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anantaru · 7 months

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DAY 16 — DUMBIFICATION

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

kink. dumbification — dumbing down one's intelligence, treating you like their personal, little airhead who likes nothing more than to please them

𖧡 — including — tighnari, dottore, scaramouche, childe

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, dumbification, dom/sub dynamics, petnames: toy, cocksleeve, princess, baby, cockwarming, mean but only a little i prommy, dry humping, oral (male! receiving), both parties are consenting

𖧡 — TIGHNARI

you encounter a bitter chuckle and it pelts over your natural sensors when tighnari folds one arm around your waist as you straddle him— you're quick to swallow down a suppressed whimper when he swiftly rides your shirt up and rests it above your exposed breasts, revealing the glow of your juddering skin to his famished, gluttonous eyes.

"you're not allowed to move, okay?" he orders, his jaw tensed and constricted before adding to his somewhat condescending choice of tone, "just keep still while i continue my work load."

"you can do that, right?" and you nod all bubbly at him, quite excitedly, the untroubled feverishness that had been enclosing you from the inside now burned brightly and manifesting into something much more intense— your flailing hole clenching around nothing as you claw around his chest, you're so obedient to his orders it's almost unfathomable, or at least that's what tighnari always seems to think.

he gestures you to lift up your hips a little so he could line himself with your slit, your legs growing achy at the intentional, almost beguiling idleness on how tighnari took his sweet moment with you even though you could barely wait to feel him prod inside.

before at last, he rubs his bulbous tip over your aching pussy and aids you in taking all his inches down. he paws around your chest with one hand, cruelly trapping one erected nipple against his pointer finger and thumb before twisting it ever so slightly— again, this time with a tremor of judders spreading on your tit before your eyes toss back into the remotest part of your skull.

tighnari heaves out a satisfied hum at your obedience, the vibrations of his voice soothingly reverberating through your trembling skin as you swathe your arms around his neck, "fuck— so good, who would've thought, huh?" he praises, the sloppiness of your pussy making it quite easy for tighnari to sheathe himself entirely inside.

"but what else is expected," he heaves a shrill noise and stops himself in midst sentencing when you gush around him, his dick twitching and hardening when your slit oozes of your arousal and dribbles along the slopes of his balls, "—from someone, fuck! who has nothing else to offer other than this."

for reasons unbeknownst to you, this particular sentence didn't hit you as hard as you originally thought it would because, frankly— you really do give him everything he wanted, but so did he, occasionally, fulfill any wishes you had. call it a equivalent exchange, or you being way too air headed to realize that tighnari was using you for your body, a quick fuck so he could get rid of the aching pain in his groin and was able to focus on his piling work.

now, tighnari's heavy erection was making you feeling weaker and you swear, you can feel him throb inside your lower belly by how deep and thick he buried himself in, your fingertips digging into the flesh of his back when all you needed for was for him to finally move, or at least finish his jarring work load so he'd perhaps become a little more relaxed, and relatively nicer before pleasing you in a correct manner.

you furiously throb whilst gushing on his length and the man tosses his head to the side, his ears twitching of sensitivity due to the chain reaction of his groin receiving way too much overflowing pleasure before eyeing his work load up and down in an annoying glance, biting down hard on his tongue as he feels you writhe and twitch around his length— all the while shallowly thudding over his soaked shaft, his tip pressing into one tantalizing patch inside of your walls and ugh, what a bummer, finishing his task will be one difficult duty to fulfill.

however, you would never leave nor complain, you're way too excited and delighted to have a cock overbrim you to the hilt, your sticky walls peppering kisses around his shaft and warming him up as tighnari can leisurely carry on to finish his work for the night.

𖧡 — DOTTORE

dottore thinks it's amusing how much you liked for his cock to be warmed up inside your mouth with his velvety tip repeatedly prodding at the back of your sensitive throat— the harbinger was mischievous on his own accordance, and it's one of the reasons your attraction to him was like an intoxication, proceeding to do whatever he wanted you to do without pondering around his requests at least once.

"you're not crying, are you?" the man chastises with his eyes locked down on your body being slotted between his parted thighs, "it's not too much, right?" and his large palm soothingly trails over your cheek to brush the single droplet off your face. it was apparent that with his thick shaft being enclosed by your mouth, it was growing more difficult to breathe out nor answer him without muttering incoherently and making an even bigger fool out of yourself— yet despite that, for you, it was never too much, never too rough when he fucked your mouth or your sweet, perfect cunt for that matter.

because you see, you adored him, all of him and yearned for dottore to fuck you stupid, call you his airhead or precious cocksleeve, until you're nothing but a hiccuping mess of a person around his length with a mixture of saliva and his salty pre dribbling down your chin and gathering on the cold, office floor.

you swallow around his groin before hollowing your cheeks, your head spinning into a cloud with the feeling of him charging into your mouth without a single inch of remorse, your big puppy eyes fluttering up at him behind doused lashes as he brushes a large hand through your hair, your eyes brilliant of exclaimed trills happily pummeling at your affection for him.

it's a perfect situation in your eyes and there was nothing better than being used by the second harbinger, and so was he ethereal to you, the sounds of him talking in such low manners, for one without a threatening tone lacing the beginnings of his sentences has the reactive pearl between your folds throbbing, the wetness of your sticky cunt splattering all over your panties.

you continue to shower his length with affection, parading your warm tongue around the underside of his shaft, always putting the pleasure there especially prominent because well— dottore has trained you adequately after all, had shown you how to tackle him so he could feverishly cum down your constricted throat and spit his milky whites down the aching, used spots in your used mouth.

bobbing your head up and down, you swallow back the drool budding inside your warmth, yet leaving most of it prancing on top of your tongue so it could act as a lubrication, a choked moan suddenly rattling above your head as dottore conceals his lips with the back of his hand before coughing out— his pale cheeks scarlet red, his face twisted akin to a wicked, indulgent countenance as you curve your palm around his balls to smear the trickling saliva on the flesh.

how adorable his enchanting toy was to him, being so unbelievably skilled at taking his cock all the way up to the base, your lips moving in tandem with his strong thrusts into your wet warmth— utterly aware that for you, there was nothing more pleasing than to end a night with his seedy arousal marking up the entirety of your throat, using you as his own dumb, little cock sleeve, his pleasure-seeking princess, instantly parting your mouth the moment he simply told you to do you.

𖧡 — SCARAMOUCHE

"i must admit, i have neglected you," scaramouche hums quietly into your neck, his cold hands soothing over the slopes of your body as you squeal when his cock first enters you— committed to the usual rhythm on his hips, he had long since engraved it in his very own memories, his large cock parting your slit as you squeeze around him, quick to angle your hips a little so he could press himself in deeper.

you whine, your juices running down your plush ass before you shut your thighs around his hips, growing more constricted, "ah— it's okay, kuni," you take a moment to lock gazes with him while he eases himself back and forth your warmth— ugh, you're so tight it's truly unfair, and his cock was weighing down around the thudding splotches of your pussy before throbbing and thickening inside, perhaps giving you a taste of your own medicine.

so you could manage feel him, so your hands could helplessly fly up to his hair and rush him into a feverish, messy kiss.

"I really did miss you," scaramouche was the first to speak out again, smitten and yearning for more, his voice muffled by your lips and the tone of his voice buzzing while his dick continues to add some faint, hasty pumps into your slit, the velvety feel of his shaft reaching so far up and shamelessly shaping your most, delicious sweet spots which had your eyes curve back into the deepest spots of your skull.

despite everything, despite scaramouche barely reaching out to if it wasn't for getting his cock wet— you always seem to welcome him graciously and without asking irritating question, the ecstasy running through your entire nervous system as you wait and wait fro him.

although mostly being left behind and forgotten, yet you still show up whenever he does reach out and call you over— when he all of a sudden, in under a dime, tends to be so charming and longing towards you, kissing the crown of your head before addressing you as his most beloved toy— not that he voiced it out loud but his choked whimpers spoke more than a thousand words ever could, consistently greedy to clamp hard around the curves of his cock that you force him almost out of you again, copious amounts of your juices oozing out of your cunt and soiling his trimmed pubic hair, a reminder that you truly belong to each other.

𖧡 — CHILDE

you're clumsily falling forward into childe's clothed chest as you straddle his waist, immediately intertwining your arms around his neck as your forearms rest on his shoulders— your pretty frame wiggling deliriously and needful before billowing your hips against his concealed erection scratching over the tight confines of his pants.

"you missed this, didn't you?" he shakes his head at you, finding your shape on top of him to be the most delicious and sweetest in all around teyvat, without mentioning how you madly force your hips down on his cock— desperate and even more shameless that ajax cannot even fathom just how clouded your rational thoughts had become sometimes, always there when he craves you, not caring about the red flags of him obviously just using your body, only the thought of his perfectly carved cock being nestled inside you remaining on top.

for now, you love bouncing up and down his erection, even though he wouldn't let it spring free from his pants so you could rest it on the top of your tongue— the tips of his ears flushing red when you frustratedly whine at him, every thrust of your hips progressively growing faster and rougher that even childe had to suppress a couple moans and keep them locked inside his chest.

"I'll make it up to you later, baby," he drawls before moving the fabric of your panties to the side, your slicked cunt had long since soiled the flimsy material to the hilt that they instantly stick against the bridge of your pussy and thighs, just heavenly to present him a enchanting view of your swollen folds itching to touch his silken skin, his angry tip throbbing behind the rough garments of his pants and childe can sense that he was already leaking clear pre.

"you need to make me feel good before, yeah?"

there's a hidden rasp in his voice that you weren't able to discern for what it was, and that particular shade of a condescending tone pummeling against your ear shells weren't much of help— no two ways about it but sometimes the eleventh harbinger did give off the idea that he wasn't taking you seriously enough, that he believed you weren't able to ponder over more meaningful conversations, only faultless when you aided him in his painful groin getting the best out of him.

now, he plants his palms around your hips to drag your naked pussy against his shaft himself— but considering the fact that you weren't actually stupid, you knew that this "special" relationship, as he called it, was more of a convenience for the young harbinger, never needing to worry himself about finding someone for a quick fuck when he could just call you instead, being aware that you would jump the second he orders you to come over.

his cock was just that good, always so utterly fine when slipping inside and battering your creamy walls, hammering into the most sensitive parts that lie hidden within your silky slit before it's getting too much for you to bear— trembly fingers clawing at his chest in search of stability when you hide your face in his neck, the slow burn on his shaft expelling electric ripples that caused a belting havoc on your sensitive sex, pushing a pitchy whine hand in hand with a moan of his name from the tip of your tongue, a breathless heave finishing the sinfulness of your noises.

oh, well, childe can use you for all you care— since needless to say, you're getting your fair share out of it too, keeping your ass in a precise trace on top of him as you begin to rock your wet cunt over his groin, understanding that whenever he was on the edge of tasting his strong climax prodding at the knot in his lower belly— it will be much easier to make him comply to a simple request from you;

hmm, lets take an example: perhaps a new, costly bag from fontaine or a hand crafted, brilliant bracelet from liyue? childe will unfailingly say yes and agree to whatever you whisper into his ear, he simply cannot deny a single request when you're, night and day, so hungry to comply to him.

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happy-beeeps · 1 year

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Jumping on the band wagon since I’m a massive TCW fan and found your account! Hear me out

What about reader having to dress up for a dinner meeting and Rex sees them in a dress for the first time? 💃🏻

Anon, I adore you. This was so fun to write. Fair warning, I absolutely blacked out the first part of this request and it's definitely not a dinner meeting, but I feel like the vibes still work, I'm so sorry!😭 This was so fun to write though omg

Lucky Hand

Summary: When reader goes to Cantonica to find a Separatist arms dealer, Rex reacts to seeing her dressed to impress for the first time

WC: 1.4k

Warnings: Alcohol mentions, reader gets her thigh touched by a weirdo but that's it I prommy, Rex is not saving room for the holy spirit but it stays PG-13, no editing because I haven't before so why start now

* * *

This isn’t the worst plan Anakin’s ever had, but that isn’t saying much. It’s also not the worst plan you’ve ever had, so that gives you slightly more comfort. It’s simple, in theory. There’s a separatist arms dealer who frequents the sabacc table at Canto Bight. You are supposed to slip in, get his attention, and hopefully some intel. You’re prepared to meet resistance, but you’ve been assured it won’t come to that. Still, you don’t know how you’re supposed to access your saber in this dress, maker forbid it comes to that, or how you’re going to get access to this arms dealer in the first place. Anakin can sense your discomfort as you enter the room, picking at the sheer, glimmering fabric as you walk, willing it to stop clinging to your body for just a moment so you can pull yourself together.

“Where does Senator Amidala even wear this?” you mumble, grateful that the Senator had a dress she didn’t mind donating to the cause, but you wished she had sent you with something a little less revealing. The skirt is full and floaty, with layers of sparkling sheer fabric dyed in a rainbow of blues and greens. The bodice sweeps off the shoulder into two sheer long sleeves that clip around your fingers, but is centered around a plunging neckline that cuts nearly clear to your belly button. It’s through the will of the force alone that you haven’t had a wardrobe malfunction just from walking.

“Yeah, I was gonna ask the same question.” Anakin grumbles before walking over to you and placing a firm hand on your shoulder. “Snips and I are behind you the whole time, we’re going to keep a close perimeter to Canto Bight once you touch down on Cantonica.”

“Remind me why we can’t send you on this mission?” You grumble, crossing your arms over your chest. You try not to blush when you feel Rex’s force signature shift from where he’s standing across the room, your Captain’s stoicism failing him in ways only you can see.

“Because, frankly, I’m too distracting, we can’t have everyone in the casino offering to buy me a drink.” Anakin chides, and you send an elbow into his ribs with a laugh. “Rex and Bubs are going with you as security. Figured they’re pretty much the only two without face tattoos, hopefully the guards will just think they’re brothers. You’ll take one of the transport ships we have on the Resolute.”

You swear you hear Bubbles snort from where he stands across the room, but the sound is soon silenced by a motion from Commander Leo.

“Ok, I think I’m ready.”

The small squadron that will be landing on Cantonica with you begins to prepare their weapons while Anakin pulls Ahsoka aside to find an ideal landing zone. You’re watching the chaos unfold from the back of the room when you feel a presence begin to enter your orbit. You say nothing, but slip out quietly, making your way down the hall until you pass by a small supply closet, ducking in without turning around. Just as you suspected, the door slides open a minute later, and you find yourself chest to chest with Rex, breathing heavily as he takes you in in the cramped space.

“Mesh’la” he breathes, reaching out towards your face before you intercept his hand, catching it, and placing it on your waist.

“It took me and Ahsoka nearly a full hour to do my hair, can’t have you ruining it Captain.”

“Wanna ruin more than that,” he breathes, his eyes focusing on your perfectly painted lips, but shakes himself out of it, holding you firm on your waist. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen you dressed up.”

“I think this is one of the only times I’ve been all dressed up.” You can’t say you hate it, both the way you feel and the way his eyes burn as they devour your form. “Are you ready for the mission?”

“It’ll be easy,” he shrugs, cooling off back into the casual nonchalance Rex always has. “You’re good at negotiations,” he taps your hip where your saber is carefully guarded beneath layers of expensive silk.

“I’m not worried. I’ve got you and Bubbles to back me up.” You shrug and Rex laughs a quiet, breathy laugh.

“Kid’s got spunk, I’ll give him that.” But he looks at you fondly, placing his pointer finger and your chin and tracing your bottom lip with his thumb. “I trust him.” He backs away from you too quickly, and you barely suppress the sigh that threatens to escape your lips as he ducks out the door. “Follow me out in a few minutes.”

* * *

So, it wasn’t entirely going wrong. You were able to get in with Rex and Bubs, and quickly located the arms dealer, a Theelin man with bright purple skin and coiffed blue hair. Bubs quickly broke away under the guise of getting you a drink, and Rex maintained a close detail, just as any security agent would. The casino was busy, you were able to float through with near anonymity, and you quickly sidled up the man sitting at the sabacc table, placing your handful of credits next to his. “Can a girl get dealt in?” you crooned, and the man gave you a wide grin before moving his chair to the side.

“For a beauty like you, I’d nearly offer my hand.” He said, and you could feel Rex start glowering from where he stood a few feet back. “I’m Grafan Thif.” He extended his hand and you shook it delicately.

“Amila Shula,” you smiled, offering him the pseudonym you’d landed on. “Let’s play.”

The mission had been going well, Grafan had been slowly letting on intel the whole night as you followed him through the casino, your hand loosely through his arm. The two of you settled at a quiet table near the patio, he looked at you, his eyes barely focusing from the drinks he’d consumed. “You should come with me, see my new vacation home.”

“Oh?” Your eyebrows rose, and Rex and Bubbles stood straighter, listening to his words, “Where are you going to take me?”

“Got a new job on Agamar, some backwater system, overseeing a new factory out there.” His hand began to slide up your thigh over your dress and you tensed, trying to urge him to stop as his hand grew closer to your saber.

“Sir, if I may-” Rex stepped forward, his face a blend of calm and barely concealed jealous rage when Grafan’s hand grazed the shape of your saber beneath your dress.

He glanced at you, then at your two guards and his eyes grew wide, as if he was connecting all the pieces. “You, you-”

“Are leaving.” You hoisted your dress up to grab the saber out from where it hung around your hip, gesturing for Rex and Bubbles to follow. The three of you ran towards the patio as Grafan shouted for security, and you pressed the concealed comm on your bracelet to reach Anakin. “We’ve got company!”

“Already on it!” came his reply, and as the three of you ran down the stairs, you were greeted with the always reassuring sight of the Twilight near crashing onto the beaches of Cantonica.

“Are you waiting for an invitation!” Shouted Ahsoka as the ramp lowered, and the two troopers rushed towards the ship.

“This karking dress!” You grumbled, a few feet behind them as the security team scrambled down the steps. Rex turned around and saw you fumbling with removing the shoes and ran towards you, picking you up and tossing you over his shoulder in one fell, seamless beat. “I don’t need to be rescued.” You grumbled, pulling out your saber and deflecting the blaster fire that now approached you.

“Yeah, I know. Been looking for an excuse to hold you since that sleemo touched you earlier.” His hands gripped you tighter and you couldn’t help but grin as he brought you both on the ship, setting you down gingerly as Bubbles helped Ahsoka and Anakin pilot their way out of the atmosphere. Rex gave you one more wicked grin before whispering in your ear. “Think Senator Amidala would notice if you never gave the dress back.”

You winked back at him before giving his arm a pat, “I’m sure I can think of more excuses to wear it.”

#star wars #rex x reader #captain rex #captain rex x reader #captain rex x f!reader #captain rex request #commander rex #clone trooper rex #requests #platonic!anakin

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hiemaldesirae · 1 day

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Thorn here:

Oh...ohhh!! Vox arrives in hell but instead of legs he just has a Shark's tail! He has a TV head and a Shark's tail and Alastor is instantly smitten.

He gathers this new sinner up, protectively taking him to his house/radio tower and setting up aquarium and putting Vox in it, eyes warm.

Vox isn't amused. Why is this weird stag demon nuzzling him and calling him his muse? Vox is no one's anything!

Alastor adores how his muse attempts to shock him! (He has to buy shock resistant glass and he learns Vox does much better in salt water then fresh-(he brutally killed the Imps at the pet store that told him sharks would do fine in fresh water. His poor mate's gills were messed up for days!)) He is a bit irritated on how His beloved muse prefers only fish (fish sinners, but what his precious mate doesn't know won't hurt him)) but he can get past it.

HAS NO ONE TAUGHT ALASTOR NOT TO PICK UP RANDOM ANIMALS HE SEES ON THE STREET ????????? oh my god . this little FREAK i cannot believe he sees a pretty fish on the street and immediately takes him home. i really want to pry his head open and study him

i might snatch this concept to make mermay oneshots if ur okay w that btw. and im STILL working on the killer au i prommy i just have. wayyy too many wips and work to do irl lmfao. but for now. Snippet of writing because i love you /p(arasocial and platonic) (that first part is a joke. legally)

"You still haven't told me why you decided to keep me," Vox frowns as he hangs over the edge of the tank, watching Alastor steadily as he prepares a cut of sinner meat for the shark demon.

"Frankly, my dear, it was a burst of sudden inspiration on my part," Alastor hums. "It isn't every day you see someone as unique-looking as you, after all!"

"Is this about the TV head?" Vox frowns deeper.

"Well, not exactly--"

"It's about the TV head, isn't it?" Vox ducks underneath the water of his tank when Alastor doesn't reply, taking the others silence as an affirmative answer.

The deer demon sighs as his companion's body slowly becomes too ensconced in the murky depths of the tank for him to properly monitor, focusing his efforts back on making sure the fish sinner's corpse was prepared properly for Vox to ingest easily. Keeping a pet was much harder than Rosie had made it out to be- but in fairness, it was a burden he had decided to take upon himself.

After all, the day that Vox had appeared in Hell, it had been *his* arms that the sinner had fallen into- a stroke of luck, truly, as he had been vicariously gesturing to Rosie the motions he'd made for a recent and more theatrical hunt and been in *just* the right position to catch the poor dear- which was clearly a sign that Vox was meant to be his. And now, with the fascinating darling having been swimming around in the expansive tank of his living room for more than six months now, Alastor could confidently say that he had never made a choice more correct in his life.

Well, maybe not. Killing his father in cold blood had also been a pretty correct choice- maybe he should amend that to *afterlife*? Yes, that would work.

Alastor hums as he finishes the plating of the fish sinner, turning around to the tank with the finished meal in hand. He knocks on the glass wall- not expecting an answer, he goes to place the tray down next to the little window next to the bubble of air, only to be met with a much more- *human* looking face than expected.

Two glowing eyes, one the striking blue of larimar and another the rich brown of axinite, meet Alastor's own. Glowing marks stripe along the remarkably human face, as the shark sinner in front of him grins nervously. "I got rid of the TV. Will you let me go now?"

Alastor blinks.

Once, then twice. In the silence, he can see the nervous hopefulness on the demon's face flicker slightly as he breathes slowly, carefully setting the tray of food aside as he traces the outline of the other's face in the glass.

"Let you go, my dear? ...Oh, dear. I think I've been quite misconstrued. You aren't going anywhere, my lovely siren."

#ran rambles #hazbin hotel #general asks #radiostatic #chai writes

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littlestardude · 11 months

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⏤͟͟͞͞☆Marjorine taking care of a high reader and Kenny! || Oneshot || Kenjorine x Reader (Kenny x Marjorine x Reader)

✰ - SFW - ✰

Plot: Marjie taking care of a toasted Reader and a toasted Kenny :3

Note: RAHHHHHHH I LOBE KENJORINEEEEEE‼️‼️‼️ i am SO normal about them :33 and POV from marjie, and sorry it's short wahhhg 😔😔 also here's the ask it came from!

TW:Drugs (weed)

Gender: Gen Neutral

Marhirie... Can u cowme over to my hosue pelalse bb :((( we miss youue , kennys heree.

Sent at 11:38 PM

Marjorine's screen lit up at the message, it was late and there was only two people who would think to text her at 11:38 PM. Her partners.

She sighed lightly and laughed at the misspelled message, she could tell that they were high.

I'll be there in 10 :3

Read

She packed her bag with some clothes because she was sure she'd end up staying, some water and snacks, and some medicine. And maybe some face masks too... Yes, face masks.

Right before she picked up her phone to put it in her pocket it buzzed and lit up again.

Can you brignsn mcdonals too pleasese ty ily I'll pay u back I prommy :((

Read

She rolled her eyes playfully and picked up her phone and wallet.

Knock knock

Marjorine shifted uncomfortably while holding the bags of hot food. She waited for a little bit and started daydreaming but snapped back to reality at the door opening

"Marjieeeeee, hi babyyyyy" Y/N said in a sing-songy voice and took the bags of food out of her hands and see them on the dining table.

They wrapped their arms around her neck and gave her plenty of kisses, they reeked of weed.

"Hey sweetie, do you feel okay? " Marj asked a bit worryingly.

"I'm fuckin.. Great, I'm sooo happy you're here honey... " They kissed her on her lips sloppily, tasting of weed.

Kenny stumbled out of the room, almost falling over and grabbed onto the wall, he looked over at the two of them and his eyes lit up.

"Marjiee!! Babyyyy, hiiii, " he stumbled on over and wrapped his own arms over her neck and gave her plenty of kisses as well.

"You look so prettyyyy honeyyyy... I love youu, " he hugged her tightly, and then hugged Y/N as well.

Marjorine hugged them back and slowly started walking them to the dinner table to sit down.

"Come on now, let's just sit down and eat something, okay? " she said as she started taking the food out of the bags.

Kenny and Y/N started giggling slightly and nodded their heads lazily. They both laid their heads down on the table and held hands.

Marjorine took the water out of her bag so they could get hydrated and had something to drink with their meal.

They thanked her and took their food and ate like the last time they ate was two Tuesdays ago. Marjorine was only halfway done when the other two we're done.

She'd say she was surprised but really wasn't considering the two of her partners could really throw down when they were high.

They waited while Marjorine finished her food, and then swiftly after, Kenny dragged the other two to Y/N's bedroom.

You would think his eagerness stemmed from horniness, but he really just wanted to lay down and cuddle with his partners.

They laid down comfortably with Marjorine in the middle, and the other two thanked her profusely for the McDonalds.

"We love you so much... You're the best thing that could ever happen to anyone, Marjie... " Y/N said, slightly slurring their words and slowly coming down from their high.

"Yeah, you're so amazing Mar, we love you more than words could ever describe, " Kenny added on, kissing Marjorine on the cheek.

Marjorine was practically a melted puddle in the middle of the two, she nervously rubbed her knuckles together, "Oh jeez guys... Well, I love you two too... "

Kenny and Y/N followed with more kisses on her cheeks.

"Oh, I brought face masks by the way! " Marjorine said eagerly.

Kenny and Y/N grinned at her excitement, she really was an amazing girl.

#south park fanfiction #kenny mccormick #marjorine stotch #sp kenny #sp marjorine #kenny mccormick x reader #marjorine x reader #kenny x marjorine #kenjorine #kenjorine x reader #kenny x marjorine x reader #x reader #✰Star's oneshots

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elite-amarys · 4 months

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//OOC

Precise Confrontation

A short fic about Amarys confronting a school bully. Content warning for threats of violence. Please note this is an off screen post - your characters will not have knowledge of this occuring outside of the described camera footage. That said, they will likely be able to piece together that something happened if they are able to somehow access this footage.

That's all! Hope you like it. Writing Amarys in her feelings is fun, but writing her in Kill Mode is ALSO fun

EDIT: Also this has nothing to do with @guyinmink , who sent the anon that inspired this. They're cool we're all cool. Guy in this story is just a random made up dude I prommy.

21:07

Amarys was precisely on schedule. She always was, but it was particularly important that she stay on schedule this time. She had a very brief window of time to do what she needed to do, and if she fumbled or missed even a second it would ruin everything. But that was why she had to be the one to do it. Drayton would be annoyed that she had taken this task on by herself. It was a task made necessary by her love for her friend, and she knew he would be upset that she had taken sole responsibility for executing that directive without him even though he shared her fondness for Crispin (perhaps even moreso). But Drayton would not have been able to get the necessary information, and even if he had he would have carried out this task without concern for discretion. Which most certainly would have resulted in discipline.

No. That outcome was unacceptable.

Lacey also had the Director’s trust, of course. There was no doubt in Amarys’ mind that she could have gotten the target’s identifying information as well. But Lacey was not suited for this task. She was skilled in diplomacy and negotiation. She was charismatic and likable. She was not the type to confront a bully with force. And, according to Amarys’ analysis, force would be the only thing that would affect actual change.

Amarys had a great deal of respect for Drayton and Lacey. Neither of them were suited to properly handle this task. Amarys could handle confrontation. Amarys had the Director’s trust to get the necessary information. And, most importantly, Amarys had knife-like precision in her timing.

21:10

3 minutes, 16 seconds to navigate the halls towards her destination. She turned a corner and locked eyes on her target. He had left the last meeting of the Architectural Club and taken the average amount of time to walk to his locker. Given the late hour the halls were empty except Amarys and her target, and it was unlikely that anyone else would walk down this exact hall at this exact time. Amarys knew that for a fact - she had checked the schedules of all other members of the Architect club, the teachers of the surrounding classrooms, and the other students whose locker was in this hall. She had calculated this.

21:11

Amarys walked down.the hall, her steps sharp and quick. She walked slightly faster than the average student at Blueberry Academy. It wasn’t long before she was standing directly behind her target. Her heels clicked together as she came to a stop. She pivoted to face him. He hadn’t turned around to look at her yet, he was still preoccupied with his locker.

21:12

The hallway went dark. Every single light shut off at the exact same time, leaving Amarys and her target shielded from the view of the security camera currently facing Amarys’ back. There would be no footage evidence of Amarys’ confrontation. She watched as her target flinched at the sudden darkness, and then spun around to meet her eyes as she stood still as a statue behind him.

“Fucking hell,” he said, jumping backwards at the sight. “Uh, Amarys, right? Do you know what’s going on with the li-”

“812 Bouldevare Avenue, Anville Town.” Amarys did not leave time in her schedule for exchanging pleasantries. She went directly to work.

“Huh? What are you-” he tried to speak again, and was once again cut off.

“2442 Sinclair Drive, Anville Town. 34 Mavis Crescent, Nimbasa City.” Amarys took a step forwards, trapping him between herself and the wall of lockers.

“What the fuck?” He flinched backwards, his back now flush against the steel doors of his own locker. Amarys saw him tense and, predicting an attempt to flee, shot her arm out to block him. Her hand slammed into steel, quick and sharp and strong. She had been correct about his attempt to flee, and he all but crashed into her arm the moment it shot out. “What is your problem?!” Amarys’ eyes had adjusted to the dark, and she could see the fear in her target’s face as he spoke. Good.

“Dorm 3587, Tower C, Blueberry Academy.” She concluded her list. “I assume you know what all four of these places have in common?” Her voice was steady, and did not betray even a hint of the anger she felt while talking to her target. Her eyes, however, with their cold, hard, focus very much did.

“I don’t- I don’t understand. What do you want?” He flinched back further, but did not break his terrified eye contact.

“Hm.” Amarys had hoped he would have made the connection between these addresses for her, but had anticipated his lack of cooperation. Her RotomPhone drifted up out of her pocket to float at eye level, screen facing the target. “Linux.”

There was a slight thud above them. Amarys and her target both turned their gaze upwards to see Linux, Amarys’ Metagross, clinging to the wall above them. They looked somewhat like a large, murderous spider up there, and clearly had no issue holding onto the wall. They had been waiting near the ceiling, keeping out of the view of the camera until their trainer showed up and the lights went out. Now, with the attention of both their trainer and their target on them, they started to crawl down the wall towards the pair. Their legs moved quickly, one at a time, hitting the wall with a low thud as they descended.

Amarys’ target whimpered as Linux approached, but he seemed too frightened to do much else. Linux stopped a couple of feet above the pair, and their eyes gained a faint, red glow as they accessed something on Amarys' RotomPhone. Electronic copies of school records and census files flashed across the screen.

“These are the addresses for your previous residences.” Amarys continued, snapping her target’s attention away from Linux and back to her. “Linux is quite skilled in accessing these kinds of files. I want to ensure that you know that. It does not matter where you go, Linux will be able to track you down.”

She leaned in now, smooth and steady. Her target tried to lean away, but was stopped by the metal locker behind him. Amarys held his gaze, her eyes boring into him. When she spoke her voice was low and dangerous. “It has come to my attention that you enjoy sending vitriol to my friends. Did you think we would not see what you sent to Crispin?”

“No-no. I didn’t- Amarys I-” He stuttered. The hand that Amarys did not currently have planted against the locker shot out, grabbing her target’s chin. She tilted his face up to look at her, pleased that she was taller than him. Her grip was strong, and even though she was not blocking his mouth it was enough to shock him into silence.

“There is no point in lying.”

“I-I-I-I’m sorry, I didn’t think-” His sentence sputtered out on its own this time.

“I see why you prefer to do your bullying from behind a screen. You are unskilled at communication. But let me make one thing perfectly clear.” She paused, blue eyes practically drilling into his.

“If it comes to my attention that you have sent any of my friends this kind of abuse ever again, I will find you wherever you are and I will crack your jaw into pieces simply so that I can wire it shut myself.” Her grip on his jaw tightened to make her point. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Uh-huh.” He grunted, attempting to nod despite her grip on his chin.

“I cannot hear you.”

“Yes! Y-yes, I understand. I’m sorry-”

“Good.” With that Amarys quickly straightened up, releasing her target’s chin and taking a step backwards.

21:16

The lights in the hall suddenly clicked back on, and the camera behind them was blinded by the unexpected brightness. The lens only took a split second to adjust, but it was enough for Amarys to quickly return Linux to their ball, the flash of the return fading just before the moment Amarys knew the camera would have readjusted. She adjusted her glasses, and pulled an envelope out of her bag. She brusquely held it out to her target, who was still leaning against the lockers, shaking and sweating.

“This is a work order.” She announced, returning to her regular demeanor now that the lights had righted themselves and the camera was recording them. “There are several repairs and upgrades we would like to request the Architectural club make to the League Clubroom. You will find an itemized list herein.” She continued to hold the envelope out to her target. He stared at it blankly. “Take it.” She ordered.

He took it. She returned her hands to her sides. “Please send me an email once you have figured out a timeline for these repairs. Goodbye.” She gave him a curt nod, and then pivoted 90 degrees to continue down the hallway, leaving just as suddenly as she had appeared.

As she walked away she mused about her one miscalculation. She had expected him to get violent. Linux was certainly most displeased that he hadn’t. She would have to take him out for a battle soon. Perhaps Crispin would be willing to indulge them.

#pkmn irl #off screen post #mod fic

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whumpwillow · 10 months

Text

Demon’s Haven 9

I’m also working on Hazeshift I prommy but I’m just feeling this series again, though I’m a little rusty and tryna get back into these characters, so sorry if the writing or interactions feel a little stilted

—

masterlist

warnings: blood, past torture, description of wounds, basically just more comf but they are both sad and awkward about it

—

The demon seemed relieved when Haven finally finished washing the wounds on his chest, but it was a short-lived comfort. She moved behind him to start cleaning the blood from the wreckage of his back and knew the worst was yet to come. The demon had been doing well so far, wincing only slightly without uttering a whimper of pain as Haven had dabbed at the cuts and burns on his chest. Looking at his back, such a thing seemed unavoidable now.

She cringed at the sight. Sitting down in the chair behind him, Haven took stock of the damage. There was almost too much blood for her to even see where the wounds were. She couldn’t tell where one injury began and one ended, as if they all melded into his flesh so that there wasn’t a speck of unbroken skin. Long, ropy scars dragged from the tops of his shoulders and down his body, ending at the small of his back, crisscrossed over one another.

Haven sighed. This was not going to be pleasant. For either of them.

The demon’s head turned slightly to the side, as if he meant to catch a glimpse of her, but his hair had fallen into his eyes so it was likely not a clear picture.

“Are you alright?” Haven asked.

She knew he wasn’t, but what else was she supposed to say? How did she comfort someone who had been through something as horrific as this?

The demon nodded lightly, ignoring what Haven could not. Red stripes gouged his back, stretching from his shoulders and moving downwards. Ropes of bloodied wounds overlayed on top of each other, some healed more than not, others fresh and weeping. A grotesque sight that made Haven want to gag, though she swallowed and contained herself.

She wanted to look away. She wanted to run from the room and forget this had ever happened. That this was something that could happen to someone.

But she was done with fearing for nothing—the demon had been hurt already, and there was nothing to undo that fact. Only to cleanse the wounds and bandage them would they disappear from her view.

“This might sting.”

It would do a whole lot more than that. The wounds that littered his skin…Haven didn’t want to believe they could be from a whip, but she didn’t know how else to describe them than as lashes.

The demon nodded again.

Haven touched the wet cloth to the back of the demon’s shoulder and instantly he flinched, drawing out a hiss. Haven drew her hand back.

“Sorry,” the both of them said at the same time.

A beat. Neither of them spoke, neither of them moved. The demon clenched and unclenched a fist.

“Silver,” he said.

Haven waited for him to explain, but as the seconds passed and turned into minutes, she realized he wasn’t going to. She touched the cloth to his shoulder again and ignored the flinch this time, as there was no way to avoid it. She brushed the cloth along a long red gash, trailing in between his shoulder blades and down to the small of his back. Again. And again.

“It’s the silver,” the demon said. “The angel liked the silver-lined whip because it leaves scars.”

Haven paused. Lifted her hand away from his skin. Blinked. She had no idea how to even respond to such a thing.

“That’s horrible.”

The only words she could manage, the only consolation to a man now forever marked by what had happened to him that no healing powers would ever be able to fix. The demon seemed to feel this knowledge as keenly as she did, for he trembled under her fingertips. His skin jumped as tiny tremors ran through him, muscles taut and unyielding.

Haven set her cloth in the bowl of water, already pink with blood. She moved from behind the demon and sat in the chair facing him, and saw that he was crying. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks and his breaths hitched, but he bit his tongue to keep himself from crying out.

“You don’t have to do that,” Haven said.

The demon tilted his face up to look at her, a few more tears escaping from those viridian eyes. He blinked at her. Droplets of water caught in his lashes like morning dew.

“Keep quiet, I mean,” Haven clarified. “Cry all you want. Scream, if you must. I don’t mind.”

The demon blinked a few times, his face pinched in confusion. “You would…like me to scream?”

Haven’s eyes widened. “No, no, that’s not what I meant!”

“I can, if you’d like me to. The angel said it was a pleasing sound, though she was rather more vicious than you.”

Haven exhaled, seconds away from pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “I meant, you don’t have to be quiet! You’ve been hurt, terribly and irrevocably, so you can react to it however you want to, and you needn’t feel ashamed or that you must soften your grief in front of me.”

“Oh.”

The only word that fell from the demon’s lips, plainly and without intonation. He stared at her, watching her again as if she were the only thing he had to keep him from falling into an endless abyss. Haven leaned in and wrapped her arms around him, making sure not to startle him as she enveloped him in a hug. She felt the demon lean into her and nuzzle his face into the crook of her neck, just as he’d done when she’d helped him from the cave she’d summoned him to. Some of the tension in his body dissolved, and while he still shook either with fear or with pain, Haven took it as an improvement that he could find some modicum of comfort with her.

After releasing each other, Haven found her hands red with blood. The demon opened his mouth, no doubt to apologize, but Haven shushed him before he could. She washed her hands with her cleaning cloth before dropping it back in the bowl of water.

“I could draw you a bath, if you’d like? It’d help you get clean faster than this, and it’d probably feel better too.”

The demon drew back from her as if she’d just told him she was going to waterboard him. The thought occurred to her that, given what had already happened to him, that wasn’t too far out of the realm of possibility for him to believe.

Haven held her hands up, palms out, to reassure him she meant no harm. “Just a bath. Nothing to hurt. No holy water. Just cleaning.”

The demon hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “And you won’t…try to drown me?”

Haven really hated that her suspicions were correct.

“Of course not,” she said, offering him a tight smile.

She held out a hand to him, which he took shakily in his own. Haven wrapped his arm around her shoulders so that he could lean on her and they made their way up the stairs. It was a slow procession due to his broken ribs, and that every time he whimpered, Haven wanted to stop, but knew they had to keep going since it would do neither of them any good being stranded halfway up the stairwell.

Haven pushed open the door to her bedroom and wished she’d had the foresight to pick her things up off the floor beforehand. The demon didn’t seem to mind. His eyes had glazed over, hazy with pain and exhaustion. The night had been tough on him with the journey here. Being thrown from the front door by her protection ward she’d foolishly forgotten about and then being made to sit while Haven fruitlessly tried to scrub the blood off him with damp cloths from the kitchen had likely exhausted him beyond what he could reasonably stand.

“I’m sorry,” Haven found herself saying.

She wished she could convey just how sorry she was in those words, but didn’t know how else to say it. I’m sorry you were tortured. I’m sorry you were hurt so terribly. I’m sorry I didn’t help you when I first saw you, that I doubted you, that I don’t know how to help you, that you’ll have to live with these scars for the rest of your life and all the comfort you have is me when you deserve so much more—

The demon shook his head. “The cell I was held in was far dirtier than this, so pay it no mind.”

Haven found her cheeks reddening. She’d meant to apologize for not letting him rest as she’d wanted to get his wounds cleaned first, but huh. It seemed he had noticed the mess of her room after all.

Turning her gaze away from the wreck of her floor, she lead the demon into her bathroom en-suite. Sat him down on a little round stool she had by the door. Fetched some water for the bath and a few towels. Busied herself with getting everything ready, trying not to think about what she was doing and how she was likely breaking so many rules of what a good witch should not do.

Making a contract with a demon? Check. Letting a demon out of the summoning circle? Check. Bringing said demon not only into her home, but into her bedroom? Double check.

Oh well. She’d never particularly considered herself a stickler for the rules.

A quick spell, and the water was heated, good and steaming. Haven plucked a bottle from the windowsill next to the tub and dripped a bit of floral oil into the water, hoping the scent of lavender would soothe the demon enough that he wouldn’t panic at the thought of being left alone for however long it took for him to wash.

Haven looked back at him and saw his head lolled to the side, resting on the wall next to where he sat. His shoulders had lost their tension and his hands no longer fidgeted restlessly. No more tremors wracked his body, fraught with pain and terror. Haven stood motionless, not wanting to disturb him when he was clearly so exhausted, but it was as if he sensed the lack of energy where there previously had been an abundance of, and his eyes flickered open.

Blearily, his gaze found hers. He lifted his head from the wall and Haven made her way over to him with a towel.

“Here, for when you’re done,” she said, then placed it to the side of the stool he sat on.

The demon looked at it, then to her, then to the bath. Haven moved to help him up, then drew back when she was sure he wouldn’t fall without her support.

“Well, I’ll be waiting outside if you need me.”

Haven made to leave. She’d barely touched the doorknob when she heard the demon voice a single word, small and fearful.

“Stay.”

Haven whirled around. “I’m not going far.”

The demon squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his hands into fists. “Please,” he said, forcing the word from his lips like it pained him to do so. “Please just…” He opened his eyes and fixed them on hers. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He stood there, body rigid, barely holding himself upright without her help. Bruises painted his skin like he were abstract art and the holy water that had been drawn on him trailed lines across his chest and shoulders and even around his neck. Scars—thick bands around both of his wrists—were inflamed and red. Even more Haven couldn’t see lined his back, a permanent reminder.

Haven nodded. she could do at least that much.

“Okay. I’ll stay.”

—

(taglist in reblogs)

#whump #whump writing #my writing #willow writes #original work: demon’s haven #oc envy #oc haven #demon whumpee #demon whump #witch caretaker #platonic bathing trope my beloved #that's what's coming up

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arlertdarling · 11 months

Text

❥ WRONG PLACE, RIGHT TIME — levi ackerman x gn!reader, swearing, death, loss, mourning, modern au, angst, hurt/comfort, maybe slightly ooc levi, this is kinda sad but it has a good ending i prommy<3 PLS read the warnings and enjoy!

The columbarium looks even more miserable than usual, soaked in rain and grey under the clouded daylight. You’re standing in front of it, one hand tightly gripping your umbrella, the other gripping your late spouse’s favourite flowers even tighter. You’re wondering if it ever gets easier and holding back hysterical laughter at the same time. Of course it had to be raining on the day of the month that you’re visiting their urn, like a scene from some depressing drama.

You always knew that death is a part of life, the conclusion we’ve all had pre-written for us since the opening paragraph. And you knew it was hard. You’ve had distant relatives pass, and felt some of the weight that comes with grief and accepting death; you’ve seen and been told your fair share of how loss changes people, both temporarily and permanently. But it’s clearer now more than ever that knowing something is not the same as being prepared for it. You knew it was hard, but no amount of knowledge could ever make you understand just how hard it really was.

You know now though. When someone dies, they freeze in place and time, into a forever still-life image of what was and will never be again; a catalogue of memories that lasts for as long as you can remember them. They become a concept, an imaginary something whose existence can only be proven by what they left behind in the physical world. A name — and the anecdotes and personality traits others think of when you say it. Preserved in your mind like a pocket of air in ice, they’ll stay; never moving forward, only back to the moments and memories that make up what’s left of them.

You’ve had the same moments and memories playing on loop for weeks. Not really on purpose, they’re just kind of there. There when you wake up, when you check the fridge with an empty belly and no appetite, when you decide to put off showering for another day, when you’re alone, when you’re with friends, when you’re trying to sleep away the feelings in your chest. You feel as ghostly as the images of them that flash behind your eyes, comforting yet haunting all the same.

Wet footsteps pull you out of your thoughts. There’s sweat between your fingers where they’re still clinging to the plastic-wrapped bouquet. You tilt your head in the direction of the footsteps. A man stops some feet away from you, face concealed under his umbrella and one hand tucked into the pocket of his dress pants. If he notices your presence or stare, he doesn’t show it.

You’ve been coming here every few weeks, and every time without fail, this man is here too. At first, you thought he was a stalker, but he never approached you or stood closer than three feet, let alone looked at you, so that feeling was short-lived. He asked you for a light once, but other than that, you’ve never interacted.

You often wonder which one he is there for, who the person was, what his relationship was to them — but you never bother to entertain that thought for more than a few seconds. He never brings anything with him either, aside from the occasional lighter and cigarette packet, and tends to stay longer than you. You’re only really here to soothe a healing wound and replace the flowers once they start drooping. The ones from last month droop more than normal under the weight of their wet petals, and you hope that the heavy rainfall won’t do more harm than good to the fresh bouquet you just put up.

A month later, the sky has just a few clouds dotted across it. The weather has been hectic, so as you’re approaching the columbarium, you’re curious to see how the flowers have been holding up. Before that though, you notice him first, standing in that specific spot that’s all his own by now. He’s dressed in the usual: a long-sleeved shirt, a blazer and matching trousers, all well-ironed and spotless, and a pair of polished Oxfords. You’ve always imagined him as a lawyer or office-worker of some kind; he certainly looks the part, especially with his tired face and perfect posture. There’s so much you don’t know about him, you can’t help pondering over things like what he eats for breakfast or if he has any pets or allergies, and imagining him in scenarios like typing away on a computer at a tidy desk or yelling ‘Objection, hearsay!’ across a courtroom. You’ll never know if any of those things exist beyond your imagination, and you have no way of knowing for certain either, but you like to think about it from time to time.

Two months after that, you notice he’s had a haircut. You can never tell when his undercut starts to get thicker, but once it’s trimmed, it becomes so obvious that it was overgrown before. It’s clear that it’s done professionally, and that he must be particular about his hair in general, if the perfectly combed middle-part and licks of gel are anything to go by. He looks good, you think, but as with most thoughts about him, you drop it before anything else can follow. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he lights the cigarette between his lips, then pockets the lighter and takes in a drag. His form is slanted and controlled in an effortless kind of way. He looks good, even in your peripheral vision.

The following month, you’re switching out the flowers with a different kind than normal since your florist didn’t have your usual. You think it’s the first time he ever looks at you, at least with any sort of interest in his eyes. It seems like a trick of the light at first, the way his silver eyes dart away when you glance at him. In fact, you’re still not really sure it actually happened, but you like to think it did, if it means he’s at all as curious about you as you are about him.

Three months later is the one year anniversary of your spouse’s death. For once, you’re not on your own; their family and close friends hover near their niche, paying their respects and exchanging embraces. You’re off to one side, not feeling particularly talkative or social, which is no surprise given the occasion. He arrives as he always does, but stands further away than usual, and with a more guarded expression. You wonder if the number of people intimidates him or makes him uncomfortable, or if there’s just something on his mind. After a short while, everyone starts to head off for the memorial service. You’re the last to take your leave, looking over your shoulder at him and hoping for a second of eye contact that never comes.

The month after that, he is nowhere to be found. You don’t think much of it initially — he’s never late but sometimes you’re earlier than he is — but he never arrives. You stay embarrassingly longer than you normally would to see if he shows up. He doesn’t, and you chalk it up to some minor thing, like a change of plans or a visit cut short. It isn’t until two months later, when he still doesn’t show, that you start to worry. You’re not sure what exactly you’re worried about, or if it’s something to even worry about in the first place. You start to visit every week and convince yourself that the only reason for it is that you’re just missing your lover more these days.

The relief you feel when you see him four weeks later is monumental. You’re practically buzzing as you walk up to him and you don’t even know you’re smiling until you feel your mouth corners drop at the sight of him. He’s always had faint shadows under his eyes, but you’ve never seen them this dark before, and his gaze is so heavy that it’s akin to a dead man’s. You wonder how much sleep he’s had, if any, and if it has anything to do with why he hasn’t visited these last few months. You wonder and you wonder but none of it leaves the confines of your mind. You’re just strangers, after all; two strangers who regularly see each other, but strangers nonetheless. All you can do is sigh, the joy of seeing him subsiding, and go to switch out the flowers.

“You’re later than usual today,” he says so quietly that you almost think it’s just a voice on the wind that you hallucinated in your desperation to speak to him. You stare at him, waiting for any sign that his low, hoarse words weren’t just a figment of your imagination. He just stares back at you, one eyebrow arched and his eyes expectant.

“Um, yeah,” you say, slowly, just in case you imagined the look on his face too. “I missed my bus so…” You trail off, tempted to smile at the fact that you’re actually, finally speaking to him. The swarm of unanswered questions that you’ve been trying to avoid suddenly floods you all at once. “It’s been a while since I last saw you here,” you say on impulse, but nothing else makes it past your lips. Lingers of why is that? and where have you been? and are you doing okay? die on your tongue.

He sighs. “Shit happens, I guess,” he mutters. His tone is void of all emotion, apart from maybe the exhaustion of someone who has been carrying too much for too long. You’re not sure what to say, about to opt for a hum of agreement when he speaks again. “I just needed some time away. Got two of these to take care of now, after all.”

You swallow nervously, trying to think of how, if at all, you should respond. How could he say that so casually? Like a comment on the weather or an arbitrary greeting? Your stomach hollows at the thought alone. Two urns; two whole people. That’s two names, two different faces and personalities, two lifetimes full of memories and smiles and tears, two amounts of habits and mannerisms, two lists of likes and dislikes and hobbies and pet peeves, of favourite films and colours and animals. That’s two whole people that he knew and he’s standing here like he hasn’t lost them both.

“Spare me,” he says, the flame of his lighter dancing over the tip of his cigarette. “My mother died when I was just a kid, so I don’t remember her. And that old bastard’s lived long enough, if you ask me. It was about time he kicked the bucket.” He tucks his lighter away and exhales some smoke, staring at the cigarette between his fingers. “Besides, it gets pretty tiring hearing the same shit the second time around, let alone the first.” His lips purse as he breathes in and pulls out the cigarette again, along with a slow trail of smoke. His eyes are on you as he says, “You, of all people, should know what I mean.”

Your gaze gravitates toward the flowers beside your partner’s urn. He’s right. It’s comforting the first few times — the condolences, the ‘sorry for your loss’s, the sympathetic glances — but after a while, it loses its warm touch. It starts to feel like an awkward finger, prodding at a bruise to point it out, even though you know it’s there, and all you wish is for it to heal already.

“Levi,” he says next, and all you can do is look back at him, puzzled.

“What?”

“My name,” he says through another trail of slithering smoke. “It’s Levi.”

You smile at this break in character, this rare show of warmth. You might not really know this Levi guy, but you get the impression that he doesn’t do things like this — whatever ‘this’ is — very often.

“I’m (Name),” you say, and that’s all it takes for the rest to pour out. “It’s good to officially meet you, by the way. I know we’ve technically known each other for over a year now but, also not, I guess…” You chuckle awkwardly. “Since this is the first time we’ve properly spoken to each other and… I don’t know. I suppose it’s just nice, is what I’m trying to say? If that makes any sense?”

Levi just takes another drag of his cigarette and for a second you think this is it — you’ve fucked it up by being weird, you could not have made it more obvious how deprived you were of human interaction if you tried — but then he turns to face you. You get a good look at his eyes, almost appearing sunken in by the dark shade of purple under them, and the dips in the hollows of his cheeks that make themselves known in the change of lighting. Then you spot the creases in his suit and shirt, his loose, ungelled hair, the scuff marks on his shoes. And that’s when you think: who am I kidding? This is a man who is mourning a second person before he could understand how to mourn the first. He is just as deprived and sad and lonely as you are; if anyone is to understand you, it’s him.

“The feeling is mutual,” he says. Then he smiles, faint and fatigued, and it feels like a shift. Right then, you feel your heart nudge forward. For the first time since your partner’s death, you feel really, truly present; like all this time you’ve been on autopilot with your consciousness trapped in the memories of your lost love, stuck in moments long gone. You know the deceased are chained to who they were, unmoving and silent and still, but somehow you’ve only now realised that you don’t have to be. You’re allowed to move on.

So you decide to take the leap. “Do you…” you start, and figure it’s too late to go back now. “Do you want to go get a coffee or something?”

Levi lowers his head as if thinking. “Well, I’m more of a tea guy myself,” he says before dropping his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it. He smiles again, and your heart nudges forward some more. “But sure. Let’s go get coffee. Or something.”

After that, the rest is history.

Sometimes you wonder if he ever would have spoken to you at all, if not for you being late because of that bus, or if the entanglement of your lives was inevitable from the beginning; pre-written since the opening paragraph. You were two lost people whose paths happened to cross — and maybe it was the wrong place, but God, was it the right time.

#divider by benkeibear #cw death #tw death #tw loss #tw mourning #aot fic #levi fic #levi fanfiction #levi angst #levi hurt/comfort #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi x you #levi x gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #{♡} juno writes !!

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pointless-discourse · 16 days

Text

hs diet/cooking skills headcandons :3

what would they eat. i prommy im not scrambling for ideas, i am being fully genuine when i say i think about (the majority) of these a lot. disregarding my trans hcs for consistency and to try to reign in my fanon perception and keep it at least semi-accurate

content warning for disordered eating

JOHN EGBERT

eats very well, if a little heavy on the sweets just based on how many are in his vicinity. his dad loves baking. there will be baked goods. despite how sick he gets of sugar, he's gonna nibble.

however, i'm sure his dad knows how to cook and passed that onto john, at least how to follow a recipe

i think john would be a recipe follower most of the time tbh

living with nanna on the ship wouldn't significantly alter his skills

maybe with all that free time he'd start to improv more in the kitchen?

anyway, he is a good cook and is probably going to end up cooking for his disaster friends a lot because he is a charming young man

well not really? like he'll be on it in a pinch if he's asked too, or immediately reminded that his friends can't fucking cook, but she, in typical egbert fashion, will remain doing her own thing a lot of the time

charming young june gets tradwife'd ig

fuck i transed her . oopsie

DAVE STRIDER

we've seen that his fridge is full of smuppets and he hides his food, so his stash is small and is made up of foods that don't need to be refrigerated

texan heat is def a catalyst for that rot

his stash is also made of cheap, low quality food, because i doubt he's getting a lot of money

just an assortment of non-ingredient food like apples and mcdonands

this is on the hypothesis that bro gives dave food money or dave's somehow monetized his skills

if bro is providing this food, it's probably semi-often paywalled behind weird shit or swordfights

TLDR: he likely doesn't have a consistent supply either. enough to sustain some muscle so he can live up to what we've seen in comic, but he's underweight

you think he'll learn to cook on the meteor? wrong. why learn to cook when you can alchemize? what's the point of alchemizing the ingredients for a PB&J and then assemble it when you can just magic up a sandwich?

he cannot cook. he will burn the water. the only appliance he can use is a microwave, and that is iffy in itself because, until he gets the hang of it, will leave a slightly lukewarm hamburger in there for ten minutes

JADE HARLEY

plants. a lot of plants.

freshest thing near her. everything else she has to get through the airplane mail.

she'd forget to eat for a day or two, and then wonder why she's so hungry and then eat enough to feed a family of three. horses. three horess

she lost her grandpa at a young age and then was raised by a dog, so i doubt her eating habits are completely normal

she eats like a dog. jade does not use silverware because she does not like doing dishes. all food is finger food if you're not afraid.

what she eats is of very high quality. if she remembers to eat and can prepare her food correctly, she'll do fine.

on that topic, she's not a bad cook. her chem know-how would help her estimate what would work. but she's never had another person interact with her cooking, so it's lacking a lot of stuff.

research can get her cooking close to the real thing, but it's still mediocre. she doesn't even know what she's missing, because she's never known anything else.

she has a lot of weird tastes that can only come from an insane amount of time to kill. i'm talking mustard everywhere.

john and nanna might be able to reign her in a bit? they would definitely help her improve her cooking skills. watching her eat, there would still be something off about her.

however, she can cook for herself, and it tastes kinda good.

ROSE LALONDE

like john in that she had someone there who would cook for her.

mom lalonde is very absent, but she's still on top of things. she responds to rose's notes. she vaccums. she would still cook for rose on a regular basis, give or take a few off weeks.

that cooking would not be good, because she's wasted whilst making it.

even if the food was good, rose wouldn't admit it.

she often makes a show of pecking at her food, but still eats.

unlike john, mom never showed rose how to cook. rose never asked.

when she gets to the meteor, like dave, she alchemizes all the food she needs. there has never been a reason for her to learn how to cook.

she could probably put effort in and, with strife, successfully follow a recipe, but she is a horrible cook. she does not understand it for the life of her, and she won't until she studies it

she'll master it. eventually.

JANE CROCKER

like june. their upbringings are very similar.

one exception is that she cooks more and is a much better cook than she is because jane genuinely cares about it.

she also has some mad pastry skills.

jane can make macarons.

she would attempt to teach her disaster friends to cook, but would quickly lose patience.

and then she would try to cook for them, but get sick of it a meal in. they are very picky and her temper is not long

DIRK STRIDER

survives purely off rations/canned food

again, dave's food is fuel mindset extends to him and he can stomach a lot of "gross" things, like an entire can of peanut butter. i may have mentioned that before, so i'll give you some PD lore. i have eaten an entire jar of peanut butter out of hunger and i think about that event a lot because it was not nice for my tastebuds

however, i think as a control freak he would be adamant about his food schedule, even mathing out the amount of calories he would need to consume for every meal proportional to what he does in a day

and then a half-hearted attempt to balance out protiens, fats, minerals, and the other stuff

he is very adamant about his schedule and consuming the food he needs to survive, but that schedule is fucked

ex. 3 cans of canned peaches for breakfast at 3:50 in the morning. two large, burnt mutated fish for dinner at noon. no lunch. or eats half a can of peaches for the twenty hours he is awake in a day.

he can cook, as in prepare meat to be consumed alright. it's edible, and it's not that bad. but he is assed at combining ingredients. he cannot create something successful. all his food tastes like shit because he does not pick up on taste. though, i believe if he was cooking for someone else, he could set aside a few days and come up with something that's high-tier in the mediocre range.

JAKE ENGLISH

he eats only the meat of the beasts he's killed. he has scurvy.

he is a good cook (in the sense that he can competently prepare meat) though, and genuinely cares about the quality of the food he makes for the sake of his taste buds, and cooking is something he can get lost in

however: he has insane tastes. he is an expert in preparing food in this hyper-unique way that he is insane for but is absolutely disgusting to anyone else

ex. after years of eating similar tasting meat, he was motivated to use seasoning. he does not own seasoning. he is going insane and cannot eat the same thing again. he uses dirt. tastes bad, but god he is dying for something new after x years of eating the same thing for breakfast lunch and dinner. he continues to eat it because he cannot eat unseasoned meat anymore and repetition-causes-complacency's himself into genuinely enjoying the taste of dirt.

dirt is just the tip of the iceberg

jake is also unintentionally bulking (bodybuilders eat a lot of meat to gain muscle). he eats a lot of protien. however, he hasn't herd of the concept of 'cuts' (where you stop eating as much to let the muscles show) so he has a bit of a tummy

but also, he's sixteen so he's not a fridge. i also don't see him as that tall (huss draws him as shorter than dirk anyay huehuehue) but he has muscle if you look. twunk if anything

ROXY LALONDE

genuinely horrid diet

so zoned out and depressed she barely recognizes her own hunger and even then has no drive to do anything about it

will eat sugary stuff for the happy chemicals

roxy is the one trans headcanon i have where i am completely unable to distinguish it from canon

she is trans in my head. that is as much a part of her to me as her love for cats is

anyway like a lot of trans women she's pressured to be petite and small in her portion choices so even when she has the drive to eat i dont think its a lot

because of her likely not weighing a lot shes a lightweight

part one million on how is roxy not dead yet

and as expected, she cannot cook

she also has some really weird tastes

she is really good at baking a few specific sweets that she eats on repeat (with a lot of recipes from jane)

once she enters the medium and works on her drinking problem i think her eating problems would also get less intensive

not drinking as much she has to face her hunger more

and being around jane, a big gal, face to face, i think that would do something to her idea that to be a woman she has to be small

KARKAT VANTAS

troll rations

not only is he poor so no money for all the nice stuff i also dont think troll society has a big focus on cooking

their only main professions are military based and art doesn't seem to be a big focus, just a highblood thing

again probably some nasty cheap ration bars that keep him alive

but i do think he eats regularly and normal amounts, he has that fighting spirit to stay alive and get stronger

but yeah i don't think troll society would require you to put a lot of effort into culinary stuff. but he can prepare the food well

the meteor inspired no one to cook, but he'd get the hang of human food and probably enjoy it as compared to tasteless lowblood troll slop

humanstuck karkat is a kid chef. he is so fucking good at cooking. baking too.

ARADIA MEGIDO

mmmmm yummy troll slop

same as karkat

ghost aradia didnt need to eat anyway so i doubt that would've affected her diet habits

same with got tiger aradia? don't think she would bother with it, too much else to do

but once she starts hanging around in the dreambubbles, exposed to non-troll slop cusine, she'd have a fun time trying to learn how to cook and delight in all those new flavors

then when she gets to earth c she's a good cook who loves cooking

TAVROS NITRAM

i dont have any headcanons fro tavros because is hate him

sorry tavros fans

uhh he probably eats POOP!!! and LIKES IT!!! because he TAVROS!!!

SOLLUX CAPTOR

troll-slop-enjoyer, but also likes aradia's cooking

humanstuck sollux survives purely off doritos and g-fuel

NEPETA LEJION

utter chad

survives solely off the giant beasts she kills herself

ripped yet still small and nimble

her diet is entirely protein

no troll slop for her

unfortunately for her, this means missing out on non protiens and fats

nepeta has scurvy

humanstuck nepeta is less feral and also eats cute japanese cat themed sweets

KANAYA MARYAM

dont know if it was stated in canon but she would garden alongside eating troll slop

blood

yumy blood

roses blood

you would not believe it from looking at her but humanstuck kanaya eats a lot of spicy food and has a horrifically high spice tolerance

she's also pretty good at cooking, mediocre at baking

TEREZI PYROPE

?????? chalk???????

hopefully alongside the slop

either that or troll chalk is really nutritious

VRISKA SERKET

despite technically being a highblood i doubt she'd engage in their fancy food

she eats to survive, not for the taste

she may have access to higher quality sludge though

i think this part of her would persist, but she does love june's cooking

EQUIUS ZAHHAK

pure, distilled protien and milk

so much milk

its not 2%, not 3.25%, it's 100% milk

he suckles it straight from the moobeast teat

it is really weird and he does not get invited to parties

gigachad

humanstuck equius's diet is 1/4 food and 3/4 protien shakes, bars, and the like

he'd probably also be like those bodybuilding influencers who eat eggs raw or camel nutsacks

GAMZEE MAKARA

similar to roxy in that he's too checked out to remember to eat

but what he does have as a highblood is insanely high quality

sober gamzee does not require any sustenance to survive in a similar fashion as to how he got shot down by caliborn and was fine afterwards

humanstuck gamzee can bake. he cannot cook. he has the diet of an insane college student, ramen cups interspersed with weed brownies

occasionally he gets the munchies and eats enough to feed four full grown goku

i like thinking that someone realized he wasn't doing alright tried to help him, maybe roxy? in a universe where he didn't get lil cal'd

ERIDAN AMPORA

only the finest fish food for him

he dines like a king

he projectile vomits when in a 50 mile radius of the sludge

agile, but weak

doesn't cook, has other people do it for him

humanstuck eridan has a private chef and is offended if you expect him to cook for himself

FEFERI PEIXES

finest fish food for her, dines like a queen

but also attempts to live like the normies once and a while

and take a bite of the (highblood edition) slop

humanstuck fef also has a private chef but helps out in the kitchen from time to time

gonna b real dawgs, i cannot concieve of the dancestors in this manner. peace

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shitpostingkats · 5 months

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Since it has been a while now... what's your opinion in general about Vrains? Maybe from a 1-10 scale? Not me forgetting to ask thus question before until now lol

VRAINS VERY GOOD SHOW YES.

ahem.

I'd say on a scale of one to ten, I'd give Vrains an eight, maybe a nine depending on what I'm judging it against. Having now seen all the studio Gallop yugioh shows, I can confidently say I find something to like in all of them. They're all just a good time!

Objectively, though, I think vrains might be the best of the bunch. Good gameplay, amazing writing, great characters, and on top of that it just looks good, they truly get better and better as they go on, and I'd say Vrains is so far the best of the bunch, on a purely technical level. (Sevens and Go-ruch fans, I hear you. I'm getting there. Eventually. I prommy.)

Subjectively, Vrains is still very very very good. In terms of yugioh power rankings, it's only slightly beaten by 5Ds for being my second favorite ygo show, and it is very close. And honestly that's because 1) I am the age where 5Ds makes me feel nostalgia warm and fuzzies, and 2) I started watching 5Ds while sick with covid and pretty much high on cold meds so my brain bonded to it on a molecular level and I'm probably never getting that part of my grey matter back.

If you want more thoughts, this ask reminded me I need to write up my review roundup for Vrains, so look forward to that in the next few days.

#yes you can watch shows while very very sick. But watch out!#I think there's basically a yugioh show for every one in that if you can possibly like what yugiohs serving there is a show you will love #yugioh #yugioh vrains #but they all have such a different flavour ya know?#so I can only judge vrains on how it is as a show.#AND YES IT IS GOOD SHOW FUNNY AI GO BRRRRRRR #vrains #ygo vrains #asks #answered asks

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aeonophagic · 3 months

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I'm really glad you enjoyed these! the translator is actually user 17979 on here, they've written some really good After God fanfics and are a good friend of mine! the other parts they've translated are: original: "His soul seemed to have left his body. He was unfettered. There was no fear or panic. He felt nothing."

original: "It does not matter. They are one and the same. I need his power. I underestimated him."

and this one is more just a funny one from our treasured translator:

I'll have you know I had about the same reaction to the "You are the story I started 50.000 years ago" line, it just brings up so many questions; VA's lore is scattered as it is and very little is given to us, so just dropping something like this in a convo I doubt a lot of people have read is so [vague hand gestures] it's quite late at night when I'm writing this so forgive any incomprehensibility: the line itself, combined with some others there ("It's tone was surprisingly laden with grief, as if it was lamenting a past that could not return") read to me as slightly contrary to VA being merely a Divine Key, it sounds like he has an amount of history in the PE; my personal idea that is pure unadulterated speculation is that VA might have started out as just a person who had something to do with the PE HoR? it would explain the fact that he repeatedly speaks to a "you" which is clearly not actually Joey in this convo and doesn't seem to be Welt Joyce either considering the 50k years thing, that is to say maybe VA even inherited the core (woo Welt paralel) of the PE HoR; considering that Vill-V does say that the Core of Reason is fucking weird [paraphrasing] and, at least if my memory is holding up, Welt did retreat into the Herrscher Core at least once to avoid dying, there's nothing saying VA couldn't have also pulled that and ended up getting his ass merged with that Fragment of Prommy and turned into the only DK we know to be sentient, I dunno I'm sleep deprived that being said the 3rd line I sent last time would imply that VA was also like not human if all of this happened... I'll just say he yoinked a body Orokapi style and call it a day cuz I think if I keep trying to get these thoughts down on paper they will actually become complete word vomit [thumbs up emoji] anyhow the ramble section ended up being longer than I intended... but the fact that we really know so little of his lore does make my brain go haywire, if they ever explain Void Archives' lore properly that'll probably all be disproven but it's what I came up with considering what we know (and I remember)

“There was no more gravity that bound him to the mortal world” I think this one is in reference to Void Archives likely using the Fenghuang Down… ouuu

I definitely think the PE Herrschers besides Elysia all being nothing more than the names of said Herrschers in the story is one of the things that blocks my road here. Me and a friend have theorised plenty of things about the PE HoR, but none can be confirmed, none are even implied!!! A character with such a nothingburger that you can just make shit up and no one could tell you yes or no. My favorite theory is that the PE HoR looked just like Otto, but a girl. Because it’s funny. But now I don’t know… I can’t sacrifice my integrity for humor… I think the idea of the person that used to be what later became Void Archives was a part of the HoR core is really interesting. It would take from the whole “artificial thing struggles with humanity”, because then they’d have already been human once, but at the same time it would be as if they were reclaiming their humanity which is also intriguing etc etc… it’s really interesting. I initially thought Void Archives’ sentience came from them being part Prometheus since she’s sentient too, but at the same time why would Vill-V merge them with her then..? Because Prometheus is an AI so she can handle the “ever expanding knowledge”? Don’t know… so much left in the air, most Void Archives lore we know is stitched together thanks to No.17 who hasn’t talked about them even once. Thank you for sharing!!! I’m having lots of thoughts…

#rajatalk #void archives #hi3

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lakesbian · 22 days

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Congratulations on finishing Animorphs!

If you're looking for fic recs, one I think you might enjoy is this one focused on Rachel getting ready for a trial after the end of it all, but slightly differently each time:

https://animorphs.livejournal.com/645255.html

The reason I rec'd it is that I was thinking of how an Undersider equivalent focused on Delhi might go. Like say, a different Undersider is killed in Delhi, maybe by Phir Se, maybe by Cody, maybe by Behemoth and Alec is there to witness the aftermath each time from his somewhat warped perspective.

You've mentioned before that Alec would be suitably devastated if Aisha died, and probably pretty bothered if Taylor or Brian died, but I'm not sure he would care nearly as much if Lisa or Rachel ate it beyond, you know, the obvious physical consequences of them dying for the team.

But hey, maybe I'm wrong. I am but a Alec Appreciator Apprentice™. How do you think Alec would respond to each Undersider dying at that fight in particular? Most importantly, what are the odds that Alec cracks a joke at Lily's funeral for dying 5 minutes after joining the Undersiders?

thank you i have indeed finished my Morphs Venture. it was fun. yeah i honestly don't think alec would care very much about parian or foil kicking the bucket. i think he would be like...well, that sucks, but he's not in close enough emotional proximity to care particularly much about either of their new coworkers dying. i think if he was around parian he would have enough sense to just sit in the back with aisha and keep his mouth shut, but if it was just him & the other undersiders and the rest of the team was clearly sort of down or awkward in any way, there are fairly decent odds that he might try to add a bit of levity with some morbid humor and then just cram his own foot in his mouth instead. as he's wont to doing.

but as for literally any of the other undersiders, he would care! he's not, to my memory, any closer with taylor or brian than he is with lisa or rachel. in fact, we know that he feels some solidarity with rachel as one of the team outcasts prior to taylor dyking it up with her--when he does his little Bit about suggesting that he and aisha quit the team and form their own together, he also includes rachel on his list of hypothetical "othersiders." the undersiders are fundamentally the only people he has in the world. they're his Team. aisha dying is the one that would really, really hit hard for him, but i prommy he would be very shaken about any of the others dying, as well. although i do think he would parse it through the lens of like...dissociated emotional self defense where he's convincing himself that he doesn't care because he wasn't close to them like he is to aisha, to the point where he comes off as unacceptably insensitive/blase and pisses off remaining undersiders who can't read him in the way lisa and aisha can

#ask #worm spoilers #jay don't look #yippee alec quastions in here

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