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selfless-solipsist · 5 months ago

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°˖✧ The Fuzzy Plague ✧˖° [Wander]

「 ✦ "IT'S HAPPENING! THE FUZZY PLAGUE IS UPON US! HE MULTIPLIED!" ✦ 」

╰┈➤ Wander x Female Reader ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

> Sorry, another Wander one > I'll write one for Hater next, or Sylvia, or maybe... the Black Cube of Darkness? Could be fun!

The chaotic tapestry of your villainous conquest unfurled much as one might expect—a cacophony of terrified screams, imploding empires, and you, standing smugly in the center of it all, arms crossed, radiating the kind of confidence usually reserved for CEOs and smug cats who' have knocked something breakable off the counter. Your name was whispered in fear across galaxies. And yet, somehow, amidst the chaos, one cheerful orange nomad inserted himself into your narrative like a glittery sticker slapped on a death warrant.

You knew of him, of course. Lord Hater couldn't shut up about the "fuzzy menace." He had whined for hours about how this "happy little pest" undid his schemes with banjo solos and kindness, a combo that made the skeleton overlord gag on principle. So, when Wander showed up in your path, all sunshine and twang, you weren't surprised—annoyed, maybe, like finding glitter on everything you owned after a party, but not surprised.

What was surprising was Wander's immediate infatuation.

He crushed on you harder than a black hole on a diet, declaring his love with all the subtlety of a space station explosion. He didn't just flirt—he gushed. Compliments rolled out of him like a malfunctioning praise generator, punctuated by banjo strums and the occasional heart-shaped object he pulled from his hat (which you're still pretty sure obeyed no known laws of physics).

"Oh golly, yer smile could light up a supernova!" he would chirp, wide-eyed and utterly shameless.

At first, you dismissed him, treating his antics with the same nonchalance you reserved for incompetent henchmen and automated customer service lines. But Wander didn't get discouraged. No, he was like a sugar-fueled boomerang—you threw him away, and he came right back, grinning wider and wearing some new ridiculous costume.

But somewhere along the line—perhaps in a moment of weakness, or perhaps because he serenaded you mid-battle and you couldn't stop laughing—you fell for him. Hard.

Fast forward two years, and you were a full-blown couple. To say Lord Hater was "dismayed" was an understatement. The poor guy nearly choked on his energy drink when he found out, muttering something about "betrayal by association." Not that you cared. You and Wander had a good thing going—and, to be fair, a very good thing in bed. Wander, as it turned out, was as enthusiastic and tireless in intimacy as he was in everything else. He learned quickly, too, becoming startlingly dominant when he wanted to be. The fact that reproduction between your species wasn't a possibility meant you both threw caution to the solar wind. And oh, did he make the most of it.

Which brings us to the moment that defied logic, reason, and probably a few intergalactic laws:

Childbirth. Yes.

Your labor was an experience that no amount of villainous bravado could prepare you for. Wander, of course, insisted on helping. "Helping" was his thing, after all. He appeared by your side wearing a surgical mask and rubber gloves he had yanked from his hat, ready to assist with the kind of optimism that made you want to punch him and kiss him at the same time.

"No," you rasped between contractions. "You are not playing doctor right now."

"Aw shucks, sugarplum, I just wanna—"

"No! Sit. Stay. Be cheerful from over there."

Eventually, you delivered a baby boy—a fuzzy, orange bundle of joy who looked exactly like your significant other, right down to the impossibly wide grin. The only thing he got from you was your eye color, which, frankly, you considered a win. The kid didn't even have your species' physiology—Wander's genes apparently steamrolled yours like a hyperactive toddler with a tank. And parenthood turned Wander into something you could only describe as hilariously domestic. He swapped his usual hat for a pink apron that read, Kiss the Fuzzball, and became a one-man safety patrol, constantly swooping in to rescue your son from death rays and tripwires.

"Careful, lil' buddy!" he would chirp, whisking the kid away from certain doom like a cheerful tornado. "Daddy doesn't want ya gettin' vaporized!"

And you? You were still a villainess, still conquering galaxies, but now with an extra dose of chaos in your life. Wander cheered you on (and foiled your plans because that was basically a tradition at this point), your son tagged along with unshakable glee, and together, you were a family—a bizarre, mismatched, impossibly happy family.

Much to Lord Hater's eternal despair.

Which brings us to a very eventful day.

The Skullship corridors echoed with screams that could curdle milk and scare ghosts into therapy. The most feared villain in the galaxy—or at least the one who yelled about it the loudest—was currently sprinting through the hallways like a cat being chased by a vacuum cleaner. Behind him was his worst nightmare, giggling with toddler glee: your three-year-old son, who had inherited all of Wander's unshakable optimism, chaotic energy, and the inexplicable ability to make people simultaneously adore and fear him.

The little fuzzball thundered after Hater on stubby legs, his tangerine fluff bouncing with each step. "Unca Hay-Hay!" your son squealed, arms outstretched. "HUG!"

"HUG?!" The unfortunate victim screeched, his voice cracking so high it shattered a nearby Watchdog's confidence. He grabbed the hapless minion like he was a makeshift shield and shook him violently. "Do you hear that?! He wants to hug me! IT'S A TRAP! HE'S SMALLER BUT SMARTER!"

The soldier, whose name you vaguely remembered as something like Jerry or Gary or Larry, blinked at his boss in wide-eyed terror. "Uh, s-sir—"

"DON'T 'SIR' ME!" Hater yelled, tossing the poor guy like a frisbee at your son, who immediately caught him in an exuberant hug.

"IT'S HAPPENING! THE FUZZY PLAGUE IS UPON US! HE MULTIPLIED!"

From your vantage point on the observation deck—where you lounged with a smoothie in one hand and Sylvia cackling at your side on a plush couch—the scene down below, and behind the windows showing the hallways, was like watching a nature documentary where the apex predator realizes it's actually prey. "This is better than the time I rigged his cloak with confetti cannons," you mused, taking a sip.

"Hay-Hay, no run!" your son chirped, waddling faster, his high-pitched giggles echoing like the unholy spawn of joy and chaos. "HUG! HUG, HUG!"

"NOOOO!" Hater screeched, skidding around a corner with the grace of a giraffe on roller skates. He hurled a chair, a potted plant, and, inexplicably, a toaster in your son's direction. None of them hit. Your toddler caught the toaster mid-air, looked at it with delight, and yelled, "TOASTY!"

Sylvia wheezed beside you, clutching her stomach. "This is gold. I'm so glad I came along for this."

Wander jogged along behind the chaos, cheerful as ever, calling out with his arms open. "Aw, Hater, don't be like that! I've got hugs for you too, buddy!"

The skeleton whipped around mid-sprint, nearly tripping over his own feet. "NO, YOU STAY AWAY TOO! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! YOU MULTIPLIED!" He grabbed another random Watchdog, this one slightly taller (which was an achievement) and clearly rethinking all his life choices, and shook him so hard his helmet rattled. "TELL HIM TO STOP MULTIPLYING!"

The poor guy, who looked like he would rather face a black hole than this situation, stammered, "S-sir, I don't think that's how multiplication works—"

"YOU'RE FIRED!" Hater bellowed, throwing the man at Wander like a meat shield. The fuzzball caught him, set him gently on the ground, and gave him a pat on the head.

"There ya go, little buddy. Remember, hugs make everything better!"

From the look on the Watchdog's face, he might have preferred being thrown into a sun.

Meanwhile, your son squealed with delight and started climbing a pile of discarded chairs Hater had used to barricade a hallway. You leaned back in your seat, drink in hand, and grinned at your friend. "I give five minutes before it gets worse."

She snorted. "Nah, I'm betting three. Look at them—this is already horribly good."

Hater had just rounded another corner, sweating enough to fill a small kiddie pool, when the unthinkable happened. Your little bundle of joy stopped chasing him, pausing mid-waddle to tilt his head at something shiny on the floor—a stray blaster that one of the Watchdogs had carelessly dropped in their frantic escape. Your son's wide, sparkly eyes lit up like a supernova on steroids. "Ooooooooh..." he cooed, toddling over to pick up the weapon with both hands, wobbling under its weight. Don't do such things at home folks.

"Oh no, no, no, no, NO!" The skeleton screeched, his voice shooting up an octave like a squeaky door hinge. He slapped his bony hands against his skull, vibrating with panic. "HE'S GOT A WEAPON! A WANDER WITH A WEAPON! THIS IS THE END! THIS IS HOW I DIE AND I'M ALREADY DEAD!"

Wander, who had been jogging merrily along, froze mid-step. His grin faltered, and his pupils shrank into tiny pinpricks of dread. "Oh golly, little buddy," he said, voice trembling as he held his hands out in a gesture of calm. "That's, uh, not a toy, sunshine. Let's just—how about Daddy takes that, huh?"

Your son, completely ignoring him like any good Wander clone would, turned the blaster over in his little fuzzy hands, giggling. "BOOM!" he announced, clearly thrilled by his newfound discovery.

Hater hit the ground in full-on fetal position, rocking back and forth like a malfunctioning chair. "WE'RE ALL DOOMED! THIS IS IT! THE FUZZBALLS ARE TAKING OVER THE UNIVERSE!"

You, still lounging on the observation deck with Sylvia, snorted into your smoothie. "He acts like this is new information. Wander's been slowly dismantling his sanity for years."

She nodded, wiping a tear from her eye. "This just speeds up the process. Look, the kid's aiming now."

Sure enough, your son had hefted the blaster up, pointing it in random directions while making pew-pew noises. The weapon whirred ominously, charged up by the universe's most oblivious toddler. Wander started flapping his arms like a panicked bird. "Sweet pea, no! That's not for playtime! We use our words, remember? Not energy blasts!"

"Pew-pew!" your son cheered, the blaster glowing brighter.

Before the situation could get any more ridiculous, Commander Peepers stormed into the hallway, his clipboard tucked under one arm and a scowl carved so deep into his face (eye) you were surprised it didn't crack his helmet. "WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!" he barked, glaring at Hater's crumpled form. "Sir, why are you curled up like a damp noodle?!"

Hater peeked up, his eyes wild with terror. "P-Peepers! Save me! HE'S GOT A BLASTER! HE'S GONNA TAKE MY THRONE AND MY SANITY!"

The second-in-command sighed the way a stressed-out parent sighs after discovering someone left glitter in the washing machine. "Sir, no one wants your throne. Or your sanity. And why does a child have a—"

PEW!

Before Peepers could finish, your son turned the blaster toward him with the precision of someone who clearly didn't understand physics. The weapon fired a glowing pulse of energy that zipped across the room like a caffeinated bee and knocked Peepers' helmet clean off his head. The clatter of the object hitting the floor was drowned out by Peepers and Hater letting out identical high-pitched screams. The smaller alien instinctively lunged for his friend, grabbing onto his cloak in a panic, while Hater grabbed him back, their shared terror morphing into what could only be described as a screaming hug.

"HE SHOT MY HELMET OFF!" Peepers wailed, clinging to Hater like a life raft in a stormy sea.

"I TOLD YOU THEY'RE TAKING OVER!" The skeleton yelled, shaking him violently. "IT'S THE FUZZBALL APOCALYPSE!"

Meanwhile, Wander crouched down to your son's level, his smile strained and his voice trembling with a mix of panic and forced cheer. "Okay, buddy, let's put the scary zap-zap thing down now, huh? Maybe Daddy can trade you for... uh..." He fished desperately in his hat, pulling out a stuffed unicorn, a lollipop, and what looked like a live raccoon. "One of these?"

Your son considered the lollipop for a moment before pointing the blaster at the wild animal. "Pew!" he squealed.

Your partner's eyes widened as the raccoon leapt into his face, screeching. "Gah! Okay, plan B! Plan B!"

From your comfy seat, you tipped your smoothie toward your female companion in mock salute. "Three minutes exactly. You called it."

Sylvia wheezed with laughter. "This is better than watching gladiator fights."

"IT'S HAPPENING!" Hater screamed, now fully unhinged, like a man who had just discovered the universe was actually made of cheese. "THE FUZZBALLS HAVE INFILTRATED EVERYTHING! THEY'RE EVOLVING! THEY'RE GONNA TAKE OVER THE GALAXY, ONE HUG AT A TIME!"

Peepers was still clinging to him, his helmet off and his eye darting around like a squirrel caught in a tornado. "Sir, you're not making any sense! We've already been through this!"

"Oh, but you don't get it, Peepers!" He screeched, hopping to his feet and grabbing a piece of chalk with urgency—he ran to a chalkboard that, somehow, had appeared out of nowhere. With frenzied, twitchy hands, he began scribbling on the board, drawing a series of stick figures that looked like they had been designed by a toddler after a sugar binge.

You squinted at the chalkboard from above. "What... is that?"

Sylvia leaned in for a closer look, nearly choking on her own laughter. "That's supposed to be your kid, isn't it? I mean, I can barely tell, but I think that's what Hater's brain thinks the future looks like. Either that, or the apocalypse mixed with a preschool art class."

Indeed, the skeleton overlord had somehow managed to combine stick figures, scribbles of what appeared to be spaceships, and a variety of nonsensical arrows pointing in every direction—complete with random drawings of socks for reasons nobody could fathom. "See!" He shouted, pointing wildly at the absurd doodles. "THIS IS THE GALACTIC BLUEPRINT FOR DOOM!"

Wander, who was standing awkwardly beside your son, who was still blissfully unaware that he had just nearly destroyed two of the most fearsome beings in the galaxy, started to panic in his own way. "Well, hey now, Hater, it's not so bad!" He chirped, his voice a little too high-pitched as he gave his signature grin, though it faltered ever so slightly. "We can always look at this like an opportunity, right? I mean, uh, yeah, the whole 'destroy everything' thing doesn't sound great, but hey, maybe we could, like, offer hugs as an alternative? Or—ooh, or how about a game of, uh, musical chairs? That could totally lighten the mood! What do you think, buddy?"

He tried offering your son an overly cheery smile, but your child was too busy aiming the blaster at the ground, making it pop with tiny bursts of energy that sent a few Watchdogs diving for cover.

The helper turned to Hater with a sheepish grin. "See? A little positivity goes a long way!"

But the victim, now scribbling even harder on the chalkboard, was not convinced. "DOES ANYONE UNDERSTAND THE GRAVITY OF THE SITUATION?!? THIS IS A DOOMSCAPE. A FURRY PANDEMIC! WE'RE ALL DOOMED!" He picked up a piece of chalk and furiously drew a picture of Wander in his signature green hat, with a gigantic smile that was almost the size of his head. Then, he drew your son next to him, only your son had a speech bubble that read, "HUG!"

Wander glanced over and smiled at the picture, his eyes wide. "Aw, now that's the spirit! See, Hater? Hugging is the answer to everything!" He gave Peepers a light pat on the shoulder, his face glowing like he had just unlocked the secret of the universe. "We're just a big happy family, that's all. The universe does need more hugs! And a few more triple pickle cream pies..."

"YES! I KNOW!" Hater shrieked, his hands shaking as he grabbed a Watchdog by the collar and held him up like a human flagpole. "IT'S A CONSPIRACY! A WANDER-FAMILY CLONE ARMY! THEY'RE GOING TO OVERWHELM US WITH POSITIVITY UNTIL WE'RE ALL FORCED TO HUG OUR ENEMIES!" He then started writing "+ HUG" on the chalkboard in big, shaky letters, as if the concept itself was some kind of dangerous weapon.

Sylvia wiped a tear from her eye, still snickering. "I can't take this. This is like watching a madman unravel himself. It's glorious."

You chuckled, taking another sip of your smoothie. "I'd say this is peak entertainment."

As you leaned back, enjoying the view of the absolute madness below, Wander continued to try and calm the situation. But your son? He was having the time of his life, running around, letting the blaster pew-pew all over the place like it was just another toy—completely unaware of the panic he had caused. And through all of this? You just sat back, watching as your baby, your fiancé, and the most fearful villain in the galaxy had a collective meltdown. But soon, the pandemonium had escalated to a level even the Skullship's most battle-hardened Watchdogs hadn't prepared for. Every corner of the ship seemed to reverberate with screams, blaster fire, and the distinct sound of Hater's mind crumbling like a stale cookie.

Your son, still blissfully unaware of the havoc he was causing, was playing his own little game of "pretend I'm a weapon of mass destruction," running after the soldiers like a little fuzzy whirlwind of doom, shouting "HUG!" with every step.

Wander, despite his best efforts to maintain his usual cheery disposition, was starting to crack. His smile was now a strained, twitchy thing, like he was trying to hold back a laugh during a funeral. "Aw, golly, buddy, that's not how we play with—whoa, okay, stop!" Your son aimed the blaster right at a shelf of vases, and they exploded in a shower of ceramic. His dad gasped, hands flying to his face in pure shock. "Oh no! Oh no, no, no, buddy, we can't do—"

Then, just when it seemed like things couldn't get worse, Lord Hater snapped. His eyes were wide with a mix of sheer terror and utter madness. Grabbing a nearby Watchdog by the collar (yes, again), he shook him like a ragdoll, his voice rising to a pitch only dogs could hear. "FOOLS! YOU FOOLS! WHY DIDN'T YOU SEE THIS COMING?!? WHY DID YOU NOT TELL ME THAT A FURRY PLAGUE WAS BREWING RIGHT UNDER MY NOSE?!?"

The poor Watchdog, whose name you didn't bother remembering because he was destined to be scarred for life, stammered, "S-s-sir, we—"

"SIR?!" He bellowed, throwing him aside like a piece of trash. "I AM LORD HATER! THE LORD HATER!" He spun around, hands flying in all directions like an over-caffeinated windmill. "AND THIS IS MY SHIP! MY SHIP, WHICH IS NOW INFESTED WITH CHILDREN WHO DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE SACRED RULE OF NOT DESTROYING EVERYTHING!" He whipped his head around, now zeroing in on you and Wander like you were the masterminds of a worldwide conspiracy to ruin his life. "I blame you two! This is your fault! YOU HAD A KID! YOU MULTIPLIED AND NOW LOOK WHAT WE HAVE! A MINI-WANDER WITH A DEATH RAY!"

Wander, still desperately trying to remain optimistic, grabbed your son by the arms and attempted to drag him away from the wreckage. "Okay, buddy, let's... let's go play with some soft, squishy things, huh? Maybe a pillow fort? Or—OOOH, a game of 'hide-and-seek' in the engine room? How about that?"

Your son, not even listening, turned back to Hater and shot another blast at him. This one grazed his shoulder and he flinched like he had been shot by a cannon.

"GAAAAHHH!" he screamed. "IT BURNS! IT BURNS LIKE A THOUSAND SUNS!"

At this point, Hater was no longer even trying to make sense. He grabbed another Watchdog by the leg and lifted him into the air like he was some kind of new weapon of mass destruction. "YOU FOOLS! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! YOU NEVER UNDERSTAND!"

The Watchdog, now dangling like a ragdoll, weakly squeaked, "Sir, I—"

"No! NO MORE EXCUSES!" Hater shrieked. "I WILL NOT BE TAKEN DOWN BY A WANDER CLONE BABY!" He threw the man across the room like he was a beanbag, and then, to everyone's surprise, he stopped. A long, dramatic pause filled the room, as if Hater had suddenly come to a profound realization. He turned toward Peepers, whose eye was wide with terror, and grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him. "PEEPERS! THIS IS IT! THE END OF THE LINE! THE FUZZBALLS WILL KILL US ALL! IF THESE ARE MY LAST WORDS—" He choked, his eyes wide with the gravity of the moment.

Peepers blinked, confused but oddly compassionate and hopeful. "Sir, I don't—"

"I REGRET... I REGRET NOT FINISHING THAT LEVEL IN THAT VIDEO GAME!" Hater wailed dramatically, clutching his second-in-command like he was the last person on Earth. "I COULD HAVE BEATEN IT! I WAS SO CLOSE! BUT NOW I'M GOING TO DIE, AND I'LL NEVER KNOW THE TRUE POTENTIAL OF THAT GAME! WHY? WHY DID I GET DISTRACTED BY A WANDER CLONE BABY?!"

...

Peepers, who was now essentially stuck in an accidental, death-grip hug with his boss, blinked in bewilderment. "That... that's what you regret?"

Hater nodded gravely. "Yes. That... and not having a better escape plan for when the WANDER CLONE BABY inevitably—"

Suddenly, a blast of energy rang out, hitting the wall right behind the two villains. Your son giggled, holding the blaster at an odd angle, aiming at anything that moved.

"PEW-PEW!"

"OH MY GOD!" Hater screamed in terror, as if this blaster-wielding toddler was the most terrifying thing in the universe. "WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE! THIS IS MY LEGACY! I WILL BE REMEMBERED AS THE ONE WHO WAS KILLED BY A WANDER CLONE BABY AND A WANDER!" And just like that, he grabbed his right hand man again, holding him tightly as if he was some kind of bulletproof vest. "IF THESE ARE MY LAST WORDS—"

"WE'VE ALREADY GONE OVER THIS!" Peepers shouted, attempting to wriggle free. "STOP CLINGING TO ME!"

But it was no use. Hater was convinced that the fuzzball plague had officially won. And as the blaster shots continued to explode around them like fireworks, the two of them stood there, locked in a bizarre hug—screaming for their lives, like it was a very messed-up version of the last scene in a disaster movie. Meanwhile, your son was enthusiastically toddling after a fleeing Watchdog, the weapon still clutched in his tiny hands like it was his new favorite toy. "Shiny!" he chirped, zapping a nearby panel, which promptly exploded in a shower of sparks. The Watchdog dove behind a crate, shaking so hard his helmet rattled.

Sylvia, reclining next to you with her boots kicked up on the railing, snorted. "This is the best entertainment I've had in years. The universe finally hit Wander with a taste of his own medicine."

You swirled your drink lazily, the smug grin on your face only widening as the mayhem unfolded. "You know, for someone who preaches peace and love, he sure knows how to inspire pure terror. Look at Hater; he's practically molting."

She wiped a tear from her eye once more. "I didn't think anything could make Peepers scream like that. Guess your kid's got some real talent."

Before you could reply, a frantic voice rang out from below. "Sweetheart! Sweetie pie! Love of my life, HELP!"

You leaned forward just in time to see Wander darting up the stairs on the side of the observation deck, his hat bouncing with every step. His wide, pleading eyes met yours, and you could practically see the desperation radiating off him in waves. It was rich—so rich. This was the same fuzzball who had ruined your schemes more times than you could count, and now he wanted your help?

"Isn't this your thing?" you called, waving a hand. "You're Mr. Helper! Go help!"

"Sugarplum, I can't—he's got a blaster!" He yelped, skidding to a stop below you. "And—and he's just like you! He doesn't listen, he's fearless, and he's got no concept of personal safety!" His voice cracked with pure, unfiltered panic. "I can't keep up! He's too much! Please!"

Before you could fully process what was happening, Wander grabbed you. Correction: lifted you—over his head, like you weighed nothing more than a bag of potatoes. It was comical, absurd, and impressive all at once, considering he barely came up to your chest. His tangerine arms wobbled only slightly as he carried you down the stairs with the determination of a dad who had finally met his match.

"Wander, put me down!" you demanded, though you were laughing too hard to sound serious.

"Not until you help!" Wander insisted, his voice wobbling as he avoided another random zap from the blaster your son was gleefully firing at anything that moved. "This is an emergency! A catastrophe! A—whoa, watch out, lil' buddy!"

Your son had managed to dislodge a section of piping from the wall, which clattered to the floor with a metallic clang. He looked at it with the same wide-eyed wonder he had given the blaster. "BOOM-STICK!" he declared, brandishing it like a sword.

"NO!" His dad wailed, spinning in place with you still above his head. "NO BOOM-STICKS! BOOM-STICKS ARE BAD!"

Sylvia, now doubled over on the observation deck, wheezed, "Oh, this is better than my birthday."

You, meanwhile, decided to enjoy the ride. "Wow, you really are strong," you teased, propping your chin on one hand as Wander darted around. "Guess that explains why I always end up pinned in—"

"Sweetheart, NOT THE TIME!" Your husband-to-be yelped, nearly dropping you in embarrassment. He set you down in the middle of the chaos and grabbed your hands. "Please, darlin', you're the only one who can stop him! He takes after you!"

With that you glanced at your son, who was now trying to balance the blaster on his head like some kind of weaponized hat, and grinned. "You're not wrong. He's got my style."

"Yeah, and your complete disregard for common sense!" He tugged at your sleeve like a kid begging for candy. "Please, honeybun! He'll listen to you! Probably!"

You crossed your arms, tapping your chin like you were seriously considering his request. "Hmm. I don't know. This is kind of karma, don't you think? You ruined my plans for years. Maybe I should sit back and let this play out..."

"WHAT?!" Wander looked at you like you had suggested eating kittens for breakfast. "Sugarplum, please! It's our little angel!"

Your son giggled, waving his new weapon triumphantly. "BOOM!" He pressed a random button on the blaster, and a nearby wall panel exploded in a dramatic shower of sparks.

Hater's scream could probably be heard in another galaxy.

"Okay, okay," you relented, stifling a laugh as you marched toward your tiny agent of chaos. "Let's see what we can do before he blows up the ship."

"THANK YOU!" Wander called after you, dropping to his knees in exaggerated relief. "Thank you, sweetie pie! You're my hero!"

You rolled your eyes but smirked, ready to wrangle your little mini-me into some semblance of order. And as you approached your giggling little chaos gremlin, a plan began to form in your villainous mind. You had dealt with Wander enough to know his weaknesses—both of them. And if genetics had truly cursed your son with all of your partner's quirks, there was one foolproof method to tame the beast. Sliding a hand into your pocket, you fished out your secret weapon: a laser pointer. It was sleek, compact, and your absolute favorite tool for handling Wander-level chaos. Why? Because the fuzzball was irresistibly drawn to laser dots like a cat hopped up on caffeine.

“Oh no,” Sylvia wheezed from her perch on the observation deck. “You’re not… You wouldn’t—”

“Oh, I would,” you said smugly, holding up the laser pointer with a flourish. “Watch and learn, Sylvia. This is how a true villainess wrangles the fuzzy plague.”

You clicked the button, and a bright red dot appeared on the floor, flickering back and forth like a tiny, dancing star. Your son’s eyes widened instantly, his tiny body freezing mid-waddle as if he had just spotted the Holy Grail. His grip on the blaster slackened, and it dropped to the floor with a metallic clatter. “Dot!” he screeched, dropping the other object entirely and pouncing at the laser like his life depended on it. His little legs scrambled as he chased the dot across the floor, giggling uncontrollably every time it darted out of reach.

Wander, standing nearby, gasped in awe, clutching his chest like he had just witnessed the birth of a galaxy. “Oh my stars… He’s just like me!” His voice cracked with an overwhelming mix of pride, disbelief, and something that sounded suspiciously like he was about to cry. “He even pounces the same way! Look at him go! Oh, sugarplum, this is—this is beautiful! It’s… it’s a family tradition!”

“Yeah,” Sylvia drawled, leaning over the railing with an amused grin, “a family tradition of being ridiculous.”

Wander didn’t even hear her. He was too mesmerized by his son’s laser-fueled antics. That is, until the dot slid a little too close to his own feet. His eyes locked onto it, his pupils dilated, and for a moment, all higher reasoning left his mind.

“Wander, don’t—” you started.

Too late.

With a little yelp, your partner dove for the laser dot like an overexcited kitten, tumbling to the floor and scrambling after it on all fours. “I got it! I got it—wait, no! Come back here, you slippery little rascal!”

The zbornak burst out laughing, nearly falling off the railing. “This is better than every soap opera I’ve ever watched combined.”

“Control is key,” you said with a wicked grin, flicking the dot around in erratic patterns that had both your son and your fiancé scrambling in dizzying circles. The resemblance between the two was uncanny—and downright hilarious.

Hater, still clutching Peepers for dear life, gawked at the scene with wide, horrified eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, his voice trembling. “They’re both like this?! BOTH OF THEM?!” But you only smirked, aiming the laser pointer upward, and flicked it right onto Hater’s forehead. The red dot landed square between his lightning bolt-shaped horns. “NO!” he screeched, swatting at his face like it was infested with bees. “GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF ME!”

Wander and your son froze mid-pounce, their eyes snapping up to the dot like they were programmed. For a split second, there was silence—a moment of shared understanding between father and son.

And then they both lunged for the skeleton overlord.

“AHHHH!” He screamed, his voice cracking into a terrified wail as he turned tail and bolted, dragging Peepers along with him like a human shield. “YOU’RE ALL INSANE! THIS ISN’T A FAMILY—IT’S A FUZZBALL INVASION!”

Peepers, flailing in his grasp, groaned. “Sir, put me down! This is humiliating!”

“You think I care?!” Hater shrieked, skidding around a corner with Wander and your son hot on his heels. “I’M THE VICTIM HERE! I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR THIS!”

And so, the chaos continued, with Hater screaming nonsense, Wander and your son fighting for the dot, and you standing triumphantly in the middle of it all. The galaxy’s most feared villainess—and, apparently, the galaxy’s greatest wrangler of fuzzy chaos. But then, you decided to drop the biggest bombshell of the day. Watching the whole charade was entertaining, sure, but you had an ace up your sleeve—one that you just knew would throw the chaos into overdrive.

“Wander!” you called out, your voice carrying the kind of dramatic flair usually reserved for soap operas.

“Y-yeah, sugarplum?” he asked, trying to untangle himself from your son, who was currently using his father’s hat as a chew toy.

“I’m pregnant again.”

Time. Stopped.

Wander froze mid-struggle, his head snapping toward you with the kind of wide-eyed look that could only be described as pure, unfiltered disbelief. Your son took advantage of his distraction to tackle him to the floor, but he didn’t even seem to notice. “WHAT?!” His voice cracked so hard it could have shattered a window. He scrambled to his feet, almost tripping over his own legs in his rush to reach you. “You’re—? Again? Really?!” His face lit up with a mixture of awe and panic, his hat now dangling off. “Oh golly, sugarplum, are you serious?!”

You crossed your arms, the smuggest of grins plastered across your face. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

He practically vibrated with excitement, hugging you tightly as if you were the only thing keeping him from exploding into a shower of glitter. “Oh my stars! We’re gonna have another one?! Oh golly, oh golly, oh golly—” He suddenly froze, his expression shifting from joy to terror.

“Wait, we’re gonna have another one.”

Oh Grop.

Hater, who had been hugging Peepers and screaming nonsense about his legacy, abruptly stopped mid-shriek. His glowing green eyes widened in horror as the realization hit him like a truck. “YOU’RE WHAT?!” he bellowed, his voice echoing through the spaceship. “THERE’S GONNA BE TWO OF THEM?!”

The small Watchdog, who had been doing his best to pry himself free, let out a resigned groan. “Sir, please don’t—”

“THAT'S HORRIBLE NEWS!” The skeleton wailed, releasing Peepers to grab another chalkboard out of nowhere. He began scribbling furiously, this time drawing two stick figures with scribbly orange heads. “TWO! TWO FUZZBALLS! DOUBLE THE HUGGING! DOUBLE THE CHAOS! WE WON’T SURVIVE THIS!”

Wander, meanwhile, had gone full spiral. He dropped to his knees at your feet, clutching your hands like a man possessed. “Oh golly, darlin', I promise I’ll be the best dad! I’ll knit booties for both of ‘em! I’ll make matching hats! I’ll—oh no, what if they both want the same toy? Or what if they team up and we can’t handle it? Or—”

“Honey, breathe,” you interrupted, patting his head like he was a hyperactive puppy.

“I can’t breathe!” He exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with both excitement and existential dread. “We’re having another baby!”

Your son, blissfully unaware of the gravity of the situation, toddled over to Hater and pointed at the stick figures on the chalkboard. “THAT ME!” he declared, jabbing at one of the drawings.

The skeleton shrieked like someone had doused him in ice water. “GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU FUZZY LITTLE TERROR! YOU’RE GONNA HAVE BACKUP SOON, AREN’T YOU?! THIS IS HOW IT ENDS! I KNEW IT!”

Peepers groaned and rubbed his temples. “Why do I even bother?”

Sylvia, still lounging on the observation deck, let out a low whistle. “Well, looks like you two are gonna be really busy.” She grinned at you. “Congrats, though. You’ve officially made Hater’s life a living nightmare.”

You smirked, leaning back with your hands on your hips. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”

And as the tall villain started drawing increasingly nonsensical apocalyptic scenarios on his chalkboard, Wander alternated between crying with joy and hyperventilating, and your son continued zapping random walls (because of course he picked up the blaster again), you couldn’t help but think that life was about to get a whole lot more chaotic—and you were more than ready for it. Hater though? He had now scrawled what could only be described as a doomsday manifesto on the whiteboard. It was an incomprehensible mess of colors, shapes, and terrifying figures, all pointing to a giant, red arrow labeled:

💀 'THE FUZZBALL REVOLUTION IS COMING.' 💀

He climbed onto a nearby table—knocking over a pile of precariously stacked crates in the process—and raised his arms to the heavens like some kind of deranged prophet. “HEAR ME, GALAXY!” he bellowed, his voice echoing dramatically through the halls of the Skullship. “I WARN YOU ALL: THE FUZZBALL REVOLUTION IS COMING!”

The Watchdogs, peeking out from behind crates, corners, and each other, stared at him with wide, terrified eyes. “The what, sir?” one brave soul dared to ask.

Hater jabbed a bony finger at the nearest chalkboard, which now resembled a preschool art project on steroids. “THE FUZZBALL REVOLUTION! Look at this!” He pointed wildly at a series of stick figures labeled Wander (the worst), Wander Clone Army, Baby #1, Baby #2, and inexplicably, Larry the Rebel Watchdog. “This is the future! Hugs everywhere! Blasting everything that moves! DO YOU WANT TO LIVE IN A GALAXY WHERE EVERY DAY IS JUST... THIS?!” He gestured behind him, where your son had somehow managed to climb onto Wander’s head, using his dad as a jungle gym, while the nomad spun in circles trying to avoid getting zapped by his tiny offspring. “Do you see that?!” Hater screeched, pointing dramatically. “This is the end! The end of evil as we know it! It’s... it’s positive chaos! Nobody’s safe! Not me, not you, NOT EVEN LARRY!” He grabbed a random soldier by the shoulders and shook him violently. “Larry, listen to me! You must prepare yourself! Buy snacks, hoard helmets, stockpile as much anti-hug spray as you can find! IT WON’T BE ENOUGH, BUT DO IT ANYWAY!”

The Watchdog, who may or may not have actually been named Larry, just whimpered. “Uh, yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir.”

“And you!” Hater spun toward the imaginary audience, his skeletal face twisting into a grimace of despair. “I’m talking to YOU out there! Yes, YOU, sitting in your cozy little spaceship or whatever! Laugh now, but when the fuzzball invasion reaches YOUR doorstep, don’t say I didn’t warn you! They’re coming! They’re small, they’re fuzzy, and they have no concept of boundaries!” He threw his arms wide for emphasis.

“THEY WILL HUG YOU INTO SUBMISSION!”

...

The room fell silent, save for the faint hum of the Skullship’s engines and the occasional “pew-pew” from your son’s blaster. The skeleton stood there, panting, his dramatic ranting having taken every ounce of energy he had left.

Peepers, dusting himself off from where he had been unceremoniously dropped earlier, sighed heavily. “Sir, you need therapy.”

“THERAPY CAN’T SAVE ME!” Hater howled, collapsing into a heap of cloak and despair.

And with that, the self-proclaimed greatest villain in the galaxy curled into a ball on the table, muttering incoherently about laser pointers, hugs, and the impending doom of all evil, while you and Wander exchanged amused glances. Sylvia, still wheezing with laughter, summed it up best:

“Yup. This is why I stick around. You just can’t pay for entertainment like this.”

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nyxrev · 7 months ago

Text

The Plot Thickens

almost thought I clicked on the wrong manga

Do not be fooled by pretty faces.

For an agent of shadows, display of emotions is always purposeful.

Void: certified 疑心暗鬼* sneaky ass, wonders if Blast meant to pry about his village, so he prods him back…with crocodile tears(?)

(ready, set, cry)

Mission Blast

get close to him,gather intel about associates, financial flow, unknown technology, can be used for village or not, then get rid of unnecessary elements.

“As you wish”

Meanwhile Blast snores sonorously like an uncle, asleep like a log.

Luna: Void's younger sister, refers to him deferentially as if a master

Ofc it's all related… Void schemes…

Funny how it looks like Blast just accepted pretty lady out of nowhere & life henceforth without an ounce of suspicion. Happily bamboozled.

No clues if Blast knows it's Void's sister yet but I doubt Void reveals it while the mission went on.

Void: his eyes are unreadable…

Maybe he's got no motives to read. Unlike you.

Luna is known to Blast &co. as Maya

She died from combat with a particularly strong ‘agent’ of the cube. And her brother's reaction?

Void: to be eliminated by such circumstances, pathetic.

“I don't even get sentimental about my sister's death. You died because you are weak. It's all your own responsibility.”

“…incompetent bastard…”

Or so he says, while he looks like he is haunted by her ghost.

Maybe he is in denial about grief, maybe he only saw her as a means to an end, a tool for his plan anyway, not as a person. Who knows.

His guilty conscience even suspects Blast knew & let her die to get rid of spies,as the timing of her death was when she delved into crucial details of his circles.

How much did it affect him? Hard to say, he's the calculated unreadable bastard who puts on facades.

Only the weak die, peak survivalist mentality. You only die because you are weak sounds real tough until it happens to yourself.

He may deny it, but I suspect his most useful subordinates still had some value to him… else, why would they appear to him when he was hit with cube vision? And why he didn't go for Blue… surely smb as ruthless as him could if he wanted. He has his reasons, and weaknesses.

Truly apathetic humans do exist,but how far can you stray from yourself & how much can you reject your humanity at the end?

*疑心暗鬼: a bit difficult to explain but it's like, your heart is always so full of suspicion, it becomes plagued by ghosts of endless, often irrational thoughts.

#opm #one punch man #opm manga #blast #void #luna #lore #the cube #unofficial #translation #character analysis #meta #thoughts #raw

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evereverest2 · 6 months ago

Text

The Casino — McHanzo AU (nsfw)

Cassidy takes his annual vacation to Vegas and meets an uptight businessman on the floor of the casino.

forgor i could post this

—

The hotel was alight with lights and sounds; ringing, cheering, music, neon lights pointing this way and that, bright screens with cherries and sevens, the sound of dice and flipping cards, levers pulled, buttons pushed, bets placed, chips dropped. Dozens of people milled about the floor with hands on their money and eyes trained on the promise of future winnings.

Cassidy was leaning against a table playing craps, idly watching as a pair of dice was handed to a young brunette with smudged lipstick. He nursed a glass of whiskey with one round ice cube, taking in the atmosphere. He had just won a round of blackjack and was betting pennies on craps while he indulged in a drink and considered his winnings for the night. He was up with winnings quite a bit, but today was only his first day in Vegas. The luck could turn like a horse with a grudge.

His eyes snatched on a man approaching the table. He was well dressed, sporting a goatee. His black hair was mid length, shaved on the sides, and tied back in a neat ponytail. Next to him, another man with far less sharpness to his appearance looked to be prattling on about nonsense, though Cassidy could only assume based on the steely gaze of the well dressed man. He wore a relaxed Hawaiian shirt, the kind most everyone else wore at this casino. They both slid up next to him at the table.

“—good at this game, you just watch,” the Hawaiian-shirt man said, handing money to the dealer for chips.

The other man said nothing. He glanced at Cassidy who was watching them. Cassidy gave him a friendly smile. He only glared in response.

The Hawaiian-shirt man was handed the dice.

“Show me the seven,” he said, rubbing his hands together.

“I fail to see how you can be trained in a game of luck, Mr. Roberts,” the man said stiffly. His voice was regal and uptight.

Roberts was not swayed by the well-dressed man’s pessimism. He rolled a seven, which Cassidy raised his glass in cheers to.

“Nice rollin’, partner,” Cassidy gave them both another smile. “Think you can do it again?”

“I’d like to see if my associate here can,” Roberts elbowed the man, who was as excitable as a tree.

“I came here for business, Mr. Roberts. I’m not interested in your games.”

“Let’s see your luck. Can’t do business with a man who isn’t lucky now, can I?”

Cassidy watched as the man scowled at the dice he was given. He threw them ungracefully on the table. Snake-eyes.

“What are you doin’?” Cassidy said in exasperation. “That ain’t lucky.”

The man gave him another hard glare.

“May we return to our meeting?” He looked to Roberts.

“Loosen up, Shimada. You’re in Vegas,” Mr. Roberts pocketed the rest of his chips. “You stay right here and have fun. We can talk more tomorrow.”

Roberts disappeared in a crowd. For a moment, it looked as if Shimada would leave too, but Cassidy said, “Hey. Your boss said to stay here and have some fun.”

The man called Shimada paused. “He is not my boss.”

“Whatever. Have a drink on me. You look like you could use a break anyway.”

Shimada rolled his eyes, but lingered as if considering. “If you’re offering, I suppose I have no other business tonight.”

“Attaboy,” Cassidy stopped a waiter and ordered another whiskey. Shimada asked if they had sake, to which they surprisingly did.

Cassidy made himself comfortable on the edge of the craps table. He threw down a couple of cheap chips. “So, where you from?”

“Why do you want to know?” He narrowed his eyes.

Cassidy was unbothered by his frigid exterior. Much like Roberts before him, he had the urge to remove the stick from Shimada’s ass. “Suppose I’m just makin’ conversation. I’m from New Mexico myself.”

Hanzo considered this. “California.”

“Like Hollywood? You know any movie stars?”

“No.”

Cassidy chuckled, “Your name’s Shimada, right? You always this serious?”

“How do you know my name?” For a moment, he looked as if he would get violent. Cassidy held up his hands defensively.

“I heard the other guy say it, my apologies. It was rude of me to not ask for myself.”

He settled, his face falling back into a neutral expression. “It’s actually Hanzo. And what do I call you?”

“Name’s Cole Cassidy. You can call me Cassidy.” He tipped his hat. “I’m a regular ‘round these parts, though that’s only in the winter. Farm’s too busy to take off in the summer.”

Hanzo eyed him up and down. “Quite well dressed for a farmer.”

Cassidy wore one of three pricey suits he owned specially for his casino trips. He even wore a matching hat.

“Well, thank you kindly, stranger. I like to get dressed up for the occasion since most of the time I’m swimmin’ in mud and chuckin’ dusty bales.”

“Hm.”

Hanzo was presented with a shot glass of clear liquid. Before he even took it in his hand he asked for another.

“I’m only payin’ for the one,” Cassidy took his refill and handed the waitress his empty glass. He was a few drinks in at that point

“That is sufficient.” Hanzo studied the glass, shut his eyes, paused, and downed it.

“That’s interestin’ that they got that stuff here. Doubt many places do,” Cassidy pointed to the now empty shot.

“Many Japanese businessmen come to this hotel. Perhaps they requested it often.”

“You one of them?”

“Perhaps,” he said.

Cassidy gave a knowing look, nodding slowly, drinking from his own glass. “What kinda business you into?”

Hanzo gave him a long look. “Why do you ask so many questions, Mr. Cassidy?”

“Just Cassidy is fine. And I’m makin’ chit-chat. You could stand to loosen up, pal. Is it really so bad to make a friend?”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps nothin’. You and I are gonna have some fun tonight, Hanzo. You ain’t got a choice in the matter.”

“Don’t I?”

“Nope.”

Hanzo stared him down, trying to be intimidating. Cassidy met his eye with ease. The waitress handed him another sake.

“Continue bringing these,” he said without breaking eye contact. He downed it immediately. “Okay, Cassidy. Show me how a farmer has fun. Perhaps it will aide in my business negotiations.”

“Hoo-wee, you’re in for it now,” Cassidy gave him a big smile. Hanzo’s face, for once, relaxed just enough to imply that his lips may have the capacity to smile.

“I see that smile,” Cassidy wagged his finger at him. “Tell me, what’s your game of choice?”

Hanzo scanned the casino. “I am not a gambler. You tell me.”

“Blackjack it is. You look like a smart guy.”

They made their way to the table, where the dealer greeted Cassidy by name.

“You know how to play?” Cassidy asked Hanzo.

He said simply, “I believe so.”

The conversation between them was easy, and more jovial as the night went on. They talked of nothing, but Cassidy laughed his ass off and, as Hanzo downed his fifth sake, was able to get him to chuckle along too. Still, he maintained a hard look that remained icy and unwelcoming, even as his face burned red with too much sake. By the end of their hours long session spent getting more and more wasted, Cassidy won light, and Hanzo had won big.

Cassidy found himself drawn to Hanzo, mostly to see the side of him that was not uptight. He was a sensible and intelligent man who always had something interesting to say, even buzzed out of his mind. His sluggish mind felt electricity when they locked stares, when his thigh bumped his. There was something more bringing them together. Cassidy was unknowingly desiring more of him.

Around the time the dealer had kicked them out for being too drunk, Cassidy started craving a cigarette. He patted down his jacket, then his pants, finding that his pockets were void of nicotine.

“Damn. I gotta go back to my room, left my cigarettes up there.”

“I should go back to my hotel,” Hanzo said, blowing out a sigh. “My mind feels weighted by a thousand stones.”

“Uh-uh, night’s not done. You smoke?”

“No.”

“Too bad, you’re comin’ with me.”

Hanzo let himself be dragged to the elevators. They stumbled inside together, Hanzo falling into him before he could press his floor. Neither attempted to break apart. Hanzo leaned against him, presumably for support.

“Mm. What cologne you got on?” Cassidy mumbled, bending down to sniff his neck.

Hanzo said something which sounded like Japanese, which Cassidy gave a nonsensical chuckle at. “I’ve got no clue on Earth what you just said, buddy.”

Hanzo laughed softly, his head falling into Cassidy’s chest. “Don’t ask, then.”

“It smells real good, though,” Cassidy leaned closer, his lips brushing his neck, his hands just barely gracing his hips. Hanzo’s fingers traced over his, head turning to the side. He arched his back slightly, pressing his ass against his hips—verging on something intense.

Then the elevator doors opened.

Hanzo pushed away from him to walk out. His phone rang. He picked up and started speaking in Japanese. It was only a few seconds before he hung up.

Cassidy did not ask, leading them to his room.

When they got inside, Cassidy shrugged off his vest, took off his hat, unbuttoned his shirt halfway, and dug around in his open luggage case for a light and a stick. He lit it and sat on the edge of his bed while Hanzo studied the room.

“Quite small.”

“What the hell you talkin’ ‘bout, boy? I got me a king size here, I splurged.” He pointed at the bed.

“It is only one bedroom.”

“And a bath,” he gestured to the cracked door.

“Hm.”

“You sit your ass down, this is a fine room.”

“If you say so.” Hanzo sat next to him. “Should you be smoking in here?”

“Hanzo, you better quit tellin’ me what to do before I show you what’s what.”

Hanzo was silent as Cassidy finished his cigarette. He stood and set it in the tray on the nightstand, then lingered in front of Hanzo.

“Well, it is late. Perhaps I should go.” Hanzo stood.

“Now, now, just wait a minute. It could be dangerous, you’re pretty drunk.”

“So are you.”

“Well, I made it back already. You should just sleep it off here.”

“I will be fine. I’m an expert in combat.”

Hanzo walked forward and bumped into Cassidy. The contact made Cassidy plant his hands on his waist so he would not fall.

“Not right now you ain’t. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“You paid for this meager room, you may as well use it,” Hanzo replied sarcastically, moving again just to get stopped by Cassidy.

“You’re stayin’, and that’s that.”

Hanzo looked up at him, swaying, narrowing his eyes in challenge. “Are you going to make me, cowboy?”

“Damn right.”

Cassidy pushed Hanzo back, causing him to fall onto the bed. He climbed over him and pinned his wrists.

“Try escapin’ now, boy.”

To his drunken surprise, Hanzo flipped him with an uncoordinated yet practiced maneuver, grabbing both of his wrists with one hand and holding them above his head.

“You fight like a brutish child,” Hanzo sneered, a smirk on his face. He was enjoying this.

“How’s I s’posed to know you were some kinda black belt?”

“You challenged me.”

Cassidy scoffed. “Fine. You won. Why don’t you get outta here then?”

Hanzo tilted his head, grabbing Cassidy’s face with his free hand. “I have never met a cowboy before. Is that Southern stereotype true?”

“Which one?” he asked dumbly.

“That you’re all homophobic.”

Cassidy grinned broadly. “Shit, God said love thy neighbor. I’ll be doin’ the Lord’s work.”

“Will you?” Hanzo lowered his gaze, eyes crawling over his half-unbuttoned shirt.

“If you damn well ask me to.”

Hanzo’s grip loosened on his wrists, his fingertips dragging down his jawline. “I am hardly your neighbor.”

“Fuck it. God wasn’t right about shrimp either.”

Hanzo laughed, which made Cassidy smile wider. “You really wanna do this, Hanzo?”

He shifted his hips forward, brushing against Cassidy’s growing bulge. “If this is as big as I think it is, you’ll do fine for tonight, Mr. Cassidy.”

“Just Cassidy,” he reminded him, grinning excitedly.

Hanzo sat up, letting go of his wrists to finish unbuttoning his shirt, digging his fingers into Cassidy’s chest hair. His hands slid down his sides, hips lifting to grind against his bulge. He began to unbutton his own shirt.

“You like it slow, princess?” Cassidy teased.

Hanzo narrowed his eyes. “No. I simply doubt your capabilities.”

Cassidy took his challenge, sitting up to unclothe him quickly, only for Hanzo to give him a taunting smile. Challenged, he shoved Hanzo to his back; this time, he did not fight back. Feeling heat all around him his head dove down to his lips to kiss him sloppily. Hanzo moaned gently into his mouth, surprising Cassidy. He supposed Hanzo might be as quiet in bed as he was stoic in general, but as Cassidy undressed him and roamed his body he made plenty of noises in delight.

Cassidy pulled away to slip off his pants before Hanzo stopped him.

“You won’t touch me without a condom,” he warned.

“You think I have a disease or something?”

“No, I’m worried about getting pregnant,” he said sarcastically.

Cassidy rolled his eyes, getting up to dig through his suitcase. “I’ll use one, don’t you worry.” He returned to Hanzo, planting himself above him. He kissed him again, mumbling, “But I’ll still try anyway.”

Hanzo’s brow furrowed, his red complexion deepening. Cassidy laughed, undoing his pants with one hand and holding the condom with the other. “You liked that one, huh?”

“It’s impossible,” he muttered.

“Not if ya try real fuckin’ hard, Shimada.”

Cassidy placed the condom in his teeth, yanked down the waist of his pants, and began slowly stroking himself. Hanzo watched him with a dedicated interest, his eyes devouring the sight.

“Is this a show for me?”

“Depends how much you like it.”

Hanzo’s lips lifted slightly, his cock fighting against the fabric of his tight underwear for relief. “I find it boring.”

“Like Hell you do,” Cassidy growled through grit teeth. “You want me to fuck you or not?”

“If you can manage.”

Cassidy snarled, lurching towards him and grabbing him by the neck. “I’ll ‘manage’ just fine, partner.”

Hanzo sneered back at him. “I doubt that.”

Cassidy infuriated, finished stripping Hanzo, flipping him on his back. With a lick of his fingers, they disappeared inside him. Hanzo groaned, scrambling to his knees and pushing back against his arm. Cassidy flicked his fingers a few times, earning a series of noises from Hanzo that made him chuckle.

“And you say this dick won’t work for ya.”

“Mmm… We should… see… about…” Hanzo groaned, forgetting to finish his sentence.

Cassidy laughed, boisterous, digging his fingers deeper. After trying to get him to talk all night, he wanted nothing more than to make him shut up. Even if Hanzo was noisy, all he could spew was nonsense.

With his other hand, Cassidy yanked on the condom still clutched in his teeth, tearing it open and spitting out the wrapper. In one swift movement, he rolled it down his shaft and gave himself a few pumps.

“Ya ready for me, princess?”

Hanzo glared at him over his shoulder. “You won’t last thirty seconds.”

“Wanna bet?”

Cassidy pulled out his fingers, pressing the tip of his dick against his twitching hole. Before Cassidy could even warn him Hanzo was pushing back, shoving it in himself with a sharp gasp.

“Damn,” Cassidy huffed, Hanzo’s body grasping against him tightly. “Did I pick up a fuckin’ whore?”

“Don’t insult me,” Hanzo sighed, still forcing his hips back.

Cassidy grabbed him roughly, preventing him from moving any further. “You fuckin’ like it.”

With his biting words, he began thrusting violently, quickly, unconcerned for the slut beneath him begging to be hurt. Hanzo, regardless of his bratty taunts, was moaning like a bitch. His body sucked Cassidy in greedily, hot and tight as only a salacious desire could be. His brain was lit aflame by Hanzo’s pretty moans, so spurred to hear more he leaned over to begin jerking him off.

As it so turned out, neither would last long. Drunk men take no time, rushing, no moment for intimacy. Neither cared. They were dogs desperate to breed. They were listless men with a single goal. They came on one another, dizzy from the force, from the drinks, from the whirlwind of feral fighting and courtship. And when they were done, they laid on one another, exhausted, quick to sleep without another word exchanged.

#overwatch #overwatch 2 #mchanzo #cole cassidy #hanzo shimada #hanzo x cassidy #overwatch fanfiction #spicy tag #overwatch au #mchanzo au #gambler!cassidy #mafia!hanzo

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moociaoafterdark · 1 month ago

Text

Copying the answers to OC questions here.

@dsol500 asked: Since I have already asked how Eastwood would react upon meeting my oc, por'vre Ka'ran, how would o'ries and el'myamal react to the blue friar?

Answer: Normally, I think. So long as Ka'ran stays out of trouble and out of Myamal's business - he won't sell him out to Drukhari.

Ori'es would be enthusiastic to meet him. Something tells her this "Christian" thing is very good. Khorne, who is influencing her, really misses the Christians. Oh, the slaughter they brought into the world was spectacular!

@candyswirls asked: Who would eat an entire tray of lasagna

Do any have any weird/ridiculous phobias (ie the fear if you bring peanut butter into your bathroom a pink clown will show up)

Who is doing shots on a Wednesday afternoon

Answer:

1) Any of my Space Marine OCs + Kuzman. Big boys NEED their calories.

2) Not really a phobia, but Kuzman gets overstimulated and sick from the color of gold. He doesn't know if this is a trauma response from Big E or just his weird quirk.

Evdokija hates crowds and has a paranoid fear of being trampled.

Bianca (my Inquisitor OC) is very superstitious and hates number 4, associating it with death (whoever gets the reference gets a free cookie)

3) I don't know if he/she/they count, but, Caius. The uncertainty is because she is a Noise Marine who is devoted to Slaanesh and... Well... You know how they are.

@nightghoulz asked: What would they take with them to a deserted island/what would happen on said deserted island

Answer: (Oh, this is a looong one)

The Space Marine boys probably arrived there for a campaign, so they brought their weapons and armor... and nothing else.

Kuzman would also bring weapons and armor, but unlike the Astartes boys, he would also bring supplies with him... And C'tan shards. One being Jackal and the other being the cubed Nightbringer. You never know when you will need a C'tan shard to solve your problems!

Bianca would bring the supplies, weapons and her trusty... servo skull. Surprisingly, she would do well. She's been in worse circumstances than this one. This is all she will need.

Sister Anjya was born on the ocean world, so she would spend most of her time in the sea foraging for food, so, all tools related to fishing, I suppose. Oh, and weapons and armor. Not that she would need them, since Asenath put a scarab tracker inside her and always knows where Anjya is, so, the Sororitas won't be there for long.

Lorereyn would only bring herself to the deserted island, especially if it's one of those tropical islands. Would spent most of her time meditating there.

Mnemosyna would bring her children, her Kabal, Tethys and her cult and Kharon with her... oh, and the slaves, of course. It's beach time! 🏖 (Tethys would especially appreciate it, as this would be not far off from what she was doing when she was an Exodite... minus the pain slaves, of course)

El'Myamal would bring the surviving skill books and O'Ori'es. Finally, somewhere where it's just the two of them can just be together. No basic necessities and they are living off the grid, but that's a reasonable price to pay for finally getting away from society that would do nothing but judge them.

Eastwood would bring Buttercup with him. Everything else is already always on him.

Caius the Noise Marine would bring a shitload of drugs with themself. Have a trip of their life while chilling on a beach. Maybe cuddling with an occasional daemonette (that may lead to sex).

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conarcoin · 4 months ago

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Idk who to write this too but you seem like you'd understand. I recently discovered Cscoop's highcraft series and have been binging it all. I've never watched any of his older videos or other vids he's made. Now the thing in hc videos he doesn't have facecam so I only knew his voice.

In some hc videos, he was promoting his merch and it showed someone so I assumed it's Cooper and ever since then that's the face u associated with his voice.

Until... I discovered the vid of Logan and cooper and the Roman empire. Turns out, somehow I had attached Logan's face to cooper's voice because the person in the merch videos was Logan 😭😭

I watched all of hc just imagining Logan's face for cooper's voice. Now that I discovered his second channel where he makes videos with facecam I've been trying to binge those because just so I can attach his face back to his voice.

It's quite hard and it feels weird seeing him speak cause in my brain that voice is someone else but yeah. Here's my story of the weirdest mixup. Apologies to both my gs

yall imagine mine crafters faces? those are cubes to me brother

#so funny btw

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archoneddzs15 · 4 months ago

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Nintendo Game Cube - Sonic Riders

Title: Sonic Riders / ソニックライダーズ

Developer/Publisher: Sega (Sonic Team / United Game Artists)

Release date: 23 February 2006

Catalogue Code: DOL-GXEJ-JPN

Genre: Futuristic Hoverboard Racing

Now since I heard the upcoming new Sonic Racing Crossworlds will feature a lot of Riders elements in it, I thought "Why not?" and gave Sonic Riders a go. And then.... I must have spent 17 years on it because this game is so damn addicting. Sonic Riders came amidst games like Sonic Heroes and Shadow the Hedgehog (and before Sonic Genesis for GBA and Sonic the Hedgehog 2006), names that make all but the most fanatical of hedgehog fans cringe. It got a pretty bad rep, partially from association with those titles and partially from the seemingly dumb premise of the game. Sonic racers have not been of particularly notable caliber in the past and an airboarding game just seemed... well, stupid, really... At any rate, many people wrote off the game without even trying it, which is sad, because it’s actually one of the better things Sonic Team has churned out in the late 2000s. Admittedly, I was in that crowd and wasn’t interested in even renting the game until a friend bought it and let me try it out, I had the XBOX version first. I was quite pleasantly surprised and went out and got the game myself a few months later. So, before you scoff at the game and pick something else, at least rent it and give it a try. Who knows? You might actually enjoy it. Especially nowadays with many fan versions like Sonic Riders Tournament Edition and Sonic Riders DX, as well as the many PC fangame recreations based on elements from it. For some reason, my copy also came with a US Sonic X DVD and the same Sonic Riders poster I got for my Shadow the Hedgehog Game Cube copy. For what reason? I don't know but hey it's nice to have a freebie included.

youtube

#nintendo gamecube #sonic the hedgehog #sonic racing #sonic riders #sonic racing crossworlds #sonic racing around the world #Youtube

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road-hauler · 17 days ago

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27, 29

29. Favourite human character(s)?

Dorthy Malto from Earthspark. I like all the Maltos, but Dot is my favourite.

27. Favourite Alt mode?

My favourite altmode? You’ll literally never guess.

No I’m serious, think of literally anything and I promise you wont get it.

Ok ready?

Behold: The Mighty Combine Harvester (of the self propelling variety)

I just absolutely adore these machines, my innards swirl in delight at the very sight of them! Agricultural equipment has had a special place in my heart ever since I was an itty bitty cube, and combines have always been my favorite.

There’s just something about their aura, hard to explain if you’ve never seen one in person. That and I think the technology behind them is super cool, the fact that all the labor associated with harvesting grain is able to be condensed down like that… it’s like magic. Also I think it’s funny that the guy who likes combines ended up being a combiner fan.

You can imagine my surprise finding out that transformers characters with tractor alt modes are practically nonexistent. No that deer guy with the fucked up tines on his head does not count. Never show him to me. Ever. It’s not like there’s no market for tractor toys, far from it, so I wonder what the reason could be? Who knows.

Obviously this lack of farming equipment is simply unbearable, and so I fill the void with the power of “make ocs”. Maybe one day I’ll show them here, but it takes me forever to cook anything legible and I don’t know if anyone would really be interested. I’m having fun making them though, which is all I really care about in the end.

Uh anyways here's an older comic about me finally clueing into why I like that green loader so much...

(Please he can't be my favorite of the construction vehicle gestalt. He's not allowed. Literally anyone else brain. Please you can't do this to me. Come on the excavator is right there. I'll even take the lesser crane truck at this point. PLEASE.)

#thanks for the ask!#it means a lot even if it does take me forever to answer #everyone was very active tonight with that character bingo that was going around #very fun to read all the different analysis and thoughts and such #thank you for the yapping!#id join in myself but this ones for shipstuff so uhhh #ill sit this one out lololol #i dont actually hate thunderwoof or whatever his name is #i just dont care about him in the slightest #its worse then hating him because then id at least have something to say #its just complete apathy for him #and then i go back to drawing my own tractors and forget he exists #ooOoOooOo you want to send me an ask about my ocs OoOooOoOo #ok thats all for now see you next post bye bye

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galakianexplosion · 1 year ago

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Okay so; another little one punch man ramble. {SPOILERS! :D}

This is for the non revised lastest chapters in specific, and the monster association arc.

The parallels between Saitama and Flash,

Originaly from a conversation with my friend @kachikirby , it might be extremly obvious to everyone but id like to speak about it anyways! :D

To elaborate a tiny bit more on this and mostly rephrase ; So both have their own foe to defeat; Saitama with Garou and Flash with Emtpy void (motivated to fight god himself).

Both of their enemies is possessed by said god. And both wanted something out of the other party. Garou wanted to fight Saitama at his best and Empty Void deemed Flash worthy enough to be gifted the same "possession". So to throw both off they needed to get a reaction, something that'd break something inside of them.

Both don't have all that much to look to, even if we know less about Flash, i think it's safe to assume he's lonely and focuses on his strenght. Saitama is simillar, a man so bored with his own strenght.

But, both have someone, now you might add that Garou also managed to kill all other heroes (and more) present near him which certainly did not help Saitama feel better, which i will agree with! But the main factor for the whole state he gets into after stays Genos. (It's also heavily heavily implied/basicaly said that Saitama relies Genos for support and all of that) Saitama recieves Genos' core- his heart.

Now Flash on the other hand, despite his messy fall out with Sonic, said Sonic is really the only one he has. They both were each other's only source of "happiness" during the times when they were in the ninja training thing. They both relied on each other and had a whole dream with each other. They both have a very strong history despite their falling out. And even after that they do still care for one another. So, even with what Flash says to Blast about being soft in the revised version, he too, has a weakness in the form of someone else. Flash receives Sonic's head as his dismembered remains falls in the back. His head is even cut in half. In the middle, horizontaly.

Now, hear me out, im pretty sure there's a connection between God and the brain (as well as psychic powers and the moon but anyways,) and Sonic's head was cut in a way that kept said brain intact. I don't have much on this part right now but i do believe theres a link between all of those things---

Also could it be said that there was Heart and Mind (Reason and feelings) parallels

Sonic's dead was false. It's a projection made from Empty Void to Flash, an illusion to break his spirit. WHICH SUCCEEDED. And broke Flash for long enough to able Empty Void to get the cube to touch him.

Meanwhile, Genos' death was fully real. He was really dead when Saitama fought with Garou.

But all turned out alright for the four of them. Flash got saved by Sonic, who was fully alive and well. And Saitama turned back time which allowed Genos to be alive again (and all the other heroes but you know)

So; both also had similar expressions at simmilar time. Faces shadowed out except for eyes. (Saitama's eyes don't appear on most of the pannels however) But both were clearly in a form of distress over someone they care about dying. They're both well aquainted with Death. They're heroes who kill monsters. And Flash also is an assassin.

It can also be said that they would not really have made it out on their own in some ways. Genos' core being there managed, in some ways, to keep Saitama's brain mostly in check (if you get what i mean). Saitama could probably have been way more dangerous otherwise. And Sonic managed to snap Flash out of the possession before God took a hold of him.

Because in the end, God is a convincing little meanie. Taking the form of someone you trust. (Except in psychos case where she fused with someone already gifted by god i believe) (and that homeless emporor who i believe saw a version of god because he perhaps didn't have anyone close to him.) So Flash did see Sonic, like if all his life and troubles were just a bad dream, he was in front of his childhood friend, in a vast field, being reassured by the other he just saw being cut apart seconds earlier.

And both Flash and Saitama know each other. And both lived trough their first encounter with God next to each other (along Manako)

All of this to say that both their parallels are very dear to me. I wonder what we'll see of it in the revised version!

#galak speakd #one punch man #opm #one punch man manga #opm manga #flashy flash #speed o sound sonic #saitama #opm genos #sometimes you just have to ramble about things you like #and i like this A LOT #Empty void #forgor to tag him #I might add onto this more at some point #To me Saitama and Flash have quite the similarities even if they are so different

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townofcadence · 6 months ago

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[CastleEmporium]

James had always reasoned that Artair would always stride through trouble for someone else, so it would only be right to give him something to make it so trouble also doesn't follow him back.

However James also feels that a good game makes things much more interesting!

Artair finds a box, about one foot cube, closed with a combination lock asking for a four letter word and a note; "Playing fair? Hah, to stay one step ahead you need to wager your ____!"

@castleemporium // Gifts!!

Artair isn't sure what to make of this unnamed box that has arrived on his stoop for the holiday season. Still, it doesn't feel like anything malicious. So probably a friend? A friend who knew he liked puzzles.

So Artair sits himself down, cross legged on the floor. Wagering makes him think of James, of all the people he know. Maybe Jonas, except he already has the coin he was given by Jonas, and Jonas wasn't the kind to wager with him. So the first few thoughts are ones he associates with James and his propensity to stay ahead of everything. He tries Soul first of course, followed by cheeky Foot and Feet as answers, and then Moly despite the lack of sense it might make if only because it's something he connects to James.

Honestly he doesn't even mind if there's nothing inside, opening the box is turning out to be a fun little puzzle to mull over.

#ic artair #holidaygifts2024 #castleemporium #castleemporium. James #XD I'm so eager to see what's inside if he manages xD

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councillor-kenric-fathdon · 1 year ago

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Greetings & Salutations!

Hello there! My beloved Oralie suggested I should get [tumblr], and while I’m not 100% sure what a “[tumblr]” is, everyone else seems to be here, so all’s well, I suppose! By the way, I’m Councillor Kenric, though most just call me Kenric (you can, too!). If you’re interested in saying ‘hi’ to some of my friends, here they are!

Children to protect:

Sophie - @therealsophieelizabethfoster

Mr Sencen - @keefe--sencen

Mr Vacker - @fitz-avery-vacker and/or @fitzroy-avery-vacker

Miss Vacker - @sparkles-make-anything-better

Mr Dizznee - @dex-the-smart-one

Mr Song - @tam-shade-song and/or @tam-song-the-shade

Miss Song - @linh--song

Miss Heks - @im-just-cooler

Miss Chebota - @the-only-maruca-chebota

Miss Redek - @shut-up-i-will-burn-you

Mr Endal - @flasher-boi-endal

Miss (Amy) Foster - @amy-rose-foster

Mr Babblos - @jensi-babblos-rules

Responsible Adults:

Alden - @alden-dendrick-vacker

Quinlin - @quinlin-sonden

Grady - @not-a-fan-of-that-boy

Edaline - @edaline--ruwen

Elwin - @elwin-at-your-service

Magnate Leto - @magnatetheleto

Juline - @julinekdizznee-off

…

Lord Cassius - @thebestsencen

Fallon Vacker: @fall-on-this-widows-peak

Fellow Councillors:

Terik - @terik-the-councillor

The one to be kept away from Sophie at all costs (Bronte) (jk jk he’s my bestie) - @bronte-the-inflictor

Oralie <3 - @oralie-pretty-in-pink

Emery - @emery-is-a-king

Black Swan:

Squall - @the-prettiest-ice-cube

Blur - @blurrieidentities

Forkle - @norwegian-trickster-god

Tiergan/Granite - @prentices-husband

Livvy - @candies-and-sparkles

Miss Jolie Ruewen - @jolie-lucine-ruewen

Neverseen/ex Neverseen/associated with the Neverseen:

Fintan - @fintan-pyren

The worst mother known to Elfkind - @lady-gisela

Vespera: @vespera-neci-folend

Ruy: @ruy-tonio-ignis

Alvar - @alvar-not-vacker

Glimmer (Rayni) - @little-miss-neverseen

Trix - @trix-up-my-sleeve

Brant - @brant--redacted

Umber - @umberthebettershade

And the rest!

Sandor - @igowhereyougo

Silveny - @therarestprattlespin

Ro - @hunkyhairs-backup

Iggy - @iggy-the-imp

Organizations:

Black Swan - @black-swan-official

Neverseen - @neverseen-official

Foxfire Academy - @foxfire-official

Exillium - @exillium

Matchmakers - @thematchmakingoffice and @the-official-matchmaking-office

The Council - @thecouncil-official

Eternalia's Library - @eternalialibrary-official

Main rp - @kotlc-rp-official

Bonus!

The incredible artist who drew my pfp - @wow-youre-so-pretty

My main - @bookwormgirl123

Dividers created by - @/enchantingthings-a

And that’s everyone! Have a lovely day, everybody!

#kenric speaks #Kenric’s pinned post #lmk if I missed anyone!

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aleeyenn · 2 years ago

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Fireafy shower thoughts that I realized for this story I'm trying to write #1

I remembered that Firey gave / built Leafy an whole ass ferris wheel for her twice

Now of course, the ferris wheel would lead to the downfall of the two, but ya know, for just for a friend... that seems like a big ass gift and work for just a pal Like Firey doesn't do anything similarly big to any for his other close friends

:thinking:

YES OH MY GOD I THINK ABOUT THIS SO MUCH… and the end part about how firey doesn’t do stuff like that for his other friends… have you ever thought about who his actual friends are? just think about it… everyone he associated with in bfdi were almost just acquaintances… he was super focused on challenges and usually worked more independently when he had the chance He didn’t really make time for friends and stuff.. he had minor friendships with certain people but he mainly stuck to his objective of winning dream island whereas leafy liked to work with people during challenges that didn’t require teamwork (like ice cube and sometimes bubble) or random people she would help during challenges) if you think about it hard enough… leafy was fireys only true friend (at least in bfdi)!!! she was the only one to establish a friendship with firey and it seemed like firey needed that push to see someone as a real friend instead of a fellow competitor (or enemy LOL). she was the only one he ever really stood up for he really really saw her as a friend he has never done any of that for anyone else before either (at least up until then) and he also changed his challenge strategy of independence with her at least a couple times… he stuck with her through the challenge in bfdi 20 (for as long as he could…) and occasionally stuck with her through bfdi 23. firey also really passionately defended her and demanded for her to be back when she died and announcer told him that he sold the recovery centers. and yeah of course the ferris wheel GAH but you already mentioned that! and of course firey saving leafy from her punishment of what they thought would be permanent death even tho they were punishing her for something she did mainly to firey … but to wrap up my point! firey has never expressed compassion the same way he has for leafy with anyone else. she was his only true friend in bfdi she was like the only one he ever really had to consider a friend for that whole season of competition … of course there’s much more to discuss for later seasons but i’ve been typing for like over 30 minutes now so i’m gonna quit HAHAHA SORRYYY there are so many words i am really enthusiatic about them

#ALSOOO i’m still working on that fireafy video essay thing #production on it has just kind of paused since school started again but i’m planning on working on it this weekend #i REALLY wanna get it done … i’m so excited about this project man AAHH i spent like 10 hours on the fireafy timeline of their major intera #ctions and ljke 2 hours proof watching everything and another 2 hours taking notes from the show and past rambles #and i spent now over 20 hours for a drawing that’s semi related to the video? i’m just gonna use the speed paint of it for filler when #talking about something that’ll take too much effort to get clips for Or something AND FOR THE YOUTUBE THUMBNAIL PROBABLY #ANWAYSSS i’m forever fireafys biggest fan #YIKES. THIS IS SO MANY WORDS. someone call the yap police #joyjibberjabber #ALSO there might be more stuff i’m missing? or forgetting? i need to rewatch bfdi i need the refresher

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sillyslayer6 · 7 months ago

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genshin lore questions i need the answers to:

what the hell is being 'guarded' beneath the thunder sakura, on kannazuka?

why aren't electro visions being issued?

^ who controls visions, if not the archons?

where's the electro sovereign?

where's the cryo sovereign?

where's the anemo and geo sovereigns, if they're not dvalin and azhdaha?

what is project stuzha?

^ miss tsaritsa, why are you trying to make ragnarok happen?

literally what is the tsaritsa doing.

who's the third descender?

who's the SECOND descender?

is the primordial one celestia?

what the fuck is paimon.

is the unknown god a shade? (probably!)

why are cubes seemingly linked to primordial stuff... and why is zhongli associated with cubes? 🤨

why was specifically venti's statue used by the abyss order, in liyue?

is teyvat actually the home planet of lumine and aether? or, related to their homeland? (the inteyvat flower... 🤨)

is 'the abyss' actually a corrupted and flipped light realm that's trying to reclaim its native territory from the primordial one's meddling? or is it just purple.

why does sandrone resemble mary-ann AND guizhong?

is the big robot behind sandrone actually sandrone?

are constellations/fate written in the fake sky, or the real sky?

when will the heavenly principles wake up? and which nation will piss it off the most? (my bets are on snezhnaya, though fontaine did literally execute the hydro archon)

what did childe wake up? the narwhal?

why does skirk look like the narwhal?

how did childe, a regular human, manage to leave the domain of the archons (the abyss) and come back without being turned into a hillichurl?

what even are the wayob?

what's with khaenriah and their obsession with irminsul? king irmin, crimson moon dynasty having memory fuckery powers, abyss order loom of fate, etc. 🤨

is the abyss space/the void?

how did childe manage to no-clip into the abyss? did he actually?

why did SPECIFICALLY childe's vision stop working, and nobody else's?

when, where and HOW did he get a hydro vision?

why does foul legacy look kinda like a seelie and a dragon had a weird moth baby?🤔

who did the ancestor seelie fall in love with?

why did the moon sisters start brawling and killing each-other?

what's the tsaritsa going to do with all the gnoses? eat them?

how did peruere/arlecchino end up in the house of the hearth?

is crepus ragnvindr the 10th harbinger? 🤔

is diluc's mother in the hexenzirkel?

and so many more! (kill me)

#genshin impact #genshin lore #running around in circles biting the bars of my enclosure right now #i hate waiting for looore #especially if that lore never comes #also i'm going off the assumption that the lore books aren't lying to us...#the fact childe's vision malfunctioning was never explained drives me INSANE #i'll be enjoying my life and one of these questions will dome me on the head and annoy me #genshin lore my fucking beloathed #i'm still not super familiar with natlan + fontaine + sumeru lore so i'm saved from wondering about those too much

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vvitch-deactivated · 5 days ago

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VIII

STRENGTH

EPISTLE TO THE WITCHES' GUARDIANS

to the coming lost generation of witch dykes seeking to find what I have found: this work began on the Dianic Guardian Path, which carves out some sacred space for butch lesbians in our alienation from both the Goddess and womanhood itself.

there are two streams in the Guardian Path. the first pursues witchcraft as a martial art, and nothing is written of it beside vague mention. the other is that which I find myself disaffected by: the notion that butch dykes should circle behind the real priestesses, and do some overwrought bAcKuP energy work while trivializing our estrangement and not really helping the priestesses, either. it was a good first step in the discourse, but Z was right, that's bullshit. Z was right about something else:

butches don't fit neatly into Dianic framework, because it was not crafted with us in mind. few “women's” spaces ever are. this is why lesbians “aren't women”; it's not about ephemeral, internal identity and pronouns, it's about being shunted into a third gender category from which there's no escape and being treated like shit for doing “woman” wrong.

butches are looked upon as parodies of men, femmes as parodies of women. and though we wish we could forget, straight and bi women oppress us too. bi-het women, no matter what they preach, do not see us as fundamentally Like Them. only liking pussy is a masculine trait. godde forbid the rest of our masculine traits. if they are social constructionists, they believe butches “act like that on purpose”, even though we “know better”. Pro-gender-non-conformity? butches “take it too far”, degenerating into male roleplay. if they are bioessentialists they think butches are half-formed defects caught tragically “in the middle” with no valid claim to womanhood.

whether s/he “identifies as a woman” or squats defiantly in the gender ghetto hurling rocks at cars, every single category of person on this earth finds fault with the rigidly masculine female— often, even other lesbians.

In our Dianic tradition, we have been more accepting of feminine intersex women with full beards than phenotypical females who look, work and fuck “like men”. too many feminists conceive of “gender abolition” as men becoming safe and NLOGs dying out.

butches draw from different wells. our archetypes of power are not witch-as-femme-fatale. pressuring a butch to identify with Aphrodite is jamming a square cube into a round hole. all you're going to get is unrecognizably mangled; witches can shapeshift but not like that. the dykes in Reclaiming and Feri identify with the multiform, androgynous Blue God, as lover of the Goddess. butch Dianics take note.

masculine lesbians have been considered divine androgynes, fallen angels and incubi. we have been associated with vampires, werewolves and the fae. we are known as witches, too, yes, but not the witch of modern woman's deep mind. we surface in seas deeper and stranger, conceived of as less human and more monstrous; a witch at an interfaith conference versus a witch standing over your bed at night.

In some lines of Wicca, a woman wears a sword in ritual and is acknowledged “as if a man” to channel the Horned One, reflecting sacred female “Devils” presiding over covens across Europe. Peasants would flock to Joan of Arc's side to touch her blessed clothing. crossdressed women identified with masculine deities have been so prevalent in the history of traditional witchcraft it boggles the mind to witness our current marginalization in the occult and neopaganism.

butches should be leading the female-only rituals, not standing impotently behind them.

ultimately, butches have always been witches and demoniacs, the female death force. the Devil is a woman. “butch” means goat. androgyny is the true mark of the witch. no constraint placed upon us shall hold, though our lore is scattered and straightwashed. i plant a red seed. blessings,

—VVITCHSCVM, MIDSUMMER 2025

#dianic #radical feminism #vvitchscvm #lesbian #witchcraft

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spiralinghours · 1 year ago

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“Fading Out” (continuation/installment of “Filth”)

Fandom/media: Saw franchise

Rating: R/18+

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x Peter Strahm

Tags/content/warnings: humiliation/degradation, teasing, name-calling, feeding kink, weight gain… a lot of the same from the previous fic

Summary: A canon-divergent continuation where Strahm is alive and well (and didn’t get put in the cube), but does know Hoffman’s identity. Hoffman, meanwhile, is done with the Jigsaw business, too confused by whatever he has going on with Strahm. Low key teasing continues to happen during work hours, which culminates in Mark experimenting on his own at home.

Author’s note: I was gonna add more to this, but it felt long enough and I got impatient haha. I’m not great at long form/chapters because I get bored by the idea, so there’s no set length, but just know this installment is a filler before I churn out the next part.

Enjoy. Or don’t. Make your choice.

So things hadn’t gone as planned, but they seemed to work out. For the time being.

Strahm had strolled—intently stamped, more like—his way out of the meat plant on the night of those simultaneous games, looking the victor, as he gave the exact story he promised he would (blah blah, came in alone, everyone dead but Hoffman, helped him out of the trap, blah blah blah) and reported that Jigsaw, finally, was dead. That was that.

Jigsaw was dead, in more ways than one. Mark had anticipated carrying out the last couple games as John’s dying wish, taking out anyone who put even a slightly inconvenient kink in the grand scheme of it all. But, the blunt truth was John was gone. Amanda was gone. Jill, while probably wanting to respect John’s will, did not have the heart to play murder games. (And this Logan fella… he was never coming back. He had a whole life. Who cared?) Mark didn’t want to associate with anyone left alive in John’s legacy—his fucked up family.

And with Peter knowing the whole smoking truth of it all with some sick fixation and the potential for blackmail, there was no point for Mark to dig his hole deeper. He would tie up the loose ends and move on.

On a formal, procedural, surface level, tying loose ends also entailed wrapping things up with the feds. It was a whole parade of paperwork, exchanging identical manila folders, making the same public statements to major media outlets, and staying caffeinated into the ungodly hours of the morning to make sure all the stories on record were solid.

It meant Peter was still around, digging through the inner sanctum of the precinct like a mite. He was always lurking, and actually focused on his job, to be sure. But at moments when Mark thought he’d look up and make eye contact, or see him walk through his office door, there was nothing.

It was jarring, in fact, how removed Strahm seemed, given the immense tension and lingering promise of their last interaction. Perhaps it was best left that way. But if anything, despite all else—the wet dreams and fleeting, empty want—Hoffman felt the need to confirm some kind of arrangement given what Strahm knew of his identity.

Yeah, that was all it was. Just business, in that sense.

In a completely random occurrence, in the middle of one of the many days hazing into the next, Mark spotted Peter, alone in what was his and Lindsey’s makeshift office watching something on the old TV. It was the tape from when Mark originally interrogated Jill from however long ago—the one Rigg wracked his brain on, watching it on repeat.

Mark could only assume Peter was looping it for completely different reasons, but he let his crass curiosity get the better of him.

“Hard at work?” Mark sort of muttered as he entered the space, cringing at how stupid and generic it came out.

“Yeah,” Peter replied, not even turning to look. It was as bland an answer as if he’d been offered a cup of coffee.

“My tape with Jill have something we missed?” Mark probed on, tilting his head at how Peter rewound the part where he passed in front of the camera, backside in full view. (‘Jesus, I look like that back there?’)

“Just enjoying the view,” Peter replied, tone unchanged.

What a stone cold prick.

He made an obvious point of pausing the spot where Mark had twisted his torso just enough as he leaned over the table, showing at just the right angle the way his belly hung over his belt, past his generous chest. The blue hue of the tape made even his fuzzy visage look very shapely.

“You’re a sick fuck.” Mark was going for a threatening, undercutting slant to his words, but it fell short into something on edge.

“I’m not doing anything sick, stupid,” Peter finally turned around, looking annoyed for barely any reason.

“Enjoying the view? Yeah?” Mark mocked. “You’re a creep, lookin’ at me like that.”

“Who said I was looking at you? Ms. Tuck is pretty gorgeous.”

Mark was well aware that one of the many skills he possessed was passively getting on people’s nerves until he got something out of the situation. But Peter had out-obnoxioused him somehow. Mark shook his head, lips fixing into a dumb pucker, and started to turn away.

“You look fucking fat in this tape.” Peter’s cold voice trailed behind Mark, smacking him and reeling him back in.

“Excuse me? Fuck you.”

Strahm stood up abruptly and got into Hoffman’s face, his eyes drifting momentarily to the open door to make sure Lindsey or Erickson or even some subordinate didn’t pass by. “Why are you taking that as an insult? Looks good on you, big boy. Say ‘thank you’ when you’re complimented.” A rare, menacing smile cracked across his face. “I like having something to hold onto.” He swatted at Mark’s lower belly, just out there, pushing prominently over his belt buckle and badge.

The TV clicked off and Strahm exited the room without another word. He was frequent with sudden, callous departures like that. It left Hoffman standing there, gears visibly turning behind his eyes and a hand reflexively cupping his stomach where he was just touched.

What the fuck?

—

For the most part, Mark had little awareness of his own body and his overall perception. Outside of his hair and his face, he didn’t pay mind to much. He was just there, just a guy. And, over time, he cared less, living a lifestyle where there was so much stimulation, too much to focus on, too much worry, death and dying at every corner…

He never stopped and realized that people looked at him and just saw a “big guy”, let alone found it attractive. That was the part that alluded him. Like the general public, he assumed the stereotypical thing people wanted to rub their hands over were rock-hard abs and sharp jawlines or whatever. All that to say, Mark felt like Strahm was ogling him for the weirdest reasons.

Late into the night, hours after the little tiff about the tape, Mark was still mulling over what had been said. He knew he was thinking too much on it, but that type of interaction was just too specific and new.

He breathed a bored, unfocused sigh and traced around his house, debating on if he was hungry or just frazzled enough to go to sleep. But a weird impulse seeped into his mind as he leaned towards the former.

In a bit of an autopilot state, lightheaded with a tingle up his back, Mark trudged from one side of the kitchen to the next, alternating between grabbing items from the fridge and the two cabinets. Each “dish” (if the senseless piles could even be called that) merited another garnish or more to add to the taste profile. The remaining four slices of pizza needed more protein, so the egg and sausage leftover from the morning were topped on. But then it needed a dipping sauce, so he had to throw a little ranch in there. But all that became too salty-savory, so Mark made a side salad (which ended up being a mixing bowl’s worth) stacked with croutons, cheese shreds, and chips (because they were spicy, and the whole deal could use a little spice). But then after that, a little sweetness made sense to cut through all the cheese, meat, and sauce, so ice cream came next. But it was too frostbitten to dig a spoon in, so he microwaved the pint… maybe a bit too long, as it ended up mostly melted. But hey, that was just a milkshake, right? So into a glass it went, with some extra milk to thin it out.

He was incredibly hungry, sure—more than he realized—but there was a ping, some kind of creeping inspirational spark that kept him going. There was the idea of Strahm watching him eat this way, maybe even pushing him through it with nasty little remarks the whole time. The condescending “Oink oink” Peter demanded of him from that night in the plant echoed in his head, like an obsession, over and over, unfurling a blackout sort of feeling.

It was over as quickly as it started, leaving Mark in a haze, a little confused at what he just put himself through. He didn’t come—didn’t touch himself or get off or even get super hard—but it felt like he was experiencing “post nut clarity” all the same. There was a hint of shame to it, as Mark recognized how secret and foul gorging himself felt, and how it would be a struggle to hide the results if it kept happening, shifting around slowly with a likely angry and wobbling gut fighting against his pants button.

Peter would be around, and he would see. Would he? Hoffman was curious to know what he would say, how his sharp, dour expression would shift. What catty comments would Peter let burrow into Mark’s dumb, eager brain?

As itch-inducing as the mental image was, Mark’s energy would be reserved for that at a later time. Down for the night, he had slumped into the corner of his small burgundy couch, hyper aware of the way his white undershirt stretched and smoothed out across the expanse of his belly, creasing only at his sides, above his love handles. Every breath was a chore, the shallowest inhales and exhales making him slosh, which eventually set off a chain of hiccups that made his gut bounce uncomfortably.

Letting a hand creep under the tight fabric, Mark ended the night absentmindedly scratching the side if his stomach while some previously-aired episodes of The Girls Next Door droned on his meager TV.

“Guess I’m a pervert too,” Mark mumbled to no one in particular.

#coffinshipping fic #hoffstrahm fic

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