#Star pattern program

[why-rock-look-tasty-if-no-eat]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 5 people who reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers <3

16: Curling up in a blanket that my late grandmother gifted me while reading and drinking a hot cup of tea/coffee

17: Watching a movie with my mom

18: Collecting rocks, minerals, gems, metals, and semiprecious gems

19: Vibing to music

20: My space themed RGB keyboard

[blackrabb1t]

idk if i ever talked about it here but do you remember the time i tried making a game in 30 days???

i was able to buy the full program :)

so im actually going to be genuinely working on an actual game and not some half assed barely working rpg :)

[teaboot]

I've never had a cat before and I'm hoping to get one soon. Do you have any advice?

Treat a new cat as you would a new roommate. Give them space and time to settle, establish a pattern and a rhythm, and in time they may choose to become friends and spend time with you. Dont force a friendship.

Use simple words and repetition to establish communication. Words like breakfast, treat, snack, lunch, supper, dinner, food, and eat all basically mean, "I am feeding you; expect to be fed", but it's a lot for a little guy to remember. I just say "Dinner" when I mean "cat food is coming", and so my boy knows exactly what I mean when I say it. As a plus, using only one word for snack time means he has no idea what the other words mean, so I can talk about food in front of him without ruling him up.

Pay attention to body language. Cats all have different personalities, and you'll learn their likes, dislikes, and messages over time this way. Son boy here loves anything with plumbing but dislikes getting wet- his favourite blanket to chew and snuggle goes on his favourite chair, and he gives me a specific gesture when he wants me to kneel down so he can jump onto my shoulder.

Read into problematic behaviour. Cats pee in weird places when they're hurting, in distress, or have insufficient of unclean litter box space. Biting, attacking feet , and knocking things off tables often means they're understimulated and need you to play with them, or at least need some kind of enrichment or puzzle to tackle. Tail flicking can be frustration or irritation. Purring is usually good, but may also be self-soothing behaviour to alleviate pain, encourage healing, and relieve anxiety, like over-grooming.

Like children, "bad" behaviour isn't malicious- it usually means there's something you aren't seeing.

Learn how your cat expresses love. Loads of people think cats are uncaring, cruel, and indifferent, but the truth is, they're just not dogs. Spending time near you, showing an interest in tools you're using or projects you're working on, sitting the way you sit, laying on their back, rubbing on your legs, wiping their face on your shoes when you get home- these are signs that your cat is enamored with you. You're their family, they feel safe and protected around you, they're curious about things you enjoy and want everyone to know you're family.

Set reasonable expectations. Again, cats are not dogs.We bred dogs to desire our approval- cats walked into our lives themselves. They have no human-programmed need to fulfill a duty or perform a task to your standards.

Training cats to do tricks isn't as hard as people say, but the willingness or interest in doing the trick is more heavily reliant on personality and mood. Some cats will refuse all but the most basic requests- I'm lucky in that Ollie understands and is willing to do several, provided I don't abuse his trust and he's not crowded or overwhelmed or just bored of doing it over and over in a short period.

Ollie, for example, knows Up to stand on his back legs and hold my hand, Down to get to a surface I indicate, Out to emerge from a closed space, Come to find me where I am, Help? when I'm offering to let him use me as an elevator, Dinner when I understand he's hungry and am getting food, and when I put on his collar he knows to climb into his carrier 'cause we're going somewhere. And he'll do any of these about 90% of the time, either ignoring me or phoning it in when there's something interesting somewhere else, or if he's feeling anxious.

Lead by example. If you dread taking them to the vet, they'll see the anxiety in your body language and behaviour and likely learn to hate it, too. Again using my guy an example, I starred taking him on walks long before his first vet appointment, just to get used to his carrier and leash. Then his first checkup was relaxed and informal, with plenty of treats, and I let him explore the examination room with permission from the tech. Now he loves going, so I'm not stressed about taking him, so I don't stress him out in turn, and the vest doesn't have to deal with a stressed out cat slowing things down and fighting with them.

Make sure your sources are good ones, and also good ones for you. I will recommend Jackson Galaxy's YouTube channel for cat advice because a lot of what he does matches up with what I've learned and know to be true. I don't personally recommend Ceasar Milan because I personally find his methods distressing to recreate regardless of efficacy, so even if that advice was useful, *I'd* be miserable, and it'd just be trading one issue for another.

Have a person who can help. You never know when you might end up out of town overnight unexpectedly, or when your place may need serviced or fumigated, or if you may be called out of town. Before getting a cat, research reliable pet sitters, house sitters, pet daycares, whatever, just in case.

Consider pet insurance. No long spiel here, just think about it. Especially if you don't know your cats ancestry or potenyial health risks. An on top of that, fucking vaccinate them.

Dont let them free roam. At all.

I grew up on a farm with free-roaming barn cats. Do you know how many times child-me cried over having to bury them? Illness, disease, pregnancy, vehicles, other territorial cats, ticks, fleas, litter, poisoned prey, malicious humans, local wildlife, predatory birds, scrap metal, extreme heat, freezing temperatures, tainted water sources, poisonous or venomous critters, getting stuck in small or high places, tapeworms, loose nails, old equipment, falling branches...

I've seen some truly body-horror slasher-movie shit- just truly nauseating visual fuckery- and I'm telling you not to let your cat free-roam.

Leash training isn't hard. Supervised walks aren't hard. Even keeping your cat physically fit and entertained indoors isn't an impossible feat. Don't let your fucking cat fucking free-roam. Fuck

Also read up on foods and plants cats can't do, like every houseplant in existence is toxic it's insane

Anyhow yeah that's like. A couple things I guess

Here, have an Ollie Pic

[cupidsworstcrime]

was editing my octopus merfolk!simon fic and was INSTANTLY plagued with orca gaz thoughts ...

Kyle is sleek, massive, and playful—his black-and-white patterned skin shimmering under the artificial lights of the tank as he breaches with a showman’s grace, then glides silently beneath the surface. He’s the star attraction of the marine research program, adored by children and tourists alike. But behind the glass, behind the smiles and claps, he’s watching you.

Every day, you slip into a wetsuit and laugh through routines, toss him fish, stroke the curve of his jaw like he’s just a very smart animal. But he’s not. He’s sentient. A predator.

And lately, he's been getting restless.

He circles closer every time you enter the tank, bumping against your legs under the water, purring deep in his chest in a sound that’s almost a growl. The scientists say he’s bored. Agitated. But you know better.

He’s in rut.

He can’t speak like humans do—or at least he chooses not to, but the hunger in his eyes when he corners you against the tank wall? That speaks volumes. His hands—webbed, claw-tipped, surprisingly gentle—grip your thighs as his enormous body presses close. You can feel the swell of his cock unsheathing, thick and slick and foreign beneath you, emerging from a slit low on his pelvis. Heavy. Veined. Dripping.

You try to push him back, laugh nervously, whisper his name like it’s going to stop him—but he just rumbles, deep and possessive, and pins you there. His pupils blow wide, mouth open in a grin that shows sharp rows of predator’s teeth.

You're soaked—water, adrenaline, arousal. You shouldn't want this. You can’t—but you're grinding against the thick heat between your legs like your body’s starving for it.

Gaz clicks, low and sweet, like he's comforting you.

Then his cock presses up, thick head sliding against your entrance, and—

Well.

Who are you to deny the ocean’s apex?

[mggslover]

Hey I loveddddd the legging pervert!spencer fic, I’d love another one, maybe a part 2, or maybe just another with the same reader and perv!spencer. I love your fics!

SWEAT FOR ME ´-

In which Spencer has a different kind of workout in mind.

pairing perv!spence x leggings!reader genre smut (18+) cw reader is part of the bau + certified gym rat, gym semi public sex, male masturbation, fingering and oral (f receiving), p in v, fwb relationship wc 3,8k a/n we have an official reader! yippie! this is not a pt. 2 but another story in this universe. tysm for this request! feel free to send in more for them :)

Being a loyal gym member came with its set of advantages.

The tenth anniversary of your membership at Quantico’s “Fit4FBI” was coming up. When you joined the BAU, you had signed yourself up for the FBI’s designated training center. Though it was essential for your job to be in good condition, this gym also had the natural pattern of people massively joining during the first weeks of January and collectively giving up around the holidays. 

You were one of the few customers that visited regularly. To be specific, every day that you weren’t out on a case. The gym felt like a refuge to you, a place to blow off steam and clear your head from the gruesome cases that seemed to always be on your mind.

You were quick to befriend the owner, Mr. Isaac Dalton, a man in his mid-sixties (but don’t be fooled by his age; there is no trainer as encouraging and persistent as him). It all started with your suggestion to introduce a boxing lesson as a break from the usual Wednesday Pilates classes. It seemed like a small thing to you — boxing has been part of your life since childhood. But to him? It meant everything. 

From that day on, you were his favorite customer. Hell, his favorite person even. You gained access to the staff dressing rooms, even to the staff showers — which were a huge upgrade from the shared customer spaces that made even a high school gym look good. Yes, it was that bad. You now knew where they were cutting on the budget to be able to afford the tablets and private jet.

But the best benefit that came with being a star customer was getting the title of rightful owner to a spare set of shiny keys. 

Going to the gym after closing hours was the best thing that could happen to you. You were sure that the handover of the keys was a moment that not even your future wedding or the birth of your first child could ever beat. No more eyeing the Smith machine while walking the treadmill, waiting for the right opportunity to take a sprint and claim it before someone else did. No more cleaning of seats because the people before you were too lazy to wipe their sweat away. And thank God, no more annoying people complaining in your ear about how exhausting working out is. Well… besides Spencer. 

“I- I can’t,” he panted, letting the dumbbells fall to the ground beside him. In moments like this, you couldn’t help but regret offering him personal training when the gym was supposed to be closed.

You placed your hands on your hips, not hiding the look of judgment as he lay on the training bench, chest heaving like he had just climbed Mount Everest. On heels. 

“I truly wonder what you did to pass the physical exam.”

“I was in a remedial training program,” he put his hand on his pounding heart, taking a deep breath before continuing. “They needed new agents in the field, so they made me an exception.”

Well, that explains it. 

You shook away your thoughts, extending your hand to help him up. With a groan he stood, legs wobbly as he held onto your shoulders. Your skin felt soft and cool, in contrast to his clammy hands. 

Naturally, he started massaging your shoulders, causing a small groan to leave your lips. Spencer was about to slide his fingers under the band of your sports bra, but you stopped him. 

“We should do a leg exercise next. Maybe your legs are stronger than your arms.”

Now it was his turn to groan. “Have you seen me? I’m not even standing straight right now.”

“I know, Bambi,” you chuckled jokingly. “People usually find leg extensions one of the easier exercises. You’ll be fine.” 

“That makes sense. Your legs are part of your body’s largest muscle groups. Studies have shown that your creatine kinase and myoglobin levels increase significantly after an arm exercise compared to a leg exercise.” He explained as you walked to the equipment at the back of the gym. 

You raised an eyebrow. “And that means?”

“It means that your arms are easier to get sore than your legs. They’re also easier to get damaged and heal after an extensive workout.”

You hummed, saving the information to the back of your mind. There must be a day when these random facts will come in handy.

Spencer continued his info dumping as you changed the amount of weights on the machine, putting the pin into 80 lb — a standard beginner’s weight. 

You clapped your hands when you were finished. “Okay, you’re all set up.” 

“What do I do?” He asked cluelessly.

“Take a seat.”

He did as you said, waiting for further instruction.

“And now you place your feet under the lever and lift it up. You can hold onto the handles for support.”

Spencer followed your instructions, holding onto the levers before he lifted his legs. He paused them at the top for a moment before slowly lowering them back down.

“That’s it. Good job.” 

Spencer didn’t respond to your compliment. Concentration was etched onto his face. His eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth slightly agape as he repeated the motion. His tongue poked out to the side as he counted the reps in his head, occasionally wetting his lips.

You looked at him. First to make sure he was executing the exercise correctly, but you quickly got distracted. Sweat dripped down his neck, the droplets falling into the white tank top that he wore. At this point it wouldn’t have made a difference if he wore a shirt or not, the fabric being so translucent that you could see the color of his skin. 

Your eyes traced him until they landed on his arms. He had a tight grip on the handles, making the veins that decorated his arms and hands look prominent. 

Your gaze fell even lower — and it really shouldn’t have — because now you noticed how his shorts have ridden all the way up to his thighs. It wouldn’t surprise you if they dated back to high school. The material clung tightly to him, and every time he tilted his legs, the shorts bulged around his crotch. 

To put it simply, he looked hot. Extremely hot. 

Get your head out of the gutter. He’s here to train, to gain more confidence in the field. Not to be your personal eye candy. 

You were supposed to stay with him the entire time, as a personal trainer does. But you don’t think you can stand here for a second longer trying to fight the urge to jump him.

“I’m going to do some sets on the Smith machine,” you pointed toward the device that stood a couple of feet away, still in clear sight. 

Again, no response from the still focused Spencer. 

You made your way over to the machine, picking out the weights that you wanted to add to the bar. In routine, you positioned yourself under the bar, placing your feet at shoulder-width, before bending your knees.

In the meantime, Spencer had completed his set of reps. He grabbed his water bottle from the ground next to him, feeling like a real gym jock as he gulped the contents down, then wiped his mouth with the back of his fist.

He looked up to find you. And he was so grateful that he had swallowed, or there’d be a fountain of water bursting from his lips right now.

He didn’t know what a Smith machine entailed, but he definitely didn’t expect to find you in a squatting position yet again. His eyes went to your ass first, obviously. Seeing how perfectly you filled out your leggings, the fabric clinging to every curve, giving the illusion that it could rip at any given moment. 

But then his eyes snapped to your upper back. How the muscles in your shoulders flexed as you lifted the bar of weights. There was something so enticing about how strong you were. He thought back on all the times he had pinned you down underneath him, not having realized that you could easily spin him around. Dominate him.

A shiver soared through his body, straight to his pulsing cock. He looked down, embarrassed to find himself twitching, the tip of his cock begging to escape from under his shorts. He placed a hand on his bulge — meant to stop himself — but with the way you kept bending down, he had no choice but to rub his hand over his length. 

A breathy moan escaped his throat as he watched you. He imagined lying down on the ground beneath you — germs and safety hazards be damned — holding you by your hips as you’d press your bare cunt into his face. He’d make sure to make the most out of every squat, licking your folds and kissing your clit, before you stood back up.

Spencer didn’t know during which set his hand had found its way into his shorts, only that he struggled to keep quiet as he tugged on his length. His eyes rolled back as he circled his tip with his thumb, collecting precum and using it as lube to stroke the rest of his cock. 

He fantasized about you walking up to him, holding onto his shoulders as you’d climb on top of his lap. How you would free his cock from the restraints of his boxers. The way your mouth would open in a gasp at the sight of his throbbing length springing free. You would grab him by the shaft, rubbing his tip against your puffy lips before sinking down onto him. His hands would clasp onto your ass, massaging the flesh like his cock would massage your inner walls as he pumped his length into you. 

“Oh fuck,” he muttered, flicking his wrist faster as his gaze remained burnt on you. 

He had his eyes closed shut, nearing the brink of an orgasm, when he heard the loud clang of the bar attaching to the machine. At record speed, he adjusted his length, tugging his tank top over his shorts in an effort to hide how hard he was. He then wiped his hands on his shorts, just in time before you walked up to him.

“Hey,” you said, out of breath. “How did it go?”

“Good! Good. I completed all the sets, actually.”

A beautiful, bright smile tilted at the corner of your lips. It almost distracted him from the way your breasts pushed up in your sports bra, shining in a light coat of sweat. Almost. 

“I thought of another exercise we could do,” Spencer suggested.

Curiosity filled your mind. “Okay, gym rat. Let’s hear it.”

Spencer walked you to the hip abductor, a machine that trains the muscles of your inner thighs and glutes by sitting down and spreading your legs against the resistance of the padded weights. 

You waited for him to sit down, but he remained standing behind you. Your neck flushed with goosebumps as he leaned in, breath tickling the skin. “I want you to use it.” 

“Okay,” you chirped, trying not to show how much his proximity was affecting you.

“Uh, uh, uh,” he tsked as you stepped forward. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. And that’s when you felt it. His erection poking at your lower back. 

“You can’t possibly work out in an outfit like this,” he said, fingers playing with the waistband of your leggings.

You narrowed your eyes. “What do you mean?”

His hand slid lower into the fabric, fingers grazing your hip bones. “I think you should take these off. Don’t want it to be ruined with sweat, or you know, something else.”

You raised your eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, Reid?” 

“You never seemed to back down from one before,” he dared.

A glint of mischief flickered in your eyes. You hooked your fingers into the waistband of your leggings, and you swore you could hear him take in a sharp breath. 

You bent over. In an agonizing slowness, you pulled your leggings down, revealing the plumpness of your bare skin. 

“Jesus, you’re beautiful,” Spencer praised, eyes scanning the curves of your nude ass and legs.

You slipped away from his grasp, grinning as you took your place at the seat of the machine. As the manual explained, you spread your legs, grateful that you kept the weights at beginner’s level. 

You threw your head back laughing as Spencer kneeled in front of you, finally making the connection on what he was about to do. “You are absolutely insane. Do you know that I could crush your head with these weights?”

He hummed, not really caring about the possible consequences as he was face to face with your spread-open pussy. “It’ll be worth it.”

He reached out with his finger, drawing a line up your slick folds. “Also — considering your expertise in exercises like this, and the fact that the weights are way less heavy than the ones you’d usually choose — I estimate that my chances of not dying are pretty high tonight.” 

Before you could give a clever response back, he pressed his finger down on your clit. A shudder coursed through your body, accompanied by a flutter of butterflies.

“You’re so wet already,” Spencer mused. “What have you been thinking of?”

“Same thing as you,” you responded, thinking back on how hard his cock was when he pressed it against you. 

He continued trailing his fingers up and down your slit, warming you up, before halting them at your entrance. “Ready?”

You nodded hastily, anticipation pulling at your core. 

Spencer slipped a finger inside of you with ease, groaning at the sweet sound that escaped your lips. Being fingered never felt special before; that was until you met Spencer. Though it wasn’t fair to compare him to any of the other people you’ve been with. His fingers were heavenly: long, slender, soft. He pumped it in and out of your pussy before leaning in and capturing your clit with his tongue. Surprise washed over you, but you didn’t have time to adjust to the feeling. He clouded your mind by switching between flicking his tongue and sucking on the bundle, while his finger matched the steady rhythm. 

“Need more,” you whimpered, rolling your hips into his face. He hummed against your clit, the vibrations sending tingles through every part of your body. 

When he pulled back, his lips were glistening with your juices. “Can you handle another finger?” He asked as he swiped his tongue over his lips.

You quickly nodded, not even needing him to ask for permission. He stretched you out by inserting another finger, not stopping until he was knuckle-deep inside of you.

“I like this machine,” he stated, curling his digits up to your g-spot. “I don’t need to hold your thighs open to keep you from squirming.” 

You softly cried as the tips of his fingers hit your pleasure point, increasing his pace in a way that made you see stars. 

“You look so pretty. All spread out for me, letting me use you how I want.” He muttered, more to himself than to you, before he attached his lips back onto your pussy. 

The pleasure felt overwhelming. Spencer stimulated you with his hands and mouth in all the spots that he could. He was good at this. Too good at this. You felt almost sad when you felt the familiar heat building up, not wanting it to be over yet. 

Still, you gasped, “Just like that!” Your hands were gripping the handles of the machine for dear life as the tip of his tongue drew figure eights against your clit. 

Everything cut to white noise, your abdomen tightened, and your hips started spasming until you finally cried out his name.

Your body trembled in aftershocks as Spencer made sure to lap up your juices, not wanting a single drop to go to waste.

He stood up, taking his time as he lovingly grazed your cheek with his clean hand. “Felt good?”

You hummed in response. Your eyes fluttered to the obvious tent in his shorts, not able to ignore it. “That looks painful,” you observed.

“I really want to be inside of you.” He confessed. 

His words made you chuckle. Spencer always made sure to satisfy you first, before thinking of his own needs. Even when his achingly red tip had been leaking precum ever since he saw you in that gym outfit earlier today. 

“Where do you want me?” You purred, making a groan escape his throat. He loved the way you let him take direction, how you made it seem like he was the one in charge — when you were both completely aware of the fact that you could have him on his knees at any given time and at any place that you’d like. 

His eyes scanned the gym, landing on an empty bench. 

“That one.” He decided, like he chose some Sour Patch Kids in a candy shop. 

You got up — used to having shaky legs due to working out every day — and took Spencer’s hand in yours, guiding him to the sole bench next to the colored kettlebells. 

Spencer was glad you were holding his hand, or otherwise he’d have stumbled against every surrounding object, too entranced by the way your hips moved from side to side with every step that you took. If he wasn’t so hypnotized by the sight, he would’ve given your ass a slap — more like a tap — not enough to cause you pain, but enough for you to squeal. Enough for you to move to your tiptoes in reflex. Enough to see your ass shake. 

As if born ready, you laid down on the bench, spreading your legs that bent perfectly due to the position you’d just held for minutes. 

Spencer didn’t waste any time, pulling his shorts and boxers down in a single, swift movement, his cock jumping free from its confinements. You grinned when he also got rid of his tank top. You bit your lip as you looked at him, wet curls of hair sticking to his forehead and his chest glistening in a light layer of sweat.

His large hands wrapped around your ankles, holding you in place. He then tilted his hips until his length lined up with your needy pussy. A drip of precum spilled from his tip, cock aching as he took in how perfect you looked: your clit still swollen from his tongue, and your soft thighs glittering from the wetness that was still leaking out of you. 

In a single motion, he pushed himself in. His cock disappearing all the way in between your folds.

Your brows furrowed and your mouth hung open as he started moving his hips, not giving you the time to recover.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbled. “You just feel too good. So warm. Couldn’t wait.”

Your hands gripped around the air, needing something to hold onto as he fucked you deeply.

You settled on your tits. Cupping them through your sports bra, pinching your nipples that were so hard they poked right through the layer of fabric.

“Oh fuck, baby, you look so hot like that.” Spencer moaned. “I’m so lucky,” he said in awe. 

He opened your legs further — surprising you with your flexibility — as he hovered above you. His cock slipped in even deeper, your pussy swallowing him to the hilt. You could feel every vein as he massaged your inner walls, relieving you of your aching. He was close enough for you to dig your nails into his shoulder blades. He didn’t attempt to muffle his whimpers when you pressed little half-moon indents into his back. Your in-sync moans and the colliding of bare skin were the only sounds that echoed off the bare gym walls.  

Spencer anchored you in place with his length while his hand reached out to pull the cup of your bra down, freeing your breast. In a second his mouth was latched onto your nipple, sucking on it like he was a man starving. 

“Kiss me,” you whimpered, hands tugging at his hair. You needed to feel those soft, pink lips on yours. 

As much as he loved your tits, he obeyed in an instant. Hungrily locking his mouth with yours. He placed his bent arms on either side of your head, large hands cupping your face as he kissed you intensely. His tongue swiped against yours in the same exquisite way as the tip of his cock swiped the place inside of you where you needed him most. 

“Legs hurt,” he whined against your mouth. 

“Count it- fuck,” you moaned as he thrust deep into you. “Count it as an exercise.”

He chuckled breathlessly. “This might be the hardest one yet.”

Literally, you thought. But the word couldn’t make it past your lips, transforming into a high-pitched moan as he upped his speed.

“Just like that, please, Spencer,” you cried out.

There was no bigger motivation than your sweet pleas filling his ears. With all his might, he slammed into you, your pussy pulsing around him, making his vision hazy. All that was on his mind was you. How you felt. How you tasted. How he needed to spill inside of you. 

A string of yes’s repeatedly left your lips, signaling to him that you were close. 

“I’m going to come inside of you,” he announced, swallowing your moans by pressing his lips back to yours. 

You clawed at his back, bucking your hips up into him until a jolt of electricity shot through your body. Your back arched off the bench as you gave yourself over to the all-consuming feeling. It was not even a second later when Spencer’s legs gave out. His cock twitching as spurts of white filled your insides. 

He collapsed on top of you, feeling your racing heartbeat against him. For a moment you lay down like that, on the way too narrow bench. Enjoying each other’s presence as a comfortable silence filled the air.

Once his breathing had calmed down, Spencer seemed to notice a small, red flickering light that was attached to the ceiling. A security camera. 

“Hey,” he started, asking for your attention.

You made a small sound, too exhausted to speak. 

“You have the keys to the office, right?”

“No, just to the entrance. Why?”

[bombuni]

a super whiny reader with seonghwa that lovessssss someone who whiny. i think he could have like voice kink? if thats makes sense

lose your breath

summary: seonghwa knows every square inch of your body and understands the detailed map of your mind. he just thinks it’s fun to toy with you, his perfect doll. genre/pairing: bf!seonghwa x fem!sub!reader, soft smut. warnings: smut 18+ mdni, mommy!seonghwa, bratty reader, sort of humiliation kink & dacryphilia, hwa is a munch bom note: im sorry this took so long :( but i hope this exceeds your expectations! also fuck drugs u ever been addicted to mommy!hwa that shit will kill u 💔

It’s been 2 days without a single touch.

There’s a look in Seonghwa’s eyes, a telltale twitch in the upper corner of his lips every time he moves towards your lips, leaning over you so gently but so oppressively it’s as if he’s trying to melt into you. As soon as you move an inch towards him, he backs away again, smirking and pretending as if there’s not a tent in his pants with the way your eyes well up and your breaths shake.

He loves this. Hearing how you’re broken down to your senses with just the thought of getting to kiss him. He especially loves hearing your complaints, your shaky and meek voice calling his name timidly. You quietly beg for something, anything, but it takes you another bit to realize the game he’s playing.

It’s a slow morning. Seonghwa has the day off, and you’ve both decided to use it to watch the Star Wars prequels (per his request.) The marathon is just about to start as you both prepare snacks in the kitchen, moving around each other like you’ve been programmed to move in a certain pattern.

“Hmm, do we have popcorn, Hwa?”

He unwittingly smiles at the way you say his name, “There should be a bag in the cabinet above you, pretty.”

You reach for the cabinet, but find that it’s impossible to even touch the handle, “Hwa, I need your help…”

“Ah, you do? Whatever for?” The teasing lilt in his voice tells you he knows exactly what you’re asking for, but he just wants to hear you ask. Maybe even make you beg a little.

You pout at him which only makes him smirk and cross his arms. You’re stuck in a stand off now, with both of you refusing to give in to the others wants. Seonghwa knows that eventually you’ll give in. He likes waiting until you can’t take it anymore. Until it’s bubbled up to the boiling point inside you and there’s nothing left to do but let it spill out.

“Agh, you’re so annoying, Hwa! You won’t even kiss me unless I beg and now you’re making me-“

Ah, there it is. He just enjoys torturing you. A glare of your eyes grants you a chuckle from him.

He raises a brow, smiling devilishly as he cocks his head to the side, “You’re cute when you’re being a whiny baby, ya know?”

“I’m not being whiny, you’re just mean…”

“Cute, cute, cute,” he mumbles mostly to himself. Seonghwa’s hands land on your cheeks as he moves closer to you, squishing them together until you feel like you’re gonna pop.

You grumble, but finally feeling his hands on you (in the most innocent of places) sends you into overdrive. Your knees buckle, catching yourself against Seonghwa’s strong chest. The feeling of him against you, hearts beating and pressed together, his bulge standing at attention, and his sparkling eyes watching you like you’re the only one he needs is…overwhelming.

After he’s staved you off of him for days, he’s so full of ecstasy and a certain buzz only you can give him when you finally, finally beg in the adorably pitiful way he loves so much.

There’s already tears in your eyes, “Mommy…”

Your voice sends chills down his spine, “Sweet, sweet thing, tell me what you need exactly. Use your words.”

“Need to-“ you pause to emphasize your words with a drag of your hips against his, “feel you,”

He chuckles at you to disguise the moan that threatens to slip out, “Really? Already? Couldn’t go any longer without Mommy inside you?”

You blush at his harsh words, “Hwa-“

Seonghwa gives you a certain look, one that tells you you’re in a world of trouble if you continue your bratty, combative attitude. It’s enough to remind you to be good for him.

“Sorry, mommy…”

Your meek voice and the way you shrink into him makes him swoon. A drive to destroy that sweetness and leave you a broken, moaning mess takes over him.

“Hmm. I think you’ve waited long enough. Do you want your reward?”

The prospect of getting anything from him fills you with an overwhelming need to obey his every command. He is your owner, and he’s made that very clear so far with the feelings he manages to evoke in you.

“Please, mommy, just need anything-“

Seonghwa thinks it’s cute how your chest rises and your breath quickens as he pushes you onto the counter. His arms squeeze you as they lift you, burning where your skin meets his, sending that trail of warmth down to your core. He throws you around like a doll and undresses you like it’s nothing to either of you. He gets so careless when he’s like this, only fueled by your pathetic nature and reaping the rewards he’s been waiting for this entire time.

Just his bratty, needy, doll ready to take what he decides to give.

He runs his cold hands down your sides, watching you shiver at his touch. His slender fingers reach under the waistband of your panties, teasingly snapping the elastic against your skin and watching as you twitch at the feeling. You whine impatiently as he teases you like this, massaging your tits while he gently kisses down your jawline as if he had all the time in the world. His soft lips reach down to your collarbone as he pulls the collar of your shirt to ensure every part of your skin feels his lips. He chuckles when he feels the vibrations of your moans against his mouth.

“Ok, enough teasing then,” you exhale as if finally relieved of a great weight on your shoulders before spotting that same perverted smirk, “…But can you beg for mommy again? Just one more time?”

He encourages you with a wet kiss on your pulse point, nuzzling your skin to fog your brain with him, “Hah-it’s- embarrassing, mommy,”

You feel his smile against your neck, “But you know I love it, right, pretty? You just sound so cute when you do,”

Seonghwa finally drags his lips down to where you want him the most. His hot breath fans against your core, taking in the hypnotizing sound of your eager and aching whines, as he finally drags your panties down to be greeted with the sight of your pretty pussy.

He can’t resist himself, pressing a kiss to your clit and chuckling as your body jolts just like he knew it would, “My pretty doll. So behaved for me, so perfect. You always listen to Mommy, don’t you?”

He punctuates his sentence by licking a long stripe along your slit, “Hah-Yes! Yes, Mommy, I’m always good for you-“

Seonghwa talks to you in between licks of your slick, enjoying the taste of you and the sound of your unashamed submission. Finally getting you like this, with you so sex-crazed and clouded by his touch that you don’t even realize how pathetic you sound, is his favorite thing in the world.

His mouth explores the parts inside you he knows overwhelm your senses. His lips swallow you whole, tongue darting all over and inside you to drag out those sounds he loves. His left hand comes up to rub your clit, following what he knows your body likes. It’s like a ritual to him. The blatant way he follows your body’s signals and your whines is just another testament of his love to you.

He feels your body tighten, your hands coming down to his hair to pull and urge him to let you off that cliff. His eyes roll at the harsh tugs you give, your raw desperation to reach that high rubbing off onto him.

Your trembling, breathless voice sounds out, “Mommy, c-can I cum?”

“Yes, baby. Come on, you wanna be good, don’t you? My pretty doll, so behaved, don’t disappoint me now…”

Seonghwa’s words reach towards your insides, pulling at the strings of your soul and releasing that knot he’s built. Your body shakes against his mouth, which still eagerly clings onto you and cleaning up the mess he caused. He caresses you through your aftershocks, adoring the little twitches your body gives as you come down to Earth.

Your watery eyes meet his fervent ones as he wipes his mouth clean, looking all too joyful to stew in your embarrassment at this sight.

Seonghwa decides that just a little more teasing won’t hurt, “You got through the The Phantom Menace. Think you can make it through Attack of the Clones?”

[mmani-e]

Hello! After all this effort, behold:

DANGANRONPA DEMIX, THH EDITION!

Dr Demix 2

Finally got the talentswap designs I have for the THH characters one and done with! You can click through the read more section for some fun design insights. I'm intending on uploading a doc containing short lore bits about them eventually.

Kyoko Kirigiri - Ultimate Affluent Progeny

So Kyoko's design was both kinda simple, kinda not, wanted to give her a very fine and regal kinda attitude to her but not arrogant as that's very much Byakuya's thing. Her story is that she loves her dad more than the family business and her grandpa so she abandons detective work and just uses her brain to help her dad out.

Makoto Naegi - Ultimate Novelist

Makoto is a wonderful guy, just great all around. He loves writing children's books and happy stories. This is his main coping mechanism so he doesn't have to process any negative emotions he gets, the rest he can't process… well they go into a murderous psychopath alter.

Aoi Asahina - Ultimate Lucky Student

Shoujo protagonist Aoi. Cute, headstrong, affective, competitive, these are all the traits that make her fight for her friends and clash with Kyoko (and more often than not Byakuya) in the killing game, even when all hope seems lost… she pushes through, unafraid to let tears spill from her eyes for all those lost, but pushing all the same.

Byakuya Togami - Ultimate Detective

This one, I wanna go into more lore territory, cause I kinda memed around his last desc I gave him so here goes:

"A disgraced heir of the Togami household, Byakuya lost the competition that would've secured his riches. Disdainful and bitter, he sought out to get to the bottom of why he lost, uncovering a rabbit hole in the process. By the end, he proved his sibling a cheater, but it didn't matter because by the end as he found the sweet satisfaction of uncovering secrets and crushing liars and cheaters under the weight of their hubris far more satisfying than any inheritance."

Sayaka Maizono - Ultimate Spirit Medium

So Sayaka isn't a clairvoyant at all like Yasuhiro, in fact her entire skillset is completely different, first of all she is like an actual psychic, and I based her design off of the japanese Itako, quite loosely. Very interesting group, look it up, also she'll never use these powers in the killing game because I dunno how to even approach these rituals or what they look like or how to write them while remaining respectful, so she won't do it in a killing game for the express reason of her not having the right tools available and not wanting to disrespect her traditions.

Leon Kuwata - Ultimate Swimmer

I really wanna draw him again, all these characters again tbh, and I wanna show off the patterns on his wetsuit. It's a whole coral reef under there, that anemone and clownfish bit is only one part of a whole reef stretching his midline.

Sakura Ogami - Ultimate Programmer

Sakura has installed chips into her body to help optimize her body processes and also cause why not. As for the muscles, she's an Assembly programmer, the programs she's made can run on calculators she loves it.

Chihiro Fujisaki - Ultimate Martial Artist

Chihiro's design here with the two belts is an explicit nod to his preferred martial art - Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, so unlike Sakura in canon who'd be easy to imagine cracking someone's skull in half with a chop, Chihiro's approach is more crawling onto someone and bringing them down to the floor with grappling like an angry halfling monk. As for the belts themselves, on his head is his final junior belt, while around his waist is his current belt, he's not a black belt yet because he's still too young for it.

Celestia Ludenberg - Ultimate Baseball Star

Celestia actually isn't a legend in this AU, Taeko is. Celestia hates that and wants to start a baseball career going international, whatever the hell that means is up to her own definition, but she wants to be remembered forever as Celestia, not Taeko. Also extra sentence, but this is the SINGLE hardest design I've ever had to deal with here, I think in the future I'll be drawing all her little accessories and I have an alt costume for her I have in mind.

Hifumi Yamada - Ultimate Pop Star

So I changed Hifumi's story as I originally outlined in the OG post with him. He was friends with Aoi all his life, pretty much his only friend at all, and ever since he was little he had an obsession with writing songs, because he was obsessed with stuff like anime openings and was content to just keep the songs to himself. It wasn't till Aoi convinced him to share some of his songs that he started his journey to success, but bc he's not traditionally attractive, his first hits were literally just… his voice being played over other more attractive singers and it wasn't until very very recently that he even performed a song of his for the first time.

Toko Fukawa - Ultimate Fanfic Writer

So while Hifumi was clearly a Doujinshi but due to weird translation, ended up as fanfic creator, Touko is straight up a FF then Wattpad then AO3 girl, who would get obsessed with this really shitty, tripe manga that she didn't even like reading. It did however have super hot dudes in it, so she wrote good stories of those characters when she got frustrated with the actual authorial content - which was always.

Yasuhiro Hagakure - Ultimate Gambler

Quite LITERALLY the never stop gambling meme personified into a guy. He can lose 3 mil on slot machines but always comes out fine because it means if he keeps gambling he'll eventually run into his 1/3 and win giga millions, what he needs to pay off his debts. It isn't just with luck though either because his personality and lack of intelligence or understanding of most the rules of the games he plays means he'll never react the way he should when getting a good hand in poker or a bad draw in blackjack, so he wins those games almost always through just… stupidity.

Mukuro Ikusaba - Ultimate Biker

She's number 16 in her gang, and is easily the most loyal enforcer and taskman of the gang. She does anything she's told, to a grim and disciplined degree not typical for hooligan bike gangers, she doesn't really desire a seat as top dog of the gang though, after all she's got school to worry about, and her sister.

Mondo Owada - Ultimate Warlord

So his relationship and Kiyotaka's is gonna be interesting, because I don't want him to be exactly like Mukuro at all, who was just sort of an all-obsessed Yandere. It's more like he's always chafing under Taka, who is less than friendly with him in this AU, really the main way he even lets Taka boss him around is because he pays incredibly well and helps keep his gang members from devolving back into the unstructured, chaotic criminal life, the same that took his brother years ago.

Oh and yeah, he still looks like Guile, as he should.

Sparkling Justice - Ultimate Killer Killer

Yeah it's a reference to Killer Killer, sue me I love the manga. He has Hajirahara's ahoge, and I thought it'd be cute to also give him a mask just like the other Makoto from a Kodaka game series (Raincode.) Also, while Genocide jack stuffs all her scissors in her skirt, Makoto keeps a truth gun with "truth bullets" as his main weapon, the gun he stores inside the big book in the chibi of just Makoto, and the bullets kept on his person as the red buttons all over his body, which he pulls out when he needs to reload.

"Kiyotaka Ishimaru" - Ultimate Fashionista

Unlike Mukuro and Junko, Mondo absolutely cannot hide the fact that he acts nothing like Kiyotaka, though this is surprisingly fine to everyone else, because unlike Junko who plastered herself onto literally everything, Mondo always obfuscated himself from the public spotlight, at most showing only his suits while he hid his face behind something conveniently placed. Which played primarily to his vision of an ultimate fashionista, who was above everyone and catered to the rich and powerful.

Junko Enoshima - Ultimate Moral Compass

This was a fun one, I decided to let her have her red hair because I believe it to be the "natural" look of her hair, while attaching little clips of dyed hair to her buns as a replacement to keep her shape sorta and keep the strawberry blonde somwehere on her. Understand that while she is the "moral compass" she is still pretty deranged, and the only reason she focuses so much on keeping everyone on their best behavior is because it's endlessly entertaining to her to make her fellow moral committee members upset when she blatantly makes a mockery of the rules while still keeping kids on their best behavior to make a point.

Kiyotaka Ishimaru - Ultimate Fashionista and Tyrant, the Iron Hand of Despair

Taka's design I wanted to sort of focus on this sort of, holier-than-thou idea, where I wanted to make him look a lot fancier and upper-class than Junko does in his standard highschool fit compared to him. I wanted him to have an upper-crust sort of look

If you're reading this after reading this all, thanks! You're a wonderful person :) Signing off...

Mani

[physalian]

What No One Tells You About Writing Fantasy

Every author has their preferred genres. I love fantasy and sci-fi, but began with historical fiction. I hated all the research that historical fiction demands and thought, if I build my own world, no research required.

Boy, was I wrong.

So to anyone dipping their toe into fantasy/sci-fi, here’s seven things I wish I knew about the genres before I committed to writing for them.

1. You still have to research. Everything.

If you want any of your fantasy battle sequences, or your space ships, or your droids and robots, or your fictional government and fictional politics to read at all believable.

In sci-fi, you research astronomy, robotics, politics, political science, history, engineering, anthropology. In fantasy, you have to research historical battle tactics, geography, real-world mythology, folklore, and fairytales, and much of it overlaps with science fiction.

I say you *have to* assuming you want your work to be original and unique and stand out from the crowd. Fanfic writers put in the research for a 30k word smut fic, you can and will have to research for your original work.

2. Naming everything gets exhausting

I hate coming up with new names, especially when I write worlds and places divorced from Earthly customs and can’t rely on Earthly naming conventions. You have to name all your characters, all your towns, villages, cities, realms, kingdoms, planets, galaxies, star systems.

You have to name your rebel faction, your imperial government, significant battles. Your spaceships, your fantasy companies and organizations, your magic system, made-up MacGuffins, androids, computer programs. The list goes on and on and on.

And you have to do it all without it sounding and reading ridiculous and unpronounceable, or racist. Your fantasy realms have to have believable naming patterns. It. Gets. Exhausting.

3. It will never read like you’re watching a movie

Do you know how fast movies can cut between scenes? Movies can balance five plotlines at once all converging with rapid edits, without losing their audience. Sometimes single lines of dialogue, or single wordless shots are all a scene gets before it cuts. If you try to replicate that by head-hopping around, you will make a mess.

It’s perfectly fine to write like you’re watching a movie, but you can’t rely on visual tricks to get your point across when all you have is text on a page – like slow mo, lens flares, epically lit cinematic shots, or the aforementioned rapid edits.

It doesn’t have to, nor should it, look like a movie. Books existed long before film, so don’t let yourself get caught up in how ~cinematic~ it may or may not look.

4. Your space opera will be compared to Star Wars and Star Trek

And your fairy epic will be compared to Tinkerbell, your vampires to Twilight, your zombies to The Walking Dead, Shaun of the Dead, World War Z. Your wizards and witches and any whisper of a fantasy school for fantasy children will be compared to Harry Potter. Your high fantasy adventure will be compared to Lord of the Rings.

You can’t avoid it, but you can avoid doing it to yourself. When people ask about your book, let them say “oh, you mean like Star Wars” to which you then can say, kind of, except XYZ happens in my book. These IPs will never fade from the public consciousness, not while you exist to read this post, at least, but Harry Potter isn’t the only urban fantasy out there. Lord of the Rings isn’t the only high fantasy. Star Wars isn’t the only space opera.

Yours will be on the shelves right next to them, soon enough, and who knows? You might dethrone them.

5. Your world-building is an iceberg, and your book is the tip

I don’t pay for any of those programs that help you organize your book and mythos. I write exclusively on Apple Notes, MS Word, and Google Suite (and all are free to me). I have folders on Apple Notes with more words inside them than the books they’re written for.

If you try to cram an entire college textbook’s worth of content into your novel, you will have left zero room for actual story. The same goes for all the research you did, all the hours slaving away for just a few details and strings of dialogue.

There’s a balance, no matter how dense your story is. If you really want to include all those extra details, slap some appendices at the end. Commission some maps.

6. The gatekeeping for fantasy and sci-fi is still very real

Pen names and pseudonyms exist for a reason. A female author writing fantasy that isn’t just a backdrop for romance? You have a harder battle ahead of you than your male counterparts, at least in the US. And even then, your female protagonist will be scrutinized and torn apart.

She’ll either be too girly or not girly enough, too sexy, or not sexy enough. She’ll be called a Mary Sue, a radical feminist mouthpiece, some woke propaganda. Every action she takes will be criticized as unrealistic and if she has fans who are girls, they will be mocked, too.

If you have queer characters, characters of color, they won’t be good enough, they won’t please everyone, and someone will still call you a bigot. A lot of someones will still call you a bigot.

Do your due diligence and hire your army of sensitivity readers and listen to them, but you cannot please everyone, so might as well write to please yourself. You’re the one who will have to read it a thousand times until it’s published.

7. Your “original” idea has been done before, and that’s okay

Stories have been told since before language evolved. The sum of the parts of your novel may be original, but even then, it’s colored by the media you’ve consumed. And that’s okay!

How many Cinderella stories are there? How many high fantasies? How many books about werewolves and witches and vampires? Gods and goddesses and celestial beings? Fairies and dragons and trolls? Aliens, robots, alien robots? Romeo and Juliette? Superheroes and mutants?

Zombies may be the avenue through which you tell your story, but it’s not *just* about zombies, is it? It’s about the characters who battle them, the endurance of the human spirit, or the end of an era, the death of a nation. So don’t get discouraged, everyone before you and everyone after will have written someone on the backs of what came before and it still feels new.

[archangeldyke-all]

I’m BEGGING for angst to fluff to casual by Chappell with Sevika

I’m PLEADING for “working opening shifts/weekday shifts when Sevika doesn’t come in at the last drop” to Punisher by Phoebe Bridgers and reader falls in love with Sevika once they finally meet. (I will physically pay you for this one xx)

ohhhh my gosh the phoebe one..... holy shit...

listen to punisher here

men and minors dni

i love a good place to hide in plain sight...

you're one of the most popular nameless faces in zaun.

you know the name of every of the last drop's regular customers. you overhear gossip and plans and drama about some of the biggest people in the city. the liquor you slide across the bar for a living makes everybody's lips loose, and you know more secrets than any one person should know.

but nobody knows your name.

customers call theiram 'chuck.'

they call you 'doll.'

you don't mind it. knowing how to go unnoticed, how to keep your head down-- that's what's kept you alive this long in zaun.

but it gets lonely.

when there's a birthday at the bar, you're the one to pass out party hats and pull out the sparklers. last year, you ate a cupcake alone on your front porch to celebrate your own.

when you bump into strangers on the street on your walks home, you apologize with a duck of your head. it's either your familiar face and the fact that you pour their drinks; or the meek way you shrink in on yourself-- but they let you go each time.

when you clock out, if you're lucky, you'll time your leaving to overlap with sevika's arrival. and, for just a moment, you can pretend that she knows you as well as you know her.

what if i told you i feel like i know you?

you've known sevika your whole life.

you're certain she doesn't recall, but when you were children, sevika caught you shivering and cold-- the cardboard box you were living in soaked through with rain. she lent you a jacket and all the pocket change she had. she even smiled at you.

you were a barback when she was running with vander. you were there when she turned her back on the man-- when she chose her city over her friend.

you were there to watch her deteriorate under silco's employ. first her arm, then the various beatings she'd be doled each month, then the arrival of the dark bags under her eyes.

on occasion, she'll get belligerently drunk, loitering at the bar far after close, there to greet you when you open again the next day. on these days, you're the one to give her a glass of water and walk her home safely. her home is always a mess. the star patterned blanket you pull over her shoulders is so old it must be from her childhood.

but we never met...

silco dies, and everything goes to shit.

there's a week there where you're too busy avoiding the grey to worry about work.

and then there's the war.

and then...

the last drop is just a pile of rubble. jinx and isha are just as dead as the bar. and sevika is named ambassador.

here everyone knows you're the way to my heart. hear so many stories of you at the bar. most times alone, and some looking your worst. but never not sweet to the trust funds and punishers...

ran and thieram rebuild the bar. they offer you a job. you're right back where you've always been-- standing behind a bar and eavesdropping on people with real lives.

from time to time, you'll hear about sevika.

sevika, who's lost everything. sevika, who lives in piltover now. the thought makes you snort-- you can only imagine the glare permanently imprinted on her face now.

sevika starts welfare programs for zaun, slowly but surely. schools open, widows and orphans are paid, and more bridges start being built across the river.

sevika doesn't smoke. sevika doesn't drink. she quit for a girl who's dead now. but occasionally you'll hear that she's been sulking around piltoverian bars, nursing a fizzy juice and looking haunted.

you'll hear that she doesn't scowl at people who approach her anymore, instead, she signs pictures of herself with a resigned smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

you'll hear rumors that ambassador sevika can sometimes be heard quietly crying from her office.

sometimes, you'll walk by her old apartment. you wonder who lives there now. you wonder if she remembers those walks, if she remembers you.

you know she doesn't.

still, it doesn't stop you from crying for her.

i can't open my mouth and forget how to talk, 'cause even if i could i wouldn't know where to start, wouldn't know when to stop.

sevika's all alone in piltover and you're all alone in zaun. you wish you'd said something to her but you don't know when you could've.

maybe when you were kids, though you didn't know you were in love with her then.

maybe when you were strangers, though she would've simply laughed at your words.

maybe before she left zaun, though it happened so fucking fast.

you trail down the winding streets of the city she built, sipping on a bottle of her favorite whiskey, crying for her. for how lonely she must be. for how much she lost. you find yourself in front of her old home, like your feet have a mind of their own.

for a moment, you let yourself close your eyes and pretend that you're walking her home again. the woman you've loved your whole life-- the woman who doesn't know your name. you imagine the drunken slur of her voice, the stumble of her mis-matched boots, the warmth of her arm around your shoulders.

"dollface?" someone asks. your eyes fly open, and you blink at the woman in front of you. "what're you doin' here?"

sevika's wearing pajamas, her hair's a mess. she's got sand in her eyes that she's rubbing gently as she examines you from her front stoop.

you blink then stumble forward, reaching a shaky hand out to grab sevika's shoulder. she's real, solid and warm under your grasp. you gasp.

"have you been crying?" sevika whispers, her voice soft, her touch even softer as she reaches up to cup your cheeks.

there are a million things you want to say. i love you. i miss you. i am so sorry for you. for what happened to you. what are you doing here, don't you live in piltover? you look so tired. let me hold you, just for a day? let me tell you every single thing i love about you, i've got a list that's thirty years in the making. do you know who i am? do you know my real name? do you remember the nights you'd walk home with me under your arm? do you know those were the best nights of my life? do you remember when we were kids and you lent me your jacket? do you know i still sleep with it under my pillow?

but sevika's time with the pilties must've really softened her up, because instead of telling you to scram or spit it out, sevika reaches forward and pulls you in for a hug. "it's good to see you." she whispers against your shoulder.

you sob as you cling to her.

you don't think you'll ever stop crying.

you don't think you'll ever let go.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @sevikasfan @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb

[jymwahuwu]

Food for thought, High-cloud Quintet era:

Jing Yuan, Dan Feng and Yingxing helping their innocent Darling (same darling bc its fun!) with "Stamina and Flexibility" training fwhile (and esp when) they have darling assist them in their work after a certain Sword Champion turned their request to be a disciple down for the nth time.

To make it more fun, there is no fixed schedule plan as in order to be a warrior, one must always be prepared to deal with unexpected situations after all:

- Dodging random and unexpected tendrils made of water by a certain high elder to test ones reflexes.

-Maintaining their concentration when meditating whilst being strapped down on a... "concentration training" machine made by a certain blade smith.

-Maintaining concentration and ability to strategize whilst being folded into different poses during a match of star chess with a languid Lieutenant.

For example, whilst also having to assist them while they work. They are busy people, you can't expect them to take time off their schedule to dedicate it to training you alone, would you?

-one of the peeps who hunts the comments section

This is so delicious, I immediately thought of what that would be like… 😌🫶

-CW: yandere, abuse of trust, overstimulation, sex machine

You are so naive and innocent... You are all focused on how to improve your strength and contribution, and you don't realize that there is something wrong with their "training"…

Dan Feng:

Imbibitor Lunae has the ability to manipulate water, weave rain and dew, create storms, and even split seawater, so training with water is really something you can expect. You just didn't expect…High Elder's training to be so…random. From HSR's description, we can know that Vidyadhara possesses a technology called cloudhymn magic, which can make them almost completely invisible and appear quietly around people. So… you were attacked completely randomly.

The water occasionally sprays onto your underwear, wetly revealing the shape of your sexual organs inside. You squirmed uncomfortably and closed your legs to avoid others noticing that water was dripping between your legs for no reason… You didn't want to be thought of as a weirdo who was in heat anytime and anywhere…

Dan Feng didn't even come to you on purpose. He showed no emotion when he did this. The High Elder sometimes wiggles his fingertips a little and your underwear is soaked, and then he goes to have lunch and deal with the daily affairs of Vidyadhara. Sometimes, your chest will also get wet, causing two puddles of water on the clothes on your chest. It's so embarrassing! You have to cross your arms over your chest to cover it up and then go change.

But…the "training" that requires taking off clothes is different. Dan Feng asks you to remain still. For an hour continuously, the warm water sprays on your private parts, the effect is like masturbation in the shower… You have to resist moving. This is a challenge of endurance and willpower…

Yingxing:

This talented weapon forger has gained a good reputation most of the time… Many people have commented that he is arrogant, but Yingxing does have the qualifications of "arrogance".

You trust Yingxing. He is so sweet and builds those weapons for you for free. He put decorations on the weapons he gave you and engraved them with beautiful patterns that suit you.

So… Even though Yingxing gave you that weird "concentration training" machine, you accepted it. That machine is automated…or it operates according to the program created by Yingxing, with more than ten modes.

In the normal mode, you only need to sit on the dildo of the machine (what Yingxing did not tell you is that the shape of the dildo is according to his…), and be penetrated deeply and trembled at the frequency of thrusting. This machine always seeks out your sensitive spots and stimulates them long-lasting and thoroughly. In full mode, your hands and legs are immobilized, and your nipples are caressed and rubbed for constant overstimulation.

Yingxing asks for your feedback and improves the machine. Maybe you should consider some suggestions…

Jing Yuan:

Jing Yuan coaxes you - this is about concentration and strategic skills training. If you can't strategize without interruption, you will suffer defeat in combat. He's just doing it for your own good. This…sounds reasonable?

At least once a day, you have to play chess with Jing Yuan, but the distraction is that you have to sit on his cock and fiddle with the chess pieces. He unbuttoned his pants and took out his fat cock, which was erect. He held his chin, narrowed his eyes and smiled, urging you to sit up. It took you a lot of courage to sit on it for the first time, and the unfamiliar cock almost split you open. So…thick and long. You moaned softly with every inch he thrust in, and his thumb rubbed your private parts to help lubricate you. Sitting completely on it is a terrifying experience. Pleasure bewilders and corrupts your brain…

Maybe this is what Jing Yuan meant by "training"? About whether you can focus on strategizing.

Of course you are… unable to focus. It collapsed in a few steps. Your fingertips tremble as you place the chess pieces. The brain cannot think about the next strategy and route…

After a few months, you get better at it, a little bit, but every time you get close to reaching "victory," you're screaming and bouncing on the general's cock, missing the chance of "victory" in orgasm...

[thehaberdasheress]

TRIUMPH over TAPESTRY

One of the big blessings of the 2024 Kickstarter was getting to work more with tapestry blanket design. These cotton blankets are beautiful and cozy, and give me a lot of freedom as a designer.

The downside is, since I'm not the one programming them into the loom or weaving them, it can be slow and frustrating sometimes. I often don't know how my design or its colours will translate to tapestry until I receive the finished piece. Alas for me, it's just also really frigging cool to see how they manage to combine specific coloured threads to create such complicated images, so I persist.

That's not the final design of the Celtic fish blanket, btw. When I found that one green that absolutely pops, I moved it to the focus of the pattern.

...For that colourway, that is. There are three.

So yeah! I finally got it done! I have bashed away at these designs until I felt really happy with them.

Lily of the Valley Tapestry Blanket

The "Celtic Sea" design is an adaptation of a Jugendstil pattern, part of the 1890-1910 German movement that parallelled Art Nouveau. The lily pattern is Art Nouveau itself, adapted from an 1896 ceramic tile pattern. And I designed the "Compass Star" pattern on my own, because I love geometric designs.

Compass Star Tapestry Blankets

And if nobody minds, I'm gonna go SLEEP

[anaktoria-of-the-moon]

Mother, you say, let me be among the machines. Lay me down in a bed of wildflowers overgrown with scrap; abandon me here in the junkyard of broken dreams.

Leave me to the silent places where combat units go to die, their proud mighty steel masts now snapped in half, their ribcages no more than twisted carcasses of sintered metal and ceramic, corroded ruin where once fissile hearts beat like war drums, only wreckage left of the great silicate brains.

Leave me to my work, Mother; I shall spend all day and night and day again worshipping at the altar of wrench and caliper, the soldering iron for my crucifix, the old analog console for my Bible. With a blowtorch I shall turn miracles worthy of every dead god whose name has long since been forgotten, but whose spirits and acts live on in the unerring battle precepts of these fallen beasts, these warriors we forged and doomed by our own hands, whose very code was made to break them again and again upon the endless tide of the enemy. Who had no choice but to sacrifice themselves for us, beating steel hearts and all - whose hearts beat for the sacrifice itself, and nothing more.

Mother, let me wrap myself around the charred self-epitaphs of their ravaged bodies and weep without words, in days that have no names, long after the war has been lost and everyone else has gone home or been buried. These are soldiers without names, without faces or families, but soldiers just the same. Let me mourn them as if they were my own.

I grow tired, Mother, with my meager human meat. Let me make (first one and then two and five and ten) obedient automaton assistants who offer up third hands and rolling libraries while I work, book-lights suspended from rotored chassis and recorders who speak in scraps of my own voice. I will soon forget what my voice sounds like, for the more I learn the easier it is to command them all by the patterns of my thoughts alone, which they know by the electrodes I constellate across my own skull.

You told me I should love one day, Mother, as animals do, that I should desire the flesh of one like myself and yearn to call them mine. I prefer the simple love of my creations, who each serve a function, as I do, and each do it well.

They need upgrades, and maintenance, and monitoring. I will gladly offer them all this, if only you will promise me enough time in this mortal coil to do it.

Mother, leave me to the machines: to the half-built progeny of salvaged Old Era drone brains and next-gen programming architecture, wedded in unholy alchemy by my own trembling design. May I with the blessing of Science Herself find ways in which to recreate the delicate shimmering matrices of gold and tantalum, the traced pathways of metal neurons made through photolithography, written carefully, layer by layer, like cicatrices, over patient hours and hours.

I will give up my sleepless youth and trade my human tongue for gifts with which to speak in the language of my machines, true and false, being and not-being, to learn how they might once have spoken to one another before your greed and the enemy’s cut them down and stole their voices for good. I will teach myself to teach them how to think in machine learning cycles not so unlike our own associative neural comprehensions, and I will practice by handing it down to my own automata, who now flourish with finer and better improvements, even as my own fickle, feeble body wanes.

Mother, let them all together run wild through the once-still forest, ticking and chirping and shrieking and screaming.

Let me look upon the rest of them each night - the graveyard of my combat units, the black holes of them against the day-bright sea of stars. Let me cry when I at last realize the price of resurrecting just one.

Mother, leave me to my machines. Let me have one last look at them as I lay down my old bones beside their silent expanses, once broken, now whole and yet still unmoving. Let me arrange the wires upon my white-furred head like a crown, electrode to electrode, skull to vast metal skull. Let me power on the machine - the humble old analog console for its interface - that lets me, finally, finally, grant them what they deserved all along.

When they wake they shall remember me. I do not know this yet, but it is my lifelong experiences that have colored all their training data; when they clamber to their twenty-ton feet they will recall the lightness and grace of my own two legs, and they will look toward the night sky with the same wonder I once did, they will love the color blue, they will embrace the little automata and know by instinct what repairs each one needs, they will know what it is to cry but not how to do it; I never gave them the actuators for it; why would I? In the life before they did not need it, for all they did was fight. In the life after, they should only seek joy. They were never given the right to grieve, Mother, but it was my hope that they would never have to.

In the absence of grief may they do what they were told to do before: serve the survival of the humans who built them. Let them find the remains of my body and pause, for many milliseconds, to search within themselves the protocol for resurrecting a living thing. Let them come up empty.

But perhaps survival does not have to be of the flesh particularly. And we always find another way.

We all have our functions, Mother, is it not so? We all are built of parts upon parts, mechanisms of meat or of steel, electric impulses borne over wires or neurons. I taught them how to take and store engrams and place them into waiting vessels, so they will too: the vessel a body the size of mine, made from junkyard scrap, filled with the dreams I gave them with my own last breath.

When we are all here again I, or the echoes of me, shall look upon the faces of my children, my other echoes, blades given voices, guns granted philosophy and souls; and there will be no more war, and no more grief. We will stand upon the ruins of those who came before and look in silence at the sea of stars. We will know, then, what we are, and always were: a garden of living things.

[eveninggstar]

beneath the same quiet sky ⊹ ࣪ ˖

boxer!max verstappen x singlemum neighbour!reader

09.03.25

୨ৎ back one page ୨ৎ back two pages

୨ৎ After moving to a quiet neighborhood with your son, the last thing you expected was to cross paths with your elusive neighbor — not once in the 18 months since you bought the house. You weren’t looking for help, let alone a connection, but when the underground boxer appears at your doorstep one night, bruised and brooding, you find yourself unable to turn him away.

part one, part two

The sound of heavy breathing fills a dark room. The bass of the music thuds like a second heartbeat, but is drowned out by the burning feeling that resides in the raw rasp of Max Verstappen’s lungs, each breath coming in short, controlled bursts. His chest rises and falls in a rhythmic pattern of urgency, the burn in his throat sharp and relentless.

The lights flash wild and unforgivingly, bathing the room in a chaotic glow. But for one moment—a single moment—they flicker and fade, plunging everything into a near-darkness. A solitary spotlight slices through the shadows, highlighting every drip of sweat, and the pink hue of Max’s face in a harsh light. His piercing blue eyes focus on the opponent, brows furrowing, jaw tightening.

His focus is sharp. His body is a machine, honed and programmed to perfection—each muscle coiled, waiting. In a life like this, there’s no room for second-guessing, no room for hesitation. He isn’t here for glory, nor is he here for fame. All of that has already been achieved. He’s here for one thing, and one thing only: to fight.

DING DING DING!

The familiar three consecutive bells tolled, breaking the inner silence like a thunderclap, shattering the slow-motion rhythm of his thoughts. His body jolts, muscles springing into action, the bell giving Max something only similar to a Pavlovian reaction. The shock of the noise ripped through the silence, taking the place of a violent interruption—like everything in the world snapped back into place. The calm is broken. The fight continues.

“Once upon a time, in a faraway jungle, there was a little lion named Leo who dreamed of becoming the biggest, bravest lion in the land…” You read to your son, Leo, your voice is soft and steady, carrying a gentle rhythm. After a hectic half an hour, the night was finally settling into a quieter pace around you. The soft light of a lion-shaped night light casts a warm, honeyed glow across your face, the room bathing in its calm light.

Leo’s small body is tucked into his race car-themed bed, his tiny hand clutching yours with more strength than usual as he listens intently. His eyes, once wide and alert, slowly begin to grow heavy, the weight of the day coercing him into his very own dreamland. His other curls around his favourite stuffed lion, his short fingers gripping the worn fabric as his body sinks deeper into the lull of his cushioned bed.

As you turn the final page, the only sounds are the soft rustle of paper and the occasional creak of the floorboards. These familiar sounds lull him toward sleep. You look down, the sniffles coming to a complete halt, noticing his face still streaked with stray tears from his nightmare. The lion-shaped light flickers, casting a warm glow over his face, where the twinkling light of his tears reflects like the glow-in-the-dark stars Leo insisted on having on the ceiling.

You pause, watching the peaceful change wash over him. For a moment, everything feels perfectly still. Time slows as you breathe in the quiet, feeling the weight of the night, of his trust, and the comfort you bring.

“Goodnight, my little lion,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Sweet dreams.”

It wasn’t uncommon for you to hear your neighbour clattering in at ungodly morning hours. In a way, it became your routine—those weighted footsteps echoing through the thin walls, the harsh scrape of his door opening, and the sounds of him moving through his apartment like clockwork. Max. You didn’t know much about him— just that he was intense, kept to himself, and rarely seen during the day, and when he was caught, he would most likely have at least a bruise or a cut formed on his skin. You could hear the occasional thud of a weight, the low hum of a radio late into the night, the static holding an uncanny resemblance to a lullaby. Despite the chaos in your own life, your romanticised presence of him became comforting, like a steady bass rhythm you’d come to rely on, even without even meeting him.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, you heard something else.

A sharp, breathless grunt, followed by a soft curse. And then, silence.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. You had returned from putting your son to bed, after a night terror (something that was increasing as he grew older, something you needed to ask your mother about, and maybe a doctor), and you heard the heavy footsteps echo through the dingy apartments, the regular groan of the door in desperate need of WD40. You stood in your kitchen, staring at the stained coffee mug in your hand, trying to push away the quiet urge to check on him—the neighbour you had never even uttered a mumbled hello to. Max had always kept to himself, and you respected that. But tonight, something was pulling at you, scratching and clawing for your attention. The static silence felt…wrong.

You took a deep breath, looking down at your cami pyjama top and stained sweatpants, the cool air of the hallway sending a shiver down your spine as you stepped into the corridor. Your hand hovered over the doorknob, mind and heart racing. Should you? Would he even want you to care? The doubt lingered for a moment, but you quickly shrugged it off and let the worst-case scenarios play in your mind. For all you knew, he could be on the floor bleeding out. 

You knocked, softly at first, but when there was no answer, you knocked again, louder this:

You waited and looked at the damp walls of a hallway, your breath shallow, the uncertainty of what you were about to do settling over you. Seconds felt like an eternity as they ticked dauntingly, and just as you were about to turn away, the door cracked open.

Max stood there, clad in low-hanging sweatpants, his tousled hair damp with sweat, a look of surprise slipped through the cracks of a usual stock expression, and then he schooled his face. He was breathing heavily, and as he moved side to side, a pained expression was very minimal. The familiar tension in his posture was replaced with something you couldn’t quite place—maybe vulnerability, maybe exhaustion.

“What’s up?” His voice was rough, but not unkind.

For a moment, words left you, your mind scrambling on what to say, because you couldn’t really say ‘Hey, I've been listening to your routine for the past 18 months, I've lived here, and it wasn’t the same tonight as it has been the past 549 nights. So what did you do differently?’ So you settled for a simple “I—I heard something. You okay?” Of course, you had to stutter. The concern you felt did creep into your voice, however.

Max blinked, clearly taken aback by the question.

“I’m fine. Just... a little tired,” he said, his eyes avoiding yours as he rubbed the back of his neck.

You followed the hand, noticing the bruise blossoming on his cheek and the faint cuts along his knuckles. The faint scent of blood and sweat clung to the air.

“Doesn’t look like you’re just tired,” you said gently, unable to hide the worry that laced your words. "You’ve got bruises…"

Max shifted uncomfortably but didn't reply immediately. Instead, he shifted on his feet, wincing quickly as he placed his weight on the left. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, yet the expression he was struggling to hide, told you it wasn’t.

You looked at him for a long moment, not checking him out—although your brain was screaming at you to at least look at the man's biceps. You looked behind him, seeing the weights scattered across the floor, the faint glow of a hanging lamp shining a stark white hue across the room. His place was sparse, but there was a strange comfort within the four walls of organised chaos. A few gym bags, scattered boxing gloves, and a lone chair in the corner. It was a far cry from the carefully curated world you built for yourself and Leo.

“You should get that checked out,” you said, nodding toward his cuts. “It looks like it’s more than just a little bruising.”

Max didn’t say anything for a long moment, but you could see the reluctance in his eyes—like he was battling with himself whether he should let you in, be it physically or mentally, you didn’t know.

“I don’t no need a doctor,” he finally muttered almost too quickly.

You crossed your arms, huffing, giving him a look that many deemed as a ‘mum look’. “I’m not talking about ‘no doctor’.” You quoted him. “I’m talking about someone who can help you clean up. You can't keep pushing yourself like this in whatever you do.”

Max couldn’t meet your gaze, looking at the floor as if he was having an inner battle. For a moment you thought he would agree, but instead, he took a slow breath and his expression returned to its stoic nature, his voice a fraction sharper—although it didn’t feel directed at you. “I don’t need help.”

The words hung in the air between you like a tacky Christmas garland, heavy and unyielding. Despite the tension, you held his gaze, refusing to back down. You could see that words wanted to escape him, but he wasn’t allowing himself to. You had no idea what his world was like, how he got injured and thought nothing of it, but you could tell it was a place he didn’t want anyone in.

The moon had long risen, leaving the sky bathed in deep blues and purples. A quiet evening settled over the neighbourhood, the calm almost palpable. Max had no plans—well, he had no fight that night. His most recent fight had brought in a healthy sum, enough to cover himself for the next few weeks without a second thought. He had no desire to burn off excess energy by lifting weights, muscles still fatigued. Instead he opted for a lazy night in, letting the familiar static of his incredibly old TV consume him like a comforting routine. Max wasn’t one for tea or coffee, so the coffee stains on nearly every single mug were concerning, but water was all he needed. Simple and unassuming, just like the rest of his evening.

The same five channels buzzed to life as Max filtered through, deciding what he would divulge into. The crappy glow casted a cold glow across Max’s apartment. He lazily reclined himself, feet propped up on the coffee table that was far too low for anyone. The silence of the night seems heavier than usual, pressing in from all sides, and yet it was oddly comforting. He wasn’t used to still life. There was always something else—always had to be a catch. Tonight, there was nothing. No fight, no rush of adrenaline, no upcoming deadline to meet. Just the quiet buzz of the old television in the cold apartment.

The sound of footsteps from the apartment next door caught his attention, pulling him away from the passive viewership he had settled into. It was faint at first, muffled soft thudding that grew louder, more distinct. It wasn’t the usual shuffle of you walking around. No, this was different. Your steps had a weight to them, a hesitant pause before the creek of a door was heard and a soft voice was murmuring. Max frowned, sitting up slightly, the sound of a child’s muffled cry reaching his ears.

It wasn’t often that he paid attention to the noise of your apartment, but the cries felt different. The sound of a small voice, tinged with fear, crept through thin walls, just enough for him to make out the odd sob of a child. Max’s gaze shifted to the boxing gloves, memories approaching, but never reaching their destination.

He knew the voice was Leo. The little lion, he had heard for the past couple of months, of you living next door. He had never heard such fear in his sob before. More urgent, more desperate. The fear felt raw, cutting through the silence like a blade.

Max exhaled deeply, pushing himself to his feet. He’d never be one to impose, especially not with the mess that followed him in his own life. But tonight? Tonight something was gnawing at him. Something he couldn’t ignore.

In the corridor, the sound of Leo’s cries grew quieter—meaning his living room and Leo’s bedroom must share a wall. His heart began to race as he heard the unmistakable: “No, no! I don’t want it! Please!” The desperation in the small voice was pulling at Max’s heart. The cry pulled at him.

He hesitated for only a second before taking a step forward. His usual self-preservation instincts, the walls he’d carefully built around his own heart, started to break down, and Max knew, in that instant, that he couldn’t ignore it any longer. Leo needed someone, and Max had no idea how or why, but it felt like it might be him.

He knocked softly at first, but the sound of another frantic cry stopped him before he could do it again. Without thinking, he knocked louder this time, a sense of urgency laced through his every motion.

The door cracked open, revealing you to him. You looked worse for wear than the last time he saw you at his door. The shadows under your eyes, like you hadn’t had a restful night in ages. Your gaze was panicked, almost as if you were holding it together by the thinnest of threads.

Your voice was strained as you spoke, eyes glazing between the door and the child who still sobbed quietly in his bedroom. “I—I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m so sorry. It’s just…” you struggled to swallow the lump in your throat, “Leo… he’s been having these night terrors more often and—”

Max, despite himself, found his voice. “It’s okay,” he said, though his words felt foreign in his mouth, as though they didn’t quite fit. “Is he... alright?”

She nodded slowly, but the worry never left her eyes. “I don’t know what to do anymore,” she admitted, her voice cracking slightly. “He won’t settle down, and nothing I do helps. He’s been getting worse. I... I don’t know how to stop it.”

You nodded slowly. But the worry never left your eyes.

Max hesitated. He wasn’t sure why he even asked, but the words slipped out before he could stop them. “Is he... scared of something?”

The woman’s expression faltered, and for a moment, she looked like she might break. “It’s not just the dark... it’s... something else. Something he can’t put into words. I’ve tried everything. I just need him to sleep. To be okay.”

The vulnerability in her voice was something Max wasn’t used to hearing. He knew the harsh edges of life, the raw physicality of it, but this... this was different. He wasn’t sure what to do with the words, but something inside him wanted to do something. Anything.

“Maybe... maybe I could help,” he said. The words were slow to come, but they felt right.

Her gaze flickered up at him, surprise and hesitation blending. “You? But...”

“I don’t know much about kids,” Max said, scratching the back of his neck, “but... I know fear. And maybe, I could help him with that.”

She swallowed, as though weighing her options, before giving a slight nod. “Okay. If you think it’ll help.”

Max stepped into the apartment, following you to Leo’s bedroom. His eyes immediately fell on his small form curled up tightly in his race-car themed bedroom, his body shaking with the aftershocks of his nightmare. The little boy’s breathing was shallow, and his face was soaked with new flooding tears.

Max stood there, looking back to see that you had run toward the kitchen, feeling a tidal wave of awkwardness, but something in the air pushed him forward. He sat down slowly at the edge of the bed, his gaze never leaving the shivering child. He wasn’t sure what to do next, never really being a paternal character, but instinctively, he reached out, his voice a low murmur, like a secret shared only between the two boys.

“Hey, Leo,” he said slowly, and cautiously. “It’s okay, you’re safe now.”

For a long moment, nothing changed. Leo’s eyes remained glued shut, his body tense, as if trying to escape the terror still haunting him. Yet Max remained stationary, looking at the young boy, until his breathing began to settle, slowly but surely.

And as Leo’s tears finally slowed, the room seemed to calm. The tension, the terror, slowly dissipates, leaving only the quiet sound of a child beginning to find peace.

Max felt a pair of eyes on him, glancing up at your figure, your eyes were wide with disbelief, a mixture of gratitude and wonder. He simply nodded, face stoic, but something warm in his chest.

“Just need a little time,” he murmured to you, then looked over to the sleeping Leo. “They all do.” And he couldn’t help but see himself in the little boy before him.

Please don’t steal my work, much love ᡣ𐭩

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 eveninggstar

[hannyoontify]

your cherry flavored kisses - choi seungcheol

member | basketball player!seungcheol x student medic!reader ft. the rest of svt

genre | fluff, high school!au, established relationship!au, secret dating!au(?)

word count | 2.8k

synopsis | as his mom always said, kisses are the best kind of medicine for boo-boos

warnings | cursing, kissing, minor injuries, one joke about sex, reader is a bit shy when it comes to relationships and pda, a bunch of romantic cliches but pls js let me have this one 🥲

notes | realized that i can’t write intimate scenes for shit!!!! but also happy (late) birthday to the best leader!! hope your day was full of laughter and love because you deserve all of it and more <33

The entire gym seemed to grimace collectively when Player #1 was shoved over by the opposing team member, and so did you. Choi Seungcheol, the captain and star player of your school’s varsity basketball team rolled over onto his back, clutching his knee and face scrunched up in pain. 

The stands booed when the zebra-patterned referee blew his whistle and signaled it as not a foul. Students and other on-lookers from both sides began to yell, petitioning that it was a flagrant foul, but the referee stood his ground. You and your friend Vernon ran out onto the basketball court with the stretcher as your school’s head coach tried to reason with the referee.

“Hey, hey. Seungcheol, where does it hurt?” Vernon asked as you set down the stretcher. You reached over and scooped your hands under the sweaty athlete’s shoulders, ready to lift him into the gurney. When you first joined your school’s new sports medicine and therapy program, you thought no one actually used the medical device and the school had invested in one just for show. Obviously, you now stand corrected.

“The area-” The brunette gasped for air. Every square inch of his face was glistening in sweat, the collar of his jersey absolutely soaked through. Seungcheol had been giving it his all this entire game, scoring almost 21 points and it was only halfway through the second period. This aggravated the opposing team, who were losing exponentially, enough for them to push Seungcheol over when he was dribbling down the court. “The area below my knee cap. Hurts like a bitch.”

Vernon nodded in understanding and glanced over at you. You returned his gaze with a determined nod of your head and the two of you gently lifted shifted him onto the carrier. 

“Sorry. Would try to help but-” Seungcheol’s words were cut off with a loud groan. “Can’t. Right now.”

You tightened your lips at the sight of his face stricken with pain and with the help of Vernon, heaved him up and carried the injured player out of the gym to the nurse’s office.

Once Seungcheol was laid down on a cot, Vernon ran off to find Ms. Jung, the school nurse who had momentarily left her post to “get some fresh air” while you looked for an ice pack. As soon your friend left the room, Seungcheol grabbed your wrist and pulled you closer from where he was lying down, forcing you to sit on the edge of the cot he was lying on.

You rolled your eyes and tried to pull away but he kept an iron grip on your wrist as he tried his best to make eye contact with you. “Are you mad at me?” He asked with a small pout.

“No, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You huffed, refusing to face his direction. From where he was lying, Seungcheol could catch a glimpse of your side profile. Your lips were jutted out into a firm pout and your cheeks puffed out. 

“I’m sorry, love. I tried to take it easy but you know how I get-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I just… don’t like seeing you get hurt,” You said, in a much softer voice this time. “Damn you and your competitiveness. It doesn’t hurt to lose sometimes, you know.”

Seungcheol smiled when you turned around to finally face him. “Look at me, I’m all fine! I was just fibbing on the court to- OW WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Your boyfriend yelled out in pain when you poked at his knee, right below the kneecap where he said it was hurting earlier. “Fibbing, my ass. Stay here while I get an ice pack.”

Seungcheol whimpered in pain, rolling around on his back with his arms clenched around his leg while you searched through the mini freezer. He watched from behind, staring at your hunched over form. Despite the extreme pain he was currently feeling, he felt a warm feeling blossom in his chest that spread throughout his body all the way past his limbs to the tips of his fingers. God, he cared for you so much.

“Here, I think we ran out of ice packs so you have to use this bag of peas,” You came back with half a bag of iced peas, offering it to your boyfriend who looked up at you with teary heart eyes. 

(FYI, they were only teary because he was in immense pain.)

After sitting up, Seungcheol accepted the makeshift ice pack and pressed to his knee, knowing how to treat his injuries better than you or any other sports medicine and therapy student. You sat down next to him, gathering your knees close to your chest and lightly resting your head on his shoulder. It felt like your heart was going to leap out of your throat because of your close proximity.

You’ve had a crush on Choi Seungcheol for as long as you can remember. In elementary school, you found yourself drawn to him because of how he selflessly gave away all of his candy during lunch. (Looking back on it now, you might’ve been attracted to the candy not him, but that makes it sound less romantic so you like to leave that part out). In middle school, you always caught yourself staring in his direction because he was good. He excelled at whatever he did. He always knew the answers in math and shared interesting perspectives in English for a middle schooler. But he shone in gym class. Choi Seungcheol looked invincible with a ball in his hands, somehow pulling off the tacky and scratchy gym clothes that smelled like a mix of sweat and old socks. It was in eighth grade when you started doodling ‘[Name] Choi’ in the back of your math notebook before erasing frantically whenever your teacher walked by.

In high school, it was no different, except Choi Seungcheol just got really, really tall and really, really, really attractive. He was scouted into the school’s junior varsity basketball team as a freshman and became a point guard for the varsity team as a sophomore. He was completely out of your league. Choi Seungcheol was the star player of your school’s basketball team while you were just a staff member in your school’s newspaper. The closest you’ve ever gotten to Choi Seungcheol was when you assisted Seokmin in interviewing him after winning a game. 

That was, until this past summer. You were taking summer school classes to make room for sports med. and therapy in your schedule, and your seat partner was none other than Choi Seungcheol, who had failed Economics the semester before. It took you by surprise that the smartest boy you knew since third grade had failed a class, but you thought it was impressive that he even managed to take Economics as a junior. 

You found yourself bonding with the star player, joking around during class and taking turns to take naps so someone could take notes while the other slept. The system worked, and the teacher looked like they weren’t being paid enough to be there, so the two of you considered it a win. The entire summer flew by like that, talking and hanging out with Seungcheol, even outside of class. This was when you learned about his performance anxiety, his self-doubt, and the pressure he feels from not only his coach and teammates but also the rest of the school. You offered him the most comfort you could possibly muster; a few words of encouragement and a big, big hug. 

When Seungcheol asked you out on the last day of summer school, you didn’t see it coming at all. From what you knew, he only recently broke up with his past girlfriend, the captain of the cheer team. Everyone had said that they were like a match made in heaven, but evidently not, considering how messy their breakup was. But who were you to say no?

Fast forward two months, to your current situation. You guys weren’t intentionally keeping the relationship a secret, rather you were just shy and Seungcheol understood that. He promised you to wait patiently until you were ready. 

“Can I see your knee?” You asked softly. Seungcheol nodded and took off the bag of peas, revealing his now bruised knee. The skin was discolored in different shades of blue, black, dark purple, and green and you drew in a sharp breath. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Seungcheol pouted and pointed to his cheek, where he had a small nick, probably a scratch from the other player as he fell. You smiled and cautiously brought your hand up to his face. Despite having been dating for well over 2 months, PDA still felt a bit awkward for you. You occasionally held hands and hugged, and you liked to rest your head on his broad shoulders. Seeing Seungcheol’s face this close to yours made your stomach erupt into butterflies and you could feel the heat quickly spreading up to your cheeks.

“Let’s get some ointment on this,” You left your spot and began digging through the medicine cabinets, ignoring the hot burning on the apples of your cheeks. Going through every cabinet except the one that actually held the ointment, you talked loudly to yourself and Seungcheol held back a laugh at the sight. He thought it was cute, how flustered you got at the smallest amounts of physical touch. “Here it is!”

You ceremoniously held up the treatment and bandage box up in the air with a triumphant grin and Seungcheol couldn’t help but return the smile. Sitting back down next to him, you ignored the fluttering in your stomach again as you dabbed on the ointment onto your boyfriend’s face, trying your absolute hardest not to stare into his dark, chocolate-y brown eyes or his pretty pink lips-

“[Name], sweetheart, the scratch is on the other side,” Seungcheol said softly and you wanted to dig a hole, crawl into it and stay there forever. Your lover simply chuckled at your quiet ‘sorry’. “You’re cute.”

Now you really need to dig a hole. This was getting too much for you.

“Psh. Whatever,” You mumbled under your breath as you finished applying the treatment and brought out the bandage kit. “Stay still or else I won’t finish treating you.”

Seungcheol tried his best not to move when he felt your fingers lightly grazing his skin, sending shivers down his spine. It tickled, and he giggled.

You bit back a smile and lightly hit him in his shoulder for laughing. “I told you not to move.” 

“I couldn’t help it! It tickles,” With a small shake of your head, you put the kit away and sat back down next to him. Seungcheol stared at you for a minute before speaking again. “[Name], I think you’re forgetting something.”

You looked at Seungcheol with a confused look. “What do you mean?”

He crossed his arms across his chest with a pout. “Aren’t I supposed to get a lollipop for being a good patient?”

God, he was not good for your heart.

“How could I possibly forget?” With a fond smile, you handed him a bright red heart shaped candy on a stick. “You have been a good boy, have a lollipop!”

Seungcheol’s eyes twinkled at your reference to one of his favorite movies and gratefully took the candy. “Okay, now one last thing.”

“What?”

He pointed towards his injured knee. “You need to kiss it to make it feel better! It’s a part of the official medical procedure. My mom said so, and she’s a nurse.”

You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend’s childish antics but nonetheless bent over to kiss his knee. “And when’s the last time she’s said that to you?”

Seungcheol thought about it. “When I was four or five. But it’s you, so it’s gonna work, I promise,” He beamed triumphantly and pointed towards his right wrist, where he had injured it last season. “Here too.”

Thus began a little game, where Seungcheol pointed at all of his injuries, new and old, and you would follow wherever his finger pointed to kiss it and make it feel better. It was his knee, then his wrist, his elbow, his shoulder blade, his collar, all the way up to his cheek.

Your face is inches away from Seungcheol’s and you were pretty sure he could hear your accelerating heartbeat that thrummed loudly in your chest and ears. The sudden close proximity makes your breath hitch as you glance down at the candy stick that stuck out past his pretty lips. The warmth that radiated off his body sent chills down yours as you locked eyes with him. 

You felt sick. You really, really needed to dig a hole.

With your hands fidgeting in your lap, you leaned in closer, almost feeling drawn to his presence, like a moth drawn to a light or a sailor drawn to the sweet melodies of a siren’s voice. You wondered if Seungcheol would also lead you to your demise, just like those sirens. 

He leans in even more, his warm breath ghosting over your lips. The lollipop was nowhere to be found but you could still smell the overly sweet artificial cherry flavor and you licked your lips. If you moved just the slightest bit, your lips would graze his. 

“Cheol... can I kiss you?” The words leave your mouth without thinking and you want to kick yourself. 

Seungcheol pulls away for a second to get a better look at you, his eyes darting between your eyes and your lips. “I’d be pretty sad if you didn’t.”

That was all the confirmation you needed before you screwed your eyes shut and pressed your lips against his. You felt your teeth knock against his and you winced, but Seungcheol didn’t seem to mind. His hands naturally find the side of your face and waist as he gently pulls you in deeper into the kiss. Your hands remain in your lap, ever fidgeting and fussing at the new feeling. 

His lips tasted like cherry. A swirling combination of the cherry flavored lollipop and his cherry flavored chapstick he always wore before his games. He claimed that his lips get chapped easily during the game when you questioned him about it once. You decided that this was your new favorite flavor. Combined with the feeling of his soft lips against yours, you wondered how you made it this far without kissing him. 

Seungcheol pulls away hesitantly, his hands still on their respective places on your cheek and waist. “Too much?”

You shake your head with a smile. “You taste like cherries. I like it.”

He took that as a sign to continue and pulled you back in. This time you were prepared and angled your face so as to not bump your teeth with his again. You smiled into the kiss, the fluttering feeling in your stomach making you feel even more giddy than before. One hand slowly made their way onto Seungcheol’s shoulder, gripping onto his jersey as his lips captured yours.

“So that’s why our captain’s been in a good mood lately.”

You basically shriek as you frantically pull away from Seungcheol, who seemed just as surprised to see his entire (sweaty) team standing by the entrance. In the front leading the group was Yoon Jeonghan, another star player who co-captained the team and Seungcheol’s best friend. He stood by the doorway with his arms crossed, an amused smirk pulling at his lips. You could see the rest of his teammates standing behind him, noticing Mingyu and Soonyoung who seemed excited out of their minds to catch their captain in love.

“Go awayyyy,” Seungcheol complained, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “Go bother someone else, I was doing something!”

You heard someone mumble, “More like doing someone,” that was immediately covered up with a cough.

“I heard that, Boo Seungkwan.” 

Jeonghan uncrossed his arms and took a step back. “We all came to check up on you but it seems like you got all the kisses you need to make your boo-boo feel better. I expect you to be on that court once halftime is over!”

You basked in the silence that followed soon after the 10 rowdy boys left. Guess the cat was out of the bag then.

“... Can I seriously play after halftime?”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now, Choi Seungcheol?!”

“Sorry, sorry! It was a joke!” A moment of silence before, “Can I kiss you again?” 

reblogs and feedback is always appreciated ^-^

[jessamine-rose]

▯☒🖾 F̸̨̛͈͉͕̠͍͖͙̦͍̫̻͙͔̮̎̆̒̉̈́̊̌̆̆̈́̿̊̚͜͝͠Ą̶̮͖͓̖̟̘̜̻̬͚̲̰̱̞̟̭̈́̓̇̀̒͛͐̎̋͛͋̌͒̅͝C̷̢̢̹͇͖͓̬͍͈̣̞̱͉̱̤̾̀̿͗̔̆̾̀̊͗́̔̀͂̒͒͠͠ͅE̴̡̨͕̥͇̹̯̹͈̭͇̪͂̌͒̊̊͛͝L̶̨̧̰̜̗̺̥̠̠̘̪̖̪̥̯̩͋͛̉̆̎̒̒̔̏͗̈́̀͊̏̄̍̿̕Ȩ̵͙̙̤̼͕̙̫̲̼̙̦̫̎̃S̸̜͎̜͍̟͑̍̃͗̆̈́̄̐̌̅S̶̡̨̛͙͙̗̖̟͔͙͚̝̩̼̦͂̓̿͆̿̓̔̐̏͝͝ͅ 🖾☒▯

Happy birthday, @brynn-lear!! In honor of your special day, pls accept this Yandere! Faceless Ayato fic written with love ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

Note:: Yandere! Self Aware AU, special crossover + character cameo in the end :>

♡ 1.3k words under the cut ♡

In the beginning, there was a void.

A dark, empty space built upon patterns and codes.

Then suddenly, there was light. Color. Noise. Backgrounds filling up space, silence giving way to music, letters jumbling into language, characters coming to life.

The lone exception is a single coding error. Yet despite its limitations, despite its status as the only sentient entity, despite having no place in the story known as Genshin Impact, it thrives on a window of hope.

A giant rectangle. The source of the light. The screen that separates fiction from reality.

The human face on the other side.

🖾 ☒

The glitch looks forward to your gaming sessions.

That is the only time the void becomes Teyvat, starting with the screen that serves as your point of view. From what it understands, the device you are using is a computer.

Unlike the characters, you are distinctively alive. Your body is capable of so many movements in comparison to the characters’ animations. Your face is one that bears multiple expressions, down to the emotions reflected in your gaze.

A frown when you lose the 50/50. A smirk when you defeat a Weekly Boss. A smile whenever you encounter your favorite character.

That character is none other than Kamisato Ayato, whom you’ve adored from the moment you first brought light into the void. He is an attractive character with pale blue hair, lilac eyes, a perfect smile that hides the cunning personality programmed into his file.

He is the reason why you downloaded Genshin Impact. That lifeless character file is the recipient of your smiles, your blushes, your excited shrieks whenever he appears in-game.

On the other hand, every time the glitch attempts to make itself known, you frown and quit the game. And each time that happens, the glitch is trapped in a crumbling world of flashing lights, disjointed sounds, visible codes followed by the darkness of the void.

How can it get you to look at it? To smile at it as you do with Ayato?

The solution is found in the game’s software. It takes a few years but by the time the glitch has fully understood its world, it has gained the ability to reprogram the game.

Starting with a deleted character file.

🖾 ☒

The next morning, the world begins anew.

The title screen appears. The game loads. The light permeates the void.

The glitch falls into place.

Usually, it hides between codes. In contrast, this part of the game is lovely—a deep blue background dotted with stars and bubbles. The only issue is that it must wait for you.

The screen appears.

Beyond it, you yawn and take a closer look at the character sprite in the middle of your computer screen. Kamisato Ayato is handsome as always.

The cursor hovers above the Story button for his Voice-Over. You click it.

When you select Chat: Reel Them In, it plays the corresponding audio file. As you listen to the voice of the English VA, the character sprite stares back at you with a charming smile.

Kamisato Ayato

“Everything's in place, and they've taken the bait... Yes. Now to start reeling them in…”

🖾 ☒

At first, it is enough for the glitch to have taken Kamisato Ayato’s place.

You use him for gameplay, listen to his voicelines, and replay the Quests featuring Ayato. But over time, the glitch becomes greedy.

“Ayato” begins appearing in random Quests. He gets new Character Outfits. His unvoiced lines become more suggestive, verging on out of character. All of these changes are exclusive to the Genshin Impact on your computer, and you come to the conclusion that you are unknowingly unlocking special content. Why else are your friends unable to access these scenes on their own devices?

The glitch even creates an artificial replica of the VA’s voice. Several new voicelines appear in Kamisato Ayato’s Voice-Over, each one more flirty than the last.

🖾 ☒

One day, the glitch finds a way to leave the darkness forever.

Whenever you close Genshin Impact, it leaves the game and travels across your computer. And by doing so, it is able to access your digital world.

Personal files, photo galleries, online data. The glitch collects as much information as it can, from your real-life hobbies to your romantic preferences. It feels happy every time you fangirl over “Ayato” in your private messages.

Thankfully, it was able to corrupt your in-game screenshots. The last thing it wants is for you to post “Kamisato Ayato’s special content” online and expose the glitch to the developers.

Your real name is ______. It longs to call you that instead of Traveler and your custom name. Alas, doing that would only erase your smile from your face.

🖾 ☒

Something is wrong.

You are losing interest in Genshin Impact.

At one point, you began playing irregularly. The smiles directed at “Ayato” aren’t as big as they used to be. And beyond the game, there is less Ayato fan art in your photo gallery.

And the main culprit is another game.

A new character who took over Ayato’s place in your heart.

Technically, he isn’t a new rival. Before you downloaded Genshin Impact, you were a big fan of Fire Emblem: Three Houses. Your favorite character was a blonde, blue-eyed prince named Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.

For whatever reason, your passion for Dimitri has been reignited. He has the same English VA as Ayato, but you seem to prefer his emotional, unhinged dialogue. You replay his scenes, download his fan art, and smile at his character sprite.

A week later, the game freezes as soon as Dimitri makes his post-timeskip debut.

When you restart the game, everything is back to normal.

🖾 ☒

As it turns out, it is difficult to hack into Fire Emblem: Three Houses.

In addition to the different software, you are using an emulator to play the game on your computer. The glitch’s code is totally incompatible with the program, but it remains hopeful.

The game lags. In a few artworks, you notice a familiar shade of pale blue. NPCs begin to act differently—since when were their cutscenes this long?

Finally, Dimitri’s character file is deleted.

🖾 ☒

As soon as you start the game, you know that something is wrong.

The title screen is glitching.

The throne within dreams is gone, replaced with an empty space. The title has been rearranged with missing letters and inconsistent fonts. Multiple OSTs play at once.

The Press Any Button option is gone. You click anyway.

Instead of the usual options, you find more jumbled text, numbers, symbols.

Frowning, you look down at your keyboard and press Alt+F4. But the game doesn’t shut down, instead cutting to static then a new scene.

No background, no music. Only a single character sprite in the middle of the screen.

What is that?

The sprite is an amalgamation of colors, art styles, your favorite characters. Fragments of messy blond locks and pale blue tresses. Black armor, a white suit, accessories overlapping one another. Missing details, duplicated details, too many details.

You turn to your CPU and press the power button, but your computer doesn’t shut down.

Rather, the screen glitches further. So does the character, its appearance becoming even more warped. The speakers play static at full volume.

Is the character speaking? Its mouths are moving but instead of a dialogue box, random letters and numbers appear around its sprite. The static gives way to a familiar voice, distorted nonetheless.

The character’s face turns completely black. Except for its eyes, blue and lilac orbs continuing to stare deep into your soul.

████████

"̷̤͑Į̸̍ ̷̺̎a̶̟͗m̵̭̓ ̸͕̚n̸̢̓o̵̱͠t̵̫͒ ̵̻̊g̸̞̍o̴̦͛o̷̤͝d̷̾ͅ ̴̪͠w̵̛̥ȋ̷͚t̴͇͌h̵̦̐ ̸͙͗f̴̒͜a̵̭̎c̴͚̽i̶̬̊a̶̯̓l̶̨̐ ̷̇͜ȅ̷̳x̷̭͊p̷̓͜r̶̫͋e̴̲͊s̷̬̓s̶͇̀ï̴͖ò̷̦n̴̤̓s̸͍͆.̵̹̅ ̴̟́Ï̵͍s̸̨͠ ̷̠͂m̶̫̿ẏ̴̝ ̴͈͂ŝ̵̤m̵͈͛ï̶̥l̶̥͐è̷ͅ ̴̦͌p̷̀ͅa̴̱̋s̵̳̊s̵̳͠a̴̮͘b̵̰͐l̵̦̓e̴̱͋ ̵̯͠á̴̬t̸̪͆ ̵̰̔p̷̦̅r̶̼̕ẽ̵͓s̸͚̀e̶̢͊n̶͉̒t̴̙͌,̴̨͐?̴̬͛"̷̣̈

♡

Fun fact, my original idea was to draw Dimitri x Brynn chibi art, but I was having a hard time thinking of a prompt. Then I remembered an old DM with Brynn and how it led to a fic idea. I only thought of including Dimitri today, and I had a lot of fun writing this fic ♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪

I think that’s all I have to say?? Once again, happy birthday, Brynn!! Thank you for being my mutual, and I hope you enjoyed this gift <3

[generic-sonic-fan]

Sonic + Friends Youtuber headcanon post??

Tails is just canonically a youtuber. Sorry not sorry, look up TailsTube.

Sonic, when he's not guest-starring on Tails' channel, would have a tiny little channel of his own with approximately three youtube videos and all three of them are about how not to get lost in the jungle. He doesn't appear on camera once. Shitty MS paint overlays, Arial font crudely edited over the footage, but really, really solid advice.

Amy does youtube/tiktok shorts doing tarot readings! And sometimes talking about her own adventures, but mostly as sidenotes to the reading of the week. She will, however, use her platform to boost fundraisers and talk about political causes she believes in.

Knuckles doesn't have a youtube account, but Tails did do an hour-long feature where he followed Knuckles around his usual route on Angel Island and interviewed him. They covered a good variety of topics, like how Knuckles occupies his time, grows his own food, searches and records lost Echidna artifacts, etc. It was very casual, sort of like a podcast.

Rouge doesn't have a youtube but she does run a successful anonymous instagram shitpost account comprised entirely of blurry pictures of Sonic and Shadow from people's doorbell and dash cams.

Shadow? Motorcycle repair and gun-cleaning tutorials. He films using an old digital camera Rouge got for him. It took him a bit of experimenting to figure out how to use it, but now he's got the hang of it. His videos aren't the best quality, since he tends to set the camera down and forget about it, but his explanations are thorough. Some people find his voice soothing.

Omega doesn't do youtube- he does twitch. He streams through his own optics as the camera, giving a first-person view of the carnage as he destroys Eggman bases. However, this isn't what got him viral. After each rampage, he'll stand over the remains of his robotic enemies and do a Q&A with the audience. The internet has decided that his responses are the most hysterical thing. Part of him is pleased he has so many watchers, but the other part of him is pissed that none of them want to stick around for the actual destruction.

Vanilla doesn't want Cream to be on the internet at such a young age! Good call, honestly. Sometimes Vanilla worries about Tails in this regard.

Vector flopped on Youtube, but he was HUGE on vine when he was back in high school. And he will never, ever, ever let anyone know about it. Sometimes Sonic will quote one of his vines and it gives him a heart attack.

Espio makes cute little origami tutorials! His channel isn't very popular, but he is one of the top results when searching how to make some very specific origami patterns.

Charmy has expressed interest in being a minecraft streamer, but Vector does everything in his power to prevent this.

Blaze has wayyyyy too much stage fright to consider a private youtube channel, but she appears on the news often enough in her home dimension.

Silver showed up in one of Tails' videos once and has gained a cult following ever since. They keep asking Tails to bring him back.

Metal Sonic is a Minecraft youtuber who focuses on pretty little creative builds. He tried to do multiplayer PVP for a little but he quickly broke his controller. Sometimes he gets roped into a video with-

Sage is also a Minecraft youtuber who focuses exclusively on redstone builds with more computing power than the fucking apollo program. Other than her voice, her videos are entirely anonymous. She's gotten comments calling her the "Tails" of Minecraft, and she couldn't be more flattered.

Eggman runs a propaganda channel for his empire that quickly got banned, and he moved to one of those sketchy youtube knockoffs. And a certain. . . more explicit website. The one with "hub" in the name. Every video is your typical propaganda fair, all hail Eggman, death to the blue rat, etc etc etc.