#slightly cursed but it is a funny concept

[slozhnos]

guys obviously pyrokinetics were created by a a sun drop like rapunzel smh

[oh-meow-swirls]

how does the raft not capsize.

[cacaitos]

i think it's rad that juli screams and wallows so much for a god that didn't answer him at any moment except by his own impression both for his own supposed condemnation AND forgiveness.

and that not only so pressed by the made up imprsssion of the guy he made in his head he also, as his most significant and material show of love he devoted himself to the person he will never and can't ever meet again. like yeah in theory they will in heaven but in practice is living for the dead, the ever moving goal of the immutable, platonic divine.

isn't he a romantic.

[jadeoru]

shame marathon! - iwaizumi x reader

after begrudgingly agreeing to see the minions movie with his friends, he hoped no one would see him in this state: dressed in small denim overalls, with yellow face paint sloppily smeared all over his face.

unfortunately for him, the person serving him popcorn was exactly his type.

warnings: minions. this is so stupid lmao, iwa dressed like a minion, terrible jokes, deadpool is awesome, awkwardness, cursing, terrible flirting, clu declared this silly and whimsical!!, fluff! wc: 2.8k

a/n: this is entirely self indulgent i work in a cinema and was overwhelmed by the amount of grown people dressed as minions LMAO ^__^

Iwaizumi had never felt true shame until now. His denim overalls were far too small for him, so he walked cautiously - scared that if he flexed his biceps even slightly, the buttons would pop off. He regretted every action he made that led him to this moment. Embarrassment heated his face as he watched his friends enthusiastically hide their candy stash in their pockets. They looked ridiculous: sporting the same overalls as he was. At least theirs actually fit them. Their faces were poorly painted yellow, and some of them (Bokuto and Hinata) even went as far as to wear goggles. He buried his hands in his pockets, silently hoping that even by only covering his hands, somehow, magically, the rest of him would be hidden too. With a tap on the shoulder, his shame was quickly put on hold, now focusing on his yellow best friend, Oikawa.

“Oh come on grandpa, lighten up. Would it kill you to have fun?” He nudged him with his elbow, and Iwaizumi groaned in response. “Why are we even seeing this movie? We’re grown fucking adults! This is- this is ridiculous!” He released one hand from the security of his pocket, running it through his hair, trying to wipe away the sweat that had formed. “Excuse you! Minions is a cinematic fucking masterpiece. I will not let the fact that I'm an adult get in the way of enjoying art!” Bokuto chirped in, his expressive face wonderfully displaying the excitement that surged through him. Iwaizumi’s voice decreased in volume, a clear sign of giving up. “Did we have to go out in public like this? Why couldn’t we have just, i don’t know, stayed home?” as much as he tried to persuade his socially fearless friends to just go home, to spare him the embarrassment of someone he knew seeing him in this state: dressed like a fucking minion, nothing he said would change their mind. “Because it’s funny! And imagine the look on kids’ faces when they see a whole group of minions pulling up to the movie!” It was Hinata's turn to convince him now, flexing his muscles in a half-hearted manner as he spoke, trying to ease iwaizumi’s woes. He wasn’t having any of it. “We shouldn’t be there anyways! It’s a kids movie!” he waved his hands in the air, exasperated, desperate to help his friends realise how utterly ridiculous they were.

Did they fear nothing? Was social anxiety a foreign concept to them? Kuroo slung his arm around his shoulder, a lazy grin stretched onto his face. “Dude, the minion costume isn’t gonna kill you. Plus, we’re all wearing one too so you aren’t alone. Quit complaining and have fun, loser.” He wiggled Kuroo off of him and rolled his eyes. “I agreed to do this when I was high! Now that I have a clear mind, obviously I don't want to do this! You guys totally took advantage of me!” His friends slowly inched further from the car as his complaining progressed. By the looks of it, he had about one minute to convince everyone to just go home, otherwise they’d already be inside the cinema.

Oikawa looked at him from over his shoulder, waving him over to catch up with them. “I’m sorry that your post-nut clarity is biting you in the ass right now, but quit being a wimp! You’re the big strong hunk of the group, you’re supposed to be fearless! Imagine what the ladies would think if they knew you were scared of minions!” his teasing words caused his anger to overpower his shame, quickly speed walking to catch up with everyone. “I’m not scared of the fucking minions!” he shouted at Oikawa, who’s head was turned away from him, holding in a laugh at how ridiculous his once-terrifying best friend looked. The whole group looked like a bunch of jaundiced babies. Everyone struggled to contain their laughter. Before he knew it, they were at the doors of the cinema. “Come on!” Hinata shouted, shoving everyone, including Iwaizumi, through the doors; not giving him a single second to turn around and make a run for it.

Trying to bury his shame, he let out a groan. Looking to his left, both Bokuto and Hinata were bouncing with excitement; their eyes scanned the prices of popcorn. As he thought of it, he realised their personalities were eerily similar to the minion’s. Now that they looked the part, he realised this was the closest he’d get to seeing the real thing. He smiled at that. Okay, maybe this wasn't so bad. Maybe he should just have fun. With his hands on his hips, and that small smile on his face, he inserted himself back into the conversation his friends were having.

“Ew. you look terrifying when you smile.” Oikawa laughed, immediately making his newly found confidence plummet. “Fuck you! You don’t look so hot yourself, shittykawa.” He could feel the vein on his forehead throbbing with annoyance. “Not true! I make a gorgeous minion! I’m like Bob, the cute one!” He winked, Shoyo quickly jumped in. “Nuh uh! I wanna be Bob! He’s the little one right? I meet all of the Bob criteria!” Kuroo let out a laugh, “Sorry Oikawa, Hinata is way more of a Bob than you are. You’re definitely a Stuart.” Iwaizumi could’ve sworn he saw Oikawa’s eye twitching at that comment. He slowly turned his head to face Kuroo, giving him the nastiest dirty look he’d ever seen. “Tetsurou, with all due respect, I hope you wake up in the morning and there are fucking skid marks in your bed.” Oikawa spat his words at Kuroo as if they left a bad taste in his mouth. He hit him in the chest with his finger, poking him repeatedly to add to his threat. “Clearly you haven’t done your research before you showed up today because I am literally Bob in human form!” Oikawa whined. Iwaizumi let out a cackle that quickly silenced the group. “He’s right, you are absolutely a Stuart.” he spoke through laughter. Oikawa looked at him with betrayal in his eyes. “Well if I’m Stuart, then that makes you Kevin.” Iwaizumi’s eyebrows furrowed. “What? I’m not Kevin.” Bokuto chuckled, “You are absolutely Kevin!” his eyebrows furrowed, “How?” He got a smile in response. “Well, for starters you have an abnormally stretched head, you’re a know-it-all, and you take care of everyone. Face it bro, you’re Kevin the minion!” Iwaizumi gritted his teeth. “What’s wrong with my head? It’s shaped completely normally, prick!” he shouted, garnering the attention of the surrounding children. “It’s definitely Kevin shaped!” Whatever. 

He scoffed, not wanting to lose any more brain cells from this conversation than he already had. He looked at his watch. 9:21pm. 9 minutes until the movie started. “Let’s just get our tickets and get this over with.” He mumbled, catching a glimpse of himself in the reflection of his watch: his yellow face in all of its glory. Oikawa stopped him before he could begin walking, taking a step in front of him. “Not without popcorn! We can’t watch a movie without popcorn!” He yelled dramatically, more people around them started staring. Iwaizumi wanted the ground to swallow him whole. “Let’s get your stupid popcorn then.” he grumbled, placing a firm hand on his friend’s wrist, Oikawa quickly yanked it away. “Can you just get it for us? I wanna take pictures of us before the movie starts!” He smiled, pulling his phone out and fixing his hair in front of the camera. “So you’re gonna make me talk to the staff on my own? While I look like this?” he huffed, staring at him with irritance. “Trust me this is not your worst look, Iwa. Remember your bowl cut phas-” he cut him off with a nudge to the back, bumping him forward with his elbow. “Shut up! Fine, I'll go. What kind of popcorn are we getting?” He massaged his temple with his fingers in an attempt to soothe the headache that was forming. “Butter!” Hinata shouted, Kuroo nodding behind him. “Gross! Get salted!” Bokuto shouted back, sticking his tongue out; feigning disgust. Oikawa, the tie-breaker, looked at Iwaizumi with shrugged shoulders. “Just get one of each, I’ll pay you back.” Iwaizumi glanced at his watch again. 5 minutes until the trailers started. “Whatever.” he muttered under his breath, quickly turning on his heels and making his way towards the counter.

He was so focused on being fast and time-efficient he almost forgot that he was dressed up like a minion. He almost forgot how stupid he looked. And as he reached the counter, a line quickly forming behind him; leaving him with no chance to flee,

He saw you.

In front of him, stirring nacho cheese with your back facing him, he watched in silence. Maybe it was the shame of seeing your reaction to his current state, but he was nervous. He swallowed the lump in his throat, and stuffed his hands into his pockets once more, fingers fidgeting with his money.

“Uh, excuse me?” he spoke politely, but loudly, trying to catch your attention. You turned around to face him and god, he felt as if his body was set on fire. Embarrassment washed over him like a wave as you jumped slightly at the unexpected sight. “Oh! Sorry!” you smiled, amused by the man in front of you. “What can I do for you?” His fists clenched, and with white knuckles he regrettably made the realisation that you might’ve been the most gorgeous person he had ever seen. For fuck’s sake. Of all times to meet a person like you, it just had to be when he was dressed up like a fool. With yellow fucking face paint, and tiny overalls. He felt guilty for just looking at you.

“Um- could I get 2 medium popcorns?” he cleared his throat, trying to make his voice sound deeper, to make up for, well, what was happening on his face. “One salt, and one butter. Please.” He avoided eye contact. If he could be grateful for one thing in that moment, it was that the yellow paint concealed his blush. “Coming right up!” He could hear the slight chuckle in your voice, trying desperately not to laugh at a customer. “Nice outfit by the way. Let me guess, you’re seeing longlegs?” You joked, grabbing a popcorn bucket and shovelling the plain popcorn into it. Iwaizumi laughed - a lot harder than he should have. Was he laughing with nervousness? Were you just so pretty he couldn’t help himself? Were you laughing with or at him? A thick cloud of questions circled in his mind like a cyclone. But the sound of your laughter fading quickly calmed it down. “How’d you know?” he attempted to joke back. He spoke through a smile, gritted teeth trying to hide the embarrassment that danced on the tip of his tongue.

You laughed again, walking further from the counter to add butter to the popcorn. You hummed to a melody only you could hear in your mind, knees bending up and down in a subtle dance. You turned back to face him again, handing him the now buttered popcorn.

“Are they with you?” you asked, pointing at his minion friends behind him, who were dancing as Oikawa recorded them. He rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately yeah. This was their idea. You have no idea how embarrassing this is.” he spoke quieter, causing you to lean in closer to listen, grabbing another empty popcorn bucket. “I don’t think it’s embarrassing. If anything, it’s cute! This job gets boring really easily so seeing people dressed up like you just makes my day!” You weren’t looking at him while you spoke, partly because you weren’t capable of making eye contact after calling him cute, and also because you needed to focus on making sure the popcorn actually landed in the bucket.

He gulped, suddenly way too aware of his sweaty palms. Was he going to make it out of this interaction alive? He doubted it. Honestly, he didn’t care. He was just glad you were talking to him; treating him normally. As if he wasn’t currently about to sweat the yellow off of his face. Noticing the silence that formed around you, he continued the small talk. “So.. You uh, you work in a cinema right? You a big fan of movies?” He straightened his back, flexing his height. His face almost scrunched up with disgust at how pathetic he sounded. You mixed the salt into the popcorn as you spoke. “Honestly, I'm more of a fan of older stuff. Nowadays people just don’t make movies like they used to. Ah- Except for minions, of course.” You winked at him, unaware of how you almost made his heart stop. “I’ve been meaning to see the new Deadpool too, actually.” you spoke at the perfect pace for him to process and cherish each syllable that left your lips. Oh god, he really was pathetic.

Grabbing onto the second popcorn bucket you handed him, he struggled to mirror your smile. “I love deadpool!” He lied. He had never seen a single Deadpool movie in his life. Hopefully you wouldn’t quiz him on his plot knowledge. You smiled again, “It’s so funny!” He nodded in response, not trusting whatever lies would come out of his mouth. You typed something into the register, and then told him his total. He forgot about that. Trying to balance the popcorn, he reached into his pockets and pulled his money out, handing it to you with shaky hands. You thanked him and placed it neatly into the register.

Before you could utter your classic ‘Have a nice day!’ he spoke up again. “Hey uh. How about we see the new Deadpool movie together sometime? - when you’re free of course.” He clutched the popcorn buckets for support; stability. Like if you said no, he could retreat inside of them and hide away forever. Had he misread the whole situation? Did you actually hate him and feel repulsed by the sight of him? He hoped he was wrong. You totally liked him too, right? You leaned forward onto the counter, almost close enough to feel the breath that escaped his lips. “Are you asking me on a date? Am I getting asked out by a minion?” you asked, a teasing lilt in your tone. He cleared his throat, almost choking on his spit in the process. He was so embarrassed it hurt. “Do you want me to?” He choked out - His desperate expression matched his voice. You giggled, holding your chin in your palm. “Maybe I do.”

He almost dropped the popcorn after hearing those words fall from your lips. This time, his smile was natural; wide enough to make his eyes squint. “Awesome! So uh.. When are you free?” he asked, getting lost in your gaze in the most cliché way possible. Your eye contact broke as you acknowledged the long line that had accumulated behind him. Where did these people come from? With a sigh, you looked back at him. “Sorry, would you mind if we planned this later? I need to get back to my job.” You spoke sweetly, pretending to gag at the thought of working another hour. “I could give you my number?” you asked, with a hopeful glint in your eye.

He never said yes faster in his life.

Grabbing a ballpoint pen from your pocket, you wrote your phone number down on a napkin and neatly folded it up, handing it to him. He eagerly grabbed it, placing it in his pocket. He muttered a shy thank you, to which you nodded. “See you later, minion boy.” you joked, the smirk on your face was decorated with cheeks that were hot to the touch. His eyes widened as he realised, he hasn’t even told you his name. “Oh, it’s Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi Hajime.” He almost forgot his own name. You introduced yourself in return. Was it possible to fall in love with names? Because nothing had ever sounded better to him in his life.

“See ya.” he said, repeating your name. It rolled off his tongue like a fluent language. You winked, “Later, Iwa.”

You texted him later that night, when the both of you were at home. You were free tomorrow, and there was a Deadpool screening at 10am. He had to pull an all-nighter that night to:

One: watch the deadpool movies,

Two: plan how he was going to talk to you,

And three: come up with witty jokes that would make you laugh.

He hoped you would like normal him more than the minion version.

[corpseidol]

could I request the sbg gang with british!reader who uses british slang and they (the gang) get confused a lot of the time? I feel like it would be kinda funny 😭 thanks!! <3

(also if you do emoji anons, could I be 🐞 anon?)

BRITISH, INNIT?

author’s note : you can def be 🐞anon

concept : british!reader with sbg gang

genre : crack, drabbles

content : lots of curses, writer is not british

discussing about the phantoms

it was lunch when the group was arguing about the phantom situation and tyler was just pissing you off “when is this shitty fuckin’ bellend gonna stop bitching?” you scoffed, looking at him up and down.

taylor felt herself close to choking on her food as tyler stared at you with a pissed look on his face. logan felt shocked at the sudden use of slang and let out a small giggle under his breath.

aiden couldn’t help but chuckle, covering his mouth with his fist “oooh, brit over here just called you a bellend!” he continued to provoke tyler with his slightly muffled laughs, causing tyler to become more pissed “stay out of this, blond!”

when tyler walked away (also pulled taylor away with him) you made sure to shoot him with a middle finger before scoffing “that was well grim.” you rolled your eyes.

invitation to aiden’s house

as they all agreed to visit aiden’s house, you looked around at their nodding heads and sighed “so when we heading to your yard?” you raised your eyebrows with your arms crossed.

the others stared at you with a confused look but aiden was able to pick up your slang quickly “defo whenever the group can, yeh?” he said with a mocking british accent.

you furrowed your eyebrows at the terrible imitation “don’t tick me off, dickhead.”

for disclaimer these are the meanings

bellend: insult used on men

yard: house

[shadowqueenjude]

Ok this idea is so funny to me so I just had to write it lmaooo

Eris strolled the rich forest air behind his father's house. He despised everything about this place. It reeked of blood. Blood from Beron's torture of each of his sons, blood from the executions that had occurred here, including Eris's brother's lover. Every time he was forced to be here, he desired to leave. Unfortunately, he had to be prepared for a meeting in twenty minutes.

Just then, he noticed a shadow moving on the ground not twenty paces from him; the shadows were unaccompanied by any visible being and were too large to be a little critter. Eris chuckled to himself. He had been wondering when the Night Court thugs would be coming to melt his brain for what he'd seen the cursebreaker do. Perhaps they'd gone to all his brothers first; arrogant fools that most of them were, they had probably not even expected the attack. Or perhaps even they had seen him coming; it is not as if he is subtle.

Did he truly believe no one could see him? Despite his magic rendering him perfect for such a position, he was one of the most pathetic spies he had ever seen. Nearly everyone knew he was a shadowsinger, so nearly everyone knew to look for him.

Eris decided to have some fun with the poor bastard. He wandered across his gardens, and sure enough, the shadows followed him. Come on, little bat. At least try to be subtle. Such a concept was foreign to Illyrians, alas. Well, bad for them. Good for Eris.

He rounded the corner before he winnowed a few feet forward, ducking in the bushes and biding his time for the shadow to approach. He noticed the shadows pivot this way and that, as though they were looking for something. Swallowing his laugh, Eris winnowed behind the shadows, wrapping an arm securely around where he guessed his waist was. There was a grunt and a curse as the shadows fought, but Eris only squeezed him tighter, letting the heat that lay beneath his veins rise to the surface, burning him ever so slightly. The male yelped, and his true form appeared. Eris whipped out his dagger and pressed it to his throat.

"Hello, Shadowsinger," Eris purred.

The prince of Autumn held Azriel against his surprisingly well-built chest, blade pressing into his neck, heat curling off his body. Warm- these gods-damned Autumn Court males were so fucking warm. Lucien had been the same way when Azriel had carried him from Winter to Night. That ember smell stuck to him like natural fucking cologne too. And their dressing style-effortless.

Azriel had been invisible, hidden by his shadows. He had no idea how Eris had caught him, but his breaths were shallow as Eris's lips came close to his ear. "Now, what could you possibly be doing here, shadowsinger? Come to see if the rumors about Autumn Court males are true, hm?"

Not expecting the innuendo, Azriel couldn't control the blush that spread across his face. Eris laughed against his neck. "So easily flustered, little bat. Worry not, I know exactly why you're here. But you see, I'm rather attached to my memories, so I think I'll be keeping them."

Azriel couldn't even speak with the knife at his throat. "No words, shadowsinger?" Eris's tone was somehow mocking and seductive at the same time. He dug his knife in a little bit deeper, drawing blood. Then he lightly ran a finger through the line of blood he'd made. Goosebumps traveled down Azriel's body.

Then Eris pulled away the knife. "Speak."

Azriel snarled and tried to break away again, and Eris tsked, returning the blade to his throat. "Tut tut, little bat. This only works if you cooperate with me. Now I need you to swear that you will not come and try to wipe my memory again, nor will you attempt to murder me, else maim me in any capacity. You will lie to your High Lord and anyone else you associate with that you successfully wiped my memory. Do you understand me?" He pulled the knife away just so. "Yes," Azriel muttered reluctantly. "Swear it," Eris murmured. Azriel's mouth didn't move.

"Swear it," Eris repeated, his voice radiating with authority. Azriel found his mouth opening subconsciously, and before he knew it, he had replied, "Yes. I swear it." Azriel and Eris both watched as new whorls of deepest blue grew on his cheek. A matching pale gold one formed on Eris's cheek, just visible upon his pale skin.

Abruptly, Eris shoved Azriel to the ground before him, and just as Azriel got to his knees, Eris pointed a sword at him. Azriel longed to punch the smirk off of his arrogant face. "No violence for you today, Illyrian brute," Eris crooned. "I know that must be so upsetting to you."

"Bastard," Azriel snapped. "Wife-abusing bastard."

Eris snorted. "Are you talking about Mor, little bat? Surely you have brain enough to understand why I left Mor outside of Autumn rather than risk saving her?"

"Because you're a coward," Azriel growled. Eris only let out a musical laugh. "Says you, shadowsinger, who lurks in the dark, hiding behind your own dark reflection. I have not come here to explain myself to Rhysand's dogs; no, I'm keeping you around for one purpose: to send a message." Azriel glared at him. "No."

Eris bent towards Azriel, and Azriel could not breathe as his warm fingers traced the new tattoo upon his cheek. "You don't have a choice, little bat. My territory, my rules. And you're bound to me by a bargain forever. Besides, I think your lord will be interested in what I have to offer."

This close to Beron's eldest son, he could see the resemblance to Lucien: the flaming red hair, naturally, but also the shape of their eyes, their lips. The dimples when they smirk. Their eyebrows. While Lucien was a handsome man with some ruggedness to him, Eris was...well he was unbelievably pretty. There was no other way to describe it. And he hated that he found Eris so attractive.

"What do you want?" Azriel hissed, letting loathing simmer in his eyes. Azriel could feel the heat of Eris's mouth against his lips as he replied, "The same thing I've wanted for the past four centuries, shadowsinger. I want my crown."

[porcelainseashore]

Into the Ether (12)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, alcohol, drug references, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death, RE ensemble, VtM concepts.

Author's Note: Smut including blood drinking, and some violence ahead.

Taglist: @admirxation @angelstargel @miss-oranje-disco-dancer @delulusimps ❤️‍🔥

AO3 Link

Chapter 12: This Ready Flesh

His vision was blurry, tunneling in and out as he struggled to focus on the pavement in front of him. The street lights flickered, his retina capturing them in a mesmerizing delay, creating luminous streaks and trails across the sky. It had been ages since Leon had gotten into such a state where he couldn’t walk straight anymore, shambling in a zigzag pattern towards his destination. At least he still knew where he wanted to go — to you. It was all he could think about as he staggered into Café Noir, calling out your name while the other patrons delivered wary side glances.

In his inebriated haze, he stumbled through the crowd until he came across a figure he vaguely recognized. Grabbing the person by the collar, he sputtered, “Patrick, right?”

The young man nodded timidly, trying to back away, though Leon clung onto him firmly. “Where is she?”

He could even smell the strong stench of alcohol on his own breath as he spoke. The vessels he had drunken from earlier must have been completely wasted. He should know, since they had already passed out when he got to them. It was probably pure vodka running through their veins at this rate.

“Sh-she already left an hour ago,” Patrick stammered, cowering slightly in fear.

Jesus Christ, what did this boy ever do to you? Leon sighed. He was scaring people unintentionally, looking all crazed with his bloodshot eyes and disheveled hair. He didn’t even need a mirror to confirm that. What a fucking mess.

Right on cue, he saw the ponytailed redhead come into view, and she looked pissed. Great job, Leon, he berated himself. Now he was gonna get his ass kicked. But he deserved it. He deserved all of it.

“I’ll handle it from here,” she told Patrick calmly, before turning back to Leon with a deadly glare. 

Dragging him by the arm over to a free table in one of the more private corners of the room, she shoved him onto a chair and ordered, “Stop terrorizing the locals.”

“Hi to you too, Redfield,” he mumbled despondently, slumping over with a hiccup before catching himself with his supporting arm.

Claire stabilized him, shaking her head disapprovingly as she sat in the opposite chair. “You’ve gotta be shittin’ me. On a scale of one to ten, how drunk are you right now?”

When he didn’t answer, she scolded, “Not a good look, Kennedy.”

“Yeah? What’s it to you, Claire?” he challenged, though his slurring made the words sound all jumbled together.

“Fuckin’ hell,” she cursed, tapping the side of his cheek rapidly, in a blind effort to get him to come to his senses. Finally, she came to a decision. “Okay, here's the deal. We’ll sit here until you sober up, and then, we’re gonna talk.”

Regardless, that didn’t prevent him from retorting, “Yes ma—”

“Shut it, Leon.”

It was an agonizing wait for the effects of the alcohol to dissipate, and it didn’t help that Claire kept throwing him dirty looks, warning him against trying anything funny. When he could finally string a proper sentence together without making a fool of himself, she spoke up, “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, and it’s your private business, but something tells me I need to step in before this blows up in everyone’s faces.”

“What do you mean?” He caught the underlying warning in her words and sensed there was more than what she was letting on.

Sighing, she knocked back a mouthful of beer before continuing. “Let’s… save that for later,” she negotiated. “What’s gotten into you? Hell, I’ve never seen you like this, ever.”

He pinched his lips together, reluctant to come clean with his emotions. But he knew he had no one else he could talk to like this. It was one thing he appreciated about Claire, even though her backhanded comments often grated on his nerves, she would always be straight with him. She just pretended to be begrudging about it.

“She’s gonna leave me,” he muttered. 

Claire raised an eyebrow, tilting her head to the side. “So… this is how Leon Scott Kennedy, the great knight in shining armor, wins back his ‘one true love’, huh?” She mimicked quotation marks with her fingers in the air, adding salt to the wound. “By getting trashed and moping around?”

In any other circumstance, he would’ve fought back in an instant, exchanging cutting remarks laced with hidden barbed wire. Now, however, he remained passive and compliant, like a doll. “I did something unforgivable,” he finally admitted.

She snorted, propping her legs up on the table. “Yeah, you’ve done a lot of unforgivable things. We all have,” she emphasized. 

Leaning forward, she prodded his chest with her finger accusingly. “You left us without a reason, no goodbye, nothing, and yet, Chris and I are still here, aren’t we?” She paused, taking a moment to recollect herself, and rolled her eyes. “God, that was soppy. Just, er, fuck— rewind and erase that shit, will ya?”

Leon bit his lip, suppressing a laugh. “Sure, whatever you say, Claire.”

“Anyway, your fledgling is beginning to realize and understand that there’s no perfect little world for Kindred like us,” she began.

“Of course, she would run off to you Anarchs of all people,” Leon huffed, clicking his tongue in disdain. “She’s been collecting all sorts of injuries from the gym.”

She sat up straight, folding her arms across her chest in pride. “Thanks to Chris’ training.”

He groaned, burying his head in his hand.

“You have it bad for her—”

“I don’t—” he protested, though she interrupted him in return.

“She talks about you, you know?” At this, he fell silent and she added, “Not in a bad way.”

“What does she say?” he blurted out almost too quickly.

“You’ll have to ask her that yourself,” she replied coyly. “But I don’t think she’s over you yet.”

His heart swelled, though he tried to rein it in to prevent false hope from building up. After all, false hope was worse than having nothing to hope for.

“Just do me a favor, will ya?” she requested. “Don’t try to control her; it never works. Trust me, I know my kind when I see one.”

It was Leon’s turn to scoff, “You wish.” He knew you well. No matter how much of a rebel you were, you were a Toreador through and through.

“Now that I got your attention, we should move on to the serious topic I guess.” She shifted in her seat uncomfortably. “There’s two things, which do you wanna hear first? The bad news or the bad news?”

“Claire…” he warned, his patience growing thin.

She placed her feet back down on the ground, unzipping her jacket to pull out a bunch of photographs from its inner pocket. Handing it over to him, she said, “I hate it whenever you’re right.”

“Get used to it,” he quipped back, shuffling through the pictures he assumed she had acquired from a bunch of surveillance cameras in the area. Then, he came across one that made him stop dead in his tracks.

Lucas. He was talking with someone, a tall figure with their back to the camera, obscured by a long cloak.

“A Sabbat member,” she clarified, pointing at Lucas’ image. “Turns out the suitor has been meeting with him regularly.”

“Shit,” he hissed. “You know this is a literal death sentence for the entire Anarch sect in Raccoon City, right? If Wesker finds out…” his voice trailed off as he witnessed Claire’s eyes watering up and her hands trembling. She knew the implications and she was scared.

“There’s something else though,” she stated, pushing forward despite her uneasiness. 

Fishing out a separate photo from the stack, she held it before Leon. It was a zoomed-in version of the previous photograph. Tracing the outline of another shadowy figure in the background, she mentioned, “You see this here? There’s a third party involved, but we couldn’t make out who they were.”

Tightening his jaw, he promised, “I’ll keep this under wraps for now, but we need a plan, and we need it fast.” And then, he suddenly remembered. “What’s the other bad news?”

This seemed to make her even more unnerved, but she steadied herself and said, “The suitor has started taking an interest in your childe.”

His eyes gleamed lethally, already imagining the multitude of ways he would slice the guy into ribbons. “Who is this suitor?” he seethed, saliva foaming at his fanged teeth as his voice quivered in blistering rage.

She was mute, her eyes darted away from his, and her whole body was shaking. Something was very wrong.

“Claire!” He grasped her hands, both pleading and demanding, “I need to know!”

“The Baron,” she whispered, barely audible above the constant drone of background chatter.

His eyes widened. Like the Camarilla had their Prince, the Anarchs had their Baron. He’d just never expected such a big player to be involved. But then again, why wouldn’t he? Who would be as foolish and powerful enough to risk it all?

“Heisenberg.” The name flew out of his mouth like an omen.

━━━━━━━━━━━

“Come on, you know the drill,” Chris instructed, clapping his hands together to get you to move. “Four sets of jump rope, three minutes each, and for your one-minute breaks in between, push-ups.”

“And don’t forget to use your vitae!” he yelled over once more.

That was just the warm-up. You groaned, stretching out your limbs as you pushed yourself up from the floor to grab the skipping rope disgruntledly.

“Hey, winners never quit and quitters never win,” he advised before setting the timed alarms on his watch.

It took every ounce of effort not to roll your eyes at his clichéd motivational quote. At least you could see the progress you were making relatively quickly. Your feet went through the motions, your muscle memory intact as you began with a basic bounce, working your way into side straddles, hip twists and then alternating single leg jumps. You were light and nimble in your steps, just like you had to be when you got into your fight stance. It was like Mr. Miyagi’s teaching technique with “wax on, wax off.”

A beep sounded. You tossed the rope to the side and dropped into a plank position, channeling your energy through your flattened palms as you performed controlled, repetitive push-ups. Beads of sweat trickled down your forehead, dampening the dusty ground. Your hands and fingernails were caked with dirt.

Another beep, and you sprung up, huffing as you took the rope and continued with high knee jumps. Your heart was pounding against its cage, and you felt like you wanted to die from exhaustion, but you pushed on. At some point, you broke through an invisible wall, and your body accepted the strain, no longer fighting against it. It was then where you had the headspace to think.

The past days you had free were spent mostly with the Anarchs, so much so that you felt more aligned with them than the Camarilla. You wondered if they secretly knew and were spying on you all this while, ready to dole out your punishment when it was time to face the consequences. For some odd reason, you had a hunch that someone had been watching you recently, but every time you tried to suss out the culprit, they had vanished from sight.

Despite favoring Anarch company, the insight you’d gained into their practices made you realize that they still had the same bullshit hierarchies and politics like the Camarilla, just a little flatter and more equal on the surface. It wasn’t perfect, but it seemed like the lesser of two evils to you.

Beep. Guess it was back to push-ups. Your sweat had begun to form a puddle beneath you and it stung your eyes. Halfway there, you told yourself. Not much longer to go. You’d talked to Chris and Claire about Leon, asking them how he was like when he still hung out with them, during the time he was somewhat a part of the sect. They’d told you many stories of his bravery and courage, putting others first before himself, but also how entangled he was in the mysterious deals he had with Ada and the rest of the Camarilla. It seemed as if he had no way out of them. 

“Why?” you’d asked.

“If this is the world he’s been exposed to, how would he know any different until someone or something challenges it?” Claire had proposed.

“His sire, Ada, is a…” Chris paused to consider his words before settling on “transactional woman.” He shrugged. “She probably taught him deals like that are inevitable.”

The same advice as she had tried to impart to you. If someone who was deemed as your superior repeated these teachings again and again, at some point, they could become the truth.

“We’re not excusing Leon for what he’s done,” Claire was quick to correct him. “Just trying to explain it in context.”

Beep. “Speed up!” Chris shouted, and you knew that he wanted you to train your Celerity. Faster than a blink, you took up the rope and completed the routine as swift as lightning. The rest of the sets went by in a blur as you thought about one person only — Leon.

The blue of his eyes, the color of the sea, changing into gold. It reminded you of the Mediterranean, back during one of your travels. The light of the sun glittering on the water’s surface, shifting into the sand dunes of the desert. You felt his presence then; faint, sorrowful and alone, just as he felt yours. A ghostly hand reached out, and you lost your balance, tripping on the rope and landing flat on your face.

“Better luck next time, kid,” Chris grunted, helping you up by your arm, as you wiped away the blood from the graze on your knee.

Leon. You had a sudden urge to speak with him after behaving like strangers since your falling out. As much as you told yourself it was to reconcile and meet Rebecca as a united front, you’d be lying if you insisted there wasn’t something more. Want and longing, like an empty glass discarded in the sink. You’ll talk with him tonight, you determined. However, fate had other plans for you first.

You were shadowboxing in the gym’s ring while Chris barked out directions from the sidelines. At some point, you noticed the expression on his face darken and his body stiffen. He started making his way over to you with an instinctive sense of protectiveness.

An imposing silhouette loomed over you and you stopped abruptly, spinning around to face a tall, robust man with long, unkempt graying hair. He wore a wide-brimmed fedora hat and a beige trench coat over his attire. Round wire-framed glasses covered his eyes but did nothing to hide the bold smile across his face. He scratched at his rugged beard before taking a long drag from his fat cigar.

“Well, well, sugar. How nice of you to visit,” he remarked, puffing out a waft of smoke as he released the cigar from his mouth, planting it between his thumb and index finger.

“Baron,” Chris greeted. He was standing beside you now, tersely grasping your shoulder, suggesting caution.

In his other hand, the man held a metallic cane, rigid and bladed at the sides, its handle adorned with a carved horse figure. The cane clinked every time it touched the ground as he walked towards you, seemingly heavier than it looked. He didn’t lean or rely on it like he had an injury, merely tapping it lightly with each step forward. When you focused closer on the mechanical contraptions, you could tell that it concealed a secondary weapon of sorts.

“Oh, no need for formalities.” He waved his hand dismissively. “We’re all comrades here.”

With a courteous bow, he tipped his hat at you, acknowledging your presence. “Heisenberg,” he proffered, stubbing out the cigar with his boot as he extended his gloved hand to you.

Despite the unsettling atmosphere, you took his hand and shook it firmly like you always do. Might as well fake it until you make it. He raised his eyebrows, grinning at you like a maniac, nodding in appreciation at your dauntlessness.

“So, sugar, how do you like what you see so far?” He raised his hands, rotating in a slow, deliberate circle, as he gestured to the surroundings and the Kindred who’d quietened down since his arrival.

“It’s nice,” you answered flatly, keeping your responses vague and to a minimum until you could better ascertain what he wanted from you.

“I always knew you’d belong to us.” Though with the way he said ‘us’, it sounded more like ‘me’. You caught a glimpse of recognition in Chris’ eye and your suspicions about the man in front of you were confirmed with his next sentence.

“Too bad that Toreador dickhead had to ruin my plans,” he sneered. Clamping his hand on your shoulder dramatically, he continued, “This has been a real party and all, but why don’t you come back to our base? Make yourself at home?”

Heisenberg was the suitor. The one who wanted to use you for his own gain and power. He made your skin crawl.

“Baron—” you saw Chris attempt to plead your case only to be cut off by him.

“Dammit, Chris, I swear to god!” he bellowed, slamming his cane so violently on the ground that you were afraid it would break. Then, in a complete switch, he became almost dainty, whispering with a light flourish, “For the last time… it’s Heisenberg.”

The man was unhinged. You didn’t know who was worse: Wesker or Heisenberg. But you needed to get the fuck out of there.

“Maybe another time,” you proposed, backing away, though that only caused his grip on you to tighten. “I really should get going.”

“Why? What’s the hurry?” he questioned in an odd sing-song before mockingly commenting, “Will your sire be worried?”

“Heisenberg.” The unmistakable voice of the man in question resonated throughout the room, penetrating the dense silence. You heaved a sigh of relief, never having been happier to hear it.

The Baron finally released you, but not without mumbling in your ear, “This isn’t over yet.”

“Oh, Leon!” he greeted in a sickeningly sweet tone. “We were just talking about you! Always the thorn in my side, huh?” He laughed at his own joke, but no one else joined in.

It didn't take long for Leon to catch up to where you were standing, positioning himself between you and Heisenberg. His steely countenance peered down at you briefly before he looked back at the Baron. From behind, you saw Claire slowly walking over to join her brother.

“You heard the lady,” Leon stated. “She wishes to leave.”

At this, there was a fleeting tick in Heisenberg’s cheek, his smile faltering as his lips twitched ever so slightly, betraying his obvious irritation at Leon’s words. Suddenly, there was a loud swish and an electric crack in the air, as the cane he was carrying turned into a whip, which he lashed across the ground. It landed mere centimeters away from Leon’s face, but he didn’t even flinch, staring Heisenberg down with a cold glare.

“Think you’re real tough, don’t you, boy?” Heisenberg spat.

However, Leon remained as calm and elegant as ever. You wondered how many times he’d practiced for this very moment. Motioning to you, he mentioned, “Correct me if I’m wrong, Heisenberg, but my childe here still remains part of the Camarilla.” Turning back to face the Baron, he delivered his final line like an arrow hitting its mark, “And if it comes to it, we will protect our own.”

For a split second, Heisenberg was stumped, but masked it with a ridiculing chuckle. “Is that a threat?” Without waiting for Leon to answer, he offered his hand to you. “Last chance, sugar.”

You ignored it, making your decision to take Leon’s instead, interlacing your fingers with his as you squeezed his palm. He squeezed back and smiled weakly.

“Your funeral,” Heisenberg huffed, disappointment and wounded pride clearly marking his face.

Together, you exited the gym hand-in-hand, narrowly escaping Heisenberg’s wrath unscathed, while numerous pairs of eyes watched you from the sides.

━━━━━━━━━━━

After the chivalrous display Leon had put on in your previous encounter with the Baron, you didn’t expect such a severe scolding from him the minute you stepped into his apartment.

“Wanna tell me what the hell that was back there?” he berated. “You’re being too reckless hanging out so openly with the Anarchs!”

A mixture of hurt and confusion flashed across your face as you shot back, “Yeah? Maybe you should take a good look at yourself in the mirror, Leon, considering that you used to be one of them!”

“Who told you that?” he snapped, backing you into a corner of the room. “Was it Chris—? No, Claire?”

You shoved him off roughly, shouting, “You have no right to judge! What have you been doing this whole time, huh? Fuck all!”

He looked away from you in embarrassment before turning back with a blazing fire in his eyes, his mouth writhing with manic fury. “I’ve been watching you, making sure you were safe, and you think I’ve done nothing?!”

You let out a harsh, hollow laugh in his face. “So, it was you? Stalking me like a fucking creep!”

He ground his teeth, jaw clenching so hard that you could see his muscles straining under the effort. “I don’t want to be ordered by the Prince to destroy you.”

“What did you say?!” you blurted out in bewilderment, grabbing his collar and slamming him into a nearby wall. Visible cracks emerged behind him along the plaster, spreading like spiderwebs. He whimpered in pain, but you continued pressing him in. “Are you threatening me?” you asked, your voice laced with grief and betrayal.

“No, never— I would never do that to you.” It came out like a cracked whisper. “If you step out of line, he will ask me to. But I would much rather be destroyed in your place,” he admitted.

So, was that why he kept trying to ‘control’ you? You were overcome with a sudden onslaught of emotions, and you didn’t know what to trust anymore. 

“Liar!” you screamed, an insurmountable rage surging through your blood as you hurled him against a glass coffee table. It smashed into smithereens, and he struggled to get up as the shards nicked his hands and body. Blood spilled onto the floor like a murder scene.

You bolted over, still overcome with frenzied anger, as you pinned him to the ground, pummeling his face while yelling, “I hate you! I fucking hate your guts! What you did to me, what you did to Sherry! You fucking monster! I wish you were d—”

You paused, realizing what you were about to utter and knowing that deep down that you didn’t mean anything you had just said. But the damage was already done. A pang of guilt seeped into your chest and it convulsed as you choked out uneven sobs. Your hands were trembling and covered in scarlet red, and your breath hitched as you peered at Leon’s bloodied and bruised face. He’d been cut up real bad, his nose was broken and his cheeks were puffed up like a balloon. However, he didn’t fight back, accepting every punch and insult you threw at him, like he deserved it.

“Do it,” he croaked, blood dribbling down the sides of his mouth. It almost seemed as if he wanted you to put him out of his misery.

“No, no, no, I—” You shook your head furiously, staring at your reddened palms and started crying. 

Your head fell forwards onto his chest, weeping into his stark white shirt, now ruined with blood and tears. A hand came to rest on your back, rubbing it reassuringly in circles, while the other carded through your hair. Even though he was the one suffering, he still took upon himself to comfort you.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” you repeated like a prayer, but he hushed you gently.

It was then that you gave in. You’d seen who he was laid bare entirely before you. A monster with his skeletons exposed, and yet, you loved him. You loved him so much your heart would burst.

Holding him close, you moved him away from the broken glass and onto the rug — a new replacement for the one you had bled out on. You touched his face delicately with your fingertips; it was wet and sticky. Why wasn’t he mending himself? You wanted to kiss away his wounds and the pain. He stayed still, eyeing you curiously, waiting to see what you would do. A small gasp fell from his lips as you took your fingers into your mouth, tasting him whole. It was divine, just as you remembered, like figs and honey, and you had the insatiable desire for more.

“I want you, Leon,” you breathed. “Every part of you.”

At this, he drew in, taking your lips with his own urgently. You kissed back, matching it with a similar level of desperation, like both of you were famished. Parting your lips, you allowed his tongue to slip in to caress yours, swirling against it tantalizingly, as blood and saliva dripped from his mouth into yours. You lapped it up ardently, as though you didn’t want to waste a single drop. 

The nuances of his taste became clearer. A hint of leather, oak and spice, and at times, subtle notes of vanilla and whiskey, making you feel as if you were a sommelier. Perhaps these were the flavors he had enjoyed when living. Fire coursed through your veins as you straddled him, pressing your scorching body against his. He groaned at the contact, bucking his hips into yours feverishly.

Both of you continued in the same rhythm, moaning each time his erection rubbed against your pelvis. Giddy and heady from the high, you clawed at his shirt, clumsily tearing through the fabric and sending its buttons flying across the room. He responded in kind, ripping open the clothes you’d been wearing, unable to wait any longer.

His heated gaze dragged along your naked body, admiring it in reverence, as if you were a goddess that he worshiped the very ground you stood on. Planting wet, open-mouthed kisses from your neck to your breast, he murmured, “I need you, angel.” His hot breath fanning against your skin, causing you to shudder in delight. “Please, let me taste you.”

“Anything you want,” you rasped, tangling your hands in his hair. “I’m all yours.”

A low, guttural growl rumbled from his chest, so unlike him that you wondered if you had awakened the sleeping Beast with your words. He took his time, cupping your breasts in his hands as his tongue flicked over one nipple and then the other. Latching onto it with his mouth, he suckled it, increasing the pressure as you twitched in response. You surrendered yourself entirely to him, allowing him to do as he pleased with your body.

He held your gaze as you watched his teeth sink in, puncturing the soft flesh of your breast. The sharp, prickly sting turned into that euphoric thrill you’d subconsciously craved for ever since the first time he’d tasted you. He drank from you a little before leaving the site, grazing your skin with his searing lips they traveled downwards. The first mark was left open and bleeding, just like the rest of the marks he would make. It was his way of showing the world that he had claimed you. You would let him devour you if you could.

His mouth paused at the side of your ribs and he made his second mark, the sensitivity of the spot causing your body to jerk suddenly, but he grasped the fat of your hips, holding you down as you whined. Blood flowed from the wound as if you’d been pierced in the side by a lance, and yet you begged, “More, please, more…”

The final mark he made on you in this round came when he reached your pussy, aching and sore for his touch. He licked your clit eagerly, sealing his lips around it as his fingers brushed against your folds, teasing the entrance before slipping in easily. Moans spewed out from your mouth as he continued sucking hard on your clit and curling his fingers against your spongy walls. At some point, he replaced them with his tongue, dipping and thrusting hungrily into your slit. His fingers glistened with your arousal all the way up to his knuckles, and you brought them into your mouth, soaking in the intoxicating aroma of sweat, lust and love. He hummed, taking the opportunity to bite into your mound, filling himself up with more of your essence as you threw your head back and gasped his name.

Coming up for breath, he peered at you beneath him. The carmine traces coating his lips like red-stained roses, and the scent and taste of your blood lingered in his very soul. He’d seen three separate memories of you with every mark, each more personal than the last, but no less beautiful. You looked truly holy like this, with your blissed out face and blown out eyes, your lips flushed and swollen. A moist sheen covered your body and your breasts quivered from your ragged breathing. He loved how he could do this to you. If he could, he would crown you as his sweet Mary, Isis, Ishtar, or any other form the saint and deity came in, bathing you in swathes of Marian blue and gold, and laying jewels at your feet. As the sanguine fluid trickled down your cunt like a virgin’s first time, he realized that for once, you were his, and solely his.

His wounds healed up in the process, good as new again, but you reached out, teary-eyed, cradling his face in your hands as you pressed your foreheads together. You never wanted to hurt him, and he never wanted to hurt you either. However, the pain still remained, like heavy stones crushing against your chest. He had already forgiven you, kissing you tenderly and stroking your cheek until you pulled away abruptly.

“Fuck me,” you sighed, like a thin wisp of smoke drifting into his waiting mouth. “Fuck me right here on the floor.”

The same floor where your life had drained away into the ether, the same floor where he had made that fateful decision to Embrace you, and the same floor where both of you had envisioned this very moment before it even happened. You needed him to fuck you rough and fast, just so you could forget and engrave this memory in your heart simultaneously. 

He heard it in your voice and understood, obliging as he peeled off the rest of his clothes, pushing you forward onto the ground, so that your front lay flat against its laminated surface. You felt him guide the tip of his cock against your pussy, smearing precum along your folds before burying himself to the hilt. He didn’t hesitate or hold back, pounding into you vigorously from behind without giving you the chance to adjust to his size. You mewled in agonizing pleasure as he grasped your ass, spreading it apart so he could penetrate deeper. Your skin rubbed raw against the hard floor, bones bruising against wood as you scratched scars into its layers.

With every sharp thrust your body jolted forwards, his balls slapping against your skin as he gritted out, “Fuck, angel, you just take it so well.”

“How much have you wanted me like this?” you asked impulsively, your voice strained as you rutted back into him in sync with his unrelenting pace, feeling the head of his cock hitting your cervix.

His dick throbbed at your question. A hand came up and pushed your head down, squishing your face into the floor. “God, I— think about bending you over and making you scream—” he panted. His tone turned feral and inhuman like you’d never heard before as he slammed his hips against your ass to punctuate each word, “Every. Fucking. Night.”

Screams tore from your throat until your voice became hoarse, and scalding tears gathered at your waterline before splashing onto the ground. Yet, something savage and animalistic, akin to what he had shown earlier, emerged from the depths of your chest. “Leon, please,” you keened. “Fuck me harder.”

Wrapping his arm around your neck, he leaned forward, placing his full body on top of you so that his chest was pressed flush against your back. Rocking his hips into yours, he fucked you so deep that you felt him in your ribcage. Instinctively, you plunged your fangs into his arm, breaking skin, as he hissed a string of curses before doing the same, clamping down on your neck. You drank from each other, consuming and mixing vitae as he continued pistoning into your cunt. Veins protruded from your neck and your eyes turned bloodshot, rolling back into your head. The excruciating euphoria you’d experienced from your Embrace returned, flooding your senses, and the visions began.

You saw the human life he’d led: a first and last date at the drive-in cinema where he’d fumbled with a cute girl, the all-nighters he’d pulled cramming for exams, his glasses sliding down the slope of his nose as he nodded off to sleep. Then came glimpses of his life and unlife with Ada: how they’d fallen in and out of love, the way he’d been brought to his highest highs and reduced to his lowest lows. You felt for him in those moments, wanting nothing more than for his happiness to shine through, even at the expense of your own. 

The images blended together like a watercolor painting, and you smelled the sand and sea. Two figures skinny-dipping, copulating by the waters, and again in the middle of a sandstorm. Your bodies melded into one and you were drawn back into your sweet release, both of you crying each other’s name on your lips. His hips stuttered, stuffing spurts of his cum into your cunt, the excess leaking between your thighs.

You stayed like this for an eternity before he pulled out, turning you around to face him as you lay side by side. He nuzzled your neck, kissing you affectionately. Blood caked your faces and streamed down your bodies.

“Messy drinker,” he chided softly, though his eyes were loving and warm. He licked all around your mouth, cleaning up the vermilion stains.

“I learned from the best,” you retorted, smirking as you caressed his jawline.

He scoffed, kissing your temple as he nestled you into his arms — a perfect fit. “You know I’m never letting you go after this?”

“Didn’t plan on leaving anyway,” you murmured into his chest, feeling his smile widen against your cheek.

I love you. He didn’t need to hear your confession to know that you meant every single word.

[bloop-bl00p]

Alastor could have been Native American

Before anyone screams racism, removal of representation, or whatever I redirect you to my post about the Voodoo representation of the show.

→ HERE ←

First thing first, Alastor is not a Wendigo but his cannibalism aspect led to fans believing the contrary, a belief that was pushed further with him being a deer. Wendigoes aren’t related to deer at all, they mostly look like men who are visibly starved and all. The deer thing came from pop culture.

Now you’re gonna ask..

“You’re all for representing properly religion and culture why would you want him to be American Indian if he’s not a proper wendigo?”

He could be a skinwalker with small elements of wendigo.

Here’s a small rewrite

It’s not related to Hell’s Safe Haven, I’ll be doing something different, feel free to take the idea for your oc if you want. But remember, Always do research :)

Why a skinwalker? They are shamans who started as healers but broke taboos from the culture which involve using their ability for harm and curses. If you’re smart then you should see where I’m going with this.

Rather than being an “evil voodoo man” Alastor could have been a shaman who transgressed important rules and became a skinwalker, one of these taboos is murdering a close relative to align with darker powers which pretty much fits for Alastor. Obliviously, you don’t villainize the whole culture, you can still show that shamanism, when not perverted by skinwalkers, can do good. Alastor’s mother could have also been a shaman and went to Heaven.

He could still have been a serial killer, stalking and learning the routine of his victims before killing them. Then he could have died in the snow because hunters noticed his activities in the forest, thanks to their dogs smelling the putrid flesh of the bodies he was carrying around, and then he got shot. Or you can have it that he managed to escape but got lost and had to eat part of the corpse he managed to get with him, but he also had to use their skin to not try and protect himself from the cold in vain partially linking him to Wendigoes.

In Hell, he could have looked like a starved disturbing-looking deer, starved because of wendigos and deer because that’s the animals he favored the most to lure people. In terms of powers, he could have the ability to reproduce people's voices through electronics mainly using radios to do so. A cool detail could be that these voices sound slightly disturbing and fake.

He completely took a more charming and refined aesthetic once in Hell to appeal to and manipulate others more easily. Skinwalkers are described as carrying bones I guess that could help for a possible redesign. Since his appearance is quite scary he could wear a hat to hide his face.

The actual critic

This is really a surface-level thing, it's a first draft based on Wikipedia, but you can’t say that it’s not remotely much more cohesive than whatever Viv is doing with Alastor.

This is something that absolutely frustrates me with the Hellaverse, Viv has very surface-level concepts, and she doesn't do enough research to bring them to their potential. It happens with Voodoo, the Goetia, the Seven Deadly Sins, and the whole pantheon of biblical figures.

What she does is she takes these cool ideas and slaps them onto her oc without much thought.

Take an example with Andrealphus, he teaches math and geometry so one of my first thought is to give me space manipulation. This means he can basically change your location in an enclosed space, turn an entire room around, and twist it to his liking. With his knowledge of maths and geometry, he knows what to do specifically to make you land exactly where he wants which makes him extremely hard to fight inside a house, especially if it’s a big place.

He could also completely reshape the laws of geometry and physics, how funny would it be to see that he lives in a small house, not taking much place but then you go outside and discover it’s basically a whole castle? It’s generic but it makes sense and makes places for lots of interesting scenes for fights or just aesthetics.

Vivziepop chose to give him ice power, for some reason. I mean math isn’t really an attractive notion in terms of supernatural abilities but you can still do something interesting with it. Unless his castle is a geometrical wet dream, I don’t see a possible link between the two. It’s a matter of creativity and the willingness to do research to cultivate it, she doesn't have that.

If you just slap very specific labels (like voodoos) on a character without thinking about how it could work for them and affect the world around them (if voodoo works then the Lwas exists), then not only you are not doing your “job” as a writer but you are just doing it for the aesthetic. It’s not wrong to do if it’s mundane things like saying that one character knows how to speak Latin, but in some cases, you gonna have to be careful about what you write in your stories.

[msmk11]

I saw that you wanted some tangerine requests. I'd say I'm pretty good at requesting those🤓☝️.

OK, so I really like this concept.

Tangerine and reader have met before. Maybe it was at a gala. Maybe it was on a mission, I'm just gonna leave that open to you. But the point is, they have had multiple meetings before. Maybe they flirted on the mission or maybe they just got into a fight, again leaving that for you.

Basically, Lemon Tangerine and Reader have all been assigned to do a mission. And before that mission happens, they're planning at a dinner ( They don't really have the worry about blowing their cover because the diners kind of like in assassin's diner where assassins can meet up)

And a scene like this happens (ripping off of pulp fiction) And instead of talking about the pilot, he brings up her career as an assassin.

https://youtu.be/O3tGImqhrMo?si=1FVe6VFQSvZC7UfR

They flirt, they plan, Lemon feels awkward

And they both leave thinking about each other. I love this concept so much!!!!

Sorry for any grammar mistakes

I’m Sorry, Thank You, I’ll Always Protect You

Tangerine x fem!reader

WC: 3.5k

CW: lots of cursing, mention of weapons and blood, mentions of food, mention of alcohol, smoking (just cigarettes), mentions of death/fighting (it’s a Tan fic for goodness sake)

Author’s Note: Thanks for requesting lovely! Hope you enjoy! (This fic is also proof that I can’t write briefly for the life of me.) (also, side note, for the sake of the fic, your codename is viper)

The charming classical music playing softly in the background hardly matches your agitated mood. Your handler had just given you a new mission. One that, to your dismay, was not a one-man job, but rather, required you to work with partners. You always preferred to work alone because having a partner could get messy fast. Whether it was because they were too gutsy, not gutsy enough, or they were a cocky, arrogant asshole, you’d been thrust into one too many less-than-desirable situations because of the interference of a partner. Therefore, going into this mission, you are, rightfully, hesitant, and you pray that you haven’t been partnered with a total fucking idiot.

You anxiously check your watch for the umpteenth time, drumming your fingers on the dark, wooden table. Your new partners are not late, yet, but the dread pooling in your stomach makes you anxious to get this meeting over with as soon as possible.

“Viper?” A deep, heavily British voice declares.

“That’s me,” you say, looking up. And then your voice dies in your throat.

“Oh, bloody fucking hell,” the man in front of you curses.

It’s him. That arrogant bastard you’ve had the unfortunate luck of working with before. His twin is here too, of course, and you’re thankful for the slightly more pleasant company.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite twins, Peanut Butter and Jelly,” you drawl.

Peanut Butter and Jelly- your own personal nicknames for the twins. Ones that, to your delight, really pissed off the brunette.

“Told you not to fucking call us that,” the mustached man grumbles, sliding into the booth across from you.

His brother follows after him, and you notice the smirk he is trying to hide, “You’re just mad that you’ve been dubbed Jelly.”

“Yeah, ‘cos everyone bloody knows that peanut butter is the better part of the fucking sandwich. And I’m the better twin, obviously, so I should be peanut butter” he growls.

“The masses would disagree, Jelly, you fucking prick,” you retort.

His jaw tenses and you can’t help but revel in the feeling of getting him all worked up.

“Well aren’t you still a fucking daisy,” he replies.

“And as charming as always,” his brother adds, winking.

“Always a pleasure to see you PB. Though I suppose I can’t call you that on the job. What’ll your code name be this time?”

“I’m Lemon,” he responds, “and my brother here is going by Tangerine.”

You snort, “like the fucking fruits?”

Tangerine glares at you, “Yes, like the fucking fruits. What’s so funny about it?”

You hum and sigh dramatically, “I don’t know, Tan, it just seems a little silly, don’t you think? I mean, I can see Lemon being intimidating, because you never know what you’re gonna get with one. But Tangerine sounds pathetic, really. It’s the snack of grubby-handed children.”

You’re pretty sure his mustache twitches, and his hands certainly close into fists, “It’s sophisticated, yeah? Classic. No one likes fucking lemons.”

You feign mock offense, “I do. I like lemons a lot, actually. Tangerines, not so much.”

“Well sorry if I don’t really value your fucking opinion,” he spits out.

“I like lemons too, mate,” Lemon tells him.

“Well fuck me then.”

In your most teasing, seductive voice you reply, “Later baby, we have work to do first.”

Tangerine chokes on his spit and you hide your smirk as you pick up the menu.

Lemon coughs uncomfortably as he follows suit, “so what’ll it be tonight? We’re paying.”

“Like fucking hell we’re paying for her,” Tangerine protests.

Though you can’t see it, the grimace that flickers across the brunette’s face tells you that Lemon has kicked him in the shin, “Be fucking polite will ya, brotha’? Can’t go around dressed like that and then not pay for people.”

Lemon isn’t wrong. Every time you’ve seen Tangerine, he’s been dressed to the nines, fitted in the finest of suits and decked out in gold bling. It’s a wonder to you that he ever dresses nicely at all, considering all the blood that ends up on him by the end of a mission.

The brother with frosted tips, you think, has always had more swagger and appropriate mission-clothing. He is usually dressed more casually in a jean jacket and semi-formal shirt. Tonight, it’s a blue button-up with a Thomas the Tank Engine tie.

Before Tangerine can make some nasty reply, the waitress appears at the table asking if you’re ready to order. It’s a sight to behold, watching the cocky douche switch from his true, unpleasant self to a polite British gentleman.

“Yes, darling. I’ll take the steak, medium rare, and a whiskey f’me, please.”

You’re not surprised he orders a fucking steak, and, for some reason, it really pisses you off. While Lemon orders a burger and fries, you scan the menu looking to order whatever will tick him off the most.

“And what’ll it be for you, ma’am,” she says to you.

“I’ll have the most expensive thing on the menu, please,” you tell her sweetly. And then, you motion to your counterpart, “Tangerine here is paying tonight, and said to treat myself. Quite the doll, isn’t he?”

Tangerine masks his grimace with a charming smile, one that makes the waitress blush a little.

“Only the best for you, love” he says through gritted teeth.

You ignore the way your heart flutters the teeniest bit at the nickname.

When the waitress walks away with your menus, the brunette merely glares at you.

You only give him a sickeningly sweet smile, “Thank you, Tan. You’re awfully generous.”

He inhales sharply, trying to stay calm.

“If ya didn’t have such a pretty face, I think I’d punch ya right now. Lucky for you, darling.”

“Lucky for you too, I guess. Wouldn’t want my blood to ruin your shiny, new bling,” you retort, judgmental eyes trailing down to his adorned fingers.

“Right well,” Lemon interrupts, “can we get down to business? Please. You two’s bickering is making my hair whiter than it already is.”

Tangerine bites his tongue and nods while you just smirk.

Lemon turns to you, “Viper, I’m sure you got the briefing?”

You nod.

“I can tell this job is gonna be a lot more fucking difficult than our last one. We gotta save one person from a whole ass gang. It’s gonna be bloody.”

You lean back casually in your seat and cross your arms, “Won’t be a problem for me, Lemon. These sorts of jobs are my speciality.”

You dig through your bag beside you and pull out a pack of cigarettes. You put one to your lips and then curse, “Bollocks, forgot my lighter. Either of you happen to have one on you?”

Lemon shakes his head, “Nah, don’t smoke. Already put my life at risk everyday for my job. Not about to tease fate with those killers.”

The cigarette hangs loosely between your lips and you smile lazily at him, “to each their own, I guess. Tangerine?”

He shrugs nonchalantly and smirks, “Might, if you give me a cig.”

You roll your eyes at him and sigh. You pull out another cigarette and give it to him. He pops it in his mouth and then pulls out a silver lighter from his suit pocket. He flicks it on with one try and holds the lighter to the tip. It lights and smoke pours out. You watch the way his pink lips blow out a ring of smoke, and it’s for much longer than you’d ever admit. He takes another long, slow drag and you know that he’s testing your patience. As much as you want to nag him to hurry up, you don’t, knowing that if you did, he’d only purposely take longer. Finally, he holds out the lighter towards you. You go to take it from him and he swiftly pulls it back.

“Like fucking hell you’ll take this, love. This here is my nicest lighter, and I’m not going to let you fucking break it.”

You huff, “Fine, fine. Do whatever the hell you want.” And under your breath you mutter, “Asshat.”

You lean across the table, cigarette between your lips, and he reaches out to light it. The tiny flame pops up, and his hand gets so close to your mouth that if you moved forward just a little bit, your lips would connect with his skin. It isn’t an unpleasant thought, and that’s what disturbs you the most. Once it’s lit, you quickly pull away and take a long drag. You close your eyes and let the smoke work its way into your lungs, calming you.

“So for the mission,” you sigh, taking another inhale of smoke, “I think one of you two needs to be in charge of getting the hostage, so I can help take out the mob.”

“Yeah bloody right,” Tangerine argues, “Lemon and I are a team. You’re not fucking spliting us up.”

You lean forward and narrow your eyes at him, “For the sake of this mission, we’re a team. And if you have a fucking problem with that, Tangerine, I’m going to have a fucking problem with you.”

Tangerine is about to spit something else at you when Lemon interferes.

“That’s enough bickering from you two. We all have to work together, whether you like it or not. So you two best sort yourselves out now, because I swear to god, if I die ‘cos you two can’t get your shit together, I’m going to come back and kill you both.”

You turn and look at Lemon seriously, “Last I recall, I was the one that almost fucking died last time because of your shithead brother.”

(flashback)

Though it had been nearly three years since your last mission together, you could remember that night clear as day. It’d been a double-profit job- you three were assigned to attend a charity gala and steal a diamond necklace being auctioned off while also partaking in a little shill bidding to hike up the price of the necklace. A heist/scam job, in your opinion, was an easy cash-grab in comparison to your usual missions as an assassin. Tangerine and Lemon had thought so too. The plan had been simple: you and Tangerine would appear at the auction as a wealthy couple interested in buying the necklace, and drive the bidding price way up. The highest bidder would pay a hell of a lot more than the necklace was worth, and that chunk of money would go straight into the pockets of your employer.

Lemon, on the other hand, had gotten hired to be a part of the auction staff, which gave him the chance to switch out the diamonds for a fake.

You’d shown up that night in a sleek, midnight blue dress that hugged your curves and shimmered slightly like the night sky. Tangerine had worn a suit that matched in color, though it was adorned with white stripes. He’d looked really bloody good that evening and you’d hated him for it. It’d left you feeling just a little flustered and distracted- a dangerous mindset to be in on a job. The early half of the night should’ve been easy. All you’d had to do was lay on the charm thick with the wealthy folks and spread the word that the shiny, new couple was interested in the diamond necklace. Greedy as that lot was, you and Tangerine had known that you two’s feigned interest in the necklace would get it a lot of bidders.

As it turned out, the job hadn’t been so easy, not because the objective had been hard, but because Tangerine’s hands had been all over you all night. Deep down, you’d known it was all part of the appearance you were putting on, but after a while, his touching had started to get to you. The horny part of you had been delighted to have his big, calloused hands on your back and bare shoulders. But the other, more serious side of you had been uncomfortable with his touch. As a woman in the field, you’d rarely been taken seriously and were often only seen as a piece of meat. In that moment you had begun to feel the same. It’d felt like Tangerine was showing you off saying, “look how sexy and wonderful my (fake) wife is”. And as the night had progressed, those two conflicting emotions had come crashing together, leaving you angry and overwhelmed.

The auction had set off without a hitch, and the two of you had braced yourself when the diamond necklace was brought out. Once the bidding war had started, all eyes were on you two, and Tangerine’s hand had casually made its way to your thigh. That, for some reason, had been your breaking point, and you’d hissed under your breath, “Get your hand off my fucking thigh, now.”

Tangerine had only been half paying attention, too focused on the bidding going on, and so he’d only mumbled, “quiet, darling.”

That had really pissed you off and you’d begun to curse at him under your breath. You’d gone to force his hand off your thigh, and that’s when shit had hit the fan. You’d looked down for one second, and then you were on the floor, Tangerine on top of you. There’s been shouts and screams and the loud bangs of gunshots. Bewildered, you’d tried to sit up, but had instantly hissed in pain. Everything had happened so fast, you hadn't noticed the bullet that had grazed your side. The one that, you would later learn, had been aimed right at your chest until Tangerine saved you. It seemed your mission had been leaked, and people had been sent to take you three out. Though you’d only been grazed, your counterpart had forced you to stay in hiding while he’d run off to take care of the last of the men.

When the job had been finished, Tangerine had hauled you up and out to the side of the building where Lemon had been waiting with the car. It was only when you’d driven a few miles away that the shock had finally settled and was replaced with fear, anger, shame, and embarrassment. And instead of dealing with your emotions healthily, you’d lashed out at Tangerine. You and him had gotten into a screaming match- you’d blamed him for invading your space and treating you like a wounded animal and he’d called you negligent and over-emotional. The night hadn’t ended in any reconciliation, and he’d been a thorn in your side ever since.

It seemed like he always popped up at the most inconvenient times, often messing with your missions or just plain pissing you off.

Those past three years of tension culminated into your hatred for him today, and the fact that he’d somehow gotten more handsome since the last time you’d seen him didn’t help either.

(Back to present)

“Oh bloody ‘ell, here we go again,” Lemon curses.

But then, the unexpected happened.

You’re tense, biting words already at the tip of your tongue, ready to argue whatever point Tangerine makes.

Instead, he quietly says, “I wasn’t ever gonna let you die, love.”

Your heart literally stops beating in your chest for a moment, and you swear that his gaze softens a little.

“I was aware of our surroundings the whole time, and also knew you were off your game that night. Your death was never an option. I wasn’t going to allow it.”

You begin to butt in, trying to defend why you were off your game

Tangerine only interrupts you, “And you don’t need to explain to me or anyone why you were off your game. You just gotta trust that we also know what we’re doing. And you gotta trust that I- we- got your back. It’s also why I think you should be in charge of the hostage. It’s safest if Lemon and I work together to protect you while you go for ‘em. Anyhow, you yourself have said that ya work best alone .”

He turns to you and Lemon with a slightly vulnerable look on his face, “No one’s dying on this mission, I swear by it.”

If Tangerine couldn’t already tell that you and Lemon are slightly shocked by his emotional outburst, the silence that follows certainly does. You hold Tangerine’s gaze, his blue eyes piercing into yours, and a series of words seem to be exchanged:

I’m sorry.

No, I'm sorry.

Thank you.

I’ll always protect you.

In your peripheral you see Lemon shift uncomfortably in his seat and you cough, finally breaking eye contact with Tangerine and taking another drag of your cigarette.

Tangerine inhales deeply through his nose and takes a drag too.

Then he says, “Although I know you could take those men out quickly, Viper, I think we’ll work better as a team if Lemon and I can simultaneously take the guards out while you move ahead. We basically have twin telepathy and work like a well-oiled machine. Plus, you can most easily hold your own if you run into anyone on your way to the hostage.”

You wave him off, “No need to flatter me, Tangerine. You two could hold your own just as well.”

“Not from what I’ve heard,” he tells you, “Everyone’s been talking about your job in Peru.”

“Ah my moment of glory,” you say with a smirk and a roll of your eyes, “pretty sure I peaked then.”

Tangerine smiles at you a little, an actual, genuine smile, “What was it actually like, that mission? People tend to always fucking throw things out of proportion.”

“It was a solo mission where I was just supposed to take out the CEO of my client’s rival company and her guards. But it ended up being an ambush. It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle, of course, but Christ, it was bloody.”

“And how’d you do it all by yourself?”

“With a knife and a gun. See, im pretty good with knives. Can throw ‘em, stab, slice, the likes. I even tried something new with a knife on that mission, out of necessity.”

He cocks an eyebrow at you impatiently as he blows out another puff of smoke, “What was it?”

“Nah, too gory,” you say calmly, taking another drag of your cig.

“Love, I’m a fucking assassin too, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Using a knife, it’s different from a gun, Tangerine. It’s a lot more cruel and I’d rather not tell it to you,” you reply somewhat shyly.

“A hundred other people already know though,” he counters, “and it might change what I think of you.”

You pause, thinking over your next words carefully, “that’s what I’m afraid of. I know we’re in a nasty business, but I’d rather not have my partners think I’m a monster.”

Tangerine puts his cigarette out on the windowsill and looks at you softly, “that’s not what I meant and you know it. It’d only make me respect you more, not less.”

And then, he adds, with a teasing smirk, “not that I could respect you any less than I already do.”

You roll your eyes and suppress a giggle. A fucking giggle.

“Well I’d rather not risk it. And anyways, there’s too much pressure, now that I’ve built it all up.”

“Fucking tease,” he whispers playfully, and kicks your leg lightly under the table.

You hide your blush under the guise of looking down to put out your cigarette. When you look up, you catch Tangerine’s gaze again, and the tension is palpable.

When the waitress suddenly arrives with the food, Lemon vocalizes exactly what you’re thinking, “oh thank god. Jesus Christ.”

You dig-in to whatever the fuck you ordered, using it as a distraction from Tangerine.

*****

The rest of the dinner is quiet and, as promised, Tangerine pays. Lemon leads the way out, and you’re acutely aware of every movement of your body as Tangerine walks behind you. When you get to the door, he grabs it from Lemon before you can, and he’s so close to you his cologne makes you woozy.

When you make it out to the parking lot, Tangerine sends Lemon off to find the car while he escorts you to yours. Though you unlock your car, he opens the door for you. As you get settled, he leans against the roof, and it makes his muscles bulge deliciously.

“You be safe tonight, Viper, and I’ll see you in a few days.”

You nod, “goodnight, Jelly, don’t miss me too much.”

He winks at you, “I won’t, cos I’ll see you in my dreams tonight.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, but internally your stomach does flips.

Tangerine watches as you pull away, a sort of ache in his chest. Lemon pulls up in the car and he gets in, still thinking about you. Before he has a moment to process anything, Lemon smacks him upside the head.

“Ow, fucking shit,” he curses, “what the bloody hell was that for?”

“For being fucking whipped for The Viper, you dumb shit.”

[sevenop]

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: I've been havin' dreams

A/n: I've been stuck in this goddamn dream for like a month now, and you're bordering between the concept of God's blessing and sin's curse. I cling to your scarlet satin shirt like it's my last and only salvation, nearly ripping it off you, and you don't even mind.

Written on Billie's point of view, I'm just interested in experimenting with the presentation of the text.

"'BITTERSUITE'? Well, it sounds delicious just from the name alone," you purr in my ear, and I nearly jump two feet up in my chair in surprise, scattering all the thoughts and melodies going around in my head to dust. Shit.

Your short laugh, the palm of your hand that gently outlines my shoulder - that's all you are. And it's impossible to take offense at you, because you immediately draw a sincere "I'm sorry" in the air with just one lips, sitting down on the table, and I know you didn't do it on purpose, it just happened. A brief glance at you instantly turns into an uncompromising infinity.

"Finneas told me to tear you away from the monitor, and I fully support it." - You're slipping your leg over your foot, which in those straight-cut black pants is a total crime against my peace. - "You've both already done an incredible amount today, and it's barely lunchtime."

Nod silently in response, but my eyes only go higher. Past the supposedly aged eco-leather belt, I meet the expensive sheen of scarlet satin. The slightly carelessly arranged collar and neckline hiding the glitter of the pendant and, more importantly, your tantalizing collarbones.

"What, you like it that much, Eilish?" - the smirk on your face puts an intimate stroke on my heart, and I realize I've been staring at you too openly, for too long.

"Sometimes I wish I could erase all my pictures from the covers and put you in there, my girl," I cling to my desk with my hand (but wish I could cling to your damn collarbones) to pull myself up and move closer along with the office chair.

"Don't talk me into it, honey. Get away from the monitor and give yourself a well-deserved rest."

"Already ripped off, thanks for your presence," - the chair is a thing of the past, with the new tactic coming in. I come as close to you as possible, hands resting on either side of you. Behind you is a plethora of music equipment, in front of you is me. You're trapped, Y/n. - "And do you really think my compliments aren't sincere?"

The corner of your lips twitch as the smirk that was cheekily painted on your beautiful face is replaced by an embarrassed smile, and you look away. My hand touches your chin, bringing eye contact back. Be brave to the end, girl. Not like me.

"You can be expected to do anything when it comes to music."

"Only music?" - my fingers feel a pleasant coolness touching the collar of your shirt. A smile appears on face. It's invariable when you're around.

"Okay, me too," you chuckle warmly. You watch my movements with undisguised interest as I remove a few rings from my fingers.

"And yet what is the reason? Suddenly, the Met Gala was announced, and neither I nor my managers are aware?".

"Shut up!" - You cluck funny and ruffle my hair, wanting to hide the growing embarrassment. - "Your mom asked me to help her with a deal regarding a charity stock package."

"'Support And Feed'?" - I methodically slip my rings onto your fingers, one by one. The finishing touch is to intertwine our fingers into a lock, creating perfect symmetry.

"Absolutely right." - You bring our interlocked hands to your lips, showering them with short kisses. So trembling. - "И... Thanks for the compliments, really."

"Will you kiss me for this?" - I raise an eyebrow, catching the sparkle in your eyes.

And you kiss. Just because we both want it, other reasons are crumpled sheets of paper, something empty and unnecessary. Nibbling on your lower lip, pulling it back a little, pressing you closer to me when the only obstacle is only our clothes - this is my ambrosia. You throw your arms around my neck, burning yourself against the cold of the massive silver chain even through the thin satin, and I just grab your hips, tearing a ragged exhale from your hot lips. A pathetic plea for more in front of the eyes of affairs and circumstances.

"I have to go, Eilish..."

"Do you know I'm always crazy short of you?" - I take a moment to leave the hot touch of my lips on your neck. A new hitched exhale. The knot below your stomach slowly tightens, fiering.

"I know." - You hug me so tightly, completely disarming me with a feeling of all-consuming comfort. - "Still, try not to stay up too, okay? I'll be back late."

You disappeared out the door of my home studio half an hour ago, and I can still see the air trembling between us before you say it and I steal another hungry kiss. I lean back tiredly in my chair and shield my eyes from the blue light of the monitor while my fingers touch the keys of the midi keyboard in a half-sleep and your lips form an eloquent "love you" over and over again. Do you love my fears, too?

×××

The huge tiered chandelier was blinding, and the staircase in front of me twisted into a labyrinth with an incalculable number of ebony steps and equally incalculable meters of carpeting. Everything is as it should be: fabulously expensive carpeting, wood paneled walls, complete with ornate bas-reliefs, and as if that weren't enough - stained glass gilded lamps on the walls. The white light is irritating to the point of grinding teeth, and even if you try to cover your eyes - everything is absolutely useless.

I don't even try to get up from my knees, knowing that any effort will come to nothing. Something presses me so hard to the ground that there is no point in resisting: hundreds of attempts have yielded no result, so why resist, knowing the outcome? The only thing that gives an imaginary feeling of freedom is the feeling of baggy clothes on the body. Sneakers, long-sleeved shirt, pants, all white. And that only adds fuel to the furnace of irritation. The helplessness and the maddening whiteness. And your figure staring down at me, unreachably perched on the steps.

I've been stuck in this goddamn dream for like a month now, and you're bordering between the concept of God's blessing and sin's curse. Everything is unchanging, chiseled with detail in my memory, but not today. Your perpetually naked silhouette, taut as a string in a Stradivarius violin, today is swathed in the red satin of a weightless shirt and raven wing pants. My gaze clings to the silver glint playing on your devilish fingers: not magic, but my rings.

If things aren't the same today, will you be my long-awaited salvation?

"Open up the door for me." - mechanically and without a second thought. I know what I'm going to say, I know what you want to hear. I am but a defenseless lamb before you, a bowed-down bigot.

"Why should I?" - the flames of madness dance in your eyes. Your ringed hand touches the cold, spotless lacquered railing.

"'Cause I'm still on my knees, I'm stayin' off my feet."

And you descended lower, shaking the ghostly silence of the foyer with the stern sound of the heels of your shoes. Step by step, step by step. You keep your eyes on me, but I'm not lagging behind, looking at you as if I'm going to take you into my storm, the blue shards of my exhausted eyes. The closer you get, the higher I have to lift my head, just until you grab my chin imperiously. I catch a reflection of myself in your eyes: blue shards sharper than ever, ready to surrender to you at any moment, just say the word. I see the way you want me, I wanna be the one.

"Just want you to touch me..."

"Anything else?" - you snap your fingers and my throat immediately begins to tear with pain. You're depriving me of oxygen, it'll be over soon. The rings on your hand still glow hungrily. My rings.

"I've been overseas." - Like someone dragging a rusty chain across the floor, a wheeze cutting through my hearing, pushing the words out on the last volume of oxygen. - "I don't need to breathe when you look at me, all I see is green."

"So tell me for real." - Something you've never said before.

Click! And you disappear, a hazy haze dissipating into the air. I clutch at my throat, as if that will help me hold on to the last bits of oxygen. My eyes blur and pure panic runs through my veins.

"Billie!"

The foyer becomes a huge mosaic, disintegrating into a network of many cracks. Concrete crumbs are falling from the ceiling, and the gigantic chandelier is shaking to an outrage, wanting to fly down, glass fragments spread across the floor.

"Billie!"

And I finally take my first loud breath.

×××

I jerk out of bed, clutching at your scarlet satin shirt like it's my last and only salvation, almost tearing it off you, and you don't even mind. You wrap your arms around me like a lost child, stroking my head, whispering something, and I can't focus. I can't piece together the stained glass of my dreams and reality, so I just tearfully snuggle into your chest, seeking refuge like you're Noah's Ark.

"Shh, I'm right here, Billie, it was a dream." - You smell like night and street and ink. Wrapping my arms and legs around you, just so you don't leave again.

You don't ask me what I was dreaming about, just rocking me in your arms like a baby, telling me over and over that it's just a dream, offering me water. It's only when the two of us are on the bed, right on the blanket that was knocked over in the panic of the nightmare, that I tell you everything. You remain silent, listening intently, while I undo the buttons of your shirt. One by one, like a meditation.

"Who am I to you?" - A whisper in the dark when you are left completely unclothed. - "Who am I, along with all my fears?"

"L'amour de ma vie," - you whisper confidently as you gently touch your lips to my forehead.

L'amour de ma vie...

[melminli]

cats and colors

summery: you talk about how black & white reminds you of satoru and suguru

contains: gn reader, no pronouns mentioned, non curse au, satosugu talk, fluff/crack, satoru being in love with reader a bit, kinda weird ending but really funny

"aww." you exclaimed when you saw two cats playing with each other on the sidewalk. guess it was worth it after all to wait outside on a bench while satoru was withdrawing some money. you nudged geto with your elbow to get him to turn his attention away from his phone. "look. it's you and satoru." you said, pointing to the two animals with a small smile on your face.

he looked a little confused for a second until his gaze went to your finger and saw the scene in front of him. "this again? is it really just because one is black and the other is white?" he asked, not really understanding the concept behind it. he really wanted to, though.

you always spoke up when you saw the two opposite colors together, just to say how it reminded you of them. they usually got it through messages you sent in the group chat, like just a while ago when you sent them a photo of just two side by side chairs in ikea with the caption reminded me of you guys.

you nodded. "yeah. why?"

geto just shrugged his shoulders. "i don't know. i guess i just don't think our hair color is the crucial factor that represents us as you know us and like as friends." he laughed out, making up this little theory. he stopped laughing once he noticed your completely serious expression.

"oh, please. you think i'm a beginner?" you asked a little offended. "it's so much more than just your dumb hair." you began waving your hands in the air as you made your impassioned declaration. "these colors represent you so beautifully because they're opposites who still go perfect with each other, like ying and yang for example. Satoru is hot-tempered and extroverted, which is usually more associated with something light, while you have a more introverted and quiet nature, which is more associated with something darker." you took both your hands and put them together to demonstrate. "like two puzzle pieces... but on second thought, your hair colors also play a bit into that, i guess."

his mouth just opened slightly at what you said since he didn't necessarily know how to respond to that. "that's very perceptive on your part. i'm kind of impressed - a bit scared - but uhm, mostly impressed." he admitted.

"i can't believe they don't accept credit cards in that place. i mean, who carries cash around these days." satoru interrupted you two a bit annoyed because of the fact that he had to go to the bank. he then spotted out of the corner of his eye the two cats that were still playing around with each other, and his mood lifted again as he watched the two. "aww, how cute." he stated and took out his cell phone to take some pictures.

"they're you and me." geto said and looked at you afterward. when satoru heard that, he knew exactly what he was referencing with that. "if the black cat is geto and the white one is me, then you would be a...birmen cat!" he decided, placing two question marks over both of your heads. this statement had little to do with your previous profound explanation.

"...birmen cat?" you repeated, not quite sure what that meant exactly. you were also having trouble deciphering what such a cat looked like, to be honest.

satoru just nodded while looking at you a bit dreamy. "i love birmen cats. they're my favorite."

his best friend laughed slightly at that and looked over at you to see if you could read the meaning between the lines. unfortunatly for his best friend, it didn't look like it since you still seemed to be thinking what a fucking birmin cat had to do with your color theory. "...that's cute i guess?" you said in the end and were pulled out of your thoughts when you heard a loud meowing out of nowhere.

three pairs of eyes turned to the two cats who had previously been playing sweetly with each other. the two were now busy with something else entirely as the white cat mounted the black one from behind to...perform certain activities.

oh.

geto quickly spoke up with a stern tone before anyone could say anything. "i'm not going to listen to any theories or sick jokes about this." he said, deeply regretting his previous saying.

[utilitycaster]

How Funny is it for Chetney to die on the Next Long Rest: 3x82

since I started this only last episode here is a link the previous edition to refresh your memories re: the vibe. Also only 15 minutes or so have passed since then which means most of that post is still entirely relevant. It's okay though because for my own entertainment I have added a bonus feature at the bottom:

Hilarity considerations:

Just hard-carried the thinking of the party; farewell to what few arcana checks were made

finally: a werewolf that has reached the moon! what shall he do oh he's dead huh

there's still plenty of time on the moon today for him to pick up a piece of predathos BEFORE the long rest. Does the responsibility to pass that along fall to the rest of the party? THERE'S a shenanigan to be sure?

Does he have a death letter. He better have a death letter. Everyone should have one (Molly is excused bc he is proudly barely literate bless his heart and also Taliesin's letter for Percy was good enough for two games). If he does it's gonna be LIT.

No really imagine you are Matt though and Chet just fucking dies on the moon. This is a complication for Matt but it is funny for me.

I think he should play as Yussa if this happens.

Hilarity complications:

Honestly they are roughly the same as last time but I did just remember Dorao too. Plot is stored in the Travis Character. I don't mind plotlines ending bc of this death but man that destroys any ongoing non-moon plotlines basically except whatever the fuck is going on with Delilah. You know how two of the three post-Campaign VM one-shots are specifically because Grog pulled a card from the Deck of Many Things? This would be like the opposite of that. Campaign ends ten episodes earlier than it would have because we don't have any of Chet's stuff.

What if he plays one of Ishto's party members who DID actually make it but got trapped on the moon. That's a weird dynamic.

The return to the war council becomes messier and messier...Bells Hells has: raised the alarm for basically every Reilora. Otohan is here. They have left SO many witnesses. And now they got a new guy.

Forecast: 1% chance of Chetney Death. A weird arcane lightning rod level of hilarity.

Bonus because this might get repetitive (fun fact, the wizard tracker? also launched just as shit got WICKED repetitive because every episode was like max 3 hours of real time. it is my gift, and my curse.) Things in this episode with slightly more personality than Otohan Thull:

The polymorphed possum

The nervous unnamed Vanguard member in the tent

The tent

The hypothetical concept of Tent Kite

[deepseacityunderground]

the giratina and its messengers

read my funny headcanons below VVV

ok so personally i dont really like the "satan" readings of giratina. i can see why it has merit but personally i just find the idea of like applying christian theological roles onto the pokemon world to be a bit boring... giratina also never really registered as a satan standin in my head because it actually has very little similarities to satan (similarities i can think of... made by a higher being - bad and violent - lives in a realm....) especially as satan exists as an afterlife related figure + temptor figure in christian mythology, and giratina doesnt rlly have anything to do with those two things in pokemon. so i focus a lot more on giratina's other association, which is with antimatter (opposite charged matter which cancels out regular matter). if giratina was made of antimatter then thatd be a good reason to banish it to some sort of antimatter world (distortion world) (dont ask me how people go in and out of it in the games and anime im choosing to ignore that for now....) and then i got to thinking of giratina as a sort of anti-creature, an antimeme, or an antimetaphysical object, something that is opposed and hostile to reality or existence just as a concept or as a body. such a being isnt evil or malicious, but its simple existence is violence because it is simply The Opposite of our world. so in my mind giratina has a sort of domain over Unreal or nonexistence, and exists as a sort of balancer against the universe as we know it, and as a being untethered from time and space (dialga and palkias domains) is contextless or unreachable for ordinary old people like us.

giratina and darkrai work very well as a pair - first of all because they're both lonely cursed girl archetypes, but also because theyre both scary. i always like darkrai and giratina as allies or connected in some way. but going back to my silly headcanons. i see darkrai as another "opposite creature" originating and defined as the not-cresselia (cresselia shadow). obviously darkrai isnt made of antimatter like giratina but its oppositional nature allows it to become slightly unreal (to travel as a shadow or enter somebody's dream) this unrealness is in the opposite direction of psychic-type unrealness of course, because darkrai is a dark type. also, darkrai, as a being connected to dreams, has an inherent connection to unrealness because dreams are unreal made real. all of this combined basically means that darkrai inherently possess a trait that is very rare - they are able to pass freely between the "real" and the "unreal and enter the distortion world without dying (as long as they can find it). this has earned them the favor (friendship, if you can call it that) of giratina, and the task of acting as messengers or spies for it in the real world, which is largely done to monitor potential threats to the universe and/or done to alleviate boredom and lonliness. the image of darkrai sitting on giratina's head and spirals coming down is a representation of darkrai telling giratina things. thank you for reading my rambling :)

[quitealotofsodapop]

¿Y si Paramita dice la verdad, Venia del futuro? y dijo que ''Hijo de SWK'' ya sabes por las clásicas reglas de reglas líneas del tiempo, Por lo menos el Rey mono tomo esa anécdota como una Borrachera... XDD

translated via google;

"What if Paramita tells the truth, did she come from the future? and he said that ''Son of SWK'' you already know from the classic rules of timeline rules, At least the Monkey King took that anecdote as a Drunkenness... XDD"

I've joked before that King Paramita only calls SWK his "father" because SWK was the cause of his conception, not the DNA provider. They don't actually appear in the story proper. XD

I can imagine PIF and DBK are thinking about trying for kids again, when SWK just busts on in with an armful of artifacts he's been hoarding.

SWK: "Ok... uh. I remembered that since Guanyin is kinda my sworn older sister, I got a few of her vases." PIF, gears turning in her head: "Go on." SWK: "And one she super-duper told me to keep for emergencies after that Scroll of Memory business; is this celestial curse remover. I figure if you or the big guy have any weird curses on you, it could prove useful." PIF & DBK: *both a share a look and nod* PIF: "We'll have the contents examined first before trying anything. We'll report back to you if there's any major developments." SWK: "I completely understand."

A couple of weeks later...

*SWK's phone rings in the middle of the night* SWK, very sleepy: "Hey DBK. Whats u-?" DBK, overjoyed and yelling: "BROTHER IT WAS A MASSIVE SUCCESS!!!" *PIF can be heard sobbing joyfully in the background* SWK: "...wa?" DBK: *hangs up phone without a second word* SWK: "???" Macaque, stirred awake: "Was that in-laws?" SWK: "Uhh... yeah." Macaque: "Did that vase of yours help?" SWK, blinking in realization: "Oh dang. We're gonna be sworn uncles." Macaque, secretly super happy just tired too: "Again, you mean." *falls back to sleep*

Red Son was *very surprised* to learn that they'd be an older sibling, but was nonetheless excited.

This version of Paramita - likely named something else unless Ironbull want to be funny - is born within the next eight months. He's the Demon Bull family's treasure held to the same level as his slightly-older nieces.

[corpseidol]

Hola, I'm back for more food. Can I request a poly sbg (again.) with a fem reader who is like Wonyoung from Ive (and she's an undercover singer and they all find out because they searched up her group name because they heard people *cough cough *Barron* talking about her (yummy)

BEHIND AN IMAGE

author’s note : i dont think wony knows how to play guitar expertly but let’s ignore that ok? (IM SO SCARED THAT THIS IS COMPLETE ASS)

concept : sbg with fem!reader similar to wonyoung

genre : fluff, little angst, hcs + drabble

content : fem!reader, mild use of curse words, reader is a kpop idol!!

small hints

⠀ › ⠀aiden most likely found notepads and random papers with song lyrics when he visited you

⠀ › ⠀ben has heard your singing voice, but you never revealed that you were a famous singer. you have sung for him a few times.

⠀ › ⠀ben blushes when you compliment his plays on the guitar

⠀ › ⠀the whole group has heard you humming and singing a few lyrics when they play songs but the only people who’ve heard you sing a whole song was most likely ashlyn and ben

⠀ › ⠀when taylor hears your singing, she suggested you should become a singer (you couldn’t help but giggle at that)

⠀ › ⠀tyler falls asleep listening to your singing but he’d never openly admit that

⠀ › ⠀you have karaoke with taylor

⠀ › ⠀logan did karaoke with you and taylor (him and soft music would be adorbs)

⠀ › ⠀ben would eventually find out about the notepads that aiden found and would find them fascinating when he reads them

barron

⠀ › ⠀has put you in many situations where you could get exposed

⠀ › ⠀you’ve had many fights exchanging that you would both leave each other alone just for barron to do something and bother you again

⠀ › ⠀claims that he won’t hold anything against you at the end of the fight but literally has tons of stuff kept to himself when he wants to do something you clearly will not enjoy

⠀ › ⠀barron genuinely believes you don’t trust the group and holds it against you very much

⠀ › ⠀doesn’t exactly “bully” you for it. he holds pride that he has a classmate who’s an idol, however, has disrespected your boundaries multiple times.

finding out

⠀ › ⠀barron’s loud ass and terrible lying. that’s basically it.

⠀ › ⠀when the group saw your situation with barron, tyler was going to step up until they started overhearing about some career (he figured he would talk more about it later. first he had to get rid of the trash!)

⠀ › ⠀ashlyn : honestly started connecting all the dots (at first she told herself “i won’t be surprised if she turns out to be a singer” but she’s slightly surprised honestly

⠀ › ⠀taylor : had to process it for a few minutes before going like “can you do a high note?”

⠀ › ⠀aiden : “that’s what the notepads were for.” honestly shocked but not shocked at the same time. prob would start to encourage you to do a high note along with taylor. (would also look at some concept pics of you and just show ben.)

⠀ › ⠀tyler : questioning his life. has no idea what emotion he’s feeling. no idea how to express it. just standing there with a funny look on his face.

⠀ › ⠀logan : surprised but totally hyped about it, finds it cool.

⠀ › ⠀ben : surprised but not in a “woah!! i would’ve never thought about that!!” or “what.. what the fuck..” type of way. more in a “wow.” then a pause “awesome.”

extras

⠀ › ⠀ben is slightly envious of you. he thinks of his childhood when he hears you sing.

⠀ › ⠀i’m not sure if lily was alive/able to remember when ben was still able to sing since she seems wayyy younger. if that’s the case then she would still see ben in you. she likes to think that you’re ben’s lost voice.

⠀ › ⠀after finding out, ashlyn would love to watch you dance practice

⠀ › ⠀the group teases you about anything related to aegyo

ashlyn

“i didn’t think you could do that first try.” ashlyn stared, watching you stretch your body similarly to the way she does it herself. “there’s a lot more than this i could do.” you softly replied, getting up from your position.

the twins

taylor and tyler were on your sides, their head on your shoulders as you sung a soft tune. tyler was trying hard not to fall asleep but closed his eyes for a few minutes, relaxing against you. taylor smiled at this, intertwining your hands with hers “your voice is still beautiful as ever.” she complimented. you rubbed your thumb gently against hers as acknowledgment, continuing to sing.

logan + ben

you hummed a gorgeous tune, walking around with ben’s hand wrapped in yours. logan was tending to his plants while you listened to ben’s music with him. to not leave out logan, you began to sing along to the lyrics.

ben (ft. taylor)

as ben watched you perfectly sing your part in the karaoke with taylor, he stared at you with admiration, and, at the same time, gloom. a thought popped in his head that if he never lost his voice, he could be able to sing along with you. he pushed away those thoughts, clenching his pants as he tried to keep a smile on his face.

aiden

“i think you looked rad here.” aiden said, holding up his phone in front of you. you giggled softly “i loved that concept.” you admired the picture. aiden continued to scroll through pictures of you. at the same time, he couldn’t help but wonder about how you never told the group. so did the others.

[thornswoggled]

you know what it is. 106 stream of consciousness. lets go

WOW ok just by the thumbnail alone im surprised. i did NOT think we were gonna get to see the rest of hildas scene with lindel so soon. like i had no earthly clue where this chapter was going to start up

chapter title lindel feels very reminiscent of ch1 "future chise" illus

"misery makes strange bedfellows." hmmmm. all small caps too for some reason

yamazaki prepping us to view lindel as a secondary antagonist by drawing his face in shadow like every other frame

ARE THOOOOOOSE FUCKIIIIING DWAAAAARRVES????????? HELLOOOOOOO???????

why did we not meet these thangs the first two times they went to iceland. maybe she decided to add a little spice

oh my god missing subtitles. literal empty bubbles. comicgrowl needs to be dealt with. severely

more talk of eggs and chicks. which could mean nothing

looking at the slider.... this is another slightly longer chapter. huge for a guy like me

OMG we get to see what happened that time rahab summoned them oooooooooo

lindels shirt in this scene is really cunty. sorry. who said that

"this is the 2000s era" ok so we are still playing coy with what year it is. probably a good idea

"my first time meeting the current you." so yamazaki is weaving in the concept that rahab can meet people on different parts of their timeline. which feels a little op and a good deus ex for conflict resolution but thats my own personal beef with timeline fuckery as a plot device

wadda hell. this dragon hatched fully fledged like a damn bulnosaur

ohhhh this dragon is the one flying behind lindel in that one color spread for arc 3. the one i captioned with "whatever. go my dragon"

adolfs protestation about magic is like. yes. i agree. because tamb does not have a robust magic system and its attempts to form a solid action-based plot are largely impotent, which is FINE, we are here for character development anyway. i once made a webcomic with the same problems so i dont mean to throw stones in glass houses but like. yeah the distinction between mages and alchemists and how magic works is not something i have ever been sold on

great callback to chise summoning those wasps in arc 1. i enjoy seeing a scene from the early chapters reimagined in the modern art style. tangent, but in the supplements the note for that scene was something like "chise has never seen this kind of bug in real life so she probably remembered it from a nature documentary"

pokemon-ass messaging here. fucking catch em all

just now noticing the twins got their hair swoop from hilda

"i managed to avoid lying." i was about to ask how exactly he lied but then skipped ahead and read the answer whoops

lindel hurrying hilda out the door but he doesnt even know what she came here for yet. like she didnt get to tell him about the red dragon yet LOL

im also just now realizing that the dragon we saw at the end of 105 was the dragon adolf hatched and not the dragon that cursed chise. ok 🧍‍♂️

"they even forbade me from speaking my language" so i think lindel is implying here that hes part of the sámi people which tracks. i wonder if they were speaking one these languages when he met elias? i still dont know why lindel bothered to ask where elias came from when he could have inferred it from whatever language he spoke

adolf explicitly states that he left germany before ww2 which i think was very funny on yamazakis part (DO NOT GET IT TWISTED, she said, HE IS NOT A NAZI) but at the same time. why was he fleeing british soldiers. maybe they just assumed he was a nazi cuz of his name and accent. idk

ok so its time to go back to school already. silky being convinced that theyll be stuck there for months again is. so funny

"do you think we can ask the college to send letters for us" what do you mean by that. does the college not give you the means to send mail. are you expected to just use the royal mail. why arent you using royal mail anyway. hello

ok so she stomps on the floor and a new door springs up. it looks like an exterior door based on the lock. is this a sort of uhhhh howls moving castle/witch hat atelier windowway sort of situation. is silky going to break into the college so she doesnt have to miss her kid. she looks so stupidly nefarious i know the reason she looks so creepy is going to be funny as fuck

so overall i cant say that lindel and adolf are my fav characters or that i am terribly invested in them so i dont feel i got a TON out of this chapter but i am excited with the last page we got. happy for the lindel enjoyers and the lore dump yall got. i guess im not sure what purpose this new dragon is serving either because its (probably) not related to red vs white dragon conflict. i guess you could say that its a third dragon that emphasizes the importance of choosing your own path rather than being locked in this fated cyclical battle the way the red and white dragons are, which would be in line with tambs greater themes. like a third choice, i guess. adolf is also shaping up to be in a similar position to chise - that is, he has a unique relationship with magic, and his master has to lie for him so he wont be unduly researched lol. i am interested to see how much time we will see chise actually studying or being in class considering all the other things shes now expected to be responsible for. her ass is not studying 💯💯💯