#you should all play raging loop like right now

[bronzeplates]

Death of the Damned Yomibito is the Mandate...

[watchyourbuck]

The thing about Tommy is that he’s very pretty. Everything about him is intoxicatingly attractive, and no matter where they go, people follow. Men, particularly.

Buck isn’t necessarily the jealous type. He’s had his fair share of protecting ex girlfriends from creeps and dudes who won’t back off, but this is different. This feels like a constant, extremely symptomatic migraine.

Of course girls throw themselves at him, but the mere fact that they have no chance makes it less angering. It’s the studs, and the twinks, and the huge men who put their hands on his man. That cup his ass almost as a greeting gesture. That play with his hair, and whisper in his ear.

And Tommy isn’t stupid. He knows he’s being flirted with, but since he could never have eyes for anyone who isn’t Buck, he doesn’t see the need to be rude. So he keeps it at ‘No, thank you’’s, and polite, refusing smiles. And yes, that’s yet another one of the qualities Buck loves about him. Because he doesn’t like violence. But then again, it fires up the unwavering possessiveness brewing in the pit of his stomach.

So Buck’s gotten creative. Now that they’re officially a couple, and go out on dates every weekend — to different places, if he might add —, he’s had to get handy with the way he lets people know Tommy’s his.

He orders with him at the bar, makes sure to say ‘my boyfriend’ and strategically places his hands on parts of Tommy’s body that would get him punched if they weren’t together. It works, for the most part.

But there’s always that one guy who can’t take a hint.

“You’re like a Greek god,” he whispers and Buck rolls his eyes. “Greek gods shouldn’t be alone.”

It’s a twenty-something year old dude that looks like he’s missing a college class. He’s wearing a tank top and eyeliner and he’s about a second away from earning himself all of Buck’s un-contained rage.

“I’m not alone,” Tommy says, pointing at him, and god bless his heart. “This is my partner.”

Buck bends forward a bit to wave enthusiastically, but it comes out bitchy. He’s almost sorry but then the guy barely acknowledges him, putting his hand on Tommy’s shoulder and rubbing circles on the exposed skin. Tommy’s hand tightens on his hip, keeping him still.

“You know, I’m very flexible,” the guy says and Buck is currently making a deal with god to grant him patience. “I could show you just how much.”

“Oh, you’re not showing him anything,” Buck barks, right from over Tommy’s head. If he has to get on his tippy toes to do that, well, the other guy doesn’t have to know.

“Evan,” Tommy warns, but it’s endearing, it carries no threat. He turns his head to the kid and tilts it. “You should find a guy who’s interested. I’m not.”

Buck absolutely preens, a cocky smirk settling on his face. He’s about to claim victory when he notices the guy’s demeanor doesn’t change, and he actually steps closer. “That’s because you don’t know what you’re missing, daddy.”

Nope. A surge of something primal and almost maniac courses through his body, and before Tommy can do anything about it, Buck’s rounding him and taking the guy’s wrist and squeezing it. He’s shorter than Tommy but significantly bigger than this kid, so he towers over him easily. “Take your hands off him if you want to keep them.”

The kid’s face contorts in fear. “What’s your problem, dude!”

Buck laughs, his only point of connection to reality being Tommy’s hand on his belt loops, holding him in place. “My problem,” he says, his voice deeper, “is that you can’t seem to take no for an answer. He’s told you he’s not alone. So, back off before I make you.”

His eyes shift from Buck’s to Tommy’s, who Buck can only guess has a soft but unreadable expression on his face. When the kid isn’t defended by Tommy, he snags his hand back, scoffs and takes off.

Buck watches him until he loses him to the crowd, then lets out a big breath, closing his eyes momentarily. He turns to Tommy, expecting to find judgy or at least annoyed eyes. He doesn’t.

“Not that I wanna encourage you,” Tommy says, sitting on a stool to pull Buck closer, right between his legs. “But that was really hot.”

Buck huffs out a laugh but it’s vaguely one. “I’m just— he wouldn’t stop touching you. You’re, ugh, you’re—!”

Tommy tilts his head, chasing after Buck’s gaze when he looks to the side. “You can say it.”

Buck bites his lip and stares. How could he not, after all. “You’re mine,” de declares, definitive and on the verge of angry. “And I don’t like men touching what’s mine.”

And he knows. There’s a fine line between sexy possessive and psychopathically controlling, and he’s walking it like a rope between two buildings, but the look on Tommy’s face and the unmistakable sight of the front of his pants growing tighter doesn’t help him get off the high horse. “We can always make a scene,” Tommy shrugs, getting up again and cornering Buck against the bar.

Buck’s eyes darken, even through the pain on his tailbone. His arms surge forward to wrap around Tommy’s neck and bring him down. And if they do make a scene, if they do make out messily and desperately for everyone to see, then it’s truly not his problem what they think. As long as they know who Tommy belongs to.

[pinkmirth]

i love the new theme!! any hcs on our fav vamp having a crush/being jealous? <3

why thank you, nonnie! ❤︎ you’re speaking of that darling angel of a man alucard, i presume? i definitely have a thought or two on jealousy when it comes to him >\\<

this man’s jealousy could burn as fiery-hot as the sun’s raging core, but the one thing he’ll never, ever think to do is show it.

alucard simply isn’t one for disclosing his feelings, and he fears that he’ll come off as childish or insecure if he were to openly admit, so he’d just rather to keep it to himself altogether.

see, he thinks you’re unable to tell; that he appears indifferent. oh, is he wrong. you’re able to read that man of yours like a book with its pages opened flat-out. adrian can keep quiet all he likes, but the tick in his jaw, the grit of his teeth, and the deep grunt coming from his throat is palpable.

this is what he finds to be a completely eye-twitching instance: he takes you, his dear lover, to a nearby pub. it’s just to treat you to something different from the castle’s collection of white whine that the pair of you have emptied down to the very last barrel. this should be nice, he’d thought. a new scenery should be refreshing.

he’d been meaning to enjoy your company, is all. that’s why it takes him by the utmost surprise to see a drunken, grubby man smile at you, hooting your way and staring you down with what disgusts alucard to identify as lust. had he not seen him there, seated right beside you? practically glued to your hip, as he always is? it’s obvious enough to tell; the pair of you are an item. what makes it even worse is that your blatant ‘no’s’ and ‘screw off’s’ don’t even begin to discourage his advances in the slightest.

adrian’s this close to bearing his teeth like a shining dagger. it’d be his silent threat of ripping a throat straight out— but that isn’t of his nature. he conceals it, composes himself well enough for any beer-lapping simpletons not to notice the anger pouring out of him in waves. besides, you’re here, after all, and you’d have his head for inciting unnecessary violence anyway.

it’s happened a good two times now; which is more than enough to make alucard grow red in the face (surely not by the alcohol,) and begin death-glaring any man who ever so thinks to pay you the slightest glance. his quiet promise of pain to them is what buys you a few moments of peace.

“do you wish to leave?” adrian asks expectantly, his lips to your ear as he leans into you, trying his best to sound sweet. you can still make out that strain of distress, the traces of it within his low voice. he tries to play it off as a safety concern, though he knows how well you can handle yourself. it’s simply jealousy, bubbling up and catching in his throat. his pronounced adam’s apple bobs as he dryly swallows, as though trying to gulp the feeling down.

“it’s fine, my love.” you brush it off, bringing your drink to your mouth and taking a generous sip. “we can’t allow a few pigs to ruin our night, now can we?” he lets out a lowly ‘as you wish,’ and settles on keeping his arm looped around your waist for the rest of the night. that’s the most he’ll show of any possessive feelings.

though, you notice; how his grip subconsciously tightens around your waist, bringing you as close as he can get you to be. his fingers, long and lithe, twitch with a cool, silent anger, drumming against the width of your hip as he holds you. it isn’t often that he grows this way, no. it’s just moments such as these that truly cause adrian to lose his fucking wits.

you pressing a kiss to his cheek is always more than enough to soothe him. it’s like you can feel the tension dissipate from his very form. “you’re mine, and i am yours.” you reassure, hand resting at his lap. a little nod is all he gives in reply. though you know, it was just the thing he needed.

[charmac]

Unspoken tension ahead of Charlie Work, a wound left open in Family Fight

The Production Order (the order in which the episodes are written) always seems of some value to me in Sunny, but 10 I find especially substantial. With half of the scripts of the season written by RCG, 4 are back-to-back (with their 5th one, Psycho Pete, being 2nd in order).

The run begins after The Gang Spies like U.S. Going off that into Charlie Work, as opposed to into that off Charlie Work, paints a very different narrative for the timeline.

We leave the reveal that Mac and Dennis are jerking off together into an episode that starts with high tension between Mac and Dennis. Dennis is frustrated that Mac isn't being direct, won't look him in the eyes, he's avoidant, timid. That's interesting, because Mac isn't usually any of those things, he's direct and abrupt and loud. Off 9, fully establishing Mac is gay, juxtaposing his closeted behaviour to Country Mac's openness, 10 focuses hard on the fact that Mac's confidence is continually battered as he refuses to step out of the closet. The Gang is tired of it, but Dennis is frustrated. His words maybe cut even deeper than the scratch, "Come to me like a man. Talk about being tough all the time, can't even look me in the eyes."

We leave CW and go into Family Fight, written right after, also by RCG. This episode has big focus on Dennis' obsession with public perception of himself, and the Gang. Though he can initially handle masking his demeanor, his tone of voice, what he can't mask are his words. He's smiling, he's 'joking', but there's deep truth in what he’s saying. He's frustrated, though his frustration in the moment is intended for Frank, Mac feels it directed at him. There's a fresh wound between them, because Mac fully understands what his feelings for Dennis are now, and that’s irreparably shifted their dynamic.

Misses the Boat is the last RCG-written episode of the season. From Charlie Work, where we’re kinda first faced with the fact that Mac is now overly-concerned with how Dennis perceives him, to Family Fight, where Dennis' masks slip completely and he has a public breakdown, they both veer hard to straighten themselves. Mac, very quite literally, goes straight, and Dennis resolves that he needs to cut ties to get back to being ‘cool’, he’s going to be a cool guy who has a cool car and hangs out with a babe and is cool.

But what we learn in Misses the Boat is that how they think the world views them, or should view them based on how they believe they present, isn’t who they are. They can’t actually function well in these situations. Dennis, untethered, somehow can’t control his rage as well as he can when he *is tethered* to the Gang. Mac, well, he isn’t straight, and he realises pretending to be into women is miserable.

Dennis gives him the offer: Do you want to go back? (To not addressing it, to a standstill.) And Mac quickly, excitedly takes it. Looping back to where they are in Charlie Work, back to where they settle for too long: Mac, absorbed in himself, clawing for approval from Dennis, and Dennis lashing out, tired of telling Mac what to do.

And I think this is why I love 10 more than anything, it finally addresses the issue the audience knows. With Charlie, Dee, and Frank, too. They’re going nowhere, spiraling in circles because they refuse to address the roots of their issues, and Misses the Boat makes them, themselves, fully aware of that fact. They’re miserable together, but they’re worse off alone. And they go into 11 and beyond knowing this, and all kind of resenting each other for it, until 14. Where they acknowledge it again, and decide they’re going to keep playing the game even though it’s set.

[thought--bubble]

Like a Vice

(Dark) Will (Salad Days) X (Tom's GF Reader)

Warnings After The Cut

Will (Salad Days) Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Banners by @arcielee

Based on THIS request

Warnings:: Cheating, Obsession, Jealousy, Rage, Dubcon.

"I'm a dolt! A fool! A charlatan!" You groan as you roll over, clutching your face.

"You made a mistake.... baby, it happens." Your best friend Leah rubs your back, attempting to make you feel better.

"A mistake? I cheated on Tom!" You groan louder. "I cheated on Tom." Saying the words out loud makes you sick to your stomach.

"You still haven't told me what actually happened or who it happened with," she continues to rub your back. "You know you can trust me, right?"

"Believe me, what happened and with who matters very little" You roll over on your back. "I am just going to forget this ever happened"

That is much easier said than done when the whole thing plays in your mind on an endless loop. The fight with Tom. The alcohol consumed at the local pub. HIM walking into the pub.

You rub your eyes trying to push it all out of your mind but like a never ending montage, flashes of his smile and his soft laugh sitting next to you at the bar flash by every time you close your eyes.

You can't tell Leah it was Will. You really can't. She has known him since they were young kids and on top of that, your boyfriend Tom? He is one of his closest friends. This entire situation is completely fucked up.

It didn't seem so bad when the two of you were just laughing away at the bar. It didn't even seem that bad when he offered to walk you home, since it was late and you were his friend's girlfriend it would be perfectly normal for him to walk you home, chivalrous even. You somehow didn't even question yourself when you invited him in for tea. As a thank you for walking you home, of course.

Now any rational decent woman would have had some tea and sent him on his way, instead, as you put the kettle on and drunkenly lean against your counter he came up behind you wrapping his arms around you and whispering in your ear. You should have pushed him away. What did he even whisper? You don't remember, what you do remember is before you knew it, you were bent over the kitchen counter screaming the name Will while the beautiful emerald necklace Tom had gotten you bounced off your chest.

Which is why you find yourself curled up in your bed two days later feeling like the worst person in the world while your best friend strokes your back.

"You're still coming to Matt's party tonight, right?" Leah says softly.

"I would really rather not..... but if I don't go, Tom will know something is up. " You groan while rubbing your eyes again. I have to go and just pretend everything is normal somehow."

"You know, you could always come clean? Tell the truth and see what happens?" She gives you a little smile.

"I could, I know I should. I'm just not ready yet." You sigh. "It didn't mean anything, and Tom, he means everything to me."

"Well, just think about it, ok? Keeping a secret like this. It will drive you mental. " Leah's words repeat in your head long after she leaves, all through getting reading, brushing your hair, putting on your makeup.

"Might be too late. Think i am already mental. " You mutter under your breath as you walk outside, pulling your jacket tight around you. Matt doesn't live far from your flat, and the quiet walk in the cool, crisp air was soothing.

You were worried about seeing Tom, but you were even more worried about seeing Will. The day after your little after the pub romp, he had shown up at the convenience store you work at. He bought himself a pack of smokes, and for a few minutes, you spoke to each other as if nothing had happened. As if you were just mere acquaintances strung together only by your mutual connection to Tom.

That is until he offered you to meet him for a drink sometime. You shut it down right away, telling him there was no way that would happen. The air between the two of you had chilled so abruptly after that statement that you had felt a shiver run through your body. He left quickly after that, but the look on his face, a mixture of anger and grief, hadn't yet left your mind.

As you walk into the party, there is music blasting and people chatting. Smoke fills the air, and alcohol is everywhere. This is how the boys partied. Always to excess. Where they got the money for this, you never knew, but they always made sure you had a good time, and for that, you were thankful.

When you spot Tom sitting on the sofa chatting and laughing with Matt, you quickly make your way over and sink down on the sofa next to him.

"Ahh, there she is!" Tom kisses your cheek."You are so beautiful. Did ya know that?" His cheeks are red, and his face is a bit warm.

"Started without me, I see?" You chuckle and lean in placing a small kiss on his cheek.

"Not my fault! You took forever to get here. I was starting to think you weren't gonna come at all. " He nuzzles into your neck, placing soft kisses along it. "I'm really glad you did, though."

You giggle at the sensation as he places his hands on your waist, pulling you in closer. The joy you were feeling was suddenly replaced with fear, as you felt the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You could feel him watching you.

You slowly turn your head to the side and see him. Will is standing leaning against the wall nursing a beer. Tom, oblivious to the fact that you have an audience, continues with his small kisses and displays of affection. While Will continues to look straight into your eyes.

He is incredibly handsome. There is no denying that, his tall, slender figure, the sharp features of his face, his striking blue eyes. Those same blue eyes that were currently burrowing into your soul.

Those eyes on you in tandem with Tom's wandering hands and kisses feel overwhelming in this moment. Your mind screaming at you, how could i have done this?

You jump up shocking Tom. "I'm gonna go out for a smoke, you say, quickly snatching your bag off the couch.

"You don't have to go out for a smoke, look round, everyone's smokin" Tom laughs and gestures toward three separate party goers who all have a cigarette in their mouths or between their fingers.

"Just need some air, I'll be right back." You don't give him time to respond and hastily skate from the couch toward the front door. You need to get out of there, away from those eyes. Those eyes that look at you, the eyes that know what you have done.

The second the cool air hits your face, you feel yourself begin to calm down. You quickly hop down the steps and move around the side of the flat into the small alleyway between the two adjacent buildings. You lean your back and head up against the wall and breathe deep.

"This will all blow over," you whisper to yourself. "It was just a mistake"

"Was it?"

You open your eyes quickly and look toward the opening of the Alleyway. Will standing there a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

You look away from him and grimace. "Yes, it was"

"Nah..... " He tosses his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his foot. "Nah.. it wasn't a mistake."

You quickly turn back to him, and you can feel the heat rushing to your cheeks. "Yes, it was. I'm not sure what you are thinking here, Will, but believe me, it was a mistake, and it won't be happening again"

"That right?" He stalks toward you, his eyes squinted. "No love, that wasn't a mistake, I know mistakes, make lots of em, this? what happened between us? this was no mistake"

"Will, I'm with Tom." You back away from him a bit, and when he notices that, he cages you in with his arms.

"You think I care about tha? Stay wif em. Don't stay wif em. Don't make a difference to me. " He moves his body up against yours.

"Will..." You attempt to push him back a bit by his shoulders, but he doesn't budge.

"Admit it." He tilts his head to the side to maintain eye contact.

"Admit what?" You whine exasperated."What do you actually want from me??"

"I want you to admit it wasn't a mistake." He takes your chin delicately in his hand. "Admit that you want me."

"I ... I .. I'm with Tom. " You try to turn your head from him, but he tightens his grip.

"That isn't what i asked ya." He gently rubs his nose against the tip of yours. "Admit that you want me" ....... he slightly turns his head and, under his breath whispers "that i matter"

You feel your heart break just a little. "Will, I want Tom." You fight to hold back the tears that are fighting their way out. You never meant to hurt him like this. It was all just a big mistake.

"Yea." He holds you there against the wall, looking down at the ground deep in thought. The minutes tick by, and you feel frozen in place. As if you were to move, it could break the calm that has settled over the two of you.

You finally build up the strength to speak and decide it would be best to simply let him down gently. "This is over now, ok? We can just go back to what it was before"

His grip on your chin tightens again as his back stiffens and his jaw clenches. When he lifts his head and looks back at you, he is furious. "Go back? You want me to go back? Go back to watching you with Tom?"

His body is shaking as he presses you even more tightly to the wall.

"No," he whispers before he slams his lips down on yours, pushing his tongue into your mouth.

You squeak and push against his shoulders, but he keeps kissing you with a desperation, a longing.

"I won't walk away from you.... I can't" He huffs between kisses. "You're everything"

He lowers his kisses down to your neck. "Will!" You gasp.

He grips you by your thighs, pulling you up and pinning you between him and the wall. He runs his hands over your hips and down the curve of your ass.

Between his kisses, his hands, and the sounds of wanting he was making your body betrays you. You gently rock yourself against him.

"Fuckk" He groans quietly pushing himself up against you harder. He reaches under your skirt and can feel your wetness through your panties.

He closes his eyes and bites his lower lip as he pushes your panties to the side and slides a finger into your wet center.

You tightly grip his shoulder as he slides his digit up against your delicate walls pushing in farther with each stroke.

"See? You do want me. " He bites at the side of your jaw as you pant above him. He crooks his finger inside you and grins with pride as he finds the spongey spot that has you whimpering in his arms. "Come on. say it. " His voice drops to a whisper."Please say it"

"I want you" You are so close to your end you would practically say anything but this is enough for him. He pulls his finger out and quickly loosens his belt.

You groan at the loss of sensation and rock your hips against him

"I got you love" He pulls his jeans down just enough too free his cock that is already standing at full attention. He tightly grips your thighs as he pushes himself into you.

"Say it again" He holds one thigh up by his waist his other hand holding you up by the ass as he gently a slowly fucks into you.

He nuzzles his nose into the shell of your ear "Please say it again"

"I want you" The words come out again, Like they are being drawn from you, barely above a whisper.

He quickens his pace burying his face in your neck "I want you too" He bites into your shoulder and then kisses his bite gently.

You wrap your legs tightly around his hips as he bucks up into you.

You close your eyes and angle your head towards the sky. You do want him,, you shouldn't because you love and adore Tom, but you want Will all the same.

"Say it for me" He grunts as his thrusts get messy and more desperate . "Just once more"

"I want you!" You moan more than say.

He grips your hips tightly, rolling them against his body giving you that sweet, sweet friction you are so desperately craving pulling you over the edge of bliss with him.

He doesn't pull out and you are far to fucked out to care. He holds you there against the wall kissing your cheek and jawline as you pant breathlessly.

When you finally catch your breath and lower your legs, you hold your arm out against the wall to steady yourself.

"Will.... I don't know what just came over me" You nervously brush your fingers through your hair. "This can't happen again.... we have to end this"

He fixes his jeans and looks back at you with a cocky smirk.

His eyes land on the necklace hanging around your neck. He reaches over and quickly tugs it breaking the chain and stuffing it into his pocket.

"I ain't ending shit"

To be added to taglist click here

[bravetimetravellingaussie]

And it feels like home

Chapter 2

Summary: Peter Parker makes a friend

Warnings: foul language, mention of injury? Not graphic or anything though

Again, possible spoilers for Spider-man: No Way Home

Days blur together when each day is the same, when there is no one you can share those days with, but unlike his coworker, who'd been stuck in a loop of shock, Peter's brain was finally knocked out of the loop.

For the past couple of months all that had really brought Peter joy was getting into bed and enjoying his few hours of peace, any inner turmoil didn't have a chance to keep him up at night when he was a second away from nodding off at all time. He'd been walking around a zombie for a while now, avoiding everything by filling his time and pushing himself to the limit and beyond, but now he felt something different, something good, even if it was just the itch of curiosity in the back of his head.

It was something.

This strange man with the weird costume and the many, many wounds, which he seemed completely unperturbed by, was a walking question mark, a puzzle to solve. Peter had forgotten how much he loved a good puzzle, how good it felt to scratch that itch of curiosity by getting answers.

When Peter put on his suit that night, he didn't even think about the possibility of throwing some punches, all he could think about was how he was going to find the man in red.

The temporary lack of bone deep emotional anguish and the replacement of exhaustion with excitement should have been enough warning for Peter that something was going to go wrong.

Peter had barely just swung out of his apartment when he ran out of web. A street light broke his fall. It also broke one of his ribs.

All of a sudden he was lying on his back staring at a starless sky and wishing he could stay like that forever. He couldn't hold his breathe forever though, and even though he tried to move as slowly as possible he felt a stab of pain in his chest.

Shit.

Peter gritted his teeth and felt his eyes welling with tears. Pathetic pathetic pathetic pathetic pathetic. Every part of him was tense with burning hot rage. I am motherfucking spider-man, I have a job to do and-

The anger faded and all that was left was pain and tears. I am Peter Parker and I want answers. Peter sobbed quietly as he felt the pain, the pain he'd been feeling a long time now. There are so many answers I will never get but goddammit I am going to get this answer if it fucking kills me.

Peter took a deep breath, a mistake really. He waited a minute for the pain to die down before slowly getting up on his feet. He leaned against the lamppost and held out an arm to hail a taxi.

Once inside Peter slumped in his seat.

"Where to-" The driver glanced back at his new passenger.

"Take me to [insert street name here] or I'll-"

"No need for that! I'm a big fan of your work, spider-man," the taxi driver said with a smile, offering Peter a handshake, an offer Peter accepted. "My name is Dopinder."

"Nice to meet you, Dopinder." Peter felt a surge of something other than pain in his chest. It felt good.

"I'm happy to offer my services as an amateur mercenary to you any time, Mr spider-man, but I have to ask, why are we going to a high school?" Dopinder asked as he drove away from the curb.

"I uh," Peter hesitated for a second before giving up with the scepticism, he was too tired and lonely to refuse a chance to talk to someone. God knows it had been too long since the last time he'd had an honest conversation with someone. "I borrow their lab supplies sometimes. To make my web fluid."

"Ohh, so you don't make it naturally?"

"I mean I don't, I used to know a guy who did though."

"Right."

Dopinder tapped the steering wheel in time with the music playing on the radio.

"So what inspired the spider theme?"

"I got bit by a spider?"

"Oh." Dopinder was quiet for a bit, as if in thought. "My cousin got bitten by a spider once. It was one of the happiest days of my life."

"O-oh, okay."

The rest of the drive was quiet and Peter felt only mildly awkward.

"We are here, that'll be-"

"Yeah, I have no money."

Dopinder nodded.

"Somebody needs to start giving superheroes decent pockets in their super suits," he said with the tired tone of someone who encountered this problem frequently.

"No, I just- I wish I could pay you but I literally don't have any money." A little sheepishly, Peter added, "I was going to threaten you to take me here, and then run off."

Dopinder shifted in his seat to look at Peter. "I've always wanted to know what it feels like to fly."

"I'm a bit injured right now, but next time I see you I'll give you a ride spider-man style, does that sound good?"

"Yes."

"Well then, it was nice meeting you, Dopinder." Peter carefully got out of the car, wincing slightly at the movement.

"Anything else I can help you with? I've always wanted to break into a building under the cover of darkness."

"I'll be alright, thanks." Peter chuckled slightly. "Unless of course you know a guy who wears red leather and seems to be immune to pain."

"Oh. You mean Mr Pool?"

[autumnshighlady]

I've Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 22)

NESTA ARCHERON X ERIS VANSERRA X FEMALE!READER

summary: the face off with Beron Vanserra is finally about to happen, but the new discover of eris and the reader being mates makes things challenging

warnings: violence, misogyny, beron sucks so rip to y'all who liked him in chapter 20

word count: 3.3k

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: i know this chapter is super super short compared to the usual but i wanted to split this scene up and leave y'all on a major cliffhanger because i am evil

part 1 // part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 / part 16 / part 17 / part 18 / part 19 / part 20

read on ao3

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

Eris is my mate

The phrase played in a loop in your head as once again chains found their way around your wrists. You barely felt the weight of them, nor did you feel the dampness of the dungeon floor against your knees, or the agonising pain in your body from where Malgorm beat you. You didn’t care that you were in a dungeon, something that typically would have sent you panicking.

All you could think about was how Eris knew he was your mate, and he kept this information from you.

You knew what excuses he’d make – that it wasn’t the right time, that it was too dangerous for you to know right now. But you didn’t care. There would never be a good time to find out that the male who your mate was mated to was also your mate. The concept of it all made your head spin. Never before have you heard of a mating bond existing between three people unanimously. Sure, there were people you knew of in polyamorous relationships, but never with a mating bond. According to legend, the mating bond was designed to bring together a male and female who would produce strong offspring. Nesta and Eris made sense, and with the newfound discovery of your unexplored abilities it was safe to assume that you and Eris being mates somewhat made sense too. But you and Nesta could not create a child together, nor did you have any desire to.

It was too convenient. Too easy to have a mating bond happening to exist between the three of you. And to complicate matters, you knew Nesta still felt linked to Cassian somehow, despite not being his mate.

A thousand questions swarmed your mind as Saeros and Ivar closed the door behind them, leaving you seemingly alone in the cell, waiting for Beron and Eris to arrive.

(Y/N), You heard Nesta’s voice in your head, so close by as if she were whispering softly into your ear. I’m here. Azriel is hiding us in the corner to your left.

You did not reply. All you could do was stare blankly at the floor beneath you, inspecting the various cracks and crevices. The blood of thousands had probably been spilled into this very floor. Perhaps Beron would see right through your plan, and simply smite you into the stone. And perhaps it’d be a blessing.

Nesta’s voice came again, more worried this time. Hey, are you okay? Something’s wrong, I can feel it.

You laughed hoarsely, a harsh sound that echoed eerily throughout the chamber. That’s something you should ask your other mate. Or should I say, our other mate. 

Even the air seemed to still around you, surprise pulsing from Nesta’s end of the bond. I take it he didn’t tell you, either. You continued bitterly.

No. He did not. Did you just find this out?

Another cursed tear fell down your cheek, landing on the cold floor with a delicate plop. Yes, right after you and Azriel left, the bond snapped. He didn’t seem surprised, only… only remorseful. I can’t believe he kept this from me. I trusted him… and now…

You felt a gentle caress down the bond, a soft mist of silver soothing over the raging sea of emotions on your end. You could not see Nesta, or even sense her presence thanks to Azriel’s shadows, but you could feel her.

You could not feel Eris, having elected to put up an iron wall between you and him.

I know this is the last thing you want to deal with right now, but we need to focus on the plan. Nesta said sternly. Believe me, I know the emotional turmoil that comes with finding out Eris is your mate, yours made worse by the fact he lied to you. But none of this matters right now. None of us will be safe with Beron alive. Killing him is all that matters, for the next thirty minutes at least. Can you hold on, just a little longer? Please.

Your heart felt like it was being pulled in a hundred different directions. Deep down, you knew Nesta was right, that none of this mattered if Beron still held dominion over the Autumn Court. So you took a deep breath, forcing the stale air of the dungeon into your lungs. You closed your eyes. I am the rock against which the surf crashes, You told yourself. Nothing can break me.

You imagined Emerie’s hearty laugh, and Gwyn’s bright eyes as you repeated the Valkyrie mantra to yourself over and over again, willing your mind to still. 

You had to get through this. Not just for yourself, or Nesta, but for Gwyn and Emerie. For every female who had suffered like all of you had. For the chance at giving them a better life.

For them, you would do this.

It only took ten minutes before you heard the angry voice of Beron Vanserra, his footsteps heavy against the stairs that winded down into the dungeon deep within the Autumn Court prison. The pounding fuzziness of your head kept you from making out his words, but his tone said enough.

“She’s down here, father. Nobody else knows, I swear by it.” The coming of Eris’s voice was like the crisp autumn breeze that cleared away the dewey morning haze, bringing life to the world around it. Even though you had tried to block him out, his close proximity was too much, and the feeling of his approaching presence sent a tingling warmth through your body, defrosting your bones.

“Make sure your guards know if they breathe a word about this to anyone, I’ll cut off the head of everyone they’ve ever loved.” The High Lord snarled.

Moments later, the heavy door swung open, revealing a shocked but furious looking Beron Vanserra. His hair was slightly dishevelled, and he was clothed in extravagant red and gold robes. Evidently, Beron did not like being woken up in the late hours. Eris strode in behind his father, that familiar cold mask adorning his features. His amber eyes settled on you, and you fought the urge to squirm as he stared at you as if you were nothing.

You knew it was an act, yet it was hard to keep yourself from tearing up. There was no warmth in those eyes that had stared into your very soul with vulnerability as the bond had snapped into place. His lips were pulled down in a scowl that made you cower. It was hard enough to remind yourself you were all playing roles in this situation, but the contrast of the deep-rooted mating bond with the angerEris was looking at you with made the room spin before you.

You forced yourself to look up at Beron. There was no trace of the loving father-in-law facade he had put on in front of Rhys. No, his eyes were black pits in his skull, dark voids of hatred that knew no bounds. You didn’t have to fake your tremor as the High Lord stared you down.

“Eris tells me that Malgorm has been slain by your hand,” Beron said, his voice a thin layer of ice holding back a raging sea. “Do you deny this?”

You had no idea how long Eris, Nesta, and Azriel had planned on letting Beron interrogate you before they made their move. As you scrambled to think of what to say, Nesta spoke urgently into your mind. Buy us time. Eris’s guards need to secure the area in the next few minutes. Talk.

 “It was an accident, your Grace.” You sputtered, desperation seeping into your tone. “He came onto me in the middle of the night, and he brought a knife with him. I was just trying to get him off of me, I didn’t mean to–”

“Silence!” Beron hissed. “I ordered Malgorm to stay away from you. He is an obedient son, and would have listened to me. You must have snuck into his room during the night and tried to kill him to end this engagement.”

“Actually, that is not true.” Eris interjected carefully. “Several eyewitnesses confirm Malgorm was not in his room at that hour, and was seen headed towards the corridor where (Y/N)’s room resides. She is covered in wounds that only Malgorm would have inflicted. You know what kind of male he was, father. You cannot be surprised–”

“SILENCE!” Beron yelled sharply, spit flying from his lips as he shot a glare at Eris. “My son is dead, and you dare speak ill of him before a grave can even be dug for his body? You disgust me.”

Your breath hitched as the High Lord turned back towards you. “I offered you the greatest honour that a pathetic female like you could have hoped for,” He growled. “And you decide that is not good enough and murder my son. You will pay for this with your life, girl.”

“My Lord, may I suggest–” Eris couldn’t finish his sentence before his father cut him off again, unhinged anger coming off him in waves.

“You have no say in this, boy. Your mother made you too softhearted. You would never be able to rule this court successfully, and it is clear I have wasted my breath trying to make you my heir.”

Eris was utterly still, his eyes narrowing like a snake about to strike it’s target. “I will be a better High Lord than you or the bastards who came before you have ever been.” He said calmly.

And then the room exploded.

Tidal waves of silver fire exploded from the darkness, shadows peeling away like curtains to reveal Nesta. Her eyes blazed with silver, that otherworldly magic rippling off her as she used her flames to press the High Lord into the wall. The sound of his body hitting the stone was like thunder over the mountains, creating small cracks along the space behind him. Orange flames joined, entwining through the silver flames like a magical dance. Beron writhed underneath them, sending his own fire in an attempt to defend himself.

But it was no use against the fury of Eris’s fire, or the steel will of Nesta’s magic. Your jaw went slack as you stared at your mates, one bathed in orange and the other in silver. Red and dark gold hair flared around their necks, as if carried by an imaginary breeze. They looked like gods from another world, coming to unleash their power on the inhabitants of this world.

You heard the sound of keys jingling as Azriel’s familiar voice sounded in your ear. “Come on,” He said urgently. “Let’s get you out of here.”

The chains released your wrists, your arms falling to the ground with relief. You felt Azriel’s shadows curling around you, ready to winnow you away. “No.” You said firmly.

“This is not up for debate. I’ve been instructed to get you to safety the moment shit goes down, and I intend to do so.”

You turned around to glare at the shadowsinger, his hazel eyes glowing against the silver and orange light from the flames. He was still partially hidden, his shadows dancing around eagerly as if ready to join in on the action. “I am not leaving them until it’s done.” You insisted.

He grabbed your arm firmly. “I will not let you get hurt in the middle of this.”

“Then protect me. I cannot leave them behind. You cannot take me away… again.”

You saw the regret flicker across Azriel’s face as he evidently remembered the last time he stole you away at the Hewn City. It was a low blow, you knew. Especially after all Azriel was risking just by being here helping you. After a moment, the Illyrian sighed, muttering something about your stubbornness before saying, “Fine. Get behind me.”

A shimmering blue light formed around the two of you, shielding you from the angry flames. Azriel’s siphons glowed as he produced a wall of protection. You peeked out from beside his arm to witness the scene before you, heart racing.

“Your time as High Lord has ended, Beron Vanserra.” Eris said sternly, his eyes glowing, his voice an echo on the roaring wind of the flames. “Too long have you sat upon this throne and cast a shadow over this court. Nobody will mourn your death, father. Just as nobody will mourn Malgorm’s. When you see him in hell, what’s left of your souls can spend the rest of your miserable eternity there knowing there isn’t a single individual who wishes either of you were still here.”

You expected Beron to spew vile insults, to fight back angrily and wish a miserable death upon you all. But the male only laughed, a rasping sound like two stones rubbing together. “This is a truly pathetic show,” Beron said. “All of this planning and scheming, and for what? You can’t kill me. You needed the magic of your mate to help you while you strung your other mate up like bait. You’re weak, boy. Too weak to ever take me on properly. You’re a coward, and a fool.”

You felt pure shock coming from both ends of the bond. You couldn’t see Eris and Nesta’s faces from your angle, but their flames flickered for a split second, as if they too couldn’t believe what Beron said.

As if reading your mind, the High Lord snorted and continued. “Get that stupid surprised look off your face. Of course I knew this whole time. You forget, I’ve been in this world a long time and can sniff out mates before they even know it themselves. Of course I was aware of your disgusting threeway bond. It’s the only reason I didn’t slaughter you, boy, for getting engaged to the Archeron female without telling me. I thought marrying that Spring Court wench to Malgorm would take care of some of my problem, at least.”

Nesta spoke up, fury lacing her voice. “What?”

“You are a fool, Eris. Of course Malgorm obeyed my every command. Who do you think told him to attack the girl in her room tonight? I gave the order less than a minute after you left the table, you stupid boy. You handed me the opportunity on a silver platter.”

“Why?” Was all Eris said, his flames angrily licking at Beron’s fingers. A burnt smell began to fill the room as they burned the High Lord’s flesh. 

But like the madman he was, Beron continued manically, seemingly blind to the pain his son was inflicting on him. “A mating bond between three people is unnatural, a crime against all that we hold dear. She needed to be eliminated in order for your marriage to Nesta to work. I didn’t care what Malgorm did to her. I told him he could do as he pleased, as long as it ended with her throat slit.” He turned his beady eyes towards you, making you freeze. “I would have let him carve you up into a thousand pieces. A pity he didn’t get the chance to do so before you murdered him. He was weak. No son of mine would let himself be murdered by a stupid female.”

You weren’t sure you were even breathing as reality sunk in. Beron knew the entire time that the three of you were mates, long before any of you had even figured it out fully. The truth of that sinister cunningness beneath his gaze that had unsettled you made your stomach churn. He had been one step ahead the entire time, counting on Malgorm killing you to ensure a marriage between Eris and Nesta without complication. It took a great amount of self control not to vomit all over Azriel, who was watching the scene unfold with a look of pure horror in his eyes.

A spear of orange fire wrapped around Beron’s throat, leaving red scorch marks on the male’s skin as he gasped for air. “You will not talk about my mate like that, you fucking asshole.” Eris snarled viciously as the flames grey brighter. “I will kill you for this. I will slaughter you for everything you put her through. For everything you put all of us through. Nobody will miss you, you absolute filth.”

Silver and orange flames danced higher, rolling back like a wave about to crash down on the sand. But before Eris and Nesta could strike down the High Lord, the door swung open and the Lady of Autumn ran in.

“Stop!” She cried desperately, her eyes frantic.

“Mother?” Shock laced Eris’s voice, and just for a split second, his flames flickered and dimmed.

That split second was all Beron needed to cast forth a wall of angry fire, pushing Nesta and Eris’s flames away. He roared definitely as your mates were thrown backwards, landing on the cell floor with a loud thump. You tried to pull away from Azriel, but his arms wrapped around you, holding you firm behind his shield. You thrashed and fought, but were no match for the Illyrian. 

“Let me go!” You hissed, stomping on his foot as hard as you could. But he didn’t budge.

“What are you doing?” Eris gasped, making his way back onto his feet with unsteady legs. A thin trail of blood trickled down his nose, evidence of the toll that much power took on him. Nesta scrambled to her feet, silver flames already curling defensively around her hands. You couldn’t help but notice how they trembled.

“Please don’t do this, Eris.” Lirilla begged. “He is your father. I have already lost so many of your brothers, don’t take your father from me, too. Let him go.”

Eris looked utterly broken, confusion and sadness written plainly across his features. The arrogant confident mask he had donned moments ago was gone. “You know more than any of us what kind of male he is,” Eris insisted. “Let me free us of him. For good.”

“Please, no. Eris…” The Lady of Autumn sobbed.

Your heart shattered at the sight. Fresh bruises were visible on the frail female’s body, yet she stood here and begged her son to not kill the one who inflicted them. Eris’s mother had endured Beron’s abuse so long she seemingly didn’t know who she was without it or him. She could not dare hope that things would ever change, so she accepted her fate, finding comfort in the dark corner her husband forced her into.

You remembered how she offered you some sanctuary the other night, willing to endure more abuse to spare you from some of it. She had seemed so resourceful, so strong despite all she had faced.

Yet here she stood, regressed before her cruel husband as she begged for his life to be spared.

Rather than rushing towards Eris or Nesta, Beron’s dark red flames wound around Lirilla’s throat. Her eyes popped open as they suffocated her, and the High Lord stood himself up and came over to stand beside her, facing Eris and Nesta.

“Stand down, or your mother dies.” Beron growled sternly, a sick glee coming across his features.

Your heart was in your throat as you felt Eris being torn in too – closer to his goal than he had ever been before, but uncertain of what to do. “You’re bluffing.” Eris said, but his voice was weak as he watched his mother gasp for air.

“Am I?” Beron said, fixing a glare at Nesta, who was frozen in shock. “You too, girl. Stand down. Now.”

A heartbroken look passed between Eris and Nesta. You felt every turmoil of emotion through the bonds, ripping away at your heart as you watched Eris nod to Nesta. Silver and orange flames evaporated into thin air, leaving behind angry scorch marks.

Beron laughed harshly, psychotic dark eyes gleaming as he snarled at his son. “I told you, boy. Your mother made you too softhearted.”

Before any of you could react, a sick crunching sound echoed throughout the dungeon as Beron reached over with his own two hands and snapped the Lady of Autumn’s neck.

The light left Lirilla’s eyes as her body fell down onto the cold floor in a crumpled heap.

And Eris began screaming. 

taglist (comment if you want to be added): @queercontrarian @kitkat-writes-stuff @moonfawnx @sevikas-whore @weird-and-wise @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet @kingshitonly @ladyofcherries @eerievixen @readingwritingwatching @peacecoffeeandflowers @a-frog-with-a-laptop @shadowqueen25 @lana08 @highladyofillyria @rachelnicolee @ladespedidas @little-darlingo @manonblackbeakquidditchteam13 @demirunner @terorovaerangi @hauntedandhopeful  @younxii @microwaveallthedemons @fanfictioniseverything @lovra974 @maddietheshoe @peaceandcrackers @emy1-9 @lostinfantasyworldsbi @issybee0611 @thoughtfulshepherdmongerkid @belledawnidk @whhyyynottt @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @littlebbb @piceous21 @sevendeadlyshins-blog @searchingford  @marigold-morelli @thesapphiclibrarian @nikovasbitch @chasing-autumns-chill @the-sweet-psycho @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @red-bees @daughterofthemoons-stuff

[crmsnmth]

Hello

Version 5.5

Introductions Are stupid.

Hey. How goes it?

I'm 36. Caucasian male. Goth-punk. I live in a small-town of 2000 people right in the center of the drunken state of Wisconsin. It is not even close to as fun as that sounds, and it doesn't sound all that fun to begin with. For work, I am a kitchen manager at one place and a line cook at another. I work seven days a week, because I've really got nothing better to do. Forces me out of the house. Makes me be social. And I actually really like what I do. I've been working in the industry for twenty odd years.

I listen to all music, and I'm not just saying that. I actually do. You can go through my main playlist, and you'll find everything from Slayer to Britney Spears to Alan Jackson to The Casualties to Katy Perry etc.… My favorite band of all time is the Descendents. But standing tall in second place is Amigo the Devil and Frank Turner rounding out my top 3. But you should tell me your favorites song, or one that means something to you, I need new music to memorize.

I'm mentally screwed and quite medicated. I have come to peace with this fact. I've been as stable as I can get for a good four years now. So that's neat. I am a raging cynic. I am a recovering addict, long-term. 8 Years. I am sober a little over two. I am a major cinephile, especially when it comes to the glory of the 80's slasher movie. I absolutely adore weird movies. The last film I watched that I really liked was Kinds of Kindness. I thought it was brilliant. My favorite movie of all time is Tommy Wiseau's masterpiece "The Room." I mean that 100%. That movie is the best thing to ever be put on film and I will fight and die upon this hill. I write more than any sane and healthy person should write, but I'm far from sane and I'm far from healthy. I post at least once a day, but sometimes I can post over ten. My notes app on my phone is scary looking.

I do not write for anyone's actual approval. Not even my own really. I do this because it's the only addiction I have that isn't actively trying to kill me and is actually trying to better me as a person and get in touch with unresolved feelings and places that will never have closure.

I will always love constructive criticism. But please, for the love of all the love in the world, don't just tell me I suck. I get that. It's a massive part of my whole gig. Please, give me a reason why I suck, what I'm doing wrong in your eyes. Help me to better this craft I play with. Seriously, I love it. But if you can't give me a reason, maybe it's best you keep that food-hole shut, and stop trying to be a dick, dick.

So since, I write some much, what topics to a tap dance to the grave with? I'm pretty predictable. So, this stuff: The Girl with the Ocean Blue Eyes, Kid, The Broken Mirror Girl, My Junkie Angel, The Girl from California, The Best Friend, The Drunk*, love, lost lovers, hopelessness, isolation, drug addiction, alcoholism, depression, forgotten acquaintances, mental illnesses, rage, hate, rejection, joy, insignificant moments, slices of life, laughter, beauty, self and self-reflection, self-hate, art, other writers, panic, infatuations, obsession, therapy, group homes, rehab, jail, grace, nature, loss, hope, fear, grief, anguish, philosophy, anarchism, nihilism, religion, god, the devil, ugliness, politics, serial killers, cults, suicide, death, destruction, chaos, music, validation, closure, memory, enemies, friends, rock bottom, sex, violence, rock and roll, sin, self-exploration, bipolar disorder, schizoaffective disorder, pain, self-destruction much more.

Consider this little spot your trigger warning.

I make music as well as the writing gig. Go tell me I suck at it.

I know about the typos. I am very aware. You don't need to tell me, because I'm probably not going to fix them anyway. Besides, you can figure it out.

There's bare bones about me and what I'm about and where I stand. If there is anything else you'd want to know for some godforsaken reason, go ahead and message me. I may not be real good at it, I do enjoy having fifteen second conversations.

*NOT REAL NAMES

[edupunkn00b]

Spaced

WC: 1416 - Rated: T - CW: mild swearing, minor angst, happy ending

Happy Birthday, Roman. The moment I saw the video explaining Roman's birthday celebration would be late, I couldn't get this out of my head, so, here we go…

Illuminated only by the fairy lights draped along his walls, and the dull blue glow of his phone screen, Roman sat up in bed and scrolled through Thomas’ mentions. 

No big deal, just going feral…

Dayum, the LACE! Those HEELS!

Not to be a lesbian but…

Logan is the HOTTEST side, hands down!

Growling, Roman flung his phone across the room. Lucas popped up and caught it in one hand just before it hit the wall. “Temper, temper, my Prince,” he tutted before launching the phone up into the air and smashing it with his baseball bat. “You could break your phone like that.”

Roman conjured a new device and let his head fall back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut. If he didn’t look at him, maybe he would just leave.

It didn’t work. 

“Get out,” he said, listless. Roman had burned up all his rage on throwing the phone and now he just felt… tired.

“That’s it?” Lucas chuckled. Glass crunched underfoot as he stepped closer to the bed. “Where’d that fire go?”

“Catharsis.”

Laughing, Lucas tapped his bat against his orange Doc Martens, knocking away bits of glass and shattered plastic from the chipped and dented wood. Roman glared at him. “Why are you here?” 

He scooped up a handful of the glittery remains of Roman’s phone from the floor. “Do you really have to ask? Or do you just enjoy stupid questions?”

Eyes fixed on his new phone, Roman did his best to pretend Lucas didn’t exist. Switching apps, he scrolled through his history until he found today’s video.

“…This month has been wild and I’ve just been so focused on the Logan skirt photoshoot that I’ve been working on… I completely forgot there were Sides birthdays comin’ up this month…”

Roman’s thumb hovered over Thomas’ face on the screen, ready to pause but knowing that wouldn’t stop the next words from coming. Wouldn’t stop them from playing on a loop in his head as they had for the past four hours.

“…Hopefully it’ll come out the week after? I’m working on it… I completely spaced.”

Three brief knocks broke his concentration and his phone fell to his lap. Roman looked up to where Lucas had stood, but he and the destruction he’d caused was gone. Three more knocks. “Roman?” Logan’s voice outside the room was low, but modulated to be heard through the door. “Roman, I wanted to apologize.”

“What for?” he asked, filling the air as he moved to the door.

“I am in charge of the schedule,” he said, voice clipped. “I should have alerted Thomas to the tight timeline and predicted that—”

“It’s fine, Specs,” Roman muttered, picking at a loose thread on his sash. “I don’t blame you.”

“Lies, lies, lies, lies, lies…” Janus sang quietly, close enough his breath ruffled Roman’s bangs.

“Don’t you ever knock?” he hissed back, adjusting his hair.

“Now why would I do that?” Janus arranged himself on Roman’s chaise, legs crossed and one arm draped over the backrest. “When I can simply make myself at home.” Roman stepped closer, prepared to tip the Lord of the Lies right out of his seat.

“Roman?” Logan was still outside his door. Could he hear Snakeface?

Roman shook his head and let out a slow breath before approaching the door again. “Truly, Logan, we have the birthday video planned for the day after tomorrow. You made sure of it. Ultimately it was Thomas’ choice. I am fine—“

“Oh, sweet, sweet lies…” 

Roman shot Janus a look, jaw clenched, but he kept his voice even and calm. “And I will be down momentarily. I’m nearly done with this script.”

Janus shrugged and disappeared.

“Very well.” Logan was either mollified or else he correctly determined further argument would get him nowhere. “We’ll see you shortly, then.”

One hand pressed to the door, Roman listened to the retreat of Logan’s footsteps down the hall.

“I thought he’d never leave!” Remus cackled from behind him.

Roman spun around. Remus lay sprawled on his bed, head hanging off the side, a series of red and purple splotches running over his neck and down his chest.

“Your hickeys are showing.” Roman rolled his eyes and sat at his vanity. “Here,” he said, offering a golden compact and a beauty blender. “This tone suits you. Cover up.”

“Why would I want that?” he laughed, shoving the compact back at him. “Everyone downstairs will understand how I ended up with these.” Remus locked eyes with his reflection. “Today the whole world saw how hot our Nerdy Wolverine really is.”

Avoiding his brother’s gaze, Roman opened the compact and dabbed at the shadows under his eyes.

“Or didn’t you notice?” Remus added, chin propped up on his fists and kicking his feet.

“Of course I noticed!” Giving up on his makeup, Roman snapped the compact shut and stomped over to his bed. “He looks amazing but that’s not the point! This is the beginning of June and tomorrow’s my—“ Roman’s voice cracked and he plopped down on his bed, hiding his face against the cool satin duvet.

“Now we’re gettin’ somewhere…” Remus purred, inching closer and tilting Roman’s face so he wouldn’t smother himself in the plush bedding. He tapped his brother’s temple. “I could hear you all the way from my room.”

“Apparently so could Janus,” he mumbled.

“Hey,” Remus laughed. “At least you weren’t feeling murderous enough that Lucas could—“

Roman heaved a sigh and flipped over onto his back. “He was here, too.”

“Pretty fly for a Light guy.” When Roman merely shrugged and closed his eyes, Remus snaked too-long nails through his hair, like a bonobo searching for lice.

Roman shuddered. Remus would just as likely put lice in his hair just to pick them out again. “You know Tommy-gun admitted to forgetting both of our birthdays,” Remus sing-songed.

“Yes, I know,” he breathed. “You’re right.” Roman opened his eyes just in time to catch his brother’s frown. Just before he plastered his face in another manic grin. “But he has time to do something proper for your birthday.”

“You know he’ll make it up to you,” Remus said, more serious than Roman would’ve expected. “Jannie wasn’t lying. You’ll always be his hero.”

“I know,” Roman muttered, nearly believing it.

“Do you need me to go get Jannie?”

“No!” he said, louder than he intended. “No, I mean…” Roman shook his head, out of words. Out of any words worthy of a prince, at least. Laying back, hands folded over his belly, he let Remus pick at his hair and they both fell quiet. Quiet enough for the sounds of the others preparing an impromptu party for Logan to filter through the gap between his door and the hallway.

Sudden laughter rang out from downstairs. Logan’s laughter. The brothers’ eyes darted to the door in perfect unison.

“Now when was the last time you heard that?” Remus murmured.

Roman sighed. It’d been far too long. “I don’t remember, actually.” He sighed again and turned to his side, head pillowed on his brother’s knee. “I know I can’t begrudge him this celebration.”

“Well, you could,” Remus drawled, scratching his head.

“I’d be a real dick if I did.”

“Ah! Language!” Remus scolded, tone serious. But when Roman looked up, his brother was grinning. “You know what’ll make ya feel better?”

“What?” Roman tried not to smile but Remus’ grin was infectious.

“LIke pus,” he winked, reading his mind. “A little tromp through my side of the Imagination will turn that frown upside down. Slaughter some slimy demon spawn?” He wiggled his eyebrows and conjured his morningstar. “I’ll even let ya borrow Lucie…”

Roman narrowed his eyes to hide his excitement. It had been a long time since he’d let loose in the Imagination. Nearly as long since the last time Logan himself had let loose.

The voices in the living room grew louder and two sets of footsteps skipped up the stairs. “Come on, Kiddos! We’re waiting for you!”

Roman stood and pulled his brother to his feet, as well. “Tomorrow we shall hunt your orcs. Tonight?” Squaring his shoulders, Roman took a deep breath and caught a glance of his own reflection. He nodded. Very nearly the picture of regality. “Tonight, we celebrate Logan.”

Remus bumped his shoulder and flung his morningstar in the air. It lodged itself into Roman’s ceiling just before disappearing. “And you really have to wonder why you’re anybody’s hero?”

“Shut up,” Roman muttered, still smiling. “Hero.”

[sunlightandsuffering]

Feminist and The Fratboy AU

THEORETICALLY, I COULD WRITE MORE BUT AS OF RN I KIND OF LIKE HOW IT'S ENDED AND STUFF?? it's not as smutty as i wanted but y'all i really think this is the essence of them, feminist mikasa and fratboy eren WE DO LOVE

She’s sitting in his room, lazily turning herself in loops on his desk chair, spinning around over and over again. And isn’t that the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. 

And yet here she fucking is, in the bedroom of one Eren Yeager, expecting it to play out differently than it has the hundred or so other times she’s been in this exact position. 

Her socked foot taps against the edge of his desk once more, giving her the momentum she needs for one more spin– but she’s stopped. 

Eren is glaring at her, his own foot wedged harshly between her and the desk, “No more.” She winces, definition of fucking insanity. 

“I should go,” Mikasa tells him, sitting up from the comfort of her swivel chair, she should at least pretend she wants to leave, that she has some dignity. “No, we have to work on our gender women’s studies assignment, I need a good mark if I don’t want to worry about the final.” Mikasa glares at him miserably, slumping back into the comfort of the plush high-backed swivel chair, the one she is sure is used for all too much video gaming, “You could, you know apply yourself, that might help.” Eren shoots her an unimpressed look, “Why would I do that when I have an angry little feminist at my beck and call.”

This time she stands up, fully intending to leave, but Eren shoves her back, his foot on her thigh, dumping her right back into her chair, “Relax, Miki, I didn’t mean it.” Debatable. 

She quirks an eyebrow at him, irritated, and a smirk tugs at Eren’s lips, those smug, full lips that she loves to kiss way too much, he’s so fucking irritating.

“Don’t be so sensitive.” She could murder him right now, in cold blood, and ruin his mother’s perfectly beige carpet.

For a moment she considers it, her eyes flickering toward the butter knife, lying innocently on the dirty plate on his desk. It’s probably from before she got here, when Mama’s boy eating his dinner at his desk, like a fucking king. 

Her face twists into a scowl and Eren’s smirk blooms into a full-on grin, but he must sense her rage because he puts his hands up in surrender, just before she can make a grab for the dull silver of the blade. 

“Fine, I’m sorry,” he kicks her affectionately, and she comes back to herself, stops contemplating murder, just three words from him and it’s over, her brain a puddle of mush, “You know I love my angry little feminist.” “Fuck off.” He’s practically beaming now, man spreading wide from his seat on the bed and Mikasa turns to glance over at her notebook, the list of prompts for an essay they need to write. 

“What do you think chivalry is?” Mikasa reads aloud, picking up her pen to tap against the desk, she looks up at Eren curiously, awaiting an answer from the very antithesis of feminism himself. 

“Get on your knees.”

He says it with such authority, such confidence that she’s already moving to obey before she stops herself, hands clutching the armrests of her chair. 

“What?” He doesn’t elaborate, simply jerks with his chin, repeating himself, “Get on your knees.” Mikasa hates herself for following his directions, feels like a fever dream as she drops to her knees, only to find herself looking up at him now from between his legs, that dark feral smile on his lips. 

For a moment, it’s quiet, and she simply sits there, her breathing quick as she tries to figure out his angle, and looks up at him through long dark lashes, coated in the most carefully applied mascara, a layer so thin it doesn’t look like she’s wearing it at all. 

Because despite her rabid dislike of him, she’d wanted to be pretty, to affect him in the same way he does her, for his heart to skip a beat, his breath to come a little faster. Her heart is galloping in her chest as she looks up at him, the tense set of his shoulders, the complete and total fucking power he has over her, on her knees between his legs, looking up at him, awaiting her fate, her pretty face inches from his cock. 

His hand moves and she flinches, expecting what, she doesn’t know, but his touch is soft, his smile still dark, eyes glazed over with something she can’t name, lust, desire, power? 

Carefully, he traces a hand over her face, his thumb brushing over the hollow of her cheek, before slipping up to catch her bangs. He gathers her hair back, tucking it from her face with soft reverence, his other coming up to catch any stray strands. 

He tangles his right hand through the silky strands of her, knotting it at the base of her skull so he has a firm hold, his other hand tipping her chin up roughly. His voice is gravelly as he speaks, evergreen eyes hooded, “Chivalry is holding your hair back while you suck my cock, Miki.”

Her mouth parts, from shock, or an unconscious desire, she doesn’t know, and the wicked smirk on his lips grows. He drops her chin to tug his sweatpants down, his dick jerking up as he’s released from his confines, no boxers because of course he’s not wearing any. He slaps against her cheek lewdly, a drop of pre brushing against her mouth as he lines himself up, resting comfortably against her cheek. 

She’s entranced, watching as he gives himself an experimental stroke, even his own hands not enough to grip his cock completely, an inch or so left out, the thick length of him daunting against the delicate lines of her face.

He’s an imposing figure as he jerks himself off, and Mikasa is caught, silver eyes enraptured. She takes her lower lip between her teeth, tasting the saltiness of his pre, her breath coming faster now, her head foggy with desire. 

“To me Miki,” Eren continues, his voice a low rumble that has her staving off a moan as it settles over her, “Chivalry is keeping your hair out of your eyes so you don’t have to worry.” Eren yanks at her long raven locks, a slow almost painful pull, reminding her of the hold he has on her, the literal and metaphorical grasp he has, how she couldn’t shake him off even if she wanted to. 

“So you can be a good girl and focus on sucking me off.”  

He gives her hair another experimental tug, pulling her just a touch closer, just enough so that plump lips kiss against the hard length of his cock, saliva coating the obscene length of him, a sweet massage that she has no doubt he doesn’t deserve. 

“That’s what I think chivalry is,” He looks down at her, smiling dark with mirth, almost gleeful as her lips part, the weeping head of his cock slipping into her mouth, unbidden, a movement all her own, “Wouldn’t you agree, Miki?” Definition of insanity, huh? Call her insane, then. 

[wellthebardsdead]

*some emerald grove devil au with a spicy mama??*

———

Falûne: *gliding along just above the group, lazily doing loops and twirling in the updraft beside the risen road* Those gnolls must’ve been the ones that attacked the Tieflings the day they came to the grove, they tore right through those people- hm? *looks ahead seeing blood and charred earth leading towards the river*

Gale: At least we found Lihalas lute. I’m sure Alfira will be happy to see it safe, at least she can hold the memory of her teacher within the music she plays.

Astarion: that or remind her of her gruesome slaughter- where’d our friend go?

Wyll: *looks up to see Falûne’s tail disappear over the trees* … *runs off after him and freezes in shock seeing him approaching Karlach* LÛ GET BACK!

Falûne: *looks back at him* She’s hurt! *steps forward* hey it’s alright, I’m a friend, are you okay? *backs up as the tiefling stands tall and flames billow off of her*

Karlach: Me? *grins* never better! *eyes up his wings and devil like characteristics* A shame for you then devil! *readies her axe*

Wyll: DONT YOU DARE LAY A HAND ON HIM FIEND!! *grabs Falûne and yanks him back to safety*

Karlach: well I’ll be damned, the blade of frontiers cavorting with devils.

Wyll: He’s a devil only by blood, but his heart is pure. Unlike you. *draws his blade* Your end is- ARGHHH!

Karlach: *recoils as her tadpole connects to his and Lûnes, her eyes seeing through the blue devils and finding only kindness and love, nature all around him and the blessing of a unicorn* wh-what was that?!

Falûne: *seeing the hells up close for the first time through her eyes. The horror, the suffering, the bloodshed and the roaring heat of hellfire… and feeling an odd sense of comfort from all of it* I- *focuses harder and sees a faceless figure, then karlach herself being dragged through to the hell’s themselves, sold into eternal servitude against her will* it was, the tadpole- you… You’re not a devil… you’re a tiefling! You were sold to Zariel!

Karlach: Well fuck me, you, you’re really a kind devil then… there’s a first for everything it seems.

Wyll: No! You can’t believe a word she says she’s lying to you!

Falûne: I know a lie when I hear it, Wyll… you should know how hard it is to lie to a devil… she’s telling the truth.

Wyll: No! She served Zariel! She-

Falûne: Against her will, *walks in between them and gently places his hand on his blade, lowering it* listen to reason now… please…

Wyll: Shit… Shit!! *sighs* you’re right… I’ve been mislead then… you really are no devil.

Karlach: whew… thank the gods, I was worried I’d have to take your head off.

Wyll: hm, you would have died in the attempt.

Falûne: someone set you on Karlachs tail, and I’d like to know who.

Karlach: aye, me as well, go on then wyll. You’re among friends.

Wyll: in a few days time you’ll find out, and no doubt I will pay my penance then.

Falûne: penance?… should I be worried?

Wyll: you’re not in any danger. From what I’ve witnessed, you’re a far more powerful devil than her anyway.

Karlach: another devil? How many have you been dealing with??

Falûne: well there’s me, my uncle and now this mysterious third but- *recoils a little as the flames suddenly grow hotter and Karlach grones holding her chest* Sh-shit you’re still hurt! Let me-

Karlach: no no, that’s all healed- ughhh my engines what’s aching.

Falûne: engine?…

Karlach: my engine. *smacks her chest* zariel stole my heart and replaced it with this contraption… now she’s sent her yappy little attack dogs after me to get it back it seems. So called paladins of tyr, they cornered me outside the tollhouse.

Falûne: hm, let’s send them back to her with a warning then.

Karlach: Fuck yes!

*30 minutes later*

Falûne: *holding Anders by his throat* please work- Karlach, come here.

Karlach: *engine boiling over with rage as she stalks closer, axe ready to kill* Tell Zariel I said h- *blinks as Falûne’s hand reaches into her chest, his skin feeling cool like ice, claws gently smoothing over the blistering infernal metal as he grasps hold of it* huh?? What are you?

Falûne: Sending the warning. *lets go of Anders throat and plunges his other fist into his rib cage, grabbing hold of his heart and with a small spark of fiendish magic, switching it with the engine* EVERYONE BACK UP! *grabs karlach and pushes her back as Anders suddenly begins to blister and boil from the inside out, clawing at his skin and screaming in agony as the engine cooks him alive before exploding all across the room in a smouldering pile of entrails*

Karlach: *staring at it in shock, the engine nestled amongst it* you- *gasps as the engine and pile of flesh crumbles into ash, no doubt respawning in hell back at zariels feet where the deal was made* you just?… *feels her chest, a heartbeat soft and gentle thrumming away* I have, a heart again?…

Falûne: you do… h-heh I can’t believe I actually did it! I-

Karlach: *pulls him into a hug and holds him tight* th-thank you. Thank you so much I- *sniffles as she starts to cry* I’m going to live!

Falûne: yeah… *smiles and hugs her back* …You really need a bath you stink of hellfire.

*that evening*

Mizora: Karlach meets the criteria by having no heart.

Falûne: Karlach has a heart though, look.

Mizora: what no she- *shuts up seeing no vents left on her skin, no flaming glow, no flames, nothing* what?…

“Which means your contract with Wyll is now Null and Void and my contract will now take its place.”

Mizora: *face dropping in a moment of panic as she spins around to see Raphael sauntering over* A-Ah, l-lord Raphael, I had no clue you were involved with my little pet, surely we can resolve this amicably.

Raphael: we might, if my nephew wishes so. *looks over at lûne*

Falûne: *shakes his head*

Raphael: *nods and snaps his fingers suddenly binding Mizora in infernal chains* Karlach, you may have the honours.

Karlach: *grabs her axe* Fuck yes!! *runs at Mizora*

Raphael: *summons wylls new contract* just sign and you’ll have everything you need from me.

Wyll: the only requirement is keeping lûne safe?

Raphael: believe it or not I do actually care about my nephews wellbeing. The contract is just a security to be certain he’s in safe hands.

Wyll: huh, what happens if I fail?

Raphael: do you want to find out?

Wyll: nope. *signs it quickly and jumps as a rapier of infernal metal appears in his belt*

Raphael: wonderful. Now then- *suddenly plucks out wylls eye and seemingly crushes it in his palm before reshaping it with runes to communicate with him directly* I’ll be keeping an eye on things through you now. Do not disappoint me Mr Ravenguard. *tosses it at his face making it land perfectly back in his eye socket*

Wyll: ah-

[itsscatballou]

The End Will Justify It All

a/n - Season 7 of TWD, Negan is just... he's so bad but so good. I have a small series in mind to follow this one, but it's a loosely formed plan…more like the whisper of a plan. Trying out third person POV for a y/n story. It might be a stinker. Feedback is welcome!

warnings - gore and death, a little innuendo, some language, Season 7 spoilers

Relationship is Daryl x female reader, y/n

“Wait!” she shouted, as she lunged herself forward and fell at Negan’s feet, halting him in his steps. “Please… take me with you.” She could feel the atmosphere change. Shock tensing the air. She could feel her friends’ confusion behind her. She could barely register any of it, though, the way her mind was racing.

The plan was barely formed, a shadow searching for shape in the back of her mind, but she pushed it away. She would have to work that out later. There was only one objective right now - stay with Daryl. It was now or never, as Negan left them with instructions for the first offering in a week. She’d barely managed to stop him before he walked to his vehicle.

“He’s mine now.” Negan’s claim on Daryl was ringing in her ears, fueling her. Her Daryl, not his. She would not let this maniac have him. Would not let him cut Daryl up. She would not lose him, not without giving her last breath fighting for him. For all of them.

Everything that had happened was on a constant slideshow loop, flashing through her mind, in sharp, horrible detail. The thump of the first blow of the barbed wire wrapped bat and Abraham’s ginger hair turning a morbid shade of red. Glenn’s eye, then his guttural promise to Maggie. Rick’s strong defiance exuding from him as he swore to Negan he would kill him. His posture now, bent and broken, no trace of that promise left in him. Daryl being dragged off and thrown in that van like a captured animal.

Her knees were stiff and aching. They had been pushed into the gravel for the last several hours, supporting her full bodyweight on the sharp rocks. As the images played again in her head, and the weight of Negan’s words sank deeper into her, she couldn’t think of an alternative – or not one she could live with, anyway. She pushed through the pain, willing her body to move, and sat back on her heels to look up at Negan with pleading eyes.

“What is this?” Negan chuckled as he peered down at her, his bloody bat hanging near her ear, filling her nose with a nauseating metallic tang.  “Have you been here the whole time? Has she been here the whole time?” He directed the second ask to his men. He got amused smiles and shrugs in return.

He looked back to her, eyes beaming with something she couldn’t quite name, but recognized its malicious nature. “Why exactly would you want to leave your band of merry men and come with me?” He asked, as he swept that damn bat in the direction of the half circle of her people.

“I – I can’t go back with them,” she stuttered out, bracing herself as she prepared her explanation. It was going hurt. He raised his brows in question at her words. “I didn’t see it before but now I see how weak Rick is. I thought he was someone who could protect his people, but… after this,” she gestured to the two messes on the ground where her friends' heads should be.

“I can’t follow him back.” She let her mind picture every man that had ever let her down before, every person who had been too weak to protect her, or to even try.  Her father in the old world. Her fiancé as the chaos descended. The “friends” she’d made in the months following, before she’d found Rick’s group. All their memories making her stomach turn and filling her eyes with rage and disgust.

“Anyone who can bring him to his knees like this, break him like he is broken now… and inspire this kind of loyalty…” she tilted her head in the direction of the large group of Saviors around them, “that is a person I can follow.”  Awe, and a bit of intrigue, was the look she forced on her face as she met his stare again, trying to shut out the knowledge that the people she loved had heard every brutal word.

Negan’s eyes raked her from head to toe, taking in every inch of her with an animalistic gleam. She was wearing what she referred to as her tactical leggings, a skin-tight pair of pants with enough pockets to carry any knives she’d need outside the walls (and space for condoms if she was with Daryl), a belt that made the pants perfect for tucking in handguns, and they were thick enough to keep her warm in the early fall weather. She couldn’t deny her favorite feature was that they made her ass look fantastic.  “Ya can’t wear them pants,” Daryl had once told her while they were preparing for a run together, “when ya wear ‘em the only place I can look is at your ass. ‘at’ll get me killed.” She wore them anyway. He never complained. She’d put them on when she left this morning with Michonne, Glenn, and Rosita to track Daryl, hoping they’d be an asset in persuading him to give up the hunt for Dwight. The fitted long sleeve shirt she wore - made of a sweat-licking material for athletes in the old world - clung to her form in a way that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Her curves had filled out a bit in the last month, now that she was eating three square meals a day, softening the harsh angles that months of traveling and near starvation on the road had given her. She wasn’t a vain person, but as Negan worked her over with his eyes, she knew he’d like what he saw.

“I’m willing to… pay for my admittance,” she said with enough emphasis on the word pay to convey her meaning, but she threw a suggestive glance at his belt as she bit her bottom lip to make her offer clear. She fought back the bile creeping up her throat as her brain worked out what this implication might bring later. She knew it wouldn’t matter, that she would do anything to keep Daryl alive. This world needed him. Their family needed him, especially with what was lost today. It would be a small sacrifice in comparison, and one she wouldn’t think twice about if that’s what it came to.

Negan searched her face as he contemplated. “You hear that, Rick?” he asked, throwing a cocky smirk at the exhausted man in the gravel, “This – what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Y/n”

“Y/n wants to know what a strong leader looks like. I think I’m gonna show her.”

A couple of Saviors took her by the arms and half walked, half dragged her to the double doors of the van that now caged the man she loved.

“Now you can’t leave ‘em all without saying goodbye, can you, sweetheart?” Negan heckled from behind her. She half-turned to look back, sweeping across the faces of the group before reaching Rick’s. Fury. That’s what she read on each of them. Fury, hatred, rage, a twinge of heartbreak as she met Carl’s glower. She found Rick’s eyes, and had to stifle her surprise. In them she did not see so much as a hint of the anger she expected. Instead, in his bright blue gaze, she saw understanding. He nodded at her, and she gave the most subtle dip of her chin in return. Then she narrowed her eyes, and turned, climbing into the van without another word.  

¨ ¨

The Saviors had been gone for maybe three minutes, but it felt like thirty. Everyone sat in silence, still on their knees on the hard ground, processing the horrendous events of the night. Sasha broke the silence. “What the fuck?” she breathed out. “Y/n?” 

Rick turned to look at her. “It’s okay.”

“What do you mean, it’s okay?” Michonne asked, indignant.

"She's with us," he replied calmly. "She's gonna bring Daryl back."

[zenkor123]

How would Peeta react if with all that is known about my Coin and Peeta's exposure she began pitching the symbolic hunger games?

He would feel betrayed and it would break his heart, this is who 13 venerates. See his anger at Coin in the fic where Peeta is sent to squad 451 where he loses all hope. Without the killing of his therapists (it was a different Coin) he probably would be like

"you can kill each other all you want you can nuke your own cities and skin babies alive on live television I don't fucking care just take me on a plane to Europe. Your a fucking tyrant, Panem has been cursed ever since the nukes fell and I hope Panem nukes itself to ashes, don't want any part in it anymore. I knew you were a dictator but I didn't think you would go so low as to murder 23 children for sport! Just take me(and the other victors and whoever he cares about) on a hovercraft to Europe and you can murder whoever you want! You won't have to worry about any endorsements in your fake elections"

What's your vote

" my vote is that you should go fuck yourself, and I'm pretty sure you do that daily, while looking in the mirror isn't that right? Supreme leader Coin?"

In the fic where his own hopelessness and he's threatened with a mental institution he wants to kill Coin. (The Peeta's journal fic) Now he assumes that whoever replaces Coin will be some wacko from 13.

He may be a mutt(so he thinks) but he thought he could use this to make the world a better place then the hell that created him.

This is what early October Peeta would say.

(In the capitol Peeta frequently endured extra torture for using Lucy Grey to mock Snow after Snow made the mistake of telling him about LG and comparing Katniss to Lucy Grey)

Peeta constantly roasted Snow even while being tortured. The hijacking let out his inner Myrna Mellark. In early October the rage, and grief that his hijacking is permanent(that he's a mutt) and the realization that the capitol had taken everything from him made this more pronounced.

When Peeta gave intel to the rebels in 13 he told them the way to get under Snow was mention Lucy Grey. Coin had the idea of hacking the presidential mansion and playing covey songs sung by Katniss on 24 hour loop. This pissed Snow off.

Peeta and Johanna got along well due to this shared trait.

[hex-rex]

jinx and/or shart and/or lae'zel for the give me a character ask thing

And\or errrrm. I like to talk? I am doing all 😁👍

putting it under a cut bc the Jinx section got out of hand 🤠 Uuuh Arcane and bg3 spoilers

Jinx

• how i feel about this character

AUGH????? AUGH!!!!!!!!! DJJFJFNFHDIDNDJFJIFNFFHFJ!!!!????

• All the people I ship romantically with this character

Personally no one from the show, but I really like Lux from what I've seen of her (I think that's her name. I've never played League)

• My non-romantic OTP for this character

Obviously her sister and her have an addicting dynamic but I also like Ekko and Jinx in a they miss each other so painfully much but could never forgive the other either, and are stuck in an endless loop of missing them and hating them 😩

• my unpopular opinion about this character

I've seen people saying they want Jinx to get help\realize how evil she's been and makeup with Vi, but I personally don't .... The whole point is they've changed. They're both completely different and there's no going back. They both miss each other so painfully much but they just can't see past the old to accept the new. They both want their sister back so bad, they can't realize their sister is right there. They both can't move on without moving on from their memory, but doing that would be the same as accepting their sister as dead to them.

• One thing I wish would happen/had happened with this character

OKAY I KNOW SHE HAS HAD LIKE 15 BREAKING POINTS BY NOW BUT. I neeed to see Jinx kill Cait\A council member\anyone close to Vi. I need to see Jinx do something so unforgivable out of rage that Vi finally realizes she's not getting Powder back. I need Vi to snap at her and have Jinx realize her sister will never accept her as she is. I need sibling angst 😩😩😩

Shart

• how i feel about this character

See above^

• All the people I ship romantically with this character

Funny you should put this with Lae'zel. Well let's just say. Haha. Ftrog laby.... I also really like Karlach x Shart and Minthara x DJ Shart!

• My non-romantic OTP for this character

ASTARION!!!!! Two pale white-haired elven mean girls trash talking EVERYONE at the reunion!!!! They both said the same insult at the same time and immediately became best friends.

• my unpopular opinion about this character

I really like the DJ Shart route 😩 like. More than her normal route!! OBVIOUSLY Selunite Shart is the best for her character but DJ Shart is SO interesting!

• One thing I wish would happen/had happened with this character

I WANT MORE SELUNITE SHART CONTENT!!! I KNOW that is ironic considering my previous statement but I DO!!! I NEED IT!!!!

Lae'zel

• how i feel about this character

Augh.... Alien lizard woman with a sword save me.... Save me alien lizard woman with a sword...

• All the people I ship romantically with this character

Already said Shadowheart, but also Wyll!! He could fix her....

• My non-romantic OTP for this character

Jaheira! I can imagine Jaheira helping her down the path of like. Not murder. She tells her little stories about heros and Lae gets SO shocked (and disgusted) when she actually gets invested in the self-righteous plot

• my unpopular opinion about this character

She actually isn't just a mean evil woman 🤠. She is soo complex and has so much more to her, even in act 1, than being a racist meanie. She was taught to put herself first and that feeling of being the best is slowly unraveling!! And she has to juggle her loyalty to her kin with her newfound love for her friends!!

• One thing I wish would happen/had happened with this character

I wanna be able to go to the comets with her platonically ☹️. I KNOW she wouldn't let her but I WANT TOOO!!!!

^me being plagued by thoughts of Woman with Braids

[asjjohnson]

Part 7 of my poll adventure fic. Links: the beginning, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6.

Sooo... I wasn't sure how to get everything across within one scene.

Poll below.

---

"Of course I would like to work with you on this, dear girl," he told Valerie with a smile. "You may not know this, but, back in my college days, I was part of a ghost hunting team."

Not that the three of them had ever found a ghost back then.

Valerie's eyes lit up. "Really? Oh, that explains the ring. I should have realized it before!" She slapped a fist down onto her palm as a gesture of realization.

"Ah, yes. The, uh, ring."

What ring?

Was she talking about the Ring of Rage...? What exactly had he told her about it back then? That the ring had been passed down between generations?

"I was the leader of my group, of course, coming from a long line of ghost hunters. I don't mean to boast, but I did do most of the planning, was the most skilled in combat, invented the majority of the equipment..."

"I knew you were great at making weapons and stuff, but I hadn't thought about the rest. You have to teach me! I could learn so much from you."

He placed a hand on her armored shoulder. "And I'll be sure to teach you everything I know."

...If only Daniel would be so willing to learn.

---

Vlad had needed to make a few alterations to his old jumpsuit.

Well, he'd actually ordered a new one to be made as fast as possible. Even if his old jumpsuit had still fit, it had been made of assorted odds and ends, as had both Maddie's and Jack's been back then.

Currently, he flew beside Valerie in the new jumpsuit, with a powerless, ordinary round sled strapped to his feet.—No need to waste time and money on functional transportation when he had his ghost abilities.

He had a duplicate of himself in his lab in Wisconsin, trying to think of what equipment would come in handy later. And another duplicate searching the ruins of the mayor's mansion.

His current self and Valerie had yet to find any sign of the older version of Daniel.

Which was odd, seeing as Vlad had assumed there would be a clear path of destruction and fleeing townspeople in need of reassurance by their mayor.

But it was probably for the best. He hadn't truly thought through this idea of playing a visible part in the ghost's capture.

His strength was divided between his duplicates, and his powers were limited by a much greater degree still while he was in his human form.

He needed to be able to give it his all when they did come across the ghost. With Valerie's rashness, it was bound to become more than reconnaissance.

Vlad signaled to Valerie to land on top of a building.

As Valerie recalled her suit, Vlad slipped his feet from his metal sled.

"While our time together has been fun, I'm afraid I've overestimated this old body of mine. I'm no longer nineteen." He chuckled, hoping to raise Valerie's visibly falling spirits with a bit of humor. "However, I have an acquaintance for you to team up with in my stead."

"But you've barely started teaching me..."

He'd shown her a few things over the past three hours. Mostly correcting her grip while holding some of her weapons. It was obvious she had taught herself during the past several months solely by trial-and-error.

"You're a wonderful ghost hunter, my dear. I don't believe I have any more techniques to teach that you don't already know."

Which wasn't too far from the truth. Valerie and Daniel both picked things up so quickly. Much quicker than Vlad himself had.

"But... What about what you were saying about planning and stuff? Strategy? I know there's more I can learn."

"And I can still teach you those things—behind the scenes. And I'll also be there rooting for you from the sidelines."

---

"Okay, fruit loop, what are you up to?"

Vlad Plasmius paused in his intangible searching of the mansions' ruins to see the present-time Daniel with his arms crossed.

"I'm not in the mood right now, Daniel. I've missed six days of sleep in the past twenty-four hours!"

The boy gave him a disbelieving look. "I may be bad at math, but even I know that doesn't add up."

Vlad sighed. "It doesn't need to make sense to you. I'm simply busy. Too busy for this."

He had given Valerie an earpiece to wear so that one of his duplicates could speak to her from a control room, while keeping watch on a large monitor. He started by patiently explaining the art of schem— planning, and, while she'd slept last night, he'd looked through a couple textbooks and come up with a lesson plan for later.

Another duplicate worked on advertising merchandise with one of his companies, in order to decorate his limo and his person while he followed Valerie around town to cheer her on and let the voters know he supported her in taking down the dangerous, rampaging ghost that was threatening the city. ...Whenever said ghost will choose to do so.

It had already been a day, and there was still no sign of him. As though he was purposefully taunting Vlad by his chosen inaction.

Vlad also had a duplicate searching the Ghost Zone. But there was no noticeable trail of destruction there, either.

There was still the duplicate in his Wisconsin lab working on a few weapons that should come in handy against the ghost.

And his last duplicate was with Valerie in his ghost form. Since Vlad Masters had suggested the team-up, Valerie had agreed to work with Vlad Plasmius for this one mission.

Being split into so many parts throughout the night, the effects of his loss of sleep was magnified.

"Nice necklace," Daniel said.

And that's what he was working on. Unsuccessfully.

Vlad felt one eye beginning to twitch.

"I can't get this infernal collar off until I find the remote somewhere under all this debris!" Vlad shouted.

---

"Alert me when there's an update" list:

@charlietheepic7, @chrysanthemum9484, @mymadmedleyw, @dp-marvel94, @aikoiya, @whydouwantmyname, @cinturon-cadena, @freakofyournature, @satanicrutialspecialist, @danphantom80

(if you want on the list, specifically ask to be alerted for updates in a tag or comment. Ask again if I forget to add you! If I can't tag you, I'll send a Message.)

[unhingedhearties]

Rage Over A Wrap Photo: Part 1 (Instagram)

Because of the actor's strike, none of the cast were able to promote or talk about Season 10 while it aired. The strike and Season 10 also happened while they were filming Season 11 and it looks like the strike ended just as they were finishing Season 11. The lead actor, Erin Krakow, posted this photo celebrating Season 11’s wrap and based on how some people reacted, you’d think she’d bombed a small country.

Someone is happy and we can't have that.

Another fan is happy. amintermimi loves using the vomiting emoji on all of Erin’s posts.

When Calls The Heart actor Kevin McGarry makes a light-hearted comment. These people can’t distinguish the actors from the characters they play. Kevin isn’t friends with Lucas because Lucas doesn’t exist.

Someone's grandma picks a fight with a calm and kind fan while people psychoanalyze Chris's interviews to tell us what he really feels.

I had to cut this down because it just kept going on and on. Someone's angry grandma returns to argue on another fan’s happy post. Some rational people post, but it’s ultimately a waste.

WAAAAAAH! Here comes a barrage of people declaring that Erin’s photo is “insensitive”, “salt in the wound”, “a slap in the face” and was intentionally uploaded to cause malicious harm to Lucabeth fans. You’ll also see the phrase “emotional cheating”. They LOVE using that phrase. Another thing you’ll notice are these good, Christian fans talking about the show’s Christian values, crying about how the show supposedly lost them, but then they’ll turn around and use disgusting, derogatory terms like “sloppy seconds”.

I had to group these together because there were so many of them.

Some people would suggest that Erin only posted this photo to celebrate the end of filming Season 11 and picked something innocuous like a photo of the ground probably so that nothing was spoiled. Those people are liars. Clearly what happened was Erin stayed up late, rubbing her hands evilly over which photo to use to stab the hearts of 50 year old women who watch her TV show. And what better photo to literally murder their hearts with than… a photo of some shoes. 

Diabolic.

It’s getting salty in here. A bunch of people who’ve probably never written anything outside of an Instagram post argue about canon.

WHERE’S YOUR COMPASSION!? Someone tries to kindly and gently get the poster to calm down. The kindness is wasted.

Fellow actor Pascal Hutton appears. I sure hope the fans aren't rude to her. Angry grandma shows up again and uses an argument these people love using because they think they’re smart. “My opinion matters!” “My opinion is just as important as yours” “I HAVE THE RIGHT TO FREEDOM OF SPEECH!” and other variations.

A very mentally healthy response. Someone get angry grandma into a rest home.

More complaining about how the photo is insensitive. This time an appropriate response is given.

Mark your bingo cards! Emotional cheating comes up again.

THE “T” STANDS FOR TRAITOR. People applaud themselves for their witty observation. A fight breaks out about who’s side of the fandom is bigger.

I really should make a bingo card for these butt-hurt fan’s posts. Another thing they think is brilliant is saying “THIS SHOW SHOULD NOW BE CALLED ‘WHEN CALLS THE *insert some dumb play on words or whatever random phrase they think is clever*’”.

Some fans having fun with Erin. We can’t have that. If you were to ask them what “morals” her character/herself (most of them can’t tell the difference anyway) lost, they’d probably loop back around to the “emotional cheating” argument and use that as a justification for hurling insults at her.

Cool misogyny bro! Also, nice grasp of the English language.

She didn’t cut and paste the same response over and over, she actually typed it out each time. Somewhere there’s a child wishing to spend time with her mother, but mommy’s too busy spamming an actor’s Instagram account because her favorite TV show didn’t turn out the way she wanted :(

What the hell are you on about?

Hey, it’s unhinged Liz! This is the same person as Heartie23/HeartieETLB in my previous post. The one who keeps using slurs against the showrunner. Here she’s screaming for Erin, a person she seems to both worship as a goddess while also calling her evil, godless and bound for hell, to acknowledge her. Liz loves making up things in her head with no evidence and then believing it’s real, such as believing that Erin and Chris don’t want to work together anymore.

Yes, brilliant idea. Erin should have posted all her behind the scenes content before the season started and before the strike that no one knew for sure was going to happen or how long it would be, probably spoiling a bunch of stuff, because…??? And despite these deranged fans screeching at Erin, she’s been posting behind the scenes stuff on her account.

“Everyone hates her & what she’s done” FFS. These people need to be committed.

Part 2 coming soon. It'll be all the Twitter responses to this photo.