#STRANGLES HIM AFFECTIONATELY

[copysketchy]

Elijah

[alelathedragon]

Zewlgy was originally a OC made for the Super Mario series as a character that could dimension hop and they were really OP for no real reason bc Baby Me moment.

Originally the character was a spiritual cloak that captures the souls of people that they didnt think deserved to have a second chance in the justice system and use the souls as weapons. Their personality was nonexistent, and for whatever reason they had the Undertale Reset button.

Yeah. Zewlgy was peak: OP character with no reason to be back then

But ive finally given them a Glowup along with an actual personality and purpose!! Just look at this goofy fucking creature. i love them

tag the oc who was originally a fandom based oc (and perhaps talk about what they were like before being reworked)

[zu-is-here]

<– • –>

[chosokamosbf]

ᑎIGᕼT ᒪIT ᗪEᔕIᖇE.

☆ 18+ only/no minors. | jason todd x gn! reader.

SUMMARY: a nsft fic waking up jason from a nightmare by bringing him to the edge

WARNINGs: 18+, (consensual) somnophilia, gn! reader, (jason receiving) oral, nightmares, minor mentions of blood and scarring.

WORD COUNT: 1600+

NOTEs: second person & no plot. ["babe/baby," and no pronouns used to refer to the insert/reader.]

Sprayed over silk sheets of a bed with more than enough space, in your all-consuming unconsciousness, your body managed to wedge itself in close to your boyfriend, where your head is settled right in the empty space of his shoulder. The weather hasn't been kind of as late, and so all fabrics other than the blankets pushed to the very edge of the mattress hours ago are short to combat the heat.

It hasn't helped much. The fan Jason had set up on your side to turn in place is losing the war as you're both covered in sweat. It isn't made any better by the fact he's been using that shoulder to cradle your head from underneath, the rest of the arm resting over your chest.

The deepening of this velvet night is broken to a steady close as he stirs hard enough to knock you out of that position.

You slowly blink the fog from your mind and rub the crust from your eyes with the one arm that isn't being partially buried under his weight.

The city pours in through even the smallest cracks between the curtains, enveloping their own designated areas in multicolored amalgamations of beams formed from sirens and electrified billboards nearby. It seeps over the sheets until it's reached the ceiling, leaving Jason's arms painted in its light, giving a full show of just how much they're twitching.

The other couple in the complex, whom you have gotten to know real well from their screaming matches (as muffled as they may be), seated only a few apartments away, have nothing on how loud his heaving is getting.

His face is turned away now, and you get up on your elbows to find pale lids pinched tightly together, brows in a deep, settled frown. It's not a far cry from what usually makes him intimidating under the helm, but there's a pout pulling at his lips all the while.

Recently, there's been no notable injuries, but his hands have found either one of his arms just to hold them steady and prod his fingers into anyway.

Sometimes your voice is enough alone to call him out of his head with how much he loves it. "Jason?"

He stays in place, and you sit up to speak his name into the night again while your fingertips trail down an arm.

This time around, a groan answers your inquiry.

His forehead is slick with a growing layer of sweat. The white tank top he was just teasing you about after catching wandering eyes earlier in the night is stuck to his broad chest, and barely is it settling with every pant. 

"Jason, you okay?"

It's always an uphill race with the few hours of rest he's allowed in between 'work.' Some days are better than others, and this clearly isn't one of them.

If plain intuition is serving you well, it's another nightmare.

Your teeth catch on your lower lip. "Baby?"

Rationality by damned, your voice stays weak as the thought of waking him up properly stays just that, a thought.

At worst, Jason's going to get moody if you interrupt his sleep, and he'll carry that over into the morning. Sure, he's trying to get better at communicating, but leaving behind the go-to of never doing just that has given way to taking hours to open up. Still, he doesn't seem like he's enjoying the dream.

There are a thousand or so possibilities as to what this one is exactly about, and you don't need to be a genius to know that he might head straight to the bathroom to get rid of the nasty pit in his stomach by the end of it. As much as you'll usually do your best to help out yesterday's dinner and hold his hair up if need be, there has to another option.

And there is.

Unconventional as it may be, you've talked about it before. When exactly is a fuzzy memory. At best, it stirred from another night of endless rambling, something to fill the silence when you both were left awake.

Most others he's all by himself when he gets back. It isn't the worst, as long as he isn't bleeding to death. Put away everything and make sure nothing gets on the carpet—a steady tradition. Sometimes, he's left with excess energy, though.

He mostly took the offer with little chance in his mind that he'd use it. The rules were set, and Jason made it clear that it was allowed on either side. Wasn't like he was going to make much use of it anyway.

And technically, he hasn't. Three times over a year or so ago, and each one was a gentle transition back into consciousness before he'd shown just how much he appreciated it: appreciated you.

Carefully, you get his nails to pull away from his skin and settle him on his back again. His shirt has etched up over the night, leaving his stomach and the happy trail growing across to the melt-worthy temps.

Trying hard not to wake him up, you press your head onto his chest, slowly rubbing down on his belly. 

Instantly, his breathing stutters.

Even in sleep, he's so gorgeous it hurts to even look at him, not in spite of the stubborn scowl still hanging on his mouth. Those thick eyelashes frame closed eyes. Instead of them blinking awake, his head rolls back over to the side, and the long-since healed gash sprayed over his neck gets stretched into the light peering into your two's home before he's yawning.

And you exhale softly. It feels as if you're breathing in nothing. You swallow hard—once, then twice—and inch your hand past the waistband of his boxers.

He's warm in your palm, and then his breath hitches while you freeze in place.

But Jason doesn't make a move to break your hold on him.

In slow strokes, your hand wrapped around the thick of it glides across, using the pre-cum to make it easier on the both of you. It's not taking much for his cock to start holding up on its own at the attention, but it's taking up the space you need. Your wrist is going to sting in the morning either way, but still.

Gaining more courage, you dare lift your head and softly kiss his cheek.

You form a better grip around it, continuing to kiss every scar and the edge of his lips while your thumb circles the cockhead. A leg swings over another, and the purrs he's basically humming out by now—his lips sealed in his sleep—nearly muffle how the bed creaks when you move to take place between his.

After grabbing the elastic band of his underwear, you slowly pull it down enough for the length to slip free, already drooling and half-hard.

You lean down to slide your tongue down the side to see if that wakes him up, and it doesn't. 

The taste of him coats your tongue, and you hollow your cheeks, gradually taking it down till it's almost hitting your throat. The second a groan slips, undiscouraged even through the girth, your hands come around his hips to settle them back down more gently after they subconsciously jerked forward.

Musk overwhelms your senses. Your head tilts up to find through lashes that an arm's moved to rest over his forehead.

Bobbing your head in tune with the same shaky movements moments ago, you suck on the flushed tip, the nib throbbing hot and insistent, pinning your tongue down. 

It starts off quiet, but then the breathy moan filling your ears begins to overshadow the whirling fan. What you can't fit down your throat, you use your hands to give equal attention to. Your face slots closer to his taint to kiss at his balls with spread lips.

Thighs flex over and press against either side of your head, clenching and undoing their tense stances every few seconds while the sheets shift with the writhing further up the bed. You grant yourself time to breathe before kissing the head and then trying to take his thick cock back inside.

So deep into the intimacy, your eyes close just to feel a hand in your hair. A sharp tug pulls you off to see the dark curled back over you.

Seeing him from your angle below, there's a thousand things he could do—instead, his nose scrunches up, and rather than rub his own fluttering eyes open, he holds up a hand to block out the stream of light poking through into his space. The other is laid aside as he props himself back onto an elbow.

His voice isn't anything but a slur. "What're you doing?"

"You were having a nightmare, so I woke you up."

Jason's exhaustion rings through the growl that slips. He doesn't need to look at you for long to tug you towards him and press his lips to yours. In a messy drawl, both of your jaws end with salvia glistening over the skin.

They crash insistently onto yours in heated breath.

Although you're definitely going to remember to clean out your mouth in the afterglow of tonight due to the morning breath.

"Don't remember asking for a wake-up call." His breathing stays the same as it has been: heavy while he's pulling you closer to rest his head over one of your shoulders. "But thanks, baby."

White strands of curls stick to his forehead and roll against you. Meanwhile, he's making use of the little space to trace the muscles of your back with the rough pads he has for palms.

He talks against your lips, refusing to pull back even while the edges of his tug at his own.

"You wanna use that mouth again and finish what you started, babe?"

[teddybeartoji]

MORE ROOMIE GOJO !!!

ROOMIE GOJOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! he loves feeding you. he always offers you a bite of whatever he's eating - no matter whether it's a proper meal or just some kind of a snack or a treat, he's giving you a bite. and he will always FEED it, okay? he refuses to let you do it yourself, he always goes 'say aaaah' with a stupid smile on his face and he probably does that 'here comes the airplane' thing too lmao he's kind of ridiculous (i'm in love with him). if it's some kind of a bar he's eating, he'll just hold it to your mouth and watch you take the bite and if it's a piece of candy, he wants to put it in your mouth himself. it's a weird kind of intimacy, but then again, it's not like he's ever known a normal kind of it anyway.

[nether-moth]

I love him an unreasonable amount

[tokopng]

last second revenges for @dogtoling 💥🫶

[spideypawz]

SHUT THE FUCK UP DAVE YOURE A FAGGOT!!!!!!!!!!

[sheepthatgobaa]

I'm in my attic club sandwich era except it's just me and belphie fighting over beel

[qephyr]

People who were bullied for enjoying an unconventional fictional character and still enjoy that character afterwards are some of the strongest soldiers on this planet I swear bro

[princema-k]

wer

[toxicooz]

[digo3d]

I don’t think you didn’t ‘like’ Brain so much as you weren’t really sure what to do with the character, especially since he wasn’t utilized very much. I think now that you’re writing one you’re liking him more!

Coulda sworn I responded to this earlier but ANYWAY

I think you make a great point actually, writing about him has definitely led me into a better perspective of him and a better understanding of his character as well

Also I think part of my initial hatred was because I got into Top Cat through the 2011 movie where he's very flanderized and just played for jokes and literally just 'the dumb one', once I actually got my hands on the series I realized my horrid mistake and now he's my liddol scrunkly precious little baby boy my little lad i wanna give him scritchies so BAD AAUUUUUGH

[zu-is-here]

<– • –>

[hawkewild]

During my replay of Inquisition I just can't stop thinking of In Hushed Whispers and how it parallels Solas' experience in a way.

For those who don't have quest titles memorized and don't want to google, this is the quest where you go to recruit the mages but get yeeted into the future with Dorian.

This future is (even more) apocalyptic, your companions you brought with you to Redcliffe are incarcerated and corrupted by red lyrium, others are dead or unaccounted for, and Leliana has gone through unspeakable horrors. No One Likes This (TM) and clearly the goal is to get you and Dorian back to the past to fix things so this never happens. And you do! Great.

Now imagine you get yeeted to an apocalyptic future, but people don't KNOW how apocalyptic it is. There's no one alive who remembers the old world, except maybe a handful of people. You ask people, friends, "hey wouldn't you want to go back to the past where things were better?" and the answers you get back are along the lines of "I have no interest in that", "that's a pointless question" or "I want to make the best of things here". Meanwhile "here" is a literal ongoing zombie apocalypse that's nearly tipped over into world annihilation 5 times, and that's the least of things. Cool cool cool.

Now also imagine that the state of this world is also at least partly YOUR fault, not the fault of some crazy cult, and it happened because you thought you were fixing things. I think I'd tear my hair out and eat it.

This is what Solas went through and is still currently going through, and when I think of it this way I'm honestly surprised he's not screaming all day every day. It also really puts a different twist on his comments when you get back to present day and he practically interrogates you about time travel to the point of insulting your intelligence (are you sure, are you really sure that happened? It couldn't have been something else, an illusion?)(honestly insulting your intelligence like this is on brand either way lol). What he would give to be able to go back, but he can't. There's only forward.

I don't agree with his conclusions, but I can definitely understand his horror. Regret of a god, indeed.

[the-interidiot]

cunty evil inspector… baugh…