#fuck it. feather worm. like who cares

[sout999]

finished a sketchbook, here are some interesting spreads from it twt / store

[holy-puckslibrary]

─ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜.

pairing(s) — fwb!MATTHEW TKACHUK x reader wc — 3.2k synopsis — best not-boyfriend boyfriend ever! (read the request here) note — bestie, your brain? marvelous! this was an absolute joy to write, and i hope this captures your vision!!! thank you for the request <3

main masterlist

content warnings under the cut.

cw — hints of a debut-inspired ensemble; complicated, grossly intimate situationship + emotional constipation; angst (not really) to fluffy fluffy; tswizzle references; suggestive section: "heavy petting" but nothing explicit / fade to black; brief alcohol mention + consumption; brief mention of food (no specifics); and ~emotions~ 

I. it’s getting so much clearer… 

Matthew regrets making you a key. 

Majorly.

If he’d known the can of worms he was opening when he unceremoniously dropped them in your lap one night, he would’ve listened to his brother; you don’t give girlfriend privileges to women who aren’t your girlfriend. It only leads to hurt feelings, broken console controllers, and unnecessary trouble. 

However, it’s highly unlikely this is the “trouble” to which Brady was referring. 

Rooted in the entryway, he surveys the damage. 

Beads of all shapes, sizes, and colors sit in a sea of jars. Some have spilled out under the coffee table and couch, others have made it all the way into the kitchen. Knotted balls of elastic are sprinkled throughout the chaos, as are multiple pairs of scissors, skeins of embroidery floss, and shards of construction paper. There are markers everywhere, but for some unknown reason, the crayons and sticker sheets are in nice, neat piles. A white feather boa is draped over the entertainment center and there’s a pink one curled by his feet. And, in the eye of the storm, is an anxious lump frantically stringing together DIY jewelry and muttering along to the megamix blaring through the room; he doubts you even heard him come home. 

“Sweetheart, is there a reason it looks like a craft store threw up everywhere?” Matthew shouts as he gingerly braves the hurricane. 

Something crunches under his shoe, and from the sound alone, he knows it would’ve been worse than stepping on a Lego if his feet were bare. 

He also knows that if the music were even a decibel lower, you would be pissed beyond belief. How dare he move freely through his own home without first checking for rogue pieces of plastic? His ears are ringing, but he’s grateful for it. From many years of mistakes and misadventures, he's learned you won’t get on top if you’re mad, regardless of how much groveling he does. And he's got one foot in the doghouse after last weekend as it is. 

“T-minus two days ’til Taylor, Matthew,” you grumble from the floor. “What do you think?” 

You’ve been at this for weeks. It gets worse the closer the concert gets. The mess and your mood. 

Matthew isn’t stupid, and he knows you better than he lets on. You panic under the weight of your own (often unrealistic) expectations. You need everything to be perfect, or the entire world crumbles. This, Night One of the Florida dates of the Eras Tour, is, understandably, no exception. If anything, the pressure’s dialed up to eleven. 

In stressing over every little detail, you’ve made yourself miserable. Watching you unravel makes his chest feel strange. 

You won’t ask for help. You don’t want it, either.

But, he can’t let you flounder. For his own sanity, he can’t do it. And he does care about you. Maybe not in the way everyone assumes or hopes, but he does. He’d do almost anything to lighten your load. 

Yet, Matthew treads lightly. If he’s too forthcoming, you could get the wrong idea. He doesn’t want to spook you, and he can’t have any wires getting crossed. What’s so good about your situation is how markedly uncomplicated it’s been. He refuses to be the one who fucks it up for everyone. 

So, he does what he can, and he does it without making a big deal about it. 

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, he sinks down onto the floor beside you. You’re perched on one of the obnoxious throw pillows you insisted he order to “spruce up” the space and make it look less “bachelor pad-y." As if that’s not exactly what it is. He takes this as rare permission to do the same, placing one under his hips and cuddling another to his chest as he stretches out on his stomach, phone in hand. 

Well, as stretched as a person can be in the middle of an obstacle course. 

Between the second play of “cowboy like me” and the third of “Tim McGraw,” his various feeds dry up, and he’s spammed his contacts into oblivion. You're still chugging along, like a Sad Girl automaton locked in an endless glittery assembly line. 

At one point, you murmur, “Give me your wrist." 

And he does. 

Matthew’s taken aback when you loop elastic around it to get a measurement.

He’s confused, but not for the reason one might assume. He’s painfully familiar with the friendship bracelet phenomenon and the giddy exchanges, having been force-fed hours' worth of tour content over the past year, but he never thought you’d rope him into it.

The buzz under his skin is oddly auspicious, watching you clip the appropriate length before reaching for the pile laid out near his head. 

It’s not long before you make the same request again. However, this time, you slide on a custom creation. You fiddle with it for a moment, then turn back to your station to begin the next one on the list. 

“And in which era does she cosplay as a camp counselor?” Matthew teases as he thumbs the letter beads.

They spell out a moniker he’d honestly find offensive if you hadn’t looped the song one too many times. He wonders if you’ve made yourself the matching one. 

You emit a sound that haunts his nightmares and side-eye him in a way that would’ve made a lesser man disintegrate. 

“If you don’t want it, give it back so I can give it to someone who will appreciate my time and effort,” you bite with your hand outstretched, palm up and open expectantly. 

Matthew shoves it away, suddenly defensive. “I never said that.” 

The sun slips behind the fence an hour later, and the sky bathes the house in purple-pink hues. As he gathers ingredients in the kitchen, Matthew watches the slow-moving clouds absentmindedly. He hasn't felt this content in a while.

Arms full, he wades through the arts and crafts on the way to the backyard. 

You’re still in the den, still hunched over in the same place he found you in. He shakes his head when he passes you, knowing he’s got an hour (at least) moonlighting as a masseuse in his future. 

You don’t startle or acknowledge him until the grill set you bought for his birthday clatters to the floor. 

“Why’re there two cowboy hats getting glitter all over my patio?” he asks, despite knowing the answer. And hating it. Vehemently. 

You fix him with an unamused glare. Your brow quirks, and your hands still. Then, you blink at him very slowly. Like he’s an idiot. Like he just asked a stupid question—because he did. 

Matthew’s head wags so intensely that his neck cracks.

“Oh, hell no.” 

II. it’s coming undone…

Matthew scowls at his reflection. 

“—looks so fucking stupid.” 

He can’t tell if he looks worse with or without the fur-trimmed, shimmery cowboy hat. And, honestly, it's a little distressing. After temporarily ditching it, he tugs at his curls. Then, the hem of the jersey. 

Resigned, he reaches across the bed for the homemade accessory. Wearing it will make you smile—and it gives his dignity something to hide behind. 

Twitter’s going to have a fucking field day. 

Your panicked voice spills out from the hotel bathroom, “Really?” 

“Of course, it fucking do—” 

His tirade of vanity grinds to a screeching halt at the sight of you, backlit and wilting. 

“That’s not—ah, fuck.” Matthew digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. “What I meant was—me, it looks stupid on me. Not you. On you, it looks… It looks…” 

“It looks, what?” 

It looks like he’s glad none of your friends were available because he won’t have to pretend you’re less than you are.

No lectures, no goading, no scrutiny. Just you. 

“Right.” That’s the word he settles for. “It looks right.” 

The emphasis chips away at what little believability the underwhelming affirmation had. That much is evident from the insecurity bleeding through your makeup. 

“Right,” you parrot. Skeptically, you drag out the vowel long enough that it disappears into the bathroom with you. 

Before the door clicks shut, Matthew’s already berating himself for whatever just happened. For acting like a complete doofus with a foot shoved down his throat. 

His mind is as quick as his tongue is sharp. He’s got confidence for days and a cocky demeanor primed and on-call, one that most women find endearing. Yourself included. He’s never had an issue dishing out pretty words or flirting before, especially not with you. 

With you, banter came easy. Sweet or salacious, it didn’t matter. The bob and weave, from platonic chatter to something charged and suggestive, is effortless. And it’s been that way for as long as he can remember. It's innate. He should be able to uphold his reputation in his sleep. 

What’s gotten into him? 

(You’d say the power of Taylor Swift, or some shit. Which is why he doesn’t open the floor for discussion. Among other reasons.) 

Matthew makes the executive decision to put things right. To redeem himself, to feel more like himself. 

His palms are hot and tingling as he sets off to do what he does best. Something fool-proof. Something that’ll erase the past ten minutes from the collective consciousness. Something to scratch an itch...

He won't make it through three and a half hours without catching a public indecency charge. 

Not with you looking like that.  

“I was thinking,” Matthew trails off as he comes up behind you in the en suite bathroom. His hands land on the counter, one on either side of you. “We should fool around a little bit before we leave.” 

With his chest flush to your back and his chin propped on your shoulder, he blatantly checks you out.

You, albeit begrudgingly, find it flattering. On principle, you roll your eyes. 

You snort. “Funny." 

Sarcasm pinches his face as he unintelligibly mocks you. 

Whatever witty retort he had died on his tongue when you lean forward to put some eyeliner in your waterline, inadvertently pushing the curve of your backside right into his growing bulge. 

Matthew turns you to face him without warning. 

The kohl pencil goes flying, dotting the pristine space as it tumbles to the floor. Its final resting place is unknown; you’ll follow the smudge-crumbs later. 

Later, when he doesn’t have you pressed tight between the harsh edge of the counter and his chest. 

Later, when the dull ache in your arched back dissipates. 

Later, when his attraction isn’t so painfully tangible. 

Later, when he isn’t looking at you the way he is now.  

You’re sinking in a shade of blue you don’t recognize. It’s stormy, vast and disquieting. Like any collision, you’re unable to tear your eyes away even though you know you should. It betrays an aura of foreboding, yet somehow, Matthew’s charged gaze carries a soothing effect. It's hypnotic in an stomach-twisting way. 

“I’m not laughing, sweetheart.” He breathes the words through the slight part in your lips, his voice rich and thick like honey. 

“W-We need to be quick—” 

Matthew buries his face in the sweet-smelling crook of your neck. Intent on shutting you up, he succeeds with infuriating ease once he’s latched onto your throat. He nips and sucks whenever you protest, and soon, you don’t even bother trying anymore.

Why lie and deny when what you want feels this fucking good? 

When your nails dig impatient little half-moons into his forearms, Matthew bares his teeth with a triumphant hiss.  

He grins against your skin, humming atop your erratic pulse. 

“Better hurry up and spread ‘em, then.” 

Matthew’s between your dangling boots as soon as you’ve hoisted yourself onto the counter. Kneading the soft skin of your thighs, inching up and in with eager hands, he doesn’t slow or stop until the white Self-Titled sundress is bunched up in the hinge of your hips.

“That’s my girl.” 

III. it’s delicate…

“All Tequila, No Crime” isn’t as diabolical of a cocktail as it sounds. 

Spending $100+ to taste test it and three other signature mixed drinks is. 

A robbery, if you ask him. 

What's downright criminal, though, is your inability to finish a single one. A “Last Great American G&T” with a few sips missing, a half-finished “Midnight Mule,” and a watered-down “Blue Debut” sit abandoned amongst an assortment of sweet treats and small bites. 

As he waits for what he ordered, Matthew picks at the vibrant fruit salad. He’s about to pluck a honeydew star from the pile stacked high in a bowl fashioned from a watermelon rind when the back of his neck prickles. 

“Knock it off.”

You blink, bemused. 

Matthew, having watched your reaction in a reflection, rolls his eyes. 

Back still to you, he clarifies. “You promised you wouldn’t make this a whole thing.”  

“I'm not.” 

“You've never been a good liar.” 

“Isn't that a good thing?” you deflect. 

You turn your attention back to the lively stadium, watching as it fills with laughter and anticipation. You're hoping he'll take the hint and drop it, that he won't pull the night apart at the seams. 

He abandons the sprawling buffet table in favor of the plush recliner beside yours. Once settled, Matthew slides a plate of your favorites across the small table between you. 

“Don't change the subject.” 

The cement under your boots makes for a captive audience as you sail into dicey weather. “I know—I know what I said, and I'm really trying my best, but can you blame me? I mean, c’mon, Matty. Look where we are.”

“A Taylor Swift concert?” Matthew does what he does best.

You know his tells and his tricks. You indulge neither. 

“My first Taylor Swift concert. Ever. I came out of The Queue From Hell empty-handed and shit out of luck, yet here we are. The Eras Tour. And not way up the nosebleeds or side-stage with an obstructed view. A suite. A private, fifteen-person suite—for just us. You did that.” 

Matthew shifts uncomfortably. He scratches the shadow clinging to his jaw. He looks everywhere, at everything. Everything except you. 

“So?” 

The probe is firm yet reluctant but not inherently dismissive. 

“So,” you heave a labored sigh of unease. “—so, how could I not? This ‘whole thing’ is the kindest, most thoughtful gesture anyone’s ever done for me. It means the absolute world, and I know you know that.” 

A thick, paralyzing quiet descends on the balcony. 

He does know that, which is what makes it so terrible. He knows, he knows, he knows. Matthew knows; he wishes he didn’t. For years, he successfully kept it at bay because… because you can’t just un-know something like that. Even entertaining the thought felt too big a risk. It jeopardizes the delicate peace only willful ignorance can safeguard. 

“Alright, alright. Jesus, sweetheart. Can't have you emptying the tank before the show even starts,” Matthew teases as he thumbs the tears away. “How d’ya know I didn’t pull some strings just to put an end to your perpetual pity party?” 

He’s trying to lighten the mood. Hoping to inch away from the emotionally dense zone of uncharted territory, hoping you’ll have mercy—or take pity—on him and his plight of avoidance. 

And you do.  

Ever the benevolent people-pleaser. 

You take your foot off the gas. You retreat to the status quo. You yield, but for a good cause.

Good and right aren’t synonymous. And we can’t will them to be. So, instead, we choose our battles and bide our time. 

There’s no reason to rain on tonight’s parade. 

“Thank you,” you acquiesce.  

Mathew smiles. 

This ceasefire, this tacit truce, is as fragile as rice paper. It feels as though, if someone pushed too hard from either side, they'd go right through it unchallenged. But, for now, it's enough. 

He takes your hand and squeezes. “And for the hundredth time, you’re welcome.” 

IV. it’s been a long time coming…

He gets it now. 

Truthfully, he understood after the very first bridge of the night. There’s just something about the intimacy of the spectacle; it's… indescribable. With thousands from all walks of life gathered in a single stadium to celebrate nearly two decades of singing, crying, and growing up together, it wasn't difficult to get swept up in the magic. 

For someone who’d consider themselves fan-adjacent at best, he wasn’t expecting to feel much of anything, let alone goosebumps, misty-eyed. 

He can’t even imagine how extraordinarily special it must’ve been for you, a lifelong fan, to partake in the world’s most cinematic sing-along. To luck out with your opener of choice, to be surprised with your favorite song during the acoustic set—you could probably die happy. Matthew can still feel your tear-streaked cheek against his shoulder and your shakey hand clasped in his. And he’ll remember the warmth of your joy for the rest of his life. 

He, however, doesn't have to imagine how much the experience took out of you. 

“Hey, hey. Don’t pass out on me yet, sweetheart.” 

You’re one minute into a five-minute Uber ride, and he’s already had to nudge you twice. 

Curled against the cool window like a cat, you groggily protest, “I’m not. My mind is alive, promise.”  

He snorts. “Then why’re your eyes shut?” 

“They aren’t!” 

They absolutely are. 

Matthew tugs you across his lap with a smile pulling at his cheeks. 

“Sounds like you need to get yours checked, Matthew Brendan,” you quip into his chest before drowning the backseat in delirious giggles. 

In the golden glow of the streetlamps, his smirk rests against your temple. 

Here is the moment. There have been hundreds like it in the years since you met. Lighthearted banter and late night laughter spill over into the early morning hours, all of it utter nonsense he wouldn’t trade for anything. It should be perfectly ordinary, but it's music to his ears. 

The cowboy boots he swore he wouldn’t carry home rest against his similarly sore calves. The ziplock bag, once bursting at the seams with bracelets, is empty and folded in his back pocket, and his arm is full from elbow to wrist. The glitter he contested clings to him like a second skin, there to stay. 

And he doesn’t hate it. 

💌 if you liked it, pls lmk! 💌

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[sevs-corner]

Yapping about the TF 141 reincarnation-soulmate au

‘Cause I wanna put out something (my brains worms are too itchy they need to be let out) but care not for formats so here we are

I was working thru a one-shot but mentally died at how i kept thinking of how the next line would go and i didnt want that pressure when im alrd being crushed by acads lol

OG Idea here! Masterlist here!

Chaotic reading ahead

Price feels guilty for proposing the idea to the guys that there maybe a 5th person involved

He’s seeing their relationship crumble before his very eyes as each recon and intelligence gathering mission comes out empty and a bust

They’re all down in dumps

Until one day, the new recruits come in and they feel a tingle inside of them

Sensing this familiar feeling, they all looked at each other and dressed up as fast as they could

Running thru the base and the courtyards were all of the new recruits were situated

Seeing these high ranking men come out, the newbies immediately stood at attention and saluted

Collecting themselves (they had to at least try to keep an image of decency) they nodded and commanded them to be at ease

Once they did, they split up and went to follow the wringling feeling thats feathering up in their soul

They can feel its pulsation growing louder

Their hair standing on ends

And then you lock eyes with them.

Immediately, their eyes shine.

But they were so happy that they had ignored your’s hadn’t.

That zing? Never happened.

But why would they care? They only cared about touching you the moment they saw you.

Thats what exactly Soap did— gathering you in his arms and he could just feel at how his soul be put back together, healed and whole.

The others did the same in a group hug, crying and sighing in relief.

The emotions were high and all the memories were overloading their brains.

So they missed it.

Missed at how you screamed bloody murder for them to let you go.

Missed at how you were begging to be stopped being thrown around.

Missed at how you tears were in fear— not happiness.

You didn’t know what was happening— why these high ranking officers were suddenly muffling you in their arms, touching you in all sorts of ways that just made it so inappropriate, uncomfortable, and just inconsiderate of how you felt.

You didn’t like being snuck up on or people touching you.

It was just too much.

So much so that the other people in your previous squad ran to get a superior, because there was no way in hell they were getting four burly men off you.

Only when Soap had finally calmed down did he notice and felt how you were in distress and disarray that he roared for his other partners to let go.

This snaps the three of them out of and they stare down at you— red eyes, tears stricken cheeks, hands shaking

Oh they fucked up.

But why?

They couldn’t ask why until they were shoved aside by a medic who was trying to calm you down and take your vitals— your mates somewhat besides you as they try to relax you as well

The tf 141 men hear a booming voice behind them and they knew they were in deeeeeeep trouble with Laswell

The men were happy but guilty— what happened? Was meeting all four of them at the same time overwhelming for your psyche? Did soul memories overload you?

Did those memories traumatize you?

What were you doing before you all meet again?

Even with all their memories intact, the last memory they could search for you in their subconsciousness was one of their firsts lives with you

And they feel so fucking bad that its been eons since they’ve last seen you.

It goes so far back- way too back that there’s not enough time in this timeline to make it up to you, and they’ve already fucked it all up.

Seeing your adverse reaction to them being in the same room made their hearts sink, throats tight despite the their souls singing at the sight of you.

You were so scared of them.

Seated so far away from them as your eyes screamed for them to stay away, but they couldn’t— not when you’re like this…

But Laswell snaps them out of it, explaining the point that it was because of them that you were acting like this, reacting like this.

So, they stayed still, obeyed and did what they were told— only so they could have a chance to hold you, pamper you, treat you so well that you’ll always remember to go back to them.

Though, their feel their souls burn at the thought of you already being taken and being violated through their force of forcing a soul connection with you earlier.

How were you already taken?

You shrugged, saying that your current partner was there for you, even if you didn’t have a zing.

You…didn’t have… a zing?

But, didn’t you feel them earlier— when your eyes connected to their’s?

No, you didn’t.

You just heard their stomping and looked up to see it, only for those same boots to go running straight at you like a stampede.

You didn’t know why didn’t you feel anything.

And they don’t know what’s worse.

To have not met you and kept chasing forever.

Or to be healed up again, only to be broken once more by the very person who fixed it.

Unknowingly.

[littlest-nightingale]

10th Doctor agere thoughts bc I am not immune to the Doctor, apparently:

The regressor equivalent of a huge dog who doesn't realize he isn't a little lapdog anymore

Seriously he's gonna give his cgs a concussion if he isn't careful

Every one of his companions end up as his caregiver sooner or later

Very quickly switches between perfectly fine and having a panic attack. He's very,,,, fragile, when he's regressed.

He's also incredibly clingy. Please don't leave, please don't leave him, he doesn't want to be alone again =[

He sometimes goes through phases where he convinces himself that he's better off without a cg, because he knows he'll end up alone eventually and figures it's better not to get attached to someone he knows isn't going to be with him forever. Those phases never last more than a week.

He's so much lighter than he should be, or at least he's lighter than he looks like he should be, so it's easy for him to be carried around. Unfortunately he's very. Limbs. He's so lanky that his regressed brain isn't quite sure what to do with his limbs.

Do not let him anywhere near the control panel of the TARDIS. The last thing everyone needs is a toddler aged timelord running around medieval Germany or something. [Because yes, he will try to use the TARDIS while small, if he's bored enough, and yes, he has done it before and it ended very poorly.]

He's fascinated by makeup I think. He's fascinated by a lot of things humans do, but I think he would like makeup. Rose and Martha have both done his makeup on several occasions =D

Hyper! He's got sooooo much energy most of the time and gets very bored in the TARDIS. Goes to the park quite a lot. Martha is working on getting him to not dig holes in the ground. Yes, worms are fun and all, but please don't tear up the grass looking for them, we're on public property.

Has toys but not because he wants to play with them, but because he wants to take them apart.

Doesn't care about the stigma around regression at all. He's an alien with a time travelling police box, why would he? Honestly, his regression is the most normal part about him. So yeah, he's going to go play on that playground even though he's physically a grown man, and he isn't going to give a fuck about the people watching.

He likes to bring stuff to his cg/companion, like how cats bring you dead animals, so his companions end up with a lot of cool sticks and shiny coins and acorns and feathers and whatever else he just happens to find on the street.

I think a dog would be good for him. He needs a friend to help him burn off energy, and also that mental image is adorable, so I'd imagine that he ends up frequenting local shelters a lot, just to keep the dogs company

Forgets to eat until he's actually starving, at which point he becomes really whiny until he gets something in his system

[thegnomelord]

Beastly Urges

Pantalone x reader

MINORS DNI

Word count: 4.3k

CW: nsfw, afab Pantalone, cock and cunt used for the genitals, Dom!Bottom!Pantalone, Sub!Top!Reader, pronouns are gn(referred to as You and Beast sometimes) but reader has two cocks and has monstrous features, size difference, dom/sub, oral, cum eating, size kink, butt plugs, double penetration, anal, vaginal, belly bulging, cream pie, gags, cock slapping, marking, biting, bit of a slow burn?

Go easy on me peeps, this is my first time writing smut. Feel free to give back criticism, tell me if I'm missing any tags, or make requests!

There were plenty of reasons why a fool would think twice before crossing the Tsaritsa, chief amongst them — You; a Beast amongst men, terrifying in both appearance and merciless ferocity, hunting down all who oppose Her with reckless abandon. It doesn't matter how long or how far they run, you are always near, tracking them down to the very borders of Teyvat... or until their legs give out.

And with such renown comes gossip.

From the high society nobility all the way to the brothel whores, they wonder how you must be behind closed doors. Surely, you must be a greedy lover, no less savage in bed as you are on the battlefield. Surely, you must take all your partners can offer and then demand more, fucking your partners into the bed until you are satisfied regardless of their opinion on the matter...

Pantalone would have found such gossip annoying if it wasn't so amusing. He would sometimes even laugh when he heard the newest round of, dare he say, fantasies, the common folk came up with about you and your supposed unlucky partners.

It was a source of pride for him, knowing the true version of you the rest of the world would never see. You were... gentle, soft, nothing but feather light caresses and loving confessions muttered into his skin as you did all he asked.

If anything, you were too gentle. You handled Pantalone like he was made of glass, afraid that the moment you put more than the barest amount of pressure — he would shatter.

Last time, you had accidentally nicked his skin with a razor sharp tooth. Despite his arguments that you hadn't even drawn blood, you hadn't dared to touch him since then.

It's been two months.

And your sweet, little lover was prepared to show you the error of your ways.

You didn't suspect a thing when he greeted you with a sweet kiss the moment you took a step into your home, stealing your ability to think with every peck on the lips. Nor did you think of anything when he lured you to the bedroom with the promise of receiving more of his affection.

How that turned into you literally chained to the bed and naked as the day you were born, you still couldn't tell.

Before you could even argue, he had presented you with a second surprise — a device, something between an open mouth gag and a bit meant for horses (No doubt of Dottore's making). It kept your mouth wide open, displaying all your monstrously sharp teeth in all their grotesque glory.

He gave you a way out if you wanted to, he always did, yet despite the worry bubbling in your chest about the possible harm you could bring him... you were curious.

Slim, manicured fingers curled in your hair and pulled your head even closer. "Right there," Pantalone breathed out, grinding his body down so your tongue could worm deeper into his cunt. His thighs hugged your head like a vice, leaving no place for your teeth to go but dig into his soft flesh. Each tooth left behind dark blue imprints in the skin, but thankfully didn't draw blood, though Pantalone seemed almost disheartened, rocking his body down with a "Don't you dare stop."

Despite the time spent apart, he was as tight as you remembered, if not more, his cunt constricting around your tongue as if intending to snap it off. He didn't care, groaning as his cum pooled in your open maw, nearly choking you when you forgot to swallow. But you couldn't swallow all of it, and more often than not the mixture of his cum and your drool would escape your mouth and roll down your skin to join the wet mess on the sheets.

But Archons, he tasted Divine.

A low moan left your chest as you gulped down his fluids, your head heavy and clouded by pure bliss. You pressed your nose flush with his lightly haired groin, breathing in his scent and curling your tongue in a way you knew he liked.

He let out a high pitched moan and sharply rocked his hips into your tongue, your teeth digging into his skin, a single drop of iron tainting your taste buds—

You jerked your head back on instinct, fearful you had hurt him.

You didn't get far.

Pantalone fisted your hair, forcing your head still. Through bleary eyes, you saw him lean back— "Behave."

A harsh slap landed on the head of your cock.

Your entire body buckled as you nearly threw him off, the low shrieking of metal and the groaning of wood masking the embarrassing sounds that left your throat.

A second later two more slaps came, one on each head of your dual cocks. Pantalone sat up on his knees as he delivered a third slap, your tongue sliding out of him, which you surely would have bitten off had the gag let you. This time, there was no way for you to muffle your sounds, your body straining against the bonds, pleasure and pain burning at the base of your spine.

He wretched your head up, forcing you to meet his disappointed gaze. "You didn't touch me for two months, and now this is how you act?" He asked, a coldness in his eyes many debtors knew too well. "If you break anything, I will throw you out and won't touch you until Rex Lapis comes back to life." Even breathless, his singular threat was enough to make your heart stop. "Am I understood?"

You forced yourself to stay still, nodding your head as much as you could. A warbled "Soh-hrh." was all you could say.

His grip remained harsh, but Pantalone's eyes softened. He leaned down, obsidian black hair falling over his shoulders and around your head like a curtain, isolating you two from the world. "That's my good beast," He cooed, like you were a mongrel mutt, and you would never admit how those words made your chest burn.

He scooped up a streak of fluids from your chin. You could do nothing but watch him bring his wet fingers to your open maw, easily slipping past the hellish device.

Pantalone took great pleasure in feeling up your teeth, poking his thumb on every tooth and gently wiggling a few as if to deny their dangerous potential. Then his fingers found your waiting tongue, he hummed and let you curl your tongue around his fingers, pulling and tugging on it like it was just another toy.

Like you were just another toy.

He pressed his fingers to the back of your tongue. Your maw tried to close, but the gag in your mouth only allowed an inch of movement as you jerked back.

"Ah ah. Stay." He leaned back to sit on his knees and pulled his fingers from your mouth, punishing your body's reaction with another harsh slap to your cock head.

Clenching your eyes shut, you miraculously managed not to move. "Good." His grip relaxed, fingers gently carding through your hair as a reward. "See, that wasn't hard." His fingers returned to your mouth and you let him in.

You whined as Pantalone moved his fingers across the entire length of your tongue, your cheeks burning when you registered the taste of your cum on his skin. He let out a small laugh, letting you lick his and your cum off his fingers.

You watched as he trailed his drool covered fingers down the contours of his stomach, your spit gleaming in the firelight. Those clever fingers traced over his thighs, a groan leaving him as he pressed on the dark bruises left by you teeth before coming to rub his cock.

He let out an unabashed moan, his head lolling back. "You made me feel so good." His fingers slid further down, two of them spreading his lips so you could see a hint of his pulsing tunnel. "But it looks like you don't want to service me any longer." He huffed.

A loud whine tore through your chest, your body moving on its own to get closer to him. Only his sharp gaze kept you from tearing through the flimsy chains.

Pantalone just laughed at you, his voice both melodic and condescending. “What’s this? Has my beast changed their mind?" His fingers didn't stop moving, two of them lazily fingering his twitching hole. "It is such a shame you didn't touch me for so long. I got lonely." Your eyes were glued on his fluttering cunt, drops of his cum dripping on you and burning your skin like hot magma. "Eyes on me when I'm talking to you, Mutt."

Your eyes snapped up to meet his gaze.

“Beg,” He ordered, voice rich like wine.

Oh, what a cruel lover you have. The gag silenced any words you could form, yet you still tried. It resulted in garbled pleas and soft whimpers, you even stuck your tongue out when nothing seemed to work — offering your services like some cheap whore.

He drank in the sounds as they left you, an arrogant smile gracing his features. "You could do better." He smirked, and your heart froze, a pathetic whine leaving you. "But this will do." He said. You laid still as a statue while he moved back over your open maw, his hand finding itself back in your hair. "Make me cum, Darling, and I'll give you a reward."

How could you refuse?

You pressed yourself flush to his groin before he even had a chance to pull you close. Your teeth lightly dug into his skin, his breathy groan sending a shiver down your spine. You licked at his cock, small kitten licks at first to re-familiarize yourself with it, growing bolder as his breathing picked up. You pressed your tongue flat to his cock when he began rocking his hips, the momentum ensuring you could lick his cock from root to tip with the right amount of pressure.

The reaction was instant — Pantalone doubled over you with a groan, his things tensing around your head as fresh drops of cum dripped on your tongue. "Y-yes, just like that." Pantalone groaned, fingers curling into your hair as he rutted against your tongue. "Harder."

You did as he commanded and pressed your tongue harder to his cock, letting him rock against your maw as you tried to gulp down his cum. Then, on one rough thrust, your tongue slipped into his cunt. "Fuck!" Pantalone moaned, not even stopping, riding your tongue like it was a cock.

You could tell he was close when he began babbling, a litany of "Yes- good, Darling - just like that! Harder- Yes!" Spurring your body on to dig and twist your tongue deeper into him, to let him use you however he saw fit, the vibrations of your whimpers only adding to his pleasure.

His fingers clenched in your hair — His orgasm crashed over him, cunt constricting like a vice around your tongue as his thighs hugged your head. You milked him for all he had, doing your best to gulp down his cum, but it was futile as more would just stream down your chin.

Pantalone shivered as he slowly released you, both of you groaning when your tongue slipped out for the last time. Both of you were left breathless as he leaned back to partly sit on your chest, his bruising grip turning soft as he carded his fingers through your hair.

You looked up at him, breathes and bleary eyed. He laughed, soft and gentle. "You look wonderful like this." He cooed, scooping up the cum on your chin to watch you wordlessly clean his fingers. "Such a darling beast, all for me, yes?"

You tried to answer, but the combination of the gag and your tongue curled around his fingers made it impossible.

He giggled, and it was the most angelic thing you had ever heard. "Right you are." His hands shook when he reached for the gag, and you lifted your head to help him remove it. "How is that?" Your cheeks and the corners of your lips ached as you moved your jaw, but thankfully you couldn't taste any blood, only his cum.

Your voice was gone and your tongue didn't want to listen to you, so instead of voicing anything you simply nuzzled your head into the hand gently carding through your hair.

You thought this would be the end of this session.

You found satisfaction in his release, even if you hadn't cum yourself, but it was the norm for you; you were big in more ways than one, and both of you being busy people left little time to properly prepare, and you were fine rubbing one out after Pantalone was satisfied.

Then he spoke. "I would be remiss not to reward such good behavior."

Your eyes snapped open (when had you even closed them?) just in time to see him scoot back. He left a wet trail of cum across your entire torse, but you couldn't mind that when he ended up straddling your lap. He smirked, playfully rubbing his ass against your cocks.

You jumped, a hiss tearing through your chest. The overwhelming sensation of your abused cocks finally getting Pantalone's attention banged on your head like a hammer, yet your hips snapped up in an attempt to get more of that feeling.

"Such a simple, single-minded creature." Pantalone tsked, gently slapping your hip as a command to stay still. "I have a surprise for you."

You perked up, keeping yourself still, your eyes glued on him as he turned around on wobbly legs, putting his perfectly shaped ass on display for you.

And the surprise in it.

Not even his ass cheeks could hide the silvery base of the toy. His ring stretched obscenely around it, red, puffy and fluttering around the base with every breath he took. "Since you ignored me for so long, I had to get creative." He hissed, breathless, looking at you over his shoulder, his onyx black hair cascading over his back. "Do you like it?"

You couldn't say anything as he used one hand to grip the plug, beginning to shallowly thrust the toy into himself. "It was a-hah," He groaned, bucking his hips, his cum leaking down his thighs. "-a pain to get it." It was mesmerizing how his ring fluttered around it, clinging to every artificial vein. "But so worth it."

He braced a hand on your thigh and slowly pulled the plug out, his ass clenching even harder around the toy. It finally plopped out with an obscene sound, his ass clenching around nothing and rapidly destroying what self control you had.

And now you could see that it looked like a replica of your own cock, if a bit smaller.

You didn't know how your brain was functioning.

He laughed when he saw your expression, tossing the toy to next to your head as he turned around to face you. He reached behind himself and palmed your cock. Your hips bucked, and he flicked the head as punishment, a low whine coming out of your throat. "Behave," He reminded, "Only good beasts get their rewards."

Holding still while Pantalone rose to his shaky knees to line you up with his holes was worse than any torture you had ever inflicted or experienced, the sinfully wonderful feeling of his walls clenching around one of your cocks driving you to madness. You clenched your hands shaking as he slid down in one fluid move, skin slapping against skin as you bottomed out in him.

Both of you groaned, a high pitched keen leaving your mouth as his hands found themselves around the second cock, pressed flush between his thighs. "I had a lot of time to practice since you ignored me for so long." He explained with a scoff, rocking his hips down as he played with the head of your second cock. "It's a real shame I couldn't practice with the real thing." He hissed, clenching around you and flicking your head.

"Please!" You gasped, unaware of what you were begging for. Distantly, you could hear the chains groan as they struggled to hold you, but you couldn't force yourself to care when his clever fingers played with your slit and his sinfully tight ass fluttered around your length.

"Begging for mercy now are we?" Pantalone mocked, slowly rising and falling back down. "I shouldn't give you any after the stunt you pulled." His hiss turned into a moan as your hips snapped up just as he was descending. Yet that didn't earn his pity, and he continued to leisurely ride you, as if you were no better than the toy, his cruel hands palming your sensitive head, running his fingers over the shaft just to tightly grip the base when you'd bottom out.

Seconds passed like centuries, you didn't even know when you had started begging, only that you moaned when his fingers left your cock. "You are lucky you're so well behaved." He sighed, "Now stay still."

He rose up, his walls like a vice around your poor cock, until only the head was still inside. He pressed the head of your other cock to his cunt, stretched so wide by your monstrous tongue that the head popped in without any trouble.

But this time he couldn't take you in on the first time, his little body not used to taking in so much. He stopped a little before half way, holes fluttering and clenching around you as if his body didn't know whether it wanted to push you out or draw you in deeper. "Oh, Darling." He moaned, breathless, one hand on your stomach for support, the other hand on his stomach where your cocks bulged his stomach. "So good for me."

He rose up slowly, thighs trembling as he slid back down, drawing in half an inch more with every rise and fall. His hand clawed at your skin, whole body trembling when he finally, finally, sheathed you fully in him.

You had never done this before, mostly out of fear of hurting him, but now...He looked beautiful.

Sweat damp locks clung to his forehead, his eyes half glazed over, lips parted to let out breathy moans. You could feel his hand through the muscle of his stomach, rubbing at your heads as he clenched down on you. Even the bitten and bruised thighs were beautiful, glistening from his cum and your spit, dark blue bruises forming a brand of ownership from when your teeth had dug too deep into his skin. He spread his trembling thighs wide over hips, giving you a perfect view of his throbbing cock standing proud while his cunt clenched like a vice around you.

"Se-haah." Pantalone shivered, a blush spreading from his ears down to his chest as he rubbed you through his stomach. "See how well I fit you?"

You didn't know how he was able to speak when you were leaking your brain through your cocks as precum, pleasure so powerful it was on the cusp of pain burning at the base of your spine and in the pit of your stomach.

He braced both hands on your stomach and rocked his hips down. "Fuck!" You both moaned so loud you were certain half of Teyvat heard you. He began rising and falling back on your shafts achingly slowly, thighs trembling, core muscles tense. "Oh, yes!" He groaned as your hips gently snapped up to meet his downward thrust.

You continued this slow pace until you were at the cusp of madness, fire burning in your veins as you attempted to buck up, only fail when he would rise up so you couldn't get deeper in him. You whined, a tightness in your belly, you needed more of his heat, you needed more of him!

"Wh-hah, what's wrong?" Pantalone mockingly asked, clawing at your stomach as he rode you even slower. "Not sati-fuck- satisfied?"

You nodded, clenching your teeth, the chains groaning louder in your ears.

He peered at you from beneath his lashes, "This -archons why are you big-" He groaned, rising up and stopping there, keeping just the heads of your cocks inside him. "This is how I felt all those two months." He growled as you whined, not budging no matter how much you begged and whined.

"If you don't lik- hah- like it, do something about it." He hugged, gently slapping your stomach as you once again tried to buck up into his tight heat. "Or-" He looked you straight in the eyes, a devious smirk on his lips. "-shall I go back to the toys?"

Snap!

Next thing you knew, you were sat up. Both hands gripping his thighs and forcing him down as you snapped your hips up.

"Yes!" He shouted so all Snezhnaya could hear, clenching around you like a vice.

His thighs shook as you helped him rise and fall while fucking up into him, using him like a toy to your heart's content while he moaned and groaned.

Pantalone let out the sweetest moans, trying to silence them by hiding his head in the crook of your neck as he bounced on top of you, yet it was futile. Moaned order of "Like that, go on, harder, please!" rung in your ears like a mantra as he pressed searing kisses on your skin, winding his arms around your neck to get you even closer to him.

You felt his lips over your pulse point, pressing a kiss there before he bit you — your hips snapped up sharply, all caution flying with the wind.

You snarled, tugging him closer to you with a bruising grip as you fucked up into him, bullying your way into his clenching holes until he was screaming your name between his moans.

His holes clenched around you tightly, destroying any lingering worry when his hips would fight against your grip every time you'd pull out, his body so desperate to have you in him that he couldn't wait the second it would take you to snap your hips into him.

You could tell he was close, silky soft tunnels fluttering around your shafts before gripping them like a vice. You pressed the pad of your finger to his cock, and he let out a broken moan as you fucked him, rubbing his cock every time you lifted him up just so you could hear the fucked out sounds he moaned into your skin.

Itching need gnawed on your brain, the familiar pressure in your belly telling you that you wouldn't last long. "Close," You hissed out, hugging his body close to yours, caging his smaller body in your bulk, safe and sound from the rest of the world in your embrace. "Please."

"Yes yes yes go-" he gasped out, his hands gripping your shoulders, as you rubbed his cock. "Go on, inside! Cum inside!" His walls clenched around you, threatening to snap your cocks off, as with a thunderous shout he came, biting your pulse point again.

Your own release shot through you like lightning, frazzling your brain as you shot your loads, Pantalone letting out a broken moan as you filled him.

Archons, he had missed this. He forgot how much he loved it when you filled him up, your hot release bulging his stomach even more, proclaiming that you were his and no one else's. "Good, so good darling," He moaned, babbling, completely unaware of his words as you both try to catch your breaths.

You tried to pull out, but he stopped you, grumbling something under his breath as his holes clenched around you. "Don't." He mumbled into your neck, hugging you closer to himself.

Resigned, you lied back on the bed, laying Pantalone on your chest. Your fingers ghosted over the black and blue bruises forming all over his pelvis, long scratch marks left by your claws only now starting to clot.

"Quit that, I can see what you're thinking, dear." Pantalone lightly swatting at your chest.

"But-" He cut you off by gently kissing a trail up your throat, not minding the sweat, drool, and his own cum staining your skin.

"Let me remind you that I wanted this." He clenched around you, pleasured pain burning up your spine. You clenched your teeth and hissed, but he just chuckled. "I wanted you to be rough with me."

"You could have asked." You mumbled,

"And you wouldn't have agreed to it." He just rolled his eyes, resting his head on your chest as his fingers traced mindless patterns on your skin.

A heavy sigh left your chest as you apologized for the two months you didn't touch him, it was never in your intentions to ignore him.

"Oh, my darling beast." Pantalone sighed, a sweet smile gracing his features. He reached out to cradle your cheeks, pulling you down into a kiss, not bothered by your sharp teeth. "Such a gentle beast," he sighed against your lips, kissing you once more. "Only for me?"

"Only for you," You agreed, chest light like a feather.

"Good," he leaned back, lifting himself up by bracing his hands on your stomach. Then his eyes narrowed and he swatted your chest. "You're paying to fix the headboard, you brute."

You turned your head - sure enough, you had shattered the ornate headboard the chains had been attached to, the broken cuffs still attached to your wrists... You couldn't find it in yourself to feel too bad about it.

"Later," You said and quickly picked him up as you stood up. He yelped, clinging to you, drops of your cum getting past the plug created by your shafts, leaving a trail as you walked. "Bath?"

He nodded his head, "Sounds lovely." He kissed your neck, mumbling into your skin, "I just imported new conditioner from Sumeru, the merchant said it should do wonders for your hair."

You just smiled; He had taken care of you, now it was your turn to take care of him.

[isa-ghost]

Any specifically avian related qphil headcanons? I love that Phil being a bit more birdy is canon in the qsmp but whenever we get lore about it its angst

/I don't know why I'm asking if you have any, I know you got them /

*cupping my hands together and holding them out*

/give em here/

/pretty pleasee/

Oh fuck yeah man. I have an angel OC based off Phil, I've got PLENTY of avian headcanons >:)

Previous Headcanon Sets (x8)

MORE: Avian Edition

I've stated it in a prev set I think, but if you put this man in water his wings will sometimes involuntarily flap like he's in a birdbath. It's somewhat of a stim, bird brain just goes "you gotta."

I've also stated before that when he's stressed, his wings will flap kinda like the way someone might nervously shake out their hands.

Another restate, sometimes his laughs and startled yelps sound almost like squawks. Also his hiccups. It's very rare, but whenever it happens, he gets teased for it. Especially by Etoiles.

Another restate, sometimes his echolalia is his bird brain mimicking a sound he heard if it scratches an itch.

Yknow what just skim the previous headcanon sets I linked bc I talk so much about his wings & what he does with them & how he communicates using them. All those apply here.

Obligatory mirror and windows struggles mention.

Obligatory molting & preening struggles when stressed mention.

We've all seen the way he perches above everyone. It's probably his most prominent/noticeable avian trait.

Apparently camomile calms birds down. If this fool liked hot drinks, he'd have another way to settle his anxiety.

His obsession with noodles got him accused by Tubbo of enjoying them bc bird brain likes worms. He was NOT pleased. Almost gagged.

As long as you're careful around his wings, he LOVES back rubs. (It's bc the dumbass mf slept in that damn chair too much so now his back riots)

DO NOT THE WINGS. Petting them is one thing, he loves when Lullah hugs them, he thinks it's cute. But omg do not dig your fingers into his feathers. They're very sensitive. And that could mean tickling OR pain.

However if you gently do it, his wings will spread a little and his feathers poof up, which is kinda funny. It's like how if you touch a cat's foot the right way, their toes will spread out to present The Beans(tm). Blessed.

He likes to gift his shedded feathers to people he trusts. Chayanne, Lullah & Missa each have one. Although he's extremely close with Etoiles and Fit, he feels too awkward to give one to them yet. Feels a little too intimate.

Gift giving in general is a HUGE part of his love language though. Crow brain must give shiny things to people he loves yesyes.

Bird zoomies!! Wings poof up, he starts hopping all over the place like a big dork. He'd fly all over too, if he could.

Bobs his head to music. Those videos of pet birds dancing? That's Phil babey!!

Another one of his fave bits is pretending to understand and have a full-on conversation with birds. Loves pretending to gossip with them right in front of the person he & the bird(s) are "gossiping" about. However the crows he DOES understand & gossip with.

When he can fly, he's an expert at dive-bombing targets like a bird of prey. It's TERRIFYING. And very attractive depending on who you are (*cough* Missa *cough*)

Lullah once tried to test if throwing a blanket over his head would make him fall asleep like how if you put a blanket over a bird's cage they'll think it's night time and go to bed. It didn't work. He was very confused.

Birds whenever they're happy to see you will stretch their wings out like "Hello yes!" Phil do happy wing stretches when he see the kids :D

His hearing and eyesight are fucking amazing. The only reason he's able to be snuck up on is bc he hyperfocuses on things or the things that sneak up on him are super fast.

Rare Isa Fluffy Headcanon: He make blanket nests.

When stressed or overwhelmed, he'll wrap his wings around himself or raise them to shield his head. He doesn't do this so much after his wings were clipped & injured. They hurt too much.

100% will spread his wings all the way out (when they aren't hurting a lot) to look more threatening towards enemies. They almost autopilot do it when he's angry, but if they hurt too much they'll stop. He's pissed they don't look as threatening after The Federation clipped his wings

[raccoonspooky]

Your "slashers react to babygirlfication" post is hilarious, but I'm curious how'd they react to the number of fans who see them as father figures 🙌

Pfft okay so I took some time to ponder the concept and I present:

Slashers react to choosing and being chosen to be father figures.

Sorry u stinky men covered in blood. Ur a dad now. U cannot run, u cannot hide.

Characters included: Bubba Sawyer, Thomas Hewitt, Billy Loomis, Leslie Vernon, Brahms Heelshire, Michael Myers, Patrick Bateman, Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Billy Lenz

2k words. SFW, mild references to nsfw but not for horny purposes. Gender Neutral. Second person. Silly, sometimes surprisingly cute. Sometimes surprisingly stupid. Ur an adult. No Y/N is used here.

Not everything ends in a fatherly dynamic, but it's always familial except for stupid Bo. Most are from the killer's POV. This is intended to be a realistic take on the subject, please expect canon behavior and violence.

Leatherface:

Bubba’s closeness is a little overbearing, to be honest. You don’t hate it. No one you’ve ever met has been so eager to be with you every moment of every day. You’ve begun to appreciate everything he does for the farm in a new light. He works hard and you want to be just as solid and hard-working as him. Bubba is used to everyone belittling him and for you to see him as someone fully functioning, someone you want to learn from or take after is just seemingly wrong. He’s not a daddy. He can't remember his own daddy so he’s pretty sure that he’s not someone to be seen as fatherly. He understands wanting to feel safe more than anyone else so he sort of gets it.

Nonetheless, it's all very confusing. But… you’re so smart, he trusts you… you can’t be wrong about anything. If looking up to him makes you happy, he’ll do his best to be the person you see him as. Expect almost comically fatherly behavior. This guy is gonna demand you go to bed at sundown and eat ALL your food. He’s gonna give you tripled servings of veggies and insist that dandelions are good for you. He’s gonna put his hands on his hips and stomp around mumbling frustratedly because that seems to be all that Drayton does and it’s gonna be hard to not laugh at it all. 

That being said, if you leaned into his mother-hen aspects, he’d fucking love it. He wants to brush your hair and make you pretty. He wants to plant flowers and squawk and squeal over boxes of jewelry and makeup. He leans into a motherly role easily and he loves taking care of someone happy to receive it. He starts carrying around a purse because duh, that’s what mothers do. In the purse is a bunch of cool rocks, chicken feathers and the occasional worm or mouse or something. Expect to see the pretty lady mask much more often. 

Thomas Hewitt:

It's hard to determine much of anything he's thinking or feeling due to the mask. You slipped on something the other day and Thomas didn’t seem to appreciate the resulting calamity. He stomped up the stairs and grabbed you by the armpits to hoist you up in order to check you for damage. He grabbed your head like a basketball to inspect it for damage and you took it to mean that he cares about your well being. Communication isn’t his strong suit but he cares… at least you think he does. He’s unaware of the role you’ve slotted him into but he’s been giving you things to do and he tolerates you in his vicinity.

With gestures and the occasional huff of breath, he sat you in front of some scrap wood and you quickly realized that he wanted you to check for wood rot. It felt good to be given a task and perhaps your happiness alluded to your thoughts because he’s been showing you all sorts of things and how to use a bunch of tools. There’s a certain approving grunt he does that’s become your favorite thing to hear. You've started to not hate waking up at the crack of dawn. You wonder if he’ll one day let you work with leather. Maybe he’ll teach you to tan it?

Billy Loomis:

This is amongst the worst possible characters you could’ve possibly chosen to see as a father figure.

First of all, he’s barely out of high school and second of all, his expectations are high and impossible to achieve. He wants a protege, he wants to create a killer that he refined with his own hands but unfortunately, he's stupid. Unfortunately, he gets stuck in long-winded rants about the power of a knife and blah blah blah movie reference blah blah.

The asshole’s given you fucking homework and on top of that, he keeps making you go get him slurpies and vape refills from 7/11. It's the worst. You thought he was some kind of mastermind killer but he smells like axe bodyspray and keeps talking to you about his expert manipulation skills when you saw him fully kick a trashcan when someone refused his fake ID at a bar. You’d like to get onto some KILLING lessons or maybe see the Ghostface with your own eyes, but so far most of what you’ve seen is him checking himself out in mirrors.

You're beginning to think you could definitely kick his ass and everything he’s managed so far has been a genuine fluke. You feel as if you’ve looked up to Ghostface for so long that the real deal is a huge disappointment. Perhaps it’s time for a new ghost to take up residency.

Leslie Vernon:

This is what he’s doing all of this for. It's the height of killer fame to retire and let your successor take up the reins. He’ll fade into memory and fearful recollection and he’ll make you a mask of your very own so you can continue his legacy. He’s been planning for this for years down to the itty bitty specifics. You’re gonna be some down-on-your-luck kid and you’re gonna make some rookie mistake with your first crime and then he’s gonna get you out of a pickle and the rest is history. At least… that's how it works in the movies.

With all the planning he’s put into this, it’s gonna work out perfectly. You haven't seen him yet but he’s seen you. You're perfect. He can already feel the fatherly love slamming some burgers onto a grill inside of him. Maybe the two of you can play ball with someone’s cut out heart. Wouldn’t that be something huh? Alright, squirt let's get this shebang started! He’s just gotta put the finishing touches on the whole orphaning thing…. 

Brahms Heelshire:

You were lonely in this dead place. That much was obvious.

Brahms knew the feeling. Meeting you went smoother than it regularly went, but there was a clear roadblock in place when it came to taking care of him. You don’t follow the rules at all and that’s just unacceptable. You can't both be babied, that’s not gonna work!

Despite your inability to give him the structure he needs, he decides that just being around you is better than nothing. You seemingly don’t mind quiet and he's happy just to be seen. Even if you both need something that neither of you are able to provide, it's nice to just exist without fear or the worrisome concept of rejection.

In silence, the dusty air settled and it was easy to find some solidarity between you both. Both of you were hugely in need of someone to cling to. You’re scared and so is he. It’s… nice to know that someone else understands his feelings so well. You settle into an easy routine, eating together and sleeping in the same room... It takes a while but he begins to piece together the idea that if he wants to be mommied, maybe you need a daddy? Maybe you just need someone else to look to when you’re feeling alone and scared. Really, that’s all he wants too.

At the very least, Brahms can be that person for you. The two of you might be stuck in an awkward jumble of power dynamics but none of it feels wrong. He loves you but not like he’s loved nannies in the past. He’s starting to think that the two of you are in desperate need of a mommy and a daddy. He’s gonna be a good big brother in getting you exactly what you need. You’re not alone anymore and neither is he. It doesn’t hurt so much to be a real boy when you’ve never thought of him as anything besides human.

Michael Myers:

Well. This is happening.

He’s tried killing you multiple times and for the first time in his life, he’s found someone who disrespects death just as much as he does.

No matter what he does or where he goes, you’re close by. Hiding from somewhere, watching him from somewhere. If he turns around and walks away, you’ll manage to find him again no matter what. It's annoying. You’re annoying. Too loud. Too alive.

You've begun to wear a jumpsuit like his and an eyesore of a mask. Michael pointedly doesn't look your way or acknowledge you in the slightest. You might pester and ask questions but you get no answer. He makes sure to not even breathe in your presence. No matter the targeted coldness, you still chase after him as if you’re excited about wherever he’s going.

Once, he picked you up and physically tossed you through the front door of a recently “vacated” house just so you’d have somewhere to stay and unsurprisingly, you were back at his heels the next time he went hunting. You took up permanent residence in his peripherals and sometimes you managed to even sneak up on him. He’s climbed into impossible places and found the most hidden crevices he could find to rest but you're impossible to outwalk.

You’re a buzzing fly but he’s stopped trying to kill you because it doesn’t work. You don’t have his stature or his stride, but he’s beginning to think that you might be something other than what he’s assumed. Recently, he tossed a knife at you with enough precision to kill and you not only caught the damned thing— but you proceeded to ask when you’d get to use it. Slowly, he turned his head toward yours and you tilted yours ever so slightly in question while your hand tightened around your blade’s handle. That was all the discussion needed. He stood and so did you, you were like a shadow behind him and he’s never felt any particular violent urge toward a shadow. 

Patrick Bateman:

Children are god-awful things. Still, Patrick understands their purpose. With a child comes respect. Others will ooh and ahh over someone bragging over their brat’s acceptance into some ivy league school. You get to brag about your trips to all the best places once you’ve cultured your child enough to let them anywhere near Milan or Dubai. Kids are accessories to people like him. No one raises their kid of course, you hire help to do that for you— but even so, Patrick loathes the idea of something other than himself wearing his face. While Patrick understands now is about the time that someone like him is expected to breed, he hates the idea of letting some whore take his seed and brew up some vile squirming thing that’s half made of someone he knows he’ll hate. How can he trust her genetics? All women are whores and breeding one just sounds disgusting. Ugh. He’s not a family man and he finds the concept stomach-turning. 

With a few moments of thought, he thinks about the youngest person he can think of and he decides that the coffee barista at the expensive roastery is fine enough of a choice. You’re polite enough. Your handshake is firm. He’s looked you up before and you have no criminal record to speak of…. 

By the end of the day, he’s drafted a formal questionnaire and had it delivered to your place of employment via a courier service. When his email lights up with a notification, the subject line: “Interview scheduling.” He crinkles his nose. You don’t know how to spell? Anyone with a brain knows that “Schedueling” is spelled with an E after the U. Obviously, you have a lot to learn but… he’s already had a suit tailored to your size so he might as well interview you despite your poor spelling.

Bo Sinclair:

Someone looking up to him has something new and weird surfacing from the graveyard inside of him. It’s all sick and twisted, it moves like a roach with its head cut off. He’s sort of flattered but the sincere baffling concept of someone seeing him as a father figure has him edging the line of being pissed about it.

You’re playing some kinda mind game with him, right? He’s not a fucking loser so he’s definitely gonna figure out wtf you’re on about and why you keep asking him to teach you some bullshit or other. You don't care for shit about the engine he's workin' on. Clearly, you're trying to be clever and do something... Y'think you can get one up on him? Ain't no goddamned way.

Unfortunately, the wires in his brain are all over the place and they’re all connected to his dick’s hair-trigger sensor. Obviously, you have the hots for him. You’re flirting with him. You’re doing all this shit for his attention huh? He’s unable to comprehend that your stockholm has turned itself inside out and you're beginning to as a father figure. He's the big man around this town, wearing his big pants and walking with his big man walk. It's not your fault for getting confused in this rot filled town.

Bo immediately assumes your behavior is some lil deviant kink thing of yours and any innocence you intended is quickly destroyed by a loud mouth and a peacock strut.

Vincent Sinclair:

Charcoal coats the side of your wrist and Vincent wonders if he should tell you to go to bed. You’ve been sketching all day and he knows from experience that your back must hurt from the contorted way you’re sitting. Every lesson he’s ever given you has been taken in stride. Anatomy is something you’re giving your all to learn and it’s… fulfilling to have someone so eager to learn from him. His mother’s teaching was enforced with several painful implements and whether it was a metal ruler or stinging words, Vincent learned out of loyalty to appease her. He turned loyalty into passion out of survival instinct and still, he creates out of muscle memory. He’s still haunted by his mother's ghost but he looks at her with less disdain now that he has someone eager to make everything he knows worth something. 

You wear that same sense of anticipatory nervousness he once armed himself with. You shyly show him what you’re working on, and when he shows you an error you always take it with pride rather than shame. You must know how proud he is of your progress. It’s been years since he’s stood up for himself but his twin is somewhere nursing a shiner after he let himself into Vincent’s workspace just to bother you. No. you didn’t need a nude model. No, you didn’t want to do something more fun. No you didn’t want to take a break and look at something less fuck ugly for a change. 

No matter the circumstances that brought you here, Vincent’s been your protector since the day he found you locked in the garage’s basement, drawing in the dirt. You’re his student. Under his care. You’re a good thing and he’s not going to let his twin spoil you like he’s spoiled everything else. 

Billy Lenz:

He’s still got a scar from when he accidentally happened upon you.

Finding you was a complete accident. He broke into a creaky old house, looking for somewhere dry and he quickly realized that someone else had already staked their claim on the dusty shithole.

Crazed eyes met his and you launched at him like an animal immediately, completely without hesitation. The impact knocked him through a rickety old door and you whooped like a monkey before wildly falling into a pit of screaming laughter. Your laughter was contagious. Little thing full of so much rage. Like a kitten scratching and scratching at a fancy couch. It began to be difficult to laugh at your joke on account of the phone cord wrapped around his neck, cutting off his oxygen. You might’ve killed him if he didn't find enough clarity to throw you off of him. 

You scrambled onto a counter, bare feet disrupting the thick layer of dust and you bared your teeth, breathing heavily. Your nose was red as if you just got here out of the cold and it was just so clownish. Billy mimicked you just the same, squatting on the ground and offering you a series of clown honks and circus noises. After a few moments, you relaxed but with his ever so slight movement forward you growled like a dog before telling him that you were going to shove his stupid bellbottoms so far down his throat that he’d be shitting out a denim baby. Instantly, he wriggled about, wincing while imagining the horrible sensation of denim up his ass.

You’re funny! Funny funny clown. Not a piggy. Not to be gutted and pulled apart. His head was a mess and it hurt where it knocked against the linoleum, it had him agitated but not toward you. A nearby house’s Christmas lights snapped into visual existence and you glared through the dirty kitchen window as if startled by the red and green. With a series of vocalizations accompanied by tonal hissing, Billy asked if you wanted to go Christmas caroling and you’ve been having a holly jolly time ever since. 

This time of year is much much more tolerable now that he’s got a red nosed Rudolph who likes bloody red ribbons just as much as he does. You’ve gotten good at prank calls and you’re just so very mean to mouth breathing boys. While Billy handles the snobby sluts, you take care of heavy-shouldered neanderthals. Fratboys are your favorite flavor and Billy is just so tickled that you have similar tastes to his.  You're a fast learner. Good at climbing. Good at killing. You make the noises go away. The frantic clamor of mutated memory quiets when he's got you wedged in his hindbrain.

[traveller-of-the-knight]

Only a Paper Moon

Prologue AKA The Boy who Saved them

General Moon Knight Fanfic

Ft. Daredevil and Jessica Jones

Tags warnings: Childhood trauma (did you see the picture? You saw the picture, you know it's trauma time!), angst with happy ending, skipable gore (you'll see the trigger warning but don't worry nobody got hurt you'll- you'll see)

Word Count: 1.2k

Chapter Summary: A glimpse of the system's childhood, haunted by a God and a family.

Ao3 link

Chapter 1 will be dropped soon!

Blood-stained candies fell on the ground.

Marc faced the sky, only to see a broken moon, leaking down on earth, all around him.

Its insides were hollow, the crates painted with markers and cheap acrylics making the emptiness of space feel plastic. Fragile like the moon, cracked and exposed for everyone to see the thin cardboard that held everything together, now socked with its intestines.

He closed his eyes, he didn’t want to look at the moon anymore, it was shattered, no one would play with it now. It had no purpose, beyond being destroyed for other’s entertainment. They were now playing over its mutilated guts, accompanied by the sound of plastic wraps scratching the rough surface of the carpet. It felt sticky as dozens of tiny candy bars had been stepped on by children fighting to get the most trophies -trophies that Marc had earned.

But he didn’t care,

he wasn’t there.

He was pushed to the side and attacked by what felt like tiny rocks, meteors falling from the vast depths of space to punish him.

He loved space regardless.

I wonder what it’s like… Being on the moon, looking down on earth, where the city lights of Chicago mix with the faraway stars. Funny, isn’t it? That I feel like I belong more with the stars than with humans… Looking down at myself from the moon, I feel so small. All this pain, my memories, my mistakes, all my worries are unimportant here. Here I am so small that I barely exist -if I exist at all.

And so, he disappeared, floating around, outside of his home, outside of all the judgement, outside of his own body.

He was free.

For now, he was truly free.

He pulled himself closer to the moon, close enough to hear it cry. Something cold was slowly dripping on his forehead from above. It made his bones shiver, as it run down, around his eyes and chicks, so cold he could barely feel them as his own.

He gently placed a hand on his temple, letting his shaking fingertips examine what was poured on him. A silent sob escaped him, making him realize he had been crying all along but still couldn’t make a sound. He then brought his hand in front of his eyes -to make sure his fingers were still attached as the cold had paralyzed them.

TW: Gore

Thank G-d. They were still here, but he could barely make out their silhouettes. One thing was certain, they were painted red. Red that started to blend with his vision, replacing his tears with the moon’s as they kept dropping, nesting for a new home in his eyes. The moon is bleeding down on him stronger than before, he can hear the blood twisting and spilling on him, but he still couldn’t move. He was so lucky to be chosen, to witness such a beautiful spectacle. Blood mixed with cosmic dust of faraway galaxies, now long gone, destroyed by the cruelty of space but still visible from his unimportant planet.

He examined the cosmos above him, he shouldn't, but he did. Inside the moon was a dead bird. Some of its feathers still attached on its rotten flesh so thin now, you could see its skeleton, with hollow eyes and crummy with scabs. It was wounded, an arrow next to its heart, Marc felt it too as the darkness of his glare pierced his very soul.

He couldn’t look away, he wanted but he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. Even when he saw it being consumed by bugs, taking slow bites, feasting on his flesh. It was all so loud. So fucking loud. He heard it all from inside his skull, flies in his ears, worms blocking his airway, choking him, tickling his nostrils as he tried to puke them away from his mouth, only for them to be reborn inside his lungs, crawling to be free.

End of TW

"Marc?"

Mom's voice.

Her face appeared for just a split of a second as shadows of little children blocked his vision again.

"Marc?!"

"Marc!"

Another voice appeared.

Roro?

"Marc, look how many candies I got!

Oh. You didn't get any...

That's ok, we can share, you can take the Mars bar, it's your birthday after all!"

Roro?

Roro placed chocolates and soft candies on Marc's palm. Even though it was still stained with blood. But he didn’t care and closed his brother's fist with his hands and held it with his tiny fingers. Marc looked down at how big his hands were in comparison to his brother’s, reminding him he had grown older without him, he experienced more of the world as his brother stayed the same, trapped inside a memory, a fate he couldn’t escape.

"It's ok… It wasn't your fault."

Roro what are you taking about?

...

..

.

Oh-

I'm dreaming again.

I’m dreaming.

He’s not real he’s-

"Marc! Marc don't go!"

I'm sorry! I'm sorry! ImsorryImsorryImsorry!

"What do you think you're doing?!"

Marc was standing there, in the middle of his living room, surrounded by his classmates, who were laughing and chasing each other for their candies, circling him in the middle, right under the paper moon piñata. He didn't even fully remove the blindfold from his head and kept holding his baseball bat loosely only for it to be dropped when something grabbed his ear and pulled him to the side.

"What do you think you are doing?!"

Roro?

"I didn't spend all that money on you to be ungrateful!"

Roro?

"You looked ridiculous! That's why nobody wants to be your friend."

No. No, this isn’t real. This isn’t real. Mom… Mom could never-

Mum?

What is mum doing?

Did I- do something wrong?

No, no Mom… She-

Mum?

Why is she angry?

Steven no, you didn’t do anything wr-

“Mu…m?” a shaky whisper escaped his mouth, loud enough only they could hear.

“Speak when you are spoken to!”

No! You can’t hurt him! You can’t- I won’t let you! I won’t! I won’t! I won’t!

His cheek was studently throbbing with heat.

Mum? Mum, I think someone-

Shhh… Shhh… It’s ok, you’re ok, we’re ok. We’ll survive, that’s what we do.

Steven?

Shhh…

Let me save us.

Let me save us.

Marc gave in. Mom’s yelling was nothing but a distant noise and eventually nothing at all. He was floating again, but this time he was safe, he was protected from the bleeding bird in the sky, he was still free.

…

..

.

But what happened to the boy who saved him?

What remained of him is now giving a fight. A fight for survival. Not his survival, but a survival non the less.

“Jake Lockley. What do you think you are doing?”

Blood-stained bullets fell on the ground.

Divider by: @cafekitsune

Jake faced the sky, only to see the moon, reflecting on a broken man, leaking his own blood on the concrete. He closed his eyes and tried to think of happy places. A diner, his cab late at night, a lawyer’s office in a cheap apartment building, his friends safe at the bar and him drinking whisky with a girl with terrifying high alcohol tolerance. He would do anything to keep these images real. Well… almost anything but that’s a story for another time.

Comment to be tagged in the next parts!

[hazbincalifornia]

A Little Poke

Summary:

He wanted Blitz. He wanted Blitz more than anyone in Blitz’s life ever had, wanted to pull him open and suck the marrow from his bones, wanted to tear him to shreds and then sew him back together with golden thread. He also wanted a child. He missed his firstborn deeply, that much was obvious, and it didn’t seem like he had much else going on in his life before Blitz came crashing into it. There was a very tantalizing way to combine the two, and when he asked Stolas to meet up in person again, he could practically hear the panties drop from half the ring away, and he grinned.

Warnings: Explicit content, Breeding kink, Implied mpreg, Pilot au, Mutual Babytrapping

Wordcount: 3380

Ao3 link

They had met once, after Blitz had heard of the prince who spoke to the stars and traveled to Earth to take care of business, and he had decided that there was an opportunity there that needed seizing. Yeah, sure, it was a prince, and that meant if he was caught he’d get himself turned inside out and hung as a pulsing art piece on some wall somewhere, but on the other hand, the prince was almost notoriously a weirdo that nobody liked much, and he really seemed like he needed a good dicking. Plan B of fucking him seemed pretty solid, and Ol’ Reliable was always ready under his pants.

Blitz liked those odds.

He’d staked out the palace for about a week leading up to the heist, and had found out a few things:

First, the prince’s daughter had left home, but she didn’t really seem to come back much. It seemed like this was a fairly recent development, because he kept wandering to her room to sit on her bed and look around, or flipped through a photo album that mostly had the two of them as Blitz adjusted the binoculars and watched as the owl’s feathers drooped. (She was alive, though. He did call her once. Or, rather, he'd tried to call her five times, but she'd only picked up for one of them.)

Secondly, the prince’s wife was a massive bitch. Christ on a stick, frankly Blitz didn’t blame the guy for the amount of alcohol that flowed down his long throat. And they didn’t even get to have makeup sex afterward, so he was left to go sulk in the opposite end of the palace from her.

Thirdly, outside of his job or the party he was dragged to one day, the prince didn’t really seem to leave the house much. He spent most of his free time jerking it in his room to books, draping himself dramatically over his little couch-thing and using magic to jerk it or sticking toys inside himself, and watching soaps. (He also talked to himself, a lot. Satan’s balls, he loved the sound of his voice, narrating shit constantly. Then again, it didn’t seem like had anybody else to blab to, since the kid had flown the coop and the wife wasn’t exactly the listening type.)

Fourth, and finally, Blitz found himself caught up in every little detail as the prince sang while scrubbing a loofah over soaked feathers, the syrupy voice sinking into his chest. Listening to the prince talk and hum and serenade himself for a week had wormed something squirming and hot into his gut. The infinitely long legs and dramatic hands, the feathery softness contrasted with the sharp edges of his beak and claws and eyes… pretty, but dangerous. Very, very dangerous.

So, naturally, when he was caught trying to snatch the book, they fucked, and he enjoyed having nine feet of royal splayed underneath him, as well as hearing that voice aimed at him as reality unraveled.

“Oh, oh, darling, take me apart, fuck me inside out and snap my bones, you are everything-”

Magic swirled around them, sinking into Blitz’s skin as surely as red eyes flashing with white pupils pierced his soul. He was intense, he was manic, and the threat snapped as surely as any whip, but the power Blitz had over this glorious royal beast was intoxicating.

Stolas called, over the next few weeks. Multiple times a day, although a few did have to go to voicemail, which was fine because that meant Blitz could replay them over and over again.

They were mostly long, fucking weird rants all about the things he wanted done to him, or he wanted to do to Blitz. He’d started sending pictures too, and Blitz had never regretted the couch-in-the-living-room setup more, because having to sit in the bathtub to jack off for the fifth day in a row was kinda starting to fuck with his back.

There was the question of the book, of course. Stolas had graciously let him keep it in exchange for carrying out the assassinations that were meant to fall on him to perform- really, everybody won this way. Stolas didn’t have to get his hands dirty, the company could go topside, and IMP could consider him a client since he’d offer to drop them some cash for particularly large kills. (He didn’t really bother to count it outside of the number of bundled wads likely fished out of some safe somewhere, so it usually made up for the smaller ones anyway.)

It wasn’t secure enough, though. It wasn’t going to keep everything the way it was now, not when Stolas might get bored or decide it wasn’t worth it. Not when Stolas might tire of raunchy conversations alone, even though there was far more fire in him in the last month of their calls than there had been in any given moment of the week Blitz had been staking him out.

He wanted Blitz. He wanted Blitz more than anyone in Blitz’s life ever had, wanted to pull him open and suck the marrow from his bones, wanted to tear him to shreds and then sew him back together with golden thread.

He also wanted a child. He missed his firstborn deeply, that much was obvious, and it didn’t seem like he had much else going on in his life before Blitz came crashing into it.

There was a very tantalizing way to combine the two, and when he asked Stolas to meet up in person again, he could practically hear the panties drop from half the ring away, and he grinned.

“And then I tear open your rock-hard chest and squeeze your beating heart as you cum so hard you see entire galaxies, soaked and sticky and-“

Blitz’s tail swished as he set the needle against the wrapper, careful to angle it so the gaudy design would hide the hole once it was shifted around a little, then pressed it through, piercing plastic and latex. It was all too easy to let Stolas’s slightly staticky voice from the speaker sink into his brain and imagine the needle was the hot, heavy length he had summoned for when it was his turn to do the fucking.

Pulling it back, Blitz admired his handiwork before tossing it on the pile he’d been planning to bring tonight, dropping his newly free hand to his stomach and giving it a pat.

“You’re going to make daddy very happy if you come home nice and full of owl baby, you got it?” His stomach only gave a little gurgle, but he took it for a yes as he reached for the next condom and readied the needle again with a cheery whistle.

He’d always wanted a big family anyway.

_________

He shimmied up to the balcony- across from the statue in the garden Stolas had of himself, and directly above the table where he’d gotten cake splattered all over and shoved up into his ass after falling into the wife’s tea party. The shocked look on her face before she’d sputtered and tried to swipe at him with her talons had been worth almost as much as the book itself was, even though he’d had to scrub for a while with cheeks pried wide to get all of the frosting out once he’d gotten home.

Anyway. She wasn’t the focus tonight, Stolas- and, hopefully, his filled guts- would be. Blitz hauled himself over the railing, shifting his bag over his shoulder at the closed door. “Stolas!”

“Blitzy!” His voice was slightly muffled, but with a snap of fingers, the handles on the door lit up red and the doors flew wide open to expose the prince who had already laid out on the bed with a rose in his beak and his red robe draped over his shoulders. He narrowed his eyes as he quirked his beak up into a smirk, tail flicking once before settling down as Blitz ventured closer to the bed, then opened his mouth to float the rose over to settle in Blitz’s collar. “Now, to what do I owe the extreme pleasure, darling?”

“I figured that since, y’know, you’re letting us keep the book, I might as well show you how much I appreciate it,” Blitz said, tipping his bag over to let the half-opened box full of condoms spill in front of Stolas like a kicked-over treasure chest, and getting a delighted curl of clawed toes and a slightly squealy hoot to go with it. Bingo.

“Oh, I knew you were a good one, Blitzy,” Stolas practically breathed before reaching forward to snag the back of Blitz’s neck, pulling him down onto the bed- or more specifically, on top of him- and into a kiss. He reached in to grab the rose back and fling it into the air. Petals showered down on them while the kiss deepened, tongues tangling as Blitz allowed himself to sink into the soft-as-fuck feathers and the breath that tasted like mint layered over meat in all the right ways.

Stolas’s hand slid down to squeeze Blitz’s ass, and Blitz returned the favor, tail tangling with the fluffy flesh on his thighs and what little of his feathery butt that he could reach from their awkward position. Stolas didn’t seem to mind, the bit of tail that was brushing his inner thighs pulling a lewd moan from him, and he pulled back from the kiss with a pop.

“I was thinking.”

“Imagine that,” Blitz said, raising an eyebrow, and Stolas gave him a playful swat before rolling over, leaving Blitz pinned underneath him as his long body cast a shadow. His eager mouth seemed to spread across his entire face, tracing a finger down Blitz’s chest and stomach and humming.

“Last time, you were mostly the one fucking me, which was wonderful, but the round where we switched was plenty fun, and I so enjoyed your cute little whimpers. What if we did that again?”

“Hey, they weren’t fucking whimpers!” Blitz protested, but Stolas’s grin just widened.

“They weren’t, hmm?” Another snap of his fingers, and a bubble appeared next to them, with a video of Blitz being plowed directly into the mattress with a glowing gray cock planted deep between his asscheeks and a rather squeaky sound emitting from his body. Blitz smacked Stolas’s ass with his tail even as a flush dotted his cheeks, and got a cackle out of the bird that he smothered in another rough kiss that almost snagged his lip on razor-sharp beak before pulling back.

“You know, I was going to ask for that anyway, but if you’re going to be a fucking smart-ass about it, princey-”

“Oh, I’ll be good! I’ll be very good,” Stolas promised, reaching for the condoms Blitz had brought. He lifted the closest one, sticking it up to his eye as if examining a fancy diamond, then rolling it in his fingers with the index talon pressing against the surface of the wrapper. He dropped his hand into the ruffled-up blanket before turning to look at the rest. “You came expecting to really get your cute little cheeks destroyed, didn’t you?”

“Dabbled with the thought, yeah,” Blitz said. “Plus, since we, y’know, know each other now, you can go in the front if you want. One freshly slicked-up man cave, just for you, one night only.” (It’d be more than one, if he was lucky, but Stolas didn’t have to know that yet.)

Stolas’s head spun around at that, glee lighting up his features and white flames dancing in his eyes. “Really? I can do both?”

“I might even throw in the mouth too if I really like what you do with the place and I think you’ll lay the fuck off without me being able to snap out the big-boy words and just use body signals,” Blitz said, waving a hand. “Impress me.”

“Oh, you’re feeling generous today… I may just have to take advantage,” Stolas purred, twisting a hand as a glow shimmered between his legs. When Blitz glanced down, something long, thick, and particularly spiky in a way that drove chills up his spine was resting between the thighs. “Now, legs open, pet.”

The way the last word was purred drove way more blood to Blitz’s dick and pussy combo than it really should have, but his legs snapped open fast enough to practically snap sparks on the blankets, and Stolas tore the condom wrapper off before rolling it down his cock. A twirl of his wrist summoned a bottle of lube, which he applied generously, and he hummed as he nudged his tip against Blitz’s entrance- which was already dripping. “On three?”

Blitz rolled his eyes. “I'm not a little bitch, just put it in alrEADY-”

Stolas took his words to heart, immediately thrusting forward before Blitz had even finished his sentence and burying half his cock inside with a cry.

“Oh yes, yes, take all of me you greedy little slut, I’m going to turn your pretty little pussy into mulch and then bathe in your blood-”

Blitz’s heels dug into the mattress as Stolas pushed in further, the owl’s hands wrapping around his thighs and digging into the muscle deep enough that spots of black bubbled up from the skin even as the fat cock advanced with spikes tickling the walls like ridges. “F-fuck yeah, just like that-”

“Take it, take all of it.” Stolas snapped his hips further forward, pushing himself in almost to the base as Blitz felt the weight drag against his inner walls. “You’re so good to me, darling, you listen, and you have the cutest little ass and thighs and abs and face that I want to just devour-”

“Do it, take all of me, you horny-ass princey bitch,” Blitz growled out, locking his legs around Stolas’s waist before his tail wound around them to keep them tight. “Take me, claim me, make me yours and keep me.”

All four of Stolas’s eyes bloomed with white in the middle, tiny flames the color of scars. The edges of his feathers shuddered with blood-black and Pride-red as he stared for a moment before slamming forward and closing what little space remained, locking them together with a dual moan as they both only took half a moment to adjust before the thrusting back and forth began.

“You want me to keep you, Blitzy? What about a cage in the basement, or a collar in the corner of this room, always ready for whenever I wanted my precious little pet?”

Blitz shivered, tail twisting tighter around Stolas’s waist before Stolas leaned in close, voice dropping low. “Oh, I have a much better idea. What if I made you gravid?”

“Grav-”

“Round and heavy with child,” Stolas clarified, and Blitz’s tail froze.

He didn’t know, did he?

“Into breeding, then?” he managed, the heel of one hoof digging into Stolas’s back, but it only got a giggle and a narrowing of eyes that edged on that of a kid that had just been handed a knife and a bowl of candy.

“For you, darling? Absolutely.” One hand raised to cup his cheek before giving a pinch. “You would make the most adorable children, and oh, the thought of you fat and swollen with my chicks, oozing milk and cum, constantly crying out for me to fill and fulfill you-” he shuddered, accenting it with another thrust. “You’d be mine, all mine, and I would be all yours.”

At some point, Blitz’s tongue had lolled out, and his pussy was gushing like the acid geysers down in Wrath. Real, real, he could make that real, and right the fuck now. “Fuck, Stolas, fill me up.”

“Oh, you want that, don’t you? You want my owlets, you want this cock to split you open until you’re stuffed with me?”

“Fuck yeah I do, give me all you’ve got, knock me up, get me pregnant.” He could feel the lube easing the way for Stolas’s cock, as well as the latex of the cheapest condom brand he’d could find. Mostly, though, he could feel his brain halfway to getting melted out of his eyeballs because Stolas’s body wasn’t fully in the room with them, the edges bleeding black and ruby into disreality and taking his tail and legs with it. That magic rippling in the air combined with the cock in his pussy had every nerve inside and outside of his skin sparking like nightmare of an electrical extension cord that was powering his apartment building’s entire fifth floor.

Even half-anchored, Stolas’s fingers were like knives, slicing Blitz’s thighs as he thrust with the edges of his form lapping up the blood and singing as they did. Something was chanting ‘mine’, and if it was Stolas, he had a whole choir of the damned playing backup in a way that made Blitz’s soul sing right along with them.

“I want you on this bed where you’ll never fucking leave,” Stolas moaned out, or at least something thereabouts because Blitz’s ears weren’t fully working anymore. He mumbled something that was definitely clever in response moments before the spikes flared out, catching and digging in with a flash of pained ecstasy as his own claws dug through the comforter and his back arched up. “Over and over, always full and fat with child and so very, very fuckable, all mine.”

“You want me?” Blitz managed. Wings of stardust snapped out, an angel of life and death and infinity all at once as all he could focus on were four hypnotizing eyes. When the response came, it hissed down to his very cells.

“Always, my broodmare.”

The orgasm hit Blitz like a mob enforcer in their prime, and Stolas’s followed almost instantly, flooding him with wave after wave after wave after wave of hot, thick cum that burst through the condom and bloated up his stomach, each pulse adding to it- from his regular trim middle to a slight bit of ‘pudge’ to a well and proper cum balloon, heavy and sloshing with every breath.

Blitz collapsed back into the pillows, hearing one rip about a million miles away but physically incapable of giving even half a rat’s ass about it.

Stolas’s form slowly fuzzed back into reality. His feathers were disheveled, flopping out of his coiffed ‘hair’ and over his top eyes.

“Oh, oh Blitzy…” As he pulled back, a flood of jizz came with him, stickying up the sheets even before they could see the broken latex on the end. “That was…”

Blitz held up a finger, pounding on his chest. “One sec…” A wet little burp escaped him, and it tasted salty. When he let his tongue loll out, something white and sticky dripped off the end, and he swiped up a fingerful before wiping it on the bed next to the cum- which it matched. Both of them stared at it for a moment. “You know what, I’m just going to put that down to your weird-as-fuck magic.”

“Fair enough!” Stolas said with a wide smile that twitched slightly on the edges as he lifted the broken condom. “Well, that was unexpected… but it’s too late now!” He kicked the box off the bed. “What do you say we just go in rough and raw for the rest of the night? It’s not like adding them back in would fix anything at this point, after all.”

Blitz glanced at the tampered-with box for only a second before he smirked and wrapped his tail around Stolas’s waist again.

Yeah.

Yeah, this would work just fine.

“Game on.”

[thewingedbaron]

Feb Fics Day Three!

Sorry this is late! Got a little distracted last night and didn't end up finishing yesterday's entry on time, so here it is! Day 4 will be out a little later today :)

Day Three: First Encounter With Their Love Interest

(Modifying this prompt just a little bit to the first time Alyss realized it was her love interest) 

Summery: Alyss (Tav) realizes that her feelings about the Cleric of Shar have become a little... confused.

She was praying again. Her lips moved silently, working smoothly through the well worn words as if they were made for her lips. She would have hated the way the moonlight danced off her skin, giving her a silvery glow. After a long moment, her eyes opened, brilliant green orbs with- 

“Fuck!” Alyss hissed as a glob of bubbling wax landed directly on her finger. She quickly scraped the burning wax from her skin with a spare bolt, cursing as she stuck the singed digit in her mouth. By the time she glanced back up, the cleric had disappeared back into her tent. 

A sock of disappointment wormed its way through her mind. Why was she disappointed? It didn’t bother her what the cleric of Shar did with her time. Alyss winced as she accidentally stuck her finger into the boiling wax a second time while trying to set the feathered plume straight. 

“Pining sadly all by yourself are we?” A voice as smooth as spider silk slipped into Alyss’ ear. She suppressed a groan as the pale elf dainty sat himself on the log beside her. 

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.” Alyss replied evenly. The half finished bolt in her hand had suddenly become very interesting. 

Astarion laughed. “I can’t say that I blame you. We all love a bit of shadow in our lives from time to time.” He teased. “I’ve been more for sunshine these past days.” 

She could feel his eyes on her, burning away the thin veneer of busy work that she was trying to maintain. She could imagine he was teasing her secrets from the small changes in her expression as she failed to maintain a neutral face. A century passed by the time Astarion sighed and dropped his gaze. 

“Be careful with that one, Ranger.” He said softly. “I hear Shar is the Lady of Secrets. Our cleric’s might run deeper than most.” 

With that, he disappeared, slipping off into the night like a shadow, and Alyss was a lone again. 

Be careful? She thought. Love a bit of shadow? He couldn’t mean? No, absolutely not. There was no attachments to be had. Soon enough they would rescue the druid leader, Halsin, and he would tear the tadpoles from their heads. Then their strange little party could part ways, and none of this would be her problem anymore. Besides, Shadowheart was a lady of Shar. A daughter of darkness. She would have no interest in a half-devil who preferred the company of the open sky and wild animals to most people. 

Alyss glanced up as the cleric emerged from her tent again. She’d changed into more comfortable clothes, tightfitting sleepwear that nicely complimented her form. Her hair was loose, hanging in a sheet over her shoulders, practically glowing in the moonlight. 

Alyss stuck a singed digit in her mouth to cool the hot wax she’d spilled a third time. Across the camp, Shadowheart met her eyes. Alyss hated the way her shoulders relaxed upon meeting the cleric’s gaze. They’d best find Halsin soon, she thought. Or, perhaps, the druid was more comfortable wherever he was. Shadowheart turned away right as Alyss realized she’d been staring. 

Gods damn it.

[thecatinthepurplepants]

so I have a headcanon for how John might look to someone actually able to see him and I, of course, had to decide on the headcanon that would make it damn near impossible to draw him (at least to draw him consistently) but I like the idea too much to let it go

I probably SHOULD put this under a read more since it got kinda long but uuuhhh... don't wanna lol

SO I feel like when John first attached to Arthur, back when he was still just "the entity", his appearance was very... malleable. At first he looks like how a lot of people depict him, a vaguely human shapped black shadow with yellow eyes pearing over Arthur's left shoulder, but as soon as they got out into the world he started seeing ✨️fashion✨️ in the wild that changed. Even though he didn't remember it, he's a piece of the King In Yellow, and I'm willing to bet that the ol banana monarch has a passion for adornment and a tendency towards vanity thats usually associated with royalty that John would unknowingly inherit (I mean, we already know this, he bitches about Arthur's clothes getting ruined often enough now that they got that nice new suit)

I think at first he sees some men wearing nice hats when him and Arthur step outside into the city for the first time and something in him just goes "ooohhh" and one just kind of appears on him, probably with a gold band or little adornments like feathers and shiny dangly bits hanging from the brim. I don't even think he'd be able to choose just one style, shifting from one to another every so often as he sees more around or mixing and morphing styles into looks he likes more (I think he'd be partial to structured hats, fedoras, homburgs, maybe even a skimmer hat but with the rim stretched out to be more of a structured sun hat for extra flare)

But of course his newfound sense of style doesn't end with men's fashion cuz he doesn't know what a gender is and I highly doubt thay anyone that can see him would care enough to try and impose gender roles on him

He sees women passing by on the street wearing makeup and suddenly he has gold lipstick and shimmering yellow eyeshadow over shining gold lashes long and full enough to make any Hollywood starlet absolutely sick with envy

He sees someone more eccentric who's absolutely decked out in gaudy costume jewelry and he can't just NOT have all that wonderful clinking, shiny treasure for himself so he's now draped in gold chains, necklaces and bracelets of huge chunks of polished stones in both simple and elaborate designs, amber, tiger's eye, citrine, anything he wants really but it will always turns some shade of yellow or gold no matter how much he would want it to be another color (I think the best he could do in way of colorful variety is turquoise with veins of gold running through it)

And the funniest thing?

He can't see any of it.

He sees through Arthur's eyes and even if he has a bit of an extra sense for being able to see supernatural shit he's still not visible to himself. All of the changes are subconscious decisions he doesn't even realize he's making, his metaphysical body altering to suit the person he's growing into. None of the other rare entities and people they've met who can see John commented on it, seeing how there's usually more pressing matters involved. Plus I highly doubt the Trader would be one to make observations on someone's fashion sense unless they were offering one of their accessories in trade, and only then if it actually had any value to him.

Tbh it would be funny if the King In Yellow, during his first in person meeting with the Jarthur unit, had stopped mid introduction just "You insolent fucking worm, you need to return what's mi- what... what the hell are you wearing??? No, I'm not talking to you, you fucking worthless mortal, silence- yes, YOU, whats- whats all... THAT??? I mean, it's not BAD but it's a bit... inelegant, don't you think?" and both John and Arthur are like "what the FUCK are you TALKING ABOUT???" while the Dancers are humming and nodding their agreement while they also quietly judging John's intangible outfit

Kayne would ABSOLUTELY comment on it though but only to either taunt John while confusing the shit out of him OR to toss him the odd (equally confusing) compliment about his fashion sense and how he's branched out from the Kings personal flare. BUT he's also a Stinky Bitch (affectionate) so maybe he just wouldn't let John know that he can see him at all because he thinks it's funny that he doesn't know what he looks like

I dont think it would remain unstable as it was when he was fresh out the book, though.

After Arthur's coma, the period where John was given (and accepted) his name and the foundation of his humanity, I feel like he'd settle in his appearance as his sense of self does. He'd change to fit his different moods but it wouldn't be as much of a chaotic kaleidoscope of fashions shifting and melding with each other as he was at first. Before it was very fluid, changing as he sees different styles or as he felt different from one second to another, so unsure of exactly who and what he was.

I think he'd stick with the hat, wide brimmed and still with little golden baubles hanging around the edge and a golden band, but I think the top would remain hazy and undefined because I dont think he'd be able to decide on which style he likes best. He'd definitely keep the chains and jewelry, maybe a shodowy imitation of the shape of a suit jacket or the plunge of a low v-necklined dress, depending on the day.

I think when he gets especially angry (usually at Arthur, because he's the only one who can really get him absolutely blistering pissed without even trying) the hat billows like its caught in a fierce wind, not like fabric, but like heavy smoke. The stones of his yellow jewelry glows like miniature sun's with the force of his emotions, chains tarnishing, and even his makeup turning bright neon, toxic yellow against the void of his intangible "skin" like the warning of a poisonous animal if he's mad enough

When he's scared, him and Arthur trying to hide from whatever horror or adversary they've encountered this time, the brim of his hat melts back several inches, the baubles blinking out of existence entirely like its trying to clear his line of sight, makeup and jewelry fading in their color and shine as his borrowed animal instincts scream at him to be small, be unnoticeable, hide hide hide

And in those moments (ones that happen entirely too often for John's comfort or sanity) when the worst has come again, Arthur's hurt, worse than usual, and it seems like he's fading fast from his injuries, the things that John's draped himself with as he's learned who he is start to fade away too. As John realizes he might be losing the only person he's ever had (again) he feels like he's losing himself, the person he's become in his time with Arthur. The panic sets in and he goes through the stages he always does, shouting at Arthur to keep moving, not to give up, begs him to stay with him, not to leave him alone, to stop fucking saying goodbye and keep fighting, his cobbled together sense of identity melts off of him like dust as his world crumbles.

But there are moments, few and far between though they may be, where he and Arthur get little bit of real joy. When Arthur's finally, fucking finally freshly washed, shaved, and fed a hot meal and John can actually feel him relax into a real bed. When they've bought a nice new suit and handkerchief (that Arthur let John pick out himself) and John can tell Arthur that he looks handsome in this cut and color. When John spots something he thinks is odd and describes it to Arthur in a way that gets a real, full belly laugh out of his human, even if he doesn't understand what exactly it was he said that was so funny. The yellows of his apparel and makeup shine and swirl together, the stones of his jewelry seem to dance around each other in their configurations while the colors swim inside them like a lava lamp or glitter inside a bottle of opaque liquid. The baubles along the brim of his hat rapidly change in shape and size, the brim itself seeming to bloom, stretching out even further like a cat luxuriating in a sunbeam.

Anyway, tl;dr John's an eldritch entity and I just think he deserves to have a shifting appearance that he builds around himself over time like one of those bugs that sticks shit to its body to build a shell but in, like, a cunty way

And also I think John should be allowed to be incredibly expressive but in a metaphysical way that ties to his appearance itself

[dranna]

A Surprisingly Beautiful Voice

AO3 / Commissions / Links /

Contents: fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, overwhelmed Izzy, spoilers for ofmd s2e6

Summary: How is Izzy coping with emotions when he gets that beautiful look and sings at the end of the episode?

a/n: I watched this episode a few days ago, and I couldn’t get Izzy’s mesmerising voice out of my head .. or maybe that whole scene ok

I’ll do an illustration of him in his beautiful look at all costs, when I have the time.

Hope you enjoy it! &lt;3

tags my beloveds: @giosnape (let me know if you would like to be tagged:) )

Izzy was stumping on the ship, Limping towards the exit, When he saw Wee John, Putting something onto this face. Dum dum dum, The unicorn’s wooden leg sang, As he shuffled towards him and asked,

“What’s that?”

“Oh, I’m doing my makeup for Calypso's birthday.”

Izzy didn’t reply, only gazed, At their reflections in the mirror ahead, He couldn’t help but stare, Leaning closer and think, If he does it, Would it be.. too much for me to do the same? Could possibly Blackbeards’ first mate, Dream to try something out like this? It looks so ..beautiful, So much colour and nice shapes, Just to imagine it on my face! Would I look comical ? Would the others mock and Ed laugh, Would—

“Can you do this for me too?”

Words ran through his lips, With the force of west winds, Before he could stop, That longing feeling in his chest, That yearns for acceptance. Wee John stopped his moves for a sec, Looking at the other man, He was so surprised, Didn’t know at first what to reply. Izzy felt shame climbing up his face, Waiting for the ridiculed rejection, He waited for what felt like hours, For inevitable in his opinion, But it didn’t came, Only friendly silence remained. He dared to steal a glance at the tall man, He didn’t see contempt nor jeering, Only a welcoming smile, That made him feel recognised.

“Yeah, sure I can!”

The two of them spent at least half an hour, Deciding the colours for Izzy’s look, And as John did the face, Izzy started to feel more and more pretty. He watched as he transformed, Under the careful work of that Crew, Eyes fixated on his own face, He couldn’t help but gape, At his own reflection in the frame, He remembered when he first saw a worm, Changing into the most beautiful being, A butterfly, An otherworldly soul, Floating in beauty, Charming the dark sea, Light as a feather, And free—

“Aaand it’s done!”

— The voice of Wee John pulled him back, To the desk he was sitting at, He looked again, And was breathless, Could it be really me, Who looks that magnificent?

“I-I understand if you don’t like it, We can wash it off and—-“

“It’s so.. lovely.”

— The unicorn’s voice was so little, Not above a whisper, He tried to fight those fucking tears, That threatened to appear. He felt a gentle tap on his back, Encouraging him to go ahead.

“ I finish mine, Then we can go together, If you would like ..?”

“Thank you.”

— Izzy was too moved to behave, With his usual grumpiness and swears, He sat there and waited, For Wee John to get ready, He also couldn’t stop his eyes, To wander towards his own imagine.

He emerged after the tall man, From the murky below, Heart thundering loudly in his ear, Am I really gonna do it? Or should I? I would be the laughingstock of these twats aside. Maybe… they helped me a lot these days.. It will be okay. Face hiding nervousness, Eyes reflecting excitement, Chest burying restlessness, He went to Frenchie, And -asked- ordered him to start, A slow melody he had in mind.

A voice filled the air, That usually hushed and vexed, Could only tell swears and meanness, But now it was sweet, And flowing afresh, Make flowers blossom in chests, So melodic and pleasant, Full of charm and tenderness. The air just carried it more and more, Making it sit on moved members of the crew, However it wasn’t heavy nor loadsome, It was a blanket of warmth.

The song ended, And with that the voice, But the feeling remained, Embracing everyone on the Revenge. There was a moment of silence when, Izzy panicked again, But this feeling soon disappeared, The crew surrounded him, And praised, With little truths and gentle taps, That he couldn’t take, Without feeling red petals traveling up his face, He let them to hug and adore him, Feeling too giddy and safe, For god knows if for the first time. Candles continued to burn, In the colourful lanterns, That made, Everything seem more comfy. The Moon smiled with them too, Ordering her clouds to move.

Thank you for reading:)

[ilikesaladforks]

permafrost fallen angel au worming

it's still fermenting in my head so i can't post on ao3 yet but i have an Idea that i need to write down before i change it everytime i think about it

my og idea before writing into the garden with you was roughly

rika bothering grusha trying to get him to get his shit together, trying to check in on him (rika is still higher in the angel hierarchy than grusha, something like how the e4 and gym leaders work)

grusha was already corrupted but is hiding the corruption (vague hand gestures magic) from everyone so no one knows

rika gets blindsided when he pulls her down to earth/the mortal realm with him, but decides to trust him as they fall

^ in this og idea grusha and rika are supposed to be in a relationship already and keeping it a secret from everyone. rika is still pretty uppity about keeping things in order and keeping heaven running, but grusha doesn't care so much and would rather go somewhere where they can be free together

so thanks to the brainworm mutating into Into the garden with you where grusha got hit with convenient amnesia i suddenly need to plan for that too

before the incident that got his wing lopped off and his memories got fucked, grusha and rika had been planning their fall for a while already by then. they were both rookies at their positions (grusha was born first and was already under hassel's leadership for some years before rika was old enough to lead her own purge brigade)

there's no devils or hell in this au which is why there's no mention of demons and whatnot. fallen angels are just referred to as the fallen by the angels

fallen angels are essentially societal outcasts. people who rejected/defected from the divine realm. the difference between them and those who are punished by (uh let's make something up here) the angel bigwigs is that fallen angels still retain their wings (feathers turn from white to black) and powers, while the punished fallen angels are stripped of their wings (leaving scars) and powers. the pain and shock of the process means that most of the punished angels don't survive the process anyway. these are the angels who fail to perform. essentially the fallen angels are wanted criminals but kill on sight wanted

wings are checked to determine so called purity. this is why they learn magic elsewhere to conceal the colour for short periods of time to prevent others from finding out. the changing of colour is known as corruption and once signs of corruption are seen the angel is isolated in a rehabilitation center. most of the time this doesn't work so they are eventually punished and thrown into the mortal realm anyway

fallen angels used to be a key part of the purge roster, but because they retain their powers (and are already pretty much embracing their newfound sense of self free from responsibility and morality) they are very dangerous and encounters with the stronger ones (ex-purge angels like grusha) tend to lead to high casualty rates in the purge teams. now they prioritise wiping out those who are known to be less adept at wielding their divine powers but because anything can happen (and magic is real!) they try to avoid battle once they determine the tides are not in their favour

anyway because mortal society has magic and whatnot fallen angels are able to mix well with people since they can just hide their wings. this meant that if they were sufficiently well behaved their priority on the purge list is drastically reduced over sinners and actually rampant fallen angels who are wrecking shit

it was an encounter with a fallen angel that blindsided rika and left her vulnerable to a possibly fatal attack that grusha defended her from (leading back to point 1)

some time before the incident, grusha encountered a fallen angel who sowed the seeds of his own corruption - they were just a very good talker and knew what buttons to push to instigate some chaos. after that day grusha begins considering falling with rika

angels live for an obscenely long amount of time just don't question it they are all just old as fuck

poppy is still undergoing training by the time rika falls

there's a fixed age at which an angel of each duty is considered fit for duty (the coming of age). it differs based on their duties. the coming of age for seraphs takes several decades longer than for lesser angel soldiers like grusha, so grusha actually has more combat experience than rika overall no matter what

they've known each other even before they came of age

ok this is too long so i will just cut it here for now

[12pt-times-new-roman]

c3e49

5+ hour episode! (I am fear)

Ghostly, technicolor, dreamlike lightning crosses the sky, at the very edge of the horizon, barely visible. They see it in every direction, but not above them. Xandis also sees it, so it's not a remnant of the fey realm in their perception; Chetney also picks up "the faintest bit of a buzz to the air, like the faintest touch of the tongue to a nine-volt battery... an ever-present vibration, the taste of energy."

When Chetney was in the northern part of Wildemount, there was a time period when he saw a similar phenomenon that built up over a number of days, peaked in a brilliant display, then dissipated over a few weeks. So, like, the northern lights, but caused by magic instead of electricity.

Chetney talking about weird tea in the northern section of Wildemount, when we know he's been in the Savalirwood? Is Chetney going to be the closest link these people have to the Mighty Nein because he's met the Clays?

Also, burrowing underneath the thing with a sand worm is a great fucking plan (no sarcasm whatsoever).

When Imogen opens her mind, there is a very faint, light, ever-present static or rumble that exists on the periphery of her consciousness.

....oh. Crashing the airship into the sinkhole to hit the key is also a pretty good plan, since they can set it on a course and then jump off (Imogen can fly, Laudna can feather fall, Fearne can wildshape, Ashton can teleport), and they can rig it with explosives. The caveat being that it would cause a significant number of casualties, likely including Liliana and Ryn if they can't get out first.

FCG brings Fearne and Orym along into Imogen's dream as she focuses on her mother.

"Make a d20 roll and add your spellcraft modifier." Could've been a slip of the tongue, but that's certainly interesting in the context of CR potentially moving away from D&D 5e.

On a 24, Imogen gets pulled extremely quickly into the storm, and she stands in the midst of the familiar clouds. No ground, no field, no farm, just her and her companions.

A shadowed form emerges from the cloud, mostly made of dark immaterial, a spiritual being. The eyes, red and glowing, open. The hair becomes light purple, the shaded semblance of material half-there.

"Imogen?" "Mama." "Where are we?" "We're coming. We're coming, and I need your help." As she realizes who Imogen is and where they are, she becomes more material and tangible. An expression of surprise, concern, and a coldness.

"Imogen, you shouldn't be here." "You keep saying that. Tell me there's still part of you that cares. Tell me there's part of you that knows what you're doing is wrong." "Why is it wrong?" "You wanna destroy half the world." "I think you misunderstand what's going on here. The world will be saved at the end of this, and we'll be free." "The world will be eaten, and we'll be gone." "I wish you could see the things that I can see." "Show me."

Images cross her mind. "A massive glowing lattice in the sky, pulling apart as red fills the air above. Thousands and thousands of voices in unison, and a sense of freedom. The cries of history, snuffed in a moment. And the beginning of something new and beautiful. Like endless... possibility. Without guidance, without fate. Without this gift. And in a brief instant, you remember what it was like to not be like this. To just be... you. You return to this dream, and see in her face, this empathetic concern. I'm doing this for the both of us, and he's doing it for everyone. I know change is hard, but we've been toys since the beginning. I wish you could understand. I wish you all could understand." And the dream ends in a flash of white light as she raises her hand.

"What if we're standing in the way of change?" "Well, Imogen, I wish my family didn't have to die for her greater tomorrow."

The way Matt said "endless possibility" is living rent free in my head. It felt so obviously meant to parallel the way he said it to Caleb the first time, the way he looked at the players he knew would pick up on that echo... it felt so intentional.

"If they had such a great idea of what the world should be and what that thing was, they would fucking tell people, and instead they're making everybody miserable." Ashton absolutely has the right idea. Everybody's selfish, everybody's acting in their own self-interest, and the gods are no different but neither are mortals.

At night, they can see that the flashes of energy are outlining a net of rivers of energy. "The leylines of Exandria are beginning to glow in anticipation of the coming solstice." And Chetney swears that they're ever-so-slowly moving -- like the leylines themselves are shifting like clouds at a nearly-imperceptible speed. Both moons look normal, though.

"Ashton... who the fuck are you and where the fuck did you come from?" fucking finally, thank you Laudna

"I am... a blank slate." "I don't believe that." "Well, you wouldn't. All of you have a place that you came from, people who made you who you are -- all except for one -- and... I hate you all a little, you know that, right? I am jealous of you because I know things you don't, I know loneliness you don't, I know the truth of people that none of you do. You know things too, don't think I don't know that..."

"What... what was it like? Waking up and having them there? What was it like to come back and everyone was still there?" "It was one of the greatest feelings, because it wasn't like that the first time." These fuckers are just trading off devastating one-liners and I am living for it

"You can't trust somebody who just wants to die all the time. I've spent time trying to prevent that little robot from murdering themselves and everyone. They're dangerous, but not for the reasons they think they are." someone is finally calling FCG on their martyr complex, thank the gods

Ashton is so thoroughly convinced that they are enlightened by their pain and suffering, that they have it so much worse than everyone else and know better because of it... I can't wait for that worldview to break once and for all.

Back from break and the Hells are talking about finding an agent of the gods to talk to about this whole thing. Excellent, thank fuck

"We should contact a holy person." "Why? Do you need convincing?" laudna.

Sending to Pike from FCG: "Robot holy person here. Big god stuff going down. God eater about to be released from Ruidus on the solstice. We need your deific help. Research. Reach out to us. Ludinus involved." "Oh. Wow. Um. Okay! Robo buddy, let me see what I can find. Okay."

Ashton and Fearne learn to fly the airship!

They also learn more about brumestone: when it is excavated, it just kind of... lifts. It's easily pushed and seems to float on its own. Through arcane charge, its buoyancy is adjusted, allowing an airship to raise and lower.

Sending to "D" from FCG: "Smiley day there. Yellow automaton you sold in Bassuras, to Dancer. Do you know where you picked me up? And are there more of me?" "A wonderful surprise. That is my gift to you: a return to your own path. I pulled you from the wreckage, and your future is yours to make. There are more of you. And more to come." D has a deep, masculine voice with a nonregional accent (I think). The voice is very similar to the voice Matt used for Devexian.

Dust storm! They lose a day of travel.

The next day, the "auroras" and leylines are becoming much brighter and more prominent. There are curtains of magical energy that twist and shift, and the leylines themselves are moving so slowly, like the most miniscule shift of a rainstorm. At night, the leylines themselves are breathtakingly beautiful, and deeply ominous.

We arrive at the Calloway Hideaway, where Birdie, Ollie, Hondir, and Ira are hiding out. Here, they've made a series of what are essentially arcane battery power banks, and Ira is continuing his work on the machine.

Ira wants to destroy the Malleus Key because he's holding a grudge against Ludinus, who kicked Ira off the initial project after he got too curious. Ira wants to destroy the key to prove that he's the superior designer.

As best he knows, Ludinus wanted something that could gather a directly-focused amount of energy. The initial design was just to be an anchor, an accelerant, a bolstering device -- that was the first design, the one in the fey realm. The next was to be different, but Ira was kicked off before Ludinus told him the plan for it, so he helped the Calloways take the crown.

Ira has been using his own machine more like a telescope than anything, keeping tabs on the dig site. Through the eyepiece, it appears to "bank" imagery -- though it's pointing up, FCG gets a top-down view of the sinkhole. After a minute, the vision is interrupted, and Ira notes that the machine seems to emit a dispelling pulse every minute or so.

Apparently, the Ruby Vanguard has made a lot of talk about "breaking, reaching, locking, destroying" Ruidus. "I didn't ask too many questions... until I asked too many questions." They've also moved all of the power sources away from the eye of Ira's machine.

"Who are you praying to?" "Those who came before me." This episode is just full of amazing one-liners, isn't it?

ooooooo whispers on an insight check to see if Ira knows anything about Predathos! Looks like he doesn't though.

Half the group goes to Bassuras to find Hexum's contact. He offers them a handful of healing potions, an amulet of health (sets CON to 19), a circlet of the hidden eye (circlet of mind shielding that deals psychic damage to creatures that try to scry on you), and a belt of momentum (gives the wearer a charge attack with a 25-foot run-up).

Meanwhile, the rest of the group are having a... family therapy session with the Calloways?

Hondir notes that what work the Verity can't finish, they have passed on to "allies more capable in these final stages."

I am so afraid of whatever narrative beat Matt is trying to hit by not ending this episode at 4 hours

Every time Matt describes Ira's limbs, I can't imagine anything except a tailless whip scorpion

As for the magical items, Imogen gets the circlet, Ashton gets the belt, and Laudna gets the amulet. In the shuffle, Chetney puts on the Butcher's Bib, Imogen gives Laudna the feywild shard, and Laudna gives FCG the pearl of power.

Liam rolls an arcane wind storm! Triggered by the rising ley energies of the solstice, colorful lightning streaks across the sky and the air hums with arcana. a failed skill challenge brings the ship down and loses them a day of travel.

....the feywild shard relies on sorcery points to function, but suude gives the user sorcery points, so in theory....

"The beauty slowly becomes terrifying as the face of magic on Exandria, like it does every two centuries or so, is changing."

Another dust storm, but with this one, they're being chased by a massive phoenix-like bird that's purple and black with wings made of flame.

Ashton rage build update: when their possibility rage build is active, there is a "probability matrix" that surrounds them in an aura.

oh my god I fucking love control parties. Fearne turns the bird into a goldfish, which is promptly carried away in the gale-force wind

also, another instance of Matt saying "spellcraft modifier" instead of "spellcasting ability modifier."

....Orym has a seed in his pouch that's glowing and pulsing? he got it from a druid in Nirdal-Poc. FCG identifies it as a message bloom; upon being planted and watered, it conveys a message from Keyleth. "Orym. The Cult of the Dark Heart beneath Terrah was a challenging maze of dangers for the Ashari, but the Darkheart Behemoth was subdued and the rift returned to our control. I message you because I attempted to apprehend Vureo, the leader of this cult, but he vanished, shouting, 'the Vanguard will prevail, and the world will finally be free.' But given all that you have told me, it would seem our paths are converging. Please, let us know where this Vanguard makes its work; perhaps I can gather the Ashari to stand against Ludinus and his Vanguard."

A message back from Imogen: "Message received. They're converging at the nexus northeast of Bassuras, the Tishtan excavation point. We should be arriving in two days' time, if all goes well. Thank you." "I appreciate the heads up. We'll gather who's available and able-bodied, see that our wounded are taken care of, and attempt to meet you there as soon as possible. Be safe."

I gotta admit, I was getting pretty worried there, but I think this significantly ups the chance of the Mighty Nein or the Crown Keepers showing up, and rather than detracting from any victories the Hells achieve it really drives home the gravity of the situation.

Talking to Orym and then to Laudna.... Imogen is seriously giving off the vibes of someone who's already made a huge decision and is trying to find justification or support for it after the fact but is only getting more evidence that what she chose was wrong.

god, the character convos in this episode have been on point.

"Ashton will spend the night with a bottle of something at the back of the ship, arguing with people who aren't there." ????

(for the record, yes, you can counterspell antimagic field.)

[hasarjunadoneanythingwrong]

Heyyy, if Arjune were to be summoned in the fourth or fifth holy grail war, who do you think would be the best master in each part? and the worst? I can't see him tolerating Ryuunousuke and I think he would specially hate Shinki, what with his experience of the Kauravas insulting his wife Draupadi, so I think he'd get along horribly wrong with those two but I don't know if Kiritsugu would also be a somewhat bad match for him

Oddly enough I he might actually mesh rather well with kiritsugu if he went full into his ‘I’m a tool that exists to fight for justice please don’t look any deeper than that.’ He’s very archer-emiya coded and as long as kiritsugu continued to keep the casualties minimal (ie, evacuating the hotel building before blowing it up) I think he would at least be able to manage. Not thrive, per say, but I think arjuna is able to at least justify to himself the concept of ‘sacrificing a few to save the many’ (just look at what happened to his own children and family in his origin story) and he’s able to maintain an impersonal distance that someone like kiritsugu would likewise also probably do well with. (Also tbh kiritsugu would probably prefer a servant that’s a long range fighter over a close combat unit)

I do think it would still weigh on him though-ultimately like saber it’s a situation where he can still do well as a warrior but he wouldn’t be happy bc of it’s brutality. His relationship with irisveil if he was contracted to kiritsugu could easily go either the way of being more human or cold depending on his writer mindset

Legitimately I can’t imagine a solid 90% of servants managing ryuunosuke, so that would probably come down to a matter of if his pride in being a ‘good’ servant trumps his general honor as a hero. Personally I think he’d probably go for the latter but I’m not sure? Outside of that…I don’t know. Kayneth is odd to me because diarmuid was also very subservient and eager to please with him and he still didn’t like him, but arjuna’s more ‘yeah I’m just a tool’ general vibe might make his feathers less ruffled? Unless his folklore wife stealing ability kicked in with sola-ui somehow anyway 😔.

I don’t think he’d work well w kirei because kirei is just a bad master in general. He would probably be ok with tokiomi but think the guy was kind of full of himself. He wouldnt get him murdered tho lmao.

I can’t fathom how he and kariya would work out. Kariya summons his servant in the worm basement with Zouken present like oh my god-wait it’s a berserker too. Oh my god. Can you fucking imagine arjuna alter in fate zero the man would go even more insane

Waver and arjuna would be funny tho. I don’t know how, but waver with anyone is funny. Shoutout to waver.

As for og fate….I’ve seen others say he probably wouldn’t mesh well with Sakura, as he tends to be too busy with his own sad boy hours to notice other’s issues and also would probably see dark Sakura as more of a problem to take care of, and I’m not familiar enough with her yet to really say otherwise.

shirou and arjuna sounds like a disaster waiting to happen bc imagine archer but like, not at all connected to shirou and also in the history books. He has no reason to look at shirou’s suicidal desire to save everyone and not be like ‘poggers sounds great master I’m doing that also it’s hell on earth but what can you do :)’ and then he sits in a corner for 40 days pretending he doesn’t have human emotions while shirou turns into a sword or something

If it was shinji in the routes where he isn’t actively a rapist and more annoying I could see him just being tiredly tolerant of him, but I have 0 idea how he’d handle heavens feel shinji.

Rin….lmao. I think he’d like cosplaying her butler.

Illya….he would want to cosplay her butler

Caster…yeah I don’t even know. I think he’d be like ?

I don’t even know enough about them to be really saying anything 😭

[oceanic-recollection]

what's everyone's wepon of choice?

alr so

funny ocean moment

feathers really doesn't like fighting outside of his can - in there he just zaps you with electricity until you fuck off and/or die. outside of that, he'd probably just throw a defibrillator at your head or find a centipede that hates you

dew obviously uses the "hammer" setting of her multitool

quiet would use this. three prong gardening tool with lije... the prons are arrow shaped. I can't find t on Google but my work has them so I'll take a picture later

winter has a sword b. he deserves one

upsilon doesn't care much for physical altercations. if you're trying to kill him he'll lead you off of a cliff instead of punching you

gamma would explode you with grenades

I think tablet woulduse Goldy like a tiny anime girl with an oversized hammer (but they are the same height)

the artisan, who is part of this group even if he is a slugged cat, actually crafts his own weapon - scent/smoke/spore bombs!!

everyone else

ts is a bit pathetic. he survived only by hiding from literally everything, and therefore sucks ass at fighting. if there was no other way, he'd use his epic iterator electricity that he has despite lacking a can because lore moment, or the various spears scattered around moonie's can

counter lets his worms kill you. he doesn't like fighting but they do!!

nettles throws explosive vials of plant matter at you because YES