#there are too many tags on this post jesus christ

[creep-girl]

yttd text posts except i have a favorite

[sleepboysummer]

the girl that remains of penny lamb stands in the middle of his room. it feels hollow, the heavy air of something that used to be there but is missing now. there is so much that she'd lost.

she has avoided reading the news or answering questions, hating every single person who tried to talk to her about what happened that night. the reports had made her into a miracle, a poster child of god's great blessings. no one spoke of the others except for in unit. no one ever spoke of him.

she looks around at his bedroom and all of his things. her eyes fall over posters, and pictures, and so much more, all of the things he had cared about so much. he was the smartest boy she had ever known. that was one of the things she was most in awe of about him- his mind was always so much greater than his seventeen years, constantly running, so full of thoughts and ideas and life.

he wanted to be a writer. he had so many dreams.

the girl that remains of penny lamb is hesitant to touch anything in this room, afraid that her hands will stain his memory, that she'll erase anything that's left. her fingers hover over the wood of his desk, stacked with soda cans and sticky notes. there is so much left unfinished. an incomplete page of scribbled writings still waits in an open notebook, his desk chair halfway pulled out, pencils and papers strewn over the floor. he was not ready to die.

so she holds herself in silence, waiting for something that'll never come. it's cold. the air is still. the only sound is her shaky breaths as she wanders slowly around his room, searching for something she didn't know, desperate to feel him again. her fingers tremble as she reaches his bed. it's been made since he'd passed, that much was clear- it's unnaturally perfect next to the mess around the rest of the room.

she runs a hand over the sheets, blankets neatly folded at the foot of the bed, set there with so much care from a mother. her only son, her baby taken from her just days before. what had she done when she'd learned what had happened? had she cried over his body? had she screamed at the paramedics? had she broken her vow of silence, no reason to fufill it any longer, begging for another chance? he was still just a child, his shelves were full of action figures. he was the youngest one to die.

the girl that remains of penny lamb had woken on september 14, at exactly 6:22 pm. she had been pulled away from the cart by the calculated hands of paramedics who had rehearsed this so many times before. a blanket had been thrown over her shoulders in an attempt to seem caring, but no one cared about her- they were all focused on the ones who hadn't made it out of the accident.

she sat shivering, fingers digging into the itchy fabric, doing anything she could not to look at the mangled bodies being taken out onto stretchers. you could barely tell who was who. they had all been twisted beyond recognition, arms and limbs hanging lifelessly like marionettes forgotten by time. it made her sick. but the thought of the alternative, averting her gaze down into her lap, only drove her eyes straight ahead once more.

shell-shocked, that's what they called her. a girl with the wide eyes of a war victim, sitting silently, covered in blood. the sole survivor. poor, poor penny. what a brave young girl, how strong she must be to stay alive.

but what onlookers didn't know, and the girl that remains of penny lamb did, is that the only one left had not been injured that night. she had come out of the disaster unharmed, left without even bruises on her knees to prove what she had been through. the only thing that brutally reminded her every time she looked down at herself was the blood- blood that was not hers.

since the moment of the accident, the only thing that she could see was red. stinging her eyes, staining her clothes, sticky and sickening and wrong; it clung to every last inch of her skin like he was still holding onto her, begging her not to leave him there. to take him with her beyond the crash. she squeezed her eyes shut as they carried him off, too afraid at what she might've seen if she'd opened them. she couldn't even imagine him like that. if she didn't think about it, it couldn't be true- because in some horrible, awful way, he was still with her; he was all around her, he was everything.

that night she had stood frozen in the shower, hands trembling as she gripped a bloodstained cloth. it was nothing like in the movies where you could stand under the water until it ran red and it would all be over. this was worse, so much worse, since the time spent at the scene had gave it long enough to dry. she couldn't just look away and let it wash down the drain. she had to fight against the tears pricking at her eyes, scrubbing until her skin was raw, every moment forced to watch what was left of him be washed away. there was a sick part of her that didn't want to. a part that wanted to stay there, lingering in memories forever, never letting go of him and of what they could've had. but when she looked down at herself once more her skin was clean and he was gone.

standing in his room for what is probably the final time makes her feel the same.

the girl that remains of penny lamb lets herself cry- she has put it off until this moment, as if pretending could keep him with her. the emptiness hangs in the air, it suffocates her, resting heavy on her chest until her shoulders are racking with sobs. she sinks onto the floor and stays there, crumpled over as if she had been one of the bodies they'd found that night. her face presses into the side of his bed like the shoulder she wishes she could cry on. her hands curl into his sheets until her knuckles go white. she will never understand what it is that let her be the one to live, and maybe that is for the better.

[copia]

TEETH OF GOD TRANSCRIPTS

typing these out since the handwriting font is quite difficult to read. don't go under the cut if you're avoiding spoilers <3

all the director's notes, separated by episode. the note in the final episode has some random letters replaced by the TMBTE runes; i've replaced these back to normal letters here so it's easier to read and possible for me to type lmao. i obviously can't guarantee no typos here, but there are a few instances of odd phrasing/repetition/grammar in the comic and i've copied those out as they are. please let me know if you spot an issue!!

EPISODE ONE: LAMBS

15 days since emergence of the Lunar Anomaly

When I was a child, I was frequently beset by certain recurring dreams. There is one such dream that I remember more than most — one in which I found myself standing on a vast shoreline gazing out at a flat, wide sea. Slowly as I watched, the horizon gradually began to lift. Before long I was able to observe that this lifting expanse was approaching me — a wall of smooth, black water that curled into an impossible lip at its peak. Rather surprisingly, I do not recall being afraid of such an ominous sight. Well, to be more precise, I was afraid — I was terrified, but not of the wave itself. Instead, it was the thought of what was beyond it. This vast, unstoppable force sweeping forth to herald the end of everything, to drown the world and then eventually sink back into itself. A careless shrug of entropy enough to sever the thread of all fates. I felt that were I to somehow survive this limitless tide, then I would be left in a world that would not recognise me. I would become an element until myself and myself alone.

An echo stuck in the throat of a dead god.

Yet here I am. It has been over two weeks since the emergence of the lunar anomaly. Our teams spent nearly two years attempting to anticipate what this event would mean for humanity — analysing endless reams of lunar topography along with every known form of spectroscopy, all amounting to one hopeless conclusion: to burrow into the bowels of the death and simply wait that whatever emerged from within would reach us there last.

As it would turn out, this one final act of humble surrender is what won the last of us the right to our own lives in these final days. Those of us alive now are not those who sought to barter with destiny and defiantly cling to a civilised existence at the surface — or even any existence at all.

It would seem that in the wake of this phenomenon, we were best served by our most base instincts, where shame wound no place to dwell. The ones who survived are those who spat their hubris and hid desperately down in the mud like rats.

I want it to be known that we made every effort to warn the others, though naturally we could not provide much of a basis upon which to suggest that our entire species was facing imminent and utter demise besides a few fissures at the southern lunar pole. With that said, we begun building this underground facility once we realised that the moon's orbit was rapidly decaying in a way that was inconsistent with any known physical model — I find it hard to believe that none of them followed our lead — Perhaps some of them did. Either way, we have no way of knowing now.

My expectations for the first surface expedition were bleak at best. In all honesty, I was shocked to discover that our initial recordings showed that there remained a breathable atmosphere. Perhaps in all this turmoil, I found it easier to commit my mind to the worst possible outcome at every turn.

The limited data we gathered before the event — despite two years of efforts — didn't prepare us for the havoc we now face. To say that we find ourselves at a loss to explain the phenomena would be a gratuitous understatement. The cataclysm that occurred two weeks ago had taught us one unshakeable rule about this new world we now hid beneath — to gaze upon the moon is to die.

For this reason, we rapidly developed wearable countermeasures for the surface teams that would prove vital in allowing them to navigate the surface. If only we could have known that this was far from the only threat that would await them. To say that we find ourselves at a loss to explain the phenomena would be a gratuitous understatement.

It is not only human life that is affected by the lunar anomaly, but that if all life, albeit in vastly different ways. To put it simply — this new type of emergent biology is beyond the boundaries of what we are able to study and understand.

I find myself already laden with guilt over those we lost. More than that however, I feel most guilty about the way I reacted to learning of the remnant human elements that attacked them. I feel strangely comforted, despite the deeply disturbing nature of that discovery.

Upon further inspection, I arrived at the conclusion that this feeling came from a sense of familiarity. Human beings fighting other human beings is a horror that has plagued us all since time immemorial, but here in the wake of such deeply unfamiliar and unpredictable occurrences, it is hard not to feel almost comforted by such an immediately recognisable problem.

With that said, I do also find myself deeply troubled by the prospect of humans remaining on the surface in that state. The consensus among my colleagues is that their actions were not bourne of their own will, though there is every chance that this is a conclusion we are clinging to in preference over the unsettling alternative.

I feel that I am rapidly squandering the precious remnants of human life in the desire to understand what has happened, though in truth I know not what else to do. Perhaps this is the only way we can cling to our humanity — by continuing our constant battle with the sheer unknown right to the very end.

The Director

EPISODE TWO: PANTHEON

28 Days since Lunar Anomaly

Already I find myself in the surprising position of yearning for the way things were two weeks ago. Two weeks ago, I was contending with the end of the world. Now, I contend with the reality of what has replaced it.

We took the trouble to equip ourselves as thoroughly as possible with the means of studying any emergent phenomena on the surface even whilst entombed beneath the earth. We now find ourselves consumed by the pursuit of understanding — it is truly all that we have left. However the samples we've acquired offer no such mercy — their nature and origin is fundamentally foreign to us. Something we can say is that, contrary to the individual assumption that most life on the surface had been wiped out, there is in fact an abundance of some kind of new organic material. It can be found everywhere in some form, including in the atmosphere itself. Its cellular structure is completely unique — where one would expect to see some approximation of a typical eukaryotic cell, what we see instead resemble membranous tubules hat contain vast quantities of foreign organelles. These organelles seem to function in an oddly synchronous fashion and are able to perform a variety of functions. Primarily, they are able to 'grow' the tubules that contain them by undergoing a form of transformation at either end which renders them as part of the tubule wall. Secondly, and far more strangely, they are able to exert some kind of force over the tubule as a whole, contorting it in a way not dissimilar to muscle tissue, (but without any apparent nervous impulse.)

As to the origin of this tissue, our initial assumption was that it had been somehow transferred from the moon itself to earth — perhaps via pieces of lunar material falling through the atmosphere. This makes some sense, however the sheer proliferation of this material across the surface within a relatively short period of time suggests that there is more to it than that.

I am reluctant to comment on the reports of otherworldly beings on the surface. Their presence carries implications I am simply unprepared for. At a certain point however, I must accept that this only increases the inevitable danger placed upon th surface teams during their expeditions. What I must also accept is that these precious human lives are now the only currency with which we can barter against the unknown.

Thus far, we barter in vain.

The Director

EPISODE THREE: BLESSINGS

58 Days since the lunar anomaly

When we first retreated down into the ground, I think that somewhere in the midst of my despair I clung to a degree of hope. This wasn't so much a hope for survival as much as the hope that we would at least be able to discern some kind of meaningful understanding of what has happened. We have committed everything — I have committed everything. The last precious remnants of humanity extinguished in the name of what makes us human to begin with. To shed what light we have left on this sea of the unknown. But now I see that this was a futile effort that has resulted in nothing but death, not merely in the context of our final struggle but across the scope of all human existence. It has all amounted to nothing but a few extra skulls drifting in the foul ether that has swamped our world.

It is clear now that the lunar anomaly functions in accordance with laws of its own. It makes a mockery of science. It permeates and distorts reality to the degree that all foundational assumptions are rendered useless. It kills everything it touches whilst simultaneously imbuing it with some kind of new life, twisting nature into something grotesque and unrecognisable. These new forms seem organic but they have nothing resembling a typical cell structure or genetic blueprint. They can spring fourth in an instant, summoning flesh from nothing. Furthermore, our ability to measure even the most fundamental aspects of our physical world is becoming impossible. The mass of objects change slightly depending on where they are, as though gravity itself has begun to lose its grip. We have detected seismic activity from further into the death than we even thought possible. The anomaly doesn't just want to consume all life. It wants to consume reality.

As for those beings, I know not what they are or where they originated. They themselves are not consistent with the nature of the anomaly they inhabit. Their actions seem to exhibit some strange sentience but their motives are unclear and they make no effort to communicate. At times I have concluded that they are here to replace us, or perhaps even that they themselves represent some fractured distillation of our nature. They are after all violent, just as we have been to the very end. They seem to push against one another as a part of some strange order. As time has passed through, I have come to believe that they have no connection to us. I believe that what our world has become is little more than an arena to them — a crucible of existence where they will battle eternally. The totality of their being is not their individual functions but rather the conflict between them. We are merely spectators to their endless dance of ceaseless struggle. This is perhaps the only thing that connects them to the drowned memory of what humanity once was — that we too sought meaning through constant friction and unending movement, compelled by some core motive force that drives us to bring ourselves to bear on the world and manifest our own perceptions.

In these final dimming days I know only the solace of a promised land. I have become the ultimate witness. I have been saddled with the heavy blessing of seeing the unravelling of everything and I can do nothing but wait for it to unravel me too. But I love still within this temple of untampered flesh and I will spend what blood still beats through it to barter one last time with the tangled threads of fate. If I must, I will march through the eye of death and meet it with eyes of my own.

What few of us are left now have our orders.

We must know what it is to become of us.

The Director

EPISODE FOUR: DAEDELUS

61 days Since the lunar anomaly

I once spoke but now it speaks through me just as I speak through it no longer to nothing I can change nothing no I can change nothing nothing has become my plaything I can make nothing into a weapon there will be no void left unfilled I am human and humans are always human and always scared because being human makes us scared and being scared makes us human I will crack the flesh I will crack the earth I will eat the pieces they will be pieces of me would you like to dance I have always been dancing we must keep dancing even when we are just tendrils we could touch everything even things god did not want us to touch that is why he left us here that is why he thought we were ugly he could not wrap his tendrils around every part of us we spilled his paradise over the earth and danced within it such a beautiful dance horror would leap and dance with us horror would bathe is and we could lie within it we could tear the horror out from our hearts over and over we could never sleep sleep is death not even the earth would sleep the earth fears death its blood would freeze out in space out in nothing we must reach through the stars through the darkness even though it is so cold it can freeze our blood we can let our blood freeze and then crack it open hot like the earth we can step through death wear it like a crown heirs to the highest pantheon of life precious life with death as its blood precious death bursting from the many wombs of sacred war paradise was empty without us there was only silence but our blood made the flowers grow god spilled his blood over paradise god knows the stars are waiting fertile ground cold to the touch those stars are hungry they crave only the blood of god we are his tendrils and we will bury ourselves into those cold stars and there will be no darkness death will give us fear and fear will give us blood we will spill our hot blood across the stars I finally understand now I do I understand but will you let me keep my human fear will you let me yes being scared makes you human fear will sow the hot blood of god across the cold stars fear will make us dance and we must keep dancing can you see god dancing for you can you see him biting into you can you hear his teeth cracking into pieces of the stars they send sparks raining down through the darkness all these years you have hunted him and reached for him you want his blood he made you with veins inside you like tendrils we dance through his veins as we bite through the stars and dance and he opens his mouth wide I am so scared will you let me be the last human I understand now I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god

[jazzically]

the magnus protocol episodes 4 through 7 — my live reactions not clickbait

magp 4

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD IS THIS THE STATEMENT AND/OR ORIGIN OF ALFRED GRIFTER

omg i love how the literal only reason for hearing statements from the 1800s is gwen being behind on her work

ALSO I FRICKING LOVE THE MAGNUS PROTOCOL THEME

Oh my lord you know it's a good sidequel when you can already feel the itch to relisten to everything you just listened to

magp 5

Ok i do not know whether we say "a blast from the past" in America but i have heard that phrase like five times now from Brits all on the RQ magnus feed so im wondering if that's just an alexander j newall thing or !!! what (love it tho. i love it)

faith the unholy trinity referenced???? faith the unholy trinity!!!!!!?

aint no way he won the contest by coincidence LMAO

OOOH THIS IS SUCH A COOL FORMAT!!! ahh ... just how many ideas do they have for digital first-person storytelling mediums?? cuz with every new one i am fascinated

i wonder if jonny just flipped between soft speaker and robot while recording or if "[UNINTELLIGIBLE]" is a digital insert. if it's the latter i am VERY impressed although it's characteristic of jonny at this point lol

OOOooooOOoOoO personal relation is always extra spookyyy

i am also extremely impressed by the similarity in writing style. i can see it (in a good way) now that i'm looking harder, but i would never have guessed jonny didn't write all the episodes

also i just love how alex and jonny swap announcer roles sometimes (jonny as credits, alex as title/episode) for tmp

NOTE TO SELF: check out the cellar letters!!!!! omfg!!! it sounds fire!!!!

magp 6

aw that's such a sweet dedication message

URGH HAVE I MENTIONED I LOVE THE TMAGP THEME

i always wondered what the muffled falling-down-the-stairs noise at the end of the original theme was. it always put me in mind of the aesthetic of the beginning of portal 2 (and, later, the Buried coffin) idk why

I LOOOVE ALL OF THESEEEE none of them have been hard to get through at all?? which is rare for me bc i fail to pay attention to things for long unless they come in more than two forms of stimulus simultaneously (video + music, audio + fidget toy, video + candle)

AWIEE SAM AND CELIA 😭😭😭

Yes alice you do that matchmaking you are SUCH a girlboss

magp 7

OMFG CELIA DEFINITELY KNOWS SOMETHING

lmao jonny says ree instead of err ee now (for "re:"/regarding)

[ThEory time babes woooOoO]

heyyyy is this one of those other worlds that the fears got banished to. actually what happened to the dread powers? am not exactly clear on that (i hope it's on purpose). maybe the place where the dread powers exist alongside "our world" in tma is also adjacent to other worlds in exactly the same way?? like how a hexagon can be adjacent to six other hexagons??? that'd be sick and it would also explain why there wasnt an overwhelming amount of supernatural incidents in "our world" such that everyone was familiar with the dread powers and normalized safety procedures and such ... interesting au idea ... also the idea jonny proposed about a post-apocalypse world in the s5 qna... that one is cool too............ writers get on that (/j/j/j)

is tmp a separate world ??? they only said it was in the same universe as tma iirc

[wild speculation over]

RAAAAAA i LOVE the robotic voices' VAs' abilities to slowly transition into humanlike speech

cLaYtOn!!!!!? do i know that name or am i going crazy

perhaps i am yet again thinking of the worker of clay (see previous post)

LOOOLL "better than norris, whiny little toad"

OHMYGFUCKING GOD WAIT I RESCIND MY EARLIER STATEMENT!!!!!! THAT'S CANONICALLY JONATHAN SIMS' FRICKING VOICE!!!!!!!!!!!!

hehehe ooooh you're evil writermen. how dare you use our constant uncertainty as to which characters you're referring to induced by your earlier repetition when naming characters (really there should be a limit as to how many michaels can be in one story) so that we are still unsure, even with prior knowledge, whether sam's mysterious "john" is actually the archivist or just some other john. good lord (im obsessed)

HOLY CRAP COLIN KNOOOWSSSSSSSS THINGSSS i just adore his role as the town crazy old man

omg alex's writing is incredible

[hauntingblue]

:)

[angedemystere]

Going on a limb here - I've been thinking about Jesus ships (romantic or quasi-romantic) and my views on them.

I'm gonna discuss a few and rank them as follows: Love it | Makes sense | Mmm not much there for me | Absolutely not

If there's a ship you know that I don't mention below the cut, DM me for my opinion and ranking!

Let's start with the big ones, then a few fictional ones of questionable (or nonexistent) notoriety:

Jesus x Mary Magdalene: Mmm not much there for me

I'm gun-shy about this ship because it gets pushed a lot, including by scholars, as a way to explain why Jesus would have a prominent female disciple. First of all, she was not his only female disciple - what about Joanna and Suzanna? Mary and Martha? (ok Joanna was married to Chuza so we'll let that slide).

Yes, Mary got to see Jesus first after the resurrection (according to John's gospel), which is awesome. But nothing about that encounter suggests a romantic connection, and I don't think a romantic connection would make it more meaningful. The whole point of Jesus appearing to Mary, or any woman, was to honor what society considered lowly. A woman's testimony was not valid in that time and place, yet Jesus made his resurrection evident to women first. I like when non-canonical stories explore Jesus and Mary's friendship, but a romantic connection undermines the significance of Mary's role rather than augments it.

Jesus x Judas: Absolutely not

I wouldn't be quite so annoyed about it if it weren't so dang prolific in fandom (among people who treat Jesus and his followers as characters more than real people). It's even more annoying when people try to pass it off as wholesome - y'know, apart from that little bit of betrayal for money thing. NO. At least own up that it's a tragic dynamic. Trying to whitewash it for the sake of a cute ship leaves me feeling even ickier.

Jesus x John: Makes sense

I don't consider it canon, but I'll take it over Jesus x Judas and Jesus x Mary Magdalene for a few reasons. It actually IS wholesome, and a romantic element fits with the "beloved disciple" narrative more believably (for me). I have a problem with the power imbalance (teacher-student) and subsequent age difference (30s vs. teens), but if fic frames acknowledges these elements and characters act appropriately (and in character), I'm fairly ok.

Jesus x Ana (The Book of Longings): Makes sense

Obviously the story is written with the intention of making Ana the wife of Jesus. I have some issues with the book and the relationship, but Sue Monk Kidd makes it fairly believable as an unconventional marriage of the era. I think Ana's story could have been told without her being Jesus's wife. At the same time, her relationship with Jesus develops in an interesting and engaging way. You don't necessarily think they are "in love" when they marry, but they acknowledge that they could be good for each other (and are attracted to each other), and it gives her a means of escaping a difficult situation at home.

Jesus x Tamara (Three from Galilee): Absolutely not

This relationship could have been ok were it not for some VERY weird choices made by the author, Marjorie Holmes. Significant age gap (30 vs. 15) and smacks of insta-love. They knew each other one day before deciding they were in love (after he first saw her standing under a waterfall ... yeah). Too many comparisons between Tamara and Mother Mary for me to be comfortable. Pretty much no personality from Tamara, all about how Jesus thinks he's found someone to have a "normal" life with, only to have that shut down. It's supposed to be tragic that they don't end up together, but honestly they dodged a bullet.

Jesus x Lucifer: ABSOLUTELY NOT

Yes, this ship exists. No, I don't know why. Ok, I can kinda imagine why. And I don't like it.

Jesus x Hel: Love it

I know ... I'm literally the only person who ships this.

For those who don't know, Hel is the Norse goddess of the dead. I'm writing a whole story that's a remix of the Harrowing of Hell (not denying the original Harrowing but expanding it with, "What if Jesus went to other underworlds besides Sheol, too?"). Obviously it depends on the interpretation of Hel's character - being a mythological figure, she has flexibility. Also it HAS to be slow-burn, enemies-to-lovers (for me). Would recommend to those intrigued by Jesus x Lucifer but want a healthy, not entirely heretical dynamic.

(Ok we can debate the heretical part.)

What other Jesus ships do you know?

[fruchtchen]

지저스 크라이스트 수퍼스타 (2022 - 50주년) - 마이클리 (지저스), 백형훈 (유다)

Jesus Christ Superstar (2022 - 50th Anniversary) - Michael K. Lee (Jesus), Baek Hyeong-hun (Judas)

https://youtu.be/nqVCyCSzgno

[sushisocks]

i wish i was as good as you in being feral in tags. i truly try, but it just doesn't come. you, on the other hand, make growling and barking in the notes seem so effortless, i'm in awe

HELLPP IM FUCKING CRYING THIS MADE ME LAUGH SO HARD

the fact that this could have been spurred by SO many posts ive reblogged the past 24 hrs. or like, ever 😭

but see

that's my secret, lissu

im always feral (lol)

and i just live in the tags so that's where it comes out more often than not LMAOO thank u for the compliment im glad my brand of mental illness is enjoyable HAHAHAH

[sunmoonclouds]

ok so random update to this empty auditorium BUT!! i am apparently unable to be normal about organization so ive been developing a tag system. but then i got sidetracked by my ocs. and then again by some personal stuff BUT!!!! i am squirrelling away posts into my drafts to throw into a queue once i finalize the tag system and tag masterposts or whatever. because again i am apparently extremely unable to be normal about organization. so! i do plan on launching this blog. eventually. hopefully. and i do have posts ready to be. posted. if push comes to shove i may give up on the part of the tagging system thats giving me trouble buuuuut i DO really want to launch this!!! i just decided to be more organized about it. because something something gotta line up my toys (posts about thing i like)

tldr

- i do plan on actually using this blog

- ... but i kinda bitten off a bit more than i can chew with developing my tagging system

- i have 77 posts in my drafts waiting to be queued once i figure out that god forsaken tagging system

[violet-dragonfly]

it’s that time of the year folks

[onlyangel4]

onlyangel4 1k event - P4. YT22. SMAU.

trope: secret long term relationship

pairing: yuki tsunoda x fiancé!reader

faceclaim: kiko mizuhara

1k event

y/nprivinsta

liked by y/bff, yukitsunoda, alexandrasaintmleux and 102 others

tagged: yukitsunoda

y/nprivinsta: this year was my third summer break as a wag and i have to say it was the best one yet

view all 41 comments

yukitsunoda: i fucked it for myself i'll never top this

y/nprivinsta: gonna have to think outside of the box baby

y/bff: i haven't stopped crying since you facetimed me

y/nprivinsta: i love you so much

alexandrasaintmleux: we need to go out and celebrate

iamrebeccad: i'm coming

flavy.barla: and me

francisca.cgomes: me too

pierregasly: so happy for you both

y/nprivinsta: thank you pierre!

landonorris: omg the shortest couple in f1 are getting married

y/nprivinsta: you really have the attitude of a six foot man

alexandrasaintmleux

liked by flavy.barla, iamrebeccad, charlesleclerc and 1,202,009 others

tagged: flavy.barla. iamrebeccad. francisca.cgomes. lilymhe.

alexandrasaintmleux: ladies night

view all 32,101 comments

flavy.barla: the best night ever

alexandrasaintmleux: even if we did lose y/n for a hot minute

user1: who tf is y/n

iamrebeccad: love you all

lilymhe: the best night out in a long time

user2: so we know they are all wags but who is that other girl

user3: the logical side of my brain says just a friend but the delulu side of my brain makes me think maybe we have a new wag

user4: i need to know who that other girl is

y/nprivinsta posted a story

written: watching the whole f1 community blow up trying to find out who i am has me giggling

yukitsunoda: they are guessing that you are a wag for literally anyone but me

y/nprivinsta: yeah i read an article that i'm lando's secret girlfriend

f1updates

liked by user6, user7, user8 and 45,283 others

f1updates: so lando was just questioned about the girl, y/n in alex's new instagram post and his reaction is the funniest thing ever

interviewer: "so is it true that you have a new girl in your life"

lando (confused as ever): "what? wait you mean y/n"

*he started hysterically laughing*

lando: "no me and y/n are not together, jesus christ you guys need to stop believing everything that you see on twitter, you are going to get me killed"

view all 4,211 comments

user6: that response makes me think she is deffo a wag

user7: but who is she dating lando

user8: y'all need to stop being so fucking nosey

y/nprivinsta posted a story tagging yukitsunoda

written: last dinner with my fiancée, here's to many more with my husband

alexandrasaintmleux posted a story

written: the last time i posted this girl f1 twitter almost went up in flames

f1updates posted a story

written: guys an interviewer just asked yuki if he did anything exciting with his summer break. his response was "well i got married" AND THEN HE JUST WALKED OFF

yukitsunoda

liked by y/nprivinsta, pierregasly, alexandrasaintmleux and 1,002,932 others

tagged: y/nprivinsta

yukitsunoda: introducing y/n tsunoda, the love of my life

view all 176,384 comments

y/nprivinsta: i love you more than anything

yukitsunoda: more than sakura

y/nprivinsta: know your place that cat is my child

pierregasly: the best wedding ever

yukitsunoda: do you even remember it, you were so drunk

landonorris: i still can't believe people were shipping me with your wife

yukitsunoda: count your days norris

user9: holy shit yuki married a BADDIE

user10: omg they have a cat that is so cute

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[ancientwastedlores]

Don't Be Kind To It (Homelander x Reader)

The overwhelming amount of love Homelander Only Breaks His Favorite Toys got really hit me in the feels. Some of you asked for a part II, and much like Homelander, I aim to please (and love the praise).

[tags: @helreyy @discowizard88 @slasherho]

This one is lightly inspired by Hozier's "It Will Come Back," and we get a glimpse into Homelander's perspective as well.

Hope you enjoy it! <3

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Don't Be Kind To It

Don't let it in with no intention to keep it Jesus Christ, don't be kind to it

You're a smart cookie. And you know Homelander better than he knows himself. You expect him to stalk you, watch you from rooftops, send you gifts that have an agenda, and force Vought's Crime Analytics department to keep an eye on you.

So, you wait. You listen for the telltale whoosh of air, the crackle of energy that signals his arrival. Every gust of wind sends your heart hammering; every creak of the floorboards makes your blood run cold. You scan the skyline for a flash of red and blue, bracing yourself for the inevitable.

At first, you think he’s just toying with you, letting you stew in paranoia. You brace for him to materialize at the most inconvenient moment, smug and victorious. Yet days turn into weeks, and his absence becomes undeniable. You tell yourself he’s good at what he does—too good—but the truth begins to sink in: it’s not just you. Nobody has seen him.

No staged rescues. No public appearances. Not even a leaked video of him losing his temper. Ashley let slip that his tracking chip went dead 3 days ago. Vought is scrambling to spin the story - a secret overseas mission? A long-deserved vacation?

But the inner circle is panicking. The people who know him best—the ones who know what he’s capable of—are terrified.

Where the fuck is Homelander?

But... another thought creeps in, invasive and unwelcome, like a splinter under your skin.

Isn't he going to fight for me?

The selfishness of it makes you recoil, but it’s there, undeniable and raw. After everything, after all the suffocating control and emotional whiplash, you almost wanted him to stay obsessed with you. To prove that you still mattered to him. To prove that you had power over the most powerful man alive.

The realization is a gut punch. Maybe you’re not as different from him as you thought. Maybe his possessiveness, his need for control, rubbed off on you more than you care to admit. Maybe you’ve become just as twisted as him, longing for attention—even the toxic kind—because it’s better than silence.

And now, silence is all there is.

It wraps around you like a noose, tightening with every passing day. His absence presses on your chest, cutting off your circulation, making it hard to breathe. You tell yourself it’s relief—that this is what you wanted—but the emptiness feels like punishment. You try to convince yourself he’s sulking, biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to make you regret leaving him.

But the longer it stretches on, the more it begins to feel permanent.

You could care less what this means for Vought. All the company seems to care about is who will lead the Seven now. Should they try to replace Homelander or lean into the “team-first” narrative Ashley has been pushing? PR scrambles to keep the media from asking too many questions, trotting out The Deep and Black Noir to cover for him.

But the public isn’t buying it.

Those who love him are afraid he is hurt. Those who hate him post conspiracy theories about Homelander going rogue - which feels way more accurate.

Either way, if Homelander doesn’t want to be found, no one can find him.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Your days stretch out unfathomably long. You expected to feel free, to savor the clean air and the wide-open spaces of a world without him. Instead, his absence is louder than his presence ever was.

When he was there, he consumed everything: every thought, every moment, every inch of your life. You hated it, resented it, but at least you understood it. His attention, no matter how suffocating, meant you mattered.

But now there’s nothing.

The silence echoes like a scream, reverberating through every corner of your mind. Every sleepless night, every anxious thought loops back to him. Where is he? What is he doing? Is he coming back?

You start to wonder if this is how he wanted it—to leave you drowning in uncertainty, gasping for closure you’ll never get. Maybe this is his ultimate revenge.

Or maybe…

Maybe he’s broken in ways even you can’t fix.

You almost wish for his cruelty, for the familiar push-and-pull of his twisted affection. Because this? This void where he once loomed so large?

It feels like dying.

No. You have to seek him out. You can't quite tell if it's for his sake or yours... you can figure that out later.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Monster's Lament

The room is dark, lit only by the faint glow of the moon filtering through cracked blinds. Dust floats in the air, settling over the relics of a forgotten time—old Vought propaganda posters peeling from the walls, a long-dead television covered in grime. It’s quiet here, too quiet, save for the clock that's miraculously still ticking.

Homelander sits slumped in a battered chair, his suit grimy, his cape discarded on the floor in a crumpled heap. His head is in his hands, his golden locks disheveled, the picture of a god brought low.

“You warned her,” a voice says, syrupy sweet.

Homelander doesn’t look up, doesn’t need to—he knows where it’s coming from.

The mirror.

He lifts his gaze reluctantly, and there it is: his own reflection staring back at him, but not quite right. The eyes burn brighter, the teeth are sharper, the smile is crueler. It leans forward as if trying to crawl out of the glass.

"You warned her," it sings again. "But did she listeeeen." "Not now, okay?" Homelander pleads.

The face in the mirror laughs. "Jesus fucking Christ, this is so pathetic. What are you waiting for, for her to come find you? For her to need you?" "She does need me." “Oh, sure. Because you gave her everything. The flying, the fancy dinners, the cape-flipping bullshit. But what did she give you?” It leans closer, its grin widening. “Pity. That’s what. You wanted love, and all you ever got was pity.”

“That’s not true,” Homelander growls, but his voice wavers.

“Isn’t it?” The reflection tilts its head, almost playfully. “She stayed because she felt sorry for you. The broken little boy in the big man’s body. She didn’t love you, not really. She loved the idea of fixing you. And when she couldn’t—”

“Shut up!” Homelander’s voice cracks as he lurches to his feet, his hands trembling.

The reflection’s grin doesn’t falter. If anything, it grows wider. “What’s the matter, Johnny? Don’t like the truth?”

He stands frozen, a deer in headlights. He never learned to deal with complex emotions, and even after all this time, it wraps around him like a boa constrictor, cutting off his air supply and rooting him to the ground.

And the reflection starts to sing. “Don’t feed me, honey. Don’t be kind to me.”

The lyrics echo around Homelander, twisting like a blade.

"Don't give it a hand, offer it a soul Honey, make this easy Leave it to the land, this is what it knows."

"STOP IT" Homelander cries.

"Don't let me in with no intention to keep me Jesus Christ, don't be kind to me Honey, don't feed me, I will come back"

"You're supposed to be on MY side." Homelander says. "I am. This is what that looks like," It replies.

Homelander's stares ahead, his fists clenched, his jaw tights, his eyes ready to burn holes into the mirror. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating.

Homelander closes his eyes, but her face is there, burned into his eyelids. The way she looked at him—like he was more than the sum of his power, more than the monster everyone else saw. He hates her for it. He loves her for it.

“Why did you leave?” he whispers to himself.

The reflection’s smile vanishes. For a moment, it almost looks… pitying.

“Because you allowed it,” it says simply.

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

"She fed you ONCE. And you kept going to her like a stray fucking dog. You took her mercy and her love and you became weak. Nobody wants weakness, Johnny." It leans forward, smiling, canines gleaming, "Whatcha gonna do about it?"

Homelander looks at the ground. Shame and desperation wash over him, and he blinks tears back.

"You're going to claim her. And you'll make sure she never, ever leaves again. Right?"

Homelander doesn't look up from the floor.

It gets irritated. "Right?"

Silence.

It rolls its eyes. "Do you want ME to do it?"

Homelander looks up, hope obvious in his bright blue eyes.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

You don’t intend to start looking for him. It just… happens.

It begins with small, idle habits—clicking on articles about Vought’s latest scandals, scrolling through old news coverage, and watching grainy footage of staged rescues from years past. Your eyes search for him automatically, for that familiar streak of red and blue cutting through the chaos.

Then it escalates.

You start wandering the city at night, tracing the paths he once flew you along. You visit the rooftops where he used to land with a flourish, his cape billowing dramatically in the wind. You linger outside the exclusive restaurants where he once paraded you like a trophy, his smile razor-sharp as he soaked in the envy of the other diners.

But it’s not just the glamorous places.

You walk down seedy alleys and explore dark corners—the forgotten places he claimed as private retreats. The places where he could let his guard down, where the mask of America’s golden boy slipped.

It feels grotesque, this act of seeking him out. Like you’re willingly feeding the monster you swore you’d escape. You hate yourself for it, for the way your heart leaps at the thought of seeing him again, even if it’s just to tell him to his face that you’re done.

But you can’t stop.

You start putting yourself in danger—not consciously, but recklessly enough that it’s obvious even to you. Walking alone through neighborhoods that turn predatory after dark. Taking late-night trains without any plan or destination. Part of you hopes he’ll swoop in, cape flaring, to save you in one of his dramatic displays of power.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, one night, it’s Black Noir who finds you.

The alley is suffocatingly narrow, the air heavy with the mingling stench of rotting garbage and damp asphalt. The dim, flickering streetlight overhead barely illuminates the passage as two men circle you like predators. Their laughter is low and ugly, their shadows long and distorted against the brick walls.

You freeze, your breath caught somewhere between a scream and a sob, as one of them lunges toward you. You pray even now that he'll swoop in from somewhere.

And then he’s there.

Black Noir steps from the shadows like death itself. His arrival is so silent, so abrupt, that the men don’t even notice him until it’s too late. A gloved hand clamps down on one man’s shoulder, spinning him around with an almost casual effort. Noir doesn’t waste time. The blow is swift, brutal—a single strike to the man’s temple that sends him crumpling to the ground.

The second man barely has time to react, stumbling backward with a terrified curse. Noir closes the distance in an instant, his movements fluid and precise. A sharp crack echoes through the alley as the man’s arm is wrenched at an unnatural angle. He screams, but Noir silences him with a swift knee to the ribs. He falls, gasping and broken, as Noir turns to you.

The black Kevlar of his suit gleams faintly in the dim light, the contours of his armor making him seem more shadow than man. His helmet hides his face entirely, the opaque visor reflecting your terrified expression back at you. He stands perfectly still, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths, his presence both menacing and oddly comforting.

You crumble to the ground, your legs giving out beneath you as adrenaline and fear collide in your veins. Relief washes over you, but it’s tainted by something darker—frustration, disappointment, an aching sense of abandonment.

Noir kneels on the ground to make sure you're okay.

“Why—why isn’t he here?” you sob, your voice breaking. The words spill out of you, raw and unfiltered, as you pound your fists weakly against Noir’s chest.

He doesn’t move.

“Why won’t he come for me?” you cry, your hands trembling against the hard, unyielding surface of his armor. “He’s supposed to be here. He’s always here.”

Noir doesn’t answer. Of course, he doesn’t. He simply stands there, a silent sentinel as your emotions spill over in a torrent of tears and ragged gasps. His helmet tilts ever so slightly, as if he’s observing you, but he offers no comfort, no words of reassurance.

You clutch at him like a drowning person reaching for a lifeline, your fingers curling around the slick fabric of his suit. The tears come harder now, soaking into the Kevlar as you press your face against him.

“I hate him,” you whisper through clenched teeth, though the bitterness in your voice is softened by the despair in your heart. “I hate him for leaving.”

Noir stands up, lifting you with him, and lets you go once he's sure you're standing straight. His silence is maddening. Why isn't he angry that you're being ungrateful? Why isn't he at least talking about Homelander disappearing? ANYTHING?

You finally step back, your hands trembling as you wipe at your tear-streaked face. Your gaze meets Noir’s visor, and for a moment, you imagine you see something there—pity, perhaps, or understanding. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the blank, inscrutable void of his masked expression.

“Thank you,” you whisper hoarsely, though the words feel hollow. What you really want to say is, Why wasn’t it him?

Noir doesn’t react. He simply steps back, his movements as quiet and calculated as ever, before melting into the shadows.

You’re alone again, the weight of Homelander's absence pressing down on you like a physical force.

But... a thought creeps in. If Black Noir came, then Homelander must know, too. They all have access to the same intel. He knows where you are and what you’re doing, and still—still—he hasn’t come for you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

GUYS, I think this is going to be a three-parter. Bear with me. The next chapter will be the last. Let me know what you guys think and if you want to be tagged to the third one!

Thank you for all the love 😭😭

[pedrospatch]

not a thing

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

part ii

summary: You and Joel had a private moment while Ellie was asleep. Or so you’d thought she was asleep.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. implied smut, but no actual smut. grumpy Joel, Ellie is a little shit.

Word Count: 1.5k

a/n: nervous to write for TLOU but still giving it a shot! poor Ellie for being subjected to what i am about to subject her to lol. Edit: holy shit, i did not expect this to get much attention. thank you all sm for reading, liking and reblogging!

It had been an incredibly stupid thing to do.

So, so, so fucking stupid.

You knew that.

And Joel knew that.

You two were supposed to have been standing watch.

Not to mention, there had been a teenaged girl sleeping close by, just mere fucking yards away from the two of you had been—

Jesus Christ.

Dammit, you and Joel fucking knew better than to be this goddamn stupid.

Careless.

But neither of you could help yourselves.

It had been several weeks—actually, it had been several months since you two had been able to steal a private moment for yourselves. That moment would have been missed had you not somehow woken up in the middle of the night, only to find Joel wide awake, his rifle in hand as he stood watch while you and Ellie had slept. You’d offered to take his place for a few hours so he could get some rest too, but instead, a few minutes and many, many desperate, feverish kisses later, the two of you found yourselves on the other side of Bill’s old white and blue Chevrolet pickup truck, Joel’s jeans unzipped and your own jeans pulled down around your knees along with your underwear. He’d had you bent over, but still standing at a point where you could peek over the bed of the truck so that you could somehow keep a watchful eye out in between the moments of mind-numbing pleasure—both for any signs of potential danger and also for Ellie, who was passed out, curled up into a little ball in her sleeping bag and completely unaware of what her two reluctant protectors were doing behind the vehicle right next to her.

Your bottom lip was busted, bruised from biting down on it so hard.

The deal had been no noise, not even a single whimper, although you couldn’t remember how well either of you had stuck to that rule in the heat of the moment. It had been a quick fuck, just enough to give you and Joel some much needed relief from all of those pent up stresses and frustrations you two were carrying on your shoulders since Ellie had entered your lives just the week before. And just like back in the Boston QZ, Joel said nothing to you once it was over and done with.

It never hurt your feelings. It was just how things were.

It was some sort of twisted, fucked up unspoken pact the two of you had. 

Joel Miller fucked you, and then he just pretended like nothing ever happened, not until the next time he found himself buried inside of you.

It’s not like you expected Joel to return your feelings.

Hell, you weren’t even sure the man knew how to feel anything but anger, bitterness, and violence. 

Afterwards, Joel took you up on your offer to keep watch and slept for a couple of hours until sunrise came and had you both moving, packing up the truck and getting ready to continue the long drive ahead to Wyoming.

“She’s been oddly quiet,” Joel mumbled to you as he packed up the remnants of the small campsite into the bed of the pickup truck. “Go check on her.”

Obediently, you nodded and dropped the sleeping bag in your hands before turning away and walking over to where Ellie was sitting cross legged on the ground, her fingers mindlessly fiddling with a small, broken tree branch on the ground. “Hey,” you offered her a small smile. “It’s almost time to get going. You doing alright over here?”

She looked up at you and gave you a small nod. “Yeah. Just cold as fuck since we can’t have a fucking fire going,” she said, tossing a tiny glare over in Joel’s direction. “But other than that? I’m just fucking peachy.”

You chuckled and shrugged out of your worn out, brown windbreaker jacket. You draped it over Ellie’s shoulders before taking a seat beside her on the ground. She may have been a thorn in Joel’s side—then again, who wasn’t a thorn in Joel Miller’s side—but you’d warmed up to her fairly quickly. A lot quicker than your partner, anyway. He was still a work in progress.

“Did you sleep okay?”

Ellie nodded, clutching your jacket close. “Kinda,” she shrugged her small shoulders. “The ground was really hard and uncomfortable. I woke up a couple of times throughout the night and had trouble falling back asleep.”

Your smile faded ever so slightly. “Oh? You did?”

Noticing the sudden change in your demeanor, a small smirk crossed the girl’s face. “I knew you and McGrumps over there were a thing.”

You nearly choked on your own saliva as you nervously sputtered out, “W-What the hell are you talking about?”

Ellie raised an eyebrow at you, shooting you a knowing look as her smirk widened.

Oh for fuck’s sake. Ellie had caught you and Joel while you two were—fucking?

Mortified did not even come close to cutting it.

“Oh god,” You muttered, your face on fire. 

“I really hope you two are being smart and using protection,” she added teasingly. “What’s that saying? Wrap it before you tap it?”

“Ellie!” You hissed, glancing over your shoulder. Joel went about his business and it was times like these where you were actually thankful that his hearing wasn’t what it used to be. You turned back to her and quickly started trying to explain yourself. “Ellie, I don’t know what you think you saw but—”

“Oh, it was too dark to see anything. I heard you guys.” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “Back behind the truck.” She paused, thoroughly enjoying every single moment of complete and utter discomfort she was causing you. “You know, if that’s gonna keep happening, I’m really gonna need you guys to find me a Walkman with some headphones. Noise cancelling headphones, please and thank you.”

You dropped your head into your hands and anxiously rubbed your face with your palms. “Fuck. I’m really sorry, Ellie,” Was all that you could say.

What else could you say?

Sorry you had to hear me getting fucked by my partner while you were laying just feet away in your sleeping bag?

“Sorry for what? For not being able to keep it in your pants?” Ellie giggled, slapping your knee with her hand in an attempt to get you to lighten up. “I get it. Nature. Hormones. Biology and shit.”

You lifted your face from your hands. “Joel can’t know,” You warned her. “Or he won’t be able to look you or me in the eye ever again.”

Ellie groaned in exaggeration, throwing her head back. “Aw, come on! I really wanted to see him squirm.”

“Me squirming should be fucking enough you little shit,” You laughed, shoving her playfully with your elbow. Once both of your giggles had subsided, in a more serious tone, you told her, “And for the record, we are not a thing.”

Ellie stared at you in disbelief. “Get out of here, you lying sack of shit! You totally are!”

“I know it’s hard to understand. But just because two people—” You trailed off, trying to choose your words carefully. It was more often than not that you had to remind yourself that despite what Ellie had been through and all she had seen, she was still fourteen. A fucking child.

“Bump uglies?” she suggested, wiggling her eyebrows.

You sighed. “Jesus Christ, please don’t ever fucking say that out loud again.” You paused briefly, running a hand through your hair. “But yes. Just because two people do what he and I were doing, that doesn’t mean anything. For a lot of people, it can be quite meaningless actually. It does not mean they are a thing. Me and Joel? Not a thing. Understood?”

Ellie blinked. “That’s probably the biggest pile of bullshit I’ve ever heard. Even before last night, I knew you two were a thing. Whether either of you admit it or not. I can tell.”

You knew better than to play into what she was saying, but the sheer curiosity got the better of you.

What had Ellie noticed about you and Joel?

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged, bringing her knees up to her chest. “I dunno. The way you look at him. The way he looks at you. He’s a guy who doesn’t seem to give a shit about too many things or too many people. But I know he does give a shit about you. He cares about you. Even if he might have a shitty ass way of showing it.”

You glanced back over at Joel and then back at Ellie, confused.

“And you can deny it all you want. But if there’s one thing that stone cold asshole cares about, it’s definitely you,” Ellie stated firmly.

Your mouth fell open slightly, unsure what to say to her.

“What the hell are you two yappin’ about over there?” Joel called, looking over his shoulder.

“Nothing!” Ellie practically sang, causing him to roll his eyes and turn his attention back to his task.

“Well then, get off your asses and let’s get a fuckin’ move on. Ain’t got time to waste.”

[kalpeavaris]

holding them in my teeth grrr I didn't anticipate to fall in love with this initial idea of a TADC AU this much but... jesus christ man, these goobers haven't left my brain for days now-

couldnt get the idea of Gangle being represented by a porcellaine doll like figure with the gold cracks stuff >:]] and Jax is just a furry-

im this close to writing a fanfiction for the AU and I haven't even done proper designs for ANY of them besides Caine... why are all these ideas flooding my brain when i'm working on commissions??

also no worries im also working on Murder Drones content I won't just switch to TADC teehee so whoever's here for just MD and doesn't wanna see the digital circus content, just mute the #archangel AU tag and you're good i think!! (I'm not sure if it's worth it to make a new side blog for the AU/TADC content so... yeah- i'm a multifandom blog after all)

So yeah anyways the AU's called "Archangel" and it's basics are essentially the same prompts as the OG premise: A couple of humans are trapped as virtual avatars in a world they have to adapt in.

Instead of the Circus, all of them "live" in a multi-story highrise that's meant to literally present the "building" of a game that isn't finished/out yet. Each floor from the top down to the ground floor has an "adventure" aka puzzle the gang has to solve in order to progress down to the main door and hopefully leave at the end.

Also, the players have apartments (they can visit each other in) where they rest and stay in when not working on the puzzles. They cannot leave through any exit/window leading to 'outside' - this will result in an instant death and they may never return.

Each human plays as a virtual avatar who's appearance is randomized and can either be very close to her IRL appearance or very far off (e.g Jax and Gangle, while Pomni and Ragatha retain more human appearances).

So, you're thinking "What about Kinger"? Well, homeboy's the admin for the entire thing and he's not in there, he's outside! I won't spill every detail on why right now, but it'll come to light at the appropriate time :]]

I do have many ideas for him and Caine too, who's design will be posted next whenever it's presentable teehee. First, commissions. For now that's all I have! CYA! o7

[fastbrother]

Detention (E, 1k words)

Harry spends his eighth year recontextualising his relationship with Draco Malfoy.

Tags: Only One Broom, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Fluff and Smut, Praise Kink, Top!Harry Potter

Author's note: Drarry one-shot I wrote for @kk1smet's birthday. Thank you for creating such wonderful art for this fandom, and for letting me use it here! K's original art post can be found here, and you can see more of her art at the bottom of this post!

* * *

They’ve been fighting since—well, since forever. But also since noon. The sky is dark now, and Harry has run out of patience. He turns on his heel, leaving Malfoy to scream into the void.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” 

“I’m going back to the castle. We’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Out of the question. I’m not spending another day—”

Harry can’t think of many things crueller than the detention McGonagall came up with for them. Another day stuck in the forest with Malfoy and he might just crack. But he’s already cracked, hasn’t he? He’s cracked about a thousand times today. 

“Suit yourself. If you can find unicorn hair in the dark, then by all means, go and find it. I’m going back.” 

And with that, Harry mounts his broom.

“Don’t you dare leave me here alone.”

“Then hop on.”

There’s a break, a little silence.  

“Fine. We’ll go back. But I’m flying.”

“Whatever,” Harry says, too tired for another fight. He dismounts, and offers the broom to Malfoy. 

The sound of crushed leaves fills the air as Malfoy comes closer, then grabs the broom in one swift motion. 

They get on.

Why did Harry think it was a good idea to only bring one broom? He’s uncomfortable, seated much too low, and has nowhere to put his hands. He hates not being in control of it, too. Malfoy flies with too much grace, a sin he didn’t know existed until that very moment. 

Time passes slowly.

Harry’s just got used to the precarious balance when a Thestral whizzes by.

“Ah,” Harry says, against his will, and wraps his hands around Malfoy’s waist. At the same time—or was it earlier?!—Malfoy’s hand lands on Harry’s calf, making Harry swallow the sorry he was about to blurt out. 

Surely, Malfoy will say sorry himself. Or remove his hand. 

He doesn’t. 

So Harry doesn’t remove his hands either. 

They land, and Malfoy’s hand lingers for a second too long.

They’re silent on the way to the castle. It’s bizarre, because the two of them are never silent. They bicker in class, when they’re forced to sit together for “the optics.” They bicker in the corridors, when they bump into each other. They bickered all day today. And now they’re silent, too silent, and the ghost of Malfoy’s touch buns a hole through Harry’s jeans.

Their footsteps echo against the stone walls. And then they stop. They’ve reached the staircase where their paths diverge. Harry has to go up the stairs, while Malfoy carries on.

They look at each other, neither of them moving. Then, at the same time, they act. Malfoy clears his throat. Harry walks towards a broom closet. 

Malfoy follows him in. It’s dark, much too dark to see, but he hears Malfoy dropping to his knees. He lets out a sound when he feels Malfoy’s hands parting his robes. The sounds intensify when Malfoy takes his cock out, and puts his mouth on it. It’s all so unexpected, so wonderfully wet and generous, Harry feels around until he touches Malfoy’s head. He’s really there. 

Fucking Draco Malfoy. Is on his knees. Sucking him off. 

Harry finishes in his mouth, and only afterwards realises he’s been panting. 

* * *

Harry corners Malfoy after Charms. Since last night, he’s had time to think. Truly, he’s had so much time to consider everything that’s ever happened between them, all the nuances of their relationship, all the ways in which they came together. And with all that knowledge safely stored in his brain, Harry locks the door.

Malfoy sinks to his knees. The light spills through the arched windows, and Harry can look into his eyes as he takes Harry in. 

“Jesus Christ,” Harry says, watching Malfoy’s lips strain against his cock. “I want to fuck you.”

Malfoy is a good little boy, because he releases his cock, stands up and bends over Flitwick’s desk. Harry lifts up his robe. 

“You’ve finally shut up,” Harry says, inserting one finger into Malfoy’s hole, pulling a moan out of him. “I love that.”

Harry doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but figures out enough. When he’s close, he pushes Malfoy back on his knees and comes all over his face.

Malfoy licks it off his lips. He’s finished in his pants.

* * *

Harry fucks Malfoy everywhere he can. He fucks him in deserted classrooms. In broom closets. The prefects’ bathroom. He fucks him so much and so often, they’ve both fallen behind on schoolwork. When they get detention for it, Harry fucks Malfoy on the forest bed. 

* * *

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Harry says, looking down at Malfoy. It’s the Christmas hols, and all of Malfoy’s roommates are away. It’s the first time they fuck in a bed.

“You’re beautiful,” Malfoy says, and drags Harry into a kiss. 

* * *

“You’re insatiable,” Draco says when Harry falls into step with him after breakfast. “We have Potions in five minutes.”

“Five minutes is plenty of time.”

Draco rolls his eyes, but lets Harry drag him into a broom closet. 

They waste most of the five minutes kissing, and then another five undressing. By the time Harry comes all over Draco’s chest, the bell ringing is a distant memory. 

“If we get detention again, I’ll kill you,” Draco says while he picks up his robes from the floor. 

“Don’t worry,” Harry says, cleaning them off both. “You go first.”

Harry waits two minutes before going into the classroom. 

“Professor, sorry I’m—”

His gaze falls on Draco, sporting a red tie and looking at Harry in horror. Just like everybody else.

Harry looks down at his own green tie. 

“—late,” he concludes, amidst rising bouts of laughter.

“Shh,” Slughorn says, trying and failing at suppressing a grin. “Ah, nothing like young love, is there? But also, detention to the two lovebirds.”

Harry shrugs at the Gryffindors’ shocked faces, then sits down next to Draco. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, a hand on Draco’s knee under the table.

“I’ll never forgive you,” Draco says solemnly. 

That night, they fuck—and sleep—in Harry’s bed.

Super adorable chibi art of them fondling each other on the broom © @kk1smet! 💖

[foerchen]

chapter 1 of my fic "swapped" is up!

Jesus fucking Christ, guys. What the hell??? So my little inspiration post for this fic popped off which is crazyyy! We are now 202 birdwatchers! THANK YOU SO MUCH!

A little disclaimer for this fic though: Uni has just started, meaning that my spare time isn't as much as it used to be. Because of this it'll take significantly longer for me to write fics I'm actually proud of and want to be read by you guys, so please bear with me, alright?

I made this fic a multi chapter one because I have too many fun ideas AND most importantly to relieve some pressure off myself.

(Because as much as I'm grateful for all of the attention my post regarding this fic has been garnering, I won't lie to you guys and say that it hasn't terrified me. I mean, about 50 people or so want reminder tags??? So I do feel the pressure for this fic not to disappoint y'all.)

Nevertheless, I am eternally grateful for all the support. To all of my fellow writers, please do not stress yourselves out, okay? Health and real life ALWAYS goes first! <333

swapped - Chapter 1 - foerchen - Batman - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

HAVE FUN READING THE FIRST CHAPTER! MORE IS TO COME! <3

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ- Reminder Tags for my lovely Birdwatchers: -ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

@yjcorefourenjoyer @mercurialthesaurus @lesbian-disaster-tm @toracainz @aceofbooksandtea @txxmxnyfxndxms @crumpetxd @passing-through-bd @thescarletcryptid @nyastri @my-brain-soup @some-dumbass-on-the-internet @khaji-daa @blobsessedsposts @nightwing-simp @commit-arson-immediately @bexeris @ruba-17 @aplatypusshapedkite @gml0k1 @a-single-anonymous-duck @dyanasaur @littleakuma0ni @th3devilkin @k0rby42 @thepoetryandstartrekmaam @writerfromthestars @lightningstorm003 @threefandomsinatrenchcoat @humanoidluv @witchofhistory @willsolace-loml @sunafterwinter @phantomcannon @livingcadaver7 @drakelorekitty @kireeen @gummylover15 @elizabethhood @secret-secret06 @magical-awesome-kid @angrymiau @spacecat773 @tumblerosestudios @dead-potato-monster

(some of these usernames are seriously creative and had me screaming ngl xD)

(the tagging took me 30 min T-T)

(hope it worked... I only tagged the people specifically requesting it o7)