#and i now people are going to get mad at this but at this point i just needed to get it off my chest in my own words

[idolomantises]

I find Sarcastic Chorus's video on why he's quitting Helluva Boss really interesting but I'm kind of baffled by the number of people straight up not understanding his reasoning for quitting. I think it's interesting how both his video and the online reaction to it is basically the consequences of modern fandoms treating art like its something to mindlessly consume and not worth analyzing and critiqing, or else you're consuming it "wrong".

Like his argument isn't that he hates the show or that he was forcing himself to criticize the show, in fact one of his main problems was that he couldn't be MORE honest in his reviews because of how fans would react to it. The problem was that when your job is to analyze a show, and it has way too many problems to ignore, and you're dealing with a hyper-sensitive fanbase that's hostile to criticism, you end up feeling exhausted or flat out disinterested in reviewing it.

I actually find it really concerning that fans are coping so hard with him quitting that they're framing it like its his problem because he was "looking for problems on purpose" when it was pretty obvious that it genuinely makes him kind of miserable trying to pick apart the show's issues. I remember when he was SO confident that Hazbin Hotel would be amazing and "prove the haters wrong" only for him to acknowledge that it was a complete mess. I'm honestly more confused by the fans who watch a reviewer and then get mad when he... reviews things. It's not even that they disagree with him, but the audacity to even point out very noticeable flaws in the product is enough to set them off and accuse him of being a clout chaser and a hater. Like do you want to see a review or did you just want to watch someone lie to you and blindly praise a series for 30 minutes, because i find it really odd that so many fans are insistent that he should've done the latter.

I also got pretty annoyed by this insistence that he wouldn't have turned on this show if he didnt criticize it and "turned his brain off" instead which is the same stupid excuse people gave for Hazbin's sloppy writing. and I just find that just... baffling? Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss, as extremely flawed as they are, are clearly shows made with the clear intention of being taken seriously. Ffs the crew calls Helluva Boss "queer Bojack Horseman". Helluva Boss tackles topics like abuse, trauma, classism, racism, toxic relationships and redemption and Hazbin Hotel tackles themes like sexual trauma and abuse, redemption and religious oppression. But the problem is that both shows do it so poorly that people genuinely think that it's meant to be slop content that you're just supposed to turn your brain off and listen to.

I'm not going to forget when these fans were treating Helluva Boss's season 1 like peak queer representation and writing and insistent that Angel Dust was this amazingly well written gay male character that people only hated because he was messy and imperfect. Honestly kind of funny that I was chastised for saying that Angel Dust is just a sex joke only for the show, the crew, the merch, and even the damn playbill reduce him to just that. Slapping on trauma (especially knowing that its more of a fetish than a genuine exploration on male sexual abuse) doesn't really negate the fact that Angel Dust is poorly written. Side note: his fans are way too unhinged and aggressive, its getting very weird.

So its funny to me that now that Helluva Boss season 2 completely nose dived and Hazbin Hotel is a sloppy mess that feels more geared for children than adults, that now people are being told they're not allowed to analyze these shows or even pay attention to their problems, and are treated like idiots for doing so.

I think the problem is that I kind of think fans also notice the lowered quality of writing in both shows. because why aren't people actually defending the writing and character progression? instead of "Sarcastic Chorus is wrong because his criticism is incorrect and misses these points" its "Sarcastic Chorus is wrong because he should have shut his brain off and treated these shows like its cocomelon for adults"

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✧ Fantasies in the dark - II

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader ✦ Summary: Arthur's obsession with you intensifies and reaches a point of no return when you catch him red-handed... ✦ Warnings/tags: SMUT 18+, MDNI! Masturbation (again), Arthur is still a little pervy, stripping, p in v, Arthur's self-esteem's still shitty, sub!Arthur at first then switches into dom, Reader is a BIG tease. Mainly Arthur's pov. ✦ Words: 5k (oops) Arthur's pic is mine, others are from Pinterest. And as always, as English isn't my first language, prepare for some possible misspellings. Read on AO3

Part I - Part II

 A ruby, squared, soft form.

His eyes are stuck on it as his thoughts unthread and tangle endlessly in his brain. 

Arthur was a damned man. He had been for a while now and this fatality had settled into his head for a few years already. His sins were so numerous and varied that he hadn’t even considered the thought of going to rest in Heaven when the Grim Reaper would finally put an end to his sufferings. 

But even considering all of this, the gunslinger had definitely not planned on adding a new sin to his list by jerking himself off while watching you almost every night for more than half a month. Oh, the same old speech was still playing in his head; his gesture leaking with shame and muscles sweaty from fear of getting caught. The adrenaline and depravation of the act, the sweet, sweet relief of his orgasm, and the momentary satisfaction he was pulling out of it every time was a very dangerous cocktail; he knew it.

He knew, knew, knew everything of that, of course he did. And still, his fingers opening his fly carelessly. Still, his eyes searching for this sublime silhouette of yours. Still, his cock hardening, itching, burning, begging to be grabbed. And still, his hands taking the doomed responsibility of answering the call. Still his muffled groans, his lips bitten, his silent words spoken in his head, your body joining him. Still, your hand, instead of his. His spend, less and less consistent, spurting quickly and spreading on his dirty clothes, the silence following, the emptiness, the shame, the guilt, the coldness amplified by his intimate fantasies. Like those dark loud nights of storms, air charged with electricity, and left in heavy disturbing quietness after the last lightning struck. Still, dreaming, wanting, longing. 

Still you.

He felt insatiable, like an enraged, mad dog, pathetic bastard. And paradoxically, as he finally had found sleep again after allowing his body what it needed, he felt weaker than ever. Weakened by you.

You hadn't left him after the first night he had succumbed to temptation. You had branded his spirit with a red-hot iron. Damned him to a lifetime of ache, a mortal succumbing to a Mermaid's melody and sailing in search of her on an infinite sea.

 A ruby, squared, soft form. 

It’s your shawl lying on a chair. You forgot it a few minutes ago, but he didn’t say anything about it. He’s still looking at it, hands fidgeting, mind pondering. What’s good and what’s bad. The ugliness of his self and soul. The risks, the benefits. 

He thinks back to the day you and him just shared. A job in Rhodes, “needing to be taken care of by two people”, Dutch’s words. He had sent him, which was predictable —the gang’s workhorse rarely knows rest. But you? It surprised him a whole lot more. Something about the job requesting some “feminine charm”. He hadn’t complained. Not when he had realized he would be able to spend some time alone with you. 

And his gaze had been wandering way more than what common decency was allowing him to. Staring and dreaming were all he had been doing lately, anyhow.

Looking at the delicious cleavage your fancy dress was offering when you got out of your tent and joined him back at camp, your breasts pressed up and round, almost impossible not to devour with his eyes. All he could do was make a sarcastic comment about it as the only defense against his urges. You moron Morgan, just say something nice for once. Luckily -or not- for him, you had wrapped your appealing shoulders in the sophisticated cherry-colored cape to prevent the coldness of the night.

Looking at your back as you both rode into town, looking at your neck when he helped you off your horse once into Rhodes. Looking at your lips as you two were sat in one of the Parlor’s house boxes, the job long-forgotten when he had noticed this little wrinkle next to your lips, that one you have when you laugh and find something funny. He would have to add it to his endless sketches of you.

Looking at your thin, sneaky hands from afar as they were slipping into that wealthy gentleman’s pocket to steal the papers you were both here for in the first place. It all felt distant and insignificant to him now, as a forgettable theater play set in the background. 

Later, you had been the one looking at him when he had come to your rescue. The “gentleman” was being insistent with you. As you both had crossed eyes from across the reception room, Arthur had read your apprehension and silent call for help in just a split second. And here he was, puffing out his chest, look dark and intense, muscles tensed. The perfect look of a man you don’t want to cross, that look he and Hosea had worked hard on building, scars and broad shoulders gained after all these years of intimidation. He was so used to it by now he wasn’t even sure he knew how to be anything else. His pointer finger tapping threateningly on the shiny Deputy Star he had on his jacket and his deep, menacing tone had acted as the final details. You should leave the lady alone and get some fresh air, pal. The fool had dropped the case and returned with his tail between his legs without any clue what had actually happened.

And then, your sweet voice asking for a drink. “Come on, we got to celebrate! Finally, a job well handled without a drop of blood.” How could he ever say no to that? It was almost too good to be true. Spending the evening with you, laughing, talking, philosophizing.

Arthur didn’t know he could be that talkative. Maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe it was your presence. Maybe a bit of both. And he had paid for everything. A good hot dinner for both of you, your drinks, and two rooms the moment you told him you were too tired to ride back to camp. Oh, he could have given you all the Wolrd’s treasure if that meant you would keep looking at him with these pretty playful eyes.

As the evening passed, the gentle flow of your endless conversations had led you from the bar to the stairs, to the second floor, to the hallway, and eventually to his room, naturally and serenely, like a rowboat ride on a summer lake.

And finally, after a few yawns exchanged, some delicate eyelids rubbed by you, you had left him to sleep, completely forgetting about your shawl, hanging on one of his room’s chairs. And you had greeted each other goodnight. As friends. This was all he would ever be to you, he knew it. And it was better that way. Like this, he was preserving you from having a pathetic man and a pathetic life being his. He was like an infertile soil, anyway. Any seed you would plant and try to harvest with him would end up rotten, corrupted. Fruitless.

And now left in the stillness of the room, in this deafening silence without the sound of your voice, his vision fixated on your abandoned piece of clothing, the most sinful of all thoughts is digging its way through the fibers of his brain, fed by need and alcohol, gnawing at his neurons, eating up any rational reasoning. 

A ruby, tempting garment of yours.

He wants to grab it. To smell it. He wants your perfume to completely fill his nose, so much it would be like drowning in your scent. You wouldn’t be coming back for it anyway, considering how tired you looked a few minutes ago. And you’d never know about it. Just like you didn’t know he was watching you all this time through the fabric of your tent. After all, he was already so deep down into this rabbit hole of lust, what would it change?

And just like that, before he can even think about it more, his arm is already extending, his fingers wrapping around the forbidden fruit.

A descent into Hell he is not able to stop nor control. And at the same time, it feels like getting closer to Heaven.

He lays on the bed, back against the coarse sheets that still felt better than his cot back at camp, and brings your stole to his nose, almost covering his face with it. He closes his eyes.

And he breathes in.

Hell. If God wanted him to stay virtuous, why did he create such a temptatious woman like you? Your scent is without any surprise just as irresistible and bewitching as your whole self.

The fruity notes of it remind him of your skin and lips he wants to taste so badly, a mouth-watering gourmet scent. The floral and fresh ones, of this sparkling mischievousness in your eyes. And in the end, as he exhales, warm and spicy aromas rain on him. They fill his mind with a deep sense of comfort, as if scenting directly your hair. It’s intoxicating, spellbinding. Driving him deeper into his madness. He doesn’t try to resist, not anymore, this delightful fresco of fragrances painted just for him.

Naturally and almost subconsciously, his vicious right hand reaches his crotch. He’s already hard. Just by smelling your shawl.

This time you’ve really hit rock bottom, old bastard.

He doesn’t even bother thinking about it more, he already knows he’s too deep in; already knows he won’t be able to stop himself. 

Ah shit, screw it, jus’ a quick wank.

He quickly unbuckles his holster belt, then unbuttons his pants, and snakes his hand between the folds of his union suit. A silent swift dance he is used to repeating by now. 

He breathes again a long, deep whiff, and wraps his fingers around his cock thinking of you, once more. 

He sees you and your perfect body, and everything blends and blurs in his heated psyche. The form of your breasts and ass through the tent's canvas he knew by heart at this point. Your smirk, your eyes looking back at his, only his during this night spent together. Your heady, addicting scent surrounds him and fuels his fantasies even more, making them more vivid than before, the soft fabric of the stole against his skin a light caress he imagines yours.

He strokes and strokes and strokes, he needs it more than ever, even if, truth be told, every time is more than ever. His pinkish cock’s head is reddened and swollen from having been rubbed so many times lately, sensible and almost pained. But he doesn't care. It makes him feel even more alive. Even more here. Simply better.

He wants his body to feel pleasure. Pleasure, for once, instead of pain. Pain all the time, pain everywhere, bullets through his muscles, knives on his skin, cutting through his flesh, fists against his bones, breaking his jaws, his nose, his cheeks. Broken, used, beaten, ripped, bruised, overworked, abused. Oh, he’s tired of it. Only in those prohibited moments, he can experience pleasure. No matter how wicked and profane.

The room is now filled with those wet, fast-paced sounds, his rustling against the sheets, and the smallest of grunts coming from his unholy lips as he fucks his fist. Your name escapes him from time to time, muffled by your shawl he's still holding all against him with his left hand, and breathing the air from.

As if all the World’s oxygen would never be as good as breathing through it. As if everything else would feel thick and fusty in his lungs. No Mountains, no Oceans, no flowers, not the tastiest food, nothing could ever compete with smelling your scent. 

Stroke, stroke, stroke. Goddamn it, she’s perfect. A big, hard stroke. Oh God, yes, just a bit more…

Too absorbed by his delirious daydream, he doesn't notice right away the creaking of the door as you enter his room again, searching for the very thing he's using to masturbate right now.

“Arthur, I’m sorry to bother you again but I think I forgot my sh—”

You freeze.

SHIT! He instantly curses loudly and jumps from the bed so suddenly that he almost falls to the ground. A stumbling mess, his holster crashes on the wooden floor with a loud percussive sound as he shoves his member back into his clothes as fast as possible, looking like a disjointed chaos of limbs. He is mortified. There is no way in the world you won’t understand what was just happening. He ends up standing next to the bed, after having thrown your cape at the other corner of the room with such force it looked like the damn thing was made of burning iron. And he doesn’t even know why. Maybe to distance himself from his sins. To try and erase this horrible vision from your pretty eyes. His labored breath and fast-beating heartbeat are now ruled by panic instead of lust. For all his life he had never experienced such shame and felt so utterly stupid. 

There is a small moment of silence, heavy and embarrassed. A little time of denying. No, this can’t be happening. But your look turns in circles from the bed, him, and the scarf, circling him like a cornered animal. That’s it, his pride is dead right here in this stupid hotel room. You see right through him, he’s sure of it. Your piercing beautiful gaze lands on his ears a few times, and he knows they’re crimson just by the heat he can feel on them. But the worst thing of all is his bulge, obvious and raised up as a flag right in the middle of his thighs, under his badly buttoned fly. Like a Mausoleum to his Dignity. The damn thing refusing to shrink and obviously screaming loudly his offence to the whole World. All the contrary, your gaze falling on it produces the exact opposite of what he wants, his cock almost twitching in return. 

Damn it!

Damn it, damn it, damn it!-

“Where you… Hum…” You start, before clearing your throat slightly.

“ ‘m sorry, Am… I didn’t mean to… ‘m such a goddamn fool.” This is the best he can come up with. What excuses could he have anyway? Nothing could justify what he did.

You had never heard his deep asserted voice so chagrined. Utter fear and shame. You didn’t even know he could feel that way.

His gaze is fixated on his dirty boots, refusing to cross yours. Just as goddamn dirty as me. 

“Were you pleasuring yourself, Mister Morgan?” You ask, your tone slightly playful. He doesn’t see it, but a mischievous grin settles on your face.

He takes your tone as a mocking one. You would have all the right to mock him. That’s all he deserved.

He tries to answer but doesn't even dare to admit it verbally, as if it would aggravate his situation. He just nods slowly, as seriously as if he was at a funeral. 

“With one of my clothes?” You ask again, your grin widening.

Another nod, his eyes shutting as if he had been hit by something, your sentence making the whole thing even worse. Oh, just a few seconds ago, he was feeling more present and alive than ever, and now all he wanted was to disappear or die.

He hears more than he sees your steps on the parquet. Every stomping sound hurt him a bit more. He doesn't even dare to move. As if everything he would do from now would offend you. Even breathing, no, even existing is too much.

She’s going to slap me. A step. She's going to yell in my face. Another step. I’m dead. A final step.

You’re so close to him now he’s holding his breath, eyes closed, ready to face the well-deserved punishment of your choice for his trespass.

But he's only met with stillness until you speak again.

“Arthur, do you really think I was that hot in my tent, every night?”

The words reach his ears but his brain refuses them. His mouth opens in astonishment. He closes it to swallow loudly and opens it again as if trying to speak in utter confusion.

“You… I… Wait, really?”

“I never thought you could be that naive, honestly.” You answer, a little chuckle escaping you. One of your hands slowly reaches the side of his face, but he still shivers slightly when it touches him. You guide his head back up for him to finally look you in the eyes.

Arthur's two blue sapphires are topped with anxious brows. A bright confusion and a soft vulnerability. They don’t settle too long on one point of your face out of nervousness, as if they could burn you.

“M-me neither.” He simply whispers, a bashful, nervous smile settling on his mouth. He still doesn’t move.

“Do you really think I wasn’t aware of what I was doing, mmh?” You continue, your fingers traveling from his face all the way down his neck, gently caressing the base of his hair.

You can’t be serious right now.

“I… I don’ know…” And he really doesn’t. This is all so unbelievable to him that he’s persuaded this is all a dream and he’s going to wake up any moment.

The only thing anchoring him to reality is your fingers exploring him, making him slowly let out the breath he had been holding in his chest.

“Let me help you finish what you've started…” You murmur, voice low and obvious to what you’re implying, sultry, suggestive.

He feels his shaft pulsing again instantly in answer, his body once again taking the lead. He’s about to say something, to ask you if you’re sure you want to do this with an old bitter moron like him, but one of your hands is already reaching straight to his crotch, palming his warm, needy erection.

“Anh…!” The moan turning into a groan he lets out duplicates your own arousal.

His hips rock against your hand involuntarily, the need for contact of any sort getting more powerful than his shame. He still doesn’t dare do much to you though, not wanting to cross any more limits. He lets you handle him just like you want. He lets the flow of life take him instead of fighting against it, for once. The only gesture he allows is settling his big hands on your back, sweaty and almost shaking.

Oh, your sneaky fingers. They touch and grope and palpate, and he sighs louder. It feels so much better, to have your hand touching him.

After a few more teasing caresses, you sway in a smooth motion and playfully push him backward, making him fall on the bed. He sits there, looking up at you with those two adoring cerulean pupils, as if you were the Sun itself. A distant magnificent star, impossible for him to reach, condemned to only contemplate.

“Get your clothes off.” You order, his reactions making you more confident and straightforward than usual. 

He is quick to obey. You could have asked him to jump off a cliff and he would have done it without even thinking. His clothes fall one by one on the floor and you feast on every area of skin he’s offering you. He ends up entirely naked for your eyes. This Titan, cascade of virile hairs everywhere, prominent scarred muscles carved into stone by Ares himself, gorged with raw powerfulness and designed to kill. To survive. And between those open thick thighs, his aroused member. The one he thought of as the triumph of his shame a few minutes ago, is now the Apotheosis of his Glory. Thick, long, hard like him, surrounded by a crown of tawny curls.

“Look at you…” You let out, almost licking your lips. But he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t see what you do at all. Instead, he let his gaze wander on your chest, and you can almost hear the silent plea in his gaze for you to join his nakedness.

Standing right in front of him, you begin to strip yourself out of your clothes, agonizingly slowly, your face displaying this provocative grin that turns him on so much. It’s purposeful, and you feel your own arousal rising as you notice the red coming back to his cheeks and ears.

First, your boots and socks, discovering your delicate legs. Then your blouse, showing your shoulder and chest, then your skirt. He stays silent all the while, enjoying your little show more than you could imagine. Your hips swaying, your arms gracefully dancing, each piece of clothing falling on the ground, this is all a trance he's getting hypnotized by.

Seeing you undress just for him after all those nights spent on his cot touching himself watching your shadow is like adding all the missing color from a masterpiece, enhancing and fulfilling.

“That’s what you’ve been thinking about?” You purr proudly, now in your undergarments.

“God yes. Yer a real’ angel.” He praises in a fevered-like whisper.

You smirk as all answer. “Come on now, show me those dirty things you’ve been doing.” You speak while nodding at his crotch in an almost challenging way.

His hand instantly reaches for his cock. It was itching him to since you had looked at it earlier. He presses his fingers hard around it and he grunts softly, the sound incredible to your ears. Obeying you and surrendering fully to his depravation, he slowly starts stroking himself again while watching you intensely. What did he do to deserve such a splendid spectacle?

That’s when you decide to slowly bend inward and undo the last pieces of clothing you still have. Just a few gestures and your breasts are bare and hanging for him to look at. Jeee-sus. You see and hear his hand speeding up. 

Lastly, you reveal your own sex to him, a pearl between those gorgeous thighs of yours, and he curses out loud this time.

“You're so goddamn beautiful. I could... Damn, I could finish right now jus' lookin' atchu.” He confesses, his cheeks, ears, and chest getting even redder at his own words.

“Really, uh? You're quite easy to tease, Mister Morgan.” You tease, before turning around and bending again, wanting him to see your bottom, taking a more than suggestive position with your ass up.

“Oh, for God sake.” He nearly chokes, his rhythm accelerating again; almost frenetic. This is all he ever wanted during those cold lonely moments. All he ever needed to see. And he can’t help but engrave every little detail in his mind; the little scars you have here and there, the different tone and grain of your skin, your hairs, your body’s hollows and bumps. Every little imperfection. And they make it all even better. Better than any fantasies he had ever pictured in the past few weeks. Because they are making you yourself.

You turn again to face him and straddle his lap, unable to resist your own urges that had been building and building since you had found him touching himself to the thought of you.

That’s when something finally lights up in his mind. The moment he feels your soft, warm thighs around him, and how you’re soaked in between them, it hits him. You’ve been wanting him just as badly as he wanted you. As odd and surprising as it sounds to him. This new reality is right there against his tip as you start rubbing your entrance against it, teasing, playing, pressing just a few inches in, gently praising how big he looks and how good it would be to have him inside of you. 

That thing inside of him explodes.

Suddenly his hands are all over you. Touching everything they can, discovering, molding your curves under his fingertips. Hands on your thighs, hands on your hips, waist, neck. Each part of you touched is breaking every chain that was holding him back, one by one. These perfect sensations blind him to any reasoning, any sense of restrain, and push him to palm your breasts. God, the softness, the warmth. He sighs in appreciation as he kneads both of them and you join his pleasured breathing.

More.

One of his hands leaves your chest to grab your ass, roughly, and he squeezes, hard, while he sucks on the breast that has been abandoned. “Arthur!” You moan out in return, pleasured and surprised voice, mouth left open in delight. Oh, he will satisfy you. Those renewed vows appear as clear as day between the mess of his head as he keeps devouring your nipple endlessly, almost suckling at it. He will push that voice of you to its limit, break it until you won’t be able to scream.

“That’ what you wanted all this time, uh? Drivin’ me insane?”

You search for something clever to throw back at him but the calloused hand on your breast suddenly reaches your cunt and you gasp instead. 

“That’ what you do? Torture poor devil like me until they can’t help but fall for you?” He asks again, his confidence heightened by your sweet sounds, his tone getting darker and darker. Touching your folds pleasures him almost as much as you, his brows furrowing into a needy and intense expression.

“J-just you… ‘Just wanted you to notice me…” You admit, your hips rolling on his lap and against his hand. His fingers part your cunt and trace their own way through this little Heaven, exploring this place he had craved so much; and it makes him more excited than any thoughts he could have had on his own.

“Well, that sure worked, girl.”

He lets go of your pussy and you squeal in protest, almost ashamed of your own sound. He smiles triumphantly at you, feeling satisfied to give you a taste of your own medicine. He wraps both of his arms around your waist, your chest ending up pressed against his face; his nose is shoved in it and he sighs louder this time. 

He can’t wait any longer. Not when he has been dreaming of this for weeks. Not after discovering your unforgettable perfume. Not after having felt this wet, warm promise of your entrance. He looks up at your face, searching for any trace of disgust or apprehension but you're completely free from any. Mouth agape, breaths deep and hips shamelessly searching for his, you're even more gorgeous than before, and he snaps.

He guides you carefully, his hands warm and hard against your bare skin. And he pushes.

His sex entering you slowly is deliciously hard and hot. His cockhead is big, way bigger than what you’re used to, and feels so good already. His arms hold you in place as he pushes again, wanting to be completely stuffed in, a long, low growling sound accompanying his movement. Oh, Christ Almighty. He had never felt so good than buried like this in your warm, silky, divine cunt right now.

Once fully settled, you both sighs and breath loudly for just a few seconds, your gazes meeting and silently agreeing on how fucking delicious this feels. Then you move up, wanting to ride him, feeling his shaft pull out as you do, but his arms grab you tighter and put your hips back in place.

“God!” You whine as you feel his length plunging again and hitting that spot inside of you.

He starts to buck his hips up against yours, unable to resist anything anymore. His rhythm, he wanted slow and meaningful at first, is quickly turning fast and hard, a remnant of how incredibly frustrated and needy he had been all this time.

“I’m gonna -Ohh, shit- I’m gonna show ya what ya get teasin’ me like that.”

Arthur's southern drawl is even more prominent, his voice hoarse and deep from effort. His thrusts up are more and more powerful, making you jump up and down on top of him and for the first time in days he thanks himself for having pleasured himself so many times lately, otherwise he would have come instantly right there in your heat. Your breasts bounce in this erotic, unresistible dance that he’ll remember for every future night he'll spend alone.

“Oh Arthur, don’t stop!” 

His cock pulls out and shoves into your cunt so fastly it's rubbing perfectly how you want it deep inside and you reach for his shoulders, needing to hold onto him, already so close. “Yes, yes, yes, right there!”

He hears your accelerating breathing, your higher-pitched moans turning into screams and he searches for your lips with his. Your tender petals against his dirty mouth. But he doesn’t care, there’s only your pussy right now, and your incredible smell he’s filled with once again, just like you’re filled with his tongue and his dick inside of you.

Both his hands grab your ass and he fucks frantically, his balls slapping against it with each thrust, making your plump flesh jiggle and those hitting and smacking sounds resonating throughout the room. Again, and again, and Damn it again.

It’s too much for you. 

You cry out loudly as your fingers dig into his shoulders and your head tilts backward, and his big, solid arms keep you pressed against his chest, completely wrapped around you; and he finally, finally feels it. Pleasure, pleasure, pleasure, instead of pain. This irresistible release, your pussy clenching and squeezing all around his cock. “-Ngh, s-shit yes angel, give it t’me!”

You give it all to him without any resistance and in a obscene scream. And it’s too much for him.

“Ah, God…” He hisses as he feels it coming, quickly pulling you up —as effortlessly as if you weighed nothing— and pressing his cock against your clit, well nestled between your lips.

He reaches your lips again, needing to finish while kissing you, both of your bodies almost sewn together, his moans sounding more and more like primal growls and hisses at every rubbing movement against your core, movements getting faster and faster, impossibly faster, So fucking good, Jesus so goddamned perfect, Perfect, perfect!- Until he finally comes, translucent cum leaking all the way down his shaft and spreading on your lower belly, all panting and grunting, a complete mess; a satiated beast.

It’s better than any of the dreams he ever had, waking or sleeping. And it’s not just the release of this one and only time, it’s the pinnacle of all these lonely pleasures shared with no one in regretful secret.

For the second time that night, he thinks he’s dead. 

He falls backward, back against the mattress, and you follow, unable to stand without him. In that silence only disturbed by your exhausted breaths, he turns and grabs the first piece of clothing that he has at hand’s reach, his flannel. He gently uses it to clear your belly from his seed and seeing it, on your smooth and soft skin, makes a wave of culpability crash onto him once again. Shouldn't have done all of this. Should have taken care of her properly.

A dark, glum expression settles on his face and he wraps himself in a deep silence instead of your arms as he finishes to clean the both of you. God, did that man ever know rest for more than a few minutes? At this thought, you bend over to put a small kiss on his forehead, as a thank you for his aftercare.

“Satisfied enough?” You finally break the silence, getting up from the bed –not without stretching your back slightly and swaying your hips before bending to reach for your clothes on the floor.

Arthur cannot help but think of a Nymph as you do all of this still naked. Those irresistible, divine beauties that lure men with a simple move of their finger, as they say in books. He knew it was all stories from another time, but he was more and more convinced they would look exactly like you if they did exist.

“More than in a long time. You?” He replies, voice neutral and features closed as usual. He stays on the bed and put only his pants back, his cock finally softening under the coarse fabric. He never stops looking at you all the while.

“Couldn’t be better”. You assert, your blouse falling back on your upper body. You then roughly fix your hair in this casual, impish way that was yours.

That was driving him insane.

“You’re a little minx, ya know that? Gettin’ naked on purpose every night…”

“Oh, please. You didn’t really complain as far as I know.”

“Nah, but ya did make me insane. Teasin’ littl’ thing y’are.” He says with a fond voice he would have preferred less obvious.

You innocently shrug your shoulders, cheeky grin on your face. The way you're playing with him that easily should have been shaming to him, but he doesn't feel any shame anymore, not after what you have shared.

"Goodnight, Arthur." You throw as all answer, leaving him as you walk through the door of his room. He greets you back, the trimmest trace of longing in his rough voice.

Once again alone, once again cold, Arthur grabs a cigarette from his pocket to smoke before falling asleep; maybe to keep this lingering warmth just a bit longer, the sensations of your body, and especially your sex squeezing around his, still remaining on his skin. Lying completely in the bed, he smiles to himself as he notices you have forgotten your shawl —again. Or maybe you had left it on purpose. Maybe you had both times, now that he is thinking about it. The ruby fabric had landed wrapped all around his old, worn-out leather jacket, like a flame dancing around, enveloping, lapping at a tree.

It looks great that way.

Maybe you were only playing with him. Maybe this was only a one-time thing. But who cared? Tonight, Arthur had been taken care of by a Nymph. And no other mortal pleasure, no other solitaries delights, not even the most lustful and depraved images he could have pulled out of his tormented mind could ever compete with that slice of Olympe you had given to him.

a/n: Yeah, 5K words, I knooow! I'm hopeless. It's quite a lot, but I didn't feel like cutting, nothing felt right. What can I say except thank you, so much, for everyone's interest in the first part, for your notes, comments and reblogs, and for reading all of this! I am in utter PANIC rn because I feel like nothing I could write would be as good or as well received as the first part, but here it is! I really hope it didn't disappoint!

Also, to give Caesar what belongs to Caesar, the holster falling was completely inspired by my dear @zae-heeyyy's Piquancy (II)! I thought it would fit the comical aspect of the scene eheh (go check it out)

tag list: @a-court-of-valkyries, @redwritr, @cassietrn, @esquilone, @starlightt180, @narcoticv3nus, @thoughts-of-bear, @emjiroki, @prettyundeadgirl, @eternalsams @amyispxnk @babybatss-blog @ardeniaa @sauvignon-velvet @sweeterlilith (I tried to tag people who had shown interest in a part2, really sorry if I missed anyone!)

[jov1ii]

Home.

♡⃕.pairing: The Salesman x Reader

♡⃕.summary: The man you had known for way before, before he 'ruined' your life, the one you were so determined to find, pays you a visit.

♡⃕.word count: 1.5k+

♡⃕.a/n: This is my first time writing a "proper" fic and it did NOT turn out the way I wanted it to but ig we all start somewhere. I hope yall like it, thank you!! 😭 [not proofread]

Being the only surviour of what you considered no less than hell on earth, you should have been content, no? How could you be? After witnessing the death of so many people, people who you promised you would enjoy life with after escaping that game.

Call it greed, call it madness, whatever it was, it had people blinded in those games.

One would call you crazy if they saw how determined you were to put an end to the games you had played and survived.

Being already considered half crazy, if not a total gone case by your friends, you found it hard to even believe yourself at times. If it wasn't for the giant stack of money in the corner of your store room, maybe even Lei would have not trusted you.

There you were, sighing in defeat, another day spent, trying to search for the man who ruined your life by a game as stupid as ddajki. Fucking ddajki.

Throwing your phone over at the couch, you sat down next to Lei. With your face hidden now in the curve of your palms, you pondered upon the number of days left, the number of days which still remained unticked on the calendar.

You could not find it in yourself to give up so easily, no. You had been trying for years now, it was as if your life had a purpose.

"Did they find him?" Lei asked, placing a comforting hand on your back. She rubbed your back gently, wishing to offer you comfort. You remained quiet, allowing her to soothe you.

After a pause, you rested your head on her shoulder, seeking more of the warmth she was offering. "I... I am tired, Lei. I am so fucking tired."

Lei closed her eyes for a brief moment, allowing you to let your emotions flow as she pulled you into a hug. "It will be okay, all is well."

ㅤㅤ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ㅤ ㅤ‎⎯‎⎯‎⎯‎ㅤ🎟

͏

Drinking had never really been your thing and yet you found yourself standing right beside Lei, watching as she ordered drinks for the two of you.

"You come here often?" You ask, your wandering gaze landing back at her. Lei simply shrugged, offering you a smile. "Is three times a week often?" She chuckled.

As the hours passed and the two of you made your way out of the bar after spending an undoubtedly wholesome evening, you could not help but ponder upon the cold, almost commanding look that Lei offered to the bartender at one point.

The games had made you too paranoid, they had forced you to pay unwanted attention and overthink every little thing that happened around you. After seeing the countless betrayals before your very own eyes, who could blame you for behaving like that?

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Lei's voice brought you back to reality. "Oh... It's nothing." You said, looking back at her.

"It has to be something if it had you so deep in your thoughts, what is it?" Lei asked, demanding an answer.

"I said it's nothing. Come on, it is getting late, keep moving, Lei." You said, patting the skirt of your dress, refusing to meet her gaze.

"You do not trust me, do you?"

Oh. Your eyes finally met hers.

"Lei— what are you..."

Lei chuckled, shaking her head. "I love how easy it is to get you so... anxious. Of course I know you trust me, silly!" She laughed. "I earned it, didn't I?" After a brief pause, she added, "Let's get going, hm? It's getting late."

You nodded, moving ahead to look for a taxi for the two of you, blissfully unaware of the cold pair of eyes that stalked each and ever step you took.

ㅤㅤ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ㅤㅤ‎⎯‎⎯‎⎯‎ㅤ🎟

If there was one good thing remaining in your life, it would be night outs like these with Lei. They would usually end with Lei pulling dumb moves, flirting with strangers, enjoying her life and you would be lying to yourself if you said you didn't crave the life she has.

A life free from guilt, a life full of excitement and will to see and experience what the next day had to offer.

After looking at the numerous selfies sent by the people you had hired in hopes that at least one of them would succeed in catching the man that had plagued your thoughts, you could not help but groan in frustration.

Another fruitless search. You threw your phone away, closing your eyes as you thought of how your life used to be before all this happened.

A part of you hated yourself for yearning his touch, his caress. You had known for way longer than you would like to admit, he was kind, loving... or perhaps you were a fool.

It was funny how you still remembered each and every night when he took you to his home, when he fed you and held you in his arms when you cried about how bad your life was getting.

You trusted him with everything. Told him about how you managed to get all your hard earned money stolen by your own boyfriend. Sometimes felt like he knew you better than you knew yourself.

You trusted him when he told you to play a game of ddajki with him. You trusted him when he told you to give that number a call.

And now here you were, alive. With all the blood money in your pocket. You wish you had died there. You knew that he wished you had died too. You knew he was scared to meet you or so you liked to believed.

You knew that once you managed to get catch him, you would not let him leave without giving you any answers.

ㅤㅤ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ㅤㅤ‎⎯‎⎯‎⎯‎ㅤ ㅤ 🎟

"Why so silent, hm?"

Your throat felt as if it had closed when you saw him in your apartment, staring at the calendar.

"Missed me, angel?"

He chuckled, turning around. His cold, calculating eyes found your scared ones.

"Weren't you dying to meet me?" He asked, taking a step in your direction.

"I feel a bit— hm desired, knowing that the first thing my sweet girl thought of was searching for me instead of just letting her little brain rest a bit."

He laughed. "Most people would have taken the money and started a new life but here you are, still stuck. Typical." He said, offering a rather phoney smile.

"You expected me to move on?" You cry, feeling a sting in your throat.

"Oh please, save your tears." He said, his voice taking an irritated turn.

"Is this all a joke to you?! I trusted you— I trusted you so fucking much! You ruined my life!" You yelled.

"You agreed to play them. You called that number willingly."

"I was helpless and in need of money, you knew it! I had no idea of what I was getting into!" You yelled.

He didn't flinch, his face showed no emotion. As if her words had no effect on him. "Why do you still yearn for me, after all that happens, hm? I can see it in your fucking eyes." He spat out, taking a few long strides in your direction.

"You think I haven't been watching you?" He laughed hysterically. "Searching for me like your life depended on it..." He paused, tugging you closer as he pressed his forehead against yours. "So unaware of how I never left. "

His words irritated you. You hated how his words still had effect over you— after all that happened.

"You don't know anything." You whispered, your hands clenching into a tight fist and before you knew it, your hand was out to punch him, to take your frustration out.

"Ah, ah." In a sudden motion, he reaches out and grabs your wrist, his grip unyielding "Don't you think I deserve a better welcome?" He pouted.

"Let go, you bastard!" You yell and his hold around you tightens, enjoying your futile efforts futile struggle. "That stubborn spirit... it just makes me want to break you more." His voice drops dangerously low. "But don't worry, angel - I have ways of..." He pauses, staring into her eyes.

He leans down to whisper in your ear, his warm breath ghosting across your skin. "...ways of making you beg for more." His free hand trails down your side, maintaining the pressure that keeps you trapped.

"I wonder how long it'll take for you to accept this as your new reality... As your new normal." He smiles to himself, a cold, calculating smile, before leaning down to capture your lips in a possessive kiss.

Before you could comprehend any of this properly, he was already making his way out of your apartment.

Leaving you once again, with just the warmth of his touch.

[valentine-cafe]

A red velvet cheesecake please! (reader is nb amab)

Okay so, (Incubus) Reader fucking Rishen and him using reader's horns as handle bars to grab onto����‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

˖⁺. “ fuck you like an animal ! ” : 

﹙ top gn amab incubus reader x bottom mad scientist ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . verse 209 rishen x gn amab reader !! 🍒 : ﹙ mad scientist ˖ spider-moth-mantis monster ˖ yandere ˖ villain character ﹚

you're an incubus fucking your beloved mad scientist - who is most pretty when all he can do is grip onto your horns 

﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ handjob ˖ rough sex ˖ penetrative sex ˖ whiney rishen ˖ multiple orgasms ˖ praise ˖ messy sex | wc : 0.8k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: anon I love you forever with this ask because I have been WAITING for the inhuman readers to 

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

You breathe in the pretty man below you, his pretty hole wrapped around you so tightly as your hard dick plummets into it over and over again. Thrusts growing so shallow he can barely stay conscious.

Of course he is going to grip onto your horns! The way the pink walls of his tight ass nurses at the veins of the cock that fucks it has his head spinning. So he had to find a way to stay up and supported.

“Ghngh- —- Yeah, that’s it, Takin’ it s’ fuckin’ well.” Your grunt makes his back arch, left hand tugging at your horn in a way that forces your head backwards, tilted to the lift. And so the pace becomes almost punishing, you and him have a little pact that the more he looks away the harder you fuck.

“M—hah- d-dios- di-ios— Ngnh- A-ah p-por favor—” Such sweet stammers, A melody to fill the beautifully sleek black room. The red curtains swaying from side to side as the breeze of the night air grows stronger. He had forgotten to close the window during sleep. And so, you had snuck in. Why not?

You had been trying to get to him all day. The failed attempts of throwing him over his work desk. . . the fucking interruptions of his useless employees swarming him for questions, about work, deadlines, sick leaves, and the usual bullshit— Each and everytime was just about getting to the nearest shadow to hide away in.

He had riled you up on purpose as well.

Soft croons, empty promises, light touches that were barely there. He drove you insane and he did it on purpose. To think a mere mortal as him could catch the attention of you like that. You let him have you crazy and desperate for him.

Well, you suppose. He was not just any mortal. Most of his variants were quite the delicacies as well, they certainly were no ordinary ordeal. But your point still stood. How dare he be the one to rile you up when it should be the other way around.

“C’mon Rishen huh? Look at me.” With a fist full of curly locks held tight in a demonic hand. You yank his head back up to look directly into your eyes.

You weren’t even breaking a sweat, nor anywhere near as exhausted as he was.

Yet knowledge upon the table. So obvious people could smell it from miles away. You were an incubus, to lose stamina right away would be some mystical phenomenon unheard of!

The scientist below you whimpers as a slew of cum spurts out of his weeping dick. Such a pitiful sight you simply must squeeze your fingers around his tip to draw a bit more out. Before you continue the torturous handjob you have him receive. Your hand tight around his shaft, pumping hard and fast.

“S— Sooo Go-ood!” He cries, gripping onto you tight. “M-mgh— D-dear- m-more!”

The whimpers and moans muffle when your tongue steals them away. Hot lips crashing down on his, while his hands move down to the base of your horns to push you closer too. Hips weakly meeting rough ones.

Each forceful slap of your balls against his plush ass makes the skin ripple, the addicting sound going straight to your head and urging you on. Your hot cum plugging him to the brim. Squirting out onto your cock after each of your new release now.

“Yeah? Yeah? Is the pretty slut begging? Y-yeah— o-o-oh p-please— please f-fuck m-m-e.” The mocking pulls a dragged moan out of him, loud and vibrating in his throat, as he comes and momentarily blacks out, his eyes wide and mouth wide agape.

“Thas’ it— That’s it theeeere we go, atta boy.”

For a short moment, you pull out of him. His hands removed from your horns, as you flip him onto his right, getting up behind him and lifting up his leg as far as possible. While your other hand moves to press against his pelvis.

Just to tease him, and think everything is over, you wait for him to wake up. His slurred speech incoherent and gibberish at this point.

A moan rips through the room when you slam yourself inside of him again and fuck harder than you have this entire session. Your teeth wrapping around his neck like a beautiful necklace for him to wear.

“A-gnh— a-aaah- ah-Ah-ah!” Weak moans follow along with the claps of skin against skin and the wet, squelching that his sore ass manages.

The laughs rumbling out of you vibrate throughout the room, seeping into the corners of the room and out of the window. Back into the night.

All it takes is a simple press on his abdomen, and he is gone. Cum squirting out of his throbbing dick multiple times until he is spent.

And once he has gone cold fully, you leave him in his bed for his husband to find and clean up. Covered in his own cum mixed with yours.

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[kitkat13001]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ 𝚒𝚗 𝚍𝚊 𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚋 | shoto todoroki x f!reader

go shoto, it’s your birthday !

>> mentions of alcohol, desc of fem clothing, reader is referred to as “girlfriend”

you’re at the club on shoto’s birthday,  accompanied by both of your guys’ friends, when katy perry’s “hot ‘n cold” comes on over the speakers. you (quite a few drinks in now after making the mistake of trying to match bakugou’s shot intake) grab shoto’s arm, dragging him out to dance with you while yelling that he “literally owns this song!” 

he laughs good-naturedly, allowing you to pull him along. he’s never been much of an ostentatious dancer, but his hands are steady on your hips as you flail around to the music, grinning the whole time. 

he loops an arm around your waist to guide you back to the bar once you’ve danced yourself out, helping you onto a stool as he watches you with a little smile. 

“hey icy-hot!” bakugou calls from his seat down the bar. “don’tcha think it’s kinda weird that it’s your birthday and your girlfriend is the one getting shit-faced?”

“hey!” you protest, leaning forward to point indignantly. shoto ignores katsuki’s goading, more focused on fixing your ruffled hair and the slipping strap of your dress before handing you a glass of water with a loving smile. 

he spends the rest of the night pretty much the same, doting over you and watching your friends dance and drink and sing. 

denki and izuku get everyone on karaoke and he turns a deep pink when you dedicate him a love song on your turn. 

the night is winding to a close and before long, shoto’s carrying you out of the club and soon enough you’re tucked into bed. 

you’re half-asleep, but bakugou’s taunts from earlier sticks in your muddled brain and you find yourself frowning as you lean against shoto’s sturdy body. 

“sho, are you mad that i got trashed on your birthday?”

“i could never be mad at you, sweetheart,” he chuckles, sweeping your hair from your flushed face. 

you whine, burying your face in his neck. “i didn’t mean to ruin your special day,” you cry, big eyes shiny and lips pushed out in a pout. 

he plants a kiss on your pouty lips, smile unrestrained. “you didn’t ruin anything. you wanna know why?”

“why?”

“because all i wanted for my ‘special day’ is to be with the people i love and see them happy. and there’s no one-“ kiss “-i-“ kiss “-love-“ kiss “-more than-“ kiss kiss kiss “-you.”

you giggle under his barrage of kisses, puckering your lips out to kiss him too. 

“happy birthday, sho. love you.”

this is late but let’s pretend it’s not <3 probably one of the dumbest things i’ve ever written but it’s healing to write stupid shit once in a while. based heavily off this reel and a conversation i had w bestie about it. happy birthday shoto! 😽🩷

[rhowena]

The core problem of Campaign 3's god debate is that the only real support offered by the anti-god side is "some people are mad at the gods" and no one -- in-universe or out -- seems to realize that the mere existence of people who dislike the gods isn't sufficient to make "should the gods stay or go?" into a hyper-complex morally grey debate, any more than the mere existence of global warming denialists is sufficient to make the factual reality of climate change into a hyper-complex scientific debate. "People who are mad at the gods exist, therefore the current system is broken somehow" is the mentality of people-pleasing: if someone is mad at you, it proves that you're a bad person who did something to make them mad, and you are now morally obligated to internalize everything they say about you and devote all your energy to appeasing them.

I am, personally, of the opinion that it is vitally important for people in positions of power to maintain a healthy awareness of their own fallibility and cultivate lines of feedback from lower down in the chain the way software developers provide bug report forms; however, the reality I encountered when I accepted a forum moderation position years ago is that, if you're an Authority Figure™ of any stripe, for every person with a good-faith criticism of a poor ruling you made while overtired or an outdated policy that needs to be revised, there are a dozen who shake their fists at you because they want someone to be mad at. And when you look at the actual substance of the complaints being made (nearly all of which display a fundamental refusal to grapple with the scale the gods operate on and how that affects their decision-making) and ask "what, if anything, could/should the gods have done differently?" and "is getting rid of the gods actually a viable solution to this problem?", they're all firmly in that latter category.

To go down the list:

Vecna: If we're treating "people who are mad at the gods" as a Marginalized Group™ whose grievances are Good Points™ and Worth Considering™ simply because they are grievances with The People in Power™, then Vecna is part of said Marginalized Group™, seeing as he holds a massive grudge against the gods who helped banish him beyond the Divine Gate and per the campaign books his ultimate goal is to eliminate the worship of all deities other than himself. One can only imagine how hard he's kicking himself for failing to find out about Predathos before his own ascension.

Ludinus: His parents will still be dead whether he succeeds or fails, and preventing the same thing from happening to others is what the Divine Gate is for. Killing the gods would not only not prevent similar tragedies, it would, at least in the short term, actively make things worse: assuming Tharizdun doesn't just eat everything, how does he expect Lesser Idols like Uk'otoa to react to a glorious new age where there are no gods to keep them in check and millions of newly deity-less clerics are stuck watching people die whom they could have saved if they still had their spells? Moreover, what happens when people discontented with his glorious new era swear vengeance on those they blame for taking their gods from them, as Ludinus swore vengeance on those he blames for his parents' deaths, or start idealizing the lost age of the gods and looking for ways to somehow bring them back, as Ashton does with the Titans? Does the perspective of people who like the gods then become Worth Considering™, if they've gone from being Privileged™ to being a Marginalized Group™ who have been collectively traumatized by the loss of something precious to them?

Aeor: One of the major takeaways from Downfall was that Aeor was extremely decadent, corrupt, stratified, and generally dystopian at its height. Their main reason for wanting the gods dead seems to be not liking the existence of anything more powerful than them, and anyone arguing that the gods are Too Powerful To Exist needs to explain why the tiny cabal of mages at the tippy-top of Aeor's societal pyramid, wielding power that 99.9% of Exandrians will never have access to, were not themselves Too Powerful To Exist, especially given their evident imperialist ambitions.

Dorian: I won't downplay the genuine grievance there, but a. Opal was victimized by one of the Betrayer Gods, and what to do about them is a question that Vespin Chloras and Cassida Previn, for all their hubris, approached with considerably more nuance, and b. per the post linked in the previous bullet point, if your ultimate goal is to prevent all ill-advised deals with powerful entities and the unpleasant consequences thereof, where exactly do you stop?

Tuldus and Hearthdell: Plenty of irreligious people across Exandria are living their best lives unmolested, so the whole "you must be religious OR ELSE" isn't something the gods themselves are demanding in a systemic way, and getting rid of them wouldn't prevent all oppression any more than it would prevent all cataclysms and mass deaths. (It might not even stop the oppression committed by those specific religious people; per 'personality predates ideology', the ones who are in it to bully others and feel righteous about it will simply look for a different excuse to do so if their current one is taken from them.) There's a genuine debate to be had about how much responsibility the gods bear for their followers' actions and one could, more reasonably, accuse them of having become too lax and needing to be more stringent about telling their priests to cut that kind of shit out (though that in turn opens the question of how much they can micromanage their followers' behavior before it becomes genuinely smothering and oppressive), but it runs counter to the "the gods have too much control" narrative the Vanguard is pushing.

Liliana: Every parroted accusation she levies at the Exandria's pantheon is something Predathos and its worshippers are far, FAR more guilty of, but Predathos doesn't present itself as a caring, benevolent entity in the same way the Prime Deities do, and she expects us to believe that it admitting that it's bad somehow makes it good. (There's a Slacktivist quote that I think sums up the underlying logic here: "Once you've decided that the Most Important Thing is to avoid the wolf in sheep's clothing, your safest course of action is to embrace the wolf in wolf's clothing.")

Ashton: Essentially blames the gods for refusing to micromanage reality on their behalf and, in focusing so much on his own pain, hasn't stopped to ask what the world would look like if the gods actually felt obligated to micromanage reality on behalf of everyone who petitioned them that way, not just him personally. My dad is an agnostic and specifically doesn't believe in a god who answers prayer because what's a god to do when there's a baseball game and both teams have fans praying for their victory (or when there's a war and both armies include adherents of a given faith)?

Bor'dor: It's one thing to say that the gods have certain obligations to their followers and quite another to say that that the gods are supposed to keep their followers swaddled in bubble wrap 24/7 and prevent them from experiencing any consequences for their own actions whatsoever, and arguing that the Wildmother should have somehow stopped Bor'dor's family's suicide charge from resulting in their deaths is the latter.

Vox Machina: Continue to hold a grudge against the Matron for taking Vax away and would like to believe her being gone would make him mortal again, but when you stop to think about Vax as a person with his own feelings and opinions about his relationship with the Matron, instead of as a passive object to be fought over, the "what if Predathos eats the Matron?" scenario looks a hell of a lot bleaker. There's also the question of whether or not Predathos would consider Vax himself edible; a mere celestial might be one of those half-crushed potato chip fragments at the bottom of the bag in comparison to a god, but when you've been trapped and starving for thousands of years...

Zathuda: Objects not to being told 'no' but to the existence of forces who could potentially tell him no, which to me reads as an asshole whining about how unfair and oppressive it is when people see his assholery and tell him to cut it the fuck out.

[italiqngreyhound]

Aight here's stuff on the dream situation aka a timeliness! Will be adding to as it continues, credit to elliklips on discord ily

Okay so- from what I've gathered thus far

-techno passed away [rip]

• a bunch of people were kinda iffy abt started dsmp season two without him present

- dream had grooming allegations and everyone went their separate ways

- Quackity creates Qsmp which QUICKLY gains popularity

- Dream gets mad bc Quackity "stole his idea"

• Quackity to this day hasn't responded [slay king]

- some other stuff happens and Tommy and Jack start making more content together

- tubbo and Ranboo stop posting together as much and Ranboo moves in with Aimsey

- - -

- Tommy went on a podcast and said [quoted] "I've never actually hated everh word and movement someone did" this is tom talking about Mizkif CLEARY TALKING abt Miskif

- miskif went on stream and was firing shots at Tommy "your annoying" "your stupid and your british" whatever NEXT

-ONE BIT DEEPER xQc reacts to miskif reacting to Tommy "these guys are cringe" also calling it an "overeaction" also whatever

• Tommy tweets "your really hard to talk to" WHATEVER who cares

- Tommy THEN replies to a picture of xQc shaking Donald trumps hand with a Trump shirt on "to be more cringe than tommyinnit is pretty fucking hard but you just pulled it off pal"

• jack replied "post a money spred"

- insaine- xQc THEN tweets a video of Tommy "dissing" on him- xQc wrote "from doing streams in your basement to doing streams with the president. How is this a dis? You went from dickriding dream for a living to making "jokes" to teenage girls. Lock in"

• [xQc giving free promo to Tommy's stand up makes me giggle]

- Dream now gets involved- why? ABSOLUTELY NO CLUE- he goes on to post one of those "pick a side" pictures with one being labeled 'grow up' and the other being labeled 'becoming a **R-SLUR** Tommyinnit fan' with the person choosing being labeled 'DreamSMP stans'

• [which i actually don't understand bc this is the FIRST TIME dream has done anything shitting on Tommy even after Tommy has claimed MULTIPLE TIMES-

THAT DREAM WAS A PEDO

•[ other note BOTH TOMMY AND TUBBOS MOMS ARE SPECIAL EDUCATION TEACHERS.]

- E V E R Y O N E hops on a dream hate train on Twitter Which leads dream to delete the post.

• Tommy replied saying "no Fucking way did i make dream say the R-slur *again*. Actual bastard.

• dream does have an autism diagnosis but there's a DRASTIC difference in reclaiming and calling 50 mil people aN ACTUAL SLUR

- Tommy posts a video just titled "Dream" clarifying he has the man blocked but goes on to say "hey you fucked up bro- what the hell?"

• also making a point to say "I literally made your server streaming on it every day while you did nothing."

- DREAM posts on YouTube and Reddit dissing on anyone he can get his hands on, including Aimsey, Tommy- i think Tubbo and defends Miskif

• in the redit post he says "I was confused by what the "rules" are. Not honestly trying to be obtuse." "Everyone explains to me that it's okay because their nerodivergant, so then I see a meme that uses it and post it and get absolutely throttled for it. Obviously it's the internet being disingenuous, but that doesn't completely invalidate anyone that might be upset by it. Most of the people are calling me a list for using it are the same people thay lit off fireworks for when Nicolas Cantu was the slinging slur slasher [including Tommy's closest friends]. It's either okay or it's not okay, the double standards are infuriating." He then goes on more about Tommy being the "internet police" and getting shit about going after "poor Tommy that lies about me constantly"

- tubbo goes live just before that video gets posted, recaps best of his ability and enlightens the group on some major shit

• bbh paid for the server

• details about dsmp and dream himself

• a live reaction to Tom's video

• live reaction to bits of Dreams video and reddit post

• ect.

- AND NOW QUACKITY SAID HES GOING LIVE?

[moonlight-prose]

the spilling of seeds & the eating of hearts

a/n: so this was posted to patreon in december and well i haven't done any writing as of late. so this is me just shoving an old fic into the open. there really isn't any explanation other than i watched saltburn and churned this out. did it take a year to finish? yes. ignore that. it gave me such a hard fucking reset. the movie is so horny i had no choice but to write din as a professor on his knees. the image literally wouldn't leave my head. but anyways thanks barry i guess for resetting my brain so hard i blacked out and wrote professor porn.

summary: if he could crack open his ribs and let you eat the seeds of his heart he would. he'd bend to your will without question, without hesitation, because it was you. the person he hungered for. the love he craved. you were the pomegranate forbidden to him for so long, and finally he was given a taste.

word count: 4.2k+

pairing: din djarin x f!reader (professor au)

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, professor au, cannibalistic description of love, hades and persephone, the personification of hunger, p in v sex, oral (f receiving), hair pulling, wanting to drown in the pussy, din being tortured in the best way, they fuck nasty in this one people.

“I’m voracious for you.”

You could hear his voice even now, sitting in the middle of a room waiting for the accompanying professors in your department to deign you with their presence. The gruff rasp of his voice. The heaviness behind his words. They stuck cloyingly to the back of your throat as if he’d pressed them there with his tongue, smearing their meaning along your taste buds in the hopes that you’d understand his need.

The clock on the wall ticked away. Seconds, minutes, until you were ready to rip apart the mechanical springs and gears with your hands. Maybe then you’d be able to sit in silence. Process his words as they rolled around in your mind, pinging back and forth—dragging your attention to them each time.

“It never stops.”

Your teeth scraped against your bottom lip, tongue peeking out to wet the dry skin.

“This need.”

A trickle of heat spread between your thighs, spilling into your already soaked panties. You could practically picture him standing in front of you. His hands balled into fists so tight the skin of his knuckles turned pale; eyes darker than their normal chocolate brown. He looked like he was in pain, suffering from an agony you had caused—anguish that only you could get rid of.

A five minute conversation. That’s all he asked of you before you were due for your meeting. You figured he wanted to discuss the lecture he planned, the one you helped him with. Only for him to stand on the opposite side of the office, leaned against a desk, his hands gripping the edge. You were afraid it would break at one point. That is before he shared with you the thoughts that plagued his mind, the feeling he couldn’t claw out of his chest.

A quick glance at the clock told you waiting for them was pointless and that you’d be better off heading back to your office. Or at least attempt to stand without completely embarrassing yourself in the skirt you were wearing. His words continued to ring clear as a bell and you were addicted to their melody. You craved the essence of their cadence, how he looked unraveled at the thought of you.

“I feel like I’m going mad.”

The echo of your heels against the floor reverberated through you. Each step a different gunshot, inflicting a different wound. They reminded you of why the both of you stayed away from this temptation, why you chose to remain friendly all the while your insides were stained red. How long until everyone else saw that you were bleeding? How long until they noticed you were choking on it?

Your eyes snapped to the silver placard of his name at the front of his door. You almost laughed at the irony of them placing your offices across the hall from one another. As if you were meant to be tied together the moment you met. It didn’t help that you were completely taken by his grin that only pulled up half of his lips, the shine of his eyes as they caught sight of you for the first time.

The first time you stood in this spot you were nervous. For no other reason than it being your first day and you were one hundred percent sure the students would eat you for fucking breakfast. Having stage fright didn’t help.

Which led to him giving you tips, listening to your lessons when you needed help. Ultimately followed by dinners late at night, wine shared over jazz and blues and movies so old you could barely make out the picture at times. All of it was a recipe for disaster. A path that led nowhere else but here. But you had never laughed so hard, never felt so fucking alive before.

He’d woken up a part of you that hadn’t seen the light of day since you were in highschool. A bright light that still held an infinite amount of hopes and dreams and wondered if the world was actually scary…or if adults were just fucking with you.

Yet there you stood, hand raised to knock on his door, chest heaving with labored nervous breaths, and the realization that life was…terrifying.

But then the door swung open, his frazzled appearance showing before you, and suddenly life began to glow again. Just as it did before.

“I didn’t…” You dropped your hand, smoothing it against your skirt.

His eyes went wide, body straightening within seconds. “I was just coming to…”

“I’m sorry for leaving earlier. I didn’t mean–”

He stopped, allowing you to take a moment to gather your thoughts. It gave you a chance to finally see him like this. His hair was mussed, clothing in disarray. If you hadn’t been standing in this very office forty minutes ago you would have thought he’d been with someone. But the look in his eyes told you that was an impossibility; you’d driven him to the edge of breaking and he’d gladly go there again.

He stepped aside, holding the door open to let you pass by. A small shy grin appeared on his lips, prompting you forward—all in the hopes that you would take him up on his offer. The proximity of his warmth as you drew closer in order to enter nearly singed the hair off your arms. It was palpable enough to slice through, a burning flame that couldn’t be extinguished by mere words.

“Coffee?” he asked, running a hand through his hair to straighten himself up.

You found that you liked him better when he was messy.

“No thank you.” Unknowingly, you took the same spot as before, leaning against the edge of the table across from his desk. “I just came to sort out…what happened.”

He cleared his throat. “Of course.”

“We’re faculty and it wouldn’t exactly be breaking the rules, but I don’t want to make this a difficult space to be in.” You felt his eyes on you, could practically see them darken as you continued to speak—the words stuttered and fragmented.

“Why would it be difficult?”

The question was layered with longing. A feeling that strained against your heart, threatening to rip you apart if you chose to keep going down this path. You wanted to tell him that it wouldn’t be, that you had no intentions of letting him go, but the thought of losing him—even as a friend—broke you in two.

It made you a promise of heartache, a contract of grief and you had no choice but to sign.

You unknowingly signed the second he began the conversation earlier.

“You know why–”

He took a step forward, prompting you to squeeze yourself back against the table. Even as he remained so far away.

“I’d like you to explain it to me.”

That flare of heat broke free again, a wild spirit out in the open and you were terrified of what it would do. What harm it would cause. He however seemed curious to see how far you’d go to reign in a feeling that was so right. A longing that had a cure. He’d been burning for you for so long, begging for you to quench his need, but now that he stood before you…it was clear that he’d been wrong. He wasn’t the one to burn; he wasn’t the one who would be begging.

“Professor–”

“Don’t.” He startled you with how fast he reached you in a few steps. His hand reached out, fingers curling around your chin to tilt your head up, to make you look at him. “Don’t lock me out.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you wouldn’t keep pushing.”

He huffed. “Didn’t you hear me earlier?” His hand slid to curve around the back of your neck, the other coming up to hold your cheek. “I’ve lost all my power. I lost it the second you smiled at me. You’re fucking eating me alive and I like it.”

Sucking in a breath, you watched with wide eyes as he slid down your body, until his knees connected with the floor. Brown eyes overflowing with a pained yearning looked up at you, hands filled with reverence now pressed to your hips as he prostrated himself for you. To him…you were the altar he would pray at. The goddess he’d offer himself to. If he could crack his ribs open and let you eat the seeds of his heart he would. He’d bend to your will without question, without hesitation.

“Devour me whole,” he murmured, eyes pleading to give him something to live for. “You’ve eaten my heart baby…” You gasped when he maneuvered your hand to his hair, prompting you to curl your fingers around the soft locks. “Do you like how it tastes?”

You felt like you were in a dream state, unable to wake up. Yet you weren’t sure you ever wanted to. He looked at you like you were the human embodiment of light, the thing that would satiate his ravenous hunger. With a soft grunt, his forehead fell to your stomach, fingers gripping your hips tight enough to leave the skin tender. And you tugged on his hair to hear that sound again, giving into his need because you had a hunger of your own.

“Yes,” you breathed, too afraid that you’d wake up from whatever this was. “I do.”

A pained sound was muffled into your stomach, his body shuddering as your words washed over him. Nothing could have prepared him for your admission, for the truth to finally be set free after holding it in for so long. Pressing a kiss to your waist, he felt your body shift, legs widening in stance to give him space to kneel—to prompt him forward. A silent plea for more. A need he was more than happy to appease.

Another kiss was pressed to your thigh as his hands slid down to grasp at the fabric of your skirt. Pulling it up inch by inch, dragging it out until your nails were scraping along his scalp. He kissed every part he could see, every new piece of skin that was revealed in the hopes of permanently etching the touch of his lips against the bare skin of your thigh. He wanted you to remember him.

“Beautiful,” he said softly, mouth parting when he finally revealed the black lace of your panties. A dark stain was prominent on the fabric and he felt his stomach drop.

“You’re so wet.”

Heat flushed through your cheeks at the raw depravity in his voice. The way he stared at you felt borderline obscene, but a flicker of power seeped through, blinding you. Your hand dug into his hair, nails scraping along his scalp until you saw the shiver go down his spine; his eyes fluttered shut, a soft moan breaking through the haze of lust he was under. And you wanted to hear more.

You wanted to watch him break at your feet. Watch as his lips formed around the prayer of your name—the promise of more than just this. There remained an unspoken bond between the two of you. A force that could have rivaled the power of Zeus's lightning and Poseidon's tidal waves. You were burned into his skin like a brand and he wore it with conviction.

"Din," you murmured, watching as his eyes slid up to yours, dark with lust. "Break me."

He growled a punched out fuck, his hands quickly ripping your underwear down your legs until they pooled at your ankles. Part of you expected him to rush through this. Make you finish as fast as he could. But his eyes were trained on the sight before him—how the lips of your cunt practically glistened in the lamplight of his office. How you dripped down your thighs from a simple conversation that happened earlier.

A conversation where he never got to touch you.

"That's for me." He didn't say it as a question, or even an insinuation. He spoke as if he'd always known this. A truth that was acknowledged long before you ended up in this situation.

You were his.

Through the haze of lust and depravity that swept through you, you heard yourself agree. The word yes slipping off your tongue, sweeter than honey and just as sticky. He could taste it in the air. The ache that ate at him with a hunger he’d never felt before. You made his body scream, his cock a mess in the suit pants pressed so neatly before seeing you like this—spread out and panting for his touch to continue past your thighs.

“Din,” you whimpered it softly, eyes fluttering at the feel of his mouth on your skin, and he felt desire burn through the nerves and tendons of each limb.

Yanking the skirt higher, he latched his teeth onto the tender flesh of your thigh, grinning like a wolf with a mouth coated in blood at your cry. Your body curled inwards, legs involuntarily spreading at the soft caress of his tongue. He could see the indent of his teeth. Ridged and deep and a bruising grip of starvation that would stick for days.

“Let me,” he muttered. “I need to.”

You gasped, eyes wrenching open to see his gaze latched onto the slick that coated your thighs with a sticky cream that made his mouth water. Nodding frantically, you felt the pull of his very essence drag you in. Molding you to take whatever form he craved. You were the clay he dipped his fingers into, the water he used to shape your body around his.

The hot slide of his tongue through your folds caused your knees to buckle—body leaning against the table with a heady wet sob of his name. He moaned into you, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers dug into your thighs—spreading you wide enough to encompass the width of his shoulders. Pleasure stung each nerve, slicing down your spine with a desperation that had your hips grinding down along his open mouth.

An insatiable need for more grasping onto the reigns of sense and reason.

“F-Fuck,” you moaned, unashamedly dragging your cunt across his wet and waiting mouth.

A cracked groan was all he offered in return. His lips sealing around your pulsing clit hard enough for your back to arch—nails digging into his scalp hard enough to rip out the soft curls you gripped. Spit smeared along your thighs, your slick pouring along the length of his throat. You wanted to lick it off, to push it back into his plush mouth and taste it off his tongue. Another harsh suck dragged a sharp cry of his name past your parted lips.

“Fuck I’m gonna–” Your eyes rolled back as he pressed a thick finger past your entrance, the pad of it curling along the tight grip of your walls. “Baby please.”

The shudder that ran down his spine at the ragged wailing plea nearly threw you over the edge. Brown eyes glazed with an unhinged fervor of a man starved met your half lidded ones. His gaze pierced right through your psyche—reading your thoughts as if they were tangible enough to flip through. And you let him.

You gave into the darkened glint that beckoned you towards bliss.

Another finger fit snugly beside his first, pressing up against the spongy patch you could barely reach on your own. Your mouth dropped open, a panting echo of his name spilling out into the air. It felt too much. A depth of sensations you’d never reached before. But you still held him close, fucking yourself against the mouth that promised you more—the tongue that traced your clit in letters forming a single three letter word.

Din.

The scrape of his teeth sent you over with a muffled shout—your hand slapping over your mouth to keep yourself quiet. Having a professor barge in to see if anything was awry would be too much for either of you to handle. It would ruin your reputation—dragging him down right along with you. You knew the consequences, knew the forbidden nature of this tantalizing fruit. Yet you bit into it anyways.

Din buried himself in you, eyes sliding shut as you soaked his awaiting mouth that sucked at your entrance with a throaty moan. A sound that wrapped tight around your spine—gripping where he couldn’t reach.

“Can’t fucking get enough,” he grunted, rising to his full height—fingers curling around your throat gently. “You taste good.”

His pupils were blown wide, devouring molton brown with a feral hunger you felt settle in your own veins. He wanted to consume you. Bind your soul to his without a single thought about the consequences this relationship would incur. The university would frown on their favorite professor entertaining the young new staff member who would happily fall to their knees for him.

The pink swipe of your tongue caught his attention, his eyes zeroing in on the wet slide of saliva you left behind. Gripping you tighter, he pulled you close with a rough groan—lips catching yours in a blistering kiss. It didn’t build slowly, unraveling months of tension, moments of unfathomable longing you could barely handle on your own. It scorched you to your very core. Laying waste to the stability you clung to, the sanity you relied on.

“I need you,” the words spilled into his open mouth—digging deep enough to rattle his bones. “Inside. I-I need–”

He shushed you gently, licking hotly along your bottom lip—his hands dropping to the brown leather belt you eyed earlier. The clink of the buckle destroyed you, a needy whine crawling up and out of your throat. This was your damning moment, the path split down the center and building something new. Smiling into the kiss, he shucked his pants down—cock straining against the boxers sporting a wet patch of precum.

“Up,” he demanded, tapping your thigh.

You clambered onto the table with his hands on your hips—legs spreading to accommodate his size. Pleading words lay on the tip of your tongue, but his mouth was quick to silence them. A kiss of reverence stole your breath while he freed himself with a gasp—pumping his leaking cock and sliding through your dripping folds. Coating his length with what already stained his chin.

With eyes closed and fingers lost in his curls, you gave yourself over to the sensory deprivation of the situation. Your hips canted up, clit catching on the prominent vein that throbbed with need. He pushed a moan along the back of your teeth, stretching your walls slow enough to draw you to the edge of madness.

“There’s no part of me–” The words were carried with a sharp breath and teeth scraping your ear. “That isn’t yours.”

Your walls fluttered at his words—in utter ruin from the sound of his soft rasp echoing sweetly in your ear. The pomegranate seeds lay delicately on your tongue, enticing you to close your jaws around their tart flavor. A permanent agreement of devotion stuck at the back of your throat as he pummeled into your cunt with broken grunts and soft moans. You swallowed them without a second thought, clinging to his back and muffling what sounds he drew out into his neck.

The thrust of him plunging into you felt exquisite. Each one sharp and hungry. He was a man uninhibited by the doubts that swirled in your mind. Possessed by need, held captive by your scent—your taste that still plagued his senses. You were inside his bones. A spell bound into the tendons and ligaments of his broad body to keep him tied to you permanently.

Forever bound by far more than you could comprehend at this moment.

“Yours,” you whimpered, feeling a tight grip on the back of your neck pull your head back slightly—lips finding yours as he pounded up into you. “‘S all yours Din. I’m yours.”

The muffled moan he pressed into your mouth echoed in your own chest. It said all that would go unsaid for now. The emotions you kept hidden in the casket of your heart, ready to die with them before revealing how much you longed for him. All the innocent glances, lingering touches, each time he showed up in your office for lunch or simply to walk you home.

You thought you buried it.

Never to be revived.

Until he poured himself into your lungs without mercy—consumed you with a smile coated in the thick shine of your release. He destroyed himself at your altar, pledged himself on his knees. Your lover, the other half of your misshapen heart.

“You want to cum?” he growled, grinding into you hard enough to have white flashing behind your tightly shut eyes. “Can feel you soaking me baby.”

Fighting for a lungful of air, you dared to meet his burning gaze. “Uh-huh.”

A smile curled along swollen and bruised lips. “She’s begging for it. My pretty girl’s all wet for me.”

Through the bliss you could hear it, the push and pull of his body against yours, his cock coated in your slick. It echoed loud enough to make your ears burn—your skin already hot to the touch as he dug his fingers wherever he could reach. You were dripping for him, making a mess on his slacks that would later stain, but he didn’t care. That was the last thing on his mind when he had you in his arms, mewling into his ear with pleading words of more.

The words were drowned out by the echo of skin against skin—a soft breath that punctured his chest. “I-I want to.” 

“I know,” he cooed, thumb digging into your bottom lip. “C’mon then baby. Soak me yeah? Give me a mess to clean up.”

Your mouth dropped, eyes rolling back into the mind he emptied with each punch to your walls—rubbing against heaven. Eventually in your life you knew you would break. Shatter like glass against concrete, but this felt as if every bone was fractured. Every nerve cauterized and muscle torn to shreds. You were left to float along the River Styx, the soul he stripped from your body now held in his grasp—kept as a memory of his emotions.

Sobbing a splintered version of his name, you trembled in his hold, his cock ramming into you with harsh bitten out grunts he muffled into the crook of your neck. Your walls clamped down, a splatter of your release coating the sticky skin of your inner thighs. He cried out as if you burned right down to his core—his fingers a bruising hold on your hips, teeth hooking into the tender flesh of your shoulder.

“Fuck,” he gasped, spilling into you with a rumbling noise that sprouted from his chest.

“I didn’t–” Fighting the haze in your severed mind you felt his hand slide along your stomach, dropping low enough to slide through the mixture of your cum. “I’ve never…”

The audible echo of him sucking his fingers into his mouth with a moan cut off anything else you planned to say. Whatever explanation you hoped to conjure in a mind still coming back down vanished at the sight of him feasting on the mess he longed for. An offering of more to come now cooling on your shaky thighs.

“Delicious,” he murmured, scooping more and spreading it along the twitching clit still begging for attention. You gasped as he brought it to your tongue, letting you suckle it off with a whine. “I’ll never get enough of you.”

Catching his gaze through your lashes, you let his fingers slip from the hot cavern of your mouth—the taste of him a craving you needed again. “In a bed next time.”

His cock stirred, large hands grasping your hips. “Next time huh?”

“I could be persuaded.”

Lips sought yours with a throaty call of your name. You dragged him closer—pressing your knees into his sides—and he came willingly. As if the tie that held you together knotted tighter the longer you basked in each other’s silent promises of more. Whether or not it would last was of no concern to you. His touch was gentle along your skin, tongue hot and coveted tangled with yours.

“Let me persuade you,” he breathed.

Catching his bottom lip with your teeth, you curled an arm around his neck. “You already have.”

“Interesting.” His grin felt electric against your cheek, a piece of him come back to life with the prospect of more. “I must have a gift.”

“Mm yes.” You met his smile with one of your own. “Your tongue is a skillful asset.”

“Just my tongue?”

“Well…”

Laughter shouldn’t have stolen your breath the way his did—deep and filled with a rasp you felt rocket down your spine. “Tonight?”

Suddenly what should have been a one off moment of sporadic lust grew to be much more. You knew coming here would result in something neither of you could take back. A vow unspoken between two people who shouldn’t want more, yet were unable to ask for anything less. He was tied to you from that first day—a brief greeting between two passing ships. It was only a matter of time until eventually…you collided.

“I’d really like that,” you admitted, sealing your fate in hot wax carved with his initials.

He kissed you slowly, drinking down the soft breathy moan that clawed up your throat—a future clasped between hearts that finally beat in tune. “I would too.”

[someone1348]

First TADC fic!

It is absolutely freezing where I am, so I'm writing this while under my covers trying to block out the cold! Haha!

Anyway!

The people in this: Ler!Ragatha, Lee!Jax

Tw: Mentions of a funeral, indications of curse words, This is also a tickle fic, as are all my fics, if you don't like it then please don't read and keep scrolling, thank you! All the love! :]

I hope you all enjoy! <3

-K :]

____________~☆°♡°☆°♡°☆~______________

Not funny, Bunny!

After their adventure in the candy canyon kingdom, the crew walked back through the fractal noise and into the circus. As they have done day in and day out every waking minute since they arrived. After Caines greeting and Kaufmos funeral, everyone went their separate ways for the night.

Jax was already gone before the funeral started. For reasons he refuses to state openly, he never attended those. The only one he ever went to was Queenies to support Kinger. After that, he never went to another one. That's besides the point. The purple rabbit was in his room skimming through a comic he's read about a million times now. He was trying to do anything to stimulate his mind while he waited for the funeral to end.

After some time, they finished their ceremony, and it didn't take long before the redheaded ragdoll came knocking on his door.

"Jax?!" Three knocks in a row "I know you're in there! We gotta talk!" The rabbit let out an exaggerated sigh rolling over in his bed to get up, unlocking the door as he opened it looking down at her. "What?" He raised an eyebrow as Ragatha crossed her arms, looking up at him with her typical mad face.

"Are you gonna let me in? We have to talk" Jax rolled his eyes and moved aside to let her in. The door shut behind them gently as he sighed "listen if this is about the funeral, you know I don't go to those anymore" she shook her head no as they sat together on his bed.

"No...this is about what happened during today's adventure..." she continued, not once looking away from him "not only did you push my buttons again, you could've seriously hurt pomni! I heard that you blackmailed Gangle to ram them, and that stunt you pulled with the key!-"

Jax snickered at that "What?! I granted him freedom, I did a good deed. You should be proud of me licorice hair!"

"Jax!" She held her hair again out of instinct which only caused the bunny to laugh more.

"Haha! You're so easy to tease! It's fun!" He smirked as Ragatha exhaled in a huff. He drove her so insane she's surprised she hadn't abstracted yet because of it.

"I need you to tone it down a little...pomni already had a really rough first day yesterday and I don't want her to keep-"

The purple character cut her off with a groan "why are you so obsessed with this?! You seriously want the newbie to like you that much, you really are a hopeless people pleaser"

Ragatha gave him the blank, annoyed, stare again. "I- look! I just want her to have a good time while she's adjusting! Her first day was awful, and I don't want that to be her only experience here. If she's stuck here for life like the rest of us, I at least want to make sure she's comfortable!" She exhaled "It took us all a long time to adjust, but no one had to deal with an abstraction on the first day! That's a lot for anyone. Poor thing is probably traumatized, and I just... I want to help...so please, for my sake, just ease up a bit on her for a few days while she settles in"

Jax gave her a 'tsk' and rolled his eyes "whatever...I'll still do what I want, but I'll make sure it's fully directed at you now. Happy?"

Ragatha took a deep breath and looked away "Alright. Thank you." Jax hummed "You're welcome, Licorice Hair" she rolled her eyes again looking back at him. "You're not funny, bunny"

"I think I'm hilarious!" Jax said with some laughter in his voice. Ragatha smiled getting an idea. "I think you need an attitude adjustment"

Jax gave her a face. That the red head laughed at gently. "Seriously you've been a pain, someone's gotta teach you a lesson"

Jax smirked "I'm soooo scared" he layed back nonchalantly, throwing his arms up and behind his head without a care in the world. "Are we done here?" He said closing his eyes "your looming presence is ruining my nap"

Ragatha smirked at this seeing her opportunity. "Not quite~" she moved her ragdoll hands under Jaxs arms. It didn't take long for Jax's eyes to snap open and his arms came right down.

"HEY! no!-" He stuttered and rolled around, trying to get away. "Rahagatha!" He tried to keep his laughter in, but it didn't last long.

The older one hummed and acted like nothing was happening "Hmm? What's going on Jax, why are you laughing? That's not like you, is there some secret prank going on that I don't know of? Or did you just think of something funny?" She wiggled her fingers further into his underarms as he laughed harder thrashing around a bit.

"RaHaHAHAGaTHA! YOHOU B!&$%CH- HAHahaha!" He tried to curse through his laughter but we all know that's not allowed in the circus.

"Oh Jaxy, this isn't even your worst spot, what's going on buddy? Are we just extra ticklish today? Maybe this is why you've been acting up! You needed my help, you could've just asked! Silly rabbit!" She teased as she moved to tickle his sides and ribs, finally getting her fingers away from his underarms.

Embarrassed, his cheeks turned a little darker shade of purple. Squeaking gently as she switched spots. His kicks got greater as he tried to escape, but they both knew that he wasn't actually trying.

"YOhohou Don't know wHaHAHA-" he threw his head back laughing. "You don't know what your tahahalking abohohohout!!"

She hummed again "Mhm sure~" she continued gently squeezing around his stomach above his overalls. That caused another loud squeak from him. "Are you sure Caine didn't accidentally make you a squeaky rabbit toy when you got here?"

"SHUHhuhut UHUhup!" He groaned through his laughter "You! SUHU%$@CK!"

She smirked "You don't mean that~"

"YEhes I dOHO!"

"Oh really?~"

"YEhEhah!"

"Wanna say that one more time?"

"BiHIte Mehe!- nononono- RAGATHA!-"

She swiftly moved her fingers to the back of his tall rabbit ears, wiggling them against the base. Jax wheezed out in laughter.

"AHH HAHAHAHAHA!" He snorted as his leg kicked against the bed like a bunny does or a dog does when they get scratches behind the ears. It was unconscious, it just happened which made ragatha laugh along with him.

"That's adorable!"

"FUHU&%$#CK OHOHOHOFFF!! HAHAHAHA!" His face was the deepest shade of purple now. "RAHAHAHAGATHA"

"Whaaat?" She teased in a sing-song voice

"IHIHIT TIHIHICKLES-"

"That's the point!" She smiled at how happy he looked.

"PLEHEHEASE!!"

"Pleaseee? Hmm? please what! Use your words Jax" she smirked having fun with this.

"PLEHEHEASE STOHOHOP! I CAHAHAN'T-"

She smiled and rolled her eyes, stopping like he asked "There"

He panted, catching his breath.

"You're awful" He hissed as she smiled more

"I love you too, buddy"

He rolled his eyes but smiled when she turned around to leave. Once the door was shut, he exhaled, still smiling. Collecting himself, he went over to his desk and lit a candle for Kaufmo. He was gonna miss that clown.

"Thanks Ragdoll..." he spoke under his breath.

"You're welcome!" She said through the door

"YOU HEARD NOTHING!" Damnit!

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

I hope you guys enjoyed! <3

[srslylini]

god thank you all before me cause I also saw this post and was way too tired to argue against this.

I am not even trying to be mean (but I will be) when I say that OPs point makes me seething mad. It's absolutely ridiculously dumb and fucking embarrassing as a take in itself.

No one, and yes I absolutely mean no one, wants anyone to continue to be sick. The sad truth however is, that healing as good like this from something what Jinx went through either doesn't take place in a way that would ever revert her back to calm Jinx (what the fuck. especially not in the way OP seems to fucking think, lol) or if it is, it's nothing like how the idiotic writing of season 2 showed it.

Everyone wants people to get better, but getting better is not *snap* better, or sad little kid *snap* better. No, no people are mad and are rightfully calling this out because healing does not work like this, at all. This may sound very harsh now but at times there is no healing beyond a point and the acceptance of that is already healing in itself. There are things we can't ever heal over just understand it, learn to live with it and its consequences and go on the best we fucking can. Jinx is at this point. There are things we can't ever come back from, not the way we were. That's actually, weird as it sounds, part of healing.

Anyways I have always hated this take specifically because it takes right and good takes and turns them on the persons head to make them seem fucking crazy. You are absolutely disgusting for doing so, even if you did so unintentionally. I don't even want you to know what I would say if I found out you intentionally did this, lol. I have seen dumb takes like this all over every fandom. When people rightfully called out the absolutely awful writing of Percy Jacksons Gabe in the new TV show people wrote "why do you want Percy to be abused" and I'm going to be so serious now.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

Just as no one wants Jinx to forever suffer, people who called this out never wanted Percy to be fucking abused. It's not about *want* but about authentic writing. Gabe was nasty abusive in the books. To take this away is taking away representation and discussion that is needed. No one wants the kid to be fucking abused, everyone who said this needs their heads cleaned the fuck out. Jinx was mentally ill, heavily mentally ill. To take this away in season 2 with a snap of a finger took away representation and discussion that is needed AND the reality of how this works. No one wants Jinx to never fucking get better.

Fuck.

are people seriously mad Jinx got better as the show went on? Like really? You would have been happier if she continued to be tortured in that way her whole life? Yall do realize she’s ill right? Idk i don’t get that but I like the character so 🤷🏻

[almacambiondaughterofsaleos]

Despite Both Being Toxic Figures, I Am More Worried About Those Who Relate To Stolas Than Bojack

The reason I worry more about Stolas' fans relating to him is because of the fact he's more openly soft and effeminate than Bojack thus people underestimate him as a predatory scumbag and don't think he's as bad. While Bojack shows he has a vulnerable side, he fits more of a traditional masculine build where people will call him out more for it in comparison with Stolas where people will say bs that a "bottom" like him can't be abusive or a pos. But as Ricky and Morty stated:

And that's why I really am concerned to people who look up to Stolas because it could enable a lot of toxic traits found in them. While Bojack is someone who meant to be written as such, Stolas is an unintentionally written toxic predator because his writers don't perceive him as that and endorse his more abusive traits. Unlike in Bojack where the lessons are he has to take responsibility and not rely on his past to justify or excuse his behavior, the narrative does that for Stolas from making his wife abusive to avoid taking him to task for cheating on her to now having Octavia being mad at him taking meds so that it makes her look like a prick for choosing to cut ties with him. Also notable in his relationship with Blitzo despite making a grand gesture out of tring to win his love he still thinks he's entitled to a relationship and is ignorant about how bigoted he is towards his kind and his social status. Frankly, where he is now with Blitzo he's already shown he's leaching onto his kindness and taking him for granted but is not called out by the narrative or fanbase.

I do think another thing that really worries me about the harm that Stolas fans could find in relating in him is the victim complex narrative. I am saying that the Stolas narrative of him being a victim of abuse is used to justify his own abuse towards Blitzo and neglect towards his daughter. This is in contrast with Bojack that never lets him off the hook for being abusive towards other people just because he himself had a hard life. Having an excuse of being abused doesn't absolve you are hurting others and it hurts even more when the narrative tries to "both side" or "treat the other party as wrong" when someone points it out. The guy only pities himself but never is made to reflect on his actions and have empathy for the people around him. The narrative expects him not to really have long lasting conseuences to his shittty behavior like Bojack but instead eventually get rewarded for it like the entitled pos he is. The gives the message that as long as you can cry about how you are the victim you can get what you want and not have face the fact you brought this on yourself.

With Bojack there is an encouragement to change, while Stolas there is a message stay shitty self while everyone around accommodates you. Stolas isn't encouraged at all to stop treating people like crap just because of the issues that Goetia life foisted on him but instead have everyone else do the heavy lifting. The show has an idea of Stolas being wrong, but doesn't go through with it because of his creator's pet status. They treat his shittiness like it's a quirk little aspect rather than how it should make him justifiably hated by others. They treat him like he's has the worst life out of all the characters while not being sympathetic to anyone else's circumstances but his. He is essentially what the show condemns Bojack for doing, but is going to continue to be rewarded because it's deluded he's just some sad boy whose only crime he loves too much.

[alittledizzy]

I’m going to kill him and then myself I can’t lose you to snf too 😭

You’re not losing me to anything anon, I’m not the type of person who’s going to stop being a fan because a content creator did something I didn’t like once. I’m just not into false positivity or pretending that I do like something when I don’t.

Honestly, at this point, I’m more dismayed to see how many people think it’s genuinely something you can “reclaim” just because you’re neurodivergent. that’s like saying your parent abused to you so you get to abuse your kid – calling someone else a slur isn’t reclaiming anything it’s just passing trauma on to someone else that was inflicted on you.

And let’s be real, dream was not trying to make a point on reclaiming slurs. He was mad and he wanted to post to gotcha on Tommy. I’m sure he did know it would make people mad, but he did it because /he/ was mad. It’s shitty rage bait if it upsets your actual fans as well as your haters. It’s shitty rage bait if your fans end up in the line of fire, just as much as you. It’s also shitty rage bait if it puts you on or below the level of the person you’re trying to make mad. Tommy gets to take the high road now and do you know how infuriating that is? dream can say he did this for rage bait all he wants but he did Tommy a massive favor. No one but dream looks stupid in the situation. he used a slur and then deleted it.

Anyway I’m not gonna lose sleep over it but it does make me a little sadder about the world in general. Feels yucky to be in a fandom where people are so happy about something like that.

But Dan and Phil (and huge parts of their fandom) have done plenty of things in the past that I felt yucky about and I’m still in that fandom. So again, don’t take that to mean I’m going anywhere. I’m just not that type of reactionary person who is going to impulsively leave any situation over something like this.

[eggcats]

I feel like everyone should have clocked my autism way sooner, because every time I see a video of the employees at the Jellycat Diner doing their stuffed food spiel for kids, pretending to cook it and everything, I just KNOW my 6yr old ass would have found it dumb as hell. I'd have been like, "You didn't cook that? Or make it? I'm not stupid I can SEE that stuffed hotdog already has the ketchup and mustard on it, do you think I'm an idiot don't talk down to me."

I would have fucking HATED how condescending it felt, 1000%. Like, if my aunt (the only relative I know who would have thought that'd be a good experience for me, my mom knew better) took me there as a child, I - 1000% - would have had to fake my entertainment and excitement, and would have, even at like 6. I'd just have gotten home and told my mom it was stupid.

And no, I'm not misremembering being a child, this is how I was. One time my parents, when I was younger than like 4, took me to a place with an animatronic T-Rex and my child ass threw a fit until we got home because I thought it was real, that they made a real mother T-Rex with a nest full of eggs and then only separated her with a flimsy rope. And I, as an extremely young child, IMMEDIATELY clocked that at some point Miss Mama Rex would get mad and kill everyone there, and so it was MY responsibility to get my parents out of there - not just out of the room, the building entirely. AND I DIDN'T TELL EITHER OF MY PARENTS THIS BECAUSE I ALSO KNEW THAT IF THEY KNEW THE REASON I WANTED TO LEAVE - AS OPPOSED TO BEING A BRATTY AND DIFFICULT CHILD - THEY'D HAVE DISMISSED MY CONCERNS AND STAYED.

My mom didn't find out about this until I was like, 15 and my dad happened to mention that trip and I was like, wait, that wasn't a dream? And my mom was like oh my god it didn't occur to me you'd think it was real and THEN think you'd be in danger because it was real, holy shit if only I told you it was an animatronic.

Because, yes, a normal child might have thought "wow cool real dinosaur!" I guess, but ME, I thought "NESTING MOTHER IS GOING TO WANT TO PROTECT HER EGGS WE'RE IN DANGER MUST LEAVE ASAP." Also, if you were wondering, I DID immediately assume everyone else in that building would die, I'd already written them off as goners I just wasn't gonna let me and my parents be among them.

My mom also would sometimes buy me MoonPies as a treat, and me, being extremely young, thought they came from the moon. Now, I wasn't an IDIOT, I KNEW my mom didn't go to the moon - obviously she bought them from someone who DID. But I knew my mom and I didn't have a lot of money, and was confused at her apparently spending a lot of money to purchase these treats, because I knew they had to cost a lot, buying them from someone who got them from the moon.

I also didn't tell my mom this because I liked them and didn't want to alert her to her frivolous spending when we were dirt poor, lmao.

So yeah. Maybe I was a bit of an autistic child. And seeing people be like "omg I'd have LOVED this as a child!" At videos like from the Jellycat Diner I'm like. Ah. Well. I should have been diagnosed very young, I believe, because I cannot relate.

[darkbluekies]

Hello!! Can I ask some tips how to writee??? I love your writing <3

Oh you shouldn't have asked this because i will write an essay.

This is more for books rather than oneshots, but i feel like you can use this for oneshots too!

I'm not going to be one of those that say "you should read tons of books and plan every scene of your story on post it notes and put them on your wall" because that doesn't work for everyone. Not for me, anyway.

For me, what works is to have a "feeling" before I start. I get a feeling before I get the idea. I often get these feelings from watching movies or such, just the motivation/inspiration feeling. I don't know everything before starting to write. I have an idea of what I want the story to be about, and the rest will fall into place once I start to write.

Your first draft can be shit, it's okay. I have started a thing called Draft 0, that is supposed to just create a template that I can expand in the real draft, just so that I have something to follow. That makes it much, much easier to write a longer story. This draft 0 is 20 000 words for me. Not more, not less. You can choose how many words you'd like, but 20 000 is good for me, especially when i want my real drafts to be around 80 000. Chapter 0 should just have the important parts that get the story moving. Not any filler scenes or such. Just the functionality of the story. The rest, you'll figure out in the later drafts.

As for the actual text and paragraphs, I usually use synonyms websites to get a variety of words, because it isn't really flowy to use the same word over and over again. Switching up the length of the sentences really do work wonders too, alternating between longer and shorter ones. I am also a fan of show don't tell, because it lets the reader understand what the character is feeling rather than telling them directly what a character is feeling.

CHARACTERS

This is the more aestethic part, i guess? the vibes and the feels.

Characters are my favorite thing to create. I often don't plan them when I write, they tell me who they are throughout the story. I only put a few characteristics for them. If we take one of my characters from my favorite book I have, he was just labeled as a "cold boy that only shows his true side with his best friend" in draft 1. Now, in draft 4, he is more "stoic boy that doesn't want anyone to pity him, but feels secure enough with his best friend to show his vulnerable side and doesn't get mad at his best friend when he wants to help him, because he knows that he means well." So you don't have to know your characters from the start. That will solve itself once you write and get to know them.

I know that a few writers jump back and forth in the story when they're writing, leaving scenes blank with the thought that they'll come back and write them later. Personally, I find that harder. Because if you have written something that affects the character later on in the story and then suddenly jump back to a point before that happened, it feels hard to write that now that you have newfound knowledge about the character.

Don't be scared to give your character bad sides and flaws. It makes them more human and believable. I have multiple characters that do things I don't agree with, while still doing good things. It makes them more rounded, in my opinions.

I also love making these for my characters to see how they are, to see their sides come together? if that makes sense? It gives me a feel of what kind of people they are.

PINTEREST

Pinterest is my best friend, I am not joking. I make pinterest board for every single story I make, just so that I can get a feel of the story, how it'd look like, how it'd feel like. I'll show you some of my stories here. I know that there are a lot, i just wanted to show that you can make your storys vibe different, even if you have a lot. Some of these remind me of each other (I call them sibling books) but they are still their own because of the vibes ive given them!

same with spotify. I make playlist with songs that I listen to while writing these stories. That help with getting into that vibe when writing, which is good to keep the same vibes throughout the story! I also give every book a theme song that fits with the book, i don't know why haha it's just fun for me

the most important thing to remember is, how corny it may sound, is to have fun while writing! if it isn't fun, leave that idea and come back to it once you find motivation for it!

[2hot4urgf]

𝒮cumbag kny men headcannons

Featuring : giyuu, sanemi, muzak, obanai

A/n : first post! (๑°ㅁ°๑)‼

Sanemi Shinazugawa

Sanemi thrives on chaos. He’s the type to start an argument out of nowhere just to see you upset, then walk away mid-conversation like your feelings don’t matter. If you follow him, he’ll hit you with, “Stop being so needy. I can’t deal with you right now.”

He intentionally makes you feel like you’re not enough. Compliments are rare, but criticism? Constant. “You’d look better if you lost a little weight” or “That outfit’s not doing you any favors.” He chips away at your confidence until you’re relying on him for validation.

He’ll flirt with other girls in front of you, not because he’s interested, but because he loves watching you squirm. When you finally call him out, he laughs and says, “Relax, it’s not like I’m cheating. You’re so insecure it’s pathetic.”

His jealousy is suffocating. He checks your phone when you’re not looking, questions every male friend you have, and accuses you of cheating over the smallest things. Yet he sees no issue with his own sketchy behavior.

When he messes up, he never fully apologizes. Instead, he’ll shift the blame onto you: “I wouldn’t have said that if you didn’t push me,” or “Maybe if you weren’t so annoying, I wouldn’t have to act this way.” It’s always your fault in his eyes.

---

Giyuu Tomioka

Giyuu is emotionally unavailable to the point where it feels like you’re dating a wall. You’ll pour your heart out, hoping for some kind of response, and all you’ll get is a blank stare or a dismissive “I’ll think about it.”

He keeps you in a constant state of uncertainty. One day, he’s soft and caring, holding your hand like he’s afraid to lose you. The next, he’s cold and distant, treating you like a stranger. You’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Cancelling plans is a habit for him, but what makes it worse is the way he doesn’t even try to make it up to you. “Something came up” is all he’ll say, leaving you alone and wondering if you’re even a priority.

He has a way of making you feel like you’re overreacting. If you try to confront him about his behavior, he’ll sigh and say, “Why do you always make things so complicated?” as if your hurt feelings are an inconvenience to him.

When things get tough, he doesn’t fight for the relationship. Instead, he’ll pull away, making you feel like it’s your job to fix everything. And if you can’t? He’ll quietly let the relationship crumble, acting like he was never part of the problem.

---

Muzan Kibutsuji

Muzan doesn’t see you as a person; he sees you as property. He controls every aspect of your life—what you wear, who you talk to, even where you go. If you push back, he smirks and says, “I’m just looking out for you. You’d be lost without me.”

He manipulates you into thinking you’re the problem. If you catch him in a lie, he won’t deny it outright. Instead, he’ll twist the situation to make you feel guilty for even questioning him. “I only lied because I knew you’d overreact.”

He disappears for days without a word, leaving you anxious and overthinking. When he finally shows up, he acts like nothing happened, dismissing your concerns with a cold, “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

His flirtations with other people are deliberate. He enjoys making you jealous, loves seeing the insecurity in your eyes. If you confront him, he’ll scoff and say, “They mean nothing to me. You’re the one making it a big deal.”

When he knows he’s pushed you too far, he’ll reel you back in with over-the-top gestures: expensive gifts, romantic dinners, whispered promises of change. But it’s all a facade to keep you trapped in his cycle of manipulation.

---

Obanai Iguro

Obanai is sneaky to the core. He hides things from you, deletes messages, and keeps his phone locked at all times. If you ask why, he’ll act offended, snapping, “Why don’t you trust me? You’re always looking for something to be mad about.”

He tears down your self-esteem with backhanded compliments. “You’re pretty, but you’d be stunning if you fixed your hair” or “I love you, even if you’re not perfect.” His words stay with you, eating away at your confidence.

He’s incredibly possessive. He doesn’t just dislike you hanging out with other people—he actively sabotages it. He’ll pick fights before you leave or guilt-trip you into staying home. “I just don’t understand why you’d rather be with them than me.”

When he’s upset, he doesn’t tell you what’s wrong. Instead, he sulks and makes passive-aggressive remarks until you’re begging him to talk. And when he finally does, it’s all about how you made him feel this way.

He uses his insecurities to manipulate you. “I know I’m not good enough for you, but I’m trying my best.” It’s designed to make you feel guilty for even considering leaving, even though he’s the one who’s toxic.

[rocketbaby]

What are your hcs for Izuku, Katsuki, Shoto, and Iida with super sociable S/Os?

Izuku

He's a sweetheart and he's just as sociable as you are. He loves your personality so so much you're such a precious thing

You have such a bubbly personality which makes it easier for him to love you

He loves taking you out on dates, especially going to eat dinner at fancy restaurants

You're definitely a yapper but he loves it,he is one too but honestly not as much as you

He loves listening to whatever you have to say and he always has to blush at the silliest things you are talking about

He enjoys being out with you in public,you're just so friendly with others and it melts his heart when he sees you socializing and especially when you're socializing so much with him,he adores you

He is very glad that you have respect for other people and treat them so nicely it's just sweet seeing you fit in w others

Just know this man loves you wholeheartedly

Katsuki

Now when it comes to katsuki it's a bit complicated

He's not really as sociable,not wanting to talk to people as much unlike you..but he doesn't hate that about you. He's quite enjoying it ,he finds it somewhat sweet but he doesn't know why.. he wouldn't let you know it tho

He sometimes pretends to be annoyed at how outgoing and sociable you are just to trick you into staying with him inside to watch a movie or something

If you get really sociable and talkative with others he may get a bit annoyed,sure it's cute and all that but he often thinks why not talk to him instead? Why so friendly and sociable with others?

He tries to not bring it up though as he knows it wouldnt be normal to not let you communicate w others

He does try to make you spend more time w him though

He listens to you talking day and night honestly which makes him happy,he would rather you be super sociable and friendly with him rather than others

One time you woke him up while he was sleeping peacefully just to tell him about this cool dream you had. He was pissed at first but after he just sighed and listened to you finishing your dream

He loves you just know that, because if anyone else woke him up like that he might have burnt the place down

Shoto

Shoto is the opposite of you,he never really socializes with people outside of you and his classmates of course

At first he thought you were a bit weird,I mean who enjoys being so outgoing and friendly? Isn't it tiring?

But he got used to you after all and he started falling in love more and more with your personality

He doesn't talk a lot so you do the talking mostly,even when you're out on a date or if you're staying in to Netflix and chill

Sometimes he tries to copy you,he tries to be more sociable because he sees it in you

It doesn't always turn out well though,he tries to talk with others and start conversations because he's seen you doing it but he scares people off,poor boy

He's just embarrassing himself but he tries his best you can't be mad at him:(

Lida

Honestly he likes this about you,he likes how sociable you are. It makes him happy that you actually have interactions with other people and don't keep everything bottling up inside you

Sometimes he likes to watch you from afar and listen to your conversations,just to later lecture you on what you should and what you shouldn't say to people,he's a bit odd

You always talk his ear off when you're with him, always telling him about your day,and it's sweet really but he sometimes thinks you're going a bit far

Surely as I said he does enjoy this side of you but he also likes his alone and quiet time and he doesn't know how to approach this

He wants to tell you he really does but it feels so mean he can't bring himself to just tell you to stop talking,he doesn't want to upset you or make you think he doesn't want to listen to you at all

At one point he gets the courage to talk to you about it and man he gives you a long ass lecture,I don't even want to think about it tbh

It turns out well tho,you obviously understand his point and everything goes smoothly

He still enjoys when you're passionate about a certain subject and just yap to him about it