D4B11SSU35

Partial Set of black fangs on a red background



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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    Derek blows some more smoke out. He chooses to look at Stiles’ mouth instead of in his eyes, again. “I need you to bring someone back.”

    “Back.”

    “From the dead.”

    “Absolutely not,” Stiles scoffs, shaking his head. “Not for you, not for all the money in the world.”

    Derek looks at him, just looks. He is not going to accept no for an answer, and Stiles knows it, but it doesn’t matter, because Stiles will not do that. He cannot do that, not again. “Why not for me in specific?”

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    23 Aug 2023

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    There was a reason Geralt was tracking the bard from court to city to backwater bar. "You're being followed."

    "By a burly and surprisingly handsome Witcher." Jaskier winked.

    "By a slaver."

    Or: On the night of his Child Surprise, Geralt started a rumor that inadvertently leads to Jaskier being the target of a sadistic slave trader.

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    23 May 2023

  3. Public Bookmark 22

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    It's true that on rare occasions he finds the thought of watching other people have sex appealing. It's definitely more appealing than doing it himself, and if he's going to dream about it, it's not surprising that he'd dream about Martin. He isn't entirely oblivious; he knows his own feelings, and he knows he has them about Martin.

    But first off, he can't imagine why he would dream about Peter Lukas, a man he's never even met. He doesn't even know what Peter Lukas looks like. And second, the dream felt like--

    Well, it felt like reading a statement.

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    22 Apr 2023

  4. Public Bookmark 4

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    “I’m sorry,” said Peter. “I think I misheard you, Martin. You won’t help save the world?”

    Martin sighed, heavy and long-suffering. He was always short on patience when it came to Peter, and Peter had made little effort to alleviate that feeling.

    Martin has stipulations for his help.

    Series
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    22 Apr 2023

  5. Public Bookmark 91

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    “Are you a godly man, Doctor Sims?”

    “I don’t think I can answer that question in a way that matters.”

    “Rest assured I don’t expect that.”

    Quiet.

    “I believe…” he starts, then stops to breathe in, deeply. Just to stall, just to think, just to avoid Father Lucas’s attentive gaze, he takes a drag off his cigarette “I believe in people. On the best of people. On their worst, too. But it’s very difficult to be surrounded by dying men in a tent that smells of stale blood and gunpowder and believe there’s someone up there looking out for us.”

    And he can see them now. Clutching their rosaries, calling out to their mothers, to their gods, to their long lost lovers. He can see them while the nurses held hands that would inevitably grow still and he could see himself, the only one with the responsibility to change their fate, useless in the centre of it.


    --

    In 1950s Poplar, a group of nuns and nurses carry the health of the neighbourhood on their shoulders.
    Amongst deaths and births, a lonely doctor meets a conflicted priest.

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    05 Nov 2022