#this is the funniest fucking thing I’m dying

[lokidokeyartichoki]

I immediately thought of your dear son Theodore

I love him.

OHMYGOOOOOD LMAOOOOO he would though

[novelconcepts]

Shout out to the time most of my siblings were over and (due to a very particular set of circumstances involving my mother in law being Extra at one of them) we wound up playing “California Dreamin’” so many times in a row, we irrevocably fucked my wife’s Spotify Wrapped.

[promptcorner]

WELL.

I can’t NOT reblog this!

I mean, all of them are ready to give Vicky an exclusive about how sweet their stepdad Batman is.

Steph writes BatBruce fanfics on AO3 because SHE WOULD.

[biboomerangboi]

Hua Cheng essentially cockblocking himself for possibly all of eternity will literally never not be the funniest thing MXTX ever wrote.

Xie Lian was pretty much completely in love with him the second he saw those lanterns (and completely oblivious about it) and then we get the wonderful first kiss underwater moment and Xie Lian is basically drawing hearts around Hua Cheng every time he sees him. While like quietly dying cause he literally has no idea what to do with it. Like at this point he doesn’t even really understand that he is head over heels totally gone for this man.

Until Hua Cheng is like I have a beloved I just haven’t won them over yet. Which he thinks is perfectly reasonable because his self esteem is the worst and he doesn’t understand how he could have won Xie Lian over yet. (He’s only on step 22 of his Marrying Dianxia 3000 step Master Plan ((that he debates throwing out on a regular basis because he doesn’t deserve to even dream about wanting Xie Lian)). So course he’s like yeah I have this wonderful noble beautiful beloved I just haven’t won them over yet wink wink nudge nudge.

But Xie Lian is like oh of course obviously I don’t deserve nice things and fuck I actually wanted him so badly I’m actually in love with him and now I will resign myself to never being happy for his sake. (Their combined self esteem is truly a so low it’s a hole in the ground which is hilarious because they think the other person is to good for them and unattainable forever because they literally have the same neurosis.) So he starts boxing up his feelings forever constantly wanting Hua Cheng and feeling guilty about it and literally dying inside because he wants Hua Cheng like he’s never wanted anyone.

Like essentially books 3 and 5 only happen because Hua Cheng has now cursed them both by saying he has a beloved because Xie Lian believes he isn’t wanted and therefore any nice thing Hua Cheng does is just him being nice and not Hua Cheng pulling out steps 23-34 of his plan thinking he still hasn’t won Xie Lian over. (He has he so has but he shot himself in the foot so badly it’s painful to read).

Like thank the Gods Hua Cheng is so unhinged and created the cave of 10000 Gods cause Xie Lian would literally be at his own wedding to Hua Cheng still convinced he wanted someone else and this was in fact a thing they were doing to solve a case together otherwise.

Like he needed something that unhinged to put 2 and 2 together otherwise he never would have caught on he’s Hua Cheng’s beloved. Meanwhile Hua cheng is like 🥺 he’s going to think I’m a weirdo now and I’m only on step 50 of the plan 🥺 like the two of them wouldn’t have been fucking nasty 2 books ago if he just kept his mouth shut and didn’t cockblock himself so violently.

[itneverendshere]

Could you please write btchy!pogue where shes the one whos jealous this time and rafe savors the moment.

don't like the way she's looking - r.c

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x raf

the cut had a party tonight, like most summer nights.

the music was loud enough to shake the ground, beer kegs were getting drained faster than anyone could fill them, and people packed into the yard like sardines. 

it wasn’t fancy, but that was the point, pogue parties weren’t about appearances, you showed up, you drank, you made some bad decisions under the string lights, and you went home.

it wasn’t your favorite kind of night, but rafe had convinced you to come out, promising it’d just be a chill hangout. he lied.

instead of spending the night with you, he’s currently perched by his truck, surrounded by a rotating cast of pogues. you’re leaning against a beat-up picnic table, a half-warm beer in your hand, keeping one eye on rafe while he did his thing. 

by “his thing,” you mean selling weed to every pogue with a crumpled-up twenty and a dream.

to his credit, this is probably his best hustle yet.

rafe cameron, reformed asshole, and your probationary boyfriend, has somehow turned himself into the cut’s go-to dealer. it’s a whole thing, people like him now, which is fine. 

good for him, whatever, but some people like him a little too much. 

case in point? the girl currently throwing herself at him like a damn frisbee. you clocked her the second she strutted over. 

she wasn’t subtle about it, either—crop top hanging so low she might as well not have bothered, denim shorts so short they were illegal in some states. she’s leaning against his truck, like she’s in some fuck ass music video, her body language loud and clear. it’s the hand on his arm that does it for you. 

that, and her laugh. 

jesus, her laugh. high-pitched and fake, like a dying bird trying to flirt.

you’ve been rolling your eyes from the second she started talking, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. 

“you’re really good at this whole business thing, huh? bet you’re good at lots��of things.”

you gag audibly from your spot, but of course, she doesn’t hear you. 

rafe, for his part, looks mildly amused but doesn’t say anything. still, you stay put, you’re not here to play babysitter. he’s not that stupid—he’ll shut her down. 

he better.

her next move is placing her hand on his arm. on. his. arm.

like she isn’t aware that his girlfriend is sitting fifteen feet away, the audacity. she’s batting her lashes and laughing at something he says like he’s the funniest guy alive, and you can see his shoulders stiffen, the slight step back he takes when she puts her hands on him.

“so, like,” she giggles, twirling a piece of hair around her finger, “what if i can’t, you know... pay in cash? ’m sure we could work something else out?”

rafe’s reaction is immediate, “i have a girlfriend.”

“oh,” her pout deepens. “that’s fine. she doesn’t have to know.”

at that, he laughs—an incredulous, slightly panicked laugh, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “yeah, see, that’s not gonna work for me.”

she doesn’t take the hint. 

instead, she tilts her head, giving him what you’re sure she thinks it’s a seductive look. “c'mon, rafe. it’s just a little fun, bet she wouldn’t even care.”

you freeze mid-sip of your beer, brain short-circuiting.

you slam it down on the table so hard it splashes everywhere, your vision zeroing in on her like a predator spotting prey. you’re halfway across the yard before you realize you’re moving.

oh, you care, you care a lot.

rafe’s already holding his hands up like he’s trying to ward her off. “don’t know what you think is happening here, but it’s not. i’m not interested.”

“not interested in me?” she asks, like the idea is physically painful.

“correct,” you announce loudly, “he’s not interested. crazy, right?”

she squares her shoulders and glares at you. “who are you?”

“hi, i’m the girlfriend” you shoot back, “just wondering if you’re planning on embarrassing yourself any more tonight or if that’s it?”

rafe rubs the back of his neck, looking between amused and mildly terrified, “baby—”

“don’t ‘baby’ me, cameron,” you snap, shooting him a glare before turning your attention back to the girl. she’s still standing there, trying to figure out if she should fight or flight.

smart money would’ve been on flight, but apparently, she’s the stubborn type.

she smirks, seemingly not the least bit fazed by you. “pogues share.”

“how about i share this fist with your face? that sound good to you?”

she whips around, her fake-confident expression faltering “uh, excuse me?”

“you heard me,” you only stop a foot from her. your hands are on your hips, ready to pounce if she even thinks about mouthing off one more time. “can’t you take a fucking hint, or are you just dumb?”

“i didn’t know he had a girlfriend,” she rolls her eyes.

“everyone here knows he’s with me, you just thought you’d try it anyway, didn’t you?”

“it’s not that deep,” she shrugs, her voice going fake casual. “it’s just rafe. pogues share—what’s the big deal? you’re overreacting.”

rafe winces, stepping back as if to give you space to handle it. good, he knew better than to get in your way.

“you wanna find out how much more i can react? i’m feeling real generous tonight.”

her mouth opens to say something even dumber, but you’re already pouncing , not even thinking—your body just reacts.

“whoa, whoa, whoa!” rafe’s arms are suddenly around you, yanking you before you can do any real damage “okay, we’re going home.”

“i’ll punch you too,” you hiss, squirming in his grip. “let me hit her.”

he only holds you tighter against his chest when you try to kick out at her. “baby, come on.”

“this bitch said pogues share!’” you cram your neck to glare at her over rafe’s shoulder. “i just wanna share some sense with her.”

she’s already backing away, her hands up in surrender, “okay, whatever, no dick is worth dealing with a crazy bitch. ’m leaving!” she snaps, turning on her heel.

rafe’s grip lightens up slightly, thinking this is enough to calm you down, but unfortunately for him, you take it as a chance to get what you want. as soon as he lets you lose, you take one giant step forward and grab a fistful of her hair, yanking her back just as she tries to escape.

"get your ass back here," you growl, tugging her head back.

“jesus christ,” rafe’s eyes widen and he’s there, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind once again, pulling you back. “baby, let her go!”

she lets out a surprised squeal, trying to pull away, but you’ve got a grip on her so tight she can’t. “what the hell is wrong with you?!” she screeches, hands desperately trying to pry your fingers from her hair.

“okay, you’ve made your point,” he chuckles despite the situation, “let go of her hair.”

you release her, but not without one last, satisfying shove to her back. she stumbles, glaring at you over her shoulder with her hand pressed to her scalp.

“keep your hands to yourself next time,” you warn with a sneer.

she glares at you, and opens her mouth like she’s about to start some more shit—but then she seems to think better of it. with a huff, she turns on her heel and stalks off, her footsteps retreating into the crowd.

rafe stands there, rubbing his neck nervously as he watches her go. “you’re gonna get arrested one day, y’know that, right?”

you look up at him, eyebrow raised, a smirk curling at the corner of your lips. “and you’re gonna get your balls ripped off and be single for the rest of your life. how’s that sound?”

his mouth falls open as he stares at you.

“what? i’m innocent! i didn’t do shit. you just went wwe smackdown on her. i was standing there, minding my business.”

“minding your business while she was all over you?” you challenge, “she was practically trying to crawl inside your skin.”

“told her i wasn’t interested!” he defends, throwing his hands up. “even used the line— i have a girlfriend! that’s...the ultimate force field!”

you snort, crossing your arms. “she walked right through it like it wasn’t even there.”

rafe sighs dramatically, stepping closer, his voice dropping, that little smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, “gotta admit, that was kinda hot.”

you narrow your eyes at him, trying not to let his charm sway you. “hot?”

“yeah,” he grins, “watching you go full psycho really does something for me.”

you can feel your lips twitching upward despite yourself. “you’re such a fuckin’ loser.”

“am i wrong, though?” he teases, slipping his arms around you, his lips tickling your ear as he adds, “never felt more horny—or scared—in my life.”

you huff a laugh, shoving at his chest playfully, “stop trying to make me laugh, i’m mad at you.”

“you’re mad at me?” he leans in impossibly closer, pulling you flush against him.

“rafe—” you start, but he’s already tilting his head, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck.

“mm, y’know,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, “i like you mad. all fired up, it’s sexy.”

“don’t even,” you warn, hoping you sound firm, but it’s hard to when he’s trailing slow kisses down your neck, the press of his mouth sending shivers straight to your toes.

he doesn’t stop, of course. his kisses get sloppier, his lips parting so his tongue can flick against the sensitive spot just below your ear. 

“can’t help it,” he groans in between his work, nipping at your skin. “my girl’s too fucking hot.”

your hands come up to push at his chest, but they end up curling into his shirt instead. “i’m so fucking serious. you can’t sweet-talk your way out of this.”

“m’not sweet-talking,” he slurs, teeth grazing your skin, followed by the soothing heat of his tongue, and you gasp despite yourself. “just... appreciating you. can’t a guy admire his girlfriend after she defended his honor?” he bites down and then sucks at the spot until you’re squirming in his arms. “got me so gone for you, shit, it’s embarrassing.”

“good,” you mutter stubbornly, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair.

he practically purrs at the contact, his lips dragging down to your collarbone. “you’ve ruined me, y’know that? can’t even look at another girl.”

you laugh, your grip tightening in his hair. “keep talking, cameron. see how far that gets you.”

he grins against your skin, his teeth scraping lightly before he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. his hands slide down to your thighs, lifting you up like you weigh nothing and setting you on the edge of the picnic table.

“guess i’ll just have to show you instead.”

"rafe cameron," you start, intending to scold him, but your words stop in your throat as he steps between your legs.

“now you’re quiet,” he’s leaning in so close his nose brushes against yours. “where’d all that fire go, mm?”

your glare is half-hearted at best. “don’t push your luck, you’re still on probation, asshole.”

he hums thoughtfully, his hands sliding up your legs, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. “not luck, baby. skill.”

“you’re so fucking insufferable,” you mutter, but your hands betray you, slipping under the hem of his shirt to splay across his warm skin.

his abs tense under your touch, and you relish the reaction, how his breath hitches as you dig your nails in just a little.

“irresistible,” he counters, his voice rough. his lips hover over yours, daring you to close the gap, but he doesn’t make the first move.

he waits, his eyes locked on yours, the faintest flicker of a challenge in his pretty blue eyes. two can play that game, matter of fact, you know you’ll win.

you pull back, smirking as you trace your fingers over the waistband of his jeans, “that’s pushing it, don’t you think?”

he exhales a chuckle through his nose, his hands moving to your waist, tugging you closer. “you’re so fucking stubborn.”

“me?” you scoff, your fingers dipping beneath the fabric of his jeans, making his tighten, his smirk faltering enough to make you feel victorious.

“yeah,” he repeats, though his voice is strained now. “practically begging me to fuck you here.”

“please.” you tilt your head, your lips grazing his jaw, “you’re the one begging.”

rafe’s laugh is low and throaty, a sound that sends a thrill to your core. his control visibly slips as you trail your lips down the line of his jaw, peppering kisses that grow increasingly slower, more deliberate.

his sharp exhale and the way his grip on your hips drops for half a second tell you everything you need to know.

“you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, his forehead dropping against your shoulder for a moment.

you grin, pleased with yourself, sliding your hands up his chest, feeling the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms.

“don’t sound too surprised.”

he shakes his head slightly, trying to clear it, but he can’t seem to stop staring at you. “god, i hate you sometimes,” he breathes out, his lips quirking up into a smirk that betrays his words.

“funny,” you retort, fingers sliding back into his hair to tug lightly. “don’t believe you.”

his jaw tightens at the sensation, a groan slipping past his lips before he catches it.

 “you’re gonna be the death of me,” he says again, but his mouth is already back on you, a bruising kiss that steals every smart-ass remark you had locked and loaded.

your mouths move together with instinct, and when his tongue flicks against your lower lip, you don’t hesitate, opening up for him. he groans low in his throat as his tongue sweeps into your mouth, curling against yours, slick and overwhelming in the best way.

it’s messy and unrestrained, the kind of kiss that leaves you dizzy and drenched. 

rafe’s lips leave yours only for a second, his teeth tugging lightly at your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth. he pulls back just enough to let it drag between his teeth, his eyes locked on yours, all dark with something feral.

you don’t let him stay in control for long, your hands tighten in his hair, tugging him back to you, and this time it’s your tongue that takes over, sliding against his in a way that has him moaning like a bitch in heat into your mouth. he sucks on it lightly, the sensation only making your panties stick harder to you, and you press closer to him, your legs tightening around his waist, looking for some kind of friction.

when he pulls back, both of you gasping for air, his lips are swollen and glistening, his eyes glazed over with that unmistakable lust.

a string of spit still connects your mouths, and you watch, entranced, as he swipes his tongue across his lips, catching it before smirking at you.

“you kiss me like that again,” he murmurs, “’m not responsible for what happens next.”

[egcdeath]

sealing the deal

pairing: patrick zweig x reader

summary: you and patrick make a few unique business proposals to each other.

word count: 7k

warnings: succession au – tomshiv dynamic (pre-failmarriage), proposals (business and romantic), fluff, a little angst, mentions of a dad being very sick/almost dying, lots of exposition/background on the relationship, art cameo, a little domesticity, established relationship

author’s note: you don’t have to know anything about succession to enjoy this fic! i’ll explain everything that you need to know. if you’re a diehard succession fan i can’t promise that everything will be completely faithful to the source material but it definitely takes a lot of inspiration from tom and shiv’s dynamic.

i wanted to give a HUGE thank you to my succession anon who gave me so much help and guidance for this fic and basically ended up being my co-author for this fic! i hope you all enjoy :)

It wasn’t always easy loving the youngest son of the owner of a multi-billion dollar media conglomerate. 

In fact, most of the time, it was quite the opposite. 

Even without Patrick working in his family’s business, it always felt a little bit like you were in a competition for brain space and time with his family and career, and you were losing. Badly. 

You weren’t exactly sure that you knew what you signed up for when you first met Patrick—connected to each other by a mutual friend you went to business school with, whom you’d begged to try to set you two up for career advancement purposes more than anything else. 

“You know that guy you keep asking me about?” your friend asked you after taking a hefty sip from the drink the bartender just passed her. 

“Patrick Zweig?” you asked, not bothering to pretend like you didn’t know who she was talking about. 

“Yeah!” she laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. You weren’t sure where she was going with this subject, but you were intrigued by her mention of the man and her apparent entertainment at the situation. 

“What about him?” you asked, perversely curious as to why she was bringing him up now. 

“I invited him to come out with us tonight!” she laughed once more as she divulged this information, as if it wasn’t shocking news to you.  

“What? What the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me before!” you practically yelled at her over the sound of loud music and other bar patrons. You suddenly felt very self conscious. If you’d known you were going to meet Patrick Zweig tonight, you would’ve put yourself together, rather than coming straight from work to the bar. 

“I wanted to surprise you!” she continued with her giggling at a situation that you did not find nearly as humorous. “Oh my god. I wish you could see your face right now.”

“I hate you!” you laughed, thinking that maybe this was some sort of prank. “You’re joking, then?”

“No, he’s really coming. He just got back from D.C. and wanted to meet with me. I asked if my hot friend could come along and he was like, ‘Obviously!’”

You groaned aloud. This wasn’t how you intended to make your first impression on him.

“Okay, well, what’s his type?” you asked her, hoping to get a bit of insight before you were launched right into what might end up being your first date. You were sure that you would make a good impression if you showed up as you were, but you wanted to be better than good. You didn’t want to be just another forgettable notch on his bedpost.

“I don’t know,” she sighed, taking a sip from her drink. “Hot? A nice ass? A little mean? Isn’t that every guy’s type?”

“You’re not taking this seriously enough for me,” you replied. You wanted to have a strategy going into this. You would’ve appreciated at least a small briefing before meeting someone so intimidating. 

“I am, you just check all the boxes already. Just be yourself and I’m sure things will work out fine,” she assured you. 

Her assurance was well warranted, considering that things worked out far better than fine. In fact, your friend was overdue for a fruit basket—one that you would be paying for with Patrick’s credit card as you sat in the dining room of your shared penthouse apartment, after you wrapped up a day of work in the skyscraper that was his father’s corporate headquarters. 

At the time, you had a slight idea of who he was, but you had an even better idea of who his family was. Anyone who owned a television would be familiar with his family’s corporation—from the causal channel surfers who passed one of their many news channels during their search for the newest episode of The Bachelor, to the thousands of people with their logo burned into their device screen from the hours they spent with their eyes locked on the 24-hour stream of borderline propaganda. 

Beyond his impressive family, you’d heard whispers and rumors about Patrick for a long time. Between headlines in gossip magazines and stories from your mutual friend, you learned that he’d entered the political world as an attempt to make a name for himself outside of his family name, but struggled to be taken seriously for many years due to the less than stellar reputation that came with being a Zweig.

Although, rumors about his career were just the tip of the iceberg. Gossip about his tumultuous relationships—if they could even be called that—and history of partying far too hard often ran wild, making you believe that your initial meetings with Patrick would be nothing more than a few hookups and sweet talking yourself into a new job. After all, there was no better pillow talk than an elevator pitch. 

At first, your plan seemed like it was right on track. You ended your first night together in the early morning, finding yourself in Patrick’s apartment for hours. Your night hadn’t really ever ended, with the two of you leaving the bar together, having some of the best sex of your life in a bed that felt a little bit like laying on a cloud, then proceeding to talk for hours until it was time for you to go back to work. You smiled to yourself as you sat in the backseat of Patrick’s car, exhausted from the long night and a little uncomfortable in yesterday’s clothes, but mostly enthusiastic after your surprisingly eventful night with the man. 

It was a strange turn of events from what you initially expected. While you couldn’t be too sure what you were getting yourself into when you learned you were being set up on a date, you assumed that Patrick would be like any other rich asshole you’d gone out on dates with, who got what they wanted from you, sent you off on your merry way, then never spoke to you again. You quickly discovered that he was unlike anyone you’d ever been with before. 

Patrick seemed to be full of surprises, and the fact that you were going on multiple dates with him in the first place was one of those very surprises. You hadn’t expected to go on any more than three dates before you asked about working for his family, securing yourself a job, then leaving him alone. 

What took you by even greater surprise were the dates themselves. What started as an intimate dinner in one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city ended with you at a terrible 24-hour diner, treating Patrick to his first slice of cherry pie as you talked into the wee hours of the morning. 

Your subsequent dates went similarly, with the two of you talking endlessly about anything and everything. Patrick was someone full of surprises—he was far from the rich asshole you expected him to be, and more like a knowledgeable politics nerd with a lot of money. 

You talked for hours about big things, like why Patrick decided to pursue a career as a political strategist and what brought you to New York City, but you also found it easy to discuss small random things with him, spending an extended period of time discussing how you named your cat, and debating on the best restaurant in the city. 

You always thought of yourself as being somewhat agreeable and friendly when it came to conversation, but your discussions with Patrick took you by surprise. You weren’t sure you’d ever clicked with someone the way you clicked with him, and it made you as excited as it made you nervous. 

By the time you worked up the nerve to ask Patrick about working for his family, you were already beat to the punch. The two of you were tucked into the booth that you’d recently declared as yours in the same diner that you seemed to be spending all of your all-nighters in, reclining comfortably in the particularly uncomfortable seats. 

“Do you like the business side of things?” Patrick asked you, stirring a flattening Diet Coke with a straw. 

“It’s fun,” you dismissed. “It’s less fun going to work on a half-hour of sleep.”

“Shut up. You love it,” the man across from you laughed, an admittedly very handsome half-smile on his face. “I mean it though. Do you like what you’re doing?”

“It pays the bills, I guess. I like the work, but I’m not huge on the company. All the politics and the instability with layoffs lately… It isn’t exactly ideal.”

“Would you ever work for my family?” he asked. “I mean, you’re just wasting potential elsewhere. I really think they could use someone like you on their team.”

“Seriously?” you asked, partially surprised at the proposition, but mostly surprised that you weren’t the one to ask in the first place. Across the table, Patrick listened to you intently. “I mean, If they’d have me, I’d love to work for them.”

“My dad mentioned something about them looking for some new blood. I can put in a good word for you, if that sounds interesting to you.”

“Is this because I showed you the joys of a slice of diner cherry pie?” you joked, trying not to let on just how overjoyed you were about this opportunity. 

“You got me. And now that you mention it, we should probably order another slice,” he suggested, going along with your joke. “You’re smart and you clearly know your shit. Besides, I’m mostly doing it for myself. It’ll be nice to have someone around at company Christmas parties who can actually keep up with me.”

“Well, thank you,” you replied calmly, though you were doing somersaults in your mind. “I look forward to drinking eggnog and singing Mariah Carey songs with you.”

In retrospect, you recognized this action as the first of his many wordless declarations of love. You later learned that Patrick did everything he could to avoid talking business with his family, as it was clearly a sore spot for everyone involved. Realizing that he’d gone out of his way to get you a job had been an even more kind gesture than you knew at the time. 

While you initially expected your fling to taper off after Patrick fulfilled his end of the business deal he didn’t even know he was facilitating, your relationship did nothing of the sort. In fact, his favor seemed to have the opposite effect on your bond. 

Before you knew it, the two of you were courting each other like lovesick Jane Austen protagonists. In another shocking turn of events, Patrick ordered flowers to your doorstep each morning and took you on lavish dates, while you began to take four-hour long train rides to and from D.C. each weekend to visit him, and frequently sent him rambling love letters. 

While you hadn’t expected for your relationship to unfold the way that it did, you genuinely loved Patrick. You loved the way his eyes crinkled when you told him something stupid that he’d laugh at, or how he leaned in to whisper something judgmental in your ear about someone you mutually disliked during family events. You loved the way his hand felt in yours and the way his mind worked, which he frequently displayed to you while discussing his latest political strategy. You even loved when he minced words to describe how he felt about you, knowing that though the word ‘love’ might never leave his lips, his actions spoke far louder than his voice ever could. 

It just so happened that you loved his proximity to power, too. 

While his money and power might have piqued your interest initially, it didn’t change the fact that the two of you quickly clicked. You had a natural chemistry, with you matching Patrick’s flirty words and actions with ease. It also just so happened that you entered each other's lives at the perfect time, with you in dire need of a career upgrade, and Patrick in need of someone unafraid to show him more affection and care than he was willing to give. 

Though he wasn’t the best at communicating his feelings, you quickly became a tenured professor in Patrick-ology. You were certain that this played a role in why Patrick liked you so much in the first place—being somewhat emotionally stunted, he needed someone who could understand his thoughts without him having to explicitly say every detail, and you did exactly that. 

This skill worked out surprisingly well for you. You gave him the love and understanding that he’d been looking for and missing for all of his adult life, and you got to reap the benefits that came with being in a relationship with someone in one of the most powerful families in the world. 

Despite your more humble beginnings, you quickly became familiar with luxurious items and activities. You also quickly learned that no matter how prepared you thought you were for that level of wealth—you weren’t. You couldn’t even begin to count the amount of times your unfamiliarity with certain norms left you as the laughing stock of the family. 

But it wasn’t all corner offices in skyscrapers and helicopter rides. During the honeymoon phase of your relationship, it certainly felt like it, but the cracks in your foundation became more and more evident every day. 

The thing was, as much as you two cared about each other, there was a family shaped shadow that loomed over everything that you did. It was clear that you were an outsider in Patrick’s family. Coming from an upper-middle class Midwestern background, you were often made to feel like you were a stupid gold-digger, only staying around your boyfriend for power, rather than love. At times, you wondered if his family knew what love was at all. 

The love, or lack thereof in Patrick’s family was what shocked you most of all. It was no secret that his father was unnecessarily cruel to all of his children, but particularly to his siblings trying to work their way into more serious positions in the company. Patrick somehow managed to dodge that particular flavor of cruelty, with him very obviously being his father’s favorite and working outside of the family business, but the emotional scars his father left still lingered. 

But his father’s presence didn’t just loom over him, it was beginning to loom over you, too. Not only in the extreme intimidation you felt when having to interact with him, but in the small acts of callousness Patrick showed you throughout the course of your relationship. 

It began as small things, things that bothered you less the more you got used to them. Like how he always seemed to unconsciously belittle your work, not even bothering to seem interested in the recaps you gave of your day before he launched into a story of his own about the candidate he was working with. Though you tried your hardest to fight through your smaller pet peeves with him, Patrick’s inability to be straightforward about his emotions felt like the cherry on top of an already painful sundae.

Regardless of all of the flaws, bumps, and roadblocks in your relationship, you promised to yourself that you would be in Patrick’s corner, no matter how ugly things got or how poorly he treated you. Not only out of your own self-interest, but out of your love for the man, and the knowledge of how difficult his upbringing made certain things for him. 

Which was why when you got the call from Patrick that something had gone terribly wrong with his father while coming back from his birthday celebration, you didn’t hesitate to rush to the hospital, encouraging your driver to speed all the way to the building. 

When you arrived, he and his siblings were in disarray in a way you’d never seen before. His father, who was typically a presence that towered over everyone in the room, was reduced to an old man hooked up to a number of machines. His older sisters, who were always either waiting for the moment to swoop in and make a crude joke or waiting in the wings to discuss the next business strategy, paced back and forth endlessly, clearly feeling the pressure of their sick father.

Patrick sat alone on an uncomfortable chair, peering helplessly into the observation room. It was rare for you to see him with his feelings written so openly across his face, even after years of being in a relationship with him. That concerned you.

You made quick work of walking over to Patrick, whose tensed-up shoulders slightly dropped as you took a seat next to him. Though he wouldn’t ever tell you this, you knew that your presence made him feel more supported and a little more safe, though you being or not being in the hospital clearly wouldn’t have an impact on if his father lived or died. 

“Hey,” he greeted you, immediately squeezing your hand. “Thanks for coming,” he said weakly, as if he was fighting off a new round of tears. In that moment, you so desperately wanted to take some of his emotions for yourself, knowing that Patrick hated feeling any feeling, let alone such negative feelings to such a serious degree. 

“Of course, honey,” you reassured him, running what you hoped would be a grounding hand up and down his arm. “Is there anything I can get you? Coffee? Water? A snack? I saw that burger place you like on my way over.”

“No, nothing right now,” he sighed. You inspected him cautiously, knowing that he wasn’t exactly one to always say what he meant. “Really,” he assured you, though you didn’t completely buy it. 

Since he wasn’t in the mood for more material items, you decided that the best course of action was a little affection. He wasn’t always the biggest fan of receiving affection in front of his family, but you figured that in a time where he was uncertain if his father would live or die, he would appreciate a little outward support. 

You laid your head on his shoulder and angled your body closer to his. Not expecting any response, you were surprised when Patrick kissed the top of your head. “I’m glad you’re here,” he told you quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’d be in trouble if someone overheard him. 

You held his hand as the two of you sat for hours, only getting up to stretch your legs or take phone calls from friends with insight on other high-end medical facilities that might be able to better accommodate Patrick’s father. 

You did your best to give Patrick his space when he needed it, as he floated between two of his siblings—one of which was focused mainly on the future of the company, and the other in a state of denial about the state of her father—then back to you when he could no longer stand the chaos of his sisters. 

It was a stressful scene, and one that was clearly too much for your boyfriend, who went back and forth between wanting to be glued at your hip, and wanting to be left completely alone. You’d seen Patrick stressed in the past, with him chatting your ear off as he waited for his candidate’s election results, or as he prepared to give a speech at an event, but you’d never seen him like this. 

He almost seemed fragile, like one wrong word or action might break him. It frightened you to see him in such a state. Again, you lamented not being able to take some of his pain for yourself. 

In the time that you waited without any word from any doctors, a few gears began to turn in your mind. Life was so fleeting, which was proven by Patrick’s mighty father falling so seemingly easily. Really, it could’ve been any of you sitting on that table with tubes and monitors attached to you. If it were Patrick who was sitting on that gurney, you would be an absolute wreck. If he somehow died, you also wouldn’t technically be a widow, despite your long-term relationship with the man. 

All of it made you wonder if you should just bite the bullet and propose to Patrick.

Sure, it wasn’t the best timing ever. Sure, you’d always imagined yourself being on the receiving end of a grand proposal, especially from someone like Patrick. But maybe he would appreciate the gesture—giving him a distraction to take away some of his pain, and giving him one final grand milestone with you while his dad was still alive. 

To a lesser extent, being married would provide you with certain protections you didn’t have while you were only his long-term girlfriend. Obviously, you didn’t want to think of anything bad happening to your boyfriend, but accidents and tragedies could happen at any point, and it was better to be prepared than to be sorry. 

It felt right that you might be able to join his family during a time where he was losing a family member. Not only for his sake, but because losing their patriarch meant unprecedented instability in his family. You wanted to be sure of your spot amongst them, after you’d grown used to the privileges that came with being Patrick’s girlfriend. 

You fidgeted with the ring on your middle finger, a family heirloom passed from generation to generation onto you. It was no expensive piece of jewelry, and it certainly wasn’t an engagement ring, but it was incredibly meaningful to you—a symbol of your family, which was extremely important to you. Patrick knew just how much you valued the ring and exactly what it represented to you, so in turn, you hoped that if you gave it to him, he would understand how much he meant to you. 

Getting up from where you’d been sitting for far too long, you began to pace the hallways of the hospital, wondering about the timing of your now imminent proposal. As you shuffled through the sterile building, you surprised yourself as you came across your partner. 

“Patrick!” you said with a start after unexpectedly catching a glimpse of him. 

“Hey,” he greeted unenthusiastically before beginning to walk right past you. 

“Wait,” you grabbed onto his arm before he could fully walk away, encouraging him to look right at you. It was now or never, and the words were on the tip of your tongue. 

“I’m sorry, I really don’t have time for this right now,” he dismissed, his voice monotone and listless. 

“You do, though. Patrick, listen,” he didn’t look like he was in the mood to talk, but was prepared to listen to you anyway. You knew you only had a few seconds to pitch your proposition before you lost him, so you spat out your words rather than beating around the bush. “Let’s get married.”

“What?” he looked at you with brows drawn in confusion. It wasn’t exactly the ideal reaction to your proposal, but then again it wasn’t much of a proposal. “Right now?”

“Obviously not now, but… soon?” as you spoke, you began the process of slipping the ring off your middle finger and attempting to present it to him in the palm of your hand. Sure, it wasn’t the most romantic or put together proposal, but it felt right to be offering him such a grand and personal gesture while everything else was going sideways in his life. 

“I know it’s probably not the best time, but I thought that maybe I could make things a little better with your dad and… I don’t know. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If something ever happened to you, I wouldn’t want to wonder about what we could’ve been and-” you rambled on before you were interrupted with a sigh. 

“Honey, you can’t just make my dad dying better,” he rubbed his temple exasperatedly, then looked between you and the ring you were presenting him with. “If you wanted to make me feel better, you should’ve just brought me coffee.”

You frowned at him, knowing that you’d offered him that very thing earlier and he turned you down. You wondered if your communication would ever improve—or if it even needed to improve, since this proposal was going so poorly that you’d probably leave the hospital single. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you closed your palm and put your hand in the pocket of your jacket, fully prepared for Patrick to tell you to fuck all the way off. It had been stupid for you to think that Patrick would appreciate such a grand gesture during such a terrible time. 

“Wait,” Patrick stopped you, now reaching for your arm. “My answer isn’t a no, it’s just… I don’t want this to be the memory. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Doing all the work of getting your hand out of your pocket, he grabbed the ring you presented him with to further prove his words and slipped it on his ringer. It only fit halfway down his finger, but he kept it on regardless. 

“Really?” you said, suddenly perking up.

“Duh,” he replied, looking a little shy as his cheeks turned a light shade of pink and he briefly looked away from you, as if his feelings were so strong that he couldn’t even manage to look you in the eye. 

You couldn’t contain your excitement at his answer, jumping and squealing a little bit as you pulled him into an overly enthusiastic hug. You heard the familiar sound of Patrick laughing quietly in your ear as you squeezed him. Though he always seemed to hold back his emotions, you knew that he was just as excited as you were to be promised to one another.

You pulled him into a soft kiss, draping your arms around his neck, holding him as close as you could until he inevitably pushed you away. 

Patrick surprised you with how long he was willing to embrace you, clearly in need of a little bit of comfort after such an emotionally exhausting night. You surprised yourself when you ended up being the person to pull away. 

“Should we go check on our family?” you asked, not bothering to hide your excitement around finally being in. 

“I just need a second,” he told you, glancing down the hallway before pulling you into yet another embrace. He pressed his face into your hair, soothing himself with your scent and presence. You rubbed circles into his back and muttered something about him taking all the time he needed.

You were interrupted by one of Patrick’s sisters, whose voice called out your names down the hallway. “When you two are finished with your snuggle-fest, the doctor has news for us.”

“Wait, what?” Patrick pushed you away quickly, his tune changing in an instant.

“Good news, I think. But move your asses. C’mon,” she directed, already turning away and Patrick quickly following her. 

If you were experiencing an emotional rollercoaster, you couldn’t even begin to understand how Patrick was feeling. Finding out his dad was sick, being proposed to, and immediately hearing more news about his father in the span of just a few hours must’ve felt unreal. 

You sat quietly and observed from the sidelines as a doctor took them into their father’s room and filled in the siblings on the state of him. They all seemed to share a collective sigh of relief, and though you couldn’t hear the exact news from where you were sitting, you knew that it must’ve been good. 

When Patrick came back to you, he had a hint of a sad smile on his face. “Ready to go?” he asked you. 

He didn’t need you to ask twice. You were more than prepared to escape the too-bright lights, sickeningly sterile scent, and the feeling of sadness that seemed to be hanging in the air of the hospital. 

Your driver was a welcome sight, with him giving you a quiet greeting as the two of you got in the backseat of the car. As he drove, Patrick reached for your hand, which you gladly gave up to him. 

In the following minutes, Patrick crept over further into your space until he sat directly beside you, leaning his head on you with his eyes closed. The long day was surely taking its toll, with the anxiety of his dad being in such dire straits, and the excitement and confusion of you proposing to him. 

His sleep was well earned. You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, then closed your own eyes, letting the soft sound of the early morning city traffic lull you to sleep. 

In the following days, you could tell that something wasn’t quite right with Patrick. At first, you chalked it up to nerves around his father’s health, but that didn’t seem to be it. Typically, when Patrick was really anxious about something, his silence on the elephant-sized topic gave him away. While you’d heard quite a bit about the state of his father from him—whether it was an update sent to him by his step-mother or an actual visit to the man—you hadn’t heard a peep about your engagement since the day after you got engaged. 

On the other hand, you were struggling to keep the news to yourself, despite the request of Patrick. You wanted to scream the announcement from the rooftops, but in the early morning after you returned from the hospital, Patrick made his position very clear: Wait a little while for things to blow over before you started telling people– your friends and family included. 

Despite the fact that he wore your ring every day since the day that you’d given it to him, something about his behavior told you that it was that very ring that was giving him so much internal conflict. 

In the past few years of knowing Patrick, you learned that he was a bit of a control freak. You wondered how out of control it made him feel for you to be the person to propose to him. Part of you wondered if you should’ve even proposed in the first place if it was going to be an issue. Maybe you should’ve let him do things on his own timeline, rather than making him feel nervous or insecure in your relationship.

But at the same time, Patrick initially seemed rather entertained by the idea of you getting married. In the morning after your engagement, he couldn’t stop referring to you as Mrs. Zweig. At the desk of your brand new office, given to you after a serious promotion, you found a box of expensive chocolates with a note fondly referring to you as his fiancé. As you laid next to him in bed that night, he pulled up the profiles of three separate wedding planners and asked you about your preference in people. 

It almost felt like his feelings on your engagement were constantly fluctuating between being excited to be with you forever, and being terrified of that very commitment. Things weren’t made any better by Patrick’s professional-level ability to dodge questions, especially questions related to how he genuinely felt. 

“C’mon, you know how I feel,” he replied to you after you directly asked him over breakfast. He lifted his mug casually, subconsciously putting space between the two of you. 

“Pat, I don’t. That’s why I asked,” you forced out a laugh, though the situation wasn’t exactly funny to you. If Patrick didn’t want to marry you, you didn’t want to force him to do so. 

“But you always know how I feel,” he said with a bit of a pout and a whine—what you called his ‘let me get away with it’ demeanor that he often used with his family—before setting down his coffee and standing up. 

“Not this time,” you explained, standing up as well and abandoning the plate of half-eaten eggs in front of you. 

“You’ll figure it out,” he dismissed your concerns and stepped close enough to you to hold your face in both of his hands. 

“Love you?” you asked, hoping that if he could confirm that at the very least, you might have a better understanding of what was going through his head. 

“Of course,” he said genuinely, though he didn’t offer you any parroting of those words. Instead, he dropped his hands from your cheeks and kissed one of them. “Have a good day at work, okay?” 

“Yeah. Thanks,” you tried not to look as annoyed as you actually felt as you made quick work of grabbing your work bag and leaving. You needed some time to make sense of it all. 

The situation only became more complicated as you sat down in a conference room, mentally preparing yourself to make your first big presentation as the newly vetted Head of Parks and Cruises division. You cared greatly about what your peers thought about you, so you couldn’t deny the nerves running through your veins. 

These nerves only increased when you caught a glimpse of Patrick from the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the conference room, shaking hands with people on your floor and clearly making cordial small talk. 

You desperately hoped that he was there to wish you luck on your presentation, and not to pick your conversation from the morning back up. You bitterly thought about how he couldn’t have picked a worse time as he waved at you from the window. You stiffly waved back, not exactly in the mood to be interrupted right before a big presentation. 

“Hey, if I don’t make it back for whatever reason, you can do this presentation, right?” you asked quietly, leaning into your newly-hired assistant’s ear. 

“Wait, what?” he asked you, brows furrowing. “I don’t know, I haven’t practiced or anything, and-“

“Perfect,” you replied, not listening to a single word he was rambling out. “Just read off the slides. You’ll be okay.”

You didn’t bother staying to listen to Art ramble in your ear about how he didn’t know what he was doing. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be the one presenting, and if he absolutely had to, he’d probably be fine. 

You shut the door behind you, politely waving at one of your co-workers as they entered the conference room. You made your way to Patrick and stood with your arms crossed against your chest, trying to strike a good balance between showing him how agitated you were, and not trying to further agitate your fiancé, who seemed to be in a particularly fragile mental state lately. 

“Hi honey, is anything important going on?” Patrick asked once you stood across from him. 

“Actually, yeah. Is there any way we could chat a little later? Like maybe an hour or two?” you suggested. “I can block some time off on my calendar for you and everything.”

“I’m sure whatever it is isn’t more important than this,” he glanced over at the conference room as he spoke to demonstrate his point. You wished you could explain to him how far that was from the truth.

“What is it?” you asked, your patience beginning to grow thin.

“You’ll have to see. Come with me?” he offered. 

“Patrick, I’m in the middle of a meeting!” you whisper-shouted, trying to keep your voice down and your body language mostly neutral, so your colleagues couldn’t observe how much you were freaking out as you talked to your partner. 

“It hasn’t started yet,” he dismissed casually. “They’ll be fine without you. I won’t be fine without you.”

You eyed him suspiciously. 

“Please,” he added, as if you’d ever be able to say no to him—though you were pretty tempted to do so. 

“Fine,” you gave in with a small, soft sigh. That didn’t deter Patrick at all, who seemed uncharacteristically excited as the two of you sat in the backseat of his car. 

“So where are we going? Or, what are we doing?” you asked, trying to ignore the terrible feeling in your gut that you felt about leaving your meeting. 

“It’s a surprise,” Patrick said coyly. “It’ll be more fun than that meeting, though.”

“I’m sure,” you replied, looking out the window. You hoped that whatever romantic gesture Patrick planned would be worth losing the respect of all of your peers. You wondered what you could tell them that would make your absence seem acceptable. Family emergency? It wasn’t exactly a lie. It wasn’t quite the truth either. 

When your ride stopped and you stepped out of the vehicle, you were surprised to find yourself at the diner that you spent the majority of your first few dates at, splitting pieces of pie and talking each other’s ears off for hours. 

“Craving some cherry pie?” you asked him curiously. Obviously, this seemed like a task he could’ve handled on his own, coming to the diner himself or having his driver buy and deliver him a whole pie, but you figured that maybe he was simply in the mood for some nostalgic comfort. In the midst of such chaos, you would be happy to give that to him. 

“It’s been too long,” he shrugged before grabbing your hand.

Patrick led you to the booth that you declared as yours all those years ago, and began to chat your ear off like normal. While you wanted to think about work, it was surprisingly easy to forget about the real world when you were in such a nostalgic place with him. 

The two of you ordered your old usual order, only enhancing the feeling of nostalgia as you shared a plate of painfully average pancakes and a slice of cherry pie.

“Ew, what is that?” you laughed after you bit into something hard and gross. “This fucking place,” you muttered, looking for a napkin that you could spit out whatever it was that you almost just consumed. 

When you glanced down at the napkin, you were shocked to find what looked like a metal ring covered in cherry syrup. “Oh shit. Do you think this belonged to someone?” 

Once you looked up, you were shocked to find Patrick holding a black velvet box, one that you’d seen before nearly a year ago as you deep-cleaned your shared bedroom, one that you chalked up as a gift for his mother or a friend. 

“Patrick?” you asked, clearly confused. He parroted your name right back to you and opened up the box, showing you one of the most beautiful rings you ever laid your eyes on. 

Suddenly, it made sense why he asked you to come out with him, interrupting you in the middle of the day to take you to a diner where you shared so many memories. Sure, he could’ve waited until you got off work, but you figured he was thinking about your conversation from the morning and wanted to do something that would show you how much he truly cared about you. He’d always been better at bigger gestures than verbally sharing his feelings, so part of you remained unsurprised. 

“I first fell in love with you here, so it only felt right to bring you back here to ask you to marry me?” he explained, not breaking eye contact with you. He was never one for a soapbox when it came to sharing his feelings, so his proposal was short and straight to the point. Though, you wondered if he had more words prepared that he simply couldn’t get out. Based on the speed of his leg bouncing under the table, you knew that Patrick was nervous out of his mind—despite him already knowing what your answer was. 

You recalled what Patrick told you in the hospital about not wanting your proposal to be the memory—the memory you told others about when you shared the news, or fondly recalled to your kids in ten years when you reminisced on your love story. 

If accepting his proposal now, and acting like his proposal was the only proposal made him feel better, you didn’t see any reason why you wouldn’t fully lean into it.

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed, genuinely being surprised at the offer, but playing up your excitement for the sake of your nervous fiancé. “Of course I’ll marry you, Pat.”

Patrick broke into a toothy grin, his excitement contagious to you. “Give me your hand,” he directed, taking the ring out of the box. 

He slipped the ring onto your finger, and it somehow looked even better on your finger than it did in the box. You looked at it in amazement curling and uncurling your hand to look at the ring from all of its angles. 

“It’s gorgeous, Patrick. Thank you,” you told him earnestly as you looked from your hand to him. You weren’t surprised by the quality of the ring or even that he found something that you liked so much. Growing up with lavish gifts constantly being given as an expression of ‘love’ made Patrick pretty damn good at giving you gifts. As for the other expressions of love… he wasn’t the best. But he was very obviously trying his best for you, and you loved that about him. 

In some ways, your proposals felt like the perfect encapsulation of your roles in your relationship. While you offered Patrick a ring with little monetary, but high emotional value, he gave you a ring that was probably more expensive than you could ever fathom, that didn’t have the same emotional ties that your family heirloom of a ring did. 

Beyond the appearance or symbolism behind your rings, and despite your very different proposals, you were ecstatic to be engaged to Patrick. It only felt right that after years of loving the man, you two were finally making things official in the legal sense. 

As you peered at your shyly smiling fiancé, you couldn’t help but break out into a grin yourself. You underestimated just how exciting it would be for you to be starting a new chapter of your relationship. 

[dragonanon]

Not me out in public dressed in my “emotional support human” vest-leash because my bot has panic attacks at the mere thought of trying to shop at the Cybertronian equivalent of Walmart alone

Emotional support humans

In this au the war ended before humanity got involved in it but for one reason or another we still find out about the bots. Standard fist contact stuff happens you know but the bots eventually realize how much calmer they are around humans.

Bots find it hard to go into statis when there's a high likelihood of being attacked in your sleep, but with humans those worries seem to just melt away. It's kinda weird to them to feel protected by a very small organic creature. Regardless stuff like this keeps happening so seeing an economic opportunity humans created "Flesh therapy." (Everyone thinks it's a terrible name but it was the one that stuck)

Flesh therapy could be but not limited to: cable straightening, therapy sessions, human cuddling, car washes, becoming living fidget toys or the main thing live in human therapy dogs.

It will vary but usually a human will live most of the time with a bot (the company will provide basic necessities) and help them through daily life. They have their own vest with cybertronian writing and a government issued work id.

[devildomwriter]

Obey Me As Tumblr #31

Belphegor: Snail but with no shell

Beelzebub: Oh those is then uuuuuuuuuuu slurms

Satan: A what

•

Diavolo: Maybe dogs lick us so much because they know there’s bones beneath our skin

Lucifer: This is worst thing you’ve said by far, thanks

•

Beelzebub: Aye can I get Uh…..ingredients on my burger

Satan: Beetroot?

Satan: You want beetroot?

Satan: You want fucking beetroot?

Beelzebub: Ingredience

Mammon: This post feels exactly like a conversation you would witness in a dream and think was completely normal and then wake up and think “what the fuck” for a single millisecond and then immediately forget about completely

•

Diavolo: I’ve lost 20% of my couch

Diavolo: Ouch

Solomon: That’s the funniest couch joke I’ve seen sofa

•

Mammon: *begins breakdancing gently* what’s wrong son?

Asmodeus: What the fuck. What does this even mean. Who thinks of this shit, why is it so funny. I hate this site

•

Mammon: You know what really gets my goat?

Barbatos: El chupacabra

•

Leviathan: The future: holograms can physically touch you and there are 12 cases of homicide committed by Hatsune Miku

Solomon: Just 12?

Diavolo: It’ll be 13 if you don’t stop asking questions

•

Satan: Do you ever get so excited you just want to crush a human skull in your hands

Mephistopheles: You just described breathing

Satan: I am fairly certain I Did Not

•

Mammon: I love it when the city gets rainy at night, and the floor gets all reflective and pretty, and everything becomes more vibrant and gorgeous and you can put any fluid on the ground and people will think it’s water, fools

Lucifer: This post was great until the last part, what are you implying

Mammon: Fool

•

Diavolo: Science puns, go!

Belphegor: You must have a pH of 13 cause you basic as fuck

•

Satan: Shut up @ people who still say “science side of tumblr”

Belphegor: Science side of tumblr why is this man so salty

Solomon: Osmosis

•

Satan: 100 years ago everyone owned a horse and only the rich had cars. Today everyone has cars and only the rich own horses

MC: The stables have turned

Mephistopheles: I laughed too hard at this and I hate you for it

•

Leviathan: Guys, I’m sorry but I think December 31st is going to be my last day on Tumblr for this year

Leviathan: …If one more person asks me why I’m leaving

Diavolo: Kids, this is why school is important

•

Simeon: In primary writing school we had a creative writing assignment where we had to ‘write about a character in a new strange environment’ and I wrote about a squid that was somehow transported from the ocean to the forest floor and slowly choked to death for two pages and I’ll never quite forget the look on my teacher’s face because it turns out she wanted ‘this new school is scary, I hope I make friends’ and not a graphic description of a squid dying

Lucifer: Well that’s just the risk you take if you decide to teach creative writing

•

Raphael: Why do stores always say “gifts for her”??? Who is she? Why are millions of Americans being encouraged to buy gifts for this entity? Someone explain

Mammon: We must appease Her

MC: She is all that keeps the darkness at bay. Without Her the Old Ones will rise again, we must not disappoint Her

Solomon: She is watching. She knows.

Last • Next

[bunnyteetharry]

Boyfriend

summary: pranking Harry with the “calling your husband boyfriend” trend

warnings: none? light spanking, use of brat

pairing: husband!arry x wife!reader

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It was late into the afternoon

You were sprawled on the couch bundled up in your favorite sage blanket with the TV playing on low volume as background noise

You were scrolling mindlessly on TikTok when you came across a video of a women calling her husband boyfriend right in front of him and getting the funniest reaction, you were dying to do this to Harry and what better timing then to do it now that he’s been more at home since taking a mild break from touring and going to the studio here and there when he feels like it

You knew he was in the home library catching up on his tbr stack that you collecting for him whilst he was touring

It was a thing you did for one another

Grabbing books or nicknacks that you knew the other would enjoy

Earlier you asked if he was feeling hungry for anything and you both agreed on ordering in so you made your way towards the room he was in, your idea was to order food in front of him but in actually you’re just going to be on a fake call with the camera facing him

“Baby!” You called out as you entered “Yes m’love” he hummed grabbing his bookmark and placing the book on the side wooden table that was next to him

“Did you want to get Chinese food for dinner tonight?” He smiled and nodded “Yeah that sounds great, did you want me to called them?” shaking your head you pulled out your phone from your pocket “Ill do it you just continuing reading” you smiled widely and plopped down next to him on the small brown crouch with pink flowers printed all around it, you had picked it out together when you passed by a garage sale in your neighborhood

He looked at you suspiciously as he knew you didn’t like making phone calls when it comes to ordering or phone calls in general since it freaked you out but this time he just decide to brush this off and picked up his book

In the middle of your fake order that’s when the prank began

“Yes, and my boyfriend would like to get the same thing except with fried rice for the second side”

Harry paused for a minute, not quite sure he heard you correctly but as he slowly started to register what you had said his eyebrow rose, his jaw was clench and he had a smirk rising up on his face

What was going through his head, you didn’t know, but were you excited to see how this was going to play out? oh defiantly

“Okay perfect, thank you!” You ‘ended’ the call and founded Harry starring blankly at you

“Yes?” You smiled and giggled “Boyfriend huh?” He had this dark look casted over his eyes that made you laugh even more ‘Oh this is funny to you” you covered your mouth as you smiled “I did nothing wrong” he hummed and nodded before placing his book back down and wrapping his hands tightly around your ankles pulling you right to him, it was a small couch so you were dragged immediately to him

You screamed out laughing as he hovered above you, pushing down your arms to your side as he trapped your legs between his thighs to stop you from ever kicking

He flipped you around and you immediately screamed again “No Harry I’m sorry!” he ignored your pleases and continued, roughly he smacked your ass, part of you was happy you had clothes on so the impact didn’t hurt as much but at the same time this man is stronger than you

“You’re a brat” he mumbled sitting back down “It was funny admit it” you crawled onto his lap and positions his face to look at you, he smiled and rolled his eyes, giving you a soft peck

“I’m your husband, understand? Have been for four years, not some fucking boyfriend anymore” he nuzzled his head towards your neck lightly pressing kisses “Mm definitely can’t post this” his head perked up “Post what?” you immediately slid off his lap and ran out of the room

“Nothing!”

a/n: wasn’t feeling it half way but enjoy! also I’m taking request if anyone wants to suggest anything :)

[moghedien]

Shadowheart navigating being a cleric of Selune post game has to be like…the funniest thing to behold

Because she has a few options:

1) just don’t ever do any cleric stuff outside of her little farmhouse cottage and don’t worry about it

2) do cleric stuff but lie and pretend that she definitely knows what she’s doing and wasn’t a Sharran like a week ago

3) do cleric stuff and be honest about being a Sharran a week ago

And like any of those options are potentially hilarious l because if she like actually pursues doing Selunite cleric stuff, she has basically no history and is just popping up out of no where. The cleric and paladin that converted her have been dead/presumed dead for a century. They have no current religious community (the last one they had was forcibly converted to Shar and destroyed) and might actually have reasons to not want to get immediately caught up in one. The likelihood that they would be able to point Shadowheart at any kind of like help or resources is slim as they’d probably be fumbling in the dark with only slightly more context than her about the current state of Selunites

Like literally the only thing that would make any of this easier for them is that Aylin is literally Selune’s daughter and can probably prove that though she seemed to have some issues she needed to discuss with her mommy at the end of her questline so maybe not, and all of that is even assuming Shadowheart goes to Isobel and Aylin for help/direction

So you potentially have Shadowheart stumbling her way into congregations either like “hello fellow Selunites. I too love the moonwitch I mean moonmaiden” or you have her being like “hello I used to follow Shar but I failed at becoming a dark justiciar and now I’m going to follow Selune look I dyed my hair and everything”

Like either she tries to not bring up Shar and pretend she converted randomly or some other way and it immediately becomes clear that she somehow converted and became a cleric knowing very little about Selune and Selunite rituals/practices yet has a lot of preconceived ideas about Selune that are probably wildly wrong even when she’s trying not to be hostile to Selune anymore, and thus immediately becomes suspicious

Or she’s honest about being formerly Sharran and immediately seems suspicious and off because of that as she has to try to explain her life story that she does not remember and how she converted because she met a hot buff lesbian tied up in a magic circle who was a real demigod and it’s not weird that she converted on the spot, she swears! Anyway can someone teach her like the basic beliefs of being a Selunite? The buff lesbian wouldn’t stop fucking her wife long enough to teach her.

But then the more likely option of her just not even trying to deal with the clericy activities of being a cleric and she just minds her own business collecting baby animals and taking care of her family. Which is like a slow burn in its humor potential because presumably she’s not gonna live in the literally middle of no where and there will eventually be neighbors and some kind of community she’s part of, and she’s just becomes known as the nice little half elf girl who loves animals and just takes care of her aging parents, who are devoted Selunites. And her having healing abilities would probably come up, because that’s a useful skill to have, especially in a small community, and healing magic plus Selunite parents would eventually cause people to put two and two together even if she didn’t advertise it. And you know that would lead to more questions about why she doesn’t advertise it and why she doesn’t do any Selunite practices for the community and you know she actually doesn’t seem to know a lot of stuff that other clerics of Selune do/teach, why would that be when she’s clearly a powerful cleric and has a devote family. And also what’s up with that big ass wound on her hand that’s flaring up all the time? Also it’s all very suspicious especially since they all just came from no where one day.

And you know that eventually it would lead to a point where Shadowheart and/or her dad would have to just be like “ok so what happened was…”

[gaylordscooter]

Our Landlord that we Pay in Fear (collect my pages)

[warning for implied self harm and suicide attempt]

“i’m making a very noble sacrifice for you two right now so you best carry out my dying wish in the case i die.”

Dust and Horror gave Killer a judgemental glare.

“we're not making a bath bomb with your dust and using it, that’s just…no. fuck that,” Horror replied.

Killer pouted. “fine,” he sighed dramatically. “remember me!” he shouted before sprinting blindly into the darkness of the forest.

Mere seconds later, they heard a thud along with Killer cursing.

“i’ll try to forget him,” Dust signed. He took the flashlight out from his pocket and turned it on. He headed into the forest with Horror.

This was a new game of Nightmare’s. It was completely stolen; it wasn't his original idea in the first place. They can thank Killer for introducing Nightmare to horror games, trying to see if he would be scared by them. He wasn't. He thought he could be scarier and decided to test that hypothesis out on them.

“Slenderman” was the name of the game Nightmare was enacting. Killer claimed he was great at it, an absolute expert. So of course, the other two pressured him to go on ahead and find all the pages as fast as he could.

He probably only got one before the two heard his scream ring throughout the forest.

Dust signed “scream” and “girl” with amusement.

“i know, right? makes me wonder if our voices can go that high, heh,” Horror replied.

Immediately Dust’s mood soured like a switch was flicked. He made no comment and walked faster, forcing Horror to speed up or get left behind.

“right,” Horror sighed. “forgot you hate yourself that much.”

Dust grunted as if to say, “shut up.” He pointed the flashlight at the numerous trees around them, pausing when he spotted a page haphazardly slapped on one of the trunks.

He approached it, looking around while Horror watched his back, not like he trusted him to protect it anyway. The page itself was covered in grime. It didn't even need to be stapled to the tree, the goo was enough to keep it in place. He wondered what exactly the grime was made out of. Nightmare is always coated in it. Is it like his skin? He banished that thought with the others.

He peeled the page off the tree. It made a gross wet noise as he did. Usually he doesn't mind getting his hands dirty, but he was glad he was wearing gloves regardless.

“what's on it?” Horror asked.

Dust held it out for him to see.

What was visible on the page was messy writing of seemingly random letters, but most of it was covered by the goop.

Horror squinted his eye sockets. “some kind of code?”

Dust shrugged. He put the page away into his inventory.

A low rumble echoed throughout the forest. Dust appeared unfazed and walked on ahead anyway.

“didja hear that?” Horror asked, on edge at the noise. He knew he wasn't in his universe anymore, but his instincts couldn't help but scream at him to get the hell out of the forest upon hearing an unusual noise. It was basic self-preservation. 

Dust paused mid-step and turned to Horror. He lifted his index finger up his chin, “real?”

“debatable if it’s ‘real’” he said with air quotes, “but if we both heard it, it's probably a problem.”

They carried on, Dust slowing down so that they were walking side-by-side.

“i wonder how killer’s doing. it’s so hard to see even with a flashlight,” Horror remarked. “we haven't heard from him since he screamed. think he's dead?”

Dust chuckled at the notion.

Horror sucked in air through his teeth as the chuckling became full blown laughing like he just said the funniest joke ever. He must really hate the guy, Horror thought.

Dust’s laughter cut off instead of dying down. He wasn't even interrupted. He just stopped when he decided to.

What a weirdo, Horror thought, much to his hypocrisy.

Killer was in fact, not dead, but he would be if he slowed down anytime soon. Sprinting blindly in a forest you’ve never been in wasn't exactly the easiest thing to do, but he had to get good at it quickly. He didn't know what the hell he saw or heard, but it sure wasn't anything familiar. He thought Nightmare would be the one hunting them down, but as far as he was concerned, the thing chasing him didn't sound nor look like him at all. At least, according to the mere glimpses he got of it.

His soul was pounding. He cursed himself for showing Nightmare what a horror game was. Of course that freak wasn't going to be scared of it! He was fear itself! Probably…

A branch snagged his foot and his head slammed into the ground. Even though he recovered quickly and shoved himself up mere seconds later, the thing grabbed him by the ankle. He twisted around to face it.

His breathing hitched. The thing he stared back at was blurry, almost like he was staring right at a dream, but he knew what it was.

It was the anomaly. The one from his universe. The one that took control of him and made him empty the underground.

The Player.

Two blasters summoned by his side, but they refused to fire.

Killer was sweating bullets. He tried kicking it off. Tried summoning bones but his magic was not working.

“No no no no!” he hissed.

He whipped out his knife—big mistake. He couldn't control his arm anymore. He couldn't control any of his body.

He was completely paralyzed, yet he trembled anyway.

He was hyperventilating as the anomaly closed in on him.

“—and that makes five pages? how many more left are there?” Horror questioned.

Dust shrugged, as helpful as ever.

Luckily they haven't ran into any direct trouble yet. They only heard a few weird noises here and there. Maybe Killer was distracting Nightmare?

They’ve explored most of the forest by now. At least they assumed so because of how long they've been walking around.

Because of the lack of danger, it was almost like a normal stroll through the forest. It was sort of nostalgic to Horror, like he was walking around Snowdin before the problems with the CORE. It was just missing the snow and of course, the people.

He kept an eye socket on Dust, wondering if he found this nostalgic too. He doubted it. Dust hated thinking about the past, which was fair. If he was in his shoes he wouldn't want to think about it either. There was a reason he hardly looked like he was Sans.

Dust stopped in place, looking intently at a particular tree.

“i don't think there's a page on there, bud,” Horror assured.

Dust ignored him and walked over to the tree. He studied it a moment before shaking his head. He signed something too quickly for Horror to understand. It seemed like it wasn't a message for him.

Horror darted his eyes around the area. “yeah, like i said there isn’t a—”

Dust dropped the flashlight and punched the tree with a loud crack that was most certainly not just from the tree.

Horror winced, leaning down to pick up the flashlight. “yeesh, dude, did it owe you money or something?”

Dust clutched his hand with the other. There was no doubt it was chipped at the knuckles now. Even though he was wearing gloves, the blood from his marrow bleeding out between the cracks dyed the fabric red. “wrong direction,” he signed, “circles.” He pointed at the tree with his uninjured hand.

“you didn't have to go and punch the tree,” Horror said. “your hand alright?”

Dust hissed in response.

“ok…” Horror replied. And they thought he was the rabid one. “i’ll lead the way then. just chill out.”

Once he started leading they didn't come across that same tree he punched, so presumably they weren't going in circles anymore.

They found three more pages. Nothing happened when they grabbed the first two, but upon grabbing the third, the area lit up.

Dust and Horror blinked rapidly as their eye sockets adjusted to the daylight.

Horror turned off the flashlight and put it away in his pockets. “huh, i guess we're done?”

Dust pumped his fist in the air in victory and flipped off no one in particular. He waved goodbye to Horror as he hastily walked to what he believed was the nearest way out of the forest.

“wait, do you even know which direction the castle is from here?” Horror asked.

He held a hand up to sign “no” without turning back.

Before Horror could follow after him, Nightmare emerged from the ground next to him.

“gah!” Horror exclaimed, startled by the sudden appearance.

“You three sure took your time,” he said. He frowned and scanned the area. “Where is the third one?”

“killer? he split up from us at the beginning…you didn't know?” Horror questioned. He assumed Nightmare had a full view of the entire forest. Was he just following them around instead?

Nightmare’s single eye blinked. “I did not,” he said slowly. He would have to search the forest to find Killer. He had been feeling the most fear and stress from him. If he had to guess, he was lost.

Luckily Dust already found Killer by the edge of the forest. He didn't expect to find him clutching his own soul like it owed him money.

He looked roughed up, physically and mentally. White ring eyelights pierced into his target shaped soul as he scowled.

If he kept clutching his soul like that he would die.

Dust didn't feel like watching someone die right in front of him, even if it was Killer. He turned his soul blue and yanked it up to get it out of his hand.

Killer gasped and thrashed in his hold. “let go of me! let go!” he wailed.

Dust reflexively released his hold on his soul, dropping him to the ground. He watched with concern—disgust, as Killer breathed rapidly while lying on the ground. What the hell happened to him? Nightmare wasn't even near him right now.

Killer didn't acknowledge his presence, even after that, so Dust got closer.

He crouched down next to the panicking skeleton.

Finally, Killer got a glimpse of him. He rolled onto his chest and pushed himself up with his arms. “dusty?”

He sounded so relieved. It caught Dust off guard.

He hastily reached out with one arm, falling back down onto his chest when he did. He grabbed hold of Dust’s knee. Once his hand touched something solid he relaxed, and then he jerked his hand away when he registered that Dust was there. He sat up and cleared his throat. “didja get any pages?” he asked casually.

It took Dust a second to respond. The change in Killer’s demeanor was instant. He nodded but then signed, “what happened?”

“i uh—haha, um,” he stammered. “nightmare was chasing me?” he shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.

“I’m right here,” Nightmare said, startling the two as he approached from behind the nearby trees. “And I didn't see you the whole time. Yet you were terrified.”

Killer crossed his arms trying to not look embarrassed. “i was not! just got a little lost is all. it annoyed me! i wasn't terrified.”

Nightmare mirrored his crossed arms. “You are aware I can tell the difference, right? I don't just sense your negativity, I sense what emotion it is.”

“oh it's not like it matters anyway! negativity is negativity, who cares!”

“Oh, it does matter.” Nightmare's tentacles flicked in agitation. “Your terror wasn't quite palatable.”

Killer's sockets widened as he sneered, “good! i hope you choked on it.”

“I cannot ‘choke’ on your emotions,” he deadpanned.

Killer grumbled something incomprehensible.

“Get up already, you two. We're going back to the castle.” He already opened a portal next to them.

“yay! more torture!” Killer cheered sarcastically as he stood up along with Dust.

“I did not cause whatever happened to you, and besides we're done for the day,” he corrected. “I will be out, don’t burn the place down or you won’t have a place to stay.”

“you’re the one that burned the place down before,” Killer muttered as he went through the portal.

“Dust,” Nightmare interrupted as he was about to go through.

Dust turned his head towards him.

“Do you know what happened to him?” he asked.

Dust couldn't tell if that was worry in his voice or intrigue. He shook his head, but after a moment of thinking, he pointed to where his soul would be and made a tearing motion with his hands.

Nightmare hummed thoughtfully. “Next time, do not split up.”

Underneath the hood was a look of confusion, but he gave him a thumbs up anyway. He turned back around to go through the portal. It was only once he was in the castle that he let himself wonder just what Nightmare was thinking. His motives were as clear as mud to them. All they knew is that he got energy from negative emotions, which is why they put them through stressful situations.

However the limit to these situations fluctuate, and not in a predictable way either. He was inconsistent.

Dust guessed that today was one of those days where he went easy on them. Maybe that was why he was unnerved by the intensity of Killer’s reaction, because it was unplanned.

But wouldn't that be beneficial to him?

Maybe he was just a control freak.

He walked to the kitchen to get something to drink, noticing the lack of Killer talking Horror's or his nonexistent ears off.

Horror was sitting at the dining table with all the pages laid out before him as well as a piece of scrap paper with various notes scribbled down.

Dust didn't pay him any mind as he leaned on the wall by the fridge as he drank.

He watched Horror go through all five stages of grief as he meticulously studied the pages and then went on to create five new stages of grief.

Had he cared, he would've pointed out that the pages are most likely meaningless, but this was too entertaining to interrupt.

It had to be at least an hour before Horror slammed his hands down on the table and gave up. He looked over at Dust, eyes squinting. “what the hell are you drinking?”

Dust looked down at his glass full of various condiments, a dash of vanilla, and milk, all topped with “ice cubes” that were just frozen chunks of butter. He did not have an answer.

Horror sighed, massaging his forehead. “make me one,” he mumbled.

Normally Dust wouldn't follow an order like that, but he decided Horror deserved a treat after inventing five more stages of grief and enacting them out before him.

“have you seen Killer at all recently or were you standing there the entire time?”

Dust handed him the drink, giving him a blank “what do you think?” look.

“figures…” He took a sip. It was an assault on all of his senses. There were at least three different consistencies in this single drink. Horrendous. He took another sip.

There was a moment of silence as both of them drank the bio-hazard in their hands.

“...he’s probably in his room again,” Horror guessed.

It wasn't an odd occurrence for Killer to coop up in his room after Nightmare’s had his fun, but it wasn't that common either.

Usually Dust wouldn't care—he didn't care still, but…

He finished his drink, now crunching on the frozen butter. That sucked, badly. He’ll have to make that again sometime. He put the glass in the sink and made his way to the hall that led to their rooms.

He passed by Killer's door to get to his own. His hand paused when he grasped the doorknob. With a silent sigh, he turned around and walked back to Killer’s door.

His mismatched eyelights bore into the door as if looking at it would magically open it. Did he want to knock or just open the door? Scratch that he wasn't going to knock.

He twisted the doorknob, only to find the door was locked.

He internally cursed. Killer probably heard that; it would be awkward to knock now.

He could walk away right now. He didn't know who was at the door yet—

The door opened right as he thought that.

“what?” Killer groaned. His frown evaporated when he saw Dust. He leaned on the door frame. “oh, you.” There was that relief again.

His mind decided now was the opportune moment for him to forget what little sign language he knew. He just ended up staring at him in silence.

…

He CHECKed Killer, noticing his HP was a tad lower than usual.

Killer faked a cough into his hand. “...good talk.” He reached for the door and closed it.

Dust didn't hear it lock.

Well, at least he confirmed he was still alive. Dust decided he was satisfied with that and went over to his own room.

[poisonedprose]

sugar mommy! ellie oh my god i’m dying just thinking about it

₊˚✧ sugar mommy!

ellie williams x fem!reader headcanons

warnings: lower case intended, might be typos, incomplete sentences, nsfw, cursing, modern!ellie, she is a drug dealer

masterlists

sfw ! ⋆ ajksd she just spoils you at every single chance she gets

⋆ you don't even have to ask her for it she just knows you want it

⋆ tired of your wardrobe? you'll have a whole new one by the end of the week

⋆ transitioning from winter to summer? sundresses and mini skirts are replacing your jackets and sweatpants in a matter of hours

⋆ loves when you ask for her opinion, "what do you think of this skirt els?"

⋆ and then she proceeds to go in depth about how you look great in everything but that skirt is perfect for you because the color brings out your eyes and it would match perfectly with the shirt she bought you last week and yada yada yada

⋆ deadass just gives you her credit card sometimes

⋆ like you're telling her you're gonna go out with your friends one second and the next her credit card is in your hand

⋆ genuinely gets offended when you don't spend a bunch of money on yourself

⋆ like why don't you want her money???

nsfw ! ⋆ she's def a drug dealer and thats how she makes all the money to spoil you with but she would NEVER tell you that

⋆ buy you a tonnnn of lingere sets and expects you to model them for her

⋆ love love lovesss buying you scandalous outfits and short skirts

⋆ thinks its the funniest fucking thing to buy you sex toys

⋆ she loves watching how embarrassed you get when you open the bag and see what naughty thing is inside

⋆ grabs your ass everytime she sees you in a new outfit she bought for you

⋆ (shes such an ass girl don't even play with me)

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎┊ㅤㅤ 🌾 ㅤㅤ ﾟㅤㅤ ┊

[y-rhywbeth2]

On the topic of “what deity could Durge convert to who would both protect them and also really piss of Bhaal?” And the fact that I’m on the final book of the Moonshaes, I think Chauntea would probably be one of the most HILARIOUS, absolute slap in the face options for Durge to convert to.

I think I only have maybe 5 or so chapters left of Darkwell (Bhaal’s only just had the idea of making the ravager) so i don’t think he’s aware of Chauntea turning her gaze upon the isles yet (since she hasn’t really done much herself and it’s just been Robyn using her scrolls), but considering how pissed he was at the Earthmother over Kazzy’s, thorax’s, and most of his perytons dying, I can only imagine how mad he’s gonna be when he gets personally defeated by He Who Should Really Keep It In His FUCKING PANTS.

I honestly can’t decide which would piss Bhaal off more. Durge converting to Chauntea or Cyric, although I’m kinda leaning towards Chauntea a bit since she’s Bhaal’s antithesis. I mean at least Cyric is evil.

(The Earthmother is actually part of Chauntea (an aspect, part of her primordial facet as the earth itself from before she was an agricultural goddess), although Bhaal seems unaware of this)

Chauntea is a brilliant choice for Durge. Not only is she Bhaal's antithesis, but she's humble and expects it from her followers. The antichrist, with all that raging ego Bhaal expects from his avatar/child... gives it all up to move to the countryside and go be a humble crop farmer and midwife. If gods could have aneurysms from rage, Bhaal would be having one.

Cyric is a personal insult, and I still wish he'd been a cleric option just because it would piss literally everyone in the game off. Cyricist Durge romancing Gale is probably the funniest way to go if you're trying to upset the gods. Including potentially your own.

I stand behind Bane as a great option, because Bane backstabbing the other two and pissing Bhaal, specifically, off is my hobby (also Bane/Durge is my crackship and I get to make tasteless jokes about it). He does offer to make you Chosen and apparently canonically likes Durge, if we trust Gortash...

Jergal's a fairly basic choice in the form of giving absentee grandad custody rights over his much worse adopted son who is an actively shitty father.

And I'm on my strange Mililan Durge kick from now on. (Milil is fun to me, because of Alfira, and because his whole dogma is about embracing life and making it beautiful and creativity and change and etc. Very antithetical to Bhaal's doctrine of death and destruction. You quit being the antichrist to go to music therapy, join the local choir and run a music shop. This is only marginally better than being a farmer! (Plus Milil is in a situation where he needs to rebuild his faded presence as a god, so he's going to be on the lookout for strong followers to sway to his worship. Durge is potentially at a crossroads of healing from 'the world is vile, everything must die' indoctrination while looking for something to fill the void that faith often leaves, it could be a fateful meeting type of thing.))

There are other good options, though I don't remember them at the moment.

And yes. Somebody whack Tristan over the head and tell him to stop sneaking around with old ladies' corpses who are actually dinosaurs who are actually Malar in service to Bhaal (Or actually Bhaal. He may in fact have fucked Bhaal. Sources vary).

[cakeofthepan]

Freddie playing dnd with himself is possibly the funniest thing to ever happen. Also bonus of Jimmy roasting Freddie for his improv.

[Audio Transcript:

[Instrumental Highway to Hell plays]

Taylor: Wait wait wait wait!

Link: What’s up Taylor?

Taylor: Throw me.

Link: Thr-

Taylor:Like a javelin. Into the guitar.

Normal: [gasps]

Link: Okay

Matt: What am I rolling?

Anthony: You’re rolling a ranged attack, cuz you’re throwing a thing at a thing

Matt: Uhh I rolled an 18

Anthony: Okay so Freddie, as Glenn, roll opposed perception, see if you notice this thing coming for your axe.

Freddie: 19 plus 5 24

Matt: Jeez-

Will: Fuck

Anthony: Okay so you know that the thing is coming towards your axe, you can choose how to react to that

Freddie: I think I’m gonna just spin around and roundhouse kick this object out of the air

Matt: Come on, you need to help out as Taylor. As he notices them

Jimmy: [laughs] no! I think Glenn’s more important

Matt: As- as Taylor, you should say-

Freddie: But as Taylor, Taylor anticipates the move, you know what I’m saying?

[laughter]

Jimmy: Don’t you have to roll for this?

Freddie: No no no! Because-

Matt: I- I just think-

Will: This is the rest of the episode, I’m just telling you in advance

Beth: Yeah

Anthony: I just gave Freddie a blue boxing glove and a red boxing glove and he’s just hitting himself with both hands over and over

[laughter]

Freddie: And they’re like, this is the most fun I’ve ever had! So Taylor’s anticipating the worst possible outcome so he’s steeled himself for it. So he’s going to adjust his spin trajectory-

[laughter]

Freddie: As it’s spiraling, Taylor’s gonna be like

Anthony: [high pitched laughing]

Taylor: He’s making a move!

Freddie: And then Taylor’s gonna like throw his head around the other direction to like change the directory of the fucking- you know what I’m saying dude? So then this candy cane-

Anthony: [still laughing but sounding more like a seal than a human] Then what does Glenn do when he sees this happening?

Beth [overlapping]: Oh my god

Matt [overlapping]: No!

Jimmy: [Laughs]

Freddie: Yeah, you see that Glenn, Glenn knows-

Matt: Wait, what muscles are you using?

Will: Let him cook, let him cook!

Anthony: [seal-like laughter has returned]

Jimmy: [laughs] oh

Freddie: You see, but you see, Glenn knows. Glenn knows that this-

Matt: [laughs]

[someone hits the table cuz they’re laughing a bunch]

Freddie: this trajectory – [dissolves into laughter]

Beth: Oh my god

Jimmy: This is like-

Anthony: [Still dying of laughter]

Freddie: So! So Glenn interrupts, Glenn holds a fucking sick twisted bend on the fucking 12th fret of the B-string as he turns around and grabs the candy cane out of the air dude! And then he’s face to face with Taylor and he’s like

[everyone is laughing throughout]

Glenn: Heh, you think you’ve got what it takes to defeat me?

Freddie: [laughing] and then Taylor, okay-

[everyone laughs for a solid 6 seconds, also Anthony still sounds like a seal]

Freddie: Taylor goes

Taylor: You’re quicker than I thought old man

[everyone laughs even louder for 8 full seconds]

Freddie: And Glenn goes

Glenn: Heh, nothing personnel kid

Freddie: And he throws- and he throws the fucking candy cane into like space! Like as hard as he can

[everyone laughing]

Matt: He just throws it up and it never comes down?

Anthony: [more seal like noises]

Freddie: Like he launches that shit dude. He launches that shit with all of his might

[everyone laughing]

Someone ??: Oh my god

Freddie: What was that, athletics? Athletics I think?

Beth: [laughs]

Jimmy: So we’re going with this right?

Freddie: It’s athletics Anthony?

Jimmy: [laughs] Anthony is dead

Will: He’s done

Jimmy: Anthony can’t even talk [laughter]

Will: He’s fully deactivated

Matt: Anthony died

Jimmy: He can’t even move! No sound’s coming out of his mouth

[laughter]

Anthony: [gasping for breath]

Matt: Anthony’s died

Anthony: [sobbing from laughter noises]

Jimmy: Yeah now he’s crying adequately

Freddie: Aw fuck

Beth: Oh my god

Anthony: [still out of breath] okay, yeah it’s athletics

Freddie: okay. [laughs] So Glenn rolls a six plus seven 13 and is like

Glenn: Heh, Not my best throw

[laughter]

[music fades out]

Matt: I was gonna say you could give him the big like you know sad eyeballs and be like grandpa you know. It’s like, give him something to make him- to faze him

Jimmy: Well technically, he’s not his grandpa

Freddie: Yeah technically no.

Matt: W- well he cares

Freddie: Technically Jodie’s my grandpa

Jimmy: Yeah technically I’m your grandpa

Matt: Oh how’re you related to Glenn

Jimmy: [aggressively] He’s Not!!

Freddie: I’m not

Matt: Oh you’re not

Jimmy: Canonically

Freddie: Yeah he’s just like, a guy

Matt: Oh, yeah

Anthony: Spiritually kind of-

Matt: But like Taylor doesn’t care

Jimmy: Spiritually because it’s Freddie behind the wheel both times

Freddie: Spiritually kind of in the same way like, I playing guitar am spiritually connected with Stevie Ray Vaughan but I’m not related to him whatsoever, ya know

Anthony: Yeah

Freddie: We share a bond through the kinship of music

Jimmy: And Taylor and Glenn share a bond through the kinship of this is just how Freddie improvises

[laughter]

End Transcript]

[tumb1rprincess]

“It’s just water.” Shut up John, let Arthur enjoy the little things lol

“You look like you’re eighty pounds sopping wet.” I’m fucking dying, jeez John, you didn’t have to say it like that.

ARTHUR TAKE YOUR BOY TO THE MOVIES DAMN IT! lol but seriously, that’s what John is pissy about? That’s fucking hilarious.

This whole argument is killing me, they’re like an old married couple now.

Oh jeez, Arthur might be going to see Bella’s father after all this time? This is going to be awkward.

“Not our handkerchief Arthur! We just bought that!” John continues to be the funniest character in this series, I love this guy. Almost every line during this beginning bit is killing me.

Arthur, for god’s sake, you’ve broken your legs I don’t know how many times, are you really risking it happening again?

Jeez, that whole fight with Collins was intense. And he wasn't even mad that Arthur got away, he sounded like he was impressed. But now Arthur and John are constantly going to be looking over their shoulder, wondering how close he is, and Collins is going to be hunting them down. New York is a big place, but these two are probably going to run into each other again soon.

[rondo-grazioso]

some math professor quotes

I just remembered about this draft post i made years ago during a semester when i had maybe the funniest professors ever. I guess now that it’s been a while since i’ve been out of uni it’d be fun to just post these 

Algebra

it’s ok that i’m confused, i’m confused all the time

you can teach a monkey to memorize…well, nothing against monkeys, monkeys are amazing

pray that this is an isomorphism

(TA after realizing mistake) oh noooooo….all the other students….i told them the wrong thing…aaah shit

wow…spontaneous silence

can they smurf better

if you look at the solutions after trying a question only once or twice, it will break my heart

last-minute cramming will be about as useful as bringing your dog to the exam

Calculus

this fucker converges

(every time he writes a complicated equation) what the fuuuuu

fuck the one

you know what bfc stands for? big fuckin cube

mathematics is serious!! we don’t like laughter. no laughter allowed. stop laughing. even smiling is not allowed

(someone’s phone goes off) what was that? probably me

(some weird noise coming from outside) what was that? god is that you

e^x is god’s function. lnx is the devil’s function

*comes in talking in a russian accent*

if you don’t know what the dot product is then…you’re fucked 

(after telling a story about experience working in a mental asylum) you may think i’m insane, but you haven’t seen what insane really is!! i’m perfectly normal 

Analysis

½ is less than 1…somehow

oh, 5 minutes left…well, i don’t really have anything else i want to cover. actually maybe i’ll just write a definition *(whole class goes NOOOOO)* okayyy

(finding out there is 15 minutes left of class) oh wow. i thought this would’ve taken me more time to get through

(after playing around with some faulty blackboards) i’m scared for my life now 

(after being stuck on his own proof) i’m going to take a quick look at my notes, which is already pretty embarrassing 

(after making a gajillion mistakes on the board) i really need to learn to read before i talk 

what do you call this in canada

(TA) *coughs* sorry i’m dying 

(TA) somebody on the midterm wrote “i’m dumb” on this question. that’s pretty irrelevant because i’m dumb and i can do this question