#IT JUST SLIPPED OUT HELP

[kensatou]

deepthroating a gun without breaking eye contact...... he put his entire gongyussy into that | SQUID GAME 2

+ the video because the sound he makes when he puts the gun in his mouth? [redacted]

update: he improvised that. the man really said i'll go full slut.

[hinamie]

theyre soft your honour

[satoblue]

can’t help but think of satoru with a younger girl. he has you in his lap, tickling your sides and under your armpits — everywhere that’ll get you giggly and squealing and squirmy. when he finally lets up and gives you a moment to breathe, you’re all frizzy hair, dilated eyes, and flushed cheeks, your chest heaving up and down as you intake air through short gasps. taking in your disheveled state, he wipes the sweat off your brow before the words come tumbling out of his mouth in the teasing, unfiltered way they usually do — “you look like you just got done being thoroughly fucked”

you do your little thing where your eyes go wide like saucers, a gasp escaping your throat as you wonder if you heard him correctly and he has to pretend he didn’t pop a boner from the sight and sound <3

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

Do you think it is possible for the other trolls to gaslight Eridan into do the murder for the right cause? E.g. not like the murderstuck in the canon but guiding his murderous direction to align with the purpose, using him as a disposable glass cannon and a cannon fodder to take down enemies? but not easily disposable due to seadweller's physical strength and his fighting skills. Not the optimal way to handle him but given that he needs some presence of others how will this scenario go?

no because i believe eridan is the specific type of idiot that you can't actually manipulate because he doesn't listen to people. god bless 🫡

[plutonious]

guy who would stop being an ecoterrorist for a good massage I think

[thhouseofblack]

high school au of the iliad/the odyssey, but just so that we can enjoy drug dealer helen

[itz-pandora]

Thank you guys for dealing with me

[discordiansamba]

drifted off to sleep last night with the thought of "rin's true final form is a catboy" which devolved into "shiemi befriends the local catboy on the run from the evil organization that experimented on him who turns out to be the missing twin brother of her dear friend yukio". features include:

mom said it's shiemi's turn to have common sense about normal human things and rin to be the clueless one. it's also rin's turn to be clueless about his growing romantic feelings for shiemi, while she's much more aware of her own.

rin went missing when he was around five years old- he went out to play and never returned home. most people assume he's dead, but yuri has always refused to give up hope on her oldest child and believes he's still alive.

which hey! he is! he was kidnapped by the Illuminati and experimented on, but he's alive!

there's no Order in this AU, and the Illuminati's experiments revolve around bringing out the latent demon blood in those of nephilim lineage. rin doesn't remember much of his life before the Illuminati- just the warm hand of his father, the soft voice of his mother- and his twin brother, yukio.

when rin is ten years old, maria yoshida betrays the Illuminati and attempts to free the test subjects- but largely fails. rin is the only one to escape during the chaos, and runs until he arrives at a dilapidated shrine where he passes out from exhaustion and hunger.

kuro wakes up that morning to find the weirdest cat sidhe he's ever seen curled up asleep in his shrine. it can't even transform! this is such a shame, kuro thinks- and he dedicates himself to teaching rin the ropes of how to be a proper cat sidhe.

rin, who just escaped from The Horrors, clings to his newfound mentor like a lifeline. for kuro, rin helps assuage the loneliness that he's felt for so long. they live together in his shrine for several months, until the Illuminati tracks rin down and forces them both to flee.

for the next several years, they wander Japan together. rin learns how to be a proper cat sidhe (despite his oddities), but also learns how to mingle amongst humans by hiding his tail and ears. he steals what he needs to survive, and sleeps in abandoned buildings at night, curled up with kuro.

then one day, he gets caught shoplifting. while running from the cops, he nearly runs down a girl his own age. she's the prettiest human he's ever met, and she smells like the earth after rain- and she also helps him hide from the cops. she's not even weirded out when his hood comes off and she sees his ears!

her name is shiemi! she lets him sleep in her shed!

shiemi learns that the strange boy's name is rin, and that he's hiding from an evil organization that experimented on him as a child. and she's just like. that's terrible! can I help?

there's no order, so shiemi is just living a normal life with her mom. her grandmother passed away last winter, but she's resolved herself to make new friends upon entering high school. she's already friends with yukio, who she's known since middle school- but despite her best attempts, she strikes out when trying to talk to the girls in her class.

seeing this, ryuuji takes the initiative to befriend shiemi. his father is still a monk, so he's still knowledgeable about demons. he moved to tokyo to attend high school, while his mother came with him because she'd been given the chance to open up a tokyo branch of toraya.

(ryuuji will eventually become the leader of their little group)

despite his mother's optimism, yukio has feared that rin was dead for years- so imagine his surprise when shiemi invites him over, and he comes face to face with rin for the first time in ten years. he's alive and well! and somehow part cat now?

(he is truly experiencing the WHOLE spectrum of emotions right now)

rin is THRILLED to meet yukio again!

shiro is still an exorcist, but the kind you'd more expect from a man in his position as a catholic priest (except obviously on the up and up, lol) and this makes yukio 100% overthink bringing rin home. his brother is a demon! he's been living with a demon for five years!

izumo is a fellow test subject, naturally. she's a fox girl. the Illuminati send her to recapture rin- and she has no choice but to do what they say, because they still have tsukumo in their custody, but they've promised to refrain from experimenting on her as long as she does what they say like a good girl.

little does she know she's about to get befriended.

rin and izumo can't stand each other at first. classic cat vs dog.

shiemi is still a nephilim herself, and will eventually awaken her powers in order to protect rin and izumo.

cannot emphasize enough what that rin is basically just a giant cat. he gives shiemi soft headbutts and them rams his head into yukio. out of affection. he longs for the Good Scritchies. he rubs himself up against shiemi so she smells more like him. he gets high off of catnip at one point and plops shiemi into his lap and nuzzles the crook of her neck and hisses at anyone who gets too close.

[moeblob]

[whatwooshkai]

10 for smoke and mirrors? 😼

Heatwave stares at the bags he's packed.

The room is still just as full without his stuff, which doesn't make him feel any better about this. His guardians assured him that they weren't going to replace him as soon as he left, that they're done taking in sparklings, even with the extra space now.

The thought is nice, but Heatwave doesn't believe them, because he's heard that line too many times without any evidence backing it up. Which he doesn't really hold against them, he loves everyone that lives in his home, it's just...

It's not just regular jitters- sure, this is his first time leaving home, his first time alone, of course he's going to be nervous.

But he's not nervous. He's scared.

Heatwave really should bring up the strange hallucinations he’s been having with his guardians.

His tanks will oddly cramp, he’ll see things in the corners of his optics, or his visual input will suddenly become shimmery and swirly, as he watches events play out before they do.

Now, Heatwave has heard of outliers before. He’s not stupid. But he never thought…

Yet all the signs are there. He’s able to do something no one else can, or rather, something happens to him that doesn’t happen to anyone else. He overproduces coolant and runs hotter than any other mech.

He shouldn’t tell anyone. Outliers are required to be documented by the government, and Heatwave has heard too many stories of mechs being whisked away to government facilities never to be seen again, as their abilities are exhausted while the government tries to turn them into some sort of weapon.

So no, he’s not telling anyone.

“Heatwave!”

Snapdragon’s voice floats to his audials from downstairs.

“Coming!” He shouts back, leaving his stuff laid on his berth.

The living room is the center of a rare moment of peace- the sparklings are all down for naps, while the older mechs are all out and about. He can see the twins bickering quietly in the kitchen, though.

Snapdragon is standing next to the couch, while Hard Drive, his other guardian, leans on it towards her.

They’re both tall and bulky mechs, bigger than Heatwave. He hates feeling small, but it doesn’t feel so bad when he’s next to them.

“C’mere, kiddo,” Hard Drive says, grinning with badly disguised excitement. “We gotcha somethin’!”

Snapdragon produces a little box and with a grin to match Hard Drive’s, shoves it into Heatwave’s hands. “Go on, open it!” she encourages.

He does, keeping his field tight to his frame so his guardians don’t pick up on the feeling of foreboding he can’t seem to shake.

It’s a universal translator. Heatwave’s tanks drop.

“It was a while of savin’ up,” Snapdragon starts to explain, clapping her hands together with glee. “But so worth it. Our little Heatwave’s gonna be a Rescue Bot!”

Seemingly oblivious to his inner turmoil, both Heatwave’s guardians sweep him up into a crushing hug.

Primus. I can’t tell them I don’t want to go now!

Heatwave worries his lip between his fangs, but returns the hug. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

I have to… I have to at least try.

[toldentops]

tritonoga. arrrgh. thinking about them badly. really really bad. Poson damage. Poison damage. spoison damage. Poison damage. poison damage. Muchshroom spores 🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

[rileys-battlecats]

PSA, keep your dog on a leash when you're in a public, unfenced area. dedicated to the lady that just tried to reassure me, "no she's nice! put your dog down! she's nice!" babe i believe you when you say your dog is nice. what you have not considered is that the dog I am holding is NOT nice and WILL attempt to attack your dog if I put him down. also we are RIGHT next to a busy road and there is Nothing stopping your dog from running into traffic. pls put her on a leash im literally begging you it is SO dangerous for her to not be on a leash here

[princeof-flowers]

You think Emmlich can like. Hiss?

[cronchlord]

when i mentioned Pepper called chatot dad once this is what i mean,,,, it was very awkward on both ends

[lanternlightss]

Yaaay writing requests ^^. Do you think we could get the old mondstadt gang (everyone lives) reacting to venti after ascending do godhood? 👀. I think it'd be interesting >.<

As beings of Anemo, there is little reason for wind wisps to partake in the act of breathing. Why would they, those made of that same air as the one whirling around them, need to? This remains true for Venti, even after they had taken a form alike to Cecil’s own.

If. If only Venti did not take a liking to breathing, pretending—for a moment—that they have lungs to use, the subtle up and down of their chest, at first a conscious choice that you could see being made, moving towards one they do without thought. Something human. Something mortal. It makes them happy, to be able to mimic such abilities, such mundanity.

This is, to say, that he is impressed they have learned how to do it whilst they sleep (their wings twitching intermittently); as he feels the occasional soft breaths (he counts—a full minute of complete stillness, followed by a shuttering, jagged exhale, repeat) being blown across the hand that they rest beside, having used his left arm and waist as a pillow during the night.

He does not mind, not at all. Had sat up to place his right hand atop their head once he was not blinking sleep from his eyes, playing with the strands.

Briefly, he entertains the thought of humming them a lullaby, or perhaps, a tune to celebrate this moment, that they are all here, together, still. He dismisses it the moment he begins to toss the idea around, knowing that those same people included in that “they are all here, together, still” in the room with him (Amos, in her own makeshift bed beside him—Cecil “borrowed” the one he is using, truth be told, he should be in the room one down—with Valentina besides her sat in a chair, and Felix standing at the entrance) would kick a fit if he even dared to strain his voice further (orders from the healers.) How elated he had been when they told him he could still talk, simply had to be quiet, low.

“…how asleep, are they?”

Aha, speaking of his dear companions.

Cecil inclines his head towards Felix, though his eyes never stray from Venti. “I do not believe they will be waking up, for a long while.” (Thank the winds for that, they deserve it—he had heard that whilst he and Amos’ injuries were being attended to, the rest of them had been running themselves particularly ragged dealing with the everything.)

He hears Felix sigh heavily in response, and the shifting of fabric. Shoulders, presumably, fell? He brings his eyes up to scrutinize—the man looks one awful sway away from collapsing.

“Good, that means we can have this discussion in peace.”

That … particular phrasing does not inspire a good feeling. He forces himself not to show outward unease at the words, instead, curling the hand in Venti’s hair to touch at their forehead, and lightly gripping what he can of the sheets with the other.

“Are you sure we should be having any discussion? Both you and Valentina should get rest, too—you look a dead man walking, Felix.”

And—there, Felix’s relaxed shoulders seem to tense, his jaw clamping and working in a gritted motion subtly. Cecil is waved off, both in tone and by the fluttering of his hand, “I will rest easier after this.”

He chances a glance over, to where Valentina has scooted to the very edge of her seat, clutching at her knees in a white-knuckled grip, with furrowed brows. Amos, meanwhile, is propped against pillows, slightly slouching, her bangs and unbraided strands casting a shadow over her eyes, as she burns her gaze into Felix.

The first to speak of them is Valentina, leaning forwards: “Which discussion have we not already taken care of?”

Felix does not look away from Venti, but a grimace overtakes his face, angling his head in a way to hide himself behind both his hair and the large fur of his cape. He seems rather… uncomfortable, now—his crossed arms pulling further into his chest, one hand flexing. It continues to stay this way, even when gesturing to where Cecil’s wisp cuddles against him, and speaking the words, “What do we do about them?”

Her eyes harden, back straightening in an instant. “What is it that you mean.”

(Cecil is quick, to check on Amos. Her bangs have now completely covered her eyes, and he cannot truly gauge a reaction. He worries the sheets between his fingers.)

That discomfort shines, in the floundering of Felix’s limbs—his arms flinging outwards, his hand waving about as he grasps for words. “The whole point of this was that we did not want a God to rule over us, the way they had! And then, whatever it is of that…. those heavens, has decided we were wrong in that thinking, that they sent us another God to deal with, not a moment’s peace from the previous? Are we to never escape from the divine?”

Valentina stands, her mouth twisted into a tight-lipped frown, both her fists raised to her sides and clenching. She is stopped from going farther by Amos raising an arm in front of her.

A brief spark of irritation whisks throughout Cecil’s chest, and he wishes Felix had chosen a better moment to do this—Amos, as well, is not supposed to talk above a quiet voice, or for long periods of time. “I fear we would have encountered divinity whether we wanted to or not—tell me, why is it that many had told us of a frozen land, yet when the storm vanished, the snow was fading?” Her arm shakes imperceptibly, “Had it not been for … what decision it was, that transpired before we succeeded, we would have come to face the God responsible for declaring the war.”

(That is, to say nothing of their neighboring nation and Boreas’ wolves….)

She turns, and, he notes, that for the first time since Venti’s presence had made itself known (when they had near silently glided into the room, the door creaking shut just so, with Anemo slowly dissipating from their form, and playfully tousled Cecil’s bangs in a light breeze) Amos looks directly at the God, who has huddled closer—they seem to be trying to lay themselves over all of him—whilst the conversation had gone on.

Her eyes seem to soften, staring a few seconds longer, then dropping her attention to the end of the bed. She turns away, her arm falling to her lap, hands lacing together and nails gently clinking against each other.

“Perhaps we should count ourselves fortunate, that of all beings to ascend, it was the Elf.”

Felix scowls and presses his back against the wall, the sound of his cape sliding across it echoing, nearly drowning out the even quieter grumblings of his, “Fortunate is not the word I would use.”

How terrible for him, that for as far as he is from Cecil, his words still ring clear—words that cause that spark of irritation to flare into a burst of small flames, flames that have to be forcefully smothered out. Over the little time that the bard has not been able to walk the grassy lands, has he forgotten? Nothing, not a single noise, escapes from those who always listen, who keep their ears pinned to the striking chords of the winds.

His eyes narrow, bordering on a glare. And this is not quite shaping to be a “discussion”; would it be a proper one, they would actually be going somewhere, and not talking in practically circles.

“Why unfortunate?” Felix’s head snaps to him, and Cecil (pushes the flames) risks skimming his hand to where Venti’s right ear is, holding his palm there (a useless gesture, really, yet he does it anyhow). “You would not start anything if there was no value to be had of it—so, please, what is it you wish to truly say?”

The man opens his mouth, pauses. Cecil continues to stare, lowering his chin, his brows drawing together, upward, and the edges of his mouth threatening to fall.

Boots scuff against the floor, when Felix titters side to side, considering. A breath rushes out of him, harsh. Then, as if it were a leaf fallen onto still waters and sending ripples across the surface, he utters: “If they turn against us—what are we to do?”

Try as he might not to (flames slipping between the gaps of his fingers), Cecil lurches forward, and halts himself rather awkwardly halfway through it hearing Venti make an indescribable noise. He looks to them, seeing them curl inward, their brows knitted, wings dazedly moving to shield their body. A wince pulls at him, as he adjusts back to where he was (almost to, he should say—positioning himself to hide them from Felix’s view, his torso bent over them), and the hand covering their ear runs to their hair, massaging; they start to relax from it, wings spreading, and nestling their face into his waist.

(A splendid sight, yet… a bitter feeling forms, coating his mouth.)

Scratching at where two strands—resembling the ones they had as a wisp—sprout, he presses, a hiss to it, “Turn against us..?”

He holds his hands in the air, by his chest. “I know. I know, I have seen them.”

If the emotion of “incredulous” could be humanized, Cecil would be the perfect role, right then. Has he? Has he??

Admittedly, for most of the time he has been awake, he can count on one hand and two extra fingers how much he was fully lucid during it. When the pain constricting in his chest was not clouding his vision, when there was no fog laid over his mind, his surroundings dizzy, his limbs feeling inexplicably heavy. Shoving this all aside, however—during those lucid moments, and finding Venti waiting for him, their entire demeanor brightening at their locking of eyes; he noticed how terror and apprehension threaded through their being.

He does not think they have a capacity to harm—not for those they love, not for those they have a branch of trust to—by the fact that they cannot bring themself to hold his wrist in a firm grip without panicking of potentially “breaking him.”

(Or that they, wind now trapped in a bottle, a shell for them to be tied to, try next to everything to compact themselves to the size they once were. From curling into a ball on the wooden chair, from using their wings to hide themself away, from bowing and crumbling in the cradle of his palms.

How they are bigger and powerful, certainly, yet the world around them still remains so much more than they are.)

Felix slumps. “It would only be as a precaution. We should be prepared—”

There is a clanging of armor, signaling Valentina’s steps inching towards Felix. When she speaks, her voice is stern, tinged slightly by bafflement.

“No, you are aware, just as I, to what they are capable of! They are listening to the people, and doing what they can for them!” Her hand clenches, metal shuddering. “And even… they have been this way, they stopped at nothing to keep my clan safe, out in the frozen barrens. We should have seen a sign by now if they were to change, the winds are simple creatures. There is no reason for this precaution!”

“Are we to lay all our trust in what was? Their knowledge is more! They are not such a simple creature! They know intimately the hopes and dreams of mere humans—what that does. They have become privy to how far mortality can go, to how much a human can take before their life is snuffed from them, and now they have the ability to do something about it.”

He sweeps a hand, jerkily, to the two in bed, during the last words.

Cecil bristles. Their injuries are not to be used for matters like this. No one should have expected that death would not be nipping at their heels during the revolt, that they would not have to grab on to the world of living and dig. A retort readies on his lips, lips pulled back, only to—still.

(Oh. There is no air being blown across.

Oh.)

Valentina side-steps to the other side of Amos’ bed, hackles fully raised, a righteous glare upon her face. “You truly know nothing of the wind, then, if you believe they would willingly go back to those restraining—!”

“Enough.”

They both startle. Cape, whipping. Armor, clanking.

“Enough,” Amos repeats, the words sounding as though they were scraped from her throat. “The both of you… shall we have someone watch over, when you are outside here? You have swung knives.”

In unison, their shoulders hunch. She draws a soft breath, half-watching Valentina stride over to grab the canteen of water from the side table, offering it to her—while Felix seems to attempt to meld into his cape. She takes it into a tight grip, the tips of her fingers trembling, but does not bring it to her lips. Opting to swish the water inside, instead.

“A godhood is delicate,” taps at the canteen, the sound reverberating, “Especially one at … at the very beginning, of their divinity. A sign of change would not be in mortal lifetimes—it drips, one by one, slow.”

She turns to face them, once more. Trailing from where Venti’s wings flutter, the sleeves of their robe half splayed over the bed, to where Cecil is furled around them, a few pieces of hair strands falling over his eyes as he bows further at her stare. Eyes meet, hers, tinged in an old pain and weighted by exhaustion; his, bordering on guarded, cracked with pleading.

Underlying all of that is an understanding.

(You can never quite understand a God’s thinking, will only get to see the glimpses of what layers that sit just underneath the surface, a scratch of it, but love—

A God’s love, their eyes and arms locked around you, is something all encompassing.)

“We should continue to offer them the kindness they gave us.” Another tap, another tink. “Whatever path they follow down, whatever they choose to do, hundreds or thousands of years after this—at the least, they will remember having us by their side. Should they give an inkling, now, however—”

“All these what-ifs,” Cecil murmurs bitterly, withholding a sneer. “Could we, say, let them take their own steps first? They hardly have a proper footing!”

The puff of air that escapes her is almost amused. Her gaze drifts downwards, where the water of the canteen sloshes as it is tipped to her mouth. She sets it gently into her lap, after, a chorus of clinking coming from the repetitive thumping of her fingers.

“Of course.” She hands the canteen to Valentina, and the trembling of her limbs seems to have worsened. The blunt ends of her nails press into the palm of her hands, briefly, and she goes to pull the bed’s cover up to her chest, hiding her arms by tucking it over her fists. Then, “I have not seen you receive any medical care, these past days. Have you been shirking?”

Venti’s wings puff, a minute flinch going throughout their body. He pets at their hair, twirling it between the gaps of fingers—he had been checked on the day before his wisp had visited, and watched as they checked Amos’ health, too, quietly asking if the soreness had lessened, after the healer left, and her reply of rolling her shoulders and commenting that it does not feel like she is being crushed.

“Hee, I was hoping you would not catch that…” He nuzzles into their head. Backs a bit away, nary an inch or so, and brings his hand to their jaw, stroking his thumb along their cheeks. Venti tenses, brows scrunching. He continues, mock whispering, “Psst, Miss Amos revealed one of my secrets, can you believe…? Quite mean of her, hmpf! You would be my knight and defend my honor, would you not, Venti? My dearest?”

There is a pause, where he can see them debate with whether they should “awaken” or not. He waits, humming lowly—and is rewarded when two glittering green-blue teal jewels blink up at him.

“Knight..?”

“Yes! I shall gather you a shield, so that we can deflect her peddling—”

“My deepest apologies for not wishing your wounds to infect.”

Cecil leans to stick his tongue at her (she wrinkles her nose in jest), feeling more than seeing Venti sit taller, their hands moving to grasp at his wrist. A perturbed expression greets him when he turns back to them, searching him for anything critical. His heart squeezes, flips, squeezes.

He reaches out to brush his hand against a braid, tracing the poof part that is held together by a band. Hopes that the twinkling in his stare is enough to convey Do not worry, a “go along.” The ruffled feathers of their wings start to smooth out, fluttering about, as they squint at him—message received. “How many missed?”

“Only one session, I promise. My bandages… may need replacing, a little,” ducks his head, bonking against their forehead, and offers up a gentle, crooked smile. “Walk me back?”

They graze their own hand over his, holding it loosely. Nods, and lets go, standing from the chair, using their foot to push it away farther. Cecil shakes off his arm as he yanks the cover down to the end of the bed, throwing his legs over the side, the soles of his feet hitting the floor. Venti holds their hand out for him to take, pulling him up (though, he notes, they keep their fingers intertwined tightly with his.)

“You will be going?” Felix questions, uncrossing his arms.

“Mmm. I believe Amos has had enough of my shenanigans.” He waves his hand, stepping in front of Venti, having them still out of Felix’s view.

“… if you need any he—”

“Fret not, I have the most wonderful guiding wind!” He leans into Venti, as subtly he can, beaming. They are besides the man, now, and he tugs them closer to the doorway. “We should be on our way now, might be able to catch a healer along our journey.”

He waves to Amos and Valentina, receiving waves back (though, on Valentina’s part, seem slightly reluctant to see the both of them go.) They both skirt around the doorway and down the hall, where Cecil exhales, his shoulders sagging.

If they wish to still discuss such a topic, fine, if that is what will bring them ease in this environment. Everyone is on edge and wary, equally they are relieved and excited. He has seen how some shuffle around the new God, confused how to interact with the wisp. But if they wish to do it while the person they discuss is there, unaware, they are welcome to be his guest to explain to Venti why that topic involved which of the best ways to stab them in the back was—especially when there are more important issues that should be focused on! That warrior, in particular….

Urgh.

He squeezes Venti’s hand, placing his head upon their shoulder.

“My darling knight, I love you no matter what.”

…they squeeze his hand, ears flicking, and wings puffing once more.

[thisbrilliantsky]

somehow misplaced an earbud and have scoured the whole house and looked every place i could think of including both my ears