#wraith prop

[calmlb]

can we as a society please stop calling Dazai the “demon prodigy” like it’s canon??? IM BEGGING

his canon nickname is so underused too… i mean c’mon, the “black wraith of the Port Mafia??” idk if i’ve ever even seen it used in a fic 😭

[wanderingaldecaldo]

Spawnable Nomad Tent Prop

Virgile and Panam, celebrating having their very own tent. Virgile belongs to @gloryride. Panam belongs to no one, are you kidding? lol

Have you been frustrated at not being able to customize your own Aldecaldos tent for your blorbos? NO LONGER! Now you can spawn your very own tent and decorate it as you like!

This is still technically a WIP as I want to add some Aldecaldos decals to it (and maybe a Wraith version, too), but I got distracted by other things (underwear) so I'm releasing this version for whoever would like to try it!

Important: There is no collision for the tent. I couldn't figure out how to fix this but meh, easy access is good, right? ;)

>>> DOWNLOAD ON MEGA <<<

[nkorange]

"She put this blade in my hands and my whole life changed…"

[docdudo]

Hybrid 141 As Parents - Foster Human Child!Reader (Part 9)

It was snowing.

Actually, 'snowing' was an understatement. It was a freaking blizzard. And it really came out of nowhere too, just a thin layer of snow covering the ground during the early hours and now, you couldn't see anything besides white throught the window.

Oh yeah, you were also sick.

To be fair, you knew you would get sick eventually thanks to this huge change in temperature. It wasn’t even because you were out with Johnny yesterday night; you would have gotten sick regardless. It just happened that everytime the seasons changed, a flu would strike you.

It happens, you were used to it, but still...

You certainly weren't used to the attention.

First of all, you woke up with someone already in your room. Two someones, actually. Johnny was anxiously pacing close to your bed, a frown on his face as he sniffled the air around you. Kyle was with him, head tilted in your direction as he also frowned in concern.

And in a second, Kyle's large hand was pressing against your forehead, then your warm, red cheeks, and then your small neck. His hand felt warm, as always, but even you could feel it that you were warmer, making him tsc in concern.

So, they decided to place you on the large living room couch, still in the sweater and sweatpants you were wearing as pajamas, propped carefully against the many pillows and cushions, with a blanket draped over your lap and legs.

The same blanket John had bought for you the day before.

"Temperature?" Price asks, voice gruff and arms crossed as he watches Kyle staring at the thermometer with a frown.

"37,7ºC. That's high for humans." He sighs, putting the thermometer aside.

Johnny frowns a bit at the information, sitting close to you so he could also check your temperature for himself.

"Almost as warm as a werewolf..." He mutters with his own frown on his face, leaning close enough to almost lay his head against your lap and torso. "How are ye feeling, wee pup?"

"F-Fine..." Your voice sounds a little rough, your throat a bit raspy. "I... I have... I usually get sick when the temperature changes... too quickly..."

He nods and croons at your quiet answer, now actually leaning to rub his head and fluffy ears against your chest.

"Here you go." Simon says quietly as he approaches with a light blue mug on hands, passing to you carefully as he kneels in front of the couch.

The mug was big and warm on your hold, but it was also enveloped in a small white cloth to make sure you wouldn't burn your hands, even tho the liquid inside wasn't even that hot. It was warm, just like it has to be.

"Lemon and honey tea, darlin'. Helps your throat nicely." He grunts out, heavy hand coming up to your forehead too, making you close your eyes slightly in satisfaction. His hands are much cooler thanks to his Wraith nature.

As he takes his hand away, you take a small sip of the tea. You weren't a fan of tea, but considering it's just lemon and honey... you can manage.

"With the way it's snowing outside, it's an indoor day for all of us." Price notes, looking out the window with his burly arms still crossed.

"Ah'll 'ave fun shoveling the snow later..." Johnny murmurs sarcastically as he sits up once again, glaring outside the window.

"Darlin', the tea." Simon reminds you gently after you took too long for a second sip.

You blush a little, nodding quietly as you take another sip. At least it felt soothing going down your throat; it didn’t hurt like it usually did when you forced yourself to drink water all the other times you were sick.

"Okay, I searched, and… it seems to be safe for humans to take Tylenol, but only in small doses." Kyle warns seriously, his wing twitching for a moment as if to reach for your small form sitting on the couch.

"I'll go get it." Simon gets up quickly, going to the bathroom closest to the living room.

You were sipping on your tea, distracted, staring at the direction Simon went off, enough to startle you as John kneels by your side on the couch, fixing the blanket on top of you to make sure it wouldn't slip off.

"Tell us if you feel worse or need anything, yes, hatchling?" he murmurs gruffly, leaning close enough to bump his forehead against yours. You were small enough to do it without his big horns getting in the way.

"O... Okay..." You mumble, a bit caught off guard, shyly looking away. "B-But... I'm fine..."

"Mhm, yeah, lassie, ye are. An' Ahm gonna know if ye aren't..." Johnny murmurs in the most omnious way possible, making you shiver a bit in place as you stare at him wide eyed, John just rolling his eyes with a smile on his lips. "Can smell ye, gonna knae right awa' if you worsen, yeah, wee pup?" He croons, scottish accent strong, leaning closer with a big, smug grin.

"Stop scaring the kid, mutt." Simon growls as he comes back, slapping the back of Johnny's head with a bit too much force in your opinion, but all the werewolf does is snap his teeth at the bigger man's direction with a huge smile still on his face.

"We only have in tablets?" Kyle murmurs, face scrunching in displeasure.

"Unfortunally. I'll buy drops later for next time." Simon rumbles back, gently running his hand over Kyle's ruffled feathers, making the harpy relax a little. "The tablets are good for now."

"These the 500mg?" Kyles asks, humming in consideration as Simon nods.

"Too strong." John rumbles lowly from his place kneeling by your side, hand firmly planted on your blanket.

The harpy nods, agreeing with the dragon as he stares at the tablet he popped out on his hand. In a quick movement, Kyle bites more than half of the tablet off, leaning over the back of the couch to give you the rest.

"Here you go, baby. Swallow it with your tea." He smiles lovingly, sharp nails gently putting the small piece against your small palm.

"Y-You swallowed...?" You mumble, slightly shocked with his actions.

"This medication is not enough to have any effect on me, chick." He smiles, a small and gentle laugh coming out of his mouth.

"Garrick has taken much stronger shit just to stay awake during missions." Ghost huffs humerously.

That comment certainly makes you curious, but your attention is called back to John as he gently pushes your small hand close to your mouth.

"Take it, doll, come on."

You nod quietly, quickly putting the tablet in your mouth and taking a sip of the almost-finished tea to swallow it under the watchful eyes of the four of them

"Good." John croons deeply, his eyes getting lighter for a second, startling you a little.

"Pup needs food." Johnny mumble, once again leaning close to your body.

"I'll make it," John huffs, climbing back to his feet. "Make a good bean soup with some bacon. Gonna liven up the pup right away."

"Add collard greens, great for the human flu." Ghost notes gravelly, leaning over the back of the couch where he and Kyle were standing to grab the empty mug from your hands.

They’re starting to give you a small headache. They truly didn’t stop, did they? They were always moving, always doing something. They worked so well together too, on top of their own game and each other’s.

"While they do that, it's time for a nap, don't ye think?" Johnny rumbles, pulling you to him in a quick motion that gets you almost dizzy.

"I-I just woke up..." You mumble, unsure, trying to look up at him from where you were laying against his body, but you were unsucceful as he simply pulled your blanket over you once again and made you lay sideways, putting a pillow over his stomach so you could lay your head on it confortably.

"And ye're sick, pup. Ye sleep." He rumbles gently, patting your small head of hair.

"That's good. We'll call you when the soup gets ready." Kyle nods with a loving smile on his face, his wings puffing out now for a different reason than his stress from moments ago.

Simon rounds the couch to reach the fireplace, adding more firewood with expertise, moving the still-not-burned logs with his bare hands to make sure the fire keeps going. Kyle takes the time to also draw the curtains close, immediately bringing darkness to the room now that all that expanse of white snow was covered.

You were still a bit in alert, but the darkness helped your mind to settle a bit, Johnny's warmth under you making you sleepier than you though you would feel as his giant hand kept caressing your short hair, sharp nails scratching oh so gentle against your scalp. Apparently, he's going to be with you all the time to make sure you're safe and sound, healthy and comfortable.

He cooed something very quietly, but you didn’t manage to understand it before your eyes fell closed, exhaustion brought on by the flu making you fall asleep quickly.

Your social worker was right... they are so nurturing... you have been with them for barely three days, and yet...

Your eyes go a little misty as you start to lose consciousness.

You don't want to leave.

Part 8 / Part 10

[spicysourchimken]

Murder! Murder! Murder!

TRIGGER WARNING: discussions of death, murder, descriptions of corpses, gore and corpse desecration

(This Idea is loosely inspired by @/the-witchhunter's 'Ghost in the Morgue', please go check it out if you like this concept and have not yet read it)

[Other stuff in this AU: World Building]

Corpses au Danny, not just Corpse but Corpses. Every time Danny transforms he drops a new body, Danny honestly has lived with it long enough that it's funny at this point (and also. maybe made him a little weird about his own death and or deaths). This is not the same for Tim, who now has to deal with a potential serial killer.

Tim is looking into a string of strange and suspicious deaths that might point to the appearance of a new rogue, this results in him taking a visit to the morgue as Red Robin, only to meet a potential victim, Daniel Fenton the latest medical examiner for GCPD.

----

Tim was the one who had found the first body a week ago. He'd been on patrol when he'd spotted it propped up against a dumpster in an alley. It couldn't have been there longer than an hour, the blood was far too fresh.

Tim had planned to just check out the scene and call it in, but then he actually saw the body. It'd been eviscerated, torso ripped open organs spilling out and its hands had been frozen to the ground- hell the entire body seemed to be coated in a layer of frost.

Tim kept tabs on the investigation, if anything for simple curiosity. Then they'd found the second body. Body frozen to the ground, same victim profile- but the death had been completely different. Slashed throat, face mutilated.

Then there was another, and this time Tim wanted to see it in person. This was either a serial killer or the start of a new rogue, and for Tim to be able to tell he needed to see. He sent word to Gordon, if anything more of a warning. He was greeted by the medical examiner.

Greeted was a strong word.

The medical examiner was... strange. Tim had heard news of him starting work and as far as Tim was aware of he was clean, and an almost boring person. The medical examiner that Tim met was unnerving. Pale, staring almost through him and carried blase attitude to his work.

What was worse is that he reminded so much of a corpse, not just a corpse but the corpse.

Then it struck him.

Fenton could be a target. Fenton could be the focus of the killer's obsession.

He'd have to keep tabs on Fenton, too bad he might be the most reckless Gotham citizen in existence.

----

Gotham, admittedly hadn't been Danny's first pick after he finished medical school. Danny had always intended to become a medical examiner, dealing with your own corpses for years would do that do you. 'Finished' was the real problem, Danny had been doing well, great even but then he'd died. Twice. Real unfortunate really, hit and run and then poison, left him with a dry throat for weeks.

His own classmate apparently tried to kill him, which means it would be more than hard to actually finish medical school. That's fine, he had access to Tucker, an actual godsend who was able to make it look like he had all the proper qualifications... as long as you didn't look too hard.

Gotham was apparently pressed for a good medical examiner. All he needed to be was experienced.

Thankfully he had that in spades.

Things frankly only started going down hill last week. He'd made a habit of taking on requests between work, occultist avoided Gotham like the plague leaving him the only voice for the dead. Usually it was pretty easy gig, collect some momentos, help a few ghosts recognize they're dead. Until he'd had to deal with a Wraith.

It didn't go well. Danny was dead set on handling it as a human, appearing as Phantom could cause all matter of chaos. Danny had also not been informed that the claws of a wraith could pierce through human flesh so there's that. Danny was once again evicted from the mortal coil, dropping his own corpse and having to finish the fight off

Danny had planned to deal with his body after gaining his human form back and making sure that the thing could no longer return to the earthly plane. Turns out a bat got there first, turned the place into a crime scene. Just his luck he was beaten bloody enough to be unrecognizable.

His luck continued to go down hill when he was killed, not once, not twice but three times (this of course, wasn't accounting for the times he'd needed to go ghost). He'd gotten good at taking care of his bodies in Gotham at that point, or so he thought, until he was told he had not only a new body on his table and Red Robin waiting to be escorted to his morgue.

Now Danny has to juggle the growing chaos that it they spirits of Gotham while trying to make sure none of his bodies are identified, even if that means making a mess of Red Robin's investigations.

[thewriterg]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧’ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬 chp.5

pairing(s); simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader, johnny ‘soap’ mactavish x fem!reader, kyle ‘gaz’ garrick x fem!reader, john ‘bravo six’ price, werewolf!soap, harp crow hybrid!gaz, dragon hybrid!price, wraith!hybrid (?) ghost, phoenix!hybrid (?) reader

summary; debriefs, makeups, and a cockatrice.

word count; 3.0k+ | chasin’ chaos masterlist

warning(s); monster au, dark twisted themes, normal cod violence, firearms, knives, combat, pinning (?), poly themes, death, r call sign is flatline, blood consumption, eventual smut, kissin, and language

A/n: Daddy’s home 🌝

“Preliminary recon?” Gaz notes, reading over the files that were passed around sitting in the window seal of the meeting room. He appreciates this room the most, the open bay window gives him a break from all the artificial lighting of base. The drift he gets against his wings that slightly ruffle his oak colored feathers against the radius lifts his spirits a little. —something to do with the nature of harpies, he's sure—. The crow hybrid has one leg underneath the other, talon clawed foot poking out along with the few stray feathers that lay against his calves in patches: unflexed, delicate, and soft since no threat was present.

“For the international corps. They’ll be sending us three of their best soon.” Price answers, arms crossed over his broad chest, stray wing spread strong, thick hairless pear green tail still behind his knees, horns mirroring the sight. He has the small quirk of his lips that he usually does, his form screams power and it wouldn’t take a wolf or vampire to smell the authority on the captain.

“Whew… really making us earn our keep, Captain” The rich skinned sergeant whistles combined with a slight chirp.

“Kyle will take point, Ghost and Deity on support, and Soap on clean up if it calls for it.” You sit in front of Gaz, your chin resting on your propped up knee staring boredly at the Mohawked sergeant across from you that immediately went to protest at his position.

“Clean up duty? What I do to you Price, shit in your coffee?” The wolf’s sarcastic remark doesn’t go unrecognized and his deadpan expression makes it all the obvious he’s not impressed.

“With the full moon in a few days you’re lucky I’m letting you leave homebase at all lad” The dragon matches the man’s tone, gaze pointing at him directly as to say: ‘don’t dig a hole for yourself’. You lean back in your chair, backside pressing against the wall and can feel Gaz’s calf feathers puff up against your shoulder there ghosting over his skin. It could bring a smirk to your face, that he still flaunted himself towards you way after the courting process. You throw your arm out on the edge of the window as you would on the back of the couch and the harpy wants to chur at the open initiation of touch. The hand that wasn’t balled in a fist propping up his cheek goes to brush against your forearm. The strokes are precise and broad like a paintbrush and if you weren’t immune to it goosebumps would’ve risen atop of your skin at the slight drag of his claws.

Kyle wasn’t stupid he knew you were reaching out about the night previous. You barely affectionately reached out to any of them but he didn’t take it to heart after a while. ‘Emotionally constipated’ he liked to joke to the team. Yet you had more than enough reason to reach out when night terrors plagued his mind.

💌💌💌💌

Gaz was painfully aware of this situation he was in being a dream and he didn’t know if that was worse. Dressed head to toe in tac gear bullets punctured through his shoulder and thigh. The sight around him makes him sick, his homebase rained hell upon. The 141 all lie in a pool of their own cold blood, dead before they have a chance to hit the floor.

The sergeant's wings were totaled and if he didn’t have more to worry about he would sob at the connection dying from them. Pitifully, he drags himself to cover behind a base issued truck. His ears are ringing and his body is overheated. When he settles and finally stops turning his head over his shoulder, the feeling of burning bile rises up in throat. Price lied unmoving, staring right back at him with lifeless eyes. One side of the dragon was completely burned and the other battered with bruises and knicks. Calm shore crashing blue eyes turned to nothing but still cold waters.

The harpy is not sure how exactly a phone made its way to his palm, if he’d taken it off the captain or got it off himself, all he knows is he’s dialing that number so familiar to his finger tips.

He fully come to terms that he’s in a dream now if he hadn’t before, somethings are just physically impossible to happen in real life —Yet it still hurts all the same.— The world almost fades to black and just before the tine fails he hears a click on the other side. A scene begins to draw itself out in real time as the hybrid begins to see you standing outside somewhere dressed in your usual all black attire.

“Y/n?! Y/n are you there I need you?!” He opens his mouth and it has yet to register to his shaken brain.

“Kyle?” You questioned, having only called him his real name on occasion and he missed the way he sounded on your lips.

“Oh thank god-, thank god y/n, you’re gonna save me right? I-I called you and you're comin’ to get me?” He tries to suppress his broken whimpers at the end of his rushed rant yet they escaped, neither of you cared to comment on it.

“Kyle, why did you call me? I work for another task force now, I can’t save you.” His brown eyes look at you on the other line, phone pressed against your ear, lips pressed into a line, and brows furrowed. The reality settles on him.

“You didn’t pick up…”

“Right.”

“It went to voicemail.”

“Yeah.”

“..So, this is where it ends.” The words were automated, he wouldn’t say that! He could fix it, he would fix it!

“It’s too late, what’s done is done…” He looks at you again and you of course can’t see him there. The way he painfully reaches out for you, his dead wings weighing his weak body back. You're picking at a loose thread of your jacket, staring off into the abyss.

“There’s nothing I can do Kyle, I’m not real. None of this is…” He knows, he truly knows it deep down yet… he hates to hear you say it.

“So what do I do now?”

“Kyle… it doesn’t matter”

“Well if it doesn’t matter… Can I stay on the phone with you at least?” He hums lying on his good side as the adrenaline wears down and out of his body.

“Okay…” You hum, sitting on the curb of some sort.

“How was your day?” The toffee skinned sergeant sighed gently, rattling his lungs.

“Good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, my day was good.”

💌💌💌💌

“The op’s meant to be covert, Mactavish. A giant dog scream that to you?” Ghosts gruff voice falls over the conference room and the mutt ‘tsks’ underneath his breath before responding with a curt

“No sir”

You watch the interaction intensely, always the one to observe. Another moment passes and you hum standing from your chair, eyes advert towards your form. Gaz ignores the yearning in his chest and the urge to feel your skin underneath his fingers.

“Pups on clean up, got it. Mind if we wrap this up? I'm hungry.” Price looks at you wearily, before muttering a gruff ‘dismissed’ underneath his breath. You turn expectantly at the harpy crow pulling him with your eyes before you move towards the exit. The hybrid doesn't miss a beat hoping down from his position in the window. Soap irritably follows you both out, parting ways from the debrief room with a stiff tail.

“I was thinking, we could go to the abandoned dock… If you didn't have anything to do.” Gaz watched as you uncertainly inquired with an unusual bashfulness to you that lied underneath the surface of your mask. The harpy fights the calling to puff out the feathers on his chest in response to the rare display.

“Is the sky blue?” He teases and you can't stop yourself from rolling your eyes while the sergeant laughs at the display. You sigh as you both reach the outdoors the wind ruffles the feathers on the crows wings and sends slight chills up your spine at the quick change in temperature. The walk to the dock isn't too far from base somewhere close, yet scheduled and soon enough you're both stepping on the boardwalk. The wood doest croak beneath the pressure while making a way to the ledge Gaz takes a seat his leg dangling above the lake and you follow in suit. The silence is comfortable, the environment around you says what you don't. The current of the water, the leaves rustling in the trees, the bees humming and buzzing further away.

“ Did you sleep any better last night?” The sergeant’s gaze adverts while you stare out onto the water. He couldn't help to stare at your form, your eyes soft and your posture laxed. It was nice to see you so… domesticated. When he doesn't respond your eyes pierce him expectantly waiting for a response and he hums.

“Always sleep better with you” He grins and it isn't short of beautiful. You nudge his shoulder with yours in mock annoyance, the warm skinned harpy leans into you and you allow it. The silence falls over the both of you once more while the sun begins to set against the horizon. He feels you shift above him but doesn't move to look.

“Kyle, I'd never leave you for dead. No matter what happens or how things end… I'll always care for you” As the sergeant moves his line of sight to you his eyes slightly widen at your bare face. Youve shown your face to him a handful of times, usually in the small group setting you always preferred and his breath always seemed to slip away from him despite the fact. The color of your irises, the curve of your nose, the plump of your lips, stray scars from years of battle, the way your curls roll down your shoulders falling loose from the bun you had them in. He could never tire from any of it.

“I know you wouldn't.” He nods his head in response, never averting his eyes from you. The sergeant begins to sit up right and you meet him halfway; the kiss is gentle and soft; it says everything and nothing. Kyle defines himself as a selfish man because the thought of having to break away from you and eventually go back to base is almost worse than the night terror that plagued his mind the night before. You eventually break away from one another and Gaz chases your lips. You huff and nudge him away with your cheek trying to retreat from his over exaggerated puckered lips, you both tip backwards falling back on the boardwalk. The harpy rolls atop of you prepping kisses all over the surface of your face: The plumpness of your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, the curve of your lips, the skin on your neck. You grunt at the affection and once you had enough you flip yourselves over taking position on top of the harpy. Your hips position on top of his and you take hold of his wrists.

“I’d live in this position if I could Lt.” The toffee skinned sergeant grins up at you while you roll your eyes at his remark.

“You're hangin’ around Soap too much” He hums in response, not moving to deny, it makes you sigh all the more. Gaz grins mischievously and before you could raise a brow he flaps his wings forcing you down to press against his chest.

“If you wanted me closer, all you had to do was ask.” You can't stop the quirk of your lip at the way he looks at you and you're suddenly aware of proximity as well as your position. Your crotch is positioned atop of his, your chests are pressed against one another, and you could feel his breath against your skin. He hums in reply before his lips part.

“I always want you close, Luietantiet.” He practically growls and it isn't hard to give in to his succumbs as your lips smash together and your hips start to rock at a steady pace.

💌💌💌💌

“A fucking cockatrice, so much for a covert OP.” Soap chimes arrogantly into his mic, the Scott wasn't fully transitioned but he did double in size, ears pointed, and more hair adorning his body. He just sounded like he had a smirk on his face and it took everything in Ghots’s being to not wipe it off.

“Hey- silver lining! You're not just cleaning up anymore.” Gaz grunts between words he's perched on the hybrid's shoulders, wrestling a cloth on its eyes as it struggles beneath him. Out of all the bird hybrids he probably hated cockatrice the most and this one wasnt giving them a better track record at all.

“Hell of a recon mission Price.” The harpy chirps into his own mic, as soon as he thought he had a good grip the bird opened his mouth with a screech. The warm skinned sergeant lost his balance falling to the ground and the opposing bird didn't let up, grabbing hold of his wings and pinning them to his hips, applying much more pressure on one over the other. He curses openly twisting in the rabid animals' hold, freeing one wing and unsuccessful in granting freedom to the other. The cockatrice hisses, eyes an uncanny, piercing, red. Soap jumps on the back of the threat, tearing his claws into the hybrid's back, pasts his feathers and into his flesh.

“Chicken..” The two lock eyes and the cockatrice doesn't take a second before flinging the wolf off his back with the flap of his wing. The white feathered being began to panic when Ghost's shadows wrap around his wrists. The skull masked lieutenant pulls the rope like smoke down as the bird struggles underneath him.

“How long are you two gonna keep catching your breath?” He questions gruffly into his mic the hybrid slipping his shadows after twisting and turning from every which direction. The hybrid settles before opening his mouth to let out that wretched screech, but before he could fully project your orange and red sparks of energy wrap around his body and beak.

“Shut the fuck up.” You hiss before throwing its mass form into the tree with the swipe of your wrist. There's littered cracks up your skin like a cracked glass doll that shines a glowing orange underneath the surface. You take a few strides to stand at the side of Gaz and Ghost.

“You broken? The Phoenix and Wraith look at him wearlily and the harpy notes the thin sheet of worry underneath the glare of both of his lieutenants' eyes. Your face is free of your mask the hybrids doing, he was sure; your face matches your hands –the only skin not covered by your gear– cracks kissing your cheeks and your eyes glowing a faint orange.

“Fucker got my wing.” The sergeant huffs rolling his shoulder and attempting to stretch his cramped wing.

“Pay him back for the favor.” Ghost remarks gently raking his gruff fingers through the twisted feathers as gently as he could.

“Planning on it.” He mumbles, handing you your mask that he kept tucked away since he found it. You nod at him in thanks before slipping it back over your head, slipping your gloves back on in suit from your pockect. Before you could part your lips your attention directed towards the stray tail that came at you. Gaz expands his good wing stretching it behind your backs acting as a wall of protection. You and Ghost Interlock shadows and energy to rope around the cockatrice's tail. You all come to see Soap tearing a chunk out of the hybrid's neck as its squeaks and screeches die out. He’d tripled in size and shifted completely.

“..Fucking hell…” Ghost mutters

“So much for keeping it together ‘till the full moon. Guess we're lucky he's getting his energy out now, Soaps a handful when his wolf takes over.” Gaz hums knowingly at the scene.

“Less of a chatterbox at least.” You muse watching as the wolf digs into the white feather bird way past his time of death.

“Sure, but harder to wrangle. Can understand orders well enough, doesn't mean he’ll follow them and he’s… got a lot less inhibitions.” The wolf lands in front of you all, tail swiftly thumping behind, him panting softly.

“Menace in all forms, Huh?” You chide rubbing up and down the wolf's snout while his tongue darts to lick at your hand. Ghost fights the quirk of his lips at the sight, as the scott rubs himself against his body, stealing chin scratches from Gaz.

“He stuck like this until the end of the full moon?” The skull masked lieutenant questioned taking the thought from your mind.

“Or when the wolf gets bored. Whichever comes first.” The harpy replied not taking his eyes off the thick furred sergeant. He eventually hums and nudges you both with his eyes for help. You begin to lead the way, quickly turning around at the sound of the wolf whining and whimpering. Ghosts has his shadows around his neck as a makeshift leash yet that doesn't seem to be the reason for his protest. His animalistic brown eyes don't seem to leave your form as he approaches you. The Scott’s snout nudges your shoulder and you lift your hand up to see what he wants and with sharp teeth he tugs your glove off.

“You serious?” You huff at him as he licks your hand before nuzzling his neck on the same spot, whining when you didn't seem to comply.

“Alright, Alright.” You roll your eyes as you take part in Ghosts' shadows, red and orange sparks littering the black smoke around the wolf's neck. You both have hold of the wolf while Gaz lied perched on his furry back. You could imagine the facepalm and deep sigh Price would give you all when you returned to base.

💌💌💌💌

Not the post you were expecting on your feed 😭

it’s been a hell of a year and it’s only march hello?

trying to form a posting schedule, mind you.

[nullusreimorio]

Degrees of Lewdity AU: Actor AU

Yes, you heard that right, folks! DoL:ActAU will now be a thing in my blog.

Re-reading this made my brain go BRRRR, because in my head a random person getting their costume's head off is that funny, and from there it all spiraled down.

The Whitney breaks Syd's glasses scene in particular is stuck in my head, because I imagine that at some point, right before Whit can grab the glasses, Syd would scream to wait, making Whit shit himself cuz dude what is happening. The director screams cut, of course. "I'm so sorry, these are my real glasses-" while laughing, and taking them off to give into custody before putting on the props, with Whitney just wheezing in the background.

The genderbent version of LIs would mostly be people that really resemble each other, except for the Kylar duo. They are twins who love to scare other people by just staring at them (it is a running inside joke on set).

Bailey is actually a sweet parental figure off-character, always making sure he didn't actually hurt the other actors (think Jason Isaac in Harry Potter as he switches between the cruel Lucius Malfoy and actually caring for Tom Felton, asking him if he's ok and apologizing when he did in fact hurt him by accident)

Another running gag on set is Harper just.. being there. Smiling at everyone with cold eyes, bombing pictures and selfies. Sometimes they stay in the background of the scene, looking directly at the camera. They say it's funnier to stay in character. Off-character they are very fun to be around, but they enjoy unsettling people. Them and the Kylars are sometimes banned from being in the studio if the scene doesn't need them.

GH got tangled up in the fly system. Everyone laughed and took pictures and videos, but promptly eliminated them at GH's request. They are shy.

The Averys enjoy their role very much. What they don't enjoy is having to drink grape juice or scented water instead of actual alcohol. They do get a nice glass of wine once off-set are over.

Whenever the Wrens are in the studio, F!Whit, M!Robin, the Wrens, F!BW, the Edens, F!Avery and the Baileys get a bit too much into playing cards. Blackjack, Durak, Scopa, Rummy, Machiavelli... the list could go on. They always manage to rope technicians to play with them as well.

Everyone hates the Kylars because their makeup doesn't need much time, while everyone else (ESPECIALLY GH, BW and IW) need enough time to always look polished/roughed up, depending on the situation.

M!Jordan is actually atheist, and whenever he has to talk like a true Christian guy, once his line is over he mocks himself. He enjoys wearing his costume off-set just for shits and giggles, and other actors often visit him in the confessional just to say "I'm sorry daddy, I've been naughty~" "Jail for a hundred years. NEXT"

F!Jordan and Ivory Wraith are actually cousins, and sometimes M!Jordan and Ivory Wraith swap costumes to see if there is any difference other than Jordan's massive tits.

Aaaand that's it, for now! As of now this is how far my brain thought while in the middle of exams, I will slowly add more into it. I don't know if it was already done, but thinking about these jackasses actually play-pretending makes me feel better ^^

[chuuyaspinkmotorcycle]

Day 28: Medical/Poison

Dazai is a genius. Everyone knows that.

Geniuses don’t make mistakes. Everyone also knows that.

So what happens when a genius makes the ittiest-bittiest-littlest miscalculation that rivals even a certain slug’s height?

You get said slug princess-carrying you to Mori’s personal ER because of a poison-laced bullet that had no right being in the hands of a now-dead enemy, let alone being inside Dazai currently.

Safe to say, it hurts like a fucking bitch.

“Chuuya, faster!” Dazai whines, gripping even harder onto Chuuya’s arm from where it’s been digging in for the last 15 minutes since he got shot. “You know I hate pain!”

“Shit, I know that, dumbass. I’m /trying/,” Chuuya grits. They can only go so fast thanks to Dazai cancelling the redhead’s ability. Dazai opens his mouth to retort but Chuuya beats him to it. “And I’m not your damn dog.”

Dazai deflates back to his previous position of jamming his head into Chuuya’s shoulder.

He shouldn’t have been shot. The person who had the laced bullet shouldn’t have been there. And Dazai shouldn’t have been where he was when the gun fired.

But someone had tried to sneak attack Chuuya with a tranquilizer of all things while the redhead was busy ricocheting bullets and Dazai had been sneaking on the sidelines towards the enemy’s backside to pincer them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he’d seen the perpetrator creeping on Chuuya. Intel had told him how many personnel there were and he’d been counting how many Double Black took out. There was nothing about a sniper on the other side.

So he’d ditched his cover to get a better shot at Chuuya’s would-be attacker and pulled the trigger.

Only to feel the intense pain of his flesh and muscles tearing under the force of a 9mm bullet, as if him firing his own gun had instead shot himself. But he knew it couldn’t have been that as he watched the man he’d fired at fall to the ground dead.

He thinks he fell to his knees around this point, connected to the dead man like their strings had been snapped.

And then Chuuya was whipping around to face him, the horror coloring his face pale before it 180’d to pure rage. The bullets he’d been holding hostage with his ability quickly swept through the area, taking out every enemy, and the last three were sent upwards to the angle Dazai’s attacker had fired from.

The sick sound of a body hitting the ground was the only indication that Chuuya had hit his target, but the redhead hadn’t even seemed concerned with this, already in front of Dazai and lifting him up in a mad dash to their getaway ride.

Dazai may have slipped into unconsciousness a few times throughout the trip, but he knows that Hirotsu’s never driven that fast before.

And that’s how they ended up here, Chuuya rushing a semi-delirious Dazai down the hall towards Mori’s surgery room.

“Chibiiiii,” Dazai’s voice pitches, shrill in a way that would normally drive Chuuya insane, as a wave of pain washes over him again. The redhead’s hold tightens around him and he blinks his unbandaged eye open.

Mori’s medical bay is empty as always, reserved for only those deemed important enough to be saved by the doctor’s hand.

Dazai doesn’t particularly care if someone were to see him right now. Almost every mafia member cannot get a read on his masks, so even if he gives in to being childish over a bullet wound, they would still fear the potential of the utter whiplash that comes with the Black Wraith’s faux moods.

At the end of the hall waits Mori, decked in scrub gear and doors propped open in anticipation of their arrival.

“Ah, Dazai-kun, Chuuya-kun,” Mori greets, extending an arm towards the bed meant for Dazai.

“Boss,” Chuuya responds, walking past the man with barely a glance. He beelines for the bed, already laying Dazai down by the time the brunet is complaining again.

“Mori-san, hurry and take it out! It HURTS!” Dazai practically yells. That look of annoyed affection passes over Mori’s face as the man comes over.

“Patience, Dazai-kun,” Mori says, putting latex gloves on. Dazai immediately opens his mouth to tell him off but Mori interrupts. “Chuuya-kun, take a general antidote and scrub up. We don’t know how this type of poison works just yet.”

And then Chuuya’s turning and maybe Dazai was a little more out-of-it than he realized but next thing he knows, his chest /sinks/ as the redhead walks /away./

“Wait—“ Dazai starts, only to feel the telltale pinprick of an IV piercing his hand and the immediate coolness of /something/ entering his bloodstream. “Wait…”

The world grows blurry — well, blurrier — fast before going dark.

When he wakes, it’s to the typical white, sterile room that greets him every other week. The blinds are down and the lights off, though slips of light sneak in through the blinds’ cracks.

So it’s daytime, at least. He doesn’t know what day and closes his eyes again. There’s a weight on one of his arms and an ache throughout his body, centered around his lower torso, and it takes a second for the events that led him here to come back to him.

Mission, sneak-attacker, sniper, bullet, unbearable pain.

Car ride, hallway, Mori, antidote, scrubs, cold—

Wait.

Mori had Chuuya take an antidote, right?

So he should be fine. But what if he’s not? Or something happened? Or it was a rare poison Mori didn’t have the antidote for?

Beside him, a heart monitor beeps out of rhythm only twice before returning to normal.

On his other side, the one that felt weighed down, a head of messy, red hair springs up and wide, blue eyes meet his own bleary ones.

“You’re awake,” Chuuya breathes out. Dazai thinks he sees relief in the swirl of emotions within Chuuya’s eyes. “Fuck, you’re awake.”

Dazai doesn’t really know how to respond to that, but Chuuya keeps looking at him and all he can do is hold eye contact with the redhead, waiting for something — he doesn’t know what — to happen.

And then Chuuya punches his shoulder, forcing a grimace from him.

“What the hell?”

“That’s what you deserve for getting yourself shot, you damn idiot!” Chuuya yells at him. He sounds upset. Dazai doesn’t like that. It’s not like he /tried/ to get shot, after all. “You were out for two days, mackerel.”

Oh. Slug’s worried.

“Mm,” Dazai hums. “But I’m okay.”

“Yeah, but—“

“Chibi’s too loud.”

Chuuya goes quiet, glaring at him with that contemplative look he always gets after Dazai does something he deems stupid.

“Whatever,” Chuuya scoffs. He points an accusatory finger at the brunet. “Don’t fucking do that shit again.”

Dazai purses his lips, attempting to turn over to go back to sleep. Talking to an angry Chuuya is no fun when the other gets truly mad and Dazai is bedridden so he can’t escape.

There’s a brief silence with only the heart monitor’s occasional beeps piercing through.

“Fine. Don’t die in your sleep.” The ruffling of Chuuya getting up and starting to walk away enters his mind, and maybe it’s because the last time this happened he was hurt and delirious and almost panicking, but his chest begins to drop in that same way it did before and he moves to reach out.

By the time he looks up, arm outstretched at the redhead, Chuuya’s already looking back at him, the sounds of Dazai shuffling around catching his attention.

Dazai slowly brings his hand back. He murmurs, “Chuuya can stay if he wants.”

Chuuya blinks back before letting out a slow sigh as if he’d been holding his breath. He returns to his seat, scooting it closer to the bed than before, and sarcastically mutters back, “I guess since you ‘asked’ nicely.”

Dazai twists the rest of himself to face Chuuya, content with him by his side, and opens his mouth to start a conversation that’ll likely end in an barely aggressive argument of some sorts.

[beansprean]

Oh to be is grabbed...

My Familiar’s Ghost part 52

Masterpost

New pages on Patreon!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Close up on Ghost Guillermo, both hands held out in front of him and clenched in the air as if trying to grab onto something. His ghostly light is flaring brightly around him, filling the entire panel as he strains and shakes, eyes closed and lips pressed firmly together. 2. Zoom out to a wide shot of Guillermo on one side of the table and Nadja on the other, Dolly propped in her lap. The taxidermy beaver Nandor is in the center of the table, draped in the bloody blouse, with lit candles in a circle around it casting an orange glow on everyone present. Guillermo lets out a breath and deflates, relaxing his arms exhaustedly. Tendrils of his ghostly light retreat back toward him. His wraith cloak is nearly fully formed. He says, 'This isn't working! I'm thinking of the Panera as hard as I can, but it's hard to remember exactly what it looks like.' Nadja scowls, replying, 'Well, there's your problem!' 3. Close up on Nadja and Dolly. Nadja waves her hand at Guillermo and says 'You should be thinking about Nandor. Surely you have enough about him living in your stupid little wraith brain.' Dolly nods from her lap. 4. Reverse shot of Guillermo, staring anxiously back with his fists pulled close to his chest. Dolly says from offscreen: 'Picture him in your mind. Materialize your bond with him. It may be helpful to imagine it as a string connecting you or a hand reaching out.' Nadja adds 'Then just...' 5. Reverse shot of Nadja grinning as she grabs Dolly around the torso with both hands and whooshes her up into the air, continuing, 'Grab him!' Dolly smiles and throws her arms in the air in a ta-da motion; text nearby reads 'is grabbed' in brackets. 6. Shot of Guillermo in profile as he looks back down at the nanbeaver facing him, touching a hand to his chin in thought. Still visibly nervous, he replies, 'Right, right, I can do that...' From offscreen, Dolly asks 'I wonder if Guillerpire slays ghosts, too?' Nadja responds 'Mm, I guess we'll see.' 7. Extreme closeup on Guillermo's face in profile as he straightens and closes his eyes, breathing out steadily. His ghostly light begins to flare up again, and a vision of Nandor from their talk in the attic appears in the background, looking shy and tucking his hair behind his ear. 8. Repeat. The vision in the background changes to Nandor pinned to the wall of his crypt by the stake Guillermo threw in his rage, and Guillermo physically flinches back. /End ID

[pampanope]

7-11 Gameplay voice-lines based on @kings-out-of-pocket-hell ‘s post~

7-11 lore bite i guess???

(it’s such a fun ideaaa and I think everyone should give it a try with their oc :))))

Warning for language and unhinged behavior ✨

Match Start

“Don’t be reckless.”

“Happy hunting~””

“Let’s sweep ‘em.”

“If you see any Konni, they’re mine.”

Throwing Lethal

“Using lethal.”

(Throwable explosive) “FIRE IN THE HOLE!”

(Throwable explosive) “Sending hot potato.”

(Molotov) “Drink up.”

(Throwing knife/axe) “Always wanted live target practice…”

(Throwing knife/axe) “Ha! Nailed it.”

(Throwing Thermal grenade) “Deploying war crime.”

(Tossing C4) “Deploying explosive brick.”

Using Tactical

(Concussive & Flash) “Bang, baby.”

(Concussive & Flash) “Throwing Tactical!”

(Stim shot) “GRRRRRRRRRRR.”

(Smoke Grenade) “Ninja vanish…”

Friendly Fire

“‘EY, I’M WALKING HERE.”

“I’m gonna drag your ass to the shooting range if you keep that up.”

“Try that again, and I’ll show you friendly.”

“Oh, YOU WANNA GO?!”

Eliminating enemy

“Target down.”

“Enemy eliminated.”

(With a launcher) giggling “I GOT ROCKETS.”

(With a knife) “Careful. I bite~

(With a knife) “The knife was getting thirsty.”

(With a bat) “Wraith, that was for you.”

(With a sniper rifle) “Karma strikes again.”

(With a sniper rifle) “Smoked.”

Downed

“Cough Nope. Still not going to medical.”

“Dammit, they clipped me.”

“Need to…hang on…”

Reviving

“Get up, this isn’t the end.”

“You’ll be okay.”

(Azzy) “C’mon, still got some asses to kick.”

(Pixel) “I got you, kid.”

(Lock) “Let’s make those rats pay.”

(Wolf) “You’re alright, pup.”

(Sentinel) “Got some assholes to disappear.”

(Graves) “Still need you, sir.”

(Emile) “I’ll always pick you up.”

(Emile) “I’m here, Sweetheart.”

Surviving enemy fire

“HAH! DO BETTER!”

“Well that gun’s wasted on you.”

“Oh, you’re getting bit, asshole.”

“I ain’t gonna be Swiss cheese, dammit.”

Laughs “You’re softer than my plush.”

Killstreak rewards

(Dreadnought) “Summoning Cupcake.”

(Chopper Gunner) “Cut ‘em down, buddy.”

(RC XD) “Man, I hate using these.”

(Napalm strike) “Now where’s their spawn point…”

(Sentry Turret) “I’ll name it Shooty McShootface.”

(Watchdog Helo) “Scary dog privilege~”

(Care package) “I hope they sent snacks.”

Using Field upgrade

(Spring mine) “I hope they’re not too attached to their legs…”

(Spring mine) “Do they need legs? Naaah…”

(Assault pack) “I brought food~”

(Acoustic Amp) “Time to go hunting.”

(War Cry) howls like a wolf

(Sleeper agent) “Time to use what Emile taught me.”

(Sleeper agent) Hums Perry the Platypus theme

Misc.

(Vs enemy with riot shield) “You should be embarrassed.”

(Killing sleeper agent) “I’ve seen better. And you’re not as pretty.”

(Throwing grenade back) “You DROPPED THIS.”

(Capturing objective) “Mine.”

(Becoming HVT) “I’m neither high nor am I valuable.”

(Becoming HVT) “Oh god, please no.”

(Emile becoming HVT) “Stay behind me, Emmy.”

(Sees Emile go down) “NOOO!! EMILE!”

(Planting bomb on S&D) “Adding a bit of spice.”

(Catching fire) “OW OW OW.”

(Revenge kill) “Yeah, fuck you, too.”

(Revenge kill) “Payback’s sweet.”

(Hiding near Emile in Prop Hunt) “Damn. We look good.”

Victory

“Outstanding shit.”

“And that’s how it’s done.”

Defeat

“Tch. Dammit.”

“Retreat! For now.”

[nightlyrequiem]

Be Still My Heart

Chapter 20- The Storm After the Calm

Masterlist AO3 Next Previous

New Chapter Every Saturday

You're the best in the meth industry but a new product suddenly pops up. You and your boss, Valeria, must figure out who is making it so you can take back the market. All the while tension is building between the two of you.

A/N: if my tits don't grow in the next year someone is dying, and it won’t be me. Also, can't let people be happy for too long. I have to get my fill of angst and drama like the filthy little addict I am. Enjoy.

Tags/Warnings: Illegal Substances, Boss Employee Relationship, Angst, Some Hurt/Comfort, Violence, Manipulation, Suggestive Themes, Smut (But Only in CH19.), Dual POV

A pleasant, light breeze blows through the open windows. Cooling the sweat on Valeria's forehead. Your warm body splays over hers, an arm slung over her side. One of her hands rests on your lower back, the other under her head. That's how she's been laying for the last five minutes since waking up. Valeria doesn't get to relish in these domestic moments very often, so she wants to enjoy them while they last.

She runs her hand back and forth over your back while she watches you sleep. Getting the woman she's been pining after for months feels so much better than she thought it would. Hyper voices float up from downstairs, disturbing the peace. Grating laughter reaches her ears, and yours as you begin to stir. The blanket covering the window turns the warm sunlight green when it washes over the room. Still, despite the dimmed lighting you squint and mutter. You push off of Valeria and adjust your tank top, an action that Valeria watches intently.

You yawn, and stretch, and get off the mattress. Searching around for some pants. She allows her gaze to roam over your backside appreciatively.

"What time is it?" You ask tiredly. 

Valeria feels along the floor for her phone and checks. "12:40PM." She replies. You hum in acknowledgment. Valeria watches you for a few more seconds before forcing herself out of bed. Her back and hips ache in protest. Making her wince. She scavenges her own clothes and dresses herself, following you out of the room.

You avoid the creaky floorboards like a wraith while Valeria walks over them without care. Downstairs in the living room, Mark and Alain are posted up on the couch, game controllers in hand. Valeria plops down beside Alain and watches blankly, still in the process of waking up. The guys' yelping and heckling is too loud and abrasive to Valeria's tired ears, but she doesn't snap at them to be quiet.

Mark loses whatever game they were playing and tosses his controller to the floor. He turns to Valeria.

"Morning." He says. "Sleep well?"

"Sure." She nods boredly. 

Mark pauses and unsuccessfully suppresses an amused smile. "Didn't sound like it last night." He says. 

It takes Valeria a few moments to process his words. She gives him a warning look.

"Mind your business." She says harshly.

"What didn't sound like it?" You ask, walking into the living room with a glass of water. 

"Never mind." Mark shakes his head. You sit down at the foot of the couch, kicking a few empty cans out of the way.

"By the way, what are we doing when we actually find this guy? Doug?" You ask, looking at Valeria. "Are we going to kill him?"

Mark raises his hands.

"You are own your own with that, I ain't trying to catch no murder charge." 

"We could get him to work for us." You suggest, looking around for agreement. Rick, who was propped up in the corner scoffs at you.

"That's a dumb fucking plan." He says harshly. Sounding almost angry that you even suggested it. Even Valeria, who is usually angry and judgmental is surprised by the pure dislike in his voice.

You swivel your head to look at him, shoulders tensed defensively.

"It was a suggestion, asshole." You snipe back. "If you think it's stupid then why don't you contribute to the conversation?"

"I will, but I don't think you should." He says. "Just because you cook good meth doesn't mean you have strategic intelligence. Or regular intelligence for that matter. You're not better than the rest of us just because you cook, the average junkie can make decent meth."

Everyone stares at you and Rick, unsure of how to tread these grounds.

"Woah, lets calm down yeah? No need to get so spiteful." Mark chuckles, trying to lighten the mood.

Neither you nor Rick seem to hear him or care. 

"Genuinely what the hell is your problem?" You snap. "You're always giving me evil eyes and dogging on me, what did I do?"

"Are you serious?" He replies angrily. Aggressively approaching. Valeria sits up slightly. Deciding to let things unfold on their own but ready to step in should he become violent with you. "You ghosted my sister out of nowhere, do you know how hurt she was about that?" Valeria frowns, starting to feel nervous about where this may be going.

"What are you talking about?" You ask, bewildered. Beside her, Valeria hears Alain open a canned drink.

Hurt and anger take turns in Rick's eyes.

"Corra." He says, the words making Valeria's blood freeze. You laugh but it's clear you aren't happy. She watches you stand, rigid with anger.

"Your sister asked me out as a joke." You tell him, voice full of rage. Valeria calms herself, there's no getting out of this now. 

Rick furrows his brows. "What the fuck are you talking about? No she didn't." He denies. "She had to hype herself up just to approach you. She was so excited when you agreed to a date that she wouldn't shut the hell up about it." Rick's voice catches. 

You go silent. Everyone seems to go silent. even that stupid, loud clock seems quieter.

"She didn't understand why you suddenly went so cold. My last memories with my sister before she was shipped off to here, before she died, are her feeling inadequate and stupid. Fuck you for making her feel that way. You never deserved Corra." He continues hatefully.

"There was no bet?" You say, sounding upset. You look at Valeria, then Alain. "There was no bet?" Alain shakes his head.

"Not that I know of." He says casually. Your brows are furrowed, distress written across your face. Valeria rubs her jaw, frowning and meeting your gaze when you look at her.

The look you give her makes her skin crawl uncomfortably. Like little mites are crawling all over her, only a shower won't get rid of the feeling. You look hurt, angry, betrayed. You seem to lose all confidence.

"I'm going for a walk." You say flatly. Getting up and walking to the front door and exiting swiftly. Valeria sighs and runs her hands over her face. Not looking forward to dealing with you when you come back. She feels heavily annoyed by the situation. She's starting to learn to not be excited about the good things in life. Because every time something good happens some divine force sees fit to rip it from her hands.

The atmosphere in the house for the next few hours is heavy and oppressive. The longer you're gone the more restless Valeria finds herself feeling. She wants you back so she can resolve this as fast as possible. Rick also seems to be hiding away and sulking, having blown all his energy on bitching you out.

Later that night she gives up on waiting for your return. Your prolonged absence, especially now that it's getting dark in a different city, is starting to worry her but she trusts you to take care of yourself. Though when she's almost over the edge and about to go out searching for you, the front door opens, and you walk in. Not looking at anyone. The others avoid looking at you too, but not Valeria. She stares at you as you walk to the stairs and disappear to the upper level of the house.

She gives you a little space before getting up and seeking you out. Hoping to have a talk with you. The door is closed, and she opens it without knocking. Disgruntled to find you shuffling blankets in the closet. One of the pillows from the bed beside you.

"What are you doing?" She asks, frowning at you.

You stop but don't look her way, frustrating her. "I'm making myself a bed." You mutter, resuming your carefully blanket setup. 

"You already have a bed." Valeria replies flatly, a hint of annoyance dripping from her words.

The floors creak as she walks to the mattress and sits down.

"One for myself." You say.

"I know you're upset but this is a little petty don't you think?" She tells you, trying to talk you out of it. You going out of your way to make yourself separate sleeping arrangements actually hurts her a little. You stop, shoulders tense.

"You're still doing it." You growl angrily. "You're still downplaying my feelings." You whip around to face her, properly angry with her. "It doesn't matter if the reason I'm upset is valid or not, I'm still upset. And actually, I'm very fucking valid. Was there ever a bet, Valeria?" You ask her. Silently waiting for her reply.

She can see in your eyes that you're hoping she says yes. That she at least thought there was, or that Rick lied or didn't know. Valeria is tempted to lie. Spinning a good one on the spot is something she's got quite good at, but for some reason, she also has the desire to give you honesty.

"... No." She replies quietly. "There was no bet."

Your trust in her shatters. She watches in real time as your anger flickers out into smoldering hurt. You shake your head. "I can't believe you did this."

Valeria frowns at your words, hands clenching up fistfuls of blanket in her hands. "Why not?" She asks, voice hardening. "You've worked with me long enough to know I'm not a good person. I've told you I'm not a good person. I am selfish and will do what's needed to get what I want, and I wanted you." She says.

You laugh.

"Are you kidding me?" You snap. "Is that you're go-to response for everything, 'I'm a bad person'? You could at least apologize to me!"

Valeria shrugs uncomfortably, like a chastised child trying to play it cool. "Why would I? It was the best thing for both of us, Corra could never be enough for you." She says dryly.

"Maybe she would've, instead she died thinking I hated her!" You say angrily, your voice cracking at the last part. "I know you certainly aren't good enough for me." You tell her coldly. You rise to your feet and storm out of the room, leaving your words echoing behind you.

Valeria tries to tell herself that it doesn't matter. She's not built for healthy, honest, long-lasting relationships and since she knew this would happen eventually, she's not that upset. But she is. She is upset by it. Telling herself isn't enough anymore. It doesn't stop the ache in her chest or the anger in her heart. Funnily enough, she thinks she may be angrier at herself then you.

[wendichester]

𓂃˖ ࣪ 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔟𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤

˚₊‧꒰ა @jollyhunter ☆ dean winchester ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ ���˙⟡ where taurus, unknown, scorpio meets aquarius, leo, saggitarius. ⟡˙⋆

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑✧˖⋆𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑✧˖⋆𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑✧˖⋆𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑✧˖⋆𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑✧˖⋆𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑✧˖⋆𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑✧˖⋆𖤐

ꔛ. meeting each other,

dean meets you in a way that suits you both--messy, unexpected, and with a fight on your hands. maybe it's a hunt gone sideways, a salt-and-burn that got complicated when a second spirit showed up. you're already in the thick of it when dean stumbles onto the scene, shotgun in hand, eyes narrowed. you don't need saving, and you make it that damn clear from the get go. "who the hell are you?" he demands, breathless from dodging an attack. you don't break stride. "the one keeping you from getting your ass kicked." dean's intrigued by you. he watches you move--efficient, sharp, brutal when necessary. it's clear you know what you're doing, and he likes that. the fight ends with both of you standing over a smoldering corpse, breathing hard. dean finally invites for you drinks, making a shitty attempt at flirting. you snort, head shaking. you're not impressed, not yet. but something in the way he smirks makes you think that maybe you could be.

ꔛ. friendship compatibility,

this is an intense, but oddly perfect friendship. your taurus' sun and scorpio moon make you fiercely loyal, deeply intuitive, and stubborn as hell--all things that mesh well with dean's unwavering dedication and need for someone who just gets it. your bond is built on mutual respect, a ridiculous amount of banter, and the ability to have each other's backs no matter what. you would never lie to each other, even when it hurts. and you'd be the first to call dean out on his bullshit, something he appreciates--even if he wouldn't admit it. you're also stubborn, determined, and relentless when it comes to hunting. you share the same work ethic. although, if you disagree on a hunt, things could get tense quickly. you would easily get frustrated with how little dean values his own life. and emotional walls on both sides!!! neither of you opens up easily, which could lead to friction if you refuse to lean on each other when needed.

ꔛ. romantic compatibility,

now if things turn romantic, this relationship would be intense, deep, and built on years of trust. dean is drawn to passion and loyalty, and you bring both in spades. your taurus venus makes you deeply devoted, but you won't put up with his bullshit ( as stated above ). your taurs energy grounds dean, but your scorpio side keeps things exciting. and there would be an unshakable loyalty ( something dean craves ) between you. if you choose him, it's for the long haul. though you both might struggle with words, you understand each other without needing them. the challenges of this relationship would truly be dean's self-worth issues and you having the patience as he constantly puts himself last. that, as well as your fear of vulnerability. starting a relationship could be complicated as you both have trouble admiting your feelings.

ꔛ. scenario, best friends / hunting partners

the road is endless, miles of asphalt stretching into the horizon, the impala eating up the distance between one hunt and the next. you sit in the passenger seat, boots propped up on the dash, sorting through lore books while dean drums his fingers on the steering wheel. "you're gonna ruin my dashboard," he mutters, eyes glued on your legs. "you've got bigger problems," you reply, flipping a page. "like the fact that this thing we're hunting? yeah--turns out it's not a wraith. it's a shapeshifter." dean groans, tilting his head back. "awesome. i love getting my ass kicked by something that looks like me." you smirk. "maybe this time, it'll be an improvement." he shoots you a look. you grin, but there's warmth behind the teasing. that's the thing about you--you don't need to say everything outright. you just get it. and when the night falls, and the hunt gets ugly, you're side by side. no questions. no hesitation. that's just who you are.

ꔛ. overall, score : 9 / 10

definitely, a ride or die dynamic! this is one of dean's strongest potential bonds. whether as best friends, hunting partners, or something more, your connection is solid, unshakable, and filled with depth. you challenge each other in ways, but neither one will ever walk away. if you stick to friendship, you'll become legends together. if it turns romantic? it's the kind of love that burns slow, steady, and forever.

𓂃˖ ࣪ request a compatibility reading here .ᐟ

* since the birth time of dean hasn't ever been mentioned, I've placed him as a leo rising, since it's the sign that makes more sense to me.

[lamemaster]

The Magician

Request: I feel like it's required for phantom of the opera to be maglor lol! A mask and cloak to hide ears, the light of the Trees,(which could also be why s/o thought of him as an angel!) and his scarred palm. Singing his hauntingly beautiful tragedies into the night, that is where our 'Christine' learned to sing. How very fitting. *Low key inspired by silmapens art of him doing theater*

Pairing(s): Maglor x Reader / (Spoiler) x Reader

Genre: Phantom of the Opera au (hehe)

AN: Fall event yayyyyy~ (Also the way I had half of this thing written before the request is not real. We share the same brain cell anon)

The Shadow, the Wraith—there are many names for the phantom that haunts the halls of Kalis Hala. A sprite whose steps echo at the untimely hours of the night.

Some call him a spirit, others claim he is a man from the East with long, flowing hair, while whispers tell of a doomed elf.

But the theater and its ghost remain inseparable. Entwined in rumors is the Shadow, whose words and music transformed a ramshackle puppet shop into the most esteemed theater in the kingdom.

A legend that holds within it the dreams of hundreds and the tears of thousands. Its backstage hums with the chatter of its artists, its seats brimming with patrons that multiply with each passing day.

Behind the rich, velvety curtains, you stand, clutching a letter. From your confidante, the one whose angelic voice, heard by many, is yet to be linked to a face. The one whose name is engraved on the door of Box Five.

His voice found you in your darkest hour. In the attic of discarded props, you first encountered his mournful notes. And that was how you met him. Ghost to many, the Magician to you.

But tonight, as you prepare to face the crowd for your debut as the lead singer, your heart pounds with uncertainty. In your grasp lies the Magician’s letter—his demands and requirements for tonight’s show.

Your name, written boldly as the lead—a demand that unsettled many. For an unknown nobody from the company to take center stage. Amid the glares and whispers, you murmur his name.

With your eyes closed, you conjure the fleeting image of his flowing black robes of mourning, his nimble fingers wrapped in silken veils, an unchanging presence during your secret meetings. His voice, unlike that of any mortal. His songs that could make you weep, laugh, or slumber at his will.

In the middle of the second act, your eyes find him, and your heart skips a beat.

With renewed fervor, you sing for him, a smile threatening to break across your lips. The rest of the show passes in a blur. As soon as the final note fades, you rush to your changing room, as fast as your feet will carry you.

In the crowded hallway, full of sweaty, euphoric actors, you somehow end up in his arms. You drink in the sight of him as his arms wrap around your waist.

The knight of your dreams.

Tonight, he has decided, tonight will be the night he reveals himself to you—his angel, away from Valinor. The bearer of his songs.

Maglor had watched you perform from the rafters, from the safety of rooms unknown even to the oldest patrons.

Tonight, when the world craves to hold you, he will be the one to claim your time and affection.

And perhaps, in time, you will come to love him—his mask, and beyond. The scars of the Silmaril may yet be healed by the kiss of your lips. You are his salvation.

He waits for you in your changing room, hidden behind the mirror that leads to his secret tunnels. Tonight, you will see him in your reflection.

Barely resisting the urge to claw at his mask, Maglor waits. Any moment now.

From minutes to hours, to the pale sprinkling of dawn, he waits. But you do not come.

His mind races with scenarios—wild, maddening thoughts. Has someone dared lay claim to his prodigy? Did he not make his intentions clear to the patrons?

It isn’t until later that he sees the reason for your absence. The gleaming knight of Rivendell. Once Lord of the House of the Golden Flower—Glorfindel. Seated in the box closest to you, his gaze fixed on you, your careless, fleeting glances in his direction tinkering with your faltering notes.

Your changing room, once overflowing with roses from Maglor, is now invaded by the cheer of the Golden Flower.

With clenched fists, crescent moons imprinted on his palms, Maglor watches as you effortlessly fall into the arms of the golden lord, who tucks back your wayward hair with aching familiarity.

"You must meet him," you prattle cheerfully to the blurred figure of your phantom. "Glorfindel is a friend. A savior. I wouldn't be here—"

Your words die in your throat as an unseen force seizes your lips, silencing you. Panic floods your chest as you look to the Magician. The usual warmth in his presence has been replaced by a chilling cold.

"You skipped four notes tonight," he declares, his voice like ice. "Is this the time for such cheer?" His words echo harshly in the attic.

You stare at him, helpless. It had never crossed your mind that your Magician—the source of your music and song—could wield such cruelty. He had always been your muse, never your fear, despite the rumors that clung to his name.

"Do not succumb to distractions. Stay away from the lordling." His sneer cuts deep, giving you no chance to respond. "Do you understand, my Lark?" he asks, finally releasing the grip he held over your words.

Gasping for air, your gaze meets his, laced with the sting of betrayal. The bond you had so carefully built with the shadow of Kalis Hala now feels fragile, fractured. Beyond the veil, you see him pacing, agitated.

"He is a friend, like you are," you plead, your voice soft. "Glorfindel will cause no harm. He is dear to me." Your words carry the weight of memories—of the time when the elven lord had saved you from the plague that ravaged the village of your birth. "I will not falter again. There will be no err in my music. Not because of him."

"I am the owner of this theater. I am the source of your fame, the music in your words. It would do you well to remember that, my Lark. Do not dismiss my words so willfully." His voice hisses like a venomous snake, fury so intense it feels as though centuries couldn’t contain it.

"Now throw away those jarring yellow flowers and rest for the night," he commands. The rage evaporates, replaced by the familiar tenderness you once knew, leaving you bewildered by the ghost of the opera.

You do not reply. Nor do you offer him reassurance. You will not abandon your friend over an unwarranted tantrum.

That night, you ignore his words for the first time. Leaving the pearls untouched on your dresser, you pull on your shawl and slip into the chilly night, finding yourself on the director’s mare, racing toward the manor on the outskirts of town.

In his arms, you are delightfully human. He can feel the steady rhythm of your heart, and his thumbs trace the warmth of your flushed cheeks. Unbothered by your sweat-slicked brow, Glorfindel presses his forehead gently against yours. "You were marvelous," he whispers, his voice full of elvish delight.

You truly were. Your songs, your voice, the graceful movement of your limbs in perfect sync with the dancers—it was something he would never forget.

Perhaps Lúthien was the fairest elleth to ever walk on Arda, and her dance enchanting enough to lure Beren. But to Glorfindel, you surpassed all legends. He loved you for reasons he couldn’t fully explain.

Why had his reborn heart bound itself to a mere mortal? A woman he had plucked from the very brink of death, whose faint pulse he had nursed back to life.

He loved you because, when everything else in Arda seemed to wither under the corruption of darkness, you lived. You clung to life—and to him.

His thoughts are interrupted by sudden screams. Chaos ripples through the theater, and the sickly sweet smell of death fills the air.

On the stage lies the broken body of a guardsman, crumpled and lifeless. A note is stuffed into his frozen mouth, his face twisted in eternal terror.

Words, elegantly written:

The Elven Lord must return.

The message leaves you pale and trembling in Glorfindel's arms. Your eyes dart around the empty stage, scanning the deserted seats, dread curling at the edges of your mind.

And then as if the familiar sense of dreadful choking returned with the burning gaze of your Magician. His presence- unwavering in the shadows, prowling in on your world.

[barbswo]

Jayce didn’t like the snow. He was starting to realize that no matter what he did with his hexcrystals, that would never change. Old scars were like that. Even healed, they managed to remind the bearers of their presence.

But Christmas wasn’t just about the snow. Or the cold. Or even all the crounded, stuffy Christmas markets.

Jayce never had to be alone this time of year, no matter how much he wished for this time of year to seize existing. He had his mom. And Viktor. And Cait. And Powder. And Vi. And Vander. And Milo. And Silco. And Benzo. And Clagger. He had Mel and Heimerdinger, Sevika and Isha, Ekko and Poro.

Maybe Christmas was about them, not him.

About Vander, who dozed off in the armchair by the fireplace with a cup of hot chocolate in his hands, a holiday ribbon wrapped around his head like a wraith. About Isha in one of Powder’s sweaters, yawning and rolling gold-foiled walnuts on the floor, making Poro chase after them all around the room. About Mel Medarda, the Councilor of Piltover, welcoming Milo’s flirtations with a soft smile. About fascinated professor Heimerdinger, who propped his head on his hand, listening to Ekko’s house projects in Zaun. About Ximena Talis writing her secret sugar cookie recipe for Clagger to try out at home. About Powder herding Ekko out of his chair to dance with her to an upbeat tune. About Sevika cutting Silco’s turkey with her artificial monster of an arm. About Vi twisting and spinning Caitlyn Kiramman like she saw fit in a wild resemblance of a dance.

About Viktor, who made it all possible.

“Family doesn’t end in blood, Jayce Talis. Christmas does a good job reminding us of that.”

Excerpt from: ‘Et tu, Grinch?’ - out on ao3🎄

[misty--nights]

Onto episode 3 we go now. This one is always rough to watch, for obvious reasons, but I still found some little details I thought were interesting

At the very beginning, when they set up the new office in Crystal’s room, we can see on the table that there are colorful markers and pens, and sticky notes shaped like cats and hearts. Those have to be Niko’s right? I like the idea of her lending them her cute stationary so Edwin wouldn’t have to go mad trying to get Charles to bring the right things from the office. There is also a pig statue on the table. Not sure what that’s about but it also has to be Niko’s

Crystal’s shirt in the beginning says Tongue and Tail. It looks kind of faded, so did Jenny give it to her as a gift? But then, why does Jenny have a shirt with the butcher’s name? Does she sell merch with her shop’s logo for some extra cash? Did someone make it for her as a joke/gift?

Listen, I know for episode 2 I said I didn’t have any other details for the intro, but clearly that was a lie. Charles’ skeleton has his pins on the ribs. As if he stuck them directly to the bone, which is a hilarious thought and somehow really in character

Niko has a “no junk mail” sign taped outside her room. There’s a note taped outside of Crystal’s, too, but I couldn’t read what that one said

I saw someone call the Night Nurse and the Notary bitter exes and you know what? I see it. Love the interaction between those two, and I really wish we had more. Speaking of the Notary, though, she has so many stamps. I get why she needs that many, but it’s kind of funny

The sprites have a specific music that plays whenever they appear, and I love it. But also, last episode I saw that Litty’s skirt and Kingham’s waistcoat are made of the same fabric, and now that they aren’t wearing their sweaters in this episode, I think his pants and her waistcoat also match.

Speaking of the sprites and their clothes, Kingham’s tie pin is some sort of bug. Maybe a moth? It’s cute either way. Honestly, I just really like the way these two dress

Niko’s pillowcase has fish in it, which is small, but very sweet and very Niko

Edwin’s voice when he says “he’s stuck in the loop too” breaks a little, he’s so scared for Charles

You know, it was probably a good thing Charles was no longer with them when they found the dad’s creepy hidden room with the cameras. I think that with the way the case was affecting him, he would have fared well against the misery wraith

And speaking of the wraith, I think it’s interesting that only Crystal seems to be able to hear it. Even when both she and Edwin are in the same room, she’s the only one who hears it. Edwin turns to look because she does

Edwin almost never flinches during the loops. I think he does the first time they see the dad killing the others, but then it’s mostly Charles and Crystal who flinch at the gunshot and the murder

Honestly, props to Edwin for managing to figure out the vhs while trying not to freak out about Charles and the wraith that reminds him of hell Monty’s handwriting is really pretty, and I admire the dedication of drawing that whole chart by hand

[o9t1mus-x]

quiet night in

pairing: papa emeritus i x reader

warnings/potential triggers: none that i am aware of! i am always willing to add anything to this if someone mentions something!

summary: After a busy day away from one another, the only thing you want is him beside you. And maybe a small nap as well.

author's note: my first ghost fic/drabble! i am a little anxious to share this, to be quite honest. i just want to curl up with this ancient satanic pope (said lovingly)... peemo my love, come close! truly though, i just felt like sharing some soft times with primo, because truly, who doesn't want that? my inbox is always welcome to thoughts!

word count: 1,073

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“Hmm…” You say, leaning in closer to peer over the edge of the paper held firmly in Papas’ hands. “I am clueless, truly.” 

He chuckles, tapping the pencil lazily against the paper. “Think harder, amore. I’m sure we can figure it out if we put ourselves to the task.” 

You sigh, leaning in closer to rest your head in the crook of his arm. You’re perched against his arm, propped up against the smooth silk of his matching maroon pajama set. Your eyes lazily scan the room, thinking to yourself. Primo and you often spent your weeknights poring over the crossword puzzle when you weren’t both exhausted from your daily tasks. When you weren’t posturing back and forth to one another over the possible solution, you were leaning in closer and closer to the warmth of one another.

You sigh once more, your arm reaching out of the warmth of his duvet, fluffed and warmed by Primo as he waited for you to exit your shower earlier. Your hand reaches out to grab his own, inspecting it with a soft smile. The wrinkles on his hands were still golden, although winter had not loosened its grip on the Abbey yet. And still Papa worked his way through the greenhouse, crooning sweet praises to his flowers that thrived in the humid air of the building. His hand closed around yours, pulling it up to his lips and pressing a delicate kiss to the center of your palm. He smiled, his eyes closed as he reclined against the pillows on your shared bed. 

“Have you thought of it yet?” He said softly, making sure not to disturb your leisured slump against his arm. 

You hum, looking over at the paper. “We’re still working on seven down, correct?” 

“Si.” He smiles, pointing delicately with his pencil and tracing over it up and down. “The description is: a shared term for a ghost.” 

“How many words, letters?” You ask curiously.

“One word, seven letters.” He says softly, sinking further in the sheets with a quiet groan. You sit up slightly, wordlessly pulling the blankets closer to him. You thought for a second of getting up to grab the ointment from his bedside table, but you knew it would bring him less comfort than usual. The cold had sunk into his bones, and he would not enjoy the stickiness of the balm on his skin. He had complained occasionally of the balm not sinking into his skin. This gave him an opportunity to purr into your ear of just how well you would rub it in. Sometimes it would end with a giggle and a teasing smack to the arm to scold him, and other times… Well, Primo was a charming man. 

“Lay back down, petal.” He murmured, wrapping his arm around you as you settled back into the sheets. Primo’s arm curled around you, his thumb rubbing small circles into your arm. 

“Do you have any thoughts, Papa?” You asked quietly, looking back down at the crossword. 

“I have a few, but I would like to hear your own first before we discuss.” He chuckles, beginning to tap his pencil against the side of the puzzle once more.

“What about… wraith?” You ask, looking down at the paper and then shaking your head. No, that was only six letters. “No, never mind. Give me a minute.” 

“All the time in the world, amore. Or at least until we drift asleep.” He smiles, letting his head drop slowly to rest on top of your own. Your eyes drift to the room around you. Although you had shared this room for what felt like an eternity, the space still screamed of Papa Emeritus the First. While Terzo and Secondo preferred to boast of luxury and extravagant purchases, Primo liked to let his own taste, refined over decades, speak for itself. The four poster bed obscured the few vintage lamps that sat in the room, casting the room in a cozy, dazed ambiance. 

“Perhaps… it is phantom?” He asked softly, shaking his head after a moment. “It is enough letters, but I’m sure we can come up with something more elegant, no?” He chuckles hoarsely, and you lean up to gaze at him. He was always handsome, dizzyingly gorgeous. The darkened room only seemed to deepen the creases in his face, his crows feet crinkled as he smiled gently to himself in thought. You relax further against him, butterflies in your stomach. His eyes dart downwards, his smile more fond than before. “You’re grinning, does my answer amuse you?” 

“Oh no, but I do agree. We should think of something more fancy, such as…” You think, and then begin to giggle to yourself. “What about ‘ghoulie’, perhaps?” 

He laughs, his chest rumbling against your cheek. “And what is a ghoulie?” 

“Far worse than anything you’ve ever known, Papa, a supernatural being only whispered about by fellow siblings. How unfortunate that you’ve never heard these rumors.” You giggle, a small blush heating your cheeks. 

“Is that so, petal?” He asks, his smile softening in the warm light of his bedroom. “I shall have to look more into these spectres that I seem to have never heard about. Even in all my years, not one whisper.” He chuckles gently. 

You snicker to yourself, your hand gripping his own with care. And then, you understand. You gasp, looking at the paper and raising your hand to tap at the crossword. “Spectre! What about that?” 

He gazes at the paper, his hand rising to push his reading glasses further up his nose. He taps the small boxes going down, counting quietly to himself. His eyes light up, and his hand scribbles in ‘specter’ into the empty box. “Quite right, so smart.” Primo says gently, pressing a delicate kiss against the top of your head. You smile, closing your eyes as you bask in the warmth of his praise. 

“Primo, you’re the one who said it.” You whisper, your eyes still closed as the dark washes over you. The weight of the day is felt on your shoulders, gently melting off in the comforting embrace of your lover. Your arms wrap around him with a small grunt, your cheek against his chest. Vaguely you feel his arms rubbing your shoulder comfortingly, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head once more. What you don’t see is Primo gazing at you, delicately tucking your hair behind your ear with a lovesick sigh, barely discernible amongst your soft breathing as the day winds to an end.