#why those two things to mash together

[were--ralph]

why exactly do you dislike generative art so much? i know its been misused by some folks, but like, why blame a tool because it gets used by shitty people? Why not just... blame the people who are shitty? I mean this in genuinely good faith, you seem like a pretty nice guy normally, but i guess it just makes me confused how... severe? your reactions are sometimes to it. There's a lot of nuance to conversation about it, and by folks a lot smarter than I (I suggest checking out the Are We Art Yet or "AWAY" group! They've got a lot on their page about the ethical use of Image generation software by individuals, and it really helped explain some things I was confused about). I know on my end, it made me think about why I personally was so reactive about Who was allowed to make art and How/Why. Again, all this in good faith, and I'm not asking you to like, Explain yourself or anything- If you just read this and decide to delete it instead of answering, all good! I just hope maybe you'll look into *why* some people advocate for generative software as strongly as they do, and listen to what they have to say about things -🦜

if Ai genuinely generated its own content I wouldn't have as much of a problem with it, however what Ai currently does is scrape other people's art, collect it, and then build something based off of others stolen works without crediting them. It's like. stealing other peoples art, mashing it together, then saying "this is mine i can not only profit of it but i can use it to cut costs in other industries.

this is more evident by people not "making" art but instead using prompts. Its like going to McDonalds and saying "Burger. Big, Juicy, etc, etc" then instead of a worker making the burger it uses an algorithm to build a burger based off of several restaurant's recepies.

example

the left is AI art, the right is one of the artists (Lindong) who it pulled the art style from. it's literally mass producing someone's artstyle by taking their art then using an algorithm to rebuild it in any context. this is even more apparent when you see ai art also tries to recreate artists watermarks and generally blends them together making it unintelligible.

Aside from that theres a lot of other ethical problems with it including generating pretty awful content, including but not limited to cp. It also uses a lot of processing power and apparently water? I haven't caught up on the newer developements i've been depressed about it tbh

Then aside from those, studios are leaning towards Ai generation to replace having to pay people. I've seen professional voice actors complain on twitter that they haven't gotten as much work since ai voice generation started, artists are being cut down and replaced by ai art then having the remaining artists fix any errors in the ai art.

Even beyond those things are the potential for misinformation. Here's an experiment: Which of these two are ai generated?

ready?

These two are both entirely ai generated. I have no idea if they're real people, but in a few months you could ai generate a Biden sex scandal, you could generate politics in whatever situation you want, you can generate popular streamers nude, whatever. and worse yet is ai generated video is already being developed and it doesn't look bad.

I posted on this already but as of right now it only needs one clear frame of a body and it can generate motion. yeah there are issues but it's been like two years since ai development started being taken seriously and we've gotten to this point already. within another two years it'll be close to perfected. There was even tests done with tiktokers and it works. it just fucking works.

There is genuinely not one upside to ai art. at all. it's theft, it's harming peoples lives, its harming the environment, its cutting jobs back and hurting the economy, it's invading peoples privacy, its making pedophilia accessible, and more. it's a plague and there's no vaccine for it. And all because people don't want to take a year to learn anatomy.

[poppy-metal]

fail marriage au…………………….

having your first big blow out fight after marriage counselling. putting everything you ever found aggravating or disrespectful or wrong or even just a bit annoying on the table. art doing exactly the same. it gets mean. it gets personal. it gets ugly. you scream at him, scream like a banshee and he shouts back. veins you didn’t know he had bulge in his neck, his fingers flex as he wildly gesticulates. you throw something, a plastic tv remote that shatters against the wall. it all passes in a heated blur, you hardly know what you’re doing or saying but that blood is pumping through your veins and you’re alive and so is art. alive. furious, at you. you stalk up to him, and he stands tall above you, looming like a storm cloud. a sweet faced angelic storm cloud that right at this second you couldn’t fucking stand. you jab at his chest with your finger as you yell, lay into him. why couldn’t he tell you how he feels? why did he have to be so fucking passive aggressive? why was tashi the centre of his fucking universe? why couldn’t he be a fucking man and tell you what he really wants? be a man art. be a fucking man for once in your goddamn life.

his nostrils flare, his anger rising with every poke. he grabs your wrist, yanks it up and leans in close. stooping, showing you that he is bigger. he would stoop to your level. he will fight back. you feel his breath on your nose and seethe. he’s still minty fresh. stupid cunt.

“what i want is for you to shut the fuck up and stop acting like you know everything.”

“fuck off, you limp dicked sack of shit.”

“fuck you cunt.” he flicks those brutal syllables at you, chewing his words, opening his mouth so you can see his tongue forming them. you feel the severity in the pit of your stomach. you feel something else lower.

“fuck me? fuck you!”

and in that moment you drew together, moving as one, in the most violent kiss of the modern age. he squeezes your wrist, still held aloft. your other hand grips his shirt collar, pulling so hard it hurts his neck. good. you hope his delicate little neck gets a friction burn and a rash and you hope it stings forever. he tongues furiously at your mouth, mashing his lips into yours and licking the side of your mouth. eating your face like he eats pussy. which he hasn’t done in a while, another thing to yell at him about later. his other hand grips the back of your head, holding it still so you have no choice but to recieve his hot, angry love. you kiss back with equal fury. you want to make him suffer your love. don’t want it? tough luck. it’s his. and he will take it. he grunts into your mouth, it vibrates your tongue. you pull back, but he doesn’t let you. he forces you back nearer to him, spine curving in hateful ecstasy. he kisses you for a few more seconds before drawing back only a few centimetres to rest his forehead on yours and breathe. your lips are wet with him.

“i love you,” you breath.

he caresses the back of your head.

“prove it.”

me when i overachieve.

anyway this is apart of my failmarriage au and you should probably read this part first to understand whats going on here. or just follow the #failmarriage au tag that i have.

your breath shudders out of you. you'd never heard that tone from him before, or rather, never directed at you. not exactly cold but, chilled. serious and pointed. dominant.

your hands fall from his hair, sliding down his throat, his shoulders. you stare into his eyes - he stares back. you feel like you're on a razor thin wire. concede or push back.

you wonder what this will fix. but you don't think you care. you want him. you miss him. your heart is pounding just thinking about it. you take a step back, two, three, several paces.

"okay," you say. you dont even know what you're agreeing too, just that you want it, whatever it is.

before you even have time to linger on that thought though -

because art is already stalking towards you, undoing his soft leather belt and letting it drop to the floor. you couldn’t move. you couldn’t breathe. just watching in this kind of stupified silence as art unczips his pants and slides his delicate fingers under his waistband. In three strides, art was right up in your space, owning it,  staring you down with a cool kind of control in his eyes, heavy cock in his hand, already hard and flushed and mouthwateringly beautiful. you couldn’t speak. you couldn’t think. all you could see was art. 

when art spoke, his voice was an iron grip closing around your throat. each word as clear and distinct as a brand to your hot skin.

“get on your knees”

you sink to the floor. It felt like falling, your knees knocked out from under you by the invisible string of his command that binds you to him. breath punches out of your lungs as you let yourself go under. art was already reaching out and grabbing the back of your head and shoving his cock past your waiting lips, pushing all the way to the hilt as his leaking head slammed into the back of your throat.

“god,” art breathed out, vice grip holding you in place. “You’re beautiful like this” and you were lost. years of built resentment and anxiety dissipating like smoke as art took over your senses. the taste of him, the smell of him, the warmth of him, the silk soft press of his cock down your throat. It was everything you’d been longing for from him. 

your hands fly up to grip art’s waist, fingers trying to find purchase, pressing him deeper, holding him deeper, worried he might pull out but not able to hold yourself back. when art didn’t say anything, didn't tell you to stop, you sank forward and started to suck greedily, tongue running over art’s throbbing length, trying desperately to take him apart, to please him, to worship him, to give him what he wanted. 

you heard yourself whine, felt your body sway forward, but you managed to hold yourself still, keep your tongue flat, keep your mouth wide and waiting, holding art still against the back of your throat, wanting desperately to prove you were good. that you loved him. That you wanted, wanted, wanted him.

"give me your hand,” art breathes, looking down at you, and you think briefly of the ancient greek god apollo, and how if art was a deity, you.d gladly stay right where you are. lovingly holding him in the back of your throat. 

your mind was already starting to go fuzzy with the heavy weight of art on the back of your tongue, salt slowly leaking from his pink slit, the slow stretch of his your lips around art’s shaft starting to ache in your jaw. , but, still you had enough awareness to look up confused, meeting art’s eyes in a question. but art didn’t offer an explanation. just looked down at you, hand held out, patiently waiting, like it wasn’t a question of whether you would obey; it was just a matter of when.

shakily, your hand reaches out to his. by instinct or by pure coincidence, its the hand with your wedding band on it. your fingers brush against each other, and then arts fingers, lithe and strong, an athlete's fingers, slide between yours. he brings your clasped hands together against his chest. if your throat wasn’t stuffed with cock you’d gasp at the gesture, the intimacy of it alone. your palm against his bare chest, his right pectoral. right over his thunderous heartbeat. his wedding band presses against yours. 

“Im gonna move, okay?” he breathes down at you, and his hand squeezes yours. “If you want me to stop just squeeze my hand two times.”

you nodded, a slight movement, eager and unbidden. art ran a finger under your jaw, fluttering his fingers against you. you had to shuffle a little to keep as much of art in your mouth as you could as he exhaled and used his free hand to slide against the back of your skull, cupping it tenderly.

a little punched-out gasp falls from arts lips as he slowly rocked his hips, pushingas deep as he could go as you moaned around him. art took a second, waited for you to look at him, blink the tears from your eyes, before he started the slow glide out of your mouth. you laid your tongue flat against the underside of him, tracing the veins, unable to move forward to chase him back down your throat as arts hand kept you firmly in place.

when he was all the way out, spit slick and gleaming, he rested the flushed head of himself against your bottom lip. rubbed himself there, traced every contour of your mouth with the slit of his cock. glossing your lips with the sheen of his precum. 

“I love you.” he said - voice choked and you couldnt tell if it was from emotion or lust, maybe a combination of the two. 

you felt something flare hot in your belly, but before you could utter a word, art was sliding back home, right back into the silk pallet of your throat. and you welcomed him greedily, lapping up every inch he gave you. 

the whole while you held his hand, still pressed against his chest. you tilted open your jaw as wide as it could go, imagining you wanted to be a snake and swallow him whole. you took everything. you breathed through your nose when he was settled fully inside you - you sucked around him when he began to pull back, suctioning your mouth around him to mimic a pussy. a tight hole.

arent i such a good wife, you thought. no one could take his cock like you could. no one would drop to their knees and let themselves be used this way, but you would. to you, this was love. this was passion. 

art lasted a few more minutes before he was dragging himself free from the warm hug of your throat -

“I want you spread out on the kitchen counter," art panted, jerking his chin. he reached down to wrap a loose hand around his wet cock, stroking it languidly. your throat ached with missing it. “I need to be inside you. I want to -” he swallows. “I want to fuck you."

you inhaled sharply. it was a word you didn't often hear from arts lips. especially in reference to sex. the crude word coming from him made your belly clench warmly. more, you wanted more of that.

you stared at each other for what felt like forever but was probably only a couple seconds, art’s cock still only inches from your face. you watched transfixed as art’s leaking head slipped between the tight circle of his fingers, flushed tip disappearing and pushing back through. It was filthy, it was gorgeous, and your whole body shuddered imagining what it would feel like at your entrance: the slow press, the slick head, the aching burn as it slowly pushed inside. because it would burn. the last time you’d had sex….. you didnt want to think about it.

Instead you hurriedly scrambled to obey. shoving the straps of your dress down as you went, feeling it pool around your waist as you bent against the cool marble of the counter. you’d never fucked here. suddenly that was a crazy thought to you. wasnt it a kind of ritual for a couple - to christen the house? your fingers curled into your palms as you pressed your bare chest down. 

you felt art come up behind you and your breath hitched when you felt his palms skimming up the backs of your thighs. you hadnt realized you’d been trembling until that moment. something about his touch calmed you though. 

ridiculous,  to be shy when this was your husband. he’d seen your cunt a hundred times.

all thoughts fled your head when those familiar fingers parted the lips of your cunt - finding you wet. “baby” art’s strangled voice reached your ears as he felt through your delicate slit - he sounded beside himself with wonder. that you,d be this wet for him. this ready. he slid two fingers in easily - just a slight pressure at your entrance and there was a give of the flesh. and he was in - inside you. pumping steadily. “that’s it,” a kiss at the base of your spine, soft and special. “let me in. give me whats mine.”

yours, you dont know if you breathed it or just echoed it in your head. hips pushing back into him, opening yourself further. the stretch was full but it felt so right. 

“god - you’re so responsive - how could i forget -” he was working himself up. his thumb nudged your clit, circled it with the pad before pressing down on it, his own goran covering up your keen. like it affected him more than it did you, to feel how you throbbed against him with need. “gonna put my tongue on your clit everyday and you’re going to let me. let me worship what i married, spread your legs and fucking take it-”

“oh god,” you’re whining. practically humping your cunt on his fingers. “whatever you want, baby. take it, its all yours.” 

you clench around nothing when he suddenly yanks his fingers free, but you dont have to mourn the loss long, your empty spasming hole feeling the silken pressure of his cock in the next second. he grips your waist, wholly possessive as he drags you back onto him and, oh. Its so blissful. that tender ache in your cunt as its filled to the brim. You’d-

“fuck - i missed this - missed your pussy -” 

yes, yes missed. you’d missed this.

art adjusts himself. spreads out his legs so he can really move, leans his broad chest over your back, covering you, smothering you, squishing you into the countertop but he doesnt care. you dont care. pinned beneath him and speared open like this - you’ve never felt more loved by him. 

“so tight and warm - god - i never wanna leave -” he watches, pink lips parted where you’ve taken him. the flared open lips of your pussy hugging the base of his cock. a groan rips from his chest, loud, because he wants you to know, really fucking know, how overwhelmed he is, how much you make him feel, as he slowly drags himself out - only able to make it halfway before he has to bury himself back into that tight heat. your walls tighten and squeeze around him in these luxurious pulls and he feels spit pool in his mouth, the sensation enough to empty his brain. he rocks there, barely pulling free from the clutch of your body. 

“treat me so well with this - little cunt - “ wet desperate kisses are pressed wherever he can reach, his mouth hungry for the salt of your skin. he pulls it between his teeth, some raw animal part of him just wanting to naw on you. he rubs his forehead against your shoulders as he starts to move his hips faster. finally pulling out all the way before he slams back in, knocking your hips into the hard marble, and he should say sorry, he should take more care, you’ll be bruised surely, but then his mind flits back to your therapy session - at the words you’d both said - how you felt - and the words exchanged in your fight. and he feels something kindle in his chest, sparked to life by the liquid heat pouring through him - you fucking - you’re so cruel sometimes and you dont even know - you dont even see what you’re doing to him, the power you hold, how much he’d give to you if only you’d fucking open up to him. get angry at him. demand more of what you want instead of fucking expecting him to read your goddamn mind. 

he hadn’t felt the wet grip of his wifes pussy in months until just now. that couldn’t happen again. 

he pulls himself to his full height - using his ringed hand to make a makeshift leash of your hair, wrapping it around his tan fist. anchors you back onto his hard dick again and again in hard punishing pulls that seem to punch moans from you.

“this is how i should have treated you from the beginning, huh? come home every day and bend you over the minute i step through the door. pound out all my frustrations on this tight cunt. use you to masturbate my dick.” he grunts - that viseral fury that’d you’d seen spark in him briefly before was back in full force now. you could feel it in the reverberating clap of his balls against your ass. the forceful grip on your hair, yanking your neck back, nearly pulling your chest off the counter, your tits bouncing. “maybe then you’d appreciate me.”

you dont know what part in you is broken that soaks his cock at his treatment instead of clamping up. his anger, his vitriol, it all speaks to a deep part inside of you that screams to be wanted. you whimper and bear down around him, meeting him instead of shying away. 

“g - od - oh god, art - “

“would that make you my happy little wife?” he slows back down. drags his thick length in and out of you in purposeful rolls of his hips. “I bring all my shit to you and you devote this hot little pussy to warming my dick. you’ll take care of me, right? drop to your knees and give me a proper fucking welcome home.”

you cant think. your eyes are rolling back, your brain fogging. Its so good, oh god, how is it so fucking good. you’re drenched between your thighs, you can feel it running down your thighs. you can feel the hot raw part of your pussy that is being penetrated again and again on his cock as it retreats and then glides back in. 

“Im gonna cum.” is all you can say. “art, im so close -”

“fuck,” he stops his movements. grinding his hips into yours, churning his dick inside you. his mouth skims your ear, he lets go of your hair to grip you around the throat. “tell me you love me. tell me you love me when you cum, baby, or i swear to god, i cant do this anymore -” 

“I love you!” the words are the truest they’ve ever been in years. you’re on your tippy toes, squirming, trying to get away or trying to get closer, you cant tell. probably closer. you want art to carve apart for himself inside you - brand himself on you forever so you can never leave, never forget, never doubt this marriage. “I love you, i love you, i love you, i love-”

“I love you too. fuck - i need you to cum. cum on my cock and show me you still want this -” 

you shatter apart. a million stars exploding in a galaxy. arts strong arms come around you like a band, wrapping you up against him as you shake. your breaths come out harshly in sync. the beats of your heart a fast thrum between you. 

you turn your head, desperately seeking, and he’s there, already leaning down to take your lips in a kiss. 

the weight of him still inside you is one you take comfort in. you dont want him to leave your body. you dont want this to end. 

“stay,” you whisper against his mouth. 

his hand cups your cheek, strokes his thumb over the swell of your flushed skin. “always,” he says back. 

[ayoogirlie]

Before I start writing angst, let's go with something pleasant. I just recently started reading and watching MASHLE which is why I don't knowe many characters well.

MASHLE MAIN 5 X GN!READER (separated)

Main 5 falling in love with you!

Mash

This one is oblivious. He doesn't realise he holds special feelings for you. I believe at first he could have though of you as sibling.

You're just as important as his father so why not? The three of you could be a fine family.

He would share creampuff with you... just like with others. Honestly, it would be difficult to notice he likes you in that way. This man is so indifferent or more like he forgot to train his face muscles.

The thing that betrayed his feelings is the fact that he has been following you everywhere like a little duckling his mom.

Whether you have classes together or not. If you had them together — he would sit with you or at least close to you. Some rather prefer to sit alone, which helps them focus. On the other hand, if you have separated classes, he would always escort you to the class and only leave after making sure you sat down.

Mash's main love language would be act of service. I don't find him as a touchy guy — he would respect your personal space. The most he would do is grab the snip of your sleeve to not possibly lose you in crowd. (I find it cute honestly, like he would be to shy to grab your hand, so he would be happy with bare minimum.)

Going back to act of services. I think you would have a special privilege — flavoured creampuff. Coffee, chocolate, strawberry, etc., whichever you want. This guy would take you to kitchen and make you bake them together. Unless, your cooking is hopeless and you can set the kitchen on fire, then you're simply watching him work and talk about the silliest things.

Mash would definitely listen to your rambling. Well, at least he will try to. At some point, he would pass out, if he was overflowing with many new information. Please, go slow with him.

When asking others for help with you, he first would try to figure things out himself. Only if he had no more ideas, would he ask his friends for love advices (most likely Lance or Finn).

This guy is so sweet yet so clueless. He loves you so clumsily and as a boyfriend he doesn't change his attitude much. He already treated you in special way. Well, maybe he'll get more intimate with you. I'll leave it to your imagination.

Finn

I simply adore this boy. His love is as innocent as he is. Literally, he would be all red and shy when he realised his feelings for you.

He would get nervous around you and every possible physical contact would make him explode. He's too focused to not make any mistakes in front of you, that he forgets to relax.

Well, it's not like he's always like that. His heart would explode at this point. There are some moments, when he is even sweeter than he is now. It's when you simply sit somewhere and do nothing, just enjoying your existence. He feels so calm that he wish those moments would last forever.

Finn likes DIY. So I bet he would make some for you, it might be jewelry, plushie or something more practical. Whatever you'll ask for he will do. (If it's in terms of his skills.)

If you ask him to teach you how to make some, he would be more than happy. Who wouldn't be happy to spend time with their crush?

He would carefully explain everything and help you if you have any difficulties with the project. Sometimes I wonder where he gets all this patience from. Whether you would get discouraged or curse how hard it is, he would try to calm you down and explain your mistakes.

When I'm still talking about teaching. Study session. I just see with my eyes of imagination. The two of you sitting in library beside each other and bending over books. It depends on you — whether he's teaching you some subject or you just enjoy your company.

Finn loves animals. I think, he would always tell you many random fact about them and won't stop talking, until he gets a hold on himself.

When he finally remembers himself, he will start apologising and feeling bad about being the only one talking. Then you kave to reassure him that you really don't mind and he can continue.

As a boyfriend, he treats you very well. People might say he's a perfect boyfriend material, but you can see how much he tries and I hope you do as much for him as he does for you.

Lance

Honestly, I can't imagine him giving someone else attention than his sister. Like this sis-con on has Anna in his head. So you can imagine how everyone was surprised when they noticed his unusual behaviour towards you.

And it wasn't some big change. No. It was more subtle. He was less strict with you than he is with others. Whenever you seemed sad because of his, sometimes mean, comments, he would apologise. (It took him a lot of courage to say this simple words.) He was more careful with his act to not sadden you.

I believe that after some time of knowing each other he would tell you about his sister and maybe if he happens to trust you a lot — about her illness as well.

He strikes me as a gentleman at some point. He would hold the door for you, help you with school work and follow you almost everywhere as if it was his duty.

Unfortunately for you, his sister will always be his number one, so unless you accept this fact, I don't think he will try to do anything with your relationship.

As well as it was with Finn, you two would have study session together. This guy is so clever that it would be stupid not to ask for help with the subject, spell or other thing you have difficulties with.

He truly admires you. You saw him in numerous embarrassing situations, for example when he was talking to Anna's pictures etc. Everyone' else would already start avoiding him. Maybe that's why he finds you as a perfect match for himself. Someone who wouldn't judge his behaviour and just accept his 'imperfections'.

Lance would respect your personal space and it would have to be you who initiates physical contact (mostly before your relationship). But he would place his hand on your waist with excuse not to let you bump into others.

He looks like the guy who would give other people, who are talking to you, nasty glare, when you don't look. It's not that he doesn't believe in his charm, it's just the fact that he doesn't like others being to close or touchy with you.

As a boyfriend Lance becomes more possessive and clingy. He would hug you from behind and gets touchy when you least expect it. Well, at least you're never bored.

Dot

It's easy to captivate this hot-headed guy's heart... if you're a woman of course. Male readers have it harder. But now we are talking about the stage he is already in love.

He would always boast to his friends about how he's going to marry you with no shame. Of course, always when you're absent. If by chance you will witness him saying it. He would want to hide under ground.

He would always scream at the person, you would give too much attention. He gets easily jealous, but he act like thata with every male that gets too much attention from others.

That's why you don't realise he holds any special feelings towards you. He still acts like he act towards women, so you don't think any special of the way he treats you.

I believe Dot would be touchy with you. Like put his arm over your shoulder or surprise you from behind. Honestly, if he would have ever touched you in a way that would make you feel uncomfortable, as a man he is — he would never forgive himself.

In his eyes, he gives you special treatment. He doesn't play pranks on you and even with Lemon in room, he always focus on what you're saying and so on.

After some time, he gets more obvious that others notice his strange behaviour. He always stares at you, daydream about you two being together. His eyes are always following your person.

When you're close, he catch himself on enjoying your fragrance. Later of course, Dot will blame himself as well call himself a pervert. But you cannot be mad at him. He just can't get enough of you.

If he only could he would almost always hold you in his arms and never let go, while being too scared you might run away from him.

He is energetic, so as a boyfriend he would take you to many places. Date? Let's go to amusement park, if not, we have many other options. Of course, sometimes you two have home dates, where you just cuddle and enjoy eachother company.

Lemon

Congratulations. You just won over Mash and captured Lemon's heart. This turn of event surprised everyone, like literally everyone, even Mash.

Lemon would act similar like she did while having crush on Mash. She would be so delulu and talk about how the two of you are engaged and all (in fact you aren't... for now).

She would randomly grab your arm and hug it. People got used to seeing you this way. The two of you walking through the corridor, you look like those couples who always stick close to eachother.

She gets easily jealous of other people you're close with, expect for Mash, Lance, Finn and Dot, since she knows they won't try anything with you. When she feels threatened by someone, she would get closer to you or (in most cases) panic.

She would definitely share Cupid Gummies with you. Like she would buy it and almost immediately run to you only to give you some. She thinks of it as a special bond between the two of you.

Lemon blush a lot around you, that's for sure. You get too close? With red as tomato face, she would slap you. She gets a little violent when nervous, it's the fact you have to accept. But who can blame her? She's so happy to have you around that she cannot control her actions.

She's like a ray of sunshine, which is why whenever you're sad, she will try to make you feel better. Sometimes when words won't help, she just sits next to you. She wants you to know she will be always here for you.

You would get a lucky charm from her. One reason is that to keep you safe, other is to have her close to you. While making a design she would try to match with your taste. Like when she made Mash creampuff plushie, she would make something similar.

Whenever she would have problems with spells, she would go to you. Perfect excuse to spend time together! In exchange, she would teach you theory you would have problem with.

As a girlfriend, Lemon is very sweet. She wouldn't have to find excuses just to spend time with you. You would be often seen together eating lunch or walkings around while holding hands.

[reclinepilled]

needy, e.w.

cw: fluff!!! little angst, pet names (baby, beautiful, sweetheart, princess, gorgeous) like one curse word, reader yells at ellie, reader cries a teeny tiny bit, no masc/fem roles are established

desc: gamer!ellie is glued to her game while your patience runs short. also soft!ellie🙏.

a/n: happy march 1st guys! i wanted to share something i wrote while procrastinating some work. thanks for all the support on my last two posts. also the anon that sent in the request, im working on it <3 thank you for reading and reblogs are welcomed and greatly appreciateddd !

wc: 801 (i think)

PLEASE READ HERE ON INFORMATION ABOUT AND HOW TO HELP PALESTINE!!!

you try not to be so needy, you really do. however, your heart can't help but get a little heavy watching ellie completely ignore your presence on one of your days off. and she's not even ignoring you to study or work, it's to play her stupid games.

sure, you played your fair share of video games, as you had an undying love for that one genre. however, you didn't come over under the impression that you'd be getting lonely in her bed, angry, while occasionally letting out a frustrated sigh. she didn't pay attention to those, too busy yelling at her friends on whatever fps shooter she was glued to.

you got angrier and angrier thinking about it and listening to her mash the buttons on her keyboard and throw insults out into her mic. you swear you can feel the annoyance in your bloodstream. you just wanted to do skincare and facemasks, watch some movies, and maybe even bake with your girlfriend. you decide to put your anger aside and give her the benefit of the doubt. you get up from her bed to remind her of what you two had planned. maybe she forgot?

"ellie, baby?" you say as you grab her shoulder softly to get her attention. she glances up at you then moves her headset off one of her ears, "yea- jesse, what the hell! he was literally one hp!" she yells. "anyways, sorry, what's up?" ellie finally gives you two scoops of her attention. "el, i thought we were gonna spend time together..," you say, shifting your weight to one leg as you cross your arms. "yea, yea, of course. just give me five more minutes," ellie says as she turns back to her game. "you literally said that 30 minutes ago, el," you sigh. "i mean it this time," ellie turns to you, doing a puppy face jokingly.

any other time you would burst into a fit of laughter, however right now, you were genuinely pissed off. you stare at her for a few seconds in silence, she stares back. her face slowly drops as she realizes you're pretty upset. next thing you know, you've reached over and put her pc into sleep mode. "y/n! why!??" she whines like a teenage boy going through puberty. "because, i came over on my day off to spend time with you, i could be getting a manicure or something.. but i've spent nearly an hour and a half watching you play this shitty game!" you yell then you walk out of her room, fed up. you grab your bag next to the couch and start to put your belongings away.

"sweetheart! i'm sorry, i really am!" she says as she follows you out of the room. you ignore her, now putting your bag on your shoulder. "look," ellie comes in front of you and softly slides the bag off of your shoulder, she notices how you're still looking down. she gently grabs your shoulders while looking down at you with an apologetic look on her face, "i am so sorry, i just got caught up in the game. i enjoy you being here, and i find your presence so comforting, beautiful. i never meant to make you feel unappreciated, i'm sorry once again." she takes her hand and lifts your face up, and notices your tear stained cheeks.

ellie's heart quite honestly shattered into a million pieces, she didn't know she made you feel so bad but she understands now. "baby, we can do whatever you want," she pulls you into a meaningful embrace while rubbing your back. "els, i love you, sorry for yelling and overreacting-" she cuts you off, "no don't apologize, it was pretty justified, i was being dumb," she lets out an airy laugh, "i love you back, princess."

she could feel you smile against her chest and it felt like 10 tons were lifted off of her back. she pulls away to place a soft kiss on your forehead, then your nose, one on your cheek, and long one on your lips.

you straddle her on her bed while softly chuckling at the cute fuzzy animal headband you placed on ellie's head. you roll the jade roller all over her face, working in the serum you applied before. you can't help but admire how pretty she is. her constellations of freckles, each one so unique, her breathtaking deep eyes, and her long lashes you were so jealous of. little did you know, she was doing the same. you looked like a goddess from this angle, the light cascading down on your perfect figure emphasizing it. "hey baby?" ellie grabs your wrist. "yea, gorgeous?" you slightly lean back from her face, raising a brow.

"it's really hot when you yell at me."

reclinepilled

please do not plagiarize any of my works or post them on other websites without given permission !

[thankskenpenders]

Sonic x ...DC Comics?!

We have our reveal of what our new Sonic comic crossover will be, and it's... not what I expected! We're getting a five-issue comic series mashing up Sonic with the DC Comics universe written by Ian Flynn, plus a slew of merch to go with it.

To be honest, I don't know how to feel about this? I don't feel the hype.

Okay, for one, cards on the table: I have more attachment to Marvel's cast of characters than DC's. Sue me. But it's not like I don't also like DC's heroes! I grew up watching the Batman movies and the Justice League cartoons and Adam West's Batman and whatnot. I loved Teen Titans so much as a kid that I was Robin one year for Halloween. DC's cool! People have been comparing Sonic to the Flash for years! So... why does this collab make me feel nothing?

Well, for one, it might be that I would prefer a series like this to be about Sonic and friends meeting the Justice League, as opposed to them being the Justice League. To me, personally, that just seems a little more interesting. Seeing how those characters play off of each other. People have been asking "who would win in a race, Sonic or the Flash?" for years, so that was kinda the thing I was latching onto as the impetus for this crossover. And yes, in the interview they tease the possibility of the actual characters meeting, but they're marketing it primarily via these mashup characters with Sonic and co. cosplaying as the Justice League, so I have to assume that's the main focus of the story.

But I'm also just sitting here like... why DC? Why is this the highest priority crossover to do with Sonic? It seems so arbitrary. Just mashing two random popular franchises together. It doesn't feel like something that resonates so heavily with Sonic that we just NEED this crossover to exist. The DC universe isn't something that has much of a thematic connection with Sonic. Like, you look at the TMNT x Naruto crossover, and THAT feels inspired. That's something you never would've thought would happen, but the second it's announced it seems so obvious, and the sick cover art sells the idea that it's gonna be something fun. (Hell, speaking of TMNT, that feels like a crossover that would've made way more sense to me. No, the single panel of the Archie comics they appeared in doesn't count.)

When the Sonic X DC thing is announced with a series of stock vectors of the Sonic cast cosplaying as the Justice League and the news that there will be a ton of merch for this, well. It just makes it seem like this is first and foremost a collab designed to generate new Funko Pops.

I don't know. I'm sure that whatever the actual story looks like, Ian will do his damnedest to make the comic fun. It'll probably be pretty decent. He's the perfect writer for this assignment. It's just not the crossover I would've requested. Maybe I'm just being a hater here. I know a lot of people are excited, with speculation about what other Sonic characters could take the roles of DC characters. Maybe showing something from the actual comic would've been a better sell. But, well, that's how I feel about it based on the announcement!

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Keyhole

Pairing: Dark!Marc Spector x Reader 

Summary: After a break-in at your apartment, your neighbor offers you comfort in a time when you most need it. 

Warnings: Fluff, Meet-cute-ish, Romance, Smut, Overstimulation, Breeding, Canon Typical Violence, Murder, Stalking, Obsession, Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, Kidnapping, Murder, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Drugging, Implied torture, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

A/N: that request for dark Marc just really got all the gears turning lol. i don’t have the triple PoV in this fic (sorry everyone) but i do reference steven and jake! do trust that they are there and they are thoroughly enjoying themselves, haha. mind the warnings! bottom divider courtesy of @firefly-graphics

The door is open. 

It shouldn’t be—you’d locked it securely when you left, you know you did. Human memories are fallible, sure, but not now. Not this time. There was no comforting thunk as the deadbolt slid out of its home when you had turned your key. 

There was no sound at all. 

With a trembling hand, you reach out to touch your front door, laying your palm flat against the faded white paint. The metal is cool under your hand, but you only feel it for a moment as the door swings open easily. You clap a terrified hand over your mouth at the sight of your apartment. Even from the doorway you can see its been ransacked; the cupboards you can see are all open, dishes thrown onto the floor in broken shards of porcelain. There are clothes in the hallway, your things strewn about haphazardly. You begin to take a step over the threshold to assess the damage and pause immediately. 

What if Jamie’s in there?

He was out now, as per the email you’d received two months ago. You’d moved states away by now of course, but the fear was unshakeable, and now neither was your suspicion. You don’t want to go in, not now and certainly not alone. You take a step back instead, keeping your eyes on the open door—or, at least, you try to.

“Careful, neighbor.” You turn with a start, though your shoulders sag with relief when instead of Jamie, you see your neighbor. Marc smiles at you, though his expression darkens as his eyes dart over your shoulder. “What happened here?” He steps around you to peer worriedly into your apartment. “Everything okay?”

You’re not a dramatic person—and not usually a crier on the worst of days. Even Jamie had had to raise a fist to get you to shed a tear, and those were more out of anger at your own helplessness and the pain rather than fear. But you feel them gathering in the corners of your eyes now, your chin trembling as you try to hold the pieces all together. 

“I—I don’t—” You swallow thickly. “I think my ex…” You trail off, and he places a hand on your shoulder. 

“You shouldn’t go in there alone.” He casts another dubious look at your apartment. “Is he still in there?” You shake your head, shrugging with a choked sob. 

“I don’t know!” You wrap your arms around yourself as you feel a shiver work its way through you. “I don’t know.” 

“Okay, why don’t you come with me. We’re going to call the cops, okay? And they’ll check everything out, make sure it’s safe for you to go home.” You’ve met Marc on more than a few occasions. There’s only so much you can learn about a person on a twenty minute bus ride, but you don’t think he’s the sort to hurt you. 

At least, you hope not. You suppose you don’t have the greatest track record, given the circumstances. But you don’t want to stand out here in the hallway, and you can’t go in there. 

“Okay.” 

—

Marc’s apartment sits opposite yours, but you realize as he shuts the door behind you that you’ve never even caught a glimpse of it before. He tosses his coat on the little bench by the door, and you kick off your shoes next to his, nudging them beneath it with your toe when you’re done. The apartment itself seems to be the inverse of yours in layout. There’s a strange mish-mash of furniture; old, antique chairs and side tables, with a sleek, modern couch and bookshelves. And God, are there bookshelves. They line nearly every room, and they’re crammed to the max with all manner of books, and what looks to be a mix of actual scrolls and loose papers. 

You’re ashamed and embarrassed, but too upset to stop the tears, panic tightening your throat until you’re gasping and choking with every sob. You don’t mean to cry in front of him—you really don’t, but once they start they don’t stop. How had he found you? You’d been so careful, had done everything the attorney had suggested and more and it still wasn’t enough. Jamie had sniffed you out, and it hadn’t even taken him very long. You’re so focused on that that it escapes your notice that every wheezing breath you draw into your lungs is smaller than the one before it until your vision narrows. Your heart pounds a frantic rhythm against your ribs as you realize—

Panic attack, I’m having a panic attack—

“Hey, hey, Sweetheart I know this is awful, but you have to calm down.” Marc squeezes your shoulders as you stare unseeingly at him, willing the noise in your head to stop.  “Can you focus on me? On what I’m saying right now?” You can barely hear him over your own frenzied thoughts—where Jamie was, what his next move would be, why he couldn’t just leave you the fuck alone. Marc threads his fingers through yours, holding both your hands against his chest. 

“I need you to take a deep breath for me, okay? You have to breathe, Sweetheart. Can you do that for me? Take a nice deep breath in, okay?” You inhale a shaky breath, whimpering as you release it. Mark’s warm brown eyes are so easy to focus on, and he nods encouragingly. “

When the police arrive, he lets them in, standing protectively over you as they question you. 

“So your old boyfriend’s jealous of your new boyfriend, here.” The dismissiveness drips from the officer’s tone. He isn’t even writing anything down, his thumbs hooked through the loops of his belt as he shakes his head at you, like this is your fault somehow. You shoot an apologetic look at Marc. 

“Oh, we’re not—” You shake your head. Of course he’d want to chalk everything up to a little domestic disturbance, and it’s hard not to be angry at his dismissal. “My ex’s name is Jamie Parrish, and he got out of prison almost two months ago.” He has the good grace to look ashamed of himself, at least. “I have reason to believe he’ll be back, if he’s not still…” 

“He’s not, ma’am.” The second officer shakes his head. “There wasn’t anyone. But we did find this.” He produces a small, square jewelry box from his pocket, and you feel your stomach lurch. It’s white, a gold stripe running along the edges. “Have you seen this before? It was sitting on a plate in the kitchen.” He opens it, and you nearly puke. 

It’s that goddamn fucking ring.

You’d hated that thing when Jamie had showed it to you—and his pouting at the store had become full fledged screaming in the car when you’d said you’d rather have something else. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, he’d said, ignoring your panic as the car accelerated, swerving wildly. Didn’t you want to fucking get married? Why didn’t you want to be with him? Why were you making this so goddamn hard—

“Yes.” You lick your dry lips. “I’ve seen that ring before.” 

In the end, they take your statement and leave, and you feel much the same as before they’d gotten there. You had thought, naively, maybe, that the police’s presence, their sweep of your apartment would make you feel safer, not worse. 

Fool me twice, I guess. They’d never been particularly helpful, even when you’d answered the door bearing the marks of Jamie’s displeasure. 

“Fucking assholes.” Marc slams the door behind them. He shakes his head. “At least there’s a paper trail now.” You nod, and force a thin smile. 

“Right. Thanks, Marc.” He sits down beside you on the couch. “You okay?” 

”I want to lie and say I am, but I am really, really, not.” 

“Can’t say I blame you.” When he rests his hand on your thigh, it feels friendly, not forward. “Look, I know we don’t… You don’t have to go back there tonight. If you don’t want to, I mean.” The offer is tempting. You don’t want to go back to your apartment, not tonight. Hell, maybe not ever. You feel like turning tail and running now that Jamie’s found you, but you know you can’t do that tonight, either. And Marc is nice. 

“Would it be weird if I took you up on it?” You ask with a little laugh. “I just… I don’t want to be alone in there, you know?” He smiles warmly, and you feel your cheeks heat.

“It’s not weird if I offered it.” He stands up. “Let me change the sheets on the bed.” 

“W-what?” You stare at him. “I’m not taking your bed.” 

“The couch is fine for me, trust me.” His smile goes a little sad, somehow. “I don’t get much sleep anyway.” 

—

You help him change the sheets on his bed, noting the large fish tank on the opposite wall. There’s a fish inside, and as you step closer, you realize he’s only got one fin.

“What’s this guy’s name?” You ask, jerking a thumb at the tank. Marc snorts. 

“Gus.” He smooths out the comforter. “The one-finned-wonder.” He smooths the comforter down with both hands before standing back up. Marc  had been sweet enough to accompany you back to your apartment long enough to get some clothes, but the entire time you’d been there you’d felt watched, and you wonder if Jamie had found time to bug the place, or something. 

“I’ll be right out there if you need anything.” 

Sleep is slow and reluctant to come, and you toss and turn in your neighbor’s bed, staring at his ceiling. It’s not that it isn’t comfortable—it is. It’s more that you just feel uneasy, something you attribute to Jamie’s sudden return to your life to wreak havoc. 

Around midnight you give up and decide to get a glass of water. You take extra care not to make a sound as you creep out of the bedroom, though your efforts prove fruitless when you spy Marc sitting up at the table in the living room, back bent over a book. You pad into the kitchen and search the cupboards for a glass.   The water comes out of the tap surprisingly cold, and you take a grateful sip before peeking back out of the kitchen. 

You realize he’s muttering to himself in a low voice, so low you can’t hear him. He shakes his head like he’s responding to someone else you can’t see. 

“Marc?” He goes silent, sitting straight up. He doesn’t respond for a full ten seconds, before he shudders, and turns. 

“Hey.” 

“Are you okay?” You ask, your brows knitted together with concern. He glances at the table, and then back to you.

“Yeah, I—” He scrubs his hand down his face. “I was just reading.” Marc closes the old looking book in front of him, before running his hands through his hair. “Can’t sleep either?” He asks, and you laugh bitterly. 

“I guess not.” You take another sip of your water. “I can’t shake the thought that Jamie’s still there, or something, I know it’s ridiculous but I can’t.” 

“It’s not ridiculous. He sounds like a real piece of shit.” Marc actually looks angry, his fingers twitching against the table like he wants to curl them into fists. You sit in one of the wooden chairs next to him at the dining table. “You said he was in prison?”

You nod. “Yeah. It was supposed to be ten years.” 

“And how many did he do?”

“Three.” 

“Fucking Christ.” 

Marc pushes himself away from the table, shaking his head. He heads into the kitchen, and you find yourself drawn to the book on the table. There are hieroglyphs on the cover, though, not English as you’d expected. Post-its stick out of it, scrawling handwriting on them. Marc didn’t much seem like the scholarly type, much less the type to take notes and do homework for fun, but who were you to begrudge people their interests?

He returns with a bottle of Jack Daniels and two glasses, each with a couple of cubes of ice.

“Here.” He pours you one and then himself, lifting it in a silent toast, and you take yours gratefully. “You earned it.” The whiskey burns pleasurably as you sip it down. 

“You’ve been… thank you,” you say, stumbling over the words embarrassingly. “Tonight has been a nightmare.” 

“No problem. I mean, I figured you wouldn’t try to rob me or stab me in my sleep,” He says, laughing. “Thought we might have enough good will built up from all those bus rides.” He winks and your cheeks warm. You laugh too, and it actually feels good—needed. When you drain your glass, he picks up the bottle, offering you another pour. You nod. 

“Please.” You’re feeling comfortably warm and fuzzy by the time you’re finished with the second glass, shaking your head when Marc offers again. “I better not. I still haven’t decided if I’m going in to work tomorrow.” 

He clucks his tongue. “Seriously? You can’t actually be thinking of going in after this.” He gestures vaguely in the direction of your apartment, and then shakes his head. “Sorry. I’m not—I’m really not trying to tell you what to do. It’s just… I don’t think it’s a good idea. With what you told me about this guy, we need to make sure you’re safe.” 

“We?” You ask teasingly. “Is that like the royal we?” He doesn’t answer. “I’ve been dealing with Jaimie for years on my own. It just feels… normal.” You admit. He’s your own personal boogeyman, showing up when you least expect it just to wreak havoc on your life. He gets off on it, you know he does. The control of it all. 

“That’s exactly why an outside perspective,” Marc points a finger at himself, “is necessary.” You tap thoughtful fingers on the rim of your glass. You grimace. He does have a point. 

“Maybe calling out until the cops have him back in custody is a good idea.” 

“Just sleep on it.” Marc says, holding his hands up placatingly. “That’s all I ask.” He’s just as easy to talk to as he had been on the bus, all charming smiles and pleasant banter. “I just… I would hate for something to happen to you.” The words sound like an admission, and they bring heat to your cheeks. Your fingers slip against the rim of the glass and it tilts dangerously, the ice nearly spilling out until you right it with a clatter. The thought occurs to you that your  very handsome neighbor might be interested in you in a more than neighborly way. 

“You would?” 

“I—well, isn’t it obvious?” He asks with a little laugh. He sets down his half full glass on the table. 

“Not to me, apparently.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “But I am notoriously bad at reading the room.” Marc laughs and you do too. “I can’t believe you’re telling me this after finding out I have an insane ex.” Marc snorts, glancing at the window beside you before meeting your eyes again. 

“We’re not worried about him.” 

“Again with the we stuff,” you say, shaking your head. “Your apartment isn’t the one that got ransacked.” You shiver. “I’m just… I’m glad I wasn’t there. I’m glad you weren’t there.” It’s all too easy to remember just how hard Jamie can hit. Absently, your fingers trace the scar just beneath the sleeve of your shirt. 

“Sweetheart, I’m more than capable of defending myself. And you.” The confidence in his words makes you shiver pleasantly. “Trust me.” There’s a heat in his eyes and in his voice that leaves you both interested and a little apprehensive. It’s a bad time to date—though it seems lately it’s always a bad time to date. Jamie had been practically breathing down your neck even from prison before you’d moved, calling, sending letters ranging from promises to do better when he returned and threatening that you would regret ever having involved the law in the first place. 

Not exactly the stuff budding relationships are made to withstand. 

You lick your dry lips. “And you’re anticipating having to do that?” 

“If you needed me to.” He says it plainly and without hesitation, and a little chill travels up your spine at his matter-of-fact delivery, and the dark intensity of his gaze. 

“Awfully neighborly of you.” The whiskey burning in your belly has emboldened you—you want to hear him say it. Hear him admit it, instead of dancing around it. You need Marc to make it real—mostly because you’re afraid to. He grins at you, and your stomach twists itself into a gordian knot. 

“Maybe I’m interested in being more than neighborly.” His hand is warm when he places it over yours on the table. You revel in it for a second too long before withdrawing your hand, curling it against your chest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I—” He pinches the bridge of his nose before scrubbing a hand down his face. “Whiskey.” 

You nod with a soft laugh. “Yeah,” you say, swallowing thickly. “Whiskey.” The silence is even louder than his admission, and you find yourself making excuses to escape it. “I should, um. I should head to, to bed.” 

“Mm.” Marc nods, his eyes back on the window. “Goodnight.” 

“Night.” 

When you close the bedroom door you linger in front of it, rocking from foot to foot. It’s been so long since you’ve dated, you’re unsure of the etiquette—you don’t remember the proper order of operations, not anymore. The debate in your head leaves you paralyzed, fingers twisting in the hem of your t-shirt. Should you go back out? Talk more? Do you even have anything to say? 

Should you tell him that you like him too? 

That you look forward to your Tuesday, Wednesday, and Saturday shifts the most because those are the ones that start with him? Honesty’s a stranger to you now, mostly because being honest about your feelings had usually been a one-way-ticket to Jamie’s shit list—but Marc isn’t Jamie. 

He’s not. 

You place a hand on the door handle, and when you push down it swings back open easily, revealing Marc on the other side. His hand is outstretched, like he’d been about to do the exact same thing. 

“Come here.” Marc groans as he pulls you hard against him. You’re dizzy from him—and from the whiskey you can still feel warming your veins. His mouth feels so good on yours that you whine a little in protest when he stiffens and pulls away. 

“I—fuck, I’m sorry.” He runs a hand through his curly hair, looking up at the ceiling before mouthing another curse. “I’m sorry. I—you’re vulnerable and I fucking—shit.” Marc shakes his head again. “I have wanted to do that since goddamn April.” He admits with a soft laugh. He presses another to your forehead, and you laugh too. 

“April, huh?” You grin at him. Marc’s body is solid against yours, hard muscle boxing you in against the door, but you don’t mind it. “You—o-oh,” His hands skim your sides hungrily, bunching up your t-shirt as they slide beneath it. You gasp as he cups your breasts beneath the fabric, and Marc curses again. 

“Marc—”

“I don’t think you’re going to work tomorrow.” His thumbs flick across your nipples, and you moan, head falling back against the door with a thud. “Okay?” You nod as one of his hands drops to your hip, pulling at the elastic of your pajama shorts. He snaps it against your skin and you hiss. “Good.” His mouth finds yours again and you melt against him, knock-kneed and sighing. Marc kisses you breathless, walking you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. 

“It’s okay, right? Fuck, tell me it’s okay,” he pulls your t-shirt over your head, groaning at the sight of you. Marc crashes over you like a wave. There’s so little space between his words and his actions you don’t really have time to consider yourself if it really is okay before you’re nodding your assent. 

“I-it’s okay.” His hands are everywhere, tugging at your nipples, cupping your chin affectionately while he sucks on your tongue, tugging down your pajama shorts— “Marc, Marc slow down—”

“M’sorry, Baby,” he presses a line of heated kisses down over the curve of your hip. “Just—just wanted this for so long.” His desperation is palpable, his touches hungry, reverent. You feel him settle himself between your legs, his hips fitting neatly between your thighs. “Fuck, you are so fucking beautiful.” He presses his lips to the space between your breasts, and then you see his eyes go dark before he caresses the burn mark on your arm with soft fingers. 

“Jamie?”

“Jamie.” 

He mutters something then, something you don’t quite catch. You don’t even hear it, not really, the words barely registering as background noise before he kisses you again—“fucking deserved it” before they’re gone, disappeared into the heated air between you. 

To his credit, Marc does slow down, taking his time lavishing his attention on each of your breasts until your nipples are puffy and oversensitive, each pass of his tongue making you squirm and whine. As he does so, he slides a hand down to cup your cunt, and you gasp, hips rolling shamelessly into his hand. He moans, grinding the thick weight of his cock against your thigh. 

“Didn’t you tell me to slow down?” He asks, his tone mocking. You had, but you don’t have the bandwidth to explain that that wasn’t what you’d meant, but you aren’t really sure you want him to stop now, no, not when his fingers feel so good—

“F-fuck, fuck, Marc-!” He rolls your clit between his fingers, his eyes trained on the slick mess he’s making between your thighs. 

“Again,” he says lowly, repeating the motion as you squeal, thighs locking around his hand. “Say my name like that again.” And when he drops to his knees and latches his mouth onto your cunt like he’s starving for you, you do. His name, mixed in with strings of curses as he curls his fingers inside of you and circles your clit so perfectly with his tongue. 

“M-Marc!” 

He sighs against you, mumbling curses and praises into the slick folds of your pussy. With the hand not buried between your writhing thighs, he holds you down, keeping your hips pressed against the bed. You whine as he grinds the heel of his palm against your clit, and you throw your head back against the mattress as your hips buck pitifully. He mumbles something against you that you can barely hear, “He didn’t fucking deserve you,” but you don’t get the chance to ask him about it as his tongue finds you again. 

“Sweetheart I need to know—” Marc scissors his fingers inside you—“do you want to cum on my face or on my cock?” Your pussy clenches around his fingers, and he hums, shaking his head. “Use your words.” He punctuates the demand with a long, slow lick through your sopping folds, and you hate that you can’t make yourself look away. The choice is taken from you when he rolls your clit hard against the roof of his mouth and electricity arcs through you down to your toes. 

You’re cursing and crying as it happens too, rocking against his face as he mumbles unintelligible words into the skin of your inner thigh. Your twitching fingers are tangled in the sheets and his curly hair, you realize, though Marc’s voiced no complaint, though when you release him, he leans up to grin at you, pressing a damp kiss to the side of your knee. His face is half soaked from you, and he absently draws the back of his hand across his mouth before he gets to his feet. 

Your head is still spinning as he tugs you down the mattress to meet his hips, and you gasp at the feel of him. Thick and throbbing, Marc rocks against you with a moan. 

“Feels good, right Baby?” He asks lowly, reaching down to press the head of his leaking cock against your clit. You’re still sensitive, and you whine, attempting to retreat from the feeling but Marc holds you still with a chuckle. He spreads your thighs with one smooth motion, his hands pressing outward steadily until you’re wide open before him. “Too good, maybe.” Your response is a slurry of syllables and his name, cut short as he pushes inside without preamble and the words all cease. You’re practically choking on them—on him, the thick weight of him burning deliciously as he parts you. 

You would whine and plead and moan Marc’s name, only you can’t get the air in. There’s not enough room with his cock inside you, and the weight of him pressing you down into the mattress. He mumbles a curse as he draws back before sliding all the way home again with a satisfied sigh. There is no cool-down with Marc, no, only one exhilarating peak to the next. Tears gather in your wide eyes as you feel the pull again, only deeper, and more—

“Baby are you crying?” He asks breathlessly, and you feel him throb hard inside you. “Ah, fuck.” Marc’s hands are everywhere then, squeezing your chin as he forces you to look him in the eye, two fingers resting on the flat of your tongue, the other gripping the curve of your hip as he slams into your over, and over. You cum again, you can’t help it, drool leaking down your chin and tears tracking down into your hair as he stares hungrily down at you. You clutch at his wrist, mumbling his name against his fingers. 

“Fucking—you are going to make me—” You haven’t even finished cumming yet when Marc does too, holding you so tight you know there will be bruises. Marc pulls his fingers from your mouth, wiping them on the sheets. He doesn’t pull out though, humming with pleasure as an aftershock makes you clench down around him. 

Good thing I have the IUD. He hadn’t asked, but you’d learned your lesson well enough already to get the stuff no one could sabotage—not that you thought Marc would do that. It was spur of the moment—not time, or thought to grab a condom, you were sure. He smiles down at you, as if in reassurance. 

“You okay?” He cups your chin. Your body is still humming with the echoes of the pleasure from before, your thigh muscles twitching every few seconds, and you feel warm, like you’re floating in blissful soup. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you nod with a smile of your own. “I’m, um. Really good.” 

He slips out of you then, and crawls up onto the bed beside you with a huff before tugging you against his chest. “Come here.” You giggle when he presses a kiss into your hair. Your thighs slide together, wet and sticky, and you groan. 

“At least let me clean up first,” you say, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Okay?” Marc folds his arms. 

“Only because you asked so nice.” When you get out of bed, the palm of his hand cracks across your ass and you squeal, batting his eager hands away. 

“I’ll be right back, jeez.” His eyes are already closing as he dozes off, nodding absently. You shrug into his t-shirt, grabbing your own shorts before heading off to the bathroom.

His bathroom is in much the same place as yours, if a little larger. You help yourself to his body-wash, rinsing the evidence of your romp from your still tender skin. As you dry off, you realize you’d been right in your earlier summation that Marc would leave visible reminders on your body, the hollows where his fingers had been already turning dark and angry. 

He’s strong.

You exit the bathroom and turn back toward the bedroom—when a dull thump makes you pause. 

“Marc?”

There’s no answer from your paramour, and when you peek back into the bedroom, he’s full asleep, eyes closed and lips ever-so-slightly parted as his soft breaths puff through them. You hold yourself as you stare into the darkness of your lover’s apartment, fear twisting in your belly. Could Jamie have gotten in somewhere? Another door? An open window? 

In your own apartment, the hallway ends just past the bathroom, with just enough room for an end table to fit neatly beneath a rather expensive looking painting you’d bought for three bucks at Goodwill. In Marc’s, there’s a whole other bedroom. You hesitate, your fingers trembling above the handle before you open it. You’re expecting another bedroom like the one you’ve been sharing with Marc, and to some extent it is—but the far wall is simply… missing. There’s a hole roughly eight, maybe nine feet wide smashed through the brick, though there’s drop-cloths and tools littered around it like it’s a work in progress. 

“Hello?” You pick up a hammer, hefting the weight of it in your hands. “Jamie, if you’re here… you better fucking not be.” You’re not ready for a fight—you’re not even wearing panties under these damn shorts—but when have you ever been? You step through the plastic sheeting into the room on the other side. The building next door isn’t finished—and you don’t know that it ever will be. The perfect fucking location. What if your ex had set up shop here? Watching you? Waiting?

Your foot catches against something and it almost sends you sprawling, your palms scraping against the exposed brick walls. You’ve never been particularly adept at seeing at night, and you squint down at the dark shape slumped against the wall in the narrow space. It takes your eyes some time to adjust, and your heart leaps straight into your throat as you make sense of it. 

It’s a leg. 

You feel the scream building in your throat, and you clap a hand over your mouth to keep it down. The owner of the leg doesn’t move, though, doesn’t rise from their position slumped over on the floor like a puppet with slack strings. You swallow. 

“Hello?” There’s no response. Timidly, you tap their foot with your own, and when they don’t move, don’t breathe, the terror in your chest becomes concern. You kneel down slowly, squinting in the dark. “Are you okay—”

This time you do scream as finally your eyes adjust, and Jamie’s blank, dull eyes stare back into yours like glassy marbles. 

Why is he here? What the fuck, what the fuck— You stumble backwards against the wall, covering your mouth with your hands. It was Marc’s apartment—you’d gotten here through Marc’s apartment. You feel the urge to vomit, but there’s nothing in your stomach but bile. You retch it up anyway, before drawing the back of your hand against your trembling mouth. 

“I really thought I locked this.” Your head snaps up. There, silhouetted against the gently swaying plastic sheeting, is Marc. You can only see the shape of him, but your skin prickles at his presence anyway. You don’t answer. “I’m sorry, Baby. I really didn’t want you to find out like this. I was going to tell you you were safe, I promise. I was just enjoying being with you so much.” You watch his hands curl into fists, before he drops them back down to his sides. “I couldn’t let him hurt you again.” 

This time, you do answer. “You killed him,” It’s hard to keep the accusing note out of your voice. 

“I saw him trashing your apartment. I knew he was going to wait for you to get back from shopping with your mom—” You practically choke on your tongue. How did he know that? How did he know you were with your mother? “And I couldn’t take the chance he’d get to you.” He shakes his head. “He’s not a good man, Sweetheart. He had to go.” 

“I see why you weren’t worried. Hard to worry about a dead man.” No sooner than you force the words out, Marc lunges at you, grabbing at you through the sheeting. He misses, though, and you stumble around behind him, practically tripping back into his apartment. You feel dizzy and uncoordinated, like your body can only give you the bare minimum of responses. 

“You need to rest, Sweetheart. It’s been a long day for you.”

“F-fuck you.” The words are like loose marbles in your mouth, rolling around aimlessly. You pull the door shut as you throw yourself through it, realizing belatedly that you’d never seen Marc take a single sip of his Jack Daniels—and you beat the hammer against the  door handle until it bends unnaturally, and you drop it from your clumsy fingers. 

You can hear Marc shouting, but the words are too far away to make sense, or at least, that’s how they sound in your cotton filled ears. You don’t even realize you’re down on your knees until you feel the hallway rug on your hands, the short, hard fibers digging into your raw palms. The door isn’t that far away now, but it still feels like miles as you drag yourself towards it, blood roaring in your ears.

It is cruel irony when you reach it, cool air flowing from the sliver of space between the door and the threshold while you pant on the floor. You can’t reach the handle, are too weak drag yourself to your feet so that you can—so you beat feebly against the thick metal, your tongue flopping uselessly in your mouth. 

As you lay your heavy, throbbing head against the cool floor, your fingers skip across deep scratches in the wood. The bench has been moved. Many times. On the floor across from you are more scratches, like the bench had been moved to sit parallel to the door. Tears leak from your bleary eyes, pooling on the floor beneath your cheek. It was the perfect height for someone to sit at. 

The perfect height for Marc to watch you, through the keyhole. 

the end.

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

[hana-no-seiiki]

I saw that you need ideas, so how about a yandere from the Neons? I mean, I would like to see more content from them since they represent the elements in Honkai star rail, by the way, sorry if you don't understand, my English is bad... I leave you a little drawing of a masculine makima (it has nothing to do with it, but as a gift ) xd Also, I don't know if I'm the only one, but Nanook makes me handsome >///<

(Sorry, I had already finished it but the work was stained hahaha and I did it again)

Yus the Aeons are so cool looking!! You really feel like they’re actual gods of the universe, especially since you don’t see them first hand (at least for now). Also Masculine Makima reminds me of Karma Akabane lol. I’ll draw it in my style, and add it here as an extra for you ♥️

Hb we mash those two topics up together actually?

warnings: mild yandere themes. mild spoilers for csm. major canon divergence. reader takes the shape of a masc/amab character but it isnt their original form.

status: unedited. updated art.

YANDERE! AEONS + VARIOUS! HSR x AEON OF FEAR/CONTROL! READER

You have no memory of your conception, only that you started existing for what felt like an eternity.

You represented fear and despair, but unlike IX whose mere presence drove humanity into insanity, or the rest of your fellow aeon’s godlike status amongst the world,

you walked around as a normal, ordinary human being.

As normal as an Aeon can get anyways.

In your current lifetime, you took the shape of Himeko’s “brother”, planting fake memories into her mind and being the one that urged her to travel the stars. While she was the navigator, you took the role of conductor before creating Pompom to supplant you.

Welt always knew you weren’t just a regular person. Your eyes always felt distant, so far off that not even a century’s worth of trail blazing would allow him to come close. As such he mostly kept cordial relations with you.

The youngsters of the bunch on the other hand, never seemed to realize the sheer magnanimity of the danger you held and always hung around you.

Particularly that Caelus. The newest addition to the crew. The stellaron within him always pulsed in some sort of giddiness and excitement whenever you were around. The boy couldn’t help but be a nervous wreck when he was around you. Stuttering and stumbling was a common occurrence whenever you so decide as to just breathe at his direction.

You knew what those Stellarons are, their nature, their purpose, the way they were created. In fact if you wanted to, you could have taken the Astral Express straight to the source of it all, your partner: Nanook.

However that would have ruined the fun of it all. So you chose to let them have their little adventures before the final confrontation.

Also because you signed a contract to not meddle with Nanook’s business in exchange for your freedom. But that was another story to tell.

“Why . . . why do you continue this farce? This utterly worthless play?”

IX’s voice rang within your ears and no one else’s. You were the only being it ever gave the time of day to. You imagine it to be the reason why insanity slowly built itself within the recesses of your head.

“You may see the entire universe as worthless . . . but I,” You breath hitched. You looked around your room. Time was frozen. Everything turned grey. You weren’t afraid of the others in the express hearing you, just that the following words you were about to spout out felt like bile on your mouth. “I suppose I’m still a bit like them in a way. I wish to see the world without its evils.”

“And destroying them. That is my first step.” You summon an orb of golden light. Stellarons. The creation of the very thing that made you loath all evil. Including yourself. You will eradicate these and then Nanook yourself. One day.

“Is that why you send those hunters out?”

“Perhaps.” The orb within your hands get covered in chains, quickly getting crushed within the metal like substance as it soon disappeared.

“Do as you wish. Just do not bother me like that imbecile.”

“I promise. I will be much worse than Yaoshi.”

IX remained silent for several seconds, no doubt regretting its decision of associating with you before adding, “. . . And do not die.”

“That one I cannot guarantee.”

Your room’s color returns, time continues. Signaling the end of two Aeons’ encounter.

Nanook, the Aeon that threatened to eradicate all that you love. All so they could have your soul once more. Within your gilded cage. Within your original body that lied dormant.

The Destruction will no longer be a path. That is a guarantee you write upon the stars when your Trail Blazing lifetime eventually comes to a close.

The stage is set, your actors ready.

All you needed was the cue.

Your gloved hand arose, pointing towards the express’s windows in the shape of a gun.

“Bang.”

[novantinuum]

jen's "Hard-Light Hybrid Steven" headcanon dump

Okay so I'm just making this its own post, because frankly at this point... the original post is so hard to get all the pulp out of due to the headcanons being spread over multiple reblogs and half of it being in the tags.

So here we go. Self indulgent headcanon time. This is how I'm now personally interpreting things within the realm of my own fic work and the post-canon storylines that live in my mind. This is NOT, however, a work of meta- I am by no means suggesting this to be what I see as "canon," only having some fun playing around with ideas I think are cool on a speculative fantasy anatomy level. Take it as you will basically, lol. This is ultimately just for me.

With that stated:

"jen what the fuck do you mean when you say hard-light hybrid Steven, what are you even suggesting"

Essentially I am proposing that Steven becomes progressively more hard-light based in form as he ages. When he was born he was two almost entirely separate halves mashed together- organic and gem- and those two halves slowly but surely merge over the years (hard light replacing organic matter) until one day they are literally inseparable, and Steven is one permanently cohesive being... entirely hewn from hard-light, but with a level of anatomical complexity that still makes him a complete anomaly amongst Gems and humans alike. Instead of the innards of his body being solid light, he is still formed of cells- only now, those cells are entirely hard-light.

His gem is somehow mimicking the form of organic matter with a level of detail that's absolutely unobtainable by shapeshifting or tailored reformation alone. Steven has become the single most complex hard-light system to have ever existed.

Some more specifics on how I imagine this merge working:

Much of the "merging" is natural over time, basically his gem branching out new bits of hard-light circuitry within his body as it integrates within his system.

However, this process is sped up significantly by all the spills and injuries Steven deals with throughout his childhood... because his body's instinctive response to injury is simply to replace damaged cells with hard-light analogues. An almost instantaneous patch job.

Steven's component halves being so distinct early on is a large reason why he takes so long to harness many of his powers.

This is also why Steven's (mostly) organic half is so weakened during the split in Change Your Mind- at that point there's a lot about his anatomy that's been converted to hard-light, so it's basically as if White Diamond yanked the power source out.

(Same idea for why he's so weakened during the movie when his gem's on the fritz... his gem's connection with the rest of his body got partially severed for a time, which. Is not Good for someone who at this point is more hard-light than not hard light.)

At a certain point post-canon, it becomes impossible for Steven's organic and gem halves to be separated. They are so tightly integrated that attempting to remove the gem would only poof him.

Now, here's the thing though...

Steven does not realize that Any of this is taking place until the blunt reality of his strange new anatomical nature is put on display for all to see... when he actually DOES poof.

Here is how (in my own post-canon musings, which I have simplified here because y'all don't live inside all the intensive lore that jangles about my brain) I envision that taking place:

So, Steven would be in his mid to late twenties at this point. He's married to Connie, and they have an infant son.

Recently, there was a fairly severe Gem incident that left Beach City and Little Homeworld pretty damaged. Things are still being mopped up from that.

Steven, Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl head out on a quick mission one day to intercept one of the last few supporters of the Gem who attacked the Crystal Gem's hub of operation, and at first it seems like it's gonna be a straightforward trip.

Then, Steven sees the Gem in question pull a destabilizer wand on Garnet, and- unwilling to watch her to get ripped apart like that again- throws himself in between. He can take it, he thinks. These things never hurt him one bit as a kid

He cannot take it.

He poofs.

His gem unceremoniously falls to the ground, along with the clothes he was wearing and whatever he had in his pockets.

Cue the others going "what the actual FUCK" because based on everything they've ever witnessed and known about him no one had "Steven poofs" on their bingo card.

The insurgent Gem is captured and dealt with, but now... oh, boy. There's literally no playbook for this. Nobody knows what to expect.

Steven's gem is quiet for WEEKS. During that time, the Gems end up consulting the Diamonds on Homeworld to ask for intel on diamond reformation, but none of them are much help- Rose and Steven are the only ones who have actually poofed. Beyond them, this is completely unprecedented.

In a very vague sense, Steven is aware of what must have happened during this time... (even if a part of him wants to deny it, because How???)

He can pick up vague snippets of what's happening just beyond his reach... catching voices and what must be faint sensations of familiar people handling his gem, but beyond that he has no awareness of the passage of time, and he has no means by which to reach out to them mentally.

It takes almost two months for him to finally reform. When he does, his gem quickly shifts through its previous three forms and then just... outright h a n g s for a while on the new one... as if what's trying to "load" up is so complex it's goddamn buffering.

(my brain can only think of This image uyhjfsdbyuhjfg)

No one really knows what to expect but when he finally reforms, he... looks mostly the same? Still rather human in appearance, externally? The only notable difference is that his irises are pink now. (But with no diamond pupil- not unless he's going Full Power Mode.)

Steven also reforms WITH an outfit much like a Gem would.

The second he's back, he runs to embrace Connie (who is sobbing in relief) and asks how long he was out.

And he did NOT anticipate that answer to be two months.

As it turns out, he missed quite a few baby milestones while he was gone, and he feels horrible about it- it's not his fault of course, but he feels so bad that Connie had to go that long without his support, and that there's all those special "firsts" with his son he'll never get to experience.

This whole incident marks Steven's final "retirement" from participating in real combat- he outright tells the Gems to not involve him in any other combat situations unless the whole ass planet is under threat, basically. The potential risks are just not worth it now that he knows how long he'd be out of commission, should he poof once more. He can't put his family through that again.

Now, with all that outlined...

Ways that Steven is Weird now:

He looks rather human- his hair looks like hair and his skin looks like skin- but after he reforms, literally every "cell" of his body is fashioned out of hard-light.

However, if one were to theoretically slice him in half (which I PROMISE I am not going to do, this is only a thought experiment ahahah-), his internal anatomy would glow much like the Gems' do. (See below image for what I mean.) The "human-like" appearance of his skin and hair and other externally visible features does not extend very deep.

He "bleeds" pink now- but it's only surface, and is all just excess hard-light. No real blood.

His body would no longer show up on a radiograph- just the gem.

Many of his anatomical features (not all of them, though) are now vestigial in certain ways-? Like, various functions have overtly been taken over by his gem... he doesn't need to breathe or have any lifeblood beyond light pumping through his system, so his heart and lungs serve no necessary purpose anymore... but all of these organs still "exist" as like an echo of what once was, perfect mimics of their organic form but hewn from hard-light.

That being said, Connie enjoys the reassurance of his heartbeat, so he retains that function while conscious.

(Not to mention, "breathing" is literally just a habit for him by this point.)

HOWEVER, when he sleeps (another thing he technically doesn't Need to do but does anyways) his breathing and heartbeat stops entirely and it kinda spooks Connie out. The literal only evidence she has that he's still kicking during these times is the soft hum of his gemstone.

He does not have a biological NEED for food or water anymore and can fully operate on exposure to light alone, but he still really enjoys eating and drinking anyways. In fact, he's still able to absorb energy from food... so it's basically like he's over-charging his battery or whatever. He also still experiences taste (so still posesses some form of taste receptors) and instinctively feels "hungry" at meal times, so like... the running theory is that he must have hard-light analogues for all these receptors and neurotransmitters and hormones that communicate sensations like hunger in his system even though their function is entirely redundant with his gem powering everything.

Furthermore, his memories and sense of self and everything one might refer to as "the soul" is stored exclusively in his gem now. Which means, if one could manage to analyze his brain like one could with a human brain, there would be entire sections that simply... don't light up the way that others (such as the parts of the brain that govern motor control, as an example) do. This is because all the "data" once stored there has migrated.

He can fully shapeshift now, if he wanted to.

He can also still visually "age"- it's all based on his mental state, same as before.

But despite being hard-light in nature now, he can still interface with organics in fusion because his form is still so organic in shape and function. He's still the bridge between humanity and gemkind. I like to think that... theoretically... a Gem might be able to fuse with an organic too, but the sheer burden of trying to shapeshift and maintain such cellular complexity is what stops this from happening.

Steven, though? His very existence as a hybrid acted as a template by which hard-light could learn to understand organic life. He is still an intensely unique being, even IF he no longer consists of any actual organic matter.

_

I am sure I will probably add something to this later, but for now, those are all my musings.

Anyways, thank you for taking a brief visit to the deepest recesses of my brain, where I am chewing at the drywall and bouncing around the room like a cat who has just devoured the goddamn motherlode of catnip. Good night! !! :DDD

[razzle-n-dazzle]

I just read some of your works and god do you write good better than the actual show I would even say.

I really want to request a Yandere headcannon for mainly Ozzie and Fizzarolli they don’t get enough love as they do, but with a little twist

Whichever you choose I would love either one you pick cause im indecisive.

1: a powerful reader maybe even more stronger than Ozzie being lovers with the two

Or 2: a chubby but physically strong reader that could lift Ozzie with ease as example

If you do see this I hope you consider writing this, you have such a lovely writing style and I would love to see what you cook up

Also call me 🥟-anon if you will cause I hope to request and talk more

ᯓ★ Murder is Okay, Shutting Us Out Isn't. Yandere! Asmodeus & Fizzarolli / Overlord! Reader | Oneshot TW! - READ AT YOUR OWN RISK: romanticizing yandere(s), obsessive behavior, def not proof read (because we die like Adam in this household /j), Vox (/j), boner mention (no sexual content), self harm, yelling, possessive

ᯓ I actually loved both ideas you gave me, so I'm going to mash then both together into one! For that, I'm going to give you all a little crash course into the background for the Reader (you) in this story so things make a little more sense: The reader, though an Overlord, is both physically and magically stronger than Ozzie, though doesn't show it off often. Also, this happened due to their mix of blood; The reader is the child of an an old overlord and a Sin (I'm going for Wrath in this story) and had gained the physical strength from their overlord mother and the magical strength from their Sin father. With this they're able to be known as the Wrathful Overlord, or 'The child and will of Wrath', though Satan doesn't claim them to be his own and has no interest to. Also, no the Reader isn't stronger than other Sins, just Ozzie for this case. Since Ozzie is claimed to be the weakest (or one of the Weaker) Sin that we currently know of, the Reader is matched right around his level. Yet they, much like Alastor, cannot beat other Sins or even Adam, as even with their strengths, are set back by the rather large power difference. So with that out of the way, please enjoy!:

ᯓ You had been living with Ozzie and Fizz for a few months, silently having moved away from your district on the Eastern side of the Pride Ring after their proposal. While it was not uncommon for love to bloom in hell, even with the eternal suffering or the large amount of (usually) taboo topics being put on display down here, you were still not big on having your private life being posted for all of hell to see. Especially those in the Pride Ring, where you were sure Vox would take any chance to slander and drag your name in the mud for having a 'blasphemous' relationship. And really, you didn't feel like cleaning up the blood of another Sinner. Oh no, not because you killed them. Dear, Lucifer god no! Why do that when you had two perfect body guards at your beckon and call?

ᯓ "Honestly, I don't even understand how there can be blasphemy down here. It's hell, God is not watching what we do and I pity him if he did." You would mutter, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching News 666 on your cellphone silently with Fizz; Who had became curious open hearing the news topic and bounded over, wrapping his snake-like arms around your waist twice. He squeezed you a little tight, yet you didn't mind, especially when his head was rested upon your shoulder. You could practically see the growing smirk on his lips before he even spoke, "You know everything we do down here is blasphemes right? That's why we're in Hell, not Heaven. I mean the murder, the sex, the gr-" Though Fizz's little list was caught off short as you hushed him, pressing a quick finger up against his lips.

ᯓ Ozzie was cooking in the background, occasionally taking peaks behind him to make sure you nor Fizz were doing anything stupid; Like trying to cook despite knowing neither of you could do so. It was always a nice gesture until Ozzie has to get the kitchen repaired... again. "And this in, News 666 and it's broadcasting will be disturbed quickly for a message from The fucking V's themselves." Katie Killjoy would crack her neck to the side, seeming oh so annoyed at the interruption. You were too, and Fizz didn't miss the way your face scrunched. "You know Tom, their news isn't even repu-" Katie tried to shout before their segment was cut off, their news source becoming engulfed in The V's logo before the man of the hour, Vox himself, overtook the screen. Him and his snicker, you knew this couldn't be good.

ᯓ Vox never hit the air unless he knew something, unless he wanted something to happen, unless this was his calculated and curated response to something.

ᯓ And the last time that happened, Alastor wiped the floor with him.

ᯓ Fizz drew away from your shoulder a little, his eyes narrowing at your growing irritation before he glanced back towards Ozzie, who already had his arms crossed in confusion. Sure, they've heard about this Vox, mostly from you, but they never expected you to have this much of a detest about him. What happened between you and this TV-head that they didn't manage to dig up? And most importantly, recent or not, did he ever hurt you in anyway. . . or was he planning to?

ᯓ "This just in, news is starting to come up from higher-ups, and close friends, in Wrath Town that their leader, supposed their supposed Overlord, the Child of Wrath, themselves, have gone missing!" Vox stated, trying to carefully keep his voice leveled yet failing miserably; From the twitch in his eye and the wide, plastering grin across his flat face, you could just tell this was another Alastor situation. Yet an Alastor situation that was not pointed directly towards Alastor rather You; Which you had saw coming, maybe even expected it, but fucking Lucifer did you hope you could at least get a good year under your belt before Vox came in to spread 'miss information' all over the Pride Ring. All just to keep his viewers attention on him, just to keep his support. What a loser.

ᯓ You would scoff, trying not to laugh at his obsessive allegations, which were true you guessed, as Fizz and Ozzie silently listened from beside and behind you. While you didn't seem alarmed, or even frightened at the least (as they were sure you would be, seeing as this seemed common for Overlords to not get along) they sure were. Well, not alarmed per say, rather on guard; carefully lingering on the words that Vox was so carelessly spewing to all of those who watched his broadcast. And you noticed how Fizz drew back closer, leaning over your shoulder to glare at your phone, to glare at Vox like Vox might feel his stare, like he was daring Vox to say something else; All the while you couldn't help but laugh, chuckle, giggle, and kind of make fun of Vox as he continued on. His senseless chatter played in the background as you tried to wave off your fiancés' concerns, "Please, guys, don't get worked up over him, he's no threat; More like an annoying bug under everyone's shoe." "One who, from what we hear, likes to stick his non-existent nose in other people's business." Ozzie would comment from the stove, his glare still harsh on the screen even as he flipped over the bacon in the pan. His tone was leaking with annoyance, or maybe irritation and ire is are better words; Either way, you shrugged your shoulders as he continued, "Really, doesn't he have like any other news? that's all basically weightless if it's coming from other people's mouths!" "It's gossip, it keeps his viewer's attention and support up. That's the whole point," You would explain, slightly rolling your eyes at the crazed look Vox gave you. Granted, it was through the screen, but, "I would have thought he would know better than to talk about me, especially since I've shattered his screen more than once." Though Fizz was less amused, "You both give than man way too much credit-" Was the only part of his commentary he could get out, hands on the counter now, before a shout from Vox drew all of your attentions back in.

ᯓ "Oh, ho-ho!" And there was a cackle, one that caused your eyebrows to frown downwards and scrunch your face. One that rang out like an annoying fire alarm and drew a growl from Fizz's throat and a flicker of hellish flame from Ozzie's coat. It's like you all could smell that the shit that Vox was going to spew. "THIS JUST IN," And there was a slam of his hands on the table, "I JUST GOT WORD FROM A TRUSTED SOURCE THAT THE WRATHFUL OVERLORD IS NOT ONLY NOT IN THEIR PITIFUL, SHIT-HOLE OF A TOWN, YET THEY'RE NOT EVEN IN THE PRIDE RING!- Where the fuck are they, you might ask? Well, not fucking here and maybe that's for the better, this place was turning into a shit down with them around." His grin would tease you from behind the screen, and you grew slightly worried that he could see you. That, as his eyes widened and he drew closer to the screen, that he could see right through it. . .

ᯓ "You're in the fucking Lust ring, you absolute SLUT! What the fuck are you doing hanging around an, who's that? An Imp and- And is that Asmodeus himself in the background!" Clack! You would drop your phone like it had burnt you and stumbled backwards, not out of fear, you could never be fearful of someone like Vox, yet out of . . . what would be the word? Ire? Exasperation? Irritation? Preservation? Fizz was quick to lock his arms, just to keep you from stumbling back too far and hitting against the countertops near the stove, potentially burning yourself; As Ozzie stepped up, standing protectively between the phone and the two of you, the flickering of his growing detestation and bubbling anger slowly flickering around his coat, which threatened to burst flames. "This just in, your little Wrathful Overlord, has not only abandoned the Pride Ring yet is sleeping with the Sin of Lust and his weak-dick, limp ass Imp!" Vox's cackle echoed around the room, "That's so fucking sad!- Oh, looks like no one will ever have any sort of reason to be scared of you anymore," And his name spilled out from his lips with venom, poisoning the air with his slithering voice. That was, until his broadcast was cut off, cutting his maniacal laughter short, with a crackle then pop. It seemed like Ozzie had enough of listening to Vox, and seemingly had enough of your phone, as he had slammed his fists into the counter. Effectively ending the broadcast and your phone all in one go.

ᯓ And nothing but silence filled the room, just as you were sure nothing but silence (and soon an eruption of hatred and irreverence) filled the Pride Ring, and Wrath Town.

ᯓ "Fuck. ." Was the words that left with an airy breath.

ᯓ "THAT FUCKER IS SO DEAD!" Was Ozzie's first words; his hair combusting into flames, his irritation and outrage boiling over and finally having struck that match.

ᯓ Maybe it was slight shock overwhelming you, never having expected your engagement to be outrighted for everyone in the Pride Ring to hear, or maybe it was Fizz carelessly (accidentally) spinning you around, but you found yourself exasperation against the kitchen counter; Your eyes still locked on where your cellphone was now intended into the counter. "I've got the rope!" Fizz's voice barely registered in your ears, along with the sounds of his mechanical arms and legs moving to easily wrap himself around Ozzie. "Let's go kill that fucker!- or maybe tie him up and leave him exposed and naked on his own stupid broadcast. Like, really, who does he think he is trying to come for us like that?" Fizz's agreement with Ozzie's irrational solution caused a growl, a very lion-like one, to seep through Ozzie's gritting teeth, "A two timing nobody, that's who he is, and I won't stand for it! He comes for what's mine and I'm going to show him who the FUCK he's dealing with!"

ᯓ You know, maybe you've enabled their behavior a little too much; Sure, you loved the way they grew overprotected about you (and as you were sure they loved when you did the same) yet logically, you knew you had to stop them. When news gets out about Ozzie and Fizz going up to the Pride Ring and killing, or humiliating, an overlord not only will Vox's words be taken as facts, which can cause a whole other set of issues, yet Lucifer might also get involved. Of course, though, your knowledge about how Sins worked together and how they could interfere with each other's rings was limited. Yet, you can only guess a Sin killing an Overlord in another person's ring would just cause some sort of uproar.

ᯓ So when Ozzie, with Fizz coiled around his arm as to not get burnt, were about to leave the kitchen-living room, you had to act fast. Even while a little dazed, a little out of your own body, stilling trying to reel in the information of the situation that just happened, you dashed forward towards them. Or maybe your feet did so because they knew you had to catch them, and it sure felt that way rather than your own doing. It all felt like you were watching through a pair of another's person's eyes as you rushed over, your tail trashing out to stag the Ozzie's heel and trip him (you would have to apologize later). It bought you some time to slid in between him and floor, effectively catching him in your arms. "Yeah, as to hell we're going to go do anything boys! We're," You slammed the door closed, effectively walking away from it, "Staying here!" And that was your final verdict and that was what you were going to do as to make sure you can control this situation as much as possible. While frazzled and your finances' not thinking properly, giving into their own natural urges that some would call taboo (even for hell), this was no time to do that. Ergo, this was no time to be out murdering people!

ᯓ At that time you failed to notice the blush and wide eyes that had sprung to Ozzie's face when you dropped them both onto the couch, as well as the slight boner he had to hide by crossing his legs; Which Fizz defiantly noticed and teased him for with a snicker. Often times, not on purpose, did Fizz and Ozzie forget that out of all three of you, you were the strongest. Physically and magically, as you tended not to flash it off like some demons like to do, instead you flashed where you shined mentally. Though, damn, does it get Ozzie every time you swiftly come in and pick him up like he was weightless, with the same ease he picked up Fizz and you (even after you had told the first few times he didn't have to, later learning that you were conscience about your weight due to your chubbier figure). So it managed to calm Ozzie down, at least a little for the time being. Fizz would follow after, not really looking to murder people by himself - or at least not wanting to or not believing that he could.

ᯓ Calling your name from the couch, yet to no effect, the two would watch as you walked away from them to only circle right back round and leave again; pacing around the room with a constipated look on your face, leaving them confused, and slightly concerned, on the couch. Fizz slinked down to sit on Ozzie's lap, seeing as Ozzie had sat up to make sure you were alright while walking circles around them. Them both noticed quickly the way your tail trashed dangerously, the slight glare you gave to your phone anytime you passed through the kitchen, and the way your left hand clutched and curled in on itself. Fizz was sure your claws were digging into the skin of your palm, where marks from previous punctures of your claws laid fresh. "Hey," Ozzie started, calling out your nickname yet watching it effectively fall onto death ears. Even so, he continued, what's going on?" An invitation to talk to them, an invitation that received the acknowledgement of you hitting the tip of your tail against the floor to ceiling glass. Your own way of letting them know you heard him, yet needed a moment to gather your thoughts. To find something that can fix this situation without it blowing over and becoming bigger than you needed or wanted it to. To find a way to sweep and brush it under the rug. To just- make it like it never, ever fucking happened!

ᯓ Crack!

ᯓ You barely felt it, the smoke of Wrath infesting your very mind and blurring every other sense. Yet, Fizz and Ozzie caught it with ease. They heard the crack of your bone, the saw the way your nails not only had dug into your skin with the increase pressure yet suddenly broke through your palm and to the other side of your hand. Fizz covered his mouth, trying to hold in the gag that threatened to escape from the shock that filled him. Ozzie, wrapping an arm around Fizz to support him up to his chest to comfort him, would stand. . . and he didn't know how else to get your attention but exploding; Calling your name with a tone he rather not use with you. "WHAT?" Yet you would snap back, a green lining the inside of your eyes, right by your pupils. "WHAT CAN BE SO IMPORTANT THAT YOU CANNOT WAIT, OZZIE. I'M TRYING TO-" A tug at your wrist, Fizz, despite not being able to stand the sight if your claws puncturing through your hand, dragged you over to them. He rose your hand up to eye level once you were in front of the two, and he didn't want to make you watch the black blood that flowed down from it, that coated your claws thickly, he knew it was the only way to get you to pay attention. To realize that you hurt yourself in the panic of trying to fix a problem that could best be fixed together. To realize the scowl that was placed upon Ozzie's face at your actions, yet the underlining concern he had. To notice how Fizz was a bit sickened at the fact that you could so easily hurt yourself, and hurt that you wouldn't talk to them and effectively just shut them out again. Even though they have both told you countless times that you could talk them through your thoughts, that they can help you, that they want to help you! Even if you felt like you needed to handle everything that happened by yourself, even if you felt like the world was crushing in they were here! They were always here for you, and they were ready to help as long as you just talked to them.

ᯓ Fizz and Ozzie, out of everyone and anything, care about you (and granted each other) the most. And to see you physically hurt yourself over someone you told them not to worry about . . . well it stabbed them in the heart and made them ever so more concerned.

ᯓ "I just, I need time. I can figure this out if I'm given enough time." You would try to explain to Ozzie and Fizz as you sat on Ozzie's desk, where Fizz usually sat to replace any problem limbs. Fizz sat beside you, securely holding your right hand in his own and nuzzling up to you; His head resting against yours. Ozzie was in front of you, carefully trying to bring your claws out of the palm of your hand without hurting you, so he could then disinfect the wounds and wrap them up. He would have gotten a doctor, but felt a bit too fired up to let any medical professional touch you when you were so vulnerable. "Honey, get us, we know," Ozzie started, then let out a heavy sigh. "You say that every time something shitty happens in Pride. It's like- your go to thing!" Fizz added on, his tone a bit chirpier than Ozzie's; trying to lighten the mood, bring at least a small tug of a smile onto your face. Ozzie would soon apologize as you let out a hiss, feeling your claw carefully yet strikingly painfully being pulled out from your palm. You squeezed Fizz's hand, he nuzzled his head further against yours. And yet, you still spoke through gritted teeth and hissing, "I just! There never seems to be- FUCK, Ozzie that shit hurts!" "Love, I'm sorry, but I'm trying my best to make it as painless as possible. Yet, it's kind of hard when you managed to stab yourself right between your own bones." Ozzie mumbled, quickly working on the exposed wound, trying to wrap it with a towel just for the time being so he could work on the other three fingers (your thumb didn't puncture through skin, but did leave a good wound on your middle finger). Fizz would let out a nervous bit of laughter, trying to turn the situation away from your pain, just so you wouldn't have to think about it. "Hey, why don't you tell us why. . . you were so against us going to go kill the guy! I mean, I'm sure it would be easier than thinking of a whole counter plan and stabbing yourself through the hand, wounding yourself for someone you-" "Froggie," Ozzie warned, though his tone was still soft, noticing quickly how he began to ramble out of nerves. "I don't think that's helping."

ᯓ Yet you didn't mind much, it kind of did set your brain a little more straight and screwed in properly. So in a way you kind of did need Fizz's nervous rambling right now, "No, no it's fine. I. . . needed that. I just," A frown stretched upon your face, letting out a heavy sigh that was quickly replaced with a painful hiss and quickly followed by another apology from Ozzie. Your face scrunched at the pain, yet softened as you felt Fizz trying to comfort you once more. His hand squeezed your undamaged one, and when you turned your head towards his, he connected your foreheads. The distress that came from your fiancés were slowly becoming more apparent to you; Especially by the way Fizz looked into you, his own eyebrows frowned and scrunched, worry laced around his eyes. You felt the pressure of Ozzie wrapping your newly oxygen exposed wound with the towel, trying to cover it gently yet firmly enough. "I just. . . didn't want them to hurt you." The words left your mouth before you could think about their weight; Even if they were nothing but the truth, all the worry that struck your brain the moment Vox had called you out was all due to your worry that Fizz and Ozzie might get hurt. That they might be caught in some sort of cross fire between Vox and you and you would have to deal with their blood on your hands. That was a thought your couldn't bear to stand.

ᯓ The silence was thick for a good few minutes as you kept your eyes squeezed shut, afraid to open them and face Ozzie and Fizz. You could feel as Fizz leaned in, nuzzling your nose against his in an attempt to comfort you, coax you to open your eyes. But he just saw they way they twitched and you squeezed harder. You could feel as Ozzie paused, his fingers gently grabbing around yours yet not giving it's usual tug. And without looking at them, you felt the nerves build in your stomach at the thought that you might have offended them in some way, or they were disappointed in you for some reason. Yet they weren't. Logically, you knew that they weren't any of those things, yet they worrying thoughts still crept in your mind. "Baby, no. . ." Ozzie's sweet voice would ring through the unwanted chatter in your mind, almost like he could hear or feel what was happening in your tornado of a mind. "No, you don't have to worry about us, we were more worried about you. Trust me." You felt Ozzie's engulfing hand rest against your cheek and Fizz nod against your head, "Oh yeah! Our names have been racked through the mud since the whole Mammon incident. Trust us, we can take a little shit, but-" And Fizz paused, always a little hesitant to speak about these topics, "This is new to you, and we know how important your work is to you." "And Just like Sins, I'm sure an Overlord's power also comes from your reputation among people. And that guy, well, directly went for your reputation," Ozzie mumbled, his thumb rubbing sweetly against your cheek. He couldn't dent it, but he loved how they were a little chubbier than most, making your skin a little more plump and soft. "And for that I would have killed him! But you don't want that, for some reason I still don't understand!- But, we respect that. Just know we're here to help anyway we can." "Yeah just say the word!" Fizz playfully moved his head to nuzzle his nose against your other cheek, effectively earning a smile from you and a few bits of suppressed laughter that dared to bubble out your throat. You weren't sure why it was always ticklish when Fizz nuzzled his nose against your cheek, yet it was. "Okay, Okay!-" A giggle slipped through your lips, "I'm sorry. . . I should have, talked to you guys instead of-" You paused, chewing over your words. Yet, you didn't have to think for long as Fizz cut in, "Pushing us away?" "Hurting yourself?" Ozzie swiftly added after, both with their own sassy yet caring tones as they stared down at you. "Yeah. . . that." You would mumble, with an heat rushing up to your cheeks out of embarrassment. You didn't realize you were actually being that big of a dick to the two most important people in your life. Wow, you really did need that reality check from Fizz earlier.

ᯓ "Well, thank god we love you." Fizz's sarcastic voice trailed out with a cheeky grin spread across his face, showing off his pointed teeth and his ever so adorable cheeky attitude. "Or else this would be such a different story! You might have ended out on the streets, or worse, dead." And even if his words would be less than comforting for anyone else, you couldn't help but smile at them; Shooting your own cheeky glare back, finally gaining the courage to open your eyes again. To bask in your lovers' faces instead of cowering in the darkness, fearing a rejection that was never there to begin with. Something that would have never came. Ozzie took the chance to, while you were laughing and smiling and paying attention to Fizz rather than your own pain, to gently yet swiftly take out your third claw. Instantly, your tail trashed and a hiss escaped your mouth. And while he felt bad, Ozzie couldn't help but shake his head and rather seriously state, "Yeah, but don't ever do this again." "Yeah no, I don't think I can take looking at you stab through your own hand either." Fizz agreed, shaking his head. Either way, he went back to nuzzling you to comfort, trying to distract you from the pain of your hands as Ozzie moved the towel over your third wound. One more to go. You tried to keep in the giggles that threatened to escape due to their words, yet you couldn't help it. With a roll of your eyes and a sarcastic, yet playful, tone, you muttered back to them, "Well, fuck, if I ever get stabbed I'm never coming to either of you!"

Home | Masterlist Tag list: @lily-ann-b

ᯓ★ All posts/fanfictions posted under this blog is owned by @razzle-n-dazzle. Please do not steal, copy, or plagiarize the works! Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated.

[ A/N: Also, thank you so much for this request, it was a joy to write! I can't wait to hear from you again the future! And thank you to everyone for supporting my work, I've gotten so many nice comments in my inbox and I promise I'm trying to get through everyone's requests, or as much of them as possible. There's a good handful of them that request the same thing, so they will be clumped together, just because I don't think I can make enough content to make four separate posts about Adam with a Goth girlfriend or Yandere Lucifer lol! But, thank you all for the support, really, I wouldn't be able to do this all without you :) ]

[sadtonight]

Morning holder

Summary: someone can be very clingy in the morning — and that's you, not him!

Characters: first year students;

Warnings: none, reader is gender neutral, established romantic relationships, unspecified time period;

Side notes: I was daydreaming about sappy things because I saw a fanart from the other fandom when suddenly I realised that I can write it! Thank you, the ship of two middle-aged men which I'm crying over those days.

Ace

— you begun sleeping together pretty soon after you started dating Ace. He quickly grew used to having you around so much that now not having at least one of your limbs on his body causes him to move himself closer to you and settle your arm around himself. If, by any chance, you wake up during the process, ginger defends himself by lying how you were groping him in your sleep which you hardly can buy, not that it matters as you suspected what he was doing and why anyways;

— though if he wakes up to the feeling of your warm body cuddled closely to his side, Ace just can't be any happier! It feels so nice having your head mashed to his side, arms folded, and legs tangled with his, even if it was too hot to stay that way. Nah, he can't possibly complain. He instead can fondly brush you hair out of your face and lighty scratch your scalp, just admiring how peaceful you were;

— Ace is well aware that he, and in fact you too, need to get up in a few minutes and get ready for the day but still tries to hold off getting up as much as he possibly can. This results in you scolding your boyfriend for not waking up you sooner, but Ace never talks back to you. He just softly smiles at you, and the only thing you can do is pout and wonder what makes him so pleased in the mornings sometimes.

Deuce

— initially when you two started sleeping together in one bed, poor Deuce always freaked out when his drowsy brain registered a person lying right next to him. He calmed down only after cautiously taking a look at your sleeping form. R-right, the boy was dating you... It still sometimes felt like a dream, too good to be true;

— Deuce woke up earlier than the alarm clock: the dream he saw wasn't the most pleasant, consisting of him protecting you from some delinquents who looked uncannily similar to his acquaintances from the school, including himself. The boy was convinced that he abandoned all those ways and was living a life of an ordinary person, or so he thought. In a attempt to turn around to shake off the thoughts, Deuce only then felt arms — your arms — wrapped around his torso, your whole body pressed to his back. He could feel how your chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm;

— although not intentionally, still hazy from sleep, Deuce interpreted it as you being there, behind his back, because you believed in him protecting you and you were there to watch him from behind. The way you were holding him tight with your arms, he was so overjoyed while still overflowing with stress from the dream that he broke down crying, quietly sobbing. Upon waking up and seeing Deuce you couldn't understand why your partner's face was so red and puffy, but you got a lot of pampering from your boyfriend that day.

Jack

— there are undeniably lot's of advantages of having a partner built like Jack. Yet it also means that there are downsides. It was fear on Jack's part: he was anxious about accidently crashing you with his body in his sleep, so he tried to stay far enough when you started to sleep together. However, during nighttime one of you would relocate closer to the other, resulting in the two of you tangled in when the morning rolled out. Beastman had to come up with the solution to avoid unintentionally causing you any harm;

— that's why one day he asked you to sleep on top of him from then on. You weren't sure if Jack would find it convenient sleeping with a weight putting pressure onto him, but if anything it meant more training for the boy which he didn't mind. The position was rather funny, so you didn't miss the opportunity to tease your boyfriend for being so needy for cuddles. Something at the start of the relationship he would vehemently deny, but now Jack only folds his arms and wordless beam, ears perked up — you got him there, didn't you;

— you held onto your words and at night you crawled on top Jack's body each time he was lying flat. And in turn, beastman begun intense muscle training which paid off quickly. Now, he was waking up to you being there, sleeping undisturbed on his chest. He did want to keep watching your frame rise up and down, but Jack didn't feel comfortable staring at you like that without you knowing. So he would wake you up by softly patting your back and with same softness calling out your name;

Epel

— this boy was so eager to sleep with you in one bed! Epel fondly remembers sleeping with his parents and some relatives long time ago when he was just a baby. Winter night never felt more warmer than that! And besides, it was rather.... lovely and romantic to sleep together with your sweetheart right? He daydreamed before how he would keep you in his strong, secure hold, though he reluctantly admitted those feelings to you;

— surprisingly to him, the reality turned out to be the contrary of what he expected. It was Epel who woke up first to realise that he had cuddled up to you instead of it being the other way around. This soured his mood greatly, so he would carefully slide away from you and change the positions. But it happened times and times again which made lavender haired boy wonder if he's missing something, and the thing he was missing was acceptance of the situation;

— once he woke up even earlier than usual, with his head nested in your collarbone and arms embracing you loosely yet again, but it was different. Epel didn't feel the urge to get away or change anything. No, it felt so natural, so familiar and warm just like his childhood memories. However, being so close to you and you protectively squeezing him was an experience he found different while vastly more enjoyable. Could it be that's why it felt so good cuddled up to each other? Whatever it was, Epel decided to resume his rest instead, breathing in warm air around you and returning back to dreams;

Sebek

— sleeping together in one bed and before marriage is highly inappropriate!... It was, before the two of you eventually did sleep together and Sebek found the attempt to be not what he dreaded it to be. When you suggested sleeping apart since you still weren't on marriage stage, half-fae denied your suggestion saying that it was unnecessary — it would be safer if you slept with him. Yes, he wasn't less of a guard even while he was unconscious!

— subsequent nights went relatively peacefully, until one morning, as per usual Sebek woke up and tried to get up for morning exercise, suddenly to feel something pulling him down by his left arm. And it was no other than you, wrapped around his arm like an ivy the boy was so used to seeing back home. It took Sebek by surprise: why were you clinging to his arm? It wasn't because of a pesky nightmare, right? You didn't seem fazed nor troubled. Not risking making the situation worse, he sucked it up and waited for you to naturally wake up;

— royal guard had to ask you for the explanation, because he wouldn't get even a minute of rest if something was bothering you! Upon hearing Sebek's observation, you bashfully presumed that you instinctively wanted to hold him in your sleep. Of course you want to hold him while being do valuable, for he was a capable and apt fae magician and a rolay guard of lord Malleus himself. Although Sebek had to gather all his mental strength to get out of your hold each morning you captured his arm. Turns out, he had so much more training to do and it had nothing to do with physical training...

[laf-outloud]

For any fan of Misha to believe what he supposedly said in today's panel about taking a prank too far, they must either be new to the fandom, or have absolutely no memory of these stories before.

Let's be honest, the fans who think Misha's telling the truth "this time" absolutely know it's not true and are using this new story to persecute Jared, once again.

For those who haven't seen, here are the tweet reports from Misha's panel. Obviously, video will provide proof, but there are enough details to get the gist and these aren't the standard Misha-fan con reporters that like to lie about or twist what was said.

So, the original story about Jared taking a picture was told by Misha on the Inside of You podcast (see below). There was no zero gravity dive. Misha simply forgot to lock the bathroom door. Jared took a picture of him on the toilet, not naked and with no urine in sight. And yes, in retaliation, Misha flushed Jared's phone... the one that had the only pictures of his son, Shep's birth.

As for the getting knocked around, being covered in urine, etc. That comes from a trip Misha took with Rich, Rob, and Matt down to Australia for a convention. Misha tells the story here:

Matt, Rob and Rich have all corroborated that story here and here. It's actually a pretty funny story on it's own.

So, Misha put together some mash up of these two stories, making him the victim (once again) of a dangerous stunt supposedly perpetrated by Jared (which no pilot would ever agree, especially without all passengers belted).

If you haven't caught on by now, Misha lies. And he lies for a purpose. Most often, it's to engender sympathy from his fans so they'll continue to see him as poor, picked-on Misha who can related to them because they are also the 'outcasts' in their world. And if he can relate to them, then they'll continue to give him their money.

You may also wonder why Misha frequently references Jared as being the one to prank him (and often, the only one). One, because he needs Jensen as the other half of the Destiel pairing, which is another way to keep his fans dropping money in the coffers. And two... jealousy. From past stories and behavior, it's obvious Misha's jealous that Jared is as successful as he is, someone who never went to college but has worked steadily for over 24 years in an industry rife with unemployment. Misha likes to say things that imply Jared's only gotten by on his looks and not any kind of talent, but we know that's simply not the case. Actor's aren't employed for that long and that consistent on their looks alone. Talent and hard work are also needed, two traits which Misha obviously doesn't have, so he resorts to stringing along his dwindling fanbase with any story he can, regardless of it's veracity or whom it may hurt in the process.

Finally, Misha knows exactly who his fans are and how his fanbase takes the things he's said, so if he's ever called out and says he was joking and that people misinterpreted what he said, he's lying. And I'd say that lying was the only thing he was good at if it weren't so easy to debunk the lies.

[bluecollarmcandtf]

THEY Came and Conquered

It was just like any normal day when THEY arrived here on Earth! Dave had been spending another morning holed up in the office when a commotion erupted down the hall. His coworkers got up to investigate, but before anyone knew it, THEY had arrived. Soon, the previously quiet office was filled with screams of terror!

Dave fought the little green creatures off for as long as he could, but they were just too fast, jumping from floor to ceiling with their long slimy appendages. One of those intruders eventually slung itself past Dave's defenses and smacked him square in the face. He was sent flying to the ground.

Unfortunately for Dave, and pretty much everyone else on Earth, THEY came here to take over the planet. Their plan: use the human species as empty hosts for their own bidding.

With the alien squeezing tighter and tighter around Dave's face, his panic was quickly sucked out of his head. His thoughts and personality were slowly drained out as well, leaving him as nothing more than an empty husk for the alien to puppet around. Everything that made him Dave the Employee was replaced by the whims of the foreign parasite now attached to his skull.

Logan faced the same fate as Dave. He'd been in the middle of jackhammering some concrete when THEY showed up. He didn't even notice the attack until it was too late!

One of the aliens attached itself firmly to his head and began emptying everything inside. Within a few minutes, Logan's fear and panic were gone. He was just an extension of that alien's body now. His muscular arms and legs were just new additions to that alien's array of appendages.

The strange thing is that THEY can only bond with male humans. They have no ability to take over female bodies, so the girls of Earth were all able to pull the creatures off and stomp them like a bug. The men of Earth weren't that lucky. Within a month, nearly 87% of the world's masculine population was taken over, but that number continues to grow every day.

Logan the Construction Worker was the first of many. Within a few minutes, his entire construction crew was also converted. Within an hour, every man outside in the open was claimed. By the end of the day, every guy Logan had ever known had joined him as a hijacked servant of these foreign creatures.

Mitchell was able to evade the slimy little creatures for a bit longer, but even his athletic legs couldn't carry him fast enough. A pack of the aliens cornered him in the middle of a basketball court, and he had nowhere to run.

Mitchell's eyes glazed over as the parasite sucked out his mind. THEY had no use for a human's inferior vision when their own eyes can see 20x better. The alien mainly needed Mitchell's body for it's size, strength, and reproductive abilities...

...not human reproduction: THEY're reproduction. You see, the aliens reproduce by mixing an enzyme made from two parasite-host pairs. That's why the aliens need to find a host to attach to, and that's why every man converted into one of their hosts is constantly dripping from his mouth.

Mitchell's jaw hung slack as his parasite kicked his salivary glands into overdrive. Within mere seconds, drool was pouring from his zombified mouth, ready for another parasite-host pair to reproduce with.

It just so happened that Dave the Office Worker was there with Logan the Construction Worker. Obviously, it wasn't really either of them. They were just puppetted to walk there by their alien masters. The pair were still wearing the same clothes they'd had on a month ago when they were converted! The men had become rather ripe, but the aliens didn't have much need for hygiene.

Now that THEY had full control over the three men, the aliens began their reproductive ritual, generating even more enzymes within each of the humans' mouths. Now the only thing left was to mix. THEY relaxed and brought their human hosts close to each other, mashing their slippery mouths together in a disturbing mockery of a human kiss. It wasn't intimate it wasn't pleasant; it was transactional.

Neither Dave, Logan, or Mitchell were gay, but the aliens had no concept of sexuality. THEY just needed their host's bodies to sloppily exchange DNA for the next 24 hours and their job would be done. New alien life would spring forth from the act, and THEY would go find anotber host/parasite hybrid to mate with.

Earth as we know it was certainly over. Mankind was under the thumb of some slimy green aliens, and the resistance was quickly dwindling. Eventually, every man on Earth would be claimed and put to good use, producing even more of the alien kind.

THEY certainly came and THEY certainly conquered...

[1427]

humiliation

Negan x Reader

Summary: Negan makes an example of you. 

Setting: Sanctuary (KingDick!Negan era)

Warnings: DUBIOUS consent (see how big those letters are? I mean it), public humiliation, degradation, forced nudity, unprotected piv, poorly written SMUT 

Word Count: 2.6k

A/n: this is really skirting the line between dubcon and noncon so please be warned. Reader is into it but Negan really doesn’t give a shit. 

18+ mdni

masterlist

“What the hell?” Not a very polite greeting, but you’re confused. It’s not often you get a room call from a Savior. 

“Come on. Boss wants you.” He says curtly, his tone making it obvious that he’s not going to answer any of your questions. 

“Why?” You ask anyway, you're cautious to leave your room. “Negan? Wants me?” 

“Yup, and you better not make him wait.” A knot of anxiety twists itself in your stomach as you take two small footsteps into the hallway and close your door. What the hell could he want me for? 

Your mind flashes to a dozen different possibilities but they’re all shattered as the Savior guiding you takes a left instead of a right towards Negan's quarters. “Wait, wh-where are we going?”

You can hear him scoff from in front of you, “Where we go when Negan wants to make an example. The furnace.”

“Wait, WHAT?!” You immediatly start backtracking, trying to run. You have no idea what he could possibly want to punish you for, or whatever, but you didn’t want to find out. 

Your chaperone quickly grabs you before you start running, pushing you through the rest of the way. 

✨🦇

You don’t remember writing Negan a letter, but the handwriting sure looked like yours (after a few drinks). This letter? Currently being waved in front of your face by Negan himself. You try to read what you’d written, scour your brain for the memory of why you’d have done that. You were drunk. Obviously. But why?! 

Arms held back by a Savior, you take a second to look around the room. Surveying just how many people were here to watch him humiliate you. You try to cycle through possibilities, were you about to get the iron? Something worse? Your thinking stops as Negan clears his throat and begins to read. “Dear Negan,” he shoots you a look, smiling, “I’m drunk, so I’m sorry if this message is poorly received.” He lets out a slow droning laugh before continuing, his voice projected loud for everyone in the room to hear it, “but I think the whole ‘wives’ thing is stupid.” You wince at the words. Oh. Shit. 

You feel the arms holding you let you go only to be replaced by a bigger force. Negan, standing behind you. Overtop of you. Both arms around you like a cage, he moves his face flush against yours and brings the letter up to both of your lines of sight. His voice is still loud and booming even though he’s now directly next to your ear, “Maybe, if you gave me a chance - you wouldn’t have the need for five fillies in your stable.” 

Your face burns hot, you’ve never in your life felt so much shame. The fear rattling your bones, Negan doesn’t move for awhile, reveling in your shaking body beneath him. He noses his way through your hair to your ear where he whispers through gritted teeth, “and it’s signed ‘lol’.” 

Oh. Shit. 

He firmly grasps your cheeks between his gloved fingers, making your lips mash together uncomfortably as he puts you on display, “This shit here?!” He holds up the letter before throwing it to the side and into the furnace, “Un-fucking-acceptable!”

He finally lets you go, kicking one of your knees out and putting you on the ground. On your hands and knees for the whole Sanctuary as he circles around you like a fucking shark. The display of ego and importance was usually something you enjoyed watching. There was a reason you wrote the note after all. But, here, now? You couldn’t remember why you’d ever found it attractive. He was absolutely fucking terrifying. 

“Took me a while to figure out what to do with you.” The volume of his voice has significantly decreased but the force behind it hasn’t. You can’t even look up, but he continues without a response from you, “But I thought Hey! What if she’s right?!” You can hear the smile in his voice, feel his warm presence as he squats down on the ground next to you to gauge your reaction, but his words hardly register. 

“I said ‘What if you’re right’, doll?” He speaks in a softer voice directly to you, eyes still trained on the ground, but clearly he’s expecting a response. 

You don’t have one inside of you, way too afraid to speak. You’re hardly even breathing. His question was a trick. You know any response from you could only make this worse, so you just shake your head. 

He chuckles, cocking his head to the side, “What? You’re gonna be shy now?!” His voice gets louder with every word until it echos through the silent hall. He’s starting to get pissed off. Negan assumed the girl who wrote this letter? Maybe she’d have put up some kind of fight. But this was pathetic. 

In a blink he’s behind you again, pulling you to your feet by your hair. He continues pulling until you’re on your tippy-toes, back against his chest, neck craned over his shoulder. He pushes his hips forward as your body falls back against his, snaking an arm around your waist to pull you even tighter into him. Feeling his erection pulse, trapped between your ass and his body, you gasp. 

“You think you’re real fuckin special, don’chya?” He grinds himself against your lower back, speaking to you and the rest of the room. “What? Your pussy is such a prize that you think you can disrespect my wives?” He laughs, taking your cheeks in his hand again, holding your head still while he kisses you softly on the temple. 

“Oh, I’m gonna need you to prove it.” It’s a whisper, just for you, while he smiles into your hair. The fear, slowly being overtaken by something stronger, sits on your nerves like a minefield. Still there, but… Jesus Christ this was absolutely not the time to be turned on. That’s exactly what he wanted, right? To turn you on and humiliate you in front of everyone? 

Everytime everyone stands in a circle in this room? The lesson Negan is trying to teach is fear. And obviously he was trying to show everyone that they can’t just go and disrespect his wives and his lifestyle like you had. If he had any hint that you were liking this, he would only draw it out more. Embarrass you further. 

So when he asks you to prove it, you shake your head, like you know you’re supposed to. 

“It wasn’t a question.” He says, his mouth down at your ear again, his breath hot against your skin. You don’t have time to register it before he pulls back away from you and pulls your shorts and underwear down off your hips and to your knees, using his boot to push them the rest of the way. His hand in your hair is the only thing keeping you standing. 

You try to cover up with your hands, but Negan tuts from beside you, “Dwight, tell the lady what happens if she tries to skirt around this punishment?” 

“Said he’d kill ya.” Dwight says it like it’s a fact, and the fear shoots through you again. 

The shame burning up every part of you as you will your hands back to your sides. “Good girl,” he whispers against your head again. Your eyes are sewn shut, hands curling up into fists, your fingernails breaking the skin. Bare from the waist down in front of at least a hundred people. A lot of them you knew. And what’s worse? If he keeps talking to you in that fucking voice into your fucking ear they were all going to see what it did to you. 

You’re horrified, but it’s not even close to over. Negan kicks your feet apart, legs spread and the humiliation is overwhelming. He moves his hand from your hair to back around your waist, he leans over you, his other hand venturing it’s way down your body.

“What's so special about this pussy anyway?” You feel two gloved fingers part your folds and shoot inside you with no warning. Crying out at the feeling, your knees buckle but Negan keeps you in place against him. You don’t know what to do with your hands, as he pumps inside of you with his leather clad fingers, you feel the moan start to build in your throat. 

Don’t moan, don’t moan, don’t. You’re biting your lip, fingers flexing and releasing as you try to still your shaking body. But he’s in there so deep, just curling his fingers into that spot, over and over. Your hips angle up to meet his hand involuntarily and he pulls out of you, laughing. 

“You can pretend all you want, I can feel how much you like this,” another whisper, just for you. Fuck. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” He shouts, shoving the same gloved fingers in your mouth. You try to fight back against him, everything in your body telling you that if he keeps going, you won’t want to fight anymore. And it’s horrifying and embarrassing and really, when your body tenses up in his grasp, you’re fighting against yourself. And how much you’re enjoying what he’s doing to you in front of everyone. 

He holds you still, grunting against the struggle. Dwight moves in like he’s going to help but Negan motions him back, “Nah, I got this, Dwighty-boy. See, this one here? She’s pretending she don’t like it. But she does.” His voice is sing-song. Confident and twisted and sardonic.

“Isn’t that right, doll?” He grinds himself against you much harder than he’d done before and your ensuing moan, the way your body rolls back into the feeling, your facial expression - all of it completely betraying you. You stop fighting, trying to put your hands up to your face to hide your shame, but he pulls them behind you and starts walking you forward. 

Your eyes shoot up, where was he taking you? The crowd parts, and you make eye contact with several people before you see it. A table. You’re 6 inches from barreling into it and with no way to brace yourself you instinctually pull against Negan’s hands restraining your own. He lets go of you completely, your arms shoot out to catch your fall. They do, just barely. The sting against your skin from the hard wood is felt through your arms, and your cheek that had just lightly kissed the table. 

You go to push yourself back up, but you're slammed back down into the table chest first. Negan's palm flat against your back as he holds you there. “Dwight, tell the girl again!” 

“He said he’d kill ya, I’d believe him if I were you. Don’t see why you’re even fighting,” he laughs, a few of the other saviors laugh too. 

He moves his hand from your back to your head, holding you in place against the table, as he leans down close again, “They’re laughing because you’re fuckin leaking for me, doll.” Your eyes glance up to see him taking his glove off with his teeth. His bare hand finding its way to your cunt in seconds, coating it in your juice before slapping your pussy twice. You can hear how wet you are, the whole fucking room can hear it. 

He sinks his fingers into you again, and the warmth from his bare skin has you reeling inwards. Your forehead goes down to the table, slamming your eyes shut once again. Your whole soaked pussy on display when he pulls his dripping fingers out of you. He hooks them into your cheek as he moves behind you. 

You can’t hear him unbuckling his belt, or unzipping his pants, over your own heartbeat. Your whole body is burning red as you feel his cock pushing up against your heat. He leans down over top of you, one hand pulling your head back by your hair, the other holding himself at the base and lining himself up to your entrance; “We’re gonna give ‘em a real good show. Then…,” he slams into you, all the way to the hilt causing you to cry out, “you’re gonna beg me to be my wife.” 

His pace is completely unrelenting. Sliding into you with ease, your pussy seemingly ready and enjoying such an assault. It had been so long since you’d had someone pound into you with such passion. That’s what you liked about Negan in the first place. The passion, the power, the control. The complete domination over those around him. You’d never met someone who wore narcissism so fuckin’ well. 

His fingers slowly move from your hair and your back to your hips. Pushing you down into hard edge of the table as he watches his cock disappear into you over and over again. Maybe you do have a magic pussy, or maybe it’s the thrill of the situation, but damn is he having a great time fucking you senseless in front of all of these horrified people. Well, some of them were impressed, and even more of them were secretly enjoying the show. It was obvious to anyone watching that you weren’t really unwilling; just completely embarrassed to be doing it so publically. 

You stopped trying not to moan, your breathe coming out in strangled gasps. He pulls you up against his body and fucks up and into you more slowly, holding your face to the crowd. “Look,” he whispers in your ear, “Look at how many people are watching me fuck you stupid.”

Your body shudders at his words, your hips shaking in his grasp. He laughs, and kisses your shoulder sweetly, “Are you going to cum all over my cock in front of all these people, sweetheart? How embarrassing.” 

You just nod, it’s coming too fast for you to stop it, his words having spurred you even further. “Hold on,” he commands, letting your body fall back to the table. You do as your told and hold on to the edge. 

You didn’t think Negan could possibly be more unrelenting on your walls but you were wrong. He bends his legs and fucks into you at an angle you don’t think you’ve ever felt before. Your knuckles turn white, and the sound coming from you echos in the spacious room. Something between groan and a scream builds, Negan coaxes from behind you, “That’s it, baby girl, cum all over my cock. Show them how good I take care of my girls.” 

If you weren’t right there his words might have turned you off, but it’s too late. It rips through you with a guttural scream. Every muscle so tense you’re  shaking, Negan fucks you through it at first before burying himself so deep his cock head is kissing your cervix. You try to move away but he keeps you there, wanting to feel every second of your orgasm around his throbbing member. 

Your drift back to reality isn’t pleasant. You thought shame like this was reserved for Catholics, and yet here you are. He pulls out of you and puts himself away while you sink to the cold concrete floor in front of the table. He doesn’t even finish. That motherfucker. 

He was right, though, wasn’t he? Because you wanted more. And if being his wife was the only way? Like he’s reading your mind he bends down, toothy smile cracked on his face like always, “You wanna beg me now, or later?” 

A/n: I loved writing this and I’ll see myself out. (ANONS REQUEST MORE THINGS I MORALLY SHOULDNT WRITE ABOUT)

[seat-safety-switch]

Civilization as we know it is wholly dependent on the functioning of coffee makers. It's our greatest weakness as a species: we crave the hot bean juice, but we need machines to make it. Sure, some of those machines are as simple as "cram two mesh thinguses together over it," but they are still machines. If you were stranded on a desert island with a buncha beans, do you think you could make coffee?

Don't fool yourself, you can barely mash a potato. Chances are no. It's terrifying, honestly. Humanity, in the end, are slaves to the machines that we foolishly trusted most with our breakfast routines. And I'm no different, which is why I've devised a cool new way to get coffee in the mornings.

That way is telling a bunch of survivalist YouTubers about the problem, getting them good and angry about my flippant attitude towards their authentic 8th-century mud huts, and then forgetting about the whole thing. Our greatest strength as a species is getting super pissed and doing incredible things out of spite. The computer you're reading this on was invented by Charles Babbage in order to get back at the guy who made his machine screws inconsistently.

When I remembered a couple months later, I quickly checked YouTube at the public library. And there, a huge quantity of what would be best described as Stone Age coffee makers. One particularly enterprising dude had even begun making a sundial-based timer system. A couple others just smashed the beans with hammers before sticking them in an old sock to be boiled. All excellent production, but nothing compared to the one guy who figured out how to make cold fusion from nothing but a bunch of sticks. Sure, he revolutionized the energy architecture of the entire planet from first principles, but he didn't actually get around to making a coffee maker to plug into it. Part marks.

[punkitt-is-here]

im a huge sucker for Real Time Combat but I will never get behind thinking its the natural evolution of Turn Based Combat. What!! these are different styles!!! i genuinely think the turn based influence is explicitly what MAKES FF7s real time combat INCREDIBLE for me. without it, it would be just a kind-of mid action game.

FF16 just has me thinking about that and it kind of reminds me of how we had a 2D platformer drought for a while because of 3D being seen as inherently better but we've ALREADY gone through the whole loop of realizing these are two different styles with pros and cons to those. The thought that goes into designing both styles vary greatly and they both accomplish different things.

like, being able to just mash X and kill a guy in real time is not inherently better than carefully strategizing and experimenting to kill a guy in a couple turns!! these are two unique stances in gameplay with strengths and weaknesses and its weird to see one treated as better. and i admit, im a fucking sucker for real time, i like at least some real time elements in most game's combat, but i think FF7R's combat is incredible BECAUSE it's not just purely real-time. You can swap around, go through menus, plan stuff!! its such a cool synthesis!! Real Time Combat can offer the thrill of really BEING in combat, dodging and weaving, getting gritty with your foe, but Turn Based allows you to strategize and plan and have MUCH easier access to a potentially HUGE arsenal of moves without having to fiddle with menus while you're scrambling to avoid getting hit. These styles are different and can bring a lot to the other, but acting like one is somehow better beyond just preference is very silly to me.

When you play a game with turn-based combat that sucks, know that it's probably because the balancing/design itself is not fun, not the actual genre. Super Lesbian Animal RPG has no real-time elements at all in combat, but it's some of the most engaging and fun and well-balanced turn-based combat I've had the pleasure of experiencing. And it has a deep focus on teamwork and friendship, and I think that's genuinely very hard to instill in Real-Time games because the player is forced to control only one character at a time in linear, progressively flowing time. I love KHII, but it rarely feels like you're working together because aside from your Limit attacks, you can't really collaborate with your party members or strategize. It's still a FANTASTIC game that I love playing, but the element of teamwork is lacking in comparison to a turn-based game, like, say, Bug Fables, which has you control all three members of Team Snakemouth. It allows you to have a myriad of attacks and moves that all influence each other, and because you can control all members, it feels really good and rewarding! And you all feel like friends, not just in cutscenes, but explicitly in gameplay because teamwork is highly incentivized to make things work!

i guess if ur a dev or just someone who appreciates games remember that there's no objectively better style for gameplay; it's all about context!! what is the GOAL of combat? What choices does it have the player make? Would one style work over the other for achieving this goals? That's how you pick what style you want to use! That's how you can analyze why or why not a game's style is working for you! rghaGHHHH GAME DEVELOPMENT IS COOL ARRHGHGHGHHGFJG

[fatuismooches]

How do the Harbingers spend Christmas/the holidays with their lover? What do they do with the reader?

Imagine spending Christmas with the Harbingers, set in a modern world. [I also listened to Last Christmas while writing this. Maybe that will enhance your reading.]

Pierro never had time for Christmas before. The holidays always flew by for him, since he was always so busy working. Or more like, he continued to work as there was no reason for him not to. He had no one to spend time with, so why should he take a break? That was until you slid into his life and forcibly stopped him from doing that ever again, literally scolding him for even thinking about not being home for the holidays. Though, he doesn’t really know what to do. I mean, he’s aware of what people do during these times, but do you want to do all of that? How do you celebrate? What you came to realize was that he doesn’t like to do much during the holidays. All he really wants to do is spend time with you. And so, he is content with pretty much anything you choose to do.

Really, Pierro has come to enjoy and appreciate even the very simple things that occur between the two of you, that may seem boring to others. Reading out the complicated instructions on a package or recipe, even stealing his coat in public (which he always tries to hide from the eyes of others due to embarrassment, and also not wanting others to see you.) Reading Christmas novels with you comes to be one of his favorite traditions. It may not be a typical Christmas, but it’s one with you, and that’s all that matters to Pierro.

Capitano is really amazing during the holidays. Why? Because it’s always cold and wintery and he gives the best cuddles during these times. I don’t know why but I can see him unironically liking ugly Christmas sweaters. You originally brought him one as a joke but he actually started to wear it around the house. Most of the time you don’t mind because laying on his chest with it on is very soft and nice. Capitano is also the type to just go along with whatever you say because he rarely ever argues with you, plus he has no idea how to be festive so he just follows your lead. You find this adorable since he’s usually regarded as the captain who everyone follows, but when he’s with you, he’s hovering over your shoulder trying to mimic your movements.

You handle all of the cooking and stuff along those lines. It’s not like Capitano can’t cook, but rather, every time he tries to handle the ingredients, they always get up wrangled or mashed up due to his extreme strength (he apologizes so seriously every time and you have to hold yourself back from dying of laughter.) He feels bad for not helping with anything, so you let him do the mixing and beating parts. (Do not let him crack an egg.) Though, Capitano handles all of the heavy lifting. You two always get a lot of stares in the supermarket, because there’s this tall, hulking man, trailing behind you carrying dozens of items easily, while you’re leading him around. He doesn’t even let you hold a purse or bag. Singlehandedly carries the tree up the stairs as well. Capitano comes to enjoy the holiday more than he thought. He has some stories to tell his troops now.

Dottore on Christmas is… honestly, I don’t know what to write. He is not a festive man at all, does not care about it whatsoever. He will stand there and watch you if you try to put up lights or a tree and laugh when you fail. You will not be able to convert him so I don’t suggest trying. At the very least, you can try to put on a Christmas movie. He will critique it, point out the awful cliches, the overused plot points, the corny romance, and much more. You hear more of him talking than the actual movie, but it’s the time together that matters, right?

Though, if there’s one thing he appreciates, it’s the delicious food. Zandik did not care much for the taste of food before, only viewing it as a form of sustenance, but he can’t deny that your cooking is exquisite. However, he likes to experiment a lot of course, so there have been times he added random ingredients behind your back. You don’t find out until you tasted the final product - it either tastes God-awful or surprisingly good! In general, a frequent pastime for the two of you is making a small batch of a new recipe, and Zandik throwing in whatever he thinks will somehow enhance the flavor. Either way, he is smiling maliciously and eating it since the taste does not matter much to him. Curse that maniac genius meanie. >:(

Columbina enjoys the holidays a normal amount. She really likes shopping for cute clothes for the two of you, getting Christmas drinks, eating sugar cookies and hot chocolate, and all of the other sweet things couples do around this time. Around the holidays she gets especially clingy and cuddly - it’s her way of showing how grateful she is for you. Columbina also loves to steal your sweaters too. She likes to take photos with Christmas filters with you and post them to the group chat - the ones that add Santa hats and beards, or reindeer antlers, or falling snowflakes - you name it. She likes to take photos in general - she is really photogenic, in your opinion. Even when she’s not posing, she manages to look so beautiful especially when it’s snowing.

On Christmas day it is a challenge to get yourself and her out of bed. Columbina literally holds you hostage in her arms, refusing to let your warmth leave her. She would honestly spend the day in bed with you and some snacks while watching movies if you didn’t force her to get out of bed with the promise of gifts and more cuddles later. Overall, Christmas with her is sweet and endearing. She’s always near you, likes to drape yourself over you when you’re opening your gift, and giggles in your ear. Smothers you with kisses by the time the day is up.

Arlecchino on Christmas is surprisingly sweet. You would think that she spends it alone, but in recent years, she had begun to spend the holiday in the orphanage she had opened up not long ago. Arlecchino and you always make sure that kids have delectable dinner on Christmas day. There’s always a really long table with chairs and plates for all of the dozens of kids. (They tend to fight over who gets to sit around Auntie Arlecchino and you, which secretly embarrasses her.) She is also very good at wrapping gifts. Arlecchino became a master of the skill after helping to wrap dozens of gifts for the children at her orphanage. In the days coming to the holidays, you two wrap gifts for the kids after she teaches you how to do it efficiently.

After all the kids are put to bed after an eventful day, she likes to spend some time with you on her lap near the fireplace, maybe some wine too to wind down. Arlecchino has never been a very wordy or gushy person, so it greatly surprises you when she confesses how thankful she is for you, and how she loves you very much for staying with her. (The children will never stop bringing up how they found the two of you asleep together the next day.)

Pulcinella (platonic!) has seen and experienced a variety of Christmases. He knows the dos and don’ts of how to celebrate. He knows which decorations go with each other, what theme to do this year, the kinds of food people would like the most, and more. He shows you every step of his planning, wanting you to carry on the traditions. However, the one thing he won’t teach you is his secret stash of scrumptious recipes that he refuses to give to you until he’s in his grave. You can whine all you want but he is not giving you that mac and cheese recipe.

He does not have any family left besides you so he encourages you to invite your friends over for Christmas. You invite your friend group (the Harbingers) and even though he’s seen them a few times before, he always scrutinizes them carefully to analyze who you’re hanging out with (especially Dottore - heavily on Dottore…) You all have a good time - he usually leaves you alone with your friends as he doesn’t want to intrude on your youth. But after everyone leaves, he likes to watch these old black-and-white Christmas films with you and tell you about how back in his day… *insert lots of stories and his grandpa rambling.*

Scaramouche has never cared for the holidays. He had long been estranged from his mother, having cut contact with her, therefore having no one to be with during the festive times. But Kunikuzushi declared to himself and everyone that he did not care. It didn’t bother him as he saw families shopping for the holidays, or couples getting Christmas-themed drinks together. Hmph, he couldn’t care less. Well, that was until you came into his life, and brought the holiday spirit with you. When you wake up one day, all excited and way too early for his liking, taking a bunch of utensils and cooking stuff out, retrieving oval lights he didn’t even know you had, Kuni questions you in a sleepy stupor - what the hell are you doing? After you recovered from that jaw-dropping statement, you immediately exclaim about the holidays and how you must prepare! There was no time to waste! 

But Scara just rolls his eyes and slumps back into bed, confusing you. And that’s when it clicks - your lover has probably never understood the point of holidays like these, which stemmed from his lack of love and familial bonds during his upbringing. He most likely thought this was stupid and a waste of time. So you gently introduce the idea to him. You ask him to help you bake cookies (to which you have to add less sugar since he doesn’t like sweets.) He begrudgingly helps you make a small Christmas dinner, and when you teasingly throw some flour at him, he returns it ten times more. You teach him how to wrap gifts, too. 

He ends up admitting that all of the activities were oddly comforting. Scaramouche opts for the more homely and loving aspect of Christmas, not caring much for the gaudy extra decorations or tree or whatever. It takes him a couple of Christmases to truly warm up, but deep down he can’t deny that spending time with you on the holidays is something he secretly looks forward to every year. Perhaps one day his mother could join the two of you. One day, maybe.

Sandrone was not very interested in the holidays either, more because she had better things to do rather than to partake in some silly little celebration. Why would she care about such things when she could be researching? Even as a child she saw it as useless, preferring to lock herself in her room doing far more productive tasks. Well, that changed when you came along, begging her to at least semi-join you in your favorite traditions. For the first time in her life, she finds herself helping you haul a small tree into your shared place and making ornaments out of her spare parts from engineering. Also, Sandrone likes to observe people on Christmas with you. Seeing people flood the stores searching for a last-minute gift, or even slip on snow, she finds it amusing and interesting.

If you’d like she would make her robots hang up the decorations instead so that you could just relax with her (she was getting a bit annoyed at how your presence was always so far away.) After spending the days with you, Sandrone finds the idea of the holidays a bit more appealing now. (She began to dress up her robots in small Christmas outfits that the two of you sewed together, like elves and reindeer. She would die of embarrassment if anyone else saw.)

La Signora gets invited to a lot of Christmas parties and always wears a new dress to each of them. Can’t be seen wearing the same outfit to an event. Though after she met you, she decided to spend less time going to these parties and spend more time with you. How, you ask? She’ll host her own party of course, with her darling lover. Signora dolls you up real good and makes sure you look absolutely stunning. She wants everyone to know that you two belong to each other, to not come near her territory. (The message comes through loud and clear.) Signora is an excellent host, but she never leaves your side for too long. Takes over uncomfortable conversations for you and watches out for any possible weirdos who try to talk to you. She makes a toast to you and praises you which everyone claps to. Even if you don’t like large gatherings, she still manages to make it feel good.

After everything is finished, she likes to spend some alone time with you. It is late in the night, but Christmas is not over yet, she reminds you. Rosalyne seems to be the type to enjoy slow dancing with you, chuckling as you step on her feet sometimes. Watching her sway her hips and twirl you around is simply enchanting. I can see her ending the night by drinking some wine and little snacks, talking until you both fall asleep.

Pantalone loves Christmas because he now had a reasonable excuse to spoil you with gifts without getting reprimanded by you. No, really, he does not hold back. The gifts are piled so high that you can barely see the Christmas tree anymore, the only thing peeking out was the star at the top. Pantalone has a list that he makes in the months coming to December. Every time you show even the slightest bit of interest in something, whether you stare at it for a second or offhandedly mention that it looks cool, it’s getting added to the list. You get items you barely remember seeing yet Pantalone’s laser memory reminds you of the exact moment of when you commented on it while he smiles proudly. You honestly probably have a whole room dedicated to the miscellaneous gifts you get from him.

Also the kind of guy who will always deeply cherish whatever you get him. He especially likes homemade gifts - he finds that idea of you going out of your way to handcraft him something so incredibly sweet. Puts it in his office so he can look at it while he’s working. Of course, Pantalone also likes to take you out to scenic spots for dinner. Shamelessly books the whole restaurant and makes sure you two get the best view, with lots of glazed snow and five-star courses.

Childe adores the holidays, mostly because he genuinely loves spending time with his family. They bring him so much joy, and when the first Christmas with you as his lover rolls around? He’s so eager and excited for you to join the tradition. Yes, he had invited to you spend Christmas with him and his family before, but that was when you two were just friends. Now it’s completely different, Childe insists. And no, there is no possibility of getting out of this. Do you have to work? Too bad, he’s personally going to your boss and politely forcing them to give you your rightfully deserved days off. 

Expect to spend a lot of time with his siblings - Tonia, Anthon, and Teucer. Decorating the tree? Check. Putting up Christmas lights? Check. Ugly Christmas sweaters? Check. No matter how corny or embarrassing it is, Childe is convincing the whole family to join him. (Though it’s not very hard considering how much his siblings look up to him. They tend to comply easily.) His new, favorite tradition though? Kissing you under the mistletoe. Literally recruits his siblings to randomly place them all over the house, and even in the middle of his conversations with you. Ajax is quite devious and greedy when it comes to you.

Bonus - Poly!Harbingers: Friendsgiving with poly! Harbingers except it's for Christmas (and you all live in the same mansion.) Dottore is banned from bringing anything for obvious reasons and Columbina is too because her cooking is inedible most of the time. Childe is the best cook and makes most of the feast. I think Signora is also a good cook so she helps him too. Pantalone buys everything and Sandrone’s robots makes sure the place is decked out in the prettiest decorations. Arlecchino and Columbina cuddle you with the static of some movie in the background - Columbina is trying to feed you sweets before the feast while Arlecchino is trying to stop her. Dottore tells you about all the miserable people he’s seen so far while he laughs (typical of him.) Scaramouche disses the food despite enjoying it, nearly causing a fight. Pierro is making sure things like that don’t happen and oversees everything. Capitano struggles to do any of these delicate tasks so he kind of just stands there with you and makes sure you aren’t doing anything. Though, he puts you on his shoulders so you can place the star on top of the Christmas tree!

Even if your cooking is the most mediocre thing there, all of them will be eating it up like their last meal. The house gets very loud especially when they start passive-aggressively fighting over whose food you liked the best. They take pictures of you doing everything - by the tree, in the snow, opening gifts, catching you off guard while eating, while you’re drunk - they have a shared album of over a thousand pictures by the end of the night. (They also make sure they all receive kisses from the dozens of hidden mistletoes around the house.) It is a very good and chaotic Christmas indeed.