#however if you dont see this its whatever...

[theguardianace]

Can I politely ask you to elaborate on the Aroace Nene fic you talked about some time ago? Or just simply how you see her in your brain after finding out she's aroace? If it's not much to ask, of course

OMG YES YES YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! absolutely. i will ramble about aroace literally anybody on the drop of a dime this is one of the best anons to get actually

nene's story is actually the one i have the least about, to be perfectly honest. i have a plot for both emu and tsukasa's stories, but haven't quite figured out one for nene. honestly, i think nene's the type of aroace to not really... care about it that much. she'd never cared about love or romance to begin with, so when she realized it was because she was aroace, it was mostly like "hm. cool. im gonna go play animal crossing now".

as for finding out... i think it would have happened in middle school, back when she was Online Gamer Nene TM full time. with how much she loves games and storytelling, it really only makes sense she'd want to engage with fandom content like fics. however, just... seeing the way people sexualize her favorite characters, or only write/draw shipping content... she didn't care for it. she didn't want to engage with that. not that there was anything wrong with it! people can do whatever they want with fictional game characters. she just. didnt care about it herself. which led to her feeling even more isolated even within her favorite hobbies. i think this would sort of lead her to playing a variety of games so she doesn't have to worry about getting absorbed in fandoms she doesn't care to be a part of. she still checks, every once in a while. for games that she really likes. i think its through this that she eventually stumbles across a popular aroace headcannon, goes "what", googles it, and is like "wow. thats me. sick". and then moves on

but like. even when she's moved on. it's still really nice to know, yknow? it explains why she felt like the odd one out not wanting to ship stuff, or even care to entertain it. there's people out there just like her. it makes her less anxious, a little more sure of herself.

she doesn't ever tell anyone. not even rui. (i mean, they hadn't talked in ages. how is she supposed to? "hi, we havent had a genuine conversation in years, how are you? by the way i discovered im aroace and you probably don't know what that means and honestly i dont really care about it myself. have a good day".) (and once they do start talking again, it just... never came up. she never felt the need to, and he never felt the need to ask.) until my epilouge chapter where they all end up coming out like WHAT WERE ALL AROACE THATS SO SILLY anyways

in casual life, i think nene would have been the type for adults to go "oooh, you have a crush on him, don't you? look at you, all red and shy just thinking about him" when shes simply Just Like That. it was really annoying. she knew she didn't like them like that and that was that. but shes too scared to say that so she just took it. definitely didn't help the "nene needs to learn how to make friends" department. honestly, her only relief from it was with rui- both her parents and the kamishiro parents recognized that the two really did care about each other, but it wasn't like that. also no way in hell they're ruining the one friendship their kids have.

later with emu, i don't think there was any point where people even considered a romance, at least not at first glance. it wasn't like people at school even knew about emu (minus when she snuck in, but why would this hyperactive pink thing be looking for that shy second year?). and people walking the streets didn't really assume they liked each other like that since they were two girls. nene's mom was a little curious if they were dating since emu comes over so often and is so physically affectionate, but she never really pressed. she was mostly just happy nene has friends over that aren't just rui. (also, emu's aroace too, so nothing in her demeanor even made nene consider it could have been romantic. shes just Emu.)

for tsukasa, it's a similar thing. by the time people have realized the two are friends, nene's confident in herself and her feelings enough to shut down the people who would even dare assume she likes a buffoon like that star in that way. there's those people that go "oh but you're mean to him and girls are mean to boys when they have a crush on them" but she's tough enough to go "ew" and move on. (she did complain about it a little to rui on a walk home once. if he ended up in her classroom the next day to "grab her for lunch" and weaponize his dangerous reputation to intimidate them when she wasn't looking, it was sheer coincidence.)

also, i think out of the four, nene falls most on the loveless scale. tsukasa, emu, and rui are all beings made of love despite the fact they don't fall in it. nene's a bit different. she cares about her friends, and she's super good at making them (despite what she thinks), but she doesn't really... love them. not in the ways people usually want to describe love. she would kill a man for them in a heartbeat, don't get me wrong. she just experiences those sorts of feelings differently. it's care, and determination, and hope, and happiness, but not... love. not completely.

anyways aroace gamer nene so real fic will happen once i figure out how to tie these ideas to a plot 👍

[vasito-de-leche]

a little prompt, if you don’t mind

what about mercenary!reader and symbiote!Pavia? it’s just Pavia’s ult/wolves kinda remind me of Venom and i think it would be fun to imagine him being something like Venom

;R1999 PAVIA - "under your skin"

Symbiote!Pavia x Mercenary!Reader 2.5k words body horror What you and Pavia have is nothing more than transactional—you need him to make a living, and he needs you alive to ensure a comfortable life. It's taken some time to get used to these changes, to share everything you have with him for the sake of convenience: your home, your food, your job. And most importantly, your body. Perfect symbiosis, or dysfunctional parasitism? You've yet to figure out where you two stand. One thing is clear, though; he's the best at getting under your skin.

i just want you to know that this prompt speaks to MY SOUL bc i love venom and pavia so fucking much. you dont understand how hard i think about the concept of a symbiotic relationship between symbiote and host. so I went extremely self-indulgent with this one <3

as usual, this is written to be read as platonic or romantic, whatever floats your boat!

Bang!

A clean kill.

The only reason you watch as the body drops to the ground is out of respect for the work you do, nothing else. You've done this a dozen times, and you will do it a dozen more -- the gun in your hand has become a reliable friend rather than a tool for mindless murder, its familiar weight a fleeting comfort in the tedious routine. A shame it came from the most annoying person you know.

Screaming ensues as everyone surrounding your target runs around in panic. You remain, eyes locked on the target. When someone moves their body, attempting to cradle that lifeless corpse, you see it; a bullet right between their eyebrows, the perfect shot.

You feel a tug, but it comes from within your chest cavity. Something squirms inside you, pulling you back, and you understand this as your cue to slide back into the shadows. It begins with a single step backwards, then another, until you feel the texture under your shoes shift -- what was once solid ground is now a dark, velvety mass, floating upwards and fading away like smoke. It licks at your ankles, providing an initially cold sensation that permeates your clothes, and then it continues upwards to your calves, your knees, your thighs. The gun slowly dissolves into slime, taking the shape of what you assume to be a hand, horrible and sticky fingers intertwined with yours, pulling you downwards.

By then, you feel that burning sensation, and then you're dragged into the abyss.

"That was a lousy shot."

A voice echoes in your mind, it is not your own. It feels like a thousand ants marching alongside your cranium. Or rather, what you assume to be your cranium -- in this current state, you can't separate yourself from the embrace of the void. The voice might as well reverberate all around you.

You scoff and insist. No, it was a perfect shot.

"Perfect my ass. You were off by 2 centimeters," the biting remark makes you clench your jaw. You don't reply. The voice does the same, it remains still, only a semblance of white noise, but you understand its silence as a smug victory.

Suddenly, vertigo takes hold of you. It only happens for a split second, always unannounced, but you know better than to brace yourself. Doing so, as you've learned, would only make you nauseous, dizzy and weak -- instead, you let go and the shadows gently coax you back into the light before dissipating in the air.

You find yourself in front of your apartment door, an odd and anticlimactic way of ending a productive day. What, no snack run today?

"Not feeling it today. So you either open the door on your own, or I'll do it myself. Get a move on."

Some of these threats tend to hold more water than others, but more often than not, they're just empty words and loud, useless barking. And so you've learned to ignore them all -- however, you feel a faint prodding inside your back pocket, like a tentacle in search of something. Right, your keys. The roll of your eyes and the slowness in your movements are the only means of rebellion you have against this annoying entity in your head, it continues to breathe down your neck, impatient as ever, until the door opens and you step into your safe haven.

"Finally! Guess there's some activity in that brain dead head of yours."

You're forced to make a bee-line for the kitchen and the fridge, puppeteered by a force much more stronger, much more ancient than every insignificant emotion you've ever felt: the damn parasite inside of you is hungry.

As you both scan the leftovers -- your leech of a roommate seeing through your eyes, smelling through your nose -- the voice returns, this time in a more playful tone, less grating than before.

"Scusi, what's with the silent treatment today?" You bite the inside of your cheek and it laughs at you. "Don't tell me, wolf got your tongue? Are you mad that I saw right through your poor, shitty technique?"

A suffocating presence crawls inside you, starting from somewhere below your rib cage and making its way upwards through your esophagus and trachea, shifting until you feel the prodding of cold, slimy fingers in your mouth. They are tasteless and you can still breathe, your body not even bothering to perceive this as an obstruction or an intruding force that must be coughed and spat out. They are careless in their movements, pinching the tip of your tongue and pushing against your clenched teeth in an attempt to get you to open up.

And the worst part is that this is nothing but a mocking gesture, you've come to understand this over the years. To you, this is no different than someone poking at your sides, childishly asking for your attention. You obediently open, enough for a single digit to slip out, one you recognize as the middle finger. It presses down on your lower lip.

And then you bite down, hard.

It dissipates instantly, it is absorbed back into your body through every inch of skin it makes contact with. There is a new sound in the back of your mind, one you weren't quite expecting. Your parasite laughs, amused, no trace of that usual condescending tone.

"Good, you still know how to use that petty mouth of yours. I don't have to worry about teaching you how to chew down your food."

This makes you stand up straight, turning your head and glaring at an empty space, where you assume this presence would manifest if it chose to stop taking residence in your body, "I'm not eating while you're still in there. If you want dinner, then get out."

There is a beat, a momentary silence. You don't give the parasite any time to bargain, "I'm serious. Use your own damn mouth if you're so hungry. I already have to do everything on my own, I'm not going to start spoon feeding you, too!"

The reply comes out faster than you expected.

"Fine."

For a moment, your vision doubles and your body feels like it's being painlessly torn apart. For a moment, you have two sets of eyes, two sets of arms, two sets of legs and two minds. You are both yourself and him, simultaneously. It is like someone is cutting your soul in half, shoving each part into two different bodies.

It is over in the blink of an eye, and there is a presence looming behind you, made from the same material that took you here, the same material that often travels in your veins and every other crevice, nook and cranny available between your organs and bones. The lights of your apartment flicker, and you take notice of his shadow cast over you.

His predatory gaze burns holes in the back of your head, and in the stillness of it all, you hear his steps, the sound his leather pants and the shifting of his shirt fabric as he steps closer -- until you feel his chest against your back. An arm slides into view, closing the door to the fridge and resting there, preventing you from escaping. It is decorated with all the useless, silver jewelry he's taken from your targets, a hand covered with tattoos you've often traced with your very own fingers in the past.

Oddly enough, you do not feel like prey. Not anymore. Your instinct tells you that you should, but truth be told, you could not care less. Especially when you feel his chin dig into the top of your head, his weight pressing lazily on you.

"…But in exchange, I'm cooking tonight. You got 10 seconds to get outta here." He shifts, and his cheek nuzzles into you as he yawns, like he's ready to move on from this conversation.

"Huh?" You slide from under him, finally looking at the parasite concealing as a man -- one you recognize as the bane of your existence, Pavia. "Uh, like hell I'm trusting you with the food! I've seen the stuff you put on your pizza."

"Like you're one to talk! You add too much salt to everything you make. If you wanted to ruin your liver, you should've just let me eat it from day one. 5 seconds left before I throw you out. C'mon."

"Do you even know how to cook? Any actual recipes that don't require winging everything?"

"Does pasta with a side of 'mind your fucking business or I'll make us eat rat poison' sound good to you?"

"I swear if you put anything funny in the food--…"

"Time's up. Out!" Pavia picks you up, manhandles you even, and tosses you out into the living room. As soon as you land on the couch, the door to the kitchen closes and you're left all alone.

It's easy to forget that you have no fucking clue as to who or what Pavia even is.

No last name, no records, no personal information at all. You've touched him before—he looks and feels just like any other person. If you didn't know any better, you could've sworn he bleeds the same way you do. But there are times when that outer layer of normalcy is peeled back just enough to remind you what you're dealing with. Sometimes, the outline of his form darkens, as if the light around him couldn't affect him in any way, and his eyes go dark, so very dark.

You've seen him in this form, unhinging his jaw to uncomfortable degrees and revealing endless sets of saw-like fangs and teeth. His nails have grown longer, thicker and sharper than expected in many occasions. You would find those on the ground, like a wild dog who has never known, let alone needed, a trimmer.

And most importantly, you've allowed him entry to every pore of your body, every piece of cartilage, every muscle, every vein.

That's when you get a small glimpse into the eldritch monstrosity living under your roof—sometimes, he's a thick fog. Sometimes, he's an oozing pile of slime. Sometimes, he's the big, bad wolf. Sometimes, you can't even understand what you're looking at when he manifests in front of you. Regardless, you're certain of something.

Pavia is darkness, eternal and haunting as the night.

He is also a huge, ungrateful, bastard.

"Hey! Where'd you leave the gelato!? This freezer's a damn mess!" His voice is heard, muffled. It doesn't carry the same cadence and weight as it does when you hear it from within your mind. He sounds more annoying, in fact.

It's a strange experience, to have him coexist right beside you as if he weren't some sort of parasite, one hair away from eating your organs. But at least like this, he cannot read your mind nor attempt to puppet your body like a moron in broad daylight. You don't answer, fully aware that he's only trying to piss you off and lure you into another argument -- as if he'd ever lose sight of his precious dessert, anyway. Instead, you busy yourself with the usual routine; finishing what is left of your work, contact your employers and whatnot.

Soon enough, the kitchen door opens and Pavia slides into the room with a single plate of warm food. You look at him, eyes wide in indignation. Oh, he wouldn't …

"Huh? What, I thought you didn't trust me to cook, so I just made something for myself. There's some leftovers from your poor excuse of a lasagna, though." The smarmy expression plastered all over his face as he licks the sauce off his spoon is unbearable, and you rush to the kitchen either to find the biggest knife to drive into his chest or to resign yourself and eat those leftovers.

And then you see it, another plate resting by the counter. Full of delicious looking pasta.

Son of a bitch.

"Bring me some of that orange juice you bought yesterday while you're in there, yeah?" Pavia never gives you time to settle down, demanding your attention and your frustration time and time again, unable to form a single coherent thought nor opinion about him.

He's annoying, that's all you've been able to figure out so far.

He's annoying, and he's made a mess out of your kitchen to cook this meal for both of you. He's annoying, and stingy when it comes to sharing his favorite snacks and desserts, but he never attempts to steal your own. He's annoying, and he offers you a power beyond your wildest dreams, to get rid of inhibition and embrace the abilities of an eldritch beast. He's annoying, and he hogs all the fucking blankets at night, planting his cold feet against your legs or back to add insult to injury.

He's annoying, and he's calling out to you once more, telling you to hurry or else you'll miss "that one stupid show" you like, that he'll switch channels if you don't sit down with him to eat. You sigh. The nerve, the hypocrisy. You know the things he likes to watch -- he has no right to criticize your taste like this.

"I'm coming, calm down! Christ …"

You notice that he never lingers nor invades any of your usual places, always picking the same spots for himself, and this is ironic in every way possible given his fickle nature. There's no doubt that as soon as you two retire for the night, Pavia will make a show out of sliding back into your body, to rest with the warmth of your blood and the soothing rhythm of your heart. And you will tell him to fuck off and sleep on the couch, reminding him of that one time he got a little too comfortable, clutching your heart in his claws, causing you to believe you were having a heart attack. Then, morning will arrive, and you will find Pavia either sprawled out or gone, but never truly leaving you alone. You will feel him, that inky slime, both cold and warm in your veins. You will go to work, and you will return home to start all over again. This is the routine, one you stopped questioning a long time ago.

This parasite who gets under your skin, both figuratively and literally, is annoying. He's annoying when he teases you, forcing you to admit that he can cook a mean pasta. He's annoying when he laughs, loud and boisterous, at those stupid moments he often criticizes in all of your favorite shows. He's annoying when he gets clingy, using you as a pillow because he can't be bothered to reach out for one of the many other pillows scattered around.

He's so very annoying when he looks at you with a curious gleam in his eyes, obviously noticing the way you've chosen to rest your head in the crook of his neck. Time stands still as you simply look at each other, as you lose yourself in those bright, sharp eyes.

You stick out your tongue at him, and Pavia blows a raspberry at you. Sure, he might be plenty annoying on his own, but together you're both insufferable and unstoppable.

[b4kuch1n]

about ready

[moeblob]

So it occurs to me that I posted most of their lore on my OC blog (though a few posts on here have the story info) and honestly I think it's very important to note that the entire reason a guy from Florida is recruited to help defeat the demon lord isn't him as the hero. His younger brother (by about ten years younger) is the Chosen Hero and... not very good at it. So the goddess (Solei) who had selected the hero has to begrudgingly go back to earth and convince his older brother to help save her world.

(Also Reynold admits to Solei that "Sascha could never be a bad influence. He's the best impulse control I've ever had" and she really doesn't like to hear it. That's terrifying.)

[frecklystars]

[nerosdayinanime]

wait. random idea. Pathetic(blame candy) muzan & kokushibo are exes from Centuries ago and he has Complaints hed like to talk about w him but all hes getting to now is Nakime. hes so sick of his bullshit and just enduring it and goes to kagaya like 'i have to kill kibutsuji. ill help you kill him & the other upper moons just PLEASE im so sick of this shit. i need to kill him' 'well you arent killing me so ill give you the benefit of doubt-'

since they broke up he's hacked at the curse to the point he can snap it Whenever without muzan noticing, he finally did so & went to kagaya bc he can Feel shit's gonna pick up soon. he has his memories but he Ignores Them bc hes ashamed and kinda projecting it onto muzan. he has to kill muzan to kill his shame kinda fucked up coping mechanism yk?

the hashira try to kill him On Sight together but he calmly deflects everything while explaining hes working with them to kill kibutsuji. reluctant acceptance with the note from kagaya giving him a pass. most of them fully believe its a trap tho.

koku seeing tanjiro & his earrings and starting to approach, giyuu already has his blade lodged in his neck as a warning/threat & tanjiro staring at him in shock like 'HUH?? THE MAN FROM MY DREAMS?? HES A DEMON NOW? WAIT WHATS HE DOING HERE-'

[daisies-on-a-cup]

theres something rlly funny about ppls approximation of what southern dialects are like- esp when its like the stereotypical southern politeness imposed on a very sarcastic character

[ufolvr]

How I sleep understanding my favorite villain's personality and backstory and why they work so well while also throwing key aspects of it away for the benefit of my own indulgences btw ^_^

[thecookieshop]

Literally gripping execs by the neck I will never give you my money again. Unless it isn't a reboot/remake. I will not hatewatch. I will not EVEN pirate. I don't care anymore and I will do everything in my power to encourage and educate my peers and anyone who will listen to me rant about this. I WILL donate to artists and writers who provide content. I will go to theaters to watch films which are Your Industry Doing What It Is Supposed To Do.

[dyketubbo]

i do think oranboo would wear dresses and skirts but i also think that she would still be really pathetic. shes not your sassy but supportive sister figure who magically knows makeup now and does yours for you shes not human and her species doesnt have gender (at MOST if you connect enderians to the ender dragon then she would be. a dragon) so tits would probably be more annoying to her than anything ("why would i choose to have back pain. why shouldnt i just tailor dresses to fit me without weird lumps on my chest") shes probably not going to be very nice at all really

no in my mind oranboo has just decided that now that shes a girl shes TWICE as better than everyone. shes still a weirdo who lives in a cave and cant go out in the rain not because it would ruin her makeup but because itll literally kill her. ranboo not being on the server is actually just oranboo going mining to try and get rich again. shes still a spoiled brat but now shes a spoiled brat of a PRINCESS and really her connection to the ender dragon makes her THRICE as cool and better than everyone else, actually. she mutters to herself and probably always has dirty hands because ender but she doesnt have silk touch.

transitioning didnt make oranboo go from a manloser to a #girlboss #slay #baddie who pinches your cheeks and teases you but means well. shes just a womanloser now who does wear dresses and heels but the heels are so it hurts more when she steps on your foot to get you to drop something and then pretends it wasnt her and even if it was you deserved it actually because that was hers? its in her hands so its hers now. she probably stole the gender too

[hikeyzz]

i don't like my body changing outside of my control!!!!! i don't like it i don't like it i don't like it. i know some people would be grateful but i'm not. it's freaky and uncomfortable.

[carrieway]

i just think ghosting someone should be illegal

[pepper-steam-milkshake]

the war im having rn internally about whether to try and finish writing the chapter tonight (and therefore shorten it because with the current outline for it it would not be finished tonight unless i was up absurdly late) despite knowing that tomorrow is going to be an extremely long day or wait until next year and finish writing the whole chapter

[p4nishers]

percy weasley was queer-coded. pass it on.

[youmustfixyourheartt]

fucked up what happened to mike crew.

[jvzebel-x]

🦋