#fortunately they're dead already)

[unhonestlymirror]

Guys, who's gonna tell her?

Molotov-Ribbentrop pact who?👀

[marauders-bs]

"James?" Lily says. Her mascara is running tear tracks down her face. Marlene and Remus, who are flanking her, look similar.

"What's happened, Lils?" James asks, standing up quickly. She hands him a newspaper, which he unfolds.

The front cover:

Regulus Black, Heir to the Black Fortune, Now Presumed Dead Due to Unknown Circumstances.

He chokes. It's like someone's reached down his throat and ripped out his heart. Next thing he knows, Sirius is there, and Remus and Peter and the girls, but no Reg.

No Evan or Barty either.

"They probably sold him out," Marlene says, hand on Sirius's shoulder.

"They wouldn't," Remus says. "Those two were there for him when none of us were. They protect him like he's their kid, they're probably lighting shit on fire already."

James can't talk. That can't be true.

-

"Hey, James," Sirius calls through the house, appearing with a cat in his arms. "Cat's attached to me and Remus doesn't want it, do you?"

James looks at the cat. It's got white fur in a frame around its face and striking blue eyes.

"Yeah," James says. "Also, it's time for you to head out isn't it?"

"Yeah," Sirius says.

He just leaves. None of us believe in goodbyes.

"Morning, Potter," the cat says while transforming. "I must say, I had no idea my brother was that predictable."

James smiles and wraps his arms around Regulus Black. "Can't believe you faked your own death for me."

"You're alright."

"Ooh, alright, am I?" James asks, pressing his forehead to Regulus's, both of their visions tainted by bleached-white and curly brown hair.

Regulus grins, stands up on his tiptoes, and pressed his lips to James's. "Maybe a little more."

[another-lost-mc]

Soo like would the demon brothers including the other demon characters kill for mc? 👻

It's not a question of will they kill for you, but rather, who do they have to kill? Because of course they would.

If it's some nobody lesser demon, chances are they can do the deed and get away with it without anyone knowing (or caring) about it after. Higher-ranking demons within the nobility are more of a challenge - the social and personal consequences are much higher, assuming the original offense is a minor infraction and not something that would warrant a formal punishment of the court. If it's something serious, it's better to let Diavolo take care of it (and trust when he says that he will).

Angels are tricky to deal with. Outright killing one would probably anger Diavolo too much, let alone what Michael's reaction would be. Punishments for Celestial Realm denizens who offend or hurt you (and by extension, the demons that care for you) are non-lethal and have to be carried out with some level of care and subtlety. They can't arouse too much suspicion or anger from the other realms. Fortunately, angels aren't likely to do anything too grievous towards you anyway. (The angels that know you best have their own methods of dealing with their angelic brothers or sisters that need a little enlightenment when it comes to your happiness and well-being.)

When it comes to deadly retribution, humans are probably the easiest for your demon companions to dispose of. With their frail bodies and fondness for sin and reckless behaviour, humans die unexpectedly all the time. So long as they're careful not to leave any evidence of their involvement behind, some poor human's unexpected demise is coincidental at best. Your pet demon isn't likely to be held accountable for it either - assuming Solomon hasn't taken care of the miscreant first, that is.

Of course, killing is such a vague concept, and each of your demonic friends has their own preferences when it comes to getting their hands a little bloody for you.

(warnings: mentions of violence/murder/torture, unhinged behaviour, demons being demons, etc.)

RECKLESS AND IMPULSIVE: It might surprise you how quick they respond to aggression or insults towards you and the level of violence they're capable of. Their love for you is so strong, they can't help it. Perhaps it's better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission, because they know you're too kind for your own good. Letting some no-good demon get away with hurting you, even the tiniest bit, is unthinkable. It doesn't really matter what you say, because once the switch flips, it's too late to stop them. The demon is already dead at their feet before anyone else nearby even realizes what happened.

— Mammon, Satan, Beelzebub

CAREFUL AND CALCULATED: A bitter insult, some derogatory comments on Devilgram, obnoxious criticisms heard amongst the chatter of RAD's busy hallways - it doesn't take much to anger them when it comes to defending you. You're so precious, their uniquely imperfect little human master, and you deserve better than that. They'll take their time, they'll make their plans, they'll consider their options carefully. When the deed is done, they'll make sure every last trace of blood is gone from their hands and their teeth before they see you again. It would be a shame to tarnish you with the filth of the unworthy.

— Leviathan, Asmodeus, Belphegor, Mephistopheles

MERCILESS AND UNTOUCHABLE: There's nothing that matters more than your safety and happiness. They're the ones you can turn to when you feel like you can't turn to anyone else. You can confide in them because they're strong. Their power and influence is unmatched, and no matter what troubles you, they'll see that it's taken care of. They used to scare you before, but now there's comfort in the firm hand clasping your shoulder when they lead you to your door, or the warm cup of tea they press into your hands, or the princely smile that promises you never have to worry so long as they're close. You can rest easy at night knowing whatever threatens your well-being is taken care of, even if you don't realize it. The dungeons beneath the Demon Lord's Castle that house the wicked, and the dark deeds carried out against them in your name, are burdens they gladly bear.

— Lucifer, Diavolo, Barbatos

[phoenixyfriend]

Heiress of the Count AU

Early in the Imperial Era, Vader is sent along as The Muscle for someone's trade negotiations with what's left of the CIS. There's not much, all told, and they've already capitulated to The Big Ask of submitting to the Empire, but bureaucratic minutiae still need to be pinned down, and they're still cohesive enough that it'll be easier to discuss things like tax rates by meeting with a few representatives than hashing things out planet by planet. Vader doesn't want to come along, but Sidious said he had to (and then laughed).

Once he arrives, he finds out why! The head of the loose coalition of CIS planets is the Countess of Serenno, Asajj Ventress.

Asajj is listed as Count Dooku's primary heir in the will, despite him trying to kill her and her fucking off to be a bounty hunter instead. He still cared? Was fond? He still regarded her well enough to name her as basically his adopted daughter. The line of succession will revert to Dooku's nephew if Ventress doesn't have any heirs of her own, and a good portion of the larger estate did go to him (and some pockets went to Obi-Wan), but the title, castle, fortune, and throne went to Asajj.

She doesn't know what the hell to do with it. But then comes the situation of negotiating with the Empire, and her... cousin? Grand-nephew? Whatever the fuck Dooku's actual blood nephew is. The guy said she had to go because she was the only person around that could claim to be at least somewhat resistant/unintimidated by Imperial lackeys, being a notably powerful Force User with a history of Jedi Kills.

So Asajj is now the new face of what's left of the CIS.

And she's honestly pretty likely to recognize Vader as Anakin, if they're in the same room for a few hours and she's calm enough to try and figure out which idiot is in the massive armor.

IDK where this goes but I think maybe Asajj could pspspsps Vader out of the Empire by mentioning that the nightsisters had a better grasp of necromancy than the Sith, and if Vader really wanted to follow through on whatever it was about immortality that got him on Sidious's side (she's heard Amidala is dead, and the two weren't subtle, though she doesn't mention it), then she's basically the only one left alive that could help him access the right Dathomiri texts to fuck around with dead souls.

Anyway. Countess Asajj. I want to put her in fancy outfits and have an actual noble (Dooku's nephew) as her long-suffering chief advisor.

(The man is not planning to usurp or betray her because she's letting him have a fair amount of power and will probably let the line go back to him anyway, possibly even abdicating after the situation is stable enough that they don't need her Former Sithliness anymore, so like... what even would be the point? Waste of resources.)

[deathbxnny]

So remember that prompt i sent to you? Well here’s the request! Can i request Neuvilette, Zhongli, and Dainsleif meeting the alternate version of their dead lover? Like how would they act around the reader during their respective Archon quest? (Example, Zhongli acting weird around the reader when they were gathering materials for Rex Lapis’s funeral)

Context:

The said character used to have a lover that had died a gruesome death centuries ago. And despite the years passing by, he still hasn't really gotten over their death. He wishes he could see his dead lover again and that wish came true as when he met the traveler, he met them too but it wasn't the one had fallen in love with. It was an alternate version of his dead lover.

The reader is an alternate version of said character's dead lover. They're from another universe (maybe HSR?) and somehow got isekaied to Teyvat. Fortunately, they got dropped at the same beach Traveler and Paimon was resting in the prologue. After talking with the traveler and realizing they are in another universe, the reader decides to join the traveler in traveling Teyvat and try to find a way to go back home. Although the last thing they expect was an ancient man acting strange around them.

(Side note: The characters are not in love with the reader (who’s the alt version of their dead lover) as he did not fall for this version of his lover. Its more of a longing? Like “so close yet so far” kind of case? I hope that makes sense)

- Flower Anon 🌸

Hello Flower anon! I have finally found the time to do your request, so I hope you like this and thank you for your great ask!!<33

(Also, due to the fact that I barely remember most story quests, I've decided to generalize these a little-)

Content: Reader is dead, past romantic relationships, doppelgangers, vague descriptions of readers death, angst, hurt/no comfort, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!!

((Not proofread))

》NEUVILLETTE

Neuvillette took a double take, a really obvious one that made the Traveler and Paimon glance at eachother in confusion at his strong reaction. His usually calm and collected persona slipped, the disbelief spreading across his face before he tried to hide it behind a cough quickly. His heart was beating out of his chest, thousands of questions plaguing his mind at once, until you nervously asked him if he was okay.

It took him only a small moment to collect himself, a deep exhale releasing all the grief, horror, and pain with it. He smiled calmly once more, chuckling as he waved off your concerns. "I felt ill." He'd say, not elaborating any further as he asked you to please continue telling him about your mission to expose the truth behind his own archon. He doesn't react further than that and stays professional to his bestest ability.

He knows it's not really you, after all. And he refuses to hurt himself any further than your death already had. This was a mere coincidence, a cruel joke of the universe that made him want to laugh bitterly.

Instead, however, the rain poured down for a week straight, despite his best efforts to stay strong.

》ZHONGLI

Zhongli doesn't have a visible reaction and strictly keeps it that way when meeting you for the first time whilst you were helping him with the "funeral". This alternative version of you seemed to be the same on the surface. But he could easily tell that you still weren't his lover that he lost so many years ago. And he supposed that it was for the best to let the past go through befriending you at least.

He observes you closely, often finding himself still reminiscing in the small actions you do share with his original muse, whilst he delves into deeper conversations with you. But that's his limit. Whether out of the respect for the dead or his need to distance himself from the tragedy that once befell you, he didn't know. But he just couldn't interact with you further than that.

He simply watches you from afar instead, as you prepare everything for the grimm festivities, his heart secretly yearning for another awfully familiar smile his way despite everything.

》DAINSLEIF

Dainsleif felt breathless at the sight of you, and for a moment, he wondered if he had imagined you. A past he desperately held onto drifted through his mind, your image perfectly clear in his memory, his heart aching desperately with the need to hold you again after the fall of your nation. Unsaid, regret filled words burned on his tongue before he swallowed them as swift as the emotions that overwhelmed him.

He ignored Paimons' inquiry over his somehow even paler face, before turning to the important mission at hand. That wasn't you, he reminded himself grimly. This doppelganger that seemed so much like you was just a pure coincidence, nothing more, nothing less. And yet those reminders did little to quell the uneasiness and ill feeling in his stomach. The memory of your death replayed over and over again endlessly for all eternity to come.

And even if it did happen to be a reincarnation of you after all, Dainsleif would have still refused to reach out to you more than he already has through the unknowing traveler and Paimon. He didn't see himself as deserving to be in your presence. That privilege had been taken from him the moment you took your last breath.

[starry-bi-sky]

thinking about Dan in CFAU and just how different he needs to be (in my opinion) in order for Danny's whole thing to work. Canon Danny with Dan's influence, would never even consider thinking of killing anyone even after losing people close to him because he'd be scared of becoming like him. CFAU Danny however has been festering in this hurt and anger for years and wants the Joker dead and is plotting it. I don't think he'd do that with Dan's influence.

I explained how Rath came to be in this post here. Things happened in TUE as normal -- Danny's family dies, he lives with Vlad, Vlad rips out his ghost half. The difference here is that not only was Danny in a grieving state (something exclusive to banshees that the post goes into) but he also doesn't end up fusing with Vlad.

What happens instead is that Danny's ghost half, consumed already with grief and now enraged by being murdered and lied to by Vlad, destroys him completely and disappears into the ghost zone. He traps himself unintentionally in a negative feedback loop of grief, and as a human spirit banshee, cannot mentally handle the constant agony and sorrow he's experiencing. What happens is that he ends up driving himself insane with misery.

So the difference here, ultimately, between Dan and Rath, is that at the end of the day; Dan is fully aware of his actions. He knows what he's doing is wrong, and delights in it. He acknowledges his lack of humanity and feels no remorse in doing what he does.

Rath? He's... not. Not really. Dan is a hulking mass of muscle; tall, towering, terrifying. He loves what he does and does what he loves. Rath, however, appears as a scrawny young boy in raggedy clothes far too big for him, hunched in on himself while dirty, unkempt hair curtains his face and hides whatever he doesn't have ducked down in his curled-in form.

Rath is locked in a constant, unending state of sorrow and misery. He, for lack of better words, is unable to perceive the world around him properly and lashes out terribly and violently at anyone or anything that catches his attention. The only thing that he knows is that his family is gone, his other half is gone, that everyone he loves is gone, gone, gone.

He is a zombie apocalypse wrapped up in the form of a malnourished child, wandering the world in search of people who are not there, and becomes furious if you're not them. He is constantly crying, but he's been crying for so long that he's all but lost his voice. Meaning anyone trying to keep an ear out for him has to listen for soft, pained gasps and quiet whimpering, and wonder if the sound they're hearing are hurt survivors, or the very thing they're running from.

As a result, Rath's influence on Danny isn't that he's scared of doing something bad and becoming like him. He's scared of losing control of himself and dooming himself and others to eternal misery. As a result, he's adamant that things that he's done were not done out of pure emotion, but were active choices he made.

Up to and including killing the Joker. There's enough grief and rage behind his views on him that anyone could argue, especially knowing that Danny's a ghost, that he was not in the right mind when he did it. He was blinded by his emotions and was not in the right mental capacity, he had no control over himself. It'd work as a convincing argument.

If it weren't for Danny himself arguing against it. Killing the Joker was a choice he made, fully and willingly. It was autonomous, premeditated murder and he won't accept anything else -- it was not a fit of passion, it was not act of insanity, it was a decision. He won't accept it being anything else but revenge either, and if anyone tries to claim that it was a necessary evil he will yell at them. He didn't do this for the betterment of the public, that was just a fortunate side effect. He did it for himself and Jason. If you wanted it to be a necessary evil, then you should've killed him yourself. It was a selfish evil and he knows it.

In the end, Dan’s existence would prevent Joker’s death. Rath’s existence only solidifies it.

Rath's complete difference from Dan is one of my favorite parts about this au even if he never makes a direct appearance.

[janearts]

i know malus already received a brief mention here but since he was one of my favorite parts of act 2, could we get a little more detail on that encounter or just how roisia felt about the house of healing overall? my headcanon is 1 part kind of shaken about seeing what it devolved into, 1 part "oh my god you're all so STUPID" haha

[Malus previously mentioned in this post.]

I liked his character too! It was a great encounter. Analysis under the cut.

Since the events of Baldur's Gate 3 is the second of Roisia's "Grand Adventures"—the first being the events of Divinity: Original Sin (another amazing Larian game if you haven't played)—she is already accustomed to Necromancer-Kings, liches, and piles and piles and piles of corpses and... cadaverous goo. So I don't think that she was aghast at Malus, his assistants, or what was generally going on in the House of Healing because she's seen that sort of thing before. Been there! Done that!

I think what would unnerve her every time is the active torture of a living creature right before her eyes. So that would apply to Spike torturing Liam and Malus torturing the Distressed Patient. Roisia is accustomed to flaying, boiling, amputating, and doing all manner of things to her patients, but her patients don't mind because they're dead. So I think that's where the mix of agony (an empathetic response to seeing another in pain before her), rage (an emotional response to seeing another being unjustly treated), and a sort of... scholarly competitiveness - ("I am ten times the anatomist you ever were, and I will show you how superior I am with what remains of your body!") - comes in.

I don't think that Roisia felt that Malus was stupid, necessarily, just twisted. And, fortunately for Roisia, easily manipulated in a way that some academics of his stature might be: stroke their egos with the precision of one of their own scalpels, demonstrate some level of competency while humbling oneself at the altar of their knowledge, turn their own words and implements against them, then desecrate that selfsame altar with their own blood. Rinse and repeat.

[batneko]

okay, time to actually type up my thoughts on this AU! With some new art to make it worth it.

for context, here's part one and part two.

so the basics are, Bowser is continually trying to conquer the city and being fought off by the bros, who do have superpowers (I thought about drawing lightning around Luigi's fist but I don't know how to make that look good in lineart) and costumes and "hero names," but don't hide their faces so they don't exactly have secret identities. It's more like being an actor with a stage name. Since they're fairly average-looking dudes they don't get recognized all the time, especially when they're apart, but Mario definitely does more often than Luigi.

But even when they're not recognized by the starbucks barista, people expect a lot of them. Not just stopping Bowser, but stopping everyday problems, rescuing cats from trees or standing in for a broken TV antenna. Eventually the pressure gets to Mario and he decides to fake his death and make a run for it. He's not really thinking clearly at the time and he regrets it almost immediately, but he can't bring himself to go back and face everyone's disappointment. He needs to figure himself out first.

He does at least contact Luigi as soon as he's out of the city to reassure him he's not dead. He doesn't tell him where he's going though, and Luigi can't contact him back, he has to wait for Mario to call, so Luigi does genuinely miss him and can fake grief when he needs to without too much prompting.

Bowser, meanwhile, was genuinely not expecting to "kill" his greatest rival. He never really wanted Mario dead, he just wanted the city! But he's not going to let this opportunity pass him by- Or so he thinks, until he's beaten into a pulp by the other hero that he usually forgot about.

Okay, fine, Bowser can still work with this. Heal up, regroup, give it another try- Aaaand this time he's ganged up on by three heroes he's never even seen before. What the heck is happening?

Turns out that without Mario's charismatic leader act keeping everyone reassured (and complacent), a bunch of people are stepping into the gap. Luigi, Peach, Daisy, probably more than one Toad or Yoshi... Bowser can't plan for this! They all have different powers, different strategies, different types of banter. He's overwhelmed.

So Bowser gets the idea that he needs just one hero to fight. Maybe with a sidekick, but still. That way he can time his cool speeches and minimize the amount he gets punched in the face. He already killed one of them, maybe if he works his way through the others one at a time he'll finally win. Eventually. Someday.

He gets the super crown disguise watch (I still haven't decided if there's a real guy whose appearance and name he is copying) and finds his first hero. Mario's sidekick. Should be the easiest one to fight, right? Bowser just needs to convince him that it's better for everyone if the city only has one hero at a time. It's about continuity. It'll reassure them. Give them a symbol.

Unfortunately for Bowser (and fortunately for us) Luigi is way too nice a guy to chase off some random bear person just for recognizing him and having Opinions about all this hero stuff. Luigi talks to him, addresses his concerns, answers his questions, and the guy is actually surprisingly willing to listen. Most people who try to tell him how to do his job don't care about facts and logic!

Next thing Bowser knows, he's been invited for coffee next week. That's... fine, right? This is progress! It's not a date, it's just getting close to his target! And it's definitely not a problem that Luigi is really cute and sweet and patient and has big blue eyes and a nice smile and the warmth of his handshake lingered for the rest of the afternoon...

Everything is totally fine! 👍

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about my zombie au but make it modern.

Where he doesn't get it from zombies, rather then failed testing so now his cancer is literally coming to the front of his skin and "rotting off" it was supposed to be an experimental cancer treatment but now he's got almost every symtom of a zombie minus the feralness.

His muscles are regenerating so quickly from the rotting that he has an obvious limp, he struggles to hold or carry heavy objects, his jaw isn't working properly, he needs help to swallow, he STINKS even MORE but Logan is nose blind to it by now. Overall, it's the same Wade just way, way more disabled, of course Logan becomes his caregiver.

But Wade still needs to eat a lot of meat, infact he's borderline carnivore now. The only "Feralness" he has now is like Eddie when he first was bonded with Venom, and he kept eating dead meat, only to eat a lobster raw. He doesn't exactly NEED live food, Raw food definitely makes him more "Full". Hank is still trying to figure out why, but he thinks it has something to do with the enzymes breaking down the virus. Logan's seen him "go feral" and eat a rat, tho. Which.. yeah, that was weird, but it was before Logan figured out that Wade needed meat to survive.

One of the ideas I have is Logan holding his wrist and taking sentiant "zombie" wade through the store only for him to wonder off from the cart and Logan sighing, having to gently drag him away from the ground beef packages like "No sweetheart.. I know you're hungry. I'll feed ya when we get home." Only for Wade to groan in protest but follow obediently.

Because of this constant changing, his mind has become very priority based, experiencing less complex emotions and understanding less concepts too. For example, He sees Logan. Wade likes Logan. Logan is holding puppy. Wade loves puppy!! Wade is happy because he saw Logan and Puppy. Simple.

Someone gives him a look at he's dead ass staring at the rotisserie chicken and Logan just pulls the "Sorry, he's not allowed out of the house much" and sighs, letting him hold chicken. "Wait, Wade. Wait." He tells him, like a dog waiting for its treat.

He tries to eat his chicken in the store before they pay for it, but Logan dosn't let him. Wait, why was Logan taking his chicken? Was he bad? He said he could have the chicken? Why can't he eat it now? Why does he have to wait? Wade doesn't understand that devouring an entire chicken in the store is socially unacceptable.

Have you ever seen a zombie happily (and food reactivly) hold their chicken staring at it all the way to the car like a kid with a toy? The moment they're in the van, Logan lets him start to eat it, helping him swallow at times and taking the small bones out. "Careful Darlin'. Not too fast. You don't wanna throw up again, do ya? Good. Slow. There ya go."

Logan reaches over to take some bone away knowing Wade will try to eat it and Wade holds the container close, glaring and growling at him.

"Oi, don't you growl at me! You and I both know you can't eat this!"

Despite being much simpler, though, he still has much pain and often tells Logan how much he hurts, sometimes even coming to him smiling, just informing him of the devastating feeling in his legs and arms, joints mainly.

"Logan. This hurts." He points to his knee and then just.. limps away.

"Oh.. wait what? What hurts, bub? Wade? Mmh....Well I'm proud of you for telling me anyway.." as he already left the room to go back to what ever he was doing.

Fortunately for Wades sake, This "zombie" disese isn't contagious unless the other person has a lot of cancer too, so Wade can still sit on Logans lap, giggling and kissing him to death.

It's just so innocent. Him kicking his feet and holding his neck, Kissing his lips over and over with such a happy grin.

"Oh yeah?.. another??.. yeah? Oh, man. So many kisses today. Someones happy to see me- wait what did you do? Did you eat a rat again?"

"...."

"Waaadde those rats have diseases!"

"Mmh..."

Some days, when Logan comes to check on Wade from his long naps, he freaks out because there, laying in front of him, is Wade with his eyes rolled back, jaw open and not breathing. The stench of death is always around Wade, but it is far more intense. Logan would shake him. Scold him. Beg him to wake up. Plead with Hope to give him back. He was terrified for the day that she kept him from his arms without a word. When and if Wade finally COULD die and stay dead, Logan wanted told- scratch that.

Since his body is on over drive with trying to regenerate rapidly, he's always starving and often is tired. If he's not eating, he's sleeping.

He NEEDED told. He needed to say goodbye. Forever. If she took him without letting him bid his lover bye, he didn't know what he would do, and he knew it would hurt. He knew he'd hurt others in a blind fit of rage, But Wade deserved to be told goodbye. Esspecially if he was still in this stage of brain deteriation where he wouldn't understand until it was too late.

When Wade does finally gasp to life and is pulled from his deep sleep, He hugs Logan tightly, telling him he was okay and was just sleeping. He sleeps so deeply now that his heartbeat is practically non-existent, and sometimes it does.

People say it's a miracle that Logan stayed with him. How 'brave' he is for 'putting up' with Wade's more advanced special needs, how gross wade is now, and 'Who would wanna have sex with that?', but Logan didn't understand. It's now that Logan is realizing just how much people said to Wade in private because they used to tell him all these things, just in secret. But now they were telling Logan to his face.

It enrages him. Why would they ever say that? He loves Wade. So why in gods name would he ever leave him? He said till (permanent) death do them part. And he means it. Wade was already disabled when they met. Why would it matter if he was more disabled now?

[gallusrostromegalus]

You ohhhandedly mentioned tessai livong through ww2 and… wow thats true there were a lot of characters that got a first row seat to both conflicts, even if only the second was really impactful on japans history. Does urahara, yoruichi, tessai, the vizored or any of the shinigami have any specific feelings on ww2/the nuclear bombs? I know its a wild fucking question but it literally just occurred to me and i cant stop thinking about it.

Yeah WW2 is an entire 5-chapter arc in the fic because apparently Kubo is from Hiroshima, and Karakura town is based on his memories growing up there. Stuff that happens during that arc:

The Soul Society's sole warning that something catastrophic might be coming is the arrival of an irradiated and enraged Coyote spirit from the Trinidad test site. It's up to Newly-appointed captain Komamura to calm it down and explain what happened, and Mayuri is able to work out that atomic weapons are real from it's descriptions. He gives Soul Society about a month before the humans drop one on a city.

Unfortunately, he's correct.

***

Urahara and the Visoreds use the fact that they're already dead to mitigate some of the damage from the bombing by walking into the epicenter and shoving carbon rods into the most radioactive points, stemming much of the radiation damage, but there's nothing they can do for the initial wave of destruction.

It involves going through a new gigai every trip and learning what if feels like to have the flesh actually melt off your bones, but Hirako Shinji and the other Visored are no cowards, least of all about Hard and Dirty Work.

Tessai makes Ururu and Jinta out of spare parts from Urahara's Gigai experiments to house a heavily damage Kitsune and Tanuki spirit pair from a shrine that was destroyed. Ururu is the Tankuki, and the older one- Jinta seems a bit more 'organic' because Tessai learned a lot making his sister, and because as a Kitsune, he's a better actor.

***

Soul Society is in major trouble though.

with the sudden influx of souls- first from the bombing, but then from the radiation sickness and the famine that followed, the living and spirit worlds are in danger of becoming unbalanced.

It's a Major Crisis!

Fortunately for them, people with sociopathy tend to operate really well during Crises, and I realized the reason Mayuri hasn't been fired or killed by the time Ichigo shows up is that when shit hits the fan, Mayuri's lack of emotional response to the suffering of others means he can buckle down and fucking DELIVER.

Expansions to the pocket dimension that the queue of incoming souls is housed in? He didn't sleep for two weeks to get it done on time, but there was more than enough room when the bomb dropped and for the few months after as casualties continued.

Emergency rations for all these incoming factory workers that know nothing about farming? Behold, Nutritionally complete meals that you can eat right out of the box! And smaller, friendlier ones for the kiddies!

Hell, the 12th division even makes instructional propaganda videos about how safe and tasty these new foods are, featuring The Grand Clown Himself, and distribution centers featuring his likeness, so Mayuri enjoys a peculiar popularity in the Rukongai, not unlike an off-brand and sometimes educational Krusty The Clown.

Just ah. Stop asking questions about the ingredients list.

***

"I'm not fucking killing civillians." Says Kenpachi when Yamamoto begins to bring up the historical method that the Shinigami have used to balance out sudden influxes of souls from the living world.

"Oh?" Yamamoto glares at him. "You have a better idea?"

"What's them big fuckers that come outta tears sometimes? Hundred feet tall, black, bird faces?" He asks, waving as he tries to remember the names.

"...Menos Grande?" asks Ukitake, who has gotten remarkably good at interpreting for the man next to him at meetings.

"Yeah!" Zaraki grins, patting his six-foot-tall colleague on the head like a small child. "You said they're like... combination creatures of a thousand souls each right?"

"Zaraki is correct." Pipes up Tousen, who is also extremely eager to not murder civilians and even more eager to absolutely fuck up the army of Menos Aizen has been gathering in Hueco Mundo. "-It wouldn't be *easy* but dispatching approximately Five hundred Menos in the next week seems much more doable and much, much more morally sound than killing five hundred thousand civillians. Sir."

Kaname can feel the curse nails on his back starting to bleed from Aizen's glare but he presses on.

"-There appears to be a significant population of them gathered on the far eastern edge of Hueco Mundo. It would probably take most of the 11th Division's forces but-"

"IKKAKU!" Zaraki is already bellowing out the door to his lieutenant. "TELL EVERYONE TO PACK AN EXTRA PAIR OF PANTIES, WE'RE GOING ON A HOLLOW HUNT!"

There is a distant but enthusiastic whoop form Ikkaku in reply.

"An excursion into Hueco Mundo is exceptionally dangerous." Unohana notes, voice placid as he returns to the table.

"-and? I don't do this job because it's safe 'n' easy." Zaraki shrugs.

Her neutral expression softens just a bit into a small, affectionate and perhaps ever-so-slightly lascivious smile. "May I suggest that a detachment of the 4th Division accompany the 11th? It won't make the work easier, but it will mitigate some of the risk."

Yamamoto groans, aware that the decision has been made for him.

"Fine." He grunts. "Take a detachment of the Ninth too, you can use that newfangled radiodar whatsit to keep me updated."

"Pardon?" Mumbles Kaname, slightly woozy from blood loss.

His circulatory situation is not helped when an illusion-blind-to-the-blood Zaraki grabs him about the middle and starts carrying him off under his arm in exactly the direction the 9th and 11th are not like a particularly bewildered purse Chihuahua.

***

Aizen... almost strays from his path.

The Hogyoku is slow and tiresome, his first plan to barrage Karakura with Menos to create the Oken is being trashed and actually being forced to work his job of Rukongai Management is- Well, it's reminding him just why he started this quest to Dethrone God.

What loving creator would make an afterlife of squalor, where the 'lucky' are cursed to outlive everyone they know and love? Not one worth worshiping, surely.

But actually being out here, setting up emergency food distribution, implementing the latest in civil engineering from the newly arrived and seeing it immediately improve the quality of life, uniting families and... actually helping people? it's making him question his path. Perhaps- Perhaps God is not some uncaring regent on a distant throne. Perhaps God is something that lives in all souls, a kindness and goodwill towards one's fellow man, and to spread the will of a loving creator, one must Act to Enact God's Will...

Gin Panics.

He has not spent the last 300-odd years dangling the Hogyoku in front of Aizen, stuffing him full of spiritual energy to feed to the machine that generates reality like he was fattening up a goose for Pate, only to have him give up his quest for divinity NOW.

He's gonna have to do something drastic.

He's gonna have to convince Aizen he was right all along, and that he needs to keep using the Hogyoku.

He's going to need to use Aizen's own Illusions against him, and convince Aizen that the souls of the citizens of the rukongai aren't worth playing a Benevolent God for. That the whole thing needs to come out and be replaced.

Sure, it's a dick move

but those are his specialty.

***

It's the night before the 11th and the two detachments are supposed to leave for Hueco Mundo, and Yamamoto's been doing some thinking.

He is also in Zaraki's quarters at midnight sharp. "Captain-General." Nods Unohana, pausing mid-activity to acknowledge him. "Bruh." Zaraki grunts to indicate they were busy. "I need to borrow Zaraki for an hour or so, and then you may continue." he says, and then steps back outside so the man can get untied and dressed.

"This better be good old man, I know you haven't been married for a few centuries but REALLY-" Zaraki grumbles, emerging and putting his sandals on. "Don’t worry, it’ll take twenty minutes tops, all you have to do is stand behind me and don’t hide your rage." Yamamoto explains. "-We'’re going to go see the central 46." Zaraki pauses mid-sandal, slowly looking up at him with an intrigued arch to his brow. "Yes, it’s forbidden." Yamamoto says, not tearing his gaze away from the moon above them. "-But I've received reports that the Central 46 has acquired blueprints of the... Device. Used in the living world earlier this month and I'm nipping this at the damn bud." Zaraki grins, and finishes putting his sandals on.

The Central 46 are alerted to the Presence of Yamamoto and Zaraki by the main gate to their district being kicked through the wall of the council chambers.

"Hello, Sages and Wise Councilors of the Soul Society!" The Old Man greets them as he steps through the hole he just made, and The Barbarian squeezing through after, sword casually over his shoulder. "Well isn't this a surprise, everyone here in a full meeting at One in the Morning on a Teusday!"

"Wh-What is the meaning of this?" one of the head councilmen sputters, mustache bristling. "Shinigami are forbidden form this place, I'll have you both execu-!"

"Shut up." Yamamoto glares, and sparks fly from the corner of his eye. The hem of his Haori is starting to smolder and singe as well as he approaches the table the councilors are crowded around the blueprints from the living world.

"Now, we are all good and honorable people here." Yamamoto says, casually waving a hand in what would normally be a placating gesture but now only made his sleeve flicker as Ryujin Jakka grew hungrier. "-But I've been around long enough to know how Power corrupts."

"And we've all been exposed to a new, horrific level of Power."

"Oh, of course, you would never! It's unthinkable to sink to such a level!"

"...but it's been a few weeks. The initial shock has faded, and you're starting to understand the full toll of the destruction." he explains, strolling up, the diamond insignia on his back spreading across his shoulders as the Haori singes. Behind him, Zaraki is following with an unpleasantly carnivorous stroll, yellow eye lazily moving from face to face, taking stock of all those present. "...and you are perhaps developing a new standard of devastation and suffering to wish upon your enemies."

There is some muttering, some protesting, and worse, some agreeing. They are silenced by a sudden electric crackle of Energy from Zaraki.

"I’m just here to tell you all-" Yamamoto continues, unperturbed. Or perhaps so perturbed he's warped all the way around to a deep, ruthless peace.

"If I hear any ONE of you has taken steps to develop a weapon like this-" he points a finger at the blueprints, which singe and then burn, a low, slow flame that reduces them completely to ash.

"-I’m going to kill all of you."

"Actually," he explains, as the blueprints finish burning and the table catches as well, fire blooming and crackling, lighting him from beneath. "I’m going to kill all of you and your families. By which I mean, I’m figuring out who all your ancestors were going back Five generations, Kill them, and kill all their descendants."

The table burns, and the floor is threatening to catch, but nobody can move to ring the fire alarm or grab a bucket of water.

"-Because that’s the kind of indiscriminate destruction these things cause." he explains. "It's a damn shame to say this, but this is the first time we've been able to settle whole families in the same town- because five, six, even seven generations of families, from great-great grandmother to the newest infants were burnt together in an instant."

"So if you want to wield that kind of destruction, you best be prepared to deal with those kinds of consequences." he growls, and suddenly sweeps his hand over the fire, which snuffs out immediately.

Slowly he turns to go, and regards Zaraki behind him.

"Oh, and just in case any of you had thoughts of hastening my retirement in regards to this matter-" he speaks up, and points to Zaraki "-Near as I can tell, this asshole is immortal and indestructible, so if I happen to be dead, he'll do it for me, won't you?"

"Yes, sir." Zaraki Nods, eye fixed on the head councilor, committing his face to memory, blade and crackling eagerly.

"-and he's nowhere near as speedy and clean a killer as I am, so I suggest you don't test either of us." Yamamoto grins, and Ryujin Jakka can't help but flicker off his brow for emphasis.

"Goodnight, and go fuck yourselves." Yamamoto bows, and exits through the same hole he entered.

The walk back to the 11th is largely silent, but Yamamot can feel the pleased-yet-curious thrum of reiatsu from Zaraki.

"Question, boss-" he suddenly speaks as they approach the 11th.

"You're not supposed to question orders, Zaraki." He sighs. He'll make a proper shinigami out of him. Eventually.

"...Request for clarification, Boss-" Zaraki tries again, and Yamamoto nods. "-Why me?"

Yamamoto arches an overgrown brow at him.

"Not complainin'-" Zaraki explains, pointedly looking up at the moon and scratching his neck in deferment. "-But Byakuya's got more sway with them and Gin's definitely better at terrifying first impressions."

"Hm." Yamamoto nods. "It's in the follow-up, not the impression, you see."

"I do not." Zaraki says. For all his faults and frustrations, Zaraki sure keeps Yamamoto on his toes about not being lazy and actually explaining himself.

"-I am very serious about you killing them and their descendants if they ever think about making one of those devices." he sighs and Zaraki nods, waving a hand for him to continue. "-So I picked the Shinigami most invested in a peaceful future to make sure my orders would be carried out."

Zaraki still looks confused.

"You're my only captain with children, Zaraki." Yamamoto explains. "I know you only give half a rat's ass about the court guard, but I've seen what you'll do for Yachiru."

Zaraki nods understanding now, and a few more paces of silence pass between them.

"...Thank you, Sir." Zaraki mutters, bowing his head and using the honorific with genuine intent for the first time since Yamamoto had known him. "-For understanding."

"Thank you, Captain Zaraki." Yamamoto nodded slightly, stopping before the gate to the 11th. "-For understanding as well."

"-Now get back to Captain Unohana before she schedules some sort of blood test of a thousand needles for me!" Yamamoto grunted, prodding at Zaraki with his cane, and the man didn't need to be told twice.

[metalomagnetic]

Hello Metalo

I love the Disgraced Witches's Den, they are just chilling and having fun.

Has Walden and Mr McNair gotten back in contact with Evy since under Sirius support she is back in society ? Also, is Sirius giving Bella access to black gold or is her father? I remember how Bella helped Sirius out when he ran away...

Walden has always kept in touch with Evy, though before Sirius, it was very hush-hush. Now that she's been accepted back by most of the younger crowd, Walden publicly acknowledges her (also, it's helpful that she supports him with money, even paid for his wedding and a home for him). Her parents do not acknowledge her at all. If you ask them, she is dead as far as they're concerned.

Bella is not allowed to step foot inside Gringotts, or any public institution (unless it's St Mungo and she personally needs treatment there- otherwise she's not allowed into the Hospital as a visitor. Special requests were granted for her to attend her father's funeral, since it was so public and on a semi-public magical place). So she hardly needs gold, since she has nowhere to spend it anyway, in theory. However, she did take some trips to some shops in Knockturn, where she trusts no one would call the Aurors.

She also goes to Muggle London, since no one knows her there; Sirius and Andromeda sometimes convince her to join them there to eat at a restaurant or just get her to see something other than a rotation of manors.

She has access to gold or pounds. (Sometimes she orders via mail from magical stores all around the world, mostly gifts for her loved ones or dresses for herself, and her favourite perfumes haha). When she lived with her dad, she was too drugged up to want anything, but then she moved in with Narcissa and you can imagine, Narcissa paid for everything Bella wanted, or handed her gold/pounds if Bella asked.

Now she lives with Evy, but both Cygnus and Sirius go and leave a bag of money for Bella every month in case she needs it for whatever, without being asked. And since Andromeda moved there, too, Cygnus and Sirius also gave gold to her. Now, it's just Sirius.

Cygnus left the majority of his assets to Bella, Andromeda and Narcissa, but he set a little something apart for Dora and Draco, in the interest of being fair to his grandchildren, too, even if Draco hardly needs more gold. (Same for Pollux, he left A LOT, like outrageous amounts of gold for Draco, Marvolo and Orion even if neither kids could possibly ever need it, but he wanted to be fair to all his great-grandsons. However he was an old-fashioned bigot, so he left nothing for Elara, since she's a girl, and nothing for Dora, since he and Irma never accepted her because of her blood.)

So Andromeda has her own gold now, though it's not a fortune or anything; I think Cygnus was wealthy enough, but nothing ridiculously so (like say Sirius or Lucius or other first born sons; Cygnus was more like Alphard. Rich, but not filthy rich), so after his wealth got divided in five, it's not a huge amount for Andromeda, but enough that she would be able to sustain herself independently if need arouse. (Both Bella and Cissa offered for Andromeda to have their share of the inheritance, since they hardly need it, but Andromeda firmly refused.)

However, Bella cannot have access to her gold, either inherited from Cygnus or the enormous wealth in Lestrange vault. So, for now, it's Sirius that takes care of Bella's needs, and also for Andromeda (even if she tries to refuse, but he won't hear of it), and he insists he's the one to pay for whatever Dora needs, and advised Dora to leave whatever she got for Cygnus untouched for now, even if she is seventeen. But Dora already has plans to get a job as soon as she's done with Hogwarts and earn her own gold, because she's very driven and independent, and Bella encourages her thoroughly and also trains Dora whenever Dora is on holiday, in both duelling skills and Potion Making.

Druella has her own gold, as inheritance combo from her own father, grandparents and an assortment of odd uncle and aunts, but since both Bella and Andromeda are living with Evy, Druella moved in with Narcissa after Cygnus died, because Narcissa (even if not close to her mum, is dutiful, and in her view it's necessary and a social obligation to take care of a mother and not abandon her to live alone. Lucius is *delighted*, I tell you. Poor man. But at least he has many opportunities to suck up to Druella, trying to make sure Druella will leave her gold to Draco, because hey, Lucius is of the opinion that more is always better, even if not remotely needed).

To Walburga's horror, after Cygnus died, now she has to take care of her own mother, since she's the only child of Irma's left, so now Irma is living in Grimmauld, and it is a very big house, but it somehow feels tiny for Walburga lol (she's using Sirius' old hiding spots to hide from her mother when she needs space). Thankfully, Irma adores her grandsons and great grandchildren, so she's mostly preoccupied with them, and when she doesn't do that, she likes to find ways to be a bitch to Astrid and Isadora, so she doesn't have much time to pester Walburga. Irma was always a terror, a veritable force of nature, and now she is the OLDEST living Black, the matriarch of the entire horrible family. Plus, she has a way with Sirius, whom she always spoiled since he could crawl, and Sirius isn't inclined to go against her. Irma is living her best life, even if she misses her husband dearly. To be fair, Irma aways lived her best life, but now her social status is basically God like lol 😂

That was probably more information than you asked for lol, but I like to think about this fic all too often and ramble about it, so sorry!

[c-m-stuff]

Secret Santa

Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

-Description: You and Spencer are together. It's secret Santa time.

-Warnings: Fluffiness

-Word count: 1157

-Note: A sweet fic for the upcoming holidays. Do you guys love Christmas as much as me?🎄🎁

Masterlist

Y/N POV:

'That was delicious, Dave.' JJ complimented the Italian man, the whole team agreeing.

'You really went all out this year.'

'Of course, I went all out. It's Christmas Eve for God's sake.' he replied, while we all laughed.

'My favorite was the wiiiiine.' Penelope giggled, as she poured herself another glass of wine, causing everyone to chuckle.

It became a tradition to all celebrate Christmas Eve at David's place. It was nice, spending time together without standing next to a dead body. Another tradition was secret Santa. The game you pull blindly a name out of a bowl to thereafter buy a Christmas present for that person. I've always loved it.

'Calm down with the wine, baby girl. We don't want a re-do of last year, when you all told us what's in the presents, before we got to actually open them.'

I giggled at Derek's statement, as I felt someone sitting on the couch next to me. Looking up, it was my genius boyfriend.

After pinning at one another for almost a year, the pretty boy himself admitted his feelings and asked me out for a date. The situation it happened wasn't the normal one, though. It was the end of a workday at the BAU, as the elevator suddenly decided to stop working. While we were in it! After panicking at first, and calling the team, we got stuck for a good hour. Which let us to admit our feelings for one another, all while curled up on the elevator floor. After that, time went on, and so did the dates. And, then there was one special moment were he asked me to be his girlfriend. I am still thankful for that elevator to stop working on that special day.

'It's secret Santa time!' David announced, and everyone went to grab their presents from under the Christmas tree, before heading to the comfortable couch.

JJ pulled Emily's name and bought her a gift card from a nice clothing shop and a tequila bottle. Emily got Aaron and decided to gift him with a black coat and a reading light for if he goes over paperwork in bed. Aaron drew Derek's name and bought him two tickets to a football game and a new tool belt for when he is renovating homes. Derek got David and gifted him new cooking equipment and a bottle of 30 years old scotch. David pulled Penelope's name and decided to gift her a pair of beautiful, pink heels and two tickets to a theater play. Penelope got JJ and presented her with a gorgeous necklace she's been talking about buying but never got around to and a mock with a text saying: "I'm a mom, what's your superpower?".

As everyone was done gifting the other their presents, they all realized Spencer and I drew each others names, considering we're the only ones left.

'Of course the two love birds got each other.' Derek commented, a grin plastered on his face. Although, it didn't went unnoticed by me when Derek winked at JJ, who was already grinning by herself. Then, it hit me that JJ was the one who was in charge of the bowl full of names.

'Okay, pretty girl, you first.' Derek said, as I gave my present to Spencer.

I watched as he carefully tore the wrapping paper off, revealing the first edition copy of the book The Illustrated Man by Ray Bradbury.

'No (Y/N), you did not!' he exclaimed, enthusiastic.

'How did you- Where did you-' he looked flabbergasted and guilty at the same time.

'You didn't have to, I would have been fine with a gift card from the book store. This must have costed you a fortune.'

'Ahh, not quite, genius. Well, I was last helping my grandparents with moving out. They're going to live in an apartment instead of a way too big house, like I told you. And, surprisingly, I found the book on the attic amongst some other books. I got it for free.' he kept staring at me in shock, still flabbergasted. He instantly wrapped me into a greatful hug, pressing multiple kisses on my head.

'Thank you. Thank you so much!'

'That's not all, pretty boy. Open the book.' I told him, as he did. A gift card from the bookstore revealed. Everyone laughed at the earlier mention of a gift card for books, as Spencer once again thanked me with words and a hug.

Then, he gave me a gift bag, covered with Christmas trees. I took the first thing I felt and tore off the wrapping paper. It revealed a stunning vintage camera. My eyes widened, admiring the, in my eyes, piece of art. I've always adored polaroid photos.

'I remembered you saying that you really wanted one. You wanted to capture moments like these, and that you loved the reality of the photos because you have only one shot.'

'Thank you so much! It's amazing!' I pressed him in a tight hug, before he spoke again:

'There's more, though.'

We ended the hug, as I reached for the bag and took the other present out. I was quick in ripping of the wrapping paper, seeing it was a beautiful notebook. He clearly knows my love for notebooks and this one was covered with blue butterflies. Absolutely gorgeous.

'Thank you! I love it!' once again, we shared a tight hug, as Spencer whispered something in my ear.

'That's not everything.' I pulled back and looked at him with a surprised face.

'There is more?' he nodded, gave me the most sweetest smile, and went down on one knee. I gasped, tears already forming into my eyes.

'(Y/N), you're the best thing that ever happened to me. Since the first day I met you, you were nothing but kind, you listened always to my rambling, and you made me a better person. I love you for for being you. You are beautiful, inside and outside. (Y/N), you are my future. Make me the happiest man on earth and marry me?' I was still shocked and couldn't believe this was happening. My soulmate was proposing. I couldn't be more happy.

'YES! YES, I WILL!' I flew in his arms, everyone cheering and clapping.

Tears were now fully pouring out of my eyes, and it wasn't different for Spencer. My fiancé. It felt so good using that word.

'And, I can't wait for you to be my husband.'

'I can't wait for you to be my wife.' he whispered in my ear, as I did the same with him.

_________________________

[youwouldneverbreakthechain]

I don't like the Found Family trope.

There, did I get your attention? It's true, but the question is, why is Guardians of the Galaxy still one of my favorite stories in any medium ever?

Something really clicked for me with the ending of Vol. 3 (spoilers ahead, natch). The team broke up and that kind of development is usually heartbreaking, because we love the team, they love each other, now that they've found each other why should they ever part ways?

The answer is that they're a family, and that's what families do. Growing up means leaving the parents who raised you and finding a path of your own, maybe to someday continue the cycle with kids of your own, but never losing what you got from your first family. Those people, who you can't choose, will always be a part of you.

Each of the Guardians, aside from Drax, had their childhoods interrupted by traumatic events. They didn't get to finish growing up naturally, and that loss hounded them all their lives. When they found each other they began to heal, but here's what I didn't realize until the end of the trilogy: the family that they found with each other wasn't the kind that you make when you grow up. It's the kind that you grow out of.

From the beginning, Peter has shown signs of "Peter Pan Syndrome," acting like a little boy even though he's highly skilled, courageous, and compassionate. His maturity gradually began to show through, but one quirk that kept coming up was his refusal to return to Earth. No good reason for it except that he couldn't bear the reminder of his mother and he was ashamed to face his grandfather. He can handle it now because his life with the Guardians gave him the stability he needed to become a true adult.

Gamora's new incarnation doesn't need the Guardians because she found the Ravagers instead. We don't know much about them but I expect that what they did for Yondu, they'll do for her too. In the meantime, Nebula's had a few good years of being loved and now she can follow the footsteps of the Gamora who was lost, aside from falling for Peter, because that's unlikely to ever work again.

Groot's been the most fortunate, not having his youth cut short or taking any serious trauma since he sprouted. Eventually he may want to strike out on his own, but until then it's good that he can stick with Rocket.

Mantis seemed more aware than anyone of their internal struggles, including her own. Which is appropriate, her being an empath and all. She really made the boldest possible move, going it alone, and I'm proud of her. Hoping she'll make an appearance in The Marvels or something else before reuniting with Peter and/or the Guardians.

Drax is a special case and the one who I thought was most likely to die, since it seemed like his arc was all wrapped up: he had his childhood before we met him and it was his adulthood that was ripped away from him. Revenge was his entire deal and Ronan and Thanos are dead now, so what's left for Drax? Well, it turns out revenge doesn't have to be his entire deal and now I'm embarrassed I ever thought otherwise.

Rocket...oh, Rocket. We always knew that he was something other than what nature had intended, and that was on top of the nonstop physical and emotional abuse, but now it turns out he already lost the only three people who put anything good into his sad little life. Since there was nothing to salvage from his upbringing, he was the one who needed the Guardians the most, so he's the only founding member to stay. But no mistake, it matters that he's staying as the leader. He's not alone, but he's not under anyone's control, either. He knows who is now and he knows his worth.

The "don't call me a raccoon" running joke always bothered me a little but I never dreamed it would have a payoff like it did in Vol. 3. Rocket claiming his full name is much more than a nod to his comic origins. It's his understanding of where he began and the injustice that was done to him, his acceptance that he wasn't at fault for the deaths of his first companions and that he does deserve to be loved by the Guardians.

That's the foundation that lets everyone part ways without having to ask each other if this means their relationships are over. As far as I've seen, no other found family in fiction has reached this point - the team is generally the endgame, and if someone leaves, things will never be the same again.

In a real family, a good one, when someone leaves we celebrate. Congratulations on your first apartment. Good luck at college. Blessings on your union. Just remember, you can always come home again. Our arms are open for you.

[rindragon-from-twewy]

Swap au character intros part 4!!!

Spoilers for specifically Raincode Chapter 0 ahead!

Let's start with Zilch! In this au his forte becomes Audial Aptitude - thanks in part to his animal ears. If you've seen my art of Zilch before, you'll probably have noticed I like drawing him with his animal ears as his actual ears and not on top of his hat. It's cuz I generally just hate the ambiguity of it. Are the animal ears real? Are they just on his hat? Why do they move? Why does he have 4 ears? So I just like making his animal ears his only set of ears. That being said, apparently they're fox ears??? I always assumed wolf??? But I digress- His uniform has been changed up to be reminiscent of an orchestra conductor cuz hahah audio. His face tattoos are meant to be those spotify code scanners - the right cheek leading to It's All So Incredibly Loud by Glass Animals and We Own The Night by Chandler Kinney on the left (cuz I think it's funny!) As for his last name change, "Allegro" in musical terms means "to be played very quickly" which I thought would suit him quite well as someone who can solve cases really fast. His personality is basically the same, the only alteration being that he carries around a notepad and pen in order to help keep track of all the hundreds of things he's constantly hearing all the time.

Next is Pucci. She's received Spectal Projection from Melami and if you thought being good at hearing made her existential then BOY HOWDY does being able to use her body as a vessel for spirits fuck her up even more! Originally I was going for a classic "fortune teller" look for her but I instead went with a cute seamstress-y sort of look instead cuz I couldn't really get what I had in mind initially to look good. She wears a tape measure like a scarf and a thimble as a necklace charm. Her eyes, while cute, have a sort of dead look in them that make others wonder if she's even alive at all. Her last name has been changed from Lavmin to Lavender because in flower language, they're representive of purity, serenity, grace and calmness - all traits she seems to exhibit until she actually starts talking and you realise she's just sort of awkward and shy. She finds it easier to talk to ghosts/spirits then living creatures and honestly probably gets along reeeaaally well with this AU's version of Vivia.

Now, you may be looking at Aphex and going "Rindude! You changed fuck all about him!" And yeah, you're right... The only major changes I made was switching out his coat, boots and like doubling his muscle mass. He's strong. He could beat you up, no questions asked and it definitely shows! His forte is now Thoughtography but he's just as angry as ever - originating from the "front lines" that canon Zange mentioned in his own backstory. For that reason, his coat is inspired by WW2 trenchcoats and while my art doesn't show it very well, everything he's wearing looks and smells like he's crawled straight out of a dumpster. Originally I was going to change his last name to Harkness as an homage to Captain Jack Harkness, a WW2 soldier inspired character from (surprise, surprise) Doctor Who but considering the fact I did that exact same thing with an oc of mine for my A levels earlier this year... I instead went with Tyler; an homage to another Doctor Who character called Rose Tyler who is also a badass blonde <3

And that's all the details I'm sharing for now! It's a little strange considering I've written the Storm Cypher fanfic about half way through its chapter 0 already so I have a lot more to say about the train gang then I did anyone else - since they've already had stuff actually written for them. Melami and Zange's swap au designs will drop like... as soon as I figure out how to draw elderly people. So soon, hopefully! But yeah, I'm cooking super good atm I just can't really share much due to the nature of writing lol. I've been loving getting asks about it though! Deadass, it makes me kick my legs and giggle to know people are crazy enough to care about this AU- >w<

[dailyadventureprompts]

Mystery: Oh, How the Iron Coffin Hungers!

There's been a rash of graverobberies across the kingdom that have the authorities suspecting necromancy. For their part, the necromancer's guild has nothing to do with these crimes and is willing to hire your party to help clear their name. The investigation will lead you to through tombs, black markets, and haunted crossroads of the realm, as it becomes clear the culprits are seeking far more than coin or corpses at the bottom of those defiled graves.

Clues & Complications:

A missing body is usually a dead giveaway that a necromancer has been involved in a grave robbery, as most criminals only care about grabbing what valuables they can and wouldn't result to bodysnatching unless someone was going to pay them for it. How unusual then when a few of the bodies begin turning up days after they were exhumed, one in an abandoned cellar, one on the side of the road, and one in a completely different town, which may give a hint as to the culprit's movements.

Working for necromancers has its benefits, the guild is aware of the habits of the corpse trade (only in a theoretical sense, you understand, yes?) and can use their magic to extract information from the cadavers. Strangely enough it appears all the corpses bear the marks of previous magical questioning, hinting that it might be information the robbers were after, not flesh or treasure.

The bodies all belong to minor gentry or well-to-do merchants, the ideal targets for graverobbers who don't mind breaking into a tomb or fussing with a trap (both of which the party might have to do during their investigation) if it means access to better plunder. If the party press deeper however they'll notice a recurring symbol, on a ring or a tattoo or etched into the gravemarker, resembling the crudest sketch of a jawbone.

Just like it seems the party is getting answers, the corpses they've been trailing sit up and lunge for the nearest individual's throat, transformed by dark power into a rampaging ghoul. Chaos ensues as this awakening occurs not just with those corpses that have already been found, but also with those that were previously undiscovered as well as a half dozen or more random bodies scattered across the countryside. Though they seem too possessed with hunger to be capable of speech, if the party manage to restrain one of the ghouls and sate its unholy hunger, they may just get the last few clues they're looking for.

Background: In life all of the bodies belonged to a secret society known as the jawbone club, a bad pun on one of the first mystical objects they'd obtained; a crude weapon made from the skull fragment of some great beast, unearthed on one of their founder's estates by some adventurers clearing a nest of monsters.

Their association started a few generations before as a mostly innocent affair, a nameless but exclusive social lodge where those in the know could smoke and gamble and make the sort of back room deals that occupy much of the energy of the idly wealthy. Those who took an interest in the jawbone realized that whoever held it had greater luck in their personal affairs, in no small part because of the unlucky and sometimes disastrous circumstances that would befall their rivals. They became secretive, an inner circle within the lodge that took on more authority as their powers grew, understanding emerging that if they fed their blood to the jawbone it would grant them power.

Power does not spring from nowhere however, as the weapon was infact an artifact dedicated to the ghoul-saint Doresain, the avatar of a hungry and terrible demon god who was in turn feeding on the hungry ambitions of the inner circle. Unconscious impulses became whispers became visions, as the tithe of blood raised to sacrifices of flesh and fingers, because what was letting the razor teeth of some dead beast scar your body if it meant your hateful old uncle suddenly took ill just after rewriting his will to leave you his fortune.

Things came to a head with Catiro Wayte, the youngest and least favored son of a large noble family. The Wayte clan owned land and mills aplenty and were no strangers to ambition, Catrio and his siblings were practically weaned on it. So when the opportunity came to take hold of his fortune at the price of only a little pain Catrio was only too happy to pay it, and keep on paying so long as he had blood to let and skin to scar. After they'd come to understand what it could do the Jawbone Club had made rules about how often its members could make use of the artifact, fearing not only discovery but one of their number growing in power above the others. Catrio begged, bartered, and blackmailed to jump the line every time he could, hacking away a little more of himself each time, not giving his wounds time to heal up between sacrifices.

One night, when the itch of pride and avarice overwhelmed the pain in his infected flesh Catrio broke into the jawbone's sanctum. It was too late when the others found him in the morning , he'd carved open his belly looking for more of himself to cut away and had died with the artifact buried in his guts. Such heedless sacrifice opened a door for the ravenous hunger of the gnawing god, transforming Catrio's corpse into its mouthpiece, hungry and cruel. For all their resources the Jawbone club were unable to slay their former friend, instead sealing him in the lodge's basement and later an iron coffin they had constructed. They had a select number of their most trusted find a place to entomb Catrio's body (along with the bone it still clutched) in some unknown location and swore all the rest to secrecy, dissolving the jawbone club and swearing never to speak of it for the rest of their days.

The Culprit & The Consequences:

Catrio left much behind on that night he met his end, including a commonborn mistress and a daughter named Heliana only a few years old. One could theoretically source his ambition to his desire to make a place for them in the world, but that would be making things far too simple.  Unrecognized by her father’s family and cut off from Catrio’s support Heliana and her mother ended up scraping to get by, with her ending up in the gravemaking trade out of one part practicality, one part wistful desire to perhaps one day find where her father was buried.

after nearly four decades after she and her mother were forced out on the street, Heliana’s crime spree began when by chance she found the first of the Jawbone marked graves. Remembering the stories her mother had told her about the club and its excesses, It took only a little convincing to have her fellow undertakers help her unearth the body, and a few charms learned from a travelling death priest to get the cadaver talking.  After that it was just a matter of asking which corpse knew what, tracing her way through the postmortem ranks of the Jawbone club until she found out what had happened to her father and where his body lay. 

Originally, all Heliana had wanted to do was give her father a proper burial alongside her some years dead mother, as she was told was always his wish. Plans changed when her father began to speak to her within the iron coffin after she’d unearthed it from its secret hiding space. Through the magic of the ghoul-saint he knew her, knew of her hungry years, and of the long dormant pride and ambition he’d handed down to her along with his blood: a desire to be recognized no matter the cost. He whispered a plan into her mind, a way for him to return to life and use the artifact he still carried to make everything as it should be. Naturally when they caught her agreeing with the corpse, most of Heliana’s muscle deserted her, and might give your party a much needed lead in their tall tales.

The animation of the other jawbone club members as ghouls was only a warning sign, a byproduct of Heliana breaking through the outermost layer of the iron coffin’s wards in preparation of something far more calamitous. Her father’s plan (or rather, the thing wearing her father like a mask) is to have Heliana burn the iron coffin along with her mother's bones in a ritual pyre at the heart of the Wayte estate. Catrio’s spirit will be free, devour the grounds (and his unwelcoming family) and use the power of the jawbone artifact to remake them all as they should be, with him as lord of the manor, united with his lover and child.  While she’s more than willing to even the score with the people who denied her birth and threw her mother out on the street, why Heliana doesn't suspect is the horde of flesh eating undead and other malign spirits that will be unleashed should the ritual be allowed to finish.  

Art 1 Art 2

[gilverrwrites]

Probation ♥

Black Mask/M!Reader/Deathstroke, 4K words Commisioned piece for @vile-hearts Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, smoking, non-graphic mentions of crime/violence/death, arguing, face slapping, unprotected sex, burning, abuse of power (boss/employee), pre-established dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, collars, mild choking, name calling, denial, unsanitary cum eating, spit (but not in a kinky way). They're both assholes. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT >> Reader is described as moderately fit/strong and having dark hair. <<

The air in Roman’s office is cold. Cold enough to send a shiver down your exposed spine and throw off your balance. Fortunately, you manage to keep your grip on the drinks tray, preventing it from falling. Unfortunately, Roman still notices your near faux pas and offers you a curt ‘tsk’ as you place the decanter and two empty glasses on his desk.

“I thought you could handle this. Don’t prove me wrong.” He chides, eyes boring into you from beneath his menacing, skull-shaped mask. He’d taken you off False-Facer duties ever since the newest Robin had taken a sizable chunk out of your arm with his katana, and though you’d hated every second, distraught at being unable to prove useful to him, you’d complied. Who were you to question him, after all? Your wound is now in the final stages of healing, stitches almost ready for removal, and you’re exceptionally grateful that he’s brought you back on business, even if it is purely domestic. ‘Baby step.’ He’d assured. You had to prove you could handle the little things again before he put you back in the game.

Admittedly, you don’t care what he has you doing, so long as you’re doing it for him.

“I can handle it.” You insist, even as your hands shake while pouring his aged whiskey. It’s not because you can’t handle it, it’s because you’re anxious to prove yourself to him once again. “I promise, Daddy.”

“We’ll see.” He muses pedantically as he takes his drink from you. The mask, while sexy as hell, depraves you and any others from deriving emotion from his face, but as you settle in your place, on your knees, at his feet, he threads his leather-clad fingers in your dark tresses, scratching your scalp and easing your nerves. Some might think it patronising, dehumanising even, but you take it for what it is, a sign of his affection. 

You remain in position while Roman gets some paperwork done, and he continues to absentmindedly play with your body throughout; restlessly straightening your steel collar, teasingly stuffing his gloved fingers in your mouth, twisting your cold-hardened nipples to let out any frustrations while you await his guest.

The wait isn’t too long, or at least, you’re too distracted being Romans stress toy to pay attention to the passing of time.

Slade Wilson is by no means an ill-mannered man, but he gets a kick out of rubbing people the wrong way. Out of pushing people’s buttons to assert his dominance; even with those who fill his coffers, and he does it with the rightful confidence of a man who knows he can get away with it, who knows he can kick the ass of anyone who begs to challenge him. So, when he arrives, he doesn’t bother knocking, ignoring security and barging in on rain-soaked boots that tarnish the floor with each step. He’s wearing his signature two-toned mask and the sight of it sends a surge of arousal to your already half-hard cock, but not more so than when he takes it off, tactfully tossing it on Roman’s desk and watching you with his one, icy blue eye.

“Wilson.” Roman greets him without moving from his seat.

“Roman.” Slade returns as he takes the seat across him, the desk now impeaching your view of him.

“Is it done?” Your boss asks.

The assassin replies with a blunt, insulted scoff. You hear his chair creak as he presumably leans back on its hind legs. “You take me for an amateur? Of course it’s done.”

It irks you that you’re out of the loop, but you remain tight-lipped. Only moving to pour Slade a drink in the second tumbler once he accepts Roman’s offer.

“How is the broken soldier, aye?” Slade asks as he lets the chair fall back on all fours and leans forward to examine your arm. While Roman has routinely checked in to play with your weak and wounded body while you were out of action, you hadn’t seen, or been fucked by Slade since the night of your injury,

“Remains to be seen.” Roman answers for you, as is customary. “He's in a probationary period.”

“You’re too soft, I would have fired him.” You’re not convinced of his words, partly due to the smirk on his face, but mainly because Slade had been the one to patch you up and bring you home. When you crack a sneaky smile in his direction, he laughs, confirming his jest before reaching around you, ignoring his glass to grab Roman’s cigar box from which he takes one without asking. As he sits back, he hands you the snipper and lighter, and you make yourself useful, bending over to light the cigar and allowing your wet-look boxers to ride up, baring the bottom half of your cheeks to Roman.

The motion also adds pressure to the plug that had been almost permanently lodged into your ass since your return, causing you to whimper aloud. Just because you’d been demoted out of field work, didn’t mean Roman had taken things any easier on you in the proverbial ‘bedroom’ department.

Once the cigar is lit, and a steady rise of smoke begins to permeate the room with its sweet tobacco smell, you watch with brazenly lustful eyes as Slade’s lips pull from it. His sharp, stubbly jaw grows tight as he inhales, and relaxes when he blows a plume back out.

“Now, you never did thank Mr Wilson for pulling you out of the fray. Did you?” Roman chimes, and already you know where this is going.

“No, Daddy.” You shake your head, but you’re still fixed on the saviour in question. You lick your quickly drying lips before offering Slade a coy; “Thank you, Daddy.”

Slade raises a brow, the hint of an expectant smile on his lips.

“Come on kid, you can do better than that.” He’s already working his belt loose with his free hand. Sturdy fingers deftly finding his zip. Unsurprisingly, he’s not wearing underwear, and he slips his semi out readily, watching you back as he easily begins to stroke himself.

You don’t need to be told twice, sinking to your knees between his outstretched legs but before you can lay a finger on him you hear Romans scolding voice from behind, and you internally curse yourself, knowing what he’s about to remind you of. Your body already readjusting as he speaks. “Don’t forget yourself. Hands and knees.”

It’s not enough for you to simply lock your hands behind your back or to hold onto your ankles when sucking cock. Roman likes for you to be on all fours. Serving as a reminder that you’re an obedient pet.

The grin on Slade’s lips has grown, and he teasingly tuts at you before taking another drag of his cig.

You don’t think about whether or how you’ll be punished for that later. Ignoring the excited tingle at your core while you try again, avoiding too much pressure on your bad arm as you open your mouth and lean into Slade’s lap.

Almost fully erect, Slade seizes jerking himself and proceeds to tease you with his thick length instead, holding it to your face and then pulling away before you can get your mouth around it. Enjoying the way your eyes grow round and sinfully hungry whenever he slaps it against your cheek until an involuntary pout forms on your face.

“I’m just playing with you.” He’s cooing, but there’s no kindness in his tone. It’s a sordid and mean musing, punctuated by the blowing of rich smoke. “If you really want it, say ‘Please, Daddy.’” 

“Please, daddy.” You don’t hesitate, uncaring of how pathetic you must look and sound. He’s seen you beg for far worse. “Please, please let me suck your cock.”

“Since you asked so nice.” He finally releases his dick, letting it hang as you plant open-mouth kisses from base to tip, happily worshipping it. You’d missed him in his absence, but you hadn’t realised how severely until you roll your tongue across the veiny base of his length, savouring the musky flavour.

“Thank you, daddy.” You offer your gratitude once more before taking the crown between your lips, cheeks swelling as you push forward, purposely dipping back and forth in short bursts, taking no more than an extra inch with each motion.

“What’s the matter? Roman not been giving you enough dick while I’ve been gone?” While he’s mocking your unhurried technique, there’s a tint to his cheeks that suggests he’s enjoying it more than he lets on. “You forget how to do it?”

You shake your head once more, holding back a laugh as Roman slams his glass on the desk.

“Fuck off.” As always, Roman has little tolerance. “I could fire you.”

“Finding work isn’t a trouble for me, Romy.” Slade fireback, getting off not just on your submission, but on grinding Roma’s gears, as made evident by the glint in his eye.

“How many of those jobs come with a fucktoy?”

Slade doesn’t respond to Roman playing their favourite trump card, at least not to Roman, but he does look back down at you.

“Let me help you.” He used that same bullying tone, a hand ghosting behind your head, not to grab or pull, yet, but to insistently guide you further down. You moan as you feel his tip grazing the back throat, opening wide to allow your spit to seep out, moistening his cock, smoothing the friction as he begins to rock his hips. It has always seemed that no matter how much cock you take from Slade, he always has more to give and now is no exception. “See, you’ll be taking it all again before I’m done smoking.”

All the while, and despite their bickering, you know that Roman has been enjoying the show. That’s not your ego talking, it’s fact. You hear the tell-tale sound of his fly being undone, of his drawer opening, the click of a lube cap being opened, and the salaciously wet slapping of every stroke to his cock.

Though you’re listening in anticipation for the moment Roman grows discontented with simply watching, you continue working Slade between your lips, allowing your drool to gather and drip down your chin, coating him thoroughly as you idly bob yourself around his deliciously weighty member. But your wandering attention is noted. Vexed, Slade slaps you, sharp and hard. Certainly not at his full strength, but enough that it makes your skull throb as hard as your confined dick. Enough to leave a mark.

He flips like a switch. It’s hard to tell what will trigger his temperament. Fortunately, you like it just as much, if not more when he’s cruel.

“Eyes bigger than your fucking ass.” He spits, grabbing your head as soon as your eyes consciously lock onto him; using his strength to force you deeper, ignoring how your throat spasms to fight the very much wanted intuition, and the chocked whines that emanate from you as he forces himself to the depths of your throat. Not stopping until your nose is buried in his thick, white thatch and your mind is overwhelmed by him. His coarse fingerless gloves and combat trousers dig into your skin, his earthy smell fills your nose, the faintly sweaty flavour of his cock as you choke around it consumes your mind. “Being nice, saved your life, show me some goddamned respect.”

Eager to make amends, you don’t look away from him for a second, even as your eyes water and your skin burns.

"Yes, daddy. Sorry, daddy.” Is what you mean to say, but all that comes out is a sloppy, garbled mess. You don’t falter as you hear Roman laughter behind you, or when Slade begins using your hard metal collar as a handle, choking you further as he rough snaps your head up and down, no doubt bruising your skin as he forces you to fuck your face on his cock and allowing you only milliseconds to catch your breath whenever your eyelids begin to falter.

“That’s it.” He continues as you lose yourself to the hypnotic feel of his cock rutting in and out of your mouth. His tone does not suggest praise, but the way his eye softens, his lips curling into a languid smile, does. “That’s a good boy, keep taking it like a good little cock hungry whore.”

So dazed and distracted by the euphoric feel of him bulging in the confines of your throat are you, that you don’t catch Roman’s footfall. You don’t know he’s behind you until his now bare fingers hook into your shorts, tugging them down your thighs.

You shiver, forcefully, as your heated cock is exposed to the chilly air, but not as hard as when he grips the base of your plug.

“Good boy.” He echoes Slade’s sentiment as he places a firm hand between your shoulder blades, steadying you for what’s to come. “Keep it up, stay still for, Daddy. Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You agree, but once more your voice is muffled by the shaft between your parted lips. The reverb of your voice on his sensitive skin causing Slade to moan around a puff of his cigar, inhaling too much. He sputters briefly above you, his powerful body shaking, causing his member to pulse, uncomfortably at the back of your throat. By the time he comes too, your eyes are rolling back, not just from his movements, but because Roman has started to edge the plug from your ass, teasingly slow until your tight ring is stretched around the thickest part.

“Shit. Noisy little fucker.” Slade continues to twitch and hisses, enjoying every coo the Roman elicits from you as he fucks the metal toy in and out of your gaping hole.

“He can’t help it.” Roman cuts in, voice laced with mocking. “He wants to be filled up.”

“You do know how to pick ‘em. I’ll give you that.” They continue chattering over your head. Decidedly about you, not with you as they use your body. Slade on one end, keeping your mouth occupied, Roman on the other, tormenting your needy hole. “What are you waiting for?

“I give the orders around here. You’ll do well to remember that, Wilson.” Despite his objection, Roman lets the heavy toy clatter to the floor uncaringly.

He doesn’t ease himself in. There’s no doubt in his mind about how much you can take, or at what pace. Not because he’s taken the time to learn, but because he knows you can and will take anything he gives you, and you’ll do it happily. Like man’s best friend, his obedient dog, his dirty fucking cock-sleeve. There’s no scissoring his fingers to widen your walls, no extra lube beyond that which he’d used for his own pleasure as he’d watched you sucking off his best hitman. He just lines it up and plunges straight in.

Both men chuckle at the way you jerk and pant from the incursion, and Roman leans forward, pressing his weight on your back until he’s inches from your ear, short breath brushing the sensitive skin as he growls. “Look at you, greedy whore. Taking it from both ends. Don’t even think about touching yourself.”

Even if you wanted to disobey, you don’t think you could. Roman begins to rock in and out of you rapidly, and with such force, you need both hands to steady yourself.

“Good boy.” He says once more, and you could just melt from the praise. Not to mention the intoxication of being used so thoroughly by your daddies. Every snap of Roman's hips echoes through his office and drives you deeper into Slade’s crotch. “Keep being a good fuckin’ object. Let daddy fuck this tight ass raw.”       

“You’re both noisy fuckers.” Slade groans, sinking deeper into his chair. You take no heed to his complaint; you don’t have time to before he flicks his half-smoked cigar at Roman. The man has flawless aim, so you know he misses deliberately. It lands on your back, and you do well to wind in your reaction to just a twitch when the hot tip scolds your skin before rolling to the floor. He stubs it out with a loud stamp. The burn and the noise both causing your tender walls to clench even tighter around Roman. In turn, Roman cusses, digging his nails into your parted cheeks as he enjoys the tension, proving Slade right.

“C’mere.” Slade goes on, kicking up from the chair forcing you and Roman to shift to his will. “Let me use this thing properly.”

He does this when he’s close, asserts himself, uncaring of how it affects everyone else. With a wide-leg stance, he leans over, and holds your head in place with his forehead in an almost-headlock, forcing you upright until Roman has to fall back onto his haunches. You don’t let him do all the work, even if you’d enjoy him berating you for it. Once Slade finds the angle he wants, you shimmy until you’re positioned just right to bounce on Roman’s cock.

“Bastard.” Roman mutters, and though he sounds breathy and sex-drunk, there is a definite undertone of malice that sets your already shaken nerves ablaze. “Fuckin’ lucky this feels good.”

Slade pays no heed, to him, or you for that matter. All he cares about now is chasing his own climax, and selfishly using you to get it. There’s no more stopping to breathe, you’re reliant entirely on your ropey ability to suck it in through your nose as he erratically pumps against your wet tongue. A score of swear words escaping him all the way through until he finally lets out a familiar, guttural grunt, muscles tensing as he rags your head back. Squeezing the base of his cock, he aims his translucent, sticky cum across your face, his eye watching with concentrated brows and gritted teeth until he has nothing left to give.

Rarely is Slade spent after any kind of sex, his stamina is near infinite. So, there’s no panting, no lazing about in the afterglow. He simply mutters a cocky “You’re welcome.” Whether in reference to your gratitude for saving your life or giving you a face-full of his seed is unclear. Then he releases your body from his steely grip and steps around you, leaning on the desk to watch from behind as he sips his whisky and leisurely tidies himself up. 

You fall back onto your hands and knees, diligently still riding Roman’s cock even as you attempt to lick up any drops of cum that dribble close to your lips.

“Look watcha did! He’s a fuckin’ mess now.” Roman is all bark as he matches your stride.

“Looks better that way.” Slade retorts with a sneer. “His outside matches his insides. Now anyone can see that he’s a pathetic, cum slut.”

Roman mulls the words over briefly, and then his bite comes. Though you could probably take Roman one-on-one in a brawl, you wouldn’t ever dream of fighting him. So, when his hand comes down on the base of your neck, fingers splaying under your collar, you let him force your upper body to the floor. Face down, ass up. “Now he looks better.”

In this new position, every harsh thrust hits the sweet spot deep in your core that has your toes curling, and your dick throbbing. You white knuckle the floor, biting your lip to fight the urge to start fisting yourself. You’re so close, it would only take a couple of pumps, but you’re a good boy. Daddies good boy. So, you fight the urge, even as you’re on the brink of seeing stars.

“Is he right?” Roman’s ragged, gravelly voice does nothing to ground you. His wild, frenzies rutting into your ass, and the feel of his nails purposefully raking down your back all has you on edge. “Are you a dirty fuckin’ cum slut?”

“Yes, yesyesyes.” You chant in time to his turbulent rhythm, slurring into the hard ground every time he bottoms out.

“Whose dirty fuckin’ slut are you?” Roman urges and you can tell he has little left to give. Roman, whilst legendary amongst the underworld, is as human as you are, and it shows in his hitching breath and shaking legs. In the way he slaps your ass to try and reel himself a few more seconds. “Huh? Who?”

“You daddy! You!” Your leg is twitching like a god damned dog, and you let it, channelling all your willpower into following orders and neglecting your own pleasure. “You’re my daddy.”

“Damn.-” Your words send Roman toppling, literally. The cool, hard feel of his mask smacks against your spine as he cums deep in your ass, huffing and choking on his own pleasure, spit wetting the arch of your back as he keeps snarling at you. “-Fucking.Right.You.Are.”

Roman needs longer to catch his breath and find his footing. He snakes his arms around you, holding you to his still clothes chest, uncaring if or what Slade thinks of any perceived affection. Intimate or not, the warmth of his body does nothing to simmer your arousal. You’re still aching to find your own climax, but you keep your mouth shut, following the rules and letting Roman hold you until he steadies himself. If your choices are getting off or passing probation, you know which you’d rather in the long run.

Once Roman stands you remain on the floor, in position, shorts still tangled around one ankle, face plastered with half-dried semen. Once he’s zipped up, you follow his leather oxfords in your peripheral as he walks around you, avoiding the mess Slade and you had made as he examines your body. At some point, he must have found his gloves once more, because when he touches you again, the leather barrier has returned.

Gently, he traces a finger over your bandage before asking. “How is it?”

“Good, didn’t even think about it.” In truth, your rapidly bruising throat and the burn on your lower back hurt far more than your old injury.

Roman taps his fingers against it, clearly considering your answer before pressing harder. You should have expected it, and you give him what he wants to hear, groaning in pain because you know he likes it when you hurt for him. You like hurting for him too. If only he could see the way it makes your already slickened tip leak with pre-cum.

He doesn’t ask again. Instead, he stands up straight when he’d done, tapping the flaky puddles your dripping face had smeared onto the floor. No doubt you’re making just as much of a mess behind you, as Roman’s own release seeps from your open hole.

“Clean this up.” He instructs, before stepping briefly to the side and kicking over your discarded plug. “That too. When you’re done you can put it back in.”

You know what he means, you don’t wait for further clarification, crawling over and jamming your face to the floor. Flattening your tongue, you lap at the bittersweet discharge, blissfully relishing every drop.

“Gotten a lot more compliant since he got stabbed.” Slade muses from above, clinking his glass against Romans as they return to conversing without you. “He really doesn’t have a mind of his own anymore, does he?”  

“Not unless I tell him too.” Roman boasts, lurid pride emanating from him.

“You gonna put him back on the beat soon?” You pray neither notice how you perk up at the question. You’re desperate to be back on the street, to sink your teeth into a fight, or a robbery, or even just a security detail.

“We’ll see.” Whether he noticed your keenness or not, Roman knows very well how badly you want it. “Probation isn’t over yet.”

Hi reader! Just wanted to remind you that you are so so so loved! ♥