#and MICHAEL SHREDDING???? do not talk to me

[welcometowhore-rrorville]

𝒦𝒾𝓁𝓁𝑒𝓇 𝐼𝓃 𝐵𝑒𝒹

Featuring: Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair 

Word Count: 1.5k 

Warnings: nsfw, mdni, smutty headcanons, virginity mention, dirty talk, rough sex, just general nasty things

Michael Myers

Let’s be honest—this man was a virgin before you showed up

He was in a mental institution from a young age—not exactly the best place to fuck

Still, that certainly didn’t stop him

He picked up on what to do fast—it’s not all that difficult

Still, he definitely focused on himself

Whether or not you came was not his problem

You have to take matters into your own hands when it comes to that, using your fingers to work at your clit

Most of the time your body is jostled around to much to do so

He’s not gentle

Whatsoever

Things will be broken

The bed?

A bone?

Who knows

You have so so many marks

Bruises

Cuts

You always look like you fell through a wood chipper 

It’s not like you could reason with him, though

“Hey, can you, I don’t know, be gentle for once and not fuck me against a countertop?”

Yea, that would go over well

He gets. . . better. . . eventually

Still mostly selfish

But may rub against your clit as he’s pounding into you

By accident?

Unclear

Expect to walk with a permanent limp

RIP

Definitely into knife-play

So many shredded clothes

C’mon, what’d you expect?

The mask stays on during sex

Obviously

If he’s super comfortable he might pull it up enough to bite you

But don’t expect to catch a glimpse of his face

After-care? What’s that?

You clean yourself up 99% of the time

The only time he’s ever done anything was when you passed out during sex and woke up in your bed

Other than that, you don’t expect him to provide any cuddles 

He doesn’t even sleep in the same bed at night

Jason Voorhees

Tries his best to be so so so gentle with you

Also a virgin before you showed up

Not many people were lining up to fuck an undead monster haunting a summer camp

He’s. . . big. . . everywhere

It takes a while before you’re even able to take him properly

It’s not that you were unprepared, but at the slightest flinch of your face Jason would pause and refuse to touch you again for hours

You made sure to explain that you were fine and that you weren’t made of glass

But he was still petrified of hurting you

Still, when he finally calms enough to fully fuck you one night, you’re seeing stars

He’s slow and cautious, but eventually something lights a fire within him

Rubs his masked face into your neck apologetically as he rams into you

When you’re walking funny the next day he carries you everywhere

You don’t blame him for getting carried away sometimes, and even enjoy a little roughness more-often-than-not

He tries his best with after-care but is pretty clueless as what to do with you

When you’re exhausted and curled in on yourself he thinks he’s permanently hurt you

You tell him gently to run you a bath

Will attach himself to your hip and snuggle you until one of you is forced to get up

Nestles his masked nose against any marks he may have caused, letting out a low whimper

You run your hand down his back

“I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me. I’m okay.”

Tries to make your pleasure his number one priority

Will listen intently as you bashfully explain what you want and like

Does as told

He’s a little rough, massive fingers toying with your clit hard enough to have you wincing

But eventually he gets the hang of it

Refuses to cum until you have

Even when you’re giving him head, he always has to be touching you in some way, getting you off just as much as your getting him off

Sometimes he can’t help himself and cums before you, only to let out a low whine of disappointment, like he was ashamed of himself

You’re never far behind, anyways

One of the most selfless lovers you’ve ever had

The fact he doesn't speak doesn't even cross your mind

He gets his points across fine with his actions and occasional low rumbles 

And you were never much for dirty talk, anyway 

Bo Sinclair

He’s a wild-card 

Some days he’s feeling generous enough to nestle his head between your legs, other days he’s got you gagging on his dick until can’t breathe

You’re unsure of what impacts his attitude, every night getting ready to expect something different

You supposed he had a lot of things happen in life, you couldn’t blame him for being a little hot-and-cold about things

Regardless of what’s happening, he’s got a lot to say about it

If he’s not growling in your ear, teasing you with dirty words as he rams into you, then he’s moaning loudly against your lips or neck

You don’t think he’s ever quiet for more than a few seconds

What he says varies, too

Some days it’s nothing but praise

“Whatta good girl you are. C’mon, sweetheart. You can do it. Almost there—there it is, darlin’. Don’t you look like a beauty chokin’ on my cock?” 

“That’s it, beautiful. Keep sayin’ my name. Feel good, huh? Don’t close those pretty lips of yours. I wanna hear ya when I fuck ya.” 

Other days he’s grabbing your ass harshly, scolding you for muffling your moans against his neck

“The fuck you think you’re doin’? You’re nothin’ but a whore, don’t try ‘nd be bashful now.”

“What a slut. Look how wet you are for me. Gettin’ off on the thought of me fuckin’ you, bitch?”

It’s enough to give you whiplash

Still, you can’t complain that it’s boring

And it’s not like you don’t get your own enjoyment out of it

Whether or not he lingers after he fucks you depends on nothing in particular

Sometimes he’ll pull you close and press a kiss to your forehead, mumbling praises in your ear as he caresses your body

Other times he’ll put his boxers back on and rest against the door frame, just staring at you as you clean yourself up

He never leaves without making sure you’re alright, though

No matter how rough he was with you he gently traces over your body, making sure nothing hurt to bad

Then he’s back to his cocky self, trying to pretend he didn’t just treat you like a princess

There’s always marks littering your neck and shoulders

The sight of them is enough to let any tourists know to fuck off

You tried to cover them once with a high collared shirt but it only ended with more hickies and bite marks, this time high enough on your neck that even a turtle neck couldn’t hide them

He’s possessive, always having an arm or hand around you when talking to strangers that come by

He’ll, even around his own brothers he’s like that

He’s always smacking your ass or planting a kiss to your lips, leaving you to yelp in surprise

This man has a breeding kink

That’s just the facts

The thing is, the idea of having a kid makes him gag

He’s not a fan of the little gremlins

But something about you—thighs wrapped around his hips as he cums into you—the fullness of your cunt—the slight bulge of your belly—always gets him going

Maybe it’s the distant idea of raising a half-normal family for once

For now, you stay on birth control

Vincent Sinclair

He’s extremely introverted and self-conscious

You have to be the one to initiate most things

Even then he’s unsure of himself

He’s afraid he’ll scare you somehow

The first time you two are intimate it’s simply soft touches, your lips trailing over his skin as your hands stroke at his dick

It’s not sex

It’s too soft for that

You hated to use the word love-making, but you supposed that’s what it was

After his confidence is built up enough to take control, he catches on fast

He has a niche for precise finger-work, given his work as a sculptor, and has you cumming on his hands more times than you can count

He keeps his mask on 99% of the time

You don’t force him to do otherwise

It’s his comfort object

As long as he’s happy, you’re happy

Still, there are times where he pulls it off, only to hide himself between your legs

The first time he ate you out, he insisted upon a blanket draped over your bottom half, but he’s past that now, knelt down in front of you, fingers clutched against your thighs as he pushes his tongue further inside of you

You make sure to praise him every time he makes you feel good—wanting him to know it was him getting you off

It definitely helped his self-esteem

He’s still distant when others are around, but you’ve gotten to the point where you can sit in his lap and play with his hair while Bo lounges on the couch

Bo still gives you two playful taunts, but he’s just happy his brother found someone

Though he really needs to invest in some ear-muffs if you keep up with the moaning at god-knows-how-late-at-night

*cough* waxplay *cough*

#headcanons #headcanon #slasher #slashers #x reader #x y/n #x yn #slashers x reader #slasher x reader #smut #smut headcanons #mdni #slasher headcanons #michael myers #jason voorhees #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #house of wax #halloween #friday the thirteenth

[ingravinoveritas]

I personally think its disgusting of what she posted yet again its all about her and she the reason why micheal keeps trending 4th day oh please he was trending for days before she came in the picture. And for someone who has no career and basically living off her parter who works so hard and been ill with virus the last few days and haven't been able to perform and she post this. Taking the credit for something that has nothing to do with her. He very grateful that she keep him grounded what that suppose to mean ? He was doing better before she came in the picture since he been with her his career have been slowed a little and she probably the reason for it

What do u say ?

Oh, boy. I saw this a little while ago, and all I could think was that the bar is so low at this point--like halfway between the fourth and fifth circles of Hell--and this still somehow falls short.

I know there has been a lot of talk about the t-shirt Anna is wearing (which was a gift from a fan at the stage door of Nye), but for me, the t-shirt is the least concerning part of all this. It's a reference to a quote from Staged (it's the title of a season 1 episode, in fact), and I am sure Michael found it funny. The only problem is that without the context of why it's a joke, it actually just isn't that funny. And it sets the stage for everything else that is happening.

Which brings me to the caption she wrote, which was what primarily caught my attention. The reason Michael is currently trending on Twitter (X, whatever we're calling it) is because of the overwhelmingly positive response to The Assembly, which aired last Friday night. He is receiving a tremendous amount of praise for being on the show, how he spoke to the interviewers, and the respectful and joyous atmosphere that was cultivated on the show. And rather than allude to any of that--not to mention Michael being sick recently, or the trip they went on to Disneyland Paris--Anna made Michael trending on Twitter about her.

That is what stands out to me the most. The idea of "keeping him grounded" that is coming across more like kicking someone when he is already down. That he somehow needs that, and that she would have us believe he is "grateful" to her for, what...comparing him to a loud bird? Repeatedly making fun of his looks and interests without a shred of respect or affection behind it? I'm also confused by the implication (and the irony) that Michael somehow has a large ego that needs to be kept in check when she is the one coming across as self-involved in this Insta story. So, yes. I'm at a bit of loss here.

I just keep thinking of the things she could have said instead. How she could have uplifted Michael, wished him well on returning to the stage tonight after several days' absence, said how she was glad to have spent time with him or taken care of him while he was ill. Just something that would give him a reason to hold his head high. But I guess it might just be easier to convince herself/everyone else that he is smiling if his head is hanging down instead.

I am just glad Michael is out performing again tonight and getting to be on stage and do the thing he truly loves to do. But those are my thoughts, and I'd be glad to hear from my followers about what you think, regardless of whether you agree or disagree...

#angel19924 #reply post #michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #the 'keeping him grounded' thing is giving me Georgia Lite vibes #though at least with Georgia it's original #i don't even know anymore #i don't think AL has had any effect on Michael's career either and I'm not blaming her for that #yet it seems clear he hasn't affected her career in the way she hoped either #trying to provide a balanced perspective #but what's the old saying: when someone shows you who they are believe them the first time #anna lundberg #relationships #thoughts #discourse

[ecoamerica]

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#ACLA24 #ACLA24Leaders #youtube #youtube video #climate leaders #climate solutions #climate action #climate and environment #climate #climate change #climate and health #climate blog #climate justice #climate news #weather and climate #environmental news #environment #environmental awareness #environment and health #environmental #environmental issues #environmental justice #environment protection #environmental health #Youtube

[thegirlwhowatchedeverything]

Pete Appreciation Post

Pete and Nat:

As her partner, he not only handles but actually and actively loves her family.

He goes to Al-Anon meetings WITH her (1x2).

He doesn't show up to Christmas empty handed (to steal Carmy's words that'd make him an asshole). He continues to be joyful and make small talk while being ripped to shreds for his attempt at a funny, genuinely considerate tuna casserole (2x6).

One of Nat's biggest traumas (flashback to 2x6 of Donna grabbing her by the face while threatening to kill herself) is juxtaposed with her greatest joy - ending the day with Pete on the couch watching TV (2x8).

Everything Pete does and says in 2x10. I don't even know where to start. Him so beyond proud and supportive and excited and happy for Nat. Him trying to convince Donna to come inside by playing to their shared pride of Nat (and Carm). His reaction after the conversation with Donna. Chris Witaske you talented actor and Pete you beautiful, patient, loving, understanding, forgiving man.

Pete and Carmy:

Pete makes such an effort with him (to steal Mikey's words he gives like the biggest fuck). He genuinely embraces Carmy and wants so desperately to be embraced by Carmy in return:

He brushes/laughs off an unexplained past incident involving Carmy (and presumably Michael) that sent him to urgent care. Very bro siblings roughhousing behavior (1x2).

He lets Carmy use his and Nat's freezer even though he knows she'll be mad at him for it. Very brothers ganging up on their sister/two siblings scheming against the third (which I imagine happened between the Berzatto siblings so much and in so many combinations) (1x5).

He was so hype and adorably complimentary about Carmy's homemade ecto cooler and ugh I wish Carm had given more credit there because they are clearly just both big nerds at heart (1x4).

He defends Carmy for being called a loser at the catered party by bringing up his career as one of the most lauded chefs (as I've said before, he and Syd were the two members of the Chef Carmy club). And he does so in front of a large and intimidating assortment of friends and family (to paraphrase Carmy paraphrasing Marcus we see that Pete can throw down huh). Very protective big brother vibes (1x4).

He then individually compliments Carmy's courage for leaving home and making an incredible career for himself. He also makes a point to tell him that Nat is proud of him. Emotionally supportive brother behavior (1x4).

He thanks Carmy for letting him be a part of his family! It's beyond sweet to say that to your in laws, but when your in laws are the Berzattos (1x4)?!

Pete And The Berzattos:

He still gets ribbed more than not, but at the end of the day he's accepted.

Carmy saying I kind of like Pete now (1x5).

Stevie saying his heart was in the right place after the tuna faux pas (2x5).

Fak saying he'll be a great daddy (2x10).

Donna congratulating Pete about the baby thus signaling her approval (2x10).

Pete Is An Only Child:

I've been convinced since S1 and S2 only confirmed.

The genuine love and effort he puts into each family member (blood, extended, and honorary) of the Berzattos not only shows Pete is truly a nice guy, but it speaks to his deep desire to be a part of a family - to belong (see all examples above).

We learned Richie and Sydney are only children (It must have been nice to have Nat and Carm. Yeah, now you do too. *sobs*) so another proof point that all partners to the Berzatto siblings are onlys.

Stevie. In his speech, he says You guys have been so kind to me. You let me hang out with your every holiday. I don't have a family like this and I'm really grateful you make space for me at this table and you make time for me on the holidays. You can imagine an exact speech coming from Pete. And like Pete, Stevie genuinely loves and gets along with each of the Berzattos (2x6). A last parallel between these two: Donna speculates if he's gay and that is totally something I can imagine her, Mikey or Richie saying about Pete at first meeting.

Something about not knowing Pete's last name or anything about him outside of his relationships with the Berzattos signals to me he's not from a big family and/or is not close to them and really just exists in the Berzatto cinematic universe.

Takeaways:

Pete is the MVP of The Bear. We better get more of him in S3.

The Berzattos attract only children and strays like moths to a flame.

#the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #pete the bear #chris witaske #natalie berzatto #sugar berzatto #nat berzatto #abby elliott #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #jeremy allen white #jamie lee curtis #donna berzatto #the bear season 2 #the bear season 1 #the berzattos #john mulaney

[vidavalor]

Speaking of underrated horny metaphor moments... Aziraphale directing Crawly directing the fake birth via oxribs after the oxrib night... HELLO?! My eyes just about popped out of my head XD.

So very horny and so very ridiculously funny. I swear that if you don't completely lose it laughing at "Remember me? BILDAD THE SHUITE!", I don't even want to know you lol. Very early Aziraphale being that dry and dirty was hilarious. He's such trouble. :) We all go on about the ox ribs in the cellar and in the scene with the angels (as we should lol) but I think the inbetween hours get ignored and they're equally underrated...

They're on a walk together in the middle of the night when they happen upon God speaking to Job. They snuck out of the cellar after the rain had stopped but while it was still night and they wouldn't be noticed to go for a walk together alone and then, later, once it's daylight, we see Aziraphale arrive late for the angels arriving to "lo, behold, we murdered your kids!" Job and Sitis. At first, we think he's late to the meeting because he and Crowley have been hatching out a plan but oh no no no no lol... they do not have a shred of a plan. Aziraphale basically make the whole thing up in the moment Bildad busts in. Aziraphale's entire plan was 'um maybe find a way to fake rebirth the old kids or something idk' and when Crowley comes in, he now has the help he needs to actually do it, but it's *very* clear that they had absolutely no plan going into the meeting.

"It would be helpful if you were an expert in human births?" says the angel who might have wanted to mention that at some point-- ANY POINT lol-- in the last, like, 14 hours that they've had to work out this plan, now forcing Bildad to try to sell 'professional midwife/cobbler' to Michael (and sell he does lol.)... My point is that if they left to take a late night walk together and then both were outside when the angels appeared to Job and Sitis, then they stayed out all night together, during which time they were not making a plan and then Aziraphale was late to work. They went on a walk to look at the stars and the stormy sky and talk some more and find a somewhat secluded place they could then watch the sunrise together. Maybe somewhere at the beach where they are at the end of the minisode. They nearly made Sitis have seven! more! children! because they lost track of time making out lol.

If you run into that guy you've got all that chemistry with and then spend the next day helping each other with work in between flirting, getting dinner, staying up all night talking, going for a romantic stargazing walk in the aftermath of a storm, watching the sun come up together, losing track of time and nearly missing work because you're so into one another, and then meet up later at the beach and basically have your conversation confirm what you already know, which is that you're soulmates, well... that's a good first date, yeah?

It is a little sad though when you consider that the episode prior to this is 2.01, which is heavy on the emphasis of how Crowley doesn't stay overnight in the bookshop as part of their efforts to keep their relationship quiet. (That the first night we know of that he ever does, later in the week, is without Aziraphale and with Gabriel, is absolutely the stuff of Crowley's dreams and by that I mean his nightmares. Poor guy just wants to kiss the angel and it's always Gabriel or a statue of him getting in the way lol.) The Job minisode might still be one of the only times they've managed to be together all night.

#ineffable husbands #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens 2 #good omens meta #aziracrow

[altargarden]

i feel like i'm kinda shouting into the void with this one but i really genuinely believe that the hatred between god and satan/demons and angels is made so much more extreme by human actions and belief. i've seen both satanists and christians shouting about how the other side fucking sucks waaaaay louder than any opinion i've seen from god/satan or demons/angels.

i've worked with archangel michael, you know, the renowned BIG BIG BIG enemy of demons, and i still was never even ushered to stop working with the demonic. hell, i've prayed to god and researched jesus during my satanist path, and both lucifer and satan shrugged about it. they could not give a damn about what i do, they respect my free will before anything.

idk i always feel like i'm talking to people who aren't listening with this, but just because they had conflict doesn't mean you have to spit on those who practice a different faith to you. i see christians as relatives in a way (that being said, some have still caused me great grief and this does not negate that i have qualms with some who practice christianity), we both come from the same place, the same story, the same figures - we're just on different sides.

demons, nor satan, nor lucifer, expect you to hate christians as a whole and i think it's silly that so many satanists have come to the conclusion that to be a valid satanist, you must rip and tear and bite at a different religion. criticise them, absolutely, make them accountable for their actions against people, but shredding them over events you don't even know existed seems like an excuse to just? be horrible?

out of my years in working with satan and lucifer, they want you to have free will above anything. that involves respecting those who have come to christianity by their own free will, just like you chose satanism with yours.

every time i see satanists rip apart christians by calling their deities and figures offensive things like "xristc*nt" i'm just ashamed. those are strangers. you don't even know their names, or their story behind their faith. you wouldn't want people to give your figures such awful names, would you?

#bun talks #theistic satanism #demonolatry #satanism #luciferianism #theistic luciferianism #sigh #the issues i have with satanists sometimes

[vicsy]

maxiel wrestling au ✨ 2.7k words that boinked me in the head cause i miss the good old days.

The new guy is way too green to be fit into a match right before the main event and Daniel voices his genuine concern with zero hesitation. It's his reputation at risk. Christian claps him on the shoulder assuredly, paints the guy — his name is Max and he goes by Super Max until creative will have something to do with that, fuck's sake — in the brightest colors. Tries to make a sell, a corporate rat in and out of the ring.  

And the thing is, the new guy is sort of gloomy, doesn't smile much even when Daniel offers his signature greeting. He's not a fucking asshole, he won't tell a rookie to go to hell for that. They've all been there, first day jitters and all. But, man, this new guy. Something is off about him. 

His ring gear, for starters, and Daniel shouldn't be the judge since his mom made him his first ill-fitting set back in Australia when Daniel was seventeen and scrawny, fresh-faced with crooked teeth and the energy of three hundred power plants. So, yeah, it's bad wrestling etiquette or whatever but the outline of a lion in the middle of the rookies' — sorry, Max's — ass is… something. The blue and gold shorty shorts fit alright, though, Daniel does give them an appreciative look. He prefers pants and shin guards, that's all.  

And, shit, looks like this Super Max, for crying out loud, designs his gear himself, judging by this very self-indulgent print. People are gonna tear him to shreds, like vultures; crush his spirit, knowing how this biz works when you're twenty-five and still wide-eyed, full of dreams of making it big, becoming the next Shawn Michaels or The Great Senna. 

Max is surely no wrestling royalty, no Rosberg or Flair or Schumaher. His dad was some midcarder in the late eighties back when FWF was at the cusp of breaking viewership records. And, surely, Max is a texbook continuation of his father's unfulfilled hopes. Daniel can read it in the way Max held himself, in the way his arms fidget when he talks and beside him Christian nods, proud, like it was his son making his big screen debut.

Daniel wonders, why him. Putting Max against younger guys would have been more plausible. Putting a company rookie against an established champion definitely seemed like a choice. 

"Don't forget that I make the calls, Daniel," Christian says, the finality in his voice clear as day when Max steps away to put his signature on a contract for the night. Then the suit-and-tie fucker gives him a cunning little smile and Daniel swallows a witty response stuck on the tip of his tongue. "Besides, he asked very, uh, insistently to pair you two up. How could I have been in the right mind to say no to the future of wrestling wanting to take on one of the crowd favorites?"

Well. Fuck. Daniel would know how, being an absolute gem on the mic but nobody's asking, so he's shit out of luck in that department. And currently booked in match with a guy who apparently admires him. Same height and, what? Eight years younger? Daniel tries not to read it as a sign for retirement. 

They settle on a cage match and, surely, it means essentially throwing Max into the deep end from day one but his eyes shine eagerly and he goes on a tangent, dissects the match step by step as if he's been running with the FWF for as long as Daniel did. Ten fucking years, thank you very much, and he knows damn well how to put on a show without some jobber — alright, sure, Daniel isn't supposed to squash him but still — running his mouth with a wrestling for dummies kind of talk. But Max didn't look like the same person who glowered at Daniel minutes before. He seems like someone who loved wrestling with all his being, lived and breathed the craft, came alive with the sound of the bell, the boos and cheers; the bruises and tore muscles, broken bones and bittersweet victories. 

"We doing the spot?" Daniel interrupts but in good nature, stretching his shoulders one by one, wearing a lazy smile to hide his annoyance. He half expects Max to refuse, back out of it. Wouldn't blame him, really. "Top of the cage, before the bell."

"Of course," Max answers too quickly, voice croaky, his chin lifted high as if Daniel offended him. Doubted him on the spot; doubted his hunger to make a name in the biggest wrestling federation known in the world. "It's a cage match after all. We have to make a good show."

We, huh? Perhaps the kid knows a thing or two. 

"Yeah, cool," Daniel tugs his Beats on, cues a special playlist in a pre-match ritual. "See ya in the ring, Super Maxy-Max."

He walks off to warm up as the show begins but not before noticing a sudden blush on Max's pale cheeks, his chest puffing with a response that he breathes out in a language Daniel can't place. He bounces around backstage, high-fives miserable-looking Charles on his way from the ring. His chest is streaked with red lines. Poor guy took the brunt of Fernando's chops. Daniel could still hear his music playing as he celebrated a win accompanied by heartfelt boos of the crowd. Eh, fucking marks. 

Daniel makes a point of not acknowledging Max at gorilla position, adjusting his shockingly colourful ring gear instead, slinging the FWF championship belt over his shoulder. It's childish to use it as a shield and Daniel is the nicest guy to his core, cross his heart, but the wrestling biz is cutthroat. And even Max's music is not on par with the standarts when it plays after Daniel finished making his way to the ring, greeted the crowd and sent the shirt he wore flying towards the grabby hands of his faithful fans. They are, truly so, booing loudly along with the generic entrance song, letting Max feel their disdain from the start, not letting him mistake it as a warm welcome. Not against their favorite Badger. 

And yet, Max's face remains blank. The way he slowly removes his own t-shirt and neatly leaves it on the side of the ring pulls a chuckle out of Daniel. God, he's so spectacularly green. 

Simply on the grounds of Daniel being a fucking face, he reaches his hand out after the bell dings and the metal cage above them descends agonizingly slow, inviting Max to lock up; a class act. Max knocks his hand away, expression scrunched in a mask of disgust. Daniel takes every assumption he made back; they're about to have a grand ol' time. 

Max's style is a bit choppy but he doesn't strike Daniel as a high-flying type. Mostly old school moves, orchestrated to a precision not every rookie has. They exchange a couple of blows and Daniel takes initiative for the time being. He ducks away from a spear and Max hits the turnbuckle shoulder first, turning with a grimace of pain. He doesn't oversell, a great fucking sign for them both, and Daniel bounces off the ropes to deliver a flying knee to the side of Max's jaw. He takes it magnificently, falling to his knees completely unbalanced. 

Maybe, just maybe, he owes Christian the benefit of the doubt. At very least, their styles are a match, perfect opposites to elevate each other's strengths. Max's brawler against Daniel's technician; a study of contrasts between the brawn and the showmanship. 

He ends up putting Max in a figure-four smack dab in the middle of the ring so he can’t reach for the ropes to save himself and, shit, he sells so wonderfully that Daniel's mind wanders. There is something in the bend of Max's neck, in the strength of his entire figure — built but limber, writhing under Daniel's scrutiny, completely at his mercy. The give Max's body begs to be molded in his hands and, suddenly, a startlingly clear image surfaces at the back of Daniel's mind. Tag matches turning into tag titles, titles turning into a betrayal to feed the storyline; and then the redemption arc.

Then, a reunion. Full circle. Squared circle.

It's breathtaking, in truth. The easy push and pull, the synergy buzzing in the air between them, Max struggling out of the submission hold to pin Daniel's shoulders against the mat. A brash fucking attempt for a pin; he kicks out at one and rolls some distance away, eyeing Max to add to the dramatic of their unlikely clash. 

The crowd goes wild. Daniel stretches his lips in a smile, sharp like the jagged edges of the glass they pour out for hardcore matches. He catches himself thinking that he'd go for one with Max. Maybe just to see those lips bloodied, returning his smile tenfold. 

Time's almost out, the referee lets them know discreetly. Daniel lets Max turn the tide, drive him head first into the wall of the cage, hitting through the ropes with a clang. Daniel's head gets beaten against the turnbuckle, his back slammed against the mat with a perfectly executed chokeslam and the crowd gasps with sympathy. Max busies himself with prying the gate of the cage open, acting the heel part eerily well as Daniel catches his breath, sells Max's beating appropriately, without an overkill. 

He pulls Daniel outside of the cage, outside the ring, dragging his face against the barricade towards the commentator table. Max makes sure to interact with the crows, give them an opportunity to hate him, call him names. Something akin to adoration swells in Daniel's chest; he doesn't understand where it's coming from and then Max clotheslines him hard and he crumbles onto the floor lined with thin mats.

Good move, that. Suits the set up right.

Max almost throws a middle finger to the crowd and starts climbing the side of the cage with a single intent, much to the horror of the arena. Yeah, real fucking marks but Daniel wouldn't have it any other way. He counts to thirty in his head, sprawled flat on his back near the commentator table, having one of their tiny screens jammed in his midsection before by Max's enthusiastic efforts. He counts and follows the lines of Max's body, the broadness of his shoulders and the paleness of his skin. It makes Daniel's mind wander anew, in a direction it shouldn't, not in the middle of a high-risk match. 

The crowd gets antsy, urging Daniel to get the hell up, and so he does, Max halfway up on the cage, unknowing, with a sinister plan of his own. His muscles protest but it's hardly anything new. Daniel manages to catch up to Max in a flurry of adrenaline-addled motion, reaching up to hook his hand in Max's ridiculous shorts. Max looks down at him, expression purely shocked to satisfy the crowd and Daniel counts again as he tugs. Once, twice.

It's never pleasant, plummeting down and straight onto the commentator table. It breaks with a horrible sound under Max's back and he lies there, unmoving, the commentators standing not far away, still doing their job. Daniel hangs onto the slippery metal of the cage, listening to the crowd yelling and frothing at the mouth for him to do the thing they all came here for. He raises one hand and pumps his fists in the air twice, eliciting a reaction that makes his mind go into an overdrive. 

He takes a breath, bending his elbow for his signature move and jumps.

The Ricciardo Special lands beautifully on Max's midsection, making him yelp and seize from the pain. Daniel is so used to hitting the ground this way but the calmness that comes hand in hand with the fall is forever unsettling. Max breathes raggedly underneath him, limbs akimbo and his eyes half-shut, eyelashes fanning his splotched cheeks. From Daniel's point of view he looks like someone gave him a fuck of a lifetime. The sight makes Daniel's heart skip.

In the wreckage at the ringside, the perpetual hunger Daniel left unsated stirs impatiently, awakening from a famished slumber.  

Max's body under his own feels like it belongs; feels like a missing piece finally fitting. It hits Daniel like a freight train, the all-encompassing normalcy in the midst of controlled chaos.

He squeezes Max's wrist twice in a silent question, their limbs tangled together on the broken bits of the table. Max's fingers twitch against his hold — yes, I'm okay. 

And the show goes on towards the long-awaited climax. 

It takes Daniel thirty seconds to peel Max off the floor by the back of his neck, squeezing tight and roughly hauling him back inside the cage, rolling them both into the ring. It's a whole ordeal, his body exhausted and Max matches him there, too, playing the beaten to the pulp heel as if he's been doing it since he learned how to walk. Daniel drags him to the middle of the mat again, admiring the pliancy with which Max follows. There's a persistent ringing in his ears and an electric shock wracks through him when he gets his hand's on parts of Max's body he managed not yet to touch, no resistance as he bends him in half, Daniel's palm sliding against the sweaty skin under Max's knees. The referee appears next to them, slamming his palm against the mat.

One. Two. 

And when Max eats the pin like he's supposed to, like they've settled in the pre-match booking with Christian, Max's prominent mouth pressed into a thin line making Daniel think who the fuck does this jobber think he is, all the sounds of the packed arena rush into his ears as the bell rings and the cage finally lifts, freeing them. The crowd erupts and Daniel rolls over onto his back, gulping air, Max's arm pinned under him, sweaty skin sticking together. His music hits like a fucking tornado; another win sequred under his belt but all Daniel can muster at that moment is to turn his head against the stiffness in his neck, catching Max's gaze already trained on him. Mouth open, chest rising up and falling so rapidly Daniel seems to lose his breath again. 

Or perhaps it's the shine in Max's eyes, their color clear-blue like the spotlights above. Daniel finds it hard to look away and he desperately needs to drag himself to his feet, clutch the championship belt to his chest, an assurance of his stature; something solid to hang on to.

Max asked to wrestle him first. Daniel grasps at the foreign feeling blooming behind his ribcage.

His win doesn't feel like one. Not with Max suddenly so close to claiming a space for himself, claiming what's his and he's so damned good it scares Daniel momentarily. But the fear dissipates as quickly as the pain does when someone lands a chair shot just the right way. A satisfying kind of pain. With a slight twitch of his mouth, Max is the first to move away, further to the ropes. The skin of his back is angry red, the mess of moles speckled with blood where the impact from the commentator table scratched and tore into his flesh. 

Max rolls off the ring and limps up the ramp, holding his ribs gingerly. He turns when the referee raises Daniel's hand and he manages to straighten the other one with belt in it, showing it off as you still got it echoes in a thousand voices. For the first time he doesn't revel in the outpour of love and adoration, the crowd clapping and chanting his name. He doesn't look them over with a smile and his chest still feels caged, much like he and Max were moments ago, locked in what wasn't just a match. 

Something snaps; something ends. Daniel feels the shift clear, like the Earth tilting on its axis taking him with it and leaving Max standing still, his scuffed, golden boots rooted firmly to the ground. The weight of the championship belt turns laden, drags Daniel deep into the uncharted waters as he stares Max down, challenging and unabashed, blood thrumming with adrenaline. The bundled tightness in his chest lingers and lingers and lingers.

A corner of Max's mouth quirks up, eyes crinkling; no real malice behind them, just an answer to a soundless call, a promise for more. 

Daniel feels like he's the one plummeting down from the cage, from the top of a tower he built in his own name, not with stone but with blood, sweat and tears. Max follows suit, crashing into him without reservation, raw talent and blunt force, the soft edges of him breaking through skin and bone going straight for the heart; straight for the pin. 

The count follows, inescapably.

In his mind, Daniel doesn't kick out. 

#vicsy writes #maxiel #waves hands vaguelly #this is very poorly put together and i haven't written so deliriously in months #serves me right to remember that wrestling is my first love #daniel/max #maxiel fic #daniel ricciardo #max verstappen #f1 rpf #333 #apologies for all the fucking mistakes I surely missed #i just need to get it all out #wrestling au

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

dream come true !

“we might be destiny, maybe.”

michael kaiser x reader

gender neutral reader

synopsis: a bad managerial mistake leads to you and kaiser stuck in a hotel room with only one bed. after a few heated insults, the two of you compromise to share, but much to your dismay and surprise, the mishaps don’t seem to end just there.

a/n: inspired by @strwbrylemonsoda​’s “only one bed” headcanons for kaiser! 

“I-I’m truly sorry, sir, but we really are out of options at the moment… Management will make sure you will be compensated financially for the mishandling on our part, and while we are terribly sorry for the unprofessionalism, there’s nothing we can do for you. I’ll repeat again: all of our rooms are full for the night, and because of the late hour, none of the hotels near us are able to offer you a quality room either.”

You rubbed your temples, forcing yourself to breathe out deeply through your nose. Your legs dangled slightly over the edge of the hotel bed, dragging against the rough carpet. You were almost grateful for the slight pain the friction sent shooting up your legs. It did wonders to ground you through all of the annoyance swirling in your chest like a tornado waiting to unleash itself, bringing nothing but rage and destruction in its wake.

Despite the disgustingly gleaming luxury of the five star hotel plastered over every nook and cranny of the room, there was one glaringly inexcusable mistake with all of this.

Kaiser glared at nothing in particular. He hadn’t quit pacing the room ever since he stepped foot in it, and all of his barking into the phone wasn’t doing any favors for the headache that was pounding at your skull. “There has to be something you can do! Kick some guests out or something! Condense a bit! Do you even know who you’re talking to?”

“Give it a rest, would you?” You snapped. You glared at the blond athlete that was stomping all over what you had mistakenly assumed would be your room for the night. You thought you would finally be able to taste a sample of Heaven when you heard that you’d get a room to yourself at such an expensive hotel, but there was no way in Hell that you’d ever get something that nice without something going wrong.

And in this case? That “something going wrong” just happened to come in the form of Bastard Muchen’s biggest asshole star himself. 

Kaiser yanked his phone away from his ear to glare back at you with all the hatred in his body. “Like hell I’m sharing a room! This piece of shit hotel has to have something they can do, or I’ll make sure to tear them down, even if I have to do it with my own hands!”

You flopped back down on the tiny bed, groaning loudly. “Look, I’m not happy about this either. But it’s fucking late, and we have things to get done tomorrow. It’s not like we’re even staying the whole night. It’s only for like a few hours, and that poor representative you’re shredding has probably shat their pants five times by now! Give it a break! Just take the fucking L, and let’s get some rest! You can always ruin the hotel’s reputation later, but bitching about it isn’t going to fix anything!”

“I won’t get any rest if you’re in the room with me,” he hissed. His clear blue eyes flashed angrily, and a hot flash of panic stabbed at your chest when you thought he was going to throw his phone at you. But much to your relief, he disconnected the call abruptly and shoved it into his pocket with a loud huff instead. “You’re sleeping on the floor then.”

“Huh?!” you stammered. Kaiser stormed over to where you had collapsed all over what you thought would be your bed for the night and put his hands on his hips as he loomed over you. 

He raised an eyebrow, nearly laughing out of exasperation. “What? You’re rooming with a goddamn superstar. Did you really think you’d be the one sleeping on the bed? You’re a nobody here. The very least you can do is know your place and get out of my way.”

“Well, I didn’t think I’d have to argue with someone over this to begin with,” you spat back. 

“What are you trying to imply here? I’m sure as hell not sleeping on the floor, and if you’re not willing to budge either…,” he trailed off. You bit the inside of your cheek and held your breath as his annoyed laugh morphed into something more teasing. 

Kaiser clicked his tongue, leaning over to flick your forehead. He smirked down at you, his azure eyes blown open wide in plain disbelief. “Stupid commoner. Did you think we were going to share?”

“No!” You smacked his hand away. You didn’t care about how much his body was worth or anything, and with heat flaring up in your cheeks, you scuttled away from him as fast as you could. “Gross!”

Kaiser eyed the bed, all while chuckling to himself. “I mean, it seems big enough for us to squeeze into. Unless you plan on being a greedy asshole and hogging it all for yourself still. C’mon, aren’t you supposed to be the pragmatic one between us? Either you sleep on the floor and deal with a bad back all day tomorrow, or you get sued for letting me catch a cold from sleeping on the cold floor. Your choice, darling.”

You froze, your angry and flustered mind going a thousand miles a second. You really, really hated the prospect of being in close proximity with him as it was now, and the thought of having to share a bed with him was enough to make your stomach flip inside out with sheer disgust. But the alternative was nearly just as bad: you couldn’t afford to work tomorrow if you were in pain, and the last thing you needed was his petty ass dragging you to court.

You swore to yourself that the first chance you got tomorrow, you were going to dump every single laxative you could find in your bag into Kaiser’s morning coffee. 

“Can’t I sleep on the lobby’s couches or something?” You whimpered. Kaiser shook his head.

“Get comfy with me, sweetheart. We’re literally gonna be going at it all night otherwise.”

“D-Don’t phrase it like that, stupid!”

…

…

…

“Wow,” you breathed, doing your absolute best to ignore the eyesore laying down inches away from you and pretending you were alone in the hotel room. Who knew when your next chance to splurge in such decadence was? Sharing with Kaiser or not, you were determined to enjoy the place as if you were there alone, and as long as you weren’t getting in his way, you’d be damned if you weren’t going to make the most out of a bourgeoisie place. “This bed is soooooo fluffy!”

Kaiser choked back a laugh, instantly shattering your momentary happiness. “Is… Is this your first time at a hotel?”

“Can you shut your damn mouth for two seconds, and let people enjoy things?” You grumbled, raising the blanket to cover your embarrassed face. “I normally don’t get to stay in such nice places. It’s only the athletes and head honchos that get the luxury rooms.”

“Still,” he teased. The boy rolled over to his side, resting his head on his hand as he watched you with an amused smirk. “You’re acting like it’s the first time you’ve ever slept in a bed. It’s so dumb, it’s almost cute.”

You scowled under the covers, wriggling furiously to make it clear to him that you were settling down regardless of how much he was egging you on. “You deserve to see all the sacrifices other people make for you, you spoiled emperor. Maybe then you wouldn’t have such a stick up your ass.”

“Nah. I’m too skilled for that. No one can replace me, anyway,” he hummed happily. He laid himself back down on his half of the bed, groaning a little as he made himself comfortable. “You better remember tonight fondly then. It’ll be the first and last time you’ll get to stay somewhere this fancy at your level.”

“And it’ll be the first and last time I’ll have to stay with you for so long,” you muttered. “Good riddance.”

“Awwww, look at you getting all fussy over me.” Kaiser closed his eyes, but the irritating smile all over his face wouldn’t leave for a split second. “Make sure not to obsess over me too much. If other people found out that we shared a bed like this, they might get the wrong idea.”

You fought the urge to pummel his face in with a pillow. “In your dreams! Like hell I’d date a guy with an ego the size of the fucking Milky Way!”

“Oh, it would be in your dreams alright. There’s no other way you’d get to be with someone as dreamy and talented as me,” he snickered loudly. “I’m gonna sleep now, okay? Don’t drool over my dashingly good-looking face too much while I’m snoozing. And if you wake me up, I’ll make sure you regret it so much that you’ll still be regretting it in your grave.”

“The same goes for you!” You sniffed, willing yourself to not snap at him. “You’re not even my type, so don’t go thinking that I’ll creep on you! I’m not a pervert, and even if I was, you’d be the last person I’d do that to!”

“Good night, stupid peasant.”

“Good night, bitchass.”

…

…

…

“Ehhhhhhhh? Is it true that you slept with Kaiser?”

“How was it? Was he nice? Mean? Sweet?”

You deadpanned at the crowd gathering around you the moment you stepped out of the hotel next morning, immediately being swarmed by all of your friends on Bastard Munchen’s staff team. What the fuck? You were sure that you hadn’t breathed a word of this to anyone, and the hotel’s staff had more or less been blackmailed into secrecy about the situation.

“I… I didn’t do any of that…?” You squeaked out. “Where is this coming from?”

A heavy hand landed on your shoulder, almost knocking the wind out of you. You whirled around to see no one else but the man, the myth, and the absolute sicko legend himself grinning down on you as if he had just won the World Cup. “You left without saying good morning to me, shitty commoner.”

A horrid realization dawned on you, and you dug your nails into the palm of your hand to prevent yourself from mauling him right there and then. “You… You’re the one who told them we shared a room? I thought we agreed that it would be a secret-”

“Ah, so it is true!” One of your friends eagerly cut in. “You did share a room with Kaiser! How romantic!”

Kaiser leaned down, making sure all eyes were on the two of you as he laughed quietly against your ear. “I said I’d ruin this hotel’s reputation myself, didn’t I? This is just part of the process, darling. Besides, getting into a small scandal every now and then isn’t so bad for my career either. The more people get talking, the more interested they become in me, which in turn, means more attention and money fans are willing to dish out to see me.”

You felt your blood draining out of your face. “You- You’re going to use me like this?”

“Shhhh, don’t phrase it like that! I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” He rolled his eyes. He snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you closer until the two of you were nearly attached at the hip, and he winked at all the squealing staff members all around him. “You said last night was the first time you got to stay in a fancy room like that for the night. If you stick around me, I promise you that you’re gonna get a lot more things like that on my behalf.”

“You’re the worst,” you muttered. But despite that, you didn’t bother shaking his arm off or anything, and Kaiser beamed proudly at you for following along with his cues.

“I know. Be good, and let me play the role of the doting boyfriend they think I am for just a bit longer.” He squeezed your waist, leaning his head on top of yours. You detested the way your heart pounded rapidly in your chest, the tension between the two of you thick in the air and exacerbated by all the attention being showered onto the both of you. 

Your blood ran cold when Kaiser leaned in to press a quick kiss onto the crown of your head, his lips smirking into your skin when he felt you stiffen under his touch. Ignoring the loud squeals and shrieks coming from everyone else, he held you closely and tightly to his body.

“Consider me your dream-come-true, darling.”

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #michael kaiser #x reader #my writing #BYEEEEEEEE THROWING MYSELF OFF A BRIDGE #THIS WAS SOOOO CRINGE AND FAIL BUT LIKE . IT WAS SUCH FUN CRINGE AND FAIL #SOCIETY WHEN I GET TO RUN KAISER OVER W A TRUCK

[ivory--raven]

day 21. The prompt was fantasy, but this didn't end up being related to it, so... it is what it is. Starts out fun, doesn't stay that way. Michael asks the worst question.

Eric the Disposable Demon knocks on Dagon’s door. She’s asked to be alerted about angelic activity detected on earth, mostly because there seem to be a lot of demons loitering about and she’s making sure they’re actually going up when they need to.

“An angel’s been spotted,” says Eric.

Dagon reaches for her copy of Demon’s Guide to Angelic Beings who Walk the Earth. “Any description of this angel?”

Eric shuffles his feet. “Yeah, it’s Archangel Michael, and she smote two demons just now.”

“Right,” she says. “I’ll handle this. No need to go bothering Beelzebub, is there?”

“No,” agrees Eric.

She locks her office door behind her. If Archangel Michael is on Earth smiting demons, this is quite the problem and clearly requires her personal attention. The angel is easy to find, Dagon nips into the office managing their sudden discorporations, notes the location they give on the paperwork, and up she goes.

The stairs to leave Hell are long, and Dagon doesn’t want to spend forever climbing. Archangel Michael. Smiting demons, which is the important part. She’s taking the steps two at a time.

She appears on Earth expecting an angry angel, expecting an aggressive angel, waiting for the tip of a spear pressing against her throat. Instead, Michael looks bored.

“Hey!” Dagon calls, in case Michael hasn’t seen her.

“Dagon,” says Michael.

“That is my name,” she says. “You are smiting demons. Stop.”

“There is no rule in place preventing me from smiting any demon I like,” says Michael. “In fact, one could argue smiting demons is my job as an Angel of the Lord.”

Dagon shrugs. “One could. Smite me, then.”

Michael waves a hand. “You’re too - you’re not like the ones that were here earlier. They were making evil plots.”

“I make evil plots all the time,” says Dagon. “I’m in charge of torturing people. It’s what I do.”

“Is that why you Fell?”

Dagon flinches, startled. Demons don’t ask the question. Angels certainly shouldn’t. Falling, as much as it was communal, something that pushed demons together, united them against an enemy, was a deeply personal experience. Demons don’t talk about why they’d been judged unworthy of the Almighty’s love, why they were first despised, why they were stripped away from everything they’d known before the rebellion. Demons don’t talk about Falling, Dagon doesn’t like to think about Falling. 

“There weren’t any people to torture back then,” she says, telling herself the question doesn’t matter.

“Then what did you do?” presses Michael.

What did she do?

She - it must have been a horrible horrible thing, for this to be the punishment, they’d all done horrible things then. She’d been so happy, so proud, and maybe that had been part of the problem, she’d liked herself too much, she’d liked her work too much, she’d been making fish, hadn’t she? All sorts of sea creatures. She’d loved them all. She still does, she can’t stop. She’d been ambitious, she’d been bitter. She’d hurt someone. She’d burned.

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” she snaps.

“It’s just that you seem so-” Michael stops.

Dagon hisses. “So what? I deserve this, as I’ve been told, and I’ll prove it to you!”

She lunges at Michael, intent on ripping the angel to shreds. They collide, and Michael rolls with her. “I was only asking!” Michael shouts.

“That question!” Dagon gets her teeth in Michael’s upper arm. Michael screams, wraps the other arm around Dagon’s throat and squeezes.

She can’t breathe. Michael has her. Dagon bites further, there’s ichor and she’s choking on it, bubbling in her throat as she’s wailing into Michael’s flesh. How dare she. How dare she.

Dagon’s head is spinning. She’s not going to let go.

She’s shattered, the edges of her consciousness blurring into the world, blurring into Michael and her power and her confusion. She’s going to cut Michael with her broken pieces, she will use everything she has, she reaches around with her other arm and scratches-

Michael releases her.

“I don’t know why you’re angry,” she says, her voice tinged with pain.

Dagon lets go. “Don’t ask me. I can’t.” There’s a lot more to be said, things she doesn’t have the words for, things she hasn’t thought about yet. She can forget. This time she can forget. She has to. Michael’s ichor is dribbling down her chin, and Michael is still breathing on her.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

Michael. Archangel Michael is apologizing.

“I’m sorry I asked. I didn’t know.”

“You could’ve guessed,” says Dagon, and finds enough ichor left in her mouth to spit it back in Michael’s face. 

“That’s fair,” says Michael.

And maybe it’s because she said that, because she apologized, maybe it’s because Dagon is foolish, because she wants something, that she leans closer to her and offers the feeling, almost like a possession but without any of the actual possessing. She doesn’t show her everything, there are things she’s not even willing to see herself, but she shows her the way it feels now, a memory of a memory.

Michael shudders. “I’m sorry,” she says again.

Dagon is silent. She's okay, she thinks, she has shown this to Michael, Michael feels it, has apologized - they're all right. She's not angry anymore.

Michael is eyeing her. “How do you - how do you live like that?”

“No choice,” says Dagon. “Now I’m going to - I’m going to go.”

“I’ll leave,” offers Michael. “I’m why you’re..”

There are multiple things she could say. She’s why Dagon is here, she’s why Dagon is the way she is, she’s why Dagon is upset right now. She says none of them. Dagon nods, and she leaves.

Dagon leaves, too, sinking back into Hell, not to her office but to one of the torture areas, and lets herself in, relishing the way people cower. She will work hands-on with them for a while. It does help.

#femslash omens #femslashfeb2024 #angelfish #ineffable administrators #yeah we're going here #I'm perhaps allowing that Dagon's crime could've been making a whale

[nightgoodomens]

Basically GT responded to a fan on Twitter who did not tag her but they were talking shite about her regarding her stance on the war. So on one hand I can understand why that would wind her up and make her snap, but on the other damn stop looking for your name on Twitter and respond to people looking to start shit, I guess.

Especially since just a few weeks before that Michael was torn to shreds by the same people for posting his opinion so she really should had steered way clear from all of that. It is amusing to me that she thought she won’t get the same treatment.

Now I don’t remember exactly what happened next - I think she started going back and forth with that person? Or just doing a thread explaining her stance, excusing herself? Basically it all turned into a mess, and she quit. She went on insta and posted an old pic from a photoshoot of herself to get love from her fans and then a few charities. That’s why some people are a little doubtful of her real intentions now regarding that.

Feel free to verify the exact details but that’s the gist of it really.

#NightGoodOmens talks PR

[yeyinde]

Hi! Hope you're doing well. I just have to say that you're my favorite writer and a huge inspiration to me. Everything you write, even the small little snippets, just make me so happy.

Are you by chance still doing the WIP snippets? Cause I go feral for Jacob Seed, and when I saw you had a WIP for him I can honestly say I almost fell out of my chair.

Hiya! This is so sweet!! Thank you so much 🖤😭

Jacob Seed is one of those characters who I'd very much like to chisel open. He's so intriguing. His ideologies are so unfounded but his conviction and his reasons for them are what I find really appealing.

This is quite a deviation from what I normally do—third person, technically no reader-insert (I kindaaaaa made an OC? Oops) a bit darker (dragging me back to my slasher roots), and pulls a lot from a pseudo-religious upbringing. It is really fun to write, in theory, but is one of those fics that is mentally taxing in the sense that every piece is part of a bigger picture. Despite that, though, I could probably talk about this fic more than any others because of all the weird influences it draws from—Siken (it was originally gonna be titled war of the foxes but I felt that was a little too on the nose so I changed it to wishbone which is even more on the nose), bible mythology (in particular, the warring interpretations of Abaddon, iyjyk but also??? Abaddon and Michael, though???? 👀), and um. Cult shenanigans.

Here is a little bit about it!

He's in her head now, a sickness polluting her grey matter until it's shaded the same colour as the burning auburn around his wicked mouth. The one that splits wide, and croons about her failures, her destiny, until the rasping slur of his words are skeined tight around her gyri. Festering like a cancer she can't clove. One that sounds more like a truism each time she hears it.

Jacob has his finger on the trigger of a loaded gun with the barrel pressed tight to her cerebellum. A tool, he said. One without a master. Until now. Until him.

She can't fight him. Can't get rid of him. 

She wonders if she ever even tried.

And for some Rook x Jacob (kinda sorta but in a weird and twisted way):

Jacob doesn't give an inch even with the barrel of her Whitetailer pointed at his heart. A beat, then, where the world around her seems to shiver at the smirk he sends her way, his own hand fixed, deadly and calm, on the butt of his garish rifle. Red. 

(Of course. Of course.)

He stands on his tower, a castle of rock in the middle of the Whitetail Mountains, surrounded by unfathomable wilderness, and the broken remnants of his wolf beacons, his fallen men. His Judges. 

They lay by her feet, discarded offerings to the man who vultured her sense of self, her agency, until the person she was before all of this was lost, collateral to a war she never agreed to. She feels it sometimes, the putrefying remains of idealism and hope clawing at her skull until the tissue shreds and bleeds. Feels it like a second degree burn, a scab she can't stop picking at, and then pushes it back into its sarcophagus. It's an effigial prison in which she's both a warden and cellmate. 

It rears, now, as her patent yellow boots sink into the ribcage of a man torn to shreds by her bullets, her fists, mourning the loss of who it once was—a person of empathy and compassion. Someone who would have recoiled at the sight of viscera staining her laces, bone crunching under the soles of her feet. 

But it's gone. All she feels is annoyance. Disgust. 

They rendered it out of her. All of them pulling and tugging until bits of herself ripped apart, left behind in their regions, in their hands. Faith holds her belief. John, her compassion. Joseph, her fear. And Jacob—

Well. 

She tries not to think about what she lost in his cages. The gaping hole where her humanity once sat is heavier now that it's empty. 

It doesn't matter. Not anymore. 

Everything has been culminating to this point. To this moment. She feels the weight of it, the truth, in her bones. Unlike John, unlike Faith, only one of them will walk away from this still breathing. Her fingers tense. A proxysm. 

She finds, as the sky fades back to an endless blue and the mournful call of a loon breaks through the coppice, that she isn't entirely sure she wants it to be her. 

"Everything, all of it, has been leading up to this moment," he calls down to her, answering the unspoken assertions that bounce around the bruised fibres of her head. Hunt. Kill. Sacrifice. She gets it. She hates that she does. Hates him, she thinks, even more for making her see, for turning her into his executioner so easily. "So, Deputy, what will you do?"

If it were Faith, there'd be something about the path. About choices. About submission and surrender. Giving up agency and self in the single-minded pursuit of devotion to the Father. John, maybe a taunt. A sotto voce about atonement and true self. Of life admit the torture. A baptism in pain. 

But Jacob is neither of them. 

"Are you gonna kill me, angel?" 

She thinks about it. Really does. Lets it grind down into her synapses as she imagines a world without him. A place in Hope County where they celebrate his death and burn his body on an altar, unwilling to let the cult take him back until he's charred bones and ashes. Sure, then, that he's gone. Forever. Always. No more. 

Jacob will burn. 

She thinks about it, and she shudders. 

It feels anticlimactic despite the effort he put into setting it all up. Moving beacons and men and cages and wolves. Tracking her down through the forest until she led them to the Wolf's Den, and put a bullet in the head of the only man who made her feel some sense of footing amid a crumbling world. A place that wasn't quite home but it was something. Purpose, maybe. 

It stands in sharp contrast to the dogfight between them. Jacob and his soldiers. A commander playing a game of war from the comfort of his sanctuary. They're gone, now, and she hates that she isn't, too. That no matter what she does, how open she leaves herself, he still lets her sneak up the side of his perch until she's crouched behind a log, until she can hear the weight of his footfalls as he searches for her across the blood smeared landscape. 

It's a fallacy. He knows where she is despite the engineered confusion in his tone. What was that? He asks. Come out and fight me, Deputy. You know I'll find you—

The red dot follows her, always just a few inches from where she's hiding. A farce. She hates it. Hates that he isn't really fighting her. A marksman, he said (hoorah), but the only bruises he gave her are in her mind. Mental scars. Stupid. She hates him. Despises him. 

(Hates herself even more.)

It feels like muscle memory when she peers over the ledge, her bloodied knuckles leaving smears of her fingerprints behind. He's there. Waiting. 

Killing Eli, killing phantoms. Killing men. Killing him. It all congeals in her marrow. Effortless. Easy. She's killed him so many times already that she's sure, now, she could close her eyes and find her mark. 

Over and over again, he turned to a nebula of dust when she jumped on his back, wrapping nimble fingers around his neck. Mocking words haunting her as he dissolved into the aether. The Father will protect me. You need me. Don't fight it. Just let go. You've served your purpose. Let's say you get out of this. What's next? You go back to running errands for a teenager and a housewife? You are nothin' without Eli. 

"Come out, come out wherever you are, honey," his crooning taunt makes her hackles raise. A part of her hindbrain prickles with unease. Jacob brings a certain terror out of those dormant depths—an atavistic fear coils around her jugular. "Let's finish this." 

She wants to end him. To kill and maim and bend and break until nothing is left but bones and tissue. She wants to ruin him. Wants him to ruin her. To end this conflict at the top of a precipice she never wanted to climb. 

She says nothing—not to him, to them—but scuffs her feet against the gravel for no reason other than to make him look. He whips around, hand steady on his rifle. 

"Finally done hiding, Deputy?" 

The red dot hasn't left her vicinity since she prowled after him, unleashing hell and gunfire on the men—his Chosen, his best—that tried to keep her away from him. Hiding, she thinks, and wonders if those words are a projection. 

The Whitetailer—the only anchor she's had since she found it laying behind in an abandoned cabin—hums under her fingers. Pulses with the blood rushing through her veins. It's always been heavy. An SA50 isn't easy to carry across a landscape she mostly ventured on foot (as the near constant ache between her shoulders can attest to), but it feels both heavier and lighter than before. Another contradiction of many since she walked out of the Den and into a world on fire. Since she slit his throat and watched him turn into cosmic dust. 

It's steady, though. Unwavering. There's a gash on her arm from one of his Chosen. A bullet in her thigh. The unhealed wounds—bliss bullets and arrows—twinge with pain when she tenses her muscles, breathes in deep. Her broken ribs scream. She feels like more like a throbbing contusion than she does an actual person, still caught in the tendrils of her conditioning where his voice echoes in her head, the last notes of a song that turned her world into ashes. Only youuu… he'd crooned.

Only you. 

Only ever you. 

She gets it now. 

Or, she wishes that were true. It isn't. It isn't because maybe she's known all along. Since the bunker. Since Pratt. One, two, three. One, two, three. And then he's got you. Since she blinked into cognisance surrounded by the fallen bodies of the militia who didn't survive the training, who had bullet wounds that matched the shots she took in Jacob's trial. 

Since she went back to the Grand View and walked through the rows of cages in the parking lot. 

She gets it. 

She knows what she has to do. 

Her grip doesn't falter when she aims up. Up. His stomach. His lungs. His heart. 

"You can't. You're done. You've served your purpose, and now it's time to accept your place, Deputy. Where you belong." 

She thinks of Tammy. Of Wheaty. There's nothing left for her. Not anymore. 

Nothing except—

She wonders if there's a flash of panic in his cerulean eyes. A brief flicker of fear. But all she sees is contempt. 

"If I die, you'll be lost forever—"

She pulls the trigger. 

#its long #i couldn't help myself #jacob seed x deputy #wips #thank you so much for this but also im so sorry??? #i feel like i threw an essay at you and said “EAT UP!!!!”

[ilottthepilot]

i want to hear your many thoughts on mick & indycar!!

Okay, sorry for the wait, i have spent the last few hours contemplating this topic and trying to put my thoughts in order.

It's really a jumping off point for my thoughts on Mick as a person and his position in motorsports. Basically, this all stems from an old video I watched months ago, where Michael is asked if he has ever considered taking part in the Indy 500. His answer is direct: "No. First of all it's a step down from Formula 1 and second, it's too dangerous" He then goes on to say that the people who don't make it in F1 go to Indy and the people that come from Indycar don't make it in F1.

Now back to Mick. It is an age old trope that the one thing the child of a great wants, is to step out of their parent's shadow. To be their own person. What I have always found interesting about Mick is that this has never seemed to be a goal of his. While he has presented himself as stepping into Michael's footsteps, carrying on the legacy and trying to do things that would make his father proud, he always steers clear from saying anything about reaching Michael's level. It's this untouchable thing, a challenge that he would never take.

I mean, what I'm saying here sounds a bit ridiculous. Why would it ever occur to the guy who got fired from Haas to compare himself to a seven time world champion? He would be torn to shreds by the media and everyone online. But what does it really mean to accept that you will never come close to your father in the thing that is both of your passion? What I want to mention here is Mick's PR training and the personality he shows to the public. He is a perfect poster child of the famous Ferrari academy media training that allegedly tries to turn everyone into a humble blank slate. While he shows genuine emotion when it comes to talking about his family, I think it's difficult to gauge what he really wants from his racing career. What are his dreams? What goals is he aiming towards?

He is now racing in WEC and still one of the first things I heard him say about that is how he's stepping into his dad's footsteps, because Michael also has a history with sportscar racing. That might only be a tiny part of Michael's legacy, but for the German sponsors Mick is most valuable as a reminder of Michael. Stating it like that sounds cruel, but I'm afraid that's the business side of it all.

For the record: I absolutely do not want to imply that Mick doesn't want to invoke Michael's legacy every step of the way. Of course you want to honor the father you love, who tragically can't be with you for all of this, the way you would have wanted. That's the most natural thing in the world. The part that gets me though, is that it sometimes feels like he doesn't get the choice. How many times has he told childhood stories for the benefit of DVB or whatever other sponsor is trying to get clicks?

Now, after all of this rambling you can probably assume how Indycar fits into this. If Mick ever decides that he does want to take a step in his carreer that is his, and only his, what better option could there be? At the end of the day he turned out to be one of the guys that didn't make it in F1 that Michael talks about in that clip, but would he accept the challenge that Michael Schumacher, of all people, deemed to dangerous?

Sure, Indycar is on average not on the same talent level as F1, even though there is clearly a lot of overlap, but at the end of the day they still have the 500, which is as good of a way to carve your name into history as any. Am I saying that Mick will win the 500 if he joins Indycar? Not necessarily, but it's always a possibility. Why not give it a go? I also think that the Schumacher name carries less weight in the US. Is that a good thing? A bad thing? Who knows, but it might take the tiniest bit of pressure and expectation off Mick's back.

#enough rambling for tonight i am going to bed #ask #contemplations

[melis-writes]

Victoria asking for a divorce and Michael denying it

Oh noooo we’re back to the angsty divorce prompts!! 😭 This is bound to take a heartbreaking, emotional turn…💔💔💔

“It’s the same conversations, over and o-over again.” You let out a shaky sigh—your head practically pounding now for sobbing over an hour. “I s-sit here and cry, and you don’t listen to me.”

“I do listen to you, and we have to have these conversations no matter how many times.” Michael frowns, looking into your eyes although any semblance of pity or heartache close to yours in non-existent in Michael’s expression; seeming only frustrated and bitter with you. “I know this isn’t over, Victoria.”

“It never is, is it?” You hiccup, your bottom lip quivering uncontrollably. “You go, I stay behind with the kids… I don’t s-see you, we don’t touch each other.”

“Everything I do is for the family.” Michael tells you sternly. “Everything. I value you and our children. I’m building a future for them, don’t you see that? I have to do this. I come home to you and only you every night—”

“Every night.” You repeat as if it’s a joke. ”M-more like every month now, please stop it, Michael. Your side of the bed is ice cold and I can’t even smell the cologne on your clothes anymore. Y-you’re not here—you haven’t been for so long and you just insist and insist—” You break down into tears, waving the papers you clench in your hand in Michael’s fist. “On just leaving me alone so sign the goddamn papers already so it can be official!”

“No.” It’s the most emotional filled tone of voice you’ve ever heard Michael speak to you in as he’s practically swatting your hand down. “Never.”

“Do it.” You croak out, shoving the papers in his hands. “I’ve already signed them, now you—”

“You signed them!?” Michael raises his voice, beginning to seethe in anger.

“I want a divorce!” You cry out, pushing Michael back. “I don’t want to be with you like this anymore!”

“Victoria, stop it—” Michael scowls but your sobs grow far louder than his protesting. “I’m not—” Michael tears up the divorce papers to tiny shreds in front of you. “Signing a goddamn thing, do you hear me?”

“You have to.” You narrow your tear filled eyes at him. “I’m not giving you a choice, I’ll get the paperwork done again and—”

“LIKE HELL YOU WILL!” Michael points an accusing finger at you. “You have some fucking nerve, Victoria, going and doing that behind my back to begin with—”

“Beats sitting here crying and wailing behind a locked door to you about how fucking lonely I am!” You shriek. “I’m thirty five years old and my libido is non-existent, I’m going to therapy to cope with the fact I can hear our children crying because you miss their birthdays, send them no presents on Christmas when you’re away, or how about the fact when you came home last week, James didn’t even recognize you?!”

“Stop. Talking.” Michael grits his teeth. “I’m aware of everything that’s happened between us, don’t raise your fucking voice at me. Talk to me like a goddamn normal person—do you  hear me yelling at you?!”

“Go ahead!” You throw your hands up in surrender, taking a step back. “Do it, Michael. Say all of your mean things! Let it all off your chest but I sure as hell am! Every moment you don’t spend with your own wife and children I know you spend it with someone else—”

“You’re fucking ridiculous!” Michael slams his hand down on your vanity table, causing the makeup and nailpolish over top of it to tumble over. “You don’t appreciate anything I’ve done for our family? All the sacrifices I’ve had to make for the both of us?! You think I like living like this—that I don’t miss what we had?”

“Had.” You whimper, tears beginning to spill down your cheeks again. “E-even you know we’re done, you’re just denying it.”

“I’m not.” Michael places his hands on your arms, pulling you to him. “I love you too much to ever walk away from you, Victoria.”

“But I don’t love you.” You look up at Michael, resistant against his grasp

Michael remains silent for almost a minute straight, refusing to let go of you.

All emotion clears from his expression except grave disappointment as he brings himself able to speak again. “You don’t love me.”

“No, I don’t.” It breaks your heart to a thousand pieces just to admit, but your mind can’t allow you to lie any longer. “N-not anymore, and not for quite some time. There’s n-nothing left to love when you’re not here. Now I’m j-just a stranger, a woman who warms your bed and cooks you meals you leave out cold for hours. I can’t l-love a man like you, Michael. S-so you see,” you pull your arms back, clasping Michael’s hand against your loosened wedding band.

“Just like you didn’t leave me and the children a choice… I’m not giving you one anymore.” You slide off the ring, putting it in Michael’s palm.

“It doesn’t matter,” you hiccup again as tears blur your vision. “It doesn’t m-matter if you don’t sign the papers, because even you know you don’t have a choice anymore.”

“I will never—” Michael’s throat tightens as you can swear to yourself there’s tears in the corners of his eyes. “Ever sign anything that—”

“I’m done with you ruining my life.” You breathe out, silencing him immediately. “I’m d-done with the loneliness, the lies, the embarrassment. I’m t-taking the children and I’m leaving you, Michael—for good.”

#godfather au #prompts #Michael corleone #Michael corleone x reader #Michael corleone fanfic #moth to flame fanfic #michael corleone x oc #godfather x reader #moth to flame fic

[hannibalissobbg]

I wrote this on a whim for myself and a friend as a way to cope with s2 🫶 just a side note the fight isn’t exactly word for word like the episode i rephrase some things

I dont wanna leave you now:

After a striking conversation with Nina and Maggie, Crowley felt it right in his soul that today was the right day to be honest with angel. It was now or never. He, however was terrible with words especially when it came to his own emotions. What would he say? I’m in love with you, nows the right time to say it please tell me you feel the same it’s been 6000 blasted years? No that wasn’t right he had to say something better than that or else angel would laugh in his face, no he’s too kind for that. He would just give Crowley a look and then he’d want to run away anywhere and leave London for the rest of this planets life.

He was thinking far too much about what he’d say so much so that when angel came into the shop he didn’t even notice.

“Crowley!” His voice practically lit up the room, and Crowley turned quickly at the sound of his name being voiced by angel. He froze and his anxiety peaked, however he pushed it down hoping it would go unnoticed by him.

“Listen I have something to tell you” This was voiced by the both of them, Crowley glanced at him curiously. Had Metatron told him something? Surely it wasn’t that serious, right?

“Listen I think it’s best if I start off all the talking-“

“How do humans phrase it? Oh yes! Hold that thought my dear, I have incredibly good news to share! Okay so um! I talked to Metatron and he told me that well they were looking for someone to replace Gabriel in the position of supreme archangel” Crowley stood silent, hoping almost pleading internally that angel wouldn’t be leading to the direction that was becoming evident he was pushing towards.

He continued to speak, eagerness and excitement in his tone.

“And I asked him who would he choose? Michael? And thats when he told me, well he told me I’m the one for the job. He even said.. well he said..” His eyes gleamed and crowley’s heart dropped as he told him what Metatron has said. He felt like he had been jabbed in the gut. His mouth felt like it was glued shut, as if he couldn’t utter a single word. Still he uttered three words.

“He said what?”

He continued speaking.

“He said I could appoint you to be an angel you could come back to heaven and well everything just like the old times except even nicer, isn’t that something?” He smiled in awe, looking for some type of acceptance in crowleys eyes that weren’t there, that could never be there.

After a long minute that felt much longer, he finally spoke.

“And you told him directly where he could stick it then right?.. Right?” His voice seethed with boiling anger, but he wasn’t yelling either. Angels eyes widened at his response, it wasn’t what he had hoped for and Crowley could tell. And it tore him to shreds, he felt he might collapse.

“Well..I.. not at all” he said with an unbothered smile, that hurt Crowley worse than any other words he had uttered.

“I don’t need them, I certain don’t need hell either! When they asked I said no! I would never rejoin those guys! ” His voice raised in disbelief, here they were discussing the same old thing of heaven and hell.

“Well of course you wouldn’t theyre the bad guys!” Angel said with an Indestructible smile “But heaven on the other hand well it’s the sign of truth and right, good.” After all these years and Angel still didn’t get it, he still didn’t.

“When heaven destroys the earth it’ll be just as bad as if hell did it.” He seethed in anger

“Tell me you told him no angel.. tell me you told him no..” He almost pleaded and felt his frustration build up. Suddenly he felt the worst and most heart wrenching feeling of betrayal.

“Well if I’m in charge I could make a difference” he said hoping for some understanding.

Crowley pushed this aside and let out a heavy sigh.

“Okay right I didn’t get a chance to say what I was gonna say so I think I’d better say it now.” He said walking back and forth to calm his nerves and bubbling frustration with this whole situation.

“Right okay yes so.. we’ve known each other a long time. We’ve been on this planet for a long time I mean you and me. I could always rely on you, you could always rely on me. We’re a team, a group of the two of us. And we spent our existence pretending that we aren’t.” He looked directly into Aziraphales eyes as he said this and the others face was confused and Hoping for more clarity.

“I mean the last few years.. not really and I would like to spend…hmm..” his voice faltered as he tried to compose himself. He was never used to being so open and honest, it took everything in him to not leave or just collapse on the ground in defeat. He needed to say this, he needed for Aziraphale to understand.

“I mean if Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it.. go off together than we can.” Angel looked at him with those unreadable eyes, and he just wanted to know what he was thinking. For once Crowley was scared, scared of the outcome of this.

“Just the two of us.. we don’t need heaven we don’t need hell..they’re toxic!” He said loudly hoping this would give angel his clarity, he tried so hard so desperately for 6000 years to show Aziraphale this to explain it to him. He thought that he could understand and he was, until Metatron came along with his bloody proposal, nothing could ever go right for them could it? He just wanted to be with Angel like Gabriel is with Beelzebub is that so hard to ask for?

“We need to get away from them, just be us! You and me what do you say?” He said finally ending his speech. Angel didn’t waste a second before responding.

“Come with me..to heaven I’ll run it you can be my second in command. We can make a difference.” He looked into crowleys eyes longing for him to agree. Of course they could never be on their own side, heaven and hell always had to meddle. Why couldn’t angel just leave them? Why? Why couldn’t they just leave the both of them alone?

Silently almost as if he were commanding it he said “you can’t leave this book shop”

“Oh crowley.. nothing lasts forever.” He tried hard to keep himself upright when he felt like he was falling apart.

“No. No, I suppose it doesn’t” he placed his glasses back on, he couldn’t stand to look directly into Aziraphales eyes and for him to look back at his. It was too much.

“Goodluck.” He rushed to leave, he couldn’t stand to be there any longer without feeling as if he were suffocating.

“Good luck? Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted after him before he could leave.

“Come back to heaven, work with me! We can be together! Angels! Doing good..!” His voice faltered and his eyes filled with emotions as they turned glossy. All the pleading in the world wouldn’t keep Crowley from saying no over and over. He would follow Aziraphale to the ends of the earth to anywhere he went. But to go back to heaven.. the heaven that hurt him that would’ve let aziraphale die without hesitation. He couldn’t do that not even if he were by his side.

“I.. I need you!” His eyes and voice pleaded with him, but Crowley didn’t budge. In fact he couldn’t even look at him.

“I don’t think you understand what I’m offering you.” He countered hoping for Crowley to say that he’s right and he would go off with him. That aziraphale was right.

“I understand. I think I understand it a whole lot better than you do.” He resigned, because aziraphale didn’t get it. How would he understand?

“Well then there’s nothing more to say.” Aziraphale said with full resignation, looking hurt but accepting his decision although it hurt him.

“Listen. You hear that?” Crowley said shortly after, the silence filling the room.

“I don’t hear anything.” Aziraphale frowned, looking for the point of his words.

“That’s the point. No nightingales” Crowley said, as aziraphale looked at him with a hurt expression. Crowley was pleading with Aziraphale deep in his heart, hoping for anything that could change his mind.

“You idiot. We could’ve been.. us.” He finally said feeling his feet build up the courage to rush across the room as he grabbed aziraphale by his coat and clashed his lips against his in desperation, this was his last attempt. He pulled them deeper into the kiss as he felt Aziraphale’s no attempt to pull away as he kissed him back. Crowley felt the others hand placed on his back as he finally embraced him fully and slowly put both his hands on crowleys face as he sweetly caresses his face and Crowley felt as if he could melt right here and right now.

Aziraphale was accepting this kiss, he was leaning into it. This was him saying he wanted Crowley too, this was his answer to all of his pleadings and wishes. He wanted to stay with Crowley too, and he was. Tears were strolling down his own cheeks which was quick to alarm aziraphale as he felt the wet tears on his hands that were cupping Crowley.

Although they didn’t need the air, their lips finally parted.

They look at each other in awe and both in tears, crowleys glasses were tilted from the angle and length of their kiss so he took them off to reveal his watery eyes.

“Oh my dear.. I’m so sorry for everything I said.. I didn’t think anything through I just.. I wanted to fix things I wanted to change it for you. I didn’t want you to change for heaven I wanted heaven to be changed for you. I wanted you to be happy.” His voice broke as Crowley smiled softly.

“Angel.. I am happy. Im happy with you, we don’t need heaven and hell. We have each other, just like Beelzebub and Gabriel said you are my heaven angel. You are my everything, as long as I have you I truly don’t need anything else. To spend all of eternity with you is all I ask for, it’s all I’ve ever wanted.” He smiled with his voice wavering at the overwhelming emotions he felt. Angel smiled at him, and let out a quiet sob as he worked up the words to say and Crowley embraced him tightly hoping to never have to let him go, and angel reciprocated.

“Oh Crowley.. It’s always been you since I first saw you create the stars. I loved you at the garden of Eden, since Rome, since 1941, since Armageddon, and that feeling has only gotten stronger. I love you so much my heart aches at the thought of leaving you, I can’t bear it. I’m sorry I even thought about it.” This time he was the one to kiss Crowley, he wanted to express all his love and longing in one kiss, even if it was impossible he still tried.

“I just.. I always find myself going back to heaven no matter what. Even if they’ve hurt me so many times, I still feel like I have to try up there. I thought making a change might help this time..” Crowley had never truly realized just how horribly heaven had damaged Aziraphale, and it hurt his heart all the more.

“You need a Break from them angel, they have damaged you so many times, treated you horribly. You deserve to be far from them.” He said, anger bubbling in him from just how tired angel sounded.

“it feels like there’s something wrong with me, some reason why they didn’t like me so much, and that it is my fault. Have I done something wrong to have them dislike me so much Crowley?” And his heart broke at how broken and hurt angel was. At how much of this was kept inside of him for so long. They were so similar, but except aziraphale had stayed. He was hurt so much more longer. It made sense on why his attachment and loyalty to heaven was so hard to let go. But the fact that they made aziraphale question himself and to believe there was something wrong with him? Crowley was livid. He wanted to go to heaven and tear down the walls so they could pay for what pain they caused angel.

“There’s nothing wrong with you angel, there could never be. It’s them that’s the problem, you never deserved any of their hate. Fuck them.” He frowned as aziraphale smiled weakly, as if he didn’t buy it.

It would take a long time for him to help aziraphale feel otherwise, but they had a whole lot of time. And Crowley would never leave his side, and it seems for certain that aziraphale wouldn’t dare either.

“Tell me what burdens your heart angel, I want to hear everything.” He said sincerely, it was the only way he’d fully understand aziraphale’s choices as well as to support him. Nina and Maggie were right, what they needed to do was talk.

“well..I.. I’m not sure you’d want to listen.. or anything well uh yes well..” He was starting to become incoherent.

“Angel, listen to me it’s okay. Take your time I’m here and am not going anywhere. Start when you’re ready.” This time he took a few deep breaths and nodded.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #crowley #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale #i just want them to be happy #please #i need a season 3 #good omens spoilers

[antimonyandthyme]

Superhero AU; Apology

The Sorry I tried to murder you conversation goes like this:

Mick knocks until his knuckles ache, and begs until he loses his voice. Haas and Ferrari talk. Ferrari is willing to let the skirmish go as long as Mick keeps his mouth shut. The media ask about Michael; Mick feigns ignorance. Whenever words threaten to slip past his teeth, he thinks about the tears in Sebastian’s previously unmarred skin. Cuts made from an instrument finer than a scalpel. It makes his throat close right back up.

Every day, he stops by. Even after the first few times Charles has threatened to burn him alive. Forgiveness, understanding, such things take time. As does the way an idea takes seed and festers into a rage so punishing it flays all it touches. Mick knocks.

“Please.” Mick thinks these words might have to rest on his tongue for the remainder of his life. Please, and sorry.

“Fuck off,” Charles says from the inside. “He doesn’t need you here.”

No, of course Sebastian doesn’t. He doesn’t need to see the person who came close to ripping him to shreds. Or the person who’s a walking reminder of Michael. Or the person who was naive and petulant and misunderstood things in a way that was irreversibly damaging. “Please,” he tries anyway.

Charles doesn’t reply. Mick falls asleep, crouched uncomfortably on the floor, his back curved against the unyielding door.

“Fuck’s sake,” Charles says angrily, a couple of hours or a couple of weeks later. Mick’s lost count. Charles shoves a plate of food into Mick’s hands. “If he sees you like that, he’d be sad. That’s the only reason why I’m doing this.”

“Why isn’t he waking?” Mick scrabbles to his feet, sways. Charles barely stops himself from reaching out. He must look a sorry sight. “What’s wrong with him?”

Charles fingers are twitching by his sides, like he’s contemplating blasting Mick through the wall with a flamethrower. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because I was wrong.” Mick thinks he might cry. He hasn’t, since Michael. The last time he laid eyes on Sebastian they were hauling him onto a stretcher, both Charles and him, so exhausted from their duel they could hardly support Sebastian’s weight. The last thing Sebastian had said to him before passing out was, Don’t blame yourself, Mick. “And I need to make it right.”

Charles glares. Mick wonders if he has to endure another fight with fire. He isn’t sure if he can win. He still isn’t fully recovered from the last time Charles deservingly set him alight. He wonders if he has to get on his knees.

“Maybe he doesn’t want to wake up,” Charles says. He sounds heartbroken, in a furious sort of way. “Maybe seeing you was too painful.”

Charles is probably right. Mick doesn’t know the full extent of Sebastian’s power—no one does—but he’s aware accelerated healing contributed to the facade of invulnerability. If Sebastian isn’t waking, then maybe, even if the thought is awful and makes guilt crush his chest, maybe Sebastian isn’t waking by choice.

“Let me,” Mick says. “Let me speak to him and ask his forgiveness and yell at him until he wakes. Let me try.” To make this right.

Charles is staring at him, unimpressed.

“I can be real stubborn. I’m a Schumacher.”

“Yeah.” For the first time in eight weeks, Charles steps aside. “That you are.”

The apologies go like this:

I was angry. And scared. I thought you’d betrayed him. I let the idea fester and I turned you into the enemy. I was wrong. I’m sorry, Sebastian. I’m really fucking sorry. Can you hear me? I’m sorry. I was wrong. I hurt you. I’m sorry. Wake up. I’m sorry.

“I told you not to blame yourself,” Sebastian says, some three months after Mick tried to murder the one person who loved him so much even Ferrari couldn’t cover it up. His eyes are bluer than a clear day’s sky.

#athy texts #smick #sebchal #superhero au #fanfic #rpf

[official-lauchzwiebel]

SPOILERS FOR THE FIRST TWO EPISODES OF GOOD OMENS SEASON 2.

Semi-coherent jumbled thoughts after watching the first two episodes:

----

The opening. This is what i saw on some bingo cards but that i certainly did not have on mine.

Crowley -- (or whatever his angel name was) he's so proud and joyful and --

Very immersed in his work and Azirphale is so adoring and glad to help

-the LOOK on his face when crowley called his creation beautiful. And how his smile fell when he realised what crowley was talking about.

The advice. The cut.

THE WING SHELTER PARALLEL.

i am losing it. God.

There is so much happening ngl

MAGGIE!! YOU GO GIRL!! (i feel you sweetheart.)

Jim's appearance. Work. Y'all better keep an eye on the flies.

Uriel's and Michael's passive aggressiveness. (Me from the sidelines: rip each other to shreds!)

HELLO!!! MURIEL!!! IN PLAID AND KILT! (foreshadowing much?)

GOOD OLD FASHIONED LOVER BOY. MY PRAYERS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED. THANK YOU.

The argument the break up

The lightning bolt (same) the aur naur we're stuck together what do we do.

beelzebub's appearance - 'oh this old thing?'

Not sure how i feel about nina's partner. Excited to learn more about her.

THE FUCKING. APOLOGY DANCE. WHAT IN. I AM LOSING MY MIND I WAS SCREECHING THE HOUSE DOWN.

'Together'. I am Fine.

Work.

The cut from 'we did well' to alarms blaring in heaven. Comedy.

Job's minisode. I. The characterization. The details. The understanding. The joy. The lie(s). The tears. (My heart broke! Lol!) I might need a few business days to process that.

No words left i cannot form coherent sentences about this minisode and all it gave us yet. Bravo tho.

Everyday!!!! It's a getting closer!!!!

Jane austen? A woman of many talents it seems. Loved the inclusion of the first line of p&p (foreshadowing?).

Rain and canopy? Cotillon ball? Why not both? (Aka Pride and Prejudice 2005)

Aww poor maggie :( i get u girlie.

Yeahhh baby the wheelchair ramp!!

Aziraphale bestie. What a save. Good luck in your endeavour.

A Clue! Please feature a clue boardgame at least once. The references (red herring and the like) make so much more sense now. Excited to see how Private Detective Aziraphale (with unforeseen art skills) will deal with all this and investigate.

PLEASEEEEE THE CAR. YOU KNOW HOW MUCH IT MEANS TO CROWLEY PLEASE. OUR CAR. I AM GOING FERAL. DOES ANYBODY WANT ANYTHING.

Roadtrip to e. Next! I hope!

Lots of thoughts. Head full yet empty (just like jim). Time for sleep.

Until tomorrow! (SO excited!!)

#good omens #gos2 #GOS2 SPOILERS #good omens spoilers #spoilers #good omens 2 #season 2

[house-of-slayterr]

Dwayne. And Michael. Just chilling with each other and getting high.

The other boys had insisted on going out to the boardwalk today. But Dwayne was getting tired of the same old same old. He knew the terror twins would cause some chaos, and either he or David would have to step in to get them out of trouble. It was exhausting. Almost like having two vampire toddlers with you at all times. So he asked to stay behind. Of course Paul called him lame for it, but David understood and bid him farewell for the night.

Micheal however, was bored out of his mind. When he spotted David on the board walk, her thought perhaps he’s see what the vampire was up to.

“Good evening Micheal” David said in a fake formal voice.

Micheal rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses.

“You do know the sun is nowhere in sight, right fledgling?” David mocked.

“Yeah Yeah. What are you guys up to?” Micheal asked.

“Paul’s off somewhere making out with some Bloke, Marko found a midnight snack, and I’m waiting for Star and Laddie to bring back soda.” David puffed out a plume of smoke.

“Hmm, you didn’t mention Dwayne.” Micheal observed.

It wasn’t meant to be loud enough, but of course David heard it. He was a vampire after all.

“Dwayne’s back at the cave, wanted a rest day.” David shrugged.

David watched as Micheal stumbled int he direction of the cave, his choice clear. He was amused who used to everything Micheal was getting, not longer freaking out by the whole vampire thing.

Dwayne was shocked when he heard footsteps, not expecting the boys to be back yet. He was even more surprised when he saw Micheal.

“What are you doing up here fledgling?”

It’s something he’d taken to calling the younger half vampire. With his flat tone it sounded more like an insult, but it’s as intended to be endearing. Micheal was David’s, but that didn’t mean the other boys weren’t allowed to have affections for the boy.

“Bored.” He hummed mindlessly.

Dwayne let out a rare, breathy chuckle. Something light and airy, a feeling he normally only got around the youngest pack member. Dwayne Patted the couch next to him.

“And Paul and Marko couldn’t help you with that?” He asked amused.

“Paul was sucking face, while Marko was sucking neck.”

Another short laugh.

“Still avoiding blood I see. Star’s not much better.” The Vamprie commented. “It’s not that scary you know. You’re first kill. Actually gives you quite the rush.”

“Some of us still have our humanity” Micheal mumbled.

It was amusing. Dwayne was perhaps the most human in the group. Still sharing affections the others had long forgotten. Still with a shred of morality outside basic survival instinct. But even he didn’t mind killing all that much. He only ate people who deserved it. He saw how tense the boy was.

“You need to relax Micheal.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Let me help you.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you fledgling, I’m routing for you.”

Dwayne was up from the couch in a heart beat. Searching his way through Paul’s little cove for the thing he needed. It wasn’t hard to find, Paul bought the best weed California has to offer. There were a few rolled blunts already made and Dwayne was sure Paul wouldn’t mind. He came back to the couch and offered one to Micheal.

“Come on, live a little.” Dwayne smirked.

Micheal accepted the contraband. Dwayne lit it with one of the many lighters David had lying around, then lighting his own. The boys smoked in silence for a few mins, just letting the sensation was over them. Micheal was the first to speak.

“Do you think I have a chance with her?” He asked.

“Who?” Dwayne knew who he was talking about, he just wanted to hear the younger boy say it.

“Star. She just so, so- gorgeous. And pretty, and like a- like a STAR!” Micheal put emphasis on the last word.

It was cute, how excited he got. And all it took was a little Pot to calm his nerves and get him to talk.

“I mean I don’t want to mess things up with David, but I really like her man. Imagine- imagine if we turned together. Wouldn’t that be hot.”

Dwayne’s face flushed a little at the thought of Star and Micheal feeding off the same poor victim. Seeing their full vampire faces for the first time, watching them grow into their strength. It was exhilarating. He remembered when he was turned, what it felt like.

“Yeah, and who would you pick?”

Micheal laughed, thinking it over.

“One of those No food Surf Nazi’s that’s always trying to flirt with her. They’ve got no respect. None!”

“Maybe you should tell Star.”

“Yeah right. ‘He Star, you know what guy that’s been bothering you, want to bite into his neck and feed on him until his heart stops?’ So romantic.”

Dwayne laughed.

“We’ll when you put it like that- any vampire would be crazy to decline your offer.” He gave the kid a big grin.

They were similar in age, technically. But his vampire years made him much older than the boy sat next to him. It was like being a mentor. A Senior trying to help out the Freshman.

“What if i don’t even do it right.”

Now he let out a real laugh, almost choking. Poor Micheal, worried about performance issues. It was almost comical.

“Bitings real easy Micheal.” He scotched closer to the boy. “You just gotta get in close, flirt a little, scare them maybe. Whatever you’re into”

Micheal looked him in the eyes as the vampire moved closer.

“Corner them.” Dwayne put both hands on either side of Micheal trapping him on the couch. The boys locked eyes as a grin grew on Dwayne’ face.

“And when they start begging, you block them out. Lean in close right here” he tapped the boys jugular vein.

Micheal swallowed thickly. He’d never been bitten before. Maybe knowing what it felt like would make him less anxious, it couldn’t be that bad could it.

“And when you feel their heart beat speed up, you sink in”

A small pinch was felt on Micheal’s neck as a surge of electricity went through him. Dwayne’s legs we in between his own, pinning them open and he was pinned to the couch. He leaned his head back, giving the older vampire more access. It felt… good? Did all victims feel this way? Perhaps the bite was a gift, not torture. That would ease Star’s mind if he told her right? Then they could be together forever.

A small groan left his mouth at the thought, the pleasure of the bite mixing in with it. He felt the vibrations of a chuckle from Dwyane’s lips. Dwayne pulled away, leaving Micheal’s neck cold.

“Somebodies excited.”

“That’s not fair. How do you expect me to concentrate when I’m stoned out of my mind right now.”

“That’s the best part. You taste better this way anyways.”

Dwayne leaned down and bit into the other wide of the boys neck. It wasn’t often vampires would feed from other vampires, or even halflings. But Dwayne couldn’t help himself. Something about Micheal was just so… Tasty. He had to have a bite, and once he tasted him, he couldn’t stop. He was getting more high from the weed in Micheal’s system and it felt heavenly.

Neither of the boys noticed other footsteps arrive.

“Well, well, well, what do we have hear?” David’s snug voice rang out.

Dwayne froze, pulling back from Micheal’s neck. We wiped the dribble of blood that slipped from his lips. Paul was next to him in an instant, pulling the joy into a kiss and licking the remaining blood off his tongue. Marko groaned.

“No fair Paul! I wanted to try too!” He whined.

David rolled his eyes at their antics. He knew both boys had fed tonight. Why they were being so needy is beyond him. But it was amusing.

“So Micheal, how are you feeling?” David asked, sitting next to him.

Of course he was jealous Dwayne touched what was his. But he couldn’t blame the vampire, Micheal did smell delicious. Micheal tried to hide his blush. Laddie had ran over to the boys and asked to be held by Dwayne, and Star didn’t even seem remotely phased by the whole thing. David beckoned her forward, and she obliged like she always did. He instructed her to sit on Micheal’s lap.

David looked at the two of them like they were the prettiest thing in the world.

“Maybe Dwayne had the right idea. The two of you are so nervous, why don’t you practice on each other first?” He suggested.

He tried to sound sweet, but everyone else knew he had devious intentions. Of course he wanted to watch the two fledglings feed on each other, devour each other. Who wouldn’t? The two lovebirds Blushed furiously, but it didn’t seem like it was that bad of an idea.

“Practice?” Star asked Micheal.

“Practice.” He confirmed.

An: if you saw this because I accidentally posted before I finished, no the fuck you didn’t 😂

#dwayne the lost boys #micheal emerson #the Lost boys #the Lost boys imagine #Dwayne x Micheal #send asks #i’m bored