#he also has terrible fashion sense

[impossible-rat-babies]

I love doing the occasional pollux art bc I miss him v dearly, but it’s fun and nice to see likes bc it feels like a chorus of people going look at him go!!

[just-absolutely-super]

me trying to picture Winry's wedding dress and wanting to stick with the fashion for the time period of FMA's story

....only to realize that FMA's fashion isn't exactly time period accurate so a modern-ish wedding dress can be justified

[ash-thestampede]

Vash, if given the option, would wear bright ass red crocs every goddamn day no matter the weather and you cannot convince me otherwise. He wouldn’t wear any other type of shoe if he had crocs and I will stand by that until the day I die.

Wolfwood would wear slides without socks. He wouldn’t wear them as much as Vash wears his crocs, he at least has some sense (at least more than Vash 98% of the time) but if he’s not really doing anything or going someplace nice his go to shoe is slides.

[mlyscha]

↳ DRESS TO IMPRESS? ⭑

𝓼ynopsis. in which you convince your boyfriend to play dress to impress with you, will they slay the runway? 𝓹airing. enha!member x female!reader 𝓰enre. fluff, crack, trendy. 𝔀arnings. curse words, not proofread, riki is that annoying player and almost all the members are bad at this game ㅠㅠ, english is not my 1st language. 𝔀𝓬. 1k+ 𝓶asterlist.

♡ 𝓪melie's 𝓷ote: oh gosh i had so much fun writing this, especially because i am addicted to this game lol anyway, do you guys have any headcanon request? i am curious...

― 𝓱eeseung: gets upset but doesn't quit playing.

you might be wondering why heeseung changed his mood like that, and that's because placing on the podium in dress to impress is hard ― for him. in the beginning, and sometimes unfair. when you told him you wanted to play with him ― your boyfriend was feeling very happy and giddy, creating his account the same second, not knowing how he would feel a few rounds later...

"BRO?! HOW DID SHE PLACED?!" he screamed after standing up from bed while his hands rested against his head, indignant. "LOOK AT ME, I LOOK MUCH PRETTIER!" and heeseung turned his ipad screen at you after laying back on his stomach on bed. "hee, baby... your skin is literally blue, that's not what coquette means..." you replied. "nonsense, even my fit is better! and you placed second you can't say shit! i am not playing this game anymore." he argued, throwing his ipad away from him. "don't quit, continue playing with me," you pouted, waiting for a new round to start. "i'm sorry, baby, but this game is absolutely dog shi- a new round has begun?" when the sound of a new round starting echoed, his mind seemed to have changed. "... yeah?" "okay, maybe one more round won't hurt..."

― 𝓳ongseong: gets into arguments with 8 year olds.

jongseong is a good, caring, handsome and mature boyfriend, however, immatureness possesses him when playing dress to impress. just to clear things up you had asked him to play the game with you before, so nothing was new to him ― neither to you: hearing him raging about a girl talking shit about his fashion sense. i can't forget to mention that he takes this game very serious ― especially when his girlfriend has an awesome ranking.

"look at me, i look so good," "yeah... you do..." you couldn't ignore how terribly your boyfriend's makeup was done. "give me five stars, okay?" "'kay..." "baby, if this girl tells me i look terrible one more time i'll do something really bad." "babe-" " 'you look ugly'...?" he read the chat. open his microphone: "SHUT UP, YOUR FIT LOOKS LIKE A TRASH BAG AND A PIECE OF SHIT JUST HAD A BABY," "JAY! she's a kid!" "and i am eating with this outfit- tha-that's how you guys say right? eat and all...?" "yes, you ate that outfit up babe."

― 𝓳aeyun: you have to be patient.

don't get me wrong, jaeyun is good at games, however, not in this one specifically. it took him about two days just to learn how to walk on roblox's games and how to jump, etc. imagine when you introduced this fashion game which you have time to dress yourself up, oh boy, he was confused. if learning the basics from controlling your avatar on roblox took him days, it took jaeyun a week to understand how to put on items, take them off, where you choose your hair and face... well, it was a pain, but he was able to get through it and play it almost normally.

"babe, why you're skin is grey?" "i didn't know where to change it," shrugs then tries to pose. "oh my god, babe, i showed you where a minute ago!" "okay, chill...! where do i pose though?" "oh my god, jaeyun..."

― 𝓼unghoon: has lots of difficulties but doesn't give up.

sunghoon is like a mix of heeseung and jake, which means he gets addicted, angry but can't stop playing and still has to be handled with patience and love. with that being said, be prepared to hear a bunch of questions and him leaving and then joining your server a few many times. also! can't forget that sunghoon is still a english learner, so the themes might be misunderstood by him sometimes heh... (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

"y/n~" he whines. "i'm done with this game!" leaves "babe, the theme was baggy and you literally dresses up as a trash bag..." "baggy means... bag? what did i do wrong?" "baggy is a style, not a trash bag," "should've told me earlier, y/n!" "hoonie-" "now everyone on the server thinks i am stupid! let's change server, join me now."

― 𝓼unoo: is the one who places first.

sunoo is undeniably the best dressed on the game among the members, usually winning against you. he has almost all the poses, knows how to layer and is always creative, even reaching top model before you.

"baby, can we play dress to impress together? i'm so close to reach top model." "yeah, su- WAIT! TOP MODEL?!" ― ooohhh, i might have forgotten to mention... sunoo plays dress to impress without you sometimes. "baby, just join me 'kay?" "sunshine, explain me how'd you reach top model before me? i play more than you do," "uh... i surely play more than you do, but okay," "wait, wha-" "babyyyy just join my server, i want you to celebrate this with me, alright?" "okay..." your heart softened when you realised he wanted you to be part of his reaching. "can we duo?" you asked. "we can, but just once; i would much rather vote you five (5) stars."

― 𝓳ungwon: jungwon.exe stopped working.

jungwon is like jake and oh gosh why i feel like every single one of them is a bit like him?!?! anyway, jungwon would be more than happy to join you, but has already told you that his skills might not really show up in this dressing game ― discreetly admitting that he doesn't know how to play it. he actually heard about the game because the other members seem to enjoy it. still, it's just not his cup of tea. however, since you were so excited about him playing with you, sigh, he might make this sacrifice ― in which he slowly gets very excited as well.

"wonnie, baby, why are you posing? you have to dress up before the times is up!" you warned him after spotting him on the game. "huh? it doesn't make sense, we have to dress up? where?" "there, baby," you gently took the ipad out of his hands and guided him to the changing booth. "oh... but is too far away from my spawn and why do i walk slower than that girl?" "because she bought a walk faster pack, now dress up wonnie, hurry up...!" "i want to buy that, how do i buy her pack?" "jungwon, dress up now, you have literally one minute." you spoke between your teeth. "okay, okay... y/n, where do i get the items though?" "jungwon..."

― 𝓻iki: it's that annoying giggly kid who doesn't follow the theme.

if you ever played dress to impress you probably came across to one of those annoying players who never follows the theme, with that, you might refuse to believe riki is this type of player; but trust me, he surely is. and why? because he doesn't take the game that seriously, doing whatever he wants and trolling people ― making them believe he's gonna gift them vip or one of the other packs.

"RIKI? HOW'D YOU PLACED FIRST?" "i'm just too good, i guess," your boyfriend shrugged, but you couldn't believe him. "you're lying." "are you saying i am not good at this game?" "..." "y/n," he would call you after suddenly bursting out of laughter. "what?" your annoyed tone of voice echoed and it sounded like his favourite music to his ears. "wanna know how i placed first?" riki looks up at you, hiding just half of his face with his ipad. "mhm..." you hummed, confirming. "i tricked a few girls saying that i would gift them vip if they voted me five (5) stars," he giggled, knowing you were about to get angry at him. "RIKI! you can't do that, imagine if that was me..." you pouted. "oh, yeah? i should've done worse then." "RIKI!" "OKAY! SORRY, enough of riki now, okay? i am baby, not riki..."

© 𝓪𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝓮, 𝗺𝗹𝘆𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗮 𝗌𝓽𝓾𝖽𝗂𝗈𝓼. ⋆

[ckret2]

please more evil ford please i stare with my puppy eyes for this i am obbsessed

Yeah all right, I've been working on some art. (For context, we're talking about this Evil Ford.)

Evil Ford is Evil as in "cheerfully works with Bill even after learning his full plot" and "is totally ready to conquer and/or destroy the world." But other than the shocking lack of basic ethics and the supervillain objective he's mostly the same guy—which means he still cares about his family. He's hoping to get them to join in on the world conquest plan.

Forty-odd years ago he went off to college promising someday he'd be a big shot scientist who changes the world and he'd make his family a fortune. If taking over reality doesn't qualify he doesn't know what does. The family can join him and his buddy Bill and rule the universe together. Pines Pines Pines Pines!

Unfortunately for him, the rest of the family still has normal moral compasses. And also they've met Bill.

Bill can't currently possess Ford due to Reasons; but even though he can't get in the driver's seat he still has permission to ride shotgun at any time. Ford talks to him pretty regularly. He HAS been caught doing this. Stan thinks he's just gone a little nutty from thirty years of isolation.

Naturally, since he was always on Bill's side, Ford's perception of events during Weirdmageddon is a bit different:

I finally made an official Evil Ford New Costume Character Design, check out his exciting totally different brand new look:

I decided that, since Ford is still basically the same person aside from his terrible life goals, he'd probably have the same fashion sense. And so... nothing changes except two tiny details lmao.

But he DOES have tattoos:

I traced a canon character model and took off its top to get a base to slap tattoos on, and then went dang... they gave him a big head and arms. He looks goofy. Anyway,

His forearms have less incriminating tattoos—just a birch tree and a sunrise. (The sunrise looks like the Journal 3 "The Muse Has Spoken" page.) The red text is the "triangulum entangulum" ritual; if anyone asks he'll go "it's uhh an ancient Sumerian poem about how great science is." It's not until he's topless that it's like "oh so he's a CULTIST cultist." The one exception is an unconcealed Eye of Providence on his right palm—but it's in an ink that's only visible in certain lighting. It's there so at any time he can point his hand at something and go "Bill are you seeing this BS?"

Of course, he still has the "hey now, you're an all star" neck tattoo. I didn't have room to draw it.

As you can see, he's made being Bill's right hand man a core part of his personality. Rather than spending 30 years scrabbling around the multiverse desperately searching for a way to destroy Bill, he spent 30 years chilling in the Quadrangle of Qonfusion as Bill's specialest favoritest Henchmaniac, and only scrabbling around the multiverse occasionally for fun & profit.

Here's a photo Bill & Ford took at a Nightmare Realm house party like fifteen years ago, three minutes before Bill started an argument and set the house on fire.

Most people have their wild party years in college, Ford has his in his 40s.

[mad-hunts]

it was awfully random, in his opinion, but the urge to yawn suddenly hit barton after he pushed the glass over to jervis; his head dipping as he did so before he rose it up once more. god's, barton could not bring himself to hate anyone right now even if he tried. there was more than a bit of a 'floaty' feeling stuck in his brain now like honey. so, as you might imagine, the only look that barton was able to conjure up was a neutral one with a hint of something else lingering beneath the surface. maybe it had to do with the last remaining vestiges of humanity that he had left. and/or, that barton was simply expanding upon the quiet acknowledgement that he'd made already towards the other. it showcased that he knew jervis was in some sort of pain and it also wasn't easy for him to deal with it.

whatever the case might've been, when barton met jervis's own, they were arguably a lot less aggressive than they'd been before. it was probably the closest to soft that he was ever going to get in fact. imagine that, barton thought. a man who was once called a 'beautiful monster' by none other than the guy he was in an on-again and off-again relationship with making an attempt to console someone he barely knew. the comment made him want to punch laurent square in the face just as much as it did before regarding of it being a 'joke', of course. but now it had another connotation to it that he didn't realize before: that even his 'kindness' was cruel as monster's can't possibly be capable of doing anything even slightly good. but laurent was wrong about that. for, although barton certainly didn't think that what he'd just done was something so utterly significant that it would absolve himself of all the blood on his hands (especially since barton didn't think anything could at this point), there was nothing in this for him.

no reward. and barton didn't want one, either. he then banished all thoughts of that prick from his mind as one could definitely say that they were on the 'outs' right now. so, barton wasn't going to even grant laurent the pleasure of being on his mind any longer, pushing his plate to the side of himself. a light sigh slipped through barton's lips then. what others thought of him was not something he contemplated very often when it wasn't nightfall, in all honesty. however... some part of barton wondered what the news had taken to considering him to be. would they use a very blah way to describe the person who killed marty, like they're 'dangerous,' as he originally thought? or would they try to sensationalize it by calling them something akin to a 'psychopath?' it almost made him curious enough to turn on the TV, but they probably had enough to worry about with all these people who had phones on them. they were like mini computers now.

psychopath. he never did like that word very much. that's when barton was brought back to reality by jervis talking, but he honestly couldn't be sure whether it was to him. barton silently rose an eyebrow at him and just watched over the other briefly. now that he thought about it, he had seen him looking past him about one or two times during their conversations, as if jervis was privy to something that barton wasn't. he wasn't going to ask him about it because it simply wasn't his business but he had mentioned having ECT forced on him. which could theoretically be used to treat, and he says theoretically because the way they did it in arkham was all wrong, depression, catatonia, schizophrenia. things like that. barton put his head down on both his arms while they were on the counter. what a truly messed-up way to try to make them 'better,' like all of those quacks in the asylum were always phrasing it.

whenever jervis accepted the glass, barton in particular fixated on the accidental brushing of the scars he could feel on jervis's skin. he supposed so he didn't have to have his mind be quiet once more; a downturned smile ever-so-slightly tugging at barton's lips as he watched the other take a bite out of it. that's when he heard the sound of the door to the restaurant opening, and simultaneously, ravi had come out with another plate of his curry. ❝ here you go — ❞ he slowly put it down in front of barton before turning his head to look at who just came in with a surprised look on his face. barton was just about to himself, only for a very well-dressed matilda to lean her body to one side and say 'boo,' effectively scaring barton.

matilda couldn't help but laugh at that before barton murmured a soft, albeit not actually malicious sounding but playful instead, ❝ oh, my god, matilda. you know i love you but i hate you so much right now, ❞ ravi placed a hand on his shoulder and snorted slightly before saying, ❝ hey, be nice to your daughter, mister i-got-attacked-by-a-bear. and you better take his ass to the hospital or i'm hunting both of you down. ❞ the man left without another word, then, though matilda called after him, ❝ it was nice to see you too, ravi! now let me see this. oh, wow. it really does look like you got attacked by a bear. you didn't do this to him, did you? ❞ his daughter was now talking to jervis as she looked at him through narrowed eyes and did something to the wound to make barton protest. ❝ uhh, ow! and no, he didn't. he's obviously too much of a goody-goody to. ❞ barton stated sarcastically. he knew that, if jervis wanted to hurt him, it'd probably be in a much more... creative way now.

Jervis glanced at Barton through his lashes, mouth twitching at the corners. All of the condensed energy within his frame seemed to evaporate like spring dew with that simple gesture, the other man’s words hesitantly sprouting between them like leaves on an olive branch. A beat stretched. Jervis took another spoonful of his soup, chewed the chicken and rice, shut his eyes as the broth trickled down his throat.

At this moment, he was absolutely certain of two things. First, Jervis was touched - genuinely touched - at this second, seeming entirely unprompted act of kindness on Barton’s behalf. And then, a sense of dread begin to sink into the pit of his stomach, as he wondered why exactly Barton was offering him the falooda. What possible ulterior motives did he have this time? A flicker of tension began to rise in his jaw, but it soon snuffed itself out as his teeth accidentally misaligned in mid-bite around the spoon, digging into the callused tissue rimming the underside of his bottom lip. Jervis flinched, one hand immediately flying to his mouth to assess the damage.

It was nothing drastic by any means, no blood had been shed, but that one slip in self-control almost hurt worse. Whatever dregs of revulsion and irritation remained inside him melted, replaced by the familiar, sour notes of shame and self-reproach. Ahh, I deserved that one. Fair enough. After all, they had been stonewalling since they first stepped out of that transport van and into Jamie’s car. Surely, now that they had broken bread together, they could enjoy a temporary peace.

Whatever happened to the Golden Rule, Jervis? Is your hatred of the man so strong, it overrides everything else? He can’t wear the Dollmaker’s mask any longer than you can put on the Hatter’s mantle or pilfer Carroll. You’re both human, after all, not comic book villains. Besides, throwing the offer and the falooda in his face, however small the satisfaction may be, will only widen the chasm between you both. What you need right now is an ally, even if it’s circumstantial.

As if hearing his thoughts, Sylvie clicked her tongue, cocked her head thoughtfully as she looked at him over Barton’s shoulder; her mist-colored eyes sharp and cold as January sleet. “And here I thought I was the petty one between the two of us. What, are you going to spit at him? Pour the soup in his lap? Good; that’s fine. You piss him off, he has second-degree burns, what then? Do you really think that’s wise? Of course not, you’re not an idiot, and you’re not a cruel man. So, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“… it’s fine,” Jervis mumbled numbly, dropping his gaze. “You needn’t worry.” His hands shook, clammy beneath the black leather that encased them. He had no idea if he was speaking to Barton or to the shadowy thing just behind where he sat. “I’ve had… a lot on my mind, as you can probably tell. I lose my train of thought… things can sometimes go mad.” He raised his right hand, extended it to free the glove on the opposite side from where it had bunched around his knuckles once again, only to freeze. His skin crawled at the thought of exposure, but between the escape and the means of its procurement, the trip back to Gotham in Jamie’s car, the bathroom, and now here at this table… the gloves were positively soiled now. The filed edges of Barton’s nails caught the light. There was no way in hell he would’ve been allowed to grow them while he was legitimately practicing medicine…

“The ball’s in your court,” Sylvie drawled. “You’ve got the wolf by the ear, and you don’t even realize it.” The slightest hint of mockery colored the outlines of her words. Jervis’ ears burned. Goosebumps flared. She was getting closer now, her pale features hardening, all the color in her cheeks bleaching itself away, like paint receding from marble. “What’re you going to do about it? Can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, isn’t that what you always told me? What would Alice think of you now?”

This wasn’t her. Not his wife. Not Sylvie, not the mother of their child, not the love of his life. Merely something dark and twisted inside him, something he didn’t want to acknowledge —something he was afraid to address, that that recognition would supersede all the positive traits within him, all the warmth and joy and optimism and kindness and the capacity for love —

His left hand mechanically clenched around his right, tore off the filthy glove. The bare appendage wrapped itself around the base of the proffered falooda glass as Barton hesitantly nudged it towards him. For the briefest of moments, the other man’s nails grazed against the old calluses and the web of scars and contusions marring Jervis’ skin. He raised his head, met Barton’s eyes; saw the earnestness there, the uncertainty, all bleeding together.

Jervis glanced back behind Barton. Sylvie — or whatever figment of his imagination or paranoia or only God knew had taken her face, her voice, her demeanor — had vanished. His heart sank. For just a moment, he wished she had remained there… even if, he rationalized, it wasn’t really her. Or had it been, after all? A peek behind the veils that separated them? The chill of the glass and the soft pink hue of its contents washed over him. He exhaled. Perhaps he didn’t want to know for certain, after all. If there truly was an afterlife… wouldn’t he know by now? Jervis flexed his fingers; took the spoon, scooped up a bite, and savored the falooda’s rich, creamy texture.

Truce.

[discow1tch]

Nightcrawler Comic Recs (for beginners)

This list is designed with fans who have little to no knowledge of X-Men comics in mind and with an emphasis on what I would call "fangirl appeal". Each title is listed in chronological order with descriptions, a reading order, and my reasoning for each of them under the readmore for those who need it. In my opinion, all of them are good places to start!*

I primarily read comics on Marvel's official app (marvel unlimited) but hoopla (free through many public libraries) and comixology are other good options for online reading. If you want physical copies you'll get the best deals at your local comic shop or on ebay.

If you have criticisms, additions, or continuity question feel free to hit up my ask box!

SERIES: ❥ Uncanny X-Men by Chris Claremont (1975) ❥ Excalibur by Chris Claremont (1988), Alan Davis (1991), and Warren Ellis (1994) ❥ Uncanny X-Men by Joe Casey (2001) ❥ Nightcrawler (2004) ❥ Uncanny X-Force by Rick Remender (a controversial choice since this isn't main universe/616 Kurt) (2010) ❥ Amazing X-Men (2014) ❥ Nightcrawler (2014)

OTHER RANDOM ISSUES**: ❥ Guardians Team-Up #6 ❥ Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur #17 (2017)

*with the exception of Uncanny X-Force. I wouldn't read this until you have a grip on 616 Kurt's characterization.

**these are primarily team ups I discovered through my habit of buying random comics with Kurt on the cover. I'll add more if I remember them.

Uncanny X-Men by Chris Claremont (1975) was an ongoing team book. The sixteen years of it that were written by Claremont are the iconic building blocks upon which all other X-Men comics are built. It's the book Nightcrawler was on from 1975 to 1988 (#94-227) after he was recruited by Professor X. Unfortunately, Kurt is rarely the main character. He has a lot of standout moments but is more likely to just be part of the team. If you like a sweet, sarcastic, curly haired Nightcrawler with terrible fashion sense this book might be for you!

How to start reading it:

Giant-Size X-Men #1 (his introduction, basically a series pilot that rebooted the X-Men).

Uncanny X-Men #94 (directly follows giant-size)

From there you can read numerically.

Read as much uncanny as you want. If it gets boring/isn't for you try Excalibur!

Specific issue recs if you don't want to start at the beginning:

#110: The X-Men fight a villain of the week who traps them in the danger room with the safety controls off. It's also the first (I think?) time the X-Men play baseball together. Kurt is really fun in this issue! #123 & 124: The X-Men fight Arcade for the first time. The issues are split pretty evenly between the whole team but Kurt has some really good moments. #139 & 140: Kurt goes to Canada with Wolverine. They fight a Wendigo with the canadian super-team Alpha Flight and he becomes the first X-Man to learn Wolverine's real name. The art in this is really expressive. Kurt makes a lot of good faces. #168: This issue isn't primarily about Kurt but it is the one where he does the Burt Reynolds cosmo centerfold pose for his girlfriend. #169: Continues from 168. Opens with Kurt in the bath with his girlfriend. He then teleports around the city naked to save someone. #183: Kurt and Wolverine take Colossus out drinking after he breaks up with Kitty. Kurt is there as "mediator" because he knows Logan is mad about the way Piotr treated Kitty. They end up getting into a fight with the Juggernaut at the bar. #204: Kurt restores his faith and self confidence by taking on Arcade solo when he sees a woman being kidnapped off the street.

Excalibur by Chris Claremont, Alan Davis, and Warren Ellis (1988-1998) was a self-contained ongoing comic that ran through the late 80's up through the mid 90's. Excalibur is the British X-Men adjacent team that Kurt joined and then became unofficial leader of when he thought the other X-Men had died. Excalibur is more magic and fantasy based than X-Men usually is. As written by Chris Claremont it's also basically a sex farce. I consider this book a definitive characterization of the character. The art by Alan Davis in the first ~50 issues is the sexiest Nightcrawler has ever been and probably ever will be. If you like a classically handsome, confident, overtly sexy Nightcrawler this series might be for you.

How to start reading it:

Excalibur: The Sword is Drawn (shows the team being formed, basically the series pilot). There's a ton of Deep Lore and callbacks in it but if anything is important it will get explained more directly by narration.

Excalibur #1

From there you can read numerically

The first 67 issues are pretty consistently good but you can always stop After the Cross-Time Caper story if you want something more modern

If you want to keep reading after #67 I suggest skipping the issues written by Lobdell and going straight to the Warren Ellis era

Specific issue recs if you don't want to start at the beginning:

#4: The beginning of the Kurt/Meggan/Brian love triangle. Includes the infamous page where Kurt and Meggan nearly kiss. #16: Another infamous issue. The team land in a new universe and get separated. Kurt fights some air ship pirates before getting seduced and fucked just barely off panel by an Evil Queen. He also ends up wearing some really skimpy "battle armor" towards the end. It's truly incredible that this was even allowed to be published. #23: Judge Dredd parody. The team land in a new universe and get separated (again). Kurt has some really great fight scenes against an alternate universe human version of himself and a really heartfelt story with that universes version of Meggan. #44 & 45: The british government asks the team for help investigating a series of strange robberies in London. Everyone but Kurt is out of town on personal business and his leg is broken so he decides the thing to do is recruit the chaotic aliens helping rebuild the light house as a substitute team - his "N-Men"! If you read these issues by themselves just skip over the sections about the other characters.

Uncanny X-Men by Joe Casey (2001) (#395-409) was part of the ongoing Uncanny comic. It primarily follows a team of X-Men tracking down the Church of Humanity cult as they try to eradicate mutants. This run had a lot of different artists on it but they're all good. The aesthetics and vibes of this run are some of my favorites. Casey writes Kurt a bit more grounded and less jokey but without sacrificing any of the witty banter which I like. If you like a less human-looking Nightcrawler with glowing eyes and pointy teeth this series might be for you!

Nightcrawler (2004) is a twelve issue self-contained mini-series. It's the second of three Nightcrawler self titled minis and it's also my favorite! Kurt gets enlisted as basically a supernatural investigator by Storm after a group of children die mysteriously. He has three different love interest in this which the story even calls him out for at one point. The art is more grounded than the usual marvel house style which isn't for everyone but I personally enjoy it. If you like a softer nightcrawler or a Nightcrawler in street clothes this book might be for you!

Uncanny X-Force by Rick Remender (2010) (#20-35) was an ongoing team book. It's maybe my most controversial pick because it's the Nightcrawler from the Age of Apocalypse but I'm gonna count him because he's hot. He jumped universes to join X-Force (the X-Men's covert black ops team) in issue #11 during the period of time when main universe/616 Kurt was dead. The first arc he's in is all AoA stuff so you can skip it and start at #20 (the Otherworld arc) if you want. AoA Kurt is a darker, more violent version of the character who's only interested in revenge. A lot of Nightcrawler fans hated his inclusion on the team but I personally think he's great! It also helps that the art in this is done in this gorgeous almost abstract digital watercolor style. This version of Nightcrawler ends up dying in an event comic when the series ends but don't even worry about it. Also, maybe don't start with this one. If you like the idea of a star trek-style mirror universe Kurt try reading this!

Amazing X-Men (2014) was an ongoing team book. It's the series that brought Kurt back from the dead after his death several years earlier in a crossover event. It's a really good jumping on point for modern Nightcrawler but the plot is kind of bonkers. If you read it try not to think too hard about the implications of that first arc. Most of the weirder stuff in it doesn't really matter outside of this book anyway. The art is really good - Kurt is very pretty in this. In the early issues he also has great romantic tension with Storm and Wolverine if you're in to that! It's very intertwined with the 2014 solo so if you like this definitely read that! If you like a lanky more cartoony Nightcrawler try this series and the 2014 miniseries!

Nightcrawler (2014) is a twelve issue self contained mini series. It takes place after the first arc of Amazing X-Men but can be read independently since narration explains everything that happened. I'll be honest, this series is fun but not very memorable. The art is nice, though. If you like a lanky more cartoony Nightcrawler try this series and Amazing X-Men!

[tswwwit]

Cipher's Personal Portable Portal

'How they meet' won the poll!

So just to make things fully contextualized, as far as they're gonna be - here's the full first chunk of this stupidly long fic I'm writing.

I hope you enjoy!

Standing in the wreckage of the burnt-out building, Dipper wishes he didn’t know who did it.

Anyone else would have left some trace sign. A scrape of blood, a hint of burnt hair. A friggin’ decent eyewitness report, even.

But here, like last time, and the time before that, and the time before that - there's absolutely zero traces. No video footage, nobody around at the time of the crime. Not even footprints.

Dipper kicks one of the remaining supports, sending a puff of charcoal up from the impact. 

If he knew the bastard’s name, he’d curse it all to hell.

With a sigh of exhaustion, Dipper sits on a chunk of scorched foundation. He pulls his shoe off to tip the ashes out of it; there’s enough that the resulting cloud leaves him coughing. 

Around him, the scoured west wing of the museum is silent, still, and empty. A grey-black skeleton of its former self, filled with dust and charcoal.

This arson is yet another one in a very, very long line of crimes. They’re not just ‘unrelated incidents’, or ‘bizarre coincidences’. Dipper’s not ‘being paranoid’ or ‘coming up with some pretty weird conspiracy theories’. 

There’s only one person who could manage this. The same guy who turned a bank upside down - literally -  and the same one who impaled a mob boss on an oversized silly straw and gave tails to half of a household last week.

It’s all connected.

Each crime is marked with the same style, mostly by how remarkably weird they are. Along with a thread of magic, distinct in its composition. One so distinctive that it's almost a flavor. Though admittedly, without certain magical analysis, it’s pretty hard to detect. 

And if other freelance magicians would take the time and look at Dipper’s notes, maybe one of them would help find this asshole.

Dipper stalks through the burned building, fists balled in his pockets. He stumbles over a fallen support column, and nearly trips before he makes a hopping retreat back. 

Though the culprit has been at his game - whatever ‘game’ that is - for a good half a year now, this is the most destructive ‘incident’ so far. Nobody was hurt, since it happened in the middle of the night. The one relief from a terrible crime, that only objects were obliterated in the process - 

But the ashes speak for themselves.

Here, there’s nothing left.

He breathes in slowly. Then regrets the attempt at calming himself as he coughs again.

Whatever the culprit’s initial motive was, it hasn’t lasted. He’s grown not only in ambition, but also in his abilities. Things are escalating at a rate Dipper doesn’t like to think about.

Someone has to get to the bottom of this. Before it’s too late. Dipper’s got his number, metaphorically speaking, so. Well, might as well be him. 

And when he proves that all of this chaos was created by the same person - 

Well. A little boost to his meager reputation couldn’t hurt. Maybe a few medals and accolades. There isn’t a trophy for best monster hunter, but he can imagine standing on a podium and -

Dipper waves that thought off, swearing under his breath. Stupid. He has better things to focus on.

He’s the only freelancer on the case. Definitely the only one taking this seriously, the only one who thinks it’s the same person to begin with -  and even he’s starting to have some doubts about ever finding the bastard. 

Six months of tracking this guy down, and what does he have to show for it? A ramshackle compilation of incidents, a vague feeling of magic, and a description that could fit any bottle-blond actor with bad fashion sense. Scraps. He might as well pin them up and connect them with red string for all the good it does him.

Another kick sends Dipper hopping back, clutching his foot with a swear. He winces at the hole in the tip, he nearly punctured his foot on a nail.

Just his luck. Wrong place, wrong time, always just barely avoiding disaster. Dipper shows up whenever there’s an event, he’s got the means to follow the guy - but he’s always just a little too late.

Even worse, lately the guy’s been picking places… not at random, exactly. More like he causes trouble wherever it’d be the most annoying to follow.

The culprit must know someone is on his trail. But he’s not making it impossible to keep up, or even majorly difficult for a determined pursuer. Just really, really irritating, like making moves at three in the morning, or pausing just long enough for someone to catch up, then heading right back where he came from. At one point Dipper had to trudge through a literal swamp, only to find that bastard had sauntered in by baking himself a neat little trail right through the damn thing. There wasn’t even footprints to follow.

It’s a repeated point in Dipper’s notes. Whoever this is, they’re a total, absolute dick.

With a sigh, Dipper runs his fingers through the ash on the museum’s floor. Not a single thing is left beyond the shattered glass of some display cases, and the charred remains of the building. Even the enchanted metal tools have been melted into slag. 

The day before yesterday, he could tell something was up. Building energy, something that felt like it was made by the culprit. Something with the twinge of a powerful curse, coiled and being wound up like a spring. 

Dipper spent that evening convincing - okay, maybe also bribing, thank you Stan for the idea - the museum to let him borrow materials. The day after that, he spent all night, morning, and most of the afternoon running around slapping up anti-curse emblems. The entire south of the city warded, in a fine careful net of spellcraft. The work was exhausting. Both in running around, and in the amount of magic he’d needed to use.

But it was worth it. That evening, in the quiet and very uncursed city, all the emblems activated. Dipper would have sworn he sensed someone in the distance, cursing his own name. That night he went to bed with a smug sense of satisfaction, floating on a cloud of triumph.

Which is probably why the bastard burned down the museum next.

With another sigh, Dipper tucks his notebook back into his knapsack. He’s gleaned all he’s going to for today; in the fading evening light, searching more is pointless.

So much for all the magical artifacts. Most of those had come in really useful in messing with the guy. 

…How the hell did the culprit know where they came from, though? He’d need a near encyclopedic knowledge of artifacts to know which ones Dipper used, then track them back to their origin. 

Or maybe he just searched on the internet. It’s hard to tell.

Dipper just wishes there were more clues. But just like every other incident, the guy up and freakin’ vanished.

No human can disappear like that without some very irresponsible use of power. That hope is one Dipper’s hanging his hat on. After six months? He has to be reaching his limits. He’ll burn himself out before he can manage too many more incidents. Maybe Dipper will find him by stumbling on his withered, dissolving corpse.

Whoever this is is pretty strong, but no power is infinite. He can’t hide forever.

It can’t be too much longer. Won’t be. Dipper has a plan, he’s gotten really close, and - He’s good at his job, damn it. He knows he is. 

Taking a deep, slow breath, Dipper lets it out. Patience is the name of the game here. He’s just gotta keep moving.

One day, he’s going to catch up with that bastard. He’ll see the guy in the flesh. Then he’ll grab that stupid dick before he can escape, again, and wipe that presumably smug look off his probably ugly face.

Turning around one last time, Dipper surveys the destruction, stuffs his hands in his pockets - and pauses. 

A speck of light glints in the pile of ash. The last bit of evening sun, shining off a metallic surface.

Alert with surprise, Dipper scrambles over to the pile. Kneeling down, he brushes the dust carefully aside, careful not to disturb anything fragile that might shatter if handled wrong. 

One thing did survive. Thank fuck, it’s not an absolute total loss. Just, uh… Ninety-nine percent of it.

He scuffles through the still-warm ashes, cupping his palms underneath the lump and lifting it from its bed. The motion sends white puff rising up as ash slips away from the artifact.

A small black, squarish thing rests on the pile, a bit larger than both his palms put together. The material is faintly warm from residual heat, insulated by the ash it laid in - and there’s not a mark on it. Not even a scratch. 

Dipper turns the artifact over in his hands with a frown. The shining black surface reveals no obvious buttons or secrets. Just a kind of phone-ish shape, though more square and squat. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say a guest dropped it on the rush to escape. 

The fact that it’s still intact though. Nearly glowing with magic, a tremulous feeling under his palms - this is not dropped by some clumsy tourist. Not even Ford could put this together.

 Wiping at the object with his sleeve, Dipper manages to clean off most of the smooth surface. On one of the sides, dust clings to the thinnest of engravings. The very faint outline of an equilateral triangle. No runes or other magical scribing, just… a shape.

Dipper thinks back but - no, he doesn’t remember seeing this in the collection. A quick check online reveals…

Basically nothing. There are - were - a bunch of stone and metal slabs in the archives, all described so poorly as to be useless. Some are even bunched up in groups. ‘Magical slab 1-24’ and ‘Metal artifact 1-78’, no description involved.

Not surprising. Probably dug up in some mass excavation site, transported here, then never really looked at again. The bulk nature of the shipment means it was overlooked, its magical properties never discovered.

After today, he’s just glad that even one item escaped this onslaught. 

The other artifacts must not have had much to them. But some magical property in this artifact’s making must have saved it from the blaze. Fireproofing, perhaps? Against weird fire? That’s unusual. Maybe even unique.

As the only survivor, it really needs investigating. 

Dipper glances over his shoulder, then around. With everyone evacuated, it’s quiet in the rubble. Nobody here would notice if, say… a clue wandered off.

The artifact slips easily into his pocket. The shape conveniently looks just like a phone, even if the shape’s a bit off. Not something that would attract any attention.

Whistling nonchalantly, ducking out of the way of local law enforcement and any onlookers - Dipper makes his escape. 

Another day of pursuit. Another scene of disaster, the culprit there and gone in the blink of an eye. 

He’ll be up to something new, next. Never the same thing twice, never in the same place. 

Dipper will follow in his evil tracks, of course. But for tonight - his fate is another crappy hotel room. 

He ditches his backpack by the door, slumping against the wall and its chipped paint. He could start going through his notes, and the pictures of the arson. Put in more work, find further connections - 

But it’s been a long day, and he’s tired. He might be magical, but he’s only got so much to work with. A reasonable night’s sleep, if he can manage, will make the task loom less horribly over his tired brain.

With a sigh, he drops back on the mattress. There’s some bounce to it, springs squeaking like they’re full of mice. Hell, maybe they are. The type of room he can afford isn’t exactly decadent.

That, though, should be temporary. Dipper’s career is only just starting; freelancers in the ‘solving magical problems’ scene don’t get great rates. Especially as a beginner. Definitely without a partner; it makes him look super young. Like he’s just starting out, fresh-faced and not having any inroads.

Because this field is really stupid, and doesn’t pay attention to results. Dipper’s been fine on his own for years, and he’s done really cool things without that ‘networking’ crap. 

All by himself. Totally cool with that, because Dipper’s a cool guy, sometimes. If Mabel hypes him up enough on one of their phone calls, he almost believes it too.

Though it would be nice to have some backup, it’s hard to find someone who really gets the job. Or does it in the way that Dipper goes about it. The number of people who are willing to take long treks in hyper-magical territory to search for an obscure clue, or set up really complicated traps for  dangerous monsters, or talk over high-level magical theory while sitting in the rain all night just to get one body-snatcher are…

Well, besides Ford, who recently retired, there aren’t any. Only Dipper himself.

One day, things are going to change for him. All his effort will pay off. If he keeps solving mysteries, and fighting monsters, he’ll forge a reputation as someone who always gets the job done. No matter how hard it is, he can handle it. The work is picking up, too. The last six months have shown the biggest series of magical incidents in decades. 

And he’s gonna be the one to get to the bottom of it.

Dipper Pines, the guy who proved it’s all connected. He’ll have it laid out in facts and math, all the evidence. They’re all gonna see that he was totally right.

Once he finally gets this guy, everything’s going to start looking up. 

The sheets rustle as Dipper settles back, holding the artifact up over himself. He stares into the black surface, and a slightly distorted reflection narrows its eyes back at him. 

A good mystery always intrigues him. This one should take his mind off the other, irritating one for a while.

The only remaining object from the fire is clean and smooth. A mysterious creation, of unknown purpose. Clearly riddled with magic, too; Dipper feels it running just under the surface like a rapid current. It gives the artifact a weight that has nothing to do with mass. 

Power.

Did the criminal see this artifact, still intact after all the other magical objects were gone? Did he try to destroy it too, and fail? Or simply not notice he’d missed one out of thousands?

Whatever it is, it’s got a lot more going on than meets the eye.

Dipper casts a quick identifier, which comes back with nothing. He’s not surprised. That’s the first thing anyone would try. If it was that simple, he’d already have the full description off the site. 

With a shrug, he traces another set of runes, his own version, adding a little more oomph behind it - 

And the magic leaps back instantly, with the bizarre sensation of a bouncy ball hitting concrete.

“Huh,” Dipper says, thoughtfully. He sits up, hunching over the slab in his hands. “Now that’s new.”

A more subtle approach, then. Tracing the lines of energy with the barest brush of magic upon magic reveals something deeply complex. Thin layers twist together deep under the surface, building an entire circulatory system. Dipper has to put it down for a moment, suddenly worried that it is organic. 

When a cautious prod doesn’t get a response, he relaxes. Not fleshy, just complicated. Which also proves he was right earlier - the artifact’s just as powerful as he’d thought. The spellcraft is unlike anything he’s ever seen. 

Dipper rubs his hands together, starting to smile. 

Even if he doesn’t find the guy he’s after, figuring this out could be a heck of a win.

Several attempts later, he’s beginning to get why this bastard brick got tossed in with all the other junk. 

Nothing here is working. It simply deflects. Standard spells poing off of it like rubber, while giving his magical senses an odd, back-of-the brain afterimage of a circle with a slash through it; a firm ‘nah’. 

Dipper nearly chucks the thing across the room in frustration, before shutting his eyes and taking several, calming breaths. 

Okay, weird thing, weird enchantment. The ordinary stuff won’t work. The magical logic is… twisted in a way that leaves it incompatible with most everything. He’ll have to find a different approach. 

“What are you?” Dipper says, low and frustrated. He gives the artifact a shake, as if he can knock the secrets out like a rock from a shoe. “What secrets are you hiding in there?” 

No response, not that he expected one. With a wry smile, he taps the sleek surface with a finger, twice. “C’mon, man. Talk to me.” 

Huge yellow letters flash onto the black surface. 

HEY

Dipper throws the artifact, a bit awkwardly since he’s lying on his back. It sails in the air in a high thin arc, landing with a thump between his legs. He scoots rapidly backward, sheets pulling up behind him. 

The artifact lies where it landed, an unmoving brick.  There’s magic in the air now, but no sense of any spell building, ready to unleash power to blow his face off. The latent spellcraft of the artifact has just been activated.

More text displays on the surface, bare except for the glowing letters. 

To the jerk that’s swiped my private stuff: You got some nerve! I expect this back by interdimensional mail in a week, or trust me - there will be consequences.

Dipper waits a full minute before he lets go of the headboard. Tentatively, he kneels near the…

 Is this a phone? 

Clearly it’s a communication device of some sort, with the freaking text messages. A phone is the obvious equivalent, only - he thought it looked far older than that, something way before mobile phones. Possible ancient. Is that a coincidence, maybe, or is it secretly modern?

Dipper taps the ‘screen’, just below the glowing words. To his surprise, there’s actually a keyboard, what the hell. This thing keeps getting weirder.

Since it hasn’t already thrown a horrible curse at him, or burst into flames - it’s reasonably safe to assume that it’s simply ‘on’. Not ‘explosive’. 

With hands that are definitely not shaking, he picks it up, and types,

Who is this? 

His own text pops up in blue. A strange contrast to the yellow, but he’s guessing it’s for convenience - there’s no bubbles to tell who’s said what otherwise.

A few seconds of nervous waiting later, there’s a response. 

Oh hey, you answered! Well, human - You’re talking to the one and only Bill Cipher, Dream Demon, all-powerful master of the Mindscape! I’d say it’s nice to meet ya but you’re not supposed to have a direct line to me!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. 

Now that’s one hell of an introduction. It might even have been interesting, if it didn’t smell of complete bullshit. 

Complicated spellwork, sure. Incomprehensible architecture? Maybe. Dipper can admit it; he’s never seen anything with a web of spells on it this complex, in such small of a package.

But the idea that Dipper just stumbled onto a demonic artifact of all things. One that wasn’t instantly detected, recorded, then ritually destroyed is…

Someone’s fucking with him. 

Dipper rolls his eyes as he types back,

Really? Demon? You can’t expect me to believe that. 

What, you calling me a liar? ‘Cause I am, but not about this! I got better things to mislead mortals about. This is my property, not something for your grubby mortal mitts.

Dipper snorts. Guess this person’s sticking with the bit. Obviously whoever created this would want it back - but too bad. Whether they’re delusional, stupid, or just a flat-out liar, they’re really good at enchanting. It’d be a waste not to study their work. 

He lies back on the bed as he replies.

Sure, have fun roleplaying, or whatever, it doesn’t make a difference. Finders keepers, losers weepers.

ARE YOU CALLING ME A LOSER. MORTAL.

Hmm, I’m detecting a certain amount of ‘crying about it’, so. Yeah. Suck it, loser.

Smirking, Dipper settles back - then his half-smile drops, as he holds the ‘phone’ a little further away from himself. 

Though the blue fire building up in the screen looks like a bad sticker effect, the artifact’s also getting a alarmingly warm. It vibrates in his hands - then suddenly stops, cooling down. 

Ha! Alright, alright, I admit - you got some balls.

Maybe you’ll change your tune once you REALLY know what you’re dealing with! Might wanna check the connection, if you’re even capable of it! Mortal magic doesn’t reach across dimensions!

With a grimace, Dipper taps his fingers on the phone. It’s slightly cooler now, but still worryingly reactive to… whatever happened on the other end. 

Damn. Whoever this is, they’re not only really really good at enchanting, they’re also pretty confident that tracking them down won’t spoil their game. The confidence exuding from this ‘Bill’s’ words feels genuine.

Honestly, though, the suggestion is a good one. Dipper should have tried to trace the call the second he knew someone else was on the line. 

Maybe ‘Bill’ thinks he won’t manage to find him. Joke’s on him, though; Dipper’s amazing at finding stuff. He’s the best tracker of magical anything in years. Maybe decades. With a solid, stable connection right in front of him? Hell, he could do this one in his sleep. 

Time to call the bluff.

He casts the tracing spell, though it takes longer than usual. A few gestures and muttered ritual aren’t gonna cut it; he has to improvise around the strange construction of the enchantment. Even trailing along the magic seems harder than usual, like it resists mixing with his own, and it takes him a few attempts to match the signal. 

Once he finds the right way to tune it… the lead snaps along the already-existing connection, and zips away to find its source.

The line extends out from the shabby hotel room, a plucked string in Dipper’s senses. It twists around the phone, rising slowly. Invisibly passing through the walls and the - 

Ceiling? Dipper looks up on instinct, even though nothing is visible.

From there it swirls around in the air like a silly straw on steroids, and then - out, very far, in a way that isn’t up or down or left or right, just  

Away.

Dipper has to cut off the tracing spell before vertigo has him reeling. The swirling sense of standing on top of a skyscraper is followed by a flip in his stomach. That he’s using a device he barely understands that reaches out into something even more incomprehensible.

He drops the phone-artifact, trying to clear his head by shaking it rapidly. 

That’s not nearby. Not on this planet. Possibly, genuinely, not even in this dimension. 

Shit. Bill wasn’t bluffing.

Dipper wipes sweating palms on the sheets. To pick up the phone again takes an effort, willing himself to grasp it in unsteady hands.

A demon. 

All the monsters he’s fought, curses he’s broken, years of work tucked into his belt, and he’s never seen one of those. 

Demons are dangerous, evil, and very, very powerful. Consorting with them is by all accounts a terrible idea. He should never have picked this up. He should hang up, and throw the damn artifact out the window, hoping that nobody else makes as dumb a mistake as he just did. 

On the screen, there’s a long long scroll of yellow letters, filling the entire surface. ‘HA HA HA HA’ over and over and over again. 

Before he can think better of it, Dipper starts a response. He’s halfway through a sentence - what the fuck, that’s not funny- before he pauses.

Terrible evil monster. Stupid powerful. Probably Bill sensed the tracing of the connection, like he did with Dipper’s other testing. Bill wanted the result startle him. Because he thinks it’s funny.

Dipper grits his teeth, and glares at the screen. 

Actually, screw this guy. Dipper’s keeping the stupid phone. If for no other reason than spite. This ‘Bill’ guy seems pretty full of himself, like he’s totally above some human. He’s in for a bad time, then, because Dipper’s not going to let one little surprise scare him off.

Besides.  The average guy would get into horrible, even deadly trouble, whereas Dipper… sort of knows what he’s doing.  No, he is good at his job. Finding secrets, solving mysteries, thwarting evil jerks who think they’re oh-so-hilarious, the whole shebang. He does it all.

Taking another breath, hissing through clenched teeth - Dipper lets it out. Losing his temper isn’t going to help deal with an extradimensional being. He has to be careful.

He thinks for a long moment before he responds. 

Okay. Let’s say I believe you. Maybe. Then you should know I didn’t steal your… whatever this is. I found it lying around, and I just. Got kind of curious. 

HA HA HA! Of course you were! Careful with that impulse, kid, it kills more than just cats!

A jerk who definitely thinks he’s hilarious. Dipper rolls his eyes, then, rather pettily, decides to ignore that statement. 

More pressing questions take the lead. Like what the fuck he’s holding right now, and if there are any other nasty tricks in store. A little bit of him, bubbling under the surface, wonders what being a demon is like. What they get up to, common habits. Ways they could be tracked down and, y’know, defeated, maybe. 

Theoretically, he’s got a line to a bunch of innocent, totally not-thwarting-related information that could be super useful to someone trying to, maybe, be a super cool monster-fighter.

Dipper backspaces a bunch over some poorly thought out questions. First things first. Like what the hell he’s holding right now.

So. What is this?

Good question! The gadget you’re poking at with your sweaty meat-paws is paired to the one I have here at my place. A little one-on-one communication assistant, if you will. Once you started groping around with your magic, it wasn’t hard to tell someone had picked it up!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. Though he already has an idea… a little confirmation never hurts. 

Like, you got a notification? Or literally felt?

The latter! Kinda like smell, but by touching things with your eyeballs. And with all your prodding around you might as well have been stinking up the place! Your spells aren’t real subtle!

Hey, they’re subtle! Having weird extra senses is just cheating.

Sucks to be human, then! In that you suck at everything! What’s a LOSER like you gonna do about it?

Dipper nearly throws the stupid artifact again - but he holds back, gripping it tight. Instead he sits up, leaning down and hauling his backpack up from the side of the bed. 

Maybe Bill thinks he can’t do anything. That he’s some ignorant nobody, who doesn’t have any real skills or talent or doesn’t have any friends - but he’s got that wrong. Dipper’s not a loser. Bill’s not getting away with that bullshit.

One quick unzip and a bit of rifling around later, he finds what he was looking for. Carefully, Dipper bounces the heft of a flashlight battery in his hand. Shutting his eyes, he focuses on crafting a quick working.

Magic is all about energy, and its direction. Focusing power, conveying it from one place to another. Pushing anything across dimensions would take impossible amounts of energy, stuff Dipper doesn’t have. If it weren’t for a very convenient connection, already in his hand.

Dipper has nothing on hand to actually exorcise the guy - he’s not sure that’s even possible when Bill’s where he should be - but retribution is in order.

More text lines appear on the artifact. He ignores them. Changing this up to work with the demon device is a challenge, but after figuring out how to alter the tracking spell changing this one up isn’t hard. He adjusts the flow of magic this way, into the tangle of not-veins in the device that way, finishes the chant-

Then touches his tongue to the battery.

The jolt passes through him painlessly, following the spell. It zips along his nerves, down into his hand and from there - into the artifact itself. 

Where it should, theoretically end up right at that bastard.

Dipper tosses the battery back into his backpack. Picking up the ‘phone’, hunching over to stare at the screen. 

That worked. He felt the energy move… unless he got the math wrong. Or a detail of his spell. Or maybe demons are immune to electricity, and he just did something totally pointless. 

God. It might even prove Bill right, and wouldn’t that be the worst - 

The next line of text comes in. 

What the hell? A joy buzzer? That’s some real petty prank stuff! You seriously pulled that bullshit? And across dimensions?

A tense pause. Dipper taps the phone, checking for it heating up again - but another line pops up after a few seconds.

Y’know what, kid? I think I might actually like you! You’re FEISTY.

Dipper nearly does a double-take. 

But no, that - what? Aren’t demons supposed to be vengeful? He was half-sure he’d have to chuck the phone out the window before it exploded in his hands. 

In fact, you’re in luck! ‘Cause I’m pretty bored, and I can totally show you how to improve that jinx of yours! If you can keep up with a little theory, that is.

Because that’s not suspicious or anything. Conversation with a demon can only lead to ruin and disaster. He should absolutely, definitely stop this right in its tracks.

Still, Dipper shrugs, and types, 

Try me.

[spiceofvy]

yo here's a soft one: skz as shopping partners. Domestic fluff. Maybe more paragraphs per member for this one? If you like, that is.

🐙

Shopping with SKZ

a/n: i do not know why this took me so long, i finished the first draft for this almost 6 months ago and just never edited it because i was super unsatisfied. but now after stepping away from it i actually really like it and editing it was so much fun...

cws: gender neutral reader, sfw, fluff, one hint to something sexual (jisung), honestly this is just fluff

Chan: Honestly, is always just super excited to go out with you, loves to spoil you when you go shopping together. Isn't the best at giving advice, while he does have an okay idea of fashion himself, he just loves everything you wear and wants to get all of it for you. Also likes to take candid pictures of you, while you look around, smiling fondly the whole time.

"I missed going out with you." "Hey babe, look over here really quick." "You look so amazing. How do I deserve you?"

Minho: Number one when it comes to acts of service. Holds all the bags for you, carries the clothes hangers as you look around, gets you clothes in a different size so you don't have to leave the changing room. Also gives really good advice about the clothes that you are trying on. Overall just a really good shopping companion. Wants to go lingerie shopping afterwards with you.

"This shirt in a different size? Sure, let me get it for you." "Hm, that's cute, but I think I liked the first one more." "Wait, give me that bag."

Changbin: The worst partner ever. Because he just thinks that everything looks perfect and amazing on you. Great for your confidence but terrible for your wallet. But definitely offers to pay. Even if you decline him paying for everything he will still buy you extras, or the same thing in different colors so you can have some variety.

"Wait, you look so great. Try another one." "Uh, I love how you look in both of them." "Okay, how about you pay for the red one. And I get you the blue and the purple one?"

Hyunjin: Absolute opposite of Changbin. He is soo critical. Not of you but of the clothes and how they don't do enough for you. It's nothing personal, just his amazing fashion sense. You look great in the end, but he still takes you out for dinner afterwards as an apology for making you go through the hassle.

"No." "You look great, but the shirt doesn't show it." "Okay, let me treat you. You were such a great model for me."

Jisung: Gets bored super easily. But you can easily get his attention back by letting him pick out something for you to wear. Low key picks really good clothes for you, somehow matches you aesthetic perfectly without thinking too much about it. Jokes about joining you in the cabin while you change. But gets flustered when you actually call him in.

"Another store? Are you suuuuure?" "Okay, I picked this and this and this and this." "Wait? Really? Right now? What if someone sees?"

Felix: Shopping with Felix often turns into shopping for Felix. No matter if you are in the mens or womens section, he always finds something that suits his taste. Loves getting couples outfits together. Compliments you the whole time, and needs to take photos of you in his favorite outfits. Also takes a ton of selfies with you while walking from one store to another.

"Oh that would look so cute on us." "I love how you look in that." "You think that would suit me too?"

Seungmin: Looks uninterested but is really invested. Always sneaks clothing he would like for you to wear into the cabin, acting innocent when you question it. Very honest with his opinion, positive as well as negative, but it's actually super helpful. Gets you both coffee afterwards. Will put the clothes away into your closet when you get home, he has a very strict system for that.

"What? No you picked that shirt. You don't remember?" "Ah, I don't love the shirt. But the jacket is amazing." "Okay, lets get some coffee into you."

Jeongin: Gives amazing advice, maybe he spent too much time around Hyunjin or the Stylists rubbed off on him but he somehow became a fashion guru. Carries your bags and offers to pay for everything. You get a lot of jealous stares, which makes him a little bit cocky and makes him spend even more money on you. Gets suuuper shy when you get kinda naked-y.

"Okay, but I think the purple one suited your undertones more." "That would go really well with that new pair of jeans we just got." "Put your wallet away, it's on me today."

[boyfhee]

⋆ OUR THING !

aka the things they do in a relationship!

pairing enhypen x gn reader genre fluff warnings teensy bit suggestive

HEESEUNG

places things on the top shelf deliberately because he just wants the excuse to walk up behind you and get that thing for you in the flirtiest way possible

you're tip-toeing with one of your arms outstretched to grab your favourite coffee mug, it's the cutest sight ever, and he's already behind you with a prideful smirk

"you can just ask me to get it for you, baby,"—he's a little too close to you, and you can feel his breath right on your neck, might as well brush his lips against your nape before muttering a quiet 'oops' as if it was accidental— "no need to trouble yourself," "and who do you think is the reason why i need to trouble myself?"— exactly your response because he put your coffee mug on the highest shelf, and yet he shrugs like he's innocent

he has no shame, he will pin your against the shelf and kiss you if he gets the opportunity ( he makes the opportunity ) simply takes the mug from your hand and puts it on the top shelf again, while his lips are on yours. coffee isn't in your fate

oh and he has also wraps his arms around you from behind when you're cooking, or doing anything, but mostly kitchen work. just something about him resting his head on your shoulder, eyes closed, as he hums a song right next to your ear, with a soft smile, swaying with you slightly to the tune, puts both of you at ease

JAY

he may not say it every time but he loves to see you in his clothes. so, picture him going through his closet and he pulls out one of his hoodies, and he's standing in front of you, putting it in front of you to see how it looks, just like mothers at the clothing stores

"hm, i knew blue was more of your colour"— every colour on the wheel is your colour if jay has it in his cupboard— "there, you can keep it," "love, that's third one this week. what are you going to wear?"— and you're genuinely concerned because half of his sweatshirts and hoodies belong to you, even a few shirts for some reason "we can always buy new ones for me"— terrible spending habits

loves to style your outfits. we know his fashion sense is over the roof so you look like a model every time you step out. actually, his goal is to match outfits with you when you go out, whether it's just a colour or a few accessories. not his fault you end up looking like you could get hired by dolce and gabbana

genuinely can't stop complimenting you. it's always him whispering 'you look beautiful,' and 'you're pretty,' and 'i can't keep my eyes off you,' in your ear with one arm around your shoulder or waist

JAKE

he's so silly and cute and smiley. he helps you with things all the time, not because he doesn't want you to tire yourself ( that is one of the reason ) but because he likes helping you around the house, whether it's with your stuff or just usual chores

also, he keeps looking at you with a smile? you'd be putting clothes in the washing machine and he's looking at you with a huge grin while also helping you. basically, it means he either wants a hug or a kiss or both

"jake-"— is deadass t-posing with a smile while standing behind you as you finish putting the clothes— "what do you want?" "what do you think i want?"— says with the same goofy and cute smile and he knows you won't say know because he's irresistible

sometimes, you'd see him at the other end of the house with same i-want-a-hug pose as soon as you return home from work or classes or whatever. then you run to hug him and pulls you in the warmest hug possible, spinning you to the slightest, kissing your cheeks. and you both just continue to hug for next five minutes

if he's in the mood, he will cup your face before you're about to hug him and pull you into a chaste kiss before hugging you. like, one time he kissed you with you were holding the laundry bucket and jake just took it and discarded it aside before pulling you closer because it was between him and you and he didn't like that. basically hugs are a must, kisses are the cherry on the top

SUNGHOON

so weird, he texts you even when you two are in the same room. you'd be sitting on the same couch, just on the opposite ends, and you can see his text notification pop up on your phone screen. he's texting probably something like 'so close yet so far' madam is a little goofy

and his texts are not normal. it's something completely unrelated, weird, maybe an old picture of himself or just some random pickup line. most of the time, he's trying to flirt with you over text

"hey gorgeous,"— his text reads, and you see a shit eating grin on his face as he sits opposite to you on the couch, typing something on his phone— "do you have a boyfriend?" "no"— you reply, and if you think saying no would do something to put an end to this insanity, you're wrong because he comes back ten times worse you can see him put his phone aside before crawling to your side of the couch, and he's almost pinning you against it— "you don't have a boyfriend?"— says with a smirk, leaning a bit closer to you, or rather your lips— "do you want one?"

look, you don't even get to say anything here because he kisses you before giving you a chance to speak. and it's not some random kiss, he's kissing you, as in taking your phone out of your hand and throwing it away to the other end of the couch, putting your arms around his neck before pulling you closer by your waist

he's kissing you with the intention of making out, which is usually his aim behind texting you from across the room

SUNOO

the ultimate sunoo headcanon i have is that you both do each other's make up. it's mostly him doing yours, says he asked his stylists for tips and he's going to try them on you. it's usually for fun, sometimes he follows a gwrm video on youtube on your request when you tell him that he's doing something wrong ( gets a bit sulky because why are you doubting his skills )

loves to do your eyeliner!!!! like he would hold your face ever so softly, carefully applying the eyeliner, saying something about how it won't be his fault if you end up looking like a ghost or something

"let me help you with the lipstick too,"— he's joking!!! and he's blushing slightly as he says that "alright,"— and now he's red. he's so nervous and flustered, and you know he's trying to laugh it off but then he looks at you again and realises that you're series "um ok,"— his heart is about to pop out of his chest

you can feel how nervous he is in the way he holds your chin, or the really flustered smile that's dancing on his lips, or in the way he backs off and leans at least five times to calm himself down

and if u peck his lips while he's helping you with your lipstick, he will literally pause. like it's so cute how easy it is so make him blush, he's probably smiling as saying how you need to stop teasing him. oh, but also, he loves to kiss your cheeks while doing your makeup

JUNGWON

wakes up at least thirty minutes before the usual time because you two end up cuddling and getting late for whatever plans you have for the day

he's punctual but also knows his mind sort of stops working when it comes to you so the moment he sees you sleeping next to him, all morals about waking up early and on time leave his body, and before he himself knows it, his arms are wrapped around your waist and he's pulling you closer to him

"maybe, we should get up,"— he says, his head still resting on yours, eyes closed, his half asleep already "definitely,"— but when you try to get out of his hold, removing his arms from around you, he just scoots even closer? like what happened to waking up early "five minutes more,"— the third 'five minutes more' so far

even if you two are awake, he will lay in bed with you, holding you close while his one arm is around you and the other is caressing your hair, occasionally kisses your cheeks while asking you about your plans for the day

most of the time you two end up sleeping again, but once he gets out of bed, he's making sure you're out of it too. would take away your blanket to force you out of bed, but it's only because he doesn't want to continue with his day without you

NI-KI

late night walks!!! he loves to spend time with you and loves it even more when you two are taking an early morning or late night with your hands interlaced together, strolling down the streets ( brings the 'it's you and me in this world' lyrics to life for him but you won't hear him say that )

"hey, let's go for a walk"— he's nudging your shoulders and would continue to do so until you wake up "it's one am,"— you think it would help you convince him but no, he doesn't care. odd timings are his things, and he would've had it another way if you didn't always give in to his requests

holds your hand and puts it in the pocket of his jacket because he doesn't want you to get old but it's only an excuse. sometimes just kisses the back of your hand while you're talking to him and asks if that makes your heart flutter. if u say no, he will kiss you randomly between words

going to the convenience store is a must. you're getting your favourite snacks and then you two are going to the swings in the park. late night escapades with him are fun and it's only a matter of time before you both are snuggled up together while sleeping on the couch

[oomisluvr]

DREAMS, FAIRYTALES, & FANTASIES (WHEN YOU'RE AROUND ME)

synopsis: sakusa thinks your confidence is sexy. give him a twirl, won't you?

warnings: flirty!sakusa, suggestive, allusions to sex but nothing graphic i promise, reader is fine as hell, sakusa is horny because reader is fine as hell, swearing probably, proof read exactly one (1) time, can someone please buy me a skims dress

SAKUSA has always been comfortable in the role of an observer. Distant. Disconnected. Always calculating. There’s so much you can learn about a person by just watching them.

“Do I look okay?” You ignore the intensity of his stare, smoothing away any wrinkles in your skintight dress with a sweaty palm, “It’s not too much for a company dinner?” 

Kiyoomi’s eyes sweep up and down your figure, before flicking them up to meet yours through the mirror.

“I’m not sure,” He hums, doing a terrible job at hiding his intentions, a lazy smile on his handsome face, “C’mere for a second.”

Abandoning the array of makeup on your vanity, you skitter over to where he sits on the edge of your shared bed. Kiyoomi’s gaze almost has a physical presence; you can practically feel his eyes on you.

“Give me a twirl, pretty.” 

You laugh easily, giving into his request and making a show spinning on your heels to highlight every angle of your outfit. He offers a low whistle in return. 

“This dress is a little tight, no?” You can hear his smirk.

“Is that a problem?” You sass, breath catching a bit when you feel the calluses of his hand smooth over your waist and hips, dipping down to toy with the exposed skin of your thigh at the hem of your dress.

“Not at all,” He responds with a breathy chuckle, “You look beautiful, baby. I love how confident you are when you get dolled up.”

“Y-Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he parrots, a little breathless because you always seem to have that effect on him, “It’s unbelievably sexy.”

Like an alligator nabs its prey, Sakusa’s arms reach out to you, pulling you into his lap. He chuckles a bit when you squeal, feeling the vibrations of the sound everywhere.

“God, you look amazing.” He mumbles to the sweet skin of your neck, like it’s a secret belonging only to him, “I’m sorry I couldn’t come with you. I would love to be your accessory for the night.” 

You giggle at the comment, ”Accessory?”

“Accessory might be too kind of a word, actually.” He jokes, “I’d look like hot garbage standing next to you. God, how could you settle like this?”

“Stop!” You playfully demand, not a fan of his self-deprecating sense of humor, “I happen to find you quite handsome! You look good! Sexy, even!”

“Wrong,” he hums to the shell of your ear, wrapping his arms around you and pulling tight because somehow sitting on his lap wasn’t close enough for him, “You make me look good. I love showing you off.”

“You’re a terrible flirt.” You soften at his admission, angling his head with a manicured finger and closing the space between the two of you. Slotting your lips against his, you let Kiyoomi lead, the kiss keeping a lazy rhythm. It’s all tongue and soft sucking; slow because you know he’ll miss you, even over a few hours. You pull away dissatisfied–no amount of kisses will ever be enough, “I love you.” It’s barely above a whisper.

“I love you, too.” You can see the hearts in his eyes, “Be safe tonight, okay? Call me if anything.”

You nod, wiping away flecks of red that transferred from your lips to his, “You’re still picking me up?”

“And dropping you off.” He confirms. 

You frown a bit, suddenly nervous again, “Is it lame if I show up early? What time do you think we should leave?”

“Well, you have two options,” He grins, “We can leave now and get there by 7. Very much on time.”

“And the other?” He grins, equal parts flirtatious and predatory, pointed canines coming into view, “We fuck right now and you show up fashionably late.”

(jump cut to reader showing up 90 minutes late with a dopey smile and a poorly-hid hickey on her neck. the camera pans to reader also leaving early LMAOO)

[adventuringblind]

Misheard, Misjudged

Lando Norris x Leclerc Reader

Genre: Angst with a pinch of spice

Summary: Lando overhears a conversation and thinks it’s about him

Warnings: Lando’s self-esteem plummets

Notes: I’m aware I have things to do but I’m doing a friend a favor

Masterlist

Lando and the little Leclerc are everybody’s favorite couple. He clings to her every second of every day and she gets livid when her brother call her little. Younger then Arthur by a minute and she never hears the end of it.

Their families love them, the fans love them, but most importantly is that they love each other.

They met when Arthur started racing again. She was bored without her partner in crime, so Charles took her on as is social media manager. Needles to say they banter a lot. Charles’ fashion choices are horrendous at times but she loves him nonetheless.

Charles teases them all the time about how they are practically glued together. Which is probably true, considering they are like magnets in the paddock.

So in Lando’s head, it makes no sense why she would say such things about him. In their home. With her friends.

‘Sure he’s good looking, but like - is there really anything else? He’s so childish and whines like a bitch. Also, have you seen how clingy he is?”

He couldn’t listen anymore after that. Is he really that clingy? And for all intensive purposes, isn’t she also clingy? He never thought it was that bad. Sure, people tease, but who cares what they think? Or, maybe he’s just overthinking and he should just ask about it.

Scratch that - a terrible plan. Instead he shall withdrawal himself and see if it makes her happier.

The first week she looks confused and a little hurt by his actions, but she doesn’t say anything. No more initiated physical contact. No random hugs and kisses. He doesn’t cling to her during the race weekend like normal.

See! He isn’t cling! if anything, she’s definitely the more clingy one out of the two.

Week two hurt more then the first. He catches snippets of a few phone calls between her and Charles. She’s locked in the bathroom and her voice is cracking. “I don’t understand what I did, Charlie.”

Doesn’t understand what she did? You can’t just say things about a person and expect everything to be okay after. Why doesn’t she talk to him about it? If she wanted more space he would’ve just rather have talked about it then have overheard the love of his life shattering his heart into pieces.

He turns her back to her in bed starting week three. She looks tired over the next few days. Not just yawning, but the dark circles under red eyes screams that something is wrong.

she starts leaving sticky notes on his things, on the counters, the insides of cabinets, and even plastered all over thee mirror.

He ignores them. Yet his mind starts to wonder if maybe he should just ask her why. But it’s not like she talked to him, so why she he talk to her now?

He wonders again when he catches Max glaring at him.

And again when Oscar grows concerned.

And then when George gives a PowerPoint presentation with how to communicate properly.

Yeah, ok - so this wasn’t the right way to go about this. He really wishes George and his stupid PowerPoint had come earlier.

The icing on the cake is when he comes home one day and passes Charles as he’s leaving. He doesn’t look happy at all, and honestly, Lando can’t blame him.

He goes straight to bed, face buried in the pillow. Limbs tossed dramatically like a Disney princess in despair.

“Lando?” Her small voice shreds every ounce of strength he has left. She sits on the bed beside him. He doesn’t look up and she sighs heavily. “Please talk to me.”

When he does finally look at her. Truly, for the first time in months, he sees just how broken she looks.

“What’s there to talk about?” He curses himself and his tone because she flinches away at it.

“Why are you avoiding me? I don’t understand what I did…”

He scoffs. “Don’t know what you did? Last month at your little get together? Calling me a clingy whiny bitch behind my back?” He chokes on the last part.

She looks at him, head tilted in confusion. The same look she gives when he’s trying to read directions. Confused, loving, patient. Why is she smiling?

“You didn’t hear the beginning of that did you?”

“No.” He pouts.

“Lando, love, light of my life - that was about Charles.”

His entire body freezes. It’s true that her friends like Charles and she hates when the fawn over him. Oh, he’s been an idiot. An Absolute asshole.

“I’m so sorry.” He throws himself at her and every ounce of anxiety over the past month is washed away as soon as her fingertips touch his skin.

“Charles is terribly clingy to everybody and he’s my brother. Of course he’s a whiny bitch in my eyes.” He would respond but his brain is mush at her hands in his hair.

“I just got so in my head. I’m so sorry I didn’t talk to you - George gave me the whole lecture about proper communication.”

“I Know. He said you were hopeless.”

“How encouraging of him.”

Lando pulls her on top of him. Her warmth, her skin, her full body weight is everything he ever needs to survive.

“I can’t believe you’re smiling at me.”

“I’m mad at you, but maybe we can make up.” She raises her eyes suggestively.

“I think I can make that happen.”

[o-sachi]

Dress to Impress Headcanons Pt. 1 - for WinBre Week!

ᯓ what's it like to play the roblox game dress to impress with the Wind Breaker characters? ᯓ characters; sakura haruka, suo hayato, nirei akihiko, sugishita kyotaro, umemiya hajime, hiragi toma (more characs in the next part hopefully) ᯓ tags; crack, some profanity lol, gn reader, no y/n, can be platonic/romantic

[🐟]: for day 8 - side missions prompt! (because dti is a side mission) @windbreakerweek

Sakura Haruka

"How the fuck do I win..."

It will take forever to convince him to play because apparently 'there is no way he's playing dress-up that's made for children' but will fold as soon as you tell him he's just saying that because he hates you.

He keeps forgetting where certain items are and keeps going in circles around the place. That's why he thinks 5 minutes isn't enough.

"Where the fuck are the heels with the pretty pink bows? Man." / "You're going in circles, y'know?" / "Not my fault this shit's a maze."

Pretty standard outfits. Like they're not terrible, but they're not impressive enough to get 4 or 5 stars.

He's more of a simplicity-is-beauty type of guy so that also reflects in the kind of outfits that he makes. But the kids in the server are not having it.

"What does 'ate and served' mean?"

SO SALTY WHEN HE LOSES. But he'll brush it off and pretend that he's cool about it because he is not about to let anyone know he cares about some stupid dress-up game.

Suo Hayato

"Oh, look. I got first place again~"

He was easier to convince. But only if you knew how good he'd be, you wouldn't have asked him to play with you. Why? 'Cuz your morale is plummeting by the second.

He doesn't even need to try. Suo just lets his natural sense of style bleed into the way he plays the game AND HE WINS. He's pretty and so are his outfits.

Suo knows that it's mostly kids playing the game. So when he figures out there are younger people on the server, he'll rate them pretty high to put a smile on their face. (HE'S SO SWEET).

"Suo... it didn't even follow the theme." / "But it's quite nice, don't you think?"

You notice that you rank faster when you duo with him. You've been exploiting this little feature.

"We make a pretty good team, don't we?" / "Huh? Oh, yeah. Haha totally..."

Nirei Akihiko

"OH, this one's good... No, but this one's really good too..."

Nirei is everyone's hypeman: yours, the fashion mavens', the ten year olds who can't follow the theme—literally everyone.

He actually gets better so quickly by observing the outfits of those who win a lot. Like dude is analyzing a whole ass Roblox game. Not that it's intentional—more like it's in his nature.

He falls deep into the DTI rabbit hole. You know because he eagerly waits for updates and hunts for codes on the internet.

"Heyyyy, guess who learned a new code hm?"

His face lights up when you ask him to play... as if he doesn't ask you to play every chance he gets already...

DTI actually becomes his door leading to his descent into the world of Roblox. Seriously, he starts playing more Roblox because you started him with DTI. He also starts asking the other Furin guys to play too.

"Guys, let's do an obby next." / "A what?" / "An obby." / "Again, A WHAT?"

Sugishita Kyotaro

"... I swear I can do better than this..."

This man... this man was even harder to convince compared to Sakura. In fact, you almost gave up. Soooo... you convinced Ume instead (which was easier) and in turn, that forced Sugishita to try it out.

Didn't even ask how it works. He's just reading the text that pops up and goes with the flow.

I'm sorry but... he has the blandest style out of everyone in the main Furin group. Like, he doesn't even try to win AT ALL. But, y'know, A for effort!

"Oh... I have to vote for them?" / "Well, yeah... actually no, just give me 5 stars, okay?"

He plays DTI for a grand total of 3 times, all of which were because Ume asked him to play with the rest of the guys.

He's not much of a gamer to begin with... really, he'd much rather watch you play DTI and see your dramatic reactions to whatever's happening.

Umemiya Hajime

"HAHAHA What's with these silly poses?"

It's like a switch flips in him when he boots up the game and the DTI background song starts playing. He looks waaaaay too happy playing it.

He only started playing because all the hype surrounding it. Ume just wants to be part of the conversation and that's why he tried it out.

Talks way too much in the chat. Usually people just use it to provide more context for their outfits, but Ume actually makes conversation with players there. It's pretty funny to see.

"Look. So many people added me." / "Huh... well ain't that a surprise..."

He almost threw the Ipad out of excitement when he saw that the theme was gardening. He said he had to win or he'd literally die.

A pose 28 spammer, obviously.

"Aw, my game started lagging." / "It's 'cuz you keep spamming poses too fast." / "Dang it."

Hiragi Toma

"I'm not that good at it... okay, maybe just a bit."

He's an old man so bear with him when he tells you that he doesn't even know what a 'Roblox' is. He thought it was a vape flavor by the way.

"So... I have to dress-up and make people vote highly for me?" / "Yeah, it's called Dress to Impress for a reason." / "Oh, yeah. Fair."

He barely tries, but somehow he's kinda good at it? He's not insanely amazing at putting together outfits... but for a guy who's not trying that hard—he's doing pretty well for himself.

But he'll be too embarrassed to admit it. Hiragi would click his tongue and tell you to knock it off once you start complimenting his DTI skills.

He's a bit lost with the Gen Z/Gen Alpha terms, but he's trying to learn—slowly but surely like a little baby lamb learning how to walk.

Will rate you 5 stars no matter what. Everyone else is getting 1 star. Hiragi doesn't care.

"I didn't know you could hit poses here?" / "Yeah, look at this one." / "What the fuck kinda pose is that? Who's doing that on the runway? Bffr." / "Did you just—" / "Told you I'm learning things."

o-sachi © 2024 pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

[bear-remn]

— kanato headcanon's

hii, omg i laugh a little while reading this, bc its so true! kanato can be put in a stereotype and cant get him out if that but ill do my best so i hope i dont desappoint!! and ty so much for enjoying my blog, it means a lot to me that you guys like what i write and specially my art!

so here i bring kanato, and with a little warning as well as i did with laito, kanato is also a very complex and deep character, he isnt childish all the time and definetly not a kid, he is a hole ass man with the usual mommy and daddy issues (cortesy of diabolik lovers to every character)

tw: this post has nsfw content (+18) , so if you dont like it dont read it!!

kanato was so friking difficult to draw, i dont love it but in another moment ill draw him again until i like the result.

his looks and selfcare

so, kanato, i have some thoughts, to begin with lets talk about his appearence, i like to think that kanato has the kind of ethereal beauty, maybe bc he is the one who looks the most like his mother, so the beauty is serving. kanato has round eyes and long lashes, and his dark circles juts makes his gaze pop out.

oh, and kanato gaze? i think he may be the most scary one, ofc not all the time, kanato round eyes makes him have a cute and friendly gaze and as well one that sink into you the moment he see's you with dark eyes and a terrifiying aura.

i like to think that kanato has the most pretty eyes of the sakamaki brothers, and even if his brothers may say he is kind of femenine, kanato doesnt care, he may be more of a femenine beauty but still is so godamn handsome.

i like to think that kanato does not really take care of his skin. its like shu, he has a pretty and soft skin just by washing his face with water, dont have acne even he always eat sweets, but he do use a good soap like laito, a bar soap and only for his face, and really hates when his brothers use it for their hands, kanato throws it away if that happen's.

i think kanato has a sensitive skin so he has to be carefull with what he cleans himself, one time in his teen years, kanato used ayato soap by mistake and he got urticaria, but the soap was'nt used before so kanato knew it was'nt for the dirty soap, it was just a cheap soap. since then kanato only use natural soaps, he likes lavanda ones, vanilla or coconut, he likes sweets escents. also uses natural shampoo.

kanato prefers long baths bc he enjoys the hot water, and really really hates cold showers.

kanato likes to style his hair, he doesnt have fluffly hair, so he has to style it to have more volume.

i think kanato do not use sunscreen, he thinks its dumb since he is a vampire and tecnically dont age like a human so he isnt worried for that.

and since kanato has sensitive skin, i belive he also has some sensorial issues, like he can't stand someting itchy or to rough to the touch. kanato will literally burn it, he has to feel soft clothes, like cotton or silk, and yes, he loves silk, actually, kanato has slik sheets and pillows.

i think kanato has a normal sense of fashion, like i dont get why people sometimes put kanato in lolita or cute core or whatever, kanato really loves comfy clothes and more like "grandpa" clothes, like chunky sweaters, he likes to use belts and classic shoes, dont like sneakers.

and for his body, i think he does have wide shoulders, but he is skinny bc he dont excersize, it happens the same with the sunscreen, kanato think is dumb to excersize bc he has super strenght so he does'nt really need muscles to prove how powerful he is. kanato has big and slim hands, good cared nails. i also think kanato dont have a small waist, he has a more thick waist and prominent v line, but not so much like his brothers. i like to think that kanato has a mole on his side stomach.

and he also can grow a beard but dont like it, he think he looks terrible and freak out a little every time he sees a little hair on his chin.

random stuff

so, i have a lot of thoughts in kanato.

to begin with, i think kanato has a lot of sensorial issues, like he cant stand being with a big group of people for too long, the noise of people talking or just hearing them breath it makes kanato stress out a lot. this also happens with food, if the food has a weird texture he has the instict of throw up. and lastly i think this also happens with the touch, like if he touch sticky things, clumpy or bumpy, something of a strange consistency, kanato will go crazy.

and i also think (maybe canon?? im not sure) kanato is not a cry baby, its just his way of manipulate things at his favor when he needs it. i think he only has really cried for anger in his life, not really bc he is sad.

i think kanato likes to collect figures, not teddy bears of plushies, he likes specially horror figures, like lucky boxes or just iconic horror figures. and speaking of horror, kanato is a big fan! he has maga, movies and books of horror stories, he thinks humans maybe do has good ideas but sometimes he thinks its too absurd, like zombies? where did that come from?

i think kanato likes to walk, just, go around and take long walks, it help him clear his mind and dont think too much of his mother. and its no secret kanato has a hard time in rainy day so i think he listen to music with earphones bc he feels down if he hears the rain.

i also think kanato has a special way of expressiong himself with other people, like, he takes everything literal so he says things very literal, and has a short temper, cant stand stupid or slow people (me neither kanato, i got you) it gets on his nervers.

i like to think that kanato gets the ick with a lot of things, like if he sees someone drop their food and pick it up again and eat it, kanato cant belive it, or when someone says a joke that its not funny, he gets the ick, also when someone has bad taste in music, kanato cant stand bad music.

and speaking about music, kanato is a big fan of the classics singers, but also some divas, he just likes how their voice can go so high. but he dont really like singning, he despite its but love it at the same time. vampire things.

nsfw

so... kanato is one fo a kind. maybe the most kinky out of his brothers.

so to begin with, kanatos dick, a solid 16 cm, very avegare, mostly for his complexion. is a pretty dick, with a pink tip and not pubic hair, kanato has two veins coming from the croch to his tip. and its slightly pointing up with a little curve.

(and btw, so its not too crazy, the lengts i put are when they are hard, like hard and wild. i belive all the brothers are team blood, except for subaru but thats another story)

i think kanato its a switch, but he prefer to be dominant rathen than being dominated. oh and he has a really high sex drive, but not like, with everyone, when he is into you and really loves spending time with you he get the urge to be under your skin everytime he can, but likes to make you know it too, he wants you to want it.

i think kanato can be very unpredictable, mostly bc his mood swings a lot, but if you are patience and please as he wants you to, he may become interested in you, constantly looking out for you and wanting to spend time with you, thats his love lenguage, quality time!

at first i think kanato will ask you to do things for him, and in some point he will start doing things for you, like if kanato sees you cooking he may join to help, at the begining you are in shock for his actions, so caring and nice all of the sudden, but then you will get use to it, and if you two are close enough. kanato will tease you in a cute way.

"am i suppose to be impressed by your cooking? maybe if you cook topless il be more thrilled hehe"

you see, kanato is not really a dirty talker, he has a more sooting tone and his way of speak when he wants to get you in the mood its more loving and like a smooth seductive. oh and he will call you by nicknames before having sex, but during it kanato loves to say your name or call you a good girl.

i think kanato also loves spending time with you, like a little cute married couple.

and if you two are doing any other activity he suddenly will kiss you, just bc he finds you so cute and precious, he cant get his eyes off your lips, he loves kissing you. kanato is a tender kisser, likes to feel to softness of you lips and how your tongue respond to his, and if you two kiss for a while he can get worked up "you like kisses? i'll kiss every part of you, so be a good girl, okay?" and then will start kissing your neck, likes to kiss right where the big vein in your neck pump, he can feel the blood flows through his lips and that is a turn on for him.

"you like when i kiss you here dont you?... i feel how your body tremble when i do it... you're so cute like this..."

kanato takes his time with you, likes to build up the mood and stuff. when he get enough of you neck, he'll mess with your earlobe and your chest. kanato dont love to be rough in bed so the foreplay is really calm and slow. will put his knee bewteen your legs as he suck on your tits, likes to play with your boobs, suking your nipples makes him so hard while hearing you moan softly while gripping his hair, and he loves when you hold onto his hair.

kanato is'nt a rusher but when you had enough of teasing he will take your clothes, and i mean it, kanato will tear them from your body.

"i don't care about your clothes, i'll buy you nices dresses so i can rip every one off your body"

and maybe unexpected, but kanato do likes 69, likes to eat you out so much, he think that your juices are as good as your blood, and he definetly makes you eat pinapple with him for this moment. he likes to tease your clit and sometimes will stick a finger inside you as he keeps on sucking you. and a little detail i like, i that when you suck him off, kanato doesnt realize his hips moves unvoluntary, so sometimes you may gag, and after you cum or he does, your eyes will be really watery from how many times he thrust into your troat.

oh, and he also likes to play with candles while fucking you, like when he is inside but not moving waiting for you to feel confortable, kanato will take a candle and with his powers he get the fire to melt a little so little but hot drops of candle fall into your stomach and chest.

kanato is a classic, loves missionary, mostly bc he loves to watch your face while fucking you, kanato is a slow and deep kind of guy, like he makes sure you feel him real good so he tends to take it all out to put it back again. and really loves seeing how it goes in, he thinks its very romantic to see how your bodies make one.

"you should see this... you take me so well... so good for me... you're such a good girl for me..."

and when the pace become steady he will be hipnotized by your tits bouncing, he loves your boobs. probably will stick a finger inside your mouth as he keep going.

but i also think kanato can be a player, a really kinky one.

for started, kanato likes the dinamic where he is the one in charge and you are his slave, his pleasure slave, and when he is in that kind of mood, kanato will tie you up, use his powers to make you stay still and play with you, loves to edge you, cut your pleasure gives him pleasure, hearing your cries for not cuming and desperate moans makes him really hard.

like if your are getting fingered he will take his fingers before you cum and if you attempt to touch yourself he will use his powers to make you stay still "oh... dont be a bad girl, you'll come when i say so... either way i am the one controling your body... hehe" and then he will finger you hard to make you cum, kanato loves to hear how wet your pussy get that he will ride you trough you climax by oral.

and he has make you squirt but he doesnt know how, the firts time you squirt was on a busy night, you had come a lot by that point and he just keep going even after you just cum, no breaks, so kanato was amused when he sees how you wet the bed and his legs got, he thought it was so hot that he got mad bc he didnt get to drink it all.

and if kanato feels to horny, probably for the full moon, he will get savage. starting soft and nice but at some point of the night kanato will be basically destroying your pussy, like fucking you so pussy drunk he cant stop even if you had cum before. loves to heard the wet sound every thrust makes.

"fuck... you might eat me tonight... hehe... how can you feel so good huh?... keep cuming... i have more for you" and with his sloppy thrust, cocky grind and needy eyes. dear lord.

when kanato is about to cum he will start to fuck you a little harder, and will bite you at the moment too sometimes. kanato will thrust deep as he feel it coming.

"be a good girl and take it... yes... such a good girl for me.."

the aftercare its two ways, or you and him cuddle for a while and then sleep after cleaning himself and you with wet wipes, or you two go for a snack before goign to sleeep. you know, to keep the sugar high.

and when you two are well rested he may began kissing your neck again while playing with you nipples "you deserve a reward for making me feel so good... i think you are able to take another one... right?"

── more of my content here!

[mitsua]

Watching a scary movie with them

If you're easily scared

Warnings: mentions of blood and monsters

Genre: fluff & comfort Series: Obey me! SWD?

MC 's . . . GN! Words' count: 0.666k

Will sigh all the time you're setting up your date idea because why would you want to make himself (yourself) suffer watching those devil-mocking films?

However, if you're pretty sure of watching it he'll have an arm around your shoulders all the time.

Would ask if you'd like to leave it at that whenever you scream or start shivering.

Will try his best to disuade you from this terrible idea. Because you won't only be suffering but you'll make him suffer too!

When you give him the alternative to leave you alone to watch it, he'll switch to protective partner and act all mighty and strong for you, though you know better than that.

You'll spend the next hour and a half hugging tightly and screaming so loud the other brothers would want to disconnect the TV for you.

I think he doesn't get scared that much with movies since he's played a lot of videogames genres, including horror and/or gore, so the only thing he might be whimpering for might be the extreme closeness you share when you jump in fright and hug him tighter each time a jumpscare occurs.

Will propose if you want to play a chill videogame for you to be easier to get some sleep after that terrorific hour you spent at the living room.

Overall a pretty good brother to watch them with 10/10

Horror might come with mistery most times so accepted your date idea right away.

Might be between disgusted by the bloody scenes and so intrigued as to when will the killer or creature will appear he might forget he's watching it with you.

I bet he also tries his best to guess when will the next jumpscare will appear as he senses the atmosphere change and will get it right most of the times—that would be when he turns to tell you his guessing and find you're almost dying out of shock.

Because of this he'll redeem himself by spending the rest of the night reading to you to sleep.

There's two ways you'll get him to watch a horror movie.

You tell him everyone's been gossiping about it and you wanted to watch it with him, telling him you do not know what it is about.

You beg him for a long time and offer to get as many fashion dates he might want after it.

Be mindful of your ears 'cause those will be the ones that suffer the most of everyone in the living room through the scary scenes.

Will be his excuse to keep squeezing the life out of you even months after watching it.

It doesn't really matter whatever movie you want to watch with him, however I picture he'd prefer watching a chill one. But since you told him you'd get some trinkets to make the environment spookier and more delicious as the Halloween tradition dictated in your world who would he be to deny such offer?

The biggest reaction you'll get from him might be his eyes widening or stop eating for a few minutes—once he resumes his crunching you'll know he's recovered from the fear.

Has no problem with you bear-hugging his side for as long as you want because he feels he's doing the right thing if holding him close brings you comfort. Although he'd prefer not watching you get so scared...

The worst to watch a horror movie with.

Asides from his incessant mocking all way from you picking out the movie with a frown on your face, to setting up the dark environment while trembling—he might be such an ass to start scaring you in the middle of the movie!

Be careful, get a spray with holy water or whatever to protect yourself from getting way more panicky than the average would be after watching it.

However, your dreams won't be affected by any of those horrifying monsters that appeared every now and then, why would that be?

All writings' rights reserved © 2024 Mitsua. (Credit to the respective owners of the picture and tagged anime characters.) ⌇ my navigation!

[morgana-ren]

Throwing out the idea that Astarion furiously masturbates over your sleeping body while he drinks your blood. Your blood is the first he’s ever drank in 200 years, it also dosn’t help that you keep being so nice to him. He can’t help it.

I am sorta back after months of medical troubles and I am announcing it in my normal fashion: with a reprehensible smut piece.

Warning: Extreme sexual content, vulgar language, thoughts of noncon, references to noncon, semi-dark Astarion, things that could be interpreted as sexual violence and regular violence, blood and the works.

The skulking has him feeling like more of a lowly rat than usual. He slinks quietly through the fauna like a cat stalking a canary, sneaking across the camp where he has made his own nest, his eyes darting about at every slight flicker of light and every unexpected noise. His comrades-in-arms sleep peacefully, strewn about the ground and various makeshift tents, blissfully unaware that a monster lurks within their midsts, and he fully intends to keep it that way.

As dastardly and lowly as he feels, an unknown feeling courses through him. Something that leaves him feeling strong– predatory. The weak blood of rodents and livestock thrums through his veins, every synapse sparking alive, the string and sinew of his body singing to his limbs in anticipation. Anxiety sends his thoughts racing, and yet, he is giddy as a child with mischief on the mind.

A long-denied truth demands acknowledgement, and so he finally acknowledges it. He is vampire. And he is hunting. 

Even a spawn possesses fangs sharp enough to rend flesh from bone and claws of steel, honed to a fine point. His senses so keen that he is aware of the deer that scamper in the forest and the birds coupled away in the branches of trees on the outskirts of the meadow. The pulsing of blood that rings a siren’s song in his ears, awakening the long-dead glands nestled alongside his teeth.

He finds that, for once, he is not the victim in the arrangement. No, he isn't. In fact, he is the horror, looming over his vulnerable and slumbering mark, their body entirely at his mercy— His right to his to sink deep fang and claw and anything else he might deem fit, helpless to stop him. For once, his true self shines through in the dim firelight of camp, and he is not the Astarion he has been browbeaten into seeing himself as. He is not unmolded clay, ready to be shaped at will by clutching hands and eager thoughts. He is not malleable and he shall not bend. 

He is not Astarion the spawn; Astarion the mongrel; Astarion the Honeypot; Astarion the tool to be used and discarded. He is not the meek, or the charming, or whatever else his prey finds need of. He is power and gluttonous greed incarnate. He is the prowling shadow over the unsuspecting sweet and he will take what he needs. 

He is Astarion the Vampire�� and he is ravenous.

The gentle toe-tip-toe through the grass to where his prey lies ignorant, sleeping so terribly peacefully, his silken shoes making nary a sound as he creeps ever closer. Feet light as air, graceful as a swan. Even the wind seems to disregard his presence, passing over him with hardly a fuss through his silver curls.

They suspect not a thing. Even the warrioress Lae’zel, her sharpened senses whetted like a blade, keeps her eyes sheathed shut, her breath even and her body unmoving. There is no cry of anger or protest as he approaches the clutch of blankets where you have made your rest, leering over your slumbering form, feeling all parts pure need as he observes.

Saliva slicks his ivory teeth like a slavering mutt, his hands almost shaking as he kneels on bended knee to witness the gently pulsing column of your exposed throat. It calls to him, sings to his senses, and every ounce of his being begs him to shred hungrily into his meal like a carnivore– like a beaten animal starved of nourishment. Like a dog offered scraps of offal.

But he is not an animal, and you are useful to him yet. He is dignified, but more than that, he is in control of himself. He is in control of his words and actions, and for one time in his all-too-long life, he will not yield to the whims of another, even the dark voice in the back of his mind that urges him to rip and tear and maul like the wretched thing he is. 

No, his first meal will not be one of viscera and terror and screaming, even as the idea appeals to the baser parts of him. It shall be quiet and quick as a rogue in the night, and though he would expect disappointment from the revelation, he finds that this moment shared privately with himself and only himself is something he intends to treasure. 

He has named you for his mark for this most special of occasions. Even as he knows you likely wouldn’t feel honored by such a thing, he feels a quiet sense of pride on your behalf. You are his first taste of true life. A place of high honor in the triumvirate of freedom:

His first glimpse of the sun; his first venture into the world; his first true meal. 

Gentle as a lover, he kneels over you, teeth bared, scarlet eyes flashing in the firelight. A calm hand on your shoulder to steady you, the other splayed across the grass to anchor himself. His fingers quake in both eagerness and anxiety, his hearing hypersensitive to every rustle and sigh that does not belong to the chorus of nature in the evening hours. He has committed himself to this, but to be caught is to condemn himself red-handed to the stake– a fate he’d rather avoid. 

As he leans, his teeth gliding gently across delicate, slightly dampened skin, he believes it worth the risk. 

The tang of sweat and flesh hits his taste buds as he softly glides his tongue across the pulse-point of your throat. He licks where he intends to find his feast, savoring the flavor of his intended prey. Many times he had caught himself staring, wondering what it might be like; what you might be like, and he fully intends to satiate the curiosity that had been building in his brain for weeks on end.

As he indulges himself in the thought, he finds he can no longer wait. He tells himself he cannot stall– cannot draw this out as he might’ve liked to– but the nagging churning in his gut rings above all else. He is starved and he must sate it. He does not join in the argument between the two warring forces in his mind, and instead resorts to pure instinct to settle the matter. 

His fangs dimple tender flesh at first, and then, soft as a whisper, sink inside. Lifeblood floods his mouth like a symphony of rapture, the taste of ecstasy on his tongue, and his lips clamp like a viper on your throat, eager and yearning for more. It is as liquid fire as it slides down his throat, your soft whimpering spurring in tandem with the  glory that branches through his every quivering limb and sets his mind alight. His eyes, vigilant at first, now flutter shut, allowing himself to fall into the velvet-cloaked abyss.

The thousand-year fog lifts from his brain as he drinks and for the first time since breath still filled his lungs, he feels right. 

Raw strength almost seems to inflate his lean muscle, plucking a harpsichord on his tendons. The pounding drum of your rabbiting heart beneath your ribs plays in tandem with the rush of blood in his ears. The deafening cacophony of the cold, miserable years is blasted away and finally stitches together in unison with an ethereal orchestra of utter intoxication. A preternaturally beautiful song that lulls him into the first sense of peace he has felt in years– perhaps that he has ever felt. A tune he shall never forget for as long as he lives.

His senses soar so high that he swears, beneath the deafening chorus of euphoria, he can hear the revelry as far as Baldur’s Gate. In his mind’s eye, the unsuspecting citizens of the Jewel are celebrating the birth of a new man born under the silvery spears of moonlight miles away. These many long years, he has been truly dead, and only now, he is resurrected in the swaddling shroud of blood and dark. He has been truly reborn. At one with himself at last, he thinks. At one with you. 

The blood falls easily down his throat, pooling warmly in his gut in glorious fulfillment. The delirium tendrils outward, gently coaxing bliss and promise where it caresses. His legs buckle, pale cheeks hot and flushed, some unknown sensation taking hold like a fist as he suckles and refusing to relinquish the iron grip. The low of his abdomen tingles, drawing in life like a vacuum to a place once desolate and lifeless. 

It is a feeling he cannot place at first. Something dusted and forgotten and placed far and away in his mind, out of reach. And yet, as the delectable warmth floods every inch of his body anew, he experiences it as plainly as when his heart still beat in his chest and youth was as inevitable as the rising sun. The needle-thin hairs of his body stand on end, palms beginning to sweat against your shoulder. A primal need swells in his stomach, a gentle throbbing between his thighs that translates into pain as he strains against the leather of his breeches. 

Arousal. 

Desire bleeds into itself, separate colors swirling together to become one enthralling splash on the rapacious canvas of his brain. The scalding hot bliss of the feed and the tiny, breathy mewls of your still-sleeping form. You have given him what he so desperately coveted, and now, it seems, his nature demands he take more– everything you hold dear in its entirety offered up at the altar of his superior strength and cunning and existence. 

The inherent eroticism of feeding is not lost on him, but it has never held any meaning until this moment. Lust is a cruel stranger that he has opted to spurn. Something wielded against him as a weapon– a barbed whip that has flogged and scarred him into conditioned disgust. It is unfamiliar at first, and yet it screams now with the same familiarity as every other function and twice as demanding. 

Pale lashes flutter open, doubled vision focusing in almost too sharply on your strained features: the soft furrow of your brow, the scrunch of your still-closed eyes, the soft pout of your petal-pink lips, slick with moisture from your unconscious whines of pain. He has noticed you, yes, in the way another might notice a dagger or a halberd or a stocky shield to wield. Your appearance is just one in a long line of defenses he intended to harvest for his own gain, and yet now, as he hazily stares at the shadow of your profile that flickers in the flames, he feels the unmistakable curl and coil of a different kind of need. 

Something steely clamps onto his consciousness beyond the haze of unreason. He cannot. That is too far, and something distant and shrill in his mind knows it. As desperate as he is to crawl atop and mount you, leaving you breathless and hoarse in his wake, he cannot. Some things can never be forgiven, and he has already crossed that line for his own well-being. Ravaging you as you lie vulnerable and helpless– trusting– serves no purpose in keeping him alive.

He tells himself this, his suckling receding to a temperate drawl, laving tongue and teeth across the puncture wounds. The baser parts of him cry protest, the pulsing becoming more insistent with each passing second, until it leaves him knock-kneed and clutching at the grass for purchase against the cresting tide of want. All variety of debased scenarios fly through his mind, each one more debauched than the last. 

Control and lust, two things unfamiliar with each other before now due to the cruel nature of his existence, fold in perfectly as one and sharpen into a vengeful blade he craves to use. How he longs to leave a wound as deep as the one he carries day after day, unrelenting and open as the day it was wrought. He wants to lash out, to strike, to take as he pleases as the world has taken so from him–

A wound not meant for you, he must remind himself through the hot-pink haze, even as it defies him. 

No. It is a line he will not cross. He is a monster, but he is a monster of a different breed. You have given him everything, even as you do not know it. More pragmatically, he will not give his life for one brief, violent encounter of forcefully obliged desire. He is worth more than such vile things, he tells himself, and strangely, he finds as he ponders it, so too are you. 

He repeats it in his head as a mantra, over and over, practically yelling it over the tidal wave of instinctual impulse that threatens to drag him undertow. He is his own man, and he shall not be controlled ever again; not by Cazador, and certainly not by the more wretched pieces of himself, even as they screech and claw at the cell where he has locked them away, howling their dreadful, unspeakable demands.

It does not abate. The insistent pulse of blood that brings long forgotten life to his appetite, the mortifyingly genuine urge that begs him to touch you, feel you, taste you in the ways he has not craved in eons. It frightens him, and yet, even as he longs to pull himself away, to run and run and run into the darkness where neither you nor this horrible need can find him, he does not. He sits still as a marble statue, almost as if carved in some grotesque form of this heinous moment captured in one rotten, eternal exhibit: half atop your sleeping body, clutching and panting in need, and half splayed absurdly in the dirt, straining and desperately trying to conceal his shame from some invisible force that mocks him.

He cannot have you. Even as he yearns and craves it with a fire that singes and burns his overactive nerves and imagination, he cannot. Yet, his body will not relent, demanding release from the torment that plagues both his mind and his nethers in equal form, paralyzing him in a dangerous inactivity. You won’t awaken– he has taken too much and your weakness is apparent– but the others might and he must act. Compromise is a risk he cannot take–

And still he must. 

And so, even as he should withdraw and return to the pitiful, empty loneliness of his tent, he does not. Instead, he realigns himself, as quiet and swift as the wind, still half-perched over you, but with a newly freed hand to his disposal for a contemptible purpose. It snakes the length of his torso to the waist of his breeches, his dexterous fingers undoing the laces with desperate speed and agility, his expression equal parts humiliation, shame, and anxious desire. He slides the waistband down enough that his long-neglected cock springs free, his muscles bracing and tensed as his newly blood-warmed flesh is chilled in the cool night air. Pinprick pores betray his discomfort at the crisp evening gale, but the rest of himself is otherwise occupied, consumed by his present task. 

One of his sharply tipped fangs worries at the swell of his plush lower lip as he wiggles his pants further down, both internally cursing and praising the newly unlocked spectrum of his vampiric grace that make such conspicuous actions effortless and reticent. Even as he is agile and practiced, each urgent movement feels fluid and natural. Silent as the grave and insignificant against the sounds of nature that envelop their surroundings. He does not fumble or falter, smooth as satin and with steely resolve as his palm finds his shaft and a shiver runs the length of his spine, settling readily in his abdomen.

In his previous encounters, he could put himself into working order, but nothing like this. It was a job– something that must be done, no matter how distasteful or degrading. What he feels now, it’s almost foreign to him; his cock strangely hot and pulsing with a heartbeat of its own. Heavy as sin in his hand and just as demanding, just as cruel in its insistence. Stiff and throbbing, a compass point dogged and unrelenting as it seeks to nestle between your wet, silky thighs and burrow there. It shrieks in his head, unsatisfied and wailing at his refusal to acquiesce. 

He ignores it, testing with one brusque stroke with his palm. It twitches, pleasure blooming upward through his gut even at the slightest of contact. Again, he tightens his fingers around his girth, pumping slowly as the sepulcher where he had locked away all dead semblance of lustful craving and fervor comes to life once more. As he thumbs the top, he feels the thin, sticky fluid leak from the tip, betraying his eagerness even as he pretends composure– as much composure as he can pretend in this unbelievably humiliating debacle. 

He will have to worry about that later. 

His eyes sweep over your face once more, peaceful now that his teeth no longer injure your tender neck. Your lips slightly agape, eyelashes fluttering softly as you sweetly dream once more. He imagines how different it might look if he were to uncage his urges– to allow himself the forbidden pleasure of sinking himself inside of you twice in one night. How your eyes might fly open in horror, your lips ready to shriek, little fists balled in defense, only to gasp as he pushes his length between your splayed thighs, enveloping himself in your tight, wet heat. White-hot. Exquisite. Immaculate.

The companions are gone– no, they don’t exist. It is only you and him now, you sprawled beneath him, half shock and half horror, and he– the predator that has stalked you from the shadows, the vampire in the night– taking as he pleases, as is his right. He feels your velvet walls flutter around him, trying to adjust to the cruel new thickness bullying inside them, squeezing him in the most delicious way. Your mouth is still open in a wordless cry as he plunges his tongue between your teeth, tasting a different part of you now, swallowing the desperate sounds you begin to make. 

His cock throbs against the calloused flesh of his palm as he strokes himself, teeth gritting to quiet the noise that bubbles in his throat from the blossoming pleasure that takes root and begins to grow rapidly out of control. The fantasy plays in perfect form in his head, and it almost feels real as he gathers the precum in the crook of his thumb and slicks it over the shaft with firm fingers, pretending it’s your body that wets and grips him.

You would fight and struggle– he knows you would– but you are nothing in the face of his sheer strength and dominance. Pinned by the deceptively strong muscle of his lean body, you have no choice but to follow his lead, thighs forced wider to accommodate his narrow hips, back pressed firmly against the ground by his weight. Your tits, warm and soft beneath the thin fabric of your nightshirt and begging to be squeezed, squashed against him with the frantic rise and fall of your chest.

The squeal his first thrust would rip from you would be heavenly. High-pitched and pathetic, and yet almost drowned out by the equally sweet clench of your body around his. So tight that it almost aches him, unaccustomed to the intrusion and compelled to yield to him, moulding itself to the shape of him inside of you. He slides out slow, almost callous and so terribly casual in his malice, making you feel every inch of him drag against the supple walls of your cunt before slamming in again, vicious in his impact. Your body jumps beneath him from the force, whining into his mouth. Your blunt nails digging into his arms and tearing at his frigid, stone flesh. It is futile– he can barely even feel it, and the slight sting he can is laced with pleasure and the reminder that you are at his mercy now.

He is panting, breath coming in ragged staccato bursts even as it is unnecessary to him. Pure instinct has a hold of him now, his hand working in unfailing rhythm between his thighs as he loses himself in the vision. Your injury weeps ever so slightly, and he cannot help the flick of his tongue along the twin-pocked bitemarks, leaving a thinly shining trail of blood-streaked saliva in his wake. He aches to touch you; to slip the delicate sleeve of your nightwear down and indulge himself in the softness of your body. 

He is not so subtle in his mind. He simply tears the garment, ripping it from your body with terrible ease. One hand busies itself with containing yours above your head, squeezing at the wrist to keep you captive even as you thrash, the other luckier still as it gropes and pinches your breast. Warm in his hand, he can feel your pulse skyrocketing in fear or perhaps excitement– whichever suits him most– as he reels back and cants his hips forward again. 

His hips slap against your thighs with bruising strength, your body beginning to respond to his in kind. He feels your wetness slick over his cock and lubricate his next few thrusts, heightening his pleasure. You mewl against his tongue, body arching into his, perhaps against your own will, fingers flexing and furling fruitlessly in his grasp. He settles into rhythm, cruel but precise, hips grinding with every punctuating impetus. It takes an absurd amount of mental discipline not to simply take you in furious, animalistic fashion as he longs, but he manages through the impulse, lower body moving in circular rhythm, his pelvic bone stimulating you with each contact. 

Your panicked breaths become heaving pants, flittering eyes glazing over and becoming heavy, the muscles that are pulled so tautly in defense waver and eventually flop, accepting your defeat at his hands. Perhaps you are betrayed and hurt and hateful, but you desire him. He is beautiful in the moonlight, pale as a ghost but alive and burning with unhinged need and that same fire kindles between your legs and winds and winds tighter like a top before the spin. He releases your swollen, puffy lips only for his fangs to find your throat and your cry is desperate and howling, your blood sweeter than the finest wine as it touches his tongue. 

You cannot formulate words– neither of encouragement nor protest– as he fucks you relentlessly into the ground, helping himself to your body and your blood. Only nasally, frantic cries can make it past your throat, your hands grasping at him, pleading and desperate. He hooks your thigh around his waist, fingers digging into the flesh with bruising strength, and you clamp it there, almost as if clinging to him for purchase as he bucks and snaps, snarling like a beast perched to pounce.

You are helpless and small and defenseless and vulnerable in the face of him, and he is strong and virile and predatory and fearsome. He has no need of your protection; he is the ruthless power of the night and the fear the lurks in the dark. He ravages you with no regard to the future, knowing only that he holds it in his palm, and if he wants you, he shall take you. He does not walk in shadow and skulk in fear, but boldly in the open, the world and you ripe for the plucking. 

He cannot help it. His hand is not enough. Ecstasy builds in his apex, building and bubbling at his fantasy, but he needs to feel. The hand not currently stroking himself in frantic need finds a way under the loose opening of your shirt, defying his mental mantra. The curve of your breast coaxes his skin, swelling and warm against his flesh as his insubordinate fingers find their way lower and lower under your blouse. Your nipple peaks as he gently rolls it in his careful, ghostlike fingertips, squeezing at your chest with an inhuman tenderness that only has him craving harder, more– 

Your cries would come in unison with his own, yours wailing and pathetic and squealing, and his rugged and husky and snarling. You would bare yourself to him– all of you– acquiescing to his unrelenting power. He would take you there, on the ground like an animal how he pleased and for as long as he pleased. Now you are the clay for him to shape and play with and use as he pleases, existing only for him and his wants. Your blood is in no short supply, and he sups and dines as he pleases while he uses your body to pleasure his cock and the baser parts of himself that have reignited inside of your core. You are powerless to fight him, so you give yourself over completely to him, debasing yourself for him, crawling for him, needing him. 

You’d beg for him, body and soul, so eager and ready. Desperate and pathetic. He’d fuck you until your whines became higher and higher, eventually spilling into the night in humiliating urgency as you came undone beneath him. Your legs quivering and shaking, senses gone and inhibition nonexistent. Your fluttering walls would tighten and squeeze and damn near strangle him, the absurd sound of your wetness utterly mortifying if you had your wits about you, but music to his ears. 

Harder and faster with no regard for your overstimulated crooning, he’d take you, working himself to his peak, almost rabid in his unhinged, disjointed movements. His rhythm would fail, becoming more convulsive and urgent with every plunge of his hips. He’d chase his end inside of you, the blissful heat of your body, the cadence of your moans, and snug, velveteen swaddling of your sopping cunt the closest taste of the divines he’ll ever have– that he’ll ever want. 

He’d cum inside of you, burying himself so deep that he’d be certain you could taste it. It would spill out of you as he milked himself to completion with your pliant body, heaving against your bloody neck, a hand in your hair to rip your head back and drag down against him. Bruised inside and out in the shape of him, his hands, his teeth, his cock all leaving their permanent mark. It won’t heal, it won’t ever heal, he’ll make sure of it–

It’s his– it’s his– it’s all for him and no one else. Not even the Gods could wrestle this away from him. There isn’t a force in the planes that could pry him from atop you– you belong to him, your body, your mind, your tongue, your taste, your cunt–

His cock throbs furiously in his hand, gritted pants and strangled noises escaping his throat. It is only through sheer supernatural ability that he is able to withdraw his hand from your shirt and catch himself before he slumps completely atop you, no doubt waking you with the force of it. The ecstasy spills over, unfettered bliss exploding outward from his core and sparking fire throughout every inch of his body. His eyes roll backward, head slooping forward as he works his pulsing cock, every last ounce of self-control in his ancient body holding back a howling cry. 

He spills into his palm, carelessly covering his shaft in the sticky, gossamer fluid as he milks clean the very last remnants of pleasure from himself with the fervor of a man starved of it. His toes curl in his shoes, teeth gritting to the point of pain as he withholds a sigh of euphoria. His extremities tingle as his body sags, muscles exhausted and screaming from the exertion, and he almost collapses as it fades from him as quickly as it approached, still singing beautiful contentment somewhere deep inside of him.

Sagging completely into the dirt, he lies there, bare and open to the sky: Hand defiled and dripping with the seed of his shame, sweat wetting the delicate white curls behind his ears, breeches pulled cleanly to his akimbo knees. It takes a moment for the world to settle into his foggy brain once more, but shame cuts as cleanly as a knife as the clouds of desire split and the light of reality once again illuminates the situation. 

Frantic fear takes hold of his stomach, and his head swivels towards where you sleep, calmed only by the fact that you still sleep soundly with no inkling or inclination as to what he has just done. As he glances around, the rest of the camp is equally unaware, each person neatly in their place, unmoving and unalert. His secret is his and no one elses.

He allows himself a few moments to catch the breath he does not need, wiping the evidence of the encounter into the grass with a sense of disgust and indignity as he does. He feels remarkable– alive for the first time in centuries– and yet it is marred by the yoke of scandal he feels having been bested by such an absurd thing. Overwhelming desire he has not felt since he was a young, handsome elf brimming with potential and swarming with suitors, back when his chest still beat with blood and his skin was flushed and warm rather than pale and pallor. 

It’s unfamiliar to him, and he bares his teeth at the thought. Sex is something filthy and cursed– and yet it didn’t feel so in the moment. Even now, his fingertips tingle at the thought of your puckered peak gently caressed, the soft sound of your sighs, the vulnerability you show him. He’d barely touched you and yet you sent his senses alight like a bonfire. The taste of you still lingers on his tongue, and he cannot help but savor it. As he hikes the band of his pants back up his hips, he feels shame, yes, but also something different. Something oceans away from the helpless misery he usually feels after the degrading act. 

He feels at peace. He feels satisfaction. He feels right. He does not feel debased, but empowered– almost giggly as a schoolboy at the wrongness of it all.

He chose this. For the first time he can remember, he chose this. He took control and his pleasure did not come at his own expense. It came at yours, yes, but he doesn’t like to make a habit of grappling with fragile, banal things such as morality. He is a libertine, and where he finds pleasure, he shall take it, because he knows all too well what it is to be starved of it and all that makes life worth living. 

Besides, you seem fine. Sleeping deep as a babe in the cradle, none the wiser. As he sits right and dabs potion at the wounds at your neck so as to not leave a trace of his crime, he allows himself one quiet, satisfied sigh. It disconcerts him that as he studies your slumbering body and slack face, he feels pinpricks in his core once again, whispering remnants of that desire that had unhinged him so before, but he will have to unpack that later. 

He is no fool. Something has changed, and it isn’t the strength that flows through him free as a fountain that was once clogged and stunted, nor the heightened attunement of his mind to damn near everything around him to the point of absurdity. He feels right for the first time with the blood he has stolen away with, and smug at getting away with something so risky as he often does, but more than that. 

He is a vampire fully satisfied in more ways than one, and the fulfillment and delight he feels overrides the shame and wrestles it into the quiet. 

You are something to him, though he isn’t sure what. He had not questioned why he’d picked you before, but the question begs itself now. He does not allow himself the indulgence of touching you once more. He doesn’t taste you or feel your skin. He only withdraws as silently as he came, backing off and away from the light of the fire that burns low, dying embers spitting against charred, ashen logs, his shadow stretching long before disappearing into the dark of the night. 

As he moves back to his tent, he stalks the shadows, but he does so with head held high, back straight as a bow, graceful and the very picture of pride. There’s an unmistakable grin on his reddened lips and a flush to his face not wholly attributed to the blood that now courses through him. Pieces of himself unlocked after so many years of servitude. He feels himself again, and the world feels his oyster once more. What your role is in that world, he doesn’t know yet. 

But he has a feeling he’ll figure it out soon enough.