#he's different alive than he was dead and if you preferred him dead then fuck you you shouldn't have dragged him back

[clotpolesonly]

your tags on that necromancied/noah post were SO GOOD ugh I can see it now, and that LINE “Gansey didn't ask if i wanted to live. i guess that's fitting. Whelk didn't ask if i wanted to die either.” FRICKING FRICK. If that ever leaps out of your brain and onto fic somewhere I will be first in line to read it

THAT LINE WOULD ABSOLUTELY DEVASTATE GANSEY TOO, HE WOULD BE GUTTED, IT WOULD BE SO DELICIOUS FUUUUUCK WHEN WILL MY LONGFIC JUICE RETURN FROM THE WAR

[kadentherabbit]

Tate Langdon NSFW Alphabet,

(A/N! This is my first written smut!!! I haven’t yet finished Murder House and I have really bad focus on tv shows so I really hope this is good enough! The divider (flowers and leaves is from @/mietteone) I’ll try and make this without any gender talk!)

A= Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

He’s very cuddly after a round of sex, even clingier if the two of you go for longer than a round. He can’t find himself letting go of you at all. He’ll probably fall asleep first btw.

Yet some days he’s not as happy has the others, he’ll distance himself from you after sex for a few minutes, lay by himself and stare at the wall before he finally cuddles up to you, only if he can be the little spoon though. Maybe he’ll start venting or crying, but most the time it ends in cuddles and cockwarming if he’s upset.

B= Body part (favorite body part themself and their lover)

He definitely prefers his hands or his mouth, Tate likes holding onto you while fucking, even if it’s not during sex he loves holding you. Running his hand up and down your thigh or gently grazing your neck and the hickeys he left the night before.

His mouth because well, he can give you all the hickeys and kisses in the world! Marking you is his favorite past time, Tate trails kisses down from your chin all the way to between your legs where he can give you the most sloppy oral ever.

Tate can’t pick and choose parts of your body, all of it is the most perfect thing he’s ever seen. But he prefers your face, the way you express your love and watching you talk or whimper under him is the best! Really likes your hair aswell, he can tug and play with it all he wants.

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)

Inside. He doesn’t care about anything….all he wants is to just stay inside of you a little bit longer…. Talks about breeding you even if he wouldn’t consider a baby at all. (Unless it’s the antichrists :3)

He supposes that he’ll come on your stomach, second favorite place ever, pulling out and letting it spill all over your smooth skin. It gets him going for a second round.

D= Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory)

First day you moved in, he was already stalking you, watching everything you did even if it was in a sexual way, he also took a habit of stealing your underwear and shirts…just so he could feel closer to you.

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

Not really, no, he didn’t have much of a sex life when he was alive. All he really had was porn and his imagination.

F= Favorite position

Simple missionary is the best, he can watch your face contort into all the different little emotions you have to show while you whimper out his name and beg him to go faster. It’s also super easy to kiss you when you’re facing him.

Back shots when he’s angry, shoving you into the mattress and almost growling into your ear, it’s crazy how fast he can go from loving and caring to nearly suffocating you in the pillows. He’s still gonna leave marks all over your back.

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

Tate likes to crack a few jokes, jokes about being dead stuff like “ever been fucked this good by a ghost?”. Little comments like that or a knock knock joke if he’s really in a good mood.

Yet, like I’ve stated before, when he’s upset, he doesn’t crack jokes, he barely even talks unless he’s telling you how good you’re doing.

H= Hair (grooming habits)

He’s always been a smooth person, he likes shaving, it’s uncomfortable with hair in places like that. Occasionally he’ll have a bit of a carpet but it’s never more than a little chunk of it.

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or dirty)

He tries to be romantic, maybe some flower petals scattered along the halls to your bedroom. Or a lit candle sitting on your bedside table, you have no idea where it came from btw.

He praises a lot, telling you how good you’re doing and how pretty you are. He needs to make sure you understand how much he loves you.

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

Before he met you (well before he actually started talking to you) he was a compulsive masturbater. Any moment he was stressed or when he could catch a glimpse of you changing, he had his jeans down to his knees in a second.

Yet now that you two are dating, he doesn’t jerk it as much, only when you’re at school and can’t find himself waiting for longer than an hour. He knows you’re always up for a round or two if he needs some help.

K= Kink (well, kinks!)

Choking, Praise, occasional degration, (definitely a mommy kink. He also really wants to fuck you in the latex suit.)

He likes to be choked more than choking you. Scared that he’ll possibly hurt you or even kill you if he in a bad mood. So he prefers being chocked when he’s on the bottom.

Praise goes both ways, if you praise him, he’ll cum immediately after whimpering and begging for “momma’s help”. Tate loves praising you, I’ve stated before that he needs to make sure you understand how pretty you are.

Degrades you when in a bad mood, calling you a whore, slut, etc. Sometimes he goes a little far, and he’ll make up for it with the best cuddles and aftercare ever.

Mommy kink, Only really when he’s on the bottom or in an upset mood. With how much of a bad experience he has with his mom, he finds a tiny bit of comfort in calling you his momma in bed.

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

the bed is always a number one place. It’s comfortable and easy for cuddles right after the deed has been done.

Occasionally, he’ll fuck you over a kitchen counter if your family isn’t home, These are typically the days he’s not in a good enough mood to wait.

Infront of a mirror. Pretty self explanatory but he doesn’t do it often, sometimes he really really needs a confidence fix so he fucks you infront of the mirror and degrades the hell out of you.

M= Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)

Just you in general gives him the worst hard on imaginable. But if you’re wearing shorts or a skirt, he really can’t keep his hands off of you.

Making out and giving him hickeys will also make him horny. He enjoys all the kisses and sloppiness of pre-sex kissing.

N= No (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

Refuses to ever share you, nothing like threesomes or cucking or letting someone else watch. He gets jealous really quick, he needs you all to himself.

Bodily fluids that aren’t blood/spit/cum. It’s gross, Tate gets disgusted at the mention of it.

Not a huge fan of role plays. Can’t really elaborate on this one but he likes being Tate and you being….well you.

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

Really good at giving you head, it’s surprising since he never had much experience but he finds himself giving really sloppy and really amazing head.

Loves when you suck him off, he’ll act like he hates it and that he’s some tough guy but the moment your lips wrap around his dick. He’s whimpering and moaning and begging for more, he’s very loud.

P= Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

I explain this a bit more in Q. But normally he prefers slow and sensual sex. Taking all the time he needs to please you and himself, he can normally last well past your orgasm. But for rounds, he can last about 2 and a half before he starts unraveling.

He can get rough, lasting for about 3-4 rounds with the fastest pace ever imaginable, I mean he’s dead, his energy levels are really off the charts. He can last a good 2 hours without cumming but when he does, it’s a lot.

Q= Quickie (do they prefer fast and hard)

Some days, yes, and some days, no. Sometimes he just needs a little relief and a quick round of sex. On those days, he’ll really rock your shit and go right back to wandering around the house and doing his ghostly things.

If he’s upset or really needs you, he prefers to take it slow, being able to have you under him for as long as possible. He only finds himself speeding up if you want him too, but you have to beg him first.

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

Yeah, definitely into trying some new kinky things. Like if you asked to tie him up or asking to be tied up. He’ll try it, anything to make you happy, oh it’s an added bonus if you unlock some deep secret kink inside of him.

S= Stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)

typically, Tate can last 2 rounds, he finds himself getting overstimulated too quickly if he goes on for too long and can’t pleasure you anymore.

If it’s one of those days, 3 or 4, he just needs to get all the energy out. He’ll take small breaks in between if you need them but doesn’t find himself taking breaks.

T= Toys (do they use sex toys on themselves or their lover)

He doesn’t like them but he won’t be pissed off if you own a vibrator or dildo. He understands that he’s not always there when you’re in the mood but he can show you how much better he is then those stupid pieces of silicon.

Not much of a toy user, I mean he won’t start complaining if you use a vibrator on him or something to punish him

U= Unfair (do they tease or do they enjoy being teased)

Typically, no, but ifs he’s mad. Yeah, he’ll spend at least an hour teasing you and pushing you to the edge. He’ll fuck you then give you head and repeat the cycle until you’re basically crying.

Tate enjoys being teased more than he’ll admit. At first he’ll laugh it off and say he can handle it like a man, but after about 2 minutes. He’ll be underneath you, crying and begging (just like how teases you!). He can’t really handle what he dishes out, but he really does enjoy it.

V= Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

The first time, he tried to stay quiet, felt embarrassed at how loud he was. He was basically screaming while jerking off so he didn’t want to make a noise while having sex.

Until he let a few moans slip and you loved it. You told him that the more he moaned, the better. So he never really held back unless your family was awake, he’s really loud. Whimpering, moaning and groaning, all the noises that a man could make, Tate can make them.

W= Wild card (random sincannon of any sort)

As I briefly stated in K, Tate really really wants to fuck you in the latex suit. He will never admit unless you say something first but that’s all he really wants.

X= X-ray (what’s down below in dem pants)

6.5 inches when he’s soft and about 7 when he’s painfully hard.

Y= Yearning (sexdrive level)

Pretty high, he gets horny easily and can’t really get rid of his hard ons as easily. It’s a good thing since he knows you’re always up for a quick round or two.

He’s also pretty patient, if you tell him to wait an hour so you can do homework. He’ll wait (after a few minutes of whining and complaining). He can wait but it’s not his favorite.

Z= Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

He tries to stay awake longer than you so he can lull you to sleep or make you feel more comfortable for the last moments of the night but he normally falls asleep first. Especially if it’s been a rough day for him.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Until Sunrise - A Khal Drogo/Reader One Shot Story.

So I was feeling a certain way about Jason Momoa, and realised that it is absolutely uncalled for that I have not yet written for my favourite character of his! I’ve no idea how alive/dead the GoT fandom is (I’m expecting dead, lol!) but I’ve tagged anyone I can think who might be interested, or because I know whatever form he’s presented in, you like him because he’s Jason motherfucking Momoa. As you should. 

Words - 1,375

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

The moments you lived for; they were only ever fleeting at best. He would send for you, as he always did, picking one of his favourites from the tent of women devoted entirely to keeping the Khal content, eyes that burned with envy following you as you departed, ready for him. They always did.  

Walking over the dried-up terrain, you cast your eyes to the sky, seeing the moon beginning to rise, knowing the silver orb will be glowing fully through the inky night sky by the time he’s done having his way with you. He never allows you to remain until sunrise.  

Entering his tent, you find him standing in wait for you, the splendour of his nakedness appealing as always, approaching with long strides and taking you roughly by the arm, as is Drogo’s way. He rarely shows anything less than dominant claiming, towing you to his bed, making short work of your clothes.  

“How do you want me tonight, my Khal?” you ask, your Dothraki flawless. He does speak the common tongue, much more than he would ever let on, yet you have only ever communicated with him in his own language.  

He takes a moment for contemplation, his finger running along your jawline. “Face down, backside up.” Not surprising. He always prefers to take you from behind. You feel his weight dip the bed behind you, one hand placed at the top of your spine, the other beginning to stroke at you. His hand is oiled, as is his only real consideration for you, that you be slippery enough to sheathe his huge cock. Foreplay is a word unknown to him, in any language.

It is surprising to you, as your folds are parted, that he simply hasn’t done the minimal to wet your walls and swiftly breech you, his fingers touring you, exploring the petal soft flesh of your sex. Those slippery fingertips swirl around, until they reach your little bud, a soft gasp fluttering from your lips, Drogo focusing in on it.

“Good?"

You are confused, pleasantly, though. “Yes, my Khal."

He takes a moment of pause, ceasing the rubbing. “Truly? Or do you just speak this to pacify me?" He leans to you, his breath hot against the back of your neck. “Tell me how you like it.”

You are too scared of sparking his terrifying rage to even question why he cares, only pleasantly surprised that for once, he actually does. “A little softer to begin with, less pressure.” When his fingers begin to circle again, it’s pure bliss, your lips parting on a soft moan. “Just like that, my Khal.”  

He straightens, his dark eyes watching, enchanted by the sight of you spread before him, his fingers quickening a little, dragging them back and forth, offering the same at your entrance, your arousal bathing them. He likes that, the feel of wet silk warming his fingertips, pushing them inside of you, a grumble rattling his throat.  

“Soaking,” he grunts, dragging them back, returning to your aching bud. “You feel beautiful.” It must be different for him, to feel the arousal of a woman, since you can bet he never really has before. He oils each whore, dousing his cock, fucking them until he dances with the stars before they are cast aside, their purpose served. 

Little glimmers skitter over your nerves, pleasure beginning to make you trickle hot for him, Drogo shifting, removing his hand as he crouches behind you, replacing the contact with his tongue.  

“Oh, gods above!” you hiss, the warmth of his mouth stoking your fire, the very first you’ve ever had settle between your legs and indulge you in the hot, flat wet of long, languid licks.  

“Turn.” He demands, his rough hands parting your thighs as soon as you are upon your back, his mouth reconnecting with you, greedy, his beard rubbing against you as he licks at the honey of your cunt. “Still good?”

“Incredible!” you cry, your hands clutching the pelts you lie upon. “Please, do not stop!”

A smirk tilts his full lips, his eyes finding yours over the rise of your breasts, tongue rapidly placing a firm lick over your bud. “She demands of her Khal?”

He sounds more amused than anything, but to hear the tinge of balefulness, of him bringing you back to yourself, you fluster a little. “I... but what I mean to say is... I...”

He moves until his face is above yours, placing a finger to your lips, and a kiss to your throat. “Quiet with your words. No more talking, but you will let me hear how much you enjoy it.” Moving back to your apex, each lick he bestows to you is a rain of celestial decadence, tongue beating over the swell of your clit, the nectar of your arousal soaking his lips as he eats you feverishly, without pause, like a starving wolf would gorge upon the carcass of a deer.  

“Oh, you are divine, my Khal!” you cry, incoherence following as he sucks upon you, cheeks hollowing, his eyes almost black, pupils blown with lust as he grunts against the sopping mess of your cunt, enjoying you in his mouth. That is until he moves to arrow himself into your soaking centre, the many inches of his girthy cock splitting you wide, his mouth closing in a hard suck upon your nipple.

“Drogo,” he breathes, tongue beating over the little stiffened peak. “I want to hear my name upon your lips.” He grasps your jaw, turning your head to face him, eyes homed in upon you in an unbreakable stare.

Your mouths meet in a feverish kiss, a clash of tongues and teeth, your moans spilling from your lips onto his like wine. “You are divine, Drogo.” Taking him is like taking an entire storm within you, Drogo moving to kneel before you, grasping your thighs as his eyes fall to watch his glossy cock daggering into you deeply, an earthy rumble of a groan filling the air.

You are singed upon the heat he drives into you, cool fire flooding your veins, freezing and melting you again right to your very marrow as he pounds into your cunt, evoking your wails, your hands reaching to stroke the wide plane of muscles across his broad chest. The dark of his pubic hair glints in the candlelight, soaked from the dew of your cunt, your eyes falling to view it, to witness how his cock looks as it parts your walls again and again.  

It is a sight you have never beheld before, only ever being taken from behind, your eyes fixated on how sumptuously erotic it is, to watch how good he looks inside of you, his hands beginning to stroke your skin as a bonfire of pure sinful bliss rages between you.  

He moves his hand to your face, thumb dragging over your lips until they part, pushing it into your mouth. “Get it wet.” You meet his simple demand, sucking on it until it is as he requires, Drogo moving it to begin stroking at your clit once more. It’s more than you can handle, and he knows it, smirking down at you once again until his face contorts in bliss, grunting deeply as he gives his cock with keen thrusts, the sounds of your sweaty flesh smacking together filling the tent.  

He moves within you with nothing short of brutal voracity, until you can feel it radiating through you, stars sweeping from the strokes of his thumb as your light begins to shine out over his horizon, your body blooming as you fall apart around him, the fluttering of your cunt dragging his release from him. Thick ropes of cum paint your pulsing walls as he spills into you deep, breathless and spent, pulling from you and resting down on his back.  

You know that this is your cue to get up and leave quietly, yet when you rise, your escape from the bed is halted by a large hand splayed to your chest, Drogo pushing you back down. An arm slides beneath your shoulders, your Khal pulling you against his chest, fingers stroking swirls over your arm.  

"Stay."  

And you do. Until the sun rises.

[stoneagedevil]

Reunion (I’m Not in Love Pt. 2) | Alastor x f!Reader

CW/TW: suicide, gore, death, murder, predatory behavior, blood, initial unrequited feelings, insecurities involving looks.

-♥️-

It is only when you lose everything, that you have the power to do anything. After all, what are the consequences?

There is nothing left.

There is only you. Head throbbing after a bullet went through it and a subsequent smack to…pavement?

There is only you filled with grief from an unrequited love you’d sunk over half of your lifespan into and a world you can’t quite understand.

There is only…

You.

Until you heard the screams. Cautiously peeking around the corner of the alleyway you landed in, you witnessed the abhorrent atrocities committed by beings you couldn’t quite comprehend. They were inhuman and inhumane.

You were inhuman and inhumane, taking notice finally of just how sensitive and high up your ears suddenly were. Perhaps your face was thoroughly scrambled by the bullet and you didn’t die? Impossible. But it would just be your luck wouldn’t it? Surviving a point blank shot to the face with a large caliber. You reached your hands- claws- claws?!

Sidetracked, your eyes gaped at the change in your hands. They were pitch black, fading into your skin tone that had lost its vibrancy the farther you trailed up your arms. Surely it was a malfunction or flaw within the rifle that caused an abundance of gun powder to color your limbs black? But…that didn’t explain the claws in place of your dull fingernails. You continued to reach towards the top of your head, startled by your new fuzzy appendages.

They were your ears.

Quickly darting out of the alleyway, you faced yourself in the reflection of a nearby storefront window. Only, this wasn’t the Y/N you talked to before ending your life.

This was…this was something entirely different. Someone entirely different.

But sure as the days are long, it was you. Your ears reminiscent of a deer, and twisting your spine and neck to look behind you, you were adorned with the tail of one too.

“What on Earth-“ You cut yourself off. Earth? No. This couldn’t be. You most certainly died. And if you were dead, and yet alive, that had to mean one thing.

You were in the beginning stages of your afterlife, which in turn meant one thing or another: you were either in Heaven or Hell. Taking into account the potential love rivals you murdered and your demonic appearance, you could only assume the latter option were true.

Hell. You were in Hell.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing out all by yourself? It’s a dangerous world out here, little girl.” A gravelly voice brought you out of your daze. You whipped your head around to face the source of the slimy words. It was another demon, wolf-like in appearance with a smile that looked as if he would eat a grandmother.

“I would stay away.” Is all you said. Truly, you were a deer in the headlights. What did he mean by turf war? And how were you going to prevent yourself from becoming Little Red?

“And if I don’t stay away?” He challenged, slimy tongue running over rows of sharp teeth, inching closer as if to tease you. As if he preferred to play with his food.

“Then I’ll have no choice but to kill you. I’d rather not, if I can help it.” You replied. Maybe you could trick him into thinking you were dangerous, but given your new form, you doubted it. A prey animal. How unfortunate when your newest enemy was a wolf.

He barked out a hearty laugh, thoroughly amused by your polite warning, but continued to close in on you.

You felt something underneath the surface of your soft flesh. A mix of anger, of the warmth of a light, of the cold of a shadow, of the bubbling of champagne, all fueled by the sheer audacity of a man who couldn’t let you get your bearings in such a strange place. Couldn’t you ever get a fucking break?!

It happened suddenly, the cracking of pavement sounding beneath your hooves, vines dressed in thorns sharper than knives rose up from the crevices, almost shielding you from the perpetrator. Following suit, poison ivy twisted around, blocking any means of escape for the offending wolf demon. Your lack of fear and something else you couldn’t place told you these earthly vines of torture were yours.

You looked back up at the mangy mutt, a soft but dangerous smile stretching across you face, “Congratulations, my friend. You’ll be the first of many.” You flicked your pointer finger at him, and the vines shot out, tightening around his torso like snakes to mice. He yelped and whined, fighting against them. You were annoyed by the sounds he made, another set of vines wrapping around his unfortunate looking face, clamping down on his long snout like a muzzle.

“Good dogs are quiet.” You said.

It was like life on the surface. Smothering and strangling the life out of the women who had romantic intentions for Alastor. Women who told you that you’d never be right for him. That no one could ever love someone so poor as you. Your heart swelled at the thought of him. He would be so disappointed in you, surely.

But…

He’s not here.

There is only you.

The mutt of a man’s struggling subsided, his body falling limp from the hold of your vines and landing with an audible thud to the ground.

You were a firm believer that life was what you made it. You couldn’t make your life better, especially without your Alastor, so you ended it. But now, maybe the afterlife could be what you made it. He wasn’t here, you both separated by different plains of existence, and surely when he died, he’d go to Heaven.

Far, far away from you where he belonged. Where he surely wanted to be.

You’d been too pliant for too long. Holding in an anger that felt released ever so slightly when you killed so freely. Here in Hell, you didn’t have to hide your victims, and in their second deaths, they could be used as tools to earn respect around here.

Perhaps it was far better to be feared than loved.

Yes. The afterlife could be what you make it too. And you were going to make your afterlife everyone else’s problem.

——

You were deemed “Smother Nature.” One of the only clever names given to an Overlord in Hell. You strangled, smothered, and swindled your way to the top, becoming a feared but not unfair Overlord in just a few short years.

Within that span of time, you became more accustomed to your new body and its capabilities.

You were a deer demon, specifically a doe when in your regular form, but when in your more powerful demonic form, your skull would sprout wide black antlers with vines snaking around each one like a crown of thorns. From the tearing of skin atop your head at the site where these new extensions of you sprouted, blood would trickle down your face. Initially it was painful, but now? It only added to how absolutely terrifying you could be. Here, fear meant power, and you basked in it.

This was the only time you loved yourself. You were someone to answer to. Someone powerful and dangerous, who didn’t take anything laying down. You’d killed several Overlords in order to gain this title, and you were proud of it.

Every death at your hands or vines was a surge of adrenaline coursing throughout your body, and you couldn’t have been more thrilled with your decision in looking down the barrel of that rifle.

However, someone else had felt entirely different about their demise at first.

——

Distraught was an understatement. How was he supposed to visit you and his mother? Who else would get you your favorite flowers? Not just any random bouquet, but one composed of your most favorites?

How would he ever see you again?

Seeing as he was in Hell, that confirmed the existence of a Heaven, and surely you’d be up there.

He let out a growl of frustration, a long arm striking the side of a building, a spiderweb of cracks forming from the force. What a surprise, Alastor had committed atrocities during life so selfishly, and now they’d barred him from seeing you ever again.

He should’ve been more careful when burying that man in the swamp. He knew it was hunting season, and yet he couldn’t help himself. Even if it wasn’t, the police that were initially closing in on that woman-strangler shifted their focus onto him since the other killer’s disappearance. He always warned you about walking home alone at night because of that strangler. You’d always brush it off.

A snap from a twig and his head snapped towards the sound, and that blasted hunter shot well before he could ever think about what he was shooting at.

The shot connected at Alastor’s forehead, perfectly centered between his eyes. One of the best shots he’d seen since he took you on hunting excursions when you both were alive.

His heart tightened at the thought of you. You were all he ever seemed to think about.

He hated himself. He hated this body. A prey animal. A buck. Pathetic little antlers akin to toothpicks until he was in his more powerful form.

Nothing down here mattered. If you weren’t here, then nothing mattered. Down here, it was survival of the fittest, and it seemed he needed to make more of a statement in order to curb any ideas that he was weak, and considering his affinity for all things radio-related, he had just the idea to make it a reality.

It didn’t take him long at all to unlock his full demonic potential, hijacking the sound waves and crackling onto every radio in Hell, he made his debut appearance.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I interrupt this regularly scheduled programming to bring you the worst thing to ever happen to you sorry sinners since the day of your demise!” Screams of terror and agony rang out from all devices in Hell, reflecting the sheer agony he’s felt ever since he lost you. How therapeutic it was to inflict pain on others, and yet how simultaneously unsatisfying that they’d never feel a fraction of the pain he felt.

If only he knew that your little doe ears flicked to your radio in pure shock.

——

It had to be him. No one else sounded like that. Talked like that. Made your heart race like that.

Ever since being here, the only thing that terrified you was that initial run-in with that wolfish sorry excuse of a man, but now that was topped by the sound of Alastor’s voice filtering through your radio, accompanied by the screams of his victims.

It wasn’t that you were afraid of Alastor, just of facing the unrequited feelings you initially shot yourself to get away from.

Why was he here? He was such a gentleman in his life on the surface, how could it be that he’s here? More screams cut your thoughts short.

He’s so…used to this. So used to torture that he welcomes it with open arms.

He…he had to be like you, no? Living a double life, teetering on the edges of a socially acceptable, functioning member of society, and a cold-blooded killer?

A part of you salivated at the thought that maybe he killed for you at least once, like you’d done for him so many times.

No. No he wouldn’t do that for you.

Your tail wagged and your legs craved to bolt out towards wherever Alastor was. But who knew if he even wanted to see you again? You looked into the mirror of your vanity where the radio rested.

Were you ugly? Would he find this form hideous?

Your fist collided with the mirror, shattering into hundreds of tiny images of you.

You rested your face in your palms, a took a deep breath.

…what did he look like?

The temptation to see him was so strong, it was as if you were caught in a trance that forced you out of your luxurious penthouse, a testament to the many lives you ended and souls you puppeteer. The over abundance of hope held in your body leaked out in the form of green grass and clover that sprouted from each footstep you took.

“Please let it be him.” You whispered to no one in particular. “Please let it be him.”

——

It felt like no amount of bloodshed was enough. He wanted others to feel the hurt he felt internally, and yet, despite the fact that the streets were painted with the lives of the sinners caught in his clutches, it simply wasn’t enough.

The void in his heart and soul was gaping, and he attempted to fill it with the viscera and gore of those he slaughtered, the taste of bitterness and iron filling his maw.

“Y/N if you’re looking down on me, look away.” He whispered to himself, hoping you’d hear his plea and turn away from the carnage he created in your name.

“Alastor?”

This truly was Hell. He was hearing your angelic voice calling his name.

“Alastor?!”

What hurt most was that every part of this eternal punishment was deserved, he just didn’t know if he could accept it.

“Alastor!”

No. He couldn’t accept this infernal reality. If he had to hear your voice but never see you again, he was sure he wouldn’t make it in this afterlife.

His train of thought was cut clean off by a harsh yanking around his throat that sent him flying backwards into the ground.

In shock, he bolted upright, fingers moving towards his throat to cup it gently, as if to assess the damage. Instead of being met with the warmth of his demonic flesh, his fingertips met something cold, and metal-like.

There were no words for how you felt about this situation. How did you…how…?

How did you have a chain around his soul if you never initiated a deal with him? This was unheard of. Absolutely unorthodox.

While you were staring in shock at the glimmering white chain that you held in your hand, his red eyes drifted from the chain up towards the culprit who yanked it, forcing him to the ground.

His eyes widened when he saw who was at the other end of it. He lost his breath for the third time that day.

The first being the impact of his fall.

The second being the chain pulling on his neck.

The third being the vision of you, which could absolutely not be real.

“Y/N?” He whispered, wishing he could take it back. He hadn’t said your name in so long, it was like a button that made his tear ducts malfunction. His vision was blurry, his breathing shaky.

“I-“ you opened your mouth then immediately closed it. It truly was him. He looked different, hair longer, skin grey, teeth sharp. And he was red. So, so red. But it was him.

Your Alastor.

He slowly got up from the ground, feeling as though if he moved too quickly, you’d dissipate like a mist. He couldn’t handle that.

The chain you held in your claws slacked because of his inching towards you. You debated backing away, but his eyes, despite being the color of blood, of warnings, of danger, you were sure they’d never looked to soft.

And they were looking right at you.

You. The object of all of his wants, desires, and affections. Too stupid to realize it in your lifetime, yet brought together by the very thing that made him realize the depth of his love for you; death.

You weren’t sure when, but you started to cry.

His heart felt so heavy. Heavy with love, with grief, with a hatred for the way he made you cry.

His claws reached out, cradling your wet face, the most gentle action he performed with them that day.

Your body betrayed your mind, your head leaning into the warmth of his large hands. You thought he certainly wouldn’t want you to, but your heart couldn’t help it.

His thumbs carefully wiped away the tears on your cheeks, being mindful of the sharpness of his claws. “Is it really you?” He asked.

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you looked as though you were in pain. Your ears drooped. This isn’t the way you wanted him to see you. You looked-

“You’re as stunning as the day I lost you.”

You sucked your lips in, trying to hold in the sob that was fighting its way out of your body, and you closed the distance between the two of you in the tightest embrace you could possibly muster, buried your face in the lapels of his overcoat.

He held onto you like you’d disappear for a second time, finger carding through your hair, nose intaking your scent. You smelled just like you did on Earth, only, with more floral notes.

For the first time since you got to Hell, you sobbed. “I’m so sorry Alastor.” You wailed.

He was sure you could both hear his heart audibly crack, “You’ve nothing to be sorry about, my darling.” He tightened his hold onto you. He was terrified he’d say something wrong, to have you take your life a second time in order to run away from him. “I’m the one who will forever be sorry. I-I was such a fool.”

You looked up at him, and shook your head. “I- I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me again.” You admitted.

“Darling, every waking moment of my life after you’d gone was spent wishing you were by my side once again. What I did to deserve my wish coming true, I’ll never know, but I’d do it over again if it meant I could have you.” Your foreheads pressed together, entry wounds kissing. “Y/N, no words could ever convey how sorry I am for treating you the way I did. I was so blinded by my own ignorance and arrogance that I couldn’t see just how madly, deeply, and quickly I’d fallen in love with you.”

You searched his eyes for a hint of an untruth, but found none. You laughed wetly, sniffling. “I love you too. More than anything. To live without you wasn’t an option, Alastor.”

His smile tightened at your last sentence. “I feel the very same way.”

You were counting in your head when to act on your emotions, trying to build up the courage.

One.

Two.

You never got to three. You didn’t like landing on three because that’s when everyone expected something to happen, and you just couldn’t wait any longer.

You took Alastor’s face in your hands, leaning into him while bringing him closer with your arms. Your kiss wasn’t how you always dreamed it to be, and yet, it was somehow better. It tasted of bitterness, of sweetness, of blood and death, and of life. He smelled of iron, of rot, of cinnamon and a fireplace.

And then it overwhelmingly smelt of roses.

You parted, both looking around in shock at the garden of rose bushes your powers created. You were initially bashful, but Alastor’s smile never looked brighter, laughing as he took your face in his hands and kissed you again, looking around as the rose bushes grew even larger.

“It seems the best way to get you flowers is to kiss you, hmm?” He teased. “We’ll have our very own Garden of Eden by the end of the day.” He teased softly.

“Not before you tell me why you’re down here.” You lightly scolded him, no real anger of malice behind the question.

He froze for a second, wondering if he’d scare you away if you knew what he’d done. “My dear, I-“ you placed a finger over his lips.

“Alastor, nothing you could say would ever make me stop loving you.” You removed your finger from his face and gesturing for him to keep going.

“I murdered many men who preyed on women…” he admitted, looking off to the side.

“You’re leaving something out.” Your neck craning to follow his line of sight.

“I also murdered men who meant to court you…” his claws reached up behind his neck to scratch at it, but he was reminded of the chain around his throat.

“You killed for me?” You said, astonished. Alastor mistook it for silent horror, until he saw clover sprouting out from around your hooves. He looked into your eyes, and saw nothing but an unbridled passion for him and his actions, leading to his cheeks to burn red as the rest of him. “I have something to confess myself.” You said at this revelation. “I strangled multiple women because they sought your heart. I couldn’t allow any competition whatsoever.” You played with your fingers nervously, afraid of what his reaction would be.

He was sure that you were made for him, and he for you. No other woman could compare to the lovely creature that was you; homicidal tendencies and all. He kissed you again, having to put this surge of love somewhere.

You looked at his throat then, at the glowing white collar around it. He shivered when your hands traced the metal, the very hands that had wrapped around so many necks before. The softest and most delicate hands he’d ever known that had snuffed out so many lives in the name of your love for him.

“I don’t understand how this happened, Alastor. We never made a deal. I shouldn’t own your soul.”

He thought back to a human version of himself, a broken man who pledged his afterlife to you. A decision he wouldn’t ever regret.

He took your hands in his larger ones. “Darling, you have all of me, heart and soul. I know you’ll take wonderful care of it.” He kissed the inside of one of your palms. “However, if you are going to pull on the leash so harshly, next time I’d prefer a warning.”

-♥️-

I would say I apologize for the wait, but patience is a virtue! I hope you all enjoyed this part 2, and I appreciate the support my last fic got. Please know I appreciated all comments, reblogs, and hearts you all so generously gave. ♥️

TAGLIST: @diffidentphantom @xalygatorx @whitewolfsoldat @littledolly2345 @purple-umbrella-girl @milkissesx @cinnamon-galaxies @michi-keinz

And apologies to @psychoaxo and @ari42 I wasn’t able to tag you for some reason.

[momentomori24]

I swear to God, Twitter being able to accumulate so many brain-dead, malicious, pseudo intellectual low lives all in one place at the same time is a phenomenon worthy of being studied under a microscope in a science lab. And no, that is not a compliment.

Thankfully people have already spoken out against this bullshit-- the fact that people needed to is already maddening to think about-- but as someone who got the basic gist of what happened literally yesterday I'll also put my voice out there: Don't you fucking dare try to paint Hbomb as a murderer over this situation.

Somerton may be a lying, misogynistic plagiarist and conman, but he obviously doesn't deserve to die and while I do make fun of the guy, I genuinely hope that he continues to have a life after the dust has settled on everything. Not on YouTube or any social media platform for a long time at least, but just a life nontheless. I don't wish what he's potentially going through on anyone, and I hope that he makes it through this. But regardless of if he does or doesn't-- and God forbid he doesn't-- none of this is Hbomb's fault. It's not his fault, or Kat's fault, or Jessie's fault (because apparently there's people blaming her too cuz WHY NOT), or anybody's fault. All they did was call out his actions, hold him accountable for the harm he's done. They have done nothing to deserve having to carry this on their shoulders should the worst happen. They did nothing wrong. They didn't kill James (he's not confirmed dead yet either btw). They are not murderers. And to the people saying they are: say those words out loud, listen how they sound like, and re-evaluate. Just cease.

And to people like this:

''Oh I'm not blaming him for anything I'm just blaming him for what his audience did because according to HIM you're responsible for your audience'' Yeah, you people can shut your mouths too. Of course you're responsible for your audience, and that includes Hbomb too. However, your tiny, godless little monkey brain can't see why your argument is still rubbish even with that in mind. The difference between James, Internet Historian and Hbomb is that Hbomb never promoted problematic behaviour to his audience. If you promote problematic shit like harassment or misogyny or racism, then yeah, you're absolutely responsible for how your behaviour influences your audience. But that's not what he did. He made it very clear where he stood on those things, literally stating that ''if anyone were to harass Somerton on his behalf they are worse than him and will not see the light of heaven''. He's done his part in making it clear that harassment is wrong, so if someone went out of their way to go against that and harass James anyway that doesn't reflecf on him at all. Also, what the hell do you mean ''hatemobbed'' to suicide? I don't doubt there are people who went to extremes because those bad apples always exist, but most of the things I've seen are valid critisisms, memes and call outs about that guy. If holding people accountable for their actions and poking fun at them a little counts as 'hatemobbing'' (which has Filip calling his critics a ''lynch mob'' energy tbh) what the hell do you call actual hatemobbing then? Do we just let people continue being shitty because calling them out ''damages their mental health'' or ''drives them to suicide'' then? Is that a world you want to live in?

Same thing goes for people like this:

Criticing someone for their objectively bullshit content and wanting them dead are two seperate things. What the actual hell is wrong with you. The plagiarist in question is a person. Those ''harshest critics'' are still people. And because we're people, we care. I'd rather James pump out more plagiarised slop than commit suicide. I'd still hate him for it, but I'd prefer him being alive over the alternative any day. We all do. None of us would sleep easier knowing he's dead just because he wouldn't be ''committing the cardinal sin of putting out a 'pure content mill' video'' because someone taking their own life is horrific-- especially Hbomberguy, how dare you even try to imply that?

And this gets me to the reason I'm furiously typing all this out in the first place: Hbomb is the fucking victim here, so stop treating him like he isn't. He tried making things as right as possible by compensating those that were burned by James through a video where he revealed everything there needs to be known about the guy so that less people fall victim to his actions and lies. To just ignore the harm James was causing while he had the evidence to prove it and platform too big to threaten into non existence should he speak out would've been bad. So he didn't. He did the right thing by sticking with the people James had stolen from, giving them a voice and making them known after they've been scrubbed from the picture by decidedly being uncredited for their works or bullied into silence. He shouldn't have to deal with this for doing the right thing. He shouldn't be labelled a murderer for doing the right thing. He shouldn't have to have the death of a man on his conscience for doing the right thing. People claiming otherwise are obviously wrong, but I can't imagine what all this must feel like right now. Because even tho they're wrong, guilt isn't a rational thing, and I know that if I were in his position I'd still feel like a morally bankrupt individual were the worst to happen even if I knew that it was not my fault. This isn't a funny story. So to add to this dumpsterfire by using it as a prop to bash on a creator you don't like and immediately write Somerton off as dead even when he's not even been confirmed dead yet to do that shows how little these people actually care about the thing they're talking about. They don't care a guy potentially killed himself-- what they care about is using it to paint Hbomb in a bad light because they don't like him. Here they are, posting memes and ill jokes about this very delicate situation while barely a day since the news broke out had passed. It's opportunistic, it's sickening, and literally the exact thing he criticised in his video when talking about 'content mills'. Like, I know none of these clowns bothered to actually watch it, but have some self-awareness. And some shame too, while you're at it.

This long story short: I'm writing this to contribute to the narrative not getting twisted to make Hbomb out to be the villian. Same goes for everyone else. Don't let these people paint them as the villians. If I see another person pull this shit again I will literally bite you and shred you into salad and spit you back out because I hate you so much and I mean that wholeheartedly.

To Hbomb: you will never see this but if you do, take care of yourself.

To the asshats this post is about: Delete your account. Cease all together. Stop talking about this. Just leave him the fuck alone.

[cupids-scream-queen]

A Little Murderess °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀*

❀ female!murderer!reader x poly!ghostface ❀

Part 3 // 2.1k words

-> Part 1 // -> Part 2

Warnings: slightly graphic murder, stalking, alcoholic mother, Ghostface thingz

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Summary: You've just moved to a new town after the death of your little brother and stepfather with your mother. You're not ashamed of what you do to cope with the deaths; especially when you make two new friends who you might have more in common with than you thought...

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Monday. Your first day of school. A new school, which made this particular Monday even worse.

You were the new girl. You were the outsider.

You got up, darkness surrounding you as you stretched. It was five in the morning—far too early to be up, but you wanted to make sure everything was perfect. You got out of bed, your feet bare and cold.

You hadn’t heard from Ghostface since the call on Friday, and the silence was driving you insane. You didn’t know if you scared him off, or if he decided to spend time with another prank-calling victim—you guessed the latter. You definitely weren’t scary enough to make someone afraid of you, even with your murders. They weren’t gruesome like the ones you watched on television, they didn’t have the pizzazz of the Ted Bundy or Jeffrey Dahmer kills. They simply were a teenager getting her anger out on poor, drugged-up Californians.

You dragged yourself to the bathroom, grimacing as you turned on the cold water at the sink. You splashed some on your face, and began to scrub with one of your many face-care products. You hadn’t had a breakout in nearly four months, and you weren’t going to start now. You finished your skincare routine and turned on the shower, undressing yourself. Stepping in, the water was cold, and it made your skin crawl. You preferred cold showers, warm ones reminded you too much of when you were happy, when your brother was alive and you didn’t have a killer for a biological father—no matter if he was dead or not.

You washed yourself quickly, the cold water almost burning your skin. You washed your hair, making sure to condition the ends, just like your mother taught you. You got out, wrapping a towel around yourself and drying your hair with another. You went back to your room, glancing at the clock. Five thirty-eight. School started in about two and a half hours.

You went to your closet, trying to find an outfit with some semblance of fashion. You unpacked a few days ago—the boxes once guarding your room collapsed and stored under your bed, just in case you’d have to move again. You decided on a simple green top, with a long, patchwork-style skirt. The multitude of different fabrics and textures made it an interesting piece of clothing to look at, and when you dressed it up, it could look sick as hell. You decided on silver jewelry today, layering a barbed-wire style necklace and a rosary. You slipped four silver rings on your fingers, and brushed your hair, deciding to leave it down naturally. Giving a spin, you decided you looked hot as fuck.

You smiled and began working on your makeup, concealing under your eyes. You did a light brown shimmer eyeshadow, and did large, triangular wings. Mascara. Pink lipgloss. Blush.

The phone rang. You nearly jumped out of your skin, the loud sound you were positive would wake up your mother. You answered it quickly, listening for any yells coming from your mother’s end of the house. Silence.

“What the hell?” You said, whisper-yelling. “People are fucking sleeping in this house!”

“You’re not home alone?” Ghostface asked, and you shook your head.

“No, I’m not! My mom’s been here the whole time you dickwad!” You started pacing. “She’s just…”

“Not around much?” You couldn’t tell if he was mocking you or if he was genuinely sorry, but you grimaced when he said that. You still remember when your mother was good to you, when she wasn’t constantly drunk or crying, calling out the names of her dead husband and your brother. “That’s more common than you’d think.”

“It doesn’t matter,” You hissed. “What are you calling me for? I’m going to school, you’ll see me.”

“And I look forward to it,” Ghostface chuckled, and you stuck your middle finger up at the window. “Hey now, that’s not very nice of you.”

“Says the fucker that called my house at like six,” You rolled your eyes. “Are you gonna say hi to me today, or are you going to just let me figure out who you are?”

“I told you this was a game, Knife Girl,” You felt annoyance creep through your body. “You’ve got to defeat Ghostface to win it, remember?”

“What happens if I don’t?”

“You die.”

•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

You wanted to figure out who this Ghostface was. You didn’t even know how to defeat him. Were you supposed to kill him? Find out who he was? You didn’t even know where he was half the time, just that he was watching you out your bedroom window—not that you did much to prevent it, but still. You realized you had to either start stepping up, or just let him kill you. You were fine with killing him.

The drive to the school was purgatory. You took your car—a cherry-red 1959 Buick Electra 225 convertible—to school, your map hidden in the glovebox. Your car was fancy, and you knew it—you wanted to make a statement.

You came from money. You knew it, and your mother knew it. Even with her alcoholism, you knew your family was still extremely well-off—your grandfather was a millionaire, your step-father left nearly three million to your mother, and your 16th birthday present was two cars; a beater and your Buick, which you nicknamed The Vampire.

You noticed how people’s heads turned when you pulled up to school, and you relished it. You knew that they wouldn’t want to be friends with you for anything except money, which was fine—you didn’t intend on making friends.

You parked your car, making sure to lock it when you stepped out. You knew exactly what you were doing, bringing that car. You wanted to catch his attention.

First things first, you had to visit the office. Ignoring the looks of students, you went into the main building, finding the office with little difficulty. The lady gave you a schedule and a map, highlighting the routes to take. She also gave you a notecard with your locker number on it, and you thanked her before leaving.

English.

Your teacher was old. She looked as if she were a frumpy old woman that smelled of that old people's perfume. That was the first thing you noticed. The second thing you noticed was your class was entirely full, except for a seat next to an auburn-haired girl.

“You’ll be sitting there,” She said, barely bothering to look up. “You’re…Y/N, correct?” You nodded, taking a seat. The girl next to you waved. “Here’s a textbook, you’ll need to read up to page 247,” She said, passing a book down. ‘The Language of Composition’, an enthralling read, to be sure. The girl next to you held out a note.

My name’s Sidney Prescott, nice to meet you Y/N

You scribbled back a basic reply, smiling at her. She seemed nice enough, but you didn’t want to get close to anyone unless you had to. You had other things on your mind rather than friendship.

“Sidney, it would appear to be your turn,” Mrs. Tate said solemnly, and she wordlessly packed up her belongings and went to the principal’s office. You looked up, curious. What was going on?

You finished the class, and you felt a little tap on your shoulder in the hallway. You found it was Sidney, the girl from class.

“Hey, what’s going on?” You asked, walking to lunch.

“A girl was murdered with her boyfriend, it was huge,” She explained. “Do you wanna sit with my friend group and I for lunch? I can’t imagine you’ve made many friends.”

“Your confidence in me is astounding,” You joked. “I’ll sit with you, sure.”

“Great!” She smiled wide. “There’s uh, you’ll meet Tatum, who is one of my best friends. And there’s Randy, who’s a little funny, and you’ll meet my boyfriend, Billy, and Tatum’s boyfriend, Stu,” She rambled, and you took mental notes. “They’re, like, totally obsessed with slashers. It’s kind of funny, really.”

“I don’t mind horror movies,” You commented. “They can get a little cheesy though, I prefer the classics.”

“Classics? Like Halloween and shit?” She asked.

“No, classics like the 30’s and 40’s. Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho and The Birds are two of my favorites, but there’s Genuine: The Tragedy of the Vampire that’s also pretty good,” You explained. “Not all horror movies are big tits and gore.”

“The ones the boys watch are,” She mumbled, and you laughed a little.

“You’ve just gotta expand their taste, that’s all,” She smiled at that, and she walked you out to a fountain.

“Who’s this?” One of the boys called out, and you raised an eyebrow before glancing at Sidney.

“This is Y/N! She’s sitting in Casey’s…” She trailed off, before continuing. “She’s new! And she likes horror!” As if on cue, the ears of all three boys practically perked up.

“Horror, you say?” One of the boys, with long-ish hair, said, cocking an eyebrow. You nodded. “What kind of horror?”

“Do you like the kind where it looks like you can fuck the body?” Another boy chimed in, and a blonde girl kicked him. “Ow! I was just askin’ a question.”

“I like psychological films,” You said. “Mostly shit that messes with your mind.”

“Bo-o-o-oring,'' the same kid said.

“Why don’t you all introduce yourselves?” Sidney said through clenched teeth.

“I’m Randy!” One of the boys said, shaking your hand harshly. You nodded.

“I’m Stu,” Dressed in over-large clothing, Stu had some sort of class clown energy you couldn’t really pinpoint. You decided he was a wild card.

“I’m Billy,” The other boy said, not even looking up. Sidney was perched at his side now, and he was practically buried in her neck. You felt like out of them all, Stu and Billy seemed the most familiar. You noted it in the back of your mind.

“I’m Tatum! Nice to meet you,” The blonde girl who was sitting next to Stu said, flashing her teeth at you as she smiled. You sat at the fountain, not quite sure what to say. You mostly zoned out, but the way Stu and Billy talked about the murders didn’t sit quite right with you. As someone that’s killed before, the knowledge that they had wasn’t something you could get quite out of a horror movie. They made it sound like they’ve done it before.

“So, what’s your favorite horror movie?” Billy asked, and you thought about it for a minute.

“Psycho. The Birds. Genuine: The Tragedy of the Vampire. The Creature of the Black Lagoon,” You took a sip of your water. “Yours?”

“That’s pussy shit, you gotta try the big boy stuff!” Randy exclaimed. “Yo, when are we gonna watch movies? We gotta invite this chick. She ain’t seen nothing but grandma shit.”

“Depends. Sid doesn’t like horror, remember?” Tatum looked around the group, her eyes landing on you. “And you look like more of a Tom Cruise girl than a Freddy Krueger girl.”

“You got that right,” You laughed. You could see almost…disappointment? In the eyes of Stu. Billy’s gaze was intent on you. It made your hairs prick up, just like the night when Ghostface first called you. “In Top Gun he was to die for.”

“I know!” Tatum squealed excitedly. “He’s just darling.”

•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

When school let out, a crowd of students surrounded your car.

“Hey dipshits, get off my car,” You shouted, and they practically parted like the red sea. “That ain’t a fucking chair.”

“My bad,” A boy got off the hood, and you rolled your eyes before unlocking it and starting it.

“Fuck around next time and see what happens,” You shot back, before moving. Your drive home was equally uneventful, and you quickly found your mother sprawled out on the couch, a bottle of Tito’s next to her.

“Fuck, Mom. Can’t you drink on any other day?” You poured yourself a glass of water, carrying it upstairs with your bag. On cue, your phone rang.

“Hel-l-lo?” You answered, drinking half the glass of water.

“How was your first day?”

“Hell,” You grinned, and the voice on the telephone laughed.

“You made five new friends today, didn’t you?”

“Damn, you were really watching me?”

“I’m watching you right now, Knife Girl. Any suspects as to who I might be?”

“No,” You lied, your eyes glinting. “But I’ll figure it out eventually.”

“You have until next week. Or you’re dead.” You grinned before hanging up.

Enjoy my writing? Please like, reblog, or follow me! The support is super encouraging, especially since I'm going to make this a longer fic and post nearly daily 💕

-> Part 4

[eowynstwin]

Ayo... you by chance got any Ghost headcannons?

BOY DO I. Here’s what I want to talk about though:

I don’t think Ghost resembles the frankly weird, ultra-dom sex god that fandom has made him out to be. Man wears a mask, self-reportedly, even to sleep. That is LITERALLY the most repressed thing I can think of outside of the church itself.

That’s not to say I don’t think he’s great in bed, but it’s for different reasons that apply also to his overarching character. I think the Ghost persona allows him to be Simon without actually being Simon. The mask allows Ghost to trick himself, to say, “Simon Riley is dead and I am his Ghost” in order to deal with the cognitive dissonance he has of living with extreme trauma.

Soooo, Ghost is more expressive, more himself, really, with the mask on. He can do things as Ghost that Simon Riley just would not have the strength to do anymore. He can connect with his teammates, spend time doing things he enjoys, and yes, he can have and enjoy sex.

While I don’t prefer to rely on actors’ interpretations of the characters they played, I do agree with Samuel Roukin on this—Ghost doesn’t date. Dating is a game for people who are alive. Simon is not. Ghost is “not.”

When Ghost wants to get laid, he follows the age old tradition of picking someone up when he’s gone out for drinks. He’s not opposed to having sex with coworkers, I think, but what happens in the bedroom holds absolutely no bearing on his professional relationships with them.

Boundaries on the whole are sharp and immutable—don’t ask him about work. Don’t ask him about his past. He’s not there for you to get to know him. Follow those rules? He’ll do anything you want.

Mostly though, he fucks you like he wants your body to be unable to forget his. Ghost, for all his insistence to keep things casual, still longs for human connection. He has a hunger for people, for intimacy, born naturally out of an incredible lack of it. So if you do get him into bed, it will feel like Ghost is desperate for you, has wanted you for longer than he’s even known you.

Also, if you follow his rules, he’ll usually come back to fuck you again. Ghost doesn’t want anonymous, doesn’t want someone new every time. Knowing you, knowing your body, knowing what you can do together, is a part of the act that stems the tide of his loneliness. He is very perceptive, and enjoys making a mental catalogue of the things that wreck you. The only thing he enjoys just as much is when you show that you know, too, how to wreck him. It is a deep, ineffable satisfaction, having sex as a vehicle for knowing and being known.

He will overindulge—in his opinion. Ghost always thinks he’s talked to someone too much, spent too much time with someone, fucked someone for too long. It’s a byproduct of trauma borne of a difficult family life. Building something real with someone else represents a massive risk that has only proven detrimental to Ghost in the past—to Simon.

If he catches feelings, his instinct is to sprint in the other direction. He will withdraw, become hard to get into contact with. It is never out of cruelty on his part, and if you do manage to get ahold of him, he won’t snarl at you like his father snarled at him, snarled at his mother. But if you pressure him, demand his time, push him for what he has explicitly told you he will not give, then he will pull out the explanation that always works for him: “You know what this was.”

If you don’t pressure him though—if, when you get ahold of him, you just tell him that you’d like to see him again? That he’s always welcome? Ghost is drawn like a moth to a fucking flame. He’ll hate himself for it, for needing you, for being stupid enough to want you, but he won’t be able to help it. And he won’t stop himself, either.

Give Ghost time, and he will become your shadow. You will never need to look very hard to find him. You will never need to worry about being alone. There is nothing, when he is yours, that will keep him from coming back to you.

[cluescorner]

I have been unable to get the idea of baby Kaeya sneaking off to Sumeru without telling anyone out of my head

Baby Kaeya: I have successfully snuck into Sumeru in a merchant convoy. I may have left without saying goodbye, but I’m sure the Ragnvindrs will not mind. After all, surely they don’t see me as their actual family. They might raise a fuss and be in agony if Diluc were to disappear, but not for me. 

Meanwhile......

Crepus, on his 8th bottle: How on earth have I managed to lose an entire child?? Did he get kidnapped? Did he run away? Is he alive? Is he safe? I’m going to have a breakdown holy shit. I have failed as a father. Elzer, have the knights gotten back about their search of the area? Or the private squad I hired? 

Elzer: I’m afraid they have found nothing...but look on the bright side! At least we haven’t lost Diluc...

Adeline, literally physically restraining Diluc to stop him from running off to search for Kaeya: Yet. We have not lost Diluc YET. 

----------------------------------------

Merchant guy: Hey, uh, guys? 

Merchant lady: Yeah? 

Merchant guy: Can somebody read this handwriting? I think whoever wrote this must have been in a hurry or something. And are those...tear stains? 

Merchant lady: Sure...hm looks like the boss’s son is missing....

Merchant guy: Huh. Well we guarded the goods pretty well but let’s check just to make sure. 

Merchant lady: *Opens up the goods to find Kaeya wedged between 2 crates* Oh we’re so fired. 

Kaeya: In your defense, it’s only been a few days. One time I hid from...something for a week. And it was far more perceptive than you are, so you can hardly be blamed for missing me for only a few days. It was a fun challenge, but I was very hungry afterwards. By the way, do you have some water? I did not want to risk revealing myself, so I have not moved from this spot since we left. 

Merchant guy: We’re not fired...we’re dead. 

------------------------------

Crepus, sprinting to Sumeru: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

----------------------------------------

Merchant guy: So...while we wait for your dad, why did you come here anyways? I’m sure we could do something fun. 

Kaeya: Hmmm, no. You should not look into why I came here. That would be bad, for me and for you. 

Merchant lady, whispering to merchant guy: Hey, um, what the fuck does that mean?

Merchant guy, whispering to merchant lady: The boss said his new kid was kinda odd, but this wasn’t what I was expecting. 

------------------------------------

Crepus: KAEYA! OH THANK GOODNESS YOU ARE OK! 

Kaeya: Hello Master Crepus. I hope I didn’t cause too much-

Crepus: WHY ON TEYVAT WOULD YOU JUST RUN AWAY? DID YOU JUST WANT TO GO TO SUMERU TO SEE THE RAINFORESTS OR SOMETHING?

Kaeya: ...Sure. I read about it in a book and thought it looked cool. I wanted to see it, and so I left. 

Crepus: *sigh* Kaeya, next time you want to take a vacation somewhere, please just tell us. You ARE grounded for a month since you broke a very big rule, but afterwards I’ll see about arranging a trip to Sumeru for us. 

Kaeya: Crossing Teyvat to find me, grounding me, and arranging trips around my preferences? Why are you treating me so similarly to how you treat Diluc? 

Crepus: Because you are both my sons. Why on earth would I treat you any differently? 

Kaeya, forming the first healthy relationship with an adult in his entire life and realizing that he has grown attached to the very family he was left to spy on then eventually betray: Oh. This...I feel weird. Bad-weird and good-weird. 

Crepus: Well, you probably feel weird because you were LODGED BETWEEN TWO CRATES FOR 4 DAYS STRAIGHT? You’re going to give me a heart attack one day, I swear. Now we’re going back to Mondstadt right now, and you’re grounded starting the day after we get back. I highly doubt Adelinde and Diluc will be able to restrain themselves from fawning over you, they’ve been a mess. 

Kaeya, realizing that now only has he grown attached to his new family, but they have grown incredibly attached to him: Oh...oh no. 

[writingforcuteppl]

In The Stars

PAIRING: Portgas D. Ace x Reader

SUMMARY: “Now you’re in the stars, and six feet never felt so far. Here I am alone, between the heavens and the embers.”

GENRE: Angst

WARNINGS: Established relationship. Mentions of death. Swearing. SPOILERS!

WORD COUNT: 1k words

“Y/n, please, just come back to the village. You need to rest.” Marco was worried.

It’s been over a month after Ace’s death, and you don’t even dare to move from his grave. There have been times when Marco had to pick you up from the ground since that was the only way he was able to at least make you eat.

But at this point, he doesn’t know what to do anymore. He’s tried everything, but you just keep coming back here.

“Just ten more minutes. I promise”

“We both know that’s a lie. You cannot keep doing this to yourself.”

“I just… I can’t…” This month, you’ve been silent. Speaking just when it’s strictly necessary. Not because you don’t want to, but because every time you dare to talk, you start to feel a lump in your throat. And even having a normal conversation becomes harder.

“He wouldn’t like-”

“Stop. He’s not… here…” You couldn’t bring yourself to say the last word. Saying it would make it a reality, and you still couldn’t accept the fact that he was gone forever.

“You can't keep doing this. Coming here daily, sneaking out at night, just to return here. If you keep doing this, not sleeping, not eating well, you will end up dying.” you wanted to laugh at his comment. Marco used to be one of the most reckless people you knew in your entire life, and here he was, worried that you may die. 

“Don’t you think that’s… a little bit of an exaggeration?” You chuckled and tried your best to show him you could improve if you wanted.

“Don’t you even try to lie to me. Did you forget I’ve known you for as long as I’ve known Ace?” you smiled at his comment, but that smile quickly faded. Pain started to go through your chest. He was right. This wasn’t healthy anymore. You weren’t fine.

But how could you even be fine after losing the love of your life, your partner in crime? There were so many thoughts going through your head right now. Why was life unfair? Why couldn't he just run? You preferred that he was well and alive and not with you instead of him being dead for a million different reasons. It would be just better like that. At least you could live in hopes of seeing him again. The mere thought of not being able to see his beautiful eyes and pretty smile, not being able to hear his voice, and not being able to hug him ever again was heartbreaking.

You didn’t even realize when Marco sat next to you until you heard his voice way closer than before.

“I miss him too. I’ve been reliving the moment everything unfolded over and over again. Maybe I was able to do something. Maybe if I just-” Marco choked in his saliva. He was just as distraught as you were.

“You should also stop doing that to yourself, Marco'' you managed to say as tears rolled down your cheeks. The thought of living when Ace wasn’t with you anymore seemed horrible. And it looks like Marco was also beating himself up for that.

“He would be so mad at us for being like this. He would definitely tell us to stop being such crybabies,” Marco said as he smiled.

You covered your face with your hands as more tears started to fall. Fuck. How were you supposed to move on from him? Is it even possible to move on from losing someone who meant the world to you? Not only you but someone who was so important to so many people? Were you going to be able to live the rest of your life when everyone knew who Ace was? And maybe, just maybe, knowing someone could bring him up at any given moment?

“I just want to let you know I don’t think you are to blame for even something in this whole situation. You shouldn’t be beating yourself up for something that I know was his decision, Marco.” this was the first sentence you managed to say without being out of breath.

“I know, but god, he was so reckless. He just ugh…” Marco seemed tired. It was the first time you paid attention to him. These huge bags were under his eyes, and his eyes were irritated. 

“I know I can’t live like this forever. It’s just… hard, you know? Yeah, having a pirate life always meant living at risk, but I’ve always thought we would have more time with him.” Finally, your feelings and thoughts that have been eating you alive for the past month were seeing the light of day. And you knew Marco may also be feeling just as you were, with a hole in your chest. It is as if someone took the most important thing in your life. Marco wrapped one of his arms around your upper back, seeking to give you some comfort. At the end of the day, both of you were mourning the loss of someone who both of you appreciated and loved deeply. Who else would know the feeling of loss than your boyfriend’s best friend?

“It won’t be easy, for sure. But at least we got to meet someone like him. That’s the best thing. Don’t you think?” Marco sighed. He was glad to finally hear your feelings. For a reason, he thought you were blaming him, or he thought you had some resentment towards him. But he should’ve known better. You wouldn’t do that.

“I guess you’re right…”

“I’m not saying this for you to just magically get over this situation.” Somehow Marco was aware you wouldn’t like to hear the word “death,” and he wouldn’t fuck up the situation now that you were able to tell him how you were feeling, even if it’s just a little of the big waves of emotions he knows you’ve been experimenting. “But it will simply pass. And one day, you will be able to remember those moments you had with him with adoration, and you’re going to be thankful it happened.”

You stayed in silence as tears kept rolling from your cheeks. Marco was right; well, he was always right. But as for now, you weren’t ready to say goodbye to Ace just yet.

n a v i g a t i o n

[icey--stars]

Vanserra Brothers (Headcanons)

Headcanons for each of of the Vanserra brothers. All 7, including the ones who passed in the Spring Court incident.

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

Day 1 of @erisweek2023 (Brotherhood / Family)

a/n: welcome to Eris Week 2023 everyone! I have a couple headcanons coming toward you that will include the headcanons that Born for Tragedy is set in as well as other future stories about Eris or Lucien! So... if anyone starts wondering about my headcanons, bOOM. I had too much fun with this one.

So… let’s start with family/brother headcanons. (post-beron’s death because fuck that guy) also I added a bit of dad!Helion in this because in my hopeful heart, I want the Vanserra brothers to have a real dad.

WARNINGS: MENTIONS ABUSE/TORTURE, VERY ANGSTY, TRAUMA DISCUSSED AND BAD TRAUMA RESPONSES

I hope you enjoy it regardless though! This was actually quite fun to make because I can use it for my other stories when I talk about the Vanserra brothers :)

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

So, Eris has 4 brothers that are still alive. I’ve already named them in Born for Tragedy, but I plan to use the HC across many different stories, so let's talk about them.

Jax is the second eldest Vanserra. He’s probably the one who got abused the least because his personality and stoicness is exactly what Beron wanted for a son. 

However, he is widely regarded as having snails for brains, so Eris still got the general position while Beron lived because Eris was more apt in strategy and getting people to do what he wants.

Jax likes to fight and while not too impulsive since his teen years, he tends to be always looking for a fight.

If anyone was going to get him a gift, he’d probably most appreciate armor/weapons. However, make it fancy because he likes to be well dressed and look the most wealthy compared to everyone else.

Jax is the brute warrior of the Vanserras with very little ability to do anything court-related.

Normally, he has quite the cold heart and Eris has struggled to have any sort of relationship with him.

Of course, Eris actually was jealous when Jax was born, as he got more attention than Eris during those times, and Eris wasn’t completely mature enough to realize that the fact he kept seeming to reject Jax, hurt the poor boy more.

So, Eris has the worst relationship with Jax of all and Jax is too standoffish and holds grudges so long that they just can’t find any sort of relationship with each other.

But Eris does keep in mind his brother’s preferences though because he eventually realized his mistake when the now dead, third-eldest Vanserra, Fynn came along.

Now, before we go on about Fynn and perhaps how he died while chasing Lucien to the Spring Court… Jax does know that Eris tries. He does, but he’s salty. That’s all. Salty motherfucker who’s virtually emotionless, but probably the least traumatized of all the brothers.

He was one of the 2 brothers to help Eris chase Feyre into the Winter Court.

Nothing much changes for him when Eris finally becomes High Lord. It’s just a change of seasons for him.

Now, Fynn was kinder than any of the previously born brothers. Beron resented him for it and often punished the boy when he was found being kind to a servant.

So Fynn hardened and by the time he was an adult, he was rageful and absolutely miserable to be around. Such a short fuse and a big boom to go along with it.

Fynn constantly was angry. At Beron, at Eris- not too much at Jax because they mostly ignored each other. Fynn was jealous of Eris.

Eris never did manage to apologize for the whippings that Beron forced him to give Fynn before the brother died.

But in all honesty, Fynn had been broken beyond repair. His kindness cost him and he was angry and rageful all the time. At everyone.

Some say it was a good thing that he died when he did.

The boy was smarter than Jax, but Beron still prized Eris for his manipulation tactics, so of course, Fynn was salty about that as well.

Eris and him often fought, but it was always Eris who cut it short and dismissed his brother. Yet another reason Fynn was so rageful.

He was ignored. A third born meant nothing to everyone. Eris was the prized first born Vanserra. Jax was close enough that they didn’t care. But Fynn meant nothing to them. And worst yet, he was weaker than most of his brothers and had less control over fire than any of them.

In the Spring Court incident, he was one of the two brothers besides Calix (6th born) to die. The third brother chasing Lucien under Beron’s order was Kuhn (5th born). Killed by Tamlin- his rage was at last quelled.

The next brother is Hue, 4th born in the Vanserra line.

By the time that Hue had been born, Eris had managed to get his head out of his ass and swore to protect his youngest brother, helping his mother to raise them in secret and helped his brother deal with Beron’s beatings.

Hue was as kind as Fynn, and he was intelligent as well. He was fascinated by everything. However, Beron called him his “failure.” The boy acted more like a scholar than anyone else in the Forest House.

At one point, Beron ordered Eris to take the boy during some constructive early teen years to a cabin and raise him. Eris had mastered seeming as cruel and manipulative as his father by this point. Eris kept his rage down and followed orders.

Eris fostered his brother’s scholarly heart, but trained him well to never show that weakness to his father. Hue was a more lanky brother, and while training was enjoyable, he preferred reading in his rooms.

But in any battle (which he has been in many, as he was the other brother helping to chase Feyre with Eris), he is very fast. The quickest reflexes.

He’s one of the more emotional brothers, but hides it well.

He enjoys the finer aspects of magic. The beautiful parts– not burning someone’s face off, but using it to make a piece of artwork.

Hue is fascinated by shiny little trinkets that he can collect and either hide or put on his bookshelves to decorate them. His bookshelves are a mess.

But he also enjoys art. Drawing, painting and other various options are some of his favorite pastimes as he tries to capture the beauty of a very simple scene in a canvas.

So, if you were getting him a gift, the best option is a bunch of little trinkets, a lifetime supply of books (which is exactly what Helion does as he gains Hue’s trust. He gives him little trinkets maybe with a little bit of magic from his libraries and then gives Hue free access to said libraries whenever he wishes for it) and maybe some art supplies, but Hue doesn’t need much. He just needs a canvas, pencil and then some paints to be happy.

When Eris becomes High Lord– Hue is very happy when he allows him to explore any and all interests he has. And Eris is very proud of him 🥹🥹🥹

The next Vanserra, the 5th born, is Kuhn. Kuhn is similar to Jax in ways, as they both have quite broad shoulders and enjoy training. Eris is more lanky than Kuhn, but no matter for either of them. Kuhn gives better hugs that way.

Now, seeing as Hue was such a “success” when being raised by Eris, as soon as Kuhn was able to be fed solid food, he was whisked away to the cabin.

Eris promised his mother to care for his brother. Kuhn grew up very similar to Hue– free from Beron’s wrath, but trained to avoid it, and not get either of them in trouble when they return to the Forest House years later. Beron was pleased with how Kuhn acted so warrior on the outside and actually rewarded Eris for his efforts.

Kuhn is like a mix of Jax and Hue at the same time. He enjoys training and is quite apt in his bow skills, but at the same time, he’s also fascinated by particular things– namely animals and the stars.

So… when Helion is giving out gifts, he gives Kuhn a little trinket that shows the view of the stars in the Night Court from the top of some mountains and makes sure to get an invitation for them both to the next Starfall in Velaris. (Kuhn was very happy)

Kuhn enjoys helping Eris with his hounds when he can, learning at least their names and offering advice when Eris off handedly mentions some issue, or that some hound got injured

When Eris is High Lord, Kuhn and Hue are some of the most useful when dealing with the lords and other annoying things.

Calix is the 6th born Vanserra, and according to canon, the last of Beron’s sons. One of the perished ones.

Beron did the same as he did with Kuhn and Hue– have Eris raise him. Calix didn’t seem scholarly at all though and was quite the violent child. But he was better than Fynn, and that was for sure. But they were similar, but Calix lacked the “loss of kindness” that Fynn had.

Calix was inherently violent, often killing frogs and other creatures just for fun and then throwing their bodies around for fun.

Eris did his best to “train” Calix, but the boy was unbothered and ignored him.

So, when it came time to go back to the Forest House, Calix was punished harshly, and with him, Eris. Calix didn’t understand, however, that it had been his fault that Eris was so cold toward him afterward.

Calix looks like almost an exact copy of Eris, so Beron had been hopeful, but quickly found that Eris was much more well trained and so Calix was resented, but not nearly as much as some of the other brothers.

Calix is the other brother that is killed by Tamlin. Beron basically taken the two sons most desperate to please him to chase Lucien to the Spring Court. Calix had been quite desperate, and Fynn, and Kuhn had simply been ordered to go along, as Beron considered him one of the more pleasing sons. Eris, since he refused to go along despite being ordered, was punished severely.

So, Calix and Fynn died, and Kuhn returned with gouges from huge claws in his back.

Hue was banned from helping either of the injured brothers and was barely even allowed to grieve his other two. (Hue had cared for them despite them mostly hating him for being more well-liked by their father)

Now, naturally, Lucien is the last brother we talk about. He was born before the Spring Court incident, and Beron was practically raging at the fact that Eris had failed at raising Calix as he did with Kuhn.

However, Eris managed to convince Beron to give him a chance with Lucien and his mother didn’t even wean Lucien off her milk, she just sent Eris to get him in a panic.

Eris found out why the panic soon after when Lucien was laughing with joy in a cradle in the cabin. The boy was glowing.

So yes, in my mind, Eris did know that Lucien was not Beron’s son, but treated him all the same.

Before Lucien could remember anything though, Eris found a spell to lock that Day Court magic inside the toddler before he burnt down the house with all the heat pouring off of him. After all, Day Court and Autumn Court abilities were similar in that way– heat. And Eris didn’t have a damn clue how to train Lucien to control his Day Court powers, so he locked them away and managed the fire instead.

Lucien was different from any other brother Eris had managed to raise. He was smart, could fight very well, but he was… different. Emotional and very quickly bonded with anything. Animals, most notably. When one of Eris’s hounds accidentally bit the boy in play, Lucien had acted so rejected.

Eris tried his best, and it paid off… mostly. They were ordered to return early from the canon and Lucien wasn’t vicious enough yet and Beron punished them both, finding the smallest excuse to do it to Eris.

Lucien resented Eris after that, and Eris never did try to mend that relationship, nor did he find the time when Lucien fell in love with a lesser fae female. However, he refused to hunt Lucien after he ran for the Spring Court. In the few minutes he had before Beron came after him, he made sure his littlest brother would be cared for and sent a letter to Tamlin.

Also, as an added note as to why Lucien believes Eris is so cruel: he thinks Eris was the one to report Jesminda to Beron- purely to make gain off of it (acceptance from Beron being the goal)

I’m not going to go too much farther into Lucien, as we know a lot about canon past that point and there are other times to talk about all my HCs for Lucien. This is about Eris and his brothers.

Now, if you notice, I’ve done all the Vanserras except the first born. Eris. Poor, tortured Eris.

In my mind, Eris is one of the most traumatized Vanserras, with Hue, Calix and Fynn coming close in second. He was the first to learn of Beron’s cruelty, the first to face it, and the one to face it the longest.

He messed up a lot too. Beron wanted cruel, wicked and manipulative. Eris was none of those things as a child. He was curious, loved cuddling with his momma and loved playing with the hunting hounds people brought around. He loved riding horses-

Basically, Eris wasn’t that way. But he quickly learned to be. Permanently changed by Fynn to be exactly who his father wanted because he was desperate to avoid the whip and the fire and the pain. However, he still managed to keep the pieces of his fractured heart, even if they were slipping between his fingers.

That is probably the only reason he was able to raise his brothers the way he did. Hue and Kuhn care for him deeply in that way, and he is the same way. But they never show it. However, the little fist bumps or secretive gifts were enough for Hue and Kuhn to know that Eris still cared even when he was forced to whip them by Beron’s command.

Oh yes… Eris wasn’t just the abused. He was also the abuser. Even if he didn’t want to be. But he always managed to show enough pleasure in the act to placate his father, because sometimes it was a good feeling. He felt in control, despite not being in control in the slightest.

But without Beron’s command, he always felt guilty for it and knew that in some way, his brothers did hold something against him for it. I mean, honestly, who wouldn’t though? Eris truly seemed like he enjoyed it. And he never came to check up on them afterwards. (He sometimes wanted to, but refused to risk his father’s rage again)

His brothers (especially Lucien because Beron knew he was different than the other pale red heads that were his sons and was punished more, and much more by Eris himself) think him cruel. Even if they saw a softer side when they grew up, he was still vicious with training. Sometimes heartless. And he can't help this because of how he grew up. He's sort of like Fynn in those ways.

Eris isn't completely kind though. Some (like his mother) like to paint him as damaged, but even while he is damaged, he is still not absent of cruelty. After all, Beron drilled it into him. The pleasure in whipping was surely evidence of such.

But he does truly hate Beron. He knows his father is a cruel male- crueler than he. Willing to kill lovers of his own sons and lords whenever. He hates Beron- for everything. For what he did to Eris, for what he did to the Autumn Court, for what he did to his mother, and what he did to his brothers. There are of course, many more reasons, but those are the main ones.

Even after becoming High Lord, he didn’t show much more emotion or care, but he did allow his brothers more freedom and they lived with less fear. It would take a millennia to repair the damage done to them all though.

So, to say the least, the Vanserra family is fucked up and there isn’t much repairs in sight. Even when Helion tries to get closer to them, it's hard. They are traumatized asf and often, lonely because lonely=safe in their mind because there is nobody to report them to their father.

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

Btw, feel free to ask more questions about the headcanons <3

TAGLIST HERE! - see post for specifics <3

Tagged in all ACOTAR Stories: @bunnymallowo, @officiallyunofficialperson, @margssstuff, @rebloggiest-reblogger, @inpraizeof, @graciereads, @eos-princess, @bubybubsters

(please let me know if you'd rather not be tagged in Eris Week or would like to!!)

[spicysourchimken]

So with the DP x DC “Corpses AU” thing, what type of worldbuilding about his corpses do you mean? Like, is it about how he deals with his numerous corpses or about the “why” of the many-corpse situation? I’m curious about both

Also, how long did it take for his parents to find out in this AU (assuming they have)? I feel like the corpses would make things kinda hard to hide, but idk

Oh I'm so glad you asked. The answer is Yes.

Why and How on the Corpses

Danny's corpse is the universe leveling itself out. Its the universe manifesting a counter balance to Danny's death, he's still alive, his heart still beats and he breaths and as Danny that's fine, he's able to tap into his more ghostly side freely while still breathing, still sleeping, functioning as a living person but a little bit off.

But as a ghost there's nothing to keep him human, bada bing bada boom corpse. It's acting as a tether or an anchor, its the thing keeping him stable. The more he transforms the more need there is for the corpses.

But there's also an upper limit on the corpses. Because as much as they are real, they were at one point humans- but they're also the universe fucking around with an anomaly. Normally it taps out at around 10 or 12 corpses, once Danny exceeds the Corpse Limit, the bodies spark and disintegrate (mimicking Danny's death via electrocution)

Also there are two main ways for Danny to get corpsed, either willingly but going ghost and dropping another body or by his human body getting too hurt or verging death where he forcefully gets kicked out. Danny is stuck in a state of liminality, he can't be more dead or more alive so he's gotta even out before he can go back to either form (meaning that Danny can also be forcefully turned into a human when his ghost form is beat to hell and back)

Reveal and Dealing With Corpses

His parents very much did find out and it did not go well. It's very in line with the thinking of 'Phantom is a ghost possessing the body of our son' taken to the absolute extreme. It. Genuinely took longer than Danny thought it would've, he did manage to finish high school or get a good way into 12th grade before he was caught.

Sam, Danny and Tucker upon first corpsing, did what normal teens did and panicked. Then Sam took over, eventually settle on using the old drums that the Fenton parents used to primarily store chemicals, it evolved as Danny needed to transform in different parts of Amity Park so they assigned dump sites for Danny to transform in so that Sam and Tucker could get there and take care of it, or so that Danny would know where to drag his own remains.

His parents found out by witnessing Phantom attempt to hide his own corpse, it went as well as can be expected.

In Gotham Danny is far more sloppy that he was in Amity Park, with his main way of dealing with it being Don't Die or Transform. Problem solved. If he has to actually deal with a body he makes sure its out of site and that at least his hands are frozen down so that nobody makes an attempt to move him before he's got a dump site prepared. He tends to prefer not to deal with the logistics of water burials but dumping them in the river is the best he's got at the moment the au takes place in, too bad the bats are faster than he is.

[tgmsunmontue]

Online & Anonymous 3/16

Hangster. Explicit. Years before they meet in person Bradley and Jake strike up a friends-with-benefits relationship online. And then something more like an actual relationship.

Odd year = Bradley's POV and Even year = Jake's POV

>>Bradley chatting (bold and italics)

>>Jake chatting (italics)

2005/2006 2007

2008 – Jake

                Flight school.

                Four years at USNA and now he’s back in Texas, the familiarity seeping into him like a homecoming and part of him cannot believe he made it into flight school. Not that he’ll let anyone else think he had any doubt, but he is inwardly fist pumping, outwardly trying to pretend it’s no big deal. He doesn’t care if it comes off smug, he does feel a little smug, that he obviously good enough to have been selected. Damn it feels good. And also such a relief.

                He’s good enough.

                He wants to share it with Nick. Doesn’t of course. While he trusts Nick with pretty much every little piece of vulnerability when it’s related to his sexuality and experience in that arena, his career is shaping up to be another huge part of his identity and he doesn’t need help or guidance from a guy on a website on how to best work on this aspect of his life. He feels like he’s got this one. After a few months though he decides to share, in a vague way, because he’s been getting comments from his instructors.

                Approval.

                He’s doing well.

>>You ever accomplish something that people didn’t think you could do?

>>That even you maybe didn’t think you could do?

>>HA.

>>Yes.

>>Feels fucking amazing to prove them wrong.

                Jake grins at the screen, wants to tell him about how amazing it is, being in the air. How much he loves it, the rush of the pressure pushing him back into the seat as he takes off. The

>>I got into my first choice of programme. So yeah.

>>Does feel pretty good.

>>Well done. Proud of you.

>>Thanks.

>>Think you maybe need to believe in yourself more.

>>Maybe.

>>My parents didn’t.

>>Don’t.

                He hasn’t talked about his parents with Nick. Talking about your parents generally doesn’t come up when your jerking off with another guy online, but they talk about a lot of different stuff now and it fits with this right now. He feels like Nick might get it.

>>I came out to them and they kicked me out.

>>Oh shit. I’m sorry.

>>I mean, it’s not a competition but my parents are dead so I can understand that feeling of loss I guess? Like they should be around to support me, but they aren’t.

>>Sucks more for you I think. They’re alive and are just bigots.

>>I was lucky to already have a place to go.

>>I’m extra proud of you.

                Pensacola is a different beast than boat school, everyone seems to be a little smug that they made the cut to be there, and Jake lets himself absorb the culture. He tries sleeping with a woman only to find that he can apparently have worse sexual experiences than his first time with a man, and of course he finds himself messaging Nick.

>>Bad sex with a man is still preferable than bad sex with a woman.

>>You give in to peer pressure and hook up huh?

>>How did you know?

>>Been there, done that. Got the tshirt.

>>As a gay man I have to tell you that even bad sex with a man rates above mediocre sex with a woman.

>>Why do people care so much where you want to stick your dick?

>>I like that rhyme. And I have no fucking clue. Mystery. It’s not like gay people haven’t always existed.

>>I’ve got a friend, female friend, who knows I’m gay, and she let’s me use her as a beard sometimes. Everyone thinks we have an on-again off-again fuck-buddies type thing going on.

>>So you’re still not out to people.

>>Nope. Would make work impossible so I just –

>>Hide in plain sight.

>>Huh. I wonder if I could get one of my friends to cover for me.

>>A lot less women in the military. Good luck I guess?

>>Well. I think one of my friends might just lie for me. Tell others that he saw me leaving with a hot chick or something. He’s the best wingman.

                He stares at the message, wishes he could call it back.

                Delete it.

                It’s too close to home.

                Wingman.

>>Definitely need a good wingman if you’re planning on cruising. You got bigger balls then me if you’re going to try and do it while you’re not on leave.

>>Are you sure that’s safe?

>>It’s not like they’re following me and putting cameras in rooms. I just need to be careful. Although so not worth it most of the time. But it would be kind of nice to have the option if it did present itself.

>>Yeah, I’m sure guys are just falling into your lap in the military.

>>I mean, they might be and I’m just not picking up the signs. They’re probably so repressed they wouldn’t be any good anyway.

>>I’ll leave that for you to find out.

>>Not sure if I should be wishing you luck or telling you to be careful.

                Jake isn’t sure either. He probably not going to risk it.

…            …            …

                It’s not always possible for them to have instant communication. He gets interrupted sometimes, or Nick isn’t available for days at a time, sometimes weeks, and his own schedule is erratic. However he’s always had time, made time, to chat with him since they found each other and he doesn’t have so many close friends that he can afford to ignore one.

                “What are you always doing on your laptop?” Javy asks and Jake feels like time freezes around him for a split second. Javy is one of the few people he’d count as a friend, his easy-going nature dealing with Jake’s prickliness effortlessly, seemingly patient and just waiting for Jake to come around. They were at USNA together and it wasn’t until they shared all their third- and second-class summers together that Jake had thought that maybe they could be friends.

                “Talking with a friend. He travels a lot.”

                He feels like it’s not actually a stretch of the truth, because he’s figured out that Nick moves around, the times he can talk inconsistent, meaning different times zones. He’s always assumed that Nick is American, but now he knows that the website they’re using to chat is actually based in England, and for all he knows Nick could be anywhere in the world.

>>Are you American?

>>Will you stop talking to me if I say no?

>>Of course not.

>>I’m shaking my head at you. You’re meant to be all patriotic being a member of our military. Shouldn’t be communicating with the enemy.

>>You just called it our military. Pretty sure you’re American.

>>Caught out. Yeah. I travelled around a lot as a kid. Tennessee, California, Virginia, Maryland and even Texas. Who knows, we could have walked past each other and never even known.

>>Yeah. We could have. That would be a weird coincidence.

                “You know, if you ever want to tell me something, I’m pretty good at keeping secrets.”

                Jake’s head snaps up so fast he’s surprised there isn’t an accompanying sound.

                “What?”

                “Just. Uh. I know if there was something, you can’t tell me. But if you did, and I’m not asking you to, but if you did, I wouldn’t be letting anyone else know. No telling on my part, that is.”

                He blinks.

                Holy shit.

                That’s pretty much Javy saying he knows, or at least suspects, that Jake is… something other than straight.

                “Just, once second. Just let me say bye…”

>>I think I’m about to come out to a guy who is my best friend in real life, because you’re my best friend in not-real life, plus we have sex and I do not want to ever have sex with J, but uh… I think I might be sick.

>>I’ll talk to you soon.

                His conversation with Javy goes around in circles for a little bit, Javy not willing to ask outright, and Jake unprepared to speak the truth; terrified to voice it. Then Javy gets fed up, places his hands on Jake’s shoulders and just stares at him, expression serious.

                “Jake. You’re the closest thing I have to a brother. There is nothing, nothing,” he stresses, “that would make me stop loving you as my brother and best friend. So, if in some hypothetical world you felt brave enough to tell me that you were… gay, then it wouldn’t change anything for me. I just. I got your back no matter what okay?”

                Jake can’t form words, grabs Javy into a tight hug, he’s biting his lip so hard it hurts, might even be drawing blood and he nods.

                “Thank you.”

                “Any time man. You want to go shoot some pool?”

                Jake lets out a shaky breath and nods again.

                They spend several hours together, in which Javy seems to want to really impress upon Jake that nothing is going to change between them. He still uses his body to shove Jake out of the way when he shows Javy up at pool, still slaps his ass in a vain attempt to distract him while playing darts, grabs them beers and doesn’t pull his fingers away when they accidentally brush like Jake is somehow going to take that as a sign of something more. He can have friends that know and they won’t hate him.

                It’s a revelation.

…            …            …

>>How did it go?

>>I’m kind of worried about you.

>>Hope you haven’t done anything stupid.

>>Or been beaten up.

>>Dishonorable discharge.

>>Fuck Jas, please tell me you’re okay.

                Jake stares at the flood of messages and feels touched, but also a little hysterical, because none of those worse case scenarios are going to happen. He trusts Javy with his life, he can definitely trust him with knowing.

>>I’m okay. Sorry.

>>It was fine. He had pretty much guessed and we talked about it. He’s the best.

>>After you.

>>Glad to know I haven’t been replaced.

>>I appreciated you for the orgasms.

>>Oh. Okay. Putting me back in my place.

>>Prefer you to put me in my place.

>>Really now? You in the mood huh?

>>Yeah.

>>Fuck. This is awful timing. I’ve got to leave in like five minutes.

>>Can’t take care of you like I want to.

>>That’s okay. You can go out and do what you need to do, and while you’re out you can think about me, jerking off as I type out what I want to do to you.

>>Unfair.

>>Hot though.

>>Shit. I’ve really got to go. I look forward to reading whatever you leave me.

                Jake grins, a little nervous. He’s gotten better at this, anything he does regularly for a few years becomes better, but he doesn’t know if it’s good. Not without Nick offering his constant feedback. He always finds what they talk about together the best, but Nick has left him plenty of messages that are just descriptions of what he wants and likes that Jake wants to return the favor.

>>I want to go down on you, suck you off until you come. I want to kneel in front of you and take my time, learn the taste and smell of you. The texture of your skin under my tongue and fingers.

>>I want to do it while I’m in my uniform, because that feels taboo you know? Want you to rub the head of your dick over my lips.

>>Want you naked so I can touch everywhere.

>>I start off slow, a little cautious because I want you to fuck my face, but we’re going to need to build up to that, stretch out my mouth and throat a little, let me gets used to the feel of you in my mouth and throat.

>>I really want to do this. I’m hard just thinking about it. Like the idea of your hand on my head, just guiding me, think I’d enjoy fingernails scraping my head.

>>I want to do this with a guy with no condom, I want to taste the skin and salt. I want that trust as well.

>>I’d trust you.

2009

[amberskyyking]

Great news Tech fam, its Bad Batch Day and I am still on my bullshit with no end in sight, so welcome to another installment of This Isn’t Over Till I Fucking Say So, our man is alive and loved and coming home and canon cannot stop meeee!!!!!!! 😈

Implications Of Being Alive

Chapter 6: Is This The Real Life (Is This Just Fantasy)?

***CW: Talk of decom/death, dehumanization, and past medical trauma***

CX-2 activated… or… or perhaps Tech awoke.

Because Echo was still here, still holding its hand, even. It distinctly remembered asking Echo to stay with him, and Echo had responded Of course, vod. Right now there’s nowhere else I’d rather be, exactly.

He had kept his word.

Omega was here again, too, just like Echo had said she would be. He could barely make out the bright yellow of her jacket and tuft of blonde hair without corrective eye lenses of some sort, but the soft snoring sounds from nearby alerted him to her presence, and when he squinted, he could tell it was her, slouched over in a chair with her mouth hanging open.

Tech must have woken up, which meant it was dreaming again. Not that it particularly minded. That meant it hadn’t been decommissioned yet. Besides, it had never been able to stop the dreams before, but they had usually been pleasant. It was still registering some residual pain, but it suspected that if it woke, that particular issue would become significantly more apparent.

For now, it would accept the glitches. They were allowing it him to see his family one last time, which was more than he deserved.

“Well, look who’s up,” Echo muttered softly. “How are you feeling, Tech?”

Tech considered the question a moment before responding.

“Improved,” he settled on. What lingering pain he was still experiencing paled in comparison to anything he had been subjected to earlier, though he couldn’t say that it was completely gone.

“That’s good to hear,” Echo replied with a warm grin. “You should be in a lot better shape now. Not every medic knows how to work with biomechanics, but I happen to know of a few good ones myself. We got you a few upgrades. Couple of your servos were fried and your prosthetic arm was practically slag after that explosion. Omega got some good hits in on you too, but they weren’t lethal. Thank the maker she was holding back,” He muttered the last part under his breath.

“I would have to agree,” Tech said, glancing back over to her sleeping form in the chair. Omega had shown significant improvement in form and strategy in their fight since he had seen her last. It was obvious that his brothers had continued her training, and with his own degrading body and mechanics, it seemed unlikely now that he could truly match her. “I would rather not be dead.”

Echo grinned a little at that, though something sad flickered behind his eyes as he did. “Yeah… We prefer you not dead too, vod.”

Tech wasn’t sure what to make of Echo’s expression, but he nodded, moving an arm to prop himself up a bit better but quickly became aware of something strange. The arm felt different. Despite Echo’s claims of his arm being practically slag, it was fully functional, but not at all familiar.

“Ah… We had to completely replaced that,” Echo said softly, noticing his apparent confusion. “Even if the old one wasn’t destroyed, it was pretty outdated. Then again, I’m one to talk.” He spun his scomp a couple times, making a small whirring sound with it, and chuckled softly. “It’s a good model though, I made sure of it. Comfortable interfacing. Customizable, too. I… Figure you’ll want to make some adjustments of your own, once we have you out of here.”

“That would be ideal,” Tech replied, lifting the new prosthetic close to his eyes to examine it. There were modifications he had made to his old one that would likely be missed, however, many of those had been due to necessity in order to prolong function. If this arm worked as intended already, duplicating what extra features he was missing wouldn’t take much effort. Perhaps there would even be room to install some experimental ones.

A sharp inhale from the corner chair pulled his attention from the arm and he twisted eagerly in the bed to face Omega.

“Mmm awake,” Omega yawned, blinking rapidly as she jerked upright in the chair. “Wha’d I miss, I… Tech!”

Tech gave her a small smile and a nod. “Hello, Omega.”

“How are you now?” She asked in a voice full of concern, practically tripping over herself to cross the room to his bedside. “Are you still hurting or is it better?”

“My pain levels have decreased significantly.”

“How’s the arm?”

“It will suffice. It merely needs some modifications to achieve maximum functionality. Nothing I cannot handle.”

“How’s your head?”

“I-”

“Slow down there, Omega,” Echo said soothingly. “Let’s not overwhelm him just yet.”

Omega nodded curtly and met Tech’s eyes. “Sorry.”

“No apology is needed,” Tech said wryly. “It is natural to be curious…”

But he trailed off as he spoke the words. Even for a dream, that was certainly not an approved sentiment. Then again, neither was cohorting with rebel insurgents, or wishing to postpone its own decommissioning. Tech’s brow furrowed in thought.

“I’m glad you still feel that way,” Echo said with just a hint of suspicion. “I… We… Do need to ask you a few, uh… Sensitive questions. We can take it slow, as long as you answer honestly.”

Tech hesitated a moment, but nodded.

“Alright,” Echo said uncomfortably. “We’re really glad to have you back, vod, but… You were clearly sent by the Empire to stop us. Probably to kill us. Including Omega,” Echo gestured to the girl with his scomp. “We need to know why.”

“And you can tell us, Tech,” Omega said earnestly. “It’s okay. We won’t judge you, and we aren’t going to let them hurt you anymore.”

Tech nodded cooperatively. There wasn’t any harm in telling them, considering none of this was even real, though he knew better to believe Omega’s promise that somehow these figments of his imagination could save him. “My orders were to locate and eliminate the rebels completing a munitions transfer on Terova led by Hera Syndulla or be terminated in the attempt,” He recited. “I… Failed. On both counts, apparently.”

“Good,” Echo said, his eyes flashing before he visibly attempted to calm himself.

Shock flickered on Omega’s face. “Yeah… They should never have asked that of you Tech, that’s… That’s wrong. But we weren’t even transferring munitions,” She said crossly. “It was relief aid. Just rations, and most of it was for refugees…”

“That… is not what my intel reported,” Tech mused.

“Well. That’s not surprising,” Echo said. “So they ordered you to kill a bunch of relief workers or die trying?”

“That is what I said,” Tech stated. Although, he had to admit, at least to himself, that when Echo put it that way, it did sound… Disturbing. Calling it as such may be considered treason, but at the least, the mission had been an ineffective use of available resources. Not that it was CX-2’s place to decide that or have an opinion on the matter. Colonel Bragg had to have her reasons.

“Then what is stopping you from trying to finish the job now?” Echo asked darkly.

Tech blinked up at him a couple of times, then at Omega, who seemed to be holding her breath. He shook head. There was nothing for them to worry about, not here.

“The mission is a failure,” Tech repeated himself. “I will be decommissioned shortly.”

“You won’t,” Echo said firmly, but Tech shook his head.

“It is, sadly, standard procedure. My tracker cannot be removed. When they locate my body, if it is still… Functioning,” He chose the word carefully, it was important to be accurate when articulating these sorts of things to avoid unnecessary confusion, “I will be-”

“They won’t find you,” Echo snarled, his face contorting into something dark and vicious, giving Tech pause. “Hemlock may have designed it so removing that thing would kill you, but I made damn sure that the Empire can’t use it to find you anymore. You’re safe, Tech.” He let out a short breathy sigh and ran a hand over his bald head. When he spoke next his voice sounded softer and a little bit choked. “I told you, we’re not letting them take you back. Ever. And I’m sorry we ever let them get to you in the first place…”

Omega put a gentle hand on Echo’s back as he took a moment, covering his eyes with his hand. “Is… Is that all?” She asked hopefully. “The orders are gone so you’re just… you… again?”

Tech looked between the pair of them in confusion and concern. “I… Do not believe it is that simple… Or particularly relevant, here.”

“He’s not the only one they’ve turned against us, ‘Mega,” Echo muttered. “He’s right… It’s never that simple.”

“We’ll figure it out together then,” Omega said firmly. “You’re not alone anymore, Tech.”

That… would be nice.

But it wasn’t really true, was it?

“Tech?” Omega said his name again quietly.

Tech raised his eyes to meet hers. They were golden and sparkling and lifelike, just like in his malfunctions memories, but… That’s all this was. It was all just memories, fragments of his past manifesting themselves with whatever synapses were still firing in its brain and sending it these strange signals, creating the comfortable medical room and the advanced new prosthetic arm and dulling its pain. Omega and Echo acted so much like themselves because that’s how it knew them, that’s how he recognized them, but it wasn’t them.

They weren’t here. He was still alone. And he it shouldn’t care about such things anyways, it wasn’t allowed to, it wasn’t really alive and it would be dead soon anyways so what did any of this matter?!

The realization shouldn’t make a lump form in its throat or the heart monitor go off either. It squinted its eyes shut and shrank back into the bed as the noise pulsed maddeningly overhead, willing it all to just go away.

“Easy there Tech,” It heard Echo’s voice from overhead, and the same as last time it felt a hand slip into its own as if to draw it back, but a sharp jolt cut through his insides as he did. Whatever they were looking for in him, their effort was wasted. There was nothing of him for them to fight for. Everything it used to be back when it had a family and a purpose had been scooped out and shredded, there was just a hole in its psyche where the malfunctions that remained could reverberate off empty walls, taunting it, like they were now. Its actions proved as much. If that family even still lived after years of opposing the Empire, if they ever saw what their brother had truly become, they would want nothing to do with it. Those people had been good and kind. They had fought for each other, taken difficult stances against impossible odds, been loyal to one another, held up situations to a set of morals rather than simply to orders and taken action to protect the innocent and vulnerable from exploiters throughout the galaxy, even when they themselves had struggled to survive.

And CX-2… CX-2 hadn’t been that way for ten years.

It had been helping to build the very Empire that imprisoned and tested on the Clone Troopers who won it the war. It had hunted down insurgents of all kinds without question, using its ruthless efficiency, tactical cunning and fighting prowess to kill countless people. Whether or not they were innocent never mattered. It knew several had been civilians and that never made a difference. If Omega was to be believed, even its latest mission had resulted in destruction and possibly even death solely to stop people from delivering food and medical supplies to compromised populations. Such a thing couldn’t even be justified as a threat to the Empire, if it was true, and CX-2 hadn’t bothered to determine whether or not it was.

It killed all those clones on Teth.

It cut off Crosshair’s hand and taunted him as it did.

It even tried on its final mission to execute Omega!

“Talk to us, Tech,” Omega’s voice spoke soothingly overhead, making its stomach twist into knots. “Can you tell us what you need? We just need to know, we can help.”

“You can’t,” CX-2 choked out bitterly.

“We can, and we will. Whatever you need, we love you-”

“You’re not real!”

The words left its mouth and the tension in its chest crumbled like wet flimsi. It hurt to acknowledge as much, but pretending this was anything other than what it was would only hurt worse when reality came crashing back.

“You’re not real… None of this is real,” It repeated. “You can’t help me or save me so stop - Stop saying that you can…”

Whichever one of them was holding its hand tightened their grip and it opened its eyes. Both of them wore matching expressions of horror and shock, but… But of course they did… The people in its memories would be upset to hear it talk like that…

Echo nodded demurely, and Omega’s eyes shone with unshed tears, but she gulped hard and steeled her expression first. “So… what do you think is happening?” She asked, her voice wavering just a touch.

“All of this… It only exists in my mind. It’s a… A malfunction…”

“Uh huh,” She said, looking him fiercely in the eyes, though her voice somehow grew calmer. “So like a… A vision? A fantasy? dream?”

“It… It is more likely a dream…” It replied, wondering where this was going. A dream did sound more probable, given the circumstances. Its body ought to be unconscious back on Terova, whatever state it was in. Echo was giving Omega a miserable, quizzical look, but she didn’t break CX-2 Tech’s gaze.

“Okay. If it’s a dream, then… What happens when you wake up?”

Tech’s eyes went wide with fear. “I-”

“I don’t mean where are you going to wake up,” Omega said steadily. “Or what will happen to you. You don’t know if the Empire has found you yet. I mean what will you do? What choices will you make if you have the chance to make them?”

Tech opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. He… Wasn’t sure. It really depended on his circumstance, didn’t it? The question would be entirely useless if he woke up in the Empire’s clutches again, or if they decommissioned him before he woke up at all. He hadn’t considered the possibility that the Empire would delay looking for him, though, that he might have to choose how to proceed.

“I… Would return to Colonel Bragg,” It said slowly.

“Is that what you want to do?” Omega asked gently.

“No,” Tech responded without hesitation. “I want to stay here.”

His answer surprised him a bit, but then again, it was true. That was what he wanted, even if he wasn’t supposed to, even if it was impossible. Echo seemed slightly surprised as well, jerking his head up with wet cheeks and a hopeful glint in his eyes.

Omega gave him a small grin, but she alone seemed unfazed by the admission, and when she spoke her voice was still strong. “Do you want to see your brothers again, too?”

“I-” Tech started, but his voice caught in his throat as several questions tore through his mind like razors. He did, of course he did, that should be obvious, but - but were they still alive? Were they safe? Would his tracker attract the Empire to them if they were or had Echo really disabled it? After ten years would there even be room for an unexpected guest in their domicile, nonetheless after he blew up the ship that served as their last one? And did… Did they even want him back, after everything he had done?

“Tech,” Echo said, giving his hand another trembling squeeze. “They want to see you… They’ve missed you so badly. You… You have no idea.”

Tech took several breaths, parsing out everything he knew and turning those words over in his mind as if to analyze them. No matter which way he looked at them, though, it didn’t change his answer to Omega’s question. The heart monitor beeped a couple of times just before he opened his mouth to give his answer.

“I do want to see them,” He conceded, his eyes flickering between Omega and Echo in anticipation. “If that is true. That they… Want me back.”

There was something fragile in his voice when he said it, but Echo nodded warmly at him and lifted Tech’s hand in his own, touching both their knuckles to his cheek with a small sniffle. Omega’s face broke into a blinding smile, even as she finally blinked the tears from her eyes and hastily wiped them away with the edge of her sleeve.

“They do. I promise,” She said brightly. “I think the medics want to run just a couple more tests on you to make sure you’re healing well enough to travel, but as soon as that’s done, I can bring you home.”

---

Tech hadn’t been sure what to make of their conversation from before. Even as the medics returned to test his mobility, check his vitals, and attend to his surgical sites, the idea of going home seemed strangely surreal. If this were a dream it would make more sense to simply skip to that part rather than be subjected to these tests. For one awful moment, he had realized the possibility of his body being tested on in real life, all the cold pricks and sharp prods a mental manifestation of whatever final experiment Colonel Bragg was subjecting him to prior to his decommissioning. If that were the case he might not make it to his brothers again after all, he may run out of time, the world could go black and he may never see their faces!

The heart monitor went off again and Echo talked him through those particular fears, shooting impatient glares at the medics as Tech did his best to focus on Echo rather than his thoughts or all the unpleasant sensations, and suddenly it was over. Tech was vaguely aware of someone declaring him fit to be released, but Omega let out a cheer and helped him down from the bed, and then they were walking, Echo on one side and Omega on the other. The pair of them led him through ship halls that were far from imperial, passing people who Tech could too easily imagine having on the other end of his blaster. They reached the hangar and boarded a ship Tech knew he had just shot down, one that bore an uncanny resemblance to the Marauder in places, and yet it wasn’t. It couldn’t be… He had destroyed that ship ages ago, after dedicating so much of his own time and care into its maintenance and customization…

“Welcome back to the Havoc Zillo!” Omega said enthusiastically, gesturing around the inside of the ship with pride. “She’s fully functional again so don’t worry about a thing. The trip is a shorter one. Hope you still like varos flavored rations.”

Tech nodded, looking around the ship in a bit of a daze. A droid waddled towards him with frantic, familiar sounding gonk gonk’s.

“I know, Gonky!” Omega grinned. “He’s starting to do better, I’m excited too.”

The GNK droid stopped just short of colliding with Tech and leaned itself forward towards his hand. Tech obliged with a small, warm smile of his own, resting the mechanical arm on it’s oversized top, and it let out a series of soft gngngngngngnk’s.

“Aww. He remembers you,” Echo crooned.

“Droids memory banks are not like sentients. Their data recall is significantly-”

“Oh I know, Tech,” Echo chuckled. “It’s still sweet.”

Omega had skipped her way to the cockpit already and the outer door hissed shut behind them. For a moment Tech grasped at the nearest console to steady himself as she prepared for takeoff, but he barely felt the lurch as they left the ground and the ship left the hangar behind.

She had learned well, after all.

For a second, Tech gazed at the blur that was the back of her head down the hall, considering it. This was a dream, it had to be, but… This Omega was older than in his memories, no longer the naive adolescent female who chose to sit with them in the cafeteria and picked a food fight in their defense. Granted, she had grown beyond that well before his time with the Empire, but this was something else entirely. Even if what he was seeing now wasn’t real… He hoped that the young girl he knew back then had gotten the chance to grow into someone like this. His brothers deserved the chance to raise her this way, even if he never got to see it.

Then, his eyes slid just past her, to a place on the console where a blurry object sat, glinting against the black expanse of space in the viewport behind it.

“Those are yours,” Echo said softly at his side. “Do you want to see them?”

Tech wasn’t quite sure what to say, he couldn't even see what the object was with his poor quality eyesight, but the statement made curiosity flare up inside him, and he nodded. Echo got up and crossed over to the cockpit, whispering a couple of things to Omega before taking the little item in his one hand and returning.

Echo held them out, and Tech recognized them at once.

“My goggles,” Tech said in astoundment, taking them gingerly in his hands. He had seen them before in the memories but they really did feel familiar in his hands now, too. Both the lenses were shattered and one was missing several chunks, they wouldn’t function without significant repairs but… But they were his.

Nothing had been his in years. It shouldn’t matter, he knew it in his head, but somehow it did. This should be a dream but the familiarity of something that was his own in his hands just felt so real, and if this was real…

Through the gap in the hall Tech saw as the color outside the cockpit changed from pitch black to fuzzy streaks of blue as Omega put the ship into hyperspace, and his breath caught in his throat.

“You should know,” Echo said under his breath, “Even if you weren’t there… She never flew without you.”

He nodded at Echo’s words, unable to speak, and held the goggles close to his chest, just in case they were real.

Link to the full story written in full fledged domicile angst here: Implications Of Being Alive

Please scream in my comments or something, I live for validation I guess, it’s fine 🫠❤️

Oh and I guess I should do a tag list for this, maybe? If that’s wanted? Lemme know if I should and if you wanna be on it!!!

[y-rhywbeth2]

So I had a dream that I was a theological scholar trying to piece together the history and timelines of the dead three, including their ascension as mortals and rise to power and naturally upon learning that they were actually currently in faerun and not their own planes, i decided the best way to do this was to….hunt them down and interview them myself. I woke up shortly after finding myrkul so the dream didn’t actually go very far but now I’m wondering just HOW MUCH of the dead three’s history actually IS common knowledge?

And also how do you think the different edge lord losers would react to the request for an interview? Who would lie through their teeth and tell the best story that would make them seem more powerful than the other two? Who would kill me because how dare you even speak to me? And so on lol

From what I know: What is common knowledge about the Dead Three is the aims of their faith (domination of the living, violence and murder, and dominion of the dead) and the story of how they broke into Jergal's house and demanded his throne and then they had to draw straws to decide who got what portfolio (this story is also apparently propaganda covering up the fact that they got there because Jergal put strings on them and shoved them into godhood or something, and at least one of them (Bane), if not all three, was already long dead by this stage - no mortals know that one). Nobody can actually agree on the date of when the Dead Three ascended, and there are apparently several conflicting timelines for it in-universe.

What mortals know about the gods is always a mess of conflicting propagandas and rumours - pick your poison. There are stories that say Shar and Bane are siblings (they're canonically not, but the story persists). There are stories that say Bane had a thing with Loviatar's sister, but there's also lore that suggests that Bane ascended after the fall of Netheril (and thus after Kiputytto died... unless he was fucking the original goddess of plague as a mortal...). 267 DR is named the 'Year of Bane's Shadow' but nobody can agree why: it's either the year the Dead Three ascended to godhood or the year Bane fucked Iyachtu Xvim's mother (Xvim was born long after that year, so if that's true then Bane basically put the lady's pregnancy on pause until he felt like having a son and switched the embryonic development back on). Or maybe it's neither, who knows.

'Who would lie through their teeth?' All three of them. Lying to make yourself look better than everybody else is the gods' day jobs (alongside the usual making the concept you embody spread through the world and etc).

Deities are generally comfortable with mortals - or at least, their priests - researching them and their origins, but they do demand that whatever information you spread paints them in nothing but positive light. Stories about being some powerful being from the dawn of time are vastly preferred over anecdotes about their mundane mortal lives, even if the former is a lie. Scholars who uncover more truth than the deity is comfortable with can expect smiting.

'Such sages may be smitten with divine fire or a wasting, wizening curse, struck blind, or scared by visiting servitors of the gods (think of the three Spirits who visit Scrooge in A CHRISTMAS CAROL) who demand that the sage recant, in print, offering instead THIS approved version - or suffer the fatal consequences of failing to do so.'

Gods also direct their followers to hunt down and destroy all record of this 'sacrilege' to ensure that only the stories of the deity the god approves of exist.

The key to getting a god's attention is to show that you're a) useful, b) interesting/amusing, and c) lots and lots of valuable offerings. Sacrifices, prayer, and convincing other people to worship them. You need to be more valuable alive than dead - especially when talking to the Dead Three.

I think you'd have the hardest time interviewing Bhaal, in large part because you'd have to find him first and he's a god-level rouge who doesn't want to be found: from observation he doesn't seem to like talking, aims to be as laconic as possible, and doesn't enjoy being perceived (look at the 'artwork' and tremble in fear/awe, not at the artist it seems). There's also the fact that he'll really, really want to kill you and might fuck up his will save not to give in to the urge to kill you (or not bother rolling at all). If you want to interview Bhaal I recommend offering him a really creative and skilfully executed murder-sacrifice first, it might content/impress him enough to talk to you. You want Bhaal in his 'cold and ruthlessly calculating' moods, not the violent rampage mood.

Taking into consideration what's been said about his personality and having played a game where you do get to chat with Myrkul, I'd say he's the easiest to interview and the least impulsive and violent. He loves to talk about himself. ('In everything you do you glorify me...') He haunts people's nightmares, he sends avatars to crash funerals to make sure people pay attention to him... Myrkul enjoys attention and sometimes finds hubristic mortals amusing, in a cold sadistic way. Show suitable fear and reverence: 'Myrkul is a proud, vain being; style is important to him.' Also he's probably going to dig out all the emotional damage he can find and throw it back into your face for the joy of seeing you in pain. Enjoy the psychic damage.

Bane's somewhere in the middle. He loves bragging and peacocking, but he doesn't need the validation of a being he considers as far beneath him as a random mortal. He can be calculating and pragmatic, but he can also be an impulsive murderhobo (which is also how Bhaal is described, curiously). There is a chance he'll snap your neck without breaking stride as he straight walks past you. Far more willing to manifest than Bhaal, but still rarely seen in avatar form and he has levels in rogue and wizard, so tracking him down if he doesn't want to be seen may be a challenge. You might well be talking to him through intermediaries. Uhhh... try conquering a nation and providing loads of sacrifices to get his attention or something, I guess. Bane seems to be the hornier of the three, so maybe dress sexy idk? I don't know what his type is, but there's rumours he's into Loviatar so fetish goth style and sadism seems to appeal. Also moustaches, looking at Fzoul and Bane's uncharacteristic attachment to that particular member of his Chosen. Loviatar is blonde, and Fzoul is often depicted as blond - maybe bleach your hair if that's not your natural shade.

[cookies-and-music]

Ghost. - part 16: Carousel

My suggestion for this chapter is, of course, Carousel by Melanie Martinez, it's a totally different topic but it somehow sunded right.

Part 1 here - part 17 will be published on Sunday

PAIRING: TVA!LokixOC

TAG LIST: @kats72 ; @mischief2sarawr ; @m3ntally-unstable

SUMMARY: Loki meets sombody at the TVA he once knew. Unfortunately she doesn't seem to remember him.

"A retirement home?" Lydia wrinkled her nose.

"The retirement home," Mobius specified, "the one where Loki placed Odin in order to take over Asgard."

"Oh," Loki's past certainly didn't make the mission to save him simple "Maybe we shouldn't mention Loki to him."

"Nope" Mobius shook his head.

They entered the white structure and asked the lady at the front desk to see Mr. Borrson. She looked at them surprised.

"Are you family?"

"No, is that a problem?" asked Mobius.

"No, it's just that he's been here for a while and no one has come to visit him," she shrugged, handing them badges labeled visitor "Wear these and come with me."

She led them through the facility to what looked more like a communal space for prisoners rather than a recreational room.

"Mr. Borrson, there are some people here to see you," the woman briefly touched his shoulder.

Odin turned towards the two visitors who were waving at him with slightly embarrassed smiles. He smiled at the nurse, which she took as a sign to leave, and she walked away, leaving them alone.

"May we sit?" Mobius asked, indicating the sofa next to the armchair where he was seated.

"Certainly," he nodded.

Lydia sat between them. She hadn't formed a clear idea of what to expect when meeting the father of the gods, but she certainly hadn't expected such an… ordinary old man. Wearing a plaid shirt tucked into brown pants held up by a worn-out belt.

"My name is Mobius and this is my colleague Lydia."

"And tell me, do I know you?"

"No, unfortunately not," Mobius shook his head, "but we know who you are, and we are truly honored to meet you."

"And who am I?" He asked, raising his thick eyebrows.

"Well, we know who you really are" Mobius smiled slyly.

"And who am I, really?" Odin smiled again.

"Mr. Borrson, we know that you are actually Odin, father of all gods and king of everything else," Lydia's limited patience had already run out "We need your help with a matter of utmost importance and would like to ask you some questions, if you permit."

Odin furrowed his brows and squinted his remaining eye. "I think you have the wrong person."

"No, we don't have the wrong person" Lydia clenched her jaw.

"Trust me, dear, you do. I don't know who you're looking for, but I don't know you, and if you knew me, you'd know I spent my life as a judge, not a king, and certainly I have no children," he shrugged "I'm senile, but that much I remember well."

"Damn" Lydia widened her eyes before closing them, covering her eyes with one hand. "He's right."

"He's had his memory wiped," Mobius sighed next to her, shaking his head. "How could we forget that?"

"Fucking Loki, even from the afterlife he makes my life impossible," Lydia stood up, starting to pace around the sofas.

"Loki is dead?"

"No, but it's like – HEY!" Lydia stopped, gripping the sofa tightly. "You lied!"

"Well, did you expect me to reveal my identity to two strangers?" Odin adjusted himself in the armchair, sarcastically laughing. "If you know my son, you should have started with that."

"Wasn't Loki's spell supposed to enchant you?" Mobius furrowed his brows, leaning towards him.

"Loki is as skilled as his mother, but I am still Odin," he clasped his hands over his round belly "now tell me, what has happened to my son?"

"Nothing," Mobius shook his head "Just a small matter, really."

"Really? Because she just said he's dead" Odin pointed to Lydia, who was still standing behind Mobius.

"Well… he's not exactly dead" She exchanged a look with Mobius. "Would you prefer him to be alive or dead?" Lydia gave a weak smile.

"Come on, young lady, we're talking about my son."

The one who had scrambled his mind and parked him in a retirement home...

"Exactly" Lydia shrugged.

"Alive" he specified.

"Perfect, because he is!" Mobius clasped his hands in front of him. "He's just trapped, so to speak, in a prison he himself created. If we break the prison, we die; if we leave him there-"

"For him, it's worse than death," Lydia crossed her arms from her position. "Moreover, that prison is practically Yggdrasil."

"And this is where you come in," Mobius smiled at Odin. "We know that you know everything about the tree, and if there's a way to free him maybe-"

"You shouldn't," Odin shook his head.

"What? Why?" Lydia straightened up.

"Because if he did it, it's his choice. My son is not stupid, but he puts himself and power above all else; he's ambitious and selfish."

"How can you say such a thing?" she snapped "Sure, he's made mistakes, but the reason he condemned himself to an existence of solitude is to save us, to save him," she waved a finger as she continued listing "me, our friends, and the entire universe, including you."

Mobius ran a hand over his face, pressing his fingers against his eyes. "Lydia…" he sighed.

"What? Am I wrong?"

"Just breathe."

Lydia stopped, realizing she had lost her temper again, and took a trembling breath to calm herself.

"We know this is the person you know, Odin, but we have known someone very different, who has learned from his mistakes and tried to be better enough to be loved by those around him, to have friends." Mobius spoke calmly "So please help us, we are begging you" Mobius glanced at Lydia, who kept her head down.

Odin crossed his arms, looking from one to the other.

"Very well," he sighed. "Ask your questions, but you might not get the answers you desire."

Lydia raised her gaze to Mobius, who nodded, then she sat back down on the sofa, this time positioning herself between her collegue and the armrest.

"Is there a way to destroy Yggdrasil without causing a Ragnarok?" Mobius began.

"No," Odin replied curtly.

"And what about a way to get Loki out of there without destroying Yggdrasil?"

"No," Odin shook his head again.

"He's not cooperating," Lydia extended a hand before letting it fall loudly onto her leg "We're wasting time, again."

"Lydia," Mobius turned to her with a more severe look "Go get some water."

"I'm not thirsty," she furrowed her brows.

"Go get some water before I find a puddle and use it to drown you."

Lydia sighed and walked away, leaving Mobius to continue. After all, it was his idea to talk to Odin; it was only right he handled it. She walked down the corridor to a water fountain, pulled her hair to one side, and bent down to drink.

"Right, Time."

Lydia furrowed her brows; she knew that voice.

"What?"

She straightened up and saw the distorted reflection of herself in the fountain pipe, and behind her, Loki's shape.

She turned quickly but found only a young red-haired janitor.

"I said be careful with the water; your tie is all wet."

Lydia looked down at the fabric that was indeed wet and wiped her mouth with the back of a hand.

"Thanks" she murmured before walking away towards one of the bathrooms.

She opened the door and approached one of the hand dryers, turning it on with a sigh and putting the end of her tie under it.

How crazy. She was convinced she had heard his voice. Hallucinations were a new level of compromise. Mobius was right to tell her to calm down. Maybe there was some medication she could steal from the facility. Any would do; maybe it wouldn't make her better, but it would give her a nice trip.

"Excuse me" called a lady behind her, "do you mind using the right time?"

"What, excuse me?" Lydia furrowed her brows.

"I should use the right time" she pointed to the dryer with a smile.

"…Please…" Lydia took a few steps back, confused. She watched the woman dry her hands serenely, then smile at her before leaving.

"What the hell…"

It wasn't possible. Three times, the same hallucination with the same voice. It wasn't possible, or maybe it was? When she was captured as a variant and brought before Renslayer, even the whole concept of the TVA seemed impossible.

She leaned her backside against a sink. Maybe she was just trying to give a logical explanation to her own madness, but what if it was indeed him? Loki had become the god of time, but he hadn't stopped being the god of mischief. He could access anyone at any place and time and maybe enchant them. She wasn't sure how his magic worked, but if anyone could do something like that, it was him.

"Yes, but what right time?" She gripped the marble behind her, thinking out loud. "Loki, damn it, help me, what's the right time?" She looked up but saw only the ceiling.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

"Come on, Lydia, think."

Odin sleeps hanging from Yggdrasil. Odin knows everything about Yggdrasil. Loki created Yggdrasil.

Something didn't add up. If Odin hung himself on the Yggdrasil tree but this wasn't created by Loki yet, what did Odin hang himself on?

Unless there were two Yggdrasil trees. Was that possible? Maybe. Fortunately, she knew who to ask.

She ran out of the bathroom and went straight to Odin, still talking to Mobius. She didn't know about what, it wasn't important.

"Can there be two Yggdrasils?" She interrupted.

"Of course not" he smiled at her as if she were crazy.

"No" she repeated. Not two Yggdrasils.

"Are you okay?" Mobius asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I have, but we'll talk about that later" Lydia shook her head, focusing.

It's just fucking tree. The one she repeated every day since she started looking for solutions to Loki's condition. A fucking tree, and trees are ancient, not eternal.

"Is it possible for Yggdrasil to die?"

"Of course," Odin nodded.

"And in that case, there would be a Ragnarok, right?"

Odin nodded again.

"But Yggdrasil is a magical tree, right? I don't think it can rot or… or be infested and consumed by parasites."

"Obviously. It's fueled by a magical core, a sort of heart."

"Who created that magical core?"

Odin paused, and slowly a smile spread across his face, one that reached his eye this time.

"I think you already know the answer."

Son of a bitch. She couldn't say it to the father of gods, but she thought it very, very intensely.

"Sorry, I'm lost," Mobius interjected.

"He came into contact with Yggdrasil, right? But that's not possible because the Yggdrasil we know wasn't created yet. That means we're talking about two different trees."

"And how does that help us?" Mobius furrowed his brows, looking at her as if she were crazy. Lydia was not crazy.

"Allow me to help you," Odin cleared his throat. "I think there's a translation problem. Our Ragnarok doesn't exactly equate to your apocalypse, but rather to a rebirth. In the ancient stories of our peoples, it is told of several Ragnaroks, in which a world was destroyed to allow the rebirth of the same and the gods who inhabit it. And according to these stories, there are certain figures who always perform the same task: who creates the tree and who destroys it, to then make it reborn."

"And how would destroying the tree help me if to do so I would have to kill Loki?" Her tone was slightly irritated.

"Nobody said anything about killing our Loki. There have been many Lokis and many Lydias, many Thors and many Asgards throughout history."

"Are you talking about reincarnation?"

"He's talking about variants," Mobius interjected, throwing a glance at Lydia, who raised her eyebrows, shaking her head indicating she didn't understand.

"After all, Norse mythology is full of cyclical myths. Everything is destroyed before the gods come back to life and rebuild."

Odin must have felt particularly generous that day, because he decided to help them with one last piece of information.

"You've studied," he smiled, pleased, "but allow me to give you one more detail, something you won't find in any text. The tree is not powered by Loki himself, but by his power, which is encapsulated in the heart of Yggdrasil and those, my guests, are two very different things."

EXTRALONG CHAPTER FOR MY DEAR READERS. I FEEL LIKE LYDIA'S MOOD IS "LOKI MA BOY IZ DAT U?"... GURL IS ONE MENTAL BREAKDOWN AWAY FROM MADNESS, AND I KINDA FEEL THAT. AS USUAL THANKS FOR READING AND A SPECIAL THANK YOU TO @mischief2sarawr FOR ALWAYS SUPPORTING ME <3. SEE YOU SOON. AAAAND IF YOU WANNA SEE LOKI YOU GOTTA WAIT, THAT'S THE PRICE FOR TRYING TO SAVE THE DUDE.

[askbishopschildren]

I'm bored, so yall get a bunch of fun facts

TW for the Loki section mentioning suicidal thoughts

Koda, Mars' and Apollo's dad for those who don't remember, originally was sent to Heket as an offering from his village. They had pretty poor harvests and not much was working, but eventually Heket came by to see what else they had to offer and took a liking to Koda pretty quick. Frankly he doesn't know why she chose him, nor does he think he deserves it, but he's grateful nonetheless

Artemis physically cannot go more than a week or two without getting sick, their immune system is THAT bad

Artemis is also allergic to cats despite loving them.

Mars prefers to stay solo, however if he fucks up and pisses off either Astraeus or another bishop, he will cower and hide behind his momma. He's a giant mommas boy if you couldn't tell

When with the lamb, Astaeus goes on missionary a lot since he can use his bigger form if a life or death situation arises

Continuing on the missionary theme, Mars tries to go as much as possible solely to get away from the lamb since he hates them, both for hurting his family but also supplying his drug dealer with enough shrooms that he died

Speaking of that, Sozo is just straight up Mars' drug dealer. They talk a lot over mushroomos and regular shrooms alike. It's also how he ended up getting along with Iluquim as Sozo kept insisting they talk

Artemis is a damn good cook, as they spend free time especially when sick doing it just to kill time. They really enjoy the cooking.

Mars really does not respect his dad much, but in the end he still does love him. He just thinks he is really weak compared to other cultists, which he isn't entirely wrong about and Koda thinks he is correct aswell.

Apollo experiments with poisons a lot, including his own as a poison dart frog. His mother gives him heretics to test the poisons on, however he usually lets the heretics that praise Narinder go under the guise of escaping.

Apollo is also just very shy when it comes to Aym, and Aym is too dense to notice the crush. Baal is driven insane every time he sees it.

Mars and Apollo both used to cuddle in their mothers bandages/scarf when they were little, with Mars even throwing fits when Heket wouldn't let him do it when she needed to do something.

Gaia is the only one of the cousins, aside from Loki, to not be able to change to a smaller form to match followers just because shes already pretty small to begin with, considering regular followers go up to her shoulders.

Mars is physically the strongest of the cousins, but it's from overcompensating as he doesn't have any special abilities like the bishops or his cousins. Apollo doesn't have much either, but he doesn't feel the need to overcompensate like his younger brother

As for their abilities, Astraeus can use weapons/abilities of different zodiac signs ones at a time, Gaia can grow plants anywhere she wishes, Loki is basically a nerfed Discord from MLP, Artemis can manipulate shadows and make animals out of them, and Apollo can light bend but it isn't much.

Artemis is AFAB

Astraeus is the cousin who's the farthest from their bishop parent by a mile, excluding Loki obviously since he ditched them decades ago, just due to Shamura being so busy in general.

AAnd for a final bit, a section fully to a Loki infodump

So we all know Leshy was a total hardass on Loki when he was a kid, but it was BAD. Loki was pretty much dead inside when Ratau found him, to the point Loki pointed Rataus sword to himself just because he had no reason to stay alive anymore. Ratau recruited him by showing him knucklebones and getting him hooked, which is why he is such a big gambler now. It's so bad that he lost both his eye and his leg in two bets, both to Shrumy, as Ratau forgot to teach him safer gambling practices and he didn't learn his lesson the first time. Loki also liked to sing for Rataus cult back in the day, and to an extent still enjoys doing it when Lambert starts their cult. He genuinely loves his counsins when he meets them and likes to help them with any issues they might have, basically acting more like an uncle to them over a cousin.

There might be another part of this if I get bored again, as I have accumulated a lot of facts and infodumps over the months of these guys being around from talkin bout em with friends on discord :]