#it just always feel bizarre and unnatural

[bluecollarmcandtf]

"Dude, I'm in your brother-in-law!"

Panic twists your gut as the bizarre scene sinks in! Those unnaturally clouded eyes are the trademark of Jimmy, your long-dead friend, and they're sitting in the skull of Carlos, your sister's fiance! The ghost is up to his usual antics, possessing yet another guy in your life without any regard to you.

"Did you imagine a tight gym rat like this would wear undies like these?" Jimmy chuckles, referring to Carlos' patterned boxers, "I mean how could you be so intimidated by a guy who's got hearts on his crotch?"

The underwear is the least of your worries: the man is supposed to be walking down the aisle in an hour! It may have been a dick move for your sister to get engaged to your high school bully, but that didn't mean you wanted her future husband to be late to the altar!

"Don't even bother asking me to get out of this body, dude!" the deep baritone of Carlos sings with Jimmy's cadence, "The only thing I plan on getting out of is this tux! Training like this needs to be appreciated, and who better to appreciate it than you? I'm sure you'd love to know what your sister is getting tonight..."

"I mean just look at these abs. It's like a rock hard washboard if you want a feel..." Jimmy winks one of his starkly blank eyes at you, "...speaking of being rock hard, it looks like you're enjoying this bonding time with your new brother-in-law. After all, Carlos does need to apologize for all the bullying he did in high school."

With a racing heart, you shush him and beg for Johnny to leave. He needs to return Carlos to normal before anyone notices! The wedding would be over if someone found the groom naked and flirting with the brother of the bride!

"If you're gonna be my new little bro..." Jimmy says with an unsettlingly accurate impression of Carlos' demeanor, "...then I think you should get to know me. Come on and grab my fat, meaty pecs; pinch my nipples; let me know who the real man is around here..."

It's hard to resist. You've only ever caught stolen glances at Carlos. The jerk would always shove you into a locker when he caught you staring in his direction, yet now he was begging for your attention.

"Come on, bro. Grab my athletic little ass and grope my crotch. It's the least I can do after targeting you for all these years."

Before you realize what you're doing, you find yourself rushing towards the shredded latino and pressing yourself against his exposed body, layered with dense musculature. Part of you still expected Carlos to kick you in the nuts and call you a slur, but his lips instead gleefully embrace your own.

"Damn, if I'd known being queer was this good, I woulda married you and not your sister!" he exclaims. You just roll your eyes, knowing Carlos isn't actually saying these things. Jimmy is just puppeteering his mouth for your amusement, "I bet having your dick in my mouth will be better than the tits of any girl! The only way a piece of crap like me can apologize is on my knees..."

You stifle a moan as all 200 lbs of the naked jock drops to his knees with a dopey grin. Carlos' soulless eyes stare at the tent in your pants like it's the most desirable thing in the world. It doesn't take long for him to unbuckle your pants and open his mouth...

...twenty minutes later, you're still catching your breath while Carlos slowly redresses.

"Now you can watch your sister marry this homophobic dirtbag and know that you've shoved your shaft down his throat," Jimmy purrs, enjoying his final moments in Carlos' form, "I'm not going to brush his teeth, so he'll have to taste you throughout the entire wedding."

You giggle at the thought of the guy wondering about the strange flavor in his mouth while reading his vows. Somehow, Carlos doesn't seem as big or intimidating as he once did.

"If it were up to me, I'd commandeer his whole life," Jimmy went on with a sparkle of enthusiasm in Carlos' clouded retinas, "I'd walk him out there in nothing but his heart-patterned undies and announce to his whole family that he's a flaming homosexual. Then I'd like to spend a couple weeks working his body as a stripper at the nearest club, and of course I'd come home to you every night..."

The idea of Carlos coming out to his orthodox family and working as a stripper is an insane one, but it did turn you on. It's too bad your sister's taken a liking towards him, otherwise, you'd tell Jimmy to go crazy with the guy.

"Imagine your old high school bully coming home to you every night, hot and sweaty from dancing all day, with a new skimpy costume for you to explore. Damn, I'd want you to find a new way to degrade me each night while I wore him. It'd be healthy, I think, after all he's put you through."

Jimmy's crazy ideas never cease to amaze you. A little time belittling Carlos sounds hot as hell!

You give Carlos one last kiss and remind your paranormal buddy that he has to leave soon. The stud frowns, looking sad that he won't be possessed by a gay spirit anymore. At least you know that if this man ever screws up, if he ever wrongs your sister, if he ever hurts her; Jimmy is just one seance away from charging back in his body and making this twisted fantasy come true. It's only a matter of time before Carlos screws up his marriage, and then he's yours.

You almost can't wait for your sister's marriage to fall apart, and it hasn't even begun...

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

So With Spider-Punk: Arms Race #2 right around the corner: .......I'm gonna say it

Hobie's New Design is Bad.

Incredibly bad. Like 'leave it in the drafts homie' bad. Fuck it, I'm about to start using words I ain't even know I knew - this shit is EGREGIOUS.

It ain't cute.

It's bad. It's ugly, bro. His hair is serving Coral Reef And I'm tired of pretending it's not.

And it feels SO subtly anti-black.

[A very SHORT essay where I basically say: Oh hell naw]

For one I feel like they're stripping Hobie's black features. Or toning them down a LOT.

Even if we aren't counting the blue eyes they gave in him in Issue One.

Now, over time Hobie's looked many different ways - but throughout his runs his features were 100% supposed to be interpreted as black.

And while his newer comic runs tone that down a bit, it still looks natural.

And his hair has ALWAYS been natural. So much so that it's one of the defining features of movie Hobie as well.

This.... Isn't that. Not only has his natural hair been shaved and died, but it was done into a style made to DIRECTLY ripoff an already popular WHITE character - Gwen Stacy.

And once again, BLUE EYES???

And it's so bizarre!!!! Cause his design hasn't changed, but it REALLY HAS!! LIKE LOOK-

This is supposed to be the same guy, making the same expression. This is not the same fucking guy.

They have the same brow shape and lip shape and nose, but that's not the same fucking guy and I can't articulate why.

Looking at his profile highlights this way more, especially when putting him next to Movie Hobie.

Notice how ALL of Comic!Hobie's features are RAZOR sharp?

Whereas, Movie!Hobie's features, his features are actually fairly soft.

His nose and lips are curved and soft - even his pronounced brow bone is still curved, DESPITE him having a sharper face shape than Comic!Hobie.

That's because Movie Hobie has Black People Features.

Comic Hobie DOESN'T.

I wish I was joking when I say -

I feel like they're genuinely using Johnny Storms model and coloring it brown.

It's just... too bad not too be.

This redesign is atrocious. It's worse than the Attack on Titan manga.

And from what we can tell - this is a HOBIE SPECIFIC problem. Riri Williams - IronHeart - looks FINE.

Not to be dramatic, but this is very much a disappointment. It's honestly impressive how they managed to fumble the design bag SO EASILY.

Marvel Comics only leases Hobie Brown character to Sony. Hobie is still their IP - they can plunder his SONY design as much as they like, so long as it looks reasonably Not Identical.

And still they decided to do a 180, tone down his black features, unnatural his hair, and give him blue eyes.

Marvel. Pack it up. You're chopped.

[covetyou]

please impregnate dieter

ok bye 💜👽🛸

fine 👽🛸 beam him up, boys.

propagation

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!alien rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: dub/non-con (because alien abduction), alien impregnation, implied mpreg, anal sex (including rimming and fingering), tentacle (just one), belly bulge, alien gender includes humanoid alien ladies with shapeshifting tentacle dicks, spaceship bondage, light mind control. word count: 2.8k summary: He always knew their existence to be fact, but Dieter Bravo never considered their continued existence would one day rely on him.

A/N: seeded left me with too many thots, so I accidentally stayed up until 4am writing this, and finished it this morning, thanks to this comment of yours. I hope you're happy. I have very thoroughly impregnanted That Man™, with his own hypervirile sperm.

And for anyone curious, he was beamed up into the spaceship like a Sim.

tagging a few unfortunate people who have expressed interest in my little weirdo:

@sp00kymulderr @umnitsa @missredherring @thereaperisabitch @magpiepills

@pedge-page @max--phillips

Dieter has no clue how long he's been here. It could be minutes, it could be weeks. Time stopped meaning much of anything pretty quickly - that's how it goes when you're trussed up in a windowless room, strapped up by some extraterrestrial technology the likes of which he hadn't even seen imagined on the most bizarre of movie sets.

Logically, he knows he should be afraid. If there's one thing Dieter Bravo knows, it's to fear the unknown. But, some part deep inside him knew this to always be true. These things that have him existed long before he did and would go on to exist long after him too. Even deeper down he knows that what they're doing to him right now is to ensure that continued existence.

There's no other reason he can think of for being in a position like this.

Or stripped entirely naked.

And nothing else will quite explain the contraption currently strapped to his cock.

No amount of wiggling will dislodge it, and between the way his arms are strapped up and the way his hips are hoisted high in the air, his head left to dangle as it pleases, he doesn't think it's coming off anytime soon. It's a good thing he kind of likes it, even if it does make him feel a bit like a dairy cow.

In the minutes, hours, days, since he's been here, not a single soul has bothered to come in to see him. He didn't know if this damn tube that was pumping him was even okay to piss into, or where his next meal would come from. Realistically, he hadn't thought that he'd die here - it didn't feel like that kind of thing. Still, the fact remained that he hadn't seen a single living thing since the light took him and the floating feeling took over his body.

It was a floaty feeling, thanks to the position he's been kept in, that hasn't quite left him. Between that and his cock being relentlessly pumped without reprieve or release, he's starting to feel desperately lonely here, floating through space or wherever here is.

No sooner does he think it, when there's a hiss of mechanical doors behind him. Dieter opens his eyes - he'd closed them some time ago - and there she is, stalking towards him on two long legs, talking to him in a tongue he's never heard.

It's an unnatural voice. Somehow too high, and too low, and lilting, and rumbling all at once. It's the voice of a dream, one he's had before, except this time it's so very real. It wraps itself around him and lodges into his bones, vibrating sound through to his core until he's gasping and suddenly understanding everything.

This is a processing chamber. He is to be processed, bred, and released.

The newfound knowledge isn't exactly a relief, but he supposes the machine trying to milk his cock without letting him come just yet makes sense. The longer he teased himself, the more he had to give, and it seemed these lifeforms already knew that too.

She purrs, dark eyes bright and curious, and it sends a jolt to his cock, twitching and swelling in the grip of the machine. If he wasn't sure about coming before, now he's certain. He doesn't care who, or what they are. He just wants to burst, to give them every last drop he has, and to make a show of it for the alien thing standing behind him. She's beautiful. Her skin practically glitters, shimmers holographic, translucent, full of sunbeams and starlight. Her eyes trace him, examining every inch, before settling between his legs where his engorged cock hangs and his balls draw up in a desperate attempt to come.

But the machine still keeps him on the cusp of losing it.

Even when one elongated finger reaches out to stroke him, tracing down the seam of his sack, he can't come, and that's when he realizes it's her doing.

"Please. You can have it. All of it. Just please..." his voice sounds thick and just about as alien to his ears as hers did, but he knows she understands him.

He knows, because with a blip and a soft whine, he's being maneuvered in his restraints by some unseen force. With legs spread wider, and his shoulders pulled back, that ethereal voice hums through him again.

...Ready for processing...

It's her. Dieter can see her out of the corner of his eye as he twists in his restraints. But she's changed. Sort of.

She still looks effervescent - her skin shifting and fizzing under his gaze - but so much about her has expanded and grown. Her fingers have gotten longer, wider, the tips practically glowing with each throb of blood through her veins. She seems taller too, and broader, rounder, but he's struggling to work out what's a trick of the too-bright light and what's real. Fuck, everything feels so real.

Most of all what Dieter notices, and can't take his eyes off, is the swelling appendage between her legs that definitely wasn't there a moment ago. He'd almost mistake it for a cock, if it wasn't for the way it moved and writhed, as if a limb all on its own.

He should be scared. He knows he should. But he knows that all that's between him and coming is being processed, and he's quite liking the look of what that means.

Another tingle ripples through him, just as the cool weight of her drops down behind him.

...Commence lubrication...

Something slippery and long slides along his ass. It slips between his cheeks, wet and slick as it glides across his puckered hole, leaving trails across his skin. Dieter can't help the groan that leaves him. If this is lubrication, he can't wait for what comes next.

And then it slides inside, the slender tip breaching his asshole for a moment, feeling wetter than any tongue he's ever had there before. He can't help but twitch in his restraints, his legs trying desperately to give him momentum to rut into the air, to give him more friction so he can just come already.

Instead, he's held still by long fingers with too many knuckles. Fingers so long they wrap around his entire thigh, anchoring him in place. He's totally at the mercy if her and her tongue - because that's definitely what it is, even if the feeling of it swirling around his rim is more than a little different to the human tongues he was used to.

It probes into him deeper, and he groans in his restraints. The machine on his cock has stopped it's sucking, but it hasn't given up it's grip. He can't bust even if he wanted to, and he's starting to think she's never going to let him come.

He can feel it. The tongue slipping deeper, her mouth meeting the skin of his asshole, and the slick rush of liquid as it pours into his hole.

He's begging. He can hear it distantly coming from his own mouth, before the soft lullaby of her voice rings in his head and turns his bones to jelly.

But then she's gone. Her mouth unlatching from his ass, the tongue slipping from his hole, and the fizz of knowing is back in his head.

...Lubrication complete...

There's so much of it he can feel it dribble and bubble out of him, leaving gloopy trails down his thighs as he shudders in the bindings keeping him hoisted high.

He can see pools of it on the floor beneath him too, and more dripping in oily globs out of him as he shudders. No lube, or saliva, he's ever experienced is like this. Nothing has ever pumped so deep and felt so good.

...Commence dilation...

Fear.

Fear because he knows those words, but doesn't know what it means for him here and now, with his ass so he exposed to her and his cock at the mercy of the machine. Dieter tries in vain to move, to tuck his ass under so he's a little less exposed.

But it's no use.

The long fingers find his thighs again, and that voice echoes through his head, bringing him to calm as the tip of one throbbing finger strokes against the slick of his hole.

When it pushes in, the stretch feels no different to the toys he's used on his own ass, or the many people he's had fuck him before. It feels good. Incredible even. Each slight fuck of the finger into him coinciding with a deep throb in his asshole.

The bulbous tip of her finger pops in and out of him, drawing more moans out of him as his rim is stretched around the appendage.

When the thinks dilation isn't too bad, her other hand creeps up to his ass, pulling him apart and holding him open.

The stretch is deeper like this. And he's nodding his head, spurring her on to finger his ass more, to go deeper and curl just the way he loves until she's milking his prostate. He knows he can come like that. He doesn't need anything on his cock, he just needs some well practiced fingers in his ass, and he has a feeling this creature is extremely well practiced at this.

Deeper doesn't come, but the stretch does. It's the stretch of another of her thick tipped fingers being pushed into his hole. And when that pops past the resistance of his asshole, he yelps, his chin wobbling in a feeble sob. Dieter can't help but gyrate his hips. He's so desperate for more he's willing to risk those fingers pulling out and holding him in place.

Except they don't.

She lets him rut this time. He can feel the pleasant approval from her in his mind as he rocks himself in the air, fucking her fingers as deep as his shallow movements will allow.

Even when the fingers tug at him in opposite directions, he doesn't stop rocking. He feels so full and stretched, that he barely registers a third finger joining the others until it's too late.

He almost panics. Almost, because he's fairly certain at that same moment she tells him to calm, to relax, and he does. The tense muscles in his asshole give in to the fingers and let them in, all three fucking into him and stretching him beyond anything he's had before. Even a fourth, and final, finger doesn't draw response from him beyond a whimper and a sob, his hips still doing whatever they can to get the digits deeper.

...Dilation complete...

And then they're gone.

And he feels so empty.

"Please. Please you can't. Don't leave me like this, please. You've got to - I need to - please. Anything. I'll do anything."

Dieter knows he's babbling. Knows she might not even understand a word he's saying, mess that he is. But he doesn't care. He's never been so desperate in his life. He wants her fingers back, or her tongue, or even that terrifying thing writhing between her legs -

...Commence insemination...

He doesn't even hear it, even though it's right there inside of his brain, unavoidable. Dieter doesn't hear, because the moment the voice floats into his body, the slick tip of her cock, more like a tentacle than any penis he'd ever seen, slips easily inside of him.

It's immediately swelling and growing as it slips deeper. He can feel as he's stretched wider and wider around it, the whines that leave his chest turning more and more desperate with each throb of the thing plundering his hole. It's deeper than anything has ever been, he can feel it as it wriggles around through him, pushing aside organs and pulsing into the deepest parts of him. It's impossibly wide too, the deep stretch in his asshole unlike anything he's ever felt, even two cocks being no match for this thing she's wedged inside of him.

And the deeper it pushes, the wider it pulls him, the more he craves it, the more he needs something to anchor him down and ground him even as he floats along, hoisted in the air of a fucking spaceship to be bred by an alien creature.

Whoever his captor is, she's benevolent, and she gives him exactly what he wants. Her long hands wrapping themselves around his hips, finger tips pressing on the bulge in his belly, massaging him and drawing soft ah ah ah's from his mouth. She likes it when he makes noise, he can tell by the burst of approval tingling down his spine, like she's singing something beautiful to him as she destroys the very hole she just prepared.

When those same fingers trail down to his balls, the throbbing in their tips turning to frantic thrumming, vibrating his sack in her hand, he knows he's done for. The machine around his cock starts sucking in earnest, switched back on by some command unheard by Dieter. The tight grip it had around his base is gone, and all he can feel is relentless sucking, the buzzing along his balls, and the writhing tentacle cock deep in his guts, fucking the life out of him.

He feels higher than he's ever been, and before he knows it he's coming, his cock throbbing and pulsing in the tube that contains him, spilling out seemingly endlessly as the thing inside him writhes, pressing against his prostate and milking him for more and more and more.

He doesn't stop coming. It's still leaking out of him, his balls spent and drawn, but his cock red and throbbing and sore but still so drippy from the relentless onslaught in his asshole.

Around him everything whirrs to life. Lights flickering on control panels, sparkling across his vision. There's movement too, above and to the sides of him, but he can't move, doesn't even much care what's going on as he still twitches and comes and comes with her tentacock buried in him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck -"

There's pulsing. The gentle throb of her fingers was one thing, but the thing inside him is now pulsing so deep it stretches him wide as each pulse ripples from the base of her through to the tip, where he can feel it burst and fill him.

And with one final wave, the biggest yet, the thing inside him throbs and bursts once more before she releases a pained gasp. The fingers around his hips don't release, the throbbing in the tips of them so quick the vibrations are numbing his skin.

Dieter can hear it - actually hear it - her voice uttering some gibberish he doesn't understand, and the thrumming pulse of her fingers eases off, even if the depth of her cock does not.

...Processing...complete...

His own breaths are the only ones he can hear among the slow winding down of the machine around him. There's other sounds too, as his vision hazes and blurs. Snicks of tubes disconnecting, the hydraulic hiss of moving machinery, the soft steps of the alien behind him as she pulls away, and out of him, with one final gasp from both of them as the impossible length of the appendage she had buried in him finally comes free.

The machine unlatches from his cock without another sound, before collapsing into some hidden compartment in the floor. The panel lights switch themselves off, and his restraints fall slack. He can finally move again, twist to see her, even though all of him aches too much to ever want to move again.

But he does. Anything to see her one last time, because he knows in his bones that this is his last chance. He's never known it himself, but he's certain she looks how love feels. Even now as she reduces back down to something a little smaller, but nonetheless imposing, he can tell that that's what she is. And maybe it's her function, the draw of her electrifying skin. Maybe she looks this way to make processing easier. Still, looking at her, he already knows he'd do it again, if only to lay his eyes on the thing that looks so much like a love he's never known.

With a final look into those beautiful, endless eyes, he lets exhaustion take him, the last remnants of her voice flitting through his veins just as he succumbs to darkness.

...Thank you...

He dreams of a light so bright he's certain he can hear it, the harsh metallic glare of it buzzing through his ears, making them ring and his head spin.

But the light gives way to darkness as he wakes, and he sees the very same stars that took him, just as distant as they've ever been, and looking down to the city below from the hills, he sees stars there too, as close as they always are, and the ache taking deep and low in his belly is forgotten, if only until dawn breaks across the horizon.

[ofallthingsnasty]

capture kill

Pairing: M!Werewolf x F!Reader x M!Werewolf Tags:  teratophilia, yandere, dead dove: do not eat, noncon, abduction, (attempted) forced impregnation, creampies, chubby reader Word count: 3.8k Summary:  Two men are secretly fighting over you.

Unfortunately, you’re about to find out.

Note: This started out as some dialogue that popped into my head and it was a lot of fun to write out the dynamic between these two OCs! Please read the tags properly and enjoy. Requests are open!

You smell before you feel.

The air is ripe with motor oil and wood, just like your family's little shack during summer evenings. An almost musky note lies underneath, mixed with something metallic, rusty - old equipment, maybe? It’s quiet, the only thing you can hear is your own breathing, deep and constant. There is the occasional creak from the boards, expanding and moving against each other in the heat. The wall you're propped up against is hard but warm from the sun - it’s not a comfortable position and the moment you realize it, a familiar ache settles itself in your lower back, clearly a sign that you’ve spent a long time sitting like this.

Did you fall asleep hiding behind one of the shelves with a book in hand, enjoying a lazy summer evening? 

It wouldn’t be the first time: The shack is the only place where you can truly be all by yourself - without any disruptions from your family, without anyone asking for you, without any chatter and the constant clatter of dishes or the static of the tv. You’ve always liked to hole up right here, seated on a cushion and with some snacks in hand. You’ve spent many quaint evenings like this, forgetting the world around you.

There is only one problem: You don't live anywhere near your parents' house anymore. 

And you’re pretty sure that you were just enjoying your favorite iced drink at the cozy little café around the corner. The thought shocks you from the very last bits of sleep.

It’s dim around you. You can barely make out the rest of your body while an unnatural drowsiness still clings to your eyes - it seems to sit right on top of your lids, weighing down on them like a ton of bricks. You feel so incredibly groggy, as though you’d die if you didn’t fall back asleep this second. A small part of you fights against the feeling - it’s too easy, you think, to just simply give up. Something is off, something terrible churns your stomach around nothing but air.

Rolling up your head, you blink at the ceiling. 

Green eyes peer back at you, big and apologetic. They're lined by silvery-white fur, between them a muzzle. Too high above you to be a dog, too broad. The thing is bipedal - more bear in body than canine, with disgustingly big paws that look like they could rip you limb from limb. It eyes you with something akin to curiosity, intelligence clear as day in its gaze.

You blink again, brain trying to catch up with your eyes.

And then it speaks. Awful, garbled words. “I’m so sorry, darling.”

You can’t help but scream.

Or at least you try to, because your mouth won’t open. Your lips are held together by something hard and sticky - duct tape, your mind numbly supplies as if it’s of dire importance.

The thing looks stunned - panicked, even, as far as you can tell from its eyes widening at your muffled protests and your head wildly swinging around.

“Yeah, yeah you’re sorry”, another voice cuts in, only making you thrash around harder. “We get it, you’re trying to save the romantic atmosphere or some shit.”

It comes from the corner of the shack, where a shadowy mass stands, postured leisurely against the wall. It is dark - but there is no doubt that it looks just like the wolf-man in front of you. You feel like you’re hallucinating. As if being abducted wasn’t something out of your worst nightmares already - these animals are so bizarre, your poor brain doesn’t know what to do with all of this information.

“Well, how do you expect me to go about it?”, the one in front of you hisses back, eyes not leaving you for a second.

“It definitely helped the whole fighting thing, dumbass”, the other thing snickers and the wolf-man growls at the mocking tone. “I told you we should have just done the deed when she was out cold.”

The sentence confirms all of your worst fears. You whimper against your makeshift gag, trying to suppress tears. The thing gives you what you think is supposed to be a sympathetic look but it only looks ghoulish on its canine face.

“That’s barbaric”, it says, voice thick with disgust. “Yeah, and this right here is the height of chivalry and romance”, the dark one chortles. “As always, you’re a fucking hoot.”

“Shut up.”

“Well- I’m sure, the missus would like an explanation. So quit yapping and do your little monologue, will you?” “Fuck you.”

It gives the other an irrated look and then takes a step forward. You flinch away from it, only to meet the wall behind you. An attempt at raising your hands in defense is foiled thick rope binding them together - you can only cower behind your forearms, fingers swiping, gripping wildly through the air with what you hope is enough to keep it at bay. The wolf-man looks almost sad at your motion but doesn’t back off - those giant paws wrap themselves around your shoulder with surprising gentleness as it crouches down, completely disregard your attempts at scratching it. The thing holds your gaze with big, sad eyes and takes a stuttering breath. It seems to want to say something but isn’t able to - and the fingers on your shoulder tighten themselves into the fabric of your shirt.

Then it says your name- and chokes up. “I can’t-”, it grits out. “I can’t say it-” “You’ve been preparing your shitty talk all the way up here, grow some fucking balls.”

It whines in response, the sound high and miserable. “She’s going to hate me for this.”

“Oh my god, shut up, Evan!”, the dark one snarls again. “She’s gonna hate you either way, believe me.” Evan. The name rings a faint bell even in your panic-ridden brain. Evan. The baker from your favorite little shop a few minutes down - who has the same green eyes to match this thing. A couple years younger than you and so very sweet like the pastries he bakes - you can hardly believe he is this monster. But clear as day, in front of your own two eyes, the wolf responds to his name and has his eyes - even his blond hair sort of matches its coat, if you squint. You thrash in Evan’s grasp, thoughts rushing through your head. You feel like you’re dreaming and dying at the same time - that thing can’t possibly be a human - and this situation can’t be real, either. It’s all too much, too fast. You’re starting to feel faint.

“I-”

“Fine. I’ll do it myself, cuck.” The other steps forward and you get a better look at him, even through the black and green spots that are sprinkled all over your vision - his dark fur is peppered with silvery streaks, his muzzle turning white from age. One of his canines is chipped and makes him look roughed up, makes him look scarier than he already is.

"You see, sweetheart - me and Evan over here are quite… interested in you. Tried to settle this issue for weeks. But then our alpha stepped in and came up with", he waves his paw around as if to show you something, "this."

"And now we're gonna fuck you and see which one knocks you up first, hm?"

You lose it. Whimpering against the duct tape, you throw your legs around, desperate to fight them off. Some animalistic part of your brain supplies you with the thought that just trying to scream no, no, no against your gag might make them spare you, might make them go away. But Evan doesn’t let up, he keeps his hands on you, heavy and warm.

"You scared her, fucking asshole!", he snarls, teeth bared and fur raised.

“She wasn't gonna like this either way, boy. Some woo-woo words and a little sap won't make her fall for you immediately.”

You thrash around helplessly, efforts futile against the monster holding you down.

"You had the chance to ask her out every damn day when she took her pretty little face to your shop. And didn’t you follow her home sometimes?”, the other one snickers, clearly delighted in picking on his mate.

It makes you stop dead in your tracks and you look at Evan with wide eyes, scared. 

The darker one laughs. “Would you look at that. Did I tattle?”

By now Evan’s claws are buried in your shoulder. It hurts, even through the cotton of your t-shirt. Not even your whimpered protest seems to reach him. He looks positively murderous. “See, loverboy over here isn’t as innocent as he’d like you to think. Nasty little creeper, that one.”

“Shut up, Bill-”, Evan grits out.

Bill. Such a mundane name for a monster like him. Unlike Evan, it doesn’t ring a bell - but you’re sure he is a local just like the young bakery worker.

“That's enough”, Bill says, voice suddenly full of authority. “You’re only making this worse for her, boy.” The paw on your shoulder trembles. “At least let me go first.” His voice is nothing more than a whimper now, more reminiscent of a sad child than a fully grown man grotesquely stretched into the body of a wolf. He sounds absolutely pathetic like this and you’d pity him in any other situation.

Bill laughs, deep and ugly. It’s an almost dry chuckle that gets gradually louder. The atmosphere shifts to something more dangerous, more serious - gone is the playful teasing, now it sounds like he’s ready to rip Evan’s throat out with his bared fangs.

“I am your elder. I get to go first.”

Evan doesn’t respond. He just stares at your lap with an indecipherable expression.

“You hear me, boy? Hugh said this was the way to settle things. Trying to question your alpha?” The threat in his voice is clear. Evan finally opens his mouth. “No.”

“Good. Very good.”

He finally lets go of your shoulder and steps aside. Bill doesn’t waste any more time - you’re grabbed by your ankled and roughly pulled onto floor, helplessly flailing your bound hands through the air. He’s on you almost immediately, caging your head in with two thick arms. You can only stare up at him with pleading eyes, trying to beg him to stop with your expression alone.

“Sh, princess”, he says, almost gentle. He bows his head down and nudges the crown of your head. “I can play nice with you, you know? I just don’t like that little cuck over there”

His words do little to calm you. 

Whimpering against the tape, you let tears spill freely. You just want to be home, in your bed - just anywhere but not here. “It’s okay”, he murmurs and licks them away with his rough tongue. “You’ll be fine. You’re a little fighter, I know you are.”

A growl sounds from the corner but Bill isn’t fazed. He caresses your face with one clawed finger and crinkles his eyes at you. It’s another attempt at a soothing gesture, another one that doesn’t work.

“Poor thing, hm? Let’s get this over with.”

You can barely cry in protest before he rips your shirt open with sheer force, digs his claws into the cotton like it’s butter. Your skin prickles with fear as he eyes you, soft form and all, like the finest cut of meat he’s ever seen. Gone is that almost-warm expression, that deceptively gentle touch. He’s back to his snickering, old self. “Cute bra, baby. Too bad it has to go.” And with that, Bill slashes the straps and rips the band away. Your torso is completely bare in a matter of seconds, leaving you to shiver on the rough wood, the scraps of your shirt barely shielding your back from the ground.

Evan groans from his place and the sound curdles your stomach. 

“Just ignore him, baby”, Bill says and bares his teeth into a ghoulish smile above you. “He’ll have his turn but I’m gonna knock you up and keep you.” With another rip of elastic and cotton, he frees you from your pants. The floor is cold against your skin and you already can feel the splinters that are about to bury themselves into you - but it’s nothing compared to the terror awaiting you. “A little uncomfortable?”, he hums above you. “Sorry about that, babe. Gonna have to do for now.” He stuffs his whole snout into your bush and groans. The feeling is alien, his muzzle warm and wet and you shudder with it. “You smell divine.”

When he pulls back, his dick is unsheathed, hard already. He palms himself while he stares down at you, dark eyes enraptured by your form. 

“You’re just-”, he grunts. “About the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen-”

He pinches the fat of your belly with a surprising gentleness, the sting tender. 

“Look at you, all soft and round. So perfect for me.”

He leans over and kisses and bites your neck, your shoulder, even your jaw - gently, which only freaks you out more. He really won’t stop, will fuck you in a matter of minutes and you can’t do anything about it. You know you aren’t ready to take him and he is definitely bigger than average in this form. The dread that blooms in your stomach feels like a punch to your gut. 

“Deep breaths, princess”, he rasps above you, able to read every single thought that flits through your head in your terror-filled eyes. “Nothing much you can do now.”

As sick as it is, it rings true somewhere deep in your panic-riddled brain. Bill shuffles around a little bit, without ever breaking eye contact. There is a warmth that touches your leg and you know exactly what it is - his cock rests heavy and hot on your skin. Slightly wet with pre-cum, it twitches between your thighs. You barely dare to peek down, not wanting to see what is about to happen.

“I’m gonna enjoy this.” Bill groans, buries his muzzle in your shoulder and pushes himself into you. He is incredibly thick and it burns. The feeling is unlike anything you’ve experienced before - raw fear for your life leaves you dry and clenched uncomfortably around his dick, making him snarl and hiss above you. You can feel your own tightness around him and fold your bound hands into nothing, fingernails digging themselves into your palms.

If only you had something to grasp, to make this more bearable. The only thing you can do now is grit your teeth and take it.

“Oh shit, princess”, he sighs, completely blissed out and without any regard for your pain. To your surprise, he bottoms out slowly and waits for you to adjust - or at least what he thinks adjusting is. You're still not ready when he finally starts fucking you in earnest, slow and deep. 

"Fuck-", Bill grits out directly into your ear, his voice muffled. "You got the perfect cunt, baby. So fucking- tight."

You pay little mind to his words, too focused on the steady push and pull, on the dry stab of his cock.

“Knew it when I first saw you that you'd be perfect for me. And I'm gonna-”, he moans obscenely loud as your cunt flutters around him. “I’m gonna fuck you full of my pups- just wait-” The thought of being pregnant with this monster’s child almost makes you weep. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”, he groans, his pace picking up. “My cute little wife. That’s what you’ll be, princess.” The sentence earns him another threatening growl from Evan. He only laughs in response, deep and unspeakably ugly. “Yeah, you’ll be perfect-”, his hips crash into yours as he fucks you even faster, the sound vulgar and loud in the otherwise silent shack. “I’m gonna make sure that this little cuck will cry himself to sleep for the rest of his life. Gonna give you a bunch of brats-” It’s clear that he’s just rambling now, too entrenched in his own pleasure. But the thought still makes you still freeze in fear, the very possible future of being with his child terrifying. He’ll give you at least one, to claim you. Ruin you forever.

You clench around him in fear and he loses it - snarling, drooling and almost hollering above you, he fucks you so hard your head gets pushed into the wall again, every thrust bending your neck into an awkward angle.

You know he has to be close now and you’re grateful for it. One, two heartbeats pass as keeps pounding you so hard you know you’ll feel his dick in you for days to come.

“Oh- fuck”, he grits out as he buries himself into fully, the stretch making you bite your cheeks to bear the pain. “I’m gonna knock you up-” And then he’s spilling himself into you, the hot, wet feeling of his cum deep within you. Bill yelps and shouts as he empties himself into you, various curses and praise peppered in between the moans. It takes him a good minute to calm down again, to collect himself.

Still a little out of breath, he smiles down at you with almost sadistic glee as he licks the side of your sweaty face. “Come on, cuck. Time to get your sloppy seconds.” He’s on his legs in a heartbeat, still marveling at the mess he made just seconds ago. “You better do it quickly because my swimmers are already working their way up there”, Bill laughs and all but shoves Evan out of the way as he goes back to his place in the corner. “Have fun, boy.”

The younger man is by your side in an instant.

“It's okay, honey, it's okay”, he whispers, those big green eyes filled with tears. He tries to soothe you and strokes the top of your head but the gesture only freaks you out more. “This is all my fault, and I'm sorry, so sorry.”

The apology would have been a little more sincere if his dick wasn’t already poking your thigh.

“Oh, darling”, he sighs tearfully. “I’m so sorry it had to be like this- I just- ”, he starts but interrupts himself with a hiccup. “I swear, if I had talked to you sooner-” Not even the snicker from Bill’s corner can snap him out of it. “But I’m gonna make it right. You’ll see, I’m gonna make it up to you, darling”, he babbles on, his words only unsettling you more and more. “You’ll have to forgive me, yeah? You have to.”

He’s a goddamn lunatic. 

You can’t help but look back at the older man, almost wanting him to intervene. Before you can make any eye contact, you’re pushed into a hairy chest by a tight hug. “I promise. But first, we’re gonna get through this”, Evan rumbles out above you, making the dread flare up again.

He wastes no time after that. You’re freed from his arms and placed on the ground - gently, but with unsteady hands. He looks as though he’s drooling above you, parting your legs and sniffing your belly with anticipation. His cock seems to be a little smaller than Bill’s, but considerably thicker - it bobs up and down as he licks your stomach, your tits and your neck, his tongue almost shy.

At least Bill’s cum serves as a lubricant, you think, as sick as it is. “My pretty girl”, he hums. “And soon all mine.”

And indeed, the stretch is almost bearable as he enters you. You’re glad he doesn’t reach as deep as Bill does because the speed at which he fucks you is sloppy and fast from the start - he pushes into you with so much need and desperation it knocks the air out of your lungs with every thrust.

“I love you”, he moans. “And we’re gonna- we’re gonna spend our lives together, yeah? I’m gonna take such good care of you-”

He’s talking himself into a frenzy, his words nothing but the lovesick rambles of a freak - they just make you feel more hollow. “Really love you, angel- oh-”

His muzzle opens and he kisses you over the duct tape, tongue pressed against the plastic and spit sliding down to the sides of your face. He doesn't seem to mind, not with the way he moves his jaw against your taped mouth, frantic and uncoordinated. It’s disgusting.

Unable to move away, you can only press your eyes together and let it run down your skin.

“You’ll love me too, I know it. Just know it-”, he pushes your hands onto your chest as a leverage to go even faster. “We were made for each other.” “We’ll forget about this and live happily ever after.” Now he sounds completely delusional.

His twisted little fantasy of domestic life with you only spurs him on, his moans getting more choppy and broken with every slap of his hips against yours. He seems to be a quicker shot than the older man, too hung up on his bizarre dreams and hopes. You thank whatever godly entity out there for it.

“Fuck- darling, I think I’m about to-”, he whines but doesn’t get any further before his orgasm rips through him.

You’re a proper mess now. The second load of cum feels obscene within you, all warm and sticky as it spills out around his dick and onto your quivering thighs. He fucks into you for another few, sloppy thrusts before he stops to catch his breath. Evan looks so calm suddenly - gone are the tears, the shakiness. He gently kisses the top of your head, the gesture tender. 

“You lovebirds okay?”, Bill says, his voice suddenly quiet, higher.

Evan’s head snaps again, a weak growl telling the other to stop his teasing. You use the shift to peek up from underneath  him, curious as to what changed. A naked man stands in that same corner in Bill’s stead, smoking a cigarette without a care in the world. Salt and pepper hair is fluffed up on his head, slightly greasy - your tired eyes have seen him once, you’re sure of it. 

“Like what you’re seeing, babe?”, he grins and whistles out some smoke. 

“Leave her be, Bill. She deserves some peace now.” He barks out a laugh, then takes another drag from his cigarette. “Yeah, yeah. I hear you.” Finally, Evan pulls out, forcing out an obscene amount of cum and fluids out of your abused cunt as he withdraws. It lands on the floor beneath you unceremoniously, the noise sickening. He caresses your stomach before he gets up, already contemplating how you’ll look like swollen with his child. “We’ll have to wait a little but she’ll stink like one of us soon”, Bill snickers at the sight, one chipped tooth just as pronounced as it is in his wolf form. He pats Evan on the shoulder in an almost brotherly fashion, both too worn out to fight anymore. Bill stomps out the cigarette with another sigh and stretches as though he is simply a little tired from a long day. He grins before holding the door open, the world outside already dark.

“Don’t worry, princess. We’ll be back tomorrow morning to make it stick.”

End note: And? Who would you pick? Maybe even both? Do tell me 👀💕

[chaifootsteps]

Looking back on that childhood “friend” episode im actually stunned at how unnatural and uncomfortable it all is. Especially compared to fizz, who was left behind at the circus all alone :(

The dialogue is bizarre, stolas has such an annoying accent and he talks like a fully grown adult, half the time he is fact checking and lecturing Blitzø about something. While Blitzø doesn’t want to be there and he finds stolas boring, weird, creepy, and annoying. He seems amused by how easy it was to trick him. He also smiles when he tosses the bag of stuff to his dad. Lol. Then the chandelier scene, what was that? Why did stolas get excited as if he’s never seen his own furniture before? Then they say “oh yes!” “Yeah woohoo” about…a chandelier? And they fall down. What was that dude.

The tree scene - ugh. Stolas lectures about the grimoire, with his finger pointed up in the air. Blitzø says it’s cool. Okay. But he doesn’t have any strong feelings about his own future or his life. Blitzø talks about his dreams, which is cute, but stolas laughs not with but at him, the entire time. The funniest part to stolas is the idea of an imp hiring him. Which irritates Blitzø as much as “is this an imp game” he just grumpily replies “yeah if I feel like it..” And when he says he’d be a good boss and a great business, he’s talking as if a parent is saying “that’s great sweetie, we’ll put your drawing of this cat-dog-thing..right on the fridge” and Blitzø says “you say that with sarcasm” was stolas just always a pompous jerk? I don’t think the ‘he was raised that way it’s not who is’ excuse is true at all. There is zero bond and zero chemistry here.

It's insane, isn't it? Blitzo is literally plucked from his moment with Fizz, the two of them happily playing their little balloon horse game with no hard feelings about Fizz having to swoop in to upstage him, and dropped in front of this little rich boy he hates being around and we're told that the latter is the childhood friend romance that's written in the stars.

[chaoticbardlady99]

Sheep Thrills (Astarion x GN! Reader)

Synopsis: You and Astarion are often up to nothing good on your rest days. Shortly after the tiefling party, the group decides to hunt down Auntie Ethel in an attempt to rid the Sword Coast of the Hag.

When the group decides to send two people to scout a head- You and Astarion are far too keen to volunteer your time. You have your own research to conduct.

CW: Nothing really besides references to sex(?), just kind of fun and cute

Words: 1.6k

Photo belongs to idk who so please reach out if it’s yours!

Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated! I am just terrible at responding 🙃

The sun holds itself proudly up in the sky and there is a nice breeze in the air. You and Astarion are perched up on one of the higher rock formations that peers down on the Sheep munching at the grass along the river. You have been staring at them for far too long, but the two of you are convinced that something is not right with these sheep.

You had both been absolutely fascinated with the damn things ever since you walked by them to get to Kagha’s note. When you and Astarion graciously agreed to look for the Hag’s house- all of your companions were suspicious.

They should be.

You found the Hag’s home and quickly began trying to unravel the secrets of the swamp instead of going back to camp. You’ve been out here for at least three more hours than you told them you would be.

It’s been a semi-uncomfortable, fun, and muggy three hours- you’ve called Astarion a primadonna a couple times and he’s called you a stubborn bull a few more, but overall it’s going very well after you take a sip of water and he gets a few blissful moments from your wrist. Unquenchable thirst and stake outs never mix.

Something has to be up. The sheep sound unnatural. You both think the sheep will reveal whatever their secret is eventually, but they will not budge.

You’ve offered them snacks, pets, kind words, a generous amount of “BAAs” in return- Astarion even jumped around the corner and scared one of the damn things and yet you are both just as stumped as you had been 3 hours ago.

Unfortunately for these poor sheep, you are a very stubborn Warlock with a nose for shenanigans and have befriended a rogue who encourages (and enables) your thirst for chaos. Neither one of you is willing to walk away until an answer presents itself.

“Maybe- hey get that look off your face-,” You whisper and gently push him as he gives you an unamused look, “I think I figured it out!”

“Your last guess was that the sheep were all going mad from Giardia, my Sweet,” he smirks, “I don’t think Giardia is the direct cause for their baaa-ing sound being so bizarre.”

You feel your face burn up from the pet name and you look away, clearing your throat.

“Yes, I admit that I goofed your Magistrateliness- I said a silly, unforgivable thing,” you say with crocodile tears, “but I think we are overcomplicating this whole thing.”

Astarion raises one his eyebrows at you, “is that so? Please enlighten me, my Dear fearless Knight.”

You roll your eyes so hard you think they may fall out- you are the least knightley person you know. Astarion snorts at your cross eyedness when you finally look at him again with your theatrical unamused smile. Your tadpole wriggles behind your eyes before a fleeting warmth goes through your body and you see your own face through Astarion’s eyes.

Silly and beautiful.

Happiness.

You pinch yourself- willing the tadpole to stop intruding on Astarion’s thoughts and feelings. Although those sentiments make you very very happy- you will not push the matter. Astarion can take it at his pace- he’s been under a shitty, abusive vampire lord for 200 years and he deserves the respect. You only slept together a few days ago anyway- you can be patient.

“Why don’t we just shoot one of the sheep?” You ponder, “if it’s a spell, it will break and then we’ll know they aren’t really sheep. If they are sheep, then we have sheep for dinner!”

Astarion snorts, “really? You’d eat the potentially Giardia ridden sheep? I wish I could say I expected more from you, Darling.”

You glare at him and his cheeky grin. You look away with a pout and feel a cold pair of lips kiss your cheek. Your heart beat picks up.

“I’m only teasing, Darling,” he whispers into your ear, “I maybe only expected slightly better of you.”

“You- Mister Magistrate- are very very mean.”

“I never said I was nice,” he says with a shit eating grin, “well- I’m nice where it counts at least.”

It takes you a second and then you realize what he is saying. He certainly isn’t wrong, but it doesn’t make the blush running up your face any less embarrassing or the way you feel yourself clench around nothing at the thought.

Astarion looks far too pleased with himself and your body’s giddiness in response. You try to change the subject before your words give you away as much as your body already has.

“Do you want to shoot the sheep or should I?”

He scoffs, “I can’t believe that’s even a question. I’m obviously going to be shooting the mangy, river diseased sheep.”

“I should have never said the Giardia thing,” you mutter under your breath.

“No,” he grins, “you really shouldn’t have.”

You watch as he gets his crossbow set up, his delicate hands work assuredly. You follow the flexing of his arms as they work to get the bolt in and get lost in the valleys of concentration on his face. It’s stupid how beautiful he is.

The sound of the arrow whizzing through the air, the loud guttural shriek from the sheep, and the putrid smell of bog water fills your senses all at once.

“Shit.”

You look down and see exactly what Astarion is referring to- the sheep are Redcaps. Of course they are Redcaps! How did you not think of that!? Their beady eyes are looking high and low- one is actually crying over it’s fallen companion which makes you feel like a bit of a dick.

“Aw man,” you whisper, “now I feel like a jerk. We didn’t even give them a fair chance.”

“Life isn’t fair, my Dear,” Astarion whispers matter-of-factly, “which is why we should spend less time empathizing with the things and more time getting out of here.”

You both sneak around to find a pathway that will allow you to waltz away from your mishap before you are overrun by Redcaps. Astarion taps your knee and gestures to a path that will allow you both to get away undetected. You are so grateful you learned how to sneak around like a rogue in your urchin years because oh boy- it was not an easy path to navigate in a full squat.

You both begin running as soon as you are out of the Fey creatures’ vision and you begin to laugh as you come to a halt. It’s a wild laugh filled with adrenaline. It feels so good to be alive.

Astarion stops ahead of you and tries to gesture to be quiet, but it was too late- Wyll was already standing there and looking at both of you like he’s your disappointed mother.

“Three hours!?” Wyll exclaims, “it took you three hours to find one Hag’s house!? The Swamp isn’t even that big!”

“Actually,” you state with fake confidence, “we found out quite a lot of helpful information today.”

“For example,” Astarion quips, “the sheep are infected with Giardia.”

“So help me Gods Astarion!,” you say with a huff before turning back to Wyll, “the Sheep are red caps.”

Wyll was significantly less annoyed after you revealed that information and grumbled about how that is actually helpful information before storming off. You turn to Astarion with a cheeky smile on your face.

“Ha- shows him!” You say with pride, “did you hear that? HELPFUL!”

Astarion rolls his eyes at you, but you can tell he is equally as thrilled as you are.

“I’m still saddened by how little he trusts us to get anything done,” Astarion says with feign hurt, “whatever will I do if our local Knight in Shining Armor is so irritated with me that he won’t come to my aid?”

You know the question is hypothetical, rhetorical even, but you leap up onto the nearest boulder and look upon him- your right hand in a fist over your chest.

“Magistrate- Administer of Bog Laws and entertainer of Sheep Thrills- I pledge my sword to thee! Ye shall never know neglect at the hands of a Knight ever again!”

“Hmmm, but I feel rather neglected by you, my Dear.”

You frown and feel worry fill your body. You hop off the rock and walk over quickly. Astarion looks surprised to see how seriously you have taken his words.

“What did I do? Or I suppose what do I need to d-“

Astarion cups your face with his hands and interrupts your rambling with a chaste kiss. He pulls back and throws his head back in laughter at your flustered expression.

“I-“ you clear your throat, “I must apologize- I did not realize such services were wanted! I shall erectify my mistake starting now!”

“Erectify?” Astarion snorts, “don’t you mean rectify?”

“Oh no,” you smile mischievously, “I know exactly what I said.”

“You are the biggest weirdo I have ever met,” Astarion states affectionately, “you do know that, don’t you?”

“Good! It means I’m not replaceable.”

“Oh Darling, you are anything but,” Astarion presses a soft kiss to your forehead, “you will come to my bed tonight, won’t you?”

“Of course- shall I come to you in the cover of the night,” you tease, “or should I attempt an insane series of parkour moves to avoid being seen?”

“Oh good Gods,” Astarion shakes his head, the smile on his face betraying his attempt at exasperation, “how about this instead-”

You raise your eyebrow at him with confusion and Astarion gestures for you to walk forward. As the two of you turn to camp, you suppress the urge to squeal like a schoolgirl when he intertwines your hand in his as you walk back together.

[yourlocalmechanism-dr-carmilla]

“Care for a tea with your executioner?”

A new creation for the war, thats what I, King cole, adore!

Make me a beastly warrior out of the finest silver and strongest steel, unrelenting and deadly as death itself!

The rebels shall recoil in terror and fright when they see their executioner- the jabberwocky! [king cole obv]

Born from war, made for war, you shall never know anything else

You only feel pain, but you cant be beat, you dont have a soul, youre just a weapon

You cant talk right, so why bother? Just obey your orders, paint the sky red with blood, that is your life!

They soon found out that the collar that makes me obey, my chain on which i am held, can be hacked, soon i was fighting for the rebels, unknowingly

Ruby eyes turned white, as i burnt hundreds of rose reds and tore them apart

It was over as soon as it started, but they deceided that i should be the only one

So i was taken control of back and forth from the queen of hearts to the rebels [jabberwocky]

Born from war, made for war, you shall never know anything else

You only feel pain, but you cant be beat, you dont have a soul, youre just a weapon

You cant talk right, so why bother? Just obey your orders, paint the sky red with blood, that is your life!

The jabberwocky was useful in the war to the rebels, everyone feared it, but then, it went all so wrong. A glint of sentinence had been growing inside of the Jabberwocky, as it took over. And it turned against everyone, tired of being treated as just A weapon, it wrecked havoc, before it was shot down- it didnt stop it. I stabbed out its eye, to distract it. But then, it was gone. [Alice]

Born from war, made for war, you shall never know anything else

You only feel pain, but you cant be beat, you dont have a soul, youre just a weapon

You cant talk right, so why bother? Just obey your orders, paint the sky red with blood, that is your life!

I stalk the lands, seeking out new victims to satisfy my hunger for blood, picking them apart to see whats inside. I get driven mad woth the turmoil inside of me, oil spills from my eye- tears perhaps?

When i see tea, i stop for awhile, and thrn, there seens to be sonething reminiscent of peace

When i get taken control of- which never lasts too long-, i get chained up- whether queen of hearts or rebels, it doesent matter. I cant speak, its gibberish, a rhyme whine, Speech a Confusion, Askul frm or my true language- the one of machines that no one speaks anymore. When shall this terror end? I receive other broadcasts, maybe the war is over, i dont know? I hide and fight, i am a legend now, just another spook take to tell, as i was never a person to begin with.. [jabberwocky]

Born from war, made for war, you shall never know anything else

You only feel pain, but you cant be beat, you dont have a soul, youre just a weapon

You cant talk right, so why bother? Just obey your orders, paint the sky red with blood, that is your life!

A NEW OC!! ITS FOR THE MECHANISMS Ä!

Heres the description:

Name: Jabberwocky

-they/it or just its name

-a humanoid robot dragon essentially; it has dragon wings, its gasmask/helmet looks like a dragons, its pupils are slits, its hands have claws and its unnatural lanky and tall, its feet have claws too, and it has a dragon tail..its made from shining silver metal, its teeth are steel. It can breathe fire, has enorm strength, a thirst for blood, poisonous teeth and bizarrely, a love for tea. Its wings are the colour of oxidized copper, its eyes are essentially rubies w slit , their short hair a mix of blood red and moss green, their scales that litter their arms, legs, meck and sides of its body are a.metallic green. it is clad in a red military band jacket and a pair of white pants with buttons on the side. Its dangerous as it can move so swiftly and makes no sound- until its too late. Their teeth are too big for their mouth, thats why their mouth is always contorted into an odd grin (not as wide as chesires tho). Often perches somewhere on kts fours, looking for its next victim

-an experiment by King Cole; the only one of its kind as after it was finished and deployed, it was discovered that anyone could use it for its purposes- The collar that it wears makes it follow orders through a series of electric impulses- Unfortunately, that collar can be hacked and it didnt took for the rebels long to notice, so it turned into a back and forth between the two sides. Until…a glint of sentinence had started to develop inside of it- and it had enough of being just another weapon. So it went rogue. Turning onto everyone, it lit the battlefield ablaze with its fiery breath. It took awhile to even shoot it down, but it srivived and it also survived gettign its eyes stabbed out by none other than Alice Liddell, to protect the others, especially the white knight and queen. It did escaped tho, stalking the land

-due to its one eye being broken, its collar inly works half way- on occasion, it gets hacjed and then iti fights for one side but the effect wears off and it goes rogue, berserk-like as it slaughters the masses- but as soon as it sees tes, it takes a tea break. And when it gets brought under control, its always chained up and secured, no matter if rebel or queen of hearts- its treated like a beast.

-And inside of its head, irs full of doubts- what us it ecavtly, is it a person? Does the oil that leak from its eye symbolize tears? Can it feel mental pain? What are these sequenves (dreams) that it sees when.it rests? Why does it want to run or to stop?? It is confused. What doesent help is that it cant communicate properly, usually speaking in odd rhymes that make no sense, gibberish or just repeats a few words with no connection. And no one on this palnet speaks its true languagey the language of machine. So its left alone, confused, scared, full of hatred and bloodlust..soemtiems it picks its victims apart to see whats on the inside.

-It also picks up broadcasts and signals from all over and it can hack into computer system…but the message that the war was over..was deemed dentrimental to the war effort and was scrambled and it didnt udnerstood it. And even if-it coudlnt have stopped. It was born from war. it is their nature, their programming

-depending on which side theyre on, their eye changes from red to white. It doesent ubderstand feelings, has the names but not the meaning. It laighs but it sounds fake, robotic.

-it yearns for another machine to understand it..and to love it. It saw lovr in war it wabts to understand it, feel it. But it doesent have a heart, just a processor.

-they get picked up by the mechanisms abd taken in, due to theur destructive nature and wings. They deceide to keep their lost eye…

[crypticmillipede]

OK EXTREMELY NICHE CROSSOVER but hear me out !! Stardew Valley Characters x TMA?

(oh yea spoilers for some Magnus Archives concepts/lore? but nothing plot-related)

the 12 Stardew Valley dateable characters as TMA Avatars:

Abigail: Could see either the Vast or the Stranger. The Vast because she adores exploring, asks existential questions, gets lost in things. The Stranger because of her character arc as an odd one out, someone who just doesn’t fit in with the rest of the town, unnatural, an outsider. Also because of her potential connection to the Wizard.

Alex: Likely the Flesh, as a sort of Jared Hopworth situation. He’s always talking about his bodybuilding, it’s pretty Flesh-aligned. I could also see him as the Hunt? His obsession with going pro, reaching his goal, something that never really happens but he’s always chasing. Maybe he begins to hear the blood?

Elliott: The Lonely. Relatively new to town, all isolated on that beach, I bet it gets quite foggy. Or potentially the Eye? I could see his fervor for writing as a thirst for knowledge, in a way?

Emily: The Spiral. Strange, bizarre, cryptic, a manic pixie dream girl (and i mean this with love), she’s gotta be the Spiral. I could also see the stranger, but she has a certain level of approachability that’s more Spiral to me.

Haley: This is tough for me. Maybe the Flesh, as someone concerned with their appearance, but that feels kinda surface-level to me. This is a stretch, but what about a Dark alignment? The way she sort of refuses to intake information sometimes (ignoring you), bores easily, she could be compensating for an insecurity by presenting a certain way? In the dark, she wouldn’t have to worry about any of it. Besides, she does have that Dark Room… (i admit this one doesn’t really fit, does anyone have a better idea? spider maybe? or even corruption?)

Harvey: The whole weight of the town’s expectation’s for their only doctor, his stagnant dreams of piloting, Harvey’s got to be affiliated with the Buried. Possiblyyy the Flesh, simply due to his profession, but the Buried makes far more sense for his character to me.

Leah: Hear me out on this one—the Extinction. She’s got a couple dialogue lines focusing on environmental destruction and humanity as a harmful species, she’s newly moved out of the city and into nature, radically replacing her environment. She’s so isolated in the forest, it might sometimes feel like she’s the only one left. If not, then the Vast, most likely. Or maybe Stranger or Lonely? She’s got options.

Maru: If anyone in this group is Eye-affiliated, it’s got to be Maru. She has this thirst for knowledge, always building, always looking up into the unknown of the cosmos.

Penny: She’s got to be the Lonely to me. How many times has she sat under that tree, picking at the grass and looking out into the river? She’s so isolated, despite being around so many people. If not the Lonely, then certainly the Corruption, with its themes of finally finding endless love and community, a hive who truly understands.

Sam: This is another tricky one to me, but probably the Vast? He’s so easy-going and carefree, for the most part, it fits in quite well with the Vast mentality of ultimate insignificance and the freedom that comes with it.

Sebastian: Although the Lonely is probably the easy answer, I could also see him as the Buried, honestly? Burdened by the weight of all the expectations pressing down on him, by his stagnation in a town he wants nothing to do with, by his lack of freedom and desire for escape. He has friends, close friends! It seems to be more of his general circumstances that haunt him, rather than isolation, necessarily.

Shane: While i know the Web is primarily associated with addiction, I don’t really feel that Shane fits with the Web in any other way? I honestly see him more as affiliated with the Desolation, given his often self-destructive tendencies, and the way he lashes out at others. Shane seems to resort to alcohol as a harmful coping mechanism. Of course, I could also see him as the End, given some of his cut scenes, but the qualities of the End don’t seem to match him as well as the Desolation.

Those are my takes!! Sorry I couldn’t narrow it down more, but there’re so many potentials, it’s hard to choose a single option for each person! These are superrrr subjective and up to interpretation, so I welcome any additional speculations or suggestions !! I kinda wanna know how other people would categorize these guys tbh? anyways yeah sorry about the long post, my brain is rotten. perchance.

[foe-paw]

bro i just got knocked clean off my socks by a podcaster's description of a Stephen King character made in such a way that i finally, finally, understood the reference behind Uncle Wiley's character.

first, the stephen king wiki description on randall flagg:

Flagg is described as "an accomplished sorcerer and a devoted servant of the Outer Dark" with general supernatural abilities involving necromancy, prophecy, and unnatural influence over predatory animals and human behavior. His goals typically center on bringing down civilizations, usually through spreading destruction and sowing conflict.

huh! that sounds kind of familiar! alright, on with the podcast excerpt-

Randall Flagg, he's the dude we're all here for, in one way or another, right. Because… Just to let you know, if you're a listener who has not read a lot of Stephen King, if you're here because you like hearing us talk about it rather than reading it yourself, Randall Flagg is in some ways the lynchpin around which all of Stephen King's later work is going to be built upon. He's going to leave this novel and he's going to show up in other novels. Randall Flagg is the Walkin' Dude, and he walks a lot. He is, uh- in- in the way that I think that if you're not a Stephen King reader, you probably associate Stephen King's ultimate embodiment of evil as Pennywise, because I think Pennywise has a much sharper popular culture profile. But Randall Flagg is really Stephen King's archvillain. And he is… He is the Heath Ledger Joker. He's also, kind of the Jared Leto Joker. He is also kind of the Jack Nicholson Joker! He is every Joker. Right? He's an Ur-Joker. — It's very funny that you just said he's not Pennywise. — Yeah. But he is the Joker! — Yeah, yeah. He is an agent of chaos who is calculating. — We get introduced to him - and I actually, I think the rest of the books kind of ruin Randall Flagg for me. Because Randall Flagg is really intriguing when we meet him here. He, uh, he's a drifter- so, again, we have these parallels. Nick Andrews, who is a drifter, but he's like, the good drifter… Randall Flagg is the bad drifter, who doesn't go from town to town to work, we get the sense that he just - he doesn't even remember his own past, right? There's something really weird about him right off the jump, he doesn't have a good sense of who he is and he does not care. He just has, like, weird memories of, like- impossible memories, right? Hhe remembers going to school with Charles Starkweather. He remembers riding with the KKK. He remembers, like, helping the weather underground build bombs. It's suggested that he's hanging out with Donald deFreeze and the SLA when they come up with the plan to kidnap Patty Hearst. And he's just a guy, he wears cowboy boots, he wears jeans, he wears a denim jacket, he's got pockets that are filled with all sorts of extremist literature? And, this is important- it's not just, like, extreme right-wing, right? It's extremism of any type. Right? Randall Flagg is the nightmare embodiment of horseshoe theory in a lot of ways. —Yeah. We talked a lot about liberal centrist Stephen King, and I think it should be instructive to everyone that his ultimate villain is just extremism of any kind. Like, any political statement that- or any political belief that is, like, outside the Overton Window, that's Randall Flagg. — He just, he has no ideology other than the sowing of chaos, right? Making everything worse is his goal and he doesn't have a very clear memory of his own life, the events are kind of strange, but also, and he has in his first chapter, right? He's walking down the highway and he always has- the phrase that is always used to describe him is that he "looks like a man with great good humor", right? He's always smiling, he's always laughing, but it's a mean and evil laugh.

from the Just King Things episode about The Stand.

i just feel so relieved because i've been kind of turning wiley's bizarre fucking sartorial choice of double denim in my head like a dog with a very confusing bone, but that decision is way less inscrutable if the source for the double denim turns out to be the bad-guy imaginary of Stephen King in the 70s sdkjskdjskdjskdj.

[ryuichirou]

some nsfw lilidia headcanons? 🫣

+

Anonymous asked:

💙 ANON HERE

I REALIZED I NEVER ASKED FOR THE LILIDIA HC!!!

Anyways we know the drill.

Lilidia head canons food please 😌🤲

-------

Yesss finally, people are asking for Lilidia headcanons! FINALLY… I’ve been training my whole life for this.

Once again, I am very happy you guys are enjoying Lilia/Idia, this is so special and so fun.

A quick note before we start: we’re obviously posting this way before Crimson Muscle and Gloomy Samurai meet irl, if you know what I mean, so these headcanons are more speculative than usual. I’ll just cross my fingers and wish that every single thing I’m about to describe becomes canon lol

With that out of the way, the headcanons:

When Idia first realised that his gaming buddy he’d been crushing on is actually Lilia, he got a little bit concerned, because Lilia is quite different from the image of an experienced and mature dominant older man he had in his head. With the way Lilia looks and acts, he is definitely not Idia’s type, or at least he thought he wasn’t until they got into bed and Lilia unleashed his dominant older man power on poor Idia. After that, the realisation hit Idia again: wow, it really is Crimson Muscle-shi, huh.

Lilia is quite amused by Idia. Firstly, the whole situation about him being Gloomy Samurai is still funny to Lilia, not to mention that it was painfully obvious that his gaming buddy had a crush on him. And it’s one thing to see it in how awkward he gets in the chat sometimes, but seeing him all flustered and nervous and panicking because he’s just a socially inept virgin who doesn’t know what to do with his crush? Lilia’s always had a soft spot for introverts. But what Lilia never expected is that he would get to have sex with a Shroud. Pink hair yaaay~

Before the realisation that Crimson Muscle is Lilia, Idia had sex dreams about him, even though the image of the man was very vague and kind of like a combination of certain traits Idia would find attractive, or just his avatar character. Although what Idia does remember very well every morning is the way the man groped and fucked him in his dreams. It goes without saying, but these dreams always leave Idia very horny and frustrated. Idia finds this whole thing extremely cringy and embarrassing, but at the same time he can’t really help it. When he first saw Lilia himself in his dream, it became even more embarrassing. And even more arousing for some reason.

Sometimes the way Crimson Muscle replies to him in chat leaves Idia kind of horny. This mysterious man just has this weird ability to transform Idia from smug and confident into shy and trembling inside in one sentence. And when Lilia gets intentionally flirty, Idia is completely at his mercy. Lilia has tons of fun with how obvious Idia’s reactions are even through the monitor: he had sensed that Gloomy Samurai is quite submissive way before he found out that he is Idia.

And Lilia himself is, once again, very dominant. He is definitely going to act cutely at first, just to flirt and playfully mess with Idia, but when he sees that the cute part doesn’t really do anything but make him uncomfortable (which is also fun for Lilia, to be fair), he’ll start treating him the way he’s always treated the boys he’s slept with: with teasing, but demanding tone, experienced yet very selfish and greedy touch, and actions that would be too much for a regular pillow-princess type of a virgin, but perfect for Idia.

Lilia is very talkative. Sometimes he is playful and even mocking: he’s asking Idia embarrassing questions about how he feels and comments on how tight and tense he is. But it’s not like he’s all fluffy, sometimes his comments get quite harsh and degrading, especially since he sees that Idia enjoys it when he’s being mean to him. It’s not unnatural for general Vanrouge to talk to his lover this way though, he’s done much, much worse.

It’s also not unusual for Idia to mention some bizarre sex thing he’s seen in some hentai as a joke, and Lilia’s reaction is almost always “yeah, I’ve done it”. This scares Idia, but at the same time kind of intrigues him. Although he’s always afraid that Lilia is just trolling him (he isn’t). Or even worse: if Idia expresses that he doesn’t believe Lilia, he’s just going to do that thing with him to prove a point (he really is going to).

Lilia is definitely taking advantage of the fact that he can float, both with regular sex and oral. Idia is very tall, but it’s never an issue for Lilia: he can reach his butt literally whenever he wants. Sometimes as a surprise, just because he enjoys the way Idia flinches and jumps when spooked.

Lilia bites. He’s not as horrible as the tweels, but he does like to leave a bite mark or two on Idia’s neck, when he gets especially aroused during sex. It’s like Idia is dating a vampire or something…

I feel like I owe this one to people: Lilia is bigger than he is supposed to be logically and anatomically. He’s not as monstrously big as I (half-jokingly) draw him, but still big enough to make Idia feel him surprisingly deep and choke on him. To Idia, it really does feel like he is inside some hentai doujin sometimes. Especially when Lilia fills Idia, and Idia feels like he’s about to pass out, because this isn’t even a cream pie anymore, this is something indescribable.

[delimeful]

nothing in this world (i wouldn’t do) (5)

warnings: mentions of cannibalism, mild blood and injury, arguing & dehumanization, captivity, poison, references to unethical science practices

-

In the end, Virgil left without saying goodbye.

Once all the secrets between them had been thoroughly overturned and dragged into the light by Patton’s visit, his two housemates started their training back up in earnest. Apparently, Virgil’s presence had unintentionally stalled them.

He did his best to help where he could, but no matter how many self-defense moves or surprise attacks he drilled into them, he couldn’t help but feel that there were more drawbacks than benefits to his presence.

After all, he was no trained slayer, regardless of rumor. His fighting technique mostly consisted of ‘take more chunks out of the other guy than he does of you,’ which wasn’t exactly viable for anyone without a demon’s regenerative abilities.

Even more pressingly, the kids were fond of him, always arguing about his status as a monster, and he was worried that it would get them hurt. Surely, there were other demons out there who would try to act harmless or friendly in order to lower an opponent’s defenses.

Virgil was pretty sure he was a bizarre outlier, a statistical anomaly that had gotten knocked in the head during the transformation or something. He’d never met another demon that didn’t want to kill people. He wouldn’t bet on another one even existing.

He knew the two of them had a history of their own when it came to demons, and neither were idiots. But neither were they cruel, and that soft-hearted nature was what concerned him.

Virgil didn’t want to be the reason they tried to extend a helping hand, only to get it bitten off.

He couldn’t bring himself to attack them wholeheartedly, to try and scare any missing portion of survival instincts back into them, because he was selfish.

(He doubted it would work, anyhow. The two of them had gotten concerningly good at calling his bluffs.)

He couldn’t bring himself to give them a proper goodbye, because he was a coward.

(He’d said a farewell to Thomas, that day he’d sent him down the mountain, hugged him tight until he’d smacked his shoulder and complained about worrywart brothers crushing the life out of him.

He’d said goodbye, and lost him in all the ways that mattered.)

Instead, he helped run them through one last day of training, exhausting every muscle, and then waited until the two of them were dead asleep before slipping out a window into the night.

Harley’s preternatural sense of smell was good enough that just dipping himself in a body of water wasn’t going to shake them, so instead Virgil relied on his own unnatural ability, and scaled a sheer cliff face to travel by treetop for a bit. It didn’t matter if they knew which direction he headed so long as they weren’t physically capable of following.

They had their own lives, their own goals to pursue. This was for the best.

And if Virgil found that his solitary travels suddenly felt much lonelier?

Well. It wasn’t like there was anyone around to notice.

—

It hadn’t even been a full month before trouble found Virgil again.

Maybe it would be more accurate to say that he was sent into trouble. After all, the circumstances of his current situation seemed far too precise to be a coincidence.

He hadn’t thought anything of it when a teen had approached him timidly on one of the roads skirting a sizable town. It had happened time and time again before, though usually those approaching didn’t carry so much nervous tension. Most people were only a little wary of what they assumed was a demon slayer dedicated to protecting them.

That should have been his first sign, in hindsight, but he’d been too busy being morose about missing his own temporary wards to take note.

Maybe he should have worried about how their friendship would impact him a little, too. He doubted he’d ever be able to look at a younger slayer without seeing them again.

The stranger had pleaded for help, watching him with a curious spark in their gaze, and gave him directions to a nearby grove, one that multiple people had apparently disappeared in, including their older brother.

Virgil had fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker. He hadn’t thought to ask around for other victims, or even notice that nobody else on the path seemed familiar enough with the rumor to recognize him.

He hadn’t had the faintest inkling it was a trap until the snare had already cinched around his neck.

Metaphorically. Literally, it was more of a cage.

He hadn’t thought much of the trees ringing the clearing, not when he’d noticed more pressing details, like a collapsed form in the middle of it. He’d felt his heart kick up a few notches at the sight.

(He really hadn’t wanted to have to bring a body back to a little brother.)

There had been a worrisome pressure inside his skull as he’d hurried forward, like the lightheaded sensation that warned you you were going too high too fast while traversing mountains, but it hadn’t been that strong, and he’d been worriedly scenting the air for blood, and then—

And then the figure had pushed to their feet and fluidly ducked right out of the clearing, as though they’d never been injured at all.

A pop, and the pressure vanished. Virgil treaded forward a few paces after the stranger, bewildered, and was met with a wall of pain the moment he tried to exit the clearing.

He recoiled with a yelp, staring at the empty space between the trees with something like betrayal.

There were tiny purple petals scattered along the ground. Virgil cast his eyes upward with no little dread.

Wisteria trees formed a lavender-colored canopy ringing the clearing, a breathtaking sight, one that he definitely should have noticed before waltzing right into the middle of it.

He turned back the way he came, only to find that there was now a sapling stuck in the dirt hole he’d hopped past earlier. Its blooms were sparse compared to the older trees around it, but Virgil got the feeling it wasn’t any more likely to let him through.

Slowly turning a full circle, he still couldn’t see any trace of the formerly-collapsed stranger or whoever had decided to screw him over via tree-planting.

There was a distant birdcall, the high-pitched caw of a crow.

Virgil recalled the way Roman had decapitated a demon in the blink of an eye, and felt a shudder run through him, his shoulders raising up to his ears.

He suddenly felt a lot more empathy for every hare that had ever gotten caught in his family’s traps.

“How unusual. The vast majority of cognizant demons are far more aggressive by this point.”

The voice was clinical and steady, and when Virgil turned towards it, he found a stranger in a familiar black uniform, a sword strapped to his hip.

The slayer was watching him with an icy, dispassionate gaze, standing just beyond the circumference of the trees.

He was so screwed.

“Nothing to say?” the slayer asked, raising an eyebrow. “No futile demands, no pointless threats?”

Virgil felt his face pinch slightly. What would he even threaten the guy with? Watching him bash his face into the brain-fryingly painful walls of his magic flower cage?

“Patton was right,” he continued, watching as the breath visibly caught in Virgil’s lungs. “You certainly are a unique specimen.”

Patton had—?

Oh.

Virgil’s chest felt a little like it was crumpling inwards, a wilting flower crushed underfoot. He drooped slightly, despite knowing that this was a completely reasonable response. Really, it should have been the fact that he was even allowed to stay with DW and Harley that was surprising, not this.

The hug had probably been to distract him, then. A shocking gamble to make sure he didn’t realize that Patton knew the truth about him.

He should’ve known better.

“I’d advise you to save us both the time and drop the act,” the slayer continued, apparently a bit thrown off by Virgil taking a moment to wallow in completely pointless self-pity. “You’ll find that I’m far harder to trick than soft-hearted fools.”

Was he talking about the kids?

Virgil felt his face pull into a scowl, despite the fact that he’d worried about that exact thing himself. Those were his soft-hearted fools, and not even highly skilled top-ranking demon slayers were allowed to be cruel to them.

“They’re good kids,” he signed sharply, having more trouble than usual forcing his hands into the proper shapes. “Be nice.”

The stranger’s eyebrows flew up slightly, before settling back down into something even colder. “How long did they have left? When did you plan to stop playing nice with your food?”

Virgil recoiled so severely that his hood toppled back, revealing his demonic features and disgusted expression alike.

It shouldn’t have been such a shock. He knew how demons worked, was intimately familiar with the instincts that had plagued him since he’d first regained consciousness as a monster, but the past few months had left him surprisingly thin-skinned. While living there, that sort of vicious accusation was only thrown in his face in his more miserable nightmares.

He’d have sooner used DW’s knife to decapitate himself than tried to take a bite out of one of the kids.

His hands fumbled for a moment, before he gave up and resorted to a sharp shake of his head instead. A firm denial.

The slayer’s face contorted with a hint of anger, the patch of skin between his eyebrows beginning to wrinkle. “Enough. Behavioral oddities are one thing, but they won’t convince anyone with real experience. Demons are motivated only by power and their next meal. Stop pretending, or I’ll cut you down where you stand.”

Virgil could feel his body buzzing with adrenaline, his clenched fists wet with blood where his claws were piercing his own palm, but he clenched his jaw and held firm.

The slayer was going to kill him regardless. Virgil wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of rewriting his time spent with DW and Harley into some twisted plot.

The slayer’s hand dropped down to his sword, and Virgil swallowed thickly, but before a single move could be made, there was an obnoxious fluttering of wings right next to his head.

Virgil whipped his head around, startled, only to receive a faceful of feathers and one disgruntled peck to the nose.

“Bastard! Fiend!” a familiar, raspy voice cried right into his ear.

Virgil stared at the bundle of fluff that was irritably settling back onto his shoulder. It was unmistakably the bedraggled young crow that followed Roman around.

He started to reach a finger up to pet her on automatic, brain still struggling to catch up with what her presence meant, only to freeze at the feeling of sun-hot metal at his throat.

The slayer had crossed half the clearing in a heartbeat, and now stood with his sword one twitch away from sweeping right through Virgil’s neck.

His expression was a stone mask of neutrality, but he couldn’t hide the way his face had drained of color.

“Return the bird.” A monotone demand. A friend of Roman's, then?

Virgil slid his gaze back over to the crow. (What had her name been again? Something ridiculous.) He jostled his shoulder slightly, figuring that would disturb her enough to warrant a departure.

The crow continued to cling onto her perch stubbornly, sharp little talons digging into his cloak. He grimaced, hoping it wouldn’t tear.

“The bird. Now.”

Virgil shot the slayer an irritated look, wiggling his shoulder harder in clear demonstration of his effort.

The slayer didn’t seem remotely appeased.

What was it about Virgil that made people think he was into murdering birds? Was this some demon trend he’d remained blissfully unaware of?

The blade pressed forward slightly, singing through a layer of skin, and Virgil felt his general frustration with the situation solidify into petty spite.

He slapped the blade away, ignoring the piercing burn on his hand and the shallow gouge in his neck alike to jump back and lift a hand to the crow, prompting the slayer to freeze mid-pursuit.

Virgil curled his finger in so the claw wasn’t facing outward and delicately ruffled the downy patch of fluff on the crow’s chest.

“Bird is my friend now,” he signed, and flipped the slayer off for good measure.

“Rapscallion!” the crow added vehemently. Virgil chose to interpret that as agreement, despite the fact that she followed it up by nipping his ear.

The slayer stared at him with a peculiar expression, knuckles white around the hilt of his sword. He exhaled slowly. “What do you want. In exchange for the bird.”

What part of being designated tree-adjacent by a barely-fledged crow translated to ‘holding innocent birds hostage’ to this guy? Virgil was literally the only one being held against his will here!

Well. There was an idea.

“Let me go,” Virgil signed, pointing at the freshly planted wisteria sapling. “Leave me alone.”

The slayer took a long, deep breath. “No. I won’t allow you to roam free and hurt more people.”

“Who have I hurt?” Virgil challenged, crossing his arms.

There was a certain sense of security that came with having an apparently-beloved crow sitting on his shoulder, protecting him from spontaneous beheadings by being dangerously close to his neck.

“I don’t know the specifics.” The slayer’s entire body was rigid with tension. “But I know it was someone. You’re a demon, and a remarkably keen one at that. No matter how well you pretend now, there was a time when you devoured the innocent.”

Virgil flinched despite himself, because the slayer was right. Even if he hadn’t actually done anything in the end, it wasn’t on his own merit. Only Thomas’s presence had pulled him from that feral mindset, kept him from desecrating their parents bodies in an unforgivable way. He’d been lucky.

“I don’t kill humans. I’m helping people,” he signed. “I’m a monster, but I won’t hurt anyone.”

“Your word means nothing,” the slayer said firmly.

Virgil rolled his eyes, letting a low hiss escape from between his clenched teeth. “Then what do you want?” he signed.

“There’s nothing you can give me to earn your freedom,” the slayer answered curtly, eyes barely visible past his lenses. “The only reason you’re not already ash is because there’s still information that can be gleaned from you. Abnormal cases are always the most interesting to unravel.”

Wow! That was about as far from a reassuring answer as a statement could get. Virgil was almost impressed.

“In fact,” the slayer continued, “if my estimations are correct, I should get a baseline for your vulnerability to slow-acting wisteria toxin within the next thirty seconds.”

Virgil’s face scrunched up in confusion, and he followed the tilt of the slayer’s head down to look at his collarbones, where he could just barely see the tail end of the scratch he’d gotten earlier. The edges of the wound were a dark purple, and when he reached up with his fingers, he found it was hot to the touch.

Dizziness descended on him like a second, much more uncomfortable cloak, and Virgil had just enough time to remember the uninvited guest on his shoulder before his knees began to buckle.

He scooped the bird into his hand without hesitation, filled with a sudden panic that the little creature would cling to him even as he fell, and end up squashed.

There was a shout of alarm as his legs gave out completely, but he was too busy to make out any distinct words. He tucked the squawking crow against his chest, giving her a solid cushion on all sides to protect those delicate bird bones.

His vision blacked out entirely as he hit the ground, the vertigo so intense he could hardly tell up from down. His fingers had grown too numb to register much of anything, let alone the negligible weight of an undersized bundle of feathers.

Before he could begin to fear the worst, though, he heard the distinct sound of offended, raspy-voiced swearing, loud enough to be audible even over the blood rushing in his ears.

The little crow was fine.

Well, Virgil thought as he lost consciousness, that makes one of us.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 28 - Rend

Story so far

I’ll be honest - this next section has fought me because while it’s easy enough for me to say “Noo the puppy pile makes us feel better but isn’t going to Fix them, they need to Talk like Grown Ups”, it’s been tricky to drag them into a place where they are ready /willing to do it, big bros especially.

Thus it seemed possible the motivation that might be most effective might come from a littler bro-who-must-be-protected actually needing that talk. Hence Alan needed to be broken first.

Except then Gordon had a bit of an internal breakdown himself (because I couldn’t just make Alan cry, nooo I had to make him bleed didn’t I? 😏) so this next part is a bit of a scene set for that / catch up on all their mental states from the POV of a certain squid who could challenge big bro for his racing inner monologue crown…

Apologies if it’s kind of slow / doesn’t seem to go anywhere. I promise I’ve written the end and I think it’ll be worth it when we get there.

💚💛❤️💙🧡💚💛❤️💙🧡💚💛❤️💙🧡

Gordon leant heavily against the kitchen sink and dabbed ineffectively at his damp hands with an even damper towel.

They looked clean now.

They weren’t.

Something about a brother’s blood lingered, invisibly, and when he closed his eyes to catch his breath he could still feel the warm slickness of it. Somehow oily, it made his fingers unnaturally frictionless as they moved against each other and his stomach churned at the sensation.

Once lowered, his eyelids felt heavy, itchy. Swollen. Realistically at least one of them was going to end up blackened by the dizzying impact between his face and a fury-fuelled elbow. He’d not seen that coming…

Leaden as they were, his eyes shot open again in surprise as something tickled his big toe. The cleaning bot having finished its consumption of the broken glass was nudging at his foot. The googly eyes he and Alan had superglued to it on a carefree whim so many months ago were jiggling away and it looked for all the word like a sentient being trying to reassure him.

It wasn’t of course, but he suspected there was one behind its behaviour and glanced instinctively up at the ceiling.

The bot butted him more sharply and he redirected his attention to the rest of his family. Apparently unaware that the glass threat had passed, they were huddled on a pool float island in a kitchen floor sea. It would be comical if there weren’t so many things wrong with the picture.

The first one was obviously that his only little brother had been leaking blood all over the place from several nasty slices to his hands and fingers. It was nothing short of a miracle none of the tendons were compromised and - he knew they should be thankful - but it was hard to focus on that right now. Not in these circumstances… when the injuries were… recklessly… bizarrely… self-inflicted. Where a frenzied Alan had tried to force the tumbler back into its proper shape with his bare hands, as if he believed he could fuse glass with sheer willpower. And when he failed Alan had actually fought Gordon rather than allow him to help prevent the cuts getting any worse.

That had been... well. Very Wrong.

Scott and John were nearly as pale as the little guy was. This wasn’t unexpected, he supposed - there was something about Alan being hurt, even relatively trivially, that really messed with all of them on a kind of primal level.

Another big problem with the picture was that the person doing the patching up wasn’t Virgil. It was always Virgil, unless it was Virgil doing the bleeding then… well, it was usually Gordon actually. They were all highly trained first responders and perfectly competent, and Gordon in particular had worked hard under his wingman’s eagle eye to become nearly as proficient. However, it was an unwritten Tracy law that when ol’ Steady-Hands Virg was present, he did this stuff.

But he wasn’t. He was there, sure, holding Alan on his lap, but no more than that. Not advising, not encouraging or doing any of the other Virgilly things he should be doing. Just… watching, not entirely present, like he was stuck behind some bloody curtain.

And obviously nor was it Gordon armed with the suture needle, which was just as well because he wasn’t feeling so steady-handed himself right now. Which was not unrelated to how Done he was with that curtain. And the fact Alan’s grip on things had shattered more violently even than the glass he’d sideswiped with a wildly gesticulating arm… Gordon was a split second too late seeing crunch coming. He hasn’t seen the result coming.

He should have seen it coming. Of course he hasn’t been as fine as he’d pretended. Alan had pulled a Scott on him and no mistake.

Grandma would have been the obvious next candidate for first aid administration but had backed away quietly at the high-intensity-blue-lasered command even she knew it was best to heed without argument.

It was Scott. Scott who snatched up the tweezers to painstakingly remove the remaining shards from shredded flesh, Scott who now wielded the needle. Because for some reason Scott wouldn’t contemplate anyone else doing it. Gordon suspected that the chance to fix anything… to do one practical thing to help was something his biggest brother desperately needed before he fractured too. Gordon was a little concerned someone would have to stitch the Commander’s bottom lip up next, such was the abuse it was undergoing. John was watching Scott’s every move with the mind of calm, neutral expression that failed to conceal, from Gordon at least, a few fault lines of his own.

The only one missing was Kayo. And Kayo was likely burning out Shadow’s engines somewhere over the Pacific Ocean as she hurtled back towards the Island. Nobody hurt Alan on her watch, not even Alan.

Hell they were a mess.

A sudden release of breath and Scott presented Alan’s hands for Grandma’s approval. Then there were bandages gently applied, baby brother knuckles kissed twice by the only real father figure the kid really remembered and then a pause while everyone avoided everyone else’s eyes and wondered what on earth to say next.

In the end Scott took the blunt approach:

“Why, Allie?”

“I had to fix it. It was for Virgil and I had to fix it.”

“Fix… your glass?”

“The mess… I had to… You don’t… you wouldn’t understand!!!”

Scott’s face was evidence enough of that but his voice was far calmer than the turmoil Gordon could see in his eyes

“No… I really don’t but I need to, what’s got into you Allie?”

“It was all my fault I’m sosorryVirgil. I’m so sorry, I’m always so damn cl-clumsy.”

The only one not looking baffled by now was Virgil but Gordon couldn’t be sure if that was because he was still a bit out of it and hadn’t been following. Alan huddled in his lap, Virgil had wrapped his arms around his little brother and his chin rested on the top of his head. He looked tired…

No. Not just tired… Virgil looked… resigned?

Gordon knew his eyes had widened as the realisation hit - Virgil knew. He knew what was going on. What on Earth had happened between the two of them that nobody else had noticed?

“Allie, talk to us. What is your fault? Whatever it is, Virgil isn’t holding it against you, right Virgil?”

Virgil just pressed his lips into Alan’s hair and closed his eyes.

Alan himself took a breath and appeared to steel himself.

“It’s my fault Virgil got sick.”

[saltminerising]

Is it just me or do some people get really weird about the same sex breeding suggestion whenever it comes up? I understand the comments regarding coding or removing/reducing the challenge of breeding–I myself don’t support it for those reasons-but there’s always a small group of people who oppose it for reasons such as realism or biology that come across as a red flag. The most recent thread has a few people arguing that FR shouldn’t have same-sex breeding because it’s “unnatural” or “too biologically impossible,” and I know someone was featured on this blog for making a similar argument (c from light I believe) the last time this suggestion came up. In fact, I think the same c from light is also on the most recent thread saying if the devs implement same-sex breeding they should also allow in-breeding, which feels like a bizarre and massive stretch. 

It’s just how these arguments are oddly similar to real-world homophobia and how absurd they are in the context of the FR universe (eg why is same-sex breeding too unrealistic but magic kaiju zombies are okay?) that makes me uncomfortable. I don’t think everyone who opposes this suggestion is doing so from a bigoted standpoint, but same-sex breeding does seem to draw out some total weirdos.

[beautifulpersonpeach]

LMAO BPP All the PJM and JJK pages are obsessed with Tae's collaboration with Min Heejin. The theories I've seen just today??? 🤣🤣😭 You're so right on how you said the fandom implosion will go. The maknae line debuts will break all the pretenses open for the fandom to implode like you said. It's hilarious to see most people in Army fandom showing their asses.

*

Ask 2:

Hi BPP, Tae is working on his album under the production and creative fdirection of Ador´s CEO Min Heejin. I must confess that I dont know anything about her. Do you have any insights or opinions on why would Tea seek out her in particular. Also there were some controversies with this lady, if I am not mistaken, but I dont know the details. Would you please share your opinions with us if you have any?

thanks and have a nice day

*

Ask 3:

BPP!!! So apparently Min Heejin worked with Tae on his album!!! What I know of her is just basically her work with New Jeans so I have no idea what to expect about Tae’s solo debut now 😭

***

Hi Anon(s),

Chapter 2 is such a wonderful time, isn't it? It's lovely seeing the members flex their wings and influence a little bit, to see more of the colours and shadows of themselves they've been showing fans for the last 10 years. It's also been amusing to see all the people who were not paying attention, start to wake up. I've seen various posts about how some people feel this member changed or that member now looks different to them because of this/that interview, and I chuckle not even gonna lie.

The boys were always this competitive, always this ambitious, always this arrogant with a strong sense of pride, and all with massive egos swinging between the seven of them. Like, do people actually forget BTS are Korean men? They tone it down every now and then, and some members are more subtle about it than others, but they've always been like this, and if you believed otherwise then good morning. How would you like your coffee?

Of course it doesn't mean they don't highly value the team and fans, it's never meant that, but the love for their team (which I think is mostly genuine and pragmatically still very useful to them) is impressive to me when you remember the sort of partnership they have with each other in BTS is unnatural. We all know that. There's a reason there's no other group that has had their trajectory before, it's why there's no group like them - then and now, because many things about BTS as a group is frankly unnatural and go against every conventional thought of how a band should evolve. And everybody knows that, especially BTS themselves, which is why I strongly respect their aim to balance their very palpable ambitions and potential, with that of the team. However they choose to do that is their business, in my opinion. The company has its own agenda possibly, but they're all grown men more aware of the options at their disposal for their unique situations than anyone this side of the internet. It's bizarre for me to open my jikook Tumblr and see fans treat the people I consider to be the most intelligent in the group, as the most helpless in their situations within the company.

Anyway, hopefully anybody previously stuck under a false impression of the members, now that we're finally getting to Tae in the release schedule, I hope everyone is now well and fully aware of who the men in BTS are, and what the group as a whole represents. Like I've said before, nearly everything about them is directly up my alley so I'm a fan. Please be honest with yourself on if it's not, and if not, it's very okay to stop keeping up with BTS. In fact I strongly suggest you try out other groups that could be more to your liking, or take a tolerance break from everything k-pop altogether. That would be for the best.

The only way this implosion will actually be helpful for the group and fandom, is if all the people grumbling and hating the members now actually left the fandom. If all the apparently 'disillusioned' fans actually left, we'd be in much better shape by 2025. But because this is k-pop, they won't. And that is precisely what makes this implosion feel so messy.

*

About Min Heejin working with Tae, I'm excited!

Until that announcement, I didn't care one way or the other about Tae's solo debut. I mean, I was curious, but my taste in music is more the rapline and jikook to some degree. Tae and Jin for me are sometimes a hit but more of a miss usually, so I was prepared to support but only the baseline I typically do. Hearing that Min Heejin is involved however, makes me actually look forward to his album.

I won't rehash what I've said about Min Heejin before, Anons. You can read my previous posts on her by searching her name or 'NewJeans' on my blog. Personally, I don't care about the allegations against her just as I don't care about the allegations for all the Big3 CEOs/producers, and because if one actually cares to dig into the meat of the allegations against MHJ, many of them don't hold up under any scrutiny.

Anyway, reports say Tae reached out to Min Heejin in late 2022 to help with his solo debut project. That was really smart of Tae to do because Min Heejin is a brilliant artist. I'd say she's a couple of years ahead of an artist like Cho Gi-Seok, another brilliant Korean creative and the mind behind XG's latest concept execution and MVs along with Simon. If she works with Shin Woo-seok for Tae's MVs - the award-winning director she's worked with on many of NewJeans' MVs - then I expect nothing short of excellence.

In terms of music compatibility, Min Heejin has a good feel for descending microtonal music. The sort of music most people associate with jazz chords and R&B. So given Tae's music tastes, I'm very curious to see the direction his album will take under her supervision. I honestly have no idea how it's going to sound.

On promotions, like I've said before, unless Tae does a full English release like JK, he likely won't be getting the same toolbox, but he should see more support than previous releases. If Ador solely handles his promotions, then I can expect to see Tae have similar promotions to NewJeans. Which would be fantastic!

Tae has very interesting taste in music. He seems to like a lot of classic pop, contemporary pop, and hiphop. His voice and range allows him to excel in any of these genres, and despite how it seems online most people are fine with how he enunciates words in Korean. But I do hope he sticks to Korean or at least that there's dramatic improvement in his English pronunciations if there's a lot of English tracks.

We'll see.

Besides Tae though, I'm nearly desperate for new music from Namjoon and Jimin. I need it. Even my assistant at work (who I've somehow turned into a Jimin bias from streaming Serendipity, Alone, and Like Crazy-centered playlists at the office), asked me if Jimin has any new music out, as recently as last Wednesday. The people want more music. So, as excited as I am for Tae, I hope we get something minimoni before long as well.

[apoptoses]

It's just occurred to me when re-reading Blood Sanation that Armand notes the other boys did some of the style of artwork he wants to try. I know he feels understandably hesitant at asking Marius but as well as taking classes, maybe he could ask Riccardo too?

(full disclosure- i forget the rules on how ghosts with physical forms work in anne's world and am not fussed enough to open RoA/PL and double check. so just roll with this okay!!)

“This is unbearable,” Armand muttered. He tossed the paintbrush into his bucket of turpentine, hard enough that droplets of the liquid rose into the air and then splashed back down in the bucket.

Across the studio Riccardo sat, curled up on their worn and paint stained sofa. He snapped his book shut. “What’s giving you trouble?”

Armand shook his head. Waved his hand in a vague, dismissive gesture. He would figure out the technique himself. He always did, eventually. There was no need to trouble another with his lack of skills, much less Riccardo, who had tried so kindly to teach him to paint back when he was Amadeo.

As a youth he’d rebuffed all of his attempts. His hands had no longer been the hands of god and so there had been no use, no purpose in being taught. Now- well perhaps he could learn something from Riccardo. Riccardo had always been a patient teacher, rebuffing him would be an awful waste.

It was only that admitting his own failures to him seemed like an exercise in mortification, that was all. No matter how hard he thought on the fact that Daniel would want him to ask for help he couldn’t do it. The words seemed to stick in his throat.

Armand shifted on his stool and looked down at his pale, paint smudged hands. He picked bit of ochre from the base of his nail and ignored Riccardo’s sudden presence behind him.

“It’s unfair of you to do that, you know,” Armand murmured. “Materializing behind me before I can stop you or tell you no.”

“It’s unfair of you not to tell me what’s wrong,” Riccardo said. He rested his chin atop Armand’s auburn head. “It’s a perfectly nice piece. I can’t see what would be making you so upset.”

Strange, having someone material and yet immaterial rest against him. Armand folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against Riccardo’s unnatural corporeal form.

“It’s the highlights in the hair. They look dull. Lifeless. I keep layering paint-“ Armand began.

“And that’s the mistake, adding where you should be taking away. Sgraffito, that’s the technique you should be using. Hand me the palette knife?” Riccardo asked.

Armand grabbed the little metal thing from the table and passed it to Riccardo. He sat back, heavy against Riccardo’s chest and tracked the movement of his hand across the canvas, the way he took the edge of the knife and scratched fine lines into Daniel’s blond hair. Even as a mortal Riccardo’s work had rivaled Marius’s own. What he’d have been able to achieve in life-

Armand couldn’t allow himself to think about it. Better to marvel at the way the spirit remembered such techniques even after the body was gone. It was as if painting was in Riccardo’s soul itself. No muscles for muscle memory were needed at all.

The highlights in Daniel’s hair sprang to life as if by magic, some special skill Armand was unsure he had. The palette knife was so light and precise in Riccardo’s hand, but his own hands-

Such clumsy things, covered in paint. Armand curled his fingers tight into fists.

“See? You try.” Riccardo held the palette knife out. “I believe Rembrandt used the same technique to much success. I remember seeing his work when I followed you and Louis across the globe.”

Armand tilted his chin all the way up so that he could look at Riccardo’s face. Awkward, seeing him from below. His face was distorted by the angle, as bizarre as anything Picasso ever committed to canvas. Riccardo’s grin was wry when he peered down at him in kind.

“So you were following me, even then?” Armand asked.

“Of course. I rarely left your side. It only took some time to become strong enough to materialize,” Riccardo said. He shrugged and wiggled the palette knife in front of Armand’s face, silently demanding he take it. “It’s why I already liked this Daniel you’re so obsessed with before I even properly met him.”

Armand let out a huffy sound. He snatched back the knife and turned his attention back to the painting, pretended to be annoyed even when Riccardo’s hands found their way to massaging at his shoulders.

“I’m not obsessed.”

“Mm, and this isn’t the fifth time I’ve seen you paint him since your lessons began,” Riccardo teased. “Are you going to become like our Master, painting Pandora’s face on every member of a crowd? Will you paint a thousand of Daniel in a stadium one day? Cover your ceilings with putti that all share his face? Imagine, an entire choir of little angels with the face of a grown man staring down at you as you bathe.”

Armand rolled his eyes. “You’re so ridiculous.”

He tilted the knife and copied Riccardo’s movements as best he could, holding his tongue when Riccardo reached out to correct the angle of his wrist.

Scraping away the layers of color he’d already built up- it seemed anathema to him. Like he was committing a crime against his own work. One wrong move and the entire thing would be ruined, for there was no easy way to fill the fine gouges he was making. Even if he painted over them the blemish would show in the wrong light, forever a testament to his lack of skill.

Armand took a deep breath. Briefly, he closed his eyes and focused on his friend’s thumbs working the knots from his shoulders they way they’d always done in Venice. Riccardo had always been too happy to sit him down and absorb the tension that lingered beneath his skin, and Armand hardly minded the distraction.

After all, the longer Riccardo massaged, the longer it was before he had to take the knife to his painting and risk ruining his work. A few more moments, a bit of procrastination- that hardly would hurt anything.

“You know, it’s only natural I use Daniel as my reference. Truly he’s the only one in this entire house that I could convince to sit still long enough to sketch,” Armand said, absently toying with the palette knife as he tipped his head forward and allowed Riccardo to rub at the back of his neck. “The rest of you are all a bunch of miscreants. You would wiggle on purpose just to see me smudge the page.“

“Oh, the great Master, he requires such seriousness in his studio,” Riccardo crowed. “Are you going to finish your painting, Master, or will you hand the knife to me? Marius used to have me complete his works when he tired of them, you know, there’s no shame in keeping a boy to create your art for you-“

Armand thrust a playful elbow back, right into Riccardo’s stomach. Riccardo laughed.

“I would finish it if you would stop distracting me,” Armand said.

Riccardo held up his hands. “Oh, fine. Then I’ll go back to my corner like a scorned child-“

He made as if to walk away but on impulse Armand stuck his hand out, caught his friend by the belt loops.

An image flashed before him- a memory of a sunny morning in Venice, when Amadeo had demanded Riccardo join him in his master’s bed until he was able to fall asleep. Some banter had turned into play fighting, which had turned into Riccardo pretending to leave the bed to return his own room. Amadeo had caught him in just the same way by the hem of his sleep shirt. Please, don’t go. I can’t stand to be left alone here, he’d said; young and unafraid of being so vulnerable.

Armand- he could never say such a thing. He kept his finger hooked in Riccardo’s jeans and looked up at him, as wide eyed and open as he could.

Riccardo’s expression shifted, fell from mirth into something softer, warmer. He sighed, the same playful sound he’d made when Amadeo had begged him back into bed, and turned back. Without missing a beat he took up his position behind Armand again, hands resting dutifully on his shoulders, chin atop his head.

“Why are you so hesitant to try?” Riccardo asked, just as the tension began to creep back into Armand’s posture. “Really you only need to adjust a few more places. Around his face, where the light is strongest- that’s all.”

Armand shrugged. “I just hate the idea of ruining it, I suppose.”

“But you won’t. If you make a mistake you just fill it in. Who cares if it’s still visible when the thing is dried? It’ll just serve as a reminder of the evening you spent learning with me. And that’s worth remembering, isn’t it?” Riccardo asked.

Well. When he put it that way.

Armand nodded. He felt Riccardo’s chin rub against his head with the motion and in spite of himself he smiled. Took up the palette knife again and dragged it over the hair dangling in his painted Daniel’s eyes, forever loose and tousled where Armand had cut it before his death.

Daniel before him, Riccardo behind. What a pair to be caught between. His immortal lover and his eternal best friend. Nowhere else could Armand be so safe.

With a quick, confident stroke he peeled back the paint on Daniel’s forehead, revealing the underpainting in suggestion of a few fly away hairs. Scraped away a few fine lines at the crown of his head as well, one by his cheek and then-

“Another great work from my dear Master,” Riccardo said warmly. “Next you’ll have to paint me.”

Armand huffed out a laugh.

“I could never paint you. You’d heckle me the entire time, it would come out a mess. I’d have to do it in a surrealist style just as an excuse for how warped you’d appear,” Armand teased. “And Riccardo? Don’t call me Master. I’m not your master at all.”

Riccardo’s hands drifted up to Armand’s cheeks, cupping his face in them so gently as he guided him to tilt his head back. Armand’s hand fell, wet palette knife dangling at his side.

Riccardo looked so strange from this angle. Still so very handsome. He was, perhaps, the first crush a young Amadeo ever had, even before he’d been introduced to beautiful Bianca. Riccardo knew all of his secrets, had been his first kiss. Had followed him as a spirit until he could be back at his side. He was Armand’s first and most faithful, loving friend.

“No. You’re my Amadeo,” Riccardo said. “Always and forever.”

Strange, being kissed by one who was neither alive nor dead; all spirit or all flesh. It was like kissing a man made from water vapor, like if Armand pressed his mouth up too hard he might pass right through Riccardo’s warm face and come to rest right inside him.

He tilted his head back, turned on his stool to get closer. Armand closed his eyes just as Riccardo’s fingers found their way into his hair and began to rub at his scalp now, that secret weak spot he’d discovered when they were teenagers and Riccardo was desperate to find a way to help him to fall asleep.

Armand let out a quiet sigh. Let himself get lost in memories and then, reached while Riccardo was well and truly distracted and-

“Hey!”

Armand was so quick with the palette knife, there was no chance for Riccardo to react. He had no hope of defending himself against the daub of paint Armand smeared across his cheek; bright yellow on warm brown skin.

“You had me making improvements to my art, so I thought I should make some improvements to you in turn. To say thank you for your instruction,” Armand said, serious as he could. His mouth ached with the desire to laugh at Riccardo’s exasperated pout. “What? Are you going to say you’ll never help me again now?”

Riccardo shook his head. He wiped at his cheek, then wiped his paint covered fingers on the rag Armand kept on his table of supplies.

“No. I’ll always help you,” Riccardo said, so soft Armand’s chest flooded with warmth.

Yes. Riccardo would be here for eternity, just as Louis and Daniel and Lestat and Bianca. Never again would Armand be alone. There would always be one to turn to for help, if only he made sure to bring himself to ask.

Riccardo’s grin turned devious as he picked up a paintbrush. “But when it comes to improvements, well- I can think of several you could use.”

This time when Armand’s knife found its way into the bucket of turpentine it wasn’t with frustration, but with his laughter ringing through the room.

[palettepainter]

Weirdos in love

I’ve got Lew Zealand x Crazy Harry brainrot so have some small headcannons while I’m cutting stencils at work:

-Harry sleeps unnaturally still…to the point sometimes people panic and assume he might be dead. It doesn’t help that Harry naturally has a very pale completion which often has people mistaking him for being unwell when they first meet him. Harry is also not apposed to collapsing asleep at a desk or table. When Lew catches Harry asleep and unmoving he’ll place a written note by his head saying “Not dead, sleeping”

-Lew Zealand is trans I don’t make the rules guys 

-Harry loves taking apart random appliances to tinker with them and see how they work. More then once Lew has returned him to find Harry taking apart the toaster 

-They live in a small house together near a lake where Lew likes to go fishing. The house has an old basement Harry hides in to do all his explosive related work, while Lew practises his boomerang skills in the garden 

-Lew likes to go fishing, it’s a hobby he picked up in his teens but his family have always had a knack for fishing. He’s always been a more catch and release type of person though, he’s fine with eating fish based dishes but he doesn’t have the guts to kill a fish himself 

-Lew loves swimming and he used to compete in competitions at his school. He is very aerodynamic in the water and basically considers it a second home with how comfortable he is in the water. Harry on the other hand cannot swim to save his life, he never learnt, ontop of hating how cold water feels on his skin and the feeling of weightless ness Harry avoids large bodies of water at all times 

-Harry and Lew aren’t as smart as Bunsen and Beaker, but they’re not as oblivious as most people think. Lew has always loved and been passionate about sea life, he has a fondness for tropical fish and other species that often look peculiar or silly, like puffer fish.

Harry is also smart. He was the smartest kid in his science class and left with high grades…But he also knows a lot of bizarre weird facts no normal person would think about: like how to make a pipe bomb out of an air fryer, or how quickly acid can burn through metal, or how to pick locks without leaving evidence, how to hot wire a car, how to escape a country in a day (I’m not saying Harry has a past of criminal offences and may have gotten in trouble with police and has a past wrapped in mystery but I am saying it’s a possibility) 

-Harry loves knitted cardigans and sweaters, though he leans more towards cardigans. Maybe he could have grown up somewhere cold and far away from any big city? Hence why he can sometimes be a bit out of the loop with social ques and norms. All of his cardigans are well kept, but they all stink of smoke 

-Lew can’t cook to save his life and Harry only knows how to use a microwave and air fryer, so they often don’t eat the most healthy foods. Mac and Cheese is Harry’s favourite while Lew isn’t fussy and tends to eat whatever Harry does. Chef - as a culinary master - is personally offended at their poor diets and on more then one occasion has cooked meals for them (Lew and Harry are very enthusiastic about Chef’s meals, but his irritation about their poor eating habits fly right over their heads)

-They adopted, aka Harry found and brought home, sphynx cat named Newton. They thought they where a boy but it was only after they’d had the cat for a month did they realise it was a girl. Newton is Lew’s and Harry’s adopted hairless baby and they love love LOVE her. Harry in particular is very fond of their little wrinkly four legged child. If it wasn’t for Lew Harry would have adopted a whole army of hairless cats (he knits Newton sweaters in his free time)

-Harry has a bizarre ability of just…appearing out of no where. You’ll walk round a corner and Harry will unexpectedly be there, unblinking, staring at you 

-Lew and Harry are close with the band, and Harry in particular is good friends with Animal - mostly because the two balance out each other’s craziness. Newton also loves Animal and likes to curl up on his drum stool or lick at his mess of hair. The other band members are sometimes caught off guard by Harry and his ability to appear out of no where, except for Floyd 

-Lew is a big summer guy, while Harry hates the heat. Lew is all about summer fun! Swimming in the sea, sandcastles, ice cream, volley ball on the beach, fishing, kayaking, the whole show! Meanwhile, Harry is huddled under an umbrella at the far end of the beach the furthest away from the sea 

-Harry is the best person for scary stories because he doesn’t hold back, something which Lew learnt the hard way and paid the price for by not sleeping well for the next five days. 

-Lew and Camilla are surprisingly very close, they bond over the fact of them both having crazy, bizarre husbands who they adore dearly. Camilla sometimes asks Lew to “eggsit” for her when she and Gonzo go out for the evening. Harry doesn’t understand why they need to babysit…eggs of all things, but he knits Lew egg cozies for them 

-For some reason I can picture Lew as being Italian, or at least he has strong family ties in Italy