#again having so much fun with this feature

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | taking away their food - tiktok trend

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri (comment if you'd like to see other drivers or feel free to drop into my inbox!) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested) : taking away their meal while they are still eating to see their reaction...

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 3490

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : when i tell you i love these tiktok trend requests, i love them...! <3

ʚ・max verstappen

you and max were on vacation at a beautiful beachside resort. unlike max, who preferred to stay offline, you were chronically online and had seen the recent trend of taking away people’s food while they were eating. what better way to have some fun than to try it on your husband?

max had a relatively short temper, but he was always patient with you. that’s why you couldn’t wait to see his reaction when his food was suddenly taken away…especially in an expensive restaurant.

after placing your orders, you excuse yourself. “i’ll be right back, babe, just have to use the restroom.”

instead, you hurry over to your waiter, who isn’t too busy at the moment. slipping her a generous tip, you ask, “while he’s eating, can you take away his food?”

she laughs, immediately catching on. “i’ve seen the trend! i’d love to do it—especially to max.”

trying to contain your excitement, you make your way back to the table, casually setting up your phone to record. the food arrives, and you both dig in.

as you eat, you casually chat about the upcoming f1 season. “are you excited?” you ask between bites.

“yeah, but testing is gonna be interesting. new regulations could change a lot,” max replies, focused on his food.

then, right in the middle of a bite, the waiter swoops in and takes his plate away.

max freezes. you bite your lip to keep from laughing.

“what the hell?” you say, feigning confusion.

max blinks before his expression shifts. “yeah, what the hell? i want to speak to their manager. what are they, fucking idiots?” his voice rises, his irritation clear.

that’s it—you can’t hold it in anymore. not wanting the staff to get in trouble, you call the waiter back, who quickly returns with his dish. “my apologies,” she says, trying to keep a straight face.

before max can get another word out, you burst into laughter. “it was just a prank, my love. an extremely funny one at that.”

max sighs, shaking his head. “you know i was hungry…”

you roll your eyes. “we had a snack before coming here. don’t lie.”

he huffs, but you can see the corner of his mouth twitching. “you’re lucky you’re my wife and not another driver.”

you grin. totally worth it.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

“are you excited to see the family again?” you ask lewis as you adjust your dress, glancing at him through the mirror.

lewis nods, holding out his tie. “always excited,” he says, smiling as you step closer to help him fix it.

you both make your way to the family dinner, where you're greeted warmly. everyone loves lewis so much that they always prepare a vegan-friendly meal just for him—without making a fuss about it.

at the gathering, you and lewis naturally drift apart. he’s with your father and uncles, deep in a discussion about sports, while you join the women in the kitchen, chatting and catching up.

your cousin pulls you aside, giggling. “have you seen that tiktok trend where you take their food mid-meal just to see their reaction?”

you smirk, already plotting. “oh, i have an idea.”

once everyone is seated and eating, conversation flows easily. then, mid-meal, you casually get up, walk over to lewis—who’s completely engrossed in a conversation with your uncle—and, without a word, take his plate away.

you turn on your heel and walk straight to the kitchen, leaving him staring after you, utterly speechless. the entire table falls silent. the women bite their lips, trying not to laugh, while the men exchange confused glances.

lewis clears his throat, placing his napkin down. “if you all will pardon me for just a second.”

he follows you into the kitchen, where he finds you at the sink, rinsing a plate. his brows furrow, but there’s amusement in his voice. “love… what are you doing?”

you don’t turn around just yet, keeping up the act. “what do you mean? i thought you were done.”

lewis tilts his head, his expression both concerned and affectionate. “darling, i’d barely even touched my food.”

you finally turn to face him, biting your lip to keep from laughing. “i know,” you admit, pulling his plate out of the microwave with a grin. “i just wanted to see your reaction.”

lewis exhales a deep sigh, crossing his arms. “and what exactly did you think was going to happen? that i’d sit there, starving, while you pranced around with my dinner?”

you shrug innocently. “honestly, i thought you’d be more dramatic. maybe throw a little fit, demand justice, give a speech about how a man’s meal should never be taken from him.”

lewis raises a brow, lips twitching with amusement. “oh, so you expected a whole performance?”

you nod. “at the very least, i thought you’d stand up on your chair and make a passionate plea for your food’s return.”

lewis chuckles, shaking his head as he steps closer. “you’re trouble, you know that?”

you hand him back his plate with a cheeky smile. “and yet, you married me.”

he takes it, setting it down on the counter before pulling you into his arms. “mm, don’t remind me. i think i should’ve put ‘no pranks’ in the vows.”

you gasp in mock offense. “excuse me? that would’ve been a dealbreaker.”

lewis laughs, resting his forehead against yours. “then i guess i really am stuck with you.”

you grin. “lucky you.”

he shakes his head, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before picking up his plate. “lucky me, indeed. now, if you’ll excuse me, i’d like to actually eat my food before you come up with another ridiculous idea.”

you smirk, watching as he walks back to the table. “no promises.”

ʚ・george russell

george loves your home-cooked meals. after a long day of racing and testing, he always comes home with an empty stomach, ready to devour whatever you’ve made.

and lucky for him, despite spending most of your day rotting in bed on tiktok, you still managed to cook one of his favorite meals. so, when he walks through the door, you greet him with a warm smile, already setting the table.

“smells amazing,” he sighs, dropping a kiss to your forehead before heading off to freshen up.

once he’s cleaned up and comfortable, you both sit down and start eating. conversation flows easily as he tells you about his day—mostly car talk that you only half understand but love listening to anyway.

then, mid-meal, right when george is in the middle of a big bite, you casually grab his plate and stand up.

“i’ll just be right back,” you say nonchalantly, walking toward the kitchen.

george freezes, fork in midair, watching you disappear with his food. at first, he just blinks, processing what just happened. then, he calls after you.

“love?”

you stay silent, waiting.

another second passes.

“babe?” his voice is a little more confused this time.

still nothing from you.

now you hear his chair scrape against the floor as he gets up, followed by hurried footsteps coming toward the kitchen. you grab a spoon and take a big, dramatic bite of his food just as he walks in.

he stops in the doorway, hands on his hips, staring at you like you’ve just committed the ultimate betrayal.

“love,” he says, slow and measured, “what are you doing?”

you make a big show of chewing, eyes closing as you hum in satisfaction. “mm. wow. this is really good.”

george blinks, looking between you and his stolen plate. “yeah, i know. that’s why i was eating it.”

you sigh, shaking your head. “honestly, i don’t think you appreciated it enough. i just had to double-check how good it was.”

he folds his arms. “by eating my dinner?”

you nod, taking another bite just to test his patience.

george lets out a long, dramatic sigh, dragging a hand down his face. “after everything i’ve done today—hours of training, media, testing—this is how you treat me?”

you smirk. “think of it as a lesson in patience.”

“oh, i’m very patient,” he argues, stepping closer, eyes narrowing. “but i will be getting my food back.”

before you can react, he lunges for the plate. you try to dodge, but george is quicker. he snatches it back, holding it above his head like a trophy.

“ha!” he exclaims victoriously.

you pout. “that was rude.”

george smirks, taking an exaggerated bite right in front of you. “oh wow. this is really good.”

you gasp. “now you’re just mocking me.”

he winks. “just had to double-check how good it was.”

you groan, swatting at him as he laughs and walks triumphantly back to the table, plate in hand.

“love you,” he calls over his shoulder.

you huff, crossing your arms. “yeah, yeah. enjoy your stolen dinner.”

ʚ・carlos sainz

carlos thought of you as a saint—you could do no wrong in his eyes. and honestly, you could probably count on one hand the number of times he’s gotten mad at you… actually, scratch that. it’s zero.

this man loved, and he loved hard.

one of your favorite things to do together was cooking, but nothing beat grilling outside when the weather was hot. it became a little tradition—firing up the grill, making burgers, and just talking about the most random things.

today’s topic? trying to convince carlos to leave formula one so he could stay home with you every day.

“mi amor, that sounds like a great idea, but…” he gestures dramatically toward your beautiful backyard, “we would not have a home if i did that.”

you sigh dramatically. “we could live a simple life. maybe raise some chickens, grow our own vegetables…”

carlos gives you an amused look as he flips a burger. “you scream when a bug lands on you. you think you’re ready for farm life?”

“fair point.” you nod solemnly, making him laugh.

once the burgers are ready, you both sit outside on the deck, enjoying your food and the warm evening air. conversation flows as usual—lighthearted, full of teasing and laughter.

then, mid-bite, right when carlos is at peak burger enjoyment, you casually reach over and take the burger straight from his hands. not the plate. just the burger.

you don’t even wait for his reaction before standing up and walking into the house, taking a big bite as you go.

carlos blinks, completely caught off guard.

“amor?” his voice is laced with confusion and betrayal.

you don’t answer. you just keep walking.

then he snaps out of it.

“amor!” he calls louder, pushing his chair back as he stands. “come back here!”

you hear his footsteps on the deck as you disappear into the house, stuffing another bite into your mouth just as he reaches the doorway.

“oh, you’re in trouble now.”

you sprint toward the kitchen, but carlos is faster. within seconds, he wraps his arms around you from behind, tackling you onto the couch as you let out a squeal.

“no! carlos! it’s mine now!” you laugh, trying to take another bite, but he pins your arms, shaking his head.

“i trusted you,” he says dramatically, his face hovering inches from yours.

“and you love me,” you counter, mouth half full.

he sighs, looking at the last pathetic remains of his burger in your hand. “that was my best one yet…”

you pat his cheek, swallowing. “it was amazing, really.”

carlos groans before flopping off of you, lying on his back on the couch with a pout. “now what am i supposed to eat?”

you sit up, stretching. “i guess i could make you another one.”

he side-eyes you. “you guess?”

you grin. “fine, fine. i will make you another one.”

carlos huffs but follows you back to the kitchen, watching as you start grilling again. after a moment, he walks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” he mumbles.

you smirk. “i know.”

carlos laughs, kissing your cheek before finally getting his fresh, non-stolen burger.

ʚ・charles leclerc

charles leclerc is the definition of polite. he treats everyone with kindness, never raises his voice unnecessarily, and avoids causing a scene at all costs.

so he definitely wasn’t prepared for what was about to happen to his dinner—at his favorite restaurant, no less.

before walking to your table, you quietly slipped the waiter a generous tip and explained your plan. the waiter grinned, fully on board, and assured you they’d pull it off perfectly.

by the time you sat down across from charles, you had to bite back a smile.

as you waited for the food to arrive, conversation flowed easily. you leaned in slightly. “do you think i should start traveling with you during the season?”

charles’ eyes lit up. “of course,” he said immediately. “i would love that. and we could bring leo too—he’d love it.”

you laughed. “leo on a private jet, living the life.”

charles nodded. “exactly. he’s already spoiled, but this would make him impossible to deal with.”

the food finally arrived, and as always, charles looked delighted as he took his first bite. you chatted here and there, but you were mostly just waiting for the moment.

then, just as charles lifted another forkful of food and put it into his mouth, the waiter swooped in and—without hesitation—took his plate away.

charles froze mid-chew, blinking in confusion.

you clenched your jaw to keep from laughing as his brows furrowed, his eyes following his plate as it disappeared.

“amore,” he exhaled, swallowing his bite as he turned to you. “what the hell just happened?”

you shrugged, pretending to be just as confused. “i have no idea.”

charles sighed, rubbing his forehead before muttering something in french. you caught bits of it—something about karma for not finishing his meal last time.

still holding back your laughter, you watched as he looked toward the waiter, debating whether or not to say something. charles wasn’t one to cause a scene, but this? this was testing his patience.

“excuse me?” he finally called out, voice still polite but definitely stressed.

you couldn’t hold it in any longer. letting out a laugh, you waved the waiter back over, who immediately returned with his plate.

charles looked between you and the waiter, realization dawning. “no…”

you grinned. “oui.”

the waiter set his plate down. “désolé, monsieur leclerc, but it was a request.”

charles turned to you, eyes narrowing. “baby…”

you beamed. “it’s just a prank!”

he stared at you for a moment before shaking his head, exhaling through his nose. “you…” he pointed his fork at you, squinting. “you’re lucky i love you.”

you leaned forward on your elbows. “i know.”

still mumbling in french about betrayal, charles picked up his fork again and resumed eating while you giggled, already thinking about what prank to pull next.

ʚ・lando norris

lando loves eating out with you—especially at small, lowkey urban spots where no one bothers him and the food is always good.

tonight was no different. after placing your order, you both slid into a booth, and lando immediately started rambling about something completely random.

“so i was thinking,” he said, gesturing animatedly, “if we ever get, like, really lost somewhere—like, no signal, no gps—do you think i’d be able to navigate us out just by looking at the stars?”

you snorted. “lando, you can’t even navigate a grocery store.”

“that’s different,” he argued. “they put all the good stuff at the back on purpose. it’s a scam.”

before you could argue further, your food arrived—a fresh, steaming-hot pizza.

“finally,” lando sighed happily, grabbing a slice immediately.

you both started eating, chatting between bites, until suddenly, just as lando reached for another slice, the cashier you tipped earlier casually walked over, picked up the entire pizza, and walked away.

lando froze, mouth slightly open, staring at the now-empty table.

“hey, i was eat—” he started, but before he could finish, the guy was already gone, disappearing into the back.

his head turned slowly toward you, utterly confused. “what… just happened?”

you glanced down at your own half-eaten slice, pretending to inspect it. “do you think they took it away because the pizza was bad?” you asked, struggling to hold in your laughter.

lando frowned, tilting his head. “i mean… maybe? but we already ate some. wouldn’t they have warned us first?”

you shrugged. “maybe they realized it too late—maybe it’s, like, radioactive or something.”

lando blinked, deep in thought. “well… i feel fine. for now.”

then, shaking his head, he pushed his chair back. “i’ll just go talk to them—”

before he could stand, the cashier reappeared, grinning as he placed the pizza right back on the table. “enjoy your food.”

lando just stared at the guy, then at the pizza, then at you.

“were we not already…?” his brows furrowed.

that was it. you couldn’t hold it in anymore. you burst into laughter, clutching your stomach as lando continued to sit there, completely lost.

“what?” he asked, blinking. “what’s so funny?”

still laughing, you managed to get out, “i—i told them to do it. it was a prank! for tiktok!”

lando’s jaw dropped. “you set me up?”

you nodded, still giggling.

he exhaled dramatically, shaking his head. “wow. betrayal. right in front of my pizza.”

“i had to,” you grinned. “your face was priceless.”

lando grabbed his slice, taking a big bite while still glaring at you playfully. “i hope tiktok enjoys this, because i’m not sharing my pizza with you anymore.”

you gasped. “lando—”

“nope.” he turned away, holding his slice protectively. “find another victim.”

you just kept laughing as he ate, shaking his head at you—but deep down, you knew he’d totally get you back for this.

ʚ・oscar piastri

there’s nothing better than a good pasta, so while you and oscar were in italy, you decided to have some fun. recently, you’d been seeing the tiktok trend where waiters take food away mid-meal, and what better place to pull it off than in the land of pasta itself?

tipping isn’t really the norm in italy, but you still managed to sneak the waiter a little cash. using your very broken high school italian, you did your best to explain the prank. it wasn’t easy—your italian was atrocious—but thankfully, after showing him the tiktok, he got the idea. with a knowing grin, he agreed.

when you and oscar sat down, you could barely contain your excitement. the pasta finally arrived, steaming hot, and you both eagerly dug in.

as always, conversation flowed easily between the two of you. oscar was rambling about something—probably a weird f1 fact or a debate about whether pineapple belonged on pizza—when you glanced at the waiter and gave him a small, knowing smile.

that was his cue.

without hesitation, the waiter swooped in, grabbed oscar’s plate, and walked away.

oscar froze, fork still mid-air, a single strand of pasta dangling from it. his eyes followed his plate as it disappeared into the kitchen.

“did… did my food just get stolen?” he asked slowly, turning to you with the most genuinely confused expression you had ever seen.

you pressed your lips together to keep from laughing. “maybe… do you think something was wrong with it?”

oscar frowned, looking down at the pasta still on your plate. “but we’re eating the same thing…” he blinked. “was mine poisoned or something?”

you shrugged. “maybe they realized too late and saved your life.”

oscar squinted at you. “so they just left yours?”

you bit the inside of your cheek to stop from laughing. “maybe they don’t care if i get poisoned.”

his jaw dropped. “that’s messed up.” he started shifting in his seat, glancing toward the kitchen. “i should probably go—”

just as he was about to stand up, the waiter returned, placing his plate back down in front of him with a grin. “buon appetito.”

oscar looked at the waiter, then at you, then back at his pasta. his face was priceless.

“wait, what?” he looked genuinely lost. “was i… not supposed to have it? were we not already eating?”

that was it—you burst out laughing, unable to hold it in any longer.

“oscar,” you wheezed between laughs, “it was just a prank! for tiktok!”

he blinked. once. twice. then, realization hit.

“oh, my god.” he groaned, rubbing his face. “you set me up? in italy?”

you wiped a tear from your eye. “yes, and it was so worth it.”

oscar shook his head, sighing dramatically before twirling some pasta onto his fork. “unbelievable. i thought i was actually banned from eating for a second.”

“you should’ve seen your face,” you giggled.

he rolled his eyes, taking a bite. “you’re lucky i love you.”

you smirked. “i know.”

oscar chuckled, pointing his fork at you. “but just so you know, you will pay for this.”

you shrugged, twirling your own pasta. “looking forward to it.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[tsuiioku]

જ⁀➴ ♡ A HEART ONCE BROKEN, NOW HEALED [VALENTINE'S DAY SPECIAL]

━ VALENTINE'S DAY isn't always for exchanging gifts with those you love. sometimes, it's about remembering those we've lost, and being thankful about those we've gained.

content. gn!reader. slight angst with fluff, cursing, mentions of suicide, slight spice (chuuya), reader is called 'beautiful'. fifteen + stormbringer spoilers (chuuya), dark-era spoilers (dazai). not proofread. 2.9k+ words. ⟶ features osamu dazai + chuuya nakahara (separately). author's note. wanted to do something fun for valentine's! nice to finally be writing again (i say, like this isn't my millionth hiatus).

would you like to see more content? fill out the taglist!

You didn’t expect DAZAI to do anything for Valentine’s Day. He had a certain edge to him as the holiday approached, and as much as you wished to celebrate with him, you decided against it. Perhaps you’d make another day, an ordinary day, memorable instead—a day for just the two of you. At least, that’s what you thought was going to happen.

But, of course, he managed to surprise you.

You had received a voicemail before you even awoke that morning.

You hold your phone to your ear, straining to hear his voice through the rushing wind.

“Hello, gorgeous! I have a super special surprise for you. I’ll text you the details. See you at 3!”

To the untrained ear, one would assume has was planning something sweet for the occasion. But there was this dangerous lilt to his tone—not mischievous or cocky in preparation for a prank.

No.

It was the same tone that told you he’d be standing on the side of a bridge.

You race there the moment you set the phone down.

If he’s planning something self-destructive, you’ll be there to stop him.

Arriving at a graveyard does nothing to soothe your nerves.

You pace along its pathways with no idea where he could be. It’s only through sheer luck that you spot tufts of brown hair hidden behind an isolated headstone.

“Dazai,” you pant, bending down to catch your breath.

He doesn’t bother to turn around, resting his eyes as he leans back against the grave, not flinching when you sit beside him.

You’d think he was dead if you didn’t know any better.

“Do you like it?” he mumbles. “The view is truly to die for. One day, I hope I’m buried somewhere just as beautiful.”

“One day that is far in the future.”

But you can’t argue with him.

The view is beautiful. Whoever lays here is cared for deeply, even after death.

The perfect place to house a weary soul.

“Do I have to ask?”

Dazai hums a familiar tune.

It makes your skin crawl.

“Who was he?” Your hands respectfully brush against the stone. “You’ve never been the type to seek out a grave that isn’t your own.”

He chuckles dryly at your not-so-subtle jab but surrenders to defeat. And you don’t know what that defeat means besides understanding that it’s a part of some carefully crafted plan. And you are inclined to believe you’ll not like how this one ends.

His bandaged hand smooths against the headstone’s surface, catching against its roughened texture.

"This is Sakunosuke Oda. He is the reason I left the Port Mafia.”

And he tells you everything. Everything.

The friendship forged between three unlikely men—the inevitable betrayal of one and the predictable demise of another. The only future left up in the air was his own.

But as he describes Oda—his closest friend, he claims—his voice holds a reverence you’ve never heard spoken from his lips. He draws a line between himself and the late man, holding him as a person so pure of intention, even with their shared past of blood.

Unlike him.

Dazai knows he is a monster.

He has committed crimes far more violent than you could imagine, all without an ounce of remorse. He used to revel in the rush of a bloodbath, the actions of his youth forever tainting his soul. He may not belong to the mafia anymore; his former allegiance simply resulted from bored complacency, but one thing remains certain.

He does not deserve someone like you.

Sometimes, you’re hard to look at. You remind him too much of the man buried beneath you, making his hollow heart ache. Neither you nor Oda are perfect people, but you both so earnestly try to be better—it was human.

And he wonders—if you stay with him for any longer, will you eventually become stained by the crimes he’s committed? Or will you end up like Oda, a lesson for him to reflect on in the lonely years to come?

He can’t stand the thought of either.

“You give him far too much credit.”

Like a record scratch, his mind halts, honing in on your voice as it melts into an unfamiliar, somber tone. One that holds so much raw honesty it makes him sick.

“I may not have known him, but if he was truly your closest friend, then it’s impossible he didn’t see what I do.”

He scoffs.

“Oh, really? And what’s that?”

You choose not to mind his sardonic tone. There would be a time.

“That you have potential far beyond what you envision for yourself.”

You take his hand, tracing abstract images in the bandages of his limp palm as you ignore his hardened stare.

“You have a particularly stubborn way of viewing things, even with your intellect,” you muse. “You craft roadblocks that only exist within the confines of your mind, limiting yourself to the future you think you deserve.”

And when you meet his gaze, your eyes sear through him.

“You’re not a good man. But you’re not as bad as you claim to be.”

Flashes of memory, of every life shattered and of every corpse trampled underneath his feet, beg to differ.

“If you knew the extent of what I’ve done, you wouldn’t be saying that.”

And in reply, you flick his forehead.

“You seem pretty set in thinking for me, Osamu.” Your voice is scolding but holds no bite. “I’d be offended if I couldn’t easily see why.”

And a whisper embeds a chill within his bones, seeping through the flesh and tingling down to his fingertips.

“Do you really think I’ll turn tail and run the second you revert to your old ways?”

His slackened hand seizes your wrist, almost bruising. Almost.

“You should if you know what’s good for you.”

He hopes to scare you.

To shake your unwavering resolve.

To fracture the foundation of those beliefs that lead you to foolishly place your trust in him.

But you laugh.

He tries to pull back, but you hold him there tighter.

“You truly don’t see how much you’ve changed. God, you are stubborn.”

His breath catches—you’re at once calamitous, the wild embodiment of a zephyr with no reins.

“But unluckily for you, so am I.”

Frosted flurries linger in the tresses of your hair, untamed strands framing the electrifying expression that pulses in the upturn of your lips and the brightness of your eyes. So wonderfully unpredictable, so woefully disastrous for a soul he never believes he deserves.

Only in this world is a snowstorm the key to thawing his frozen heart.

“I can’t deny I would’ve loved to meet him.” You lean against the stiffened curve of his shoulder. “Anyone who can manage to change your mind must've been remarkable.”

Every inch of him feels aflame, but he can’t bring himself to move.

“In life, people are categorized as one thing or another, and in death, their actions are simplified to an anecdote or forgotten entirely,” you say, an undeniable somberness returning with a softness as you let frost nip at your skin. “The best that can be done is to watch the results of their influence when they’re no longer here.”

And, for the first time, his hand responds to your repetitive ministrations with a subtle squeeze.

You smile.

He pauses at the deafened sound of a sniffle, lost in the sight of the tears that roll down your cheeks without a word.

“But I want to know everything.”

Your arm intertwines with his, fearing he’ll run at the first chance.

“Every sin that stains your soul mafia black, every mistake that convinces you that you can only be who you once were.”

He has made hundreds, thousands of mistakes—a running list tallied in his mind, repeated over and over on his worst days and subtly whispering reminders on his best.

How can he possibly taint you with even the mention of such things?

Your voice echoes in a whisper, only for him to hear.

“I want the chance to look at you, all of you, and still love you the same.”

He is stubborn, but so are you.

He allows himself to press one kiss against the top of your head, but he should’ve known. Indulging once only leads him to indulge again, and again, and again—he pulls you closer, dotting reverent, blistering kisses across your cold, heated skin. His lips trace the apples of your cheeks, marking the pathway of your tears with the devotion to soothe them.

“He would’ve loved you as much as I do.”

His voice breaks, but you say nothing.

Content to remain in his arms, comforted in the knowledge that you’ll always be one of the few who can change his mind.

Out of all the proposed plans for the day, you didn’t expect CHUUYA to ask you to meet somewhere far outside the city. It was weird waking up alone in bed with only a text on the phone with an address and time. But you went with it, not knowing what to expect.

You would’ve never guessed a graveyard.

It sits on a cliffside, enclosed by a canopy of trees that gives the sight a sense of privacy. The graves aren’t neat or well-kept, but for some reason, you have a feeling that is a measure of how loved the place is.

And there is Chuuya, sitting on top of a gravestone.

“Isn’t that a bit disrespectful?”

Chuuya’s attention darts away from the setting sun.

“Not like it matters,” he scoffs, jumping off of it. “Deserves it for being such a pain in the ass.”

But he doesn’t move to come near you, so you settle for glancing at the graves around you, full of unfamiliar names you are sure he recognizes. Some are far more recent than you assumed, but that brings you back to reality.

“Why’d you call me here?” Your face shifts into an awkward smile. “Not that I mind the scenery, but a graveyard isn’t quite the first thing that comes to mind when I think of a date.”

But you falter once you note the downtrodden look on his face.

You’re not stupid, far from it. You know him well enough to know when he has something to say—the way he fiddles with his fists as they’re tucked into his pockets, how his foot taps against the ground at an irregular tempo. Someone less knowledgeable would assume he is just agitated.

But you know better.

“Is everything alright?”

Your voice is soft—not hesitant, calming like a balm over a wound. It carefully treads through as you try to dissect the reason behind his demeanor.

He sighs.

“There’s something I’ve gotta tell you.”

And you don’t prod, simply nodding at him.

“Then let’s sit down.”

You find yourself with the perfect view of the sunset. Despite your earlier jest, this would be a beautiful date spot, but you don’t linger on the thought for long. You don’t want to be nervous but can’t help it. There’s a key difference between his normal stoicism and genuine seriousness.

And he is serious.

You fiddle with the grass beneath your fingers, trying not to overthink it.

Chuuya is careful as he sits down, not completely next to you, but close enough that he can see enough of your face. He feels the words clogged in his throat, instead taking in the sight of you in the glow of the setting sun. The most beautiful person he has ever laid eyes on. He watches for another fleeting moment as the ocean breeze tussles your hair.

But sunsets aren’t meant to last.

So, he delves into the details of this place—its significance in creating the man he is today. But he quickly skips the more unimportant details. These are stories he can tell you with ease. Some are a pain in his heart, yes, but it is a pain he trusts you with. One he knows you can handle—and pain he allows to be shared, even if momentarily.

The origins of his ability are a different story.

Those are more complicated than petty betrayals and mafia rivalries.

The descriptions of experiments are enough to chill you to the core, forcing you to swallow your nausea at the thought of them being conducted on the very man you love.

“Once that power is unleashed, my body is no longer under my control.”

He removes his hat, his gloved fingers straining around its edges.

“I become a beast hellbent on destruction.” His voice dips with an irritated edge, and you can guess the next few keywords before he says them. “And I’m forced to rely on Dazai to nullify it. That bastard enjoys showing up at the worst possible moment just to toy with me.”

You laugh a little, but he doesn’t have the heart for your usual back and forth.

“But without him, anyone in my path is in danger.”

That laughter fades into something silent, contemplative.

“And even if that doesn’t happen, there are many who would gladly give anything for a fraction of the power I possess, to the point that they would use anyone under my care as leverage. I couldn’t possibly keep count of how many die simply for being my subordinates, much less…”

He cuts himself off.

You are smart enough to know the rest.

So he waits, and he doesn’t truly know what for. He just knows what you should do. You should run far away from him and anything he touches. If you run fast and far enough, you can save yourself from the danger of being his.

His eyes catch the way your hands fidget, nervous, and he can’t help but feel the same.

“I don’t think I say it enough…” Chuuya’s eyes dart to the outline of your lips, a breath of cold air escaping them. “But you truly are the most resilient man I’ve ever met.”

He huffs.

He knows that stubborn tone of voice anywhere. But this isn’t some stupid argument over the best type of wine or an attempt to stop him from splurging on new clothes—he’ll shoot your stubborn attitude down for your own good.

“But you’re such a hypocrite.”

What.

He can barely hide his shock, and your fond, cheeky smile begins to sour.

“Do you honestly believe I wouldn’t brave that danger?” you sneer, your voice hot with anger. “I know you would if it were me!”

You whip your head around, your brows furrowed, and your lips curled into the beginnings of a snarl.

“So why the hell do you think I wouldn’t do the same?!”

He can’t quite come up with a response.

You are right.

If your roles were reversed, he wouldn’t leave. It wouldn’t matter to him if he lived or died as long as you were together. But this isn’t your reality, and you are in danger.

And he won’t stand for it.

“You’re in danger.” His voice is low, scolding. “If those bastards find out you’re with me, they’ll do whatever it takes to end your life. If something happens to you, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

“Do you regret them?”

He pauses, frowning.

“Who?”

“Them. Your friends.”

You level his gaze.

“Do you regret them?”

He doesn’t want to think about it.

Think about them.

He can still see them, or at least the flashes of what remains of them. Shells of the vibrant people they once were snuffed out with ease.

“If it wasn’t for me, they’d still be alive today.”

“That’s not what I asked,” you reply, the coolness of your voice raising goosebumps on his arms. “Do you regret them? Were those bonds not worth the grief that followed their passing?”

“Of course not!” he exclaims, his frustration palpable. “But that’s not the point.”

“Do you think they’d regret you?”

His mouth goes dry at the look you give him.

You are like an ephemeral, deadly storm. Your eyes match his in force and shine with the knowledge that you have him cornered.

And he cannot look away.

You are always beautiful to him—it amazes him how someone can be so breathtaking. But you have never been as radiant as you are now.

You take his hand into your own, holding it tight.

“Do you think I could ever regret you?”

He freezes.

Your fingertips are like fire as they trace the exposed skin of his wrist.

“You don’t consider the agency of the people you care for.”

He shudders as your lips brush his skin, your thumb inching beneath the fabric of his glove.

“Risk is a guarantee for every interaction we have. Especially when it comes to those we hold closest.”

You slip the glove off.

“But that risk is a two-way street.” You smile. “And if those friends are anything like me, then they’d agree with one thing.”

“And what’s that?”

His response is without power, and there is no fight left within him.

Your hand overlaps his own as it cups your face.

You squeeze gently, leading him to truly look at you.

“You’re worth that risk.”

He doesn’t know who leans in first, but before he knows it, his lips are on yours. You cannot be close enough, even as he pulls you onto his lap, groaning at the delicate touch of your fingers in his hair.

In this moment, he allows himself to forget.

The danger. The risk.

He allows the storm to weather him.

And as you part, heavy breaths passing between you both, he is forced to surrender.

“I hope you’re the last sight I ever see.”

If it is for you, it is worth the risk.

TAGLIST: @yonseibananamilk @suru1990 @honeymoon38 @saeandscaralover @coffeeofsamu @just-another-crack-artist @newnlovesjennie @snowsilver2000 @kai7196 @chyozai @rebel-finn @justcallmesakira @emyyy007 @mxxny-lupin @little-miss-chaoss @himikoslove @osameowdazai @deepseafragments @aureatchi @kelperspelt @squigglewigglewoo @lovesick-fairy @zyilas @ishqani @sillyspookycat

© TSUIIOKU 2025 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

[electrozeistyking]

decided to go slightly more “cartoony” here, you could say. all in all my brain is registering that haircut as “das a rooster baybee”

[rat-n-atty]

The last gift 🎁

Animation and some soppy rambling from yours truly!

( featuring in order, @stillnothereforanyrealreason @hyperbaguette @chaosisunderratedd @fandomgoesahhhhhhhhh @echostarsys @livzees (Hi wife!) @sakuwura-meow-meow @xcoffeebomb @cookiepopcat @axelcx11z @coralalala64 @tiredsmashbros @its-a-me-mango @libbytwq @bear-boi-5 @bluestrawberrybunny @briandraws )

BOOM!

REDESIGNS ONCE AGAIN ONLY THIS TIME ATTY APPARENTLY HAS LOST HER WRISTS (jk, but now her hands float for some reason, not Rats tho...)

Okay now it's time for me to rant about all the wonderful people I have made in the animation :D

@stillnothereforanyrealreason , @hyperbaguette and @chaosisunderratedd y'all are...the best friends I had ever got the chance of meeting. We have been through the deepest shit ever in our life and yet we all still managed to still be friends and that really surprises me. You guys are my truest friends that I don't mind rambling about redeemable villains with or maybe even share some shitty humor or go to y'all for some art inspiration but overall just have a really fun time.

I want to thank you for all these crazy 2 years we have been friends for and hopefully we still continue that crazy questionable bond 💜💜💜

@fandomgoesahhhhhhhhh and @echostarsys y'all are a bunch of freaks tbh /silly but you're bestest mates that I could ever ask for! I love hanging out with you guys and yapping about who knows what whether it be Smg4 or it be your Aus! I love how passionate you two are and I love how you guys support my own small projects as well! You guys have made me feel comfortable talking about my interests in a really long time and I just want to thank you for that 💜💜💜

You guys are amazing and I hope you two never stop being you (except maybe Tari...stop being rude /silly/j)

@livzees HI WIFE YOU LOVABLE BEST PERSON I HAVE EVER MET YOU!!!!!! You are the best person I have ever had the chance to meet and get to know! You're super funny and your art is really cool and I love all that you do and create including your Rivalry Au! You don't mind if I yap too much or send you the dumbest things, you make me feel seen and noticed and I am so happy I can be silly with you (considering I proposed with an onion ring)

Seeing you pop up on my screen makes my day and being with you in VC trying to make you laugh at my dumb jokes makes me happy! I love you sm (/p) and always keep being your amazing lovable you ❤️❤️❤️❤️

@sakuwura-meow-meow , @cookiepopcat and @xcoffeebomb YOU GUYSSSSSS UGHHH WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN?????? You 3 are the coolest people ever in my eyes, even though I tend to make fun of you a lot...you mean a lot to me. You listened, you laughed, and you supported me when I felt like no was. You made me feel like I belong and that I mattered.

You all helped me get out of my shell which I am grateful for (but you should also be terrified about too, I have breeched containment and cannot be held for much longer /hj) I hope you 3 never stop being your amazing selves and I hope you know that you all hold a very special place in my half dead bitchy heart ❤️❤️❤️

@axelcx11z and @coralalala64 YOUUUU!!!! THE SILLIES!!!! YES YOU!!! YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME!!!! I'll have to admit...talking to you guys at first was so nerve-racking for me because I look up to y'all but after some chats...I realize y'all are just a bunch of the silliest people ever lol but I love that about yous.

Cora, you are the first person I saw on my page and instantly had to follow because I thought your art style was so cool and I think your Aus and your own characters and creatures (as deadly as they can be, one of them gave me rabies /hj) is the wonderful silly aspect about you that I love 🫴👑✨

Axel, you're the chilliest guy I have ever had the pleasure of meeting and I love how you even consider me your doppelganger considering how little we interact lol (sorry, I'm just too shy) . I still totally love all that you do tho no matter what fandom you're in; I fell in love with your style when I first saw it so never stop creating dude 🫴👑✨

@tiredsmashbros , @its-a-me-mango and @libbytwq or as I call you, the holy Smg4 Trinity /silly. It was such an honor to finally meet you all in the TSB server but to be honest I was also on the verge of having a panic attack because I was overwhelmed being surrounded by a bunch of people I look up to the most. I know I'm not active much and I barely have anything to say (unless it's about AJR or my cursed hear me outs) But I absolutely enjoyed any interaction I got.

You guys are the biggest inspirations in my life and I hope that one day I'll be able to achieve what you do (but not today lol) you guys are awesome, I love your rants and your complicated lore and most of all, I love your art and I hope you never stop doing what you love 🫴👑👑👑✨✨✨

@bear-boi-5 HI! HELLO! IT'S ME! YOU ARE ONE OF THE FIRST PEOPLE I LOOKED UP TO! When I first joined Tumblr, I remember your pretty little masked face /silly showing up on my screen and I immediately saw and loved it! You are such a master at traditional art and I love how detailed it is and how cool it looks!

When you first made fanart of my Smg5 I was absolutely shook considering at the time I was still a fairly small creator with only like 50 followers lmao but I want to thank you, if you didn't draw my Smg5 I probably wouldn't have drawn her much either assuming that people just hated her.

Meeting you in the TSB server was the coolest thing in my life because you're one chill dude and I hope that maybe when I overcome my overbearing shyness we could get to know each other better lol

🫴👑✨

@bluestrawberrybunny and @briandraws Brian, you're a freak /pos like HOW???? HOW DO YOU HAVE THE TIME, AND THE PASSION AND THE ENERGY FOR WHAT YOU DO???? Honestly if I ever had the amount of energy you have, I would be in a bloody coma. You are the first person I ever had the chance of actually connecting with a Tumblr moot (and realizing how unhinged they are /hj) but I just wanted to say thank you for tolerating me this long lol. Your an amazing artist and even an amazing author (even though I think you should be sentenced to a mental hospital for flooding the server about your Marware obsession /j )

And you! Blue! I love all your work as well! I love apprenticeship and I love your tangents! Having you and meeting you in the server has been a treat but it's also nerve racking because I'm still shy lol. I think your art is so cute and I hope you never stop!

🫴👑👑✨✨

Because of the song I couldn't add as many people as I wanted but here are some honorable mentions!

@deltaruinedcoco37 @purpdrawsthings @hamlos @chaoticlad @bow-and-aro-child @theartistisme43 @b-r-i-n-g-x @grinnames @strange0-0storm @goofy-goobers-things @arco-doodles @artist-heart83 @sspacesillyy @hi-imlooneybirdie @pisschxn @rainstormsart and PLENTY MORE BUT TUMBLR FUCKING HATES ME SO IF YOU SEE THIS THEN I LIKE YOU TOO

I love all that you guys do wether that be art or writing or theories or ANYTHING ELSE just know that you'll always have a supporter 🫴👑✨

Now this brings me to the end of my birthday party sadly, I hope y'all liked it and I hope y'all didn't eat all of my birthday cake and thank you for all the birthday art and wishes but before y'all go...

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!!!

The many joys of sharing your birthday with a holiday, it's often overlooked lol but I hope you guys enjoy it whether you're alone or you have a partner. Practice self love too because you're also important ❤️❤️❤️

Okay that's it

BI Y'ALL!

[snowfieldstories]

Valentine's Day Special

Kim Dokja's Love (featuring: protective Lee Jihye, a Chinese garter belt dress, and...Yoo Joonghyuk)

"What about unnie?" said Yoosung.

"Oh, of course!" Jihye cried out, having forgotten. She crept towards me, holding out the affection meter in earnest. "Let's check."

"Let's not!" I dodged the device, but then was tugged into the air. A glitching shimmer swirled around me. No...!

A silky black fabric draped over my skin. I felt a tight compression around my thighs and calves, and my hair fell in a curtain of styled curls down my back. I could feel so much air on my bare skin. Too much. "Persephone!" I shouted.

I was set back on my feet, unsteady in the heels on the grass. Persephone's Chinese garter dress. My companions around me gaped at the sight. Yoosung beamed while Hyunsung blushed furiously and forced his eyes to the ground. Even Joonghyuk's eyebrows shot up. An object was pressed into my chest, and I looked down.

Jihye pulled the affection meter back to her with a frown. "Is it stuck?"

There was a violent rattling, then—BOOM!

Jihye screamed and I keeled backwards at the explosion.

"What did you do, Jihye?" I said and coughed at the lingering smoke. Jihye was dumbstruck as pieces of the affection meter crumbled in her hands.

"His love for angel-unnie was so great, it broke an SS-grade relic," said Jihye in awe, wiping crocodile tears from her eyes.

Heewon looked me up and down. "Love is one word for it," she muttered darkly.

Namwoon scowled as he caught on to her words.

Jihye gasped and nodded. She smashed a still-smoking fist into her palm. "You're right! Ahjussi wasn't measuring love with his heart, he was measuring it with his—"

Sangah and Hyunsung each clapped their hands over Yoosung and Gilyoung's ears.

I groaned and buried my face in my hands, mumbling. "Dokja, I really hoped you stopped watching with omniscience already..."

In my heart, I felt the keen tug of humiliation from our shared connection.

That was rather unfortunate.

Jihye stared at me with a complicated look of concentration. She then sighed. "Unnie, I'm sorry. I guess we'll have to kill you now."

The tugging at my heart became frantic. I remained unbothered. Luckily for me, the Ways of Survival was, and would always be, Kim Dokja's greatest love. "We didn't test Yoo Joonghyuk," I pointed out.

"AH! You're right!" Jihye groaned and put her hands in her hair. "But Master, seriously?"

Joonghyuk finally acknowledged us with a look of disgust. "You're all imbeciles."

"Are you saying that because you know something?" Jihye was accusing. Joonghyuk stared at her blankly and she choked. "Are you two...? Is ahjussi cheating on angel-unnie with YOU?! How dare you!"

Heewon and I each grabbed an arm and dug our heels into the grass to keep Jihye from launching at Joonghyuk in a fit of righteous anger on my behalf. "Let me go! I'll kill him—let me kill him for you, unnie!" she bellowed.

In that moment, we'd forgotten about one very delusional demon. Joonghyuk included.

His head snapped to the side as Namwoon's fist collided with his cheek. Jihye took advantage of our shock to shake us off, running to join in.

"You home-wrecking dog!" roared Namwoon.

Joonghyuk recovered at once, and a terrible darkness shadowed his face. It was a glare from the depths of malice. There was a blinding flash and Jihye and Namwoon were blasted away, stunned and flat on their backs in the grass.

I exhaled deeply, rubbing my temples. "You guys are really..."

My connected heart ached with a mournful apology.

I sighed again. "It's not your fault, Dokja."

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day all! I hope you enjoyed this fun little scene. It might end up in the main ILAD fic, I haven't decided yet

[hazbinshusk]

overlord!husk x bunny!reader x transmasc!partner. when you stumble into the private bar of a certain casino-owning overlord, you find him charmed rather than irritated by your presence. when he propositions you and you tell him that you have a boyfriend, husk isn't daunted. he's intrigued.

so happy and flattered to have been asked to write this smutfic for @mckeeks by their absolutely wonderful partner @top-shelf-tender for valentine's day. this is my first time writing a threesome fic featuring a non-canon character alongside the reader, and it was so much fun to do! happy valentines to the both of you, my loves!

featuring: smut, husk is kind of sleazy, oral sex, vaginal sex, threesome, thigh-riding. partner is unnamed and transmasc, and hell is gender-affirming because I say so, so they have markings where their top-surgery scars would be and both sets of genitalia. again, because I say so.

The Overlord notices you before you do him, but his attention still leaves goosebumps prickling against the back of your neck in a way that has nothing to do with the way the cool breeze of the air conditioning caresses the bare skin of your arms, your thighs. You’ve wandered into one of the more secluded areas of the casino, the sounds of tumbling slots and excited players muffled and replaced by the soft, playful chords of jazz music and the muted conversations of the few sinners around you. The spicy-sweet scent of cigar smoke tickles at your delicate nose as you order a drink from one of the imp waitresses. Confusion wrinkles your brow for a moment as she hesitates, glancing over your shoulder for a few seconds before nodding and heading to the bar.

Despite the pause you still get your drink, and you find a seat at an isolate table towards the side of the room. The boozy mix of maraschino cherry and gin is cool and fresh against your tongue, the alcohol joining the previous drinks already muddling the edges of your mind. There’s this buzzing in your skin; an awareness that doesn’t seem to be dulled at all by the alcohol, those instincts that seem to have come hand in hand with your sinner form keeping a wariness itching inside you.

It doesn’t seem to unsettle you though… instead there’s a warmth that curls in your stomach and up against the small of your back. So, when a tall, silver-furred hellhound approaches your table, you don’t feel all that surprised.

“Stand up,” he tells you gruffly. “The boss wants you at his table.”

You blink, an ear twitching as you set your glass on the table in front of you. “The—”

“Let’s go.”

Shit.

You almost stumble over your heels as you do as your told, the chair legs catching briefly on the carpet. Your face warms with nerves as you realise what you’ve done.

You’ve managed to walk yourself right into the private lounge of the gambling overlord himself.

Following obediently after the hound to the opposite corner of the room, you run your palms over the skirt of your dress, nervously smoothing away non-existent wrinkles in the sparkling fabric. The bar is dimly lit and the glow of the overlord’s eyes is the first thing you notice as they watch you, half-lidded, as you cross the bar to his table. The demon takes a long drag of his cigar as the hound pulls out a seat and guides you into it with a genial hand against the middle of your back. The smoke curls around the overlord’s features as he studies you with a weighted gaze that seems to heat your very core.

“You’re new.”

You open your mouth, close it again as you fail to find your reply. His voice is rough but melodic, a hypnotic blend of torn velvet and warm honey that makes you shiver. When you don’t respond, his smile curves wider with amusement, his claws sounding a quiet tink against the crystal of his whiskey glass as he picks it up. He takes a sip, unbothered by the burn of it, before he continues.

“I’d remember you.”

You swallow as the heat doubles in your cheeks, and you finally find your voice again. It quavers slightly, and you twist your fingers together in your lap beneath the table. “I’m… I’m sorry, I didn’t realise this was your private… area.”

“The security outside didn’t tip you off?” he asks with a raised, red brow. Off your look, his smirk widens, and he turns his head to address the hound now standing beside him casually. “Roscoe, remind me to give Dex a bonus. He always has the best taste.”

The silver hound – Roscoe – nods, hands tucked behind his back. “Yes, sir.”

The exchange makes you shiver; a fly, served up to a spider in its web.

“I should go,” you offer, your tone deferential, polite. “I was just looking for somewhere quiet, and—”

“In a casino?” the Overlord seems entertained by your explanation. He raises a hand, and moments later another drink is set on the table in front of you. His whiskey is replaced, too.

“I never said it was logical,” you defend yourself, waving a hand pointedly up at one of your ears, the one that bends down against your hair, the tip of it brushing your forehead like bangs. “They’re kinda sensitive.”

He chuckles, and the sound of it almost feels as though it pulses into you. “I bet they are…”

You press your thighs together under the table, feel the cold wet of condensation against your fingers.

The Overlord leans forward on the table, his wings shifting, spreading slightly behind him imposingly. “Your luck turn on you, doll?”

You shake your head, fidgeting with the stem of your cocktail glass. You take a sip, hoping the booze will banish the tension you feel tightening almost addictively in your stomach. “I’m not actually much for games of chance.”

The words slip out before you consider them, and you bite your lip. The cat demon’s smirk only widens though, and his eyes watch your nose twitch almost predatorily. “Smart girl.”

You breathe a soft laugh despite yourself, and for a brief moment, you think maybe his pupils actually widen at the sound. “It’s not really about being smart, I just… how lucky can I be if I’m in Hell?”

The Overlord snickers, letting his gaze travel down over you for a moment, every inch of you warming under his glowing gaze. He takes a long drag from his cigar, eyes returning to yours, and when he speaks his voice comes huskily, a tone low enough for just you to hear. “Ever thought about tryin’ to make your own luck?”

Something in his question makes you bold, and you finish your drink, lick the sweet liquor from your lips with the tip of your tongue. “And how do I do that?”

He swallows the last of his whiskey, waving away the bottle immediately offered by a nearby imp. Instead, he gestures to the hellhound, standing up and rounding the table towards you. “Find Roscoe here, later. He’ll show you to my private suite.”

The suggestion in his voice is enough to make your breath catch. Excitement rises unbidden inside you at the suggestion, the promise in his voice. “I…” you clear your throat, remembering yourself. “I have a boyfriend.”

The Overlord smirks, smoke curling around his muzzle as he leans down to speak in your ear.

“Bring him.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Everything between telling your partner about the offer you’d been made and you now kneeling on the Overlord’s plush carpet floor was a blur. You’d mentioned it teasingly, a joke that the two of you could laugh about as a what-could-have-been anytime you passed by the Lucky Hearts Casino, even as your face had flushed with the pink of arousal, of possibility. And now that pink burns in your cheeks again as you watch the Overlord light a fresh cigar, considering the two of you with bright, hungry eyes. He smirks when his eyes fall to where your fingers are laced with your partner’s between you.

“Oh, sweet girl…” he croons, relaxing back into the soft fabric of the armchair he’s reclining in. His tail twitches back and forth slowly, and his tongue slips out to lick slowly against the side of his muzzle. “Don’t you two jus’ make up the prettiest pair of playthings?”

You swear you can feel your partner’s pulse drumming against your fingers, their anxiety, their excitement mirroring your own. The Overlord had welcomed the two of you into his suite with a knowing, cocky smirk, and the burn of the drinks he’d plied the two of you with still burned a little against your parted lips. The demon exhales a trail of smoke towards the ceiling before he leans forward in his seat to bring his face level with yours. He takes your face in one paws, claws digging into your cheeks as he tilts your face back. His smirk widens as he holds your gaze for a moment as though he’s considering you, and then his mouth is on yours.

His kiss is warm and rough and intoxicatingly demanding, tasting of whiskey and smoke and something you’re sure is just him – his tongue slides against yours, surprising you with its rough texture, and your hand tightens in your partner’s as you whine into the Overlord’s mouth. His fangs catch briefly on your bottom lip as he pulls away, and you whimper. He holds your gaze long enough to catch your reaction, see the way you lean forward instinctively to chase his lips, before he moves to kiss your partner too.

You watch the two of them like you’re suddenly starving for the way they look together, a thrill curling through you as your boyfriend leans up into the embrace, as you catch glimpses of their tongues meeting. The Overlord’s claws are curled around his throat, the point of his thumb claw digging tauntingly into his raised chin. Your partner dares to raise a hand to cup the Overlord’s cheek, and the cat chuckles into the kiss before he finally pulls away.

“Mmmm…” he hums almost thoughtfully as he settles back in his chair, pleased, and takes another drag from his cigar. The claws of his other hands trail over his thigh idly, as though he isn’t fully aware of it, and they linger over the fastening of his pants. “Y’know, guests really should make a point of thankin’ their host.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You lick slowly up along the length of the Overlord’s hard cock, the barbs tickling along the flat of your tongue. Your fingers curl in the soft fabric of his trousers, tugging them further open, baring more of him to the two of you. You can’t help but moan as you feel your boyfriend’s tongue meet yours, curling around the other side of the cat demon’s cock as he mirrors your moments. The Overlord groans, head falling back as the two of you tease the head of him.

The sound turns to a heady chuckle as he watches the two of you kiss, your fingers curling around the base of his cock and pumping him slowly. You’re straddling your partner’s thigh, and you can’t help but gasp into his mouth as you grind down against it, matching the pace of your hips with the pace of your hand. You can feel his familiar smile against your lips, feel him bite teasingly at your lip as he mumbles, “That’s my eager girl…”

He kisses you again before he swirls his tongue around the Overlord’s cock and sinks his mouth down onto it, taking it in until he gags.

“Fuck…” The Overlord moans, wrapping a fistful of hair in his claws and tilting your head back. He tugs it harder when your hip still, pulling a gasp from your lips at the sudden flash of pain. “Did I say stop, doll?”

You shake your head, rolling your hips against your partner’s thigh obediently. You clutch at the Overlord’s thigh, your partner’s shoulder, feel the claws leave your hair to skim down over the side of your face. They trail over your shoulder, bare except for the strap of your bra, and one claw catches under it, dragging it down to your arm.

“Give daddy a show, baby.”

You hold his gaze as you unhook your bra, slipping the flimsy lace from your arms and tossing it aside. You can feel your partner’s eyes burning into you too as you run your hands over your chest, squeezing the soft, giving swell of your breasts. You nipples harden under your touch, sparks of pleasure with each flick of your fingers. The feathered end of the Overlord’s tail tickles over the small of your back, the curve of your ass, and you hold his gaze as you bring your mouth back to his cock.

The two of you make out almost sloppily, tongues and lips teasing over the demon’s cock. He thrusts up into your mouths, claws in your hair and your partner’s, and you take turns deep-throating him until you’re both gasping for breath, drool hanging in a thread from your lips. Your partner catches your cheek in his hand, wipes the saliva away with his thumb before he kisses you again. You practically melt into it, light-headed and breathless.

“I’d say the two of you might be the most wholesome little creatures in Hell if I ain’t just witnessed all that,” the Overlord smirks, stroking himself a few times before he pushes himself up to stand. He gives you both a dark, cocky smirk, reaching up with one paw to undo the buttons still fastened around his throat. His other hand comes down to stroke your partner’s cheek, and the sinner leans into the touch, eyes closing for a moment. “On the bed, the both of you. Now.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You shiver as you feel the soft, soft fur of the Overlord’s chest press against your bare back, his claws claiming your hips. He has you kneeling on the bed in front of him, and you can feel the firm line of his erection pressing against the cleft of your ass. You push your hips back against it and he groans a quiet laugh in your ear, squeezing your hips and brushing a biting kiss to the curve of your throat.

“Easy, doll,” he tells you, tail tickling at your ankle. “We’ve got time for that yet, don’t we?”

“Do we?”

He breathes another laugh, rewarding your teasing with a kiss to your jaw. You whimper the barest breath of a moan in response, pushing your hips back into his again needily. He watches your partner over your shoulder, directing his next words to him. “She always this… enthusiastic?”

Your boyfriend is laid out on the bed before you, their legs parted as you slowly circle his clit with your fingers the way Husk had murmured in your ear. Their chest heaves with every laboured breath, a crease between their brow as you work them slowly undone. He nods, a breathless smile softening his features in a way that makes your heart flutter against your ribs. You want to bend down to kiss him, to catch his lips with yours and taste the quiet moan that escapes him, but the Overlord’s paws keep you anchored against him. When you dip your fingers into him and then raise your hand to trail your slick fingers along the line of his cock, he bucks up into your hand.

“Yes…” he sighs, eyes rolling back for a moment. He reaches down blindly, fingertips just managing to graze your thigh. “I fucking love it…”

Husk snickers, touching a claw to your chin and turning your face towards his. His voice is low and rough with desire. “So do I.”

He kisses you deeply, claws making you shiver as they tease over the soft flesh of your stomach, down to whisper over your inner thighs. One paw moves back up your body to squeeze your breast, curl around your throat, and your breath catches against his palm.

“Now, pet.” he tells you, his lips so close to yours you can feel his breath tickling your cheek. “You’re gonna be a good girl, and sit on his face, yeah?”

He relaxes his paw just long enough for you to nod, to breathe out an eager, “Yes…”

“And you’re gonna watch me make myself at home right there, right where those clever little fingers of yours are now.”

Again, he flexes his grip on your throat, and you partner moans again as you flick your fingers back over his clit. “Yes, sir…”

The cat’s smirk widens at that, his other paw slipping a little further up between your thighs. You know he can feel just how wet you are as his fingers graze the thin fabric of your underwear, and you ache with the need to feel something inside you.

“And you’re gonna show your boy here just how much you appreciate how he feels between these sinful thighs of yours by tellin’ me what to do.” he releases your throat just to press a kiss to it, the rough barbs of his tongue sliding against the sensitive flesh there. “Sound like somethin’ you can handle, pet?”

“Yes, sir,” you move your head in an attempt to catch his lips with yours, but he pulls away.

“Be a good girl, now,” he says, running his claws up the back of your thigh to squeeze the soft cottontail at the base of your spine. It makes you jump, your nose twitching. “And do as you’re told.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Your back arches with the force of your moan as you feel your partner’s tongue press deep into you, his fingers playing almost too lazily with your clit. He echoes the sound, muffled by your thighs, as the Overlord laps his tongue up from his hole to the head of his cock. The demon is laid out on his stomach between his thighs, wings quivering as he grinds his own erection against the sheets. His tail waves behind him, his claws wrapped firmly around your partner’s thighs, forcing them to stay open to him.

“Fuck, right there…” you breathe, honestly unsure of which man you’re talking to. You lean forward, bracing your hands against your boyfriend’s chest so you can grind down against his mouth. He groans headily into your cunt as you trace your fingers lovingly over the markings that line the curve of his pectorals, your thumbs flicking over his nipples. “Right there, baby, fuck…”

The Overlord’s ears flick towards the two of you greedily, drinking in every little sound you make. An almost desperate urge to run your fingers through the soft fur between them overtakes you, and without thinking, you lean forward to do so. The gambler stiffens the moment he feels you fingertips graze his fur, but at the ridiculous softness of that hair draws you in and you sink your fingers into the thick fur. And when your nails graze along his scalp, the big bad Overlord does the most endearing thing you could possibly imagine –

He purrs.

The sound is a rough, chainsaw rumble that seems to vibrate into the very mattress beneath him, and your partner’ moans loudly into you, arching up under the Overlord’s mouth. The cat meets your eye, gaze aglow with arousal and need and what you swear is a warning not to say a fucking word about what you’re hearing, but still he arches his back in that gorgeous, fluid way only cats can seem to manage when you move your fingers lower to scratch at the base of his neck and between his shoulders.

“That’s it, sir…” you murmur, voice catching as your partner’s fingers quicken on your clit. You fuck yourself needily on their tongue, stroking your fingers through the Overlord’s fur. He has a paw fisted around the base of your boyfriend’s cock, his tongue on their clit. “That’s it, a little… faster… fuuuh—”

Your eyes roll back as your partner mirror’s the Overlord, fucking you on their tongue in a way that makes your toes curl. He’s thrusting his hips as best he can to press his cock further into the cat demon’s paw, the higher pitch to their muffled sound betraying just how close he is.

“Keep—fuck, keep going, I—” you feel your partner’s hand tighten on your thighs as you buck against his mouth, holding you in place over his tongue. The Overlord groans, that purr still rolling through his throat, and you choke out praise as you watch your partner’s body tense so hard his hips rise off the mattress. You’re so fucking close.  “Good kitty…”

The Overlord jerks away from your partner, glowing eyes snapping to yours. There’s a strained, begging whimper between your legs, and your own orgasm slips out of reach, but you’re trying to fumble for an apology, a question, whatever that expression on the gambler’s face means. Your chest heaves, skin marked with the memory of bites and rough hands.

“Get up,” he tells you, voice rough and reedy and hot. You open your mouth to apologise, worried he’s ending the night there, but instead he says. “Turn around. On your knees.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Oh, God…” you bite back another moan as the Overlord fills your cunt with his cock, fucking you just roughly enough to send a wonderful prickling up along your lower back. Your fingers curl in the sheets beneath you, and you open your eyes when you feel your partner’s hand smooth over your cheek. The touch is soft, gentle, then he’s grasping at a handful of your hair and jerking your head back to meet his eye. The Overlord curses as you tighten around him. “Shit…”

“Fuck, she’s tight…” he growls, claws digging into your hips, your thighs. He releases one to squeeze a handful of your ass appreciatively, withdrawing his cock only to slide the barbs of it up against your slickened clit. He snickers when you whimper. “Ain’t too good at takin’ a hint though, is she?”

Your partner smirks, and there’s love and desire all mixed in with the darkness of his arousal, and he uses his other hand to squeeze your cheeks, urging your mouth open. He hums his approval when you slide your tongue down along the underside of his cock and take it into your mouth. “That’s my girl… fuck…”

The Overlord thrusts into you again, hard enough to force you forward and make you gag on your partner’s cock. He groans, hand flexing in your hair, savouring the softness of your locks even as you suck slowly up along the length of him. Every press of the Overlord’s hips into yours makes you take him further into your mouth; saliva dangles in a thread from your lips as you choke around him.

“Good girl…”

“Such a good girl…”  

“Fuck…”

“Feel so fuckin’ good…”

You feel your partner lean forward, hear the sound of the two of them meeting above you, torrid moans and open-mouthed kisses. The Overlord squeezes your tail again, claws sinking into the delicate puff of fur to dig into sensitive flesh. In the same moment you feel fingers pinch your nipple roughly and you moan around the cock in your mouth as you cum. You gag again, and tears wet your cheeks as your partner holds you in place there for a few moments more, fucking themselves into your mouth with a groan. When they release you and you’re gasping, they brush the tears from your cheeks with loving fingers, and you take them back into your mouth the moment you have your breath again.

It’s practically them that is all that holds you up by the time they both approach their release, your arms and thighs shaking as you cum again. Your legs are slick with cum, drool dripping onto the back of your hand, an ache in your jaw, and one in your cunt and god, you hope they never go away.

Your partner strokes your ear as he cums, deep into your mouth with a groan of your name. You swallow eagerly, tongue curling around the head of him until he pulls out with a gasping, breathless laugh. He murmurs sweet nothings, cradling your overheated face in his hands until the Overlord cums, too, thrusting hard and deep into you as he growls a ragged curse.

He doesn’t pull out until you stop shaking, sliding the length of his cock up between your thighs a few teasing times before he sits back on his calves.

“Sweet Christ, fuck. That was…” he watches as you roll over, your head pillowed against your partner’s thigh as you press your own together, still trying to catch your breath. You can feel him run tender fingers through your hair, pulling it gently away from your face. The Overlord runs claws through the fur of his chest, seeming to consider the two of you for a moment before he huffs a quiet, almost disbelieving chuckle and shakes his head. “That was fuckin’ something.”

[legacygirlingreen]

Day 7 || ClonexOCWeek2025 ||

Rex x Mae || Wolffe x Perdita || Tech x Marina

Author’s Note: Finally, last day of @clonexocweek ! This has been so much fun and while it’s not another day of true writing, I thought I’d keep it rolling more with a random/misc. sharing of things I have saved for my OCs. Below is a mood board with the girls styles as well as a silly little showing of their “com device” lock-screen with a text (totally doesn’t look like an earthly IPhone…). Thanks again for all the comradre this event has brought! And just as a reminder, all these ships exist without @leenathegreengirl ‘s Pabu AU (as well as any fanart of the girls/guys is by her!)

Pairings: Captain Rex x Mae Killough | Commander Wolffe x Perdita Halle | Tech x Marina

Warnings: suggestion texting

Masterlist

Mae

This girlie is a bit on the older fashioned side. A blend of 60s beachwear and 40s/50s silhouettes majority of the time, she sticks to soft blues, oranges, light greens, soft yellows, and maroons. The only exception to this is finding her in a pair of scrubs - which is most of the time honestly. She loves a high waisted bottom to accentuate her waistline and her long legs for a shorter gal!

As for messaging goes, these two are still massively in denial at their feelings for one another. Mae and Rex both use their coms OFTEN to speak to one another given he rarely visits in person. But, they share the same photo in their lock-screen, a more goofy one from a time he visited Pabu…

Perdita

She spent most of her life with the Jedi order, covering in flowing fabrics so she still lingers more towards practical and comfortable. Preferring greys and blacks, she mostly experiments with shape or texture. Perdita’s style is a bit more harsh than others but it fits her life on the run.

Wolffe still demands on calling her Princess, and it seems with time she’s acclimated… as for the former commander Perdita most often just endearingly calls him “Grumpy”…

Marina

Like the stark contrast in her features, Marina’s style also is frequently harsh jumps from practical beachwear for her work to a shocking more bohemian look when she’s not working. Simple lines and patterns of swimwear opposed to flowing skirts and tops that show off her tattoos. Having never left Pabu, a born tropical woman such as herself physically showcases island life and its culture when she’s not too busy in the water or behind a microscope.

What would their lock-screens without involving the water? A moonlight stroll by the water or dive…

[lime202]

Felt the need to post the tags of my previous post with a video to provoke discussion (featuring rough theories/assumptions about Doey's make-up and his colors)

Poppy Playtime Chapter 4 spoilers. Visuals and continued tangent below break.

The orange hand is also the one that slams and causes the rubble to fall, connecting to Kevin's described behavior.

(I'm not trying to pick at every little thing, but the animators did spend the time to animate every detail and belly jiggle, so I'm sure there was purpose to that as well, haha.)

I don't have too much to say about Jack, because I have seen a mostly general consensus about him being yellow.

But, I can say that yellow is the least infiltrated by red, making it "purer" and "younger," in a sense. If we were to say that red indicated age/maturity, it would begin with red (Matthew), then descend down to orange (Kevin), then Yellow (Jack).

To continue, post-transformation, the face on our right appears angry (narrowed eyes angled downward), which also lines up with the side of the orange arm.

And, two arms look like they're trying to shut the jaws at the bottom, which are able to be connected to the two (red) legs. There is also one arm on the top trying to help as well, and I assume that to be Jack.

(Not sure what to say about the extra arm, but it could indicate Kevin's increased control over the body.) [The strikethrough will make sense in a moment.]

There was also a theory about the kids' "placements" aligning with the letters of the keyboard, with the initials of the first names. I found that fun.

If anyone else has something to add, please do, it isn't that deep despite my rambling, haha. Especially if there has been confirmation about anything, because if there is, I am wholly unaware of it. And, again, any interpretations are interesting!

(As for the blue—I personally think it shows how they are not only separate but also one. The blue is the “new” modified part that is what forces them together as one creation, if that makes sense)

EDIT: Striked through some text because I just realized I misinterpreted! -> Correction about the number of arms, there's two for each person. More noticeable in this screenshot.

[sorceresssundries]

Revivify - Chapter 22

Happy Valentine's Day! Have some whump.

AO3 Link

Warnings - mention of blood and torture. Orin being a nutter.

You retch. Whether it’s the pain, the exhaustion, or the sheer horror of what you’ve allowed into your camp, you don’t know, but your body rebels. Violently. Black bile spills from your mouth onto the ground, its stench acrid and wrong, poison drawn from a festering wound.

Gale’s hands are on you.

And they aren’t as soft as usual…

And they aren’t as warm as they should be…

And the hands that have been holding you together, time and time again…are not the ones holding you now.

“Get off me” you hiss, raw, choked with bile and fury. You spit the last of the ichor from your mouth, wiping at your lips with the back of your hand before pushing him away. 

"My love..." Gale begins

“Take his voice out of your mouth.” The words rip from you like a curse. Your chest heaves as your rage surges, molten and unrelenting, threatening to incinerate the fragile control you cling to. Enough. Enough of this mockery. Twisted versions of the man you love haunting your dreams, manipulating you with cruel imitations. And now, here, in your waking reality.

She thinks she’s clever—Orin the Cruel, the spawn of Bhaal, wearing his face like a mask. But she’s a fool if she believes she can impersonate your very heart and you will not recognise it beating out of rhythm. 

Strangers she might be able to imitate—guards, beggars, children—but Gale? Never. 

electricity crackles across your fingertips as the pain in your chest swells, an unbearable ache feeding your power. It comes unbidden, a tidal wave of rage and grief that rushes through you. You feel the darkness stir deep within, hungry and eager, and you welcome it. If it will let you rip her apart, limb by limb, scream by scream, so be it. Let it take you. Let it consume you.

The laugh from Gale’s stolen lips is cruel and sharp. It twists, breaking apart into Orin’s screeching cackle as his form dissolves, shimmering into the grotesque truth. 

“You are no fun, little hero,” she hisses, eyes gleaming with the sick delight of a predator killing for sport. Her voice is a blunt knife dragged slowly. “He was so much more foolish than you. Eager to believe. Blind to my games. How exquisite it was, to toy with the so-called Chosen of an inconsequential god.”

“Where is he?” 

“Oh, he lives.” She is mocking you, every word cruel. “I know the curse that eats at him, the rot creeping through his veins. He will not die. But he can bleed. And scream. And beg.”

Raw magic bursts from your hands in an uncontrollable torrent of searing light. It streaks past her, narrowly missing, but the dry grass beneath her feet catches fire. The flames lick at the air, ravenous, casting shadows that twist and distort her already inhuman features. Orin doesn’t flinch. She laughs, rasping and guttural. 

“Where is Halsin?” you demand, your voice trembling with fury and desperation.

Orin’s eyes light up with manic glee, she lets out a shrill, high-pitched squeal, like a child who has caught a fly in a jar and plans to pluck its wings.

“Oh! Is that the one you’re so worried about?” she coos, her voice dripping with a venomous, almost sing-song cruelty. Her head tilts at an unnatural angle as she leans closer, her eyes gleaming with wild amusement. “How sweet! How precious! No wonder the wizard thinks you prefer the beast to him.”

“I warned you. I gave you mercy, a chance to prove yourself, and you failed. You couldn’t even kill Bane’s miserable lapdog. Weak little coward. And now your beloved is split open, screaming. Can’t you hear him? Feel him? His agony is exquisite, his despair intoxicating.”

Your nails bite into your palms, fists clenched so tightly your knuckles ache. The urge to lunge at her, to tear her apart with your bare hands, burns through you like a brand. You don’t need magic. You don’t want it. You’d rather sink your fingers into her flesh, rip tendons from bone, watch her crumble beneath you. But you can’t. If you kill her now, you will not get Gale back. You know it as surely as you know the sun will rise.

“He was so angry with you, so heartbroken,” Orin croons, “Another idol crumbling before his eyes. Another lover that failed him.”

Her grin splits wider, grotesque. The flames behind her dance and shimmer.

She whispers as if sharing a secret. “Do you know what his blood tastes like? I do. Bitter. Sharp. Spoiled. But oh, how I long to drink him dry, to crack his bones and suck the weave-pulp from his marrow. He is a feast, and I am starving.”

Your voice trembles with barely suppressed fury “I will bring you the stone.”

“Hurry, hurry, hurry, little destroyer. Daughter of ruin, killer of druids,” she croons, her voice sing-song and mocking. “I’m so hungry. So bored of waiting.”

“I will bring you the stone,” you repeat, the words venomous. “But if you hurt him further, I swear I will not just kill you. I will rip your temple apart stone by stone until the Murder Lord himself is buried beneath its rubble. Bhaal will be nothing. A god with no followers. A pathetic failure, like his Chosen.”

Orin’s grin twists into a snarl, her eyes flaring with a violent, manic light. “The Murder God demands your flesh” she howls, her voice breaking into a scream, raw and unhinged. “Your skin flayed! Your joints popped! Your blood anointing the stones of his altar, slick and red and pure! We shall slice and shred each other, and the survivor takes the stones.”

So, that’s how it must be. Gortash offered a false alliance, charm and politics and perfumed lies where betrayal is undoubtedly a hidden blade away. Orin offers a deathmatch. You know which you prefer. 

The ground beneath her seems to pulse as she steps closer. “Bring the stones. Kill the tyrant. And then come, little hero, to my father’s temple. Face judgment. Bring what is owed, and I will free your lovesick pup.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “But if you fail? His screams will be Bhaal’s eternal hymn, his eyes plucked from his skull, his sanity unraveled until nothing remains but pain and hatred for you.”

You try to keep the bile in that bubbles in your gut and your throat. 

“Be quick.” she says “Your blood is needed.”

“Why?” 

There is confusion, tangled and snarled amidst the fear and panic. Why you? Again, and again, and again, the question has gnawed at you. The nautiloid, the dream guardian, Withers, the whisper of Myrkul, and now the unyielding demand of Bhaal himself… why you?

If the curse that stains your blood is what he requires, then why isn’t Gale’s enough? The blight clings to him, too, just as dark, just as consuming. It stemmed from him, after all. 

Why is the lord of murder so desperate for you to die at his altar?

“Why, why, why,” she coos mockingly, her head tilting.  “Such a waste. Such a pity,” she spits “The secrets they kept from you. What you could have been… if only you hadn’t let your home burn. If only you hadn’t left your father charred and festering in the ashes of the forest.”

The words strike too deep, and the surge of power within you breaks free again. Another searing crack of magic erupts from your hands, striking a branch above her. It bursts into flames and crashes to the ground between you, but Orin doesn’t flinch. She only laughs, the sound jagged and piercing, like shattered glass grinding against stone.

“Finish with Gortash,” she commands, her voice sharp and merciless, “and then find me. Come crawling to the altar, stones in hand, and if I’m feeling merciful”—her grin widens, a grotesque parody of generosity—“perhaps I’ll tell you why. Before Bhaal claims you as the sacrifice you were always meant to be.”

Orin stills, her wicked smile lingering, before she shimmers into red dust and ash, dissipating into the air like a fading nightmare. All that remains is the stench of carrion and rot. It is suffocating, scraping along your tongue, slithering down your throat and mixing with the mouldering taste of crude and unrelenting grief. 

She has Gale. 

She has Gale. 

You lurch forward again, falling to your knees as your body brings up more bile. Tears burn in your eyes. A vice squeezes around your ribcage, making each beat of your split-open heart feel like it is bursting. 

You are consumed by grief, guilt, and pain, your fingernails scraping desperately against the dirt to stop the world spinning. Then, a sharp gasp cuts through the suffocating silence. It pulls your gaze upward, forcing your heavy eyes to focus.

Your companions stand before you, horror on their blood-dappled faces.

“Tav.. your mark..” Shadowheart murmurs.

Wyll moves first. His gentle hand finds your shoulder as he kneels beside you. Wordlessly he lifts you, his arm sliding around you to offer support. He pulls you against him, his grip unwavering, and you lean into him. He carries you the short distance into the camp, where the aftermath of chaos sits impatient. 

Tents have been torn to shreds, remnants of fabric fluttering in the cold breeze. The ground is streaked with blood, dark arcs of crimson tracing jagged lines across the dirt. The bodies litter the area… Orin’s minions, their forms sprawled out in grotesque repose. Shapeshifters and cultists, all bearing the mark of Bhaal, their faces contorted, eyes vacant in death. Blades, slick with scarlet, glint in the moonlight, scattered across the ground or clutched tightly in the hands of savages too consumed by bloodlust to let them go.

“Elminster came to camp,” Wyll says, his voice tight. “Gale was... angry. Upset. He didn’t want to speak with him. Tried to send him away.” Wyll glances at the others, as Lae'zel lets her boot crunch against a fallen cultist’s skull.

“Then he.. Elminster said he had found something to save you. To stop the curse spreading.” Wyll's eyes darken. “Gale left with him without hesitation. We didn’t think much of it at the time. But...” He pauses, rubbing his brow, the weight of their failure hanging heavy between them.

“They came soon after,” he continues, voice tight. “As people we knew. Doppelgangers wearing the disguises of friends or foes.”

You listen, horrified. 

“While we were resting. Halsin caught wind of them first, turned into a bear to shield us. There was a fight, but not a hard one. They were only a distraction. Left a note.”

You freeze, the words sticking in your throat. “Where is Halsin?”

“Healing Astarion,” Wyll answers, his gaze flickering toward the shadows where the two of them had gone. “They’re both fine. Astarion went after Gale, but he was attacked by a shapeshifter... in the guise of Cazador.”

The realization hits like a hammer blow, the weight of Orin’s machinations coming into sharp focus. You clench your fists, the anger bubbling up again, but this time it’s colder, sharper—an icy fury that cuts through the haze of grief.

“She knows our weaknesses. She’s been watching us for some time.”

Wyll nods, his gaze narrowing in thought. “She’s been playing us like pawns, waiting for the right moment to strike.”

Lae’zel grunts, her voice a harsh growl. “A coward’s game.”

Shadowheart kneels beside you, her hands trembling as they glow faintly with healing magic. The light flickers, uncertain, as though it too knows how futile the attempt is. Still, she tries, her lips moving in soft murmurs, weaving prayers that feel fragile against the weight of what’s inside you.

She hesitates as her hands hover over your face, her brow furrowed. The warmth of her magic settles on your skin, but there’s no cool relief, no familiar sting of healing wounds knitting together. Instead, it’s hollow. The blood pooling beneath your skin stills, but the shadowed corruption clinging to you remains untouched, unmoving.

“What’s the damage?” Your voice is rough, scraping against the silence.

Shadowheart looks away, her lips pressing into a thin line. She doesn’t answer, doesn’t need to. Instead, she rises unsteadily, her armor shifting noisily in the stillness, and retrieves a small hand mirror from her shredded tent. The glass is cracked, splintering outward from a jagged point in the top corner.

You stare into the reflection at the stranger who inhabits it. The darkness spreads across your face like a disease, blotting out the person you once knew. It covers your left eye completely, leaving it sightless, a pool of inky black. Bruise-colored tendrils crawl up your temple, seeping into your scalp like slicks of oil. 

Your breath hitches. Tentatively, you run a hand through your hair, feeling the brittle texture where the shadow has tainted it. Strands come away in your hand with no force at all. 

They are all talking at once, voices merging. Buzzing. Words dart past, small, ungraspable, drowning beneath the churning rattle of your own breaths. 

The world is split apart. You are split apart. You can’t hear them properly. Their words scatter like broken glass.

A shard cuts through.

"..Gortash..."

Another slice, "Agreement..."

One breath in. One breath out. The air burns on the way down.

Your teeth grind together. Your nails scrape the floor of your camp. Blood is mixed with the dirt. Gale’s blood. 

In. Out.

The buzzing continues, voices overlapping in an unsynchronised chorus.

"Bhaal... Underground..."

A breath out dies and cannot find its way back in. 

Somewhere below Baldur’s Gate, Gale Dekarios was once again the plaything of a God who does not deserve to lay hands on him. 

The thought sears, and your hands curl into fists. Your nails bite into your palms as the anger simmers, bubbling up to meet the panic clawing at your throat.

A voice finally breaks through, sharp and clear.

"He's still alive, Tav," Wyll says, his steady calm an attempt at a lifeline "She can't kill him. She knows that."

The words snap something loose inside you. 

"You think the worst thing Orin can do is kill him?"

The brutality of it batters them into silence.

Still trembling, still burning, you grit your teeth and force in another breath. One in. One out.

“We can split up,” Wyll continues, “Half of us find the temple, half of us deal with Gortash… as soon as we get his stone—”

“We’re not getting his stone.”

The finality in your voice silences the group once again. Shadowheart narrows her eyes.

“But... you told Orin—”

“I lied” Your hands clench at your sides as you push yourself to your feet. Every inch of you trembles, whether from anger, fear, or exhaustion, you no longer know.

“We can’t kill Gortash with those steel fucking watchers guarding him,” you continue, your voice a harsh growl. “And we can’t take those things out until we figure out how they work. It’ll take days. Weeks, even.” 

You feel heat building in the centre of your once-soft palms. 

“I want Orin dead in hours.”

Shadowheart steps forward, her voice softer but no less resolute. “If we rush in without a plan, we’ll be playing right into her hands. She will hurt Gale.”

“And what do you think she will do if we give her what she wants?” The heat in your palm is now a crackle of flame. “You think Orin, the spawn of Bhaal, the bloodthirsty, the deranged, the diehard zealot of the God of Murder, will… let him go? You think she will wait patiently while we traipse around the city? Keep him safe and fed? Every second we linger, Gale is left in the hands of a torturer.”

Finally, Lae’zel steps forward, her hand on the hilt of her blade.

“If this is your choice, then so be it,” she says, “We will paint the ground with Orin’s blood before the next sun rises.”

A small voice behind you extinguishes your fire.

“What happened?”

Karlach. Out of breath, her shoulders rising and falling as she gulps air. She must have sprinted the entire way to camp, left behind in Rivington while you had flown on the wind. 

You can’t bring yourself to answer and so the others step in, their voices low and somber as they explain. As they speak, Karlach’s expression shifts—first confusion, then disbelief, then a fury so consuming it scorches the air between you.

Her flames flare to life, unrelenting, licking up her arms and shoulders. She burns so hot she is more fire than flesh now, her edges sparking. Some of the light shifts to pure, blinding white, a brilliance so bright it could be mistaken for the last light of a burning-out star.

You manage to find your voice, strained and broken. “I’m sorry, Karlach. We have to leave Gortash for now.”

You want to offer every mote of sympathy you have left, but there is not much left in you.So much of you has been swallowed and mangled by rage. 

“Fuck that guy.” She hisses like steam “Orin took Gale. She dies first.”

And so she would.

[royalsleuth]

Sometimes I ask myself the question:

“If you hate ‘06 BMFM with a burning passion, why bother going back to it over and over again?”

And the answer’s simple, I see potential. The 2006 reboot could’ve been a lot better than what we were given, but of course, the execution was completely on the wrong foot. So I’m going to do what every deeply hyperfixated fan does best and remake the whole thing. In the form of art and infodumping though, because despite having writing experience, I doubt I’ll have the time and motivation to sit down and create an entire rewrite from start to finish. But who knows, I underestimate myself too much for what I do.

This series of art I’ll be making will be known as “Biker Mice from Mars: ‘06 Revamped” or in other words “2006 BMFM Sucked So I Remade It”. I would keep taking the bullet by finishing the reboot first but I don’t know how much longer I can fight without rage quitting due to how godawful it is. I miss watching the initial ‘93 show anyway, so I’ll be sticking to the wiki and the episodes I have watched for reference. Feel free to ask questions or even share your thoughts, this is all for fun on my end and a way to expand my creativity.

Without further ado, I give you the first official concept art of Biker Mice from Mars: ‘06 Revamped

[TW // Blood (would’ve added more but keeping it mild for now)]

The Biker Mice V. Lord Cataclysm (1)

The last of the three-part episode “Once Upon a Time on Earth” consists of an epic final showdown between both sides. After all has failed, Cataclysm initiates his last attempt to achieve bloody victory by injecting the remaining tetra-hydrocarbons into his system, mutating himself into a ferocious monster. The Biker Mice go head to head with the newly evolved Lord Catastrophic Cataclysm while their allies deal with the “Purrverizer(s)” before they can annihilate both Mars and Earth in a single deathly blast. Sadly, the Biker Mice's strength isn't enough to eclipse Cataclysm's and one by one, they get brutally overpowered. First Modo, then Vinnie. Throttle, now the last of the trio standing, struggles to maintain his consciousness as Cataclysm’s grip tightens within each second.

Luckily, he has a final trick up his sleeve, question is. . . will he prevail?

———

One last concept to show off is the theme song, which is probably the best feature coming from the reboot. The only difference is I changed the pitch to make it sound a little bit more gritty

[tsubasagirl]

My second photo featuring one of my OTPs :3

(This goes out to the three fans out there ;u;)

[faislittlewhiteraven]

Been having some ISaT tech level and timeline (as in 'when backstory things happened') thoughts and want to ramble a bit:

Tech

ISaT's setting is based on your classic sword and sorcery fantasy JRPG so its easy to assume that tech wise everything is 'fantasy medieval' and call it a day but consider:

Body Craft is at bare minimum is magic sex changing surgery (earliest known equivent in our world dating to 1930) that any old person can learn to do safely on themselves in only a few months, and more likely has many many broader applications like regular old surgery, the 'combat healing' Mira and Sif use, etc.

Cameras and photos are rare enough that Odile comments on it (namely she's happy the group get a photo in the House due to them being 'so rare') yet are also common enough that everyone in the party knows about them and doesn't question the existence of a camera beyond being surprised that the mirror was one. (In our world cameras date back to the 19th century, with the earliest manufacturing of them being in 1839). 

Printing presses and ways to make plenty of paper to feed those presses given absolutely everyone in this game can read, expects everyone else to know how to, and both mass produced book series and newspapers are a thing. (Note: Printing presses have existed since waaaay back but it's the mass paper manufacturing that makes newspapers and The Cursing of Chateu Castle possible that really has my eyebrows raised here, especially since neither Siffrin or Odile find either odd in any way, indicating such things are common everywhere, and while newspapers have been around since 1604 in our world, mass produced fantasy books didn't really take off until the start of the 20th century).

Food production and storage: despite being in the middle of a national disaster that almost certainly cut off trade networks and access to most suppliers for literal months now, Bonnie, a small child, is able to easily get their hands on fresh Pineapple, curry ingredients (for samosa), potatoes, plantains etc with no issues or anyone commenting on this being unusual or lucky. Oh and the only character who even brings up the concept of potential starvation is the Fishing One, and only in a sort of 'we're not at risk now but sooner or later...' kinda way due to noticing that the fish they fish up for fun are disappearing and likely being frozen. So yeah, that heavily implies Vaugarde has very good food storage tech/Craft (possibly better than ours), and likely also good food production and harvesting tech/skills also.

The Island's incredible knowledge of the stars: while the oldest known orrery in our world is dated from around 205 to 87 BC (ancient Greek, earth centric model), the fact Sif -who would've learnt this as a child/teen- is so very certain that stars are big balls of fire made up of gas is interesting as that's something our world couldn't prove the theory of until around the 1900s (note: it'd been theorized a LONG time but Sif talks like its complete facts to them . Additionally the earliest existing record of a telescope in our world dates to a 1608 patent and we see one of those in game.

Post posting EDIT: A wonderful user qds-place pointed out that Mirabelle has anti-anxiety medication in her room. This is in both ISaT and SAaP and though we're not sure what form the medication takes (pills? Valium? Megitech esc Craft boosters???) the fact they specifically have 'anti anxiety' medication at all (as opposed to idk dragging Mira off and drugging her through the gills) is kind of impressive and if it IS modern anti anxiety pills those could be as recent in creation as the 1950s! So um. Some high levels of tech implied in chemistry there <3

So... yeah. All this, plus the fact that the highest tech implied area, The Island, literally specialised in the study/Craft of turning wishes into reality (for a long enough time period that Wish Craft is culturally so ingrained in the King and Sif that they do it without thinking and it seems intertwined with their nation's religion) has been completely erased from memory to the point anything heavily associated with them has been forgotten, and also we only ever see Dormont aka a little village well away from the cities, it's not hard to conclude that you can basically justify giving the ISaT world any level of tech you want, so long as you lock any of the truly 'setting breaking' stuff like planes and rockets behind The Island's forgetting curse (I would've said trains too but thinking about it trains were invented in 1802 so it's honestly easy to imagine that they totally exist in the ISaT setting/Vaugarde but aren't ever on screen because rail is way too dangerous to consider using while the Curse is active and potentially time freezing things on the tracks).

Side note: We know absolutely nothing about Vaugarde's transport system but as a fan of fantasy RPGs it is honestly a travesty I have yet to see a fic that has flying dragons/wyverns or other fantasy mounts in setting. Like, ok yes, the party would probably have wanted to use those but maybe they don't like the Curse and fled? Maybe the King's Curse targeted them first? Maybe all their handlers dropped the heroes off in Dormont and said 'Well Saviors it's been fun, but well me and Scales here are off to Poteria until things wrap up so best of luck to you' before buggering off?

This isn't really a serious complaint just. Me reminding myself/potentially other fanwork writers out there that there's a lot about the setting we just don't know about and limiting all travel to walking, horse drawn carriage and boat is not actually required. (Also please mix up travelling to the Island. Boats are a wonderful classic and have great thematic vibes for Sif's original leaving of the Island but like. Imagine the sheer in-universe wtf of the memories of The Island suddenly coming back and people on the north coast suddenly realising there's a massive bridge, subway or underwater tunnel leading there that everyone just forgot about - potentially filled with all kinds of Sadnesses that need taking down. Or Warp Panels in a House of Change, idk XD).

Timeline

Canon notes first:

Bonnie is a preteen (8 to 12), Mira and Isa are in their early to mid 20s (with Isa slightly older), Sif is late 20s to 30, and Odile is 40+ Nille is stated to be around 18 to 20.

Siffrin ran away from home when they were a teenager (13 to 17? 18?) and this is heavily implied to be when the Island was Forgotten.

Bonnie (in ISaT specifically*) says that Nille told them that when it happened all the adults were talking about it, hence why they think The Island is close to their village. *In Start Again a Prologue, Bonnie says that they themself remember the adults talking about the Island disappearing, which er. Is a bit impossible given they likely weren't even born yet when that happened but that can be explained away by AU differences, InsertDisc5 still finalising details between SAaP and ISaT, and/or OG Siffrin having been in the loops so long they weren't actually listening when Bonnie was talking and just 'scripted' in their head something 'close enough' to what Bonnie was saying to get the idea (note: mentioned that idea before in my post here on the differences between the House and King in Start Again vs In Stars and Time for anyone curious so er please feel free to give that a read if you haven't already).

Odile mentions remembering 'when it happened' as well and has been 'travelling for years'.

The King 'appeared out of nowhere' sometime in his adulthood, and lived in the city of Corbeaux for a few years before he became the King.

The King became the King as was freezing people in time long enough before his attack on the House of Dormont that everyone inside knew he was coming, there were a wall's worth of newspaper articles about him, and everyone was expecting Euphrasie to defeat him.

Mirabelle's quest began 'almost a year ago' and Sif lost their eye 'recently'.

Thoughts on the above:

Calculating when The Island was forgotten:

Sif being mid 20s to 30 and having run away from home as a teen means that The Island has to have been forgotten somewhere between 9 to 17 years ago with nine only possible if he ran away at age 17 and is only age 26 now, and seventeen being the far opposite if he ran at age 13 and is currently 30.

To narrow down the timeline: Given Sif ran away from home because he 'didn't want to eat his veggies' and 'just wanted to scare [his] parents a little bit' it's probably safe to assume Siffrin was likely on the younger end of the teen spectrum (teens run off all the time sure but with loving parents and over veggies? That screams 'kid who has not yet learned that freaking out the parents will get their ass grounded and/or yelled at a LOT and is therefore best saved for doing fun forbidden stuff that ideally the parents will never find out about' XD) Additionally given Siffrin can't remember his age/birthday etc but Isabeau outright says near the beginning of the game "But you're older than most of the people here?" meaning Sif must be visibly older than Isa or Mira, so he's probably closer to 30 than not.

Those alone would imply the Island likely disappeared closer to the '17 years ago' side of things BUT Nille (tops 20 years old) told Bonnie that "[the Island's disappearance] was all the adults would talk about for ages" and kids usually can't remember anything prior to 4 years of age so with that in mind...

I'd say The Island most likely disappeared between 13 to 16 years ago.

Nille stuff:

This is more a general mention but. Nille is tops 20 years old. Bonnie is between 8 and 12 and doesn't remember their parents at all.

This means Nille ran away with Bonnie and gained emancipation and custody of Bonnie (if Vaugarde has formalised that kind of legal stuff) while she was at most 12 years old herself and could have in theory been as young as 6..!

Regardless, it's very likely the original home situation was that bad, Nille deserves a ton of credit for raising Bonnie as well as she has and I'd say it's very VERY likely she had a lot of help from villagers in Bambosche and/or the local House of Change in doing so. ...But also Bonnie is very adamantly 'my sister and village' and not 'my sister and [specific names who live with us]' so there's clearly by the time Bonnie was 4 or so they were living in their own place so... Yeah. Lotta drive for independence there too it seems (so the party might have more trouble adopting Nille into their group post ISaT than Bonnie might expect).

King stuff:

Already an adult 13 to 16 years ago so at bare minimum 33. Given his vibe probably much older though.

Newspapers get printed pretty quick though for there to be so much speculation and research done into his background so quick, either Vaugarde has some form of fast messaging system (something like a Chappe telegraph on top of the Houses of Change? Odile I think does mention that they'll have a message sent to let Nille know they'll be returning Bonnie...) or the King was freezing stuff for IDK around a month or two before reaching Dormont? Alas can't find out how long it takes to walk across all of France out very easily (I'm sure the numbers are out there but my brain is pudding rn) but if we had those numbers we could probably make some guesstimates based off the rough sketched map of Vaugarde InsertDisk5 did... Which I would link but apparently the tumblr post I had it linked on has been deleted???? 'wails at this very unhappy development'

Mira's journey and Sif's eye:

We really don't know a lot but almost a year ago gives us somewhere around 9 to 11 months to spread the journey out along and after eye removal surgery the patient can out and about as soon as 2 to 6 weeks after, maybe sooner with magic healing (though full recovery/growing used to the changed spacial awareness -which Sif clearly does not have- probably can't be sped up and takes around 3 to 6 months) so um. I'd guestimate Sif's eye injury is really recent; like two months ago tops recent. ...Which sorta explains a lot of why Bonnie is not dealing with it right now and also why the others might be trying to avoid bringing it up (since Sif clearly loves avoiding the issue but they haven't yet realised that maybe they really should bring it up even if it annoys them anyway?)

Odile with some Ka Bue speculation:

When it comes to The Island, how did Odile, presumably living in Ka Bue at the time, remember 'when it happened'? Was the Island well known enough even on the other side of the world that it's disappearance made waves? Or was Odile herself or someone she's close to paying attention to the region? (Like maybe her dad or a friend is/was into politics or trade, keeping up with overseas news and got concerned it could happen to Ka Bue? I'd say 'I remember when it happened' line implies it was more immediate knowledge than being informed by a messenger much later though...)

As for Odile's 'years of travel' I have to wonder, what's left behind for her in Ka Bue? She brings up going back there quite a bit, might just miss home and possibly her father if he's still alive, but given it took her years to get here for something so personal rather than idk 'materially rewarding' I think Odile might have some kinda family estate or something back in Ka Bue... Something she wasn't worried about potentially losing while far away, but solid enough to want to return to, beyond her father who she'd definitely want to see again if he's still around. (...But given how open she is to chilling about Vaugarde a few more months with the others, I really don't think he is alive, since well, given their respective ages and travel between Vaugarde and Ka Bue apparently taking years, there'd definitely an uncomfortably high chance of him passing away while she's gone and that seems like the thing that'd stress Odile out so... Yeah. Probably got an estate in Ka Bue she'd like to take the Family to visit/possibly sell off if she decides she'd like to live with them in Vaugarde so... Just my off the cuff headcanoning here and hoping that gives others ideas or something).

---

Anyway that's all the ramble I've got in me so... yeah! Hope this was interesting and useful for those needing a bit of a 'possible tech'/timeline calcs breakdown for the Island + a few more vague things and um. Probably will post a long winding ramble about my attempt at a ISaT Selkie AU fic I've been working on next <3 (Not to be confused with looped-140-and-counting's already existing and quite wonderful Selkie Siffrin AU which already has a completed oneshot fic, a snippet of sequel, two snippets of prequel/Sif flashbacking and I believe a comic too, all of which I highly recommend <3)

[icewindandboringhorror]

A little costume with eyebrow whiskers again.. making their return lol..

[headfullof-ideas]

Some doodles of the riders and little insights to their relationships with one another or aspects of it

Kinda like, drawn headcanons. But it’s my story, so they’re half-canon half head canon? Idk, here you go

[cowardlykrow]

After Cyn's done tryna kill him, she'll eventually relent and they can get to work... whatever that is. I didn't do the outfit any justice, but the second i saw the Cowboy!Curt mega @ricky-mortis made i was literally like, "yes, that is IT."

This is, in my heart, a cannon fit for this au

[sysig]

A very normal scientist doing very normal gene splicing experiments (Patreon)