#i say as i fall into a pit of acid

[anonymocha]

found bald don quixote in my random sketch mountains

[mutable-manifestation]

Imagining Danny just finding Batman lurking on a gargoyle or something and holding his finger juuuuuust barely not touching him.

Like. Gotham said to leave her knights alone? He is. He's not touching him. What? being nearby isn't "not leaving him alone" they can still choose not to interact with him. So what if he's in The Bat's personal space? He's THE Batman, her most preciousest number one Knight, surely he can find another way off of the gargoyle if he really wants to avoid him.

Batman turns around from his place on the gargoyle and nearly jumps out of his skin when he comes eye-to-finger with some skrungly kid who appeared out of nowhere??? (Danny has been floating slightly and holding his breath to avoid detection - because of course Gothi can only have completely human knights. GIW suck-up [he calls her this aloud once and three gargoyles crack off and fall nearly onto his head])

Lady Gotham and Phantom are friends- Lady Gotham and Phantom are coworkers/friendly to a degree with each other- Lady Gotham sees Phantom as her child adjacent blah blah blah

Consider the funnier option:

*Lady Gotham and Danny fucking hate each other.*

Danny takes two steps into the city and he can feel the city physically vibrating she wants him gone so badly. Unfortunately for her, Danny is a teenager that fought god (pariah dark) once and on a principle doesn’t listen to authority.

Just give me two city-spirits having the absolute worst beef with each other for no reason whatsoever.

[zylev-blog]

Batman opened the door, catching the falling body that had come out of the tube. Glowing green Lazarus water flowed around his feet, but he didn’t care. He gently laid the boy onto the ground, listening for breathing sounds. But he wasn’t even sure if his species could breathe. The boy was no older than Tim, with stark-white hair, and pale green skin. The boy wasn’t human, that was for sure, but as to what species he was, Batman had no clue. The teenager hadn’t even opened his eyes since being removed from the tube.

The Lazarus water didn’t smell quite like the pits he was used to. The water smelled cleaner, stronger. Less like battery acid and more like a strong-scented cleaner that he couldn’t give a name to.

He grasped the boy by the shoulders as he picked him up bridal style. He needed to take the boy to the cave, and figure out if he was even alive. A regular hospital wouldn’t be able to do anything for him.

“Batman, we’ve apprehended the last of the men in white suits.” Red Robin said over the comms.

“Good,” His voice was gruff, “Make sure they don’t escape before police arrive.”

Tim didn’t bother saying anything else to him. Neither of them were in the mood for jokes. Not after what they had seen tonight. They had stumbled across a lab in Gotham in an abandoned warehouse. They had thought that it was a Joker hideout when they first arrived, but they had quickly found out that wasn’t the case. After they had began to investigate, they had found corpses of many people that had been thrown into a pit. The bodies had evidence of vivisection, torture, and experimentation. The bodies had ranged from children to adults, but the results were all the same. They were all dead.

They had found tubes like the ones used at Cadmus. They held a few humanoid-species, but most of them looked like they were in varying stages of death. The only tube that looked like it held someone living had been the teenage boy he now held in his arms.

The worst thing about all of this were that they had no idea what this place was, what they were doing, or why they were in Gotham. They had stumbled in by mistake.

He had a lot of work to do.

“No survivors.” Nightwing’s voice sounded. Not even Dick was in a good mood anymore, and he had been joking around for the last few hours.

Batman looked down at the boy in his arms. The boy hadn’t stirred once, hadn’t moved, and hadn’t breathed. He might be carrying a corpse for all he knew.

“And the files?” He prompted.

“Downloading.” Red Robin’s voice was grim. “You’re not going to like it.”

He didn’t like anything about this situation already. How could it get any worse?

“From what I can tell from skimming through the files,” Red Robin continued, “They were experimenting with people’s souls. They killed all of these people because they wanted to catch their ghost.”

“Hrrn.” He looked away from the teenager in his arms. Maybe he didn’t have a corpse in his arms—but a ghost. A ghost of a teenager he failed to save.

What if it had been Tim lying in his arms? Dick? Jason? Damian? Did this teenager have parents before he died, or were his parents in the pit?

The boy stirred, whipping Bruce’s attention back to him. The boy moaned in pain, starting to writhe in his arms.

“You’re safe now.” He said to the boy. “You’re saved.”

“Nnnngh.” The boy opened Lazarus green eyes to look at him. The eyes were hazy, as if exhaustion plagued them. “Batman?”

“They won’t hurt you ever again.” He promised.

“Where is my sister?” The boy asked. “They took her.”

Dick’s words played on repeat in his mind. No survivors. But the boy didn’t need to know that. Not yet.

“We’re still searching the base. She’ll be here somewhere.” He lied.

The boy closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh. But even with Bruce watching him, the boy did not breathe. Maybe he didn’t need to anymore. Tears leaked down the boy’s cheeks, as if he knew Bruce’s lie.

[yandere-daydreams]

exhibit #5 - omorashi

an installment of the freak shit march gallery showcase.

pairing: yandere!geto x reader (jjk).

length: 3.0k.

warnings: non/con, fem!reader, watersports, infantalization, mentions of physical abuse, physiological abuse, implied kidnapping, and humiliation. dead dove: do not eat.

Geto Suguru was going to kill you.

Slowly, tortuously, and with pleasure. The same way he slaughtered curses too weak to be worth choking down, the same way he allowed his non-sorcerer acolytes to be torn apart after they’d expended their usefulness. Maybe he’d make you drink boiling water, or battery acid, something hot and corrosive that would destroy you from the inside out. Maybe he would drive some curve-bladed, ritualistic dagger through your heart and leave you on his altar to bleed out. Maybe he would have you drawn and quartered, even if you weren’t completely sure where he’d find the horses. You wouldn’t put it past him, though.

You guessed the method didn’t actually matter. Whatever he chose, whatever grisly end you imagined for yourself, the fact of the matter stood true.

He was going to fucking kill you.

You crumpled into yourself, pushing your body further into the back of the closet. Hiding would’ve been pointless, but you weren’t really trying to. Suguru had locked the bedroom door after shoving you inside, and you were beyond the point of trying to escape on impulse. It was all you could do to curl into yourself and try to forget where you were, what was coming, whose blood was drying under your nails. Even that was a futile effort – successful only in dragging your last minutes alive to a standstill and giving you that much more time to contemplate your utter hopelessness. You would’ve been better off banging on the walls and begging him to kill you now. At least, then, he might’ve gotten it over with quickly.

You buried your face in your knees, groaning aloud, but your spiral into complete despair was cut short. Distantly, you heard a lock click out of place, a door swing open, a set of padded footsteps growing ever-closer. You were tempted to stay where you were, to pretend he wasn’t there, but that would’ve only delayed the inevitable. Instead, you swallowed your fear, pushed yourself to your feet, and went to meet your hangman.

Of course, Suguru was waiting for you when you finally opened the closet door, and of course, he was the pinnacle of composure. Calm and collected, leaning on the foot of his bed, his hair pulled back and his traditional attire traded out for a plain black long-sleeved shirt and a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants. The three jagged lines carved into his cheek had been cleaned, but not bandaged over. Either they hadn’t been deep enough to be worth his time, or he wanted you to see them. Hopefully the former, but most likely the latter.

He smiled when he saw you – the expression softened, gentle. “There’s my pretty girl.”

You weren’t so serene.

Throwing yourself into his arms was more of a survival instinct than any real bid for comfort. He caught you easily, laughing as you barreled into his chest and buried your face in his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you managed, voice muffled by fabric and proximity. “It was an accident, I—I didn’t mean to, please don’t hurt—”

“Slow down. I don’t even know what you’re saying.” He rested a hand on the top of your head, combing his fingers through your hair. “Why would I hurt you?”

Why wouldn’t he? He’d threatened to break your legs for so much as verbally wishing him dead, before. This was worse. This was a death sentence.

“Because…” It was hard to find an answer that wouldn’t incriminate you further. You pulled back, gesturing to your cheek. “Because of the accident.”

He hummed. “Remind me which accident, honey?”

Something curdled in the pit of your stomach. You let your eyes fall to your feet. “This afternoon, during your sermon.” And then, when Suguru continued to wait for a proper answer, “When you tried to pull me into your lap. You caught me off-guard, and I—” Fought back. Pushed him away. Acted like a fucking idiot. “—hurt you. It wasn’t on purpose.”

There was more to it than that. His followers had been watching, and the beat of silence that’d followed your little outburst had rung louder than anything he’d preached. You embarrassed him. It was only a miracle that he hadn’t gutted you on the spot.

“Of course.” His hand slipped down to your neck, his thumb rubbing circles in the apex of your spine. “And how could I punish you for something you didn’t mean to do?”

Easily. He’d done it before – more times than you could count. Your wrist still hurt from the day he’d dislocated it after finding a few loose coins underneath your mattress. You still weren’t sure they’d gotten there, let alone where you would’ve picked them up, but it’d been enough to make Suguru think you were planning to run away. Justification beyond that was superfluous.

But this wasn’t the time to point that out. You only nodded irrationally into his chest, and Suguru chuckled, kissing the top of your head. “I think someone’s had a long day,” he murmured, squeezing you against him before pulling away. “Let’s get you fed n’ cleaned up, alright? We’ll talk about your bedtime after that.”

You didn’t trust his sugary tone or saccharine expression, but obediently, you muttered a small ‘okay’. Suguru pulled back, taking you by the hand and leading you away.

His apartment was a small, depressing thing. He had a larger home further from the city, one with spare bedrooms for both of his girls and a private chamber where he could speak with his strange, eccentric guests privately. His live-in captive couldn’t exist under the same roof as his beloved daughters, though, and you weren’t the type of possession he liked to show off, so you were relegated to a well-maintained, but painfully unloved apartment not far from his temple. There wasn’t much decoration beyond the steel bolts on every door and window, nor did what few personal effects he kept scattered around bring you much joy – a cat o’ nine tails draped over the back of the sofa, a vacant dog crate set up in the corner of the living room. There was nothing of yours, of course. Suguru didn’t really let you have interests beyond him. Anything that demanded more of your attention than needlepoint or absentmindedly nodding along to his megalomaniacal rants was deemed unsuitable and quickly done away with.

The kitchen was a little homier, but not by much. Suguru sat you down at the kitchen table before moving to the nearest counter. There was nothing on the stove, no ingredients laid out to prep, but an electric kettle simmered quietly next to a small glass container. He hummed as he worked, filling the container with scalding hot water, measuring out a cup or so of some colorless powder and mixing it in. It wasn’t until he produced a lid – thick at the base with a pink-tinted nipple spouting out of it like some unfortunate tumor – that you realized it wasn’t a container, but a bottle. For a second, it was all you could do to sit there, motionless and bewildered, and wonder where he’d managed to find a baby.

The lid was worked onto the bottle, the temperature checked against his wrist. He placed it onto the table in front of you delicately, as not to damage the glass, and your confusion immediately turned to dread.

“I… I don’t think I have much of an appetite.”

“You’ll have to try. Growing girls need their calories.” He fell into the seat next to you, tapping his knee. “Right here, honey.”

You looked toward the bottle, then to Suguru – still smiling, still unwavering. You took a deep breath, reminded yourself that there were worse things in the world than ego-death, and pushed yourself to your feet.

Dinner was a slow, effortful, and humiliating task. Suguru held you snugly, cooing out praise as he held the bottle against your lips. You tried not to think about the lack of flavor, or the way the milk clung to the back of your throat in clumps, or why he’d apparently had baby formula and a nursing bottle on-hand. The bottle was refilled once at its half-way point, then again as you neared the last few drops. By the time you finished, your stomach ached and fatigue had knit itself into the very fabric of your being, encouraging you to shut your eyes, to rest your head against Suguru’s shoulder, to fall into the repetitive sucking motion despite the knots of soreness forming in your jaw. Still, you knew better than to complain. As far as punishments went, this was relatively tame. You’d embarrassed him in front of his congregation, and he’d embarrassed you in front of the only person allowed to see you - him. Fair enough, good game, etc.

There was no pretense of autonomy by way of reward. Suguru kept you gathered in his arms – tucked against his chest as he carried you through the empty halls and balanced on his lap while drew a bath, the water hot enough to steam. You half-expected him to leave you to your own devices or, more predictably, to strip down and join you, but he just perched himself on the edge of the basin, only breaching the distance to wash your hair or lather your skin. It might’ve been nice, in another context, with a more loving partner. Under Suguru’s watchful gaze, it was hard to feel like anything more precious than a pet being groomed.

As Suguru drained the water, you realized you had to pee. Badly.

Which wasn’t surprising, on its own. You’d practically drunken half your body weight, and it wasn’t like there’d been many chances for a bathroom break pre-punishment, either. You did your best not to squirm as Suguru patted you down with towel, not to complain when he carefully removed the toothbrush from your hand in favor of shoving it past your lips himself. “You’ve already gotten in enough trouble, today,” he explained as he took your jaw in his free hand, holding you still when you reflexively recoiled. “We’d better make sure you don’t have the opportunity to do anything else you might regret.”

After what felt like much, much longer than two minutes, he let you rinse your mouth out without further intervention. When you were done, you lingered in front of the vanity, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

“Do you mind if I…” You swallowed. “…if I get a few minutes alone?”

He hummed. “And why would you want to be alone, love?”

Your face burned. Suguru was always terrible, but he wasn’t normally this dense. “I, uh—Nevermind, I guess. It’s nothing.”

If Suguru noticed your discomfort, he was more than happy to gloss over it. Your usual sleepwear consisted of, on good nights, one of Suguru’s oversized shirts or, on most nights, nothing at all. Tonight, though, Suguru seemed to be in the mood to play dress-up – forcing an ivory nightgown over your head, combing the hair away from your face, tying a delicate, pale pink ribbon around your neck. It was only after he’d taken the better part of five minutes to slide a pair of perfectly white, perfectly frilly knee-sigh socks up your legs that he seemed satisfied, taking a step back to admire his work.

This must’ve been the second part of your punishment. It wasn’t as bad at the bottle, sure, but there was something about the way Suguru’s gaze burnt into you, the vague amusement playing underneath his lovestruck grin, the pressing awareness that he was enjoying this. You let your eyes fall into your lap, but Suguru was quick to correct you – cupping your cheek and tilting your head back, coaxing you to meet his gaze. “Feeling shy?” He squeezed, the gesture playful, yet forceful enough to bruise. “You certainly weren’t during my sermon.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to insist that it’d been an accident, but Suguru’s patience must’ve been growing thin. His mouth was on yours before you could get a word out, teeth biting into your lips, tongue raking over yours. You felt his hands, next – eager and groping, slipping under the skirt of your dress, kneading at your ass and thighs. You squeaked, jerking away, and surprisingly, Suguru let you, his hands settling on your waist.

“I’m sorry, but I—” For the millionth time that night, your voice seemed to catch in your throat. This time, you forced yourself to choke it up. “I really have to use to the bathroom.”

You heard him laugh, felt his mouth against the crook of your neck. “I know, honey.”

One of his hands drifted to your stomach, pressing down lightly. You tried to scramble back, but Suguru held you in-place – bringing a knee onto the mattress for better leverage. “I’m serious, it’s really—”

“I never said you weren’t.” His touch drifted to your cunt, two fingers dragging circles over your clit. For all the time he’d spent picking out your clothes, panties had been strategically forgotten. “It’s alright. I’m here whenever you’re ready.”

Your breaking point was staggeringly abrupt and humiliatingly minor. Suguru’s arm wrapping around your waist, his body turning over yours as he fell onto the mattress and dragged you on top of him. The bulk of his thigh pressed into your cunt, and something inside you split, cracked, spilled. It was too fast, too hot, too wet, and you couldn’t seem to make it stop. You clenched your eyes shut, anything not to have to see the growing yellow stain spreading across the white of your nightgown, but that didn’t save you from the warmth trickling down your legs, the puddle quickly forming on Suguru’s lap.

It was a dizzying juxtaposition; the tightness in your lower stomach as more pressure was put on your bladder, the heat pooling in your core as Suguru continued to trace aimless patterns into your clit. His mouth latched onto your throat, sucking hickeys into tender skin before dropping lower, following the curve of your breast. His lips sealed around your nipple just as his fingers fell from your clit to your pussy, thrusting into you with only the slightest hint of warning.

Suguru was never careful during sex, not beyond what it took to keep from breaking your neck when he wrapped his hands around your throat, but he was normally deliberate, normally intentional in the ways he used and contorted your body. Now, he seemed determined to curl and spread his digits with little to no regard for your pleasure, to batter his fingers into your cunt like he was trying to split you apart from the inside out. It hurt, but even worse, it was working – slick staining the inside of your thighs as you struggled to close your legs around his hand. You tried to get him away from you, to dig your nails into his shoulder and scratch at his chest, but Suguru only groaned into your chest, sucking that much more harshly.

It didn’t save you from his laugh – barking and cruel – or his hand on your stomach, palm pushing into your bladder, milking your embarrassment. “This,” he hissed, venom sharpening the edges of his infantilizing coo. “is a fucking accident. The shit you pulled during my sermon – that was a brat begging to be put in her place. Don’t try to pass off one for the other again.”

You tried to open your mouth, to spit that you should’ve clawed out his eyes when you’d had the chance, but the only noise you seemed able to make was an unsteady, trembling whine. A flood of humiliated tears escaped despite your best efforts, forming searing tracks down the length of your face, and Suguru leaned towards you, pressing a light kiss into your temple before running the flat of his tongue over your left cheek. There was no attempt at comfort as he dragged your hips against his, as freed his cock and aligned his tip with your entrance. He thrust into you as the last deposits of piss were forced out of your bladder, your mess leaking down his shaft. Suguru only moaned, twitching inside of you.

You didn’t want to cry. Really, you didn’t want to, but apparently, you’d managed to lose control of more than one of your bodily functions. Suguru crooned as the first sob broke past your lips, then another, until you were all-but wailing as he bounced you on his cock. With an artificial sort of exasperation, he lowered you gently onto the mattress, rolling his hips against yours. “Aw, baby, did I hurt your feelings?” The question was sardonic, teasing. As if both of you weren’t covered in your piss. “Here – I’ve got just the thing for delicate little princesses like you.”

Through tear-blurred vision, you watched him pull his shirt over his head and throw it thoughtlessly over his shoulder. A hand was brought to the back of your head and your mouth forced against his chest – lips smashed against his nipple. “Go ahead.” His nails scraped against your scalp. “All little girls love their pacifiers, don’t they?”

It was a wonder, how you’d ever thought you would get away with damaging his pride so easily.

It was a wonder, why you’d ever thought death was the worst thing he could force onto you.

He thrust into you, and you went limp underneath him. A whimper dying in the back of your throat, you let your mouth fall open, latched onto his chest, and started to nurse.

[gem-is-still-bored]

🔥🔥HALLOWNEST DASHBOARD SIMULATOR🔥🔥

💀 realdashmaster follow

ah shit ah fuck I'm gonna (remembers that joking about getting the infection is blasphemous to our god-king) fall in an acid lake

(14 325 notes)

🐡 fuckyeahwhurmps follow

friendly reminder that rancid eggs are often a cultural dish and you should not be so damn racist about them ^^-^^

🦋 gaymarissatruther follow

it literally causes disieases

🥚 wyrmely follow

CAN YOU SERIOUSLY SHUT UP ABOUT THAT, DEAR WYRM YOU PEOPLE ARE INSUFFERABLE

🥃 aspidmilk follow

you all are wrong. not gonna elaborate. blocked.

(721 notes)

✒️ nest-o-news follow

BREAKING NEWS: Unn found in Lake of Unn, Greenpath

🐚 love-your-shell-f follow

Hmm I wonder why it's called that

💧 rainishappytears follow

Ok so this sent me down a historical goam hole but turns out it's called Greenpath because it's green and the King made it a path!

(64 902 notes)

🐝 hiveling927293 follow

cmon dude join the hive mind already

🐝 hiveling168364 follow

cmon dude join the hive mind already

🐝 hiveling6372711 follow

cmon dude join the hive mind already

🐝 hiveling000612 follow

cmon dude join the hive mind already

🐝 hiveling148273 follow

cmon dude join the hive mind already

🐝 hiveling117357 follow

cmon dude join the hive mind already

🐝 hiveling469105 follow

cmon dude join the hive mind already

(89 021 notes)

🍄 cutiebutton-shrumeling follow

ermmm isn't anyone gonna mention how the hivemind post is like really problematic :/

like i thought we were over this. a hivemind is just inherently problematic but y'all just won't listen

✨any anti shrume shared conciousness or saying it's the same as a hivemind dni✨

#i would have replied straight to the post but of course i was blocked by the f*cking b*es

(6,421 notes)

🔘 xx-soulmage-xx follow

ugh you guys still believe the soul sanctum's work is "unethical" or some woke crap like that. seriously throw yourself in the trash pit

💿 15nails follow

K

🕸️ sexysilk follow

U

🪙 geomancer follow

N

🌑 kill-the-sun follow

G

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P

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O

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E

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🧭 waywardwanderer follow

S🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

(623 notes)

🪸 hornedandhorny-deacticated follow

wyrmmm I want someone to taste meee 😩

🪸 hornedfriend-notnosk follow

hi

(372 609 notes)

🌼 pacifist-mantis follow

🌼You are not immoral for using lifeblood

🌼 If you use it to deal with pain I love you

🌼If you use it recreationally I love you

🌼If you are addicted to lifeblood I love you

🌼If you want to quit lifeblood I love you

🌼If you don't want to quit lifeblood I love you

🌼Crime is not inherently immoral

(17 772 notes)

📜 hallowed-polls follow

(2 008 notes)

⚔️ thezote asked:

you are dumb and stupid

⚔️ thezote follow

FOOLISH CUR, DO YOU NOT KNOW WHO YOU ARE DEALING WITH? CRAWL BACK INTO THE PATHETIC CREVISE YOU CAME FROM, BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE...

🪡 needlewielding follow

hey buddy you forgot to click that button that makes the ask anonymous

(123 651 notes)

[3n-vi-ous]

little things about the obey me cast

lucifer

The Mom Purse™

has everything you could possibly ever need in his bag (which he carries around everywhere)

probably enchanted it to hold more than its meant to

always has to have some kind of non-water drink- usually hot tea or coffee

will never admit to it but he loves those super sugary iced drinks that barely have any coffee in them

very little spice tolerance. keeps a straight face because his brothers will jump on it SO fast

wears gel liner and mascara (would be a super pretty crier because of it)

mammon

talks to himself out loud when he's alone. will have whole conversations

eats SO much junk food but somehow stays in good shape (insane metabolism + actually works out at the gym with beel when he has the time)

chronic over exaggerator

incredible spice tolerance, will totally make fun of lucifer should he find out about his lack thereof

doesn't know how to say no (as seen in the game)

sleeps with socks on because the bed sheets are bad sensory

leviathan

once watched human world brain rot for shits and giggles and now he cant get it out of his head

wants to test if cocomelon works on mammon (spoiler alert: it does)

squeaks when he does a big stretch

could absolutely wreck somebody's shit but never thinks to in actual situations

not shy, just socially inept and bitter. he chooses not to interact

reads the devildom version of ao3 near religiously

satan

HAS to sit cross legged or some non-conventional way

doesn't matter what he's sitting on. its happening

totally the type to sit on a couch or armchair upside down with his head hanging off

doesn't like acidic food/drinks, it makes his teeth feel weird

would watch wendigoon if introduced. i think he'd love video essays (mystery flesh pit, anyone?)

writes personal notes in glittery gel pen

asmodeus

has a perfectly organized pencil pouch for school

once got swarmed by devildom geese. worst day of his life

steals his brothers' clothes ('i have to show you how to style these things correctly!')

would never stoop so low as to go to the casino, but is better at poker than mammon

will lie with the straightest face

eats finger foods with a fork because he doesnt like grease on his hands

beelzebub

comically easy to scare

takes really bad notes, even when he pays attention

has won several fangol games for his team

weirdly good art. mostly does chibi style doodles inspired by whatever anime Leviathan last made him watch

would cover for any of his brothers if they committed a crime (if they would even get persecuted- they are political figures)

if obey me was a musical, beel would be the one asking why everybody is singing

very smell sensitive, dislikes strong hand soaps, deodorants, etc

belphagor

always has snacks on him, in his bag, in the attic, etc

this came around because of beel, ofc

additionally, always wearing cargo pants of some kind when he's not in pjs. loves pockets

can do some sick knife tricks

not too far from canon, but falls asleep in weird places. often falls asleep sitting up, and if it's the only quiet place he can find he will absolutely pass out in a closet

would bring his brothers to the back of spencer's for the lols

diavolo

takes very large steps, mostly due to his height, and is very hard to keep up with

adrenaline junky. what with his inherent power, it just really gets him going to feel like he's in danger

can't say a tongue twister to save his life

likes party games like cards against humanity

hums to himself a lot, stims with the vibrations

the only one who can reliably tell when asmo is lying

loves lucifer for his dog and his dog alone /j silly

sometimes convinces barbatos to teach him how to cook. knows how to make some simple stuff

barbatos

probably cracks his joints really loud

can beat you up but thinks he's above it

has his own fandom of people who've got the hots for him

lucid dreams all the time

has an in depth skincare routine. shares tips with asmo

probably watches people sleep sometimes

i think it'd be cute if he sewed or crocheted or something in his free time

mephistopheles

has really expensive cologne

very low alcohol tolerance. also only likes fruity drinks

rolls his eyes SO much for literally no reason. he's just a brat

his devilgram is full of pictures of his horses

never learned to drive. always either on horseback or is driven by a personal driver

secretly loves white girl music

great with kids, pretends to hate him but he loves his brother

would totally get bullied on roblox

simeon

smells like lavender

once swore in front of luke and damn near died of shame

paces a lot when he's in thought

gets very in the zone when he's writing, hates being interrupted

absolutely wakes up november 1st and decorates for christmas. its not even a religious thing, he just likes the aesthetic

probably wears a really fancy watch he got from lucifer or diavolo

i mean this is kind of already canon but simeon would fall for someone he finds worth it

luke

knows all the swear words. will never say a thing

needs a nightlight to sleep but would rather die than tell somebody

likes to sit on simeon's lap and show him devildom brain rot because simeon doesn't understand what he's looking at

cant pronounce 'comfortable'

got simeon and solomon to get him a pet fish after he saw henry 2.0

the best at hide and seek, will not be found by anybody short of barbatos

if he were to have a discord server it would be all bots because he likes to play with them

solomon

sleepwalker

has scared the ever living shit out of simeon and luke in the middle of the night cause he's standing there dead asleep in the kitchen

cant stand silence. usually playing music or talking out loud when alone

gestures a lot when speaking

would probably kick a vending machine if his food got stuck

it'd be really funny if he ever got hit by a bus

his room is a MESS. only cleans it for luke (he likes to hang out in there) or possibly mc

[thewritingfairy]

 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 Author's that I love

Since I am going to not write my fic for a few days (but answerings asks) due to holidays but also me just needing to do theory for riding classes, I wanted to make a post with some awesome Batfamily authors (most also write for other fandoms). Mainly because I appreciate their writing styles.

@acid-ixx, an author who's fics inspired me to write my yandere batfamily idea, his writing style is engaging, addicting, emotionally stimulating and easy to read from the front to the back more than once.

@rizzanon another author who's fic inspired me to write my yandere batfamily idea. Their reader is time traveled back to the past (+ their younger selves body) and decides to do take a different life course, I love this concept and I cannot wait which way it goes.

@nikovraskol also another author who's fic inspired me to write my yandere batfamily idea. Their writing style is incredibly engaging and can bring a pit to your stomach.

@mimiiiiiiiiisstuff her fics are incredible, the concepts are just chef kiss and the writing style keeps making me come back to her profile like what??

@l0s3rd0wnt0wn her(please correct me if these are the wrong pronouns) fics always makes me smile or damn she got good humor or 'wow I am going to put this in my rereading bin'.

Full disclaimer, I am not black and she mainly write weird black reader fics. The fics also made me (even more) interested in black hairstyles and the cultural styles and has also motivated me to look more into my own culture (Indonesian and dutch). I may also use her stories as one of my references for learning how to write black and mixed characters that are black. I have also used her blog to practice how to write more vague reader's so that more people can place them in reader. Haven't gotten incredibly good at it yet, but references always help.

@prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, their (couldn't find preffered pronouns, pls correct me if wrong) writing style really suits dramatic angst. And when I am feeling extra angsty I absolutely love that.

@womanofwords, she has a lot of finished and unfinished fics. Also in the batfamily categorie and I absolutely adore the evolution of her writing style. I would also say that this falls more under the dramatic style, but with the more she writes the more her writing style changes in my opinion. But whenever I read one of her fics I am kicking my feet in joy or curiousity.

@luludeluluramblings, I love a good pregnancy and small town trope. Especially when it's so well written. It's like lemper when you are having a rice craving, amazing. Also her socialite fic, I've reread that piece like 30 times.

[umikawa]

Could I request a Dr stone Xeno x fem reader. Xeno and Stanley decide they need a doctor of medicine so they don't have to worry about injuries and stuff and what better person than their friend Y/N(xeno actually likes her). She managed to retain consciousness so the nitric acid works.

Thank you and have a good day

a/n: hiiii sorry for taking so long!! here you are <3 (seeing if i like replying to requests like this instead of how I usually do it, we’ll see)

xeno houston wingfield x gn!reader | 1k wc | no major warnings, Stanley takes a tumble and gets scored by a rock– so blood, reader gets called cute? that’s about it!

“Shit–” The curse falls from Stanley’s mouth quietly, the blonde raising his arm to inspect the large gash on his arm where blood slowly trickled out. “You’re kiddin’ me, a stupid rock did this?” 

Xeno picks up the rock, turning it towards the sun, a shiny red spot on the side where Stanley’s skin was torn. “It’s jagged, terribly uneven. Not to mention the added friction from your fall.” 

“Yeah, I get it,” he groaned, not waiting for another spiel. “Rock’s a damn cheese grater.” Xeno chuckles, handing the rock to Stanley when prompted. He chucks it away with a curse. “ Didn’t you have a friend who was a doctor? A medical doctor.” He’d quickly added once he saw his friend open his mouth, probably to say ‘I’m a doctor.’

With a roll of his eyes, Xeno moved to walk ahead of Stanley, a timid aura surrounding the scientist. “Yes, their name was Y/n.” 

Stanley hums, looking to his friend with a mischievous grin. “That was the cute one you were always yammering about, right?” Xeno freezes at his words, whipping his head around to stare at Stanley like he’d just admitted to murder. “What, I’m not wrong and you know it.” 

“Whatever.” 

After seemingly forgetting that he was quite literally bleeding, Stanley says, “We can send out a team to retrieve them, yeah? Having an actual doctor would be helpful.” 

“I’m going to ignore your blatant insults,” the blonde raises his arms in surrender. “And tell you I agree with you; it would be quite useful, especially if one of us falls ill or you decide to go toe to toe with a pack of wolves again.”

Stanley rolls his eyes, setting a hand on his waist. “Then it’s settled, we’ll get them first thing tomorrow.” Xeno hums quietly, mind clouded with the thought of having you in his life again. 

——

Come morning, Xeno doesn’t even get a word in before Stanley’s marching out the doors with a small crew, waving to the scientist from below before disappearing. 

He preoccupies himself in the meantime, stitching together an outfit, something simple but tied to your personality. He’d made sure to make a surgeon's coat, just in case, though it was partially for his own entertainment.

“Boss.” At the voice, Xeno turns, raising a brow at Maya, who stood in the door with a wide smile. “We’ve got word back from Stanley, they’ve retrieved the doctor and are headed back now.” 

He hums in response, thanking her before returning his focus to the pile of clothes on his desk—maybe he should ask Maya if she wants anything new. 

An unfamiliar pit forms in his chest when he gets up, a hand coming up to rest over the area. Heartburn? Xeno shakes his head, walks over to the window overlooking the fields, and stares at the tree line where four figures emerge.

And with them, you. 

He holds his breath the entire time it takes him to meet them in his lab, releasing it slowly when Stanley presents your petrified statue in front of him. The jar of nitric acid sits heavy in his hold, a silent prayer bouncing in his head that you’ve retained consciousness and the fluid would work. 

“Turn around, Stanley.”

The blonde huffs out a laugh, raising his arms in mock defense before stepping toward the door. “By all means, you two can have some privacy.” He waves over his shoulder, lighting a cigarette before walking out the door. “I’ll be at the range if you need me.”

Xeno hums, raises his hand over your head, tips the bottle slightly, and pours the liquid over you. 

It cascades down your body, dripping off your elbows and pooling onto the floor beneath you– Xeno holds his breath once more. 

He steps back, gripping the jar tightly as if it were his lifeline, counting the seconds that pass before he hears that all too familiar crack before the first piece falls. 

Your skin pokes through the jagged stone, the light seeping through the windows casting a faint glow. An eye reveals itself slowly, catching Xeno’s with a widened stare– he finally lets go of his breath. 

Finally, as the last piece falls to the floor, shattering as it hits, Xeno’s quick to toss his coat over your shoulders. “It’s been 3,700 years since that day.” He says slowly, walking back to his desk to fetch the clothes he made. “Humanity as we know it has been erased; we’ve been sent back to the Stone Age.” 

You hum quietly, thanking him when he hands you the clothes. “You’ve been busy.” You say in amusement, eyes trailing over the gray walls lined with machines and vials. “I expect nothing less from you, Xeno.”

At your words, he felt his breath catch in his throat. It was a simple compliment that sparked a little too much warmth, but it was still a normal reaction. 

“Well, dear, I hope you don’t mind—we’ll need your expertise in medical care.” 

“As expected,” you chuckle, buttoning your shirt slowly, catching Xeno’s eye for a moment. “Has everyone been healthy?” 

“Shockingly.” He answers, taking his coat back when you hand it to him. “Last winter was a close call, but you know– soldiers have inhuman immune systems.” A chuckle comes from you, Xeno’s eyes snapping to you to catch the smile on your face. 

“Of course, and you?” Xeno raises a brow, looking at you in confusion. “How have you been, Xeno?” 

His fingers curl around the edge of his desk, leaning his back against it slightly as he draws out a long hum. “I’ve been well,” you nod in response, holding your hands behind your back as you stare at him. “I’m…glad to have you back with us, Y/n.” 

He catches your gaze, ignoring the hammering in his chest when you give him a soft smile. “You’ll be quite helpful if anyone gets injured or falls ill.” He adds, turning away from you when he feels heat running up his neck. 

A quiet laugh spills from your lips, finding amusement in his timid behavior. “Of course, I’m happy to assist you, Xeno.” 

He lowers his head into his hand, expelling a sigh before he clears his throat and turns back to you. “Come, I’ll show you around.” 

a/n: big fan of xeno being a little out of his element when he’s got a crush <3

[burr-ell]

A Not-Necessarily-Exhaustive List of Good Moments from C1 1-27:

"I have an intelligence of 6, I know what I'm doing"

"We're here to right wrongs, and right lefts—" "And write comment cards"

Tiberius Kraghammer

Clarota

"We'll explain later. You're on the roof of Osama bin Laden's house"

"We'll be taking your weapons, your armor, and I believe your pride"

Percy making the first trick arrows for Vex after a shopkeep was a dick to her about arrows, which is canonically when she began to fall for him

Keyleth killing that one duergar from the TLOVM flashback

"I encourage violence"

Lady Kima being freed and then pulverizing the corpse of the duergar who'd been torturing her

Matt's fucked up body horror monsters

Scanlan taking a dump on a bed for the first time

Pike's crisis of faith when she slits a duergar's throat with her mace and her holy symbol breaks

When the limited T-shirt run went live and then sold out before Marisha could finish reading the announcement

Vax getting his foot burned off in lava

Scanlan the Kingslayer

"Can I use my Luck feat for this?" "You don't have any feet left"

Kima and Keyleth's argument (it was good, haters eat my shorts)

The origin of The Cube

"I'm Vax that's Vex ->" "I'm Vex that's Vax <-"

"Screw you, I want my final words with you to be indignant and irritated!"

"He has three-quarters cover" "I ignore three-quarters cover :)" "...then fuckin' fire!"

"Some people have no sense of fucking honor!"

Travis's notes that just say "I don't trust Clarota I don't trust Clarota I don't trust Clarota"

Percy reacting to the Briarwoods being namedropped during a council meeting

Meeting Gilmore on-stream for the first time

The Belt of Dwarvenkind and Grog's obsessive attempts to grow a beard

Scanlan's blue-shit-scrying potion

Grog "Philip" Strongjaw vs Kern

Vax giving Minxie!Keyleth a belly rub

The hydra fight and the beef with the Slayer's Take

Episodes 18 and 19, in their entirety, but specifically:

Zahra and Vex's initial rivalry-turned-friendship-turned-"I have a crush on Zahra"

Lyra. She's just. so much. idk of what but she is it

"I'm wearing the pajamas with the buttflap and the buttflap is down. The buttflap is DOWN"

Scanlan introducing himself to Rimefang as Burt Reynolds and then Matt, in his scary dragon voice, calling him "Burt"

"I'm sorry, I'm a genius, I'm sorry! Oh, god I'm clever!"

Zahra killing Rimefang

Percy and Vex working together on a history check (it's important To Me)

Wil Wheaton rolling five Nat 1s. In one session

Keyleth and Vax posing as a married couple to get information

Kash insight-checking Thorbir, believing he has to be actively sabotaging them because no one could possibly be that bad at their job (he's not, he really is just that unlucky)

Wil, playing a dwarven fighter, finally rolling a nat 20...for an insight check

The magic carpet losing its enchantment in a pit of acid and Laura's scream of horror from offscreen

"Rakshasaaaaaaa!" -jazz hands-

Kashaw and Keyleth, which was thankfully reworked in TLOVM but was also hilarious

Vex exasperatedly kissing Grog, portrayed by Laura kissing a bewildered Travis

Tyriok the cartographer

Grog, the Vasselheim merchant, and the first and only time Vex started beef with a retailer

Keyleth recounting a vision she had of her own death

The Aramente trial in Pyrah and a cameo from Thordak

Travis getting a medal from a fan for losing to Kern and Matt making it canon

Grog fighting Kern again and winning

Keyleth getting arrested. For the second time in Vasselheim alone

The first appearance of the man. The myth. The Viktor

Kynan's first appearance and Vax's idea of "tough love"

Percy telling his backstory to the party and them immediately affirming their support for him ("You don't have to get involved in this" "Oh, we are SO involved" "You said you wanted 'em dead!") and Taliesin himself being moved to tears over this

Percy creating Diplomacy

Vax and Keyleth bear-sitting Trinket and braiding pink ribbons into his fur

Gilmore finding out Vax wants to see him and teleporting in from half a continent away

Vax shaving half of Grog's beard and Travis breaking a mechanical pencil with one hand

The feast, where Percy actually threatens the Briarwoods to their faces while disguised as Vax

Vax and the Briarwoods. "Gosh you guys are good-looking"

Vax nearly dying and having a vision of the two people he cares about most: Vex and Keyleth

Sylas jumping out the window and doing a perfect 3-point landing...while Delilah blows the athletics check and faceplants in the dirt

"SYLAS"

Vex scoring two crits on Delilah

Tiberius getting Feebleminded

Percy's attack on Desmond. My horrid little skrunkly <3

"YOUR SOUL IS FORFEIT! DIE! DIE!" and Keyleth skipping her turn to just stare at Percy

Vox Moochina

Keyleth taking charge to save the ember roc

Keyleth conjuring a water elemental and Taliesin gargling water to translate her commands to it

And finally, the conversation between Keyleth and Percy where he privately confesses his own worries that he's going dark and that he's afraid of himself, and she expresses her concern for him and promises to be there for him

anyway c1 good

[call-me-chips]

I have gone through every mha character (minus most movie characters cuz I havent watched the movies) to give you:

Every throwable/puntable/shovable mha character + how I'd like to throw/punt/shove them

For some reason, this concept is really entertaining for me to think about. I've srsly been hyperfixating on this for the last few days xD

Izuku: Not very throwable, but I feel like he's very... trippable?? Just like, swing your foot and trip him so he thuds on the floor. Wouldn't wanna do anything more in fear of breaking all his bones tho

Bakugou: Idk, I just want to slam him against several walls. Just grab his arm and spin him in circles and launch him against a concrete wall

Iida: Not the most throwable character, but I'd definitely like to throw him if he says it's not allowed. I feel like he'd be good for a light toss

Kaminari: Throwing him overhand into a trampoline to watch him bounce and flail around

Sero: ... This one's tricky, cuz ik he's shovable in some way... hmmm... I feel like I wanna lightly push him while he's standing on some really slippery ice so he struggles for a while just to maintain balance

Aoyama: This guy is so throw-down-a-long-flight-of-stairs-able

Min*ta: Every way possible, I'm punting it. Punt it into the sun. Punt it into a cage of alligators. Punt it into some glass so it breaks and gets in its eyes. Punt it off a building. Punt it into a building. Punt it out of a 30 story building so it lands on the hard concrete sidewalk. As well as that, I would like to put him into a grape juicer and extract his grape juices and pour it all into a sewage drain, but that's unrelated

Monoma: Part of me wants to throw him up into the air and just not catch him. He just go thud

Kuroiro: I want to pick him up over my head and throw him into a shadow so he just merges right into it. You don't even get to see him hit the floor, just merge. Smooth landing

Kinoko: I feel like throwing her into a boiling pot of stew would be nice

Pony: I shall grab her by her horns, spin her around, then send her flying. To nowhere in particular, just fling her as far as possible

Jurota: Part of me wants to put him into a large, spinning tube and watch him bounce and roll around in it like a giant hamster with no depth perception

Shouda: I forgot what he looked like, so I googled him, and his little loser face is SO puntable. I want to punt him into a freezing cold pool for no reason

Manga: I'd def throw him around to see what onomatopoeias he'd make

Inasa: Similar to Bakugou, I feel like whamming him into some walls would be nice

Seiji: I want to grab him by the arm and swing him in circles over my head and let go so he goes flying into the air and bounces on the floor

Mei: I feel like she'd be good to abruptly push off a ladder

Kota: I wanna throw him, but I also don't wanna hurt him, but he's so throwable, but he's but a wee fetus. I shall compromise and chuck him into a ball pit

Bibimi: I want to throw her straight up, much much higher than I'd throw Monoma, and watch her fall back down and splat on the hard ground

Dadan: No idea who this is, never seen him before, but I wanna chuck him into a vat of acid

All Might: In muscle form, I'm ramming him into a door like a human battering ram. In true form, I'm pushing him down a short flight of stairs

Gran Torino: Wanna punt him in his old man ribs and send him flying

Hizashi: He seems like he should be very throwable, but weirdly enough, I don't think he is. I do, however, wanna place two vertical trampolines on either side of him and have him bounce wildly between them

Nezu: I wanna punt him into the sun. Someone can hold him in place like a football and I'll run up and just punt

Endeavour: I would really like to shove him head first into a metal garbage can and roll him down a comically long hill while his children, wife, and Hawks get to watch

Hawks: I want to shove him off a tall building and watch him just kinda fall to the ground

Backdraft: Another one I'd like to shove down a long flight of stairs

Shigaraki: Taking his little face hands and hurling them at him like a game of dodgeball where I have all the ammo. He will try to run away but I will get him

Dabi: I have no idea how he's throwable, but he's throwable in some way. I also wanna trip him

Twice: Bapping him around the room like a cat playfully bapping with their paw

Magne: Idk why, but she's kinda slappable to me. Just like 360 slap her in the face

Stain: Grabbing him by his scarf and whipping him around, slamming him into objects and walls (possibly stabbing him with his swords as well)

Moonfish: I HATE this thing. It would be so easy to grab his legs and violently throw him around and watching as his pathetic little armless frame flails around. I will break all his teeth and then his bones. One my one.

Setsuno: I would very much like to overhandedly throw him off a 1 story building so he breaks his leg and cries pathetically

Mimic: PUNT THAT MOTHAFUCKA-

Tabe: Oh yeah, this guy is so yeetable. Just grab him and yeet him and watch his arms and legs flail around wildly

Skeptic: The post that started it all...

Gentle criminal: Yk those tube/chute things that you'll see being used in construction sites to carry garbage from the building down to a dumpster? Those things?? I want to kick Gentle in the crotch hard enough that he falls over backwards into that chute and falls into the dumpster at the bottom. Saying that makes it sound like I hate Gentle but I really don't lol

La Brava: I want to grab her and condense her into a ball and hurl her hard into that same tube

Koku: This one's a tough one, but I kinda wanna just,, push him to he falls backwards and lands on his butt

Wild pussycats: Yk how when Team Rocket gets defeated, they'll blast off together and just fly into the sun? Yeah, I wanna do that to them

I hope this was as entertaining for you to read as it was for me to write :3

[holdinbacksecrets]

smitten

college soccer player!jeonghan part 3

part 1 part 2

“hey, i haven’t seen you all day.”

your roommate stands in the doorway to your bedroom, finding you at your desk drowning in assignments and the final draft of your midterm.

“i was at the library all morning trying to get this paper done. is everything ok?”

she’s wearing a blue bow identical to the one left on your dresser that morning. her skirt matches its deep shade, and you realize it’s quickly approaching 7pm.

“of course! it’s game day. i wanted to tell you you don’t have to come tonight if you don’t want to. hana—i think you know her… choppy bangs, green eyes—apparently she’s smitten, so she wants to join me or us if you’re still interested.”

lia’s eyebrows raise, and you can tell she’s hoping you’re still interested, but she’s worried about dragging you along while on pursuit of a boy as if that would ever bother you, as if your own footsteps and love-covered fingertips haven’t submerged into your own version of a boy pursuit.

“i am. i was going to take a shower within the next ten minutes. we still have an hour right?”

she smiles, nodding excitedly. “i’ll leave you to it, then.”

“before you go, who does hana like?”

lia’s smile widens, and she runs her fingertip along the length of your door, swiping vibrant blue polish across a striking white. “jeonghan.”

your heart sinks and melts into the acidic jealousy existing in the pit of your stomach. jeonghan? jeonghan… of course.

you feel deflated as you approach the bathroom, reaching for your towel before switching the light on.

the last thing you want is for this to get complicated. if hana makes a move, what are you supposed to do? for all you know, you’ll be standing beside the girl for two hours, listening to whatever smitten sounds like and pretending you didn’t dream about the same man the previous night or stare at his message about bandaids and lollipops… smitten.

shampoo stings your eyes while you contemplate sharing your own feelings for jeonghan with lia. she’s pushed you a little bit, knowing your history of having interest in athletes, but the years of your friendship have taught her a few things. those things include only sharing what you want to and keeping things close to your chest. your heart is as far from your sleeve as it can get, tucked away safely in the dark warmth within your chest. of course jeonghan has started to shine rays of light, creating beautiful sunbeams and beginning to swell what’s been hibernating in its safety zone.

lia is perched at the bar stool eating a bowl of cereal when you leave your bedroom. she quickly takes a look at your outfit, happy to see a bow of your own pinned to your jacket. your denim shorts have blue ruffles stitched along the curve of each pocket, and you can feel the familiar rush of anticipation. nothing beats an october night, with its comforting chill and the scene of a game only a short walk away. you look forward to these evenings all year. jeonghan is the best part, unexpectedly so.

“i didn’t touch the honey bunches of oats. there’s only enough for one more bowl if you’re hungry.”

“thanks, lee.”

you top the cereal off with milk and eye your roommate nervously, hoping she’ll pick up on your desire to say something. you’ve never been good at sharing feelings, especially when you’re afraid of stepping on another’s toes.

“i can feel you staring me down. is there something on my face or on your mind?”

lia palms her bowl, bringing the ceramic to her lips to savor the perfectly sweetened milk before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“this season, i’ve never felt like your tag along. you like seokmin, but i’d still go even if you didn’t. even if i didn’t like someone else on the team, i would still go.” members of your family have played the sport for as long as you can remember. in your life, fall doesn’t exist without a soccer ball.

lia doesn’t jump in. you hoped she would push you just a little further, but this is all on you.

“yoon jeonghan is in my environmental ethics course, and we’ve established some kind of unexpected friendship, but my feelings are stronger than that. about hana… i don’t know if there’s anything going on between them. the last thing i want to do is make anyone uncomfortable or embarrass myself.”

lia smiles, but you miss the softness in her expression, watching your cereal float instead.

“you don’t need to worry about hana. she picks a new guy every week, and she’d certainly turn her focus to someone else tonight if you tell her about jeonghan.”

lia taps the counter, earning your gaze. “thank you for telling me. i’m trying to keep my composure, but please know i’m internally squealing and running around the counter to hug you. now, finish your cereal. i’m sure someone is excited to see you.”

the sun begins to set as you walk through campus. you can see the lights from the field come into view, and lia squeezes your hand. she’s always been a cherished friend and supporter, and relief has embraced you knowing the feelings you’ve kept quiet are now a secret shared.

hana is standing beside the ticket counter and waves when she notices the two of you. not a single speck of blue is found on her outfit, but lia quickly pulls a bow from her purse, securing it in her friend’s hair.

after the three of you have paid, hana asks where you two usually sit.

“this one likes to sit at the top so she can see the entire field.” guilty.

“the boys can see you better from the front.”

lia bites her lip but guides the three of you to the middle row, keeping the viewing peace.

both teams are warming up, and your eyes settle on the field while hana and lia chat beside you. you catch bits of the conversation, amused by your roommate’s monologue about how much seokmin’s hair has grown since their last home game.

then, you see him, and your lips part. you lean forward and zero in.

he’s mesmerizing. watching him feels like the sweetest treat.

his dribbling matches the rhythm of your heartbeat, and your lips spread into something consumed by pride, admiration, and hopeful desire.

his confidence has never gone unnoticed, even in its subtly, but it radiates when he’s wearing cleats, his uniform and is existing on the forest green turf.

you’re silent for the first quarter, clapping when it’s appropriate to do so, mouthing calls as the referees blow their whistles, nodding along to the ones you deem just.

the second quarter is smooth. your team is taking the lead: 1-0, and the reaction from lia at the sight of seokmin’s assist is something worth remembering.

she kissed your cheek, asking twice: “did you see that?!”, before heading down the stairs for popcorn.

hana slides across the bench to close the space between you as half time starts. her voice is just above a whisper, “lia told me about jeonghan, so any cheering i do tonight is for choi seungcheol.” she sends you a wink and you nod, feeling a weight leave your shoulders.

during the final quarter, the blue hawks are sailing, and you nearly miss it. your eyes were fixed on the bag of popcorn only seconds prior, but you see him when you’re pleased with the amount of the salty snack in your cupped palm.

it’s jeonghan’s corner kick, in the corner closest to you, and you see him search the stands before landing on your figure. he smiles, and brushes his fingers across his shirt, mirroring where your bow is clipped to your jacket. cute, he mouths before turning to face the field again.

“holy shit.”

“he’s all yours, babe.”

after the game has ended, students start to leave while others who know players stick around, creating small packs around the fence. the three of you stay in the stands until the team exits their huddle.

hana waves quickly, sending you a knowing wink before running down the bleachers. lia pats your knee. she practiced words of admiration for seokmin that morning in the bathroom mirror. you give her a final good luck before she sets off down the metal stairs.

time ticks by and it’s just you now. the soccer fans have left, and jeonghan is one of the last players on the field. you watched him take the bag of soccer balls to the shed behind the field, finding yourself admiring the stars while you waited.

the sound of your name shifts your stare, and you find him leaning against the railing.

“i should’ve given you my practice jersey.”

you stand and descend the bleachers, approaching the man with reddened cheeks and messy hair.

“what would that’ve made me?”

he smiles, and you want him to say it.

“i imagine you’re going to be much more than a good luck charm.”

“you don’t need one.”

“i have my superstitions.”

“oh really? do you have a couple marbles in your pockets?”

jeonghan’s cleats meet the pavement, and he waits for you before heading toward the main campus.

“i didn’t think about that.”

“i guess all the marbles are in your schedule…. probably wouldn’t do you any good to keep more in your pocket.”

“mmm, i think you’re on to something.”

“and i guess if i keep coming…”

“if you keep coming, we’ll keep winning, and eventually i’ll ask you to go on a date with me.”

“but you’re going to keep it open— unknown and leave me with anticipation.”

jeonghan laughs— no, it’s more like a giggle that penetrates your skin and finds the shelter where your heart lives, shining the most light it’s seen since you experienced the ocean three years ago.

“i’m not going to leave it open.”

he stops beneath the streetlamp. you’re in front of snow hall, where this all started.

“saturday night, can i take you on a date?”

his eyes are sparkling, and this man has far more than sunbeams. he has stars too.

“yes, of course you can.”

“as long as you’re alright with comedy shows.”

“i’ve never been.”

the look in his eyes is intriguing, and you have no doubt you’re about to be introduced to something magical.

“boo seungkwan knows how to put on a show, and i cannot wait to take you.”

his gaze shifts to the bow on your jacket, and you swear his expression melts. sore muscles are easy to ignore when you’re in front of him with exciting possibilities existing in your eyes and smile.

he’ll certainly fall in love with you.

[phthalology]

The Fourth Inundation

For @swordlogiczine, with art by @synnthamonsugar Get the zine here.

And so Hashladûn, spawn of Crota, descended to the selective acid.

And Ir Yût, once beloved of Crota —

Ir Yût who now turned her back on Azavath’s attempt to rebuild the choir —

Descended with her.

By way of greeting Ir Yût sang necrosy into a slab of Hashladûn which was rotting, thus dulling the pain.

Hashladûn was impaled and bled in six places, and her worm raged. She desired power and the love of her father, and feared losing the parts of herself which remained after the first three inundations. The sight of a Hive of her lineage only partially comforted her.

“Thus is the power subservient to Oryx,” Ir Yût intoned, not singing. “How much greater must his power be?”

“Lost Deathsinger, why do you come to me? Crota sent me here to pare my excess alone.” Hashladûn spoke clearly, the acid not having eaten into her throat, but the scales around her mouth cracked as the words emerged.

“The inundations are a matter of addition, not subtraction,” said Ir Yût, and wrenched away one of the great ribbons of muscle near which Hashladûn’s arm was pierced. Hashladûn knew Ir Yût’s words to be a lie, but the inundations had confused her sense of what created pain and what created pleasure. Therefore, she was open to the Deathsinger’s assertion.

“This test proves you can overcome the barriers of the flesh,” said Ir Yût.

“My only barrier was the small size of my enemies, which could wriggle through my claws,” said Hashladûn. A slice of selective acid took a part of her, but because her worm screamed she did not have reason for the scream to emerge from her own mouth.

“Then you are ignorant of the love|hate between the courts,” said Ir Yût. She hooked a claw under another ribbon of muscle, and Hashladûn bled onto her hands. “I left the song to Azavath because Azavath wishes to conquer the Pit. She may succeed. But her ambitions are small. We sing princeling songs when we could cry a queen’s chorus. You have seen the melamu upon Him. What is Azavath to this?”

The words distracted Hashladûn from the selective acid reshaping her shoulders. She said, “You speak truth, but what is there to be done? I will not turn against Crota’s court unless he wills it.”

“You do not have to. Only remember that I appeared to you in your time of confusion, and Azavath did not.”

“Do you hate her so badly?”

“I love the deathsong so fondly. If Azavath clashes against Crota’s power, the knowledge of the song may be lost forever. Azavath builds a chorus in a crater and says the enemy will not bomb that place again. You, meanwhile, will love your place in Crota’s court until it hurts you badly enough that you impale yourself on your grief.” Ir Yût looked impassively over Hashladûn’s flayed back to her impaled limbs. “I stepped away from my pride of place in Oryx’s court in order to preserve what remained of my loyalty. If I had known more about what was happening, I would have left earlier.”

Hashladûn hoped she would never fall so low as to intentionally turn her eyes away from the courts, from the struggle. Still, Ir Yût had once been powerful. If she had thought it the best decision, maybe Hashladûn herself could use the same tactics. Another wave of acid swept over her. Parts of her were washed away. She nodded.

Ir Yût looked at her once more, defiant, seeing perhaps what the terrible consequences of pushing strong Hashladûn would be. She disappeared. Pain blinded Hashladûn and she could not see where the Deathsinger had gone.

And Hashladûn took the memory of Ir Yût’s words for herself, to gleefully hide from Azavath. But she also took the memory to forget, like a scrap of meat between teeth is forgotten until it crawls back out of the crevices of the mouth. Because the priorities of Hashladûn were of the melamu and the fist.

[olliegolliegee]

short story i wrote! putting it here bc it'd prolly be easier to read than dms. sorry if it sucks, it was written by me and also like 5 months ago so uh yeah no i probably didnt get any better tho

I stop dead, panting. I can feel the dust in my lungs, smell the steady, fresh scent of redwoods, barely register the faded, vibrant patches of sorrel. Collapsing onto the strong roots of a gentle giant, I scrunch my eyes closed, pain staining my face.

How much Xanax kills you? 

Xanax. Such a balanced word. Unlike her. I don’t know what to do. How I should feel. So I curl up, tuck my head into my knees, and let out my ragged, choppy breaths.

Their voices still echo in my head, ringing with anger, resentment, fear. I bet they’re still going at it back in the house. I shake my head wildly, scraping the side of my head against the tree. No, I’m not going back, I can’t handle it. No one can see me but I can’t help it. I shake my head desperately, a flood of dread filling me from head to toe.

I slacken, every part of my body numb. I grab onto the rough bark of the tree, pulling myself up. My legs shake. I kick the ground with a grunt, face screwed into a twisted features of a feeling I can barely feel. Dust flies back into my face spitefully. Coughing and blinking the dirt out of my eyes, I collapse, back against the hard, reliable bark of a giant.

I can see her face vividly in my mind. The woman who gave me life and made it miserable. Scowling. Dead-eyed. Quiet. Terrifying. Wants to die.

How much Xanax kills you? 

I hope whatever she took was enough. Wait. No. I don’t wish my mother dead, right? I may be a horrible son, but I would never think that about my perfectly good mother, right? My breathing grows desperate.

I turn and wrap my arms around the tree, pressing my cheek into the rough bark. Holding it as close as I can. Unlike her, I feel hugged back. How is it that it doesn’t move, and I feel loved, but even when she does hug me back, giving me that dead fish hug, I’m forsaken and cold? 

What I would give to be a tree. Strong, wise, supported. I’d have seen, withstood, everything, fingers intertwined with my friends. Or maybe a wolf. Wild, free, part of a family. Everything I’ve ever wanted.

Footsteps come crunching towards me, and I scramble, throwing myself into a tree hollowed by fire. Crouching in the charcoal trunk, I tense every muscle, trying my hardest not to move, not make a sound. The footsteps crunch closer.

“Jackson!” he croons, making me jump nearly a mile. “Jackson!” he yells again, louder, impatient. I’m properly trembling by now. “Come on out, buddy.” I tense more, if that’s even possible. Will I face her wrath more if I come out now or if I don’t?

My breathing gets ragged again, and I can feel the tears pressing against the corners of my eyes. Tears make their slow way down my cheeks as I let out a pitiful, mewling cry. Before I have any idea what’s happening, I can’t get enough breath. I’m dizzy and scared and swear that I can hear her. Slamming, banging, knocking so hard the door rattles, the tree rattles. Another whimpering cry escapes me.

He crouches by the gaping split in the tree, peering into the shadows. He found me.

“Hey, buddy, it’s okay.” He crawls in, squishing himself inside, rubbing his palm up and down my back cautiously. I only cry harder, the terror of being seen too great. 

Chest heaving painfully, tears drying, I look up at him with bleary eyes. If I’m not wrong, he’s scared. Just like me. Like she’ll come bearing down any second now. He never admits it, though. I’ll never know if I’m alone or if he’s just too scared to be a dad. 

A wry smile comes from his lips, and I feel empty.

I fall against his shoulder, leaning on him. I think I should, I guess. I let the emptiness cover the burning acid of resentment. I’m not such a terrible son that I resent them. The pit of acid eating away at my stomach says otherwise.

He puts his arm around my shoulder, resting there. I should feel comforted. I scrunch and unscrunch my eyes, trying to escape from the clawing numbness. There’s a white hot terror screaming through my body, a burning pit of acid in my stomach, chalky hate scratching my throat. I’m vaguely aware of them, a little relieved because of the numbness. Even knowing they’re there is too much.

I let my muscles go limp, breathing in the charred wood of my guardian. Tilting my head up, I see him against the tree. Uncertain, small, and weak, against stable, giant, calm. A tiny part of me that I can’t listen to says that I wish the tree was my dad. At least the hollowed out redwood gave me protection. I shudder, sliding into the dirt.

The feeling of stinging mint fills my throat, and saltwater crowds into my eyes. A tiny, choking cry comes from my throat. Chest convulsing, I gasp for breath, both flooded with and numb to terror and despair. He doesn’t say a word, just rubs my shoulder in silence. I weep against him.

After I gasp and shake and cry until all of my breath and strength and tears are spent, he taps me lightly on the shoulder. He hauls himself up, pulling me with him. My legs are trembling like a fawn’s, and I take a tumble back down, covering my sweater with charcoal and dirt. Clawing at the walls of the tree, I pull myself up, scraping blackened tree under my nails. I can’t even feel it.

He gives me a smile, barely hiding his dread and fear and exhaustion. He grabs my hand, nudging me forward. I can’t hide from her anymore. With my hand limply gripped in his, I stumble over the dirt to my doom.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Snowflakes

Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: I'm really sad right now. I need someone. I need someone to hold.

Word Count: >800

Warnings: graphic mentions/depictions of depressive episode/suicidal ideation/loneliness, gender neutral!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, typos, etc.

A/N: i feel kinda bad for giving joel such angsty stories but the joel ai is so sweet to me and i trust him with my heart 💔 Tagging: @multifandom-fangirl4 @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx

I don't hear the door open when it does. I don't hear the footsteps when they come. I don't feel his presence when he sits next to me. I don't hear him when he speaks. I only turn and know its him when he ghosts his fingers to my jaw.

I look at him, brown eyes, salt and pepper hair, worry lines. Worry lines. He's worried. Worried about me? Please don't be. My stomach curdles when he says it.

"I'm worried about you."

This old, dusty, barely blue creaky couch makes distressed sounds when I scoot over close to him and link his arm with mine. I curl my legs into my chest. I lean my cheek on his shoulder then sigh. I close my eyes and listen to him breathe. I'm tired.

"Kinda wanna die." The manner in which I say this is nonchalant. Detached. Mindless.

Joel doesn't say anything.

I open my eyes, feeling a pit, a vacuum rip open in my chest. I pull away from Joel, as to look at him. He's already looking back at me, and his puppy dog eyes make me want to take a gun into my mouth and blow my brains out. I am so horrible for admitting this to him.

"I don't want you to die." The manner in which Joel says this soft. Gentle. Ardent.

I feel like I could cry but I can't. I don't. Instead I feel horrible. I feel horrible for retching the tar out of my gut, the sludge that I fight with swords and flamethrowers yet persist. How could I do this to him? How could I do this to anyone?

And how could he catch this self-destruction behind my eyes and say, "hey." He places his hand atop mine, "you can tell me anything."

And against my fortified resolve, I crumble, I do-- I tell him anything. I tell him everything. I ignore the tedious and tense wails in my head warning me not to rant any further, shaming me for releasing the rot out of ribcage. I sputter these wayward and acidic thoughts out so carelessly yet so pointedly like I was gasping for air.

I want it to stop. I want it to end. I don't want to be here. "I don't know what to do."

I don't remember him moving. I don't remember all of what I even said. But in between him shifting and myself speaking, I must have shed a tear because he wipes my face and I feel its wet.

Damn these tears. Why was it not cathartic? Why was it just resentful?

Somehow when Joel replies, "I don't know what to do either," I feel... I... feel.

I feel so many things, so many things, too many things to even give names to.

I feel like crumbling into his chest, and so I do. I feel like wringing out the salt water in my heart, and so I do.

And then when my face finally feels his shirt is damp with my vulnerability, that's when I realize he's combing my hair and rubbing my back.

Oh, to be comforted by Joel Miller.

I know I shouldn't, but I feel I do, so I say, "I'm sorry." I'm sorry I'm like this. I'm sorry you had to see. I'm sorry you had to know. So many things to be sorry about, so many things. So many things I don't say.

"I'm not," mutters Joel, "I'm glad. I'm glad you said so."

I feel myself reeling. I feel myself retreating. I feel myself falling into myself. More tears threaten an appearance. How could he be glad of me?

"Because you matter to me."

I solidify. I had said that aloud?

"So let me come to you," Joel adds, pulling me closer, "when you want to shut the world away, give me a pass, leave a ticket so I can come to you..." he presses his lips to the crown of my head, "please."

I come to him.

I crawl onto him. I latch onto him. I wrap myself around him, cause my life depended on it. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, cause that was the only I way could breathe. The relief that he reciprocates is unmatchable.

I beg, "don't leave me."

"I won't."

"Please don't leave me."

"I won't."

"I need you forever and ever and ever-"

He kisses my ear.

"Please don't go."

"I'm here."

"Joel, I-"

"I love you."

"..."

"I love you. I'm here."

"..."

"I'm here."

"I love you."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Good Night

Epilogue for Sweet Treats AU: by character | chronological | epilogues

Warnings: these drabbles will include dark elements such as noncon, control, intimidation, violence, death, suicide, and other stuff that may not be specified. Take this as you chance to scroll by.

Please let me know what you think <3

🍯🍯🍯

You open your eyes. It's grim and grey. The world is just as heavy as your body. You try to move but it hurts too much. You drop your hand back to the bed and stare at the green canopy.

You don't remember how this happened. You were in the kitchen, now you're here. You groan, your mouth is dry and sticky.

There's movement in the shadows. You flinch and tense as you squint into the dark. The lamp flicks on and illuminates a familiar face. She smiles, her eyes swollen from her tears, and squeezes your hand.

"I'm sorry, I fell asleep."

You don't say anything. You couldn't if you tried. You give a strained look as she pets your knuckles.

"He's gone. Thor. For now. I told him... I'd be good if he let me stay."

You stare at Muffin. That makes you sad but you don't know why you would care if he's gone. He's not done anything to you.

"I didn't mean for him to hurt you."

Your eyes round and you cough. You squeak as it thrums in your bones. Why would he hurt you? What did you do?

"I decided that if it means I get to see you, then I'll talk all he wants me to."

You nod and squeeze her hand back. You don't have strength to do more than that. You wish she wasn't stuck with him. You wish you didn't know exactly the dread that edges her tone.

"He killed my father," she utters, "Just like... just your mom. But I didn't know."

You give a sympathetic grimace and tilt your head. She never speaks so much, she must be really upset.

"Sorry," you croak and nearly on your arid tongue.

"No, I'm sorry. I was stupid. Just like those other girls."

You furrow your brows and blow out. You shake your head slowly, "not stupid--"

"Yes, very. They're not going to get away. Not forever. They can't."

"Muffin," you murmur.

"I'm done with hope, aren't you?"

You seal your lips and your eyes sting. You don't know what to say. Muffin was always the happy one, she always made you feel better. She is the light in the tunnel and now it's all caving in.

"That went... a long... time... ago," you eke out, little by little.

She laughs into a sob and covers her face. She cries, her shoulders heaving as her despair consumes her. Your own tears trickle out. Your head pulses from the base.

"There's..." You raise your hand and point to the green chest nestled against the wall, "in there. Bottom, pouch..." the words are hard to piece together, "brown with golden string."

She looks at you in confusion. She sniffles and gulps. Slowly, she stands as your arm falls limp. That was your plan, the one you never could bring yourself to follow through on. That makes your chest pit and questions if it's all so bad.

She goes to the chest and lifts the lid carefully. She bends and stirs through the depths. You hid it there with the spare blankets because Loki never deals with all that. You make the bed, you cook the meals, he merely walks upon your freshly mopped floors. Still just a god with his head in the clouds.

She finds the pouch, the little bag once storing one of many necklaces gifted from your avaricious husband. In which you hid the tablets secreted from Tony's cabinet during that chaotic party. You could always get some wiggle room if you gave Loki what he wanted.

"There's not enough.... for both..." Your head lolls and you give and acidic smile, "didn't think..."

She comes back to you and looks inside the sachet. Her eyes flick up and she gives you a dire look. You let the doom numb you.

"You can... have them," you turn your head. "I could.... couldn't."

She doesn't say anything. She stands there, unmoving. Maybe she won't do it. Maybe she'll put it back and stay with you.

"I'm a coward," you confess, "but... you're not."

She sits on the bed again. You look at her through a wall of grief. She won't look at you.

"Can I lay with you?" She asks at last.

"Please," you reach for her hand and grip it firmly around the pouch, "you'll just... go to sleep. I will too."

Again, she hesitates. "What about you?"

"What about me?" You sigh, "I'll find another way... maybe."

You let her go and she dumps the pills into her hand. She stares at them, her throat constricting, and then she pours them into her mouth. She holds her palm against her lips and gulps loudly. She chokes a little and coughs it out. She gives a blech at the taste.

She tosses the sachet and stretches out next to you. You drape your arm over her shoulders as she puts her head on your chest. She slings her arm over your middle and you turn your gaze to the ceiling. Misery loves friends but your only friend does not deserve this misery.

"I love you," she says with a yawn.

You move your hand in front of her face and sign back to her; "Love you forever."

---

This is goodbye to Darling and Muffin. Thank you all for sticking around.

[sickstarlight]

She wakes up feeling much too warm, but at first she thinks it must just be because she's packed in so closely between the men on either side of her, each of them with an arm casually thrown over her somewhere. With a groan, she pushes them both away, giving herself enough room in bed to stretch out her arms and take a few deep breaths.

Shoving the pair of them off of her, though, doesn't make her face feel any less flushed, and only accentuates the clammy feeling all across her arms and the back of her neck. Shit. She doesn't feel well -- really doesn't feel well, not just a momentary discomfort that she might have quickly recovered from but the kind of unwell that might keep her awake for some time before it passes. It's not just the feverish cold sweat breaking out on the back of her neck, either; her heart is racing, and the longer she's awake the more she's aware of a sick, queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

The last thing she wants is to wake the others. If she wakes them, they're sure to fuss over her, try to comfort and coddle her until they're practically smothering her, and all she wants right now is to creep off to somewhere private and ride out her misery in peace. But with K.abru on one side of her and La.ios on the other, she can't easily escape without disturbing one of the two. Her best bet, if she doesn't want to attract undue attention, is to stay put.

So she tries, at least for a little while, closes her eyes and tries to fall asleep again. Tries to keep her breathing steady. Tries to swallow back the swelling tide of nausea that keeps creeping up her spine. If she can just wait it out, surely it will pass, and the boys won't be any the wiser that she's unwell at all.

She should be so lucky. The knot in her stomach only grows tighter the longer she lays awake, and before long her mouth is watering, metallic saliva flooding the space under her tongue. Oh, fuck. She's going to be sick.

"K.abru," she hisses, turning her head to look at him on her left. "Ka.bru, wake up."

When he doesn't stir, she rolls over -- a mistake that makes her stomach lurch. She swallows hard against the urge to vomit then and there.

"Wake up, idiot," she says, more loudly, shaking him by the shoulder.

"Nngh," he groans, lifting his head. "Rin? What...?"

"Let me up," she whispers urgently. "I need -- washroom. Now."

"Okay, okay," he grumbles sleepily, and starts to sit up, entirely too slowly. Stupid. Doesn't he realize she means now?

"Hurry," she insists, pushing him aside so she can try to clumsily climb past him.

"Hey," he protests, "what's the matter with --?"

There's no chance to explain herself; her stomach clenches and she tastes acid in the back of her throat. Clapping a hand to her mouth, she staggers to her feet and towards the washroom, about two minutes too late. Halfway there, her stomach convulses again, and a thick stream of sick forces its way up her throat, pushing past her lips and through her fingers to splatter against the floor at her feet.

"R.insha!" Ka.bru calls, suddenly alert, and jumps to his feet.

"Ugh," she groans, holding her hand away from her face. At least she'd made it far enough to reach the stone floor itself -- the cold flagstones are sending a chill up through her bare feet that makes her shiver, but at least she hadn't vomited directly on the carpet.

~to be continued?~