#japes and stabbings

[katyawriteswhump]

the freak in the penthouse, epilogue 1/2

E-rated (for sexual content), accidental millionaire eddie/sex-worker steve. On tumblr: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2 Part 4.1 Part 4.2 Part 5.1 Part 5.2 Part 6.1 Part 6.2 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 or search #thefreakinthepenthouse :) On AO3

Chapter 17: Epilogue (part 1)

One year later

Eddie strode across the lobby of the Beverly Hills Yorkshire.

He slid his blaring Walkman headphones from his ears—savoring the delectable mutterings of high-and-mighty folks’ having their feathers ruffled by his mere presence—and slammed his credit card down on the reception desk. He slammed its hapless occupant with the mega-watt grin that’d studded his life more regularly this year than the last.

His fiendish gurning was set off to perfection by rocker hair that was ‘so last decade,’ an Exodus t-shirt featuring the band performing cannibalism; and jeans with a rip up his left thigh that artfully allowed the cool air to kiss through his underpants to his butt-cheek.

“Room for a little one, Sweetheart?” That brought a raspberry blush to the male receptionist’s cheeks. “Penthouse suite would be a blast.”

“Uh… right. Yes, of course. Let me see what we have available, Sir.” The guy eyeballed the card nervously, although, frankly, Eddie’s nerves were kicking off too. This had seemed like a hilarious jape last night, at least to Eddie, if only to make the forced-conformity piggies around him wriggle and squeal…

…and to get a bad day off to an unsettling start for one particular douchebag who needed bringing down a billion pegs or so.

The receptionist had wandered into the back office, and then… Eddie rubbed his sweaty palms together, and mumbled, “Showtime.”

Head concierge, Larry Kline, emerged from behind the scenes. Eddie detected some decidedly pinched lines at the edges of Kline’s oily smile.

I know why you’re sweating. You’ve been summoned to an ‘extraordinary’ meeting of the board of shareholders who own this hotel.

Unlike me, you don’t have the faintest clue as to why.

“Mister Munson.” Each syllable was a stabbing ice-pick. “I’m afraid the Penthouse Suite is occupied. In fact, we are fully booked.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire!” sang Eddie. Robin had already checked for him.

Kline pressed two white-knuckled fists to the counter, dropping his voice to a snakey hiss. “You’ve got a damn cheek, coming here, after you assaulted another guest.”

“Those charges were dropped, man,” announced Eddie, loud and theatrical. “I think you’ll find the lying son-of-a-bitch who made those accusations is now in jail. Then again, if this hotel ONLY WELCOMES JAILBIRDS then I’ll be on my merry—"

“Get out!” Kline jabbed a finger toward the revolving door. “Get out before I summon the police!”

“Cops, huh?” Pretty much everybody in the lobby was now gawking at them, and the lyrics of ‘I hate everything about you,’ by Ugly Kid Joe radiated tinnily from Eddie’s headphones. The snark-fest song wasn’t a favorite or the most subtle choice. Kline would never have appreciated the depths of any true thrash metal track. Either way, Klein was enjoying the show a lot less than Eddie. And Eddie was only the warm-up act. “Call ’em if you want, Sweetpea. I’ll wait for my room-key, or for the cops to come and arrest me for…” He drummed his fingers on his lower lip. “What exactly?”

“I should think rifling through your pockets for illegal substances would reap dividends,” seethed Kline. “We had to fumigate that suite after you left.”

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that, dude. I quit my entire spectrum of smokey substances over a year ago.”

Eddie blew Kline a kiss then was pretty sure he detected steam hissing from the concierge’s ears.

The receptionist cleared his throat. “Mr Kline? The, uh, board of shareholders are waiting.”

Eddie didn’t miss a beat. As soon as Kline disappeared, tugging at his neckerchief, Eddie skedaddled to the nearest service corridor, where Robin was waiting for him.

“Is he okay?” asked Eddie.

“Yeah, I think so. He’s all set.”

She hooked her arm through his and tugged him through a small door. At first impression, they seemed to have entered a cramped space, almost totally filled by a table of used coffee-cups and leftover and half-eaten pastries. Then, as the hum of conversation rose in his ears again, he realized they were behind a curtain at the catering section of a huge conference room.

Robin peeped around the curtain. Eddie held back, fists curling so tight his rings and nails gouged his palms.

Steve had gone through a lot in this past year. Too much. He’d stood up in court, faced the most brutal of interrogations. With the help of other abuse victims, who Suzie’s legal team had traced and supported, he’d helped dump a whole bunch of nasty pieces of shit in jail. It’d been impossible to keep his name out of the press completely. On the other hand, the exact nature of the financial handouts to the Harrington heir—following early victories in his ongoing multi-million-dollar lawsuit against his parents’ lawyer, Martin Brenner—had been kept more or less under wraps.

In the final months before Brenner had been arrested on charges of fraud and sex trafficking, he’d purchased shares in the Beverly Hills Yorkshire. It had been why his current jailbird buddy, Dickchester, had switched hotels and had been allowed to treat the staff like dirt. Robin had known that at the time, even though she’d had no clue that these were Steve’s abusers. Now, the vast majority of Brenner’s assets were in the process of being transferred to Steve.

Eddie sucked a swift breath into his leaden lungs and peeped around the curtain.

The room was bigger than his and Steve’s entire apartment—and for LA, theirs wasn’t exactly a broom cupboard. On the other hand, the illusion of space was magnified by the small number of shareholders—six men and two women, all pushing retirement age. A little apart sat Vickie, the hotel’s newly recruited business manager. And, at the far end, a guy barely out of his teens sat at the head of the vast table.

Steve was rocking the power vibes. He’d paired his ray-bans with an Armani suit—Eddie reluctantly conceded his boyfriend made even establishment bling hot—countered by the pair of Nike Airs he’d gotten planted on the table. His hair was so perfectly groomed that Eddie fought an urge to run out and ruffle it.

Yeah, Steve had nailed the act. Apart from, perhaps, the arms he’d gotten wrapped tight and defensively around his middle.

Eddie’s own hand clamped to his stomach. He was so nervous, suddenly, he felt sick. “Should we—”

“Ssssh!” Robin pressed a finger over her lips.

Kline had entered at the far end of the conference room. Silence reared up. “To what do I owe this honor?” he smarmed. “Should I take a seat?”

“No,” said Steve, tipping back on his chair. He nodded to an older lady, sporting the archetypical blue rinse, twinset and pearls, who sat to his left. “Vera? Would you do the honors?”

She stood up: “Mister Kline, a multitude of instances of gross misconduct have been brought to our attention. It is the unanimous decision of the shareholders that you should be dismissed today. With immediate severance of all pay.”

“But… but…” Kline’s hands flapped wildly before clapping together in a prayer: “Ladies, Gentleman. I am sure this is a trifle—a misunderstanding that can be easily cleared up. Shouldn’t I at least know what these accusations of misconduct are? Who is making them against me?”

“All those questions can be answered by our new majority shareholder,” said Vera. “Mr H—”

“Thanks, Vera,” said Steve, cutting her off with a breezy wave. He changed the cross of his ankles on the table. “Kline, you’re a bully and a liar. You’re also one hundred percent guilty of physically assaulting at least one member of staff in this shith… uh, I mean, in this fine institution. I’m happy to testify to that, but I’m sick of court cases. I want this to be over.”

Kline’s eyes stretched wide. Robin grabbed Eddie’s hand, finding it as clammy as his own. Had Kline figured it out yet?

Steve raised his sunglasses to nail Kline with a death-ray glare. “You’re fired, asshole.”

“You?” squeaked Kline.

“Yeah, it’s me. Let’s recap for your jumped-up little pea-brain. Treating me like shit? Treating anybody like shit, just because you can get away with it?” As the former chief concierge opened and shut his mouth like a beached fish, Steve smirked, apparently totally at ease now: “Big mistake. Big. Huge.”

…

Steve let Vera bark the final orders: “Clear your desk, Kline. You have five minutes to get out, before security will kick you into the gutter where you belong.”

Steve’s heart pounded against his ribs.  Adrenaline tore through his veins. He watched Kline scuttle from the room like the cockroach he was, and then unleashed what felt like the longest, most heartfelt sigh of his life. He slid his sneakers down from the table and righted his chair with a loud clack.

The entire board’s attention swerved back onto him. For the briefest moment, he’d felt like there should be triumphant music swelling in the background. Now, there was simply an eerily reverberating silence.

“Mister Chairman?” said Vera, with a grandmotherly smile. “Shall we proceed with the rest of the day’s business?”

Steve recalled the list of agenda items, as long as his arm. He’d not even started to read it. Every ounce of his willpower had been dead set on getting even with Kline. Now, his mind fell disarmingly blank. And his mouth flapped off before he could stop it: “Absolutely. I’ll, um… Can we take a brief raincheck? I need to hand you over to the new majority shareholder and chairwoman of the board, Robin Buckley.”

A small shriek sounded from behind the catering screen. It was Steve’s turn to scuttle, as he sped to join his friends. He didn’t even have time to hug Eddie before Robin got right in his face:

“What the fuckety fuck, Dingus? I told you—I don’t even want to be promoted yet. Doreen deserved to be the new head of housekeeping. I’m not ready to be anything other than a sous chef!”

“That’s why this makes perfect sense.” It had been a spur of the moment decision, born basically of panic. Still, Robin’s wrath aside, he honestly believed it didn’t totally suck: “You’re smart. You could skim those minutes in seconds. Plus, who better to make decisions about the running of the hotel than somebody who actually works here? Somebody who will make sure nobody is ever treated like dirt again. Besides, these meetings are quarterly. Shouldn’t cramp your style, huh?”

“I agree with Alex P Keaton here,” said Eddie, hooking an arm around Steve, who gratefully sagged into him. “You are literally Frodo with the ring, Robin.”

“Oh God, not the nerdy ring book.” Occasionally, Steve missed the times when these two were at each other’s throats, rather than uber-geek best buds. He pinched between his eyes against the start of a tension and caffeine headache. Also, to evade Robin’s beyond death-ray glare.

“Okay, maybe you’re more Eowyn in war-cry mode,” Eddie conceded. “But the metaphor’s not so lousy. Power is best wielded by those who crave it the least.”

Steve peeped up. Robin had plowed eight shaky fingers into her hair, which was an uncharacteristic violation of hygiene standards. “Aaaargh! My stomach is a gordian knot right now, Steve!”

He was starting to feel really bad: “I don’t know what that is, but I’m pretty sure my stomach was in one too when I said what I did. Look, I’m sorry, but… please, Robin? Honestly, I can’t think of anybody more fitted for the job. I can have the shares transferred into your name today.” He took off his ray-bans, hooked them on her nose. “These totally come with the role. Tho’ promise me you’ll take them off when you’re making eyes at the new business manager. I swear she’s making them back at you.”

“Ssssssh,” hissed Robin, though the edges of her lips ruffled toward a smile.

“You’ll do it?”

She harrumphed loudly. Concealed beneath the shades, he was pretty damn sure she rolled her eyes at him.

“Next time, Dingus, a few minutes notice would be polite. Oh, and… there’s gonna be a few changes around here, starting right now.”

She grabbed a croissant, took a hefty bite. She chewed, swallowed, dabbed nutella from the edge of her lips, then swished aside the curtain. Her hands planted on her hips, she confronted the board: “Is it really so dreadful to watch somebody pouring your coffee?”

Steve and Eddie beat a hasty retreat to the corridor. “Okay, why am I starting to worry about absolute power corrupting absolutely?” Eddie moved a step behind Steve to give him a backrub.

“How long till she’s calling them shit-birds? We should start a sweepstake. Oh God, yeah, Eddie… that feels amazing.”

They paused in their progress, while Eddie eased a little more of Steve’s tension from him, and Steve leaned into him. Post adrenaline crash, he was starting to feel pretty tired. It was a few blissful moments before he turned back to face Eddie. Who’d plopped a bellhop hat on his head.

“What the fuck?” said Steve.

“Does it suit me, Babe?” Eddie touched his face and fluttered those long dark lashes.

“No! It looks Halloween costume levels of ridiculous on you.”

“Just because I don’t wear it as well as you did.” Eddie pouted, adorably fake-sad, then: “What do you wanna do now, Stevie?”

Melt into your arms. Stare into your eyes till it gets kinda creepy. Make love for days.

He opted for an equally honest answer, one that was bubbling-cheese-on-cheesy-toast levels of cheesy: “I want to be with you. Forever, pretty much, and… I dunno.” He nibbled his lower lip, unsure about this next part: “I take it you didn’t snag the key to the penthouse?”

“No. Don’t reckon there’s gonna be a problem, though. You wanna go up? I know you miss that plunge bath. I could…” Eddie slung both arms around Steve’s neck and waggled his brows. “Pretty sure I owe you an aquatic blowjob.”

“I guess.” Steve laughed. Nevertheless, behind Eddie’s goofing around, he sensed darker shadows shifting. Eddie had had one recurring nightmare this past year, and it was for sure to do with what he’d witnessed when Steve chained himself to the pillar in the penthouse. Steve still barely remembered having the flashbacks about his abuse at the hands of Godchester and the others. His shrink had helped him begin, slowly, to come to terms with what had happened to him. However, there were some ghosts best left in the past.

He sure as hell didn’t want to raise those ghosts for Eddie. They had become Eddie’s nightmares almost as much as his own, and Eddie had his own demons to battle too. Slowly, painfully, his agoraphobia had gotten better, though he was still on baseline anxiety meds.

Steve shook his head. “Nah, I don’t wanna go there again. I thought I did, earlier. I mean, it is where we fell in love, but… It’s not who we are any more. I guess it never was. Anyhow, next summer we’ll have that pool ready at our place up in Oregon.” They’d bought a house on the same block as Wayne’s. “Aaaand we’ll have the jacuzzi hot tub, so…”

“Not waiting till next Summer to blow you, my Princess.”  Eddie flung open the door into the busy lobby. He bowed low, like a knight of old, for Steve to pass through. “Let’s go home.”

...

The end on AO3 The end on tumblr

If you have stuck with me this far, thank you so very much <3

perma-tag for the best inspiration friend ever: @wheneverfeasible

Thank you for reading. Likes, reblogs and comments much appreciated and will feed the bunnies🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕

On tumblr: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2 Part 4.1 Part 4.2 Part 5.1 Part 5.2 Part 6.1 Part 6.2 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 or search #thefreakinthepenthouse :)

On AO3 All my ST stuff on AO3

[charismabee]

Thinking about the Hunted and the Paranoid They'd be such a force to be reckoned with if one of the others got hurt (assuming separate bodies for my convenience). They'd both immediately be in protective mode because a) injured member of the flock, susceptible to preditors, must protect until healed and b) if its not properly treated it might get worse, it might get infected and then they'll die and a piece of the group will be lost and then they'll all start dying and everything will be terrible forever.

So whoever is injured is dragged to the nest or whatever place is currently safest to be fussed over by the Paranoid while the Hunted watches over them. I can see the Hunted being like 'I'll protect you' and sitting on top of them, covering their body like an overprotective blanket while Paranoid worries over them being crushed or suffocated by the protective cuddle. They're fine Hunted is like 90% fluff and feathers. Not that heavy, perfect blanket. Everyone who isn't injured has to avoid them because Hunted will lash out if you get too close to the injured person he's protecting, abs then they get stuck in there with the injured person because they've been scratched.

I can see the others reacting in a variety if different ways to this.

Hero, Broken, Opportunist, and Smitten would probably enjoy the attention.

Hero a bit more bashful and grateful for the help even if its excessive which it probably is.

Broken being a mix of shocked that anyone would be nice to him and mopey about how he doesn't deserve it and what's the point in helping him. He's just going to get hurt again later anyway.

Opportunist takes the opportunity (ha) to get attention and affection and conformation that everyone likes him because let's be honest with ourselves he may act cocky but that man is desperate.

Smitten is a weird one. He's the type to be all 'these five stab wounds are nothing in the face of my dedication and love', but he probably loves being taken care of. He would prefer if it was the princess though.

Cold and Skeptic would just put up with it.

Cold doesn't care enough to stop them, though he will tell them that he's fine and they're being stupid and his broken arm isn't a problem, pain isn't a bad thing, they don't believe that and Paranoid tries yet again to explain to him why pain is bad.

Skeptic knows it's excessive but he also knows it'll soothe their worries if he lets them confine him to the nest for a week. He can do his philosophy in there it isn't a huge deal for him. He gets to pester them about the inner workings of their minds while he's there too, enrichment.

Cheated, Contrarian, and Stubborn would complain the whole time.

Cheated would so be a whiner about the whole thing. He hates being hurt, and he hates being taken care of even more. It's like an admission that whatever hurt him won. Which it didn't. He'd be even more upset if they didn't fuss over him though because that wouldn't be fair.

Contrarian would hate being stuck in one place for an extended period of time. Just knowing he's not allowed to leave makes him want to really bad, plus he gets bored easy and Hunted keeps puffing up and hissing at everyone until they leave so he can ensure Contrarian is safe so he only has these two worryworts to talk to and they're no fun to wind up because they're too busy fussing to react to his japes and such.

Stubborn would hate being seen as weak. He doesn't need to be protected or patched up, he's stronger than that. They'd still get him to let them do it, but like the Skeptic it's only for their piece of mind. He still complains the whole time.

Hunted would hate being injured and having Paranoid fuss over him. He doesn't like staying still. He'd probably sit through it though because he's objective enough to understand that if injured he does need to heal. After all, how will he evade preditors if injured?

Paranoid I could see appreciating the Hunted watching over him. He'd patch himself up tho, no one is getting near him while he's hurt, Hunted helps keep everyone else away though so it works.

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

Maedhros and Fingon speak of thralldom. A sequel to this, but I think it can be read separately. 1082 words, T

On Ao3

“Are we in danger?”

Startled, Fingon wondered how long Maedhros had been awake, observing him with his too-bright gaze. If he were just a little stronger, he would have every chance to attack Fingon and overpower him, catching him unawares.

“What makes you think so?” Fingon asked.

“You keep reaching for the dagger you have hidden.”

Fingon’s hand twitched around the hilt. He snatched it back.

“There have been sightings of orcs in the mountains,” he said.

It was not a lie. It felt like one, but it wasn’t.

“Do you have reason to believe they will attack the camp?” Maedhros asked.

“You can never be too careful.”

Fingon bore Maedhros’s gaze without blinking. Without even breathing.

“In that case, perhaps I should have a weapon too?” Maedhros said.

One second, two, three. A little more and Fingon’s silence would be suspicious.

“You are in no state to fight,” he said.

“No, but trust me, even left-handed, I can stab an orc in the eye.”

“There is no need for a weapon,” Fingon said. “I am just being overly cautious.”

“How very unlike you.” Maedhros reclined against the pillows and closed his eyes. “But then, what do I know?”

Fingon released his breath in quiet, short bursts. The dagger was scorching his skin even over layers of clothes.

“It is for me, isn’t it?” Maedhros asked without opening his eyes.

Fingon could not think of a lie fast enough. The moment was gone. Now his denial would not sound genuine.

“My father—” No, he would not lay the blame on his father alone in front of a son of Fëanor. “My father and I believe we should be prepared for any possibility.”

“Very reasonable,” Maedhros said.

“You must understand. It is best to err on the side of caution.”

“Of course,” Maedhros said serenely. “I suppose considering other options, such as trying to break the Enemy’s hold on my mind or even simply restraining me, is not cautious enough.”

“Would you want it?” Fingon asked, unwilling to admit that the thought of other options hadn't even crossed his mind.

“Would you?”

“We have not discussed in depth what is to be done if the worst happens.”

“But you have determined that the task of killing me should fall to you. Or are there going to be others with hidden daggers guarding my door?”

“I thought you would want it to be me.”

It sounded pitiful enough even without Maedhros’s mirthless laughter.

“What a romantic notion. Do you regret missing your chance to end my life?”

Nowadays, Fingon could never tell if Maedhros’s words were a callous jape or if he truly spoke what was on his mind. Sometimes, it seemed to him that Maedhros delighted in tormenting him.

“Was I wrong in assuming so?” he asked, determined to ignore Maedhros’s bleak suggestion.

“Findekáno, if I am a mindless thrall, do you think I would care who kills me? Perhaps you and your father believe I would hesitate to fight back if it were you before me. You must know very little of Moringotto’s thralls.”

“Perhaps you would like to enlighten us?”

The words burst out before Fingon could stop them, leaving deep, bleeding gashes in his throat. Maedhros bared his teeth in what he must believe was a grin.

“I would,” he said, “but until you are certain I am myself, you should not believe a word that comes out of my mouth.”

Fingon felt the sea salt on his tongue. Maedhros’s short hair was fire-bright against the pale pillows. Fingon closed his eyes.

“I am curious,” Maedhros said. “What prompted this? Was it my decision to cede the crown? Isn’t it what Finwenolofinwë has been coveting all this time?”

“Do not speak of my father that way,” Fingon said, glad that anger pushed all else aside.

“What way? Did he not name himself Finwenolofinwë and chase the crown while Finwë’s eldest son and heir still lived? I gave him what he wanted, and he is still suspicious, but no doubt, he believes himself so different from my father.”

Fingon didn’t want to think of the reasons for Maedhros’s bitterness. Didn’t want to wonder if Maedhros was angry because he was suspected or because he was discovered.

“You do not help your case by speaking so,” Fingon said, nearly pleading.

“Should I smile and sweet talk you and your father to prove I am not in the Enemy’s grasp? Will it convince you? As I said, you know very little of Moringotto’s thralls.”

Fingon couldn’t find an answer. Whatever he thought to say seemed irrelevant and unimportant. He silently watched Maedhros struggle to sit up on the bed.

“Come closer,” Maedhros said once he had successfully crawled up.

“What?”

“Come closer. What are you afraid of? You are the one with a weapon.”

Fingon walked to him, clenching his fists to stop himself from reaching for the dagger.

“My height is an advantage in a fight,” Maedhros said. “See these two ribs? Use them and my right knee to bring me down. Shattered and healed too many times, they will remain a weakness. My right shoulder will also hinder me, but I believe you are aware of it.”

Fingon didn’t speak for a long time. He stood, powerless to look away from Maedhros and just as powerless to stop his mind from constructing scenarios where he would put Maedhros’s advice to use.

“You just said not to believe a single word from you,” he finally spoke, desperate.

Maedhros grinned at him.

“Use your best judgment.”

Fingon had almost drowned once in an ice well upon the Helcaraxë. He had flailed helplessly as the freezing water had filled his lungs and the ice had closed rapidly overhead. In the dark water, he had lost the sense of direction and swam to the bottom of the well until the strong hands of his father grabbed him and pulled him out.

Now he felt just as directionless.

Maedhros’s quivering shoulders shook him out of his thoughts.

“Are you cold?” Fingon asked.

Maedhros looked at him, uncomprehending.

“You are trembling.”

Fingon put a hand on Maedhros’s shoulder. Maedhros stopped breathing. Fingon quickly stepped back.

“Are you cold?” he asked again.

“Yes,” Maedhros said after nearly a minute. “I am cold.”

Fingon scrambled to find a blanket and covered Maedhros, who had lain down, his back to Fingon.

He didn’t speak again. Fingon sat by his side, his hand hovering over the dagger but never touching it.

[inuhalfdemon]

Ducking his head; Alastor finally let himself change – sharp creaks and cracks filling the darkness as his limbs twisted and contorted; his body violently snapping and lengthening as he became something hulking and macabre.

Massive clawed hands spread; each talon sharpened into an incredibly large and deadly point. His antlers finally found their form; twisting and black they jutted into sharpened points – gleaming white at the tips. The branches curled and wound around themselves; the bases were thick and heavy; protruding sharply from his great head. His ears laid low and flat; curling at the tips. His mouth was all teeth – long, jagged points hanging from the maw and dripping drool mixed with red-tinted foam. His thin body had become sucked in – ribbed and bony – vertebrae sticking grotesquely from his back. A thick red and black line of fur stretched from his head and down his back – the bristling hairs standing into sharp hackles A similar line of hairs formed a trail from his navel all the way down to his groin. His tail – no longer delicate and cute – was frizzed up; standing and trembling behind him. His legs were bent into haunches behind him; hocks covered in black fur that ran to meet red cloven hooves. More eye-catching than anything though; was Alastor’s penis – fully erect it pressed curved and seeping into his abdomen as he moved – the size of it matching these new greater proportions he had found for himself.

“Where the fuck are you going to put that?” Lucifer crossed his arms; tilting his head.

Alastor’s red eyes bore down on the angel; the pupils had become moving radio dials. A static buzzing filled the air – sending vibrations all throughout this enclosed and yet empty space. Alastor’s great maw opened; lower jaw hanging slack as saliva seeped from between great yellow teeth; spilling onto the floor. A rumbling traveled to Lucifer; sending tremors to him from the floor as a deep and gurgling growl emitted deep from Alastor’s chest.

“I’m not turning myself into some fucked-up-looking doe; if that’s what you’re wanting. There’s not enough lube in the world for me to be comfortable with you pointing that thing at me.” Lucifer continued to jape at him.

Judging from experience; he suspected that Alastor’s eldritch form was more of a result from all of his pent up energy wreaking havoc with his power and less to do with breeding. Lucifer made a mental note of them needing to have a discussion regarding the positive sides to promiscuity – or at least the beneficial aspects of some increased frequency with it.

Alastor stepped one hulking clawed hand toward him; the points cutting deep marks into the floor. The radio static was humming louder – developing into a sharp and stabbing keening. The hackles on his back stood up straighter and his tongue lolled long and dangling from his mouth.

“Still a ‘no’ from me, I’m afraid.” Lucifer told him with a passive wave of the hand.

Alastor’s growling deepened; another clawed hand stepping forward – followed with the scrape of a massive cloven hoof.

“You know…” Lucifer smoothly shifted form himself; his wings pulling him upward. “There’s really nothing sexier than consent.”

A great and terrible snarl tore through the empty space as Alastor leant back onto his massive haunches and swiped a wickedly large handful of claws at Lucifer. The angel dipped; easily dodging the outstretched talons.

“Now don’t go getting your ears all in a twist with me just because you’re feeling sexually frustrated…when I offered a lovely bit of fellatio the other day but, no-”

Alastor flung a warped and twisted forelimb at Lucifer; catching him in the palm he drove him into the ground – pinning him there.

“Ow.” Lucifer then laughed. “Sorry, you didn’t actually hurt me…just a reflex. Funny, how that sometimes just comes out, am I right?” He smirked up at Alastor, his head pressed tightly between two great talons.

Alastor’s glowing eyes narrowed as he leaned over; saliva falling in strings from his lips.

“Oh, yuck…” Lucifer squirmed. “Do not! You touch me with that slime and I will blow chunks all over these pretty claws of yours.”

Alastor pressed closer; the strings of drool dangling just above Lucifer now.

“No, Al!” He cringed, wriggling. “Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew – EW!!!”

In a soft poof; he became a sizeable white snake – easily slipping from between the claws and coiling around the base of one enlarged finger.

“Ssssssssseriously.” Lucifer’s snake formed raised up; flicking out it’s tongue. “Disssgusssssssting!”

Alastor’s insane and monstrous grin widened; lifting the clawed hand Lucifer was on he quickly brought it to his teeth; meaning to pull the snake off.

A soft poof again and Lucifer was a small white bird; swiftly spiraling and darting all around.

Alastor drew back, tilting his head as his glowing eyes followed the bird’s quick movements.

“Whooo…” Lucifer’s bird form puffed in little pants. “Wish I knew that this what we would be doing…I need to work-out more.”

Sharply; tilting his head Alastor clipped the little bird with a branch of his antler – sending it somersaulting downward.

Lucifer swiftly shifted back to form – his large six wings dragging him quickly upward again.

“Fucking nice shot!” He climbed higher before hovering in place. “I’m impressed.” He smiled down at Alastor with a wide and toothy shit-eating grin.

Alastor huffed; snapping his jaws closed – snaggle-toothed fangs overhanging his lower lip - thin trails of blood seeping down his chin.

“You really need to stop biting yourself.” Lucifer remarked. “Stomatitis is no joke.”

Alastor threw his bulking weight up; jaws flying open and slamming shut a hair’s breadth from Lucifer when he flapped back.

“Fuck, you’re quick.” Lucifer dove; evading a close swipe.

Skimming close to the ground, Lucifer spread his wings wide before pulling them sharply down to pull himself back upward as Alastor leapt for him.

The keening of the radio was starting to die down now and Lucifer saw that Alastor’s fur and hair was standing less upright.

“Are we about done here?” Lucifer asked him; hovering again. “I’m starting to get bored and I really hate flying around fully naked; it gets drafty.”

Sitting back; Alastor raised himself up onto his haunches – clawed hands lifting from the ground; limbs hanging long and lanky as he considered Lucifer’s position.

Before he could make another attempt at him; Lucifer flung an arm and sent a flurry of golden chains - holy bonds – to encircle the eldritch demon’s legs. Pulling his fist back; the bonds tightened – effectively pulling Alastor heavily to the ground.

With a dive and a flaring of wings; Lucifer landed beside him.

The holy bonds encircling his legs had not only brought Alastor down but also brought him back to form. The radio demon hissed and spat; flinging spit and blood onto the floor as he tried to tear at the chains encircling his legs.

Excerpt from my "No One Can Know..." radioapple fanfic.

Taglist: @helluva-simper

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

lumps: (makes a post prasing lady whump with a joke about how the whump community is weird about lady whump but not caring bc too horny)

rabid faction of the whump community: (proceed to prove her right by being weird about lady whump to the point of becoming hostile despite no one talking to them)

all i wanted was to talk about hyper femme girlie aesthetics in various whump scenarios. all i wanted was to goof and jape about beautiful ladies with big bazoobas and smeared lipstick and a pastel pink butterfly knife. i say "please, may i have woman running in stilettos and using the heel to stab someone's eye" and they say "no...you are cringe...kys immediately..." but then don't even mention if i'm wearing a cute skirt when i die

[idiotwithanipad]

Gore Au: Introductions

(A part 8 to this: https://www.tumblr.com/idiotwithanipad/754120512986300416/gore-au-first-meeting)

(In my Gore AU, all the ghosts memories and mental states are warped due to trauma and time. They're constantly in the mindset they were in moments before their deaths)

Ft @moonah-rose 's OC Silver

Humphrey stepped back away from the window, his eyes still fixed like cement onto the witch who still stood aloft outside, her lifeless eyes staring into his. As he passed by the pair of bottom bed posts, his eyes flicked down to his daughter who still slept soundly on her side, curled up like a small animal.

His face cracked with paternal concern and regret. He reached a hand out to pet at her hooded head.

"No, cloaked one"

The voice from the window urged.

"You will only wakes her. She will be safe whilst we talks. My skins may have shriveled to the bones, cloaked one, but my ears still works as normals. Should I hears a cry from the child, you mays return to her" The witch bargained.

The Tudor gave a sceptical side eye in her direction and slowly retracted his hand which hovered over the girl's head. As he stepped around the bed, he kept his eyes on the witch who seemed to descend lower to the ground below the closer he got to the door.

Finally outside, Humphrey rounded the corner of the house and stood meters away from the witch, who now stood feet to the ground, the smoke which kept her aloft was gone.

"You see? Neither you nor I hath heard a cry from the child" She spoke, her voice dry and raspy yet gentle.

Humphrey gave a single nod of agreement and cast his gaze up towards the East Wing window.

"Hear me, cloaked one. I did tell you that I would do no harms to your child-"

"Define 'harm'" The nobleman challenged, averting his eyes to the witch with a severe and pointed stab in his gaze. The witch bowed her head briefly before stepping forward on the loose gravel.

"Pains. Scars. Torments. Tortures. All things you and I do endure each day" The witch said solemnly.

The Tudor nodded once more and set his jaw. He stepped forward and cast his arm upwards, his stone solid finger pointing to the window.

"Then you won't mind explaining to me why all of a sudden my little girl, the only family I've got left, is petrified to leave my side, not even to let me check for those KNAVES?"

The witch dipped her face downward in shame, closing what remained of her charred eyelids; she wouldn't threaten nor jeer at him, she knew what she had done and it was too late to play dumb.

"I understands your wrath with me, cloaked one, trulys. I did send my ally to bring her to me, so as to talks to her. Seems you now know about my darling girl and the infatuation she does have with yours. She wishes for a friend, so I tried to deliver. But I did come across too fiery and full of anger" The witch confessed, clasping her skeletal hands before her apron.

"So that was your doing, was it? Don't know if you've noticed all too recently, but that thing of yours, whatever he is, isn't the best thing for a little girl to see, is he?" Humphrey spat.

The witch softened even more, seemingly.

"I understands. Thinkings back, t'was not the nicest of japes. But hear me, my ally be a gentle soul at heart, but his heart merely lost it's beat long ago. He was once very much like you, cloaked one" The witch explained, the corners of her crispy cheekbones almost seemed to mould and contort into something that resembled a smile.

Humphrey looked about ready to protest before the witch spoke again.

"He did have a child, many childrens, tiny childrens, mere babes. He did love them so, killed for them, hurt for them, suffered and tried himself for them. He would tear the skies down to protect them. Looks me in the eyes and utter to me that he be not like you, cloaked one... "

The Tudor rose his brow.

"I don't kidnap defenseless little girls when they're all alone, do I?" His gritted teeth only added to his grimace of rage, the memory of his daughter's terrified and tearful eyes made Humphrey want to hunt down that beast, chain his arms and legs to two horses and tear him limb from limb.

"As I says, he had the heart of a father, as you do. But that heart hath stopped beating. His babes live no more. His family are long gones. His home is far from this land. All my dear ally has now is a broken brain and a broken heart. If you will throw flames at anybody here, cloaked one, throw them at me"

The imaginary shackles Humphrey had clamped around the beast's wrists and ankles were slowly growing looser as he thought deeper.

His family are long gone- Sophie.

His home is far from this land- Richmond- Humphrey's true home, the home where he was born and bred.

But Humphrey still had his child. One thing the creature didn't. Not anymore. As he took a while to reflect, he cursed himself for starting to pity the beast.

"So, you see, cloaked one, my ally can no longer do any wrongs, he can only do as he is told and wish for one small favours-" The witch started.

"Which is?" Humphrey tilted his head closer.

"Relief. His poor wretched brain shouts and screams at him in the night. He does whine and cry so, but I is a witch, as you know. So I do soothe him of his torment, only for a whiles, t'is not permanent. We do operate as a units, my ally and I; favours for favours" The witch spoke gently, with only the sincerest pity in her voice, which almost sounded more human now.

Humphrey remained silent and stared at the witch's apron, not yet ready to look her in the eye again.

"Hark... The child still sleeps, cloaked one. She is safe. No harms done" The witch reintroduced the subject of Amy, causing Humphrey to return his gaze to the unchanged window above. By the time he lowered his gaze back towards the witch, she stood before him, less that a meter from him, gazing into his eyes softly.

"Bid me takes you to the edges of the woods, cloaked one. Meets my child, and you may sees that she bare no ill will... "

Humphrey recoiled from her and her foul scent.

"How do I know this isn't just some trap? Or that that THING of yours isn't already in my daughter's room doing God knows what to 'er?!" Humphrey fretted, but the witch rose her hand.

"Cloaked one, calm yourself. My ally hath not set foot inside the house since we started this talks. To that, I gives you my words" The witch spoke seriously.

Humphrey held back a sceptical sneer and bit his lip.

"I gives you my words, cloaked one. He will not set foot in the house unless asked, or compelled. And he hath already reaped his relief from the first time. He will not bother your girl"

Remembering that young dancing girl's need for a fellow girl to befriend, Humphrey saw through the witch's burnt exterior and caught a tiny glimpse of a desperate mother wishing to amend her wrongs. Remembering his chivalrous upbringing, Humphrey drew in a breath and held out his elbow for the witch to hold.

Should he have done this for any other reason than to settle differences and possibly rearrange a meeting with their daughters, the witch would've ground her heel into his toes until they fell off. Whacked him in the privates with a basket of potatoes. Twisted his ears. Clamped her teeth down onto his nose till it ripped from his face. But her hatred of condescending menfolk would have to wait; this was for Silver, after all.

She wafted over to the Tudor and linked her hand into the bend in his arm. Incredibly, his cloak did very little to agitate the feeble amount of burnt flesh that remained on her bones. She stepped forward onto the grass, Tudor in arm, towards her home, keeping her metaphorical lips sealed until they reached the border. Humphrey kept glancing over his shoulder towards the East Wing window, his nerves on the highest of ends.

"Silver! Darling, come to mummy's voice, I have someone for you to talks to. And dear ally, wherever it is that you be, I knows you sees him, I knows your smells and hears him. Be still, he bares no threats, release my darling girl from thy paws, she will be okay!" The witch called into the dense forest.

A short moment of silence followed, even the birds seemed to stop singing, but soon afterward, the slight melodic hum of the dancing girl rang gently in Humphrey's ears. Poor child. Such a different sound compared to the sweet lilting voice he'd heard the other night.

The girl, adorned in modern clothing and a pink fringe emerged from between the thick trees, her pale face smiled, but her eyes didn't; it was a lifeless and withdrawn smile, like someone had taken a needle and thread and stitched this permanent tormented grin on the girls lips.

"There you are, darling girl. Come to mummy~" The witch spoke, opening her arms towards the girl. She seemed to smile, Humphrey could hear the smile in the witch's words somehow. One corner of the girl's smile lifted a little, more genuine and cheerful than the other side.

"Hello, mummy. I heard you call me, what is it?" The girl asked, shuffling forward into the witch's arms and hugging weakly, half heartedly. The witch stroked the remnants of dried leaves from the girl's hair and spoke gently.

"I did bring a guest, darling. He does stand beside you and I right now"

The girl gasped and pulled away, seemingly fussing and brushing at the air about her thighs and knees.

"Mummy! You could've given me a heads up if the prince of the Obsidian temple was coming over! Look at my dress, it's got dirt on it, I look a right tramp right in front of-"

The witch held the girl's frantic hands softly in her own with a slight chuckle.

"No, darling girl. T'is a new guest. You did meets him once before, briefly. He be the father of Amy, the girl who cannots speak"

Silver paused and looked taken back. A shadow of sadness crossed her clouded eyes.

"I suppose he's here to tell me to get stuffed like everyone else?" Silver mumbled.

"No, sweet girl. If he were to come here for that, I'd turn him into a ugly little toad" The witch snided playfully, booping what remained of her nasal cavity against Silver's. At least the girl's sullen smile faded briefly at the witch's tender act, as a gentle giggle fell from her lips.

"Hello, Miss. Don't think I told you my name before, but- I'm Humphrey. As your mum says, I'm Amy's dad" Humphrey spoke carefully.

Silver slipped her hands from the witch's and stepped closer to Humphrey voice, her hands raising up to maintain her balance.

"Mr Humphrey, is Amy angry with me? I wanted to play with her the other night but she didn't come see me. Haha. I thought I hurt her feelings somehow, it's probably because I accidentally poked her in the eye, but I didn't mean it, honest. I tried to look better too, but my dress gets dirty sometimes and-" The girl rambled, her acursed smile growing by the second.

"No no, your dress is- lovely. Five stars. She's just shy. I had a heard time getting her to sit still at first, too. She lost her mummy, you see. There was an- incident, many years ago, and- my wife, Amy's mummy had to run away. I've been left to raise Amy alone since then. It's not your fault, swee'heart" Humphrey explained, realising that due to the girl's blindness, he'd have to play into whatever the witch had been telling her all this time.

Silver's mouth dropped and she almost staggered forward, she looked as though she were about to release a joyful cheer, but she didn't.

"Amy's got no mummy? That's horrible!"

Humphrey knew not to take offense to the girl's somewhat gleeful way of saying that sentence, she couldn't help it after all.

The witch watched Humphrey's face soften and grow tired.

"I only wish I could've found Amy sooner. Those- bloody guards" Humphrey began, realising he'd have to censor himself around the young girl.

"They pulled Amy from her mummy's quarters and brought her to mine. I don't know what they've done to 'er, but she can't speak. She's sick. She brings up this fluid from 'er stomach whenever she tries so talk. It keeps me up at night wondering what they'd been doing to 'er..." Humphrey explained, his voice full of regret and shame.

Silver's smile remained unchanged, but she nodded her head and blinked.

"Well, if it helps, she wasn't mean to me, even after I poked her in the eye. She wrote her name on my hand. I can't see very well and Amy can't speak, so I let her write on my hand, haha"

Humphrey had to admire the girls quick thinking.

"Maybe, if your mum will allow it-" Humphrey began, nodding respectfully to the witch.

"You might actually get to come see Amy again? Whenever you're ready. Amy's bound to her room a lot due to her sickness, and it's the best place I can hide her from the guards, so you're welcome to come in her room if you want"

Silver's heart skipped a beat.

[fantasticalbiology]

Yellowswap: behind the scenes

So this isn't a follow up to Yellowswap I just thought this would be funny.

Sans: "So I understand the stabbing myself part but I don't have hair"

Me: "Don't worry I have an alternative for your zenith." I pullout the dry erase board with a picture of Nightmare sans from Moro porductions. "This shall be your zenith"

Sans "Okay so I aggressively start beat boxing at the kid after I transform"

Me: "NO"

scene change

Asgore: "So I start yelling at Undyne about a Ben tens"

Me: "Yes"

Undyne: "And I dispute his claims with cowboys"

Me: "Yes and you can even dispute his claims using anime cowboy like Spikes or Vash"

Chujin in the distance: "That's even dumber than Clint Eastwood"

Starlo also in the distance: "Your dumber than Clint Eastwood"

Me: "quiet you two"

scene change

Mettaton: "So what is my motivation again"

Me: "Your a mindless killing machine that's killed before and will again"

Mettaton: "But I get scared in genocide that I have hide behind a trashcan lid"

Me: "Yup"

Mettaton: "Are you sure I can't have the El Bailador's role"

Me: "No Papyrus has it on lock and El Bailador has his role on lock"

Papyrus in the background: "Where the japes in this role"

El Bailador in the background: "Where is the passion in this role"

Papyrus: "In the puzzles"

Me: "We'll talk about it"

Scene change

Me: You don't have flirt with Ceroba or El Bailador if you don't want to but it's kind of expected

Clover leaves sad

Frisk raises their hand

Me: "No, you still can't flirt anyone"

Frisk leaves sad

Me shaking my head: "Kids" looks to my left to see Integrity with chara's scary face. "Good job kid"

Scene change

Kanako: "So I emerge from the flower and scream my name"

Me: "I mean you can, but's it's better that you let the words to your name appear save your lungs when your hyper death"

Kanako: "Okay mister"

scene changed

Starlo desperately tries to lift Dalv: "C'mon, I can do it"

Me: "Do I need to get Ed in here"

Starlo struggling: "Nope I got this, I can toss him into the trash can"

Me: "Ed, please help Starlo"

Ed grabs Dalv and tosses him through the net into the trash can. "There we go"

Me, puts my hand on Starlo's shoulder "You can try again later, I'm still trying to convince Marlet into the jogboys outfit"

Deltarune yellowswap bonus scene

Me: "Cover you don't have to eat the moss, just put yourself in the chains"

Cover: "Okay"

Anako: "Then I say imagine what Noelle doing"

Me: "Pretty much

Spamton: Hey you [Clown about town] if Cover is already a [BIG SHOT] what is ole Spamton G Spamton supposed to do

Me: I already explained it to Alphys but the red and yellow souls purposes are being swapped

[pizzaclone-brainrot]

There’s a certain type of clone that appears less common than the regular type, but it’s much...stranger in appearance than the typical one. Due to their odd appearance, many call them “weird” or “goopy” clones, the former being due to their strange proportions, and the latter coming from their apparent malleability. Said malleability appears to come at a benefit to them, as they appear to sustain possibly any injury, from stabbing to blunt-force trauma, and walk away just fine, albeit a bit annoyed. It’s safe to assume they don’t have bones, but it’s been reported that they do in fact have some amount of organs, including brains, which many believe to be the weak spot of weird clones, therefore damaging the brain may stop the weird clone for good. Until it was confirmed some people didn’t believe they had any brain which frankly is just rather rude, just because they behave in ways you don’t understand doesn’t mean they’re brainless, it just means you gotta take some time to understand them, just like with other people, and you do that with other people, right?

It’s believed that weird clones can control the malleability of their body at will, but they seem to struggle with said control under certain conditions, typically emotional distress or when asleep. Some believe it’s possible to stick your hand or even arm in a weird clone’s body, but none have agreed to test that out, and it’s best not to upset the weird clones, as who knows how dangerous they can be when angered. Well, it’s believed the progenitor knows, but he refuses to share his experience, perhaps it’s bad enough he wishes to forget it.

There’s been reports of stray chunks of goop that drip off weird clones being able to move on their own, which brings up rather concerning questions that may be best not to think about. One report someone made is that they’ve seen a blob of goop consume a small animal in an alleyway, which was already disturbing enough, but then the day after they claimed to have seen the pile of goop in that same place but this time was staring right back at them with eyes much too big for whatever animal was there yesterday, which leaves rather disturbing implications. This has since raised countless questions as to what the hell is up with weird clones, especially whatever their body is made up of, and of course, there are many people denying this claim, as it’s only one person, and it may just be but a jape, but who the hell knows, they’re not called weird clones for nothing after all, who knows what’s possible with them?

[harrison-abbott]

All the eyes are whirling and dancing and they slip the calories into their mouths. You could be living on Pluto for all the presence you bring: they do not care that you’re alive; they’re only talking about the neighbourhood gossip from twenty years back – when the streets were still apricot and there were no mobile phones, when the internet hadn’t even started yet [this being the early 1990s, the best time in history: that final time to save the planet; where consumerism overtook the Western world; when the politicians gave their power to the markets]. They eat. Take the piss out of the neighbours. The folks they yack about are living a few hundred yards away, but the walls of the kitchen make it easy to assemble. The sluice of gravy and the roasted vegetables and of course the dead pigs and cows, all in browns and pinks and lain there in fleshy gleam, steaming, ach, those butchered animals taste so glorious, do they not. It’s not your birthday. Of course it isn’t; this is a commune of the elders: and he was a mistake child, with nae social ability, an embarrassment, an arrogant lil nobody – doesn’t matter what age he is. Then somebody offers him some gravy. He doesn’t eat that gravy because he does not eat animals. Somebody notices: “Oh no! He only touches the moral gravy!” And they all laugh – all 12 of them. 10 of the 12 are overweight and follow carcinogenic diets and drink with gusto. The other 2 are vegetarians (who will eventually become failed vegetarians) and they giggle and snort as well. It’s not his birthday. Amongst his presents are a book about a band from the 60s and when the big brother he sees it, he scoffs, rolls his eyes and says, “Oh, God, just move on!” And there’s a wooly jumper and some socks and boxers. The fire is coal fat; these golden orbs of rotten wood. What yomped humanity forward, what triggered the modern age. The boy’s age would probably witness the apocalypse, whereas his elder siblings would be just on the fringe, if not already just plucked off from cancer, or, more likely – just yet surviving on the rich leniency of the West, paow paow paow. When the super-elders are too drunk to do anything he goes into the kitchen to wash the dishes. Yes, that’s his job. Boo hoo. The siblings come in. And they touch him and tell him that they were only joking all night, only jesting, have a sense o humour, wee laddie, learn to get in the vibe of banter, for japes and jibes are how people make it through life. And the soap froths in the sink and the liquid is made up of 50 + chemicals and smells of his old primary school corridors when the cleaners came out and he was sent on errands to go and see whomever … Just as in school, he’s nothing but a high functioning autistic lad, with consciousness screaming all around him, a pressure and antagonism of which he cannot articulate. He accepts the passive aggressive apologies without accepting them. Yes, ha ho, ho ha. There is no murdered mammal in his gullet. On the iPod turret there’s a 90s band playing. And the brothers sing along to the wailed melody, though none of them know the lyrics, and nor does he. There’s a butcher’s knife by the sink, in a long lethal triangle. It could quite easily stab everybody in the room.

[littledark11]

"he was sure his brother would imminently compared to a cock and balls."

Hehehe I want someone's cock and balls for my Christmas gift

"He lobbed a clutch of snow into Thor’s ruddy face and kept walking. He was in no mood for japes."

He should have thrown it into Thor's face, it would have been funnier lol

"The child’s hand was touching his hand; her small fingers like matchsticks curled around his own. She wore a sheepskin jacket that was a size too big. Not tailored, clearly, and the collar hid her mouth—yet he could tell she was smiling. He glanced to the side, noticing for the first time that every member of the audience was staring."

Awwwww that paragraph melted my heart deeply. 🥹🥹🥹🥹

"The smile playing on your lips made Loki want to carve out his own heart in longing."

That's the most romantic and poetic line have I have ever read. 💕💕💕💕💕

“Your hands are cold,”

"Like my heart."

Maybe a little someone could warm up his heart 😏😏😏

"And what would you do? Kiss her? Force yourself upon her like an animal?"

I just imagine Loki breaking into her hotel room and having nothing but a Santa hat and a green ribbon around his junk lol

"She loves Christmas. Do not destroy it for her"

Yeah! Be the true gentleman of Christmas and destroy her in a different way 😏😏

"moonlight bounced off the fake jewels woven into your hat. She deserves every jewel in the nine realms. And then, you shrugged."

Loki would be the gentleman that would buy you special jewelry that matches your eyes so he can say "you're eyes as pretty as gemstone" 💎

"You belong with us, Loki. I…we, love you.”

Awwww😭😭😭😭 this is so wholesome.

“I’ve waited long enough,” he murmured. And then, to the sound of cheers louder than the organ, he kissed you again."

Awwwww 😭😭😭 you're stabbing me with emotion!! Besides Tony and Thor essentially cock blocking the wholesome and romantic moment they were having

Loki was vulnerable and nervous about his emotions like he was trapping himself not letting him be happy and taking what he truly loves. And I was giggling and and blushing when they finally confessed this feelings! And I'm glad that Reader opened Loki up.

Thank you for this amazing story I'll keep it in my heart! And Merry Christmas 🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄

@lokisgoodgirl

In the Bleak Midwinter [Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: On a mandatory Christmas Avengers Getaway, resident Scrooge Loki discovers there is warmth to be found. (w/c 3.4k) Warnings: None, really. Fluff. Bit of angst. Brief reference to erotic fantasy. Loki in his Christmas feels. A/N: Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays & Season's Greetings my loves❤️ I hope all your days are merry & bright. 🎄

Loki’s hands dug deeper in his pockets with every methodical crunch of his boots into the snow.

The outline of the church was visible; the kind reproduced on a hundred greetings cards which had landed in Loki’s fanmail these past weeks. The cards, at least, he could ignore. Tony Stark’s ‘Olde Christmastime getaway’, it seemed, he could not.

The small church had a thick, proud steeple; old uneven walls arranged on either side in a way he was sure his brother would imminently compare to a cock and balls.

"Brother," Thor chittered madly beside him. "Doesn’t the dwelling yonder resemble—?"

Loki yanked a hand from his pocket and brushed it along a low wall running adjacent to the path. He lobbed a clutch of snow into Thor’s ruddy face and kept walking. He was in no mood for japes.

His eyes stung from the sharp, needling cold. The night was clear, and only his breath fogged the view of this place the gaggle of Avengers who insisted on ‘involving’ him hadn’t stopped wittering on about for months. Soon, they would realise he only spoiled the occasion. A perennially cracked door sending a draught through their warm surroundings.

A carol concert, he mused bitterly, shaking his head for the third time since leaving the toasted seclusion of his armchair at the lodge. Of all things he did not wish to partake in this weekend, the carol concert occupied prime position on Loki’s list of grievances.

I will go, he’d decided as Thor had forcibly manoeuvred Loki’s coat onto his body. But I shall not make merry. Loki of Asgard would not be caught dead engaging publicly in festive frivolities of any kind. Of that, he was resolved.

A soft, amber glow pulsed at the criss-crossed windows of the church. With a swell of hope, he wondered if the building was, in fact, unsalvageably ablaze. Perhaps, there would be no carol concert after all.

A vision of the cup of spiced wine he’d been rudely separated from flashed through his mind. Perhaps, it would still be steaming on his imminent return. Thor yanked his arm roughly towards the wooden doors with one thick mitten emblazoned with crudely stitched glazed hams.

"Un-hand me. This is Armani, you cretin."

"We’re already late, and I don’t want to miss a second. Besides, there are candles. You love candles."

Loki sighed. It didn’t surprise him that Thor had fallen for this seasonal, mortal farce. The fact that they were once worshipped and celebrated thus in their own realm had escaped Thor in a way it had not escaped Loki. It was to be expected, but still, as his cheeks pinched against the cold, it grated.

Behind wood and stone, an organ groaned to life and a low chorus of unsure voices rose.

“Once in Royal David’s City, Stood a lowly cattle shed…”

Thor yanked harder and Loki felt his feet unroot from the crushed ice. The voices were stronger now, coming together as one, melodious snake slithering against his iced eardrums.

Thor paused with one mitten on an iron knob, the other fastened to Loki’s Armani. Snot dangled from his nose. “Try and be nice.”

“I’m always nice.” His brother’s eyes narrowed and he relented. “Courteous, at least.”

Thor’s lips pinched. “You know what I mean…Festive.” Loki would have rolled his eyes if he weren’t sure they were frozen. He released a snort of fogged air from his nose instead. “Open the door lest we both expire in this winterous wasteland,” he said, and Thor’s face brightened.

“That’s more like it.”

The church was warmer than he’d expected. He stood at the threshold and brushed a dusting of snow from his cuffs as Thor lumbered down the aisle and made a cartoonish, indelicate attempt to sidle his bulk into a row; a boisterous whispering of apologies clashing with the turn of the organ.

“When, like stars, His children crowned All in white, shall wait around…”

Loki flinched as the voices tapered and the organist released a crescendo of bone-shuddering notes. And then, he stumbled.

“Norns,” he growled, a little too loudly in the incense-heavy silence.

He regained his balance and looked down at the small child looking up at him with wide, shining eyes. They were holding out a booklet with curled, yellowed edges. Shoddy workmanship, Loki thought as he took it with a curt nod and turned it over.

St Barnabas Church Carol Concert, it read, accompanied by a garish cartoon holly faded to a light beige. The years below it, beginning at 2002, had been scored out until whomever was in charge gave up in 2014. He sniffed, observing the child with suspicion. "I don't have any coin, if that is what you seek.”

The child’s hand was touching his hand; her small fingers like matchsticks curled around his own. She wore a sheepskin jacket that was a size too big. Not tailored, clearly, and the collar hid her mouth—yet he could tell she was smiling. He glanced to the side, noticing for the first time that every member of the audience was staring.

Natasha hung out of a row halfway down, a black fur hat low on her brow, and beckoned to the little girl. “He’s with us,” she hissed. The organ burst to life with some other musical hokum in defiance of the interruption.

Loki looked back to the little mortal. She said nothing, just led him at a glacial, imperious pace down the aisle and stopped at the correct row. Her auburn curls shimmered in the low light, bouncing.

“Oh, guess there’s no room at the inn…” Natasha winked. “Go behind.”

Loki met his brother’s smug grin one row back. He knew that smile: the plotting smile.

The small pocket of warmth that had been growing in his belly extinguished. And then, he noticed who stood beside him at the end of the row. Loki swallowed.

Thor had all but climbed over you in order to ensure it would be he, Loki of Asgard, standing beside you like a stiff, tuneless, merryless fool. His eyes slid back to his brother, sucking in his cheeks, wondering if punching out a sibling’s teeth was considered ‘festive’.

“There’s room, don’t worry…” you whispered, shuffling your gloves further along the scratched, wooden pew. The smile playing on your lips made Loki want to carve out his own heart in longing.

He edged gingerly into place, staring at the booklet in his hands. And then, your fingers were touching his, moving the pages, your woody perfume thick in his nostrils. He closed his eyes, willing the stir in his groin to cease. His brother would perish for this.

“Your hands are cold,” you whispered, giving his knuckle a brief rub with one, elegant finger. Like my heart. Loki swallowed again, observing the attendees and trying to ignore the unmistakeable correlation of your hot breath skating his neck to the twitch beneath his trousers.

The church was packed. Families, lovers, white-haired humans swaying and their creaking voices tumbling with the rest; the booklets resting unopened. They knew every word.

He fixated on the stone altar, the golden casket behind it glittering in the light. It reminded him of the Tesseract, and with that memory came a familiar twinge of guilt like the slip of a knife between his ribs.

“Oh little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie... "

He moved his lips out of time, faintly recognising the music. As much as he’d tried to avoid it this year and last, the songs playing from your room in the Tower come December 1 were hard to ignore. And perhaps, if he were honest, he hadn’t tried very hard.

You always sang along to them when your mind wandered. It was the only part of Christmas he’d come to favour. And the candles: those too.

“Above thy deep and dreamless sleep The silent stars go by…”

Your finger traced along the lines of the book you shared as if he were a child. He should be insulted; and yet there was something about the tender movement, and your shoulder pressed to his that made him want to nest in this moment and never leave. Your voice was different here. It had a meeker cadence, as though you were stifling the volume and its capabilities to as not to embarrass the quality of those around you.

I’ve heard how she really sounds, he thought smugly as he cast a quick glance at his brother. Perhaps I’m the only one who has.

Thor held the booklet at arm’s length, a millimetre from the back of Stark's head, the baritone of his singing rivalling the organ. His neck swivelled slowly towards Loki. He winked.

“Yet in thy dark streets shineth The everlasting Light…” Loki inhaled sharply, before fitting the words into the repetitive notes with a whisper. “The hopes and fears of all the years,” he sang quietly, voice hoarse. “Are met in thee tonight.”

You squeezed his bicep, the heel of your palm resting on his forearm. Loki stiffened, missing the start of the following verse. He turned fractionally, meeting your eyes glittering in the light of a hundred candles flickering. Gods, you were so beautiful.

He tore away.

Stop it, he chided, letting his eyes focus and refocus on a thick, white candle dripping rivulets near the altar.

He couldn’t afford the weakness that sentiment brought. One had to be wary of sentiment at this Christmastime of theirs. It was too easy to be tricked by the lure of cinnamon and the twinkle of lights like stars; drunk on new beginnings and the gluttony of temporary happiness. Loki knew what came of such things for him. He didn’t intend to make the same mistakes. Not here.

The carols began, and ended. And with each one, Loki felt the itch of sweat grow beneath his armpits, seeping into the fine cotton shirt. Five carols ago, the god had to ban himself from touching his hair like a senseless virgin. It was intolerable; to have you so close, to smell the linger of spiced gingerbread latte on your breath as your tongue shaped across each lyric, and do nothing. And what would you do? Kiss her? Force yourself upon her like an animal? He stilled the fidget of the hand hanging at his side.

You were kind, that was all. Pleasantries. Courtesies. You wanted him no more than he wanted to be at this godsforsaken carol concert.

The hand balancing the booklet began to tremble as intrusive thoughts formed in his mind of you and he curled under a blanket, barely watching those Muppet creatures he’d seen in passing, your soft whimpers as he sank inside you and rocked your curves gently against him. If the spiced wine grew cold then, he would not mind so much, perhaps.

His grip tightened on the booklet. “O’ Come, all ye faithful…” “I can’t do this,” he whispered, his brow scrunched. Your grip on his arm loosened. “Joyful and triumphant…” “Are you okay?” The journey of his gaze to your face seemed to take an age. Half of your skin was bathed in a soft, orange glow; the other shadowed as the chorus of voices grew louder; happier. A line had formed across your forehead. Concern? Maybe. Fear? Most likely.

Most of your hair was tucked under a hat, and yet he knew every strand beneath it. He’d envisioned the texture beneath his fingers more times than he had admitted to anyone. Even his Judas of a ham-fisted, scheming brother.

“I have to go." The flap of his overcoat hit the pew in a swirl and his boots were clicked on the bare stone floor towards the doorway. Eyes followed him, but he paid them no heed. They were better off without him. Within the small vestibule at the exit, a stout old man arranged a tray of mince pies. He turned just as Loki thundered past. “Oi,” the man hissed in a broad, Yorkshire accent. “Don’t forget yer pie.”

A foil-bedded pastry was thrust up towards Loki’s face as he fumbled with the door.

Loki paused, looked at it, and then the man. He had ragged, grey hair and a face carved with a thousand frowns. A worthy adversary.

Loki briefly considered making the pastry explode in a shrapnel of raisons, sighed, and thought better of it. As though they were not his own, his fingers plucked the small comestible from the old man’s hand.

“Wife made ‘em,” he said proudly, searching Loki’s face before his lips stretched in a smile over crooked, tombstone teeth. “Merry Christmas.” Loki mumbled something, twisted the knocker and fell out into the cold, crisp air. The god’s pulse pounded in his throat as he crunched down the path towards the crumbling gateposts; wind playing at the sides of his coat with delicate hands. At the boundary, he stopped. Loki steadied on a gatepost, head drooping. Hair fell around his face, fluttering against his flushed skin. “Are you going to eat that?”

He jumped, twisting around. There you stood, resplendent in moonlight from above and the glow of fresh fallen snow below. Your jaw worked; half a mince pie clutched in the hand not buried in your pocket. “They’re really good actually,” you said, pastry scattering from your lips before covering your mouth with a shy eye roll.

Loki’s lips tweaked. “Clearly. I wasn’t going to but now…I’m not so sure. It seems a valuable boon after all.”

At that, you nodded, crunching closer as you popped the remainder of the mince pie into your mouth. He spun around, gazing up to the sky, rolling his lips. She loves Christmas. Do not destroy it for her.

And then, you were at his shoulder. “So, about that mince pie…” There was a slyness in your voice that made him want to pin you against the gatepost and kiss you until you felt faint; until you couldn’t remember your own name, only his. He cupped a hand protectively over the pie, looking at you beneath his lashes.

“And what if I won’t part with it?” You shrugged. “Then perhaps I’ll rethink my gift.” His heart sank, ill-gotten confidence fading. Loki had made it very clear last Christmas that he would not partake in the Avengers gifting foolishness. Had you forgotten? His stomach joined his heart somewhere around his boots.

“I…was not expecting a gift,” he said, curling a wedge of hair behind his ear. As he did so, the pie lost balance and fell with a pathetic plop to the snow. The two of you stared at it. “Norns,” Loki said, bereft. You burst out laughing as he began rooting in the hole. “I thought gods were supposed to be nimble, suave—all that stuff.” “Have you met my brother?” “I thought you were different.” The strange slyness was back in your voice. “I thought you were a bit more…”  Loki looked up, breath evaporating from his lungs as moonlight bounced off the fake jewels woven into your hat. She deserves every jewel in the nine realms. And then, you shrugged.

In a move he was sure he would later haunt him as he failed to fall asleep, Loki held the small, snow-laden mince pie aloft. An offering of contrition. Your lips flickered, and to his surprise, you took it. “My sincere apologies,” he mumbled. “It’s just a mince pie, Lokes.” “Not for that…” He sighed. “Were you speaking true about a gift? Because I…” You flapped a hand. “Everyone knows you don’t do gifts, you don’t like Christmas, yadda-yadda. But that’s not the point of gifts. I just…it belonged to you. For when you’re ready. Just…promise you won’t make it explode.”

Before Loki could think of a response, you’d produced a small box wrapped in brown paper from the depths of your jacket. His gaze lingered on it for longer than it should have before he said, “Ah.” Your eyebrows rose. “Are you going to open it?” “Should I?” He turned it over in his hands and your eyebrow rose. “It’s not a trick.” At that, his lips drew to the side. If it was a trick, he wasn’t sure if he was in the right frame of mind to deduce it. Loki’s heart pounded between his ribs, a sharp tang nestling in the back of his throat as he stared at the tightly curled ribbon hanging from the box. He wondered if you’d wrapped it here, or in the Tower, with him next door, lying in bed to the sound of your sporadic singing over Nat King Cole.

Your fingers covered his and tugged the ribbon gently. Loki’s breath hitched, eyes meeting. “Open it,” you ordered, and a hot shiver ran down Loki’s spine.

He pulled the ribbon free, then paused. “You should know…I don’t hate Christmas.” He searched your face. “It’s everything I love, you see. Or at least, I used to. Family, closeness, warmth, the feeling of hope for Spring, sprouting under the joy of light and feasting, the music…”

A lump grew in his throat, and he bit the inside of his lip to stifle it. “I find it easier to forswear, you see. It’s better for everyone that way. It seems that what I love has a habit of turning to ash.”

He didn’t realise he’d been fixated on the box under a gentle touch landed on his arm. When he looked up, you were waiting with glossy eyes, lips parted. “You don’t need to be apart from it, Loki. You deserve it…the same as any of us do.” “But—”

Your finger pressed to his lips, silencing it. “Open the box,” you said again, and the finger slid away. He did as he was bid. Inside was a Christmas bauble, polished to such a sheen he could see the sharp outline of his jaw reflected.

The base was a deep forest green, and on it, gold threads traced runes like frost clinging to spiderweb. “For when you’re ready,” you repeated, softer, as liquid heat flooded his chest. “You belong with us, Loki. I…we, love you.”

“It’s beautiful…I…” He licked his lips, making them tingle in the chill. A grin spread across your face.

“You really like it?” “I love it,” he said, not breaking eye contact. Boldness swelled inside him, lighting up the dusty corners of his frigid heart. You looked away, pulling your jacket tighter. Inside the church, the final flourish of 'O’ Come all Ye Faithful' blared.  He reached out, brushing his knuckles down your puffy bicep.

“You mean it? If you don’t, I can return it…” “I really do.” “Good, because it’s custom, and I can’t return it.” Loki laughed at the same time you did, noting the sparkle of your eyes. He drew you into his arms, memorising the way your bodies slotted together despite the layers, and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I fear I must buy you a gift after all…” he said quietly. You pulled back, looking up at him with absolute sincerity. “What I want doesn’t come from a shop, Loki,” you said, breathless. Your eyes dropped to his lips as you cupped his face, the warmth of your skin sending jolts of pleasure down his spine. “I just want you to be happy, and I want…I want…”

Your words grew faint as flecks of snow began to fall. And with that, his resolve exploded.

The first kiss was tentative, skin brushing over skin as he waited for you to pull away. But your arms were thrown around his shoulders, clawing at the back of his Armani coat, pulling his mouth to yours with the ferocity of a winter sea.

Hot breath seared his throat, desire and adoration so thick it held weight bursting from the secret places he had boarded up and forgotten. All he wanted was you, and this, and Yule—wherever it was, and however it was celebrated. As long as he had you.

Eager lips slid together as one kiss broke and launched into the next. Something sharp and iron was poking into his back from the gatepost, but he didn’t care. It could rip a hole in the coat for all he cared.

As your delicate moans heightened, and your fingers knotted tighter into his hair, the applause started.

The two of you broke, twisting as one towards the band of a dozen Avengers making their way down the path. Natasha had her arms spread; eyes wide. Thor was frozen in place, mittens pressed to his cheeks with a soundless scream of glee. Scott was passing money to Sam, and then Tony, too. “It’s a Christmas…miracle,” Thor screeched.

"Sweet baby Jesus..." Stark muttered, fingers jammed in his ears as Loki drew you tighter to his chest, not caring if you felt the leap of his heart through thick wool. Your hand slipped through a gap, drinking the warmth of him, and when your eyes met; Loki couldn’t breathe. “When we return to New York, I shall need a Christmas tree to hang my gift,” he whispered, placing a kiss above your ear. You giggled into his snow dusted collar. “You can always start next year- no pressure.”

Loki cast a glance over the smiling figures bundled in bobble hats and thick scarves, to the amber-lit windows, to the snow stretching over hills and faintly glowing homes scattered across them.

“I’ve waited long enough,” he murmured. And then, to the sound of cheers louder than the organ, he kissed you again.

Tags in comments 🎄✨

[irregularjohnnywiggins]

By the way, on my soirée into the fascinating world of King Arthur, I learnt many things. One is that Lancelot is just inherently a ridiculous character. Don't believe me? Allow me to tell you the story of how Sir Belleus joined the Round Table...

(Source is Phyllis Ann Karr's Arthurian Companion, which itself cites Morte d'Arthur)

So, Lancelot was riding along one day, it was getting a bit late so he was getting tired. He comes across a pavilion, kind of like a portable bed the nobility used carried around by servants. There doesn't appear to be anyone around, so Lancelot just... gets in the bed. Apparently this was a thing he keeps doing in Mallory. Lancelot I think you have a bit of a problem.

So, it turns out that, shocker, the really expensive bed lying in the middle of the road actually belongs to someone, namely a Knight named Sir Belleus. He comes back from his business, sees someone sleeping in his bed, and assumes it's his wife, which leads us to two conclusions:

Sir Belleus is blind and can't notice the person in his bed is clearly a man

Lancelot is such a Bishonen that he's easily mistaken for a girl, as evidenced by the fact that this KEEPS HAPPENING

(in case it's not clear, I'm hoping for the latter)

So, Belleus gets into his bed and starts spooning with the person he thinks is his wife. Lancelot (who in this equation is the little spoon, this is canon, fuck off) responds by 'no-homo'ing so hard he STABS BELLUS IN THE STOMACH. WOW. THAT'S LIKE GREEK TRAGEDY LEVELS OF MISUNDERSTANDING MY FRIEND.

Fortunately for both Belleus and the reader, Lancelot is spared another soliloquy about how sorry he is at killing somebody by the timely arrival of Sir Belleus' wife, who has several questions:

Who the fuck are you.

Why the FUCK are you in my husband's bed.

OH MY GOD WHY THE FUCK HAVE YOU STABBED MY HUSBAND!

Lancelot, in that great British tradition, starts compulsively apologising for everything he's ever done, and Belleus himself says that 'this knight is a good man', which is kind of a leap given the only interaction you've had with him is him stabbing you, but okay. The lady, being naturally sceptical of the man who just stabbed her husband, demands to know his name, and even though Lancelot is travelling incognito (because for some reason no one wants to fight him once he introduces himself as Lancelot) tells them his real identity, and the lady*, being a shrewd businesswoman (because this is the Middle-Dark Ages and every noblewoman is a shrewd businesswoman) tells him that they'll forgive the stabbing thing as long as Lancelot agrees to make Belleus a Knight of the Round Table. Lancelot, who is very familiar with the fact that people have been made Knights for worse reasons, agrees, and they both part ways.

Now, I'm not saying that this wouldn't be out of place in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, but I know it wouldn't be because it isn't:

Again I must bring up: one of the Pythons was literally an Arthurian scholar. This, rather ironically, makes The Holy Grail one of the most accurate depictions of at least Le Morte d'Arthur in modern cinema, and that will never stop being hilarious.

*she's never named, although, this being the Arthurian mythos, there's a non-zero chance she's called Elaine

[non-bionical-mecha-dude]

This is a Part 2 to the OVERWORKED READER ROTTMNT thing! This time it's Leo's turn! I'll be sure to get to Donnie after this!

All Dialogue is colored to the speakers mask color, along with Y/N's Dialogue being Pink (regardless of gender) This is to help those with reading difficulties and disabilities to better read and pay attention to what is being said and who is saying it. I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!!

ROTTMNT LEO X OVERWORKED! READER

"Come on. Come on!! No no no!" You violently smashed your mouse. All of your work...gone. Your work was all trying to load, when the computer just decided to go dumb, so while you were trying to click something, you accidentally deleted your work without a way of recovering it. Your hours upon HOURS of work. And the assignment was due TODAY. So much for your luck!

"Sooooo, what'd ya lose? Some video game?" Leo looked over your shoulder, looking at your computer, seeming disappointed when he saw just a blank document. You looked at him, anger and frustration in your eyes, you did NOT have the time for jokes, japes, or puns at the moment. You had to work or else you could kiss your grade GOODBYE. Leo put his hands up instinctivly.

"Oh ho hoo-okay, I know that face, it's the 'if you mess with me right now, I'll stab you with your own rib'-look, learned it all to well from Donnie, I'll get outta your hair". Leo gave you a small peck on the cheek, and exited through your window, giving you a thumbs up while leaving. Atleast he knew when to give you some space, you thought. You turned your attention back at your computer, and began to retype the whole thing, trying to remember all of what you had put down.

~time skip~

It had been hours, and it was already dark. That's funny, you remembered, you had started working some time around 2 pm, how could already be...11:50!? Oh God, the time really does fly. You had to hurry, ten more minutes until it would be considered 'late' and get points deducted from it. And you weren't even half way done! It's no matter, you haven't taken any breaks or anything for nothing, maybe if you just did more you could get it in on time! You decided to type like a madman/woman/person. You heard your stomach growl and your eyes felt heavy, but that didn't matter, the assignment came first. You could slow down, but that would just put you so far behind. And it sucked to be so far, because then it was only down hill from there, you should know, you've experienced it one to many times.

Knock knock knock

You heard light tapping at your window. It was Leo. With a game cartridge in hand, he seems to think the window is locked, but considering you haven't moved from your spot, it wasn't. You made a window opening motion with your hand, he cocked his head to the side, before trying it. A look of confusion washed over his face. Usually you locked your window by 10, so why was it unlocked. He hopped in, stretching and popping his neck.

"Hey there baby! I kinda assumed you'd be asleep by now, but in the off chance you aren't, I decided, out of the kindness of my heart, you can thank me later, that we could play this game I found! I tried playing with Mikey, but I'm so good at it, he doesn't stand a chance against me! So, I thought, who better to play it with than the second most talented person ever? You!" Leo was rambling on, giving compliments to both you and himself, saying how he couldn't sleep cause insomnia's a bitch, something Raph lectured him on, yada yada. Normally you would be so happy to hear from him and his little rants, but you couldn't afford it, you had only...5 MINUTES!?!?! You were typing as fast as you could, tuning out Leo, your speed caused you to make so many spelling errors, but it's ok! As long as you get it turned it! You could do it! You could be better! You were sweating with your eyes scrunched from staring at a computer all day.

"Uhhh, hello?? Not even a glance at your champion? Hm, tough crowd." He walked over, looking at your computer like this morning.

"Man, are you still working on that? Geez, how long has it been? 8 hours? 9 hours?"

You ignored him, but something pinged in your mind, 8 hours, that can't be right, you weren't working on it for THAT long! Sure, it had been a couple house but not 8!

"Have you gotten up from that spot?"

No response

"Have you even eaten???"

Still, no response, Leo was getting worried. But, thankfully, this clever red eared slider had a plan. And a very good one if he did say so himself.

He grabbed your computer, quickly saved what you were working on, before throwing it back on the couch.

"Wha- LEO-"

Before you could protest, Leo had picked you up, hands holding your bottom up, this caused you to lock your legs around him out of instinct to keep you from falling backwards.

"Nope, as cute as it is to see you so focused, you are taking a break, a LOOONGGGG break!"

"B-but my ASSIGNMENT!! It's due TODAY!"

"It's already past 12, and besides, I can always forge a note saying your mom knows what happened or something and that it was an accident."

You tried to argue back, but he just kept coming up with a new solution each time.

"Listen, argue with me all ya want, the amazing and handsome Leon will not let you put any more attention on some stupid assignment than Moi! You know that's Spanish for Leo?"

You sigh in defeat. You were so relaxed in his arms, your sleepy head laid on his shoulder, your neck, tired from keeping your heavy head up all day without break. Alright, fine, you thought to yourself. It's not like he's gonna put you down.

"That's not what Moi means, and it's not even Spanish."

"Well today it does, because I said so."

"Your such a goofball." You yawned, letting sleep lull over you.

"Yeah but I'm your handsome amazing, best boyfriend, goofball." When he didn't get a response from you, he turned his head to look at your face, being greeted with a sleepy partner in his hands. He chuckled a bit and placed a kiss on your head.

"You can start paying attention to me tomorrow then, if you're so tired."

[socialseasons]

It was difficult to envision a man that could bring Caleb's demeanour towards respectable, and if Ben had not already assured her of Nathaniel's welcoming nature then Francesca was certain to consider him a fearsome man indeed. She had little experience with fathers -- Her own had died when she was so young, and John's in the Napoleonic War -- so unless she counted Anthony (who, she supposed, was the closest thing she had to a father) there had not been a great deal of time for her to prepare.

"Oh, but I would so like to hear of your mishaps," Francesca complained, eyes bright with a mischievous glint as she laughed at his japes. There was not a doubt in her mind that he spoke the truth, that Caleb would spin story after story if he were allowed to give a tour, so with a softer mien she lowered her voice to a hush and asked, "What will be on this grand tour?"

He had told her many times that Setauket was quiet, a sleepy little town where not much happened, and yet Francesca found that she was still excited to be shown around -- She did not have to been shown grand landmarks or places of historical influence, only the spots that were important to him. The places from the many tales he had regaled years ago -- "Tell me more about Setauket" she would ask, the request seeming so infantile now that she was older.

Climbing into the cart, Francesca wobbled slightly as she sat, still unused to the feeling of solid ground beneath her. She offered a grin to Caleb, twisting to take one final glance at the ship and the bustling surrounding it, feeling almost melancholy at the thought of leaving. "It cannot be any less lively than Kilmartin," she pointed out, trying to ignore the stabbing of guilt that paired with the thought of her sleepy Scottish village. "I think that I would rather welcome the quiet anyway. I did not realise that sailing was quite so exhausting."

Ben breathed an uneasy laugh, clasping her hand as they waded through the crowd. "If it makes you feel any better, my father is the one person Brewster actually behaves himself around. Well…” He huffed, his lips quirking into a smile. “I suppose ‘behave’ is a rather improper word for it, but he knows to hold his tongue. It’s hard to believe anyone out there could encourage Caleb to show pure respect, but he assuredly has his limits.”

Even so, that didn’t keep Ben from being nervous for the inevitable. Caleb would undoubtedly tease them in private, and if Nathaniel happened to overhear? Well…he preferred not to think of the repercussions.

Once they set foot on land, Francesca’s hand tightened in his and Ben had to chuckle. “Please don’t tell me you’re ready to turn back around,” he teased. “As much as I enjoyed our trip, I think I’m in desperate need of solid ground for a few days…months…weeks.”

Up ahead, he could see Caleb waving to them through the crowd, a set of reins in his hand with a mule and cart not far behind.

“Thank God,” Ben breathed. “That didn’t take long…typically, Brewster enjoys bartering with the locals, so he must’ve not found too many distractions today.”

Smiling, he squeezed Francesca’s hand and encouraged her to accompany him through the hustle and bustle. “With any luck, I’ll be able to show you around myself – without Brewster – 'cause I know he’ll want to point out all my embarrassing mishaps with the usage of landmarks.” He looked down at her with a grin. “Maybe you’re actually lucky to not have any childhood best friends.”

“Oi! You two gonna hop on, or what?” Caleb called over to them.

“There’s a little thing called distance to overcome first,” Ben called back, chuckling before wryly adding, “akin to the distance between his ears.”

There was affection in his voice rather than irritation – he and his friends had always teased one another so harshly – and once they reached the cart, Ben helped Francesca inside before hefting himself into the back.

Caleb crawled up into the driver’s seat and glanced at them with a grin. “Say goodbye, Frannie-girl,” he encouraged, “'cause this’ll be the last time you see so much infrastructure and hustle 'n’ bustle. From here on out, it’ll just be trees and open water.”

Ben smiled. “Herein lies the mystery of why Brewster won’t stop talking. We didn’t have many other means in which to entertain ourselves.”

[jackoshadows]

“It’s only Pyp who says I’m too dumb to be frightened. I get as frightened as anyone. I used to be scared of Jon, whenever I had to fight him. He was so quick, and he fought like he meant to kill me. I never said, though. Sometimes I think everyone is just pretending to be brave, and none of us really are. Maybe pretending is how you get brave, I don’t know.” - Grenn, ASoS

I thought I would write a little about Jon’s colorful and eclectic group of side characters at the Wall.

There’s Grenn and Pyp (Pypar). Pyp often makes fun of Grenn as being craven however, as with many other characters we see that, he is actually brave for fighting and training despite being afraid. Grenn is not very clever and we are introduced to him as the bully who attacks Jon until we realize that it’s Jon who has been the bully. Grenn is often the butt of jokes, is big and clumsy and is seen as simple, but it’s him and Pyp among others who remind Jon of his duty when he tries to leave the Watch in book one. He’s a steadfast and a loyal friend.

Pyp had stabbed a turnip with his knife. "The night is dark and full of turnips," he announced in a solemn voice."Let us all pray for venison, my children, with some onions and a bit of tasty gravy "

Of the two, Pyp is definitely the more witty and funny one with his large ears that he can wiggle and able to do different voices and accents. Pyp used to be from a Mummer’s troupe. Alliser Thorne mocks him as a ‘mummer’s monkey’. It’s Pyp who often tries to lighten the mood with what Sam calls his ‘stupid japes’.

“Here come our breakfast arrows,” Pyp announced cheerfully, as he did every morning. It’s good that he can make a jape of it, Jon thought. Someone has to. (…) Jon had to think that it was better for them to smile at Pyp’s jest than to brood over Alyn’s corpse.” - Jon, ASoS

There is Todder more familiarly known as Toad, another of Jon’s friends - a singer of bawdy songs learned at his father’s winesink.

"You make us look bad," complained Toad.

"You looked bad before I ever met you," Jon told him.

There’s Satin who Jon thinks of as quick, clever, pretty and brave (Wait isn’t that how he thinks of Arya as well? Hmmm...) Satin was a prostitute from Mole’s Town and is currently Jon’s steward. I thought it was rather adorable that Satin searched for and got some lace for Alys Karstark to wear in her hair for her wedding.

It's the builders for me. What use would rangers be if the Wall fell down? - Halder AGoT

There is Halder who is assigned to the builders and carves the wolf’s head for Longclaw. Pyp, Grenn, Toad, Halder are part of the group of friends who bring Jon back to Castle Black when he tries fleeing the NW back in AGoT. There’s Mully, Jon’s guard. There’s Matthar who had the Septon light a candle for Ned when Jon got news of his execution.

There’s Emrick, Horse, Jace, Hop Robin and Arron - recruits that joined after the great ranging, who fought alongside Jon to defend the Wall. They are close in age to Jon, trained under him, Horse comes from Moles Town and probably thinks highly of Jon and despite following the Seven most of them say their oaths to the Weirwoods.

Then there’s of course Dolorous Edd Tollett, who reminds me of Marvin the paranoid android in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy or even Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh.

"The dead are likely dull fellows, full of tedious complaints - 'the ground's too cold, my gravestone should be larger, why does HE get more worms than I do...'"

Edd Tollett lets us know how dreary and depressing life is at the wall in different ways. Apparently Edd joined the Watch because Yoren told him that women like a man in uniform 😂. There’s so many Edd quotes to choose from.

"I never win anything," Dolorous Edd complained. "The gods always smiled on Watt, though. When the wildlings knocked him off the Bridge of Skulls, somehow he landed in a nice deep pool of water. How lucky was that, missing all those rocks?"

"Was it a long fall?" Grenn wanted to know. "Did landing in the pool of water save his life?"

"No," said Dolorous Edd. "He was dead already, from that axe in his head. Still, it was pretty lucky, missing the rocks."

“We’ll defend the Wall to the last man,” said Cotter Pyke.

“Probably me,” said Dolorous Edd, in a resigned tone.

Dolorous Edd is a loyal friend to Jon Snow, someone he trusts and ends up  steward of Long Barrow under Iron Emmett, in charge of the Spearwives.

Then there are the other brothers like Cotter Pyke and Ser Denys Mallister, leaders and commanders in their own right, who vote for Jon Snow as LC rather than for someone like Janos Slynt.

“Lord Snow,” said Cotter Pyke, “if you muck this up, I’m going to rip your liver out and eat it raw with onions.”

Cotter Pyke is a bastard from the Iron Islands and is described as being violent, but we see that he is dutiful to the Watch and wants what’s best for it. He’s rough spoken and illiterate, but he does what Jon wants and leads the mission to Hardhome despite disliking the Wildlings.

He smiled a tired smile. “Do not make me die regretful. Your uncle was a great man. Your lord father and his father as well. I shall expect full as much of you.” - Denys to Jon

Denys Mallister has waited a long time to become Lord Commander and yet graciously gives way to Jon Snow

"Jon, you have the Wall till I return."

For a moment Jon thought he had misheard. It had sounded as if Noye were leaving him in command. "My lord?"

"Lord? I'm a blacksmith. I said, the Wall is yours."

Donal Noye, who gives Jon command of the Wall, whose compassion is what Jon recalls best and who dies fighting a giant in the Tunnels under the wall. Donal Noye who trusts that Jon has not turned deserter, who carries him one armed to Maester Aemon to treat his injuries

If any man in the Night's Watch can make it through the Frostfangs alone and afoot, it is you, brother - Qhorin Halfhand to Stonesnake

Man and boy I've served the Watch, and ranged as far as any. I've seen the bones of giants, and heard many a queer tale, but no more. I want to see them with my own eyes - Ebben

The Rangers who go with Jon scouting beyond the Mountains to discover Mance’s plans - Qhorin Halfhand, Stonesnake, Squire Dalbridge and Ebben. Qhorin Halfhand who teaches Jon to be a leader, Stonesnake who was last seen at Skirling pass and is still unaccounted for, Ebben who is killed by Rattleshirt and finally Squire Dalbridge.

It's always pretty women in my dreams. Would that I dreamed more often - Dalbridge to Jon Snow

Squire Dalbridge is the epitome of what the Night’s Watch is supposed to be. Brave men risking their lives to defend the realm and yet their bravery will never be known. Dalbridge is killed after staying behind to hold off the Wildlings thus allowing Jon and the others to make their escape.

"Honor set you on the kingsroad... and honor brought you back." "My friends brought me back," Jon said. "Did I say it was your honor?" - Jeor Mormont

"It takes a man to rule. An Aegon, not an Egg. Kill the boy and let the man be born." You are half the age that Egg was, and your own burden is a crueler one, I fear. You will have little joy of your command, but I think you have the strength in you to do the things that must be done. Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Winter is almost upon us. Kill the boy and let the man be born. - Maester Aemon

There are the wise men of the Watch, Jeor Mormont and Maester Aemon, from whom Jon learns the basics of leadership and the responsibility of being a member of the NW.

“Well, that’s so,” said Yarwyck. “Anyway, now that I’m standing here, I don’t recall why I thought Slynt would be such a good choice. That would be sort of kicking King Stannis in the mouth, and I don’t see how that serves us. Might be Snow would be better. He’s been longer on the Wall, he’s Ben Stark’s nephew, and he served the Old Bear as squire.” Yarwyck shrugged. “Pick who you want, just so it’s not me.” He sat down.

There are the dissenters, Bowen Marsh and Othell Yarwyck, who end up participating in mutiny and assassination, but it’s worth remembering that Yarwyck suggests that the Watch vote for Jon rather than Slynt.

Hobb's sausages were made of grease and salt and things that did not bear thinking about.

There’s three fingered Hobb who was kind enough to give Sam salted ham for his birthday, and deaf Dick and half blind Clydas.

"The bloody buggers got my leg." Spare Boot plucked the arrow out and waved it above his head. "The wooden one!"

Spare Boot and Dornish Dilly and Red Jack Crabb, Owen the Oaf and Fulk the Flea, half-mad Easy.

"What is it you smell, Dywen?" asked Grenn. The forester sucked on his spoon a moment. He had taken out his teeth. His face was leathery and wrinkled, his hands gnarled as old roots. "Seems to me like it smells . . . well . . . cold." 

There’s loyal, veteran ranger and tracker Dywen with his wooden teeth who is currently missing.  Garth Greyfeather, Black Jack Bulwer and Hairy Hal who Jon sends to range beyond the wall for information and who are killed by the Weeper, with their heads mounted on spears in front of Castle Black. The rangers like Garrett Greenspear and Luke of Longtown who accompany Jon on his duties.

Men are men, vows are words, and words are wind - Iron Emmett

Leathers crossed his arms. “That battle down below? I was on t'otherside, remember? Now I wear your blacks and train your boys to kill. Some might call me turncloak. Might be so … but I am no more savage than you crows. We have gods too. The same gods they keep in Winterfell.”

There’s Iron Emmett, newly arrived from Eastwatch-By-The-Sea and trains with Jon and is named commander of Long Barrow in charge of the spearwives.  The Wildling recruits Jax and Leathers who joins the NW and is appointed Man at Arms for training the new recruits.

There’s Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun, the giant, with whom Jon holds conversations about his culture, learning the Old Tongue from Leathers. Wun Wun who loves platters of roast veggies

All in all the Night’s Watch gives Jon Snow a colorful cast of side characters to play with and if Jon does indeed end up leaving the Watch to entangle in Northern politics I will miss these crows and I hope most of them manage to stick around till the very end - especially Grenn, Pyp, Edd, Satin, Iron Emmett, Leathers, Wun Wun etc.

[saessenach]

We were only having a jape, my lord.

Satin for Night’s Watch Day!! Happy (late) Ides of Marsh, and merry stabbings <3

[iwannawritelots]

Obey Me! One Master to Rule Them All but…

it’s Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Originally written December 2021

SPOILER WARNING for season two of obey me in Simeon’s section

Tumblr wouldn’t let me put more than 10 images I cry

Lucifer💙- Wyvern Lord: “An experienced wyvern handler with high stats but a weakness to bows and magic, this class can move again after taking certain actions.”

Loves animals

I imagine his pride would make him want to utilize several weapons

Flying and stabbing

Smexy light armor which he would love Bc it covers him up but he still looks nice

Mammon💛- assassin: “A killer who thrives in the shadows, the Assassin has excellent speed and dexterity.”

The Great Mammon will fuck you up

it’s in the class tree with thief which when you master it will allow you to have the lock pick skill soooooo

Leviathan🧡- bow knight: “A graceful archer mounted upon a mighty steed, this class can move again after taking certain actions.”

Social anxiety

He makes me think of Bernie

Will fucking kill you

Video gaming skills

Satan💚- hero: “A master of combat, the Hero has high strength and speed.”

Axe and sword user

Murdery

he is an axe user for the rpg card collection

Asmodeus💘- war cleric: “This powerful warrior wields axes or fists while upholding devout faith. This unit can also use some magic.”

Will fucking tear you apart

He’s insane

If he doesn’t want to mess up his hands he can use gauntlets or axe

He craves violence

I imagine light magic would suit him

Beelzebub❤️- fortress knight: “Trading speed for staying power, this heavily armored unit has staggering defense.”

Big strong boy

He loves food

…he makes me think of Raphael (fe Raphael not obey me Raphael)

Axe baby

Will crush you

Belphegor💜- mortal savant: “A master who casts powerful magic and wields a sword with confidence and poise, the Mortal Savant is a force to be reckoned with.”

Magic and sword user dhdkdbfk yes

He stabby

Would literally kill everyone no bothers

Simeon🤍- trickster: “A sword user who can use some magic, the Trickster toys with their foes by employing quick movement. Requires Thief certification.”

He schemes so much lol

Sword user in the rpg card collection

Healing magic

Definitely knows how to break into stuff

Bends the rules

Literally stole the ring of light. no bothers

Barbatos🖤- dancer: “The Dancer energizes allies with inspiring movement, allowing them to act again. This class also wields magic.”

Multi skilled (this class literally uses every weapon and wields magic I love it so much)

Serving others

He’s pretty

He’s canonically knows how to move his body like… bro.

Pretty dancer outfit

Solomon🤎- gremory: “An expert in all forms of magic, the Gremory casts asunder any enemies with high physical defense.”

Magic lol

Literally would rock the robes and boa pls

Solomon doesn’t care if it’s gender locked

Probably useless with anything other than magic

Lord Diavolo❣️- barbarossa: “In the tradition of Almyra, Claude wields a bow while riding the skies on his wyvern. He can move again after taking certain actions.”

Animal loving man

Diavolo with an axe???

Big tiddy man on big wyvern

Royalty gets royal class

Raphael💔- falcon knight: “Riding aloft, this knight is weak to arrows with high defense against magic. This class can move again after taking certain actions.”

Spear boy

Will murder you

Pegasus advantages

Thirteen❤️‍🩹- Dark bishop: “A dark-magic specialist, the Dark Bishop decimates enemies with high physical defense.”

Dark magic

Those robes tho🥵

Idk she makes me have feelings

Mephistopheles💟- dark knight: “A mysterious knight versed in black magic, this class can move again after taking certain actions.”

Ferdinand but japes everyone

The horsies

MC would be Byleth in this case so whatever the player wants (even tho there’s no reason to not be the enlightened one pffff)

Anyways shamelessly doing the fire emblem/obey me crossover headcanons I’ve been thinking about doing for so long lol bye