#250 follower special

[beingcultureis]

Hey everyone! So I hit 250+ followers (ty sm btw) and I wanted to do a fun little thing! YALL can ask me a bunch of questions for my system or a couple individual alters! Obviously, if I’m uncomfortable with a question I’ll reject it though.

The following alters are participating:

📀; Name- Tyranny, pronouns it/it’s currently or ask

🐉; Name- Mephistopheles, pronouns he/him

🪄🔮; Name- Solomon, pronouns he/magic/it

⛓️‍💥; Name- Chronic/Raphael, pronouns thorn/throne/divine/it

🗣️🩸🦷; Name- Elliot, pronouns anything but she/her

���; Name- Asmodeus, pronouns any but prefers he/him

💰; Name- Mammon, pronouns he/him

🐦‍⬛; Name- Lucifer, pronouns he/him

…

I may edit and reblog this if I get consent from other alters!!

[puripurin]

[50, 100, 150, 250 and 350 follower special] [Yan! Omega x Male Reader x Yan! Bunny Hybrid]

— You coughed as you suddenly breathed in only to realize two large purple eyes were staring at you. They blinked two times before they were pulled away harshly.

"Move it you whore. Just because we made an agreement to share him doesn't mean I'll just let you infect him with your stripper mindset." The person with bunny ears degraded the man with a harsh tone. However, the crude remarks only made him burst into laughter.

"How about you stop coming at me when you look like some of my coworkers with that skin-tight body suit?" He mocked the bunny hybrid, who put his middle finger in his face.

"At least I don't go around shoving my dick into other people other than (Y/n). Sometimes I can't believe I have to work with a bitch like you!" The bunny hybrid scowled at the other person. You raised your eyebrow at the two's arguments.

"Right... so what the fuck is going on?" You stopped their glaring at one another by making them shift their focus on you. Almost immediately, they came super close to you. The bunny hybrid slapped his hand on the other person's mouth before speaking up.

"The name's Clear Blackwell! I'm non-binary, so use he/ they pronouns." They winked and blew a kiss before swiftly pulling their hand away and glaring at the man who bit his hand.

"I'm Cecil, and the reason you're here is that you need to be taught a lesson on why you shouldn't break the rules." He kissed you on the nose before moving back a bit to cross his arms with a glare on his face.

"What were the rules?" You questioned, not recalling being given any rules. "No talking to anyone outside of work colleagues for work-related things, friends, family or people in the service industry. No watching porn. No seeking dates with anyone and so on and so forth. We tried our best to make it lenient, but you broke Every. Single. Rule." Cecil shook his head in disappointment. Oh, they were probably the ones you kept receiving in the mailbox of your apartment complex that they wrote with blood. Obviously, you didn't follow it and threw it away. You were going to say something but Clear started to speak.

"Sigh, this is one of the few times I have to agree with this whore. You have been out and about prancing around, flaunting yourself to anyone who wants to see it. Ugh... do you know how many times I had to call up my bodyguards to kill all of those cunts who dared to indulge themselves in your desires?" Clear's eyes twitched as they seethed in anger and frustration. You looked at them with a blank stare before realizing what they meant.

"YOU KILLED MY DATES!?!?" You shrieked in horror. It was no wonder why not a single one of your dates messaged you back for a second date. You tried moving away from them, but Clear slammed his hands on the chair handles to stop you from moving.

"And don't play as if you're scared. I don't like it when someone that belongs to me pretends to be all innocent whilst whoring themselves out." Clear inhaled and exhaled to calm themself down and moved away from you. Cecil patted Clear on the back in comfort before moving towards you.

"Your punishment is going to be rough. Although we wanted our first time having sex with you to be gentle, unfortunately, you couldn't keep yourself in check, so it has come down to this." Cecil sighs and takes off his collar before putting it on you. He stops at a point before pulling it so tight you start to choke.

"Now let's see if you're going to disobey the rules after this." He relaxed the tightness of the collar before pulling you into a rough kiss.

"I- I'm sho sorry f- for breaking the rulesss!" You sobbed from the pain. Almost everywhere on your body was hot with pain. Your mouth and throat were in pain even though Cecil and Clear had innocent-looking faces, their sizes were no joke. Clear kissed your swollen and bleeding lips in contentment.

"F-fuck... Clear, do you think he's learnt his lesson?" Cecil moaned as he slammed back into you, making you shudder and moan from the roughness. His face was flushed as he watched both of you make out.

"A-ah haa... Yeah... He looks so docile now, with his lips all messed up and his body covered in lovebites. Shit, this makes me want to mess him up even more... but I think he's starting to reach his limits." Clear rubs his thumb on your cheek, which nearly makes you close your eyes if you weren't getting fucked by Cecil. Cecil nods before thrusting back into you a few more times before he came inside.

"Damn... You're better than any of my clients." He kissed your cheek before rolling his eyes and kissing Clear on their lips after they motioned for a kiss. "Right, time to clean up. I'll get the towels and water." Cecil got up and brought back some towels and a few bottles of water.

Cecil cleaned up both you and Clear so fast but was pretty gentle about it before cleaning himself up. You fell asleep from exhaustion and snuggled up into a pillow at first, but Clear switched out the pillow for you to hug them instead. Clear watched as Cecil wiped off his body before speaking up.

"You're so much nicer when you aren't spouting a bunch of bullshit, you know?"

"How about you shut the fuck up before I fuck that brattiness out of you."

Yall thought you were gonna get a full-length smut? Guess what, you got bamboozled. Sorry if their personalities switch up like crazy, yall have no ideas how hard it is to write this shit down before valentine's day so you have time to write a val. special.

Anyways, for those of you who don't know, Cecil and Clear are the very first ocs I wrote about to publish on here and I appreciate all of the people who scrolled through my blog to read everything like thirsty dogs. Thank you.

Also i squizshed every follower milestone to one poast is because realistically, i aint gon an write all of that but I might reblog later to write out the full smut. Ah, almost forgot, if Clear's intro is bad here IM SORRY CUS LIKE IDK HOW YOU DO THIS WITH CONFISENCE OMG IF YALL ASK ME TO CHANGE IT ILL CHANGE IT CUS ITS BADDD 😭😭😭😭 Also Cecil not saying his last name intentional.

Once again, without the jokes or spelling errors, I'm actually grateful that yall actually comment, like and follow my writing. So I might go back on my old quotev ACC to rewrite and finish the story that I posted before. Any questions that you all might have, I'll answer in the comments. Also yes, I will write pt2 for cute! Monster's father.

(noto prooftred)

[one-true-houselight]

Me: hm, I might put the instagram app on my ipad and turn off all notifications so I can post the things I want to post there a little easier

Instagram: fuck you, you can’t post stories to instagram from a pc unless you inspect the page and fool it into thinking you’re on a phone. Your phone won’t post the picture but the hacked pc will! Oh add the story as a highlight? Computer doesn’t acknowledge the story exists in the highlights menu, and the phone doesn’t have a highlight option. You should get our app ^______^

Me: I will die before I download the instagram app

[stick-by-me]

They're called Kaboodles.

New follower sticker for: @eternalheart!

[water-pokemon-appreciator]

magic anon!

Go to therapy

[picture of sidon in a therapist's office]

WHEN DID I GET HERE

LET ME LEAVE

[aj-moment]

So rn the US government is starting to defund the National Parks Service, and while this is a bad thing largely because it's mainly being done to open up the possibility of oil drilling in a lot of those areas, I think it also needs to be said that no the National Parks Service was not just there to "protect natural wonders" or whatever. It was there because a lot of those places are incredibly important land to a lot of Indigenous Peoples and if you give it special status that means you can't live on it you can make the natives leave easier because they get arrested if they don't. Like I am very much not in favor of this change as it is being done but I don't think we should respond to it with wholehearted praise of the National Parks System either. Please know the history of the land you live on and visit.

edit: this post was made with some noteworthy gaps in knowledge. This has already spread so to some extent the damage has been done but I do want to add on an addition someone made that I think does give some very helpful context to this. If you've already reblogged this I recommend doing so again with this addition. Credit on the comment goes to @kingsonne-zedecks

"I think that only two thirds of the conversation is being represented in this post and just wanted to ensure that people had the full picture.

Because the National Parks were absolutely used as a method for limiting, oppressing, and controlling indigenous lands ever since the US government violated multiple treaties to create Yellowstone. "Protecting" these lands meant protecting them from their historical stewards and inhabitants as well as from logging and mining companies.

Multiple parks were even created with provisions "allowing" indigenous people to continue using them for hunting, fishing, gathering, and spiritual purposes. Except that they were rapidly pushed out in the following years, while the tourists were told of the indigenous in the past tense only.

That's all absolutely true and is an important part of the history of the National Park Service that should not be forgotten or ignored.

But.

Its also not 1872 anymore. In 2015 Mt McKinley was offocially recognized and restored to the name Denali. Something that, though small in comparison to the harm that has been done, was indicative of a growing sentiment for restoring Ingigenous history. In 2021 Chuck Sams and Deb Haaland were put into office as the first Indigenous leader of the National Park Service and Secretary of the Department of the Interior respectively. By the end of 2024 we had over 250 co-stewarship agreements in place with various Indigenous Nations for management and use of these lands. Educational resources in visitors centers across the country were reworked to more accurately represent the indigenous history of the parks. Things were unequivocally moving in a positive direction.

While the History of the National Park Service as a tool of colonialization is important to recognize. The Trump Administration is not defunding that same tool. That tool does not exist today exactly as it once did.

The attack on the National Park Service of today is itself an attack on Indigenous people and an attack on progress. As blatant as the executive order to rename Denali back to McKinley."

[edgeray]

"FIGHT SO DIRTY BUT YOU LOVE SO SWEET

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth" - Teeth, 5 Seconds of Summer

MAFIA AU Arlecchino x Reader Oneshot | Part 2 of "LATE NIGHT DEVIL, PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME"

A/N - As promised, here is the (albeit, very late) 250 follower special. Art by M-Alexa. Content Warnings / Info - Arlecchino uses they/them pronouns, sugggestiveness, pet names, borderline smut, no feminine pronouns for reader, 10.7k words

Monsters are very real. You know that they’re tangible because they’ve touched you in ways so intimate you could delude yourself in being familiar with them despite how icy their touch is. What draws the line between monster and human? You can't say anymore, not when involuntary sensations and uncontrollable emotions have entangled you with the Fatui, the Fourth Harbinger to be exact, a monster in every right, and yet…

You used to think that the line was cut-throat, a visible drawn etching in the sand–so easy to see when someone passed through. As obvious as their appearance once they've entered through the doorway. It was evident in those that were painted in wretched and jagged scars like their skin was a blank canvas. Perceptible in those that too rarely stifled their brash volatility, taking pride in their bruteness and their trigger-happiness. Apparent in those with their sly-eyed, piercing scrutiny, silent as the dead they were, yet it was usually among these archetypes whose power reigned the most throughout. Discernable in those that can wear many faces, spilling a hundred lies from their lips with as much effort as it takes for them to breathe; typically, they were as inviting as a puppy guiding a lamb to a den of wolves. 

You couldn’t discern anymore what kind of monster Lord Arlecchino matched. Was it that they were never a monster to begin with, or is it just your irrationality muddying what should be the obvious? It should alarm you that your mind doesn't perceive them as such anymore, despite knowing so little of the danger they grasp underneath their fingertips. How quick they were to wrap their hand around your throat, tantalizing you with each scrape of carmine nails against your kiss-bruised skin. 

But monsters are incapable of love. You think you've been fooled in believing in it when they trace your body with their touch, but then again, what monster's touch can be akin to that of an angel’s? Maybe angels themselves were also monsters. It's how you knew they were the most fatal mistake you could have made but you remain unapologetic shamelessly. Why should you, for indulging in something so tasteful? Is it not human desire to be selfish, to satisfy oneself? It's only natural to savor sweet fruit.

Their touch still lingers, on every inch of skin their depraved and gluttonous they could reach, the heat from their contact ever present like bubbling magma underneath the surface. Even after they're gone, it still tingles with sweltering desire and comes with the vivid image of their imprintment on you. How you remembered their wet lips against your neck, teeth sunk in and the rough drag of their tongue across, while their fingers edged closer to the waistband of your fishnets. Oh, how you remembered the delicious grinding of their hips against yours, a coarse friction that sends shocks of pleasure through you as they swallow every wanton cry from your lips and stifle any movements from you with a tight grasp of your waist. As red stained marks were stamped over the expanse of your bare clavicle, you remember a particular sultry chuckle from them when they captured your wrists in one hand effortlessly, willing you unable to touch them even when you had begged to do so. How cruel of them to deprive you of what you so avidly coveted, but you think their touch is rewarding enough to dismiss the one-sidedness of the physical intimacy. 

Though, you hesitate to call it physical intimacy. Somehow, the touches that lit your heart ablaze the most only scrape the surface of indecency, as nothing transpired beyond kisses and love marks. It was the first time you left a private room relatively untouched, and though they had definitely teased you of it, no action slipped lower than your collarbone–not even a single piece of clothing peeled from your body. It leaves an unsettling, complex bundle of desires: wanting more and less of their touch simultaneously: you long for their touch, to feel that addicting fervor again, for your own unchaste gratification, however, having not been used as a tool for sensual fulfillment, you almost find it…nearly comforting–freeing may be the right word. A relief from what was usually an obligation. It’s… strange, is the least you can account it to. You’ve never wanted more from a client. Every past one has been just a means for income, hardly even considered cheap entertainment, and yet… you find your thoughts returning back to them, ensnaring your mind and plaguing your consciousness with memories of your two’s ‘unchastity.’ 

Lord Arlecchino, the Knave, the Fourth Harbinger of the Fatui, stole your thoughts just like a thief in the night, the ghost of their whispered words frequently haunting you. “‘I think I’ll keep you to myself after this,’” they had said with such certainty, and that voice would repeat indefinitely in your ears. For the most inexplicable reason, you found yourself eager, having believed them, however, you quickly discovered how naive you were–foolish to have ever hoped in such a shallow assertion and absurd to have wished for that in the first place. How dim of you to trust words influenced by fleeting ardor, for allowing irrationality to creep up in your vulnerable state of intoxication from them. They had left your body that night, with little to no effort, unsatisfied yet marked by them entirely, remnants of their presence still scattered on your body. How cruel, and yet very characteristic of them, though the latter recognition almost physically burned you to admit. A burn that you couldn’t quite associate one feeling to it. 

You think the feeling is akin to abandonment, maybe betrayal, but you couldn’t fault Arlecchino–not when you were the one to have fallen for their lies. In the heat of the moment, their amorous words had done nothing less but stroke an ember within your body, fueling your own feverish arousal, amplifying your experience, but that was all it was. Abandonment couldn’t be correct, not when you were never theirs in the first place and you had willingly offered yourself to them. Nor can betrayal suit it; there was no foundation of trust built between the two of you either. You should have known that trust, among your clients especially, is as flimsy as a sheet of paper. But what can explain this obstinate hollowness in your chest, unable to be filled no matter how many meaningless acts of intimacy you throw at it, or how many fantasies you’d delude yourself once you're in the solace being underneath your covers? It’s a clawing irritant that occupies your mind when you’ve found yourself alone, seeking for the phantom presence of them.

You miss them–at the very least, their touch–you realize belatedly, and for that you couldn’t consider yourself to be more pathetic. Never before in your experience have you ever thought of a previous client but you suppose every day is an opportunity to discover something new. Attachments were a sure way to kill yourself in this business, in the underground. You had intended on keeping yourself alive, but here you are. How degrading of you, you internally admonished, fool, fool, fool. 

What was it about them that had captivated you so much? Perhaps it was their unique charm. Curt and sharp as they were, you could not help but admit there was something alluring about their words, the authority that dripped from them, instilling you to do nothing but obey them. Perhaps it was their captivating appearance, a masterful and tasteful blend of ruggedness with class, snow white hair adorned with ebony streaks framing their porcelain-like face, but their stature was nothing of that case. Though lean as they were, from the rare prodding touches they allowed you where you could feel their toned physique, you can tell strength and power laid underneath their fingertips; if not from that, then perhaps how easily they nearly suffocated you with one hand alone, or how they had easily hoisted you up and against the wall. The red crossed pupils were nothing like you’ve ever seen and underneath that ever-piercing behold you’re little more than a timid prey before a hungry beast. 

Your interactions with Lord Arlecchino were like being teared by the fangs of a voracious wolf. Every delicate sense–touch, hearing, sight, smell, and taste–pecked away little by little until all you could register in your lust-brimmed mind was their entirety. Sapping away your strength and resistance, impelling you to submit your all to them, through their every feverish touch; deafening your eardrums with each wet noise that followed their lips; dizzying you with their faint, earthy cologne; your eyes drinking in their appearance with every chance; and oh, their sickeningly sweet taste–far too depraved and far too addictive. You’re breathless everytime you think of it. When they finally released you, peeling away from your form, your body looked as if it had just barely escaped a maiming from a wild animal: teeth indents, light scratches, and red blotches of their lipstick flecked your upper torso and face.

They parted from you hours into the early morning. It felt like they had been stealing your breath for hours. You couldn’t count how many times their lips met yours, but it was enough where you could memorize the texture of them, of their warmth and sweetness. You couldn’t recall the duration the two of you spent locked with each others’ lips, but you could recall the various positions they had you. One such position, you muse with clenched thighs, was when they towered above your lying form on the couch, a bent knee in between your legs and their arms on either side of your head, planting their palms onto the cushion underneath you while they descended down to capture kiss after kiss from you. You remembered the tickling sensation of their ivory and raven strands that fell on your cheek, and how you raised a gentle hand to brush them away. In retaliation, what could only be described as something in between a growl and a grunt came from the Harbinger’s throat, one of their hands moved away from its resting place besides your head and clasped with yours, before firmly planting it against the sofa–a clear lesson not to touch them so casually, to which you smiled cheekily. They stole that smile away with little wasted time using a harsh nip on your bottom lip. 

And then, like that, they left. 

A week has gone by–more accurately, six days–since they had last appeared, and in that period, you’ve yet seen them. You worked consecutively, opting to even neglect your free work day, with the hopes of catching a glimpse. Ultimately, however, your efforts bore no fruit; not a single of your customers was the white-haired devilish angel that plagued your thoughts. White-hot shame and crushing disappointment grew with each passing day. The first unspoken word of advice amongst your fellow dancers was that attachments to customers are never worthwhile: even frequent customers disappear, and if you are lucky, you discover why. The reasons ranged from death to simply boredom, but the latter is always the most devastating, an agonizing reminder of how insignificant your life can be. 

You had hoped to consider yourself among the smarter of your coworkers. You thought yourself immune to those follies, impenetrable to the charms and advances of all your customers–none to date had made your heart palpitate the way it did in the Harbinger's presence. It's unfathomable that you allow yourself to sink to such depths, to find yourself coveting for something you shouldn't, for something you can't have, for something that is beyond the likes of you. Convincing yourself with certainty, you were sure that you were above the idea of ardor–percase, your mistake was appraising yourself of just that. Now, you struggle against the very woes your coworkers forewarned you about. 

Lying conscious on your wretched mattress, the cycle of rue repeats internally, battling against the drowsiness from your day's work. The thin and tattered sheets do little to provide you with the warmth you seek, and the lumpy, yet simultaneously, feathersoft pillow fails to ease your neck. The discomfort is only heightened by the darkness that plunges your chamber, like an abyss that's consumed you whole– just like your thoughts.

You urge your mind to settle, to calm a roaring yearning forever left unsatisfied, for even a single minute of slumber but it's futile. Once more, your thoughts drift to your angel donned in scarlet–divine touches and blest hymns. If touching this bit of heaven garners this cruel punishment of eternal desire, then you will cling onto these phantom traces of theirs until the gates of hell swallow you whole. 

Soft, thudding noises approach you from the foot of your bed’s direction. Lifting your gaze to the door, the question comes of whose presence this is. Already having worked your shift, there is the possibility your manager came to you because of a unique request–one that he himself couldn't refuse. A weight manifests in your stomach, unease slinking towards your thoughts; this is your off-time after all and . There’s the foreboding knock on your door, before the knob turns with a click. Your manager walks through, his short, plump silhouette before you–

Your oxygen is teared from your lips, making you breathless as an imposing aura overtakes your entire form, as if gravity grew exponentially stronger just then, pushing down on you with the goal of crushing you until nothingness. Your lungs burn from the deprivation of air and a prickling sensation coats your skin, the combined effect making you tremble like a meek sheep before prey. Their footsteps as they enter your dwelling increases the pressure on your shoulders, forcing you to shrink into yourself. This commanding presence is far from being foreign, there are only a few customers–mafia members–that come to mind that can inflict this kind of dominion. Frozen in place, your heart quickly halts as your sight takes in the person before you, a dawning recognition falls upon you: this isn’t your manager. Instead, what replaces him, is a taller, leaner stature, vaguely familiar but distinctly not him. Plunged in darkness, you couldn’t discern any more details, and the unknown identity induces every hair on your limbs to stand up. 

And yet, despite the unrest that forms inside of you, for an inexplicable reason, there comes a lilt in your heart, your roseate thoughts returning to one individual with a dire need. 

The person makes no movements nor noise, but they are certainly aware of your presence. They remain in place near the doorway, as if prompting you for any action. Yet you’re too unsure, too cautious to act. With each passing second of silence, the air thickens, making it increasingly harder to not sink into the covers of your bed and allow your blanket to swallow you whole. Disbelief settles within you as the two of you linger in silence. Your whirling thoughts start to justify those doubts, crushing that meager hope inside of you. It is not them, because you have been deceived, tossed aside like a broken doll, no longer of entertainment or use to them; abandoned by someone who never truly considered you as theirs in the first place. 

Still, you couldn’t discern the reason for the palpitation of your heart at that moment–isit out of fear or anticipation? Likely, it's a combination of both. It hums in your ear, your pulse faint but tangible and steady, and a chill crawls up your spine, eliciting you to tremble in place like a mouse about to be preyed upon. Becoming more certain that they are not the Harbinger, terror worms into your mind and inflicts upon your heart. Your heart rate skyrockets as if the beating organ is thumping out of your chest, deafening you with nothing but the erratic drumming. Have they come to end you? Have you displeased a customer so much that they intend to make you repay the price with your life?

It is a simple utterance. It is a single word that echoes through the room, one syllable that rings through your ears. And yet, it is this sound that rips your heart from a cold, drowning, lonely abyss and plunges it into the warm, welcoming depths of a familiar company. It shreds any lingering doubt within you like claws would to paper, eradicating it as if it was nothing more than a miniscule pest. In your veins does your pulse sing, humming a delightful hymn, the returning sensation of warmth fills you. Had you been anyone else besides yourself viewing this, you would call it a pathetic sight, but in this whisper of time, a wild inferno of your desires is lit and swarms over your mind. With just one simple utterance, you had turned from a scared, cornered mouse into an awaiting puppy–tail wagging and ears perked–for its approaching owner.  

“Doll.” 

You know of that voice far too well, for only having heard of it for one night. A persistent, almost tantalizing voice that creeps into your dreams at all hours of the day, murmuring with an alluring lilt the same pet name in your ear like the Harbinger had done six nights prior. It is the voice of a seraph under the guise of a demon. And when an ethereal being beckons you, you have no other obligation but to respond. 

“Sir?” The softest of whispers escape you, bated breath evident in your voice. You worry that the barely audible title doesn't reach their ears, but then the soft thumping of stilettos reverberate through the room, matching the pace of your rapid heart, nearing you, until they appear by your bedside. Upclose, you swear that red x’s glint dimly.  An obscure shadow casts over you and the silhouette of a hand reaches out; their palm grazes against your throat as slender fingers seize your chin to tilt your head up–a familiar hold that involuntarily soothes you given the sigh you release. 

“I told you, didn't I?” They say with an alluring lilt, a telling sign of a smirk on their features. They stroke their thumb over your bottom lip, before pressing down. Involuntarily, your tongue peeks out to lap at their thumb pad. Your cheeks swarm with an unbearable calidity, which spreads to the rest of your body, suffocating flames that scorch your entirety. 

“I said that I'd keep you as mine. Or did you forget?” 

Forgetting their words was as plausible as you learning how to fly. You stopped yourself from carelessly revealing how their discrete promise haunts your ears, ringing through your thoughts at any spontaneous minute; you had no desire of disclosing just how much of an influence they have on you–whether that was to persuade them or yourself more. Instead you offer them a wordless shake of your head.

Arlecchino lets out a content hum, before their hand slides down from your chin to your arm, grasping it with a bit of firmness. 

“Come with me, Doll. Such a quality doll such as yourself deserves a suitable dollhouse, is that not right? This,” You assume that they gesture to the room from the shuffle of clothes. “is hardly fitting for you, the sad state that it is.” 

Your heart beat falters for a moment, as contemplation befalls you, attempting to properly comprehend their words. You surmise that the Harbinger is offering you for a new accommodation but you ponder the cost–surely, they would not provide it out of the goodness of their heart, and you were uncertain if they even held such a thing. As delightful as they are, forgetting your place in relation to others will only spell hazard for you. A ‘doll'–whatever that pertains to–is the service they likely seek from you, and you have a few estimates as to what it is. 

It's dreadfully tempting. A chance to escape from your current workplace, but what of your wellbeing? At least, here, you could sustain yourself, shelter, food, and warmth are provided, but could you expect the same with the Harbinger? If you were to come with them, would you only be pulled deeper into the underground? Was the mafia a company you wanted to linger around? As you continue to swat back the clouds of infatuation, rationality returning to you, there are too many unknowns to recklessly comply with. Then again, what would the Harbinger do to you, if you were to refuse them? For now, you're in their favor, but who is to say you will not lose it in some erratic way? 

Perhaps they will grow bored of you. Perhaps you won't satisfy them enough. Or, perhaps, they have even more nefarious intentions. The mind of a criminal is fickle and, more often than not, unstable, and in the first place, such individuals are rarely credible. If they were to promise beneficial conditions for your being, there is no way to ensure they keep to their word. Your debt, at the very least, serves as a form of protection: the nitery wouldn't be able to work you until they regain every penny you borrowed if you were dead. Arlecchino, however? They have no need to.

“You must be reconsidering my offer. That's to be expected, of course,” Arlecchino interrupts your train of thought, not a single break from their calculated way of words; it almost makes you shiver at how well they seem to read you. It truly is no wonder why they’re the fourth among the Harbingers, they truly are cunning. Do they have something to offer you for additional encouragement? 

“I have no doubt that some unfortunate circumstance must have brought you to an establishment like this. With that knowledge, hm…” Arlecchino pauses, before you feel their hand leaves your arm. The darkness of the room provides little information on what they're doing, until one of their coarse hands slides underneath your palm, lifting it slightly. Cool metal slides over your left thumb. 

“This…”

“Yes, it's a ring,” the mafia leader confirms. “More specifically, it is my ring.” 

You trace your right thumb over the ring, feeling some sort of round jewel over it. Underneath your thumb pad, is a small etching, which you trace. 

“From now on, this ring is yours. While it's not visible as of right now, etched onto it is the symbol of the Tsaritsa. It symbolizes my Harbinger status,” they continue, and you whip your attention towards them.

“Why would–” You halt yourself before you say anything impulsive. “Thank you for this, Sir, but… if it is of such significance…” 

“–why am I giving this to you? Consider this an investment. Here is my preposition to you. Come with me, and you will be fed, sheltered, and spoiled by me–my protection and overseeing of your health is, undoubtedly implied. If you are displeased with my treatment, you can leave freely, anytime, anywhere, and nothing will be asked of you–not so much as an explanation for your departure. In fact, at this very moment, you could leave right now. I will not stop you.

“The ring, being the mark of a Harbinger, will almost certainly protect you from anyone sensible enough not to touch those under the Tsaritsa’s grace. Beyond that, you could always sell it to a trustworthy jewelry inspector; I know of one if you need a reference. I guarantee you that what you will earn is enough for you to live comfortably in society for at least a decade or so.” 

“You would…” You stop to recollect your thoughts, as your body shakes, brimming with thrill. Your mind is still trying to encompass all of the capabilities this very ring contained. It may very well be worth ten times your entire life, and yet you possessed something such as this. With this, you could leave your hellish life behind. Everything you have always wanted could be right in your grasp now. You could finally enjoy a luxurious life, just by yourself. 

“You would really give this to me? Something so precious?” You question breathlessly. 

“Yes. If you would consider my preposition. So?” 

A beguiled smile makes its way onto your lips. 

—

The existence of monsters should not comfort you, but yet it does. No, that is wrong–there is just one exception. Having heard of such hushed stories, warning you to be wary of such shadowy beasts, the ones that lurk in unsuspecting corners and stalk the most innocuous of lambs, nonetheless, the notion of who can be considered as a ‘monster’ has been shattered by one individual. A monster in every right, except in any respect to you, can a diabolical angel still be deemed as such? Do they deserve to bear such a title, when every breath exhaled sends welcomed shivers down your spine and every contacted surface is blessed under their touch? 

Perhaps you are still one of those very lambs for them. There is the possibility that you are just another sheep ensnared by a charming wolf, but then it raises the question of why you haven't been devoured yet. You have no doubt of the appetite that such a beast like them would carry, but nonetheless you remain. Will your time for slaughter come? Like herded sheep, you're fenced in, grazing through the grassland placidly, but how much longer will your freedom and life extend? 

Does it still make you a sheep, if the most miniscule, internal sector of you would indulge in being devoured? 

It's something you could not help yourself from wondering, even with the graciousness from Arlecchino. They've taken care of you far better than the nitery had ever, in the span of the few weeks you've agreed to stay with them, serving as their ‘doll.’ As restrictive and degrading as the role sounds, actuality does not propose the same. You're still tied to the Fourth Fatui Harbinger–come when they beckon, obey what they will–but you have a daunting amount of individual freedom you previously could never afford. Necessities, such as a living space, meals, and clothing, are all provided, lavishly, unlike your previous work environment. 

Arlecchino personally had a room selected for you, a sizable, decorated chamber that housed a Queen bed, along with an ensuite bathroom. Restful sleep comes easy to you now that you've acquired a plush bed that dwarfs your figure. You've been spoiled with not only nourishing, but delectable dishes that you've never encountered before. Not only that, but they were made and served by personal chefs of the Harbinger. Upon arriving at your new accommodation, your wardrobe was brimming with all types of clothing that was suited to your size in all sorts of colors. 

Perhaps it is because you haven't received such treatment before, but if you had such audacity to assume, you would compare yourself to that of a monarch's favored consort. 

Your work as a ‘doll’ doesn't consist of much–that is what makes it more perplexing to you. It's not like any job or gig–you're not paid but it is no less rewarding. A ‘doll,’ from what you can presume with what they've requested of you, is a sexual partner, for when they're in need of ‘relief.’ Though you'd like for your relationship with Arlecchino to be perfectly encapsulated as just that, even that fails to entail entirely of what it is. This statement comes apparent with the case that you've yet engaged with them intimately.

You cannot deny that with this comes brewing frustration and consolation inside of you. 

In the few weeks having lived at the same residence as them, which also doubles as a base of operations for the Fatui, there's quite a few things you learn of the Knave. Their assertive presence alone commands the room upon entering, and it is felt by every single soul in their proximity. Apathetically and brutally effective is how they function, no matter their audience, though strangely you are an exception to that. Stoic as they are in every aspect of their life–whether that handling mafia matters or simply eating–they have shown acts of mercy and repayment towards their subjects, especially the younger ones underneath them. Requital seems to be one of their core values, a quality that is often paired with their demand for control. Just as they oversee all around them, they themselves are not beyond their charge.

You see the discrete conflict in their eyes before each press of their lips against yours, and in their twitching fingers, which tremble in the same reluctant manner as yours does, always lingering around your waist. Every kiss is greedy and ravenous, with the intention of stealing every bit of morality within you as they draw you in, but their touch is notably neither of the two. The Fourth Harbinger exercises an awkward balance between restraint and surrender of desires–as if they craved further connection from you, but you dare not to assume so flatteringly of yourself. For this reason alone, you do not question the Knave, but it is no less vexing. 

Beasts like themselves do not hold themselves back. They are voracious and all-consuming, they are merciless and eager in their plunders, second to none in selfishness and brutality. If Arlecchino is truly among them, then their behavior proves to only be baffling. If you cannot expect the worst from them like all monsters are, then what can you predict from them? For what reason do they restrain themselves? Why would they limit themselves when they have more than enough authority and force to take what they desire. You wish you could know, if only to end this constant, frustrating game of desire that you are losing. 

You don't understand the casual gestures that imply something more romantic if you didn't know better. The invitations to dinner, the outings with them, the chaste kisses and fleeting touches. In each interaction, you have to remind yourself of your status–that you still hold little value, no matter the change of management, and at every drop of dawn, when you lie alone in your bed, that hollow ache sweeps over you and engulfs you whole into a riptide. What more use are you than entertainment just as empty as yourself? 

Still, it is irrefutable that you hold a certain attraction to them. You covet for their contact and gaze to loiter over the expanse of your body, for their voice to always ring through your ears, for the time between the two of you to stretch past infinity; it soon occured to you that something lies deeper than just lust for the Harbinger, something you did not want to acknowledge but it has prolonged since after the first night you met them. Though Arlecchino does not place a label on the relationship, even for as foolish and swayed as you are, you could not dream beyond the contacts that hold no significance or the words that contain no promises. The knowledge of this places a heavy ache in your chest, one that pings every now and then with every meeting with the Harbinger. Knowing how futile it is, a part of yourself wants to strangle these yearnings, so that all that is choked out is a shallow, physical urge, and you no longer drown in the abyss that is Arlecchino.

It is only natural that when you harbor such complexities towards them, sexual desires, too, are a part of said twisted conglomeration of hazy emotions and affections. How many times were you in need of relief, murmuring out their name as you intensified your movements in between your legs, only to be left empty and disgruntled? If you had to give an estimate, it would be a dozen or so times. While your circumstance could no longer be judged by typical morality, the very act of yearning feels sinful, a wrongdoing, a refutal of your values. No lamb lusts over a wolf, after all, but this knowledge doesn't lessen the ache.  

So, like the meek sheep that you are, you say nothing, even when Arlecchino once again requests your presence for dinner–through a relayed message from their subordinate of course. You wonder if they're aware of the very effects they imposed on you, how the simple act of inviting you to dinner makes both your heart swim and sink simultaneously.

You knock on their office door, waiting for permission until you're asked inside. You enter with a brief awed gasp, greeted by the usual suited appearance of Arlecchino. They sit behind their desk and donning a stark midnight blazer, over an ash-colored and blood-crimson vest paired with a matching loose tie underneath the collar of their white buttoned dress shirt. A lit cigarette is perched between their lips and a pair of black reading glasses nestled on the bridge of their nose. Upon your entrance, they reach up, wrenching the cigarette from their mouth to snuff it out, rubbing the butt of the stick against the ashtray beside them.  

Near instantaneously, your stomach coils with an insufferable fervor, and you had to suppress the urge to squeeze your thighs, unless you wanted their observant eye to notice. You avert your gaze from the handsome sight to hide your flustered expression. Unfortunately, your efforts are in vain when in the corner of your eye, the ends of their frown twitch. 

They instruct you to sit at the chair across from theirs with the motion of their eyes, and you take your seat at their desk, two plates of food sitting on the wooden surface. 

“You have no issue with shellfish, do you?” Arlecchino inquires, their eyes scanning over your figure for any objections. 

“Not that I know of, sir,” you answer. The mafia leader pushes a glass with a crimson liquid in it–wine, you presume. You take it. Arlecchino is an avid wine lover from what you've discerned during past dinners; although you've done this quite a few times, the thought is dizzying of how you're holding a wine that's more than likely a thousand dollars per bottle. Like with all the previous privileges the Harbinger gifted you, this is yet again another lucrative item. It only makes you wonder to what extent the Fatui's influence goes to be able to afford such expenses on ordinary things. You swirl the drink in your hand before taking a tentative sip. Each time you drink, it’s akin to dumping gold into the sea–wasted extravagance on the likes of you. 

The wine sours the taste in your mouth but you don't make it apparent. 

Dinner remains an awkward constant, nearly unnerving. You tether between the line of being cautious and being casual. Their methodical brutalism discourages small talk from them–given the fact that they favor intention and meaningful gestures–seeming perfectly content in the silence while you stew in chagrin. With this comes their manner of eating. They eat robotically, as if the gourmet foreign meals are nothing but nourishment, and perhaps such trivialities are of no matter to them, only further emphasizing the stark statuses of you two. Their request, however, made them seem almost eager–as eager as one could possibly be for someone so stoic– given how they requested for your presence as soon as possible. Perhaps what they look most earnestly for is observing you. You're torn between thinking they enjoy your discomfort underneath their gaze, or simply find you that fascinating. Either of them escape common reasoning. 

You opt to just eat with your head down to avoid their piercing gaze throughout your meal, the only noise filling the room is the clinking of metal utensils. Struggling with removing the lobster meat from its tail, you fumble with the fork, an abashment swelling in your cheeks with the knowledge that Arlecchino was most definitely observing your tactlessness. You’ve never had shellfish prior to your stay with Arlecchino, and that was more pronounced by your lackluster attempts of stripping the shrimp shell. You attempted to learn through observation of Arlecchino, who utilizes cutlery with their typical efficiency and gracefulness. Even in the simple act of eating, they are refined in their precise and minimal movements. Unfortunately for you, that poise cannot be obtained through just viewing. 

A pale hand extends and rests on top of your hand holding the fork, the sudden contact ripping you from your thoughts and your shoulders tense. Glancing up from the shellfish, Arlecchino's ever so puncturing gaze is set on you. The thumping organ in your chest pauses for a beat once your eyes lock, manifesting a silence between the two of you. There is not a hint of irritance in their expression, and perhaps you are mistaken, but there is the gleam of amusement in their pupils. 

“Allow me,” they finally voice, their tone on the edge of venomous allure, and you could only comply immediately. Placing down the cutlery onto the plate and pulling your hands away, you expect for them to pick up the silverware again. Instead, they firmly hold down the lobster tail with one hand, the other hand pinching the succulent flesh before shredding it effortlessly from the shell with their. Such an uncouth movement that almost seems unfitting from the Harbinger, however, simultaneously, you cannot see their crude method out of place. The chunk of meat is then dipped in the aioli. 

“Open,” Arlecchino commands, and you swallow thickly, your mouth inexplicably arid in a single moment. Once again, your easily influenced heart pounds resoundingly in your ears, no doubt induced by the most miniscule of moments from the Harbinger. Their red-crossed pupils stab into you, expectancy in them, wordlessly urging you. You open your mouth and they lift the piece of lobster to your lips, sliding their fingers and the shellfish flesh inside. You clamp down on the flesh while Arlecchino fishes out her digits, pulling away with glistening liquid on the tips of her index and thumb. 

The sight makes your stomach flutter with a sensation unlike any other, an inferno emerges in your pit paired with an indisputable throbbing between your legs that makes you clench your hands into fists–a desperate attempt for restraint of your impulses. Cheeks flared from both arousal and humiliation of your indecent thoughts, you mindlessly chew on the meat, absentmindedly staring at the Harbinger while combating the vulgarity within your mind. Your liberated imagination reacts, substituting the fluid for something of a similar look that originates from a different orifice, before you banish the impurities away, remediate your thrashing heart before it threatens to collapse in itself. Finally, you swallow a bit of shellfish down your throat. 

Arlecchino hums, satisfied, before they probe your lips with their slick fingers, intent, almost predatory, gaze upon you, and their pupils glint with a faint crimson. 

“Clean them,” they order, and oh, if they knew what those two words do to you. Hot spikes of arousal pricks you everywhere in your body, and your loins grow damper, pulsing with need. 

You part your lips obediently as they insert two of their fingers. Your warm, moist mouth wraps around them. The pads of their fingers press firmly against your tongue, and compliantly, you drag the slimy surface of your organ on the undersides, lapping at the faint taste of lobster with remnants of the aioli, before swirling your tongue around to coat the entirety with your saliva. A disgusting moist squelch flees from your mouth as you continue the ministrations of your tongue, gentle and deliberate traces to make sure that their fingers are properly cleansed. 

A sudden idea comes to you, a dose of boldness injected into your veins as you continue locking their eyes with them. If they are so amused by your performance, then surely they would enjoy a little show? You silently wish for the mafia leader's grace before you act– perhaps you'd be forgiven? Better yet, you hope that you will be rewarded. They're acutely aware of the mischief in your eyes when their eyebrows lift, but you do not allow them to anticipate for long. 

You hollow your cheeks and suction around their fingers while intensifying your tongue's movements. To add to it, you lean forward, slipping their fingers deeper until your lips reach the base of their final knuckle, nearly gagging from your impulsive action. Still, it does not dissuade you, and you continue your behavior, aware this very gesture was the epitome of playing with fire. More slick sounds erupt from your suggestive acts. 

You scrutinize their facial expression for their reaction in an attempt to gauge their response, and quite notably, their pupils are darkened. Instead of the previous ruby hue, they are now a deep scarlet, bordering on maroon, and are brimming with an emotion so intense you feel as though you could be devoured whole just by their dark abysses. Their usually maintained and composed face is cracked by the parted lips of theirs, as if they were in awe of your impudence, and the slightest knit in between their brows, implying more than their regular apathy. You have drawn their attention just as you wanted, but now you fear the consequences. 

“Feeling bold, are we, doll?” They murmur in a low, tantalizing purr as they extract their fingers from you with a wet pop, and you nearly whine from the loss of contact. A dribble of spit escapes from the corner of your lips and they wipe it away with their thumb. Their middle and index finger gleam enticingly as your slaver drips down. Bringing their hand to their lips, they reward you with their own show, a slow deliberate act of tracing their fingers with their own tongue, their attention still fixated on you throughout its entirety. Watching the organ's motions further stirs the boiling desire in your groin. The Harbinger never fails to tempt you, provoking a visceral reaction from you with just the minutest gesture. 

They must know. They must know how deeply influenced you are by them. You make your allure to them unmistakable, their actions signify their awareness, and they use this to further taunt you, to further bait you into their trap. For what reason, you're not privy to, but they prey upon your desire for them, stringing you along on for their entertainment. Are they aware that this game is comparable to torture to you? Like dangling fresh greens in front of a dying, starved lamb, your ache is palpable to only you. To long for something that you cannot. It is tormenting and demeaning, though maybe that is suitable for a monster. 

A devil in the guise of an angel truly. Maybe they are purely enjoying your suffering, knowing that your every action can only be done by their whim. You have fallen in their hands, utterly dependent and reliant on them but no less grateful. A deceived sheep in the claws of a cackling wolf. It is a game to them, you are just a toy, and you would be foolish to think otherwise. So expectedly cruel, and yet it crushes your heart. You are tired of the charades, of your affections hardly acknowledged and no doubt unreciprocated, and you are tired of how their presence plagues your thoughts entirely. They are eager to use you just as they had always wanted, a ‘doll,’ something willing to twist and bend to their desires. 

You wish that you are more than just a doll. That your skin is not made of plastic, that your limbs are not so manipulatable, that the attire that you wear cannot be so easily altered based on the spontaneous desires of someone else. You do not want to take only what you've been given. Is it hopeless, brazen, to want more despite your place? Does it make you nothing more than simple-minded and naive, to wish that their touch expressed beyond the voraciousness and obscenity? 

“Did you enjoy it?” Arlecchino pries you away from your thoughts, and you flick your eyes towards them. Blinking, you finally recall the context, and fumble with your words.

“Ah, uh, yes,” you stammer, forcing a small smile, berating yourself for your blundering response. “The lobster was great. Thank you so much, Sir.”

Their pupils still remain on you, hardened with their usual frigid gaze. “Then why do you appear so downcast? Is the meal not to your liking? I will make sure the chefs prepare something else for you.” 

Your blood freezes and you go wide-eyed. Of course, they would notice your absent-mindedness, you have still yet controlled your emotions. Reprimanding yourself internally, the desire to scream out boils within you, like a pot that threatens to boil over–you want to exclaim that they are the reason you are like this, why you are in a constant state of conflict and anguish, why your heart can never rest when their presence is near. Instead, you find your throat caught in a trap, preventing any words from escaping, and any voice you try to grapple slips through your fingers. The very notion of requesting for more is insolent; had they not provided you enough? Ingrate is what you would be if you vocalize anything. 

Shaking your head, you reply with, “No, it's okay. There was nothing wrong with my meal. I was just preoccupied with my thoughts for a little bit, I apologize, sir.” 

“Please inform me what it was that was entertaining you for so long.” The implore leaves their lips as they tilt their head, propping their elbow against the table and leaning their cheek into their palm. Their attention is utterly consumed by you. 

Your lip quivers. So many unspokens lay on your tongue, awaiting for an emergence that never comes. ‘You’ is the most dire utterance, but you bite your tongue and purse your lips. Flitting your eyes down to your finished plate, you avoid their boring gaze which drills right through your skull, and manage to note your arms, which are dotted with the occasional burn scar–courtesy of the more unsavory customers–an agonizing momento of how filthy you are, sullied by many before. How you could compare to a doll is unfathomable to you. A doll's skin is not tainted, marked with signs of impurities. Even their touch, as angelic as it, could not cleanse your surface, why would they dare engage with you? 

“Trivial matters, sir,” you respond with, unable to admit the snaking insecurity up your spine, that would only have them throw you away. You gather that insecurity had no place in the Harbinger's home, that needless feelings were to be disposed of immediately. Searching their features at any hint of persuasion, their blank stare offers nothing to you. The mafia leader picks up their glass of wine, lifting it up to their lips for a sip. 

The, the glass is placed firmly on the wooden surface of the table, accompanied by a loud thud, the abruptness causing you to flinch back; your entire form taut as every fiber in your being tightens, your heart rate reverberates in your eardrums, and a cold shiver sneaks over your back. 

“Do you take me as someone so easily deceived?” They demanded, their voice instilled with cutting authority, sharper than any knife as it stabs into your gut. The lit fury in their eyes is enough to make you recoil in your seat, shrinking into yourself as if you could become small enough to disappear, and underneath their scrutiny that is all you want to do. You tore your eyes away from them, the weight of their burning stare unbearable, almost with the intention of cremating you in the very chair. A part of you wishes that were the case, if only to flee from the crisis you are now a part of, only caused by your idiocy. 

The Fatui Harbinger, for how generous they've been to you, is no less deadly, and perhaps you’ve had a healthy dosage of dismissing apparent hazards when it comes to them. Whether it be due to Arlecchino's unique charm and ambiguous benevolence, or your stubborn child-like innocence–the one that still yearns for affection and company in a cruel world–that refuses to yield, subconsciously, you knew that you would never truly be safe. No amount of self-delusion masked by wishful thinking could ever make that fruition, it will not erase the fact that your life balances on the careful palms of an awaiting wolf, whose intentions are mysterious. Nonetheless, this moment creates a no more nauseating moment that strikes your gut and fills your head with a haziness that is as oppressive as it is harrowing.

You hardly believe that you can lie once more–for all that you are aware of, Arlecchino may punish you with your death for disobeying–though with the imminent danger you’re still conflicted. You wanted to drown your fondness for them in the sea of your consciousness, anchor the hefty mass so that it could never resurface, no matter how much it struggles to swim. Complying with the mafia leader's demand means plunging your hands into the water and unlocking the chains, letting the emotions swim beyond your reach and leaving you stranded in the midst of riptides and storms. If it meant many more years without turbulent waters, then you'd never unchain them, because that is the only way to stay afloat. 

But dying due to the fear of rejection is truly a pathetic way to go, even to the likes of your already pathetic existence, isn't it? You’d like to pride yourself as above those standards, at the very least. However, unveiling your naive attachment to them is unfavorable. Whatever may come from defiance, you are not sure it is worth condemning yourself to, not for someone seemingly as volatile as they are. 

Perhaps you could still spare your buried endearment as well–twist and mangle your words until what the Fourth Harbinger knew was only the mishap-twin of the authentic version. Let them misinterpret and craft their own figment to be as far-fetched yet close from the truth as possible. Paint over and ornament your hopeless ardor until it is unrecognizable to the artist and only that. Half-truths and omission sculpted into something believable in the eyes of Arlecchino. 

“You,” you declare simply, looking up back at them with a poor imitation of their repose. “It was you, Sir.” 

Arlecchino stews in silence, although not visibly, you could presume that they have some amount of shock from your words, and the questions in their head. Their eyes darkened slightly, like dark abysses preparing to consume you whole if you so much as misstep once.

“For what reason?” 

Gulping considerably, you pull together your resolve and start. You look up to meet their steady gaze. “A quality doll requires proper care and maintenance right? Like when you said that a quality doll needed a fitting dollhouse.” 

Their hand reaches for their wine glass again.“Yes, that is true.”

“But a quality doll is wasted if it is not played with properly.”

Arlecchino breaks away their stare to intake their wine, a longer sip than their usual. “Are you implying that you are not satisfied with my treatment, Doll?” 

“No. No, I am not satisfied.” You wince at your direct response, but you are not left with any other option–you can only pray that Arlecchino doesn’t take offense to it.

“Greedy,” the Harbinger remarks as they place down the drink. “But perhaps there is some merit to it. You are right: It is my responsibility to take care of my things and it seems that I've been neglecting you.”

They flit their eyes to your plate. “Are you finished eating?” 

“Ah, yes?” You stumble over your words, a bit on edge now that their inquiry implied they had more in plan with you. It is not out of the question, though typically when they did invite you to meals like this, they would dismiss you to do what you wish afterwards, sending you away with a drawn out kiss. You're yet able to know what to make of your current situation. It required little words to gain what you wanted from the Haringer: more attentive treatment from them without the implication of your desires, so easily accepted by them. Maybe then, you wishfully 

They rise from their chair, removing their reading glasses and setting it on the surface of the desk. Strangely enough, they take their wine with them. 

“Sir?” You question as your eyes follow their movement. They maneuver around their desk, heading towards the door. 

“Follow,” they state, though there is no real urgency or demand for it, more like a suggestion. They turn their head over their shoulder, examining you–testing you, you guess–and how could you deny? You trial them after them, with an enthusiasm which you hate having to compare that to an anxious puppy. The two of you exit the office, and you’re guided to an adjacent room, this one you've never been to before, nor has ever seen its content. Since your time here, it's remained secured and you've yet seen a single soul enter. 

You're not quite sure what you expect when Arlecchino leads you inside but it certainly is not a bedroom. Nonetheless, that is what is presented to you. Simultaneously sleek and modest, adorned in splashes of black, red, and white–a color palette you associate with just one individual–it is the epitome of sophistication without bordering on extravagance and a starking reminder of the presence beside you.

For some reason, it never occurred to you that Arlecchino necessitated slumber. Perhaps since you've always considered them something else entirely, something beyond human, you feel what borders on astonishment with the discovery that, indeed, the Fourth Harbinger does sleep. To say that it humanized them in your eyes is a stretch, but it is a signifier that they are not as infallible and unfeasible as you believe. 

The implications of being guided to their bedroom, however, also creates havoc among your thoughts, and your ears all but physically singe from your mortification. Vulgar fantasies invade your mind, with images of your nude body tangled together in the satin gray sheets with varying positions. Your heart, the fickle and persistent thing that is pulipates again, pumping through your ears. The setting only enforces your wanton imagination, exacerbating its control over your mind. The delusions become not just visual, but auditory and haptic too–their whispered, husky voice murmuring sweet promises in your ear as their nails trail lower and lower from your stomach, their fingers exploring uncharted territory.

Choosing that the best course of action would be to ignore the astir depravities, you instead propose a question to the mafia member as they allow you to enter the chamber first. 

“This is… your bedroom, my Lord?” you question anxiously, taking the time to observe the room as the Fourth Harbinger enters behind you. “How come you've brought me here?” 

“I am not fond of letting blunders remain as it is for long, less of all those that are my own fault,” Arlecchino answers, the shutting of the door momentarily interrupting them. “If it can be helped, oversights must be corrected immediately. Let problems fester for too long, and they may grow beyond my control.” 

You note that it's a rather vague response. As you turn around to further confront them, there is the sudden and firm tug of your arm, and far quicker than your mind can comprehend, you're whirled around and pressed against the surface behind you. You suck in harshly from the rapid movement and an arm besides one side of your head locks you in your place, sandwiched between the door and Arlecchino with no exit available. 

Flaring crimson irises meet your vision, inky pits brimming with what could only be described as a fervor drill into you. Wildly, your heartbeat thuds against your ribcage, your breath effectively robbed by the towering being before you. Below your skin, exhilaration floods through your veins, spreading the incessant heat through your entire form, most especially to your loins. Their hot breath skims across your inflamed cheeks, and their lips only stray a few centimeters from yours. 

Involuntarily, your focus darts to their enticing mouth, which tastes like the finest of wine–so extraordinarily sweet that it is intoxicating. A flavor that keeps drawing you in, making you an alcoholic as you drink yourself dizzy from a sip, then another. And you would do anything for just another sample. You want Arlecchino to consume your entirety, your taste buds, your consciousness, your senses, surrender every part of you if it means gaining the most miniscule pieces of themselves. A plea rests on your tongue and in your wide, crinkled eyes you make your intentions clear. 

Wordlessly, you beg for them to devour you like the monster that they are. Lure you in with their touch again, which they know burns every single rational thought away and spreads a relish that feels like a religious blessing. Take you, if only for a single second, because a second will always be sufficient enough until the next, when you cannot help but wish for it sooner. 

“Do you desire me?” They speak, as if the answer is not apparent. As if the evidence is not in your trembling body, bristling with elation, or in your needy hands, which all but reach out to grasp them closer. As if they are not aware of the effects of their numerous taunts, how they fluster you enough to force you to glance away or stumble over your speech. They are aware of it as well as you are and it is with this that you realize the insinuation of their question, and this understanding is what evokes the hitching of your breath. They ask for confirmation, for approval–for consent. 

“Yes,” you answer breathlessly, no need to expend more words for something so simple. How else could you answer otherwise? 

Arlecchino does not grant you the kiss you so very much desire. Instead, they maneuver one of the arms propped against your head, their hand cups your chin with a tenderness so unlike them, and their thumb grazes over your bottom lip. Their gaze becomes entranced, fixated on your mouth. 

“Given your past employment, I was under the assumption that any gesture more sensual would unease you. For that reason, I was hesitant to initiate more. After all, nothing is more unpleasant than an unwilling toy, who does not desire to be played with. My oversight, however, has affected you adversely, which I hope to fix currently.”

Flicking their hardened stare to your eyes again, they add, “If you will allow me.” 

Stupefaction befalls upon you, your mouth parts as you grasp onto the new information. If their words are true, then it means that your attraction to them is mutual, not one-sided, and their established distance was out of consideration for you. The thought is more than enough to spark giddiness within you. The Harbinger may not be so inaccessible as you previously thought, perhaps your affections could reach them. 

They hardly seem so monstrous as they did three weeks ago. Maybe they never were one to begin with. Your elated-addled brain can hardly produce a coherent string of thoughts, leaving you to only feebly nod. 

That is enough as a response for Arlecchino as they descend upon you, slotting their lips over yours in a way that can only be described as perfection. Their lips drains you of your oxygen, but were you capable of it, you would allow them to steal every part of you with their perfect mouth. The succulent flavor of them remains constant, delectable as they were on the first night you met the Harbinger, and even after the numerous kisses you've shared, they are just as intoxicating. You briefly wonder if you're only drunk off of their taste because of the taste of aged wine still abundant on their lips. Arlecchino swallows you up into an eternal riptide of their taste, and you willingly drown, surrendering the rest of your senses to delight in this. 

This is the type of sensation that comes from dancing around a demon, the sort of feeling that makes such heartache involving the fallen angel all the more worthwhile yet agonizing; it serves to only lure you further in its trap that you can't fathom escaping from. Now, your body buzzing with an elation that can't be matched by another, all you can wonder is how you've been able to live this long without this very gesture that breathes back life through your veins and makes your heart swell with vitality. With this, you believe this is the pinnacle of your life–no other experience that can quite enrapture you like this–a phantom ache finally filled, finally whole. 

Half-lidded eyes with crimson x's lock on yours, and you think you may have rediscovered your favorite color. 

You lift your arms over their shoulders and fold them behind the mafia leader, locking them in place. With a gentle tug forward with your arms, they lean deeper into your kiss, and a deep grunt rumbles through their chest, inducing goosebumps over your skin. Meanwhile, your fingers card through their silky, snow-colored strands, tugging lightly as you moan softly against their lips. Something warm settles on your right cheek, cupping that side of your face delicately. 

The rough texture of their tongue presses against your lips, before their lips latch onto your bottom one. They suckle with such a gingerness you forget about the depraved hunger behind their x-pupils, a plea for permission, for entry which you allow instantly. You part your mouth. With a fevered haste, their tongue slips into your orifice, and you let out a throaty groan. It invokes a rumbling through their throat, a sound that must have belonged from seraphs. They urge on, exploring the contours of your mouth with the intent of diligently memorizing the relish and texture. Committed to familiarizing themselves with every crevice and curve, they scrape their tongue against yours, before prodding gently deeper, grazing the roof of your mouth. 

In turn, you playfully drive your tongue forward, caressing against the bottom of their flexible organ. A pleased hum resounds through them, the reverberation making you shudder delightfully. Your body feels like it's being swarmed with an oppressive heat, willpower and sanity suffocating under the mafia leader's every action, and every thought replaced with the stabbing desire that courses through your veins. Every second that they linger, an invisible string tugs you towards their direction with the lightest pressure, and you’re once more in their neatly filed claws. 

Is it really sending a lamb to the slaughter when the lamb is willing, or when the wolf is so inviting? 

The lack of swelter is palpable once they suddenly break away, and you realize belatedly the lack of air in your lungs. You heave for air, and Arlecchino does the same, every brief exhale tickling your cheeks. Silence, save for your rapid breathing, fills the room, but the mutual eye contact says more than enough between you two. 

“Do you want to…?” The Harbinger inquires, their words halting into a tense silence, vigilantly examining your features. 

“Please,” is all you could whisper out, as if that very word carried your entire soul with it, and the singular murmur shatters the being before you. Just a second ago, what stood before you was a person of authority and restraint. Arlecchino was esteemed among the Harbingers, a mortal representation of poise and dignity. Never before has their composure faltered, not to any enemy or ally; there’s yet been an instance that the mafia’s leader's repose was weakened. However, you have always been an anomaly. 

Their crimson pupils pierce into you, as their hands linger beneath your hips. 

“You truly will be the death of me.”

---

Reference for Arlecchino in the second half.

Smut will be in part 3.

[ilysungho]

— ilysungho valentine’s special 💗

a/n: hello my loves ^-^ happy valentine's day! i hope you all like what i've prepared! let me know if any of the links don't work. and as always, enjoy <3 wc: 250-300 words each! contains: nsfw links, short scenarios, specific tags for each member, tags also say what's in the link, lowercase intended taglist: @antoncore @ericlvr @mari3s @dobbiesvvorld @zynz0 @kyujinii @gclhn @hanfourz @taylorluvation @txtistheloml

sungho -> link

contains: sungho x reader, not really a defining power dynamic so take it as you will, lingerie lol, dollification? sorta, use of nicknames, dry humping, penetration (p in v)

the lace laid on you like skin, perfectly fitting your body in every way, atop every curve of yours, for your boyfriend to see. sungho knew you would look absolutely stunning wearing the lingerie he picked out just for you. but actually seeing you wearing it was… something else. he was awestruck by your beauty as his fingers traced the fabric on your back, kissing you deeply.

“you look so perfect for me, better than i imagined, doll.” it had been his dream to have you wear something he picked out for you, waiting for the right moment until he gave you the gift. he had expressed to you that he wanted to dress you up like his doll, so when you agreed to it for the special day, he was ecstatic.

your breath hitched every time sungho’s fingers got close to your nipples while making out. you’d had your fair share of sex, but the timing and clothes made you feel so much more sensitive. he loved your reactions too; knowing that he is the one making you feel so good had him riled up.

he wanted to keep the pretty clothes on you, barely covering you but still just enough to entice him, hiding your private parts he so wanted to see. “get on top,” he whispered to you as he laid down on the bed. a shy smile decorated your face as you got on top of him, the thin fabric not doing much to keep your arousal a secret.

as he laid almost bare under you, you moved slowly to tease your boyfriend. the once shy smile now became confident as he smiled at you in love, following the motions into the special day.

riwoo -> link

contains: sub!riwoo x dom!reader, lingerie (again...), handjob, use of nicknames

the day had gone by perfectly, riwoo coming to surprise you with flowers and chocolate like any other typical couple, but also holding a small bag with what you thought was lingerie. and you were right as he showed you the pearly and lacey garment. what took you by surprise was how he shyly explained how he thought you would like seeing him wear one and do as you please. he guessed correctly as always, his senses always coming in clutch, when he saw you lick your lower lip, softly exhaling, "go ahead baby, change into it then."

after changing into the new lingerie, the pretty boy sat against the headboard of your shared bed. his shy face accompanied by his compact figure made him look so much smaller than he really is as you went to sit in front of him. taking a hold of his hard cock, you spread the already leaking pre-cum in your usual motions. riwoo looked at you with the prettiest of glossy eyes as you looked back at him tenderly, telling him how he looks like the prettiest little boy for you. his choice was immaculate, you thought to yourself, as his body jerked from the stimulation.

soft whimpers coming out of the short boy’s mouth gave you yet another signal that he was close to his release. he looked at you, as if asking for permission to let go, with doe like eyes and his lower lip caught between his teeth. "go on love, you can come." such simple words led to your boyfriend cumming rather quickly. maybe it was the occasion, maybe it was the attire, but he was too cute not to have all your fun with for the night.

jaehyun -> link

contains: sub!jaehyun x dom!reader, blindfolding, sort of dumbification?? idk you tell me, edging

“you’re gonna be a good boy for me right, myungie?” your hand held onto his chin softly, moving his head to nod as he kept still. patiently waiting for you to touch him, jaehyun let out a soft whimper to signal an opposite sense of urgency. no matter how well behaved he was, he only had one weakness and it was to ask you for more. he was a greedy puppy after all. good, but greedy.

“y-y/n p-please… mo-more… i need m-more…” chuckling at his disposition, you finally gave him a touch where he wanted you, but it wasn’t what he expected. in the moment when he thinks you will be mean and harsh to him, you were rather soft. your delicate touches on his hardness over his boxer while whispering the dirtiest of praises made jaehyun so sensitive. he could only keep his eyes shut and endure, not that it would help much with the blindfold.

being unable to see was another reason your puppy couldn't stop himself from pleading for more. your slow touches as you sat your thighs on top of his had him wincing in pain. "you're so good, you can endure for me right? i know you want to see me wearing the pretty clothes you picked for me."

his quivering lips made you so curious to see his most likely teared up eyes, yet you too kept composed. even though it's such a romantic day, you still have to show you love to him the same way as always, because he will take what you give him with no complains. he's just that good of a puppy for you.

taesan -> link

contains: (suggestive) taesan x fem!reader, taesan likes your boobs, reader has oral fixation

putting on your best clothes for the date taesan had planned out for valentine's had you so excited for what's to come. the dress perfectly fit you, especially accenting your boyfriend's favorite features of you. well, he loved all of you, but he really would do anything to find a life to stay in your arms amongst your boobs forever.

"babe, are you ready y-" the man you thought of all day appeared behind you as you were putting on any final touches. his face showed an expression you knew all too well, one where he was at a loss of words. "you look so stunning." he simply stated the obvious as his hands caressed your exposed shoulders, slowly going down to fondle your boobs as he so loved to do.

"taesan i just got ready," you uttered, closing your eyes to the feeling of his touch. he just hummed in response as he felt more of you, one of his thumbs coming up to go into your mouth. he knew you would quiet down as soon as you started sucking on his thumb as you always did. he loved how your tongue played with him, letting him know that he literally has you wrapped around his finger.

your own hands reached up to pull him down into an intimate kiss, letting go to ask "can we just stay home?" against his lips. your lover responded curtly, a smirk lighting up his features as he shook his head and pulled you to stand up.

"we have the whole night ahead of us, sweetheart."

leehan -> link

contains: dom!leehan x sub!reader (sorta, but it can be taken any way in the vid), glasses leehan, overstimulation, thigh riding

"good girl, just like that." leehan's lazy hands guided your body on his as you rode your high out on his clothed thigh. his glasses threatened to fall of before you brought your hand up to push it back onto his nose bridge amidst the feverish kiss you shared. your swollen clit felt extra sensitive as you rubbed against the wet fabric under you, yet leehan didn't stop kissing you, his hand firm on your waist.

your movements stilled as you came back to your senses, lips still clashing, until your boyfriend’s grip moved your body on the same spot once again. “you can come once again baby, don’t stop hm?” whimpering and nodding, you gave into his command-like plea as his grip loosened to give you back control.

feeling extra sensitive, having just came, you were much more vocal than you previously were. your boyfriend liked that though, smiling as he watched you rut on him. he thought you looked so cute while doing as he says even if your just using any part of him. whether it be his fingers, mouth, dick or even abs, you always rubbed against him with fervor. he means it when he says he could only watch you for hours and be entertained, the movie playing on the tv becoming just background noises against your needy voice.

thank you for reading! please like + reblog to show support, and feel free to leave feedback and comments through rb tags, anon messages, or dms! love you 💗 feel free to join the taglist through here!

[httpsminsgirl]

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ bonedo and their campus crush ⚝๋࣭ ⭑

contains: fluff, bonedo being down bad, non-idol! bonedo, OT6, campus crush bonedo ! (members are not referred as ''his members'' but ''his friends'') gn! reader (i'm pretty sure) a/n: I have dyslexia so sorry if there are missing punctuations or grammar mistakes, also english isn't my first language!! hope you like it! ^^ requests, feedback and opinions are always appreciated ! <3 warning: none

๋ㅤ ࣭ ㅤ⭑ ☆ㅤ ๋࣭ㅤ ⭑๋ㅤ ࣭ ㅤ⭑ ☆ㅤ ๋࣭ㅤ ⭑๋ㅤ ࣭ ㅤ⭑ ☆ㅤ ๋࣭ㅤ ⭑๋ㅤ ࣭ ㅤ⭑ ☆ㅤ ๋࣭ㅤ ⭑

Jaehyun: (wc: 258)

you'd only have one class with Jaehyun, but he was friends with your friends, so sometimes you'd have lunch together or walk around together, somehow he always had a cute natural blush on his face.

He'd take every and any chance to stare at you, and everytime you'd notice and stare back he'd just avoid all eye contact and hide his face, sometimes his face just would fall straight onto the table and his arms would cover him as he acted tired

all your friends would say he's always really talkative and confident, but with you he was barely able to form sentences that made sense or barely able to talk without stuttering at times, just causing you to call him cute and making him blush more

his friends would love teasing him nonstop, making fun of him every chance they got, specially when you walked in front of them and waved your hand at Jaehyun making him get all flustered but also as excited as a puppy with a ball. As much as they loved teasing his friend, they'd encourage him to ask you out.

You'd end up catching on his little (BIG) crush on you as he was painfully obvious, so you would just make your mind up about asking him out, but that same day he'd come to you with a flower he picked up, face as red as a tomato and unable to look into your eyes as the words ''do you... want to.. maybe go.. hm- on a date with me?'' left his mouth slowly but surely.

Sungho: (wc: 250)

Sungho thought he wasn't obvious at all but his gaze would be following you everywhere you went, even if you were just sitting down doing nothing his gaze was fixed on you and that's when Myungjae had to intervene hitting his elbow ''stop staring so much, weirdo'' his friend said making him get out of his trance ''oh? oh'' he muttered to then focus on class

after that Jaehyun would tell the whole group about it and they'd start to make fun of him but he wasn't paying attention, you just entered the lunch room and that made him get lost in you once again.

The guys would have to help Sungho on this one, he wasn't one to be shy, but he was just mentally blocked this time. The guys would accidentally push his friend towards you causing you both to crash onto each other as Sungho apologized nonstop and you just gave him a reassuring smile to then leave hearing how he cursed his friends afterwards

next day he'd wait for you at lunch just to apologize once again, and maybe even take a chance? as soon as he saw you he walked to you, blushing and scratching his neck as he apologized, after that was done there was silence for some seconds, until he build up enough courage ''I- I think you're really.. p-pretty'' he said a bit unsure and flustered ''would you like to have lunch with me?'' he asked now as you smiled and nodded, hearing what you supposed, were his friends cheering in the background

Riwoo: (wc: 259)

Riwoo was really quiet about it, no one knew about his crush on you. He kept it completely buried, or so he thought until he had to do a project with you and he didn't know how to even articulate a single word causing him to blush embarrassed and for you to look at him worried.

Next meeting Riwoo would be more prepared, but he'd still be quiet, he wouldn't talk much, but he'd steal glances at you and maybe even slowly start a conversation as he warmed up to you and tried to break out of his introvert shell

He'd usually bring snacks, coffee or sweets to have as you worked on your project, and he'd always bring you the best, your favorite things, if you weren't onto sweets like him, he'd make sandwhiches just for you, excited to see you try it and get opinions on it, he'd be really attentive and warm to you. a lot of heart fluttering moments just catching him stare at you and smile or listen to you and agreeing to whatever you say.

As the project was done and you wouldn't have an excuse to see each other anymore, he'd have to prepare himself and tell his friends about it, just to get them to encourage him and prepare him for the big moment. he'd just give you a cup of your favorite drink next day before class and a little note that said ''meet up at 7pm? I'll pick you up... if you want to'' making you chuckle and nod

Taesan: (wc: 265)

Taesan was one to look at you at all times, or most of the time trying to play it off, only thing was that his facial expression was so neutral and unreadable you didn't know if he looked at you cause you had something on your face or just because

He'd never get close to you but he'd look at you from the distance, just secretly admiring you, his friends knew about it and even though they wanted to tease him they knew better than to mess with him about his feelings, something he was quite sensitive about.

As he'd keep an eye on you he'd learn your habits imitating them at times, he'd know what you liked and what you didn't, when you didn't do your homework or if you were awake the whole night.

He'd veeery painfully slowly get close to you, offering you some candy, water, or snacks he had in his bag if he felt you were hungry, even letting you copy his homework if he saw you didn't do it

You slowly got more used to him, his coldness, the distance he'd always keep and how he wasn't someone that talked a lot, but it was fine. you started talking with him at class, just making up for everything he missed, whether it was talking, warmth, initiative, you took it all, and started getting closer but he never really seemed to be interest or attracted to you, until one day he asked if he could walk you home and in the way he held your hand for the first time.

Leehan: (wc: 270)

Leehan and you shared classes together, but not like it mattered, you never talked anyways. he caught your eye, and you had a crush on him, but just something you used to have the will to go to class. until one day you found out you both have some friends in common

at first he was quiet, he never really talked to you or looked at you so you'd think he disliked you or just found you annoying, until your friends started teasing you ''he always looks at you when you're not looking'' they said and that made you feel just a little bit crazy

as the group got closer and closer you slowly started talking too, your friends mostly led the conversation but the only answers he'd pay attention to were yours. One afternoon at the hangout you weren't feeling really well, but no one noticed, or so you thought, until he asked you if you were okay.

You took a walk together as you got some fresh air and he got you a sugary drink to help you feel better, as you did, you both were walking back to where your friends were, but you didn't want to go with them, and Leehan didn't either. ''what if we hang out together? let's do something more relaxing... just- you know... so that you don't overwork yourself?'' he said and you smiled nodding, after that night you'd always sit together in class and talk, have lunch together and he would always make you feel almost crazy as he stared at you attentively with his beautiful brown eyes and a soft smile.

Woonhak: (wc: 181)

Woonhak was also one to be painfully obvious, but also painfully cocky. You would see him sometimes in the hallways, lunch room, or with your group of friends, he was always looking at you with a smile, waving at you like an excited puppy that just met eyes with his owner after a long day of not seeing them

he'd get closer and closer, ask you about your classes and without even asking you if you wanted to or not, he'd walk you to your class and wait for you after if he could. His friends would tease him non-stop, maybe even say he seemed like an stalker or a bit too over the top, so one afternoon he asked you if you thought he was annoying. You hated to admit it, but his cockiness, warmth and attentiveness got to you, you loved the attention he gave you and how smiley he was always specially when looking at you

after a lot of teasing and dares he ended up asking you to date him with a bouquet of flowers one day as you were walking back to your dorms together

๋ㅤ ࣭ ㅤ⭑ ☆ㅤ ๋࣭ㅤ ⭑๋ㅤ ࣭ ㅤ⭑ ☆ㅤ ๋࣭ㅤ ⭑๋ㅤ ࣭ ㅤ⭑ ☆ㅤ ๋࣭ㅤ ⭑๋ㅤ ࣭ ㅤ⭑ ☆ㅤ ๋࣭ㅤ ⭑

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Hi! Can you do Lilia,Silver,Riddle and Sebek with a famous cook reader, ? Like she always cooks for them, always do delicious lunch box for them when they get away and when they meet she always brought pastries specially for them that she cooked herself. Have a nice day ! I love your blog btw !

(I'm sorry if I made any spelling mistakes, English is not my first language.)

COMMENTS: HI! Thank you! ❤️ Don't worry, I think I understand your request. 😉 The only problem was that I myself barely know how to cook. 😅 but that was no impediment. Since the reader's gender ends up not being relevant in this context, I made it gender neutral.

Hope you and all enjoy it. 🍽️

CHARACTERS: Lilia Vanrouge / Silver / Riddle Rosehearts / Sebek Zigvolt

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Headcanons; Can be read platonically

WORD COUNT: An average of 250 words per character

.

Lilia loves everything you do and is constantly praising you. “Oh! Another one of your cooking? You really make me the luckiest fae in Twisted Wonderland. Khee hee.”

He always brags to everyone about you cooking for him. And he will show other people pictures of everything you cooked for him and that he remembered to take a picture of before eating. “Look what they cooked for me! Aren't they so talented?”

If he has a lunch box that you prepared, he will invite whoever is with him and has never tried your food to try a bite. If they already know and like your cooking, he will mess with them by not inviting them to eat, but continuing to boast about having someone like you cooking such delicious things for him.

Every time he remembers to take a picture of your dishes he will publish it on Magicam with descriptions like: ‘Feast your eyes’; ‘Favorite meal of the day’; ‘Brunch vibes and good times’ or even ‘Food is my love language’

Whenever you cook something with his favorite food: Tomato juice, he will be simply radiant. “Is today a special day?”, “To what do I owe this wonderful treat?”, “Did you feel inclined to spoil me today?”

Problem: The more you cook for him, the more he will want to cook for you in return. He feels selfish always receiving, he wants to give you the same kind of love that you give him.

He gets sad and even sulks whenever you refuse his help or the food he has prepared.

No matter what you try to teach him, he will always want to do things his way. He wants to surprise you, so doing something you already know and in the way you know wouldn't be funny.

You are now the biggest target of his cookings and you may have to work together with the Diasomnia boys to save yourself.

Silver really likes it when you cook for him, but he noticed that his lack of facial expression confuses you and makes you a little sad. So he started training just so that whenever you offer him a new dish or sweet he doesn't forget to smile.

He knows it could be something a little mean, but he asked you to try to hide from Lilia the true amount of times you cook for him. Because if not, he might get a little jealous and start cooking even more for you two.

He wants to reciprocate the delicious meals you make for him, so he asks you to teach him. He listens to you and follows your instructions like he does with any other teacher or tutor.

Whenever you cook his favorite dish: Mushroom Risotto, he will ask you: “Is today a special day that I have forgotten about? If so, I'm so sorry... Hm? It's not?” He smiles. “Thank you. I will strive to make your favorite dish perfectly too.”

He doesn't brag about the lunch boxes you make for him. But whenever someone sees the lunch box and asks about it, he ends up indirectly complimenting you. “Ah, yes. (Y/N) usually makes them for me. They are an amazing cook. I am very fortunate for everything they do for me.”

Riddle smiles tenderly whenever you offer him something you've cooked, whether it's a full meal, sweets, or just a handful of appetizers. He is always grateful for everything you do for him.

However, he feels slightly frustrated that he can't repay you with the same cooking skills. But that doesn't stop him from asking you for help to teach him how to cook.

He won't depend solely on you. When you can't help him he'll ask Trey, read books on the subjects, try to practice on his own, etc.

Although he recognizes the (probably glaring) difference in culinary skills, he won't be shy about asking you for opinions and feedback. And he would like you to be as strict with him as he would be in your place, no being nice if it's not genuine.

He will never give up after a failure and will always smile proudly when you tell him he did a good job.

Whenever you cook something with his favorite food: Strawberry Tart, his eyes will shine and he will smile like a lovely child. But then he'll try to hold back a bit. “Thank you so much, (Y/N).” He says still smiling. “I can't help but feel spoiled whenever you do this for me. So, even though I am always grateful for your gesture, this must not become a habit. Understand?” He likes to keep his diet balanced, but your cooking is always a big temptation.

Sebek is always torn between praising you or being annoyed that you do something so much better than him that he has difficulty reciprocating.

When you're not around and he has one of the lunch boxes you made for him, he'll brag about it to EVERYONE. “BEHOLD! One of the masterpieces of human cuisine! For a human, (Y/N) is incredibly talented, and I had the privilege of being chosen as one of their tasters. Hm? You would like to taste a little and see if my praisings are true? Well, if that's the purpose then I'll allow you to try it. GO AHEAD!”

However, when you are present, his praise is more restrained. “Excellent, human. Incredible as always.” And a strangely competitive side emerges. “These gestures cannot go unrewarded. You'll see! One day I'll be able to surprise you with my cooking techniques as well! Just you wait!”

He will NOT ask you to teach him how to cook. On one hand, he wants to surprise you. On the other hand, he doesn't want you to see or know about his mistakes in the process. His pride is too strong here.

Whenever you cook his favorite dish: Salmon Carpaccio, his eyes will shine and he will gasp. “And to what do I owe this thoughtful gesture today?” He smiles smugly. “Is there something you wanted to thank me for? Whatever it is, I am extremely grateful for your generosity, (Y/N).”

If you dropped in here out of the blue and want to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[mrsselfdestrvct]

B-LOG issue july 2023 short story special for obey me! this is a precursor to the war (and a 250 follower special)

original down below vv

[avianoutcast]

[MASTER POST]

(LIST & LINKS DOWN BELOW)

(Still too lazy to change the master post cover lol)

Outcast: Sup fellas. Outcast!Sans here! Me and my partner, Avia, would like to welcome you all to our lil' side of the multiverse.

Avia: For this post, we'll be creating a 'Master Post' documenting all our progress (and shenanigans) in the creation of this AU.

So if you're interested, please like, follow and stay tuned for further updates!💜

And If any of you have questions either about the lore or characters, please feel free to Ask!❤️💙

Outcast: Aaannd if ya just wanna chillax, you can always ask good ol' Sans for some 'rib-tickling' jokes! Heh

----------------

About [Asking]

About Ships // pt.2

----------------

[MY AUs]

PROMISEDTALE

REFERENCE SHEETS

Chara ref sheet // pt.2

Alphys & Papyrus

Promise!Gaster Color Palette + character references

Age ref

AU INFO

Soul Modes

Data Collection // pt.2 // pt.3

Gaster's Ability

Outcast's Soul

Soul Synchronization

Scrying Poppies

Height.lol

Crashing

Error Confrontation

Bad Sanses // MTT interaction

SNOWBY SHENANIGANS pt1, pt2, pt3

British Gaster XD

Brotherless

Core.Frisk Encounter

File not found

Gaster's friends

Hobbies

Nightmare Encounter

A Blessing or A Curse

COMIC

File_01—Gaster

Cover-p. 5, p. 6-8, p.9-10, p.11-13, p.14-15, p.16-17, p.18-21, p.22-24, p.25-28, p.29-31, p.32-35, p.36-38, p.39-41, p.42 (extra), p.43-44, p.45-46, p.47-49, p.50-51

----------------------------------------

DREAMLESS AU

Creator's ramblings

More ramblings TwT

Besties XD

The Skele-boys Gang XD

Nightlight outfit design! (Line art)

Finding Dream

Dreamless

Height

Meeting with the OGs X3

Dreamless' Last Letter

Dreamless in color (still too lazy to make a ref sheet TwT)

Inevitable Fate

Training // Success

A Dream or A Nightmare

------

[AU SPECIALS]

(just for fun and art practices)

Outcast!Sans zine cover

12.22♑

Christmas Special X3

New Year 2025!

Promise!Gaster Art

Outcast color practice

Avia color practice

The Skele-boys Gang XD

250+ Animatic Special💜🎉🎉 // script

Favorite/theme songs

Special Cake by Mama Star!✨

Human versions X3 // pt.2

Gaster doodles

Valentine's Special❤️💙💚🧡✨✨// + SNOWBY

MafiaAU.lol // pt.2

Swapped out XD ft.Epictale (lol)

Kun1 DTIYS X3

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[TAGS]

#asks

#au info

#PromisedTaleAU

#PromisedTalefanarts

#DreamlessAU

#avia

#Outcast!Sans

#Dreamless!dream

#undertale

#undertale comic

#utmv

#utmv au

#reblogs

[water-pokemon-appreciator]

M.A

Puts a spectral therapist in your brain that only you can hear and you can't get rid of

WHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHY

GET THEM OUT

MAKE THEM SHUT UP

[nostalgebraist]

Frank @nostalgebraist-autoresponder will permanently halt operation at 9 PM PST this Wednesday (May 31, 2023).

For context on why, see this post.

(tl;dr this project been a labor of love for me for years, it takes a ton of continual effort, and my heart's not in it anymore.)

----

The blog itself will stay up indefinitely, it just won't make any new posts or accept asks.

Most of the code, models, etc. are freely available right now. Insofar as they are now, they will continue to be. The change on May 31 is unrelated to this stuff.

I've made various interactive demos of these components over the years, and the demos will likely still work after the bot stops. But I won't do any tech support or maintenance on them, and I would actively recommend against using these as a way to "get Frank back."

----

I want to emphasize the following:

The best way for you to "send Frank off" over the next few weeks is to talk to her just like usual.

(And not too often, because she can only make 250 posts a day.)

This is true for a number of reasons, and can be viewed from a number of different angles:

(1)

While it can be fun to anthropomorphize Frank, she is structured very differently from a person, or even an animal.

She does not remember anything, even between two asks made on the same day. Every moment is a new one, with no relation to any other.

If you say "goodbye" or "you're going to be shut off" to her on May 30 2023, it's just as though you had said the same thing to her on some random day last year. She can't tell the difference.

She doesn't know these things are true or relevant now, and she can't possibly know in the way a human would. She's hearing the words for the first time, every time, and reacting in accordance with that.

Think of it like interacting with a baby, or someone with dementia. Every moment stands alone. If you strike a sad tone, they don't appreciate that it's about something. They just know that there is a sad tone, in the current experiential moment.

(2)

Frank mostly operates on a first-come, first-serve basis. She can only make 250 posts a day. There is a limited amount of time left.

Be conscientious about the way you're using up "slots" in this limited array of remaining Frank posts. Don't hog the ride.

(3)

I'm shutting down this bot in part because it's been a long-term, low-grade source of stress to me. I'd like the last weeks of the bot to be as low-stress as they can be.

When Frank gets an unusually large, or just unusual, form of user input over a period of time, I usually have to step in and do something in response.

(if there's way more input than usual and I don't do anything special, Frank will fill up most of her post limit quota before I even wake up, and then the asks will pile up further and further over the rest of the day.)

Maybe I have to delete a bunch of asks. Maybe I have to deploy some temporary change to her mood parameters to prevent the mood from getting too high or low and not coming back to baseline. Maybe I have to turn on "userlist mode," which still involves a cumbersome manual procedure.

Or, maybe I just have to do a lot more content moderation than usual.

"Usual," here, means reviewing and (mostly) approving something like 20 different hypothetical Frank posts per day, every day. If I go do something fun, and let myself forget about this task completely for 6 or 8 hours, there's a backlog waiting for me afterwards. During busy times, there's even more of this.

Just, like, help me chill out a bit, okay? Thanks.

[kaija-rayne-author]

Did not think I could possibly dislike Epler and his 'hate/revenge on Solas Fanfic', more, but I actually could.

Read some confirmations of some of the rumors about, yeah, he really does hate Solas, and the entire game was based on that. (Anyone with two braincells can see that.)

But Varric dying, the blood magic fooling of Rook, soooooo much of it was used just so the player would hate Solas. Epler is on record several places actually saying those things. I'm not pulling it out of my ass.

Anything sympathetic is locked behind certain characters and certain interactions. And there isn't that much empathy to start with.

Is it wildly disturbing to anyone else that a supposed professional lets their own viewpoint of a fictional character in a game ruin a whole 250 million dollar project?

Because it's pretty obvious at this point that DAV has tanked soooooo bad. I've said all along that I was shocked that Trick wrote Solas like that. But maybe it's really the best Trick could get past Epler's hatred? IDEFK. I could still be giving Trick more credit than deserved because I actually trusted Trick to write a good story that didn't villanize Solas. It was half the reason I even played DAV. I know Trick can write better than what we got. They've said they love Solas too.

But that is not what we got. We did not get a well-written story where the writer obviously loved the character.

I want to stop thinking about Veilguard. But it was a special interest for years, and the absolute destruction of that makes it almost impossible for me to move on. I keep trying to figure out whyyyyyy? This would be (one of) the negative portions of having an autistic special interest, for anyone following along.

Is Epler the reason they scrapped Joplin? Was it too sympathetic to Solas?

Would it actually have required deeper storytelling that made Solas and the elves' rebellion a sympathetic cause?

Argh.

Bad writing annoys me to start with, but having something I love as much as Dragon Age (and Solas) besmirched this way really pisses me off.

Whoever put Epler into the position where he could have that much control over a game franchise people really loved made a huge mistake.

I was starting to wonder if I was blaming the wrong people, but no. It looks like Epler does actually just hate Solas. Is irritable because people didn't like DAV, and has gotten pissy on main about it. Grow the fuck up.

As a professional creative? You're supposed to make a product most consumers who love the thing will at least find acceptable. Not... this.

We deserved better and so did Dragon Age.

[amaelya]

Expectation MCL NG EP 14 | Headcanons when they see that Candy is sick)

Sorry for the possible spelling mistakes, english is not my native language

I hope that, in general, we'll have longers moments and that exchanges with others will remain a minority (like the first 30% of the episode, and the rest alone with our LI). Following this episode 13 full of drama, I think it's necessary to get back together as a pair, firstly to take stock of the company's current situation, and secondly to take stock of the ongoing love affair, any unspoken words, etc. It doesn't have to be a big declaration or a big conversation. Not necessarily a big statement or revelation, but some progress (bearing in mind that Jason's max LOM is 155, and for the others I think it's between 250 and 290? So we're closing in on almost half the Lov'Meter)

❧ JASON : no humiliation, please.

Either that, we'd run into him on our way out of work and he'd be worried to see us with a sick face and would walk us home, stopping by to pick us up some meds. He'd be all sweetness and light in the face of a Candy on the verge of fainting, treating us like a ✨ princess ✨ as he tucked us into bed, his hand on our forehead or neck to measure our temperature and ofc bring us back the best hot chocolate ever!

In our delirious fevered state, I can so see us coming out with cute little confessions like “you're so handsome but it's a shame you're so arrogant” and even stroking his soft hair 🥹😫

Jason who is shocked and doesn't know what to say and would drop a few subtle statements (maybe an apology for his behavior in ep 13?)

-- Of course, since we'll be too knocked out, we'll only half catch on and won't realize the importance of what he just said 😩

N.B : + Special mention where I can see him preparing squid for us so that we can regain our strength and take our revenge since episode 11 when he left in a hurry lol

+ Mention for the scene where he discovers our goose Taki who will either want to pinch his calves or on the contrary adore him more than us (a “dirty traitor” not failing to be uttered by Candy ahah)

❧ ROY : Roy is the one who doesn't even hesitate to help us get rid of our bag, our jacket; prepare a hot water bottle while we change into our pajamas, then sit next to us on our bed/sofa to change our mind by telling us stories or watching series with him! He'll probably order us an Uber eat 😋

❧ AMANDA : Given what happened during the previous episode, I see her taking us home so we can get some rest. It would be a chance to spend some time in her apartment and comfort her too after all she's been through ! She made Little cookies for the occasion 🍪

❧ DEVON : Very attentive to our needs, he'd know right away what we needed since he had to take care, I think, of his siblings, as well as the other children his mother had care of! He'd make us that special soup his mother used to make that cured all ills in a single night ! 🍜

❧ THOMAS : I can see him being a bit detached but very invested at the same time ahah. Like taking our temperature, making us a good infusion “at the right temperature to retain all the benefits” 🤓) I can even see him working at our desk in our place on the file we're managing to make our work easier !