#eyes closed pressing post

[disguisedcheezed]

in the name of the father.

and of the son.

and of the holy spirit.

amen.

[halcyen]

These howls she's heard before, the wounded lupine's cry used to peel through the air vents and strike through walls. Sophie imagines that it does much the same, now, though hearing Arthur strain close to her ear is nothing short of striking. His shoulders hike, muscles pulled taught. Even beneath the layers of his suit she feels his entire body strain for a hopeless hold on itself. She's the anchor, though knelt on soft cushions and hardly held upright herself.

A short glance throws her eyes toward her own front door. The bolt's slid across it, and the chain locked in place. She isn't like she once was. Should what few neighbours are left to feel disgruntled feel the need to search out the sounds cause, they'll face a bolted door and nothing else. None will see him. Not until he's ready to leave himself.

She doesn't know when that will be, and doesn't truly mind, but Sophie's aware that he's typically missed while away. She sighs, shoulders the next heave of Arthur's chest, then curls her fingers through the sodden hair at the nape of his neck. Without her combing, those broccoli green strands would stick to his skin. There's ink beneath those waves she's never seen before, and can't quite make out even when she's being held so close to him.

When he bends his head forward like he's bending to a great gust she cant feel, Sophie cups the back of his neck. Her thumb nests in his hairline, stroking short, gentle lines against his skin.

The wolf dog's rammed his head in the modicum of space between his charge and the back of the couch. His black-grey snout shimmies upward, jabbing Arthur's sternum momentarily while the dog whines to be given amble space. Sokol ignores her, as he's trained to, though can't ignore the barrier their awkward embrace puts in his way. Paws as large as Sophie's face stamp on Arthur's spectator shoes and squeak on impact. In spite of the fact he's been inside Anderson Avenue's haunted monolith for a while now, Gotham's rain has a habit of clinging to all it pelts.

" It's okay. It's okay... " She doesn't withdraw, but speaks close to his ear. In truth her voice is more likely to be netted amongst his hair more than anything, muffled and quiet so the door to her bedroom will remain closed and Gigi won't give into her curiosity and worry. Her hand climbs, to crown him. Like that she can wrap the rest of her arm over and behind his shoulder. She gives the dog space without splitting from the man in her arms.

A great wolf's head lays solidly against Arthur's abdominals. In what Sokol's been given between his charge and the couch, he's manages to sit back on his haunches, away from Sophie, and flatten his throat against his torso. That alone interrupts their otherwise locked embrace. It nudges Arthur backward barely half a step, which the dog quickly claims. He hikes up onto his back legs in a way that surprises her just enough for just enough time to formulate the final crack between she and Arthur's chest. It's no longer just the sofa separating them.

The dog's tall enough to lay both from paw's against Arthur's shoulders, pressuring weight down onto them in what Sophie assumes is an attempt to stop hyperventilation. He'd do far better than she would, after all, and still she cradles Arthur's elbow in her hand, reluctant to pull away and allow him to think she'd wishes to the entire time.

Sophie sniffs, but it does nothing to allay the stubborn ache in her throat. Her jaw, too, has locked itself in place while she purses her lips. Arthur's made far more a mess of himself, having lost shreds of his second face to tears and mucus. With her free hand, still somehow cradling the tea she'd made — she'll check the rug for stains later — she wipes her eyes with the underside of her wrist. Cheap mascara clings to the translucent skin one she withdraws, and she shakes her head at the sight before finally her eyes are forced to peel away from him. Sokol's busy working as it is.

Beneath the heaps of her schoolwork on the coffee table lies a box of tissues. She abandons her drink in its space and, while performing a twist of her torso to wend back around to face Arthur, rips a few from between thin cardboard teeth.

" It's really, really okay. " She tells him again, wafting her snatch of tissues about the bulk of the dog still hanging off Arthur's shoulders. They jump a little less now, wheezing might be beginning to settle in his lungs, but his eyes are red, and paint's peeled all the way down his throat. She likely wears it against her shoulder and sleeve too, maybe even in her hair. She doesn't mind. " I've got you. I just... I don't wanna smudge. " His face. Any more than it already is.

When Arthur manages to deftly pluck his prize from her in spite of the way his body seems to wage was just against breathing, she reaches across the back of the couch again. Her hand shelves against the slope of his neck, just above the collar of his shirt. There she untucks and untangles several wet strands of hair, repeats the combing of her fingers even when the job is done, and swallows thickly. " …Can I get you anything? Do anything? "

But he was arrested. Thrown underneath Arkham State Hospital the same as his mother. A strange cherry-cola scent that’s likely filmed on Sophie's lips now dabs his hairline. He tries to inhale it, but charred lungs force a viscous cocktail of phlegm, blood, and smoke up his throat. Werewolf’s eyes stain bright red once his capillaries engorge. For a moment, her sweet face is buried under the weight of unshed tears.

His chest hikes. Joker’s nose is close to running if it isn’t already. He’d allow his focus to drift toward where he thinks that kitchen drawer is — where she buried all memory of him, how much he loved her, what she meant to him…how she’d saved him and vanished like the scent of that drugstore lip balm she’d borrowed from her daughter. He hasn’t breathed, yet tries to.

Warm lamplights augment her golden-brown skin. A few jet-black coils hang over her face. They’re coarse, yet pillowy beneath his fingertips and slip behind her ears with ease. She isn’t smiling as he’d always envisioned. Nothing he’s saying is funny or vaguely endearing, yet he keeps his head tilted at that stupid angle as if she’ll do it again. 

First to splinter his chest from within is a deep, nasal noise that slides into a laugh. He tries to kill it. Joker forces the sound out his nostrils and lurches forward. His chest collides with the back of the couch.

Sophie gasps at first, but swings an arm around the backs of his shoulders and holds still as Joker, either sobbing or laughing or suffering a blend of both, keeps her cheek moulded to his palm. His dominant arm loops up and around to both fasten her upright and support his slight weight as gravity forces him forward.

Two-toned spectator shoes near-slip out from under him as he lifts high onto his knees, squeezes his eyes shut to let the tears leak, and half-burrows his face in the juncture where her neck meets her shoulder. Doubtless she’ll have a red and white smear to remember tonight by. Solidifies the decision she’d apparently made before they ever crossed paths.

His nose definitely runs. His clavicle hammers her own with every fractured inhale. Joker shakes. Neither his cradle against her cheek nor the mitt he’s woven into her hair from behind can remain still. Her scalp’s warm under his fingertips. Werewolf soothes the pads in and out in spite of his own struggle to breathe.

Her apartment’s margins both yawn and compress. He’s woozy, disoriented, yet unable to relent. Joker laughs so hard he coughs. If she calls the dead man’s name, he can’t hear it or know that his racket’s thrown her nine-year-old daughter from bed and sent her stumbling for the bedroom doorway. Joker faces the television, which still is a wall of white noise that has begun to take shape. A face seeps past the static. Its features remain largely indistinguishable, but Joker cry-laughs until he gags while watching the face in that television smile at him. It’ll laugh like swarms of bees flying directly inside his ear.

Gigi halts in her mother’s doorway, jaw agape that Joker is in her living room either cackling or sobbing in her mother’s arms. She receives the signal from her mother to retreat, yet also that all is well. Ambling circles cosset the back of Joker's head as he strains to breathe. He hasn’t since first that horrible piercing noise that neighbors throughout the complex so often would complain about and try to get him evicted…but this time is different. Her lower neck and shoulder are soaked. Keeping her breathing level is a chore. She tries. Sophie’s eyelashes bat to collect any potential waterworks that cheap mascara will burn and blind her.

Joker keeps his face half-hidden, bleary eyes locked on the face in the television screen yet his mouth agape. Sokol funneled between him and the back of the sofa to apply pressure to his chest and get him to breathe, but it doesn’t work. Sophie’s afro has all but knotted around his hand.

After a pleading nod from her mother, Gigi slinks back into the bedroom and shuts the door behind her. Joker hadn’t noticed their interaction. All but that featureless, albeit smug face in the television’s white noise stares back at him. A stranger's breath finds his ear now in ragged puffs.

He bares teeth, pushes his nose into the bend of Sophie's shoulder, then vaults forward so his hideous coughs aren’t directly against her flesh. 

[ghostly-groves]

Happy Halloween!!

@watermelonfrog2

[celestiaras]

riding wilson during lethal company and that's why he thought of krisex because he's literally having sex 😭

yu q. wilson x gn! reader┊smut!! (not explicit but still-)

you just need to rile him up a little by feigning innocence, being flirty, leaving some lingering touches— it takes close to nothing to get him flustered. there’s a time and place for everything and the middle of a mission was definitely not the right setting, but he was always weak-willed to begin with when it came to you. he just can’t hold it in any longer, pulling you into a secluded spot for a quick fuck to let out his pent-up horniness.

when you both emerge with heavy breathing and messy hair and disheveled clothing, the other guys are talking about what the group name with hex would be without noticing the changes in your demeanors. when wilson was asked for his thoughts, mind fogged over from the events that occurred a mere five minutes before, the only thing he could stutter out was a “kri-sex?”

[lilacjunimo]

saw someone on twitter imply that one king of queens promo photo would be tech and phee and so now we have this

[mrcowboydeanwinchester]

i think jo should've gotten to stab dean. as if they both wouldn't enjoy it

[malleleothreesome]

smirk emoji…. can we see a snippet of whichever wip is gripping you most rn 🫣🫶 IM EYEING ALL OF THEM LIKE HEY…. grabby hands

Referencing this post

Um, idk if this classifies as a "snippet" 🤪 but, I swear, this is only a small portion of what I have written...

This is the start of 'Fellow Honest Drunken Confession' (WIP, subject to change. SFW, swearing, gn reader)

To the people who voted on my poll for me to post the Leona/Malleus/Reader love triangle early, this isn't the content you voted for, but hopefully this might hold you over???

Fellow Honest let out an exasperated sigh, standing next to you and your classmates as the massive cruise ship that housed Playfulland amusement park sinks into the abyss of the ocean. His hands are clasped behind his head, and a carefree grin lights up his face. "You know what?" He asks, turning to you. His fox ears twitch atop his head as a salty breeze stirs his orange hair. The night has begun to encroach, a half moon hangs suspended in the starry sky like a pale glowing lamp above the dark waters of the ocean. You stare back into his face, noting his fangs poking out as the tip of his curly orange tail swishes happily. Fellow winks as he laughs his signature haughty cackle. He opens his mouth to speak. "Do you want to grab a drink sometime?"

Ace Trappola perks right up at the mention of alcohol and barrels forward, face beaming and completely missing Fellow's lascivious intent towards you. "Hey, free drinks? You're talking to the right person, man. Hell yeah, let's do it, you're gonna let us drink free? I mean, it's like, the least you could do for trying to human traffic us, am I right?" He does an excited fist-pumping action as Trey Clover trails in his wake, attempting to shush him to no avail, calling, "Ace!" in a desperate hiss. Fellow regards the spectacle with the most blank stare, his ear flicking as a tiny, unnoticed wince of annoyance flickers across his visage.

The monster of a man tilts his head and smiles slyly to you and only you, his eyes sweeping you with interest, "Just you and me, hotstuff. We're talking romantic and steamy. We've got a connection, don't deny it. So. Whaddaya say?" Fellow steps closer, tongue running along his canines as he looks you up and down with a cheeky grin and a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "You and me, alone together, drinking, talking... I'll be real good to you—I'm an honest guy! All my business is legit now!" he throws his head back with a flourish of his arms, roaring with raucous laughter. After a second, he composes himself, his piercing orange eyes turning sharp as he flashes another lecherous look in your direction. With a slight smirk on the corner of his lips and a suggestive raise of his eyebrow, Fellow leans to whisper in your ear, lingering in the electricity of your aura a bit too long before speaking, making you shiver. His voice drops to a low, suggestive purr as his hot breath grazes your neck, "But, if you like, a little bit naughty ain't out of the question... "

Before you can respond, Ace—unable to be subdued by Trey—makes his way back over and elbows you in the arm. Just as clueless as ever, his freckled cheeks are flushed bright pink from excitement, and you swear he's bouncing with happiness on his toes as he hollers with unbridled hype for the evening ahead, "Free drinks, bro! He's an underworld mobster, dude—a high ranking one—we'll have the VIP treatment if he decides to take us out. Taste of that top shelf, not some gross, warm piss from a barrel they serve everyone else, only the best!" Ace says all this while gripping his heart and fake swooning, holding out his arms in an exaggerated gesture, leaning on your shoulder. "Free top shelf liquor!" Ace shouts to the rest of your classmates gathered around in small groups, waving them all over.

Fellow's eyebrow raises further upward until it threatens to leave the confines of his forehead, a dead look in his orange eyes. His tail doesn't twitch—it stays perfectly still, frozen in an upright arch. When his lips part in a rigid smile and his shoulders begin to shake, the absolute venomous displeasure that radiates off the poor fox is palpable enough that you can practically feel it soaking into your skin. For a minute, all that comes out of his mouth is a jumble of fragmented curse words mixed with giggles. You look over at him in mild alarm, unsure if he has finally reached a state of losing his goddamn mind or if he's about to violently lash out and murder Ace and everyone in attendance on sight.

Fellow holds up both gloved palms, almost covering his whole face as he slowly shakes his head and doubles over, guffawing uproariously and wiping away tears of hysterical mirth from his eyes, tail swishing from side to side again. You are stunned, staring as Fellow wheezes and struggles to get ahold of his faculties. Catching his breath, his eyes bulge and he bellows to the sky with unrestrained joy, throwing his head back, ears flying and pointing upwards, his hat almost tumbling off as his body quakes and his lungs struggle, "The sheer audacity! The unmitigated gumption of this fool—"

"Oh my GOD," he continues to snigger with laughter, almost out of control as his nose crinkles. Before long, he descends into violent snorts, then coughing as his breaths go askew and come short. In a valiant effort to calm himself, he holds up his hands, as if praying, a wicked grin plastered across his face. All Ace does is squint suspiciously at his antics, totally clueless to Fellow's intent. Trey shakes his head slowly, rubbing his face in abject defeat, looking as if he's willing his brain to purge the trauma of ever coming to this place. Fellow makes a poor attempt to control himself, breathing deeply, "Sorry, sorry, it's just funny, oh my God. Wow. He has some balls on him, I'll give him that! I really admire the gall. You know what? This brat might have a career in the biz, I'm serious." The fox beastman reaches out and ruffles Ace's head of red hair like he's some kid, chortling.

He is shaking his head and wearing a very impressed look as his fingers caress his chin pensively, lost in thought, unable to maintain eye contact as he's on the verge of losing his composure again. "Alright, tough guy. Yeah, let's go get boozed. And hey, little bastard," His fiendish grin takes a more sinister tone, fangs exposed as he tilts his head in a cocky way. "Just so you know, if your pathetic college didn't send that sweetheart of a cutie,” he winks suggestively at you, his tail giving a little twitch, before his eyes wander across the crowd of students, obviously unimpressed by your entire class, sneering, “I'd never be letting any of you idiots go. No way! I would have dragged each of you back to my boss by force. Don't test my generosity or my kindness." He shoves his finger into Ace's face, leaning towards him intimidatingly, but the smirk of delight stays on Fellow's face despite his posturing. He's clearly getting a huge kick out of trying to spook and intimidate Ace, who thinks he's some scary, powerful crime lord.

Fellow takes a sharp inhale and clasps his hands shut as he addresses the group, "Now, just for fun, let's get liquored up on the highest rooftop bar, play some poker, do a little dancing..." his eyes flit back over to you, "Maybe some smooches, hey?" A fox yip punctuates his sentence. His eyes return back to Ace, whose lips press in a firm, annoyed line, frowning at the con man. Fellow's eyebrow twitches with incredulous humor as he takes in Ace's defiance, biting his lip for a second as if trying not to give in to another peal of cackling. "There isn't going to be any 'VIP treatment', no 'free drinks', and definitely no 'top shelf', is that clear? Who do you think I am? You think I like doing that type of shit?" he points to the water, gesturing to the decimated remnants of the amusement park. "I'll let you in on a little secret, kid, people don't do those types of jobs because they're loaded.” He leans down to get eye level with Ace, using expressive jazz hands as he puts on a pompous voice, “'Oh, man, my yacht's all paid off and ready, better become a goddamn kidnapping organ trafficker—the glamour! The luxury!' Do you understand what I'm saying, you dinky little shit?"

[folkloretrait]

⋆｡°✩ 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖓𝖊 ⋆｡°✩

No one remembers when the Alchemist arrived in Henford-on-Bagley. If you pull over any townsperson and ask, they'll look at you in bewilderment and say: "You mean the old man who lives in the Bramblewood? Well, I don't know...He's kind of always been here. He seems nice enough, but no one really sees him...I don't think he's well."

🔮next 🔮

[bildads-shoes]

1941. They're celebrating being safe from Hell, they've had a few more drinks and Crowley is dancing around the bookshop with a bottle of whiskey in hand. He's a dreadful dancer, abysmal really, but he's so utterly lost in music and joy that Aziraphale can't pull his gaze away.

Crowley finally sees him and it breaks him from his trance of motion. Asks him to join in the dance.

Oh, I don't know how to dance like that - I'm an angel of course.

Let me show you.

Well... I suppose that would be alright.

The dance once chaotic, wild and free becomes at once gentle and cautious as Aziraphale joins him. It's a slow dance, the lightest touches of shoulder, waist, hands. Aziraphale still can't pull his gaze away. Neither can Crowley.

The touch, lighter still, moves to Aziraphale's jawline, cheekbone. Eyes flick down, and now the gaze is different. Everything is different now. It has been from the moment he handed over the suitcase, and he is quite sure there is no reversing whatever this might be. Closer. Closer still. And then-

Sin. Duty. Too soft. Too weak. Easy to tempt. Good. Evil. Punishment. Damnation.

I-I'm sorry- I really don't dance.

A pause.

Right. Of course you don't. You're an angel.

Angels don't dance. Angels don't... do *this*. The night ends, but those words never leave.

[st4rstudent]

yeahsure whatevr.... ok

[shirogane-oushirou]

meowdy... <3

[markdelonge]

even more mark headcannons (dad?edition)

my gif

not really "dad edition" but "moments leading up to being a dad edition" (does that make sense?) (i may do a dad edition)

blink masterlist

...

• omg mark finding out you were pregnant was so cute

• he found out by accident

• like you were on the phone with a friend and he overheard the conversation

• before he told you he knew about it he called tom

• but he decided to bring it up at the most random time ever and talk about it like it was nothing

• like during dinner or something

"so what do you think we should name the kid"

• ^ that was his way of letting you know he knew

• mark got 100 times more protective during the pregnancy

• he didn't let you do ANYTHING in fear of you or the child getting hurt

• he was constantly holding you / had his hand on your stomach

• even before the baby bump was there

• he was 99% willing to go out in the middle of the night to go to the store so he could satisfy your cravings

• and when he didnt want to, you'd use the baby as an excuse.

"mark, the baby and i want graham crackers

"how does the baby want something its never had?"

• he'd still go get what u wanted tho

• #greathusband

• the last couple weeks of the pregnancy was nerve wracking

• especially bc mark was constantly leaving to do shit with blink

• the both of you had a huge fear that you'd go in labor while he was gone

• thank god that didn't happen

• when you went in labor, mark was freaking out more than you were

"holy shit, its happening? are you sure?"

"yeah, babe, i'm pretty sure my water just broke"

"fuck, fuck, fuck, i gotta call an ambulance"

"mark, baby, please sit down, you're literally shaking"

[come-mist-eternal]

Behold! My two most hated necromorph types in a very confined area!

Although I've gotten pretty decent at stasis so that helps. Kept in the end there where I went into menus to recover from the encounter.

[shibaraki]

learning from my mistakes ; writing the first and second draft of my fics, leaving them for two to three months to stew and THEN coming back to them, after i've begun new projects and read a couple of a dozen more things in orden to refine then SPLENDIDLY before i begin posting them. it takes time, but i am more satisfied with myself that way <3

O GOOD FOR YOU BABY! there are a few fics I had to do this with too, courtesan gojo being one of them!!!! sometimes you just gotta step back and return with a new perspective. there’s nothing like feeling satisfied with your work <3 proud of u

[angelbvn]

about kaz’s post on me thinking i’m not understanding enough.

i genuinely think this. but my mindset will almost always be that humans and beings deserve chances. of course there’s a stopping point but in reality everything shifts and changes. the universe is a constant shifting aura of consciousness. and my point is, i can understand all but never fully understand it; and i can understand and recognize but never forgive…and i need to work on forgiving, and setting boundaries. those who hurt will always hurt, and even if the hurt hurt another, i’ll do my best to heal the hurt regardless.