into the inside of his jacket, he drops a batarang into your hand.

"Bruce-!" You instinctively close your hand around the thing to hide it, thankful that his handkerchief kept you from slicing your palm open, "what are you-"

"One tire is a spare. Two is a tow."

"Have you been drinking? Like actually?"

You're startled by the grin he gives you, "If we stand here all night, someone'll catch us."

You go to argue when you recognize something hanging from the car's rear view mirror. A pair of dingy, fuzzy dice. Dice you've seen before in older, just as expensive cars. This is Coulson's car.

You grab Bruce by the arm and turn him to you, "Are you insane?"

"It's better than punching him."

The batarang weighing in your hand feels a little lighter at that.

"Couldn’t stand the idea of him knowing what you really are.”

Who Coulson thought you were wouldn't slash the tires of a backup option. They'd be nice, wait it out, play the game for maximum benefit. Jump ship at the first sign of trouble. They wouldn't risk making enemies. They'd let their mother keep pulling their strings.

You sink the batarang into the first tire's sidewall sharp and quick. If Bruce is curious as to how you know how to slash tires, he doesn't ask. He moves beside you and blocks onlookers from seeing what you're doing. When you move onto the next, the entire left side of the car is beginning to sink toward the ground.

Bruce confiscates the batarang from you and quickly tucks it back into his suit pocket, calmly walking you back down the street to where your ride is waiting.

As he is holding the back door open for you, you turn to look up at him and find your breath catching at the still present grin on his face. You haven't seen him this happy to be alone in your presence in a while. It feels... familiar. He meets your eyes and you're reminded of a younger you. A you that could kiss Bruce with all the bubbling adrenaline in your veins. A Bruce that would let you. A Bruce that thought you hung the sun in the sky.

That grin of his softens but doesn't fully go anywhere. You drink it all in. You don't know when you'll see it again.

Bruce touches the small of your back as a taxi whips by, driving cool air up into your faces and breaking the moment. You indulge in the touch for as long as he lets you.

[bones4thecats]

A/N: This guy is one of my favorite Gods in Record of Ragnarok to write for, I also like Apollo and Thor, maybe Odin as well. Anyways, I added my own little twist to this prompt to make it fit a bit better with the reader. Now, I hope you enjoy this @yey56, and thank you for the request!!

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🔱 Poseidon never expected this to happen.

🔱 He had thrived his whole life, living perfectly fine without any human's life interfering, until you showed up.

🔱 Hades had called upon his three younger brothers, Adamas, Poseidon, and Zeus about a soul of a young mortal female soul who had somehow, without his knowledge, escaped the river STYX.

🔱 His eldest brother's guards dragged you in per his command, and Zeus immediately looked at you with hearts in his eyes.

🔱 " Damn idiot. " Poseidon thought, watching his youngest brother stare at you, his intentions obviously horrible inside.

" Poseidon! "

🔱 The Tyrant of the Sea may have looked in the opposite direction, but everyone knew he was listening to the ramblings of Adamas.

🔱 His main focus was on the deceased maiden seated at the table's opposite end, glancing around the large room, waiting for one of the male gods to ask her about her escape.

🔱 Hades' gaze shifted from his youngest brother, Zeus, to you, looming before tapping his eye piece and asking you the question you were awaiting.

" How did you escape from the river STYX? "

🔱 You pondered for a moment, your memory was quite limited, the main things flying through your head was your childhood and eventual death, then, the exact things he asked you popped up.

🔱 You shifted as the guards stiffened, probably believing you were gonna try attacking the brothers, which you knew would be fruitless, as one was staring at you with heart-eyes, one glared, another stared with curiosity in his one visible eye, and the last basically looked into your soul.

🔱 Poseidon was the least patient at the moment, and he was close to yelling at you to answer them, but he stopped himself when your mouth opened to answer Hades' question.

" My memory isn't the best as of now, but, by what I can ponder up, I had died and, for some random reason, reached up for breath, as if I was drowning, and pulled myself out of the river,"

🔱 " I guess my body wasn't ready to die yet, huh? " You joked

🔱 The brothers just stared, and at that point, you glanced at Zeus, and he just smiled the creepiest smile you had ever seen in history, way beyond any image someone could use to scare you.

🔱 Adamas just looked at Hades and asked what they were to do with you, in which he answered with a fairly bland and further pondering question.

" We will have to find someone to watch over her for the time being. I would allow her to stay here, but, I am not sure what may happen if another soul sees her as they vanish down here. Adamas, could you take her in? " " Nope. I got quite a bit of stuff happening at the moment, brother. I would if I could, sorry. " " Zeus? " " Glad- " " I will. "

🔱 All heads snapped to the sound of Poseidon's voice ringing through the dining room.

🔱 Had he just said he's take in a human? For real?

" Um, Poseidon, Zeus was just saying- "

🔱 " I will take the human to my castle underneath the ocean's waves, we all know what Zeus would do to the mortal when she arrives at his residence. " He said, glaring in the direction, but not fully looking at the younger, yet elderly appearing, brother.

🔱 Hades smiled faintly before nodding to his guards while Poseidon motioned for his to grab you before nodding to his brother and saying his farewells as he, you, and his guards walked out of the castle of Helheim.

🔱 Once arriving at his castle, your eyes widened and sparkled with admiration for the beautiful building.

🔱 Poseidon stared back at you, seeing the vert obvious awestruck face you had on.

🔱 He motioned for his guards to return to their placements in the castle as he gave you a miniature tour around the building so you'd know your way to certain rooms, like yours, the throne room, dining room, and more.

🔱 " And this, " He said, " Is your new room. I had the maids get it cleaned and ready to befit you from what Hades had mentioned in his letter about you. "

🔱 You smiled at him, thanked him, and before retreating into your room to get ready for dinner that night, you asked him a question just about as interesting as Hades had been.

" Why did you decided to take me in? You could've left me for dead with your brother. "

🔱 Poseidon stood there and held his trident, the blades pointing to the ground, for once in his life, he really had no answer. He had no clue why he did this.

🔱 But maybe, just maybe, over that night, and many years to come, he'd figure it out

🔱 Newsflash, he does.

[sheluvv-gambino]

“Huh, you sound British.”

pairings : e-42 miles morales x black fem!reader

summary : Being a new student is already hard, just imagine being British in high school within Brooklyn.

warnings : I put a slash between the difference of American and British words so no one is confused since I’m not actually American myself.

part 2

Switching from an English secondary school to an American high school was not something that you could say you were actually excited for.

But yet here you are sitting in your mothers car listening to ‘Bonfire’ by Childish Gambino, trying not stress over being in a totally new environment.

“Okay, we’ve arrived.” Your mum/mom said rubbing the back of your shoulder.

“I’m gonna go now, I love you.” You sigh.

“I love you too but get your arse out this car so your not late please!”

You laugh whilst unbuckling your seatbelt and getting out of the car walking towards the entrance.

Once you enter your immediately overwhelmed with the amount of loud new accents filtering the air. I mean sure you had been in New York for a few days before being introduced to the school but that doesn’t mean you were used to the variety of accents.

Making your way towards the principals office you ended up lost and having to scout the help of one your new peers.

Looking to your left you spot a fairly handsome guy with two cainrows/cornrows going down his neck, sharp jaw, and very plumed lips.

Damn, guess NYC ain’t that bad after all.

Tapping his shoulder you timidly ask “Sorry to disturb you but do you think your could show me to the principals office.”

He looked you up and down for a good thirty seconds before his focus finally set on your face.

“Huh, you sound British.”

“I mean I am from London.” You deadpan.

“Sure I’ll take you, c’mon.”

He takes off swiftly leaving you trailing behind him.

Once you finally reach the principals office

he stops and looks you dead in the eye tilting his head which ultimately makes you cast your gaze down to the floor.

“I’m Miles but I never caught your name.”

You look up and end up locking eyes.

“I’m Y/N” You smile downward.

“We’ll Y/N ion know much about British people but I hope we can get to know each other a bit more…”

And with that he walked away leaving you at the door of the principal.

Now all you have to is KNOCK.

————————

Getting halfway through the day was particularly easy except from the bombardment of questions from people you don’t even know.

Asking things about Britain like you were the Queen (R.I.P Queen Lizzy) It was like they had never heard of Google before.

Fortunately a group of girls adopted you into their circle and you were currently sitting with them at lunch.

“So how’s your day been except y’know all the weird questions?” One girl asks with a chuckle.

“We’ll it’s been a bit annoying relearning the stuff I’ve already done which by the way don’t you think it’s a bit weird that you guys do algebra for like a whole year. In England once we finish a topic we move onto the next.” You ramble with a sigh.

“Eh I mean I guess but it’s not anything new for us. Anyways since being here, have you caught your eye on anyone yet?” Another girl answers and questions.

“We’ll there was this one guy but I haven’t spotted him again since he dropped me off at the Principal’s.”

Some girls squeal in excitement at a new potential crush to gossip about.

“He was quite fit actually and he had these two braids going down. He gave a really good conversation on the way their actually.” You finish off going back to your food nonchalantly.

There must be a shift in the air because the table of girls stopped talking until someone pipes up.

“Your not talking ‘bout Miles Morales are you?!” She squeaks with widened eyes.

“We’ll yeah he said his name was Miles but he didn’t give his surname/lastname.”You start to nod.

“No way! Girls have been trying to get with him ever since we got to the school but he’s always cold and quiet around people who aren’t his friends. Girl you are so lucky.” She blurts out.

“We’ll I’m sure he was just being nice, I mean I am new.” You defend.

And with that Miles Morales walks past your table trailing behind his friends he gives a smirk and waves towards you.

Yeah, I guess you are lucky…very lucky!

[urfavoritedcwhore]

Not sure if you are up for that but i would love to read the break up from Henry’s POV …

oh pookie yk i’m always up for a good henry pov

break//henry winter x reader fanfic (henry’s pov)

if you haven’t already, go read y/n’s pov loves!!

warnings: swearing, alcohol

not proof read

Yet another dinner at the twins apartment, a space brimming with laughter and drunken revelry. Bunny is in full swing, bickering with me over some triviality, my attention is consumed him. I can hear y/n beside me as she holds on to my arm, her laughter, bright and infectious, pierces through the din. The atmosphere is deceptively buoyant, yet I’m acutely aware of its fragility. Though listening to bunny’s ramblings pain me, knowing that I have the women on my arm that I love brings me some sense of peace. As the night progresses and the drinks continue to flow, I find myself feeling the warmth of the alcohol in my chest. I don’t even realize at first when y/n slips away from me, i’m too engulfed in my conversation with bunny. I suppose in the back of my mind I know she’s slipped away, I can’t feel her warm grip on my arm anymore and her laughter sounds further away. I know Camilla has most likely stolen her away to discuss something, or perhaps to just have a glass of wine with her; But y/n doesn’t drink wine, she drinks scotch. A small glass with ice and lime, she thinks I pour it straight for her but I always dilute it with a bit of club soda. That’s besides the point however. The point is that Camilla simply wouldn’t steal her away when there’s no scotch left. She knows just as well as I do y/n doesn’t drink wine, and they only seem to talk while they’re having a drink together. As my mind continues to conjure up what they could be doing bunny’s words suddenly strike through my thoughts. I raise an eyebrow, not hearing what he said only the teasing tone he said it in. He nods forward looking over my shoulder with a grin, “looks like the old man is taking your girl for a spin.”, he says with a drunken chuckle. My eyebrows furrow in confusion before I turn my body towards where his gaze is pointed. Richard and y/n are in the open space of the living room, drunkenly swaying to the music from the record player. They dance together, Richard’s hands resting too comfortably at her waist. It’s absurd, I know, but the sight ignites a sense of urgency within me. I know I should dismiss it as harmless fun, but I can’t.

I feel any ounce of my inebriation wash away. I’m utterly sober in this moment. I stand wordlessly for a moment before finally speaking up, my tone sharper than intended, “that’s enough y/n. let’s go now.”. Y/n chuckles, disentangling herself from Richard and stumbling toward me. “That was fun, old man. Let’s do it again sometime!” The way she adopts Bunny's vocabulary is grating. I drape my arm around her waist, my grip tight, and turn us around, walking us toward the door. I call out my goodbyes, dragging her along before anyone can even respond. As we make our way down the hall, her laughter rings in my ears, but I keep my eyes focused ahead. Her drunken giggles don’t mask the irritation simmering beneath the surface. I can feel my grip on her waist tightening involuntarily, a mix of possessiveness and frustration swirling inside me. She seems blissfully unaware, lost in the moment, and it drives me mad. I whisper to myself a quote from Dante’s Inferno that seems to fit quite well to the situation I find myself in while keeping my eyes straight. I see her up at me slightly, “huh?”, she asks almost like a child who doesn’t understand a school lesson. I take a breath and repeat myself, “I said, ‘there are two reasons for evil deeds, one is illness, the other is wickedness.’”. She’s silent for a moment as we get into the elevator. I keep my eyes on the doors as they shut, eager to get away from this damned situation. From the corner of my eye i see her head tilt as she looks up at me, “Dante’s inferno. Canto 11, Dante discusses the nature of sin and the motivations behind evil deeds.”, she says. She sounds almost proud she knows the quote. To be quite honest, I feel a twinge of pride as well, though I make sure not to show it. After all, i’m the one who gave her a copy of that book. I simply nod once in response.

The elevator doors finally reopen. I walk out, my grip on her waist still firm. If she wasn’t drunk I’m sure she’d be saying something about how I always, “forget my own strength”, and how she’ll, “probably have bruises in the shape of my fingers tomorrow!”. This thought makes me loosen my grip slightly, I don’t want to hurt her physically, not even when i’m as mad as i am right now. She speaks again as we walk out of the elevator and into the lobby, “why are you quoting Dante to me?”, the innocence in her voice only frustrates me further. I don’t answer, I only continue to walk towards the doors. As we exit the apartment complex, I let go of her waist; The cool air hits me, sharp and refreshing, yet it does little to clear my mind. I don’t bother to open her door when we approach my car, she can do it herself. I open my own door instead and sit myself in the drivers seat. She doesn’t follow immediately, but i choose to not look at her. Approximately 15 seconds go by before the passenger door opens, and I feel the car shift slightly as she drunkenly plops into her seat. I snap my head to her, I force the words out, “So which are you, Y/N? Are you mentally ill or simply wicked?” It’s a question I know is harsh, but I need to understand why she danced with Richard, why she doesn’t see how it looks. Her surprise cuts through me, “excuse me?”, she asks, I can tell my words have sobered her up slightly. I start the car and turn my head back forward as I back out of my parking space. I press on, driving the point home. “Did you embarrass me because there’s something mentally wrong with you, or did you do it just to be wicked?” Her disbelief stings. “Are you joking?” she asks, and I can hear the hurt in her voice. I scoff, but deep down I’m wrestling with the fear that this might be more than just a misunderstanding. I steal a glance at Y/N, confusion etched on her face. “Are you joking?” she asks, her voice tinged with offense. I can feel the irritation bubbling beneath my skin, but I keep my focus on the road, unwilling to let her see just how much this bothers me. “Good God,” she continues, “he’s homosexual, Henry.” Her dismissal stings, but I can’t let it show. “So there is something mentally wrong with you then,” I retort, my voice sharper than I intend. “You don’t see the way he looks at you all the time? Y/N, he practically salivates over you.” The words slip out, laced with a mixture of annoyance and anger. She shakes her head, disbelief written all over her features. I can feel the tension in the car tightening, the air thick with unspoken words. As we drive toward campus, I can sense her confusion. “Why are you driving to campus?” she asks, and I keep my eyes trained on the road, determined not to falter. “I’m taking you to your dorm.”, I reply, forcing a sense of finality into my tone. She should understand this, we’re clearly on the way towards Monmouth house. But inside, I’m wrestling with my own emotions, the weight of my jealousy heavy on my chest. I know I’m being unreasonable, but the sight of her dancing with Richard, the way they swayed together as if it were the most natural thing in the world, has ignited a fire in me I can’t control. She deserves to understand the implications of her actions, and yet here I am, driving her away from me. “why aren’t we going to your apartment?”, she asks, her tone dropping from anger to a childlike innocence. I sigh, she needs to understand that I can’t be embarrassed like this, that she can’t act as if she’s single. I take a moment to collect my thoughts, not letting myself speak until we reach her dormitory building and park. “I need to not be around you right now y/n.”, I say flatly, feeling my resolve harden. That is, until I look at her. The way her face falls hits me harder than I expected. “I don’t want to go to my dorm… I want to go back to your apartment.” Her voice is almost a whisper, and it makes me feel like I’m suffocating.

I want to reach out, but I can’t. “I think it best if we spend some time apart. I cannot continue to be constantly worried about you going off with another man.” The words feel like a knife twisting in my gut, but they’re necessary. When her eyes glisten with unshed tears, I realize I’ve crossed a line. “What do you mean by ‘time apart’?” she asks, voice trembling. “Are you breaking up with me?”. “If that’s what you need me to call it, then I suppose. Though I would rather just call it a break for right now.” I force myself to keep my tone even, to hide the turmoil within. Don’t let her see your emotions, Don’t let her see your emotions. I watch her face shift as she processes my words, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. I can see the moment the realization hits—her breath catches. I want to reach out, to soften the blow, but the jealousy tightens its grip on me. I see a tear escape down her cheek. She nods, quickly wiping it away, trying to regain her composure, I assume. “Fine. If that’s what you want,” she replies, her voice steady but laced with hurt. I glance back to the windshield, forcing myself to stay focused. “It is,” I say, my tone clipped and matter-of-fact. I can feel her pain in the air between us, but I can't let it show. I take a deep breath, steeling myself against the weight of what I’ve said. I watch her from the corner of my eye. In the fleeting moment when her expression softens, I can see the vulnerability beneath her bravado. But just as quickly, she wipes it away, unbuckling her seatbelt with determination. “Fine then.”. She opens the car door, stepping out into the night, and the sound of it slamming shut reverberates through me like a finality I hadn’t anticipated. I want to call her back, to explain that this isn’t what I truly want, but the words feel stuck in my throat. Instead, I sit in the car, the silence heavy, knowing I might have just lost her.

[blasphemous-lies-and-deceit]

67: tucking their hands beneath the other person’s shirt, just to watch them break the kiss and gasp in surprise at the sensation of cold/warm hands on their skin

With GerryMichael because as a fellow tall people I know Michael's hands are unbearably cold from lack of circulation but his face is easy to go red 🥰

Tall people with bad circulation 🤝 office workers working in cold offices

Michael wondered if Gertrude would let him help her kill Elias.

It was only a matter of time. He'd had his eyes wrenched open, no longer blind to reality. He knew who they were working for, and while he didn't necessarily like it, he knew Gertrude hated it. She was not quiet about her criticism, and while he was glad she wasn't keeping him in the dark anymore, it was still quite a thing to listen to his boss openly plot murder.

He didn't care if Elias was dead at her hands- really, the Head of the Institute was just as guilty as the others, and worse. What Michael did resent was the relentless busy work that he was being assigned, probably to keep them busy so they couldn't plot their boss's demise. The amount of incoming statements was so relentless, they nearly didn't have room to put them all. Gertrude was busy with her own plots, so she was no help, of course. And Elias's ever-so-helpful suggestion of "digitizing" the hand-written statements just meant more work for him.

Michael groaned as he flexed his fingers against the keyboard. He was a fast typer, but the statements were usually rambling, and the handwriting nearly illegible. The Eye helped a bit, but that left him with an awful headache at the end of the day, and exhausted beyond belief. He was even beginning to have dreams about the statements, which was incredibly annoying since he couldn't even have a break in his sleep.

The most current annoyance to him, however, were his fingers. He felt like he couldn't warm them up, they were like stiff icicles against the keys, and blowing on them or tucking them against his chest made no difference. Fingerless gloves might help, but he didn't have a pair on hand, and he'd been too tired to knit recently, so he couldn't whip up a pair either. It wasn't enough to slow him down, but it did make his mood worse, and he was more than ready for a break.

"Gerry," Michael sighed, leaning back limply in his chair to watch his boyfriend descend the stairs with a bag of takeout. "My love, the light of my life, the greatest joy, my absolute treasure-"

"That bad, huh?" Gerry grimaced, crossing the distance between them to drop a kiss on top of his head. Michael just groaned, long and whale-like, and spun his chair around so he could bury his face in Gerry's chest. "I'm sorry, love."

"It's awful," Michael moaned, slinging his arms around Gerry's waist. "It's like they don't realize someone's going to actually read what they've written. They don't even try to make it legible."

"Ugh." Gerry leaned over him to peer at the papers next to his computer. "Their handwriting is worse than mine."

"And it's so pointless! It's just busy work." Michael leaned back so he could see Gerry's face. "Next thing you know, that bastard'll have me recording them or something."

"I'm sure you'll do a fantastic job regardless," Gerry assured him, staring down at him with a terribly fond expression. He raised his hands to cup the back of his head, gently rubbing the tension away. "You're too damn good for this place."

"Flatterer," Michael rebutted, helplessly charmed. Gerry just smiled and bent down to kiss him, so soft but full of meaning. Michael kissed him back, feeling all of the tension drain right out of him, leaving him soothed and relaxed. It meant everything to him to have Gerry by his side, sympathetic and caring and exactly what he needed the most. As if Michael couldn't possibly be more in love with him.

And to show his appreciation, he rucked up the back of Gerry's shirt and plastered his hands to the small of his back.

Gerry yelped and jumped away, gaping at Michael incredulously as he fell into giggles. "What the hell?" he gasped, sounding aghast and offended. "Why are your fingers so cold?"

"Because its cold down here!" Michael pointed out. "And my jumper doesn't cover my hands." He wiggled his fingers to prove his point, and Gerry rolled his eyes, coming back to take his hands in his.

"Poor guy," he commiserated, rubbing his hands and bending to breathe warm air over them. "I have some fingerless gloves back ho- back at Pinhole, I'll run over and grab them for you."

"Thank you," Michael murmured, touched that Gerry would step foot back in that place for him. Over the past few months they had been removing Gerry's clothes and personal items and relocating them to his flat, slowly moving him in where he belonged. Michael couldn't help but feel a deep stir of pleasure at the thought, of getting Gerry away from that awful place for good. It's what he deserved.

Gerry knelt next to him, tucking his cold hands under his chin as he smiled at Michael, happy and content. "Can you take a break for lunch? Get out of this basement for a bit?"

"Of course." Without looking, Michael put his computer into sleep mode and guided Gerry back to his feet, pulling him in for a hug. This time, when he cold hands wandered under Gerry's shirt, he didn't pull away.

[sasster]

Civil Matters

I guess that’s that then, huh? [doc] —

Very few trolls can attest to having seen The Restorer outside of the grounds that his safe haven of a city occupies in the many hundreds of sweeps since the passing of his predecessor. If asked after it, he might say there is simply no reason to exert any power over the remainder of his region; they have always more or less followed the norms of the area immediate to the church and its surroundings. Even fewer trolls have seen him move with any more passion than his typically relaxed gait, if his very recent worrying after his son went uncounted.

All of this nonsense feels to him as though it somehow started seconds ago and has been going on for many many sweeps at the same time. Whenever it started, he would like to see it end now, a thought that might have lent itself to why he moves with such swiftness behind enemy lines.

When he enters the Church of the Divine Dreamer, the yellow blooded priest falls short mid-sentence. His wings twitch, and Ailzea supposes that he is in search of the right thing to say in the face of their territory’s overseeing purple blood deciding on a surprise visit. Behind the frozen priest, the Goddess he preaches in the name of tilts her head at the sight of the newcomer.

Then she smiles.

The gathered congregants' heads turn to catch sight of the disruption.

“Father Restorer! Will you be joining us for service this evening?” She asks brightly as her brother bristles.

Ailzea nods his head. “Please forgive my tardiness. It is quite a bit out of the way from my own home.” He says and then takes a seat at the back.

Promptly, the attention of the congregation returns to the priest at the pulpit, whose visible eye darts wildly between them and someone unseen at the other end of it.

The godling closes her eyes and settles back in, while her brother clears his throat, taking a moment to recalibrate his thinking and relocate his center. He begins to move again, there is something familiar about the way he carries himself that fills the Restorer’s mind with a weight that he is uncomfortable with carrying.

Cylion suddenly smiles.

“Yes, thank you for joining us, Father Roatus! It is truly an honor to have you.” Clearly not one to let an opportunity slip through his claws, the yellow blood places those same hands down onto the lectern with gusto, and sweeps his gaze over the crowd in a manner that suggests hunger. He practically laps up their attention. “In times of uncertainty, even other religious leaders make the time to visit our Dreamer.” A quiet murmuring starts to spread among the congregation, from what Ailzea listens in on there is a range of reaction in the small gathering that ranges from doubt to astonishment. To him it seems that Cylion really grew into the perfect little priest that Ailzea’s own predecessor looked for within him. At least someone came to learn from the brute. A shame about everyone catching strays as a result of that learning.

“The dream world that you know of is a bridge between the divine and mortal worlds,” he continues, explaining what must be an introduction to the religion for new comers. There is a nervous edge to his movement as he gestures to the furnishings and decorations that resemble or allude to Nymira within the chamber. “And our Dreamer is a gift from the Divine, sent here to show us and teach in its name the ways we can become closer to it…”

Behind him the Goddess sits motionless, save for the swaying of her tail fanned out behind her. What a massive undertaking for such a young troll. The pair of them must be under tremendous stress.  Trollkind was never meant for the burdens of godhood, but damn do they keep trying.

Cylion continues to ramble on in his indoctrination and Ailzea finds himself drawn to the artwork of the young Goddess, allowing the light blues and dreamlike qualities of the pieces pull him away from the sermon. It is a wonder she doesn’t feel completely smothered with all of this attention, that the only pressure she claims to feel presently is the way her brother has started to behave.

He will not get a better understanding of the situation until the three of them sit down for a real conversation. Four if Favion chooses civility. Ailzea is unsure that it’s something he is capable of these days, however. A conversation to have with Weaver when this has all ended.

There is a sudden, almost flighty, tap on his shoulder that serves as a welcome interruption from the thought of his old friend’s descent into madness, and he turns to give his full attention to that disruption. He trades the view of beautiful artwork, depicting scenes of the whimsical and fantastical, for an uneasy looking troll with a bowl cut. Arkiro would find that juxtaposition hilarious.

“Can you come with me?” The disruption mumbles under the priest's lecture, and Ailzea can’t tell if those pupil-less eyes are on him or the speaker at the far front.

He casts a look to the Dreamer before he responds. Nymira gives him an encouraging smile. Somehow, despite the circumstances, she still believes her brothers operate on goodwill. He nods and stands to follow the troll that stands in front of him.

They walk until they reach a part of the compound that seems a bit more residential, their slice of land surely impressive and no doubt a result of Favion’s masterful use of manipulation tactics when he’s in his best mind. 

“Cylion will speak to you in here,” the troll with the bowl cut says as he leads him into a dining area flanked by two closed bedroom doors. It is all he’s said the entire trip. “In the name of privacy.” He explains.

“I understand. Thank you.”

Then his escort moves to exit the way they entered, but Ailzea speaks again before he can get very far. “Will the elder Lefera be joining us as well? 

He freezes in the doorway and seems to wince or shudder at the thought.

“Yeah, I’ll,” a pause. “I’ll check on that for you.”

A curious response, but not one the Restorer can fault him for.

Favion is not a troll to be invoked lightly.

Some time passes before the young priest finds his way to the room that Ailzea waits for him in. In that time, Ailzea has found himself regretting not bringing something with which to keep his hands and mind busy. Though he dares not craft under that savage of a man’s roof. The ghost of a horrible memory looms somewhere in the back of his mind. He sighs it away.

Cylion enters the room briskly, already having tugged the collar out from his shirt, the sunflower from his eye, holding each in his hand as he pulls the rest of his ceremonial garb up over his head to reveal a tanktop underneath. The ceremonial clothes seems to Ailzea to hide much of the bulk of the yellow blood’s wings, but his under shirt allows him the freedom to stretch them out. Which he does.

He discards his accessories on a counter on his way to where the Restorer sits. Finally, he gives him his full attention.

The eye contact fills Ailzea’s head with an uncomfortably pregnant fog.

“Father will not be joining us.” He asserts.

It must be that he is over the original shock of the Restorer’s presence enough for the coolness of his facade to have taken root again. Something tells him that it was in the name of that facade that he was sent away in the middle of the sermon.

“I am afraid my visit largely concerns your father and his recent behavior, regarding my children and otherwise. I would like him to be in attendance.”

Cylion’s nose nearly scrunches, almost twisting his face up at the mention of children, but he stops himself partway through. Ailzea imagines the protest of Marrie as a child dying on the tongue he sucks against his teeth.

Cool neutrality returns to his face. “We are deeply sorry for that–”

“Favion will join us. Nymira as well.” There is a level of force alien to even Ailzea that the words leave his mouth with. “Please.” He amends.

The younger priest’s mouth clamps shut with an audible clacking of his teeth, clearly unused to his authority being challenged. “Father is unwell. And Nymira must rest.”

“Cylion. I am no longer asking.”

Something familiar that isn’t forcibly repressed in the Restorer’s mind bubbles behind Cylion’s eye and just below the surface of his features. Ailzea’d seen that look long ago, hundreds of times, just before Favion would do something reprehensible.  The expression passes over the younger Lefera like a ghost.

At least he has some level of self control.

“Of course.” He grits, takes a moment to step away to give the instruction to Bowl Cut at the door, and returns to sit near the Grand High Blood finally tossing his weight around. “It would be easier with me.”

“I am not looking for easy. I am looking for finished.”

Cylion shakes his head and averts his gaze to his own perfectly manicured nails, tongue sucking against his teeth again. “You’re as stubborn as Archie.”

–

Nymira arrives first, also changed into clothing designed more in the name of comfort than presentation. She practically floats ahead of Bowl Cut as they enter.

The two yellow bloods exchange an indecipherable look as the godling crosses all the way to the side of the table the Restorer sits at.

“I’m so happy you made it, Father Restorer!” Her enthusiasm as palpable as one brother's dread and the other’s anger. “Did you enjoy the service?”

“I did, thank you for having me.” He looks at the brothers for a brief moment and then returns his attention to her. “I have been thinking about our conversation, my child. How does some time away from home sound to you?”

The silence that wraps itself around the room as the question leaves his mouth is as thick and impenetrable as the block that prevents Ailzea from properly focusing on the winged yellow blood.

“She can’t just–”

“I will not force you,” Ailzea continues once Cylion’s bewildered, close to the tipping point, voice pierces through the blanket of silence. “However, there is a space for you within my walls should you choose to take me up on that offer.”

Nymira stares back at him with eyes wide and shaking, bright shimmering pools of black that could suck him in with her desire if he wasn’t careful. She chews on the idea, her gaze shifting from the elder priest to the younger, then back again.

“Nymira-” Cylion’s protest is quelled as quickly as it starts by a wave of Ailzea’s hand.

The Goddess fidgets.

“Father Restorer,” her voice catches and he waits for her to find her balance. She chances a glance at her brother, he stares back as though he means to bend her to his will with his mind. She shrinks. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I trust that your brothers will handle business while you are away.”

Now it is Ailzea’s turn to put the full brunt of his attention on Cylion, the younger priest does not flinch in the face of it, a stormy look taking hold of his own features. Both sets of wings flare and fold in on themselves in time with the breathing he fights hard to regulate.

Cylion exhales hard through his nose.

“Father Roatus,” he begins, silver tongue searching for a line to pull. “There are people here that rely on her here. She can’t be taken from her people.”

“That is a decision she will make when she has had her rest, should she choose to take my offer.”

Cylion opens his mouth to respond, but he pauses. His attention is somewhere else, brought toward the entrance to the room, by the sound of a low thud that spills into it. All eyes fall on Favion as he crouches into the doorway.

Immediately the elder Lefera’s attention is grabbed by the sight of Ailzea.

He breaks into an uneven grin.

“Favion,” Ailzea acknowledges him with a nod. “We were just discussing Nymira’s break from her duties.”

The hulk of a yellow blood stops just beyond the threshold and grips the doorframe, he works his jaw for a moment. Then he speaks.

“Interesting proposal,” he gravels, the words struggling through a rock tumbler before falling out of his mouth. “My sprout stays here.”

“It is not a request.” Ailzea asserts as he stands up.

A rattle of a growl shakes loose in the beast's chest, Cylion and his brother look between each other, Nymira takes a step behind the Restorer.

“Favion, I only asked you here so that your children are not made to explain to you what has occurred.” The Restorer turns his attention to the godling and nods again in her direction. “The decision is hers.”

There is a sharp snap, and a crack begins to form along the door frame from beneath Favion’s massive claw, then another silence descends on the group. The silence vies for dominance over the new wave of tense atmosphere that smothers them. Nymira says nothing, shrinking from her father and closer to the purple priest when he lets loose another growl and steps further into the room. This time the growl is punctuated by the sound of his teeth grinding together.

Cylion’s anger looks right at home on his father’s face.

Beyond the ferocity, Ailzea finds something else mixed into it. Something that he cannot place.

Not on Favion’s face, anyway, the way his lips always twisted into a fierce snarl ready to rip someone apart. Beyond that, there was something soft. A tenderness.

Love. He thinks. For his daughter.

And here she was hiding away from him.

“Nymira?” Ailzea asks softly, tearing his attention away from the hulk. “What do you say?”

“I would like to go with you.” She responds in a voice meant for a mouse, unable to rip her own eyes off of her father’s threat display. “Just… For a little while.”

“Sprout,” Favion advances, enough that Ailzea can make out the age which aids the deterioration that mars the yellow giant’s face. The ghost of a fearsome sneer finds itself locked behind the gentle expression he wears like a mask to look at his daughter with. “Why?”

There is a lull, the Restorer looks from Favion to his descendant behind him. The winged troll looks furious, staring coldly at his sister, once against doing his best to control her with that steely gaze.

Ailzea turns slightly to obscure her from his view.

Nymira breathes, he feels her grab hold of his robes from behind.

“Father,” her voice wavers. “You hurt my friends and everyone was ready to lie to me about it! Cylion has been cruel and he…” She hesitates, Ailzea imagines that she might’ve brought up Little Friend but thought better of it in present company. He is grateful for this. “He let a bad man take me away! To teach me some sort of lesson. He made sure I would forget things… That his words meant more to me than my own thoughts. That’s no way to treat someone you care about!” The words rush out of her quickly, a poorly made dam coming down in the face of her flood of emotion.

Favion stands statue still, teeth grinding all the while he processes the information. It would take a moment for him to catch it all even on his best day. Behind him, Cylion cannot help the growl that thunders from his chest. Bowl Cut fidgets with the edges of his shirt.

“I just need somewhere to breathe. Please, Father.”

Ailzea speaks before the broken yellow blood finds use of his mouth again. “Go, Nymira. Gather your things.”

“Okay. Thank you Father. Thank you, too, Father Restorer.” She says breathlessly and takes the long way around to the room’s exit so she does not risk crossing the path of her explosive brother and frozen father.  Her failed prophets.

When she is safely out of the room, all compassion leaves Favion’s face. His expression twists into one of pure animosity, then his lips part into a snarl that brings Ailzea back to all of those daymares where his children are mutilated right before his eyes.

One of the brothers makes an involuntary sound.

The yellow blood advances on him, claw angled to grab him up by the horn.

Ailzea sighs.

“Favion. I have had enough of this!” Once again, the force that Ailzea manages is alien even to himself. “If you cannot behave civilly, return to your chambers!” This time his own voice rings loud in his ears, leaving behind the echoes of all the times in his youth that he’d been on the receiving end of one of his predecessor's tyrades.

He sounds just like Matere Roatus. That man’s voice on Ailzea’s tongue leaves a metallic taste behind. How many times was that line used on him, followed by the destruction of something dear to his heart?

Ailzea would never stoop so low.

When he refocuses on the scene in front of him, the beast of a troll has already fallen still. He stands in a neutral position, perhaps awaiting an order. At the same time, the pair of brothers have found themselves on the other side of the kitchen, not keen on a bath of blood if it came down to it.

“Favion, you will let her do as she wishes.”

Favion grunts, and though he appears to comply, contempt poisons his features and taints the air between them.

Cylion opens his mouth to protest, anger paints him in a grim light, but Ailzea shoots it down with a glower of his own.

“The game is done. Nymira has made her decision.”

[witchinatree]

magnus protocol episode 26 ramble

the academic victim era continues. i like putting my lil personal bits at the beginning of these i think it humanizes me

ok. i have to pause mid intro song. i just hit my bowl of snap pea crisps and spilled them everywhere and i'm going to tweak

3 of them fell on the floor.. but they're kinda expensive so we don't get to have them very often.. is it worth it..

i ate them i don't care

this has become more about me than the episode i'm gonna unpause it now

we're so back

celia at work core!! she dgaf!!!

MEET HELEN. pls don't be a tory in this universe pls pls pls pls. i didn't fw human helen at all i am less excited than i was about basira but also basira was one of my all time favs forever

hiii aliceeee <333

magnusing is so me tbh if you think about it

so does alice's voice have a slight hint of that effect they use for chester and norris to anyone else or.. like she sounds computer-y and i don't know if it's just the microphone or something real

"take protection" "jesus christ!" "LIKE A BIG KNIFE OR SOMETHING" CRYING. see my mind didn't go there sam so what's up with that sam huh sam

the hell does celia have in her workbag wtf. queen what. it's the trauma "are you sure that thing is legal?" LMFAOOOOOO

ok i don't like you saying nauseas because i'm on TWO medications that make me nauseas and i just ate pls don't be gross

DAMN. i was gonna be like JARED? HOPWORTH? but it's jared 'smith.' gerard jared is kind of like michael

P.E. teachers creep me out but probably because the only one my high school has ever officially had got fired my freshman year for spanking girls in the locker room and they never actually replaced him they just had various sports coaches take over

yea this is freaking me out already i don't like it

oh that's so sad the dad fucking died poor kid omg

wtf was he possessed by the soul of cross country. what is the horror here. ohh running for his life ok thanks

oh so the horror isn't mr jared it's what happens to him i guess. sorry man i shouldn't have called you creepy

this is just how my friends describe morning cross country practice

yeah so i was right to quit cross country in 5th grade then!!! running IS the horror!!!!

NOT THE TAPE RECORDER WTFFFFF IS THIS ERROR. ANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN ARCHIVIST.............................................................................................................................................................................................

AT A LOSS AT A LOSS AT A LOSS AT AT AT. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT

we were right guyss it's an archivist...

IT SAID ARCHIVIST ALICE YES LOCK IN QUEEN LOCK IN SHE'S SOOOOOOOO HEHEHE SHE'S SO SMART I'M IN LOVE WITH U

yes alice connect those dots!!! connect them babe!!!!! i'm scared though to be honest with you

SHE DOESN'T THINK SHE KNOWS DUMBASS. PLEASE LISTEN TO HER OR I'M WRITING ANOTHER HATE POST ABOUT YOU. oh thank you sam i don't hate you

HOW I WOULD'VE EXPECTED HOW I WOULD'VE EXPECTED hey helen

has celia shut down. oh my god she sounds really scared. probably because helen tried to eat her in another universe.

CELIA'S SO SCARED HONEYYYYYYY. wait now she's bringing up the magnus institute LMAOO

bloody big basement lmao it's where they keep the bodies

at least 20 years? it burned down 20 years ago? who's reaching out after it burned what

HELEN'S LAUGH MADE ME JUMP LMFAOOOOO HELP

SAM MEETING JACK???? SAM MEETING JACK??????? THEY'RE SO CUTE WTF OMG ur baby's a tory HAHA

celia you are being watched honeyyy you are you need to connect some dots. alice style. obsessed with her.

calling her baby goblin after that baby episode that celia was mentioned by name in hello. hello.

ok sam let's go no longer being as selfish thanks sam.

awe that's adorable i actually think he's been really nice lately holy shit.

LMAOOO WHY DID WE GET AN AUDIBLE KISS ON EPISODE 26 I THOUGHT THEY DIDN'T LIKE THOSE

[justarandomlambblog]

Just doodling something related to this post and ofc there's narilamb in the au who do you think I am

Narinder's kits all turn out to be daughters. Aym and Baal are his only sons and I love that for them, but anyway. Lemme ramble about them bc I /gen love them?

Ari is the eldest of Narinder's kits. She was ~9 (I think in the post I originally quoted 15 years but I'm changing it to ~10 bc it's a nice solid number) when their village was attacked and her second dad died, and she looks sweet but is a total troublemaker. She loves pranks, looks for loopholes to exploit so often weasels her way out of trouble, and is the de facto leader of the siblings. Total extrovert. She's the one who goes "oh father said we can't go to the Old Faith lands but he said nothing about inviting their people to dinner :)"

Elloi is the second eldest, and was ~6 when their village was attacked. She looks a bit like a rebel but is actually the most well behaved of the three eldest kits, not because she wants to be but just because she's super chill and laid back and honestly, acting out and causing trouble is more energy than it's worth. She isn't a natural born leader like her older sister, but she is a great listener and a great source of advice. Definitely an introvert. She does not trust the Bishops and Lamb when they come to the village; her trust is hard won.

Minuit is the third oldest/middle child, and was still just a baby when the village was attacked. So that thing about Nari protecting the kits (and a good portion of the village) during the attack? Yeah he did that while holding a literal baby. Papa bear mode ACTIVATED fr fr. She's still young and is in that stage of life where she's discovering she can actually just choose to disobey her dad, and the worst thing he will do is ground her. And, as a baby introvert/ambivert, this is just fine for her. She loves to read. Stories are her bread and butter, and she LOVES songs that tell a story. Absolutely adores it. Btw her name I said fuck it, I can name a kit Minuit if I want. She will one day be, magically, the strongest between her, Elloi and Ari. (Mercy and Hope will be stronger but ya know)

The three kits above, being the kits of an ex-god, are demi-gods but have no idea. All they know is their magic is just quite a bit stronger than the other villagers' and assume (correctly) that it's bc of Narinder. Now, what each of their magic is I am undecided. I am thinking about it......

Now for the twins- Mercy and Hope (named by Lamb). They're shittens :) But they look very much like sheep (with floofy cat-like tails and Mercy has cat ears) so ye. They... don't exist at the point in the AU discussed in that post, but they exist in the future (more likely than not after Minuit is an adult, possibly far enough in the future that she's already stopped aging). They both inherit Narinder's third eye, unlike the older three, bc they're baby gods rather than just demigods and Narinder's third eye was a result of his godhood. Mercy is a few minutes older than Hope, definitely no symbolism there ofc, and they're super sweet. Absolute angels. Please ignore the fact that they will 100% sacrifice you to the shadows if given a reason. The first three kits of Nari's have pretty much nothing to do with the Lamb's cult beyond visiting their father (and eventually younger siblings) and step-parent and aunt and uncles and... idk what the gender neutral term is but Shamura, and maybe cousins after Narinder returns to the cult, but Mercy and Hope are raised inside the cult with all the trimmings that come with it <3

-

Oh, and have this random doodle. What's he so sad about? Idk maybe the fact he lost his partner a good ~60 years earlier than he expected to but ya know-

Anyway damn Nari you're all leg huh, lucky Lamb eventually /J /J but maybe....

[revserrayyu]

2.6 Penacony thoughts [part 1]

**Spoiler warning** for everything up until the end of Boothill’s first encounter with Robin. Might reference things that happen later since I already finished the mission at this point, so be wary if you haven’t yet. Lots of random ramblings from me as usual with new stories, especially with all the silly stuff that happened.

Going back to school never really thrilled me back in the day, so learning that we’re all attending Paperfold University for this update was kinda meh to me. All the crazy trailers and the fact that we’re taking a trip back to Penacony did pique my curiosity enough thanks to our previous adventure inside the land of dreams though. I did enjoy how interested Dan Heng was about attending and when his voice actors would seem genuinely excited one moment then revert back to his usual calm, collected self the next in an attempt to hide his enthusiasm. It’s okay to show emotions, sir!

I’ll admit that I believed that Pom-Pom was actually joining us for the briefest moment until I remembered that Boothill used our conductor as his fake name last time upon checking in.

I don’t even know too much about DnD but at least I spotted this reference to it, yeah?

The treasure chest was quite the convincing substitution, fooling me and even Numby who was alerted to it, so props to our new ninja friend I guess.. who joined us in the dream pool not even five seconds later.

Damn them for bringing this stupidly catchy song into the game because it has been sneaking into my mind so often these past couple days!

I will say that hearing the Trailblazer’s sing the song did make the experience much better and I would definitely listen to it more if it means they allow the Trailblazer to speak more like they have been in story missions recently.

Our true first meeting with Rappa and girl really had a whole anime OP of an introduction.

First off, beautiful cutscene will all the colors and neon. Secondly, I did actually question why they listed her name as “???” here and started wondering if Rappa really was her name or not and.. yeah, this makes sense later.

We’re literally so darn stupid and silly and I love it. Poor March cringed so bad she didn’t even want us as a friend anymore. Incredibly rude since my text message has your little face decorated next to it, ma’am!

The Dreampeak calls return and I wasn’t expecting to hear one about Boothill and him dreaming about his family, aww! But wow.. y’all really did call your kid ‘Boothill’ huh? Tell me why.

Our sus teacher makes his grand entrance and now I’m continuing to doubt everyone’s real names at this point.

Dan Heng please, you’re allowed to have fun! You can admit you do things solely for your own enjoyment!

Aeons.. they make him look so sketchy and untrustworthy with that smile and I’m so fine with it. Thankfully he didn’t turn out completely evil, but I accept his villain vibes regardless.

His knowledge freaked me out a little bit at first because why would he know all this?? Has he been watching playthroughs of the entire game? Or has he done his research about the Astral Express? Of course it makes sense now as we later find out he’s a Memokeeper and memories are pretty much their area of expertise.

I didn’t even bother to change my result on which academy I would personally attend, but I’m glad it turned out this way as it allowed the Express trio to all go somewhere different.

Pffftt.. looking through screenshots and this makes me realize how tall this man truly is, like I think Feixiao is reasonably tall by in game women standards, so to see Reca way past her ears is quite something. I dunno, maybe I don’t pay attention to character heights all that much, but his surprised me anyways.

Now I know whomever this chili-dipping person is couldn’t have been Jiaoqiu since it’s well known he attended the Ranzhi School on the Yaoqing and I’m like 99% sure our healer never stepped foot in Penacony before, but I couldn’t help but think this is something he would’ve done too if given the chance..

And I’m certainly not crazy to think so as he’s briefly mentioned in one of the options we’re given! Yay.. I miss our hot pot king. But wow, March being strong enough to pin us down? I’m rather impressed and wish to see fanart of this chaos.

I enjoy Boothill so much whenever he appears in the story that it’s a shame that I probably won’t ever pull for him since I’m not too big on his combat.

That way that I didn’t even think twice about him suddenly saying bananas outta nowhere because of how his swears are (unwillingly) censored all the time anyway is hilarious. It seemed normal and I figured he was being caught up with all the banana chatter this patch has, but nope.. something is clearly wrong here.

It’s been quite a while since we first arrived in Penacony because I seriously forgot Robin is capable of doing this rainbow harmony thing too. It also slipped my mind that she and Boothill have indeed met before inside that one dream way back in 2.2. I don’t remember them interacting all that much then so the scenes they shared this patch were a treat.

Thank you Robin for healing him so he can swear normally.. or at least to his usual censored way of swearing. It’s silly but I love hearing them. His voice actors must have fun tossing around such words so often.

Well aren’t you just the definition of a precious angel. This patch really started making me feel some regret about not pulling for her.. but next time, for sure.

Speak your truth girlie! Also I dunno if it’s true since I don’t play Genshin, but I saw people saying that this npc sounded a lot like Navia, and if so, then that’s adorable to have Brenna (who also voices Yunli) and Andrew (Boothill va) share a scene together since they’re married. Whoever this npc really is though, they had a nice singing voice.

For some reason my mind thought of the bullet wound on her neck and how she wouldn’t want to be near any fight that Boothill may start, but I doubt that was the intention behind this line since I know Robin was worried about how easily she would stand out because of her reputation. Still, I think it’s pretty brave of her to hang around someone who prides themselves on their sharpshooter skills, though I’m positive Boothill would never let a stray bullet hit anyone aside from its intended target.

Yeah girl, no need to act so formal around our cowboy! Y’all worked together before so I can bet we’re past the level of acquaintances now. Be friendly! I’m not only wishing this because their dynamic intrigues me very much, but also because I just wanna hear her go full country accent and say “partner.”

Not gonna lie but just the thought of seeing these two interact more further along in the story keep my spirits up significantly and oh boy, I wasn’t disappointed.

I’ll end it here for now. The rest will take up two more posts if I can manage to fit everything.

[corruptedhyena]

hello to the like 3 people who have been waiting for Bindertales

im so sorry, the next 2 pages are done dw but it's in progress ;w;

in the meantime HELLO NEIGHBOR AGAIN IM SO SORRY the new episodes are making me scream again so please give me a moment to share some doodles whilst i share my thoughts.

SEASON 2 SPOILERS INCOMING!!

firstly, my favorite part of the series: Trinity and Nicky's friendship! i'm really not a fan of romance plots so i ADORE that they aren't trying anything with these two, just leaving it to mosty one-sided Enzo.

so, when the teasers showed an almost direct parallel of Nicky leading Trinity into Peterson's house by giving us a shot of Trinity leading Nicky, it really got my hopes up!! it thankfully didn't disappoint too horribly, but damn if it isn't painful to watch Trinity go from "yeah Nicky you've been through a lot huh ): " in episode 1 to "c'mon dude you're the one who told me to be brave, why are you being so scared???" it was a bit AAAAA

thankfully, it does seem somewhat purposeful, as she is still a kid and seems to be doing her best to help Nicky the way he helped her be brave, it's just really backfiring. as seen when she's taken home from school in ep 2, she's clearly worried about him and is very much aware something is going on, so it's not like there's some sorta character betrayal! i really hope they'll have a chance to really talk things out and reach an understanding. OR AT LEAST JUST GIVE NICKY A HUG FOR FUCK'S SAKE POOR BOY, THAT CLIFFHANGER HURTS SO MUCH OML

I LOVE SIBLING CONTENT PLEASE GIVE US MORE!! some of my favorite bits of background detail in s1 are Maritza's reactions to Enzo being a simp. she's such an asshole and i love her for it. she's also still acting as the greatest voice of the straight man, which is a breath of fresh air sometimes among the children playing detective during MULTIPLE MURDERS AND ACTS OF ARSON!!!

speaking of, why the hell did Mrs. Bales immediately get suspicious of the LITERAL CHILDREN who were OUTSIDE during the housefire? especially since she herself said her outlet blew? i understand stories following kids have to find a way to write out the parents sometimes, but it's just baffling that it was handled so well in s1 compared to s2. and they also jump on the anti-Nicky train? did they not literally witness that child escape from Peterson's after their daughter told them he was kidnapped weeks ago????? DO THEY NOT UNDERSTAND THIS IS A LITERAL CHILD WHO JUST GOT TRAUMATIZED AND WHOSE PARENTS WERE SAID TO BE HARD TO CONTACT??!?!?!?!

i'm

far less agonized, i just thought about how in the world Peterson hid among gravestones as a grown-ass man during Trinity's story in s1, and thought it'd be funny if, as i draw him, he pretended to be a bush behind a gravestone. hunched up so his body's behind the stone and the big flumf of his mane and tail stuck out. logically, a flashlight would catch the red of it despite the dark, but cartoon logic could hand-wave it away.

in terms of s2 thoughts with him, it's cool to see his backstory! i'm still pretty much in the dark when it comes to the whole Hello Neighbor lore, as i only saw gameplay of the alphas and never heard the intended storyline, but i did see that last Matpat video! i can't wait to see what's up with his brother being the shadow guy (i think) and why he's terrorizing Nicky. i'm betting it's not a malicious thing, that maybe he's trying to make contact or keep him safe, considering the flashback! and it seems like the grown-up bullies might be the ones behind the kids' disappearances and Crowface, though i'm not quite as confident about that one. i just know a lot of the adults are suspicious and i think it's a red herring that there's supposedly a secret neighbor. i think it's all of them, and Peterson knows.

still doesn't excuse kidnapping and traumatizing Nicky tho

thanks to anyone who reads this rambling mess, i just have a lot of thoughts about this show and don't have anyone i know who's caught up or into it (:

[abyss-presence]

Note: this follows the theory that the protagonist is a younger version of Joseph Randolph; the protagonist is addressed as 'Joey' and with he/him pronouns; Trash Collector is addressed as 'Ro' for the last part and with they/them pronouns; ooc?; like one or two swears; no ships

A short stop for rest

Running around the Heilwald Klinikum was exhausting and quite frankly terrifying. It seems that the courtyard is the only relatively safe place where Joey can rest. And plus, the Trash Collector is there! Maybe he should ask what their name is, after all this time... But also, does he really need to? They don't seem particularly offended about it, nor have they ever brought it up themself. As he walked forward into the main part where he knew he'd find his buddy, he thought about giving them a nickname instead. Calling them 'Trash Collector' every single time feels a bit too much, so a nickname would totally work, right? He just needs to think of one...

Once he arrived, he sat down on the stairs leading up to the library, resting his arms on his knees while pondering over the matter. A nickname... Was he even creative enough to think of one? He's a med trainee, he's barely qualified to do his own fucking job yet and that stresses him out beyond belief, so it feels like his mind is way too preoccupied to participate in simple endeavors like this one.

Anyway, while he was sitting and sulking, Trash Collector actually noticed him. They came over and sat down next to Joey, mostly out of curiosity.

"What are you doing?" Joey almost fell back out of surprise and anxiety. That prompted a giggle from the Trash Collector. It sounded weird, but at the same time extremely mischievous. Did they do this on purpose? What a bastard.

"Nothing much... Just... thinkin'."

"About what?"

"About life. Like, all of this... I don't think I've acknowledged just how... insane all of this is," quickly realizing that he was about to start rambling, Joey added: "sorry, you probably don't need to hear about that stuff."

"No. Go ahead."

"Huh?" He was confused. Why would the Trash Collector of all people care about his thoughts?

And almost like reading his mind, they responded:

"You've listened to what I have to say. I want to hear you back."

"But–"

"The trash doesn't count. You've listened to me before that, have you not?"

Damn it. That was a fair point. Were they being genuine? Or was this another scheme to manipulate him...

No, no, he shouldn't think about them like that. They're different. They're not... hostile. At all. Even the Ominous Voice couldn't give him that. But they can and it confuses Joey just as everything else in this cursed place. Maybe he should reconsider his career choice...

"Well? You gonna talk or not?"

"Oh, um– yeah, yeah... I was just..." Wait, what should he even say? About the nickname and whatnot, or about just everything else?

Trash Collector scoffs and nudges Joey on the shoulder, "Come on, just spill it already. It's not like you're hiding government secrets, right?"

"No, of course not." Joey sighed and brushed his hair back, a habit he'd picked up in his teenage years when he desperately tried to straighten out his hair. Whatever he did, it never worked. He's in his 20s now and his locks still stay proudly fluffy. "There's just a lot going on in my mind. Um... Would it be okay if I gave you a nickname?"

"Hold it, what have you been calling me all this time?"

"Trash Collector..."

"You can't be serious." Somehow it was clear to Joey that they were more amused than upset.

"Sorry... I couldn't think of anything better. But yes, I got lazy with referring to you in such a way in my mind, and, to be fair, I don't really want to know your real name. Unless you want to tell me?"

"No, not at all."

"Figures. So how about this: I will tell you my nickname, and you'll tell me yours. Surely you have one?"

"Yes, I do. It's a sensible deal, kiddo."

"You can't call me 'kiddo,' you're like, only 2 years older than me."

"I'm 42."

"Nevermind." The two of them laughed it off, but Joey's smile quickly vanished. It feels like he understood just how tired he is only now, in this very moment. The pitter patter of rain hitting the concrete ground was a rather soothing noise despite the gloomy atmosphere it created. But at this point, what isn't gloomy about this place? It's like it's eating him alive, devouring whatever positive feelings he'd harbored before. What did he do to deserve this? What kind of deadly sin he committed that all of this fell on his shoulders and crashed him under the pressure? He couldn't answer that question even if he tried.

"What's wrong, son? I can practically smell the negativity on you." Joey scoffed at that, once again smoothing his hair back.

"I'm pretty sure it's not 'negativity' that you can smell. But, um... I don't know, like I said, there's just too much to think about. Anyway, about the nicknames."

"Right. Mine's Rat man."

"People just call you rat man?"

"Yes, but I don't really mind. There are always worse things they could call me, aren't there?"

"Fair point. Call me Joey."

"Oh how nice, you have an actual name." Trash Collector quickly made the connection that Joey must be a short version of the name Joseph, which was... suspicious, to say the least. Is it just a coincidence? Probabaly. And if it is, it's a funny one.

"Don't say it like that. I don't have nearly enough brain power to think about anything other than surviving and making basic conclusions right now, so it's not like I can give you an actual name." Surviving... Ha, such irony it is to call this experience 'surviving.'

"It's all good Joe, I never asked you to anyway."

"You're not even saying it correctly."

"I'm aware." Joey only rolled his eyes at seeing that mischievous smile on their face again.

"Then I'm gonna call you Ro."

"Why Ro?"

"Because I don't want to call you a rat."

It was strangely sweet of Joey, but Ro isn't even surprised at this point. Just at a glance they got the impression that he was a good guy. Or at least tried to be. And the more they talked to one another, the more that belief firmed in their mind.

And while they were thinking this situation over, Joey actually fell asleep, leaning against their side. Not the greatest idea considering how dirty they are, but to be fair, Joey is not exactly clean himself.

Ro sighs quietly and puts one of their arms around Joey's shoulder to keep him from falling off and lean back, staring up at the dark sky above. Might as well get comfortable now, who knows how much sleep this kid will need after everything they went through?