#and they are all either dead or are the souls of the damned

[turndecassette2]

I do remember those magic knight people! Every once in a while I go back on your blog to try to track down those drawings because I like them and the concept in the description so much. I would love to hear more about them. Do you have a story planned out?

yeah, vaguely. so for the cosmology; there's this dystopian city I desperately need to draw a map of built above the fossilised remains of an ancient hell. the city mines the hell for 'hell-flesh', a semi-sentient magical substance that's kind of the physical container of the souls of the damned. I suppose this is like fantasy rare earths for fantasy compute or w/e. this has been going on for a while and the city is, kiruna-style, gradually falling down the pit. also as more of the hell is laid bare, semi-autonomous demonic creatures are let loose, maybe as a kind of immune response against human incursion.

(imagining this sort of thing + branching passages. but in the middle of an italian intra-feuding city-state w a population ca modern day singapore)

a kind of grid of bridges and fortresses has been built above the pit to protect the fancier, upper parts of the city from the decaying/descending bits below. the lower city is mostly miners etc & due to the fucked up mutagenic influence of living near a hell & touching hell stuff all day the people in the upper city treat them with suspicion. there's a 'join the US navy-army-whatever to get health insurance & education & basic human dignity' or like french foreign legion situation where by joining the elite magic army manning the little fortresses, ppl from the lower city can gain some access to the upper. in the reverse I guess for the upper city ppl it functions a bit like 'the wall' in asoiaf where criminals, noble bastards etc go to maybe redeem themselves or die horribly.

the fire magic used by the guards to fight demons etc is derived from the burning corpse of a god that is said to have been there since before the founding of the city (presumably the entity responsible for the hell situation in the first place). by swearing fealty to this dead(-ish) god one gets the ability to summon his divine flame but you forfeit your chance at an afterlife, or maybe you go to hell (no-one is quite sure). everyone kind of assumes once the body is fully burned the god will return/reincarnate (and either save or destroy the city, depending on who you ask).

the politics part; at its founding the city was part of some empire that has since collapsed (pretty recently). the city is dependent on trade to stay viable/fed and to appease the new warring states/mini-empires that have sprung up around it. the current ruler is a reclusive young queen & she has her favourite lord/advisor, an ageing academic who is sort of trying to liberalise the place or make it superficially less fashy. other lords dislike this & are working to either find her a proper king or hasten the return of some deity or other that will return the place to its former glory.

I guess the story? has this noble child bastard protagonist from a shady family* of word-mages who is sent to the 'centre' fortress & works her way up to become the apprentice of some hero-knight demon slayer guy with a possibly shady past (I think rn the name I have for the guy is Chaimé & idk if this is a good name? like the spanish jaime but w more e, & the tiny bastard is Myia I think). I imagine her being the sasuke to a happier, more popular girl who saves her from a demon (embarrassing) then is outed as a half-demon herself (she's the redhead in the drawings) & Myia warms up to her as she (demon girl) becomes increasingly isolated from the outside city (being supposedly dangerous or too powerful? I don't think Myia has much natural magic or w/e in her aside from being a nerd & very persistent).

sorry there's a lot here that would be SPOILERS if I ever actually made this into something coherent enough to be an actual comic ha ha. the knight/mentor guy gets dragged into a kind of fantasy 'business plot' & I guess part of that would be like, seeing to what extent he goes along with it & if he's actually a good person ha ha. + there's a bunch of other characters w stuff going on that I haven't figured out the looks of yet but. they're important in my head. the big bear-ish bf guy who gets sent on an expedition down the pit etc

* I have a distinct image of these people living hidden away in some gormenghast-style estate. they've habsburged themselves into being mostly deaf but the only ones around who can fully read/write the divine language that lets them do word-based magic & the other houses kind of have to put up w their weirdness. also scheming nobles in dune using sign language is 1 of my favourite things in the new film adaption & I like the idea of outsiders being forced to learn to sign (or else being cut-off from higher level magic) as some sort of power move? I don't think they involve themselves that much in politics since that's below them but are def part of the 'bring the gods back' thing, for better or worse. anyway after 'avas demon' (GUILTY PLEASURE I know it has such pretty colours but comes from such an unhinged part of the internet, will never stop apologising for this) started posting again I realised it had a character w the same look & vibe so will try and re-design protag girl to look more like this cute person I saw in a fashion post on IG

... let's see how this goes. came up w all this BS after some viz lady at comicon asked me if I wanted to make them a manga but it's grown from being too little to being too unwieldy to pitch. will see after I finish up my current projects. how much blood, swearing & genocide can a story have before it stops being YA. I think chainsaw man is sort of YA but dorohedoro isn't

#I started reading dorohedoro as a teen & I turned out OK #I mean I draw comics I live w my parents in the woods like a medieval peasant etc but that's no worse than the rest of society #these days #god this is a mess #16 yo me loved the bas-lag books #an ask #sorry abt grammar etc this is a lot of words

[iamthescalesofjustice]

you are john. it has been, what, like eight or ten months since you sent out the notices about the new round of lyctor trials? you have a weird dream one night and decide, on a whim, to check in on how the trials are going. 

you phone home (its not home, home is gone). no one picks up. thats weird, and kind of concerning, so you go to check. canaan house is empty, even of the constructs you left to act as bodies for the partitioned bit of your soul-conglomerate you left there. there seem to be a lot of weird zombies on various continents. whoops, looks like some of the partitions of your soul-network need to be tuned up. well, you can do that after you figure out where the contestants went. 

an extensive round of investigation later, you land on the ninth. yep, that sure does seem to be the missing contestants. and the canaan house priests. and cytherea is here, for some reason. probably plotting against you. and... oh, annabel, good morning. 

while you are getting stabbed by your cavalier, you cant help but notice that it looks like some of the contestants did, in fact, achieve lyctorhood. but uh, definitely not the way they were supposed to. 

#to wit: the sixth and seventh have formed a soul network. only the sixth have living bodies #for some reason the dead body of the seventh cav is being possessed by that BoE bitch your hands were conspiring with almost 20 years ago? #there are 3 members of the third house here? and the actual cav is not involved in thenew 3rd house lyctorhood bond at all aside from #teaching swordsmanship to the? new 3rd cav? who is the necros sister apparently #the fitth havent made a lyctor bond yet but they Do appear to be having something going on with [checks notes] the guy who is supposed to #be the actual ninth cav but apparently isnt. wait so who went as the ninth c— uh. uhhhhhh #okay so you have a kid and the ninth has apparently joined your soul network at some point without you noticing wait wait what is this #wake-me-up-inside is on your soul network too??? youve been hacked. #as for whats going on with the rest: bc if various revelations the 8th have cancelled god who clearly doesnt understand how to #do soul magic in a Right and Proper manner. both the two who were at the trials and once they get the message back the entire house will be #up in arms about it and while the sixth have already been ready to break off from the empire if need be the eighth may try to like. take it #over? it wont go well. either way we are looking at a bigtime schism here #the fourth are trying to get good at enough at soul stuff to do one of the cooler lyctorhoods they have now learned about. the fifth are #trying to stop them from doing this and the most convincing argument theyve had thus far is that they should get past puberty first in case #the type of lyctorhood they end up doing is one of the 'freezes you at that state' one instead of the 'well the ninth aged so #clearly its possible somehow' version. the second were in the timeout corner for a while but there have been. a lot of revelations #and when you are finding stuff out firsthand and being told it directly by gods saint and his cavalier its a little harder to ignore than #if you are traumatized and on the verge of death and being told stuff by insurgents from outside the empire #also gideon has been popping back to earth a lot to 1) get sunlight 2) fight zombies for fun 3) forage for now-feral crop plants to bring #back to the ninth bc damned if shes going back to snow leeks now. also this is how shes dealing with her breakup from cytherea. and getting #space from her mom who sucks and from the drama of finding out her dad is the emperor who also sucks and that she and harrow have a #soul connection sort of that may or may not make them immortal and just. its a lot of questions. a lot of unpleasantness. a lot of pressure #hangin around on the ninth which doesnt feel big enough to get away from the drama. so shes #using her fucking teleportation powers to try her hand at shitty cottagecore life on a zombie-infested tomb of a planet instead of. yknow. #her other hometown tomb planet which is now also a little zombie-infested in a different way

[warlordfelwinter]

i love how many times he says this as if he didn’t give fiver migraines for three straight days trying to reel him in like a particularly stubborn fish

#i guess fiver did go find the beacon and touch it #but it was either that or continue to have migraines #while the exarch tried to rip his soul out #honestly at this point in fiver's life #he was probably confused by the exarch thanking him and asking his permission for things #this was before he started his mental health recovery #so he still fully just views himself as a weapon wielded by the scions #mmm #thinking about g'raha reading all the stories about fiver #which since they're written by other people they almost certainly don't explore how much everything was breaking him #and then he finally gets to see him again #and he just looks completely broken #following him around the crystarium not really questioning anything all tired and dead-eyed #since raha wasn't there to experience the gradual change in fiver's demeanor #it was almost certainly way more noticeable to him #which probably partially explains why he's so damn nice #the rest just being that he's raha and he's always nice #ffxiv #ffxiv shadowbringers #ffxiv spoilers #oc: atli

[lovebugism]

hi bug! can I please request the dialogue prompt “Hold up, she said what?” with steve and shy!reader? maybe she is robin’s friend and robin tells steve something reader said (maybe that she thinks steve is cute or nice or something of the sort), and it leads to a cute conversation between the two?

ty for requesting angel!! — steve finds out the cute girl at the record store likes him and decides to bring her ice cream as a proclamation of love (shy!fem!reader, friends to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff, 2.3k)

blurbcember ⋆⁺₊⋆ ❄ ⁺₊⋆ ❄

“Wait, wait, wait,” Steve interjects suddenly, a metal scoop in his hand and a wild look in his eye. “She said what?”

Robin fumbles with the metal tub of Peppermint-Chip ice cream she’s refilling. It clangs when she drops it into place with haphazard care. The shop goes unusually silent without her rambling to fill the dead air. Holly, Jolly Christmas crackles quietly from the broken speakers overhead.

The girl blinks at him with a wide ocean gaze. Her rogue-tinted mouth falls softly agape. She knows she’s said the wrong thing, but she can’t remember what.

“...Huh?”

“What’d you just say?”

Her doe eyes flit to the left for a moment. It takes her a second or more to recall the words she’d only just said. She does this thing sometimes where she rambles on and on about nothing, and Steve was the first person in the whole world to let her. So it’s way too easy for her to tell him a billion things at once and forget about all of them a second later.

“That the music store just got new cassettes in?” Robin answers, her gritty voice a few octaves higher than usual.

Steve nods slow and with a crooked grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth. He rests his elbow on the glass case above the ice cream and eggs her on. “After that?”

“…That you and the pretty new girl that works there have the same taste in music?”

“Before that.”

“That she said she wanted to show you the new tapes,” she says, wincing with the realization that she had, in fact, said the wrong thing. A secret she swore not to tell has just spilled from her lips without her even knowing it.

“And?” Steve lilts with a wider, rosier smile.

“Because she likes you…” Robin confesses (or rather, re-confesses) with her teeth gritted.

Even though Steve had heard her perfectly the first time, hearing it the second makes his heart skip a beat. The pulsing organ lurches into his throat. He almost forgets how to breathe.

“She likes me?” he repeats, mostly whispering, with an incredulous gape of shock. His bushy brows raise until his forehead wrinkles. His eyes go wide until the honey of them starts to glimmer.

Despite her best friend’s lovesick disposition, Robin’s freckled face hardens. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that,” she rumbles like a storm cloud, knocking her shoulder against his when she walks by him.

“Why?” Steve retorts like a child, following behind her just the same. 

He nearly bumps into her when she stops short at the deep freezer. She returns the cloth mits she carried the ice cream in with after spending her whole break organizing the case by color. Steve could never even be bothered to put the damn things back where they belonged in the first place.

“Because I swore to her I wouldn’t,” Robin agonizes, then whips around to face him again. Her features are twisted like a hurt puppy as she pleads. “Don’t tell her I said anything either, okay? She’ll hate me.”

Steve wasn’t planning on it. Not because he thought it might make you hate her, though. He’s not entirely sure you’re capable of that. 

He’s only known you for a few months — ever since the leaves started changing color and people traded their ice cream cones for cool music at the new record store. He spent half that time admiring you across the landing, but you’ve never been anything but gentle with him. You were soft, with a soul of sunshine. 

He didn’t know it was possible to be made of sunlight until he met you.

“Well, did you tell her I liked her back?” he presses, hoping Robin might’ve done some of the hard work for him.

Her face screws up like she’s tasted something sour. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I promised you I wouldn’t.”

Steve shoots her a deadpanned look.

Robin caves. 

“It’s not like I meant to tell you she liked you just now, okay? It just came out!” she explains, gesturing wildly with her hands. “Maybe next time I stick my foot in my mouth around the new girl, I’ll tell her that you’re obsessed with her, and the two of you can finally start dating instead of making sex eyes at each other all the time.”

He wouldn’t put that past her. Robin the Mastermind, Robin the Blabbermouth, Robin the Matchmaker. But his fluttering heart is pumping with too much adrenaline now. He feels like he could move mountains with the knowledge of your affections — knowing that all his own big, fuzzy, suffocating feelings have been reciprocated all this time.

If he doesn’t talk to you now, he’s scared he’ll never work up this kind of courage again.

“No. Screw that,” he concludes with a shake of his head. He’s in King Steve mode now — feeling half as suave as he used to back when the whole town was falling at his feet — chest puffed and ego reeling. “I’m gonna go talk to her.”

Robin watches, dumbfounded, as he dumps a scoop of their best-selling ice cream into a paper bowl. Another tub she’ll have to refill. Steve ducks under the counter door and heads for the exit. “Wait— what am I supposed to do?” the girl shouts across the empty store.

Now out in the bustling Starcourt mall and taking short strides towards the music store, Steve spins on his heel to face her. He shrugs and readjusts the sailor’s cap on his head. “Wait for me to get back.”

—————

You’ve been banished to the back of the store.

Not exactly. But that’s what it feels like.

You got a bit too overwhelmed working the front counter, and since Eddie’s crazy soft on you, he let you put up all the Christmas decorations he’d been putting off instead. It’s a win-win situation, really. 

You’re stringing up sparkling tinsel over the rows of records when a deep blue sailor’s uniform catches your eye. Looking over your shoulder, you find Steve in all his glorysauntering towards you. He’s wearing shorts even though it’s basically winter now in Indiana. He’s beaming at you like sunshine anyway.

Beneath the amber glow of the dimly lit store, he looks borderline angelic. Almost unfairly ethereal.

“What’s that?” you wonder with a smile you don’t even know is there, nodding to the Scoops Ahoy brandedcup in his hand. 

You can almost smell the syrup-cinnamon concoction of the ice cream he holds in his palm. Or maybe that’s just Steve, and the sugary sweetness is radiating from his pores after working in a confectionary shop during the holidays.

He looks at you even sweeter.

“New flavor,” he answers vaguely, smirking as he leans against the metal shelves. He stumbles slightly when it rocks beneath his weight. “Oops. Sorry. It’s, uh— It’s pancake chunks with maple syrup swirl. I call it Wake and Bake.” 

A giggle tumbles from your lips when he hands it to you. “Eddie’s gonna love that,” you murmur.

“Well, it’s actually called Breakfast in Bed, but— I don’t know— I thought my idea was better.”

“Way better,” you concur with a nod and a pretty smile.

Steve watches with attentive honey eyes as you spoon a bite into your mouth. He feels a bit like it’ll be his fault if you hate it. His irrational need to impress you always makes him feel hopelessly inadequate. 

“Woah,” you hum without your mouth still a little full. The cream melts softly on your tongue, tasting of a sweet and early morning. “This is really good.”

His brows raise, and his eyes widen. “Yeah?” he wonders. Your words wash over him like a compliment for a reason he can’t name. It feels good to make you feel good.

“Mhmm. I might have to come by after work and buy the rest of it, actually,” you joke with a curt shrug. It’s a feeble confession — your way of telling him that you want to see him more because you could never say the real thing out loud.

Your heart sinks when Steve shakes his head. Then swells when he smiles.

“No way,” he scoffs, lips curling into a lopsided grin. “I’m not gonna let you pay for it— that’s crazy.”

“You can’t keep giving me free ice cream, Steve—”

“What my manager doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he lilts lowly and with a cool shrug that makes you melt. He goes very distinctly soft when he looks at you, all scruffy-faced and sweet-eyed. 

It’s suffocatingly beautiful. You crack under the pressure of it. 

“Well, uh— Thanks for the— ice cream,” you stammer and motion the bowl back to him. Thanks for stopping by and keeping me company, but you’re too pretty and I’m not sure how much longer I can take it, you don’t say.

“You don’t want the rest?” he asks with pinched brows.

“I just… should probably get back to work, you know?”

“Eddie doesn’t let you take breaks?”

“No, he does,” you answer quickly, shifting your weight on your feet. It becomes virtually impossible to meet his gaze. “Just not with…”

Steve’s brows raise when you trail off. “Not with me?” he finishes with a laugh.

“Well, not with the… pretty-boy-ice-cream-slinger in the sailor’s uniform,” you correct, then quickly follow. “His words. Not mine.”

In all honesty, Steve couldn’t care less about what Eddie Munson has to say about him. If Hawkins’s local freak is the only thing standing between him and the pretty girl at the music store, he’s down to break a couple of dumb rules.

He takes a small step towards you. His pink smirk widens. You swear your heart stops when he looks at you with it. “You don’t think I’m pretty?” he teases with a twinkle in his squinted eye.

Suddenly, there’s a frog in your throat and you’re fourteen all over again. You’re flustered and drowning and totally unsure of yourself. “I didn’t say that,” you mutter, gaze flittering and smile wavering.

Steve goes to rest his elbow on the shelf again, then remembers its unsteadiness and decides against it. His arm rests awkwardly in the air for half a moment before he crosses both of them over his chest. 

“Well, I mean, you didn’t not say it, so…”

You squint up at him, busying your clammy hands with the melting ice cream in your palm. You know what he’s fishing for. Your pride urges you to stay silent even though your heart sings the sweetest songs for him. 

“You know you’re pretty, Steve,” you murmur matter of factly.

“But do you think I’m pretty?”

Your thundering heart lurches into your throat when Steve takes another small step closer. He smells like wintertime — like Christmas and nostalgia and boy. You don’t trust your voice to answer him verbally, so you nod, slow and sheepish.

“Good,” he hums with a beam he couldn’t hide if he tried. “‘Cause I think you’re pretty, too.”

Your chest gets all sparkly at his admission — the affirmation that all your girlish feelings are being reciprocated by a boy you never dreamed you could have. You don’t feel hardly deserving of the fondness dripping from his features, but you pray he never stops looking at you with it.

You grow warm with the irrational hope that he might kiss you. You think he might actually kiss you until your boss’s voice pierces the golden bubble of puppy love the both of you are basking in.

“How’s the decorating going?” Eddie announces himself, appearing suddenly between the two aisles.

Robin idles at his side. She’s in the feminine version of Steve’s sailor outfit — with silver chains around her neck and bandaids on her knees. Effortlessly endearing and totally unaware of it all.

You push Steve away from you without thinking, all but shoving the softening ice cream into his chest. Some of it smears white against the scarlet tie around his chest. “Sorry!” you exclaim in your moment of fleeting panic, then turn to Eddie with the same apologetic wince. “Sorry…” you repeat quieter.

“Robin?” Steve gapes at the sight of his best friend — apparently the second thing standing in his way, right beside the freak. “What the hell are you doing here— did you tattle on me? What are you, four?”

“I got lonely,” the brunette answers plainly. “And I knew you were around here somewhere, so I asked Eddie where you were—” She waves a pale hand your way, fingers painted with chipping maroon polish.  “—And now I’m here.”

Eddie grins wide and tilts his wild head to his shoulder. “Yeah. Can’t believe you’re trying to taint my one good employee, Steven.”

“I’m not tainting anybody, Munson,” he bites back like a bickering brother, then screws up his face and turns to Robin. “Wait. If you’re here, who’s manning the counter?”

Her freckled face falls like a child caught in a fib. Her deep blue eyes widen when she blinks at him. In a mousier voice, she confesses, “Dustin came by… And I told him he could eat all the ice cream he wanted as long as he made sure no one stole anything.”

The four of you fall silent. The soft rock of Christmas Wrapping plays weakly from the radio at the front of the store. Eddie breaks first. ‘Cause he can’t ever be serious about anything. 

The boyish sound of his laughter sends a giggle sputtering from your lips. The pretty noise makes Steve smile despite his baffled disbelief.

He turns to you with a dumbfounded grin. “You’re still stopping by after work, right?”

“Yeah,” you answer softly, nodding as your smiling face grows hot.

Eddie scoffs when Steve walks by him. “If you still have a job by then.”

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things #stranger things imagine #steve harrington imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #st drabbles #stevie drabble #event: blurbcember

[zorciarkrildrush]

I think the essence of what drives me crazy about current Enlightened Online Leftist Discourse Regarding My Life Personally And Whether This Time Killing Me Is Morally Correct (as in, commentary about the latest episode in i/p violence) is this:

I want a free Palestine.

I don't personally know a lot of people that don't! They might bristle at the tagline, because it's co-opted by people who do in fact want them dead, but as soon as I lay out why it's in literally everyone's best interest, how a non-free Palestine is horrific both to the people of Israel and to the people of Palestine, how pragmatically ridiculous the occupation of the west bank and the siege upon Gaza are (and I am a very pragmatic person), they get it. And I don't mean I debate people online about it - this, too, is a ridiculous concept - I mean having, time and time again, the deradicalization conversation with my friends, and colleagues, and my family. Obviously not only now - I've always been a very principled and argumentative Jew, ever since I became an adult - and I've been alive for, I don't know, a dozen flashpoints and operations and wars at this point, and I don't stop being argumentative and loud in peacetime either, but especially now.

But that's not what "from the river to the sea" means.

When you, gentle soul from across the sea, echo this slogan, you are either:

By apathy or will, ignoring that the sentiment cheers for the mass expulsion and killing of Jews. Indeed, any non-Muslim present from the river to the sea. This doesn't even begin to cover how even Muslim arabs still will not be safe under Hamas rule - and trust me, I don't care if a Hamas apologist told you different. A victory for Hamas (And we're ignoring the fact they do not have the military capacity for it - I hope you are aware of the privilege inherent to not understanding military conflicts) means exactly that. No "rule by the people". No socialistic, Palestinian utopia to be had, which is a fantasy I'm seeing alluded to a lot recently. Just an extension of the horrific power structure in Lebanon and Syria, where Hezbollah - friends and allies to Hamas - have been playing a tango for decades of both refusing to participate in actual government and betterment of civilian lives, while still draining their resources and controlling them with no real contest. "From the river to the sea" is not a sentiment for freedom fighting - it's a sentiment for a final solution to the people living here who are either Jewish, or for some Very Strange And Weird Reason would rather not submit to Hamas rule. You know - Israeli Arabs, secular and Muslim and Christian, Druze, Circassians, Bahai, take your pick. Their suffering, and my suffering - you know, a person who made the strategic error of being born in Israel while Jewish, which is inherently problematic and not okay of me - don't matter to you. Just the fantasy of an easy, morally correct cleanse of the land.

Are well aware of all of the above! You just don't care. You either smugly chuckle that I, and anybody else who will die, deserve it - or that it's an acceptable loss for the aforementioned fantasy. "Decolonization is an inherently violent process", you'll say to me, chillingly, before implying I have a summer home in Brooklyn I can just retreat to when things get tough. Israel is basically Rhodesia, a very popular blog here mentioned flippantly, so what's the issue with all of those lily-white Jews fucking off back home before the righteous freedom fighters strike them down? Well. This might be the part I urge you to open a book, or even Wikipedia or any god damn thing that will explain to you these upsetting, dense things you clearly struggle with.

So finally:

It's easy for me to discount islamophobes. Like, very easy. It's very easy for me to discount insane evangelistics who "advocate for me" simply because I'm a pawn in their religious rapture. It's easy for me to fight against Israeli and Jewish fascists - I have been long before this news item came across your feed, as did the insinuations that some civilian deaths are okay, actually.

It's easy for me for me to see promotions for donations to non-political aid in Gaza. It's easy for me to see the sentiment that hey! Palestinians deserve safe, healthy lives. That they have deserved an independent state, and were unfairly denied one, for decades. It's easy for me to see people saying "You know, the Israeli government is shit, actually, and their actions endanger and promote to the misery of innocents". Because that's right! I wouldn't be voting and protesting and donating for all of these sentiments otherwise!

It's not easy for me to see people, who I honestly held in high regard and saw having well thought out opinions on important matters, inadvertently echo the sentiment that my death is acceptable. That a terrorist organization, who rule over their own territory with fear and violence, are righteous freedom fighters, vox populi, only out to establish a free state. Like hey, their manifesto said otherwise, so it must be all there is - right? That Jews are just hysterical, they can easily live elsewhere - ever since that nasty holocaust business everything's fine abroad. Besides, it was just so long ago who even cares stop talking about it. Hamas, Hezbollah, ISIS, the Ayatollahs in Iran, the fucking Islamic Jihad - are not interested in freedom. They aren't, and echoing their slogan tells me you are either ignoring that, or support them anyway. If antisemitic rhetoric, half truths and lies by omission work on you today, they would have in any period of time. I'm sorry this makes you uncomfortable. I'm not, not really.

Know what your fucking words mean. Have a cursory glance at the history of the MENA and why it's so fucked, one that doesn't boil down to "The Jews, with American help, rolled into where they don't belong". This isn't even a joke. I've seen this braindead, history-revising sentiment repeated so many times, both online and in actual textbooks, that I feel I'm going insane. So many well-meaning people handwringing and assuring each other that repeating genocidal slogans is fine, that calling the i/p conflict "a simple problem" (which means it has a simple solution, right? Just kill the Jews.) is a well-adjusted and intellectual take. That "only the Zionists should die! The rest will be fine :)" I dare you to say that and also give me a correct definition of what Zionism is. Why I, a Jew that advocates for Palestinian statehood and rights and safety and always have, won't also face the wall in your little fantasy.

Freedom to Palestine. Peace in the middle east, fucking yesterday.

A curse and a plague on those who don't want either of those, and just want to cheer on the death of "the other side".

A curse and a plague upon you, when you tell me, smugly, from somewhere safe and far away, "from the river to the sea".

#selfpost #long post #i/p #israel #palestine #antisemitism #antizionism #I pondered linking every word of every claim I make to sources like Reuters and Wikipedia and what have you #but honestly? Please just read them #don't get your news off fucking Twitter #my respect for “critical thinking” online leftists is already at an all time low

[heartfullofleeches]

[18+]

Amab Angel/Cupid Darling who gets a kick out of tormenting their yans with the fact that an angel sleeping with a mortal is the greatest sin either party can commit. As per usual in a fair amount of my universe, God is probably long dead, but that still doesn't stop darling from sticking to their rule. Whether they choose to live by the word of their fallen creator or they just love to see the misery in the pathetic humans' faces is a mystery....

But if we're being honest it's 100% the latter.

"You want a taste of my cock? How profane of you, human! You and I both know that would get us both in big trouble."

.....

"You don't care? You'd honestly damn your immortal soul to an eternity in hell just to have me? You pervert! There really is no saving you, is there...."

Wanders around the human world wearing no clothing at all, or if they do it leaves little to thought. Why should they be ashamed of the nude vessel their creator crafted just for them? Despite their absence from sleeping with mortals, Angel Darling humors them by playing with themselves in their presence. They always know when those awful humans have their eyes on them - it's like they're hypnotized by every little thing their angel does. Depending on their mood and if Darling is feeling extra giving, they may spoil their human by letting their cum fall on their waiting tongue if the person in question kneels patiently at their feet without making a sound or moving an inch - even to pleasure themselves. The sight and taste of their angel is enough to make those most faithful to them cum without needing to be touched anyway.

If they're really lucky Darling might let them clean their cock with that dirty tongue of theirs - aren't they kind?~

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere oc #male reader #amab reader #angel reader #yandere drabble #yandere smut

[lauranthalasah]

Listen, Michael Sheen is an acting beast, we all know this, but what David Tennant is managing with Crowley, with half the time his eyes completely covered, having to use his voice and whole body expression to convey the subtleties of the character, the silences, the changes of tone, the small posture indications? It's a master class in acting! He could have chosen to go BIG to show it all, but so many times what he does is the other way around. That last scene with the two of them is fantastic! Michael is giving us all he has, and David has been showing eyes and voice work, and then he covers his eyes and that informs us too, about what the character is going through. But the scene continues, and now Crowley has his eyes covered, we should be having less from him than from Aziraphale, but we get so damn much! The work is so fucking subtle and at the same time it seems like he is screaming to us, that little sight after the "I forgive you"?! It killed me! The tone of his voice in the "I think I understand a whole lot better than you"??!!! AAAAHHHHHHH! The blank face when he is waiting by the side of the car, how he watches Aziraphale go, he stays there and watches until Aziraphale gets into that elevator, because he has to actually see his friend leaving him for good. His face while he is driving away... we see Aziraphale trying to smile through his breaking heart, trying to create this front, this mask. But Crowley looks dead, completely resigned, this is his lot in life, no matter what he does, he will always be wrong, or not enough, or whatever, he has been trying to get a friend for the last 6000 years, but he is not with Heaven, and he is not with Hell, and now he is not with Aziraphale either, he is destined to be alone, on his own, little, lonely side, and he has accepted it. IT FUCKING HURT! And it is all in a dead expression. David Tennant it's playing Crowley with his damn soul, man!

#good omens spoilers #go2 spoilers #good omens 2 spoilers #david tennant #michael sheen #good omens #i was impressed in season 1 #but this season it has gone beyond it so hard

[see-arcane]

The Harkers have got me fucked up. Not just from how much they're going through. Not just from how well they know each other.

But in how much is not being said. How much that appears to have been missed.

Mina has just made their friends swear to euthanize her. In front of Jonathan, who she knows cannot/will not make said promise aloud, though she tries to fish it out. A funeral service, yes, but no more than that. She takes the wins she can, relying on the others for the sacrificial slaughter while she pries what she thinks is some mote of acceptance of the Worst Case Scenario in Potentia from Jonathan. Perhaps she's read the vampiric vow of his journal by now. Perhaps not. Perhaps she already suspects either way and wants desperately not to see him damn himself, damn both of them, to avoid raising a killing hand to her.

She is going into the dark. What kind, she does not know yet. But she knows--thinks she knows--she has taken some measure to save her soul and Jonathan's. God's will be done. (Piety trembles in her heart, a fear trying frantically to still look like faith.)

Jonathan, meanwhile, is in Hell.

As it was in the castle, there are some miseries too deep to dwell on for him to stomach writing them down. Hence his tapping Jack to record it all. But the silence from him here, bar the dodge of the promise that goes against his private vow, bar the reading of the burial service, sinks deeper than any horror he suffered from the Count in person. What can he be thinking now?

I made this all possible. I opened the door to England for him. Showed him how to spread his poison. Failed to strike a killing blow when I had the chance. Slept frozen and useless beside her as he drank and made her drink. Lost him by inches in Piccadilly. Now I am here, listening to her claim so sunnily that any man of old would murder his woman to save her from the enemy's touch, as if asking for a trifle. All the while I sit contemplating a hellish betrayal, holding my heart over her wishes, over sanity, humanity, Heaven and Hell. Contemplating worse.

(The kukri is very sharp by now. In time it will have so fine an edge that no one would feel its cut before their head toppled off. Be they in a coffin or a friend with their back turned. Sickly, he finds the thought cold and placid in his mind. Is he not already damned for what he's allowed? Is he not already slated for the Count's collection? He knows whose blood it was on the monster's lips on that final dawn in Transylvania. And when he dies...)

I imagine he has to stop himself from making a mirrored request to the others right there. Has to stop himself from handing Mina the Bible and asking her to read it out for him. If she is lost, he is lost. It is not merely undeath that he would follow her into--whatever she is, wherever she goes, so must he be, so must he go.

Read it for me now, darling. You laid it all out so eloquently. I am already lost but for the wait for the grave. Come everyone, while we're here. Two funerals. Two sets of oaths. I can perhaps save you half the work, if I fall neatly enough on the kukri. Pry it from my heart and take my head when the time comes.

But he bites his tongue. Does not touch his pen. Does not risk heaping another weight on his love who is already crushed beneath existential terrors that are being thrust on her by the actions of others. She does not know what he is planning, even if she suspects it by half.

What she knows: Jonathan cannot raise a hand to her. (He would have me as a monster than not exist at all.)

What he prays she never will: Jonathan will be anything she is. (Mortal. Monster. Dead.)

One last secret to keep.

All the way to the grave.

#I'm fine I'm great I'm having a lovely time #mina harker #jonathan harker #holiest love #dracula #re: dracula #dracula daily

[beenbaanbuun]

has yeosang nipped their lamb-dove? he's bitten hongjoong officially. has he bitten anyone else? i feel like if he did the reader would be like ur just a puppyyyyyyyyyy. and defend sangie to the matz like he just accidentally bit them its fine hes teething. all the excuses. i bet there would suddenly be chew toys for him too if so (and theyd be so clearly from the reader - all pastel and cute vs the monochrome of the matz!fam)

the biting was bad in the beginning especially. if either hongjoong or seonghwa got too close to him, he’d lunge for them and sink his teeth into whatever skin they had available. it was rare that he’d make them bleed since the bites were more of a warning than anything. it was only ever when they deigned to touch him that he bit hard enough to hurt. of course, over time as he learned the rules of the house a little better, the biting got less and less. hongjoong no longer had to pin him by the scruff of the neck for doing something so utterly disrespectful as smashing a priceless vase for the soul purpose of rebelling, and seonghwa’s regular hair ruffles just became something yeosang could live with.

but darling was somehow special. the fact that he knew he would be dead if he dared to hurt her had no real part in it, because he never felt the urge to hurt her. sure, when she pounced on his and used him as her personal teddy bear it pissed him off, but he never bit her. and all those hours that she spent sat next to him, fiddling with his fluffy tail really, really annoyed him, but again, biting was never an option. instead he’d pin her, flipping her over onto her back and holding her wrists above her head, all while growling threats that he did not intend to keep.

“fucking touch me again and i’ll rip your throat out, brat. damn what your precious ‘mommy’ and ‘daddy’ do to me in return.”

but then she just… giggles in his face and it stumps him. she’s not supposed to find his threats funny. she’s supposed to cower in fear, crying and begging for mercy. the fact that she’s looking at him like he’s the most precious creature in the world has him entirely stumped.

maybe that’s why he doesn’t want to hurt her, though. she doesn’t see him as a threat. she doesn’t flinch back from him when he turns his head too quick, and she doesn’t cower away from him like he’s some sort of dangerous animal. maybe he doesn’t want to be violent with her because she doesn’t treat him like he should be. over time, that treatment stops from seonghwa too, the flinching comes to a halt and so yeosang stops biting him too. with hongjoong, it never really ends, but as the both of them get closer, it just becomes part of their dynamic, something the two of them treat as a game.

the chew toys are definitely something that darling would do as a practical joke, same as hongjoong buying him dog treats and seonghwa threatening him with the spray bottle in his greenhouse if he ever steps out of line. yeosang doesn’t find it funny when she presents him with bone shaped object, just raising a brow at her as she struggles to stifle her giggles with her hand. he takes them anyway, just because he knows it’ll make her happy (damn his soft heart) and hides them away under his bed. no one has to know that sometimes he pulls one of the ugly pastel things out and chews on it like one might chew on the end of a pen. it’s a completely normal behaviour, he tells himself as he stashes the toys under his bed once he’s finished with them. the fact that he doesn’t want anyone to know is not because it’s weird or that he’s ashamed of it… definitely not…

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #opposites attract universe #matz x reader #yeosang x reader

[corazondebeskar-reads]

of rage and ruin - chapter two

of rage and ruin series

chapter two

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 3.3k

summary: you come face to face with the beast.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, allusions to/threats of torture, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), depiction of injury, body horror, typical raider/hunter behavior, mention of cordyceps, angst, viewer discretion is advised,

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

They were careful never to touch you. The exam you’d been given when they first brought you here was done with thick rubber gloves, and no one has touched you since. 

But there are plenty of ways to teach you compliance without touching you. 

Before they moved you, you didn’t see a soul for two days. No one delivered or removed the cloth strips, food, or water. No one woke you up with a loud buzzer or dragged you outside to hose you down. 

No one hurt you.

The first few hours, you sit and do nothing as usual. You don’t really notice.

After that, though, you start to wait. This deviation, this anomaly, was far more terrifying than the wretched routine. And with no meals, you’re bereft of a way to count the passing of time. There’s no sunlight down here, after all. 

To your deep relief, the lights still go off at night. Until you’re lying awake in the dark and realize they’re probably on a timer. So maybe all your captors are dead. Made a stupid mistake and got their asses handed to them by FEDRA.

Which would be nice, but also, you’d still fucking die. Because you’re trapped in this godforsaken grimy ass basement, and somewhere on the other side of it is the only other resident you know of. Him. 

So either you starve to death, or he eats you. Or both. 

You spend the next day hoping to see Cheryl’s smug bitch face. 

When someone finally comes for you, it’s not Cheryl. It’s not Jim, either, but that’s not a surprise. He doesn’t like you, doesn’t like whatever Cheryl’s doing with you.

Not because he has any objections to the captivity or abuse. No, Jim’s been clear—you’re a waste of resources. 

Anyway, it’s fucking Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber who show up. They’re not real twins (you’re not even sure they’re brothers), but they’re a damn good argument for nurture over nature. Spending the apocalypse together has them moving in tandem, grunting and jerking their heads to one another in a language all their own. They’re built like oxen and about as polite. 

You don’t fight anymore, but they still tie you and drag you around. You haven’t so much as argued in weeks. You’ve heard that everyone breaks from torture eventually. You waved your flag from the start. 

You’re not made for this. 

They tie you up without touching your skin; hands layered in gloves just in case. They leave a length of rope from your wrists to pull you by, leaving the rope around your feet as it was. You had earned that six inches of slack, just enough to stand and walk to the makeshift toilet instead of crawling, after a solid week of good behavior. 

When you figure it out, though, you try to run. Every electric screaming nerve in your body says to go. Go where? Who fucking knows. Anywhere. Away. Run. 

The room they’ve brought to you is saturated in oaky musk, and you only need a glimpse of the little cage within before you’re jerking backward.

They must have gotten used to your compliance because the rope flies from Tweedle Dumb’s grasp. The three of you stand still for a moment, all shocked by the turn of events. 

You turn to run, but it’s too late already. One of them swept your fucking legs like this was an action movie, and bound as you are, that’s the end of the fight. You crash and earn yourself some new bruises, and they drag you into the room by the rope between your feet. 

One of them—you’ve forgotten who had which nickname in all the hubbub—snaps out a baton.

“Get in the fuckin’ cage, or I’ll break your ankles.”

It’s a strong argument that you have no desire to see if he’ll follow through on. Already hurt and humiliated, you crawl into the cage.

They lock it behind you and leave without another word. The lights go out with a buzz, casting everything you hadn’t taken in yet in total darkness. 

When the lights come back on, you wish they hadn’t. 

At first, you don’t even realize they’ve flickered to life, because what they’ve revealed isn’t real. 

It’s a big, brown Rorschach blob. It’s an oil spill. It’s moving, in a jerky, fluid way that should be impossible. The limbs have pointed bony joints, and you can only describe the way they crawl as spidery, though they’re thick and bulky. 

Jim is standing on the other side of the gate, holding onto a thick chain that rattles and creaks dangerously as the beast strains against the thick metal band around its neck. He looks bored, but he usually does. 

Cheryl, however. The way her lips are curled, eyes wide and bright… this must be him. 

“Don’t you know what happens to the others? The alphas?” she had teased the night of all the howling. She had laughed at the traitorously dumbfounded look on your face. 

You do now. 

A long pink tongue has unfurled from his massive jaw, flopped over far too many teeth, and dripping thick saliva onto the floor. The… fur, for lack of a better word, around his muzzle is matted with something dark that you can’t look at anymore. 

Jim yanks him by the chain, and the creature lets himself be pulled to the door, barely holding still while the padlock and chain are removed from his collar and the cuffs from his paws. 

He’s at the end of your cage before you realize he’s moved, and you scream, scrambling back as much as you can into the corner. The spaces between the bars are thin enough for just his… good god, are those fingers? They certainly aren’t canine toes. They’re tipped in thick, long claws packed with soil and detritus.

“Hey,” Jim barks, and the beast side-eyes him. “Remember what I fuckin’ told you. You break or eat her? That’s it. I’m not getting you another one.” 

Eat? Eat?  

Oh god.

Your stomach swoops and falls, abdomen clenching and drawing attention to your too-full bladder, unlocking a new fear that you’re going to piss yourself if he comes closer. 

He does. You don’t. But just barely.

That long, dark snout pushes against the cage, as if it could nudge through to reach you, pink tongue lapping against the air. The oak musk is so strong now that it lines your throat and makes you gag.

You choke back a retch-turned-sob and he rumbles, a strange vibration that rattles the bars where he’s pressed against them. He rises, stretching up up up on his hind legs until he towers over your little cube, enveloping you in his shadow, and you can’t help it. You start to cry. 

He can’t reach you, not when you’re tucked back in the corner of your cage. But he can smell you, and he can smell the rich iron soaking into the ropes around your wrists. It’s not yet visible, but the skin squishing through the edges is red and rough. 

He whines, pushing his muzzle against the bars, long tongue flopping out like he can reach. 

The sharp battery acid edge of your fear spikes, and he growls. Stupid girl. Stupid fucking omega. He’s trying to help you, and you’re—you’re— 

You’re starting to cry again. 

He can’t make human words like this, can’t enunciate or even really remember them. He tries to reach you through the bars again, snarling when they burn against his knuckles. Even the distended bony fingers of his full form can’t reach you there, not even with the tip of his claw. 

You’re shaking now, body twitching and jittering beyond your control. Everything inside you is screaming white-hot and dissolving; vomit tickles the base of your throat, and you just can’t stop crying. It hurts; it’s ripping your throat and lungs to shreds. It’s a violent, tumultuous thing, and you can’t stop the wounded keening of your cries. 

He’s pacing in front of your cage now, the beast, on four mangled limbs too long to be canine and too warped to be human. His huffs startle you, long snout returning, again and again, tongue darting out for a taste. 

A little drop of blood slides down your hand from where the rope’s edge cuts into the bottom of your palm.

He freezes, nostrils flaring. You freeze, barely breathing. 

He looks right at you and then tips his head back to howl, the sound like icy water through your veins. 

You can’t help yourself. You scream, broken as your voice is from all the tears. 

Between the cacophony, Jim stomps into the corridor and slams his hand on the wall. “Shut the fuck up, both of you!” 

“Help me,” you yell. 

I’m trying, the wolf howls. 

“Please, please help me,” you gasp, sobs reaching new highs alongside your panic. 

“If you don’t quiet the fuck down, I’ll open up your goddamn cage and let him eat you,” Jim snaps. “I said you were going to be more trouble than you’re worth, and I was fuckin’ right.”

The beast snarls, snapping his sharp teeth at the air. 

Jim regards him with a sneer. “And you! Giving her a heart attack counts as breakin’ her.”

The words don’t make sense, but you don’t really hear them, anyway. “Please, I want to go home, please, please,” you whisper. 

But no one’s listening. 

The Wolf is listening. 

He prowls back and forth on all fours, which really, isn’t any more or less terrifying than when he rises up on his haunches. Neither image capitulates to your need to make it make sense. There is no sense, no logic, no reality that can hold him.

The wolf, for really, that’s what he is, isn’t he? God, you don’t want to say it. Unbidden, a memory works loose in your brain, slipping out of the crates of nonsense stored away in favor of survival, and rattles around.

I know what you are. But you won’t say it. 

Did you bring this upon yourself for reading trashy supernatural romance novels? Did you watch Underworld too many times? Did the shot actually put you in a coma, and you’re living in some kind of nightmare?

The wolf is watching you. There are no whites in his eyes, just pools of gasoline on muddy puddles. 

You close your eyes and pretend you can’t hear the way his claws click against the tile. 

While Laura had fed them stew, she told them about the trials. 

They had been the first. The first taken, before volunteers were called. Before they knew they’d need secure places to hold them, they had been gathered for observation in an old YMCA, packed in racketball courts so the doctors could stand outside the large wall of glass and watch them all at once.

They stood outside that glass and watched them change, in one way or another. The ones who turned, as she called it, went first. The ones who would become test group alpha. More than half of the overall subjects, who became suddenly, violently ill. 

They left them all in there with the rest, waiting, watching them cry out, watching them vomit and sweat and break impossible fevers. Temporal thermometers reading 105, 106, before they’d succumb to unconsciousness. 

If they woke, they were… inhuman. Something more. Something hungry. 

A lot of the first round of test data was lost when the subjects were eaten. But some were lost to the turn. Test group beta, Laura’s brother among them, didn’t survive the fever.

Laura’s husband turned but didn’t lose himself to the beast. Something in him stayed present, alert enough to protect his wife from the others. Or rather, something in her kept him that way. Something that had turned in her too, albeit without the violence, into something more than she’d ever been before. 

“They drove us out of the QZ,” she said, picking idly at a gouge in the table’s surface. “To shoot us where they could burn all the bodies and forget.”

“And what happened?” Tommy asked, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

“We ate them.”

They come back for him that night but he’s not waiting for them. He’s sat with his big, furry back to you, close enough to the cage that you could pet him. The thought crosses your mind in a moment of delirium. You could stick your fingers through the little bars and feel the coarse hickory hair. You know, if you were clinically insane. 

You’re not about to offer him a little snack. 

He’d given up on reaching you a few hours ago, content to sit there unmoving once your tears dried up. It’s only slightly less terrifying.

But when they take him out, you only get to sit with the relief for a moment. Minutes pass in the dark and silent room, but you regret letting your guard down when footsteps echo through the cavernous halls beyond. 

The Idiot Twins are back, and they’re not taking chances with you this time. Oh, no. When they unlock the cage, you’re faced with the barrel of a handgun that doesn’t leave your temple as they pull you out by your bound hands.

They don’t bother to stand you up or give you a chance to move on your own, just dragging you out of the room and across the hall. You’re sprawled on your stomach across the frigid floor of the new room, with the door slamming shut behind you without so much as a word. 

The rusted pipes on the wall in the beast’s room make more sense now, once you take in your shadowy surroundings. This room has the same shitty tan tile over every inch, but the walls are lined with blue (or what used to be blue) lockers. Not a single one is intact, whether rusted or dented or doorless, but they’re unmistakably lockers. 

There are two lines of seamless benches, though half are rotted to oblivion. But it’ll be a better bed than the floor.

This is practically paradise. There’s a tray by the door that you don’t see for a while, but when you do, you almost cry again. Might have, if you hadn’t spent the day in tears. 

It’s just broth and water, long gone lukewarm and dusty, but you set upon it like a vampire upon a vein. Wait, no, you really don’t want to think about that right now. But it’s not your fault you’ve got monsters on the brain.

Your reprieve is not long. The sun rises. 

The beast returns.

Oh, and he’s pissed that you’re gone, based on the fucking racket that brings you back to the waking world. 

“Oh, did you think you’d been good enough lately for a treat?” Cheryl taunts him. 

The steel doors between you aren’t enough to hide the sounds of his fury. 

“You’ll have her back when you’ve earned her,” she tells him amidst the cacophony of snarling and gnashing. 

It’s ten days before they return you to the cage. Ten days of poking around the abandoned lockers and finding nothing. Ten days of broth delivered at dawn and dusk. Ten days of your back no longer appreciating the bench to stretch out on. 

Ten days of listening to the nonstop scratching and growling and whining from across the hall. And worse. Oh, much worse. Wet squicks and splatters and harsh groans. You’re not sure if he’s eating or masturbating or what, but it sends shivers through your whole body each time. 

It also sends the weird, sticky slick pooling between your thighs, but you ignore that. It’s been happening since the shot, one of the weirder side effects, but it’s gotten downright fucking annoying since you got here.

You try not to think about it. 

It’s not long after they drag you back to the little cage that they drag him into his. For that’s what this room really is, you know that, even if it doesn’t make you feel better about being in there with him. He’s trapped, too, but you’re the one in danger.

They haven’t untied your wrists since the first time, which have blistered and bled and scabbed until the ropes rubbed the scabs raw and started the whole thing all over. 

He smells it before he sees it, any interest in the slippery sweetness on your thighs gone when he tastes the blood in the air. 

Hurt, he whines, though you can’t understand. Help.  

You don’t cry this time, don’t split the sour tang with salt, but the fear and pain and exhaustion are enough to center him. If he tries, if he could just focus…

And there it goes. You watch, mouth agape and eyes blown wide, as he shifts in front of you for the first time. He backs away while it happens until he’s on the other side of the room and sits his very bare ass on his bed. 

You watch the way his bones jerk and his body shakes and cracks and huffs out sharp, agonized grunts until he’s just a man. Just a man, nothing more. Just a beast masquerading. Worse than a wolf in sheep’s clothing, you think, because you know he’s the wolf, but right now? 

He’s just a pathetic, broken human. Bruised and bloodied, though his marks are rapidly fading as the healing takes over, but his face is edged in nothing but pain and sorrow.

“M’not gonna hurt ya,” was the first thing he croaked out. 

You startle, rattling the cage a little, which makes you wince. 

But he stays on the other side of the room. He’s sitting on his mattress, legs bent up and crossed, as if he had anything left to hide. As if you hadn’t seen too much already.

He tries not to think about it, but jesus. It’s a fucking struggle. As he takes you in this way, unclouded by the hazy moon, it still punches him back. Your smell. 

Joel’s never really liked tart things. Too much of a secret sweet tooth, of a deep yearning for the char and depth of anything fresh from the grill. 

But even now, even nearly fully man , he’s salivating at your green apple tang. Of uncovering the sweet ‘n sour burst of you on his tongue. Of letting his sharp teeth fall sharper through the tough act you fail to wear right, too bruised and soft underneath. 

To feel the way you’d give beneath him. The way you’d spill down his chin. No. He has to get a fuckin’ handle on himself. He can’t even look at you, not now that he knows you can smell the salt of his own slick where his swollen cock sits sobbing, neglected and furious. 

“I’m not,” he protests against your silence. 

He’s not sure who he’s trying to convince. 

But he doesn’t stay himself for long. Not after he thinks instead, suddenly, of autumn. Of the sweet smell of the orchard. Of taking Tommy’s truck up up up into the places where seasons meant something. 

The roads sprawled like veins and they followed them with no end just to see the way the trees curled overhead, branches reaching and burning with dying leaves—a sight so devastating that Joel considered leaving Texas behind for somewhere he could start to take this beauty for granted. 

Chasing the colors led them first to a field of corn, blustering amber in the setting sun. They had returned the next day, fresh from the motel with burnt coffee and warm flannels, parting with precious dollars for the privilege of picking pumpkins and apples and a little corn husk doll. 

He’d have paid every cent ten times over to see Sarah smile like that again. 

This is where the man breaks and bows out. Where the wolf at its weakest is still stronger than Joel. He gives in, gives into the grief, gives into the wolf, and shifts back. He stays curled up on his bed, though, and doesn’t look at you.

He doesn’t speak to you again for a month.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #alpha!joel miller x omega!reader #alpha!joel miller #werewolf!joel miller #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o verse #fic: of rage and ruin #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfic

[alchemistc]

an: I was cleaning out my drafts and ran into this nearly-finished piece of two disasters having their first kiss. Enjoy.

the way you feel when you kiss him for the first time like fire within your bones like your soul has returned to the water like every part of you that came from a dead star is alive again

Here’s the thing. So. Like.

He’s kissing Eddie Munson, tongue and everything, hands digging into his crazy fucking hair, face twisted sideways because they’d been sitting there next to each other, close enough that their hips were touching, and Eddie was gesturing with both hands thrown wide, so that every once in a while his hand smacked Steve’s chest on accident and he murmured a quick apology before going back to his story, and Steve fucking loved listening to him rant and rave about whatever he had a bug up his ass about on any given day, he loved it so much and it seemed like the thing to do when you loved something about someone so much it made your chest tight and your head a little fuzzy.

Steve twists his head and slots his tongue over Eddie’s lips and Eddie makes a noise that Steve feels down to his fucking toes and he nips, just a bit, swallows up Eddie’s gasp and curls his fingers around his neck and licks into his mouth.

First kisses are usually either tentative or chaotic, and this one is sloppy as all get out but it’s not – it’s good. It’s so fucking good Steve thinks he could happily fucking die right this second and he wouldn’t even be mad about it. Eddie’s teeth slide along Steve’s lower lip when he sucks said lower lip into his mouth and Steve hums and blows a breath out through his nose and fleetingly imagines their entire lives expanding out before them – tables that for another day when he’s done more than make out with Eddie in the woods behind his house.

Eddie pulls back, and Steve chases, a bit, blinks his eyes back open with a pout. “You. What. You?”

It’s – Steve’s done this whole song and dance with half the girls in his age group in Hawkins, rarely ever felt this buzzing under his skin. The desperate urge to claw his way into Eddie’s chest is burning him. That’s…not the usual reaction he gets when he kisses someone.

“What the hell, Harrington? What the fuck?”

And like… okay. So. He’s had crushes before. He’s been in fucking love before and he fucking knows what it feels like and he knows what it means when someone looks at you that way that Eddie looks at him and.

“Fuck, uh… Shit, sorry man. Yeah. Should have, uh…whoops?”

“Whoops?”

Eddie’s on his feet then, his limbs akimbo as he throws his arms out, gesturing vaguely in Steve’s direction, looking at Steve like he’s grown like, three extra heads. Which. Okay so maybe he could have done better at like, explaining what the fuck he was doing but Eddie was so fucking hot when he got really in the zone with some rant or other and Steve’s been like, waiting for him.

“You can’t just go around kissing people, man!”

“I thought you were gay!” Steve says, like that explains a damn fucking thing, and Eddie whirls on him, wild eyed, like Steve’s just shouted some tightly kept secret to the world and… yeah. Alright. Fair.

“I thought you were the straightest fucking dude in America, Steve, what the fuck?”

“Oh,” Steve says, because that, yeah. That tracks. Okay. So. Yeah, he can work with this. 

He runs a jittery hand through his air, glances up at Eddie through a few strands that cut loose from the hairspray. “Yeah uh, so I guess like, no? Chicks are like, great but then here you are being so fucking adorable I wanna like, put you in my fucking pocket to keep you safe and like, take you out on a date and, I don’t know, suck your cock or something. Which is.” 

He’s rambling now, doesn’t know what to do with his hands. 

“Okay so like I guess I didn’t really think about the ramifications of this before I fucking went for it but I have been thinking about your lips on my lips for way longer than I have been acknowledging to myself and you weren’t fucking doing anything about it and I just thought I could. Do something about it. So um…no. Not. Not straight.” 

Steve imagines, for a moment, Hawkins High jocks fading out of the shadows to beat the shit out of him, bible thumping mothers intent on letting him know his sins will destroy the country and land him straight in hell, his own father telling him he won’t have a fag for a son. Feels really fucking shitty about it for about thirty seconds and then remembers he’s saved the world at least four times and internally tells them all to go fuck themselves. 

“Hey, is there a word for that? Liking both? Do you – fuck, is there like, a handbook? Do you even know? Did – but then you’re – I mean I definitely for sure got the feeling you and Robin have more in common than just being really great at saving the world, also you for sure kissed me back and – holy shit Robin’s gonna be pissed you found out before she did.”

Eddie stares at him in abject horror for about thirty seconds, but it’s not – it’s not judgy, at least, it’s more like Steve looks at Robin when she word vomits. “Jesus H Christ did you just speed run gay panic?” Which – Robin has explained that before and if Eddie knows about it then he probably also is not…not gay.

“I don’t think I’m strictly gay!” Steve says, his voice a little higher than he’d like but Eddie is pacing now, which. Not conducive to more kissing, and it’s literally all Steve wants to be doing right now. “It might not even be dudes in general, I haven’t gotten any further than you!”

“What the fuck, Harrington?” And pacing be damned, Steve hops up and cages Eddie in again, leans forward for a kiss because he’s not, like, saying no, he’s just confused because he didn’t think Steve was into it and kissing will definitely help him figure it out. Only he rolls his head back, away from Steve’s, shoulders and neck rolling back. The rest of him stays, though, and Steve slots his hands on Eddie’s narrow waist and stares at him. 

“I’m like, super into you, Eddie, and unless I’m suddenly really fucking bad at reading signals you’re also into me.”

Eddie leans forward, rolls his forehead against Steve’s. It’s nice. Not as nice as the kissing had been but…yeah, he’s cool with this. Eddie huffs out a breath of laughter, a self-deprecating little chortle that Steve recognizes and wants to dash away. “I’ve been trying really hard not to throw those signals. Just. Just so you know.”

“You’re really bad at it,” Steve tells him, fingers digging a bit into his side now, his left hand sliding towards Eddie’s back, and he doesn’t really think about it when he exerts a bit of force to drag Eddie a little closer. “To be like, fully clear here. I’m not… I haven’t been misreading, correct?”

“Fuck,” Eddie says, those wide dark eyes holding Steve’s. “This is insane. People don’t just wake up one day and go ‘hey I’m actually totally attracted to my own gender and I have literally zero bad feelings about that’ – people kill themselves about it.”

“Nearly died enough times to know I don’t care for it,” Steve tells him, and he really, really wants to fucking kiss him again but probably Eddie needs a second. “Listen, do you like me or not, because if not I am seriously overstepping right now and I don’t actually want to make this weird.”

“This is so fucking weird, man,” Eddie says but then he’s curling his fingers into the end of Steve’s shirt and fisting it there before Steve has a chance to draw back and respect his boundaries, like he’s holding himself back from more but not quite ready to let go. Steve follows his lead. “Did Robin say something?”

“Robin has been literally zero help,” Steve admits, because she really has been fucking useless and cagey and completely unwilling to give him any idea if this whole thing is reciprocated or just a fully fucking unrequited crush. “I am actually pretty emotionally intelligent, so I figured…” God he’s giving Steve that look. Again. “Vibes were there.”

“Vibes.” Eddie says, like he wants to bash his brains in. “You… you just threw all caution to the wind on fucking vibes.”

“Vibes are a thing!”

Eddie curls the hand not already fisting in Steve’s shirt around his waist, his long fingers catching at the stripe of skin exposed by the pull of his shirt. Every thought in Steve’s head feels like it’s centered right there, where he can feel Eddie’s rings warm against his skin.

Steve is like, 97.3 percent certain at this point that he hasn’t just ruined a decently important friendship, and he really, really does want to return to that zenith of his tongue in Eddie’s mouth, so he rolls his head again, nosing at Eddie’s cheek, reaching for his jaw.

Eddie shoves him back – slowly, regretfully almost. 

“Give me a fucking second, Harrington.”

“Sure. Yeah.” 

Even as Eddie goes back to pacing Steve feels good about this. Eddie Munson is probably a lot more accepting of things than most of the assholes in Hawkins but he has yet to tell Steve to go fuck himself and he seems more…overwhelmed than anything else. Surprised. He had just admitted he thought Steve didn’t go for that thing. Had he thought about it, beyond a passing ‘Steve the Hair Harrington digs the ladies’?

Jesus. He’s so fucking embarrassing. Even in his own goddamn brain.

Eddie whirls on him, opens his mouth. Shuts it and takes a few pointed steps further away from Steve. Steve very much hates that, but – time. Space. He can manage that. He takes the opportunity to enjoy the pull of Eddie’s jeans over his ass. 

Holy shit, Steve thinks to himself as he ogles the other man, holy shit he’s so very much not straight and it’s taking every ounce of willpower to give Eddie his fucking second. 

“You’re a fucking psycho,” Eddie says, and it’s probably aimed at Steve even though he still hasn’t actually turned back to look at him again. “You fully understand that what you just did screams absolute lunatic, right?”

“The – which part, exactly?”

“Steve, what if I wasn’t gay?”

It’s – kind of a sad question, if he’s being honest, because he’s suspected he likes dudes for maybe two weeks, even if it’s been nagging at him for literal months now, but he’s been that shitty kid who called people queer like it was the dirtiest word in the book, and he’s well aware at this point how fucking scary it is for anyone who is the least bit not ‘normal’ by societies standards. Especially if it’s actually true.

“I mean, I assume you’d probably give me a lot of shit and I would spend a good month too mortified to look at you before you let me off the hook?” But that question gets a little closer to the heart of it, the one thing Steve’s still a little worried about. “But…you are?”

“How the fuck did you even know?”

“The vibes!” He wiggles his fingers at that, widens his eyes like that will help Eddie understand. “And, you know. The general feeling every time you look at me like you’re half a second from eating me alive.”

“I do not!” Eddie says, a little scandalized, a little like he’s been caught out. 

“You totally do. You have…very expressive eyes.” This is new. Just balls to the wall flaying honesty, right off the bat, no hiding behind a slick smile and a clever little wink. What even is flirting, Steve thinks. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I fully thought you were gonna bend me over a table at Gary’s party last weekend.”

“Jesus fuck,” Eddie says, only he’s still not denying it, and he’s turning those same round shining eyes on Steve and – yeah. That is not a platonic fucking look. “I’m gonna take, like, three steps towards you right now. Can you. Not fucking attack me when I get there?”

“Yeah. Sure. Totally.” Robin and Nancy once ganged up on him to tell him he was basically a golden retriever in human form, and he feels every inch one as Eddie takes long, measured steps towards him. If he had a tail he’d be wagging it so fucking hard his ass would be wiggling. 

“Full disclosure,” Eddie tells him at a step and a half in. “I was actually thinking about getting on my knees and sucking you off until your soul left your body, at Gary’s party, last weekend.” Steve bites his lip, doesn’t say a word, ignores the heat thrumming in his veins. “Don’t you dare kiss me right now, Harrington,” he says, and there’s an edge to his voice that is very fucking interesting and Steve would like to explore more.

“Yep. Hands and lips to myself. Gotcha.”

“I also had a massive panic attack about it like five minutes later because you’re the best person I know and I will be fully, absolutely destroyed if I lose you, so. Before I set myself adrift here, are you sure you have a single fucking clue what you’re getting yourself into?”

“See, that’s the thing!” Steve points, just as Eddie takes another step, so his finger ends up right in Eddie’s face and he’s eyeing it like he might just pop it into his mouth. In for a penny… “You got really mad at me when you thought I was avoiding you, and I very much, totally was because I have like, two age appropriate friends and figuring out one of them might be the love of my life threw me for a fucking loop.” Too soon, way too fucking soon, he was supposed to like, at least get Eddie in his bed before he admitted that. “So. I’ve already had that crisis and I know I lied and told you it was nothing but that’s. What that was.”

The look shifts. Eddie’s eyes were already wide, so his expression doesn’t change all that much, but his eyes get a little glassy and the dimple in his cheek twitches. 

“Whoops,” Steve repeats and Eddie gathers up the hand Steve still has between them, guiding the arm down towards Steve’s side, lacing their fingers up together as he gets close enough Steve can feel his breath on his cheek.

“You’re an actual lunatic,” Eddie tells him, but he’s leaning in close, now, curling a hand around Steve’s neck. “Whoops, he says,” and Eddie shakes his head fondly, close enough that the tip of his nose swipes across Steve’s with the movement. “How long?”

“We’re still not kissing, right?” Steve asks, just to clarify, and Eddie smiles, shakes his head. “Yep. Still good with that. Sure. How long what?”

“Don’t play dumb, princess.”

“I mean – are you asking about me? Are you asking about me knowing about you? Are you asking about attraction, or feelings, or…”

“Sure,” Eddie says, and Steve supposes he walked himself into that. He’s still – Steve could count individual lashes dashed across Eddie’s eyelids, he’s so close. 

“Yeah. Alright. Me? Been trying to sort it out for a while, I think, since Vecna. For sure? Two weeks ago, when you made me come watch your campaign finale, or whatever.” Eddie’s eyes gleam with interest, and Steve can see him searching for a specific moment, but it hadn’t been a specific moment, it had been an amalgamation of the last seven months of his life, and watching Eddie in his element, threading together a sweeping close to a tale he’s been working on for a full year, seeing the kids delighted faces, thinking about all the shit they’d been through and all the terrible things they’ve seen, it had all clicked into place. “You? I didn’t know, know. Just. Robin’s always saying there are signs, if you look for them. I hoped. I was looking for them.” 

Had to talk himself into and out of reading into signs multiple times, honestly. 

“I had some very confusing boners before I understood them, so I can’t really pinpoint that one, but a while,” and Eddie’s lips curl up, which is nice. It’s one of his favorite things to do, making Eddie smile like that. “The… I liked you from the start, is the thing, so there isn’t just a single moment but… you remember that night we got up on the roof of the van and got way too fucking high?”

“You couldn’t find the Big Dipper,” Eddie recalls fondly. 

“Yeah, well, you were right there next to me, being all freakishly smart about constellations and looking at me and when you told me about your mom I wanted to just – tear the whole fucking world apart for you. So.”

“So,” Eddie says, and his voice has gone whisper soft and his breath is fanning across Steve’s face and his eyes are big and brown and soft at the edges.

“We’re still doing the no kissing part, right?”

Eddie hums. Tilts his head to the side just a bit, and his nose stripes across Steve’s cheek. “I could probably be persuaded otherwise.”

It’s – he’s –

“If I admit the panic might be coming on now, will you change your mind?”

“Absolutely.”

“Cool. I’m very chill about this.”

“Steve,” he says, and his voice is so fucking soft, and his fingers are skittering up the side of Steve’s arm. 

“Freaking out a little bit. Don’t – you can stay here, though.”

“I’ll stay here as long as you need.”

“While we’re here, you could – I mean I know I said I clocked you pretty easily but if you wanted, I would definitely be okay hearing about – how. How that happened.”

Eddie’s eyes flit up, hold Steve’s. “You lying about anxiety to get me to tell you my dirty secrets?”

“I’m not that smart,” Steve tells him, and Eddie’s smile tilts up at the corners.

#steddie ficlet #steddie #steve x eddie #steve is a chaotic bisexual #that's just a fact.

[kateszn]

loser!kate who is so incredibly shy. she’s doesn’t know what to do when you’re wearing a short little skirt, the material wraps around kissable thighs like a glove, it hugs your ass deliciously to the point kate can’t seem to focus on anything but you. she feels the blush coat her porcelain skin as you bend down to pick up your dropped lipgloss. she tries to keep her eyes away, but it’s nearly impossible.

loser!kate who thinks about it later in the dead of night, slender fingers tucked underneath her boxers, thinking about just how beautiful you are, how much she wants to kiss you, touch you, hold you in her arms, but you’ll never want her in the same way. that much she’s sure of. it was practically a joke, you’re so far out of the nerdy, raven-haired girl’s league. it wasn’t like she even had a chance either, you went for pretty girls and kate is not a pretty girl. with her thick framed glasses, thick grey sweats, and the lack of effort in her daily appearance she wondered how you even have her the time of day at all.

loser!kate who starts to distance herself over the last few weeks. she’s feeling inadequate compared to you, not to mention the ongoing rejecting swarming her soul on a daily basis. it’s not much, and she not getting enough. she needs more of you, the thought impounds on her brain until she’s sick in the head, hopelessly waiting for you to put her out of tortured misery. but you convinced her to come over to your pool today, you have something else entirely in mind. your black bikini, swallowing your ass whole as your sunbathing on the reclined chair. shoving tanning oil in kate’s sweaty hands, demanding her with your siren eyes, and what could she really do? besides obey and grovel at your feet? nothing. not a damn thing.

loser!kate who nearly dies when you tell her to untie the secured knot holding your bikini top together. all of your back, yeah, she needs to get your entire back. that’s all this is. kate tried to ignore how soft your skin feels, how much she loves lathering you in oil, how silky and smooth it makes your skin look, or how you back your ass as you purr a soft thank you, baby. the light praise sends kate’s clit throbbing, she’s sure she’ll pass out.

loser!kate who smooths hers oiled hands over the fat of your delicious butt cheeks, you moan quietly and so does kate. if you hear her, you don’t acknowledge her. you continue to let it happen and kate isn’t going to be the one to stop it.

“can you get my front?” you ask gently, but you’re not really asking.

before kate can respond, you maneuver quickly, laying flatly on gour back, flinging your bikini top on the grass, watching your sweet girls eyes bug out of her head.

���i-i, um…you want me to? are you sure?” she asks gently.

“yes, i do. is there a problem?” you push gently. “do you not want to touch me?”

“no…no! i mean…yes, i do?” the stuttering girl phrases it like a question.

she straddles your thighs, as she musters the courage to rub oil over your beautiful breasts with shaky hands. carefully, kate rubs the pad of her thumb over your sensitive nipples as if she’s testing the waters.

“you can do more than touch them, kate.” you state, watching as her face transform from delight to not so subtle confusion.

“oh, really?” she twist them lightly and she wants to sink her teach into the moan you offer.

“yes, baby. put those pretty lips of yours on them and suck.”

loser!kate who rubs her now bare pussy onto your thigh, wet folds slathering her thigh with with her slick as kate loudly moans your name. everything has escalated so quickly, much more than she expected. one minute she’s sucking on tits listening to you moan, then she’s eating you out like her mouth depending on it, fingering herself as you come deliciously all over her face. it’s salty, yet sweet, and kate knows she’ll be thinking about this for days to come. but you don’t give her much time to process.

loser!kate who yelps when you grab her hips with force, sliding her all the away up the length of your thigh, until yours grinding your pussy against hers. it’s magnificent, holy, and god kate is going to cry. this is all she’s ever wanted with you. she’s riding your pussy, tossing her head back, her sharp jaw on display for you, as her tits bounce for your eyes only. she’s chasing the high, the blinding white vision she so desperately wants to see. you’re continuously praising her, sending kate closer to the edge.

god, i knew you’d be so hot under those stuffy sweaters. fuck, baby. keep going just like that.

my perfect little nerdy baby, such a perfect slut for me.

give me that cum, yeah? you wanna be an artist, right? paint me

want you to cum on my pussy so bad….fuuccckkkkkk

be a good girl baby. c’mon, show me what a dirty fucking girl you are.

loser!kate who picks up her pace, every beat of the bed frame hitting the wall sends her closer and closer to the edge, she’s using you, a new surge of confidence floods though her veins, before she cumming, no, squirting all over you and your silk sheets. her body shakes violently and you don’t give a fuck. kate moans your name as she continues to fuck you and you’re just as gone as she is. your cum sticks together like glue. it’s messy, filthy, and so fucking lovely. kate wants to stay like this forever, marked with your pearly white shots of liquid filling her up endlessly. kate whimpers further as you move around the sticky substance with your fingers before pushing it back into her, sinking easily into her sweet hole as you fuck the mixed cum into her.

now, get on your back bishop so i can clean up your mess and mine, with this pretty mouth.

#lesbian #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop smut #kate bishop x female reader #wlw x reader

[mageofseven]

MC: *slaps the boys' ass* Damn, boi. Your ass is fine!

Bros+undateables reaction?

This is an old ask that I thought looked fun so I decided to do it.

So here ya go I guess lol

•▪︎▪︎◇°●♡●°◇▪︎▪︎•

Lucifer:

Blushes

Immediately scolds you

You two better be in a relationship or your ass is grounded.

If you are dating, this man may have enjoyed the action, but the words totally killed it.

You'll have a hell of a time getting him to admit that first part.

Do it in front of Diavolo though and he just may never forgive you.

Mammon:

Both sets of cheeks of are red

"W-What the hell??"

He will say that first regardless of if you are dating or not.

If you are dating, he will try to gain his composure and say something flirty instead, but it's too late, he's already made his best impression of a tomato.

Leviathan:

Honestly, his impression of a tomato is even better.

This man looks ready to pass out when you do this to him

And honestly, he just might.

Please, please catch him 😅

Satan:

Honestly, he is stunned at first in whatever position you smacked his but in.

Cheeks red as things lead the crossroads.

Are you his Kitten?

No-> something breaks and your ass runs for the hills

Yes->he picks you up, lightly remarks how he wishes you used a better vocabulary, and carries you to bed for some 'playtime'

Asmodeus:

Giggles and gives it a little shake for you

Says it's one of his many fine qualities.

Asks if you have any more ideas for his 'fine' ass or if you are just going to leave it neglected.

Is mostly teasing you, but in truth is down for anything.

Beelzebub:

"Um...thank you?"

Dating or not, this man is confused

And doesn't really know how to handle the situation.

I mean, no one has actually been brave enough to smack his ass before so he doesn't know what to say or do about it.

If you are dating him, please explain it to him.

If you aren't dating him, how dare you hit the cinnamon roll 😠

Belphegor:

Well that woke sleepy boy up real quick.

His cheeks are red and he's annoyed

And he'd rather drop dead than admit that he enjoyed it, regardless of whether you are dating or not.

If you two are dating, try that the next time you two are 'intimate' in bed and I swear the brat will love it.

Diavolo:

You, a human, had the gall to smack the prince of demons, one of the strongest beings in all of the realms, and descendant of the devil himself

On the ass?

That is so hot 😳

If it was around others, be prepared to be scolded by those in attendance.

If you are dating, also be prepared for Dia to ask for your presence in his bedroom

And if you aren't, be prepared for this man to ask you to date him...and maybe meet him in his room if you're comfortable with it...👀

Barbatos:

You can feel it within your bones--no, your very soul

You have made a grave error.

How grave?

Are you both dating?

No->prepare to never sleep again for your dreams, nay, your nightmares are no longer safe.

Yes->Aight keep moving

Was it in front of others?

No->he grumpy but he loves you so it's all cool

Yes->oh devil...well move your ass along

Do you both have a dom/sub relationship in the bedroom and are into bdsm (and are basically okay with punishment in the bedroom)?

Yes->your ass (and every other part of you) is in a lot of trouble the next to you're in the bedroom with him

No->this bitch stops talking to you for so long you start wondering if you're still dating.

Solomon:

Raises an eyebrow at you

In truth, isn't the biggest fan of this treatment, regardless of whether you are dating or not.

Either way, will smile his usual smile and ask that you to refrain from doing that ever again

Though his smile might be even scarier if you are not dating 😅

Simeon:

I'll be honest, if you did this in front of Luke, I will through hands with you.

Even still, this feels like a serious crime.

I mean, Simeon is an angel.

He is a being from the Celestial realm who is allowed no sexually desires or experiences

And you shatter his world by letting him know his ass is fine as all hell.

How does a Celestial being react to such a...'passionate' compliment?

He is not quite sure, if he is honest

And you have him at a lost of words, regardless of whether you two are secretly dating.

This is a new experience after all.

Either way, apologize for making this poor man uncomfortable and give him a proper compliment

...and quadruple check Luke was nowhere around in the slightest when this happened.

Mephistopheles:

Oh dear devil, you broke him.

His face is red, his mouth is moving

But not a single sound is coming out.

You have some things to consider here.

Are you dating?

No->he will hit you with his cane and call you every demon slur for humans that he knows.

Yes->alright, so you're his idiot then. He's used to your bs.

More importantly than that question, did you smack his ass enough to make him stumble?

No->I will personally let you live then.

Yes->that is mean and I am upset. Next question.

Was anyone else around at the time?

Yes->Mephisto will refuse to talk to you for a while.

No->alright, we will both forgive you this once, human.

#obey me #obey me otome #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me brothers #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me undateables #anon #obey me mephistopheles

[demonlovingsheep]

Which brother has the highest kill count in Obey Me? How and why they kill? This is what I think:

Lucifer. He is very strict, prideful, and very powerful. He caused the most casualties in the Celestial War no doubt. In the beginning of his demon years, lower demons would purposely get in his way to challenge him. The first one who tried did not live to tell the tale. The second one follows the fate of the first one. One by one, thousands by thousands would continue to increase Lucifer’s body count to the millions until lower demons finally got the message that he is not to be messed with. As for human casualties, I doubt there is a lot since he doesn’t like the taste of human flesh. If he was summoned by a cult or something, he is going to have fun manipulating those foolish souls. After all, he is a sadist.

Beelzebub. He is Lucifer’s body guard in the Celestial Realm, a Cherub that is one of the highest in terms of rank. Due to his strength, he can easily crush his opponents. When he became a demon, all his victims became his meal during his hunger rampage. His sin took full control of his body in the beginning and most of the time he wouldn’t know what’s happening until one of his brothers stops him or he has no other food source available. He probably does the same up in the human world when summoned by a cult if they don’t offer him a big enough meal as offering, then they become the meal themselves. When MC meets him in the original timeline, he still tries to eat us and we’re not allowed to sleep or be near him without another brother’s supervision. Even the brothers were afraid one of their toes was gonna be bitten off.

Leviathan. “Keep sending your soldiers. The ocean has plenty of space before it run out of gravesites for your people.” He controls the ocean, just sends out a tsunami or two and wipes every being away and let the corpse fall to the bottom to be eaten. Even if the victim has the ability to breathe underwater, he would summon Lotan to obliterate them. He never has to get handsy to increase his kill count. He does snack on a couple of humans that've been swept into the ocean by currents.

Satan: He unleashed hell when he was born, being the embodiment of wrath itself. He was separated from Lucifer and his other brothers when they fell. Since there is no one strong enough to hold him back, he wreaked havoc on anything and everything. He set the area around him into a green fire graveyard until he was eventually found and gets chained and shoved in a locker. He gets ticked off when summoned, and if it was for a stupid reason. If they mistaken him for Lucifer, which is pretty often, no one would live to tell the tale. It took decades for them to learn that he is not that damn arrogant bastard.

Asmodeus: Personally, I was conflicted between him and Mammon, but Asmodeus can snap more easily than Mammon. Even though he is the avatar of lust, he still has standards and boundaries. Most lower demons think he is easy to manipulate. Just compliment him, take him to a motel or bar, and get him when he’s vulnerable. The thing is that Asmo knows, and he has his own wicked plan in mind. Depending on his mood, he can either toy with the other demons for such a long time that the other demon will actually develop some feelings for him, all for it to crumble in the end. Like a heartbreak, but with their hearts literally removed and in Asmodeus’s hands. Asmo will still laugh and feign innocence like he hadn’t just gone sicko lover mode. Or he just snaps and completely loses it, charming the other person to bash their own skull against a wall until they are dead. He still refuses to get his clothes or nails stained.

Mammon: He wasn’t initially greedy, but he slowly grew to be the Avatar of Greed as he is. Mammon perhaps fakes his personality, just like how Satan would cover up his wrath with a smile. After all, how would one approach to make a business if he gives off a threatening aura. Maybe centuries as a shady business demon made him lose his sense of dignity along the way, but keep in mind he still knows his title as an Avatar. He flaunts it too, it’s just that it’s very hard to push him to the point of violence. So most demons don’t take him seriously. Money makes the world go round, but it’s the quickest way for someone to seek vengeance when someone doesn’t pay back what they own. Mammon generally plays by the rules even though he himself gambles in illegal places, but he still has business standards. If someone tries to cheat him out of his winnings, they will earn themselves a one way ticket to Mammon’s blacklist, which most of the time has four or five people in the waiting list so one shouldn’t count on time to delay Mammon’s wrath. He will make them pay. No amount of begging or bribery will work, by then the only way of paying back the “debt” is with one’s soul, which is worth even more than anyone can ever imagine. Hell, perhaps he deals with selling organs on the black market too after he finishes seeking vengeance. Organs are worth a good amount of money, either for hungry cannibalistic demons looking for a demon kidney as dinner or for mad scientist demons to run experiments on. Either way, business.

Belphegor: He is too lazy to kill, that’s all I can say. If you think it’s hard to get on Mammon’s blacklist, it’s even harder to get on Belphegor’s blacklist because he just doesn’t care…unless someone messes with his dear twin, Beelzebub. There will be no more peaceful rest for that person for the rest of their short life because Belphegor will make sure that they die in agony. He will curse the person so that whenever they are about to fall asleep, they will be jolted alive by some weird electric feeling. It’s like the feeling when you trip in your sleep (Hypnic Jerk), except it’s not an angel accidentally dropping your soul when bringing you to heaven, but a demon draining your sanity to live. It’s no brainer that sleep is very important as it keeps one’s mind and body functioning. For the victims of Belphegor however, they will never sleep again. They can try but are always jolted awake whenever they are on the edge to dreamland. Until many days has gone by where the person is basically a walking zombie at this point, they pray and try to fall asleep once again expecting for the same jolt feeling, except it didn’t happen. The victims can finally sleep, but this sleep feels more…permanent.

Author’s note: I started writing this draft like a year ago, and took it out today. I forgot what im exactly writing. It’s so shifty of what it’s meant to be. Think it was kill count and why, but it gradually moved onto killing methods of each. Don’t take it too seriously 👉👈. Hope y’all enjoy.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me belphegor #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me lucifer #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me beelzebub #obey me headcannons #obey me nightbringer #obey me spoilers #warning for demon behaviors and stuff???

[captainjacklyn]

first year gang (+ grim if that's okay) reacting to yuu/mc getting heavily injured in front of them and losing lots of blood? (mostly from overblot)

it can be plantonic or romantic

Another request to go ! Thank you for requesting Anon, I'm so sorry it came out so late. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I loved doing it.

Content : You get heavily injured in a fight with another overblot, how do the first years individually react to such a devastating sight ?

Warning(s) : mentions of blood and injury, reader is gender neutral so they/them, it can be platonic or romantic whatever suits your taste, might have cussing ? idk. Anyways, have a fun time reading.

First years reacting to mc/yuu getting hurt :

Ace Trappola

If I remember correctly, an insult was enough to make him worked up. He literally punched the living sh*t out of his dorm leader, so try imagining what would happen if you got physically injured.

His mind instantly snaps upon seeing you get hurt, he may sometimes act like a jerk. But no one hurts his best friend.

Especially you.

Loses his temper, will try to murder whoever is over blotting even if they're not mentally stable.

hell he isn't either, after they turn back to normal, he won't hesitate to slap them across the face and spit as many insults there is.

When you're brought to the school nurse, he isn't coming because he's not done with your attacker but Ace will shoot you an anxious glance.

Once you heal up, this guy will fucking scold you but he means good. For once you're not the mom of the group.

"What kind of idiot jumps right in front of strike ?! You're lucky we saved you or you would've been dead by now stupid-"

He's not nice about it cause you made him way too worried. He's supposed to be the one messing around, don't be so reckless especially if your life is at stake.

Doesn't mind fun but not the type of fun that's gonna get you killed.

"*sigh* just c'mere- Yeah don't ask why I'm hugging you, that answer is FAIRLY OBVIOUS !"

Deuce spade

Deuce is one of the first to check up on you and your injury, if you're unconscious he's going to repeatedly call out your name and beg you to wake up.

He's panicking, and he knows that it doesn't help the situation. But fear quickly turned into anger by the time you were put to safety.

"You...HOW DARE YOU HURT THEM ?! YOU SICK BASTARD !"

There goes that guy, rest his soul cause getting killed by deuce is the exact opposite of he died peacefully in his sleep.

after a couple days, you would be fully recovered and you can bet this blue haired ex-delinquent will be all over you.

He'll scold you too but not as much as Ace, deuce is a sweet idiot and honestly I love him for it.

Deuce is trying his best but he can't help being mad at himself for not being able to protect you, you're his best friend/Lover !

You need to reassure him that you're fine and that's enough, he's glad you're trying to cheer him up but YOU'RE THE ONE WITH A RUPTURED SPINE- HOW THE HELL IS THAT FAIR ?!

"Repeat after me : I promise.." "Deuce this is stupid" "NO, say 'I promise..?" "...I promise..." "TO NEVER BECOME A HUMAN SHIELD"

"...."

"Just do it."

"...I promise I won't become a....human shield..?"

Epel Felmier

Ok this man is loosing his temper. But like imagine the : you called him a girl temper, now reimagine that but then triple the anger.

Yup.

That attacker/overblot dude is dead, he's about to die.

Like Epel doesn't even need help he's already cowboying his way through- wait is that a damn lasso.

Destroying the whole area as if he was an active tornado just obliterating everything and everyone.

Epel is most likely to stand by this quote : "You mess with them/her/him, you mess with me."

Doesn't matter if you're just his friend or partner, that man has loyalty and he is going to tackle anyone in the stomach just for looking at you the wrong way.

He may look pretty but he is deadly, I can assure you that no need to test it.

He won't be panicking when you recover, he's just gonna be relieved you're ok.

Will probably pout a little cause you worried him so much but besides that he hopes that you won't pull a stunt like that again.

"I'm glad to see that you're doing alright.."

Sebek Zigvolt

Ok this one. Is pissed.

He's not gonna let that offense go, you and wake-sama are placed on an equal pedestal so it means that if you get hurt then that means the only suitable punishment to the cause is d e a t h.

Crocodile Sebek goes BRRRRRRRR-

Proceeds to annihilate the bastard, like have some fucking mercy dude- I have never seen a scrope pounding this severe in my whole entire life.

yeah no, the victim isn't getting up after getting his balls turned into a size eleven sneaker.

Sebek is gonna give you those 4 hour lectures when you wake up and there is no escaping it cause you got a leg turned into mash potato.

"And so that is why you should NEVER put yourself in danger EVER again-"

"EPel please save me"

"Where do you think you're going ?!"

🎶RUN FAST FOR YOUR MOTHER, FAST FOR YOUR FATHER~ !!!

RUN FOR YOUR CHILDREN, FOR YOUR SISTERS AND BROTHERS 🎶

🎶LEAVE ALL YOUR LOVE AND YOUR LONGING BEHIND-!!

YOU CAN'T CARRY IT WITH YOU IF YOU WANT TO SURVIVE~🎶

THE DOG DAYS ARE OVER-ER !!!

Sorry I got carried away, I just love this song so much T_T.

Running through the halls like a one-legged track star as students just hear Sebek yelling from the other side of campus.

Jack Howl

Ok he turns into big wolf boy the second he takes the sight of you getting hit and heavily injured.

He is going to eat that overbold guy alive, no questions asked.

He was baring his teeth before now he's full on destroying them into oblivion.

Man gets angry, growling was a warning until they crossed the damn line by putting you in danger.

"I WON'T FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS !"

Now it doesn't really matter wether he's your partner, best friend or some kind of family figure. Cause that man is guarantee the best guy to have around, like...LOOK AT HIM !?

he may act tough but he's a real softie that does his best to play fair and square.

No matter what you see him as, Jack is protective and looks after to you. Even more than you can do actually !

Once the fight is over, he's going to the nurse to check up on you.

When he sees that you're out of harms way he's gonna grumble a little bit.

"You really are reckless, don't pull a stunt like that again..Uh ?! No I wasn't worried ! You're strong, there is no way that kind of injury would be able to take you out anyway. But still...I'm glad to see you're alright."

I know this isn't very good, I'm sorry for not being active as much these days but since it's now the holidays. I'll be posting a lot more with how much time I got !

Thank you for reading !

#twst #first years #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst x mc #twst x yuu #twst x you #twst x y/n #twistedwonderland #disney twisted wonderland oc #twst disney #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #jack howl #ace trappola #deuce spade #epel felmier #sebek zigvolt #twst wonderland #twst imagines #twst headcanons #twst hcs #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland ace #twisted wonderland deuce #twisted wonderland epel #twisted wonderland sebek #twisted wonderland jack #twisted wonderland imagines

[emotionalsupportemoboys]

SOMETHING TO LIVE FOR

Just an idea I wanted to get out of my head. A quick Dabi x F!Reader where he gets the (mostly) happy ending that he deserves, god damn it. I may expand on this at some point, we’ll see. Contains vague spoilers for chapter 390.

1.2k words

You’re watching the coverage and you see the moment when Touya’s badly charred body hits the ground. You were supposed to stay away, to remain in the flanks supporting the fight, but you book it to his location; Endeavor and all the others be damned.

The Todoroki family looks on in stunned silence as you drop to your knees beside him, crying his name and begging him not to die. He can’t see you, but he can hear you, and he croaks a single, pained word, “…Doll…”

Your heart shatters.

He was your world and you were watching it slowly slipping away.

You plead for him to hang on while searching for a place to lay your hands. Even in his fractured state of mind, he knows what you’re doing and he’s afraid that you might take a lethal toll on your body by using your quirk to heal him. It probably wouldn’t even be enough to save him, you were bitterly aware of that, but it wasn’t going to stop you.

“Don’t.”

“I have to try, Touya! I love you! I love you so much! Please don’t leave me!”

He knew this. You’d told him countless times before, but even so, he’s grateful that these are the last words he ever hears. Knowing that he was truly loved tempered the pain of failing to accomplish his goal. He just wished that he could stay to love you longer, to give you the normal life that you deserved.

You pour every ounce of yourself into keeping him alive and the chaos around you eventually fades to black.

. . .

It feels like everything is over in an instant.

His eyes flutter open and he briefly experiences the same sights and sounds from the battlefield before realizing that he was somewhere else; in a brightly lit, sterile room. He didn’t recognize this place, but you were sitting beside his hospital bed, fast asleep while upright in a folding chair.

He’s so relieved to see you that bloody tears well in his eyes before spilling over onto his cheeks. You looked different, healthy, and no longer war-torn. How much time had passed?

He’s not entirely sure what he’s expecting to see when he looks down at his hands, but the fact that he has both is startling enough. It takes some effort for him to move his tired body. He touches his face and finds smooth skin where scars and staples had once been. Was he dreaming? Was he dead?

He quickly decides that he didn’t mind either option, so long as he got to stay with you. He watches you sleep for what feels like an eternity before finally reaching over to take your hand.

You were solid. Real. Warm. Familiar.

“Doll?”

You wake to the sound of his hoarse voice and, for a second, you’re half convinced you must be hallucinating.

“Touya?” Your heart leaps inside your chest. You’d been praying for this moment for so long, having fantasized about it so many times that it almost didn’t seem real.

You throw yourself at him, pulling him into a fierce hug, which he reciprocates as best he can.

“Don’t cry, Doll,” he says softly while rubbing your back.

“You’re one to talk,” you sniffle, having noticed the crimson tears on his face. “Fuck, I love you so much, I’m so glad you’re awake.” You start sobbing in spite of yourself, “I missed you.”

He clears his throat, getting choked up as he squeezes you tighter, “I love you, too. More than anything.”

You enjoy each other’s company for a while, holding each other in comfortable silence, just as you always had. This man was your best friend, your lover, your fucking soul mate. You could have sat with him in silence until the end of time and it would have been more than enough just knowing that he was still breathing.

“How long was I out?” He asks quietly, expecting you to say a few weeks, or maybe a couple months.

You pull back to look at him wearing a sad smile, “Three years.”

“What!?” He blinks at you in shock.

You nod while squeezing his hand, “Just like Sekoto Peak.”

He probably shouldn’t have been surprised, it made sense considering his previous experience, though he was in much better shape this time around. His body looked damn near brand new, but he did still have some scarring on his torso, which would forever serve as a reminder of the pain and suffering he’d endured.

Over the course of the next few days, you explain how you’d found the best healers who’d survived the war to work on him. You also gently break the news about the villains losing and Endeavor still being alive, though he’d long since retired after issuing an apology to him and their family. You assure him that his efforts hadn’t been completely in vain, as society had made some changes for the better over the last three years, and the PLF was still working underground.

He takes his time processing all of this information, not quite sure how to feel. You help him through it, rarely leaving his side.

. . .

One week later, you walk into his room and sit on the bed to take his hand. He’d been doing well. You could see him slowly starting to envision a future for himself for the first time in years and you believed it was time to press forward.

“Touya, there’s someone very special who I want you to meet.”

He looks at you curiously, and with a bit of apprehension.

You smile fondly, “I think you’ll like him. He’s a lot like you.”

He narrows his eyes, but agrees to this meeting.

You step out and return a few minutes later carrying a small boy on your hip.

Touya knows as soon as he sees him.

His heart stops, his blood runs cold, and his stomach lurches. He tells himself that it couldn’t be possible, but there was no denying what was right in front of him, and the timeline added up.

“Mama!” The toddler says sweetly, beaming while tugging on the front of your shirt. He had a mop of white hair and big, beautiful blue eyes, just like his father.

He was the most precious and yet utterly terrifying little thing that Touya had ever encountered in his life. He stares at him in awe while fighting back tears.

You move to sit in the chair beside the bed and the boy suddenly takes notice of Touya. It’s rather endearing how the two gawk at each other.

“Touya, this is Seiko,” you say softly while ruffling his messy hair.

The look of pure love and devotion on your face as you gaze at your son—his son—makes his heart swell. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he struggles to keep his emotions in check.

“The Sweepy Man,” Seiko says while pointing at Touya. “Mama, he ‘wake.”

“Yes, baby. He was asleep for a long time, but he’s finally awake. Do you wanna say hi?”

Suddenly shy, Seiko hides his face against your neck before mustering the courage to peek at the so-called Sleepy Man, whom he’d been visiting every day since birth. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Touya’s voice cracks as a single crimson tear escapes from the corner of his eye, yet he finds himself smiling. “Hi, Seiko. I’m…I’m your dad.”

#my writing #dabi #touya todoroki #todoroki touya #dabi angst #dabi fluff #mha #bnha #dabi fanfic #dabi fanfiction #dabi drabble #dabi oneshot #mha fanfic #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfic #bnha fanfiction #league of villains #league of villains fanfic #dabi x reader #touya x reader #touya todoroki x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #touya todoroki x you #mha 390 #dabi mha #touya x you #dabi x female reader #soft dabi #dad!dabi