#is it a blood sampler?

[thecruellestmonth]

Big Two comics fandom is wild.

Fans scurrying around like mice, picking only the choicest delectable cheese crumbs of canon, weaving in and out of the deadly spring-traps of terrible writing.

Other fans deliberately placing their paws into the mouse traps, week after week.

[alreadyblondenow]

F*CK, MARRY, K*LL: VOLUME I | Jeong Jaehyun (MOOD SAMPLER)

▸ Assassin Jaehyun x Assassin Female reader ▸ Smut, Smut, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Gore, MATURE ▸ JAEHYUN SMUT SERIES: FUCK, MARRY, KILL ▸ Teaser/ Mood sampler for VOLUME I

Summary: The start of a new life. Training to be an assassin and a chance to experience true love. The son of the leader of the Jeong clan fell in love with you while you two live your lives as assassins. He promised a quiet life, but when things went south. You decided to leave Jaehyun… and hide your daughter from him.

Warnings: Smut, smut, smut, MATURE THEMES, Heavy description of killings because most of the characters are assassins, mentions of blood, character death, unprotected sex, mentions of condoms, mentions of pill, pregnancy, swearing, mentions of alcohol. I hope I did not forget anything.

A/N: I will try to put warnings on every part of the story that has gory details. This will still focus on the love story but still I wanted to write again so this may be long. I hope everyone will enjoy every word of VOLUME I.

SMUT AFTER THE CUT

Dreaming.

He was aware that he’s dreaming.

“Good morning,” he hugged you from behind in this cold morning. You were happy he’s back to his normal self and gave him kisses that are long overdue. Innocent kisses that are sweet but wet, you can tell by the way his tongue moves that he missed you too. The way his kisses are soft but you know he’s up to something even more.

His hands were swift to remove your sleep wear until you’re naked beneath him as the morning sun hits you perfectly. You watch him remove his sweatpants and underwear and he was excited to go back to your lips again. He missed being on top of you, being able to see the woman that he loves like this again.

“I’m sorry if being like a horny teenager this morning. I really missed you” he apologized and kissed you again, hands reaching both of your legs and spreading them wide while you check your slit with your right hand if you’re wet already and you’re ready for that cock of his.

“Don’t apologies, you’re not a stranger” you whispered sweetly while you pump his cock and kiss his lips. He didn’t wait for another second to push in. He couldn’t wait anymore.

He missed your warm walls. He missed your lips. He missed hearing your moans beside his ears he missed your touch. Your hands are around his neck. Never leaving his skin and continuously pulling him back closer to you whenever he tries to pull away for a different sex position. He let out a soft laugh, kissing the shell of your ear and making you weak. The way he fucks you this morning is soft, as if he’s really telling you he missed you.

The way his cock goes in and out of your hole, slowly but deep. It was addicting. Then he flips you around, putting you on your stomach but never leaving your lips. He pushed in again while your legs are still closed, making your hole tighter to Jaehyun’s liking. This is how he wanted it. Tight and slow, but giving you hard thrust while hitting the right spot. “Fuck,” you said and catch your breath. You felt your high come down already but Jaehyun is still building his. What the fuck you thought with a smile. You feel his lips travel around your back, his strong arms wrapped around your body, touching, pinching and even smacking your skin oh so lightly it tickles you.

“Marry me”

He suddenly said.

“Marry me,” he repeated it while thrusting deep inside you. You tried looking back at him to see his eyes but he was quick to catch your lips and fuck you faster. He was near.

He flips you again so he could see your eyes and beautiful face, still waiting for the sweet answer. Hopefully. He was working hard for it, as you can see.

Rubbing his hand on your hard nipples as he fucks you slow and deep. His lips never leave your lips, telling you how much he loves you. He reached for you hand and intertwined it with your yours, “Marry me,” he asked again, this time looking at your eyes and left a kiss your lips which made you completely stunned… and all you did was nod your head with a smile as an answer.

You saw how Jaehyun’s face lit up the moment you answered him. How he was genuinely happy. That you finally said ‘yes’.

He let go of your hand and put on your legs, spreading then wide while he pushes deeper. You watch Jaehyun moan on top of you, eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed. He was really hard and you feel it stretch you every time he push right back in.

Faster he fucks you, making your boobs bounce and making you moan so loud. By the time he reaches his high his thrust were harder than before almost hurting you with the impact. But the hurt was so good it’s addicting.

He rested his head beside your ear, putting all of his weight on top of you. Oh you love it when he do this…

“I love you. Thank you for saying ‘yes’ I will make you the happiest girl in the world-“

“You already did Jae,”

He smiled and caged you with his strong arms. It was a good day. A good day to start together.

But again, Jaehyun was only dreaming of this memory.

It was the last time you two made love. The last time he showed you how much he loves you before he fucked up.

As he opens his eyes… todays marks a day that he will never forget.

It’s been three years. It’s been three years since he started waking up alone. Three years since everyone from the squad stopped working for the Jeongs. Three years since you, Taeyong and Yuta left Jaehyun. Three years since Mark’s passing. Three years since you and Jaehyun broke up.

It was the slowest year for everyone. Adjusting to your new life, adopting to the way of living in the real world, and finally tasting the peace that you’ve been working for your whole life. For three years… you haven’t killed anyone. But living in a peaceful place with your friends doesn’t mean that your life is happy. There are still dark moments that will last only a few second or a few minutes. Dark moments that you carry as burden and still punish you the moment you close your eyes and remember the day when you left Jaehyun. The day when he chose power over you.

It wasn’t chaotic as you thought it would be. You and the others thought that leaving would be so difficult that it could turn into a blood bath. But no. Jaehyun let everyone go peacefully.

During the years of living without him, he kept on calling you. Day and night, asking if you’re okay and if the others are well.

“Do you guys need anything? Monthly groceries?” You chuckled at his offer, which made Jaehyun smile through the phone because he miss hearing you laugh, “protection maybe? I’ve been training new guys”

“No Jaehyun, were fine. Everyone’s fine” you said calmly. Hoping that Jaehyun wont get hurt knowing that everyone is completely fine without him. Of course he was hurt, he couldn’t even accept the fact that you and the others left him. He’s still in the process of acceptance, even though it’s been 8 months already.

“How about I visit? Before I leave for Japan-“

“Japan? Why?” Your heart was beating so fast… he can’t know where you and the others are located. He cannot know that the Nakamoto clan took you and the others in. Jaehyun will definitely get mad and jealous.

“I have business with a few gangs.. well you know how this works already no need for details” he faked a laugh. “Why don’t you want me to visit you? Are you hiding something?” Jaehyun said. You will never get used to this new Jaehyun. It was as if the Jaehyun you fell in love with is completely gone. This new Jaehyun is scary, straightforward and dangerous.

“No, Jae. We are still adjusting to this new life it’s a total mess here” you laughed, “Taeyong is baking everyday because he sells breakfast breads, Yuta sells sushi, I can’t even do laundry- I mean come on, do you really want to witness us struggling?”

You both laughed at what you said. Of course you answer him truthfully, everyone is still adjusting… but you’re the one who’s adjusting the most. He cannot know about your daughter. He cannot know that after you left him, you found out that you’re pregnant and he’s the father.

Of course you don’t want your daughter to grow in the same environment that you grew in. No way. And that is why you try your best to stay away from Jaehyun. For your daughter’s sake.

But after three years of hiding… after three years of lying, you are finally ready to meet Jaehyun again.

It was a cold morning, and today is the day that he get to see the love of his life again after three years. A lot has change. He changed. You changed. The world changed. But the only thing that did not change and cannot change is his feelings and love for you.

Today he’s exhausted. It was a bloodbath last night. His hands smells like blood and his body was really sore. Over the years of being far from you, he cannot be happy, he haven’t been laughing or enjoying life now that he’s the second most powerful man in the business world. No one dares to touch him. But still… Everything feels wrong he thought.

Over the years he developed this anger towards you but still he loves you very much. He hated himself whenever he thinks that he hated you… and this meeting, this reunion, he will ask you- no, he will beg you to stay with him and come back to him. Even though he finally found out about your kid. The father? He’s still clueless.

Just before you invited him over, he found out about you and your daughter. He was furious. How could you do this to him. He has his thoughts, his imagination gone wild. Maybe you sold yourself because you became poor and got pregnant, maybe Yuta was the father, maybe you adopted the kid. But it never crossed his mind that it was his. That he was the father.

Not until after he saw the kid in person.

Today, he was planning to watch you lie to his face and give you credit for your acting.

Now that Jaehyun is in front of you again. He looked scarier than ever. Still handsome. But scarier. Your home became cold the moment Jaehyun stepped inside it. It was like darkness was following him always. There’s no sign of the Jaehyun you fell in love with anymore. Whose presence is always warm… he’s gone. Completely.

“You look tired,” you gave him a hug which he missed the most. You on the other hand, smelled the blood immediately.

“Were sorry if it took us so long to invite you over— it’s my baking skills, I finally mastered baking and I’m officially an owner of a pastry shop” Taeyong was happy so announce. Everyone was happy for him, even Jaehyun, deep inside.

But all he could show is a small smile while looking at the floor. Legs crossed, and looking like the boss the powerful boss that he is. Truth be told he has no interest with Yuta or Taeyong anymore. He only cared about you. And your lie.

“It’s peaceful here,” he finally talked. His first words. “I see why you would rather live here with the Nakamotos instead of me. You would rather embrace the simple life instead of being grateful to the mercy that my family gave you”

Hearing that, Yuta was quick with his katana and pointed it towards Jaehyun’s neck without hesitation. The blade was still covered… because Yuta still… cannot disrespect their friendship. Unlike Jaehyun, who threw everything away already.

Jaehyun didn’t even flinch, he just move the sword away from him before he continued talking again, “Please come back to me Y/n, while im still asking nicely” he said with cold eyes.

And those words ruined your peace already. The peace that you and the others build for three years, the freedom, the happiness. You of all people in this room knew that Jaehyun will not stop until he gets what he wants.

“Jaehyun leave” Taeyong asked nicely. Trying so hard not to push Jaehyun and start a fight.

But Jaehyun still hasn’t removed his gaze towards you. Maybe because he just missed you. Maybe because it’s because he hasn’t seen your face in a very long time. You’re still lovely as ever. Motherhood looks good on you but he cannot accept that yet.

At this time… he was lost in your eyes.. but then, he heard someone… someone who called you ‘mom’

Jaehyun almost lost it when he saw the kid. When he saw you carry your daughter and protect her with your strong arms from her own father. Jaehyun knew right then and there that… the kid is his. He almost teared up, hand shaking as he tries to reach for his daughters hand and say,

“Hello beautiful princess,” his ice cold heart instantly melted when he saw her. He smiled genuinely.

“Jaehyun I want you to meet my daughter,” you said bravely. You didn’t even lie to him, Jaehyun thought. It would be better and easier for him if you did. And that’s what made Jaehyun furious.

You’re shameless.

And just like that Jaehyun’s scary aura came back, scaring the clueless kid with his gaze, “hey princess, can you help me know who’s your dad?”

“Jaehyun- you’re scaring her. Taeyong can you step out for a bit with her?” You handed your daughter safely to Taeyong in which you have nothing to be afraid of.

“I’m the father Jaehyun-“ Yuta said but Jaehyun did not let him finish.

“Bullshit,” Jaehyun said with a smirk, “she has my dimple. My lips, my eyes… how could you do this to me Y/n? Hide my own daughter from me?”

“She’s not yours!” You tried to lied again. But he’s not buying it.

“It’s been over three years since you left me Y/n, but you… you can still break my heart over and over again” he chuckled and prepared himself to leave, “I’ll give you a month to come to me. Come back to me with my daughter. Come back now, while I’m still asking nicely”

[cal-writes]

some superpower/superhero au musings. that ideas been floating around my brain for a while. dont know where its going you know how my plot bunnies are but enjoy this sampler

-

"Have you figured it out yet, Surgeon?" Robin smiles serenly. She sits on the stairs, knees knocking together, her elbows resting on them and her chin propped up on both her palms.

He scowls at her, eyes narrowed. Law knows what she means but he won't admit it because it would reveal himself to be knowable. "What do you mean?" He juts out his chin.

She doesn't buy his feigned obliviousness but she humors him. "Zoro's abilities. You have been trying to discern their nature, have you not?"

He exhales through his nose and looks off to the side.

"He would tell you if you asked." Robin continues and Law glances at her from the corner of his eyes.

"I know." He says. Zoro has said as much. But Law isn't going to ask, at least not yet. It's a matter of personal pride and spite. Law doesn't owe people favors, they owe him favors. He demands answers, he doesn't ask for them. (Bepo would be telling him how unhealthy that is right about now if he were here.)

Robin considers him, head leaning to the side. She hums. Out of all the Strawhats, Robin is the person Law would consider his equal in temperament which is to say, out of all of them he is the most cautious around her. From what redacted history of hers that he has managed to unearth, he knows they've had a similar development. She is calculating. Always listening, even without sprouting ears everywhere. He needs to consider his words carefully.

"You are a curious man." She tells him, chuckling good-naturedly.

Law looks at her from above. "In more ways than one." His lips pull into a sharp smirk.

"Indeed." Robin says easily. "Have you made headway in your discoveries?"

Law squints at her, trying to gauge her angle. She might be simply curious - which Law believes to be the least likely. It could be a test, trying to see if he lives up to his reputation - possible, thought Robin seems largely desinterested in people she doesn't consider to be a threat (an insulting prospect in its own right, that Law is no longer considered dangerous to her, but he did work hard to earn their trust so he supposes it is to be expected). Maybe it's caution - there is a reason Zoro's abilities aren't public. Many people with abilities don't bother hiding the intricacies if they even can. But Zoro does. Whether that is for his own safety or someone else's is yet to be determined. 

"Some, I'd say." Law admits, trying to sound casual. Whatever Zoro's talents are they are subtle. He can rule out a healing factor definitively - even if it weren't a passive ability but one Zoro had to use consciously, Chopper is too concerned for him every time he is injured for there to be an easy fix. He has considered some form of super strength but ultimately ruled it out. Zoro was strong, occasionally supernaturally so but it was inconsistent. Law's leading theory on that front was some sort of adrenaline manipulation that would grant Zoro the ability of hysterical strength on command. He has yet to confirm that theory. The easiest would be to ask for blood samples but even with everything, Law knows they aren't quite there yet.

Other possibilies are some sort of enhancement, be that in reflexes or speed or general aptitute. Zoro is - as his alias suggests -  a demon with a weapon and almost impossible to beat one on one. He is fast but Law wouldn't say unhumanly so. A common public theory is that - as his name suggests - Zoro was either posssessed by or possessing someone and the otherworldly entity of whichever nature granted him his abilities.

Law had dismissed that one easily. Possession would indicate different personalities and quirks but Zoro's body language and fighting style are consistent - even when using something other than a sword. If he was possessed it was permanent.

He had considered the possibility that Zoro was normal. Well, as normal as any of them. Many of his talents could be chalked up to rigerous training and experience. Perhaps he had started young, had the natural talent and dedication to keep up to speed with other super powered individuals. From knowing the man, Law can entertain the idea. But there are too many things that trip him up. Too many things that don't make sense if Zoro truly had no other abilities.

Law has been staying with the Strawhats for a few weeks now and there are some things he has taken note off. Pieces of the puzzle he is sorting into piles before he knows where they connect.

Zoro trains, a lot. Both with weapons and without to the point that Law is quite sure that whatever ability he has is unrelated to his weapons. He's just as dangerous with his swords as he would be with Nami's staff. It's not a surprise. Zoro takes a lot of pride in his body and his prowress.

More confusing are Zoro's other eccentricities.

Zoro doesn't touch things. Law is almost mad it took him so long to take note of it. Obviously there are times when Zoro does. Out in the battlefield, doorknobs, light switches. Technically, literally, he does touch things. But at home, in the space he feels safe, Zoro goes out of his way to avoid touching things. Law would believe him to be a germophobe of some sort if he hadn't seen the man lick blood of his sword. So, no. It's probably not about germs. He just doesn't touch things in a casual way. He doesn't read books or magazines, doesn't use a phone, at most he will make himself tea or pour himself a glass of something to drink. He doesn't cook, nor does he do the dishes. For all Zoro and Sanji bicker constantly, Sanji always prepares his meals, even small snacks and doesn't nag him for not cleaning up after himself.

It might be a trauma response. Maybe he is sensitive to textures for unrelated reasons. Law can't quite define what to make of it yet.

Another thing is that none of Zoro's clothes are store bought. It seems innocuous but once Law noticed it, he could not let go of it. The Strawhats were vigilanties so money could be tight on occasion but he knows they aren't above stealing if they need or want to. None of the others seem to have a similar clothing style. Nami in particular wears fancy brands and designer clothing constantly. So it's not a matter of supply. Zoro isn't so vain he would be particular about it either. Law has seen him wear all number of things, especially if a battle dragged on long enough to destroy his wardrobe. He isn't opposed to wearing regular manufactured clothes. He just doesn't if he has the choice not to.

Perhaps it ties into the texture thing. Law will have to pay close attention to it.

Robin is still looking at him, unpreturbed by his long pause. "If you need a hint, do let me know," He scowls and it makes her chuckle. "It's quite entertaining." She says.

"Glad to be of service." He grits out.

"I am just wondering why go through the trouble. It must be thrilling to you to try and unravel the mystery." Robin tells him and Law's breath stalls in his throat. Something in her tone makes him feel warm.

He swallows hard. "Hardly a mystery. An annoyance, more like." He says, dismissively. Robin makes an inquiring sound. "I need to know what you all are capable of to make plans. Keeping it a secret needlessly complicates things."

"But it's not a secret." Robin says, bemused and Law feels himself bristle.

"It's not exactly common knowledge either." He throws back.

Robin hums again. "I suppose not but if you are expecting a grand reveal, I am afraid you will be disappointed."

"Zoro already said it's not what I'd expect." Law says. Zoro technically said 'it's not a big deal' which hadn't been helpful at all. If it wasn't a big deal, why make a thing out of it?

"That is apt. I remember being quite surprised when I was told." She says and now Law knows she's teasing him. This whole conversation is pointless.

He huffs. "I'll find out, won't I?"

Robin smiles. "Will you?"

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Consider: Vaggie idly tracing her fingers along Charlie's horns, while Charlie's tail almost unconsciously coils to pull Vaggie closer.

Consider: post-almost breakup Charlie Morningstar's separation anxiety and new habit of curling up in demon mode on Vaggie's side of the bed whenever she's feeling miserable, and maybe Vaggie needed to see that

hmm this is more like a fic outline sampler than a headcanon. ah well

they're more partners than ever before, but being partners plus the hotel thing too also means they've each got so much stuff to DO

and they can't always do it together now

the newly re-built hotel (and relationship) comes with new rituals for them, like the squeeze of hands at the hotel gate when it's a busy day and one of them has to be on one side of town dealing with Cannibal Town politeness conventions and the other has to be on the other side of Pentagram City, saying thanks to Carmine while handing over all the new weapons picked up after the battle. Thank fuck there's two of them to cover it all and a promise to meet up back there later, like how they did after the-

Charlie doesn't like thinking about that part though. They separate and she blazes through Cannibal town with a smile big enough to devour heaven, instead thinking about meeting up with Vaggie at the hotel gates again just like they did last time, and won't THAT be fun?

she laughs and sings and pulls the cannibals into gleeful choruses of bloody defiance against heaven as they have proper gorgeous cannibal dinner funerals for the slain while Rosie watches with teeth-glinting interest

and maybe Charlie rushed things a bit too somehow, because she trots up the the hotel later all exhausted and eager and

finds the gates empty

had she really thought it would go just like last time? Had she really been counting on it...?

Charlie's wooden smile as she settles in to wait. Pacing up and down, doing a few nervous tap dances, casting hopeful looks down the street towards the Carmine territory

she could just call. Text to say she's home and Cannibal town went good and check in on how Vaggie's doing. Maybe ask if Vaggie wants Charlie to run over? Maybe they could meet up and walked home together, if Vaggie needs a hand with Carmilla-

no, Charlie shoves her phone away stops herself. She's not going to repeat the day with the trust building exercises, she's not going to ask Vaggie to do something and then not trust her with it or even risk making it LOOK like that's what's happening

one time being asked to leave Vaggie alone on a roof like that was enough

Charlie can just wait this time too

time ticks by. She fixes her hair, hugs herself, and tries not to look over at the giant gleaming memorial statue to Dazzle. she tries to wait

but handling things alone has never been Charlie's thing and waiting for Vaggie doesn't count as not feeling alone, so she doesn't stay out there long in the end

half an hour finds her heading into the endless noise of the hotel where someone is bickering with someone else about something. Charlie heads past it up to their room, too tired to do anything other than curl up and wait even if it mans being back in Vaggie's empty side of the bed

she also, though, keeps their bedroom suit door open a crack so she can hear the distant sounds of swearing from downstairs

Razzle would've been there to snuggle up with her, but right after shrugging off her jacket and kicking off her shoes and calling for him Charlie remembers she sent him off with Vaggie today. She'd insisted on it- just a little just-in-case help, just until the fresh heavenly steel marks in Vaggie's flesh stopped being quite so fresh both literally on Vaggie and non-literally on Charlie's stretched thin nerves

remembering Vaggie's blood smeared on her skin makes her feel sharp both inside and out, all horns and claws as she drops into bed, spade tipped tail already lashing the bedsheets into a lather

angry hurts less than loneliness so Charlie hunches inward and let's herself be angry all over again, burning over the years of guilt she spent thinking her home and her people had hurt Vaggie, done that to Vaggie, only to find out it was heaven all along

she sinks her claws into the bed and imagines Lute's flesh and bone being punctured instead. Imagines ripping-

Vaggie's small proud smile as she talked about having shone mercy flashes through Charlie's head and she snarls, kicking it away- of all the fucking times to show mercy, the one time Charlie's life actually could have been made so much simpler from Vaggie impaling someone-

cloven hoof slams into hardwood bedframe and cracks it. Charlie curls up tighter, not noticing how the voices downstairs have gone quiet

Charlie doesn't like being angry. Worse than that she hates being alone

right now she's both

Vaggie wasn't waiting for her at the gates and it's not fair how much that scared her, when there's nothing wrong and nothing to be scared of

she tells herself that and tells herself that, trying to relax

she's a lot less scared when she blinks awake later and hears Vaggie yelling at someone downstairs

and she COULD get out of bed now, she could jump up and smooth down her shirt, fix her hair, go bounding down the stairs three at a time and scoop Vaggie up in a twirl before Vaggie can even look around from threatening whoever was messing with the hotel today. Charlie could laugh and hug her and soak in Vaggie's smile and tell Vaggie how she missed her

Charlie stays in bed

She stays on Vaggie's side of their bed with her heart pounding, listening to Vaggie and Razzle bickering up the stairs

"...not a big deal and she won't notice anyway, right? My skin's already grey. You can't really tell if it's bruised..."

"Rrrreh!"

"Alright fine, she'd notice if you told her, which you could but won't."

"RRR."

"No you don't have to. How many doughnuts to make you not want to this time?"

"Mmmmr..."

"Me crashing into a window while flying us home is NOT worth two dozen doughnuts. I don't care how dumb I looked hitting the newly angel-proofed glass."

"Skrrrrghghghgh~"

"What do you mean you stole my phone and recorded it-"

she hears the exact moment Vaggie pushes open the door and stops dead

"Charlie...?"

Vaggie, seeing now exactly what Charlie had worked so hard not to let her see back then when being angry and hurt had hurt Charlie less than the gaping hole of terrifying loneliness she'd gotten from looking at Vaggie and wondering if Vaggie wanting to be with her- if the woman Charlie loves wanting to be with her- had just been another lie too

small wings flutter and Razzle's little paws pat her hair, little goat demon nose snuffling at her cheek

"Sweetie." Vaggie's voice is closer this time. Less confused. More worried. "Are you..."

Charlie doesn't want her finishing that question

talking would be the more normal option. Just tell Vaggie how she'd felt, but Rosie had said actions matter more and Charlie doesn't know what she felt or how to say it all anyway

so she makes the colossal effort to wiggle her tail tip out from under the blankets and lift it into a tiny wave

"Hi, Vaggie." she whispers, "You're back."

maybe she says 'i missed you' with those two last words anyway

because Vaggie is suddenly there by the bed, Vaggie who can step so quiet sometimes like she's not even touching the ground- the dancer in her Charlie used to think but maybe it's the angel thing- and Charlie can tell she's there with her eyes closed just from how her own muscles start to relax, even before Vaggie reaches down

"Hey." It's a soft stroke to Charlie's hoof, the one poking out from under the blanket cocoon, the one who'd kicked out earlier and probably dented their poor bed. "Tough time in Cannibal town?"

they're both really bad at actually talking about things. But that's fine

Charlie only notices her shivers when Vaggie presses down on her ankle and stops them, like magic. "Cannibal town was fine."

Vaggie hums. It's warm and low and soft and Charlie can hear how she knows what wasn't fine today, feels it in the squeeze of Vaggie's hand before Vaggie tucks the blankets in all neat an tidy around their balled-up blob of Charlie

"Do you want our door open," Vaggie asks, "or door closed?"

"Closed."

"Rrrrr." Razzle is up and fluttering before Vaggie can move. Razzle knows what Charlie needs just as much as she does

there's a click of the lock and a ping of guilt for only using the sounds of the hotel to make herself feel better when Vaggie wasn't here to do a better job of it, then a pang of something more sweet than bitter, thinking about how doors being open or closed were never even a question back when it was just them at home

the edge of the bed next to Charlie sinks and pulls her like gravity towards where Vaggie settles, sitting and fitting perfectly in the curve of the pitiful puddle of Charlie

"Kinda nice having guests in the hotel, huh?"

Vaggie's hand is brushing loose strands of hair away from Charlie's face, smoothing them off Charlie's horns and then staying there.

"Even if they're still part-time assholes about it."

Charlie feels it when Vaggie breaths in at the end of the sentence, tail having found its way over and around Vaggie without Charlie thinking about it

She thinks about how Vaggie had been yelling downstairs and trying to bribe Razzle on the way up. A corner of her mouth crooks, almost smiling

"Did they laugh when you hit the window?"

Tense up and slump and Vaggie huffing, giving up hiding it, also almost laughing too

"Only once."

There's a bruise on her somewhere a new fresh one to match the faded ones from the battle and Charlie's searching eyes snap open, that constant tight fist in her chest grabbing her heart and squeezing

"Are you okay?"

Vaggie is already looking back at her, like she's been waiting this whole time

"I'm fine, Charlie," she smiles. "Just a bruise to my stupid pride. Just what I get, for being in such a hurry."

her wings are still out. One relaxed and drooping all the way to the floor like a tossed aside blanket and the other held up over Charlie, feathers almost brushing her, mirroring Vaggie's arm still reaching out and her hand drifting mindlessly between smooth blood-red horn and tangled somewhat messy hair

she doesn't say she was in a hurry 'to see you' in the same way Charlie hadn't said 'i missed you' and that why today wasn't fine

that's okay

everything is okay, as long as Charlie can tug Vaggie closer and curl in closer around her still, her head snuggling on Vaggie's lap. As long as Vaggie can cradle her there with hands and wings and be there for Charlie to feel it when she breathes

-

post-angel revelation Vaggie sees a lot her demon gf's horns and tail and markings, more than she had in all the years they've been together

it's never about her wings. not about her lost halo, her spear, all the people she's killed with it. That's, somehow, not the problem

The problem is Charlie knows she knows about heaven now and she has questions, so many questions, but all Vaggie has are an exorcist's very narrow answers and a lightness where her mask used to be, and scars

Charlie always tries asking about the scars, then inevitably about how the fight with Lute went. Charlie can't ask those things or listen to the answers without heating up, angry in slow and silent and steady way Vaggie's never seen from her before

and sometimes Vaggie notices how she's casually playing with Charlie's horns during those talks, or tracing the black marks scoring down Charlie's cheeks or feeling how Charlie's tail adjusts it's already tight grip around her waist. Sometimes she wonders about how she savors it, when she's got her new ashen wings out and Charlie's running her pitch black talonned hands through them, like she wants to memorize every feather and check on each one, like how she seeks out Vaggie's new scars now too and adds it all to the tally of every last thing Lute took

it feels wrong to smile at the sight of the woman she loves wanting to kill someone because of her

definitely its wrong seeing Charlie wanting to kill not in a flash of passionate protective rage, but muted and hard and thoughtful. Vaggie has to have something wrong with herself when she sees how wrong that anger looks on Charlie, and still finds herself smiling over it

wrong feels pretty nice. That should worry her

Vaggie absentmindedly testing her thumb on one of Charlie's horn tips or breathing in to deepen the constrictor snake hug of Charlie's tail digging into her ribs. It's nice and it does make Vaggie smile

she'd felt Charlie's claws trembling at the end of the battle, them standing together as they looked down at un-armed and disarmed and half blinded from tears Lute

if ever there was a time to feel sympathy that would have been it. Well. Maybe it would've a bit more sympathetic if Lute hadn't still been spattered with Vaggie's blood. The woman had been on her knees and crying though, and Charlie had been ready to let Adam run home alive....

and if Vaggie hadn't been there anchoring Charlie, Lute would've been dead

but she had and Charlie hadn't and Lute wasn't

it's making Charlie angry, Vaggie knows, thinking about how the person who wanted to take out Vaggie's other eye before killing her is still out there, will probably be pathetic enough to try that shit again. Charlie doesn't like to be angry and now just looking at the new scar on Vaggie's post-impaled hand brings out the horns and hint of hellfire. Vaggie should feel bad about that

she runs her hand over Charlie's horns, hums into the tail wrapped round her chest, drapes herself and her wings over her girlfriend and smiles into Charlie's hair

these days Charlie wants so badly to hurt people for her, but also won't, because of her

Lute's life was Vaggie's choice and Vaggie chose mercy- edged with spite and the sharp cruel edge of revenge, sure, but still it was mercy and a second chance- and Charlie listened to that. Listened to her. Had needed her there for once as a reminder to be good

that almost makes it feel like.... maybe Vaggie does belong down in hell after all, in the good ways as well as the bad. Like maybe she really does belong right here, with Charlie

maybe Charlie holding on like this means she won't ever let Vaggie go

[darkworkcourier]

This is kind of a quick and dirty smut sampler for @cyber-nya's Monster 141 AU. It's kind of experimental and like an exercise in playing with styles, so hopefully some of it is cohesive?? We Shall See.

It's all gn!reader/the 141 doing their monster thing, and a bonus at the end. :)

(Also content warning for minor (very minor!) bloodplay in Price's section, chase roleplay in Soap's, minor mindfuckery and unreality in Gaz's, and safeword usage in Ghost's.)

---

With Price, it's all dichotomies. Pain and pleasure. Illumination before plunging into darkness. Aching and soothing.

Fangs pierce your neck—a cold metal sting before warmth floods your bloodstream, numbing you from the inside out. You hear your heart thrum like a plucked bass string, and you feel that odd, drowsy sensation that comes syrup-slow and sweet. His eyes flick up once, startlingly blue, and you hear his voice in your head.

I warned you, he says. He always says it, and it took you so long to realize it's because he cares.

"I know," you whisper, bringing your hand up to stroke his hair.

You always lose track of time when you're with him, hours smearing like oil, your circadian rhythm tripping and stumbling. At some point, you know he helps you out of your clothes until your skin is flush against his. His stolen heat soaks into you, and you moan as his fangs retract, tongue laving over your wounds. Then he kisses you, slow and copper-sharp, deceptively human—yet as inhuman as they come.

"Touch me?" you sigh against his lips.

Of course, he replies. In your head. In your ears. There's no difference. All that matters is his hand on you, working up a slow-moving heat between your legs, winding and coiling up the tension until it threatens to spring.

Sometimes he's quiet when he touches you like this. Sometimes he fucks you and snarls in your ear like an animal attempting human speech. Tonight, though, he turns wistful as his hand moves in long, lazy movements and you gasp against his jaw.

"One day," he tells you. "It's gonna be a bite that'll be your last."

This bedtime story. Your favorite of them all.

You bite down on your bottom lip and nod against his shoulder as he fucks you with his fingers. It takes everything in you not to sob at the sensation.

"You'll feel all your life drain out of you, and right when you think it's the end—when all this goes dark—you'll feel it. You'll feel something better than this."

This is punctuated by a stroke that sends you arching off the bed, pressing yourself against him as he works you up and up. You shudder and moan, and he rests a cheek against the crown of your head like he's listening to an orchestral piece.

"Life like you never lived it," he says. "I'll give you back some of what I took, a little bit of me in it. It'll be just like fuckin' you, but so much better. You'll wish it never ends."

You're close to wailing now, his hands moving faster than any human's, the friction a burn between your legs as you tremble in his arms.

"You'll be mine. Properly mine."

And you're over the edge—a burning bright light, something singing high and melodious in your shared blood, and then you fall back into the honey-sweet, velvet darkness.

You lay against him, panting, eyes squeezed shut, shivering in fits as you come down to the sound of him shushing you, the feeling of him stroking your hair.

"It'll happen," he whispers to you, then kisses you so sweetly that it aches. "I promise you that, love."

---

Soap plays with you at the outset. It's shared glances across rooms, quick smiles, come-hither looks. He makes a game out of following you around, then turns it into a pursuit. The aim is to get caught, but you're always given a better reward if you make him work for it. Sometimes you joke and say he's a working breed.

Today, you really make him put in the effort.

A light jog across base turns into a flat-out sprint once you get beyond the hangar. You hear Soap's boots behind you, then his grunt of surprise when you take off. It's thrilling, the burn in your muscles, the sound of Soap gaining on you, the potential of what might happen to you when he finally catches you.

You quickly turn a corner before reaching the easternmost hangar. Your boots skid on tarmac, and you nearly trip before catching yourself on the edge of a crate and using that to push off. Soap's seconds behind you, close enough that you can hear his heavy breathing, and as you round another corner leading to one of the old, disused hangars, you hear him growl.

Not playful.

The growl of something primal.

What starts as a fun exercise turns into a survival mantra—get to the hangar, get to the hangar. As your calves scream in effort and your heart threatens to punch out of your chest, you tell yourself that you'll get the luxury of making decisions so long as you reach the fucking hangar.

Adrenaline fuels every desperate step, but excitement rumbles through you at the sensation of heat at your back, the acrid sent of brimstone stinging the air. Fuck yes, you think. Come on.

You almost take the door right off its hinges, then slam it behind you just in time for Soap to impact it. The vibrations run up your arm and jar you, but you don't have time to be distracted. You sprint through the yawning empty space of the old Cold War-era hangar, the smell of burning dust hitting the air as you hear Soap actually take the door out of its frame with an otherworldly howl. Metal groans and rattles behind you, just as you finally find an empty office to hide in.

Most importantly, there's a lock on the door. Not that it matters, and not that it helps that you're effectively cornered. But that is kind of the point.

You hide between the dust-coated desk and a rusted file cabinet, counting your heartbeats and listening as claws scrape over concrete.

Thirty-one, you count, fingers on your pulse. Thirty-two. Thirty-three. Thirty-fo—

Something scratches at the door, and you hear him sniffing at its base.

You clap your hand over your mouth and press your back against the desk, trying not to grin.

(You should be terrified, but that part of your brain is hardwired now to remember that Soap would never hurt you.)

"Come out," he snarls. It's impossibly deep, a black snarl of sound that sends tingles through your whole body. "I can smell you."

You wonder what he can smell, if he picks up the scent of arousal pooling between your legs at the thought of what he's planning to do—if he's planned at all. Sometimes, when he's worked up like this, he's beyond organized thought, and the results tend to be incredible.

A few more seconds and heartbeats.

Then you hear the hinges protest, screws stripping in their sockets, wood groaning from the pressure. The lock rattles, then snaps, and the door hits the opposite wall hard enough to make you jump.

Before you can peek up over the top of the desk, black smoke and red eyes fill your vision, and a clawed hand cinches around your throat.

"Got ya."

That's all you have time to register before you're thrown over the desk like you weigh nothing. Soap's at your back, body crackling like flames, hooked claws splitting the wood of the desk as his hands (paws?) bracket your head. You know without looking that he's half-transformed—human and hellhound combined so that he can hold you down like this, but can fuck you with the fury of hell as his fuel.

And enough of a hellhound for his teeth to shred your clothes, tearing them away until you're exposed to him. A long tongue insinuates against you, achingly hot against your skin, teasing you with every lap. Then it withdraws, and you moan in protest.

"No complainin'," he says, grin audible in his snarling voice. "We got a couple hours and I plan tae make the best of it."

---

Gaz is different. He seems to exist in two worlds—a split entity that relies completely on an image of a man combined with the reality of his actual body. You're never more aware of this than when you're intimate with him.

You're in his room, feeling the weight of him against your back as he drapes an arm over your waist. He kisses the nape of your neck, down to the first divot of your spine. There, he lingers, seeming to listen to your soft breathing, hand coming up to rest over your heart. You know he loves to feel your life under his hands, the sensation of your vitality fluttering in his palms like a bird.

"Close your eyes," he mutters into your ear.

You do without question, your trust in him absolute and infinite.

All at once, you fall into that here-and-not-here space that Gaz seems to occupy. You feel his hands roaming over your body, tugging your pants down in slow, methodical motions while his lips press against your neck and shoulder. At the same time, the vision behind your eyelids goes from dizzy phosphenic spirals and patterns to something concrete and clear.

You see a sword the color of burnished gold, handle intricate and polished to a shine from centuries of use. It hovers between the gauntlet-clad hands of a suit of ancient armor, proud and regal. As Gaz touches your thighs, the helmet moves, lending the appearance that the armor is watching you.

The sensation of this particular kind of scrutiny is exquisite, and the version of you that exists in this space moves around the armor to survey it from all sides.

(Gaz touches you at the apex of your thighs.)

The blade starts to glow with unearthly light, flickering like flame.

(His hands move with deep strokes as he licks a line up the column of your neck.)

The armor's torso moves along with you, watching you vigilantly. Always ready for to attack or defend, the sword as much a threat as it is a promise.

("Does it feel good?" Gaz asks you, voice low and lovely in your ear.)

You're at the armor's back, and you see your own hands stretch forward, fingers brushing over the metal—warm to your touch, like flesh. The helmet watches you, holding still, waiting.

(You can't speak, mouth open on a moan before your head falls back against his shoulder. Your hips move on their own accord, seeking him out.)

You return to the front, facing the glowing sword, watching strange patterns ripple over the sharpened metal. The urge to touch the pommel is overwhelming—a need, rather than a want. Something about the sword and armor calls to you in a way you can't explain, like you're being called home.

("That's it," Gaz says, encouraging. You can't tell if it's to you trying to fuck yourself on his hand or to the version of you in the in-between space.)

The helmet passively watches you. You take in the sight of it—intricate designs embossed above the visor, gorget nicked with old dents and scratches that tell of a long history. It's beautiful. More importantly, you know without any sense of doubt that it's alive.

(Something burns in you, bright and wonderful, coaxed forth on Gaz's hand.)

Your hand stretches out, reaching for the sword.

(You moan, and you hear Gaz answer it with his own.)

Heat radiates off the metal, feeling like sunlight on your skin.

("Come for me," he tells you.)

Your fingers touch the pommel—this sword in the stone, always waiting for your hand in particular. The moment you touch it, one of the armor's gauntlets gently covers the back of your hand with something like assurance.

(You shudder in his arms, bucking your hips against his hand, riding out this bliss that he's created.)

This was always meant for you, the armor tells you.

("That's it. That's it," he whispers into your ear, holding you close with his opposite arm. You feel his lips on your jaw.)

You grip the handle, lifting the golden sword from its place, spurred on by the armor's hand on you. Light floods this strange space, brilliant and resplendent.

(And then—)

And then your eyes open, gasps sharp as you come down from your orgasm. Gaz has you in his arms—decidedly human arms with flesh on muscle on bone. You feel so safe, endorphins flooding you as you relax into him and sigh.

"S'always yours," he tells you, kissing your jaw. "You know that?"

You nod, smiling, eyes fluttering closed again. Just there, beyond the cosmic dust behind your eyelids, you still see the sword in your hand.

"I know," you say, rolling over to press yourself against his chest. Your head goes up under his chin, and you smile.

---

Ghost is something else entirely.

During missions, he keeps something of a corporeal form, concentrating himself into the shape of a man. He moves as a human might—controlled gestures and motions that anyone would recognize. Only when he fights, when he truly throws himself against an enemy, does he allow even a portion of himself to loosen from the illusion. Black smoke unfurls from him, wraps itself around anyone unfortunate enough to get caught, squeezes the life from them and leaves a husk behind.

He keeps it controlled around the 141, and especially around you. Keeps his distance, lingering at the edge, like an animal prone to flight. You know what that smoke is capable of—what he is capable of, but not once have you worried he'd use it against you.

And when you finally learn what he can do to you—

You're in the showers, long after lights-out. Even if someone did come to find you, they couldn't see you. Ghost's made sure you're completely enveloped within him, lost in a cold smoke brushing like snow over your bare skin.

He's inside you— in every available place until it really is impossible to tell where you end and he begins. He fucks you relentlessly, but swallows up every sound from where one of those fucking hands plies your mouth open. You think he has you pressed against one of the tile walls, but knowing that would require sight, and he's covered yours.

There's something deliriously intoxicating about the thought of Death Itself fucking you like this, using every hole, taking your pleasure over and over and absorbing each moan like a soundproof room. Your legs gave out minutes—hours?—ago, but Ghost holds you upright, keeps you in just the right position as his presence ensconces you.

"You should see yourself," he says, voice coming from everywhere. He sounds like he's behind you, in front of you, whispering from each shoulder. "Fucked out like this. Barely able to keep yourself up."

You probably groan, but Ghost takes that, too. It feels like a kiss, something brushing over your lips, and you eagerly chase it, too blissed out to know what it is you're trying to catch.

"You'd take anything I give you, huh?"

A tendril follows along the curve of your thigh, up and up, then bridges over to the opposite leg in one liquid movement. It's cold silk on your flesh, making you shiver in his omnipresent grip.

It's almost too much, almost—

Your right hand moves, index and middle finger extended, tapping twice into the cool darkness.

It recedes immediately.

In a set of simultaneous movements, you're lowered to the floor and one of the tendrils reaches out to turn the shower on, shielding you from the water until it's warm enough to tolerate. You catch your breath as the water falls over you, and Ghost wraps himself around you like a blanket, settling over your shoulders before nudging gently at your cheek.

Still trying to catch your breath, your trembling hand reaches up and strokes over the darkness, finding it soft and pliable under your fingers. "I just... I needed a break. Just a few minutes."

"Okay." Another nudge, this time from something that's nearly a hand. "You need anything?"

You shake your head, then lean into him. He takes more of a form now, human-shaped enough for you to lean your head against his chest. "You, mostly," you say.

"I'm here." He kisses the top of your head—one of the most human gestures he knows—and repeats it again. "I'm here."

---

"I don't care that it's incorporeal smoke," Dr. Adler says. "Sexual wellness is important, regardless of how you go about accomplishing... whatever it is."

You groan, watching her untie the tourniquet on your arm as blood flows into the tiny plastic vial. Within a few seconds, it's full, and she takes it and the syringe out in one quick movement before holding the vial up to the fluorescent light buzzing over your heads.

She taps the bottom of the vial twice with her thumb, and you watch with mute fascination as your blood turns bright blue, glows like a firefly, then turns back to what you think is still your blood.

Dr. Adler hums and tucks the vial into her lab coat pocket (with no indication of what she's planning on doing with it). "You're clean," she says.

"That's it? Don't you have to send that to a lab or something?"

"In a normal medical practice, yes," she replies with a shrug. "But not here. I don't have to pretend that I can't just do it myself."

"So your magic witchy powers cover checking for STDs?"

A brief look of annoyance crosses her face. "Not naturally, no. I learned it out of— Well, necessity."

You raise your brows. "Necessity?" you repeat.

"Military people. Always putting their genitalia in places where it doesn't belong."

"Oh." Gross. "Ew."

"Mhmm. Besides, I had to test it on myself a few times."

That gets your brows to a new altitude. "What?"

The look on Dr. Adler's face is the dictionary definition of enigmatic. Immediately, she goes to her office door and opens it for you. "Nevermind," she says. "I have another appointment waiting."

You glance out the door, but the waiting room's empty.

Still, she looks pretty insistent, and judging from hearsay from the other members of the 141, it's best not to pry too much into her business.

You leave, and the moment the door shuts behind you, you hear a soft, low, very much masculine laugh and a quiet mutter of what sounds like German.

Best to leave it be.

[etrosgate]

most of corpse party blood drive is bad in a way that isn't funny. but that circus music track brings a genuine smile to my face. here's a sampler.

LOUD WARNING, and im not fucking around about it. turn your volume down. but make sure to stick around to the 20 second mark to truly experience the horrors

yes it plays at this sound quality, yes you have to listen to it while doing exploration

[ovenproofowl]

After that finale, I'm just picturing a scenario somewhere down the line of Lestat's tour with Louis tagging along for the ride. They're hanging out in one of the green rooms, high off their asses on groupie blood samplers, loudly bitching about Armand à la Louis' interview with Daniel back in the seventies:

Louis: *lounging on a sofa, eating up every word with the drunkest smile on his face* so wait, you didn't even fuck him?

Lestat: *gesturing emphatically with his cigarette* I DIDN'T EVEN FUCK HIM!

[trivialbob]

Let me tell you what I have to put up with.

With pens (and Pepperidge Farm Goldfish Crackers) I am a bit particular. After careful research I chose Pentel Energel liquid gel ink pens to stock in the cup on my desk. I have them with .5mm and .7mm tips as well as in four colors.

Some time ago one of you Tumblrs mentioned JetPens. That site helped me make my decision. You can even buy mixed pen samplers there if you want to try various pens before deciding on the champion.

It drives me nuts if I lose a pen. I would not let a stranger borrow one of my pens, even if lives depended on it, because it's likely that pen will not make it back into my pocket.

I've made all this abundantly clear to Sheila. She can buy her own pens or steal them at work like all good, red-blooded Americans do. I don't have access to a supply cabinet at work anymore. Not because too many pens got stolen but because the company said we have to get our own pens. If I'm paying, I'm getting really good pens.

Today Sheila wanted to make a shopping list. As I listened to a work conference call she, without asking me, grabbed a pen (blue, .5mm needle tip) and walked off.

"Put that back," I politely said.

Icily looking me in the eyes, she licked the pen and replied, "It's mine now."

[chthonion]

Hello!

Forgive me if you’ve already answered a similar question before, but regarding your shadow rising to meet you series, do you have a playlist/selection of songs that you listen to while writing, or find work well for the series and characters?

I was recently on another reread of the Harrowing and had the song “Mirror Forever” by Weyes Blood shuffle on and I thought it lyrically matched Annatar and Celebrimbor really well. I don’t know if space-y slow ballads like that are genres you enjoy, so I’m curious as to what songs you would personally put together for the series might look like. I’m tempted to make a personal playlist myself as I like to play music and read!

Have a good day! <3

Hello hello! Oh, man, that song is so much fun for Annatar/Celebrimbor, I love it. The vibes are so awesome. Thank you so much for sharing!

I listen to music constantly when I’m writing! This story has expanded so much that it has a lot of sub-playlists (including a few memorable chapters that were difficult enough to warrant their own specific playlist—In A Handful of Dust is a notable one there), but I’ll offer a sampler! There have also been a lot of incredible reader suggestions, including @kesterel's magnificent playlist here, which is honestly incredible and which I have totally gone to when I was stuck on edits.

Without further ado! Here are some music recs for Your Shadow Rising To Meet You, with youtube links!

Anastasis

Prayer--Scarlet Pimpernel musical soundtrack

No, stay—I don’t care what you’ve said or done...

Bring On the Wonder--Susan Enan

Thanks, @tathrin!

Chalk Outline--Three Days Grace

This Night--Black Lab

I know I'm not forgiven, but I need a place to sleep

(Acquired this one from a tango DJ ten years ago and finding the right version on Youtube was confusing, oh well)

Annatar's relationships in general

I'll Be Good--Jaymes Young

This one and the next one were recommendations from someone, but I cannot for the life of me remember who or find the comment. Thank you, whoever you are!

Hardest of Hearts--Florence and the Machine

If it be your will--Leonard Cohen

If it be your will, if there is a choice Let the rivers fill, let the hills rejoice Let your mercy spill on all these burning hearts in hell If it be your will to make us well

Guns for Hire--Woodkid

Kiss your perfect day goodbye Because the world is on fire Tuck your innocence goodnight You sold your friends like guns for hire

Conquest of Spaces--Woodkid

Mercy Mirror--Within Temptation

Annatar and Frodo

The Dark Of You--Breaking Benjamin

Say a prayer for the wounded heart within As I become the dark of you

Farewell Wanderlust--The Amazing Devil

I'm the heartbreak that aches far too much to be shunned All those letters unsent and that garden ungrown I'm the captain of courage that you've eternally lacked I'm the Jesus of wishing to Christ he'll come back

Annatar and Finrod

Who You Are (from Beethoven’s Last Night)--Trans-Siberian Orchestra

And who would have thought that after this time, that I’d be the one you’re saving?

Maedhros and Fingon

The Old Witch Sleep and the Good Man Grace--The Amazing Devil

You're not a coward 'cause you cower You're brave because they broke you Yet broken still you breathe

Give Me A Sign--Breaking Benjamin

There's lots more I could add, but I'll stop there so I can cook dinner XD Thanks for the ask!

[finniestoncrane]

💜🍴 Finnie's 1.5k Follower Event 🍴💚

CLOSED by health inspector

even though it felt like this took forever it really didn't because i've only been on here and writing for just over a year, and i'm so grateful that people still follow me despite my personality as a whole lmao, i wanted to do something silly and goofy so here's my prompt list for my milestone ;-; hello and welcome to the vill-inn, gotham's newest restaurant (and definitely 100% not a money-laundering front for nefarious rogue activity no sirree u-u) please come on in and peruse the menu and let us know what you want to eat!! send in your order + reader/insert gender/pronouns/genitals too! the restaurant is now closed as well as writing headcanons and drabbles, i'm also doing a little give away! so anyone who asks off anon (or not, check the specials menu below) i'll enter into a little silly draw for a 1k commission and pick 3 winners u-u 🔞minors dni🔞 • masterlist • kofi link • tag: finnie1500 (to follow or to block)

Hello, welcome to Vill-Inn, how will you be DIE-ning with us today?

Sit-In [drabbles/short fic]

Takeout [bullet-point/free form story/headcanon style]

Delivery [surprise me]

Great! Wonderful! What can I get you to drink? And don't say fear toxin! (I'm this close to quitting...) (pick 1)

Water [hurt/comfort]

Soda [angst]

Milkshake [fluff]

Signature Cocktail [smut/pwp]

Black Coffee [doesn't matter/surprise me]

And what will you be having for your MAIM course? (pick 1, feel free to specify the version)

Question Mark Shaped Nuggies [riddler]

Sushi Platter [penguin]

Pumpkin Ravioli [scarecrow]

Surf and Turf [two face]

Arroz con Pollo [bane]

Steak [victor zsasz]

Cucumber Sandwiches [mad hatter]

Garden Salad [poison ivy]

Gut Buster Burger [harley quinn]

Gazpacho [mr freeze]

Plain Noodles with Butter [john doe]

Gumbo [killer croc]

BBQ Platter [captain boomerang]

And what loyal side(kick)s are you having with that? (pick up to 4)

🍟 Regular Fries [waking up with them]

🧇 Waffle Fries [sex in a public place]

🍠 Sweet potato Fries [visiting them in Arkham/Blackgate]

➰ Curly Fries [only one bed]

🍁 Poutine [slow dancing]

🥔 Potato Skins [at a party]

🍕 Pizza Bites [tending to wounds]

🍗 Chicken Wings [confession/confessing feelings]

🍔 Sliders [exacting revenge]

🌭 Mini Dogs [hate/angry sex]

🍤 Popcorn Shrimp [hugs from behind]

🐔 Chicken Strips [oral sex/how they give and receive]

🍿 Cheese Popcorn [bite marks/marking kink]

🥒 Deep Fried Pickles [sloppy kisses]

🧅 Blooming Onion [being rejected]

🍘 Rice Crackers [choking]

🍞 Bread Rolls [blood play]

🧄 Garlic Bread [straddling]

🥖 Breadsticks [neck/wrist kisses]

🥪 Half Sandwich [giving/receiving praise]

🥣 Soup [argument]

🍜 Noodles [cuddles]

🍚 Steamed Rice [denial]

🦪 Oysters [rough sex]

🍣 Sushi Sampler [edging/orgasm denial]

🌽 Corn on the Cob [instructional masturbation]

🥕 Honey Glazed Carrots ["open your mouth"]

🥗 Green Salad ["do you need a hand?"]

🍅 Tomato Salad ["i have to go"]

🍏 Fruit Salad ["i shouldn't have to ask"]

🍆 Roasted Veg ["i've never done this before"]

🥦 Seared Broccoli ["i hate you"]

🧀 Cheese Platter ["it's too late"]

🍖 Meat Plate ["i've never wanted anything more"]

🍄 Sauteed Mushrooms ["do you want it rough or gentle?"]

🥑 Guacamole ["please don't leave"]

🥜 Toasted Peanuts ["i want to hear you"]

🥓 Bacon Bits ["i didn't say stop"]

💚 Specials Menu 💚

I'm Here For A Blind Date [tell me a bit about yourself and i'll do a character pairing for who you're having lunch with]

Can I Get A Seat At the Buffet? [i don't have an idea/want to ask off anon, but i want to be included in the draw - this message won't be answered]

thanks for visiting, and please feel free to tip your wait staff 💜

[chbnews]

(There is a shipping container delivered to the Delphi Strawberry store front addressed to camp half blood. The following letter and Manifest are atop the items within.)

To The Campers, Counselors, and Directors of Camp Half Blood (And Others if Present!),

We hope this delivery finds you well, I am Zachariah, of the Belmont Surplus Company. Within this crate you will find the following.

80 Samples of Kevlar and Tear-Proof Fabrics

20 Samples of Ceramic Armor Plates

18 Blade Molds

50 sets of First aid Field Kits.

30 Hiking Packs

10 Rucksacks

542 Morale Patches (Iron-On)

600 Country Flag Patches (Iron-On)

900 City Patches (Iron-On)

We hope you enjoy this sampler kit, the armors, fabrics, and Molds are for the Counselors/Campers/Directors/Whoever makes your armor and clothes. The bags and first aid kits are to be held for deployment of Quests or Medical Emergencies. The Patches can be distributed how you like. If you ever find yourselves stuck in Illinois, you can come shelter at our offices or warehouses near Peoria.

Stay safe, and if you need more give a holler!

Sincerely,

Zachariah Von Locke and the Belmont Surplus Crew.

(Also in the box are around six boxes of Finnish ration chocolates)

THANK YOU WHAT?? We’ll transport these to camp half blood swiftly, thank you for the support 🫶🫶 - Annabeth Chase 🦉

[pupyr0arz]

Okay, I just finished reading your kidnapper!Gaz cuddling story and it gave me an idea! In the story Gaz loves to gift the reader perfume. What if the reader tries to stalk up on perfume before drinking it protest or as a suicide attempt?

content warnings: suicidal ideation, attempt at suicide, self harm. Also kidnapping emotional abuse all that good stuff.

Is this super realistic? No. W/e.

At first it’s unthinkable. Sure, your life sucks but it’s not that bad. You’re just a moody person, you’ve never actually really considered killing yourself. You’re not like that. You float through life, unattached to your own melancholy. Other people have mental problems. Other people are reckless, pitiable, saveable—

You’re not sure when it occurs to you, no clock or windows to track the degradation of your thoughts into increasingly desperate plans. You think about breaking the mirror, taking a glass shard and

You think about attacking him. You think about smearing blood and distracting him to get out. You look into his warm brown eyes and wonder what might happen. Would he look concerned then, like he does when you shrink away from his touch? Or would he drop his sweetness, prepare to sweep you away like any other of his victims?

Would he cry?

Would anyone cry when they read the news report? Would you get a book? Would the police find anyone at all to tell the news? Would they ever find your body?

The mirror isn’t glass. Your hand shrinks away, almost ashamed to be caught, to be predicted. You don’t touch it again, like it left some mark on you that would reveal your thoughts to him. He doesn’t change, still talking to you sweetly and waiting for you to crawl towards him like a tame animal.

You don’t think about killing yourself. You think about seeing him cry. The picture is stuck in your minds eye almost obsessively. He’s pretty, you’ve gotten that out of the way. Handsome enough that kidnapping someone is ridiculous if he actually wants a companion, but he’s pretty with soulful brown eyes that almost always look cheerful. He comes to your ‘room’ in glowing moods, smiling and laughing, an endless outpouring of care.

You think about him crying more than killing him and escaping. His proclamations of love burn your skin and dig into your bones and worst of all they addle you more than anything he could put into the food. You don’t understand them. You don’t understand him.

Would it be a few tears, would he let them fall at all?

It’s the source of your suffering and your shame and your destruction. The spawning ground for the corruption that twisted your world into a miserable cycle of the same wall and the same face and stripped reality of its base meanings.

Would he make a sound, let out a gasp or cry out?

You want to take it, the burning ember that set your life ablaze, and crush it. You want to cut his throat and tear out his vocal cords. You want his heart to stop in his chest. You want to get out of the room.

Would he berate himself?

Salvation comes to you in disguise, cupped within your tormentors hand. You eye your collection of shining bottles by day. You only have the one chance. You wait until he’s waited for you to finish your plate.

Would he cry for you?

——————————

It’s warm.

You’re floating.

The water is warm.

Your arm hurts.

When you open your eyes, you’re not dead. You’re in the bathtub, floating in a comfortable bath instead of sitting on the bed sipping from perfume bottles. Your mouth tastes sweet, your throat aches. When you look over at your arm, there’s a needle in it connecting to one of those bags in the hospital they always have on sitcoms.

You’re not dead.

You look back up at the ceiling, not wanting to think about the needle in your flesh. Not wanting to think about him saving you. Not wanting to think about tipping the small sampler bottles back over and over. You don’t want to think. You don’t want to be here. You don’t want to be home.

“Sweetness, baby, I was so goddamn worried. Why would you ever do that to yourself? Love, please, oh don’t cry, don’t cry sweetheart. I got you help, we’ll work through this together.”

He appears at some point, time long discarded by your scrambled brain. He shushes you, wiping away the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs, soothing you with sweet nonsenses like a startled horse.

“I won’t let this ever happen again, okay? We’ll—I’ll fix it. I love you so much. Dove, look at me, look. I love you so goddamn much you don’t know how bad you scared me, sweet.”

His hands are warm, like the bath. You feel sick. He pushes a straw in your face and mindlessly, like before, you sip the artificial juice. He leans in and quickly presses his lips to your cheek. They’re soft.

You dare to look at his face and force your eyes to focus. Because you’re stupid, the kind of stupid to not notice someone follow you home or outsmart one lone man, the kind of stupid to not even manage to die.

Garrick’s eyes are brown and wet and red.

Garrick kisses your cheek again. You wonder if your tears taste sweet like his do.

[gryphonlover]

It’s “appreciate yourself” hours! Pick five pieces of writing that you’ve done that you love and talk about them! ❤️❤️❤️

Oh boy, I was not expecting this when I opened my inbox. 😅 At this point, I've got 25 works tagged under Linked Universe (including the translations), which feels like a lot. But I think 5 works makes a decent sampler.

Light a Candle is definitely one of my favorites. It was actually supposed to be a gift fic for you, but I was too shy to tag it as a gift fic at the time, so I just posted it and hoped you saw it. It's also a very sentimental piece for me because it's based off of a personal experience I had, and I wanted to capture that beautiful moment of friendship and brotherhood in writing.

The Doll of Resurrection was my first mature fic. I was very nervous at first, because I hadn't written or posted something like that before, but I think it came out very well, and now I've got a companion piece in the works. I don't know what else to say about this except that I plan to keep writing death scenes that emphasize gentleness and loving kindness.

Dead Weight is part 6 of Emotional Support Loftwing, and probably my favorite of the series thus far, simply because I think I did the best on it in comparison to the others. I've been pretty pleased with the response in the comments because there were a few things I did on purpose there, and they noticed, which means I was successful.

Troubled Waters was very self-indulgent. I just wanted to write something where I could drown Hyrule, so I did. Personally, I feel like it's one of my more unique pieces because I haven't seen many angsty fics set in Wind's era. I was also able to avoid the topic of cremation, which I'm quite proud of given the existence of Hyrule's blood curse thing he's got going on.

It's Fine, Don't Worry About It, is my main ongoing project at the moment. It's not actually finished yet, but it's one of the fics I've enjoyed working on the most so far. Around July, I started feeling a lot happier and more confident with my writing, and I like to think that it shows in this piece. Especially since I've been trying to convey a lot of complex emotions and hint at some of my headcanons through different characters' POVs.

[bulletpointspodcast]

Episode 97 - 1000xRESIST

How annoying would it be if we just copy and pasted the word "resist" one thousand times here? Pretty annoying!

Ed, Reid, and Yussef are joined by special guest Jacob Geller, all of us dressed in colour coded bodysuits, to discuss Sunset Visitor's 1000xRESIST this episode.

You can find more of Jacob's work over on his YouTube channel and the podcast Something Rotten. You can also check out his book, How a Game Lives, over here.

For more Bullet Points, check out our website. And, if you’re able to support us on Patreon,  $5 or more per month gets you access to bunch of exclusive podcasts. We have Recall of Duty, where we’re talking about every Call of Duty game, Violent Shapes, where Ed and Reid discuss each of Remedy Entertainment’s games, and The Industry Minute, the show designed to give you totally important, 100% serious business news from game journalism insiders. That same tier also comes with the entirety of Lucky 13, where Yussef and Reid discuss Final Fantasy XIII and Blood of Friendship, a now-concluded series where Reid and Astrid Rose talked about every Kingdom Hearts game in excruciating detail. The first episodes of these shows (and a fancy E3 2019 Industry Minute spectacular) are available for free at these links if you want a sampler. Also, Ed, Reid, and Astrid wrote and edited a book of essays on the Metal Gear Solid series called Okay, Hero, which  is available digitally right here.    

Bullet Points, along with Bad End, is also part of the Superculture Network. Check out the network’s site, follow it on Twitter, or listen to our most recent collaborative project, a podcast on Berserk called Idea of Evil, by clicking on over here.

[reinekes-fox]

Writing has not been going to well... so have something from another WIP

 "You will provide us with a meal, after the Nightlord von Wolfram sang your blood into heaven." you say, voice calm and collected, fit for a ruler.

She doesn't scream as you slash her skin.

  Over and over again, the servants lunge forward, armed with glasses and goblets to catch the last drop of blood pooling from the precisely made wounds.

  Your Hound is among them, he... or she, you don't remember, they all look the same with the armour anyway, holds out a goblet to you, filled with warm blood.

  You could force them to stand like that, arm outstretched, for hours, days even, and they would do it.

  But you are merciful after all, and you take it after a few minutes. Taking a sip.

Sweet.

  Von Wolfram told the truth and you see his blond hair, nodding at him. He spoke true.

  Maybe he can help the samplers with the cattle in the city?

  *page_break "Oh."

  The hare heart has stopped.

  You nudge the woman with your foot. Truly no movement. Than you shrug, turning around.

  "Make sure you get every last drop out of her."

[enderpearlll]

so how long will yan!bob keep y/n around before he eats them?

TW/CW: CANNIBALISM, BITING, BLOOD, VIVID DESCRIPTIONS OF CUTS/INJURIES, KNIVES, ETC…

(sorry for not replying earlier, i’ve been busy with school)

Bob thinks your meat is one of a kind, a special cut that he’s never tasted before. Now, he wouldn’t want to waste such delicious meat. Bob can settle for more cheaper tasting meat in favour of yours, he’d rather keep you around for as long as he can. He’ll live with “samplers” as he calls it, which is just him biting and licking your skin. Bob literally gnaws on you sometimes. And he will, on occasion if he’s really, REALLY craving you, he’ll slice your skin and drink the blood that flows out of it. Especially if he thinks you’re in need of a punishment, Bob’ll bite and cut you until you’re on the verge of passing out.