#only others i have are of me specifically rather than like. a little vague circle guy. could totally post those if anyone wants

[chronicallyabsent]

i am begging. crying. Throuiwng up. Pleading for more of the one dodode.s.. the cring throwing up dyin go dodoels please. (IT IS OKAY IF NOT!! i love them so much. ive tried making my own i litearlly cant.. u got hte special ability 2 make them and i wish u the best... <3)

i'm gonna assume you're talking about the reaction images so here's some older ones that i got on hand. some of these just felt too specific to include in the other post

also peanut on skateboard emoji i saw in a dream one time

[gemstone-roses]

Giles X reader

Me and @my-head-is-an-animal were talking and agreed what needed to be done about the lack of fics for Giles. So here we are.

Thankyou so much @my-head-is-an-animal for reading this over and giving me some fab advice!

Summary: Giles helps you through an anxiety attack.

Word count: 1k ish.

Warnings: contains descriptions of an anxiety attack, loneliness, vague mentions of how people and life can be unkind sometimes. Heavy hurt comfort vibes I can't stop thinking about being comforted by this man okay.

A:N- everyone experiences anxiety differently and this fic will reflect my experiences, but I hope this brings comfort to anyone reading this, as it did for me when writing it. As always 18+ only thankyou! This took SO long to write so please be nice and kind thanku 😊.

Giles knew immediately he liked you. There was something about you, something, endearing.

You walked in one evening after seeing the assistant required poster on the town noticeboard and when Giles had asked what qualifications you had you responded simply and almost nervously, 'I love books'.

He'd held out his hand and chuckled 'your hired'.

You'd become fast friends with the British librarian ever since. Helping him get books for his students… and the buffy gang, you soon became familiar with the layout of the library.

You spent your evenings curled up in the chair, books piled lazily on the floor, and before long you didn't even need to hesitate to remember the shelf when giles or willow asked for a specific book.

You stayed late most nights, Giles would turn off the main lights and make you a cup of tea while you read and he researched. He looked adorable with his glasses hanging out his mouth when he was thinking .He'd hand you the steaming mug, saucer too, because he's Giles, with a smile each time.

It's been a busy week, every night you've stayed late with giles and buffy and co to help deal with some demon or other.

Finally, the demon was dealt with and buffy and everyone left to have some sort of socialising after a night of battling. You just want to curl up with a book, you've felt off all day and nothing has quite snuffed out that feeling. Usually when you felt like this you'd curl up under the thickest blankets you could find in your place and you'd fiddle with the chain on your neck.

It was a simple piece of jewellery, the small circle hanging in the middle of the chain contained your favourite quote from one of your favourite books in tiny writing. It brought you comfort whenever your hands reached for it. The words brought you comfort.

You'd always found more comfort and affection in books than in people. In the past, life or rather, some people in it, had not been kind to you.

And when that happened, you found your escape in books.

"Tea?" Giles asks, sighing, sending a small smile your way.

"Mm no thanks" you shook your head. You shivered slightly.

"Are you alright?" Giles asks, eyebrows raised, you never turn down a cup of tea from him, it worried him slightly, but he pressed on.

"Mm, just tired" you assured him with a small smile.

Giles is unconvinced.

"Right" he says, and he does that little nod that he does when he's not really paying attention when he's researching and someone talks to him, except this time he is paying attention.

"I'll just put these books back and then I'll get off for the night" you say, your not looking at him though, almost past him. standing up and gathering the books with one hand, the other hand wraps around the chain hanging round your neck, twisting it round your fingers.

"Y/n?" Giles asks, and you're far too concentrated on holding onto the pile of books in your hand you don't notice he's right in front of you.

"Giles" you say, finally looking up at him, your sure that his piercing but concerned gaze can see right through you, right through to your heart hammering in your chest.

Giles takes the books out of your hand gently and places them on top of the shelf.

His hand comes back and lingers on your arm.

"What's the matter?" And he asks so softly you think you might break down then.

Your hand goes back to fiddle with the chain around your neck, it's the only thing you know for a fact brings you even an ounce of comfort ,but Giles reaches for your hand instead, pulling it away, he closes his hand, which is much bigger than yours, around it.

It's a gesture your unfamiliar with.

"I- I'm fine" you whisper

Giles frowns, his hand still holding yours.

"It's alright" he whispers, and the hand that's on your arm squeezes

You close your eyes and let out a shaky breath.

"Hey look at me" Giles says softly.

"m sorry, I don't, i cant- " you go dizzy, your breathing becomes faster, your head spins.

"Breathe,y/n" Giles says. His tone is laced with concern as he looks at you, your chest heaves as he moves his hand to your chin.

"Y/n, i got you" he says softly, his hand swipes at a tear running down your cheek.

"No" you whisper, and Giles frowns again but this time its because he can see you're not used to this kind of… affection, of this kind of.. comfort. And Giles feels a sudden pang of sadness at that,and then an overwhelming urge to make sure you never feel so alone again.

"Come here" he whispers, pulling you into his tight embrace.

You wrap your arms around him like your clinging to a life raft.

"There you go, I got you love" he comforts.

Giles holds you until you've stopped shaking.

"What can I do?" He asks after a moment, still not letting you go.

"im cold" you whisper,

"and tired" you added.

"Come on" he says, ushering you over to the couch in his little office.

Giles shrugs off his jacket and places it over you, when he's satisfied your sufficiently tucked in with his jacket, he sits in the corner of the couch, pulling you close to him.

you bring your knees up to your chest as you curl into him.

His fingers move slowly up and down your arm, comforting. Safe.

"Giles?" You whisper, and he stops and moves slightly.

"Hmm?" He says

"Thankyou" you say softly, and you wrap your arm around his waist and drift off in his embrace.

[milimeters-morales]

me rambling about gender for some versions of miles (both canon and au) under the cut

movie miles1610B (non-binary transfem) is the most realistic and expected (imo) when it comes to a teen boy realizing she might be a teen something-else, and there are societal pressures + spider-man pressures + parental pressures + natural high anxiety levels that really add onto why she’s so hesitant and takes the longest to accept and be okay with being trans herself. she’s fine with other trans people, it’s specifically a her thing. She sees gender as just a part of life, something she’s always had, but as she learns more and more, she realizes it is a performance, and she can do whatever she wants, which ends up circling back to looking how she normally does most of the time. really simplified version but you’d have to go through my older posts for more in depth explanations for movie miles specifically. Sometimes i think of Miles being intersex too, but i don’t know enough about the types to be really confident in that hc so it’s more of an exploring starting point whenever i feel like deep diving.

comic miles (cis-genderless) would describe himself as a cis male, but only because that’s what he was assigned at birth, completely uncaring of literally anything else. He’s connected to it because that’s what he was labeled as when he was born, and how he’s connected to the people in his life, but he himself doesn’t see it as anything really important. He’s his parents’ son, he’s his uncle’s nephew, he’s someone’s boyfriend, he’s the “strange boy” to a stranger, he’s the “black dude”, and though he hates that his race has anything to do with his connection to being male, it unfortunately shapes him. To himself, he is just Miles! If someone referred to him with more feminine language, he would be shocked but not totally weirded out, it depended on intent. He’s not open about this either bc he doesn’t see it as something important to share, but Ganke and Kenneth would be the first to know if he cared to tell. if he had a spidey social media acc he would have he/they in the pronouns section

playstation miles (questioning non-binary) is diff between the two games he’s mainly in, mostly because he figured out he was non-binary ages ago and was ready to come out, but so many things have happened in a short amount of time, which basically shoved him back into the closet. He was going to come out to his parents, but then his father died, and miles had this subconscious worry about now being the “man” of the house that his mother could also rely on so she wouldn’t have to grieve alone, and to prove that he could handle his own grief as well. his grief made him forget his own gender struggles for a time, and Roxxon, Phin’s death, Aaron’s reveal, it all stacked up and he was just “fine i’m not non-binary anymore i can’t deal with another huge thing!!” Now, in SM2, he was vaguely considering it again, because it felt so right before his father died, and things seem to be going okay lately, but you know how that went. Kraven capturing him also hurt the masculine parts of himself that he liked, so throw that into the fire. He only really feels he has time after the events of SM2, but is hesitant to come out or talk to anyone about it, because he just isn’t sure and doesn’t want to seem like he’s faking, so he just stews for now. It does bother him a lot and he experiences dysphoria in the “wish i didn’t have a human body” way. poor non-binary essential worker :(

e-42 miles (agender) is right after this instead of with movie miles because of how similar he is to playstation miles and comic miles. However, he is completely ignoring it to the point where he almost forgets it entirely, because he cares so little. His remaining family and fighting to make the world even slightly better is all he really cares about, so something like gender, including being regarded as a “son” and “nephew”, mean nothing, it’s about the bond rather than the label people give to it. He doesn’t feel this pressure of not feeling like he can tell his mom or uncle, it’s more of a “i might be non-binary but i have a job rn so i don’t really care about that” thing for him. However, he doesn’t like being referred to in any feminine way, and likes neutral/masculine language.

acau miles (complicated) is definitely not cis but autism + trauma recovery makes him view himself as “not human not animal just miles and spider-man!” so unlabeled spiderthing is where he’s at. Their pronouns got lost in the wash. It missed its gender orientation. Actually, Miles doesn’t use pronouns past 9pm: Get Fucked, Well-Meaning Citizen! Also, she doesn’t understand why some people get so worked up and invested with gender and pronouns, but he does sometimes say very rude and offensive things to Peter even before learning he’s trans because of what he’s heard growing up and what it knows that generally pisses men off. Matt and Aaron are working on making him less of a personified CoD lobby dw… it’s just gonna take a bit lol. doesn’t help that Peter returns the insults in full and encourages it against others sometimes

[eightyonekilograms]

Cringe as anti-vigilante social technology

(this a beta edition thought and may contain many bugs)

So @tanadrin made that poll a couple days ago about "which emotion would you choose to erase? fear/shame/anger", and like the plurality of voters I immediately picked shame. It's obvious, right? In my circles there's widespread acceptance of ideas like "kill the cringe that exists within you", "cringe only exists for normies to enforce conformity", etc.

But the speed with which I picked that option made me suspicious, and made me think I need to try and at least steelman the case for shame as useful. If I tried as hard as I could, what is the best defense of shame as a social technology I can mount? I mean, I know what its purpose is as far as enforcing social norms, that doesn't need any explanation, and I'm not on principle opposed to having social norms that people enforce. But as a general believer in modern atomized social liberalism, I'm generally in favor of replacing vague, unaccountable social forces with laws or market mechanisms in most cases, unless this isn't possible. What, in that view, is the cause for shame, or rather, what does shame do that is difficult or impossible to accomplish any other way?

There may be multiple answers here, possibly better than the one I've come up with, and if you know of one please share. But the answer that came to my mind is that this: people have an innate urge to dispense vigilante justice, and that shame (and more specifically, cringe) is the only successful weapon I have seen against this tendency. The others don't work, because vigilantism exists in the first place because people think society is failing to enforce some necessary rule, and so most attempts to rein in this tendency that are dispensed by society only harden the vigilantist resolve instead.

Consider this post I made a while back, about how most attempts to satirize or deconstruct the Badass Vigilante archetype fail, because they still portray the vigilante as cool and sexy, so no matter what an obvious psychopath they are, the audience goes either "whoa, awesome!", or "they may be bad, but they are Doing What is Necessary and their exclusion from society only demonstrates how corrupt and far gone that society is". So far as I can tell, the only way to successfully convey a message that Badass Vigilantism is not something we should encourage or aspire to, is to do what e.g. Lego Batman does, that is, portray the vigilante as a cringey loser whose Dark and Serious Brooding is something to be laughed at.

Another example: there is a general sense that we are in the middle of a Vibe Shift (1, 2 - subscription only, full text here, password is zn9XzYFMYu) that the kind of Culture War progressive anti-liberalist bombthrowing we associate with e.g. mid-2010's Jezebel (or for that matter, mid-2010's Tumblr) has peaked, and while it is not going to disappear entirely anytime soon, we are now on the downswing. And while I would like to believe that this is happening because everyone involved had a long session of introspection where they went "huh, this was its own form of vigilante justice that accomplished very little of substance re: dismantling systems of oppression, while causing extensive misery to people who in no way deserved it", the reality is most people don't think like that. The internal sensation of the people involved is probably a sense of "wow, I can't believe I was ever into that" embarrassment, and indeed, society's memetic immune response supports this theory: we have created pejoratives like "terminally online" to label this behavior as cringe, and that has probably done way more than all the well-meaning essays in the world with appeals to our better natures and the high ideals of liberalism. I wish it wasn't the case! But it probably is.

And again, it's hard to see how it could have been anything else: all the arguments I've seen since like 2012 as to why it was a bad thing to form SJ mobs were just easily handwaved away with "I don't have to listen to you because you're part of the Patriarchy/System/whatever, and so my vigilantism is justified and correct", cringe appears to be only weapon (apart from maybe just exhaustion) that successfully penetrated this defense.

To me this is the strongest case for cringe: I don't see what else can deflate the sense of righteous anger that fuels vigilantism and mob justice. So if we want to continue to discourage those things, for the time being it will have to stay.

[blackjackkent]

I thought we were done and ready to go through the main door, but it turns out there's one trial left! I almost didn't notice there was a path here at all, for obvious reasons:

It's like a bridge made of gossamer, or pure light, and none of them are much happy about going to step on it.

(The game is actually quite tricky about it; hovering over this area marks it as "Chasm" and clicking doesn't produce the usual circle indicating a character's destination, so it seems like nothing happened except the characters do wander over there anyway.)

At the other end of the near-invisible bridge is a stone room carved with windy, intertwining stairs, labeled "Chamber of Insight."

At the far end of the windy road, we can see three ghostly figures waiting:

Hovering over them gives their names as "Stedd," "Amaps," and "Suelto."

Just up the stairs nearer to the entry, a book is flying around in the air like a butterfly:

OK, so I'm assuming we have to find a book by each of these people, figure out their opinions, and then talk to them accordingly?

It's a sleight of hand check to catch the book; Wyll's not much good at that, but Hector is and manages to snatch it out of the air.

Well, that's not an incredibly inspiring philosophy. :/

It takes a couple tries to catch the second flying book, which is labeled "Suelto's Ethic of War." Hector gets REALLY irritated about it - his VA snaps, "Ugh - HOLD STILL, WILL YOU?" and sounds more angry than we've heard him at any point. I kind of like this, honestly - it works with where Hector is at right now, as he's both incredibly worn down by this point in the game in general, and more specifically is VERY nervous about the impending dragon encounter.

Jaheira manages to catch this one while Hector fumes.

-----

"You know," Jaheira says thoughtfully as she peruses the book, "I do not believe I like these people."

"You and me both," Karlach says, peering over her shoulder. "Nasty way to think about war." She and Jaheira - old soldiers both - give each other a knowing, sad sort of glance as Jaheira pockets the book.

"You all right, Hec?" Karlach adds, looking over her shoulder at Hector. He is still fuming about the book and his jaw is set with irritation; seeing her looking at him, though, he calms a little, and she watches him work the emotion down and away again.

"Fine," he mutters. "Sorry, I just... the blighter wouldn't hold still."

"I know," she says gently. "C'mon. We're almost through this."

-----

There's a non-flying book on a table nearby, labeled, "The Five-Year War: A Diplomat's Record":

And another flying one, further down the stairs, marked "Amaps's Memoirs." It seems that everyone only gets one shot at catching one of these things, as now even Hector and Jaheira can't grab it even though they each succeeded on their previous attempts (Wyll and Karlach failed immediately). "Gah! Gods-damned PAPERCUT!" Jaheira snaps as she attempts it. Everyone's definitely getting a little on edge.

(A/N: Again, I had to look up some approaches for this last one, since the only other idea I had (hitting the book in turn-based mode) didn't seem to work. Turns out you can grab the book in turn-based mode and throw it to stun it, which to be honest would never have occurred to me.)

Rather than watch Hector get frustrated AGAIN, Karlach takes careful aim with one fist and gets a solid impact into the book's spine as it flies past, launching it across the room to hit the ground with a solid thump. It makes a strange whimpering noise and lies there as if stunned.

OK, so Amaps seems decidedly the most reasonable of the three.

I barely even knew what we were looking for a solution FOR, so I'm glad you're so confident about it, Wyll.

Down to speak to the ghosts...

OK, never mind, turns out we can't speak to them? We can only attack. I guess we'll attack Suelto, since reading about her assertion that a conquered nation should be utterly razed just made everyone uncomfortable.

-----

"Well," says Hector vaguely. "That was... odd."

"No kidding," Wyll says, sheathing his sword and looking pensive. "That's the last trial though, I think. Are you ready to see what's behind that big door?"

"Not in the slightest," Hector says with a somewhat shamefaced grin.

Wyll smiles. "Neither am I, my friend. Let's go see about it."

[puppetsandpantry]

My Avatar History

This is the post the last month of content has been building up to. It doesn't really mean anything to anybody but me, but I want to document this info as a fun little project. This will be going through all the variations and changes in my online avatar since I first started using custom avatars. Let me weave you a tale.

So sometime in the past, around August of 2020, I was a player of the now shuttered game Club Penguin Rewritten. The owners of Club Penguin Rewritten held an art contest, and I decided to participate. I drew a pixel art version of the Astro Barrier ship from the minigame Astro Barrier. I don't have that file anymore, so I can't show it here, but imagine the astro barrier ship (which was already pixelated) but with a bit more graphical fidelity. Like taking something 8-bit and making it sixteen bit. I really enjoyed drawing that space ship, and so I decided to make another, fully original, top down spaceship image. After a bit of tinkering, and a lot of use of the "make rectangle" and "make circle" tools, I came up with something that looked like this:

(This is a recreation based on my memory) At that time, I realized that it vaguely looked like a face. So I made it a face.

At the time, I thought this looked really cool, and based on my desire to have a custom avatar on youtube, I chose this to be my avatar. (Fun Fact: The green and red lights were holdovers for the idea of this being a flying ship of some kind.) One of the next days, I decided to make this not just a head, and gave it a body.

This thing looked really bad, and not long after making it I decided to shelve the idea of giving this thing a body. (Fun Fact: This is the first time I recorded the light on his face red rather than green. This would not be done consistently afterwards, but I did it here first.) The only thing I would keep from this design was the little blue glowing hands, though they never appeared in any official capacity.

After this, I wanted to go back and make some changes to the avatar, or at least I think I did. I don't remember. In any case, due to the way I used to save my pixel art files, when I brought the avatar back into the editing program, it made some weird color blurring changes. For some reason, I liked how said changes looked at the time, and decided to use them in the actual version. I christened this version the "Hi-Rez" version, despite that making no sense.

(I think I thought that it looked like it was shaded better, but it really just looks messy.)

After this, I made some variations for holidays, Halloween and Christmas specifically.

The Halloween avatar is supposed to look like a Jack-O-Lantern, and the Christmas one should be self explanatory. I think I only used the Christmas avatar once, but the Halloween Avatar got used a couple of times. Now for a quick diversion: My original tumblr avatar. The avatars I've shown thus far were only being used on Youtube and Twitter, and maybe some other places that have since stopped existing. When I created my Tumblr, I initially planned on keeping my Tumblr and Twitter separate, though I've now gone back on that decision. When deciding on an avatar, I picked a random file I had lying around, and that was this:

This is a design made inside the Nitrome game "Steamlands," which includes a rudimentary flag designer tool. The resolution on them isn't great, and this is an upscaled version. It's supposed to be a skull, but it looks crappy. I figured it would suffice. At this point, my avatars are stable for a while. To get into why they changed, we first have to talk about my twitter banner. Here is my old twitter banner:

It's the name "Dipped Feathers, with what are supposed to be feathers in the "t", with Sleeping Beauty Castle, a really squashed game controller, and a half animatronic, half bird thing in the foreground. These were chosen to represent my main interests at the time, theme parks, video games, and animatronics. I don't have the file anymore, but the original version of this banner had a dog instead of a bird for the animatronic; I changed it when I realized that a bird made more sense with the name. (Fun Fact: I will not disclose where the name "Dipped Feathers'' comes from.) Here is the Christmas version:

There is snow and the controller is now hot chocolate. This probably also got used only once. (Why there isn't snow on the roof of the castle, I don't know.)

Cut to September of 2023, and I realize that I really didn't like how this banner looked. So I decided to make a new one. Here it is:

I decided to focus more on wavy letters for this one, which are something I have a fondness for. The weird divot at the beginning of "Dipped" is so that the banner doesn't overlap the twitter avatar space. I made the background for this black, which I like because it looks seamless to the rest of the twitter interface when in dark mode. I was really satisfied with this logo, and left it like that for a while. Cut to late September, I became really interested in The Amazing Digital Circus by @gooseworx and Glitch Productions. Even now, I remain obsessed. Knowing that the pilot would be released on October 13th (go watch it), I decided to prepare something to show my excitement. In addition to a group shot of all the characters from the show, I also made this:

It's my avatar with Pomni's Jester hat. (Note: I made the light red instead of green when designing this one, along with cleaning up the blurred details of the "Hi-Rez" version). I used this avatar from October 13th to October 23, before switching back to my halloween avatar for the rest of the month. But while I was designing this variant of the avatar, I realized I really didn't like the avatar base. For one thing, I'd never given it a name (the file name is just "yeet") or even figured out what it was. It wasn't really an OC because it didn't have character. It's a gormless face thing. So I began to make some new ideas, staying in line, color wise, with the new banner I had made. Here are those:

These were all pretty bad. My first attempt was just recoloring the old avatar with the new colors. It didn't look good, but it did lead somewhere. I now share with you, in gif form, the process of getting from my old avatar to my new avatar:

I realized while messing with the colors that the central teal part of the old avatar was basically a little ghost shape. So I gave them the colors of the new banner, and almost immediately I loved how it looked. It's definitely simpler than the old avatar, but it has potential to actually be a character, and it actually looks like something. I couldn't tell you what the old avatar was. This one is a ghost. Simple as that.

I've used this avatar since I made it here on Tumblr and on Youtube, but I've waited till today to use it on twitter. I actually made this avatar on the same day as the Pomni version of the old avatar, and had I not made that avatar, I would have started using this on twitter immediately. I really wanted to use that avatar (and the Halloween one, one more time) before saying goodbye to the avatar design, so I waited until the beginning of November. Which is now, as of me writing this. Thanks for reading!

[slowjamastan]

Eight Already & Lets Keep It Going

i did like 2 hr rant explanation to myself today about how hetalias setting is vs how the fans interpret it and im gonna put a bit of it down in words bcz im mentally stable

so to begin, in Exhibit A we have The France Strip. the side story where like some people know and some dont and its arbitrary who and why. one guy to another is like " oh yeah you DONT know that immortal people not only exist but are around just hanging out? hey look thats one over there. " pretty sure the in-uni reasoning there was like, he was a foreigner and the other was local. but maybe it was an internally absurd conversation intended to bring the viewer in on how the world works and everyone in-uni just knows? maybe it is a country by country basis. i think that strip was set in modern day but if its not thatd have really cool implications

Exhibit B is the iceland backstory. why does this unnamed random human recognize a baby nation on sight? is this an instinct all people have / do nationfolk just LOOK different (and in what way??), or does this man have some prior knowledge of what happens when establishing a colony (by life experience or maybe directly from norway[presumably])?? side note here: baby iceland himself doesnt know what he is for a significant amount of time. interesting. moving on

Exhibit C is America's annual Halloween Party. i forget which year, but one of them directly stated that theres roughly 200 of these guys on the planet (more on this later*) and the party typically will have many more than that in attendance. i could read into this in about 3 different directions but i want to stay on topic. These parties always have more humans than nations, or at minimum equal numbers of both. so canonically the usa is a celebrity? i guess?? the humans invited seem to be normal people, meaning they could be personal friends (of his or others), or maybe diplomats with their representative countries (more on this in Exhibit C.5) but they do seem to be young people so 🤔, or maybe theyre all celebrities and this is genuinely a big ass event (but the humans always seem rather plain so doubt)...... who America is inviting would indicate how well known his existence is (???) and what his social status is (???!?!?!?) but its SO VAGUE AS ALWAYS

C.5: denmark and his diplomat's family. i go insane banana bonkers for the strips where denmark hangs out with the nosy little girl and her mom and shes bombarding him with questions (at the end he's like "wow my life is so lonely huh" or whatever um. SCREAM) so obviously in the hetalia universe, diplomats would know about the whole situation so thats a no brainer. but the fact his whole family and his small daughter knows is like OK NOWWW OK.....

Conclusion. These are some major canon interactions, so what about fan interpretation? in summary we all know u cant keep a good conspiracy once the circle of ppl in the know gets too big. i love hetalia-illuminati-confirmed type fans, but while they r having So Much Fun, this is not real im sorry. where we Do stand however is uhhhh. maybe everyone? maybe everyone knows. but the specifics are eternally fuzzy. the end

* i want to do a serious headcount fr fr bcz theres no way this number is correct. unless they have subspecies for small territories which would make me go insane. related: i want to talk about nikoniko republic so bad man i want a whole book about that man alone

post script: my next performance will be about my white whale; the one that got away; my lost hetalia fanfic that ive thought about at least twice a year for a decade. maybe idk i started typing it and lost interest. she lives in MY brain . only

[rintoki]

gym renovations

characters: imaushi wakasa x reader

cw: fluff, dumb pining roommates

a/n: a vague memory of once writing smth about roommate wakasa so this is kind of spin-off from that piece? idk

“so,” you start. the gym looked desolate; dust coating the plastic covers over the unused exercise equipment, your quiet footsteps echoed throughout the empty space, “this is it huh?”

despite being roommates for about a year now, you have never seen wakasa’s gym, due to the closure notice from the pandemic. it was a rough couple of months but you two managed to pull through, and now it was finally time for the grand re-opening.

“mhm,” he nodded pensively, stood in the middle next to the boxing ring. he sighed, there’s much work to be done before the place was ready to receive customers again. despite the ton of work ahead of him, that wasn’t what weighed on his mind right now. this is… lame.

lilac irises darting to observe you from the corner of his eyes. wakasa didn’t think you’d come to help renovate the place before opening—in fact he specifically chose this day because he knew you were usually swamped with meetings around this time of the week. instead he’d actually rather you to see the final product rather than this dusty empty space. i guess no matter how old you get you never stop wanting to impress-

what. impress who? a minuscule twitch of his eye, before wakasa shoves that thought down a tiny corner of his mind. it’s not something he wants to think about right now.

“well then!” your sharp clap snaps him out of his reverie, lighthearted smile adorning your lips, “let’s get to work shall we?”

—

hours upon hours of cleaning and sweeping; honestly your back ached terribly, but you didn’t want to give in and call it quits. after all, wakasa still seemed to be going strong—diligently mopping the floor of squared ring. he looks so- stop. now isn’t the time. you huffed out a breath, puffing your cheeks before a mischievous smile creeps up, an little fun idea to brighten the mood.

“so,” dragging out the syllable as you trotted up to the ring, leaning against the side, “you box?” your sudden question pausing wakasa in his tracks, straightening up before replying unassumingly, “not my forte, but i do know a little. why do you ask?”

“a little? well then i bet i could take your ass,” you declared, wakasa raising his brow at your smug expression. “really now?” shifting the weight in his foot, you could tell he’s now invested in your little act.

“yea of course,” you hopped up onto the ring, getting into a vague boxing stance that you’ve seen in movies, hopping about from foot to foot and doing a couple fake punches. “look, i could totally beat you up, wakasa. come fight me!”

you were well aware of how stupid you looked right now, but all that embarrassment dissolved the moment you hear him laugh. it was a small one, closer to a scoff than anything, but a laugh nonetheless. lately things might have become stressful for him, so even if you had to act a fool, jump about and talk about things you have no ideas on, if it cheered him up a bit then it was worth the embarrassment.

“oh yea?” playing along, wakasa coming to face you in his own vague stance, his hands out in front of him. to anyone else it would have probably looked stupid as hell, two giggling adults, in terrible boxing forms circling each other in an otherwise empty gym. but who cares? there was no one else here; nobody but the two of you, messing around and pretending like your feelings are only skin deep.

honestly, you were just talking out of your ass, you had no idea even the first steps of fighting. what you did know, however, could bring any man to his knees. aiming for his waist, you launched yourself forward wrapping your arms around his torso, taking him by surprise.

wakasa grunted, the unexpected hug making him self-conscious, suddenly very aware of how sweaty he’s gotten over the past hours. despite that, his own arms wrapped around you naturally, taking you into his embrace without a hint of suspicion—how foolish. sensing his lowered guard, you released your hold, bringing them to grab at his slim waist, right where you knew he was most ticklish.

“agh!” he yelped out, body jolting at the surprise attack. uncontrollable fits of laughter overtaking him as wakasa tugs at your shirt, a futile attempt at getting you to let up. no, you wouldn’t stop, fluttering fingers running up and down his sides, until his knees gave out and he fell to the ground in laughter.

“s-sto! stop!” he wheezed out, gasping for air in between giggles. but you were relentless, clambering on top of his writhing body as he tries to swat away your hands, fits of laughter wracking his body. grabbing his hands, you pushed them up above his head, eyes shining triumphantly, “see! i totally won, i have you pinned down.”

out of breath and weak from your ticklish assault, wakasa barely had the strength to fend you off, let alone fight off the inappropriate thoughts now crowding his mind about your current position. you were seated squarely on his navel, just an inch off from his clothed crotch, not that it mattered, all he could think of was how you had him pinned down. fuck, it was getting a little too hot now.

you narrowed your eyes at his silence, displeased at how he wasn’t looking at you. putting both his wrists under one hand, you grabbed his chin with the other, turning his face to yours, “what are you thinking about, waka?”

waka? a million thoughts running through his head right now; between the extremely suggestive position you have him in, your hand holding his chin, and you addressing him as ‘waka’ for the first time instead of ‘wakasa’? he was malfunctioning, cheeks growing a slight pink before blurting out the one thing he could actually say without completely exposing his very much non-platonic feelings towards you.

“‘waka’?” he watched you blink. once. twice. before a nervous laugh bubbled from your throat. releasing your hold on him and sitting back, you ran your hand through your hair, “ah… hah! sorry it just slipped out, you know? it’s, uh, easier… to say than ‘wakasa’. uhm sorry, i hope you don’t mind.”

you mentally slapped your forehead, such a silly slip up. that’s how you’ve been addressing him in your head, and you’ve gotten too used to it that it just slipped right off your tongue in a moment of weakness.

thankfully, before he had a chance to say anything in response, a sharp ping sounded from your phone; a customised ringtone indicating something work related. grabbing the chance to escape a potentially awkward situation, you moved to stand up, “right, i just remembered! i have a meeting to attend soon so, i’ll uh, head back first! see you at home!”

and before he could even utter a word, you were already out the doors and out of sight. wakasa sighed, cupping his face in his hands as his mind could finally process the last five minutes.

“ohh, fuck,” he groaned, laying down once again with his face still buried in his hands. despite now being the only person here, wakasa still felt the need to cover his increasingly reddening cheeks. the image of you hovering over him; cheeks slightly flushed from your exertion, playful smirk on your face as you pinned his arms above his head was now going to plague his mind.

now in the comfort of privacy, wakasa allows himself to indulge in these thoughts; a tiny dopey smile on his face as he recalls the way the you said his name again and how it rolled off your tongue. shit, he’s got it so bad. and as his mind wanders more he remembers that it would soon be exactly a year since he moved in. should i get a gift?

he ponders what would be a good gift right now, something practical that you’d use everyday—definitely not so that you’d be reminded of him every time you use it. but wakasa catches himself before his thoughts got out of hand. a gift to celebrate one year of being roommates? that sounds dumb. but maybe it’s just an excuse, how do you even tell your roommate that you wanna be more than just roommates?

[homerforsure]

Whumptober No. 6 Bruises / Touch Starved / Hunger Whumptober No. 30 major character death / left for dead / ghosts

Me: I can’t believe I have to post this absolutely incomprehensible piece of writing. 

Me: You don’t... have to?

Me: No, I’m gonna. 

Buck has an exceptional number of pillows on his bed. There are six, before he knocks a few to the floor every night, and he burrows into them like a nest, curling up with one against his chest, two pressed against his back, one between his legs. His sheets are a ridiculously priced, cool, crisp cotton that welcomes him in, surrounding him. The blankets he uses aren’t weighted, but they’re heavy and thick and he keeps his air conditioning turned up so he doesn’t have to give up the feeling of nestling into them in the heat of summer. Along with the white noise machine on his night stand, all of it is chosen to trick him into sleep. To keep back the feeling that night time in his own apartment is the loneliest part of Buck’s day. 

It wasn’t perfect, pre-covid. It’s been a long time since Buck had someone share his space, share his bed, someone he could reach out and touch whenever he wanted. But his life outside of home was full. He didn’t lack for closeness; in some ways he had more than he’d ever dreamed. So while he had lonely moments, they weren’t a constant ache in his chest. 

These months though. These months hurt. Facetime isn’t a substitute for curling up on Maddie’s couch with whatever silly-labeled wine she’d liked best that week. It’s definitely not a substitute for Eddie’s couch and losing to Christopher over and over again at Mario Kart. The last time they talked, Eddie had reached over and ruffled Christopher’s hair and Buck felt it. First as a tingle up the back of his scalp and then as a bruise to his heart. Eddie’s touches, so constant and so casual, became essential somewhere along the way and Buck feels himself reaching out for them even when he knows it’s not allowed.

“Six feet, gentlemen,” Bobby says gently when their orbits swing toward each other and Eddie makes a dramatic show of raising his hands and taking a giant step backward. Bobby just shakes his head and reminds them it’s the price they all agreed to pay for not wearing masks in the firehouse. 

Buck starts dreading the end of a call when taking off his heavy turnout coat leaves him feeling cold and exposed. He folds into himself, claiming a chair, putting in earbuds and crossing his arms tight over his chest, pulling his knees up even though he knows better than to put his shoes on the furniture.

It’s a similar position to the one he lies in at night, clinging to the pillows, trying to draw comfort out of the smooth fabric. In those moments, his loneliness is so loud it might as well be a beacon sent out into the universe, a burning shout of need. 

And that shout is heard. 

***

“Have you guys heard of exploding head syndrome?” Buck asks one morning when the calls are slow and the crew is all lingering in a lazy way rather than rushing off to take care of their other duties. 

“What, the band?” Chimney asks.

“I think it was an album,” Bobby says.

“No,” Buck sighs. “It’s a sleep thing. It’s this loud noise that you hear when you’re falling asleep like a massively loud explosion. Only it’s just happening in your head.”

“Is your brain actually exploding? Like an aneurism?”

“No. It’s just the noise.” 

Just the loudest noise Buck had ever heard. It woke him up with a feeling of abject terror. It was an explosion that didn’t echo. It just rang, clear and true through his eardrums like the end of the world. Even as he struggled out of his sheets, searching for the source so he could run from it, part of him knew it wasn’t a sound that left any physical evidence. What could it even be? A sound like that? An old fashioned safe dropping from two stories up? A car crash without the crunch? Just a high speed collision of two immovable objects, all of the equal and opposite reaction of their momentum forced to escape as sound. 

Once his heart rate had slowed, he googled. He wasn’t initially sure what to google. “Ridiculously loud noise woke me up” seemed at once too vague and too specific but sure enough. Exploding Head Syndrome. It was what happened. Obviously. But Buck remained too full of adrenaline to sleep. As he sat up in bed, he couldn’t shake the urge to look around. Under the bed, in the closet, behind the shower curtain. He didn’t feel alone. 

“I’m just glad it’s happening in your head instead of mine,” Chim laughs. “Maybe try putting some earmuffs on before you go to sleep tonight.” ***

The sound doesn’t reappear. Buck is relieved, but sleeping doesn’t get any easier. He tries to soothe himself with obscenely long hot baths, by ordering a hoodie that’s more fluff than fabric, by running a foam roller across his muscles, trying to pry them into relaxation. It’s so much work and it does so little. Buck’s entire body is screaming out at all times for a hug or a massage or even just a really fucking good haircut. It takes longer and longer to fall asleep and the little sleep he does get isn’t restful. It’s like whatever meager comfort he manages to give himself during the day is leached away in the night. 

He doesn’t even notice the bruises at first. It’s an easy enough thing to miss. Their job is heavy physical labor and Buck barrels through a scene like a one man stampede. Bruises are as common as the smell of smoke in his hair. The ones Eddie points out on his arm though are different. 

Buck’s carrying a kitten at the time. The fire they’ve been fighting is beaten back to smolders. Buck shucked off his coat, wet and dripping from the hose and too cold for the shaking animal, and grabbed a blanket from the ambulance to wrap her up and cradle her against his chest. He’s rubbing his face against her damp fur, feeling the softness like a concentrated shot of endorphins when Eddie asks, “What the hell happened to you?”

“What are you talking about?” Buck asks and Eddie’s hands are pushing up the sleeves of his shirt, rolling them up to his shoulders while Buck’s trying to hold onto the cat.

“You don’t feel that?”

“Feel what?” He’s maybe a little ruder than he means to be but the sleep deprivation makes him cranky and the touch deprivation means that Eddie’s gently probing fingers feel like a dream on his skin. The care in the brush of his hands makes Buck’s knees weak. 

“Your arms are bruised to hell,” Eddie says. “Are you- Did someone grab you or something?”

“I swear to god, Eddie. I don’t feel anything.” Except grumpy and exhausted and longing. 

“Jesus, it goes all the way up your shoulders. It looks like-” He stops, pulling Buck’s collar aside and tracing a small spot that Buck can’t see even if he turns his head. “They look like fingerprints, Buck. Are you seeing someone?” 

“What!”

“These are handprints. And they’re dark. Do you really not-”

Buck wrenches himself from Eddie’s grasp so he can turn around and look at him because if Eddie’s really accusing him of putting everyone at risk by trying to date someone right now… But Eddie’s face is nothing but concerned. Which makes Buck scared. 

“Is it really that bad?” he asks, clutching the cat to his chest. 

Eddie rubs a hand up Buck’s back (it feels so good, hot like Buck’s t-shirt isn’t even between them and is it just because it’s been so long or just because it’s Eddie?) without looking around to see if Bobby’s watching and that’s really all the confirmation Buck needs. It’s bad. 

***

After that, Buck starts to feel them. He wakes up and he can’t breathe. He wakes up and he can’t move. He wakes up on the floor. He spends every moment that he’s asleep fighting to wake up. Buck can only remember fragments and pieces of the torment but he knows that it feels like drowning. Like being held down. Like being grabbed and pulled and smothered. He thinks he remembers long dark hair. 

Google is useless. Sleep apnea. Sleep paralysis. Sleep terrors. Even sleepwalking. None of them can account for the worst of it. For the physical signs of whatever is happening to him while he sleeps.

Bruises bloom blue on the pale skin of his hips. Purple on his ribs. Green on the back of his neck. The ones that Eddie saw first on his arm fade to yellow.  A long scratch runs down the side of his face. Dark circles under his eyes grow darker every day. 

“What’s happening to me?” he asks his reflection.

All he wants is to be able to ask that question with someone’s arms around him. He wants anyone to hold him tight and shush his fears and tell him that it’ll be okay. 

It’s easier than he thought to hide it. Buck just chooses his shower times strategically and opts for a long sleeve uniform, complaining that he ruined his short sleeves ones by grabbing bleach instead of detergent while he was half asleep. 

He’s always half asleep these days.

At least in the bunk rooms, he gets some semblance of rest. Whatever presence he feels in his own bedroom doesn’t cross this threshold and Buck sleeps deeply, almost missing the scream of the alarm. 

“It’s getting worse isn’t it?” Eddie asks, cornering Buck in the locker room. Buck can’t help but nod and Eddie steps closer as if to touch him. 

Buck flinches away and Eddie pulls up short as though hitting an invisible wall. 

He breathes Buck’s name on a pained exhale and says, “You have to get some help. Whatever it is…”

“I don’t know what it is!’ Buck answers. “It’s living in my house and it- it- God. Maybe I need an exorcism.”

“Maybe you should come home with me,” Eddie suggests and Buck recoils again. 

The firehouse seems safe but there’s no guarantee that Buck won’t be followed anywhere else. He’s desperate to be safe--desperate for Eddie to make him safe--but not at the expense of anyone else. Not when he doesn’t know what he’s facing. 

“Okay,” Eddie says. “But call me in the morning.” 

***

The burned girl screams louder when she sees Buck than she did while they were putting out the inferno of her car. 

“Stay away from me!” She shrieks. “Stay awaystayawaystayaway.”

“Miss, we’re going to need you to calm down,” Hen says to her. “Buck, you wanna move aside? Like preferably somewhere she can’t see you?”

Buck does because the patient’s well-being is more important than anything, but his skin feels like ice. He wants to demand to know what else she sees when she looks at him. Wants to know how she knows. For half a second, he imagines following her to the hospital and waiting for her outside the glass doors.  

They aren’t far from her house (52% of accidents happen within five miles of home) and the girl’s father arrives on the scene before they finish prepping her to be transported. And he sees Buck. 

He freezes when he does, but at least he doesn’t scream. He ignores Buck completely, instead going to the ambulance where his daughter is still crying and trying to soothe her. Hen offers to let him ride in the ambulance, but he says that he’ll take his car. 

“You’re in a lot of trouble,” he says, returning to Buck as the ambulance pulls away. “What you summoned… That’s not a normal ghost.”

“I didn’t summon anything! It just happened.” Buck’s voice is high-pitched and he just barely stops himself from grabbing onto the man’s arm, but the man doesn’t seem afraid of Buck the way his daughter was. “What is it? How do I make it go away?”

The man shrugs, “She came in through an open door. Which door depends on the person. But she’ll do everything in her power to keep it pried open. All you can do is try to close it again.”

It is… the least helpful advice Buck’s ever been given in his entire life. But the man’s daughter is on her way to the hospital and he needs to follow her. He vanishes. 

***

They’re about to have four days off. Buck’s bracing himself to meet the woman in his dreams. To look around in that dreamspace for open doors and slam them shut again. He can do it. He has to. 

***

The next night Buck wakes up and he can’t move. He’s paralyzed on the bed. He’s paralyzed on the bed and someone’s standing at the top of his stairs. 

She’s not… right. Buck can’t quite see in the dark and he can’t lift his head but the woman on his stairs isn’t solid in the way a human should be. The outline of her is strong, but it’s like she’s a shell wrapped around a cavernous emptiness. She’s across the room but she’s already pulling at him. 

Buck tries to thrash but his arms are pinned as if her hands are already on his wrists. He needs to reach the lamp. If he can just turn on the light.

“Get away from me,” he pleads and the part of her face where lips should be turns up, revealing pointed teeth that stand in front of a void.

“You called me,” she says. The words don’t come from her mouth and Buck doesn’t hear them with his ears. It’s wrong wrong wrong. He throws himself hard to the left and he rolls, flying further than he expected to, suddenly free, and crashes hard into the table, knocking the lamp to the floor. It shatters, bulb and all and pain scrapes across Buck’s shoulders.

“Poor boy,” the ghost mocks. “Poor lonely boy. Just wants someone to touch him. Just wants someone to stay with him. I heard you.”

“No,” Buck says and he tries to scramble, but his feet can’t find purchase on the floor. “I didn’t want you.”

He doesn’t deny the call. Can’t deny it when his heart is reaching out in the same pleading, desperate way now. Please. Anyone.

In the time it takes to blink she’s in front of him. She’s so close. She shouldn’t be able to get that close without standing on him but she’s there. Her voice whispers in his mind, “You should choose your words more carefully.”

And then her hands are around his throat.

The pressure is insistent and her motive is unmistakable. She’s going to kill him. She’s going to squeeze the life out of him. He’s going to die here and Eddie’s going to find his body because Eddie’s going to come rushing over as soon as Buck doesn’t call him in the morning and what if this thing is still here waiting for him. 

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Buck’s mind yells for him like his lungs did when Eddie was buried except now it’s Buck who’s too far away, who’s trapped somewhere deep and dark with no hope of escape. 

He tries to breathe and his breath whistles. It’s like the first time someone handed him a styrofoam cup of coffee and he tried to drink through the plastic stir stick. Black stars twinkle in the room and tears build in his eyes. 

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. 

There’s a shift as she adjusts her grip and it’s enough for the stars to clear. Buck throws himself forward, shaking his head like he isn’t a ragdoll trapped in the jaws of a rottweiler, like he has a hope of breaking free and then he does. The ghost is thrown off balance and Buck jumps, scrambling back over his bed for the stairs. He can’t even think about defeating her, finding out the secrets of where she came from, closing whatever fucking door he left open. All Buck wants to do is live. 

A force behind him swells like a wave to lift Buck off his feet and slams him into the bathroom door. He expects to slide off of it and onto the floor, but he’s held in place hard, his head turned and his cheek pressed to the wood, toes just brushing the ground. 

“You begged me to come,” the ghost hisses. “I’m here for you, lonely boy. Don’t fight so hard.”

A hand skims up his back, nearly gentle, but leaving a numbness in its path and Buck shudders in disgust. He jerks against the door, but his arms are wrenched behind him and he screams. He realizes it’s the first time he has.

“I didn’t call you! I don’t want you here! Get out.”

“I came because you needed me.” A long finger trails down his cheek and Buck whimpers. She’s taller than him now. Was she always? “I could feel you from so far away. An aching ball of need. I’m here for you now.” 

“I don’t need you,” Buck growls and the room flashes like lightning. He hopes to fall, almost expects to fall, where he can scramble again but instead, Buck is hurled away from the door completely. He has time to see that he’s above the stairs, throw his hands out uselessly and then he’s frozen. 

Buck hovers there in the air above the stairs, dangling in the grip of the ghost, like a cat grabbed by his scruff. Kicking wildly, he grabs for the invisible hand that’s holding him, yelling “No, no, no, no.”

“Need me now?” the ghost asks. 

Smothering the terrified part of him that nearly answers yes, Buck forces himself to stop twisting and just hang there. He doesn’t want to fall. He doesn’t want to die. But what he needs isn’t going to come from the ghost. 

“No,” he answers. 

And he can’t explain how he knows what her face looks like when it’s screwed up in fury, but he does. It’s vicious and vindictive and Buck’s not surprised at all when he’s flicked away from her and down the flight of stairs. 

He seems to hit each one as he falls, something that should be impossible with the speed that he’s traveling and the force with which he bounces off of them, but the ghost is obviously responsible. Air leaves his lungs as his ribs crack against the stairs. His elbows and knees scrape. His head bangs the rail. Buck’s long, long legs seem to tangle as he falls, cartwheeling him down and he lands in a heap at the bottom. 

As he tries to figure out if he can still move, the door flies open. 

Warmth rushes in. Buck hadn’t even realized how cold it had gotten since he first woke up, but the room seems to thaw around him. It’s like sunlight. 

It’s Eddie. 

“Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Evan. Buck. I’ve got you, Buck. I’ve got you.” 

Tenderly, he scoops Buck off the floor, unsnarling the mess of his limbs and feeling all over for the damage he can’t see. “I’ve got you. Open your eyes. Come on.” 

The ghost stands at the top of the stairs and then she’s at the bottom. Buck clambers backward again, digging his heels into the floor to push himself upright in front of Eddie, to try and hide him from view. Eddie doesn’t seem to see the ghost. All of his attention is still on Buck, stroking his hair, promising over and over that he’s there, that he has Buck. 

All of the ghost’s attention is on Buck too. “You need me,” she says. “You called for me.” She sounds different now. Bitter. Like Buck wasted her precious time. 

“I don’t need you,” he says and he reaches behind him to grab Eddie’s hand. “I already have everything I need.” 

Lights flicker and that impossibly loud sound bangs in Buck’s ears again. He gets one last look at the ghost’s vicious, violent visage and then she’s gone. 

And then Buck wakes up.

[cozycryptidcorner]

Avery the Fae/Reader, Lemon

You don’t dress up for Halloween.

Not your fault, though, really, because your professors show no mercy for holidays, especially not ones that don’t land them a day off. Classes go on as usual, and so you wake up the latest you can without risking a tardy and go off in the comfortable clothes you slept in. Except for some cat ears and one superman, everything is perfectly normal, and the day passes like almost every other, save for a ‘spooky drink’ coupon at the local cafe.

I probably don’t even need a costume, anyways, you think as you catch your reflection when passing those special mirror-like windows on one of the campus’ buildings. Frankly, you look like you crawled out of hell itself. Dark circles under your eyes from lack of sleep, hair all askew and uncooperative, mouth in a permanent stressed line.

A zombie, probably, you decide, taking a sip of that hot caffeinated mess you ordered from the cafe. A hot zombie, for sure, but a zombie no less. A part of you wants to skip your next class and take a nap, but you’ve already used up your one absence, and you aren’t in a position to risk your grade for sleep. No rest for the wicked, right? Right. Everything else goes as smoothly as can be expected for being sleep deprived, and the night class seems to drag on for a fully stretched eternity, but you are finally free to go home and do your five hours of homework. Maybe if you’re lucky, you can squeeze in two or three hours of sleep.

It’s because you’re tired, you think, stopping for a hot minute when you realize that you’re lost. You hadn’t been paying attention to campus’ many twists and turns in its paths, and so you must have wandered away from the buildings and onto the forest trail that hugs the dorms, except there’s no cement beneath your feet. Not even a dirt trail marks a way out, and you take a full moment to come to terms with being lost, on your own damn campus, no less. You aren’t any kind of simpering pansy, so you turn around and begin to retrace your steps. Which doesn’t work, unfortunately, because after a couple of minutes of walking, there’s nothing to suggest that you’re only a couple of paces from civilization.

Except a drum beat, behind you. It’s faint, probably a half-mile away, but it’s the closest thing you have to a way back, especially since your phone can’t seem to pick up any signal. Maybe one of the school’s many bands are practicing? Right, you’re just going to stumble out into the football field, twigs in your hair, looking very much like you’ve gotten into a fist-fight with the entire forest…

And… Not a band, you realize, stepping into a clearing, but a party.

A costume party, too, by the looks of it, with everyone in soft, flittery clothing and fitted masks. Interesting how everyone seems to be on the same page with the dress code, there’s usually that one dick who shows up in a hotdog suit, regardless of any previous agreements. Elegant is the word you’re looking for, you decide, running into something tall and solider, correction: running into someone tall and solid.

“Oh, hey, sorry,” you apologize, shifting your weight on either foot, “I’m a little lost.”

“I think that you are right where you want to be,” your stranger says, mouth turning up into a strange, fanged smile. His black mask is trimmed with gold, and it doesn’t seem like he’s costuming as anything specific; rather, it appears to be just for anonymity.

“I think I really want to be in bed,” you say, trying to share a mutual we’re in college and want to die of exhaustion moment, but he doesn’t respond with the same energy.

“Perhaps a drink of wine before you go?” He offers, holding out an actual goblet of some kind. Maybe the metal-working students pitched in? Or accepted a particular commissioned order? It looks like genuine gold, which adds to the whole aesthetic of the party.

“Uh,” don’t accept drinks you haven’t seen made, “I’m good for now, really. Just trying to get back home to study.”

“Hm,” he says, taking a good swig from the goblet he had just offered, “good question. Through the trees from whence you came, most likely.”

Of fucking course, he’s drunk and doesn’t know left from right. Great. What an excellent position you’ve put yourself in. Frustrated and confident he wouldn’t roofie himself, you snatch the goblet from his hand and down several large gulps of shockingly sweet wine, maybe a sangria? Or something sugared up to be palatable?

Swirling the goblet around, to seem sophisticated, you ask, “so is this some kind of rich person party? Like an Illuminati meeting or something?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you speak of.”

“Right.” You draw out the single syllable, landing hard on the t. LARPers, probably, but not unattractive ones. Those masks don’t hide everything, and the shape of his jaw is not something to balk at, and those lips? Not to be forward in your own brain or anything, but they’re certainly decent to look at. This has to be some kind of weird-ass club, or like a rich dumbass ritual or something, definitely not your average frat party with a variety of random drugs mixed into the mystery punch. “Do you go to school here?”

He looks down at your university sweatshirt, cocking his head slightly. “A place of learning, is it? No, I’m afraid I have not attended such an institution, but I must admit that I have been tempted.”

“Well,” you take another sip of wine, “it’s not bad, as far as universities go. With decent financial aid, too.”

“Best not to drink too much of that,” your stranger says, “it’s much stronger than it tastes, and it’s best you stay clear-headed for the evening’s festivities.”

“One cup can’t hurt,” you say, and then realize that he’s just volunteered you to join in on the fun. Which is kind of weird, you guess, but then again, you aren’t going to complain. This is a way more interesting place to spend your evening, but might as well prop your backpack underneath one of the tables, hiding it beneath the skirt of the pale white cloth. You eye the unmarked bottle that one of the party-goers holds, but set your goblet down by the expensive-looking chinaware, flexing your fingers as they begin to tingle with the warmness that comes with alcohol. “What’s the party’s theme?”

He cocks his head, as though confused.

“Like a…” you try to think of a different way to phrase it. “A topic you pick, and everyone has to adhere to it. The people here all look like they’re, like, what Victorian thought the fairies looked like or something. I think it’s the clothes.”

“We are Faeries, though,” he says, the sides of his mouth curving upwards.

“Hm,” you say, “of course you are.”

“Join me for this dance?” Your stranger asks instead of any rebuttals, holding out a hand.

You look over at the band that plays, masks of distinct animal-like features flickering in the light of the bonfire roaring in the center of the clearing, all instruments vaguely familiar, yet not. Some of them you think you’ve seen before, at maybe renaissance-themed festivals, but the others must be from some kind of distinctly obscure genre of music.

The heat from the fire seems to lick out at your fingers, or maybe it’s the alcohol, already making its way through your system, but you stare, transfixed, at the way the lyre player plucks at the strings of their instrument. The quick movement plays too much with your eyes, you barely see anything more than the blurs of fingers, and you suddenly realize that you are swaying in place.

“I don’t know how,” you say, snapping out of whatever trance you had been in.

“It’s rather simple, come here,” he takes one of your hands, shockingly not unwelcome. Perhaps the warmth of his skin against yours brings you a kind of peace that you need during this period of your life. “I will teach you.”

Your stranger is correct; the dance is fairly simple to learn, mostly because there are very few rules. Sway your hips. Let your feet bounce against the soft forest floor. Let him spin you around and around until your head almost feels light. You’ll be honest, he’s the one doing all the work, guiding you, adding more flair to your steps, one hand resting on your waist, the other weaving its fingers with yours. Now, you may not be one to go out and ballroom dance on the fly, but you would be alright admitting that this is kind of fun.

So you dance. And you dance. And you continue dancing, letting the music remove you from time and space, everything else fades away except for the thrumming drumbeat, the wind in the trees, and your partner. You don’t feel the need to gasp for air, nor do your legs give out and collapse, but you aren’t even aware of how much time has passed. You dance out your pain, your stress, and any alcohol that lingers in your system, a layer of sweat keeping your body cool in the autumn night’s air. An eternity, perhaps, a small piece of infinity shared between you and this stranger, or the briefest of moments that still yield the most intimate bit of time that two people can share.

The song ends- or perhaps, the band finally runs out of music to play. You don’t know what time it is, but you aren’t finished with the party, not yet. The stranger sets his hands on both your hips, eyes as red as the fires of hell, and offers you a promising smile, his shirt loosely clinging to his body, having lost the fancily embroidered vest at some point while dancing.

“Do you want to get out of here?” You ask, making a snap decision not to let the night go to waste.

His smile widens.

The trees are your only audience when he brings you away from the rest of the party, the moon staring over the tops of the red and yellow leaves. The chill of the night might have discouraged anyone else, but you are broiling with energy and ready to continue moving wildly to keep warm. Despite barely being out of sight, you’re already working on his clothes, trying to find velcro or snaps of a cheap costume and failing rather miserably. He seems amused with your attempts, guiding your hands to find a variation of ties and buttons. Soon enough, you have his shirt off, his pale skin gleaming in the moonlight, revealing a chest etched in dozens of tattoos, red like blood against his pale skin, though it’s too dark to make out precisely what they are.

He seems to have a destination in mind, even though you steal most of his attention with kisses and touches. Even though you are in a place you’re sure no one would bother finding you in, he still seems determined to herd your desperate body further away from the camp, until the both of you get to a clearing, free of roots strangling the ground. Jupiter and Saturn stare blankly down from their perches in the sky, the stars surrounding them twinkling, as though applauding your conquest.

“I didn’t catch your name,” you gasp after a breathless kiss.

He pauses, almost put off by the request, like he’s startled you would even ask. Before you can even regain the ability to feel nervous, he says, “Avery.”

“Avery,” you repeat, running your fingers through his hair. “That’s a nice name.”

“And what may I call you?”

Like a fool, you give up your first name without much thought, but you are too excited about where the night is going to remember what you said even a second later. It doesn’t seem to matter, though, because his mouth is against yours, and your back is on the cold, dewy grass before you even register that he pulled your legs off balance. He’s a good kisser, you think hazily, his lips traveling down from your mouth to your collarbone. His mouth is nice and hot against your skin, already sending pleasant little shivers down your spine as he works, and you find yourself grasping at the cold, dying grass of the earth in order to pull your spirit back to reality.

The insides of your belly melt as he lifts your shirt up over your breasts, and you’re quick to discard the garment as he sucks at the skin just above the hemline of your pants. He needs help with the button and the zipper, his lithe fingers struggling to figure out the mechanics, so you undo everything for him. After letting out a thankful grunt, he leans forward, pressing his lips right on your stomach, sucking hard enough to leave a red mark that may bruise in the morning.

Then he kisses the skin just above where your underwear ends, a jolting shiver pulsing through your core at the contact. When you glance down at him, the barest light emanating from the roaring bonfire only a few meters away, he seems so… focused, you think, at his task of slowly stripping the last bit of fabric away from your body. Methodically, he tugs, fingers threading through the straps at the side, his eyes glimmering in the light bleeding out from the moon herself.

Slowly, steadily, he presses his mouth where your leg and torso meet, nibbling at a bit of flesh before moving ever so slightly downwards, opening your legs and seemingly liking what he finds down there. Carefully avoiding any of your puckered, wet skin, he instead moves his lips just to the side, clearly enjoying the act of driving you to the brink of insanity. You can feel the smile he wears as he teases you further, switching over to your other thigh.

Almost impatiently, you wrap one of your legs around his shoulder, arching your back when he finally lashes his tongue out to trace the outline of your flower. A heated spark ignites through your nerves, a charge of fiery need flooding your body and into your core. He seems to enjoy the breathless whine you offered in response because he does it again, inching closer and closer to your clit.

Roughly, you tangle your fingers into his long, flowing hair, pulling him closer and begging with no words for him to stop teasing and finally give you the pleasure you need. Avery finally complies, pressing his tongue right up against your clit and tracing little circles on and around it. The heat of his breath only helps further stir the coals in your womb, your back arching against the gentle curve of the world as you cry out.

He seems to deeply enjoy your keening, popping off your puckered flesh in the brief moment it takes for him to smile up at you, like a beast satisfied with the tortured screams of its prey. The way his tongue moves up, around, and down your clit makes you want to die, dirt clinging underneath your fingernails, bits of grass tearing as you claw at the ground. Still, he takes your keening reaction to double his efforts, using his fingers when his mouth is busy elsewhere, rubbing gentle little patterns in the opening of your slit.

There, you can feel your orgasm approaching as he begins to explore your core with his thumb, pushing and rubbing against the throbbing folds with some level of curiosity in his eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, a passing observation.

You’re so beyond the point of return that you could barely even draw in the words to thank him before you’re overcome with shaking trembles emanating from your very core, your insides quick to bend and break at his beckoning. It doesn’t take much more teasing from Avery before you’re crying out for him, voice cracking with pleasure and desperation, your fingers threading through his hair so tightly you don’t know where you end, and he begins.

When you are nothing more than a heaping, teary-eyed mass of trembling flesh on the ground, he crawls up from between your legs, kisses your stomach, your ribs, your breasts, your collarbone, all the way up to your mouth once more. You can taste yourself on his tongue and lips, warmer than the wine and almost twice as intoxicating, and by the wild stare in his eyes, he’s drunk with your nectar. And, quite frankly, ready to devour you, his kisses all teeth and heat, mouth dexterous against the curves, rises, and plateaus of your body, like he knows so very intimately every square centimeter of you.

There’s a hard rock length against your stomach, one that you can feel, almost tragically against your skin as he lavishes your lips and chest with his blessed attention. Even though you walked into this situation expecting a one-night stand, you don’t know, this feels light it could rocket through your life and end up becoming

“More,” you rasp, surprised that your voice is even working, ” more.”

He understands that rough and demanding command, stroking your hair with one of his free hands, mouth offering up a myriad of kisses to your neck and collarbone, an odd, overcoming need to please you emanating off of him, one like you’ve never dealt with before. Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see the familiar masks of those at the party earlier, but Avery turns your wandering gaze back to him with his insistent, feral kiss, his chest trembling with heated need.

“Do you want my cock inside you?” He asks, wanting to hear you say it.

“Please,” you almost snarl, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Hmm,” he almost manages to fool you that he could care less, but by the way his body grinds and presses against yours, he’s so, so close to traveling the radius of the earth itself to comply. You can hear the rustle of fabric as he strips away what’s left of his ensemble, moving away from your body and leaving you almost horrifically cold.

It doesn’t take a lot for him to angle your legs properly, your thigh rubbing up against his throbbing member. He’s at least gentle with how he impales you, his entrance slow and gradual, kaleidoscope eyes staring so intently into your very being that you wonder if you’ll survive the next time pleasure crashes down around you. And he feels so good, the crisp, autumn grass against your back the only thing keeping you from becoming so lost beneath his trembling body.

He must share your thoughts because even though he’s only eased in, his forehead pressed against yours, his breathing is short and shallow like he could hardly believe the pleasure your body gives him. Once he’s fully sheathed, he swears, voice quiet, yet filled to the brim with lust. You wrap your legs around his waist, hoping to feel him further, your voice and your body begging him to continue, to move, but he’s almost in a trance.

You’re impatient for movement, for that slick friction between your thighs, so you quickly take matters into your own hands. With no finesse, fueled only by spite and determination, you shift, switching positions using your legs and arms. Avery simply rolls with it, a ghostly smile on his mouth as you pin his hands to the ground, chest heaving from the effort, a layer of sweat misting your skin despite the chill of the night.

That seems to break whatever space he had retreated to, eyes lit like a roaring forest fire as he beholds your body from beneath your legs. His voice is raspy, but the demand is calm, collected, like he’s waited for thousands of years for this, for you. “Use me.”

You let out a breath, steadying yourself on his body to comply, and grind. His eyes roll back as you do, starting slowly, his back arching off the ground, his chest heaving with pleasure at the loss of control. Careful to control the pace, you let yourself be taken by the pleasure, the joining slick and hot, your core roaring with approval and greed. More, more, more.

Everything is suddenly vibrantly alive, the forest rustling with a wind you don’t feel, crickets singing hymns in the open field, the moon herself licking at your bodies with her soft, precious light. You think you hear chanting in the distance, your brain muddled with his delicious praises and lust that you don’t try to investigate, too focused on feeling his length pulse and move through your folds. Tears prick at your eyes, not from sadness, no, and you couldn’t possibly know their purpose because this feels so good, like his body was made for you.

This climax almost hurts, you felt it approaching and you knew it would be a lot, so you brace yourself, both hands gripping his shoulders like a lifeline. You look into his eyes, and you see… more, than just fundamental attraction, more than pure, unadulterated lust, but you’re so far gone you can’t pinpoint what it is, exactly, before you’re overcome.

Everything in your body is aflame, your core quaking enough to make you think, for just a brief moment, that the earth itself is tearing apart, you cry, you whine, you scream for him, and he’s there, holding onto you for dear life. Telling you that you’re perfect, you’re beautiful, that you’ll never want another man so long as your legs are wrapped around him so tightly like this. You think you believe him, gasping for air, fingernails digging into his skin hard enough to draw blood, though he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

It takes a lot of concentration to bring yourself back into your body, your soul and spirit so besotted with desire, but you manage it, feeling his hands grip your thighs so tightly his fingers may leave bruise marks. You bend forward, letting him take the reins as you try to stay present enough in the moment to kiss and nip at his neck, teeth tugging at his skin, the aftershocks still moving through your nerves like waves on a storming night. Still, though, you want him to feel what you did, to become undone by your hand.

And he does, his thrusts becoming so uneven that you begin to grind, ghosts of your orgasm weaving through your flesh and womb. A crescendo of noise seems to overtake the clearing, the air becoming like static, the hairs on your arms standing on end. Overcome, he curses and snarls in a language you don’t understand, his voice hard and soft at the same time, his hips jerking as something warm and wet pulses out of his member, filling you up and spilling out onto his pelvis.

Avery sits up, still joined within you, shaken, but startlingly and brilliantly alive, chest heaving with the effort of breathing. He presses his mouth against yours in a myriad of kisses, soft, possessive, tender, needy. There is still some amount of desire on his lips, but without the same uncontrollable yearning broiling just beneath his fevered skin like before.

Then he says your name, and a shiver goes down your spine, your very being somehow attentive to whatever he says next, as though your entire universe suddenly floods down and descends on this one, single person. He says it again, rolling it over his tongue like a wine taster, trying out each of the letters as though they offer a different kind of sweetness, his eyes just as wild as they had been when you held him pinned to the grass. A sliver of fear pierces your chest, making you want to push him onto the ground and take him again, but he has other plans.

“I’ll walk you back, dove,” he says, pressing his mouth against your collarbone, though he doesn’t kiss you again, not yet. “The sun will soon be up.”

[aetherarf]

You should write that Scaramouche story, hehe! I'm sorry but imagining him being a sobbing mess is just.. [drools]

Decided to write it and just attach it to this ask because reasons

[[ WARNING: N. SFW CONTENT, BONDAGE, OVERSTIM ]] [[ Summary: Scaramouche loves taking care of you, but sometimes even he needs to relax... even if he's not very good at it, you figure tying him up and filling him up, forcing him to cum until he's too exhausted to be stressed, is the best course of action.

Word Count: 2'387 ]] Scaramouche looked at the long, slick ribbon of silk. He rubbed his fingertips on it, it was gentle enough that it wouldn't hurt his scarred skin, but he still seemed so suspicious of it, almost angry, as though this long strip of fabric had personally offended him. "It's just silk," you said, as he examined it intensely, "It won't kill you."

"How do I know you won't?" He asked, not meaning it in the slightest. He balled up much of the silk, tossing it onto the bed he sat on, "Are you sure this is a great idea?" "Absolutely," you said, full of confidence and conviction. After all, everyone needs a break... No matter how it comes about. Scaramouche sighed, "Right, right. I just..." "Do you not want to?" You asked, knowing you and Scaramouche had talked about it several times already, but with how slow Scaramouche was to accept new things...

"I do," He sighed, "Dread of change is worse than change itself."

"So wise," you teased, "About getting--"

"Say it and I'm changing my mind."

It was an empty promise, but you decided to be kind. "Right. Well, I do have somewhere to be," you teased, grabbing the cloth and swinging it in a small circle.

He knew, you both knew that if he really wasn't okay with this, you'd stay with him and reassure him, but this little song and dance was a part of the whole play.

"Fine, fine, did you get everything?" He asked, grabbing his hat and setting it off to the side before he began to undo the rest of his clothes, setting them off to the side in a, relatively, neat pile. Just as he was finishing, you didn't give him a spare second to breathe, already holding the silk rope, looping it around his neck, and grabbing his arm to pull it behind his back, tugging on the rope like a leash, to get better leverage, watching how perfectly his back arched.

"You're eager," He hissed, voice low and irritated.

"Your friend is eager, too," you teased, only for him to huff,

"Don't tie my wrists too tight."

"I know, I know, you can get out if you fight enough." You tie a knot around one of his wrists, sticking two fingers under it, "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine, it's fine."

You quickly tied another knot, and again, it was loose enough to pull off with some effort, but not too easy. His hands clenched into fists as you went about continuing to tie him up, a few more loops around his arms, a little star design over his chest, and his legs... but the ribbon was long enough for a bit more.

For a good reason.

"Stay still," you whisper, and he huffed,

"I couldn't really move if I wanted to."

In your hands, you toyed with a much smaller ribbon... a cutting from the original, since it was more than long enough, but you had a specific idea in mind for its purpose.

"Before we... you know, do anything, do you want to be gagged? Just a ribbon over your mouth."

"Why? You won't hear me." He huffed,

"Because I feel like you enjoy having your mouth stuffed. So, do you?"

He just muttered, a little flustered as he looked away...

"Scara?"

He refused to even look at the ribbon you wanted to tie over his mouth.

"Scara, I need a clear answer."

"Yes! Archons, take a hint."

"Sometimes the hints you give me are very very vague," you mention, "Say ah..."

He didn't make any noise, but he did open his mouth, the ribbon set between his teeth, and he clenched his jaw on it, as though he couldn't help it.

You tied a knot at the back of his head, "Say something?"

He just muffled against the silk, likely an insult or a witty comment like I can't exactly talk, now can I?

You pressed a gag over his clothed mouth, onto his lips, and he almost chases... but stops, knowing he can't really kiss you back, not with how he couldn't even completely seal his lips anymore.

"Snap your fingers once if no, twice if yes, are you ready?"

He hesitated, then in quick succession, he snapped twice. You shoved him inbetween the shoulder blades, to be pushed onto his chest, and he groaned, hissed at this treatment, but you didn't mind. He prepared himself before hand, but, oh, how pretty he looked, tied up and forced to do whatever you want...

You just had one desire. To push him. You reached back over to the small box of supplies, pulling out a bottle and a device.... a toy.

A vibrator, it didn't have many ridges or curves, but it was large, and just shaped well enough that once inserted... it wouldn't be easy to get out without hands. The bottle only had lubricant, to make it easier and less painful, hopefully not painful at all.

Liberally, you poured it over the top, and you noticed Scaramouche staring... he looked... nearly hungry. You wonder if Scaramouche could fit this device, as large as it was, inside of his mouth... maybe even his other end couldn't take it. A disappointment, but you were about to find out.

You pressed it against his hole, that was shiny and slick, "Relax," you coo, and he exhales through his nose... and relaxes. Just as he does, you finally shift your palm to the end of the toy, pressing on it with some force--it slips barely an inch in before it stops, and he groans.

"Scara," you whisper, "You need to relax... or do you want to stop?"

He snapped his fingers once... which meant no. You assumed it was in response to the latter. Then, he took a deep breath, exhaled... and relaxed again.

You pushed it in, slower this time, a little amazed a man as little as him could take it... at all, really. Eventually, there was a soft pop, and all but the end that was meant to stick out, the end with a switch with a few numbers tacked to the side, was left. You looked down at Scaramouche, tears in his eyes, breathing heavily, and his legs shook, until he couldn't stabilize himself, and he fell onto his side, the landing soft and cushy by the bed.

"Sca-oh."

You saw his tummy, a little bulge. You reached down, rubbing it. If it wasn't for how familiar you were with him, and his arched back, you wouldn't have noticed, oh, but you did... He whined softly as you even touched it, and as you looked further down, you saw his dick leaking little drops of liquid. You grabbed the end of the silk rope, and tied it so it pressed on the toy, just to make sure it stayed in place... like adding insult to injury.

"Here... Let's just get into it," you cooed, and he made a low moan, but it turned into a shout as the device turned on--3, you decided was a low enough number to not overwhelm him, but not so low that he couldn't enjoy himself, too. Out of 10, that could seem pathetic... but you'd rather understimulate him than overstimulate.

For now, at least. You wanted him frustrated, not destroyed.

"Is that okay?" You asked, tilting your head to the side--His eyelashes fluttering as he was struggling to adjust, "Snap twice to tell me you're okay."

There was a second of silence... Then he snapped, once, then twice, nodding as well. You gently brush his bangs out of his face, and he sighs through his nose...

"Well, I'll see you later, Scara." You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "Unless you don't want me to?"

You, really, were just going out for a short amount of time, likely no more than an hour. But, that was the point, to leave him alone, trapped... but in a good way.

He didn't say anything, but he hid his face away from you, unwilling to admit, even silently, that he was enjoying this already.

"See you later, Scara!" You left, leaving the door to the bedroom cracked open... but you'd make sure to leave the front door shut and locked, just so only you could see him in this state. No one else should, after all.

And Scaramouche was...alone. For a few long moments, he laid there, just trying to rationalize his breathing, but eventually, he was able to calm down a decent amount. But as soon as he was calm, he was disappointed. There was pleasure, but it wasn't... enough. If it was just, maybe, a little more, he wouldn't still be able to think.

I don't want you to think, you had said, in response to how he was chronic overthinker, driving himself to paranoia, but this wasn't working.

With how his legs were tied, if he was sitting up he'd be sitting on his knees... he could probably buck his foot enough to either turn it off--so it wasn't infuriatingly enticing, or turn it up, which was what he wanted... Sure, he could undo the silk, just by determination to wiggle out of it, but he didn't want to do this a second time, he couldn't tie himself up...

A few tries, and he failed. He managed to jostle it within him, causing him to cry out, but it wasn't enough.

One last try, and...

He all but screamed a low, desperate moan, as the device was turned to max power, his insides burned like they were being forced to mush, and he came, shooting his load further than he thought his body was possible--But his hips were bucking, unable to move from the ribbon that bound him, thighs desperately clenching and unclenching as he felt tears pour from his eyes, realizing he was sobbing, screaming from the sensation.

With how his body buckled, he could only sob and cry out, unable to gather himself enough with each orgasm wracking him, to undo the rope, to try and flick the device down to a lower power...

and, a sick, twisted part of his mind loved this abuse.

...

You were holding a few things you bought. A few things you've been needing for awhile, a cute little bracelet you thought Scaramouche might like, since it was subtle but still nice, things like that... When you looked at the time, you realized you were gone far longer than intended, but... well, what was an hour compared to three?

Walking in, you shut the door behind you quickly, and then you froze, hearing Scaramouche moan so... so whorishly. You turned and looked to the hallway, did he get bored of it, undo it and begin riding the toy for his own amusement? He sounded like he was muffled, and he didn't seem like he'd ever keep on a gag if he could 'help' it, or at least, pretend he couldn't.

You set down everything on the table, resolving to deal with it later, as you rushed to the bedroom, knocking the door open.

He was still on his side, breathing heavily... Tied completely, but he was moaning so much, so... endlessly. He looked the same before you left, but...

You walked over--he seemed so dazed, he didn't even notice you. The first problem was the mess--he seemed to have came over and over again, and even as you watched, his spent dick, barely even hard at all, spewed out a few clear drops of liquid, unable to muster anything else. You were suddenly very thankful for the towels you had set down. You looked back to the toy, and your face dropped--

It was at max. You, immediately reached over, turning it off. The sound of buzzing stopped, one you only now noticed, and his moans immediately ceased. You half wanted to take it out now, but... oh, the rope, that wouldn't let you. It was fine, you set this up to fall off him as soon as a single knot was removed.

Gently, you reached up to the back of his neck and tugged on the end of the rope that hung out, and it all loosened. Scaramouche wasn't moving, but he was breathing... how exhausted must he be?

You finally removed the ribbons, deciding to show a little extra mercy and to untie his mouth, and he took ragged gasps.

With a steady hand, you grabbed onto the end... and gently, you tugged, and he moaned, prompting you to stop... was it best to leave it in? No, no, it wasn't a wound, it was a vibrator up his ass, of course it was better to get it out.

It was hard to ignore how he moaned, with each little movement, as you tried to be as gentle as possible when removing it... until it finally flopped onto the bed, his hole oozing with the excess lube, gaped from the massive size, clenching and loosening...

Oh, how destroyed he looked. He was beautiful, but you were still worried, gathering him up in your arms, not minding how he was coated in sweat and drool.

"Scara, talk to me," You half-pleaded, wondering if there was something wrong.

"Tuh.. tie...rd..."

"... Tired?"

He grunted weakly, of course he would be... you should probably get him water. But, you were distracted, as he weakly lifted his hand, grabbing your wrist and bringing it to his stomach...

Oh, despite everything, he was hard... his poor little cock, red and oozing, covered in mess.

"Pleah..." He whined desperately. Slowly, you moved your hand, wrapping around him, and he moaned, nodding as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, mouthing at it... likely his attempt at kissing.

It only took a few strokes for him to cum one last time, a pathetic mess of liquid that looked no thicker than water, and just as clear.

"Are you okay?" You asked, not minding the mess... there was potential for something bad happening, but...

"Yeh... yes..." he weakly forced out, "Stay..." He whined, the first fully coherent word he could muster.

Well... You could hold him for a few moments. You'd deal with his sweatiness, and getting him water, soon... just after he's gotten the affection he, clearly, so desperately needs...

[discotechque]

till my hand shook with the way I fear

pairing: abed nadir/nby! reader word count: 1.6k rating: T

me and abed have neurodivergent solidarity and for that, we would be besties. also the mc in this is specifically non-binary so whatever.

There's clear haze that settles over the bar, that's the first thing Abed realizes once he settles into the space. It's dim, like most bars are and he assumes that's the charm of places like these. Jeff and Britta are adults ( he is too but he's overlooked and therefore his opinion is mute ) so he follows their guidance. Watching from afar, observing their inebriated choices while downing another shot.

He doesn’t get the point of alcohol, much less bars, and it seems the whole point is to get pleasure after an initial sting. A sharp weight that lays in the back of one's throat before elation rips through you. Bourbon burns through him with too much consequence, gin coats his mouth with a bitter tang, and wine falls flat on his tongue.

Maybe it's his upbringing, he's never witnessed his father take a sip to this day, or the pressure that rushes to his frame when he's offered a drink. Abed understands the appeal of bars, it does not mean he shares the same sentiments to them. They're noisy little backend places where melancholic characters come to waste away their sorrows, typically finding pathetic people who drool over glass rims.

However, he is not pathetic ( even if his oldest friend is rounding his seventies and community college all seemed like a folly ) and he had never been overtly dripping with melancholy. So he stood by the small arcade game in the corner, unbothered and safe, until someone offered kindness.

And he takes miles of that even if all they've given was an inch because even if he isn't pathetic or melancholic, he is greedy. He likes eyes being on him because he has so many thought he wants to share with one mouth that can only do so much. Abed is not dumb, he knows what the man wants and how his friendly touches are slowly rising above his knee.

He knows what the man wants and isn't surprise at his outburst once learning that the feelings isn't reciprocated. There's streams of Mint Julep dripping from his jaw and lashes, softly mumbling about his love for Farscape before having it degraded. Abed knows he deserves it and was warned by Annie that people are sensitive ( but he is not held by the bounds of common decency or empathy no matter how hard he tries to keep his mouth shut. )

Then, he remembers the man's proposition ( the only reason someone would be interested in him ). He isn't familiar with being viewed as a sexual object and men weren't unwelcome in his eyes. Gay? Is he gay? Maybe something that exists within the unorthodox box that is sexual realization? The questions sound so foreign even within the echo chamber of his mind.

He's in a dingy bar celebrating his best friend's birthday, this is not a time for the sexual exploration of his subconscious ( although he saves the thought because he considers if not now then when ). The drink is seeping within his clothes, it's going to stick if he doesn't move. He needs to fucking move.

And he does, swiftly pulling himself away from the chair and heading towards the bathroom. Wherever that is, Shirley said it was in the far back and Annie said fair left. Yet, she meticulous as ever so what if she always assume her left is everyone's true left and Shirley is vague with her directions but it doesn't even seem to be enjoying her time here at all.

He's not enjoying it either if he's honest. His loose shit now sticks to his chest and he knows it would make sopping sounds if the man's glass was any larger. Jeff brought them here to celebrate because they're all adults and Troy deserves to have a birthday party in style but if all Jeff and Britta do it bicker, doesn't that make them children themselves? And if he shares his companionship with them, does that make him and all the others children by association?

He's going nowhere with this train of though, this he knows but it can't ever seem to stop. His brain becomes a leaky faucet that can never be screwed back just right so it drips and drips just like the alcohol does along his jaw and lashes. Abed wants to go home but he's with his friends and it's his best friend's party and it'd be so rude of him to leave so soon. At least, that's what Annie tells him.

( Parties were far and few between when he was younger and even then, he cannot replace family functions for beings that truly care for him. )

But then he remembers you, nursing an iced tea in the corner because you are not interested in bestowing wisdom onto Troy that you do not have or participating in anybody's shenanigans. Bars are where people come to hook up or fuck up, you proclaimed on the car ride here, there's no in between.

Then he hears it, bursting against his ears as a smile splits across your face, a discotheque pop song that might be pleasant if it wasn't so overwhelming. His hand involuntarily taps against his thigh in tune with the rhythm. It helps sort out the sensations, the noise is different than the bland flavoring of water, and he knows what's what but it all feels the same in his mind.

Abed's eyelids shut, another involuntary tick he can never seem to shake, and his hand has created it's own beat. Rapid and rushed with no real rhyme or reason except for the fact that it's something that will tug his mind away from everything. ( It's the same thing he does when he's at the edge of a rollercoaster, it makes him safe. ) If everyone else can sway to a rhythm, why can't he?

"Hey," an unexpected voice softly call out to him ( tenderness within this group almost borders on unnatural ). Abed slowly opens his eyes to see you, you call out to him. He feels his hands move away from his pants, tangled within your fingers instead as you gaze at him with earnest. "five things you can see?"

Your hands feel polished, no—plush. He's afraid that if his thumbs press too hard, he'll begin to meld into your being. That's a great idea for a movie, he thinks and he knows you've been his muse from time to time. Maybe it means something, he's not willing to deep any deeper.

His eyes scan the room for a brief second before he rattles off, "The wooden floors, the bartender, the door, the chair behind you, and Annie still trying to be a Texan."

Her accent still lingers within her mind, poor acting for someone so involved a role they've assigned for themselves. The though nearly amuses him but he's getting off track, he needs to focus on you. On the way your hands gently rub over his knuckles and needs to ignore this growing pit within his stomach on whatever that insinuates.

"Four things you can feel?"

"My feet against my shoes, my jeans against my legs, how hot my ears are, your hands."

You don't let go even after he's mentioned it, instead he receives a squeeze that sounds throughout his body. A continuous cycle the runs on until you ask him for something he can taste, he doesn't know what lingers within the crevices of his mouth. ( He'd want it to be you and licks his lips without a second thought. ) Yet, settles on the answer Mint Julep.

Something about thinking this way must be wrong, he shouldn't want to keep holding your fingers or gaze into your fervent irises. He shouldn't be attracted to someone like you and shouldn't be searching for so many reason on why he has to tear himself away from your presence. Still, shouldn't doesn't stop him from doing so.

Maybe his hands have melted into yours, it'd be a good excuse on why he can't bring himself to let go. The song changes again, how long has he been in this small little world with you?

"Hey, it's Mazzy Star, this fucks so hard." he's heard of this before, maybe you've shared it with him. It's less grating on his ears, smooth melodies being shifted on strings, and he watches you sway from the corner of his eye.

( He likes to be watched but something about you commands all his attention. )

Still shifting from foot to foot, you turn to him with a far more lax expression. Both shifting into familiarity as you ask, "You wanna sit down?"

"Not really," he shoots back suddenly but you're not perturbed at his fast response reflex. However, his heart sinks as the next words tumble from his lips. "but we can stand here and sway?"

You don't pull your hand away from his, instead, pressing into his fingers as you ponder a reply. Perhaps you think this isn't real as much as he presumes you'll humiliate him for even asking. But you don't and another smile splits down your features, large than the last one he saw from across the room.

"Of course, Abed Nadir has a genius idea. Let's do it."

You don't move him from this space you've cultivated with him. Instead, wrapping arms around his neck as he places them on your waist ( he never went to prom but this is better than any teenage fantasy ). Moving side to side, never shifting around in a circle but rather awkwardly figuring out a steady pace while his stares becoming fonder while the night grows.

Abed still doesn't get the point of bars but he can figure it out the next time he's here with you.

[bigskydreaming]

Hi! I was reading a fanfic and it brought up Roy and Dick's fight, which I see a lot of in fics but never what they fought about and consequently why they don't talk. I thought it was a vague excuse/reason why Roy was Jason's friend not Dick's anymore but this fic brought up when Dick was batman so I was wondering if there was actually a fight between them? Btw I really enjoy your metas! They're v thought out and well articulated. Also it's v easy to separate what's your opinion and what's fact which is. Very helpful for me

Yeah this is one hundred percent a fanon thing that's kept deliberately vague to justify why Roy in his friendship with Jason seems to have no positive thoughts or concerns about Dick whatsoever. Now granted, Dick and Roy are not nearly as close in the New 52 as they were pre-Reboot. The lack of their friendship there is definitely one of the things I disliked most about the Reboot - and I actually don't care if Jason and Roy are friends tbh, its the total erasure of his history with Dick as if he can't be friends with both, that like, bugs most.

But so like, yeah, Roy and Dick aren't super close when they interact on the Titans in the New 52, but there's literally nothing in any of their interactions that explains the complete absence of him from Roy's life or a reason that Roy would like, hate him the way he tends to in a lot of Jason-centric fics.

When you factor in pre-Reboot stuff though, it starts to get a LOT more.....uh wyd? And this is why I have trouble buying that people just write Roy and Jason the way they do because its the only thing they know from recent comics. Like one, most fans talk about how they don't even read the source comics, so there's no reason their knowledge of the characters or events would be limited to just recent comics if they're going off wiki summaries and scans anyway. And second, most fans AREN'T limited in their knowledge to just recent comics.

Like, the second people start writing Roy and Jason and Kori but with their pre-52 characterizations and references to events from THAT timeline, it all gets very messy, the way they're like, completely antagonistic towards Dick a lot of the time. Because Roy and Dick were always solid. Yes, they fought. A lot. But they always, ALWAYS made up afterwards. They had conflict about Roy's drug addiction - it didn't stop Dick from being there to support him through rehab, or Dick being the first person Roy called to help him get Lian after he learned of her existence. Dick literally held Lian before Roy ever did? He's the one who first put her in Roy's arms for the first time.

(Which is the prime grudge I and most Dick Grayson fans have about Roy and Jason fics which make Jason like, the absolute apple of Lian's eye. If you want to expand Lian's circle of loved and trusted ones to include Jason as Roy's friend and thus her uncle, like go for it! But there's zero reason that should require invalidating and erasing the fact that Dick was this little girl's adored godfather and uncle for pretty much her entire life. And the way Dick is just shoved offstage from Lian's life entirely, to slot Jason into his place as though they're completely interchangeable, its like....THAT'S the kind of thing that gets people irey about how Jason 'steals' Dick's dynamics and character relationships.

Because there's nothing saying they both can't be major players in Roy and Lian's lives! But just that they're not interchangeable! You need to develop the specific role Jason plays there WITHOUT just overwriting everything Dick actually did in relation to the two of them pre-Flashpoint, which is what you're drawing from the second you write Lian, unless you're specifically going with the few appearances we've had of her within literally just the last year.

But I mean, when people just search and replace Dick Grayson in all Roy and Lian's pre-Reboot stories and act like Jason was the one doing all of that instead.....why wouldn't fans of the source material be annoyed by a character getting credit for interactions and things done for Lian and Roy that Jason literally NEVER DID, while at the EXACT SAME TIME, conjuring some mysterious, unnamed 'Falling Out' that Roy and Dick had, that was clearly all Dick's fault, and resulted from him being basically excised entirely from Roy and Lian's lives?

Same with Kori, for the record, and like despite being Dick's ex, she and Dick have NEVER been like, estranged? She and Dick have often been close even after their breakup. None of it makes any sense, and the fact that a lot of fans don't even try to make it make sense or justify it, and expect other fans to just be fine with settling for an inexplicable reversal of Dick's every actual dynamic with these characters while setting up Jason to occupy the exact same role Dick played in these other characters' lives, like.....lol. Its fun.)

Anyway, back to your question, like, there are fights you can go with pre-Reboot as the source of various conflicts between Dick and Roy - but again, I maintain its just as crucial that they're always written as getting past them. They have a very tempestuous relationship because they are the two people MOST likely to call each other on their shit, two of the two people WITH the most shit in common due to the parallels in their childhoods and the roles they've occupied in the Titans and the superhero community in general, and the two people most resistant to being called out on their shit by each other, lol. Mostly in that case because like, they do recognize that they have a lot in common and understand each other very well, so the second the other is calling them out for something, they're usually like "ugh, if HE'S saying this, its probably true and I am just not prepared yet to be wrong about this. I need more time being unjustifiably rawr about things." Its like that thing where they both look at each other doing something that feels familiar or calls back to their own reasons for doing something and they're like ugh I'm in this picture and I don't like it.

So they clash. A lot. But always with the implicit bedrock of like, there's nothing either of them can do or say to the other that will push the other away for good.

They fought over Roy replacing Dick as leader of the Titans when Dick's wedding fell apart, even though Roy actually didn't want to do it and was kinda pushed into it by the government, but again, Dick like, got over it and realized it was for the best and forgave Roy for it that very same issue. And on and on. It always went like that. So there's plenty of stuff that can be used or pointed at as a source of conflict between the two, but the part I'll always call unbelievable is the idea that they never make up after one of these fights. Why now? What fight, specifically, is so bad between them that despite everything else they've gone through AND gotten past, they can't get past this one? Y'know?

So yeah, that's my take on this. There is no definitive falling out between Dick and Roy as many fics like to point to in order to shove him offscreen and make room for Jason in Roy and Lian's lives, and personally, I just don't find it necessary and I actually think it makes Roy look REALLY bad. Because when you're not specifically detailing all the things that Dick has actually DONE for Roy, the lengths to which he's been there for his friend, and like, specifically invalidating each and every one of them as something that never happened in a particular fic, then literally anyone who reads that fic and has their own awareness of Dick and Roy's friendship is kiiiiiinda likely to be reading that and thinking wow what an ungrateful asshole, when Roy's just written as bitching about Dick with Jason and sandbagging him without any real explanation as to WHY, beyond just 'oh they had a fight years ago.'

(And coming up with some random awful thing that Dick did to justify Roy hating him now isn't like, a superior alternative, lmao, because again, its still just trashing one character for the sake of getting him out of the way of two other characters' friendship and people are going to think what they think about that).

Anyway, my now standard stock disclaimer that like, there doesn't actually need to be a canon fight obviously, for people to just write things this way and handwave that Dick and Roy had an epic falling out years ago and now they just hate one another or whatever, or just Roy hates him or vice versa. Obviously people are free to do what they want. They don't need a reason other than "I want to write it this way so Jason and Roy are friends and Jason doesn't have to 'share' him with Dick or have his friendship be overshadowed by their greater history together." That just happens to be a reason that no Dick Grayson fan is ever really going to be happy about, lol, for what should be perfectly obvious reasons, so it honestly shouldn't be surprising to people that fans of the source material often gripe about it.

Because yeah fanfic is a tremendous opportunity to transform the source material into something better, but if what's better for some fans actively takes away what was working perfectly well for other fans the original way, they're going to say that. Especially in a fandom where so many new fans take their view of the characters and their dynamics from fics rather than the source material - when fandom has that much of an influence on what new fans perceive to be 'canon,' fans are perfectly within their right to emphasize what is ACTUALLY canon and what isn't, so that new fans at least have the opportunity to determine for themselves what take they want to go with, instead of just accepting at face value that the nature of say, Dick and Roy's relationship is just that Roy hates Dick because of some mumble mumble ancient history vague mumble details not found mumble mumble fight.

[utilitycaster]

You mentioned your opinion of jester changed a lot throughout campaign 2. Do you mind explaining how and why that happened?

Not at all!

I think I put this thought about Jester in my tags on my post about Orym being the “wet blanket” archetype. It’s my opinion that every D&D party needs if not a wet blanket per se, a pragmatic person who is willing to bring up the difficult or dull perspective; and they need a doer, a person who drives the story forward in a believable way. I love doers, and Jester’s story is that of becoming one.

I’m not a big fan of chaos. It doesn’t mean I dislike chaotically aligned characters or that I dislike wacky shenanigans but sometimes they can feel really artificial and forced, in a “uh don’t you have shit to do?” kind of way, especially in a not-explicitly-comedy show like CR; a lot of memes online about D&D leave me, a DM and a die-hard “doer” both in D&D and IRL, absolutely cold because it’s like no actually I don’t want to court chaos, I want to let the dice lay out the chaos for me. I want a good plan that goes awry because of weird rolls, not a plan that was always designed to be ridiculous.

So, unsurprisingly, early Jester, who was very much about chaos for its own sake (even if her reasons for that were valid), who was very sheltered and pampered, very innocently inconsiderate of people around her, and who had a fairly vague goal in mind, was less interesting to me than the more pragmatic Caleb, Fjord, and Beau, or the more clearly goal-oriented Nott, even though everyone in the party engaged in some degree of chaos. By the end, though, Jester was one of the people pushing the party forward and that was a huge factor (as was the incredibly well-acted portrayal of how she got there).

I think the first step towards me liking her more was the first job the group did for the Gentleman in Siff Duthar’s study; that was the point where I feel the Nein truly gelled as a party such that even if there were members I wasn’t as invested in, I still cared about them in the context of the group. For Jester, specifically, after that, it was also her facade slowly crumbling over time. I think her actions caring for the drunk group in Hupperdook and her relationship with Kiri were a strong start, and then obviously the aftermath of the Iron Shepherds affected her - and for that matter Fjord - very deeply. Both of their slow, weird, messy breakdowns over the entire pirates arc, in Jester’s case punctuated by The Gentleman’s dismissal of her, culminating in the aftermath of the dragon fight, pushed her a little more to the forefront in my mind.

I don’t have strong thoughts on the Xhorhas arc (an arc I honestly need to revisit) but Jester’s response to Yasha being taken and her quiet internal growth, her tentative forays into letting the mask slip and expressing negative emotions, and her deliberate attempts to act more mature all made me like her much more throughout the entire Angel of Irons arc, even though one could argue she still was pretty chaotic (see: the downtime in Rexxentrum episode).

The post-hiatus arcs, though, are what made her one of my favorites by the end. I loved her during the entire Artagan reveal/Rumblecusp arc, in which she had to grapple with leadership and immense responsibility. Jester was defined throughout the campaign by a deep love for and loyalty towards her friends, but as a result even her starring moments were often as support (something something utility casters); the cupcake moment was ultimately for Veth. With Rumblecusp she had to deal with betrayal (she never saw Yasha’s departure in that light, even though it was a valid reading) and external expectations far harsher than those of the Nein or her mother, and even the much smaller but still very real experience of having someone just dislike her for no good reason. I know some people dislike the Rumblecusp arc but in many ways I see it as one of the strongest arcs of the show, particularly in terms of character moments and even more particularly for Jester’s character development.

Then comes the final part of the story - Eiselcross, the interlude back in the Empire/Nicodranas/The Plane of Fire, and Aeor. That whole experience is something of a meat grinder for everyone, and the clerics in particular are the ones who I think have the strongest sense of the stakes (Aeor is one of my favorite Caduceus arcs as well for that reason). Jester moves into that role of the doer that she first explored in Rumblecusp - but this time it’s not for the god she has been friends with her entire life, it’s for the fate of the world.

There’s a reason why there’s a throughline in Jester and Fjord’s conversations from very early on about just going away somewhere quiet, as the stakes grow higher and the story gets darker (starting with the conversation on the Mistake shortly after their kidnapping and Molly’s death, continuing through their conversation at the Kiln just after Yasha falls under control, and then in Eiselcross after Jester enters the circle and a little more in the Blooming Grove before their final return to Aeor). Jester always wanted to see the world, but she learns it’s much harsher than she expected, and I loved seeing her come to terms with that and trying to change it rather than trying to avoid it. In the lead-up to the final fight with Lucien, she’s dealing with something she does not expect to survive it but she not only does it anyway but is one of the people pushing the others forward. While the idea of self-sacrifice isn’t a particularly original one in D&D, for Jester specifically to go from where she started to that position is an incredible yet wholly believable journey.

[theleftovertaco]

The Boys in Lingerie

OK FIRST EVEN VAGUELY SMUTTISH POST 

Basic warnings in order please don’t interact if you don’t want to see this. Use basic judgement. You know if you’re too young to read something

Once again, I try to keep it house, gender, and year neutral so anyone can fill in the blanks where they wish, guys, gals, and nonbinary pals alike

We have standard lineup- Fred, George, Draco, Neville, Harry, Ron, Oliver, Cedric, and now Charlie and Blaise have been added!

ON TO THE FEMBOYS IN LINGERIE

Fred

You and Fred had messed around before with kinks and lingerie

He always liked how it looked on you, how the lace hugged you perfectly

Freddie is a very forthright person, if he wants to try something he will tell you in advance, and so he talks to you about him wearing some

You agree immediately and the two of you find a magazine to order some because there is no shop that sells that in Hogsmeade, unfortunately

He finds a pair of pink panties and chooses those because of course he does and when the box arrives (he has to avoid George’s questions about what's in the box) 

He puts them on and then sends you a notes asking you to come to his room while no one else is there

And when you find him

“Baby boy, you look amazing.” He smirks and spins in a circle before leaping on the bed, you following close after

George

George wandered into a strange shop in muggle London when you and him were exploring during Christmas break

He found a sex shop where they sold a lot of lingerie and before he got yelled at by the shop owner to “get out, you tosser!”

He couldn’t get the lingerie out of his head 

He didn’t think about you wearing it, well maybe a little. No he actually thought more about the cloth on his own body

So about a couple weeks after seeing those and getting back to school he plucked up the courage to ask you (he was a Gryffindor, dammit, he shouldn’t be scared)

“How would you feel if I... wanted to wear panties?” “Sure, love, sounds good if that’s what you want.” “Wait, that’s it?” “Yea.” “Ok good, cause I kinda already ordered them.” 

He darts into the restroom to put them on and then comes out to show you and holy fuck

He’s in this pale blue pair of flower lace bikini panties and walks out looking just a little timid and you fucking jump him 

Draco 

Draco saw a pair of Pansy’s underwear during a game of strip poker and while most of the other guys were ogling her, he was thinking about how the silk would feel on him

He buys a pair, but then they just sit at the bottom of his trunk for about a month and a half

Then he wears them once or twice around the common room under his trousers before he even thinks of telling you

He writes you a note during History of Magic (its not like Binns will notice anyways): “Can you come to my dorm after classes today? I want to show you something.”

So you go thinking its gonna be some gift his mum sent again but you enter the dorm and see him in a pair of silk black panties 

“Honey, you look fantastic!”

You may or may not have torn them off of him 

He may or may not have had to buy another 10 pairs

Neville

Neville sees a girl in a thong in one of his dormmates old magazines and he just gets a little spooked

Because his immediate thought isn’t about you in them

It’s about him in them

So he panics

Slowly but surely, as your relationship progresses he gets a little more bold, in general, since you make his confidence skyrocket when you’re around him

So he wears them around during the day and when he pulls you into a empty classroom you’re a little scared about what he’s gonna do because of the timid look on his face

But he pulls down his trousers to show the pastel yellow thong he’s wearing and he slips on his old cat ears

You let out an audible groan

“Kitten, you look beautiful.”

He blushes and looks down in embarrassment just a little

“Nuh-Uh, don’t you dare look embarrassed kitten, come here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Harry

You and Harry had a very honest relationship

He is a rather frank person and is not afraid to tell you want he wants in a relationship, but of course, you know that right out of the gate

Plus after the heels debacle, he knew never to try and hide what he wanted to wear from you

So when he discovers your collection of lingerie, he straight up asks you if he can try them on

“You sure?” “Yes please.” “Yeah ok go ahead, sunshine.”

He grins and snatches his favorite pair, a red set of satin underwear that barely cover anything

“You ready love?” “Of course sunshine, come on out!”

He steps out and you are speechless to say the least

He looks amazing and you pretty much drag him over to sit on your lap while you kiss him

So now he wears panties all the damn time because why not

If he likes it and he’s confident wearing them, you’re all for it

Ron

Ron is still a bit wary about wearing lingerie

He’s been wearing more stereotypically feminine clothes, but wearing panties is a whole other game to him

But you suggested it, and he was willing to try

It takes him a bit to warm up to the idea of lingerie

Ron has you walk him through it, what would be comfortable, what wouldn’t be, and he settles on a pair of black satin ones “They’ll be comfortable, promise!” “If you’re sure...”

You do a trial run where he just kind of lounges around the common room wearing them underneath his normal clothes

By the end of the day he’s hooked on it and you are too

He likes the softness of them

Ron has always felt like he had to be strong, and measure up to his brothers masculinity, but when he’s in the lingerie, he feels like he doesn’t have to conform to that

Anyways yes he likes the panties

Oliver

Oliver saw a pair on you once under your sweatpants when you were cuddling

“Oh, what are these?” “My panties???” “They’re pretty... do they make them for guys?”

Bro was straightforward

So you buy him a pair “I trust your judgement love, buy whatever you want!”

So he ends up with a pair of red silk ones that feel amazing 

He wears them whenever possible

About a week after he starts wearing them, Angelina somehow finds out and the Gryffindor quidditch team dares him to ride on the broom in only his panties

So he tries it... before immediately slipping off and falling on his ass

“Stupid fabric.”

He manages to stay on the second time, and well, now you have a few candid shots of your boyfriend riding a broom in lingerie

Not that you’re complaining

Cedric

I need to stop calling Cedric Pretty boy, but does that mean i will? no

Pretty boy loves you in lingerie

The fabrics are always so pretty

And he has never been shy about this, so he just asks you if he can try on a pair of yours

“Yeah, of course pretty boy go ahead.” he kisses you on the cheek and runs off to find a pair

He puts on a pale yellow satin pair of briefs 

And walks back into your dorm

“Fuck, pretty boy!” “You like it?” “Baby, I adore it!”

Cedric begins wearing them around campus

He likes how his thighs look in them, and soon he starts wearing them under his skirts

If he bends over, you can see it pretty easily, he knows exactly what he’s doing

He tries to rile you up

Fucking tease

Charlie

Charlie is a very muscular person 

It isn’t that he doesn’t like traditionally feminine stuff, he just never thought he had the build for it

It takes a while for him to change his mind, since contrary to popular belief, he is actually pretty insecure

“Don’t you think I’d look strange in them, stocky kid in girls underwear?” “Well, it’s  not just for girls, and no you would not! I happen to think that you would look beautiful!”

He likes that word. Beautiful

People have always described him as handsome, cute, but never beautiful

So he agrees

Maybe it’s something about wizarding Romania that’s more accepting but when the lady at the shop you go to sees that the panties are more fit for Charlie, she winks at the two of you and says to “have fun with those”

So he puts them on and holy shit 

He understands it now

He feels beautiful

Blaise

Blaise likes being pretty lets be real

He doesn’t really give a flying fuck what people think of him

So he jumps on panties real quick

Finds the prettiest pair of emerald panties he can find and he loves them almost immediately

He likes putting on a short skirt and makeup on to top off his whole vibe because why not

Another thing about Blaise is that he is a fucking flirt 

With everyone, not just you

And while you trust that he would never cheat on you or betray you, if he gets a little too flirty with anyone else, all you have to do is creep your hand up to the satin undergarment and give it a little tug to remind him who he belongs to

You, bitch, it’s you

Ok that’s it for now idk what I’m doing next so if you want me to write something please send me an ask. Also I rarely write suggestive/smut fics if you know ways that I can make this better please for the love of god let me know.

This feels like a good time to say that this is the final set of characters. I have 10 right now, and if I keep accepting more people I’ll just end up doing 20 characters every time. I love doing these but I don’t have the time or energy to do every single character, it just would not be good for my mental health. That being said, if you want a specific headcanon of a specific character, please SEND ME AN ASK so I know that you want that directly. I would be more than happy to write it for you.

[mageofseven]

Hi I just recently discovered your blog and I’m in love with your writing! I have a little request if you don’t mind. The brothers (and undateables I’d you want to) finding MC bruised and beaten and later discovering they got into a fight with another demon. Thank you in advance if you decide to write this!

Awww thank you so much! I might end up doing the Undateables in another post, but I'll just stick to the Brothers for this one.

And thanks for requesting 😊

TWs: violence, vague s*xual assault

Spoiler warning: 1st year spoilers in Lucifer's and vaguely in Belphie's section

~

Lucifer:

Was checking out the area under Diavolo's orders.

Apparently there have been some people sneaking around in the old Colosseum and normal methods to keep other demons away from the historical landmark have been futile.

That and word has made it's way that some criminals have been using the place to secretly make dealings

So when he got there, he had expected to find some such people lurking around

Instead he found MC on the ground in the center, bruised and bleeding with their arm bent in a very concerning way.

He rushed up to them, calling their name and checking them for signs of life.

Honestly, the man was having major flashbacks to the day he lost his sister.

This was exactly where Lilith fell and Lucifer had to watch his sister, all broken and in pain until Diavolo came and he had to make the deal that changed everything

The deal that eventually led to MC's existence

Yet here they were now, in exactly the same place and state and the demon couldn't help but break down for a minute with panic he tried so hard to conceal.

The human let out a groan and the man could only sigh in relief.

"MC, oh thank the Devil..."

"Luce...?"

"You'll be alright." He promised. "I'll take you over to have Simeon heal you."

Despite the internal panic and flashbacks of such a traumatic event, he still handled the situation well.

Once MC was all healed up, he asked them what happened.

Apparently, they found a note that someone had stuffed in their school bag, asking for them to meet at the Colosseum.

They thought it was weird, but curiosity had gotten the better of them so they went and were attacked while exploring the ancient building.

The demon had meant to kill her, but sensed Lucifer approaching so they dropped the human and ran for it.

Ends up getting as much info from them about the attacker as he can.

Even if MC doesn't want the demon to die for what they did, they get no say in the matter.

Because of their status as exchange student, this attack is a political issue and the consequences Lord Diavolo warned his people about originally must be put into play.

Politics aside though, Lucifer would never let any being who hurt MC get away with it.

Becomes a lot stricter with what they can and cannot do

Like, they're not even allowed to go for a walk around the block without either him or his brothers accompanying them.

Even changes up their class schedule to make sure they have at least one of his brothers with them per class and they even have to walk MC to their next one.

Any arguments about this from MC or the brothers fall on deaf ears.

He will never let anyone lay a hand on them again.

Mammon:

School day had ended and he was on his way to pick MC up from their class.

Since Lucifer decided the day they came that he was responsible for their safety, he always had to do stuff like this.

He was late today though since his teacher held him back after class.

Blah blah F on the test, blahh blah summer school, blaah blahh blaaaah. Whatever man; he wasn't listening

And because of them, he was late. So much so that when he arrived at the human's classroom, they weren't there.

Lowkey panicked.

Shit. Shit shit shit, where'd they go???

Practically runs in the halls trying to find them

Knows Lucifer will have his head for this if he can't track 'em down.

Ends up hearing some kind of ruckus in the courtyard

And finds a big group of students forming a circle and chanting "Fight!"

"Oh yell!" Is momentarily distracted from his problem and joins the group. "Fight! Fight! Fight--."

Oh shit. That's his human in the circle!

Mammon's brain just started buffering as he watched MC dodge and weave, even getting some good hits in. The second brother was actually pretty impressed.

The lower demon in the fight eventually lost his footing and fell to the ground, giving an opening for MC to give a big kick between his legs and the demon let out a shrill scream. His green skin started smoking and changed to grey as it hardened and suddenly seemed more like stone than a person.

The circle of students started cheering and Mammon's jaw practically hit the floor.

Holy shit, the human did it!

MC fell the ground, panting heavily and bruised from head to toe.

Mammon finally rushed up to them.

"Damn, MC! You're gonna give me a heart attack!"

All of a sudden, some students started running and others just quickly jumped back, revealing Lucifer and Diavolo.

....yep, he's dead.

The two older demons started asking MC questions as they caught their breath and Mammon tried to sneak away.

Lucifer grabbed his brother by his jacket, but otherwise paid him no mind as MC told their tale.

Apparently this demon that sits behind them in their Devildom History class had been giving them crap for a while; calling them names and pushing them around. Today they even started touching them in places that made them wanna break the demon's hand.

MC snapped and told them such. The demon only grinned. Honestly, he was probably waiting for them to say that.

From there, he dragged them out by their hair and the rest is rather obvious.

Diavolo had some of his men carry the demon away. Apparently, the stone-like skin is defense mechanism, essentially the equivalent of a turtle hiding in their shells for that sub-race of demon.

The prince assured MC that the demon will be dealt with and tasked Lucifer with getting them healed up.

Mammon was hung upside down from the roof for a few hours for letting this happen, but MC was patched up and okay in the end.

Leviathan:

He usually buys all of his otaku stuff off of Akuzon

But occasionally, he likes to go out and by manga at this store downtown.

It's a once in a blue moon sort of thing, but he still does it

MC felt like taking a walk so they joined him

The two explored the shop as Levi fanboyed about seemingly every other series he passed.

The otaku had already started a pile of manga he planned to buy.

He didn't even notice when MC left his side until he approached the counter to pay

Boy just assumes you bailed on him at first and sinks into self-loathing mode

Until he heard a scream from outside.

He abandoned his manga and raced out, just in time to see another demon run for it and MC leaning against the building.

Their right arm was bleeding from the holes and claw marks made into it.

The third brother started freaking out and rushed them home, even leaving his books there.

When they get back, Lucifer patches them up with a first aid kit and a little bit of a potion.

MC explains how they were shopping with Levi when all of a sudden they saw Beel outside the store waving at them

She went out to talk to him, but then suddenly, it wasn't Beel anymore.

Apparently, it was a shapeshifting demon and, since they specifically choose Beel's form to take, Lucifer assumed that they must have been watching them for a while and planning this attack. They likely chose Beel because they knew he was someone MC would let their guard around.

Levi felt like crap for letting them get hurt, but MC said it was their fault for being tricked.

Lucifer decided it was both their faults and gave them both a long lecture

Satan:

The fourth brother invited MC out for coffee

The blonde actually really likes the atmosphere of coffee shops and wanted to share it with them

The two ordered their coffee and sat at their table while talking about books. He recently read a book on artic fauna from the human world and was comparing the information he read with their own knowledge

It was a very relaxing experience like most of MC's quality with Satan.

Before the two of left, MC had to stop in the restroom.

That demon waited patiently for the human at their table, but when almost ten minutes went by, he became a bit annoyed and puzzled.

Not wanting to be rude, but also ready to leave, Satan approached the bathroom door

He paused mid knock when her heard a low growl followed by a cry from MC

Now in his demon form, the blonde kicked the door off its hinges. It wasn't locked or anything, but the man was super pissed.

Found a demon pressing MC, who had a gash in their head, against the opposite wall

'An eye for an eye' is more or less the philosophy he followed here, or rather, a head for a head.

He took the demon and slammed his head into another wall over and over again.

MC had to run up and tell him to stop after the other demon passed out.

They left the demon on the floor of the bathroom and Satan, with his arms around MC to keep them close, headed back to House of Lamentation

The human didn't want the other brothers to see them like this and worry so Satan snuck them into his room and went to get the first aid kit.

It was quiet between the two as he patched them up.

"I'm sorry for scaring you." He said as he finished with their stitches. "Seeing you hurt like that just made my blood boil. They deserved it, but you shouldn't have had to watch."

"It's okay... thank you for saving me."

The two spent the rest of the night huddled together in his room, reading and just settling down from the incident.

Asmodeus:

Shopping trip!

Asmo was a bit too enthusiastic about it, but that's part of why MC was all too willing to go

He mainly just wanted to see MC in cute outfits, but also bought a few for himself

Any self-consciousness MC might feel on her own is long gone when they spend time with him. He's always hyping them up and complimenting them and overall making them feel beautiful.

Time spent with Asmo is always a good time and well spent.

The fifth brother does actually leave their side for a bit after they found someone hot to flirt with

MC didn't mind and just let the Avatar of Lust do his thing as they continued to look through the racks.

At some point a very good looking demon approached them and started flirting with them

It became obvious that this dude was one of Asmo's demons, another demon of lust

Even with this in mind though, their attention really did make the human feel special, even if they probably said such sweet words to everyone

MC underestimated the demon, thinking that just because Asmo wasn't the aggressive sort that the demons under him wouldn't be either

Ends up following him out of the store and makes out with him against the wall of the building

They didn't understand why they were doing this, but the human's mind had been feeling foggy for a while now.

Suddenly, MC's whole body started to feel heavy and they were so dizzy that their vision was just a blur

Ends up passing out and waking up a few minutes later to Asmo crying as he stood over them and begging them to wake up

"Azzy?"

The man threw his arms around them.

Finds out that the fifth brother went looking for them when he saw that they weren't in the store anymore. He came outside just in time to see one of his underlings try to suck their soul out of their body.

As soon as they heard their superior's voice though, they dropped the human and ran.

The two went straight home and Asmo was extra clingy with them for the rest of the day.

Beelzebub:

The two of them went together to Madam Screams since they were both craving sweets.

Beel was really hungering for a cherry pit pie (though of course he planned on order other things as well) while MC was really hankering for some chocodevil cake.

The two happily got in line to pick out their treats, but MC stepped out to get a clearer view of the case with all of the treats to see if they wanted anything different instead.

Ends up getting attacked by a famished, minor demon of gluttony and slammed down on the glass case containing the sweets.

Beel jumped into gear; he changed into his demon form and threw the other demon off of them.

During the skirmish, the two ended up breaking down a wall and crushing three tables.

When the fight ended, the big guy rushed up to MC to make sure they're okay.

The human was bleeding and had a lot of glass shards embedded in their back and arms.

Though worried, the sweet boy keeps himself together and carefully takes out the bigger shards.

Rushes them home, treats forgotten.

Once home, Lucifer is the one who gets the rest of the glass out of their back and cleans up their wounds.

Beel stays by their side and lets them squeeze their hand when Luce's clean up hurts too much.

Luce gives his younger brother a lecture for all the stuff he had broken back at Madam Screams, but is surprisingly lenient with him.

The older brother didn't say it (and honestly, he should have), but he was proud of his brother for stepping up and protecting MC, but at the same time, expected nothing less from him.

Yeah, Lucifer will likely get sent the bill, but MC's safety is more important.

Belphegor:

Belphie had fallen asleep during class; no surprise there.

The rest of the students left the room when class ended, but the seventh brother continued to sleep at his desk.

MC found his sleeping face cute and didn't want to wake the demon

So instead, they hung around the classroom, waiting for the Avatar of Sloth to awake; the school day was over and the classroom wasn't going to be used for anything else so they thought there'd be no harm in hanging around.

Sadly, they were wrong.

Another student, a jerk from their Seductive Speechcraft class had waited for them to leave the classroom in order to harass them, but when they didn't come out, he came in.

Eventually had them backed up against the wall and forcing their hand up their shirt, causing the human to yelp.

He tried covering their mouth with his other hand, but MC bit them, angering the demon and leading them to putting their hands around their throat as he yelled at them.

The entire time, the minor demon never saw the Avatar of Sloth sleeping at his desk.

Big mistake.

Belphie woke up and saw the scene before him, turning into his demon form real quick.

Didn't hesitate to grab a hold of the bastard and make him let go of MC, who was now gasping for much needed air.

The seventh brother used his miasma aura to weaken the demon as he was now the one doing the choking with the lower demon.

MC covered their face and cried in their corner on the floor.

It was too similar to That Night™️ and the human was bordering on panic attack because of it.

Once the minor demon passed out, Belphie turned and saw MC crying on the floor.

He rushed up to them, but stopped once MC started screaming and begging for him to stay back.

That look in their eyes... it was the same fearful look he remembered from That Night™️

And it killed Belphie inside because he never wanted them to be scared of him ever again.

He waited for the human to calm down and, with their permission, slowly approached them.

He wanted to hug them, but was afraid that they'd just be reminded of it even more so he held back.

Surprising him, the human hugged him instead.

He held them tight for as long as they needed and started to notice the bruises forming on their neck

The two went home after that and reported the incident to Lucifer before Belphie dragged MC with him for a nap.

He chose Beel and his' room since he knew the attic would probably be too much for them right now.

Cuddled close to them and apologized for all of it. For falling asleep and leaving them defenseless. For the other demon's attack. For scarying them. Above all, that he was sorry for That Night™️

~

Masterlist