#FUCK YOU *FURRIES YOUR SCIENTIST*

[crowned--corvid]

Specimen

[vox-tv-demon]

Welcome to the HazbinVerse!

We have:

@ask-charlie-morningstar, the Princess Of Hell and leader of the Hazbin Hotel!

@ask-the-radio-demon, the deer demon that broadcasts killings across the world!

@askvaggie, the manager of the hotel and Charlie's girlfriend!

@ask-niffty, the cleaner and helper to Alastor!

@angeldust-fucks, the famous porn star who's here for some reason!

@huskthebarkeep, the bartender who's constantly drunk and depressed!

@vox-tv-demon, the television overlord who has a kid and a boyfriend!

@valentino-moth-man, the pornography overlord who has many kids and is the boyfriend!

@ask-velvette, the social media overlord who's a sassy lil bitch!

@ask-a-vox, another Vox!

@voxonlive, yet another fucking Vox!

@zestialtheoverlord, the oldest overlord there is!

@ask-lucifer-morningstar , ruler of Hell!

@ask-yourstruly-lilithmorningstar, Lucifer's wife!

@ask-rosie, leader of the Cannibal Colony and running Rosie's Emporium!

@alastors-radio-show, another Alastor!

@red-velvette-cakes, another Velvette!

@ask-sir-pentious-hisshisslord, the snake overlord with the Egg Bois!

@molly-that-spider, Angel's twin sister!

@arackniss-that-spider, Angel's older brother and love interest of Pentious (I don't know how far they've gotten in their relationship)!

@the-don-henroin, Angel's bitch-ass dad who deserves to fucking die! :D

@baxter-science-fish, the scientist and Velvette's boyfriend!

@damian-morningstar, Lucifer's accidental son!

@collin-sheep, the fallen cherub!

@prince-of-envy, Charlie's ex and an Overlord!

@carmilla-carmine, weapon seller supreme!

@weapon-gatherer-odette, one of Carmilla's two daughters!

@furry-vox ... I don't know whether this is an OC or not, honestly. But it sure does exist.

@adamthefirstangel, the first angel! It's self-explanatory.

@ask-exterminator-lute, Adam's right hand!

@dragqueenspider, another Angel Dust!

@devilduckdad, another King of Hell!

@charliem0rningstar, another Princess of Hell!

@king-morningstar, Lucifer again!

@that-funky-spider, another Angel again!

@yumyumbodyparts, a cannibal kid!

Onto the OCs!

@alainthesquirrl, chef of the Hazbin Hotel!

@vincent-the-electric-moth, Vox and Valentino's son!

@mochi-the-shapeshifter, a worker for Valentino who can change her body!

@carmeltheassistant, Vox's right hand girl!

@asktheratz, a bunch of rats!

@hazbin-stealth-rat, another rat!

@cupid-the-killer, Vox's nasty-ass ex!

@specktivedemon, a Hotel resident!

@aroyaltailor, a tailor and also part of the Ars Goetia!

@mewhenautism, autistic cthulu apparently!

@siempreminta, a mysterious girl staying at the Hotel!

@sienna-lenora-raven, Angel Dust's little sister!

@lunar-the-moon-overlord, the overlord of the moon!

@fawndemonkiddo, a young demon child in Hell!

Please feel free to link this post in your pinned! If you have an OC I have forgotten or don't know about, please reply to this post so I can add them!

[sin-sidejob]

Insidious Inside Job: Halloween pt. 2

Note: Inspired by skoshibuns fanart on instagram + I have songs linked with each segment for the specific portion that goes with the monster, the plot, or both + reminder, I may be an english major but this thing is barely proofread

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI, AFAB + GN PRONOUNS, RAW SEX (wrap that rascal), monster-fucking, tentacle fucking, inhuman creatures, furry fucking? One brief scene of alluded almost sexual assault/assault (that gets stopped and interrupted) incredibly vague nothing actually happens, drug use/roofied/narcotics, I guess, werewolf (slight A/B/O dynamics), breeding kink, talks of missing body parts and death, cockwarming, somnophilia the undead, zombies, doctor play, doctor kink, doctor/fake patient, living dead, experimentation with cadavers and dead bodies, mention of illness/cancer, various Halloween-y phenomena + probably more

Content: smut, spooky scary spectral holiday smuttening, monster and inhuman creature fucking, usual debauchery you can expect from me, dicks and pussy, inhuman and monster genitalia, reader has AFAB nethers/genitalia and a cunt but I don’t describe about tits so folks are safe, I used gender neutral pronouns all throughout as well. Mentions of underwear and generalized clothing but no bras or gendered articles of clothing. Southernification of Robotus (you’ll see) + probably more

! ! ! This is part two, with Reagan + Brett + Andre + Robotus + Myc. Part one, located here, includes Gigi + JR + Glenn + a bonus character ! ! !

Reagan Ridley: MAD SCIENTIST

• songs: Evil Eye - Franz Ferdinand

- You were used to the chaotic cadence that came with knowing and loving the reclusive Dr. Ridley, enjoying the maniacal dynamic and aiding her in her experiments, helping her tidy up should a test go awry. You aided her in all her endeavors, even the unsightly ones, and that dedication and mutual trust blossomed into friendship and then eventually love and list. Simple creatures, you two were, and instincts were a gravitational pull as equally potent to magnets as to mankind.

- The latter half of the year, when the weather turns and the leaves change and shed their green covers to don the classic golden hues, is when she came alive even more. She found energy in the fall and winter weather, more likely to be within the confines of her laboratory and adding scrawled, scratch-like lines into her notebooks and texts, running about with her coat billowing behind her like a shadow tethered to her, fluttering beside her with the grace of a conspirator.

- There were times when she would not need your assistance and you would be free and left to your own devices, wandering about the extravagant library and traipsing through the halls, snooping where you shouldn't, and happily receiving your punishments. Life was good and continued to be so, almost mundane in an unnatural, phenomenal way. There was no dark side of the moon to you, only the light because the shadows were your home, and the person you called lover languished alongside you in Moonglow-shaded craters.

- But your favorite moments had to be when it was you she was examining, you who she was teasing and playing with, black patent leather gloves that were entirely unsafe and unethical in a lab environment used on your form, drawing out pinpricks of chills. Especially now as Reagan hums at the sight of your disheveled state, silent beside her idle noises and internalized dialogue as if she is annotating already-written notes within the confines of her brain of you as her hands draw out more data to analyze, almost pulling all your secrets pool forth from moaning lips via her ministrations.

- Reagan is seldom tender or ginger in her touch, not in a harshness but more in a neutral, guiding, directing manner. Like moving you about with the same grace as working with her equipment and tools, movements memorized and muscles well-accustomed to all that you are. She can be softer, in aftermath moments where your body and senses can not make heads or tails of where the two of you ended or began, fully enwrapped and enveloped in one another like coiled vines of ivy, cascading upwards and intertwining in great efforts. But now, her touch is not soft, but steady and purposeful.

- Cold gloves remove clothing and secure straps onto your body, across your limbs, and holding you tight against a weathered and soft wooden table, built with the intention to be used for medical seminars and demonstrations. You lay, naked and taut upon a staged table in the center of an empty auditorium for the use of educational experimentation presentations and viewing seminars for research and study. The arena on her property is empty, no event planned for today, just the two of you in the grand room and feeling infinitesimally small, yet powerful simultaneously.

- "Not too tight?" Dr. Reagan Ridley asks softly as she busies herself with hovering over the straps that secure your wrists and ankles to the examination table, gloved hands running along oiled leather seams. "Perfect." is your answer and her smile matches the word, pride in her eyes at her wonderful assistant, her previous lover. "There's my darling, now what are te rules?" she asks, unbuttoning her labcoat to expose her blouse and slacks beneath, slinky and clinging to her body in a way that makes your firsts clench just so, palms opening and closing with the yearning need to touch.

- "Nuclear is stop, gradient is slow down, and prism is keep going, or good." you answer, squirming a bit against the restrains for show and shuffling your ass against the soft wood, feeling the cool air caress your exposed, already leaking pussy. "Wonderful," the Doctor trails off, wandering away from the table and leaving you to lay spread and scan your eyes across the planetarium-painted ceiling above and marvel at the gold leaf details in the stars and constellations, drawing you back in when she returns and adjusts her gloves with a small thwack, "now, where should we begin?"

- You don't respond immediately, not knowing how or where to answer, unable to distinguish a clear mood in her dark eyes for what she wants and what she is planning to take from you. The hesitation makes Reagan decide on her own, a dark chuckle emerging from her lips and settling in the base of your spine, curling like a funnel stormcloud. "Alright then, guess it's up to Doctor's orders." She smooths softened leather against your inner thighs and parts your lips, blowing cool air in puffs against your exposed cunt and clicking her tongue in notes as her mind wanders in fascination.

- "I think I'll start here, test your sensitivity first hmm?" she asks aloud, mainly to herself, the table raised to her waist so she can easily maneuver around you and toy with you, like a doll. It feels all like a pleasurable version of The Princess Bride's pit of despair but mixed with a sex dungeon and none of the latex. "There, how does that feel?" it feels good, decent, not enough as the first portion of her pointer finger breaches your walls, the texture not adding much besides a cooler sensation. You answer the same, and she hums before moving on, shifting in a manner reminiscent of a cat's sly sway.

- "Space for improvement, good." she comments, a stray hair falling into her forehead from her tight ponytail, dark hair pulled back and away from her face and allowing you to fully watch her move and her shifting expressions. She thrusts the finger into you, slowly and watching as you clench around her, gaping and closing in a rhythmic pattern. "And this?"

- "its g-good too," you choke out, shifting your head from looking at her to nothing, eyes shut and you try not to squirm, letting her venture as she pleased, "but not good enough?" Reagan asks, and you nod in agreement, prompting her to curl her finger upwards, matching with her second finger, and smirking, brows arching as she watches you grow more and more disheveled.

- "ah," you moan out, lip tugged between your teeth as you bite down, fists clenching and unclenching once the pleasure begins to initially build, feeling it bubble forth in your belly like a tide pool on the beach, collecting and growing as more gets put into it. "Now that's a reaction, keep speaking beautiful." she directs, curling in upward strokes from within your walls

- You nod, mewling a bit as your voice breaks and pitches, feeling her slide in another digit, pointer finger to ring finger all slotted. Her gloves are thicker, making the stretch a bit wider than what you're accustomed to, and you break a tad, grinding your hips down and wriggling, aching to get something more, and that something ends up being Reagan's attention.

- "Oh this won't do, I think you need some more advanced methods." Reagan murmurs, enjoying the look on your face as she steps back and out of your line of vision, holding back laughter as you whine and make confused tones, wondering why she stopped when she had finally gotten to the good part. "Easy now, just a moment, you can be patient for me, can't you?"

- "Yes, Doctor." She whips her head around and drops the tool in her hand, and you're worried for a second she didn't like you saying that but she arrives moments later with a silicone dick and a small vibrator in hand, accompanied by a sly grin. "Doctor, hm? We're keeping that." she states as she sets the items in her hands down beside you on the flat table, now away from your sight before you could see any of the specific characteristics or facets.

- You squirm again, chills from the exposed air finally overriding the pleasure in your veins and cooling your body. Reagan tuts at that, smoothing her dry glove up your thigh in an attempt to warm you up, "phrase?" she asks, gentle and present as she looks at you. "Prism." she smiles and nods before her expression shifts, popping the cap off a bottle of lube and warming it between her hands as she looks you over, a small smile emerging once she spots your cunt, clenching around nothing from the show she put on of her rubbing her palms together with her exposed forearms rippling.

- "Ready for me?" she asks, adjusting her gloves and then sucking off the slick residue from her one hand, purposely staring you down as she does it with intent. "Always, Doctor." a shudder that she fails to try and hide rolls through her spine at that, not fully used to you ever calling her that, especially when you're bare and at her mercy.

- "good answer." Reagan responds, lubing up the silicone and sliding it through your folds slowly, watching as you tense and begin to grind. Her hand plants your hip down still, forcing it to stop as she fixes you a warning look while she props the dick near your cunt.

- Sliding it in, she sinks the silicone dick deep into you and watches as your cunt takes it in, noting aloud how the gloves prepped you better than what she does manually glove-free. Keening out, you force yourself still and feel her hand move to instead grip your hip instead of planting it still, guiding you along in a tempo that matches the ministrations of her other hand, fucking the fake dick into you over and over slowly, picking up the pace gradually.

- "That seems to be treating you better. You agree?" barely managing a nod, you respond with a grunting moan as she angles the silicone against a spot of nerves, making you jolt and gasp. "I'll take that as a yes." Reagan jokingly responds to herself, reaching the hand once on your hip to reach away and grab the vibrator, eager to get your pent-up self breaking and shattering like glass.

- You don't realize what's happening, too blissfully unaware due to how she continues flicking her wrist, rocking the dick into you at a pace that builds tension but doesn't get that knot of pleasure unraveling at all. When the vibrator comes to life and thrums in her hand, your head whips up in that instant Pavlovian response, knowing she's about to make you see God.

- "Holy fuck please use that thing on me." you blurt out immediately, drawing a laugh from her that's dark while she fixes you a warning look, a brow raised and you rush to find your words. "Please, Doctor." Reagan hums, pleased, and then reaches down to plant the vibrator on your clit, rolling it in circles and shapes that make your legs struggle against the stirrup-like straps, body wriggling and squirming as it tries to get comfortable to handle getting fucked this way.

- "Well would you look at that, pretty damn effective." She muses, upping the vibrator speed casually with one hand as the other splits you open on the silicone cock with ease. "Next time we're going to have to test this with having both of your holes filled, probably get you squirting in minutes."

- The idea alone that she planted like a seedling in your head blooms, making you even more turned on if possible. The way the dick nestled the spots inside that already got you seeing stars? Multiplying the effect. And now the vibrator rolling over your clit and thrumming incredibly sends you over the edge, barely able to warn her coherently before you cum with a squealing moan.

- "Fucking gorgeous," Reagan marvels, fucking you through it and lowering the setting on the vibrator, still keeping it there but rolling it in softer, smoother motions while she gently fucks the dick into you, working through an orgasm that she manages to draw out for roughly a minute or so. "So goddamn pretty like this."

- She keeps going for a while until your legs stop shaking, then she removes the toys from you and moves about, undoing the straps and stirrups holding you then grabbing a nearby blanket and wrapping you up in it. You sit up and scoot over to the side of the table, legs hanging off as Reagan stands before you, smoothing your hair back and checking you over.

- She busies herself with rolling her fingers over the slightly indented marks where the straps were, double checking to make sure you were okay but she doesn't catch your adoring, sleepy look until you tap at her arm and then raise your hand to lift her chin, beaming dazedly at her. "Hi Reagan." you murmur, pressing kisses to her cheek and jaw lazily.

- "Hello yourself, feeling okay?" she asks, amusement in her tone as she looks you over, making sure you're fully covered in the blanket and warm, trying to prevent you from getting overly cold.

- You giggle and look up at her, grinning wide and honest, "I could not be any fucking better than I am right now, now gimme' a kiss." Reagan obliges, and everything fades as it always does around her, in the best and most comforting blur.

Brett Hand: FRANKENSTEIN’S MONSTER

• song: Body - Mother Mother or My Boy Builds Coffins - Florence + The Machine

- Brett wishes he could manage to carve a place for himself in your life and at your side with as much ease as he has with loving you, completely enthralled and enamored with everything you are, all that you’ve been, and all that you’ll be. He’s fascinated by you and the intricacies in your movements and routines, the way your brows furrow when confused or frustrated, the smile you don’t show unless you’re caught by surprise and unable to remember hiding it.

- He gathers these little facets of yourself like river rocks and stones, wearing them down in the revisits of his memory, rolling them flat and small but soft in the way he reveres them. If only you loved him like he loved you. If only you actually knew him, not just of him. You’ve met before, known of each other practically since his initial creation. Yet he’s not satisfied because he doesn’t know what it’s like to be with you, only knowing you at the arms reach that he has from you helping him and fixing him up.

- You’re an assistant to his father, his creator, an up-and-coming scientist fascinated with his methods in Reanimation and modern-age necromancy, hoping to study his techniques and model some of his talents with your own. His father, Dr. Quentin Hand, made all of his siblings as initial creations and had Brett last, the youngest and most rushed one of the collection. He was an accumulation of spare parts, the battered bits left in the barrel, a literal representation of what comes from patchwork scientific craft and lacking interest. That’s not to say you didn’t treat him kindly or matched his father's lack of enthusiasm.

- No, you treated him carefully, just like the rest of his siblings. You gave him extra attention and care, sewing back on fingers should they get snagged and fall off his hand, making a few jokes all the while you thread the needle and fish it in and out of his flesh about how his hand’s should be better taken care of, especially since it’s his last name.

- his heart was monitored and he prayed you hadn’t caught the speeding up of the pace, the rapid ba-bum ba-bum ba-bum of his pre-owned heart firing off in awe of you and your presence. If you did, you don’t mention it and you just continue hemming and stitching him back together, returning his ring finger back onto his left hand with care, humming all the while some song stuck in the back of your head.

- “there,” you nearly startle him, pulling him from his reverie with a pat to his knee as you sit up from your chair and clean up, putting your supplies away and disinfecting, “all fixed. Let me know if there’s any trouble with your seams again and I’ll patch you up — no sweat.” His eyes, one hazel and the other bright blue, peer up at you with nothing short of pure adoration. It’s always there, poor boy can’t do anything to hide it. He just loves you is all.

- "Thank you, I'm sorry you have to always fix me up all the time." Brett states, rubbing his arm subconsciously, truly meaning it and knowing it had to be at least a little redundant to mend him after every trip and fall or tumble down the steps. Poor thing had no balance, something you try to work on in your spare time between projects and lessons with Brett's father. You turn, taking your gloves off and disposing of them while looking his way, a sad frown on your face making his dissipate like smoke. "Why are you sorry for that? It's not something you can help, sweet boy, and besides --" you trail off while stepping near him and fixing his hair and looking down at his still-sitting form, "I'm happy to help you, its what I'm here for!"

- and with that, you depart, heading to another appointment to experiment under supervision, He dreads the days that come forward now, nearing when you would be leaving since your education under the apprenticeship of his father ends to a close. You'd be gone, with your own experiments and helpers, a life completely devoid of him. he likes to think you'd write him or call, maybe see his name scrawled in your looping cursive handwriting and hear your words drawn across a page and yearn to find your love within them.

- but even he, Brett, a lovesick optimist knows that would be too good to be true. Within the month, you'd pack and leave and the spanning acres of his family's estate would be empty of your presence. Your quarters would miss your belongings, the posters, and art on the walls, the little personal items and books littered about. It would be as if you were never there, but to Brett, he would always remember you being there. He may have been reanimated, but the days where you roamed the halls and came across his sight were the only days he felt truly alive.

- Little did he know that you had been planning your departure for years and hoped you would go about it, what exactly you would leave or sell, what you would pack, how you would pack, and who you would take with you. "Dr. Hand, I have a request," you start, making casual conversation while you've currently got your forearms embedded in a cadaver's inner organs, organizing things, "I was wondering if I could take one of the experiments with me when I leave early this week?"

- Doctor Quentin Hand is no meek creature, nor does his stature indicate such. he was almost frighteningly tall, but with age has developed a slight hunching slouch making him roughly 6'5 with the rugby player's stature. The man is thick and bulky, with a head full of auburn hair turning grey and the shade of sunned strands with his age. "Depends on which of the creations you'd call to you, and if they'd like to go. The eldest are off limits, but should one of the children agree, you are free to take them. But only one."

- he is currently invested in combining chemicals to inject within the bloodstream when reanimation is to take place later, and luckily so. He misses your entire face light up, beaming from ear to ear behind your surgical mask and eyes glowing with excitement. "I've already decided who I'd like to bring with me."

-"Oh?" he doesn't even turn, swirling an open beaker that smells of disinfectant and acid, "who?". Dr. Hand shows no concern and even that worries you, knowing there was little love shown to the creations, and none whatsoever to your favorite. "I was planning to take Brett, the youngest of them."

-He waves a gloved hand and nods, "Of course, pack his things if he hasn't already. Be sure to invest in a lot of sutures and sewing materials as well, you will definitely need it." if you didn't need this formal apprenticeship, you would've killed him with his own reanimating equipment. "Yes sir."

- later, when you have cleaned up, changed, and wrapped up the experiment which once again went as a success, you settle down in your room and continue backing up your personal belongings into extra bags and suitcases for the items you gathered in your time here. A record plays, crackling initially but still pouring out the cadence of the Lungs album from Florence + The Machine as you wander about, clearing your shelves and delicately folding posters and emptying the walls.

- just as you flip over the vinyl to the b side, a knock rattles against your door. When you open it, you didn't expect Brett's tear-stained face to be the first thing you see. Nor did you expect him to rush and hug you, drawing you into his form and holding you close while he buries his head in your shoulder. "Why do you have to leave?"

- You think it's cruel, but it was always going to be a surprise for you to take him with you. The feelings were obvious and only reciprocated a few months ago. Sadly, you couldn't act on them until you got out from under the eyes of Doctor Quentin for Brett's sake and safety. But now that's not a worry, and you leave after breakfast tomorrow morning with the patchwork babydoll of a man before you.

- The sight enough is heartbreaking, especially with the direct feel of his tremors shaking through him, and then through you with the closeness. It takes several attempts to ease his cries and pry him up from your shoulder, stepping back to close the door behind him then flicking the lock shut before you cup his cheek and lift his head upwards. "Brett, sweetheart, how could you think I'd leave without you?" you soothe, thumbs rolling over his cheek and swiping tears away. "I wanted to surprise you but I think you need to hear it now, I'm taking you with me. I was never going to leave without you in the first place."

- Brett blinks blearily, wiping the tears from his multicolored eyes to stare at you openly and dart his gaze between your own eyes. "You're serious?" he asks, still buried in disbelief, "why would you want to take me, you barely even like me." Brett's met with laughter, not caustic or harsh and at his expense like what he's used to, yours is lighthearted and kind, just like your eyes. "Sweetheart, I care for you a great deal beyond just liking you." you say, taking his hands in yours, the ones you've constantly tended to like the rest of him.

- "What does that mean?" Brett asks, squeezing your hands tight and finding it impossible to look anywhere in the room besides your face. "It means I love you, silly thing, and I refuse to let you stay here any longer when you deserve the world. Let me show it to you." His tears reappear again but its relief, the feeling that swarms his body and makes him feel shrouded in Moonglow. You care for him, you love him, that his years of pining after you and hoping, praying for a miracle were worth it. You loved him, your silly ragdoll.

- "Say it again." he says, his hands moving from yours to your waist, brushing the bare skin where your shirt has ridden up with ease, aching to feel more of your warm skin in his palms. "I love you Brett." you murmur, forehead pressed to his as you press your palms to his chest, fingertips tracing the material of his henley while humming in a pleased tone once his hands begin to wander.

- "One more time." he whispers as he leans forward to catch your lips with his, admiring how your eyes flutter shut when he does. You kiss, lips shifting back and forth as you murmur how you loved him into his open mouth like a secret, and he'd cherish and protect it as such. Brett pulls back, palms cupping your warm cheeks just as you had previously with tender grace and you spot his tears have ended.

- "I will never let you down," he promises, smile bright and crooked, perfectly him and equally as charming, "I swear, you'll never regret this, never." and you know its the truth, not because he says it but because you've known for ages that there was no one else you'd care for this much. As if he was made solely for you, perfectly patchworked together.

- In an act of bravery or stupidity, you grab his hand and step backward towards your still-made bed, peering up at him from lidded eyes. "I know that, but how about you show me just how much you love me right here, hm?" you tease, loving how his mouth fell agape and his arms fled to your waist again, eagerness steeped into his actions like tea. "Can I?" brett asks, always the soft, chivalrous, perfect man. "Absolutely." you respond, already ushering out of the shirt and baring your chest to his hungry, heterochromial eyes.

- he spares no time in crowding you against the bed, climbing atop your languid form and pressing doting kisses at your lips then making his way down to your neck, eagerly leaving hickeys and marks while he undoes your belt and shucks your pants down. He bares your underwear to him and leaves you to kick off your socks with your pants, making a pile on your rug you don't mind at all. "Can I taste you?" he practically pleads, lifting up to stare down at you, beating you to the question you were just about to ask him, making you laugh once more, still that lighthearted sweet sound. "Maybe later, and then ill be able to suck you off. Right now I just want you in me, Brett. That okay?"

- he's torn between crying, busting a load in his jeans, or both. Brett just nods, lip tugged between his teeth and moving with all the enthusiasm of a hyperactive puppy, kneeling on the floor to help you slide off your underwear and nearly drooling the second he spots your bare cunt. He's running on more basic, bare instincts but wants nothing more than to flood your cunt with his cum and keep it there, keep himself there as long as he can. Never wants to leave you, and he never wants the marks and signs of him on you to fade either.

- "are you-" "yes I'm sure Brett, now can you please take your clothes off so I can ride you?" he nearly trips over himself in the process of standing and yanking off his shirt, which he does in that hot lift it from the back of the neck and tug it forward trademark style that has a new layer of slick pool forth. His jeans are mid-rise but are slung low, boxers peaking out briefly before he abandons those too, revealing one appendage you never had to mend. You're a bit glad, you ended up with a surprise too tonight, who would've thought?

- Brett returns, not knowing where to sit or lay until you shove him back to sit against the pillows upright, allowing you to sit on his lap and lay your arms over his shoulders while hovering, teasing before you to be gifted this man's virginity just like you were given his heart and soul. "You sure, baby?" you murmur, knees outside of his own and pressed chest to chest, "I can wait however long you need to." Brett grins, playful and teasing in his own way, and nips at your lip. "I'm okay, m'good, cant wait t'see what it feels like to be buried in you, probably even warmer than you feel right now." He emphasizes with a large and running up your bare spine, sending you arching and your knees threatening to buckle. You sometimes forget how big he is, and with the hefty dick bobbing near his stomach, you're not sure how you could have ever forgotten.

- "Take me then, babydoll" and he does, large hands encompassing your hips as he guides you to sit on his dick, slowly letting it enter and let you get accustomed, "there you go, nice and - fucking tight" Brett murmurs, voice deeper and getting you more riled up than you know what to do with. You had seen him bare plenty of times, but never fully, and the experience was doing you wonders right now as you rested for a moment and let him breathe before you started bouncing on him and making him cum way earlier than you know he'd like. You'd enjoy it anyway.

- He whines after a few moments, his hips shifting and making you both groan, his head falling back into the pillows and his fair falling into disarray, strands of auburn and reddish brown falling into his forehead. "Please, just fuck me, have me I just need you." Brett whines into your neck again, no tears this time as his arms wrap tautly around your form, allowing you to feel divinely sculpted muscles hold you tight and made your walls clench, relishing in his squeaking moan. You'd break him. good thing you know how to put him back together. "Easy baby, I've got you." you murmur, smoothing back his hair before you lower to your haunches and lift your hips, slamming back down and sending him yelling your name while biting his teeth into your shoulder.

- Oh yes, you were absolutely going to break him.

- You fuck yourself on him, feeling his hands grip and drag across your body as you use him, rolling your hips in shapes, occasionally spelling his name out through your gyrations and smiling to yourself as you watch him fall further and further into a mess, hair mussed, mouth agape and eyes tight shut. The skin of his lip is nearly broken open from how much he's bitten and tugged on it, puffy and reddened on his flushed and freckled face. Brett rises and clings back onto you, suddenly shifting his hips and fucking up into you, letting you hear louder slaps of skin against skin while he manhandles you. "M'gonna' cum, gotta' cum can I please cum — I wanna cum so bad, please." he begs, planting kisses at your collarbone and pulse sporadically between broken moans and pants.

- You never expected the reaction nor your own, unable to fight the feeling emanating from your soaked and silken cunt as he fucks up into it, stretching you wide in a way you'll never be tired of. "You can cum, go on and fill me, Brett, wanna' feel you for days. Please Brett, make me feel good." your boy delivers, jackhammering into you and making you cry out, tugging at his hair while his hands plant themselves at your waist in order to maneuver you around, biting deep at your shoulder when he cums with a broken, shattered shout of your name.

- The way his hips stutter in that frantic pattern, battering your cunt that has you squirming and grinding, you cum rapidly and heavily, whiting out and feeling your surroundings blur to nothing as you repeat his name over and over, clawing down his back as he slows and finally stops, holding you impossibly close. You take longer than he does recover and return to the world, head lolled back and breathing heavy, allowing brett to lay the two of you down and upon the pillows, wrestling the comfort and sheets over your sweat-slicked body and his.

- He always wanted to be a part of your life, and now, years later, he can't stop smiling and hasn't stopped since. Your silly, smiling ragdoll of a husband.

Andre Lee: W E R E WO L F

• song: Howlin’ for You - The Black Keys

- Andre was superficially open, not talking of more intimate aspects of his life but being carelessly free with the rest, and the personal factoids and tidbits emerge in passing comments in conversation send your brain whirling.

- he’s never answered any of your questions as to why he avoids full moons or why he’s unreachable during some times of the month, closest you’ve gotten was Myc cracking a joke about menstruation but you know damn well from a fuck ton of personal experience that he’s absolutely packing heat.

- he’d been sick the past few days, not fully present in meetings and a bit light headed. It got shrugged off as side effects from any number of drugs but you knew better. The disregard and dismissals that came from him when you showed concern were what made that worry and concern grow, manifesting and sprawling into a thorny expanse of knots tugging at your conscious, fixated on helping him.

- so you stand before an older home, 1920’s brick masonry hidden behind modern day paint, sidled beside the other brownstones on the block and fish out your key on the chain he gifted you, a little cartoonish duck smiling brightly while flipping you off, and turn the series of locks in the door while balancing some takeout on the other side.

- after several moments, you make it inside and lock back up, setting your keys alongside Andre’s in the bowl near the door and spotting the matching fuck duck keychain and smiling before making your way through the house, easily navigating through the darkness and making it to the kitchen to drop off some takeout for the egg drop soup he always ordered when sick. “Andre?” You get no response, the house quiet and your brows furrow while your lips purse, that worry unfolding again, “sugar? Where are you?” You get no response and your words echo in the house

- you get no response but you hear a groan, muffled and heady, soft and barely heard. But it’s his, and you drop everything in your hands upon the counter and follow the sound, brain a slurry of what ifs and remembering his medical history should you need it. By the time you make it back further in the house and to his bedroom, the doors locked shut. Real shut. You knock harshly and call to him, voice a bit desperate “Andre honey, you okay?”

- “go away.” It’s him, but not, deeper and meaner that the Andre you’re used to. It’s not a deterrent. “Not if you’re not okay, let me in.” You try the doorknob again and he shouts out “it’s not safe for you right now, go away.” He says more but you don’t hear it through the door. “What do you mean it’s not safe, Andre let me in.” you cry back, banging the side of a fist against the door, beating it loudly trying to persuade him to let you in. Probably not the most convincing manner.

- “GO! You’re not supposed to be here, m’gonna hurt you.” confusion could not even begin to explain what was going through your head, throat taut with fear, “Andre, I could give a fuck, I’m not leaving you like this.” He’s pleading in a sad rage, like a storm with no lightning, all thunder, “I don’t want t’hurt you, please, please just go.” You refuse, and say the same before you break the lock on the door then try and come in, not getting through until you back up and ram a shoulder into it once, twice, finally busting it on the third impact.

- he had warned you for good reason, and the yellow eyes that meet your gaze from a huddled, shadowed corner solidify that. “Should’ve run.” comes murky from him, his mouth moving oddly and you realize with horror he’s not in his regular body. It’s a larger, hulking form of shaggy fur in muted brown and chestnut hues, dusted with black and grey into a slurry of fur. A fucking wolfman was not on your list. “Werewolf?”

- “Yeah.”

- “Considering our jobs — this isn’t all too horrifying.” He bares his teeth, canines glinting, “I take that back — somewhat.” Andre chuckles, darker but remains curled in on himself in the corner of the room, staying far away from you. “Why am I not supposed to be here sugar?” You ask softly, stepping hesitantly further into the room and eyeing him warily, unsure about the entirety of this situation and wishing Elliot fucking Mothman had better-prepped staff for other forms of cryptids.

- “‘cause I’ll fuck y’ and I won’t stop.” He growls out, nails digging into knees bare of clothing and covered in fur, “not safe f’you, I could hurt you.” He doesn’t meet your eyes this time, eyes turned away and trying to shrink as far as possible into the corner, wanting to keep you at bay before his senses and instincts took over and took you. Andre doesn’t see you, but he feels you in the room. The way you smell and he puffs of breath, the thud of your heart.

- so he immediately clocks the second your pulse races at his words and how your heart flutters, along with your cunt. Andres eyes snap back to you just in time to see a shy but sensual smile on your lips. “What if I want you to hurt me?” Is what he hears from your lips, and he forces himself to sit still, ignore the erection against his thigh and the urge to fuck you until your womb got stuffed to the brim and he got you knocked up. “You better mean that.”

- “oh,” you strip yourself of your shirt and other clothes swiftly, like a subtle strip tease but far smoother and graceful than anticipated, “I mean it. Show me how much you love me sugar, I can take it.” You walk over to the bed on the other side of the room, curling up against the pillows and grin, spreading your legs and exposing the entirety of yourself, eager to mark off this box on your sexlist checklist. “Fucking better.” Is what Andre responds with, rising slowly and missing the tall ceiling by merely a foot, taking his gangly form towards the bed and closing his eyes, sniffing visibly and having his body falter, your scent encompassing any logic he had left.

- “look at that,” he chitters, teeth making his grin a bit more daunting, “already spread for me. Cute. Now turn around.” Andre orders, lurking before the bed as you shift, resting on your folded forearms and raising your ass in the air. “Good,” he praises, a hand grazing your arched waist while he settles behind you, “couldn’t follow orders earlier, but that’s just because you were worried, hm? Going to be good f’me now. I know it.” Andre settles himself on his knees behind you, arms planted on either side of your torso and he leans atop you, breath fanning your ear as he teases you, makes the eager nerves alight as goosebumps trail across your bare, vulnerable form.

- “gonna’ let me fuck you? Let me bury my cock in your pretty cunt over and over until there’s nothing left in you but me?” He muses, erection tapping at your ass and feeling much heavier than what you’re used to. You hum, trusting him to take care of you and fuck you right. “Mhm, let you stuff me like a fuckin’ brood mare, now please, c’mon and fuck me Andre.” He swats your ass with his hand, watching the fat of it jiggle and your waist bend high, “don’t have to tell me twice.”

- You bite back a few comments the second he brushes his flared, sloped cockhead into the opening of your cunt, the tip alone bringing a stretch of pain. Burying your head in the pillows around your forearms, you mewl and whimper aloud tossing both your head and your ass back. Andre’s one hand is beside your torso to plant himself while the other is on your hip, guiding your hips back towards him so he can slowly enter and sink his cock into you. "Atta' babe" he croons, breath fanning across your back in a way that makes your spine tingle.

- He lets out a whine that huffs hot air across your spine, sinking in his cock as much as your cunt can fit, several inches still untended to between where the two of you meet. His balls brush your clit when he bottoms out, and he stills, Andre's restless lungs beating his chest into your back and you can feel him through and through. "Fuck, tight little cunt, gonna' fucking break it." Andre groans low and heady as he begins to rock back and forth, in a humping motion that sends his balls smacking into your clit with little pats, making you grateful a hand now plays underside and holds your belly while the other holds him up, your body on the precipice of collapse with the angle, the feeling, all of it.

- "fucking stuff me," you blurt, pathetically trying to rock your hips back into his and you cry out each time, bulbous cockhead nudging your cervix with each shift, feeling him in your guts, "breed me full, knock me up." These were words you had used previously during sex with him, the concept not being new, only to the situation at hand. With Andre being fueled by rampant urges and instincts, barely holding on, your words were like an on-switch that sends him immediately pressing you into the bed and snapping his hips roughly, snarling. into the skin of your neck like he's on a mission, and in a way, he is. Meant to mate.

- "ah, oh fuck, Andre." you keep crying out his name between crying out incoherencies, encompassed by the way he absolutely fucked the breath from your lungs, knocking everything out of you and then drawing it back in just as he slots in, and out of your drenched, dripping cunt, slick now sprawling from his dick and balls, your thighs, to the torn and tossed sheets beneath. There's a fleeting, barely conscious thought of now knowing why sex was called the beast with two backs, the words of Othello never even a full thought as you get plowed from behind.

- oh yeah, you were never going to leave him to deal with a full moon alone, not if this is what your good deeds and diligence get you - being bent over like a broodmare and fucked like it's a need to survive, to breathe. You are livin' good.

- "taking me so damn well, gonna' pump you full, fill you over and over until others no space inside that I haven't covered." he rambles, hurried and frenzied and deep in pitch, snapping his hips rapidly as the sound of skin slapping melts into a blur with the heavy pants and breaths, the snarls and moans and groans the two of you let out, animalistic and primal, fucking elite and top tier in your honest, raw-dogged opinion. "Gonna' give you a child, claim this fucking pussy, all of it, s'all mine."

- You groan out, burying your head in your forearms and feeling his weight atop you, the way he keeps bullying his giant dick into you and fucking you apart, working you like dough in the way he works you over. "Like that? Like me marking you up, being Andre's breeding bitch?" he snarls, sounding so potent in your ear where his head hovers, splayed across your back while his hips do the work.

-"Just feel that," he murmurs, hand pressing into the fat of your belly to press against where he thrusts into you, making you squeal into the pillows as he shows off, his demeanor so contrasting than how he usually is, even in a raging fuck, "gonna' fill you to the brim, baby, already stretching you wide. Belly full of me."

- "God, please — fuck," you're babbling, fucked out and quote literally drooling upon your forearms and the pillows holding your head up, as backing into his thrusts and mewling with the brush of his balls against your clit, everything wet and sloppy, "wanna' be bred, wanna' be yours — I wanna' be yours." Andre lets out snarling laughs, darker than abyssal skies, into your shoulder blades which he litters with nips and bites of sharp teeth, little pinpricks adding to the utter euphoria of getting absolutely pounded.

- "gonna cum, arent'ya?" he drawls, leaning to huff through his nose near your ear and you smell him, sex and musk and earthy amber, you wanna drown in it. "Go on, soak this cock so I can fuck you stupid." It takes a few thrusts later, but you do and you absolutely blackout, the world turning into a white canvas that slowly lifts as you feel Andre fucking into you, pace hurried and faltering as he babbles rapidly, stitching together curses and praise like an ornamental garland.

- Cum is absolutely pouring at that point, rivulets stuck in smears across your ass and thighs, drenching his balls and making them smack wetly against the mouth of your cunt. He's come already at least twice by the load of it and is working on a third orgasm that makes your ass ripple with the force behind his thrusts. "All mine, no one gets to see this, have this, my pretty mate." he's talking to just himself at this point, assuring insecurities while nearly fucking you through the mattress, hell it's a miracle the bedframe hasn't broken. Or the wall.

- You whimper and moan weakly, just taking it at this point because all you feel in your bones is the warmth of orgasmic bliss, full lethargy and no intent to move, feeling so sated and tender than you could simply pass away with a beaming, I just had sex grin that would out do anyone else's, besides Andre's. What plucks the strings of reality a bit is a moment his teeth latch onto your shoulder, marking rows of teeth into a bite marking you as his. He fucks you through it, coming with a shout of your name that is more of a gravelly howl than anything, cum literally flooding your cunt and dripping down everywhere, making a mess of everything.

- Andre's near whimpering, fucking into you weakly while his erection softens inside you, laying on top of your form before wrapping his arms around and having you both shift onto your sides, him spooning your considerably smaller form in his considerably sized state, completely enveloping you in his hold, warmth, and love, soothing your fucked-out and pumped-full state onto the precipice of slumber.

- "M'love you." he mutters into your neck, nuzzling against your pulse as his arms coil around your belly, ensuring you stay in his arms and snug around his dick, "love you too." is what you reply, sounding not like your own voice in the exhausted, airy lilt. It's the last thing you remember before being woken up in the morning to an apologetic and scruffy Andre, back to normal with a plate of breakfast in hand.

- "Andre, honey, we are definitely going to be doing that again."

Robotus Alpha-Beta: D E M O N

• songs: Devil’s Advocate - The Neighborhood or Have A Cigar - Pink Floyd

• fanart: by @olexxx right here

- you’re desperate, and tired of calling after things in the light and day that don’t answer. You now call out for and beg for something from the night, standing in the crossroads with a box of offerings in your hands and a plea so heavy on your tongue it weighs you down like an anchor to a boat, dividing the seas currents in cleaverlike strokes. Crying out into the night, screaming for an answer, yelling out that you’ve done the right things brought the right stuff, made the right calls, you’re frustrated and distressed in the middle of this night, clad in clothing that the wind whips around your form, slinky against your chest and thighs. You’re a vision of desperation in this witching hour, and who would he be to deny your broken-hearted, bargaining pleas?

- “mighty pathetic looking, aren’t you, pretty thing.” He strolls out from the tree line, hands in his pockets of the seersucker suit he wears, hiding his eyes in the shadows while he meanders his way over dirt path and dandelions, plants dying in the markers where his footprints lay. “Pray tell, what brings you to my spacious lay of the woods?” He drones, and you’re too consumed in your own ordeals to fully analyze his appearance and demeanor, ready to bargain and barter down to the bones should it go that far.

- “I just wanna’ deal. That’s all.” You start, laying the tin box down on the ground between the two of you where you stand in the clay dirt and ash of the crossroad, pitch black sans the one flickering, sad looking streetlamp. “What will you take for sparing someone’s life?” Is what comes from your lips next, and he’s almost surprised at the dedication you show in selflessness, musing to himself in the ongoing internal dialogue that you should get one of those flimsy gold stars.

- “Depends on a lot my dear,” the demon drawls, hands gesturing in a manner that reminds you of evangelical television preachers or cable game show hosts, “who am I curing and what ails your beloved patient?” He picks the dirt from his fingernails and you wish you pry out the nails from that tin box you got from a coffin, and force them one by one into his skull for his nonchalance, his disinterest in a deal that meant more than the world to you.

- “my friend, she’s sick. Cancer. I want her cured and for her to live a healthy life and die naturally of old age. What will you accept in exchange?” You’re direct, straight and to the point, shoulders squared and eyes flint and steel, fire flickering in the shards of your irises. Refusing to let him abuse a loophole, you’ve stressed every requirement and plan — ramming the nails in straight. “Straight to the point, I like that.” He drawls, crooked grin smarmy and slimy in the snake oil style, making you envision car dealerships and the price is right but shrouded in brimstone and fire. “The question isn’t what I’ll ask of you, but what you’re willing to offer, dear.”

- he claps his hands together, a MontBlanc pen appearing in his hand and a weathered paper, looking older than your entire bloodline in the way it looks like if the wind blew a fraction harsher, it’d disintegrate. “Alright pet, lay your offers on the table and I’ll see what I’ll accept — but remember,” the demon before you with sky blue eyes pauses, looking like a walking business advert with his suit and tie, shiny cufflinks and a glittering Patek Philippe watch, “no promises.”

- you bite back the myriad of things you’d like to say to this bastard in human flesh-trimmings, but you need your friend more than anything. She’s your world. You’d give your own up for her, and you plan to do exactly that. “My entire self —“ he raises his brows, lips splitting into an amused grin and attempts to interrupt, but you wave a hand and fix him a look, the don’t fuck with me while I’m talking stare, “for part of the week, for the rest of my natural, long and healthy life. You’ll get Tuesday through Thursday, and I will be free to do what I wish the remainder of the week, every week. Sans holidays which I get to myself.”

- he’s still smiling as if it’s within the job application but looks about as pained as if he’s suddenly contracted a bout of irritable bowel syndrome. “And you’re completely mine the entirety of those three days, the full 72 hours?” You nod, face as polished as stone, equally as cold and ungiving. Hes never encountered a wayward soul like yours. Intrigue mars his mind more that he’d care to admit, but it makes the results of bartering so much better. “We have a deal then.”

- he scrawls in loopy old fashioned cursive, slanted and sloped in a manner that reminds you of history class, and fills in the blanks of his document signing your life away to him. He flattens the paper, then signs it himself and hands it to you to sign as well. You spot the larger A and B initials, shortened to AB, but can’t make out the last name, only the large R and the mussed squiggles behind it. Doctorish scrawl, hasty and impatient.

- you sign your signature and life away, not regretting it the instant you get a series of texts from your friend, her energy and liveliness returning in an instant. You pocket your phone then get dragged forward by the elbows, calloused fingertips and softened palms cup your cheeks before drawing you into a fleeting kiss. He pulls away and before you can act, he vanishes in a cloud of ash and dust, the contract within your grip and an emptied tin box at your feet. A kiss to seal the deal.

- you don’t see him until the next week, spending your time with your loved ones and with your best friend, cherishing and relishing in how she’s safe and healthy again and she would always be. The chime of reality rings twelve times, the man appearing in a click of loafers against the tile floors outside your apartment and wraps of his knuckles against the front door, coming to collect you. You’re alone and have been, making sure to be in the comfort of solitude once your first day as a demon’s bitch begins. AB opens the door and strolls in, hands in the pockets of some pinstripe slacks and a chain dangling from near his hand to a slim pocket on his suit vest, thin white stripes against navy fabric making his already tall form elongate.

- the demon struts in with the casual air of devil-may-care, eyes like a cats in how they’re languid but attentive, drawing everything in and sitting until something interesting pulls his direct attention forth. “Quite a home you’ve got here, just you?” AB muses, sauntering with the air of a spoiled house cat. “Yes, just me, now can we get on with whatever you have entailed for my next 72 hours, the suspense Y’know, got me absolutely hooked.” You respond, end of your sentence dripping in sarcasm like a freshly immersed pen nib into an inkwell and equally as dark.

- “impatient too, aren’t you just a bag of tricks,” he muses, lulling and faux cadence in a demon's silver tongue taste, “all in due time. Best to wait and see you squirm.” AB stands before a bookcase, fingertips tapping along spines of books then dusting over a picture frame with your friend, weary Polaroids paling in comparison to this snapshot of her and you several years ago, faces lit in the warmth of lanterns in summer sunset. He holds it longer than he’d deem appropriate, and he doesn’t seem to care or know why.

- “are you always this articulate or does it come with the Armani suit?” You snap, knee bouncing as you sit on the couch, lips chapped from how frequently you’ve gnawed on them in your nervous state, wanting to lose your sanity but unfortunately finding yourself incredibly lucid and stable. Against all odds. “Naturally, pretty thing, some creatures possess decorum and manners — I see you speak from inexperience.” He teases, setting the frame down and wiping his hands on his slacks, adjusting the cufflinks that glitter with initials laid in obsidian and platinum.

- He continues speaking, giving you no opening once more to speak or further deride the demon before you, meandering about your home as if he was not just showing the place, but was trying to sell it as a realtor and making the process as painfully personal as possible. "Do you have a tendency to get squeamish or easily frightened?" "I doubt it, due to how there's a demon I'm casually conversing with, so I'm going to have to say no."

- He chuckles darkly, and you see a glimmer in those glacier eyes of something far colder, and you mark it down for later. "Clever, but such a costly trait. Mind your tongue." You sit and take it in stride, having been braced for an overgrown petulant toddler playing around in daddy's suits. "Since you're being so patient," he mocks, he rolls his sleeves to the forearms after shucking off his jacket and snapping it away in a move that makes you think of hammerspace, "we'll get started. You are to shadow me as I go about dealing. Mind your tongue, presence, and entire demeanor. You are here to help me, gain insight on a modern human mind and soul, not to aid anyone but me due to how I control something far greater than your own life."

- He doesn't hesitate to gut you in the way you've been hung out to dry, hollowed like a side of beef swinging from a hook in a walk-in freezer, dripping onto a frozen floor in tandem with your bravado slipping. AB glances over your expression and smiles, childish and juvenile in a charming, redeemable fratboy sort of way. "Alrighty, now let's get you started."

- and with a snap of his fingers, the two of you began the first day of deals. It flew by, as they all would, you watching from the sidelines or removed from sight to watch as a deal went down. You could clock the bastards who were overly cocky, thinking they could outsmart someone so much older than them it was like the universe looking upon Earth's moon. Planet to sand grains. Pathetic - no match.

- the souls would fade one by one and you would spend your hours prior to the deal observing them from the outskirts in strangers behaviors, deception now a part of your ensemble in equal to your rings or shirt. "Did you observe me before we struck my deal?" you had asked later on in the duration of your servitude, roughly a year into your partial work weeks under the eye and lens of the demon. He laughed, a chiding yet lilting sound that resembled when storm clouds rumbled when the sun still shone, "Oh absolutely I did, my dear, quite entertaining and almost heartwrenching the way you went about your plans. Absolutely precious."

- AB speaks over his cocktail, Pappy Van Winkle bourbon dark and syrupy in the basin of his Waterford crystal glass, sliding about the thick ice cube like molasses, "I will say you have been the most entertaining of my companions in a long time." The way he says it lingers and you assume it's longer than you could perceive, centuries being seconds to the being beside you. It is a fleeting moment of wistfulness before he clocks his newest wayward soul and stalks forward, running a hand through his hair and barely messing his strands up, the greying streaks in his auburn hair falling upon his forehead like a staged motion, queued up to go for a movie scene.

- You tried not to watch more than you needed to when having to help him with his deals, but this time in the low light of a seedy corner alley bar, he glittered like the cufflinks he always wore. Dark obsidian and platinum, simple yet something so potent about it resembled him. If you hadn't sold your life away to the entity, he'd resemble a side character from American Psycho, far too charming to make it into the main role. It was harder to hate him than how he looked, the manner in which you dealt your days away gave you your friend back and a more stable life, albeit the hellish tasks.

- You didn't quite care for how much you cared for him, why you get enamored with him and all that he encompassed. It was disastrous and bordering a Stockholm syndrome, or at least that's what you told yourself when indulging in ice cream and childhood movies. What worsened your situation was an event that occurred in your off hours, out with friends and enjoying yourself in a night of freedom and levity. It went wrong, as you assumed it could, but had not expected the situation to unfold as it had nor the end result to your night.

- "I still don't understand, you crushing on your boss? Understandable, not doing shit about it, perplexes the fuck outta' me." Rory, a friend from high school mentions and brought a series of laughs from your booth at the club. "It's improper-" You're suddenly cut off. "Since when did you ever give a shit about proper?" another friend chimes in, and you sigh before downing the remnants of the drink before you. You get up, go to the bar to get a drink and avoid the terrible topic along with trying to escape the environment altogether. It's not your scene, too loud and overwhelming. It gets even worse after the initial sips of your drink when the world turns hazy and you don't know where you're going, nor whos leading you away.

- "Move them this way, out of the light - there, I told you no one was going to find us here." one of the two figures surrounding your hazy, barely conscious form voices, the other laughing along as they work at your shirt before a dark laugh comes from the opening of the alley, and a glint of polished silver meets the glare of a streetlamp. Its something out of a noir film but you're relieved when you hear his voice, trying to sit up and failing. His name falls from your lips, faint and sad sounding, and his glacier eyes melt away into a darkness never seen before even in the furthest of depths within the oceans.

- It takes no time for him to dispatch the two who had drugged you, the rage pouring off of him in waves you can almost see, even in your bleary state. It's as if someone coated your brain in a fog and dipped it in some liquid nitrogen. "Oh, pretty thing, what have they done to you." is what he says when he crouches near your form, bloodstained but almost holy, a savior without wings. You try and answer but he shushes you, lifting you into his arms securely with the strength beneath his tall, barrel-chested form. The two of you dissipate from the alley and leave behind blood trails no one will find, bodies gone as well to languish on hooks in rings of hellfire AB will personally see to.

- The next thing you recall after being saved up in his arms is waking in a bed far too luxurious to be your own, and enveloped in silky sheets and even silkier pajamas, deep navy blue wrapped around your form so comfortably you just snuggle back into the pillows before you fully wake to reality with a start, remembering what almost happened and sitting up, flying out of bed and wandering out to figure out where the fuck you were.

- "there you are, dear, feeling okay?" is what greats you, AB sitting at a couch reading from a book that once again looks more ancient than your entire bloodline, genuine concern feeding into his expression and making you blink, sleep still laden in your heavy eyelids begging you to go back to sleep. "You saved me." he shrugs off your comment, rising to meet your form in the doorway and taking you by the shoulders, trying to turn you around back into the bed you left. "Go on to bed, I'll bring you something-" he fixes you a look, "its an order, go rest. Your loved ones know you're safe and sound. Now, bed."

- You fall back asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow, and the next time you wake there's a change of clothes on a chair near the bed, a plate of food on the nightstand, and a pitcher of water with clean glasses readily available. In no rush, you take your time eating and then getting ready before padding barefoot out into the home you find yourself in, spotting AB finally in a kitchen you'd drool over in an issue of Architectural Digest. "There you are, rested?" you nod, cupping your glass of water in your hands and seating yourself down at a barstool beside the kitchen island, glancing around at the sprawling chef's kitchen, "they've been taken care of." AB trails off, in a casual button-down and slacks, leaning against the countertop with his arms crossed over his chest, taking a second before he looks over at you with steely, ice eyes.

- "No harm will ever come to you." your brows furrow at that, wondering why he would care so much about a person he literally owns. You voice it out loud and he guffaws, looking at you incredulously as if the answer was always there, and in a way, it had been. "Dear, you're mine. Contract bound and now, by design. No one ever lays a hand on you let alone exists a second afterwards." The glass in your hand is set down and you lean back in your chair, staring at him and wondering if the entirety of the past months of partnership you were not the lone one pining. He validates it when he approaches and falters, warming once you breach the gap and take his hand into your smaller one.

- You finally break, grasping for him and hugging him close as his bulkier form bends to hold you, knees bent in order to acclimate to your seated position. He rubs your back as you shudder and shake, warm broad hands soothing you down and facing you until he kneels and looks up at you. "I promise you, you're safe." and you want to say you believe him, but you still don't feel it, just take his hand off your knee and imbed it into your heart so he can feel how it beats, how the fear creeps into your lungs like an infection. there's no need, for he cups your cheek and tilts your chin to meet his gaze. Then it's over.

- the waiting ends, and he kisses you, tender and delicate and something so utterly unlike him that it takes you aback, almost slack-jawed for a millisecond before you realize it's him kissing you and you relish in it, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him closer until he's caged you in, safe from harm. He groans, and you part your legs at the sound, letting him fully press against you in the chair and wrap around you. "My pretty thing." AB groans against your lips, and you whimper at the sound of it so broken on his tongue, so different than the calculated and meticulous tone he took.

- "Prove it" is what flies from your lips as you bite his, feeling him grin darkly against your mouth as he lifts you into his, different from the bridal carry form the other night with how he hefts a handful of your ass into his palms while your legs wrap around his waist while he carries you into the other room. "Gladly." is whispered once he deposits you into a lavish dark bed, his own, and strips himself of his shirt and bares a chest scattered in auburn hair matching in grey streaks like his head, making you wonder about what lies lower.

- He doesn't make you wait long, and he strips himself of his boxers and pants, planting himself above you and grinning at how you observe his body and movements, letting you gasp in surprise once he lets a shudder roll through and some red markings reveal themselves, cuffs and bands of red marks paired with inscriptions of languages so old they outdated writing itself. You trace a few as he undresses you, mouth over them lavishly and kiss them tenderly, trying to show and give all the love you can to make up for what he's missed.

- "Never going to let anyone touch you," he murmurs, breathless against your skin as if he's the one rendered weak before you, "only mine, m'all yours. Gonna' keep you safe and sound." AB's wrecked already and he's hardly touched you let alone himself, the evidence leaking and resting heavily upon your now bare thigh. You feel not just safe and content, but powerful and hungry, greedy for what lies within arms reach. You get granted a freedom in his presence finally, and you take every step in stride.

- "All mine," purrs your voice in his ear, tugging on auburn locks and feeling your body thrum like musical cords when he groans low and deep, reverberating from a barrel chest that covers your form, "going to make me feel good? Treat me right, make a mess of me? Show me just how much you actually care and that I'll always be yours? Go ahead, AB, give me your all."

- "All?" he growls darkly against the column of your throat, nearly snarling if it wasn't for the pleased smirk present with teeth with slight points, "oh dearest, ask for more, don't you know I'd give you everything?" he murmurs low stripping you fully bare and letting rough and calloused palms from another lifetime's work wander your body, mapping out your skin like a cartographer. At that moment the words were euphoric enough, but his hips grinding against yours until he slotted against your weeping cunt was the emphasis to your already wavering body, the final blow to your grip on reality. Oh, what a plunge it was.

- AB rocks against you, forehead knelt down against your collarbone in a piousness akin to prayer and nudges his swollen cock against your cunt, hips grinding once, twice, before he slides into you and fills you. It's a stretch that makes you cry out, nails embedded in his skin near his markings as you whimper and cry out his name. Your chest squirms and your hips remain stilled, his broad hands encompassing your hips as he does so. With his head against your shoulder, he gets to see himself disappear into your slick-soaked pussy, and the sight is too moving for his eyes to handle. Thumbs bruise your hipbones while he stills then asks you questions he repeats several times before you process them, already hazy and fucked out and he hadn't even actually fucked you yet.

- "May I move?" your body reacted before you could even form a response, legs shifting so you can take him in deeper and fuck up back onto him, nearly squealing out as you feel him absolutely stuff your cunt, walls clenching and sending the both of you into a hurried frenzy. "There's your answer." you bite, literally and figuratively as your teeth sink into his ear. His hips stutter and you smirk, so proud of yourself before locking your legs and rolling him beneath you, still seated on his cock but now residing on top, beaming down at him with your hands planted on his marked, hair-covered chest.

- You don't even warn him before you slam your hips down, relishing in how he jolts and buckles, eyes shutting then opening back up, so torn between the feel of you and how you look, an angel of his own making seated above him and using him like a throne, getting yourself off and being nothing short of resplendent. AB thrusts his hips up to meet your grinds and ministrations, one hand splayed across your ribcage while the other snakes down to rub at your clit, beaming with pride when he feels you shudder and falter.

- "You're so pretty." comes broken from the demon beneath you, reduced to merely a man with the way you use him, treat him, love him and fuck him all at once, centuries worth of longing packed away emerging forth into glacier eyes now as warm as spring skies, and the look he gives you sends you over the edge as a crushing blow. He catches you, sitting up and wrapping his arms around you as the orgasmic, earth-shattering waves take you under. He anchors you, falteringly weak thrusts getting him to where you are in seconds, cumming and stuffing you full with a cracking groan against your heated flesh.

- He holds you, sitting upright with his arms wound around your torso and holding tight, hands splayed across your back and side as your head nestles into the crook of his, nose at his pulse and smelling hints of rosemary and bergamot and ash, and you burrow closer, wanting to sink into him like bed, he's more comforting than down comforters and pillows anyhow. It takes a while before the witness behind your eyes fades, his humming being what plucks you forth from an orgasmic abyss and you smile against his skin, soaking up the silence and him breaking it.

- "About that contract-" you joke, and AB laughs breathlessly before turning to you with a devious smirk, hands wandering and eliciting a squeaking moan from your lips, "I think I'd be open to renogiation." he murmurs, breath fanning across your mouth before your lips meet his and he hums, licking into your mouth and staking claim to it just as he had you.

Magic Myc: Z O M B I E

• song: Under My Skin - Jukebox The Ghost

- You'd been there when Myc's dead body got carted in. There were more people making jokes, cruelly grateful for his absence compared to the small group that actually missed him, and mourned him. And you were one of the very few who loved him enough to grieve his loss in such a manner it would even overpower the longing of the moon should it ever lose the sun and stars.

- He wasn't everyone's taste, hell, he was barely your taste. But you still loved him anyway and trying to work, eat, and live without him got harder and harder since he got eradicated from your life as swiftly as one strikes down a cleaver against a cutting board, final, irreversible. Permanent.

- You had thankfully been granted leave, getting enough pitying looks to send you to the comforts of home only to realize that home made it worse. All his things were there, little knickknacks and gag gifts Myc had gathered over the years, polaroids taped to the walls with glimpses of misadventures. One that gutted you the most was a picture of you, Andre, and Myc, the two of you smiling wide while Myc lifted the two of you up for the picture, all flipping off the camera and laughing like hyenas.

- Andre had been a rock of support, the two of you leaning on each other to cope and work through the loss, not knowing how to handle the loss, Andre losing a best friend and you losing a lover. It crushed you, the chasm of grief and depression consuming you whole, entangling your ankles and dragging you down in the depths like being snared in a siren's trap.

- the point where you broke down wholly and entirely, letting out ugly cries with the snot and tear tracks, getting puffy with reddened eyes in the freedom of your home. A formerly shared home is now all yours. The brownstone mocked you, once an inviting and fun space now too bright and whimsical to be fitting for one mourning a lover. A friend. A soulmate.

- in the midst of your breakdown and rattling full-body tremors, you don't hear the back door locks slowly turn one by one, the keys only belonging to one person, long dead. You don't hear something entering your home and locking back up, in the perfectly redundant routine that belonged to an everyday pattern. You don't hear Myc return into your life because you're too busy crying about him leaving it.

- "I leave for five seconds and you've already gone batshit - damn and I thought I had problems" his voice startles you, making you nearly fall off of the couch when you whip your head around to stare at him, eyes wide and mouth agape in disbelief. "You're not real." is the first thing you utter, terrified to move in case the illusion your grief-wracked mind conjured would dissipate and vanish, leaving you alone in your loss and the empty house, pathetic and sad enough to best a wet kitten.

- "You'd think that, but here I am, alive and unwell." Myc responds, sarcasm prominent but still an underlying fond tone only belonging to him comes out. It's rougher, dirtier almost in a backroad gravel kind of way like his vocal cords got tossed through a concrete mixer. "Gonna' say hello or what?" he teases, gesturing with a tendril or two and extending them, wanting a hug from his favorite person. You practically leap over the back of the couch in an effort to reach him, launching yourself into his body and nestling your head on the underside of the mushroom cap, feeling fanning gills brush the top of your head in addition to the bulbous partial veil that glows and humms against your head.

- He still smells like earth and musk, pollen and petals. and weed, and you've never been more relieved to smell the absolutely pungent aroma of weed in your life, laughing while you cry into where his neck would be. "You think I would just ditch you? No way, stuck with me for the rest of your little life, shitheel." Myc mutters, bumping your nose tenderly with a blunt nudge of a tendril, making your nose scrunch and a smile appear on your puffy, crying face.

- "wait, how are you even here?" you ask, leaning your head back enough to look at him in the dim light of your home, shadows cast over his form and hiding the majority of it sans little segments and divots of bioluminescence and ornate patterns. "You died Myc, how in the fuck are you even alive?"

- he doesn't immediately answer, and you step back to pace with a hand running down your face, immediately ranting and getting wrapped up in the concept of Cognito Inc. doing another stupid and silly science project without considering ramifications and wondering just how this will blow up once more when it concerns the love of your life, Myc.

- when he's remained silent, not saying a word in the midst of your rant about Reagan and how she's got to stop playing god, you realize he hasn't said a word and turn to find him standing very still and looking down to his tentacles as if in deep thought. Worrying, consuming, deep thought.

- "I-," he starts, moving to turn in your direction, almost looking past you, or through you, making your anger fade as concern takes over, "I don't know."

- You haven't been this worried in a long, long time. "Honey, what do you mean you don't know?" Your concern multiplies, swarming nervous moths within the cage of a chest you have, fluttering in your ribcage and making your bones itch. "Myc, do you remember getting here?".

- the uncharacteristic silence speaks enough volumes to have filled a home library, making you send a few hurried texts to the gang group chat and ignoring the silly contact names in lieu of finding a solution to this as fast as possible and trying to keep Myc stable. You turn and flick a lamp on, unable to find reason in the darkness, and barely stop the scream that almost fled your throat.

- "I just wanted to see you, I don't know how I got here-" he pauses, unaware of the terror in your eyes and the tears welling along the seams of your lower lids, threatening to overflow with the sight of him, "I just wanted you."

- You wish you were crying for other reasons beyond the sight of him, maybe even some happy tears with how he came to you because he loves you, dragged his undead self all the way to your backdoor to you.

- You cry instead at the state of him, the chunks of flesh and tissue missing, the greenish ghastly hue to his surface, tears and gouges in places where his body's mass would fill. He is dead. undead technically, and in your shared home's living room sounding close to tears himself with how confused he sounds and you're just about to break down at how butchered he looks. He is yours, and he was supposed to be fine always. Why did this happen, and why to your Myc.

- He says your name, and it is so broken it doesn't suit him. Myc's a jovial, mocking asshole that makes you feel loved, even with pet names accompanied by curse words and expletives. You respond to a few more texts and enlist the help of Reagan and ask Andre and him to come immediately. You barely have the energy to continue standing, so you absolutely don't have the strength to deal with this alone.

- You gather him close, sitting the two of you down on the couch and just try and breathe, sit there with each other and pretend things will all be okay and wait in the meantime for Reagan and Andre to appear in order to get some ideas going on what to do or how to go about this entire situation, the others on standby and there for support should you need it. You've never been more thankful for the friends you have.

- "M'not going to leave you." Myc says, determination steady within his now weathered voice, as if it was skinned and tanned like an animal hide in the sun, "I don't wanna' go." Your hands grip him tighter as your fingertips trace over patterns and textures on his surface, humming a note against the light within his partial veil beneath the cap.

- "Nothing could take me from you, and I won't let anything take you from me either." is what you choose to comfort him with, knowing that humor was a strong suit and that comedy wasn't something to include just yet, reality to raw to disinfect with the sting of punchlines.

- Andre and Reagan soon arrive, disbelief covering their features the instant they enter the door and a litany of questions follow with Andre's tears as he and Myc hug, bubbly watery giggles erupting forth from both him and you at the relief. Reagan pokes and prods, then takes notes from what you could tell, and remains as confused as you are.

- after a while and many frustrating moments, the two leave back to their respective lives. Andre promises to come the next day and Reagan plans to run tests bright and early tomorrow. Nevertheless, the night is yours with him and the two of you alone. You try and make the best of it by familiarizing yourself with the way it felt to be enveloped with Myc, to feel those tendrils around your frame holding you close.

- and as with all things with Myc, it turned sexual suddenly and rapidly, making you appreciate his ease in removing you from a current situation with his attention, touch, and care. A gift tethered in mycelial networks and fungi.

- the two of you don't even make it to the bedroom, Myc being so eager to have you in any which way, he fucks you on the floor against the plush living room carpet, letting you know how thankful he is for your precious ass in his life (both literally and figuratively) as he fucks you to delirium.

- next thing you know, you have his voice in your ear while two tendrils splay your bare thighs open, tentacles notched in the crook of your knee and thigh as he pumps the tips of three appendages in and out of you, commenting and praising you for how slick you are and how welcoming your cunt is to him, like a homecoming once your greedy pussy sucks him in like even your spongy inner walls missed him.

- "god you're so fucking wet, all for me right? getting all gushy and messy for me only." his words hit just the right buttons, perched and murmured right beside your ear as he thrums, twisting the tips of his appendages within you and barely showing signs of him being affected. The two little tendrils that have collected droplets of slick tease and prod at your ass, occasionally breaching the tight ring of muscle and allowing Myc the pleasure of hearing that broken, higher pitched cry you moaned out with his name on your tongue, grinding into his ministrations and begging for more.

- "mhmm, all for you Mikey," you moan softly, brokenly, in a way so soft it competes against battered butterfly wings, "all yours, always yours, even m'pussy." He laughs, fucking you harder at that like a reward, groaning happily and letting the waves of pleasure spread rather than him holding back and halting his own enjoyment. Now he can fuck you.

- “damn fucking straight.” He curses, fucking you with earnest while he sits behind you, feeling flush and warm while he feels you tense and clench around him. Then follow suit once he breaches your ass, fucking into you shallowly and slowly there, easing himself in and loving the way your jaw falls slack and your hips seem to have a mind of their own. You prop your feet at an angle and use it to better fuck yourself on the makeshift cock and tendrils of Myc’s appendages, loving how you felt him in both holes and stuffed full, practically gushing around him and soaking the couch cushion beneath the two of you.

- good thing they’re washable.

-“all mine, always gonna’ be mine.” He mutters, movements stuttering as he nears orgasm but tries to hold out, “my baby gonna’ let me stuff them full? Until it leaks, hm?” You nod, voicing a yes against the skin of his closest to you and cry out once his tendrils brush at your cervix as you grind down and thrust back and forth against him.

- “please Myc, wanna’ cum, want your cum, want you to make me feel good.” You drawl in a plead, hands smoothing over him beneath you and sliding up and down his cock, reaching a hand to play with your clit until he smacks it away and replaces it with an appendage and shakily strokes and he gets closer to cumming. He shakes beneath you, Myc shuddering and stuttering once he voices his nearing euphoria.

- he cums, flooding your cunt and having it spill forth, pollock-like flecks of cum splattering your inner thighs and allowing you to slide better and take him in, cumming shortly after with a scream of his name and an orgasm that lasted nearly a solid minute, senses gone and world as white as fresh snowfall.

- there’s silence for a moment, your back resting against his front, tendrils not still inside you caressing and tending to your sweaty, tired body. “Hey, hon?” He draws you out of your reverie to turn to look at him, “pretty good for a dead man.”

- “fuck off, dear god.”

- Myc cackles and leans back into the couch cushions and pillows, and the joy that thrums in your heart soothes the ache of his death, loving him in any state, even when he’s being a little shit.

—Happy Halloween—

Tags: @cognitosclowns @radioactivebowtie @mollicutes @carnalcringe @bluebaronness @flyingspicerack

[weirdmageddon]

yesterday i wrote a scene where jade wasnt a plot device and was left the hell alone in A6A5 because this being dave and jade’s last proper conversation in years made me sad and i wanted to see them reunite properly. i mixed a bit of narration in too even though it was rare around this point in the comic but its just to paint a better picture. also i wouldnt mind feedback on character voice (it’s important to me that the dialogue sounds believable)

[3 years are over, everyone is in the new session. The prospit ship is on LOMAX, as is everyone who arrived on the meteor, safely warped by Jade onto LOMAX as well. Jade has banished B2 Jack to the Furthest Ring already. She hasn't seen her friends in 3 years, not to mention she never met the trolls in person yet.]

[Jade teleports to LOMAX where John was talking with the meteor crew. Her eyes widen when she sees the trolls, giving everyone a greeting. Jade waves to the trolls.]

You’ll have time to catch up with them later. First you want to reconvene with Rose and Dave.

> ==>

Dave... Oh my god! DAVE!!! That’s right! The last time you saw him, he died in your arms after Jack redirected the bullets from your gun into his body!

JADE: dave!!!! DAVE: hey DAVE: this has been three years coming hasnt it DAVE: cmere

> ==>

[Dave hugs Jade with a slight grin on face. He notices her… sniffing him?? but doesn’t even bother to question it.]

JADE: it is so nice to hold your body when its not a corpse :) DAVE: ok DAVE: weird thing to say DAVE: actually who am i kidding who gives a shit DAVE: i almost forgot how much i missed the enigmatic riddlefuckery that is your phrasing DAVE: fortunately i have context for this so i know what youre saying DAVE: humor me for a sec and imagine that i didnt DAVE: but first DAVE: are those dog ears JADE: yes! i am part dog now JADE: because i prototyped my dreamself with becsprite JADE: jadesprite became part of me! and so did her doggy traits from bec DAVE: got it DAVE: oh yeah john mentioned that on the back of his dumb poster inside that bucket that appeared out of thin air DAVE: right before we had to haul ass out of there before jack caught up to us DAVE: karkat had a complete fucking meltdown over that btw i wish you couldve seen it DAVE: damn it feels like so long ago now JADE: heheheh i remember JADE: john realized it at the last second but it was too late! DAVE: of course it was johns idea only he could do something that gooberish DAVE: you know what this means though JADE: yup!! woof woof DAVE: it means youve done it harley DAVE: youve finally done it god damn it DAVE: the evolution of humankind is finally upon us DAVE: the scientists said it would never happen in our lifetime DAVE: but look what we have here DAVE: before me stands mans first legitimate furry subspecies DAVE: homo canis DAVE: as the name implies theyre gay as fuck btw DAVE: its too bad all those scientists are dead and cant witness this phylogenetic breakthrough DAVE: rip to the science community yall wouldve lost your collective shit DAVE: hey jade lets pour one out for the science community for being real ones

> ==>

You are still nestled into Dave’s shoulder. He’s taken a sort of protective position over you. Your perceptive barkbeast ears can hear his formerly bullet-riddled heart beating a mile a minute with the regularity of quartz beneath his time-branded pajamas, all the while he continues to ramble to you about certifiably dumb shit. You can tell Dave is psyched to see you again, even if he expresses it in his OWN bizarre way, which means extended metaphors and topical tangents. What a hypocrite, calling YOUR phrasing perplexing! You sure missed this guy.

You realize you started tuning him out while thinking about all this.

DAVE: jade JADE: umm homo is the species name JADE: so wouldnt that mean were all gay? :p DAVE: yeah that sounds about right DAVE: anyway enough of this bullshit

> ==>

[Dave motions to retract his arms since he doesn’t want it to get too weird, but Jade squeezes tighter. Dave immediately yields to the movement]

DAVE: jesus wow ok DAVE: really happy to see you too DAVE: like if you had a tail it would be wagging so forcefully youd be knocking over all the fucking furnishings in the room DAVE: just slapping it so hard on the owners thigh that it feels like theyre being flogged DAVE: talk about getting bitch slapped JADE: :D DAVE: so howve you been JADE: really really excited to see you guys all again!!! JADE: and to meet the trolls! DAVE: yeah theyre pretty weird DAVE: and im still not used to it DAVE: but it gets more manageable the longer youre around them DAVE: by the way JADE: ?

> ==>

DAVE: sorry you had to go through that JADE: through what? DAVE: seeing me die and stuff again DAVE: except that time right in front of you JADE: .... DAVE: when we were gathering up all those frogs i knew jack was going to appear DAVE: i was waiting and waiting to play it out DAVE: mentally rehearsing my fucking torso getting turned into swiss cheese and knowing you would have to watch on top of it DAVE: i had to make sure it happened to protect the integrity of the alpha timeline DAVE: but if you knew this was going to happen you wouldve tried to prevent it and created a doomed one DAVE: and so i didnt say anything DAVE: i couldnt DAVE: so DAVE: sorry for putting you through that JADE: oh..... JADE: dave D: JADE: well im here JADE: if you ever want to talk about it DAVE: its cool DAVE: you just deserve to know what happened there DAVE: but thanks DAVE: so am i JADE: yeah i know JADE: i guess i should be glad you did that then... JADE: even though i was freaking out when it happened ._. JADE: otherwise you wouldnt be here will us now dressed in your red god tier time pajamas DAVE: yeah these magical rags really are comfortable arent they DAVE: and they stay like perma clean JADE: they are! i would wear mine over and over for days on end JADE: id take a nice shower and put it right back on JADE: and you know how much i love cycling my outfits through my wardrobifier JADE: by the way dave your cape is sooo cool! :o DAVE: thanks DAVE: yeah i love it its hella soft DAVE: its like ive got a portable snuggle blanket with me in case i ever need to drop to the floor like a tired sack of shit and get my snooze on DAVE: ive got a permanent personal reservation at club bed featuring dj pillow and mc blanky JADE: heheheh JADE: can i touch your cape? DAVE: of course go nuts JADE: yaaaay!!

[laikabu]

Omg thank you for your Laios sexuality post bc it actually makes sense. Idk exactly how I hc him yet but it's lowkeuly frustrating being in this fandom while thinking Lai isn't a monsterfucker. The monsters in DM are animals! Maybe he'd roleplay getting freaky in the bedroom but saying he's only attracted to monsters is like saying scientists who study beetles wanna fuck the beetles. Idk ppl are weirdly hostile about it and I kinda think it's in response to lai/ka getting mildly popular

exactly lol only the demihumans showed sapience. the monsters in dm don’t even show any sapience at all. they can’t consent. he’d like the idea like how a furry engages with furry porn but he would never act on it on a REAL monster

[buttl0rd]

WELCOME TO THE CRINGE CHAMBER

buttl0rd's amazing and interesting intro post pls read

(WHY DID YOU 'KEEP READING' WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU???)

i'm toons, better known as buttlord along with several other aliases (poopshitter, alpha wolf, big daddy, etc.) still figuring out my official labels but i use he/him/his pronouns. i'm a grown ass adult so i prob won't interact with minors but it's safe here so feel free to follow

this is my south park blog! i'm physically incapable of being normal about it so if you wanna talk about south park i WILL be your best friend. i'm autistic so i will start yapping if given the chance (other interests include D&D, splatoon, pokemon and dinosaurs)

disclaimer. my humor is fucked and i have no filter, take the shit i say lightly!!!

i make art, i'll post it here whether it's good or not. requests are open but whether i get round to actually doing them is something scientists are trying to figure out. i'm also down for trades and collabs with mutuals, just ask.

reblogs help artists out a lot so if you like what you see, share that shit!!!!

my art tag is #buttf(art)

ask box is also open if you wanna bully me or tell me about something you like or ask me about my favs

bonus fun facts about me:

from UK, sadly

i went to art school for like 6 years and majored in animation

i make furry porn on twitter, it's my day job

INFP-A

left-handed

5 years on T

cartman is my fav, i hate him so much

i cannot for the life of me draw tweek, he always looks so fucked up when i try to draw him. sorry tweek enjoyers but u prob won't see any art of him here

attempting to get into fanfic writing, unsuccessful so far

posting this from the bathroom, i'm taking a dump Right Now

[gotta-pet-em-all]

Conversations overheard in the pasio pokemon center, part two:

Unovan boy: It's not like that! Unovan girl, looking unimpressed: I have literally listened to you pine over this guy for two years. It kind of is like that

Nemona: Hey, do you want to battle? Tohjo Champion Red: .... Nemona: Oh my gods. How are you doing that with your face. Can you teach me? Red: ... Nemona: no, seriously! I think it's amazing. Red: ... ... Nemona: ohhh. Hang on, let me take notes on this!

Girl in cardigan: oh gosh, I've admired her forever... do you think I should take her out for lunch sometime? Pink-haired girl: Hon. You talk about that woman like you want to buy her dinner. Girl in cardigan: wait, what's the difference?

Hex maniac: oooo, we should totally go into the woods sometime and see if it's haunted! Battle facility head: I... have calculated the odds of a haunting. They are statistically insignificant. This is an artificial island, after all. Hex maniac, switching tracks: Boorrrringg. Oh, hey, blue hair and water-types! What are your thoughts on the ambiance of a wailmer fall? Personally, I think it's just lovely <3 Blue haired water type specialist: Uhhh.

Red haired teen: Shit, you found my sketchbook! Alolan blonde goth: Yeah, it was on the table in the kitchen. You're really good at art, by the way. Is that your OC? Red haired teen: ....it's an old drawing. He got a redesign lately, once I got better at drawing fur Alolan goth: ugh, fur is the worst. Here's mine; he was a lab-designed hybrid who broke out and now he's lost a leg because the scientist who he thought liked him broke it and called him a freak. But that's okay because he gets a cool bionic one! But the stump still hurts a lot. Especially when it rains. Red haired teen: Mine's a mightyena who's really scarred up and he's looking for his old pack because they're evil.

Unovan boy from earlier: Look, I'm just saying, if you can't have fun running around with your friends in ears and a tail, that's a skill issue! Galarian kid with white hair: Ugh, are you a fucking furry or something? That's cringe. Unovan boy, leaning in: You're cringe. I'm full of joyous whimsy. Galarian kid: .....0_0

[salora-rainriver]

The Sympathy Problem, or "Why I'm Too Much of a Monsterfucker to Get Into Horror"

I don't know what the fuck this is, but I'm writing an essay about a problem that, as far as I know, only applies to me (but i might be totally wrong, who knows).

I think the title speaks for itself, but lemme just elaborate on what the fuck happens inside my brain, and how that fundamentally affects the way I handle horror media, to the point where I cannot truly appreciate it as horror on the same level as everyone else.

now lemme post a cute bat here so that there'll be an appropriate image to represent the whole essay when its link is shared on stuff like Discord:

trust me this was important. Okay, let's keep going.

Part 1: Why I'm a Monsterfucker

Let's start at age 4. I'm a dinosaur kid, like roughly 1/3rd of all autistic bitches. I'm a dinosaur kid to the point of owning multiple Land Before Time movies, and tie-in games, and I think I even had like two plushies at one point.

you know it's serious when this is your childhood.

I also had miscellaneous dinosaur plushies, and dinosaur toys, and a dinosaur book I frequently read front-to-back, and you get the idea.

dinosaur love evolves into dragon love, evolves into "funky monster creatures and animals of all kinds" love. I become a freakish savant of the wonderful world of the animal kingdom really quickly, to the point where my child-brain career prospects include "vet" as a pretty high finalist.

And then I find Starcraft, a game in a genre I otherwise wouldn't have given a shit about... but guess what? it has bug dinos.

it's all over for me.

But like, why? why do I like dinosaur so much?

... because I am dinosaur.

Look. LOOK. I can't give a good comprehensive list on the connections between my particular strand of autism and the state of Being A Dinosaur, because by this point, me being autistic and me being a dinosaur are so completely intertwined that it's often a chicken-egg situation. But the point is,

I make weird noises instead of using my words. I toe-walk. I don't like shoes. Sometimes I like to not wear clothes at all, even. I like to hide in small crevices when spooked. When I'm in a meltdown, I scare people.

Me dinosaur. Or at least, me some type of feral.

So is it any fucken surprise that when I go into an RPG, I latch onto the animal shapeshifter, the furry species, or the person who fights unarmed and/or uses a claw weapon?

Is it any fucking surprise that I am the opposite of spooked by snakes and spiders and other such creepy crawlies?

is it any fucking surprise that I have a fursona?????

is it any fucking surprise that I picked Pokemon Scarlet without the slightest HINT of remorse?!

Part 2: Wait, That's not the Intended Response

now let's talk about horror. Let's talk about the elements that make horror into horror: the fear part.

So what scares people? Well... people scare us. A serial killer, a mad scientist, a cult leader, a corrupt government entity, maybe? or maybe even society itself, its darker side full of atrocities and danger and problems where there's no easy solution and things can often seem hopeless?

... lmao who are we kidding that's not the vast majority of what scares people in horror. IT'S MONSTERS! Monsters scare people!

From Xenomorphs to Jean Jacket to The Babadook, it's monsters! Shit that ain't human and never could be human, and maybe it's pretending to be human, maybe it used to be human, but now it ain't, and it's gonna getcha!

And it just.

I'm a monsterfucker.

I'm not scared of ghosts. Sure he's fucked up and wailing in endless pain and lashing out at everything, but that just makes me feel sad. Like, poor ghost dude. We should help him.

I'm not scared of vampires or werewolves. They're people like anyone else, and sure, there's an inherent danger from being around them, but there's also an inherent danger from being close to an alligator, and I'm sure as fuck not scared of an alligator chilling on the side of the road. Cautious, maybe, but not scared.

I'm not scared of zombies. I mean, if they were real, I'd be a bit spooked, cause I have no combat expertise and would definitely be Fucked. But the same would apply if my hometown became a war zone. And... a war movie won't scare me. So a zombie movie wouldn't, either.

I'm not scared of xenomorphs. I mean I don't want to die, but that just means I should be entering alien environments with all proper safety procedures. TBH I'm more pissed at Weyland-Yutani than anything else.

I'm not scared of the Babadook. I'm worried for the well-being of the family as they try to come to terms with grief, and the monstrous shape that grief has taken. But it seems like they're coping in the end, so that's good.

I'm not scared of Jean Jacket - okay no. I'll be honest. It makes me uncomfortable. I will not be going into detail on the difference between this discomfort and actual fear. That is not a Salora Lore I want to disclose here. If you Know, you Know.

Part 3: Horror ceases to be a genre for me

So the monsters in horror movies don't scare me. And yet... I've watched some horror movies. And I've liked them. From this one list I've been using as quick reference to remind myself of What Horror Movies Exist out there, I've watched a few of these, or am at least familiar with them. You know, I've seen some classic horrors like "The Shining" because I went to film class in high school, and I've watched some installments of classic franchises like "Scream", or oddball picks like "Warm Bodies" and "The Relic", because I was having watch parties with friends.

Even beyond film, I read some Lovecraft once, and I've played plenty of spookier-themed videogames, like... well, like Silent Hill 2. Didn't finish that one. Bcs I'm bad at puzzles. But I loved the atmosphere.

And even when I'm not directly experiencing the horror media, I often look it up, read the synopsis, and watch video essays about it.

I know way too much about Hereditary, Midsommar, Get Out, the Slasher Genre in general, Creepypasta, Resident Evil, and mascot horror, for someone who's supposedly not able to properly engage with horror as a medium.

And I like some of that shit! But uh...

... not. as horror.

I just. Don't engage with them as horror films. I engage with them as whatever other genre you could slot them into. Hereditary is a tragedy. Get Out is political allegory. The Babadook is psychological allegory. Ghost stories are dark fantasy. Alien is sci fi. Slasher films go back and forth between mystery, action, and dark comedy. Warm Bodies is a rom-com. (like. that's not even a weird hot take. I don't know why this Rotten Tomatoes editorial decided it was horror, but I'm not gonna dispute their assertion, Bcs like. this entire essay is about why I'm not a good judge on that sort of thing) Silent Hill is a puzzle-adventure game with light action. Five Nights at Freddys is a time-management simulation game that would stress me the fuck out if I ever played it. Amnesia: the Dark Descent is a stealth game.

You get the idea.

So I'm just... in this really weird position. I'm a huge fan of spooky monsters, strange happenings, stories that engage seriously with the anxieties of mankind through allegory,

but I can't. truly enter the horror genre community as an insider.

Cause I ain't scared.

And honestly, it gets even worse when I start to imagine myself maybe, idk, *writing* a horror story of my own. Because... since I don't get scared by them, how am I supposed to know what scares others? Apologies to my fellow disabled folk for this clumsy analogy, but... it feels like trying to paint while visually impaired. I mean... you can do it. You can do it super well if you push yourself. but it's a strong disadvantage, and it might result in an artwork that could baffle the seeing people in your audience.

And maybe there could be merit in that. In writing my attempt at a horror story from the perspective of someone who doesn't find any of it scary. Maybe it's be intriguing, even surreal or dreamlike or alien to the audience who doesn't engage with this subject matter in the same way I do.

Or maybe it'd just end up similar to that one phase of the creepypasta fad where folks were going "wooo! hyperrealistic blood! isn't it spoopy n fuked up????" and it'll be garbage idfk

Bonus Round: ...Okay I Might've Lied a Bit

There is one movie that for me, truly could be considered "horror".

It genuinely terrified me as I watched it. It shook me to my core and opened my eyes to how other people feel when they see some shadowy monster figure with too many teeth reach out and eviscerate a poor bitch. I fucking get it now, to some extent. I don't know *how* the spiky boy elicits that response in you, but now I understand how it feels.

Because I watched FUCKING M3GAN

[SPOILER WARNING: I'm not saying the exact plot beats of the movie but I AM going into detail about its themes and the character development of the protagonist. It's massive spoilers but they're all vague spoilers.]

Me and my friends didn't pick this movie thinking we'd get spooked. this is the movie where the doll does some sort of modern dance routine while carrying a katana. It's goofy shit! We figured this was goofy ass modern trash and we were gonna laugh.

MOTHERFUCKERS I WASN'T LAUGHING????

Is the premise unrealistic and goofy? yeah. are the characters exaggerated and cartoonish? yes. are there like, numerous jokes throughout this film, that are portrayed as jokes? yes. was the dancing robot doll chase sequence goofy as shit? yes*

*ok but the context of That Scene made my brain gloss right the fuck over how goofy it was bcs I was too fucked up over everything else that already happened!

So like. What? How? How is goofy robot doll horrifying? Salora, you know how many stories about rogue AIs and killer robots there are? Why doesn't skynet scare you?

It's not about the doll. It's about the humans who created her.

This film is as subtle as a fucking anvil when it comes to it's social commentary. Like, "opening sequence is a kids commercial for Deranged Knockoff Furby" and "a therapist character explains attachment theory for a whole scene" levels of unsubtle. and honestly that makes the horror fucking worse. in this bizarre cartoonish parody of society, we're seeing a laid-bare and raw allegory for the real harm we are inadvertently delivering upon real fucking people. Weirdly enough, the exaggeration just makes it feel more real.

and what's "It"? Not the uncanny valley of a too-perfect silicon face, the gruesome deaths, the murderous AI,

No, "it" is the commodification of childhood, the degradation of familial ties and human connection through overwork, the way we try to patch these broken ties with product, the outsourcing of parenting to toys and machines, the disastrous consequences of allowing an orphan to vanish into wish fulfillment fantasy instead of being given space to work through her grief,

the exploitation of her grief in order to market the very thing that's spiraling her further into an unhealthy dependency, to do the exact same thing to children worldwide, all because of profit.

Look. Monsters, ghosts, demons, serial killers, zombies, predatory animals, rogue AI, they're not scary to me, because I know them. and if I don't know them, I want to know them. The solution to the threats things like that pose are simple. Keep your distance from the crocodile. Punch the shark's sensitive nose to make it back off. Invest in security measures so your house doesn't get broken into. Don't anger the ghost. Exorcise the demon. Shoot the zombie's head.

How do you, an overworked engineer for a toy company, find the time to connect with your orphaned niece on a human level?

How do you take away said niece's beloved doll when you slowly come to realize that her attachment to it has become unhealthy?

What the fuck are you supposed to even do when you realize that you might have created a murderous monster and marketed it to hundreds of kids, and your overzealous boss is in your ear pressuring you to get it ready for launch?

WHAT A FUCKING NIGHTMARE.

Conclusion: But fr am I like the Only One

so uh. yeah.

My fear response is mucked around by an unusually high level of sympathy for the monsters that tend to populate horror media. I'm Too Kinky To be Tortured, and it puts me in an awkward relationship with the horror genre, where the only things that can well and truly terrify me are unhealthy relationships and capitalism, and even then, only if those topics are presented in just the right way to make me feel like this shit is Real.

And like you know how there's a whole language of like, scares and signifiers and shit that's been well-researched, all these tiny tips and tricks to exploit primal fears in humans? (I dont know if language is the right word but im just gonna call it that until further notice)

well, a lot of that Language of Horror doesn't quite work on me, because it's all related to monsters and physical threats, and I love the monsters too much,

and I imagine there is a whole different Language out there of the shit that can be exploited to scare me,

but fuck if i know what it is. I only got a single movie as my frame of reference. How the fuck would you even find a movie that handles social anxiety like that?

Like idk, do y'all think Carrie would spook me? Carrie's about societal ills, right?

[puphoods]

im interestedin your zombie and superpower worlds..

SMILES SO BIG this took me ages omfg sorry

im gonna do it in order zombies -> zombie superpowers -> superpowers okay. i realised u maybe just meant the one thats both im not sure? but i already typed most of this up so too bad

first up egressregress babeyyyy we all know... i think its set in like. the 2000s/early 2010s... there was a poorly handled viral outbreak that caused zombies to happen etc. its pretty much your typical "society is broken down the government fell everythings a free for all" situation. theres pockets of civilization but much, much more small and scattered, there are areas with few or no people, there are areas that are controlled by certain groups or factions, etc. there is some form of self appointed government out there but they ghave no far reaching control.

the characters the story centers around are mostly isolated- they live close by but still a distance away from a well known main road that leads to an area controlled by the "government" and other safe zones and so is often traveled. cooper, dahlia, and elliot are somewhat a group, but they fucking hate each other so bad and they all suck.

the zombies themselves are pretty generic. disease spread via bite it over the course of days to maybe two weeks at most with no intervention degrades the body and eats away at the brain. theyre slow moving, generally die partway into the disease progression, and move out of instinct. theres not much of a focus on the zombies themselves in the story, but they do play a part in the mindset and morality of cooper

THA SECOND ONE my furry zombie superpowers world. smiles. so this is like my newest ocs so i genuinely dont have much but its one that i really really enjoy bc its very self indulgent lol. its... i want to say kind of futuristic? but its a different world as well so. like its not Futuristic but its set in a world w technology + stuff slightly more advanced than ours. its like Furry World. u get it

theres a very small subset of people who have or develop powers. it is there is a genetic factor to it but i dont really have that thought out yet... typically they develop around puberty but can and do develop at any time in someones life

the story starts at the onset of a zombie outbreak- there are very, very few cases, but it is widespread, and extremely dangerous. id say its been like a few months since the first case... the main characters are a part of a team sent out to investigate and study the disease in an attempt to figure out how it spreads and try to find a cure, or at least prevent it from spreading further. the main character, leah, is a "scientist" on this team- shes the one leading the research for her group. leah has powers that appear very similar to the physical symptoms of the disease. shes trying her hardest to keep it under wraps while they investigate, and desperately hoping that there is no link between her and the outbreak

leahs powers are... bio-manipulation? essentially. she cannot alter the mind but can do a lot of crazy shit to the body

the virus ive actually thought about this one pretty in depth okay hold on. its spread through body fluids primarily and is asymptomatic + will remain such unless its exposed to someone with a symptomatic infection (generally via bite but can also be spread through body fluids). if youre bitten by someone with a symptomatic case and you dont have the virus youll just die no zombie mess it iwll kill u... the progression of the disease once "activated" (idk) is slow it generally takes minimum a week before it reaches its final stage but usually takes closer to 2, with 4 weeks being the longest it can take. it causes rapid physical growth + mutations, mostly additional body parts, and causes a huge increase in metabolic processes and how much fuel the body needs that eating enough food is almost impossible, and it starts eating at the body and brain pretty quickly. eventually the person dies but the body is still driven on by the disease until it eats itself alive, and is unable to function anymore. common mutations are just growth of the body and replication of body parts, especially teeth, fingers, and stomachs, but it also commonly duplicates limbs eyes other organs etc. (SECRAT ACTUAL PLOT POINT SPOILER) in the circumstance the body mutates in a way that lets it take in larger amounts of food (more stomachs mouths teeth) and has access to enough food, for example a group of people dedicated to feeding it, it can, theoretically, grow forever. eventually the mutations will be so severe it will be unrecognizable as having been a person and can no longer move. itd be pretty much impossible to keep one fed for more than a year or so unless you were feeding it like. a ridiculous amount of meat.

last storuy ok the superpowers one. i dont have much additional to say wrt the powers than i did in the other post but i can tell u about the people... i actually have a fair few characters for this one but the story centers on adrienne. adrienne is a teenage girl with kinetic manipulation powers, she can store and use kinetic energy which generally comes out as some find of explosive force or something like that. i really am not happy with her story because shes a very old character now so i need to rework it a lot. some other characters:

kasey- a young woman with healing powers who was working as an EMT when her powers developed. she resents her powers and has the same mentor as adrienne, theyre narrative foils, etc.

sonar- adrienne and kaseys mentor. hes ex superhero + regrets his time as a hero, and is trying to get the girls on track. he doesnt want anything to do with the whole hero and villain sort of scene anymore but feels obligated to keep the others safe

longshot- ^sonars ex husband lol. hes a hero turned villain, in part because of their falling out, but bc of a lot of other things too. he has really good eyesight and shoots people. with guns

roulette, copycat, 2 more unnamed characters- a small villain group that are involved in the plot and that adrienne gets involved with while shes trying to do...whatever i decide she ends up doing in her new story. they arent anything serious and mostly just rob banks and shit

[positivelybeastly]

"So there are mutant-hunting robots now." Tess rests her chin on her knees, arms wrapped tightly around her legs as she fixes the television with a baleful eye. A new episode of VH1: Behind the Music is playing. "Jean was a malevolent space goddess. You found proof of alien life and almost went to war with them." Her brows furrow, revealing a little age line that wasn't there the last time he saw her in person.

"Morph got blown up and brainwashed by some asshole who sounds like he's going to be a real problem--" yeah, no shit--"and I..." She sighs, rubbing a hand across her tired eyes. "I don't know who Jubilee and Bishop are."

A wet sniff.

Tess--the Tess he knew--had a nasty psychosomatic vomit reaction. She's not even lunging for a trash can, just a little green. And looking utterly lost, until she hides her face in her arms. (Get it together, X-Man.) "Good find." Her voice is muffled." Glad to have them on the... on the team."

For everyone else, she's been a g-ddamn trooper. Tess McKay, ready to be back on the job! Tess McKay, who fucking loves being an X-Man and didn't spend the last four years lost in a dimension of shrimp people. Hah-hah! Tess McKay, acerbic as ever!

Hank knows her better. Always did, really.

Having one's life upended while wearing the uniform is a rite of passage. (Hank? He went blue and furry. Morph? Mistaken for dead and brainwashed by an evil scientist. Jean? Apparently possessed by a big psychic space bird.) She'll get past it. Everyone will catch her up on what she's missed. Things won't be the same, but they'll be good, and even if the world's moved on without her, she's so... happy to be back. With everyone. With this ragtag group of weirdos who became her family.

Except--

"Oh, Hank. He's gone."

When the sob comes, it's low and ragged, wringing the breath out of her.

"The Professor's gone..."

"Our government chose to deploy so called 'robot policemen' in one of their more scatter brained and authoritarian breaches of common sense, this is in fact true."

Every now and then, Hank's eyes flick up from the chronometric circuits that Bishop's time band is laced with, the fine point of his laser solder erupting in a brilliant burst of light every now and then.

The episode of VH1: Behind the Music that Tess has elected to leave the television on is all about Fleetwood Mac, and the inter-band conflict is fascinating enough that Hank finds himself sucked in, even as the secrets to time travel literally sit in his hands.

"Well, to be precise, I didn't nearly go to war with anyone. The micro-nation of Henry Philip McCoy would put up a very poor showing in a protracted conflict with an intergalactic super-power, though I thank you for your faith in my abilities, Tess."

The humour comes to an end when the tone shifts and he remembers what happened to Morph, a sad look in his eye. Some days, he wonders what might have happened if he had been the one 'killed' in action that day, and Morph who had been imprisoned. He might have suffered the same fate, and he's . . . ashamed to admit, he isn't sure he would have stood up to Sinister's tampering as well as Morph did.

". . . Lucas and Jubilation are both fine individuals, Tess. You'll like them. I know that you will."

Then comes the wet sniff, and he flips down off the rafters, putting down the time band. His fuzzy blue mitts, warm and strong, come to rest on her arm, and he squeezes gently, offering her the comfort. He's here. He can help her weather any storm, any turbulence, any upset. That's what he does, he helps people. He does his best, at any rate.

But then . . . he's gone. And Hank doesn't have to question for a moment who she means, and his chest goes tight even as he gathers her up into a hug and pulls her against him, resting his chin on her head as he presses a soft kiss to her scalp. It's a gentle gesture, it's loving. It's kind, above all else. It's an attempt to reassure, even as he feels his own lip wobble and he casts his blue eyes upwards, trying to contain the tears he feels welling up in them.

"I know, Tess. I know. It's going to be all right. It will, I promise."

[lesbians4leonardo]

100 prompts stolen from my friends and i

“taps the sign that says guys please let me know when you get injured i trust exactly none of you to keep yourselves alive and well” “taps the sign that says hey i never did sports” “taps the sign that says boobies” “TAPS THE SIGN THAT SAYS FINE I WILL KILL YOU ALL”

“fuck you” “SIR YES SIR”

“i so badly want you to see my piss platoon in COTL”

“p.s. do you still have your ears pierced?” “mhm!” “not for long.”

“wait would tax fraud count as adultery?”

“[name] tanking radiation poisoning for the sole reason of why not. more news at 7”

“in THIS world, it’s either SHUT up or SLUT up and i ALWAYS slay!!”

“you are like the pinnacle of every Don’t instruction on a medical ad”

“when i was young, i too once had nipples”

“and they say white people have no culture. look at all these phrases”

“you texted me and called me a slur” “yahoo!!”

“allow the mundanity of your life to be filled by them. you will find love in your kitchen on a saturday morning when they’re frying eggs and you’re figuring out how to be a person over your coffee, and though you’re bone tired exhausted you’re still well aware that they’re there by the sizzling of eggs and you like that, even through your exhaustion you like that. you will find it when you take off your shoes and place them right next to theirs by the door. when you are loved, you will find love in every place that held nothing”

“to be loved is to find joy and love and care in what otherwise seems like the mundanity of life. like. like. words. words. uh. to be loved is to settle into the comfort of the mundane because you know that youre loved and cared for and the world is beautiful”

“if i was an orb with nothing else to do i’d ruin some childhoods too”

“one of the babies has breached containment”

“i want to put every cat in my mouth”

“i can’t stop writing my fingers don’t wanna stop fingering and these words just keep wording”

“[pet] has become catholic”

“ah yes, my favourite animal: the gun”

“i will eat the fetuses of your inhuman children you have hatefully inserted inside my chicken eggs with the prideful knowledge that i am saving the teeth of future children to come”

“you monster… i like how your mind works”

“what on earth happened i was playing mario kart”

“maybe i am a little coo coo guys…….. shakira shakira……..” “no the right person will love you for your alpha male swag”

“well, that’s what happens when you swipe a waterjet”

“also, he gives off bad vibes like an over cooked fish!!!!!!! remember!!!!!!!!”

“there is a small, air-filled blood cave in my foot” “as usual”

“YOU NEVER KNOW WHEN YOULL GET HIT BY A BUS >:)”

“[name] don’t fall for his tricks. he’s evil. a conniving little guy. with a bowl cut”

“i think you’re a culinary mad scientist”

“i’d love to punch you in the throat… but not like this, brother… not like this…”

“pissing on a dead guy rn btw” “rock on brother”

“everyone wins!! the femboy killed the business!!!”

“so i have a feeling it should be kicked into the corner like a failed organ harvest”

“current score is furry-1, god-0”

“guys…. come on…. we cannot have more than one loserfailure in this house please…..” “we’re all autistic?” “we all combine to make the loserfailure supreme” “LOSERFAILURES ROLL OUT” “we combine voltron style” “with the super long sequence” “i’ve had enough of your mouth!”

“[name] calls me milkboy because they can’t handle my milkboy swag”

“penis” “????? PENIS???????” “i’m helping you. you’re gay so i’m giving you penis. for emotional support”

“thank you for being suicidal so i can stim with your self harm scars”

“you have interesting flesh” “I HAVE INTERESTING FLESH?!”

“pull that milk cup a little bit closer so it can be like our baby…. it’s our little baby [name]….”

“STOP FOOTING MY TITS”

“i’m like a meat bullet”

“why are you so small?” “i miss the warmth of the womb” “you’re autistic”

“you are literally a dead victorian child” “don’t out him”

“half a year of man cum” “now what is wrong with you?”

“girlhood is defined not by misogyny or toys or violence but instead by stalking”

“YOU ATE MY CORPSE FIRST MAGGOT”

“sorry i’m trying to electrocute a man rn and i need both hands” “WHO???” “UHHH OWL???????? WDYM???????”

“girl relationships are kinda more complex than hieroglyphs tbh so maybe they thought that pedophilia would be the safer route idk i’m just a gaggot”

“hey girl new slur just dropped!!!”

“this song doesn’t just fuck it impregnates and raises the baby with gentle parenting”

“YOURE FRENCH AND GAY? faguette”

“YOU DOUBLE DIPLOMA DICKHEAD”

“he’s against killing unborn children but not living children?” “he likes to look them in the eyes when he kills them”

“[name] look at the dead 30 year old soul lingering in the eyes”

“LLLLLL RIP BOZOOOOOO BOOOOOOO NERRRDDDD BRO HAS AN INJURY LMAOOOOOO SKULL EMOJI TIMES SEVENNNNM” “i’m still taller than you in this wheelchair, boy” “not for long”

“[NAME] NO. you’re supposed to rest” “well maybe they should’ve thought of that before inventing capitalism”

“[NAME] HOW ARE YOU GUYS ALIVE?!”

“you’re like if a normal person got sliced in half and the legs grew their own new torso and head”

“unless you’re [name] but that’s only because [name] said i was making male whimpers and objectifying my pain” “YOU WERE”

“yeah that’s what i thought you sleepless beast”

“my boobies are bisexual i can use both to type but not very well unfortunately”

“GODDAMNIT IS THAT THE FUCKING TORTOISESHELL”

“[name] will you be my hillary clinton?” “yes i will consider you as my close personal friend”

“i love kaijus” “PACIFIC RIM? KAIJUS? SHAKES YOUR HAND” “YES” “YEAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!! oh the concept of being drift compatible….” “FR!!!! YOUR BRAINS!!!! MATCH UP!!!!!! assigned soulmates at brainwave technology” “LITERALLY!!! i was so normal about it when i watched pacific rim for the first time” “PREGNANCY IS SCARY!!!!” “Y YES? YOURE ON T MAN DONT WORRY” “i wanted to join in on the brains matching up but i don’t know anything about pacific rim”

“the probability of mpreg is low… but never zero. keep that condom close and your heat suppressants even closer”

“i’m finished! has [name] survived the shame yet?” “no” “lol rip bozo” “i’m going to go live in a lake house and pretend i like kissing women”

“you are all out to get me” “yeah”

“i’m just the worst person ever, huh? should i just get pregnant and give abo birth??? i guess everyone would be so much happier if i started being heterosexual??? you all think i never do anything scrumdilly yum yum for anyone, right??? that’s fine. i’ll just do what everyone wants me to do anyways. see you in five years when i’m shaped like a lizard from eating all those carrots. i hope you’re happy now.”

“OH FUWCK YOFF AL OF YIU!!!’m! I HOPE YORUE SHOWS MAKW SQUELCHWING NOSIWS WHEN YOH WALK RHOUGH THE HALLWAYS IM GONNAQ FUCKTUNG SHIT IN TWHM”

“i thought village people invented the ymca”

“guy whose body is an enigma”

“that reminds me of when [past event]” “wait. wait what the fuck. wait”

“attacks josh hutcherson with the spirit of christmas musiAUGH FUCK”

“there’s a part of me that just wants to [plan]- HOLY SHIT THAT ACTUALLY WORKED”

“i’ve gotta catch some dudes and get my beauty rest”

“leave me alone!!! my dick is tiny and the sex is bad!!! i have stale morning breath!!!”

“my grandparents are going into a home” “that, i can promise you”

“thanks man! clutches my sleep meds tightly in my toes!!”

“PENIS MAN LET’S GOOOOOOOOOOOO”

“STI (Strong Toes Institute)”

“you should send her a bag of organs”

“get spinned metal boy”

“HINGED [NAME] NOOOO sprays you with water”

“a brother, perhaps. one not by blood, but by shared sin. what does he know of our secrets, blanketed by the cover of night? why does he grin so eerily, as though mocking the monster i once was? now i am but a mere man, a hunter turned hunter. i fall prey to the evils that once lay on our tongue.”

“[name] do you know how scary it is to tell a joke and not hear my cackle echo back at me. nothing. just silence, and debussy.”

“what do you mean i am a respectable member of society right now that is not okay”

““i stole your mind” he says. just like that- this grey matter of mine is but an empty vessel, the pinky-white fluid leaking into her hull. as captain, i protect the oath i swore to her; my ship, my love, i go down with you. may gentle waves and great tides alike wash upon the shores: our bodies, together. once one, we are now two, as he thieves away the treasures. useless boon, worth not a pebble; but he knows, he knows- you are what made me complete. “i stole your mind” he says, but it is, too, my heart that he has plundered. not to keep or return with vows; nay, a single toss across the seas! it skips, once, twice, before the sandy bed lulls my boat to sleep.”

“good luck man i’m just gonna be over here feeling existential about my face not being mine. is this what it’s like to be high”

“i’ll remember something and instead of imagining a flash bang with something like “HORSE FROWN” in neon block letters popping out of the white i have to experience an emotion for longer than three seconds.”

“how i bagged my girl (snow day): PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE OLEASE PLEADEPLASE PLEASE PLEASEPLEASE” “LET ME GET WHAT I WAAAAANNTTT” “I AM BEGGING EVERY DEITY HOLY FIGURE”

“gay man talking about bagging a girl + lesbian being a theatre major + buddhist that is only buddhist because of ethnicity and agnosticism” “THAT WAS A THE SMITHS SONG” “That Is A The Smiths Lyric” “in times of desperation humanity’s true colours shine” “[NAME] I CANT BELIEVE YOU” “the smiths have the same level of drama as a cishet theatre company so it’s fine” “damn ok”

“I WAS NOT A FUCKING DOMINATRIX FUCK YOU i just spinned people really fast on the playground until they said it ticked and was too fast and begged me to stop- wait yeah okay thats.”

“WHY ARE YOU IN BLOOD HELL??”

““be not afraid” if i saw you in the woods i would be so torn between hiding and running that i might die on the spot” “smash” “smash” “GUYS COME ON- THIS GUY???” “not that guy. the tree guy” “THAT IS THE TREE GUY” “i could make him trans”

“heh. wouldn’t you like to be liver suckled, cock boy?”

“can i trust testsigma.com?” “no” “MAN”

“ohhh now i know why you lost your nipples”

“I WILL ALTER YOUR SKIN IN WAYS THAT CANNOT BE REVERSED NOR HIDDEN. MY TOUCH WILL IMMORTALIZE ITSELF IN YOUR BONES, AND LONG AFTER WE ARE GONE, YOUR VERY ESSENCE WILL SCREAM WITH MY VOICE.”

“WE'RE FINISHING OFF WITH MY BODY MOD HOBBY???????????????????????????????????????????”

all thanks to the troop 🫡: @striderman @thevoidsflame @xansa-e03

(also PLEASE tag me or message me if you use them so my friends and i can consume it)

[fallout-drabbles-n-stuff]

Sorry it’s cause I’m new and a nervous wreck (hope I didn’t upset you sorry if I did) if you don’t charge money to write these please write the companions react to a werewolf sole survivor thank you and have a good day :)

(Part 1!)

Cait:

•as much as I’d like to say she’d think it’s cool..she so wouldn’t. See how she feels about synths? Ghouls I’m not so sure but she generally doesn’t like things that are potentially dangerous beyond the normal wasteland extent I suppose.

•Probably takes a rougher toll on your relationship with her. She would be- at the very core- afraid of you.

•Maybe if you prove your control over the beast, she may, just may calm down. However she will probably forever be on guard when the moon turns full.

Curie:

•jumping right into it? This is where a peculiar dark side of Curie comes out.

•Being a scientist, curious, at heart- Curie would be skeptical of your lycanthropy but once you prove it? We’ll get ready for betrayal.

•Figuring it would be for the best, she’d probably figure out a way to tranquilizer you in the wolf state to run interesting tests. After all (y/n), your healing rate and morphological advancements could prove detrimental in creating a new, wonderful medicine of some thing of the sort.

Danse:

•Oh boy…

•I hope you are really close- like best friends, fuck buddies, or romanced all the way because if not? He’s putting a laser through your head no questions asked. A monster is a monster and you are a MONSTER.

•However given that the two of you are close, it’ll hurt him worse to kill you. He’ll hesitate, gun cocked and the thought of innocent people being torn apart by you, but he just can’t do it. Just show him that you have control- something.

•Once he reassures that you are in control and more than a beast, he’ll put down his gun and sigh. He can’t lose another person close to him, not like this. He’s suspicious of you and very angry, but he’ll come around..may even start being quite protective over you.

Deacon:

•Not even realizing..or really fully grasping just how bad this could be, all deacon can think about is how he is going to tell the others back in HQ and them not think he is absolutely full of shit this time. Hell- he thinks he may be a bit cuckoo, no way this is real.

•Once he comes to terms, he is out of there. He’s one of the few that can and WILL act like this never happened. He doesn’t want to talk about it, deny he has ever seen it, and most certainly will never say he knows.

•Just leave him alone with your furry self, he doesn’t want to be involved. Catch him on the next turn of the moon, bud.

[monstrouslyobsessed]

sorry i took my sweet time answering asks, h.

tw / tags: ns.fw, audio link, mirror kink

Why did Sidon cross the road—anonymous

idk nonnie (im p sure this is kay lol) to get to his dickin

okay so, concept? scientist reader and their subject?—anonymous

i'll need more than just characters, nonnie dear. any suggestion on the plot for them? kinda monster? etc. but i did write this piece forever ago, if this would count?

Hi, I’d like to share this audio that i found. Though I hope you don’t mind I just really loved it and I wanted to share it with other as well —anonymous

link to audio

aNNNNNNNNNNN hello 👀 don't mind if i doooo thank you sweet nonnie!!! &lt;3

Hnggg thoughts of ghost groom fucking you in front of a mirror so you can watch yourself clench onto air —anonymous

well that's an idea...😳bigger the mirror the better...

Hi! Are you okay with others writing stories with your OCs and/or the beastworld? With fully crediting and tagging you of course. I hope this is okay to ask, I just really love your work, and if you answered this before then sadly I couldn't find it —anonymous

ofc love!! have at it!

i'll be sure to clarify this in my faq <3 i would love, LOVE to see your interpretations and takes on my au! and honestly, feel free to make your own beastfolk ocs too. they're literally just....furries that happen to live with and lord over humans <3

this goes to literally anyone who wanted to dabble with my au too! just be sure to tag me because i'd lovveeee to see (and share!) your writings~if you got a question or concern, my chatbox is always open :)

i loved the hc you did with the holstaurs and i hope to see more of them — @yanderereader

if i think of more, i'll make another post!

fun fact: i didn't coin the term holstaurs, i got it from one popular ns.fw game, cloud meadow, which was actually taken from dnd lol beyond that, i didn't take anything else. they were basically just walking cow / bull monsters that may or may not be from another planet.

wooot, thanks so much for yall asks AND the concepts (which is now closed so i can catch up~!)!! I'll be taking some time working on them, been a bit...tired mentally wise <3 as always, be good to one other, stay beautiful, and feel free to poke me anytime mwah

[princess-of-the-corner]

Ben: You gave a bunch of furries their animal form, that's what you did.

Animo: I didn't think that trough

Ben: "When the FUCK have you ever thought anything through? You are the literal definition of "Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether they could, they didn't stop to think if they should"!"

Animo: "I feel absolutely called out on the fact that Jurassic Park was my favorite movie as a child. And yes, I did root for the dinosaurs!"

[joethetoonfanandoutcast]

Why I can never watch Sing 2 again

It's not only because of a pairing, but also because llumination does poorly to make it not look like an imitation of other things we've seen before that has little charm or effect:

Before we're introduced to Crystal, Suki's thought of as an individual but after that no one acknowledges her, not even Jimmy (he says Jerry's name but not hers), the gorilla thugs (they could have beaten her up as well since she worked for the bad guy but just ignore her like everyone else) and none of the Moon gang acknowledge her (they don't say "thanks for saving Buster's life"). She's basically been given the whole "secretaries are props, not people" treatment even though she kickstarted the sequel's plot and proved to show potential. She could have just not followed them at the end.

After witnessing the kind of boss Suki has to work for, I can't say that I side with Buster and the gang's views on her in the beginning when they never change their mind about her afterwards. It feels like they're getting butthurt over one person's statement, and that person does not have the best boss. I need something canon to prove otherwise or I'll never be convinced. I need something that doesn't imply "Thanks for helping, now get the hell out of here, you stupid judgy bitch!"

Jerry's just a cheap generic knock-off of every Disney villain's sidekick ever that is so annoying he makes Smee look like a rocket scientist.

Meena is still a shy worry-wart and her crush on a nice guy subplot is generic as crud, and not to mention, Alfonso is just a gender-bent clone of her and a way of shoehorning in Illumination's golden boy Pharrell.

Klaus is just a discount neighsayer with little to no charm.

Darius: not even remotely charming.

What could have made the thugs a bit more likable is subverting the scary thugs trope for one scene with them having idle chit chat like normal people.

Jimmy Crystal: another angry dictator with an attractive woman he doesn't deserve and who doesn't tickle my funny bone.

Clay Calloway: Illumination's Doc Hudson.

Nooshy is just a lynx Esmeralda who's overconfident enough to sass the a-hole monkey teacher, and the whole fandom has to be all under the impression that she's "there I taught you to dance and am an appropriate companion because I'm funny and young now let's get each other laid", and I do not remotely ship them.

Porsha: every furry may be easily appealed by her being a wolf, her being Halsey, her being into vintage (which I'm also into), and her brash loudness and poor acting, but I'm not

The 'being yourself and achieving your dream goals' message is hammered in along with the implied symbolism that ugly is good (most of Moon's crew are cartoonish and funny-looking) and good-looking (that would be Jimmy Crystal, Suki Lane, Porsha, Linda Le Bon, and the gazelle receptionist) is bad. Seriously, why can't we just live in a world where both funny-looking and not-funny-looking are valued equally, like we have a model human married to a fucking cartoon rabbit?

Suki at first to show potential as a brilliant subversion of 'all critics are bad' or 'businesswomen aren't likable' or 'salukis are worthless' is going straight into the trash bin due to Meledandri's statement: Illumination CEO Chris Meledandri stated, "It will involve characters from the original cast, but it will take us into a new world. It means she's getting axed in favor of Mike, Eddie and the new characters instead of squeezing her in somehow. They literally could have given her a short explaining that she'll never have anything to do with them again, acknowledging the furries who like her and her design.

I cannot watch this when they don't even try to mask that it's an uncharming imitation of the Muppets (2011) and Dreamgirls that doesn't break enough rules.

[mouthsewedshut]

Masterlist

I have to redo the whole masterlist because I just realise that the links broke- Anyways

🦋 Hi my name is Jasmine / Meadow and this blog is probably going to make you lose your sanity just by reading through my horrendous writing. Requests are finally opened so feel free to launch your requests at my face so I can finally get my braincells to work!

🦋 Here, I post drawings of my furry children getting absolutely tormented and depressed heroes and villains going nuts and probably angsty, horny and gay as fuck but I rarely became active so uh- yeah-

and I will just be putting my works here that I liked so uh- most of my writing in this blog aren't gonna be here lol - I think my blog is an absolute disaster

(Old) Masterlist - An unfortunate list of probably all my dead stories now and the links have stopped working so that is why this masterlist exists.

OCs Blog (@monocleonthegrass) - Mainly a blog related to my own characters. (I am rarely inactive there as well but why not just put this here)

Side Blog (@jasminetheangry) - A small resharing blog so that my main blog won't be crowded.

STORIES (Heroes and Villains)

A New Face - Villain was amused when a new face to the city was heard and they knew that they have to meet this new face... The new hero. (PROMPT)

Pink Heart Nails - They thought that they could be given at least a minute of privacy when they meet a familiar face by the public and they were irritated by their prescence until the very passing moment when it warmed up like strawberry breeze.

Pray do Tell // I Should Have Known - There, Two enemies stood on the battlefield while the Hero kneeled in defeat when the Villain was harsh to them, Threatening them to return what they have loved and lost. Though little do they know, Hero may have a little secret that Villain didn't pray for them to actually tell.

Not so Heroic - The hero barged into the villain's base when they found them in a rather focusing position, they decided to take matters to this. (PROMPT)

(No descriptions because I am an absolute dumbass)

Child + Hero and Villain Parents

Costume Swap Disaster (Hero x Villain)

Line (Hero x Villain)

Scientist Villain x Hero

(Whump)

Dreamy Contact (Touch-starved Caretaker / Cuddly Whumpee) - Whumpee never let go of Caretaker and clung to them tight, Not realizing how much they needed it as well until that very moment.

EXTRAS

Collie Houndwood Redesign

Philip Butler Expressions Sheet

Maxwell Wolf + Muzzled // Grand Escape

Monster and Human (Original by @some-messed-up-writing-for-you)

Fallen Leaves and Hollyleaf brainrot

Maxwell Rough Sketch

Phlorence + Clinton and Collie

2023 YEARLY REDRAWS

Kiji x Ryoma Pocky (February)

Spite (March)

Banner is poorly made by yours truly