#hehehehe freedom

[theratunderthesink]

day one of tagging first felon in anti Nazi post on Instagram.

lets see how long this last

[cowprintsillies]

Soon.

Buckle your seatbelts, keep your hands and feet inside the rollercoaster at all times.

[mojaves]

kallihan is a mourn watcher now >:3

[gayforcarstairsgirls]

FREEDOMMMMMMM LAS VEGAS

[notdrawingwhileasleep]

A resquest asqued me to draw an scene from my au, but Shadow by the linvinstone started playing and what was going to be a wholesome drawing ended up making me go "hehehehe s3 assistant au"

ANYWAYS, I will still draw the other scenes but, I will take this chance to talk more about the "Shackled/ Assitant AU" A bit More.

Basically, at its core, the Assistant AU is "What if Wukong was trully not at fault?" "What if neither party is actually to blame?"

The events that lead to the fight of the Jade Emperor are extensive, and Wukong trully beliefs in Azures plitgh for freedom. But make no mystake, the reason she stands in front of the Jade Emperor had to much to do with the chains placed on the one she loved the most.

Wukong gives everything for Macaque. Her crown, her kingdom, their future, and her freedom. Macaque wont stand idle to her imprissioment. And if that means giving everything she has, everything she is... Then so be it.

It ends up Playing as LMK but MK and the gang only meet Macaque when LBD gets her out of her cage to chase them... More on this later 😌.

Also, lowkey this Au was made rearrenging Epic the musical songs and changing the lyrics for my agenda. Idk how to share the changed lyrics but here is the playlist if you want to reck your head with the order:

So question, do you guys prefer the name Assistant or Shakled? because at this point idk which one to use. And... I might have decided to divide it in 3 parts. 1) A fic I will post hopefully this week for the brotherhood era. 2) JTTW Era that is Ideally animatics but I doubt I have the time but this era is what most of the playlist is about. And 3) Modern Era which is mostly panel comics in my drafts.....

Would you guys like to see it this way? I cant promise anything for animatics tho, not rn. So JTTW era will remain ellusive unles you crack the playlist.

[rollingeevee]

May we get a little peak at what you have planned for Silent salt and their snipit relating to their bite👀 (I already love them to death and I eat all food of them like it’s my last meal 😭)

Well how can I say no to that? :) I went ahead and just did the whole idea I had lol BUCKLE UP!

You panted as you leaned against a tree. By the Witches, navigating through Silent Salt’s territory was like running blindly through a maze. Despite being taken for walks on the regular and feeling you had a good grasp on everything, things felt different when you were running for your freedom. But it wasn’t far now… you were almost out…

Your head suddenly snapped to the right. Was that… voices…? You cautiously approached. Peeking through the foliage, your sights landed on a group of cookies. One in a green dress, one in a pink sweatshirt, one with a cane and two buttons, and at least one other. You breathed a sigh of relief, a smile appearing on your face. They could help you! They could keep you safe! Thank the Witches!

You ran towards them. You were almost there! You were almost free! But right as you opened your mouth to cry for their aide… you felt an unbearable pressure weighing down on your body, causing you to collapse to the floor. Something was wrong though… your fall was silent? You tried to scream as long as your lungs would allow, but nothing came out. It was as if you’d been cloaked in silence. You felt a stabbing pain right below your throat and let out a soundless cry.

You could see the cookies through the leaves were moving along their way. No… no, no, NO! Freedom is right there! It’s right there! Come back! Please! You thrash about to try and move forward or at least grab their attention, but every rustle of the grass and branches and leaves was quieter than a mouse, and the cookies keep getting farther and farther away…

No… come back… please… help… please…

You sob soundlessly as you watch them disappear. You slam a fist against the ground and scream in frustration, and yet still, nothing can be heard.

You’re limp as you feel a pair of strong arms lift you up. You gaze at the covered face of the silent knight. Sobbing, you weakly pound your fists against their armor. They seem relatively unaffected as they carry you back to their abode, deep within their domain, far away from help, and far away where, even if you regain your voice, there will be no one to hear you scream…

Hehehehe hope you enjoyed! I may make it longer at some point, but we’ll see! Hope this was satisfactory! :D

[lackinggravitas]

NEW CHAPTER JUMPSCARE betcha didn't expect me to get another one done so soon, eh? hehehehe....

its stan's turn to be the pov >:) (for the majority of this anyway)

part 1 / part 2 / part 3(you are here!)/ part 4 / part 5

For the record, Stan was actually gonna feel real bad when he had to ditch the new Guy. 

It’s not the Guy’s fault, really. Stan actually liked him, but Stan’s Sixer came first. Maybe once Stan found Sixer, they could go back and visit the new Pal. If Sixer was okay with that.

He’d lost Sixer, or maybe Sixer had lost him, a long time ago. Stan couldn’t remember much of it - a blur of gasoline-smell and voices and a hand gripping his arm. Shooting pain, stabbing hunger. Then freedom - wind in his hair, sun on his skin. Still hungry, still hurt. Then crowds of People. Them averting their eyes, hands covering their ears. Yelling at him, voices rising. Everyone looking, no one helping. Ignoring him. They wouldn’t, didn’t help him.

Then Mam. She found him in the alley he’d laid down to die in, took him in like a lost pup returned home. She cleaned him and she fed him, and she taught him everything. How to howl and how to hunt, how to communicate, how to live. She’d treated him like one of her own easily, like he always had been. Faced with her or Them, it had been an easy choice - he’d chosen her.

Stan hadn’t looked back after that, but he’d never forgotten Sixer. His littermate. Stan couldn’t remember much, it was all a muddy haze before and after Them, but he remembered Sixer’s hand in his paw, how they’d fit together perfectly. A pack of two. 

Stan had clung to his Mam for a long time, staying even when her other pups grew up and moved on. New pups were born, they left, seasons went on and on and Stan got bigger and bigger, furrier and furrier, but he never left his Mam. He was clingy, he supposed. She hadn’t minded.

He didn’t know if he would have ever left her side if she hadn’t gotten sick.

It was just the two of them, Stan feeding her scraps of stolen People food and lying with her as she wheezed in her sleep. He’d laid with her until she went cold, and never got up again. Dead. He’d laid there for a long time after that too, couldn’t bring himself to move until the ache in his muscles and his stomach overwhelmed even grief. 

Then he’d picked himself up and left. He didn’t look back - he never looked back. (What good had looking back ever done him?) 

It was time to look for Sixer.

He wandered for a long time. Stan didn’t really know where he was anymore, but he figured he had to be getting close to Sixer. He was looking for the ocean, because the ocean meant Home and Home meant Sixer, and Stan had to find Sixer. 

Times and places blurred together. He’d been drawn to this place, this forest of ancient pine trees that scraped against the tough hide of the sky, but now that he was here he didn’t know why. He couldn’t hear or smell the ocean, just pine needles. This place was too light and breezy to be Home. Home was supposed to be oppressive and heavy and loud and crowded, it was supposed to smell like smoke and ocean. This place… didn’t. This place didn’t seem like where Sixer was.

But Stan had been tired from traveling so far, and he’d fallen in with the local bachelor group pretty well. Just him and a pack of guys, hunting weird birds and rabbits, having stuff thrown at them by the People, digging through the trash, singing at the moon together, all the good shit. It was the life, really. 

Those packs never really lasted long, of course, but they were always nice while they were around. Stan wasn’t much of ladies’ man - he always made himself scarce when that season rolled around, not willing to get into fights with other guys over girls he didn’t want.

When Stan wasn’t running with a group of bachelors he was alone, and if there was one thing Stan hated, it was being alone.

Alone was a cold ache inside and out. Alone was no one to turn to and no one to lean on, no one to lick the blood off his face when he ate messily and no one to sleep flank to flank with, keeping each other warm when the rest of the world was cold. 

Stan hadn't had a permanent pack since his Mam, and that was… a while ago. Before the pine trees and before he started wandering in earnest again, at least. 

Well, he had his Pal now. Stan had never really thought of himself as the kind of scrap-begging idiot to hang around with a Person, but his Pal seemed a different sort. He’d given Stan food, freed him from a trap, invited him into his den, healed his throat with his weird plant salve goop - hell, he’d even cleaned and groomed Stan! No one had done that that thoroughly for ages! And he’d done a damn good job of it too - Stan couldn’t remember the last time his fur had felt so free and loose.

He made Stan feel safe and warm inside in a way no one had since his Mam, or Sixer. Stan couldn’t stop petting his own fur, admiring how smooth and soft it felt. Damn, his Pal was good at this. Not even Mam had had this kind of skill - Stan didn’t even feel itchy anywhere anymore. When was the last time that had been true?

He even let Stan on his nest. Stan was lying there right now, marveling at how soft it was. No wonder People were so territorial if this is what they had to protect - Stan would be too if he had a nest like this! (He wished he could have given his Mam something like this)

This Guy was the best. Stan wasn’t gonna enjoy leaving him.

Or, he wouldn’t, if his Pal wasn’t acting like this.

Stan was just enjoying how soft the nest was, and how soft his fur was, and how warm and content he felt on the inside, as his Pal stalked around like a caged animal, in tight, agitated walking circles. His Pal was yapping again, as he did very often, and as usual Stan understood absolutely none of it.

This Guy was seriously chattier than a puppy, and Stan had been around a lot of puppies. Must have liked the sound of his own bark - Stan had to give it to him, it was pretty deep and soothing. Stan really liked listening to the Guy, when it wasn’t obviously a paranoid, panicked chitter like this one was.

Stan whined at him for the umpteenth time to knock it off, and for the umpteenth got nothing. Just a glance in his direction, then away again, like Stan never made any noise in the first place. His Pal was wringing and flapping his hands in the air, voice rising and falling sharply, like tumultuous waves, not stopping for anything.

Stan wanted to comfort the poor Guy, but he had no idea what the problem even was. He’d been like this since he’d bathed Stan in the water, and for the life of him Stan couldn’t parse what the problem could even be. They were safe, well-fed and comfortable - this Guy's den was huge, and surprisingly undisputed territory. There were literally no problems.

Normally Stan would just assume he was the problem, but he couldn’t think of anything he’d done that would warrant this. Sure, there’d been that slip up earlier, where Stan got too excited to play in the water and accidentally made his Pal upset for some reason, but Stan was pretty sure that had been forgiven. Other than that, Stan had done practically nothing that would have caused this.

And if it wasn’t because of survival, and it wasn’t because of Stan, then what else could the problem be? 

Then his Pal started twisted his hands into his own hair, and then started pulling, and that’s when Stan had to jump in. 

Stan had seen guys hurt themselves before, and it never meant anything good. He growled, then let out one, sharp warning bark. His Pal stopped his tracks, staring at him wide-eyed. 

Still growling, Stan climbed out of the nest with a thump (who puts a nest on elevated ground?) and stalked over to the Guy. He sat up on his haunches, caught the hanging flap of limp faux-fur-that-People-wore on his Pal’s arm, and bit. 

His Pal yelped, but Stan knew it was out of surprise, not anger. Keeping up the background of growling so his Pal knew he was serious, Stan pulled him towards the nest, practically dragging him like a misbehaving pup. 

The Guy tried struggling, but Stan had done this all before. He was well-trained in the art of dealing with troublesome youngsters, and while Stan loved the Guy, his Pal sure was acting like one now. It wasn’t a big deal - he was lucky he had Stan, because Stan knew just the cure for this kind of thing.

Getting the Guy in the nest was something of a struggle, with how high the stupid thing was off the ground (seriously, why?), but Stan managed eventually. 

His Pal finally relented, sitting down on the nest with a huff. Then Stan snagged him by the nape (gently, he knew how sharp his own teeth were) and pulled him down, and the Guy started struggling anew, yipping and yapping all offendedly. Stan just ignored him, flopping on top of him to make sure he didn’t try to escape. There. Now, naptime. His Pal could sleep off whatever fit he was having, and Stan would get some shut-eye too. Win-win scenario.

The Guy was still wiggling and complaining though, so Stan hoisted himself up and started cleaning his face, because if he wanted to act like a baby then he was getting the baby treatment. 

This just made his Pal struggle more, but that was fine. Stan had helped pup-sit plenty in his life, he knew how this went. Give the Guy a bit and he’ll accept his fate.

Actually, his Pal was now actively trying to push him off, and because he was a grown Person and not a misbehaving pup he might actually be able to do it. Stan huffed, pulling off the Guy’s face to flop down, putting even more of his weight on to the Guy’s middle. If he didn’t want a bath then fine, but Stan still wasn’t going anywhere until his Pal had calmed down enough for him to consider letting him loose. He was on timeout. 

His Pal seemed to begrudgingly accept this, dropping his arms on the bed defeatedly. Stan stretched leisurely, feeling proud of himself. He still had it. 

For a Person, Stan’s new Pal wasn’t that bad. Definitely a hassle, but a good hassle. The kind of hassle you wanted to have. The kind of hassle that cleaned you and gave you food and let you sit in their nest and made you feel at home for the first in- in a long while. Stan huffed softly, wiggling into a comfortable spot. Cheek resting on his Pal’s chest.

Stan couldn’t deny that he was getting attached. Maybe it wasn’t good survival instinct or whatever, but he hadn’t felt this cared for since his Mam… since Stan was barely out of puppyhood himself. 

Stan hadn’t been able to help but notice that this Guy’s den held only evidence of single occupancy. Stan didn’t know how a guy with this much territory could possibly be alone, but Stan wondered if- well.

It was just that Stan knew what it was like to not fit in with anyone, was all. 

Stan wasn’t a very good coyote. His eyesight was complete shit, and he was too awkward to hunt, more of a scavenger. Stan knew his only strong quality was that he was big. His teeth were blunt and his claws were dull and short, but he was easily large enough to grapple, to hold down for the others. He’d accepted that if he was good for anything, it was to try and protect. And Stan didn’t mind that - it was a stressful job, sure, but he was alright at it, and it made him feel good to be able to help in that way. 

And maybe Stan couldn’t see the Guy all that well, but he knew that his new Pal would need some protecting. It was hard to be a loner, Stan knew that very well. It was a toll, both physical and mental. A pack was better, a pack was safe and good, and his Pal seemed to have been alone for a very long time. Kinda like Stan.

Stan knew that his pal-group of locals in the woods would be fine without him. This Guy, though? He needed Stan. And damn, but wasn’t that a good feeling. To be needed. 

Stan sighed, getting comfortable on top of his Pal. The warm, solid weight of another was a bone-deep comfort, seeping warmth done to his marrow. Stan could protect this Guy. He could keep him company, help him lick his wounds, like his Pal had had for him. Maybe Stan could even dig around for some People food for them in some bin somewhere. They could be a pack, a real pack, the kind Stan hadn’t had since his Mam.

At least for a little. For now. 

Stan had a Sixer to go back to eventually, after all. 

Ford laid awake for a long time, idly petting Remus’ hair as he stared up at the ceiling, just thinking. He had a lot of time to think, and slowly his mind was starting to come together, coagulating into something of a plan. Somehow, lying down actually seemed to do more good than pacing, which was odd. Pacing was his usual trick. Perhaps this had something to do with the release of endorphins into the brain stream, facilitating a smoother thought process. 

But he could still feel Remus’ saliva drying on his face, and effective or not, coyote-man or not, Ford didn’t appreciate the impromptu tongue bath. He wasn’t exactly sure why Remus had done that - was it some coyote thing? Licking another into submission?

Ford sighed, putting a hand on Remus’ shoulder to carefully slid him off. The creature had dozed off half on top of Ford, and Ford had waited until he was well and truly asleep to make an escape. He hadn’t wanted to deal with Remus’ method to get him into bed the second time. 

His feet touched the ground softly, and he carefully slipped off the bed, letting out a sigh of relief when Remus didn’t stir as the mattress shifted then settled beneath him again. Ford watched him for a moment, his freshly cleaned and dried hair fanned out on the sheets, mouth open and snoring, faintly drooling onto the blankets. Stan used to-

Ford forced himself to turn away. He crept into the hall, keeping his steps quiet as he shut the door softly behind himself and snuck down the hall, wincing every time his foot hit a creaky board. He stopped each time, waiting for Remus to come bounding him over to him - but nothing. It seemed the creature truly was out cold. Must have been a deep sleeper, just like Stanley.

Finally he made it to the rotary phone. He reached out to grab it - before hesitating, hand hanging like a curse in the air just inches away from it.

The numbers stared up at him almost jeeringly. The faint dust on the phone seemed to mock him. He hadn’t used this phone often at all - he had no one to call. 

He glanced back down the hall, where his bedroom was. The door was firmly shut, he knew, and he could see Remus in his mind’s eye, sleeping peacefully, innocently unaware of the storm he’d unleashed upon Ford’s psyche just hours before. Ford sighed and punched in the ten numbers he knew from memory. 

It rang once, twice, before it connected.

“Pines Pawns and Phone Psychic, this is Caryn Pines speaking.” His mother’s gruff voice came through the phone.

Ford kept his voice level, firm. “Ma-” 

“Stanford? Is that you?” Caryn interrupted, sounding shocked. His mother’s voice turned scolding, and Ford tried not to let himself get too annoyed. “Stanford Pines! Do you know how long it’s been since you last called?”

“I’ve been very busy-” Ford tried, pinching the bridge of his nose to hold back the oncoming headache he could feel encroaching. He had a job to do.

“Two fucking years!” Caryn continued as if Ford hadn’t even spoken. “It takes my son two years to call me - you had me worried sick, havin’ no idea what was goin’ on with you! How hard is it to pick up a phone and call yer own Ma once and awhile?”

“Ma-”

“I spent eighteen years raising you an’ nine hours pushin’ you outta me, and this is the thanks I get?” Caryn huffed, aggravated. She was working herself into a rant again, one Ford really didn’t want to hear. “Yer just lucky I couldn’t get into a car and drive up to Oregon myself, or you woulda had hell for making me worry so much, boy-”

“Ma!” Ford barked, cutting her off with perhaps a bit more sharpness than he would have liked. He sighed, leashing his tone again, returning to a firm, collected levelness. “I’m afraid this isn’t a social call-”

“Oh, so you only call yer Ma fer money now?” Caryn butt in, already sounding disapproving.

“I don’t need money,” Ford snapped impatiently. “I need you to send me Stanley’s teeth.” 

Caryn was actually shocked into silence for a moment - a truly impressive feat. “...pardon?” 

@artistredfox @m0rkl @thesnakelord @littlelilliana15 @darsbw

[dothemindything]

HAHA, HOLE. OKAY, NOW THAT THAT'S OUT OF THE WAY.

DON'T BRING AN UMBRELLA, THEY MAKE ME FEEL WEIRD. HOODIE OR NOTHING.

I’ll just wear a hoodie. Or take an umbrella. Something about being dripped on.

[poisoned-pearls]

Hehehehe… @mello-bee im gonna make this a separate post of organizational reasons BUT-

Cut underdeath for general alien stage spoilers and cw for mentioned forms of sa and abuse (very brief and not graphic, nor directed towards azula or Jami)

Azula’s “guardian” is a very eccentric and wealthy alien. He’s had an obsession with humans to an unhealthy degree since forever. He owns many humans, and unlike Shine (mizis alien) in canon, he sees them as expendable.

He ended up having a special interest in Azula’s mom specifically, and eventually assaulted her, which lead to Azula.

she was born with a MYRIAD of health conditions because of this. The species of alien her father is not compatible with human genetics in the slightest, and she’s had vision problems, blood issues, heart problems, you name it. Her mother also resented her because of what she represented, so she was given to the garden for care in place of her mother’s care.

her father also firmly believes that humans are below, less genetically evolved then aliens. Because of this, he’s told her over and over again that she is better than everyone else, because she’s not human, and the reasons she’s so sick is because she’s human. Humans are inferior, so that’s why her health is bad.

the moment she showed any talent in music is when her fate on the stage was locked in.

in the garden is where she met Jami- and their meeting is what changed her path. Now she’s got this head strong human in front of her, and she’s so amazing she doesn’t understand how she could be considered below her. Jami and Najma become her only friends, and shes rarely ever apart from them.

(eventually, her justification becomes that this human isn’t below her. They’re friends until their late teens, so slowly even that gets chipped away at, but at least in the beginning, she simply made an exception for her, and Najma, by extension)

the incident with Najma happens much differently for them. For one, they’re older, about 15 when Najma dies, and two, Azula didn’t kill him directly.

They’d been bickering like siblings over something as Jami couldn’t help but laugh at their interactions. Azula’s father was out observing them, both keeping an eye on Azula and looking for new potential humans to add to his collection (he really enjoys musical ones, you see.)

And then Azula dives at Najma, fake wrestling for the sheet music in his hands. And Najma starts to win.

and all of a sudden her father is disgusted by a human touching her, rolling all over her, and he is furious. He barely tosses a bag of money at the other alien showing him around before stomping over and ripping Najma off of her, tossing the kid to the ground and letting his head hit the floor.

Both azula and Jami are staring in horror as this happens, and he snatches Azula by the wrist and drags her away before either of them can say anything.

He pulls her out fully at age sixteen, where she belatedly makes a last night run to say goodbye to Jami. She’s barely getting out her apologies for everything (they’d been pretending like nothing had happened, even though Jami never acted the same towards her again in those last few months) when she’d said she’d be put in the stage soon enough.

this is also when Jami realized what happens at the loss of these games, and began to fudge her scores so badly she’d seemed to crash and burn overnight. But that’s for her story later-

azula then spends the next 6 years under strict tutoring and surgeries, all completed isolated from any other humans. You see, she may be better than them, but she is still a part human. She looks the part, and she will always be punished for that. She’s both “above” humans, but below aliens. Starved on connection, told she deserves better but never more- never freedom, never the same privileges as the aliens she’s surrounded by. Her room may be golden and fancy, but it’s still her cage. Her nice, pretty, spacious cage.

When she’s deemed ready at age 22, she’s tossed into her first alien stage. She gets through with her talent alone, and with her newfound fame and love, she gets a taste of what’s been dangled in front of her her whole life- acceptance. Aliens were fans of her, her father would bring her to events and people would fawn over her, treat her as equals.

(And her father made a lot of money.)

so she was put into the next round. And then the next.

And when she entered her third alien stage, she saw a familiar face on the board.

Jami.

[madschiavelique]

Hello! I saw your rules so I decided to I guess rerequest in the way you asked. I was wondering if you could write about a female reader coming in one day with a sundress and Miguel just goes absolutely feral. He’s just trying to keep it professionally but ends up failing and just going ham on the reader

OMG anon i'm kissing your brain hehehehe (summer is killing us all besties : please don't forget to hydrate yourself <3)

summary : miguel sees you in a sundress

content warning : SMUT (18+) minors dni, fingering, biting and marking, this man is so in love with you, fem!reader, no use of Y/N, praise word count : 1,6k

Summer had arrived, and as in most dimensions, except for the apocalyptic two or three where everything was frozen or the weather had simply declined with little chance of a return, it was hot.

And although the air-conditioning was in every room and corridor of the spider society, that in no way prevented members from dressing a little more lightly, although some might find this a sign of a lack of professionalism, one in particular, needless to mention, whose name began with Mi and ended with Guel.

Today was a fairly hot day, and all the spiders were practically fighting for ice cubes, a spot of coolness that would bring them comfort. Many of them were dressed in shorts, a variety of shirts, t-shirts, skirts and even tank tops.

So you seized the opportunity and put on a summer dress. It was charming, in your favourite colour, not too long and not too short, stopping just above the knees, with a beautifully plunging neckline to show off your curves. It was light, incredibly comfortable to wear, and needless to say that in spider society, it was a change to see you like this.

Like most of the members, people were used to seeing you in your suit, or in civilian clothes that could be considered professional. But this dress? It was a little ray of freshness.

Miguel was chatting in the cafeteria with Jessica and Peter, all having a serious discussion that you were supposed to join. You entered the cafeteria, looking around for them.

"Oh, hey over here!" called Peter to you with a smile, "Oh. My. God. What's the occasion for you dressing like that?"

Miguel, who until now had been stubbornly focused on getting Peter to stand still for this meeting, huffed before turning his head and...

He became static, his breath caught, his eyes wide open as he watched you come towards him. All the others were oysters, and you were a pearl: the best of them all, the most beautiful, the purest.

You offered a gentle smile as you came closer, and his lips parted slightly as the gesture gave him the warmth of thousands of sunbeams.

"It's true that you look ravishing, cutie," Jess admitted as you sat down next to Miguel, facing the other two on the opposite side of the table. "What's the occasion?" she repeated after Peter's question.

"Yeah," said Miguel, clearing his throat as he straightened up and pretended to keep a straight face, "what's the occasion?

You gave them all a small, smiling laugh.

"Nothing in particular, I'm just trying to beat the heat," you said as you took your seat, "why? I shouldn't have?" The possibility that your attire might pose a problem in maintaining the balance of the multiverse hadn't occurred to you.

"No!" The strength with which Miguel denied this surprised you all.

He swallowed, his sentence had come out a little stronger and a little more involved than he had intended.

"No," he pulled himself together as he took on his usual grumpy tone that everyone knew well, "although it's a lack of professionalism, we're not going so far as to prevent your freedom of clothing in the Society."

Well caught up, he thought as he brought his glass of water to his lips. Around the table, he was the only one wearing his suit. Because it was made of pixels and produced by a refined technological composite, he didn't suffer from the heat. Jess was wearing a t-shirt and cycling shorts, Peter a shirt and trousers, and you your summer dress.

Jess and Peter exchanged a quick glance, a mischievous smile stretching across their lips. Most of the elite and close teammates knew about your relationship with Miguel, and although he wasn't always the most public about your relationship, he cared about you immensely, and they both could only imagine the effect you were having on him.

"So, what did I miss?" you asked.

Jess started to explain the situation, but Miguel wasn't really listening. His eyes were obviously riveted on you, and even when he tried to refocus on the conversation, his thoughts and eyes were redirected in your direction as if magnetised.

You were... radiant, beautiful, and... for a moment his eyes went down to the bench you were sharing: the skirt part of your dress was slightly pleated, exposing the skin of your slightly spread thighs, sinking into the space where your cunt was.

He suddenly had the urge to slide his hand over your soft skin, to press it between his fingers and see the bounce of it brimming over under the grip of his hand.

And your cleavage was showing your bare skin, and he wanted to kiss your neck, to nibble your collarbone as he kissed down to the hollow of your breasts...

Keeping his hands to himself was becoming complicated, every little movement you made, even if it was just to readjust your sleeve over your shoulder, was becoming intoxicating. How was it possible to become even hotter by wearing more clothes?

His professionalism really started to take a hit when your leg inadvertently brushed against his, a shiver running down his spine.

But he couldn't touch you here, there was no tablecloth at this cafeteria table that could conceal his desires.

How he longed to do it, even if it was just to touch your thigh with his fingers, to run his hands over your sublimely covered body and to-

"Miguel? Can you remind us about what the last reports stipulated considering the last anomaly?" asked Peter, bursting Miguel's thought bubble, "I can't remember it for the life of me, it must be the heat." he complained. "What do you guys say we postpone this meeting? I can't think straight no matter how many fresh cocktails i drink."

It was true that the glasses had accumulated on Peter's side. A sigh escaped Jessica's lips.

" I regret to say it, but I agree. We can't think properly with the temperature."

Tell me about it, thought Miguel. He didn't care about the temperature, the real distraction was you. He exchanged a glance with you, and you looked at him with a small smile, waiting for his answer.

"Good," he said, simply nodding. "I won't detain you, you can leave."

Peter let out a small chirp, he and Jess getting up from the table to leave. Once away, you turned to Miguel, tilting your head to the side in playful puzzlement.

"The great Miguel O'Hara closing a meeting like that? Summer really does have its magic."

If summer could let him see you every day in that outfit, he'd make sure it lasted forever. His eyes roamed your silhouette again, biting the inside of his cheek. His hand skimmed the side of your leg, hovering gently over it until he placed it on the inside of your thigh, pressing.

You breathed a small sigh of relief, his eyes returning to yours.

"I'm guessing you like the dress," you said more softly.

"Very," he replied simply.

His behaviour was becoming less and less... acceptable in public. So he took your hand and led you out of the cafeteria. Would he be able to wait until you returned to his quarters ? Probably not.

But he knew every nook and cranny of the building, it was his, so you passed down one corridor, then two, then three, until you came to an alleyway you'd never seen before, darkened by the lack of activity.

He glanced in each direction, then immediately came to press you against the first wall you came to, kissing you hungrily.

"That dress is going to be the death of me," he murmured as he came to kiss your cheek followed by your neck, his hands placed on your waist and thigh as he feasted on your skin.

His hand slid up your leg, gripping the warm skin of your thigh as you let out a moan. His fingers moved up your inner thigh almost hastily, unable to contain his need to touch you.

"You're so pretty," he breathed as he came back to kiss you, "all pretty for me, nena."

His fingers reached the fabric of your panties, your body arching. His fingers went under the elastic of the latter and down to your cunt.

"Tengo la novia más linda del mundo," he whispered, kissing the back of your neck, tracing the line of your pulse as he made circular movements around your clit. "Such a beautiful body," he inserted a finger inside you, making you whine softly, "such a beautiful voice," your wetness was starting to stick to his hand. "And it's all mine."

With his other hand, he shifted the short sleeve of your dress, exposing more of your shoulder and placing soft pecks on it. His lips caressed your skin, and his fangs grazed it as he added a second finger.

He was curving his fingers in a sublime way, the strokes combining perfectly with the undulations he was making and hitting the perfect spot.

He kissed the skin of your shoulder, sucking it until it left a bluish mark.

"All mine," he repeated in a murmur as he ran his tongue over the mark he'd just made.

Your moans multiplied, breath hitching, bringing you closer and closer to orgasm, the hot cloud in your lower belly and back spreading.

"Come nena, let me see your pretty face when you do," he said, kissing you a little before pulling back and watching you with his drunken eyes.

You came, your legs all wobbly as Miguel's hand came to rest on your back to keep you upright. He kissed your temple and forehead, calming you gently.

"You're a dream," he said, covering the mark he'd left on your skin with your sleeve as you trembled, only he was aware of the hold he had over you.

Needless to say, from that day on in the summer, the air-conditioning became suspiciously faulty, because he had every intention of seeing you wearing that dress again.

[jennifer-jeong]

Okay so first, I really love your LnD fics (patiently waiting for more of your amazing works) 🥹🫶 and hear me out...

Reader who is reincarnated as a Fae being and has been alive since. But the thing is, her wings had been clipped off (with the use of silver chains, meaning she's vulnerable against silver) for a century and is in Linkon city since she feels that part of her (her wings) are somewhere hidden in the city (Think of Maleficent live action ig where her wings were taken from her) and meets the guys and so on :)

HI ANON THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR ASK AND YOUR KIND WORDS FJDSKLAFJSDL;A I APPRECIATE IT SM!! TY FOR INTERACTING!! I’m so glad to hear you like my fics and I promise more are on the way hehehe please do request me again if you have more ideas!!

I hope I did your prompt justice! I definitely did think a lot about maleficent when writing this hehehehe

Fluff + Angst | LADS x Fae!Reader Angel

CONTENT Angst to fluff, gender neutral reader, mentions of violence, blood, trauma, torture, healing alongside them, mutual pining between you and the boys, happy and open ended endings! ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+

Your wings were a pretty and pearly milky white. Your wings resembled those of high flying birds. They were thick enough to allow gliding and also strong enough to give you lots of control in the air. They were iridescent in the sun and carried you high in the bright sky. The air was thin but more refreshing up there. You played with clouds and soared through the endless blue. It was freedom. It made you feel alive, warm.

It was your gift, but unfortunately, it was on someone else’s wishlist.

You’d never been a spiteful being, nor had you ever hurt a fly. But when silver chains ripped your flesh and tore your muscle to take your wings, severing your very soul from your body. When they destroyed your forest, your home, your family, your heart. You swore to make them suffer.

You were powerful and hunting these fools down was nothing difficult for you. The problem was hunting without your wings, your best weapon.

The lack of mobility and being forced to fight on the ground made it so that you could maim the weak ones, but you could never reach the ones who profited off the suffering of you and your people.

Linkon city is where they were. You knew this. You could feel your wings there. You also knew that you’d need to hide, figure out who did what and how to get your damn wings back. It would take time, but time was all you had as a fae. You’d do whatever it took to make them pay.

It’d take years, but it was worth it.

2 years later and you’ve already made moves to apprehend (and torture) a few key figures, always leaving them in front of the police station when you were done. You still had so much good in you and it always prevented you from killing. But it made you seethe that they were filthy fucking rich from what they stole from your homeland. They sold your resources and displayed your bodies, your wings, like they were trophies. Life was still cold and depressing for you but you did manage to make some friends in Linkon. They’d even help you with your mission. You only trusted them with the information because they had similar goals.

XAVIER

Xavier was a local policeman you had met a few decades into your plot when you were hired to help with the case. He was coincidentally also investigating illegal hunters and black markets selling goods stolen from other civilizations such as yours. It was a big ring of crime and he was determined to end the atrocities that were being committed in it. Meeting you was just extra motivation on top of his already relentless drive for justice. You became investigative partners since you were both capable in combat and often investigated the same people anyways.

Xavier was kind, gentle, quiet, and stronger than he let on. He always worked without expectation of reward and you appreciated that. You just wanted justice and he wanted the same. It helped that he didn’t seek publicity because it would’ve made your life harder since you were probably wanted as a vigilante from before. Xavier taught you his philosophies and you realized you’d been consumed by your desire for revenge, unable to enjoy life outside of it. You admired him for his morals, so you learned from him, and it made you two grow closer. He was more than happy to help, it was so rewarding to see you slowly become your bubbly self that he guesses you lost a long time ago.

He had his suspicions that you might be fae. The man was smart but he played his cards carefully, he always held them close. He acted aloof with you and pretended to not constantly stare at the back of your shirt, trying to see if you had imprints of missing wings on your shoulder blades. He also figured that your motivation for wanting to crack these cases came from somewhere. If he also managed to figure out that you’d been behind some of the previous mysterious arrests, he’d turn a blind eye. He knew your actions weren’t crimes. He felt glad that you got them back for what they did to you and your people.

After a few years of planned raids and dozens of arrests, one of the recovered items from the warehouse was a beautiful pair of wings. Still buzzing with magic, craving to feel the wind again. You felt them when they were being transported to the police HQ. The surge of energy that continued to approach you made you hold your breath and bounce your leg out of pure anxiety. Xavier put a hand on your shoulder to try to calm you down. He’d already figured out what was going on just by looking at you. You didn’t need to say a word. It was something that slowly came naturally since you two spent so much time together. You smiled and he smiled warmly back. You were in the middle of panicking because Xavier was still touching you when you were presented with your missing soul, your wings. You requested to view the “evidence” privately with Xavier and wasted no time in feeling your delicate wings with your fingertips again.

Xavier stood behind you, his right hand found its way to your upper back. He finally traced the outlines of your cut wings. It made you gasp at first, but you trusted him. As he continued to feel them, you shivered. They were scars, they were more sensitive. He stepped to your side and you turned to partially face him, his hand sliding off of you. You looked into his eyes and your longstanding feelings for Xavier were making their presence known by heating up your face, flushing your cheeks. You swore you saw a slight tinge of red on the tips of his ears too. He spoke to you in his familiar voice that you loved so much. He decided to tease you slightly.

“I think I always knew that you’d have wings, you were too perfect to not be an angel.”

ZAYNE

Zayne was a surgeon you’d met one day when he treated your wounds since you collapsed outside the hospital. He discovered the scars where your wings used to sit on your back. You were high off the morphine when he checked your back for more injuries so you barely even realized.

He questioned you but not in the way you expected. You thought he wouldn’t know what they were or try to take advantage of you. But instead he asked what you knew about the hunters that took your wings. He already knew exactly what happened to you just by looking. He was involved in cracking down on research related to Fae and Lemurians since there were people trying to fuse their genetics with these races to gain their beneficial traits such as immortality.

He knew some things you didn’t know and vice versa. You both began working on this together, investigating research facilities, interrogating suspects, and fighting only when needed. You were unstoppable and the law didn’t plan to ask you to let up. You both hand delivered them collectors and shadowy figures that had hid from the police for so long. When you fought, Zayne could both heal and attack from afar while you rushed them head on. You were unafraid because you believed in your partner, your trust in Zayne only grew as the years went on.

Early on, Zayne encouraged you to let go of the spite, the revenge. You knew he was right when he said that they did not benefit you in this. He saw the rage in you and could see that it was hurting you, mentally and physically. You listened, you knew better. You stopped the relentless tortures and instead, let the collectors rot in jail, but not before you got in a few good punches. Zayne watched you slowly come out of your shell again, actually taking the time to enjoy the little things in life instead of being hyper focused on revenge. He’d be lying if he said you weren’t one of the most rewarding patients he’d ever had.

Working with your partner was definitely quite the rollercoaster. He was always so professional and mature but would also randomly tease you as if you were kids, albeit with a fully deadpan expression. Zayne was reserved and often came off as cold but he made you so warm. You knew he was an extremely compassionate and kind person under his exterior and you admired him for it. Zayne also adored you in the same way. You had gone through so much pain and suffering but you still smiled and shined like the sun.

Over time you adapted to live without your wings but after one specific raid on a collector’s mansion, you knew exactly what the collector’s prized possession was because it belonged to you. You could feel your wings. They still surged with energy and upon seeing them when you went to do follow up investigation, you immediately called to them. They flew towards you and you inspected them, almost not believing the scene in front of you. Zayne stayed close ready to support you, especially if you were to fuse with your wings again, he knew it’d be hard to keep them hidden and it’d just bring up so much previous trauma.

You turned to face him slowly, leaving your wings behind you. You hesitated. Not letting your wings fuse with you yet. Zayne looked into your eyes, trying to comfort you with his presence. After a few seconds, Zayne held out his hand, you took it. His skin was cold but somehow it made yours burn, the heat spreading through your body as your face warmed up. He spoke quietly to you, telling you to take your time. You closed your eyes and took deep breaths, your thumb slowly caressing the back of Zayne's hand as he did the same back.

Zayne had always been good at comforting you with his words, maybe it just came naturally since he was a doctor. Regardless, you knew it was exactly what you needed right now. You didn’t know what you’d do after you got your wings back. Would you go home? Would you continue this mission with Zayne? Would having your wings make it harder? Would it make it easier? You confided in Zayne as you spoke your thoughts out loud. Once you were done, you were overwhelmed and he could tell. He started his reply with a sentence that filled you with warmth, hope, and a little bit of giddiness. He speaks, teasing you a bit at the end, his face flushing.

“It doesn’t matter what you are or if you have the wings or not, you’re beautiful and you should follow your heart… especially if it’s here.”

RAFAYEL

Rafayel was a painter “looking for art or inspiration” that you met at an underground event where illegal goods were being sold, but you quickly figured out it was a front. Rafayel was a Lemurian, you sensed it immediately since you weren’t human. As a fae you had the ability to sense certain things, and so did Rafayel. Upon meeting each other at an art exhibition, you quickly exchanged information and agreed to meet up again the next day. You almost simultaneously revealed that you were both after the hunters that destroyed your homes when you finally got to chat alone.

The two of you start to frequent more underground events, both of you being well connected and hiding your true intentions very well. You use the events to gather information and then put your plans into action when your targets are alone. It worked amazingly well, you were both extremely skilled and efficient at what you did. It slowly chipped away at this network that shamelessly destroyed your beautiful homes.

Rafayel was a bit of a loose cannon. The man was so sweet and bashful one second and deadly serious the next. He was so gentle with you but didn’t hesitate when there was business that needed to be done. He could easily switch it on and off too. You were just glad you were on his side of this war.

Both you and Rafayel were out for revenge but something about your partnership changed you two. You both slowly helped each other heal, confiding your worries and traumas in each other. You were still both ruthless when it came to apprehending the people who did you wrong but the tortures stopped and the warmth returned outside of the violence. You two actually started to make good memories and live life instead of just trying to survive. You’d often watch the sunset over the ocean together, it was peaceful and you’d chat about anything and everything.

Eventually, after dozens of raids and missions, Rafayel finds weapons that used to belong to his family at the same time you find your wings again. You kept quiet until the mission was done, knowing you could feel your wings but not wanting to startle Rafayel. You looked at the weapons with him, you put your hand on his back to show your support for him. His eyes stayed glued on the knives and his face was a painful melancholic expression. You rubbed circles into his upper back with your thumb, hoping it could ease some of the pain caused by resurfacing memories.

After ensuring that the weapons would be sent to his personal studio, he continues to explore the mansion with you, following you while you find your wings. You communicated to him about your wings and he knew this would be tough for you too but you were both glad you had each other in this moment.

When you saw your wings in a display case at the end of one of the hallways, you bit back tears. It was a lot to take in. You passed millions of dollars worth of paintings to reach the most priceless thing in this whole building. Rafayel lags slightly behind you, wanting to give you a moment. You turn to face him, telling him that you don’t know if you want the wings back or not. Would they make you complete again? They can’t bring anyone back, can’t take away the pain. You couldn’t hide them like Rafayel could hide his true form, would it be a nuisance?

Rafayel makes his way towards you as you ramble, clearly distressed. He quickly envelopes you in a hug, letting you cry lightly into his chest, a painting of Lucifer on the wall next to you. You stay like that for a while. When he finally pulls back, he cups your face with his hands. You were his fallen angel, he wasn’t always great with his words but he truly spoke from the heart when comforting you like this.

“You never needed these wings to be complete, you’re ethereal with or without them. You’ll always be my angel, no matter what.”

|| MASTERLIST ♡ || Thank you for reading! ||

[fresastar]

our AC!Sun Wukong being tortured and manipulated from heaven🥺🙁

I will say is that this is not over with our angel being traumatized or beaten up by heaven, our angel will be marked from heaven and leave a collar for heaven to own him, he is never safe from anywhere he has lived for, but one day his savior, his warrior will save him…..for about 500 years or more……he is a fallen angel that is from heaven that has no freedom and will….

Hehehehe, I am an evil person for making Wukong have more angst then anybody else☺️��

if anybody wants, you can all give him a hug and tea of peaches for him to calm down while I get some idea to draw his backstory.

And yes that was his backstory😃

[odileeclipse]

*looks up at with big eyes*

Been lurking a little, reading your writing/works and going a little insane over your lil guys and how perfectly structured everything is and how written the characters are, I’m hooked.

But really just wanted to say I hope you’re doing well and you’re taking breaks between writing (eating, drinking, stretching, you know :3)

Just shoveling your writing into my mouth, saving it for later heheheh

- 🕰️

Thank you for worrying 🕰️anon I'm doing very well after I finished all my exams and will be enjoying my newfound freedom until my next exam approaches I am stretching and eating my favorite meal a Chicken Caesar salad no dressing just cheese lettuce croutons and chicken yummy

[actualclownfucker]

barty slipping sirius a love potion barty slipping sirius a love potion barty slipping sirius a love potion barty slipping sirius a love potion barty slipping sirius a love potion ba

omg. 10/10 concept. would totally happen. in fact… how many times has bcj done it by now??? /j LOL

SO! i thought about this a lot and i love the idea of this happening when sirius barely knows who barty is, but barty knows everything about sirius. he’s obsessed with sirius, completely infatuated and knows everything about him

meanwhile, sirius knows barty as “the kid that’s always upset about something and needs to get a grip” LOL

but instead of pissing sirius off for his attention (in true bcj fashion) being enough, barty needs sirius to be in “love” with him, he wants sirius as obsessed and in love with barty as barty is with him, so the obvious answer is to slip him a love potion, right?

(i could see barty also doing higher than the “recommended dose” to ensure it’s true obsession and to make sure it’s all encompassing, just like how bcj feels about sirius heheheh)

and as soon as he slips it to sirius, barty feels like he got everything he wanted. the object of his desires and affections wants him back. they spend every single second together, they skip classes just to be together, they become each other’s everything and it’s everything barty could ever want

he gets to obsess and be obsessed over back, they can be each other’s whole world and i think after a while, barty would forget that it’s the effects of a love potion in all and he would lose his fucking mind when sirius returns back to normal

when sirius wants nothing to do with him anymore, when sirius hates him, rather than feeling just indifferent

sirius would hate it, would hate him for that forever, for taking away his control, freedom and independence all with one potion. and barty would try try try again to get sirius to take another love potion but alas sirius is too smart and too wise to him for it to happen again

leaving barty back to his usual ways of mere obsession from afar and attempts to get sirius’s attention through anger

but he’d always miss those days when he felt like he truly had sirius as all his

[thislovintime]

Photo by Henry Diltz.

“What does [Peter] want to communicate? ‘Love. I don’t mean it to sound corny,’ he said pleadingly. ‘Dogmatism is leaving the scene. Youth is examining all the old-time premises that used to be taken totally for granted — sexual mores, artistic mores. And in Russia, the revolutionary clichés. I think there’s a genuinely democratic society just over the horizon. I hope so. I hope it achieves freedom and peace.’” - The New York Times, October 2, 1966 “The world situation is something in a mess today. I’d like to see it all get straight. It’s working on it now though. I can see it happening. There’s always going to be another challenge the world will always go on. But I’d like to see us solve all our problems like poverty, war, pain and all that. Christianity as it is now practiced by most people who call themselves Christians in this country is pretty shabby. Sometimes the true Christian spirit seems dead. But I can see it coming out of the woodwork now. I think the flower children are an example of the true Christian spirit. That means love and participation.” - Peter Tork, Fave, March 1968 “I won't go nearly so far as to say that everything that came up in the 60's was valid, but as far as I'm concerned, the 60's were to what will come as Greece was to democracy. Remember that in the 60's the political officeholders had lost all touch with the needs of the nation…kind of like the Bush administration now. Back then the voice of the establishment, Life magazine, was discovered to have doctored photos falsely indicating that LSD caused chromosomal damage. That proved what we (then) kids already knew: that those at the top preached fair play and honesty, but had no more need to honor those concepts than what would give them the next dollar without too much trouble. We saw perfectly clearly that we were on our own, that no one in authority cared about us. Now, like any bunch of kids left to their own devices, some, many, went off the rails. Every false step by somebody walking around under the cloak of the liberal hippy 60's was used as a pretext for dissing the entire generation. Those of us who were truly interested in liberty, fraternity and equality, however, knew we were onto something good and real. What had been called democracy was, and to some extent still is, a pretext for wrapping the will of the greedy and aggressive in a mantle of public acquiescence. Now, the business of wresting power away from those who make a specialty of wielding it will be a long and protracted struggle, with a lot of setbacks along the way. The outlines of the new style of governance are only dimly perceivable, and won't become clear for a long time to come. In the meantime, our job is to practice the principles of fairness and service to the extent possible. One thing is clear: there is a much higher joy in service than there is in acquisition of wealth. (Remember that it isn't money that's the root of all evil, it's the love of money.) Hanging together in brother — and sisterhood is so happy-making you want to sing right out loud. Yeah, I feel the same about those ideas as I did then…in case you couldn't tell. heheheh, Peter” - Ask Peter Tork, 2008

[dollgxtz]

More personal growth for sylus! Him actively trying to surpress his toxic possessive feelings! And the way he was kicking his feel smiling when he called reader from his business trip! Hehehehe

Yesss we love character development!! Not only is he not stopping her from interacting with the twins but the little things like not restricting her freedom in the house, taking off the ankle chain, etc are all good signs of growth.

(The bar is in hell at this point but hey he’s trying 😭🤣)