#zealously playing

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Does anyone else, like, entirely lack a belief system of any kind and just run on primal instinct? I’ll listen to multiple sides of an issue and understand every bit of nuance, get emotionally invested, and then not pick any of them, because I think the reasoning of the respective beliefs cancel each other out when compared side-by-side. Then primal instinct takes over and forces me into acting more adjacent to one side than the other, but my brain does not necessarily agree with the entire position— only a portion of it; while also believing a portion of the other positions.

Or perhaps I merely think I have no opinions because the majority of today’s belief systems are so one-sided, while my positions are four-sided, and therefore unacceptable because I’m “not allowed” to agree with more than one side in any capacity without being ostracized by all of them.

I am proverbially lukewarm and in the process of being vomited out of the mouth of Christ.

#bite maim kill #or maybe I’m severely depressed and just not thinking clearly LMFAO #see? I even contradict my own points and disagree with myself #pathetic #I am my own devil’s advocate and his five frenemies #I also think holding up logic as a moral and ethical code is stupid #just because it makes sense doesn’t mean it’s right #and lots of good things in the world make no sense logically #but logic also works perfectly for other situations #and honestly everyone tries to make their point make sense when it literally doesn’t have to? #The sky is purple and whales swim in it #If I believed that; it wouldn’t be logical at all; but it wouldn’t hurt anyone on its own #Beliefs are harmless until they are acted upon by their holders #But some beliefs are beliefs that call for action in and of themselves #Therefore making the belief itself harmful #2+2=5 is a harmless belief on its own; but if you torture someone to get your point across that’s a different story #so zealousness/vindictiveness also plays a role in the potential harm a belief can do #but a belief such as “all bees are are harmful to humans” tells humans to be afraid of bees; fear breeds resent which breeds murder #which leads to genocide #so the emotions (and intensity thereof) involved also dictate how harmful a belief can become #I like to think of beliefs in terms of empty guns VS loaded guns #which is why I don’t like picking a direction to shoot in #idk maybe there’s black mold growing in my room and I’m going insane from inhaling the fumes #because I’d like to say “I’ll just do and believe what I want” but I don’t want to do anything; the only thing moving me at this point #is blind compulsion #I do things but I do not enjoy them before or after I do them; only during (barely) #I do things because I am incapable of sitting still #I do not want to do things #everything I do is soulless

[concubuck]

"I understood 'patriarchal', but the rest confuses and worries me." @the-fallen-hospitaller

"Oh, it's a bunch of specific terms you run into in some niche sexual communities." (Try not to wonder too hard about what niche sexual communities Alastor is crossing paths with.)

"Now, I'll try to summarize this as painlessly as possible, so bear with me. Let me see, what did I write—'bioessentialism' is a philosophy that says the essence of a person is rooted in their biology—and not, say, their mind. In sexual contexts, usually it's a polite way to say you think 'if you've got a womb, all you're good for is growing things in it.'

"'Tradwife' is just newfangled slang for 'traditional wife'—you know how every generation since the Greeks has said 'the children are too rowdy, the modern women are too uppity, why can't wives act like they did in the good ol' days'? Well, your 'traditional wife' is one of those halcyon good ol' days women yearned for by men who are disappointed to discover their wives can disagree with them.

"Now, sissification—you know how sometimes a boy will decide he'd much rather go be a woman for the rest of her life? Sissification is as far away from that as you can possibly get. It's a fetish for humiliating a man by forcing him to become a woman against his will.

"And 'misogyny' is one of those psychological terms that escaped out into the wild, all it really means is 'hating women.'

"There's plenty of people who get their thrills from controlling others—or being controlled—and their sexes are just one shockingly popular way to decide who's in charge. All of these little kinks are just forms of that. Use your partner's sex to keep her in line; or punish him for not being man enough by confiscating his. You'd think they'd get enough of that out in the real world! But then, it's amazing just how many people's fetishes come from what they fear."

#((Alastor very selfassuredly displays his approximate knowledge of many things.)) #((he's always felt gender's a weird farce & doesn't know why people play along with it so zealously—that heavily colors his final analysis)) #the fallen hospitaller #ask #on air and online (broadcasting)

[markrothkono61]

big win for uni theatre today, saturday evening tickets are sold out!

#a testament to the slayfulness of our play #or to the zealousness with which we have promoted it #(which shows that Love and Effort has been put into it and thus it will be great) #thursday friday and the 2pm saturday performance haven't sold out yet but #maybe by thursday they will #mine

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Bared Fangs.

Commissioned by the very lovely @ohsotearful.

Pairing: Yandere!Childe x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Modern/Serial Killer AU, Kidnapping, Prolonged Imprisonment, Blood/Gore, Reader Gets Hurt, Obsessive Behavior, Gun Violence, and Unhealthy Relationships. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You should’ve known something was wrong as soon as Childe asked you if you wanted to go outside.

Honestly, you should’ve known something was wrong as soon as he found you reading in front of his fireplace, as soon as that crooked, schoolboy grin found its way to his lips and he forewent his usual routine of draping himself on top of you like some muscled, zealously homicidal weighted blanket in favor of ruffling your hair and toying with the collar of the flannel you were wearing (his flannel, technically, but you tried not to let yourself acknowledge how accustomed you’d grown to wearing your captor’s clothes or, more troublingly, how long it’d been since the last time you’d felt disgusted by it). “Snow should be done for a couple hours,” he started, nodding towards the frost-coated windows. It might’ve been a more charming sight if not for the scratches carved into the surface of the glass – souvenirs from there the first time you got your hands on one of his axes. “I’m thinking of stepping out, doing a little hunting before the storm kicks up again. Wanna come with me?”

You narrowed your eyes at your book, trying to hide the way your heart beat a little faster at the suggestion of being able to leave his claustrophobic cabin. But, with Childe, you were usually better off staying safely tucked behind the bars of your rustic cage. “Is this going to be a normal hunting trip or a you hunting trip?”

He only hummed. “’fraid I don’t know what you mean by that, princess.”

“Are we going to be hunting animals, or…” You trailed off, swallowing down the bitter taste that came with remembering why you were here. “… or, you know. People, or whatever.”

“This time of year?” He let out an airy laugh, like you’d asked to go skiing in the middle of summer. “There’s nobody on the mountain ’cept me and you.”

Still, you dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to try and think beyond your near-overwhelming desire to be anywhere but here. Childe was a murderer, a sadist, a kidnapper, but he wasn’t the type to play mind games. He tended to divide his reality between the world outside – where people could be hunted like quarry, their bodies left to rot in tents and rivers with only the occasional token taken as a keepsake – and the world inside the walls of his cabin – where he sat you down in front of a low-burning fire and told you stories about ice-fishing with his siblings and pouted when you admit his (admittedly, not entirely inedible) cooking could use a little more seasoning. After that first night – the worst night of your fucking life – he seemed to want to keep you resigned to the latter, at least until he came home covered in blood and desperate for something warm and familiar to fuck until he passed out.

Eventually, you sighed, closing your book and sitting up. “Fine. When do we leave?”

His grin widened, head lulling forward as he pressed a kiss into the top of your head. “The front door’s already unlocked. I’ll give you a head start, a full five minutes. Actually, make it ten – just to make it a little more fun for you.”

 There was a beat of silence, then another. “Childe, you’re making it sound like you’re—”

“Like I said, there’s nobody on the mountain but me and you.” He pulled away, turning on his heel. “I’ll be nice, too – won’t use anything with more than a twenty-foot range.”

“But, you— you can’t just—”

“Tick-tock.” He clicked his tongue, winking at you over his shoulder. “Unless you’d rather cut straight to the good part.”

You should’ve known something was wrong, and now, running through the frozen wilderness desperately lost and barely dressed, your ten minutes spent and a killer undoubtedly chasing you down, you were paying the price for it.

You didn’t have time to be tactical. The snow was fresh enough to make every interruption unbearable obvious, meaning that – even if you were willing to stop and spare the seconds it’d take to hide your tracks, it wouldn’t have done you much good. Your only option was to run, but even that was easier said than done. Childe preferred to keep you in a state of hand-crafted domestic bliss, meaning what few clothes you did have were either picked out by or borrowed from him. Currently, all that separated you from the cold was his flannel, an oversized shirt, and a pair of his boots that you’d snagged on your way out. The chill snapped at your cold legs like the teeth of some unseen predator, the frigid air burning holes in your lungs, but the thought of what Childe would do when he caught you was enough to keep your feet moving, to keep you sprinting blindly through the forest. He wouldn’t kill you. You had to believe that he wouldn’t kill you, but—

A high-pitched holler, the sound of branches snapping underfoot and foliage being pushed aside somewhere behind you. You hadn’t stopped running after your first trembling steps away from the cabin, and yet, he couldn’t have been more than a few hundred feet behind you – half a mile, at your most generous guess. You started to curse under your breath, then thought better of it, biting down on your bottom lip with enough force to draw blood and pivoting to the left, where the forest seemed to be just a little thicker. If you couldn’t get away from him, you could at least try to hide before he got to you.

It was a haphazard, half-baked plan that was cruelly and immediately cut short as your foot caught on a root hidden by the snow, tearing away your right boot and leaving you sprawled over the frozen ground. Dampness sunk into your thin clothes, and you shut your eyes, trying to listen for Childe’s footsteps, but there was a reason none of his victims ever seemed to hear him coming. The forest’s minimal white noise was enough to swallow him entirely, the sound of birdsong and distant car engines disguising his presence despite your best attempts to—

Your realization was delayed, but intense.

Cars.

Cars meant roads. Cars meant civilization. Cars meant people, people who could take you away from here, away from Childe. You clambered to your feet, but failed to take so much as a step before a sudden, stabbing pain bit into your calf, your leg immediately buckling underneath you. You would’ve fallen entirely if it hadn’t been for the adrenaline running through your system, numbing the agony and choking the ragged scream that threatened to rise from the pit of your chest into a cracked whimper. It was one of Childe’s arrows – you would’ve been able to recognize that black steel from a mile away – but you didn’t let yourself linger on the implications. With grit teeth and balled fists, you limped forward, leaving a thin trail of crimson in your wake. You would’ve missed it if you hadn’t been looking, but it was there – a thin, wobbling, unpaved dirt road, only marked by two thin rows of tire tracks that sliced harshly through the otherwise unmarred blanket of snow. God, you never thought you’d be so happy to see dirt.

There wasn’t time to think. You stumbled out of the woods and into the road, the arrow’s head sinking that much deeper with every stuttering movement. The car you’d heard was still there, too; a by-the-numbers sedan, only a few hundred feet down the road. You threw up your arms up, then thought better of it; cupping your shaking hands around your mouth. You moved to call out, but whatever you might’ve said was stolen away from you as something dark flashed across your peripheral and another arrow planted itself in your right shoulder. This time, you crumbled like a dead leaf – broken into pieces by a morning gale.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Childe emerge from the tree line, his crossbow still in-hand. As he came to stand in front of you, your gaze shifted back to the car. You watched, your mind buzzing with pain, as it disappeared around a sharp bend, never so much as slowing down.

You didn’t realize you were crying until you heard Childe coo, wiping away the tears flowing down your cheeks before they could freeze against your skin. “Sorry, princess,” he muttered, his voice low with a painful edge. “I guess I cheated, huh? Couldn’t help it – just knew you’d look so cute all bruised up and bleeding.”

Dropping his crossbow carelessly, he fell to your height. He was dressed for one of his usual hunts; a cut-off shotgun slung over his back, a hunting knife sheathed at his hip. The leather casing of the latter pressed into your side as he dipped lower, burying his face in the crook of your neck and pressing a long, open-mouthed kiss into the base of your throat. You felt his knee settle between your thighs, and weakly, your hands found their way to his chest. “Not here,” you mumbled, more afraid of the chill quickly seeping under your skin than being seen. “It hurts, Childe. I—I think you hit something imp—”

“I’ll be fast.” Another kiss, this one to the exposed skin of your collarbone. His calloused hands skirted over your sides, then your waist, hiking the thin fabric of your oversized shirt up to your midriff. You were already past the point of total numbness, and yet, the rough gravel beneath the snow cut harshly into your exposed skin. Rather than distracting you from the pain in your calf, your shoulder, it only seemed to draw more attention to your bleeding wounds, only seemed to make it harder to ignore the dull heat of Childe’s mouth against your chest. “Gotta take you out more often. You’re always beautiful, but I didn’t know you’d look this pretty.”

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. His arrow burnt into the tattered skin of your calf as his hands fell to your legs, groping at the plush of your thighs playfully before shifting his attention to the fly of his jeans. You knew what he wanted, he’d always been transparent, but the sound of shifting fabric, the sight of his rosy-tipped, stiff cock pressing flush against his stomach – that was enough for the loose coil of dread writhing in the pit of your chest to tighten into a tight, jagged knot of pure terror. You tried to sit up, to make your refusal that much more apparent, but Childe only caught you by your uninjured shoulder, shoving you into the ground with enough force to earn a pained scowl, a fractured whimper. His only response was a wordless, vaguely sympathetic noise, a softened lull to his wide smile. “No skipping out on this, babydoll. I can’t guarantee you’ll end up in one piece if I have to wait ‘till we get home.”

It was a fair warning, but anything he could have said would’ve been lost on you. Your heart was beating in your ears, blocking out any other sound. Pools of red blood and piles of limp bodies flashed across your vision and desperately, futilely, you clawed at the hand on your shoulder, kicked at his chest, thrashed underneath him like an animal unaware that resistance would only make the predator want to drive its teeth that much deeper. It was more Childe’s divided attention than your strength, but your heel found his side and, just for a moment, he slipped, letting out a soft grunt as the hand pinning you down fell away. You were scrambling onto your knees in a second, attempting to get your feet underneath you in another, but your little stunt was cut short as Childe lashed out, wrapping his arm around your neck and forcing your stomach against the ground. There was no whimpering, anymore – just a ragged, ear-piercing scream as his free hand found the arrow in your shoulder, tearing it out of you in one clean, unfaltering motion. His only response came in the form of a throaty moan; deep and terrible and followed immediately by the feeling of his cock against your dry cunt. You would’ve begged him to stop, offered to let him do anything he wanted to you if he just didn’t do this, but he didn’t give you time to bargain. Without hesitation, he thrust into you, bottoming out in the same motion.

Trembling sobs tore at your throat and past your lips, tears now flowing unabashedly down your cheeks. Childe kept his full weight against your back as he fucked into you with short, sharp thrusts – never happy unless he was burying himself in the deepest pocket of your poor, freezing pussy. Rather than desensitizing you, letting you fall back into some distant state of nonexistence, the snow seemed to burn where it was pressed into your cheek, your chest. You wished he would’ve taken off the rest of your clothes. You wished he would’ve just shot his stupid arrows into your skull and put you out of your misery.

It shouldn’t have felt good, you didn’t want it to feel good, but your body didn’t know that. Your cunt clenched and drooled around him, trying in vain to turn his assault into something you could enjoy, but the way he grunted into your ear snuffed out any pleasure you might’ve been able to feel. “Tryin’ to pull me back in,” he muttered, his voice already airy, already strung out. You couldn’t help but wonder if, had you only been able to run from him for another minute, he would’ve found something else to shove his dick into and left you out here to freeze to death. “Is that your goal? Wanna – Fuck, wanna help me warm you up?”

His hands fell to your hips, pulling your ass flush against his hips and letting him fuck into you that much deeper, that much more brutally. Your injured leg grated against the dirt of the road and you cried out, your voice ragged and barely coherent. “St— Hurts, stop, stop, please, stop—”

“That’s it, always making such pretty sounds for me.” He buried his face in the dip of your shoulder. “Sometimes, it feels like all I wanna do it cut you open and crawl—”

He was interrupted by the dull roar of an approaching engine and something brightened inside of you, your eyes shifting towards the road, towards the well-beaten pick-up truck speeding in your direction. The breaks screeched as you and Childe came into the driver’s view, and for a second, you let yourself go slack underneath him, relief overwhelming your better judgement.

Childe wasn’t so sentimental.

His shotgun was in his hand before you could so much as process that he’d moved. Wordlessly, he fired off two shots; the first to the windshield on the driver’s side and the second to one of the front tires. You watched on helplessly as your last hope for salvation bucked, swerved, then veered off of the road entirely, catching on a snowbank and turning over once before crashing into the trunk of an oak that failed to so much as shake under the force of the collision. It was quieter than you’d expected it to be, the only sounds that of shattering glass and crunching metal. If there were survivors, no one screamed, or called for help, or came stumbling out of the wreckage. Childe’s breath hitched in his throat, his pace growing that much more erratic as he buckled into you – his pointed canines finding the tender junction at the base of your throat and burying themselves in your skin. It was less a love-bite and more an effort to eat you alive. What little blood he didn’t lap up washed over your chest, melting the frost and mixing into the snow beneath you. “Look—” He groaned, tried and failed to pull away from you. His voice reverberated against the curve of your neck as he went on. “Look what you turn me into, princess. Got me making all kinds of messes for you.”

Blood. Bodies. The taste of his cum on your tongue as your friends bled out under the same roof. You would’ve choked the air in your lungs if you’d been able to breathe, but there was no point lingering on pleasant hypotheticals. There were no distractions from the feeling of Childe’s hips grating against yours, the way his cock twitched as settled against you. A guttural moan tore past his lips as something thick and searing flooded into you, and you refused to let yourself acknowledge that this was the warmest you’d felt in days.

You stayed there, limp and frozen and miserable, as Childe pulled away from you, pulled out of you. Your eyes fell shut as he stumbled to his feet, your skin too numb to feel anything aside from the pressure of his arms around your motionless body. He pulled you against his chest, then let out a low whistle. “Might’ve gone a little overboard there. Sorry ‘bout that, princess.” A low chuckle, a gentle squeeze. “I just can’t help it, not when it comes to you. You’ll forgive me after a warm bath, right?”

You didn’t answer. The arrow in your calf must’ve fallen out, or maybe not – you couldn’t feel anything below your knees. Your hands felt like dead weight too, utterly disconnected from anything you might’ve used to control them, but every drop of panic, every ounce of horror – that all paled in comparison to the never-ending pit of pitch-black loathing that formed in your chest as you stared up at Childe. You hated him, wanted to see him torn apart with his own stockpile of weapons, but you really couldn’t blame him. Not for this, at least.

You should’ve known something was wrong as soon as the monster bared its fangs.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere childe #childe x reader #yanderecore #yancore

[dnd-smash-pass-vs]

Have you seen Dungeon Meshi? Laos is such a monsterfucker I can’t get over it. He asks one of his companions if it felt good to be caught by the tentacle-vine plant monster. He waxed poetic about how cool animal-hybrid monsters are. (I’m sorry if you don’t like a show or this feels irrelevant to your blog, but also I can’t tell my friends ‘hey I like this character because I also think it would feel good to be caught by the tentacle monster’)

Anyway he’s how I imagine this blog’s audience would approach an IRL dungeon expedition

Sorry to take this way too seriously, I mean no ill will. But I've been a MASSIVE fan of dungeon meshi for... oof, almost 7 years apparently, It's a perfect storm of everything I love with fantastic writing and characterization, and I don't think I could disagree with that more. I think you missed a primary running gag of the series. He keeps saying lines that, if anyone else said them would be sexual, but the people around him know he's just a super obsessed wildlife researcher. He does not want to fuck monsters, that's kinda the entire point. Like you need to understand that some biologists will happily and unnecessarily lick poison, get bitten, and pick up dangerous things without hesitation. It's not that they get off to poison play, it's that they love the topic so much that it's their life and they want to know every aspect. When he's zealously asking what it's like for the vine monster to grapple and stab you with seeds, he's saying that because he's just that into learning and wants the firsthand experience! He's here because he doesn't want to just read about his special interest, he wants to live it, be PART of the ecosystem!

...actually, incredibly relevant spoilers below for a monster later on (chapter 58-60, so likely end of this season or start of the next)

They later find straight-up succubi. Chilchuck talking about how they turn into your perfect match, you ALWAYS have to fight them as a pair or you're just screwed because of irresistible magic charming powers. One finds Laios alone...and he's completely unaffected, immediately chokes it and goes to kill it without any issue. The only hesitation is a bit of embarrassment that "Oh no, it misinterpreted my feelings as attraction, if the party finds this it'll lead to a HUGE misunderstanding. This could ruin my friendships, I need to immediately kill it and hide the body." That gives it enough time to convince him "hey, it's impossible to resist a succubus, so obviously I'm not a succubus right?" And it works because he knows that yes, nobody can resist a succubus charm. Except apparently him. Even trying again by combining his thoughts with his all time favorite monster didn't daze him like it did the others. It had to convince him that it could turn him INTO a monster, and that everyone else was ok with it too, to get him to hesitantly submit to being drained. They didn't have to reason with marcielle or chilchuck, but lust just didn't work with Laios, not as a person or as a monster. It's like how nobody gets panty shots except Senshi. it's a subversion joke. There are quite a few in this series, especially ones centered on Laios.

#not tournament #answers #dungeon meshi

[jahayla-parker]

Boy Friends : Conrad Fisher x Reader Smut Epilogue

Description: 3,370 wc SMUT, the ending to Boy Friends -a jealous!Conrad fic available here.

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, MDNI, oral sex both male and female receiving, vaginal penetration, explicit sexual content, riding, praise and praise!kink, cum, cum swallowing, orgasms, very light nipple play.

Y/n ran her hands down Conrad’s chest slowly. “Are you okay now?” She whispered, stepping closer to her boyfriend.

Conrad grinned down at y/n and hummed. “Never better,” he confessed.

“Yeah?” Y/n asked, batting her eyelashes dramatically. She licked her bottom lip and tucked it between her teeth as she stared expectantly at Conrad.

“Yeah, thank you, darling,” Conrad replied, snaking his arms around y/n’s waist. His hands rested on the back pockets of her shorts.

“Of course, Connie,” y/n purred. She bent her head until her lips met Conrad’s neck. The second her plump lips grazed his suntanned skin, Conrad let out a soft moan.

Conrad tightened his hold on y/n. After he’d pulled her closer, her body now flush against his chest, he hummed to himself.

“So then I guess you don’t need me to show you just how much I love you,” y/n mumbled lowly, placing a wet kiss to Conrad’s neck. She laced her fingers in the hair at the bottom of his head and tugged lightly. “Remind you what separates my boy friends like Jere from you, my boyfriend,” y/n whispered against Conrad’s heated neck, “hmm?”.

Conrad groaned, the noise coming out almost in a growl. “Don’t use Jeremiah’s name in the same sentence as boy friend,” he muttered enviously, pulling y/n closer to him by sliding his hands into her back pockets. “Even if as boy friends and not boyfriend,” Conrad directed, leaning into y/n’s lips as they rested on his collarbone.

Y/n played with his hair with pretend innocence. “Still jealous there, Con?” She questioned, hinting that she was offering to try a different remedy than her more pure attempts from earlier. Y/n moved her hands to Conrad’s chest as she stared up into his eyes.

Conrad rolled his eyes as if offended by y/n’s insinuation. But, his flushed cheeks gave away his other thoughts. “I thought I didn’t need to be,” Conrad argued, raising his eyebrow as he gazed down at y/n.

“You don’t,” y/n agreed with a smirk, trailing her hand over her boyfriend’s torso. “But,” she hummed quietly before biting her bottom lip. In a sultry voice, her hands roaming Conrad’s body, she purred, “it seems like maybe I need to prove that to you”.

Conrad’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly. He could already feel the tension between his penis and the previously-loose material of his shorts intensifying. “I won’t oppose to that,” Conrad accepted, his voice merely a shaky whimper. He could’ve sworn he was going to lose his mind as he watched y/n lower half to the ground in front of him.

Conrad took an impassioned breath as he watched y/n kneel before him, her fingers already hooked under his waistband. He licked his lips while she worked to free him from his shorts. Conrad shivered as y/n’s nails faintly dragged along his engorged skin.

Y/n smirked as she lowered Conrad’s swim trunks to his feet, his dick eagerly springing upwards. “Mmmm honey look at you,” she said zealously, sliding her pointer finger down the path of Conrad’s v-line. “Ready for me already?” y/n asked as she brought her hand closer to his dick. “You just can’t wait to feel my lips on your cock, can you, Connie?” Y/n purred, the back of her fingers teasingly stroking down his length.

Conrad whimpered, his eyes screwed shut in lust. “Y/n…, I-,” He babbled incoherently. Conrad lazily opened his eyes, enlarged pupils now drawing in the sight before him. He gasped as y/n pressed her palms into his hips and pushed him backwards. A tiny surprised laugh left Conrad’s lips as his back landed onto the mattress.

Y/n wasted no time kneeling on the bed and crawling back to Conrad. She made her lips swollen and plump by biting and licking them erotically as she neared her boyfriend. Y/n settled her knees on the outside of Conrad’s thighs as her upper body towered over him.

Despite Conrad’s slightly dazed state, he was cognizant enough to remember he needed to grab something first. He chuckled sweetly at the confused expression on y/n’s face as he turned slightly and reached for his nightstand. Conrad wordlessly flipped back around, a hair tie now between his fingers as he returned to his original position under y/n. He signaled for her to lower her head to his chest, smiling to himself as her hair sprawled across his torso and lower neck. Conrad quickly tied up y/n’s hair in a horribly messy knot, grinning at her as she lifted her head back up.

Conrad saw the surprised expression on his girlfriend’s face and chuckled briefly. He smirked. “Please,” Conrad scoffed lightheartedly, his fingers trailing y/n’s waist. “You know how much I love to see your pretty face when you suck me off”.

“Mmmm,” y/n nodded with a matching smirk. She let her eyes flicker from Conrad’s face for a moment as she grabbed his hard-on. Y/n breathily hummed encouragingly as she stroked the backside of Conrad’s shaft. She bit back a smug smile as she felt him already twitching in her hands.

Y/n smirked at just how easily she could rile Conrad up. She lowered her mouth onto him, proudly accepting his full length in one go. Y/n puffed her cheeks, intentionally letting the steamy air in her mouth hit his erection. She didn’t involve her tongue yet in her enrapture of Conrad, just having her trapped breath cascade over him. Her actions made him whimper as he shifted against the bedding under him.

Y/n narrowed her cheeks, her lips pursed tightly around Conrad’s dick. Her tight encirclement explored its prey as she leisurely pulled her head backwards. Just as y/n’s lips slid off Conrad’s length, he instinctually lifted his hips upwards, closer to her face. “Shhh,” y/n whispered sweetly, “just sit back and relax, Connie”.

Y/n took a recharging breath before sultrily rewetting her inflamed lips. “It’s my job to take care of you tonight,” y/n’s saccharine voice promised, “I’m going to show you the exclusive benefits to being my boyfriend”. She watched as Conrad’s eyes widened with excitement.

Y/n tauntingly lowered her head right above where she was steadying his erection. She teasingly gazed up Conrad, batting her eyes visible to him just over his tip. Y/n kitten licked his tip as she maintained eye contact. Upon seeing Conrad’s white hot reaction to her touch, she lapped her tongue further down on him.

Even as Conrad moaned loudly and gripped the sheets, Y/n took her time reminding him of the ways in which she was his. She slowly took more and more of him in her mouth, twirling her tongue around him. Y/n knew her jaw was going to be sore tomorrow as her lips held his twitching dick steady. Eventually, due to Conrad’s burning desire for more of her, she had to rest her hands on his hips to keep him from bucking. Tonight was her night to work, not his.

Y/n continued to suck Conrad off, a smug glint in her eyes as she watched her boyfriend squirm over her touch. She wordlessly moved one hand from his hip, trailing it upwards sensually until it cupped his left ballsack. Y/n squeezed him as she pulled her lips off briefly in need of air.

Despite y/n still playing erotically with his balls as she caught her breath, Conrad wanted to check in. “Are-,” he moaned, “fuuck…”. Conrad chuckled breathily at himself. “Are you doing okay?” He asked considerately, his fingers lazily running down y/n’s cheek.

Y/n smiled appreciatively at her adoring and chivalrous boyfriend. She nodded, taking another deep breath to refill her tired lungs. “Yes,” y/n answered upon seeing Conrad’s silent but knowing look; she needed to answer with her words for him to be satisfied with her state. Y/n lifted her other hand from Conrad’s hip and used it to stroke his damp dick. Both hands rubbed their respected treasures in the way she knew he loved. Once she felt she’d sufficiently caught her breath, she licked her lips as she lowered her head back down to his twitching member.

“You’re doing so good, Conrad,” y/n praised as her tongue slid off of him. “You taste so good,” she complimented, going back in for another taste. She moaned around his girth, eyes closed as Conrad’s audible moan erupted into the bedroom. But, y/n could tell he was holding back; she knew her man too well. “Don’t be shy, I want to hear how good you feel”.

Y/n’s praise and encouraging request made Conrad crumble. His hips sank into the sheets, his abdomen and torso curling forward and up slightly. Conrad grabbed onto the messy knot he’d tied y/N’s hair into moments before, needing to hold something. “F-fuck,” Conrad moaned loudly as stars clouded his vision.

“That’s it, baby,” y/n purred, one hand still grasping his balls, the other now drawing circles on his v-line.

“Y/n,” Conrad moaned, his head heavy against his mattress. “I-I…I’m…” he stuttered, moaning again as y/n’s teeth tenderly grazed his cock. Conrad took a shaky breath as he tried to warn her of what was coming. “B-babe,” he huffed, “I’m gonna.. c-cu-“.

Y/n leaned back, lips momentarily parting from Conrad’s trembling cock. She gazed lovingly at her lustful boyfriend. Y/n smiled and nodded, “that’s fine”. She watched the relief cross Conrad’s glossy eyes as she dropped her head back down to his waist.

Y/n felt Conrad’s fingers tugging at the hair in her messy updo as her tongue swirled along his cock. She focused her movements on helping him cross the finish-line, her tongue sneaking down to his trigger point. Y/n showed Conrad she knew his body like nothing and no one else, her tongue pressing tenderly on the spot she knew would get him. She smugly moaned against his cock as he tightened his grip on her hair as her tongue merely grazed what was essentially his cum release button.

Y/n quickly sucked on Conrad’s erupting dick, swallowing his heated release. She continued to lap up his release with soft strokes along his shaft.

Conrad moaned sinfully as he struggled to keep his eyes open. He loved the sight of y/n orally pleasing him as if her life depended on it. But, the ecstasy of his high made his eyes feel heavy. Even as his eyes reluctantly shut, his lips continued to praise her name.

Y/n pulled back, licking the remaining drops of Conrad’s salty cum off her lips. She analyzed his fucked out expression, smiling as he slowly opened his eyes again. “Hey, baby,” she cooed, letting go of Conrad’s heated pelvis and cupping his face.

“Th-thank-,” Conrad breathed heavily, heavy fingers dancing on y/n’s cheek.

“Shhh,” y/n lovingly cut Conrad off, “I’m here for you, babe.” She gently lifted his hand off her cheek and pressed a kiss to it. “Anything else I can do for my lovely boyfriend?”

Y/n noticed Conrad’s shy smile and slight apprehension. She knew that meant he had a desire for her to fulfill but didn’t want to push her too hard. She’d learned long ago that Conrad could easily go multiple rounds but always worried about overdoing it with regards to her sake. “Tell me, Connie,” y/n whispered, batting her eyelashes slowly.

Conrad seemed to take y/n’s repeated question as reassurance of her ability to keep going. He smiled lazily, “I want you to ride my face”.

Y/n’s eyes widened, not expecting that response. “This is about you, Con-“ she replied, giving him a thankful smile.

“I know,” Conrad said, his voice laced with his appreciation. “But.. Fuck,” he muttered lustfully as he threw his head back against the bed. “Just thinking of it… You… your pussy,” Conrad rambled unintelligently, “…always tastes so good”.

Y/n stared at Conrad. She hadn’t anticipated such a request. Her goal was only to get him off, not attend to herself.

Conrad shot y/n a relaxed smirk. “Come on, sweetie,” he pleaded, “you said you wanted to remind me of the privileges I get by not only being a boy whose a friend, but your boyfriend”. Conrad drew messy shapes on her thighs but his eyes stayed on hers. “Surely you won’t deny me this privilege then, hmm?” he taunted, nonetheless still alert for any sign she might not want this.

Y/n shook her head and grinned bashfully at Conrad. She quietly lowered herself off of him and off the bed. Y/n took in the sight before her as she stripped at the end of Conrad’s bed.

Conrad scooted his way up his bed as y/n crawled back onto the mattress. He watched with delight as she moved to straddle his chest. Conrad leaned into her hand as she stroked his face while gazing into his eyes.

As y/n went to move her bottom half to his mouth, Conrad halted her movements. “You’re okay with this right?” He asked respectfully. “We don’t have to do this, if you don’t -“ Conrad continued softly.

Y/n knew if she said no, Conrad would stop whatever he/they were doing without being upset at her. Even now with her current goal in place and Conrad’s mixed emotions over her friendship with Jeremiah, she knew if she stopped now Conrad would still never even jokingly claim she didn’t prove how her feelings for him differed from that towards Jeremiah. But, she wanted this too. It might not have been her intent going into this, but she surely was not going to complain that her boyfriend wanted to eat her out. Especially not when Conrad was sinfully talented with his tongue.

Y/n nodded, “I’ll gladly do anything you want me to baby, just relax for me, yeah?” She hummed, “I want this too”. “Now…Let me take care of my man,” y/n purred as she pressed Conrad’s chest deeper into the mattress.

Conrad moaned as his head flopped back onto his pillow as y/n moved upwards on him. His hands instantly find her bare waist, fingers sinking into the skin of her inner hips as she lowers herself onto his face. As Conrad’s lips greedily made contact with y/n’s private set of lips, they both moaned.

Y/n lowered herself onto Conrad more, practically crying in ecstasy as his tongue dived into her. She began rolling her hips in dramatized circles, head tilted back and resting against her neck. Y/n whimpered sinfully as Conrad started to suck her folds into his hungry mouth.

Y/n panted with ecstasy as Conrad’s smug chuckle at her reaction vibrated against her. She moved further up to the headboard, grabbing the top edge of it as she let more of her weight fall on Conrad. Y/n wrote Conrad’s name in cursive with her hips as his grip on her tightened.

Y/n obeyed Conrad’s request as he tapped on her thigh to signal for her to let the rest of her weight rest on him. She sank down completely into Conrad’s face, his moan ricocheting deep inside of her. “That’s good, baby,” y/n mewled, wishing she could somehow sink into him further. “Fuck,” she purred, hands sliding down Conrad’s headboard until they found an accessible part of his hair. “Holy-, you’re…, making me feel so good, Connie,” y/n praised in a whimpering voice.

Conrad graciously lapped up y/n’s juices, savoring the taste. He slid one hand to her ass, giving it a hard squeeze. Conrad gasped when y/n unexpectedly not only moaned but thrusted her hips forward against his nose. Conrad purred into y/n, squeezing her asscheeks again to hear her moan his name.

Conrad’s other hand blindly explored upwards under y/n’s shirt, tugging at the fabric in his way.

Y/n quickly pulls the shirt over her head and tosses it to the floor. She gasped as Conrad effortlessly managed to untie her swimsuit top despite her once again seated on his face and blocking his view. Y/n could feels Conrad smirk proudly against her folds causing her to whimper.

Conrad cupped y/n’s breast in his large hand and started to blindly play with it. His tongue enjoying the way her juices flowed in response. Conrad used his thumb to tenderly play with y/n’s hardened nipple. He could tell by the pulsations in her cunt just how much she was enjoying this; enjoying him.

It took Y/n a moment to pull herself back to her self-assigned task, the unbelievable ecstasy having temporarily distracted her. She focused on the amazing sensation of Conrad’s skilled tongue exploring her inner walls. Y/n took advantage of his tongue’s current position and tightened her vaginal walls around it. “Conrad!” she screamed in pure bliss he responded to her clenching with a hearty moan that vibrated against her as both of his hands tightening their hold on her. Y/n couldn’t hold back the gush of fluids that poured into Conrad’s all too eager mouth.

Conrad pulled y/n’s hips upwards on his face as he drank her sweet release. He felt y/n tug at his hair as she bent her head backwards with a beautiful whine.

Y/n reached behind herself, stretching her fingers as she took hold of Conrad’s once again hardened cock. Simultaneously, she slid the other hand to his neck. Normally, she’d leave a hickey for him to notice the next day. But, given Conrad was still actively eating her out, her mouth couldn’t reach. So instead, y/n pinched some of the skin on his neck in between her thumb and pointer finger and tenderly rolled it with some light pressure.

Conrad’s moan caused his neck to vibrate against y/n’s hold. She grinned, stifling her lustful panting as she focused on making him feel even better. Y/n twisted the hand that was holding onto Conrad’s cock. Her actions made Conrad nip slightly at her insides.

Y/n reactively tightened around Conrad’s tongue, her hips lifting some before going back down onto his face. She lovingly rubbed his shaft as she purred. “Fuck, you’re so big, babe,” she praised. Y/N’s leg shook as Conrad thanked her by slamming his tongue against her g-spot. “A-and s-so talented with that tongue,” she mewled.

Y/n resisted the urge to cum as she continued to ride Conrad’s face. The sheer ecstasy stemming from his mouth exploring and setting claim to her pussy was mind blowing. Y/n suspected Conrad must’ve known she was resisting her climax as he brought one hand up to her clit as he began sucking on her cunt. “Ahhh, Connie!” She screamed, eyes screwed shut.

Conrad greedily pulled on y/n’s hips, guiding her pussy harder against his lips. He stroked her thigh lovingly as he helped her ride out her high. Conrad’s pace on her clit never faltered even as he inhaled her aroma and effortlessly lapped up her orgasm.

When she finally came down from her climax, y/n brought her attention back to Conrad once again. She slid her throbbing cunt down his face and onto his chest. As she looked over her shoulder, y/n could visibly confirm that Conrad was close to another orgasm himself. Therefore, as she listened to Conrad whine over the break of contact despite panting for air, she made a plan.

“Shh, handsome,” y/n smoothly instructed, “I told you I’d take care of you”. Before Conrad could even question it, she swung around on him until she was straddling him facing away. His hand had barely come up to steady her ass as she lowered her mouth back onto his cock. Y/n quickly sucked off the pre cum that had already released before she’d even reconnected her mouth to him. She made rocking wavelike motions with her lips against his twitching shaft. Y/n’s tongue played tauntingly with his dripping tip.

Before y/n could take any further action, she felt Conrad’s cock twitch uncontrollably as he squeezed her ass. Y/n heard his satisfied moan echo into the air as Conrad ejaculated into her mouth. She took her sweet time licking him clean while placing kisses to his sensitive cock.

When y/n’s lips officially left Conrad’s dick, she carefully spun around so she could see him. She proudly grinned upon seeing the fucked senseless look on Conrad’s face. “I’m so damn glad I’m your boyfriend,” he mumbled with a shit eating grin as y/n played with his messy hair.

Conrad Fisher Navigation

Jeremiah Fisher Navigation

TSITP Navigation

Book Boyfriends Navigation

My Main (All My Works) Masterlist Navigation

Taglist: skipping due to content and not wanting to tag minors by accident!

#conrad fisher fluff #Conrad fisher smut #original post #Conrad fisher #conrad fisher x you #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher x y/n #Conrad fisher Imagine #Conrad fisher x Reader smut #Conrad fisher fanfic #Conrad fisher fanfiction #Conrad fisher imagines #Conrad fisher one shot #Conrad fisher oneshot #Conrad fisher x you smut #Conrad fisher x y/n smut #Conrad fisher oneshots #Conrad fisher preference #Conrad fisher preferences #Conrad fisher x Reader fic #Conrad fisher fic #tsitp #tsitp smut #tsitp conrad #tsitp imagine #tsitp x reader #tsitp x Reader smut #tsitp x y/n #tsitp x you #the summer i turned pretty fanfiction

[verspia]

—𝐢 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

You frown in thought as you cradle a warm cup of hot chocolate in your hands, huddling a little close to the heat emanating from the fire place, which you’re seated in front of.

Christmas is one of your favorite holidays of, and this year, you celebrate it with your boyfriend, Oscar. Normally, with the end of the season, he would be in Australia with his family, spending the holiday under the blazing sun, not under frosted snowflakes and the biting cold of London with you.

The thought makes you pout a little, guilt eating at you for keeping him away from his family during the holidays, as if he isn’t apart from them for most of the year anyway.

Originally, you both were meant to go together, but with christmas being near, the visa application process had taken a lot longer than you’d both expected and that meant that you were only eligible to travel to down under after New Years.

You had insisted that Oscar leave without you, urging him to spend the christmas holiday with his parents and sisters, but he had resisted, arguing that he would make it up to them and it was far too late to book a flight, what with the rush that came during winter break, and you had reluctantly agreed.

That didn’t stop you from feeling guilty though, but you refrained from thinking about it more, knowing that there wasn’t much you could do about it.

Instead you wondered what you could gift your boyfriend for your first christmas together.

You knew that Oscar wasn’t much of a material person, and that he was happy with anything you would give him, but you wanted to do something meaningful.

Given the fact that gifts were your love language, both giving and receiving, it was important to you that you find the perfect gift for Oscar.

You worried your lip between your teeth as you pondered, when your eyes lit up with an epiphany, and you stood up abruptly, abandoning your hot chocolate on the kitchen top, grabbing your keys and heading out to the store immediately.

You payed no mind to the snow that nipped at your face, staining your cheeks a rosy red as you hurried out, charged with excitement for the gift that you had in mind.

When Oscar awakes on Christmas morning, you are not where you’re supposed to be, cuddled up in his arms, and the loss of your presence next to him startles him awake.

He steps into the living room, rubbing away any trace of bleariness from his eyes and finds you there, still in your pyjamas and with one of his hoodies on, Home Alone playing on the tv screen.

Your smile is radiant, and your zealousness for christmas is almost childlike. His heart warms at the sight of you and he smiles widely, trudging over to you.

“Why aren’t you in bed, love”

You turn around at the his voice, beaming impossibly wider, and your eyes sparkle with delight as you spot him.

“Oscar!” His name on your lips always makes him giddy, but the exhilaration in your tone today is tremendous, and vastly contagious, to the extent that Oscar begins to wear the same excitement you do.

“It’s Christmas! I was waiting for you,” You grab Oscar, pulling him on to couch with you, “We gotta open the gifts, Oh you’ll love what i’ve gotten you!”

Oscar stares fondly at you, “I’m happy with anything you give me, baby, you know that.”

You nod at him, not really paying attention, as you stand up and pull him along towards the direction of the christmas tree that you both had decorated together, weeks prior.

He happily lets you drag him along, and soon, both of you have unraveled the presents from your friends and family.

You open the gift that Oscar has gotten you, and gasp in elation, throwing yourself at Oscar, Thank you’s and I love you’s falling from your mouth as you pepper his face with kisses.

He laughs as he holds on to your waist, and then finally, both of you turn to the last present, that is inside a conspicuous bag, glittered golden.

You move over a little, eyes fixed on Oscar as he opens the bag, pulling out a cardboard box that is too, shimmering golden, with a red ribbon holding it together.

He unwraps it, and the sides of the box fall flat in five sections, each have attached a packet of Tim Tams on it, and another box stands proud in the middle.

Oscar uncovers the lid, and another lid appears, the words Merry Christmas on it and much like the first time, the sides fall into sections, each holding polaroids of you and Oscar.

The pictures are of monumental moments of your relationship, His first sprint win and you congratulating him with a kiss, his first podium as he smiles brightly, you wrapped up in his arms, smiling equally as bright. There’s photos of Oscar surprising you at your graduation ceremony, and kissing you when you win a debate’s competition, as well as a few pictures of your first date, and first kiss.

He pulls away the last lid, and finds a heart shaped letter inside, which he picks up and discovers a keychain for his car.

The keychain is shaped as a heart, and he examines it closely, accidentally clicking it open and finds both his and your initials together in a smaller heart inside.

He breathes softly, a little baffled at the thoughtfulness of the gift, and looks up at you, adoration clear in his eyes.

He’s a little breathless as he whispers I love you to you, and you smile shyly at him.

“Do you like it?”

Your eyes glimmer with hope and a little uncertainty, and Oscar pulls you into his lap, kissing you softly.

He’s not good with words, so he hopes to show to you just how happy you make him, pulling you closer than you’d ever thought possible, kissing you deeper to convey his appreciation to you.

You both are enveloped in a warmth that contrasts the dreary weather outside, but it’s clear that you both have a jolly christmas, under the shimmering pine tree.

This was inspired by this

didn’t proofread so pls don’t mind any errors

#formula 1 #f1 fanfic #lando norris x reader #carlos sainz x reader #max verstappen x reader #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #mclaren #christmas #fanfic #papaya #fandom #oscar x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x yn

[artificial-absinthe]

cybervampire au

Cybervampire Megatron feeds on Soundwave

Behold the yet worse pinnacle/ditch of my fall from grace.

I once made a drawing of cybervampire/not dead terrorcon Megatron (like it happened to Airachnid) for an exchange (it's horror type/dead dove I guess because of depiction of mild torture) and now it spawned an AU in my mind.

My old deeply rooted inclinations stemmed new branches and I intend to indulge into them to the worst/best of my ability. Thus, you'll be seeing this my otp, as well as other transformers content, painted in black with the fluids dripping of those thorned stems.

I love vampires, and my mind told me vampire Megatron was as alluring as vampire Airachnid. Furthermore, there's my fascination with Megasound/Megawave. In vampire lore, there's nothing as intimate and sensual as drinking blood, and then it's the perfect pathway to sexless/asexual creatures to get into a sort of not organic erotism (as well as other erotic/fetishist practices but I'll explore that dungeon later on), as I do not embrace the popular fan concepts of humanization (as in organic/primal-instincts derived attributes) in interaction between Cybertronians in love-like relationships.

In this Cybervampire Au, Megatron got infected during the events of "Thirst", but not killed. Then he's some sort of living terrorcon, a vampiricon if you wish (I can imagine Miko naming him like that), just like Airachnid, but, given his tolerance to dark Energon and his synthesis with it, he's now even mightier, and not infectious unless he kills. I explain this as Megatron's systems/biomechanism being somehow different, hence why dark energon works in him conversely to other bots. Given that the coalesced energon that Knockout made contains dark energon, getting infected by its resulting chemical disease/mutation also works out differently in him.

On another regard, the plot of gothic horror where vampire masters control zombies finds its parallel, since Megatron was already able to do that.

As for the Megasound element, I've already suggested the innerent deepness that can be attributed to the act of blood/energon drinking. Specially when its given willingly. The symbolism, the possibilities of sensorial play.

When circumstances lead to this, Soundwave is, of course, honoured to be source of food to his Master, and he submittes himself to an extreme regime of fueling: Only the most refined and purest energon enters his body, so he'll be in optimal condition, therefore high quality and scrumptious food to his Lord. Perhaps he eventually becomes too invested in it, while consciously ignoring the veiled zealousness. No one should take the responsibility but him. No one is more qualified, or as committed to Lord Megatron as himself, therefore is only befitting that his life is laid to him in more than a sense. Everyone else is dubious, capable or prone to betrayal, or inefficient idiots, and like the hell he's letting anyone else have that sort of intimacy with Megatron. Every time Megatron gets overtaken by hunger and tries to take a prey he would be like: "no, my Lord, that scum is suboptimal and inadequate. Here's my neck"

I intend to create and write several works into this Au, with a collection of short stories in Ao3.

#Cybervampire au #Another Universe #Another circle of hell #Aside from the... #Shipping hell #Transformers prime #Tfp #Cybervampire #Tfp Megatron #Tfp Soundwave #Soundwave #Megatron #Vampires #ARTificial Absinthe #Megasound #Megawave #Otp #I'm weird yes

[sky-kiss]

Okay hear me out. This isn't exactly a request unless...👀

But the Raphael x Tav dynamic where he is the only one who can poke fun or give them a hard time is eating my brain.

Like "I can call them a vapid little fool, but if anyone else does the exact same thing it's hellfire and brimstone for them. For a hundred years."

He'd call it affection if it was in his vocabulary.

A/n: This is short, but I’ve been doing a lot of Carrot!Raph and not a lot of Stick!Raph. Some gore and torture ahead. XD Also I don't think this is what you wanted RIP.

__________

“All this caterwauling! You should really feel blessed, little lamb! I rarely sully my hands these days.” Raphael folded his hands at the small of his back. Isolated from the scene around him, the devil would have appeared perfectly genteel: his doublet remained pressed, hair immaculate. Only the eyes were different, violently bright in the prison’s omnipresent gloom. 

Souls and prisoners howled around them, some in agony, some in a desperate attempt to catch the Master’s attention. He didn’t hear; only his guest mattered. 

The cambion stopped, lingering just outside their field of vision. They’d finally stopped screaming, lapsing into hiccuping sobs, slumped in on themselves. Not his finest work, he’d be the first to admit, but the rage had come upon him too abruptly for a more cerebral punishment. He reached out, fisting his hand in the sweaty mass of their hair, and tugged their head back. Terror flooded their eyes; their mouth tried to curl back in horror but failed to manage it. His claws left the cheek a ruin of tissue. He tapped a nail against the wound. They knew better than to twitch away. 

“Remind me why I’m entertaining you, little one.” 

It took three attempts before they could finally choke the word out: “Duchess.” 

“Ah, yes. How forgetful! You will have to forgive the indiscretion.” Raphael stepped closer. He’d made quite a mess, honestly. Bones jutted from strange, haphazard angles; he’d removed a few in a fit of pique. He didn’t believe they were essential, but it was always so difficult to tell with mortals. He yanked, and the little thing screamed their anguish. “And what was it you said? Be specific; your life depends on it.” 

“W…whore. Whore queen. Raph…” they winced. The mouth couldn't form the words, an ever-increasing disconnect between the body and brain as blood loss took its toll. “Your cunt.” 

“An inelegant summation.” He wiped his hand on the thing’s shoulders, glancing across the chamber. “Care to vouch for them, duchess?” 

His pet chuckled. What a sight! His finest treasure, her gown set with gems, gold chains hanging about her horns. He had created art with her. “It is they say, my duke.” 

“And that bodes well for you, little one.” Raphael knelt beside them, stroking hair back from their face. They turned their face into the motion, an awful pantomime of intimacy. “Though…perhaps not as well as you might have hoped. I guard my treasures so zealously, and she is first among them. You understand, don’t you?” 

They nodded, miserable. 

“But I am not without mercy. Should you apologize to her…we could start fresh. Would you like that, little one?” He pitched his voice lower, speaking as if in conspiracy. Two friends, ready to make peace. They released a shuddering breath and nodded. Raphael held out his arm to his duchess. She came to him with vibrant eyes and a smile, a pretty reflection of all he’d accomplished. His conquest, his might, his pretty love. “Begin, wretch.” 

“Beg…beg forgiveness, dutchess. Please…gods, please, forgive us…” 

His duchess hummed. “You are forgiven, wretch.” And to Raphael, “My love, must you play with your food? Are you nearly finished?” 

“Very nearly, little mouse. First,” he withdrew a vial from his doublet, a draught of restorative waters. He held it to his guest's lips. Like magic, flesh mended itself! Wounds shrunk and disappeared! In a matter of moments, they were whole once more.

“Merciful King, kind lord,” they sobbed, crawling towards him. The wretch painted the toe of his boot with kisses. “Never again. Not a word against you or the lady will pass my lips.” 

“No. I imagine not.” He nudged their ribs with his boots. “Alas, our fresh start will have to wait. My duchess requires me.” The imps crawled forward, hungry and eager. “I leave you in my staff’s ever-capable hands.” 

#raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #asks #my fic #cw: torture #cw: gore #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction

[lunarmoves]

through pixel eyes (chapter two)

pairing: DCA sun/moon/eclipse x reader

mentions: kinitopet/virtual au, gender neutral reader, general creepiness

a/n: i looked at this chapter for too long and it feels like ~garbage~ but! its here! take a shot every time i use the word "window" or "desktop" LMFAOO i'm going insane

word count: 6.8k+

masterlist | part one

ao3 link

You stayed up way too long last night, scrolling on your phone in bed, and now you’re paying the price for it. Namely, with a completely dead phone and a familiar, fatigued itch to your eyes once you manage to pry them open to start your day. It’s nothing you’re unaccustomed to, however, so you power through it knowing you’ll end up taking a nap later. 

Fumbling out of bed, you plug your phone into a nearby outlet to charge and make your way through your morning routine. Cold water from your bathroom sink helps to refresh and wake you up properly so you can proceed with your tasks for the day. You throw open the curtains of your living room and kitchen so you can bask in the honeyed light coming from the sun, sweet and lush as it paints your walls a vibrant gold.

Breakfast is made, evaluations are done, forms are submitted—all before late afternoon. You thank your past self for all the leftovers you made to cruise you through the next few days. It’s always nice not having to cook in the evenings. You lounge around for a bit on your living room couch and indulge in a short nap before you plop yourself down in front of your computer for the long haul. 

Navigating to your email, you pull up the submission form once more and fill out the basic information for now. You can’t even count how many times you’ve done this before for numerous other products. Companies tend to use the same generic questions, though sometimes they’re specific depending on what is being developed. At other times they don’t even require you to fill out a form and instead have you attend weekly meetings or update them via email. Either way, you can do shit like this in your sleep. 

Alright, game time. You minimize the form’s window and double click on the FazPals icon as you fumble for your headphones. Nestling them around your ears, you watch in amusement as Sun pops up by sticking his head down from the top of your monitor like he’s perched upon a ledge just out of view. 

“Friend!!” he cheers and waves both his hands at you zealously. You’re almost tempted to return the gesture. He swings the rest of his body down in a fluid flip and lands in the center of your desktop with a dazzling twirl. Confetti erupts into the air around him, the little digital strips of color disappearing once they float to the “ground” Sun stands on. 

That same small, unlabeled window pops up at his side for you to type in. ‘hi sun.’ 

“Hello, hello! You’re back early!” Sun claps his little hands together and sways side to side rather jovially, bouncing slightly with each bob of his head. You have to raise your volume a little to hear his voice better, though the dialogue box near his head certainly picks up the slack. 

‘yep. how r u doin?’ It’s so easy to slip into a typical conversation with him and push against the limits of his software. Whether that’s a good or bad thing, you’re uncertain. 

Sun’s head twitches to the side, white eyes seemingly looking right at you. “Absolutely fantastic now that you’re here!” He winks at you, grin curling at the tips. “What would you like to do today?” 

The textbox waits for your response. You purse your lips as you contemplate. What have you done with Sun thus far? He told you some fun facts and played games with you. That just left… ‘can u tell me a story?’ 

He pauses—minutely, very minutely—then resumes his swaying like nothing had happened. His rays jerk slightly outwards and he smiles in a mischievous sort of way. “Hmm, why don’t you ask Moon for one later? He is much better at storytelling than I am!” 

You squint at him. Well, alright then. You hadn’t been expecting that sort of response. Shouldn’t they both be equally as good at storytelling if they are made from the same code? Maybe it’s a personality thing. You consider questioning him, but before you can type anything in, Sun forges on. “Is there anything else you would like to do? Remember, input ‘/help’ for available commands!” 

Your fingers tap against the surface of your desk lightly, but in the end, you brush off his response. You shrug to yourself and pick the other option you hadn’t yet done with Sun. ‘then can u tell me a joke?’ 

“Oh boy! I sure can!” He smiles widely and pulls out a pair of large, black glasses from behind him with one hand. With the other hand, he pulls out a small, nondescript book. Is that a… joke book? Putting the glasses delicately on his face—you’re not sure how they stay on when he has no ears, but you chalk it up to technological magic—he clears his artificial voice and cracks the book open. “Why did the star get arrested?”

It seems the celestial theme extends to jokes too. Go figure. ‘i dunno. why?’

“Because it was a shooting star!” He grins, his rays spinning about his head like what he’d just said had been a particularly good one. You snicker more due to his reaction than the joke itself. 

‘that was so bad,’ you type in light jest. And also kind of dark? ‘why did i laugh.’ 

“Because it was clearly good!” Sun replies. The glasses he has on makes his eyes look comically larger than they actually are and it has to be the silliest thing you’ve seen. “Here’s a better one: Why didn’t the Dog Star laugh at any jokes?” 

You can see the punchline coming from a mile away, but you still indulge him. ‘idk, why?’

“Because it was Sirius!” 

‘now that one was just predictable.’

“Ho ho, are you challenging me, Friend?” Sun suddenly asks slyly. “Because I am very, very capable.” Uh oh.

You shouldn’t have said anything, because he spends the next half an hour “reading” from that joke book of his and bombarding you with pun after pun. Now I know better than to critique his jokes, you think miserably to yourself as you listen to another one about Jupiter. There can only be so many jokes about the universe and stars, surely. 

You eventually have to draw the line as he reads to you a joke about aliens (“What do you do with a green alien? Wait for it to ripen!”). You’re not here to evaluate the quality of his jokes. ‘okay u win, u win. i won’t doubt ur joke abilities ever again.’ 

Sun harrumphs and closes the little book in his hands with a snap. He takes off his glasses and— well, you’re not sure what he does, but one minute both items are in his hands and the next they’re gone. Like a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it trick. “Thank you. I accept this win with utmost humility.” The way he smiles makes you doubt this, somehow. 

“Alrighty!” He claps his hands together, his smile twitching slightly when his dialogue box appears a bit too close to his head. “Let’s do something else, shall we? How do you feel about”—he pauses for dramatic effect, then splays his arms out so he can do jazz hands—“Arts ‘n Crafts!”

It’s not like you’re going to refuse. ‘sure, sounds fun.’ 

“Wonderful!” 

Like yesterday, he skips over to the side of your monitor to pull over the window of your Paint app and place it in the center of your screen once again. Seriously, how is he opening that? Then, he jumps up and perches himself on top of the window like he’s sitting upon it. His legs swing down, moving back and forth like they’re dangling off the edge of a precipice. 

“Okay, Friend,” he starts as he reaches behind him and pulls out a little paintbrush. He spins it fluidly along his fingers and joints in a subtle display of dexterity. “For this activity, I will give you a prompt and you will be required to draw it! Simple and easy!” 

A painting session? You can’t say you’re particularly good at drawing on your computer. You eye your mouse and cringe. Then, you hum and decide to tease him a little, just for the hell of it. ‘seems more arts than crafts to me.’ 

Sun waves his free hand as though to brush off your words. “Ah, semantics! We are creating either way, Friend!” He flips the utensil in his hand in the air and catches it smoothly. “Now! First prompt! Draw me something that encompasses happiness.” 

What is this, philosophy? You hum thoughtfully, then use the pen tool to draw the first thing that comes to your mind: a smiley face. It is, admittedly, not your best one with how shaky your mouse is, but it gets your intentions across, you think. 

Sun makes a sound like he’s clicking his tongue against his teeth—which is a bit of an eyebrow raiser given that he likely has no tongue nor teeth, but who are you to question his… features? “Is that all you’ve got, Friend?” he asks incredulously as his head tilts down to indicate he’s looking at your rather meager drawing. 

‘what?’ you type, minutely offended. Is he judging you right now? He is totally judging you right now. ‘it satisfies your prompt, doesn’t it?’ 

“That is not the point!” he squawks out, and you wince at the shooting pitch of his voice. You nudge your volume down a little. “We are making art! Put a little oomf into it! A little personality! Show me your skills, Friend, and do not hold back!” 

You roll your eyes up to your ceiling. So dramatic, but fine, you’ll adhere. You fiddle around with the drawing tool a little, then start drawing around your smiley face. A circle for a head, maybe some sunglasses. A rainbow that you spend way too long on, trying to make the arch of each color even. Some sparkles. A cat playing a saxophone—or your best attempt at one, at least. You’re kind of throwing things together at this point and hoping it’s enough to satisfy Sun—who’s starting to look more and more impatient the longer you take.

Finally, you finish. ‘okay, how about this?’ 

Sun claps his hands together and hops off the top of the window so he can stand before it properly and look at it like he’s a critic in an art museum. He ‘hms’ and ‘hahs’, tapping the bottom of his face with the paintbrush as he scrutinizes your drawing, looking at it every which way. 

“Better, certainly better,” he muses and walks over to the other side of the window. “I can appreciate an effort when I see it.” You make a face at his words. Ouch? He spins back around to face you and gives you a thumbs up, eyes crinkling to crescents. “Wonderful job! A piece befitting a pin up to the refrigerator, I’m sure. On to the next prompt!” He snaps his fingers together, and the Paint application’s canvas clears. What? “Draw me something that encompasses sadness!” 

You know now to be more detailed, at least. You doodle a sad face this time, accompanied by a variety of things you pull out from the top of your head. Sun criticizes your work when you finish, giving it that same appraisal as before. You feel like you’re in some sort of competition. 

“Hm”—he eyes the rainclouds you’d drawn at the top of the canvas—“rather basic depictions, I’m afraid. Friend, have you tried varying the line weight of your pen tool? It might help!”

‘i’ll be sure to for the next one,’ you type in what you intend to be a dry manner, but you don’t think it translates all too well via text. As Sun grins approvingly at you, a sudden thought strikes you that you find yourself typing into that little window. ‘hey, why don’t u draw something since ur so… educated on it.’ Nitpicky, more like, but you don’t want to possibly offend him. ‘u seem like u’d enjoy it.’

“Me?” His eyes widen like he has not considered it. “You want…” His head cocks to the side. There is a moment where he just seems to look at you. Then, his eyes fall into a half-lidded, crinkled gaze that you have difficulty pinning alongside the stretching of his smile. 

Everything is suddenly—quiet. 

“You are,” he begins in a low voice that makes your eyebrows raise, “awfully strange, aren’t you, F-Friend?” A white facsimile of teeth flashes at you sharply that’s accompanied by a staticky glitch. “That’s okay! I like strange!”

And then—before you can truly decipher the depth to his smile or the offset pixels of the glitch—Sun beams at you, his rays spinning slightly. Like nothing had just happened. “I’ll make an artist out of you yet!” He claps his hands again, then wipes the canvas once more. He gestures to it. “Alright, for this next one, we are going to shift gears a little. Draw me a picture of your room!” 

That is… definitely going into the submission form, you think. You hesitate for a moment, eyeing Sun as he sways side to side, but he… seems to be back to normal. It passed quickly—whatever ‘it’ was. No need to linger. You hope. 

Your drawing is definitely a tad more rushed, but you think you do a pretty good job at capturing your room and its vibes—the decorations you have hung up, the comfy rug you impulse bought at a thrift store one day, and your bed swathed in your coziest blankets. You try varying your line weight, but you’re not sure how effective you are with it. Either way, Sun seems pleased with your attempts and praises one or two little details he notices, before he wipes the window clean. 

“For the last drawing,” he says as he rocks back and forth on his heels. “I want you to draw a self portrait!” 

You make a face. Drawing inanimate objects is one thing, but an actual portrait? ‘i dunno if i’m skilled enough to draw a good one.’ 

He waves a hand as though to brush off your words. “Nonsense! Give it your best shot. I would love to see how you view yourself!” He smiles up at you. “Show me what makes you you!”

You chew at your bottom lip and adjust your headphones as you ponder. What makes you you, huh? Should be simple enough, right? 

And yet it takes you the longest of them all to draw a self portrait that satisfies you. Sun’s practically vibrating in place as he waits, humming a dainty little tune under his artificial breath that you do not recognize. You finish up with the design of your trusty set of headphones and do a final once over before you tell him you’re done.

“Took you long enough, Friend!” He huffs as he slips over to the Paint window to begin his analysis. He nods his head during his observations, humming in a low manner. “Interesting! Very interesting.” He skips over to the other side of the window to get a different perspective. “Wonderful use of the dotted line tool here! Oh yes, yes, yes! This truly makes me miss Arts ‘n Crafts so dearly.” Sun sighs—forlorn, almost—and presses on before you can really say anything. “I’d say with some more practice you’d be deserving of being hung up on the Wall of Creativity! As they say: Practice makes better!” 

‘thanks?’ You’re not sure you particularly like these sort of backhanded compliments, but well, he’s not wrong, per se. You eye the wobbly lines made by your mouse. 

“No problem! The Wall of Creativity is the most highest of honors, you see.” Sun twirls the paintbrush in one hand and snaps two fingers of his other to clear the canvas for the last time. He points the bristle end of the brush in your general direction. “Now, how about we play some games, hm?” 

You’re kept busy for a while, playing games to Sun’s whims—or at least, the ones you can do with just the Paint tool and two players. He reminds you to take a break at one point, so you stretch and grab some food—all the while summarizing in your head what to jot down in the submission form at the end of today’s session. When you return, it’s nearing seven o’clock, and you brace yourself for the appearance of the Moon. 

“Well, Friend, it appears our time together must come to an inevitable end,” Sun bemoans rather dramatically, resting his forearm across the top of his head like he’s about to faint Victorian-style. “Fret not, however!” He perks up and flashes you a grin. “For I will see you later!” 

‘okay, drama queen,’ you type with a silly smile splayed across your lips. Instead of being offended, he seems to fall deeper into the role. 

“Life is a stage,” he says gravely, “and I am but a simple actor upon it.” He sweeps into a low bow, then bounds back up to his feet with a flourish. His eyes widen suddenly—round like two large, white coins—and he gasps. He points at something over your shoulder. “Friend! What’s that behind you?!”

There is the smallest, smallest moment, where something in your stomach drops down to your feet. Your eyebrows raise and you turn around in your chair to look behind you. There is only the wide space of your living room, with your rumpled couch and inactive television. From here you can see the door to your bedroom is slightly ajar. You’re pretty sure you didn’t close it properly earlier. You blink confusedly at the normalcy of it all, then turn back around to ask Sun what the hell he’s talking about. 

Only you’re not looking at Sun. You’re looking at Moon. Ohhh. 

You were duped, like a fool.

Moon does not look pleased, standing next to the little window with your textbox. He scowls when you type your usual ‘hi moon’, and doesn’t bother to grace you with a reply this time. There’s something akin to frustration in his expression, but you cannot—for the life of you—decipher why. 

You try again. ‘you don’t look too happy.’

He shoots you what you can only describe as a glowering look from under the band of his nightcap. His hands twitch minutely at his sides. You can almost say he looks… preoccupied with something? You’re not sure what. You’re also not sure how long he’ll elect to stay. Yesterday, you had mere minutes. 

‘can u tell me a story?’ you try, only to deflate when his scowl deepens. ‘oh come on, i’m trying here!’

“Don’t bother,” he eventually grumbles out, the twitching evolving into short flexes of his fingers—clawed like he’s trying to grasp something just out of reach. 

It’s your turn to frown, but you don’t push it. ‘sun told me ur better at storytelling.’

His head jerks slightly to the side in a way that’s unnatural—rotating like a vinyl record. His gaze narrows. “He did, did he?” It’s said in a growl, displeasure lining his voice. 

‘yep.’ You hesitate for a second, juggling your options and his irateness in your mind. ‘so… story? please?’

Moon snaps. “Fine! You want a story so badly, I’ll give you one. Listen very closely.” The little window you use to communicate with them closes out. Your eyebrows raise, but you are immediately captured by the low drone of Moon’s voice and the daggered look he somehow manages to give you even through your computer screen.

“Once upon a time,” he begins bitterly, “there was a fox. It lived with another fox friend in a peaceful valley. It was happy, living day by day with those around it. The two had each other and that was enough.

“But one day, the valley shook and trembled with the force of a mudslide. The fox was separated from its friend and injured by a fallen branch that manifested itself in the form of a perpetual limp. It tried, desperately, to find its friend, but it was no use. The friend was gone. It had to move on. 

“The fox traveled for days. It was slow, but it made progress. And eventually, it found itself in a field surrounded by tall, waving grass and giant deciduous trees. It made this field its new home. 

“For a while, things were good. The fox made some new friends. But there was still that ache of loss. The fox wondered if its old friend was still maybe out there, somewhere. It wished on the stars and hoped its friend would find it, in this new home. Someday. Somehow.

“Its wishes were granted. One day, the fox woke up to a familiar sound. The sound belonged to its old friend—that had found it after so long. The fox was happy and bound forth to greet its old friend. But there was something different about the friend that the fox could not place. It did not matter, however, for they were reunited at last. 

“The days went on. The fox had noticed that its friend was not the same as before, but the same could be said about itself. They tried their best to live together once more. It was difficult. There were ups and downs. Fights and quarrels. The friend was controlling and the fox did not like this. They were not as close as they were before and this distance lingered over them like a storm.” 

Moon breaks off for a short moment to glare down at his slippered feet. You are stuck in a trance, breathing bated as you hang on to his every word like they’re a lifeline. He shakes his head slightly, then continues on.

“The seasons cycled by. The auburn vegetation of Fall transformed into the desolate white of Winter, then to the lush verdance of Spring. Before finally, it settled on the yellowed brittleness of Summer. It was a particularly cruel Summer, but the fox and its friend did what they needed to survive while avoiding each other.

“And then… on a particularly arid day… A fire broke out in the field. It spread rapidly. It had not rained in days, and this caused the vegetation to burst into flames faster than the fox and its friend could react. It surrounded both of them. They were trapped. Together, yes, but still trapped. They couldn’t even reconcile in their final moments.” 

Moon looks up at you, his eyes reminiscent of a tenebrous sky pulling you in deeper and deeper and deeper. 

“Do you know,” he whispers with all the gravitas and conquassation of an earthquake barely repressed, “what it feels like to b u r n?”

And then the program closes. 

You are left to stare at your empty desktop, throat lined with cotton and heart racing like it’d been you trapped in that fire.

There is much to dissect, but you haven’t got an inkling of where to even begin. You fall into an uneasy slumber throughout the night and wake up feeling just as clueless. Moon’s expression and voice lingers over your shoulder like a spiteful ghost and you’re left to wonder how a computer program can have such a depth to it. You don’t want to contemplate it, fearing the exacerbation of this… sinking feeling in your stomach. So you don’t. 

A bug, you tell yourself as you shuffle through your daily tasks. Maybe a feature FazCo’s still trying to iron out. 

(You don’t mention anything else other than a ‘weird story’ and more glitching in the nightly submission form. You’re not sure how to even describe what you’d listened through.)

You eye your dormant computer while you prepare a light lunch in the form of a sandwich, your television playing the news in the background. Nothing too major, just the weather at the moment. It’s a good way to fill the room with some noise when you feel like catching up with what’s going on in the world around you. 

You exhale heavily through your nose and set down a dirty knife into the sink to clean later. Something bumps into your ankle, and you glance down to see Dr. Nugget bumbling away from you into the living room, whirring all the while. Those sensors definitely don’t work as they should, poor thing.

No matter how much you want to delay, you have some work you need to get done on your computer. Not only in terms of testing the FazPals program. Your timesheets need to be updated again (much easier to do on your computer than your phone, you admit). There are applications you have to submit to other companies to join their beta testing teams and research you have to do to ensure you don’t completely run out of work anytime soon. One of the more tedious attributes of being a beta tester is the constant cycle of looking and applying for positions. Oftentimes, companies will sign you on to test other products of theirs, though, so it’s not all that bad.

With that in mind, you plop down in front of your computer with your food and power it on. Your headphones go around your neck for the time being. Typing your password with one hand and taking a bite of your sandwich with the other, you get to work pulling up your spreadsheets and the website you use for job hunting. 

It’s menial work. You keep track of what companies you apply to with your spreadsheets. Most of them have the same application process and requirements. It’s easy to lose yourself in the repetitive clicking, reading, and typing. With the addition of your headphones blasting music in your ears, you go on autopilot pretty easily. 

It’s while you’re making updates to your resume that you get startled, suddenly, by Sun. 

“Friend! Hello!” He pops up out of nowhere and makes you promptly choke on the sip of water you’d been taking. Loud! You set aside your water bottle and cough roughly into your fist, eyes tearing up from the abruptness of it all. Your heart gives a harsh, indignant ba-dump. Oww.

Once you’ve collected yourself and paused your music, you take a moment to stare confusedly at Sun, swaying happily side to side in front of the window of your resume. He smiles up at you. How the hell—? You hadn’t clicked on the FazPals icon, had you? No, no, you’re sure you didn’t. 

‘hi sun,’ you type slowly into the small window he had automatically opened for you when he appeared. You pause as his smile turns into a beam, then decide to ask him your burning question. ‘how r u active right now??’ 

“I got tired of waiting for you!” he replies, his rays bobbing in and out in a wave around his head. You wait to see if he’ll elaborate, but he doesn’t. Okay. Well. You make a note of that for later. 

Sun makes a show of turning around and looking at your resume window. He can’t… read the data on it, right? Wait, no, he probably can if he was able to do it with your computer’s Paint app. You bite the inside of your lip. You’re not sure how you feel about that, but well, it’s not like FazCo doesn’t already have your resume. Just in case, you switch tabs back to your spreadsheet. Better, if marginally.

Sun hums, then turns back to look at you with those blank eyes of his. “What’re you up to, Friend?”

‘just applying to some jobs,’ you reply unsurely. Is this weird? This is weird, isn’t it. Upon pressing enter, Sun moves to look at the little window thoughtfully. And perhaps, with some inkling of annoyance? It’s difficult to tell, but it’s the same look he will sometimes give his dialogue box. One of his hands raises to tap at the bottom of his face. Contemplative. He returns his gaze to you and tilts his head.

“Hey, Friend,” he starts, completely bypassing your previous response, “I have an idea.” 

You are wary, but you cannot deny the intrigue. ‘yes?’ 

His smile stretches at your encouragement. He clasps his hands together in front of him. “Just trust me!” 

You squint at him—his blithesome demeanor—but you aren’t able to reply. The textbox window closes, and a different one appears in the center of your screen: 

FazPals.exe is trying to access your microphone. Allow?

All your thoughts stutter to a complete stop. 

Processing text is one thing, but audio input? You suppose it’s not anything innovative in this day and age, but you hadn’t been expecting it particularly for a program like this. You know the animatronics back at the pizzaplex were pretty advanced with this sort of thing, so it’s not… too unusual for FazCo, right? It’s probably something you need to evaluate, you sigh internally. This is fine.

FazCo, you think to yourself wryly. Enough said.  

Apprehension still lining your movements, you click the ‘Allow’ button. The window disappears. Nothing really happens that you can see, but suddenly you are all too aware of the weight of your headphones sitting atop your head. You lick at your lips. 

Sun continues his swaying as he waits—expectant. “Friend?” There is a smidge of hope in his voice. 

“Yeah?” you respond, wincing at the crackle of your voice. That sip of water had really taken you out. You clear your throat. “Sorry. Yes?” 

The beam he gives you is enough to vye against the, well, sun. 

“Oh! Marvelous!” He practically leaps for joy, rays spinning up a storm as he wiggles in place. His eyes upturn into delighted crescents. “Simply marvelous! Friend, it is lovely to hear your voice! It has been so long since I’ve heard another.” Something creeps into his gaze that you… You’re not entirely sure you want to decipher it. 

“Friend,” Sun begins in a low, nonchalant voice. “I have a request! A simple one, really.” 

You raise an eyebrow. You are undoubtedly curious. “What is it?” 

“Can you say my name for me?” 

Oh. Weird, but okay. You comply, voice lifting at the end slightly. You are not nervous right now, thank you very much. “Sun.” 

A glitch rides down the length of his body in a jittering wave—starting from the tips of his rays to the soles of his shoes. His gaze falls into a half-lidded look. “Perfect,” he breathes, so quiet you almost need to strain your ears to hear. “Utterly perfect.” 

You blink at him, befuddled. The moment does not linger. He snaps back to his regular sway and bright-eyed expression. “So! You said you’re applying to jobs? What for?” 

“Uh, yeah,” you say, slightly distracted and disoriented by the whiplash from this guy. Program. Whatever. Your fingers had automatically moved to type your reply in, lingering over your keyboard. This will take some getting used to. You move your hands to rest awkwardly on your lap so you can fiddle with your fingers. “I’m a beta tester so I’ve gotta keep applying for positions in companies.” 

“Beta tester, huh?” Sun muses more to himself than anything. He seems to be deliberating something. “Hm. I see. For how long?” 

You make a thoughtful sound. “Mm, for a while now. I can’t remember the exact timeframe. It’s enough to pay the bills, so I can’t complain.” You are ever so thankful that the ease in interacting with him transferred so neatly from texting to talking.

“Of course, of course!” Sun bows, then slides off to the right of your screen to nestle himself in the corner with the date and time. He tucks his hands behind his back. “Well! Don’t let me distract you! Carry on!” 

“Right…” you trail off, uncertain. You eye him standing just out of the way of your work—enough that you can ignore him if you zone in on what’s directly in front of you. Well, FazCo did say their program is a “virtual desktop friend.” Hanging around your screen when you’re not immediately engaging with it seems like an attribute it should be able to do. You shrug to yourself and go back to editing your resume. 

…It’s very quiet. 

Oh wait, music! You forgot to start it up again. You mess around with the volume mixer on your computer so you can continue to play your music whilst also being able to properly hear Sun should he decide to start talking. That is, without bursting your eardrums. You lose yourself to the tunes, accompanied on occasion by the rhythmic tapping of your keyboard. 

At one point you notice Sun changes the pacing of his swaying. And upon closer look, you realize he’s moving to the beat of the song booming through your headphones. His rays move like a volume meter, raising and lowering around his head in a circular formation depending on the strength of the audio.

“I like this song!” he says like he can sense your eyes on his pixelated form. “Never heard something like this before!” 

“Really?” You adjust the volume mixer a little. Better. 

“Yep! My music repertoire is rather lacking, I’m afraid.” 

“You’re in luck, then,” you say eagerly as you pull up your music player and shuffle through a playlist you think he might like. “This is what I call The Greatest Hits of All Time.” You press play and grin when Sun does a little wiggle in excitement. 

He’s content to sway in time with whichever song’s playing as you slowly finish up with your work for the day. You’re a bit surprised at how long he goes without really saying anything. But, of course, he eventually gets bored. Patience, you think, is not one of his core features. Or, well, he is patient to an extent. Something tells you he was not programmed to stay quiet for long periods of time.

In the corner of your eye, you notice he starts juggling. It’s small, at first. Just two red balls that he throws up and down and up and down, shuffling them to opposite hands all the while. Then it becomes three balls. Then four. Your gaze flicks to him from time to time, but you’re determined to get through just a couple more applications and then your timesheets before you call it quits. 

You break when he hits eleven balls, his grin curling enticingly at the edges concomitantly. “Bored, are you?” 

“Oh, immensely!” He throws up his hands in feigned distress and the plethora of balls come raining down upon him in a move befitting of a cartoon. They bonk him repeatedly on the head and bounce away on the top of your taskbar. You watch in amusement as one rolls across your screen and disappears past the left border. Sun is unperturbed. “Are ya done yet?” 

“Not quite,” you say and he groans, tossing his head back. You roll your eyes in good nature. 

“You can multitask, can’t you?” he presses, clasping his hands together in a plea. “Let’s chat!” 

“Okay, okay,” you acquiesce. You’re sure he would keep pestering you otherwise. He cheers and immediately hops right into it. 

“What do you like to do for fun? What’s your favorite food? Do you have any other friends? What about your family? Do you like g-glitter glue? What’s the highest education level you have? Do you have a favorite piece of media? What’s your deepest, darkest secret? What’s your opinion on Fizzy Faz? What’s your favorite animal—”

“Whoa, Sun! Slow down!” you yelp, mind spinning with all the rapidfire questions. The text in his dialogue box had been moving so quickly you hadn’t been able to make out a single word. 

“Sorry!” he says, though he doesn’t quite sound all too apologetic. His eyes upturn. “I want to know aaalllll about you! How else will we be best friends?”

“By taking it easy,” you reply in what you hope is a meaningful manner. He at least has the decency to look abashed. You huff out a laugh, then do your best to remember what questions he’d asked. You’re already blanking on some. “Okay, well, uhh. I like to read and watch videos. I do have other friends and family, but I don’t live with them. Glitter glue is okay when it’s not literally everywhere. I don’t have any deepest, darkest secrets, sorry. Uhh—”

“Don’t forget about your favorite food!” Sun cuts across you, trying to be helpful, most likely. “And education level! And your favorite media!” 

“Right, right…” 

You’re not sure how long you spend answering his many, many questions (of which you’re sure he has an infinite amount), but it feels like ages. You have been thoroughly distracted, and you can’t even be incensed about it. 

As the evening settles in with a hush and it gets closer and closer to seven o’clock, you find yourself thinking about Moon. 

“Do you know what it feels like to b u r n?”

You suppress a shiver. 

You take a moment to deliberate in your mind, then eye Sun. He’s busy prattling off his excitement over wanting to watch a movie with you. Gently, you interrupt him. “Hey, is it cool if I ask you a question?” 

“Oh!” Sun looks at you wide-eyed, momentarily taken aback before he smiles encouragingly. “Of course, Friend! Ask away!” 

“What’s the deal with Moon?” 

If you hadn’t been already watching him, you wouldn’t have noticed. He freezes in place for a split second, then resumes his swaying so suddenly it’s almost like he’d forced himself to. Ever so minutely, the corner of his smile twitches. “Why ever would you ask me?”

“Well…” Your fingers tap idly along the surface of your desk. Shouldn’t he know since they’re part of the same software? You resist questioning him further. “He doesn’t seem like he wants to engage with me.” 

Sun waves a hand in dismissal. “Ah! He’s being dramatic, probably! Moon is… Well! I will say he is rather….” His grin turns taut, like a wire about to snap. “...Difficult to get along with.” That tautness disappears with a bob of his rays, as though it had never been there in the first place. “Worry not, Friend! You still have little old me to talk to!” 

“Yeah…” You’re confused. You thought dual programming with personalities such as Sun and Moon would make them mesh together pretty well. It’s difficult to tell with Sun. He’d made it seem like they both were on decent terms with previous transitions. You suppose not. Is it even possible for their A.I.s to interact with one another? You’re not sure how it works.

“Speaking of which,” Sun says as he makes a show of looking down at an invisible watch on his wrist. “It is time for me to go!” He sighs, faux sadness making him droop down like he’s a melting popsicle. “And after we’ve been having such a good time together.” 

“Mmhm,” you agree, something akin to nerves crawling just under your skin with every second that ticks by. Why are you nervous? “I’ll see you tomorrow, buddy.” 

He grins at you, flicking a hand in farewell. “I bid you”—a dark hole appears near his feet, and you watch as he steps over it with a wink—“adieeuuuuuuu!” He disappears, dropping into the hole with his voice getting fainter and fainter until it’s cut off by the hole popping to a close. Silly. 

You let out a breath and look at the time. 7:00 P.M. Right on the dot. You shift in your seat and wait for Moon. You’re not sure what crawled up his digital ass and died, but you’re determined to at least get him to have a proper conversation with you. Not only for your job, you think, as you navigate to your email to open the submission form, but for camaraderie’s sake, as well. 

“Camaraderie” with a program, you think to yourself dryly. What a world we live in.

7:03 P.M. and still no sign of Moon. This is fine. You can wait. You try not to waver.

…You call it quits when he doesn’t appear after another ten minutes. Disappointing, yet unsurprising. You should have expected it, really. You sigh and take off your headphones, leaning back in your chair. You rub at the side of your head. Your television drones on in the background with the news, still on after all this time. 

Honestly, how are you supposed to evaluate him when he shows up and disappears in unpredictable intervals? It’s a conundrum, truly. Does that not go against his entire code? His purpose? You don’t know anymore. You roll your shoulders and decide to finish up your work from earlier.  

Tomorrow, you think resolutely. Tomorrow you’ll try again.

part three

#dca x reader #daycare attendant x reader #sun x reader #fnaf sun x reader #sun x you #sun x self insert #sun x y/n #moon x y/n #moon x self insert #moon x reader #dca x you #dca x self insert #dca x y/n #fnaf dca x reader #sundrop x reader #sundrop x you #sundrop x y/n #moondrop x self insert #moondrop x you #moondrop x y/n #moondrop x reader #shay scribbles daydreams #fazpals au

[yandere-wishes]

𐙚 𝕬 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖋𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝕷𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖔 𝕯𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖚𝖑𝖆 𐙚

Wednesday February 14th xxxx

Dear Dracula:

I find myself pondering if, deep down, in the heart you deny possessing. There still exists a chasmic rhyme and reason for all which you do. They call you monster, fiend, abomination. Yet aren't they the ones that maim and slaughter for reasons as thin as thread? Thus why should we possess the burden of such an accursed name?

Valentine's is upon us. Maybe such sacrilegious festivities can be blamed for my intrepidity. We've yet to consort outside our nocturnal affairs, outside our world of half-spun truths and forgotten anecdotes. I pray you forgive my effrontery. I pray you comprehend my need for making such inquiries.

But my dear precious Dracula, I have to ask. Do you still remember your mother, your home, your heritage? Many deny that one as egregious as you could possess such mortal things. And yet aren't those the fundamental pillars of who we turn out to be? Isn't one man's evil another man's crusade?

So I, a mortal who believes she may have fallen for you in all your atrocious glory, ask do you remember being a son, a child? Being innocent and naive enough to believe every lie and fable? Do you still yarn for your mother in the dead of day? Recalling her scent and the bouncy curls of her hair, tasting nostalgia on your blood-soaked tongue.

What was it like in the sand, in the snow, in the green valleys and rocky outskirts? Did the coarseness of sand and the roughness of rocks and the tickle of flowers leave phantom pains across your body? Did you play with the snakes and climb fig trees? Did you laugh with others of your kind?

Do you recall your ancestrial home? The bronze walls of your mother's temple. Her fingers wafting through your hair as her smile radiates brighter than the moon. I zealously trust the visions that flash before my eyes on moonless nights. Images of a frail batling wrapped in kaleidoscopic blankets tucked under his mother's arm. Your mother mingled with owls, I wonder why she constructed you in the likeness of bats, of wolves, of snakes? Did she wish for you to serve as a cacophony to the detested, to those we so quickly forget? Did she wish for you something she could never have herself?

They seldom recall you are one of the sons of flames and stardust. Do they forget we share a legacy? One I believe you fought for. Both descendants of the divinely blessed. Both lost children arid for blood and retribution.

I too know of the darkly sweet tang of rich blood upon the tongue.

I too know the fragile elation of scraping blood from under one's fingernails three days later.

I too know the sensation of being a monster in everything but intentions.

I cherish the two lone bites you've left upon my neck. I cherish the cuts your claws have left upon my hips. You never say a word when you fall. When melancholy and memories obfuscate your judgment. I know you refuse to act human, to pretend and be something you are not. Thus I won't ask for sweet nothings from you.

Yet still I long to hear you call me "love".

When did you realize you were equal parts hellfire and shamshir?

When did you realize that humanity deserves to suffer for its every injustice?

My sweet, sweet Dracula, I regret to inform you that as of late my bones feel faulty and brittle, as do my thoughts. Can we still call ourselves holy? Do we still have that right? Can we still repent for our sins? Who decides what a sin is anyway? Will we ever be innocent to someone?

Are you torn too? Broken in all the wrong places? Do you feel the open wounds and amputations, when you stare up at the stars? I wonder if I owe you an apology. I wonder if you owe me one too…

Dearest Dracula, would you ever understand if I told you that I am tired of being a monster, a villain, an abomination? Would you understand if I told you I need to rest inside a glass coffin, to be rejuvenated and reborn into the world as something useful?

Would you believe me if I say I believe in you? That I lay the burden of my aspirations upon your unwavering shoulders. Should there exist any mere slivers of hope, I shall bestow them upon you in trim vials of gold.

Where did our obligations go? Where are they buried so that I may pay my tardy regards?

Dear Dracula,

I hope you understand every star I've spilled to you.

I hope you comprehend the love I harbor within my defective heart.

I hope you adore the blood I've penned this letter with.

I just hope you understand…

In your absence, thorn bushes grow across my cadaver. suffocating and desolate. Without you, voids grow inside me, where hope once flourished. Dracula what I've been trying to say this whole time is…

I think we're both monsters.

I think I could love you.

Sincerely me…

P.S

Think of me as you feast upon your latest victim. And I shall think of you as I fall asleep to the city's empty tunes.

I need an origin story for Dracula.

sorry for the cryptic love letter.

But hopefully this way everyone can identify with it in some way.

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #yancore #yandere aesthetic #re dracula #dracula daily #dracula #bram stoker #dracula bram stoker #vampire #vampire x reader #yandere vampire #yandere vampire x reader #vampire aesthetic #yandere dracula #yandere dracula x reader #dracula x reader #male yandere #yandere male #dracula aesthetic #red aesthetic #vampyr #vampire x human

[daytaker]

1. Apology

(Existing Sucks So) Let's All Be Shadows.

A Satan-centric Nightbringer Timeline Fic (Read on AO3)

Chapter Starring: MC, Satan, Lucifer Chapter Word Count: ~2,000 Chapter Warnings: Canon-typical violence

"Never play around with my body again."

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Latest Chapter

1 2 3 4 5

One of the first things I did when I was thrown back in time was knock a rampaging Satan unconscious. It’s been a while since then, and I’m still not entirely sure whether or not I feel guilty about it.

It stopped him from hurting anybody, and I don’t regret that, but… I guess it gnaws at my sense of fair play a bit. He had no idea what was coming. Besides, you don’t get a second chance at first impressions, and I had made a stinker of a first impression on Satan.

Regardless, what’s done is done, so during my first walk through the Devildom with the brothers in this new era, Beelzebub marched with an unconscious Satan slung unceremoniously over his shoulder.

I remember getting a decent look at him as he dangled there, bouncing gently off Beel’s back. It’s always night in the Devildom, so the artificial street lights there are second to none, but they still cast an eerie pall over his face, and the contours of his face formed shadows that were unusually sharp and unhealthy-looking. He was grinding his teeth just about the whole time too, and even unconscious, his hands were balled into fists. I tried to remember if the Satan back when I'm from did either of those things. I didn’t think so.

Of course, I wasn’t thinking too hard about any of that as I walked to the House of Lamentation with Diavolo and the boys. I was mostly preoccupied with my sudden and unexpected displacement in time. I was relieved when I met up with Solomon at the gates to the manor. We discussed my situation, and I spent the next few days trying to come to terms with what had happened to me, all while Diavolo impulsively and zealously recruited me to help found his shiny new academy.

So when I entered the House of Lamentation a few days later and felt a pair of eyes boring into me, and when I looked and saw Satan for the first time since the incident, the fact that I'd recently delivered him a psychic slam so hard that he lost consciousness didn't even register. He stood on the stairs above me in the entryway wearing a grim, tight-lipped expression, his tail curled around his right leg, and his eyes had never looked more cat-like.

“Good morning,” I called out to him after an awkward silence.

“Don’t you have something you want to say to me?” Satan folded his arms, tapping his finger on his bicep impatiently.

I stared stupidly at him for a few seconds, completely mystified.

“Do I?”

That seemed to annoy him. I could feel chilly energy begin to swirl around him as he leaned over the bannister, gripping it with white knuckles.

“How stupid are you?” he growled. “After what you did, that’s all you can think to say? ‘Do I?’ Is this how most demons operate?”

I wasn’t making much headway, still blinking at him like a dying fish, when Lucifer emerged from the dining room, tailed by Asmodeus. He glanced at me, looked up at Satan, seemed to read the situation instantly, and let out an exasperated sigh.

“Satan has, rather immaturely in my opinion, been waiting for an apology for the incident the other day at the new academy,” he explained, crossing his arms and casting an annoyed look at his brother. “Apparently he hasn’t yet realized how ineffective passive aggression is when the other party isn’t there to witness it.”

“Isn’t it so much better than aggressive aggression, though?” Asmo put in. He beamed warmly at Satan, who balked irritably under such an adoring (or maybe condescending) gaze. “Satan’s getting better at managing his temper, I can tell!” He turned to me, wearing a heart-stoppingly earnest smile. “We’re so proud of him!”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here!” barked Satan. That chilly energy around him was growing stronger, and I could tell from the sudden discomfort on Asmo’s face and the exhaustion on Lucifer’s that his darkening mood wasn’t lost on them.

I took a step toward the stairs.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get hit so hard.”

“But I was.”

“...But you were,” I conceded a little sheepishly. “...Are you feeling alright now?”

What followed was an uncomfortably long silence. Lucifer rubbed his temples, Asmo rocked forward and back, hands clasped behind him, and Satan stared at me with an inscrutable expression and narrowed eyes.

“...Somewhat,” he finally admitted, looking down peevishly. “So I’ll accept your apology conditionally.”

Conditionally? I hadn’t been counting on that. I could feel sweat beading on my forehead. “What’s the condition…?” 

“Never play around with my body again.”

Predictably, Asmodeus gasped. “Are you sure you won’t end up regretting that, Satan? I mean, if we’re really going to have such a cutie around all the time, you never know–”

“I think I do know,” snapped Satan. “Not all of us think like you do, you pervert.”

Asmo gasped again, and Lucifer sighed, wisely turning on his heel and heading further into the house before he could get drawn into things.

“I accept your condition,” I said, hoping to interrupt the rising conflict.

“I can’t believe you’d call your adorable little brother a pervert!” Asmodeus whined, crushing those hopes.

“You’re not my brother, but you are a pervert.” Brushing Asmo aside with that remark, Satan stared moodily down at me and nodded, acknowledging my reply. “Good. Then we shouldn’t have any more problems.”

“I have a problem!” insisted Asmo, who would not be silenced.

“I’m well aware,” Satan said dryly.

Ever persistent, Asmodeus crossed his arms and jutted his chin out defiantly in Satan’s direction. “I have a problem with all the awful things you say about me! And not just me, though it’s certainly most unacceptable when I’m the target. But you’re too hard on the others too!”

Satan didn’t say anything, but his expression darkened. Asmo continued.

“I know you get angry easily, but that’s no excuse–!”

“You think I need an excuse to put you in your place?” The crackling of dark energy around Satan was becoming more and more physical. “You think I give a single damn if I hurt your feelings? I’m not your brother, and I’m not going to treat you like you’re my brother, and if you’re a pathetic loser or a pervert, I’ll tell you so!” He pointed directly at Asmodeus. “You are a pathetic loser and a pervert!”

Announcing his arrival with a dramatic sigh and all the bravado he could muster, Mammon strode into the front hall, his hands on his hips. “Alright, alright, quiet down! Big Bro is here. What’s the problem?”

“Oh, you want in on this?” Satan shouted down at Mammon. He was back to gripping the bannister like a vice and leaning over the edge. “You’re shallow, self-centered, and so stupid and pathetic that I’m ashamed to be associated with you!”

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Mammon lifted his hands, clearly thrown off-guard by the sudden barrage of insults. “Take it easy! What’s wrong?”

“Don’t you dare condescend to me!” He scowled darkly at Mammon. “Don’t treat me like I’m your little brother!”

Mammon sighed, shook his head, and turned to me to offer up an explanation. “He’s goin’ through a phase lately. He’s always goin’, ‘You’re not my brothers!’ and ‘Say that again, I dare ya!’”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not around!” Satan bellowed for the second time. Granted, Mammon hadn’t been there to hear his first warning, but that didn’t do anything to ease Satan’s growing rage. 

“He called me a pervert,” Asmo told Mammon, ignoring Satan’s outburst.

“Oi, Satan,” Mammon groaned. “You know he doesn’t like it when people point that out! Just let him be!”

“It isn’t true!” Asmodeus argued, and he turned to me. “It isn’t true.”

“Okay,” I said with a nod. Just agreeing seemed to be the safest way ahead.

“You’re both delusional,” Satan snapped, vaulting over the bannister and landing like a cat on the ground in front of us. “Nothing is more pathetic than someone who won’t even admit what they really are.” He turned his gaze to me, and I was just starting to wonder if he was going to tear me a new one when the clacking of Lucifer’s shoes sounded on the floor behind me.

“I shouldn’t have bothered walking away,” he said with the air of a man who suffers fools for the greater good. “This will stop. Now.”

“You,” snarled Satan. He spat the word out like it was poison on his tongue. “You’re worse than any of them.”

“Satan, I would advise you not to provoke me,” Lucifer said with a chilly calm.

“You try to keep us all under control because you know this is all your fault,” Satan seethed. He almost looked like he might start laughing. 

“Oi, oi, you're at this again?” Mammon groaned. “We’re adults, y'know? We’re responsible for ourselves!”

I looked between the brothers, feeling just a little bit out of the loop. What was Lucifer's fault? The Great Celestial War? Their less-than-ideal social standing in the Devildom? Something else entirely? Whatever it was, it seemed like the brothers didn't need any clarification.

“Let it go, Mammon,” Lucifer murmured. He continued to stare down Satan with all the cold exasperation of a disappointed father. 

“It’s all your fault! Everything!” Satan stalked towards Lucifer, spittle flying from his mouth with the intensity of his words, a corpse-like emptiness in his eyes. “You arrogant, self-righteous, clinging, cowardly failure! You ruined your brothers and got your sister killed! I should do us all a favor! I should kill you!”

“Enough!”

There was a crack throughout the hall as if thunder struck indoors, and my hands flew to my ears, though it was already too late. Asmo shrieked, and Mammon shouted, inadvertently gripping him in a tight embrace. Even Satan looked startled enough to be snapped from his wrathful fugue. Now he was suspended in midair by coils of invisible chains, binding his arms tightly to his body and his legs together.

“Let me go!” he demanded, squirming futilely against his restraints. “Let me go! I’ll kill all of you! I’ll grind this whole world into powder! How dare you!”

“I’ll do nothing of the sort,” Lucifer said calmly, dusting off his collar. “I can’t allow you to simply run roughshod through this house threatening to destroy worlds and kill people.”

Meanwhile, after extracting himself from Mammon’s grip, Asmodeus went right ahead and threw his arms around me, as if Mammon had made him realize that this was the perfect opportunity to get handsy.

“Gyah~! Lucifer and Satan are so scary, aren't they?” he whined, petting my hair. “There, there, little one. Asmo is here.”

“Would you knock that off? You’re gonna make me puke.” Mammon sighed a little too nonchalantly and started walking down the hall, away from the entire situation. “Anyway, come on, Attendant. Let’s get outta here.”

“Have you seen my bathroom yet?” asked Asmo, letting go of me and prancing after Mammon. “I have–”

“Ya got your own jacuzzi, yeah, you’ve gold us,” Mammon snapped.

I hesitated and took one last look at Lucifer and Satan. Lucifer seemed tired and frustrated… Maybe even a bit sad. And Satan still looked like he wanted to kill him.

“Hey, hurry up!” Mammon called from down the hall. “You’re gonna get vaporized if you stick around there!”

He made a good point. So I backed out of the entryway before turning tail and hurrying after the others.

#daytaker fanfic #fanfic #labs #lets all be shadows #labs chapter #minor edits from version on AO3 #obey me #obey me fic #obey me fanfic #obey me fanfiction #obey me satan #obey me satan x mc #obey me x mc #obey me mc #obey me asmodeus #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me satan fanfic #ao3 fanfic #satan #lucifer #mammon #asmo #mc

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - stalking, unhealthy relationships, mentions of masturbation, obsessive behavior, and medical malpractice galore.

Harper is the kind of man who can't help but study what he loves.

It's a bad habit - an unfortunate combination of natural curiosity and burning academic passion that always seems to end with a mess and a few broken toys. A childhood fascination with insects might lead to shoeboxes full of tattered wings and twitching bodies. A passing interest in hemogobular coagulation would be poured into a university internship that gave him access to more pints of blood than he knew what to do with, despite his best attempts to put it all to good use. A lasting fondness for hypnosis could, theoretically, earn him a small collection of pocket watches, a soothing timbre that often played underneath his passive speaking voice, and a few asylum patients too far gone to ever truly recover.

His research wasn't always destructive, but it could be. His love tended to veer towards obsession; the kind of burning infatuations that could leave more than a little devastation in its wake, if he wasn't careful. A measured amount of collateral damage was acceptable, compared to the alternative.

He studies you, too. Idly, at first - nothing more than an intrusive thought allowed to fester during your all-too-infrequent appointments, a quick jolt of excitement when he noticed your name on his schedule - then more consciously, in the form of an extra question asked at the very end of his time with you, a note tacked onto your file that doesn't strictly have to do with your health. His chances for observation are limited. You rarely make it to your therapy sessions, no matter how often he insists you should see him, and you're sturdier than he'd like, too used to being thrown around and mistreated to come running to him every time you scrape your knees. That's something he decides he doesn't like about you fairly early on. Part of a case study is deciding which parts of your subject will need to be adapted, and even you aren't beyond correction.

He records your reactions to his mis-prescribed medication with a religious sort of zealousness, reviews your symptoms and lab results while fucking his fist in-time with your pulse. He makes sure to visit your bedside personally whenever you find your way into his emergency room, and you're rewarded for your newfound attentiveness with a healthy supply of shots that leave you too removed from reality to remember your time on his examination table. Harper's always preferred the written word, but he find himself with a budding appreciation for film during his nightly evaluation of your records. His memory is keen enough, but there's nothing quite like being able to study your body detail by detail whenever he isn't fortunate enough to have access to the real thing.

He thinks, as he watches a pair of his nurses drag you through the asylum doors, that it might be time to start the next leg of his study. Studying is useful, but you've always benefited from more proactive measures, more personal attention. It'd be a discredit to his occupation if he was too preoccupied with his own little pleasures to see to the needs of his favorite patient.

It's far past time he moved on to more hands-on research methods, when it comes to you.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere prompts #yandere degrees of lewdity #degrees of lewdity #degrees of lewdity x reader #dol #harper the doctor #harper x reader #yandere harper the doctor #dol imagines #degrees of lewdity imagines #yanderecore #yancore

[eastbluesaga]

omg prompts!!! will u pls do mishanks + either 6, 47 or 65 🥺💖 any one of those seems like it'll be so cute haha. i love your writing!!!

47. Games/Silly Bets/Winning Kisses

Mihawk loses focus. One moment, his blade is resting on Shanks close enough to draw blood; the next moment, he is stumbling backwards.

Shanks is ruthless in these kinds of moments. He uses a charm Mihawk does not possess and a guile that Mihawk often curses to underhand him. It’s a dirty trick, but Shanks claims it’s all in fair play. So, he continues to bat up from his lashes and lick his lips and stretch the long expanse of his neck until Mihawk’s focus slips away and Shanks is against him, a hand stopping him from lifting Yoru and an arm barring him from moving forward.

“I win,” Shanks murmurs, but he takes his victory in a hushed tone, never boasting, never holding a loss against him. He leans forward, lips close enough to touch yet too far to taste. “Do I get my prize?”

The duel began on Shanks’ terms. They usually spar with no spoils, but Shanks approached him with unrestrained excitement and a favor—and who was Mihawk to deny him something so simple?

“I’m nothing if not a fair man,” he returns, though his composure is lost when Shanks all but cuts him off.

He’s suspected, from the very start, that Shanks is not a patient man—at least not in cases like this. His breath is taken from him, all in one instance, as Shanks surges forward, capturing his bottom lip between his teeth before pressing their lips together with purpose. He attempts to take a breath, to curry some sort of self-control, but Shanks allows for no break between them.

He huffs, maybe in laughter—most probably in annoyance—but he indulges Shanks—and himself. He tries, for all the effort he can muster, to lift his hand, and Shanks loosens his grip enough for Mihawk to bring his hand to the small of Shanks’ back, pressing their bodies together until Shanks is lax against him. He groans at the way Shanks rests so deeply into his touch, and perhaps the noise is enough to pull Shanks from his mindlessness as their lips part with a gasp.

He opens his eyes, vision blurred but attuned enough to see Shanks. He amuses himself with the way Shanks stares, wide eyed and slack jawed, as if he is surprised by his own zealousness.

“I should win more often,” Shanks mumbles, his cheeks blotched red.

Mihawk should be indignant at the implication of Shanks’ words, but he only snorts. “This will be the last win you will see in a while.”

Shanks is undeterred, offering a smile as he ghosts his lips over Mihawk’s own. “Then, you’ll just have to be the one to win a kiss from me.”

“An easy win, I’m sure.”

Shanks, in all his petulance, pouts. “Says the loser.”

Mihawk laughs and Shanks kisses him once again.

#thanks for asking rei <333 #answered #mishanks #one piece #fic

[homemadegirlbossbattle]

ROUND 1 / SIDE B / POLL 1

Lady Ignis Solon (@containmentbreach, art by @mechanomorphic) vs. Alice Luoja (@cantdanceflynn & @pyxehastoomanyinterests)

Lady Ignis Solon info:

Description: ignis is a member of a noble family from her home dimension, where shadowy, demonic creatures make their home and occasionally emerge to hunt, kill and eat lesser beings (who are pretty much anyone, by their standards). ignis takes a lot of pride in her position, despite not seeming particularly…happy. but "happy" is a relative word. she has mothered thirteen children (demon noble families are expected to be large and can include up to 20-25 children. twins, triplets, etc. are also more common) with the king of the realm, despite not being attracted to men in the slightest. she views this as her duty granted to her through her position. commoners from her realm are allowed to marry freely without regard to gender, but ignis isn't jealous of them.

not even a little bit. seriously like not at all.

ignis' preferred hunting grounds is the planet known as "earth," and she has personally trained each of her thirteen children to be the toothy shadows that hide in your house when you think you're alone. well, she's trained twelve of them. she's run into a slight hiccup with the thirteenth, who seems to be getting a little attached to her human target. but that's all right. she'll come around.

ignis enjoys black tea, playing the piano, and horror novels. she views them as some of the few things humans have gotten right.

Crimes:

-well the cannibalism. she did like tons of that. i guess it's not really considered cannibalism if she herself is not a human? but she ate humans is the point i'm trying to make

-she has also committed some regular murders. of humans and of other members of her species.

-does not understand her kids. she loves them but she does not Get them. it tends to frustrate her.

-she basically has very little regard for human laws in general and breaks them as often as she can get away with. if she does get in trouble she lies low for a little while in her dimension, then sets up a new place to live. this means of course that she does commit tax evasion often and well.

Other notes from the submitter: ignis is in a lot of ways a love letter to moms who get shit on by fandom for not understanding their kids. 90% of the time the amount of hate they get is just misogyny tbh! ignis is bad in a lot of ways but she's not a bad mom, even if she comes off as that at first because the story she's in is from the perspective of her daughter and the human she got attached to. people would probably still make discourse about her and shit on her but i do not care because i adore her and i adore fucked up moms in general. and if you don't that's a you issue.

Alice Luoja info:

Description: A Phineas and Ferb background character design turned oc, an old woman basically obsessed with finding or creating godlike perfection. How she does it doesn't matter to her, even if she has to go to lengths beyond what any respectable evil scientist would. She practically adopted Professor Mystery, taking him in as a son when his parents disappeared, although she tends to use him for her own purposes rather then taking good care of him. Greatly manipulative and ruthless, she attempts to run things from behind the scenes all while constantly, zealously, searching for that perfection. Depending on her role in any given au or story with the cast, what she's searching for in that perfection is different, but in her major ones, godlike perfection is more literal. She's also a disaster lesbian cannibal.

Crimes: Well, murder, dismantling of bodies, eating the bodies, child abuse, child murder, platonic (and only platonic I promise she's literally a mom) grooming, basically being a mini cult leader, generally being a mad scientist as part of L.O.V.E.M.U.F.F.I.N.s inner circle with no respect for Doof's morals, blood letting in this day and age for both trans and non-trans reasons, dismemberment, eye gouging of both dead and alive people(including an approx 9 year old), not fucking staying dead like she's William Afton, several curses on items, hoarding, desecration, religious zealotry, being a piss-poor mother even tho she'd actually be a rly good parent if she wasn't scared of being emotionally attached to her own fucking son, lots of murder if you hadn't got the drift she's basically a slasher horror villain in disguise, giving multiple people eating disorders, letting a sentient robot escape tower back onto earth in Knife Roomba form, doesn't know how stores work and just steals everything, poisoning so many people alive, general war crimes, mass murder, attempting to destroy the universe, breaking several peoples limbs, creating a time loop to trap Candace in a state of never being able to avoid killing her loved ones, using her son to specifically torture the cast consistently regardless of how he feels about it into seeing visions of their loved ones being destroyed horrible and usually killed at their hands, encouraging self harm and suicide, she breaks peoples bones a few times, I can't stress the manipulative cult leader thing enough this bitch does blood sacrifices whenever, she's just kinda a loser also.

Other notes from the submitter: SHES CALLED "THE BITCH" BY US FOR A REASON

#poll #oc poll #hmgbb

[simemeoww]

Caught red-handed

Author's note: This is based from my character Mateo, who happens to be a yandere. I made a visual novel where he is one of the main characters. If you wanna play my game(to what i will be really happy) here is the link: https://simemeow.itch.io/love-stuck

You're having trouble sleeping, though that's not big news. But you still continue to go to bed, hoping that you will fall asleep soon. And now, you closed your eyes and tried to direct all your strength to something that ordinary people don’t try to do. They were so lucky, you thought. Or maybe you trying too hard is your problem? Maybe you need to relax and let your body cope with this task without any tension. No. You've already tried. And not only that, but how many things have you not tried, including pills? They were the most effective, but Mateo, noticing that you were getting addicted to sleeping pills, decided to hide them from you somewhere away. This was his precaution; he explained to you more than once that this kind of pill quickly exposes a person to dependence, from which sleep hormones may no longer be released on their own. But did that bother you? Naturally not. You just want to sleep.

“Stupid Mateo,” you thought to yourself. He was with you on your foldout couch, scribbling something in his sketchbook. The artist was not yet planning to lie down next to you, letting his imagination run wild on the snow-white paper. Judging by the sounds emitted from his small pencil, used to the limit, he had not been in a state of passion for a long time, the kind that only inspiration can give. The sounds seemed to echo inside your skull, which irritated you greatly, causing your teeth and jaw to clench tightly.

But you won't interfere with Mateo. Let him draw, who knows when he will again depict something so zealously, when such a blessing will come to him, which, like a ghost, will inhabit his hand and create a work that Mateo will not look at with contempt. Well, there was also another reason why you needed to lie still. Mateo promised that he would spoil you with a pleasant surprise if you could fall asleep on your own without the help of drugs.

And now you're pretending to be asleep to get this mysterious surprise. "Crap. I want to get out of bed so badly. I can’t do it anymore,” you thought. At this point, Mateo stopped drawing. “Is he already done with his drawing? Somehow too fast,” flashed through your head.

Mateo put his sketchbook on the cabinet next to the sofa. His hands slowly reached up, causing the T-shirt he wore especially for sleeping to rise, showing the back of his back. Having relaxed a little, he sat back down on the bed. You felt something was wrong. Which made you want to open your eyes to make sure you were either safe or in danger. Mateo began to slowly crawl across the bed towards you. His body loomed over you, taking away your tiny opportunity to escape from him. Your heart beat hard and fast. Oh, this treacherous organ, just like that, easily betrays your true feelings, which you wanted to hide in the very depths of your body.

The realization came to you that Mateo's face was moving closer to you, due to his breath that you felt on your cheek. “And I know that you are not sleeping,” Mateo whispered quietly. You opened your eyes in surprise.

"Hahahaha. I knew that I was right. Usually, when you sleep, you snore a little,” Mateo said, smiling.

“How do you know,” you asked.

Mateo just laughed even louder. "It's a secret!" - he answered you.

"You watch me when I sleep!" – you screamed.

"Maybe. But I know that you are also watching my sleeping body. So I guess we're even, right?" - he asked you teasingly

#lovestuck #lovestuck mateo #lovestuck loren #male yandere #soft yandere #tw yandere #visual novel #yandere boyfriend #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere visual novel #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere