#fucking love endeavor in the shadow
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Ep 124 promo sketch by Akiyama Yoco
#bnha ep 124#akiyama yoco#bnha promo sketches#art by manga team#dabi#todoroki touya#this is stunning#fucking love endeavor in the shadow#omg#she went really hard this time#endeavor#dabi dance
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after putting it off for two months, i finally watched the defunctland disney channel theme documentary and i get it now. i really get why this was so hyped up. absolutely blown away, bawled my eyes out about it, it hits you so much harder than expected... aughhhhhhhh
#losing my mind about it!!!!#THERES JUST. SO MUCH LOVE WHEN IT ALL CULMINATES. SO MUCH UNDERSTANDING.#ABOUT THE LEGACIES OF ARTISTS OF ALL WALKS OF LIFE. AND IT BREAKS ME.#THE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT THAT NO MATTER WHAT YIU MAKE OR HOW YOU MAKE IT EVERY PERSON WHO INTERACTS WITH IT CAN FIND MEANING IN#DIFFERENT PARTS OF IT. DIFFERENT WORKS OF YOURS. WHAT IS YOUR ULTIMATE LEGACY TO SOME IS MERELY A SHADOW IN COMPARISON TO ANOTHER TO OTHERS#and that to be defined by that most recognizable work is really a wonderful thing#that if you've made those waves of influence you have accomplished something so special#even if it's simply a commercial jingle... it can be meaningful.#it's fucking wild man idk it makes me really rethink and reframe a lot of what i think about my own creative endeavors#in a good way
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sinful Sunday: Douma with a breeding Kink. He is in heat and it last for 4 weeks but he see's reader, who has marriage problem. He secretly eat Reader husband and convince reader to sleep with him for 4 weeks. After the 4 weeks he keeps reader alive snd makes reader his wife and might even turn her into a demon after birth...
SINFUL SUNDAY
Douma's keen eyes locked onto you the moment you strolled into Paradise Faith. Sure, there were plenty of girls wrapped up in his cult's allure, but you managed to snag his attention in the blink of an eye.
Douma couldn't ignore the profound sadness radiating from you, and in that very instant, he made up his mind to do whatever it took to "fix you up."
Douma orchestrated a meeting with you. The mere thought that Douma-sama desired a face-to-face meeting left you feeling honored, and you found yourself in his private chambers.
As you spilled the beans about your marital woes, Douma lounged, chin rested on his palm, savoring the drama as you animatedly gestured. As you spilled the beans about your marriage troubles and an unfaithful husband, Douma leaned back, resting his chin on his palm, thoroughly entertained by your animated gestures as you waved your hands while speaking. Little did you know, you were unwittingly serving him the information he craved.
Douma graciously allowed you to stay in his temple, instructing maids to prepare a cozy chamber for your rest.
As the night unfolded, he disappeared into the shadows, fully aware of the task at hand.
Dealing with your husband turned into a delightful game for Douma. He relished every moment as he devoured the scoundrel alive. Despite the guy being less nutritious than you could ever be, Douma savored his macabre midnight snack.
Upon his return to his chamber that night, a tingling sensation ignited within his groin. The heat, as predictable as every quarter, began to surge. Douma already knew precisely how to indulge and alleviate himself.
The next day, he enveloped you in his presence, engaging in endless conversations, assisting you in selecting materials for a new dress he generously offered to procure. Douma threw himself into mundane human activities with an intensity he wasn't aware he had. But there was a good reason for him to act that way.
Your response was impeccable; you couldn't get enough of being close to him.
It only took him a few days to convince you to share your bed with him, though for him, each moment felt like an eternity. The relentless heat was becoming unbearable, and time seemed to crawl at an agonizing pace.
Douma strolled into your chamber, a sly amusement dancing in his rainbow eyes as he found you eagerly waiting, sprawled naked on your futon. Complaints were the last thing on his mind.
Going down on you sent a thrilling shudder through him. Your intoxicating juices proved irresistible, and he couldn't resist lapping on your folds, making the most obscene noises.
Douma quickly discerned that you were incredibly tight, almost pushing the limits of accommodating his impressive girth. However, a prolonged session of eating your tiny, delicious pussy out for nearly half an hour worked its magic, allowing his lengthy cock to snugly nestle within you, embraced by the welcoming grip of your spongy, slick walls.
Douma fell in love with a classic missionary and doggy style — he relished grabbing hold of the meat of your ass to pull you back onto his cock, playfully spanking your cheeks whenever you attempted to crawl away.
"I'll breed you thoroughly, my little lotus. By the end of the night, you'll be filled with my seed," he confidently assured you, intensifying his pace as he fervently took you from behind as you laid on your side, his cock spreading your entrance painfully.
He fucked you in a myriad of positions throughout the night, leaving you not only adorned with a tapestry of bruises but also drained to the extent that moving your limbs became an impossible endeavor.
For nearly four weeks straight, Douma fucked you every night, making no exceptions. He particularly reveled in the sessions during your period — your blood tasted heavenly, and he found himself intoxicated by your flavor even more.
After pumping you full of his semen one night, he revealed the truth — you were in the arms of a demon, one of the Twelve Kizuki, following the orders of Muzan-sama, the demon king.
Initially, fear gripped you, and you hesitated to accept his words. Yet, deep down, something convinced you he wasn't spinning a tale — his avoidance of daylight, heightened activity during the night, and abstention from human food spoke volumes.
"Douma-dono," you whispered, fingers delicately tracing the lines of his jaw. "I'm not afraid. I've fallen in love. You've given me the warmth and acceptance I've craved. If you wish to feed on me, consider it my repayment for all you've offered me these past weeks, my love."
He chuckled, his long index finger gently caressing your still-slick mound from your combined releases, his cum still slowly oozing from your abused entrance. "My little, silly lotus. I won't feed on you, you're too precious to me. You're going to stay by my side forever. I want you to become a demon, just like me. And if he agrees, you will. Perhaps one day, you'll grant me an heir. That's what I desire most."
#doumadonos sinful sunday 🔥#sinful sunday#douma#douma smut#douma x reader#douma x y/n#kimetsu no yaiba douma#kny smut#demon slayer smut#kny douma#demon slayer douma#douma kny#kny x reader#kny x female reader
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Insidious Inside Job: Halloween pt. 2
Note: Inspired by skoshibuns fanart on instagram + I have songs linked with each segment for the specific portion that goes with the monster, the plot, or both + reminder, I may be an english major but this thing is barely proofread
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI, AFAB + GN PRONOUNS, RAW SEX (wrap that rascal), monster-fucking, tentacle fucking, inhuman creatures, furry fucking? One brief scene of alluded almost sexual assault/assault (that gets stopped and interrupted) incredibly vague nothing actually happens, drug use/roofied/narcotics, I guess, werewolf (slight A/B/O dynamics), breeding kink, talks of missing body parts and death, cockwarming, somnophilia the undead, zombies, doctor play, doctor kink, doctor/fake patient, living dead, experimentation with cadavers and dead bodies, mention of illness/cancer, various Halloween-y phenomena + probably more
Content: smut, spooky scary spectral holiday smuttening, monster and inhuman creature fucking, usual debauchery you can expect from me, dicks and pussy, inhuman and monster genitalia, reader has AFAB nethers/genitalia and a cunt but I don’t describe about tits so folks are safe, I used gender neutral pronouns all throughout as well. Mentions of underwear and generalized clothing but no bras or gendered articles of clothing. Southernification of Robotus (you’ll see) + probably more
! ! ! This is part two, with Reagan + Brett + Andre + Robotus + Myc. Part one, located here, includes Gigi + JR + Glenn + a bonus character ! ! !
Reagan Ridley: MAD SCIENTIST
• songs: Evil Eye - Franz Ferdinand
- You were used to the chaotic cadence that came with knowing and loving the reclusive Dr. Ridley, enjoying the maniacal dynamic and aiding her in her experiments, helping her tidy up should a test go awry. You aided her in all her endeavors, even the unsightly ones, and that dedication and mutual trust blossomed into friendship and then eventually love and list. Simple creatures, you two were, and instincts were a gravitational pull as equally potent to magnets as to mankind.
- The latter half of the year, when the weather turns and the leaves change and shed their green covers to don the classic golden hues, is when she came alive even more. She found energy in the fall and winter weather, more likely to be within the confines of her laboratory and adding scrawled, scratch-like lines into her notebooks and texts, running about with her coat billowing behind her like a shadow tethered to her, fluttering beside her with the grace of a conspirator.
- There were times when she would not need your assistance and you would be free and left to your own devices, wandering about the extravagant library and traipsing through the halls, snooping where you shouldn't, and happily receiving your punishments. Life was good and continued to be so, almost mundane in an unnatural, phenomenal way. There was no dark side of the moon to you, only the light because the shadows were your home, and the person you called lover languished alongside you in Moonglow-shaded craters.
- But your favorite moments had to be when it was you she was examining, you who she was teasing and playing with, black patent leather gloves that were entirely unsafe and unethical in a lab environment used on your form, drawing out pinpricks of chills. Especially now as Reagan hums at the sight of your disheveled state, silent beside her idle noises and internalized dialogue as if she is annotating already-written notes within the confines of her brain of you as her hands draw out more data to analyze, almost pulling all your secrets pool forth from moaning lips via her ministrations.
- Reagan is seldom tender or ginger in her touch, not in a harshness but more in a neutral, guiding, directing manner. Like moving you about with the same grace as working with her equipment and tools, movements memorized and muscles well-accustomed to all that you are. She can be softer, in aftermath moments where your body and senses can not make heads or tails of where the two of you ended or began, fully enwrapped and enveloped in one another like coiled vines of ivy, cascading upwards and intertwining in great efforts. But now, her touch is not soft, but steady and purposeful.
- Cold gloves remove clothing and secure straps onto your body, across your limbs, and holding you tight against a weathered and soft wooden table, built with the intention to be used for medical seminars and demonstrations. You lay, naked and taut upon a staged table in the center of an empty auditorium for the use of educational experimentation presentations and viewing seminars for research and study. The arena on her property is empty, no event planned for today, just the two of you in the grand room and feeling infinitesimally small, yet powerful simultaneously.
- "Not too tight?" Dr. Reagan Ridley asks softly as she busies herself with hovering over the straps that secure your wrists and ankles to the examination table, gloved hands running along oiled leather seams. "Perfect." is your answer and her smile matches the word, pride in her eyes at her wonderful assistant, her previous lover. "There's my darling, now what are te rules?" she asks, unbuttoning her labcoat to expose her blouse and slacks beneath, slinky and clinging to her body in a way that makes your firsts clench just so, palms opening and closing with the yearning need to touch.
- "Nuclear is stop, gradient is slow down, and prism is keep going, or good." you answer, squirming a bit against the restrains for show and shuffling your ass against the soft wood, feeling the cool air caress your exposed, already leaking pussy. "Wonderful," the Doctor trails off, wandering away from the table and leaving you to lay spread and scan your eyes across the planetarium-painted ceiling above and marvel at the gold leaf details in the stars and constellations, drawing you back in when she returns and adjusts her gloves with a small thwack, "now, where should we begin?"
- You don't respond immediately, not knowing how or where to answer, unable to distinguish a clear mood in her dark eyes for what she wants and what she is planning to take from you. The hesitation makes Reagan decide on her own, a dark chuckle emerging from her lips and settling in the base of your spine, curling like a funnel stormcloud. "Alright then, guess it's up to Doctor's orders." She smooths softened leather against your inner thighs and parts your lips, blowing cool air in puffs against your exposed cunt and clicking her tongue in notes as her mind wanders in fascination.
- "I think I'll start here, test your sensitivity first hmm?" she asks aloud, mainly to herself, the table raised to her waist so she can easily maneuver around you and toy with you, like a doll. It feels all like a pleasurable version of The Princess Bride's pit of despair but mixed with a sex dungeon and none of the latex. "There, how does that feel?" it feels good, decent, not enough as the first portion of her pointer finger breaches your walls, the texture not adding much besides a cooler sensation. You answer the same, and she hums before moving on, shifting in a manner reminiscent of a cat's sly sway.
- "Space for improvement, good." she comments, a stray hair falling into her forehead from her tight ponytail, dark hair pulled back and away from her face and allowing you to fully watch her move and her shifting expressions. She thrusts the finger into you, slowly and watching as you clench around her, gaping and closing in a rhythmic pattern. "And this?"
- "its g-good too," you choke out, shifting your head from looking at her to nothing, eyes shut and you try not to squirm, letting her venture as she pleased, "but not good enough?" Reagan asks, and you nod in agreement, prompting her to curl her finger upwards, matching with her second finger, and smirking, brows arching as she watches you grow more and more disheveled.
- "ah," you moan out, lip tugged between your teeth as you bite down, fists clenching and unclenching once the pleasure begins to initially build, feeling it bubble forth in your belly like a tide pool on the beach, collecting and growing as more gets put into it. "Now that's a reaction, keep speaking beautiful." she directs, curling in upward strokes from within your walls
- You nod, mewling a bit as your voice breaks and pitches, feeling her slide in another digit, pointer finger to ring finger all slotted. Her gloves are thicker, making the stretch a bit wider than what you're accustomed to, and you break a tad, grinding your hips down and wriggling, aching to get something more, and that something ends up being Reagan's attention.
- "Oh this won't do, I think you need some more advanced methods." Reagan murmurs, enjoying the look on your face as she steps back and out of your line of vision, holding back laughter as you whine and make confused tones, wondering why she stopped when she had finally gotten to the good part. "Easy now, just a moment, you can be patient for me, can't you?"
- "Yes, Doctor." She whips her head around and drops the tool in her hand, and you're worried for a second she didn't like you saying that but she arrives moments later with a silicone dick and a small vibrator in hand, accompanied by a sly grin. "Doctor, hm? We're keeping that." she states as she sets the items in her hands down beside you on the flat table, now away from your sight before you could see any of the specific characteristics or facets.
- You squirm again, chills from the exposed air finally overriding the pleasure in your veins and cooling your body. Reagan tuts at that, smoothing her dry glove up your thigh in an attempt to warm you up, "phrase?" she asks, gentle and present as she looks at you. "Prism." she smiles and nods before her expression shifts, popping the cap off a bottle of lube and warming it between her hands as she looks you over, a small smile emerging once she spots your cunt, clenching around nothing from the show she put on of her rubbing her palms together with her exposed forearms rippling.
- "Ready for me?" she asks, adjusting her gloves and then sucking off the slick residue from her one hand, purposely staring you down as she does it with intent. "Always, Doctor." a shudder that she fails to try and hide rolls through her spine at that, not fully used to you ever calling her that, especially when you're bare and at her mercy.
- "good answer." Reagan responds, lubing up the silicone and sliding it through your folds slowly, watching as you tense and begin to grind. Her hand plants your hip down still, forcing it to stop as she fixes you a warning look while she props the dick near your cunt.
- Sliding it in, she sinks the silicone dick deep into you and watches as your cunt takes it in, noting aloud how the gloves prepped you better than what she does manually glove-free. Keening out, you force yourself still and feel her hand move to instead grip your hip instead of planting it still, guiding you along in a tempo that matches the ministrations of her other hand, fucking the fake dick into you over and over slowly, picking up the pace gradually.
- "That seems to be treating you better. You agree?" barely managing a nod, you respond with a grunting moan as she angles the silicone against a spot of nerves, making you jolt and gasp. "I'll take that as a yes." Reagan jokingly responds to herself, reaching the hand once on your hip to reach away and grab the vibrator, eager to get your pent-up self breaking and shattering like glass.
- You don't realize what's happening, too blissfully unaware due to how she continues flicking her wrist, rocking the dick into you at a pace that builds tension but doesn't get that knot of pleasure unraveling at all. When the vibrator comes to life and thrums in her hand, your head whips up in that instant Pavlovian response, knowing she's about to make you see God.
- "Holy fuck please use that thing on me." you blurt out immediately, drawing a laugh from her that's dark while she fixes you a warning look, a brow raised and you rush to find your words. "Please, Doctor." Reagan hums, pleased, and then reaches down to plant the vibrator on your clit, rolling it in circles and shapes that make your legs struggle against the stirrup-like straps, body wriggling and squirming as it tries to get comfortable to handle getting fucked this way.
- "Well would you look at that, pretty damn effective." She muses, upping the vibrator speed casually with one hand as the other splits you open on the silicone cock with ease. "Next time we're going to have to test this with having both of your holes filled, probably get you squirting in minutes."
- The idea alone that she planted like a seedling in your head blooms, making you even more turned on if possible. The way the dick nestled the spots inside that already got you seeing stars? Multiplying the effect. And now the vibrator rolling over your clit and thrumming incredibly sends you over the edge, barely able to warn her coherently before you cum with a squealing moan.
- "Fucking gorgeous," Reagan marvels, fucking you through it and lowering the setting on the vibrator, still keeping it there but rolling it in softer, smoother motions while she gently fucks the dick into you, working through an orgasm that she manages to draw out for roughly a minute or so. "So goddamn pretty like this."
- She keeps going for a while until your legs stop shaking, then she removes the toys from you and moves about, undoing the straps and stirrups holding you then grabbing a nearby blanket and wrapping you up in it. You sit up and scoot over to the side of the table, legs hanging off as Reagan stands before you, smoothing your hair back and checking you over.
- She busies herself with rolling her fingers over the slightly indented marks where the straps were, double checking to make sure you were okay but she doesn't catch your adoring, sleepy look until you tap at her arm and then raise your hand to lift her chin, beaming dazedly at her. "Hi Reagan." you murmur, pressing kisses to her cheek and jaw lazily.
- "Hello yourself, feeling okay?" she asks, amusement in her tone as she looks you over, making sure you're fully covered in the blanket and warm, trying to prevent you from getting overly cold.
- You giggle and look up at her, grinning wide and honest, "I could not be any fucking better than I am right now, now gimme' a kiss." Reagan obliges, and everything fades as it always does around her, in the best and most comforting blur.
Brett Hand: FRANKENSTEIN’S MONSTER
• song: Body - Mother Mother or My Boy Builds Coffins - Florence + The Machine
- Brett wishes he could manage to carve a place for himself in your life and at your side with as much ease as he has with loving you, completely enthralled and enamored with everything you are, all that you’ve been, and all that you’ll be. He’s fascinated by you and the intricacies in your movements and routines, the way your brows furrow when confused or frustrated, the smile you don’t show unless you’re caught by surprise and unable to remember hiding it.
- He gathers these little facets of yourself like river rocks and stones, wearing them down in the revisits of his memory, rolling them flat and small but soft in the way he reveres them. If only you loved him like he loved you. If only you actually knew him, not just of him. You’ve met before, known of each other practically since his initial creation. Yet he’s not satisfied because he doesn’t know what it’s like to be with you, only knowing you at the arms reach that he has from you helping him and fixing him up.
- You’re an assistant to his father, his creator, an up-and-coming scientist fascinated with his methods in Reanimation and modern-age necromancy, hoping to study his techniques and model some of his talents with your own. His father, Dr. Quentin Hand, made all of his siblings as initial creations and had Brett last, the youngest and most rushed one of the collection. He was an accumulation of spare parts, the battered bits left in the barrel, a literal representation of what comes from patchwork scientific craft and lacking interest. That’s not to say you didn’t treat him kindly or matched his father's lack of enthusiasm.
- No, you treated him carefully, just like the rest of his siblings. You gave him extra attention and care, sewing back on fingers should they get snagged and fall off his hand, making a few jokes all the while you thread the needle and fish it in and out of his flesh about how his hand’s should be better taken care of, especially since it’s his last name.
- his heart was monitored and he prayed you hadn’t caught the speeding up of the pace, the rapid ba-bum ba-bum ba-bum of his pre-owned heart firing off in awe of you and your presence. If you did, you don’t mention it and you just continue hemming and stitching him back together, returning his ring finger back onto his left hand with care, humming all the while some song stuck in the back of your head.
- “there,” you nearly startle him, pulling him from his reverie with a pat to his knee as you sit up from your chair and clean up, putting your supplies away and disinfecting, “all fixed. Let me know if there’s any trouble with your seams again and I’ll patch you up — no sweat.” His eyes, one hazel and the other bright blue, peer up at you with nothing short of pure adoration. It’s always there, poor boy can’t do anything to hide it. He just loves you is all.
- "Thank you, I'm sorry you have to always fix me up all the time." Brett states, rubbing his arm subconsciously, truly meaning it and knowing it had to be at least a little redundant to mend him after every trip and fall or tumble down the steps. Poor thing had no balance, something you try to work on in your spare time between projects and lessons with Brett's father. You turn, taking your gloves off and disposing of them while looking his way, a sad frown on your face making his dissipate like smoke. "Why are you sorry for that? It's not something you can help, sweet boy, and besides --" you trail off while stepping near him and fixing his hair and looking down at his still-sitting form, "I'm happy to help you, its what I'm here for!"
- and with that, you depart, heading to another appointment to experiment under supervision, He dreads the days that come forward now, nearing when you would be leaving since your education under the apprenticeship of his father ends to a close. You'd be gone, with your own experiments and helpers, a life completely devoid of him. he likes to think you'd write him or call, maybe see his name scrawled in your looping cursive handwriting and hear your words drawn across a page and yearn to find your love within them.
- but even he, Brett, a lovesick optimist knows that would be too good to be true. Within the month, you'd pack and leave and the spanning acres of his family's estate would be empty of your presence. Your quarters would miss your belongings, the posters, and art on the walls, the little personal items and books littered about. It would be as if you were never there, but to Brett, he would always remember you being there. He may have been reanimated, but the days where you roamed the halls and came across his sight were the only days he felt truly alive.
- Little did he know that you had been planning your departure for years and hoped you would go about it, what exactly you would leave or sell, what you would pack, how you would pack, and who you would take with you. "Dr. Hand, I have a request," you start, making casual conversation while you've currently got your forearms embedded in a cadaver's inner organs, organizing things, "I was wondering if I could take one of the experiments with me when I leave early this week?"
- Doctor Quentin Hand is no meek creature, nor does his stature indicate such. he was almost frighteningly tall, but with age has developed a slight hunching slouch making him roughly 6'5 with the rugby player's stature. The man is thick and bulky, with a head full of auburn hair turning grey and the shade of sunned strands with his age. "Depends on which of the creations you'd call to you, and if they'd like to go. The eldest are off limits, but should one of the children agree, you are free to take them. But only one."
- he is currently invested in combining chemicals to inject within the bloodstream when reanimation is to take place later, and luckily so. He misses your entire face light up, beaming from ear to ear behind your surgical mask and eyes glowing with excitement. "I've already decided who I'd like to bring with me."
-"Oh?" he doesn't even turn, swirling an open beaker that smells of disinfectant and acid, "who?". Dr. Hand shows no concern and even that worries you, knowing there was little love shown to the creations, and none whatsoever to your favorite. "I was planning to take Brett, the youngest of them."
-He waves a gloved hand and nods, "Of course, pack his things if he hasn't already. Be sure to invest in a lot of sutures and sewing materials as well, you will definitely need it." if you didn't need this formal apprenticeship, you would've killed him with his own reanimating equipment. "Yes sir."
- later, when you have cleaned up, changed, and wrapped up the experiment which once again went as a success, you settle down in your room and continue backing up your personal belongings into extra bags and suitcases for the items you gathered in your time here. A record plays, crackling initially but still pouring out the cadence of the Lungs album from Florence + The Machine as you wander about, clearing your shelves and delicately folding posters and emptying the walls.
- just as you flip over the vinyl to the b side, a knock rattles against your door. When you open it, you didn't expect Brett's tear-stained face to be the first thing you see. Nor did you expect him to rush and hug you, drawing you into his form and holding you close while he buries his head in your shoulder. "Why do you have to leave?"
- You think it's cruel, but it was always going to be a surprise for you to take him with you. The feelings were obvious and only reciprocated a few months ago. Sadly, you couldn't act on them until you got out from under the eyes of Doctor Quentin for Brett's sake and safety. But now that's not a worry, and you leave after breakfast tomorrow morning with the patchwork babydoll of a man before you.
- The sight enough is heartbreaking, especially with the direct feel of his tremors shaking through him, and then through you with the closeness. It takes several attempts to ease his cries and pry him up from your shoulder, stepping back to close the door behind him then flicking the lock shut before you cup his cheek and lift his head upwards. "Brett, sweetheart, how could you think I'd leave without you?" you soothe, thumbs rolling over his cheek and swiping tears away. "I wanted to surprise you but I think you need to hear it now, I'm taking you with me. I was never going to leave without you in the first place."
- Brett blinks blearily, wiping the tears from his multicolored eyes to stare at you openly and dart his gaze between your own eyes. "You're serious?" he asks, still buried in disbelief, "why would you want to take me, you barely even like me." Brett's met with laughter, not caustic or harsh and at his expense like what he's used to, yours is lighthearted and kind, just like your eyes. "Sweetheart, I care for you a great deal beyond just liking you." you say, taking his hands in yours, the ones you've constantly tended to like the rest of him.
- "What does that mean?" Brett asks, squeezing your hands tight and finding it impossible to look anywhere in the room besides your face. "It means I love you, silly thing, and I refuse to let you stay here any longer when you deserve the world. Let me show it to you." His tears reappear again but its relief, the feeling that swarms his body and makes him feel shrouded in Moonglow. You care for him, you love him, that his years of pining after you and hoping, praying for a miracle were worth it. You loved him, your silly ragdoll.
- "Say it again." he says, his hands moving from yours to your waist, brushing the bare skin where your shirt has ridden up with ease, aching to feel more of your warm skin in his palms. "I love you Brett." you murmur, forehead pressed to his as you press your palms to his chest, fingertips tracing the material of his henley while humming in a pleased tone once his hands begin to wander.
- "One more time." he whispers as he leans forward to catch your lips with his, admiring how your eyes flutter shut when he does. You kiss, lips shifting back and forth as you murmur how you loved him into his open mouth like a secret, and he'd cherish and protect it as such. Brett pulls back, palms cupping your warm cheeks just as you had previously with tender grace and you spot his tears have ended.
- "I will never let you down," he promises, smile bright and crooked, perfectly him and equally as charming, "I swear, you'll never regret this, never." and you know its the truth, not because he says it but because you've known for ages that there was no one else you'd care for this much. As if he was made solely for you, perfectly patchworked together.
- In an act of bravery or stupidity, you grab his hand and step backward towards your still-made bed, peering up at him from lidded eyes. "I know that, but how about you show me just how much you love me right here, hm?" you tease, loving how his mouth fell agape and his arms fled to your waist again, eagerness steeped into his actions like tea. "Can I?" brett asks, always the soft, chivalrous, perfect man. "Absolutely." you respond, already ushering out of the shirt and baring your chest to his hungry, heterochromial eyes.
- he spares no time in crowding you against the bed, climbing atop your languid form and pressing doting kisses at your lips then making his way down to your neck, eagerly leaving hickeys and marks while he undoes your belt and shucks your pants down. He bares your underwear to him and leaves you to kick off your socks with your pants, making a pile on your rug you don't mind at all. "Can I taste you?" he practically pleads, lifting up to stare down at you, beating you to the question you were just about to ask him, making you laugh once more, still that lighthearted sweet sound. "Maybe later, and then ill be able to suck you off. Right now I just want you in me, Brett. That okay?"
- he's torn between crying, busting a load in his jeans, or both. Brett just nods, lip tugged between his teeth and moving with all the enthusiasm of a hyperactive puppy, kneeling on the floor to help you slide off your underwear and nearly drooling the second he spots your bare cunt. He's running on more basic, bare instincts but wants nothing more than to flood your cunt with his cum and keep it there, keep himself there as long as he can. Never wants to leave you, and he never wants the marks and signs of him on you to fade either.
- "are you-" "yes I'm sure Brett, now can you please take your clothes off so I can ride you?" he nearly trips over himself in the process of standing and yanking off his shirt, which he does in that hot lift it from the back of the neck and tug it forward trademark style that has a new layer of slick pool forth. His jeans are mid-rise but are slung low, boxers peaking out briefly before he abandons those too, revealing one appendage you never had to mend. You're a bit glad, you ended up with a surprise too tonight, who would've thought?
- Brett returns, not knowing where to sit or lay until you shove him back to sit against the pillows upright, allowing you to sit on his lap and lay your arms over his shoulders while hovering, teasing before you to be gifted this man's virginity just like you were given his heart and soul. "You sure, baby?" you murmur, knees outside of his own and pressed chest to chest, "I can wait however long you need to." Brett grins, playful and teasing in his own way, and nips at your lip. "I'm okay, m'good, cant wait t'see what it feels like to be buried in you, probably even warmer than you feel right now." He emphasizes with a large and running up your bare spine, sending you arching and your knees threatening to buckle. You sometimes forget how big he is, and with the hefty dick bobbing near his stomach, you're not sure how you could have ever forgotten.
- "Take me then, babydoll" and he does, large hands encompassing your hips as he guides you to sit on his dick, slowly letting it enter and let you get accustomed, "there you go, nice and - fucking tight" Brett murmurs, voice deeper and getting you more riled up than you know what to do with. You had seen him bare plenty of times, but never fully, and the experience was doing you wonders right now as you rested for a moment and let him breathe before you started bouncing on him and making him cum way earlier than you know he'd like. You'd enjoy it anyway.
- He whines after a few moments, his hips shifting and making you both groan, his head falling back into the pillows and his fair falling into disarray, strands of auburn and reddish brown falling into his forehead. "Please, just fuck me, have me I just need you." Brett whines into your neck again, no tears this time as his arms wrap tautly around your form, allowing you to feel divinely sculpted muscles hold you tight and made your walls clench, relishing in his squeaking moan. You'd break him. good thing you know how to put him back together. "Easy baby, I've got you." you murmur, smoothing back his hair before you lower to your haunches and lift your hips, slamming back down and sending him yelling your name while biting his teeth into your shoulder.
- Oh yes, you were absolutely going to break him.
- You fuck yourself on him, feeling his hands grip and drag across your body as you use him, rolling your hips in shapes, occasionally spelling his name out through your gyrations and smiling to yourself as you watch him fall further and further into a mess, hair mussed, mouth agape and eyes tight shut. The skin of his lip is nearly broken open from how much he's bitten and tugged on it, puffy and reddened on his flushed and freckled face. Brett rises and clings back onto you, suddenly shifting his hips and fucking up into you, letting you hear louder slaps of skin against skin while he manhandles you. "M'gonna' cum, gotta' cum can I please cum — I wanna cum so bad, please." he begs, planting kisses at your collarbone and pulse sporadically between broken moans and pants.
- You never expected the reaction nor your own, unable to fight the feeling emanating from your soaked and silken cunt as he fucks up into it, stretching you wide in a way you'll never be tired of. "You can cum, go on and fill me, Brett, wanna' feel you for days. Please Brett, make me feel good." your boy delivers, jackhammering into you and making you cry out, tugging at his hair while his hands plant themselves at your waist in order to maneuver you around, biting deep at your shoulder when he cums with a broken, shattered shout of your name.
- The way his hips stutter in that frantic pattern, battering your cunt that has you squirming and grinding, you cum rapidly and heavily, whiting out and feeling your surroundings blur to nothing as you repeat his name over and over, clawing down his back as he slows and finally stops, holding you impossibly close. You take longer than he does recover and return to the world, head lolled back and breathing heavy, allowing brett to lay the two of you down and upon the pillows, wrestling the comfort and sheets over your sweat-slicked body and his.
- He always wanted to be a part of your life, and now, years later, he can't stop smiling and hasn't stopped since. Your silly, smiling ragdoll of a husband.
Andre Lee: W E R E WO L F
• song: Howlin’ for You - The Black Keys
- Andre was superficially open, not talking of more intimate aspects of his life but being carelessly free with the rest, and the personal factoids and tidbits emerge in passing comments in conversation send your brain whirling.
- he’s never answered any of your questions as to why he avoids full moons or why he’s unreachable during some times of the month, closest you’ve gotten was Myc cracking a joke about menstruation but you know damn well from a fuck ton of personal experience that he’s absolutely packing heat.
- he’d been sick the past few days, not fully present in meetings and a bit light headed. It got shrugged off as side effects from any number of drugs but you knew better. The disregard and dismissals that came from him when you showed concern were what made that worry and concern grow, manifesting and sprawling into a thorny expanse of knots tugging at your conscious, fixated on helping him.
- so you stand before an older home, 1920’s brick masonry hidden behind modern day paint, sidled beside the other brownstones on the block and fish out your key on the chain he gifted you, a little cartoonish duck smiling brightly while flipping you off, and turn the series of locks in the door while balancing some takeout on the other side.
- after several moments, you make it inside and lock back up, setting your keys alongside Andre’s in the bowl near the door and spotting the matching fuck duck keychain and smiling before making your way through the house, easily navigating through the darkness and making it to the kitchen to drop off some takeout for the egg drop soup he always ordered when sick. “Andre?” You get no response, the house quiet and your brows furrow while your lips purse, that worry unfolding again, “sugar? Where are you?” You get no response and your words echo in the house
- you get no response but you hear a groan, muffled and heady, soft and barely heard. But it’s his, and you drop everything in your hands upon the counter and follow the sound, brain a slurry of what ifs and remembering his medical history should you need it. By the time you make it back further in the house and to his bedroom, the doors locked shut. Real shut. You knock harshly and call to him, voice a bit desperate “Andre honey, you okay?”
- “go away.” It’s him, but not, deeper and meaner that the Andre you’re used to. It’s not a deterrent. “Not if you’re not okay, let me in.” You try the doorknob again and he shouts out “it’s not safe for you right now, go away.” He says more but you don’t hear it through the door. “What do you mean it’s not safe, Andre let me in.” you cry back, banging the side of a fist against the door, beating it loudly trying to persuade him to let you in. Probably not the most convincing manner.
- “GO! You’re not supposed to be here, m’gonna hurt you.” confusion could not even begin to explain what was going through your head, throat taut with fear, “Andre, I could give a fuck, I’m not leaving you like this.” He’s pleading in a sad rage, like a storm with no lightning, all thunder, “I don’t want t’hurt you, please, please just go.” You refuse, and say the same before you break the lock on the door then try and come in, not getting through until you back up and ram a shoulder into it once, twice, finally busting it on the third impact.
- he had warned you for good reason, and the yellow eyes that meet your gaze from a huddled, shadowed corner solidify that. “Should’ve run.” comes murky from him, his mouth moving oddly and you realize with horror he’s not in his regular body. It’s a larger, hulking form of shaggy fur in muted brown and chestnut hues, dusted with black and grey into a slurry of fur. A fucking wolfman was not on your list. “Werewolf?”
- “Yeah.”
- “Considering our jobs — this isn’t all too horrifying.” He bares his teeth, canines glinting, “I take that back — somewhat.” Andre chuckles, darker but remains curled in on himself in the corner of the room, staying far away from you. “Why am I not supposed to be here sugar?” You ask softly, stepping hesitantly further into the room and eyeing him warily, unsure about the entirety of this situation and wishing Elliot fucking Mothman had better-prepped staff for other forms of cryptids.
- “‘cause I’ll fuck y’ and I won’t stop.” He growls out, nails digging into knees bare of clothing and covered in fur, “not safe f’you, I could hurt you.” He doesn’t meet your eyes this time, eyes turned away and trying to shrink as far as possible into the corner, wanting to keep you at bay before his senses and instincts took over and took you. Andre doesn’t see you, but he feels you in the room. The way you smell and he puffs of breath, the thud of your heart.
- so he immediately clocks the second your pulse races at his words and how your heart flutters, along with your cunt. Andres eyes snap back to you just in time to see a shy but sensual smile on your lips. “What if I want you to hurt me?” Is what he hears from your lips, and he forces himself to sit still, ignore the erection against his thigh and the urge to fuck you until your womb got stuffed to the brim and he got you knocked up. “You better mean that.”
- “oh,” you strip yourself of your shirt and other clothes swiftly, like a subtle strip tease but far smoother and graceful than anticipated, “I mean it. Show me how much you love me sugar, I can take it.” You walk over to the bed on the other side of the room, curling up against the pillows and grin, spreading your legs and exposing the entirety of yourself, eager to mark off this box on your sexlist checklist. “Fucking better.” Is what Andre responds with, rising slowly and missing the tall ceiling by merely a foot, taking his gangly form towards the bed and closing his eyes, sniffing visibly and having his body falter, your scent encompassing any logic he had left.
- “look at that,” he chitters, teeth making his grin a bit more daunting, “already spread for me. Cute. Now turn around.” Andre orders, lurking before the bed as you shift, resting on your folded forearms and raising your ass in the air. “Good,” he praises, a hand grazing your arched waist while he settles behind you, “couldn’t follow orders earlier, but that’s just because you were worried, hm? Going to be good f’me now. I know it.” Andre settles himself on his knees behind you, arms planted on either side of your torso and he leans atop you, breath fanning your ear as he teases you, makes the eager nerves alight as goosebumps trail across your bare, vulnerable form.
- “gonna’ let me fuck you? Let me bury my cock in your pretty cunt over and over until there’s nothing left in you but me?” He muses, erection tapping at your ass and feeling much heavier than what you’re used to. You hum, trusting him to take care of you and fuck you right. “Mhm, let you stuff me like a fuckin’ brood mare, now please, c’mon and fuck me Andre.” He swats your ass with his hand, watching the fat of it jiggle and your waist bend high, “don’t have to tell me twice.”
- You bite back a few comments the second he brushes his flared, sloped cockhead into the opening of your cunt, the tip alone bringing a stretch of pain. Burying your head in the pillows around your forearms, you mewl and whimper aloud tossing both your head and your ass back. Andre’s one hand is beside your torso to plant himself while the other is on your hip, guiding your hips back towards him so he can slowly enter and sink his cock into you. "Atta' babe" he croons, breath fanning across your back in a way that makes your spine tingle.
- He lets out a whine that huffs hot air across your spine, sinking in his cock as much as your cunt can fit, several inches still untended to between where the two of you meet. His balls brush your clit when he bottoms out, and he stills, Andre's restless lungs beating his chest into your back and you can feel him through and through. "Fuck, tight little cunt, gonna' fucking break it." Andre groans low and heady as he begins to rock back and forth, in a humping motion that sends his balls smacking into your clit with little pats, making you grateful a hand now plays underside and holds your belly while the other holds him up, your body on the precipice of collapse with the angle, the feeling, all of it.
- "fucking stuff me," you blurt, pathetically trying to rock your hips back into his and you cry out each time, bulbous cockhead nudging your cervix with each shift, feeling him in your guts, "breed me full, knock me up." These were words you had used previously during sex with him, the concept not being new, only to the situation at hand. With Andre being fueled by rampant urges and instincts, barely holding on, your words were like an on-switch that sends him immediately pressing you into the bed and snapping his hips roughly, snarling. into the skin of your neck like he's on a mission, and in a way, he is. Meant to mate.
- "ah, oh fuck, Andre." you keep crying out his name between crying out incoherencies, encompassed by the way he absolutely fucked the breath from your lungs, knocking everything out of you and then drawing it back in just as he slots in, and out of your drenched, dripping cunt, slick now sprawling from his dick and balls, your thighs, to the torn and tossed sheets beneath. There's a fleeting, barely conscious thought of now knowing why sex was called the beast with two backs, the words of Othello never even a full thought as you get plowed from behind.
- oh yeah, you were never going to leave him to deal with a full moon alone, not if this is what your good deeds and diligence get you - being bent over like a broodmare and fucked like it's a need to survive, to breathe. You are livin' good.
- "taking me so damn well, gonna' pump you full, fill you over and over until others no space inside that I haven't covered." he rambles, hurried and frenzied and deep in pitch, snapping his hips rapidly as the sound of skin slapping melts into a blur with the heavy pants and breaths, the snarls and moans and groans the two of you let out, animalistic and primal, fucking elite and top tier in your honest, raw-dogged opinion. "Gonna' give you a child, claim this fucking pussy, all of it, s'all mine."
- You groan out, burying your head in your forearms and feeling his weight atop you, the way he keeps bullying his giant dick into you and fucking you apart, working you like dough in the way he works you over. "Like that? Like me marking you up, being Andre's breeding bitch?" he snarls, sounding so potent in your ear where his head hovers, splayed across your back while his hips do the work.
-"Just feel that," he murmurs, hand pressing into the fat of your belly to press against where he thrusts into you, making you squeal into the pillows as he shows off, his demeanor so contrasting than how he usually is, even in a raging fuck, "gonna' fill you to the brim, baby, already stretching you wide. Belly full of me."
- "God, please — fuck," you're babbling, fucked out and quote literally drooling upon your forearms and the pillows holding your head up, as backing into his thrusts and mewling with the brush of his balls against your clit, everything wet and sloppy, "wanna' be bred, wanna' be yours — I wanna' be yours." Andre lets out snarling laughs, darker than abyssal skies, into your shoulder blades which he litters with nips and bites of sharp teeth, little pinpricks adding to the utter euphoria of getting absolutely pounded.
- "gonna cum, arent'ya?" he drawls, leaning to huff through his nose near your ear and you smell him, sex and musk and earthy amber, you wanna drown in it. "Go on, soak this cock so I can fuck you stupid." It takes a few thrusts later, but you do and you absolutely blackout, the world turning into a white canvas that slowly lifts as you feel Andre fucking into you, pace hurried and faltering as he babbles rapidly, stitching together curses and praise like an ornamental garland.
- Cum is absolutely pouring at that point, rivulets stuck in smears across your ass and thighs, drenching his balls and making them smack wetly against the mouth of your cunt. He's come already at least twice by the load of it and is working on a third orgasm that makes your ass ripple with the force behind his thrusts. "All mine, no one gets to see this, have this, my pretty mate." he's talking to just himself at this point, assuring insecurities while nearly fucking you through the mattress, hell it's a miracle the bedframe hasn't broken. Or the wall.
- You whimper and moan weakly, just taking it at this point because all you feel in your bones is the warmth of orgasmic bliss, full lethargy and no intent to move, feeling so sated and tender than you could simply pass away with a beaming, I just had sex grin that would out do anyone else's, besides Andre's. What plucks the strings of reality a bit is a moment his teeth latch onto your shoulder, marking rows of teeth into a bite marking you as his. He fucks you through it, coming with a shout of your name that is more of a gravelly howl than anything, cum literally flooding your cunt and dripping down everywhere, making a mess of everything.
- Andre's near whimpering, fucking into you weakly while his erection softens inside you, laying on top of your form before wrapping his arms around and having you both shift onto your sides, him spooning your considerably smaller form in his considerably sized state, completely enveloping you in his hold, warmth, and love, soothing your fucked-out and pumped-full state onto the precipice of slumber.
- "M'love you." he mutters into your neck, nuzzling against your pulse as his arms coil around your belly, ensuring you stay in his arms and snug around his dick, "love you too." is what you reply, sounding not like your own voice in the exhausted, airy lilt. It's the last thing you remember before being woken up in the morning to an apologetic and scruffy Andre, back to normal with a plate of breakfast in hand.
- "Andre, honey, we are definitely going to be doing that again."
Robotus Alpha-Beta: D E M O N
• songs: Devil’s Advocate - The Neighborhood or Have A Cigar - Pink Floyd
• fanart: by @olexxx right here
- you’re desperate, and tired of calling after things in the light and day that don’t answer. You now call out for and beg for something from the night, standing in the crossroads with a box of offerings in your hands and a plea so heavy on your tongue it weighs you down like an anchor to a boat, dividing the seas currents in cleaverlike strokes. Crying out into the night, screaming for an answer, yelling out that you’ve done the right things brought the right stuff, made the right calls, you’re frustrated and distressed in the middle of this night, clad in clothing that the wind whips around your form, slinky against your chest and thighs. You’re a vision of desperation in this witching hour, and who would he be to deny your broken-hearted, bargaining pleas?
- “mighty pathetic looking, aren’t you, pretty thing.” He strolls out from the tree line, hands in his pockets of the seersucker suit he wears, hiding his eyes in the shadows while he meanders his way over dirt path and dandelions, plants dying in the markers where his footprints lay. “Pray tell, what brings you to my spacious lay of the woods?” He drones, and you’re too consumed in your own ordeals to fully analyze his appearance and demeanor, ready to bargain and barter down to the bones should it go that far.
- “I just wanna’ deal. That’s all.” You start, laying the tin box down on the ground between the two of you where you stand in the clay dirt and ash of the crossroad, pitch black sans the one flickering, sad looking streetlamp. “What will you take for sparing someone’s life?” Is what comes from your lips next, and he’s almost surprised at the dedication you show in selflessness, musing to himself in the ongoing internal dialogue that you should get one of those flimsy gold stars.
- “Depends on a lot my dear,” the demon drawls, hands gesturing in a manner that reminds you of evangelical television preachers or cable game show hosts, “who am I curing and what ails your beloved patient?” He picks the dirt from his fingernails and you wish you pry out the nails from that tin box you got from a coffin, and force them one by one into his skull for his nonchalance, his disinterest in a deal that meant more than the world to you.
- “my friend, she’s sick. Cancer. I want her cured and for her to live a healthy life and die naturally of old age. What will you accept in exchange?” You’re direct, straight and to the point, shoulders squared and eyes flint and steel, fire flickering in the shards of your irises. Refusing to let him abuse a loophole, you’ve stressed every requirement and plan — ramming the nails in straight. “Straight to the point, I like that.” He drawls, crooked grin smarmy and slimy in the snake oil style, making you envision car dealerships and the price is right but shrouded in brimstone and fire. “The question isn’t what I’ll ask of you, but what you’re willing to offer, dear.”
- he claps his hands together, a MontBlanc pen appearing in his hand and a weathered paper, looking older than your entire bloodline in the way it looks like if the wind blew a fraction harsher, it’d disintegrate. “Alright pet, lay your offers on the table and I’ll see what I’ll accept — but remember,” the demon before you with sky blue eyes pauses, looking like a walking business advert with his suit and tie, shiny cufflinks and a glittering Patek Philippe watch, “no promises.”
- you bite back the myriad of things you’d like to say to this bastard in human flesh-trimmings, but you need your friend more than anything. She’s your world. You’d give your own up for her, and you plan to do exactly that. “My entire self —“ he raises his brows, lips splitting into an amused grin and attempts to interrupt, but you wave a hand and fix him a look, the don’t fuck with me while I’m talking stare, “for part of the week, for the rest of my natural, long and healthy life. You’ll get Tuesday through Thursday, and I will be free to do what I wish the remainder of the week, every week. Sans holidays which I get to myself.”
- he’s still smiling as if it’s within the job application but looks about as pained as if he’s suddenly contracted a bout of irritable bowel syndrome. “And you’re completely mine the entirety of those three days, the full 72 hours?” You nod, face as polished as stone, equally as cold and ungiving. Hes never encountered a wayward soul like yours. Intrigue mars his mind more that he’d care to admit, but it makes the results of bartering so much better. “We have a deal then.”
- he scrawls in loopy old fashioned cursive, slanted and sloped in a manner that reminds you of history class, and fills in the blanks of his document signing your life away to him. He flattens the paper, then signs it himself and hands it to you to sign as well. You spot the larger A and B initials, shortened to AB, but can’t make out the last name, only the large R and the mussed squiggles behind it. Doctorish scrawl, hasty and impatient.
- you sign your signature and life away, not regretting it the instant you get a series of texts from your friend, her energy and liveliness returning in an instant. You pocket your phone then get dragged forward by the elbows, calloused fingertips and softened palms cup your cheeks before drawing you into a fleeting kiss. He pulls away and before you can act, he vanishes in a cloud of ash and dust, the contract within your grip and an emptied tin box at your feet. A kiss to seal the deal.
- you don’t see him until the next week, spending your time with your loved ones and with your best friend, cherishing and relishing in how she’s safe and healthy again and she would always be. The chime of reality rings twelve times, the man appearing in a click of loafers against the tile floors outside your apartment and wraps of his knuckles against the front door, coming to collect you. You’re alone and have been, making sure to be in the comfort of solitude once your first day as a demon’s bitch begins. AB opens the door and strolls in, hands in the pockets of some pinstripe slacks and a chain dangling from near his hand to a slim pocket on his suit vest, thin white stripes against navy fabric making his already tall form elongate.
- the demon struts in with the casual air of devil-may-care, eyes like a cats in how they’re languid but attentive, drawing everything in and sitting until something interesting pulls his direct attention forth. “Quite a home you’ve got here, just you?” AB muses, sauntering with the air of a spoiled house cat. “Yes, just me, now can we get on with whatever you have entailed for my next 72 hours, the suspense Y’know, got me absolutely hooked.” You respond, end of your sentence dripping in sarcasm like a freshly immersed pen nib into an inkwell and equally as dark.
- “impatient too, aren’t you just a bag of tricks,” he muses, lulling and faux cadence in a demon's silver tongue taste, “all in due time. Best to wait and see you squirm.” AB stands before a bookcase, fingertips tapping along spines of books then dusting over a picture frame with your friend, weary Polaroids paling in comparison to this snapshot of her and you several years ago, faces lit in the warmth of lanterns in summer sunset. He holds it longer than he’d deem appropriate, and he doesn’t seem to care or know why.
- “are you always this articulate or does it come with the Armani suit?” You snap, knee bouncing as you sit on the couch, lips chapped from how frequently you’ve gnawed on them in your nervous state, wanting to lose your sanity but unfortunately finding yourself incredibly lucid and stable. Against all odds. “Naturally, pretty thing, some creatures possess decorum and manners — I see you speak from inexperience.” He teases, setting the frame down and wiping his hands on his slacks, adjusting the cufflinks that glitter with initials laid in obsidian and platinum.
- He continues speaking, giving you no opening once more to speak or further deride the demon before you, meandering about your home as if he was not just showing the place, but was trying to sell it as a realtor and making the process as painfully personal as possible. "Do you have a tendency to get squeamish or easily frightened?" "I doubt it, due to how there's a demon I'm casually conversing with, so I'm going to have to say no."
- He chuckles darkly, and you see a glimmer in those glacier eyes of something far colder, and you mark it down for later. "Clever, but such a costly trait. Mind your tongue." You sit and take it in stride, having been braced for an overgrown petulant toddler playing around in daddy's suits. "Since you're being so patient," he mocks, he rolls his sleeves to the forearms after shucking off his jacket and snapping it away in a move that makes you think of hammerspace, "we'll get started. You are to shadow me as I go about dealing. Mind your tongue, presence, and entire demeanor. You are here to help me, gain insight on a modern human mind and soul, not to aid anyone but me due to how I control something far greater than your own life."
- He doesn't hesitate to gut you in the way you've been hung out to dry, hollowed like a side of beef swinging from a hook in a walk-in freezer, dripping onto a frozen floor in tandem with your bravado slipping. AB glances over your expression and smiles, childish and juvenile in a charming, redeemable fratboy sort of way. "Alrighty, now let's get you started."
- and with a snap of his fingers, the two of you began the first day of deals. It flew by, as they all would, you watching from the sidelines or removed from sight to watch as a deal went down. You could clock the bastards who were overly cocky, thinking they could outsmart someone so much older than them it was like the universe looking upon Earth's moon. Planet to sand grains. Pathetic - no match.
- the souls would fade one by one and you would spend your hours prior to the deal observing them from the outskirts in strangers behaviors, deception now a part of your ensemble in equal to your rings or shirt. "Did you observe me before we struck my deal?" you had asked later on in the duration of your servitude, roughly a year into your partial work weeks under the eye and lens of the demon. He laughed, a chiding yet lilting sound that resembled when storm clouds rumbled when the sun still shone, "Oh absolutely I did, my dear, quite entertaining and almost heartwrenching the way you went about your plans. Absolutely precious."
- AB speaks over his cocktail, Pappy Van Winkle bourbon dark and syrupy in the basin of his Waterford crystal glass, sliding about the thick ice cube like molasses, "I will say you have been the most entertaining of my companions in a long time." The way he says it lingers and you assume it's longer than you could perceive, centuries being seconds to the being beside you. It is a fleeting moment of wistfulness before he clocks his newest wayward soul and stalks forward, running a hand through his hair and barely messing his strands up, the greying streaks in his auburn hair falling upon his forehead like a staged motion, queued up to go for a movie scene.
- You tried not to watch more than you needed to when having to help him with his deals, but this time in the low light of a seedy corner alley bar, he glittered like the cufflinks he always wore. Dark obsidian and platinum, simple yet something so potent about it resembled him. If you hadn't sold your life away to the entity, he'd resemble a side character from American Psycho, far too charming to make it into the main role. It was harder to hate him than how he looked, the manner in which you dealt your days away gave you your friend back and a more stable life, albeit the hellish tasks.
- You didn't quite care for how much you cared for him, why you get enamored with him and all that he encompassed. It was disastrous and bordering a Stockholm syndrome, or at least that's what you told yourself when indulging in ice cream and childhood movies. What worsened your situation was an event that occurred in your off hours, out with friends and enjoying yourself in a night of freedom and levity. It went wrong, as you assumed it could, but had not expected the situation to unfold as it had nor the end result to your night.
- "I still don't understand, you crushing on your boss? Understandable, not doing shit about it, perplexes the fuck outta' me." Rory, a friend from high school mentions and brought a series of laughs from your booth at the club. "It's improper-" You're suddenly cut off. "Since when did you ever give a shit about proper?" another friend chimes in, and you sigh before downing the remnants of the drink before you. You get up, go to the bar to get a drink and avoid the terrible topic along with trying to escape the environment altogether. It's not your scene, too loud and overwhelming. It gets even worse after the initial sips of your drink when the world turns hazy and you don't know where you're going, nor whos leading you away.
- "Move them this way, out of the light - there, I told you no one was going to find us here." one of the two figures surrounding your hazy, barely conscious form voices, the other laughing along as they work at your shirt before a dark laugh comes from the opening of the alley, and a glint of polished silver meets the glare of a streetlamp. Its something out of a noir film but you're relieved when you hear his voice, trying to sit up and failing. His name falls from your lips, faint and sad sounding, and his glacier eyes melt away into a darkness never seen before even in the furthest of depths within the oceans.
- It takes no time for him to dispatch the two who had drugged you, the rage pouring off of him in waves you can almost see, even in your bleary state. It's as if someone coated your brain in a fog and dipped it in some liquid nitrogen. "Oh, pretty thing, what have they done to you." is what he says when he crouches near your form, bloodstained but almost holy, a savior without wings. You try and answer but he shushes you, lifting you into his arms securely with the strength beneath his tall, barrel-chested form. The two of you dissipate from the alley and leave behind blood trails no one will find, bodies gone as well to languish on hooks in rings of hellfire AB will personally see to.
- The next thing you recall after being saved up in his arms is waking in a bed far too luxurious to be your own, and enveloped in silky sheets and even silkier pajamas, deep navy blue wrapped around your form so comfortably you just snuggle back into the pillows before you fully wake to reality with a start, remembering what almost happened and sitting up, flying out of bed and wandering out to figure out where the fuck you were.
- "there you are, dear, feeling okay?" is what greats you, AB sitting at a couch reading from a book that once again looks more ancient than your entire bloodline, genuine concern feeding into his expression and making you blink, sleep still laden in your heavy eyelids begging you to go back to sleep. "You saved me." he shrugs off your comment, rising to meet your form in the doorway and taking you by the shoulders, trying to turn you around back into the bed you left. "Go on to bed, I'll bring you something-" he fixes you a look, "its an order, go rest. Your loved ones know you're safe and sound. Now, bed."
- You fall back asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow, and the next time you wake there's a change of clothes on a chair near the bed, a plate of food on the nightstand, and a pitcher of water with clean glasses readily available. In no rush, you take your time eating and then getting ready before padding barefoot out into the home you find yourself in, spotting AB finally in a kitchen you'd drool over in an issue of Architectural Digest. "There you are, rested?" you nod, cupping your glass of water in your hands and seating yourself down at a barstool beside the kitchen island, glancing around at the sprawling chef's kitchen, "they've been taken care of." AB trails off, in a casual button-down and slacks, leaning against the countertop with his arms crossed over his chest, taking a second before he looks over at you with steely, ice eyes.
- "No harm will ever come to you." your brows furrow at that, wondering why he would care so much about a person he literally owns. You voice it out loud and he guffaws, looking at you incredulously as if the answer was always there, and in a way, it had been. "Dear, you're mine. Contract bound and now, by design. No one ever lays a hand on you let alone exists a second afterwards." The glass in your hand is set down and you lean back in your chair, staring at him and wondering if the entirety of the past months of partnership you were not the lone one pining. He validates it when he approaches and falters, warming once you breach the gap and take his hand into your smaller one.
- You finally break, grasping for him and hugging him close as his bulkier form bends to hold you, knees bent in order to acclimate to your seated position. He rubs your back as you shudder and shake, warm broad hands soothing you down and facing you until he kneels and looks up at you. "I promise you, you're safe." and you want to say you believe him, but you still don't feel it, just take his hand off your knee and imbed it into your heart so he can feel how it beats, how the fear creeps into your lungs like an infection. there's no need, for he cups your cheek and tilts your chin to meet his gaze. Then it's over.
- the waiting ends, and he kisses you, tender and delicate and something so utterly unlike him that it takes you aback, almost slack-jawed for a millisecond before you realize it's him kissing you and you relish in it, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him closer until he's caged you in, safe from harm. He groans, and you part your legs at the sound, letting him fully press against you in the chair and wrap around you. "My pretty thing." AB groans against your lips, and you whimper at the sound of it so broken on his tongue, so different than the calculated and meticulous tone he took.
- "Prove it" is what flies from your lips as you bite his, feeling him grin darkly against your mouth as he lifts you into his, different from the bridal carry form the other night with how he hefts a handful of your ass into his palms while your legs wrap around his waist while he carries you into the other room. "Gladly." is whispered once he deposits you into a lavish dark bed, his own, and strips himself of his shirt and bares a chest scattered in auburn hair matching in grey streaks like his head, making you wonder about what lies lower.
- He doesn't make you wait long, and he strips himself of his boxers and pants, planting himself above you and grinning at how you observe his body and movements, letting you gasp in surprise once he lets a shudder roll through and some red markings reveal themselves, cuffs and bands of red marks paired with inscriptions of languages so old they outdated writing itself. You trace a few as he undresses you, mouth over them lavishly and kiss them tenderly, trying to show and give all the love you can to make up for what he's missed.
- "Never going to let anyone touch you," he murmurs, breathless against your skin as if he's the one rendered weak before you, "only mine, m'all yours. Gonna' keep you safe and sound." AB's wrecked already and he's hardly touched you let alone himself, the evidence leaking and resting heavily upon your now bare thigh. You feel not just safe and content, but powerful and hungry, greedy for what lies within arms reach. You get granted a freedom in his presence finally, and you take every step in stride.
- "All mine," purrs your voice in his ear, tugging on auburn locks and feeling your body thrum like musical cords when he groans low and deep, reverberating from a barrel chest that covers your form, "going to make me feel good? Treat me right, make a mess of me? Show me just how much you actually care and that I'll always be yours? Go ahead, AB, give me your all."
- "All?" he growls darkly against the column of your throat, nearly snarling if it wasn't for the pleased smirk present with teeth with slight points, "oh dearest, ask for more, don't you know I'd give you everything?" he murmurs low stripping you fully bare and letting rough and calloused palms from another lifetime's work wander your body, mapping out your skin like a cartographer. At that moment the words were euphoric enough, but his hips grinding against yours until he slotted against your weeping cunt was the emphasis to your already wavering body, the final blow to your grip on reality. Oh, what a plunge it was.
- AB rocks against you, forehead knelt down against your collarbone in a piousness akin to prayer and nudges his swollen cock against your cunt, hips grinding once, twice, before he slides into you and fills you. It's a stretch that makes you cry out, nails embedded in his skin near his markings as you whimper and cry out his name. Your chest squirms and your hips remain stilled, his broad hands encompassing your hips as he does so. With his head against your shoulder, he gets to see himself disappear into your slick-soaked pussy, and the sight is too moving for his eyes to handle. Thumbs bruise your hipbones while he stills then asks you questions he repeats several times before you process them, already hazy and fucked out and he hadn't even actually fucked you yet.
- "May I move?" your body reacted before you could even form a response, legs shifting so you can take him in deeper and fuck up back onto him, nearly squealing out as you feel him absolutely stuff your cunt, walls clenching and sending the both of you into a hurried frenzy. "There's your answer." you bite, literally and figuratively as your teeth sink into his ear. His hips stutter and you smirk, so proud of yourself before locking your legs and rolling him beneath you, still seated on his cock but now residing on top, beaming down at him with your hands planted on his marked, hair-covered chest.
- You don't even warn him before you slam your hips down, relishing in how he jolts and buckles, eyes shutting then opening back up, so torn between the feel of you and how you look, an angel of his own making seated above him and using him like a throne, getting yourself off and being nothing short of resplendent. AB thrusts his hips up to meet your grinds and ministrations, one hand splayed across your ribcage while the other snakes down to rub at your clit, beaming with pride when he feels you shudder and falter.
- "You're so pretty." comes broken from the demon beneath you, reduced to merely a man with the way you use him, treat him, love him and fuck him all at once, centuries worth of longing packed away emerging forth into glacier eyes now as warm as spring skies, and the look he gives you sends you over the edge as a crushing blow. He catches you, sitting up and wrapping his arms around you as the orgasmic, earth-shattering waves take you under. He anchors you, falteringly weak thrusts getting him to where you are in seconds, cumming and stuffing you full with a cracking groan against your heated flesh.
- He holds you, sitting upright with his arms wound around your torso and holding tight, hands splayed across your back and side as your head nestles into the crook of his, nose at his pulse and smelling hints of rosemary and bergamot and ash, and you burrow closer, wanting to sink into him like bed, he's more comforting than down comforters and pillows anyhow. It takes a while before the witness behind your eyes fades, his humming being what plucks you forth from an orgasmic abyss and you smile against his skin, soaking up the silence and him breaking it.
- "About that contract-" you joke, and AB laughs breathlessly before turning to you with a devious smirk, hands wandering and eliciting a squeaking moan from your lips, "I think I'd be open to renogiation." he murmurs, breath fanning across your mouth before your lips meet his and he hums, licking into your mouth and staking claim to it just as he had you.
Magic Myc: Z O M B I E
• song: Under My Skin - Jukebox The Ghost
- You'd been there when Myc's dead body got carted in. There were more people making jokes, cruelly grateful for his absence compared to the small group that actually missed him, and mourned him. And you were one of the very few who loved him enough to grieve his loss in such a manner it would even overpower the longing of the moon should it ever lose the sun and stars.
- He wasn't everyone's taste, hell, he was barely your taste. But you still loved him anyway and trying to work, eat, and live without him got harder and harder since he got eradicated from your life as swiftly as one strikes down a cleaver against a cutting board, final, irreversible. Permanent.
- You had thankfully been granted leave, getting enough pitying looks to send you to the comforts of home only to realize that home made it worse. All his things were there, little knickknacks and gag gifts Myc had gathered over the years, polaroids taped to the walls with glimpses of misadventures. One that gutted you the most was a picture of you, Andre, and Myc, the two of you smiling wide while Myc lifted the two of you up for the picture, all flipping off the camera and laughing like hyenas.
- Andre had been a rock of support, the two of you leaning on each other to cope and work through the loss, not knowing how to handle the loss, Andre losing a best friend and you losing a lover. It crushed you, the chasm of grief and depression consuming you whole, entangling your ankles and dragging you down in the depths like being snared in a siren's trap.
- the point where you broke down wholly and entirely, letting out ugly cries with the snot and tear tracks, getting puffy with reddened eyes in the freedom of your home. A formerly shared home is now all yours. The brownstone mocked you, once an inviting and fun space now too bright and whimsical to be fitting for one mourning a lover. A friend. A soulmate.
- in the midst of your breakdown and rattling full-body tremors, you don't hear the back door locks slowly turn one by one, the keys only belonging to one person, long dead. You don't hear something entering your home and locking back up, in the perfectly redundant routine that belonged to an everyday pattern. You don't hear Myc return into your life because you're too busy crying about him leaving it.
- "I leave for five seconds and you've already gone batshit - damn and I thought I had problems" his voice startles you, making you nearly fall off of the couch when you whip your head around to stare at him, eyes wide and mouth agape in disbelief. "You're not real." is the first thing you utter, terrified to move in case the illusion your grief-wracked mind conjured would dissipate and vanish, leaving you alone in your loss and the empty house, pathetic and sad enough to best a wet kitten.
- "You'd think that, but here I am, alive and unwell." Myc responds, sarcasm prominent but still an underlying fond tone only belonging to him comes out. It's rougher, dirtier almost in a backroad gravel kind of way like his vocal cords got tossed through a concrete mixer. "Gonna' say hello or what?" he teases, gesturing with a tendril or two and extending them, wanting a hug from his favorite person. You practically leap over the back of the couch in an effort to reach him, launching yourself into his body and nestling your head on the underside of the mushroom cap, feeling fanning gills brush the top of your head in addition to the bulbous partial veil that glows and humms against your head.
- He still smells like earth and musk, pollen and petals. and weed, and you've never been more relieved to smell the absolutely pungent aroma of weed in your life, laughing while you cry into where his neck would be. "You think I would just ditch you? No way, stuck with me for the rest of your little life, shitheel." Myc mutters, bumping your nose tenderly with a blunt nudge of a tendril, making your nose scrunch and a smile appear on your puffy, crying face.
- "wait, how are you even here?" you ask, leaning your head back enough to look at him in the dim light of your home, shadows cast over his form and hiding the majority of it sans little segments and divots of bioluminescence and ornate patterns. "You died Myc, how in the fuck are you even alive?"
- he doesn't immediately answer, and you step back to pace with a hand running down your face, immediately ranting and getting wrapped up in the concept of Cognito Inc. doing another stupid and silly science project without considering ramifications and wondering just how this will blow up once more when it concerns the love of your life, Myc.
- when he's remained silent, not saying a word in the midst of your rant about Reagan and how she's got to stop playing god, you realize he hasn't said a word and turn to find him standing very still and looking down to his tentacles as if in deep thought. Worrying, consuming, deep thought.
- "I-," he starts, moving to turn in your direction, almost looking past you, or through you, making your anger fade as concern takes over, "I don't know."
- You haven't been this worried in a long, long time. "Honey, what do you mean you don't know?" Your concern multiplies, swarming nervous moths within the cage of a chest you have, fluttering in your ribcage and making your bones itch. "Myc, do you remember getting here?".
- the uncharacteristic silence speaks enough volumes to have filled a home library, making you send a few hurried texts to the gang group chat and ignoring the silly contact names in lieu of finding a solution to this as fast as possible and trying to keep Myc stable. You turn and flick a lamp on, unable to find reason in the darkness, and barely stop the scream that almost fled your throat.
- "I just wanted to see you, I don't know how I got here-" he pauses, unaware of the terror in your eyes and the tears welling along the seams of your lower lids, threatening to overflow with the sight of him, "I just wanted you."
- You wish you were crying for other reasons beyond the sight of him, maybe even some happy tears with how he came to you because he loves you, dragged his undead self all the way to your backdoor to you.
- You cry instead at the state of him, the chunks of flesh and tissue missing, the greenish ghastly hue to his surface, tears and gouges in places where his body's mass would fill. He is dead. undead technically, and in your shared home's living room sounding close to tears himself with how confused he sounds and you're just about to break down at how butchered he looks. He is yours, and he was supposed to be fine always. Why did this happen, and why to your Myc.
- He says your name, and it is so broken it doesn't suit him. Myc's a jovial, mocking asshole that makes you feel loved, even with pet names accompanied by curse words and expletives. You respond to a few more texts and enlist the help of Reagan and ask Andre and him to come immediately. You barely have the energy to continue standing, so you absolutely don't have the strength to deal with this alone.
- You gather him close, sitting the two of you down on the couch and just try and breathe, sit there with each other and pretend things will all be okay and wait in the meantime for Reagan and Andre to appear in order to get some ideas going on what to do or how to go about this entire situation, the others on standby and there for support should you need it. You've never been more thankful for the friends you have.
- "M'not going to leave you." Myc says, determination steady within his now weathered voice, as if it was skinned and tanned like an animal hide in the sun, "I don't wanna' go." Your hands grip him tighter as your fingertips trace over patterns and textures on his surface, humming a note against the light within his partial veil beneath the cap.
- "Nothing could take me from you, and I won't let anything take you from me either." is what you choose to comfort him with, knowing that humor was a strong suit and that comedy wasn't something to include just yet, reality to raw to disinfect with the sting of punchlines.
- Andre and Reagan soon arrive, disbelief covering their features the instant they enter the door and a litany of questions follow with Andre's tears as he and Myc hug, bubbly watery giggles erupting forth from both him and you at the relief. Reagan pokes and prods, then takes notes from what you could tell, and remains as confused as you are.
- after a while and many frustrating moments, the two leave back to their respective lives. Andre promises to come the next day and Reagan plans to run tests bright and early tomorrow. Nevertheless, the night is yours with him and the two of you alone. You try and make the best of it by familiarizing yourself with the way it felt to be enveloped with Myc, to feel those tendrils around your frame holding you close.
- and as with all things with Myc, it turned sexual suddenly and rapidly, making you appreciate his ease in removing you from a current situation with his attention, touch, and care. A gift tethered in mycelial networks and fungi.
- the two of you don't even make it to the bedroom, Myc being so eager to have you in any which way, he fucks you on the floor against the plush living room carpet, letting you know how thankful he is for your precious ass in his life (both literally and figuratively) as he fucks you to delirium.
- next thing you know, you have his voice in your ear while two tendrils splay your bare thighs open, tentacles notched in the crook of your knee and thigh as he pumps the tips of three appendages in and out of you, commenting and praising you for how slick you are and how welcoming your cunt is to him, like a homecoming once your greedy pussy sucks him in like even your spongy inner walls missed him.
- "god you're so fucking wet, all for me right? getting all gushy and messy for me only." his words hit just the right buttons, perched and murmured right beside your ear as he thrums, twisting the tips of his appendages within you and barely showing signs of him being affected. The two little tendrils that have collected droplets of slick tease and prod at your ass, occasionally breaching the tight ring of muscle and allowing Myc the pleasure of hearing that broken, higher pitched cry you moaned out with his name on your tongue, grinding into his ministrations and begging for more.
- "mhmm, all for you Mikey," you moan softly, brokenly, in a way so soft it competes against battered butterfly wings, "all yours, always yours, even m'pussy." He laughs, fucking you harder at that like a reward, groaning happily and letting the waves of pleasure spread rather than him holding back and halting his own enjoyment. Now he can fuck you.
- “damn fucking straight.” He curses, fucking you with earnest while he sits behind you, feeling flush and warm while he feels you tense and clench around him. Then follow suit once he breaches your ass, fucking into you shallowly and slowly there, easing himself in and loving the way your jaw falls slack and your hips seem to have a mind of their own. You prop your feet at an angle and use it to better fuck yourself on the makeshift cock and tendrils of Myc’s appendages, loving how you felt him in both holes and stuffed full, practically gushing around him and soaking the couch cushion beneath the two of you.
- good thing they’re washable.
-“all mine, always gonna’ be mine.” He mutters, movements stuttering as he nears orgasm but tries to hold out, “my baby gonna’ let me stuff them full? Until it leaks, hm?” You nod, voicing a yes against the skin of his closest to you and cry out once his tendrils brush at your cervix as you grind down and thrust back and forth against him.
- “please Myc, wanna’ cum, want your cum, want you to make me feel good.” You drawl in a plead, hands smoothing over him beneath you and sliding up and down his cock, reaching a hand to play with your clit until he smacks it away and replaces it with an appendage and shakily strokes and he gets closer to cumming. He shakes beneath you, Myc shuddering and stuttering once he voices his nearing euphoria.
- he cums, flooding your cunt and having it spill forth, pollock-like flecks of cum splattering your inner thighs and allowing you to slide better and take him in, cumming shortly after with a scream of his name and an orgasm that lasted nearly a solid minute, senses gone and world as white as fresh snowfall.
- there’s silence for a moment, your back resting against his front, tendrils not still inside you caressing and tending to your sweaty, tired body. “Hey, hon?” He draws you out of your reverie to turn to look at him, “pretty good for a dead man.”
- “fuck off, dear god.”
- Myc cackles and leans back into the couch cushions and pillows, and the joy that thrums in your heart soothes the ache of his death, loving him in any state, even when he’s being a little shit.
—Happy Halloween—
Tags: @cognitosclowns @radioactivebowtie @mollicutes @carnalcringe @bluebaronness @flyingspicerack
#inside job#my inside job#personal inside job#halloween#halloween smut#magic myc#myc x reader#magic myc x reader#Reagan ridley#Reagan ridley x reader#Reagan x reader#brett hand#brett x reader#brett hand x reader#andre x reader#andre Lee#andre lee x reader#robotus#alpha beta robotus#Robotus x reader#alpha beta Robotus x reader#my thots#inside job headcanon#inside job imagine
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Writing Resources Part 2
My first list was so long I decided that I reached the character limit! So we have a part two! I'm going to try and keep them a bit more organized too! Hope these help you all in your writing endeavors and if you happen to use any of them try to give the original source some love!
Also, apologies if I've tagged you more than once and it's annoying! If I reference your material more than twice I will just link your whole Tumblr. I really do want to make sure everyone gets their credit and spotlight!
General Information and Research:
The Fantasy Guide to Royal and Noble Marriages or anything by @inky-duchess Her blog is extensive and is a wealth of information regarding things like royalty/nobility/Period social politics and is a fantastic resource, go check her out! Ink I do appologize I might be tagging you more than once!
@type1diabetesinfandom This blog is an amazing resource if you are interested in writing about characters with any form of diabetes or similar health issues. It was ana amzing find when I was writing my character Belladonna Black from Shadows of Deception who is hypoglycemic. What an amazing source!
How to Cook in a Medieval Setting: by @alpaca-clouds Food is the best way to know a culture and this particular blog post is a trove of information for your fictional foodie set anywhere in this spectrum of time or a great find for a fictional setting! This post obviously gets a chefs kiss!
The Symbolism of Flowers by @novlr Yeah! Leopold knew what he was talkign about, every flower has a meaning and it is entirely possible to send some a bouquette that translates to 'Fuck You' btw it consists of geraniums (stupidity), foxglove (insincerity), meadowsweet (uselessness), yellow carnations (you have disappointed me), and orange lilies (hatred). it would be quite striking! and full of loathing. THE MORE YOU KNOW. This blog is also a fantastic source for writers.
Writing About Body Pain by @slayingfiction I just came across this gem of a blog and if you're one who likes to make your characters sufffer than look no further, also, how ya doing? You ok? Just checking. This blog is also a fantastic writing resource.
How to Accurately Describe Pain in Writing by @hayatheauthor kinda piggybacking off the previous source but nevertheless lets make sure we make these characters suffer realistically? I'm ok too, if you're wondering. This is another great blog that focuses on the aspect of being a writer.
How to Use Canva to Make Mood Boards by @saradika I did not know much about mood baords but I'm telling you they are a gaem changer! They bring a life to your story in a way that is just so stunning and saradika has been so lovely as to make this helpful guide! She's also a very talented writer and is quite the Star Wars Fan! GO check out her stories!
Researching as a Writer by @so-many-ocs Research is a tricky topid to delve into and sometime sit hard to know where to start, this blogger has been so kinda as to make a bit of a roadmap to help you narrow down what you need to research and how. Wonderful blog! Very helpful!
Resources for Writing Deaf, Mute, or Blind Characters by @thecaffeinebookwarrior THIS! This right here is a gem and the only reason I don't write these types fo characters is because I've never known how to do so respectfuly and realistically! Not a problem anymore! Also a wonderful artist!
How to Write and Research a Mental Illness another gem from @hayatheauthor again if you're going to wrote a character with a mental illness lets make sure we get it right!
@namesforwriters It's little but a wonderful source of unique names for your story! Including mythology and music themed names!
Nightmare Disorder vs Night Terrors by @redd956 Some great clarification from a blogger who is diagnosed! So happy I found this as I was wondering about the distinction myself for a little while!
Types of Gemstones by @blueboxbeagle and brought to my attention by @keffirinne
More will be added to this post as I find it and if you find anything that fits the general research on broad topics or specifics please let me know so I can continue this collective writing resource! And make sure to give some of these wonderful writers and bloggers some love!
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Nova... after a supernova
[DP x DC fic]
[Love at first... murder? - part 7]
<< Prev | Next >>
Part 1
Ao3
---
In-chat nicknames:
OGnerd = Jason
BatDad = Bruce
Discowing = Dick
BloodSon = Damian
TheHotOne = Steph
TheCuteOne = Cass
Omnipotent = Babs
Flashlight = Duke
---
Clockwork watches as the scenes unfold from the screen in front of him, a fond smile on his face.
He chuckles at the awkward farewell young Danny leaves one of Gotham’s Knights with.
However, as his gaze turns to one of the other screens, his expression switches from amused fondness to one of contemplation.
As he watches the recently deceased manic clown cackle his head off at the revelation of his newly ghostly existence, Clockwork can do no more than let out a weary sigh.
As much as he would like to interfere so young Danny would not have to deal with this endeavor, alas, he is not allowed.
Regardless, he muses, Danny will be able to handle it quite well on his own. Clockwork has complete confidence in him, as he gazes at the many timelines that may yet come to pass.
It will all work out in the end...
---
After taking some deep breaths to calm himself somewhat, Jason puts his glove back on before getting back on his motorcycle and leaving the apartment building behind.
He should probably use the rest of the night to sleep, as it’s already quite late.
However, not too long after he leaves he starts feeling eyes on him. He's being watched, and he has a pretty good guess of just who it could be...
And that guess is confirmed when he sees the shadows moving across the rooftops.
Of course, they followed the tracker to find out what he's up to even after he told them not to follow
He lets out an irritated sigh as he revs the engine and makes his motorcycle pick up more speed. At this point he’s most likely going way over the speed limit but, it’s Gotham, so no one’s gonna care.
At least they only just found him and started following him, rather than when he was still with Danny. Small mercies…
Though, he notes with mild curiosity, interestingly enough Replacement doesn’t seem to be with them.
Jason decides not to jinx his luck by questioning it, for now. Tim’s probably just overworking himself on a case again while doped up on so much of his awful Red Bull, Monster, and coffee mixture monstrosity that he should’ve had a caffeine overdose by now 3 times over.
Either way, Jason’s so not in the mood for their questions
Jason wants to keep his family as far away from Danny as possible, for as long as he can. And not just because of their not date, but he wants to help Danny keep people off his back about the murder of the Joker.
While, as he has mentioned to Danny before, most people will probably celebrate his death more than anything, he wants to spare Danny from B’s disappointment and his 5 hour long morals speech at the very least.
At that point, Jason decides to try to throw his stalkers off by making some unexpected, sharp turns and using a lot of alleys. He avoids the cameras and makes a point to also disable the cam and tracker the Bats ‘sneakily’ left in his helmet, again.
…
After spelling out ‘Fuck off’ with the tracker’s path on the map.
Luckily for him, Jason has just made it to Crime Alley, which is his turf. He knows his way around better than the furry brigade that's still following him does and he’ll gladly use this to his advantage.
With a small grumble that's muffled due to his helmet, he decides to try another more blunt method to try and dissuade them from following him.
Or, at the very least, distract them so that he has an easier time getting away.
---
0 days without the Joker breaking out of Arkham
OGnerd: Stop stalking me.
BatDad: Don’t text and drive.
OGnerd: It's speech to text. Dumbass.
Discowing: Jason!! 😃 What’s up, Little Wing? 🐦 Sooo, why didn’t you patrol tonight?? 👀
OGnerd: That's none of your business dick wad. Fuck off.
OGnerd: What part of don’t follow me did you not understand.
Discowing: I just wanted to catch up with my little brother!! 😁 Is that too much to ask? 🥺
BloodSon: Todd. Who are you courting?
Discowing: Dami!! 😠 I wanted to ease him into it before bombarding him with questions 😩
TheHotOne: no damian id rite
TheHotOne: we ned a more direct aproch >:)
TheHotOne: so jayyyyyyy, whos ur mystery boo ;)
TheHotOne: dont worry u can tell m privtely ^-^
TheHotOne: i wnt tell, scuts honor o7
TheCuteOne: scuts
Omnipotent: scuts
Discowing: Scuts
Flashlight: scuts
Flashlight: Wait, you were a scout??
TheHotOne: no <3
OGnerd: I was just following up on a lead on a case I’ve been working on.
OGnerd: Besides, shouldn’t you all be focusing on finding that clown freak instead of stalking me after I explicitly said not to.
Omnipotent: Do you buy flowers for all of your ‘leads’ or are those just for the cute ones? 🤨
Discowing: Oh!!!! 😲 He got them flowers?? 🌼 That’s so cute! 🥰 I didn’t take you for such a romantic, Jay 😉
BloodSon: Considering Todd’s reading material it should not have come as much of a surprise, Richard.
BatDad: Red Hood, what do you know about the disappearance of the Joker?
BatDad: Is the person you were meeting with involved?
OGnerd: Nothing and no. Now leave me alone.
OGnerd: Middle finger emoji.
~ OGnerd changed the name of BatDad to WhyDoesClarkCallYouBabyGirl ~
~ OGnerd locked the name of WhyDoesClarkCallYouBabyGirl ~
WhyDoesClarkCallYouBabyGirl: Red Hood, this is extremely immature.
WhyDoesClarkCallYouBabyGirl: Change my name back and come to the cave for a meeting, now.
WhyDoesClarkCallYouBabyGirl: That was a misunderstanding and you know it.
---
Jason turns his phone back off and mutes the chat once again. He managed to throw them off of his trail a bit ago and just now reached his apartment.
They know where he lives, yes, but it seems that they had finally noticed how not in the mood he was and decided to make the smart decision to give up and leave him the hell alone. For now at least…
Jason wouldn’t be surprised if they showed up at his apartment tomorrow anyway. But the metal baseball bat by the door and the gun in his holster should help.
After getting inside he changes out of his clothes and takes his time taking a shower. After getting out, drying off, and putting on something comfortable he practically collapses onto the couch.
His eyes fall onto the faded number sequence still scribbled on his hand. With a small smile on his face, while thinking of the person who wrote it, he takes his phone back out again and makes a new contact.
While he’d love to call it some sappy shit like ‘Danny <3’, he knows his family and it has enough hackers in it that he’d rather make the contact name a bit less obviously stand out.
It takes a while, but after thinking back on Danny’s space rambles earlier that evening in the observatory, Jason settles on a contact name.
He names it Nova, after a supernova.
He doesn’t know how right he is.
---
Taglist:
@i-always-say-yea @uraniumwizard @why-must-i-be-like-this @griffinthing
#dp x dc#dp x dc fic#dpxdc#dcxdp#dc x dp#dp x dc crossover#dead on main#dead on main ship#sorry for the awfully long wait#got busy with college#and then i got a bit of a writer's block#but!!! this is not abandoned!!#uploading will just take me a bit long#to make up for the last long wait#im posting like 5-6 chapters in a row#also by now oracle has hacked the cams from before equipment around jason had gone crazy#and so she saw footage of him getting the flowers#steph is the one who gave herself and cass matching nicknames :)
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Hi hi! Sorry for not being specific enough about my rq for August's NSFW hcs! I read the rules again and can you please do nsfw hcs of august with a service dom!reader? Very heavy on praising and worshipping August's body,always reminding him he's beautiful and commenting on his pretty expressions when they're having sex <33
Hop this is specific enough :))
Also,can I go by AM Anon? Im always forgetting what emojis I use for anon and i think letters can work better for me 😭
All good. Glad you came back! And of course you can be AM Anon.
I’m going to focus on Post-story August for this since he’s that much more fun with his battle scars and all.
Augustine Carver
He was always built, but you could tell that he put on even more muscle during his time at war. The first time he strips for you he’s hesitant, knowing that such scars aren’t ideal for noble men like him.
He trusts you with his whole heart but that little voice nagging in the back of his head lingers y’know?
His obedience for you is up there however and it overpowers his hesitance when you tell him to undress for you.
His bedroom was familiar, having grown up his whole life there, but when you stand over him with your hungry eyes it’s like you took over his space entirely. Which he would absolutely arrange should you desire it.
August sits bare on the edge of his plush bed, eyes flickering towards the ground while he straightens his back.
Your precious boy is so nervous.
Whatever maddening voices that echo in his head, telling him to hurry and cover back up and hide his marred figure were instantly silenced when you cradled his face.
His wide and vulnerable eyes stare at you for further cues.
You simply kiss his forehead tenderly and then his lips. Okay. This was familiar territory. He could do this part. So he kisses you back just as softly, refusing to escalate this himself.
He swallows when you pull back and you tell him to scoot back onto the bed completely. He listens.
You then strip to the same level as him, not leaving him alone in this. And you crawl up to him, legs wrapped around his waist as you take one of his hands and kiss every finger, every knuckle, every callous his hands have.
His breathing gets heavy with emotion.
If you have your own scars from your own endeavors (training to delete the royal couple, etc, etc), he looks at them in mild wonder. You don’t stop him from tracing his hands on them either. It’s only fair. His touches are so soft you take his hand and rest it fully against your skin, reassuring him that you’re very much flesh and not glass.
And then you get to praising him for his efforts during the war, recounting all the stories you’ve gathered of him while he was away. You kiss and caress every single one of them with the same love and adoration as the last.
He’s not outright sobbing, but the steady flow of tears can’t be stopped as he basks in the warmth of your love.
When you tell him all the things you love about him and ask if he agrees he doesn’t say anything. That’s when you start to bully him. Nicely.
You’re loving on him so hard and he’s overwhelmed by your entire being as you ride him.
Augustine hides his face when you mention how pretty he is. His face bursts into flames, as if it wasn’t already red before, and practically whimpers as he hides. Of course you fix that immediately by pulling his arms away. And if you so wish you can even use your shadow magic to restrain his hands from hiding his face. The flushed and teary face on this big buff scarred man makes heat course through you. Fuck he’s so perfect and pretty for you.
You only release him when he promises not to hide, which is hard but he busies himself with touching you too. It’s grounding for him.
He wants to cum. Needs to cum. But you keep bringing him to the brink and back, edging him because he can’t find it in himself to agree with all the wonderful things you’ve said about him. It’s a mix of not believing them and being too shy. Of course he’s not accusing you of lying. He’s just. Well. His self esteem isn’t as high as it was before everything had happened. Before he felt unlovable up until you came back into his life.
He does eventually break, frantically crying out all the lovely things you’ve said about him as he begs to cum.
“I’m a good boy! I’m handsome and strong and I deserve so many good things! Please let me cum! Please please please please you said I was good right?! Please let me cum!”
Of course he is, so you do. His body tightens like a bowstring and he convulses as he comes, thanking you for everything.
His face is soaked with tears as he comes down from his high. When you dry his face for him he almost hides his face again, but he promised you so he keeps his hands by his side. You notice and chuckle, telling him that he doesn’t need to keep it up anymore, but also praising him for being so obedient.
Since you gave him the okay he turns his face and hides in his pillow as he calms down from the whole ordeal.
Your shadow magic flickers around the room and gathers things so you can clean the two of you up before snuggling under the covers.
He makes this face where he wants to say something, but instead just goes for it, burying himself into your chest and wrapping his arms around your waist. You hold him back, squeezing him as tight as you can before snuffing the candles with the shadows.
#Sub!yandere#dom!reader#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere oc x reader#dom reader#sub yandere#yandere oc#x reader#villainess isekai#villainess isekai oc#SecondMaleLead!Yandere#Augustine Carver#request#AM anon
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Pairing: Dabi/Touya Todoroki x Todoroki!Reader
Warnings: yeah i know dabi isn't a teenager anymore, but i like the title so fuck it, also don't fucking read it if you don't like siblingxsibling incest cuz yeah there's lots of hints toward it, actually they're not even hints, minors do not interact, this is not for sweet innocent eyes, dark content, brief mentions of Endeavor being a shitty father, reader is shoto's twin (so 16), robbery, cigarette smoking
Words: 1240
Summary: Just two teenage dirtbags.
The light tracing of a finger along your shoulder blade causes you to shiver. A chuckle answers the goosebumps that rise to your skin. His fingers, unharmed by the heat of his quirk, dance and glide as you bite down on your bottom lip. You keep quiet maintaining your steady breathing. Dabi never showed such tenderness when you were awake. At least not anymore. Not since the both of you burned up Sekoto Peak.
"I know you're up." He mumbles against his pillow, you could hear his little smirk as he taps along the length of your spine; tickling the dip. Lips ghost your shoulder.
You readjust yourself, flopping onto your other side to look at your brother's ruined face. Dark purple pigmented skin was stitched to the human part of him. There was barely any left on his face. Everything held together by staple-like piercings.
Your surroundings were still dark, indicating the time. Grumpily, you glare at him from under your blanket. "Why did you wake me up? Just cuz you can't sleep doesn't mean you have to drag me along."
Dabi devilishly smiles and pinches your cheeks to further wake you up.
He was still handsome. At least that's what you thought even if he was no longer your Touya. He was your Dabi now. Your fingers reach to touch his jaw, the wrinkled skin dry under the pads of your fingers. For the briefest of moments, your brother's harsh blue eyes warm to what they used to be. Only for a second before that cold indifference returns.
Dabi sits up, blankets sliding off of his slim build. You follow suit with a huff though you cringe at the cold that hits your bare chest. Again you ask "What are you doing up?" To wipe the sleep from your eyes, you rub a hand over your face.
"Couldn't stay asleep." He grabs the pack of cigarettes from the bedside table. "I'm itching to cause trouble."
Dryly chuckling, you snatch the cigarette from between his fingers. He halfheartedly grumbles at you but is always willing to share with his baby sister. Instead Dabi sets his feet onto the cold floor and stands.
"Great and you couldn't let me sleep?" You groan knowing you weren't going back to bed soon. Dabi wouldn't let you. Watching him make 'gimme' motions with his hand, you give the cigarette back to him and let the smoke slowly curl from your lips.
There's no answer, rhetorical as it was. Your words drift against the four walls of the dumpy room that you and your brother slept in. A shitty mattress on the disgusting floor with metal coils tearing through to poke you in the back at night.
Trash littered the bedroom floor, bottles and wrappers alike pushed into corners or far off against the wall.
Since childhood, Dabi- or rather Touya- had always been clingy toward you moreso than any of your other siblings. You were his little shadow that listened to him constantly and offered unconditional love. Natsuo and Fuyumi may complain about how he despised their father, but you never did because you held equal resentment toward your prohero father. He separated you from your twin, Shoto. Isolated the natural bond that should have formed between the both of you. Shoto was a complete stranger to you.
You were his person, his safety blanket. That seemed to have translated to Dabi as he never liked being too far from you. Always preferred to have you within his eyesight. It wasn't quite as cute when it involved waking you up during one of his insomnia episodes. While you did bitch plenty about it, you always got up and dressed to follow him out to the deserted streets.
Eerily quiet, you feel like even the soft sounds of your shoes hitting against the ground was deafening. Thick fog blanketing your surroundings.
When Dabi couldn't sleep, he wreaked havoc to compensate. You tag along after him, pulling your jacket tightly around you as if it would offer extra warmth. To help, you breathe in slowly before exhaling small flames of white through your mouth in an ujjayi technique. You feel the temperature of your body grow warmer in response. Desperately wishing to be back in your bed. A shitty bed, but at least you were able to escape the land of the living and consequences for a while.
You refuse to acknowledge the part of you that gets excited while on the prowl with Dabi. Predatory hunger licking at your bones.
It makes you feel like you did years ago when you tried giving Shoto something for your shared birthday but Enji Todoroki tossed your gift to the side and pushed you out of the way.
Making sure you put distance between you and the abandoned apartment building that you and the League called headquarters. Into the nicer area of the city where you could really steal quality goods.
What you often tried to forget was the delight you got when you heard the smashing of fragile glass, or the crackling of your flames as it ate away at both architectural structures and those of the human body. Feeling near orgasmic when your knuckles collide against the crunchy bridge of a nose. You wished it belonged to Endeavor. Wish it was him you were burning. Wanted to watch as his flesh bubbled and burst.
From Enji's disdainfulness toward his family festered inside you until Touya allowed you to release it all. Your white hot flames grew from there. Using hate as fuel.
They dance with Dabi's blue. Pirouetting in the cosmic ballet, casting shadows that dance in tandem with the rhythm of the conflagration.
The destruction you created together was beautiful.
Ruefully you'd acknowledge that one good thing came out of everything your family has suffered under Enji's rule: Dabi. From siblings to lovers you went once both of you hit puberty, a fluid change that was effortless. A godless union that would have Endeavor blanching from horror if the truth ever got out to the media. You waited for that day where all of his accomplishments turned to ash in his mouth. What a delicious moment that would be. But not yet. Dabi had to remind you to be patient ("Though I know it's impossible, spoiled girl that you are." Dabi would comment teasingly).
In the mean time, you'd continue to hone your quirk so one day you and Dabi could live out your dream of taking down Endeavor. You were already so close to it. Could see Endeavor's own unraveling begin during the fight against that highly generated Nomu. Everything was coming to fruition.
You watch Dabi kick open the door to a convenience store, smashing the glass in with his bulky black boot. Alarms blare but you and Dabi walk deafly by. Ribbons of flame whip out from your finger tips as they strike at the ringing bell above, melting it until there was no sound left of its shrill scream.
"Usual rob and raid?" You're already breaking open the cash register to rifle through the till. They kept most of the money in the safe below. Dabi would deal with that. Your fire was far too hot that it might incinerate the money inside. That wouldn't go well with Shigaraki as the League depends on the stolen money to keep afloat.
"And kill anyone who gets in our way." Dabi confirms.
#reader insert#reader insert fanfiction#dabi todoroki#my hero academia dabi#dabi x reader#mha dabi#bnha dabi#dabi#touya todoroki#todoroki touya#touya x reader#mha touya#bnha touya#todoroki siblings#my hero academia#mha fanfic#mha#mha x reader#bnha#bnha fanfiction#bnha x reader#tw dark content#tw dark#tw dark themes#tw dark fic#tw dark topics#tw#dark content#dark themes#my hero academia x reader
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Dogfight
Fighter Pilot!Cassian x Reader
Summary: Anon Request: Lowkey, I think that Modern Cassian would be a fighter pilot.
I.E. A rewrite of a Top Gun scene but with Cassian as the pilot. 🤷🏼♀️
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 1,193
_________________________________________
The sky is an ethereal thing, vast and wide, hues of all colors brushing the heavens in luxurious strokes. Cassian always loved it, sleeping out under the stars as many nights as he was allowed, finding shapes in the billowing clouds and connecting stars into forms, learning stories to go with them.
He always knew he’d find himself up here one day, a pilot after years of training, best in class.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mutters, steering the jet away from the fighter on their tail. The plane lurches severely to the left, wings tipping sideways to avoid enemy fire. “Shadow, where are they?”
His wingman twists around in his seat from behind Cassian, scouting the clear skies for the two jets behind them. There’s nothing but tense silence for a long moment before one of the planes careens into sight and he’s shouting through the comms, “On our six!”
Cassian yanks the yoke and the jet pulls upwards with enough force that he feels his heart in his gut. With a well-practiced maneuver, the plane twists and he’s pulling the trigger, releasing rounds of ammunition on the plane that's clear in sight.
It happens quickly. He watches with hawk eyes as the bullets land, tearing through the pristine metal and ripping open its body. A lucky shot destroys the stabilizer and the plane spirals out of view, the carcass dropping faster than a box of rocks.
A picture taped by the fuel gauge calms his racing heart. A photo of the girl he’d left back home, the woman he swore he’d propose to on his next leave. A pretty young thing that has stood by his side through all of his endeavors, even this most dangerous one.
He takes a breath. One down, one to go.
“Let me know when you see smoke in the air, Shadow,” he exclaims, righting the plane after a precarious turn.
Shadow, his wingman that he’s been working with since he joined up, scours the area for signs of movement. He’d been teased a lot, having the quietest recruit on his team being the one calling positions, but his eyes are as sharp as they come, and Azriel can be loud when he needs to be.
A jet lines up just behind, locking them into its sights, and within a split second it fires a missile their way.
“Smoke in the air! Smoke in the air!”
“Hang on,” Cassian calls back, taking the jet into a steep nosedive. The missile follows, agile as ever, but it’s Cassian who’s quick to fly by the already downed jet, the missile striking its side with an explosion he doesn’t stick around to see.
“Yes, Bloodshed! Direct hit,” Shadow calls, bracing his hands against the windows as he seeks out the plane again. It cuts through the black smoke like an avenging angel and his heart pounds in his chest as the pilot fires again. “Here comes another one!”
Cassian uses both hands to pull the plane up again, helmet sticking to the back of his seat as the plane climbs at a fast rate. “Boost the flares, now,” he orders, and Azriel does, letting them rain down for the missile to connect with.
His plan works, but they’re not out of the woods yet. Cassian splits the throttles and the jet swings around, flipping upside down for a moment of sheer terror they’ve become accustomed to. It puts them at the advantage, coming up behind the enemy plane. “Coming around!”
“You got him, Bloodshed, you got him!”
And he does, sights locking onto the enemy. “Taking the shot,” he says, pulling the trigger and setting their own projectile loose. He prays the missile lands but the pilot in the other plane is a skilled one, and maneuvers his jet in a way Cassian’s never seen before. The missile misses by a hair's breadth and the plane free falls for a moment, careening past their windows like an assailant of stealth.
“What the–”
“Holy shit. What the fuck was that?”
“Hang on, we have to get low,” Cassian grunts, flipping them so the belly of the plane is facing the sun and they’re dipping down, down, down at unnatural speeds. “We can try and dodge his attacks from between the mountains.”
Indeed, the large mountains he stared at for nights on end are enough to be able to do so, the plane nimble enough to avoid the rocky edges. Cassian pictures the three stars that are always settled over the peaks of the mountains and hopes that their other friend, Nightstalker, is doing okay. He lets them lead his way.
“Here he comes,” Azriel warns, and a second later they’re being fired at blindly. Cassian grunts, sending the jet into a series of jerks and twists to avoid the fray.
“Tell me where he is, Shadow!”
Azriel’s checking behind them again, watching the enemy burst through a cloud of debris with ease. “He’s still on us!”
They’re being shot at again, and this time, one makes their mark, he’s told by Azriel. Cassian curses low, steering through a wicked curve, not slowing down. Again, the pilot behind them fires, and Azriel’s calling out to him. “C’mon, Bloodshed, do some of that pilot shit!”
“Brace yourself,” Cassian warns before he’s pulling levers and the wings sweep open. He tugs on the yoke again and the lever switches, sending their jet into a steep climb that has both pilots struggling for breath before he’s leveling them out and nose diving towards the rushing river below.
The skill of the pilot takes them behind the enemy once more, weaving around the expanse of mountains, dangerously close.
“I’ve got a shot, I’m taking it,” Cassian says, pulling the trigger on the steering again. The missile soars through the air with undisturbed grace, locked on the enemy jet trying to outrun it. They let their flares fly and in an unfortunate turn of events, the missile strikes the rogue flares.
“Shit,” Azriel spits, “Out of missiles.”
“Switching to guns,” Cassian responds, hazel eyes flickering to your photograph for the split second they’re smothered by the missile's smoke. But as quickly as it’s cleared he’s taking his shot, firing round after round in hopes to take down the enemy plane.
He pauses for a breath as he takes in the amount of ammunition he has left before firing again and again.
None of his hits land.
“You’ve got him, Bloodshed,” Azriel encourages, peering over his shoulder to watch the battle.
“It’s not over yet,” Cassian mutters, pulling the trigger again. The ammunition is dangerously low, this is his final shot. “One last chance.”
By the grace of the Gods his hits land, flaying metal from the flaps and engines. Cassian watches the pilot eject from the plane just before it careens into the side of the mountain in a ball of fiery explosion, thick smoke coating the air.
“Yes!” Azriel cheers from the back, and it’s all Cassian can do to try and calm his breathing, the picture of your smiling face a beacon of brilliance.
Another day survived, another day closer to coming home to you.
#cassian au#modern!cassian#cassian x reader#cassian/reader#fighter pilot cassian#azsazz#acotar#acomaf#acowar#cassian
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Slay the Princess Endings poorly summarized
warning big spoilers ahead
A New And Unending Dawn
you and the squad kill your gorgeous, divine, irreplaceable other half, the goddess of change and growth, containing death in her multitudes and everything that gives meaning to life and existence, in an attempt to birth a new reality where she doesn't exist any longer to prevent the heat death of the universe or something and definitely not because you got distracted of the philosophical debate you just had with her prior to going to her heart and especially not because you're a Narrator simp (Narrator route when????) or something, noooo sir. atleast you and the gang have each other, right? time heals all wounds after all, even one as irreversible as this.
Leave as Gods Ending
you awake as your greater self, cosmic wings spanning far and wide and shattering the construct you and her are trapped in. she tells you she loves you and though violence and conflict color your dance, you are now together for all eternity. a thousand sunsets and sunrises welcome you, worlds are born anew and worlds are torn asunder as you travel from reality to reality, universes blooming and dying, hand in many many many lovable hands, never to part as you continue the cycle that the Echo sought to tear apart due to His own hubris. you and her, forever.
Leave the Cabin Together
there is nothing but the two of you, once more at the beginning of everything, godhood a terrifying concept to grasp, everything that was once unknowable reduced to the shapes The Narrator gave and nurtured through the trials and pain and happiness you experienced throughout your journey. it is okay. she will be with you. uncertainty fills you both but your love triumphs still and you join hands once again, shadows of your former selves, lesser but enough, ready to face the future… together.
Loop Ending
you and the best boi ever (and other best boi if done right) take the pristine blade ready to confront the Princess once again but oh shit you don't wanna be alone again or become gods because the people outside the construct would just continue to suffer either way fucking hell who gave the birb of stasis and epitome of passiveness the capacity to make reality-altering choices and expect a good thing out of it??? gf seems to disagree with the sentiment (bless her kind and loving heart) and continues to accept everything about you and suggest another option: go back to the beginning, do everything all over again before you knew the truth, and trust that you might make the same choice once more if you find yourselves back here. seems reasonable. you confess to each other before the princess stabs you again and-
You're on a path in the woods-
Oblivion Ending
you deny and deny and deny and deny and deny, your rejection of your Other here hurts her more than any other routes you could have done. you starve your Other of her potential, shrinking yourself in the process of this endeavor. your Other is betrayed in such a way you cannot fathom yet and probably never will, do you even understand the magnitude of the pain you inflicted on her? can you even still? you are bliss. you are agony. there are no wrong decisions, only fresh perspectives. you are bliss. you are agony. you left her to wither. you are bliss. you are agony. hollowness fills the space that is once you, becomes you, and continues to be you. you are empty. you made the wrong choice. you are nothing. you are oblivion. you are together. you exist.
A New And Unending Dawn and Everything about this ending is fucking horrible it physically pains me inside to hear the littol guys be so angry and throwing curses at me. paranoid calling me torturer hurts my kokoro fuck fuck fuck nooooooo -100000/10 ending tbh you just killed your wonderful eldritch gf for this new reality and all your voices fucking hates you??? The Narrator isn't even here to tell you did a good job for doing what He wanted cuz you obliterated Him during your ascent to godhood *sighs* good fucking luck XP
#slay the princess#slay the princess spoilers#stp spoilers#i accidentally posted this one before i finished it so for anyone who saw the initial draft... oops#guess what my favorite ending is from this lmao
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piercing porcelain, crimson sap ♡ vampire!steddie x reader (pt. 1)
recommended listening - dracula (nate sees cassie) - labrinth
this part is generally sfw but the bulk of this series will be nsfw (18+) - so minors dni !!!!! or i will call ur mom
word count - 5k
description - in a fantasy world, reader is from a small, remote village. for many years you have been drawn to the mysterious mansion in the woods, the very same mansion you were warned against visiting for so long. you’ve tended to the neglected garden since you were young, growing attached to the strange, abandoned structure, only to one day find out the mansion isn’t as vacant as you’d thought...
tags/warnings - vampire!steddie, dark!steddie, innocent!reader, fem/afab!reader, pet names, no use of (Y/N), stevie is a lil cold at first but he warms up i promise, eddie is v manipulative lol, implied hypnosis, no smut yet but i promise it’s coming, fantasy elements obvi
a/n - ok i know this premise is done to death and like somewhat out of left field for a fucking stranger things fic but HEAR ME OUT. HEAR ME OUT OKAY. i am a SLUT for sexy mysterious vampire boys and i’ll be DAMNED if i don’t turn steve and eddie into sexy mysterious vampire boys at least once before i die. thank u for understanding and if u see this and it flops no u didn’t ♡
taglist - @urlbitchin
my masterlist ♡
part 2 coming soon ! lmk if u want to be added to the taglist :)
fic below the cut, thanks for reading and i hope u enjoy ♡
-venus ♡
Growing up in the woods, you were always taught to avoid the decrepit old mansion that hid away in the shadows of the tall trees, a warning you would heed with great caution as a child, but not so much as you grew into your teenage years.
You were 15 when you first felt the urge to rebel, or rather when you first failed to fight it off. Restricting yourself to only the outside of the property, to make yourself feel better about your choices, if anything, you had set off along the overgrown path that winded northeast and just down the valley, into a remote corner of the wilderness where the decaying building loomed tall, quieting the forest around it.
Based on all the horror stories you'd been told over the years, you expected to find the place teeming with evil spirits, or perhaps grotesque monsters; but, it was silent as could be, utterly vacant by the looks of it, and at first, rather underwhelming. You thought to yourself that maybe that was the point of all those hyperbolic cautionary tales that the elders passed down, to build up this great big image of what evil might be hiding away here, only for the purpose of letting down those expectations later. You were ready to give up and walk home, disappointed by your findings (or lack thereof), when you caught sight of a beautiful jungle of plants out of the corner of your eye-- they were bursting through the gaps in an old iron fence. It was a long forgotten garden, and as luck would have it, plenty of the plants there were invaluable for your alchemical endeavors.
Every now and then you would slip away and return to the garden, mindlessly sifting through the salvageable ingredients, and as the years went on you'd made a habit of tidying up the weeds where you could, too. Your interest in alchemy hadn't fully extended to an interest in gardening, so you weren't the most experienced by any means, but it was amazing what the smallest loving touch could do for a long forgotten place. Not to mention, the ridding of the weeds allowed the more sought after plants to properly flourish. It became your own private place, your own little slice of heaven, untouched by anyone but yourself. You loved the community you'd grown up in, but you felt an immense comfort near that strange mansion.
In your adulthood you only began to spend more time at the property, caring for the precious plants and dreaming that the mansion was yours, dreaming that you were not a village witch thieving ingredients for a living but the mistress of a beautiful household, gardening for pleasure in her overabundance of free time. It wasn't so much the material that you wanted, no, but the freedom-- freedom from the dangers of the woods, freedom from that constant worry of being unable to provide for yourself, for your village. It was nice to fantasize sometimes.
On this particular afternoon, it was overcast when you were readying yourself to leave the village, so you saw it fit to bring an umbrella. The prospect of rain didn't bother you a bit, or change your plans to visit the mansion at all-- it had been too long since the last rainfall, so both yourself and the plants were sorely needing it anyway. You lifted the hood of your soft cloak over your head and stepped outside, flower basket in-hand and toting a leather backpack full of various gardening supplies.
Cutting through the trees to that fading old pathway, little rocks and twigs crunching ambiently beneath your boots, you looked up at the grey sky above to see that it was only continuing to darken on the horizon. Thick black clouds loomed in the distance, swallowing up every last bit of sunlight and visibly unleashing buckets of rain upon the northern end of the mountain range, and they were barreling closer at a rate highly noticeable to the naked eye. You briefly considered turning back, but decided to stick to it anyway, given the worst case scenario was having to walk home drenched.
That old iron fence creaked loudly in greeting as you entered, even louder than usual due to the moisture in the air. You closed it softly behind you and made your way over to the patch of nightshade that you'd been tending to. You propped your umbrella up on the stump of a nearby tree, crouched beneath it, and got to work pulling up weeds as little droplets began to fall around you. The petrichor was delightful and comforting, and the rainfall softened the earth enough to make it just a little easier to uproot things. It didn't take long for you to settle into a comfortable autopilot mode as the droplets became gradually larger, and more plentiful.
Eddie and Steve liked this kind of rain.
Any kind of rain was favored, of course, but today was unmistakably a treat. The clouds were so dense and blackened with excess that no sunlight could hope to shine through. There was much excitement to be had on darkened days such as these, for a creature of the night-- the ability to roam during waking hours provided an entirely new insight into the lives and routines of their prospective cattle, and as a bonus, the moisture in the air tended to strengthen certain scents.
But, in a more wholesome light, it was quite nice to reminisce in the long faded memory of their own mortality, to pretend, if even just for one afternoon, that their hearts may beat with vitality as they once did, that their bodies might once again hunger for fruit or pastries instead of thick red blood. It was a perfect day for a stroll, Eddie thought, and if they were to happen upon something suitable to dine on in the process, well, that's all the better...
Unfortunately, for his own skeptical reasons, Steve didn't seem to agree. He felt that it was too much of a risk to be seen by anyone, that it would blow their cover, and perhaps his paranoia was not entirely unfounded, though Eddie hesitated to give in. Not only had it been a while since the last good rainfall like this, but it had certainly been far too long since they'd found a new plaything, and Eddie was becoming... rather restless. The last few cattle they'd brought in hadn't really wowed him, as they were chosen more out of necessity and convenience than pleasure, and in turn, it took hardly any time at all for him to grow bored with them. Eddie needed something new, something exciting to keep him entertained for much, much longer than that. The weather provided the most enticing opportunity to stalk around, it was a shame that Steve was so adamantly against it. He could really be no fun sometimes.
Eddie was sulking around the mansion while Steve worked away in the upstairs office-- he had taken the additional waking hours as an opportunity to get ahead on his obligations, which was quite characteristically responsible of him, but Eddie couldn't bring himself to sit still, knowing that such a golden opportunity was being wasted. He could only rearrange the liquor cabinet so many times, let alone the furniture-- the exterior of the mansion was to remain untouched, to maintain the illusion of vacancy. With each passing second, the temptation to slip out for a bit to hunt while Steve worked was picking away at him.
Tossing the idea around, just for fun, of course, Eddie approached the nearest window and drew back the heavy red curtains for a peek outside-- just a scan of the property couldn't hurt, right?-- and as his mocha eyes followed along the treeline surrounding the property, he didn't see anything out of the ordinary, but he froze in place as he picked up on an intriguing scent. Curiously, Eddie cracked the old window open, letting in a draft of the cool, fresh air, and just as he'd hoped, it carried with it the sweet smell of living flesh. The stars couldn't have aligned more beautifully-- there was a human nearby.
To avoid alerting Steve, Eddie quickly sealed the window shut once more, slinking away up the stairs for a better view from the windows in the master bedroom. They were bigger than the ones in the hallway, had a much higher vantage point, and more conveniently, faced the single overgrown path that led to and from the property. Truthfully, he hadn't expected to find much-- Eddie didn't really consider himself lucky, and he knew that the powerful scents carried by the humid air could sometimes be deceiving.
Still, just as he'd done before, he drew back the curtains and cracked the window, peering outward, noting that the human's scent was stronger here. It was floral and saccharine, like fresh lavender and juicy peach, laced with ribbons of intoxicating iron. Eddie's lashes fluttered as his eyes slid shut in delight, and he allowed himself a moment to breathe in deeply with an open, slightly watering mouth.
His eyes opened again and immediately caught sight of movement on the ground below. Eddie couldn't believe his eyes at first; crouched beneath an umbrella in the garden was a pretty little witch, muddying her slight hands in the thick weeds with no evident knowledge of the mansion's occupants. She wore a pale pink cloak that matched her boots and her umbrella, the white frills of her dress poofing out from beneath it, pointed elven ears peeking through her hair. Eddie could hardly fathom leaving the girl out in the rain-- after all, she must be freezing...
Eddie briefly considered asking Steve for his opinion, but had a sore feeling that he knew what he would say, and it wasn't likely to be in his favor. Deep down, he knew that it might be a reckless move, but the aroma in the air was all too enticing. With every passing second he was losing grasp of his better judgement. The temptation was far too much, and so it was that he gathered an umbrella of his own, and decided he would rather ask for forgiveness later.
His sleek black dress shoes went from tapping elegantly across the hardwood floors to sinking into the wet earth. While he wasn't exactly thrilled that his expensive shoes had been exposed to the elements, he knew that the reward could be well worth it. Conveniently, too, the softness of the ground masked the noise of his movements, allowing him a bit more time to observe the girl in her relaxed state. Eddie approached the little elf slowly, not wanting to frighten her. She was so absorbed in her work that she hadn't even looked up.
In all honesty, the girl's unmoving focus and lowered guard brought a little smirk to Eddie's face. Finally, he asked aloud, "My, sweetheart, aren't you cold?" His voice was so warm and sweet, but somehow chilling, too.
You startled, freezing in place as your eyes raked up the length of his body before you-- he was so tall, with long legs clad in nice black slacks that fit him sinfully well, and contrasted to his pale white skin in a way that gave him a nearly unnatural glow. His alabaster face was framed by wildly curly, dark hair, tucked into a messy low bun behind his neck. You couldn't find the words to speak-- he was certainly stunning, a sight for sore eyes, but you had definitely not expected to see anyone out here, let alone in this weather, and it was even weirder that he was able to sneak up on you.
"Oh, you poor thing, you're shivering..." The mysterious man frowned, crouching to your level, fingertips tracing along the underside of her jaw. Little did you know that he was feeling for your pulse. "Why don't you come inside and warm up, hm? We'll get you out of this rain and into some dry clothes."
Inside...? You were only puzzled further-- as far as you knew, this mansion had been vacant for decades, and it certainly looked the part. The garden was far from the only section of it that had fallen into disrepair. The circumstances of this situation were overtly suspicious, but there was something about him that just made it so hard to say no. The mysterious man was equal parts haunting and alluring, comforting and hazardous. Before you could say anything, he reached forward to wrap an arm around your shoulders and then began to usher you indoors.
Shutting the heavy oak door softly behind you, the man rested a hand on your shoulder from behind. "May I take your umbrella?" He kindly asked.
"T-Thank you," You blushed, shakily handing your umbrella over to the man, suddenly being washed over by a feeling of guilt for dripping water all over the beautiful hardwood flooring. "I-I'm so sorry, I didn't know anyone lived here--"
"Shh, it's quite alright, angel," He soothed, hand sliding from your shoulder to your collarbone as he stepped forward, and twisted around to face you. Every movement he made was so enchanting, so graceful, you nearly tripped over yourself as he was stepping out of his muddy shoes. "I appreciate the company. It's not often we get visitors out here."
You were then given absolutely no time to ponder the implication of the word 'we' as the man asked for your name. Somewhat warily, you gave it to him. He hummed contentedly, testing the name out on his tongue, and he was very much pleased with how it felt.
"How pretty," He mused. "And how sweet of you to take such good care of our garden... it's nice to meet you. I'm Eddie."
You were immediately flustered at the praise, cheeks flushing bright pink as your eyes darted somewhere else, drinking in your surroundings-- perhaps the outside of the mansion was falling apart, but the inside was truly beautiful. Dark, but beautiful. Intricately carved wooden furniture decorated the space, fine paintings adorned the deep blue walls which flickered a warm orange with cozy candlelight, and the ceilings were so high that it made you feel particularly small. It looked almost regal.
Eddie gently reached for your hand, bringing you swiftly back to reality. "Why don't you come upstairs and we'll get you out of those wet clothes, hm?" He asked, but he was already leading the way-- again, there was something unnaturally persuasive about him, and it went far deeper than his unparalleled beauty. You rounded a corner and began to ascend the winding staircase, the fine wood creaking softly beneath your steps.
Clearing your throat nervously, you finally mustered up the courage to speak. "Do you live alone here?"
Eddie shook his head, leading you down a hallway at the top of the staircase. You followed obediently. "I have a roommate, an... old friend, named Steve," Eddie explained over his shoulder. "He's working away in his office, but I hope we see him soon. I would love to introduce you."
Of course, Eddie was well aware that your scent would soon breach the door to Steve's office, that it was only a matter of time until he'd follow it through the house until it led him to the both of you. He knew Steve would be angry with him, but he also knew Steve would have a hard time saying no to such a pretty meal laid out just for him. Eddie was willing to take that risk.
One of two thick oak doors creaked open before you, revealing an immaculate master bedroom. The windows were blocked with heavy black drapes which matched the dark, plush bedding, complimented by the stained wood floor. The walls were painted a deep, navy blue, shrouding the room in darkness save for the soft light of a bedside lamp crafted of Tiffany glass.
"You have a beautiful home," You spoke softly, eyes fixated to the many intricate details of the space that seemed endless, every flick of your eyes uncovering new treasures to be admired-- paintings, trinkets, candles long burnt down and dripping hardened wax down their bases.
Eddie chuckled, gazing at you out of the corner of his eye as he rifled through the closet for something you could wear, though it was hard for him to make a decision. You looked so adorable in your soft colored clothes, even drenched in rain and speckled with earth, and he sadly didn't have anything that matched your gentle appearance.
"Thank you, doll. You're very sweet," He finally replied, and as the words left his lips he noticed your polite manners. You observed your surroundings quietly, hands clasped in front of you as you made the noticed choice not to overstep, not to touch anything without permission, not to look too closely at any one thing.
It came as a surprise to him when he felt his cold heart swell. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt such a way about someone he'd tricked into his home for a quick meal.
He brought his attention back to the closet, giving up on his own side and choosing instead to rummage through Steve's-- yet another decision he might come to regret, but at least Steve was more likely to own something soft and colorful. Almost immediately his eyes landed on a thick yellow sweater that would surely warm you up. Eddie plucked it off of its hanger and turned to hand it to you.
However, you were lost in an oil painting on the wall, wide eyes glassy with wonder as you looked over each brushstroke of a glowing crescent moon over a stream of rushing water. Eddie and Steve had acquired that painting so long ago that Eddie couldn't even remember where it came from or who painted it, but just how mesmerized you were by the piece was art enough for him.
Eddie cleared his throat to gather your attention, holding the sweater out for you. "Here, this should help you warm up," He smiled, careful not to bare his teeth. He didn't want to scare you off now. Only moments ago he simply wanted to bleed you dry, but now he found himself wanting to taste you, savor you, perhaps even keep you.
Oblivious, you took the garment from him with a smile, amazed at how soft it was. You thanked Eddie quietly before turning around to shed yourself of your dress, undoing the thin ribbons that secured it in the back before letting it slip gently down from your shoulders. You stepped out of the soaked piece carefully, thankful to your past self for choosing to wear tights and thin shorts beneath it, and as you pulled the cozy sweater over your head you delighted in the near immediate warmth that came with it. Shortly after, you gathered your dress from the floor and turned to face him.
"Thank you. Is there somewhere I can hang this to dry?" You asked.
Eddie tried to conceal his smirk as he answered you, "Well, I would say you could hang it on the clothesline, but..." He gestured toward the window which was concealed behind the thick drapes, but the sound of fat rain drops pattering against the glass was clear. "You should stay inside until the rain lets up, hm? I'd be happy to light the fireplace for you."
"I don't know... I should probably get back to the village in case the storm gets any worse," You spoke reluctantly, casting your gaze to the floor in disappointment, a move that was not lost on Eddie. "I might need to help cover the crops. I don't know what we'll do for the winter if our harvest is flooded."
Your disappointment communicated a couple of things to him-- one, you truly wanted to stay and spend time with him, and two, it was likely you'd be easy to convince to do just that. Of course he understood your plight, though he hadn't really considered the struggles of everyday, living, breathing people in a long time, but selfishly...
"Well, how many people live in your village, sweetheart?" He asked. You looked up at him, tilting your head quizzically. He chuckled, clarifying, "I don't get out much. I wouldn't know."
You had to think for a second-- you'd never really counted-- and when you landed on an estimate you were comfortable with, you obliged. "I don't know exactly... 45 or 50, maybe?"
Eddie hummed, crossing his arms casually. "That's a lot of hands. I'm sure they'll fare just fine without your help for a few hours, yeah?"
You pondered for a moment, just beginning to part your lips to accept his offer to stay for a while when another voice cut through the air, disapproving and materializing out of nowhere: "Eddie... What do you think you're doing?"
While you startled at the unexpected voice, jumping slightly where you stood, Eddie could only grin, turning slowly around to face the man in the doorway.
Only logical, you surmised this was the 'friend' Eddie had told you about earlier-- he was tall and athletic, square jaw and long lashes with fluffy brown hair that wisped over his face. The top two buttons of his white shirt were undone, revealing a thatch of dark hair over his strong chest. Your mouth dried-- the two of them were strikingly, devilishly handsome, especially together, and suddenly you felt your cheeks heating up with confusion over your own feelings and embarrassment for causing a problem.
Eddie's response cut your internal dialogue short. "Stevie! There you are," He greeted innocently. "Remember how you mentioned the garden looked like it was coming back to life? Well, I found the culprit," He joked, gesturing to you as he introduced you by name. Your face burned even hotter.
"...And you found the culprit wearing my shirt?" Steve asked.
You felt your heart sink into yourself. "I-I'm so sorry, I didn't know-" You stammered, but Eddie raised his palm to quiet you and spoke for you instead.
"Come on, Steve, look at her... Poor thing got soaked in the rain! Besides, doesn't she look adorable in yellow?"
Suddenly you felt hot for a different reason. You looked down to the floor to hide your face-- little did you know they could both hear your heart pounding.
Still staring at the floor, you spoke up again, a little louder this time. "Um, I'm sorry for intruding... You can have your shirt back and I'll just go. I didn't mean to cause any problems."
As you looked up to make your way toward the door, you accidentally locked eyes with Eddie. An unexpected wave of calm washed over you, stopping you in your tracks.
"Nonsense, sweetheart," Eddie said. "You're not intruding at all."
Steve gave him a look that missed you completely, a look you wouldn't have been able to read anyway in your trance-like state. You couldn't really manage to speak, let alone interpret the silent communication between two men who were obviously so close with each other that the most subtle physical cues could speak a thousand words.
Eddie put a hand on your shoulder. It was cold.
He smiled at you confidently. "Would you mind giving us the room for a moment, doll?"
Your feet were carrying you to the door before his words even fully sank in. Your gaze lingered on Steve for just a moment as you passed by him on your way out-- he was intently watching you go, arms crossed as he leaned against the door frame. You weren't sure how to feel about that.
Plopping down to sit at the top of the staircase, you tugged at the sleeves of the yellow sweater and wondered what kind of conversation they were having. It was overtly obvious Steve didn't want you there, but Eddie seemed quite sure of his ability to change Steve's mind. Having just met him less than an hour ago, you didn't know him well enough to trust his judgment on that.
A tall grandfather clock ticked rhythmically down the hall, echoing each passing second. You picked idly at your tights just to pass the time, hoping Eddie's offer to light the fireplace for you would still be in the question, should Steve decide you could stay. You could faintly hear the timbre of their voices muted by the thick wooden door, but you couldn't make out what was being said or even discern the emotion behind it. All you could do was sit there, practicing your patience. Part of you wondered if you should just leave the sweater in your place and go, if it weren't for the fact your dress was still in the bedroom and you had no idea where Eddie put your umbrella.
You were too absorbed in your thoughts to notice the hallway had quieted.
Apparently you were also too absorbed in your thoughts to notice the sound of the bedroom door opening.
"You do look rather cute in that sweater," A voice startled you from behind. Clutching your chest, you turned to face the source of it, surprised to find Steve. He was noticeably calmer and offering you his hand to help you up. "I might just have to let you keep it."
Shocked, you blushed as you took his hand, rising gently from where you sat. His hand was cold too. "T-Thanks," You stuttered. "I'm sorry if I caused any problems-"
"You didn't," He cut you off with a warm smile. "I promise. The apology is mine-- I'm sorry for coming off the way I did. You didn't do anything wrong."
"There you go, Stevie," Eddie chimed in from the bedroom doorway. You were beginning to sense a pattern that they had a unique ability to sneak up on you. "See? I knew you could play nice."
Steve shook his head, giving you an exasperated look that communicated quite well to you that Eddie was no stranger to successful persuasion such as this. "Let's get that fireplace lit, shall we?"
Guiding you down the stairs by your hand, Eddie trailing close behind, Steve led you to the parlor and encouraged you to make yourself comfortable as he knelt before the fireplace, stacking nearby logs of firewood into the soot-stained enclosure. Eddie was quick to replace Steve's hand with his own, leading you over to the couch. He offered to brew some tea for you, which you eagerly accepted, and as he made his way to the kitchen you found yourself sinking into the soft couch and watching Steve turn the gas valve at the bottom of the fireplace, striking a match to set the lumber alight at last.
Steve sat on the couch to your left, leaned coolly against the arm. The light from the fire cast a flickering orange glow over his handsome features.
He asked you about how you'd found yourself here, what measures you'd taken to revive the garden and what your village was like. He seemed hesitant to tell you much about his own past, other than that he came from a family in the city that he wasn't particularly close with. You let it slide, figuring there was much more to it than that, and you didn't feel comfortable prying.
Soon Eddie returned with a hot cup of tea, cautioning you to be careful of its temperature before he handed it off to you. You hadn't asked what kind it was, but it smelled delightfully earthy and herbal and a little bit minty, sure to chase the chill from your bones. You thanked him with a polite smile as he sat on the couch to your right, cradling the warm porcelain in your hands.
The three of you continued to chat, learning more about each other as you all became comfortable and opened up a bit. You learned that Eddie plays guitar-- he promised to show you sometime. You learned that Steve used to be an incredible athlete. You learned that the two of them met in school, that they hated each other at first, but have since been inseparable for a longer period of time than either of them could recall. You told them about your family, about your aptitude for horticulture. You promised to teach them how to care for their plants.
The conversation came to a comfortable break, the parlor draped in silence other than the pleasant sound of wood crackling in the fireplace. You were a sip or two away from finishing your tea when Steve leaned forward, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear as he asked, "Do you believe in the supernatural?"
It was an odd question that seemed to come out of nowhere. You nodded slightly. "I mean... yeah. Living in the woods for so long, I know quite well that there are many things on this Earth that nature couldn't possibly explain." You quietly sipped your tea.
"Does it scare you?" Eddie smirked, planting a cool hand on your knee.
Suddenly you were feeling nervous under the pressure of their attention. You finished the last of your tea, leaning forward to set your empty mug on the coffee table.
"Not really," You replied, eyes focused on the fire. "Everything in nature requires a balance. Light and dark, hot and cold..."
"Predator and prey?" Eddie added.
You tensed a little bit, nodding. "Sure, that's a great example. It's all Gaia's will."
"Even if you were the prey?" Steve asked.
"Y-Yeah, I mean, of course," You hummed, wishing now that you hadn't finished your tea so fast. You needed something to fidget with. "It's all Gaia's will," You repeated.
Eddie's hand repositioned from your knee to your thigh so smoothly that you almost hadn't noticed. "Hmm... What about pain and pleasure?"
Steve's yellow sweater was beginning to feel rather hot on your body. Your breath hitched in your throat. "Absolutely," You answered innocently, although your voice shook. "It all contributes to a delicate balance."
You weren't stupid. You knew where they were going with this... or at least you thought you did. Oddly enough, as you'd answered just moments before, you weren't scared.
Maybe if you'd really known what you were in for, you would have been.
#stranger things#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie x reader#steddie x you#steve harrington x reader#eddie munson x reader#venustext#vampire steddie#vampire steve harrington#vampire eddie munson#sintext
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[sub!levi x reader, smut, restraints, choking // 700 words]
Levi whines so weakly - it puts his title of humanity's strongest to shame.
Levi moans so miserably - neighbors temporarily mistake which one of you is making all that noise.
Levi curses so consistently - his day-to-day language is a lullaby in contrast.
Levi screams so sharply - you question if this sex is more pain than pleasure.
Even as his spouse of so many years, you were shocked at the sight - the sound - of him tonight. Your heart was overwhelmed by the adrenaline rush of witnessing Levi the way he was now: compassionate concern with his strained outbursts, sadistic annoyance at his bitchy mewls, a surging confidence knowing that your sex could bring him to this end. With each pitch and acceleration in his voice, Levi forced a contradictory cocktail of arousal and aggravation down your throat - culminating in its tightening. An internal struggle between a-are you okay and shut up slut - you know you love it rendered you ultimately speechless, the perfect opposite to him.
"Fuck... F-huh-ck me!!" Slender fingers curled around your satin ropes and threatened to rip your ties, but this was not your first time working with bondage.
It was the first time, though, that you cupped your hand around his throat. Watching the veins rise in his neck, you longed to feel their movements under you. Seeing shadows of his tendons make love with moonlight, you longed to project their scene onto your skin. Adam's apple bobbed, pulse fast against your palm - Levi's life in your hands - there was no greater power trip.
At least, you believed that for a few seconds until his voice rose again, "Oh god, oh shit!" Levi writhed in sweat-soaked sheets. Legs stretched. Muscles flexed. Bruises began to bud where your fingertips pressed, but he did not seem to mind. In fact, given the buck of his hips and curve of his cock, he appeared to ascend in your grasp.
His incoherence played evidence to a sky-high headspace. "C'Cum... want to... I can't...!"
Your brows narrowed in total focus, all senses honed in trying to read him: feeling his heat radiate into you, listening to each of his sighs and syllables, seeing his struggle. Come on. Spit it out, Levi. What do you want, baby?
And despite how noisy he had been all night, it was his eye contact that communicated most in the end. Steel irises endeavored to peek past his eyelids squeezed shut. In them, an ounce of calm in meeting your gaze, glazed over by the climax of pre-orgasmic strife. Trembling lips and vulnerability's look worked together to convey, Please - Please let me cum!
It was admittedly inadvertent then - how your motions quickly morphed into the ones that would get him there. Your generosity - merciful or accidental - beckoned immediate thanks from the man below you. A white-knuckle grip of your curves, crescent fingernails dug into them. As his eyes rolled back, he likewise released his reins: succumbing into pleasure - screaming with the waves of it.
He never did arrive at an adjective, but your ego swelled at the thought: you were beyond words.
"Oh fuck! Shit... Shit!" Levi's hips begin to spasm, nearly throwing you off of him. In that way, the orgasm itself continued to test him, as breaking from your contact was the last thing he wanted. Fists clenched in ironed bedding, leaving sinful folds, as he attempted to subdue his spasms. Teeth grit, swears snuck through, "F'Fuck... Feels so - you feel so - !!"
As his breaths slowed to standard, as his tone came back to earth, and as his skin dimmed from bright red to pink blush to warm white, the Levi Ackerman that everyone knows reinhabited the figure beneath you - so recently fucked out beyond words, now too humiliated for them. Atoning for his shameless other side, he gazed up to you - pleading once again. This time, not for his release, but for your restraint. In response, your reassurance rained down with a silent smile: his secrets were safe with you.
// masterlist //
#levi#levi ackerman#levi x reader#levi ackerman x reader#levi x you#levi ackerman x you#smut#headcanon#2023#anlian writes#my writing#alias's#salt and pepper#choking tw#tw choking#jesus christ anlian take a suppressant#restraints tw#tw restraints
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Sasunaru Fic Recs
1. Before Today is Over by oshit, T-rated, 12k
Given summary: Above him, Sasuke leans over the edge of the pier to watch. Naruto hears him laugh and even with his face draped in shadow, he can imagine Sasuke’s cheshire grin, eyes crinkling with mirth. He feels Sasuke smiling at him. Naruto would pluck every star from the heavens to keep that feeling.
My summary: post-war fic with getting together, ft. letter writing and a day spent in a seaside town
2. Homesick for a Mountain’s Song by kintou, M-rated, 51k
Given Summary: Sasuke tries to get away from the world by buying an abandoned house on a mountain. Naruto, tired from his long days in Konoha, gets a little too excited about growing vegetables in Sasuke's garden.
Notes Summary: This story will mainly be Fluff or Hurt/Comfort. Just boys being soft on top of a mountain. There will probably be some dealing with trauma going on, since living on top of a mountain gives a man a lot of time to think. Anyway, I'm just a sucker for farmfics, and I think stoic Sasuke would fit in very well with all of these rough farmers.
3. Two Moons by iluxia, M-rated, 11k
Given summary: Paths diverge after the Fourth War, in this new world Naruto works hard to build. He holds his highest dreams within his hands, but is he happy? [ Picks up post-Kaguya, some elements of Boruto & post-700 but not entirely adherent.]
My summary: post-canon fic where Naruto at long last discovers what (who) truly makes him happy, and consequently has a midlife crisis over it, fix-it fic
4. Syzygy by glassedplanets, T-rated, 31k
Given summary: In which Sasuke comes home, an errand needs to be run, several people tell him things, and he realizes just what home really is, for him.
Tags for my summary: Reunions, Homecoming, Canon Divergence, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Chapter 699 (Naruto), Fluff, Mutual Pining, Happy Ending
5. Kizuna Hikari by YoungAndOverIntelligent, M-rated, 204k
Given Summary: The only reason Sasuke keeps coming back to Konoha is because of that mattress. The bed is his only respite. And perhaps the dumbass who owns said bed might be worth it, too.
Or, another canon divergence 699 that showers Sasuke with too much (deserved) love and attention that we all need for these unprecedented times. Title means "Bonded Light". It'll make sense when you're about 100K in
My summary: There was only one bed, chakra sharing, adopted cat, so much happens it’s 200k long but it flies by it’s so good
6. Rebuilding by KinomiAkai, E-rated, 25k (and anything and everything by them!! Seriously binge read all of their Naruto fics they are all amazing I had such trouble just picking one!!)
Given Summary: Sasuke has spent every day since the war’s end trying to rebuild. It's a good thing Naruto has been doing the same, isn't it?
My summary: Naruto’s been working himself to the bone trying to make Kohona into a place Sasuke would like to call home, when Sasuke notices and decides to help him in his endeavor--cue a developing relationship get together!
7. Everybody Knows That You Cradle the Sun by Kyxxie, 17k, E-rated
Given summary: “Y’know—before mom passed—she used to tell me about my dad. She'd tell me the kind of person you wanted to end up with, someone you kept around. She'd tell me about opposites, about calming the other one down and bringing them back up, about how they'd do the same for you. She'd say that you wanted someone who remembered things about you, not just the big stuff. Mundane shit that doesn't need to be remembered, but they do anyway. She'd say 'keep those who chronicle your life because it's theirs, too'."
OR
Naruto challenges Sasuke to a game of “who knows the other person better”. Sasuke panics when he realizes that he might be the winner because what in the actual fuck does that mean? He doesn’t know. Naruto tells him.
8. The Moon Will Sing (I Loved You Like the Sun) by FlowerCitti, E-rated, 18k
Given Summary: Sasuke comes back to the village after a few months away. (Or, Sasuke realizes that Naruto is more of a home to him than Konoha ever was.)
My Summary: Post-canon, Naruto trying to make Kohona a home for Sasuke, in the process he overworks himself, getting together
9. Armistice by surveycorpsjean, M-rated, 15k
Given summary: Sasuke is still here. Or maybe; love hasn't passed them yet.
My Summary: Post-Boruto movie fix-it fic, getting together, AU where Naruto gets married (then divorced) but Sasuke never does, lovely conversations
10. Komorebi by saltedpotato, M-rated, 68k
Given Summary: Komorebi: A Japanese word for the way sunlight filters through the leaves of a tree canopy His responsibilities to the world fulfilled, Naruto Uzumaki takes Sasuke Uchiha and disappears from the public eye, letting the world readjust by itself in the aftermath of the Fourth Shinobi World War. Follow along with a series of windows into the lives of two boys as they relearn what they mean to the world and what they mean to each other.
Enjoy <3
#sasunaru fic recs#sns fic recs#narusasu fic recs#sasunaru#narusasu#also apologies for not linking authors tumblr wouldn't let me alas
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Sneak peek of the fourth chapter of Mon Ange.
Vox sat in his chair as he watched the monitors with rapt attention. The moment Alastor left the perimeter of Cannibal Town, all street cameras and three different drones were already watching him. Usually, the prick would only do some minor glitching with his powers, but the fucker was almost frying his cameras right now. Of course, this only made Vox more interested in what he was trying to hide, so he sent out a few guys along with more drones. Hoping Alastor would miss just one just long enough for him to catch a glimpse of whatever the old bastard was trying to hide. Was he somehow injured? No, then he wouldn't leave the hidey hole of his pal's.
The moment his men approached Alastor, they began disappearing into shadows. Vox was more than slightly annoyed as those chumps were likely soon to be double dead, and he'd have to find more simpleton to take their place. One of them, through the use of their squid like camaflouge was able to get really close, so close that Alastor was momentarily caught off guard though he didn't appear to be as he simply used a tentacle from the ground to impale the sinner and kept walking hand in hand with someone. The blink and you'll miss it half a second of footage was caught in many angles, and Vox gave up watching to see if Alastor would actively slip up in for of analyzing the shot. Alastor was holding hands with a smaller Sinner dressed as what cannibals were usually dressed as in a color matching the radio demon's. Vox stared at them from every angle. They were cute, he supposed, but he'd seen many men and women fawn over the radio demon, and he hadn't given them the time of day, so what was so different about you? And why was he, himself, getting suckered in as well?
That's when he heard a soft coo from his monitor that he instinctually knew was from an Omega. He couldn't tell why you cooed from the camera feed, but when you did, Alastor stopped to reassure you everything was fine, and he heard your sweet, little voice say, "Alright, Papa."
Vox just knew this wasn't some kind of odd perversion of a Daddy kink. No, it made since now why Vox looked at you on the half second images he got, and it made so much sense. You were not even just an Omega. You were a Little.
"Holy shit, Alastor is a Caregiver?!" Vox himself was sure, but he never suspected the old prick was.
Now that Vox knew what you were, though, he found himself doing what he oft does with Alastor, coveting. Whether it be his status, power, or ability to work around almost any situation and still come out on top, Vox coveted almost everything that Alastor had. Sure the idea of a Hotel to rehabilitate Sinners was a fucking awful idea and he wouldn't let himself be caught dead supporting such an endeavor as the sheer ridiculousness could ruin his brand's integrity, even if it worked a program designed to get rid of his customer base was something he'd never support. However, he could envy the way it gave Alastor a perfect in to eventually make a deal with hell's own resident bleeding heart Princess Charlotte Morningstar. Now his sights were set on you, sweet little you, with those lovely doe eyes and adorably small stature. He let a finger trail along your image. He decided then and there that he wanted you to be his. He'd keep close tabs on you and Alastor. The old prick had to let his guard down at some point, and when he did, Vox would swoop in and take you as his own. He'd be a much better option for a Caregiver than that old fossil anyway.
"Don't worry, Sunshine, you'll be home soon enough~"
#sneak peek#fanfiction sneak peak#classification hell au#classificationhell#thank you#mon ange sneak peek#vox may pop up from time to time and get more and more obsessive each time#the little glimpses he gets of Reader just simply are not enough
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@choaticgypsyvicking asked for tokoyami and mineta, thanks!!
Alright I’ll admit I used to be a big mineta hater, I have been a fan of mha for a long time and back then he had pretty much zero redeeming qualities. But much like the other characters in this series with terrible misdeeds (endeavor bakugo) he has certainly changed for the better albeit more subtly. I still think he has a long ways to go and needs to give a formal apology for his behavior but with 1-a’s help I’m sure he’ll get there.
Mineta’s character development has been very subtle and I’m not an expert on him so if I get anything wrong feel free to correct me. Mineta is loud whiny and annoying, he does this because of his need for attention and recognition. He is willing to get into trouble just so people will notice him, even bad attention is enough for him. He is naturally fearful but his strength to overcome the fear makes him courageous. If you get to the root problem that is mineta’s horrible upbringing (being taught that women are the devil) and helping him get over his self esteem issues he can start to mature as a person, which seems to have already begun.
Just after the stain arc in the very first school briefs (which technically isn’t canon but the characterization is accurate for the time) mineta refers to dark shadow as Tokoyami’s “pet” which obviously pisses both of them off and shadow tries to attack him. But most recently during this final war arc (manga spoilers!) mineta-fucking-minoru is the one to distract afo from stealing dark shadow! MINETA is the one to finally declare just how IMPORTANT of a person Shadow is!! He knows how much tokoyami cares about them!! Mineta went from thinking that dark shadow was just some pet to understanding they are much more than that. Mineta shows other moments of remorse like when he apologized to shoji for calling him an octopus as well. In fact mineta’s whole demeanor has changed since the gunga mountain villa raid where he has become much more serious, I would imagine he was highly traumatized by Midnight’s death.
Tokoyami is someone with strong morals, I think he found mineta just as deplorable as everyone else but remained cordial towards him. He becomes a large deciding figure in mineta’s path to redemption. Once again tokoyami is known for his wisdom and becomes a shoulder for mineta to lean on. He’s willing to listen to his problems without judgement and offers reasonable advice to his issues. Minoru also learns more about tokoyami and shadow in turn by listening to them banter back and forth and slowly come to understand their dynamic. I think tokoyami is particularly skilled at being strict with rules that mineta needs to follow. He would be willing to help mineta get new hobbies so he can share his music skills and help him learn to play. I think a ukulele would be small enough for him.
Dark Shadow never really likes anyone they meet at first but mineta was the equivalent of pond scum to them. As neighbors it was shadows job to make sure he stayed out of trouble and they were very successful at their job, scaring and pranking him when the chance arose. Dark shadow enjoyed tormenting him enough that they reluctantly began to tolerate him, surprisingly mineta also tolerated this behavior probably because he liked the attention and is desperately lonely. In my opinion dark shadow and mineta are actually very similar with their desperation for love and affection causing them to make bad decisions so they find common ground here. Dark shadow probably is the first person minoru thinks of as a friend (besides kaminari) and gladly allows them to boss him around so they can hang out together. They end up reading manga together, playing games, and drawing (which mineta is superior at). They also get into trouble together stealing food and pulling pranks on others but they both get punished by tokoyami. Eventually shadow realizes their aggressive treatment towards him isn’t very justified or kind and they tone back the targeted name calling. They’re still a little shit though :)
In the end shadow and mineta are surprisingly close friends while tokoyami is a friendly with him as he is with everyone else which is still quite a lot.
#bnha#boku no hero academia#tokoyami fumikage#dark shadow#mha#my hero academia#bnha headcanons#minoru mineta
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Chrissy this is my prompt for u to write an essay about your grievances here. I love having my parade rained on, jokes on u
Haha, okay okay okay, so I guess it is list of grievances time.
I’m gonna put most of this under a Read More because like I said before, I’m not trying to make a spectacle out of complaining about people’s good time. So if you’re not looking for BNHA-salt this is easily skip-over-able.
I will start with one thing above the Read More—and I mean this with full compassion and sincerity—I think Horikoshi is burnt out. It feels like he doesn’t love the characters or the world anymore and he’s going through the motions to get this over with and I’m SURE the break-neck pace of the shonen manga industry holds a lot of blame. I’ve burnt out on my own stories over less. So I don’t fault Horikoshi for that part.
Okay, so salt time. It got pretty long.
I’m gonna start by elaborating on the first point, because its impact is extremely easy to feel on the story:
The love for the characters isn’t there anymore.
BNHA has always been a big-cast kinda show, and they managed this well in the early seasons. Even with 20 characters in Class 1-A, I can tell you specifics about pretty much everyone’s role during the Tournament Arc. They all felt distinct. They all had different motivations, tactics, attitudes hopes dreams everything. Iida’s “I’m actually going to go against you, Deku, because I can’t keep being the friend in your shadow” was so very distinct from Uraraka’s “I used my wit to concoct a plan against a brute-force blaster and nearly won, but the frustration is so hard to deal with” from Todoroki’s “I’m moving forward with cold and blind rage to defy my father” from Bakugou’s “I need an absolute first-place win or this is nothing” from Midoriya’s “I can’t use my quirk so I need to win with my tact” from Yaoyorozu’s “I buckled under pressure and the frustration is devastating” from even—fucking—Ojiro’s “I resign because I was possessed during this team win and I don’t honorably think I can continue.”
I could probably keep going for every student in Class 1-A but my point is how potently interesting and distinct each of them felt during this arc. Even ones who ended up with little screentime left their mark.
…And then I compare it to, say, the recent “Rescue Deku” arc and… it was just 20 people essentially in a line, one-by-one sounding off about what surface-deep reason they had for liking Deku and wanting him to come home while they all just trade off generic blows and… that’s that. Deku comes home and there’s no talk of it. No fanfare. No fallout. It happened and it’s done. We don’t care what the characters think. Onto the next.
And this was all following a LONG stint where the main characters hardly even appeared. Uraraka and Iida hardly exist anymore. Only Todoroki and Bakugou have managed to cling to relevance alongside Deku, and that’s probably a popularity poll thing. But EVEN then, Deku himself hardly appeared for a long time. And it felt painfully obvious how much Horikoshi was just tired of his cast, and desperately hopping to a new Favorite Character in a bid to keep his own interest alive.
For a while it was Hawks. Everything was Hawks. Then Endeavor for a while. Endeavor was Horikoshi’s new main character. Then Mirko. All things Mirko. Just hopping to brand new characters and tossing them aside when the flame died, all the while leaving the main cast to stagnate.
Now in the final arc we’ve got an ensemble of several-dozen characters haphazardly thrown around, here to say a few Epic Shonen Words and do an Epic Shonen Attack for 3 pages, fail, and then get tossed into the background again. They’re less characters and more just plot-moving-pieces. The lack of heart is palpable and an arc like Rogue Deku, which my angst-endeared ass should have been super easy to win over with, was extremely flat. Nothing more than a surface-deep exploration of what this means for Deku’s character, and I need to stress it was NOT like that at the beginning of the series! The beginning, up through at least the Kamino arc, had a LOT of love for all these characters. It made you root for them. It made you care. And those characters are all just shells of themselves now.
Which rolls into my next point: What character development?
Horikoshi was REALLY good at setting up both plot and character. The character introductions were strong. The early arcs were strong. You see Deku develop a lot in the very early chapters, going from easily cowed to holding his ground, going from quirkless, to a state of having a quirk but having to be smart and use it sparingly, to slowly getting control of it. And alongside the awe of larger-than-life All Might, it’s a development you really root for.
…And Horikoshi kind of flubs development after that.
I cannot tell you how current-arc Deku is that distinct from chapter-50 Deku. Same for most characters except maybe Bakugou, who’s had a decent character arc. But that should not be a stand-alone phenomenon.
If I think about something like Fullmetal Alchemist, the development Ed undergoes throughout the series is amazing. It happens slowly, but steadily. The lasting impacts of experiences change him. He matures. He learns. And Ed in the final episode is hardly recognizable as the pompous little shit from the beginning.
Deku has been… Deku. For a very long time now. All Might’s been shuffled off stage. Todoroki’s development I personally dislike for a reason I’ll get into later. The rest of Class 1-A has been tossed into the dumpster as previously stated.
And as for the PLOT…
God I’m so sorry, what plot? (And how you can’t have your cake and eat it too)
This one DEEPLY impacts my opinion of the series.
BNHA doesn’t know what its plot is.
BNHA had really good set up! A lot of opportunities of ways to push the plot along and explore a big and open world. There seemed to be a really good thread to focus on up through the Kamino arc, combining school concerns with real life threats, and then….. and then…….
It’s almost comical how BNHA sniffed at some fearsome, fascinating villains at the beginning of the series (Stain, particularly, comes to mind) only to settle on… a whiny brat with no goal, Shigaraki, as the main antagonist.
And this COULD have been done in a way I would have loved! If the framing of the story was just that—"hey yeah Shiggy is a whiny brat whose trauma made him violent, and he’s too dumb to realize he is PURELY being groomed by AFO to turn him into AFO’s new body.” If the framing had said “yes, Shigaraki is in fact stupid and has no point—(and that makes him sympathetic as a groomed victim of AFO’s who never knew any better!)”
But instead Horikoshi is trying SO hard to make it seem like the League of Villains has a point.
What is their point?
I shouldn’t ask that rhetorically, because that’s inviting fans to message me with their 18-paragraph, 95% fanon, “fixing canon while thinking they’re explaining canon” explanations about why all the LoV characters’ goals make perfect sense. And, look, I’m sorry, it’s not there. It’s just not.
Toga’s whole point is “I wish it was easier for me to kill people.” Shigaraki’s whole point is “I’m angry, I think killing All Might will make everything better.” Twice’s point is “I’m lonely.” Dabi’s the only one with a real point (but I’m ALSO quite angry about that, more on that later.)
And again! I feel like this was so CLOSE to being good—these are all random riffraff who came together as followers of Stain’s ideology. It makes a LOT of sense to end up with ragtag misfits, all with their own wildly different interpretations of a high-profile criminal’s ideaology, and if the LoV were JUST unsuspecting pawns in AFO’s game, I would have sympathy for them! Them and Shigaraki!
But instead, Horikoshi tries over and over again to be like “no the LoV TOTALLY have a point. They say Hero Society is corrupt and it totally is!”
…Except Horikoshi forgot the part where he was supposed to make Hero Society corrupt…
And look, if Horikoshi wanted a Bright and Shiny, All Heroes Are Good And Shining happy little comic world, I’d respect that. If he wanted to do a The Boys-style “Heroes are the corrupt underbelly of a society that worships them”, I’d respect that. But he tried to do both at the same time, in a floundering bid to grasp onto a plot, and it does not work.
You end up with this completely incoherent narrative where, when you look around, all the heroes are good and shiny. And then Horikoshi just says “oh um, no it’s corrupt.” And then throws in like, one random side character who goes “oh yeah I was a hero controlled by the Bad Hero Agency to do like, murders!” and then she goes away forever and we don’t talk about it anymore. And then Hawks kills a member of the LoV—a criminal organization with a massive body count—and they try the whole “SEE. Heroes are JUST AS BAD as the villains!” (Dabi is in the background incinerating people to death.)
Which speaking of, if Horikoshi wanted to show Hero Society is corrupt, heY YOU DO REMEMBER YOUR NUMBER 1 HERO IS A CHILD-ABUSER AND WIFE-BEATER. HORIKOSHI DO YOU REMEMBER? DO YOU? “Ah gee how will I show Hero Society is corrupt?” Endeavor is right there! “Guess I’ll invent a new character who shows up for one arc who was a corrupted hero or something” ENDEAVOR IS RIGHT THERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I’m normal again.
Alright on to my next point.
FUCKING ENDEAVOR.
This part is going to be more on the subjective side because it’s just an arc and character handling I deeply hate. You can disagree with me or whatever but Endeavor stans I do not care why you like him.
HEY REMEMBER HOW THE (at the time) NUMBER 2 HERO BEAT HIS SON BLOODY SINCE THE TIME HE WAS 5 YEARS OLD IN ORDER TO TRAIN HIM TO BE STRONG ENOUGH TO SURPASS ALL MIGHT.
REMEMBER WHEN ENDEAVOR BEAT HIS WIFE SO MUCH SHE HAD A MENTAL BREAKDOWN AND POURED BOILING WATER ON HER SON’S FACE AND WAS SENT AWAY LEAVING HER CHILDREN SOLELY IN THE CARE OF THE MAN WHO RAMPANTLY ABUSED THEM.
REMEMBER WHEN HORIKOSHI MADE A CHARACTER SO *CARTOONISHLY* EVIL I WOULD TAKE MOVING ENTIRE MOUNTAINS TO REDEEM HIM?
Well he went through a wittle man-pain and he’s so sowwy :3. Do you fowgive him?
He got to become the Number 1 Hero but (gasp) it wasn’t everything he thought it would be so `(*>﹏<*)′ could you maybe be a wittle bit nicer to him?
Oh yeah and Endeavor’s big redemption moment? It’s when he almost dies fighting a high-powered Nomu terrorizing the city, or, as it’s known in the hero industry, FUCKING TUESDAY.
THAT WAS ALWAYS THE POINT. ENDEAVOR’S DAY JOB HAS ALWAYS BEEN RISKING LIFE AND LIMB TO PROTECT CIVILIANS. FIGHTING A HIGH POWERED BAD GUY IS *NOTHING NEW*. THAT WAS ALWAYS THE POINT. THAT SUCH A HEINOUS MONSTER WAS ALSO SOCIETY’S PROTECTOR.
But he got a wittle banged up in the fight so now his family has to be a wittle nicer to him. He has a scar now (*/ω＼*)
And at that point, Endeavor was Horikoshi’s new favorite character so he just had to feel a little guilty and then it was all good. He’s good. We’re all good with him.
And it would be one thing if Shouto was joining his father’s agency JUST for the stepping stone opportunity. I liked that during the Tournament Arc! When he tells Endeavor he just, in the moment, completely forgot about him. I loved that!! Disown your father and just USE him for your own career escalation, YES, use him and give him none of your love attention or honor I liked that a lot!
But instead it’s turned into actual forgiveness. And this is lauded as good.
Now, THE DABI REVEAL ARC.
The start of this arc was great. I loved the dramatc reveal. I loved Dabi blasting Endeavor’s dirty domestic-abuse laundry over the airwaves to the entire public.
SURE WOULD HAVE LIKED FOR ANY OF THAT TO MATTER. AT ALL. EVEN A LITTLE.
NOPE. The ONLY thing this does is spur the entire Todoroki family to rally around Endeavor and tell him how much it’s all their own faults too that this happened.
Natsuo, who would have been fucking FIVE YEARS OLD, when the stuff with Touya went down, tells Endeavor that this is partially his own fault too because if only he (Natsuo) had fought back against his dad’s rages and made his dad talk things out with Touya, maybe none of this would have happened.
FUCKING WHAT.
(And again, the narrative is endorsing this. This is supposed to be a HEART-WARMING scene of a family coming together.)
Fuyumi and Rei go on to explain why they were also responsible for Endeavor’s abuse (I could a little bit understand Rei taking some responsibility, as their mother) but also Rei was married off to Endeavor in a quirk-wedding girl was basically trafficked. And this arc also decides to show “oh um actually their courship was good :3 Endeavor was good and caring, actually :3 he just got a wittle evil later on (are you mad at him?) <:3?”
Okay, okay okay I should stop I just canNOT be charitable about this arc.
At this point in the series, the Dabi=Touya confirmation and the resolution of the Todoroki family stuff was the only main thing I was still hanging around for. And the Endeavor redemption shattered my faith in the series so soundly I have only been idly following along since then without any of my heart in it.
In Conclusion
It’s a series that had so much heart and so much untapped potential at the beginning. And then Horikoshi reached the end of his thread of planning, and discovered he did not know how to actually follow through on character arcs or plot, and has pittered around aimlessly letting characters decay, plot threads unravel, and his best bet at this point has been to cling to a throughline which just does not make any sense.
Now we’re near the end and the characters are shells of their former selves and we’re going through the motions of every Big Shonen Wow tropey ending and, really, Deku can land the final ending punch on TomurAFO (or whatever we’re calling AFO!Shiggy) and I will feel just. Nothing about it. Because it won’t feel like any kind of conclusion for the characters I actually cared about at the beginning.
#dont wanna tag this bc 'dont tag your shark hate with sharks' comic you know#so sorry for anyone relying on that for blackist just gotta skip this one#arcticfoxshitposting#nagitokomaeda-the69th
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