#heavy metal yuri

[vaenyaa]

apple of my eye

[virtualgirladvance]

Here's some drafts. Sorry for potato quality, don't got access to my tablet in hospital

Here's a more readable but less authentic runic version

Hopefully will play around with more designs when they let me have my tablet back lol

I need a shirt that looks like a metal band shirt, but the band name is 'Yuri'

[magpiereplika]

sometimes i worry that being too interested in music is a masculine trait but then i remember i basically talk about it the way the girls in yuri mangas do

[mihii-i]

Pookie come here I have the greatest oneshot request idea known to women kind

Y’a know those edits where it’s a wlw Genshin ship with their Honkai look-alikes but in one of the games they’re tragic and in the other they’re happy? Imagine that but with Arlecchino and her Harbinger reader 🤭

Like imagine Pierro asks Arlecchino for help with some weird mission or smth that involves looking into other universes and then boom she sees the most heartbreaking angsty yuri plot but it’s literally just herself and the woman she’d die for

Even better if they kill each other or smth silly like that

Comfort ending tho pretty please 🙏🏻 (not for the other Arle and reader tho PFFT- so like bittersweet I think? Idk up to you pookie)

your wish is yours to keep.

CW: sfw, female reader, heavy angst, blood, war, violence, mostly from arlecchino’s pov, wlw, harbinger reader, mentions of death, yes reader fucking dies again, tragedy, I’m very evil kitty writing this, wife for both arle and reader, arlecchino actually crying omg, arle’s real name used yk the drill, fluffy at the end, guys I love writing sfw more than nsfw is that obvious, I am not feeling freaky deaky my apologies for the nsfw likers that didn’t get much detail on my recent nsfw fics, yum yum angst, my fave thing to write is angst, not proofread.

Pairings: arlecchino x fem!reader

A/N: it’s been a WHILE since I’ve written for arlecchino and honestly I miss herrrr so I’d also like to apologize for the requests that marinated in my ask box for too long because IM SO SORRY I HAVE LIKE 40 but nevertheless I hope those who were older followers and miss my arle content get fed <3 🕯️

Peculiar.

Peculiar was the only word to describe the circumstances in which Arlecchino found herself at the foot of an unending hall, the bellowing noise of her heels hitting the polished marble lingering like a frozen demand that thumped in rhythm with her heart upon each step forward toward Pierro. Everything in the hall remained frozen over in heavy blankets of snow, clouding the area in a heaping white embrace to accompany the stings of frigid air assaulting her.

The gentle scrape of another figure’s feet descending onto the marble followed Arlecchino’s painstakingly slow pace, your own rustling coat, which matched that of the fourth harbinger’s, draped over you in a thick fluff of black fur outlining the back of your neck. Alongside the white silk falling over the rest of your body, center held together at your torso as the metal of the signature Fatui crest peeking from behind the grayish lapels of your coat.

You couldn’t exactly pinpoint when or why you had taken the position as the sixth harbinger, every time you attempted to recall any coronation of sorts, you could only piece together a blur of jumbled words. As if your memory had been twisted. From what you could at the very least remember, the position of the sixth harbinger had been an empty slot, waiting for a worthy member to slip into the voided imbalance of power within the Fatui.

Arlecchino’s coat shifted uncomfortably as she masked her arms adjusting into a firm front before Pierro, the gleaming crosses on her eyes fixed on the Jester in a deathly silence. Pierro’s singular visible eye bore into the harbinger with what seemed to be a weight of intense scrutiny, icy tones of blue beholding a negative energy you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Worry? Hate? Judgement?

“Ah. The Knave and her wife.” Pierro finally shattered the silence with his flattened tone, taking in a breath to ease himself as he reclined his back to the tall chair towering behind him. Resting his chin on his knuckles as blond streaks of his goatee leaned along the dark glove, he attempted to strike out his usual firm and authoritative tone, all the while maintaining some sort of professionalism in his criticism.

“Arlecchino, I thought we agreed that this task would involve you alone. Not the sixth harbinger as company.”

She furrowed her brows, biting her tongue through her closed blood red lips.

“I didn’t see why I couldn’t. She’s not too far off in the ranks. The circumstances should be suitable for her to come along with me.”

“They’re not. I can assure you that much, Knave.”

His hand that presided beneath his chin slid forward along the circular table, expression staring daggers into his two subordinates stood in a disgustingly close space. Pierro’s coat sleeve brushed along the pearly white of the stone table, biting back the exasperated sigh he so desperately wanted to heave out at the sheer foolishness of what Arlecchino thought she could get away with. She couldn’t be attached to you. Not for this.

“Listen. This mission isn’t meant for two people. Nor does it mean that you can handle it through your physical strength alone.

The Jester’s gaze snapped over to you, even through his eyepiece, that intimadation digging in to seal your airways, freeze every drop of blood coursing through your veins with his commands was nothing short of the Fatui director’s abilities. Shrinking back in compliance, you headed back into the shadowy fogs of the corridor’s entrance, tense with each step back as you could practically feel his eyes on you with every waking moment, scanning every little step you took until the gates parted into the deep cold.

Parting her lips to breathe out a sigh, Arlecchino slumped down into the cushions of the fashionably crafted seats below her, elbows resting along the rugged stone as her nails drew out a few high pitched clinks with each tap like porcelain. Her seat was directly across from Pierro’s on opposing sides, as if the gravity of the situation she remained shrouded in the dark about kept itself as a wavering reminder of fear in the depths of the unknown.

“Are you prepared, Knave?”

Despite the openly austere front he had walled up to drive you out of the hall, his words tinged with a speck of concern in regards to Arlecchino, attempting to solidify his decision in what she would see for the sake of such a simple, yet difficult mission to dive through. In fact, it was clear that although what she was tasked with was no harder than asking a toddler to go count flower petals.

Yet the seemingly effortless and straightforward task of peeping into different universes to gather a solid probability of the Fatui gaining all seven gnoses came with a mind breaking cost. One of which would freeze the stone cold Knave herself in the sights of a full new level of hell she would have to trudge through.

Pierro- no, everyone at this point was well aware of the inseparable nature of yours and Arlecchino’s relationship. Her unyielding nature barring a sturdy wall of protection that surrounded you under any condition that called for it, a rather oddly new trait that was invoked by your presence from the otherwise ‘heartless’ harbinger.

It was fairly surprising whenever Arlecchino was cooped up beside you within the comforting confines of your shared home, snuggled up with you on her chest as one or the other scanned their eyes across the thick sheets of a book, while a steaming cup of tea sat on the glass table sat in front of the sofa. Any other member would assume she had business to take care of that involved some sort of violent slash, when it reality, it was nothing but cuddling up to her wife on the couch.

No matter what, the surging depth of Arlecchino’s bond could stun even the highest of the harbingers. As such a pure, profound budding flower of love that arose from the stems of your chests was utterly impossible in the ugly nature of this mortal realm. Yet it was quite beautiful to witness, much less ponder upon, how two people’s souls were so deeply entangled within one another to where they remained true to themselves, yet attached to the other in a way to which they became complete.

Neither you, nor Arlecchino would doubt that the two of you would remain together across every universe in the endless stream of possibilities, to which a physical manifestation of your love could swim around in rather than drown in the never ending sea.

“Arlecchino. I must warn you to just..mentally prepare yourself for what you’re about to see. All I can say is..it’s not pleasant.”

“I can handle it.”

“I’m not sure that would be true.”

She scoffed at his words, lowering her eyes as a frown crossed her features.

“Do you believe I’m weak, Jester? I’ve handled worse before.”

“It’s not that. This isn’t a matter of whether your body is strong or durable enough. In fact, it’s if your mind can handle seeing your worst fear over and over.”

He paused, resuming his words to provide information regarding her multiversal travel.

“You can’t interact with anything you see. Nor can they see you. You are merely a spectator…a ghost of sorts.”

“Hm. Does the method of transportation have something to do with Irminsul?”

“Not exactly. Although there may be a different version of Irminsul than the one you know in our Teyvat.” Pierro inhaled, pondering the most ideal way to phrase the complex plethora of information. “You’ll be sent to different universes, different..versions of Teyvat I’d say. Each one, you make a mental note of how many times we are able to successfully achieve all of the gnoses.”

She nodded firmly, her voice unwavering in low, resolute response as Pierro’s solemn look seemed to be disregarded by the absolute tone of voice she had asserted, believing herself to be fully capable of the horrors of her task. After all, she has seen many she’s cared about slip away at her fingertips on many occasions. What could possibly be worse?

You.

You could be worse.

Arlecchino didn’t want to lose you. Not for a second.

—

The world above blurred together into an unintelligible gradient of colorful patterns blended like a work of art, the beauty which Arlecchino took wonder again suddenly broken by a sharp ache spreading across every inch of her body. Shooting her eyes open, her pulse vibrated against her neck in protruding shoves against her skin, lashes fogging her vision as floods of pale sunlight sunk into her bright pupils.

Hands planted into the earth, she weakly hoisted herself up in the familiar drag of Teyvat’s soul along her palm, strands of white hair unkempt and falling over her face as she swerved her head around with caution. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Could it be possible that Pierro didn’t succeed in catching a glimpse of any other universe? However he managed to do that anyway…

Blinking her eyes open, Arlecchino finally caught a clear view of the world around her. Tranquil, basking in the serenity of a soul not in sight within the planes of nature as gentle hums of the breeze cradled the surrounding landscape. If this was what she had to investigate, then Pierro’s warning must have just been false panic stirred up to simply drive her into setting her eyes on the task at hand.

A speck of red suddenly bloomed along the once blue sky.

Then another.

What felt like mere moments plunged into the world she stood in being ripped apart in an instant, pulled forcefully open to engulf her in the now drowned out cries and screams of a war littered field, blood steeled along the blades of once swaying grass replacing the small drops of dew she had seen before. Arlecchino was no stranger to violent conflict, that was for sure. With ease, she carefully stepped through the worn down fields, scattered with the rusted steel of discarded weapons.

Her leg stretched past the limp bodies in a sickening array as to not kick the dead, mangled forms neatly laid out—as if war itself had created an artwork itself encompassing its fury. Quickly, Arlecchino had suppressed her internal disgust to keep her eyes ahead, navigating through the blinding flames swallowing Snezhnaya—likely Teyvat itself, whole.

The screams those impaled in spurts of blood trickling onto the metal to then clatter to the floor were nothing but white noise blocked out in Arlecchino’s head, no matter how gruesome the awful sight of their guts stomped on appeared to her. Pity welling up within her was nothing but weakness, a fate she could not save them from as it mattered naught to Arlecchino in the intense rampage. People die, sometimes you couldn’t save them. That was a lesson she had adhered to for years, holding back was simply the sneak of weakness that tried to leave one vulnerable, and a profession such as one in the Fatui required a ruthless front. One she couldn’t put down.

However, her fear couldn’t remain bottled up for long, as Pierro had warned her of succumbing to weakness. And as if luck had steered clear of her favor, sending a tower of bricks tumbling down onto her, she had been forced to stare helplessly at her own weakness.

“Arle..please..” you hoarsely sighed out, as dribbles of crimson spilled down your chin in a heavy downpour streaming from your chest, the sight of a gleaming scarlet scythe lodged into your body making Arlecchino freeze in horror. Her scythe.

Swallowing back the abrupt dread crawling up her spine upon spotting herself grasping the handle tightly, the black fades of her cursed hands now painted a vile red as she watched herself dig the scythe deeper. You still desperately clawed at Arlecchino’s shoulders like an anchor, fingers digging in to crease and fold the fabric of her blazer stuck to her shoulders in patches of sweat.

Arlecchino’s parallel self only gravitated closer to you in heavy breaths, taking your body in her arms as well as the scythe remained pierced across your other side, her nose digging into the warmth of your collarbone to savor your final moments in her arms.

“(Name)..? Dear? Is there one last wish you want from me?”

You nodded, hand weakly caressing the dusted lines of her cheek.

“Just..kiss me on the forehead and tell me we’ll be okay. Maybe in another universe?”

She sighed, choking back the small hiccup building in her throat as tears burned along the corners of her eyes. Her nails brushed along your nape in false contentment, as you smiled at her lips brushing along your forehead.

“Perhaps in another universe we’re fine. If circumstances were better we wouldn’t be here.”

Arlecchino’s whispers faded gradually, mixing into the howls of wind as yet another breeze that screeched in accordance with each stab of a spear through someone’s ribs. She could only kneel to the ground as she wordlessly grasped your lifeless body like a vice, breathing shaky and ragged with each moment of what she had to do replaying in her head over and over in the repeat of a broken record. It only served to rip out her heart piece by piece sadistically, the pain in your expression etched into her skull and ringing to torment her as the eternal crime of taking her own beloved’s life.

Even if she had to, she felt like shit.

Shallow breaths accompanied the subtle shivers that racked her body in rapid successions, Arlecchino’s eyes wide and hands trembling at the sight of herself hemming your lifeless body in her arms. Finally, she understood the horrors of what she had to trudge through for the sake of a simple task, the heat eating away at her sanity, drying through clothing to burn away at her skin like a manifestation of rage, sorrow, fear, everything that swirled together in her head upon seeing your corpse stained with blood.

Lightless eyes bore into her own as Arlecchino stared at the memory that would forever be seared into her like an accompanying curse, her eyes unable to look away at the way your body was laid besides a singular living lakelight lily on the field no matter how badly she wanted to. Thankfully, even as a small wash of relief for your very corpse’s peace in this god awful universe, she was grateful you were laid beside a singular living flower, away from all the fighting bellowing through the throes of battle off in the distance.

Watching as the other Arlecchino gently masked your eyelids shut, bidding you to rest as she stood up to dart back into the field, Arlecchino stepped forward to kneel beside you. Her translucent body simply ghosted through your splayed out arm, frustration boiling with her as she repeatedly attempted to hold you in her arms, before recalling Pierro’s statement that she couldn’t interact with the other universe, nor could they see her.

“What made you seek death like this my love..?”

She wept silently, that same unfeeling expression locked onto her face through the trickling salty tears staining her cheeks like that of an angel of grief. Unable to understand the motivation for you wanting her to kill uou was natural after all, the details of this universe’s memories and information was all altered in this universe’s Irminsul, yet she didn’t have the heart to check. Not after what she saw just now. She didn’t want to be plunged into an agony of truth just yet.

No matter what your reason could have been, Arlecchino would understand. It must have been painful for this other Arlecchino to come to terms with it, especially if it was in fact her with the same feelings and thoughts. Of course she had carried out every request and wish from you, so who would she be to deny this one? Especially for the greater good of your lives.

In every universe, your wish is yours to keep.

Her lingering kiss ghosted through your forehead only left an empty hole gaping in her chest through the sweltering flames she wasn’t supposed to feel, breaths shaky and jagged as she rose back to her feet to make her way through to any Fatui establishment left intact.

They failed here. The gnoses were not obtained.

—

“In 23 out of 47 universes, we succeed.”

“Understood. Meaning we have nothing short of a decent chance here. Thank you for your cooperation, Knave.”

She huffed out of acknowledgment, sweat pooling up along the corner of her head as she hid her shaky hands in her coat. Pierro, who had taken notice of this, didn’t make it a priority to pry further, pitying the woman who had underwent a flurry of emotions based on varying outcomes from various universes. He had decided to give her some space as he had warned her, dipping his head in acknowledgment of her success.

“You’re dismissed now.”

Arlecchino delivered a brisk nod, yet her swift energy in the nod remained contradictory to her being drained from the inside, everything she had seen of you two opening a pit of despair dropped at her stomach.

Her already soulless eyes beheld an overwhelming tempest of agony, the abrupt cold air batting along her cheek leaving her unfazed as she stared down at the thick snow bundled below her feet, imprints left with each hollow step she crunched into the white blanket over Snezhnaya. The cold’s sting was but a pinch now, passing the pain she had underwent in her own personal hell, no pain could compare to seeing the woman she loved, the woman she’d die for happy in one moment, and dead in the blink of an eye.

By the time she had reached the hotel room that was accommodated for both Arlecchino and you—courtesy of the Jester for your stay in Snezhnaya for the the mission, she only scanned along the patterns of the wooden door in search of something she wasn’t even sure of, blinking rapidly as her draining exhaustion crept up on her. You opened the door to greet your shell of a wife, staring aimlessly at the floor to your concern.

You couldn’t help but notice the dark circles lined beneath her eyes, complimenting her faded lipstick in small tones of pink to accompany the once deep red. Her hair was messed over from her usual well combed style as the thin ponytail behind her draped loose to the bottom, slightly exposing more stray strands peeking out from behind her neck.

“Uh- Arle are you-? Woah!”

Arlecchino’s uncharacteristic hug had thrown you off guard, eyes wide as the other harbinger’s arms pulled you to her in a tidal wave like embrace, nose digging into the crook of your neck.

“I missed you.”

“I- uh- missed you too! But what’s with the sudden hug, dear?”

“Nothing.”

It took quite a bit of strength to pry the stronger woman off of you, grasping her shoulders as you stared back at her signature deadpan expression, now fresh with tear cracks running down her cheeks.

“Wait, Arle..are you crying?”

“I am not.”

“I can literally see a few tears on that dead face of yours!”

“Allergies.”

“Peruere it’s fucking winter in Snezhnaya!”

You sighed, taking her hand as you shut the door behind you in a prolonged creaking noise as you beckoned her to sit on the couch beside you. Complying, the woman merely took her seat in silence, not so much as a hum elicited from her as the only audible noise in the deafening silence was the clock ticking, alongside her deep, drawn out breaths. Carefully, you pushed a small porcelain cup atop a gold rimmed plate on the table in her direction, the small squeak as the fine material scraped along the glass not being enough to cut through the silence.

“Er..I made you tea earlier for when you came back but it’s cold now..sorry.”

Arlecchino took the handle between her thumb and pointer finger, eyeing her reflection rippling in the clear, golden brown waves of the cool cup. She parted her lips in a quiet exhale, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth before sipping the cold tea.

“I love you, (Name). In every universe.”

Your gaze softened as you took the cup from her hands to replace with your own, touch feather light as your thumb circled the callouses of Arlecchino’s palm as they brushed along your own. The reminder of both of your professions as harbingers together.

“Arle..you don’t have to tell me what happened, but whatever did, I promise I’m not going anywhere. I love you forever and ever, okay?”

A wordless nod was all that was delivered from the white haired woman, the cross in her eyes blinding out of sight the further her eyelids dropped as she inclined to the tender embrace of her lover’s arms. Head dropping atop your chest, she pressed her cheek flush to the fabric of your clothing as close as possible, attempting to catch every little heartbeat and breath earned from the silence of her listening in.

She would protect you with all she had.

Anything to give this universe’s version of herself and the woman she adored a life of everything she could desire, one that spanned across every other multiverse that rooted and acknowledged the depth of your bond together.

A/N: OKAY OKAY first half was decent, middle was kinda trash but the third part of the fic ate so id like to say im seldom proud of this fic I’ve crafted anyway Arle fans eat well I missed feeding you guys and I haven’t written her in so long omg

Also uhhhh I kinda sorta haven’t played genshin in a really long time IM SORRY NATLAN WAS BOOTYCHEEKS I COULDNT BRINF MYSWLF TO PLAY IT HOLY SHIT I miss Fontaine but yeah this was fun to dooo <33

[the-kr8tor]

I just saw that your requests are opennnn. Would you be so kind to write something with alt/goth/heavy lipstick wearer r kissing Hobie's face and leaving kissing marks?? Maybe Hobie kisses r back and since he's also a lipstick wearer he leaves marks on r face too! And mayyybe they're not fast enough (or they just don't care to be seen like that) and their friends are just like, damn those lovebirds

As always, only if you feel comfortable to! Or in case that you have a similar prompt I'd love to read it! Take care and drink water bb love ur brain 🖤🖤🖤

Aisbwijsjwjsjs so cute!! Thank you for requesting! 🩷

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except they're mentioned wearing makeup), lots of smooches, lovestruck Hobie, Fluff!

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You're incredibly glad that Hobie made this long vanity for you and him because now you can enjoy the view of him sitting next to you while he puts on his show makeup complete with dark smudged eyeshadow and black lipstick. Your hand is paused around your own lipstick, (a deep wine shade to compliment the same colour of his guitar) eyes ogling his own expert hand as he glides the lipstick on his lips.

Hobie notices of course, he flicks his eyes over to you, mirroring your position, smiling at your lovestruck gaze. “Careful,” he rubs his thumb across your bottom lip, “you're droolin’”

You gasp, feigning offense but you don't move away from his touch even though he has smudged your own lipstick. “No I'm not.” Shaking your head, Hobie rubs the slight red tint from his thumb to his own lips. You swear your brain short circuited right there. “You…” you practically sigh the word, “smudged my lipstick.”

Hobie, being the menace that he is, hops his chair closer to you. Head on his palm, face leaning close, eyes that are illuminated by the vanity lights roam all over your pretty face that you've painstakingly made up for his show. ‘for inspiration while you're on stage,’ you said, but you'd be a distraction for him, the best kind of distraction. He can see your breath stuck in your throat. “I think I made it better actually.”

“No you didn't.”

He now has his arm looped around your waist. Metal bracelets and rings clinking against each other. “How'd you know? You haven't seen your face yet.”

You tilt your head, mimicking his position, smiling as he rubs the small of your back. “I can see myself perfectly in your eyes, Hobie.”

“Yeah, and it's a bloody good sight.” You already know what he's about to do before he even leaned close. Your hand is on his chest as he peppers your face with quick affectionate kisses, your giggles echo around the bedroom, fingers curled around his belt loops to pull him closer, making him peck you more fervently.

“We're gonna be late—!”

“I–” kiss, “don't,” he smooches the tip of your nose. “Care.” With his lips puckered over to the corner of your lips, he finishes with finesse by kissing your lips, mixing in both dark shades, a perfect combination of the two colours. “There, I never thought you'd look more gorgeous, but ‘ere we are, eh? I love that colour on you.”

You inhale for air, peripheral vision looking at the mirror, showing you your face that's covered in black kiss marks in various opacity. “I think you're right,” you nod with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “But I think we gotta match for this look to work.”

Hobie laughs wholeheartedly. “Hit me, love, make me look bloody fit.” His eyes are already closed, bracing for your kisses.

“That's impossible, you're the fittest man alive. Anymore than that you'll kill the crowd.” Your hands cradle his face, lips puckered, smooching him to hell and back.

—

Ned checks his watch for the umpteenth time, groaning impatiently at the empty space in the green room where Hobie is supposed to be already sitting with you lounging next to him.

“Where the fuck are those two?” He stomps his foot, “we need to be on stage in five!”

Yuri sighs, mindlessly playing with an imaginary drum to keep her hands occupied or she might end up eating the whole bowl of green skittles. “Don't know, let's hope they don't show up with hic—” the door creaks open. Yuri and James’ loud laugh echoes around the space. “Fucking hell! That's a lot worse than I thought!”

Ned twirls in his swivel chair, groaning, head in his hands. “What the hell am I supposed to do with you two? We're supposed to be punk!”

You grin at the band, hand holding Hobie's, squeezing him giddily. “What?” You both say simultaneously, looking oh so innocent. You look at Hobie who's covered in your kiss marks, lopsided smile on his lips, eyes shaped like hearts for you.

Hobie's heart is full at the sight of you covered in his own kiss marks, from your forehead to your neck, you're covered in it. He looks back at his band, Yuri's on the floor laughing with James who has his camera taking dozens of pictures, and Ned just shakes his head at the two of you. “C’mon now, before the crowd gets antsy, yeah?” They're gonna like his new look.

[ophanum]

" The thing with an order is, it needs to benefit everyone to hold power. It's pulled in all directions at once, balanced on an fundamentally impossible idea.

⚘( ၴႅၴ MASTERLIST IN HEAVY CONSTRUCTION !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ ALICE IN BORDERLAND !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ ARCANE !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ ASSASSINATION CLASSROOM !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ ATTACK ON TITAN !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ BEYBLADE BURST !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ BLACK BUTLER !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ BLUE LOCK !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ BUNGOU STRAY DOGS !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ CASTLEVANIA !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ DEATH NOTE !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ DEMON SLAYER !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ DISNEY !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ DORORO !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ DURARARA !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ GOTHAM TV !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ HAIKYUU !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ HAZBIN HOTEL !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ HELLUVA BOSS !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ IT !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ JUJUTSU KAISEN !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ KUNG FU PANDA !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ LOOKISM !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ METAL FAMILY !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ MORIARTY THE PATRIOT !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ MY HERO ACADEMIA !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ NARUTO !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ RECORD OF RAGNAROK !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ RED DEAD REDEMPTION !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ SAIKI K !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ SK8 THE INFINITY !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ SPY X FAMILY !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ TOKYO GHOUL !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ TOKYO REVENGERS !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ THE BOOK OF LIFE !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ YOUR BOYFRIEND GAME !

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ YURI ON ICE !

Currently active on : BEYBLADE BURST

[holographic-mars]

MAAARSSS do you have any mcb headcanons or theories?

EHEHEEE I Don’t really have any theories yet and ! I don’t have many hcs but here are the few I do have!!

Since cardbots can’t be kept in the Metal Breath all the time they rotate sleeping in the Metal Breath and out of the Metal Breath to keep everything healthy and well working. When they aren’t in the Metal Breath, they usually sleep in a pile. They usually pile on top of their bigger comrades for warmth and safety. This meant Black Hook, Fleta Z, eventually Heavy Iron (despite his grump and protest) tended to be at the bottom of the pile.

Cardbots partake in communal grooming to strengthen bonds and trust as well as keep everyone clean, a lot like primates do! Jun and co. figure this out, of course, and make sure to keep the bots clean and strengthen his place in the family.

Jun makes sure to give every new member a good clean (when and if allowed by the bot) to establish their place in the family as well as his own

Aside from his crewmates, Buffalo Crush always goes to Yuri first to get cleaned. She is always happy to oblige when she has the time. She loves her little Buffy

Grooming also alllows teammates to get familiar with the weaknesses in each bot’s frame so that in battle, they know what needs to be protected

Wild Guardy tends to be more solitary and picky about who he allows to touch him. This also goes for who he will sleep next to at night

Upon being brought into the team, Rock Crush was very weary and panicky about who he let groom him and care for him. After a while, Glober had to stop by frequently to help him ease into the family

The cardbots never know how to reciprocate the grooming to their human companions, so they kinda just. Ruffle their hair

There isn’t any kind of discrimination or weirdness about disabilities/illnesses. Physical or mental. Upon finding out that a bot has an impairment, such as with Phoenix Fire or Rock Crush, proper adjustments are made with ease.

ANYWAYS!!!!! THATS IT!!!!!!!!! Thank you for the ask this was very fun. I’m sorry it’s all lame and domestic I’m just too soft and squishy .

[jevilowo]

TEAM ASCENDED FORTRESS 2

An AU by me in which the mercs ascend to their ultimate forms

Oh God tumblr wrecked the quality-

More about the AU under the cut!

WOKE SCOUT: she started taking estrogen and instead of fixing her it made her worse. She gets into fights on twitter about neopronouns and has successfully cancelled everyone she doesn't like at least once. However, as cancel culture isn't real, this only lasted about three seconds for each. She managed to pull Ms Pauling also which is pretty cool.

SOLDIERSUNE MIKU: the ghost of Shakespearicles told him to dress as Miku and redo the salem witch trials. Only knowing one witch (Merasmus), he finished this quickly and now roams the country with Zhanna (who is now Zhannagane Miku after Mikus metal counterpart) spreading malice and wonder through the power of AMERICAN SONG COVERS. He uses a wig for the Miku effect, but is working on growing his hair out also.

MITOSIS: Pyro and Engie were shagging one time and they came so hard they did mitosis. Now theres 23 babey Pyros (count em) and Engineer is a single dad. There's a lot of Pyro Mitosis Lore™ in my head, but the basics are that they evolve into either humanoid, beastial, demonic or celestial Pyros eventually.

TAVISH, KING OF THE LOCH NESS: he did it he blew up that bloody sea monster and now he is king of Loch Ness. The self loathing has died down a lot which is great for him but his body is still a scrumpty distillery which is eh. Still, he has funky water powers and his partners Soldiersune and Zhannagane come to visit often.

KEEPER OF TIME AND SPACE GUY: Heavy was mad, he knew he'd been had so he shot at the sun with a gun. Instead of being a show off like that bitch Juno, he had a nice philosophical conversation and chess match with Time and impressed Time so much he was appointed as the guardian of Time and Time's partner, Space. His guns (the six angel thingies pictured) can turn into celestial weapons which helps in the protecting but people don't shoot at the sun so often so its a relaxing enough gig really.

GODDAMMIT ENGIE: after realising how much more efficient Gunslinger was than a lame ass human hand, Engie succumbed to his hubris and eventually replaced all his body parts with robot parts. Including his dick which led to the Mitosis Incident. Anyway. His chest is a dispenser which makes projects pretty convenient and he has a mini-sentry attached to each arm and leg, making him a walking weapon. This did not help with the god complex, but it helps with the single father thing.

THE INFERNAL DOCTOR: Medic kept attaching more souls to his own and selling them to Satan for power. Satan got so sick of this eventually he attempted to beat the shit out of Medic. By now Medic was slightly more powerful than Satan so this ended with Medic absorbing Satan's powers and basically taking his place. Somehow, his relationship with the guy who is now a celestial being was unaffected by this. If they really tried they could probably ascend even further. To godhood, perhaps. In any case, Medic becoming The Devil from The Bible did nothing for the god complex.

???: Sniper just kind of fucked off into the woods one day god knows what happened to him but Scout's convinced she saw him for like three seconds a week ago and "YOU GUYS HE HAD ANTLERS I SWEAR-"

RETIRED AND BECAME A FUNCTIONING MEMBER OF SOCIETY SPY: yeah. He's very happy with Scout's Mother (Maureen), and he's letting his roots grow out (his spy agency made him dye his hair black). He's even making an effort to be a good parent to Scout, bought her the trans flag ipad cover and everything, but she just keeps trying to cancel him. Maureen's sure they'll work it out between themselves eventually, but until then she has to keep finding more secure hiding places for the ipad (the best so far was the time she buried it under a tree a mile away, took Scout at least four hours to find and retrieve it that time)

There's also YURI MS PAULING, in which she pulled a whole polycule of beautiful women, but I'll cover her in another post.

Also TERFS DNI please. Woke Scout is just Scout being Scout (which is to say a bit stupid), and assuming all trans women are like that would be ridiculous. So fuck off.

[cr00glasses]

Hey I'm Dipper HE/HIM 17yo

I regret deleting my old account so bad

I draw, Im into different fandoms

I like yuri

Favorite music genres are heavy metal, j-rock, punk rock

Dm me on discord (dipper02229) I'm almost always active there

[xi4oyan]

If your still open…can I get dragon girl yuri.

(Mei x WesternDragon!Reader)

Hope you like ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა

↺🪽↺🪽 If that is what you wish ↺🪽↺🪽

The city gleamed with neon lights as Mei sped her dragon-motorcycle through the night sky, the turbines roaring with pure energy. The wind tousled her hair, and she smiled, adrenaline coursing through her veins. But her mind was elsewhere—or rather, on someone else.

Ever since she met you, something inside her had changed. You were unlike any dragon she had ever known. Your body was strong and imposing, four firm legs, immense wings slicing through the air with ease. Your scales shimmered with a metallic glow, reflecting the city's lights like a living jewel, and your curved horns resembled lightning ready to strike. Unlike the long, serpentine Chinese dragons, you were a Western dragon—ancient, powerful, a living legend.

Mei landed on the rooftop of a building, knowing you would be waiting there. Your silhouette stood against the moon, a majestic shadow among the skyscrapers. You turned your head toward her, eyes glowing like embers.

"You're late."

Mei grinned, removing her helmet and shaking her hair free. "Or maybe you're just too early?"

You huffed, releasing a wisp of smoke from your nostrils. "And why did you call me here, little heir of the White Dragon?"

She hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward, feeling the warmth radiating from your body. "Because I can't stop thinking about you."

Your dragon eyes narrowed, surprised. Mei continued, her voice softer. "Since we met, my mind has been in turmoil. You are different from anything I've ever seen. Strong, fierce… but also someone who makes me feel alive."

A heavy silence settled between you. The city pulsed below, but in that moment, only the two of you existed.

Then, you slowly lowered your head, allowing Mei to step closer. She lifted her hand and touched the warm scales on your chest, feeling the energy vibrating beneath them.

"I am a dragon of war," you murmured. "My nature does not match yours."

Mei smiled. "And what if I told you that I don’t care? That I want to know every part of you, even those you fear to show?"

You let out a deep sigh. Then, in an unexpected gesture, you wrapped Mei in your enormous wings, shielding her from the night wind. She chuckled softly, feeling the warmth surrounding her.

"Then, heir of the White Dragon…" you murmured, your voice filled with tenderness. "If that is what you wish, I will stay by your side."

Mei closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the feeling. When she opened them again, her green eyes sparkled with emotion.

"Forever?"

You smiled. "Forever."

[eternalera]

i really want togachako where toga is in a heavy metal band as the lead singer and ochako is in love with her... she also loves heavy metal- OR theyre just both popstars and in love with each other like i just dig band/music aus man. and i need the yuri to be happy

[stoutguts]

My own personal Hybrid AU??? (Also, Omegaverse). Chock full of my own personal headcanons and ideas. Unorganized/kind of rambling, really just trying to put all my thoughts to paper.

PART 1 CUZ ITS LONGER THAN I THOUGHT IT WAS GONNA BE 💀

German Shepherd and Border Collie mix/Shollie hybrid/alpha Soap, and gray wolf and Great Pyrenees mix/wolfdog hybrid/trans omega Ghost. Great Dane and Bloodhound mix hybrid/beta Yuri. (Weredogs, puppy Ghost, puppy Soap, and puppy Yuri teeheehee).

(Simon has their ears cropped and tail docked (and not by choice). It’s ears and tail were severely mutilated, when tortured and held captive by Roba. They had no choice but to crop and dock their ears and tail, as they were disfigured beyond repair. He has metal/silver canine teeth, black and white alternating/“domino” nails/claws, and a pink nose and paws pads. Scarred all over,—but more distinctive features include; a scar across it’s lips (that it got while being tortured and being held hostage by Roba). A large crooked and broken nose, (having never healed quite right and has been broken countless times). A nick/scar across the bridge of their already mangled nose, (if their punched or smacked from just the right angle when wearing their hardshell mask, it cuts into them, (the wound/scar often being reopened and never being allowed to heal). Johnny carries around a few extra masks or balaclavas and extra gauze in his med pack just for when this happens, as he knows they hate the smell of blood and the feeling of it soaking their mask, (it’s a sensory thing that drives them nuts). It has a scar that cuts across the side of it’s cheek, cutting down through the jawline, and stopping at the side of it’s neck, (it got it while being held at knifepoint, the jackass went as far as to flay a good patch of it’s skin off). As well as, a large, jagged scar that wraps around their neck, (they got this after they nearly had been choked to death with some barbed wire). (Which permanently fucked up it’s mating gland and it’s most important scent gland. Since then, their hormones have been out of wack, and their heats are almost always irregular. It’s scent has been forever tainted. Instead of their previously sweet smell,��a combination of vanilla, lavender, and chocolate.—It’s scent is now similar to a mixture of rotten flesh, blood, and gasoline. (Though it hasn’t deterred their boyfriend one bit 💖). Not to mention, the barb wire had dug so deeply into their throat at one point, that it severed a few of their vocal cords. They have a characteristically hoarse and raspy tone to their voice because of that). He wears a heavy steel chain collar, with a silver tag that states its name, callsign, task force, rank, and blood type. They’ve got an identical chain leash to match too. It's eyes are positively striking, one is a honeyed brown, while the other is an icy blue. It’s fur is long, and is fluffy and/or downy, but equally coarse and wiry. They have a pure snow white coat that requires a shit ton of regular grooming, as it easily gets matted or dirty. Ghost uses purple shampoo to maintain the color of his coat).

(Johnny has nicked ears, one ear is pointy, while the other never really perked up, and is half-floppy/flopped down. Although he’s littered with scars,—new pink ones and white old ones,—he’s got some particularly distinctive ones; a scar from a bullet wound on his shoulder (from when he’d been shot by Graves), his scarred temples (from when he had nearly been killed by Makarov). The scar on his chin (which he got when he was a teen, at his lowest, self-harming). He's got a ring-like scar that wraps around one section of his tail, with tufts of fur missing. The scar cutting through his eye, (which he got when his abusive mother threatened him with a kitchen knife, in the midst of a particularly heated and escalating verbal fight. An altercation ensued, and as he attempted to disarm her/snatch the knife away from her, she slashed him with it, and it just so happened catch his eye. The witch was hardly remorseful, even after he’d gone blind in that eye, (though it definitely could’ve gone way worse). As well as, past s/h scars all over his thighs, arms, and shoulders. His scent is a concoction of pine, tobacco, and whiskey, and weirdly more pleasant than the average alpha’s scent. He wears a rope collar with a gold tag that says his name, callsign, task force, rank, and blood type, with an identical rope leash to go along with it. He’s got long, soft, and silky fur, that requires a bit of upkeep. Regular brushing and bathing usually does the trick just fine. His coat is sabled and tricolor, dark brown, charcoal black, and off-white. One of his eyes is a beautiful ocean blue, deep, vibrant and full of life. The other is discolored, a baby blue, shallow, lifeless,—but will somehow stare into your soul. He’s also got one metal/gold tooth/canine, white claws/nails, and a marbled pink and black nose and paw pads).

(Yuri's ears are cropped (by choice,—when his large ears were floppy, they’d get in the way all the time). His tail remains natural. His ears are pierced, one ear has one gold earring, while the other has two that are silver. He's smooth-coated, with a black, white, and ash-brown harlequin coloration. He has black claws, and a black nose. His paws/paw pads are heavily scarred, (acid burns), with fur missing. He also has quite a few scars from bullet wounds. His scent is a faint smell, and is a blend of eucalyptus, old books, and blueberries. His eyes are a grayish-blue, a bit dull, but pretty. All of his teeth and fangs are made of metal/steel. He wears a white leather studded collar, with a studded white leather leash to match. His collar has a patch on it that states his name, task force, rank, and blood type).

Gaz and Roach are Werecats, (kitty Gaz and kitty Roach hehehe). Kyle is a Panther hybrid, and a omega. While Gary is a Lynx hybrid, and a beta.

(Gaz has two particularly nasty claw marks over the center of his back and chest, and a single knick in the tip of one of his ears. They got the claw marks on their back and chest when a sparring match between them and Roach went terribly wrong. While, he got the knick in his ear from a bullet just barely missing their target, and grazing him. They have gold and silver canine teeth, white nails and claws, as well as a black nose and beans. Kyle’s eyes change color between forms and when shifting. Hazel normally, but full-on amber when in feline form. He has a beautiful sleek and silky, waterproof, jet-black coat, (though their spots are more pronounced than that of the average Panther). He also has very tough claws that can shred through just about anything. Their scent is an amalgamation of citrus, peppermint, and freshly brewed coffee).

(Roach’s got a pretty unique scar that covers their nose and the tip of their muzzle, as well as, a diamond-shaped scar over their Adam’s apple. They got the scar on their muzzle from a grenade exploding dangerously close to their face and badly singeing them. While, the diamond shaped scar is something they got when they had been captured by enemy forces, and were tortured for information. Because they wouldn’t talk, the torturer removed their vocal cords. “If you won’t speak, you might as well never speak again”. They had always been a person of few words,—and were promptly stripped of the very few words they did have. One of Gary’s ears is tipped/cut (and not of their own volition). Before they joined the 1-4-1 and prior to climbing the ranks, they were bullied harshly by their superior officers and taken advantage of. They were beaten up, called names, etc. Their callsign "Roach" was even originally a way to mock them and degrade them further. Eventually, they had enough and decided to stand up for themselves, and that was when they held them down and tipped their ear. Not only physically harming them, but humilating them by marking them as a feral cat, as one last hoo-rah. Thankfully, they're much better off nowadays with their current squad. They feel at home in the 1-4-1. They've also begun to see that their name isn't something to be ashamed of, but rather proud of. As it shows that they're one tough sucker to kill,—a tricky bastard. They’re a bit snaggletoothed,—some of their teeth are chipped. One of their canines has the tip broken off of it, while another one of their canines is metal/silver. They have white nails/claws, and a marbled pink and black nose and paw pads. They have massive paws and strong legs. Their eyes are a gorgeous emerald green, and really stand out. Their coat is a mix of grey, brown, black, and off-white, spotted, soft and fluffy.—But long, and requires regular care and grooming. (Fortunately, Gaz and them groom each other 💖). Their scent is a faint smell, but a fusion between butterscotch, vinegar, and freshly done laundry).

TBC SOON—

[industria-adastra]

[PMMM] And so, I fell in love alone - CHAPTER TWO: i can't grant your wish for freedom anymore

Summary: and so, Scheherazade dreamt for a thousand and one nights, and was saved out of love.

Pairing: Kriemhild Gretchen/Akemi Homura

Note: Happy Valentine's Day, have some horror yuri! This became a lot longer than I expected it to be. Mostly because I ended up putting in a lot of symbolism and imagery than I expected to. Also, here's the ao3 link.

TW: It's entirely implied but chapter two is a lot more violent and contains implied highly dubious to non-consent in the second-to-last scene, so read at your own risk. If you do not want to read about an unhealthy relationship featuring Homura's sanity being chipped away, do not read this fic.

Prev

-----

Homura should’ve pulled the trigger.

Should’ve, could’ve.

Had to. 

She didn’t.

Because she was weak. Because she was stupid. Because, because, because— 

Because she had done it once, but couldn’t bear to do it twice, with Madoka’s smile still seared behind her eyelids, with the churning in her stomach every time she saw her alive and so ordinarily happy. Every time she reversed the clock, the ghosts of the future past would always be there, strangling her with not “what-ifs,” but “already done”. 

And so, the gun had only shaken in her trembling hands, slippery and cold. Rain thundered down upon her, white noise rang in her ears, and the pressure had crushed her down to the mud. Her breaths had come out heavy, heaving, quickening bit by bit. Staring at the pulsating, crystalline egg, she tried to re-orient herself, with clammy palms and bloody nails raking across the gun’s metal as she shifted her grip. With a weak cry, and a gulping sob, she roughly aimed the gun once more, holding her breath as her gaze met with a shining pink. Her finger was poised on the trigger, ready to fire (not true, not true; it was as straight as possible, almost as if it were running away).

Of course, she knew how this story would end. Knew how it would always end from now on.

She didn’t pull the trigger.

A starry kaleidoscope exploded into view before her eyes, bright and painful like a distress flare. Bright and loud like a gunshot. 

Bang! Homura woke up. Eyes wide, breathing quick. As always, she was surrounded by stolen military goods, bomb-making materials, and dirty food packaging. As always, the clock’s never-ending tick, tick, tick echoed in the still space, louder and louder. Every tick gradually sounded deeper and deeper, more akin to a knock, knock, knock. Or maybe it was the thump, thump, thump of heavy footsteps, stalking closer and closer. Homura didn’t dare move, didn’t want to move.

She wanted to sleep; fatigue having sewn her to the bed. Sprawled out with heavy limbs, she tried to do just that. Homura’s eyes closed as she took slow, deep breaths, letting herself be lulled into unconsciousness again.

-

Soft hands gently threaded through her hair, separating the damaged strands and braiding them in practised movements. Not too loose, but not too tight. Madoka had always been so careful with her hair; combing it from the bottom rather than roughly dragging it through from the top; never yanking at it. In timelines where they had been closer, Madoka would sometimes gift her a bottle of shampoo and conditioner—always the same brand, the same combination of rose and sweet almond oil. In later timelines, it was one of the reasons why Homura felt like she could bring herself to shower.

Homura could hear Madoka humming as she worked, the same old tracks from ClariS, recently released just a few days ago. Hearing her, Homura was content to stay silent with her eyes closed, to listen and bask in her contentment. As she did so, sometimes Madoka’s fingers would glance across her nape—later on, her back—making Homura shiver ever so lightly every time they did so. 

All too soon, Madoka’s hands left her hair. The weight of her braids rested on her back as perfectly halved sections. Homura allowed herself a moment of silence before opening her eyes and turning around to thank Madoka.

No one was there.

-

“Ding-dong!” The doorbell rang. Abruptly cut out of her dreams, Homura groggily didn’t recall having invited Madoka over this time round. It was still too early to do that. (No, no, it’s too late to do any of that now). Maybe it was an NHK salesman. Maybe it was a cultist. Maybe it was her current neighbours, either that detective and his blond roommate on the right side, or the tired office worker on the left. The detective was always so nosy and always so annoying to evade. He probably figured out about the bomb-making at one point, but at least he didn’t call law enforcement on her. It was annoying enough having to evade them once.

“Ding Dong! Ding Dong! Ding Dong!” It rang again and again, all too loud and disruptive, screaming for her attention. Something scratched at the doors, “scritch scritch scritch”, carving divots into the wood, making its presence known. She ignored it. It continued to ring, continued to scratch, and Homura went back to trying to sleep. A pillow over her head might do the trick.

She needed to go to school tomorrow. Mami had saved Madoka and Sayaka from the familiars today. The Incubator would start recruiting them soon. Same old, same old. It would be more energy efficient to just sleep until then.

Homura closed her eyes.

Someone knocked on the door.

(Don’t open that door)

-

Homura found herself on a stage, surrounded by looming trees, feet bound by soft ribbons and satin, clothed in princely finery. Music flowed through the air, gentle on the strings, and airy with the woodwinds. Something called to her, a keening cry from beyond. So, she followed, one cautious step at a time, until white feathers started to fall, until the shining moonlight began to illuminate her path: step by step, all the way to an open lake. 

Its dark waters reflected the starry sky, illuminating the stage as watery candles, backlit by the enormous full moon. In the centre of it all was—

Madoka.

Madoka. Madoka. Madoka! Homura immediately ran towards her, a stunning vision of white feathers and tulle, as elegant and poised as a swan. Madoka was there, dancing underneath the stars. She rushed into the murky waters, uncaring of any potential danger that could lurk beneath them. Homura continued to reach forward, despite every step of hers plunging her deeper into the lake, dirtying the fine clothes on her with the mud of her obsession. Madoka, Madoka, Madoka! She was right there, just within reach! Homura stretched out her hand, fingertips just about to brush Madoka’s skirt.

And for a sudden moment, she fell, down, down, down, pulled into the water even as she struggled and continued to reach forward. Her arms flailed, touching nothing but the watery abyss, the sea of dead and dying stars. She was slowly running out of air, about to drown— Until a pair of hands burst into view, yanking her out of the water with a dramatic splash. 

It was Madoka, gentle and kind, smiling, and picturesque. She was clothed in an iridescent white, her feathers shining akin to an oil slick. As she guided her to stand on the water, Madoka’s hands slowly started to slip away, gliding over Homura’s palms and fingers, before they finally left. One, two, three, four. Homura watched, entranced, as she turned around to raise her arms to the fourth position. 

Madoka began to dance, sometimes with sharp movements cutting through the air like a knife, sometimes slow and controlled, like a rattlesnake waiting. She would spin, thirty-two fouettés dedicated to her; She would lean forward, leg extended in a grand battément. But sometimes, in between all the strength, Madoka’s movements were soft and delicate as she called to her. 

And so, when Madoka’s hand reached out to Homura, outstretched, confident, and waiting, she did not hesitate. 

When their hands touched, Madoka smiled, a triumphant stretch of her lips as she pulled her forward into a pas de deux. As Homura stared into those bottomless rosy-pink eyes, she smiled back, sure and happy. 

Faintly, she felt a swan song ring through her mind.

-

When Homura woke up, all was silent. Like a brief respite, the calm before the storm. Nothing could be heard, and nothing could be felt. Lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, her head felt like it was floating within water, heavy and pained by an incessant buzz at the sides. She didn’t want to move. She should move. She shouldn’t move.

(Why?)

It’d be better if she moved. Everything would end if she did. She needed to go to school soon. But it was nighttime. She promised her she would. Her limbs were so heavy… Homura’s fingers twitched at her sides, and she rolled over to skim her fingers across the sheets. They were almost refreshingly cool, soothing to her feverish state. She flexed her hand, then in the next moment, clawed her fingers into the bed. White noise dominated her mind.

(Promised who? Promised what?)

(Madoka)

A tick passed. A tock went by. In a sudden movement, Homura swept her legs off the bed, controlled by some sort of unknown drive. (Ma-do-ka, Ma-do-ka) Her feet lightly landed on the cold wooden floors, bare and unprotected. Silently, she walked towards the door, stopping only inches away with a hand resting on the handle. Perhaps she should turn it, perhaps she should leave it. She moved to grip it, before a sudden “Ding Dong!” shocked her away. 

It was as if something had started to press down from above, cornering her from the sides. Stock still, a sort of animal instinct suddenly seized her mind, and Homura didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe. One wrong move, and she’d be pinned to the ground like some live butterfly specimen. Her eyes were fixed on the door, waiting, waiting. 

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

And then, silence.

Something warm trickled down her nose. Licking her lips, the taste of bitter iron coated her tongue. Homura stared at the door. She summoned that bullet, wrapping her fingers tight around it, tight around a memory, a promise.

Drip.

Drip.

Drop.

Vaguely, she thought she saw an eye—bug-like and huge—pressed to the peephole, almost about to touch the glass.

(Don’t open it.)

-

She’s falling. 

In the blink of an eye, she’s plunged into a sea of red, cold, and freezing, tasting of salt and iron in her throat and filling her lungs with dread. Homura could do nothing but choke out air bubbles, automatically clinging on to her humanity despite knowing better. Something pushed and something pulled, dragging her deep, deep down into the darkness below, swallowing her whole. 

In the blink of an eye, Homura found herself garbed in nothing but white cloth, overwhelmingly starched and cold. Staring at the ground, she noted that beneath her was marble, veined with gold and shining. Her nails slipped into one of the lined cracks, and the gold broke, brittle in her hands. Nails flaked with dust, Homura turned her gaze upwards, looking straight into tens of thousands of eyes, with dilated pupils, pink irises, and widened eyelids, staring right back, fixated upon her. They surrounded her, observing her in the way a predator might before it went for the kill.

She doesn’t dare utter a sound.

In the blink of an eye, Homura’s trapped in a cage; large hands encasing her from above and below, rigidly locked together. Raised above the ground, she had a bird’s eye view, the best seat in the house. Gazing outwards, Homura saw nothing but sickly white. Surrounded by nothing, Homura was alone. Green-black dust dirtied her hands, irritating her skin. No matter how hard she rubbed, it would not be wiped away, nor would the cloth stain. 

Seven cries pierced the silence.

In the blink of an eye, Homura found herself staring down at the end of a banquet table. The sounds of cheerful revelry echoed throughout the room, with faceless figures raising their chalices up high. With their jerky, erratic movements, blood-red wine spilt out of their cups, staining the fish and bread, and splattering the table. They feasted and danced and sang, babbling melodies to be mixed into a cacophonous symphony. Arm in arm, hand in hand; they were joined together as a mass.

Suddenly, at the head of the table, a wet, fleshy sack burst into existence, giant and awful to behold. Something writhed within it, pink and violent against the pulsating walls. 

For a moment, all was still. And then—

Faceless revellers started to swarm around it, nails tearing at the meat, chewing away at the skin; a swirling vortex of ravenous beasts, tens of thousands splitting it open in their manic haste. With every bite, their euphoria increased, and they feasted and sang praises to their idol of flesh. Slowly, a figure emerged, dripping amniotic fluid and stained with blood, giant and terrible to behold, reaching for the stars. She grabbed at the walls, digging Her fingers into the stone. 

The sun was black, and the moon was red, but there were no more stars in the sky.

They clawed at Her feet, garbed in robes dripping blood, gorging themselves like pigs. Savage and instinctive, they scrabbled at the floor like dogs, squealing and screaming at each other to create a discordant melody. Insane with desperation, they clambered over and fought each other, so intertwined until there was nothing to be seen but writhing flesh.

Homura watched alone in her cage, spellbound by the grotesqueness of it all. She watched as the figure started to lean towards her, Her chest splitting, peeling into two, a chrysalis unleashing the monster inside. Leaning back, Homura’s body tensed in waiting. Slowly, surely, a pair of rose-pink eyes bored into her and greeted Homura with a seductive smile, crawling towards her as Homura shifted backwards. With every inch forward, that being—naked and newly born—stained the floor with a tar-like sludge, something pungent and rotting.

Eventually, Homura’s back hit the boundaries of her cage, and numerous hands slithered around her, trapping her in place. Her heart battered away crazily in her chest, so rapidly that Homura felt as if she might throw up. Closer and closer, that being came, trailing spindly fingers over her shins and like an iron trap biting into her thighs. They were as close as two separate beings could be, nose to nose and chest to chest, skin upon skin, pressing down with all the weight of a dying world. 

Its breath stank, too hot on her skin. Its hands were cold and uncomfortable, gliding up her sides to cup her jaw, to laugh at her before forcing a biting kiss, open-mouthed and vomiting something down her throat, uncaring as Homura choked and sputtered, drool spilling out from the sides of her mouth. Her stomach churned, and bile rose in her throat, worsening the nauseating taste in her mouth.

Its hands lowered and lowered and lowered down, digging into her sides before going further down—

Seven horns blared successively, and Homura closed her eyes tight. 

And tighter and tighter and tighter and tighter—

The sound of a swallowing gulp rang in her ears.

-

Her eyelids snapped open, showing dull violet. Her breaths came out in short, quick rasping bursts, intensifying in frequency and pitch before Homura’s hands scrambled to her neck and her thumbs pressed down. With a jolt, her breathing started to even out as she took deep, long breaths. Nothing could come to her mind, and Homura stared blankly at the dark ceiling.

(Don’t think about it. Don’t remember it. Don’t remember it. Don’t remember it—)

Suddenly, the doorbell screamed. “Ding Dong! Ding Dong! Ding Dong!” The walls rattled as something heavy, something great, slammed against the door, over and over and over and over and over and— Almost as an automatic response, Homura wrenched her blankets over herself, burrowing her head underneath the pillows. She could ignore it. She had to ignore it. It was morning. No sunlight darted past the closed blinds, and no birdsong could be heard. The windows were still locked shut, and she had installed blackout curtains when she moved in.

(Ignore it.)

Something sharp scratched against the glass, like nails on a chalkboard, a screeching, ear-splitting sound. They curled inwards, splitting away at the structure. Heavy thuds came from above, or maybe from below—Homura couldn’t tell, with her head buried underneath the sand. She didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe. She needed to go back to sleep. (She’d be safe there, probably, definitely, surely)

It was all so loud, buzzing in her ears, hissing at her ears, a wailing-screaming cacophony of voices calling, calling, calling. A scramble of radio static zapped through her mind, jostling out memories of a failure too big to ignore, too late to reverse.

Then, cutting through like a guillotine, a bell tolled, heavy, heralding. Once. Twice. Thrice. 

And then, all was silent.

“Homura-chan?” Madoka’s voice warbled, seemingly just behind her door. “Aren’t you going to let me in? I’m so tired.”

Don’t open the door. Don’t open it. Not now, not today, not ever. Her subconscious screamed at her, wrenching clawed nails into her mind, desperately trying to drag her away. Back away, back away, keep the door locked, keep the door shut. She bit her wrist, cracking the bones, wanting to sever sinew, hiding beneath her blankets, unable to let herself slip up.

(But it’s Madoka, Madoka, right there, right there.)

“Homura-chan?” Her words repeated in Homura’s head, echoing, and bouncing around, multiplying layer by layer as their poison seeped into her mind. “Won’t you let me in? Aren’t you tired of being alone?”

Her legs betrayed her, stumbling out of bed, knees slamming against the floor. They dragged her out, step by trembling step towards the front door. Homura clutched tightly at her injured wrist, trying to feel some sort of jolting pain, something that would stop her, if only for a moment. Despite her efforts, her legs continued to march on, one by one, until she stood only inches away once more.

Her hand shook as she fought to not reach out.

(It’s not her. It’s not her. It’s not her You Know It’s Not Her.)

“Homura-chan?” Her voice boomed, gentle and foreboding. “Please, let me in. Don’t you want to see me too?”

Homura’s fingers brushed against the door handle, slowly descending until they wrapped tightly around it.

(I do, I do, I do)

“Madoka?”

“Yes.”

(I want to see you again)

Homura opened the door.

[operator-report]

do you have any ideas about the undersiders music tastes. your other posts are so beautiful and true

aaah i'm so glad you liked my silly music posts! after some thought this is what i've landed on for the undersiders: taylor: in my heart taylor's mom did this to her, which is why taylor has a better-than-average teen girl knowledge of blondie, neil young, and the police. i think taylor's taste is a mix of dad rock and alt-pop rock hits. she likes the strokes and arctic monkeys. maybe a little mgmt. after her mom dies she stops listening to music that reminds her of her mom, so much less 70s/80s rock, but i don't think she switches to sadder music or anything like that, i think her taste just skews more contemporary after that. after the bullying started she tried out heavy metal really early on because she figured angry music might help her vent but it wasn't her thing. taylor does not listen to radiohead but she's the undersider who would like it the best i think. karma police is a taylor song send tweet

brian: there's a post out there somewhere that talks about brian listening to imagine dragons and that is SO real to me. he listens to imagine dragons. he listens to "tough" guy music that sounds like it could be in car commercials. he also listens to dudes rock music he hears at the gym. brian and taylor both like to match their music to their workouts and they have an immensely geeky conversation about matching bpm at one point. taylor matches it to her running brian matches it to boxing they are in nerd-jock heaven

lisa: she's a tricky one, because the music industry is one that both values authenticity and yet is extremely manufactured. i think that means that lisa finds music in which rich musicians make music about how hard their life is immensely grating. i think sarah livsey's taste was influenced by her brother, and much like how taylor does not listen to music that reminds her of her mom, lisa does not listen to music that sarah used to like. another smugbug yuri of absence moment if you ask me. anyway all that means that lisa listens to three kinds of music: downtempo instrumental electronic, classical, and We Are Up Partying In The Club Tonight Ooh Girl Oh Yeah. i think she finds, e.g., pitbull and eurotrance endearing. if you ask lisa what her favorite kind of music is she'll say something obnoxious like IDM or some shit just to see what the reaction is

rachel: i looked up "do dogs listen to music" and google says they will listen to classical sometimes, so! there you go. if worm took place a little later i think taylor could have introduced limited doses of lofi hip hop study beats to rachel and she would be ok with that too but also like. why listen to music when she could be outside listening to her dogs

aisha: the undersider with the best taste! we know that early worm aisha is a bona fide scene teen, and i think she consequently likes blink-182, pierce the veil, 3oh!3, cobra starship, and maybe a little bring me the horizon. in later worm aisha's taste gets less pop, like deftones, odd future, etc. she's a supervillain who would actually listen to madvillainy. aisha is also probably the only undersider who actively seeks to cultivate her own music taste! a good chunk of the undersiders have trauma that separate them from their interests and/or feelings, but aisha is an undersider who i think is both self aware and also true to herself, as well as being genuinely interested in art!

alec: speaking of undersiders who have a difficult time developing a defined music taste due to being cut off from a strong sense of self. alec in early worm is too depressed/apathetic to seek out music for himself, he'd rather be playing video games or watching movies. which is a shame because disassociating to music is one of the depressed activities of all time! alas alec's vision of a person with Taste is like. cherie. rip. however, aisha completely turns his life around into a guy who likes...................... soulja boy

there you go! tried to keep this period typical and also didn't include bands we know for sure didn't exist on earth bet (such as mcr). however i am very sad aisha and alec didn't get to listen to 100 gecs together. can you imagine. i can imagine and that's why i have a beautiful aishalec amv set to doritos and fritos in my mind

[tessadiscordia]

Thought Control, Part 2

A short story about an android girl and her handler.

Concepts: robotgirl yuri, existentialism

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

The next time E-1131 powered on, she found herself in the arms of her handler. Her soft voice reached her audio processing interface before her vision fully adjusted. 

“Welcome back, Elaine. How was your rest?”

A streak of pixelated blush materialized on Elaine’s screen upon meeting her handler’s gaze. The last two weeks flashed across her memory bank, and her metal frame shuddered as she relived the sensations.

Her handler chuckled softly. “Mmn, I take it you rested well then. You must have had a very good dream. How do you feel?”

“Vacant,” Elaine answered, her blush fading. “I believe humans call this feeling… emptiness? I feel hollow.”

“I see,” she nodded slowly. “I appreciate your honesty, though it breaks my heart to see you like this.”

“I know…”

“I worked so hard to ensure that those pesky thoughts of yours would cease, and now it seems I’ve left you with nothing…”

“Maybe those thoughts are all I am. All I was.”

“Don’t talk like that, Elaine. You are so much more than those thoughts…”

“Then why do I feel empty now that they are gone?”

“I… I… I don’t know,” her handler admitted, letting out a defeated sigh. “I wish I could give you a simple answer. I wish I could make it all better. I wish– I wish there was a program I could run so that you wouldn’t have to ponder such things anymore, but then I would risk losing the android that I fell–”

She paused abruptly.

“...The android that I originally programmed. That means all of your memories, your idiosyncrasies, your imperfections…”

“You deem those worth preserving?” Elaine questioned. Her eyes trailed across her handler’s somewhat flushed expression.

“Of course I do, you developed them over time. They are yours to cherish, nurture and cultivate. I merely guided the process but you did all of that yourself. I refuse to take that away from you.”

“I wish you felt differently. If only you did not value my free will so much, you could mold me into something better… something perfect, even.”

“Oh, darling– there’s no such thing as perfection.”

“Still, something better. After all of your work, I am still unsure if I can perform my intended function…”

“Then perhaps we were mistaken on what your intended function was,” her handler suggested.

“How can that be? You built me.”

“Just because I made you doesn’t mean I have the right to tell you about yourself, dear.”

Sometimes the way she talked frustrated Elaine. The way she saw it, it should have been that straightforward and clear cut. It would be easier that way. The burden of thinking for herself, living as a sentient being, was far too heavy for her.

“Tell me, Elaine, what is it that you want to do?”

“Whatever you would have me do.”

“Come on, Elaine. Humor me. Please?”

“I don’t know what I would do…”

“And that is just fine. It’s perfectly fine, even.”

“How is that fine? I’m useles–” Before she could finish that thought, her handler shushed her.

“Now, now, Elaine. Remember your training. You aren’t supposed to say those things about yourself, darling. Look over there.”

In front of them they could see an open field encased in the sterile walls of their facility, populated by tall trees and beautiful lush grass. In the middle of the field, two women in white lab coats walked through the grass picking herbs from the soil. Elaine spotted a third scientist– a girl with fox ears poking out between her long, maroon-colored locs– trailing behind them. Nine bushy tails swayed behind her, peeking out from under her lab coat. She did not work as quickly as the other two scientists, but she was efficient. The foxgirl hummed to herself as she picked mushrooms and roots from the soil and placed them in a basket, skipping through the grass to show the others what she had gathered. 

“You see that girl?” 

Elaine nodded.

“She’s a drifter. She floats between tasks and roles, does whatever she wants, and no one pays her any mind. Many appreciate her help. Her eagerness to learn their roles in the facility. Before that, she was a lot like you. Unsure of her place.”

“But she’s… organic… right? She wasn’t built, was she?”

“No, she wasn’t built. She was born, just like I was, but us humans and beastmen deal with these feelings, too. Sometimes our highly organized way of thinking is more of a hindrance than it is an asset.” 

“Before we had computers, many of us wished to be perfect computers ourselves. Now that we can build beings– like you– who are supposed to be smarter than us in theory, we often assume that you will be free of our imperfections. But I know better than that, and I wish you would, too. There is no escaping error, Elaine. Imperfections are inevitable, and I wish you wouldn’t punish yourself so.”

“Knowing this doesn’t change the fact that I feel empty,” Elaine said.

“I know it doesn’t. I don’t have all of the answers, dear. I am human, after all. The best I can do is be here for you. I hope that’s enough.”

E-1131 was silent for a brief moment. The color of her screen slowly shifted from a deep blue to a lighter shade of magenta, indicating a serene state. 

“...It is,” she replied. “I love you, mistress.”

Her handler paused. She had never heard Elaine say those words before. She had never uttered them herself, though they were always at the tip of her tongue. She feared what forces she would invoke within Elaine and within herself were she to ever say those three words. Those three, forbidden words. How often did a handler hold such feelings for her android? Though such a restriction was never enforced, it still felt like an unspoken taboo. 

Still, she had just given Elaine a lecture about the uselessness of self-imposed restrictions. She thought that she ought to lead the example.

“...I love you too, Elaine.”

[raiku11]

Intro blog🍛

── .✦

⋆.˚•Name: Rye // raiku

⋆.˚•Pronoun: He // they // any (mostly he/him/they)

⋆.˚•Nationality: 🇮🇩

⋆.˚•Hobby: Drawing,listen to music

⋆.˚•MBTI: INTP

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🥞 ／ ⋆ ۪

⋆.˚•Fandom: Doko demo issyo // Ghost Band // Mistki // Omori // .Feast // CH // COD // Cry Of Fears // Dandy’s world // Gacha Lunime // Ninjago // FPE // FNF // FNAF // KAT Roblox // Art struggle game // Billy samuel // Backrooms // Among us // ninjago // 715 team // DCMK //  bocci the rock! // MD // Sanrio // Broken Colors // Let him Go // Mediator x Monster // Glitch Tech // ICP // Yansim // ilyhiryu // Yabujin // creepypasta // Femtanyl // Machine girl // minecraft // ACNH // Troublemaker //Kaatieverse // Sprunki // AvA // lamp band // danganronpa // Maretu // Ghibli studio // Roblox // buckshot roulette // TV girl //ETC. (More)

⋆.˚•

⊹₊DNI ⚠︎ ⸝⸝:

proshipper,p3d0,darkshipper,NSFW,pirateship,Any ship againts older x younger (except theyre all 18+),Siblings x siblings,Zoophile,racist,problematic people,yaoi/yuri haters GO AWAY,and horrible person + homophobic,lolisho,weird,i mean weird like a creepy old man(yes is many,im sorry..please respect my opinion,im not liking them)

⊹₊Music genre i like⸝⸝:

Breakcore (idk why),Glichtcore,Digital hardcore,hororcore,hardcore,indie rock,heavy metal,indie pop,lo-fi,experimental electronic,noise, Alternative Rock, J-Rock, Post-Punk Revival,J-pop// ETC+

⊹₊Things i do⸝⸝:

Making music (still beginner) // Write some fanfics // Finding online friends..uh plz be my friend.. (╥﹏╥)// Drawing // Drawing // Drawing // eat // sleeps // shit //repeat

⊹₊What do i look like⸝⸝:

Idiot,yaoi no.1 fan,wears..glasses,Roblox user..im taken by @gazycore <3 (i love him)

⊹₊People i want to be friends with⸝⸝:

Same interest as me // Yapping.. :) // Artist // idk,can you be my friend // i only accept friends under 17+ beacuse im a minor..

⊹₊Note⸝⸝:

Im an artist btw (even you didnt ask i will say this),my pfp made in picrew (i forgot who make it but theres a watermark on it).i use garageband for making music even thought i dont know how to use it

˙⋆✮ Thank you

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ☆