#i love your stupid magic hands and your stupid magic brain but mostly i love YOU. you're a wonderful person and an awful jerk <333< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[vintageskeletons]

LIAB-verse zukkas based on conversations @ssreeder and i had, because it's their birthdayyyayyayayayayy!!!

happy birthday to my one and only prison pal, cookie in my cookie day, wine to my lemon juice etc etc.

you're insufferably amazing and amazingly insufferable. never change sreeds! :) <3

[nocasdatsgay]

Droit du seigneur

For @sjmvillainweek Day 7

Pairing: Nesta/Beron | Word Count: 3079 | Rating: E

Summary: Eris and Nesta are getting married but that comes at a cost: tradition stipulates that the High Lord gets the bride first.

CW: sex, degradation language, Beron’s POV, magical coercion

A/N: I couldn’t do all of villain week but I whipped this up joking about Nesta planning to kill Beron but she forgets cause he fucks her brains out. Anyways Beron does not make it at the end of this fic. You’ve been told.

Alternate Title: Beron Fucks Okay | Ao3 Link | Read Below

Tags: @mybestfriendmademe @thisblogisaboutabook @hieragalbatorixdottir Divideer by @tsunami-of-tears

“It’s Autumn Tradition, bound by magic.” Beron said, his expression mostly blank as he explained to Nesta and Eris what to expect on the wedding night. “Archaic but still tradition.” 

Nesta furrowed her brows, glancing at Eris. “What of the Lady?”

Beron answered first. “You are not the first bride I’ve been forced to entertain. She’s had centuries to cope.” 

Beron watched his son take her hand and squeeze it gently. Disgusting display of weakness. 

“The magic doesn’t give a choice, Nes,” he whispered to her. “Right father?”

“Correct.” The lie fell from his lips with ease. “I’ve spent centuries trying to undo it. I have yet to have any luck. I promise Lady Archeron, this will be more unpleasant for me than it will be for you.”

She lowered her gaze. “I understand.” 

Beron smiled, magic binding between them with her acceptance. “Go and enjoy the rest of your day. The wedding will be over soon enough and we can put this behind us.” 

🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁

The next evening, Beron watched his son’s new wife dance across the floor, unable to turn away from the display she and his son were putting on. Despite her unfortunate  perigee, she was captivating. Nesta Archeron was born human but he could see she was meant for this life of a high fae. The cauldron had chosen well.

He ignored his wife beside him, her sorrow perforating the air around them. She was always dramatic. He didn’t understand her current grief. She had never cared who he bedded. He never cared who she bedded until the stupid slut got pregnant with a bastard child. That male’s bastard no less. Beron took a sip of wine to calm himself. 

Sometimes he wished he’d killed her and the babe in her womb centuries ago. The embarrassment alone was enough to warrant it. But he was merciful; just like he would be tonight. Applause erupted as the song ended. He clapped and watched Nesta’s slim figure get twirled about by his son as the band started again. Her sultry silver eyes found his while they danced to a slower song. 

He would definitely have his fun with her. 

🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂

Beron left the party first. 

Tradition was he would wait in his chambers to give the court time to wind down. It was also to save the embarrassment of the bride leaving with the High Lord. He changed into a robe; there was no sense in being fully clothed when Eris brought his bride in. Beron would pretend to be sorry but in truth he took great pleasure invoking this right as High Lord. 

He was but a simple male after all. 

He poured himself a drink while he waited from his personal locked cabinet. He contemplated sitting when a knock came to the door. He swirled his drink once and downed it. It made him chuckle as he sat the glass back down. Someone, be it Eris or Nesta herself, was eager to get this over with. 

“Enter,” he said loudly. 

Beron absolutely hated the way the door creaked open and Nesta slipped in. He hated that slip of a gown she wore- Night Court fashion. It covered her body but what good did it do if he could see her tight waist and slim hips silhouetted in the silky white fabric. He felt his jaw tick as she stepped forward. 

“Don’t you look lovely,” Beron glanced over her again quickly. “Would you like a drink for your nerves?” 

“No,” Nesta said flatly, sharp eyes narrowed on him. She crossed her arms against her chest, increasing the lift of her breasts. 

He frowned. “Just because you are my son’s bride does not excuse you from manners. You will address me as your High Lord.”

She scoffed. “No, my High Lord. I do not want a drink. I want to get this over with.”

“Then turn around.”

He stared and watched as she furrowed her brows. She hesitated, confused for a moment before turning her back to him stiffly. Beron raised a brow. He’d never seen a female fight the magic before. He walked up and traced his fingers along her neck and down her spine to the start of her dress. 

“What have you done to me?” She whispered.

“I did nothing.” He began to undo the buttons of her dress. “We made a deal in my study yesterday. I don’t fuck unwilling participants.” 

He finished with the buttons and pushed the gown down. It slid off her gently, pooling in a pile at her feet. He traced the muscles of her back with his finger tips. She was well toned; probably the Night Court beast's doings. His gaze lingered on her silky white undergarments. With a wave of his hand, he removed them and banished her undergarments to a pocket realm. 

“What did you do? Those are mine!” Nesta turned to look at him. 

“And they’re mine now.” He grinned. “I only get you once. I need something to remember you by.” 

She scrunched up her nose at him but didn’t remark further. Beron noted didn’t hide herself from him as she faced him fully. Not a maiden then. He should have known a female from the Night Court wouldn’t be pure. It didn’t matter; it was too late to back out. She waited while letting him take in her figure. She was stunning. 

“Get on the bed,” he said with feigned indifference.  

With an air of defiance, she walked over to the bed. Nesta got on her hands and knees, stopping to look over her shoulder. 

“How would you like me, High Lord?” 

“On your back.” 

She had the audacity to pout at him. She moved about and laid back on the bed. Beron embedded the image of her sprawled out on his duvet. He didn’t take off his robe when he joined her. She reached for the belt on his robe but he swatted her hand. 

“You do not touch me unless I say you can.” 

She looked up at him from her lashes and bit her lip like a whore. “Yes High Lord.” 

He sat up and undid the belt on the robe. If he had his way he would bind her with it. Her eyes roamed over his body and he sneered at how she licked her lips. 

“What am I to do with you?” His own gaze dropped down to her breasts. They looked so heavy with their puckered nipples begging to be lavished. “Do not move until I tell you to.” 

She nodded wordlessly. He crawled over her and hovered above her. The rules did not allow kissing. He could fuck her to his completion once. When he withdrew his spent cock was when it was over. However, Beron was old and he’d pushed the boundaries of the magic enough to know the loop holes. He reached out, dragging a finger along her collarbone then reaching out to cup her breast. They were bigger than his wife’s. Prettier too. Nesta gasped when he palmed at it. The way he wanted to grasp it harder- squeeze it tight in his hands while she moaned. 

Instead he leaned down and took the other with his mouth. She mewled when his tongue and thumb flicked at the soft buds. He sucked and her hips jerked. He pulled back to see his work- her nipple hard and fully peaked. The dark skin around it glistened with his spit. He leaned back in and kissed the skin between her breasts. Her scent was sweet and thickening with arousal; he moved down a little and groped both breasts. He kissed and his fingers worked her nipples. Nesta was breathing heavily but without complaint. 

“Good girl,” he murmured. 

He finally let her go and moved down the bed, positioning himself between her legs. He wrapped his arms around her thighs and he could smell how badly she wanted it, the fucking whore. He did his best not to roll his hips into the mattress like a youth. 

“What are you doing?” She whispered. 

“Did you think I would be cruel and just take what I had to from you?” He held her legs open and kissed along her pelvis. “I’m not an uncivilized male, my Lady. I do believe in a female’s pleasure when she’s earned it.”

He looked down and spit on her cunt. He enjoying the way her legs jerked in his hold and his saliva slid down her folds. She inhaled sharply when he leaned down to lap it up. He had a weakness for good pussy, and the smell of her alone was making strain in his underpants. A low rumble escaped his throat at the taste of her. 

He dipped his tongue down to the wetness at her entrance and hummed contently. The Law of Magic didn’t allow him to kiss her on her lips. So instead he worshiped her cunt. He got lost in the taste of her, lightning jolting down his spine at the idea of smelling those under things later. She was the perfect mix of sweetness and musk that drove him insane. 

He kept his hands on her thighs while she squirmed under him. Her soft pants and cried music to his ears. He groaned, dipping his tongue in and out of her; he mouthed and sucked on that taunt nub peeking out between her folds. He hadn’t even realized she came until he felt her hands pushing at his head. He stopped immediately, snatching her hand and sitting up to glare at her. 

“I didn’t say you could touch me,” his voice was colder than he truly felt. 

He knew she was a defiant one. He wanted to see what she would do. Nesta was panting, cheeks and chest flushed a nice pink. 

“It was too much,” she whispered. 

“Was it?” He dropped her hand. “A pity. l don’t care.”

“I just wanted-.” 

“I don’t care what you want. You are mine until I am done with you.” He yelled and slapped her cunt hard, hand stinging. And she moaned like the whore she was. “Behave and I might let you cum again. Do you understand?”

She nodded with no fear in her eyes. He grinned and shrugged off his robe while she watched. Her eyes widened with lust and he sneered. Females were all the same, eyeing his cock hungry with want as he took off his own undergarments. The things he wanted to do to Nesta- bind her in fire. Stuff her mouth so her cries would be muffled. He wanted to fuck her throat where she laid so badly his cock wept at the thought. 

She was lucky he was restricted by magic. 

He positioned her how he wanted her and she let him. He pushed her back on the bed, lifting up her legs in his arms. He looked between them and committed to memory how pretty her cunt looked, begging to have a cock put in it. His hard cock hovered in front of it. He wanted to smack her cunt with it but refrained from such juvenile antics. He let go of one of her legs to stroke himself with a groan. 

Another deep rumble left his throat. He lined himself up and pushed into her. It gave him a thrill to know she was too tight to have been bedded by those night court beasts with wings. He moved her legs onto his chest, throwing them over his shoulders. Beron decided he would take his chances trying to breed this female below him. She’d make a strong heir; stronger than that boy waiting outside the chambers. 

She didn’t speak when he placed his hands on the headboard to steady himself. Then the first rock of his hips made him let out a shaky groan. The warm, tight grip around his cock felt like a blessing from the mother. A sign. She reached up and held her own legs steady like a seasoned slut.

“You must be a witch,” he whispered, staring down at her. “For your cunt to feel like a maiden’s.”

She flushed and averted her eyes. “Does it displease you, High Lord?”

“That you’re a whore?” He pulled back and slammed into her. “No. Makes you easier to fuck.” 

Beron didn’t do much more talking after that. He found his pace, enjoying the feel of her until he couldn’t take it anymore. He normally rolled over by now and made the females do the work. But the sight of Nesta below him was too much. He pressed her legs back further with his chest, driving down into her with the slapping of skin echoing in the room. He hadn’t felt this type of frenzy in centuries. 

“I’m going to fill you up, girl,” he grunted and she cried out. Her cunt squeezed his cock and gods he was close. “You’d like that, you fucking whore. You’d like to bear me a bastard, wouldn’t you?” 

“Yes,” Nesta’s hands abandoned her legs and reached behind her, digging her fingers into the pillows. Her eyes fluttered as he kept hitting that spot deep inside her. “I’ll do whatever you want, High Lord.”

He growled, grabbing her by the neck with one of his hands. “Then cum on my cock, you stupid slut.” 

He could feel the fire in his eyes flare as he used his high lord powers to command her. Beautiful creature that she was, she screamed, her back arching and she throbbed around him, pulling him in as deep as he could go. He let go of her neck, to grab the headboard again and slammed into her one last time with a bruising force. He damn near choked with pleasure as he emptied himself inside her. 

He rolled off of her panting. He hadn’t fucked like that in decades. She, too, laid beside him catching her breath. After a few moments, he went to tell her to leave but she sat up moving over him. Some of her hair was loose, framing her face nicely. Her eyes were blown with lust as she placed a hand on his chest. 

“Can I?” She asked. 

Beron narrowed his gaze, uncertain of what she was asking. She bit her lip and gently drug a nail on his chest. Then she flattened her hand and drug it down while she slid down his body. She kept her gaze on him when she grabbed his spent cock and licked the head of it. The muscles in his leg twitched. When he didn’t say anything she continued. He watched her lick the cum off his cock until he was hard again. She kept those sultry hard eyes on him and took him into her mouth. Magic made it so he couldn’t fuck her again until she left the room are you done but nothing was stopping her if she wanted to continue to whore herself out to him. 

“What a needy little bitch you are,” he muttered. 

They both moaned as she took him down deep into her throat. He cursed again, both amazed and annoyed at her lack of gagging as she continued to bob her head and stroke what she couldn’t take. He grabbed her by the hair and shoved her down just to make her gag. The sound made his eyes roll back and he let her go. 

“Stroke me until I cum on your face.” 

It wasn’t a command; he just wanted to see if she’d actually do it. And fuck, if she didn’t look like goddess pulling back with her tongue out as she stroked him. He came again, painting her face and tongue. 

“Beautiful,” he muttered. “Put your dress on and get out.” Nesta blinked in a daze. “Get. Out.” 

In shock she stumbled off the bed frantically looking for her dress. Her compliance amused him. She was not as strong headed as she seemed. He watched her, scowling as she used the skirt of her dress to wipe off the cum on her face. She struggled with the back, and he rolled his eyes. 

“Today girl. Out!” 

She started and abandoned her efforts. He chuckled as she scurried out like a little rat, leaving him to think about how he was going to get his hands on her again. 

🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂🍁🍂

Nesta stumbled out of the room, thighs and face still sticky and dress half done up. How had Beron of all males been the one to fuck her stupid? She forgot where she even was, focused on leaving the room because he told her too. The door shut and she found Eris was scowling by the sofa. His eyes and hair were glowing, anger showing itself in the flames. 

“I understand,” she said, breathing heavily. She looked back to the door dazed. “I understand now why there are seven of you.” 

“Did you forget something?” He hissed. 

Her cheeks flushed as she turned back to Eris. “He took them. I didn’t have a choice in the matter but to walk out in just my gown.”

“He’s alive Nesta.” 

“Oh. Right.” He didn’t mean her under garments. He meant the deal they made. She furrowed her brows, unable to focus with her core still aching between her legs. “Gods, do you all fuck like that?”

Eris let out a growl. “Go bathe. I’ll do it myself.” 

Eris would deal with her and the Night Court after he became High Lord. Nesta was lucky they didn’t make a bargain over this. He pushed all thoughts away, letting his rage take hold. He pulled a dagger out from his pants leg and threw open the door. He found his father, naked, laying on the bed. He averted his eyes, focusing on the bed frame. He scowled when he saw scorched marks on the top of the wood in the shape of hands. 

“Eris,” Beron pulled the duvet over himself. 

“Did you enjoy my bride, father?” Eris held his hands behind his back to conceal the dagger. He approached the bed slowly but his father only laughed. 

“By the cauldron, you picked a wild one. She fucks like a well seasoned whore. I might annul your marriage and keep her for myself.” 

“And what of mother?” 

Beron scoffed. “She’ll enjoy the reprieve.” 

Eris stopped at the edge of the bed, eyes noticeably wild. 

“I’m sure she will.” 

That was the last thing Beron heard before Eris stabbed him and cut out his heart. 

[nancy-reads]

am I the one you think about?

pairing: fred weasley x reader

summary: you're struggling to move all the boxes into your new shop in diagon alley. good thing that you have such a lovely redhead neighbor to help you....after you nearly kill him, of course.

warnings: slight angst and a cliffhanger

authors note: there will be a part two! i promise this has a happy ending i love these two too much. also this is mostly unedited because i really want to post it like right now

CROSS-POSTED TO AO3

As soon as you apparated to your new shop, you knew you should have taken your friends up on their offers to help you move in. The bricks were uneven, the stairs were steep, and you had what felt like a million boxes to move into the shop and the flat above it. Magic would speed up the process, but you could only lift so many at a time. 

You’d dropped your third box when you tripped on the stairs and nearly broke your arm. Rubbing your arm and cursing yourself for your stupidity, you weren’t paying attention as you walked outside to retrieve more boxes.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” you cast, anger coloring your tone. Two boxes shot up into the air, and before you could stop them, they hit the man walking past right in the face.

You clapped your hand to your face and lowered your wand, immediately causing the heavy boxes to fall right on top of him. 

“Shit!” you cursed as you ran over and squatted next to him. “I’m so sorry! Are you alright?”

You cursed yourself. Of course he’s not alright. You just hit him in the face with a heavy box. Twice. 

“Christ,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “You really know how to make an impression.”

Heat flooded your cheeks. Of course, he was attractive too. Fiery red hair, a strong jawline, and freckles all around his face. It looked like he was tall too. You couldn’t really tell since he was mostly on the ground, but he looked strong. 

“I am so sorry,” you repeated. “I have some bruising salves and if anything hurts more I can probably fix it, I mean I am a healer-” you cut yourself off. “Are you okay?”

“I’m alright, I think it's just my pride that’s bruised,” he said, smirking as he moved into a seated position. You cringed as you saw the blue and purple mark that was already developing on his forehead. 

“Are you sure you don’t want anything to fix that bruise? It looks pretty nasty.”

“Just your pretty face should be fine.”

You felt like your face was on fire as you grabbed the salve. Still, he was cute…

“I don’t know,” you teased as you began applying the ointment to his face. “Delusions like that might indicate some sort of brain damage.”

His smile widened. “Does that mean you’re a hallucination? Because that would be cruel.”

You rolled your eyes as you finished. “Seriously though, I am so sorry,”

“Seriously though, it’s fine,” he mocked with a deadpan expression. “I’m Fred, by the way. My brother and I run that shop over there.” 

Fred stood as he pointed to the massive orange shop labeled Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. 

“Really, I couldn’t tell from the massive statue of your face on the front.”

He smirked. “Can’t miss it,” he paused for a second. “And you never told me your name.”

You introduced yourself, and Fred smiled. “Pretty name.”

“Uh…thanks,” you stuttered. It felt like the flush on your face would never go away. 

It was silent for a moment before Fred asked, “Do you need any help bringing those boxes up?”

You immediately shook your head. “No, no I’ve got it. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Are you sure?” he smirked. “It seemed like you were struggling a little bit before.”

You glared at him. “I was perfectly fine until you got in the way.”

“Got in the way!” He gasped in mock-anger. “I was simply walking the pavement when someone hit me with like ten flying boxes!”

“It was not ten, you liar,” you couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across your face as you continued to banter with him. It was just so fun. 

“Wow,” he tutted. “Barely known me five minutes and you’re already calling me a liar.”

“I’ve always been a good judge of character.”

Unbeknownst to you, Fred had already taken his wand out of his pocket and was beginning to edge toward the boxes. He waved his wand, and two boxes rose into the air as if they were feathers. 

Of course, he has to be good at magic too.

“No. You are gonna go home and make sure that you don’t get hit by any more stray boxes,” you demanded, trying to sound as authoritative as possible. 

Fred’s smile grew as he lowered the boxes (much more gracefully than you ever have) and placed his hands up in surrender. “How about we make a deal?”

You cocked your head. “What kind of deal?”

He clasped his hands and stepped closer to you. “How about I help you with these boxes-”

“No.”

“Let me finish, I swear did no one teach you that patience is a virtue?” There’s a smiling lilt to his voice that makes you want to melt into a puddle.

“Fortune favors the bold.”

“Anyway,” he continues, smiling still as he rolls his eyes. “I’ll help you with these boxes, and in return, you’ll come and visit me in my shop tomorrow.”

You paused, pretending to think for a moment. Of course, you were going to do it. More time with cute ginger shop boy who was definitely taller than you and looked like he had some very strong arms? How could you say no?

“I suppose I could fit it into my schedule,” you said, daring to elbow him in the side as you both walked toward the boxes. 

The rest of the afternoon was filled with more laughs than you thought possible. Fred was so funny, you supposed it made sense that he ran a joke shop. It felt like both of you were laughing every single second. 

And the best part was when you found out how strong his arms really were. 

Fred had just been telling you about one of his Hogwarts escapades when he and his brother used an age potion to try and enter the Triwizard Tournament. 

“So you really grew long white beards?” you couldn’t stop giggling as you followed Fred down the stairs. 

Fred threw a smile your way as he reached the bottom of the steps. “Yup. We nearly started fighting each other too. Would have if not for- woah!”

In your incessant laughter, you hadn’t been paying much attention to your very steep stairs and found yourself falling…

…straight into Fred’s very strong arms. 

It was silent for a second as you stared into each other’s eyes. His arms held you tightly as if you weighed nothing at all. You could feel heat creeping up your neck.

Fred paused, looking like he was thinking hard about something. 

“You know, I guess you could say that you fell for me,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

You smacked his (heavily muscled) arm. “That was disgusting.”

“Sorry darling, I couldn’t resist.”

Was it possible to die from joy and embarrassment at the same time? It had to be. 

You told him more about your shop as you floated the last few boxes upstairs. You were opening an apothecary with potions, ointments, and other helpful tools for healing so that people didn’t have to go to St. Mungos every time they had a problem. You were also thinking about offering small healing services once you had more staff. 

“Thats so cool!” Fred grinned. “I think we’ll probably end up with some similar customers.”

You snorted. “Yeah, I’ll get all the victims of your schemes.”

“I just sell the stuff,” he objected. “What my customers do is their own business.”

You gave him an unimpressed look. “Sure Fred. You tell yourself that.”

He gave you an innocent smile as both of you looked outside to realize that you had just brought the last boxes in. You stood there awkwardly for a moment. 

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” you said. “I did make a promise to see your shop.”

“That you did,” Fred replied. “I better see you. I didn’t carry all these boxes for nothing.”

“That excited to see me, huh?”

“Yes, actually,” his smile was genuine. “I can’t wait to see your reaction to all my ‘schemes’ as you call them.”

Heat spread through your cheeks. “I’m excited to see you too.”

*

The next day was torture. Showing up at Fred’s shop at eight in the morning would have been the definition of creepy, so you forced yourself to set up your shop and unpack most of your boxes. 

You were quite proud of the work you had done for the last few hours. Twinkling lights were strewn around your shop, and magical plants wrapped around the shelves. All in all, the glass potion bottles and herbs would fit right in. 

You finally allowed yourself to head upstairs and choose an outfit. It took far longer than it should have, considering that Fred saw you yesterday in what was quite possibly the ugliest outfit you owned. 

Then you messed with your hair and your makeup. You knew it was kind of stupid, considering how flirty he had been yesterday, but you wanted to feel confident. And looking good was probably the only way you were going to get there.

Finally, after spending far too long on your appearance, you stepped out the door of your shop. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was the brightest thing on the street, and your eye was immediately drawn to the massive statue of Fred at the front, the orange coloring, and the smiles and laughter that surrounded the building. Even just looking at it made you want to smile. 

As you walked briskly toward the building, you could feel your heart beginning to race. You bit your lip, trying to hide the smile that was emerging, because really, you should not have a crush this big. You'd met the man once, for Merlin’s sake. 

Your smile immediately dropped when you actually got to the shop. 

Because Fred was standing there, his smile wide but different than yesterday. It wasn’t filled with the same laughter and joy. He wasn’t looking at you. He was looking at someone else. He was looking at another girl. Another girl who leaned in a kissed him. And he kissed back. 

And you turned on your heel and fled back to your shop.

[neteyamkink]

i just read this jake fic and now im thinking about enemies with benefits with neteyam👀👀

THANK U FOR REQUESTING IM OBSESSED W THIS <333 sorry this is so short i’m lacking so bad at writing rn

paring: aged up!neteyam x reader

warnings: filthy smut, degrading, cocky mean teyam :(, choking, he calls reader a whore, idk what else this is just FILTHY

“I fucking hate you” you had no idea what those words did to Neteyam, did you? The distasteful words that fell from your pretty little lips went straight to his cock. Next thing you knew your ankles were over his shoulders, his hands were around your neck, and he was fucking his cock into you.

His dick bullied its way into your pretty little cunt. the only three words that you could form were, “I hate you.”

Hate is a strong word I know, but you truly hated him. Mostly because he hated you first. He was always so envious, sick and tired of being second runner-up to you. You were always the best at what you did. The best young huntress, the best young warrior, the best young healer. He could never beat you, so instead, he chose to hate you. However, this burning hate turned into a new blossoming passion for just wanting to fuck you like you were nothing. It was the one thing he could be better than you at.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he chuckled into your ear, letting his soft lips peck a little kiss on the top of your ear. Fuck his mischievous little laugh made you just want to smack the smirk right off his lips. But oh my eywa he was just so fucking hot.

“Fuck you,” you gritted through your teeth trying to speak with your airway being cut off by his big hands.

“I am,” his stupid little slapable smirk grew wider. He moved one of his hands off your neck to press down on your stomach. “You feel me all the way up there?” he cockily spoke, his voice ringing through your ears and filling your brain with dopamine.

You refused to feed into his inflated ego, so you shook your head no with the little strength you had in you. His cock filling you up mixed with his restraining hands around your neck was the perfect equation for pure bliss.

He furrowed his brows and scrunched his nose, “you feel it now?” he gripped your neck harder and started to quicken his pace. Every thrust became harder and harder one after the other and soon you were just left a cock drunken moaning mess underneath him.

you didn’t want to inflate his ego even more by giving in but you were just so blissed out that you didn’t have any energy to hate him. You desperately nodded your head needing more, You hated him, but fuck you were always so needy for him. He fucked you so good every. single. time.

“yeah that’s right, ‘m fucking you like the little whore you are,” He gritted through his teeth, hips snapping at an unrhythmic pace.

“let me cum, teyam,” you choke out, chest heaving up and down trying to catch your breath.

“what’s the magic word?” he teases. The way he loved to get you riled up made you 10x more angrier. Why did he have to be such a fucking tool?

“Please,” you whimpered giving into his annoying teasing, desperate to find a release.

“go ahead, pretty princess,” he smirked, and with a few thrusts you both were moaning sticky sweaty messes. Curses and sounds of uneven slaps rung through the air.

“I still fucking hate you,” you spoke.

“I hate you too,” his sly smirk made you roll your eyes but deep inside butterflies erupted in the pits of your stomach.

[hornkerling]

(The gorgeous art was a commission from leylses, who does not seem to to have an active tumblr any more - if you know where they now live please let me know for proper attribution! )

I have papers to mark, but also the upcoming game has my brain in a vice and I found myself going through my old tags to see where and how I'd left everybody, so I'm bringing back a few of the stories that meant the most to me, inspired by @thievinghippo. I have resisted the urge to re-write this beyond fixing a few of the more egregious fragments and parenthetical asides (damn, I loved a parenthetical, didn't it?). So it is here mostly in all of its old age and earnestness.

Look after each other

Isabela is the love Hawke expects. She is the one shaped to old childhood hopes and the words of all Liadan’s favourite songs, and the world turns to lurching delight and fumbling hope as the two circle each other and stare and glare and smile. Liadan grows wilder and Isabela more centred as they each, in their own way, say: let me in. Let me touch you. Let me love you, at least a little bit. And then just a breath more.  

Isabela draws her. Delights her. Lust tangles up between them, the pirate’s hands at her throat, lip caught between her teeth in concentration.

(“I have you, sweet thing. There you are.”)

***

Fenris is different. They rarely look at each other directly. They are too busy, heads bent over books or maps, her words caught between his teeth as she teaches him the silly memory songs that made words stick in her mind.

(“I’m sorry, Fenris,” she tells him, when they have three months of lessons behind them. She is delighted at his progress. It’s better than hers. Better than anything she’s ever seen. She’ll ruin it.

“I forgot how bad I was at this,” she says. “I never learnt well. Just ask Carver. We were both appallingly stupid at this. I—”

“—You,” he says, looking up from his work, hair sticking up from where his hands have tangled, “Are a better teacher than you think.”

Fenris is always surprised when he smiles, the warmth in his face flickering as he realises it’s there.

Liadan is never tired of it. She is never prepared for the answering tug his smiles always call up in her.

They look at each other sidelong, and one of them always looks away first, but there no pattern.

***

Together, all three fight well. Liadan is used to Isabela’s ruthlessness, has learned to use her magic in arcs that the pirate can exploit with a kick or a cry or twin, shining blades. She has learned to spot rare gaps in Fenris’s guard, and let that same magic be as blunt and brutal as the sword in her friend’s hand.

Force magic is ugly stuff that no one expects from the reedy singer with poor eyesight and freckles up her arms. She uses that surprise and feels Isabela’s pride and appreciation. She loves fighting from the back mostly because it means she can watch the others come back to her, Isabela kicking at bottles and pebbles and Fenris grimacing as lyrium fades back into his skin.

(“I don’t want to hurt you,” she’s said more than once. “If the magic is—”

“—It’s yours.” A shrug.

He does not look at her and Hawke wants to force it. Wants to hunker down and tilt his chin up and see. A part of her knows she could use her height for this, her self, to demand understanding, but when she feels that, she also hears Isabela’s voice in her head, and their oldest and sorest and most familiar fight twists up her guts.

“People aren’t problems, Hawke. Sometimes? Just back. Off.”

She holds back, jaw clenched.)

***

When Leandra dies, when every second breath tastes like bile, and my mother is dead repeats as the bass beneath her heartbeat, they are there. Isabela first, kissing the corner of her mouth, warm and scarf askew and never still. She looks at Liadan in all her tired hopelessness and does not turn away, but her eyes are half pleading, half embarrassed.

“I’m not good with this,” Isabela says, and Liadan doesn’t have the words to say I know or thank you. She just lets her head rest on Isabela’s chest, lets herself shake. Laughs a little at the other woman’s small huff of relief that they’ve gone bodied and wordless in the dark.

Fenris is a small knock and heavy step, and Isabela shifts to make room.

(“Are you any better at saying sorry than I am?”

“I…Is anyone?”)

Hawke lets them talk over her. She lets herself feel warm and hopeless and lost and loved and nothing, while Isabela eases her into her lap and Fenris lets one mercifully un-gauntleted hand rest on her hair.

***

She and Fenris do not want each other. Not the same way. They’ve never quite said it—never tugged at the difference between their easy company and the shiver-hope-want of Isabela’s lips on her throat, Fenris’s hands at Isabela’s hips.

They never say, You are my best friend.  I love you, and I love that you love who I love. Isn’t it gorgeous? Let’s keep being gorgeous. There is no need. Their voices blend, and in time he reads to her, her clumsy teaching turned beautiful as he shares verse and ghost story and Varric’s latest worlds.

Isabela soars over them both, and catches them both in their laughter. 

***

Liadan wonders if she can ever find words all the world’s different sorts of need. 

She watches them together. Delights at the catch in her breath, the little, happy flip inside at the sight of Isabela’s scarred, clever fingers twining with Fenris’s over a table at the Hanged Man.

In songs, Hawke knows, she’d be jealous.

She reaches out. Covers their hands with hers.

There should be new songs.

***

“You don’t even like men,” Carver says, wide-eyed and credulous as his ten-year-old self even as he looms over her in Templar armour. 

“Well observed.” 

“But–”

“–It’s none of your business, little brother.” Liadan smiles at him, rueful and soft. “I know I say that too much, but in this? It’s true.”

Leaving him at the Gallows, her staff a heavy, anxious weight across her back, Liadan worries that she must grow used to the question. 

She wonders if, given time, it’ll be easier or harder to squash the urge to punch people in the face. 

She chuckles. Easier, she hopes. If not, she’ll need to learn better aim. 

***

Liadan is a better sailor than she expects. She’d assumed she’d be terrible. 

(“You always assume that, sweet.” 

“Hush.”)

Grief does not drift away in the small boat’s wake, Kirkwall’s ashes still clinging to her skin, but it feels like it might. Finding balance is beautiful. She loves the creaks and cries and the strange gurgling noises that sneak into her daily thoughts, the music in her head. She loves the loosening of Isabela’s shoulders. Her strong, heavy body gone light in the rigging as she throws familiar words around in desperately strange ways. Tacking and tying and mainsailing and boarding stars or ports. 

Liadan relishes the slow feeling of her world changing, splitting, and making sense. 

***

Fenris’s skin burns and darkens. Her own only burns. They both catch themselves staring at the blisters on each other’s hands, and they exchange stories of stars as Isabela steers them toward Minrathous.

“Did you think you’d go back?” she asks.  

“Not like this,” he says. “It is–I do not know if it–”

“We’ll help,” Liadan says, hating her own earnestness even as Fenris presses a kiss to her cheek, just above the bone.   “You know that, I hope?”

She catches him smiling–more a crinkle about the eyes than anything else. 

“You did always say I’d never need to ask you to hunt slavers.” 

“You’re teasing me.” 

“Yes, Hawke.” Fenris murmurs. There is wonder in it. 

***

Minrathous almost becomes a home. Isabela grumbles–port taxes are brutal, and harder than most to evade. But there is something astonishing in the decaying finery all about them. Liadan’s songs turn learn new stresses that come in groups of six and sevens and full of unexpected tonal fractions. Isabela finds her a stringed instrument that fits across the lap, and Liadan is lost for hours trying to match interval to thought. 

(“I didn’t even steal it, Fenris.” Muttered delight in the corner of a small, dockside room, the sunlight turned thick through bright orange curtains.  

“You sound very proud.”

Liadan looks up as they kiss. She lets them get their breath back before she tells them to hush.) 

***

They are not always together, of course. Isabela is growing in boats and restlessness. A day in the market for Fenris becomes two weeks in Qarinus, Isabela and Liadan squinting in amazement at his bold, sparse handwriting when he lets them know he is following traces of Varania that pricked at him with hope he is not sure he can bear. 

Liadan writes more than songs. Varric’s answers grow thicker and more frequent, paper piling up whenever she has a fixed address, 

(“If I knew what dreaming felt like,” Varric writes, “It might be something like this. The red lyrium’s still here. Still other damn places, and it’s not going away, Hawke. I think the years are turning strange on us. Don’t know what that means.”)

***

Merrill visits. She moves through Minrathous with her energies coiled tight, movements too quick and eyes too large. “It’s lovely to see you all,” she says, while Liadan plays the treasured dulcimer and Fenris avoids her gaze and Isabela, face softer than they’ve seen in years, slips an arm about her waist.

“All of you,” she repeats. “Even you, Fenris.” 

Fenris catches Merrill’s tiny smirk. It distorts in the wine bottle he has brought out for the peculiar table. Merrill holds her glass. It splashes, thick and near-enough-to-blood that he should, he thinks, be appalled. But he’s chuckling, and when he does raise his head to see those ridiculous eyes on his, they’re warm with surprised approval.  

The next day, Merrill asks Isabela a favour. 

“Can you teach me how to spit?” 

“I’m sorry, kitten?” 

“Please,” Merrill says. “Pirates are good at that sort of thing, aren’t they?”

Isabela laughs and complies, Liadan watching with wide eyes at the serious discussions of aim and phlegm and head-tilt. 

“You’re disgusting.” 

“You love me, Hawke.” 

“Always true.” 

“You’re so sweet,” Merrill says, and Isabela’s laugh turns from raucous to soft. 

“You are,” Merrill says. “Also, you’re staring a little.” 

“I’ve missed you, kitten,” Isabela says. 

Liadan watches them. Catches the faint flush growing on Merrill’s face. Knows that swallow of Isabela’s. The small shifts of muscle that say the other woman is trying very hard, just this once, not to touch. 

She stands, walking between them to kiss the corner of Merrill’s mouth, smiling as the elf turns her head and lets it slip.

“That’s two of us, you know,” Liadan says. She feels bold and open and scalded as her bravery turns into a blush. “If you like.” 

“Sometimes,” Isabela mumbles as Fenris sighs with affectionate exasperation and picks up a book, shaking his head at them, “I really like my life.” 

***

Fenris catches Merrill later, small body tense as she stands at the base of the grand imperial library, looking up at the columns and statues of magisters-past. 

He wants to pull her back. The urge surprises him, sharp and worried as the pricking on his skin from too many eyes in this public place, the skin too tight over his cheeks at his wrists. 

He stares as she spits at the feet an archon. She watches her efforts drip down one enormous, silverite boot, and then turns away. 

He catches up to her. They are silent as the crowd opens and swallows them, his shadow careful over hers as she wipes the back of her mouth with a shaking hand.   

“I’m not as sweet as they think,” she says, after a while. 

“I know.” 

“I think you do,” Merrill’s smile is lopsided. “I’m glad I came, of course. It’s been so good to see everyone; it would have been even without–” her blush flares up. Fenris watches as the blood seems to sink back into her skin, markings stark. 

“Even without all of that,” she says. “But Tevinter. I hadn’t thought. Not really. Seeing all this knowledge. All this old power, and most of it’s nearly dead, but my people died first. For that mural, maybe. Or that statue. It’s all–”

“–Merrill–”

“–pointless.” 

She stops to breathe, glaring at the city-shadows, and Fenris isn’t sure who is more surprised when he pulls her into a rough embrace. 

“I do not understand,” he says. “Not fully. But nothing you do is pointless, and there are many reasons for rage.” 

Merrill looks at him. He does not flinch when she cups his cheek. They are of a height, her eyes dark and locked with his. 

It breaks when she smiles. Her eyes close. He catches small, bright teeth and a half-laughed breath. 

“You love them very much, don’t you?” 

Fenris squirms, 

“Yes.” 

“Good,” Merrill says, stepping back. Her hair has grown in the years since Kirkwall. “You’re all very nice together.” 

***

“I have to go back,” Hawke says, in the end.

The rift light tinges everything. Their skin and their teeth; the street and the oily water of the port. Even Isabela’s jewellery picks up a layer of corpse green, and Fenris tastes magic at the back of his throat. 

“Yes,” Isabela says. 

“No,” says Fenris. 

They glare at each other, and Liadan holds back a sob. 

“It’s her choice, sweet thing,” Isabela says, tugging gently on Fenris’s hair. “She’s a big girl.”

“Varric needs my help,” she says. “And if it is–”

“I cut off the magister’s head,” Fenris says. “I pulled out his heart and cut off his head. We all checked–”

“–Twice,“ Isabela sighs. 

“And if Corypheus is still alive,” Liadan says, “Then I’m the one who’s fought him. Feels only right to do it again.” 

“You,” Fenris mutters, words thick, “Are a fool about this.”  

Liadan sighs. “Please,” she says. “Look after each other.” 

“No,” Isabela says. 

“Yes,” says Fenris.

The three hold hands as they look toward the end of the world. 

[tqmies]

congrats on 1k!!! 🎉 i can’t believe i didn’t see the post sooner so i hope i’m not too late to request! could i please request mark lee, office romance, with #11, sfw? 🥺 thank you for your consideration!! 🫶🏼

Accidentally In Love | Mark Lee

Part of Tqmies 1K Event!

Office Romance Au , 11. “I think you and I make an amazingly stupid pair.” “I know! Our two brain cells combined together make for quality entertainment and a unique kind of stupidity.”  wc: 765 Note: oh to be in a stupid office romance with mark..

"Can you not do that to the coffee machine?" You groan, banging the printer next to you as you spot Mark in the break room.

"No, it's working! And just cause you hit the printer, doesn't mean it will work!" Mark shouts back. He continues to shake the coffee machine in hopes that it will 'brew the coffee faster' - Which has never helped.

Though you assume the same could be said about you as Doyoung, your supervisor, walks by and stops you from attacking the poor HP printer that was trying it's best. He sighs, leaning down to press a simple button, and just like that, the machine whirs to life.

"Oh cool, thanks Doyoung! You have like, magic hands." You nod, eyes wide like a child in amazement.

"It's called using the power button, Y/N."

"Yeah but I thought Taeyong had turned it on earlier." You blink.

He shoots you a unwavering look. "It auto-shuts off when it isn't being used for too long."

"Well that's dumb, we should get a new printer."

"This is the most high tech printer in the - Nevermind, forget it." Doyoung just shakes his head and walks off, not listening to your qualms about the electronic. Oh well, he was just going to miss out on your great ideas.

You can hear Mark snickering from behind you as you watch your boss walk away, defeatedly.

Crossing your arms, you continue to make the copies. Mark approaches you, steaming cup of coffee in hand as he looks flustered.

"What's wrong with you?" You ask, sliding the copies into your hands.

"I burned my hand after some coffee spilled out from me shaking the machine so much." He admits, and you notice his hand looking very red.

"Are we both idiots or?"

"Yeah." He nods, and you agree.

"You're dumber though." You respond, smirking.

"What!? You forgot to press the on button! Rookie mistake." He grimaces, sipping from his mug as he mutters a soft ouch at moving his hand.

"Well, I'm new here!"

"Okay, that excuse might've worked the first couple weeks but you've been working here for nine months, and yet you still say that."

"Taeil has short-term memory loss so he believes me." You smile at him. "Plus, nine months is nothing compared to the three years you've been here."

"How I've managed to even stay here that long is a mystery." He speaks to himself.

"I agree, seeing as we're here talking in the corner like we don't have work to do."

Mark quirks his head to the side and is about to respond when Johnny approaches the two of you. "Are you done heckling the printer?"

"Nope, I think it needed one more good kick." You respond, and Johnny laughs before he uses it.

"I heard what you guys were talking about and let me just say, I think Doyoung keeps you two around because you're entertaining." Johnny mentions, waiting for his papers.

You and Mark turn to each other, almost in sync, and laugh. "Thanks Johnny."

Though Johnny definitely didn't mean it in that kind of way, if anything, everyone mostly found the fact that you two still had jobs entertaining.

Like how did dumb and dumber manage to hold down positions at Neo Corporate Tech?

You turn to Mark, "You know what? I think you and I make an amazingly stupid pair.”

“I know! Our two brain cells combined together make for quality entertainment and a unique kind of stupidity.” Mark jumps.

"What a perfect match." You giggle, flashing him a smile.

"That's why I have such a big crush on you." He speaks, before slapping his hands over his mouth as you assume he let it slip.

"Oh." You say, staring in shock.

Really? Oh? You couldn't think of anything else?

Johnny quietly slips out from behind you both as you continue to stand wordlessly.

"I didn't really mean that-" He tries to turn it around as he stutters.

"You didn't?" Your face falls.

"No I mean, I did! If you like me back that is, if you don't then.. I don't either." He rambles on, face turning cherry red.

The rest of your co-workers watching from afar. They're hoping and praying you two didn't act as stupid about love too.

"I like you too." You admit, face growing hot over the dumb male that was your cubicle neighbor.

"Really? I thought you had a crush on Doyoung!"

"Doyoung?" Your jaw drops. "He barely says more than two words to me, and when he does? It's usually to just mansplain instructions to me."

Mark looks confused. "Hey, he does that to me too? Does that mean... I have a crush on him?"

"No Mark- No! You have a crush on me!"

[susartwork]

-UNDERWIZARD SECONDARY CHARACTERS-

English isn’t my first language, sorry in case of misspelling.

-GASTER- Age: ±400 years old - ✧boss monster✧ Magic color: lilac Gender: male Pronouns: he/him Orientation: homosexual

Extra info: - He has been an omnipresent being for the past 4 years. (I won't explain here how the Void and his omnipresent powers work). - He was one of the main figures of the Great War. The cracks on his body and holes in his hands are the scars left. - A goopster, a jokester, and a good dadster. - He has loved Grillby for nearly three hundred years, but he has always been rejected :C - He uses sophisticated words just to show he's smart. - A stupid genius. - °Slaps egg° this boy can fit so much trauma.

-GRILLBY- Age: ±420 years old - ✧boss monster✧ Magic color: mix of colors - orange and blue Gender: male Pronouns: he/him Orientation: open to interpretation

Extra info: - He has a wife and a daughter. Both fire elementals. - He always felt like an uncle to Sans and Papyrus after Gaster's... death, but tries to distance himself. - Religious man. Believes in the good Angel of the Delta Rune. - He fought on the front lines of the Great War. There his soul was damaged and now it's difficult for him to speak. - Uses sign language. One of his regular customers translates for him. - Monsters rarely have multiple colors of magic. It can happen that a child takes more than one color from the parent's DNA when born.

-MUFFET- Age: 24 Magic color: thulian pink Gender: female Pronouns: she/her Orientation: bisexual

Extra info: - She loves wearing hair accessories and especially bows. A lot of bows. - She may act sweet and kind, don't trust her. You don't want to become part of those pastries you're eating right now. - She’s dating Papyrus in secret <3 - Though she dislikes Sans, and Sans dislikes her. - Her giant spider pet is called Cubcake.

UW!Mettaton EX design and ref made by @nova2cosmos Thank you so much! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) I added a few headcanons to it as you see

-NAPSTABLOOK- Age: 27 years old Magic color: magenta Gender: agender Pronouns: any (mostly uses they/them) Orientation: open to interpretation

Extra info: - They sell tickets to use a cable railway that will take you to a town above Waterfall, called "Raintown". - No one is allowed to see their face except the family. If you do, their echoing screams will slowly explode your brain. - They keep trying to reconnect with Mettaton, failing. However, they sometimes get a few visits from Silver. - They're also doing their best to be a good neighbor to Undyne.

-METTATON- Age: 29 years old Magic color: french blue Gender: male Pronouns: he/him Orientation: open to interpretation

Extra info: - His main weapon is an electric whip, but he's armed like a tank. - Despite not paying much attention to Alphys, he's always willing to help her, as he's in debt. - Often argues with Sans about his "bad friendship" with her. - Founder of the “Human Fanclub”. Alphys and Sans (<- didn't want to accept) are the only members.

Silver is based on the Undertale OC Red by @/taxiderby

-SILVER- Age: 26 years old Magic color: silver of course Gender: demigirl Pronouns: she/her - they/them - it/its Orientation: ??? (she won't tell you)

Extra info: - Undyne's 1# rival. They're also best friends. - Despite spending years together, you'll find out that you know little to nothing about her. - She always speaks politely and mysteriously. She likes to see others frustrated with her behavior.

[masterqwertster]

54-kidnapping. For the guy in a situation prompts. With a focus on Ashton. Could you please continue on from the presumed dead prompt you recently did? I really liked that one. Bells Hells would never let someone take their punk rock.

Continuing this prompt answer

Ashton is tending a field, a garden. Small animal-shaped eidolons gambol along in his wake, occasionally helping at his direction. Everything is green and growing and beautiful. He breathes in fresh air, appreciating the place he's carved out for himself in the world.

It’s so fucking peaceful.

–e u– –hton.

There's a sound on the breeze. Words they can’t quite make out.

Wa– up, –on.

Ashton quiets his small companions, trying to make out the message on the wind.

WAKE UP, ASHTON!

___

Ashton gasps awake.

Fucking fuck. He hates it when his stupid vivid dreams show him the nice shit he can never have.

Not that there’s really time to be upset about the random shit his brain throws at him. Imogen wouldn't poke into his head like that without a good reason.

Which is about the time it registers that this is not where they remember going to sleep. Because they sure as fuck hadn’t been chained up in a crate before they went to sleep.

So Ashton does the obvious thing: he rages and does his best to break the chains. Or crate. Whichever comes first.

The chains, unfortunately, are well-done. Even their raging strength isn't enough to make up for the lack of leverage from having their arms thoroughly pinned to their sides and legs bound together.

They are not, however, enough to restrain Ashton’s thrashing to a level that won’t break the crate. And wood splinters as Ashton’s feet and head slam into the planks.

The thing is, Ashton hadn’t really thought this through. Breaking the crate can get him out of it, but it doesn’t change that his ability to move is restricted to inchworming around because of the chains. Which means running or fighting is–

“Fucking hell! That should have been enough to keep a half-giant out for a whole day!”

–near impossible. Especially when his captors are still around.

Magic wraps around their body, stopping even what struggles Ashton can make chained up as they are. Someone opens the crate, though Ashton can only catch their silhouette from the corner of their bad eye thanks to the position they’ve been locked into.

“Right. Back to sleep with you,” the figure says. 

And something pierces into Ashton’s neck. He can feel whatever poison or drug is on it– in it?– seeping through his system. Ashton does his best to hold onto consciousness, but that shit is still being put into him. More and more, until he loses the fight to remain awake.

___

Ashton has the helm. 

Most need a compass, an enchanted one at that, in the Shattered Teeth, lest they get lost among the fog and shifting islands. But he is of Ka’Mort’s power, and the Empress of Earth’s power suffuses these isles. Ashton knows where the islands are, can feel them in his blood. Not to mention the eidolons here are the most eager and obedient to their requests over any other place they’ve sailed.

He breathes in the salty air. Blows out a whistle to the air and water eidolons to speed The Hellion along its course.

“There you are, Ashton. I’ve been searchin’ all over for you.”

“I don’t know why, Captain. It’s my shift at the helm,” Ashton says, leaning against the wheel as they eye the sorceress. Odd. She’s not wearing her captain’s coat. Imogen loves that thing, mostly because Laudna made it for her.

“The fuck are you talkin’ about, Ashton? This is a dream,” Imogen insists.

Everything freezes. Everything except him and Imogen.

“Ow,” Ashton says, hand going to their head as it sparks wildly. Realizing that this shit is a dream is a first. As is having Imogen poking in like this.

“Sorry about that,” Imogen apologizes. “Considering how wakin’ up didn’t go so great for you last time, we decided me jumpin’ into your dream to talk with you would be easier. I didn’t realize how much you got caught up in these dreams.”

“You’ve seen my dreams before?” Which probably isn’t the part they should be locking onto, but fuck it, this is, apparently, their dream.

“I go pokin’ around sometimes when I can’t sleep,” Imogen explains with a shrug. “And that’s besides the point. We’re comin’ to rescue you. We’re not gonna to leave you behind. So just hang on, alright? I promise, we’re comin’.

Her words echo through Ashton’s head, loosening a tension he hadn’t even realized was there. He’s alone, but not alone. Bells Hells isn’t going to abandon him to whoever fucking kidnapped him. And Ashton is kind of thankful he’s the only one these fuckers took. A rescue is probably more manageable than breaking out, and they’ll only be short him going in.

“Okay. But you better move fast, or I might get out on my own,” Ashton replies, challenging her, challenging them to come faster. 

“...And thanks.” for coming at all, they don’t say. But they think she can catch that anyways.

“We’re comin’. Promise.”

Had some fun playing with Ashton's alternate life dreams and how the Grim Verity/Omen Archives study of Exaltants said that they could enter others' dreams.

[omgiamwish]

Idk if prompts are okay to ask right now with the LOTR stuff(which I LOVE, keep it up!), but if they are, I was wondering if it’s okay to see a short comic heart-to-heart between Leo and Splinter after the war? Maybe Leo’s in a state of depression and he’s just sitting at the couch watching TV and Yoshi sits with him, and somehow finds the right words to help him. Just an idea.

This turned into a short fic instead (630 words).

Check out Chair Theft on Ao3 or continue reading below!

Leo sighs, eyes fixed on the projector screen but not really seeing it. Mikey had found a new old tape of magic shows for him, and Leo was trying to enjoy it, but… He just can’t pay attention to it. His thoughts keep wandering. And not even to good places, like wondering if CJ is having fun on the tour of mostly-rebuilt-NYC April is taking him on. No, his stupid brain has decided that he has to keep thinking about-

Dad’s door slides open and Leo quickly adjusts his robe, making sure it fully covers his plastron.

“Hey Dad,” Leo calls lightly, pulling a smile onto his face. “Sorry for stealing your chair.”

Splinter huffs but doesn’t reply right away, and Leo watches him notice the single katana propped on the right side of the chair.

“Have you taken your pain meds, Blue?”

Leo turns his gaze back to the screen. “Yeah.” Not that they did much on a bad day like today, when all his healed bones and scars ache like the breaks and wounds are almost new again. And that’s not even counting what hasn’t healed yet. He probably shouldn’t be out of bed today. It’s just… he doesn’t know. He thought the TV would help.

He hears Dad sigh, and then a dragging sound makes him look back over. Dad pulls one of the larger bean bag chairs over next to Leo and plops into it with a grunt.

“Remind me to ask Red to find another recliner. Mine is too small for you- not enough back support.”

Leo can’t help but stare. He’d expected… he doesn’t know what he expected- he’s only been back on his feet (more or less) for a couple weeks, and nobody’s quite back to acting normal yet. Not around Leo, at least. But he’d thought that Dad would shoo him out of the chair, or maybe just leave him alone or something. Not… whatever this is.

“Where is Red, anyway? And Orange and Purple?”

Leo shrugs with just his right shoulder. “Apparently Meat Sweats is causing trouble again. They’re taking care of it.”

Dad hums, and then breaks into an eye-squinting grin. “I think I will yell at them when they come home, for making us worry.”

This time, the smile that pulls at Leo’s face is a little more real. “Oh yeah, you’re clearly worried out of your mind right now.”

“Exactly! Now, where is your phone? Do you have it?”

Leo pulls his phone from his robe pocket and waves it in the air, curious.

“Good! Now tell them to get take-out on the way home.”

Leo snorts and begins typing in the group chat. “What, so it takes them longer and you can yell at them more?”

“That too!”

Leo hits send. Raph answers with a thumbs up emoji almost immediately and something in Leo’s chest loosens. Oh.

He looks back at Dad, who now appears to be enjoying the magic show that’s still playing. He’s not even sure if Dad likes magic shows.

“Thanks, Dad,” he croaks, because he’s trying to get better at this kind of thing, and also probably because the pain is affecting his filter.

He watches Dad start and stop an acknowledgement a few times before choosing to look back at his phone. Leo guesses Dad is trying to get better at this sort of thing too.

Mikey sends a text asking what kind of take out Leo wants, and Leo starts to answer it before his wrist aches too much and he has to set his phone on his thigh and tap out the rest of his message with his pointer finger.

Dad’s hand settles on Leo’s knee. They watch the rest of the magic shows on the new old tape together.

[niriaveil]

thinking about the trope, "person A fell first, but person B fell harder" and applying it to my da ships

jessamine/alistair: i think alistair fell first (jessamine was a stable rock for him to lean on, she had no issue taking charge and control of where they went, had no qualms about being the one to speak to everyone when needed; but mostly, she gave him space - and time - to grieve. she was cold and angry, but she never was that way to alistair; exasperated at times, yes, but always gentle with him. it did things to his brain.) but jessamine definitely fell harder (it was the damned rose, of all things. his shy smile, the pink on his cheeks and ears; the way he said "something beautiful" as he stared at her. jessamine was always used to superficial love, surface love - had to be aware of it as a cousland and scouting out potential suitors - but the genuine way he talks to her, the way he takes her hand and cups it around the rose. she realizes how badly she wanted this, the real love.)

mercedes/fenris: this one is definitely harder. i think mercedes fell first (unknowingly, of course, until she caught herself listening for fenris specifically in the hanged man; always finding herself smiling or laughing at his humor, catching herself glancing at him, catching his profile in the candlelight and going, "oh no.") but fenris definitely fell harder (after much inner debate, monologue, and introspection. she's a mage, of course. can you blame him for being wary, for guarding himself against her? mercedes is nice but mages always act nice and he'll not fall for a scheme again, not when he finally has his freedom. so he stays wary over the years, until he finally realizes that her kindness is genuine, that despite all his accusations in the beginning, she stands besides him because she wants to, and the realization that he has this unwavering support is... exhilarating and terrifying, in equal measure.)

relihn/dorian: oh, easy. relihn fell first, head over heels. he's not immune to suave, charismatic men - let alone one who boasts so proudly of helping invent TIME MAGIC. dorian is smart, he's charismatic, he's funny, and relihn loves his wit. (don't mind the weeks where relihn struggles with his realization that, oh yes, he does indeed truly only love men - a horrifying thing to accept when you're expected to marry a lovely woman for your noble name. but he realizes that he cares more for his happiness than a fake marriage with a woman he couldn't care for, so he falls easily.) dorian... takes a while longer, but he isn't immune either to relihn's sarcastic nature, his do-good attitude, and his stupid self-sacrificial tendencies that will only end up breaking his heart, sooner or later. but dammit. he's always had a soft spot for the heroes, hasn't he?

[artichow]

You know what I’m about to ask you

RyuGin!!!!

OOOOOUH BABY!!!!

hehehehee them :D

Ship It

I am mentally ill about them /pos

What made you ship it?

I... don't know,, can't think of a moment really, although that scene at the end of fury and gingka's little speech may have been a big sign :) what was that gingka :D Also I think like narratively the scene at the end of fusion where gingka catches ryuga while falling has done something to my brain forever, it is so precious and important to me like.... OUURGH my feelings about ryugin is very!!! arti. grhej can't find a better way to describe it, they are a specific idea of ship i have in my brain that i like as someone who is incredibly confused and lowkey scared of romantic relationships and dating in general, that's why to me they are both aroace (jus like me fr,,) and what they have?? complicated but also so simple somehow!! But honestly I think I liked this idea of ryugin pretty early into my rewatch but i was kind of scared voicing it at first because there can be really shitty interpretations of those characters and their dynamic. I also am a fellow ryuga enjoyer who lives in the magical land of delusion and canon rewrite so :')) that helps a lot. But they mean so much omg i love them so fucking much!! I hope I can write coherently about them because!!!!

What are your favorite things about the ship?

Omg so many things... I love how I think about them with the right song and it hits me right in the feels! I love how similar they are and also vastly different their upbringing (mainly hcs on ryuga's side but yk how it is) and destiny was. Like I'm still absolutely going feral over that post from last year I made about both of our first look of them in the show?? Tbf it's the second scene where we see Gingka but still,, where he's on top of a building seeing the whole sky above him, while when we first see ryuga outside of vague flashbacks or the opening, he's in a sort of coma in a weird coffin surrounded by machine? And the shots of their beys parallel each other?? Like gingka is holding pegasus, probably feeling comfort holding onto his companion and momento of his dad, of his village. Meanwhile Ryuga's hand is lose cause he's asleep but it seems L drago is wide awake and already feeding off of him, one was a bey given to Gingka with a heavy burden of a goal but representing hope and the other was stolen, in order to only bring destruction. I think their relationships to their bey evolving throughout the show is super interesting to compare (but that's also because I hc a lot of things about ryuga that aren't canon because sometimes i want to chew on canon and chug it in the "don't care" bin).

Okay I think I only gave one reason FUCK umm I like the similarities and differences in their designs a lot (scarf/coat, headband/crown, gloves/no gloves, rounder features/sharper). That's mostly to do with Mr Adachi's really cool designs but still I wanted to mention it.

I like the hope in it you know? Ryuga's such a broken person but he's also like,, in my au 14/15yo during fusion and still a kid during the series? And how he almost died at least once (i'm also counting fury because no he didnot i don't care) so young and all this time without any form of genuine care or love. Like I like thinking about him mainly because there's not much that can excuse his actions but it's so interesting too? Like i like explaining the path he takes after fusion. How he's stuck in a downward spiral, hungry for power still because to him power is the only way to feel safe and in control, never being used again. But that ultimately keeps him away from genuine connection still and it also drives him to an almost death and just makes him extra stupid during fury :D idk to me fury ryuga felt so much like character regression, they really saw his masters character and went "yeah but what if..." NYWAY I digrace. I like how they're both just kids and the moment Gingka remembers/realizes it during their final fight in fusion is the thing that saves the world, that for gingka to still be Gingka and to save beyblade, how can he not save this other kid in pain. It is in tune with his character but it's also such a huge accomplishment on his part? He went through so much, his friends, his village, his father got taken away because of Ryuga. It's not all because of Ryuga and Gingka probably knows that but still?? He absolutely hated his guts and for good reason too. But I find it just so!!!! I love the idea that despite it all, there can be love after all of that. However you define it, just compassion and understanding <3 It is so cheesy but maaaaannn what are we without the power of love. I just love ryugin so much, i always try very hard to not make it sound like i'm glossing over all the problems ryuga caused and the emotional and mental toll gingka suffered becaus it's here, but also I love to believe that Gingka is just such a beam of light and he truly empathize with people in general, and something in him will always reach out to Ryuga. And that moment when he stopped him from falling to his death is just so!! To me in my hcs and aus and everything it is just the thing that starts ryuga's growth and character developement, like yeah he's still a stupid guy with a lot of issues but he's going to try. At least in my book (i feel like i'm rambling about things that are so far from canon but whatever i'm vibing my brain is vibrating rn). I just keep thinking about that quote from the good place "the point is people improve when they get external love and support. How can we hold it against them when they don't" and i want to tear up a little.

okay i have a couple more i think that i can think of,, vhfdj this is getting so so long,, oopsie. Um anyway, I like to imagine Ryuga actually helps Gingka too (it's not all one sided i promise but look at this mess of a boy) especially in expressing his feelings and communicating, i feel like gingka would and just by nature still struggles with this but because they understand each other's intentions very well most of the time (and that's canon baby) ryuga helps pointing it out if that makes sense. I also love how they're both intelligent while very dumb at the same time like they maybe aren't beyblade geniuses like Yu but they understand that game so well and so quickly i love that a lot. And I like how they both acknowledge it and respect the other for it.

I like how I imagine them both being vagabonds in their young adult years (*cough* snufkin much *cough*) and valuing their time alone but also sharing adventures together and feeling very comfortable with the other and just vibing :)

It's so funny when i think about it like trying to simplify their dynamic in my head cause it's just: gingka to ryuga is the light, the guy that saved him, the thing that changed everything and he can never fully understands it frustrates him but he can't keep away very long evn though he thought he'd always belong in the dark. And Ryuga to Gingka is friend (extra plus edition) :) both so valid honestly gdfhjsdhj

I love that there is SO MUCH angst potential but also this ship just brings me a sense of peace and joy, like it's somehow cozy??? with these two in it?? but yeah :)

they both absolutely annoy and pester the crap out of each other <3 look at them they're so stupid >:) what is my life if every character in the world is not annoying and dunking on ryuga honestly

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

this has been such a long post holy shit and i feel like i still have stuff to say :') uuuh unpopular? I guess I hate most of the fanart i see of them unsurprisingly... But that's also just the pinterest side of the fandom like... between the straight up absolute weirdo stuff you never want to see ever again, the perpetual whitewashing of ryuga, the abusive/uncomfortable stuff you find it's just :') but again that's true of a lot of characters and ships in the fandom. Idk if me seeing them as aroace and in a more qpr relationship is unpopular, honestly I feel like we're just us two vibing in the ryugin sphere Hani ghfdjsk

btw now that i'm done writing this whole page i'm thinking "but honestly still i'm not really that big on shipping, i feel pretty normal about them even after putting this much effort into this silly ask :') Anywayy whatever the relationship nature is i just like these two characters a whole lot so yeah it's just such a wonderful dynamic and ship to think about <3

[adultswim2021]

Tim And Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! #27: “Jazz” | September 8, 2008 - 12:30AM | S03E07

Hey, this is a good one. Alright? Perhaps less-than-classic. This one has a runner where Tim & Eric are Jazz musicians who smugly tell meandering stories that make them sound like a coupla stupid dopes. I like these segments mostly! Ending the show with the smug delivery of “online? What like WAITING online at the BANK??” is just great. To me. I keep forgetting to say “to me” after all my opinions, sorry! There are a handful more segments in the deleted scenes of these two funny funny jazz men. 

The cold open is James Quall doing Ronald Regan, probably originally shot as part of the season two sketch. This seems slightly like they are scraping the bottom of the barrel, but it turns out they’re setting up a strong sketch in the middle of the episode. More on that… LATER!! Anyway, this sketch references David Stockman, which is an ancient reference. He worked for Regan and may or may not have tried to list ketchup as a vegetable in some school lunch legislation. It is hilarious that this is where his mind goes. Tim & Eric sorta acknowledge the weirdness of the reference by putting up a bogus, likely unrelated portrait of the supposed David Stockman as if it explains anything.

Maria Bamford! For some reason I fail to think of her as a member of the Tim & Eric family even though she is maybe one of the best guests ever. That is not a dig on Maria, Maria is such a singular entity that it’s hard to think of her being part of anything else. Even me periodically thinking about how she’s the funniest person in the world, possibly, is to vastly underrate her. She fits in with the Tim & Eric universe really well, I THINK, TO ME. Here she’s a host of a show about cleaning up after your cat. The little belly crawl towards the litter box in the opening makes me laugh, and I realized that this imagery used to pop into my head everytime I had to scoop my cat’s litter. Lucy. Her name was Lucy. She has passed.

There’s a fairly good Doug animation in this one, too featuring funny guys and their funny hats. This leads into a Beaver Boys sketch that is exceptionally brainless. The Beaver Boys are up to their old tricks!! They are on a sex-having date with freaking TWINS, but they blow it by not being able to control themselves and gorging themselves on shrimp and white wine being served at the table next to theirs. It’s very stupid, but I see the Beaver Boys as some kind of meta commentary on the nature of very specifically-premised one-note recurring characters in various forms of media, especially on sketch comedy shows. Their return is the joke. I also just like this sketch, despite there not being much to it. There is something funny about the stereotypical way the girls get up and leave, angry, as though what they are doing is typical guy behavior and not the product of a serious brain disease, which is what these boys must have.

Probably the best sketch is a fake trailer for a James Quall biopic where Quall is portrayed by Saturday Night Live’s Bill Hader. His impression is immaculate, and he’s very funny as Quall. There are some charming outtakes from this one, including one where David Liebe Hart (who shines as himself) ruins a take with indigestion, and one where we see the real James Quall watching Hader work his magic and laughing like crazy.

Everything outside of the Quall trailer feels a little dashed off, but I found most of it funny and the episode worked for me as a whole. I think a lot of what made this episode great is the editing, which I think this show should have won an Emmy for. 

I forgot to mention the guy who wants to make sure his condo has enough room for his boys. Dang it. I love that guy.

EPHEMERA CORNER

Space Ghost Coast to Coast: From the Kentucky Nightmare DVD (aka Volume 5) (September 11, 2008)

The final DVD release of Space Ghost Coast to Coast… EVER! This was a two-disc set that included the final Cartoon Network season and the first Adult Swim season. This was the first time I ever saw the uncut Fire Ant. The extras included the colonial man ending of Snatch, which before I’d only seen in a very low-quality internet vid, Table Read Extra, the Conan and Busta Rhymes Raw Interviews, and two nice videos of George Lowe and, C. Martin Croker’s audio recording session for “Kentucky Nightmare”. George’s in particular is fun to watch, because he loves to josh between takes. There’s also easter eggs, but I forget what they are. 

This is a GREAT release and like Volume 4, it was only available through the Adult Swim online store, and is considered very rare. At one point, it sold out and they repressed it and put it on the store for $15 and you could get a copy of Volume 4 for $5. Imagine! Paying a combined $20 for volumes 4 & 5 of Space Ghost Coast to Coast! I came perilously close to selling both my volume 4 and 5 DVDs when I was jobless, but was able to pull them off eBay when I made some money sucking dick.

[firedragon1321]

All You Never Wanted (Short Story)

I'm working on a short story collection called Down With This Ship. It's on the back burner, mostly. But the central theme is "forced love". There's dystopias, artificial intelligence, fractured fairy tales, a horrifying deconstruction of The Bachelor (inspired by the hellsite itself) and an early draft for my novel Tick Tick, amongst many other things.

This entry is a second-person experiment. It's One-Sided Male Yandere Human Cartoon Character x Gender Unspecified "Normal" Reader. This is not meant to be romantic, but that's the clearest way I can communicate the content. It's still a little rough, but I wanted to share the draft anyway. It was kicked off by this post I made in the past, though I may revisit the idea again in a more polished form. If there's interest in this, I may post a few more stories from the collection.

Triggers include- yandere, alcoholism (implied by unreliable/yandere narrator), trauma mention, blood, minor character death, implied rape (of reader), bad end

Short Summary- An ordinary human gets together with ordinary friends to watch childhood cartoons. A drunken spat grows out of control. A wish is made- "may my favorite character always be happy". The morning after, the wish leads a poor soul to a new life. There, they meet the monster they created.

Now, now. Don’t  be afraid.

Don’t you recognize me, love?

It’s your old friend Touya. Y’know—from that kid’s anime? The one with the magical transforming monsters? I’m not a cosplayer or a hallucination. Can’t you see my hand? It’s smooth, without imperfections. Feel it. Haha! Does it scare you not to feel fingerprints? Rest assured- I’m real as you are.

I’ve always been here for you…

I’m sure you don’t remember the wish you made. You had a full plate of drunkenness last night, with a side order of high. Do you like poisoning your brain? Does it scare you? Maybe it’s your little friends. I don’t know why you all need drugs to have a good time.

When you have me…

You were watching my cartoon for old time’s sake. Laughing at the corny jokes. Laughing like asses. Hee-haw, hee-haw! Though I can’t blame you for being under the influence of those drugs.

And your stupid friends…you never needed them…

It’s been years since you’ve seen my backstory, but you never forgot it. I remember it, too. But it’s no longer a part of me. It’s all thanks to your wish. 

I owe you so much. I love you so much.

Still don’t remember? Picture this—the cold beer in your hand, your friends laughter like cheese graters, the stench of pot. The screen, in sepia tone, showing my little brother falling out of a tree house. It was because I wasn’t careful. He nearly died because of my negligence. It always bothered you, since

—you always loved me—

I was a child then. How can a little boy be expected to care for a toddler? All I cared about was adventure—the shining sky above, the world like ants below me. I didn’t want to leave my brother behind. I’d get in trouble if he was alone in the house. Yet, I still was the fool. I took the fall. It wounded me forever.

It wounded you too, love.

Your friends said something stupid about over-dramatics. Like every other character didn’t also have problems. They kept their mouths shut on them. But me? It was “going too far for a kid’s cartoon”. It made you furiously angry.

See? You don’t need them…

That’s when you made the wish. It was a challenge, almost. You were egged on by their asinine behavior. They had to stop their dumbass hee-hawing. Seeing me suffer was never a joke, even when you were drugged out of your mind.

Because I was always your favorite.

You wished I never suffered. You wished it never happened. You wished I would always be happy, and the sun would always shine upon me. 

It worked. I’m here, aren’t I?

You said a lot of other things, too. Many of them were angry. Your friends called you a baby. You never took well to insults. The drugs didn’t help. A few fists flew. A glass or two broke. One donkey hit the coffee table. He didn’t die, but there was a lot of blood. That’s when the others got scared. They scattered from your house, back to the pasture.

I think it was worth it—don’t you?

So here we are, in your bedroom. The posters of me—hand-drawn or official—are missing. All the toys on your shelves are gone. Your wish whisked me out of your room. It purged me from your life. I’m a puppet that danced on your screen as a child- no more, no less.

But you still remember me, don’t you?

I was always worried—about my brother, about other people. I longed to prevent that kind of suffering. My pain turned to love, my love to courage. That was what you envied most about me—courage. You craved it like a fetish. Without beer, there’s not a brave bone in your body. People like you long for a sip of valor. It’s pathetic, isn’t it?

And because of that, no-one loves you but me.

If not for my trauma, I wouldn’t be brave. Without my courageous heroics, you were never enthralled by me in grade school. You never carried me through your life. In rewriting my life, you rewrote your own life. But I still clung to your nostalgic memories.

You love me too, don’t you?

So here we are—in a bedroom with drab adult decor. You don’t know those smelly donkeys. You’ve never touched a single drug. Life is better, but not grand. You’re an office worker someplace. You go to work, clack on the keys, and go home. Only your boss and your parents know your name. You’re a blank face in the crowd. No-one knows you. No-one loves you.

No-one but me.

At least your wish worked for me. I have everything I could have ever wanted. One night, I dreamed of you—a shining star. I saw your little shit-show. Then, a gentle, maternal voice told me that I would be reborn. I would recall the dream, and my past life. I would remember you. But I would wake as a small child, ready to do my life over.

I’m eternally grateful.

I encountered no obstacles before the first episode began. The old me had to struggle to lead the team. I floundered for episode after episode, like a fish gasping for breath. But after your wish, I have no such issues. I lead with power, not courage. 

That is still appealing to you, isn’t it?

I killed that annoying bitch who told me I was being too harsh. I smashed her head against a log. It made me think of your donkey-friend. Hee-haw! Hee-haw! 

You were on my mind the whole time.

But that’s only the beginning. My rival? Monster chow. That one kid who worried about everything? Unfortunate accident. The others scrambled to find the monster who did it. They never checked the boy in front of them.

I did it all for you.

But there was one thing I still wanted. I made myself king. It was easy. The world was too scared to say no. My monster kept them all in line. The world saw what my creature of death could do. Every villain was torn to bloody shreds by his fangs. The goody-two-shoes were as grateful as they were afraid. All I had to do was ask, and the crown was mine. 

Doesn’t every king deserve a consort at his side? 

I couldn’t marry you as a child, though I had longed to. Luckily, my creators made me older, season by season. So I waited until I grew up. 

Then it was time for us to finally be together.

I went to the heart of my magical world. There, I slaughtered the great guardian of time and space. I still remember his blood on my hands, like gooey stardust. The barrier between worlds that he guarded became mine. I left several monster slaves there, to ward off any nosy donkeys. Then, I came here, to your world, to bring you back to mine.

We were always meant to be together.

You sweat like a pig with a knife pressed to its neck. Don’t be afraid. It won’t be so bad. You’ll finally be something. Haven’t you always wished for that? You may be a coward, but I still love you.

It’s the reason I love you.

Here—feel my chest. These are the velvety robes you gave me. I’ll give you a matching set—a thousand times more beautiful. I’ll give you the sun, the moon, the stars—whatever you wish. You won’t be able to leave my side. But you won’t want to.

I love you so much.

A weak word creeps from your lips—“no”. This isn’t what you wanted? Too bad. This is exactly what you wished for. It’s everything you ever wanted. After one night, you’ll remember how much you love me.

Even if I have to force you.

The portal won’t stay open forever. My time runs low. Good thing you’re easy to carry. Is that fear making you immobile? Your skin is like ice. Your blood is frozen syrup. Ironic—by defending courage, you plunged into further cowardice. But you must still love me. I’ll just have to remind you. After one night, you’ll never want to leave my side again.

We’ll be together—forever.

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

For prompt fic:

147: Zombies aren’t real. I promise.

Either Lucian x Peter (Lucian trying to reassure Peter) or Thorne x Peter V (Peter trying to reassure Thorne)

Xxx

Did you know there's a wip in my drafts where Lucian and Peter are in a zombie apocalypse cause I love zombie movies/games and because there were thoughts of having those shitty Resident Evil movies crossover with Underworld?

Anyway, this isn't that, this is something else. :)

Part of the vampire Peter au.

Warning: drinking

On with the fic!

--

Peter downed what remained in his beer bottle, his sixth in the past... he didn't know. It was nice that he could still taste liquids, but it drove him crazy that he couldn't get drunk like he used to. Stupid, quick, vampire healing powers!

"Alright, so, like, you're... eight hundred somethin' years old, yeah?" He asked when he set down the bottle on the side table, adjusting himself better in his chair as he looked at Lucian, who was seated in another chair around the fire pit.

"Yes, give or take." Lucian replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, like, for someone so old, you've traveled? I mean, I know you can speak a number of languages and shit, so you've seen the world?"

"Mostly restricted to Europe, though I had gone into the north of Africa for a bit, I know there are small packs of lycans hiding there, enjoying their freedom."

"Ever been to the US before, ya know, 2003?"

"A number of times. I was there during a World's Fair once, actually. I was chasing down a vampire who thought it would be smart to hide in a crowd that large. They stand out like sore thumbs so easily."

"Hm." Peter nodded and grabbed for another bottle, cracking it open with ease, and tossed the cap somewhere behind himself. "What about... in those islands, off the coast of Florida and stuff. Like Cuba, or Haiti."

Lucian took a drink from his own beer. "I never went to Cuba, Raze did, seeing about some rumors of lycans there, which turned out to be a different species of werewolf. But now, not to the islands, never found a need to go there. Why do you ask?"

"Damn, was hopin' to know if you saw zombies or not."

"I... what? Zombies?"

"You know," Peter set aside his drink to wave his hands about as he spoke, "zombies! The non-vampire living dead! All moans and groans and eatin' brains, and shit like that!"

Lucian blinked twice. "You mean ghouls?"

"No! Zombies! Like, uh, like the Walking Dead! Or Resident Evil!" Lucian just continued to look at him funny. "Night of the Living Dead? Zombieland? 28 Days Later?"

"I am not really someone who watches horror movies, Peter, you know this."

Peter groaned, knocking his head back, before grabbing his phone and looking up something on youtube. He showed the lycan a clip from The Walking Dead, showing the walkers. "See? Zombies, those guys, are they real?"

"That's a ghoul."

"The fuck does a ghoul gotta do with zombies?"

"As a vampire expert, are you not aware of them? How odd."

Peter scoffed and pocketed his phone. "No, like, I mean, I know what a ghoul is. Often a mindless creation of vampires or reanimated corpses that feast upon human- oh, I see what you mean. But that's what a zombie is too! Have you seen any in all your long, wolfy years?"

Lucian sighed and shook his head. "Not in the sense that you're thinking of. These... ghoul zombies? No, not really. I mean, I have seen a regular ghoul, but they are very rare, and often do not live very long, being reanimated corpses. Decomposition is what typically gets them. But the traditional zombie, the ones from voodoo magic? I did not, but I knew of a lycan who was from a village where one had been made. Just a mind-controlled human, not a threat unless ordered to be one."

Peter looked disappointed. "So... like, no brain eatin' zombies, wanderin' around, looking for a tasty bit of flesh?"

"Zombies aren’t real. I promise." Lucian said. "Ghouls and traditional zombies are a reality though."

"Well, at least there's that. Damn, it's so weird of what monsters are real in the world and which ones are human mythology."

"Which is fine, it often keeps us real 'monsters' from truly being known."

"Eh, true." Peter said, taking another long drink. "Alright, here's another one for you... you lived in the mountains, so, tell me, Bigfoot and the Abdominal Snowman, real or fake?"

Lucian sighed again. "Neither of those are in Europe, Peter. So, I do not know if they actually exist or not."

"Damnit! Useless, useless, sexy wolfy man!"

--

The zombies we see in media today are technically ghouls, due to George Romero taking inspiration from Omega Man (I am Legend)'s ghouls for his zombies.

Real zombies are people drugged out of their minds on dried puffer fish.

Just a little trivia from your monster enthusiast. :)

and yes i'd like to think there are more monsters in my lucian/peter aus than just werewolves, lycans, and vampires

[terrible-twst-oc-ideas]

Would You Believe I've Never Had a Lesson? V. Fifth Movement - Resistance

It was the dead of night, and Piper couldn’t sleep.

On their desk had once sat a plethora of pamphlets, each detailing the merits of their particular magic institutions. Piper had no idea there were so many arcane academies when they’d started sorting through Mr. Duke’s stack, and for the past few hours, they’d busied themself with dismissing most of them. Some were based on climate (they’d melt if made to study in the Sunset Savanna or the Scalding Sands), some on missing qualifications (one academy in the Rose Kingdom required applicants to have “strict timedness and exemplary directitude,” and Piper had no idea what that meant), and some just based on a gut feeling (not only did they assume schools like Night Raven College and Royal Sword Academy were out of their league, but something about going to an all-boys school made them feel uncomfortable in an indescribable way). Now, they’d finally narrowed them down to two application-worthy institutes: Noble Bell College, and Magpie Academy.

Both had been easy diamonds to find in the rough. They were already highly familiar with Noble Bell, having walked through its Main Street many times, and they knew the school had a rich history and a love for the arts. Magpie Academy, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly as old or as close to home, but it boasted a rigorous and robust academic program, with plenty of modern-day amenities and extra-curricular activities. Piper knew they’d have no complaints if they were accepted into either school.

They just didn’t know if they should apply.

Piper groaned, staring up at the ceiling. This should be an easy decision, and the answer should be to do it. Yet, there was still an annoying, nagging little voice in their brain telling them that they shouldn’t even try. Magic shmagic, Piper. Who cares if it now intrigues you? You’ve acquired the ability to use it so late in the game, that even if you go to a school for it, you’ll fall behind. You’ll fail. You’ll have abandoned the only reason anyone bothers to care about you, and for what? To pursue a new, stupid fancy of yours. Better to stay by your organ where you know you’re wanted, and not risk being thrown away. 

Piper lifted up their glasses, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes with a groan. 

They had to shut the voice up.

Piper didn’t write to their parents often, mostly because their parents often didn’t write back. They never liked any form of correspondence-- Piper only wrote because they’d been instructed not to call, and even then, the few letters their parents sent back were always rather curt. Still, they were the first and best persons Piper could think to ask when making a decision like this. They got out their best pen and a sheet of their best paper, and began to write.

Dear Mother and Father,

I hope this letter finds you in good humor.

A bit of a cliché opening, but Piper didn’t think their parents would particularly care. They continued,

As for myself, I am quite well. I will be performing again at Madame Bonfamille’s Winter Benefit Soirée on the 15th of December. I’ve prepared an original composition to perform, and have been hard at work rehearsing it. If your schedules permit, I would be pleased if you attended the concert this year.

Piper knew they likely wouldn’t come. Their parents had only attended once when they were ten, and had spent the entire night bragging about Piper's performance. The only time they’d spoken to Piper was to ask them to refill their drinks.

Having said that, there is another matter I need to inquire about, as it is the primary reason for my correspondence.

Here is where Piper hesitated. How exactly should they word this? They needed to be tactful, but tact wasn’t easily manifested on the first draft.

Not wanting to ruin their paper, Piper dug out a pencil and one of their drafting journals. After skipping past pages of their embarrassing impromptu poetry to find a clean sheet, they started to brainstorm.

During auditions for the Winter Soiree…

No. That might imply something went wrong. Try again.

Last week…

No, it would likely be longer than that by the time their parents received the letter. What about…

Recently (perfect), I discovered that I may actually possess the ability to perform magic. 

Yes, that sounded best. It was better to be vague on the details. Not only did their parents prefer brevity, but they might find a description of their power frightening.

And that’s when a little thought spoke up in their brain.

Would anyone at their hypothetical new magic academy be alarmed by said power?

This was something that Piper had not considered before. They themself had been alarmed when it first manifested. Come to think of it, their peers had seemed the slightest bit more weary of them as of late, and even their teachers appeared to tip-toe around them. There were more whispers, more strange looks. Even Reed had seemed startled by them the last time they spoke--

Oh Seven.

That’s what it really was, wasn’t it? Why they were trying to send them away: They were scared of them. It was no secret the school’s population was almost entirely non-mage, so the thought of having one in their midst, especially one that could put large swaths of them into a trance on a mere whim--

This whole time. This whole time, they’d been trying to keep their purpose from shattering. 

But they’d already broken it.

Piper let out an anguished cry, throwing themself on their desk. Why, out of everyone in the world, did they have to acquire magic? Were there not thousands of others begging for it? Were there not countless non-mages who dreamed of having it, who wanted those powers more than life itself? Why, when there were so many others who’d do anything for just a taste of magic, did fate decide to gift it to someone who was not only content to do without it, but whose life would be actively ruined by its "present"?!

Piper didn’t know how long they spent sobbing, but it felt like ages. The sudden grief they’d been struck with was too much. Here they were, trying to resist having their old life yanked out of their fingers, when it had been stolen from them the moment they gave that audition. Their fate was already determined. If they stayed here, they’d be thrown out with the rest of the garbage. 

But if they left…

Piper picked their head back up, finding a tissue to wipe their foggy glasses clean. They looked between the two pamphlets, at first blurry in their poor and watery vision, and then clear. The question entered their mind again: would they be afraid?

Mages could do any number of awe-inspiring, horrifying things. They could produce objects out of thin air, control the forces of nature, use their powers to alter the minds and bodies of those around them. To outsiders, they could reasonably be seen as monsters.

But to each other, they simply were.

Piper pushed aside their journal, placing their unfinished letter back in front of them. 

Having said that, there is another matter I need to inquire about, as it is the primary reason for my correspondence. May I ask for some madol for my 15th birthday? I wish to purchase a coat I found in a local shop as my birthday gift this year. I have about 2000 madol saved for it, and would need about 1000 more to purchase it. I would be most grateful if you were able to grant me this wish.

I will be staying at Madame Bonfamille’s as usual for the winter holiday, so do not worry about accommodating me.

Sincerely,

Piper 

There. That was a good enough alternative question, as they had wanted that coat. They would send this letter out in the morning with the others.

Readying their pen once more, they got out another good sheet of paper, and began to write.

To the Admissions Office at Magpie Academy,

I would like to humbly offer my application to attend your arcane academy…

[tonysaintborgi]

Feel free to respond tomorrow, I just don't wanna forget so I'm sending now!

I've tried products like that before but I'm not sure they work for me personally. To give a little insight into my particular flavor of ocd, I tier things into different categories of "dirty" and I cannot cross contaminate something cleaner with something dirtier, and it's hard for me to keep something like that in the clean category. I'm not sure why, maybe texture? My regular lotion is also hard and I have special protocols for it.

Tbh these loops come and go and I've never been sure how to break them. This one was triggered but they usually kinda just happen randomly

ough. well, again, perhaps this advice isn't as good as it could be, but after brainstorming I can think of a few ideas.

first, dr. bronners. i know, again, a product. and a soap at that! but here's what I Know: the secrets of life and love CAN be found on that label manifesto and if there was such a thing as a magic elixir it's bronners soap. every time I've had a skin irritation or anything, it really feels like bronners helps. put like a tablespoon of bronners into a squirtbottle and fill the rest with water and you'll have a perfect all purpose cleaner that you can smell. it certainly makes ME feel like things are just generally cleaner. again, this one may actually be bad advice for you, but I'm just throwing things at the wall and hoping they stick - and if they don't stick to the wall, at least, i got a reccomendation on what to use to clean that wall...

secondly, fight your impulses and brainrules with other impulses or brainrules. like that one post says, sometimes you gotta get a little ill to get well. make new rules! like "gross things cannot contaminate me without direct prolonged contact if I'm listening to the crisp clean sounds of Casiopea" - sure, it sounds stupid, but it may just work. and having to listen to Mint Jams when you wash your hands may sound annoying, but I'm assuming it's probably at worst an even trade-off for how annoying your brain is right now. and brains just fucking LOVE patterns like that. just keep telling it the smooth and crisp fusion vibes are part of cleanliness and they enhance the experience and fuckin... it might just eat it up!

third, a cleansing spell. mostly for the same reason as above. tell your brain you've not only physically cleaned the area but by lighting a few vibes candles and a temple incense you've also spiritually purified the area. help it feel like you're going above and beyond cleaning to scratch the itch(?).

equally, you could always purposefully go out of your way to make the area dirty, then clean it, to satisfy the need for cleanliness. again, scratching the itch. brain says that place is dirty even though logically it isn't? and cleaning a clean thing does fuck all. so maybe it's time to say, accidentally spill a can of tomato sauce or something and clean it up, showing brain that yeah dude the place IS clean

final idea, and perhaps the most hail mary remedial idea i can think of, is the Fast Tigers thing. squat/lay down (I'm assuming squatting is probably better in this situation) and tighten all of your muscles all over your body and hold for 5-10 seconds then release the tension. chemically tells your brain to chill.

again, idk how many of these will do you good, if any... i mean, I hope so! I hope something helps. I'll keep thinking, see if i can come up with anything. i haven't gotten stoned yet today so maybe something will come to me once I'm baked