#yes he still has his soul room and yes he's all sorts of fucked up since he can't hide behind the limits of his body there

[sennenpharaoh]

Atem’s body layed there. Motionless, silent, limp. If they didn’t know better, people who would see him may think he was dead by how still his body was. A pained but strained look crossed his face, as well as hands that once grasped his chest were now just lying there, almost covering what wound would have been seen. His face glazed over by the sweat of his struggle, faint tear streaks down his face, and a small pool of saliva and who knows what else lay by his mouth.

Physically, he was in grave danger. Grave, grave danger. Barely hanging onto life by a thread, even if unconsciously.

Mentally...

It hurts... Gods, it hurts...

His body may have fell unconscious due to the pain, but that didn’t prevent him from feeling the pain from inside his own Soul Room. He was collapsed in the same position as his physical body, but here, where he can’t hide behind the limits of his body, he couldn’t collapse. It just kept hurting, and hurting, and hurting. No matter how much he willed it to stop it just kept hurting. The words of the magician can be heard as his mind just replayed that sentence over and over again.

“You will know the torment you have passed onto others, as I have now passed onto you.”

This was it. This was his punishment for everything. For how he had treated his magicians, his companions. For how much his emotional outbursts have harmed others. For hurting others because he got involved with magic that he had no business mettling with. If the others could see him now... if they could hear him now...

The grip on his chest was so tight as, while unable to dull the pain nor slow whatever poison was inside of him, whimpering and grunting were just being echoed inside the one room where no one, save for maybe one, could see him.

No one... can see him. No one... can hear him...

No. He was alone. Suffering... alone.

The groans and whimpers of pain and agony began to stifle as small sobs began to echo. His eyes, still closed from the intensity of the pain, heated up as small tears spilled out, running down the sides of his face and onto the floor. The soul room echoed in a pitiful display of agonizing pain, and painful regret.

I’m sorry... I’m sorry I’ve hurt you all... Gods it hurts... I’m... I’m so sorry... 

[yestrnight]

hiiiii!! if you do sub readers, can you do a sub ditzy/dumb slime reader who gets fucked by kaveh and alhaitham? if you don’t wanna you don’t have to, but thanks for reading this!! nd i really loved the other slime reader fics!!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ACTIN' LIKE A DAMN HYPOCRITE !

FROM: kaveh / gn! slime! reader / haitham

SUBJECT: you did something wrong and now you're fucked. literally. except i did not do the request and it became kaveh and haitham fighting over you while you get plowed and haitham's a hypocrite the entire time.

( gn reader but they have a CÙNT, seeex, idk this is pretty tame bois )

no matter how endearing you are— all of your gurgly-voiced, innocent-eyed adorableness— one cannot just let you roam free without some sort of discipline. after all, who knows what you're capable of? you're a humanoid slime that kaveh picked out of nowhere, that alone should raise some bells, and plus the fact that you were sucking the living soul out of their dicks every day should warrant you a damn collar.

alhaitham raises his brow at his roommate, who coddles and coos at you in your slime form. "this is why the pesky thing keeps thrashing our room. you spoil them too much."

kaveh stops babbling to you in baby-talk just to shoot his roommate a glare. "oh, shush you. even if they look like a human, they're still a slime through and through. it can't be helped that they'll be a little rowdy every now and then. it's part of their nature!"

"if their nature is going to cost me 10,000 mora for renovation, then it becomes quite the inconvenience for me, i'm afraid," haitham deadpans, shutting his book and leveling his senior with a stern stare. "as the one who found them, do you even have the means to get that money right now?"

kaveh winces. "well, i... i'll manage somehow. somehow." his tone becomes pitiful at the end. finally realizing that he has to teach his little pet some manners so that they won't keep bankrupting him, he turns you around and tries to muster the harshest glare that he can. you notice that the situation has become serious, and in his hands you slowly morph into your humanoid form as you tilt your head innocently.

"kav... eh?" you gurgle in questioning, wide innocent eyes looking up at him. "did i do something wrong?"

"yes, dear," he starts, and he reddens when he notices haitham's amused expression from the corner of his eye. "that was very naughty of you, to destroy haitham's study while we were away. we... i..." he heaves a breath, wincing as he continues to speak. "we need to punish you. you've been a very bad slime."

"we?" haitham cocks a brow.

"oh come on!" kaveh groans. "i know you want in too!"

he's not wrong about that. not when haitham's deep groans sound throughout the room as he's fucking your wet pussy like his life depended on it. it was nice, to be the one fucking instead of being fucked. he still had his pride after all, even if you had stripped him of it countless of times before.

he pinches your clit as he grinds his cock deep into your cunt. you let out a squeal, a cross between surprise and pleasure as you start leaking more and more slime around his cock. he's always been a petty jerk, and it's become more obvious when he relishes in the cloudy expression on your usually clueless face. the face of his dreams and nightmares, staring down at him as he drowns in his own shameless pleasure as if they haven't stripped him of all his dignity.

he swipes a thumb across your lip— relishes it when you shiver in pleasure from his touch— and dips it into your mouth. "this is how you ought to look like everyday," he says, serious eyes studying your face as you whimper and suck on his thumb. "brainless monsters like you should just sit still and submit like a good pet."

"don't be so mean!" kaveh admonishes his roommate, giving him the side eye as if he's not sat behind you and torturing your chest with those delicate fingers. "we're just disciplining them. you don't have to demean them like that!"

haitham shoots him a glare and kaveh, not one to back down from haitham, glares right back. "you don't have the right to talk, " he spits, glaring moodily down at your fucked expression. "you brought this one into our home and allowed it to destroy both of our lives."

"oh please," kaveh sneers. in his aggravation, he pinches your perky nipples so hard that you let out a small sob as he abuses them. "destroy? more like destroying your ass." his smirk widens when haitham blushes angrily. "we both know that after your done plowing my cute lil [y. name] you're going back to taking their dick in your ass."

haitham clicks his tongue, venting his frustration by rutting too deep into you. he's close, kaveh can see it, if the white liquid leaking from his head and floating in your slme torso was any indication. "as if you don't do that either," haitham snaps.

"well, i'm not a bitch about it," kaveh scoffs.

"you act like damn slut when it comes to [y. name]."

you rock up and down against kaveh while you whine and moan from haitham's rough handling. kaveh pecks a loving kiss on your cheek, snuggling into your neck, and you whine back as you try to find his lips again. kaveh grins at haitham.

"better than acting like you don't get bitched everyday."

haitham growls, but says nothing more. once he's done turning your body into his creamy white, he's coming after kaveh.

[meebles]

A snippet from my Codywan Bodyswap!AU that I’m working on:

Obi-Wan grunts, blinking as he comes to. His vision swims before it snaps to a sudden clarity. All at once, he realizes three things that are very, very wrong.

First, and most worryingly, he cannot feel the Force as he normally does. He’s not completely cut off, but only just.

Second, he’s certain he was in his quarters when he dozed off. Now he finds himself in a rarely-used storage room deep in the Negotiator’s sublevels, where the men keep their homebrew that Obi-Wan definitely doesn’t know about. He’s slumped against a wall, with the majority of Ghost Company peering down at him in various states of confusion.

Third, is that he’s certain his men just called him Cody.

“What… ?” he starts, staring down at his cuisse-clad thighs. Frowning, he moves to trace a finger across the stripe of gold paint running across the right, only to blink down at a hand that isn’t his own.

Ah, Sith hells.

“I think you should come to medical,” he hears Scabs say, and Obi-Wan agrees, but first they’ll have to go find—

“Oh, Force, Cody— ”

He ignores the odd looks the troopers give him, the reality of the situation suddenly gripping him like a vice. Cody, thrust into his body, but his mind untrained and unused to sensing the living Force that surrounds them—

“Scabs, I need you to get a sedative and meet me at— at the General’s room,” he states as he fully gathers himself upright, adjusting for his new center of gravity.

His CMO blinks at him. “What— the General? What are you— ?”

“I’ll meet you there and explain, just, please. A sedative,” he manages, already opening the doors. He looks back for a split-second to see Scabs nod in affirmative, before rushing out of the storage room.

Unfortunately, his own quarters are entirely on the other side of the venator. He runs past a few troopers, who startle at his haste, but he just calls back an all clear and doesn’t stop running, he needs to get to Cody—

After what feels like a tenday on a blessedly empty turbo-lift, Obi-Wan finally makes it to his quarters. He punches in the override and the door slides open, revealing the exact sight he feared— his own body, hunched over on the floor, clutching his head as he shakes—

“Cody,” Obi-Wan says, kneeling beside him, and Cody jolts, staring up at him with trembling eyes.

“Vod?” he asks in Obi-Wan’s voice, before his eyes widen impossibly further when they land on the scar at his temple, his own scar. “What is— augh!”

Obi-Wan curses under his breath, catching Cody as his eyes roll back, body slacking. He pulls him into his lap, resting his head as gently as he can against his armored thighs.

“Cody, my dear, it’s me, it’s Obi-Wan,” he says, holding Cody’s quavering form as still as he can. “Just focus on me, focus on my voice, just my voice, right here, with you.”

“Can’t— ” Cody spits out, head shaking. “It’s too much, I can’t— ”

“Shh, I know, I know. I’m so sorry, just try for me, please? Just try, it’s just me and you here together, no one else, just us… ”

Obi-Wan keeps muttering what’s probably nonsense, but he needs to give Cody some sort of anchor, something to focus on instead of the thousands of living souls he can suddenly sense aboard the ship, something present and definite in the entirety of the Force that he’s now privy to.

Cody groans, pressing himself further into Obi-Wan’s lap. “Please, make it stop, make it stop— ”

“Cody— what happened to the General?!”

Obi-Wan looks up and sees Scabs in the doorway, and bites back a sigh of relief. He’s about to explain when his medic is suddenly kneeling by his side, shaking his head.

“Fuck— that machine, it worked, didn’t it?” he says, opening his supply bag.

“Yes, it did.” Why the effects were so delayed, Obi-Wan has no idea, but right now it doesn’t matter. “And Cody— he’s not used to how my body senses the Force, it’s too much for him all at once.”

“I understand,” Scabs states, prepping the sedative. “Hold him steady, please. Bare his neck.”

Obi-Wan does as he’s told, chest clenching as he stares at Cody’s unseeing eyes. It’s a terrible solace when Scabs injects the needle and seconds later, they fall shut.

[tired-biscuit]

18+ fem!reader // quirkless AU. cw: alcohol, infidelity.

thinking about your friend's sweetheart of a boyfriend kirishima, who stays up and helps you clean after everyone else has already either passed out on your couch, or left the party you've thrown to celebrate your new job promotion, and thus an upcoming - unavoidable - switch to another city.

it's almost four in the morning, you're tired from all the socializing and drinking, and yet you catch yourself feeling pleasantly surprised by the fact that your friend's new boyfriend offers to keep you company as you try and sort out your home into its previous state of tidiness that you're normally used to.

the task before you is certainly no easy job after hosting such a fun party, however luckily for you, kirishima - or kiri, as he tells you to call him - is still as talkative and chipper as ever as he helps you gather and take out all the garbage, screws shut and sorts the remaining bottles of alcohol back into the fridge, and makes sure that all of the chairs find their rightful place back at the dining table, exactly where they belong.

and before you know it, all that's left to do is to take care of the dishes. feeling bashful all of a sudden from accepting so much help from a man you barely know, you repeatedly try to reassure him that you can handle this pesky little chore all by yourself, so that he can go join his girlfriend upstairs in the guest room because she must be surely missing him by now.

however, eijirou, being the good sport that he is; insists on offering a helping hand by grabbing a nearby dishcloth and waving you over to the pile of dishes that are waiting for you both, now, it seems.

so, you agree - happily. selfishly. even make a little show of it by rolling your eyes before approaching. i mean, how couldn't you, when he's just so nice?! he stands next to you by the sink, all big and warm, glancing at you every so often from the corner of his eye, easily making conversation and asking you where he should sort the various plates and glasses which you've still got to pack in the upcoming weeks. he makes you ogle a little bit whenever he stretches his arms to open and close the cupboards you point your chin towards every time. makes you leer.

there's chemistry; an instant spark you fail to snuff out even though deep down you know you should - he's your friend's man, for fuck's sake, not yours. it's tough. you try not to flirt whilst you think about the faint nip of guilt that's appearing in your conscience every now and then, but you simply have to admit it to yourself; you're attracted.

he's handsome and nice on the eyes with his broad shoulders, burly physique and defined jaw. strong. enticing. just your type.

and that's not all. after sneaking several looks at him during the party, you've learned that he has this constant grin playing on his face that you could almost describe as cheesy from how big it gets, and a thunder of a laugh that had struck your very soul whenever it boomed throughout the space during the course of the night.

but those are all things you've noticed from afar. now that you can see him more up-close, you realize that his eyes are striking and clear. they burn like a forge no matter the hour, making it seem like his irises contain molten glass. the feverish intensity in them matches the colour of his hair. it's like he burns from within - a true embodiment of a wildfire breaking free stands right before you.

he doesn't burn you, of course, as much as you think he would own the power to actually do it. the touch of your fingers brushing against his bigger, more calloused ones - god, they're just so thick - whenever you hand him a utensil or a cup is shiver-inducing, yes, but you also know that it is purely coincidental.

though, the touch of his hand, landing onto the small of you back the moment the dishes are taken care of, isn't coincidental. it isn't coincidental at all.

just like the way he turns and looks at you then, so attentive and inquisitive all of a sudden, isn't. staring up at him with a hammering pulse and a tight throat, you realize you're standing much closer to each other than you thought at first. the proximity is already small, but as if he's trying to provoke your limits, he makes it even smaller when he takes your hand in his so that he can wipe away the droplets of water off your almost-trembling digits.

he's still looking at your pretty manicure as he places the dishcloth back onto the counter. the way his callouses scrape your palm is to die for. it makes your stomach clench, because it tells you he's a working man. a capable one, who could fix things for you with seemingly no trouble.

a man who could perhaps help you set up the furniture that will surely be causing you many headaches as you settle in your new apartment.

"you're moving in a few weeks, right?" he asks quietly, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles. you've noticed that he slurs on his words a bit, but the rasp that riddles his voice still makes you nearly preen from how inviting it is to listen.

"yeah, that's, uh... that's right," is all you reply with, because it's all you're capable of at the moment. the lump inside your throat is still annoyingly present, and the kitchen is semi-dark, and you're both tipsy and he's standing so close, towering over you in a way that you can smell his potent scent and almost taste it sitting on the flat of your tongue at the same time.

there's silence. and also tension. the sticky kind.

"aw... what a shame, really," he mumbles, the corner of his mouth kicking upwards before he turns it into a subtle pout instead. he sounds genuine even if the expression that he now allows to show on his face seems to be masking a different motive. he almost looks... lustful.

wait, didn't he remind you of a puppy, at best, just mere hours ago? who is this wolf, now?

"what is?" you ask, trying to mentally push away all the immoral ideas that are forming inside your mind at the sight of him. his teeth are so sharp... he truly is no puppy, hmm?

as if on cue, he smiles, no, smirks, as he looks down at you. he tightens his grip and strokes your knuckles with his thumb one, two, three more times, before he brings your hand up to his lips then, and whispers, "the fact that i'll probably never see you again."

the sentence he leaves hanging in the air is like a scapegoat. a reason worthy enough for him to ram his cock inside your treacherous little cunt that you've been hiding from him underneath your too short skirt all night long.

after all, it doesn't really matter if you fuck him just once, right? you saw how he's such a good boyfriend, so caring and loving - surely he can slip up just one time? and it's not like it'll lead into something more. you'll move, you'll forget about each other and after enough time passes, you'll start doubting if the entire thing even actually happened.

that's it. you'll forget all about how his hands feel so big and rough as he runs them along your thighs; how he obscures you from sight the moment he sits you down on top of the counter and makes you wrap your legs around his waist whilst he leans in to kiss your jaw.

you'll erase from your memory the way he pulls you closer, to the very edge of the marble, just so that he can fuck into you as fast as he's able because it's supposed to be a dirty secret. erase how big his cock feels as he bottoms out then, groans into the side of your neck and lets it throb inside your belly. how he looks so mesmerized, with his rosy lips parted and his face flushed, when you hike that wretched skirt of yours up and he falls in love with a dripping wet pussy that definitely isn't his girlfriend's but that he's sinking into just as happily all the same.

you'll forget all about it, both of you truly will. he definitely won't look you up on instagram afterwards. won't slide into your DMs. won't ask you out. won't spend the weekend at your new place, helping you assemble furniture and fucking you on top of it right after the job is done. won't leave his girlfriend, who is also your friend, just to chase after you. won't, won't, won't.

he promises you that, even though his tongue is deep inside your mouth already, and he's holding onto you like he's scared you'll break apart if he even as much as thinks about releasing you from his grip. he just likes you so much. too much.

because unbeknownst to you, all that takes for a fire incarnate to blaze...

is a spark.

[hyuckkaiji]

even the stars do not compare to you - abby anderson × f!reader

summary; you and abby are both fools. fools who have loved each other while thinking the other incapable of reciprocating. fools whose feelings are finally out in the open.

word count; 1.8k

warnings; momentarily sad abby

note; abby anderson brain rot. she is my precious baby girl, and I'll give her the whole world if she'll let me

∘₊✧───── ─── ─────✧₊∘

Owen had been Abby's first, well her only, everything. But truthfully, he'd never been her first choice. He was what was left when she realized she couldn't have what she wanted.

And don't mistake that for her not having love for Owen. She does. She loved him once. It was a true love of sorts. And he has cemented his place in her heart, albeit small. There wasn't much room for him to take up, not when you occupied the rest of it. You occupy it still.

You have seeped into her, mind , body, and soul. She is infected by you. It seems the more she tries to stop it, the further you spread. You've claimed her, soiled her, left her unattainable to those around her. And you don't even know it.

That's the fucked up part, gods be good, she's yours and you don't even know it. She has to satiate her desire for you with mere friendship. She feels like a dog on the streets begging for scraps, for any measly form of sustenance. But if you need her to beg, she will.

Clearly, you need her to beg. It's been almost two weeks since she's seen you. You were fine last she saw, but it feels like you're avoiding her.

Volunteering at any open tasks, never on patrol with her. She doesn't understand. For years now, the two of you have been attached at the hip. Going so far as to switch shifts just so you can patrol together, but now, all of a sudden. She doesn't get it.

She did something she not particularly proud of, she's already established she'll beg ... it just has to be in person. She can't write down these thoughts to get your attention, she'll seem ... weak. So instead she asked Manny to find you, to tell you she's looking for you and it's an emergency.

There's no emergency, no that's a lie. The lack of your presence is an emergency, and you're the only solution.

"Abby." The sound of your voice startles her out of her thoughts. You didn't knock. You never do. Abby doesn't mind. She actually enjoys that you walk into her space like you own it. Because you do, not that you know that. At the very least, it makes her happy that you know she'd never deny you her space.

"Manny said you were looking for me, something serious." Concern laced your voice but you'd still yet to walk up to Abby the way you normally would, keeping your distance. Standing at the base of the stairs as she looked up you.

Her braid was loose at the end, starting to fall apart, she'd just finished pulling the band out when you interrupted her. She looks pretty with her hair down, at least you think so. But she hardly ever has it down, it's a vulnerable thing for her. And how she's hates being vulnerable.

"Yea." She stands, rubbing a sheepish hand over the back of her neck, "I've been trying to catch you for over a week now." She's walking towards you, and you want her to come closer. Want to feel the warmth that radiates off of her, want the scent of pine waft around you. But you take a step back.

A look of hurt passes over Abby's face, stopping in her tracks. "Why have you been avoiding me? Did I do something wrong?" Her thumb nails flicks against her forefinger, picking at the skin around her nail. An anxious habit.

"No." Your voice is small. You're not sure what else to say, how to voice what you've been feeling, if you even should. You had decided against it, decided just to distance yourself as much as possible, but now, being confronted like this, your decision wavers.

People underestimate Abby. Yes, she's big, but she's also fast, faster than you. She up the last few remaining steps, inches away from you, fingers locked around your wrist, all before you have time to say another word.

"Then why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not."

"Liar." You are a liar, you've always been a liar, at least when it came to Abby. The truth was a weight you chose to bear alone, you say choose but really your fear had forced the decision. Fear of losing her should you come clean.

"Abby." You try and pry her hand away, but her grip holds firm, just enough to keep you near her, but not enough to hurt you. Never enough to hurt you, Abby would never hurt you. You let out an exasperated sigh, giving up, letting your hands fall at your sides.

"Sometimes... people grow ... apart." She says nothing, a beat of silence before you continue, "It's a part of life. People get older, they change, friendships don't always last forever." Her brow is furrowed, she nawing at the inside of her lip. The two of you ... grow apart ... it's not possible.

"You were fine last time I saw you. How long have you been feeling like this?" Her hair had fallen loose in her rush up the stairs, falling in waves around her face. Damn every God, she looks so beautiful with her hair down.

"A while. I didn't know how to tell you." Abby looks you over, you're lying. She's known you for as long as she can remember, she's loved you for as long as she could remember. She knows you, do you not know that? She knows when you're lying.

"Tell me the truth."

"I am-"

"The truth. Now." She's angry, like she has any right to be angry at you. This is her fault. Your resolve is shattered, how dare she be mad, how fucking dare she. This is her fucking fault.

"You wanna know the problem, Abigail?" You sneer at her. "You're the problem. You. I cannot stand being around you. I can't stand seeing your face everyday, hearing your voice, smelling you in the air. For fucks sake that stupid scent  of that stupid fucking soap clings to everything and I hate it. You are the problem."

She finally lets you go. She's on the verge of tears, but the tense tick of her jaw tells you she's not going to let them fall. "Alright... if that's how you feel." The guilt settles, deep in the pit of your stomach, you feel nauseous.

"Abs..." Your voice trails off.

"Just go."

"Abby." You reach out for her hand but she pulls it away.

"Go."

"I can't. I can't because you're right, I'm a liar." And a coward, damn the universe for making you, damn it for making her. She says nothing, only stares at you her anger is palpable, no, not anger, hurt, her hurt. Liar, coward, you add monster to the list.

"That wasn't true ... I don't know why I said it like that."

"It sure felt true."

"Abby..."

"How else could you have possibly meant it?"

Liar, coward, monster, idiot. Your list of personal descriptors is ever growing.

"I do hate those things." Abby huffs, looking away from you. "But not because I hate you ... Abby, even the stars do not compare to you. I have never see so beautiful a person nor I have I been enamored with anyone other than you."

"Do you know what it's like? To be in love with someone for so long and you can't say or do anything about it? To watch as they get with some ignorant douche who doesn't treat them the way they deserve?"

"To be in love with someone who only sees you as a friend? To be the shoulder they cry on about their shitty partner?" You shake you head, running a hand through your hair. You catch Abby's eyes, she's staring at you with this look of utter shock.

"I don't know when the years just became one too many, but they did and I can't keep doing this to myself. I can't get over you if I'm always around you."

Your name slips from her lips, like a mortal who has just come across their deity in the flesh. Oh she must be dreaming, then she's laughing.

It's your turn to be hurt, to cross your arms over your chest defensively. Watching as she giggles like a mad woman before wiping away a stray tear. "Pinch me, I want proof I'm awake."

"Abigail."

"Yes?" She smiling at you, big doe eyes watching you. Fuck you're so hopelessly in love with her, what made you think you had the self control to stay away from her.

"I'm not joking ... I'm in love with you."

She pulls your arms free just to take one of your hands in her own, running a callused thumb over your knuckles.

"Do you remember, when we were sixteen and we'd snuck out to watch the stars?" You nod.

"Do you remember asking me what I dream about? Asking me if you think the stars would grant our wishes if we told them?"

"You told me you dreamed of freedom and that the stars were just gas in space, not genies. And that they weren't even that pretty." Abby let's out a breathy laugh.

"I've never dreamed of freedom, I dreamed of you. And the stars are just gas, I'd come to realize that by then. If the stars could grant wishes they would have answered mine."

"I used to tell them my secrets, but they never made them come true."

"What...what did you tell them?"

"That I was in love with a girl, a girl so beautiful she took my breath away every time I saw her. I told them that I wanted to be hers, I wanted her to love me the way I loved her."

"When we were sixteen I hated the stars for ignoring my prayers. But it seems I was wrong, they had been listening all along. Though I maintain they really aren't that pretty, not in comparison to you."

Abby leaned in, her lips ghosting over yours, asking permission, you closed the gap. Wrapping your arms around her neck.

It was soft, sweeter than any kiss either of you had before. All gentle caresses and light wandering fingers trailing exposed skin.

Abby pulled you to her bed, pushing you down in between pecks. She hovered over you, "If i wake up and this was all a dream, I'm gonna be so fucking mad." Her lips are back on yours before softly trailing down your neck.

Her kisses are cool and open mouthed on your warm skin. She kisses her way down to your chest before letting her weight slowly settle on you. She rests her head, using your breasts as a pillow. "Promise I won't wake up by myself."

"I Promise." You wrap one arm around her, tracing random patterns on her clothed shoulders and back, the other falls into her hair running gentle fingers through her dirty blonde tresses. With in no time she's fallen asleep, feeling safer and more loved in your arms then she ever did in Owen's.

[spoiled-fawn]

Meeting Johnny

Western AU; Mail Order Spouse Trope

WC: 2,726 CW: None

AN: I'm alive! Sorry this is so short, this was a good stopping point and I need to work on my world-building for Soap before getting to the next part. Just know- I haven't given up on this AU (It's literally my firstborn, blood, and soul, but I will be a bit slow until my brain juices stay flowing. I hope ye enjoy <3

Please see the Introduction for the explanation and precursors to the scene.

Introduction, Biography

--------

Johnny’s proposal to you was quick in terms of a few letters exchanged; three letters in, he invited you to come out and sent you enough money to figure out accommodations to get to him. As soon as you read those words at the post office, you ran home high on endorphins and adrenaline began packing your bags without grandiose care in the world. The fire inside you licked at the bottom of your heart, anger at staying in this shithole for far too long and feeling a sense of belonging- the sense of feeling wanted to make you have an ulterior purpose in life as if a phoenix reborn and spreading its wings while nose-diving into the unknown. When your parents came home as you zipped your bags, you sincerely couldn’t give a flying fuck as you shoved past them and began berating your parents with a grand show of a public yelling match for the neighbors to hear. 

Good for you! 

You had already planned how to get to him after receiving his first letter back; First step, buying a train ticket that led you to Santa Fe, New Mexico. From there, you had to embark on the Gila Trail, before having to buy your horse and head out on the San Diego Crossings wagon road by yourself. 

This trip was a long haul, and you prayed that Johnny would trust in your quickly established faith to wait out for you. The promise of a strong and loving man is all you could think about...

While in your adrenaline-filled escape, you hadn’t plucked the book in your room that hid his photo as a bookmark, but thankfully had grabbed the letter that gave you his directions. While you scavenge your mind to have a solid image of him, you think over his features and re-read the letters countless times.

Johnny has a background of all sorts, having grown up in a family that held their bond strong, especially after his father had passed in a mining cave-in, which rendered him the man of the house from a young age. Even in his brief telling of these events, you could tell he’s moved out to California to find a deeper meaning of himself, create the line in concrete for it to harden as he ages. 

That isn’t to say that he has lost his sense of boyishness, not at all in fact. His stories that he wrote even contained small doodles along the borders to better depict what he was writing about, and it was half your mind to cut them out and keep them as little bookmarks or place them in your wallet as a keepsake. He was playful, writing jokes about the smallest things, even letting you in on some secrets about the people in his town before you got there.

While the sense of his flame burned hot in multiple directions, deep in his hearth was a passionate man. Just as he seemed so sweet, with a flick of his wrist the writing would turn into something hot enough to make you blush, averting your eyes as your mind ran wild with his thoughts. He seems to enjoy a bubble bath… but maybe only when you’re in it with him. Even writing about the future and him stating he wants a family by any means, you could only imagine a deep possessiveness inside of him to claim you as such. Even if you were able to have his biological children or not, he’d still make sure you felt like you did.

But back to your journey. 

The course of the trains provided you an oversight of the new lands you had yet to ever see, as it was the beginning stages of territories turning into states. The rides were long, and adjusting to the set time zones was a large throw-off to your circadian rhythm. Having already traveled two states west, it was difficult to decide on which line would grant you the fastest access to Johnny. Luckily enough, a kind person in the Denver station helped point out that taking the route from northern Nevadah into California would grant you the fastest time, and ease your solo traveling. 

The kind person stated that they were in a similar situation and now waiting for the train, having a bit of time to offer some advice while making it toward their end goal. Thanking them with bountiful wishes and good luck’s in their journey, you were on your way.

It took four more days to find yourself in Temecula, California. An astonishing change from the desert lands that reflected the sun so brightly now showed the capabilities of a plush environment of greenery and clouds. The train station was reached as the sunlight began pouring in over the mountains; being quick on your feet, and from the other settlers being far too tired, you found a deal on the last remaining horse available. 

Traveling by horseback prompted challenges with reading Johnny's directions, and you did not want to admit that you were lost. The lack of directory and signage left you getting flustered already by noon and being left alone in such a rural area in between towns felt far more daunting than any part of this trip. Passing by stagecoaches who all seemed to know their way around, you filed in line through a secondary road filled with houses in the valley of the small mountains.

Three hours later and a small urge to cry while having given up on re-reading the letter, you accepted defeat when you saw someone sitting on their porch down a dirt road with his house being the only one there.

“Hi! Excuse me, sir?” The sound of your voice breaks through the stillness of the settling valley, enough to make the man look up from the table he is currently hunched over.

“Would you mind helping me out by giving me directions?” Willing yourself to not blush or shrink into your large coat, embarrassment running through your chest while in the new environment.

For a moment, the man doesn't seem to acknowledge you, having to do a double take before his eyes widen in surprise. The toothpick that was delicately hanging on his lip falls to the ground, less he even notices before he sits up straight readjusting his hat, and clears his throat.

“‘Course, my dear. How can I be of service.” His accent is rich, leading you to believe that he’s been raised in the West, and has a perfectly smooth twang to his speech as it leaves his side smile.

“I’m looking for the country store… There’s supposed to be an old Coke sign on it.” The words leave you in a higher pitch than you’d normally speak, having a handsome stranger stare at you with a wide-eyed stare as he watches your lips move. “And to be honest- I wouldn’t know if I’m in the right place to begin with.” 

As if snapped back to reality again, eye contact cut short as he blinks before looking down the road and then back to you. “Ah, store’ way down yonder with a crossing sign. If yer’ headed west then a left will take you to the interstate,” A nod confirms his sense of confidence in his directions, explaining it plain and simple as the roads that his house lies on.

The smile that crosses your face lights your eyes, and it's the most relief you’ve gotten ever since getting on horseback. “Thank you, I really do appreciate it.” Your hands pull on the reigns of the horse, already turning around to try and beat sunset before it's too dark to ride alone.

Before you’re out of earshot, “When you’re in, you gotta stop and ask Ms. Bell for somma’ her sweet tea. But remember, take a right, and you’ll end up right back here to me.” The wink that leaves him makes you question if you’re seeing things in the late light of the day, but you’re sure he can see the blush that burns your cheeks.

A laugh leaves you before nodding in response, now clicking your horse into a quick trot while you’re high on the adrenaline from the interaction. Well… at least you have a backup plan in case your bachelor doesn't work out.

Arriving far too quickly than you’d expect, the store was only a few minutes down the road and concealed by a line of trees. Hitching your horse and walking into the store on stiff legs, you plan on following the stranger's advice to get some sweet tea.

The bell above the door jingles as you walk in, catching the attention of the older woman behind the counter. Here eyes take in your form, surprised such a fresh-faced person has arrived this late into the day. “How can I help you, sweetheart?” Her voice rings out a bit rough, someone who knows how to pull her weight if trouble would arrive.

“I’m actually looking to get to someone's home near town, but I was told to make my way from this store to not get lost.” A pause as your eyes take in the scenery of the rustic store; A layer of dust settled onto the wooden floors as shelves are stocked with an assortment of canned goods, spices, and a few refrigerators labeled as eggs and milk. “Met a stranger on the way and was told I should get some sweet tea here, too.”

Her eyes, still studying you as you speak and noting your accent, or lack thereof, bring a small quirk to her face. “Well, lemme get you some of my tea while you get yourself found.” Leaving her seat she makes her way to a wall in the back, pulling out two large mason jars with a light brown liquid. 

“That stranger you met- was he small ways up north fr’mere?” The smile on her face grows as she walks back to her seat at the register as you walk forward to meet her.

“Yes… A lone house down a single road. Blue eyes, brown hair, and some stubble.” The answer is pulled from you automatically, reciting the mental image of him.

“Toothpick in his mouth?”

The question is almost absurd in how spot-on she is, but then again this is a very small town. “Yes.”

The answer makes her laugh, somewhat un-ladylike when compared to the women from your home, and the noise makes you startle in place for a second.

“That damn Johnny makes me work my ass off to keep this tea in stock. He’s been so stressed waiting for his person to come ‘nd has been drinking me straight out of this stuff.” She levels when calming down for a moment, now placing the jars in bags.

She has yet to look back up at you and fails to notice your limbs seemingly frozen in place as the air leaves your lungs. That was Johnny?

“I’m so sorry ma’am. Did you say that was Johnny? As in MacTavish?”

The rustle of the brown paper bags stops, her eyes darting up to find yours. “Well, I’ll be damned.” She murmurs lowly before a sly smile takes over her face. “You’re here, and you’re damned too good from what you made yourself out to be, sweetheart.” 

Still frozen with your mind reeling, adrenaline begins to pump back into your bloodstream while a jolt alights your muscles. “Oh- I’m so sorry ma’am, I must get going its getting late and-”

The sliding of the jars on her counter interrupts your rambling, “Ah ah, its Ms. Bell dear, and you best be taking this with you to him. Don’t worry bout nothin’ but I’m happy to welcome you to the town.” 

If you looked now, you could notice the tremor in your hands. Nodding and taking the bag, a rush of endless ‘thank you’s’ and an elated smile seats itself permanently before loading the bags on the saddle and turning back around to start galloping forward back towards where you once were.

—

The sound of horses and wagons isn’t a constant to Santa Ysabel during the night hours, usually only occurring after the dayshift ends. As Johnny sits on his porch, his mind muddled with confusion as he stews over his soon-to-be partner arrives, thoughts of the stranger asking for directions makes him confused.

Fresh toothpick in his mouth as he widdles away at a bar of tallow, working to pull off glycerine for work. Surely that wasn’t a coincidence, right? The picture you sent was muddled down with water stains, and he blamed it on the damn train that sent your envelopes out this way. It was beginning sunset, and though he couldn't make out most of your features because of the coat you concealed yourself in- 

The bar of soap drops to the ground and he curses, now jumping out of his mind and into the present. 

The sound of hooves beating and approaching make him look up.

There, Here, you’re back again and the whites of your teeth are illuminated by the fading sun to show your smile.

Slowing down your horse to a stop, breathing in a slight pant as compared to your horses, the smile never leaves you.

“Figure you need some more directions, sweetheart?” His drawl leaves him, standing to make his way towards you. 

“Take off your hat.” The response is curt, and demanding in a way, but that glimmer of excitement makes it sound so sweet.

Johnny himself is befuddled for a moment, eyebrow cocked but complies anyway. Now raising the hat off of his head and holding it to his chest, his eyes answer for him. This what you wanted?

A small sound of excitement leaves you, nodding before your leg swings over your saddle, dismounting with a small jump and walking forward.

“Johnny, it's me.”

A swear leaves his mouth, accompanied by a rush of air before he drops his hat to the side and plucks hit toothpick out with it. The smile that coats his face makes him appear so young and boyish at heart as he moves forward with arms open to wrap around your hips with a low growl, “C’mere you,”

You could be embarrassed by the small squeal that leaves you, but you couldn’t give a rat's ass on anything right now. He spins you around for a quick moment, arms around your body as he lifts you easily with his strength.

Staring down into his eyes, you grab a shoulder while the other hand cups his jaw. “Didn’t know it was you until Ms. Bell said something.”

He laughs, head tilting back in bewilderment at the situation and excitement. “Talkin bout her sweet tea?” He asks while setting you down on your feet, hands never straying as he pulls you against him and traverses over your body.

“Yes, gave me some to bring home.”

The use of home sparks his heart with a bright thrum, butterflies encasing his stomach while he rumbles out a laugh. The texture of his hands is both soft and ruff, his thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones before one hand moves to brush over your hair, cupping the back of your neck.

“Well, in that case, welcome home, sweety.” The rumble sends a shiver down your spine, eyes darting over his face before settling on his lips. A breath settles before you look back into his sharp blue eyes, as he looks at you seemingly waiting for permission.

A small nod of your head and gently pulling him towards you, the band on the back of your head pulls you forward as he brings your lips together. The taste of him has a spice to it, the favor of cinnamon cotes his lips and brings a slow burn over yours while his body’s warmth brings another wave.

The stubble of his beard rubs your face- and it's a welcome feeling as compared to the winds of the valleys whipping past you. Something you’d gladly leave your skin bright red and raw from hours of the feeling.

Before growing too heated, you part with a small gasp and trail him slightly before blinking to find his smirk growing as a low rumble vibrates against you. “Let's get you settled in, then we can celebrate s’more.”

--------

[Who do you all think the reader met at the train station? If you get the song reference for their meeting you get two gold stars! I hope yall enjoy.]

[tttovarichhh]

well if anyone is giving

my take on that iconic quote 🫣😏

A proper education has lots of benefits – detailed in-depth study of the material, the best teachers and the harsh discipline of public schools, well, to prepare in advance for a harsh life. The only thing that the creators of such closed educational institutions obviously did not think about is how, what kind of things teenage boys do during puberty.

partly 18+ 🤫

if you want me to tag you under something like that next time, just say, i am gonna be very happy to do so

The difference between Charles and Erik is the deep abyss.

Charles is mesmerised by the abyss, while Erik is repulsed by its depth and the sharp rocks at the bottom, which could fatally injure him. But each day Lehnsherr comes closer to the edge, peering down, testing his own interest.

And God, that damn difference is sometimes Erik bloody needs while hates at the same time.

“Yes, not everyone had that privilege,” whiskey runs through the blood with growing irritation and Erik hisses at Charles once again, still trying to hide inner rage from not being on the same level with Xavier.

Charles is better, Charles is so fucking ideal, you can use his image as a religious symbol to protect souls of all those pitiful bastards, who just never had money to experience normality of life.

And that is what makes Erik heart race with anger every time.

“It doesn’t make any difference, Erik. We are not represented just by our education or wealth or anything else.”

Charles is soft, as usual. He knows, this topic is hard for Lehnsherr. There is so much pain in him, Charles is surprised anyone can have it and not go completely mad.

Erik hums, takes one more sip of whiskey and smirks, looks at Charles with some hint of growing drunk playfulness, still mixed with annoyance.

“Tell me, how was it?”

“How was what?”

“Your school. Your proper posh education in a castle where no one allowed, where you all know each other and play golf during lunch or whatever. How was it?”

“Well,” Charles smiles, takes a drink himself, recovering some vivid memories, “we haven’t played golf on a lunch break, actually. But believe me, Erik, it wasn’t so ideal as you imagine it. Yes, we had great lecturers, but boys everywhere the same, no matter the social class.”

Lehnsherr smirk at that, tilts his head. He looks at Charles and laughs softly.

“Of course. The same.”

“I am not saying my experience was the same as yours, my friend, I would never make that comparison, but it seems like you think those, as you say, castles, are some sort of sacred places,” Xavier smiles back, runs fingers through his hair, then glances at Erik again. Erik just watches him, lazily running his index finger on the edge of glass.

“Aren’t they?”

“Not at all. I might say, they are the dirties places in the country, full of teenage boys, who are just figuring out things about themselves,” at that, Charles smiles softly, reminiscing about his younger self and what used to happen behind closed doors at school. He glances up at Erik, his gaze darts at Lehnsherr.

Erik smiles back, leans back in the chair, his own eyes never leaving Charles’.

Silence in the room is palpable and slides under Erik’s skin with a light tension and growing feeling of warmth from the whiskey.

“Did they know about your mutation?”

“No. I am glad they didn’t as I was using too frequently. It was a fun time and I am sorry you are still feeling like we are different in that regard. I understand it, but please, don’t think of me as just a posh bastard.”

“I am not.”

“I know you do, deep inside you still do,” Charles says it softly, nearly whispering and Erik not completely sure was it even a real phrase or just Xavier’s presence in his mind.

They stay silent for a while, this time the quiet feels way more welcoming and soothing. Erik drinks a bit more, still glancing at Charles, knowing, there is no need to talk. Everything is clear and just waits it’s time.

“I better get some sleep, Charles. Thanks for the game,” Lehnsherr glances at the chess on the table, smirks at his win. Once again, he proved himself to a better opponent.

Charles smiles, stands up, steps closer to Erik, looks up at him before gently tapping on the shoulder.

“I am not your enemy, Erik. I am your friend, please, let me be one.”

Erik glances down at the palm on his shoulder and nods. Their eyes meeting again, darting at each other, testing who is gonna give up first to the growing need to jump in the abyss, knowing of death down there. And Erik does.

The kiss is gentle, full of drunken need and some bloody sentiment he hates to pull out to the light. He needs it like air, searches to response, scared to be rejected and then covered with shame for not keeping him self conscious. Erik pulls away, looks down at Charles, searching for all the answers again and frowns slightly as the sense of growing regret raises inside as a flame.

Xavier looks at Erik, takes his hand and rests on his neck, smiles as Lehnsherr brushes fingers agains the skin slowly.

“I am not pushing you away, Erik.”

“But do you accepting me?”

“Yes,” this time Charles leans forwards, meets Erik’s lips in a kiss, less sensual one and way more fierce. Lehnsherr responds to it, sliding his other hand in Xavier’s hair, tugging slightly. He breaks the kiss, his heart is beating rapidly and he smirks.

“So, what exactly do all the boys do in those private schools?”

“Making out a lot,” smiles Charles, resting his hands just above Erik’s hips while Lehnsherr is still brushing his fingers over his skin, “too much, even.”

“Mmm, I see. You aren’t as innocent as others see you, Charles.”

“I never pretended I am,” he smirks playfully, steps even closer and looks in Erik’s eyes once again, without any hints, just clear proposal. Lehnsherr bites his lip, laughing softly, his caresses are gentle yet on the line to become more possessive.

Erik doesn’t go to his room this night. He lets his guard fall and Charles smiles, kissing Lehnsherr’s neck, sometimes nuzzling with soft bites, making Erik exhale deeply.

“Is this what you have learned?”

“Precisely, my dear, and much more,” another bite, this time on the shoulder just above hundreds of small freckles Erik hates, “they are beautiful, stop thinking badly of them.”

“Stop giving me life advices at least right now,” Erik hisses, looking up at Charles, who laughs at that, before reaching out for the belt on trousers. Xavier smirks when it flies away by itself and Lehnsherr pops up on his elbows.

“Ops,” he smiles, reaches for Charles and pulls him closer by the hips, still gently, “I have my tricks as well, just so you know.”

“I know,” he says, leaning down again, biting on the collarbone, leaving growing marks, while Erik lays down on the pillows, closing eyes, moans softly.

Charles kisses him all over, bites and brushes his fingers on every line of the body, settling everything in his memory. Every bone, muscle, scar, freckle and mole, everything needs to be healed by kisses and touches, and Xavier volunteers to be a doctor.

And Erik is grateful. Arching under the touches, he lets control go and just allows himself to feel and moan in a pillow, while Charles once again, presses lips on the back on his neck, making sure that Lehnsherr feels comfortable with him.

And he does. He does so much that they start to spend nights together nearly every day, changing roles, but still being there for each other in every aspect. And they fall into the depth of that abyss again and again, making Erik wonder if there ever will be the end of this fall.

[1schadenfreude1]

Rewriting Cain Boyfriend to Death 2 Love how the BTD fandom just collectively agreed to adopt EP's characters as our own I am absolutely tormented by the fact that Cain had so much potential but just. does not have the best writing ugh he's too similar to Rire and it kills me SO I am rewriting the fallen angel, lots of headcanons below the cut

Cain's number one motivation for why he does what he does is BOREDOM He's been torturing people in hell for centuries and it's become BORING. He wants something new, something interesting. He wants to see live humans and savor their emotions. Cain misses being human He'd never admit it out loud of course, but he does miss having real human emotions and enjoying human pleasures. Of course he can't be on earth too long while angels are hunting him, but maybe, spending time with humans will help him regain some of that human feeling?

Cain is chaotic evil incarnate LISTEN everyone in btd2 is a silly dork and Cain should be one too. He should have the most unpredictable and immature chaotic energy. Do you trust this face??? You shouldn't

I think he just. does shit without thinking. Like he's been away from real humans for so long that he's sort of forgotten how fragile they can be.

"Oh c'mon little toy you can handle a little boiling water, right? Hello? Human? Fuck. Guess I need a new one." Yeah he's incredibly overpowered but that doesn't mean he knows how to USE that power lmao. He doesn't know how to interact with people anymore. he wants to be human again, but all he really knows how to do is…torture people. he's so dumb.

Straight up contradicting canon here but-- Cain feels bad for killing Abel Asking about Abel makes Cain get SUPER uncomfortable and shut down. He doesn't wanna talk about it. He definitely doesn't feel remorse about it. Nope. No remorse here. Abel is DEAD and GONE and good riddance and he DEFINITELY doesn't have lingering issues about it. Fuck you. Rips you apart with chains.

He loves bullying Damien though They have each other's phone numbers for god's sake. Cain sends Damien gore porn of the people he's killed. Those two try to kill each other on a weekly basis. It's normal for them. Yes that is Damien's severed arm on the living room wall. It brings Cain joy. Don't worry about it. Totally normal thing to say to your sibling

Cain and Rire are rivals I think this is basically canon (based on Darqx's gorgeous art and animatics) but I wanna delve into it a bit! They're both incredibly powerful supernatural monsters, but their main difference comes down to this: Rire is lawful evil Cain is chaotic evil Cain kills people for purely selfish reasons: he wants to see human reactions and feel their emotions again. He thinks that causing pain will help him feel human. Rire kills people because its his job to collect souls. He loves his job and has a lot of fun with it, but in the end its still his job.

Cain is much, much older but Rire is way more mature

Cain is more powerful, but can't do much when he's stuck in Tartarus Rire is less powerful but has much more freedom of movement

Cain likes to play the long game, seducing victims with romance before going sadistic on them Rire is a busy demon; he likes to have fun but needs that soul sooner rather than later

Cain plans long elaborate dates because he's bored and reads too many romance novels Rire's plans are short and brutal, he does what he wants and that's it

Cain loves humans and wants to savor their reactions and emotions Rire hates humans and treats them like disposable toys

Cain is more interested in pain than sex, he won't rape a victim unless he really likes them Rire likes sex lmao. its a power rush for him and it feels good I hope my ramblings make sense lol

[ironmandeficiency]

modern lotr character headcanons

characters included: aragorn, boromir, gimli, legolas, pippin, merry, frodo, sam, arwen, eomer, eowyn

word count: 745

summary: random thoughts abt lotr characters if they lived in modern times

a/n: this is literally just silly shit, enjoy

boromir listens to old country (conway twitty, george jones, loretta lynn, etc.) and does not tolerate anyone insulting the opry legends

he also listens to divorced dad rock (hinder, nickelback, theory of a dead man, etc.) which gimli will sometimes jam to as well

gimli lovingly maintains an old-as-dirt bench seat ford truck despite there almost constantly being something wrong with it. ignores legolas’s badgering about him getting something more reliable

obviously legolas drives a hybrid and he almost acts as if this fact makes him better than gimli (not in a dickish way, though)

horse girl aragorn.

frodo is the epitome of shy emo boy with the black skinny jeans & death cab for cutie playing in his air pods

merry is the golden retriever in the “golden retriever in love with the black cat” trope 

aragorn and arwen host game nights and various other parties for their friends, but neither of them can cook so they just order delivery (or sam hijacks their kitchen for the hours before)

pippin has a large follower base on social media bc of his drinking songs and other inebriated antics that are usually recorded by whoever happens to be with him that night. usually it’s eowyn & merry, and the three of them will shake some major ass to megan thee stallion

sam goes to open mic nights at local coffee shops to people watch. he will never perform himself, but it’s nice to watch people he knows do their thing

eomer accidentally goes viral on tiktok when eowyn records him doing some dumb shit. never lives it down

the amount of joy gimli gets from going to rage rooms is almost alarming

arwen has a very thorough skin care regimen that she introduces to aragorn, and it becomes a sweet nightly routine for the two of them

eowyn & eomer don’t allow anyone to talk shit about or annoy the other bc that’s their job fuck you very much

frodo has a shitty immune system but sam’s homemade soups seem to always heal from the soul outward

sam is the little spoon favored by the resident neurodivergent

frodo is the resident neurodivergent

yes they’re dating

arwen is always the dd

when it comes to birthdays, don’t ask boromir to remember anyone but faramir’s. hell, he forgets his own birthday sometimes

legolas is the best at remembering the birthdays of his friends but forgets his own

they have to remind each other of their own birthdays when that time of year comes around

merry is always the favorite audience member at a drag show

arwen & eowyn never dress like they’re going to the same place when they hang out

gimli says southern grandpa idioms unironically — “as useless as a screen door on a submarine”, “higher than eagle titties”, “busier than a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest”, you get the idea. merry keeps a running tab of said quotes

boromir is the “we’re not getting a dog” dad. said dog ends up being his best friend & the sole inheritor in his will, fuck them kids

aragorn & gimli have their own moonshine still they think is perfectly hidden from everyone

that does not include merry & pippin, who are booze bloodhounds and immediately knew where to find it but swore to secrecy as long as they got more than everyone else

frodo sips fruity little drinks because he can’t shoot whiskey

sam can drink in the way only a divorced middle-age man can despite not being a divorced middle-aged man

eowyn cannot drive for shit & the several dents on her car prove it. the only reason her insurance hasn’t gone up astronomically is because she just. doesn’t report any of it

said car has a fuck ton of bumper stickers with all sorts of silly things

gimli can’t ride a bike AT ALL but has a motorcycle, make it make sense

he goes on bike rides with eomer when they have the time & the weather is nice

merry & pippin are two halves of a whole idiot at every given moment

eomer LOVES 90s and 00s country music but is kinda picky about newer country (he is a massive fan of cody johnson but will throw you through a wall if you talk about morgan wallen in his presence)

arwen dances in the rain & literally never gets sick from it. merry is insanely jealous of this fact

frodo’s favorite video game is animal crossing: new horizons & has very sound opinions on what villagers are the best (fuck you, rodney)

[cakesandfail]

Do you have any headcanons about how Vetinari ended up taking power?

Actually yes I do!

I wrote a fic about his first day in power that vaguely referenced this and while I don't have like, a fully fleshed out story, there are a few bits and pieces that I sort of bodged together from things in the books and what I personally find entertaining about him as a character:

There's a bit in Soul Music which says that there was a rat plague in Ankh-Morpork shortly before Vetinari came to power, and that his solution was "tax the rat farms". It's unclear in context whether this means he suggested it at the end of Snapcase's time in power or if it was one of the first things he did after he became Patrician. I've just gone ahead and assumed that the rat plague was the last straw for Snapcase and that actually having a good suggestion was one of the reasons Vetinari was in people's minds as a replacement

That then leads us to ask, well, what on earth was he doing there? He's been in power a fair while even by Guards Guards but chronologically must still only be in his early 40s by then, to have been in his late teens in the 30-years-ago bits of Night Watch (and he can't be older than that, because it's made fairly clear that he's in the Guild equivalent of secondary school at that time, and Vimes knows that the two of them are approximately the same age). Given his canonically hilariously long list of postgrad qualifications, he probably went straight from Assassins Guild grad school to the Oblong Office, more or less. Conclusion: he was the fucking INTERN. (or possibly working as a clerk, but calling him the intern is at least 500% funnier)

Given the running joke about him being this weird posh dude who doesn't seem like a threat until you remember where he was educated, I would imagine that his whole "ah capital jolly good here I go getting slang wrong again" bullshit started here. We know that among the Ankh-Morpork elite, pretending to be stupider than you really are is something that can both keep you safe and help you get away with a lot, because we see Vetinari and Vimes and Sybil do it. So this is where he got his practice. Bertie Wooster the FUCK out of your working day, quietly get on with the things that need to be done while nobody's looking, and nobody will realise because they just think you're Madam's weird nephew with the shit beard and the puppy

So, bearing all that in mind, picture this:

Snapcase is dead. The important people (at least, the people who think themselves important) converge on the palace. In a small room off the Oblong Office is a young man steadily working through a large pile of paperwork. Oh, yes, that's Madam's nephew, you know... Havelock, isn't it? They ask if he knows what's happened, and he says no, he has no idea, he's just been working his way through all these regulations, and gosh, they really are very dull. And... well... nobody else is here. And nobody else seems to understand the filing system, or the rest of the staff, or anything really. But he does.

This guy's had a few good ideas when he's been doing the minutes at various meetings, that makes him a plausible candidate surely? And he's so young, so he's going to need a lot of guidance from helpful, experienced folks, right? How useful. He's just smart enough not to be an obvious puppet. Very handy indeed.

And the cream of Ankh-Morpork society being what they are (truly the cream- rich and thick) they don't realise until it's far too late that this lanky goth weirdo they'd thought would do their bidding knows everything about everyone and he's been quietly furious about the result of the Glorious 25th for over a decade. And, whoops, they'd somehow forgotten that he didn't spend all of that time on Guild postgraduate courses doing resits. Oh dear. And now he's their boss.

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Fate is Definitely Drunk

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: fluff-ish, very meet cute if meet cute was more panicked and frozen in shock, cursing b/c I can’t write without cursing apparently

Word Count: 1,050

Summary: Everyone has the words their soulmate will first say to them written on their skin somewhere. You have the most average words in the known universe so you assume you’ll have a soulmate that matches that. Fate ain’t happy you underestimated her.

A/N: This is part of my marvel soulmate series. I did a whole thing. Sort of.

Soul marks were a funny thing. Mysterious. Unpredictable. Seemingly random. Science tried to understand it, but no matter how many studies they pushed out there never seemed to be a concrete answer. Some people referred to the marks as, ‘Scrawls of Fate’. That’s what it had to be, right? Fate pulling the strings, dragging people together, and creating happy endings or whatever.

You weren’t bitter.

And yes, that’s probably what bitter people said, but you were not bitter.

Not more than the average human at least.

You’ve seen dream couples meet because of the words on their skin. You had a friend in elementary school find her soulmate in the first grade. Yes, they got stuck with words said by their toddler selves, but they were stupid happy. You had just attended their wedding six months ago. It was sickeningly beautiful. Most of the couples you’ve seen get strung together were doing pretty well. Nothing special or crazy unique, but they were content.

That was the goal, right?

To be content.

Anything above that was just extra, and there was nothing wrong with extra, but if you walked around thinking the fates owed you extra then of course you’d be disappointed. That was your view of it at least. Even as a kid you never really got worked up over your words. They were simple, average, and you wouldn’t be surprised if a handful of other people in the world had the exact same mark as you coincidentally.

‘Terrible weather, huh?’

Your soul mark was literally the epitome of small talk. You’ve seen a lot worse though. A friend in high school had the words, ‘Fucking fish’ on their arm. You were still very curious as to how that would’ve come up in conversation. Maybe you needed to reach out to him later just to see if he had met his soulmate yet.

The sound of your name brought your eyes up from the table in surprise. The gaze of all the other brand-new interns were zoned in on you, and the only reason you remembered the initial ice-breaker question was because it had put you off on the tangent your brain got stuck on.

“Nope.” You shook your head quickly and offered the group a smile that you hoped was less awkward and more ‘happy to be here’, “No significant other at the moment.”

The group leader, your new boss, was a chirpy brunette named Janice who was living her best life right now. Her smile filled her entire face and she seemed to radiate sunshine. Which was cool for her, but you couldn’t imagine being that excited on a Monday morning unless you were on something.

“I was hoping Tim would be back by now.” Janice hummed, drumming her nails on the table, “I was gonna have him pick you guys up some coffee. Nothing like a caffeine boost before we move onto the program training.”

You raised a hand, “I’ll go grab us some coffee.”

“You will?” Janice beamed. “You’re a saint. Just tell the barista that I sent you.”

The group gave you their orders, that you jotted down into your phone, then you hurried out of the boardroom with a sigh of relief. It was nice to finally stretch your legs after being stuck in there for the last couple hours. Honestly, you were so thankful to have this job. You were just a low-level grunt working the mail room and answering phones, but you were a low-level grunt at Stark Industries. Everybody said that’d look fantastic on your resume and since you had no real future plans right now it seemed like a safe bet.

The coffee stand was on the first floor in the lobby and was packed. It took a good ten minutes just to get to the front of the line, but you weren’t in any kind of rush. You ordered the coffees then wandered off to the side to wait for them to be made. Your eyes drifted to the large lobby windows that were currently being pelted with rain. You loved storms. It was funny that rainy days brought you such comfort, but you always figured it tied into your soul mark. You were never actively hoping for anything, but maybe your subconscious just knew this would be the setting you’d find the one in.

The barista called out your name and you turned away from the view. You grabbed the drink carrier that had five cups balanced on it. Before going upstairs, you drifted a little closer to the front doors and paused for just another second to stare outside. The board room you were stuck in had no windows at all, and only this close to the door could you smell and hear the rain.

Someone stopped a couple steps to your left and you couldn’t help but look over at them as they undid the clasp holding their umbrella closed. It took two seconds for you to realize that the person standing beside you with their umbrella was Captain America. Your eyes widened in shock. He always looked so big and in charge on the news, and in person he was legitimately intimidating. Tall stature, broad shoulders, and God, he was good looking. As in, who the hell had the right to look so good so casually??

Captain America glanced at you, his blue eyes meeting your gaze, and though your brain screamed at you to look away and not stare like a frozen creeper, you couldn’t move a muscle. You just stood there looking like the idiot you felt like. He politely gave you a tiny nod and warm smile. Captain America motioned to the door, “Terrible weather, huh?”

You felt the words on your shoulder tingle and your jaw fell loose in disbelief. Captain America just gave you one more nod before walking to the door. He opened his umbrella and you lost sight of him out in the storm amongst all the other walking umbrellas.

Had he just…?

Had you just…?

The drink carrier slipped from your hands and five full cups of coffee hit the tiled floor causing a disaster at your feet. You couldn’t even register that people were looking at you or that the hot coffee had burned your through your pants’ leg or that you were now standing in a pool of caffeine.

You gasped, “Oh, fuck me.”

[next chapter]

[7sevenrings7]

So Much (For) Stardust - Stolitz (Explicit)

The hold Stolitz has on my SOUL is INSANE. PLEASE, somebody, just let them be happy! *sobs*

So...let's let them have some Good Friday smut. As a little treat.

WARNING: This fic is explicit and is intended for those aged 18+. Fic includes fellatio, ass play, and bondage. Unrelated: Brief and non-descriptive mentions of an apocalypse.

It's definitely not as wild as I could have gone (given the couple), but I wanted to explore the softer side before going into their kinks. Definitely not the last fic of these two.

This will also be posted on ao3 early next week (along with a x reader Hazbin fic if you're interested in those). The prophecy at the beginning will be an integral part of that x reader fic. I was fascinated watching "The Circus" to hear that prophecies were under Stolas's purview and wanted to explore that.

In another life, you were my babe

In another life, you were the sunshine of my lifetime

What would you trade the pain for?

...I'm not sure.

When Hell usurps Heaven

Earthbound its ruler be.

When Heaven quells Hell

The door with no key

Shall present itself

Unto humanity.

And when both fall

So soundlessly

Two stars remain

In shattered realms:

The Light of Lucifer and

The Mourning of Morningstar

To rest reality.

To rest reality.

To rest reality.

To rest reality.

To rest reality.

To rest…reality.

Stolas could still feel the snaps of Lucifer’s shoes as he stalked from the mansion tattooed onto his skin. 

He could never determine when a prophecy would come to him. He could force it - well, kind of - if information was needed. But the harder he tried, the less what arrived made any sort of logical sense.

That he had not tried at all - in fact was actively begging the universe to offer Lucifer only the most straightforward and simplest of answers - haunted him.

I did not sleep with that imp, your grace.

Ozzie saw me there, yes. Unfortunately, I think there may be some sort of misunderstanding. You see, I was just…

You’re a rule breaker, sire. So let’s rewrite the rules! Who’s to say I can’t marry my Blitzy? We’re already FAR more acquainted than Stella and I EVER would be. From one fallen to temptation to another…let me have this. Let me be happy.

Okay…so he was never actually going to use the last one. Fantasy was one thing. Political suicide was another. 

But he also hadn’t planned on spewing the most damnable prophecy that had ever fallen from his beaked lips. One that had come as sure as sin without any of the pleasure.

It did not help that it was the 14th.

Clawed feet dug into the plush red rug in front of his lounging chair that he felt drawn to for the simple fact of wanting something present should he faint. Stolas gasped for air, his hand clutching at nothing and everything all at once as his fingers ruffled through the feathers of his chest.

Where in the Hell will we go?  Stolas frowned, his upper set of eyes shutting against the stray thought as he caught the lower set of eyes began to tear up. What’s safety in the middle of the fucking apocalypse? 

He did not have to ask himself what the rattling of his brown-gray walls meant. As he always did, Blitzo snatched up the window and slithered into the room just as sly as any snake.

“‘Sup, slut” said Blitzo, standing to his full height in front of Stolas. “Ready to take this ‘D’ train to ‘P’ Town? Like…like Pleasure Town. Pleasantville…nah, that’s gaggy. Pound Town! Oh Christ on a stick…why’d it take me that long to get there? It was right there! Could have helped a guy out there, Stolas.”

Faced with his beloved and his ridiculous humor, Stolas found his breath growing even despite the shake in his very bones.

“Blitzy,” he warbled, words seeming to fail him.

“Hm?”

Those yellow eyes stared up at Stolas expectedly and he could not take the slightest of spaces between them any longer.

With a swiftness Stolas gathered Blitzo up in his arms to clutch him against any sliver of skin he could find. It was not an easy endeavor - Blitzo immediately began to wiggle and jolt his head to and fro in annoyance.

“It hasn’t even been that lo- eek!” Blitzo exclaimed, his hands carding through the feathers on Stolas’s chest to give his mouth room to breathe. The touch, as always, served more like fire to Stolas’s blood. “LET ME BREATHE!”

“No,” said Stolas, voice still weighed with sorrow. “No, Blitzy. I need you to listen.”

“List-ng,” mumbled Blitzo.

That Blitzo’s gun was what his hand reached for when Blitzo slid a hand down Stolas’s arm escaped Stolas entirely. He could merely feel his cheeks redden and his groin grow pleasantly hot.

“I received a prophecy today…for the King of Hell,” said Stolas.

“Ah shit,” said Blitzo, perking up and putting his arm stiff by his side. Stolas made a small “mmph” at the loss of contact. “Lucifer? Like the Lucifer? Like the holy fuck…FUCK ME, DADDY…Hell’s Daddy Baddie Bofanawahnahdingdong?”

Squinting at Blitzo as if trying to understand the workings of his mind, Stolas tilted his head. “...yeeeesss?”

Blitzo’s eyes seemed to shine before he wore a strange, almost pondering expression.

“Is he as short as the tabloids say? Because I say that he’s a Short King ™ but noooooo…Moxxie says he’s soooooo tall and that he’s soooooo seen him in person. Like sure, Mox. An absolute nobody like you has seen our supreme ruler without melting into the pavement like a sour strawberry shake. Lick my ass, bitch boy.”

Though Blitzo was not speaking directly to him (that much was clear…it was the little white-haired imp that Stolas had come to know as “bitch boy,” after all), Stolas could not help but smile at his antics. 

“I suppose that would depend on the height of the demon meeting his majesty,” said Stolas plainly.

Blitzo pouted.

“Don’t poke holes in my theory,” he said, whipping his tail lamely against Stolas’s arms still holding him feet above the floor. “Fucking rude.”

Laughing a warm laugh, Stolas snuggled Blitzo into the curve of his neck.

“To answer your question…short.” With a pause, Stolas regarded Blitzo with a hooded look. “Better be careful, Blitzy…you know how I love my short kings…”

That he was referring to Blitzo himself went without question…at least Stolas assumed that it did. The look of confusion on Blitzo’s face made Stolas frown. He took a hand to rub his thumb in a caress across the end of the scar under Blitzo’s eye.

Despite a stray moment of frustration in his brow, Blitzo stiffened entirely before smiling wide.

“You trying to tell me that I could have lost my shameless cum slut? Not much of a threat when I fuck you so good, babe. Speaking of...”

Goetia were practically weightless. It was a fact - a cold one that Stolas did not care to remember when he was busy drooling over the strength it took for Blitzo to flip back before hoisting him into the air. He tossed Stolas onto the waiting and well made bed. 

Stolas landed on the comforter with a laugh and a slight bounce. “Ha ha ha! Hm…but Blitzy…you forget what a world of depravity that you’ve launched me into. A toy or two might be all it takes to replace you.”

The dark of the room prevented Stolas from seeing Blitzo, but he could definitely feel those gold eyes on him.

He could also make out the telltale sound of clothes hitting the floor.

Cold, mirthless laughter filled the room.

With a leap only an imp as impish as Blitzo could make, there he was…crouched on the foot of the bed. Those eyes of his narrowed even as Stolas drunk in the view. The splotches of white dancing among the red. The lithe chest and the promising outline between his legs.

The cowboy boots Blitzo always wore and always refused to take off.

When Blitzo spoke, it was with a hiss befitting his forked tongue.

“Be useful for once and restrain yourself.”

Stolas frowned. There were parts of Blitzo’s life that he simply did not talk about. Hurts that Stolas seemed to commit without being quite certain of what he had done. 

And the last thing he wanted to do was to hurt the one he loved. So he settled into a role he knew Blitzo approved of.

“Yes, daddy,” Stolas practically purred. “I’m so sorry for being so…mouthy.”

That seemed to improve Blitzo’s mood if his smile and his slither up the bed were any indicators. With politeness, Stolas made to forget and ignore the scratchy slip of Blitzo’s boots on his satin sheets. 

Handcuffing himself to his headboard was not a task completely unknown to Stolas. It was, however, unavoidably awkward. 

“If you’re so sure that you can have so much pleasure without me…let’s remind you what I can do without all the bells and whistles. See how your smug ass likes that.” Blitzo was close enough now to clasp Stolas’s light chin in his large hand and lean forward to whisper. “Mouthy. Real cute. I’ll show you mouthy, your majesty.”

The nasty tone in Blitzo’s voice was definite cause for concern…

…but not quite as much as the imp literally ripping the clothes from Stolas’s body.

“OH!” Stolas exclaimed, his wrists already the sweetest type of uncomfortable. “Oh, Blitzy, yes!”

The blush that colored Stolas’s cheek was like a drug to get high off of. He certainly felt high as all four eyes danced in delight with the dark of the canopy bed swirling around him. After Lucifer had left, Stolas had found his cape and his crown discarded in some hallway or room in his grief. So the red tunic he wore was the very first to go. He thrust his chest toward Blitzo desperate for contact.

Blitzo simply moved to catch Stolas’s beige trousers in his digging claws. They came off without protest - without need for the speed with which they were thrown. 

Stolas’s blush deepened when he realized his thick tongue had been sticking out of his panting beak.

“Look at you,” said Blitzo, his tone both appreciative and aggravated. “Prettier than any Moan-a-Leeso.”

That Blitzo had no idea what the hell he was talking about was evident.

But his intent meant enough. Meant enough to make Stolas stretch and sigh and savor the burn of the restraints despite wanting nothing more than to grab hold of his lover.

“You…think I’m that pretty?” Stolas ventured.

Blitzo managed a nod before his tongue caught Stolas’s.

The Goetia could have cried.

Kissing Stella had been nothing like this. He had once wondered what anyone found fascinating about romance when kissing her was the same as kissing a cardboard box or the back of his hand.

But Blitzo? Oh, Blitzo made him burn. Made him want to be lost in him forever. Made him want to be reckless and reasonless and all the things he had been warded against as a child. 

Too soon Blitzo was pulling away with Stolas following him as far as his restraints would allow.

“Ah, ah, ah,” said Blitzo haughtily. “You’re making me forget where I was…my little dick-straction. Oh yes…”

Blitzo was sure to caress and clasp at every bared bit of feather that Stolas had on display as he made his way down the dark lord’s body. The plush feathers of Stolas’s thighs quivered when Blitzo carded his fingers through them.

That he was already hard was a battle Stolas lost mere moments after seeing Blitzo. But the first reverent twist of Blitzo’s hand on his cock made Stolas choke on air. 

For his part, Blitzo waited until all of Stolas’s eyes were squarely back on him before smirking.

“Being mouthy,” said Blitzo.

Being with Blitzo was like experiencing every vibrant bit of life all at once. It could be overwhelming and only the slightest bit overstimulating. Both seemed apt descriptions of Blitzo’s tongue twirling the head of his dick as if it were the last lollipop in Hell. 

This imp would be the end of him.

“FUCK yes,” Stolas exclaimed.  

What Blitzo did not fit into his mouth, he shoved into a hand instead. His fingers curled and quickened at such a lovely rate that Stolas did not quite think to care where Blitzo’s free hand was. 

Then a finger pressed soft but steady against the feathers of Stolas’s backside.

Stolas knew the way he spread his thighs wider at the sensation and raised his tail feathers would be considered brazen. The act of nothing more than a common whore. 

But maybe whores were onto something when it felt this damn good. 

Being that Stolas knew Blitzo was coming over, he had naturally prepared himself accordingly. But in the rush to the bed, he had forgotten the lube. Words were trying to form into sentences in his brain to warn Blitzo…but then the curiously gentle swirl of Blitzo’s finger left the round of the hole he had finally found.

It was soon replaced with Blitzo’s tongue.

One hand still working the Goetia’s dick, Blitzo allowed the other to hoist one of Stolas’s long legs into the air as he slowly but surely licked and lapped and lounged within the other’s ass. The crudeness of it all made the feathers on Stolas’s chest practically burst forth as he squealed in delight - pleasure and pointed avoidance of responsibilities clashing into the sweetest sensation. 

Tongue snapping up suddenly, Blitzo chuckled when Stolas groaned in protest. 

“What’s the matter? Not so easy to replace now, am I?”

The force and the bite of those words caught Stolas off guard, made him blink almost drunkenly down at Blitzo. “What? Blitzy…I could…I could never replace you.”

A myriad of emotions flitted across Blitzo’s face. None landed quite right or for any more than a moment. But when you had four eyes to catch details, you caught enough. 

Shock.

Sadness.

Searching…but for what?

“Well…that’s…” Something like a cough or a wheeze escaped Blitzo. “Oh fuck me…that’s…good.”

Before Stolas was able to say more - to ask what would possess Blitzo - his Blitzy - to assume he was replaceable, the imp had lowered his mouth back lower than low. The pressure of that tongue - thin though it was - seemed too much at first. Unpleasant. Stolas grimaced and was about to ask to shift positions when the dual tips of Blitzo’s tongue ran against that spot.

“FuuuuuUUUUUuuccckk-KH!”

With a mind like Stolas’s, quiet was hard to be found. He always had to be ready to perform his duties at a moment’s notice. There were wars to stave off…faraway stars to map…dreams to bring to reality or to immediately crush. It did not matter if he was simply lounging with a lovely red wine and a good book…his thoughts always persisted.

Now, with his dick thrusting weakly into Blitzo’s warm hand and his mind scattered by the sheer sensitivity of his ass, the only thoughts in his head were of that delightfully crimson cutie pie giving him the most divine of pleasures. 

Any discomfort was soon forgotten as Blitzo bobbed his head and let the wet heat of his mouth graze between Stolas’s legs before falling back further again. 

“Yeah…yeah make me wear your tongue as a fucking plug,” Stolas rambled loudly, both humiliated and turned on by his own words.

Blitzo, gracious as ever, obliged. 

Normally Stolas’s stamina would allow for more fun, but after an exhausting day and being called “pretty” by Blitzy, he was desperately welcoming the build of pressure at the bottom of his stomach. It did not help that Blitzo’s fingers were now focusing on the head of Stolas’s cock in jerks that spoke of well known weak spots.

“Blitzy…Blitzy, please…I’m so close…I’m so…!”

The speed with which Blitzo switched his tasks - set his mouth to Stolas’s cock and two fingers into Stolas’s ass - was astounding.

Stolas could barely appreciate it for the peak of his pleasure striking him all at once…tearing down the trappings of a prince and making him putty in his lover’s mouth. 

Oh how he longed to stroke Blitzo’s jaw as the imp swallowed his cum. 

The moans from Blitzo as he lapped at Stolas’s dick did nothing to quell this want.

“Touch you,” rasped Stolas, inhaling sharply. “Want to…touch you.”

Pulling the softening cock from his mouth, Blitzo frowned. “Too damn bad. Now stick out your tongue…”

Though he quickly and dearly missed the fingers that had been stroking the inside of him, Stolas giggled almost maniacally. “Fuck yes! Yes! Come to me, Blitzy!”

Sorrowfully, Stolas’s beak did not allow him the abandon he would so adore to have when providing fellatio. But there were always ways around this. One particular gag Stolas had found in a luxury sex shop in the Lust Ring usually helped to give enough range without putting Blitzo in harm’s way. 

Tonight…tonight he needed him so desperately that he would forego his pride to give Blitzo what he needed.

Presented with the gorgeously long red cock that he so loved, Stolas stuck out his tongue as far as he could…then past that.

“Christ, we’re eager,” Blitzo chuckled. “Say ‘ahhh,’ baby.”

Stolas could not say anything at all and instead made an awkward humming noise before feeling the weight of his beloved settle onto his tongue. He certainly must have been a sight…all-powerful dark lord of Hell second only to the Sins and their families themselves…reduced to craning his mouth wider than wide to worship the dick of an imp. 

The rhythm, thankfully, was soft but steady. Blitzo moved his hips slightly as Stolas’s tongue lathered up and down his dick, his balls, his…

“OHohohohoheeeee! That kind of tickled,” Blitzo giggled.

Heart pounding in his chest, Stolas stopped himself from embracing his darling imp to preen on him until his heart’s content. He’s so raw and real and rippling with sex…oh, Blitzy. 

Salt and sweat. It was the taste of fine wine…of ambrosia…of something so indulgent as to be gluttonous. 

Oh FUCK…I never called Bee back about the quarterly reports…ah…later. Busy now.

Blitzo’s hand came up to tug back the feathers at the back of Stolas’s head and Stolas writhed beneath him.

“That’s right,” said Blitzo encouragingly. “Suck daddy’s dick just how he likes it.”

Horror sent chills down Stolas’s spine when he let out a horrible slurping noise as his tongue rounded that red cock over and over. It was unattractive and gargling…embarrassing in its earnest enjoyment.

But then Blitzo was mumbling…was saying things that sounded strangely like “Fuck, that’s hot.” 

So Stolas continued. 

“FUCK me…fuck me,” Blitzo grunted, his hips snapping quicker to meet Stolas’s wild rhythm. 

It was the clutch of those long fingers against Stolas’s skull that let him know his effort was about to be rewarded. He thought of their last roll in these same sheets…how Blitzy had sat his cute little ass right onto Stolas’s face and use that blessedly long tail to jerk Stolas off at the same time.

A repeat would be marvelous…but perhaps later…now…now I just want it to be about you, Blitzy.

In the quiet seconds before Blitzo came, the two locked eyes. Trembling, Stolas dropped his gaze while willing his tongue to continue even as the burn at the base of his mouth cried out.

Little longer…little longer…don’t you dare take this away from him…you can do it…

Colorful strings of curses filled the air as Blitzo finally came. Stolas tried to shoot him a wanton look even as he lapped at the cum being shot down his throat.

But Blitzo glanced away, his breathing ragged. 

It might have hurt if those hips had not gone backwards to remove himself from Stolas’s grasp before the imp collapsed onto the Goetia’s body.

“Mmmmhmhmhm,” Blitzo moaned. “Daddy want sleepy now.”

Laughing a loving laugh, Stolas gave into temptation and preened - his beak shuffling and clacking against those large horns. “Get some sleep, Blitzy.”

Seemingly beyond tired, Blitzo rolled off of Stolas and onto the empty side of the bed.

His side of the bed, Stolas corrected himself quickly.

…if only.

Several moments of silence passed. Stolas gathered his breathing and slid his hands from the restraints with practiced ease. 

He was almost too afraid to turn his head to look at Blitzo. The imp was still there - his weight equivalent to little more than a small dip in the bed.

But if he looked…would Blitzo remain? Or would he disappear like a dream?

Like so many times before?

Stolas heard Blitzo snoring and his heart sunk and rose all at once.

“I’m so scared, Blitzy,” said Stolas softly, sweeping the line of secretive. “I have absolutely no idea what any of this means and…and all I know is that I saw you. During the prophecy. In the madness of a planet’s end…it was only for a moment…but I’d recognize you anywhere.” 

The chuckle that hung in his chest was hollow and forced.

“I…I want you to come with us…with Octavia and I.” Stolas smiled when a loud snore bubbled and popped from Blitzo’s mouth. “You can even bring Loona and your two little imps from the agency. I…I haven’t quite figured out where we’ll go…but for as long as I’m able, I’ll protect you.”

He turned then, confident in Blitzo’s sleep. The imp was turned with his back facing Stolas - bare and spiked and intoxicating.

But now…now was not the time for that.

Scooting carefully and quietly, Stolas laid a hand in the space between the two. When he clutched at the sheets, he might have been doing so to keep himself from touching Blitzo once more. For there always was the promise and panic of the next time.

The next time…

“I don’t know…I can’t…I think…”

Blitzo stirred in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible. Stolas eyed him, hopeful. But Blitzo did not wake.

Inch by tiny inch, Stolas shifted to Blitzo until he was flush against his back. Although Blitzo swatted at him at first, he soon settled. Stolas had been rigid yet still - trained in years of proper decorum and terrified of waking the imp.

If Blitzo woke up, he would leave.

If Blitzo left, Stolas may never see him again.

He can’t be your bird in some gilded cage, he thought woefully. Blitzy would hate that…but if he could…if he would just…

What Stolas wished Blitzo to do, exactly, he could not lay a finger on. 

Like him?

Love him?

Marry him?

Or, perhaps, he thought, relaxing into the bed and Blitzo and all the bliss of the night, I’d just like him to stay.

Blitzo never had, of course…stayed after one of their rendezvous. Had come close and had even fallen asleep before. But Stolas knew far too well it never made a difference. He shouldn’t get his hopes up. He shouldn’t…Hell, he shouldn’t be doing this to begin with.

Yet just when Stolas began to frown, he felt what at first seemed like vibrating from Blitzo. Slightly alarmed (and only slightly aroused), he glanced over Blitzo’s shoulder trying to make sense of the senseless situation when it struck him.

Purring.

Blitzo was purring in his arms.

Despite himself and his own horror-filled prophecy, Stolas grinned a wide grin and cuddled into one of Blitzo’s horns.

Maybe - just maybe - this could be enough.

Maybe - just maybe - this should be a new beginning.

Maybe - just maybe - this time he would stay.

…maybe.

[whimsicalcotton]

Hi you mentioned the Polycule(tm) so uhhhh 4, 5 & 10 from the ask game for amberpricefield if you want to do it? 👀 if not you can do any of the pairs, I'm just very unwell about apf lmao

hell yeah!!

4: Which one is more protective? Who needs to be ‘protected’?

i feel like if you asked each of them they would all say the other two need protecting, But. i think an underrated dynamic in apf is having pricefield as Rachel's scary dog privilege. she rolls up to the vortex party with the world's clingiest doberman and a chihuahua that could suck out your soul with its thousand yard stare. some guy will think he's putting the moves on her only to feel A Chill and turn around to find pricefield staring at him like this from across the room

5: Describe their cozy night in.

first off, Max brings Chloe up to her dorm after classes some Friday for a bit of company while she finishes up homework or w/e. however Chloe is also a category 5 Distraction and she's there watching movies or smthn and keeps accidentally (genuinely accidentally she's just a goofball) roping Max into talking about plot-holes/cool scenes/etc.

at some point Rachel shows up in her usual stray cat sort of manner just waltzing in unannounced, and she makes Chloe put one of Her shows on. and i think Rachel would watch those absolute nonsense dramas. like if that fucking Riverdale show existed then Rachel would be all over it imo. Chloe grumbles about it and poor Max is Still trying to finish that last bit of work but they both get really invested in whatever the hell Rachel puts on to the point that when she wakes up she gets to be all "Oh My GOD you're still fucking watching it >:3c "

and pricefield scramble to pretend like they weren't just caught redhanded and it's dead silent all the way to Two Whales but by the the time they actually start eating Max and Chloe have gotten into a "can you Believe [xyz] did That???" / "i Know right!!!" sort of conversation and Rachel gives them a good ten minutes or so of that before finally being like "btw you know i'm never letting you live this down right."

and Max's homework Still didn't get finished. rip.

that's my vision thank u for coming to my tedtalk shdfsghj

10: Describe their first date.

okay in my fever-addled apf heart of hearts i'd want sneaking into the pool to be their first date.

Max (being Max) is like Ah Yes, This is Normal Third Wheel Behavior. All Platonic Here. What Date. but then Rachel makes a comment about it at some point and Chloe doesn't say anything to the contrary and Max is like "wait hold on am i actually on a date with you right now"

and Rachel has to be all, "Max, babe, we're swimming in our underwear. alone. after hours. Chloe's had her hands on your waist for like five minutes. we've been flirting with you all night. i've been thinking about kissing you for weeks. girl where have You been."

and then Chloe says, "Oh that's just Max. Don't worry about it, I've been at it for years." or something along those lines

and Max is there short circuiting looking back at them like

[narwhalandchill]

its been like. nearly a year (How.) already but i cannot lie theres Still a part in the back of my brain occupied with and being thoroughly entertained by the way that childes confirmed 4.0 complete self-awareness over waking up the narwhal at 14 recontextualizes some key liyue things leading to some very funny self indulgent scenarios in my head

like yes chili is old news its basic please excuse me for predictable popular ship crimes (do NOT however associate me w the crimes of fanon against their actual range. theyre peak to Me) but i just keep replaying the imagery of zhongli and childe back on their homoerotic Professional Working Relationship bullshit where their flirting passed the jkjk unless treshold of even remotely plausible deniability like 8 exorbitantly priced business dinners ago and theyre just like. doing that whole song and dance now neither committing to a move except zhonglis presently feeling moderately conflicted (but nonetheless fairly unfazed at) by the prospects of actually developing some sort of a thing for the harbinger hes supposed to puppet master into executing the major story climax of his 67-step retirement plan bc he turned out to be quite the strangely charming ginger specimen (to His weird fucking 6000 year old tastes at least. they deserve each other) with some fascinating life ambitions he cant help but be enraptured by.

but because hes still 100% Locked In on his entire plan zhonglis also just . simultaneously dual wielding his coy-ass "i like you and am taking it slow to Savor this developing relationship (Also bc of the Geo Archon Shaped Elephant In The Room) except am old as shit so my languid sense of time inadvertedly Automatically turns my behavior into an equivalent of the dark souls boss of playing hard2get" act (cue "waddup im ajax 24 and im in fucking agony with this hot funeral consultant". Yes they live like this) AND also meticulously theorycrafting like 12 moves in advance for his 6d chess play of leaving the most subtly crafted trail of breadcrumbs behind for the tsaritsas 11th to follow into the intended & completely "Coincidental" idea of unleashing the one particular sealed sea deity that zhongli Specifically wants momentarily released for his sweet 6k retirement party and graduation test for the nation hes helicopter parented for 3.7k years .

like. this is zhongli we r talking about the guy Absolutely has it planned out down to a fucking art like he has an entire branching path dialogue tree planned and memorized like its a visual novel for every possible way he can conveniently namedrop osial in a non-suspect way and also that he just happens to be sealed right over there across the harbor (what a coincidence!) and also to slip in the intel about the latent power of the sigil of permission etc etc. like zhonglis just out there doing all this massive galaxy brain computational work simultaneously while infodumping on an academic level about whichever subject childes latest random comment of amicable small talk happened to remind him of because in his helicopter parent in remission mind its Absolutely Critical that the idea about releasing osial occurs Completely organically in childes mind it Has to he Cannot risk revealing anything . (hes in remission not in recovery guys.) so like here we are. he requested notes from the tsaritsa Personally on the character of her 11th just to ensure every move was painstakingly crafted to draw him Specifically to the intended conclusion without risking revealing his true identity .

except. the thing . neither he. nor the tsaritsa . would have been informed of . is that this simply isnt childes first fucking rodeo waking up an eldritch city sized sea creature . and he is very well aware of this fact . he woke that beautiful wonderful beloved huge fucking narwhal up by himself had his brain chemistry Immediately and Irrevocably rewired as a direct consequence do you fucking think hes somehow stopped thinking about that singular moment for even a second since then???

yeah . thought so.

so what actually ends up happening in reality is theyll be on another definitely-serious-business-not-just-a-date and zhonglis going to get down to like dialogue selection part 10 of the 86 step conversation tree at Most where hes only beginning to like Vaguely allude to the key pieces of information involved but it turns out Because Hes That Guy (TM) And Has Been There Done That Before childes basic pattern recognition and sense of irony simply proceed to kick in Way ahead of time and hes Immediately perking up like Hey wouldnt it be really fucking funny if i wake up an eldritch sea beast Again . like just in case. as a last ditch effort .

and zhonglis just sitting there seeing the gears turn in his head as they enjoy their cringe fucking picnic (bc they just stare at each other intently like that nowadays its a thing. being in a room with them by this point is essentially a human rights violation) and is just completely fucking flabbergasted and lost on how in the hell childes speedran his way to that conclusion at what amounts to barely a 13% completion rate in his whole overkill fucking plan (just 1 of 3 contingencies btw) and its like yes he has his intended outcome but also precisely 0 idea on how the fuck said outcome was reached the way it was this fast . like hes still winning its His plan thats well underway and ahead of schedule but How

(pov: ur selling the concept of waking up destructive sea creatures to the guy who woke up a celestial body eating cosmic whale at 14)

anyway its truly beautiful i absolutely detest these two and have prime liyue AQ hijinks nostalgia now thank you for the lore drop that allowed this to become canon in my head hoyo

[transingthoseformers]

You know what is a really fun thing to contemplate?

Dratchet got together while soul searching and off on adventures following Empire of Stone (they definitely kissed after), but what if they never lost proud Decepticon Grit. Like they've all just had a bonding adevnture and they are slowly making there way back to Cybertron to turn him over but he's basically like a feral cat that hates them and is always around. He is suffering watching these two confess their love ("ABOUT FUCKING TIME BUT HOW ABOUT WE DEAL WITH THE SPACE VAMPIRES FIRST!?!"), he's in the background photos of their fiest date taking shots at the bar, their photo albums all show him in varying stats of "please end me" or getting in fist fights or drowning or having just the wildest shit happen while he remains pretty steady and unbothered in their orbit.

He's the only one at their wedding and has a nice three weeks on a vacation planet in the separate hotel room Drift booked for him because they couldn't just leave him. He's at the spa drinking Engex martinis and complaining on Decepticon social media about high command needing to get their shit together and get some direction and is fully convinced Megatron the Autobot is a cover and has gotten into several fist fights over it.

He's the meme of "me, my captor, and the medic turned conjunx he has been hot for for 4 mil years".

They are getting ready to drop him off but get Rodimus's distress call. They arrive on Necroworld and he helps out. He thinks Tarn is "a fucking idiot" and everyone just sort of goes with it because Drift and Ratchet have a carry on. He goes with Ravage and bodies Tarn to give his superior officer an escape chance. Megatron doesn't see that part because it cuts off and has his own gotta fight moment due to the severity of Ravage’s injuries.

He talks to Megatron and finds out "no I really have defected", nods, and while Drift is rushing forward going "nonono" proceeds to punch him straight on and yell about abandonning them and subpar leadership and everything before stomping off to go sit with Drift, Ravage, and Ratchet and basically ignore him.

Rodimus loves him.

Megatron is awkwardly circling the scoffing disdain.

Grit is suffering and still keeps showing up to Dratchet dates because "they are the only people he knows" which leads to another layer of misunderstanding that the ship has and Grit upon learning this becomes convinced by Swerve's conspiracy board and it makes him feel compelled to awkwardly sit them both down and stiffly formally try and "turn them down" as gently as possible. Ratchet just kind of chokes and Drift is laugh-sobbing too hard to get a word in.

That would be so fucking funny yes

I admit I had to look Grit up on the tfwiki because I was moderately confused

That would be so funny, he's trying he's trying but he's the ultimate unwilling third wheel, and yes yes Rodimus fucking loves the guy and Megs is just VIBING here

[madhattersez]

Creep-Ass Shit I Saw in Antique Stores

These were all from my recent trip to Kansas, which has the absolute best antique malls. But, as with all antique joints, they are still full to the brim with frights beyond our comprehension. Here are just a few quick glimpses of Hell.

First up... clowns! Everyone loves clowns:

Don't worry, I did in fact buy those vintage clown masks just in case a bank robbery is in our future. Yes, "ours," like... you and me, partner.

Okay, taking a break to let you know about this scary fella (the one on the right, that is, ho ho).

There was a shop I'd never visited before - They had one bathroom. This was it.

This room had two sit-down toilet stalls, and neither of them had doors. So this fucking sasquatch just stared at you, right in the genitals, the entire time... making you question if it was indeed an evil mannequin inside or if this was just a creeper in a suit waiting to pounce on you.

Fastest sideways piss I've ever taken. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

I don't know why we had to add a butler stricken with Eldritch madness to the handle of this little broom, but here we are!

...

Hey, all you folks that made it past the clowns - I'm so proud of you! So proud of you, that I'd like to invite you to round two! Not, not another round of clowns. This time, demonic dolls:

Their eyes. THEIR EYES. Their special eyes. MY BRAND!

Either Santa here is packing one hell of a package to put under your tree, or more likely, Santa was facing the opposite direction until just a second ago, when his head swiveled around to look down at you and scream the loudest "OHHHHHHHH" until your skull started rattling.

I'll let you pick.

Why? Why would you ever trust smiles like these? Don't. Don't you ever.

I can not describe in words just how massive and utterly dirty this fucking thing was. Even if it was crystal clean, would it not still be unsettling? It was so big, you could have stuffed at least two children in it. Scott Cawthon, eat your heart out. Literally.

...

Ooh! It's time for another collection! This one's fun, and I wish I would have taken more pictures. I could have sworn I did, but I couldn't find more...

I don't think I've ever seen one of these before, but I saw at least one in every single antique mall we went into (7) on the trip. It was like some sort of Stephen King-style omen or some shit.

I like to call them the "soul-hungry bears:"

I love how the last one has the most numb, world-weary eyes I've ever seen in my life, losing his fur in patches due to stress, and is getting hella drunk.

THE MONKEYS WOULD ALSO LIKE TO PLAY.

YYEEEEAAAAUAUUUGGHHHH!!!

This Pinnochio is not fucking around. He looks like he's possessed with power from the One Ring, holding a Dragon Ball in one hand and a submachine gun in the other. How could this ever have looked friendly?!

...

Okay, I'm going to have my favorite little guy I found play this post out. His name's Toe Joe. And as you can see, he needs help:

And now I need help.

And so do you.

Thanks for coming on this horrific journey with me! <3