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trashogram · 3 months

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He Chose You (Pt. 2)

Lucifer/Reader

Rated E for the smex coming next chapter I SWEAR. ((Also there will not be any non-con in this fic, so please don’t worry. You’ll see when you read.))

Tag Requests: @loslox, @for-hearthand-home, @navierkalani

‘The worst thing they could be are swingers.’

Your heart was racing, and you felt ridiculous for how uppity you felt at the prospect of having dinner with your two elderly neighbors.

Normally, meeting new people would cause a healthy amount of anxiety in you. You’d grown up into a recluse and upholding social niceties took most of your energy. It was even worse to be in their home, and among people that you likely did not have much in common with.

These were personal reassurances that you told yourself after denying the first invitation for dinner with the Farrows. The guilt you felt, paired with the subsequent relief of not having to spend more than five minutes with your chatty neighbor, stirred an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Of course you’d been unable to stop thinking about what a wretch you were, how karma was going to bite you on the ass for denying an old couple some company.

And oh Karma did come back to bite you. Hard.

You felt like you were hanging by a thread at work. Three weeks into the job and you’d already been reprimanded. Even the memory of your supervisor looking down her nose at you from the other side of her desk made your eyes water.

“We have a ‘three strikes’ policy here. I’m afraid this will count as your first.”

Never having been fired from a job notwithstanding, you felt like the idiot your parents always purported you to be.

If you’d have just stayed in your hometown, living off your parents’ good graces and kept your head down, instead of prancing out the door as if you had self-respect and no need for a safety net…

Maybe things wouldn’t be so dire.

Maybe you wouldn’t be on the verge of having a panic attack at this very moment, feeling the anxiety and restlessness from declining the previous invitation tenfold.

With a deep breath in and out, you crossed the hall with the hesitance of a mouse approaching a snap-trap. You knocked on the door to Unit 606 with a shaking hand.

There was a moment left to blanch at the realization that you hadn’t brought anything with you. Like the shittiest, most thoughtless guest ever.

——

“You made it!” Mrs. Farrow held her arms out dramatically. “Come in! Come in! You’re right on time! Oh and you look lovely dear!”

“Thanks.” You felt heat rise to your cheeks as the door closed behind you.

The layout of the apartment was a mirror image to yours, but you were overwhelmed by just how much stuff had taken up the space. From the kitchen to the living room, the apartment was brimming with kaleidoscopic color. Antique statuettes of unknown deities, handcrafted vases and sculptures in-set with gems and gold filigree, expertly framed posters of old Hollywood, and Persian rugs beneath well-worn furniture were visible from just a cursory glance.

It distracted you from the unusually bitter, earthy smell that assaulted you upon entering.

“Wow,” You said in genuine awe. “Your home is lovely.”

“Aw, you’re too kind sweetheart. Too kind. Here, let me take your shawl - we’ll hang it up on the rack here, see.” She took your cardigan and placed it on an old hat stand before steering you out to the living room by the back of your shoulders.

There was a man sitting in a leather armchair adjacent to the couch. He was wearing a tweed jacket and his silver-blond hair had been combed back finely to show a pale, wrinkled face and eyes so dark they shone almost black in the lowlight.

He looked at you with interest once you’d finally caught onto his presence, and opened his mouth to speak.

‘Quack!’

“Lou!” You laughed as the duck came racing over on its little legs.

Without delay, the bird climbed onto your flats with an impatient flap of its wings, trying to balance while looking up at you adoringly.

You couldn’t help but reach down and pat his little head, murmuring ‘hellos’ and ‘how you doing buddy?’ softly and sweetly.

The man opposite you both smirked. “My wife was right. He’s quite taken with you.”

“I’m always right!” Mrs. Farrow called out from the kitchen.

You looked to the kitchen and back to, presumably, Mr. Farrow, an uncertain smile on your lips.

“Welcome to our home.” The elder man’s voice was almost hypnotically deep. His hand was outstretched and waiting. “Please excuse me for not greeting you properly. When you get to be as old as I am, your body does everything it can to make you stay put in one place.”

You shook your head. “Oh no, please don’t worry about it! I understand.”

Mr. Farrow’s smirk seemed to soften as you spoke.

“Please make yourself comfortable, my dear.” When he gestured to the couch, you awkwardly shuffled to sit down. Lou was right on your heels, loathe to spend even a second without your warmth.

The duck ended up snuggled on your lap after begging to be lifted as you sank into the plush sofa. And you were grateful, hugging Lou to you gently as if he were a plush toy.

It helped take your mind away from that spine-tingling feeling when it made a comeback — the way Mr. Farrow’s eyes glittered when he looked at you and his duck.

‘Oh god, they probably are swingers. And they lure in their targets with this crazy well-trained duck.’ You thought, punching yourself in the face mentally. ‘And you fell for it. Walked right into their den of debauchery. You stupid bitch.’

“Here’s some water, honey. We’ll save the stronger stuff for dinner.” You jumped in your seat when Mrs. Farrow appeared at your side, setting a glass of ice water down on the end table beside you.

You reached for the glass as its contents sloshed over the edge. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Farrow.”

Mrs. Farrow beamed.

“What did I tell ya, Warren? Isn’t she lovely? Just a peach. Lou is smitten.” She patted your shoulder. “And it’s Cassie, honey. Call me Cass.”

“You were right, Cass.” Warren Farrow intoned.

He took on a conspiratorial tone as he addressed you once more. “You must know, my wife hasn’t stopped talking about you since you met the other day. I wondered if she was preparing us for a new roommate.”

Heat flooded your face for the second time. “Aw.”

“Oh poo, as if you wouldn’a done the same.” Mrs. Farrow sniffed derisively. “Dinner in 5 minutes!”

Her exit left room for you to start a conversation, but you couldn’t find it in you to say anything. Mr. Farrow kept staring, smiling, which made you stroke Lou’s feathers for comfort that much more.

The silence lasted a little while, save for the clinking, crackling, thudding from the kitchen dining room. Aside from catering to Lou, you surveyed your surroundings in an effort to avoid bouncing your legs.

The Farrows didn’t have a TV, only a large fireplace that they’d positioned their furniture around. There were displays on either side of the grate. On one stood an oversized chalice with intricate, swirling patterns. The other had a statuette of a goat-headed figure sitting crisscrossed on a throne, one arm poised to reach out to the sky.

“Baphomet.”

You turned from the sight, head swiveling to face your human companion. He was eying you keenly again.

“O-oh, the statue is…?”

Warren nodded. “Baphomet. Conceived as a false god around the time of the crusades. Most people see him as a depiction of Satan these days.”

The association wasn’t too far-fetched, you figured with another look at the figure. Its goat-head and large horns were the most eye-catching thing about it.

“I apologize if the sight upsets you, dear. I hadn’t thought to remove it before your arrival.”

“Oh no, please. It’s alright.” You said. “It doesn’t bother me. It’s very interesting.”

The rumbling hum at your side seemed to signal approval, or maybe general geniality with your neutral response. “Are you religious by chance?”

You turned to Warren again.

“Ah, no.” You replied apologetically. “I grew up in a Christian area, but I was never very involved with the church.”

Warren nodded. “That’s just as well. The institution and its practices can be stifling. I was never very involved with it myself.”

“Religious artifacts have always been fascinating to me, however. There’s no shortage of temples and synagogues in this world.”

“Have you been to many? For the history?” You were genuinely curious.

The old man nodded again, stately and dignified even as he puffed up in his armchair like a peacock. “Cass and I are seasoned travelers. We’ve been to all 7 continents at least twice, seen the wonders of the world from the Hindu shrines in Malaysia to St. Basil’s Cathedral. I have a particular fondness for those countries surrounding the Mediterranean Sea. I was able to convince Cassie another trip to Rome wouldn’t put us in the poor house last year.”

Your little huff of laughter was sincere, though the idea of traveling to Rome - or anyplace outside of the familiar - sounded amazing. “I’d love to be able to do that.”

Warren’s head tilted to one side. “You’re quite young, I’m sure you’ll get the chance if you haven’t already.”

“Sure.” You scoffed before immediately falling into contrition. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me —”

“Dinner time!”

Mrs. Farrow hollered from the kitchen, stopping you from trying to come up with a suitable excuse for yourself.

Luckily, Mr. Farrow chuckled good-naturedly. He rose from his chair stiffly, legs visibly straining. “No need to apologize, my dear. But we best get going before the Missus comes out and drags us by our ears.”

——

All things considered, the dinner was perfectly fine.

The jitters never left your frame, but you had chalked that up to a simple byproduct of your skittish nature. The red wine that Cass had insisted upon you made you feel warm and solid, at least.

As did the fact that Cassie Farrow could hold entire conversations all on her own with very little effort or input from yourself.

“You got a boyfriend, honey? Or girlfriend? No shame in that at all. We may be old but by no means bigoted. We’ve been all over the place, seen so many things - what’s natural to you and me could be the furthest from, in certain places. Isn’t that right, Warren?”

“Men in Ancient Greece often had relationships with other men.” Warren replied. “Royals in Europe had extramarital affairs with different sexes. It was all about keeping the bloodline pure, but romance was a different thing altogether.”

“I haven’t dated in a while, actually.” You said. “It’s not been a priority.”

Cassie nodded, exuberant as she drank from her wine glass. “That’s good too! Plenty of independent women these days! It’s about time, I say.”

‘Quack quack’

Lou was beside you, red eyes locked in as he gazed upon you at the dining table. It made you giggle.

“Mm!” Cassie had a spastic moment. “I almost forgot!”

The chair lurched out from under the old woman as she rose and scuttled out of the room. It left you blinking, and out of the corner of your eye you saw that same smirk on Warren’s face before his wife had returned.

She had a small wicker basket in her arms.

“This is for you, honey. Housewarming present from your kooky neighbors across the hall.”

As she drew nearer, you caught a glimpse of the contents, some of which shone beneath the light of the overhead chandelier.

“Thank you! You really didn’t have to.” The basket was pressed into your arms and Cassie was back in her seat before you’d finished your sentence.

“Nonsense. It’s the least we could do. I still can’t believe no one welcomed you for a whole week!”

The basket was lined with shredded filler, and nestled in between were little gemstones and crystals.

“There’s jade and ruby in there, and I believe there’s moonstone as well.” Mr. Farrow recalled. “Is that it, Cass?”

“Yes, yes, and carnelian too. It’s all scattered about there, with the Scrabble and the socks and the hand cream and oh!” Mrs. Farrow laughed. “Forgive us honey, we saw that little rubber duck and just had to get it for you.”

There was a little rubber duck. It was a novelty type, with a tiny red jacket and a tiny black top hat.

“It’s a carnival barker. No, it’s something like that. It’s on the tip of my tongue.” Your nose scrunched in thought. “Oh, a circus ringmaster!”

“Exactly! See, what’d I tell you, Warren? She loves it!”

“I believe I was the one who suggested it.” His voice carried through the otherwise silent dining room.

“Oh well maybe it was, so what. She likes it. Don’t you, honey?”

“Yes, but…” You felt funny again. Tingly. “This is too much. Really. You’re both so kind but I can’t accept this.”

A hand laid gently on your shoulder and you looked up at a frowning Warren Farrow. “It’s no trouble at all, my dear.”

“The cost must’ve —”

“No cost, really. Gemstones and crystals are quite popular these days. You can find them all over. And the little trinkets are just the same. Given to you in good faith of course.” He patted your shoulder gently.

You swallowed, eyes once again roving over the little mundane treasures. Silken feathers brushed against your ankle under the table and you met those red eyes, sparkling like the crystals in your basket.

Lou was such a funny little thing. So expressive, he looked as if he were waiting as he stared at you.

So funny.

… You felt funny.

Perhaps the anxiety from before was doubling back, just like that prickling sensation. It was less of a tingle and more a shiver or chill as you sat there.

“I think it’s about time for dessert, don’t you?” Mrs. Farrow was saying somewhere far away. “You like chocolate, sweetheart? I made mousse, all fancy-like. It’s not as fancy as the kind you get at that restaurant downtown, the Ivy, but they’ve got fancy ingredients and such…”

Reaching up to wipe the sheen of sweat from your forehead, you felt heat coming off from between your temples. With a shaky breath, you slumped down in your seat.

The basket was gone.

Your chair was scraping against the wooden floor as it was pulled out from the table.

“Are you feeling alright, my dear?”

Wrinkled hands swept the hair from your face as your eyes rolled in their sockets. Words couldn’t get past the cotton-dry feeling in your throat.

“It’s the wine, the wine. Said she’s not much of a drinker, it has to be the wine.”

Cass’s voice was dampened and thick, like it was trapped underwater.

Or perhaps you were trapped. Your head was spinning, limbs heavy as if you were a puppet sans strings. You had to be picked up from under your arms like a toddler and pulled upright.

The next second you were walking through your neighbors’ kitchen, the door held open for you.

“Maybe we oughta call a doctor? Honey, can you hear me?”

“I… yes. I can hear you.” It felt like an Olympic feat, but you spoke clearly. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s happening.”

You stumbled against the wall and strong arms caught you when your knees buckled. It was Mr. Farrow allowing you to lean on him, solid as a rock.

“Cass is right, you had quite a bit of wine.” He said. Another pat to your shoulder.

Did you? You could’ve sworn it was just a glass.

Your apartment was barren and blank, the smell of laundry comforting against the memory of that earthy incense smell.

“Get some rest, honey. We’re right across the hall.”

“Thank you.” You breathed, lying on your sofa bed. “Again, I’m very sorry. Thank you for the welcome.”

“Oh no, thank you.”

——

When you opened your eyes next, you were shrouded in darkness. The outline of your entertainment system was in front of you, and the kitchen at your right.

It was raining outside; little raindrops smattering against the glass. The sound was normal, no longer muffled until you were straining to hear it.

‘Well that’s good.’

The heavy feeling in your arms was still present.

‘That’s not so good.’

You felt perfectly sane and hysterical at the same time. It was like being caught in the eye of a storm. The danger had abated momentarily, but would begin again shortly.

Your door opened, and in your peripheral you saw a shadow cut across the wall as a new figure emerged from the hall.

You squinted in the dark. ‘Lou?’

The duck’s silhouette stilled as if you’d spoken aloud. You could feel something shift in the air, tension breaking through to your mind when it could not seize your body.

That shift grew stronger, sucking in the air around it until a dazzling flash and crack of light blinded you.

Lou’s shadow was gone. Or… it had changed. The shadow on the wall wasn’t a duck anymore it was…

Your blood ran cold as the man stepped into your apartment and let the door close behind him.

“Hello there!”

#hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel

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becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 2 months

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routine vibe check: what’s the best starter pokemon and why are you right (pictures and long paragraphs of evidence welcomed and appreciated)

Gonna get a good grade in vibe check, normal to want and inevitable to achieve because I have objectively correct Pokemon opinions and will block naysayers

OKAY LET'S GO

I decided to do, like, a top 5 list or something, because I'm bad at picking a single favourite of stuff. And then even that overwhelmed me, so I found one of those tier ranking list sites and produced this:

It was done in less than a minute, so if I wanted to get really picky, I don't know if I would be fully wedded to it (not sure if maybe Sceptile should be one higher) BUT it did help to highlight the important ones.

So!

5. Bulbasaur

It's. Just. So. Nice.

Like you can find cooler, more beautiful, cuter, fancier... there's a whole bunch of ways for a Pokemon to be great. But you will never ever find a nicer Pokemon than Bulbasaur. It's so lovely. Look at it. Look at its face.

I can't put it higher, because the rest of the line is fairly bland in terms of development. It's good and logical and fun, don't get me wrong, but Ivysaur and Venusaur just look like bigger versions with More Flower and Less Cute rather than creatures in their own right. To be honest, if it weren't a starter requiring a three-stage evolution, you could do away with Ivysaur. Something I don't like about a lot of lazy three-step lines is that the middle step just looks like a transitional mid phase rather than a Proper Creacher, like they were artificially inflating the Pokemon number count. Meanwhile it took us until Paldea to get a Girafarig evo that would actually make the giraffe tall. Madness.

However my first ever Pokemon was a Bulbasaur I called Daffodil, and I have traded him forward onto every single successive generation since. He is, quite literally, my First Ever Pokemon. I love him desperately. I still have him. Not many people still have their First Ever Pokemon. But I do and I love him. So, Bulbasaur gets the fifth spot.

4. Snivy

Again, a victim of the Banal Transitional Middle Evo, but both Snivy and Serperior are incredible, and as Meatloaf took such pains to tell us, two out of three ain't bad.

But Snivy! It's so snooty! I was super lucky with mine, too, because I beat the 12.8% odds and got a female, and I loved her. Normally the initial baby starters are designed to be cute but Snivy has SO MUCH PERSONALITY, she's great. And the design of Serperior is utterly gorgeous. She keeps the expression, but rather than the Animal Crossing-style snooty-cute vibe of Snivy you get this thousand yard withering stare of an empress whose servant (you) has just turned up dripping mud in her throne room and asked her for money. Her green and gold colour scheme is exquisite. Her filigree design, including her high collar, give off the air of wealth and sophistication befitting her immaculate pedigree. And all this! In a simple snake. Incredible design work, 10 out of 10, no notes.

Begone, you miserable peasant. Have him boiled.

3. Torchic

Now I'll be real with you, lads, but Pokemon design hit its stride with Hoenn and then got better.

It's partly a fashion thing, of course - you look at some of the Kanto designs and they are remarkably 90s, because that's when the franchise launched. Others are clearly a product of what the 1990's were capable of producing in pixels on an already over-stretched cartridge medium. Like we like to clown on Red and Green/Blue now, but my god, those game designers performed a miracle with Pokemon. Every single square inch of space was used to make that game, and complex designs weren't going to cut it.

(With that said, there is still no excuse for Dragonite.)

And then Johto came about and its Pokedex sucks ass. It's mostly new evolutions for existing Kanto stars, useless babies to inflate the dex number, or poorly thought out single-evos like the inexplicably short Girafarig and the unacceptably dreary Dunsparce (our greatest thanks to Paldea for fixing both of those).

BUT THEN CAME HOENN (trumpets intensify)

And we get habitats! Biomes! A different regional climate, gifting us a brand new area of Pokecology! And therefore a brand new flush of creativity in Pokemon design across the board; less dated, and more inclined to be unique rather than a rehash of Kantonian stuff.

Which brings me nicely to this lad:

Now, I mean. Just look at him. Fucking hell. Cute starter stage, check. LOOK AT HIM FACE

AND THEN he became, at the time, a brand-new unique typing: Fire/Fighting. I realise that is now the norm for like, half of the Fire starters, but that's because of Torchic, actually. He was super popular. In fact if you ever play Ruby/Sapphire/Emerald and you do what my husband and I like to call a Mynci Dave run (use one Pokemon almost exclusively, meaning it gets all the experience points and therefore over-levels to a terrifying degree, allowing you to sweep the game; so named after the noble Primeape we first did this with, Mynci Dave), Torchic is the PERFECT Pokemon to choose, because almost everything is weak to either Fire or Fighting in that region.

Anyway, Combusken is, again, kind of mid (although props for the inverted colour scheme and the fact that it actually does look like a teenager.) But Blaziken, on the other hand... Blaziken is a six foot ninja chicken with wings for hair whose Pokedex entry describes it as able to leap tall peaks in a single bound, a feat it achieves after strengthening its legs by hoofing Geodudes down mountains like they're fucking footballs

Also an impressive bulge.

My first was called Gilgamesh, and he was fucking great. For a long time, this mad lad was my actual favourite Pokemon, not just starter. Brilliant. Love him. Five stars out of three. King.

2. Fuecoco

It would probably surprise you to know I've not actually used one. I chose Sprigatito, and I do really like Meowscarada, actually. But pretty anthro cat boys have been done in Pokemon quite a bit at this point; cats, dogs and rabbits are over-represented in terms of Poke-taxa. Possibly this is another reason for a toad, a snake and a chicken being 5, 4 and 3 so far (ooh, basilisk ingredients, I've just realised.) They're new and unusual! I like an Eeveelution as much as the next person, but they're a whole family of cat-dog-rabbits, like.

However.

Nintendo has tried its hand at Pokecrocodilians three times (Feraligatr, Krookodile, Skeledirge), and they have gotten so much better at design each time that the three of them are basically a scale proxy for ongoing design improvement. Look, I've made a diagram:

EXCEPT

(Strap in)

This one is that rare thing: a three step line that deserves to be a three step line. Let's talk Fuecoco first:

SO CUTE. It's charming, it's charismatic, it's adorable.

It also has hints of its evolutionary end goal, but not like an undeveloped middle evo. It likes singing. The white face hints at the eventual calavera, and it looks a bit like a lil chilli pepper - a ghost pepper, probably in reference to the eventual Fire/Ghost typing. But the colours and shape right now also look a bit reminiscent of a babygro, because this thing is a cute starter. Lookit them teefs. That tuft. Its lovely smile. Beautiful.

And then, at the point you expect it to turn into just the awkward teenage version of the adult, instead we get Crocator:

Oh boy. Oh there's so much to say. Okay okay:

The region it's from is based on Spain, but this thing is incorporating Hispanic elements from across the board. It's a mariachi in a sombrero, except the sombrero also looks kind of like a ring of Mexican marigolds and kind of like a Catalonian Easter cake called Mona de Pascua that has an egg (or egg-shaped confectionary) in the middle. Body shape and markings look kind of like a piñata. The white face is now on its way to a calavera, with the cheek and nostril markings more defined. And it sings, with its open mouth (also how crocodiles release heat, appropriate for a Fire type) and signified by the mariachi theme.

THAT IS A LOT.

And then it becomes Skeledirge. A Fire/Ghost crocodile.

Now the obvious design here is the calavera and the Día de Muertos theming, which is part of it. But there are also many examples of crocodile figures in Spanish folkloric ghost stories: the Catalonian Cocollona, the Lizard of Magdalena from Jaén, or the Drac de Na Coca, or even the Cuca - that one is Portuguese, but turns up in both Brasil and the Iberian Peninsula including in parts of Spain. It's got a Gaudi vibe (like Barcelona). It's got an alebrije vibe (like Mexico).

And the bird! Nile crocs have a cleaning symbiosis with Egyptian plovers; it also sits at the tip of the snout where male gharials have a sort of bulbous bit to help them make sounds (the singing thing).

But this is what the bird does when Skeledirge uses Torch Song:

youtube

It becomes a microphone, then grows in size and attacks the opponent in Phoenix form. Phoenix: Fire/Ghost. Resurrected from the ashes.

Quite simply, your fave could never.

5. Rowlet

My god. (My god)

gasp

Look at this lovely creacher. He is so round and so soft and so lovely. He looks like that baby Yoda meme. He looks like that cat that someone's landlord said they would make an exception for because he looks very polite. Look!!! At his lil bow tie!!! He is a smartly dressed young man and he is kind and he is... well, a bit vacant behind the eyes. A himbo, if you will. But he is all the better for that. What a lovely owl.

He looks a little like a barn owl, perhaps, and those were imported to Hawai'i, where Rowlet is from. But I think he looks a little like a Pueo owl, and given that he will eventually be a Ghost type, that seems right - pueos are one of the physical forms assumed by ʻaumākua in Hawai'ian culture, as I understand it.

And then, hang onto your tits, lads, because this is another banger - THE MIDDLE EVOLUTION IS ITS OWN DESIGN!!! (confetti cannons)

I said earlier that boring middle evos are like just awkward teenagers of the adults. Here, I present to you, a very deliberate Awkward Teenager, in Dartrix:

IT'S A DANDY

I love him I love him I love him

He plays with his fringe and if you touch it without permission he has a tantrum. God, he's so charismatic. Also, that fringe further suggests the pueo - they have pronounced outer rims around their facial disks like that. Look at his bow tie and tail coat. So smart and handsome

This one is so good that it could be the final evo. This is actually my issue with the Delphox line - Braixen is amazing, and then it becomes the bland boredom of Delphox. Braixen should have been the final stop. Here, Dartrix is much the same - good enough to be a high-quality end goal.

Where they differ is that Decidueye is better again.

IT SHOOTS ARROWS MADE OF ITS OWN QUILLS

Also, fun fact - This line is the only starter to change secondary typing. Dartrix is part Flying; but on evolving a second time into Decidueye, it switches to Grass/Ghost. In this evolution, it's definitely mostly a pueo, so the ʻaumākua reference is IN, but actually barn owls also have their associations with the dead in various cultures.

The crown of feathers around its head are also reminiscent of an ayaigasa - a hat worn by Japanese samurai archers. And yet! AND YET!

It still has its lil bow tie look. Bigger now, more of a cravat; but there it is.

A perfect Pokemon, and a perfect evolutionary line. No notes.

Anyway, thank you for this chance to waste three and a half hours writing this essay

#asks #pokemon #long post #gif

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zegalba · 1 year

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Chrome Hearts: Filigree Cross Zippo Lighter (2000)

#chrome hearts #zippo #lighter #sterling silver #cross #gothic #2000

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ahomeformyself · 26 days

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When i was a teen at the late 90s, I met a friend group of my same town for the first time. We all were kind of freaks. They invited me to take a snack at Carla`s home. I always wanted to se the interioris of her house. Was a large building of two floors that crossed the block, with two facades, one on each parallel street, one of them with a little front garden. The outside wall was maroon, and full of plants and flowers, with strange stone decorations. The other acces, was one of the older libraries of my homwtown. The type of store where you buy books, school and craft supplies, plushies.... Everytime I walk into the store, I imagine how it woul be that home. And when my new frind group invited me, wasn't dissapointing at all.

The floors had colorfull hydraulic tile mosaics, different in every room. The distribution was strange, seems like the people who lived there were more concerned about being happy than being normal. They had a precious kitchen, with pure wood cabinets, and a giant table in the middle. All the windows had color glass and curved wood frames. My country is famous for being full of modernist arquitecture from the beggining of the 19th century, and that home was an example of that influence. in ffront of the kitchen, there was a large hall that ended in a conservatory, with the garden in the background. That room was full of rugs and instruments. Any kind of instruments. Carla's dad was a musician, like herself and her brother, and their grandma was a piano player. Next to the conservatory, it was a little room, with two puffs, a tv, and the walls were fully covered with videotapes, almost all of them were 80's scifi films. Next to that room, were the stairs for to second floor. I don't remember how the bedrooms looked like, because I only entered into the bathroom. A giant bathroom. The floor, the walls, and the roof was covered in craked color tiles, making filigrees and figures. The sink and the bathub were cosntructed. and covered with the same motifs with craked tiles. The craked tile style is typical from here, and every town has a home like that, normally made by the same owners of the house. The bathroom also had big plants. It was like a movie set.

Visiting that home, made me decide I was going to live like them. At my own, with my own rules, with my own desires, with my own ideas. I was 14yo, and before walking into that house, my thughts about adulthood never suggered any type of love for nothing. I saw ''the growing thing'' as a dead of the soul and a productivity obsession. That home teached me I was worng. That home teached me you need to surround yourself with the correct souls.

That day I learned a little bit of how real magic works.

#home #homedecor #homedesign #pluviophile #19th century #rain #90 #90s #welcome home #house #whimsicore #whimsigoth #whimsical #magic #garden #plants #tiles #color

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darksilvania · 1 year

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Bug/Steel type gold filigree pokemon (No official names yet)

Originally the last evolution was an adoptable but nobody purchased it so I turned it into a whole line. When I posted them on twitter originally I made this pic with all the references.

First stage is based on a Golden Tortoise Beetle First evolution is based on a mix of the Urodidae Moth Cocoon and the Rising Cross Fabergé Egg Last evolution is based on the Azalea Lace Bug

#pokemon #fakemon #fake pokemon #bug type #steel type #bug pokemon #steel pokemon #bug fakemon #steel fakemon #beetle #gold #filigree #lace bug #golden tortoise beetle #faberge eggs

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ghouljams · 4 months

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Hello! I love your posts and have actually been following you for a long time, but through hashtags. I really enjoyed your posts about ghost!ghost and cyberpunk au. I would be very grateful if you could write a short piece of fiction. ☺️

Sorry, English is not my first language and I've never made a request before! I'm hiding behind the fence and watching you. 🫣

Let's do more cyberpunk! I love my big android Ghost <3

You sit in a loose fitting tank and shorts, your goggles pulled over your eyes to guard against the soft glow of heated metal. It's boiling in your workshop, you'd try to fix it yourself but despite your mechanical know-how, you're not an air conditioning repair expert. Not that that's stopped anyone from stopping by your cramped shop to ask about it. You curl forward, rub the leather of your glove against the burnished surface of the bot you're working on. The filigree is coming along nicely, you always enjoy being able to add your own special touch to mechanics. There's a knock against your door frame. You ignore it.

"I can't fix the a/c, take it up with the captain if you're that desperate," You toss over your shoulder, pressing the super heated wire against metal again.

"That all you're hearing today?" Ghost's voice fills the air. You sigh and lean back to switch off your machine, pushing your goggles up to look at the android. The sleek black of his face plate is unreadable as always, but his posture is casual. His arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the wall to watch you.

"What's broken?" You ask, not bothering to rise to whatever bait he's throwing you. He takes the opportunity to push off the wall and pick his way towards you, stepping over tubes and wires, computer cases pulled open to keep them cool. You're doing everything you can to avoid a system failure here.

"Fingers are twitchy, need a screw loosened," He tells you easily. Thank god for diagnostic checks, makes your job a hell of a lot easier when bots know what they need. You reach behind yourself for an extra stool, pushing off the casing to make room for your newest frequent flier. You pat the stool and go to grab your tools as Ghost takes a seat.

Micro-screwdrivers for micro-screws, a mini-soldering iron, a few spare wires and circuit connectors, your magnifiers, you even drag the big light over. Ghost watches you, his cameras clicking as they adjust to the new light, as the adjust to your movements. He makes a quiet noise when you get tangled in the wires hanging from the ceiling that sounds suspiciously close to a laugh. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

You take your seat and hold your hand out for his. You trace the seams of his synth-skin when he gives it to you, looking for the latch on his hand. Synth-skin always makes you a little squeamish, something Ghost obviously doesn't share when he shoos your hand away and tugs the synthetic skin off his hand like a glove. You put aside how nauseous that makes you in favor of studying the new mechanics.

You turn the dial on your magnifiers to look closer at the intricate overlay of his hand. The mechanics of it are mostly familiar to you, but you've never seen anything quite like it. One of his fingers twitches and you shift your focus to it. Curling closer to his hand, your light follows your movements, shining clearly on the interlinking strands that slip around the wires and metal. You poke one of the white ribbons with your screwdriver and his hand flinches.

"God this is beautiful," You mumble to yourself, tipping your head to try and find a new angle to work at. You tap the metal plating at the tip of his twitchy finger, following the lines of spring and ribboning to the root. You're gentle as you can pushing wire and cording(?) aside to inspect the inputs at the base of his finger.

"Fuck," Ghost grits, you glance up at him, his head turned to look away from you.

"Sorry, trying to be gentle," You offer, unsure why you're even offering it, when you look back at your work, "You wanna walk me through the specs? Might help."

"What do you wanna know?" It sounds forced. Strange as that seems to you, you find bots are just as reluctant to peak at their insides as humans are. Traces of their creators still stuck to their servos.

"The tensioning," You decide that's what it is as you locate the offending screw and grab a different screwdriver from your kit, "I've never seen this material before, it feels almost organic."

"It is organic," Ghost's hand twitches when you look up at him, pressing a little too hard against a ribbon.

"What?" You frown, "No it isn't, no one manufactures with organic materials."

"I'm a custom job." Is the only explanation he offers you. You sigh and give his tight screw a good turn. You suppose that makes sense, military made, custom for... well for the 141 you suppose.

"Military really shouldn't be using organics," You grumble, "it's illegal for a reason." You push check the other screws in his hand. Precision is always the name of the game for androids, you don't see any sense in including something as unpredictable as organic material. Not to mention is all has to come from somewhere. You eye the ribboning, the tendons of his hand that lace mechanics together like muscle, likely feeding into some sort of neural net that reads the signals of it.

"Lot of things are illegal," Ghost grumbles, his voice slipping in and out of modulation as his tone lowers, "doesn't stop folks from doin' it."

"Hows the hand feel?" You ask, redirecting the conversation somewhere more comfortable. Ghost flexes his fingers, and you watch with gross fascination as his hand moves, the tendons tensing and releasing with the metal and wires.

"Better."

"No twitches?" You hear the soft processing noise of his diagnostic before he shakes his head. Ghost grabs his glove from the top of your tool kit and tugs it over his mechanics. He locks it to the rest of his synth-skin and flexes his hand again to check everything is in order.

"None to report." He stands, pushing up with his hands on his knees. You carefully replace your tools into their respective holders, try not to think of the feeling of his- your stomach rolls at the thought. This is exactly why you became a mechanic and not a doctor.

"You don't-" You start, unsure how to phrase the question, "you don't have any other organic matter in you, do you?" Ghost stares at you for a long moment, his face plate unreadable, not even the click of his camera could clue you in to his thoughts.

"No." He replies, and the relief that passes over your face is almost worth the lie.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley cod #simon riley x reader #android au #android!ghost #cyberpunk au #ghost cod #ghost mwii #simon ghost x reader #tw body horror #mechanic!reader #oh? what's this? lore?

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thegingerwrites · 26 days

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Losing a Bet

obikin ft. Anakin in lingerie, based on this post, which i absolutely love 👀😍

Anakin isn’t looking at him. Obi-Wan watches as Anakin parts his robes with his eyes firmly fixed on the kitchen cabinets as he stands in their shared living space and reveals the layers of lingerie carefully donned beneath them.

Obi-Wan should be more concerned about Anakin’s discomfort, is concerned about not forcing Anakin to suffer the consequences of his own actions for longer than necessary. Obi-Wan will absolutely tell him to take the clothes off if they distress him so much.

But…well.

Anakin did lose the bet. Anakin was the one to set the terms. Sure, it likely never crossed Anakin’s mind that he might lose said bet but that doesn’t make him any less responsible when things didn’t go his way. He is always taking risks. Isn’t this one small lesson in getting him to think things through before barrelling into them head-first?

Obi-Wan isn’t really thinking too much about any of that right now. The thoughts pass through his mind like stars in hyperspace because the main thing on his mind, the only words and images that stick around for longer than a heartbeat are lace and skin and sheer and bulge…

His eyes dart up to Anakin’s face and stay there, harnessing all of his considerable restraint to keep them fixed. An autonomic bodily response, Obi-Wan reminds himself, much like the erection currently making itself known in his own trousers. It doesn’t mean Anakin is enjoying this. The blush gracing his high cheekbones certainly seems to indicate embarrassment.

“Well?” Anakin asks, finally gathering up the stubborn nerve to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes. His belt is gone now, allowing his tunic to fall open. His hands sit boldly on his hips, daring Obi-Wan to say something.

But Obi-Wan has no words. And even if he did, his mouth is suddenly dry.

“I wore them all day,” Anakin continues. “Padmé had to show me how to put them on. Am I done now or do you want to take a holo or something?”

Yes, Obi-Wan thinks. Stars, yes, this deserves to be memorialized. He can just imagine Anakin staring up at the camera petulant and pouting, hands on his hips just as they are now, a finger slipping beneath the straps at his waist...

No. A holo would be a terrible idea.

“Of course not.” Obi-Wan clears his throat. “No, I think you’ve done your time. You can take them off now.”

“Thank the Force.” Anakin’s shoulders sag with relief. He starts to walk back toward his bedroom and Obi-Wan, unthinkingly, follows him as he continues talking. “I mean, they’re not uncomfortable or anything, Padmé made sure of that, but it’s like I’m conscious of them all the time? I told her they were a bit too tight but she insisted they fit perfectly.”

“Mmhmm,” Obi-Wan hums, staring openly as Anakin faces the bed and slips the rest of his robes from his shoulders before letting them fall to the ground. His pants are next and suddenly Obi-Wan is treated to the full ensemble, the lean muscles of Anakin’s frame gilded in black lace filigree.

The contrast between the strong lines of his shoulders and the delicate fabric is intoxicating and Obi-Wan drinks his fill so long as Anakin isn’t looking. The garments are more complicated than Obi-Wan was expecting with straps that squeeze muscles and overlap and crisscross all along his form. The dark accents draw the eye to every part of Anakin that is now laid bare, from the length of his legs to the taper of his waist and the perfect peek of sun-bronzed skin sitting high on his upper thigh. Kark, the lingerie is practically painted on him where it cups the curve of his pecs and stretches across the flat plane of his belly.

Oh, Anakin is facing him now—has caught him staring.

“Master?” Anakin asks. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” says Obi-Wan quickly. “Perfectly fine.”

Obi-Wan looks down and away. He can feel his face flushing, even his ears are hot. When Anakin turns his back to Obi-Wan again, Obi-Wan gets his own moment of grateful relief.

The moment comes and goes in an instant, however, as Anakin gestures to the clasp at the center of his back. “Do you want to help me take this off?”

Want is such a terrible, traitorous word in that question. Of course Obi-Wan wants to help Anakin take his bra off. He wants to trace his fingertips over the marks Anakin’s lingerie is sure to leave on his skin. He wants to lick the bare expanse of tan muscles carved between Anakin’s shoulder blades. He wants to crawl into a hole and never come out.

Obi-Wan moves forward without answering. The clasp comes undone with two small hooks and Anakin sighs when it falls away from him. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

Anakin turns around then, probably to tell Obi-Wan to go. To stop being a creep and leave him to battle the garters and panties on his own. But then Anakin pauses, seems to catch something on Obi-Wan’s face.

His eyes flick down to Obi-Wan’s lips, perhaps catching the way he’s been worrying at them with his teeth. The smile on Anakin’s face is small and hesitant before it slowly grows with conviction.

“Do you want to help me with the rest?”

#obikin #obi wan/anakin #anakin/obi wan #aniobi #obikin fic #my fic

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