#if there'd be a taste difference

[sailingmakai]

"... ...I wonder if a Cucco egg tastes different than a chicken egg..."

#v; seaofthieves #not really dash commentary but linkle #talking about cuccos attacking folks #DID make me wonder #if there'd be a taste difference

[pastafossa]

I have two questions:

1. Have you ever considered writing a book that you would want to get published?

2. I wonder if you will explore Matt’s blindness in TRT. Like for example at the end of the day Matt did lose his eyesight and maybe sometimes wished he could see Jane. It doesn’t have to be a big thing because Matt has accepted his disability but like a moment when he’s just really wants it. Idk I thought it would cool

1. I’ve thought about it, yes! And I’ve actually got an (unedited) trilogy of vaguely humorous, post-apocalyptic scifi adventure books that’s like... halfway written, and that I’d love to get published. I was actually in the process of working on Book 1 when Covid hit, and then my writer’s group kinda... collapsed, which is when I promptly discovered that as an extrovert, I desperately need interaction to make The Story go. No interaction, no drive (and that’s also why fic works fine). And sometimes I toy with the idea of starting up again, maybe with a new writer’s group. I’m also looking into taking a lot of the original elements of TRT and then self-publishing that (with some changes to get Disney off my back obvs), which would let me keep the fic up, too. Not sure! I definitely have plans to try to get a book published eventually though!

2. Sometimes I’ve thought about it! I may touch on it eventually, though very, very delicately. Like you said, it wouldn’t be big because I really do think Matt’s accepted he’s blind and he doesn’t see it as a bad thing, and it’s really not. I do admittedly think he probably still gets understandably frustrated at how blatantly inaccessible some things still are (ex: i literally walked by a coffee shop that had a printed piece of paper inside the window in small print that said ‘large print or braille menu accessible on request!’ and I was like... ok but a blind/visually impaired person can’t read that???). Cause that’s the truth of it - he is still blind. He’s got a disability that affects his day to day and even if he’s happy the way he is (or that’s how I read him), he still needs his aids. I’ve tried to make that clear in TRT - Jane’s taken up his labeling system with braille, she leaves things in *very* specific places because Matt’s got an organization system he needs, he uses his ear pieces and refreshable braille display. And yeah, as someone who’s disabled myself, I could see him now and then going... ‘I wish I could see just for a second’ when there’s no solution for something - when he’s touching old pictures of his dad, or now and then when he’s with Jane, in the same way I’m sometimes like, ‘I wish I could literally run somewhere without pain, just to feel the wind’. It’s a passing thought usually, but it’s probably there now and then for him. So the thought’s rattling around in my brain, definitely. If the right moment in fic comes I can see touching on it!

#ask response #the red thread #daredevil #on matt's blindness and disability #sure i'm disabled but mine's different than matt's so i try to be aware of that while navigating it in fic #we know based on ep 1 with his brief mention that there *are* things he'd love to see again - the sky in that case #and so i think jane would fall into that category #but we also know he doesn't see his blindness as something there to hinder him based on what he says to foggy when talking about stick #and in some ways he sees her more deeply than anyone else on this planet #he just sees her without vision #he hears her heartbeat and all the other little pieces of her no one else gets to hear #he gets to experience the comfort of her scent at a fundamental level #he gets to feel the way her temperature changes when she's excited or happy to see him or when she sees a kitten #and when he kisses her he can taste *so much* of who she is #he doesn't need sight to know her #and i honestly don't think he'd ever trade his senses for getting his vision back because he's happy the way he is #but there'd probably still be a moment now and then of 'it would be nice if i could see her just for a second' #as for getting published one day I can oooooooooonly hope! #i've got stuff written already that either needs to be finished or edited #but it's hard in original work cause I need that back and forth interaction with other people to get my inspo flowing #i'm definitely hoping to get published one day though and i'd love to make writing a profession #fingers crossed!

[we-out-here-simping]

You, Me, Lonely.

(s.h. x reader)

from the river to the sea (educate yourself and help however you can)

Summary: you love Steve, Steve loves you. But maybe you both want different things from life.

Warnings/tags: reader menstruates (reader has uterus), abandonment issues, the ‘six nuggets’ talk, suggestive

Word count: 3.4k

masterlist

a/n: huge huge huge thanks to @procrastinationprincesses for helping me out with this fic and giving it an ending (ur amazing sanjana <3)

writing and posting something because i might have to go MIA for a lil bit (miss me while I'm gone will ya?)

fic is inspired by ‘You, Me, Lonely’ by FIZZ i absolutely love this song like its so close to my heart ughh what can i say I'm a little bitter about the six nuggets scene 

also if you couldn't tell already I have major abandonment issues and an anxious avoidant attachment style. It will reflect in what i write soz :(

In the quiet of the night, you wish for this to last forever. That you'll have him forever.

When you came out of the shower you found him asleep on his side of the bed. His side– the one closer to the door. ‘so I can protect you from anyone who'll try to steal you from me’, he had justified it when you asked him why he was adamant on that side.

you had turned off the bedside lamp ten minutes ago, slipped under the duvet, as quietly as possible so as to not wake him up. on your side of his bed. your bed.

He always sleeps on his stomach, one hand under his pillow and the other extended a little towards yours. His body moves with steady and slow breaths, back rising and falling under the covers, head peeking out from under the rumpled up duvet. his cheeks are squished against the pillow cover. His hair is a mess from the lack of hair product, and still damp from the shower he took before you. There's a few strands of his brown hair sprawled across his forehead too. With your softest touch you brush them away from his eyes.

You wonder what he was dreaming. you hope it was something nice. He looks calm, at peace, and very, very pretty.

You look at him and you know you love him. You want to love him forever.

Love had never seemed like the type of thing you’ll get– like it wasn't meant for you. But then you met him. This boy. This boy who you never thought to be your type. You never thought you even had a type. But his boyish charm and stupid grin won you over.

Your heart doesn't skip beats around him anymore, and you’d think that that means he doesn’t have that same effect on you anymore but that would be wrong. You don’t think you’ve ever loved anyone as much as you do to him. You don’t look at him and get butterflies in your stomach, you look at him and… you’re sure. your heart is quiet and sure. You don't think you’ve ever been sure before.

You want to be sure forever.

He feels like the comfortable still of rain after a scorching hot summer, like the calm and cold breeze that cools you down. Like standing at the top of the mountain, looking at the clouds and valleys below, he feels like the crisp air that fills your lungs. Like the comfort meal your mom makes– the one you can never really recreate, the one that tastes the best when it comes from her. 

You love him and you know. You know. You know he likes you, loves you even. 

Steve Harrington loves you like a dream, and you're worried that one day he’ll wake up, look at you and realise that he deserves so much better. He’ll wake up and he’ll leave for work and he’ll bump into a pretty angel of a girl with a disposition as bright as his. And he’ll never return. people fall out of love. People fall out of love all the time.

You wish for him to love you forever.

How long is a forever anyway?

You wonder what it'll be like. When you're older, with wrinkles, white hair and weaker limbs. 

It's like you see it.

You and him in a bed– just like now but older, wiser, more tired. His back turned to you. There'd be distance between you two, you’d want to move closer and hold him– but you wouldn't. You’d just stare at the back of his head, counting all the grey hairs you’d memorised like all the moles and wrinkles on his skin.

You’d notice his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest and you would have known him so long and so well that you'd just know that he wasn't actually asleep. you'd know why he wasn't asleep.

there'd be a pain in your chest. You would know what it is, why its there. You would gulp and try not to think about it.

“Do you always stare at me in my sleep?” his groggy voice pulls you out of your own head.

You blink, multiple times. Forever, right.

He softly smiles up at you. You blink away before moving to lay on your back, the sheets rustling with your movement. “sorry I woke you up”, you mumble an apology, staring at the ceiling, you fail to hide the shake in your voice.

“Y’kay?” 

“Yeah.” the sheets beside you ruffle but you keep your eyes trained on the ceiling. it seems inevitable. You know, one day it'll happen and despite having expected it, it’ll be the greatest heartbreak of them all. 

“Thinking ‘bout somethin’?” he sounds a bit more awake.

“When am I not?” you shake your head and laugh hoping he doesn't notice that it isn't real, thankful that the curtains didn't let in any moonlight and that you had turned off the lights.

“What is it?” but this is Steve, he doesn’t need to see you to know how you’re feeling.

“Nothing.”

“Were you lying about liking the pasta I made?”

“No, Steve it was good”, a real laugh slips out of you, and you finally look at him. He’s leaning on his elbow, the messy head of hair in his hand, looking down at you. You suddenly wish it wasn’t so dark so you could see the colour of his eyes, the moles and freckles on his skin.

“Then what?”

“Nothing.” your gaze moves back to the ceiling.

“Must be something if it's keeping you up”, you feel him shift closer to you. He smells of fresh shower, mint, shaving cream and washed laundry. 

“No, I'm just….  not sleepy.”

“Yeah?”, he raises his eyebrows with a sly smirk, “Well, I know a way to make you sleepy”, he leans down– both arms caging you in, landing a kiss on your neck before trailing further up to your lips. and its lovely, so god damn lovely, you don't want it to stop but this hurts.

“Ste– mmph– Steve stop”, you turn your face away, because if he keeps going, you think you'll cry, palm pushing flat against his bare chest, “I’m– I'm not in the mood.”

“Okay, I'm sorry”, he moves back onto his one elbow. The silence gestates for a while, you can feel his eyes on you. The ticking of the clock is the only thing heard through the room before he softly says, “Hey, please tell me what's happening?”

“Nothing”, you shook your head, “I’m just tired.”

“You just said you're not sleepy.”

“J– just go back to sleep okay? sorry for waking you up”, you turn onto your side, face away from him. 

He sidles up behind you after a second or two, warm breath across the back of your neck, you squeeze your eyes shut. “yeah, like that's gonna put me to sleep", he mutters behind you.

His arms snake around your waist, pulling you in closer, “C'mon, you know I wont be able to sleep after fighting”, burying his nose in your hair– he sighed.

“Did you just sniff my hair?”

“Yeah, I do all the time. smells s’good."

"You pervert", you both laugh lightly at that, your hand going for his around your waist, before your smiles fall and silence takes over once again. 

You lick your drying lips, you forgot to put on lip balm again, “We’re not fighting, Steve.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You take in a deep breath in, fingers drawing patterns on the back of his hand, you breath out, “m’sorry.”

His arms squeeze tighter around you, he lets out a quick sigh before placing a kiss on your shoulder, “I’ll forgive you if you tell me what’s going on with you.”

“Steve…”, your voice trails off, you're not even sure what you were going to say.

“Is it— Is it your…. Uh, that time of the month?”

That makes you want to roll your eyes at him and smack his chest but you restrain yourself, you’re not sure if you want him to see your eyes right now anyway. Instead, you sigh,  “I had it last week, Steve.”

You got it in this very same bed. Awoken by cramps in the middle of the night. and Steve, your lovely Steve had given you a hot water bag while he took off the sheets and put on fresh new ones and then gave you a soft massage that put you to sleep.

“right... yeah, sorry," he says all sheepish, “So what is it then? Did someone say somethin’ at work?”

“No.”

“Did I.. " he hesitated a little, "did I say something?”

“...no”, you curse yourself for pausing before saying it.

“I did, didn't I?”

“No, no. you–”

“honey, you should tell me if I ever say stupid shit– you should call me out immediately–”

“You didn't say anything stupid or whatever. I'm the one who's being stupid.”

his hold on you loosened, he shifted back to give you space to turn around, “What did I say? Hey, look at me,” you finally turn in his hold, facing him “what did I say?”

“We’d have the cutest little kids, won't we?”

“..what?” You stood infront of the kitchen sink. your hands stopped their scrubbing at the pot you were washing. You tilted your head towards him who had his head rested on your shoulder, his arms around your waist.

“Little Harringtons”, you could hear the smile on his lips.

“Harringtons?”

“Or maybe we get our names hyphenated. That works too, it’d be cute”, his hands hold your waist, his duty of drying the plates abandoned. “They’d have my fabulous hair, and your pretty, pretty eyes– cutest kids around the block”

“Our kids?” you repeated dumbly.

“Yeah, and six of ‘em. six little nuggets. They’ll make up half of a football team”, he giggled, warm air hitting the side of your face, “Doesn’t that sound lovely?” he smiled at you.

“...yeah. Yeah, it does.” you smiled back at him which only made him grin wider. His arms tighten around you again, and lips start a trail from behind your ears to down your neck.

You scoffed softly "You’re supposed to help me wash dishes you filthy animal." 

“Oh, fine,” he gave you an over dramatic sigh, before his hands left your sides, skin feeling lonely as ever.

“No, it's fine. I’m almost done anyway", you went back to scrubbing at the bottom of the pot, "Just go and take a shower, you reek.”

“Alright, fine, I’ll go!” he groaned, playfully as a kid, before he leaned against the counter, looking at you with his ‘Harrington charm’. His voice is silky when he asks, “Will you join me?”

“Steve." you said it almost as a warning.

“I don’t hear a no.”

“Okay then, no.”

“Tomorrow morning…?”

“I have an early shift tomorrow, you horndog.”

“We'll make it work.”

“No.”

“Okay", he sighs, “come up quickly though, I wanna be the big spoon today”, pecking your cheek before leaving for the shower upstairs.

Looking at him, you brush the now mostly dry hair falling on his forehead, tucking it behind his ear. Your fingers lingered there, you smile, “nothing, Steve.”  your thumb rubs back and forth on the apple of his cheeks. “You didn’t say anything. it's stupid.”

His hand reaches up to hold your fingers in place, he turns his head a little to kiss your knuckles, “okay, I didn't say anything” he kisses your knuckles again, gaze stuck to your face, “but could you tell me what it is you think you’re being stupid about?”

God, I love him, you think. “Don't worry about it”, your voice barely a whisper as you attempt to give him a smile. You move closer, planting a slow kiss on his lips which are so much softer than yours– he never forgets his chapstick.

And god, you needed this, your brain stops when you kiss him. thoughts quelled and its quiet again. After some time though, your throat starts to burn and your chest is on the verge of a sob. So, when you pull away, you fail to hide the stuttered breath that you take in.

Steve knew there was something to worry about, but when he hears your breath that almost sounds like a sob, he’s immediately on high alert. Before he can brush your hair out of your face to look at you, really look at you, you bury your face in his chest.

It takes him a second to realize that you’re crying and it breaks his heart because you’re trying to hide it.

“Baby..” he feels you curl in further, your face warm against his skin. He moves to pull you in closer, palm holding the back of your head. He just wanted to take away whatever it was that was bothering you. He tried to pull away to get a look at your face to help you calm down but you wouldn't let him. He settles on carding his fingers through your hair, rubbing circles on the little sliver of exposed skin between your t-shirt and shorts, hoping it gives you some sort of comfort.

"Honey", it is then that you finally let in a shaky breath. he feels the skin where you hid your face get wet maybe with tears, sweat, snot, he didn't care-- he just wanted to take all your pain away.

You both stay that way, and you're suprised by how much you sob, how hard you heave. You weren't sure how long you stayed that way, maybe minutes, maybe hours, however long. It feels like forever.

At this moment, encased in Steve's arms, breath hot against his skin, despite the nose plugged with snot, lashes clumped with tears, eyes squinted shut, you think this is comfortable. Yet it hurts. Because you'll have to pull away. It hurts so damn much because you know how this can go, you know it can hurt so, so much more. You know it will hurt.

You want this to last forever, however fucking long one of those is.

So, you hold on longer because, you’re selfish with your love for Steve. You're selfish because despite the heartache, you’ll have him, for as long as you can.

His hold on you gentle yet firm, as if afraid he'd break you. In your head, he already had. He tries to pull away again, to look at you but you can't. Your eyes still squinted close, willing it all to be a stupid dream. “Honey, I promise you whatever it is, you can tell me”, he says, voice soft as feather. Of course it's not a dream.

Your tongue betrays you, “Its…s–” stupid. Silly. It really doesn't feel stupid or silly, but god, you're so scared that you can't say it, you didn't want to say it because if you do it’ll come true, wont it?

“Whatever it is that you think is stupid," he assured you as if he could read your mind, "I still want to hear it because I know I won't think it's stupid."

suddenly it burns, and you need air. you sit up and try not to think about how ridiculously not pretty you probably look with snot running down your face, “What if- what if we- we end up hating each other?” you manage to say through hiccups.

“What?” he sits up as well, he says as if you had said the most ridiculous thing, “I'll never hate you, honey.”

For some reason, tears fill your eyes again at that, “Steve, you don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“No. Ste– people fall out of love, Steve- all the- all the time.” It terrifies him how convinced you sound of it.

“Do..... do you think you’ll fall out of love with me?”

The question startles you, its evident in your wide eyes, “Wha– what?”

“Do you think… you’ll fall out of love with me?" he repeats, "You think you’ll hate me?”

You shake your head, the tear that had been sitting on your lower lash finally slides down your already tear-stained cheek.

“Good." he wipes the wet trails left behind with his thumb, "then, why would I hate you?”

Your face twists into an expression that Steve wasn't sure what to describe it as. a deep frown on your lips, chin wobbly, brows scrunched up together, eyes red and tired yet nostrils flared. “‘Cause", you start but before you could continue another sob leaves you. you look down at your lap, trying to catch your breath. it takes you a minute before you begin again, "do you remember.... what you said about our kids?”

He nods, heart clenching at the way your voice breaks, “I don't think I can… do that”, he doesn't think he's ever heard you sound so broken. “I– I don't think if I– if I want that.”

He sits silent and you think this is it. maybe forevers aren't that long after all.

More tears fall, more sobs leave you, you don't bother to wipe them. What's it matter anyway? He hates you already. He's probably thinking of a way to let you down easily because he is kind like that “Honey.. I want a family..” you feel your heart ripping in two and you just can't look at him.

“And I want you to be a part of that family. I– I want you to be the person I built a family with, no matter the size." He wipes at both your cheeks again, making you look at him, "even if its just us.”

The relieved smile he expected from you isn't there, instead, you frown, the crease between your brows deepens. the part that hurt the most was that you push his hands away, “you’re saying that now, but what happens when years down the line, when we’re old, you– you end up resenting me. Y- you love me right now, I know. But how do you know you wont end up hating me like, ten years later?”

“I dont want to watch you grow old and hate me and then leave me, Steve. I’d rather end this now if we’re destined to just end up unhappy together.”

“We’re not. Okay? We’re not. I know I wont hate you, ever.” He reaches for your hands again. He kisses your fingers before continuing, “And I know that I want you, just you and whatever that– that that comes with. We could never have kids and I would never hate you for it.”

“You won't be happy", you say meekly, like he'd be mad at you for speaking what was on your mind to him, “You wont hate me but you wont be happy either”, you muttered, chin ducked into your chest.

“Honey”, he hooks a finger under your chin, tilting your head to make you look at him, to make you understand. “you’re what I need to be happy. You make me happy. And.. I’d hope you need me to be happy too”, a wet chuckle escapes you at that. A hint of a smile on your face despite the tears.

“You do, don’t you?” he clarified with a soft smile of himself.

You nod, "yeah", letting out a loud sniffle.

“Good. I know its scary but you’ve gotta put your trust in me. Trust me enough to believe in me when I say that you are what makes me happy. and I am happy."

He wipes away gently at your face, ridding it of the tear stains, “Sometimes, you’ve just gotta trust. I promise I’ll never break it.” 

You sob again but it's lighter than before, you wrap your arms around his neck and feel the weight you felt get lifted, you sniffle into the crook of his neck, "thank you."

You feel his lips on your hairline, "Let's go back to sleep, yeah?"

"Yeah. You still wanna be the big spoon?"

"yeah, I think you need to be the little spoon today." he pulls you down with him, your back to his chest, kissing the skin behind your ear he finally settles in beside you.

You call out his name, he hums in response. "how long do you think a forever is?"

"I don't know, honey."

"Can we stay like this forever?"

"Um.. if you mean us staying forever then yes, definitely forever. But, if you meant me being the big spoon forever, baby, I'm not sure if I'll be able to commit to that."

You laugh, "I love you." you confess.

"I love you too."

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader angst #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x you #stranger things x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfiction #Spotify

[vin-taege]

Sore Loser (m)

Summary: The game of "put a finger down" ended differently than you expected—not that you were complaining.

Genre: smut, porn with slight plot??

Pairing: bratty!reader x chishiya

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: blowjobs, throatfucking, cunnilingus, light degradation (chishiya calls you names but affectionately), rough sex, semi-clothed sex, protected sex (stay safe!), fingering, spanking

Note: This is the second smuttier part to fair game !

"That's rich coming from you."

Chishiya's voice was muffled, his mouth latching onto your breasts like a man starved. He'd managed to get your shirt off despite your neediness for his tongue on your skin. He tasted too good to pull away from.

You groaned, head pressing against the throw pillows of the couch. Pulling at his hair, you pressed him closer to your body, his hot breath leaving you soaked. Simultaneously, his hands were yanking your shorts down alongside your panties.

"Fuck you, loser," you managed to say breathily. A small smirk played on your lips—pushing his buttons seems like fun for now. It was only fair after the way he teased you during the game.

Without warning, Chishiya pressed a nipple in between his teeth, grinding it slowly on the sharp enamel. You screamed out, immediately getting a slap on your outer thigh after.

He pinched and rolled at the neglected bud, digging his nails on purpose until you hissed. When both your nipples were burning from soreness, he diverted his attention to your neck. 

Licking a stripe from the base up to the bottom of your ear, he kissed and bit, littering purple marks all over. He found a particular spot that made you gasp louder, deciding to abuse it.

You whimpered under his harsh marking. He hadn't even touched your clit yet, but you knew there'd be a big wet spot on your panties by now. You rubbed your thighs together, seeking the tiniest bit of friction for some sense of relief. But Chishiya caught on quickly.

Halting his actions, he firmly grabbed both your thighs, holding your legs open. "You think I'm letting you off that easily? After hearing you bitch about fair play and act like a brat?"

He pulled your waist up until you were on your feet, turning you so that you faced the couch. You planted your arms on the cushion, arching your back for him. You had an inkling as to what he was planning-and honestly, you had hoped for it.

The way his palm connected with your ass left you gasping for breath. You jolted forward, your face almost colliding with the sofa backrest. Right after, you felt his fingers digging into the sensitive flesh. 

"Whiny slut," he hit the other cheek. "We both know I won."

The barrage of spanking didn't wear down, each slap harder than the other. Your pleas fell on deaf ears, Chishiya only getting harder at the sight of you so broken so quickly. Tears cascaded down your face, thighs shaking from how much your ass stung. When he finally relented, he pressed his clothed cock against you. The rough fabric of his shorts grinding against your tender flesh made you scream out. He reached over, taking the opportunity to hook to fingers into your open mouth. He pulled back, forcing your head to tilt upwards.

"'M sorry, 'm sorry!" you sobbed. "I'll be good, please."

The blond snorted, letting go of your mouth and stilling his hips. You whined pathetically—it hurt so much but you wanted him to keep going. You needed him to touch you.

As if reading your mind, Chishiya planted his fingers underneath your jaw, grabbing your neck from behind. His free hand brushed over your soaked folds, leaving the lightest of contact on your clit. "How are you going to be good hm? You gonna offer me something worthwhile?"

Despite his tight grip on your throat, you nodded frantically. You tried to grind back on his fingers, but every time you did, he'd immediately withdraw them. You pouted, voice desperate.

"I'll do anything you want."

"Anything?" Chishiya hummed, feigning surprise. "That's a generous offer."

He dipped a finger shallowly in you, scooping a portion of your wetness and spreading it over your clit. You moaned, biting your lip. You wanted more, but you knew he'd stop if you got too greedy.

He pressed his finger more forcefully over your bundle of nerves. "I've always wanted to fuck that loud mouth of yours. Gonna shut you up real good with my cock."

Without his prompting, you quickly kneeled on the floor in front of him. Your legs shook with each movement, both from the rawness of your ass and the desperation in your clit. You gushed harder when you realized you were naked in such a vulnerable position, while Chishiya towered over you still fully clothed.

He smirked at your compliance, turning your chin slightly from side to side. "You look so pretty like this."

You hung your mouth open, eager to take him. He pulled his shorts and briefs down, hard cock slapping against his stomach. You held your breath at the sight—it was long and thick, a pretty vein wrapping around leading up to the red tip. Chishiya chuckled at your awestruck expression, grabbing a fistful of your hair and bringing you closer. “Go ahead. Show me what you’ll do for me.”

Licking your lips, you took one last glance at his cock before meeting his eyes. You kissed the tip, brushing your tongue up and down his slit to lap up the pre-cum. He let out a sigh of approval, steadying himself by holding your hair—gentle caresses in contrast to his harsh words. He bucked his hips when he finally felt your lips wrap around him.

You sucked your cheeks in, struggling to accommodate his size. You placed a hand on the base, opting to stroke whatever you couldn’t fit instead. Tongue pressed against the underside of his cock, you started bobbing your head, saliva pooling in your mouth as you sucked him off. He wasn’t vocal but you knew he felt good through the way his breaths started to get heavy, or his fingers dug into your scalp more.

Slowly, you fell into a rhythm, managing to take him better. You twisted the hand holding his cock whenever you’d bury him in your mouth, using your other hand to trail down his thigh using your nails. During the whole process, you looked up at him with puppy eyes. He looked back with half-lidded eyes, the soft brown turning into almost pitch black. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face, landing on the expanse of his exposed chest. Seeing him fall apart like this was something you’d never want to miss.

As you were pulling away, he held your head more firmly, roughly sinking his entire cock down your throat. You let out a muffled squeal, throat spasming around the sudden intrusion. Tears pricked at your eyes, rolling down your cheeks. You lightly slapped his thigh, trying to signal for him to pull out. Surprisingly, he complied, but only until the tip was still in your mouth. He waited for you to compose yourself.

“Breathe through your nose. Tap me three times if you want to stop,” his voice softened although he maintained his firm grip. You nodded, taking a deep breath of air in preparation and planting your hands on his thighs.

Without wasting another moment, he snapped his hips towards you, fucking your mouth in a brutal pace. Though you struggled for stable breathing, the way he was using you made you drip even more. Your wetness was starting to slide down your thighs, and you wouldn’t be surprised if it had started to form a pool on the carpeted floor.

He groaned, feeling your throat tighten around him. You sneaked a hand down, fingers finding their way to your soaked cunt. You shuddered, giving yourself some relief when you rubbed tight circles on your clit. It took Chishiya a few more thrusts before noticing this, eyebrows furrowing in disapproval.

“Oh no you don’t.” 

Swiftly, he brought his hands back to the underside of your jaw, lifting your face up. All his wait was on the pads of his feet, hips flush against you until your nose was buried among the the trimmed hairs. You gagged, hands flying back to squeeze his thighs. He held you in place for a few more seconds before pulling out completely, a string of saliva connected from his tip to your lips.

You sputtered, hunching over and coughing. Drool was stuck to your chin and you were certain your hair was a mess. Chishiya towered over you, staring at you condescendingly.

“What made you think you can do that hm? Do you think that’s fair?” he mimicked your previous words. You didn’t answer, busy focusing on your breathing. He tsk’ed, lifting your head up by your hair. He took in your pathetic state, eyes glistening from the tears, cheeks sticky, and lips sore. “Do you think you deserve my cock after all that shit you’ve given me?”

You whimpered, biting your lip. You didn’t expect him to get this rough, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it. Much to his amusement, you shook your head softly. He let go of your hair, holding your cheek gently instead. He leaned into his touch, sighing at the comfort it gave you.

“I can be forgiving when I want to, ___.” He brushed his thumb over a drying tear trail. “Are you going to be a good girl now?” 

You eagerly nodded, voiceless from the abuse your throat took. 

He smirked. “On the bed.”

You got on wobbly knees, scampering towards the soft mattress and cold sheets—they’ll warm up soon enough. You propped yourself up on your elbows, thighs opened slightly as an invitation. Chishiya took his time striding up to you, hooking a finger under your chin and giving you a soft peck on the lips. He deepened the kiss, tongue slipping into your mouth. He placed both arms on your sides, stabling himself on the bed. You moved in synch, one hand on his bicep while the other was on the back of his neck.

Unzipping his hoodie, you tugged it off, Chishiya helping you until the sight of his bare upper body greeted you. You pouted, which he immediately took notice of.

“What’s wrong?” 

“I didn’t get to mark you,” you whined, eyes scanning the blank skin of his neck and collarbones. He chuckled lightly. 

“Cheer up,” he plainly replied, handing you his hoodie. You looked at it quizically, raising an eyebrow at him. “I want you to wear it while you cum.”

“Oh,” you mumbled, cheeks flush. You took the jacket from him, sliding one arm in and then the other. The fabric was soft and light—no wonder why he never took it off. It smelled like minty soap and flowery detergent, and of course, that underlying scent that was distinctly Chishiya’s. A mix similar to old books and strawberries.

He beamed at you in contentment. He leaned over, placing a chaste kiss on the space in between your breasts. Leaving a trail of kisses down your stomach, he reached your crotch, licking his lips at the sight of your wet clit. “You made quite a mess here.”

He kissed your clit before running his tongue over it. You gasped, gripping the sheets tightly. He held your thigh open with one hand, making use of the other by inserting a finger in you. He lapped up your juices, the tip of his tongue teasing circled around your sensitive bud. At the same time, he easily slipped another finger in, curling both of them up and hitting your g-spot.

“Fuck!” you mewled. You grinded your hips against his tongue, feeling your orgasm quickly building up. Every part of your body felt so sensitive, mind going blank aside from the thought of wanting—needing—to cum.

Chishiya pulled his lips away for a moment but continued thrusting his fingers in and out of you. He hummed, lost in thought. “Three fingers huh?”

“W-what are you…” you panted, gritting your teeth when he hit the spongy spot again.

“You put down three fingers,” he stated not feeling the need to elaborate, but you knew what he was thinking based on his stupid smirk. He prodded your entrance with his ring finger, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“W-wait, I don’t know if I can—fuck!” You arched your back upward, full from all three fingers inside you. Your shut your eyes, mouth open in a silent moan. You were treading the line of pain and pleasure, head fuzzy from how everything felt a little bit too much. Chishiya caught on quick, pausing to make sure you could regain your composure. He pressed sloppy kisses on your thighs and hips, muttering praises.

“We can stop if you want,” he sincerely offered. You shook your head. Still unable to form words, you gave him a thumbs-up.

He started off slow, waiting patiently until you’ve adjusted. Thankfully, you were wet enough for him to easily slide his fingers in and out. It was starting to feel good again, pleasure taking over the initial sting. You spread your legs wider, allowing him to see more of your glistening folds.

“You okay?”

You hummed in response, already feeling like you’ve been fucked dumb. Shakily, you nudged his head towards your pussy, urging his mouth onto your clit again. He rolled his eyes teasingly, but gave in to your request.

He latched his mouth onto your clit again, tongue doing wonders. You gushed around his fingers, thighs shaking from how sensitive you were getting. A coil was tightening in your stomach, ready to snap at any moment.

Chishiya used his free hand to hold your waist down. He pressed his tongue firmly against you, running it up and down as he abused your g-spot, precisely angling each thrust to hit it. It wasn’t long before he had you spilling at the seams.

“Cumming, cumming!” you moaned wantonly, throwing your head back. It’s like you were submerged underwater, legs spasming as you were hit wave after wave of your orgasm. Chishiya slowed down his ministrations, allowing you to ride it out. When you’ve settled, he pulled his fingers away, making a show of licking them clean. 

He crawled up, propping his elbows on either side of your head. You tried to fight the way your eyelids would fall, lips slightly open. Your hair was sprawled messily on the sheets, the hood of his jacket crumpling under your head. Chishiya embedded this in his mind, his eagerness only growing at your fucked out state. “___?”

“Hmm?” your eyes drifted back to him, looking slightly more focused now.

“Are you okay?” he pressed a light kiss on your neck.

“Mhhmm…” you hummed, hooking a leg over his waist.

“Are you sure?” Chishiya furrowed his eyebrows in worry.

“Fuck me,” you groaned, grinding upwards on his cock. You whispered, “Loser.”

“Brat,” Chishiya smirked, trying to conceal his relief. For a second there, he thought you would have passed out. Reaching towards the nightstand, he dug around one of the drawers until he found the packet he was looking for. Kuina had slipped this in his room once during one of her speeches—mainly about finally making a move on you. He didn’t think it would ever come to use, but hey, he was grateful for it. He aligned himself with your entrance. With one swift movement, he bottomed out. Groaning through gritted teeth, he threw his head back. Your cum and wetness lubed him up so well, your soft walls clamping tightly on his cock.

He was already pent up from when you blew him, and he knew he wasn’t going to last for long. He focused on finding your spot again, kissing it with the top of his cock over and over again. A string of curses left your lips, your arms reaching up to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer to you. His face was buried in the crook of your neck, hot breaths on your skin. You could feel him tensing up.

“So good, Chishi,” you sobbed. “You fill me up so well.”

“Fuck,” he hissed. He straightened up, hooking your legs on his shoulders, thighs pressed on his torso. He wrapped his arms around your legs, using them as leverage. You squeezed around him, helping to draw his orgasm out. His hips stuttered, thrusts becoming sloppy. He couldn’t get enough of your warmth, carnal desire overtaking his mind. He could feel you getting closer as well, ripping your second orgasm out when pressed fast, tight circles on your clit.

The sound of skin slapping on skin mixed with your moans echoed throughout the empty room, followed by a loud groan Chishiya could no longer hold back. His hips were flush against you, cock fully buried in your drenched pussy. Thick, white spurts filled the condom. Chishiya rode his orgasm out with shallow thrusts before stilling inside you. He huffed, trying to maintain his composure despite shaky breaths.

He gently laid your legs down, plopping himself next to you. Your chests rose up and down, slowly coming down from both your highs. You turned your head, facing him. His eyes were closed, stray hairs framing his face.

“I would have put four fingers down,” Chishiya mumbled, sensing your gaze on him. His words puzzled you, when you suddenly remembered Kuina’s last question—have you ever been in love?

“I love you too,” you rolled onto your side, gingerly taking the hand draped over his stomach. He froze for a second, locking his fingers with yours. “Loser.”

#alice in borderland imagines #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya x reader #aib chishiya #aib imagines #imawa no kuni no alice #alice in borderland x reader #alice in borderland #chishiya imagine #aib x reader #chishiya shuntaro x reader #asks

[tojifile]

Kibutsuji Muzan: Succubus Survival

Hush.. just one more..

Genre: Romance // Muzan x succubus!reader

⚠️: Heavy suggestive and sexual references, kinky reader, immoral, not fully consensual, DO NOT BIND THE CHARACTERS TO REAL LIFE MORALS THIS IS PURELY A WORK OF FICTION

A/N: I'm so frustrated rn, this is like the 3rd draft I've had because it would suddenly post and answer privately ??? It was so annoying, so now I'm editing this on a private post. I love the request so much and thank you for requesting it but I will not be writing anything until I get my new device, I hope there'd be less mishaps there.

REQ: @cursetopia

Each night, in the houses of young noblemen—loud cries echoed through the corners of their rooms. You loved seeing tears fall down their cheeks as pain turned into pleasure until they couldn't tell the difference.

"Good boy.. just one more and you'll be free." You whispered in his ear cunningly. You were on top of him, freely guiding his body as you moved yours. His yogi was messily hanging from his body while your kimono fought to stay on your shoulders.

You used your blood demon art: Pearls of Restraint, which stuck to their name. They restrained his movement and ability to speak as you moved your hips in a quick and steady pace, chasing your own high as you ignored his pleas.

After a while you finally got more than a taste of your release. He immediately passed out from exhaustion. You fixed his yogi gently and put the covers over his body.

You stood up and fixed your kimono. You stood near the headrest and hovered your hand over his head, you made a motion, as if you were tugging on air. You pulled out a pearl from his head.

The pearl held his memories, you took the pearl and added it to your necklace—he was just one of the many men you've seduced into a soul-sucking night, literally.

You left his room through the window. You hid in the night sky, running swiftly yet quietly through the roofs to avoid getting caught. You ran to your room, in the most exclusive house in all of the entertainment district.

You disguised yourself as an oiran by day to avoid suspicion and to keep living amongst the male noblemen of Japan living in Kyoto, who—in your opinion looked better than the others.

Once you reached your room you were met with a calm glare, given by Muzan. "Darling~ you're finally back, come here." He spoke with calmly with a faint smile on his face as he patted his lap, insinuating that you should sit on him which you happily obliged to.

He stroked your hair gently, propping his chin on the top of your head as he held you tightly with his unoccupied hand as you sat on his lap. "Now then, let me ask you a question darling." He spoke, you hummed in response to let him know you were listening.

"What exactly do you want to achieve with sleeping with different men each night?" He asked, you took a moment to think of an answer but then realized he could read your mind so might as well just say what comes to mind.

You held your face as you kept an innocent smile on your face, "Survival, their souls and energy, if you're asking for practicality, my lord. Although if you meant to ask about my sexual desires, I love to see their reactions, it's quite.. adorable." You spoke happily as you looked up at him. It seemed like even the thought of their reactions turned you on.

Muzan found your answer amusing, he chuckled and continued to stroke your hair gently. "Adorable.." he whispered as he softly kissed the top of your head.

"Won't you be a good girl and show your lord this 'energy' you speak so highly of?" He spoke suggestively, he put you down in between his legs, "Go on my dear, I'm sure you have enough energy now." He held your cheek as he spoke, leaning down to you, offering you a soft kiss.

Spontaneous post: 07/09/23 23:34PM GMT+8 Philippine Standard Time

#muzan kibutsuji x you #muzan x you #muzan kibutsuji x reader #kimetsu muzan #muzan x reader #muzan x f!reader #muzan x succubus!reader #kny #kimetsu #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #demon x reader #kibtsuji x reader #muzan kibutsuji #muzan kibutsuji x f!reader #kibutsuji muzan x reader #kibutsuji muzan x f!reader #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu muzan kibutsuji #kimetsu kibutsuji muzan #kimetsu kibutsuji

[saradika]

— BLEED FOR ME | part iv

[masterlist]

mand’alor!vampire!din djarin x f!reader

rated e - 4k

haunted hoedown: vampire!au + “i would burn the world for you.” + vampire has a taste for specific blood + revenge + (one-sided) enemies to lovers (+2 secrets!)

tags: vampire!au, drinking blood, reader has scar on shoulder, shared memories, light angst, din is dracula (castlevania)-coded, realizations and confessions, flash-backs/multiple pov, canon-typical violence and death, revenge

a/n: a massive and heartfelt thank you to @friskynotebook and @againstacecilia who beta’d this chapter and helped me out - you are the best! 🥺💕

It's all white noise. Her voice fading out to nothing, as the word repeats in your mind.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

You think you mumble an excuse. Her hand outstretched, expression worried as you turn - dazed. A tightness in your chest, leaving her sitting as the panic rises, as you all but flee the room.

It's muscle memory that gets you to your room. Your back pressing against the heavy wooden door, as if that alone could keep you safe.

You couldn't be his mate. His soulmate.

There wasn't a mark. The skin on your wrist is bare - that spot of first contact. Where he had touched the night you had arrived, before pulling you to his mouth.

You'd have noticed if his palm bore marks when it had curled around, for they would be reflected on yours, too.

This much you know, at least.

Soulmates were an ancient magic that even the humans knew. Growing more rare, as the years passed. As wars raged and couples were split before they were ever joined.

Your grandparents were soulmates. A chance meeting at a market. Fingers clasped in greeting - the shock when they came back different. Changed, forever.

You used to pull their hands into your laps - to trace the matching, mirrored marks on their skin, when you were a child. Filled with silent thoughts about how lucky they were, to have found each other.

They had been happy.

But how could you be, after everything?

Fennec must be wrong. Perhaps vampire mates were different.

Perhaps it was just the name of your partnership. Perhaps the time that had passed had made you mates of some kind, enough of your blood shared to forge some sort of lasting connection.

You cling to this denial like it's some form of salvation. Of protection.

Time passes, and your breathing slows. You lean into these thoughts. How would Fennec know, if even you didn't? Yes, it had to be no more than a misunderstanding.

If he was really your mate, there'd be a sign. He never would have wanted to hurt you.

But deep, deep down - you know that there's something.

A reason you hadn't felt that urge to flee, when you first saw him. How your hand has stayed, when you could have finished things. Why you can't keep him out of your thoughts and mind.

Why you've softened. It had felt so natural, like winter changing into spring. Something tender blooming in your chest, in spite of the frost.

It frightens you.

There's not much time to contemplate further, before you hear the sounds of boots on stairs. The gait one you've come to know - something sharp and acidic spiking in your chest as you push yourself up.

Rushing across the room to wrench the drawer open - the scrolls scattering across the floor as you rip the hidden dagger and stake free. Holding them defensively against your chest, just as the door opens.

He's there.

It's as if he only just arrived - boots still splattered with mud. His armor streaked with weathered grime and a weariness in the way his forearm braces against the doorframe.

"Cyar'ika." Din rasps, "I'm sorry, I didn't want-"

The words peter off. He seems unsurprised to see you armed, as if his only thoughts are of you. Not what you hold, what you've been hiding.

A long second as he considers something - before his hands are lifting to his helmet. Palms pressing against the curved metal, until it's lifting from his head.

You can't look away, in spite of your distress.

He's achingly handsome, beneath. A puzzle, finally completed with the full curve of his nose. The shape of his cheekbones, where dark hair curls above. And his eyes.

Eyes that seem familiar, eyes that you've seen before-

Finishing his thought, his gaze a heavy weight, "I didn't want you to find out like this."

Your head shakes, "You can't be. We haven't, there isn't a mark-"

He takes a cautious step forward, and you take a large one back. Your hip colliding painfully on the edge of the desk, the chair scraping against the floor as you try to move away from him.

"There is a mark." Din's fingers lift, finding the fastenings of his armor - those maroon eyes still fixed on your face.

Removing his gloves, his gauntlets. Unlatching his shoulder plate, leaving them to rest on the ottoman. Pulling at the knots that attach his sleeves to the tunic beneath.

Baring his shoulder.

He wears a scar like yours. The one that you had gotten that day - when you had thought it had been from when you fell. Patched up with magic, before you had awoken.

It’s a reflection from what you're used to looking down and seeing, curving up his bicep. A smaller, splotchy shape next to it.

It's familiar. You've seen the shape before, etched into the silver pauldron he wears. The design is stylized, but it’s there - you’re not sure how you missed it, before.

"When?" You whisper, eyes fixed on the curve of muscle and skin.

"That morning you've been thinking of." He answers. His voice is different without his mask. Softer, still rich in tone, "When I feed. You go back to it so often."

It twists your stomach, turning you stone-still.

It was real, it was real, it was real-

"Why did you do it?" Your voice breaks over the words, "That town. My home-"

He takes another step closer, and you react like a feral cat. Spitting and hissing to keep away from him, that dagger brandished like a sword. His face is all angles and shadows, sorrow and confusion and so matching yours.

"I was there to help. I was there for you."

Your head shakes, not understanding, "No. You started the fire in the inn. They told me you killed all those people, that vampires ripped apart the houses-"

Nothing was making sense.

"I am strong, but not that strong cyare." His head shakes, "If I wanted to, I could have hurt the townspeople. But there's no reason for me to. I’d never-”

His expression changes into something that tips towards self-loathing, as his words halt. The next comes more slowly.

"I was there, looking for you. I had sensed something when I was nearby-" Din's head shakes, "Your heart. I could hear it. I wanted to see what you were."

Your grip on the stake loosens, drawn in by his words. Another proof of your connection.

"I stayed in the village for two days." He sighs, "And then, I saw you in the marketplace. You were so beautiful and so happy, and it became so clear that this was your home. So I left, instead."

As he moves, there's a clear shot through the doorway. A few minutes ago you would have bolted, but now - now, you find yourself sinking into the chair. Back where this all began.

Remembering that prickle, the hairs on your neck rising, those days before. That feeling of being watched. Nothing more than a brushed-aside moment.

"I left that night. But then, I found myself called back." His eyes fix on yours then - bright, in spite of the long hours away, the days without eating, "I heard your fear and I came."

It feels like you're seeing, for the first time. Bits and pieces through a filtered lens, slowly coming together. But still blurry, enough out of focus that you still can't see the subject.

But how could his story be true? They had warned you not to trust him, didn't they?

You had spent a year fighting with your anger and your grief. You had braved the journey here and lived among the vampires for weeks. All with one goal in mind, and to hear that you've had it wrong is-

It leaves you adrift. A moment where you're more unsure that ever, even though you know more than you ever did.

But deep down, you realize you want to trust him. To believe that he was as good as he seemed. As just - a true ruler, that the way he’s treated you wasn’t simply a ruse.

That he hasn't been playing with you, feigning that kindness for all these weeks.

But where did that leave you? Who could you believe?

"I wish that was true." Your head shakes, voice no more than a whisper, "I really do, Din."

He's silent for a long moment. The creak of his gloves as they curl into fists, as you're both left to your own thoughts. Yours tug at you - curling around your legs, threatening to pull you under and into the abyss.

"I could show you." Din offers, then.

“I could show you what I remember."

His hand extends then, palm facing upright. Reaching out for you to take.

You stare at it for a long moment. Gaze flitting to his shoulder. Across the mark, up the curve of his shoulder, to his face.

"You can see for yourself." He coaxes, and you're able to look into his eyes this time.

To truly see, like you had tried to, so many times before. They're clear, and sorrow swims in them.

Not a monster. Not lying.

You can see for yourself.

Your eyes drop back down to his outstretched hand. And after a long moment… you reach out and take it.

With a jerk of his arm, he pulls you close.

And then - he's biting down.

There's a hunger. A deep ache that gnaws at your bones. You don't know how someone can live like this. Your limited vision filtered through shades of greys and reds and browns.

A flinch as you shield away from the rising sun, even through your layers. It curls into your joints, searing the thin sliver of skin at your neck as you crouch.

Something like an echo rattling through you, as the ground flickers beneath your feet. Faster than you've moved before, the smoke and the buildings and the flames distorting as they suddenly loom into view.

The growl that rips from your throat comes from deep in your chest. It's jagged against your teeth as your senses heighten, as you move through the streets on pure instinct.

Ducking into the shadows as they pass by, in their leathers and the dark cloaks and the strings of garlic that you can smell from here.

If there wasn't such a tugging in your chest you'd wonder at their appearance. The pure coincidence of this convergence. But there's no time, not now.

Time skips, and then you're crouching down. The human that you had watched, now slumped against the low stone fence.

Rubble strewn around her, scattered beneath the collapsed overhand she had tried to dart beneath - just barely making it to the other side.

Skin sticky and red at the temple and the sight of it makes your stomach clench. An urge to catch the drip with your finger, to bring it between your lips and see if it tastes as sweet as you know it does, deep down.

Instead, your hand reaches out - curling around her bare shoulder. Your touch like a brand, as your body flushes with heat.

So strange, with how cold your skin has become. For a second you almost feel as you used to - watching as the the shade of her skin changes before your eyes.

As the small curls of thought in your mind suddenly flourish. That reason you can been drawn, why her pulse had seemed to call to you.

Your chest aches. Again, you wish for more time.

There's none right now. It's easy to lift them, with the strength that came with your transformation. Her head lolling against your shoulder, cheek pressing to the beskar of your chestplate.

Right above your still heart.

Shoulders curl inwards to shield her from the heat as you move through the wooden arch, the beams above in flame.

It licks at you, almost causing you to stumble. Only determination keeps you afoot. Just enough to get you out - down the path again, and into the forest.

You've become fiercely protective.

Something had lingered after your eyes had first landed, but that small spark is nothing compared to the inferno that rages, now.

It takes all your strength to leave her there, in the grove. Where she's safe - the trees so old and twisting and the weeping branches so thick that surely, she'd be undetected.

But it's not all you must do.

Another flicker of images, passing so quickly you can’t catch them.

Bodies in the streets. Homes collapsed, caved in as if struck by a canon. Left shattered, in ruins.

There’s an echoing shout, a shadow as you flit back in between buildings, looking for any survivors.

A weight in your chest at this sight, repeated far too often. Your heart was too tender before now to tear this thorn bush out at the root.

But town is small, and there are none left. Everyone who could had already fled, and those behind were now gone. Left to linger as ghosts, or to move on.

Another flicker, another small leap in time.

A shadow that you don't see, as you move through down the main road. A pain like you've never known erupting in the small space between your pauldron and the curve of your gauntlet.

So close to your new mark that you're striking out, snarling. Your arm weighed down from the slice from the silver dagger - if you had blood to spill your clothes would be stained with crimson.

A stranger looms in front of you now. Flanked by another. Torches in their hand - the glint of the dagger catching in the light, stained with a black ichor from where it bit into your skin.

The second, smaller - hands wrapped around an ancient, gnarled staff.

Vampire Slayers. You can smell their stench. The acrid taste of magic on your tongue, something you ignored in your search.

“We knew you'd come."

The whisper is low, taunting.

“You always do.”

Fury licks at you. Giving you the strength to draw your blade, the black sword a heavy weigh in your hand. A growl in your throat as you lunge at the first - the dagger held in two hands as it collides with your downward swing.

Another, and then another.

The ache is ignored with your dance, the slow circling of footsteps. The second Slayer murmurs an incantation, but is battered away by the first.

“I shall do this." She hisses, with the turn of her head.

The distraction is all you need - a hand fisting in her robes, the sound of ripping cloth. A burst of strength to pull them forward, as your blade pushes in, and then sweeps.

With a rattling gasp, her cloven body crumples.

Your vision swims then - blooming with a light that arcs across the cobbled street, all but blinding you.

Flames burn against your chest, with the collision of the blast. Your armor takes the brunt, as you shake it off. The tilt of your helmet as you face the witch - a step as your blade rises, ready to strike again.

She flees, then. With another swoop of her hand as words slip from her tongue. Bringing the building down, blocking the path with fallen stone and wooden beams.

Trapping you on the other side of the town. Amongst the ruins and the lives that had been ripped apart, in their quest to hunt you down.

Your thoughts swirl, as the edges of your vision go hazy.

It's calculated. It's too much.

There's too many - their footsteps overlapping as they circle around to box you in.

At your full strength you'd survive a battle like this - but even as your grip adjusts on the hilt, you know you can't last under the rising sun and with the burn of the silver.

You can't save them all, but you can save her. Your mate, someone you never thought existed, and now. And now-

You have to.

It's a promise, an sworn oath that sears into your skin. You'll come back-

But when you do... she's gone.

The stake and the dagger clatter to the floor.

It's more than you've ever processed. It leaves you weak, wobbly-limbed when he pulls back. An arm curls around your waist as he holds you against his chest, your fingers clinging onto his armor for support.

You see him in a new light. It’s clear now, you had watched that mark bloom across your own skin.

Captured by the swirl of emotions at the end, that desperation - the way it courses through you like an echo. There had been no animosity towards you, in his thoughts. Only... only...

But something eclipses this tender realization - another repetition, a tightness in your chest as you piece things together. Dread creeping in as the last missing piece clicks into place.

Because you knew those whispers. The tones had been in your own ears, those weeks ago. You knew the faces, the ones that flickered in and out of frame as Din had slipped from the city.

The witch. She had trained you. Had told you she passed down all she knew about the monster that had slain their sister.

"It was them," You breathe. "All along."

"Yes." He answers, simply.

Your eyes drop to the mark on his shoulder. Fingers tracing the edge, before they tug at where the fabric pools - revealing the edge of the swooping scar above his elbow. A deep mark, carved into knitted flesh. A final assurance.

"They told me..." The weight grows heavier, the words hard to speak, "They told me it was you. For over a year they told me all the awful things you did."

The fury that courses through you has you trembling - a firm hand guides you to the edge of the bed, letting you collapse against it.

They had been wrong. They had lied.

It leaves you wondering - just how far did those lies go? Your chest is tight as you suck in a breath, preparing to ask the question with an answer you’re afraid to know.

But you must.

“They said they knew you’d come.” You try to make your voice sound firm. It comes out quiet, in the silent room, “Do you think they knew I was your mate?”

Did they know, and yet still they convinced you? Twisting you, when it became clear you didn’t remember? The thought was cruel, something truly vile.

“No. We are more alike than you know.” His voice is hard, a grit of his jaw, “I am a foundling. I lost my parents to raiders when I was young. Brought up by the Mandalorians, before I was changed.”

You breathe out a sound of sympathy, some of your anger waning at his words. The thought of his loss, how it still so clings to him.

“I wasn’t always a good man, but swore that I would protect others when I became the Mand’alor.”

His words grow quiet, “They used that against me. They must have known I was there, and tried to draw me out. You were just caught in the middle. I am sorry.”

Your head shakes.

It’s not his fault. It’s not yours, either.

“We were both manipulated.”

His head turns, his eyes meetings yours for a long moment. There’s a slow nod of his head, the creak of leather and armor as he shifts, as you make room on the bed next to you.

He close now, enough that you can see the fan of his dark lashes as his eyes shut. A deep inhale, taken by instinct and habit, before they open again.

"I searched for you. For a long time. I just needed to know that you were safe.” Din’s jaw works, lost in thought, “But I wasn't able to track you down.”

Before he’s exhaling that sharp breath - coming back, “It was Fennec’s idea to announce that I was looking for a Companion. She picked people from the area, trying to find out news. I never realized-"

Never realized you had been with them, until your memories flickered in his mind.

"We were hidden." Your words are hollow - remembering the days spent travelling.

They had told you that it was for safety. Incantations murmured to keep the caves and abandoned houses near invisible. Always on the move, never staying for too long.

Sacrifices made for the greater good. They had told you, knowingly. You had thought it meant their lifestyle. The crushing weight of revenge, the awareness of what you must do.

Never telling you just how deep that went. How far they were willing to go to rid the world of their own perceived evil.

Unnatural and vile creatures of the undead, in their eyes. The sacrifice of a few was worth it, to take down a creature with infinite lifetimes. But with their obsession, their hands had become soaked in red. Swimming in it. Drowning.

They'd tried to make you kill the other half of your soul.

And you would have destroyed others with it. Ones that had treated you with nothing but kindness, Boba and Fennec and-

"Din." Your eyes are bright, meeting his. Tears of anger pricking at the betrayal - the force of their actions finally sinking in, "They told me to kill you. I almost did, I wanted to-"

He makes a soothing sound, "It wasn't your fault."

"But what if I had? You're my mate, what if-" The full force of the lies are hitting you now, panic rising in your chest at the thought of the loss.

He had looked for you. He had saved you. Din was your soulmate, and in your anger you had almost-

"Cyare," His voice grows firm, "Your thoughts are so open. I could not make sense of your memories until recently, but I could always feel your doubt."

He absolves you, as he reaches for your hand. Your own fingers curling around, entwining in a perfect fit.

“I knew you wouldn’t hurt me.”

His words, his touch, brings comfort. Your grip tightens in his and he meets it with the sweeping of his thumb over your skin. Soothing you, like he always had.

Leaving you both to your thoughts, for a moment longer. For you to focus on the weight in your heart, with just how deeply you have been fooled. As the anger begins to fester, in your long-opened wound. Poisoned down to the marrow.

He had known the beginning, but you knew the end. And together, as the pieces weave together - you think you finally understand.

That picture of deception, now crystal clear.

And you finally believe.

“What happens now?” You hear yourself ask.

Where do you go, from here? Is it too late to start again?

His hand slips from yours, as he stands. The look he gives you is long and solemn, as if he’s committing every detail of your face to memory.

“Now?” Din rasps, a sharp edge to his voice, “Now, I keep you safe. I should have left already.”

He looms above you now, as your hands press against the bedspread. The tilt of his head as his hands brace on his hips, fingers curling around the hilt of his sword.

His anger finally unmasked, with your final realization. Those feelings of protection breaking their way to the surface, sinking it’s claws into his skin.

“Left?” You echo - and you can see it, then - the change in his eyes.

The way your blood, your lifeforce, had infused him - the warm maroon shade shifting towards a bright, blazing crimson.

His lips part in a snarl, baring the points of his sharp canines. As an energy emanates, the room seeming to darken and close in around you.

As he sinks to a knee, all but swearing fealty. Bringing himself down to your level, as his voice drops, each world coming slowly.

“I want to rip them apart. Do you understand? I would burn the world for you, ner runi.”

It’s a confession, his voice so low and so sure. Like this was the only thing that matters, the thudding echo of his emotions jolting through you as you remember his grief at finding you gone.

In this moment, he is the Mand'alor. Beautiful and terrible, and you suddenly understand that fear that the name brings.

And for a second - it thrills you.

Because he is yours.

Because you are his and you never have to be afraid, again.

You nod mutely, and he softens. The ferocity still lingers but the snarl fades - fingers reaching out. Gentle against your skin as he cradles your jaw, mapping the curve of your cheek.

"Tell me that is what you want." His thumb brushes against your skin, achingly gentle. Asking for the permission to protect you, like he had promised.

You know he’d struggle, if you said no. Swallowing down the bloodlust, the guilt at turning a blind eye until it was almost too late.

But he would, for you.

If that is what you wanted. But your anger now has a conduit now, and it burns in your veins.

You know they won't stop, for how many times have they told you that exact thing? Twisted into monsters by their own obsession.

Your chin tips up, as you answer.

“Yes."

Sorry I mixed up the posting dates on this! I was so sure that today was the 28th! 😵‍💫 The finale (and the smut - thank you for your patience!) will be out on Thurs the 31st! Thank you for reading and I hope you liked the reveal! 💖

cyar’ika - darling/sweetheart | cyare - beloved/loved

ner runi - my soul

(Tags: @dameron-grant-spector, @sugadolly, @writingsofestella, @spaceydragons, @-ohsolovely-, @survivingandenduring, @queenquazar, @alitaar, @dindjarinsslut, @creatureoftheunderworldd, @margowritesthings, @your-slutty-gf, @dindjarins-brown-eyed-girl, @lovers-liability )

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin imagine #haunted hoedown #hauntedhoedown

[starlightsearches]

Your Eddie NSFW Alphabet and what you said about oral makes me want to ride his face on the picnic table with his ring-covered fingers digging bruises into our thighs, keeping us in place and rocking against his face, maybe even despite our protests because he loves eating pussy so much that he doesn't care if he drowns or never breathes again as long as he gets to go between our legs.

Body Electric

I'm SCREAMING with out the S, my friend! Here's something I wrote for the idea 💖 comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated!

Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, language, infidelity (reader cheats on her boyfriend 🫢), fingering (f), oral (f), a wee bit of overstimulation, drug mention, I think that's it!

You've never met a person as flirtatious as Eddie.

He flirts with everybody, but it's different with you. He flirts with you all the time—even when your boyfriend's around.

Especially when your boyfriend is around.

Which is probably why he suggested that you meet up with Eddie alone today, sending you off with a patronizing pat on your ass. "Maybe he'll give you a discount."

Eddie's giving you more than a discount.

It started with a game. Is that what he called it? A game? Or maybe it was a bet.

All you know is he was sitting next to you at the picnic table, making jokes, asking where your shitty boyfriend was with his shitty taste in music and his shitty stick and poke tattoos.

You hadn't meant to laugh. Really. But you couldn't help it when he smiled at you so wide, light dancing in his big brown eyes, his whole demeanor screaming I could be better than him, if you let me.

You'd watched his fingers stroking up the bare skin of his arms, admired the corded veins in his hands and the heavy rings he wears. He was still smiling when you looked back at his face, but there was something heavier in the air between you, something that makes the breath in your lungs catch on the way out.

"I bet he's shitty at a lot of things."

That’s what he'd said to you in a voice that just dripped with sex, your cheeks burning under his smug grin—practically chewing your lip off because he was right and for some reason you were the one embarrassed.

His hands slipped out of sight beneath the table, the tips of his fingers tracing along the inside of your thigh, his touch sending your head spinning better than weed ever had.

And then he'd shifted closer, the ends of his hair tickling at your jaw, hot breath on your neck and you had to keep your eyes closed because if you looked at him, there'd be nothing stopping you from burying your hands in his hair and tasting the cigarette smoke off his lips.

"Me? I'd never be a shitty boyfriend," he whispers, "especially if I had a girl like you."

That's how you ended up with Eddie the freak Munson knuckle deep in your cunt.

And he's definitely not shitty. Got you in tears with hardly any effort, stroking his long fingers against your sensitive front wall, just barely tracing circles over your clit with his thumb. The picture of patience.

He watches you the entire time, gnawing on his pink bottom lip, eyes so wide it's like he's forgotten how to blink, like he doesn't want to miss a second of this. Your own hands are clenched around the collar of his denim jacket, his wallet chain jangling with every shift of your hips. You're waiting to combust, to just burst into flames in his lap.

And then Eddie stops moving, his fingers slipping from your wet folds, leaving you empty.

God, the whine that leaves you is loud enough they should hear it all the way in East Hawkins, but you've got no chance pulling his attention away from his own fingers. He holds his hand up between you, silver rings glinting in the sunlight.

And that's not the only part of him that's glinting.

"Holy shit."

His fingers are shiny where they've been inside you, slick stretching in strands between the digits when he spreads them apart.

You'd thought you'd gotten rid of all your shyness, tossed somewhere among the leaves along with your underwear, but that's not the case. You're on fire all the way down to your neck, burning with shame you're not even sure if you should feel. Maybe you should apologize, just in case it's not normal.

But Eddie's not looking for an apology. He just slips his digits into his own mouth, kissing at his rings before pulling them back out with a wet pop. His spit smears against your cheek when he cups your face in his hand.

"You have got to let me taste you."

Jesus. You should really be more careful about what you're willing to smoke. All that shit is starting to make you hallucinate.

"What?"

Eddie's already on the table, rolling onto his back, flecking off chips of the faded red paint with every shift of his hips.

"Come on," he says, gesturing you over with a nod of his head.

He's actually serious. You press your thighs tighter together, and they stick a little with the spend he's already coaxed out of you. Your ass still stays on the bench.

"What if- what if I hurt you?"

Eddie just shrugs. "What a way to go, am I right?"

You're sure you don't have to tell him that your boyfriend's never gone down on you before, and you're definitely sure that he can tell you've never sat on anybody's face. The pile of nerves in your stomach shifts restlessly, and you know he can see that, too.

"I'm not above begging, baby," he shifts onto his side, leaning close enough that you can hear him when he whispers, "there's a very exclusive discount for girls who ride my face."

For a second, your nerves gone—replaced with an acrid jealousy. "Exclusive?"

He takes your hands in his, fingers intertwining shyly. There's some red in his cheeks when you look at him. "This is the first time I've offered it."

Okay. Okay. There's no way you could say no, even if you wanted to. He could get you to do whatever he wanted with one look from those big, brown eyes. Lucky for you, this is something you really, really wanted.

You press your lips to his before you can lose your nerve, breathing in the smell of cigarettes and cheap cologne and the barest earthy scent that follows him everywhere.

He's good at this, too—damn him—tracing the gap between your lips with his tongue as he helps you onto the table, pulling you into place until you're straddling his hips, body electric at the feel of him.

Eddie urges you up onto your knees, shifting a little beneath you until everything disappears under your skirt except for his smiling eyes.

"Ready, baby?" He asks. His breath feels cool against the burning skin of your thighs.

You breathe a yes, and he's on you, open-mouthed kisses everywhere but where you want him. Your legs are shaking, knees threatening to buckle when you feel the nip of his teeth, his wide, warm hands cupping your ass underneath your skirt, pulling you closer.

"Fuck."

You fall forward, catching yourself with one outstretched palm, totally ignorant to the splinters burying themselves in your hands as he guides your hips against his mouth, tongue spread wide and flat, dragging across your cunt.

Oh god. His lips wrap around your clit next, sucking a teasing little pattern, just barely nipping at the sensitive nerves. You're already overwhelmed by the sensation, trying to lift away from him, trying to find some relief, but there's nowhere to go. His fingers tighten around your hips, cool rings biting against your flushed skin. He's in no position to speak, but you can imagine what he's trying to say well enough. You'll get used to it.

You don't think you could ever get used to this.

He eases off your clit, like he's hoping to make this last, but that’s not gonna happen. Not when he flattens his tongue again, gently guiding the shift of your hips, letting you grind down on him.

"God, Eddie." You don't even know if he can hear you between the pillows of your thighs, but you've got to say something, easing a little more weight down onto his face, adjusting the pressure until it sparks through you again. You have to let him know how good this feels, bracing one hand against the ripped knee of his jeans, arching back for the right angle.

Eddie Munson is smiling against your pussy. He's never shut up for this long before, so you have to imagine what he might say, read the language of his hands and the shift of his hips. Hear his voice in your mind saying the dirtiest shit you can imagine. Use me, baby. Get your fill. Cum on my fucking face.

You're going to. There's no way for you to avoid it, not with one of his hands slipping around to the cleft of your pussy, his thumb sliding between your folds and massaging your clit as he french kisses at your core.

"Eddie, I'm- fuck."

No chance to warn him. You're disappearing, lost in the heat of it—your own personal solar eclipse. It has your vision dimming at the edges and your body shaking as it's overcome, cunt pulsing and head emptied of anything but the places where you connect.

And still he doesn't stop, laving his tongue over your ruined pussy, circling your thrumming clit until you're sure you are going to explode.

"Jesus Christ, Eddie."

You really do fall this time, slumping forward until there's cold air kissing your wrecked center instead of his hot, heavy mouth.

He's laughing, when you look down at him. Slick, shining mouth stretched wide over his perfect teeth, dimples in his cheeks collecting your arousal. He wipes his mouth off on the back of his arm, still grinning when he sits beside you, nudging your shoulder with his own.

"You good?" he asks, like he hadn't almost killed you. Could you die from an orgasm that good? You can't help but feel like you cheated death, like your spirit almost left your body.

And then your heart rate slows, and he's nuzzling his face against your throat, pressing little kisses along the ridge of your jaw.

"You there, princess?"

He whispers the words right up against your ear, nose pressed flat against your cheek, and you've got enough of your breath back to laugh.

"Yeah, I'm here."

You can taste yourself on his lips when he kisses you, slow and way too romantic for what just happened, hand resting on your own.

"Come on," he says, jumping off the table, "sun's gonna set soon."

He picks up your pink cotton briefs from off the ground, brushing the leaves from them. There's a mischievous glint in his eyes when he looks back at you.

"Can I keep these?"

You nod, still a little dizzy. You'd give him a kidney after the way he just made you feel.

You're as shaky as a baby deer when you stand, but he's right at your side, holding you up with a surprisingly strong arm around your waist.

"You okay, baby?"

You nod, biting at your lip. "Can I, uh, would you give me a ride home?"

It's not that far a walk, normally . . . when you can feel your legs.

He just laughs again, pressing another sloppy kiss to your cheek.

"Sure thing, princess. Maybe we can stop at a payphone on the way so you can call up your piece of shit boyfriend and tell him he's not your boyfriend anymore."

#eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #my writing #requests #minors dni

[ranimotia]

Hey! I'm not south asian, but I have been on a hyperfixation streak on desi culture and hinduism (it started off for an OC but escalated). One thing I've fallen in love with from afar is the cuisine. Particularly the immense variety of curries in Northen India.

It'd be funny to see a Jamil x desi!Reader scenario where the reader is just enjoying all the food he makes for them. Then when they get to the curry, they just shrug their shoulders and say "eh, you pass". Jamil, being the prideful man he is, immediatly challenges them to make something better. Cue reader absolutely smoking him with the most delicious pea curry he's ever tasted.

Hiya! It's honestly so heartwarming to see people who aren't south asian appreciating our culture and cuisine! <3333

I imagine Scarabia being having more West Asian/Arab characteristics in terms of culture even though Aladdin simply had a stereotypically orientalist vibe, I feel like a South Asian Yuu would probably get along best with the Scarabia gang for various reasons, but I imagine Jamil would be impressed with a South Asian Yuu's cooking skills, arab cuisine and South asian cuisine are both packed with flavors and seasoning so I'd imagine there'd be a bond over a love for food and culture.

Tbh I'd imagine South asian yuu would introduce a whole new pallete of taste to twisted wonderland, showing off all the different currys, samosas, uttapams, momos, etc from their world. I cam imagine them putting every one to shame (probably not Jamil tho lol) in the Master Chef event lol, they could probably try (and fail) to teach lilia a thing or two.

Might have to make another post talking abt the culture of Scarabia/Scalding Sands bc I could go on for days lol

#twisted wonderland #scarabia #Jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #desi!yuu #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #・❥ Rambles over tea #might make some more south asian Yuu content as existing content is sparse </3

[muppenthings]

How well can each merm differentiate between different people and objects?

Of course the bigger you get, the harder it is to tell the difference in the tiny faces, so I assume there’s other ways? Maybe scent or taste?

When it comes to objects, could they easily know the difference between a watermelon and a bowling ball??

If you wanted to trick a giant mermaid with a mannequin or something, how easy would it be??

And also! There are huge leviathan level merms but are there tiny seahorse merms?? Little reef fish and shrimp and such?? If so, can they interact with the bigger merms at all??

Sorry for so many questions! I’m in a mood

*cracks fingers* Ok this is gonna be a long one! Because I'm including all of my giant mers. And they have different senses as their strong points. I'll go through them one by one. xD

Gorm doesn't try (yet) to tell humans apart since he wants to distance himself a little. But if he do try and tell humans apart, he'd mainly use his hearing followed by sight. He'd learn to recognize their voice foremost. Once he recognizes a voice he'll try to connect it with a visual; if they're wearing something colorful or a unique physical attribute. If he connects them with a cloth item and they take it off, he won't recognize them until they speak again. And if they distort their voice, if they baby talk or gets hoarse for example, he won't recognize them either.

You could trick him with a mannequin until the moment he touches it with one of his suckers (or hands but he prefers his arms). As the suckers can sense chemicals, he'd be able to taste that it's an object. And there'd be a lack of wriggling too. Same with telling a ball from a watermelon; the suckers will do the sensing for him! But he's quite big so I imagine it'd be difficult for him even then. So for him, small things comes down to sensing if it's edible or not, not much inbetween those.

Tide relies on sight to tell others apart. It's easier with merfolk since they have different patterns, colors and tails/fins. And he's not so big that details is a big issue, his vision is excellent. His sense of smell is also very good so that's an aid too. As for being tricked by a mannequin, he'd be difficult to fool! He has electroreception (an ability to perceive electrical stimuli) that allows him to sense that it's an object, if close enough. But he'd be suspicious way before that. Things drift and bob around underwater, so the stiff movements, or lack of, would tip him off. Then he'd see that yeah, not a person.

When it comes to differentiate a ball from a watermelon, it's through vision and scent. He'd also use touch; does it squish? Generally he doesn't have trouble telling similar things apart! It may just be a case of him not knowing human stuff.

Keiki relies on hearing and sight. At his smallest size it's easier to tell everyone apart. But when he gets past a certain size it's just impossible no matter what sense he's using.

You can fool him with a mannequin no problem. He'll just think he scared someone stiff (again) and try to calm them down. For an embarrassing amount of time (he'd realize it's a doll if he touches it ofc. but he tries to get consent before he does as to not freak them out more). xD

As for telling ball vs. watermelon apart, it depends on his size. Sometimes vision is enough, other times he'll have to touch or taste. And sometimes he can't tell any difference or even see them.

Runt, being my smallest seal mer, can easily tell individuals apart by sight alone. But his sense of smell is superior. Like he can smell things through walls. So he can identify who's about to enter the area long before he sees or hears them.

You wouldn't be able to fool him with a mannequin at all; he's able to see it visually and then confirm it through smell. Same with balls vs. watermelon, he confirms it visually and if there's any doubt, he'll sniff it! So Runt's exceptionally good at telling people apart aswell as objects that are similar in shape and color. He grew up around humans after all!

Cetus relies on all senses except for vision. He can recognize a person by their smell and voice. He also has electroreception but unlike Tide's it's stronger and covers more area. Using this sense, he can tell who's who by their movements, kinda like how you can recognize a person by their gait.

So a mannequin wouldn't fool him either. No smell, no electricity/hearbeats etc. The ball vs watermelon he'd have to smell and taste tho as both are inanimate. And he'd still eat the ball even if he recognized it as an object.

And for the final question!

I haven't really planned for any smaller merfolk. If there were any, they'd probably exist in the same world as Tide, Merry and Cetus. And them interacting with the human-sized mers would probably be enough. A Leviathan like Tide would just be too big for interaction, they'd instantly hide. Not to mention Cetus ouf!

Thank you for the questions! Hopefully I managed to answer them! :D

#Ask #not-in-the-library #oc Gorm #oc Tide #oc Keiki #oc Runt #oc Cetus #I did all of my giant mers. Figured why not ramble xD #Hopefully I'm not repetetive xD;; #Sorry if I am #In this essay I will

[alkhale]

If it is not too much....can we have more decade swap please mommy alk? 🥺🥺🥺

Miss Memos so much 🙏🙏🙏

I HAVENT BEEN CALLED MOMMY YET BUT I HOPE THIS HELPS DURING THE WAIT

Shanks is somewhere in his twenties

Every now and then between the Blues and across the seemingly endless expanse of the Grand Line, an island appears.

It was never a designated island in particular. Whatever island could manage to make such a name of itself and manage to keep its reputation would eventually spread word, and sure enough, people would flock to its shores. Some islands that attempted to boast this specific purpose found themselves either failing to uphold true neutrality or ended scorched and sunk from a series of skirmishes with the marines.

A neutral island, people would call it. A meeting point. Pirates of all walks and Blues and statuses would gather here, and people who wished to do business with such pirates would navigate their waters.

A neutral island, on paper. A pirate playground, by word of mouth.

It was this very island get-away in particular that young, not quite young to most, but perhaps still young in the old eyes of the world—"Red Haired" Shanks found himself docked alongside his now notorious crew.

The bar thrummed with life. People and pirates flooded the inside like an overflowing mug of grog, beginning to spill out over the top. Music filled the air, leaving not a space for silence or stillness. Snarled curses flew across tables, slurred stories between bowed heads, and sweet words coaxed from wet lips against willing ears.

Shanks let all of it envelop him. He let it wrap thickly like a sheet. A wide, playful grin stayed perpetually stretched over his lips and he laughed with banter, jeered when jostled, and whispered huskily when spoken sweetly to.

His now infamous captain was always a man who enjoyed having fun above all else, so he'd seen it perfectly fit to dock their ship amidst the hub of pirates seeking their fill of freedom, fun or pure debauchery.

(Shanks was somewhere between the first two, but those who wanted to share his bed might speak differently.)

He sat now as proof up against the bar top. Two beautiful women hugged the seats on either side, a half-full bottle of wine—something more bitter in taste, harder and expensive—sat waiting to be grabbed by one of the beautiful hands to be poured into his mug. He'd meant to stay with the grog, since grog he could drink like water before he barely felt a buzz in his fingertips.

Wine came with the intention of something more, and he was still trying to decide whether or not to indulge in that sort of offer presented to him.

Shanks was older now. A roguishly handsome man with the kind of bounty on his head to turn multiple heads. Enough to make an ambitious marine drool and a seasoned vice admiral scowl. Amongst other crews, he was a powerful man, one of many on his ship, but one of the strongest, and that drew eyes.

Hateful eyes, envious eyes, admirable eyes—

Lustful eyes.

Women who'd spent the night, the evening, or morning with him would often describe him as such:

"His shoulders are big," they'd say. "Broad. You could rake your nails down them and feel endless."

"He's handsome," they'd swoon. "Dashing, a true criminal that one. That sculpted, clean jaw, those playful eyes..."

"His biceps are like corded ropes," they'd grin. "He could lift you with one, keep the other free to—"

"He's sinfully strong," they'd sigh. "Hold you like you were nothing, keep you seated right on his—"

"His words are sweet," some would murmur, looking a bit lost. "But he isn't truthful. He doesn't lie, that one. But his lips and his kisses... Hmm, I guess I'm a bit jealous, that's all."

There'd been a period once where Shanks had never been too particularly indulgent, to be truthful. It'd happened without him realizing it. Shanks could flirt and flirt and talk sweet, and then the moment lips would whisper in his ear and eyes would shift to a closed door—he'd laugh, something sweeter, and then he'd be off.

It was Buggy who'd called him out on it. Sore, when another beautiful woman had been left wanting and Shanks was looking like a dazed idiot, staring out across the sea.

"It's because you're still obsessed," Buggy had accused. Shanks had look at him, affronted. "You're all talk, Red Hair. Since you last saw them at the end of that crazy fight, you've become the worst you've ever been!"

"What fight?"

"The one that nearly tore the ocean apart! That was the last you saw of them in the past year and it's haunted you since!"

"Who?" Shanks said dumbly, still staring out across the ocean.

"You know who, you buffoon!" Buggy shouted. "I knew—I knew nothing good would ever come of this since you first made googly eyes at one of the most dangerous women you could ever even look at—"

"Dangerous," Shanks played with the word on his tongue. "She is, isn't she?"

Shanks knew exactly what memory Buggy was speaking of. It was seared, branded into the back of his mind.

(That beautiful woman. Her eyes. Her blood. Her blade.)

Many images of that day, in fact, remained with him still. Some more beautiful than others, and one lingering sharply, bitter—

(A moss haired swordsman cutting through the carnage, like cleaving waves, to stand at her side. His arm curling over her hip, pulling her to him when the dust settled, his lips hidden in her hair as he said something to her ear. Her eyes, finally relaxing, drooping with fatigue. A trust to be able to show such vulnerability. How he practically carried her, leaning her body against his—)

"See!" Buggy shrilled. "Listen, Shanks. You can dream all you want, I have plenty of fun fantasies myself. But you know why I'm never afraid for me?"

"Why?" Shanks sighed. Buggy jutted a finger against his chest and Shanks leaned back a bit in surprise, caught off guard by the truth in Buggy's next words.

"That's because you're a man who wants. And a man who wants never just settles for dreams."

"Buggy, have you eaten something bad?"

"You're the one who's eaten something rotten, idiot!" Buggy screeched, nearly throttling his crewmate. "Forget it, you're hopeless!"

To be fair, Shanks had tried what Buggy suggested. Buggy was convinced he just needed to get it out of his system. He'd even somewhat convinced himself the same. Maybe the wanting was just... carnal. Maybe he was creating a vision of something for himself, a dream to obtain, and it wasn't fair to do to her. No, never to a woman like that.

So Shanks had played the game, and he'd played it well. He had his fun. He went to bed with pleasure. His true heart belonged to the sea anywho, to his crew, to what laid in store for them at the end of it all.

(There was just nothing he could do, you know, about certain nights. About wisps of images in the corner of his eye. Of long, elusive strands of silver white and eyes like gold beneath the waves.)

The woman on his right was a local, one of the barmaids who was trying her luck. One beautifully manicured hand kept a possessive grip over the sculpted slope of his forearm, her thumb rubbing circles into the side of his arm the other woman couldn't see. The woman on his left ought to be some pirate for a crew he wasn't familiar with, but she drew his attention from time to time with stories of her exploits on the sea.

Stories.

"What kind of story will you tell, brat?"

Laughter filled the air. Someone shouted something behind him and the music resumed, flooding the space. Shanks laughed at something the woman on his right said. He spared a glance over the top of his mug to the back of the bar. Two wide double doors opened up to a sort of back patio, where the cool salty breeze filtered in. He could see pillars outside holding the establishment up, wound tightly with thickened vines heavy with some kind of flower.

"I'm sorry ladies," Shanks said smoothly, standing up from the bar. The women looked up, startled, but Shanks offered them a charming smile, easy and placating. "I just need to step outside for a moment... you won't miss me too much, will you?"

"Maybe a bit."

"Not at all."

They looked at each other with a scowl and Shanks grinned, smoothly slipping his way through the thundering crowd and finally slipping outside.

The breeze kissed his cheeks. Shanks let out a soft, easy groan as he stretched his arms over his head and let his feet carry him out of the shadow of the bar. Perhaps he'd stroll through town, get something to eat. Maybe find Buggy and bother him.

There was a whisper in the air, like a sigh.

Shanks felt something curl, like a finger ghosting up his spine. He stopped dead in his tracks.

"Brat," she murmured, almost amused. "Going for a little walk?"

Shanks turned sharply on his heel, so sharp he almost stumbled. The breeze billowed the open chested white shirt around his arms. It tousled his hair, pulling it free from his gaze so he could see with utter clarity.

The divine sight laid out before him.

Long stems of blooming white flowers wound up the pillars outside the bar, holding up the balcony alcove hidden amidst the second floor she must've stowed away for herself. They interlocked in heavy blooms, a shade too white to match her hair. She leaned up against the railing of the balcony, lounged on her side like a goddess, one finger lightly brushing against a flower as she gazed quietly down at him.

What few patrons might have known of her presence must have thought it wiser not to comment on the fact that she'd been there, leaving the infamous woman to her devices.

Shanks felt his pulse begin to thrum at his fingertips. His feet carried him before he'd thought anything else. A slow, curling grin pulled wide over his mouth. He felt that familiar trill, a lulling pulse of energy in the air, a thought that perhaps—

(This world was amazing.)

His eyes shone brightly, pools of sunlight.

She narrowed her eyes in almost suspicious amusement at the sight.

"Dove," Shanks said, because he'd never promised to be one for subtly. "It's been an eternity."

"Eternity?" she tilted her head to the side, a swooping wave of silver white following over the bare curve of her shoulder. Shanks felt his pulse quicken. "It can't have been that long."

"I didn't even hear a whisper of you being here," Shanks said, stepping closer to the pillar so he could look directly up at her and she gazed down at him. "if I'd known, I would've never left your company."

"We arrived only just tonight," she said loosely. Shanks saw now she was nursing a pretty colored bottle and he licked his lips. "Had a bit of free time on my hands."

Shanks' hand laid itself along the pillar. He tugged on the vines, testing their strength. "A beautiful woman like you," he began, as though he were witnessing the worst crime committed in this world, "all by her lonesome?"

She huffed a sort of laugh. "Mmm, I'm never alone, boy."

He was far from being a boy, but Shanks continued to grin, slow and easy, eyes bright with mirth. "Is there room on that balcony for two?"

Hoku the Immortal shut her eyes for a moment in contemplation. She tilted her head, as though listening for something.

"I suppose it depends," she said finally. Those piercing eyes watched him languidly. "I don't want to invite something more than I can handle."

Her expression became one of startled amusement as Shanks' hands quickly dug into the vines, his body scaling up the pillar with frightening haste.

She laughed, the sound lighting like fireworks in his ears as he snapped with one hand long stems along the way, crushing them between his fingers until Shanks quickly hauled himself over the top of the balcony railing. He looked up, almost frazzled, once smoothened hair now askew as he caught his breath and grinned widely at her, eyes shining.

His breath staggered in his throat. From below had been but a taste—now he could see her clearly, vividly.

In a rare sight she'd discarded the large cloak she'd always kept with her. Perhaps because of the warmer temperatures of this summer island. Shanks could see the bare slope of her shoulders, the teasing dip of her collarbone hidden by her thin white top. The warm tan of her skin under the dappled moonlight, her curves, the long stretch of her legs over the bench—

She didn't wear her usual sturdy pants tonight. Loose billowy black shorts down to her knees took their place—perhaps a pleading change from one of her more fashion savy crewmates, maybe they were going for more of a vacation look, Shanks thought in the back of is head.

Hoku had one leg crossed over the other knee, foot swaying in the air. The knicked and scarred skin of her thighs appeared before him. He'd never known before she had a tattoo there on her left one—a design hidden still to his eyes, he couldn't quite make it out.

He thanked vehemently whoever's idea it was.

Shanks swallowed with a breathless grin.

Hoku raised a brow and Shanks leaned over the top of the railing, holding out the slightly bent flowers to her as an offering.

"Dove," Shanks said sweetly, "It's a dream to see you again."

Hoku snorted, shaking her head with a somewhat exasperated chuckle. Still the older woman gently took the flowers from his grip, her fingers brushing fleetingly against his and Shanks almost curved his own to try to hook them against his hand.

Hoku pulled away with ease, lightly stroking the bent petals and gently beginning to weave the stems together absently. "I hear you've been making quite the name for yourself these days."

"You listen for word of me?" Shanks said.

"Only if it manages to reach my ears," Hoku said lazily. Shanks pouted. She wove another two flowers together.

Shanks dared to take a seat on the space beside her legs. She shifted them only slightly, not quite accomodating him, but she didn't usher him away either. He didn't know if he ought to feel wounded, the way she seemed to consider him a lighthearted presence than a threat, as though he were just another cat who'd decided to take a seat here.

But if such thoughts allowed him to be here, this near—

Shanks would take what he could get.

"What brings the King of Pirates and his crew to this fine little island?" Shanks asked easily, one finger tracing the wooden pattern etched into the bench.

"A meeting with some old friends," Hoku said absently, fingers still moving along the flower stems, but her eyes flickered back over to the view from their balcony. "I assume you've come to play?"

"To pray, actually," Shanks said. Hoku raised a brow, looking at him. Shanks grinned. "To whatever god I must for a chance to see you again."

Hoku set the woven flowers down in her lap. She shifted slightly, looking at Shanks with a narrowed hint of amusement.

"You're always talking sweet," Hoku sighed. "I suppose this is a trait men like you must bear the burden of carrying."

"Men like me?" Shanks said, sounding wounded. "Dear dove, you think I'm not earnest in my pursuit?"

"Pursuit?" Hoku echoed, raising a curious brow. "Of what?"

"Of one of the most beautiful women I've ever laid eyes on," Shanks said, eyes half lidded now, almost dreamy as he looked. "Of one of the greatest treasures the ocean's ever offered."

Hoku laughed. Shanks could grow drunk off the sound alone. "Brat... I still think you're biting off more than you can chew. One of these days you'll talk sweet to a woman like this and find out she might give you more than you can handle."

"I don't talk to other women like this," Shanks said lightly, softer. Hoku's gaze turned at his drop in tone and she watched him curiously, almost warily as he simply watched her in turn, never taking his gaze off of her. "I stumble in the shallows only for you, dove."

(Shanks treated any respectful woman in his company with grace.)

But he'd started to think as of late, perhaps without realizing it, that there was only one woman he'd like to worship.

"You've dug yourself a grave, Shanks," he thought he could hear Buggy curse in his ear. "A watery grave."

Hoku hummed, shaking her head at him. She leaned back, making herself comfortable amidst a few cushions as her fingers resumed their work.

Shanks could feel the heat from the skin of her ankle at his fingertips. They itched now to trace lightly up her leg, smooth his hand along her skin.

"Dove," Shanks said. "Will you tell me a story?"

Hoku raised a curious brow now. Shanks felt his grin widen over his lips, just shy of cheeky. Time had passed, after all, and Shanks would be a fool to not have learned.

(How do you entertain someone who's seen all this world has to offer?)

You don't.

"You want to hear one of my stories?" Hoku humored him. "Or one of my crew's?"

"Whichever makes you the happiest to tell."

Hoku's fingers paused briefly. She weighed Shanks' words and glanced again out toward the island's dark horizon. He sensed it since he scrambled up this balcony that something strange seemed to be weighing on this beautiful woman's mind, but he wasn't quite sure what.

Hoku reached out and grabbed the bottle sitting beside her. She offered it to Shanks who took it quickly and smoothly with grateful hands, a boyish sort of excitement curling in his gut now.

"I was never one for charity," Hoku said slowly. Her fingers tied off the stems together. "Tell me a good tale and I will share one of mine in return."

Shanks straightened to attention, bringing the top of the bottle to his lips. "One of mine?"

"Doesn't have to be one of yours," Hoku said, reclining back against the cushions. Shanks thought in his mind's eye she appeared like the very image of a goddess ready for worship, waiting to be amused. "Any good story."

Shanks took a long sip of her drink. He let out a small groan at the taste, unexpectedly sweet and smooth, almost crisp. Hoku huffed a laugh of amusement.

"It's delicious," Shanks said earnestly.

Pride flickered shamelessly across her face. She looked pleased at his words, leaning back and gazing again over the balcony. "A special blend from my hometown. One of my favorites, if I'm in the mood."

The sweet burn of it left a trail down his throat, all the way to the curling edge of his stomach. His fingertips.

"I have a love story then," Shanks said, low and husky. "The Sailor and the Gold Mermaid."

Hoku raised a brow, leaning her cheek against her palm. She closed her eyes, waiting. Shanks took a moment to admire her visage, the smooth shape of her eyes, shut to the world. The silver gray of her lashes. The slope of that deep red tattoo curved like a heart above her eye.

"Once there was a sailor who fell in love with a mermaid," Shanks began, bringing forth his best voice—the kind his captain loved when they were weaving tales by the fire. The kind that brought his crew to his side, listening with grins. "She was a beautiful mermaid, with the most beautiful voice he had ever heard with scales made of gold. Hair that shimmered beneath the waves."

Shanks took another swig of Hoku's drink, savoring the sweet taste. He leaned lightly against her leg, keeping his hands locked politely around the bottle should they betray him.

"Every day the sailor thought of how he could woe the mermaid. Each sunset she would come, sitting by the rocks to watch him and he would attempt something new. Flowers. Gifts. Songs. Each day she would see what he brought and disappear back into the water," Shanks pouted. "The sailor was heartbroken."

Hoku's lips curved into a faint grin at his exaggerated tone. Shanks leaned forward, as though sharing a secret. "Until one day the sailor had an idea. All of his friends had warned him against it, saying it wouldn't end well—but still he persisted."

The breeze tousled their hair. Shanks watched it carry hers lightly, teasingly.

"The sailor got on his knees with a bucket of water and he began to mold the sand. The mermaid was curious, wondering what he was up to this time, so she stayed upon her rock, watching him work," Shanks mimicked the motion with his hands even though Hoku kept her eyes closed, listening in silence. "It became clear to her with a gasp that he was forming a mold of her! Out of the sand he worked tirelessly, and curious, she watched, waiting to see his finished product."

Shanks noticed Hoku's foot stop swinging atop her knee. She adjusted her legs instead, pressing her knees toward the balcony railing. Like this, however, her leg pressed into his side. Shanks could feel it with every breath.

"Finally the sailor stood, turning to where he heard the mermaid gasp and he said, 'My love, this I offer to you, a testament to your beauty!'"

Shanks threw his arms out wide. His elbow settled over the top of Hoku's knee. She waited, listening intently to his story.

"The mermaid let out a louder gasp," Shanks began, raising his voice several pitches to mimic the mermaid's—"How can that be me? I look hideous!"

Hoku's eyes blinked open, flickering over to him in curiosity. Shanks' grin became breathless. He changed his tone, resuming the role of the sailor:

"This is the best that I could do to be true to your beauty!" the sailor said sadly. "Is this not in your likeness?"

"Look at it!" the mermaid cried. She dragged herself closer to him, pointing in a fury. "These lumps, that shape, this doesn't look anything like me!"

"Forgive me, my love," the sailor almost wept. "For I am blind!"

Hoku coughed in surprise, turning to Shanks with something like a laugh on her lips. Shanks laughed, heartily and full of mirth. He clasped Hoku's knee, shoulders shaking with laughter.

"The mermaid was stunned," Shanks swept on. "She asked the sailor how he possibly could have fallen in love with her when he had no idea how she looked. The sailor looked sheepish now and told her it had been her voice which won his heart."

Hoku hummed in amusement, seemingly pleased with the turn of events. She shut her eyes again, as though she were imagining the story in her head. Shanks set Hoku's drink down, carefully leaning forward.

"The mermaid brought herself closer to the man, reaching for his hand." Hoku paused as Shanks lightly wrapped his fingers around her wrist, loose, polite, and she did not draw away as he brought her hand then to his chest. "She brought his hand to her and said, 'Feel then, the shape of me.'"

Hoku kept her eyes closed, face relaxed, almost lazy. Shanks brought her palm against his bare chest, letting it rest there. He moved the other hand which had been resting on her knee, moving his fingers along the length of her leg, down to her ankles, lightly tracing his fingertips over her toes.

"Feel my scales," she said.

Shanks lifted Hoku's leg with both his hands now, light, caressing. Her brows furrowed slightly. Her skin twitched underneath his touch.

"Trace the shape of my body," she murmured.

Shanks' lips brushed almost slightly against the inside of her calf, his breath ghosting warm against her. Hoku's eyes opened now, sharp with wariness as she made to draw away.

Beneath her fingertips she could feel then—the fluttering of his heart like a bird. The nervous, loud staccato beneath her fingers. Hoku looked at her hand and then to Shanks, freezing briefly.

(Under the heat of that gaze.)

"'Now,'" Shanks whispered against the inside of her leg, "'try again.'"

Shanks' lips made to kiss the inside of her knee, eyes half-lidded, almost drunk of the presence of her, of the thrill of this moment, of the whirling, pulsing nerves and the rushing waves in his head—

Hoku's hand was replaced with her foot, her leg jerked swiftly free of Shanks' longing grip. He paused, halted now with her foot pressed solidly against his chest. Hoku kept him at bay, watching him with a cool gaze, leaving him unable to dive into their depths.

Shanks pursued no further, instead offering her his most charming grin.

"Brats like you," Hoku said slowly, "are dangerous."

Shanks' gaze lowered playfully at her.

"But brats like me," Shanks said sweetly, "are nothing Hoku the Immortal should fear, no?"

Hoku's eyes narrowed at him, lacking malice but in warning. The way a stray cat would look if you ventured too close for its comfort. Shanks still heard his pulse thundering in his ears.

"That story reminded me of one I'm very fond of," Hoku began airily, "so I won't throw you off this balcony, whelp."

Shanks continued to smile at her, his most charming yet, and Hoku simply regarded him for a moment.

Hoku looked a little fond then, somewhat exasperated as she looked at him.

"You aren't a bad story teller at all, Apple Haired Shanks."

Before Shanks could utter another word in response, Hoku disappeared with a simple flicker before him. Shanks blinked, once, twice, stunned into silence as a large boulder promptly took her place, slamming down into the bench and nearly crushing his outstretched hand.

Shanks jumped to his feet, whirling around and rushing up to the balcony railing.

Hoku appeared in the distance at the beginning of the town's pathway. She hovered in the air for a moment and Shanks noticed now the entire film of translucent blue that seemed to surround all of them. A firm hand reached out, taking hers and that film of blue disappeared as her feet touched the ground, lowered by that hand.

Shanks' jaw went slack in disbelief, slumping somewhat against the balcony as Hoku's figure in the distance simply raised a hand to him, waving once before she disappeared in the hulking shadow of her companion.

"Damn," Shanks murmured, leaning his cheek against his palm. "What a woman."

His gaze strayed to the side and he paused, reaching out with his hand. Shanks brought the flower crown up to his gaze, inspecting the careful way it'd been woven before he set it on the top of his head, sighing once more.

"Next time, Shanks, you'll get 'em next time."

. . . . . . . . .

"You could've just called me," Hoku said, looking a bit amused as she looked up at her companion.

"Seemed like I was interrupting something," Law said slowly, eyes half lidded as he regarded her coolly. "That's a dangerous brat to be entertaining."

"He's a hard urchin to shake off," Hoku sighed in exasperation, but she grinned a bit then. "Not a bad story teller though, I'll give him that."

Law scoffed, pulling his hand from hers. He stood tall beside her, shoulders broad and expression dark as always as his black feathered cloak fell about the both of them.

"Besides, you know me," Hoku grinned, nudging Law's side. Her eyes brightened when she noticed her sandals loose between his fingers against his side. She reached for them. “I prefer my paramours to be older. People aged a bit beyond their years, fine like—"

Law's hand hooked around the side of her waist, pulling her flush to him as he stooped low enough to say into her ear, low like a warning—

"You're forgetting who's the older one between the two of us."

Law waited for a moment, eyes watching Hoku, lowered and dark. His longer fingers curled fully over her hip.

Hoku promptly turned to Law with a sigh, looking up at him in clearly fond exasperation.

"Oh, Traffy, how will I ever explain it to you..."

"Your captain's finally ready to listen to the plan," Law said flatly. He dropped her sandals for her and Hoku grinned, sliding up close to his side to slip them on despite his scowl. "There won't be time to entertain rookies after this."

Hoku hooked her arm through his with a hum. Law continued to scowl but he didn't push her away.

"Time for the tide to change, huh?" Hoku murmured, leaning her head against Law's side.

Law's cloak enshrouded the both of them as they disappeared along a pathway, heading to the shore where the people she would sail to the end of her days awaited her.

#memos #memos au #memos age!swap au #shanks #hoku #trafalgar law #i think ive been having too much fun writing shanks lately #its helping me get back into the swing of memos tho #ty all for these asks and tidbits #and thank you for reading!

[lolokouhm]

FUSHIGOVER pt. IV [AFTER ALL]

1 / 2 / 3 / 4

just a small fluffy addition to the III <3

Megumi Fushiguro's hair was simply the best.

There'd always been something in the way it grew taller instead of getting longer, messier with every week he didn't visit a hairdresser. The way it moved every time he ran during our training sessions, soft but spikey. The way those black strands stuck to his forehead, wet and sticky from the drops of sweat forming on his pale skin.

That evening, his hair was freshly washed and dried. I could easily tell. Fushiguro was the type who would put on the sunscreen, enjoy the gossip without showing the undoubted interest in the subject and take pictures of especially pretty sunsets. He would then sit in his phone, changing the exposure and saturation, so it’d look even better. When the four of us would go shopping, he’d quietly follow us around, but he’d loudly voice his opinions on Nobara’s outfits - without any hesitation. He’d hesitate about mine though.

Well, my fashion sense was questionable. At least my taste in men wasn't.

"(Y/N), have you ever heard about Gashadokuro?"

"No", I replied, trying not to lose my focus. "Or...", I scratched my forehead. Gashadokuro... For some reason, the name didn't feel completely unfamiliar. "Wait. I have."

"You have?"

"Yeah. My grandma used to tell me that it would take me away if I kept stealing the candy from her cupboard. I even googled it once." Yup, I'd done that. When I was seven. An unforgettable experience. "Is it like... a theory or something that you're rather sure of?"

"It's just a hunch..." Megumi shook his head slowly. "But it would make sense. According to the mythology Gashadokuro is a youkai, but it might be something connected with the Ten Shadows. Still, it doesn't make a lot of sense. We went to Kioto to look for something that would help us, but we came back empty-handed." His hand finally got out of the shadow. "We'll keep on looking. This might..." There it was again. That look. "This might help us kill him."

We sat like that for a while, in complete silence. I wasn't really sure what to say - I had no idea which part of the story he'd just introduced me to was the most surprising. Maybe the simple fact that he'd actually said all of those things?

"Let's go back. It's your party." I finally managed to get my thoughts straight. "You need to have a drink. You deserve it the most."

Megumi sighed, but propped himself up.

"Yuuji's got some serious brain damage for organising that."

"I mean, technically, most of the us thought you'd end up to be the one with the biggest brain damage." Oh God, shut up, woman. "I'm sorry. It's not funny." I really was an idiot. Nervously, I checked on him to see how much ACTUAL DAMAGE the joke had made.

Megumi seemed unaffected by my words.

"I'd thought so too."

And just like that, that feeling was back. The uneasy one.

"Some guys thought you wouldn't come back." I really hoped those words would come out of my mouth and sound relatively okay, but in the end, they were nothing more but a mere whisper. I was a freaking masochist. I apparently loved to torture myself.

"And you?", he asked after a few seconds. "Did you think I wouldn't come back?"

I'd always found the silence between us soothing. I knew he didn't like talking too much, or rather, he had some trouble with expressing his thoughts. I wasn't like that, but it was different with Fushiguro. It was nice. It was calm.

"No", I answered with a complete certainty. "I knew you'd return."

After all, you're Megumi Fushiguro, aren't you?

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #fushiguro #jjk megumi #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen megumi #jujutsu megumi #jjk trio #itadori #megumi #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #fushiguro x reader #jjk fushiguro #Megumi fluff #megumi x you

[duhragonball]

It's my birthday today, and the local grocery store was thoughtful enough to stock the Dragon Ball Z Reese's Puffs, so I'm gonna try it out. Join me, won't you?

I still can't believe this is real. I mean, Reese's Puffa is kind of surreal enough as it is. It sounds like some satirical brand meant to poke fun at sugary kids' cereals. The box says "Made with REAL REESE'S Peanut Butter", the same way a fruit-flavored beverage will claim to contain genuine fruit.

The bowl on the box art is a Reese's cup, so it basically depicts candy being served in more candy. I'm old enough to remember when they would photograph cereal as "part of a complete breakfast", and there'd be grapefruits and toast and maybe a hard boiled egg. Basically they were admitting that the cereal was so unhealthy that you needed to eat three or four other breakfasts to make up for it. I just liked the photos because they were so picturesque. Ah, to have unlimited free time to prepare a leisurely 4-course breakfast while reading the paper. I just assumed everyone else was having toast with their cereal except my family, but yeah, it never really made any sense.

I haven't even gotten to Goku yet, but first I want to talk about his spoon. I don't think we see him holding a spoon very often. He's usually a chopsticks kind of guy, or he'll just use his bare hands or even dunk his head into the bowl. It kind of looks like a ladle when he holds it like that, which implies he cooked this bowl of candy soup all by himself, and he's showing it off like a proud chef. This spoon kicks ass, is what I'm trying to say.

But the real reason I bought this is because of that orange hillbilly who needs no introduction. I wasn't even looking for Reese's Puffs. It was the furthest thing from my mind. No, I was stocking up on the old-man cereal I require to survive, when I just saw him staring at me, with his friendly-yet-confident smile. Goku's not pressuring you to buy the cereal. He's sure you'll enjoy it, but it's okay if you want to take a pass. He'll just enjoy all this peanut butter chocolate goodness all by himself. Goku is truly the ideal spokesman. How can you say no to this lovable hunk?

I'm kind of out of touch when it comes to cereal marketing, but I'm pretty sure this sort of cross-promotion is a rarity. Like, they once put WWE wrestlers on Wheaties or something, but usually if the cereal companies want a cartoon on the box they'll just make their own character. Or if the cartoon people want to put their guy in the cereal aisle, they'll just commission a whole new cereal just for that brand. C-3PO had his own cereal for a while. It was pretty good!

What I'm saying is that it's kind of unusual to see a popular character like this on a cereal box. The only exception I can come up with is Fred Flintstone on Fruity and Cocoa Pebbles, but I always assumed that those were specifically "Flintstones Cereal".

Other than that, yeah, I can't think of any other examples of cartoon characters appearing on unaffiliated cereal boxes like this. Well, I drew my DBZ OC on a box of All-Bran today, but I don't think that counts.

"MY FIBER IS MAXIMUM, KAKAROT!"

I wondered what was up with the picture of Piccolo on the back of the box, and it turns out that he's one of seven different characters you can find on the back of the box. Collect them all! Aw man, that Cell one looks fucking sick! I don't know how they distributed these. Maybe they roll them out in waves and Piccolo's came first. Or maybe it's random and I might have found a Cell if I'd checked more boxes at the store. Well, Piccolo's pretty good. I guess.

All right, I just poured myself a bowl and Goku's cereal is gonna have to set course for Planet Oat. The dairy industry may not applaud my shopping choices, but I like oat milk because it doesn't spoil as quickly as cow milk, and it's got a nice oat-y flavor that compliments the cardboard taste of All-Bran.

I did not put Dawn liquid soap in my cereal. This time.

So what's the verdict here? Well, the first few bites were pretty tasty, and then I realized I was getting kind of sick of this as I made my way to the bottom of the bowl. The peanut butter flavor overwhelms everything. It has a very strong odor, so if you like Reese's peanut butter cups you can just sit this out in your room and savor the aroma. I barely registered any chocolate flavor at all. I mean, I believe they put it there, but the peanut butter is the whole story to this.

It's basically Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs from Calvin and Hobbes, only this is a special Peanut Butter variant they made. I never really appreciated the jokes about sugary cereals before. I grew up on Frosted Flakes and the like, but there were a certain class of cereals that my mom would just refuse to buy. My grandparents would have them, but I never really understood the difference between Frosted Flakes and Honey Smacks. As I got older, I ate less cereal in general, but that was mostly because I fell out of the habit of eating breakfast altogether.

But now I'm 47, and the only cereal I eat these days is bran topped with diced peaches and a couple of packets of artificial sweetener, so Reese's Puffs is way, way too sugary for my palate. It's not bad, but a little goes a long way for me.

When I was a kid, old people were always griping about all the stuff they couldn't eat anymore. I remember Isaac Asimov writing mournfully about how he couldn't have an Oreo cookie, which bummed me out because that was my favorite cookie back then, and it seemed that the fate of all humanity was to be denied the simple pleasure of enjoying them.

Now, I realize that a lot of the stuff that you liked as a kid just doesn't age up with you. Your tastes change, and you gain appreciations for new things that you wouldn't have appreciated before. That's not a bad thing. It's life. Things change, and you change along with them.

Well, you and I do, anyway. Not Goku, whose Saiyan biology keeps him looking exactly the same for sixty years so he can eat all the sweetened corn puffs he wants. But I don't envy him, is what I'm trying to say. I'm watching a wrestling show on PPV tonight, my mom took me to Cracker Barrel for lunch today, and I drew on a cereal box. I can't complain.

#dragon ball #goku #reese's puffs #eat 'em up eat 'em up #i'm not looking forward to finishing the rest of the box #might need a couple bowls of all bran to make up for this

[witchthewriter]

Hello there!! 💕 Can I please request some headcanons of what being Matthias Helvar’s wife would include, please? Thank you so much!!!

Hey! Of course I can, thank you so much for requesting x

Also, I didn't know if you wanted Matthias from the show or from Six of Crows. So I just went with the show because there'd be fewer/no spoilers...

⤷ female, ambiguous race & any/all size reader!

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐚𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐫’𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

🌿ISTJ 🍁Gryffindor 🔮Virgo Sun, Taurus Moon, Cancer Rising

SFW

⭑ Is always a gentleman around you, wants you to always feel like royalty

⭑ He also always wants you to feel safe with him. If you ever feel uncomfortable - he wants to know. Matthias is diligent in that way; he doesn’t want his wife to be in distress in any type of way. 

⭑ Doesn’t like any secrets between the two of you; he wants everything to be open and honest

⭑ He likes making sure you’re always warm; giving you his jacket, scarves, gloves etc

⭑ Being significantly shorter than him. He loves this because he feels like your protector 

⭑ Eating different types of food when you go out. You’re always trying to find the best meal together <3

⭑ He flusters so easily

⭑ Matthias loves buying trinkets from the markets you go to, they’re reminders of where you’ve both been

⭑ He’s super sentimental and will often remember anniversaries more than you

⭑ His pet names for you are in Fjerdan but they translate to my love, my life. 

⭑ Isn’t huge on PDA, but likes others to know that you’re his and he is yours. 

⭑ Even though you can defend yourself, Matthias will jump in front of you whenever there’s a sign of trouble

⭑ VERY CONSIDERATE 

⭑ He is so happy and proud to call you his wife. Your bravery, your humour, the love you have. It’s overwhelming to him. He just adores you!

⭑ Your wedding was quaint. He didn’t invite his family and yours were dead, so it was your friends and found-family. 

⭑ He cried when he saw you walk down the aisle. 

⭑ Met because you were a part of the Grisha order and you saved his life. He was so angry that you did and said he would rather die. 

 “So, die.” 

⭑ Turns out you were childhood friends that had completely lost each other because of a traumatic raid on your village 

⭑ Your mother was Grisha and your father was from Fjerda. 

⭑ Relationship tropes:    ♥ Flirt x Flustered Mess   ♥ Big soft x Small tough   ♥ 2 Idiots in Love <3

NSFW 🔞 minors dni!!!

⭑ He’s so gentle and careful with you. I think you would have to urge him to be rougher. 

⭑ He likes it when you dominate him

⭑ Loves your thighs, especially if they’re on the bigger side. He also loves them wrapped around his head. 

⭑ LOVES sucking on your nipples; when you’re laying in bed he’ll take your tits out of your shirt and start to squeeze and lick your nipples until they’re hard

⭑ His favourite positions are spooning, missionary and cowgirl

⭑ Likes to kiss all over your body

⭑ He does feel a bit insecure because he doesn’t have much experience 

⭑ But part of your relationship is that you learn and grow together

⭑ I really think Matthias has a breeding kink - and it turns him on an incomprehensively amount. 

He likes the thought of planting his seed within you and watching your belly grow. 

However, if you do not want to be pregnant then it is only a fantasy, and the boundaries will always be upheld

⭑ Actually really enjoys eating you out. He loves the way you taste and smell. It’s intoxicating. 

⭑ Matthias tries to be romantic; lighting candles and seducing you. But all he needs to do is give you a smirk and you’d get on your knees 

⭑ When you started to give him a blow job, he was shocked. 

 “What are you doing?” He looked at you with wide eyes as you knelt before him. 

    “I’m going to ... you know ...” you gestured to his undone pants and blushed. 

⭑ The aftercare is amazing. Matthias will do whatever you want. You need to bathe? He’ll run the bath and carry you over. You just want to be held? He will do so until you fall asleep. This man is a simp with a capital SIMP.

#matthias helvar #matthias helvar headcanons #shadow and bone #dating would include #matthias helvar x reader #matthias helvar x you #reader insert #witchthewriter #shadow and bone x reader #would include #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #jesper #alina starkov #the darkling #ben barnes #sun summonder #grisha #fjerda #fanart #headcanons #imagines #wife #wedding #jeser fahey #jesper fahey #matthias helvar smut #zodiac signs #mbti #mbti personalty

[avelera]

How wealthy is Hob Gadling?

Look, there's just so many ways to talk about how wealthy Hob would be after 600+ years alive, and obviously every fic writer is going to approach it differently according to their tastes and the story they want to write, and most likely no two takes will be the same which is the point of fandom.

In addition, we have 1689 as canonical proof that it's possible for Hob to reach the heights of prosperity only to come crashing back down to earth when history and circumstances and pure bad luck come into play.

H o w e v e r, just speaking for myself, it is inconceivable to me that by the 21st century, Hob isn't so ungodly wealthy that he no longer needs to work again, ever, and just picked up teaching as a way to stay busy. The man is walking, one man, generational wealth with the added benefit of no dispersal across multiple family branches and financial literacy to boot, along with having learned the lessons of 1689 to make him especially cautious about ever being in a position again to lose it all.

In 1789, Hob even says he's been socking money away all over the world because he's worried about the global political situation after all these revolutions, like in America and France. Hob has learned the lessons of 1689 and he's not going to get caught without an emergency fund somewhere ever again.

Even if he gave it all away after 1789 in compensation for his role in the "shipping business", in the 200+ years since all he would have to do is put some money away in a bank for safekeeping and then leave it there for a bit as he went along for him to be ungodly wealthy by today. He might need to move the money around at times to keep it in active institutions, but there are absolutely 200+ year old banks/investment vehicles (Lloyd's Banking Group has within it institutions that go back to 1695, just as an example) and so long as he stayed nominally on top of making sure he kept money scattered around and moved it before a place went under, there'd always be seed capital for him somewhere.

Did I mention one man generational wealth? At a certain point, it really would just make more sense for Hob to set up a family trust and use various shell companies to keep things anonymous. Given the man has been in business in one fashion or another on and off since the 1500s I'm going to credit him with a certain amount of financial literacy. The 1600s were truly unusual with being brought up on charges as a witch, because he would have lost everything and gone back to zero, unable to even reclaim those assets as a distant relative, because he was tried and convicted for witchcraft and his assets were almost certainly confiscated by the Crown/by greedy witch hunters.

Again, with just a little diversity of investment and where he stored his deposits, Hob should never fall back to 1600s levels again. He could literally just store some of his older, more valuable durable possessions (like jewelry) or bury a purse of gold somewhere, and know that the historical value of such coins and or items will only appreciate over time.

If he just did as Benjamin Franklin did and put in that day's value $2,000 dollars in a normal bank it would, by modern day, be worth $5,000,000 in today's money by interest alone, doing nothing else. Do that in a few dozen different banks, especially anonymous Swiss accounts or equivalent, and you don't even have to worry if most of them don't make it to modern day.

I cannot stress enough, generational wealth is usually lost because it gets dispersed across multiple children, or because the later generations are not as good with the money as the previous one. Hob does not have that problem. He isn't just generational wealth he is money savvy, dynastic wealth, he can build the same sort of wealth that noble families like the Bonaparte descendants sit on for centuries. Whether or not you think that's the moral thing is beside the point. There comes a point in truly staggering amounts of wealth where it's almost impossible to give it all away, Bezos's ex wife talked about how she made many huge donations with her billions from the settlement and it barely made a dent because of interest on that money.

Could Hob have simply lost money over the years in ill-considered ventures or given it all away? Yes, of course, and it would be very human and thus very Hob of him to do so. But given his convertible in 1989 and being the owner of the New Inn in the 21st century, to me there are more signs canonically that he has put together a pretty decent safety net at the very least all the way up to being very wealthy, we're talking low to mid double digit millions, in my opinion, at minimum, with the upper reaches possibility of very wealthy or more (triple digit millions or more) if he's done things like make good investments throughout, for example in new technology, and socked it away in Swiss accounts and set up an anonymous family trust with some use of shell companies. All of that is on the table as possibilities of the level of wealth he'd have when you factor in two hundred years of business sense and decent business practices, with a healthy dose of paranoia about losing it all again.

#hob gadling #sandman meta

[elusive-mayfly]

If Vash was reverse-isekai-ed

There was something in the night sky. A bright light. Was it a star? No, it couldn’t be a star, it was too bright and… getting bigger? Was it safe to get closer? But get closer how? How does one get closer to the sky? How was no one else seeing this? You felt like you should be scared, at the very least more cautious. This was potentially a supernatural event and you were at the centre of it. The hair on the back of your neck stood upwards. Someone else might have taken that as a sign to run, but… it felt like something was calling to you. Something was there and you had to see what it was, no matter what

When Vash appeared in this world, it was like he was brought here on a falling star. A mysterious light in the night sky that kept growing and growing and growing until it fell to earth and landed with a large impact. It was a miracle no one else was around to see this phenomenon.

There would be a moment of disbelief. How can this be the real Vash the Stampede? He's a character. But the supernatural falling star and the prosthetic arm are enough to convince you there was more to this person than what you could see on the surface.

Vash was entirely disoriented. He was screaming. Panicking. It took a second to realize he was not where he was just minutes ago. A few minutes ago, he was fighting his brother as they plummeted back to No Man's land. There should have been an explosion, Vash right at the center, but instead he was here.

He'd have a lot of questions, a lot you wouldn't be able to answer.

But it's a no brainer that it would be easier to talk things over in a secluded and safe environment, so when you offer to take Vash home, he follows. Besides, where else would he go?

Accepting that he was in a new world where he was safe took a long time. He didn't have to be looking over his shoulder for danger every few minutes. He could finally relax and not have to worry about what he thought was the inevitable: destruction around every corner that he was desperately running from.

There would be nights where he would try to sneak off without a goodbye. Whether it was because he felt like he was being a burden or because he still hadn't accepted he and the people around him were safe, he would try to leave a few times in the first few months of him being around. It took a lot of patience and compassion to convince him he could stay without consequences.

Having him stay was hard, though. He had no identification. He couldn't get a real job. He would do as much housework as he could to try and compensate for his living expenses, but there was only so much he could do. What if he got sick? What if something happened? There'd be a lot to work out and a lot of backup plans upon backup plans that you two would discuss.

It became a strict rule to not leave the house with his prosthetic attached. That kind of tech doesn't exist in our world and would draw too much attention if seen by other people.

It also became a rule of how many doughnuts he could have in one day. Doughnuts are cheap. You don't equate the price of doughnuts to the price of bullets in this world. You can get a half a dozen for less than six dollars depending on where you went. And so, you almost felt like a bartender making sure your customer didn't overindulge. One doughnut per day.

There was something so satisfying about watching Vash expand his interests. He had time to do things he thought he'd never be able to do, and there were many things he had enjoy that would never have been accessible to him in his own world. With expendable money, you both would often attend classes to learn or expand on different hobbies such as playing sports, baking, or making handmade crafts. One taste of freedom and Vash wanted more, he wanted to experience everything the world could offer to him at least once just to know what it'd be like.

He was enthralled with your world. Animals and nature all around were something he hadn't truly experienced before and he was enamored with it. He'd often go out just to sight see or people watch just to get a glimpse of what he could be and what he could enjoy.

It took him a tremendously long time to accept he was dancing on the edge of being real and not. He definitely was real, he was there and that was a fact. But he came from something not real, a fictional world.

He'd often watch the show he came from and would read online the manga that it originated from. It was interesting to him to see the scenes from his memory play out in a different perspective. It was both painful to revisit the crux of his existence, but soothing to hear the voices of people he missed. He would play scenes of him, Rem, and Nai over and over again. This window to his world was so close but so far.

Vash came to his own conclusions and found his own way to cope with it. He learned to accept that his world was very real to him even if it wasn't real to anyone else. But there's this faraway look he gets when he thinks about home, a place he may never see again with people he may never know again. That never went away.

#Vash Headcanons #Vash the Stampede #Vash x Reader #Vash x You #Vash x Y/N #Idk I have so many ideas and it all feels like rambling at this point #I feel like he'd try to convince people he was a cosplayer #And idk stick a paper towel roll that's painted black into his metal arm where the gap is so people just think it's a really realistic copy

[angelicadamposting]

Missy Misery OC Background

Basic Info

Name: Missy Misery (Formerly Misty Landry) Species: Sinner / Mortal Soul / Overlord* (Formerly Human) Physical Age At Death: Mid-Thirties (38) Gender: Trans Woman Sexuality: Gray Asexual Birth Date: est. 1900 Death Year: 1933 Height: 5'2 or 157.5 cm MBTI: ESTP * = Overlord of Obsession (&/Or Love) art commissioned from @w0nderous again !! tysm for drawing her :3

(note: this ended up much longer than I realized it would)

Likes

Acting

Music

Singing

Sewing & Crochet

Tea

Red Wine

Romance Novels

Graphic 'Design' / Art

Painting

Dancing (Swing Dancing Particularly)

Dislikes

Being Alone

Being Belittled or Disrespected

Clutter

Black Coffee

Her Schedule Being Changed

People with Poor Time Management Skills

Open Windows

Being Touched Without Express Permission

I want to preface this with the fact I myself am trans

(CW:: some tr4nsph0bi!c language/references, historical fiction, light mentions/references to d0m3st!c ab*se, references to m*rder & c4nn!b4l!sm,)

Backstory(before hell/death)

(as short form as I can manage. apologies for anything feeling empty or like its missing something due to that)

Missy was born in 1895 in Baton Rouge, Louisiana as (Marcel) Misty Landry to an alcoholic father and mother who would die shortly after childbirth. She grew up being raised by her father to be like him and work within the agricultural realm of work-- Much to her dismay.

From a young age and when radios were popularized, beginning to pop up in houses across the states, Missy was enthralled with the music and talking people from within the box. Music inspired her from a young age to go against the grain and figure out who she was- not who her father 'needed' her to be.

In high school, she began to understand that she was a woman. The revelation was jarring, and a secret she kept close. Many things were not accepted where she grew up, and being different wasn't one.

Her father, while unaware of her newfound identity, did anything but respect his child. Noticing whenever Missy had begun practicing singing and dance instead of her household chores, only to ridicule her for being a pansy and some much worse insults. When he drank, he'd somehow be nicer- and weaker. Something Missy would take advantage of when committing patricide for her first homicide after enduring his mistreatment her entire life up to said point. It wasn't done out of anger, or heat of the moment- no. It was planned, calculated, and thought over for weeks before she took the opportunity to escape from beneath his thumb. The taste of his blood was not one she'd ever forget. As bitter and horrid as it was, the satisfaction it brought her was more than enough.

Missy had been closeted the majority of her life until her father 'passed away' when she was 21. She inherited his debt and responsibilities as the "man of the house" and the last of her family line. Rather than pick up the mantle, live in the closet for the rest of her days, and die unhappy- She moved several towns over to New Orleans and began to present more femininely whenever she could, calling herself Misty when she did so that anytime she did have to present as her legal/birth identity there'd be little to no association. Essentially living a double life. As Marcel, she would work as a men's tailor, and as Misty, she'd sing from bar to bar. That is until she found one bar that regularly asked her to return.

It was at this particular speakeasy that Missy would first meet Mimzy, another performer at the bar. The two became quick friends, and truthfully Mimzy was Missy's first 'girl friend.' (non-romantic) Mimzy was the first person in life to learn of Missy's gender identity, and surprisingly the first person to accept her for who she was. Mimzy helped inspire Missy to go on as herself, giving her confidence and helping her find her own voice.

It was around this time that Missy would first hear Alastor's radio broadcasts. By total chance, flipping through stations as she sat in her kitchen preparing a pot of tea, his voice poured through the speakers and ignited her interest. She quickly began to tune into all of his broadcasts, even adjusting her schedule to ensure she didn't miss any time he was on air. To put it frankly, she became somewhat of a near-obsessive 'fangirl' if anything even without knowing the man behind the charismatic voice and fake mid-Atlantic accent.

What Missy was unaware of though, was that soon after she began listening to him- Alastor would soon see her sing at the bar after one of Mimzy's stellar performances. And while he was nowhere near as intrigued by her as she was by him, he did soon ask Mimzy about her little friend. Mimzy, being the great friend she was, was eager to introduce the two- seeing as she knew just how much Missy was obsessed with Al's radio show. Missy easily hid how she instantly recognized his voice, greeting him politely like he was any other customer. And yet, he asked her to dance in between her stage times.

After that night, Missy continued to make her efforts to listen to each of his broadcasts. And now knowing who he was behind the radio, she may have begun to take extra steps to see him more often. At the same time, Alastor seemingly dropped by the speakeasy Missy performed at more often. Several weeks of the two getting to know one another, and watching one another from afar in their own ways passed before Alastor asked Missy if she would be interested in officially starting a courtship. It was this conversation that led to Alastor learning of her gender identity, and much to her surprise, he didn't care.

The two would begin a relationship that to half of the public, looked like just two friends, but to the circle of folk who frequented the speakeasy- everyone knew the two as the happy couple they had become. Of course, there were still men who'd come and get belligerently drunk, throwing themselves at Missy or Mimzy- and most of them ended up Missy's victims.

It wasn't until Missy and Alastor moved in with one another that they learned of each other's homicidal tendencies as it grew more difficult to hide. Instead of rocking the boat, this revelation strengthened their bond because each of them had a similar yet odd moral code regarding their victims. Soon, emotionally tied the knot despite the laws surrounding marriage. Having a small, private ceremony over a victim with a ring exchange.

After many years in a near-perfect romantic partnership, in 1933, their lives were taken. Side by side while hiding a body and shot by a hunter in the distance.

Backstory cont. (In Hell to Pilot)

Alastor and Missy appeared in Hell together, and nearly instantaneously her beloved made a deal of which the details could never be shared with her. The contract gave Alastor his eldrich powers and allowed him to quickly rise to the power level of an overlord. Missy, on the other hand, struggled with her new form and powers. Feeling her control and strength wane depending on the amount of love she felt and received- on top of growing stronger by taking down current overlords. It didn't worry her, though. Knowing and believing as long as she was side by side with Alastor, all would be fine.

Eventually, as Alastor grew into his true role as the Radio Demon, an overlord in his own right, Missy had become the overlord of Obsession- and love, by her own claims. The two had a strained relationship with Vox during this period, which would eventually end dramatically. The main true 'friend' the couple shared in Hell that shared in their desire for power and rank was Rosie, the Cannibalism Overlord. She understood Missy better than anyone else in Hell, besides her beloved.

After decades together in Hell, Missy awoke one day with no sign of her beloved. No note, nothing to give her a sign he'd gone or would return. And her powers seemed to wane from the realization alone. An overwhelming panic set into her, rushing out into the streets of Pentagram City in a desperate search for him. Her search ended with no clues, and she returned empty-handed- all alone for the first time in decades.

She managed as well as she could on her own, although the other Overlords began to notice the shift in power and Alastor's absence. Putting a target on her back, and sending her into hiding.

After a year into Alastor's disappearance, Vox found the sinner. Grinning madly, he offered an outstretched hand, and deal to assist her. For her soul, he'd grant her greater powers, a job as an actress or star of the stage to attain fans and achieve a dream she didn't realize she had. Of course, Missy was fully aware Vox was likely doing this for two main reasons and neither were to help her. The little rabbit demon knew Vox likely only wished to hold something over Alastor's head if he ever returned and to have another soul to own. She hesitated to accept, but he ensured her she'd have a place to live- safe from other overlords and even the exterminations. She'd have been dumb to refuse, after all, if Alastor had the right to make a deal with some unknown being, why couldn't she make one with Vox?

Subsequently, Missy moved into a room at the VoxTek Tower to get to and from the filming sets more easily. Quickly falling into her new role as a star actress in film and stage, as if she was always meant for this. Nearly every motion picture or musical featuring the Overlord of Obsession was a hit, resulting in her fame and fans growing. As this occurred, Vox's behavior towards her became more familiar. Even teaching her more about technology, since she'd avoided much new tech due to her husband's distaste for it all. Surprisingly, she was quite skilled with graphic design, learned how to code, and became Vox's main assistant in case things went awry with him.

Velvette and Valentino noticed the way Vox seemed to favor her and kept her close. Resulting in some teasing, but mostly leading Velvette and Missy to become friends. Velvette enjoyed teaching the older woman about modern slang, technology, and social media's she didn't understand. Thinking it hilarious how she mispronounced what was common internet lingo for the social media overlord. Valentino on the other hand, tried to push Missy into trying out a different kind of acting- one she was not comfortable with in the slightest. The rabbit demon and moth had quite a frustrating dynamic, Missy making fun of him and shooting both him and his requests down, only for Valentino to complain to Vox that his 'pet' was being mean.

All in all, despite their vast differences, Missy ended up getting along quite well with the V's. Growing particularly close to Vox and Velvette, even if she felt in the back of her mind a gnawing concern for what Alastor would say if he saw her now.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanart #oc: missy misery #oc intro #oc info #oc artwork #oc x canon #oc backstory #oc community #hazbin hotel oc #hazbin oc #hazbin original character #hazbin #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #alastor x oc #oc x character #hazbin art #hellaverse oc #hellaverse #oc art #ocs #original character #alastor hazbin #alastor hazbin hotel #vox x oc #oc x alastor #ocxcanon #canon x oc