#writing suspicion

[askyourwritergrandma]

Can you give me some advice on how to write suspicion please? I'm working on a murder mystery where the main character knows that the killer is someone in their family, but I'm having a bit of trouble writing distrust and suspicion.

Hello!

The easiest way to convey distrust and suspicion is to have your narrator assign unsavory motivation to actions taken by the other person in the scene. At least if you're writing in 1st or 3rd person limited.

So say they're making tea in the kitchen and Family Member says something about what a shame it is that Murder Victim died. Your narrator can then be like oh a shame they died or a shame they were found so quickly? A shame that they're creating such a mess with their death? A shame that everyone is focusing on how they died and not how you feel about how they died? Just in the narrator head.

Conversations with people that the narrator deems likely to have been murderer are either going to be very, very sympathetic to the point that its over the top ("I just wish murder victim had gotten to say goodbye" / "You're so thoughtful and kind!") because your narrator is uncomfortable but they don't want to seem suspicious around a murderer. OR they will be distracted and terse: ("I just wish murder victim had gotten to say goodbye." / "He said goodbye enough in his life, what difference does one more time matter?") because narrator thinks this might be a murderer and they're nervous but also fed up with the lying.

You can intersperse this with moments of complete normality where the narrator is interacting with family members and just kind of being like, no, this person can't have killed anyone. Look at them they have lace doilies for their drink coasters. They don't have the stomach for it.

But these moments of heightened suspicion where the narrator is assigning motivations to the family members need to be moments where there's relatively nothing interesting going on. it's easy to walk in on someone spatchcocking a chicken and think "oh my god they could absolutely have decapitated Mr. Frankenfurter" but real suspicion is watching your Meemaw make oatmeal and deciding she was a stone-cold killer who hung a man upside down by the ankles until he suffocated under his own weight.

I hope this helped, but if it didn't or it doesn't fit your story feel free to send another ask or message!

[stardustdiiving]

I get to stressed out when ppl complain the gods in genshin dont “act/feel like gods” or feel “too human” like that’s the point…! That is the point of every single one of their characters and one of the themes of Genshin impact the video game !!!!!!!

[beastsovrevelation]

Captured Angel

Michael Langdon x F!Angel!Reader

Contains: vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, elements of coercion, implied loss of virginity, blasphemy, hierophilia

“Good, you’re awake.”

A chill ran down your spine. You had awakened in an unfamiliar room. Your head ached, your wings hung limp, and your limbs were heavy. The air was soaked to the last thread in malice. It made you nauseous. Gritting your teeth, you dragged yourself up, your mind aflame with a single thought – you had to get out. You looked around, but before you could spot a way of escape, you felt a presence. Dark... Darker than the blackest night. Your heart froze in your chest, a taste of iron suddenly coating your tongue. Though you had not seen his face, you could recognize him anywhere. Seven heads. Ten horns. His honeyed voice left a cold, oily trace on your very soul as he spoke. You drew a deep breath, and spun around, to meet a pair of piercing blue eyes.

His lips crooked into a smirk. Holding your gaze, he moved towards you. You drew back.   

“Get away from me, filthy Beast...” you snarled.

Deep down, you loathed yourself for the instinctive reaction. You were a soldier. You had a duty to stand your ground, and instead, you cowered. He promptly crossed the gap between you two.

“Ah-ah!” he scolded, clasping your chin “That’s not very nice, now, is it?..”

You grimaced. Michael Langdon. How ironic, for Satan’s son to bear your General’s name. The one who cast him out... You hoped it hurt the Evil One greatly. Michael caressed your cheek. You winced, and pushed his hand away. Sneering, he grabbed you by the throat.  

“Why am I here?” you hissed through gritted teeth.

He glanced down at your heaving chest.

“You’re my captive” he purred “Isn’t it obvious?”

You swallowed. Struggling would only worsen your chances, you knew as much. His gaze darkened with hunger as he watched you – like a wolf, salivating at a wounded deer. Your guts had coiled into a tight knot, a sickly sweet taste coating your mouth.

“Why didn’t your bootlickers kill me?” you asked, not quite certain if you wished to know the answer.

A chuckle escaped his lips. The Antichrist’s lecherous expression made your blood boil. How dare the abomination touch an angel of the Lord, you thought. A strange sensation was budding between your legs, but you pointedly ignored it, just as you ignored the feeling of unease clawing at the back of your skull.   

“That would’ve been a waste...” Michael tilted his head “They thought a gift would please me. They weren’t wrong...”

You snarled, attempting to pull away.

“Get your putrid hands off me!”

He tightened his grip on your neck.

“Hush” he coaxed in a mockingly gentle voice “I’m not going to hurt you, angel.”

“Vile creature...” you spat.

He pulled you closer. You bared your teeth, as your face almost crashed into his. Though you did not need air, the pressure on your throat was beginning to make you dizzy. Every nerve in your body screamed to fight - your muscles   had tensed, prepared for combat. You might have broken away. Escaped this unholy place. You should have at least tried... But, perhaps because of the mist gathering over your mind, your legs trembled underneath you. You found yourself staring at his mouth. His breath brushed against your skin, warm and silken. Your pulse leapt into a frenzy.

Michael snuck his other hand under your clothes. The captors had stripped you of your armour, and taken away your sword, leaving only your linen tunic to cover you. His fingertips caressed your thigh, slowly creeping upwards. You held your breath as you felt him part the soft folds of your skin.

You had never been fondled like this before. Carnal pleasure was forbidden for your kind. You should be disgusted, you understood as much. Still, the electric-like impulse roused by his touch paralyzed you, preventing you from breaking his arm.

He stroked your entrance. You stifled a gasp, your intimate muscles tightened in anticipation. Your hole was beginning to well with slick. Taking your lack of resistance for a welcome, he slipped two fingers inside you. The feeling of his skin against your sensitive membrane made your head spin, and you barely held back from bucking your hips into his hand.

He let go of your neck, only to wrap his arm around your waist. Keeping you steady, he spread his fingers wider, straining you until it hurt. You shuddered. He massaged the velvety walls of your flesh, driving you to the edge of madness. Aware of how much satisfaction hearing your cries would give him, you clenched your jaw. His skin grazed against a certain knot of nerves, and you nearly sunk to the ground as your legs buckled from the bolt of stimulation. Still, somehow, you did not make a sound.

It only made Michael more determined. He fixated on your sweet spot, leaving you to desperately clutch the lapels of his jacket. His mouth lingered but a thread away from yours - you felt his heartbeat echo against your rib cage. He narrowed his eyes, and pressed his thumb to your clit. Overwhelmed, you drew a sharp breath.

“Enjoying yourself, aren’t you?..” he teased “What is it, my dear? What do you want, hm?”

He pushed a third finger into your dripping slit. You whined in pleasure muddled with despair.

“Speak up, angel” he demanded.

Virtue be damned. Something tameless had infected you. Caught in the furor of sin, you eagerly cast your innocence aflame.

“I...” you stammered “I want... I need you to ravish me...”

Michael threw you onto the bed, and climbed on top of you. Laying flat on your back, your wings sprawled open, you looked up at him, your eyes sweetly half-lidded. His knee shoved between your thighs, he ripped the front of your tunic open. You sighed as cold air brushed against your nipples. He placed his hands on your breasts, savouring the softness of your bare skin. His eyes aflame with lust, he took a moment to admire your flushed, helpless body. Biting your bottom lip, you pushed your chest into his touch. He grabbed you by the throat again.

“You’re mine” he snarled “Mine alone...”

Against your better judgement, you nodded. Your gaze wandered down to his crotch, causing your mouth to immediately water. Michael’s lips crooked into a sleazy smirk. He unbuckled his pants, and slipped his underwear down. Your eyes widened as his hard cock sprung free. Large, but not obscenely so. You pulled the skirt of your tunic up, leaving your aching cunt at his mercy.

He pinned you down under his full weight. You wrapped your arms around him, savouring the feel of luxurious fabric under your fingers. Like an animal in heat, you craved to feel him inside. His eyes locked with yours, Michael clasped your leg, and positioned himself more comfortably. You blindly caught hold of his member, helping guide it into your hole.

Your heart skipped a beat – you let out a moan as your membranes clamped around him. Hardly giving you a moment to adjust, he began to move. The sudden strain roused a twinge, but it soon was obscured by shattering pleasure. No longer holding back your mewls and whimpers, you sank your nails into his back. Should the expensive suit get ruined, it will be his fault.

Michael groaned, his teeth bared in primal satisfaction. Your response only encouraged him, and he quickly picked up the pace. Each thrust sent a shattering wave of pleasure through your fevered nerves. You wrapped your legs around his waist, welcoming them. He traced the tip of his tongue over your neck. You hissed as his long hair tickled you, overwhelming your senses even more. He purred, and nipped at your jaw.

“Kiss me” you demanded.

He obeyed, leaning down to press his mouth against yours. You parted your lips for him, and allowed your tongues to battle for dominance.

“Say my name” he ordered, upon pulling away.

“I can’t...” you gasped in horror.

“Your general isn’t here...” he growled “It’s just you and me...” he pressed his face to your temple “Say my name, sweetheart. Show the Beast how much you’re enjoying your downfall.”

He pulled his cock almost all the was out, then slammed it back in, roughly grazing your sweet spot. Your cried out, and sank your fingers into his hair. You didn’t want to think about her. You loathed to imagine her disappointment in you. But his presence eclipsed her face. Drowned it in the storm of ecstasy ravaging you.

“Michael!”

“Good girl” he praised with a grin.

Shock after shock of ecstasy tore through your body, setting every cell of it aflame. Your forehead was laced in sweat. Your muscles quivered from the tension. You were close. Very close. Turned feral by the pleasure, he grabbed you by the wrists, thrusting into you with merciless force.

“Michael...” you moaned.

You couldn’t stand it anymore. You arched your back, trembling and convulsing as a scream escaped your throat. Michael threw his head back with a snarl. You had grown painfully tight around him, prompting him to reach his own release. You felt him spill inside you – it was the strangest, most pleasant sensation  you had ever experienced.

You collapsed into the pillows, limp and gasping for breath. He slumped down on top of you. For a moment, you allowed yourself to soak in the glowing haze of bliss. But, just when he had crept off of you, and was about to pull you into his arms, you leapt up. Using his surprise for your advantage, you climbed onto him – this time, you were the one to pin him down. You caught his gaze, and drew a dagger from underneath your ruined tunic. Afraid to molest their master’s gift, the devil worshippers had missed it.

“You will find the men who captured me, crucify them, and bleed them like pigs” you growled, pressing the blade against his throat “Do you understand me, Antichrist?”

A drop of blood sept from under the metal, glowing against his milky skin in a warning.

“Yes” he murmured, as his eyes blazed with adoration.

[liriostigre]

The Tunnel posting ✌🏼 (chapter 35 in the original and 36 in some editions in english. anyway, if you read it and find it boring please DON'T let me know lol)

[transmechanicus]

I’ve had a deep seated fear of the flesh-eating undead type zombie since like age 6 and i think i finally figured out why it formed before i had ever seen so much as a nanosecond of media depicting them.

See, in my actual nightmares, while there are very much stereotypical hordes of ravenous, rotting creatures, there is always an awareness to my dream self that they can be tricked. If i cannot run or fight or hide i must convince them from my behavior that i’m one of them, that i am already eaten, infected, dead, and returned. This is not a common thing in zombie media, yet it’s always part of my dreams.

I’ve realized in the last couple months as i’ve navigated new social situations and stressful performances as part of my PhD, that there’s a pretty clear core to why zombies are scary to me, someone with lifelong struggles to conceal and suppress autistic and transgender behaviors. It’s the idea of being recognized as something different and being savagely killed for it. It’s the idea that even your own family could turn on you for your differences. It’s the idea that you’re under constant threat and scrutiny of your entire being by everyone around you. That nowhere is safe enough to protect you if enough people recognize you’re not like them. Which y’know, i’m sure is a completely relatable fear for everyone reading this, right? Right? Why are you opening your mouths? D:

[echoes-of-courage]

Question: what’s with the chains in Forge’s panel in the magic sensitivity comic?

That’s…. not too helpful. Someone else with sensitivity toward light magic might have something to say, though.

Hm. Thanks for the insight, Collector. It’s too bad that it usually takes closer observation to sense magic like that.

Original comments:

Archive

[plush-rabbit]

Weighted Bodies

Pt. 2 to Foggy Minds Word Count: 3.2K A/N: I had some requests for part two of foggy minds so i came up with this!! -

There’s a knock on your door. It’s quick, and curt and you rush towards the door with a pep in your step, your first instinct at such a knock to believe that it’s a package. But you stop short, and you remember that you hadn’t ordered anything. More knocks follow- rapid and heavier than before and you step back. 

You’ve made your payments for the month. You can’t think that it would be any loan sharks- you’re dumb, but you’re not dumb enough to make those types of decisions. Your stomach twists and you think it’s a client who found you- it wouldn’t be the first time, but you can’t afford to move. Maybe if you’re quiet, whoever is behind the door will leave. The knocks come again, heavier and pounding on the door, and you turn, grabbing at a picture frame, the metal ridges digging into the palm of your hand. You just have to stay quiet-

“Oi!” You flinch at the voice. “It’s me!” Your eyes squint, and you can recognize the voice. “Let me in, will ya? This who fucking place reeks of death and shit.” Oh, you can recognize the voice. “Hurry up!” The banging continues, and you place the picture frame down, and you go to open the door. 

He may be wearing a different mask, but you recognize his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Took you long enough.” He brushes past you and he takes up the whole room. He cranes his neck, walking everywhere and laying down on your couch, resting his head on a decorative pillow. “Your place sucks, by the way. I had some bitch offer to blow me for crack.”

You close the door behind you, securing the locks. You catch the look of disgust on his mask as he analyzes your home. 

“How did you know where I live?” You ask hesitantly, your hands playing with the bottom of your shorts. 

“Your boss,” he says casually, picking up a decorative statue on the end table. “All I had to do was throw money at him, and he gave me the address and-” he digs into his pocket, and pulls out a few condoms. They’re fisted into his hand, and without a care, he tosses them  towards you. They scatter on the ground. You stare at the contraceptives, and back at him, your face growing warm. He clears his throat. “I’m here now, so you’re welcome or whatever.”

“Why-” your voice catches- “Why are you here, Adam?” His mask is emotive, a brief look of wide eyes is quickly replaced by a neutral look. “We just- You usually wait for like a week before and after Extermination Day, so- so what is this?”

He looks at you for a second. And then two. And then five, and when you squirm and look away from him, he snorts. “You could use better couches. You got a sweet puss, can’t you afford something better? Fuck, I know I’m paying way too much for you still to be living in this shithole.”

You’re fine with the comments being made during your line of work, but hearing it out loud in your home, makes everything feel so perverse. Your chest burns, the flames all consuming and making it harder to breathe. “It’s cozy,” you defend.

“It’s a fucking studio.” 

“Well lucky for you, I am moving out.” He turns to you, and places his feet on the worn coffee table. “I uh- I went to the Hazbin Hotel.” You wish he didn’t show up. You’ve never had a client here, not in your personal home. “The princess allowed me to stay, so I’ll probably move out maybe in a few weeks?” You talk to fill the silence. Usually he can be so expressive with the mask, but now, he can’t get a read on him.. Is it because it’s a new mask? Because he hasn’t figured out the wiring or however the mask works? “I mean, it’s not like it matters to you. You don’t- You shouldn’t even be here.” You shake your head. “But um,” you clear your throat, “yeah.” You think you’d rather suck him off at this point than continue to talk. 

“She’s letting you move in?” He sounds taken aback.

You shrug. “It took some convincing.” Your nails scratch along your thighs, and you can breathe a bit easier. “It was like she didn’t want me to. But I guess I looked pathetic enough that she felt bad for me.” You give a weak laugh. “But uh- They have a friend of mine- Angel- so he kinda helped, but even he seemed,” you pause, “weird about it.”

He’s silent. You shuffle your weight between each leg, and you think you’ve said too much. You open your mouth, trying to remedy the situation, but you’re interrupted.

“I’m hungry,” he tells you, grabbing at your remote and flipping through the channels.

You narrow your eyes in confusion. “Okay?”

“Make me something to eat.”

Every part of you is screaming to tell him to leave. To go back to Heaven- that there must be a price to pay for him visiting Hell for- for you. The thought of him visiting for you makes your heart beat against your ribs, drumming loudly behind the ivory cages. He’s visiting for leisure. That’s it. Not for you, but for fun. To annoy you- to annoy a resident of Hell. 

But he’s made himself comfortable. And you hate to admit it- even to yourself- but you like the company. Even if said company is rather brutish. 

“I’m making food because I’m hungry, not because you told me,” you huff, turning on your heel to walk to the adjacent kitchen.

“Yeah, whatever,” he scoffs.

-

The plates sit empty, and the television is turned on. The program isn’t anything new, something you’ve seen countless times, same format, different people. It’s boring, and with the swell of your stomach from the savory meal you just had, you could fall asleep. You think you are falling asleep. Your eyes are heavy and your mind is filled with static and mothballs, far too thick for you to be aware as Adam lets his hand rest beside yours. The side of his finger touches yours, and you want to hold his hand.

“If you want to be redeemed, I could probably pull a few strings.” He doesn’t turn around, and you think you dreamt what he just told you. You look at him, and you don’t know if you heard him or not. He looks away from the television, and his hand stays beside yours. 

“What?” You ask with sleep laced into your voice.

“I doubt Sera or Lute would be happy-” you recognize Lute, but you haven’t heard of Sera- “but whatever. They can go fuck themselves if they say anything.” He says the words quietly, held together as if they should have never been uttered, a prayer under the ceiling of your home, the yellow lights nothing like the sunlight from above.

“Are you-” your voice cracks, and you clear your throat- “Are you being for real?”

“Why the fuck would I say it in the first place?” His wings flutter, feathers bristling against the worn couch. He sounds offended that you think he would say this. But what else are you meant to think?

“That’s-” your voice is soft, and filled with doubt and hurt. He turns to you, and he’s waiting and watching. “I can’t do that.” You shake your head. “That’s not fair to Angel. He’s been trying real hard-”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” His voice has lost the gentleness that it held before, the soft whisper is gone and replaced with something sharp and cold, and he looks at you through his mask. 

You realize he hasn't removed it in all the time he’s been here.

“Angel- He’s making progress and he’s doing good despite-”

“The porn demon sucks cocks all day-”

“You don’t get to call him that,” you say defensively. “He does what he does because he has to. When you sell your soul, you don’t get to say no.” You pull your hand away from where it was, and you move away from him. “And if he’s the porn demon then what the fuck am I?”

“Don’t be stupid,” he sneers. You flinch at the words. “You’re a sinner. Take the fucking offer.” His mask glitches, and you wonder if it’s made of a cheaper grade. However, you doubt Adam would wear anything less than excellence. “We come down to slaughter you for funsies, and you’re telling me that because you feel bad for the porn demon you aren’t going to take the opportunity to be a winner?”

“It’s just-”

“You’re a Sinner,” he hisses out your name like it’s something grotesque on his tongue, his eyes narrowed and his wings curling behind him. “You don’t have to tough it out in the dirt like this. You could be living it up, we could be fucking on literal clouds.” 

You look away. You forget your place. You forget that he visits not to spend time with you, but to fuck you. You’ve been used for as long as you can remember, and it hasn’t stopped. A part of you hoped that Adam wasn’t entirely like that. That one some deep, hidden, part of him, that he liked you as a Sinner, that he liked you. That perhaps because he was an angel, he had some decency in him.

“Adam,” you speak softly, your eyes fixating on a plate.

“What?”

“You’re being mean.” You roll your bottom lip between your teeth. “Meaner than usual.”

“I’m being honest.” 

“You’re still being mean,” you tell him, shoulders raised and the food in your stomach churning. 

He huffs. “I don’t know why you’d rather stay at this shithole. And then you’re going over to the princess’s hotel? Sinners are meant to stay down here. That bitch isn’t gonna save anyone.” His words are cold, and he hasn’t looked away from you. “You think you’re going to be redeemed?”

“Well-” you drag out, looking away from him. You aren’t sure. You want to believe that people can be redeemed, but a part of you knows that you’re only moving because it gets you free lodging. Rent isn’t cheap, and living in a hotel sounds fun. 

“Let me give it to you straight,” he practically snarls. The venom in his voice is laid thick onto his words. “You aren’t.” His wings flap and the feathers prick themselves, the soft form they held, now rough and looking as if they were made for fighting rather than holding. “I’m giving you a chance to take the easy road and become an angel, but you’re too fucking dumb to even say yes.”

Your throat tightens, and your eyes burn with heavy tears. “I think you should leave.”

“Fuck you.” He grabs your wrist and you’re reminded that despite the physical appearance of him looking so man- he’s far more than that. “You think because I fuck you twice a year, that it makes you special?” His wings flare out, the golden feathers suddenly so cold. His voice is cold, and he presses his face closer to yours, teeth bared and a scowl ruining his pretty face.

Something awful twists at your stomach, nails piercing into your guts and innards, and leaving you filled with bile. “You quite literally asked me if I wanted to be redeemed,” you say quietly, spitting the words out. “Excuse me for thinking I’m so special.” The words are heavy and weak as they escape. 

The eyes of the mask narrow, and his wings curl in, and you wonder just how powerful they are. “You’re a good fuck. That’s it. I get to rough you up, you beg for me.” His hand tightens around your wrist. “I’m offering it because it’s hard to find someone so fucking pathetic like you. Go to that hotel or don’t. Next extermination, I swear,” his words are filled with malice, “if I see you,” his nails dig into your skin, “I’ll be the one to-”

“The one to what?” You interject, your eyes glossy and voice wavering. “What? You’ll kill me? Fuck you, Adam. You- You come down here and act like you’re so much better than anyone else here-” you yank your hand back and clasp your other hand over the wrist- “well you aren’t.” Your chest rises and falls, your teeth bared in a desperate attempt to make yourself look dangerous. But with the tears in your eyes, and every fiber in your being begging you to run, to scream and hide away, you know you don’t even appear to be a threat. 

You sit on the opposite end of the couch, holding your wrist, and trying not to cry. You can’t give him that satisfaction. But your legs bounce, and they won’t stop, no matter how much you try. You should have kicked him out before, you could have lied about having plans. You should have screamed for help- though you doubt your neighbors would actually do something about it.

“Why did you come here, Adam?” You ask, looking down at the ground. “We had something good going on.” You tuck your legs under yourself, biting at the inside of your cheeks, grimacing when you bite too harshly. “Even if I wanted to be a Winner, I wouldn’t- I’d be lost up there.”

He’s quiet for far too long and the rejection makes you close in on yourself. 

“I wouldn’t kill you.” Your eyes glance over to him for a moment, but he’s turned his head the other way. “I didn’t mean it.” His hand goes to curve over where his usual horns are, but they flutter in the air, falling until they grasp onto the curved steel bone of his new mask. “You wouldn’t be lost,” he tells you, his face turned towards the wall in front of him. His voice is tight, almost as if he’s embarrassed to be telling you what he’s saying now. His wings flutter, gold shimmering in a wave. He clears his throat, and looks away. “A bunch of the angels are on the welcoming committee.”

“There’s a welcoming committee?”

“It’s fucking lame. We have some guy sing a song about how everyone in Heaven is hot, and he just flies around.” He sounds annoyed, the eyes of his mask forming a thin line of glowing dots, and you snort. “I’m telling you it’s fucking torture to listen to the damn song every time we get a new soul.” He waves his hand in the air, agitation light in his voice. 

“When I arrived in Hell, it sucked.” He looks at you. You don’t like to talk about your arrival to Hell. Not to your friends, not to anyone. You hardly like to think about it yourself. “I uh-” you smile bitterly- “I was so upset. I was in hell. It was hot. The noises were loud. And I-” you stop, the feeling of loneliness making your body feel detached- “I was hungry.” You hadn’t realized just how loneliness was so consuming.

“What do you remember?” He probes.

You pause. You remember being terrified and alone; wanting someone to take you in their arms and tell you that you were safe; you remember wanting it all to be a dream. “I remember the pain of landing here.” You watch as his wings unfurl, one spilling over the armrest of your couch, the other careful to not smack you. It brushes against you, and you look at them memorized, the patterns of the feather delicacy etched upon him. “I think I’d take a song any day.” You remember taking jobs that you had never thought you’d ever take.

“Come ‘ere,” he tells you. You crawl towards him, and he touches you, his hands steady and holding you firmly as they situate you above him, letting you sit on his lap. The glowing eyes make your own look away, the gaze of him far too much, too empty and unclear for you to feel comfortable. You know your place. A pet for him when he wants it. Going to heaven would only further cement your place at the ground that he stands on. His hands grab yours and they guide you to the end of his mask. “Take it off.” 

It’s a heavy mask. You wish you could examine it, even if you aren’t sure what any of it would mean, but you want to study it, to let your finger trace over the features. Your attention is pulled back to him, and you thin your lips. 

He’s always been difficult to look at. His eyes are gold, shimmering and shining under your lights, how hair tousled and set from being confined in the mask, and you can’t stand to look at him. You close your eyes, and your hands ghost over his cheeks, tensing and choosing to rest over his clothed shoulders. Your lips meld, and your hands tighten over his shoulders. It’s soft, his stubble tickling your chin. You murmur his name, repeated when he kisses your neck, his name muttered like a prayer, your hands clawing and grasping at him. You shut your eyes, your body curling into his touch, lips desperate to find his again. You need him. You crave him. You wish he’d stop grabbing at your skin, but every touch is feverish, flaming your body more than it already has. 

You kiss him with want. You kiss him like you’re alone all over again, wanting to commit him to memory.

-

Your eyes grow heavier, sleep wrapping itself around you like a warm blanket, or perhaps it’s his wing, curled around you, spilling over your body and your sofa. Each blink grows longer, and you nestle to the side of him, clinging to his warmth. “When are you moving to the hotel?” His voice is soft, the tips of his hands scratching up and down your arm. You mumble your answer, letting your eyes come to a close. “The hotel fucking sucks. The whole idea of it does. It's like she wants you to die.” Your brows furrow with each passing word. The words are lost on you, your mind too foggy with sleep to pick apart the words and piece the clues together. “Lilith’s brat is only setting you up for failure.”

“‘M used to it,” you mumble. “‘S no big deal, Ads.” You wish he’d stop talking. You’re tired, can’t he hear it in your voice? 

“It’s fucking dumb,” he spits. 

“Adam,” you whine, your legs tensing and squeezing around his own, “‘M tired.” You feel the gust of his wings, a ghost of a touch making your skin prick in chills. 

“Stop talking.” His feathers are soft, and you always forget just how they feel despite touching them quite a few times. They curl around you, a heavy blanket or warmth, the soft hints of cologne and musk envelop you, and he’s soft under you, tender and gentle, his hands tracking into your skin, invisible tattoos kissed onto you. “I can do whatever I want in Heaven.”

“Mhm, sounds great,” you whisper, your body heavy above his, limp with sleep and full with sin and unknowing. 

You're pulled closer to him, and you welcome his warmth and his comfort. “Even if you don't want to be redeemed, you can stay up there. I'll have you taken care of. No one would say shit.”

[crypt1dcorv1dae]

I really like kafhoshi ... it good.... Ther s so much potential and so much material to work with AND YET THERES LIKE NOTHING!!!!! *Rolls up my sleeves* gotta do everything myself in this damn house...

[luxaofhesperides]

Ghostlights as college roommates and maybe some identity shenanigans thrown in would be so fun! Maybe dannys doing a little vigilante work on the side as well to up the secret identity mayhem

Danny would like to say his college career is going well. Gotham isn’t where he was expecting to pursue higher education, but the engineering scholarship he got through the Wayne Educational Foundation was just too good to turn down. It even covered the cost of an apartment! Although, the apartment is shared with another student who got a Wayne scholarship. 

Even with that, Danny lucked out and got a great roommate. Duke Thomas is chill, kind, respects Danny’s space and doesn’t throw wild parties or invite random people in at all hours of the day. He even joins Danny twice a week for study sessions!

Really, it would be the perfect college experience except for one thing: the ghosts.

Danny thought they’d stay in Amity Park. They had no reason to stray from the city where the portal was, and his parents are more than enough to keep most ghosts away. It took his friends, Jazz, and even Vlad to convince Danny that he wasn’t abandoning Amity Park and that the city wouldn’t fall while he took a few years to focus on himself. 

He worried right up until he got to GCU and walked the campus for the first time. Then he decided to enjoy the four years he had on the scholarship to get his degree and live his own life like a normal person.

To say he’s pissed about the ghosts is an understatement. 

The one thing he was looking forward to most is not being Phantom. Gotham is home to the Bats and they’re more than capable of handling everything in the city. It means there’s no need for him here and he can focus on school and enjoy going on invisible flights without worrying about being hunted down or having to fight a ghost. 

“Are you fucking kidding me,” he mutters under his breath as he feels the familiar chill race up his throat, A cold mist wafts out of his mouth, curling around his words, and Danny quickly ducks his head and hides it from sight. 

“Did you say something?” Duke asks, looking up from where he leans against the kitchen counter, squinting at a recipe on his phone. 

“Nah,” Danny lies. “Just stressing.” He gestures to the papers he has spread out on the dining table, then stands up. “I’m gonna take a walk. Maybe that’ll get my brain to work correctly tonight.”

“Got your phone on you?”

Danny reflexively drops a hand to his pocket, checking that his phone is where it’s supposed to be. It’s what Duke asks every single time Danny mentions going out, worried about Danny being unprepared for Gotham. It’s nice of him, though Danny does wish he can say that he’s survived a lot worse than a few muggers. 

“Got it.”

“Alright. I’ll try to work on dinner while you’re out.”

Danny nods and offers Duke a small wave before pulling his shoes on at the door. He grabs his keys and heads out, double checking that the door is locked behind him. 

Then he glances around the hallway, checking that the coast is clear, and pulls up the chill of awareness in his chest. Slowly, he breathes out, watching the blue mist waft out and lead towards the stairwell. 

“Wonder who it is this time,” he mutters to himself, going into the cold, concrete stairwell. It always feels a little off in there, as if he’s been removed from the rest of the world when the door closes behind him. His footsteps echo oddly in the space, so Danny chooses to fly instead, keeping his feet off the floor. 

A few flights down is when he sees her: pale and translucent, a faint blue glow around her. She’s a familiar face. Emilia is one of the first of Gotham’s ghosts he’s met, leading to the rather unpleasant realization that ghosts don’t only come from the Infinite Realms. There’s a strange sort of magic in the very foundations of Gotham that makes it the way it is, creating ghosts that are different enough from what he’s used to that it leaves him off balance. 

Gotham keeps her dead. Few get to pass on peacefully, and most have to wait until they grow weak and wither away, a second death, before they can be released from the living realm. The ghosts of Gotham are pale and weak, for the most part, and try to cling to him so grow stronger from his ectoplasm. 

Most want him to help them pass on, or give them a way into the Infinite Realms. Some want him to bring justice to their killers. Others want to kill him and take his ectoplasm for their own so they can continue their reign of terror in Gotham, unable to be stopped even in death. 

Emilia gives him warnings. It’s not always her, but she tends to be the one to draw him out of his apartment, pulling him into a vigilante lifestyle because he can’t bring himself to refuse anyone who asks for his help, and the dead in Gotham have no one else to ask.

“Danny,” she greets. “Nueve is out again. He’s going after the ghosts near Chantilly Street.”

“The sun isn’t even down yet,” Danny grumbles. Nueve, an old gang enforcer who died a few decades ago, cannibalizes other ghosts. It doesn’t destroy the other ghosts, not really, but it makes them feel pain when they shouldn’t be able to feel much at all. Taking their limited reserves of ectoplasm makes him momentarily stronger, and he uses that stolen strength to try to harm the living.

He’s been successful a few times. Danny makes sure to rip him apart as much as possible these days; he won’t be here forever, but he’s hoping that within his four years at GCU, he’ll be able to permanently stop Nueve.

Times like these, he misses having a Fenton Thermos with him. Though he’s not entirely sure it would work on Gotham’s ghosts with how different they are. 

Emilia follows him down the stairwell to the ground floor. Once there, Danny shoves his hand into the floor, taking out the backpack he’s hidden in it. He’s done this change of clothes so often he can do it in just a minute now, hiding his face and pulling on gloves beneath a large hoodie with old ectoplasm stains along the sleeves and hem. A gas mask is pulled on as well, covering the bottom half of his face, a necessary addition to his Ghost Work Outfit™ after he almost got caught in some Fear Gas during Scarecrow’s last attack. 

“Alright,” he says, “Lead the way.”

Emilia takes off through the wall and Danny hurries to follow, going invisible as he hits the streets. 

It’s still early evening, the sun not yet fully set. Plenty of people walk along the sidewalks and cars pass by endlessly, honking at each other as they try to go twenty above the speed limit. Danny does his best to avoid running into everyone, deftly dodging the reaching hands of a few ghosts who spot him as he sprints by. 

They only go a few blocks away from his apartment building, turning into a dead end alley where a group of teens (living, for once) are stuck with their backs to the wall, clinging to each other as they warily watch the man in front of them carelessly twirl a gun around his finger. 

The man makes a strange clicking noise in the back of his throat, and it takes Danny a moment to realize that he’s trying to talk. 

Still invisible, Danny sneaks around to stand in front of the teens, ready to bodily protect them. The man looks alive, and Danny see any ghosts around save for Emilia, standing at the mouth of the alley. There’s something strange about him; his movements seem just a little off, not quite as fluid as they should be. It’s not the movement of someone on drugs. It’s something that screams uncanny valley.

The gun’s handle drops solidly into the man’s palm. He makes another few clicks, then raising the gun to point at the teens.

“Bad idea, pal,” Danny says dropping his invisibility. The teens behind him startle, gasping and trying to press themselves further into the wall. 

The man’s eyes flash weakly and the pieces click into place in Danny’s mind. Nueve must have gotten strong enough to possess someone. That is… alarming, to say the least.

He rips the gun out of the man’s hand and tosses it aside. Then he pushes away the man’s arm when Nueve makes a clumsy attempt to punch him. With his chest left wide open and undefended, Danny takes the chance to shove his hand into the man’s chest, feeling for the familiar chill of a ghost. 

And then he wraps his fingers tight around it and pulls out Nueve, leaving the man to collapse. 

The teens behind him scream and Danny winces. 

Pulling out a faintly glowing human figure from someone’s physical body does not look good. It’s the best way to end a possession, but it does look alarmingly like he’s just ripped someone’s soul out of their body.

Keeping hold of Nueve’s ghost, Danny steps to the side. “You guys should go now. Take care.”

The teens don’t need any more prompting. They take off in a run, tripping over each other in their haste to get away.

Danny spares a glance to the man unconscious on the ground, but there’s nothing he can do with an angry ghost in his hands, so he has no choice but to leave him there as he flies up to a rooftop farther down the street. 

“How many times do we need to do this, Nueve?” he asks tiredly, shaking the ghost.

“These streets should be mine!” Nueve howls, trying to break free of Danny’s grasp. But he’s quickly growing weak, his energy fading, and Danny’s holding back his own ectoplasm as tightly as he can. “They may have killed me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still take what I’m owed!”

“Dude, you’re dead. There’s nothing here for you. Move on.”

“You don’t get to speak on this, outsider. You think a freak like you has an say over us? You can’t stop us. You don’t even know what’s coming.”

Danny squints at him. “What, are you planning a heist or something? With your gang of dead people too weak to lift a piece of paper?”

“We’re not all dead. We’ve got living folk helping us and we’ll be taking you out first when we hit the streets.”

“Good luck with that,” Danny says flatly, “Begone with you.” 

Without giving Nueve a chance to say another word, he rips Nueve’s head off his body. His ghost wavers, then dissipates like smoke, fading away. 

Another side effect of whatever it is Gotham does to her dead: their ghost forms are remarkably fragile and it takes only a bit of strength to tear them to shreds, giving him some peace before they reform again. It won’t stop Nueve from striking out again, gathering enough strength until he’s able to possess some other unfortunate soul, but Danny’s bought himself some time to figure out what the hell was he talking about?

There are living folk involved with whatever he’s planning. It’s probably another gang, maybe someone with magic who is able to see ghosts? Which is not great. Danny doesn’t know much about magic; even when facing ghosts who used magic or magical artifacts, his go to method of dealing with them is to start throwing hands like there’s no tomorrow.

Well.

It’s a problem for later.

For now, Danny needs to get back to his apartment and work on his calculus homework. Hopefully he can finish it before he gets frustrated enough that he gives up and lies face down on the floor until Duke manhandles him onto the couch, where he’s less of a tripping hazard.

He’s just about to get back to street level when his Fenton Luck strikes again and he hears someone land on the roof, just a few feet behind him.

“Hey there, stranger,” the Signal says. “You know, we run into each other so often it feels rude not to introduce ourselves. Why don’t you go first?”

Danny turns to face the daylight vigilante, standing with his arms crossed as if that would make him look any more approachable. He’s been popping up wherever Danny’s out dealing with ghosts, which is very not great for Danny’s plans to have a peaceful, normal college life. 

Biting his tongue, Danny gives the Signal a quick two fingered salute, then goes intangible and drops down through the building. His invisibility sweeps over him and then he’s running through the streets, hoping it’s enough to keep the Signal from following him to his apartment.

He skids to a stop in the stairwell, dropping his intangibility just in time to crash into the wall. Panting, Danny waits for a tense minute to see if he’s been followed. 

When the door to the stairwell remains closed, he lets out a slow breath, then pulls off all the pieces of his Ghost Work Outfit, shoving it back into his bag. He takes a moment to fix his hair, messy from the hood, then shoves the bag back into the floor, safely hidden from curious eyes. 

Then he very casually walks up the stairs to the fifth floor and walks down the hallway to his apartment. His keys clang together when he opens the door, and Duke usually hears it when it does, but just in case, Danny calls out, “I’m back!”

He’s learned to announce himself after a few late night walks almost ended with him tackled to the floor when Duke thought someone was breaking in.

Duke doesn’t respond as he toes off his shoes. The stillness in the apartment feels off, as if the world is holding its breath. Cautiously, Danny walks in, trying to find his roommate.

He’s not in the kitchen. The living room is empty. Duke’s bedroom door is open and he’s not in there either. 

Something cold lodges itself in his chest. 

“Duke?” he tries again, looking over their apartment again for any sign of struggle, or something terrible happening, or even a mess that Duke needed more supplies to clean up. 

There’s nothing. The apartment is as it’s always been, just with an empty space where Duke should be.

Worried, Danny stands in the middle of the hallway, trying to figure out what he should do next. It’s because he’s standing so still, surrounded by silence, that he hears it: a light thud outside the window. 

Danny turns and he can swear he sees something large moving outside the window, disappearing from sight just as Danny takes a step into Duke’s room to check on it. He rushes to the window and pushes it open, looking down at the street, then side to side, and finally up to the last three floors of the building.

Nothing’s there.

Slowly, Danny pulls his head back inside, closing and locking the window. “Must be my imagination,” he says, trying to convince himself it’s not a big deal. 

He leaves Duke’s room and begins pacing down the hall, anxiety building steadily in him. 

His phones in his hand before he can think his actions through, Duke’s contact pulled up on the screen. He should call. He should make sure Duke is okay, but Danny hesitates. Is this something to be freaked out over? Would Duke thing he’s clingy and nervous and a bothersome roommate? He doesn’t want to risk Duke asking for a new roommate next year when the lease renews.

But he’s worried. It’s Gotham and Danny just dealt with a violent, murderous ghost threatening him. Duke can deal with a stressed out, worried Danny if it means he’s alive.

He hits the call button before he can talk himself out of it. It rings on and on and on until Danny starts to panic about having to find Duke’s ghost to avenge his murder. 

The front door is thrown open so suddenly and so loudly, Danny jumps and his phone clatters to the floor. 

“Danny! Hey!” Duke says with a bright smile, trying to catch his breath. He’s still holding onto the doorknob, slightly hunched over as he pants for breath. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m totally fine.”

“Where were you?”

Duke straightens up and closes the door, kicking off his shoes. “Oh, just… out. Shopping. For dinner.”

Danny looks over his empty hands doubtfully. “No luck finding what you needed?”

“Nope!”

“What did you need? Maybe I can go to a different store and get it for you.”

“You don’t need to!” Duke says. “I just needed… tomatoes?”

Danny blinks at him. “We have tomatoes. Did you not know we had tomatoes in the fridge?”

“Oh, do we? Good to know.”

There’s something very weird about this conversation, but Danny doesn’t pry. Duke is weird sometimes, but it’s fine because he kindly ignores some of Danny’s oddities that come from being a halfa and a semi-retired hero. 

“Do you… maybe wanna sit down? Catch your breath? I can make dinner tonight if you want.”

Duke waves a hand in the air. “No, no, it’s fine. I got this. Anyways, how was your walk?”

He definitely shouldn’t talk about the cannibal ghost and his threats to take out Danny with his gang. “It was nice. Very quiet. You know, for Gotham.” He punctuates this with an awkward thumbs up and immediately regrets it, but it’s already done so he commits to it.

“Cool! Great. Just wondering, did you see anything weird?”

“Depends on what you’re asking about?”

“Just some guy wearing black with a hood covering his face. He’s been active in this neighborhood and I saw some people talk about him online. Apparently he just appears out of thin air.”

Danny tries not to wince. That’s him, alright. Gotham’s newest neighborhood menace. “I don’t think so, but there’s a lot of people in Gotham that were all black and walk around with their hood up.”

“True,” Duke concedes. “Well, just be careful when you go out, alright?”

“I always am.” He gives Duke the same two fingered salute he gave the Signal. Duke stares at him for a moment, eyes dark and almost dangerous, then he smiles and walks into the kitchen. 

“Wanna make dinner with me? I think we can figure out this recipe together. Unless you need to do your homework.”

“It can wait!” Danny hurries to join Duke, grateful for an excuse to push off calculus a little longer. He understands what he’s doing in the class, there’s just… so much work. He doesn’t even want to think about the tests. The tests make everyone cry.

“Alright, let’s get to it, then!”

“You’re in charge, chef,” Danny says, laughingly, and bumps against Duke’s side. He expects a light shove in return, something Sam and Tucker always did, but Duke goes tense instead, letting out a sharp breath that Danny is all too familiar with. “Wait, why are you hurt? What happened?!”

He goes to lift up Duke’s shirt to inspect his shirt, see the damage for himself, but Duke smoothly moves out of the way, grabbing Danny’s wrists and stopping him in his tracks. “I’m fine, Danny. I just got hit. Lightly. Minor bruising, really.”

Danny looks at him doubtfully, then wrenches a wrist free to lift up his shirt before he can move again.

Minor bruising is not how Danny would describe the blues and purples that decorate Duke’s entire side. He can see the outline of Duke’s ribs through the bruising. “How is this being lightly bruised? What hit you?”

“A car?”

“A car?!”

Duke winces, then pulls his shirt down. “I’m fine, Danny, really. It was just from a car that didn’t want to stop at a red light. I stopped another person from being hit, but the car got me pretty solidly. You know how bad Gotham drivers are.”

“Sit down!” Danny says, pulling Duke out of the kitchen. “I don’t understand how you’re still standing. I’ll get some ice, and I’ll handle dinner. You just stay there and stop pushing yourself for no reason.”

“Playing nurse for me now?”

“If I have to.”

“Would you wear a nurse costume for me, too?” Duke jokes.

Danny looks him dead in the eye and says, “If I have to. Would that make you follow my instructions? A tight little nurse dress?”

Duke sputters, cheeks darkening, and looks away. Danny grins, victorious, and darts back to the kitchen to grab an ice pack from the fridge. 

“Maybe I’ll wear one for you anyways, once you’re all healed up. Only if you’re good, though.”

“Danny, you’re killing me here.”

“Better me than a car.”

Duke laughs and takes the ice pack, pressing it against his side carefully. “Oh, for sure. Thanks, Danny.”

“Hey, what are roommates for?” Danny shares a warm smile with Duke, then pats his shoulder and heads back to the kitchen to start making a simple pasta dinner. 

Life in Gotham is weird and stressful and full of ghosts and heroes who won’t leave him alone. But it’s not all that bad, really. He’s happy with how he’s doing in college, and he’s beyond lucky to have Duke as a roommate. So long as Duke never finds out about his halfa status, then he’s sure they’ll be able to last all four years rooming together.

He just needs to keep a secret. 

Shouldn’t be too hard, right?

[chaoswarfare]

dp x dc prompt #40

When the bat clan finally finds the time for a family day out, they think it’s going to be a relaxing time for them to de-stress.

That was before they chose to visit the arcade and play the most advanced game of laser tag in Gotham and got completely stomped by a team of three with the name ‘knock-off ghost busters’ in neon green equipment.

There’s no way these people are normal civilians.

[yarrayora]

you have gotta respect how servamp can add so many plot twists yet the writing stays consistent

no, you didn't see the betrayal coming, and yet it's not out of character, as proven by various people pointing out since years ago that mikuni and lily would make the worst pair possible, the same way the fandom already deduced since forever that lily's tragic backstory would be because he was a victim of sexual violence and that his name was a telltale sign of his lack of faith in love

[edaworks]

I looked at my wife and said: “I know you just got here, but I’m wondering how soon we can leave.”

[planetsano]

so… since its the new year can we collectively agree to get the vibes right and back to how they used to be on ani fic tumblr in 2020-2022?

[meekmedea]

Livia Cardew First Lady of Panem Future President of Panem?

Upon her husband's sudden death at the hands of Panem's infamous serial killer, the Knave of Hearts, she would dazzle the country with her skill as she stepped into the late President Snow's role until a new President was sworn in.

But behind closed doors, there were some who suggested that alongside filling in her late husband's role as President, she took on his lover for her own as well.

Fancast: Lucy Boynton

Context:

Knave of Hearts -> Androcles Anderson. This identity is unknown to the public. (his alter ego is a WIP, may change)

Coriolanus' lover -> Clemensia Dovecote. Alleged lover as it is one-sided and it isn't Clemensia who's pining.

animals + their counterpart: snake -> Coriolanus, lion -> Livia, dove -> Clemmie

Bonus - Livia before Coriolanus' death

"The future President's wife does not parade herself as some sort of entertainment for others to gawk at." - Mr. Cardew to his daughter

Prior to her marriage, it was widely speculated Miss Livia Cardew would have been made the next prima ballerina at the prestigious Capitol Ballet. However, with her marriage, she would retire from the ballet scene.

[akechicrows20xx]

"God I LIVE for this..." [ Akechi dodges a Kougaon thrown in a panic by the shadow of one "Eiko Takemitsu", some political figure who had some choice words against one of his clients a week prior. ] "LEAVE ME BE. I DON'T WANT TO FIGHT. I CAN APOLOGIZE FOR THE COMMENTS EVEN! I HAVE A FA-" The shadow's flurry of apologies stops as Akechi lodges his sword in its arm. "Would it kill you to just shut up and fight? You're really taking all the fun out of this." Akechi says with a grin. [ Akechi remembers about the shadow's free hand a second too late, clipping his leg on a desperate Brave Blade in his attempt to dodge. ]

"HA! I guess that "I don't want to fight.." shit was all for show. I'm glad I have an excuse to return the favor." "LOKI! LAEVATEINN!" [ Akechi throws his mask off as Loki snakes out from behind him, slashing violently at the shadow until there's nothing but a puddle of black in its place, accompanied by the echoes of its screams bouncing off the walls of Mementos. ]

"GAHAHAHHAHA... God I feel GREAT... Hah... Grk. damn thing got my ankle with that last attack... I should have a bead in here somewhere." [ Akechi fiddles with his bag, trying to find some form of healing item when he hears something. No.. Someone. Someone is here. He was too preoccupied with the fight he didn't think to check if anyone had entered Mementos. He's out of Goho-M's. ] [ Akechi switches to his Prince outfit. Even if it is one of the thieves he can at least fool them into believing he's just awakened to this power. Somehow. ] [ Akechi turns the corner and- ]

[shootingstarpilot]

fuck me with a rusty rake, i guess