#and play it off as a good and normal thing

[pomrania]

I got Kingdom Hearts. My knowledge of it is limited to a) osmosis and b) this one fic I'd read which is from the perspective of some antagonists who aren't very popular among the fandom. BUT one of the things I know about Kingdom Hearts is that it's nigh-impossible to explain (or UNDERSTAND) its plotline, and apparently there's important plot beats in games which practically nobody has played and might not even be accessible any more.

Thus, this is a test of my ability to bullshit. Can I make up something plausible enough quickly enough that I don't get suspected? Because my only chance of success here is to claim that I'm explaining the Complicated Stuff, where the other person is likely to buy it (or at least not believe that it's incorrect) even if they're already a KH fan.

In my favour, there's the fact that I naturally speak quickly and jump between topics seemingly at random, so it's NORMAL for people to not be able to follow what I'm saying. So that wouldn't tip someone off if they already know me, AND it'll make it easier to hide any lapses or slips. In my... whatever's the opposite of "favour" in this context, there's the fact that I barely know the relevant vocabulary, and "whatsit" and "thinger" can only go so far before people start to suspect that you don't actually know the word at all, which is a problem when it's like, basic enemy types, or major story beats. And also I'm just plain not good at improv, I tend to either break off and stare off into space, or burst into giggles.

If you give me a few minutes to prepare (which I'd do by skimming the TV Tropes page), I'm like 80% that I could leave a casual KH fan (or someone who's really into just the gameplay aspect of it) thinking that I suck as a conversational partner, but not realize that I know frick-all about KH. If the other person's sole knowledge of Kingdom Hearts is that it's "a game, and I think Mickey is there", I could seem like an expert, no doubt about it, wouldn't even need to prepare (worst case scenario, I start describing something from that fic I'd read, but it's not like they know enough about Kingdom Hearts to say that that's NOT what happened in canon). If the other person has roughly the same level of knowledge as me, and I'm not allowed to prepare, the second-greatest risk (the FIRST-greatest is my aforementioned problems with improv) is if they ask me something because they're not sure about it, and my bullshitted answer happens to contradict one of the things they DO actually know from osmosis.

First off, spin this wheel.

You just landed on one of 200 fandoms that have been very popular somewhere on Tumblr over the years. Topics were chosen either from appearing on a @fandom end-of-year recap or from my own long (long, long) site memories before that.

also all of these fandoms are definitely things that really exist in the real world and none of them are Tumblr creations

[mixingandmelting]

Hey so how do you think the bat boys would deal with a reader who makes it very obvious they’re crushing on the batboys? For not serious situations, they’re sweeter and just more in a good mood whenever the boys are around? Blushes a lot around them and the boys don’t have to be talking directly to them? (Crush can talk to the bat boys normally if the situations serious). (Crush has normal conversations with others people. But goes around telling other super hero friends or just normal friends whenever the bat boys is brought up by other people, they think the bat boys are cute. And always hyping them up to their friends/and the batboy friends even when the batboys are there).

Dick:

He’s flattered really. Yes, unfortunately for everyone, he’s quite aware that he’s attractive but it’s not something he often pays attention to. With trying to protect the world and fighting crime 24/7, being attractive is the last of his priority. But when you gush about him- his abilities, ideals, skills, him as a person - he preens. Sure, he’ll get flustered when you go off on how great he is (and how cute which really takes him off guard) despite the fact he’s right there. And of course he covers himself with the good old classic of clearing his throat even though the corner of his lips won’t stop twitching and the blush on his face gets worse by the second. It’s adorable really. You’re so obvious from how you fan over him whenever he’s brought up in conversations and completely burning when it’s just the two of you and all he’s doing is standing next to you. He sometimes struggles to keep his intrusive thoughts to himself, to tease and see if you can possibly flush even more if he were to poke or “accidentally” brush against you. Though, he’s starting to think you’re doing it on purpose and trying to trip him up when you become completely normal when he’s talking about a mission only to go back on talking about how cute and amazing he is to the person next to you (extra kudos to you when you somehow successfully get the other become a fellow Nightwing stan). Still cute though.

Jason:

People often think he’s dense in the romantic field. From being dead to being back alive and being all rough and reckless, all the typical stuff. It’s truly unfortunate (not really) that that’s not the case and he knows you have a crush on him. Like seriously? It’s so obvious, he’s concerned if there are people who can’t tell that you have a crush on him. The problem is that he doesn’t know what warranted it. He knows he’s quite a shot. Perhaps not as much as Dick given his personality and dark humor, but he has charmed plenty of women with his looks. However, being a former crime lord to now a vigilante outlaw isn’t really all that  glorious or something that gets others to swoon over… So yeah, he doesn’t know why you would get all hyped up over him whenever he’s brought up in conversations. Whether he’s there or not, you would rave over him which gets him to do a double take and play with his helmet or muzzle, whichever one he chooses to wear, because suddenly he’s feeling a bit too hot and needs some air to cool his face. All he does is stand next to you and when it’s you and him alone, he sometimes worries how red you get. He won’t lie, seeing you smile more because he’s there makes his heart itch and grin a bit. Plus, he doesn’t mind as much as others would think since you know when to get back to normal and become serious when things are serious.

Tim:

Someone save him. Someone please save him. You have an obvious crush on him and he has no idea what to do. In fact, he didn’t think anyone would possibly develop a crush on him as big as yours. He’s Red Robin and the former third Robin not many people really take note of. Well other than he’s Batman’s former sidekick and also fights crimes like the rest of the Bat family. You, on the other hand, are making it your life mission to tell everyone how incredible he is. Doesn’t matter where, when, and if he’s right there or not. The minute he’s brought up, boom. You’re off describing him in every way possible. Amazing, intellectual. Also what do you mean he’s cute? Since when was he considered cute? A part of him is on to you, wanting to believe this is all a set-up. A prank set up by his friends or family. The other part, he can’t keep a calm facade around you, covering his face with one or both hands to hide the blush that goes down his face to the base of his neck. There’s also lots of fake coughing and clearing his throat involved. Lots, to cover the happy tingles he gets, registering there’s someone who acknowledges his efforts and  talents. It gets worse and he gets even more conscious when you’re matching his expression when the two of you are alone. He’s grateful that at least you’re back to normal when things are going down at least. 

Duke:

Okay. Wow. You have a crush on him and it’s painfully obvious. There’s a first time for everything and this? This is definitely a first. Forget about Tim and his whole deal with Red Robin, some of the villains in Gotham don't even know his name. That should be telling how low in the pyramid he is. Not that it matters to you apparently. He’s with you and his group of friends and he can hear all the things you say about him given he’s right there. And it doesn’t stop you from fawning over his powers, his fighting and detective abilities, and- uhm ok. Good to know you’re into his looks. He lost track how many times this happened. He does remember by the end, he’s rubbing his face and resigning to sigh through his nose in lieu of groaning out loud. You describe him as if he’s the world’s finest. He can feel the heat radiating off his whole head and body so he has a pretty good idea how he looks. It’s better when he’s alone with you. Your face is burning and he does everything to make the vibe less awkward. It doesn’t work and he makes it more awkward as his mind and your face now resembling a tomato reminds him you have a crush on him. He does wonder how in the world you’re able to snap back to normal so quickly when he’s going through heavy material with you. All fan-vibe gone, you’re listening and giving input which are often good points and covers any areas that were missed. 

Damian:

He doesn’t understand your behavior. One moment you’re fine, societal “normal” according to what those around him taught him. You’re casually chatting, making jokes, and expressing emotions like anyone else. On another, you’d suddenly be jumping around and praising him all over the place the second someone drops his name. Disregarding how he stands literally behind you and his cheeks completely pink, gradually turning to red, he thinks of you being just as embarrassing when Dick or someone else in the family brags about him. His skills with the katana, compassion for animals- he can somewhat tolerate that. He completely disagrees over him being hot-cold. He is not hot-cold. His personality also does not resemble a cat. Also how is he cute? He’s far from the word cute, period. Then there’s when you’re alone with him. Face completely rosy and dusted in pink. Every single time without fail, it’s only you and him. All he’s doing is standing next to you and instead of being either normal or chaotic, you’re suddenly blushing. He had entertained the idea of you having interest in him. Until he brings up a new case to you. It’s concerning how you go back to being normal and, surprisingly, making plausible conclusions that help him find a new lead. So despite what everyone around tells him that you have a crush on him, he’s having a hard time seeing it. You are sweeter when he’s around but he feels as though having a crush doesn’t associate with split personalities.

[pretty-sparkle-bomb]

I just read your post about reader being a total badass when another girl is trying to take her man, can we get a reverse one? Where reader is being flirted with?

Seriously it was so good!

In which, the MHA boys react to the reader being flirted with.

Characters included: Dabi (Touya Todoroki), Shoto Todoroki, Katsuki Bakugo, Eijiro Kirishima, Denki Kaminari, Tomura Shigaraki, Izuku Midoriya, Hitoshi Shinso, Hanta Sero.

Dabi (Touya Todoroki)

The bar was packed, the air thick with smoke and whiskey. You were leaning against the counter in a black minidress, waiting for your drink, when some random guy slid up beside you.

"Hey, sweetheart," he smirked. "What’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I have a boyfriend, fuck off.”

“That’s what they all say. Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?” he continued with a sly grin, placing a hand on top of yours.

You didn’t even get a chance to respond before a strong, scarred arm looped around your waist, pulling you back against a solid chest.

Dabi.

His voice was low. "Alone?" He chuckled, resting his chin on your shoulder. "That’s cute."

The guy hesitated, realizing who you were. Everyone knew that Dabi was the most wanted S-class villain. His amber eyes flicking between you and Dabi. "I didn’t realize—"

"Yeah, you didn’t." Dabi tilted his head, blue flames sparking at his fingertips. "Start running."

The guy? Gone in seconds.

Dabi kissed your neck, chuckling. "I love scaring off idiots. You’re fun bait, doll."

Katsuki Bakugo

It was a normal day at the gym—until some dumbass decided today was the day to test Bakugo’s patience.

You were warming up, minding your business, when some cocky asshole strolled up. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall next to you, clearly checking you out.

"Wow," he whistled, looking you up and down. "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven? Because damn, you’re—"

Before he could finish, a handful of explosions went off beside him, making him stumble back with a yell.

Katsuki stood there, arms crossed, eyes blazing with fury.

"The hell you just say to my girl, dickwad?" His eyes were narrowed, boring holes into the other guy’s soul. Wow, Katsuki sure was hot when he was so protective over you.

“Woah there man—” The guy backed away slowly, turning around and speedwalking out of the area.

Katsuki grabbed your wrist, pulling you close. "Ya good, dollface? He touch you?”

You smirked. "Jealous much?"

"Shut up," he grumbled, but his grip on you didn’t loosen.

Shoto Todoroki

It was a simple coffee run, or at least it was supposed to be. Shoto was at the counter, waiting for both of your orders while you sat in one of the booths, scrolling mindlessly on your phone.

Without warning, some smooth-talking guy slid into the seat beside you. "Hey," he smiled, "Mind if I join you?"

Before you could answer, two cups of coffee were placed before you. “I mind.”

You tilted your chin up to meet Shoto’s mismatched eyes. "You’re flirting with my girlfriend." His tone was calm but you could tell that he was annoyed. The air around you had become cold, something that happened whenever someone managed to push your boyfriend’s buttons.

The guy blinked. "Uh—"

Shoto didn't even look at him. He slid into the seat next to you. Interlocking your fingers. "I don’t share," he murmured.

The guy practically tripped over himself leaving.

“Sho.” You giggled, looking at him.

Shoto sipped his coffee like nothing happened. "Yes, love?”

Hanta Sero

The two of you were at an arcade, laughing as you played games together, until some guy decided to interrupt. He was tall, decked in all black and had a flirtatious smile.

"Hey," he grinned, stepping between you and Hanta. "I’ve been watching you for a while… maybe I could get your number?”

Hanta stood infront of you, blocking you from the other guy’s sight.

"Oh, for sure," he said with a sly grin, right before launching a strand of tape at the guy. Who barely had time to react before he was yanked backward, stuck against the wall, arms pinned to his sides. “What the heck man?”

Hanta wrapped an arm around your shoulder, still grinning. "Oops. Looks like you’re busy."

You giggled. "You’re evil."

"Only when people try to steal my girl."

Eijiro Kirishima

You and Eijiro were strolling through the festival, the glow of lanterns reflecting in his bright red eyes as you both enjoyed the sights and food stalls. The night was perfect—until some overconfident idiot decided to ruin it.

"Hey there hot stuff," the guy smirked, stepping a little too close. "Why don’t you ditch the kid and have a real man show you a good time?"

Your red-head boyfriend stopped mid-bite of his takoyaki. Slowly, he turned to face the guy, a sharp grin stretching across his face.

"Hey, man," he said, cracking his knuckles as his quirk activated with a sickening crunch. His fists hardened into razor-sharp stone, glinting under the festival lights. “What are your intentions?”

The guy paled, taking a cautious step back. "Dude, chill, I was just—"

"Just…?” Eijiro tilted his head. The guy nodded furiously before bolting into the crowd. You started laughing, holding onto your stomach as you doubled over.

Kirishima sighed, turning back to you with a pout. "Babe, do I really not look scary? I thought I was at least a little intimidating."

You tried to hold back a laugh but failed. "Eiji, you’re too adorable to be scary."

His jaw dropped. "Too adorable? Babe, I literally just made a guy run for his life!"

You grinned, poking his cheek. "Exactly. Cute, but effective."

Eijiro groaned, dramatically dragging a hand down his face. "Man, this is terrible for my reputation."

But he still laced his fingers with yours, grinning as he led you toward the next food stall—because honestly? He’d rather be your cute boyfriend than be scary any day.

Tomura Shigaraki

The Villain’s Den was loud, pulsing with heavy bass and neon lights. The club was a known hotspot for the worst of the worst—rogue assassins, yakuza, underground black-market dealers. It was the kind of place where rules didn’t exist, where people only stepped on each other’s toes if they wanted a death wish.

You were sitting at the bar, sipping on something strong and expensive, watching the dance floor where bodies grinded together, the flashing red and blue lights reflecting in their hungry eyes.

Shigaraki was next to you, one arm slung lazily over the back of your stool, his other hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey. He wasn’t much for crowds, but he tolerated them when it meant keeping an eye on you.

It was almost peaceful.

A cocky-looking bastard slid into the stool beside you, his breath reeking of liquor and weed. He was built like someone who thought he was untouchable—broad shoulders, expensive rings on his fingers, tattoos from head to toe.

He looked at you like you were something to win.

"Didn’t expect to see someone as fine as you in a place like this," he drawled, tilting his head. "What do you say I buy you a drink, huh? Lose the zombie-lookin’ guy and come have a good time."

Before you could rip him apart yourself, a scarred hand landed on your thigh, fingers slipping just under the material of your crimson minidress.  Tomura didn’t look up. Didn’t need to.

"Touch her again," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the music, but somehow more chilling than the bass drop. "And I’ll make sure they’re scraping your remains off the floor by morning."

The guy hesitated. He turned to look at Shigaraki properly, taking in the red-rimmed eyes, the baby blue, almost white hair, the twisted smile and the slow, casual way he tapped his thumb against his glass.

Realization hit.

The color drained from the guy’s face. He swallowed hard. "Shit, man—I didn’t know it was—"

"You do now." Shigaraki’s fingers flexed, his grip tightening just enough to send a very clear message. The guy stood up immediately.

He pushed off the stool so fast it nearly tipped over, bolting into the sea of criminals like he could outrun death itself.

You sighed, sipping your drink. "Tomu.” You whined. “You’re no fun. I was kinda hoping you’d let me handle that one."

He finally turned his attention to you. His fingers brushed higher up your thigh, his other hand setting his empty glass down with a soft thunk.

"You okay?"

You smirked. "That was kinda hot."

A deep, amused chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Damn right it was."

Izuku Midoriya

The All Might-themed merch store was bright, filled with limited-edition action figures, posters, and collectibles. You and Izuku were wandering through the aisles, fingers intertwined as he excitedly rambled about the latest All Might figurine that had just been released. His eyes were practically glowing as he pointed at the details, completely in his element.

You loved seeing him like this.

A random stranger, dressed in a cocky grin and an oversized jacket, strolled right up to you. "What’s cookin, good lookin’?," he purred, completely ignoring Izuku standing right beside you.

You blinked. Seriously?

Izuku, mid-sentence, froze. The guy leaned against the shelf, flashing you what he probably thought was a charming smile. "How about you ditch the nerd and come get a coffee with me?"

Izuku’s eyes darkened. His usual soft expression shifted into something serious.  "Excuse me," he said, shoulders squaring as he stepped in front of you. His voice was calm—too calm. "She’s with me."

The guy laughed, clearly underestimating him. "Relax, dude. I’m just saying she could do better than some fanboy who—"

Izuku moved so fast the guy didn’t see it coming.

The entire shelf behind him rattled, a gust of air bursting through the store as Izuku’s foot lightly tapped against the floor. He hadn’t even used his full strength—just enough to shake the ground beneath them.

The guy stumbled, eyes wide. "Wh-what the hell?"

Izuku didn’t even blink. Didn’t move. Just looked him dead in the eye. "You were saying?" The guy bolted.

Izuku let out a small breath, turning back to you. The moment his eyes met yours, his serious expression melted, a sheepish smile replacing it. "Sorry about that," he mumbled, scratching the back of his head.

You smirked. "Wow, Izu. That was kinda hot."

Izuku turned bright red. "D-Don’t say stuff like that!"

You just laughed, lacing your fingers with his again. "C’mon, fanboy. Show me more of these All Might figures."

Izuku, still blushing, happily obliged.

Denki Kaminari

The arcade was loud, packed with people, flashing lights, and the sounds of game machines beeping wildly. You and Denki were on a date night, sharing a bucket of popcorn while he tried (and failed) to beat you at air hockey.

"I swear you’re cheating," he pouted as you scored another point. You smirked, twirling the paddle in your hand. "I don’t need to cheat to beat you, baby."

Denki groaned. "Ouch, but again… why’s that kinda hot?."

Before you could serve again, a random dude appeared at your side, looking far too smug for someone who hadn’t been invited.

"Hey," he said, completely ignoring Denki. "I saw you playing and had to come over. You’re pretty good. Bet you’d have more fun playing against me... or maybe, with me?"

Denki froze. Then, ever so slowly, he turned his head toward the guy, blinking like he’d just heard the dumbest thing in existence.

You sighed, already unamused. "No thanks. I’m here with my boyfriend."

The guy didn’t even react. "What, the walking pikachu? He doesn’t seem like much competition."

Oh. Oh, that was a mistake.

Denki let out a low whistle, tossing his paddle onto the table. "Bro. That’s crazy," he said, shaking his head. "I mean, I could fry your nervous system in a second, but hey, points for confidence."

The guy visibly tensed but tried to play it off cool. “You’re bluffing.”

Denki grinned, leaning in slightly. His fingers sparked. "Am I?”

A tiny bolt of electricity shot from his fingertips, buzzing through the air right past the guy’s ear. Not enough to hurt—just enough to remind him what quirks existed.

The guy bolted.

Denki laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Man, you really attract the idiots, huh?"

You rolled your eyes. "You jealous?"

Denki pouted. "Maybe."

You kissed his cheek. "Don’t be. You’re the only idiot I like."

He beamed. "Damn right I am."

Hitoshi Shinso

It was late at night, and you and Hitoshi were sitting outside a small ramen shop, enjoying the quiet hum of the city. The neon lights flickered, casting soft purple and blue hues against his face as he lazily stirred his noodles.

You loved moments like these—just the two of you, no distractions, no expectations.

Until some jackass decided to ruin it.

A man—cocky, unbothered, and absolutely unaware of what he was walking into—slid into the empty seat beside you.

"Hey," he said, flashing you a grin. "Are your parents beavers? Cause damn!"

You stared at him. Hitoshi did not react.

"You know," the guy continued, completely oblivious to the danger he was in, "a pretty thing like you shouldn’t waste time with a guy who looks like he hasn’t slept in ten years."

Hitoshi, mid-bite, finally blinked. He set his chopsticks down slowly, exhaling through his nose before resting his chin on his palm.

"Oh?" His voice was smooth. "That’s funny."

The guy smirked. "What is?"

Hitoshi just tilted his head, purple eyes glowing slightly. "That you think you have a chance."

And then, before the guy could react, Hitoshi activated his quirk.

"Be a good little idiot," he commanded, his voice low, silky, lethal. "And leave."

The guy’s face went blank. He stood up immediately, turning on his heel and walking straight into the street, disappearing into the night like a puppet on strings.

You snorted. "That was overkill."

Hitoshi hummed, taking another bite of his ramen. "I could’ve made him trip into a dumpster."

You smirked. "Now that would’ve been hot."

Hitoshi chuckled, shaking his head. "You’re ridiculous."

"But you love me."

He sighed dramatically, giving you a lazy grin. "Yeah, yeah. Lucky me."

[growth-opportunities]

A woman tried taking pills to grow her breasts just a small and reasonable amount, but immediately became hopelessly addicted.

Okay, so, you know how some people have not-so-great coping mechanisms? I mean, we all know that smoking is bad for us, and yet some people, not me, but some people need a cigarette or two to make it through a bad day and another to relax after making it through. And then you have the barflies who stop for a few beers every day after work "just to relax" and then we let those guys drive home! All I'm saying is that everyone has different ways of coping with stress, so I really don't need judgement just because my vice of choice is growth pills.

In my defense, they were advertised as temporary! One pill was supposed to grant three cup sizes for a few hours and then they'd go back down again. If Bobby Barstool can get drunk for a few hours and then go about his life, then why can't I have a few hours of fun for myself? The first time I did it, I only took one. And god it felt good. I forgot to take my bra off (I guess I really didn't think that they would work) and so watching my tits grow and bulge out of them was... fuck. Words fail me, is the point. The eroticism of that alone was intense but the increased sensitivity really sold me on it. I barely noticed the time passing, very nearly getting used to them at that size before they shrank away, leaving me with my modest but respectable C cups.

And it went like that for a while. Got home from work, shed my work clothes, popped a pill, blissed out for a few hours, and then made dinner. Occasionally, I'd take one before a night out on the town, but their sensitivity made it a lot more tempting just to stay home and play with them. It was a simple routine.

But, y'know, it's one of those slippery slope things. I had one really, really bad day, so I said fuck it and I took two pills instead of one. J cups, man. Instant J cups. And from there it was easy to go up to three pills, then four pills. It was incredible. They lasted a little bit longer when I took more of them, but it was safe, reliable, and the pleasure was only slightly addicting.

Well, maybe not entirely safe.

So, it would seem that I didn't always go back to my normal size when the pills wore off. Not completely. I wound up being a little bit bigger. Taking one pill at a time, the effect was barely noticeable, easily chalked up to a bit of swelling. But the longer it went on and the more pills I took, the more obvious it became. The crazy thing was that, even though I was actively, legitimately growing, not just temporarily, they still felt small! Coming down from a P cup to a D cup was still a big drop and so it was hard to gauge just how fast I was growing. And I tried to stop or just slow down, but, fuck, sometimes you just gotta take the edge off by turning yourself into a fat-titted cow, drooling over your own cleavage while you pinch your nipples and moan like a whore. And even though I told myself that it was only a little bit of growth here or there, given enough time, it starts to add up. And the bigger I got, the less difference three cup sizes made, so I had to keep taking more which just made me grow faster and it fed on itself until, well, I don't even think there are cup sizes when you're this big.

Oh, gosh, sorry, I get a little rambly. I know you've probably got to take other calls. Anyway, all of that is to say are you sure your company can't make me a compression bra for a bust measurement over 100 inches? ...Hello?

[quantomeno]

This reminds me of a story:

When I was a kid my family and I went to Thailand for a holiday and for whatever reason I decided to bring the DS lite (I say 'the' DS lite because at this point my siblings and I each had our own DSis but the DS lite was shared because we had an R4 card which only worked on it, so we would all use it to play the games only on it, and this is probably why I chose to bring it specifically rather than my DSi). I didn't use it much (because, well, why would you play video games when you can swim in the pool? I still kick myself for bringing it to Thailand because it was so pointless but I was a kid and it seemed like a good idea to have something to play if I got bored for whatever reason).

On the way home, for whatever reason some security woman at the Thai airport opened up my luggage and was poking around in it (I don't know if it was just some random search or what but I think it was just random) and she takes out my DS and looks at it. But the thing is, she's wearing like disposable gloves and the DS lite has a glossy exterior. It's slippery already and with the gloves it'd be worse and the device slips out of her hands and hits the hard airport floor. We get a bit 'oh, hey!' with her and she's clearly embarrassed and stuff and we just pack up the suitcase again and move on (it was kind of funny in that the search ended so quickly because it didn't seem she was done yet, but I think she wanted it to be over after that kerfuffle). Anyway, checking it later, the DS was broken on the right side, at the hinge bit, but it was just the plastic bit around the hinge that held it in place. So it was a little loose, but it was still held in place.

So OK, no big deal.

But as time wore on, it got looser and looser, until the screen would go kind of red if you moved it too much. But it was OK, if you just jiggled it a bit eventually it'd sort itself out.

But then as time wore on further, it got worse and worse and worse. Now it's permanently red.

Which was a shame, because of the R4 thing. We had a number of games only on there.

But then one day we found a second hand DS lite in an op shop and so we bought it. And that one worked pretty well, except its microphone was broken.

OK not many games use the microphone, right? But one of the games we really loved on the R4 was Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, and in the final case you have the ability to test for fingerprints, which requires you to blow away the dust. Which would be ok because normally you can just exit the fingerprint test thing, save, move the R4 to the old DS and then use that one's microphone (and just deal with the bad screen for that moment), save after that and return to the better DS.

But the thing is the first time you do it, there's a tutorial you can't skip or exit, so you can't do this and my younger sibling had to restart the game from quite a while back (and I had to replay the sections up to that point for them) and yeah. It was bad enough to consider getting another DS lite.

Also WarrioWare Touched uses the microphone and we had that on the R4 too.

(Hotel Dusk: Room 215 also allows you to use the mic and we had it on the R4, and I got to the point in the game where you can use it and I was like no... I can't do this puzzle. But then I tapped the screen instead and I realised the mic is a red herring and it actually makes you fail the puzzle so yeah, it actually wasn't needed)

Anyway, so we bought a third DS lite online. This one works fully.

We also wanted to see if we could swap the microphones of the old ones to get an extra fully functional DS, but it seemed like it'd be too hard.

The other DSes we own are all in good nick and we are ultra careful with them now. There is a bit of poor connections or whatever on the LR buttons with some, and the volume switch of the 2nd DS Lite was also dodgy, and our 3DS' coating is peeling and the circle pad's rubber thing came off, but in terms of serious, game-ruining damage, they're fine.

Anyway, moral of the story is don't take your DS overseas.

if multiple parts are broken just click the first one you noticed!

[ghostgirl-22]

this came to me in a dream. 30s dilf pat with early 20s art. penny for your thoughts?

My thoughts are de-aging the slutty blonde to give Patrick an entirely new and added age gap complex. On top of everything else… wait is that not what we’re all thinking? 😭😭😭

CW: 18+ !NSFW! Age gap 10-11 years, obviously don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable. Slight teacher/student iffy power dynamics Yes, he’s a slut here again and a bit of a brat. But he’s more in control of it.

——

It’s not really Art’s fault. He doesn’t even mean to do it. He doesn’t need a lot of attention. Just a little. A fun little buzz and he’s a bit of a mess. He once accidentally made out with his big sister’s boyfriend, um ex-boyfriend. Jackson. Accidentally spent 30 minutes dry humping him in his bed before she caught him. She was so pissed at him, called him a slut. But it was an accident. It wasn’t his fault Jackson started rubbing his leg under the table.

He doesn’t even really like boys. Well not all boys. Well not really. Okay maybe some. He’s crushing hard on his Stanford tennis coach at the moment. Coach Zweig. He’s a lot older but so fucking hot. Bearded, tall, with skin that’s all golden in the sunshine. Everyone says he’s loaded and he just does this for the hell of it. Because he used to play for Stanford a million years ago before he got injured and he can’t let it go. He’s dating tennis superstar Tashi Duncan. “They’re practically married.” Everyone says.

He’s too fucking hot. He always wears shorts that are too fucking short, when he sits on the bench during practice, manspreading while he chats with the assistant coach, sometimes Art swears he can see the outline of it and he feels dizzy.

Art would normally give up. Maybe consider it futile if it weren’t for the way he sometimes catches Coach Zweig staring at him. Especially when he’s flirting with one of his teammates. Sometimes with a faraway look on his face. But when Art catches his eye and winks he’ll smile and roll his eyes looking away.

It’s also in the way it feels like he can barely stand to be near Art. His body goes tense, and he’s suddenly a bit less casual than he always is and the tips of his ears go all red whenever Art openly flirts with him. He’s always praising Art amongst the group (and of course he is, Art’s number one singles and the best player on the team) but whenever it’s time to give him feedback, he always tells Coach Meg to do it for him. Like he’s afraid to stand too close.

So basically it’s not Art’s fault. He did sneak into the club with his friend but it was a gay club. And Coach Zweig isn’t gay so Art didn’t expect to see him there. Art isn’t gay either but he’s a good friend. And it’s not just because he gave said friend a hand job and nothing else.

It’s fine. His friend has moved on, he’s making out with some senior, lips locked like they’re ready to go home. It’s almost 1 am and Art’s a little drunk, everybody’s been so nice… buying him drinks. He’s starting to feel a little guilty for sort of blowing them off after. He’s normally into it… into the flirting but he sees Coach Zweig all the way across the room. Talking to some guy. A blonde. Leaning into his ear, rubbing his waist. Art bites at the rim of his glass.

He’s dizzy. Dizzy. Really fucking dizzy. But he makes his way over. Coach Zweig spots him before he approaches.

He smiles but not with his eyes as he shakes his head. “What the fuck?” he says as Art leans next to him on the wall. One of his favorite things is how much Coach Zweig, no Patrick, swears. He doesn’t know why but hearing his potty mouth turns Art on.

“Hi coach,” he grins.

"Who' s this?” Patrick’s blonde friend gives him a look.

“One of my players, I’ll catch up with you,” Patrick says to him.

The blonde man glances at Art and then shuffles off.

“He’s cute,” Art grins.

“God you’re fucking 19 how the hell did you get in here?” Patrick hisses, when they’re alone.

“I’m not 19.”

“What—twenty?”

Art nods, smiling.

“How good is your fake?”

“Really good,” Art says, leaning closer. “Want me to buy you a drink?”

Patrick smiles. Art can’t help but notice the way his eyes fall over Art’s body. He’s in this sleeveless black shirt, he borrowed from his friend and fitted blue jeans. “You like it?” Art asks.

”You’re too young, Donaldson,” Patrick says. “There are plenty of little 22 year olds over there.” He gestures vaguely to the other side of the room.

Art bites down on his grin and leans even closer. It’s not all in Art’s head. God, Coach Zweig is actually attracted to him. He’s in shorts and a t-shirt. Khaki shorts, that scream 30 something soccer dad on a family vacation. Art wants to see about the outline of it that he’d sometimes glimpse when Patrick’s in his training shorts.

“I think I’m drunk, can you take me home?” Art asks, intimating shyness.

“God,” Patrick looks up at the ceiling and then takes a breath. ”You came here alone?”

“No but my friend left me alone so he could go get fucked,” Art tells him softly, emphasizing the word. “You know I’ve never been fucked before?”

Patrick chuckles and takes a step back. “I can’t take you home, but I can help you get a cab.”

“Did you come here alone?” Art asks. “Patrick.”

“Yeah… let’s get you that cab.”

Art hiccups. He really, really doesn’t want to mess this up. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“It’s okay,” Patrick says, he’s gentle. “How about… we don’t talk about this at the next practice? I didn’t see you here…you didn’t see me.”

Art nods his head. “Okay coach, but I really do feel a little buzzed and I’m only a few blocks away. Please. It’s all wet and rainy outside. I don’t want to wait for a cab.”

Patrick stares him down, like he’s mentally arguing with his better angels.

“Pretty please,” Art asks again.

He takes a breath. “Yeah… okay…fuck it. I’ll drop you off and I’ll come back.”

“Thank you so much!” Art says lightly.

Patrick tells his friend to wait for him and the friend gives Art a side eye, to which Art grins in response.

They hurry outside and get wet in the rain because his jeep is parked in the back of the lot. “How buzzed are you? This is fucking irresponsible, you know that right?” Patrick asks once they’re inside and he’s powering the car on.

“I’m tipsy,” Art says. “All these guys were buying me drinks… and I felt like I couldn’t say no. But I only had a sip of each one.”

”You can always say no,” Patrick says, gently.

“What if I don’t wanna?”

“Mm yeah… alright kid.” He shakes his head, gentle tone gone.

Art smiles. “Is that guy in there— is he your boyfriend?”

“Donaldson.”

“You can just call me Art,” Art says, he leans against the headrest staring at him. His dark hair is damp to his forehead from the rain.

“We’re not gonna talk about this.”

Art shrugs. “I think it’s hot… but what about Tashi Duncan? Isn’t she practically your wife?”

Patrick stops the car in a new spot. “Maybe we should get you that cab?”

Art keeps staring at him. “Okay, and I can wait for it…in your car.”

“You’re unbearable,” Patrick mutters.

“Why?” Art asks. “I’m just one of your players.”

Patrick snorts a laugh and turns to look at him. “Tashi is fine. She knows I— I do things like this when she’s on tour.”

“Things like the guy who looks like me?”

“He doesn’t fucking look like you.”

“I mean he’s old.”

“He’s 31.”

“Yeah old.”

“I’m 31.”

“So like… does it take you a long time to get hard?” Art asks softly, gazing down at his lap.

Patrick takes a breath and faces front again, shifting gears, “Jesus Christ, okay, that’s enough.” He pulls out of the lot.

“I feel like I can’t stop it. Mine’s hard all the time,” Art sighs, fidgeting in his seat. “Like when we’re in practice. And you're in those short shorts.”

“You need to stop.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“I don’t want to.”

Patrick rubs his palm along his thigh and then grips onto the gear shift again. “If only you were this sure of yourself on the court Donaldson,” he says, it stings a little anytime he criticizes Arts playing. He was great before the injury. A lot of the team think he’s just saying stuff like that… an old man reminiscing about his glory days but Arts seen old tapes of him playing. He knows. Patrick Zweig was a fucking animal on the court.

He’s watched them a lot. Sometimes in the dark with the volume up and his hands down his pants.

“Maybe if you’d correct me yourself instead of always leaving me to your assistant I’d be better.” Art sighs. “But you can’t be alone with me.”

”That—“ Patrick laughs, that low chuckle, it makes Art’s insides feel like liquid. “That’s not true.”

“It’s so true. We can’t be alone. You can barely stand to be around me because you want to fuck me so bad. Mm not even 21 and you’re terrified just cause you wanna stuff your big old cock in me.”

“Jesus…” Patrick swallows. “I can write you up actually,” he says, he sounds desperate. “I can get you fucking kicked off the team.”

Art hesitates a minute. Then touches his thigh. He shifts his leg like Art’s palm is hotter than a frying pan, but his cock is clearly visible just under the lining of his khakis. “I promise I won’t tell anyone if you do.” Art says softly, biting his lip.

”Fuck,” Patrick breathes, white knuckling the wheel. They’re at a red light. ”You don’t… you don’t even fucking know what you want. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He says weakly.

Art plays with his tongue in his mouth for a minute and then leans in close to Patrick’s ear, hands grabbing his upper thigh just over where his cock is resting. God it’s massive and Art can feel it still fucking… growing. He swallows. “I want you.”

“Jesus… you’re gonna ruin my fucking life.” Patrick whispers.

Art grins, and presses his lips to Patrick’s throat. Kissing and sucking there.

“Shit, you can’t… you can’t mark me,” he whispers.

“Mmkay,” Art breathes, he’s still rubbing along the outline of his cock. It’s not just long, it’s thick. Art’s whole body is lit up. He’s never had one inside him before. His roommate’s come close a few times but Art always made an excuse to get him to stop. Now he’s anxious and he can’t stop thinking about it.

“You want me to give you head while your driving?” Art whispers, licking his lips.

“Shit… That’s fucking dangerous sweetheart, just… just hold on. I’m gonna stop.”

“Kay.” Art says, shifting in his seat all warm for the “sweetheart”. He’s so fucking horny. His hand is getting sweaty for how hot and hard Patrick’s cock is underneath it. He plays his finger tips along the outline of the tip and Patrick groans. It’s the hottest fucking sound.

“Fuck, I know…” he gasps, “give me a second. Gonna take care of you.”

Art starts mouthing at his throat again. Sucking. Probably leaving marks. He can’t help himself. He barely notices it when the car stops except for when he feels Patrick’s fingers in his hair. “Oh god. You’re gonna make a fucking mess out of me. You gorgeous fucking thing.” Patrick breathes.

Art finds his mouth. His beard tickles scratchy and soft on Arts bare face. He tastes like honey flavored cough drops and cigarettes. Even the way he smokes is so fucking sexy. Just bored, lazy, casually sexy. Keeps one on his lips while he’s lazily tossing a tennis ball across the court with his racket. Art’s pushing his tongue inside searching all over his mouth, soft and heated. Feels Patrick’s tongue and presses his own against it. Teasing it, licking it while Patrick teases him back. Patrick’s hands are all over him, fingers tangled in his hair.

Art attempts to get at Patrick’s zipper so he can reach his hand inside and feel him for real but Patrick pulls him back when Art starts to moan.

“Fuck,” Patrick whispers, eyes all sparkly, he’s cradling Art’s face in his hands. “You’re so fucking… so fucking bad for me.”

Art licks his lips, gazing into his pretty eyes. “Can I suck it?” Art asks, softly.

Patrick teases his fingers back into his hair. “You ever suck dick before?”

“Mmhm, my friend begged me to in the back of the cab after we dropped off his girlfriend.”

Patrick exhales. “God. You sure do know how to make friends…. Fuck… go ahead… yeah you can suck it.”

Art grins and moves to get on his knees. He can hardly wait. He’s tugging at the zipper, inhaling as much as he can of Patrick’s scent strong, heedy, masculine, nose pressed in his pubic hair as he drags Patrick’s boxers down.

His cock pops out and holy shit, Art’s never had one this big in his mouth. He’s so fucking perfect and full. Art licks at it right away. Almost like if he doesn’t Patrick will change his mind and tell him he’s gotta go home. He does everything he knows how to do. Licks along the underside, pearls of pre-cum are already leaking out and he’s shivering because he knows it’s him that’s fucking causing this. He’s the reason Patrick, his coach, his fucking hot coach is so aroused. He licks at the tip and Patrick groans.

Art starts feeding it into his mouth, taking as much as he can.

“Oh fuck,” Patrick inhales. “Oh sweetheart… it’s… god… take it easy. Fuck.”

“Wanna make you come,” Art says, except he’s talking with his mouth full so it’s probably not even distinguishable as words. He’s swirling his tongue around the tip, his mouth is so full and so wet and he can hear Patrick breathing. Trying not to moan.

Art can’t help himself. He needs to jerk off, he undoes his fly with one hand and reaches into his pants. This is the sluttiest thing he’s ever done. And he’s been pretty slutty. He lets it slip and slide in and out of his mouth, sucking and licking and swallowing till Patrick can’t hold anything back.

“Mm you drive me fucking crazy… flirting with all your teammates and all I can do is watch them play with you…” He groans. Fingers pulling at Art’s hair. It’s not seconds later that Art begins to make a mess in his pants jerking himself to completion as he moans with his mouth full of Patrick’s pulsing cock.

“All that gum chewing, even though I fucking beg you everyday to spit it out before you come to practice. Then you start sucking on your filthy fingers and all I can fucking think about is your pretty pink lips stretched around my… fuck.” He starts coating the inside of Art’s mouth with hot wet liquid. Spurts of it filling him, one after the other as Patrick groans breathlessly and Art swallows as much as he can. He pulls back gasping, skin fever warm, watching some of it drip obscenely from lips onto the console. So much fucking hotter than anything he imagined.

Patrick brushes his thumb over Art’s mouth wiping off the excess come, Art takes the thumb in his mouth looking up at Patrick while he licks at it.

“Jesus Christ, I’m so fucked,” Patrick whispers. He slips his thumb out and takes hold of his cock, it’s flagging a bit but not completely soft yet. He eases it back into his pants.

Art is aware of where they are now. An empty Target parking lot, not far away from campus. He pushes himself up from the floor and scrambles onto Patrick’s lap. He feels the steering wheel at his back, one knee driving uncomfortably into the seat belt holder but it’s worth it for the way Patrick starts rubbing him, reaches into Art’s pants and sighs. “Fuck… You were touching yourself sweetheart?”

“Mmhm,” Art hums. Patrick pulls him into a kiss no doubt he can taste himself and he doesn’t even care. Makes Art just want him even more. “I have wet dreams about you all the time,” Art says giddy against his lips.

“Mm do you?”

“Mmhm. Can I come over?”

“God.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

Patrick plays with his t-shirt. ”How many boys have fucked you?”

“You can be my first. I’m a really fast learner.”

Patrick takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes. He rests his head back against the chair. “I’m um— I’m gonna take you home. And you’re gonna be a good boy,” His fingers are under Art’s shirt now, warm fingertips on his bare tummy, playing with the waist band of his boxers. “No more teasing… no more… flirting, especially at practice. And if you’re good… if you’re really fucking good…”

Art bites down on his inevitable grin. “Mmhm?”

“I might be here next weekend. My house might be empty. And I might let you come over.”

“I can be so good for you,” Art says, wiggling on his lap.

“God… you’re so fucking good at that…” Patrick says softly. “That’s exactly the type of behavior that needs to stop.”

Art grins as Patrick grabs at him at the waist and lifts him off his lap onto the empty passengers seat. “Put on your seatbelt.”

“Yes sir,” Art says giddly.

“You’re not going to get anything next weekend, are you?” Patrick mutters pulling the seat up and starting the car.

“Mm not if I can get it tonight and next weekend.” Art grins.

Patrick rolls his eyes, smiling and accelerates out of the parking lot.

[millieisawriter]

The spell (Javier's version)

first ending - javier escuella x reader

summary: the one where javier comes to terms with the fact he caught feelings for you, and the two of you learnt to love each other despite your differences.

first part

wc: 2.6k

all pics taken from pinterest

♡the people have asked for a second part♡

a/n: i don't usually tag people on my fics, but this time i did tag everyone who commented under the first part <3 ily

It had been a few weeks since that night in Javier’s tent. You hadn’t spoken to anyone about it, not even to the girl who became a friend to you – Mary-Beth. Despite that, the whole gang must have known about what had happened between you and Javier.

Why? Well, it was difficult not to notice the sudden shift in your interactions with Javier, or the lack of these. Normally, there wasn’t a day the two of you didn’t exchange a few angry sentences. Ever since the tent incident, however, you didn’t acknowledge one another’s existence.

“You’ve got to tell me what happened!” Mary-Beth insisted.

You rolled your eyes. There was nothing to talk about, not even to your best friend. What Javier had done felt embarrassing enough, you didn’t need anyone else knowing about it.

You had just sat down to fix your pendulum when the girl approached you. The chain, to which a crystal had been attached, worn from years of usage from even before you had acquired it, finally gave out and broke a few days ago. “There’s nothing to tell,” you stated.

“Don’t lie to your best friend,” she insisted, and you know she wasn’t going to let go of the topic when she sat down on the chair next to you. “Your… necklace broke?”

“It’s called a pendulum,” you explained, still focused on fixing the chain, “I use it for simple yes or no questions. But, yes, the chain broke a few days ago.”

“So, back to the previous thing,” Mary-Beth returned to the topic of Javier, “what happened? First you two couldn’t go five minutes without snapping at each other. Now? Not even a glance. You could at least tell me if you hexed him or something.”

You finally look at your friend, leaving the pendulum on the table. “If I had hexed him, he deserved it,” you scoffed.

The girl’s eyes widened. “Did you?”

“No, Mary-Beth. I didn’t hex him. But if I had, it would have been well-deserved is what I meant.”

“Then what? Whenever he’s not out on a job, he strolls around the camp all depressed like those funny english dogs.”

“The bulldogs?”

“Exactly!”

You laughed at the comparison. Mary-Beth wasn’t wrong, though, you noticed the change in Javier’s behavior as well. He became less visible around the camp, unless he was playing his guitar. And even then, as much as you didn’t know spanish, you could tell the songs he sang were rather sad.

However, Mary-Beth wasn’t going to let go easily. “Why are you keeping secrets from your best friend?”

“Fine,” you sighed, knowing there’s no backing away from this, “something might have happened between us.”

“Something? Like what? That’s a very vague answer.”

The embarrassment physically hurt you when you thought about that specific night. “You remember the night a few weeks ago? Dutch’s gramophone played, everyone was drunk, all that…” you paused, fiddling with your fingers underneath the table, “we may have ended up in Javier’s tent.”

Her jaw dropped, and she immediately slapped your arm. “No! You’re kidding! You and Javier? I knew something was going on! Oh my God. Was it good? It was good, wasn’t it?”

“That’s not the point!”

“What is the point then?”

The point was that what happened the following morning, hurt you. Even if you never showed it, it pained you to know Javier considered his desire towards you a sin heavier than the blood that stained his hands. And just like the blood, though washed off, left a scar on his conscience, the same way his prayer didn’t make his feelings disappear.

“Next morning I woke up to Javier praying. For forgiveness. For… me,” maybe for the first time you let the hurt show through your voice as you made the confession to your friend.

Mary-Beth couldn’t believe that. She heard Javier bickering with Swanson here and there, but she never took the Mexican for someone religious to that degree. “He didn’t!”

“He did,” you sighed, “I felt like… like I wasn’t even a person to him. Just… something dirty he had to wash away. But, of course, God doesn’t care about him being a damn criminal.”

“How could he do that to you? Have you talked to him since?”

“No. I figured everything between us is done. Anything that could ever be.”

Javier made it clear enough. To him, you were a mistake. A moment of weakness at most, and you didn’t hope for more. Getting over him would be preferred, but you couldn’t help that he happened to dig a hole in your heart.

And you were left wondering – was God going to forgive Javier for how he had treated you? Or was God okay with one of his sheep taking advantage of another human being like that? God didn’t seem to care about that, so maybe you really were the Devil, after all.

Your emotions clearly affected Mary-Beth. “You can’t let him get away with that,” she stated.

“You’re a romantic, I get it,” you replied with a tone sharper than you intended, “but he and I were never meant to be. We’re too different.”

“You don’t believe that. If you did, you wouldn’t be so heartbroken right now.”

“It doesn’t matter what I feel. He made his choice, and I’m not going to beg him to change his mind.”

Last thing you ever imagined to do was begging a man to love you. Not even last, you’d die before you do such thing.

Suddenly, both you and Mary-Beth shifted your gaze to a figure riding into the camp. It was Javier, returning from whatever business he was attending to. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had been on a visit to the nearby town’s brothel.

Your eyes held a slightly longing look as you watched the man dismount from Boaz, a look that stopped only after Mary-Beth had nudged your arm. “Completely not heartbroken, huh?” she teased.

You looked away, and tried to argue, but before you could come up with a good response, you heard the leaves on the ground being rustled by approaching footsteps.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Mary-Beth, with a knowing smirk on her lips, stood up.

“Don’t you dare,” the sentence came out like a threat from your mouth. You attempted to grab her arm, even yank the girl back onto her seat if you had to, but her slim arm easily slipped out of your hand.

A moment later, Javier stood in front of you. “I wanted to talk.”

“We don’t have anything to talk about,” you insisted, standing up so that you were on at least similar level.

“We do.”

“What, you wanna talk about how I ruined your soul?”

Javier flinched slightly at your hiss, but then looked back at you. “I’ve got something for you,” his hand went into the pocket of his jeans.

You wondered what it could be. If you had been accused of being a vampire, he could’ve brought you garlic, or a wooden spike. But how could one kill a witch in a way other than burning her at a stake? He wouldn’t even need a stake for that, you had burnt long ago from the embarrassment.

The thing you could have never expected was now dangling from Javier’s hand as he extended it towards you. “I noticed the one you used to use broke some time ago,” he said.

Your mouth fell open, but no words were conjured. Javier getting a new pendulum for you was not something even your cards could predict.

You stared at the pendulum, the delicate chain shimmering faintly in the sunlight. A teardrop-shaped crystal hung from the chain, catching the light and scattering fractured rays across your skin as you took it in your hand. It was beautiful, far more elegant than the one you had broken.

“Where did you get this?” you asked, an idea in your mind. “Did you steal it?”

Javier shifted in spot. “I saw this woman, she travels in a wagon similar to yours. Madam Nazar, or whatever she introduced herself as. I wouldn’t dare steal from her, she’s a bit scary,” he chuckled lightly. “Don’t ask me where I got the money, though.”

Your eyes finally met his when you finished checking out the crystal. “Why did you get this for me?”

“Because I was wrong—”

“You were more than wrong, Javier.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I shouldn’t have made you feel the way I did. I thought… pushing you away would make it easier. That I could forget how you made me feel, or that I’d stop wanting you if I could convince myself it was wrong.”

“And?”

“And I couldn’t.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you eyed the pendulum again. It wasn’t hard to recognize the crystal as clear quartz. Possibly the best one for a pendulum, clear quartz was known for providing clarity and amplifying energy.

“I’m sorry,” Javier continued, “I can’t change what I did, but I can tell you I never meant to hurt you. You’re… you’re everything I can’t stop thinking about, and I hate that I let my fear ruin what we could have had.”

The words cut through your ears. You closed your palm around the crystal and looked at Javier again. For the first time he finally looked vulnerable. As if the regret he seemed to feel was honest. For the first time, he didn’t build up any walls between the two of you.

“You can’t just walk back in here with a gift and expect me to forget how you made me feel.”

“I don’t expect you to forget,” he said. “But I hope you can forgive me. There’s something between us, and maybe it’s not a spell you casted on me.”

“I’m glad you finally see that.”

Javier sighed. “Let me prove to you that I’m serious. About you, about us, about your… magic, too. And that I don’t think you’re sinful.”

You had no idea what got into Javier, and it certainly wasn’t your doing, but he had changed. In the following weeks, he grew more interested in your beliefs, in your practices. Often he sat and listened intently as you explained tarot to him, or when you taught him about the pendulum.

One night, sitting by the fire next to Javier, you shuffled your cards. “Pick a card, Javier,” you said, spreading the deck on the cow skin rug.

The man’s eyes brushed over the cards as he hesitated. The deck was, obviously, facing the side with pictures down, so that he had to use his intuition. He had almost taken one card, when you smacked his hand away.

You lectured him. “Just point at it, don’t actually grab it!”

“Why not?” he asked, both amused and confused.

“Only I can touch my cards, it’s one of the rules.”

“What happens if I touch them?”

He was curious, which was good. Curious was way better than hateful, scared, or ashamed. The way Javier evolved, and warmed up to your witchy practices made you happy. You could now see that maybe there was a chance for your relationship to grow.

“Nothing, but that’s the rule. You love breaking rules, don’t you?”

He was persistent. “Would I die a painful death?”

Once again he attempted to touch the cards. Once again, you slapped his hand away.

“Stop acting like a child,” you were ready to collect your cards and put them back in the safety of your bag, “you changed, and I like it, but I don’t wanna have to cleanse my cards again, I’m almost out of white sage.”

“I’ll buy you some more, what’s the issue? How expensive can it be?”

“You’d have to go all the way to California, and have something to give in exchange to the Indians there. They don’t need money.”

“You’re more complicated than I thought,” he sighed, but it was playful this time.

“So don’t touch the cards! Tell me which one you choose.”

Javier’s gaze returned to the deck spread in front of him. He thought for a moment before pointing to one card, even though on the backside all of them looked identical.

“Great, let’s see,” you mused, taking the card and studying it before turning it to Javier. “Death.”

He scoffed. “That’s optimistic.”

“Don’t take the meaning literally. This card represents change.”

Javier tilted his head. “I think I know what’s changing.”

“Oh?”

“Me.”

He reached out, his hand gently brushing your face. His gaze traveled down from your eyes to your lips, and you knew what it meant. No sooner, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss so gentle as if he were scared to hurt you.

You let him guide you through the kiss as it became more. More in both, the touchable and spiritual meaning. Your hands found their way to his jaw and neck, meanwhile he grabbed onto your hips. This allowed him to confidently move you from where you were sitting next to him, to make you straddle his lap. Almost instinctively, you grind your hips against his, sending a clear message to the neurons in his brain.

Javier groaned into the kiss, and you could feel his grip tighten on both sides of your body. This time, you could tell, it wasn’t solely desire between you. And neither one of you was on alcohol. This time it was real, a real raw emotion, and the peak of everything between you. Your connection, your need for each other, your past tensions, and your current longing. All of these exploded between the two of you in that exact moment.

The moment was interrupted, of course. “I’m glad to see y’all making up,” Arthur cleared his throat, “but could y’all not fuck on display for the whole gang to see?”

You practically leaped off Javier’s lap, your face burning hotter than the campfire. “Arthur!” you hissed.

Javier, however, didn’t seem nearly as bothered. He smirked up at Arthur with the kind of cocky confidence that made you want to smack him. And kiss him again.

“Jealousy isn’t pretty on you,” Javier joked.

“Don’t have to be pretty,” Arthur shot back, “just don’t wanna see y’all exchanging spit like two horny teenagers.”

You knew Arthur was just joking, there was no real bite in his voice. He was secretly glad to see the two of you getting along. But that also doesn’t mean that being called out like that didn’t get you all shy and blushing.

You stood up. “Javier, let’s take this to my wagon.”

“Our wagon you mean,” he said, following you.

“Yes, our wagon,” you rolled your eyes.

Truth be told, the wagon had undergone a transformation since Javier started spending more time with you. More time, as in he was practically living there with you. As you walked in, on your left Javier’s rosary was hung on the wall. The beads were darkened with use, and the small brass crucifix blended nicely with a bundle of sage and sweetgrass that hung next to it.

The shelves along the wagon’s interior were equally divided. On one side, you organized your herbs, dried plants, and jars filled with ingredients only you could name. On the other side, Javier had placed the wooden icon of the Virgin Mary, her peaceful gaze watching over everything, just like she had watched you that one night which changed everything. Except, this time you didn’t feel judged.

You smiled to yourself. The clash between the sacred and the mystical was oddly fitting.

___________________________

people that seemed interested in a second part:

@zenyattaiscute @warmsideofthepillow03 @sockisanidot @esquilone @yolky555 @veronika272

[bitchface24-7]

Hi V! I was wondering if you felt comfortable doing a fluff fic of reader x viktor or jayce comforting reader on her period ?

All goods if you can't!!

I really enjoy your writing and I live all the attention to detail you put into your stories !!

THIS SUCKS… - VIKTOR & JAYCE X READER

synopsis: you're on your period, you feel bloated, agitated, and your stomach hurts. You can't tell if you're hungry, if you're cramping, or if you really need to shit. Your lovely boyfriend sees you struggling, and takes care of you the best he can.

warnings: menstruation (obviously), pain, fluffy fluff of our boys taking care of us.

genre: m/f or gn/m

p.s. I'm going to write this in the style of bullet points. Also, why not get both? This isn't Jayvik, so if you prefer one over the other, you can just read one part. Love ya! ❤️

VIKTOR X READER

You dread everytime your menstrual cycle hits you. It's painful, messy, and makes you agitated at the littlest things.

It makes you unintentionally be snippy with Viktor, something that upsets you even more since he hasn't done anything to deserve that treatment.

He's incredibly understanding. As someone who deals with chronic pain he understands that pain can make you act in ways that you typically wouldn’t.

Your pain may not be 24/7, but he knows it comes once a month for a week straight.

He has pain killers, a heated weighted blanket, and light food that surprisingly fills you up ready for you.

He’ll even make you sweet milk when you ask for it.

You typically do parallel play, he’ll continue to work, but he’ll make sure he's in the same room as you.

More times than not, he's cuddled up with you in bed, your pleading eyes and pouty lips will be his downfall. He can never say no to you.

Viktor makes this part of your life so much easier, and you can't thank him enough for it.

(its actually his way of thanking you. You take care of him all the time. Adjusting his spinal brace, his leg brace, making sure he has his cane. Helping him take off his assistive devices when he asks. Making sure he eats, he sleeps. He appreciates your care and love more than you'll ever know. So he tries his best to help you when you need it.)

JAYCE X READER

Jayce has a good idea how to take care of menstruation aches and pains. He's practically Cait’s older brother. He was around when she went through puberty.

It was not a pretty sight.

He knows you'll crave sweets, chips, sushi, fried chicken, really anything super flavourful and bad for you.

He knows teas help with cramps, so do heating pads, and lightly massaging your lower abdomen.

He knows you'll alternate between wanting to be alone, and being cuddled.

He knows you'll accidentally get snippy, feel bad, and want to hug him.

He knows it all.

It’s like it was ingrained into him on how to take care of you. He just appreciates that the hellish years he had to deal with a pubescent Cait paid off in the end.

(no he swears she was going to kill him at one point)

Being able to cook delicious food because of his mama makes it even better. He’ll make so much food you honestly wont know where to start. But they'll for sure be something there you can stomach.

They'll always be there to take care of you ❤️

Hi Anon! Thank you for the compliment! Sorry this is much shorter than you probably expected, I just don't deal with my period often? I go like one to three months in-between cycles and I just take care of myself when it happens. I medicate myself and essentially sleep away the pain for a day and a half, then I'm back to normal, I’m just bleeding now as well.

The longest time I went without a period was six months back in 2022 (I was 20 and had gotten it in November after my assumption of extremely early onset menopause LMAO, after that I got a tracker app to help me remember when I get it) and no I was not pregnant. Unless I’m Mother Mary reborn, that wouldn’t be possible.

[aninipanin1]

omg omg lavinho and adult manager reader where theyve previously met at a club/party outside of blue lock where lavinho tried to hit on one of reader's friends lol

IT'S YOU!

Notes: Ya'll are cooking with the ideas lmaoooo, (F/n) stands for friend name.

"C'mon, Y/n! You'll be back in that prison/asylum in like two days! Live a little and have fun!" (F/n) cheered, hands attached to her wrist as she dragged you inside the establishment she had been raving about to you, both in texts and conversations.

Garbed in a (f/c) sequined cocktail dress and a two-inch pair of heels, you can say you dressed up pretty well tonight. Although, you wish that you were on your bed instead under the flashing lights and banging music of the bar.

Your job in the Blue Lock facility was nothing less than stressful, and since everyone, including you, was given a 2 week break after Blue Lock's win against the U-20 National players, you wasted no time in spending the days just catching up on your naps and tv shows.

If you weren't doing normal household chores or watching on your phone, you were dozing off to sleep. But whatever you did in the past week and a half was inside the premises of your house only.

That is why you were here now. Dragged by your friend who insisted that there were other ways to destress than just sleeping like a sloth or watch anime.

"Ugh, a drink is the farthest thing in my mind right now, (F/n). I want to nap when I still have the chance to. You know how busy I get in the Blue Lock facility. I legit, sleep at like 4 AM only to wake up at 6 AM at times."

She sighed before patting your back and running her hand up and down your arm.

"I know. But, you need a bit of socialization. C'mon!"

(F/n) cheered, giving you a glass of whatever drink she ordered for the both of you as she chugged 3 glasses straight, which impressed you. She has always been quite outgoing and friendly, a little opposite to your quiet and almost shy nature. So, you always found yourself dragged by her in things you normally would be too shy to do.

And that included dancing in the middle of the damn dancefloor in which she was doing now, and even dragging you with her.

"Woah, woah, woah! Hey! You know I don't dance, especially not infront of-" you protested, but she only laughed and held your arms, dancing with you, her platform heels clacking against the tiled floor.

"Loosen up, girl! No one is watching you anyways, theyre all having too much of a good time to notice!"

And there she went again, moving her hips and arms to the music as you just smiled at her. Even if you didn't feel that comfortable with some of her shenanigans, you know she always means well. And besides, she makes the shameless in you jump out of the curtains at times.

You wished those moments came now, but the crowdedness and strong smell of alcohol from the many people made you quite restricted and stuck, so you just stood there, moving your feet a bit, but not dancing too hard. You stayed there mainly because you wanted to make sure that (F/n) was safe and won't get hurt or taken advantage of any ill-willed people in the crowded space.

Were you too protective of her at times? Yes, but you cared about (F/n), and wished that no peril will ever come her way, so you always make sure you were there in times where her immature and guillable nature strikes.

You both were on that dance floor for who knows how long. Songs came and went, and (F/n) was still jamming to whatever Western pop song was playing, and the crowd wasn't thinning either. In fact, it felt more cramped than before, and you were starting to feel a little sick due to how crowded it was.

The heavy smell of alcohol did not help either, as the assorment of the heavy drinks the people on the dancefloor drank mixed within the air. Not finding the strength to tolerate it anymore, you softly tapped your friend's shoulder.

She turned to you, cheeks a bit flushed now due to who knows how many drinks she had. But, you knew she wasn't a lightweight and only had a few drinks, meaning her cognitive is still probably in tact.

"I'm just going to sit in one of the lounges! I'm feeling a bit dizzy. Dance in where I can see you, I don't want us to be separated!"

It was kind of annoying that you had to shout over the music, but you pulled through and she nodded her head before returning her attention to the next song that popped up, especially since you know its a favourite of hers.

"Are you sure you'll be fine, alone? I can join you." She managed to ask before you leave.

"Yeah, I'll be okay. Continue having fun! I don't wanna ruin the night for you!" You gave her a reassuring smile that at first, she did not seem to buy, but after a few looks, she returned to dancing and jamming to the song again as you found yourself walking out of the crowded space into one of the lounges where you see a few people also hanging out on, drinking or busy on their phones.

Sitting on an empty spot with a not-too heavy drink in hand, you always made sure to peek through the dancing crowd to make sure (F/n) didn't wander off or get too out of hand (she can become a bit crazy when drunk), but a message from your mother caught your attention for a few minutes.

By the time you said your goodbye to your mother in the messaging app, you didn't see your friend anymore, which made you blink in a bit of a panic. Mainly because you were worried for her and also, a bit anxious about being alone in the said bar.

After all, you can definitely feel stares boring to your figure, a lot of them from men, of course, and you legit don't know how you will get out in a situation where one of them tries to approach and flirt with you.

Geez, you really need to learn how to reject people you don't want around you, especially guys in these situations.

Craining your neck up, you tried to find where the hell (F/n) went. After a few minutes of copying a giraffe, extending your neck and body posture higher to look, you found your eyes looking at the bar where she was.

She probably got tired from the dancing and ordered a drink to refresh, but she wasn't alone. She was talking to a guy who was quite tall, even if he was sitting down. He had tanned skin, a few tattos across his arms, his blonde hair in some type of mullet, and he looked to be the same age range as you and (F/n).

He seemed almost familiar. His face, his build, his many features...it felt like deja vu, really. You felt like you've seen him somewhere, somehow before. You tried to remind yourself where, but it just won't come up to mind. Like the answer was under a blanket, sillhouette shown to give a clue, yet what's under still a mystery and the only way to know is to look under the fabric.

But you just shrugged it off, chalking it up to be just some sort of resemblance to someone you saw before. By just the look in (F/n)'s eyes, you can tell that they seem to be hitting it off pretty well. (F/n) had that slanted, dreamy eyes as she listened to whatever the blonde was saying. And the man looked more than happy to talk to her. Well, hopefully it was genuine? Besides, he wouldn't approach her if he wasn't interested in her, right?

You didn't really want to interrupt them. Sure, you were protective, but you were also more than supportive of your friends, and you knew that even if she was clumsy, (F/n) was an adult who can handle herself well. And besides, what if there was indeed a romance brewing between them? You didn't want to intrude or destroy what was slowly forming.

Opening your phone, you opted to send her a small message.

'Hey, (F/n)! Just wanted to tell you that I'll be heading home. Don't wanna interrupt you and your possible Mister Right. Enjoy your time with him, but don't be too trusting and remember to put your guard up when you feel in danger, okay? Stay safe, love yaaa.'

You gave the two one last look and see her laughing at whatever the guy was saying. You rolled your eyes yet a fond smile on your face, knowing that the guy will probably be one of her newest fixations that month that she won't shut up about.

"And! AND! He was just so good with his words! Like, I know he's not Japanese, can't even speak our language. But when he speaks English, oh god! It's too attractive. Oh my god, I am so glad I paid attention to English class!"

You let out a laugh at her squeals, although being mindful not to let out a loud one. You were, after all, in the bus headed to the Blue Lock facility to finally start your job again.

Just as you predicted, (F/n) as absolutely taken by whoever that blonde guy was. As she usually does, she likes people quite easily, either romantic or platonic as long as they fit the so-called 'vibe' for her.

Turns out, the guy was actually Brazillian and lives in Spain, but he was just here in Japan for some sort of 'work,' that he had.

"I remember asking him about what he do and he answered, but geez...the hangover took over my brain more than his answer. I feel so disappointed! I didn't even get to ask him for his number!!"

"Well, that sucks. But, hey, if it's meant to be, then it's meant to be, right? I'm sure fate will make you two meet again, one way or another."

Oh, if only you knew how you were both so right yet so wrong at that moment.

"I got it, Ego-san! Have a nice day!"

You smiled before exiting Ego's office, stacks of paper in hand. It was all full of information about each stratum's players. Such as health concerns and history for the clinic, stats for the editors to edit on the episodes of Blue Lock TV, hell, even some preferences they might like for you to cater to them! (You didn't have to do that, but you still did since you are a people pleaser, shush)

Looking down at the newer schedules around the place, you knew you had to make a new timetable for yourself and the players to allow the Neo-Egoist League matches to shine and be given time in certain days while still taking to account the usual things done around the facility.

Too focused on brainstorming ideas, you did not see someone walking past you in time and accidentally nidged your shoulders against theirs. The papers fell to the ground due to the pack of support, the flicking noises of the material panicking you a bit since there were so many of them, and now they're all scattered on the floor.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! I wasn't looking!"

"Está bien, yo también lo siento, bonita." The man let out an amused yet deep chuckle.

Blinking at the unfamilliar language, you suddenly remembered the earpiece Anri gave you, given by the Mikage Corps to help with the language barrier between the foreign players and the Japanese ones.

Taking them from your pocket before putting them on in your ear, you finally turned your head to face the person you bumped into, and the familiarity of him couldn't make you stop the visceral reaction to speak.

"It's you...from the bar!"

You gasped before covering your mouth, now feeling a huge wave of embarrassment. The blonde hair, the tanned skin with tattoos, the grin, it was familiar. That was why he seemed so familiar.

The man your friend was with that night was Lavinho, the so-called 'Dancer' due to his creative dribbling on the field, like he was dancing, with the ball as his dancing prop.

You felt so stupid. Why did you not recognise him so easily when you have watched some of his games online before? Meanwhile, Lavinho seemed confused by what your outburst meant.

"Oh uh, sorry...I just...I saw you in a bar, like 2 days ago..."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, you were talking to my friend..."

"Oh, her? (F/n), right? Yeah, I remember her. Heh, she was really pretty. But, I didn't know she had a fine friend as well." He said, a mischievous grin on his face as he helped you pick up the paperworks on the ground.

You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, eyes slanted in suspicion.

'This guy...I'm glad (F/n) didn't get his number, he seems like a loose guy.'

"Thank you...? Um, thank you for helping me."

"No problem. Glad to help a beautiful woman."

'Yeah, okay...he is THAT type of guy.'

You gave a smile, one that is not so genuine yet you did not want to be rude to him, since he was visitor from a foreign country and who knows if there was a camera in the halls watching you both.

"How else may I help you, Lavinho-san?"

"Oh, maybe you can help me with this!"

He turned a bit more serious as he showed whatever training schedule the Blue Lockers themselves created for themselves (since Lavinho was a master who preferred the players make it since they know their own strength and individuality), reading the tables and messy handwriting of what the players thought they wanted or needed in their training, you just nodded at some of them.

"Hmm, these are really good! I'll recommend some things though to make it better."

You were recommending different suggestions, pointing things out with a softer and kinder tone, and entertaining any ideas or questions from him. Smiling wider as more questions pass, enjoying the challenge and widening your knowledge on the sports.

Meanwhile, Lavinho found himself enjoying his time with you. Throwing ideas back and forth, hell, he was even a little bit closer to your body now, wanting to make sure he heard you better. His movement towards your figure unintentional, like a magnetic force was dragging him to you.

But why? He didn't know. All he knew was that you were an interesting person to talk to, especially when it came to the sport he was very passionate about.

'She's not just fine, but smart and individualistic too, huh?'

ADDITIONAL TIME!

Otoya: Which type do you want-

Lavinho: Preferably a woman who is (height), has (h/c) hair and (e/c) eyes, likes (color), is smart, responsible, beautiful, and is a manager of the Blue Lock Facility.

Hayate: That's just Y/n-san.

Lavinho: Exactly.

Bachira: *Already prepared to pounce*

Otoya: I meant what type of workout we should do today, old man.

This was longer than it should be lol

Blue Lock is WRITTEN by Kaneshiro Muneyuki and ILLUSTRATED by Nomura Yusuke. All credits to the both of them.

[hexologyst]

"What if I am not worth it for it all to be for me."

This sentence in particular stuck out to me because there's something so heartbreaking about the subtext here: that (if I'm understanding correctly) you feel undeserving of your own effort. Like the work required to create your comic is only justifiable if it's for someone else because, surely, making something for yourself first isn't worth your time.

I want to start by saying I have nothing but empathy for this feeling. Artists have to make money, too, and part of that is gaining an audience. There's a logistical, practical aspect to this concern, and I don't want to wholly dismiss it by saying it "doesn't matter" — because for many of us, it does, and that's okay. It is okay to want an audience, to want people to engage with your work, to want to be paid for your labor. It's okay and completely understandable.

All the practical stuff aside, though, I'd like to encourage you, OP (and anyone else who may need this, myself included), to gently challenge these "what if" questions:

What if I'm not smart enough to finish a story? → At what point do you become smart enough? What does that mean? Are your smarts really the obstacle preventing you from finishing a story, or is there something else? What if I'm not good enough at art to do the comic? → Same deal. What does "good enough" mean to you? Having a desired look for the art is fine, but getting specific about what you want to achieve is a lot more actionable than simply deeming yourself not good enough. What if no one cares? → Hey, they might not. But here's a better question: what someone does care? What if your comic, your art, your story, could serve as a catalyst for someone else? What if your courage, your decision to be vulnerable and share your creations despite your fear, sets off a chain reaction for other artists just like you, who suddenly feel brave enough to do it scared because they watched you do it first?

I think a lot of us get so caught up in the whirlwind that is publishing our work on the internet that we talk ourselves out of sharing at all. It's hard not to play the comparison game and feel insignificant, and again, that feeling is very normal — but I also think it can, occasionally, become a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy.

And listen, I'm preaching to myself just as much as I'm preaching to y'all. I needed to hear this, too. In fact, OP, I want to thank you for having the courage to voice these fears. In doing so, you've inadvertently inspired me to take my own advice and do the fuckin' thing scared.

See what I mean? I've not even read your story, and yet, you've already positively impacted me just by being yourself.

You're worth it. I promise, you're worth it.

I don’t think I am smart enough to finish a single story, or good enough yet at art to do the comic.. yes do it scared, but what if no one cares, what if I am not worth it for it all to be for me. What do I do. Does anyone know what to do

[thewatcher98]

SUNDAY CONFESSIONAL IS...

...something that I've been thinking for quite a while now. And it is: how much I hate the expression "dodging a bullet" when talking about Morse.

I found myself a lot in him. The inability to fit in (he is called by Jakes "the odd one" and has particular interests; I also have different interests than my peers and I often got the "she's so weird" look) resulting in social awkwardness (can't really have a "normal" conversation with anyone or forcing myself to be like the others so I'm not left out but it's super draining and tiring; we've seen several times Morse experiencing exactly this). That voice in the back of our heads telling us that no one likes us, that everyone's going to hurt us, to leave us, that we're just a huge disappointment. And most of the time none of that it's true. It's our anxiety (I guess?) speaking.

He is not easy that's for sure. But he has his "reasons" aka trauma. Lack of communication, trust issues, mommy AND daddy issues. Plus I really do think he's neurodivergent (which I suspect I am too but I'll never know cause I can't afford a therapist yoohoo). He's not a bad person. It's just the '60s and people don't talk about these kind of things and surely don't talk with a "shrink". I don't know if have any kind of trauma, honestly. Maybe that infamous "generational trauma" that it's so talked about online that it's now forced in movies/tv shows cause people have lost the ability to write a story. Am I a good person? I let the others be the judge of that cause my mind just LOVE to play tricks on me and I don't trust her for a moment.

All of this to say: if I found us so similar and by avoiding him people "dodge a bullet", what about me? What should I do? Should I lose all hope and give up? No friendship? No love? Cause I'm such a problem that it's better to run the opposite direction as fast as you can? To dodge the bullet?

Anyway this is it. I had to take it off my chest. Sorry if it feels too self centered. That wasn't my intention. All I wanted to say is to always be careful with how you use your words. To you it might sound like something funny to say. Someone else might start spiraling bad. Also, no drama or beef or whatever, please cause I'm so tired of it lol

Here's a nice gif of Morse petting a dog

[imagineiwrotesomethingwell]

'Goddess'

wc: 7,987 words content warnings: slow burn but not too bad, smut, afab reader (reader is referred to as a wife, queen, and woman multiple times), male masturbation, oral (both receiving), fingering (f receiving), mating bond, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, babes), something that might constitute as cum play???, overstim, mild dacryphilia, body worship, marking kink implied, cockwarming (?)

@allbymyself17 i am so so sorry this took so long, thank you for being patient with me 🙏

“The girl, in exchange for the tesseract,” Surtur booms, his voice deep and menacing as it rolls through the golden city. “She’d make a fine wife for one of your boys, aye, Odin? She’s got those birthing hips. A perfect breeder.”

You, held in Surtur’s massive paw, are too terrified to be offended.

Your day had started largely normal; breakfast with a friend, a stroll through the streets of your small town. But something had opened up beneath you, sucking you in, sucking you through dimensions, entire worlds. If you’d ended up damn near anywhere else, you’d be awed. But right now, you’re in the clutches of an 8,000 year old fire monster, high above Asgard, terror pulsing through your veins.

He seems to be using you as a bargaining chip, like these people know you, owe you something. But you’re too high up to hear much of anything until a raven-haired man floats up before you. 

He’s exquisite, though you’re unwilling to say it aloud. He looks just the same as when you’d seen him on the news a few years ago after trying to take over the world; well, maybe not just the same. His hair is longer now, and he looks less cocky, more… tired. His helmet’s different- the horns are smaller now. And when he meets your eyes, their icy blue is filled with a soft sympathy. You’d scoff if you weren’t so frightened; Loki, the god who’d killed hundreds in the attack on New York alone, was sympathetic to you. Wow.

But he’s quickly joined by a much older god and his brother, Thor. Thor you knew from the news, too, but this old man -worn, aged, long grey hair and an eyepatch, mouth set in a stern line that makes you wonder if he ever smiled- you didn’t recognize him. But you assumed he was the Odin that Surtur had been addressing, and his one eye surveyed you like you were a piece of meat rather than a human.

“Deal,” Odin boomed back, and your stomach sank. Loki’s eyes went wide in response and he turned to the older god incredulously. Thor just seemed upset about this tesseract thing. Neither spoke, though, and Odin continued. “Give us the girl and we’ll give you the tesseract.”

And suddenly you’re falling. You’re screaming. Hurtling towards the flames that lick at Surtur’s legs. Your heart is in your throat and you’re certain the demon is still holding your stomach.

But just as quickly as Surtur’d dropped you, Loki caught you. You clung to him like a lifeline, a soft sob wrenching from your throat as you wrapped your arms around his neck and held on for dear life. And you know you should be afraid - this is the man who tried to enslave all of humanity, after all. But despite yourself, he feels… safe.

There’s an awful sound, like metal tearing, and then a deep, guttural cry of agony as Thor and Odin wrench the crown off Surtur’s head and the fire demon crumbles to ash. You see none of this, though, too busy crying into the neck of the god who caught you to fully process what’s going on. You’ll have to ask later (which, of course, means it’ll get more and more dramatic with each telling).

Loki carried you to the ground, holding you tightly; one arm under your knees, the other behind your back to hold you steady. He smelled good, though. Like smoke and petrichor and cinnamon. Autumn. You took comfort in it, let yourself be held, even as the trickster lighted on the dirtied cobblestones of his home city. 

He made no move to put you down.

˚　. . ✦ 　˚ . ★⋆.　. ˚　*✦　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　

Odin, on the other hand, had barely made it to the street before he’d begun shouting orders. You heard some things in a language you didn’t understand, and suddenly, everything was moving so fast. 

Before you really could process, before you’d even stopped crying, your feet were on the ground. You were torn from Loki’s arms by a group of bustling, tutting ladies, all seeming very eager to get you out of the torn-down square. Loki looked as disconcerted as you felt, though you hoped you masked it better than him. He watched after you, his hand outstretched and his lips parted as if to call to you. But… How could he? He didn’t even know your name. You’d lost him in the crowd as the ladies led you away, their matching rose-colored gowns dragging through the debris as they huddled you towards the castle. 

No one answered you when you asked what was happening, when you begged to go home. When the ladies had cooed at you in that language you didn’t understand and stripped you of your ash-covered jumper and jeans. They ran you a bath and you’d cried in it as they washed you, vigorous yet gentle. 

But you kept thinking about Loki, even as you thought of the family and friends you didn’t know if you’d ever see again. You thought of his scent of soft autumn comfort while you thought about that stray cat you feed sometimes. You thought of his piercing blue gaze as you thought about the concert plans with your best friend that you wondered if you’d ever make. 

You were still thinking about him when the ladies wrangled you into a red gown that accentuated your curves. You thought about how his arms felt around you, how his fingers felt when they’d run over your jumper as you’d been pulled away. You were lost in thought, in a strange feeling that’d built up in your chest since you’d left Loki in the rubble of this golden city. You wondered why you’d felt so safe in his arms.

One of the ladies painted your lips and eyes, another wove flowers into your hair, and a third painted your nails a sparkling, galaxy-like black that shone a thousand colors when the light shifted. All thoughts of the trickster god had momentarily flown from your mind when you’d seen your reflection.

That’s where you are now, staring at yourself in that flowing, crimson gown while you try to make sense of the afternoon and evening after Surtur’s apparent defeat. The ladies have long since left, clearly done with their work on you.

You run your fingers over the chiffon sleeves and layers on the dress, your mind spinning. You look incredible, you really do. They’d done something to your eyes that made them pop in the most exquisite way, and your every insecurity was drowned out by the gorgeous, elaborate costume that accentuates your chest and hips deliciously. Every motion has the embroidered crystal beads on the corseted bodice catching in the firelight and the skirt swishes around your ankles with the most lovely, satisfying sound. You’re admiring it when you hear the door open.

You turn to find yourself locked into that piercing blue gaze, and that feeling in your chest multiplies tenfold. Your breath catches as your eyes trail over him, and you hate the way your heart speeds up, just a little bit.

He, too, is wearing crimson, but it’s a version of his armor. You assume it’s something similar to human soldiers wearing their dress uniforms for their weddings and special occasions. His horned helmet/visor/headband/thing is in his hand at his side and his hair is falling around his face in silky, ebony waves. He looks- well, he looks like a prince, which you suppose he is, isn’t he?

It’s infuriating.

“You look incredible,” he says softly, his eyes trailing over you appreciatively. His eyes are wide and he looks almost awed, but you discard the urge to preen. He’s a prince, after all. He’s probably trying to get in your pants.

“What am I doing here?” you reply, your voice curt and cold. May this very well get you beheaded? Yes, possibly. But… no buts. Cool yourself. Jesus Christ. So you tack on, “Sir,” at the end, because you’ve never been in front of royalty before! How are you meant to address him?

He chuckles softly, and that thing in your chest happens again. “Please, don’t call me sir,” he says, stepping closer but keeping his distance. Playing the perfect gentleman. “Just Loki. And… No one told you?”

Your brow pinches and you reach a hand up to your throat instinctively. You grip the small pendant of your necklace, using the semi-sharp edge of the stone to ground yourself. “No one told me anything.”

He looks put out at that, his own brow pinching for a moment as he thinks. But then his face smooths once more and his eyes find yours. “What’s your name?”

“Answer my question first,” you challenge, keeping your chin high despite the way your defiance frightens you slightly. He just nods, though.

“You’re to be wed.”

Your heart stops. You feel it stop. And then you’re all but shrieking his words back at him, and everything is going far too fast. Your heart goes from stopped to a million miles an hour in seconds, and your mind does the same. You’re panicking, on the verge of some kind of attack, and you’re unaware of everything around you. Your breathing is too fast and your hands are shaking and the walls are closing in, aren’t they? It’s so dark and everything feels wrong and fuck why does your skin feel like that? I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t-

And then there’s a hand on your shoulder, and that warmth in your chest spreads everywhere. It’s like you’ve drunk too much wine, but in the best way. Warm and fuzzy and soft, everything feels like it could be good now. Your mind is quiet and your body is still, your thoughts serene and your breathing calm. When you open your eyes, they’re wonder-filled and wild, perfectly mirroring the icy gaze across from you.

“Breathe, Little Fox,” Loki whispers, his hand never straying from your shoulder. Never touching your skin, never pushing his limits. But his chest is heaving, too, and his eyes are wide and tinged with something almost… dark. Dark, but not frightening.

The moment ends all too soon as Loki steps back and away, his hand dropping down to his side. Your skin tingles where his warmth had been, and by the way he’s rubbing his fingers together, you think it feels the same for him.

“What’s your name?” he asks again, his voice softer this time. Almost… small. His eyes seem to light up when you whisper it, still confused and half in shock, and he repeats it. It sounds almost reverent, and it does something funny to your stomach to hear your name fall off his tongue.

Fuck.

“Why am I- ‘to be wed’?” you ask softly once your heart rate has returned to something normal. 

He opens his mouth for a second and closes it, furrowing his eyebrows. “Do you want the simple answer or the complex one?” he asks, and you’re close enough to smell him once more. He smells less like smoke now, but you find you miss it.

“Simple,” you murmur, pushing away thoughts of the god’s smell.

He lifts his hand, pressing it against the center of his own chest. “Do you feel that? In here? The warmth that’s been here since you arrived in Asgard.”

You look down at his hand, the kind of hand that would have normally had you texting your friends while squealing in your bed about the sinful things you intended to do to the man attached. 

Fuck, now you’re thinking about his hands? Jesus, you need help. Fuck.

You shake it off and nod, returning your gaze to his eyes, ignoring the way you can feel your cheeks heat. You just pray he can’t see it.

He smiles slightly, and you catch his gaze flick for half a second from your face to your chest. Just for a moment, but you catch it, and you only blush deeper. And of course his smile grows, and you realize he’s enjoying flustering you. This should be fun. Not.

“What is it?” you prompt, clearing your throat and shifting on your feet. You swear his eyes glow for a moment, but it’s gone before you can blink.

“Short and simple answer, darling, is that Asgardians mate for life,” he all but purrs. “And you are my mate, Little Fox.”

You scowl, but your heart races. Because fuck that voice… He knows what he’s doing. So you glare at him. “And if I don’t marry you?”

His smile falters for a moment, something sympathetic passing over his features. “That… Asgardian law is very clear on this. I’m afraid you have no choice, darling. Having said that, the law does not extend to anything past a wedding. It must be had within a week of the bond being found, but there is no time constraint on… consummation.”

You flush, feeling your neck and ears burn at the implication of your words. And of course your brain goes to all sorts of wicked places, places where you wonder what else that silver tongue of his can do, be it in your ear or between your- oh my god you’re so fucking screwed.

“I’m not Asgardian,” you argue, trying not to let your sinful thoughts show. You swear he knows, though. It’s bullshit.

“That doesn’t matter,” he says, firm but gentle. “You are my mate, and you are to be my wife. My father has already prepared everything, and my mother will be here in a moment to explain to you the vows and traditions.” 

With that, he steps back away from you, and that warmth in your chest dulls a little. You don’t like it, but you bite your tongue. When he reaches the door, he turns back to look at you for a moment.

“For what it’s worth,” he says softly, “you really do look exquisite. And- and I’m sorry.” He’s gone before you can respond.

˚　. . ✦ 　˚ . ★⋆.　. ˚　*✦　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　

Frigga is a good woman. She’s got kind eyes, and you love her immediately. You decide that she’ll be an easy person to care for, even in this new place you seem to be… stuck in. 

The wedding went off without a hitch. You’d managed to not vomit or flee as you’d spoken the words, as they’d tied that cloth over your hands. Holding Loki’s hands, though, felt like heaven. Which is weird. Because it’s fucking hand holding. But it made that thing in your chest -the bond, evidently- get all happy and fuzzy, and it nearly bubbled over.

Loki seemed to have had the same reaction, too, because he was fighting a smile all through the wedding and the reception, during which you did drink too much wine.

By the mercy of some god (definitely not Odin), you’d woken alone and fully clothed, which told you two things. One, that you’d not been able to untie the bodice of the gown, and two, that your husband had said “nope, she’s drunk, ain’t happening”, which you found comforting.

Because as the days after your wedding passed, as you came to learn the halls of the castle and the names of the servants and maids and guards, you remembered bits and pieces of your drunken haze. In which you did, in fact, attempt to bed your husband. It was a sloppy attempt, with a shitty human pickup line, but it had made him blush, and as humiliating as the memories were, you held on to the one of him flushing. 

You ate dinner with him every night, mostly in your bedchambers because he didn’t seem the type for formal dining. He liked to sit at the foot of your bed to eat while you sat on the bed and did the same. And you found yourselves talking each night. For hours.

Loki was easy to talk to, which you found surprising. You mentioned this to him once, but he’d just waved it off and changed the topic, trying and failing to hide the blush that you so loved. You learned that night that he’s fairly bad at taking compliments from everyone but his mother, and you quite enjoy watching him become flustered from something as simple as noting how the tunic he wore complimented his eyes.

You talked about everything and nothing at all. You learned about him, his family, his court. He taught you Asgardian laws and you shared your favorite stupid human laws. He brought games, too, finding human games to be far more fun than Asgardian ones. (“Ours all have swords and knives, I quite like this… fish game. Go fish!”) And the more you talked, the warmer the bond felt in your chest. It never became uncomfortable until he left for his own bed each night. 

You hated it then. You hated lying awake, staring at the ceiling, that strange buzzing filling your chest, your body, your cunt. Hated not knowing if it took as much for him to settle down as it did for you. Hated the way you knew where his bedchambers were but had never dared cross the threshold after his lights were out. Hated how you came each night on your own hand, with his name on your lips, wishing he were filling you, knowing for a fact that he’d reach every spot you couldn’t.

Days turned into weeks, and before you knew it, you’d been a wife for three months. And yet every night, he slept in his own room. 

You’re sick of it.

“Stay here tonight,” you say confidently -though you feel anything but- as he piles up the empty bowls from the desserts you’d stolen from the kitchens. Loki’s hands faltered and the bowls nearly toppled, but he caught them just in time. Your chest swells with pride at the idea that maybe, just maybe, you have the same effect on him that he has on you.

“I can’t do that,” he replies. His voice sounds different than it had a moment ago. Rougher.

“Why not?” you ask, keeping up the false confidence to hide the slight nerves. Hell, not slight. Fuck, does he not think you’re pretty anymore? Did he just like the gown? No, that must not be it, he compliments you every day. So what-

“Because I have enough trouble controlling myself as it is, Little Fox,” he says, and his voice is definitely rough now. His back is to you and you can see how tense his shoulders are.

You flush, though, because… Clearly he still thinks you’re pretty. So you switch tactics, because at this point, you don’t want to spend another night alone. The bond is always pulling so hard, making you ache for him.

“Loki,” you whisper, rising to your knees on the side of the bed. You reach out with a surprisingly steady hand and rest it on his shoulder, feeling his breath hitch, feeling the bond twitch inside you. “Please. I don’t want to sleep without you.”

Before the bowls have even hit the ground, his lips are on yours. You register the crash and shatter of the ceramic, but your hands are in his hair and you don’t care.

He tastes like cinnamon and apples, like the pie you’d both devoured. But there’s something else, too, something you can taste when his fingers tangle in your hair and tug your head back slightly, using the new angle to sweep his tongue into the deepest crevices of your mouth, something purely Loki. You whimper, and he swallows it with a groan, stepping closer and pressing his body flush against yours. The hand not in your hair grips your hip, kneading gently as he holds you in place against him.

His hair feels like silk between your fingers and you tug, too, and you’re rewarded with the most beautiful moan you’ve ever heard. You tug again, this time using your body to pull him over you. He complies with a growl, and you whimper again as he cradles your head ever so gently, laying you back so carefully against the pillows. His lips never leave yours as his body cages you in. His knees are on either side of your hips and the hand that’s not on your head traces gently up your side, always stopping just short of your breast. 

You kiss him hungrily, greedily. Your hands roam recklessly, all care for propriety gone because fuck the bond is so strong and all it wants is more and you whine in frustration as his thumb brushes your ribs again without going all the way. 

“Please,” you gasp against his lips, dragging the lower between your teeth before releasing it gently. “Touch me, Loki. I need it. I need you.”

He pulls away just enough to look at you, and you hardly recognize the man above you. His eyes are wild, pupils blown so wide you can hardly see the blue. “I can’t,” he growls softly, his chest heaving against yours. “There are things you don’t know yet.”

“Then tell me,” you beg, fingers clawing at the buttons of his shirt. He growls and his hand leaves your hair, making you whine again at the loss. Quickly, he grabs your hands in his one and pins them above your head, the hand on your ribs tightening.

“Don’t push me, Little Fox,” he murmurs, dropping his forehead to yours and closing his eyes. His hand never loosens around your wrists as he whispers, “humans react differently to godly spend. Ordinarily, it’d just be a powerful aphrodisiac. But you’re my mate, so that’s not how it’ll work.”

You’re trying to pay attention, really you are, but you can taste his breath on your lips and you can’t help yourself straining your neck to kiss him. He groans against your lips and you whimper at the taste of him before he nips your lips and pulls away, leaving you panting and desperate for more.

“You need to listen to me,” he says gruffly, his breath mingling with yours as he pants above you. You pout and open your mouth to protest, but he kisses you again, making your head spin. You melt when his tongue hits yours, and then he’s gone again. You’re too dazed to complain about it.

“Listen to me, darling,” he says firmly, his voice brokering no argument. His wild eyes lock onto yours and it makes your heart race. “If I fuck you, you become a goddess.”

That snaps you out of it. “What?”

He chuckles lowly, and the sound goes straight to your clit. “The ‘humans react differently to godly spend’ thing? Were you listening?”

You flush slightly. “I was trying,” you mumble, looking down at his lips again. “But I don’t know if you’re aware, but you’re very pretty, and therefore very distracting.”

Now it’s his turn to blush, and you’re too far gone not to moan at the sight. He chuckles again and rolls those icy eyes.

“Shush, you,” he mutters, kissing you deeply once more. He tries to pull away, but you whimper and chase his lips and he caves, his thumb stroking your inner wrist in time with his tongue against yours. Eventually, he does pull away again, and you’re left gasping for air.

“I won’t fuck you until you’ve had time to think about it,” he says softly, trailing feather-light kisses over your jaw. They send shivers down your spine and you clench your thighs together, biting your lip.

“I don’t-” you start to protest.

“No,” Loki says firmly, pulling away. His fingers tighten around your wrists and his other hand leaves your ribs to grip your chin. “Look at me, Little Fox.”

What you see takes your breath away. He’s positively exquisite; his hair a mess from your fingers, his eyes wild and pupils wide blown, his lips swollen from kissing you and his lips parted with the force of his heaving breaths. His heart melts at the reverence in your gaze and he sighs softly.

“Not until you’ve had time to think,” he repeats quietly, brushing your nose with his. With that, he kisses you once more before releasing your wrists and rolling off you and laying beside you, staring up at your ceiling. “But I won’t make you sleep alone.” 

˚　. . ✦ 　˚ . ★⋆.　. ˚　*✦　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　

Apparently, Loki’s version of ‘time to think’ means ‘until I’ve explained every pro and con of immortality a thousand times and given you a week to mull over each one individually’.

Okay, so maybe it’s only been a month, but you’ve literally slept naked beside the man only to have him kiss your forehead and spoon you to sleep. It’s as sweet as it is infuriating. The only thing you’ve not tried is fucking groping him, which you don’t want to do because he’s been so respectful to you, so you’re fucking screwed. You’ve even tried touching yourself while he ‘slept’ beside you. You heard his breath hitch, you knew he was awake, but he did nothing. 

So now you have one option left, aside from borderline assaulting your husband; ignore him.

There’s a ball tonight, one which Frigga assured you is not at all important for you to attend and has no dress code, which is vital for Plan B. 

You just hope Plan A works anyway.

You’re oh-so-innocently perched on the chair in front of your vanity, painting your lips a deep red that offsets the… garment you’re wearing. Loki doesn’t immediately notice you, though he greets you as he always does. 

A gentle, “hello, love,” as he enters the room and slips into the bathroom, pretty head in the clouds. But you don’t respond, and he notices that immediately. So he pokes his head out of the bathroom, and he fucking groans when he sees you.

What you’re wearing is so skimpy it can hardly be considered a gown. It’s a deep, gorgeous, emerald silk, one that drapes over your breasts but leaves nothing of your back, sides, or stomach to the imagination. The skirt, which is hardly a skirt, is just a wide strip of fabric that covers your crotch and meets the ‘skirt’ in the back, so everything indecent is covered, but every spare inch of skin is bared. You’re not even wearing jewelry yet, but he’s salivating at the sight of you.

Loki slips out of the bathroom with dark eyes and silent feet, and you can see in your periphery as you check your hair in the mirror that he’s undoing his tie. He comes to a stop just behind your chair and leans down, his lips hovering just outside your ear. “Did you wear that for me, Little Fox?” he purrs, and you can’t keep the shiver from running down your spine.

You don’t respond, focusing on your own reflection as you paint the lipstick on. You purse your lips, rubbing them together to spread the color over them. Ordinarily, you’d be blushing and embarrassed, self-conscious of the skin you’re displaying, but you’re too horny after four fucking months of him ignoring and neglecting you (translated: not fucking you) to care. You set down the lipstick with a hum, seeing him move in your periphery. 

You can feel his breath against your skin, his hair brushing your shoulder as he leans in close and presses a chaste, lingering kiss to the crook of your neck. “I asked you a question,” he murmurs, his eyes trailing over your form as you begin to slide gold bracelets onto your arms. He’s definitely looking down the front of your dress.

But you still stay silent, ‘focusing’ entirely on your jewelry and not even sparing your husband a glance. You feel his lips curve into a frown against your skin and you relish it, the reaction, no matter how small it may be. 

He inches closer, kneeling behind your chair and resting a hand on your thigh from behind you. “Little fox,” he says lowly, his voice all but a growl as he caresses the soft skin of your uppermost leg. “Why are you wearing this?” His tone sounds almost menacing now, an unspoken warning that sends a shiver down your exposed spine. 

You meet his eyes over your shoulder, your own wide and innocent as you feel his thumb start to brush circles over your flesh. “I wanted to feel pretty,” you coo innocently, tilting your head to the side as your fingers dance across the vanity in search of the necklace you wanted to wear. You bat your eyelashes as you ask, “Do you think I look pretty?” 

There’s something that flashes in his eyes, the icy blue darkening as his pupils blow wide. He presses his nose into the crook of your neck as his fingers slip under the silk of your gown, coming to rest on your hip -right where your panties are supposed to be. But you’re not wearing any, and he is suddenly very aware of it. He growls against your neck, “I think you look like a fucking goddess.”

And then his fingers plunge inside you, quicker than you know what to do with, and you’re already so wet that both long, slender digits slip in with no resistance. You cry out, your eyes rolling and your jaw going slack as your thighs part unconsciously. You’re faintly aware of him smirking against your lips, but your entire universe narrows to the feeling of his middle and ring finger curling into that spot with every thrust. You don’t know how he found it so fast, but you are not complaining in the least.

“You’re so pretty,” he coos as his fingers pump in and out of you, watching your reflection in the mirror as you lose your mind completely. “So undone, just from a few little touches?” He clicks his tongue disapprovingly as his thumb finds your clit and his tongue finds that spot under your jaw, both appendages moving in tight, rough circles that push you to the brink of sanity.

You’re probably moaning and whimpering and gasping, because your head is spinning and you can’t get enough air into your lungs and you’re not sure when your hips started bucking unceremoniously off the plush chair you’re sitting in, but none of that matters if you can’t stop yourself from cumming too fast. 

Loki chuckles, his eyes dark as he watches you writhe. 

And then he bites you.

You cum with a cry, one hand digging blood-red nails into his wrist and the other clawing at the edge of the chair as you try in vain to ground yourself. He’s groaning, too, gasping softly as his fingers seem to stutter inside your pulsing, fluttering pussy, but you’re floating too high to process why that might be. 

He strokes that spongy spot inside you as you come down, gasping and panting and whining gently. Loki’s panting just as hard, his breath hot against your skin as he does.

Some part of your brain registers the wide-blow of his pupils in the vanity’s reflection, the way his fingers slow inside you until they nearly stop, only twitching slightly, almost involuntarily. 

And then you wonder where his other hand is. 

The second you meet his eyes, you know. And he knows you know, too, because he whimpers unabashedly and a shudder runs through him. You turn, swallowing hard as you peek back at him over the back of the chair. You try, oh, by the gods you try to maintain some level of dignity, but the second your eyes meet his without the reflection, your gaze drops.

Oh, he’s beautiful.

His trousers are shoved down his thighs and hand is wrapped tight around his cock, pumping furiously as he stares at you from his knees. A better woman might get a power trip, but you just whimper, biting your lip as you watch him. Memorize him.

The way his wrist twists on the upstroke, the way his palm grazes his tip, red and leaking and swollen and fuck you want to kiss it. The way he drags his nails down that vein on his underside, hissing slightly as he does. You wonder if it hurts, or if it feels more like a scratch on the scalp, but your mouth is too dry to ask. 

You’re dully aware of your own hand moving between your thighs, pulling his fingers from inside you, causing you both to whine softly. You watch him switch hands then, using your slick instead of his own as he strokes himself faster. Your eyes flick to his face just in time to watch his eyes roll back, his bottom lip dragged between his teeth to stifle a sound you so wish you could hear. Loki’s head falls back and his eyes drift closed as he fucks his fist with your juices, his chest heaving and his stomach flexing with every thrust.

And you can’t help slipping off your chair and dropping to your knees, watching intently as pre-cum beads on that slit at the tip of him, such a perfect mushroom that you can’t not-

You grip his wrist, halting his movements. He whines, opening his eyes and staring down at you with a bewildered expression. Fuck, his eyes, so wide and burning and unhinged and insane, ablaze with lust and need and want. You whimper, and you can feel your heart beating in your clit as you tilt your head down, your eyes never leaving his, and kiss the head of him.

He explodes instantly, a hoarse cry leaving his throat. You open your mouth without hesitation, wrapping your lips around his perfect, pretty tip and laving your tongue over his spurting member. His warning from a month ago rings in your mind, but you’ve thought it over, and at this point, you do not care at all. 

Why would you turn down this, turn down him, for the rest of forever?

Loki’s gasping and whimpering, his hips stuttering as he tries desperately not to fuck your mouth as you suckle the tip of him. You wrap your hand around his base, watching him through your eyelashes as you stroke him gently, wanting to milk out every drop of his cum. He’s sweet, which you weren’t expecting. Like candy, where human males are salty and bitter. He tastes like heaven, and you’re completely unsurprised that this would be an aphrodisiac to the average human.

“Fox,” he chokes out, gripping your hair tightly. “I- fuck- you-” He’s spluttering, his cock twitching against your tongue as the last drops spurt out into your mouth. You pull away, your chest heaving as you press one last kiss to his cock before releasing him. His hands drop to the floor, leaving him on his hands and knees in front of you, where your position mirrors his. He drops his head to your shoulder, loosing ragged, shuddering breaths against your skin as he tries to remember how to function.

You can still taste him on your tongue, and you can’t help wondering when you’ll get to do that again. “Loki,” you whisper, lifting one hand to run gently through his hair, soothingly. 

He growls softly, his body going still against you. Your eyes widen, and for a moment, you think he’s angry with you. But then he’s standing, his arms looping around you to hoist you into the air. He dumps you unceremoniously on the bed, shoving his pants down the rest of the way before shoving your gown up and burying his head between your thighs. 

You cry out, arching into him as you whimper his name, gripping his wavy hair tightly as his tongue flicks against your clit rhythmically. It’s hard and fast and desperate, far from what you thought your first time with him would be like. He seemed the type to lay out candles and rose petals, not bury his face in your cunt the first chance he got. 

His fingers join in, pumping in and out of your pulsing pussy as he focuses his oral attentions on your clit, sucking hard and dragging his teeth over you just to listen to you gasp. His free hand kneads your inner thigh as he growls unintelligibly into your cunt. He’s probably giving a whole speech about how delicious you are, about how he could stay here for centuries and never tire, but you’re too busy mewling and whimpering his name to be able to discern any of it. You cum too fast again, your pussy drippy and needy from the aphrodisiac that is his seed, but he doesn’t stop.

You beg him to keep going, gasping and whimpering as you try to squirm away but push harder onto his tongue. Oh, it’s a warring sensation; the pain and the pleasure, the way it feels like heaven but it aches as he bullies your g-spot so perfectly with every crook of his fingers. His tongue is unrelenting, every flick of it sending stars into your eyes and shivers running down your spine. You’re incoherently babbling, mostly his name, but you’re sure there’s other stuff spilling from your lips, too. You’re kneading his hair and scalp, using your nails probably too much, but he just growls into your cunt and nips at your folds, causing a strangled cry to lurch from your throat as you cum hard once more. He groans as your pussy flutters so beautifully around his fingers, seemingly trying to drag them deeper inside you. 

Finally, with one last drooling kiss to your clit, he pulls away, letting his eyes rove over you as he sucks his fingers clean. You lie, spread out and spent, chest heaving as your thighs tremble and your body twitches with soft aftershocks. You open your eyes, letting your fingers slip out of his hair so your arms go limp against the bed.

“You… You’re really good at that,” you murmur, still feeling like you’re floating.

Loki chuckles, his hand moving from your thigh to slide up your side, finding the hidden ribbon of your gown and tugging it. “I’ve had a long time to practice,” he muses as he unties the green silk, his eyes tracing over your form. 

“You’re exquisite,” he whispers reverently, pushing the skimpy gown to the side so he can kiss more of you. He traces his lips over your skin, not even trying to be sensual, simply wanting to worship you. 

He kneads your flesh softly, making your heart skip as his touch ghosts over you. It feels so safe here, so comfortable, and you feel so utterly adored. “I love you,” you whisper, your breath catching before you let out a soft, content sigh. It doesn’t immediately process for you that you’ve never said that to him, but he just hums against your collarbone, kissing his way up your neck until his lips rest on your earlobe.

“And I love you,” he whispers reverently, settling between your thighs. He kneels there, pulling back to look down at your still-twitching body. He smirks, a slight, arrogant thing, smugly proud of how undone you are for him. He finally finishes pulling his shirt off, unbuttoning slowly as you watch with parted lips and baited breath. “Do you want me to fuck you, my little fox?” he asks softly as he pulls the dress shirt off his back. You swallow hard, staring unabashedly at his chest as your cheeks heat. You nod, biting your lip gently before he leans forward and tugs your lip free with his thumb.

“I need a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’, my queen,” he whispers as he hovers over you. His cock is hot and heavy against your stomach, hard again, and all for you. He bumps your nose with his, his eyes locked on yours as he smiles gently, the thumb on your lip moving to caress your jaw. His voice is so gentle, so sweet that you almost don’t process the sheer depravity of his words. “Do you want my cock, baby? Do you want me to make you sob on my dick, to fuck you until you can’t remember anything but my dick in you?”

You whimper, your cunt clenching at the thought.

“Yes.”

He crashes his lips to yours, his restraint seeming to snap completely as he reaches down and grips his cock tightly. He pumps it once, twice, sweeping his tongue over yours in time with his fist, and tilts his hips until the head of him taps your clit. You whimper against his mouth and he swallows it eagerly, slapping his cock against the throbbing nub and chasing the sound once more.

And oh, when he finally slips inside… The broad head of him stretches you out so slowly and deliciously, and your hands fly up from their spot in the bedsheets and claw down his back, trying to drag him closer, pull him deeper. You angle your hips with a whimper, bucking up to try to take him faster. But he chuckles against your lips and sucks on your tongue, keeping his slow, torturous pace until his head drags against that spongy spot inside you. You gasp and whine, arching your back. And he pulls out, pulling his cock through your sopping cunt oh-so-slowly as he breaks the kiss. He smirks down at you, his hands moving to grip your hips, hard enough to bruise.

He slams back inside all at once, eliciting a scream of ecstasy from deep inside your chest. Tears prick your eyes and you bow your back, encouraging a repeat performance. He whines softly and complies with your silent command, pulling out slowly until only his tip is inside you before he plunges back in, his cockhead meeting your cervix in a bruising, gooey kiss that leaves you both whimpering and gasping for more. 

“Loki,” you whine, your eyes squeezing shut. He coos down at you, praising how pretty and sweet you look as he does it again, still too slow and still not hard enough but fuck fuck fuck, it feels so good.

“Take my cock so perfect,” he murmurs with a bright grin as he speeds up ever so slightly. “Such a pretty pussy, made f’me, yeah? Your pussy was made f’my cock? So fuckin perfect, baby, I love you so fuckin much.”

“Loki,” you whimper again, gasping desperately. “Loki, please-”

“Please what, baby?” he coos, pressing his hand against your belly as he thrusts in deep once more. You cry out, a fat tear falling down your cheek as you choke out his name. He just grins, doing it again and again, loving how completely undone you are, just from his cock. Him. “Fuck, you’re beautiful like this. Takin my cock like a sex god. You want more, baby? You want more of me? Want me to pound this pussy?”

You nod frantically, gasping and choking on air as your blood-red nails dig into his skin, leaving marks and indents, proof of your touch on him. “Please,” you gasp out again, bowing your back again.

This time, he complies. This time, when he drags his cock through your pleasure-soaked walls, he rams back inside without hesitation. This time, he drops his forehead you yours and fucking rails you, drawing ecstatic sobs from the depths of your soul.

His hands are so tight on your hips that you know they’ll bruise, and fuck, you can’t wait to see them in the morning. He bullies his cock deeper with every thrust, rolling his hips like a goddamn porn star to hit your clit with each plunge into your depths. Loki’s whimpering as much as he’s growling, his eyes wild as he fucks you hard and fast and deep. He crashes his mouth to yours, tasting your tears and sweat and spit and just you, groaning deep into your mouth. 

He stills over you for a second, long enough to make you whine in protest, but also long enough to grab your hands off his back and pin them to the bed beside your head, intertwining your fingers with his. 

“Mine,” he whispers reverently as he moves once more, his body fitting so perfectly against yours, like it was made for you. “Tell me,” he begs, trailing kisses over your jaw as his hips slow to a deep, satisfying pace that stirs that coil in your belly and makes the most delicious squelching sound. “Tell me who I belong to.”

You whimper, tears of absolute pleasure rolling down your skin only for Loki to lick and kiss them away before they can disappear into your hair. “Me,” you choke out, arching up into him with a soft whine. “Mine. Y-you’re mine.”

He whimpers, too, echoing you as he kisses your skin, his hips speeding up as his own high coils in his core. “Yours,” he vows, releasing one of your hands to reach down and press his thumb against your clit. “My wife.”

You cum with a scream, clenching on his cock so hard you’re sure it has to hurt, but he only whines, fucking you harder. He cums seconds later, gasping out your name and spilling deep inside you. You flutter harder around him, groaning at the feeling of being so utterly filled by him as your body convulses and twitches beneath him as he thrusts jerkily, trying to keep fucking you despite his own orgasm. He’s whimpering like a wounded animal, and it’s nearly enough to make you cum again. 

You lean up and capture his lips, whining as you taste him again, going limp as he stills above you, focusing entirely on your lips now. His hand stills against you and the other squeezes yours, a soft, utterly sated sigh dropping between your lips. Loki settles his weight over you, letting his hand slide up your body and caress your jaw as he goes soft inside you. You sigh contentedly, lifting your own free hand to toy with his hair as you kiss. 

After a moment, you pull away and smile up at him, tired and sated. “My husband,” you whisper, your hand sliding from his hair to his jaw. Loki nuzzles into the touch, kissing your inner wrist.

His eyes are soft as he gazes down at you, his hand on your jaw sliding up to trace over your face gently, reverently. And you could swear you’ve never heard anything as sweet as his voice as he murmurs so gently, so adoringly, “My goddess.”

˚　. . ✦ 　˚ . ★⋆.　. ˚　*✦　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　

Later that night, you were still naked and tangled together, your head on his chest as he played with your hair, damp from the shower. You’re tracing shapes over his skin, humming contentedly to yourself. 

You press a gentle kiss to his pec, skewing your mouth to one side. “I don’t feel any different,” you admit, resting your chin on his chest and looking up at him. “I mean, I feel different, but different in a ‘I just had the best sex of my life’ kind of way, not a ‘I’m a goddess now’ kind of way.”

Loki chuckles and boops your nose. “You’ll feel different in the morning,” he assures you, his voice low and soft. “You were a goddess from the second my cock touched your tongue.” You flush despite yourself, turning your face to kiss his sternum. 

“Hmm,” is all you say, embarrassed now of all times. He just laughs, grinning. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” he whispers, his voice coy and teasing as he settles back into his pillows as he returns to toying with your hair. “We’ll have plenty of time to make you a goddess if it didn’t work this time.”

[chemicalcindercat]

Ethereal/Deity Batfam AU I'm playing around with:

-Bruce is a karma deity, meaning he can sense how good or bad a person is. It's way more complicated than that, because humans are complicated, so most of the time he ignores peoples' auras. However if someone is particularly good or evil, Bruce can pull some strings in the universe so that they will be rewarded or punished appropriately.

-This comes in handy during his work as Batman because he can sense which of the criminals are decent people acting out of desperation (and send some good vibes their way so hopefully they can make a better choice) and which ones enjoy hurting people (to which he will send the bad vibes towards). He doesn't kill, but on the rare instance he feels someone really deserves it, he can pull some strings to make their life fall completely apart.

-Dick is a sleep demon. He can make people fall asleep or wake up, can influence their dreams (sometimes even weave them from scratch), and on occasion he can view or enter someone's dream (he could theoretically also use this to communicate with someone in a coma). When Bruce approached him that fateful night at the circus, Dick was crying because he thought his parents were dreaming but he couldnt see their dreams or wake them up.

-As Robin, he can easily put a group of people into a deep sleep and give them good dreams while he's at it (or terrible nightmares if he's pissed off). He also uses this ability on Bruce (and his future siblings) a few different times when the man is denying himself sleep.

-When Bruce finds and adopts Jason, he's a normal human kid up until his death. He is resurrected and given a job as a reaper. His task is to collect people's souls as they die and take them to the afterlife to be with their loved ones. He looses his physical form after he dies and becomes formed from literal shadows; however most people can't see his true form, so when he collects souls he takes on the appearance of either the person's closest loved one, or whatever idea of the grim reaper/death they believe in. (Dick, Bruce, and Alfred still see him as the Jason they knew before he died, because of how much they loved him.)

-When he collects the souls of criminals or other people he feels don't deserve eternal peace, he simply decides to keep their souls for himself. (Perhaps he keeps them locked up, or devours them, idk how dark I want to be with this yet.) Sometimes he has to collect the souls of children too, and it's his least favorite thing in the entire world, but he does his best to make them feel safe and comfortable as he carries them to the afterlife. (He always takes kids to the afterlife.)

I'm not sure about the rest of the bats yet, so if anyone wants to share their thoughts or ideas please feel free! I'd love to make this into a series once the rest of the ideas form, but for now I have a different Batfam WIP to focus on.

[dracaelus]

Sure, bruce wayne visits harvey every week when he's in arkham, everyone knows that. But then, sometimes it's not harvey there, it's two face. Maybe he hesitates for a second bf deciding how to proceed but then - he's already there, right? So he sits and tries to have a normal conversation with him. Maybe play a little bit of chess, if two face is up to it. Engage in gossip, like he does with harvey.

Having bruce there visiting him, even if it's just bc harvey is not an option at the moment, having him not simply up and leave once when realizes is two face there - it gets him feeling some way.

Once he escapes he tries to kil bruce bc of this but harvey stops him - he well knows wayne is off limits - and next time bruce visits and it's him and not harvey... Bruce stays again. Picks up the conversation where they left last time. It makes him go insane. He's not sure how he feels, if it's good or bad. Sometimes he feels like he's just annoyed by the man, and sometimes he's almost... Touched, by the whole thing. Maybe that's the kind of thing he should talk about with his therapist.

Or maybe he should just wait to escape again and talk to harley.

[heartsforjh]

Reader is at a beach party for her 21st birthday (at night), and her childhood bestie will Smith, the sj hockey player, not the actor. Will organizes her birthday party, inviting her friends and some hockey players.....one of them being THE connor bedard, sometime during the night Reader and connor chat, and she brings up how she still hasn't had a first kiss, so Connor, who is alrdy starting to rlly like her, gives her her first magical kiss....that's all thankyouuuuu

of course! 🫶 sorry for it taking forever!

“where are we, Will?” you ask, a mix of curiosity and nervousness in your voice. you sit in his car, eyes closed, trying to piece together where he’s taking you as you feel him park.

“y/n, calm down! i’m not going to kill you!” he says with a chuckle.

“maybe not purposely!” you shoot back crossing your arms. you hear his seat belt unbuckle and the car door open, then shut. even though this whole surprise thing has you uneasy, you trust him enough to keep your eyes closed. he’s been excited about this for weeks, so you play along, although you’re pretty sure it’s a surprise party.

a moment later, your door opens, and he takes your hand to help you out of the car. “come on.” he says, leading you forward.

“Will, if you let me fall, you’re not making it to this surprise alive.” you warn as you carefully follow him, feeling the ground under you shift.

“relax y/n.” he laughs, his grip steady on your hand. “i’ve got you.”

the ground turns soft beneath your feet, the air smells of salt water, and you can hear waves. a small smile creeps onto your face. “ohhh, we’re at the beach!”

“y/n! stop guessing!” Will protests, voice full of amusement. “you’re going to ruin it for yourself.”

you hear the crashing of waves and feel the warm air as he leads you closer. finally, he stops walking, and you hear him laugh softly.

“alright, y/n, open your eyes!”

you hesitate for a moment, feeling the anticipation build, before you finally open them.

“surprise!”

the word echoes around you, and you blink as your eyes adjust. a group of people stand in front of you, all smiling. there’s so many faces staring back at you— some you know, some you don’t. the sight of it all makes your eyes widen.

“happy birthday!” Will says proudly, pulling you into a hug. you laugh, wrapping your arms around him.

“do you like it? i planned you a party!” he says, pulling back to look at you, his face beaming with excitement.

you smile, still a little stunned. “i see that. i do like it, thank you!”

the beach is popping with activity— a large fire pit in the center of everyone, letting off a warm glow compared to the dark night sky. people mingle around the coolers and folding chairs set out. the laughter is a perfect mix with the beautiful beach scene.

after thanking Will again, you watch as he heads off to chat with macklin, one of your mutual friends. you take a moment to soak everything in before deciding to walk around and greet everyone.

that’s when you see him.

next to one of the coolers, there a blonde boy pouring himself a drink. he’s a good height, dressed nice, and there’s something about him that draws you in immediately. you're not 100% on what it is. however, you don’t think it’s just that you’ve never seen him before. you surprise yourself by wasting no time walking toward him. normally, you’d hesitate, but tonight, something about him makes you want to take the chance.

“hi!” you say with a smile.

he turns, and when his eyes meet yours, his smile grows. he sticks out his hand, a little awkwardly, but it’s endearing. “hi. nice to meet you. i’m connor.”

you shake his hand and return his smile. “nice to meet you too, connor. i’m y/n. thanks for coming.”

“oh, yeah. it’s no problem. my team’s playing the sharks soon so i’m in town right now ” he explains. then, as if remembering something, he adds, “happy birthday, by the way.”

“thank you,” you say, feeling your nerves ease as you both fall into a natural feeling conversation.

the minutes blur together as you talk, the energy of the party fading into the background. It’s just you and connor, your words flowing freely, until eventually, the alcohol in your systems begins to take hold, making you both a little bolder, a little closer.

“so ummm… do you—do you have a boyfriend?” he asks, his previous confidence faltering as the nerves start to creep back in.

“no! i haven’t ever even kissed a guy before!” you say, clearly not thinking about how embarrassed that would make you if it weren’t for the drinks in your system.

connor’s jaw drops instantly, eyes big and full of emotion. “you haven’t? how have you never kissed a guy before?”

you shake your head, shrugging like it’s not big deal. “i just haven’t.”

For a second, he stares at you, processing your answer. Then, before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “I can be your first kiss.”

truthfully, he knows he’ll probably look back on his boldness and cringe. regardless, he can’t help but label it as tomorrows problem and move on.

“really?!” you ask, your heart skipping a beat.

“uhhh yeah. i mean, i really like you so far. you’re great. it can be one of my birthday gifts to you.” he says, a bit more confidence in his tone now that he’s seen your giddiness about the idea.

your smile softens, whatever had you being crazy outgoing, immediately leaving as you turn shy. “okay. sure. i’d like that.”

connor smiles at your response, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort. “are you sure y/n?”

you nod almost immediately, your heart pounding in your chest. this could actually be the moment—your first kiss. “i’m sure connor.”

he nods, stepping closer, the space between you disappearing. he reaches up, brushing a piece of hair from your face, before letting his hand rest on your cheek, gently stroking it. the small gesture combined with the closeness sends shivers down your spine.

“alright.” he says softly, his voice steady but warm as his eyes lock with yours. “just tell me if you want me to stop.”

you can only bring yourself to nod again, your gaze fixed on his, lips slightly parted in anticipation. slowly, he leans in, giving you every opportunity to pull away—but of course you don’t.

the very second your lips connect, you suddenly understand all the cheesy descriptions about first kisses that take people’s breath away. everything around you completely fades. the kiss is soft and careful, giving you butterflies at how gentle he’s being with you. it’s obvious he’s savoring the moment—as are you. the faint taste of his drink lingers, only adding to the rush of it all.

when he pulls back, his face hovers close to yours, his breath warm against your skin. he looks at you like he’s trying to analyze every bit of your expression. “wow… you’re really good at that for someone whose never done it before.”

your cheeks flush, and you laugh softly, looking down for a moment. “thank you.”

connor grins, his earlier nerves replaced by something more natural and comforting. “also, just so you know, i didn’t just say that because i didn’t get you a real present. i got you a gift card!”

you let out a small laugh at him trying to unnecessarily clarify the situation like a dork. “you didn’t have to get me anything but thank you, connor. if you don’t mind, though… can we try that first gift out one more time?”

for a moment he looks genuinely confused. “what—you wanna go use the starbucks gift card right now?”

your smile falters slightly, as your advance goes right over his head.

“i’m joking.” he says, with an amused look in his eyes and a teasing grin. “we can try that out as many times as you want birthday girl.”

before you can even respond he’s pulling you back in for another incredible kiss.

i hope you like it! i got a little carried away with this one and it’s kinda of sort of really really really long! 😭 thank you for the request! i love writing for the boys who don’t usually get a lot of attention here on tumblr! <3

[factual-fantasy]

24 Asks! Thank you! :}} 🐷

I don't think I'm understanding.. I cant turn my FNAF AU designs into full on OCs, (Original Characters) because.. well Freddy Fazbear and the gang are NOT my original characters. I just made my own AU (Alternate Universe) for them and redesigned them.

Unless that's not what you meant..? I'm sorry for misunderstanding you if that's the case <:(

(In response to this post)

I'm keeping it in mind.. I gotta get to the root of the problem and figure out what needs to be replaced. Once I can figure that out I'll probably set one up 🥹🙏🙏

Well imagine if you were in his shoes. You are transported to some kind of unknown world. And absolutely no one arounds you speaks the same language as you.

Sneep has no way of knowing this is a digital plane. He has no idea if the people around him are real or not, he cant remember his name and no one can explain to him why that is. His body looks different, he feels different, no one around him looks to be a human.. just imagine how scary that is. Not having the comfort of things being explained to you in this situation. Not having the comfort of someone telling you "everything will be okay".

Yeah, I'd lose my mind pretty quick too 💀

@ardent-38

XD No worries! And yeah I started playing Warframe for the first time these past few days. Its been fun so far, Mag being my favorite. (She's the only frame I have <XDD)

I have my eyes out for Titania Prime, Trinity Prime, Mag prime and Mirage Prime. I'm thinking Titania might be my new favorite if I can snag one!

This game is fun, but the longer I play it? The more I miss OG Overwatch 😅 I tried playing TF2 again today and it just isn't the same 😔💔

@chromchill

I am new, but my favorite frame so far is Mag, because she's the only one I have <XDD

But I've got my eyes out for Titania Prime.. and judging by her abilities, she might just become my new favorite 👀👀

@chickenmilk120

What I really would like is just more interactions and comments with my artwork <:( I get bummed when I put a lot of effort into something only to get 3 comments in the end...

I have not <:(( but I've heard many good things about those games! :00

AAAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :DDD That's all very kind of you to say! :}}

And as for Cici and Gerald, you can find their origin comic here! :00

@lordvonbunnyv

Yes please 🥺🥺🙏🙏🙏

@quillsinkwell

Awe! :DD Thank you! They did have a certain charm to them didn't they? :}}

They would have been much better off drawing that mattress character I swear XDD

@neo-metalscottic (Referencing this post)

Hello! So far my tablet is still alive. Although I'm looking into getting my laptop checked out and maybe replacing somethings... 😔

And it was fun to draw Bibi again! I should really draw the fam more often <XD

Not sure what resolutions they'd have.. but one of mine is to be cured of this condition. Or at least get to a point where I can actually function normally again. There's a lot of things planned for 2025 and if I don't get better soon? I'm gonna miss out on all of it. 💔

Yeah, my head just used to be a normal scribble. But now its become a full on blob hasn't it? <XD

There's 2 reasons for this. 1 being that I have been battling some very limiting health conditions for about 8 months now. So drawing my sona all goopy and sickly is to represent how I've felt through this trial 🥲🥲

But the second reason isn't so bad. That being that its just fun to draw my sona like that XD

@bored-animator

Indeed I have! Deltarune too! Just search up "undertale or "deltarune" in my blogs search bar and you're sure to find a lot of it! :))

Thank you so much!! :DD And sure! Send me any game recommendations you'd like! :}}}

@ramiel-hourglass

Thank you so much! :DD But no need to go to the dumpster! <:(( I'll make you something to eat instead, yeah? :)

I use FireAlpaca. And I used to use the pencil brush for line art and the pen for coloring. But lately I've been using the little pixel brush for sketching and line art :00

(This thingy 👇)

I saw it, and I don't really know how to feel about the blue shelled Koopa.. it feels kinda weird to see a Mario kart item brought to life suddenly 😅

I gotta think of stuff to do wither her... 😓😓

First thing that came to mind was Roxanne from FNAF: Security Breach <XDD

@howaboutsomeketchul

Idk how they would celebrate Christmas, since they might not have a good way to gauge the passage of time..

Just search "team fortress 2" in my blogs search bar and you're sure to find most of it! :)

While I see what you're cooking, I don't think my Caine would create a Momigoo NPC for the fast food adventure <:/

The thing that upsets Gummigoo isn't just that his mom isn't real necessarily, its that his memories of her aren't real too. He remembers all these experiences with this person but the memories aren't real...

And the whole reason why Caine let the brothers stay was because he hoped it would help Pomni adjust to the circus. Just like Bella did for Gangle. Bringing up NPCs or things from the Gators adventure could upset or confuse them so Caine wouldn't want to risk it. <:(

@wolfie-777

Merry Christmas and a Happy new year! :DD Sorry for the late reply <XD

@cartoon-fan

Oh I get a lot stolen from those other fandoms too. Octonauts has just been the most frustrating. Constant tracings, theft, copycats, disrespect, its was nuts.

I don't think I'll post Octonauts again anytime soon. I've just had enough of the constant pushing of my boundaries and the boat loads of all kinds of theft.