#let my man be a ethereal non-human being

[kenziedrawz]

for the love of fucking god if this next Emu event isn't space themed to some degree and Rui doesn't have AT LEAST a three star then I am going to blow someone up(/hj)

[littleprince612]

Lies of P - ENDING EXPLAINED, THEMES & FAQ

MAJOR SPOILERS MAJOR SPOILERS ENDING SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT

By the way, this is not a lore analysis at all, this is a discussion on the thematic ideas in the story, and I refer to the player character interchangeably as "we" or P/Pinocchio. This is also all just my personal interpretations on the story, and is subject to inaccuracy.

Please enjoy my spark notes-esque analysis on Pinocchio souls!!

Was Carlo evil?

My answer is no. This is a bit complex, so I’ll try to answer within two questions.

In one of the endings, P surrenders his heart and Geppetto then uses it to revive Carlo, his biological son. Carlo then ends up killing everyone in the hotel if we choose to "save" him. He steps out into the rain, looks at Geppetto, and smiles (something that P doesn’t do), seemingly confirming his newly found humanity.

This does seem like a happy ending at first, doesn't it? By submitting to him, We/Carlo may win the purely conditional love of our father, but this comes at a cost. He has surrendered a part of himself in obedience. He no longer has any agency. Thereby making him a puppet in the ideological sense:

The game has a meaningful mechanic where our hair will grow during the duration of the game. Carlo's presented with short hair, but he's also wearing the same outfit (white blouse) we had in the train station; This is the version of ourselves from the beginning of the game. Like showing all that development we made is now gone for submitting to our father, we're right back to where we started, even as a "real boy”: a non-realized being who is at the call of someone else, a (Gasp!) puppet.

Why does Geppetto sacrifice himself instead of calling the attack off?

Let’s say instead of giving away the heart, we refuse. Geppetto, disappointed, then opens the suitcase he’s been carrying since the first trailer. He reveals the unnamed puppet boss, raises up the unnamed puppet on strings, and attempts to take the heart by force. 

If you survive the first phase of the fight, P is able to slice the top his head off. There's then an animation of the "strings" around the nameless puppet being cut, becoming more ethereal.

The fight goes on as it does, and then something strange happens. The nameless puppet seemingly defies Geppetto, and nonsensically attacks the heart Geppetto so needs in the first place, at which point he is so desperate for Carlo's revival that he dives in front of us.

Geppetto asks, shocked, "Were you trying to destroy Carlo's heart?"

What’s in the box?

Geppetto opens the suitcase we’ve seen him carrying since the first trailer, and raises up the nameless puppet. In the other ending, we can see that the body in the suitcase is indeed Carlo. 

I think that Carlo/Nameless puppet regained some amount of sentience after being damaged. After the "real boy ending", Geppetto has him kill the rest of the people in Hotel Krat. Carlo being revived would mean Geppetto still has absolute control over his son. 

Short answer: He lost control of the puppet in the second phase and it either sabotaged him or acted purely of its own accord to end the fight. I think the implication was that even Carlo knew being brought back was a bad idea. Damn :(

[note: people online have pointed out: It’s implied that Geppetto seems to have heavily neglected Carlo, and Carlo may have hated Geppetto in reality ("I don't care if an old man like that kicks the bucket!"). This reinforces the idea that the Carlo we see at the end is just a pawn.]

Is Pinocchio = Carlo?

I think this is one of the more interesting points. This is either ambiguous or left unresolved by the game; but I think it's probably true that Pinocchio and Carlo are virtually the same person. If Geppetto had just accepted our/P's decision not to surrender the heart, he may have still gotten the son back that he always wanted anyway. But for all intents and purposes, the game seems to answer that it doesn't matter. Antonia's final letter to us rather profoundly chooses not to answer the question.

Why Antonia is a real one

This is Antonia's final message to us, contrasted with Geppetto's role with us as a parent in our final battle. [emphasis mine]

To the wonderful gentleman who gave my precious time back to me, That time I met you was light itself. Whether you're that child or not, I think you're a kind, precious child. Thank you for giving my joy back to me in my last moments. To the young gentleman who resembles Carlo, Antonia Cerasani

[Remember, these are Antonia and Geppetto’s respective last words to us]

To be very fair, Geppetto was Carlo's actual parent; Antonia was not. But this seems to contrast with Geppetto asserting to us during the final boss sequence that we are just a puppet. The word "precious" is also very particular, as it's a word that Geppetto uses to refer to us near constantly ("Always remember that you're precious to me"/"it pains me to send someone so precious into such peril"). But while it could be read that we are only precious to him for ulterior reasons (because we carry the organ needed to revive Carlo), Antonia asserts that we are precious regardless. I see that as a truer, non-possessive love.

[also: Carlo's eyes are very noticeably brown (also seen in the painting), Our/P’s eyes are blue. Eyes, nearly always, have quite the symbolism! "The window to the soul", remember? While P and Carlo may have had a near-identical shell, I think this might be the game telling us that P and Carlo weren't truly the same. ]

Who’s a good boy?

Geppetto calls us "good boy" quite a lot. It's been fun watching various streams of this game, and whenever Geppetto calls us a "Good boy", I remember the chatroom filling up with messages of disgust, like: Good boy has real "Would you kindly" vibes! and: I squint my eyes at him every time he calls us a good boy like a dog.

It really reminds me of Mother Gothel! When Mother Gothel calls Rapunzel "pet" and consistently dresses her in undersized dresses, she's infantilizing Rapunzel to take away her agency. Cleverly, each time she tells Rapunzel she loves her, she seems to be directing that love to her hair! She's also constantly touching and caressing it. She isn't interested in Rapunzel as a person, but in the functional idea of her. Geppetto also expresses discomfort seeing us age (our hair growing), in contrast to Sophia's honest and enthusiastic interest. It's symbolic of his disdain towards our growing self-autonomy (growth into an adult).

[Even in the last hug with P, it’s a basically a ruse to grab the heart, and he never gives P a second look when he collapses for dead on the floor.]

[To be somewhat sympathetic to Bad Dad Giuseppe (I'm not defending him), it's also probably because we are now growing past the age that Carlo died. Essentially, we're starting to outlive him, and Geppetto has to witness the growing that Carlo never got to reach. That's got to be hard to bear.]

What does P actually stand for? P stands for Puppet, Not Pinocchio

People have noticed since the demo that we are never actually, explicitly referred to as "Pinocchio". The NPCs seem to dodge around saying "Pinocchio", opting for words “like Geppetto's puppet" or “child” instead. Given the story's inspiration and the game's title, however, it could be inferred that our name is Pinocchio. Why not just call us by name? 

Well, the doylist interpretation is that maybe they just didn't want to stir up some kind of trademark trouble with a certain Walter Mouse. But the game does something clever with this, lore-wise. After our "betrayal" at the hands of our father, I think the big reveal is simply that we are unnamed. Giuseppe gave us no name, showing he didn't view us as a true autonomous being.

Why does Geppetto apologize in the alternate "good ending"?

Both the endings are near identical, but when Geppetto is beginning to curse Pino, he apologizes instead. The beginning of the end cutscene is the same as the second “good ending”, where Geppetto tells us that we’re “just a useless puppet”. He's beginning to say this, except for when he sees the tear fall, at which point he seems to relent.

I think it's supposed to imply, seeing Pinocchio seemingly mourning for him, that in the very last moment Geppetto understood that either 1. Pinocchio was truly Carlo or 2. that he was sentient enough to be his tangible son anyway.

Is Pinocchio still alive? (+ Collodi's journey to Adulthood)

I think so!

If you've taken certain paths, you unlock the third ending, which is like the second ending, except with an additional scene where we can see P returning to the Alchemist's tower to look at a peaceful Krat. P then uses the ergo from Sophia into a puppet replica, at which point he collapses, seemingly from exhaustion. Sophia cradles him as he sleeps and serenely tells us it's good to see us again.

In the book, Pinocchio, after travailing to support both his ailing father and the sick blue fairy, falls asleep and dreams that he is visited by the blue fairy. The fairy, now whole and healed, tells him he hasn't been the best son, but that boys who support their parents are "deserving of great praise". When he wakes, he is a human boy, and his puppet form lies lifeless on a chair. It isn't Pinocchio showing pure obedience that makes him into a real boy, but the selfless act of caring for his father (the reversal of the parent-child structure). In my interpretation - her final message is this: That he was never perfect, (and perhaps he would never be perfect), but the bottom line was that he loved his father, and that was enough to make him human. [I think there's something in my eye!]

(Easter - The Resurrection of Christ, Rebirth, Death and renewal, Spring) 

In case you don't know (I didn't btw), the statue in the Exhibition is actually Michelangelo's La Pieta. Its inclusion in the game not only alludes to the novel's Italian origins, but also serves as a central visual motif as it's representing Jesus's death in the arms of Mary. This visual motif is revisited by P and Sophia at the end of the game in the “true” (canonical) ending. Symbolically, In the selfless act of reviving Sophia and at the end of his journey, he has transcended and broken the "egg shell of his puppet body" into a true adult (a human being). 

Does lying make us human?

At the centre of Collodi's Pinocchio is a father-son relationship wherein underlies an unconditional love. But this game has quite the different father-son relationship. When puppets are made, they are meant to follow under the laws of the Grand Covenant, and our father is the father of all puppets. Namely, each time we lie, this is in defiance of our father figure. Remember, the rule is that a puppet cannot lie. Lying doesn't have the connotation it has in the book or in popular culture adaptations of Pinocchio. Rather, lying in the game seems to infer choice and not deception.

It isn't just the act of disobedience (Self-agency) that gives us our autonomy ("A man chooses", mirroring Bioshock), In many cases in the story, we are asked if it’s better to comfort someone with a lie than telling them a truth that maybe wouldn’t serve them. In that way, you can also view lying as the selfless act of taking a burden.

Again, this adapts Collodi's psychological ideas in the book on the growth of the self-interested nature of the hedonistic, narcissistic child into the empathetic "adult" that works to serve others. [I know I might come across as harsh here, but bear with me, I’m just trying to speak in literary terms.] But while Collodi's Pinocchio focuses on the selfless nature of a parent, Lies of P focuses on the self-agency of an adult. 

So why is Lies of P so dead serious about Pinocchio? Well, it's an elaborate metaphor for self-autonomy.

In Conclusion…

Does Lies of P have an identity issue in of itself? Great soulslike? PuppetBorne 2.0? But it's also a beautifully rendered Pinocchio adaption. Quite unusual, perhaps, but there's a quote that bizarrely enough comes to mind when I think of the audacity of a Pinocchio themed soulslike - Talent is hitting the target nobody else can hit, while genius is hitting the target nobody else can see. I think there is a reason why the tale of Pinocchio persists and persists.

[slasherwife]

Don't get me wrong, I like seeing asks with short s/o 'cause it's freaking adorable, but I would like to see one with s/o who is super tall? With Slashers? Like imagine someone like Michael NOT looking down at someone lol

Slashers with a tall!s/o

YASS the tables have TURNED

Desc: How is life with your slasher boo when you are taller than them?

Warnings: NONEEE

Note: I used “moddy” as a gender neutral term between mommy and daddy lmao don’t laugh at me for my word creativity 😭

‘Nother note: I LOVE HOW THESE PEOPLE BRUTALLY MURDER PEOPLE AND WERE JUST LIKE “the world does not deserve this person they are just so pure🥹😍”

ANOTHER note: HI GUYSSSS OMG IVE MISSED YALL SO MUCH idk why I had a random urge to finish this I usually never post anymore 😭

thomas hewitt

honestly with tom-tom u continue to make his heart race and his soul turn to flowers and sunbeams 🥹

when you walk into the room, with that ethereal smile on your face and stand next to him, he looks up at you like an astronomer would look up at the moon💓your presence is just so beautiful and powerful to him.

he doesn’t see you differently to if you were shorter. let’s get that clear.

you are still his significant other, you’re his one. he would rather rip his own heart out than allow anyone to shame you, or to disrespect, Gd forbid harm you.

gosh i can just imagine y/n and tommy cuddling up and y/n being the big spoon because tom-tom loves listening to your heartbeat and he loves kissing your hands and your collar bones and AHH— 💗💗

jason vorhees

bruh you’ve managed to give big boi jason whiplash. he is at first intimidated until he saw your face and it made his undead heart go “💓✨🥹”

you make him run away? this very attractive and cute flower person is scaring me, i mean look at them! they’re so pretty!😭 you manage to lure him out with some bread. jason loves bread.

he loves being hugged by you. while he is canonically very afraid to touch you because of his strength, nothing feels better, or more blissful, than to be wrapped in your loving energy and warmth💗

honestly it’s no different to him you being tall than to you being short 🙂 his priorities are all the same— protecc cute human, love cute human, and unalive anyone who makes cute human sad🤍

michael myers

ur taller!…. how fuckin dare you—!😠

michael is offended by ur existence. my man is 6’7. how you managed to reach beyond his height capacity is beyond him.

He has a tough time intimidating his s/o when he has to LOOK UP AT THEM.

This slasher is petty and will plop you down at the bottom of the stairs while he stands on a higher step to look down on you

And he does this for shits and giggles 🥲💕 And when big angy man needs to show WHOS BOSS >:(

He is an angy man. But he loves being the little spoon 🥹 hugging you is like being wrapped in a warm blanket of safeness and he LOVES ITT

You’ll never know this though since he is literally the most stoic man to ever exist. He is a wall of zero emotion.

bo sinclair

Literally holds this against you

This literally angers him

He can’t talk cuz he’s probably like 5’8 (we love short kings) but is still just absolutely appalled that you are taller than him.

Will be the little spoon. We see him being so macho in the movie— is he projecting? Yes. He loves being cuddled into a burrito blanket by you.💝😭

Idek why but this brings out his submissive side like helllll he’s like “moddy give me cuddle please” 🥹💗

THIS IS SO FUNNY TO THINK ABOUT but like as every human being sometimes he can’t reach something, and you’ll be walking by like “oh do u need help with that?🙂”

Like super non confrontational, and then he’s like “🗣️WELL SINCE YOURE LIKE A GIRAFFE THEN FINE” you could literally be one inch taller than him and he’d call you something like beanstalk and then you’re there like ;-;

vincent sinclair

THIS👏MAN👏DOES👏NOT👏CARE👏

BABES

Everything about you is worshipful. You are art spat out from the heavens sculpted by aphrodite and the angels, like your height is just more evidence of your beauty 🥹💕💕

He will always look up into your eyes in pure amazement and love no matter how far up he looks😇💕

THE WORLD DOES NOT DESERVE THIS MANNN UGHH

He wants you to carry him. Again, you could be just one inch taller than him and he’d be BEAMING as you carry him bridal style like you’ve filled his Disney princess dreams LMFAO 💗💗

Makes so many freaking sculptures of you. One life sized one to keep him company while you’re away🫶

HE LOVES YOUUUU

[lovers2death]

"Stop looking at the door."

SYNOPSIS ;; Shane, your loving husband, is so tired of your eyes being glued to the front door of your home. Why can't you just accept the life he's built for you? He worked so hard just for you. Please, just stop looking at that damn door.

WARNINGS ;; Yandere!Shane, implied kidnapping-ish, non-con kissing, this is pretty light hearted to be honest, likely not proof-read, Y/N is NOT used.

REQUESTED BY ;; Nobody! Cooked this up on my own!!

WORD/CHARACTER COUNT ;; 737 words 3,957 characters

MDNI!!! DEAD DOVE; DO NOT EAT

╭──────────.★..─╮ You really couldn't help where your gaze fell. Drawn like a moth to a flame, it constantly rested on your one (conventional) exit; the front door. Oh how you longed to go out once again, to feel the sun beating down on your now paled skin. Shane never let you leave, and you doubt the thought had even ever crossed the man's mind. Not once.

Oh but how it crossed yours. It was all you could do, really. He didn't let you lift a finger. Hungry? He could make something for you- or simply go out to get something if he didn't feel like cooking. All the chores were mostly done, and if you tried to finish, or tidy up more than he already had, Shane wasn't shy to show how cross with the idea he was, ushering you back into bed. Maybe at a time you would've found this behaviour endearing, even sweet. But now? All you wanted to do was work. Something, anything to make you feel alive.

The sound of the door opening surprised you, as whilst you were sucked into your own thoughts you hadn't even noticed the fact Shane was due to be home any moment. The man, for while he might've been mistaken for some sort of devil he was most certainly a man, smiled at you,

"Hello, love," he hummed chipperly as he walked to you, tone sickly sweet. God, you hated the way he spoke. His gruff voice dripping with honey, albeit poisoned. "Have fun while I was away?"

Really; you had no idea why he asked you questions like that. No, of course you hadn't had any fun. You were trapped inside. 'Insanity; doing the same thing over and over yet expecting a different result', you'd heard somewhere, and Shane truly fit this definition. And, perhaps, so did your staring past Shane at the door, almost attempting to will open the door.

"No, I did not." You replied flatly, not wanting to give your sick 'husband' any more attention than he was owed. Any more than you already had just by glancing to him. His smile faltered, swiftly being replaced with a frown. "No?" He parroted thoughtfully, "Well, it's okay, I'm here now,"

You could feel the bed dip with his weight as he sat next to your spot, his arm wrapping itself around your shoulders, "I got you," Shane mumbled sweetly, his thumb rubbing along your arm.

It took your entire being to not puke. You felt so disgusting when he touched you. It really surprised you that he hadn't forced himself upon you. Besides stuff like kissing, or cuddling, he'd never attempted anything below the waist, and not once did he attempt to grope at you without consent ether. A part of you wished to be thankful, but the other, larger, part reminded you he should not be thanked for not assaulting you. That was just human decency.

"Right.." you replied, though you didn't want to. But the warning squeeze he'd given to your arm was enough to tell you that he wanted his little bird to sing for him. Despite it all, your eyes hadn't strayed from the door, basically unblinking, too. "..Doll. Stop looking at that door." Shane suddenly snapped, his hand harshly squeezing your arm yet again, though harder this time, enough to where you were sure there'd be a mark.

"Ow-- Shane! You're hurting me-" you spluttered, eyes finally leaving the door to dart over to Shane, wide with fear. "I do everything for you; and all you can do is think of ways to leave me!" He exclaimed, venom in his voice, "It's not fair to me, sweets! Not fair, I tell you!"

And while your mind gave you every single reason he was wrong, how it was in fact VERY fair, you knew better than to talk back when he was riled up. Yes, you were stubborn, and could hold your own in a fight, but Shane as stubborn too, as well as stronger. It was a fight you knew you'd lose, and you didn't feel like having to play offense in your bedroom right now.

A sigh escaped Shane, and he leaned forward, pressing his lips against yours, "I love you, y'know," he said softly once he'd pulled away slightly. The feel of his lip against your own made you want to cry with disgust.

"I love you too." ╰─..★.──────────╯

[doodleferp]

Question for the gods walk among us why do people fear Vash? What did he do to get the title dark god?

My friend, you are opening what Trixie Mattel would call "the Pandora Boxx of boxes". (cracks knuckles) Here we go. In this AU, Vash’s nicknames include The Humanoid Typhoon, The Dark Walker, and The Living End.

Since all the Plants are worshipped, Vash is no exception. However, since we have to adhere to canon, he is seen as a dark and/or chthonic god -- essentially all Four Horsemen rolled into one dude. The Stampede is seen as a harbinger of death, and if he shows up to your town, everything you know and love will be destroyed. But because Vash is Vash, the people of No Man's Land have unwittingly made someone's lie into truth by panicking and trying to fight him whenever he comes near a town. I want to think that because he isn't treated like the other Plants, Vash is considered low on power compared to the rest of his kin. And because the Plants are all generally kind entities, they call him to them whenever he's nearby so they can give him some of their own energy to heal him. While it heals him physically, it can only cause more damage to him since the townspeople believe The Stampede is here to kill the gods. I don't think the other Plants can travel, just because I wanna keep Vash and Knives as independents. If they can walk, I don't think they'd be able to go very far out of their oasis, either by their own will or by the people protecting them.

Speaking of Knives, he's much less genocidal in this AU! Because he believes that Plants are above humans, seeing humans so blatantly subservient to his species gives him a big ego boost. He sees humans doing all they can to keep Plants happy and healthy, and it makes him happy -- but he wants to keep things the way they are because he believes that if humans didn't deify Plants, they would abuse and work them to death. So he uses his own abilities and the Eye of Michael to further the illusion that Plants are gods. He's also the reason that there's so much hostility towards non-believers and followers of other religious movements. These groups run the risk of breaking his illusion and showing the "truth" about Plants, so he wants to get rid of them. Knives has a public figure as one of the rare Walking Gods, so he’s seen by humanity as something ethereal and they generally have a good opinion of him. He has his people at the Eye of Michael going behind peoples backs and trying to take out non-believers, though — like Wolfwood. The Eye of Michael is probably the biggest Plant sect on the planet and it has an astronomical amount of followers.

Meanwhile, Vash is much more withdrawn and lonely because he has to remain hidden at the cost of his own life at the very least. Like, the second someone thinks they saw The Dark Walker, it's sounding the sirens and sending everyone from the middle of town to the next three towns over into a massive panic, people get out guns and weapons and attacking anything that look suspicious. It’s to the point where Vash is used to sleeping out in the desert because there’s like a one in a million chance that he’d be able to sleep at the edge of a boonies town without being physically attacked. Nobody has any idea how it happened, not even him, but people are so viscerally terrified of Vash in a way that makes the canon look like a playground. There’s terrible stories about Vash that he doesn’t even remember happening to him, but he hears about them so much that he’s starting to accept them as truth. He's rarely able to let loose and let the adorable extroverted bbygirl in him come out to play and he’s just…resigned to his fate.

[ginevrastilinski-ocs]

Narnia OCs Time!!

It's the my Narnia's babies time! Since it seems like we're all in this mood, I thought it was a good moment to introduce them! (Special thanks to @andromedalestrange and @randomestfandoms-ocs for some fcs, I was getting crazy so thank you darlings!)

Also two little things I feel the need to tell: it's been a while since the last time I read the Chronicles (so don't yell at me pls) and! My ocs are going to be a "fusion" of the books and the movies (Like, taking my favourite things from both and changing what I don't like... Susan not returning at all for example lmao) And! It's me finding a different way to make almost all of them immortal/ageless/slow-aging bc I want them being in more than one movie/book lmao

Last thing, I'm gonna to explain so little about their plot/vibes/actual things so if you wanna know more about some specific ocs feel free to send an ask, I can't wait to talk about them more 🥺

Tagging my Narnia besties @daughter-of-melpomene @come-along-pond @dancingsunflowers-ocs bc I think they would enjoy this (tell me if I didn't have to 🥺)

Nevan Dair - basically Powerful Boy so The White Witch kidnapped recruted him as her little puppet right-hand man (yep, he's a child and there's a lot of manipulation here); meets Edmund and goes on full "I'm going to murder for you" so betrays Jadis; basically immortal (but not really, it's complicated) for the spark inside him; looks like they would kill you is actually a cinnamon roll vibe; Edmund Pevensie ship FC: Kit Young

Margaret "Magpie" Kirke - Digory Kirke's granddaughter; lives with her grandpa bc oopsie dead parents; enters in Narnia with the Pevensie sibs (and becomes a Queen of Narnia actually); will come back once again with them (and the third time she'll stay in Narnia lol); Peter Pevensie & Prince Caspian ship FC: Florence Pugh

Elizabeth "Liz" Pevensie - Edmund's twin sister; one of the ruler of Narnia along side her sibilings; will also be the Last Queen before the destruction of Narnia alongside Aine; Aine Meraxes ship FC: Maisie Williams

Verena Mars - Narnian noble, fights against the White Witch, meets the Pevensie sibs, during their reign her and Susan fall in love; when they come back to the Human World Aslan doesn't let her follow them so she finds a way to become "ethereal"/ageless to wait Susan's come back (is ready to kill Aslan anyone that comes in her way of having her happy ending); basically I'm all we supports women rights and wrongs; Susan Pevensie ship ovb FC: Hailee Steinfeld

Arjuna - The White Witch descendant, semi immortal due the Silver Apple her mother ate; will eventually bretray her mother for saving the kids she befriended; Peter Pevensie ship FC: Freya Allan

Avaluna Lohan Kirke - baby born under the Golden Age; wants to visit the Human World so searches the Door the Pevensie arrived with; basically finds it when they found the Lamp-post so she leaves with them and is now stuck in the Human World; gets adopted by Digory Kirke bc how do you explain it to anyone else?; Lucy ship FC: Elle Fanning

Aine Meraxes - princess of a little independent reign on a Isle on the borders of Narnia; they have dragons lol; the Long Winter didn't get there bc a Coven protects it; gets called for help against the White Witch; is a witch herself; uses a similar spell the White Witch used on Charn after the Golden Age ends; will eventually be the Last Queen of Narnia alongside Liz; Liz Pevensie ship FC: Milly Alcock

Killian Evada - leader of a secret organization that plots against the White Witch; turns out that is actually a human that found Narnia; comes back on Earth with the Pevensie sibs; Edmund Pevensie ship FC: Thomas Brodie Sangster

Shivani - world traveller (basically is born with the power of yellow and geen rings); comes from a world that was destroyed before Narnia was born and has lived for non-specified time in the Wood Between The Worlds; the time there made them kind of immortal; ship TBD FC: Jessie Mei Li

Amaranta Ira - High Witch of Narnia (at least she should be); her ancestors used to be the Second In Command of Narnia's Army before the Age of Winter; became basically the Narnian version of a vigilante during the White Witch's reign lmao; (will probably be with the Pevensie when they come back so she is stuck in England for a long time); Caspian and/or Edmund ship FC: Amita Suman

Leocadius Thorne - comes from a family of librarians basically; actually, keepers of the list of every Narnian Ruler since the beginning of everything; no plot just vibes ship TBD FC: Isaac Hempstead Wright

Merletta of Narnia - Aslan's priestess; just a little bit of plot, mainly vibes; ship TBD (but maybe Lucy Pevensie) FC: Ceara Coveney

Neera Merwyna - siren and pirate (sort of); no plot just vibes; Prince Caspian ship FC: Halle Bailey

Fitzroy Mahogany - Narnian noble? this is literally "I just vibe with this fc but I have no plot, might scrap them but until then..."; ship TBD (Peter?) FC: Douglas Booth

[themonsterthing]

Sunrises and Solo Polyamory

Today I met god.

I don’t normally eat breakfast, but this sweet middle-aged Italian man pushed the freshly plated bread pudding at me. It was a faintly steaming, overwhelming pile of blueberries atop a moist cake layer. A stronger man than I would have crumbled. “Try it!”

I took a bite. I died.

I came back to life, and the Italian was beaming at me. “Yes? Yes!”

This morning I woke up obnoxiously early. I am hitting that old person stage of life (at the ancient age of 36) where you get up hours before everyone else, so by dawn, you’re cranky about no one else being ready to do anything. So I laid in bed, read a chapter of my book, and decided to go find the sunrise. I wandered a pre-dawn empty pier, stumbled upon some enthusiastic elder humans (see? my people) splashing into the freezing water in the fog, their little brightly coloured buoys bobbing after, the only signs they ever existed in this ethereal landscape, before I went to treat myself to sugary caffeine at a nearby bakery.

Bakers, swimmers, and photographers: sacrificing the comfort of a warm bed for our joy in life.

I left heaven clutching a to-go container of pure joy and one perfect hazelnut latte, and drove to the top of the mountain to eat it and watch the fog roll in.

And this, my friends, is why I identify as solo polyamorous.

Solo polyamory is an oft misunderstood branch of non-monogamy. It does not mean I am single but polyamorous — which is often how it is used, even by those who should know better. No, what it means is that, no matter what, I come first. Well, let’s be real, it’s my cat, my art, and then me. The definition of solo polyamory is that our first partner — our “primary” — is ourselves. Even when entangled, we come first.

This does not mean you’re not responsible for your emotions and how they affect others. To be a good human means community, and care. It does not mean I always prioritize my own needs. I am really good at empathy, at compromise. It just means that in considering how I interact with others, I negotiate from that framework.

What that looks like, in my life, is that I live without a partner, and while that may change eventually, I don’t want it to currently. And if I did, I would always need my own bedroom. Why?

Because I want the ability to wake up at 5am, read a chapter of my current book, then decide I want to go watch the sunrise — without worrying about someone in bed next to me. My cat may grumble, but he grumbles whenever I’m not in bed with him. (He’s pretty codependent.)

I want to prioritize sunrises, books, adventures, my cat.

Does it mean I don’t want to wake up next to my loved ones? Not at all. I do. I love it. But instead, I don’t want to take it for granted. I don’t want to get so comfortable, to expect their presence, that when they do choose to sleep over, my priority becomes cuddling up with them. I want my moments with them to be intentional, to be important. The trade off is not getting comfortable and lazy with a person because you know where they’ll be most nights. But that is a trade I find desirable.

I want the interactions in my relationships to be an active choice.

This is a choice I make because of trauma, I know that. Does it make it wrong? No. It is right — for me. Is it your choice? I have no idea, I’m not you. But I hope whatever you choose is healthy for you.

I want sunrises without worrying I’m disturbing my bed mate. I want to listen to music at midnight. I want to go alone to the museum, to wander undisturbed — unless I choose to do it with a companion. And then I get the joy of their presence being a choice, being intentional. I will never take it for granted, because I know it was not a given. I had to reach out, schedule, organize time with them.

It takes more effort, but that is an effort I want to give my humans. And if I need to have a quiet day with someone, where we just sit next to each other in comfortable silence, I can have that too — I just have to ask.

I am not saying it is not possible to find someone perfectly aligned, who would give you comfortable lazy mornings, and wild adventures. I just don’t want that. I don’t want just one. I want wildly different brains, different perspectives, different ideas, different backstories. And thus, polyamory.

The beauty of polyamory, of the way I live my life in general, is that no one person fills all my slots. And so it means I have a lot of room for everyone to find their own niche. Some, it’s sitting quietly. Some, it’s laughing forever over stupid internet jokes. Others, it’s wild sex. Some fill a lot of slots — I often have partners who are sex, love, friendship, adventure — but maybe not art. Maybe not getting excited by plants. I want everyone to flourish in a way that feels best to them, and authentic to our relationship. I am a wildly varied human — I have lots of space for others. And so when I have a space I feel longing for, I reach out to a friend who might fill that need.

Conversely, my friends know the spaces I can take up; the spaces I avoid. I am not your bar friend, but I am your ocean friend. I am not your gossip friend, but I am here for deep conversations at 2am about the meaning of life.

So I choose scheduling over comfort, over ease. I choose to make a lot of effort, I choose to have a deep love affair with my calendar. I choose intention. I choose sunrises, and delicious blueberry bread, and delighted bakers.

(Originally published on Medium, this is the sunrise I found.)

[santmat]

Hedonists and Gnostic Cave-dwellers Somewhere in Time By James Bean

The classic Gnostic soul struggled against the cruel hand of fate, astral archons (rulers), principalities, powers, emperors, and bishops. The Gnostic teachings from the Coptic/Greek period have quite an ascetic tone. "The material universe is evil", "be not of this world." Holy texts were studied by Pachomian monks living in caves not far from Nag Hammadi, Egypt. The discovery site of the Gnostic Gospels was near those caves. On the walls of some of those caves are examples of graffiti: crosses and fish symbols. After the Fourth Century, Gnosis mostly disappears from the scene in the Roman Empire due to extreme persecution from those who paid lip-service to phrases like "love your enemies", and' "turn the other cheek", but they had no concept of democracy and freedom of religion -- freedom for all religions. The Library of Alexandria was burned, the Nag Hammadi Library, buried.

In the East however, Gnosis continued to develop and evolve, taking on more of an ecstatic, poetic ethos during the medieval period. The type of Eastern Gnosis I follow isn't so ascetic as Nag Hammadi mysticism. After all, the lower material universe is no longer a "prison" for those who can freely come and go as they please. This changes everything. I know of some mystics that are very otherworldly and yet can also enjoy looking at the stars, feasting on great Indian food, love the ocean or a beautiful sunset. Very out-of-this-world during meditations, and at the same time, we come to see the Light of God everywhere, within everyone, in this outer plane of existence as well, all as a result of those advanced meditation experiences. "His Presence fills the Three Worlds". (Adi Granth) Such extremists we humans are, either hedonists or cave-dwellers. We were meant to go from state to state, from the world of action to the world of contemplation, from the waking state to the dream state to the unconscious state of deep sleep, and there is also the Fourth State beyond. This too can be divided into several levels or states: astral, causal or akashic, mental, etheric, and spiritual, the True State (Timeless, Sat, Haq, "Spirit and Truth". Full circle we come. The spiritual state can also be perceived as four different stages, ranging from the "drop" (the soul) remaining separate, to "nearness", and all the way to that of Oneness or merging into the Divine Ocean (Kaivalaya, Anadi, Anami, Ra-Dha-Swam-I, the "Nameless One in the Eighth").

Know also that the Reality has described Himself as being the Outer and the Inner, Manifest and Unmanifest. He brought the Cosmos into being as constituting an Unseen Realm and a Sensory Realm, so that we might perceive the Inner though our unseen and the Outer through our sensory aspect. (Ibn `Arabi, "Ibn Al `Arabi - The Bezels of Wisdom", Paulist Press) Not an easy balancing act, this concept of having one's feet upon the earth and yet one's third eye-soul ascending through various realms going toward the Great Light during practice each day, yet everyone will make it back there eventually. It's simply a matter of "time" and how receptive we are to this experience during the present life. Some are in a hurry to return while others travel much much much more slowly. It was for the sake of the God-conscious beings that our True Lord created this earth, and began this play of birth and death. (Guru Nanak) To Him We Shall Return I died as mineral and became a plant; I died as plant and rose to animal, I died as animal and I was a man. Then why fear disappearance through death? When was I less by dying? Next time I shall die To soar -- with angels blessed, But even from angelhood I must pass on; All except God doth perish. When I have sacrificed my angel soul, I shall become what no mind ever conceived. What you cannot imagine, I shall be that. Oh! let me not exist, for non-existence Proclaims in organ-tones, 'To Him we shall return.' -- Rumi "We have come from the Light and will return there again." We're already in heaven if we did but know it. A great Master by the name of Huzur Baba Sawan Singh was once asked, "How long does it take you to go to Sach Khand (the spiritual realm, Sat Lok)"? He closed his eyes for fifteen seconds, and then opened them again, saying, "just that long". This is the real Secret. Thy Light is within the beings, And the beings are all within Thy Light. O supremely Incomprehensible Lord, Thou Art perfectly filling all things. It is the Light that lives in every heart, And Thy Light that illuminates every soul. It is only through the guru's teachings that Light comes to be shown. (Guru Nanak, Peace Lagoon translation of the Adi Granth)

[fantasticgothicpeachsludge]

Hello it is I connection terminated the random Tumblr user!

Ideas had:

Directly after waking upafter being controlled by a bunch of psychotic clowns for like a year Michael went to Henry for help. Henry built him the end of skeleton shell so he could do stuff again But also made Michael internalized the idea that his life is basically useless unless he does vigilante stuff. Also the idea that it basically didn't matter at all what happened to Michael himself as long as he could still walk and punch...

"Nightguar" Michael Is introduced at a charity event hosted by William. (I think he definitely has a "oh you have dead parents I have dead children isn't that so sad" talk with Bruce at some point) Also Tim is there. Then suddenly as Williams giving this speech about "Look at these new robots I made they have a criminal detection system will protect Any children who walk into my establishments!". When Michael bursts in through the glass ceiling and tries to kidnap/maybe kill his dad. But because The crowd and Batman don't know the context it just looks like scary villain came down from the ceiling and is now trying to kill nice children's entertainer William Afton. Basically Michael runs after that and has a little rooftop fight with Tim. Throws down a flash Bang and then runs away.

All of the fun times can easily disguise as humans everyone except baby is just really bad at acting normal. It's also not something they need to do much-

Michael has a lot of hang-ups about being the only non-human member of the bat family for so long. Like everyone else can kind of take off the mask and do normal people stuff (mostly). But Mike physically can't do that.... He also happens to live in a city where most of the metahumans are villains and most of the heroes are normal human people. He kind of sticks out and sometimes gets mistaken for a villain (Kind of a loose adaptation of the whole looking like William hence people wanting to attack him thing for cannon)

Whatever kind of ghost or something like that Michael Charlie and most of the other cast from fnaf are Makes anyone who is in the presence of them feel really Uneasy.. This kind of fades the more time you spend around the person. (This is a head cannon I have for normal fnaf too I just think it'll be fun here)

Cassidy's powers are based on how much pain herself and the people around her are in. Either emotional or physical. she shares a vessel with Evan (because it's easier To say then crying child) His constant sadness is A Perfect power booster! If you're wondering what her abilities are she can trap people in nightmares, Teleconesis, Telepathy, Reality bending,

Thank you for listening to my ramblings here's a sketch of Cassidy! More of a little concept sketch than her final design LOL but I hope you like it

Ah! Hi! Sorry for taking so long to answer I was recovering from my sister’s second baby shower (I didn’t have a panic attack at this one yay) but it’s been a few weeks and now I’m ready to type! (mainly hearts and key smashs)

HENRYYYYYYY!!!!!! I know you have good intentions but you are giving my blorbo even more of a complex than he already has :(

*lights up the bat signal to let Bruce know to make sure he has the emergency adoption papers ready*

Of course William would have the fucking audacity I want to hit him (and I know that that man is so good an actor probably the only member of the batfamily to notice anything off would be Cass and ether she’s not settled enough to go to galas yet or literally hasn’t joined the family)

There is no doubt in my mind that he pulled out the “I am so sorry about the loss of your son Mr Wayne. There is no pain worse than the loss of a child. I would know” I want to break his nose

Is it really a robin teen vigilante romance if it doesn’t start with a misunderstanding and a fight?

Of course she’s a good actor, she loves playing pretend. kill me

I have no words for this one just tears

Tim: Hey guys! this is my boyfriend Michael.

*the entirety of Young Justice about to beat up a corpse Because he has bad vibes*

Tim making distance between them with his bo: Back! Back I say!

I love her so much💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕 her little hat is everything to me

[the-martyrfication-of-the-matron]

Non-aphblr stuff: So my little writing practice story came from the fact that I saw an absolutely ethereal looking opera student at my school the same day I heard a pipe organ in person for the first time. My college (while I am there for engineering) is well known for its music education and some of my friends bring me with them when they practice, and while the practice building has sound proofing, opera students beat it by a large margin. I was standing, waiting for my friend to pack up when coming out of a room that had been singing baritone, a man who I could only describe as a reformed goth black vampire.

He was like, 6'4, cheekbones that could cut diamond, SUPER shiny brown skin, and he was dressed like a vampire very poorly trying to pass as a normal person. Even the hot topic round red sunglasses, he looked like a vampire and out sung a contra-bassoon, truly not a human person. I then went to a different friends orchestra concert where they had a harp and pipe organ and it truly convinced me that vampires might exist.

Oh my god I LOVE ORGANS.

My village does these different festivals all the time, and the church usually does things for them, they’re very involved. And for Remembrance day every year they have a whole parade around the village and then people sit in the church and there’s a few words from the priest before they do organ and choir stuff. When I was a kid I was part of Brownies and we got to be at the very front for the entire procession.

Because it is done in a very funeral-like way for the sake of respect for the fallen and stuff.

Anyways, that tangent over, opera singers are insane. I wish I got the vocal training for that kind of stuff, but being in the choir as a kid made me hate singing for a while. But I’m pretty sure most opera singers have been sacrificed to a higher being because there’s no way they can sing like that otherwise. And I just don’t have that level of commitment

I totally get you experiencing ANY opera singer, let alone a vampire-lookin dude, and going ‘fuuuckkk i need to write about magic stuff now’

[burnedbyshoto]

sleeping beauty

— You struggle to find a time to have sex with your beloved Aizawa. Unfortunately or fortunately, the only time you can fuck him is when he’s deep asleep.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

pairing: aizawa shouta x yandere fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, pwp, yandere!reader, non-con somnophilia, hairy aizawa rights, recording

word count: 4,201

a/n: mark ur calendar, im getting my nipples pierced nov 8. you bet ur ass imma write a bunch of nipple pierced readers from there on out. pray that my family never finds out about my nipples tho LMAO if they do,,, it;ll be ripped out of my boobies without a seconds hesitation

kinktober day 19 main kink: somnophilia | kinktober masterlist

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Aizawa was always busy.

Over the past ten years of knowing him, the two of you had been close. You were a good friend to him, someone he wouldn’t absolutely avoid at all costs when you walked through the hallways of UA, someone he wouldn’t mind rambling to him about their long day. Of course, you knew that you weren’t his closest friend, and to a certain degree, that upset you.

You had met Aizawa when you had first been a high school student; at the time, you were merely fifteen years old. He was twenty, only five years older than you, but he took your breath away from the first team-up. He had been tall, dark, and brooding, and your little coming out of an emo phase heart stood no chance. But, due to the age discrepancy, he was never anything more than a team member. Still, you held on.

You graduated from high school, made your impact as a sidekick, graduated to a Pro Hero, and offered a job at UA by the time you were twenty! So, for the past five years, you and Aizawa had been actual co-workers, and better yet, friends.

Aizawa indeed was one of a kind.

He still held the key to your emo school girl fantasy daydream, but you also discovered new sides and angles of him. You learned he was incredibly kind, thoughtful, and looked out for everyone, even if his gruff and sometimes rude mannerisms spoke otherwise. Although he tried to avoid any type of nonsensical drama like the plague, he was always caught up in it, which often amused you.

There was so much about Aizawa that you loved, so much that you adored and looked up to that it was no surprise that you figured your feelings of respect and admiration became love. 

True, deep love.

As a third-year teacher at UA, you found that your interactions with Aizawa were quite limited. Not only because he was always being placed with a first-year class and said class moving on without him — something that only happened because he kept expelling the damn students — but because he was incredibly close with the first-year teachers.

You loved Present Mic and Midnight and All Might, don’t get it wrong! Your admiration, love, and respect for them were unprecedented, but you hated how much of Aizawa’s time they took.

“Sorry, Mic needs help with lesson plans for my class,” Aizawa apologized for postponing your lunch date, not a date.

“Sorry, Midnight needs help separating the problem children. Apparently, they’re growing an immunity to her quirk,” Aizawa grumbled, shoving his phone into his pocket before leaving your office where you both had been talking and drinking tea.

“Sorry, All Might—”

“It the class, your problem children, I get it,” you force a smile onto your face, trying not to show just how irritated and disappointed you were on how these days were going. Aizawa pauses for a second, his tired, dried out eyes trying to read and uncover the depths of emotions swimming in your eyes before he sighs and runs off. 

But it went without saying that the people you hated most were Class 1-A.

The damn stupid, fucking, ungrateful class had already caused your beloved Aizawa to be hospitalized. The scar under his eye, a numbing reminder that you had nearly lost him, almost had to cry at his coffin with your feelings never once being uttered. They, without a doubt, took up his time the most.

He saw potential in all of them, none of them being failed or expelled by him thus far.

He spent countless hours up in the dead of night tracking each and every one of his student’s potential. Slaving away at his tablets to make sure that they all were feeling safe, heroic, and above all, they were headed to their individual greatness. So, although it would be two more years before you would have the opportunity to teach this class, you already had a vendetta against Midoriya Izuku and Bakugou Katsuki. Those little shits always taking up your precious Aizawa’s time! He had never been this tired prior to them showing up!

But you never tried to think about it when you were with him.

You tried to openly accept your Aizawa’s new, incredibly busy schedule, and the moment the dorms appeared within UA, you found yourself more at ease.

To be frank, since you acknowledged your love for Aizawa at the mere age of twenty, and now at twenty-five, you had never taken on a lover or a one night stand. For years you had not allowed a person to grace you in bed or in their arms. It felt like you were betraying your love, and you would rather die than let that happen. 

But the thing is, you are human, entirely susceptible to waves of uncontrolled horniness and lust.

In the beginning, sex toys worked.

You would press a vibrator to your clit, your toes digging into the mattress as your other hand shoved a silicone dildo into your aching, needy cunt. At first, it worked! You would cum with the thoughts of Aizawa being the dildo buried deep within you. 

But eventually, you would find yourself at the peak of that orgasm, you knew the orgasm was right beyond the bend, just a step more, but you couldn’t get there. For weeks you realized that the vibrator, the dildo, and your fantasy thoughts weren’t enough. So, in your frustration, you began to search up audio plays of his narration at UA Sports Festival. Listening to his voice, ignoring Mics’ voice, to help coax you over that bend.

For a while, you were back to normal. Your highs and juices splattering all over your bed, a symbol of your lust and love for Aizawa as you gasped his name, wishing that the audio was real. But eventually, even the audios weren’t enough.

You craved Aizawa’s warmth, the feeling of his rough stubble against your sensitive skin, the throbbing of his cock buried deep within your womb, undoubtedly kissing your cervix. You wanted him; you needed your beloved.

As if by the grace of God, the moment you could no longer bring yourself to cum through that alone, the dorm system was put into place. And you, a teacher, were required to live on campus too. You tried not to think of Aizawa being a dorm away, tried not to feel the warmth fluttering under your skin when the two of you bid goodnight for the day.

You definitely tried to stay out of his room in the middle of the night.

God, you wish you could say that you stayed out of his room, but that would be a lie.

A big fat fucking lie.

It had started out innocently enough, you will claim.

You would see the exhausted man wave goodnight, grumbling that he needed to sleep now or else he would not wake up on time for homeroom tomorrow morning. You waved goodnight to him, trying to stay engrossed in a conversation you were having with Hound Dog. But an hour after Aizawa had gone to bed, you found yourself rushing away from the common room, explaining you had something to grade as you bid everyone goodnight.

Without a doubt, you ended up in Aizawa’s room that night.

In the darkness of the night, you watched the moonlight barely breach the thickness of his curtains to fall onto his face. You felt so warm as you stared at his slumbered face, your cheeks flushed as you watched his parted, chapped lips. You felt so light watching his chest rise and fall in a hypnotizing rhythm, reminding you that he is real, so very, very real. A part of you aching, knowing that he was entirely real and yet not yours. But still, you admired the way he looked so young, so intense, so ethereal as he dreamed.

You loved him.

Eventually, when you decided to leave, you pressed a kiss to his lips, smiling at the way his lips were exactly as you had imagined:

Supple, warm, and tasting of his mint toothpaste.

But the nightly visits didn’t stop there.

Most nights, you found yourself in his room, laying by his side, merely watching as he slept. No orgasm in the world felt quite as fulfilling as the quiet that came with just watching the over-exhausted Aizawa sleep. 

But this is not a story of simple love, no, not at all.

Eventually, you began to grow bold. Your fingers sinking into your wet cunt, playing with your sensitive clit as you watched him sleep. You bit your lip to keep yourself from moaning as a rasped breath expelled from his mouth. You nuzzled into the warmth of his body heat through at you and only prayed he would one day acknowledge and return your affections.

To be quite honest, you’re not sure when you began to suck him off too.

Maybe it was the first time his cock grew long and hard in the middle of the night, his mind undoubtedly having a wet dream. So, as his beloved, you only thought it was appropriate to give his body what he wanted. With the skills and intentions that could only arise from being a gifted Pro Hero, you pulled the blankets from his body and pushed his cock through the slit in his boxers, and took him all in your mouth.

His cock was absolutely mouthwatering too.

So big, so thick, so incredibly veiny that you nearly lost all control the first time you saw it in all its glory. He was better than any dildo you owned, his scent alone driving you crazy. And so, as you should, you began to fuck him, completely addicted to his aroma, taste, and touch.

After the first night, you continued to blow him. Continued to suck him off as Aizawa let out sleepy moans, grunts that were strained, his body shifting unknowingly as you continued to go up and down his length, continuing to relieve him of his stress. 

But you were human.

A human with needs and desires, and eventually, his cum coating your throat and filling your stomach wasn’t enough anymore. Which is where we find ourselves now, unashamedly fucking Aizawa each and every night, your cunt swallowing him whole, without a single shred of doubt of what was wrong with this.

There wasn’t anything wrong with this, and you knew that even if he was asleep the entire time you fucked him, it was for the better.

“Wow, Eraser!” Mic yelled from your side as you sat on the couch next to your beloved best friend. “You look like you’re glowing!”

Looking up from your phone, attempting to portray yourself as curious and unknowing, you found your gaze falling onto Aizawa, who had returned from an early evening training session with his class. As a matter of fact, Aizawa’s face was glowing; he looked incredibly much more relaxed, much more than he has been since the beginning of this semester.

“What do you mean?” Aizawa asked, evidently unimpressed as a lone eyebrow raised.

You watched on quietly, lips pressing to your cup as you took a drink of your tea as he sank onto a seat in front of you. 

“Wait, don’t tell me, listeners!” Mic gasped dramatically, his hands pressing to his cheeks as he stood up. His expression of shock and disbelief curling and becoming one of knowing and understanding. “Does our grouchy, one and only, Aizawa Shouta, a.k.a. Eraserhead, have a special someone?!”

“Mic—” Aizawa snapped, his eyebrows furrowing.

“There definitely has been an after-sex glow that Eraser has had for the past few weeks. He did say that he’s been feeling more… ahem, relaxed,” Midnight gasped, seemingly appearing from nowhere, incredibly interested in the rumor of Aizawa having sex. 

“Just because I’ve been feeling less tense doesn’t mean that I’m having sex.”

You giggled into your cup as the three of them began arguing, Mic and Midnights naturally loud noise quickly drowning out Aizawa’s fruitless attempts to shut down any sexscapades they were coming up with. 

“Y/h/n, what do you think?!” Mic yelled, his hand pointed at you as if holding a microphone as Aizawa had him pressed and tangled within his capturing weapon. “Is Shouta-chan having sex?!”

Yes, your mind begs to say, but your mouth curls into a teasing smile, eyes locking onto Aizawa’s annoyed golden ones. 

“I don’t think there’s anyone on this earth that Aizawa currently wants to fuck six feet into the mattress when he’s so busy,” you chide, your smile never entirely disappearing. At the same time, you take a long slow drink from your cup while everyone else (Mic only, really) continued to scream.

But you stayed there for the rest of the evening, working in silence with the rest of the group as next week’s lessons were laid out. Through a persistent, entirely stubborn will, Mic managed to get Aizawa to admit that he hasn’t had sex since the time he lost his virginity, to which Mic admitted to having had sex via orgies only. Midnight proudly announcing that she had a side piece at her disposal. 

So as you checked through your lesson plans for the ethics book your students would be reading next week, you shouldn’t have been surprised to see their expectant gazes on you.

“I had sex last night,” you admit, unable to lie under their amused gazes.

“WITH WHO?! ARE YOU SNEAKING SOMEONE ON CAMPUS?!”

For the rest of the night, you smiled brightly, laughing with the rest of them all as talks and stories revolving around sex filled the air. It lasted until past midnight, and with a heavy sigh, Aizawa excused himself first. You waved goodnight, and soon Midnight left, followed by Mic.

You stayed on the couch, your own attention focused heavily on the time and not what you were supposed to be doing. It didn’t take much before the time faded from 00:00 to 01:45, and with a brush of your skirt, you headed precisely where you wanted and needed to be.

The walk to his second-floor room filled you with lust. Your body, like some Pavlovian dog, trained and knowing that you were about to fuck the love of your life while he slept. He was so beautiful while he slept, a true sleeping beauty. You especially thought he was stunning when he bit his lower lip, stifling a moan despite his heavy slumber.

Without so much as a second thought, you apparated into his room, your feet cushioned by the soft carpet of his room. And with a smile that was dripping with your love, you stared at Aizawa’s sleeping form. He was already deep in sleep, his body positioned on his back as if he knew what you were doing, accepting the inevitable actions you would take tonight as you did every night. He just looked so calm, so beautiful, so youthful when asleep. The scar under his eye almost invisible 

But unlike most nights where he slept in a soft cotton long-sleeved shirt and sweats, you froze at the sight of the tight black t-shirt on his sleeping form, the shorts that were riding just the slightest bit too low on his sturdy, muscled hips. Your bit your fist, a bubbling heat of lust, and a whine tickling the back of your throat as you take in his sleeping form.

He was doing this on purpose.

Teasing you with this outfit on his sleeping body.

You huffed, inexplicably turned on as the small puffs of air past his lips seemed to thunder around the room.

You were wet already, so very wet.

“You’re so mean, Shouta-kun,” you whimper softly, your voice silent and unheard by his sleeping form. You walk closer to the bed, lips pulled into a pout as you sit on the soft mattress.  “Dressing up like that, I know you did that to tease me!”

Aizawa doesn’t respond because, of course, he’s asleep. But you smile regardless, imagining a million and three things he would say in response, each leading to what you wanted to do so desperately.

“I hope you know you were lying when you said you haven’t had sex since you were twenty,” you sigh, your fingers expertly removing his shorts and boxers from around his waist, using your quirk to make them reappear to the side of him. “We have sex practically every night; you’re so horny, my angel.”

You watch with a curling smile as his cock immediately begins to stiffen against your warm breaths, his face scrunching in his slight discomfort as his cock grows and grows. His cock is undeniably one of your favorite parts of his body. It’s pale in color, paler than the rest of his body, but as it extended to the swollen thickness of his head, it grew darker, the flushed brown pinkness of his head making you salivate at the memory of the first time you ever saw it. His cock, unlike the rest of his scarred body, was unharmed, unmarred by the horrors of the job the two of you held. The thick, beautiful smoothness of his skin, making your eyes flutter in unadulterated lust, his cock a symbol of your pure, unmarked love for him. You hum, hand grasping his length and lazily stroking him as your head tilts, reading his sleeping features for any sign of him enjoying this as much as you do.

“Aww, Shouta-kun, I wish you knew I fuck you. I bet you would turn bright red, knowing that I ride you every night. Maybe you’d use that weapon of yours to teach me a lesson or two,” you mumble, your hand gripping his cock harder as you stroke him.

A small glistening drop appears at the slit of his dick, and you shiver in excitement; he was already leaking pre-cum. 

“Look at you, already ready to have my cunt wrapped around that big cock of yours,” you mewl, absolutely ready to mount him, prepared to have his sleeping form cum deep within you. You stand up, removing your shorts and panties, and climbing onto the bed.

With the balance of a pro, you get yourself hovering over him, your already wet cunt shivering with the expectance of having him deep within you. Your hand on his cock never once stopping as you tease yourself against his swollen head, your voice a pathetic whimper as your slick mixes with his clear pre-cum.

“S-See how embarrassing you are!” you huff, rutting his length between his folds, lubing him up for the initial entrance because, by god, it still hurt. “Making my pussy so wet! I’m practically dripping all over you!”

There’s only a soft breath from his lips, but you grin as if he was speaking to you.

“You want me too, huh?” you giggle, and without further adieu, you sink against him.

His cock entering your tight cunt was still as mind-numbing as the first time. His cock easily buries into the small, thin wall of your cervix, and you tremble as his length stretches and pulls at your throbbing core. You can feel every curve in his cock, every vein, every gentle throb.

“Glad t-to know you find me… nnghh… find me i-irresistible,” you pant, face flushed with your desire to adjust quickly around him.

The conversation from tonight had made you entirely weak in the knees and hot at your core, knowing that you were the only one to really have claimed Aizawa, the only one who would ever know how his sleeping body craved you as much as you desired him.

You give a tentative swirl of your hips, your eyes trained on Aizawa’s relaxed ones, testing to see how tired and sleepy he was. There was no reaction, no movement outside of the typical grunt at the back of his throat. It was a noise he always made when you first moved with him, a noise that quickly seared in the back of your memory forever.

Shifting your weight to be more comfortable on your knees, your hot hands fall onto his tight chest, and with a sigh of pure relief, you begin to fuck him.

Your straddling aided the deep penetration, allowing for the gentle kiss of the tip of his leaking cock to your thin cervix wall. You clenched tightly around him, unable to keep yourself from doing so as you rode him, the feeling of his throbbing member within you absolutely breathing taking as you placed your claim on him again, again, and again.

Aizawa was fully sheathed within you, and your fingers twisted and pulled at the tight fabric of his shirt, raising it up so that you could admire his taut, tense abdomen, mewling at the way he’s happy trail was thick and bushy. You wondered how he would react to your fingers threading through his body hair, if he would love it; if he would hate it. 

“I want you to know how much I love you, how much I would give everything to you!” you whimper, your head fighting the instinct to throw itself back as you begin to drop onto his still cock faster and faster. “I wish you knew that you fuck me so good, Shouta-kun; I need you to know that! But you won’t even look at me! You won’t spare me a single second of your busy day, so that’s why I have to fuck you at night!”

Tears of both pleasure and hurt well into your eyes; you sniffle as you fuck him faster, dropping onto his awaiting cock with more significant, more aggressive slaps. The sounds echo throughout the room, the musky, sweet smell of your sexes is the only thing keeping you sane — that and the grunting noises that Aizawa keeps emitting, it makes your toes curl and belly flutter in a funny way.

“I bet you’ll fuck me so good once I get you to love me! You’ll never stop fucking me, you’ll never want to leave me because only I know how to fuck you correctly!” you snap, anger and lust licking through your tone, making your eyebrows furrow and your walls to clench even tighter around him. The building tension in your stomach is like a fire, and you can feel your high coming. “But you fuck me so good, baby, so good and you’re not even awake!”

And for the first time, you watch in electrifying pleasure as a low, husky, raspy moan leaves his throat as you fucked him. The sound alone was something downright pornographic to you, and the whine that spills from your mouth is nearly inaudible with the pitch it vibrates at. So without so much as a second thought, a bubbling smile spreads on your face, and you continue on, energy and excitement doubled in your joy.

Your hips roll, rise, and fall against his with growing force and speed. The small creaks of the mattress completely ignored by you as the throbbing and twitching of his cock buried deep within you keeps you pushing for more. The heat and pressure in your belly grow exponentially, festering and burning until you can feel yourself at the tipping point until you can’t do anything but focus on Aizawa and only Aizawa, or else you would scream his name in your euphoria.

The veins on his cock and the overall girth of his length send your mind spinning, not at all helping your predicament, and in a last-ditch effort to keep yourself from crying so loudly you would wake up even the dead, you lean forward. Your sweaty body leaning down to his parted chapped lips as you kiss him to keep yourself silent as your orgasm crashes through you in a blissful wave. Your body spasms almost uncontrollably, the nerves and firing axons through your body uncontrollable as you lay there, allowing for Aizawa to cum before you leave. You shudder at the feeling of his cum emptying out within you, his cock immediately softening as you lay there on top of him. His heart racing with his orgasm, and you sigh contentedly.

“God, I love you so much, Aizawa Shouta; I’ll make you mine one day,” you swear, your nose nuzzling his stubbled cheek.

You lay there for some time, enjoying the way he feels in you, content with the pooling cum from your still spasming cunt. But eventually, you pull away. You pull on your panties and shorts quickly, not wanting a single drop more of his cum to seep out of you. Unable to help yourself, you lick the leftover cum on his cock clean with your tongue before wiping him down with a towel to prevent the smell from clinging.

Your eyes study Aizawa’s face just before you leave, and your smile.

He really does look less tired after orgasming.

But the entire time you were there — the whole night you fucked him and spoke to him — you missed the red blinking light of the camera recording in the corner of the room.

[dragon-with-a-ink-quill]

So I was thinking about how the Afton virus would work and idk a whole lot about the cannon on this but what if Y/n had an equivalent "virus" ability? But more "alive" then the Afton variant?

So bare with me for a sec as I try and explain my 2am brain baby here

Afton is a "zombie" that's being kept alive with "murder child juice" or "remnant"

So I'm thinking that makes his virus

(that also somehow affects humans?)

50% "soul magic" the dead child juice and him being kinda dead so ghost logic

20"power influence" mind control ether through trauma, fear, subconscious implanting?

and 30% "sci-fi mumbojumbo" the actual computer codes and such

So to rival him on this power front what if

Y/n was the opposite and ya know not a overcooked murder rabbit

50% "living soul magic" the ability to create life in a non organic form or even to influence it through osmosis aka staff bots become increasingly more reactive and sentient through there continuous interaction with y/n (staff bot mom y/n?) Maybe it gets stronger the more joy of living is around them like happy children or something

20% "positive influence" building bonds with the animatronics and even vanny encouraging them, being there for them, treating them as people and not just children's entertainment getting them freedoms and kindness that previous staff couldn't or wouldn't give them

30% "sci-fi mumbojumbo but to kick Afton's ass" I think this one speaks for itself maybe they could have something like cyberkinesis through touch(I think there was a spiderman costume that could do that idk)?😂 But only if the tech has no soul or consciousness it's already playing host to? Or there just as good with animatronics as Afton

And the cherry on top of this magic techno showdown?...

Y/n has no fucken clue they have these abilities at all

let alone that a crunchy floppy eared murder bitch wants to throw hands with them and that pisses him off the most because it goes something like this

"why are my child-napping bots not doing as I tell them?"

"What do you MEAN THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP AND SIMPING MADE THEM TO POWERFUL?"

Or even

Sometime in the future after character building, angst and shenanigans

Afton"so we meet face to face my nemesis"

Y/n"...*Dile up sound*.... who's lost sassy old man-rabbit is this?"

[definegodliness]

Intermezzo

Cloud nine exists no more. It has been forcefully swept from under my feet, and now, surrounded by anxiously jiving debris, I plummet; deliver my shredded consciousness to all gods, both new and old, into the vacuous eye of delivery's storm and hear naught but silence, as if the raging matter surrounding my flightless corporeality is but a mindless, soulless distraction; destructive, therein. The clean-swept dust bath closes in, and I can see nothing but the red of dire Earth; aridness in a canister of compacted losses, circling nauseatingly if I were to track and follow one speck of its respective alloy until witnessing its total assimilation within the whole.

I mourn every smidgen of incandescence turned tin, fixed into place to keep agreed upon reality in, till it sickens me and I toss the weight of my temporal vessel around mid-flight to ethereally recumbent behold the distant star of life as last a beacon of hope; bright enough to blind me from the shames and pities of the human lament.

I fall. I see.

The star of life shines its mutating radiance boldly, mocking all conscious beings, more temporal, for their quests in keeping the status quo of this exact existence.

"Deliver me from evil!", I beg the star of life.

Solar flares rip and tear at my mortal husk, till exposed is all that which matters at this point in time, and being.

I plummet, still.

“What am I now but the eternally bright light of my undying soul, claiming its birthright of resonance within time's ever rippling, as if a shooting star, or comet, illumining the clearest midnight blue of empty nightly skies; the void, far beyond the edges of space which one might call 'emptiness', and the girth and length of my magnum dong, now drastically elastically flopping within the tension between gravity and air resistance?”

Confusion. Yes, confusion and bedazzlement take a hold of me. Perhaps I should not have opted to deliver my shredded consciousness to ‘all’ gods, new and old, ‘cause what bullshit deity would have the totality of my humanity be a sparkling and pulsating orb of brilliant luster, only to then attach the fleshly variant of two semen packed avocados and a forearm sized zucchini? It is an outrage! Thus, by lack of arms, I shake my wiener upward, brandishing it like an angered fist toward whatever divine creator thought it funny, or agreeable, to reduce a human to a mere materialization of procreation. 

“Who does that?”, I ask, “... why?” 

There is no answer.

Only giggles in the wind.

I fall. I fall, still.

And, well... still. As a matter of fact, it is taking so long I get bored and entertain current existential contemplations: the duality of man; flesh versus soul; instinct versus cognizance; lust versus love, lustful love, and loving lust, and all imaginable shades of nuanced reality that thrive in between; all the while watching that star of life, fading into the distance, until the sheer weight of my ever engorging avocados by universal law of gravity cause me to topple back into an ethereally procumbent position.

Purple lightning rages against the pink German World War II helmet, which feels nice, I gotta say, and I realize I am part of some blitzkrieg beyond my understanding. My rock solid prophet’s staff splits the sea and all the turmoil of pantha rhei skips a beat to unveil the Big Bang’s Birthplace, starfish spread-eagled; so blatantly lascivious its design can only 'be' to mock my innate yearning spiritual transcendence. Ghastly, yet still, I plummet further. Through the entirety of Earth. Further, deeper. Helpless in this what can only be the inescapability of divine purpose. After all, whereto can I otherwise go without letting my deplorable rendition of palpability break the laws of time and space? So much for self-determination.

I crash down.

Down the center of the Milky Way. 

Ever accelerating, caught in the gravitational field of Sagittarius A*. I am. And as I am, I am evidently designed to fill, or plug, this manifestation of lamentable ever expanding emptiness and darkness. As such I make amends with the insignificance of this carnal existence. Hushing my conscience with the fact that I actually have no spine at this given moment, therefore being spineless is more than justifiable, it is logical. 

I give in.

Then, a bright flash of light, as the embodiment of godly origin flicks her fingers last milliseconds before impact and sends the remnants of my drab corporeality down the drain of existential settlement where all past's hapless human chances at godliness tragically consist. She does it casually, to then ask me if this is where I want to shoot for the future, before I can even think to try and push forth in an attempt to reach dead end's greatest depths for the sole sake of hedonism to begin with. I realize, what she offers is a lifetime's gratifying 'all'--, and yet simultaneously that this gratification is relativizable to the point of non-existence as there is no way to puncture the veil of finiteness into the never ending.

Despite the ecstasy of vortex-fall; the vehemence of plummet, my god given pride in heated surging sanguine engorged masculinity falls to dwindle limp in a sad shriveling retreat outside the Virgin Miley's rhythmically pulsating, monkey-fist-grabbing-dick contracting dirty dawn star.

"This is not what life is"; my genuflection.

She smiles, "it isn't."

Then, as if in a dream, the Virgin Miley vaporizes into a million shimmers of sparkling stardust, and I am grounded; crashed through the harsh permafrost, until splicing the rock of another dimension’s version of earth. I examine the shape of the crater left by my plummet, wondering where I am. I ask the aether,  addressing the chaste one, yet she gives no answer.

Only giggles in the wind...

All too familiar.

I understand, now. Yet I cannot dwell on my understanding. Suddenly, circling all around me, a mob of enraged Swiss men and women; complaining the Matterhorn has been decimated by my plummet from death’s plane of ‘settling’. I try to explain to them spiritual evolution is about peaks of existence, as so considered by any remotely achievable esoteric consensus, being utterly shattered; pulverized into fertile grounds of brand new inspiration and realizations, yet they have none of it. They shout and seethe I am an idiot, who should have simply traversed the depths of tightly constricting predestination and be done with it. 

Then, in a last ditch effort to talk some sense into them, I wrap the fleshly part of my current reality like a pink veiny tentacle around the holy triangle, the Toblerone, holding it out to them, letting my spirit’s echoing voice resound:

"He who is without caramel bits, cast the first chocolate."

Alas, they have none of it. Instead, the angry Swiss mob closes in, among them I now see some carry steam wafting bronzen kettles. I am entrapped. No way to wriggle myself out of this, and wriggling is all I can. As punishment, they slather the brightly pulsating core of my eternal spiritual purity (and my throbbing, wildly flopping curd spewing boa constrictor) with the molten golden of drooping fondue cheese. Agonizingly. Thus, the orb of light, my sorry soul, is by time and negligence; ignorance, and society’s cruel demands, yet again encased. Dimmed. Damned to once more partake in this loop of ever reoccurrence. When they leave, I am once again, but man. Another lifetime beckons. 

The whole endeavor has left me ravenous. 

I start eating myself.

--- 7-9-2021, M.A. Tempels ©

[void-galaxy-shenanigans]

Oh my gosh we found it. An aesthetic that feels gender euphoric.

Fantasycore.

We wanna look like the main character (or a lovable side character) of a fantasy novel. We wanna step out of the house looking *out of place* in this world, like we *just* teleported in five seconds ago from a magic fantasy world or from a medieval fantasy.

We wanna look like we just teleported in 5 seconds ago & we're oblivious to current fashion norms. We wanna look like we're not human in some way - we wanna look fae(ry) or elven or ✨ethereal✨.

We don't wanna look like a “modern” man, a cis man, a patriarch. We wanna look entirely different.

For context we let ourselves go to a resources event for *struggling* people to get free clothes. Flannels, shirts, maybe pants...& left with some flannels & shirts, but the golden one....a cape/poncho that's soft n fuzzy, like a wearable blanket.

& when we got home...our roommate saw us in our new poncho, & went “you look like you belong in The Hobbit” & we just... 😳🥺☺✨ YES. Perfect.

Every sweet, lovable guy in a story that gets the “Fictional men like this guy don't exist in REAL life 😡” treatment? I wanna be more like him.

Perfect vibes. Self recognition & gender euphoria.

We found a piece of ourselves we'd buried. & it's joyful & relieving & hope-filled.

Do I also want genderless vibes & non-woman feminine vibes? Yes. But in a vampire, sorceress, ethereal way as well. Is this somewhat influenced by our autism (autigender)? Yes. But fuck it. We found out who we wanna be. I found myself. We wanna be a nonbinary ish, man ish, ambiguous presentation, ethereal being.

& it's freeing 💚☺.

~Lucca (protector; he/him // Nico (co-host, protector; he/they) co-con)

[creepyalienghost]

Ink Sammy meets 106

Deep below ground in a world that was built by a once genius man turn insane, there were a prophet, who used to be a man. One who enjoyed music and even created his own for a show that no longer aired. Before the experiments he and his coworkers worked together making them. From writing the script from the writing department to filming the show by Norman polk, everyone had there part. It was wonderful. But now all that and more was taken away by one man. One insane man who turned them all into cartoons for his sick dream. They were suck down here, mostly fighting each other. But sometimes they would get along.

Deeper below the same ground, in a secret facility, a terrifying and monstrous creature had just breached from it’s cell, along with many others. The monster labeled scp 106 walked though the halls sending anyone he saw into his dimension. A world where he plays with his victims before he gives them the sweet death they longed beg for. Guards, MTFS, D-class, researchers none of them were safe from any scp, let along him. There was someone from behind begging to live, only to be cut off by a single touch. A inhuman scream from somewhere that soon comes to a soft cry for now. 106 loves when humans are afraid and in pain but the halls where becoming empty of life. Body’s we’re scattered everywhere, some undead ether by the 008 or the cure. The beautiful sight of blood and gore painted the walls around and floods under him. So, he decided to escape the facility, quickly making a portal in the wall next to him and going though.

The prophet was sitting at his old, now dusty piano. He was messing with the keys to see which was broken and which ones won’t when a new ink portal formed next to him on the wall. Except it wasn’t. It looked different from the ink he had seen daily and it’s smell was nothing he had ever witnessed before. He was curious and stayed to see what would happen but cautious enough to say back a few feet.

Suddenly a hand poked out, making the prophet gasp and jumped back. That hand grew to be an arm, oozing the same goop. It wasn’t long before a head popped out of the wall. It was no bendy. It was something he never seen before. A living rotting corpse with a wide smile and glowing beady eyes. The thing fully came out of the wall and stared at the prophet, as the prophet stared back.

They eyed each other for a long time, examining each other and pointing out this similarities between each other. Both of them was tall and strong and both was made out of poisoning and tainted stuff. Different stuff but looks a lot alike. There clothes were both worn and teared in places, though the things clothes blended in, like that to is made from the goop.

“What the hell are you…?” The prophet ask the strange creature.

The creature gave him a deep low chuckle. “I could ask you the same thing.” He replied.

“Names Larry. But the foundation calls me 106.”

“The foundation?” The prophet asked. “Sammy buy the wall.”

Larry nodded. “Yes. There a Secret organization that trapped non human creatures.” He answered. “What is this place?”

“This use to be an old cartoon Studio until our boss went crazy and sacrificed and trapped us here. Now it’s our prison”

“Our?” Larry looked at Sammy. “There’s more here?”

Sammy nodded. “Oh yes there’s lots down here. Susie, Norman and Jack being the few listed. What about you? What other creatures do you know”

“Well there’s the reptile, the slime ball, the mask, the screaming guy and the doctor just to name a few.”

“That sounds interesting. Wanna tour?” Sammy asked.

“Sure” Larry nodded.

Sammy took the Creature known as 106 to an Adventure though the studio. The first stop they were already in. “This is -was the music department where the band played for the cartoons.” Sammy explains then looks at Larry. “Ever heard of music?”

Larry shakes his head. “I do when I approach my victims. But only thing I like listening to are their screams.”

Sammy was a bit unsettled by this and Larry chuckled by his face. “Let’s move on…” Sammy said.

They continued on, passing the more boring areas like the offices and the writing department, going to bendy land. “This basically the only fun thing we got.” Sammy says. “It’s not much but it helps.”

Larry looks around the theme park seeing the games and the few rides they had there. Then he noticed three weird short creatures. “What’s that?”

Sammy looked where Larry was pointing to. “Oh that’s the Butcher gang. Also known as Grant, Lacie and Shawn.”

Larry watches the three and wondered what kind of man would do this. He himself wasn’t this mad. Sure he tortures innocent souls but after some fun he eventually releases them one way or another. This man was beyond insane. He was cruel, sick even.

The tour to the Studio soon finished at what they called the ink machine. It was a large Metal Machine that used ink out of a pipe. Sammy explain to him how this was the thing that has changed them all after they sacrificed there bodies and he wondered how the foundation never came here and brought this thing and the creatures he seen in.

Once Sammy finished, 106 turned to him. “Wanna see the foundation and all that is there?

Sammy looked at him. “Sure. Why not.”

Larry made a personal back to site 19 and Motion for Sammy to follow him though. Sammy did so and noted the feeling of this creatures portal was different. The texture was much more rough, more cold. Once he gets though he the first thing he noticed was the dead body’s everywhere then the blood on the walls and floor. Larry noticed him and shrugs. “ massive containment breach.”

Sammy nodded right before he heard a strange breathing coming from the hall. He looked down it and saw a strange human like figure in all black except his face was white. Larry looked in the same direction. “Ah. Welcome plague doctor. Meet Sammy. I found him going though my portal.”

The plague doctor looked at the new friend. “Greetings friend. How might you be?” The doctor stuck his hand out in greetings.

Sammy shook the Doctors hand and surprisingly nothing happened. “Hello. I’m Sammy.”

After meeting with the plague doctor for a few minutes they went around showing Sammy there friends. The first he met was rock hard sculpture they called peanut. He blinked once and the thing was near inches away, making Sammy jump and Larry chuckling. “I don’t like that thing…” Sammy says to them.

The second one they met was more sadder. It was a tall skinny man who was crying. The doctor had put a mask over its face before Sammy could met him. When Sammy ask they told him it was for everyone’s own good. Even shy guy which was the name of the guy. When Sammy talked to the guy he only hugged Sammy and weep. Sammy felt bad and hugs back. He even sang a song to the poor thing and got him to calm.

After they left the shy guy Sammy met so many others that day. From small cute slimes to a deadly reptile. Even items like a mask that possesses the host and an Computer that wants to be on more Advanced computers. By the end of the day Sammy want back to the Studio, after promising to meet up again one day and he hold the others what he had seen. Most didn’t believe him but Norman did. He could tell Norman saw something at one point. Maybe it was 106 himself or maybe it was his portal he had come across. Sammy didn’t know of what just that he saw something.

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - A Corpse, Cake, and a Cuppa (Rated NC17)

Summary: Aziraphale is Death and Crowley is the serial killer who keeps murdering to catch a glimpse of the ethereal being he fell in love with. (1714 words)

Notes: Written for the above Halloween prompt from @new-endings/M.A.D.#8943. Human Crowley au. It’s kind of gory, I’m not going to lie.

Read on AO3.

“Jesus Christmas!" Aziraphale yelps, tiptoeing through the thick pool of red coagulating on the concrete. Threads of it cling to the soles of his shoes when he lifts his feet as if trying to drag him down. Aziraphale has seen a great deal of blood in his time. None of it has been pretty. But this is especially gruesome.

He wonders if that’s for his benefit.

"Look at... look at this! Look at all the… !” Aziraphale takes a pause and breathes in deep, pressing the thumb and forefinger of his right hand to his forehead. Tension causes a vein to distend and throb - quite the feat since, as a non-human entity, he shouldn't be able to experience this kind of pain. Or so he thought. In the thousands of years he's roamed earth reaping souls, he's finally found the one mortal who can give him what humans call a migraine. And he doesn't like it. Not one bit. “Could you please just… stop already?"

Crowley grins, thrilled giddy by the arrival of his intended audience. “No,” he replies, shoving the slicked head of his filthy ax deeper into the severed spine of the fresh corpse at his feet.

Aziraphale grimaces as the blade lands with a resounding slap. 

That ax of Crowley's gets on every one of Aziraphale's nerves. It's effective for its purpose but positively unsanitary. It makes his skin crawl every time he sees it.

Crowley lifts it slowly, eyes Aziraphale menacingly.

Eyes his nice, clean coat, Aziraphale realizes.

“Crowley!” he warns, putting both hands up in defense. “Don't you dare... !”

But Crowley doesn't let him finish, hoisting his ax higher with part of the dead man's torso attached. He doesn't need to do anything after that. The torso falls from the blade and splashes down in the pool, accomplishing what Crowley set out to do.

“Holy... GAH!” Aziraphale leaps back to avoid the spray. He frowns at his clothes when he sees he wasn't quick enough. "Look what you've done! You’ve made a mess of my coat!”

“Improved it, I’d say,” Crowley snarks. “Given it a pop of color.”

“I've had this coat for ages and hadn't collected a single stain! Not one! And look at your shoes! Ruined!" He gazes down at Crowley's feet in despair. "I actually liked that pair.”

“Really?" Crowley tilts his head, batting his eyes innocently. "You didn't tell me that.”

“Yes, well... " Aziraphale busies himself fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket. Praying he’s swift enough to save the fabric, he pats at the specks on his sleeve "... it’s not my place to tell a homicidal maniac that he looks fetching in snakeskin, is it?”

Crowley pouts, his lower lip jutting out, making him look comically childish despite the streaks of blood running down his cheeks. 

Aziraphale’s brows pull together. He glances around, trying to work out what's wrong. "What? What is it?"

"You're being mean."

"How am I being mean?"

"You're calling me names."

"Accurate ones, yes."

"You sound disappointed."

"You think so!?"

“B-but... but why? I took your advice!" Crowley argues. "I changed me m.o.!”

“I didn’t give you advice! I said you should stop killing innocent people!”

“I did! This guy?" Crowley plants the heel of his sopping shoe into the dead man's crooked neck for emphasis. "He weren’t innocent! He was a serial killer, too! He just happened to be shite at it!”

"I can see that." Aziraphale peers into the vacant eyes of the man on the ground, spirit buzzing beneath his skin, waiting to be reaped. But Aziraphale is in no rush. In the choice between filling out paperwork and shooting the shite with Crowley, surprisingly, he chooses Crowley. 

Or maybe not so surprising, Aziraphale muses, biting his lower lip and indulging in a private chuckle. He rolls his eyes in disgust at himself right after. What are you doing? Stop that!

"Besides, I'm doin' you a solid!" 

Aziraphale scoffs, snapping back to his senses. "How do you figure?"

"You're Death, ain't ya? I'm keeping you in business!"

"I don't know if you've read the papers lately, dear boy, but humans are dropping like flies thanks to their own stubbornness and stupidity. You're slap in the middle of one of the worst pandemics in history, but instead of doing what you can to stay safe, you lot spend your time arguing over petty b.s.! I won't wear a mask! It's against my rights! I'm not taking the vaccine! It'll make me sterile! There is no disease! It's all a big conspiracy! Meanwhile, in the states, some orange lunatic has everyone drinking bleach! Believe me, I hardly need your help doing my job!" 

“Oi! Don’t lump me in with those prats!”

“Why not? You’re not wearing a mask, I see.”

“Don’t have to. I got my shot. And I keep me distance.”

“But you’re covered in blood! Did that man you dismembered have the virus!? You don’t know!” Aziraphale cringes at words that sound far more like concern than scolding. Which he should be doing. Scolding and ridiculing, and possibly calling the police.

But he won’t.

If Crowley were thrown in prison, it would be harder for Aziraphale to find an excuse to see him. Aziraphale has yet to decide if that’s something he wants, but either way, he’d prefer it not be at the expense of another life.

"Fine. Whatever. If that's the way you feel about it... " Crowley grumbles, letting what remains of that statement die as embarrassment rises to his cheeks, settling beneath the red already there. He crosses his arms over his chest and turns his face away. 

Just like a child, Aziraphale thinks. 

And as with a child, Aziraphale should have nipped this in the bud much, much earlier - like when Crowley realized that he could summon Aziraphale whenever he wanted by upping the frequency of his murderous antics. 

This, to date, is his twenty-seventh kill.

Aziraphale doesn't know how Crowley spotted him. He's pretty adept at avoiding human detection. But after victim number eight, Aziraphale turned around, scythe in hand, and there he stood: tall, gangly, bizarrely besotted, dressed in black and wearing sunglasses at one in the morning. Aziraphale thought Crowley was a run-of-the-mill psychopath looking for attention, seeing Aziraphale as a hapless dolt to play cat-and-mouse with, not knowing for one second who he was dealing with.

Not only did Crowley know exactly who Aziraphale was, but he had taken a considerable shine to him.

Aziraphale humored the man when their paths crossed so he could get on with his work, never for one minute considering the consequences. Thinking back on their past interactions, Aziraphale can pick out the hints Crowley had been dropping.

Aziraphale played right into them, and he could kick himself over it.

"We have to stop meeting like this," Aziraphale quipped dryly after Crowley had beheaded some poor, down-on-his-luck fool. "I'm going to start thinking that you have a thing for me."

"Finally!" Crowley tossed his arms in the air. "At this rate, I was going to have to murder half of London and spell out the words ’Will you go out with me?’ with their bodies. Do you know how time-consuming that would have been?"

Aziraphale had written that comment off as a morbid attempt at humor. 

Now he feels like an imbecile.

He’s going to get an earful from Gabriel if he ever gets wind of this. Aziraphale has been able to cover up the increase in London deaths by blaming the pandemic. But once people get their acts together and things calm down, he’ll have to come clean.

There’s a serial killer roaming the streets that has a serious crush on him.

Aziraphale lets out a heavy sigh as he comes to a decision.

A bad decision.

He's going to regret this. He knows he's going to regret this. 

But will he really though?

Aziraphale looks Crowley over, still moping with his nose in the air. He examines him at depth - his sharp features, his debonair style (hiding beneath a litre of blood), his devil-may-care attitude, his rowdy sense of humor. If he were another angel, or even a demon, Aziraphale would have asked him out already, body count or no. 

So what is he waiting for?

It’s not entirely unheard of, an angel dating outside their dominion. And as for the moral issues of dating a murderer, well, Aziraphale is an angel. He has a responsibility to bring sinners to the light, help them see the truth. That can be done anywhere, not just in church - on a street corner, in a diner…

Back at his flat.

Besides, he and Crowley have a lot more in common than Aziraphale did with his last paramour, an angel he had dallied with solely for the fact that he was guardian of comestibles.

It seemed like a match made in Heaven, so to speak.

Far from it.

“Look - if I let you take me out for coffee, will you stop the gratuitous bloodshed?”

Crowley all but gasps when that question leaves Aziraphale’s mouth, the grin growing on his face transforming, becoming less maniacal and more… normal if that makes any sense. "One cup of coffee. That's all I ask."

"Then come along. Here… “ Aziraphale snaps his fingers, cleaning Crowley thoroughly before he takes his arm. “If you're good, I'll let you buy me a slice of cake.”

“That’s very generous of you.”

“I’m glad you think so. I’m a very slow eater. And I figure the longer I stay with you, the more I can keep an eye on you."

“Deal. But, you know," Crowley starts, his tone so filled with teasing he’s on the verge of giggles, "if you, say, spent the night at my flat, you could keep an eye on me for hours. Think of all the people I wouldn’t be able to kill.”

Aziraphale smirks, amused that they both had a semblance of the same idea. “You don’t say?”

“I do.”

“That’s blackmail.”

“More so than you bartering human lives against a cuppa and cake?”

Aziraphale shrugs, but he doesn't relinquish Crowley's arm. He does, however, relieve him of his ax so he doesn’t get any ideas along the way. “Fair point.”