#this was supposed to be a thirst and it exploded

[heartfullofleeches]

"If I don't jerk off in the next twenty four hours my dick is going to explode."

Legs laid bare upon a throne of pillows, the cuff legs of your tight shorts amplifies the volume of your rear as taunting laughter floods your partners bedroom.

"Oooo, seven days in and you're already throwing in the towel, V?"

Hands sorting through his hair, fingers tugging at the roots - V kneels at the end of his bed as they moan in frustration. "This would be ten times easier if you weren't laying in my bed with your ass cheeks hanging out the backside of your shorts! How the fuck am I not suppose to stroke my shit for a month like this!"

"Hey." Rolling onto your backside, you meticulously drag one knee over the other; shirt rolling up your midsection as you stretch out across the mattress.

"You agreed to the terms and conditions. Not me. Neither you or I pay for the heating so I'm perfectly fine shedding a few layers while I'm here. It's so warm in here I might take off even more."

The throbbing in his jeans at those few little words makes V want to cry. The passage of time never meant alot to them, but this cursed month has got to be the longest he's ever endured. Haunted by their thirst for your flesh, the end goals ring clear in his mind.

Cat ears. Maid dresses. Cheerleader uniforms. Cuddle sex. All that and more if they win this stupid bet.

"If you do that I will literally throw myself out that fucking window. December first I want you on your hands and knees the second midnight hits."

"Them's were the rules, V. It's up to you if you can last."

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Neil.

I know you are flooded with asks and this somehow became extremely long. Too long. “Why am I suddenly telling this poor man my life story?” too long. “I think I’d rather he work on the GO3 script than read this wild beast” too long. “He’s going to think you’re criminally dangerously insane” too long. If you never get to it, I’m good with never seeing a response from you. Maybe it’s better that way? Maybe an anon would have been nice here. But, it’s 2024, so I say “we ball.” It’s a privilege to be able to send this to you at all. You get a lot to this effect and I hope they give you good feels, so maybe what’s the harm, yeah? Because this is not an ask. This is a thank you letter.

First, thanks for reblogging my therapist post, I hope it amused you. I nearly sent you “How am i supposed to explain this to my therapist?!” But refrained. At that time.

So, therapy. What is therapy really? Well…

Things have been really rotten for as long as I can remember. Bad health, bad doctors, bad relationships, bad coping mechanisms, bad all kinds of things. (Yeah, bad is a weak and unhelpful word, my therapist reminds me, but we’re doing this.)

Well, things got even more really really rotten and BAD these last few years. Health declined further, coping mechanisms declined further and more intensely, packed up my life, applied for disability, moved back in with my parents across the country.

Then 4 years ago last week I watched my fiance die of a sudden heart attack. I was 29. Two years later my best friend died. Then last summer I sauntered vaguely into a cancer scare. Not long before an operation my cat who has been my companion through so much garbage died as well. I’m not entirely in the clear on the cancer scare front. All my attempts at going back to work, volunteering, going to grad school - they collapsed on me because I couldn’t get through this STUFF.

(Sometimes when I talk about this, when I tell people, I think “they are going to think you are a raging pathological liar.” Because I’m not sure I would believe someone if they told me all of this happened to them. In such a short time period. All before they were 35. And hell if that hasn’t been isolating. You know how it sounds? Lonely. And it is.)

I did the hypervigilant and sensation/experience chasing stage of PTSD. It got me in a lot of trouble in all kinds of ways. I had to do a lot of medical and psych advocating because things kept getting worse. That was exhausting. Then that peaked. I went into the thick of the “I feel absolutely nothing” stage for a long time. I didn’t feel fatigue or hunger or thirst. Not people, feelings, a reason. Not hope.

But of course, like seems be for a lot of us, I somehow found Good Omens at just the right time. I was a very “I’m so cool and intellectual I mostly consume non-fiction media” person for too long. Like, what? How is that even a real thing? And it wasn’t real. It was just part of this curated autism mask that I don’t think anyone really bought anyway.

I think I got to a point where I’d just had too much reality. I needed fantasy. I didn’t realize I always needed it. But I denied myself for too many odd and painful reasons. Maybe I thought it was an escape I didn’t deserve.

But as it turns out, it wasn’t an escape. I watched both seasons last fall, and then this light came on. I watched it again and again.

I came to tumblr because I needed more. I found this fandom. I stepped into this beautiful world of fanart and fanfiction and brain flexing meta writing and a sense of community and wonder that you and Terry created - that everyone involved in the show inflated - exploded in the right way - like fireworks if fireworks were some kind of autocatalytic reaction - a self perpetuating force.

It’s not a “saved my life” feeling. Not a “getting my life back” feeling. It’s been a “maybe it’s time for you to have the life you’ve always been denied - that you’ve denied yourself” feeling.

I’m creating. I’m not “great” yet. Not terribly “good” at all. Maybe “behind” as far as the “proper” timeline for starting. I know there isn’t one, not really, but boy does that society machine make ya feel like there is. And sure, I started and stopped a lot in the past. But the second it got hard I always gave up. I felt like if I didn’t get it “right” to begin with, then I just didn’t have it in me at all. But for once I’m really in it. I’m writing and trying to draw things that look less like fever dream five year old drawings. (Not that there’s anything wrong with those, is there? 🙃) I’m eating better. I’m sleeping better. I reach out to old friends more. I’ve made new friends who share this love of Good Omens.

My therapist has been floored by the change in me. After that first funny mini flop, he has been so encouraging about it. I saw him this week and I said “Maybe this is helping me get prepared to start living again. Maybe it’s a springboard.” And he honest to god said “But You ARE living. This is YOU LIVING. Why does it have to be a springboard? Why do you have to turn this into ‘work?’ Just let yourself have this for once in your life.”

But there were two more added elements that made it all work. And I can’t help but think this whole brainrot thing wouldn’t have happened without them. So many things just happened all at just the right time - a proper coincidence.

In all of the madness of the last few years I finally got the memo that I'm autistic. i figured I was for a while. But it finally sunk in for me and my docs and my people. So I’d been working on unpacking that. Grieving the life that could have been entirely different, shedding the mask. I let myself hyperfixate openly instead of hiding it and hating myself for “spiralling” or “obsessing” like others -!like ‘I’ always punished myself for before we knew that it was a trait and not a personality flaw.

Then over the last few months my therapist and I started trying this new exercise. One session he stopped me and said “in the last 20 minutes you have responded to what I’ve said with 9 ‘I knows.’” My response to that? “Ugh, I know.” So we started this “I know” swear jar type situation. Really, I’ve been afraid of not knowing. I couldn’t let myself “not know.” Because it meant I was “dumb.” I was just drowning for so long in guilt and self loathing for the “I knew better and screwed up anyway.” Or “I should’ve known better - I should know that by now.”

As it turns out, there’s a lot of things I don’t know. That I didn’t know. Things I will never know. And refusing to admit all of that kept me from learning a damn thing. Kept me from asking questions. Kept me from trying new things because it was scary to do something new - something unknown - and I "knew" how it would all turn out anyway. Kept me from connecting with people because it was painful or embarrassing when they knew things I didn’t and it seemed like I already should have. Kept me from getting better at making art, music, writing. Kept me from forgiving myself. Kept me from growing. And kept me from moving forward. Maybe not on. I don’t know if we ever “move on” from things. But we can move forward as we carry them. And as we do, the weight gets less. We’re able to carry it better. But only if we can admit that we don’t know how. Only if we don’t treat ourselves like this is something we do know or should know and we’re just failing because we’re less than. Not good enough. Not strong enough. Not deserving. We have to be able to say “I don’t know how to do this.” And then we can start looking for the answers. We can ask. We can learn.

I thought about the apple. Being able to tell the difference between good and evil. Aziraphale’s years and years of watching what he “knows” to be true be proven wrong. Crowley’s need to ask questions…

The simple and enormous gift of “Knowledge.” The “Knowledge” of the difference between Good and Evil. The “Knowledge” that can only be gained by realizing, accepting, admitting that there are things we don’t know. Asking the questions. Sometimes we get answers we don’t like. Sometimes the consequences of asking hurt us. And unless you want to stay in that painful place that painful knowledge got you, well, you’ve got to let yourself learn how to get out.

So all of this good? I never expected this. I never thought I deserved it. Joy and belonging and this sense that “Yeah, maybe things can get better. Maybe things can be good.” Because I said those things, not truly believing them, to the people I thought needed to hear it. But it couldn’t save them. It was hollow. The proof for us wasn’t really in our orbit or on our radar at the time. And now they’re gone.

People always say “it’s never too late.”

One of the people I lost said “it’s later than you think.”

I jokingly would respond “it’s already too late.”

It was for him in the end. For them. For some people I guess it really is. But maybe a lot of the “too late” people are there because they think “they know” that things will never be good for them. So they stop looking, they stop asking, stop finding. And eventually they just stop.

Then there came Crowley’s “It’s always too late.” The first time I heard it I thought “For sure, Crowley-cakes, I KNOW.”

But then…I just needed to rewatch the whole thing. And lines like that…familiar things…familiar themes…I was suddenly identifying with these characters. I suddenly saw myself. And the realization hit - I connected with something! Something new. And I FELT THAT. And that tiny little crack that made in the wall was just enough to start breaking it down. Yeah, when you start letting yourself feel after not feeling for so long, opening up to the good feelings means opening up to feelings and then the bad ones come out too. But when there IS good … it helps you balance. You can deal with the bad a little better because you’ve got the good thing to lean against when it gets too much. And now you’ve got feelings. You’ve got good and bad. You’ve got sticky foggy grey. You’ve got life.

Whew.

So, TLDR, thank you. From the bottom of my slowly healing heart, thank you.

And to sign off with some shits and giggles… I couldn’t find this in existence as a sticker so I had to custom order. Perhaps this will spread misery and panic among the humans of my city - or at least a malignant and creepy sense of unease.

Or maybe they’ll say “wtf” and go home and google it and they’ll fall into the Good Omens hole they never knew they needed too.

Thank you for this. I never quite know what to say to messages like this apart from I am really glad that it helps. (It becomes the weird extra piece that I worry about when writing season 3 -- hoping that it will be that thing again. Not just a story, but something that helps people feel and helps with healing and helps with love.)

[raccoonspooky]

How different slashers would react to the Babygirlification of themselves on tumblr dot com.

(Slashers included: Patrick Bateman, All 3 Sinclair brothers, Brahms Heelshire, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Billy Lenz, Bubba Sawyer, Thomas Hewitt, Freddy Krueger.)

Nsfw! Extremely stupid dumb! This is x reader format!

Patrick Bateman:

He saw an edit of himself in cat ears and he proceeds to PUNCH his windows 98 behemoth of a computer. It hurts his knuckles and it's YOUR fault. You've made an enemy on this day. He proceeds to stalk your account and googles repeatedly on dialup internet, ur blog name and "location". Patrick also attempts logging into your tumblr but he’s maxed out the password guesses. He wants to go to a lan cafe in hopes of using every computer to try and log into your tumblr. Somebody tell him that’s not really a thing anymore. 

Bo Sinclair:

Loves it. Loves every single post talking about how hot he is, he's absolutely jerking off to the posts. Then he sees (1) post about how he's peggable and then he sees another post calling him babygirl and then he's lost his boner and is seethingly, barkingly upset. Like what's WRONG with yall! Who raised you!!

Vincent Sinclair:

He's flattered by the fan art, shy to look at anything that shows his face. Vincent doesn't get the babygirl thing at all. Is he supposed to be offended by it? You're not bullying him, are you? He reads some post about you wanting to suck his soul out of his dick and wanting his body to compact like a capri sun and his hands are genuinely shaking as he closes the website. That's enough internet for the rest of his life.

Lester Sinclair:

Squinty eyed, mouth sorta hanging open, Lester reads some post about how he's "skrunkly" and he definitely gives good head. He kinda rubs his mouth and sniffs, trying to decipher all of this internet lingo. Lester understands about 30% of it but he gets the general idea that you think he's super cute and that just makes him feel like he's walking on sunshine. Talk about an ego boost! Not only would you WANT him to eat you out, but you're writing dirty things on the internet about it? Lester feels like he's a million feet tall and he's been spraypainted gold.

Brahms Heelshire:

Loves!! it!! Post anything about him and that's like a marriage proposal smh. He's a little embarrassed about the sheer amount of thirst, but he's been up for like 48 hours red eyed just reading content and looking at fanart of himself. He sees some post about you wanting to give him a hug or hold his hand or something and he's just feeling REAL lonely. He wants that SO bad. Call him babygirl all you want, if that's your pet name for him, then it's his favorite thing that he's ever heard. You want him, don’t you? You’re not just SAYING he’s babygirl right? You mean it right? Right?

Billy Loomis:

Your inbox is exploding with awful, mean messages. The anon is calling you a slut and a whore and blah blah blah, he's sending long-winded paragraphs about how you should watch what you say online and he's gonna kill you. Why's Billy doing this? Oh because you wrote a fic about eating his ass and how he’d cum in less than a minute untouched and whining. You called him a poor little meow meow and reblogged some vid of a ghost face cosplayer in all pink dancing to an annoying pop song. Billy’s a very eloquent writer when it comes to his lengthy descriptions of how he’s gonna cut you to pieces.

Stu Macher:

Every single post about a generic ghostface, Stu just decides to think that's about him. There's fanart of ghost faces in cat ears, in skirts, in hot pink slutty outfits and he thinks every single one is great. He's obsessed with the fanfare! Stu’s obsessively searching his name, reading all the thirst out loud to anyone who will listen. He read your post about how his dick must be massive and he's tried to DM you a dick pic but tumblr auto-flagged it and now his account is pixelated and marked as nsfw. He also responds to every single ghost face thirst post with a bunch of emojis and it's kinda spammy. U accidentally block him.

Billy Lenz: 

To Billy, the word babygirl is stupid, thinks that all the piggy whores must be incredibly stupid and slutlike to call HIM babygirl. But! He’s very entertained by the fanart, Billy likes all the art that makes him look like a weird little creature. He responds to things here and there, but it's mostly keysmashes and corrupted text. No matter how soft or well-intentioned your posts are, you proceed to get spammy comments from a blank account, things like D̷̫̪͓͚͌̿̔ư̷̬͈̻̠̫͂̈́̒ṁ̴̧̛̭̩̼̌b̴̢̝̘̜̒̈́̏ ̴͎̻̩̓͝w̴̨̮͎̘̘̋̿̎͛̋h̶̪͎̳̗̉̈́̕͜͝o̵̝͔͛̄̏͐̚r̶̢̥̦̺͆̌e̵͔̩̫͂!̶̳̺̖͈̽͒̓̾́  and P̶̡͉͕̳̞͆̎̇̕ḯ̸̡͓̮̬̈̋̍g̴͉̅̎g̶̱̥̀̕y̵̡̝͇͘ ̶̛̖̔̀͂̂s̸̨̈́͂̕l̸̘̈́̈͘͝ǘ̶͚͓͎͆͋̒t̷̥̺͑̾͗!̶̜̹̗̌́ . The text is so corrupted you can’t even tell that he’s insulting you? Thankfully the comments and messages cease in a week or so because Billy drooled so much onto his laptop that the entire thing shorted out.

Bubba Sawyer: 

He’s giggling squealing grunting. Dude sees edits of his face where he’s got pink blush and flowers on his head, he thinks that he looks very pretty!! He’d very much like any of those silly costumes that he’s been drawn wearing. Dress him up, do his makeup! He’ll love it! You made some post about how you think he’s so big and handsome and he’d be so nice to cuddle and his hands are so big compared to yours, Bubba read it over and over and over. Somehow, he accidentally posted a very blurry photo to his blog with a keysmash username and tumblr removed his blog because of gore. This is very distressing for him lol.

Thomas Hewitt: 

After reading approximately (1) post about wanting his juicy fat man tits in your mouth, Thomas is suddenly very aware of the way his body is shaped. He’s been called a big, hulking freak for so long that he never thought at someone would be attracted to the way he looks. Slowly and using his finger to trace the words, he reads a LONG-WINDED thirst post about himself. There's several comments agreeing. Each comment is dirtier than the last. These are words he's never really comprehended before and this is honestly a little overwhelming. Then he reads a post about how you think he’s PRETTY and he’s very babygirl. This out of everything makes his face get hot and he’s done with the internet for now. He’s got a lot to think about.

Freddy Krueger: 

One of your posts was making fun of him for being a dirty old man. You really should’ve kept your mouth shut about that. He’s seen enough on your blog to really put together a grand ol plan on how to really fuck with you in your dreams. The more he stalks your blog, the weirder the posts get. He saw an edit of his glove where instead of blades, it was tipped with long sparkly acrylic nails. You’ve edited his hat to be a pink cowboy hat, you’ve given him hair once? You call him babygirl in every single post and he’s just titteringly excited to see if you’ll SCREAM babygirl when you see him. 

[fukcnoplease]

Things always go wrong pt5

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4

 The man immediately rushed to correct her, tripping over his words as his hands moved wildly, too fast for her to see. Dani knew this wasn't any kind of kidnapping or imprisonment. They couldn't catch her if they tried, not without ghost equipment, but it was kind of fun to mess with this giant of a man. Who clearly had super speed as his hands and words began to go so fast she couldn't understand either. Concerning, sure, but not enough to thwart her thirst for chaos or the urge to poke fun at this seemingly superpowered teddy bear. 

“Am I gonna die here?” She asked, putting on her best scared kitten act. The man froze as he made an interesting set of noises in response to Dani’s question. She wasn't entirely sure they could be made by humans but she wasn't too worried. Her vague understanding of the superheroes around the world did mean she knew at least a few aliens existed in their ranks. She didn't know any of them by name though.

“I hope you understand that no one, no one, on this station would ever try and harm you.” The man said after taking a deep breath. A little rich since Batman had only recently tried to stick them in a lab but it was the thought that counted she supposed. He seemed to get more uncomfortable if she just stared at him silently though, so she kept silent in her scared little kitten act. Honestly it was kind of a riot seeing the man panic over things she knew were unimportant.

“Look! I’ll bring you to Batman and he can explain everything. How about that?” He said and Dani frowned. Batman likely wouldn't be as much of a help as Wonder Woman but if this guy wasn't going to bring her to the lasso lady then might as well go to Batman. Maybe she could even convince him to let her leave. 

Dani nodded, shyly as she could muster, at the big man and he relaxed. He went to pick her up but she stepped away, not even as an act, and he fumbled with his hands before nodding briskly and turning towards a hallway. She followed him a little ways in a big meeting room, extra long dining table with too many chairs and another big, massive computer at the end of the room. It was a little scary how many way too fancy computers Dani had come across in only 24 hours. 

Well, only two, but that was still more than the average person would in their lifetime.

Batman stood at the computer and typed at a raised keyboard. Dani had seen Jazz use a stand up desk, she said it was good for back posture and stress. She always talked about how posture was important and how it could affect you when you were older. Probably didn't mean much with ghost genetics so Dani never cared. 

“BR-” The red caped crusader almost shouted as he walked in but was cut off by something hitting him directly in the forehead. He cried out when it exploded in his face as well. Dani would be lying if she said it didn't make her flinch, which is why she didn't say anything.

“Batman.” The man said again, rubbing his blackened forehead, “I wanted you to explain to- well, this child? That she was not in danger while on the station nor that she was kidnapped or imprisoned.” 

Batman looked at the man then at Dani and scowled. Now that Dani was feeling better, and a little distracted from her brother dying, she started to notice how rude Batman was. He always scowled whenever they interacted and while she wasn't the best person in the world she certainly wasn't that bad. Well, not according to her anyway. “I want to leave.” She said. The caped man, she was really struggling not to just call him Teddy, looked shocked at her sudden firmness but Batman just stared her down. She racked her brain for a way to sound regal and vague when Batman cut her off with a simple answer. “No.” He said. “What?” She and Teddy said in unison. “No. Its been established that you are not safe on earth. We had medical bays if you need them and we have yet to confirm your royal status. There are heroes on the way to help with that. You will stay here.” He said. Dani could feel her ectoplasm churn and her core thrum with anger. “You don't have the right to refuse me passage back to earth. My allies can aid me more than you can and I will force my way to them if I need to.” She growled. Batman’s scowl only deepend. “There is no way we can confirm your allies are safe and until we can confirm your status you are as much of an unknown threat as they are. The Watchtower has all the facilities needed to help you. You will stay here.” Batman said before turning back to the computer. Dani was fuming, if Danny wasnt potentially withering away in another room she would have destroyed this place. “Batman, I know you feel the need to protect them but they are just kids. Can't we at least hear them out?” Teddy said and Dani felt immensely grateful for him. Maybe she would even lighten up on her bullying. Maybe.

“Kids can be more dangerous.” Was all Batman said and Teddy huffed.

“Yours, maybe, but we can't hold every kid to the standard of a robin, can we?” Teddy said and Batman finally looked back at him.

“Not every kid is a meta either.” He said and went back to work. Dani could feel Teddy flex as he grew more agitated.

“Batman.” He said lowly, and Dani instinctively took a step away from him. Batman didn't respond, but he did pause at where he was typing. There was a silence before the clack of keys started up again. Teddy took a deep breath before pressing something on his wrist, a light flashed red and he spoke into it. “Wonder Woman? Can you please come to the main meeting room? There is a young child who wishes to be escorted home.” He said. Dani looked as shocked as Batman did but she recovered faster. “Thank you!” She cried as she launched at Teddy and hugged his neck. He stiffened in shock but relaxed quickly enough to hug her back before she pulled away.

“Superman.” Batman said, he sounded angry but not enough to concern Dani. She did spin to do a double take at Teddy though.

“Wait, Superman? You’re superman?” She asked incredulously as she looked the man up and down. His costume made sense for the name, both the S on the front and the absurdity of it. “Yes?” Superman said, confused by why Dani was so surprised, “Did you not recognize me?” “Well, I guess I just expected Superman to look more… I don't know. Super?” She said. Someone laughed from the entryway and they turned to see Wonder Woman laughing at the doorway. “Praytell, how did you think he would look?” The woman laughed as she entered the room. Batman gave a grunt but was ignored in favor of the child now deep in thought. “I guess like, red skin? Fire hair? Maybe extra arms?” She said, “A cooler outfit?” Superman looked like a wounded puppy at her words and she felt a little bad. Wonder Woman started laughing again and quickly closed the distance between them, which Dani was surprisingly OK with.

“I suppose that truly would have been super,” She chuckled before composing herself, “Now what was this about a child wanting to go home?” Batman stepped forward this time. Dani felt the humor wash out of her as she glared down the man now officially holding her prisoner. “Until royal status can be confirmed both the metas will be staying on the Watchtower until further notice.” He said. Wonder Woman hummed as she looked at him, hip cocked in a friendly but challenging stance.

“And you?” She addressed Dani and Dani fumbled to find the right words. Batman couldnt look more sour if he tried.

“My friends are in Gotham, they can help more than you can but I need to get to them.” Dani managed as Wonder Woman watched her. It didnt feel as challenging or doubtful as it did when she was looking at Batman but it was still intimidating. “I see. And would you let us meet your friends?” She asked. Dani blinked. She hadnt thought of that. If they were in Gotham they would end up on Batmans turf regardless so the chances of him meeting the phantom gang was already pretty high. If they initiated though, maybe it would be easier when they eventually cause problems in the city? Or it would be worse because Batman would already know where to find them. “I can ask.” Dani said as she pulled out her phone from her torso, which shocked the heroes present. As Dani began typing, Wonder Woman turned to Batman. “I appreciate your desire to ensure there wasn't a dimensional war threat but there is an ill royal ambassador. Having an ambassador die under our care would have a similar effect to attacking them directly. Especially if we were denying them what could be life saving treatment.” She said. Batman grunted and stepped away from Dani, creating a small circle of just the heroes. Too far for normal hearing perhaps, but not for Dani’s enhanced hearing. “We have a medical bay on the Watchtower.” He grumbled and Wonder woman sighed. “Yes, but we cannot force them to use it. If they wish to use their own medicine that is their choice. Especially since we know nothing about them.” She scolded. Dani could have sworn Batman almost winced at her words. She sped up typing.

TravelerOfWorlds

Ok so 1) the heroes want to meet you guys

2) I think Wonder Woman is my favorite hero

3) Batman is my least favorite hero

EcoTerrorist

Why do the heroes want to meet us?

TravelerOfWorlds

Unclear. I think its just to establish you are real and not going to kill us.

EcoTerrorist

We are real. Depends on what Danny did to end up more dead.

But I am willing to meet a hero if thats what it takes to get Danny here.

TravelerOfWorlds

As in just one?

EcoTerrorist

As in just one. 

And only if we get Danny first.

Dani squinted at the screen and sighed. She had lost where the heroes conversation was going but that just made it easier to interrupt.

“Excuse me?” Dani waited for Wonder Woman to hold a hand up to silence the arguing men as she turned to Dani and nodded for her to continue. “My… allies decided that they are willing to meet one hero. Just one. And only if my ambassador gets dropped off first.” Batman grunted but it was Wonder Woman who stepped up to talk. “Would you be willing to settle for a hero helping you drop off the ambassador?” she asked and Dani nodded.

“Yeah, I think that will work. They just need to get to the ambassador as soon as possible. I dont think they care about much more than that.” Dani said. Batman shifted behind Wonder Woman and Superman glared at him.

“Thats fine then. Do you know where you need to be dropped off?” Wonder woman asked and Dani sent another quick text asking for the address before nodding. “Somewhere in Gotham. I have the address if that helps.” Dani said. Wonder Woman paused thoughtfully before smiling, a bit too wide. “Well, Batman knows Gotham the best. Im sure he can help you and I think it would be best if he was the one to meet your friends. If your staying in Gotham, its probably best to know the local hero you can call upon.” She said. Dani scrunched her nose and Batman scowled. There was no way Dani was going to be asking Batman for help. Not if she had anything to say about it. 

Except she didnt, because just as she was about to argue a crackling static filled the air around them. It sounded like tv static but layered underneath was the high pitch keen of electricity and a faint scream. Dani would recognize Danny’s ghost speech anywhere and was moving before any of the league had recovered from hearing the eerie sound. 

Batman was first to recover, closely followed by Wonder woman and Superman as they followed the young, alleged monarch through the hallways of the watchtower. Dani didnt struggle to find her way back to the small room, Danny’s call for her being something of a homing beacon.

She slammed her hand on the keypad and the door opened to a tangled-in-sheets Danny who was face planted half off the bed. When he saw her the keen of electricity shifted into the pops and bangs of fuses blowing and he reached a hand for her.

She was quick to grab it and help him back onto the bed, untangling him as her own ghost speech layered on his. Her static overlayed with the sound of bubbles escaping liquid and splashes of something more viscous than water.

Once Danny had her in eyesight and her hand in his he started to calm down. The static dimmed and eventually stopped but he never stopped looking at Dani. It would be disconcerting if Dani wasnt freaking out about Danny using his ghost speech so publicly. 

Some weaker ghosts used ghost speech regularly because it took less energy than projecting feelings core to core, distinct words were even more taxing, but Danny was powerful. He was the King of the Infinite Realms. He hated broadcasting the sounds of his death and he always had the energy to project entire paragraphs into someone's core. 

“We need to get him to Gotham now.” Dani said and she moved to try to pick Danny up but was pulled back by Wonder Woman. She wanted to growl or hiss or something but Batman was already moving to pick up Danny, who was still carefully watching his little sister.

Dani moved quickly to stay with Batman as he made his way to the boom tubes. Behind them she caught the barest whispers between Wonder Woman and Superman.

“He is an impressive warrior. He never let his gaze waver, even in such a state.” Wonder Woman commented. 

“Still worrying. With all the powers she has casually shown, I have to wonder what got him in such a state in the first place.” Superman added. Dani lost the conversation as they moved away and towards the metal cones.

The journey back was moderately better than the journey there, especially now that she knew what to expect. She still made sure to grip Danny’s hand tightly and send comforting thrums to his core as they passed through.

His eyes flashed a brighter green and he shuddered when they exited the swirling vortex but that was all and Dani was going to count that as a win.

The crazy batcar rolled up in front of them before they had even stepped off the boom tube platform and the doors popped open. Batman carefully put Danny in the back and Dani climbed in after him. The doors closed as Batman got situated in the drivers seat and they were off. Down the same path they used to enter, the crazy bat cave shrinking behind them until it was swallowed by the darkness of the tunnel.

Batman didnt pull up any directions for the address, didnt even give it a second look, he just drove in silence, which Dani was grateful for. She didnt have much choice but to go with him since Danny needed help sooner rather than later and arguing with Batman would have taken too much time. Time that Danny desperately needed. It didnt mean Dani had to be happy about it though.

They exited the tunnels into the dingy light of a clouded sky, blinding Dani. Huge gothic buildings towered around them, modern skyscrapers awkwardly built in between the historical stone. It was actually kind of endearing. The mish mosh of styles and buildings and the giant gargoyles on every building. If it was under different circumstances Dani might have loved visiting Gotham.

As it were they pulled into an alley next to a nicer skyscraper, one that was clearly trying to bridge the gap between modern and historic. Batman parked by the dumpsters and went to pick up Danny. “I can carry him.” Dani said, pulling the dazed halfa towards herself. Batman paused, a frown permanently pasted on his face, but stepped back. He moved to the nearby staff entrance and opened the door for Dani. After some cajoling and awkward shifting, she had Danny in a piggyback hold. It wasnt the most comfortable but after a few years Danny had stopped being the small teen and grown into a lanky young adult. Sure he weighed nothing to Dani but his awkward length made him unruly to carry with her smaller body. She still wasnt going to let Batman carry him though so she could suck it up.

The door was clearly a staff entrance so Dani was a little surprised it had been left unlocked but elected to not focus on that. Batman led them through the staff walkways and to the elevators, thankfully no one was around. Dani might have keeled over if someone had seen her getting into a fancy elevator with THE Batman. 

She might keel over just having to be in the fancy elevator with the Batman. It was a long elevator ride to experience in complete silence, excluding Batman’s breathing. Damn, Sam’s parents for getting them a penthouse on the top floors of a skyscraper.

~~~ Hey gang sorry for how long this took, lots of stuff happening hopefully the next bit will be out sooner than later

thanks for waiting and for all the positive feedback this isnt beta read so sorry about the grammar

[mousy-nona]

First — I love your work and your account! Your characterization is incredible and I really enjoy your style. Second — Radioapple prompt! I know its a common one in the fandom, but I love the concept of them dancing/getting to know each other through mutual love of music. Not too specific, but I think it definitely has room to be cute! <3

A major sacrifice

But clueless at the time

Enter, Caroline

Just trust me, you'll be fine

“What is that noise?”

Lucifer turned around warily. It was always good to be wary around Alastor. “Music.”

Alastor gave him a Look. It was his “Don’t Be An Obtuse Idiot” look, the one he saved just for Lucifer. 

He sighed. “It’s a song. The humans come up with some interesting stuff when left to their own devices.” He waved to the radio sitting on his desk. “It took a bit of work, but I managed to figure out how to connect this old thing to some of Earth’s music stations.” 

Alastor’s ears twitched, a surefire sign he was interested and trying not to show it. He lowered himself down onto the other side of the sofa, and they listened in silence together. 

And when I'm back in Chicago, I feel it

Another version of me, I was in it

I wave goodbye to the end of beginning.

“I’ve never heard of these instruments,” Alastor mused. 

“Synth? It’s a pretty new invention. I believe it was heavily popular around the 1980s, and it’s gone in and out of style since then. What do you think?”

“It doesn’t have as much soul as a good saxophone or a piano riff, but it’s not horrible.” Alastor admitted. “I don’t suppose humans on Earth still listen to singers like Ella Fitzgerald?”

“Hard to match a once-in-a-lifetime artist like Ella,” Lucifer remarked. Alastor snapped his fingers, his eyes gleaming with pure, genuine delight. It was rare to see him so excited about anything that didn’t have anything to do with blood or death, and Lucifer drank it in like a man dying of thirst. 

“Exactly,” Alastor grinned. “I see you don’t have completely irredeemable taste in music.”

“She’s fantastic, but you will not believe some of the stuff they have up there now.”

Alastor glanced at him with poorly disguised interest. “You don’t say? Do you happen to listen to these stations quite often?”

“Every night.” 

Alastor paused, as if weighing his next words. “Would you mind a little company?”

The smile that exploded from Lucifer was unexpected – but not unwanted. And that was how the king of Hell and the Radio Demon declared a truce every night, between the hours of 12 AM to 1 AM.

—------------------------

“Boy, you’re in for a treat today,” Lucifer said as soon as Alastor walked in. “They’re playing electro swing on 58.3 The Breeze.” 

Alastor furrowed his brow. “Electro…swing?” He shuddered. “Sounds positively horrid. Why ruin a perfectly good thing with extra noises?” 

“Don’t be such a Debbie Downer,” Lucifer scowled. “Sit down, shut up, and give it a chance, will you?”

To his credit, Alastor did sit and shut up – for approximately ten seconds. Then he groaned. “This is a travesty. They’re calling this garbage swing?” 

“Electro swing,” Lucifer corrected. 

“No, no, enough of this swill.” Alastor snapped his fingers, and the song immediately cut off. “Let me show what true swing sounds like.” 

A moment’s pause, then a new song came on the speakers.

Heaven, I'm in heaven

And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak…

Lucifer perked up. “This is…Louis Armstrong?” Just the sound of his voice brought back whispers of slower times, of smoky jazz clubs and whiskey in crystal glasses, of dreams laid out on silver screens. Suddenly, it was the 1950s again.

Alastor bowed and held out his hand, every move so darkly dashing it would make Fred Astaire weep with envy. But his eyes gleamed with challenge.

Dance with me? Asked Louis and Ella.

Spellbound, Lucifer took the devil’s hand. He placed the other on his shoulder hesitantly, but Alastor’s grip was strong and sure as he slowly led him around the room. 

“I want my arms about you, the charms about you will carry me through,” Alastor hummed along. The old-fashioned words were perfect in his radio static, as if the song was made for the two of them, for this very moment. 

Relax, you silly goose. He’s just singing the song. He’s not talking about you, Lucifer tried to reason with himself, but it was exceedingly difficult to think straight with Alastor’s face so very close. His voice – oddly lovely for a man who specialized in conducting screams – cast a spell over them. Time stopped. And Lucifer relaxed, letting Alastor’s song chase his worries away. 

“Heaven, I’m in heaven!” 

—------------------------

And I don't want the world to see me

'Cause I don't think that they'd understand

When everything's made to be broken

I just want you to know who I am

“You’re listening to this again?” 

Lucifer blushed and scrambled to change it to another station, but Alastor materialized in front of the radio and covered the fast forward button with his hand before he could get to it. Damn those tricksy shadows of his.  

“I…I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Yes, that is one of the benefits of teleportation,” he said, as effortlessly smug as always.

“It’s not our usual time,” Lucifer frowned, peeking at the clock. 10 PM. Far too early for what was quickly becoming his favorite hour of the day, although he’d never admit it out loud. 

“Well, I heard a cry for help coming from this room, so I thought I’d be a good neighbor and pop my head in,” Alastor said.

“Cry for help–” Lucifer started indignantly, but Alastor put a finger to his lips. 

And the damn song was still playing. 

So when everything feels like the movies

Yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive…

Lucifer turned so red his entire face resembled a tomato on fire. “I can listen to whatever I want during my private time,” he spluttered.

“That would be true, but I can hear your ‘private time’ from the other end of the hotel.” Alastor sighed, as if no one else in the history of the world had ever experienced the pain of a noisy neighbor. “So I decided to check on you, just to make sure you hadn’t fully devolved into an angsty child.”

“It’s silly, I know, but sometimes listening to this stuff makes me feel…like I’m not so alone,” Lucifer admitted, not quite able to look the demon in the eye. “It’s been a tough couple of years.” Tough couple of hundred years, but who’s counting? 

Alastor didn’t say anything, but he didn’t leave either. Eventually, they turned the radio to another station – Billboard Top 100s, this time – and Alastor’s horrified face at “Think U The Shit (Fart)” made Lucifer laugh so hard water came out of his nose. 

He completely forgot about his depression. At least for the rest of the night. And that was enough. That was more than Lucifer had had in a long time. 

—------------------------

The next day, Lucifer came back to his room to find an old-fashioned ‘30s vinyl record player perched on his desk. A vinyl had already been set up, its arm perched delicately halfway through a song, ready for Lucifer to hit Play. 

Attached to it was a note.

As a thank you for all the new music. -A.

So Lucifer hit Play.

Immediately, the swing of the sax and Ella’s clear, dulcet tones filtered through the speakers. 

Blue days

All of them gone

Nothing but blue skies

From now on

I never saw the sun shining so bright

Never saw things going oh-so right

Noticing the days hurrying by

The record stopped there, as abruptly as if the entire track had been magically wiped. No matter how many times he tried to reset it and play it again, that was the only verse on the record. 

It didn’t matter. Had Alastor forgotten how ancient he truly was? Lucifer had been around for the dinosaurs, the age of ice, man’s first cities, and the launch to the moon. He remembered the greats, because that was his job. He was to live, and he was to bear witness.

He knew the rest of the song, even if Alastor had gone to such great lengths to erase it. 

Noticing the days hurrying by

When you're in love, my how they fly…

He smiled. And he sang along, letting the vinyl spin and spin until the words themselves were nothing but senseless sounds and only Alastor’s promise remained. 

“Blue days, all of them gone. Nothing but blue skies, from now on…”

[octaviasdread]

Dead Poet Date Hc's

Anderperry - Chased by Walt Whiskers

When Todd's publisher demands that he use social media, his manager, Ginny, couldn't have envisioned this.

Accidental sweater thirst traps aside, it's Walt Whiskers driving Todd's media engagement. It's Walt Whiskers who guest stars at his poetry readings, and it's Walt Whiskers who Ginny hires a social media manager for.

Who knew his anxiety aid could be such a traitor?

Because when Todd meets Neil his life goes to shit.

Working in media had, of course, given Todd the expectation that his cat's manager would be attractive. Todd can work with attractive. He can ignore attractive, usually.

But nothing about Neil is normal. He's tall, extroverted, and a Shakespearean actor to boot.

He's not arrogant, gym-obsessed, or suppressing the temper of a stage mom. Neil is a regular guy so in love with his poorly paid job that he decimates his sleep schedule and runs ragged to pay his rent by managing the city's theatre socials.

So Ginny, like any good friend, ropes Neil in before her boss at Todd’s publishing house even finishes the call.

Unfortunately, Todd is a homebody. He is a poet with a Wikipedia page branding him a 'recluse,' and the thing about influencers is they have to exist outside.

Ginny compromises at first. Every shoot is scheduled in darkened, private spaces.

Todd watches each time as Neil's brows raise in perfect, incredulous arcs. He doesn't comment. Instead, Neil hoists Walt onto one of his ridiculously high hips and takes a walk to 'check the light.'

Todd's lungs expand.

To Neil's credit, he tries. Todd finds indoor photoshoots awkward enough as he poses with his lacklustre smile, torn notebooks, and Walt Whiskers perching irritably on his lap.

The outdoor shoots are worse.

"Poetry is supposed to stir you up!" Neil's voice projects through Central Park as he gesticulates wildly. "You look as stirred up as a cesspool."

"I'm not like you."

"Don't you think you could be? People listen to your words, Todd. Now let them meet you."

"I thought you were here for Walt."

Neil rolls his eyes, "you are Walt, dummy. Come on, let's break for coffee."

So they order drinks and commiserate through quotes, exchanging words from Tennessee Williams and Kafka until Todd is comfortable enough to allude to his own.

And when Todd isn't looking, Neil gets the Instagram reel. It's the perfect shot of Walt Whiskers wearing Neil's glasses as he slowly blinks at Todd quoting from his supposedly 'aesthetic,' ink-stained notebook.

With a trendy sound bite, the post explodes.

Todd's latest book flies off the shelves. So naturally, Ginny hauls them into her office to talk strategy.

Strategy, in Ginny's world, translates to valentine date.

"It's logic," Ginny dismisses. Tinny music pours from the speakers as the Hudson River Company keeps her cell phone on hold. "Your latest collection is called, Tides of Love, Todd. I'd be an idiot not to set up a romantic dinner cruise for PR.”

"I'm not sitting there with my cat." Todd turns and appeals to Neil for help. "Tell her what people will think."

Neil opens his mouth, but Ginny cuts him off.

"No." She shoots a firm look at them both. "I know for a fact that neither of you have valentines plans. Take the cat together and secure us a bestseller."

They take the cat.

Todd spends all night pulling at his tux. Walt has no such reservations with his mini paw-printed bowtie. Instead, the damn cat has every waitress sneaking chicken under the perfectly pressed tablecloth.

If he were a better pet owner, Todd would've noticed. In a better world, Todd would've stuck to the no-chicken diet Walt's vet prescribed. But in this world, his cat's manager is wearing a tux.

Neil could be a Hollywood star sitting there under candlelight. With the wine in his head and the river waves in his stomach, Todd wants to take Tides of Love and write it anew.

But he doesn't.

Todd pokes at his Michelin star meal. It may be pathetic, but valentines are valentines no matter how fake.

He crumples a napkin and drops it over the camera lens.

There are no witnesses when Neil pets Walt, his long, delicate fingers brushing Todd's own. Nobody shares how they linger, how they curve, almost taking Todd's hand to hold.

And when Neil makes a determined and tipsy climb up the deck, Todd doesn't turn, doesn't direct his stare away. He finds himself laughing and scrambling to race against Neil's impossibly long legs. With a fire inside, Todd snatches up the lookout post, throwing drunken taunts out in his wake.

With flushed cheeks and Walt warm in his arms, Todd isn't a tentative poet or a hermit half in early retirement. He's Jack flying high through the clouds. He's bold and he's reckless in his dreams, and in his love for a Shakespearean Rose.

Like every ship, Cupid's Arrow sweeps Todd happily into the deep.

It's only with his hangover the inevitable sinking begins. His iceberg is the size of date night floating up his fyp with over 20,000 hits.

A heart-shaped button has never cut so deep.

But with engagement comes sales and not one, but two, NY Times bestsellers, so the poet and media manager keep taking Walt on contracted dates.

Cafes roll into museums, picnic dates, and late-night Broadway shoots.

Walt poses while Neil charms and draws Todd closer and closer into their extroverted orbit.

By April, Todd's poems hang from the walls backstage at Circle in the Square. He walks between frames correcting and composing while Walt scurries beneath seats, and sniffs for wet food pouches stashed under stacks of Neil's scripts.

It's a routine, Todd tells himself. It's enrichment to exercise Walt. It's his typewriter stored as a video prop amongst the leafy crowns and Yorick skulls at home in Neil's dressing room.

It's this home the poet follows, each purr and smile like catnip until he finds himself curling up during rehearsals behind painted, woodland sets. His poems layer across the orchestra, snatches of Neil's soliloquy, and the beat of paws on wood as Todd opens his words and world to TikTok Live.

With these unique readings come sponsors, and with sponsors come trips.

As spring creeps in, Ginny packs them off on a brand deal supplying a '57 Chevrolet Corvette for the road Coney Island.

They shoot Walt in the driver's seat like a city-dwelling Grace Kelly in sunglasses and a scarf. In a second snap, Neil lounges on the red bonnet in a line of Times Square traffic, and Todd is blurrily backlit by Battery Tunnel in a final car shot, the winning polaroid cover for his upcoming collection, Epigraphs for Nostalgia.

The road to true love has never felt so smooth.

Todd knows it can’t last, but he clings to this day straight from the brand’s vintage guide to teenage dates.

Roll after roll fills with charmingly juvenile snaps.

They wave from Deno’s Wonder Wheel. Product placement smears Coney Cone's ice cream over Walt's nose, while Neil and Todd squabble over film and notebook sheets which fly loose to scatter like snow on the boardwalk.

"I told you," Neil whoops, "those dead drafts want to fly!"

Chastened by staff, but thrilled with the candid, self-timer snaps, the poet and media manager take one more shot.

"Come on," Todd grumbles, wrestling Walt into an admittedly dingy photo booth. "You can't take care of yourself."

Walt meows in protest. But the curtain falls and traps both man and cat as Neil slides onto the bench.

Flash. Walt pressed nose to nose with Todd. Flash. Todd squawks while Neil howls at the ice cream Walt smears on Todd's nose. Flash. Walt leaps and Neil dives into Todd's lap in an effort to catch the escaping cat. Ding!

Pink hearts float in bubble letters like cotton candy across the screen: Kisscam Count.

Descending digits blink in and out.

Three.

The poet freezes. His cat's media manager glances up, his body still sprawled across the poet's lap.

Two.

Neil inhales.

One.

The final lines of Epigraph for Nostalgia linger on the seam of Todd's lips.

“Carpe Diem," he mutters.

There's a flicker.

An image appears of an Instagram crashing kiss.

[serenelystrange]

At AO3, or under the cut!

Notes:

Listen. These boys are idiots, and I love them so much. This is just an absurd situation and a whole lot of fluff. I regret nothing!

Work Text:

“You know those scenes in the movies?” Eddie asks, “where there’s the obnoxious record-scratch, and then the main dumbass is like “I bet you’re wondering how I ended up here?””

Buck laughs, their shoulders brushing against each other from where they’re sitting side by side on one of the two sleeping cots that Bobby managed to fit into the designated Quiet Room at the station.

“Like in Thor?” Buck asks, leaning his back against the smooth wood paneling of the wall.

Eddie nods.

“Exactly,” he says. “This feels like one of those. Who the hell gets quarantined inside an anxiety room four years after a global pandemic?”

Buck snorts a laugh, eyes still closed.

“I think chemical warfare is a little different than Covid,” he says, sounding disturbingly unbothered by the whole thing.

Eddie makes a mental note to bug him about his therapy if they don’t die in this increasingly stifling room.

“We don’t know that it was anything like that,” Eddie says, trying to be the voice of reason. “It was probably just some asshole’s idea of a prank.”

“Exploding unidentified powder from a box of chocolates is a hell of a prank,” Buck says. “And you saw the machine when they scanned us.”

“It did have a lot of red lights,” Eddie concedes. “The entire station scrambling back in horror didn’t help, either.”

Buck laughs again, a dry thing, and pulls his head away from the wall, leaning his whole body back against it instead.

“At least we have water?” he asks, gesturing to the case of bottled water on the floor by their cots.

“We won’t die of thirst before whatever this poison is kills us,” Eddie agrees. “That’s something I guess.”

He leans back then, pressing into the wall, trying to calm his racing heart.

Beside him, Buck inches just a tiny bit closer, until they’re touching from shoulders to elbows, and nudges him gently.

“We’re gonna be fine,” he says, and something about how earnestly he seems to believe it allows Eddie to catch his breath, even if his mind is still racing almost as fast as his heart.

“Christopher,” he says, voice cracking around just the word.

“Is having a great time with Maddie and Chim and Jee,” Buck says, soothingly. “He doesn’t know anything except that we got stuck on a long call out. He won’t even be worried.”

“I know,” Eddie says, quietly.

“You’ll be home by breakfast,” Buck says. “As soon as whatever government lab ran off with those samples clears us, we can get the hell out of here.”

“Don’t you think for a minute you’re not following me home,” Eddie says with a conviction Buck rarely hears outside of a risky rescue scene.

“Obviously,” Buck says, turning to look at Eddie’s serious expression for a moment and giving him a little smile. “The loft is too quiet anyway.”

Before Eddie can reply, his phone is ringing and Bobby’s name flashes on the screen. Sitting up straighter he answers the call, putting it on speaker and holding it between him and Buck.

“Hey, Bobby,” he says. “Please tell me we’re not dying of anthrax or something.”

They hear a laugh in the background that sounds suspiciously like Hen, who was supposed to have gone home to her wife hours ago.

“Good news and bad new, boys,” Bobby says, sounding the kind of bone-deep tired Eddie can feel on a molecular level.

“Good news first, please,” Buck says, “I’d love some good news.”

“Good news is that the powder samples we gathered haven’t been identified as any known poison or otherwise bio-chemical weapon.”

“That’s good, then!” Buck says, leaning his whole body towards the phone as he speaks. “That means we can leave soon, right?”

Beside him, Eddie shakes his head silently and waits.

“Wait,” Buck says, catching up. “What’s the bad news?”

“The bad news,” Bobby says, “is that the powder samples we gathered haven’t been identified as any known poison or otherwise bio-chemical weapon.”

“There it is,” Eddie says, thudding his head dully against the wall in frustration.

“So until we can make sure whatever you were dosed with is harmless, I’m afraid you’re stuck.”

“Not cool,” Buck says, sighing.

“Hang in there,” Bobby says, and then there’s a noise of shuffling as someone takes the phone from him.

“You guys having any weird symptoms?” Hen asks, sounding like she’s walking as far from the crowd of people as she can. “Troubling breathing, loss of vision, bleeding out of any orifices, stuff like that?

“Jesus, Hen,” Eddie says with mild horror. “No, I haven’t felt anything weird.”

“Buck?” Hen asks, and Buck shakes his head before seemingly remembering she cant see him.

“I’m good,” he says. “Mostly just feeling bored, and kinda hot. Actually, really hot. Why is it so hot in here?”

“They had to cut the AC so it doesn’t spread whatever that stuff is around,” Hen says with an apologetic tone.

“Oh good,” Bucks says, laughing slightly at Eddie’s bewildered look. “It means it’s actually hot, not that I have a super high fever.”

“When you put it like that,” Eddie says, shrugging.

“We’ll call you back as soon as we know anything,” Hen says, “it’s going to be just fine.”

She hangs up before either of them can respond or protest, not that it would do any good anyway.

Eddie shoves his phone back in his pocket and tries to stretch out his tense shoulders.

“Where are you even going?” Buck asks, watching with amusement as Eddie stands up.

“I’m going to take a nap and hope this whole thing is over when I wake up,” Eddie says, like the consummate millennial with poor coping strategies that he is.

He moves the short span of space over to the other cot and lays down, still facing Buck, and closes his eyes.

“Wait,” Buck says, grabbing the hoodie he had pulled off earlier and rolling it up into something vaguely resembling a pillow. “Here. You don’t need a crick in your neck on top of all of this.”

Eddie opens his eyes long enough to take the makeshift pillow and tuck it under his head, the crashing anxiety adrenaline making him unbearably sleepy all at once.

“Thank you,” he says as his eyes close again. “Wake me up if you start dying or something, ok?”

“Sure,” Buck says, and Eddie just knows if he could open his eyes, he’d see Buck’s somber gaze on him even as he laughs.

The crash wins out before he can even try, and everything goes blessedly quiet.

Eddie is woken up by the loud ringing of Buck’s phone, and he opens his eyes as Buck answers, unaware he’s awake.

“Hey, Cap,” he says quietly, as if not to wake Eddie, and Eddie can’t help but feel warmed by the casual consideration.

He can’t tell what Bobby is saying, and Buck’s face is surprisingly blank as he listens briefly before saying goodbye and hanging up, dropping the phone down beside him.

“How long’s it been?” Eddie asks, voice raspy and all sense of time lost.

“Hey,” Buck says, “didn’t mean to wake you up. It’s been like,” he looks down briefly at the phone beside him, “almost two hours.”

“Shit,” Eddie says. He hadn’t expected to actually be able to sleep for that long. “I guess that means they still have no idea what that shit was?”

Buck shakes his head, slumping down and bracing his elbows on his knees. “They’re pretty sure it’s just a bunch of harmless things mixed together, but it’s still setting off the alarms, so they say we have to be in here at least a full twenty four hours without symptoms before they clear us.”

“Well, fuck,” Eddie says.

“Pretty much,” Bucks agrees. “It’s weird not being able to hear them all out there, even though we know they’re only a door away.”

“Guess the soundproof guy did a good job for the Quiet Room,” Eddie says wryly. “I don’t think madness by way of seclusion was something they considered.”

“Good news is it’s already been like ten hours,” Buck says. “We can handle another 14. Cap’s gonna bring us some protein bars, too.”

“Those things taste like chocolate chalk,” Eddie says, fully aware he’s pouting and not caring one bit.

“I know,” Buck says. “But they’re trying to prevent a, uhhh, well, a shitting-in-a-bucket situation.”

Eddie can’t help it, he bursts into laughter at that, shaking the whole cot with it.

“At least we can piss into the empty bottles,” he says, “way better than a piss bucket.”

“Go team external genitalia, I guess,” Buck says, snickering at the absurdity of the situation.

“Penis power?” Eddie asks, still cackling.

Buck rolls his eyes and shakes his head fondly.

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, now you’re too mature for dick jokes?” Eddie teases. “You’d think you’d be twice as likely to use them now, considering, you know..”

“My bisexuality?” Buck asks, already knowing the answer. “You’re an idiot.”

“Maybe so,” Eddie says. “But it’s still funny.”

“Shut up,” Bucks says, laughing despite himself.

The door creaks open then, and a hazmat-suited hand slides a LAFD backpack into the room before quickly closing the door again.

“Ooh, snacks!” Buck says, scooping up the bag with delight. “Oh and look, Hen let us borrow her iPad. We can watch a movie!”

“Mm,” Eddie says, sitting up sluggishly and taking the protein bar Buck offers him with a mumbled thank you.

“Your sugar is probably too low,” Buck says with concern. “Eat that before you pass out again.”

“Yes, dad,” Eddie huffs, unwrapping the bar and taking a big bite while pointedly glaring at Buck.

Which is when he sees a series of rapid-fire expressions flash across Buck’s face, a flush spreading across his cheeks.

“What?” Eddie asks, swallowing his bite and looking over at Buck in confusion. “You’re totally the Dad Friend when you want to be.”

“It’s, uhh,” Buck stammers, “Tommy used to… well, we used to, you know.”

“Have lots of sex?” Eddie asks, amused. “I figured when you showed up looking like you fought Dracula and survived, yeah. So what?”

Buck blushes impossibly deeper, which only serves to raise Eddie’s curiosity.

“He kinda had a thing for me calling him Daddy,” Buck says in a rush, looking anywhere but at Eddie. “And I guess now I have like a Pavlov response to it. Sorry.”

“Oh my god,” Eddie says, practically wheezing with laughter, “this is hilarious, don’t be sorry. Plus, there’s a big difference between Dad and Daddy.”

“Shut uuuuup,” Buck whines, still avoiding Eddie’s face. He shifts in his seat then, just enough that Eddie can’t help but follow the motion down with his eyes and notice the awkward way that Buck is holding his hands in his lap.

“Are you…” Eddie asks, suddenly finding his own face flushing. “Did you get a hard-on just from da… that word?”

“Just give me a minute,” Buck says, neither confirming, denying, or making eye contact.

“How long has it been since you guys broke up, again?” Eddie asks, ignoring the elephant trunk in the room for the time being. Because he’s a totally mature and unaffected bro, obviously.

“About a month,” Buck says, eyes still trained on the wall somewhere above Eddie’s head.

“And you haven’t hooked up with anyone else yet?” Eddie asks, genuinely curious. “You were so excited to explore the whole queer men scene.”

“Yeah, well,” Buck says, taking a deep breath and meeting Eddie’s eyes finally. “Turns out the queer hookup scene is just as fun as the straight one. And just as unfulfilling, too.”

“Aw,” Eddie teases him gently, “look at you in your serious relationship era. Firehose would be so proud. Or appalled. I never did get to meet him.”

“First of all,” Buck huffs. “You need to stop scrolling through tiktok when you think nobody knows you are. Second, be glad you didn’t meet him, he was a dickhead. I was a dickhead.”

“Nah,” Eddie says, easily. “From what Hen and Chim tell me, you were just a fuckboi with an attitude and a heart of gold. That’s like.. several levels below dickhead.”

“Fuckboi with a heart of gold,” Buck muses, laughing again. “I should get that embroidered on a pillow or something. You know, for the memories.”

“Christmas gift idea right there,” Eddie agrees, grinning.

Buck ignores him in favor of eating his own protein bar, but Eddie takes the amused look in his eyes as a win anyway.

“What are we at now?” Buck asks, several hours of fitful naps and random conversation later.

“Seventeen hours,” Eddie says, standing up to stretch out as much as he can in the crowded room. “Come on, stand up and walk a little, you have a history of blood clots.”

“It was one time,” Buck sighs, but he gets up and does as he’s told, following Eddie around the room in an approximation of the saddest conga-line ever.

When they’re done, he slumps back onto his cot and gives Eddie a pitiful look.

“It’s still so hot in here,” he says. “And the little bit of air they keep opening the door for is not nearly enough.”

“Better than the desert,” Eddie says, shrugging. “At least nobody is shooting at us.”

“Ugh,” Buck groans, “don’t be all logical and shit. I’m sweltering here.”

He tugs at his LAFD long-sleeve button up, shoving the sleeves up to his elbows.

Eddie looks at him with disbelief and shakes his head.

“Just take off the shirt, dumbass. Not like we haven’t all seen each other in less.”

“I..” Buck says, “I honestly didn’t even think about it. You’re a genius.”

“Just a man in a t-shirt,” Eddie laughs.

Buck scrambles out of his shirt, tossing it to the floor, leaving him in only a close-fitting grey tank top that clings to the heat of his body.

Eddie thinks suddenly that he should probably try to get some more sleep. Laying down and rolling onto his stomach, he pillows his head again on the rolled up hoodie and forces himself to look away from Buck and close his eyes.

Buck is asleep the next time Eddie wakes up, laying only inches away from Eddie on his own cot. His hand, however, is wrapped firmly around Eddie’s wrist where it lays by his side.

“What?” Eddie sleepily asks, but he gets no answer from Buck. When he tries to pull away, Buck’s hold flexes, gripping his wrist tighter and rubbing his thumb across the sudden uptick in Eddie’s pulse.

“I’m ok, Buck,” Eddie says softly, reaching out and brushing his fingers through the curls laying across his forehead. “Still breathing, I promise.”

Even though he doesn’t wake, Buck seems to hear him, and his grip loosens but doesn’t let go. Eddie considers waking him up or pulling out of his grasp with force, but refrains. He remembers in vivid detail the last time he tried to find Buck’s pulse, and for a terrible three minutes and seventeen seconds, it was gone.

Closing his eyes again, he steadies his breathing and lets Buck’s solid hold lull him back to sleep.

Eddie isn’t sure how long it’s been the next time he wakes up, but he figures they still have a while to go if nobody has called them yet. He opens his eyes to see Buck still laying across from him, face set in a soft expression.

“Found the dimmer switch,” he says, and ah, that explains why the room isn’t as bright as it had been up until now.

“Is it night time?” Eddie asks.

“Late afternoon,” Buck says, “we’re at 22 hours.”

“Final stretch,” Eddie says, grinning. “Still no symptoms?”

Buck shakes his head. “You?”

“Only the effects of being in my thirties and sleeping on a cot,” Eddie says.

“Yeah, my bad knee does not love this,” Buck says, face smushing against the cot as he speaks.

“You should take your hoodie back,” Eddie says, realizing he’s been using it the whole time. “It’s a pretty good pillow, actually.”

“Nah,” Buck says. “You looked comfy, and we’re almost out of here anyway.”

Eddie shrugs in defeat, still too lulled by the faux-late-night atmosphere to really protest.

They’re quiet for a few minutes, just resting, eyes not on each other but not avoiding each other either.

“Can I ask you something?” Buck says, still in a near-whisper.

Eddie looks back over to him, tucking one arm up under his makeshift pillow and giving Buck his full attention.

“Of course,” Eddie says, just as quietly.

“Do you ever think that..” Buck trails off for a moment, but Eddie knows him well enough to wait. “Do you ever think we’re closer than best friends should be?”

“What?” Eddie asks, blinking in surprise. Of all the things Buck could have said, this wasn’t even on his list of possibilities. “Of course not. Where did that even come from?”

“Maddie,” Buck says, and Eddie feels a flare of anger towards her before Buck shakes his head.

“Not like that,” he continues. “She was just talking about how great it was that you and I had each other, and how she never had such a good friend like that growing up.”

“Neither did I,” Eddie says. “I mean, I had friends, even guys I’d call best friends over the years. But not like this, you know?”

“I don’t,” Buck says, carefully. “I never had a best friend before you, besides my sister, and she practically raised me. It wasn’t until we were talking about her experience that I realized that maybe we are. Too close, I mean, for friends.”

“Best friends,” Eddie says, swallowing around the wave of panic in his throat. “That’s what makes it special, asshole.”

Buck laughs for a moment before leaning up and resting his head on one elbow.

“Best friends,” Buck agrees, before meeting and holding Eddie’s gaze with a serious look. “Do you ever think about what if we, if we were..more?”

“Yeah, Buck,” Eddie says, truth spilling from his lips before he can stop them. “I think about it all the time, actually.”

Buck’s eyes widen in surprise before he gives Eddie an outraged look.

“What the fuck!” he says. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“You might not know this,” Eddie says, “but Catholic guilt is a damn good repressor.”

“Are you even attracted to men?” Buck asks, still somewhat in shock.

Eddie shrugs again.

“I don’t know, maybe? Probably. Definitely attracted to you, though.”

Buck gapes.

“SINCE WHEN.”

Eddie laughs ruefully and closes his eyes for a moment before looking back at Buck.

“Since I admitted it to myself?” Eddie says. “Probably a year or so.”

“A YEAR?” Buck whisper-yells. “A YEAR, EDDIE?”

“While I was still in denial?” Eddie continues, “Probably about the time you tried to run me out of the station with your posturing and stupid calendar pictures.”

“The day we met??” Buck asks, going from outraged to dumbfounded in a split-second. “I was such a jerk to you, what the hell?”

Eddie, gathering all the courage of a thousand repressed sleepless nights, looks straight at Buck with a downright devious smirk before speaking.

“Wanted to push you to your knees in the showers,” he admits, watching with delight as Buck’s skin flushes pink. “Or drop to mine, I really wasn’t picky about my fantasies. Even if I did feel guilty about them after I got off.”

“You are scandalous, Eddie Diaz,” Buck says with a gasp, “I am scandalized!”

“Ok, Bridgerton,” Eddie laughs. “It’s not like I stole your virtue or something.”

“I’d give it to you willingly if I could,” Buck says, “if that was a thing that I even believed in.”

“Shit,” Eddie says, “I’m trying to be sexy here and you go and be all sweet. What am I supposed to do with that?”

Buck is the one to smirk then, as he reaches over to Eddie’s cot and hooks his fingers into the stretch of space between canvas and frame, pulling the entire thing across the floor until it’s flush with his.

Eddie is almost ashamed of how hot he finds that, but only almost.

“You should kiss me about it,” Buck says. “And maybe marry me one day. But we can work up to that.”

Eddie’s still laughing as he pulls Buck down on top of him by the neckline of his stupid tight tank top and kisses him soundly.

“We could’ve been doing this for years,” Buck says, pulling away from Eddie’s lips briefly.

“Then why are you talking instead of kissing me?” Eddie snarks, pulling up his knees and spreading them so that Buck can nestle between them properly.

“Fuck,” Buck stutters as he feels the heat of Eddie’s body lining up with his own. “You make a good point.”

He moves from Eddie’s lips down to his neck, leaving a trail of kisses and bites as he goes, awkwardly bent on the cot and not caring even one little bit. Eddie threads his fingers through his hair, gripping the sweaty curls desperately as Buck bites down gently against his jugular. His other hand clings to the back of Buck’s tank top, wishing desperately they were home in his bed where they could have no clothing between them.

“Buck,” Eddie says, gasping when Buck just grinds against him in response, still intent on marking up any skin he can reach. “Buck,” he says again, “we need to stop.”

Buck stops, breathing heavily as he braces himself on his arms and looks down at Eddie.

“What, why?” he asks. “I thought you were into it.”

“I am very into it,” Eddie assures him. “But I really don’t want our first time to be barely one room over from our entire firehouse.”

Buck pouts playfully, and leans his head down to nuzzle Eddie’s throat. “Soundproof room, remember?”

“Mandatory medical check and scrub down when we leave,” Eddie counters. “Do you want to explain this to the whole team?”

“Ugh,” Buck says, groaning in defeat. “Fine, you’re right. Can we at least cuddle still?”

“Yeah, Buck,” Eddie says with a laugh, “koala it up, as long as the cot will hold us both up anyway. We might need to turn on our sides if you want me to keep breathing though.”

“I do like you breathing,” Buck says, moving them around like ragdolls with no trouble, until he’s curled around Eddie’s back, holding him securely against his chest.

“You know,” Buck says after a few minutes of quiet cuddling, “if you let me suck you off, there wouldn’t be a mess.”

“Don’t fucking tempt me, Buckley,” Eddie says, swatting at Buck’s hand when it starts trailing down his chest towards his pants.

Buck laughs but rests his hand against Eddie’s chest again, bending his head slightly to press a kiss against Eddie’s neck.

“Sorry,” he whispers, not sounding sorry at all.

“When we get home,” Eddie says, squeezing Buck’s hand under his own. “We have less than an hour left, I think we can do it.”

“I’d wait forever, Eds,” Buck says easily, as if he’s talking about the inevitability of the rising sun, or of the pull of the moon to the tides.

Then again, Eddie muses as he thinks back on the last seven years, maybe he is.

“I kind of really love you, you know,” Eddie says, brave in the darkness and in Buck’s arms.

“Well, that will be good for the wedding,” Buck teases. Eddie pinches his arm in retaliation, and he just laughs, chest shaking against Eddie’s back.

“I love you, too,” he says, “no kind of about it.”

“Good,” Eddie says, simply, because it is.

The End

[eldritch-spouse]

A while back, I thought about how the Rings would celebrate Halloween- Of course, initially they didn't celebrate this, but as it became popularized and started giving Hell a chance to basically explode onto the surface freely while being accepted, the Rings grew rather fond of it and sought to have their own festivals.

And no one can best Wrath on Halloween.

Sure, a lot of these parties and grand events take place in the Common Rings, each of the sins has its own thing going on, naturally.

And, of course, it just so happens that the Ring of Perdition who understands terror, gore, fear and rage the most is Wrath. So the best displays take place there!

The hype is brutal enough that even the other Icons visit Wrath on Halloween. And as you might guess, the head servants are supposed to accompany them as well, preferably dressed for the occasion.

Lacai doesn't put that much of an effort into it, just enough to cause a bit of thirst and pretend to blend in with the more bloodthirsty crowds...

[anon-e-miss]

Hazing - 5

Jazz was a patient mech. He needed to be in his line of work. Though it irritated him that Tarantulas was running free and unsupervised with Prowl’s bitty, he knew this was an instance when he could not be rash. Sentinel’s favourite could not be removed without consequences and though Jazz did not fear the Prime’s vengeance for himself, he had places to disappear to, kin who would guard him, Prowl was not so fortunate. He did not want to see Prowl punished for his impatience. Thankfully, Sentinel’s energon thirst was unending and it was not long before the saboteur heard tell of plans to test Tarantulas latest weapon of war.

He laid in wait, within view of the test site with a carton of popped gears. Jazz nodded as a familiar yellow and blue mech joined him and offered the mech, his originator a servoful of the greasy snack. This had been a tradition of their since Jazz had learned to arm a bomb. Punch did not wear the Autobot’s brand, neither did he wear the Decepticon’s. The fact his creations wore these brands was his doing. They were his optics inside these lumbering armies. No Autobot knew Jazz’s twin was amongst the Decepticons, just as no Decepticon knew Jazz was Ricochet’s twin. Neither he nor his twin considered the other an enemy. Their deeds in this war were a means to an end.

Down below, Jazz saw Tarantulas, his mandible clicking as he spoke excitedly about his latest creation. Each time Jazz saw the mech, he was that much more a freak of his own making. Jazz feared what his creation might look like, what Tarantulas might have done to the poor little thing. He took another servoful of popped gears and took a twig of Kremzeek. Sentinel Prime tapped his ped with impatience as his prized madmech raved about his marvelous new weapon. Jazz smiled as he watched the Prime rebuke the freeze. Looking sullen, Tarantulas pulled out a remote and pressed the button. Hundreds of small, buzzing missiles shot up into the air. For a fraction of a nanoklik they flew towards the Dead End, the Prime’s favourite dart board, but then they flipped about in midair and changed direction. Every last one raced towards the Prime. Sentinel transformed but he was not fast enough to get away. He exploded into thousands of pieces. His Vanguard descended on the scientist. His screams rose up from the crush.

“Nicely done,” Punch said.

“We’ll see what sorta Prime the Matrix comes up wit next,” Jazz said.

“Could be a worse mech than Zeta or Sentinel,” Punch declared.

“Could be,” Jazz agreed. “Or the Matrix might just surprise us all.”

Ori stuck around as Jazz went forward with the next phase of his plan. They neatly sidestepped his crude traps and walked deep into his lab. There were half finished inventions, schematics and prototypes all over the place. It did not seem like he focused on any one project but a dozen at once. In the middle of the lab was the skeletal structure of a warbuild. He did not think he wanted to know what plans Tarantulas had held for that thing. Jazz listened intently and made his way deeper into the lab, searching until he found the freak’s living space. There was a carefully wrapped bundle in the middle of a spider’s web. Jazz cut it open, revealing a bitlet. The little one yawned as Jazz pulled him from the web.

“A bitlet?” Punch asked. “What was that freak doin’ wit a bitlet?”

“Sired ‘m,” Jazz explained. “On the tac attache for Spec Ops.”

“Ya took a fancy to the mech,” Punch guessed.

“Oh yeah,” Jazz agreed. “That I did. ‘N I fancied his creation was better off wit’m.”

“Seein’ as Tarantulas was a madmech, I can agreed to that,” Punch replied. “Ya plannin’ to be geni to this bitty?”

“Mm,” Jazz hummed. “Seein’ as I moved his ori into my hab, I suppose I am.”

“Did he tell ya the bitty’s designation?” Punch asked.

“No,” Jazz replied. “Seems like he didn’t even get to hold this lil thang. ‘M surprised he’s sane to be honest wit ya. But he’s sane ‘n he’s sharp. ‘M sure y’re Ori’s got somethin’ in processor for ya.”

“Lemme know when I can visit,” Punch said.

“Maybe ya outta come now,” Jazz offered. “He ain’t got experience at this sorta thing. ‘M sure ya can help.”

“I’ll leave’m be if he’s uncomfortable,” Punch replied. “Some oris wanna village ‘n some wanna nest in peace.”

Jazz knew Prowl would be waiting at home. He had fragged him so well the dark-cycle before, Prowl had elected to work from home rather than show off his limp to his new colleagues. Poor mech was shy of letting on that they were fragging but most of them if not all of them knew. Hound and Cliffjumper could hear them every time Jazz helped Prowl with his paperwork and if Hound knew, Mirage did as well. They might keep it to themselves but Jazz thought it would not be hard for the others to catch on. The fact they were not trying to take advantage of this information was good for them. Jazz would not be forgiving of blackmail attempts.

The bitlet was an armful, Jazz mused as he adjusted his grip. Underneath all those mods, Tarantulas’ natural build had been quite a lot bigger than Prowl. Considering how big the bitty was at only a few quartexes old, he must have been quite the big newling and yet Prowl had not only given emergence to him naturally, he had recovered incredibly quickly. He was a natural brooder, Jazz thought. It was something to consider for the future. For the moment, bitty cooed happily as they approached Jazz’s door.

“Know yet ori’s waitin’ for ya, don’t ya, Sweetspark?” Jazz cooed. He knocked once.

“Taught’m yer knock?” Punch asked.

“Tarantulas snatched ‘m from home,” Jazz explained. “Taught ‘m ya ain’t e’er completely safe.”

“Jazz?” Prowl sounded anxious as he called to him as Jazz opened the door.

“I brought company,” Jazz told him. “‘N y’re bitlet.”

“You really found him?” Prowl asked, he peaked around the corner. “Hello.”

“Don’t mind me,” Punch said. “‘M the rascal’s ori ‘n he thought ya might want support from someone that’s been there.”

“Maybe?” Prowl said.

“Poor thang, y’re in knots,” Punch crooned. “Ya go have a seat. Jazz’ll give ya yer bitty ‘n no one will take’m from ya again.”

“You are not an Autobot,” Prowl said. He sat on the couch amongst the pillows Jazz had piled up for him when he had moved in.

“Not a Decepticon either,” Punch assured him.

“Ori keeps everyone honest,” Jazz explained. He lowered the hefty bitlet into his originator’s arms. Prowl immediately teared up as he held his creation tightly in his arms.

“There there,” Punch crooners “Ya been through an ordeal. Everythin’s alright now.”

[thewisaaaaad]

alright, I have added plenty to the au already

SO LETS ADD SOME MORE

The Captains each have their own stronghold, an island that they have fortified with their power, and where they hide from the sea that they believe seeks to swallow them whole. At this point, they only send out illusions made of Ichor to communicate with their forces at sea, as they all believe that narinder seeks their deaths after the battle he lost. They are right to fear his vengeance, but for the entirely wrong reasons.

Each stronghold his vastly different from the next;

Leshy made his home in a wild jungle, only made wilder with the louse's presence. The trees themselves thirst for blood, vines hang down that seek necks to strangle, and the grass is as sharp as an army's armory. His disciples wield spears, their faces hidden by masks of wood that change as readily as the wind.

Once, Leshy had been a swabbie, the newest recruit. His lust for adventure and discovery was matched only by Narinders own. They were like brothers, once. And Leshy had always known how to cheer anyone up, god or mortal.

Heket claimed a island that had been entirely razed to the ground by an angry god, now made a paradise of fertile ground and glorious harvest. The crops are so ripe, if you harvest them carelessly they will explode, while mushrooms constantly deal with excess growth. Her faithful care greatly for their crew, marking their flesh to represent the family they belong to. To harm one of her crew is to declare war with Heket herself. If you failed them, however, you could end up in the pot for tonights dinner. And the bar for failure was very low.

A long time ago, she was the best cook in the land. She would feed entire communities, often at great expense to herself. Her rapid regenerative abilities as a god only ensured that frog stew was always on the menu. She always kept the needs of the family well above herself on the list of priorities.

Kalamar has the least fear of the depths, for he can swim and breathe down there, but calmed a land-locked defensive position regardless. His city sits upon a massive dead coral forest, the pale animals forming razor sharp supports for the houses and bridges that cling to their branches. His deckhands perform heinous experiments to further his knowledge of the mortal body- and how best to inflict pain.

Ages past, he was a struggling doctor, trying to save as many lives as he could. His repeated failures often shredded his self confidence, but Narinder was always there to help him back on his feet. Eventually, he became the best doctor in the land, using his godhood to identify exactly what was wrong with a patient and to provide the best aid he could.

Shamura entrenched themselves on a barren island, building a true fortress library of stone and magic. But as the years went on, the damage to their skull seemed to slowly distort their perception of reality, each successive floor of the fortress becoming more twisted and eerie as it goes up. The tower stretches high into the sky, bending this way and that, appearing to take a different path up each time you look at it. Littered with traps and lost knowledge, the upper levels are off limits to even Shamuras own first mate and fellow seeker of knowledge, Allocer.

Shamura had been the one to gather them all together. Shamura had been the one to call them all family. They came up with the code, allowing each of the Captains to add their own piece to the rules that all of the Old Crew would follow.

Why did it end up like this?

It was his own fault, wasn't it. Narinder had wounded them. Scared them. They did all those horrible things, mimicking the gods they had replaced because of HIM. He had attacked them when he was bored, so he supposed he was no better than them.

It would probably be better when he was gone, too.

[lil-ms-darkness]

ℜ𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯 Angst

You remember his lips on yours; warm, fierce, skilled. His breath always smelled of whiskey and smoke, and when he touched you, it always sent a wave of excitement through you, fluttering like an earthquake.

You remember the way he would nibble on your earlobe, or tease you on a mission. The way his voice switched between cocky ladies man and the veteraned soldier; the way he held you in his arms as if you could keep the nightmares away and you alone could save him from the dark.

There was something intoxicating about him, something that drew you in. Maybe it was his courageous heart, or his drive to protect, or maybe it was something as simple as his kind, yet dominating and intense blue eyes.

The eyes that could never hide from you, the eyes that saw through you just the same. You remember the feel of his calloused fingers draped over your slender knuckles at his favorite steakhouse. The fingertip that grazed over your bottom lip when all was quiet and he drunk in the sight of you.

You remember the anger and tears that followed the Arklay Mountain incident, after losing Jill on Rockford island, after the massacre in China, after his entire team, after Piers. You remember the tense muscles and twitching fingers as he fought to contain his rage in your arms, as he fought to stay in the present and not let the memories whisk him away into the pain and helplessness again.

You remember the man you promised your heart to.

Not once did he look at you with such fright in his eyes. Not once did you feel his hands stutter with uncertainty.

"No, no, no. . ." he groans as he holds you in his arms, scratchy shoulder straps digging into your already itchy flesh. Your skin boils, every touch akin to dragging broken glass across rubbed raw tissue. Your throat feels deliriously dry, and somewhere deep in your gut a twisting stirs. The itch in your flesh draws your focus from everything else, and no matter how much you had itched, it wouldn't go away. Not even when your nails dug away flesh from your arms. "please not her. . ."

His voice is so far away, as you cough into the back of your hand. Pulling it away, you spot the splatter of blood across palid skin marred by black veins, exploding like a lightning strike across grey clouds.

You look up at him, the man who stole your heart, and want to ask him what's happening to you. You remember every nightmare he had ever told you, of him losing you, of him succumbing to Umbrella's experimentation, and worse.

As you rewind your memory, splotches of black drown out bits and pieces, once peaceful memories drift from your mind as the ache and burning in your body becomes worse.

You're exhausted, but calm. Somehow, you don't feel afraid, you had always been his rock, his comfort. Cool drops land on your cheeks and when his hand guides your face up to meet his, you find that it was his tears that fell. He speaks to you, but all you hear is the dull heavy thrum of your heartbeat.

You blink, slowly, the thirst and hunger stronger than ever as you look at him, the thick column of his neck, the juicy thickness of his biceps. Your mind drifts away, slowly, and you feel the pain ebb away as you give in.

You're not frightened.

You're hungry.

You're itchy.

What were you supposed to remember?

Remember. . .

Hey everyone, I know it's not the next part of M&P, but I was playing RE4 Remake and this came up in my mind, and I had to write it down.

Resident Evil is one of my lifelong hyper fixations and I just love Chris so much, even if he's a womanizing butthead sometimes. I have a cold heart, and angst always has such a macabre beauty to it, and in this instance, I felt like after losing so many people, Chris likely wouldn't want to get close to anyone, but what would happen if he did and then they got infected?

Imagine Claire calling to check in, only to find out what happened to you? I would imagine she'd love you and be devastated, as well. Maybe Jill, Claire, Leon, Chris, Sherry (and by proxy Jake) all came to your funeral?

Idk, I'm just word vomiting at this point. Hope you like, and if not, I'm sorry.

If you're waiting for the next part of M&P, it is in production, I promise.

Thanks for reading,

𝕷𝖎𝖑 𝕸𝖘 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘 🥀

[onyourowndaisymae]

Hey Daisy!

Idk whether you still accept requests for the 500 follower event (especially since I already asked one), but could you write prompt #10 "i think we fucked up" for Solomon with the same reader I requested prior (as in a gn/f reader)? Thanks in advance💙

P.s. I loved the latest Sol thirst you wrote, it's just *chef kiss*👌 perfect

ahh yes i do still accept requests for the 500 follower event, so thank you for requesting! and i'm SO GLAD people liked the sol thirst omg. it came to me from literally nowhere. here it is if you didn't see it already (i am proud)

this is specifically set in the nightbringer timeline and inspired the "why can't i come home?" chat

content + warnings: solomon x gn! reader (can be read as platonic if you're affectionate in general), reader is implied to be shorter than solomon

word count: 540

"i think we fucked up."

"who the fuck is we?"

you stare in disbelief at the scene before you. viscous goop runs down the walls of the kitchen. the color is some horrific purple-- you're not sure if it's from solomon's terrible cooking or whatever made the dish explode in the first place-- and the mystery meal sizzles a little as it comes in contact with the drywall.

solomon's not looking at you. he's staring at the burner in a quiet, contained panic, his index knuckle trapped between his teeth as he thinks on what might have possibly gone wrong. his face is one of a man who knows what he's done wrong and is trying very hard to rationalize it in his head.

"... nothing exploded until you came home? so really, this is..."

he trails off, like he realizes the folly in trying to pin this on you.

you want to be mad. you want to be so pissed off at him for making this mess. he knew he wasn't supposed be in the kitchen, and that's why the sneaky bastard waited until you were supposed to be gone at the house of lamentation to craft his wretched creation. you knew this would happen. he knew this would happen. why did solomon insist on cooking when he was so god-awful about it?

but then you sigh, defeated.

you had told him the night previous that you were a little stressed by your obligations lately-- to the brothers, to diavolo, to the future of the devildom. when you arrived home after his suspicious texts, you found him in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, begging you to just give him five more minutes to finish the dinner he was making for you. it was a terrible idea, really, to leave him alone this long.

he may be an idiot, but at least he was considerate.

solomon's arms wrap around your shoulders from behind as your eyes squeeze shut. maybe if you close your eyes, this will all go away? his lips find temple, and he begins to press soft, apologetic kisses across your skin.

"i'm sorry... i should have listened to you. i just wanted to do something nice for you..."

"you almost set the kitchen on fire, solomon."

"... i didn't think it was going to do that."

silence. he's practically holding his breath in anticipation. as aloof as he usually acts, you can tell he's really hoping you'll forgive him for this.

"well," you start. "i'm going to go grab us something from hell's kitchen. and when i return, i'd really love to have that mess gone."

he squeezes your shoulders in a tight hug and kisses your cheek again. you can feel his muscles relax against your body as he waltzes out of the metaphorical doghouse.

"yes! i'll get everything cleaned up before you get home to make it up to you. that's the least i can do."

the sorcerer scurries off to gather cleaning supplies. you call after him to get his order, but he's gone in the blink of an eye and you don't have the energy to chase after him.

you're starting to think you're never going to get a day of peace in the devildom.

[500 follower event masterlist] // [obey me masterlist]

[solar-halos]

spoilers for the ballad of songbirds and snakes movie down below!! but i just need to talk abt this in xtreme detail before i explode

1. i really liked the Baby Snow / Tigris inclusion. i was wondering if they’d include the cannibal scene

2. the beginning was just a straight up thirst trap sorry. like ik in the book snow was freaking out over his shirt but it didn’t rlly occur to me that he’d be butt booty naked. im not complaining bc i said it once and i’ll fucking say it again: i’m not watching someone be manipulative AND ugly for two fucking hours. it was just kinda a jump scare

3. also another concern was that you wouldn’t be able to tell how shitty of a person he was since he’s so outwardly nice but his internal monologue is slimy and ratworthy, so i thought they’d do the things movies do where he’s narrating his thoughts to the audience. yk like “hey persephone! <3. how are you??” and then his voiceover is like “i fucking hate this bitch. cannibalistic weirdo” but maybe that would have been too humorous

4. speaking of humor i actually loved lucky so fucking much. he rlly emulated the whole “what i lack in experience i make up for in personality :)” thing and just he kinda carried the fact that everything abt televising the games was so new. also that scene at the zoo where lucy gray asked him who the fuck he even was and the cameraman started laughing.. funny as fuck. enjoyed that part immensely

5. also she did in fact correct them that her name was lucy gray and not just lucy

6. loved the whole “how come she gets a mender” “MENTOR” part i’m also glad they kept that in

7. let’s go back to the beginning. i LOVE how closely they stuck to the book when it came to the shirt scene “that must be why it reminds me of my maids bathroom” THATS what i’m talking about

8. also clemensia is sooo pretty. one thing that irritated me was how OFTEN she and snow kept glancing over at each other during dean highbottom’s speech. like i know i’m being irrational abt this but most the time she would look over at him and he would NOT look back (or vice versa) instead of them BOTH hitting each other w the “what the fuck?” glance and something abt that did admittedly grind my gears

9. fucking love sejanus’ actor the first movie i saw him in was west side story and he ate here

10. speaking of that… coral fucking ate too every single scene i was on her side she was the victor to ME

11. anyway let’s go back a bit with the proposal gaul had snow (and clemensia) write up. to me, the way the scene unfolded was weird. it was supposed to show a contrast between clemensia mourning and snow not rlly giving a fuck, but clemenisa being the one saying “give me the bullet points” was strange. to me, i feel like the convo should have gone like: “how could gaul expect us to write that proposal i was crying over arcchane all night” “dw i already wrote it” “where did you find the time? i was too busy grieving” “do you want the bullet points or not?” or something. idk i’m not a movie writer

12. why did clemensia stick her hands in there maybe it was the same in the book but at that point she just needed to admit defeat

13. okay one thing i DO remember about the book is that no one at the cornocupia fought each other, reaper was literally the only one ready to fight. that kinda pissed me off bc i feel like they could have made it interesting in a emotional way (like showing how desperate the tributes are to escape in their own ways) instead of an action sort of way (bc GODDAMN where did they learn to brawl like that?? d4 makes sense but some of them were shooting ARROWS katniss everdeen style). but again im not a movie person so “interesting in an emotional way” is just me being pretentious

14. wovey </3. i’m not rlly sure why they had dill drink the water i think having wovey drink it like in the book would have packed more of a punch ESPECIALLY since lucy gray makes a comment abt how she reminds her of maude ivory / that scene where wovey holds her hand. maybe that was in the book too tho i’m not sure i haven’t read it since it came out. one change that i did remember AND tolerated was snow being the one to cause the whole fuck up w the drones “i wasn’t attacking the other tributes—i was just sending her water” VERY good scene, gave more insight to his character imo. like yes i would have loved a d3 moment but i think this tweak not only made sense but made everything much more nice and neat and smooth

15. okay the singing parts. loved the reaping, but lucy gray constantly being like “give me a second, boys” “let’s go, boys” reminded me of that one delaney video

16. “you can kiss my ass!!!!!!” she ate that

17. also oooo the song she sang abt billy taupe that made snow jealousssss. she was so good like ugh. idk something abt the >:( faces she made ignited something in me. which is exactly the point of lucy gray and rachel zegler literally did such a fantastic job playing maria in west side story so tbh what we were expecting if anyone could have played this role it was her

18. and then lawrence whatever saying this was a love story… okay. i’ve always had the opinion that lucy gray genuinely liked snow (like in a stockholm-y way) BUT snow was too blinded by control to actually love her back, so i could see where he was coming from. with that being said, i feel like in the books snow had a lot more moments where he was doing / saying “sweet” things to lucy gray, so the scene where they almost kissed and then her happiness at being reunited with him just seemed so awkward and out of place. like i get it they truly did not spend that much time together but the kiss before the arena was so important idk why they left it out. when they kissed after being reunited and when she was like :D after seeing him in 12 i was like “uhh yall don’t even know each other like that calm down”

19. let’s go back the arena. i like the little nod of lucy gray killing treech w rat poison, even if it was kinda anticlimactic

20. speaking of anticlimatic… the ending? sucked. like it would have been abrupt either way and maybe i’m just misremembering but the lucy gray showdown with treech could have been the action scene that replaced the bloodbath (bc the bloodbath didn’t exist back then!!! that was the whole point!!!). also i don’t remember gaul being so adamant about not wanting a victor at all, but i understand why they did that bc how else would they have incorporated the “get her out” chant

21. there were a lot of scenes that made me go “ohhh i wanna remember this forever that’s so good and clever.” of course i forgot abt most of it by the time the movie was over, but one scene that stuck out to me was when the capitol students got rlly fuckin angry when reaper tore down their flag

22. also i knew what happened to marcus but tell me why i gasped when i saw him hanging there anyway

23. i don’t remember lamina crying in the books??? also don’t understand why snow was against the alliance here i think him being confused abt it in the book was better bc i when i read it i remember being genuinely surprised that he was surprised that lucy gray wanted to team up w someone i was like ummm isn’t that common sense

24. “it isn’t fair i killed all those ppl for nothing.” GOOSEBUMPS

25. again maybe i’m misremembering but didn’t snow beat the shit out of bobbin even after he already knew he was dead?? even if that wasn’t the case and i’m just misremembering i feel like they should have drawn that out more to show snows descent into Psychotic Bitch Mode

26. that scene where billy taupe was pulling at lucy grays skirt and being like “ik u missed me” dragged out for WAY too long, esp since lucy gray kept repeating “get off me, billy taupe. get off me” like WAY too calmly given the context of the situation. again im not a movie person AT ALL, but i think her snapping and kicking billy taupe away could have been a nod to how she bit his hand in the book. then, after she kicked him, snow could have arrived and started being the shit out of him. idk her biting billy taupe was something snow mentioned when he was justifying how he was gonna kill her, so idk. i thought they were gonna do a ranting sequence / flashback scenes with snow remembering how lucy gray was “violent” / “dangerous” that would trigger him (no pun intended) to actually start shooting. like him beating up billy taupe for a longer time than he needed to was also an indicator that he’s in Psychotic Bitch Mode, but i feel like it could have been a 2-in-1. if that makes sense

27. why did billy taupe push mayfair in the TITS. go to hell

28. said it before and i’ll say it again: lucy gray is a fashion icon. i wanna crochet her bathing suit so bad

29. that scene where they were going to the woods and snow was slapping away the mosquito omg. he was PISSED

30. “it’s a mystery. just like me” oh my fucking god i love rachel zeglers portrayal of lucy gray

31. also call me classist but i fucking hate country music but rachel zeglers performances might have converted me. “cant take my paaaaaast” yee yee!

32. okay. so i think a big question was if snow was portrayed as properly slimy and ratworthy to ppl who did NOT read the books. in my opinion, i don’t think so. in the books, you can obviously tell he’s fucking awful. in the movies, he’s obviously shitty too, but i feel like there are moments where he’s portrayed way kinder than he actually is, like when he started crying over sejanus. they kept in a lot of stuff he said sympathizing w the tributes (like the part in the book where he was like “how could they punish marcus for trying to escape from certain death?” BUT they DID leave out parts that made him so intolerable, like when he genuinely convinced himself that lucy gray was more capitol than district / his gross thoughts abt the games and control and possessiveness in general. like remember when he said that having lucy gray locked up in the capitol was a better alternative than her being in d12 bc at least he’d know where she was at all times?? or when he was ready to give up on trying to reunite w her bc it was hot asf and SENJAUS had to be the one to convince him to keep going? wtf

33. ALSO something that bugged the hell out of me is sejanus’ death scene. bc in the book his last words were ma BUT in the movie it sounded so much like he said pa. idk if that was just me tho but it caught me so off guard bc this man has DADDY ISSUES and it would be so different if he said pa. Pa is money and wealth, Ma is comfort and compassion. wanting his dad = he rlly just wanted his dad to bail him out. wanting his ma = wanting comfort and stability. but it sounded a lot more like ma when the jabberjays repeated everything back so maybe i just misheard

34. snow glaring at the rainbow fucking sent me i know his ass was brainstorming (no pun intended) on how to control the fucking weather

35. okay sorry i need to talk more about how snow was portrayed. my sister went w me but i did not know that she didn’t know ANYTHING about the movie, she was just coming w me bc she felt bad that i’d have to wait another week to watch it and decided that she wasn’t even gonna read a summary abt it. like she did not know that coriolanus snow = president snow, but i was still hoping that she knew that he was a bad person. nope. as soon as we left, she told me how much she hated the ending, and i thought it was bc she was pissed no one found out about snow. nope again. in her words, “i thought they’d get married”

my live reaction to that information

to be fair, when i was her age, i thought heathers was a love story, so i had to cut her some slack. after a bit of INTERROGATION, this is what she told me:

1. at least she thought that HE’D move in with HER, and not the other way around

2. what would be his motivation for moving to the districts? cos obviously he hated the capitol

okay me when i write a lucy gray / sejanus fanfiction. but still. if that’s what she got from the portrayal of his character, i think it’s safe to say that they could have done a lot more work to ensure that he was perfectly ratworthy to the audience. like yes she’s young and yes she had no idea what the fuck was going on (in her words: “yeah i was like ‘i’ll just ask u to explain it to me after’”) but i feel like knowing that he’s an awful person who hates the district should be something u make GLARINGLY obvious, even if it would be cheesy. i know that shoving a hot person on screen and downplaying their characters HEINOUS crimes is rlly common when it comes to things like this, but i genuinely don’t think that was (quite) the case here. like he had the potential of being as horrible as he is in the book (not even hesitating to send the jabberyjay recording of sejanus to the capitol, telling sejanus he only said all that shit abt changing the world bc he just wanted to save his own ass) but it just.. felt very half-assed. in my opinion

36. look i know this post is already xtremely long but would u believe me if i said there were more things i wanted to talk abt but can’t remember bc i have goldfish memory?? bc i do. but that’s all i can remmeber for now. goodnight and goodbye

[bellemorte79]

Can't be horny on main anymore.

Twitter is not as fun without the fun of thirst tweets sometimes since I don't have a female friend to gush over my crushes with. I suppose I will just bottle it up until I explode.

[technicianuprisingau]

Kirbtober 2024 Companion Pieces - Week Two

A companion lore piece to the ongoing Kirbtober, using the list by @paintpanic. You can see the full art collection for this week here.

Day 7: Copy Ability

The Animal Copy Ability. What a funny little thing. Anyone that possessed this ability is guaranteed to act as if they are a very cheerful dog with a bit of a digging obsession. Aw.

I would like to say in preface that this ability DOES exist in Forgotten Land in this AU... it's just due to how the Technician ability functions, Kirby has been much used to inhale weapons and attacks rather than people. So in the end, Animal ends up being barely used, because uh. No inhaling the animals. Inhale guns instead.

Also, I asked anyone in this one server to recommend me an ability to draw for this prompt, first come first served, and someone just snatched in and said Animal like. 5 seconds later. Lmao.

Day 8: Phantom

Guess who doesn't have an idea what to do with this prompt because she is tired and absolutely not touching the Phantom counterparts from FL? It's me. Yeah, that's me. So instead, here's the Ghost ability.

Anyone holding this ability seems to be a mischievous bastard who likes scaring people off. Like, you know the whole ghosts pranking people thing. Yeah. That's it, that's all there is to it.

Day 9: Magic

A mage with endless curiosity can be seen walking through libraries and towers to learn magical spells. They are a master of magic, mana, and its surrounding topics. Traveling through far away lands to satiate their thirst of knowledge, they will keep and even share what they find to those who deserve it.

Flare Beam is one of the known existing 5 Super Abilities, created via the Fallen Star. When the star is restored, it overrides the user's personality to that akin of a curious mage with a little obsession to learning and sharing their knowledge of magic, who can instantly learn any spells as long as correct instructions are given. Otherwise, the typical 'summon massive orb of magic' shtick stays intact.

Its skills are as follows:

Sparkling Swish - swipes the staff in front of a target, blinding them with sparkles for a few seconds.

Hocus Sphere - charges up before creating a large ball made of magic. The ball can be controlled by the user's staff by moving it around. It will slowly shrink and dissipate overtime.

Pocus Disperse - only can be used on a magic attack. This spell will dissipate any magic attack property, including Hocus Sphere itself. There are many ways for the dissipation to work depending on the spell type, for example long beams will split into two before disappearing harmlessly, balls of magic will explode on spot, and so on and so forth.

Innate Mastering - requires a guide of a spell. Lets the user to instantly master that spell to use as long as this super ability is active. Once the super ability fades, the user will forget how the spell works. The learned spells from one session of the super ability in use DOES NOT carry over to the next.

Flow Recollection - restores ones' mana/energy at half of their capacity, rounded up. Has a cooldown.

Day 10: Mechanical

So... yes, the Technician ability is supposed to be a Kamen Rider tribute of sorts? This is why it starts with Kirby posing like Kamen Rider Ichigo.

But wait... Robobot Armor is there too? You see, this guy has, in the words of another RP server, a 'repressed whimsy'. I can imagine Robobot quietly and discreetly copying the henshin sequence, at least before the transformation scene triggers. So uhm. Haha. Lol. Lmao. Of course, they do not want to admit they liked it too. To keep up a facade of a strong, no-nonsense defender. F•cking nerd.

This is just an illustration, really, so. Eh.

Day 11: OC/Fav Character

Have drawn Kirby a lot and Robobot Armor just the day before, I believe it is time for Bandee to get his due, too. I always thought that the reason waddle dees have cloths tied to their spear is to ease identification and just because it looks cool.

Apparently these are made of special material, but no one really had the guts to uncover the secrets of it.

Day 12: Clone/Copy

Just a showcase on how Kirby does copy ability scanning. The scanner's the goggles instead! What, you think the goggles do absolutely nothing? Lol nope!

Day 13: Spin-Off

...you can tell I had to rush this one... Hello ibispaint my old friend. All you have to know is that not all spin-offs are not canon in Technician Uprising - I have planned some to be properly canon with changes. So let this be public knowledge that Rainbow Curse IS canon in TU.

[oicuperp]

Peter Strahm: Mage of Light - A classpect analysis

Mage - one who understands their aspect or understands through their aspect Light - light, knowledge, fortune Mage of Light - one who understands light, knowledge or fortune; or understands through light, knowledge or fortune

Starting with a more literal interpretation of the Light aspect, light represents order, and is said to conquer darkness and chaos. This could be associated to the justice the FBI tries to bring Jigsaw to, in this case

A Mage of Light has a really good understanding of how light, knowledge or fortune works. As an FBI agent, Strahm needs a deep understanding of the information he is given in order to ... well ... do his job. The Mage class understands his aspect since a very early age, which could be connected to how he was top of the class (and was probably also top of the class even before the academy)

He KNOWS how to handle knowledge and it can be seen throughout saw 4 and 5. His first appearance was quickly figuring out that there HAD to be a second apprentice. When he entered a room following Rigg's trail of games he immediatly knew what the trap was about and what Rigg was supposed to do, to see what Jigsaw sees and feel what Jigsaw feels, just by seeing the aftermath of it

Mages know both the positive and negative sides of their aspect. He uses his understanding of knowledge to advance in his investigations, but also knows quite well what too much of it can do to someone. This can be seen when Billy explodes in Perez's face, letting both of them know that if they keep getting closer, if they keep gaining knowledge of the ongoing murders and try to stop Jigsaw, they will be next

The most interesting part of Mages, in my opinion, is how they begin to lose their aspect and ends up negatively affected by it. After surviving the Water Cube Trap due to fortune (the pen being the only thing in his pocket) and knowledge (knowing how to give himself a DIY tracheotomy), he continues investigating on his own, suspecting Hoffman after Perez said his name. Of course, he continues to gain more and more knowledge about Jigsaw's real identity while going to the different places where traps had taken place, but he doesn't have the knowledge of Hoffman framing him for all the murders so, while he gains knowledge from one part, he loses it from the other due to his obsession and stubborness

Entering the Glass Coffin room was the breaking point. His thirst for knowledge leads him to lose it, not listening to the entire tape and therefore not having the knowledge that he could've survived by entering the coffin. After losing this knowledge, he's almost doomed but, what definitely makes him lose all fortune is locking Hoffman in the coffin

That's it teehee :3