#magic and muscles bios

[quackicons]

⏝🍋🔪 ⎯ㅤ ꪆ Mashle ✧ ͟ ✦ ͟ ⎯ bio.

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀♱ ʿʿ ⠀ ࣭ ࣪ ⠀ ✦✧͏ ⠀ ⋆ ⠀ Magic ⠀ ͟ ͟ ༨ ೫ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ And ⠀⠀ ✶ ︎ᬺᬺᬸ ݁🕯️ ⠀⠀⠀ Muscles

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ 𓏶 ╅ ͟ 🗡️ ⠀di𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙚 ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ꯭ ꯭ ̶𖢅 ⠀⠀ 𝕧𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐲. ⠀ ━── ͟ ☆⃞

[wsjyuyuyuau]

Lance Crown (Mashle)

Name: Lance Crown

Series: Mashle: Magic and Muscles

Gender: Male

Status: Alive

Family: Anna Crown (Sister)

Flower Motif: Blue Moth Orchid (Phalaenopsis amabilis)

Flower Meaning: Rare Beauty

Weapon of Choice: Wand

Associated With: Interdimensional Hero Club

Hero Form Appearance: A combination of a magic user’s outfit and YuYuYu’s Hero Form Outfits. The undersuit of the outfit is a jet black which helps the blue of the main outfit stand out- and while the main outfit is indeed a gorgeous, gorgeous sky blue- it becomes a dark blue when you reach the lower half of the pants, the lower half of the sleeves, and the tailcoat. Accent colors include black, white, gray, silver, gold, and green. The boots, gloves, and tie all have patterns of moth orchids on them, and the only other accessory is a blue moth orchid brooch that serves as a tie clasp. The flower’s petal shape can be seen in the tailcoat and collar.

Full Bloom Gauge Location: Right Fist

Guardian: Annie (Based on Black Annis)

Favorite Food: Eclairs

Parallel To: None

Bio: Lance Crown is a first-year student at Easton Magic Academy and one of the main characters of the series. When Lance was younger, his sister, Anna Crown, would worry for him because he would get into fights to protect people who were getting bullied. When she became ill with an incurable disease that would take away her single line, his parents showed great disgust in their own daughter's condition which infuriated Lance to the point where he disowned his parents and decided from then on he will become a Divine Visionary to save his sister.

[hows-itgoagain]

chat am i allowed to call myself the ceo of landot at this point because if you look through the tag an absurd amount of posts are mine but idk if there’s someone else with the title already

[newgabeorder]

Christmas Episodes and a Final Showdown Against the Final Hazard! That's How You Do A Christmas Lineup!

Hello, anime fans. I am Gabriel Ramos, DJ and broadcaster of Toon Time Theater. This is a reminder that tomorrow, there will be a series of Christmas episodes of your favorite cartoons, plus the finale of the Shadow saga of Sonic X and the "Program 2"* premiere of KEY THE METAL IDOL. Since Toonami couldn't give us a good lineup to spread the holiday cheer, I decided to provide one in style. Don't forget I will live-stream the first two HAIKYU!! OVAs again, followed by a six-episode MASHLE: MAGIC AND MUSCLES marathon that night at 10.0 PM / 9.0 PM - Central / Pacific, so don't forget to stock up a lot of cream puffs for the premiere of Toon Time Theater's late-night spinoff block, More One Night.

* In Program 2, Tokiko must venture out into the public and try auditioning as an idol singer. However, there are obstacles she must face considering her build and physique of a robot, preventing her from showing her true feelings. Sakura gets a new job as a manager and promoter for Tokiko, soon-to-be an idol singer who will attract over 30,000 human-beings to regain her humanity on Earth.

[writingfics-passingtime]

Empty Threats

synopsis: stranded in a one-room safe house overnight with Loki, you learn the consequences of teasing him.

pairing: Loki x female reader (sexual / romantic)

word count: ~6700

cw: swearing, tickling, making out, closed-door sex, innuendo and other sexually-charged exchanges, light bondage (with magic), less romance more fwb vibe? you be the judge

minors dni: this fic does not contain smut, but does contain steamy moments and closed-door sex between the reader and an adult-aged character. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

note: horniest I'll ever be on main. future smut will be posted on nevermath.tumblr.com

The escape craft was some older thing. Ancient and rickety, by SHIELD standards. Definitely not built for an ice-storm.

You can't remember the last time you felt so unsafe in the air - and that included a handful of situations involving heat-seeking missiles, plummeting free-falls, and one especially memorable brush with a Chitauri cannon.

The turbulence knocks the controls hard to the left, you wrestle them back with a grunt, jaw tight, adrenaline burning under your skin. A flick of your eyes towards your passenger seat makes your blood pressure spike for an entirely different reason.

Loki looks bored.

Actually... worse; he looks vaguely amused.

He's lounging, one leg crossed over the other, hands steepled in his lap. Not a single hair out of place, nor muscle braced. Whether that means he trusts you to fly safely out of this storm, or simply doesn't care whether the damn thing goes down in flames, you're not sure. You don't ask.

You don't want the answer.

So when the radar pings a safe-house just a hundred clicks off-course, you make a hard turn toward it with zero apology.

The landing is rough. Metal groans as the craft slams down on a barely-visible patch of ice-washed earth. But she holds. Barely.

You unbuckle fast, tossing Loki a look over your shoulder. "Hope your highness can handle a night in a little mountain shack."

His brow raises. His smirk is slow, knowing.

You don't give him the satisfaction of looking flustered. You just shove the hatch open and duck out into the freezing sleet with a scoff.

You'd never usually leave a craft in the open like this, but the visibility is shit and the airspace is fucked; no one will be flying overhead - not even the combatants that'd been pursuing you fifty-odd clicks back.

The safe-house cabin appears like a ghost out of the storm, flickering through thick sheets of sideways rain. You reach the door, slap your hand on the bio scanner, and hear the click of the lock just as Loki falls into step and you both slip out of the weather.

The door shuts with a solid thud - and for the first time in hours, silence rings.

Peace. Safety.

Both of you stand still, breathing hard. You're not sure if it's the cold or the tension. Maybe both.

But it’s tranquil in here. Nice, even. Far from a little mountain shack.

You step further in, the dim lights automatically fading on, and you glance at the windows, which seem to be holding tight against the icy rain lashing against them. Wind howls through the trees and scratches at the glass like a leopard's claws, but the place seems solid.

No sooner had you stepped in further did thunder crack so close it felt like the gods were arguing just over the mountain-

Wait...

"That's not your brother, is it?" You look at Loki over your shoulder, half-joking.

"No," Loki's low, rich voice chuckles behind you. "Not nearly dramatic enough."

You're almost soaked-through from the dash, a chill threatening to settle into your bones, but you notice that, though isolated, the safe-house isn't freezing. The lights are low and warm, casting the room in comforting haze. It feels luxurious; hardwood floors, thick rugs, a fireplace in the centre of the wall, opposite to the kingsized bed draped in earth-coloured linens and furs and- wait. Fuck.

Bed. Singular.

You look around and quickly confirm the sheepish feeling sinking into you. This is a studio. Designed for one. Or for a couple.

Who... the fuck decided that only one bed was appropriate for safe house?

Instead of making it a big deal, you declare, "I'm going to shower to warm up."

Loki looks to the stone mantle and says "I'll make a fire."

But as soon as the word fire leaves his lips, the empty cavity hisses to life, flames beginning to spark and build. You bite your lip as Loki scowls.

"Spooky," you tease, twirling your finger to the ceiling. "The cabin must be haunted by helpful ghosts."

Loki swings that scowl on you, but softens it. "We do also have technology on Asgard, you smug little goblin."

You smirk and turn on your heel. "You keep calling me things like that and I'm gonna think you’re flirting."

"I am," he calls after you.

You don't dignify it with a reply. You also don't stop smiling as you close the bathroom door.

The bathroom, and the shower itself, match the quiet wealth of the rest of the place. Such a shame, you think as you let your shoulders ease under the spray, that this place must be empty most of the time. It's exactly the kind of place you can imagine yourself... being. Just relaxing, letting go. Preferably alone, considering the one-bed situation.

Your stomach pings in a cluster of nerves as you lather the fig and sandalwood suds over your skin, trying to scrub the tension from your shoulders - tension that, annoyingly, has less to do with the mission and more to do with the god in the other room.

Loki is… a menace. Not just in the field. Not just in battle. But here. In the quiet. In the glances. In the way he looks at you like he’s already peeled your thoughts apart and likes what he sees.

The bed is big, and it's not like you'd mind sharing it with Loki - you'd known since the first time you worked with the God of Mischief that you'd likely fall into bed together at some point or another - but this... it feels forced. Like two dolls some child is guiding into a kiss.

Soon you're standing in front of the mirror, brushing your teeth, wiping a path through the fog on the glass to look yourself in the eye and coach yourself mentally, as if you were a child: just because you're under the same covers does not mean you will have sex with him.

You feel your cheeks warm as you realise that Loki probably isn't thinking about any of this. At all. Even though he makes no efforts to hide his physical attraction to you, that doesn't mean he's... wanting, in the same way you are.

Besides, he's your mission partner. Your headache. Your shadow in the field. The beautiful thorn in your side when you're not under fire. Taking it further could make it messy.

You throw on some standard-issue lounge clothes; socks, underwear, sweat shorts, tank top, and a cloud-soft sweatshirt, all found in the bathroom's linen cupboard that must contain at least two dozen different size options.

When you walk back into the main area, the warmth instantly seeps into your skin like a gentle summer evening. One deep breath, and you've eased further.

Loki looks up from the couch where he's lounged with his head against the headrest, hands folded over his stomach. He's still in his tac gear.

"There's a change of clothes in there," you nod to the bathroom.

Loki's eyebrow lifts. In a slow pulse of green, his clothes change into a softer, yet seemingly still tailored, all-black set that covers his limbs entirely. It looks too good for something summoned out of spite. "Over my dead body," his eyes rake over you, critical on the surface, heated underneath.

With a roll of your eyes you make your way to the bed. "I'm tired," you say, seeing it in his eyelids. "Ready to sleep?"

"I'll tend to my needs and then take my rest here." He stands and heads towards the bathroom.

"Loki," you put a little casual laugh in your voice. He stops and turns his head. "The bed's huge. We can share it."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, and you're worried you've fucked it. That you've been presumptuous. That he's going to say something about how he'd rather die than share sheets with the likes of-

"Very well," he tilts his head in agreement, barely looking at you before he closes the bathroom door.

Internally, you're screaming. Outwardly, you're pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes, wondering if there was any possible way you could've made it more awkward.

You hear the shower spray and try to think about anything other than him in here.

Whatever. Whatever. You take a breath through your nose and slip under the sheets. The lights are still dim. You narrow your eyes, and test the cabin, saying "it's time to sleep."

The lights dim to nothing, the fire pulls back from roaring to gently crackling, creating a cozy atmosphere that's calling you to sleep. But the second you settle in, you get that sinking gut feeling that sleep isn't going to come easy. Your limbs are tired, your eyelids heavy, but your mind is still buzzing with adrenaline.

You're staring at the ceiling when Loki reenters, crosses the room, and slides into the sheets on the other side of the bed. And sure, the bed is big, but he's still less than an arm's length away. You didn't realise how close you'd feel until he was there.

"Sweet dreams," you say with a subtle teasing lilt to try and disguise your nerves, eyes still on the ceiling, fingers playing with the hem of your sweatshirt.

You hear his head turn to look at you. Hear a small, faintly amused puff of air through his nose. "Try not to dream about me too vividly. I don’t want to wake to you whimpering." He turns, back to you, and settles in.

You bite your lip, the heat returning tenfold, but you chuckle. “Who's the smug little goblin now."

In an effort to get the adrenaline out, to help your mind complete whatever it feels it needs to, you start replaying the mission in your head. Every bullet, every chase, every snarky little jab Loki threw at you in that seductive voice, every- ... oh shit.

You almost forgot.

You press your smiling lips together, suppressing the giggle threatening to betray you. But it slips out anyway - a little puff of laughter in the dark.

That moment. The one that sent you over the edge.

Loki shifts beside you. "Don’t start," he warns. His words are a blade being drawn from its sheath.

“I didn’t say anything," you retort, now openly grinning at the ceiling.

"You thought it," he snips. He knows exactly what you're thinking about and hates it already.

You roll onto your side to face him, arm tucked under your head. "I'm just remembering a moment from today. A glorious one."

He exhales through his nose. "You truly have a death wish."

You grin wider. "You ate shit so hard on that slippery boulder."

The silence between you stretches like wire. Taut. Dangerous.

You keep going anyway.

"One second you’re monologuing, all broody Asgardian menace - 'You dare challenge me?' - and the next? Boom. Legs in the air. Splashdown."

You can feel the heat rising from his side of the bed. His magic pulses just faintly through the room. Static before a lightning strike.

"If you were wise you'd shut your mouth," he says darkly, "before I'm forced to shut it for you."

You laugh again - quieter this time, taunting. "Oh yeah? What’s the plan - another lecture about respect?" You prop yourself up on an elbow, searching the air for more sass. "Or... just another bout of empty threats and semi-inappropriate workplace banter?"

Loki turns. Slowly. He shifts to mirror you - rising on one elbow, lifting his face so you can see him in the flicker of firelight.

And fuck... he looks dangerous like this. Hot and dangerous. Hair damp and curling at the ends, shadows cutting beneath his cheekbones, pale blue eyes locked on you like you’re something he’s actively backing into a corner.

He tilts his head, and, with a devastating sweetness, he says, slowly, "Tease me again, and I’ll put you on your back and tickle you until you sob."

You blink. "Huh-what?"

Loki leans in just slightly - close enough that his breath ghosts over your mouth. "You heard me. One more snide little comment and I'll have you writhing. I will take my time. And you will not know mercy."

Your brain flatlines. Your mouth parts. You should say something sharp - should snap back, keep the banter going - but your body betrays you with a single thud of heat low in your stomach.

He sees it.

Of course he fucking sees it.

Loki's eyes narrow and you know - you know he’s cataloging every flinch, every breath. "It's the perfect punishment, wouldn't you agree?" he continues softly, dangerously. "Intimate, humiliating… leaves no mark. You won’t run to your beloved Captain Rogers with bruises. Just memories you can’t scrub off."

Your throat’s dry. You manage a single nervous chuckle. "You wouldn’t."

He smirks like the mischief he is. "We both know I would."

You go quiet.

Dead quiet.

Because the worst part is, you don't know whether you want him to or not.

And Loki - bastard that he is - sees that, too. He leans back slowly, satisfaction dripping from every hard line of his body as he settles into the pillow again.

You lie there, heart pounding, every nerve on fire. The storm still rages outside, but now it's got competition.

Loki chuckles deep and low, and it feels like thunder cracking beneath your skin.

"Wise choice," he murmurs.

And fuck, you hate him.

You hate him.

Well... no.

You don't hate him.

And you hate that you don't hate him.

You shift under the covers, giving an exaggerated sigh as you turn away from him. "Jeez. You're so fucking dramatic," you mutter under your breath.

A mistake.

"Oh, you poor little fool."

A catastrophic mistake.

Before you can even suck in another breath, his magic crackles through the air. It's an electric, humming snap that raises the fine hairs on your arms a second before you feel it.

The pillowcase under your head moves. It slides off the cushion with a treacherous slither, wrapping itself around your wrists with a speed and precision that makes your stomach drop. You jerk instinctively, but it's too late - your hands are caught, ensnared, pinned above your head, wrists bound together tight enough to be secure but loose enough to tell you this is a game.

His game.

You barely manage a grunt of protest before Loki’s hands are on you - turning you onto your back in a fluid, almost lazy motion, like he’s not even trying. His fingers are wickedly strong around your waist, holding you down just long enough for him to shift, knee pressing between your legs, swinging himself up until he straddles your hips.

You struggle, wild and panicked, kicking your legs and jerking your torso, but you’re half-covered in blankets and utterly unprepared for a fight - in soft sleepwear, no armour - and he’s bigger, heavier, faster, magical.

You buck hard, trying to dislodge him, but all it earns you is a low, infuriating chuckle from above.

"Is this truly the best you can fight?" he purrs, tightening his grip just enough to remind you who’s in charge.

"Fuck you," you scowl, jerking your hands against the bonds.

"Rude." He tsks, smirking down at you, his hips pinning yours to the bed with effortless control. "And after I warned you so nicely."

You twist again, but it's useless. You’re stuck. Fully at his mercy.

And the worst part?

You can feel the slow, deliberate shift of his body against yours - his thigh pressing against your bare skin, the long line of him caging you in - and it sparks heat low in your gut that has nothing to do with rage.

"You can’t seriously - Loki, come on," you start, trying to wriggle your wrists free, but the enchanted fabric tightens at his will, dragging a frustrated, helpless sound from your throat. "This is stupid and dramatic. You proved your point, now let me go."

He just tilts his head, studying you like a cat might study a bird fluttering with a broken wing.

"Tell me," he murmurs, voice dangerously low as he settles further, "did you really think that would go unpunished?"

His hands start inching forward.

You glare. "I really think you’re a dickhead."

His eyes gleam, a spark of delight dancing at the edges. "Mm. Defiant. I expected nothing less."

His fingers descend like vipers, darting straight for your sides, and the second they make contact... fuck.

You jerk so violently the bed frame gives a protesting creak.

You arch instinctively, breath hitching, but you refuse to laugh. Refused to give him the satisfaction.

"Nothing?" he muses, leaning closer, eyes flaring in delight. "Oh, you’re going to be so fun."

You twist under him, trying to wriggle free. The pillowcase tightens slightly in response. You grit your teeth as he drags his fingers up and down your ribs with merciless precision.

You hold on, digging your heels into the mattress, biting your bottom lip hard. His touch is devastating. Too practiced. Light one moment, firm the next, zeroing in on your most sensitive spots with surgical precision.

And still, you don't laugh.

Until-

"Ah," Loki says softly. His fingers found it - a spot just beneath your left rib, sensitive as hell, one you hadn’t even known would betray you.

Your body jolts. A tiny gasp escapes your throat. Then, like a damn cracking, a laugh punches from your lungs.

Triumphant, Loki’s smirk deepens - not cruel, not quite - something darker, warmer. Endeared, even. And utterly smug.

"There it is," he whispers, tilting his head. "I knew you’d be a screamer."

You flush, full-body and furious. "I hate you," you huff through gritted teeth, breath coming fast.

He clicks his tongue. "Then you’ll loathe what comes next."

And then he really begins.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore. You burst with laughter, loud and sharp, your body trembling wildly beneath his tickling hands.

And gods, he’s good at it - depravedly good. His fingers dance, spider-light one moment, then digging mercilessly the next, zeroing in on every little vulnerable spot like he’s been studying you for months.

Which he probably has, the bastard.

You shriek again, trying to twist away, but his weight on your hips keeps you absolutely pinned.

"You should’ve held your tongue," Loki drawls, his voice maddeningly calm over your frantic squirming. His voice drops. "Gods, you’re responsive."

"I swear I'm gonna get you for this- SHIT!" you gasp out between bursts of helpless, writhing laughter, but the threats fall flat - your voice breaking with each choked, humiliating giggle he wrings from you.

"You’re welcome to try," he murmurs, dragging one hand from your side up under your sweatshirt to your underarm, circling lightly where the skin’s thinnest, most sensitive.

You convulse so hard under him you nearly tip him sideways, but Loki handles it easily, smirking like this is all beneath him - like your thrashing and desperate yelps are just entertainment.

He skims the pads of his fingers lightly over your stomach, watching with lazy amusement as you shudder uncontrollably.

You kick your legs, trying to knee him, but he just rides out the bucking like he’s enjoying it, settling heavier against you with a rough grind of his hips that makes your brain white out for a second - makes you way too aware of how warm he is. How solid.

"You are such a dick," you gasp, breathless.

"No," he grins. "I’m your reckoning."

You whimper - actually whimper - as he attacks your sides again, fast and brutal, forcing desperate laughter out of you until you’re gasping between giggles, your whole body arching and twisting under him.

Loki only hums thoughtfully, shifting his weight slightly so his hips press more firmly against yours - deliberately - and the new friction is a whole fresh hell you’re not prepared for.

Heat spikes through you, brutal and wanted, mixing with the overwhelming sensation of his hands tormenting your skin.

He sees it.

Of course he fucking sees everything.

And the bastard has the audacity to smile wider. Slow, wolfish, knowing. His fingers skitter up your sides again, sending you into another fit of helpless, humiliating giggles.

"Fuck! This is so messed up-"

"You could have avoided this," he drawls, utterly unbothered. "All you had to do was keep that clever little mouth shut."

You grit your teeth, trying to focus. "This- this is petty. This is some villain-ass shit. No wonder Thor used to kick your ass when you were younger."

"Oh?" he says, digging his fingers against the fabric covering the soft space under your arms, dragging a laugh straight from your lungs. "You want to talk about childhood trauma now? In the middle of this? How very Avenger of you."

You throw your head back and laugh through gritted teeth, managing a whiny: "I really hate you."

He laughs. "You wish." His hands dive back to your sides.

"I wait- Loki- okay please!" you gasp, twisting hard, but the pillowcase tightens again, holding your wrists captive.

"Oh, now you beg?" Loki teases, fingers squeezing at your waist until your whole body bucks. "Where was this charming submission before?"

You shake your head wildly, laughing so hard your ribs hurt, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. Every time you think he’s about to let up, he switches tactics - light teasing along your stomach, a wicked squeeze at your hips, brutal tickling up your ribs again until you’re choking on helpless giggles.

He finds the hollow just above your hip bone and presses - firm and slow.

You squeal. Actually squeal.

He grins wider.

"Oh, you sweet thing," he purrs. "I could do this all night."

You swear at him in every language you know.

He just chuckles darkly, slow and satisfied, like he’s feasting on your misery.

"Say you’re sorry."

You growl through clenched teeth, body trembling from the effort to wrench free.

"Never."

He pauses. Cocks a brow.

Then he leans down. Slowly. Until his nose brushes yours.

You take a shuddering breath in, still panting, now caught in a frantic freeze state. Like your base animal instincts are twisted into some weird belief that if you don't move he won't see you.

"Never?"

Your heart flutters at his low, commanding voice. The pure heat in it, so obviously intentional.

The pads of his fingertips and the faint graze of his blunt nails tease along the bare skin where your tank has ridden up. Your fingers tighten around the pillow case.

"Then I suppose..." he starts, sliding his hands higher. Palms smoothing against your sides, fingers trailing, taunting.

"You and I..." You feel the curve of his grin in his voice. "...will be here a very… very long time.”

You gasp when you feel his fingers press against the bare skin of your lowest ribs. "N-n-no-nnn-!"

But your protests are swallowed in laughter. Drowned in gasps and cackles. You're out of breath, out of threats, out of any form of resistance.

Loki's dark chuckle sings against your ear. Sends tiny sparks of pleasure down the skin of your neck.

And he keeps going - meticulous and devastating - drawing it out until you’re breathless, boneless, wrists still trapped high above your head, body burning with exertion and heat and something darker, something hotter, curling low in your belly and spreading like wildfire.

"Okay- okay okay!" You squeak, some high and helpless whine in the back of your throat. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry- please stop it!"

Loki finally slows, dragging one last, maddening trail up your side that makes you jerk involuntarily.

He sits back, straddling your hips lazily, surveying you. Admiring his work. His hair is wild around his face, his eyes bright with wicked satisfaction, incandescent with smug delight. His gaze stays locked on you, drinking in every breathless tremor.

You glare up at him, chest heaving, cheeks burning, completely at his mercy - and the way he looks at you, the way you feel under his hands... you can't show it.

"That..." you pant, "was an egregious HR violation."

"Oh dear," Loki rolls his eyes. "The paperwork."

"Oh, I'll show you fuckin' paperwork-"

"What shall it say, darling? How will you explain this? I'm so terribly fascinated by the prospect of our little tryst becoming immortalised in public record."

"That was not a tryst that was an attack and - hey, fuck you, untie me - it was uncalled for."

Perfectly in time with the raising of his brow, the pillowcase around your wrists loosen. But Loki makes no effort to get off you.

And you make no effort to push him off, even as you prop yourself up by the elbows, chin tilted back to look him in the eye.

"Poor thing," he soothes. And with that teasing edge, there's a softness. A devastatingly gentle thread of temptation laced through his voice. His smirk. His sheer fucking audacity.

He cocks his head to one side, pushing the damp curls back from his face, regarding you with a lazy challenge. "Was the big bad God of Mischief too hard on you?"

You lower your brow and pout, "Yes."

His head turns the other way. His smirk is devastating. "Do you need me to kiss it better?"

Every bit of heat in your over-exerted body goes to one of two places, and your lips part with a puff of air, almost like you'd been winded.

That small, insecure part of you whispers that this is a cruel trick. That he's having you on. He doesn't mean it, he-

Fuck.

Your breath hitches when the back of his hand finds your lower stomach. Your fists tighten as he trails his knuckles along the soft, exposed skin, his eyes not leaving yours. You swallow. He lifts a brow. A quiet question.

Your tongue slips out to wet your drying lips. "Maybe."

It's pitiful, but it's the only word you think you can say without it wobbling and-

Loki's shaking his head, shifting backward, lower. "I need a yes."

"Yes, then."

"And a please."

"Go fuck yourself."

He chuckles. "So sulky. What am I going to do with you?"

But before you can answer, his lips meet bare skin. Your back arches when his mouth brushes low across your stomach, just above the waistband of your shorts. He’s barely kissing - it's more breath than lips - but every exhale is warm and deliberate, as if he's savouring the feel of your skin against his mouth.

"You’re far too brazen for someone so soft," he murmurs. His fingers press just beside your hipbone, not quite pinching, not quite tickling, just enough to make your thighs twitch and your breath catch. "So easily undone, and still mouthing off."

His lips trail a slow line across your abdomen, kissing deliberately, as if each inch deserves reverence. Then- a single puff of air against your navel, followed by a nip of his teeth that makes your hips jerk.

You yelp. "Hey!"

He grins against your skin. "Thought you'd lost your voice for a moment."

The muscles of his shoulders dance under his shirt as he slowly pulls himself higher, chest brushing yours, hands planted by your head as he mouths a trail down your neck, grazing his teeth along the slope of your collar. Just enough to make your skin sing.

He lowers himself onto you carefully, hands dragging down your sides again, this time with full intention. His palms cup your waist, pulling you up into him.

The friction is electric.

Your chest heaves, thighs trembling under the weight of him - and he takes his sweet, unhurried time, moving over you like a storm in slow motion. He kisses the erratic pulse beneath your ear, nips, soothes, nudges his nose against your neck as your fists curl in his hair.

Your breath stutters when he finally pulls back enough to look at you.

Hair wild, breath shallow, eyes locked on yours like he wants to memorise every flicker of thought passing behind them.

He dips lower.

This time, his lips ghost over yours.

Once.

Twice.

Not kissing you. Not yet. Just tasting the shape of your mouth with his breath, taunting the final inches that separate you.

"Ask me," he murmurs, so soft you almost miss it.

Your jaw flexes.

"No."

He gives a dark chuckle. The sound brushes your lips. "Still so proud. Even now."

You glare, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you.

He leans in again, mouth brushing yours. "You want me."

Your breath catches.

"You want me," you retort.

He smirks. Hums. Kisses the corner of your mouth.

Just once.

Then the other.

Teasing. Gentle. Laying claim with infuriating grace.

You feel your eyes flutter.

He lingers. Breath to breath. Lips agonising close to yours.

"Say it," he breathes.

And you can’t anymore.

You’re done pretending.

"Just-... kiss me," you rasp.

And Loki does.

Not rough. Not possessive.

Deep. Measured. Devastatingly thorough.

His mouth moves over yours with patience, with precision, like he wants to map every gasp you give him and drag them out for his own pleasure.

You groan into it before you even know it’s happening.

Your hands twist in his hair as he deepens the kiss, tongue teasing your bottom lip before claiming more, drawing it out, savouring the moment like a rare vintage.

You kiss him back harder.

Because gods help you, you’ve wanted this. For too long. Through too many missions and almost-maybes and can’t-haves and don’t-even-think-about-its.

And now he’s everywhere.

His hands are under your tank top, resting against your waist as he keeps you under him. His body presses down, moulding into yours, every inch of him demanding and anchoring and terrifying in the way it feels so right.

You gasp into his mouth when his hand skims higher, palm dragging heat up your side, sliding beneath the edge of your top without hurry. Not groping. Just... feeling. Claiming space.

Your hips lift without your permission, chasing friction, chasing him.

He groans softly into your mouth. You swallow it greedily.

Loki pulls back just slightly, breathing hard. His forehead rests against yours, both of you straining against the gravity of the moment.

Still not enough.

His hands tense with the last dregs of his self-control, his body pressing down as if to imprint the shape of you onto his bones.

"You want this?" He pants. “You want me?”

"Yes," you gutter out. "Gods, yes."

He smirks against your lips. "Swearing to gods now, are we?" One hand slides back down your waist, hooking under your thigh, hitching it up over his hip. "How flattering."

When the radio on your tac vest wakes you with an alert of incoming comms, the first thing you register is the cold.

Then the ache - deep, lazy, sated - a bruised exhaustion thrumming through every muscle. Your brain struggles up from a black ocean of sleep just as the radio, somewhere across the room, starts crackling to life.

Loki groans low beside you. You feel the movement - sheets slipping off marble skin, the faint stretch of long limbs - and you grunt, rolling onto your stomach, grinding your forehead into the pillow. Everything hurts in a way that makes your mouth curl into a smug little smile against the linen.

The night comes back in flashes. Sharp. Shattering.

Claws-in, teeth-bared, breathless destruction of all the tension that had simmered between you for months. You hadn't so much fallen into bed with him as wrecked each other - over and over again - until your bodies finally gave out, tangled in the wreckage.

Maybe an hour of sleep. Maybe two. Not enough to be functional.

You groan as you push yourself upright, the blanket sliding off your bare back.

Loki sits at the other edge of the bed, dragging a hand through his wild, tangled black hair. The dim morning light coming through the frosted windows slices across his bare shoulders, illuminating the faint, red half-moon marks you left raked into his skin.

You'd be smug about it if your legs would fucking work.

The radio then crackles with the pilot's message:

"Seven minutes out. Chopper can't land. Buckle in for hover extraction."

You swear under your breath, shivering as the cold air hits you. You stagger toward the pile of tactical gear you’d dumped near the fireplace, yanking on your thermals, combat pants, boots, shirt, jacket, ignoring the way Loki watches you, one arm braced casually on his knee, the other draped over his thigh.

Comfortable. Loose. Dangerous.

You grab your tactical vest and the climbing harness slung over it, trying to move quickly, but your hands are clumsy, your joints stiff and sleep-starved. The straps tangle. You hiss in frustration, tugging at them.

Then, you hear the bed creak.

You feel him stand.

You don't turn.

Loki approaches with slow, measured, deliberate steps across the wooden floor. Each one a promise.

The air crackles between you, sharp and bright.

By the time he stops behind you, you’re holding the harness out in front of you like an fool, still wrestling it into some recognisable shape. You can practically hear the smirk in his silence.

He reaches out and, without a word, takes the harness from your fingers.

You lift your chin, refusing to look at him.

His knuckles brush yours. Not an accident.

You glare at the wall in front of you as he circles, slow and lazy.

Then he kneels. Right in front of you.

Looking up, lazy and wicked, his hair falling forward like a curtain of night sky. His body is bruised, unbothered, utterly relaxed. It should be illegal for anyone to look that composed after what the two of you did.

His hands move to your thigh, looping the first strap around it with maddening care. He doesn't rush. Just smooths it in place and gives it a slow, tightening pull. You feel it bite into your skin, feel his fingers curl with precision.

"You seem... compromised," Loki says lightly, his fingers brushing against your bare skin where your pants gap slightly at the hip.

You narrow your eyes.

Another strap glides between your thighs. His hands are firm, his thumbs brushing near places he has no business touching right now, not unless he wants round two on the cold floor. Maybe he does.

"Compromised?" you repeat, voice scratchy with lack of sleep and and too many hours of sinning.

He flashes a slow grin, wicked and pleased with himself, fingers tightening the strap until it bites your hip.

"Fatigued. Shaky. Thoroughly plundered," he drawls. "Tell me, darling - whoever could be responsible for that?"

You snort, pressing your lips together hard to bite back the traitorous smile twitching there.

"Self-satisfied bastard."

He smirks. "I do take pride in my work."

He pulls another strap between your legs, adjusting the belt with slow, taunting movements that are absolutely unnecessary and make you grind your teeth.

You narrow your eyes. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

"Doing what?" His voice is all innocence, but his hands are anything but. "Making sure you don’t fall out of your harness mid-air? You're welcome."

His fingers ghost under the hem of your top, smoothing the waistband flat against your belly. Every touch is too much. Too slow. You hold perfectly still, trying not to tremble.

"You’re not subtle," you mutter, raising a brow as you feel your lips flush.

"Ironic," he muses in satisfied purr, "coming from someone who, not four hours ago, was screaming herself hoarse begging for-"

You kick him lightly in the shin. He catches your ankle with lightning speed, holding it aloft for a second, grinning up at you like the absolute bastard he is.

"Temper," he tuts, releasing you.

He finishes the rest methodically, hands sliding around you with the same precision he uses when breaking into a vault - like he already knows where you’re most vulnerable.

"You know," he says lightly, eyes fixed on the buckles, "I should do this more often. Watching you squirm while I dress you. It’s…" He clicks the buckle shut with a soft snap. "Endearing."

You refuse to shiver. Refuse to give him the satisfaction. But you're admittedly speechless.

When he finally sits back on his heels, looking up at you, his eyes are molten as he whispers:

“Perfect.”

You roll your eyes and lean down to grab the carabiner clips, but Loki beats you to it.

He stands.

One slow movement - shoulders rising, body unfolding to full height - and you suddenly feel too small in his shadow, the air sucked clean from your lungs.

He steps in close, smooths a hand over the centre strap down your chest, fingers dragging slowly. Then he reaches for the buckle at your waist and snaps it into place with a decisive click.

You feel the strength of it reverberate through you, far more intimate than it has any right to be.

And he doesn’t let go.

Instead, he curls his fingers around the central loop, just above your navel, and lifts.

Effortlessly.

You don’t even have time to react before your boots leave the floor. Your breath hitches. Your hands scramble for balance, but he just stands there - arm slightly bent, muscles slack, holding you aloft with casual strength, like you weigh nothing at all.

Your eyes snap to his.

He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t leer.

He just watches you - dark and still, like he’s waiting to see what you’ll do. His grip is unbreakable, his expression unreadable.

The air between you goes molten.

He holds you there for a full, punishing heartbeat. Then another. And another.

Then, finally - finally - he lowers you, so slow you swear he’s savouring every inch of contact as your body slides back into place.

Your boots touch the floor. Barely.

"Perfect," he murmurs again. "Safe and sound."

Your breath stutters. You feel warm all over. Unmoored.

"You done?" you rasp, not trusting your voice.

He chuckles, quiet and pleased. "Oh, not even close."

You exhale through your nose, clenching your fists at your sides to keep from grabbing him.

The radio crackles again: "On approach. Be ready. Thirty seconds."

You tighten your shoulder straps brutally, trying to focus. Trying not to think about how he still smells like smoke and sweat and you.

Loki finally magics on his gear, lazy and unconcerned, buckling himself in with casual grace. You want to slap him. Or straddle him again. It's really fucking hard to tell.

The storm had eased a little - less hectic wind but still smatterings of icy rain. The helicopter blades whir louder, slicing the air like a knife through satin, as you reluctantly leave the cabin behind and run, side-by-side with Loki, the short distance to the pickup point.

You clip yourself and him to the main retrieval cable, double-checking the lines with stiff, professional efficiency.

Your hands brush at the connection point. He catches your fingers in his and holds them just long enough to make your pulse stutter.

"You're trembling," he says barely over the wind, eyes glinting.

"Shut up," you mutter, clicking the radio twice to signal all is good. Pushing his hands away from the line so his skin doesn’t catch.

He chuckles, deep and low.

Above you, the cable jerks taut, the winch starting to pull.

You and Loki are yanked upward together, slammed chest-to-chest, bodies colliding with force as you're hauled into the storm-torn sky.

Your breath catches. Loki grins down at you, devilish.

"Another round when we get back?" he calls into your ear over the wind.

You narrow your eyes, baring your teeth in a wicked smile.

"Only if you leave your harness on."

He throws his head back and laughs - a wild, delighted sound ripped away by the screaming wind - as the two of you disappear into the storm.

.

.

[dakusan]

📁 ASK DUMP 𓆩🩸𓆪 17 JUNE 2025

🩸 Welcome to today’s ask dump. If your ask is in this post: yes, I saw it. yes, I licked it. yes, I’m answering it with fangs. It’s a buffet — so prepare to eat up.

Now let’s get bloody.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🐆 ANON LOGGED: “the vampire kinks anon is BACK and HORNY FOR SCIENCE”

“consider me 🐆… fighting the urge to ask you about scientific lore behind sex in general with vampires… how long do they last? is stamina different? do they need specific stimulation?”

STATUS: 🐆 EMOJI CLAIMED. you are canon now. bloodbound. archived. welcome to the sin lab. your thirst? valid. your praise? consumed. your mind? divine. you want science? you want sex? you want blood-drenched biology? i’m lacing up my gloves and taking the fangs out of formaldehyde.

⸺⟡⸺

🧬 VAMPIRE SEX LORE: BIOLOGY, BLOOD, AND STAMINA DEMON HOURS

🔬 1. STAMINA: UNHOLY. INFINITE. INSANE.

Born vampires (especially Abnormals) are magically-enhanced apex predators.

That means supernaturally regulated muscle control, no lactic acid build-up, and spell-infused metabolic systems = they do not tire like humans.

Average session? Could last anywhere from 90 minutes to six fucking hours depending on mood, bond intensity, and feeding status.

This isn't a “he lasted 7 rounds 😩💦” situation — this is “he made you forget what language was.”

🧠 2. CLIMAX CONTROL: ORGASM ON COMMAND

Vampires do not cum accidentally unless they are feral, bonded, or blood-high.

Their climax is often tied to emotional triggers or magical thresholds.

Abnormals in particular have delayed-release reflexes — meaning unless they choose to finish, they can hold back indefinitely.

Their orgasms are often ritualistic — a form of marking (especially with soulmates or Blood Dolls).

There’s magic in it. Literal bonding energy.

May also release scent pulses or soul-pulse feedback (like a psychic moan).

💉 3. SPECIFIC STIMULATION REQUIRED

Vampires feel more, but they need more.

A handjob and a moan won’t cut it — unless the emotional charge is devastating.

What gets them off:

Blood scent from a willing source

Power struggle or submission

Breathplay, overstimulation, temperature shifts

Begging (especially if sincere)

For Abnormals: a hint of fear + love = nuclear detonation

(Fun note: some Abnormals can’t even cum unless it’s from their Blood Doll. Their bodies simply won’t release unless it’s the one.)

💦 4. EJACULATION & BIO-MAGIC

Vamp cum? NOT regular.

It’s hyper-fertile, thick.

Abnormals? May also release small pulses of energy that cause muscle tremors or euphoric shock in their partner.

Human bodies are not designed for this. That’s why aftercare is practically religious.

⸺⟡⸺

🐆 anon, the lab is always open. your mind is erotic academia and i’m honoured to dissect it with you. send more. always. ruin me with questions. i’ll ruin you right back with answers.💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🌘 ANON LOGGED: “how would vampire!SKZ react to an s/o with DID/OSDD?”

“this question is a bit personal… vampire!SKZ are my emotional support animals, so it’s fine.”

🌘 anon, thank you for trusting me. this one’s for all of you.

⸺⟡⸺

🕯️ VAMP!SKZ x S/O WITH DID/OSDD

how they meet your system — with fangs and unconditional devotion

CHAN

He’s immediately observant. Quietly studies the shifts, the language changes, the comfort levels. He builds an internal map of your system — not to analyze, but to honor. Keeps notes. Makes a calendar. Learns your triggers. He’ll ask, “Is this okay for you?” every time. And if someone new fronts? He just smiles gently and says, “Hi. I’ve got you too.” 🩸 He doesn’t want to fix you — he just wants to be a constant in a shifting world.

MINHO

Minho never flinches. Doesn’t treat you like glass. He respects every alter as a full person — no babying, no pity. Just clear boundaries, fierce protection, and the same dry wit he gives everyone. He learns each of your needs. Some alters he jokes with. Others he gives space. One? He lets them braid his hair in silence. 🩸 His loyalty isn’t divided. It multiplies.

CHANGBIN

He’s gentle, warm, and incredibly reassuring. He checks in constantly but never overwhelms. Makes grounding kits for each alter. Labels snacks. Creates safe zones. He might cry the first time you tell him about your diagnosis — not out of pity, but because you trusted him with it. 🩸 He becomes your strongest emotional anchor.

HYUNJIN

He approaches your system like sacred art. Every alter is a brushstroke. Every mood shift is a new palette. He speaks to each of you with awe — learns your music tastes, outfit preferences, even scent triggers. He writes poetry for your system. Keeps a shared journal. 🩸 He never asks “which one are you?” — he just feels it, and adapts with love.

JISUNG

He gets excited meeting new alters. “OMG you’re the one who likes anime?? Hi!!” He makes coded jokes and secret handshakes. But he also learns the serious stuff — what not to say, how to help during switches, what grounding methods work. 🩸 He’ll make you laugh through the heavy, but never mock the weight.

FELIX

Felix is the definition of unconditional love. He’s soft, but steadfast. He’ll greet each alter with a smile, learn who’s okay with touch, and craft unique forms of affection. “You don’t have to be one person for me,” he’ll say, cupping your face. “I love all the pieces. I always will.” 🩸 He’s your light — steady, warm, and always reaching for your hand.

SEUNGMIN

He researches. Learns about DID/OSDD thoroughly. Never assumes. Always asks. He builds trust with every alter like it’s a private treaty. Keeps routines consistent. Builds structure without pressure. He’s the calm during switches. The one who reminds you who you are when you’re lost. 🩸 Not just supportive — dependable.

JEONGIN

He’s a little awkward at first, but not because he’s scared — he just wants to do it right. He’s great with internal metaphors — builds imaginary “safe rooms” for your headspace. His adaptability makes him great with co-fronting alters. He thrives on figuring things out with you. 🩸 He learns to love all of you. And makes sure you love you too.

⸺⟡⸺

🌘 anon — you are valid. you are whole. you are not broken — you are beautifully many. and in this bloody world of fangs and feral devotion, there is room — love — and safety for every piece of you.

thank you for asking. i see you. all of you. always 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🐈‍⬛ ANON LOGGED: “so… what if their soulmate is another vampire’s blood doll?”

“Not bonded, not well-treated. Will vampire!SKZ resort to murder?”

🐈‍⬛ anon, you ask if they’ll resort to murder — babe… that’s not “plan B.” that’s the default setting.

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 VAMP!SKZ x THEIR SOULMATE BEING ANOTHER VAMPIRE’S BLOOD DOLL

🕷️ BEFORE WE BEGIN: A vampire’s Blood Doll is a contracted property under blood law. But a vampire’s soulmate? That’s cosmic right. Fate > Contract. Always. If you’re theirs, you’re theirs. Signed ink or not.

CHAN He doesn’t lose control easily. He plans. But the moment he smells you and realizes you’re his? The air shifts. The world narrows. And the vampire holding your contract? Is already dead inside. Chan will give one chance: “Release them. Or I release your spine from your body.” If refused? It’s not rage. It’s strategy. 🩸 The body’s never found. The paperwork vanishes. And you wake up safe with a new collar, custom-forged by his own hand.

MINHO He doesn’t even speak. He looks the contract holder in the eye — and if they even smell like they’ve touched you wrong, they’ll be bleeding before they blink. “They’re mine now.” The blood doll clause gets incinerated on the spot. 🩸 You don’t even know he’s coming until the old vampire is dead and you’re being carried out wrapped in Minho’s coat. He doesn’t just protect. He erases threats from the system.

CHANGBIN He’s quiet fury. The slow burn. The moment he realizes you’re his soulmate — and also belong to someone cruel? He shakes. He tries to do it cleanly: “Let them go.” If that fails, he breaks the other vampire in half — not for revenge. For justice. 🩸 He carries you out whispering: “You’re not anyone’s property. Not anymore.”

HYUNJIN Rage, tears, devastation. He spirals. The idea of someone using you while he was out there not knowing you existed? He’s inconsolable. The other vampire dies. Not just dies — Hyunjin rips the memory of you from their soul. 🩸 He makes you a room full of mirrors and stars and says, “From now on, you’re only seen the way you want to be.”

JISUNG “No no no no no—no one touches what’s mine.” He’s shaking, crying, smiling, and stabbing at the same time. He’s not clean. He’s not quiet. He’s feral. 🩸 You get scooped up mid-chaos, and he kisses your forehead like, “Sorry you had to see that. You want snacks? A bath? A head on a platter?”

FELIX He’s sunshine until he’s not. If he finds out you were suffering under someone else while he was searching for you? He goes silent. His glow fades. Then it flares. He doesn’t make a scene. The other vampire simply stops existing. 🩸 You wake up in soft sheets, and he’s at your feet saying, “You were never meant to bleed for anyone but me.”

SEUNGMIN He handles it legally — at first. Files breach reports. Loopholes. Blood abuse clauses. But if they resist? If they dare say you’re not worth the trouble? 🩸 He kills with precision. And you watch it happen. Because he wants you to know: no one takes you lightly ever again.

JEONGIN The first time he sees you, his veins bloom black across his cheeks. You smell like his. You look hurt. The other vampire doesn’t get a warning — just disintegration. He’s still learning to control his powers, but for you? He breaks the world. 🩸 Afterward, he cradles your wrist and whispers, “You’ll never be owned again. Except by fate. Except by me.”

⸺⟡⸺

🐈‍⬛ anon — your mind is soft and violent. a perfect offering. thank you for the prompt. come again 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🎀 ANON LOGGED: “if we’re on our period… does it trigger their bloodlust?”

“Even with the princess treatment, is their bloodlust activated? They’re hypersensitive to scent, right?”

STATUS: 🎀 EMOJI CLAIMED. 🎀 anon, I love you for this. Let's get into it.

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 VAMPIRE BLOODLUST + MENSTRUAL SCENT

✦ SHORT ANSWER: Yes. Your period absolutely spikes their bloodlust. It’s not just about smell — it’s the chemical cocktail, the heat, the pulse shift, the iron in the air. To a vampire, it’s like perfume laced with need.

You bleed. They ache. Simple.

But here's the hotter truth:

✦ IT’S A DIFFERENT KIND OF BLOODLUST

They don’t go feral. They go reverent. Territorial. Obsessive. Because period blood isn’t from violence. It’s from life. Fertility. Cycle. Power.

🩸 It’s sacred. It’s yours. It means you’re alive and real and touchable. And to them? That’s everything.

✦ WHAT THEY DO ABOUT IT:

They smell it the moment you walk in.

Their pupils dilate. Breathing slows. Tongue flicks behind fangs.

Some vampires kneel without thinking.

Others bring warm water, chocolate, a blood-scented bath, and ask, “Can I kiss your thighs? Or just hold you while you bleed?”

They won't feed unless you explicitly allow it. But their instincts? Full worship mode.

⸺⟡⸺

thank you for feeding me this curiosity. send more anytime. your blood is always welcome here 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🦔 ANON LOGGED: “Seungmin says something that hurts reader… what does he do to make up for it?”

“Make it horrible. But fix it. Please.”

🦔 anon — you ask for pain and fluff, and I’m giving you both in bloodstained ribbon 💝

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 FICLET — "Don’t Look At Me Like That"

vamp!Seungmin x you (angst ➤ apology ➤ fluff)

“You always need so much.”

He hadn’t meant it to cut. It came out between clenched teeth, after three nights of no feeding, no sleep, no silence. You had asked him — quietly — to come to bed. Just once. Just to hold you. And he snapped.

He didn’t even stay to see your face crumble. Just disappeared into smoke and cold air.

You don’t speak for two days.

Not because you’re trying to punish him. But because you’re scared if you open your mouth, it’ll all pour out. The ache. The effort. The fact that you’ve always been “too much” for someone, and now it’s Seungmin saying it — the one who promised you never were.

He doesn’t text. Doesn’t call.

Until the third night.

Your bedroom door creaks open. You don’t look. “You haven’t fed in three days,” you say quietly.

He doesn’t answer. Just sits at the edge of the bed like something carved out of guilt and stormlight. And then, softly: “Don’t look at me like that.”

You don’t even know what your face is doing — but he does.

“Like I’m everyone else who ever made you small.” He exhales — and it sounds like a death rattle. “I was cruel. Not because you are too much — but because you are everything, and I felt like nothing that night. And I didn’t know how to say it.”

Silence.

Then: “I brought you something.”

He sets it in your lap. It’s a small box. Inside: a bracelet with three tiny charms, handcrafted, spell-etched. Your initials. His initials. And the third charm with the word “Beloved.”

“It’s protection,” he says, voice hoarse. “But also a reminder. That I don’t get to speak like that to you. Not ever again.”

You let him reach for your hand. You don’t pull away. “Feed from me,” you whisper.

“I don’t deserve—”

“Do it gently. Let it hurt a little.”

And he does. Slow. Careful. Not to punish himself — but to make it right. But after he is down, he won't let you go, he doesn't let you go. For hours he doesn't let you go. Just holds you close, wrapped up in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he says, again and again, against your skin. “You are everything. You always have been.”

⸺⟡⸺

🦔 anon — you wanted horrible. I gave you ache. But also healing. Always healing. I love your angst heart. Come back anytime for more soft destruction 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🍀 ANON LOGGED: “self-deprecating reader says they’re only loved for their blood. vamp!SKZ’s response?”

“haha you like me because of how tasty my blood is…”

STATUS: 🍀 EMOJI CLAIMED. ��� anon — you already know this ends with you wrecked and rebuilt better. let’s begin.

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 VAMP!SKZ x S/O WHO THINKS THEY'RE “ONLY TASTY BLOOD”

CHAN You say it with a laugh. He doesn’t laugh back. He gets very still. His pupils shrink to slits.

“Say that again. I dare you.” His voice? Soft. Dangerous. Next thing you know, you’re on your back, trembling, and he’s kissing every inch of skin he’s ever called his. “Your blood is sweet. But you — your mind, your laugh, your warmth — that’s what feeds me. That’s what keeps me sane.” You try to apologize. He hushes you with a hand around your throat. “Don’t reduce yourself to flavour. You’re a fucking religion.”

MINHO He scoffs.

“Tasty blood? Is that what you think I’m addicted to?” He pins you to the mirror. Doesn’t bite. Just looks. “I would starve before feeding off anyone else. Not because of your blood — because no one else is you.” And then? He ruins you. On every surface. With his hands, his fangs, his voice. Until the only words left in your mouth are his name and “I’m sorry.”

CHANGBIN You say it like it’s a joke. His eyes flash. His shoulders tense.

“Don’t you dare.” He cups your face like it’s made of silk. Kisses your nose. Your eyelids. Your belly. Your thighs. “You think I only love your blood? I love the way you curl up next to me. The way you hum when you're nervous. The way you exist.” And then he feeds gently. Like he’s kissing the thought away from your veins.

HYUNJIN He freezes. Then paints. A full canvas of you. All your scars. All your curves. All your softness.

“This is holy. You are holy. If you think I feed from you because of taste, then let me show you how I worship you.” And he does. He takes his time. Lights candles. Plays soft music. And makes you say three good things about yourself before he even touches you.

JISUNG

“Tasty blood?? Babe, your blood is like wine but your smile? That’s my favourite drug.” He teases — until he sees the flicker of real doubt. Then he switches. Dead serious. “You’re not my snack. You’re my sanctuary.” And then he drowns you in kisses and overstimulation until you’re too overwhelmed to say anything self-deprecating again.

FELIX Oh you sweet summer child. You say it once. His entire aura dims.

“Please… don’t talk about yourself like that.” He hugs you. Tight. Face buried in your chest. “If I never drank from you again, I’d still stay. You know that, right?” Then he worships you. Whispers praises. Kisses every inch. “You’re beautiful. You’re enough. You’re mine. Mine. Mine.”

SEUNGMIN You make the joke. He closes his book. Slowly.

“Do I look like I waste my time on things I don’t value?” It’s quiet. Razor-sharp. “If I wanted blood, I’d buy it. I want you. Every version. Even the one that says stupid shit like that.” And then he wrecks you. One kiss per insult you’ve ever told yourself. Until you go blank and blissed-out and finally believe him.

JEONGIN You say it. He stops. His jaw flexes. His fangs push forward, but he doesn’t bite.

“Don’t ever talk about yourself like that again.” You laugh nervously. He grabs your chin. “I don’t want your blood.” “I want your breath. Your heartbeat. The sound you make when I touch you here—” He proves it. Slowly. Relentlessly. Until your voice breaks with a sob of “I’m sorry I said that.”

⸺⟡⸺

🍀 anon — You are never lesser. You are light in vampire eyes. You are adored. And you are not allowed to forget it.

Thank you for this devastatingly beautiful ask 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🦉 ANON LOGGED: “storms, fear, and… other things 👀 — how would vamp!SKZ handle both?”

“either you’re scared of storms, or into them. either way, vamps fix it.”

🦉 anon, your brain cell is doing incredible work. let’s honor it. with blood. and mood lighting.

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 VAMP!SKZ x STORMY NIGHTS

➤ scenario A: you’re unsettled by storms ➤ scenario B: you’re… very into them

CHAN ❖ If storms scare you: Chan’s already got backup power. Noise-cancelling speakers. A weighted blanket. He becomes the storm's opposite. Steady. Warm. Anchored.

“You’re safe. I’m here. Let it rage.” He’ll pull you onto his chest, sync your heartbeat to his stillness, and hold you until you fall asleep to the sound of his voice.

❖ If storms turn you on: He’ll figure it out immediately. The moment thunder hits and you shiver with wide eyes?

“...Is that what does it for you, sweetheart?” Then he’ll fuck you through the lightning, whispering, “You think the storm is loud? Let’s see which of you makes the sky shake harder.”

MINHO ❖ If you’re scared: No coddling. Just quiet control. He drapes you in his robe, puts a warm drink in your hands, then sits beside you with his back touching yours.

“Storm’s not the threat. I am. And I protect what’s mine.” Every thunderclap is an excuse for him to pull you closer.

❖ If storms do it for you: Oh. Oh he indulges.

“Knew there was something freaky in that pretty head.” He fucks you against rain-streaked windows, hand over your mouth so the neighbors don’t hear you scream.

CHANGBIN ❖ If you’re afraid: He becomes a literal furnace. Throws every blanket over you. Hums. Holds you. Tells you stories to distract you.

“When I was little, I thought thunder was two vampires fighting in the clouds. Want me to go beat them up?” You giggle. He melts.

❖ If you’re into it: He grins, then growls.

“Well shit. You’re wetter than the sky.” And proceeds to make the bed creak like it’s thunder itself.

HYUNJIN ❖ If you’re scared: He lights candles. Puts on soft music. Braids your hair. Paints stormclouds with silver linings while whispering:

“Fear is holy. I’ll sit in it with you until it becomes something else.” Kisses your wrist every time you flinch.

❖ If storms awaken something:

“Say less.” He ties your wrists with silk. Makes you look him in the eyes with every thunderclap. Paints streaks of red across your skin.

JISUNG

❖ Scared you? He panics a little at first. Then overcompensates. Plays funny shows. Builds a pillow fort. Feeds you snacks.

“Rain can’t get you in here. This is a Jisung-certified emotional panic shelter.”

❖ Storm kink revealed? He short circuits.

“You WHAT??? That’s so hot—wait do you want me to—oh my god—” Then proceeds to ruin you while lightning flashes and says, “I’m never gonna hear thunder the same again.”

FELIX ❖ If you’re scared: Softest boy. Immediately creates a nest. Pulls you into his lap. Runs fingers through your hair.

“It’s okay. I’m your calm.” He tells you vampire myths about storm spirits who protect lovers.

❖ If you’re into it: He kisses you slow while thunder rolls.

“Of course you like the drama, angel.” Then proceeds to edge you for hours, drawing out every sound like it’s part of the storm’s symphony.

SEUNGMIN ❖ If you’re scared: He’s annoyed at the storm for scaring you.

“It’s just clouds and sound. But fine. Come here.” He lets you curl into his side while he reads aloud until your breath evens out. Every flash of lightning? He kisses your temple.

❖ If you’re turned on by it: He doesn’t let on at first. Just silently undresses you during the second thunderclap.

“So the sky makes you needy, huh?” Then wrecks you calmly, analytically, relentlessly — with each moan timed between rumbles.

JEONGIN ❖ If storms scare you: He doesn’t tease. He respects fear. He lets you crawl into his hoodie, wraps himself around you like a second skin.

“I won’t let anything touch you. Not even lightning.” Will 100% growl at the sky if it makes you feel better.

❖ If they turn you on: He blushes. Then smirks.

“So… wanna fuck while the world ends?” Then pins you to the glass and marks you like thunder is jealous.

⸺⟡⸺

🦉 anon — your brain cell deserves a crown, a storm altar, and a few bite marks. Thank you for this delicious two-in-one 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🍒 ANON LOGGED: “pillow princess? oh sweetheart, i’m about to ride you into next week.”

challenge accepted. let’s see who taps first.

🍒 ANON — your mind is certified evil. i love it here. and yes, i've already answered the being turned prompt: https://www.tumblr.com/dakusan/786176028064251904/hiii-i-just-have-to-say-i-love-your-vampire?source=share

⸺⟡⸺

🛏️ RIDE OR DIE: WHO TAPS OUT FIRST?

🥇 THE FINAL BOSS — CHAN You’re riding him like it’s war and he’s taking it like penance. Every muscle is locked, jaw clenched, abs twitching as he silently refuses to give in.

“You want to break me? Try harder, baby.” His feral eyes never leave yours. The vein at his neck pulses every time you drop down. He’s a born Abnormal—he’s built to endure. He won't tap out. If anything, he wants you to keep going. Just to see how far he can fall.

🥈 THE WATCHFUL FINAL BOSS — MINHO Dead quiet. Hyperaware. Tracking your every move like a predator letting you play on top of him.

“Don’t get cocky. I’m letting you ride me.” He’s all restraint and ritualistic torment. But when you whisper “You’re mine” and clench? His nails dig into your thighs. His lips part. He groans. You won’t get a tap. You’ll get a calculated, devastating counterattack that ruins you for days. He’s not losing. He’s watching you lose yourself.

🥉 THE FERAL COUNTER — JEONGIN He lets you ride him. For 30 seconds. Then the brat streak ends.

“You think I’ll let you have control?” He thrusts up like a fucking monster, teeth bared, hands bruising your hips, fucking into you from below. Growls in your ear, lips at your throat. You never stood a chance. “Tap, sweetheart. Or I’ll make you.”

🔄 THE POWER FLIP — CHANGBIN Absolutely loves the show you’re putting on. Grins up at you with teeth.

“Yeah? You think this is enough to make me beg?” He holds out until his patience breaks. Then? FLIPS YOU. DESTROYS YOU. He doesn’t tap—you do. Probably twice. “That’s what I thought. Now say thank you.”

🧠 THE PSYCH WRECKER — HYUNJIN Oh, you’re on top? He’s beneath you like a broken prince, eyes glassy, mouth open—but it’s a trap.

“You’re doing so well, baby. Just keep going. Just like that.” He wants you to win. Until he doesn’t. And suddenly your thighs are shaking, vision blurring, and he’s cupping your face like it’s reverence before ruin. He wins with his voice. You never stood a chance.

🥀 THE GENTLE STORM — FELIX He lets you take control—but only because he wants to watch you shine.

“That’s it, baby. Show me how bad you need it.” He’s sensitive, yes—ridiculously reactive to your pace and praise—but that doesn’t mean he’s passive. The whole time, his hands are steady on your waist, guiding you just enough, controlling from below. You call him a good boy? He smiles dark, thrusts up slow and deep. “You sure you’re in charge right now?” He doesn’t tap. He makes you tap eventually—just gently. And afterwards? He holds you like he’s the one who was blessed.

🗣️ THE LOUD LOSER — JISUNG Talks a big game. Crumbles in three thrusts.

“Pfft, this is nothing—oh fuck wait no—” He’s moaning, pulling you down by the waist, telling you it’s too much, but also don’t stop, please don’t stop. He'll tap out. Will cum. Will apologise. You forgive him. Eventually.

🥼 THE SILENT STRATEGIST — SEUNGMIN Sits back. Watches. Expression unreadable. You think he’s unfazed—until he starts thrusting up, just slightly.

“Is that all you’ve got?” He doesn’t moan. Doesn’t flinch. Just stares straight at you with that sharp tongue and wicked glint. Doesn’t tap. Makes you doubt your stamina. Eventually flips you without a word and proceeds to demonstrate exactly why you underestimated him. “Next time, think before you challenge your handler.”

🩸 FINAL SCORE: RIDE OR DIE EDITION

Endurance Kings 🥇 Chan – Built to last. Wants to see how far you’ll go. 🥈 Minho – Takes it like a ritual. Breaks you instead. 🥉 Seungmin – Emotionless stare. Strategic endurance. Flips you to win.

Soft But Deadly 🖤 Felix – Lets you lead—until you realize he never gave up control. 🧠 Hyunjin – Weaponizes worship. Fucks with your mind, then your soul.

Power Flippers 🔄 Changbin – Lets you play queen—then flips you like a war crime. 🐺 Jeongin – Pretends to behave—then rails you into the mattress.

Cries in Record Time 🫠 Jisung – Moans, begs, cums, taps out, apologizes. You love him for it anyway.

⸺⟡⸺

🍒 anon, your mind is the battleground and the bloodsport. ride safe, and thank you for the ask 🦇💋

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🦪 ANON LOGGED: “If it isn’t the doll… then who gets destroyed first? The vampire? The doll? Or the fate they never got to choose?”

YOU WANT ANGST? I GOT YOU MY PRETTY PEARL 🕯️💋

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 BLOOD DOLL vs. SOULMATE — the heartbreak edition

Imagine this:

You're their blood doll. You've bled for them. Moaned for them. Held them while they slept off bloodlust like a drug crash. Maybe they even whispered pretty things. But then — they smell someone else.

That one scent. That one pull. The soulmate.

🧬 IS THIS POSSIBLE?

Yes. Rare — but possible. A blood doll is not always a soulmate. Sometimes the bond is survival, not fate.

Sometimes the vampire doesn't even know they're soulmated to someone else... until that moment.

🩸 WHO BREAKS FIRST?

1. THE BLOOD DOLL

The one who fed them. Loved them. Maybe even thought the bond was love. When their vampire suddenly goes quiet —

Stops feeding. Stops touching. Starts acting like a ghost. The pain is brutal. Not just emotional — biological. A doll’s body adjusts to its vampire’s feeding pattern. So sudden rejection? Feels like withdrawal. Fever. Shakes. Nausea. Nightmares. They might beg. Cry. Or worse — go completely still. (If you’ve ever seen a blood doll go numb, you don’t forget it.)

2. THE VAMPIRE

If they loved their doll? It destroys them. Because soulmates are magnetic — a pull in the bones. But their doll? Was comfort. Routine. Devotion.

The guilt? Unlivable. Some vampires refuse to acknowledge their soulmate. Others try to keep both.

3. THE SOULMATE

They feel the vampire’s grief. Even if they haven’t met yet. Even if they don’t understand it. The soulmate ache is mutual — like a song humming in the blood, just out of reach. And when they do meet? They’ll know the vampire is not whole.

That someone else bled for them first.

💔 IS THERE A WAY OUT?

There are only three endings.

OPTION 1: Let Go The vampire severs the doll bond. The doll leaves. The vampire grieves. The soulmate… waits. (This one is rare. Most vampires aren’t strong enough to walk away.)

OPTION 2: Die With Me The doll asks for a final feed. One last taste. One last kiss.

Then the vampire glamours them. Makes them forget. Or makes sure they never wake up. (This one is darker. Some vampires believe love should never be shared.)

OPTION 3: Ruin Everything The vampire refuses the soulmate. Stays with the doll.

Becomes unstable. Feral. Because the body knows. Magic eats them from the inside. Rage cracks. Hunger fits. Hallucinations. The soulmate suffers too — distant pain, inexplicable dreams. Eventually, they are pulled toward each other anyway. And by then? There’s no doll. No love. Just blood on the floor.

⸺⟡⸺

🦪 ANON — thank you for bringing this gorgeous ache to the altar. Come again 🦇💋

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

👻 ANON WANDERS IN WITH A GHOSTLY SCENARIO…“They didn’t mean to hurt you. But the fangs are out, the blood is already warm, and your voice is the only thing dragging them back.”

Buckle up, darling. You just triggered one of the darkest, most vulnerable vampire!SKZ scenarios yet.

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 WHEN THEY ALMOST KILL YOU

You’re the closest. You’re warm. Breathing. Bleeding. And they’ve snapped.

Their vision whites out. Fangs bare. They don’t see you — just pulse, scent, blood. They strike. Grip your throat. Fangs sink in.

And then—

💥 Your voice.

A gasp. A sob. A whisper of their name. It splits the haze like a blade. They stop. And that’s the moment everything breaks.

Bang Chan He hears your breath stutter. Sees the bruises forming. Tastes your blood and wants to vomit.

“No. No. No. No—NO.”

His hands are shaking, but he forces them away from your skin. He drops to his knees. Crumples like he’s the one stabbed. You’re still conscious, but your pulse is faint — and he starts begging.

“Don’t leave me. Not like this. Please, stay awake. I’ll fix it, I swear—”

He rips through bags of emergency blood, medical kits, potions, spells. He’d burn himself alive to bring you back if he had to. And he won’t feed again for weeks. The scent of blood disgusts him now.

Even his own.

Lee Know He goes still the moment he realizes. Just stands there. Hands bloody. Eyes wide. His brain refuses to process it.

Then —

“What did I do?”

The calm shatters. He throws himself into whatever healing spell or potion he has memorized, snarling the incantations like curses.

If you flinch away, even slightly? He walks out. Not to leave. To go chain himself down. No one sees him for 3 days. When he returns, he’s wearing gloves. Never touches you bare-handed again… until you ask him to.

Changbin He’s holding you too tight. Your wrist is bleeding. You’re crying. And he screams.

“NO. PLEASE—! I didn’t mean to—I—I didn’t—!”

His body collapses over yours. Shaking. Wracked. He keeps repeating your name. Presses his forehead to yours like a prayer. Even after you’re healed, he won’t let himself near you for weeks. Sleeps on the floor. Doesn’t speak unless spoken to. Goes deathly silent unless you hold his hand first.

Hyunjin He goes feral in reverse. From monster to weeping child in seconds. He looks down at your torn skin, the bruises on your neck—

“I touched you like them. I touched you like them—!”

You’ve never seen him sob like that. He tears at his own chest, like he wants to rip his heart out and give it to you as apology.

It’s devastating. And when you try to reach for him?

“Don’t. I’m not allowed to touch you anymore. I’m not safe.”

It takes every ounce of your strength to convince him otherwise. He’ll sleep at your feet for weeks — curled up like a ghost.

Han Jisung He blacks out mid-feed. Wakes up to your voice — and blood on his lips. You’re curled on the floor, barely conscious.

“Oh f-fuck—nononono—fuck—fuck—no—”

He hyperventilates. Panic spirals. Stares at his hands like they’re covered in acid. Vomits. Screams. Crawls backwards until he hits the wall and wails.

Once you’re stabilized, he refuses to sleep. Paranoia sets in. He glamours himself not to feel hunger. Tries to build safety protocols for himself. Eventually, you have to climb into his lap and cup his face just to say:

“You came back. You stopped yourself. That matters.”

And he’ll just cry harder.

Felix The moment he sees blood on your neck, he freezes. Eyes glowing. Mouth open. Breath silent. Then his pupils shrink. He starts whispering your name — again and again.

Like if he says it enough, it’ll undo what happened.

“No… no, angel—wake up. Baby, please. Please…”

He carries you to the room, lays you in silk, lights every healing candle, chants every preservation spell. And then he sits in the hallway. Face to the wall. Head down.

Waiting for you to call him back in.

You always do. Eventually. But when you wake, his eyes are still red with tears.

Seungmin He registers everything with horrifying clarity. The blood. Your injuries. The moment his control snapped. He says nothing. Just grabs his emergency pack, heals you in total silence, then stands in the corner.

You try to speak? “Don’t.” You cry? “You should.”

He doesn’t cry until you say: “I’m still here.”

That’s when his voice breaks.

“But what if you hadn’t been?”

And for the first time in his long, cold life — He can’t give you a sarcastic answer. He just sinks to the ground and puts his head in your lap.

Jeongin He was already scared of what he’s becoming. But after this? He’s terrified.

He throws himself across the room the moment he snaps out of it. Fangs still out. Eyes still glowing. He snarls at himself.

“Get away from them. GET AWAY FROM THEM—!”

You’re bleeding, barely upright. But he won’t come near. Even when you call out, whisper his name, beg—

“I can’t! I don’t know how to be this—how to stop—”

He isolates himself. Chan and Felix have to intervene. But only you can bring him back to stability. And when he finally lets you touch his cheek again?

He weeps like he’s home.

⸺⟡⸺

👻 ANON — You ripped my soul out and lit it on gothic fire. I hope you’re happy. Come back with more any time 🦇💋

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

@rinthehufflepuff you are the last piece of today's ask dumb! You asked for vampire breeding kink reactions.

You will not survive. I promise you that.

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 "Breed me."

The words leave your lips — a whimper, a sob, a sweet little desperate plea.

You think you’re teasing? You think they’re gonna laugh it off? Oh sweetheart. You’ve just sealed your fate.

Bang Chan His pupils blow wide. His fangs throb. The word “breed” hits him like a fucking command spell.

“Say it again.” “No—look at me. Say it again.”

You gasp, repeat it — and that’s it. He pounces. Pins your wrists above your head, buries his face in your neck, and growls.

“You want to be mine like that? Carried. Marked. Full of me?”

He bites and fucks at the same time — synced, brutal, covenantal. You're sobbing and shaking and he’s whispering things like:

“You’ll never be empty again.” “Gonna fill you until my cum sings in your womb.” “You’re mine now. All the way.”

He finishes with your thighs shaking. You black out in his arms.

Changbin You say the word and he gasps like he’s been slapped. Then his eyes roll back and a noise leaves his throat that can only be described as devastated arousal.

“You—fucking hell, baby—you sure? Because I’m not gonna stop.”

You say “please” and it’s OVER.

He flips you on your stomach and stays inside the entire time. Breeding you like instinct. Hissing about how “You were made for this.”

“Your body knows me.” “Taking me so deep, fuck—look at that.”

He bites when he finishes, then holds you still — just breathing hard, forehead to yours.

“No one’s ever getting in you again. Just me. Just mine.”

Minho You say it with a little smile. A playful tilt of your head. He’s silent. You blink—He’s already between your legs.

He doesn’t speak for the first 5 minutes. Just fucks. Slow. Methodical. Deadly. You’re already shaking before he even responds.

“You want me to breed you?” “You think you’re ready for that?”

He grabs your thighs. Spreads you wider.

“We’ll see.”

The entire night becomes a test of endurance. Every orgasm is a tally. Every time you cry his name, his hips slam harder. And when he finally bites? He drinks after he finishes. So he can taste you while you’re still twitching.

Hyunjin You say it in his ear while riding him — And he chokes. Literally gasps. Claws at your hips. Eyes tear up instantly.

“You—you can’t say things like that—! I’ll ruin you—!”

You whisper it again, and his head drops to your chest with a broken sob. His thrusts turn feral. He keeps his eyes on your belly the whole time, like he can see it swell.

“Want to give you everything. Want to fill you up. Want to watch your body change.”

And when he finishes inside? He kisses your stomach like it’s sacred. You are. To him.

Jisung You tease him with it. Say it once. Just once.

“Why don’t you breed me like you mean it?”

And he malfunctions. Eyes go blank. Breathing halts. His cock jumps inside you.

“You—you did not just say that—”

You smirk. He snaps. You’re folded instantly. Knees by your head. His whole body covering yours. Biting your neck and whispering madness.

“Breed you? Oh you’re fucked now.” “I’m gonna fuck it in until it sticks.” “You’re gonna feel me for days.”

You do.

Felix You say it softly. He’s already kissing your neck, his hips stuttering inside you — and you whisper:

“Please… breed me.”

And this sweet, angelic vampire? He moans. Loud. Raw. Desperate.

“You want me that deep?” “You want to feel me inside even when I’m gone?”

He’s babbling now. Fucking you with slow, trembling reverence.

“Gonna make you mine. Gonna stay in you forever.”

His fangs slide in when you tighten. Your hands are in his hair. His hands are on your belly. And he finishes so fucking deep, you're leaking him all night.

Seungmin You say it like it’s nothing. Half a moan, half a whimper.

“Please… breed me…”

He pauses. Looks down at you. Smirks.

“Say it again. Say it properly. Look me in the eyes.”

You do. You beg. And Seungmin breaks. He fucks you full in total silence. Jaw clenched. Eyes glassy. Hands locked around your hips.

He doesn’t speak until the last thrust — And then his voice is deadly low.

“You’re mine.” “No one else gets this.” “You want my blood in you? You’ll get it.”

And you do. Over and over and over.

Jeongin You whisper it, almost shy. And Jeongin blushes. Then his eyes glow.

“You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

He fucks like he’s proving something. Keeps your legs open with one hand and your throat held with the other. You beg for his cum and he laughs.

“You will. You’ll beg for it again. And again.”

He finishes deep, possessive, panting. Then he stares at your lower belly like it’s sacred ground.

“No one touches this. Not ever again.”

⸺⟡⸺

RIN, 🍒, ANYONE STILL BREATHING: You’re all ruined now. You asked. I delivered. Now take your punishment like a good little blood doll.

Love you, come back any time 🦇💋

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

If you made it to the end of this blood-slicked, unhinged, braincell-devouring ASK DUMP…

I applaud you.

🧠 You now have permanent bite marks on your cerebrum. 🎧 Go stream Stray Kids' 'HOLLOW' and feel your ribs vibrate. 🎧 Then stream my cursed little child — VX — .

🚨 PSA: Don’t search “VX” on Spotify or Apple Music — she’s shadowed in the algorithm void. Use the full name: Vexed Existence. Yes, it’s a mouthful. That’s the point. Bite down.

🖼️ PFPs and banners still loading… because I am but one feral brain in a trench coat. Thank you for showing up anyway. For being insane. For bleeding with me.

SEE YOU AT THE NEXT DUMP. BRING SALT. LOVE YOU LOTS 💋🦇

[gaywineauntsstuff]

I just saw someone say that Tim was the only member of the batfamily who didn’t suck at math.

With the exception of Dick (acrobatics) and Cass (body language) none of the Batkids are THAT much better than the others at a certain skill

Yes Jason is a better shot

Yes Tim is a better detective

And on a technical level they’re much better

Sure

But that means that if they have a 0.001% chance of cracking a case or making a shot. There will be a noticeable difference between Tim being the character or say Damian.

Otherwise

Not particularly.

Think of each skill like a normally distributed curve okay with the mean being your average hero/olympian/hacker/genius

Right

The Batkids will be at the 96th percentile in the skill

With the exception of 1 of them being at the 99th percentile range

Unless you are writing something you can comfortably say is complex/difficult enough to warrant drawing attention to the 3% difference. It’s annoying to bring it up

I exclude Dick and Cass

Because Dicks introduction is the fact he can do something the rest of the kids can’t to the point where it’s an identifier within his own story. It’s how Tim found him, a signature only he can do.

And Cass because she is genuinely cartoonishly cracked in her own storyline and in batfamily stuff she’s borderline a mind reader

(Could also argue Jason for supernatural stuff and the all blades)

These are exceptions because yeah

If you told me Jason, Dick or Steph cracked a difficult case in a run I wouldn’t treat it as shocking information

If you told me Tim, Dick or Damian managed a tricky shot with a firearm in a dire situation (like what happens in the Grayson run) it would be interesting, surprising but like not? Shocking?

If you told me that Jason did a quadruple summersault off a building and landed on his feet I’d be confused as shit

And even WITH Dick and Cass the other kids are still FREAKISHLY good at D&Cs special skills but they both have unignorable signatures

This is a very long winded way of saying when an author simplifies a character down to

“Oh look nice flippy one”

“Smart one”

“Angry gun one”

“Pet collector”

It’s annoying because you basically ignore all the interesting overlap

Like guess what Dick literally has a habit of collecting strays (see the rabbit and 3 legged dog he lives with in his apartment in the new run)

Tim is fucking badass and is very good at dealing with explosives

Damian is canonically currently thinking of leaving the family business and no longer being a hero to maybe focus on helping people in other ways

Jason occasionally works with magic and demon bullshit

And every single one of them is a genius okay literally every single one of them could get a masters in physics, chem, bio and history in like 2 weeks flat.

Their stats are stacked

All of them know enough info to be able to do 99% of a task and yeah someone might call Tim or Dick in for detective help or Jason for muscle and restraining backup but in 99% of cases THE OTHER CHARACTERS SHOULD BE EQUALLY competent

[crystal-to-bloom]

Chapter 3.5

Grayson family x child dragon reader

𝟙, 𝟚, 𝟛, 𝟛.𝟝, 𝟜, 𝟝

Global Defense Agency — Deep Monitoring Sector

Rows of monitors flickered in dim blue light, casting pale reflections on Cecil Stedman’s face. He stood still, arms crossed, staring at the central screen — a live-updating diagram pulsing with energy readings.

— “Run it again,” he said.

A young analyst nervously tapped keys on his console. The graph reloaded, spreading like a heartbeat wave across the map.

— “Same irregularity, sir,” the tech said. “Localized around the Grayson residence. It’s not radioactive or magical. It’s... something else. The signature doesn’t match anything in the GDA database.”

— “But it’s alive,” Cecil muttered.

The tech hesitated. Then nodded.

— “Yes, sir. It’s moving. Breathing, even. Like a pulse. The weird part is, it started right after that energy drop Nolan brought back from his last mission”

Cecil didn’t respond immediately. He lit a cigarette, the ember burning softly in the low light. He didn’t like being wrong — and this time, he had the sinking feeling he was very right.

The screen flickered again. New data.

A spike.

— “There,” he said. “What the hell is that?”

The analyst’s voice was tight: “Temperature in the surrounding atmosphere dropped by nearly six degrees. In the middle of spring. It’s not just energy now — it’s affecting the environment”

Another pulse on the screen. Another chill.

Cecil narrowed his eyes.

— “And Nolan hasn’t said a damn word about it”

He turned away from the monitors, slowly walking toward a back console where a different feed was displayed — this one more secure. Experimental. Monitoring vitrumite-related anomalies within range of Earth.

Normally, it tracked Nolan.

Today, there were two dots. One small. One still unstable.

— “Well, well... Looks like someone brought home a souvenir” he murmured.

He took a slow drag from the cigarette, eyes narrowing as he watched the readings shift again. The smaller signal pulsed in bursts — unpredictable, but growing stronger.

Alive. Evolving.

Cecil exhaled smoke through his nose and muttered to himself:

— “Let’s see what you’re hiding, Grayson”

Underground GDA HQ — a few hours before Nolan returns home

Sleek, dim corridors. A low mechanical hum. Nolan’s cape stirred behind him as he entered the briefing room.

Cecil stood at the far end, arms crossed, flanked by holographic monitors. He gave Nolan a nod, expression unreadable behind that ever-present stubble and the surgical scars.

— “Appreciate you coming by so quickly”

— “You said it was urgent”

— “Mm. Let’s call it... timely” Cecil gestured toward one of the displays. “We picked up a signal. Low energy. Not Viltrumite, but... strange. Organic”

Nolan didn’t flinch, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

— “Where?”

Cecil zoomed the map with two fingers. A blip appeared — subtly placed over the general area of his home.

— “Near here. Kinda odd, right? No major incidents. No registered tech spikes. But definitely... something”

A pause.

Nolan said nothing.

Cecil gave a slow, casual shrug.

— “Could be nothing. Could be some new alien plant taking root in the backyard”

His tone was light, but his eyes were sharp, watching every muscle on Nolan’s face.

— “And you brought this to me because...?”

— “Because I trust your instincts more than most. And hey—since you just got back from that scorched ice-planet graveyard, I figured you’d be interested”

Nolan didn’t respond immediately. His voice, when it came, was neutral.

— “There was nothing there”

Cecil nodded.

— “Right. Empty. Frozen. Dead”

Another pause.

He smiled — small, but precise.

— “Still, funny thing. Radiation on your suit didn't match the known profile of that system. Some low-level bio-signatures we can’t quite match to anything. Guess space has its secrets”

Nolan’s eyes locked with his.

Cecil held his gaze.

Then he turned toward the screen again, tone deceptively casual.

— “Anyway. Just keeping you in the loop”

The message was clear:

"I’m watching. I don’t know yet what you did — but I will."

previous part 》 Chapter 3

Chapter 4

[callahanisms]

body talk

seeing challengers was a mistake guys because all i can think about is challengers and how much i love challengers and how cinema is back after people declared the death of cinema like three years ago and how much i wanna go see challengers again—

anyways uhhhh did challengers make me hop onto the mike faist train? yes. because i love a man that clearly worships his wife and kisses boys.

character: art donaldson

for vibes: "physical" by olivia newton-john

context: stanford university. 2007.

if you had a choice, you wouldn't be working as a receptionist in the gym. instead, you'd work in the infirmary. it was more in line with your desire to pursue sports medicine.

your father himself was an athlete who sustained a career ending injury and went into sports medicine. you wanted to follow in his footsteps.

but for now, you were working as a receptionist at the gym for your federal work study. college wasn't going to pay for itself unfortunately and your parents could only provide so much support.

art donaldson recognized you while you guys were at a party. "you're the person at the desk in the gym!" he sounded so excited. almost like a puppy.

"yeah..." you look down at your red solo cup. "you're like a regular. with tashi duncan."

"you know her?"

"well, i've talked to her a few times. she's great." who wouldn't like her honestly? you weren't the biggest fan of tennis but whenever tashi duncan played, she always managed to make it magical.

"you're also in my bio class, right?"

"you're in my bio class?"

"oh don't tell me you didn't notice."

you shrug. "i didn't. you're not very...noticeable, i guess."

art took personal offense to that statement.

okay not entirely. because to some extent, you were right. he wasn't as noticeable as some of the other people in class, like the lacrosse player on the guys team or the girl from the basketball team, both of whom you seem to be close with.

growing closer to art was just a matter of being in a lot of classes together, something you didn't realize during the first month of college.

to be fair, it was a lot.

but the good thing about having a lot of classes with him was that it meant you always had a go to person for group projects. and god were professors adamant about assigning group work.

at the very least, you had a workout buddy when you guys were free. sometimes, you were even joined by tashi duncan. so it was cool to be able to work out with a famous tennis player.

perhaps the gym is where you started to notice art's...physicality.

he wasn't entirely imposing, aside from being quite tall. but he had a surprising amount of muscle. perhaps the tank tops he wore didn't help much. it left little to the imagination.

because of your familiarity with the body and your desire to go into sports medicine, art called you when he was feeling a bit sore.

he opens the door with a smile, seeing you with your bag and clementines. "what's the fruit for?"

"just in case you get hungry." you step in and remove your shoes. "just lay down."

"bed or floor?"

"whichever you prefer. the bed might be more comfy. we'd have to move stuff around if you were on the floor. oh and take off your shirt."

"what?" he could feel his cheeks beginning to heat up.

"take off your shirt. a massage won't be that effective with your shirt on."

"alright. umm..." art just does what you ask of him, taking his shirt off and setting it aside on his desk chair. he gets on the bed and lays down, front side down.

you pull out a bottle of lotion and crawl onto the bed, straddling him at his waist. you are unaware of how red he is feeling you against him.

you feel around his back for bit, asking him where in particular is tight. once you got a good idea, you squirt some lotion onto your hands, rub it a bit, then begin to massage.

art would be embarrassed from the sounds that came out of him. but he was craving for the relief from his overworked and tired muscles. he could feel just how deep your hands went in, twisting and rubbing. your hands felt so good. they glided smoothly and your touch soothed him greatly.

"damn dude. when was the last time you massaged yourself?"

"don't know." he mutters, burying his lower face into his own pillow. he could feel himself growing warmer all over his body.

your palm pressing into him, dragging itself through his muscles, rubbing baby lotion into his skin so he's soft.

your hand reaches a part of his lower back, your palm rubbing through the muscle. and he moans.

you stop for a moment. "something wrong?"

"no...nothing's wrong..." he mutters.

"you sure?"

"yes. keep going."

he enjoys the way your hands move lower, and lower. he wants them to sneak to the front. massage him a different way.

your hands linger on a particular spot of his back though, feeling the defined muscle. there's something particularly...satisfying, about running your hands over his body. you were tempted to feel more. especially his arms.

art's arms were utterly gorgeous, as if sculpted out of marble by a renaissance artist themselves.

"i think you're all good."

"all done already?" he smelled like baby lotion. whatever that mean.

"unless you want me to massage elsewhere." you get off of him and he turns on his side to look at you.

the tank top you were wearing was a little bit tight.

art gently grabs your wrist. "magical hands you know."

"it's beneficial to learn how to massage. for your own betterment and health. though i will happily help you with the spots you can't reach."

he rubs circles into your wrists. "are they tired?"

"a little. it was because i took an exam yesterday. writing in those blue booklets is absolute torture."

"that's fair." his eyes flicker up to yours. the room was warm, the atmosphere right. "do you...like my body?"

"it's nice. you're very beautiful." you smile.

art pulls you forward, your legs hitting the wooden bedframe of the shitty college provided furniture.

"do you want to feel it?"

you bite your lip. "i think i do."

[dadsbongos]

gojo knows a trick

888 words / warnings - blowjob and boot humping, reader's hinted to be a lady, controversial kink (orientation play)

summary - gojo is so sure of himself, he thinks he could make a lesbian straight. you decide to take the bet.

important note - don't fucking read the post if you're not gonna like it dingdongs, as a queer person myself i OBVIOUSLY don't endorse this fucking behavior that's basic fucking sense it's literally words on a screen. crazy seeing people with "dark content dni" in their bio go out of their way to interact with this post ~~~

“Seriously?” he’s grinning. He’s grinning so wide it hurts just to look at, “That’s hilarious.”

“What’s so funny about it?”

“I mean,” Satoru shrugs, snickering when you scowl, “I just don’t believe you. Like at all.”

“‘Don’t believe’ me?” you guffaw, “What? You think you could convince me otherwise?”

“I could.”

“Woah!” you knew Satoru was a cocky, arrogant, bordering unbearable man, but this was too far, “You’re really sure of yourself, huh?”

He shrugs, hands splaying as if to show off a mass of evidence, “If you were on my dick instead of picking chumps all the time, we’d be hearing a different tune.”

“What? That I’m straight?”

“God, not with the way you slobber all over that lout Yuki -- embarrassing by the way. But you wouldn’t consider running off with slender Aphrodite and the other residents of lesbos.”

“‘Cuz you’re just that magical, right?”

“I am.”

“Oh, you’re so full of shit,”

“What?” Satoru folds his hands confidently, leering at your rigid posture behind his blindfold, “Wanna prove me wrong?”

…

He has to admit: the way you glare up at him with your lips trying to stretch a pout with his cock stuffed between, it’s definitely stirring his gut.

Your lashes are wet and fluttering the further his cockhead pokes down your gullet. Every gag makes his throat bob with a groan, lithe fingers dance along your scalp and over your jaw until his nails hook beneath your chin. Drool pools in the divots of his fingers while his thumbs press into your cheeks to feel himself bulging your mouth.

“See?” he slowly thrusts his pelvis against your face, giggling deliriously at how your hands squeeze the firm muscle of his thighs, “You’re takin’ it so well, sweetcheeks. Like you’re made for this -- made to sit here,” he moans shamelessly, grinding your nose into his pubes, “with me deep in your neck.”

Despite yourself, you mewl at the pressure of his dick; how it feels when he slides out sopping wet just to rebury himself. Heat swells up from the thickness in your neck to your cheeks, and it only worsens when he affectionately caresses your face.

“What kind of lesbian is that? Huh? I don’t know if lesbians let men like me do things like this,” Satoru pushes you off with a palm to your forehead, and as if possessed by instinct you’re trying to tug his hips back towards your face.

Openly laughing at such debauched desperation, Satoru leans back enough to squirm his boot between your thighs as he jerks off onto your fleshy pink tongue.

“Here, baby, I won’t be all selfish,” he bites his lip raw, exhilaration burning pain in favor of pure lust when you actually roll onto his shoe, “There you go,” he teases the pads of his thumbs into your mouth and pulls sideways, letting you tongue his cock back into your throat, “You weren’t just made for this, baby,” his voice lowers, raspy and taunting, “You fucking like it, don’t you?”

Even without the prompting of his fingers plucking your lips, you’re nodding and mewling and greedily lapping Satoru’s cock.

“Knew you would,” he works you off his dick again, now wrapping his own hand around the base, “You’re gonna be my best girl, aren’t you?”

Your second, more pathetic, nod is rewarded grossly.

Pre-cum and saliva smears over your face because Satoru is Satoru and Satoru is fucking messy and nasty. He beats his sodden cock over you, sliding his slick erection along your hot cheeks and the bump of your nose and back into the open cavern of your mouth. He slaps his cock against your tongue to let you feel the weight of it again before tapping it on your cheeks more. Like he’s teasing a cat.

Because he’s a fucking moron

But you’re whining over it.

He grins, jerking off into your hot, moaning mouth as you hump his shoe. Clit catching on the ridge of his shoe’s toe, and you hate how much you’re enjoying it. How wet you can feel yourself getting, and Satoru hasn’t even touched you. Your slick leaks through the damp fabric of your panties to pool on Satoru’s shoe.

Chest sputtering with ragged breaths as the knot in your stomach winds tighter and tighter and tighter. Satoru suddenly grasps you sharply by the hair, holding your head in place as he leaks whimpers of his own. Cum spits from the flushed head of his cock. Splattering on your tongue and dribbling down your lips.

“Swallow it up, baby,” he swipes his thumb along tainted skin splotched by cum before dragging it all to your mouth, “Be a good little cock slut and swallow for me, yeah?”

And you do.

His horrible diet infects the taste, but you swallow as you soak his boot. Shoving your burning face into his wrinkled pant leg, you hope to muffle the sounds of your pathetic crooning.

Satoru’s kind enough, surprisingly, to affectionately rub over where he previously yanked your hair. He lets you come down from your orgasm before the teasing restarts.

“See?” Satoru guides you back gently, smiling softly despite his wickedness, “You’re so silly,” he pats your head again, somehow more patronizing this time, “Just needed some proper cock to worship and you humped like a good little puppy.”

[shiyorin]

What do you think it would be like if primarchs used social media?

Lion El'Jonson:

Private account, doesn't accept follower requests

Rarely posts, usually just sunset or forest photos

Uses emojis sarcastically in replies

Has 20 followers but thinks it's way too many

Fulgrim:

Aesthetic pictures pose artfully depict exotic hobbies and runway couture 

Filters all photos to perfection  

Constantly debates high art vs pop culture 

Thirst traps cause monthly massacres

"Like for a follow back 🔥" 

Perturabo:

Photos are exclusively poorly-lit fortress blueprints 

Bio is 25000 character treatise on siege tactics

Follows exactly 12 history scholars 

Hates everyone and everything on the site 

Actually ran some incisive political commentary bots before being banned

Jaghatai Khan: 

Only posts the sickest motocross and extreme sports clips

Videos have insane views but no captions 

Fans think he's a cryptid until rare livestreams 

Hijacks Fulgrim's comments to hype rad stunts

Leman Russ:

Changed his name to 'Wolf Daddy 🐺'

Shirtless hunting/drinking photos get 10K likes

Roasts everyone in comments but they love it  

Followers think he's a viking hipster meme page

Follows biker gangs, sled dog accts, scholars of old Terra 

Rogal Dorn:

Only posts are architectural blueprints and records of fortifications

Gets into epic debates about structural principles in comments  

No one knows if he actually loads new content or just archives old

Somehow gains tons of followers thirsting for DILF

Konrad Curze:

Pure darkness and screams in hazy JPEGs 

3 followers and they're all bots

Posts disturbing ‘prophecies’ and murder puzzles

Under investigation for doxxing

Sanguinius: 

Angelic selfies bring all the followers to his page    

Flowing locks and golden abs get 20K likes instantly   

Quotes poetry in every reply but no one understands 

Only follows animal shelter and children's hospital accounts

Ferrus Manus:

Only follows engineering/robotics pages

Posts heavily filtered machine shop mini-documentaries 

Photos of custom machines that make engineers weep

Comments are unintelligible techno-babble  

Somehow gains huge gym bro following thirsting for muscle

Angron:

Gets banned monthly for graphic content and abuse

Posts angry rants about society in broken caps

Got suspended after sending death threats to Guilliman

Only follower is Khârn who comments 'THIS' on everything  

Roboute Guilliman:

Shares updates on the latest Codexes 

Only follows serious history/philosophy lecture pages

Posts long analyses of governance strategies 

Constantly lectures others in comments

Has blocked half his followers for trolling

Mortarion:

Aesthetic is grimy gas mask selfies in back alleys

ONLY reposts plague doctor memes from 2003

Bio is endless copypasta about essential oils

Gains cult following of goths, metal heads and preppers

Magnus:

Endless livestreams talking about theoretical magic at 3AM with 2 viewers. 

Tries making TikToks explaining sorcery but the videos are an hour long each.

Overexplains memes and emojis in long-winded threads

Memes and facts threads blow up as the most esoteric

Horus Lupercal:

Selfies showing off abs get him 50K followers in a week

Posts stunning photos from across the Imperium with #blessed captions

Fan club is half the mankind 

DMs from people asking for selfies blow up his notifications  

Lorgar Aurelian:

Aesthetic is dark robes and candlelit monasteries

Constantly reposting zealot sermons out of context

Accidentally starts wars of faith whenever he livestreams

Got suspended for uploading hardcore Slaneeshi hymns

Still has 10 alt accounts all named Brother [REDACTED]

Vulkan:

Only follows puppy accounts and craft bloggers

Posts Happy Holiday baking tutorials and dad jokes

Likes and comments positivity on everyone's posts

Followers think he's the nicest DILF ever online

Secretly the biggest wholesome meme page

Corvus Corax:

Only darkness, shadow puppets and cryptic poems

No one knows if he's real or a myth on the deep web

Internet detectives can’t trace his true identity  

Only sends encrypted coordinates in mysterious DMs  

No one has any idea what he's trying to say  

1 follower is Alpharius who only replies 'No, I'm Alpharius'

Alpharius/Omegon:

Constantly pretending to be other online  

No one knows their true forms or agenda 

Takeovers of government sites spark conspiracies

Leaves clues implicating everyone else’s schemes

[wsjyuyuyuau]

Mash Burnedead (Mashle)

Name: Mash Burnedead

Series: Mashle: Magic and Muscles

Gender: Male

Status: Alive

Family: Regero Burnedead (Adoptive Father)

Flower Motif: Green Lisianthus (Eustoma grandiflorum)

Flower Meaning: Success

Weapon of Choice: Gauntlets

Associated With: Interdimensional Hero Club

Hero Form Appearance: A combination of a magic school student and YuYuYu’s Hero Form outfits. The undersuit of the outfit is a solid gray so the brighter shades can burst through and take center stage. The main outfit is indeed a light green like the flower, yet there are accents of gold, silver, dark green, dark blue, red, black, white, and hints of bronze to balance things out. The dress shoes, belt, and tie all have patterns relating to the green Lisianthus- and the only other accessory is a green Lisianthus brooch which serves as a tie clasp. The flower’s petal shape can be seen in the tailcoat, cufflinks, top, and pants.

Full Bloom Gauge Location: Left Fist

Guardian: Mandross (Based on a Mandrake Root)

Favorite Food: Cream Puffs

Parallel To: None

Bio: Mash Burnedead is the titular main protagonist of the comedy and action fantasy manga series Mashle Magic and Muscles. He is a 15 years old first-year high school student of Easton Magic Academy, who aims to become a Divine Visionary in order to live a peaceful life. He stands out for being the only person that is unable to use magic, but despite this, he makes up for it with his might and muscles.

[jgroffdaily]

Jonathan Groff: Doing Just in Time Is "My Idea of Heaven"

Groff could become the first actor in history to win consecutive Best Actor in a Musical Tony Awards.

David Gordon

If Jonathan Groff wins a Tony for his magnetic, high-energy performance as singer Bobby Darin in Just in Time, he could make Broadway history, becoming the first performer to win back-to-back Tony Awards for Best Actor in a Musical.

As fans know, Groff took home the award last year for his turn as Franklin Shepard in Merrily We Roll Along. But compared to Just in Time, Sondheim is a walk in the park. Still, for this beloved Broadway veteran, the effort it takes to leave audiences spellbound is more than worth it. He can see it in their faces as he dances among them. He can hear it in their cheers. And he can feel it in his soul. It’s as rewarding an experience as anything he’s ever done.

It seems like Just in Time takes a lot out of you.

I know that the show is an extreme physical workout because of how well I sleep at night. I have to do a 30-minute physical warm-up every day before I do the show. But the experience of doing the show is my idea of heaven. I am so happy while I’m doing it, and I know that it’s a workout, but it gives more than it takes. I just love doing it.

And the people in the audience are enraptured.

Bobby Darin’s magic was the way that he would connect with an audience. By all accounts, that’s what he was most known in people’s hearts for. We wanted to honor his spirit by creating that environment in the show.

I am indirectly getting the gift of a lifetime, which is the ability to connect with audience members in such a profound, intimate way. It’s a real spiritual experience. People are crying, I’m touching their shoulders, I’m dancing with people. It’s really unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

How did that whole thing come about? Not the spit part, but the fact that you’re introduced as yourself before getting into character?

When we were in the early years — we’ve been working on it for eight years — I asked for it. In all the research that I was doing about Bobby Darin, it said that anything could happen any given night. There was this energy: he was really present as a performer. I felt like I’d like to start the show as myself to remove the artifice of the character and create that invisible thread between performer and audience member in the purest way.

I wanted the audience to feel like they could be themselves; not like they were extras in the Copa in the 1950s, but that we were all here in — we’re calling it the basement of Wicked. We’re all here in the basement of Wicked, and now let’s go on this journey together. The dream was to not just tell Bobby Darin’s story like a bio-musical, but to also, and maybe even more importantly, evoke the spirit of who he was by capturing that in-the-moment thing. By the starting the show as myself, we locate everyone in the present moment.

Does the way it lives inside you make it an easier lift than something like Merrily We Roll Along, which we were talking about this time last year?

It’s interesting. The gift of Merrily is that we all got to share it. We [Groff, Lindsay Mendez, and Daniel Radcliffe] did all of the press together. The three of us were sharing the load in a way that’s different this time around.

Because it’s all on you.

And singing Sondheim, there’s a kind of precision and a rigor of brain power. It’s like working different muscles. Merrily is a musical, but in a lot of ways, it’s also a play. There are long scenes. With Just in Time, I feel like I’m flying. There’s a great energy and inertia. The dancing and the physical requirements are what makes this one more challenging. But Sondheim is its own ball of wax. It’s like apples and oranges.

[stormbreaker-290]

Question about Static and Morgan's lore: Would they count as cyborgs or animatronics? You said they used to be human and were turned mechanical. Do they still have any "humanoid" pieces, or are they fully mechanical? Idk whether you want this on your main or Static blog, sorry.

Actually, only Static was turned part-mechanical!

The scientist that worked on Static had gone through attempt after attempt at making pure animatronics that could simultaneously be scrap sorters and security drones, none of the attempts really lasting or fulfilling their proper potential.. until she was given access to choose a human subject to freely experiment on. using the facilities newfound.. unnatural energy.

Roughly 80-90% of Static was replaced by bio-mechanical and enhanced parts, the other percentage remaining being modified and/or repurposed organs, and muscle tissue, as well as using their blood to mimic a slightly simplified circulatory system that carries power and electricity throughout their body.

Morgan on the other hand, didn't get this sort of treatment. The Scientist that worked on Static already had her perfect creation, and another attempt at such a tedious process was only a waste of time in her book.

He was brought back by another few 'bright minds' via advanced electronics and dangerously unstable magic energy they could barely harness, though he wasn't granted with enough technology imbedded (aside from the implant that has long since been removed) to really count as anything robotic.

So uh- to answer your question: Static could ~technically~ be considered an animatronic. And Morgan,,,,, undead? I suppose?

(also, asks about OCS are always welcome on either blog, though for further lore questioning id recommend the static blog... Then you might even get some commentary from them themselves ;3)

[ciaossu-imagines]

So, from day 11 of the event, I used ‘N’ from prompt 13 for the main gang from Mashle: Magic & Muscles! I’m excited to write for this fandom on here and hope anyone who knows the fandom enjoys the headcanons!

Netflix and chilling

Mash Burnedead

Okay, let’s not even lie to ourselves here. Mash is not even going to know what ‘Netflix and chill’ means, even if it existed in universe, which we’re just going to assume here that it does for the purpose of these headcanons.

For most of his life, Mash wasn’t raised around anyone but his pops and I really don’t see Regro giving Mash the whole birds and bees talk, much less getting down into the smuttiness behind Netflix and chill and things of that like. He likes his son’s innocence and always said he didn’t want to make Mash grow up too soon.

So really, until he started school at 15 and really heard a lot of the talk from other kid’s his age, I really don’t think Mash even knew what sex was. It takes him a while to catch up on all that honestly because, let’s be honest here, the boy had just a couple more important things to really concentrate on, like trying to avoid people finding out he didn’t have magic, then trying to avoid execution, then taking down his crazy megalomaniac bio dad. He was really just doing all that and trying to make friends.

I think Mash, even after he gets caught up on the whole sex and sexual attraction thing, remains very, very much an oblivious airhead at times. He’s not going to know someone wants a hookup or his partner wants sex if they just invite him for Netflix and chill time. He’s just going to think they wanna watch a movie with him, in which case he’s likely going to turn them down 99% of the time as he’s not a movie watcher. Has no interest in it.

I mean that literally. He will just plain out go ‘no thanks. Movies bore me,’ and will walk away because he has other things he wants to do or will go back to training or something else.

Hopefully the person he just unknowingly rejected has some very thick skin.

Dot Barrett

In stark contrast, Dot is definitely a man who knows what Netflix and chilling is. He’s dreamed of it for so long, but he doesn’t really have a lot of luck with the ladies and it’s not really something he gets invited to do.

Because Dot really does consider himself, and does go out of his way, to be a gentleman, even when attracted to someone and even if it’s actually really what he wants, he could never lower himself to be so uncouth as to invite someone to Netflix and chill with him. Even with a long-term sexual partner, he couldn’t really get himself to offer because it does, in his mind, feel a little disrespectful and he worries his partner would think he was only after them for the sex.

Dot’s a man who likes to put in the work to seduce someone he’s in a sexual relationship with, to put some romance into it. Even if he desperately wants that kind of fantasy hook-up, that purely sex driven thrill ride of a night, he could never be so brash.

He’d definitely take up the invitation if it was offered by someone who he thought was really attractive. He goes into it all excited. Like, sporting a half-chub the entire way to them excited. It’s going to be frigging amazing.

But he really just can’t help himself…he can’t just have sex be sex. It’s not something that really sits right with him. He shoots himself a little in the foot because, if it’s not someone he’s dating, he can’t just let go and just fuck them. He kind of shies away from a lot of physical contact and keeps trying to make conversation and get to know the person. Sure, he blushes and stammers a lot when they touch him, especially if they’re really forward about what they want and he almost loses his composure for a second, but in the end he just can’t go through with it.

Even in a dedicated relationship, the sex can’t be an instant thing. He ends up enjoying the cuddling, the quiet conversation, and the making out much too much and the movie’s probably been over by the time he and his partner even move past foreplay.

Lance Crown

Lance is fully aware of Netflix and chilling.

He’s received a lot of invites to do just that, how could he not know? And I do mean a lot. Despite some of his…quirks…he’s got that pretty face, plus the prestige and reputation. He gets a lot of offers and honestly, Netflix and chilling is pretty tame compared to more than a handful of them.

Someone has legit tried to entice him by telling him they would have his babies if he wanted to start trying right then and there, on a very public street, while starting to reach for their belt.

Too bad for everyone but Lance doesn’t really do hookups all that often. He’s really busy and when he does get free time, it’s almost exclusively given to Anna and his friends.

I also do think he would prefer a more committed sexual relationship over a hookup.

Even with that committed sexual relationship…his partner asks him to Netflix and chill and his answer is definitely going to be ‘with Anna in the house? You would want us to do such dirty things with my precious little sister in the house!’ and there would just be an argument.

As for why is Anna there? When is Anna not there? If Lance could, he would have his sister live with him forever.

When Anna is away though, Lance will bring up that Netflix and chill offer and say that they could do that. Or, better yet, they can just skip the Netflix and get right to the chill, since that’s what they’re both wanting anyway, isn’t it?

Finn Ames

Finn definitely knows what the term means. He’s familiar with it and understands the concept and everything, but the thought of using it on someone would never even cross his mind.

The boy stumbles and stammers even asking for the first time if he can kiss his partner. Even when he and his partner start having sex, he’s very considerate when it comes to trying to instigate it. He kind of reads their body language, makes subtle moves to show he’s really wanting to be physically intimate with them.

Finn has a very proper view of sex as a whole, honestly, where it’s something two people in love gift to each other, not just something you do because it feels good.

Good god, it feels good though and he’d be ashamed to admit how often he does think about it.

He’s the type to try to do extra things for his partner during the day so they have more time to relax and be more in the mood later, when his kisses and hesitant touches let them know what he would like, not the ‘wanna pretend to watch a movie together so I can get into your pants’ type of guy.

Lemon Irvine

Lemon blushes really hard when she hears the word ‘Netflix and chill’.

When the words are directed at her, her whole face becomes as red as a tomato.

Oh, and she also shows that she knows how to throw an impressive straight jab right into the suggester’s face.

Doesn’t matter if it’s just someone trying to come onto her that she isn’t in a relationship with or someone she’s kind of in love with.

Lemon is a delicate fucking maiden, okay. You treat delicate maidens gently and properly and you put some romance into getting into their pants. You don’t just ask them to fuck straight out like that, at least not to her.

She has no problems being sexual with the person she loves, but she does want there to be some romance to it or some sort of build-up, not just a completely ‘bro-dating’ trend like Netflix and chill.

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

I am so tired of the “Pilates arms” “Pilates body” “doing this routine snatched my waist” “tone your arms with these two pound wrist weights that you can find in my Amazon store front” bullshit

I was a certified personal trainer and have been a gym goer all my life. Please listen to me when I say:

There is no magic routine that will “snatch” your waist

There are no special wrist weights that will sculpt your arms

“Toning” is not real

In order to “tone” you have to gain muscle. And in order to see that muscle, you have to lose body fat.

Adopting a new ab routine or a new upper body circuit is awesome. Being strong is awesome. Being strong is so important to our health, especially as we age.

But you cannot expect to see any change in your body if you don’t lose fat. And this is not me saying that anyone should or has to lose fat.

What I am saying is that you cannot allow yourself to be bamboozled by these grifters.

Some skinny girl on Instagram who has no body fat will appear more “toned” because she has no fat covering her skeletal muscle. She did not achieve that “perfect” body by doing some “abs and arms” program she’s selling at the link in her bio. She simply has a low body fat percentage.