#which are DO NOT FUCKING CONTACT ME UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES

[dykethang]

i think mothers day simply should not exist. why are we forcing literally everyone to be celebrating people just for giving us life. what if i want to avoid the notion but i can't because it's everywhere

[slvttyplum]

as long as you and aki were together, he still got super shy talking about sex and initiating it, so he would do this thing mindlessly where he would slide in between your thighs, rest his head on your thighs, and look at you with those dark blue eyes that only glistened when light shone on them.

rubbing his thumb over your smooth skin as he just stared up at you, expecting you to say something. well, you did eventually, but at first you didn't get why he did this, but as time went on, you caught on to his little shy act and added on to it to tease him.

he was usually blunt any other time, so you took this as your chance for him to stumble over himself, but the outcome was so cuter than you expected that it made you want to keep playing with him, and that's what you did whenever he got needy.

aki always wanted to be inside of you, which was no surprise; anyone who got a taste of you just couldn't get enough, but his case of the blues was whenever he couldn't have your taste on his tongue, whenever he craved you so bad that his dick was starting to hurt because of how stiff it was.

"what is it, baby? unfortunately, i can't read minds." placing your hand on his cheek as your thumb rubbed over his cheek, his face heating up as a light pink slid across his cheeks. his face is inching closer to your core, but your hand is sliding to the front of his face and pushing him back.

"use your words." aki had his pride, and his pride was bigger than the average person, but in this circumstance, he had to push it inside because his body craved you and he couldn't, for an extra second, not have his tongue sliding over your pussy.

"please? please, baby, i need you. its killing me." sliding his hand under himself, palming his dick through his briefs, not breaking eye contact, which made everything sexier. sometimes you didn't want to give in; you wanted to slip your panties off right then and there, but his demeanor wanted you to keep making him beg, have him aching, and even finish in his briefs before he could touch you any further.

he was just so cute that your mouth worked before your body when it came to his teasing, telling him that his begging wasn't even enough to keep going. your tough act broke down whenever you would hear his voice break and crack while he was begging, grinding his hips against the mattress, and his hand sneakingly slid up your thigh more.

when he finally got to have his hand on you, he took advantage of it just like you did his neediness, fucking you and not stopping, not even taking a breath to breathe when his tongue was sliding over your slit and licking on your clit. he was deep inside of you, and that's where he belonged.

making sure you were dripping and making the sheets wet long with having your body react to his every touch and cry and moan his name. the cycle always returned to you having the upper hand and having him whine and whimper for him to be able to touch you, lick you, and especially fuck you.

you thought this was a good way to have him learn how to speak his mind so that he could get what he wanted, but he always fell right into your clutch with that cute blush rushing into his cheeks and his hands gripping your thighs as he begged for you to let him eat you out or just kiss your pussy.

all he wanted was to drown inside of you and hold his head back while is dick was hitting your sweet spot over and over again. sometimes you just felt so good that he thought he was going to die. his heart raced up as he tried his hardest to keep going, but even in the back of his mind, he knew that he couldn't.

[fuctacles]

Under pressure

For @subeddieweek Day 1 | M | 1177 | accidental subspace, non-verbal communication, sleepover, Steve-instinctive-Dom-Harrington | Ao3 Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Ao3

Eddie avoided fights because he was a coward. A pussy, even, he'll admit. But there was a whole other reason for him avoiding sports.

He wasn't a big fan of physical contact. 

But since he's become better friends with Steve Harrington, he's been discovering things about himself. Things he wished would have stayed hidden. Forever.

The first time, it was a tussle for the remote. Eddie refused to watch another episode of whatever the fuck capitalist media was trying to spoon-feed them, while Steve was adamant there was a plot that he was invested in. One elbow to the gut and some pulled hair later, he landed underneath the guy, his weight pinning him to the ground.

Melting his bones.

Soothing.

"You okay?"

Steve sounded concerned about Eddie's sudden silence, and his mind scrambled to salvage his dignity. All he could manage was a groan, which Steve thankfully interpreted as a sign of pain and not the sudden weakness that it was. 

He instantly hopped off of him, apologizing.

Eddie has been avoiding and yearning for the touch ever since.

He had never considered Steve like that, but apparently being sat on was the biggest turn-on for his poor little dick, and now it was all he could think of at night.

His doom comes when he has to sleep over after a night of drinking. Steve insisted they share a bed, that it was alright, and Eddie foolishly believed him. 

It is fine until Steve rolls over to put away his glasses. 

"Shit, sorry. I just gotta..."

They didn't think this through, because Eddie was the one next to the bedside table, the one Steve was trying to reach. He almost crawls over Eddie to accomplish it, his weight heavy on top of him, pressing him to the mattress and making his mind go blank. 

He bites his lip so hard he probably draws blood, but it doesn't stop the whimper Steve's body literally pushed out of him.  Steve freezes. 

"Are you alright?" He drops the glasses and shoots up. "Did I hurt you?"

Eddie can't answer. His brain is screaming at his mouth, but he can't manage a single word, all he can think of is Steve's body back on him, that weight pressing him down, immobilizing him. He could probably reach pure bliss with just that.

When he doesn't get an answer, Steve pulls on his shoulder to flip him on his back. Eddie whines in protest but doesn't have enough control over his muscles to stop him. His shame gets put on display and Steve's eyes widen.

"Eddie?"

His pupils are huge as he blinks owlishly up at his friend.

"You okay?"

Eddie nods.

"Do you need anything?"

You. On me, against me, in me.

He shakes his head slowly, not breaking eye contact. This seems to frustrate Steve.

"Eddie, come on," he groans. "Clearly something's wrong. Do you need water? I can bring you some." He moves to stand up, but Eddie's in the way. He has to throw his leg over him, and Eddie presses his eyes closed, begging his body not to react.

It's enough to alert Steve, though, and he freezes hovering above him, mid-movement. 

"Huh."

It's a soft sound, barely there, and Eddie decides to keep his eyes closed. Maybe if he does, whatever realization Steve has gets forgotten, and he moves on, brings him the damn water, and maybe throws it on him like on a horny dog. Maybe that would help him.

But no, the ‘huh’ is followed by Steve settling down on his hips.

Oxygen escapes him in a whiny breath, and his body presses up without his control, seeking that delicious weight of another body. 

"Want to make out about it?" Steve asks out of the blue like any normal person would in these circumstances. But Eddie doesn't answer him, he can't, and he doesn't know. He can only stare and writhe under him, making tiny sounds of need he can't comprehend. Steve frowns down on him, partially concerned, partially curious. 

"Don't feel like talking?" he asks. Eddie gives him a nod. He hums. "Can you answer some yes or no questions? Nod for a yes and shake your head for no."

Nod.

"You can blink twice if you don't know or don't want to answer. Okay?"

Nod.

"What do you do if you don't want to answer?"

Eddie blinks twice.

"Good. Great." Steve smiles, and Eddie mirrors it through his haze. "Are you feeling alright?"

Nod.

"Do you need water?"

Shake.

"Do you need the bathroom?"

Shake.

"A snack?"

Shake.

Steve considers him, perched on top of his body. Eddie tentatively reaches up, palms resting on his thighs. Steve's gaze follows his fingers, where they just rest with no ill intent, only there to touch.

"Will we talk about it more in the morning?"

Eddie hesitates. Does he want to talk about it? To bring his shame to the light of day, confess the budding crush on his friend? But Steve doesn't seem angry, he's not kicking him out of the bed. He's being soft and gentle and trying to understand. Maybe in the morning, they could understand it together. Tentatively, he nods.

That eases Steve's frown a bit, but he sighs when another problem hits him.

"I don't know what else to ask," he admits with a huff. 

Eddie wants to help, so he slides his hands up, towards his hips, and tries to convey as best as possible where he wants him. He stares into his eyes, begging him to understand.

"Want me to lay down on you?"

He nods furiously, excited to get what he needs. 

Steve looks down. It's a minuscule movement of his eyes, but it's there. He will know if Eddie's hard when he moves, but he needs the heads-up. The bulge in Eddie's sweats is noticeable but not fully there, to Steve's relief. Having his friend under him in such a pliant state is already overwhelming as it is, and he knows Eddie will feel his own chub when he moves. 

"We're just sleeping tonight, alright?" Steve clarifies and Eddie nods without hesitation. "And cuddle a bit, I guess." Eddie nods again.

He moves, watching his friend’s face for any sign of distress. Eddie’s hands slide around him in an embrace that's more comforting than Steve's ready to admit, and soon they're chest to chest, legs tangled, and he has to crane his neck to maintain eye contact.

"That alright?"

Nod.

Eddie's hands squeeze him minutely and Steve settles down against his shoulder, finally resting his full body weight against him.

The man underneath him sighs, and it's like his whole body deflates. He makes a content sound in the back of his throat, and Steve wants to cry. It's so endearing and so comforting to have Eddie trust him like that. To have him turn into mush in his presence. 

He hopes he's not overstepping when he presses his nose to Eddie's neck, inhaling him and softly caressing his skin when he murmurs a "goodnight, Eds."

[joelscruff]

one thing i'm missing (joel miller/reader) PART ONE

hi there ! i'm new to the tlou fandom but not new to fic, and watching the show over the past few months inspired me to return to fic writing. the idea for this has been milling around in my head for a good chunk of time now and i finally felt ready to put pen to paper and get this thing started. i've already posted this to ao3 if you prefer that medium, but i'll also be posting it here now. let me know what you think!

summary: you and joel accidentally end up falling asleep together, and what follows is the beginning of a quiet and tender relationship neither of you saw coming. rating: 18+ explicit (this part is not explicit but this fic will be) warnings: (for future parts) smut, age difference (reader is in her mid 20s and joel in his mid 50s), praise kink - will add more as fic progresses word count: about 2.6k

You don't, under absolutely any circumstances, talk about it.

It started about a month ago, after all the shit that happened with that monster, David. After Ellie had decided she wanted to start sleeping alone.

It hadn't really been a conscious decision on her part, but you'd noticed that first night how she'd distanced herself from you and Joel when it was time to sleep. She'd curled up against the far wall of the basement with barely a word, shutting herself off entirely while you'd tended to Joel's injury. Prior to this – ever since Joel was stabbed – Ellie had started sleeping at his side, head on his chest, listening to his heart and hoping against all hope that it kept beating. You'd slept a few feet away, hoping desperately for the same thing.

After David, she avoided physical contact entirely. You and Joel wordlessly understood, though you could tell it alarmed and concerned him. Though he'd been in and out of consciousness for the past few weeks you know he'd become accustomed to having her at his side, curled into him with that familiar daughterly affection he'd been missing for twenty years. Seeing her ultimately decide that she no longer wanted that closeness, probably feared it, distressed him greatly.

“Fuckin' bastard,” Joel had murmured to himself that first night as you cleaned his wound – you'd learned what to do from watching Ellie, “I'll fucking kill him.”

“Shhh,” you'd hushed him, keeping your voice low in case Ellie was still awake, “He's dead and gone, she took care of it.”

“Shouldn't have had to,” he'd hissed, “Fuckin' bastard.”

He'd slept poorly. You knew because every so often you'd hear him mutter something else to himself about David between short fits of sleep. You didn't sleep much either, partly because in the wake of Ellie's sudden distance it was now your job to monitor Joel's wound, but also because you felt the same way Joel did. The thought of that monster... what he'd done to Ellie and what he'd tried to do... you'd never felt so much disdain and hatred for one person in your life. Every time you closed your eyes all you could see was the look on her blood-spattered face when you'd both found her, the way she'd barely been able to speak... you could only imagine how much worse the images behind Ellie's eyelids were.

So she slept alone now, which meant Joel slept alone.

For a little while, that is.

-

After a few days of short spurts of travel and staying in more abandoned houses (Joel wasn't well enough to walk much, though he tried to deny it, much to the frustration of you and Ellie) you'd set up camp on the outskirts of a small community. Ellie hadn't talked much and Joel hadn't been fully in his right mind since you left that first house, so the decision-making had fallen to you for the time being. Truthfully, you were done with the mouldy mattresses and hard concrete of those suburban basements, the smell of rotting food and being bothered by mice and cockroaches while you tried – and failed – to fall asleep. Neither Joel nor Ellie argued when you suggested setting up a campsite in the woods for a change of scenery.

The snow had melted quite a bit and there hadn't been anything fresh in almost a week, the temperature rising rapidly the further you walked. The idea of sleeping underneath the stars again with fresh air in your lungs and the sound of the wind blowing through the trees was enough to keep you going that day. That night, you'd watched as Joel made a fire with the materials you'd collected, Ellie already bundled up inside her sleeping bag a few meters away.

“Hey, you sure you're not gonna be cold over there?” you'd called to her gently, already knowing the answer.

“I'm good,” she'd replied, sounding earnest enough, “If I get cold I'll move.”

You'd sighed quietly, turning back toward the fire. Joel was blowing lightly on some kindling, eyebrows furrowed in thought. You used this rare moment of him being distracted to analyze his face; the dark circles beneath his eyes had been growing more prominent over the past few days, and he'd gotten into the unconscious habit of blinking very slowly, like he was always just a few seconds from sleep. You'd never seen him look this exhausted.

“You need to sleep,” you'd murmured, and his eyes had snapped up to meet yours instantly, “I'm serious, Joel, you look...”

“I'm fine.”

“You don't look fine,” you shifted your eyesight to the fire, lifting your hands to warm your palms, “You look like you haven't slept in days, which you literally haven't, by the way.”

“I've slept,” he'd grunted, turning his attention back to the fire as well.

“Yeah, for maybe twenty minutes at a time.”

“Well, maybe if I wasn't bein' woken up every twenty minutes by you checking if I'm still breathin',” his voice was hard and cold, but you were used to it.

“Don't be dramatic,” you'd snapped back, “I check you maybe twice a night now, if even that. Sorry for wanting to make sure you're okay.” The last few words had come out shakier than you'd intended.

He'd inhaled deeply, and you could see him looking at you again in your peripheral vision, “You're right, I'm sorry. I'm being an asshole. As usual.”

“You're not an asshole,” you'd muttered, “you're tired. And so am I.”

You'd sat together in silence for a few moments before Joel had reached behind him for his pack, digging out the blanket he'd started using in lieu of his old sleeping bag. He'd decided to leave that behind; it was what you and Ellie had used to get him back to that first house, the one Callus had dragged across the icy terrain with a bloodied and near-death Joel as its only occupant. He'd pissed himself in it, which he'd attributed as the main reason for leaving it. But you knew the truth: he'd spent too long wrapped up inside of it during that period of time to ever get a good night's sleep from it again. It needed to be put out of its misery.

Both you and Ellie had offered to give him your own but he refused every time, repeatedly stating that the blanket Ellie had found was warm enough, if not even warmer than the sleeping bag had been. You honestly didn't know if he was telling the truth, but he gave you no choice but to believe him.

“You take first watch, then.” he said quietly, “We're out in the open again, gonna have to stay alert.”

“Got it,” you were a bit embarrassed by your brief moment of vulnerability, but you'd quickly busied yourself with picking up the rifle to hold it in your lap.

You'd watched as he spread out the blanket on the ground, carefully kneeling down and wincing at the pull of his stitches. He laid down on the edge of it, then reached over and pulled the other side over his body like a makeshift sleeping bag. Sighing contentedly, he'd closed his eyes.

Despite how much older than you he was, the word adorable couldn't help but cross your mind.

“Goodnight,” he mumbled quietly to you, and you'd forced yourself to look down at the rifle so he wouldn't catch you staring.

“Night, Joel.”

-

You'd quickly learned that Joel's new blanket was in fact not warmer than his sleeping bag. After a few hours of keeping watch, you decided to check on both Ellie and Joel to make sure they were doing alright. Ellie was fast asleep and didn't look to be shivering or experiencing a bad night's sleep; she actually looked more peaceful than you'd seen her for a long time. You'd smiled fondly, fighting back the urge to push her hair out of her eyes; she'd made things very clear and you weren't going to overstep.

You wandered over to Joel and the contrast between he and Ellie was staggering; there was no peace here. He was wide awake, shivering ferociously and hunched in on himself with his hands cupped around his mouth as he blew on them for warmth.

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you'd immediately dropped the rifle and leaned down to him, “why the fuck didn't you tell me you were freezing?”

It actually wasn't a very cold night, but the combination of Joel's thin blanket, his injury, and the fact that he was overwhelmingly exhausted were just making everything ten times worse. He also hadn't slept outside for weeks. You immediately began to regret the decision to camp tonight.

“Hold on,” you'd said quickly, scrambling back up to grab your own sleeping bag. You unzipped it so it was wide, then draped it over Joel's shivering form, “I'm gonna give you some body heat, okay? Don't make it weird.” You'd only said the last part because you knew he would protest.

You'd crawled underneath both layers of material and without any hesitation wrapped your arms around Joel, ignoring his shaky mutterings of “I'm okay” and “you don't need to”. He'd surrendered very quickly, relaxing into your embrace as you ran your hands up and down his arms at the fastest pace you could muster. You alternated between his arms and hands, taking them in yours and rubbing your palms against them like you were trying to start a fire, huffing hot breath against his skin. Beneath the blanket, you entwined your legs with his, pulling his socked feet against your ankles and trapping them there to warm them up.

It only took a few moments for the heavy shakes to stop and for Joel's breath to even out again. Despite this, you stayed where you were and kept doing what you could to keep his temperature stable. As he warmed up, he began to feel more like himself; he was no longer a cold statue but the warm and solid man you'd come to recognize, and you were hyper-aware of the fact that despite spending so much time with each other you'd never actually been this close to him. His arms, strong and steady beneath his coat, the same arms that carried around that heavy pack all day, the arms that cradled the rifle, they now laid loose and tender under your touch. His hands, calloused and rough around the edges but soft at the palms, the same hands that set the fire still burning a few feet away, the hands that once held his daughter and had learned to hold Ellie's – and now yours, feeling like in some way they belonged there.

You'd known you felt something for Joel, but you'd never realized how strong and real that something was until it was literally in your embrace.

Without speaking you'd laid your head on his chest, closing your eyes and doing your damnedest to fight back the sudden tears that were threatening to well up. Holy shit, was all you could think, a warmth you'd never felt in your entire life radiating in your chest and somehow extending toward him. Holy fucking shit. It was like time had stopped and all you could feel was him.

You'd looked up at his face, needing to see if he felt it too, felt you the way you felt him, but your eyes widened slightly when you saw that his were closed, mouth slightly agape. There it was, that peace you'd seen on Ellie's face, now transferred to Joel's. For a brief second you felt panic, but it was immediately interrupted by the light snore that emitted from his open mouth. He'd fallen asleep.

And a few moments later, so had you.

-

That was the first night you'd slept solid without waking up even once. Not just since Joel had been stabbed, but since the pandemic had started to begin with. You can't recall ever having such a peaceful, dreamless, absolutely soul-refreshing sleep. And neither had Joel; when you woke the next morning he was still fast asleep in your embrace, that peaceful expression still sculpted on his face like he was a living Michelangelo. In the night you'd only gotten closer to him, legs still entwined and head still on his chest. The only difference was that your arms had obviously stopped their rapid movements to keep him warm, and they'd ended up snaked around his torso, the palm of your left hand laying flat against the hot skin of his waist, just above where his stitches were.

Maybe you should have pulled away when you realized, gotten up and pretended it didn't happen. The thought did cross your mind, but then Joel had shuffled a bit in his sleep and you'd become aware of the fact that his arms were around you, hand pressed flush against your bare back underneath your jacket and shirt, holding you to him. And that was enough to make you stay.

About fifteen minutes later, he'd woken up.

He didn't flinch or yank himself away when he realized the position you were in. He'd blinked slowly at you, and you'd peered up at him just as quietly. His lips had parted and then closed again, as if he was going to say something but then thought better of it. Instead, he just kept staring at you, and you started to feel his hand on your back slowly and tenderly stroke the skin there. In return, you gently brushed your thumb against the bare skin of his waist. It was a moment that felt like it went on forever, both of you touching those small intimate parts of each other without saying so much as one word.

You felt butterflies in your belly when the hint of a smile twitched at his mouth, and you smiled back, sleepy and soft. You never wanted to leave this small piece of existence. You just wanted him to keep looking at you like that, his gaze holding yours with an expression you could only describe as contentedness. You'd never seen him look so relaxed; the dark circles had faded and even the lines on his face had receded into his skin. He looked younger, healthier, like all the bad things that had happened to him had vanished in one good sleep.

“Uggghhhh,” Ellie moaned a few meters away, and both your heads snapped in her direction. She was sitting up in her sleeping bag, back facing you. You could see her arms stretching above her head as she began her typical morning wake-up routine: stretch, groan, flop, repeat.

Without saying anything you'd both untangled yourselves simultaneously before she could see the sleeping arrangement you'd found yourselves in. The loss of warmth and familiarity was palpable as you quickly stood up and grabbed the rifle, walking over to the now completely burnt out fire. Joel silently folded up his blanket and your sleeping bag behind you, then muttered something about needing to look for more shit to burn.

That's how it started.

And you don't, under absolutely any circumstances, talk about it.

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+

You line the end of your stick up with the cue ball, your tongue poking out from between your lips in concentration. Playing pool was never your strong suit, but you’re not trying to win this game per se. You’re interested in something far more valuable.

TOJI FUSHIGURO approaches you from behind, hanging his head to the side to get a good gander at your round behind. The baby tee you wear rides up from how you bend over, revealing the dimples at the small of your back. Not at all brief, and in great detail, Toji imagines other contexts. Circumstances in which his thumbs would find a handle on those divots, yanking you back onto him when you run away from a good dicking. Looking at you now, dressed up in a pink outfit two sizes too small, you wouldn’t know a good dicking if it hit you in the face, and he sure was considering batting your pretty cheeks with it.

You wiggle your hips, subconsciously rearing to prepare for your shot, and he chases you. Without thinking about it, he lines himself up with you, rolling his tongue between his lips as mere inches separate the bulge in his pants with your backside strapped in by that teeny skirt. His hand itches to fix onto your tailbone, steadying you so he can nudge up against you. Jus’ a little, wouldn’t even know he was there. Tuck his thumb in the crevice to give your asshole a massage while he did it, he’s really thinking about you here, you should be grateful.

You wind back, and flick your stick forward, pool balls knocking together in snapping sounds as you watch your move play out. He sniffs and swipes his nose pinching it between his index and thumb real quick, adjusting his pants by the back of his belt as he rounds you. A hand at the top of his stick allows him to lean on it marginally, the pool balls slowing to a stop under his gaze.

“You’re bad at this.” he tells you.

The curl to your lips deepens, popping your hip out as you tilt your head at him. He notes the flirtatious body language, the knowing glint in your eye. “Am I?”

His gaze darkens. “Can show you a few things. If you promise it’ll get through that thick skull o’ yers.” A small smile on his mouth stretches out the scar tissue overlaying his lips, and you visualize tracing it with your tongue.

“Oh, don’t be a brute.” you respond as he passes behind you, forcing you to follow him with your eyes. As he picks his target, he holds your gaze, hunching over the table as he lines up his stick. Powerful shoulders confined in a thin black t-shirt has you biting hard onto your lower lip. He breaks the eye contact long enough to hit the ball, but you don’t bother watching them scatter, focused on taking in every marginal move he makes, straightening to his full and dizzying height. The end of his stick comes to your exposed midriff, and hooks under the hem of your baby tee, flicking it up.

“You like it when I’m a brute.”

Indignantly, you tug your shirt back down. It’s clear he wanted to fake you out, make you believe he was gonna get away with flashing himself and any lucky stiff at this bar. You swat his arm scoldingly, but all your dumb brain can think about is how hard and thick his bicep is. “I do not! Why do you insist on bullying me?”

He grins, canines glinting in the dim and smoky light, snickering through his nose. “Easy to bully when you’re bite-sized.”

Bite-sized. That’s all that goes through that thick skull of yours when Toji’s pulling out your brains and shoving ‘em back in with every fuck into you later. Powerful and harsh thrusts, nailing your abused cervix so hard you’re sure it’ll bruise. “The fuck are you thinking about, hah? You rememberin’ those pool tips? Got ya to lay down real low on that table. Bet everyone saw up that stupid little skirt.” Toji jeers at you while he’s pinning you by your head, big hand on your hair to pin your cheek to the mattress. “Everyone saw you leave with me. Saw a slice of cherry pie get pushed around by mean ol’ Toji, only to hang off my arm out the door. A little slutty, don’t’cha think?” He’s amusing himself, you can tell by the sound of his deep voice he’s got that wolfish grin on he wears so well. Wickedly, his reckless pace speeds up so you can’t form a response.

Your limp body has no choice but to move with him, rippling with each sheath into you. Poor cunt puffy and agitated around him as his mean cock brutalizes it some more. Tears sting your eyes but you can’t tell if they’re of pain or pleasure.

“T- Toji—“ you choke out, reaching back to finger timidly at his thighs. He won’t have it, picking himself up to a kneel so he can yank you back on him. Thumbs slot onto your dimples as fingers tuck between the folds of your pelvis and thighs. That perfect ass of yours smacking against him so hard, your skin pebbles and blushes.

“Huh?” he mocks. “What’s that? S’this the part where you lie and tell me you can’t handle it? Nah, little girl, I’m looking at the way this cunt’s slurpin’ me up. Fucking take it.”

[blacknedsoul-blog]

I think the Deans are fucking Lovecraftian gods

If you're a regular reader of my nonsense, you may have noticed that on more than one occasion I've referred to the Deans as "Nyarlathotep Tumblrsexymen": no, I didn't have a stroke on the keyboard, this is a reference to an entity that appears in the stories of Howard Phillip Lovecraft. A writer who is widely known because there were even people who thought that the Necronomicon, a fictional text part of his work, actually existed (and because he was such a recalcitrant racist that it has become a meme about how extremely racist he was).

And since I'm still going through my pile of papers on Gothic fiction, let me take a moment to talk about Lovecraft's work, why I have reason to believe that the Deans have something in common with these creatures, and what that might mean for the development of Nevermore.

A Little About Lovecraft's Gods

To understand a little bit about the kind of creatures we are talking about, I have to stop at a brief (seriously brief) description of cosmic horror: This is a type of horror that takes elements from the scientific publications of the time (which makes it close to science fiction) to give it verisimilitude, it has at its core a deep nihilism, the breaking of scientific canons, the fragility of the human mind and societies contrasted with the vastness of the universe, an enormous fear of "the unknown" for the white man (fed by his racist paranoia), and seasoned with tentacles and creatures that remind us of sea creatures, because Lovecraft had an enormous fear of the sea.

The gods in these stories represent, on a symbolic level, the vastness of the universe, the terror of the unknown, and the fragility of the human mind: they are entities older than time itself, contact with them tends to shatter the mind, and humanity must be very, very grateful that most of them are locked away or incapacitated in some way. Also, the way to access them is through very specific rituals that have been lost over time, so thankfully they're not very easy to contact either.

Similarities with the Deans

Let's start with the most obvious: the Deans, like the Lovecraftian gods, seem to operate in their own plane of existence, beyond what humans understand as "life" and "death": Nevermore is a kind of limbo, but we know, thanks to the Raven, that these guys came from another place and had enough power to kick the crap out of psychopomps without any problem.

However, just like Lovecraft's gods, these enormous powers don't make them able to do whatever they want; as I said, these entities are usually locked up or incapacitated in some way and can only have contact with humans under certain circumstances (like being summoned in rituals), and getting out of their prisons usually requires vague events like astral alignments that are completely out of their control.

The Deans, like Lovecraft's gods, seem to be subject to rules that are above them, and while they can bend them a bit to achieve their goals, it's not like they can do much about it.

Another thing they have in common with Lovecraft's gods is the ability to create servants that function as extensions of them to fulfill their designs. There are many creatures that follow this line in the stories that speak of The Myths, but the best known are the Shoggoth that appear in the novel At the Mountains of Madness: artificial beings created by the Old Ones to rule the Earth, described as amphibious, amorphous masses similar to amoebas.

Although the Deans prefer their minions in the form of animated dolls. I suspect this decision is based on the story The Sandman by E.T.A. Hoffman. I have no proof, but no doubt.

Now for the joke that brings this essay to life: the creature in Lovecraft's universe that most resembles the Deans is a being called Nyarlathotep. This creature belongs to the category of "Other Gods" (not the old ones like Cthulhu) and gets very nice nicknames like "Crawling Chaos".

Nyarlathotep is a being who enjoys causing chaos, death and madness wherever they go. They can communicate with humans, which they use to psychologically torture them and make them lose their minds. Something they seem to enjoy quite a bit. In the same way that the Deans view this sadistic battle royale, they have set up a fun game.

Then there is the ability to manipulate and alter the human mind, which is called into question in stories like Nyarlathotep and The Rats in the Walls (where it is apparently Nyarlathotep who messes with the protagonist's mind so that he tries to kill his friend).

This is something we've seen manifest in Nevermore in two different ways: the ability to trigger or unlock memories.

And the ability to change them. While we can't know if what was shown to Annabel is 100% real, we do know that showing her the end of her life caused a permanent change in the way she retrieves her memories: from the end backwards. If this memory is somehow altered, we also know that the Deans are capable of photoshopping people's memories.

Finally, Nyarlathotep has the ability to shape-shift, which allows them to appear as humanoids in several stories, such as The Oniric Quest of the Unknown Kadath or Dreams in the Witch's House. His human form is considered "unnatural", "strange" and "disturbing" by those who see it (remember that Lovecraft was extremely racist, so he always presents himself as a black man). As a pharaoh in the Randolph Carter cycle and as a charcoal humanoid figure in the second story cited).

Here, the human form of whatever the Deans are is also quite atypical: not only are they ridiculously tall (7 feet), they have heterochromia with a white-colored eye (which I would venture to say may be a reference to the cataract eye mentioned in the story "The Tell-Tale Heart" by Edgar Allan Poe), and their synchronized movements are amusing on paper, but possibly strange to look at for the characters.

Otherwise, there are two other entities in Lovecraft's universe whose descriptions can be loosely associated with the Deans: Yogg-Sothoth and Azathoth. Both are beings of dual nature.

The former is an entity associated with omniscience and appears in stories such as The Strange Case of Charles Dexter Ward and The Dunwich Horror. and is described as "the key and the door".

Azathoth represents omnipotence, is the center of the universe, and is described as "the beginning and the end" or "the alpha and the omega.

Implications for the comic

The fact that the Deans have elements in common with Nyarlathotep brings up an interesting point: although Nyarlathotep has far greater freedom than other beings, they is a servant of Azathoth. In other words, them powers are subservient to a more powerful being whose plans they must follow. They may amuse themselves in the process, but they is still essentially a butler.

On the other hand, the Azathoth connection might be vague, since this creature is a lobotomized god, so he can't do much. But if the reference is to Yogg-Sothoth, it gets a little more interesting, because that entity is the one who is supposed to release the original gods when the time is right.

And I don't know about you, but these references have me wondering if the Deans are working for something much more messed up than they are, or if they're using the souls of the students to bring back something much more sinister.

[finniestoncrane]

KTJL!Boomer x Fem!Reader, word count: 1k giveaway commission: thank you sweet and precious @creepling for my first foray into a sex pollen style fic, and the perfect subject for it! waller has synthesised a replica of some brainiac serum that encourages procreation, and since george literally will take any excuse for a good root, he and reader are the test subjects 💙 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: sex pollen-esque, dubcon elements, overstimulation, breeding kink, exhibitionism

"Send her in."

"Ms Waller, have you really considered the ethical implications of-"

"Do you want to go in there?"

"N-no."

"Well then, send. Her. In."

Only three days since Hack had discovered documentation of a serum in Brainiac's logs that encouraged repetitive breeding amongst subjects, with successful procreation leading to the optimal genetic conditions being chosen from both parents for the offspring. And in that three days, Waller had gained permission from the government for ARGUS to implement a test of the synthesised serum.

They had so many more fights ahead of them, and she didn't consider herself to be working with the best team. However, she could at least admit that amidst all the negative traits, there were some positives. But the risk was still there, so she wasn't about to select the top for the experiment.

Which is why she had settled on George Harkness. If anything went wrong, she wouldn't feel bad losing him. And for his partner, a random inmate. No discernible talents, so to speak, at least not in a way that would be effective against meta humans or alien hoards. But someone who was of sound-ish mind and could offer a sense of stability to whatever George was offering.

That's where you came in.

All they had to do was mentioned a reduced sentence and you had agreed. Truthfully, when they had been explaining it to you in the medical checks, you had only focused on the concept of finally, after months of no physical contact, having sex, at last.

Something that your partner was equally excited about.

In the room beyond the door where you were being kept, George was standing against the wall, rutting into it, his stiff cock bashed against the surface in a bid to find any kind of friction. He'd been given the serum five minutes before, and the effects were almost instantaneous.

The serum had been injected into you moments before they led you down the corridor, so you were slightly behind him in terms of your side effects. That meant you were vaguely shocked when you were shoved into the room, the door locked behind you, and you found George humping the air as he turned to you.

"Hello, Sheila! What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this then?"

His grin was wide, pushing into his cheeks, the creases in his face deep as he winked and narrowed his eyes. Usually, that kind of blatant, and poor, attempt at flirting would have put you off, but the serum had begun to work through you. That, and you had to admit that you definitely found him attractive.

George lifted his shirt off as he walked towards you, flexing his muscles and tensing them, showing off like a peacock. It was effective, as you felt your own stomach tighten, warmth spreading through your core as you took in the sight of him, fit, sturdy, oddly charming.

"Hot in here, ain't it, babe?"

As he took off his signature beanie, tossing it to the floor, he shook his hair out, the sweat that had begun to bead on his forehead falling onto the floor with the movement. Meeting him in the middle of the floor, you pressed your hands to his torso. A move that was far more forward than one you were likely to make under normal circumstances, but you were practically growling, desperate to feel his body, aching for him to be as close to you as possible. Your cunt clenched, longing for something to fill it, and George was right there, willing and eager.

"Fuck me."

"You not gonna ask me out to dinner first, babe?"

"I don't know how much time we have before the serum wears off... do you really want to risk it?"

He smiled wide, licking at his lips and waggling his tongue at you before putting it back in his mouth.

"Yeah, fair point well made, love. You know me, any excuse."

With complete abandon to any of your senses or social norms, you let your pants fall to the ground, stepping out of them and falling to the floor. Maneuvering yourself onto your hands and knees, you reached behind to spread yourself open for him.

"Where do you want it then, babe?"

You looked to him with a questioning gaze. From her position behind the two-way glass, Amanda rolled her eyes, unable to comprehend his stupidity.

"Oh right! The... the thing..."

Quickly, and with very little care for any foreplay, George ran a finger down your slit, spreading your slit over your cunt before he pushed his cock deep within your walls, beginning to fuck you at an energetic and frantic pace.

"Fuck me, babe... they'll have to get a team of men to pull me out of you."

"They're... not gonna... hng... pull you out, George... that's the point..."

His eyes widened as he realised, rutting into you more frantically at the excitement of cumming inside of you, painting your insides, his seed there for a purpose.

"Oh, yeah! Well, I've already made one... might as well give it another go!"

As he neared his orgasm, his words became cruder, alluding to the act in a way that was so lewd you could feel yourself getting wetter and warmer with each statement.

"... fill you up... get it right up there in you... no chance you're leaving here empty... tied to me always, eh?"

With what you could only describe as a howl, you felt his body tense and shudder, one last final, deep thrust into you as you were filled with his warm, thick seed.

He kept rutting, a sticky mess against his abdomen and your rear, coating his dick, your slick and his cum combined as he kept pushing himself forward. His cock was softening, but he refused to move from you, and only when you collapsed onto your stomach was his length released.

George's cum was still spilling out of you, so much of it even after he had spent an extra minute pumping it deep inside of you, ensuring that you would definitely be in receipt of his significant contributions towards Waller's future line of controllable, successful squad members.

And as you felt yourself finding the energy to ask for a second round, you turned to find George still rutting, his hips jerking into the air, clearly ready to go again, too.

[ceilidho]

Now I cant stop thinking about when Ghost eventually brings Soap over for dinner:

Gf all dolled up, looking at him all pretty, greeting him with the sweetest smile and he can’t stop his mind from wandering to the filthy pictures he has seen of you.

She cooked up something really good (babbling something about keeping her boys strong and healthy, she likes them well fed), it's A5 Wagyu steak (the best cut the butcher had to offer) obviously payed with Ghost's money. He rarely splurges on himself but when it comes to his gf and Soap he doesn’t hold back.

The dinner can go two ways:

1.Lovie seated next to Soap, across from him Ghost. Halfway through his steak he notices a slight touch to his knee, but he brushes it off not acknowledging it further. When that touch gets firmer and starts to wander up his thigh he definitely notices. His body shudders and he almost chokes on the food in his mouth (much to Ghost's enjoyment), his eyes fall on you shooting him a lazy smile and oh my god are your eyes seductive like in the pics.

2.You sitting next to Ghost with Soap across from him. Both men engaged in a conversation about their last Op. When you play the oldest trick written in the books: oops I dropped my fork let me get it from under the table. It helps that Soap is still not fully used to Ghost's unmasked face, so he doesn’t notice you diving under the table. What he does notice is something heavy on his thigh and two hands ghosting over his belt buckle. He visibly jumps a little, his gaze falling into his lap, where you look up at him all doe-eyed, head resting on his right leg, waiting for permission.

In either scenario, a gruff voice brings Soap to snap his eyes back up holding eye-contact with his Lieutenant(who’s completely ignoring your antics):

"Enjoying yourself, Sergeant?"

Anyway it ends with cream pie for dessert <3

(Please tell me off, if i ever cross your boundaries or make you feel uncomfortable it’s the last thing i want to do when sending in nasty thoughts)

you're very sweet to check in about my boundaries!!! don't worry though - as long as the comments aren't aimed towards me (which maybe would be a bit off putting) and they're just related to stuff I'm writing ahah, I don't really care. I probably should think about and then clarify if I have any boundaries on my pinned post, but rn you're totally good!

(nsfw below)

Oh my god that last option has my brain melting out of my ears. Especially if Soap's still half-unsure if they're fucking with him or not, or if this is a one time thing that they're including him on. He obviously doesn't want to blow his only shot if this is the only time he'll ever get to fuck you.

Also there's something so surreal to him about you being on your knees in front of him after he's been literally jerked off in the middle of the desert by the man sitting across the table from him. To photos of you. In any other circumstance, if Soap had met you first and this was just a dinner between the two of you, he wouldn't be half as nervous; he'd be so comfortable and needy while you fit his length down your throat, palming the back of your head and maybe trying to fit more than you can manage before backing off and apologizing 😔

With Ghost sitting there though, just staring at him (and Soap has a fairly good understanding of Ghost as a person, but even he has trouble really getting a read on the guy), he's not sure if he should just sit there motionlessly as you undo his jeans and pull his dick out or if he should touch you. He can't stop looking from your face pressed up against the bulge in his briefs back to Ghost's (no mask now that they're at home away from everyone, but his real face is so much more intimidating somehow in this context).

Ghost at one point going, "Not gonna thank her for all her hard work?" and Soap can only whine and pat the back of your head shakily after coming down your throat, your lips still a bit wet with him when you pull away.

[haruchi-slit]

PLEASE MASTER!!

synopsis:

You're a servant under Suguru Geto's temple, for he is known as a "god" in his temple. for some circumstances, you caught his attention, a mere non-sorcerer caught his attention.

warnings: dubcon, suguru fooling the reader (you) that you have a monster inside, virgin! reader, reader is mentioned that she had masterbated,

"Y/n..." you hear Getou called you, causing you to look back,

"Master, you called?"

"There's something inside you, a Monster." He says causing your eyes to widen in shock,

"M-master, please, please tell me you can expel the Monster inside, please master!" you nearly cried, quickly kneeling down to the floor begging for him to exorcise the devil inside you.

"Then come here, silly girl." he says with a stern voice, a commanding voice, that made you obliged in a matter of second.

"Come" he sits infront of the massive statue of himself, tapping his lap, signaling you to sit on his lap, you walked your way on to him, sitting on his lap, he seems calm, but don't be fooled! it was his facade to hide his devious plans, planned just for you, only you.

He stares at you, deeply, looking at your figure, helpless and fragile beneath him while you were unable to contain the eye contact.

"Master, have you felt t-the curse yet?," you breath out, stuttering. Getou then slides his warm hands beneath the hem of your skirt, playing with the edge of your panties.

"Shush your mouth servant, or i won't be able to feel the curse and save you." he warns, as he continues to roam his hands on your body, your neck, waist, boobs, stomach and all, leaving no spot untouched by him, his warm breath against your neck and ear.

you'd be lying if you said you're not turned on, by the way he touches you, the way he makes you feel him, and the way your back gives out to lean on him, you're legs were spread wide, luckily the other servants and belivers were at town, spreading getou's words, while the other were asleep and doing temple chores, it's just you and him.

"Follow me to the confession room, you need you confess your sins while i exorcise the devil out off you."

you nodded in response, following him in the confession room.

he stood infront of you while you kneel before him, "lift your head and stand, servant" he commands which you soon obliged, he grabs your jaw and asked, "what are your sins?"

"I've been, I've been not spreading your words for a while now..b-but-"

"Shush, sit down, and open wide for me.. you've been cursed by a evil curse, i need to fuck it out you." he shushes you down.

"O-open wide?, Fu-fuck it out off me?! But master I'm pure, I'm a-a virgin" you jolt

he nods in response "That's not a problem servant" he respond as he awaits for you to open your legs, you were hesitant to do it but...you trust your master, he won't do such thing! Without any choices left...you opened your legs lifting your skirt up, revealing your pink laced panties with wet stains on the its middle.

"Geez, wet already?" he groans, sliding your panties aside, he leans you back to the hard wood of the room as he puts your left leg on his shoulder and bucked your hips infront of his face he stares on it "so fucking wet" as he slides his digit in you, scissoring it's way to your g-spot.

"Getou-Sama nnn~ please mhmm!~" you wailed as he pushes his thick fingers in your gummy walls. "Confess." he says you pressed your eye lids together while your jaw hung out,

"mngh, i-i masterbated once on my b-bed!"

you screamed gripping on the hard wood behind you.

"Such dirty secret you have for a pure maiden just like you.." he cackled making you more embarrassed, "master~ the monster..have you felt it yet?" you asked as getou's hand scissors deeper on your tight pussy

"you're making such mess" his finger still going in and out of your hole, you shiver from the pleasure as he latches his plump lips on your clit, sucking on it,then he slides his free hand on your clothed boob tugging on your nipple, "soo good~ im g-going to c-um!" you said as you spurt on his mouth..

"mhm, the monster's gone, for now..." Getou says, smirking on your mess, "you'll have to meet me more often servant" he wasn't done yet, not yet.

a/n: part two?

[starswritewhispers]

no longer human, less than a man [1]

A03

prologue

chapter 2

Summary : The gods had abandoned humanity long before Osamu Dazai was born, but his existence quickly grew to become a beacon of hope. Where he would walk, whispers would follow and murmurs of a path back to the gods quickly grew to battle cries. When he and his two companions went missing on one of their journeys to godhood, the cries quieted down to murmurs and whispers until eventually, both they and the gods were nothing more than myths.

Nobody had accounted for Dazai not only becoming successful in finding the lost shrine, but achieving the godhood that came with it.

For 80 years, he was left alone in his divinity, until a drunk college student stumbled upon the shrine of chaos.

OR Chuuya and Dazai are gods reborn

Not many people in the world would describe Chuuya as patient.    He was brash, quick to react, and quicker to emotion, and despite anyone who took more than a one second glance at him being able to decipher that he loved harder than he hated, most avoided pissing him off out of fear of that quick anger.  Sadly, his friends had long grown tolerant to his outbursts. “Let go of me,” he hissed, eyes flashing dangerously as he leveled a sharp gaze at Tachihara. The other man only squished his cheeks further, forcing him to hold eye contact. “People are staring.”

“That may be because you very loudly called him an example that cheap box dye can kill brain cells,” Gin piped in, horribly unhelpful, despite her sugar tone.  She offered a faux naive smile when he glared her direction and Chuuya was–as he often is, in her presence– reminded that most poisons taste sweet. “Besides, he isn’t wrong.” She waved their argument off, eyes darting back to her phone. 

“Gin,” Tachihara groaned, not yet relinquishing his hold on Chuuya’s cheeks. “Back me up more, this is so much more important than whatever you’ve got going on.” “Ryu is talking about the god dude again,” She groaned, looking at her phone as though infected. “We’re in our twenties, how does he still have imaginary friends?” “Maybe he’s just indulging Atsushi,” Kenji offered, looking up from his agriculture homework for the first time during the conversation. “Both of them call the guy Dazai.” Personally, Chuuya could care less about whatever concussion based hallucination the two closet cases shared.  He hadn’t cared to begin with and he cared even less when Gin dragged him to the location the two maniacs promised the guy would be and instead of meeting a god, buckets worth of snow dropped on all of their heads from a tree branch snapping above them. “You guys are focusing on the wrong toxic relationship,” Tachihara tsked, ignoring Gin’s protests. “Chuuya, my redheaded brethren–” “Do not call me that–” “Look me in the eyes–” “You’re not giving me much of a choice–” “--and promise me, you will not go to the Sheep’s party.” “Even Chuuya isn’t–”  It was Poe who spoke up this time, before he paused, studying Chuuya’s, thankfully now Tachihara free face, and a frown twitched at his lips. “He might be.” Chuuya was not about to take criticism from a man who’s closest relationship was to a fucking racoon he found shivering in a dumpster their freshman year. “Might be what?” He hissed, rubbing at his cheeks. “I’m not going to show up at my ex’s frat just because Yuan invited me. It’s obviously a ploy to get me into his pants.” 

“Promise?” Tachihara demanded, eyes narrowed. “Yes, dipshit, I promise.” Tachihara breathed out a sigh of relief as Chuuya let out an offended huff. Honestly, the lack of faith his friends had in him was disturbing.  -

Which was why when he found himself drunkenly stumbling through the streets after getting absolutely shitfaced at said party he promised not to make an appearance at, he made a second promise to himself.

His friends would not find out about this, under any circumstances. 

Which lead to his phone, instead of being used to guide him home, was currently shut off and in his back pocket.  His apartment wasn’t that far from Frat’s Row so the chances of him getting completely lost were slim, but he had never been the best with directions to begin with. At least this way, if his friends checked his location, they'd just assume he let his phone die when he fell asleep. “Shit,” he mumbled, eyes moving around the unfamiliar area. He had managed to wander into the middle of what seemed to be a construction site, which would’ve just been annoying, except for the fact that there was no active construction near his apartment. “Why do you hate me?” He tilted his head up to the sky, continuing moving forward up until his foot slipped and he was sliding down into the ground.  A startled yelp tore from the back of his throat as he tumbled out of the shaft onto the cold surface, eyes widening as he took in his surroundings. “What the fuck?” He demanded, looking behind where he had tumbled out of only to see that the hole had somehow closed. “I’m never,” he began, slowly sliding himself off the altar-like structure he had landed on. “Ever taking a brownie from Kaji again.” He groaned, looking up to face the massive statue in front of him. He was most certainly in some drug induced high brought on by Kaji’s weird experiments.  He squinted at the words--or at least he assumed they were words–scrawled onto the plaque at the feet of the statue and sighed,  moving his gaze around the rest of the room.  His eyes landed on an unlit, petrified torch that seemed to be levitating in the middle of the room. “Definitely a drug induced dream,” Chuuya decided, walking forward to the floating torch. “If I wake up in Shirase’s bed, I’m going to get murdered.” These words were mumbled to himself, although, every sentence he had spoken aloud, unless the walls suddenly grew ears, were also spoken to himself. He tilted his head, staring blankly at the anomaly in front of him. He reached for the torch, figuring that it was a way for his subconscious to both wake him up and insult him at the same time. You’re not very bright. The flickering torch seemed to scream at him as he wrapped his fingers around the wood.  The world seemed to tilt on its axis, Chuuya’s vision dancing with sparks as he fell to the ground.  His attempt to catch himself on the altar only led to his hand getting cut, an odd, glittering gold substance leaking out of the scrape.  He didn’t have time to question the oddity of it all before his vision went fully black and the world slipped away from him. 

-

Chuuya woke up in his own bed, hazy memories of a voice that sounded merged with the tinkering keys of a piano fading away in his mind as he rubbed at his eyes. God, who made the sun so fucking bright. “You got carried home,” A whiny voice from his left accused, sounding quite put out. “My disciples just let me get lost and wander.” Chuuya shrieked, rounding to face the owner of the voice and meeting the gaze of the most attractive man he’d ever seen.  The man’s dark hair was a mess of waves, but somehow still suited his annoyingly attractive face. His own blue eyes met pools of amber, hints of mischief glinting in them as the man’s lips curled into a mocking smirk. At least the maniac Chuuya apparently brought home was hot. Even if his fashion sense was abysmal. “What are you wearing?” He demanded, eyeing the trench coat and bandages with clear distaste. “Were you wearing that when we met?” He hoped not.  Even at his worst, he hoped he wouldn’t have been okay being seen around that. “Is bringing home strangers common for you, then?” The man’s voice had an odd lilt to it, a branch of amused with a hint of mockery. There wasn’t any real malice in it, but certainly no kindness either. It was the kind of tone that would suit the villains Poe always gushed about, the ones who treated the world like their own personal game of chess. “And, seeing as this is our first time meeting,” He said casually, obviously, as if it didn’t mean he had broken into Chuuya’s apartment, “I am wearing this, and it’s far better than your outfit.” “You broke into my apartment?” Chuuya demanded, scooting to the far edge of the bed. Fuck, Tachihara was right about last night. “What the fuck–” “I didn’t break in,” The man waved it away, as if the idea was a pesky fly. “I was summoned by your disciples.” Chuuya was definitely about to get murdered by a homeless man with a god complex. His corpse would end up on the news, probably defiled and carved up with weird symbols this man dreamed in a drug induced haze– Kouyou would sob at his funeral and remind their dads that ‘I told you that he shouldn’t have gone to school in the city’ and his ghost wouldn’t even be able to defend itself. “My name’s Dazai, by the way.” The man continued on, completely ignoring Chuuya’s panic. “Dazai?” He repeated, voice sounding hysterical to his own ears. The name rang a bell, many bells in fact, but he couldn’t follow the string of recognition amidst all his panic. “Please don’t fuck my corpse, Dazai.”

“Not like you could become one, anyway,” Dazai answered in an odd, sing-song tone, “You really are quite small to be chosen as a god.” “Excuse me?” Chuuya demanded, feeling irrational anger pounding at the walls of his brain. The man was clearly a lunatic and arguing with him about his height was probably the least productive thing Chuuya could do, but per usual, his mouth was running before his mind could leash it. “You’re dressed head to toe in bandages and you want to insult the way I look?” “Can you calm down, shrimp?” Dazai’s lips quirked up at the edges, looking over Chuuya’s shoulder. “You’re making shit levitate with your fun sized rage.” “The fuck do you–” The words died in Chuuya’s throat as he saw multiple objects float up into the air, seemingly suspended there, actively defying gravity. “Oh my god, I’m still in the drug dream.” He whispered to himself. “Am I in a coma?” He demanded, staring at his hands. “Would I know?” “This is quite embarrassing for you,” Dazai–truly, his brain had to make his coma companion this annoying– mused. “Can you put the bed down, we’re about to hit the ceiling.”  Chuuya looked up, a yelp escaping his throat as he saw the ceiling a few centimeters above him. “How the fuck–” “Just think down, it's not that difficult." The bed crashed to the ground. 

“This is the worst hangover dream–” Chuuya began, but got cut off by the sound of loud knocking at his apartment’s door.  “I have a key and I’m not afraid to use it,” Tachihara’s loud voice floated in and Chuuya groaned. “Why did Gin see a photo of you on Shirase’s lap on Higuchi’s private story?”  A soft, unintelligible, voice added something, probably Gin confirming the story.

It all sounded so real, it all felt so real, but the shrine couldn’t have been real, his books and bed floating midair had no way of being real and yet–

Chuuya paused, looking between Dazai and the door. He remembered that photo being taken, right before he wisely stumbled his way out of the frat house and down the hall–before he had his weird shrine dream.  Would a dream be this connected to the real world?

“You’re awake,” Dazai confirmed, rising off from his cross legged position on his bed. “And your friends sound quite angry.”

Chuuya wanted to go back to sleep.

[seoulcheonsa]

Habit

Xu Minghao (SVT) as Theodore x fem!reader Tags: vampire!, a little angst, some crack, a bit of fluff, implied smut (MDNI! PLEASE!) WC: 2.1k Warnings: just implied smut, a lot of cursing, and mentions of alcohol. (lmk if i missed anyth !)

Her phone rang, showing an all too familiar sequence of numbers. She should have blocked him, honestly; but for some reason there’s always something that holds her back. How could she, when even if she deleted his contact, she knows his number by heart? So for the third time that week, she picked up.

“What do you want Theodore?” she huffed out.

“Theodore?” he scoffed, “that’s not my name, I’m baby”

“Cut the crap, Theo. Are you drunk again?”

“I miss you, baby.” At that, she felt her resolve falter. Call her weak, but she missed Theo too. There’s no doubt she still loved the asshole, but she had to keep reminding herself that there was a reason why she left him. He can’t seem to make his mind up every time she brings up the issue of their relationship. It’s always “I want you” but he follows up with “why can’t we be happy just like this?”

Theodore who always pulls up in his full stereotypical leather jacket and muscle car. Theodore who opens doors for her, always coming with flowers he picked up on the way over, but then disappears for days at a time. Theodore who runs away at any semblance of a demand for his vulnerability. He has roamed this earth for a century, but under no circumstance did any of his lovers ask for his entirety. He thought he picked them well. And he knows he could just look for someone else to pursue, someone who would never challenge the boundaries he set. However, for reasons he can’t admit even to himself, he couldn’t stay away.

Every night since she decided to leave, he gets drunk out of his mind and calls. And every time he calls, she answers. Maybe it’s out of pity, out of love, or out of habit; but she does. Maybe she’s hoping that one of these nights, he’ll decide that they want the same thing out of the push-and-pull they’ve been at for months.

For months, Theodore was the most thoughtful boyfriend-non-boyfriend. Dates were always planned out, and there was no way he would allow her to go to their dates by herself. He knew she was bad with directions, and what type of lover would he be if he let her get lost? In the same way, she prided herself on getting to know all of Theo’s habits without him pointing anything out. She knew he preferred hot pots over greasy food, that he always has a hand on her unconsciously, and that he shut her out whenever she asked about his past or life in general.

“Talk to me when you’re sober, Theo,” she rolled her eyes, knowing he can’t see it.

“I know you’re rolling your eyes. I miss making them roll when you’re under me.”

“Fuck off.”

She ended the call and placed her phone face down on her desk, not forgetting to set it on silent. Which is futile anyway, because she can’t stand not going through all the notifications on her phone at once, or else she’ll forget all about it.

Theo sighed and pocketed his phone, stumbling into the back seat of his car. Looking around, he counts all the pieces of her that she left in his beloved car, things he never got rid of. There were two little, silly looking baby dolls that she placed in the cup holder near the gear stick that prevented him from having and leaving more than one drink in the car; hair ties around the gear stick; a brush, a tube of hand cream, and a pair of socks in his glove compartment that he never takes out just in case; a blanket and pillow in the backseat; and a bunch of stickers that she stuck on the visor of the passenger seat’s side. He laughed at himself, not believing he let her vandalize his car. What was a few stickers on his car, he could just buy a new one right? Sure, that’s why. But he could never rationalize why he kept around socks in his car and the very pillow plushie that he’s lying on in his drunken state. Must be out of habit.

He sent a few more texts to her before falling asleep to the scent of her hair left on the pillow.

It took her half an hour of tossing and turning before giving up on sleep entirely. Sleep just wouldn’t come when thoughts of Theo plagued her mind, and it didn’t help that he just laid his heart out over text and then stopped replying after all of that. She knew he was shitfaced drunk, there were out of character typos all over his script, but was it so bad to believe that drunk words were sober thoughts? Maybe so.

After grabbing a hoodie, one of his, she stepped out into the dead of night, deciding that maybe a walk would help her rid her mind of thoughts. This idea was cut short when she spotted a black Maserati outside her apartment building. She knew whose it was, there was no denying that.

Theo heard knocks outside his car window, taking him out of his sleep. Disoriented, he glanced around, realizing that he had fallen asleep in his car again. He fell asleep in his car, outside her apartment, again. It’s become routine at this point, like he’s still looking for her presence even in his drunken stupor.

He opened the door and stepped out the car to face her, finally. She was glaring up at him, her arms crossed. Even in that state, under her gaze, he cracked out into a silly grin.

“You’re so pretty,” he reached out to touch her hair, which she deflected with her arm. This didn’t break his smile, but instead made him want to provoke her even more.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I told you I missed you, wanted to see your pretty face.”

“You’re insufferable,” she shook her head and rolled her eyes at him, “go home, Theo.”

“I thought you hated me driving drunk?”

“You seem perfectly fine now, piss off.”

He attempted to wrap his arms around her slowly, testing the waters. This time she didn’t try to push him off, making him smirk and more confidently pulled her closer to him.

“Didn’t you miss me?” he pouted playfully “I missed you so much, I almost died.”

“Wish you would,” she narrowed her eyes as him, making him chuckle.

“C’mon, baby. Aren’t you gonna invite me in?”

She decided it was useless to try and drive him away, and deep down, she knew she didn’t want to anyway. So, with a resigned tut, she exhaled and motioned for him to follow her into the apartment. Luckily for her, he refrained from touching her at all on the way up to her door. But this was short-lived, because as soon as she shut the door, he was on her again. He snaked his arms around her waist and hooked his chin on her shoulder, trapping her against the door.

“What do you think you’re doing, Theo?”

“I told you, that’s not my name.”

“And I told you, don’t show yourself to me unless you’re ready for a relationship.”

“I promise, we’ll talk more about that later,” he pressed himself closer to her, “I think there are more.. pressing matters at this moment.” He trailed off, pressing his lips on her neck gently, waiting for her to react. When she didn’t, he decided to ask for her consent.

“We can stop here, baby,” he started to loosen his arms around her and distanced his face from the crevice of her neck. Fully expecting her to pull away, she turned around and grabbed the back of his head to drag him into a kiss. Shocked, his eyes widened; but before he could get carried away, he broke away and waited for her to open her eyes.

“I need you to tell me you want this, too.” She ignored him and tried to lean in for another kiss, but his hands were firm on her waist, preventing her from advancing any further. She rolled her eyes again and tried to pull him back.

“Theo, just fucking kiss me.”

“Not until you use your words.”

“Theo, I need you to fuck me right now or I’m kicking you out.” At that, he smirked and met her lips with a grip on the back of her neck.

The two lay in the darkness of her room, the only light coming from a small moon lamp on her desk. He shifted her to pull her back flush against his chest, his arms around her waist and his hand entwined with hers on her chest. No one was speaking, no one daring to break the silence made heavy by the elephant in the room. Theo knew that at one point, he was going to have to talk. He was well aware of the fact that he would have to admit to himself, and to her, the unspoken fact that there was a glaring reason why he couldn’t just stay away long enough to let her move on from him. Eventually, he started trailing kisses on her shoulders to rouse her from her silence.

“Are you finally going to talk?” she asked, resignation evident in her voice, and something tells Theo that if he fucks up this time, it’ll be the last. He hummed in affirmation and kept his grip tight on her, afraid that she’d run away. Afraid that she’d look at him and see right through him.

“Talk.”

“It’s not you-“

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Theo.” He laughed, teasing even in the worst times.

“I know, I’m sorry, baby. I just can’t let you go, okay?”

“Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he said, earning him a slap on the arm.

“Okay okay, shit. I’ve just never done this before; I’ve never felt so drawn to someone like this before. I always want, no, need you around me. I don’t know what the fuck you did to me, but no one could ever do it for me anymore after you.”

“I’ve tried meeting other people; I thought I could get over you. But here we are,”

“Here you are.”

“Yeah, here I am, again. I don’t know, I’m rambling. What I’m trying to say is I have feelings for you I can’t explain, and it makes me want to do things for you, risk things for you that I never have before.”

“Theo, just tell me you love me and go,” she tried to turn and look at his face, but his hold on her remained tight. She felt him hide his face on her shoulder, his hand in hers shaking. He was scared, but she was too. They’ve hurt each other throughout the months they’ve been fooling around, there were issues to talk about and unpack. But at this moment, that didn’t matter, because all she wanted to know was if he was as willing as she was to go through that with her. She didn’t want to risk it all, just for him to run again.

“Would you love me through my bullshit?” he whispered, ever crass with his words.

“Theo, if it isn’t obvious with me giving you chance after chance,” she began, using his words from earlier, “I already do.”

He let out a heavy sigh, shutting his eyes tight, as if bracing himself for an impact that will never come. Theo will never understand why she was so willing to keep letting him into her life. And he will never understand why it was so hard for him, but she makes him want to do it anyway. So, for the first time in his immortal life, he says,

“I love you. Let’s do this thing.”

“Took you long enough, and you won’t even fucking ask me to be your girlfriend outright?” she scoffed, turning around to finally look at him, seeing his eyes closed like a child.

“Look at me, Theo,” she put her palm against his cheek, willing him to open his eyes. One eye after the other, he gazed into her eyes.

“This better be fucking for real this time.”

“It is, I promise. Be my girlfriend, I’ll do anything you want,” he nodded profusely, recognizing his last chance.

“You’re a bad habit, you know that?”

“Thank god you’re not getting rid of me then.” She breathed out a laugh, burying her face in his neck. Theo smiled into her hair, placing a hand on the back of her head, and thanking his lucky stars that he got it right this time.

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

hi again hhh 2 drops in a week? is this really me???? jk but this is long overdue if i'm being honest. this is for my friend who just defended her research paper and celebrated her birthday, too. hope u like it! also this is my first time having like,,,mature themes so i hope it's not too bad!!!

also !! not beta read nor proofread hehe wrote this to habit by svt, love that song

[raina-at]

Tick, Tick, Tick, Boom

Tick, tick, tick.

“I’m sorry.”

Tick, tick, tick.

“What?”

“I can’t… I can’t do it, John. I can’t defuse it. I don’t know how.”

“That’s a load of bullshit if I ever heard one. You’re Sherlock Holmes, you can do anything!”

“You’ve always had too much faith in me, John. I told you, I’m not a hero. I’m not even a good man.”

John turns away, and Sherlock can see his shoulders shake with how tightly he tries to keep his emotions under control. He can also see that he’s beginning to seriously frighten John, and he feels sort of bad about it, but he’s come this far, and he’s committed now. He knows John needs a bit of a shake-up to forgive Sherlock, that he won’t do it as quickly as Sherlock wants to on his own terms. So a bit of adrenaline, a bit of a chase, and a bit of a scare should be enough to bring John’s emotional walls down far enough to admit what they both already know. John has already forgiven him, because that’s what John does.

“I’m sorry,” he says, upping the emotional pressure a bit. It’s the truth, too, which helps. He lets it flow into his voice, enhance his performance, how sorry he truly is, how much he fucked up, how much he misses John. 

John turns around, and the hurt in his eyes, the fury, is difficult to bear. “You don’t mean that,” John whispers. “You’re just trying to get me to say something nice.”

“I do mean it. I am sorry. Please forgive me,” he says, trying to show how much he truly means it. He’s manipulating the circumstances, yes, but he does mean every word he’s saying. 

“I don’t believe you. Why should I believe you? All you ever do is lie.”

“Please, John. Please. I do mean it. I am sorry. Please, forgive me. Please,” Sherlock says, pleading now, still on his knees next to the bomb. 

John doesn’t move. He looks straight at Sherlock, suddenly unafraid. “You want me to forgive you? You want me to believe you? Then I suggest you stop. Fucking. Lying.”

Tick, tick, tick. 

The only sound in the silence is the bomb, ticking down the seconds. John holds his eyes, so much raw emotion there, so much hurt and anger, so much distrust and wariness, all so very justified, and suddenly Sherlock realises what he’s doing. He’s frightening John half to death, he’s lying and cheating and manipulating, and he’s doing it all for one reason, and one reason only: Because he finds John’s continued anger inconvenient. Because actually earning John’s forgiveness is tedious.

What is he doing?

Without breaking eye contact, he reaches over and switches off the bomb. Because John is right. He can’t expect John to believe him if he keeps lying, keeps manipulating. He can’t trick John into forgiving him. He has to earn it.

The silence is absolute now. He holds John’s eyes, wills John to see. 

He swallows hard. “Please forgive me,” he says, finally, quietly, honestly.  “I never meant to hurt you. I know it sounds stupid, but it’s true. I had to jump, otherwise you would have died. I know it doesn’t make it any less awful, but I jumped to save your life. I swear that’s true.”

He can see John gauge his words. “Get up from the floor,” he finally says, hollow and raw and a ghost of his old self, but there’s some echo of John Watson in there, and it gives Sherlock hope. “You look like you’re about to propose. Or be sick. And I can’t deal with either right now.”

Sherlock huffs a laugh and gets off his feet, dusts his trousers and his coat off. 

“Why didn’t you take me with you?” John asks, still watching Sherlock warily. “Don’t you know that I would have gone anywhere with you?” he adds, voice almost breaking with suppressed emotion.

Sherlock swallows. “I can’t lose you.”

They hold each other’s eyes, raw and wary, but finally honest, finally real.

“Why?” John asks, so quiet it’s almost a whisper. “Why me? Why am I so special?”

Now or never, Holmes, he thinks. Be honest. Last chance.

“Because I love you,” he answers.

John looks at him, and Sherlock can see John process what he just said. It’s the longest three seconds of Sherlock’s life before John finally says, in a tone of exhausted exasperation, “You absolute fucking idiot,” and hauls him in for a kiss.

Sherlock’s impressive brain takes a few seconds to respond, then he winds his arms around John and kisses back like his life depends on it. He feels dizzy with relief and adrenaline and the feeling of John’s body against his, John’s lips, his tongue, his hands on Sherlock’s back, the smell of his skin.

The sound of sirens and boots in the distance announce that the Metropolitan police has finally deigned to show up. 

They break apart, but John keeps a hand fisted in the collar of Sherlock’s coat. “You did call the police, you fucking bastard,” he says, but he’s smiling a bit.

Sherlock shrugs. “Of course I did, I’m not a complete idiot.”

“I beg to differ, you’re the biggest moron on the planet,” John says, somewhat between teasing and serious. Sherlock guesses the adrenaline is making John feel as loopy as Sherlock feels. “For the record, if you ever die on me again, I’ll kill you with my bare hands, are we clear?”

Sherlock grins, because that’s the most John Watson sentence he’s ever heard in his life. “Kill me,” he scoffs, “that’s so two years ago.”

John bites down on an undignified, slightly hysterical giggle. “Shut up,” he says, “and kiss me again.”

Sherlock complies, and they kiss and kiss and kiss as the boots and the torchlight and the urgent voices move closer and closer.

“Now people will definitely talk,” Sherlock mutters against John’s lips.

“Let them,” John says, pulling Sherlock back in. “Let them.”

A bit if a TEH fix-it of a scene that always bothered me. Thank you @notjustamumj for the prompt, which was time.

Tagging the usual suspects @calaisreno @meetinginsamarra @keirgreeneyes @helloliriels @lisbeth-kk @jrow @peanitbear @catlock-holmes and anyone else who wants to play.

I've written and posted a ficlet for fourteen days straight, hopefully I can keep it up until the end of the month ;-)

[vemaro]

under these circumstances

[PART 2]

Here’s a link to PART 1 if you haven’t read it!

Pairing: Astarion x Tav (female Tav) // also minor Karlach x Dammon

Word count: ~2900

Notes: Sorry this one’s a bit longer. Couldn’t find a good spot to end it so I just left it as is. Man, I am soft for how Astarion approves of you helping children in Act 3. So soft. And in this house we stan Dammon!

Enjoy!

…

Astarion got roped in by the tieflings to come and see their former leader. And by roped in, Karlach literally dragged him up from the Underdark. Against his will. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see Tav. Of course he wants to see her. He wishes she never left his sight. Astarion just has absolutely no desire to see the woman he’s madly in love with living a lavish life with someone else . Sure, he understands it’s his own fault. The vampire made no shortage of mistakes along the way; holding her at dagger point upon introduction, plotting to seduce and manipulate her, telling her he hoped she died screaming because she stopped him from completing the ascension ritual, the list goes on. His biggest mistake, however, was not confessing when he still had a chance. That or screwing up his manipulation plan so spectacularly he ended up developing feelings in the first place.

On second thought, both mistakes are equally stupid on his part.

Tav irrevocably changed Astarion’s life and his worldview. She made him a better person, a better man, an upstanding citizen of society who’s willing to help others without a second thought (sometimes). If not for her, he might’ve ended up dead, still under the control of his now dead master, or, worse yet, he could’ve turned into Cazador. For as long as he’ll live, no one will ever mean more to him than that kind hearted woman. Which is why it hurts to see her here and now. She’s married with a child, albeit an adopted child and the marriage was for purely political reasons.

To add salt to his wound, there’s also the matter of said child, Callum himself. Astarion is not immune to the boy’s charm. He’s actually quite fond of him. Hells, he would kill for Callum. By some cosmic fluke, the boy seems to share the sentiment (just to be clear, the fondness, not the killing). He can’t help wondering if Callum gets this excited seeing Tav’s husband. It would be rather uncouth to ask, right?

Astarion smirks, perfectly masking all of the rampant thoughts clouding his mind. “I was wondering when you’d notice me,” he says. “I was starting to feel neglected.”

Callum charges at Astarion like a horse wearing blinders, who then scoops him up with practiced ease. The vampire gets a small poke from the sword for his troubles. “Ah, do mind the blade of your weapon, Mr. Monster Slayer,” he tuts. “This monster is on your side and won’t require any slaying, thank you very much.”

The little boy gasps. “You’re not a monster, Asty! You’re so nice!” He throws his little arms and hides in the man’s neck, ironically on the side with the bite marks. “I love you!”

Astarion isn’t too proud to admit he’s grown to have a soft spot for children (and cats), but Callum has him wrapped around his little finger. That doesn't make the unprompted proclamation any less nerve racking. Gods below, he is so much like his mother, ready to befriend almost anyone. If they were alone, he would’ve waxed poetic about his odd friendship with Callum, but today there is an audience, a very particular audience. “Thank you. I … I love you too, Callum,” he says back, refusing to make contact with anyone but the boy. For fuck’s sake, he has a reputation.

Karlach takes this prime opportunity to tease the vampire. “Awe, is that a faint blush coloring big bad Astarion’s cheeks?”

“No,” he’s quick to say. Too quick. Even if he really was blushing, he knows the callout would’ve caused more blood to rush his face and ears. But he is not blushing. Curse Karlach for bringing him here. “For your information, I haven’t fed in a while so that’s not possible.”

Tav, amazing and kind and sometimes alarmingly generous Tav, frowns. The crinkle in her brow oozes concern and it makes his undead heart ache. “Oh no, are you okay, Astarion? Later I could let you …” She lets her words trail off, but the implication is obvious. No one’s hidden the fact that he’s a vampire from Callum. They do tend to spare the gorier details for good measure.

He shakes his head. “Thank you, dear, but I simply couldn’t.” She’s only offering because her husband isn’t around. He’s also aware of Astarion’s condition and gets this pinched look on his face whenever Tav invites through the front door. Or perhaps he’s aware Astarion is in love with his wife. Who’s to say?

“Yes, you can, Astarion, because I’m offering.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.”

“But I insist.” He wants to accept, not only to be close to her again, but he’s genuinely thirsty. Most of the blood that crosses his path these days goes to the many ravenous spawn who followed him and siblings after the fall of Cazador.

Karlach snorts. “It’s either her or me, Fangs.”

Astarion blanches at the tiefling. “Er, no. I’ll have to pass, Karlach. Despite fixing your overheating problem ages ago, your blood is still much too spicy for my taste.” It’s the equivalent of biting directly into an Altheian chili pepper. Walking directly into the sun would burn less than stomaching her blood.

Tav shrugs. She puts on an airs of nonchalance since she thinks she’s won this argument. “That only leaves you one choice then, doesn’t it?”

He has a comeback though. “Ah ah, incorrect, my sweet. I also have the choice of not eating at all.”

Callum jerks back suddenly, a devastated expression on his face. “You have to eat, Asty. You have to. Food is good for you.”

Tav has crossed the room so she’s standing on his opposite side. Fantastic. Now he has both mother and son staring him down. “Exactly, Callum’s right. You need to feed.”

And, of course, Karlach, the loud mouth, has to throw her two gold pieces in. “Yeah, Fangs. We can’t have you starve to death.”

His eyes nearly roll to the back of his head. “That literally can’t happen—” Which all the adults in the room are fully aware of. Fuck you, Cazador. Burn in whatever level of the Hells he got shoved into. “—but alright, fine. Later.”

Relieved, Tav smiles and places a hand on his free shoulder. “Thank you.”

Astarion scoffs. “You’re thanking me? You’re the one offering bl—” A quick glance to the child makes him remember to rethink his words. “Food . You’re offering me food when you absolutely don’t have to. Thank you, Tav, you stubborn, selfless woman.”

Her hand slides from his shoulder to his back, finding the space between his shoulder blades. She rubs soothing circles there. “Of course. You’re one of my best friends. I worry about you.”

The contact sends goosebumps all over his body. Hold it together, Ancunin. “The concern is appreciated, darling, but I can handle myself.”

“I know, Astarion,” she says. “But still. That’s what friends do. We look after one another.”

He both loves and hates the title. It causes his stomach to do a somersault and also drop like a heavy stone.

“You’re my best friend, Asty!”

A better distraction couldn’t have come along. “Am I now? Well, I feel honored.” He tosses a cheeky grin at his competition. “Hear that? I’m his best friend.”

Karlach’s jaw drops. The next few minutes are about to get interesting. “I thought I was your best friend, Callum.”

The little boy taps his chin in deep thought and points between them respectively. “Um, Asty’s my best friend. And Karlach’s my best friend. And Dammon’s my best friend.”

The blacksmith shrugs. “That’s fair. Though I’m just happy to be included.”

Astarion swivels so Callum’s back is to the rest of them. “Yes, of course, we’re all your best friends. How sweet and diplomatic. But I’m your favorite, right?”

Karlach rushes over, and is it suddenly a little warmer than it was a second ago? “I’m his favorite.” She tries to place herself in Callum’s line of sight, but Astarion swivels away again. And again. And again.

At this point he’s spinning in a circle. “Excuse me, you saw how utterly delighted he was when he saw me.”

Never one to back down from a challenge, Karlach starts walking in a circle too, following Astarion and Callum’s rotation. It’s officially a game of keep away with Tav’s son. “What? He didn’t even notice you at first, you said so yourself.”

He waves her off. “It’s hard to miss the large, exuberant, bright red tiefling smack dab in the middle of the kitchen.”

She sticks her tongue out. “Whatever makes you feel better, Fangs.”

Who cares if she could throw him and Callum over her shoulder like it’s nothing; he’s going to throttle her. “If you don’t believe me, ask him.” Astarion abruptly stops, grabs the boy under the arms, and holds him out. “Callum, dear sweet and so very brave, Callum. Tell that wretched Karlach I’m your favorite best friend. Also, you’re very adorable. And a great swordsman.”

Karlach elbows the man none too gently. “No, Callum. Tell yucky, stinky Asty I am your favorite.”

Meanwhile, Tav and Dammon stand back, amused and entertained. “How is my four year old more mature than these two full grown adults?”

“Baffles me as well,” he says. “Still love them though, right?”

Tav has to look away, hoping he doesn’t notice the blood rushing to her face. “Mhmm. Still love them.”

“Callum.”

“Callum.”

“Callum!”

“Tell him, Callum!”

“Stop,” Callum shouts, shocking both of them. He points his sword to the side. “I love you both. But … Mama’s my favorite.”

Dammon barks out a laugh at the plot twist. Tav glides in and takes her son into her arms, even does a little twirl. “Awe. You’re my favorite too, Callum.” She pulls him in for a big kiss on his chubby little cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Mama.” Tav peppers a dozen more kisses all over his face, resulting in a fit of giggles and squeals.

Astarion averts his eyes, trying so hard to ignore the roil of yearning churning in his gut. Is he really jealous of a toddler? Pathetic. Someone clears their throat, making him look back up. Karlach is staring at him, hard, and she flicks her eyebrows. What’s this about? He narrows his eyes trying to discern her intentions, to which she smiles knowingly then looks back at Tav. She makes eye contact again then silently mouths tell her now.

As if it’s as easy as that! As if Astarion could just walk up to Tav and just tell her he loves her with every fiber of his being. He’s fucked up way too many times for that to ever happen. He’s fucked up too many times for her to ever return his love. And even if by some miracle she did love him back, she’s in a publicly favored marriage. (To be honest, he’d be perfectly content as the mistress, but he would never put her in that position.)

Karlach’s support, however well-intentioned, is ultimately pointless. The pale elf and the sunny druid are not meant to be, much to his chagrin. Because he apparently can’t help it, his gaze drifts towards Tav again. Mother and son glow with love, affection, and warmth, something he was forced to leave behind when they’d finally rid themselves of the parasites. It’s too much for his heart to take. Without a word, Astarion turns on his heel and heads for the front door. Best to commiserate in solitude, maybe back in his fortress in the Underdark, but …

“Asty? Where are you going?”

Shit. So much for being a stealthy rogue. Now to have a go at persuasion. “Just stepping out for a moment, little bird.”

Callum pouts in the most irritatingly precious way. “You’re leaving?”

Great, now he feels bad. He really is wrapped around the boy’s finger. “No. I was in need of some fresh air, is all. I’ll be right back.”

The boy wiggles until Tav places him down. Then he runs over and grabs Astarion’s hand. “I’ll go with you. I’ll protect you from the scary monsters.” He punctuates the statement with a slash of his new sword.

Tav can sense something is wrong, though she has no idea exactly what it is. “Um, Callum, perhaps you should wait here with me.”

Right on cue, the dramatic, overconfident facade slips back into place. “But what if there’s a monster, dear? You would leave poor little me defenseless? Now who’s the monster?”

As always, she sees right through it. “Are you sure?”

He keeps at it. “Absolutely, darling. He’ll have me back within the hour.”

“Okay.” Tav has that wrinkle in her brow again and she crosses her arms. He is in for an interrogation later. “Be safe. Both of you.”

“Bye, Mama!”

She waves back. “Bye.”

Astarion catches her eye and gives a playful wink before speaking to Callum. “Let’s go, Mr. Monster Slayer. I think I saw a vendor in need of saving on our way in. He might give you some sweet treats as a reward.”

“Yay!”

The pair leaves as Astarion goes into some tall tale of his adventures since he’d visited last. Tav is left trying to calm her rapidly beating heart. They’re friends. Tav and Astarion are friends, nothing more. He made it abundantly clear in the past that he has no romantic interest in her. And she insisted they be friends. Not to mention she’s married now. To a widely known public figure. It can never happen. Never ever. As much as she wished it could.

And yet the druid can’t rid herself of the image of Callum’s face when he laid eyes on Astarion. He doesn’t even get that excited when Terrick, the man raising him, returns from his business trips. Not that she can blame her son. She definitely prefers the company of the vampire over her husband. She prefers any of her friends’ company over her pretentious husband.

Not that she’s ever voice that out loud.

She roughly has half an hour to get herself under control. When they return, she’ll send Dammon, Karlach, and Callum outside for the ‘sparring session.’ Inside, she’ll allow Astarion to feed then question him about whatever seems to be a bother. She won’t be able to focus properly if she’s too busy staring lovingly into his beautiful ruby red eyes or imagining herself dragging her fingers through his soft hair or—no, stop it. Stop it.

It’s been years. Get over it. Focus.

Tav suddenly claps her hands together, starling her remaining guests. “Okay. While you get settled in a guest room, I’ll put together some snacks. Dinner won’t be ready for another hour or so.”

Karlach opens her mouth to say something, but Dammon grabs her by the hand and starts pulling her out of the room. “Sounds perfect, Tav. Thank you for letting us stay the night.”

She’s too preoccupied with forcing herself to compartmentalize her feelings to realize she missed something. “You’re welcome.”

In their room, Dammon shuts the door and looks at his partner disapprovingly. He’s got his arms crossed and one foot tapping a steady rhythm on the rug. Karlach hates it. “What?” she whisper-yells.

“You know what.”

She begins to pace because she is not a fan of standing still. “They’re my best friends, Dammon! And they’re totally oblivious to each other's feelings.”

“I know, but it’s not your place.”

She smirks, hoping to lighten the mood. “Isn’t it?”

He pinches the ridge of his nose and sighs. “No, love, it’s not.”

She pouts. “Why not?”

He rolls his eyes. “Because they’re both adults. If they wanted to express how they felt for one another, they could do it themselves.”

Karlach throws her arms out, but keeps her voice at a whisper. “But they won’t express how they feel because they both think the other thinks of them as just a friend because of all the shit that happened when we had worms in our heads.” Miscommunication, manipulation, and misinformation. It was truly a mess back then. Still is, apparently.

Dammon sits down on the bed and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “That may be true, but it’s still not your place to speak on behalf of either of them.” He cocks an eyebrow. “Need I remind you that Tav is currently married.”

It’s her turn to roll her eyes. “She doesn’t love that soggy sponge, Terrick. She only did it so she could help the city. Bloody hells, she held her wedding outside, at night just so Astarion could attend.”

She makes a fair point. “I know, I know.”

The big red tiefling sits down next to him. “I want them to be happy, Dammon. They’re not happy.”

“Under these circumstances, they can’t be together.” Karlach lets out a frustrated growl. “Things can change though. Circumstances can change. There’s hope that one day those two will finally wake up and see what’s right in front of them with no obstacles in the way.”

“You really believe that?”

He straightens up and reaches for her hand again, this time meshing their fingers together. “That’s what I want to believe, love.”

She huffs. “Me too.”

He gives her hand a squeeze. “Promise to leave them be during our stay?”

And there’s that pout again. “Ugh, yes. Promise,” she grumbles.

“Thank you.” Dammon tilts towards her and places a light kiss on her cheek. Their tails intertwine behind them. “Now come on. She may not be happy, but I think having friends around makes things better.”

“I think so too.” They both stand up and head for the kitchen again. Just before opening the door, Karlach blocks it and grins wickedly at her partner. “But I know what would make her even happier .”

“Karlach.”

She relents. “Gods, kidding. Just kidding, Dammon.” Mostly.

…

Thank you so much for reading!

[roseworth]

tini howard is writing catwoman and honestly? I'm apprehensive about how she'll handle rose

i just read it and. i have mixed feelings.

some of it was alright. her characterization was about in line with how she usually is when she shows up as a side character. AND she has her new costume which i love (she didnt have it in mwsl so now its nice to see di giandomenico's art with this costume) plus most of her lines were her saying "please focus on the mission and dont talk to me about anything else"

but overall. this was a loss for rose 👎

first of all? shes on a suicide squad????? on my knees begging dc to understand that shes not a villain so she should not be up to these things. at first i was willing to let it go bc i thought it was saying that waller was in contact with her bc rose is one of her operatives (bc stormwatch) or something/ which i still dislike but im more willing to accept. but then waller mentions the members being in cells/prison multiple times and ???????????? WHAT is rosie doing there

second of all. jesus fucking christ. free her from jason

what are we doing here how did we get here. i would love selina and rose interacting under any circumstances EXCEPT "keeping an eye on her because shes jasons girlfriend" i hate it here. im not even against jay/rose im just already sick and tired of her being known as Jasons Girlfriend. why is that all you have to say about her. its very clear that tini howard does not know anything about rose outside of her appearance in gotham war

in conclusion tini howard stay away from rose forever please <3 this one was passable only for the fact that it was a one off appearance and im so happy to see her <3333 but now get away from her get a job etc

but on a completely different note... for those of us who suffered through terror titans.......... rose and clock king meet again

obviously terror titans was not mentioned in this book on account of it being nearly two decades old and also a horrible book. and i dont even know if this is the same clock king bc i do not know any clock king lore. but he looks the same #terrortitansreunion2024

[itsalmostavengers]

Kiss Me, I'm Irish

Steve wasn't sure what made him say it, to be honest. Under most circumstances, he'd seriously like to believe he was better than this.

It was probably a mixture of things. The fact that it had taken him several days and multiple financial bribes by Natasha just to get him to wear the damn thing, for starters. Also the fact that she'd absolutely assured him it would get him out of the 6 month no-sexual-contact slump he'd been in for the last... well.

You can take an educated guess as to how long it'd been.

Anyway. He'd been wearing the ridiculous 'kiss me I'm Irish' shirt for 10 hours of the 24 that made up St. Patrick's Day, and yet still no-one had approached him during that time. Steve was beginning to think that maybe there was just something seriously wrong with his personality.

He'd gone out shopping with the shirt on. He'd had a drink with Bucky wearing this shirt - and yet it was Bucky, somehow, who had managed to get the number off a talkative woman who'd sat alongside them while they'd been sinking their traditional St. Paddy's Day Guinnesses. Not Steve. Bucky hadn't even showered that day, let alone worn something that was begging strangers to throw themselves at him.

Honestly, it wouldn't have bothered him under most circumstances. Steve Rogers was not the kind of man to to get pissy about being overlooked - Lord knows he'd been dealing with it for most of his life before the serum. It was just the fact that Natasha had been so sure it was going to work. She'd gone and gotten him all hopeful for nothing.

He was a humble man - but seriously, he was at a real risk of developing some sort of complex from this, and there was already enough of that in the Avengers already, thank you very much.

It was this, ultimately, that caused his sour mood during the team dinner. And this which also caused him to say what he said.

Bruce had been passing him the garlic bread, as any polite person would do at a dinner setting. He'd noticed Steve was uncharacteristically quiet that night, and Steve hadn't wanted to say that the garlic bread was the wrong brand to what he normally loved, he hadn't wanted to say that there'd been a gnawing, desperate want in him for the last 8-odd months of living in the Avengers Tower, brought about by the constant sight of sharp brown eyes and fast hands and a razor sharp, quick-witted tongue.

So when Bruce had asked him what was wrong, Steve had instead gone for the one thing that seemed easiest:

"I've been wearing this stupid shirt all Goddamn day and no-one has kissed me yet."

It was childish. Uncharacteristic. Steve could see immediately that Bruce regretted even asking - because honestly, how the hell did you even respond to a comment so infantile? And Steve knew that - he knew it as soon as he said it, because he shook his head, cursed his stupid instinctive honesty, and opened his mouth to begin to try and pass it off as a joke. A silly, ironic comment, brought about by too much Asgardian-infused alcohol and mixed with a healthy amount of sexual frustration.

Unfortunately, someone rather important had heard his commentary.

"You've not been kissed all day?" Said Tony from across the room, where he'd just walked through the door. He was wearing a suit, the same way he always did - far too busy to be engaging in St. Patrick's Day nonsense. But his eyes were firmly on Steve, taking in the ridiculous shirt with a small eyebrow raise and an indistinguishable look on his face.

Steve could do nothing but shake his head dejectedly, rolling his eyes and then standing up to go grab some water. Thor's mead had done a bit of a number on him - he was man enough to admit that.

"It's probably for the best," he said. (Sulkily.)

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

The sheer bluntness of Tony's words threw Steve for a loop, if only for a moment. When he glanced behind him, Tony was looking at him downright incredulously.

"Steve," he declared, "if someone like you wears a shirt like that and does not get to at least second base, then it's technically classed as a crime against humanity. I hope you know that."

Steve just shrugged defeatedly. "Go take your case to the International Court of Human Rights then," he muttered, pulling a sip of water from his glass.

There was a moment of quiet. Steve knew he was probably imagining it, but he thought he heard Tony splutter a little bit.

And then, of course - in the way that Tony often did - he had to go and change the course of history forever.

There was a dull thunk as Tony dropped his suitcase at the door. Then the sound of very confident, very determined footsteps. At this point, Steve was still facing the faucet, but once he heard those same footsteps rapidly begin to approach him, he thought it prudent to turn and face them. Call it the soldier in him.

He was met with a faceful of Tony Stark, stalking up to him as if there was some sort of fundamental problem that needed fixing. A glitch in his software that he quite simply could not live with without rectifying.

In a way, it was very Tony.

There was a singular moment where Tony looked at Steve's stupid shirt and paused. Where he considered the implications, just for a moment. But Tony was Tony, and to him, the future was always simply another problem to be solved later,

"I'm sorry," Tony said bluntly, and he sounded slightly raw-edged, like he'd been speaking in meetings for too long or pretending to be someone else just a little too authentically, "but I can't let that injustice go on any longer."

And then, without a moment of hesitation or doubt, Tony curled his fingers around Steve's neck, pulled him in, and kissed him.

Steve had a small, infinitesimal moment of panic where he thought of what was going on - what he was doing with his teammate, with the man he went to war with every other day - but that voice was quickly silenced by the pure, sheer relief that came with kissing Tony Stark. The utter euphoria of feeling his world suddenly slotting into place. This was a puzzle piece that Steve had not even realised was missing until he'd plucked it from under the rug.

Tony kissed like it was the last thing on Earth he'd ever do. His confident fingers wound their way into the short hairs on the back of Steve's head, pushing him further into the confines of Tony's mouth, the dangerous allure of his tongue, Christ, Tony could sure as shit make a kiss work in his favour. His three-piece suit was soft, well-made, but his skin was better. The scratch of his beard was something Steve had fantasised about for months and yet never known until that very second - his eyelashes batted up against Steve's brow bone, his lips were soft and tasted like the coconut moisturiser he always wore.

Steve could only make a small noise of shock, joy, lust, love, in the back of his throat - and then, of course, he was kissing back. His hands moved of their own volition - smoothing down Tony's defined biceps, curling across the small of the other man's back. It took him a huge amount of self-restraint from palming his hand across the taut material that covered Tony's ass.

If this came back to haunt him, Steve could just say the shirt had compelled him. It wasn't his fault. It was, however, the best kiss of Steve's life.

Tony's mouth was masterful - his teeth bit down teasingly against Steve's bottom lip, uncaring of the audience they were keeping in the dining room, unbothered by his own admission of enjoyment, pulled from his mouth in a low, seductive moan. His hands wandered shamelessly. They stroked Steve's shoulders, his jaw, before travelling south, skirting his hips and then settling authoritatively on Steve's ass. Were it any other circumstance, Steve would probably have thought Tony was hypnotised. Or possessed.

But... you know. The shirt.

Eventually, and after a hefty amount of abuse from everyone else at the dinner table, Tony forced himself off Steve's mouth. Admittedly, even he seemed dazed - even if only for a moment before composing himself.

Hands sliding off Steve's body, they quickly adjusted Tony's own suit. He cleared his throat.

"There you go," he declared hoarsely. "Fixed it."

Somewhere to their left, there was a snort of amusement. It was probably Clint. Asshole.

Steve gaped at Tony. "Thanks," he managed to force out. His voice was far, far more strangled than he'd intended it to be.

Tony looked at him for a moment, blinking slowly. He was so unbelievably attractive, and he'd just kissed Steve like that, and for a moment, Steve wondered whether he could just pick Tony up and carry him away to whichever bedroom was closest. He wondered if Tony would let him. Steve had never thought that would be the case, but God... that kiss...

"Anyway," Tony said, just a touch too loud to be casual, "I have to go do... Um. Work. Probably." He nodded, glancing once more at Steve. "Happy Saint Patrick's Day," he said softly.

And then, without another word, he walked off in the direction he'd come.

Steve stared.

Clint, Bruce, Natasha and Thor all groaned.

"Well, I'm sure that's not complicated anything," Clint said mutinously.

[bella-rose29]

episode 1 commentary - This Will Be Us

Lockwood and Co on Netflix

spoilers obviously (for both the books and the show), and I'm gonna put swearing even though I haven't written anything yet, I was apparently very in love with all three of them and also I was very feral about lockwood too (that's definitely a warning)

edit: definitely swearing, and also there's no context for most of this so if you don't know the show that well then good luck (and go watch it, it's really good!)

omg I just realised that the first episode starts with a ghost lamp and the last episode starts with a ghost lamp

cameron's voice omg

cameron's hands omg

I need to calm down it's like 30 seconds in

I love that before they show their faces they show all the equipment it really sets the vibe omg

"Greek fire, which should only ever be used indoors under carefully controlled circumstances" lol

don't think of another four, Lockwood, you don't remember the ones 6 you have

lockwood straightening up his tie and sniffing is so funny to me and idk why

I love that they use the shadow inside mrs hope's house!!!

"problem" being emphasised omg (I'm almost certainly reading into everything too much)

Cameron Chapman you beautiful beautiful boy

omg I just realised they switched lockwood and lucy's lines around??? in the books lockwood's the one who calls adults useless and I think that sets up his charm in the show so much better but also sets up their personalities much better? like lockwood is the charming smiley one that everyone loves, and Lucy is prone to being a bit of a menace

the way lockwood looks around at her after she says adults are useless 💀

mrs hope is so much posher than I remember her being

love that she just ignores lockwood and only talks to lucy

omg they swapped again, in the book lockwood is the one who says 'the cleverer one' after Lucy asks 'sarcastic or ironic?' - don't get me wrong I love this show so much but I feel like it takes away some of lockwood's childish-ness (idk if that's a word)? like in the books he's quite often just a silly little boy making jokes

his hands

I love that they have loads of green lighting

oh lockwood you silly little man you absolutely need chains

eat that biscuit luce (now I want a biscuit)

wooo ghost

yeah no shit lockwood

yeah no shit lockwood

"been too busy trying to make contact with the living" mood

"of course she is, she's dead" lockwood my man 💀

how the hell did Lucy manage to hold on to that painting I would have just fallen off and died

omgomgomg starting credits omgomgomg

ew mrs carlyle can go suck a dick

Lucy looks like she'd much rather be anywhere else in the world

ugh don't say that "gonna give me a smile, young lady?" fuck off

omg Lucy :(

I love that they show us the defences omg

Lucy and norrie omg

"the more proficient you become, the longer you'll live" how come that doesn't happen with lockwood then bc he's very proficient with a rapier but he has such a death wish

oh luce

"we'll be on the cover of every magazine" crazy how in the space of less than a year Lucy changes from being like lockwood and wanting to be "the most famous agents in the country" to not wanting her face on tv or on any papers at all

Marissa fittes? coming back? from the dead? whaaat that would never happen norrie don't be sillyyyy

THIS WILL BE US omg I never realised I always thought it was like 'oh, this'll be us' like George or lockwood saying that to Lucy when she first comes to Portland Row bc that's what people say when they're being walked back or something idk I just never realised it was Lucy and norrie???

is anything more lesbian than giving your solemn and binding promise to each other and then threading your fingers through her hair?

everything points to a type one bro shut the fuck up

"she changed everything" Marissa sure did

"closer to her than you'll ever be. closer to history" oh my dear Jacobs, you have no idea what lucy's gonna do

Paul you are so right you would love to meet George (kinda sad they didn't meet tbh)

Jacobs you prick

ngl that ghost sounds terrifying wtf

Paul don't be silly

don't be silly paul

idiots

Jacobs you prick

JACOBS YOU PRICK

what did Lucy trip over?

:(((( Paul :((((

no way that bastard didn't hear her screaming

JACOBS YOU PRICK

YOU DID HEAR CRIES FOR HELP YOU PRICKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

can you tell I'm mad I was so angrily smashing that k key

norrie :(((((((

SHE DIDNT CAUSE THEIR DEATHS OMG YOU BITCH

omg parallel!! bc lockwood thinks he caused his family's death (especially jess') even though he didn't and Lucy didn't cause their deaths but she doesn't blame herself

"you are deader than dead" ooooo burn

where tf did she get that sellotape from

omg fittes building

is there anything more British than a really long queue

poor babygirl is hungry :(((

paused to read the paper cutting of lockwood and co's ad and I can just imagine lockwood telling George what to put omg "prestigious Psychical Investigations agency", "well dressed", "UNSUCCESSFUL APPLICANTS will include time-wasters, fraudsters and persons with criminal records" love the range there

also the address is literally just 35 Portland Row, London, like is there only one 35 Portland Row in the entirety of London??? apparently so

AAA PORTLAND ROW

AAA GEORGE

he looks and sounds so dead inside

omg it's so homely

she's a wimp

George wtf "see, told you so, okie-dokie"

heart eyes immediately lol (honestly same I love them both - the joys of being bi ig)

"hello, I'm Anthony Lockwood" hello, I'm your future wife

make the tea and drink the extra cup, George, that's what I would do

I love that he doesn't pressure her for the story!!! because he knows what that's like!!!

Anthony Lockwood chooses bourbons everyone

Skully!!!

George picking up his comic is so passive aggressive

are all of his family dead wtf?

he's so excited to talk about Harold beck

George is interested now ooo creepy cup

I love that Lucy and George immediately don't like each other

omg George's laugh

jokes on you lockwood's parents are dead (bad joke)

"deep armchair" I'm sure it is, Georgie.

"miss carlyle" bro

you can definitely give me a tour of the house anytime (especially your room)

"teen prodigy slays the competition" fuck yeah he slays

if you pause the episode and squint really hard you can read the article on the fencing matches he did and they actually wrote an article - my favourite quote (from what I could make out) is "Kipps attempted a few bold lunges but missed Lockwood each time"

also he looks so happy in the photo omg so baby

his hands

HIS HANDS omg I think I'm going feral for them

his smile ughhhhh

lockwood you're talking very fast I can't keep up

the face he makes when he turns the smoke jets on his fucking hilarious

literally this one:

also the way he stands??? I think I'm in too deep oh dear

"high security storeroom" sure honey tell yourself that

HIS SMILE

if lockwood was my landlord I don't think I'd have quite so much stress about finding a place to rent next year

HIS. SMILE.

"you saw those" yeah of course she did, they're in plain view bestie

"that's... if you'll take the job?" bro's so in love and he doesn't even know it yet (I need to stop using bro unironically bc it's making me sad)

HIS. SMILE.

can you tell I love his smile

George just spawning out of nowhere with no trousers on

if I didn't already know that Georgie really needs a wee I'd be able to tell from how he answered her questions before she'd even finished talking

AAAAAAA A A A AAAAAAAAAA

your honour I love him

ok but the apple core being left on a chair is such a boy thing my brother does that

bitch why do you wanna see his picture you've got the real thing right in front of you

ok but if he talked to me the way he talks to Lucy in the library I would simply pass away

"I want you to be part of it" OKAY SIR. OKAY.

"how do I know you're good enough for me?" cuts to him saving her life

he did not need to do that fancy kick off the wall but he did it anyway

okay but they hold each other so much it's ridiculous

why can't someone hold me like that

"ghosts don't have feelings" 🥺

"oops" lockwood I love you but you can't just break the circle

"you've done that already, try something new why don't you" 😭

oh no

fire

boy desperately calls out for his wife when she stares at a dead body instead of jumping from a burning building