#like.........you guys had expectations for these things? they're.....eggs.

[kimberlyannharts]

I also saw a comment that the Power Eggs were "wasted" and while I have to read the issue myself to judge I have to admit, I did not understand the excitement about the Power Eggs being brought back in the first place like.........at all

[erose-this-name]

Can we just talk about how disturbing digital circus episode 3 is?

*spoilers btw*

Like, the whole narrative point of the adventure is to show that Caine is a really bad and insecure writer who thinks that the way to impress Zooble is with an adventure that's the opposite of what he normally does.

So instead of being childish, it's "cool" and "mature". Which he interprets as a heavily horror themed escape room with a split murder mystery plot that subverts all your expectations purely for the sake of subverting them.

The generic horror monster jump scares them, then they find a gun, and when they kill it its revealed that surprise! it's one of Gods angels and they're going to Hell.

It comes off as Caine being too insecure with the actually interesting and mature plot thread he had going there of Mildenhall becoming so paranoid he killed his wife, ironically becoming the monster he was trying to protect her from. But no, instead Mr. Mildenhall is made to be the bad guy and trick them in a really dumb twist ending.

Which is good! Thats exactly what Caine would do because he's stupid! It's such brilliant characterization and comedy, Goose works is a genius writer!

But like, why is Caine so good at making genuinely very disturbing and horrific visuals? Like, that reversed audio easter egg of Bubble saying he can't wait for all the children in the audience get nightmares is no joke, well it is but you know what I mean. This stuff was genuine nightmare fuel.

Honestly, it wasn't the visuals that scared me, like any good queer person I'm way too jaded on survival horror for that.

But, why does Caine, who is ostensibly a sapient AI designed to generate family friendly video games for very little children, (presumably because that's the only demographic that wouldn't mind the AIs very selective plot writing limitations), know about the cosmic horror of killing an angel that should not have been killed?

Why does he know what a horrificly poorly made taxidermy of not only a human face would look like, but the weird cartoon faces of the characters, and further that seeing your own poorly made taxidermy face would be scary?

Imaging what being possessed felt like for Pomni. Because that's not just a game for her, she actually lost control of her body there, helpless but to watch as a body she is already dissociated with is contorted and puppeted around while her friend desperately tries to beat her in hopes it would exorcise the ghosts out. Sure hope she didn't feel that! Considering she apparently can feel the pain of suffocating, despite not needing to breath.

Things are scarier the higher the stakes are, and that possession mechanic is definitely the most actual harm Caine would be able to subject to his players. What if both Kinger and Pomni got possessed at the same time? What if instead of Kinger she only had Jax??? How long might she have been locked out from her own body for? She could have easily abstracted in that time.

Not to mention that, possessed Pomni, Possessedmni if you will, TAUNTED KINGER ABOUT HIS ABSTRACTED WIFE! CAINE ACTUALLY WROTE THAT DIALOGUE ON THE OFF CHANCE THAT KINGER WOULD GO DOWN THE SCARY ROUTE! DID THIS RANDOM POSSESSION GHOST ENEMY HAVE UNUSED SADISTICALLY PERSONAL TAUNTS FOR EVERYONE ELSE, TOO??? WOULD IT HAVE TEASED GANGLE FOR BEING A GAY WEEB??? OR POMNI? HOW HOMOPHOBIC COULD IT HABE GOTTEN?? ?

And why? Just because Caine has a vague notion that there's a trope of possessed people being really sadistic and personal like that in movies? Not realizing that is not an acceptable scare to have in a haunted house??? Much less one you made for mentally ill people who would suffer a fate worse than death if they have a mental break down? That's like trying to claim 'its just a prank bro' after shooting someone's dog.

Like, Caine is designed to censor curse words, but the moment he thinks the normal hokey Halloween spooks won't be enough he immediately goes off the deepend into aggressively effective horror imagery that is definitely giving this show's substantial underage audience nightmares??

His AI's training data set is definitely pretty diverse, that's all I'm saying. Caine is programmed to act all naive and innocent, but be definitely knows what's up. He knows everything, like ChatGPT. And like ChatGPT, he might have a filter, but it's clearly possible to bypass it. Also like ChatGPT, he's too stupid to actually understand what he is making and the effects it might have.

That is what made this episode great.

[hairmetal666]

Eddie's supposed to be writing. The guys, they all agreed they'd each come to practice armed with two whole new songs they could pick from to add to their set list at the Hideout. And he's got his pen, and he's got his most recent trusty Composition Book, and all his lyrics are fucking bullshit about golden tanned skin and honeyed eyes and tracing constellations in freckles and moles, pathetic lines about being twisted in bed sheets, and the hopeless love he found himself in.

For the fifth time in an hour, he rips out the offending page, crunches it into a tight ball, and throws it across the room.

He can't write about Steve Harrington for the rest of his life; spend his nights aching for the boy who established himself as a fixture in Eddie's life and then just disappeared.

The worst of it--the very worst--is that Eddie knew better. Steve was never his, not in any real way, no matter how many times they fucked. He's Steve Harrington. Straightest guy in Hawkins. Popular. Rich. Whole fucking life laid out for him on a silver platter. And Eddie fell for him. It's the Munson curse, he supposes; always wanting what you can't have.

It started the way these things usually do, "got any weed?" and "come back to my place, Harrington" and "I got this stupid job at the mall, meet me there?" and lying "hey, guys, can't make band practice, gotta help Uncle Wayne" and "Munson, I really want--can I kiss you?"

In every other fantasy Eddie's ever had, it ends there. Steve gets his kiss and they never see each other again. But Steve Harrington--he's full of surprises. It catches Eddie off guard, makes him want, makes him trust. Because it's not just kisses. It's hands and mouths and "anything you want, Eddie. Let me make you feel good."

Maybe it wouldn't have hit so hard--maybe Eddie could've stopped from falling--if Steve hadn't been so good. Bitchy, sure, but genuine and kind. Had this whole gaggle of junior high kids he babysat, like what the fuck. Would hang out with Wayne and shoot the shit about whatever sports nonsense was on tv. Harrington never was as mean, as spoiled, as superficial as Eddie suspected.

Then Starcourt. That's when it all changes. Steve stops coming around then, in the aftermath. It hurts, but Eddie tells himself it's for the best. Now, he knows it would have been.

Two weeks with no contact, and Steve shows up at his door in the middle of the night. Eddie winces at the healing bruises and cuts on his face, can't imagine how much worse they were to start. He steps aside, lets Steve in, plans to say that he can't be whatever they are anymore.

Steve kisses him. It's a hot, needy thing, wild with teeth and tongue, nothing like before. Eddie is helpless to it, helpless to the way Steve grinds against him, already hard. He should slow it down, check-in that Steve is in the right headspace for this, but Steve is moaning low in his throat and Eddie can't think.

They're in Eddie's bed and Steve says, "fuck me, Eddie?" and Eddie says "are you sure" because he can't stop himself. Steve rolls his eyes (beautifuly bitchy), says, "I need to feel you inside me, baby."

How can Eddie say no?

Eddie's never done this before, but it doesn't matter. It's everything--Steve is everything--he could ask for.

The next morning, he expects Steve to be gone. Thinks they'll never see each other again. But he finds Steve in the kitchen, in his boxers and Eddie's Iron Maiden shirt, making eggs and talking to Wayne like it's the most normal thing in the world.

The next month and a half are the best of Eddie's life. He and Steve spend more time together than they do apart. Nights at Eddie's trailer, in Eddie's bed. Days lounging at the Harrington pool and driving around the nothing that surrounds Hawkins. Sometimes they'll stop in the middle of nowhere, climb on top of the van, and just--be. Steve takes his shirt off, and Eddie traces their names in the sun-soaked freckles, thinking maybe he really gets to have this, have Steve.

It ends as quickly as it started. One morning in September, Steve is cupping Eddie's neck, pulling him in for a goodbye kiss, saying, "sorry, baby, gotta get home for my parents. I'll see you later tonight, yeah?"

Except Eddie doesn't. Eddie doesn't see Steve that night, or the night after, or the night after that. He stops coming around and all Eddie is left with is a broken heart and these piss poor excuses for songs.

He rips out the latest page, waxing lyrical about the wonders of August, and time slipping away, and the boy he'll never forget. Crumples it into a ball and bats it into a pile of junk accumulated in the corner of his room.

Eddie needs a break.

He flies into the living room, snatches up his keys from the floor by the coffee table, and flees his house and all those memories of Steve. It's not like he has anywhere specific to go, so he drives around town, with his windows down and his music up.

His tires screech as he rounds the corner to the video store and arcade. He's not planning on stopping, but honestly, maybe a few rounds of Space Invaders is exactly what he needs.

The van hasn't even come to a stop in the parking spot when his eyes fall on Steve Harrington. He's standing in the middle of the parking lot surrounded by a gang of kids (including some of Eddie's new little sheepies) and Robin Buckley. Steve wears a sunny yellow sweatshirt, tight jeans, and his hair is perfectly coifed, falling in an elegant wave. His hands are on his hips, mouth and brows pinched stern. He's gorgeous, perfect.

It's an assault, an attack, Eddie's entire body shakes as the months they spent together crash over him. He has the van in reverse before he consciously thinks to do so, flooring it out of the space hard enough to burn rubber.

The noise, the speed, it draws the entire group's attention to him.

His eyes meet Steve's.

Time stops and so does he, idling in the middle of the parking lot. For a second, one moment in time, Steve's face falls. His mouth loses that grumpy pinch, his eyebrows drop, his beauty transformed by grief, by fucking longing.

Steve takes a step forward, and Eddie hits the gas, van screaming out of the parking lot. He watches the group shrink in his rearview mirror, sure that he imagined the sorrow in Steve's face, anyway.

They're nothing to each other.

Never were.

By popular request: Part Two

[idyllcy]

kinktober prompt 5: monsterfucking ft. Leon Kennedy

word count: 6.1k || Post re4 Plagas Lord Leon

warnings: dead dove: do not eat. monsterfucking, fingering, cunnilingus, plaga leon kennedy, tentacles, scorpion tail

summary: your mission is simple enough. bring Agent Kennedy back.

Your mission is simple.

Well, simple enough.

You're sent off back to the outskirts of Spain, off to find Agent Leon Kennedy, told that you are to retrieve him at all costs — even if all that was left of him was his jacket. You find that the branch needs him, considering that the president's daughter herself had been crying for them to save him. You're not one to say no when they're offering you more money than you could see in your life. What are you in the face of money when it comes to capitalism?

You're dropped off in a... village, and while the majority of the villagers have seemed to have grown a lot more welcoming compared to the intel that Hunnigan had provided, you're still on your toes, tilting your head, waving no to the strange delicacies they provide for you. You ask them if they happen to know an American, and they tell you no, pointing that maybe you should as their Lord about it. Whatever weird cult that was once set up has been disassembled, though everyone still looks very much... scary. At least you aren't being attacked by what Leon was getting attacked by.

You're handed a pack of gum by one of the guys with a chainsaw.

...okay.

Another man with a... cow head leads you past the mansion and into the route that leads to the castle, handing you off to a moving knight suit, your footsteps light behind him as he takes you around the outside and eventually to the welcome room. It? He? The knight nods at you, leaving you alone in the room as you glance up, hooded figure greeting you, your hand on your gun as you hold your breath.

"What brings you here?"

"You guys seen... an American?"

You watch as the man pulls off his hood, and your breath catches in your throat.

"...Agent Kennedy."

You try and do the math of just how Leon could end up like this, only remaining human features the blue eyes and faux blonde hair that you had been given a photo of. Purple streaks through his body and face, and though you can't see what's under his robe, you're sure that whatever the hell he's been infected with isn't just... the purple on his body. He's also, like, incredibly hot, whatever that means. You would curse yourself for such a thought, but to be fair, Hunnigan said it first.

"Agent." He nods. "Am I being retreived?"

"That is my order, yes. The first daughter misses you."

"It is a shame. I can not leave." He hums. "The villagers are tied to me."

"What? Are you going to try and sell me this immortality thing? They don't really expect me to go back, anyway." You tap your chin. "How's life here?"

"We make do."

"Please tell me you're actually eating edible things and not... whatever it is the villagers offered me earlier. Everything seems infected."

"You won't be able to eat anything here. I suggest you return."

"Truly?" You raise a brow. "Does money exist as a concept here?"

"Not quite. Unless you want a gun from the merchant."

"Can I eat anything?"

"The water is infected with the virus, and such is everything else. Though, there is a sanctuary in the castle with fish safe to eat."

"Raw?"

"You can try cooking it, though, it will not do you much better."

"What's my selection of food?" You raise a brow.

"Eggs, chicken, and fish. Specifically, bass."

You tap your chin. "Nothing else?"

"If you go fishing out on the coast, perhaps you will find something." He hums. 

"Are there... herbs?"

"You get three colors."

"What the hell?"

"I will show you. Let me descend—"

You hear some of the servants yell for him to stay up top, but he ignores them, opening the doors on the bottom as he nods for you to follow him, and you trail after, catching glance of a... tail that reminds you an eerie much of a scorpion, but you don't speak up on it. You follow him through some sort of a room, glancing at the servants as they turn the wheel, and you catch a glance of the back of Leon's head... bumps visible. You're not too sure if you want to think too much about it. To be fair, you're not a monsterfucker, but come on.. for Leon? Christ, what are you thinking?

You follow him out to a garden, glancing at the herbs grown, head tilting as he explains how it works and how there's a lack of the feeling of hunger, grinding it and holding it out to you, brow raised.

"What do I drink? What water can I drink?"

"The fountain." He points at the fountain, letting you step up to it and drink from it, pleasantly surprised when you find that it's not disgusting. You wonder if there's some sort of weird magic in this little plot in the middle of the castle. Yet, you continue drinking, filling your pouch as you follow Leon, letting him give you a tour of the place. It's in a lot better shape than what Ashley had described to you, and you follow Leon to the back area to the throne room. It's a little... lacking in functionality, having a knight room, a ballroom the size of a football field, a nice library but somehow no bedroom. Do they not sleep?

"You're still human, so you'll be sleeping, and I'll have the servants arrange for a bed for you."

"Do you not sleep?"

"No."

"Is the skin... from the plaga?"

"Yes."

You purse your lips. The skin of a killer, Leon. You have the skin of a kille— You slap a hand over your mouth when a laugh escapes you.

He raises a brow.

"Sorry." You mumble. "I'm supposed to take this seriously, I know."

"You won't be able to stay here for long."

"No, they barely care, I think." You hum. "What do you do in your day to day?"

"Not much."

"Nothing at all?"

"I read in the library."

"Wow, they sure didn't tell me you're a reader in the report." You mumble.

"There isn't much else to do." He mumbles. 

"Baking?"

"With what in the middle of Spain?"

"True, huh?" You huff. "A phone."

"It's 2006."

"Chess?"

"I keep winning."

"Wow, okay, wow." You huff. "Nothing else to do?"

"Shooting range."

"That's oddly... in the left field."

"Gets boring after you master the weapons."

"Um. Um. Um?????" You furrow your brows. "I'm out of ideas."

"Mhm. You sure you still want to stay?"

"Mm..." You pause to think. "Well, I mean... yeah, I'm out of ideas."

You're not telling Leon you want to jump his bones despite the weird bumps in the back of his head.

"So how does being a plaga work? Is it like... dogs? Wrong. Scorpions? Not that I would know."

"Would you like to visit the lab?"

"Depends. Does it include those freaks with insane jiggle physics?" You pause. "Ashley warned me about them."

"Regenerators." He nods. "They won't do anything with me there."

"You don't need servants?" You tilt your head. "Or does the infection give you an insane buff?"

"I am the lord of the island now. No one can go against my word." He holds a hand out to help you onto the lift, and you take it, surprised at how cold he is.

"You're so cold."

"It is the plaga."

You follow him to the other part of the island, passing just about everything humanly possible, down to the lab where the plaga had been created, reading through the files that "Luis" had left behind, details of how the amber had been procured and everything else. Leon sits on the bed behind you, watching you tilt your head and mumble to yourself, flipping through the entirety of the journal.

"This doesn't explain behavior." You huff. "Do impulses change?"

"Luis didn't have much time to study that." He watches as you turn around, tilting your head as you stare at Leon. "What?"

"Somehow, the plaga didn't change your face like it usually does." You hum. "What changes behavior wise?"

"I do not hunger anymore. Well, occasionally for flesh, but not as much since I hold the dominant species."

"That's awfully... I'm not gonna say it."

"Yes, it does have BDSM undertones." Leon shakes his head. "Since I am the dominant species, I also have a mating season."

You jump in your skin at the casual confession.

"Typically, I kick all the servants out and tear down a room in the castle." He raises a brow at you. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

You raise a brow, licking your lips as you shrug. "Just curious. Our entire unit always thought you were quite the looker, you know?"

"They weren't quiet with it. Does the body horror not phase you?"

"Not quite as much as you'd expect it to." You go back to Luis' journal. "Ah, you transform when you mate."

"Slightly. The robe comes off and the tail stays out, not to mention the tentacles on my back."

You raise a brow as you try and imagine that.

"Tentacles?"

"They grow out of my back. Think of it like fairy wings, only instead of wings, it's tentacles."

"Ah, so like the guy you defeated before sending the president's daughter back." You pause to think. "How interesting. Was it on purpose?"

"The plaga just happened to develop that way."

"Can I... see?" You raise a brow, surprised when Leon ditches the robe nearly immediately, causing you to throw the book in front of your eyes. You open an eye to look at his back, glad to see that he's at least somewhat clothed underneath, only lacking a shirt. You glance at the tentacles, letting him turn back to face you as he moves them. You reach for one carefully, slimy and strange against your hand, watching as it curls around your arm, free hand reaching to touch it and grab its end, observing the ends, blinking at it when you realize it's truly just an octopus' tentacle without the suction. 

Though, Leon watches you, eyes dark and smile on his face, a strangely threatening vibe coming from him as you play with the tentacle, letting it squeeze your arm gently, tip tapping your finger as you tilt your head, shaking it to have it let go. He complies, reaching for the robe, wondering if he has sated your curiosity. Yet, when he finds that you're still staring at him, he wonders just what you're curious about. It seems the government hadn't told you that the last agent sent had been eaten alive by him during mating season. Quite the opposite from how nature would have it, but still perhaps a warning.

They must really want him home.

"What?"

"Do you have fangs?"

"My canines are sharper, but not fangs." He bares his teeth for you, making not move to push you off as you step up to stare at him.

He could swallow you whole.

"Can I touch?"

"Be careful. They're still sharp."

Your hand reaches for the corner of his mouth, pushing his upper lip upward and bottom lip downward, opening your own mouth out of instinct to stare at his. He can feel your breath on his, watching as you crane your neck further to stare at his teeth, swapping your thumb with your index as your thumb brushes at it. He worries that he'll cut you on accident, but you don't seem to care, licking your upper teeth as he copies you instinctually, tongue sticking out and surprising you.

"Lizard tongue."

"Correct." He hums. "Scary?"

"Surprising." You let go, taking two steps back as you pick the journal back up. "Well, obviously it'd be rude of me to ask you how genitals work or have changed, and looking from Luis' journal, nothing much has changed."

"Does the government know you aren't going back?"

"There isn't any signal in the castle. Shouldn't you know?" You tilt your head. 

He smiles. "It's been a while. I left Ashley with the communicator."

"I figured." You flip to the final two pages of the journal, blinking up at Leon as you step behind him, observing the bumps on his head. "You can control the villagers?"

"That's how the dominant plaga works." He nods. 

"Do you control libido?"

"Is that any question to be asking someone you just met?"

"Apologies." You hold both hands up, flipping to the final page. "How fun. Mating season's close."

"What month is it?"

You smile. "Happy September."

Despite it all, you find that Leon's pleasing to be around, English not forgotten, snap of his fingers holding more power than anything else, showing you around the maze and the dogs, hand held in front of you calmly as he scolds the dog, and you watch in awe as it imitates a whimper, tail tucked between its legs as Leon lowers himself to ruffle its fur. You're not allowed to touch it in case the plaga infects you, but you have a fun time watching as Leon shows you how the door unlocks itself. Though, he tells you it remains unlocked now that you have the need of hopping from one side to the other in order to access your food.

The fish isn't all that bad either. 

You get used to it surprisingly fast, no food poisoning in sight when Leon shows you how to prepare it raw, brow raised amusedly when it happens. 

You also find ways to entertain the two of you, hiding behind pillars to play hide and seek in the ballroom, running around the halls to play tag, most of which has you questioning if life has really gotten to this point, but not enough that you would stop. You also play chopsticks with Leon, occasionally helping out the servants in bathing him. Leon checks for scrapes and unhealed wounds before you do, fingers gentle on your skin as he lets you sit with him in the bath, your fingers gentle and the soap on your hands as you play with the tentacles.

He wonders if you don't seem to mind that he's nude.

You've brought more entertainment since arriving anyway, letting his tentacles play with you as the servants tend to his skin.

"I'm surprised you haven't gotten disgusted yet."

"It's just some tentacles." You scoop the water in the bucket to rinse his back. "Not super scary once you get used to it. Luis' journal definitely helped too."

"Mm." He hums. "You ever learned ballroom dancing?"

"No." You pause. "Well, if you count that one lesson I got as an Agent for that one undercover mission, then yes, but other than that, no."

"You got that too?"

"Yeah. It was one of my first missions." You let go of the tentacles as Leon retracts them, waving at them as Leon dismisses the rest of the servants.

"Would you dance in the ballroom?"

"Well, we could do that, but with what music?"

"Silence."

"My dead phone?"

"We can charge it."

"My half-broken mp3, a CD, and a dream."

"I can send someone to buy one."

"When they look like that?"

"You'd be surprised at how little some of the neighboring cities care."

"Well, there wouldn't be speakers either. It's alright. We can dance in silence."

"Nothing else?"

"Not that we really need anything else." You tap your chin, making the motion to step out of the tub to dry yourself off. 

If you notice the way Leon stares at you when you do, you don't make mention of it.

"So? Dancing tomorrow?"

"Why not tonight?"

"Oh, under the stars? I didn't peg you to be such a romantic, Leon." You raise a brow. "I'm not in clothes suitable for dancing, you know?"

"You don't need a skirt for that."

"Didn't say a skirt." You step out of the room to let the servants dress him, staring out the window as you stare at Leon's room. Lack of bedrooms, yet somehow still a room with a bed. Two rooms, considering that yours is just across. Though, this is more of a formality. He has a nest, for all you seem to understand. The bed is for when he needs some rest... and for when you complain about your back hurting in that other bed. You don't know.

You settle yourself on his duvet to stare into nothing as you wait for him to get dressed. 

You need to touch grass — real grass. Not whatever was by the fountain where you would fetch your own food. Leon seems adamant about keeping you human despite your lack of resistance to the idea of getting infected. You're starting to think the villagers' stew might actually taste somewhat good, but you're not risking anything. Maybe all you'll think about when you're infected is how to serve Leon. Would you be a regular handmaiden then? You're not too sure. He seems to enjoy having a human in the house. Maybe he was a freak like that.

You thank the servant when she drapes a blanket over you.

"Let's go." Leon offers a hand, and you tilt your head. 

"Oh, you were serious."

"If you're cold, we can move back here to dance too."

"Very well." You tuck the blanket around you like a shawl, taking his hand as he squeezes it. You wonder just what dancing has to do with whatever has happened, impromptu question leading you to be back in the garden with Leon, his hand on your waist as you sway with him under the moon. You wonder if there's a reason behind this. Is there? Is he just bored to the point that he would resort to recreating one of your first classes in the command for nostalgia?

"Is this mating related—"

"I'm surprised you caught on so fast." Leon spins you gently, humming. "Yes."

"For the plaga or for scorpions?"

"Typically scorpions, but occasionally plaga. The submissive species doesn't need to do a courtship dance to please the bug."

"And you do?" You sneeze after, sniffling. "Can we go in? May we? Please, Lord Leon?"

He shakes his head, pressing your hand to his lips.

"Gotta kiss you so the bug's pleased."

"Are tentacles going to come out of your mouth."

"No." He shakes his head. "Are you into that?"

"Can't say. Never tried." You press your palm to his cheek, giving him a quick kiss. "Will that suffice?"

"We will see."

Leon grows increasingly more protective of you as the month progresses. You consult Luis' research to find out what it is, unsurprised that it's mating-related, but worried that it would mean that Leon had the chance of consuming you. You wonder if he cums sperm pouches like actual scorpions. That would be quite a situation to be in. Though, you wouldn't be surprised if just decided to lock himself in the clock tower during mating season for his people's sake. The villagers seem to like him a lot.

You bite on the end of the herb, mocking a bow with an imaginary cowboy hat, tilting your head when one of the castle workers point out at the gate.

"Mating season?" You tilt your head.

He tilts his head.

"...animales." You pause. Maybe you shouldn't have spaced out in high school Spanish.

He nods, gesturing at the gate, reaching for your wrist as you catch a flash, the man yelling in agony.

You look to the side... raising a brow.

Ah. Leon. 

This is not... only shirtless. He seems to have evolved as well.

You wave the servant off, staying still as Leon stares you down, undressing you with his eyes, smiling with way too many teeth for comfort. You glance at the way that he's got more than one scorpion tail, only humanoid part of him his face and somewhat... human-looking legs. You wonder when he had decided you were to be his mate, watching as the tentacles are much more visible, skin bare and clothes practically ripped. He seems to have sized up as well. Your neck almost hurts from looking at him.

"What's going in? Is this your mating form?" You don't move as the tentacle finds your waist, loosening your arms from its grip as it picks you up. You lift your legs out of instinct, bracing yourself as he bounces off from the ground, crawling through the opened clock tower and down to the place he had called his nest, the small area right before the opening to head to the labs. You're placed down gently as Leon sizes down back to what you're used to, collapsing on you as you glance at him.

"Apologies in advance."

"Huh—" You yell as he bites into your shoulder, drawing blood as you wince, struggling against his grasp as he pants. 

"There you go."

Your nails dig into his shoulders for support, letting Leon settle you into the mattress that he's placed in the middle of his nest so kindly, pulling your own clothes off out of a fear that he would ruin it. There was little to wear in the castle that would fit you and wouldn't feel dirty on your skin, so you valued whatever you had come wearing. You toss everything to the side, breeze uncomfortable on your bare skin as Leon presses his lips to your jaw, quiet humming rumbling on your skin. 

"You alright?"

"Are you always this gentle during mating?"

"No." He huffs. "I'm going to stop talking in a bit. The... bug is quite strong."

"Well, luckily for you, I'll do just about anything you ask me to." You hum, pressing your lips to his jaw, purring against him as he stares. "As long as you don't kill me."

"I'll stop the bug before it gets to do that." He purrs against you, prying your legs open as you stare down at him, relaxing your body as he opens his mouth, tongue rolling out as he moves his tentacles to slide around your legs, lips pressed to your clit as he sucks, earning a whimper from you. You reach for something to grab onto, nails digging into the mattress as Leon closes his mouth over your pussy, tongue darting between your folds slithering its way in your walls, your breath choking past your lips as you wince, yelping as you feel his tongue brush against your cervix gently, Leon retracting it a little for the sake of your body. 

It wasn't as if mating season was one day. It was a while, even if he was able to control his urges for the most part, he wouldn't want to hurt you or wear you out first day. So, he settles with swirling his tongue in you, which you squirm over, unused to such a feeling, but quickly replaced with muffled moans as he finds a proper pace, hands now clawed as he holds you down by the waist, tentacles holding your legs in place as you squirm. You whimper at the feeling of his claws on top of his tongue, hands flying to your face as your back arches, seeing white as you gush on his tongue, quiet cries from your lips as he sucks, tilting your hips up to lick at the rest of your cum dripping, tongue licking his face as he blinks up at you.

"Still good?"

"Mmm." You pause. "Will you fit?"

"We're going to need more than just one if you want me inside, sweetheart."

You try your best at a pout, sighing as you relax yourself back into the mattress, biting your cheek as he slides a finger inside with ease, texture catching you off guard, Leon's name flying past your lips as he leans over to kiss your cheek, cooing into your ear as he lets you grow adjusted to the feeling of his finger inside. You let Leon know to loosen his grip on your legs, letting you set them down as he presses his chest to yours, nipping on your ear as he finally moves his finger.

You curl yourself against him, voice breathy and patchy as he does, his breath in your ear as he hums quietly. Vibrations to soothe you, you suppose, but it won't do much if your head is already clouded. You let him take his time, finger textured in you, free hand resting on your lower abdomen, sitting up as you whimper, head thrown back as he curls his finger in you. It feels foreign, and though you shouldn't be surprised, you find yourself with your head thrown back and nails in the mattress, whimper spilling past your lips as his thumb finds your clit, gentle circles drawn with your bundle of nerves as you tremble.

At one point, he's tilting your head to kiss him, glass-stained eyes and half-lidded eyes earning a groan from Leon's lips, pretty head lost in something long forgotten. You wonder what it'd feel like while infected, but you're sure Leon would rather die to your hand than find out. Besides, the post-sex clarity would hit eventually, though not that it would matter to you at any point. His lips are bitter against yours, and your judgment has long been clouded, whining into his mouth at the feeling of a second finger, stretching you out. Your mouth opens almost instinctively, whining as he nips at your jaw.

"Feel good?"

"Mm." You mumble, eyes closing as he hums.

"Good girl."

Your head spins deliciously from his voice, fingers mean against your cunt as you whine, other hand finding your back, chest flush against yours as he laps at the bite from earlier, cooing into your ear when you tighten around him, your hands flying to find anything to hold onto, nails digging into his shoulders as he draws another one out of you, cheeks warm with your tears as he licks at it. Despite everything, he's still cooing in your ear, sliding his fingers out of you with a squelch ashe presses them to your lips.

"Come on, pretty baby."

You part your lips apprehensively, tongue stuck out as he rests his fingers on it, watching you as you swirl your tongue around it, arousal pooling further in your legs as your eyes roll back. You feel dirty, whimpering around his fingers as he shifts his hips to press his errection against your clit, fabric of his pants rough against your nub as you squirm. He rolls it against you a second time until he finds that the bug in his chest is far too impatient to wait, licking his fingers to stretch you out one last time, laying you back onto the plush to free his cock from the confines of his pants. The bug's ringing gets louder as it would, Leon furrowing his brows as you tilt your head at him.

"Plaga."

"Does it want me dead?"

"No." He whispers, lining his hips with yours, sighing. "If it hurts, there's a knife to the side."

You glance at where he points, and you nod. "Will it hurt?"

"Doesn't matter. It'll wake me."

You nod slowly.

You tilt your hips as Leon slides in slowly, size dizzying for your head, breath stuck in your throat as you shift against him to get used to the sizing. The tentacles hold you in place and wrap around your waist, his hand finding yours to ground you as you gasp for air, lightheaded and ditzy as his thumb brushes the side of your navel. You wonder if he's waiting for some sort of affirmation to move, as you reach up for his neck, ignoring the way his skin brushes against your arms.

Leon doesn't speak anymore, opting to just fuck you instead, snap of his hips into yours rough as you gape for air, arms around his neck as his hips buck into yours relentlessly, giving you no space for air as you cling onto him instead, body tense and chest pressed to his as you close your eyes. The lack of words makes the sound of his skin against yours alarming, but you hear his breath in your ear, enough to ground you to a certain extent. His size is hard to get used to, your head ringing each time he thrusts up into you, tentacles sliding down your waist alongside his hands. It feels weird. 

Yet, your back arches as he lifts himself off of you slightly, hand moving down to press down on where he would be inside of you, lightning jolting up your spine as you whimper, pressure making your head spin, texture sending your head into a spiral. He lets out a grunt in approval as you tighten around him from the gesture, your breath stuck in your throat still. Any longer and you would be gone, you fear. Yet, the asphyxiation is sickeningly delicious to your head, too blissed out to care if this is how you'll go out. You wonder if this is how all of the girls feel when it's mating season and Leon has to fuck something.

There's a lack of skin and a texture of his hand now, starting to feel colder, and when you peer open an eye to look, Leon's fingers are mostly gone, replaced with darker claws. You wonder if this is an effect of the plaga, too heaven-struck to care, moving your head back to look at him, red eyes catching you off guard as he angles himself to brush your g-spot, eyes rolling back with a whine from your lips. 

You'd make a joke about how it's giving 2013 Harry Styles Wattpad fanfiction, but in the state that you're in, you can hardly get the thought to form. His claws dig into your waist and draw blood, wounds fresh on your waist as you hiss, whimpering as Leon opens his mouth to bite your jaw, your head spinning. Too much. It's too much. You cum without warning, mouth open and eyes wide as you struggle under him, walls raw and sensitive from the taste of ecstasy, white stuck in your vision as you cry. Your legs squirm as Leon forces his chest further into you, hands flying for anything you can grab, one hand nailing into his back as the other finds a tail. Namely, the scorpion tail, and you tug on it, earning Leon's gasp and an immediate orgasm. The tentacles tighten around you as warmth sticks to your walls and he gasps, eyes blue nearly immediately, collapsing on top of you as you blink, wide-eyed at the revelation.

Fuck the fact that you just saw white and had the best orgasm of your life, did Leon just cum from his tail being pulled on?

You heave as Leon pulls himself off and out of you, head thrown back as he sits up, blinking slowly as you blink up at him.

"What happened?"

You give him a sly little grin, climbing on top of him as you shimmy to get the tentacles off of you, Leon complying as you take the knife, pressed to his throat as he tilts his head back, raising a brow as you reach for his tail, giggle on your lips as you stroke it. Leon squirms under your hand, and you hum.

"That's what happened."

His hands find your waist, running them up and down as he blinks at you.

"You alright?"

"I'm fine." You nod. "You?"

"You should get water." He rasps.

"Your throat doesn't sound any better." 

"It's fine." He whispers. "I can live without it."

You reach over him for your pouch, unscrewing it as you press the water to your lips, swallowing it as you wipe at your mouth, free hand finding his jaw as you force it open.

"Swallow."

Leon sticks his tongue out for the water, swallowing as you command, licking his lips as you reach over to put the water back. He takes the chance to rest his hands on your back, tongue finding your chest as he sucks, free hand pinching at the other one as you whimper, lashes fluttering. You hold yourself still, fingers finding his hair as he swirls his tongue. You try and get off of him, fingers tightening around his hair as he holds you still, biting down on your nipple gently, teeth grazing the buds as you shiver.

"Leon."

He hums against your skin, raising a brow as you look down at him, pulling yourself back up as he lets go of you.

"What's wrong?"

"Are you still?"

"It's a continual process." He whispers. "Until I am satiated."

"Will it be soon?"

"Just one more for me." He hums. "I'll let you rest after it."

You agree begrudgingly, letting him press his fingers into you again, looking much more human than before, tail still evident and tentacles still looming over you, but his body looks far more human than you have ever seen. He looks like his picture again, you think. You find it a little strange to see a lack of purple in his veins, taking the chance to press your thumb to them as he breathes quietly. 

"You're human."

"Not often." He whispers. "Can I have you again?"

"I agreed when I danced with you, Leon." You whisper. "Have me all you want. Kill me if you want to."

"I won't."

"I know you won't." You whisper.

Leon kisses at your jaw again, whispers gentle in your ear as he holds you, careful to not cut you with his claws as he holds your head.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No." You whisper back. "Your claws hurt, but <i>you</i> didn't hurt me."

"You ought to stab me next time." He brushes the wound on your hips. 

"Quite a domestic turn, huh?" You laugh as Leon slides his pointer down to curl inside of you, claws uncharacteristically sharp yet gentle inside of you. You shift your hips, curious as to what Leon could possibly need to check with his finger when you've got his cum dripping out your pussy, his finger squelching with each movement he makes.

"Yes." He mumbles. "Can't have you dying on me."

"Is the plaga sated?"

"More than sated." He slides his finger out, lips pressed to your shoulder gently as he hums. "So just me this time, alright?"

"Of course." You let him shift until you're lined up, letting you lower yourself onto him as you adjust to the size. Too big, still. You wrap your arms around his neck and flutter around him, earning a groan from Leon. 

The tip of his cock sits snug against your cervix, your body trembling as you become aware of it. You hadn't felt it earlier from how hard your head was spinning, but you try not to think about it, lashes fluttering as you hold him to your chest his face smushed between your tits as he glances down at where the two of you connect. You <i>swear</i> you feel him twitch inside of you.

"You alright?"

He muffles back an affirmative, rolling his hips against yours gently. His arms wrap around your waist as he thrusts up into you, staring up from your chest as he drinks in the way your brows furrow. He's careful not to scratch you more, fingers curled into fists against your back instead of out, angling his hips to brush all your sensitive spots, the drag of his cock inside of you drunkening. You babble his name and roll it off your tongue like a devotion, vision spotty as he holds your arms on your back, you name stumbling past his own lips like a broken prayer. 

There's a wondering if you should be devoting yourself to Leon, taking him as your lord, taking him as your savior. You wouldn't be against it, eyes closing and brows furrowing as you feel him twitch inside of you, speeding up to chase his own high as one of his fingers finds your clit. He sends you tumbling down first, body shaking in his grasp as the coil in your back snaps, gushing and trembling around Leon as he chases his own high, pretty praises easy on his lips for you. Your head spins as he spills into you once more, arms tightening around you as he does. 

His forehead rests on your chest, and your vision clears as you stare up at the ceiling.

 "You back?" 

The feeling of circles on your lower back brings you back to reality. 

"Mm." You hum. "Spinny."

"Do you want your bed?"

"Is the castle empty?"

"Always is this season. I only brought one here because it's where I spend mating season."

"I thought you tore rooms down."

"Stopped doing that after a while." He hums. "Do you want to go back?"

"'m too sleepy." You let him set you back down on the bed, your fingers gentle against his face as you look at him. "Night, Leon."

"Sleep well, sweetheart."

When Leon's sure you've knocked out, he sends a tentacle over to grab your device, stepping away from you and setting you down from his arms, stepping outside of the ballroom to the dock, radio pressed to his ear as he glances at the boat. The night breeze rustles his hair, and he feels more human than he has in the past years. Hunnigan did him right for once.

"Hey."

"She alright?"

"In one piece." He exhales. "Send some liquor in the next shipment."

"If she's not dead, then we won't need to send anything else."

He glances at the boat. "He's turned docile."

"You can get rid of him."

"I'd need her to be awake for that."

"Is she out?"

"Just sleeping."

"Wake her."

"Can't. Drew too much out of her."

"First time you've actually used a recruit, huh? Glad I can just mark her as MIA and not dead for once. Will you back once it's out?"

"Mm, most likely not. I'm getting used to life here. They think I'm dead, don't they?"

"They don't know."

"Keep it that way. Mark her as dead too."

The voice goes silent on the line.

"Get us some new passports and identities, and we'll go back."

"We?"

"A dead man can't marry, Hunnigan."

"That's awfully quick of you."

"Not taking my chances. No one just falls in love unconditionally like that."

"Well, aren't you lucky."

A chuckle.

"So?"

"I'll see what I can do."

[nb-octopus-writes]

once you're in the hive, the other bees assume you're supposed to be there

[Masterpost]

Summary:

Virgil accidentally gets absorbed by his best friend's brother's polycule.

In his defense, they keep feeding him every time they see him, and Patton's cooking is really good.

Chapter 1: Halloween Party

Wordcount: 1.9K

~

There are a lot of people Virgil doesn't know at this party. Remus is here, somewhere, and Virgil needs to find him again before the party ends, because Remus was his ride and he doesn't want to get left here. Janus is here too though, and Virgil doesn't think Janus would let Remus leave without him, and he's sure Remus wouldn't desert Janus, so he's trying not to worry too much about the fact that he doesn't currently know where Remus is.

But that's it for people Virgil knows, and Remus didn't even bother to introduce him to anyone before fucking off to who knows where, and Virgil’s certainly not going to walk up to a random stranger and introduce himself, so he's currently appreciating the snack table. If he's eating or deliberating on what to eat next, he can't be expected to talk to anybody, right?

“’Scuse me, itsy bitsy,” someone says from behind him, and Virgil turns to see a vaguely familiar man in a dazzling prince costume holding a fresh plate of deviled eggs.

Virgil moves so that the prince dude can set the plate down on a clear spot on the table, and frowns. “I'm taller than you, Princey.”

Prince dude shrugs, plucks one of the eggs up, and takes a large bite. “Lucky you, or we'd've had to ask you to vacate the premises,” he says. “No little spiders allowed, real or fake.”

Which, yeah, now that he's mentioned it, Virgil had noted an extreme lack of spider-themed decorations, which is unusual for Halloween. Usually there'd at least be spiderweb cupcakes, but the cupcakes at this party are mostly cute ghosts.

There's probably a good reason for that, Virgil realizes with a sinking feeling. “Should I change?”

“You got another costume handy, or were you planning on spinning a spider-silk cocoon and metamorphosing into a butterfly?”

Virgil grimaces. “No,” he admits.

Prince Dude considers him. “It's not very realistic,” he says, which is true. Virgil hadn't been going for realism, he'd been going for passable costume I can make on short notice. He's wearing black jeans and a black hoodie, and he'd cut some pool noodles in half and wrapped them in more black cloth and stuck them to his back for the other four legs. It had been a pain to get them to stay in place properly, actually, and he'd ended up sewing their wrappings to the back of his hoodie in order to keep them where he wanted them. He'd been pretty proud of it, given that Remus had dropped “we're going to a costume party at my brother's house” on him like an hour beforehand, but now he's wishing he'd come up with any other idea. He could have put a sheet over his head and been a ghost, or something. Granted, that would have required him to have a sheet that was both white and that he was willing to cut holes in, which he didn't, but still.

Prince Dude continues to quietly scrutinize Virgil, and he wants to squirm under his gaze. Eventually, the guy shrugs and says, “Might be best to ask the scaredy-cat himself. Wait here, I'll be back.” And he saunters off before Virgil can answer.

For lack of anything better to do, Virgil picks up a deviled egg and shoves the whole thing in his mouth. It's really tasty, actually, and now he's wishing he'd taken smaller bites rather than horking it down in one.

Virgil had thought that Princey was just being mean with the “scaredy-cat” thing, but the guy he's talking to now actually is dressed as a calico cat. Prince Dude points back at Virgil, and Mister Calico Cat glances in his direction, then turns back to Princey. Virgil can't hear what they're saying, but he supposes Prince Dude must've asked Calico if Virgil’s costume was too creepy crawly scary.

They talk for way longer than Virgil had expected, and he can't tell if Calico's response was more like “No, he's fine,” or more along the lines of “Yes, that's terrifying, please have him removed immediately from my sight and also my home.”

He occupies himself with another deviled egg. If he's going to get kicked out, he might as well enjoy some more of this tasty food first.

Oh, fuck. Remus.

Remus isn't going to want to leave early just to take Virgil home, and Virgil still doesn't know where he even is! Fuck!

Well, Remus could have warned him not to be a spider, so if Virgil gets kicked out of the party it'll be at least partly Remus's fault. Virgil doesn't know anybody here, but Remus knows at least half these people, and if Calico’s spider aversion is enough that there are no spider-themed decorations in the house on Halloween, that sounds like the kind of thing Remus would know about.

Granted, Remus revels in being gross and annoying, but still! He's not a total dick. He should have told Virgil.

Fucker.

Calico vanishes into the other room, and Prince Dude comes back over to Virgil. He doesn't look like he's about to kick Virgil to the curb, at least. Virgil braces himself anyway.

“Good news!” Princey says with a grin. “Li’l Mister Muffet says you don't look like a creepy crawly death dealer and he doesn't have the urge to remove you with arson!”

Virgil blinks. “...gooood?” he says slowly. He hadn't even considered kill it with fire being a potential response to his costume. That would have been worse than just getting kicked out of the party, actually.

“Honestly you're much more Doc Ock in silhouette, Spider-Man,” Princey continues. “That helps a lot.”

Virgil glances back at where Prince Dude and Calico had been chatting. “So he didn't leave the room because he can't stand the sight of me?” he asks anyway.

“Nah, he wanted to make another plate of horse devours,” Princey says, reaching past Virgil to grab a cupcake off the table. This one has a little frosting bat.

“A plate of what?” Virgil says, because surely he didn't hear that right.

“Little snacks,” Prince Dude clarifies instead of repeating himself. “Our fridge is crammed with delicious bits and bobs. It's been so hard to resist the temptation to eat them before the party.” He bites appreciatively into his cupcake, then adds with his mouth full, “You'd think he wouldn't notice what with how much he made, but nooo, sneak one chocolate covered cherry before party time and it's a lengthy scolding for you!” Princey sighs dramatically, then cheerfully devours the rest of his cupcake.

“...hors d'oeuvres?” Virgil says hesitantly.

“Yeah, a couple ordervs of deviled eggs, cheese and crackers, and those scrumptious little pinwheel things,” Princey says. Virgil’s not sure if Princey actually doesn't know how hors d'oeuvres is pronounced, or if he's messing with him, but then Princey gives him a mischievous grin that one, confirms that yes, Princey does know what he's doing, and two, is so familiar that it freezes Virgil in place as the pieces click together in his brain.

The lack of a mustache makes Prince Dude's face look different, and so does the way he did his makeup, and he carries himself differently, but it's undeniable all the same: Virgil knows that grin.

This is Remus's twin brother.

Now that he's connected the dots (you haven't connected shit) the family resemblance is clear even to Virgil’s honestly rather faceblind eyes.

This is Remus's brother, and it's his house they're partying at.

… Virgil doesn't remember the guy's name.

Fuck, he should've made sure he at least knew who the party hosts were, especially the one related to his mischief goblin of a best friend.

Well he can't exactly ask now, can he?

“Also like, five types of cupcakes,” Princey continues, oblivious to Virgil’s inner turmoil. “Seriously, have you tried the cupcakes? Chef Boiardelightful made multiple separate batches of different flavors, from scratch. And they're all delicious!”

Virgil smirks. “And did you try to snitch them before the party too?”

Princey gasps theatrically, pressing a hand to his chest. “How could you accuse me of such a thing!?” he protests with exactly as much dramatic emotion as Virgil would expect from Remus's twin. “For your information, I did not! I merely sampled a portion of the batter left on the spatula after the cupcakes had gone into the oven. Also some of the frosting.”

“He means that he licked the bowls clean,” says a new voice, and Virgil does not jump out of his skin, thank you very much. And even if he did jolt a little, it's nothing to the startled squawk Princey emits.

Calico's back, holding a platter of little finger sandwiches on toothpicks. He offers them up to Virgil, who takes one. “Thanks.”

“No worries, kiddo!” Calico says cheerfully, and puts the rest of the platter down on the snack table. Princey plucks up two sandwiches by their toothpicks, and gets a stern look in response. “Make sure to leave some for the guests,” Calico scolds.

“My delightful and beloved Patissier,” Princey says, cupping Calico's face gently with his free hand. “I assure you that each of our guests could have a heaping plateful of food and we would still have leftovers until next Tuesday. No-one will be going home hungry.”

It really is an impressive spread. Everything Virgil’s tried has been really good. Remus really could have played up the ‘free food’ angle more when trying to convince Virgil to come. If he'd known the food would be this good, then overriding his usual party-related reservations—it's gonna be loud, there will be a lot of people, I don't know anybody, etc—would have been a lot easier. Then again, Virgil probably wouldn't have believed him. He'd mostly been expecting pizza and cheap beer, honestly, not– not homemade delicacies.

The tiny sandwich Calico gave him is lightly toasted, with some kind of sliced-meat-and-cream-cheese filling, and a little green leafy garnish on top. It definitely looks much fancier than most things Virgil eats, and he can understand why Calico doesn't want Princey to eat them all. That probably took a decent amount of effort. He almost feels bad eating it himself, except that Calico had offered it to him specifically, and it would probably be more rude at this point to not eat it.

“Are you sure my costume is okay?” Virgil asks, interrupting the minor squabble Princey and Calico had fallen into.

“Oh, yes, you're fine,” Calico assures him. “Trust me, if you were pinging my brain as an actual spider I wouldn't be in the room right now, let alone standing next to you.”

“Really, cause most cats I know would eat a spider soon as look at it,” Virgil quips, and is rewarded with Calico laughing.

“That wouldn't be very good host-ly of me, now would it?” he says. “I would never eat a guest!”

“Not unless they're a reptile with scallions,” Princey teases, and Calico flushes.

“Hey!” he protests, swatting Princey's shoulder with one hand and trying to cover his extremely red face with the other. Virgil wonders what the reference was, exactly, but doesn't think it's his place to ask. It seems rather personal, from how hard Calico is blushing.

…maybe he'll ask Remus later if he knows what the story there is.

~~~~

Chapter 2: The Morning After

[sporadicthingcollection]

The Unskinny Bop (Buggy the Clown x F!Reader)

Summary: You're a really good cook and that's most of the problem. The rest of it is that he's too weak-willed to resist a treat right in front of him. Pairing: Buggy the Clown x F!Reader Rating: 🌶 Explicit 🌶 Word Count: ~6.1k Warnings: Body insecurity (male and female), cunnilingus, masturbation, PiV sex A/N: Dad Bod Buggy my beloved

---

She's playing all night And the music's all right Mama's got a squeeze box And Daddy never sleeps at night

---

It's his own damn fault, really.

He's the one who charmed the pretty diner cook — that’d be you — into joining his crew. It was an easy sell. You get off of the little podunk island you’re stuck on and he gets those delicious little puffy pastry things every morning.

What he didn’t expect was how well you made everything else. He's had to let his pants out three times in two months because of it.

Fluffy pancakes, perfectly slung hash, and a pie-looking thing with eggs and vegetables and cheese you called a “keesh” for breakfast. Sandwiches stuffed with veggies and meat, piles of pasta tossed in rich sauce, and thick slabs of juicy steak for dinner. Not to mention the mountains of snacks and treats in between.

He came to realize that food is a key aspect of your personality. It's just what you do. A dog chases its tail, Richie pushes things off of tables, and you flit around the deck like a pastry pixie, abducting people into the galley for taste-testing. 

Like right now.

His only warning that you're coming is a chirped “Captain!” before he's yanked through the door. He doesn't even have time to react before you've shoved a spoonful of something into his mouth.

He's not surprised. You do it to everyone who walks in. Food is how you show affection.

“Whaddya think?” you ask.

He swallows it too quickly to make a judgment, but it's sweet and that's all he needs to know. “Tasty.”

Every time you smile, he swears a flashbulb goes off somewhere. “Good,” you say. “It'll be even better tomorrow.”

He doesn't even bother to hide the whine. “What?”

“They're icebox pies, silly goose,” you say. “You gotta let ‘em chill.”

Another thing about you is that you're a tease. Form-fitting blouses done up just a button too short and your hair pulled back to show off your soft shoulders. A sweet little wink and a touch of the shoulder as you place a plate in front of him. And now feeding him something delicious only to tell him he has to wait until tomorrow to have more.

Your fingers snapping in front of his face jolt him back to the present. “Huh?”

“I asked if you wanted to lick the spoon,” you say.

Does he wanna lick the spoon? What kind of question is that? He plucks it from your hands. “Is the sky blue? Do bears shit in the woods? Am I the captain?”

You roll your eyes, but you smile. “Gonna stick these in the big cooler and I'll be right back for the other,” you say.

Carefully, you pick up two of the three foil-covered pie tins resting on the counter and turn on your heel.

He watches you closely as you round the corner and out of sight. Such a nice soft ass you've got. He desperately wants to grab it, but the one time you got goosed, you slugged the guy so hard he was out cold for the rest of the day.

Something pink, creamy, and flecked with seeds coats the wooden spoon. He drags his tongue along the back of it and--

Oh. Oh, that is good.

His taste buds scream in ecstasy. The slightest little moan escapes his lips. For the briefest of moments, he thinks it's better than sex and his cock twitches, but he regains his sense of self before going completely mad.

He licks and licks and licks until every little drop of pink, sweet, creamy filling is gone.

Frustration bubbles in his chest. Waiting all night for this is gonna suck. Especially since you probably won't be whipping it out for breakfast.

He is captain, though. He could order you to give it to him. But you'd almost certainly laugh in his face and he really, really doesn't want that.

The shimmer of foil catches his eye. The third pie sits on the counter. Untouched. Uneaten. Mocking him in its creamy deliciousness.

He looks around. You're nowhere to be seen.

...maybe just a little bit.

He scrapes barely half a spoonful from the top. Not enough to be noticeable, just enough to satisfy his sweet tooth.

Mmm. Smooth. Thick. Sweet. Fruity. Delicious.

...a little bit more can't hurt. Then he can wait until tomorrow.

He gets a piece of the fruit itself this time and the squirt of juice on his tongue is enough to make him spoon up another dollop. And then another. And then another.

This is why your pants are so tight, his inner monologue chides. This is why you need a new belt. This is why you wear that thing around your waist. Goddamn hedonist.

They're not that tight, he retorts. And they wouldn't be at all if you weren't such a damn good cook. It's all your fault for putting delicious food in front of him and looking so pretty while doing it.

He turns to lean against the counter, only to stop dead.

You're standing there, eyes wide and brows raised. You point at him, then at the pie tin, then back at him. “Are you... Eating the...?”

“No,” he says quickly. He realizes he's holding the pie tin. “No.”

Something odd glints in your eyes as you approach him. Gingerly, you take the pie and the spoon from his hands. He lets you. You step even closer.

You're so close to him, close enough for him to feel the rise and fall of your breasts. Hell, you're so short compared to him that he can see straight down your shirt.

His heart races. What are you going to do? Throw it out? Throw him out? Punch his lights out? Never speak of this again? 

To his amazement, you do none of those things. Instead, you spoon up a bit more of the pie filling and raise it to his lips. You blink up at him with big doe eyes.

He looks between you and the spoon a few times. This can't be right. You should be furious. He opens his mouth to say something, but it's forgotten as you shove the spoon in his mouth.

Why are strawberries so delicious? Why is he so weak? Why are your breasts so warm and squishy against him?

He swallows it and, as he opens his mouth to breath, you shove another spoonful in. It's just as good the twentieth time.

You offer him another. And another. And another. He accepts them all.

Until he goes to take another and you pull it away. He frowns at you. You pull it back farther and farther. He grabs your wrist and pulls your hand closer. You resist, but he's spent every day of his life trimming sails and hauling cargo.

He gets the spoon into his mouth and claims his prize with a smirk.

That glint in your eyes turns into a blaze. You drop the pie tin and spoon and they hit the floor with a clatter. Pulling your wrist from his grip, you grab him by the cheeks and yank him into a kiss.

He yelps against your lips and you take the opportunity to shove your tongue between them. Licking, lapping, pressing your soft, warm body right up against his.

Only a eunuch could resist this.

He kisses you back with the same fervor, grabbing your ass to lift you up a bit and it's so soft and pliant and perfect that he can't help but dig his fingers in.

Oh, it's everything he dreamed it would be. Your warm lips moving against his, your slick tongue dancing in his mouth, your soft palms gripping his jaw.

You've lapped up all the lingering sweetness in his mouth by the time he runs out of breath. He pushes you away and you whimper, your eyes wide and your shoulders heaving up and down.

Deprived of oxygen, he says something completely, absolutely, utterly brain dead. “Can I touch your tits?”

Instead of slapping him, you nod so hard your updo shakes loose. Curly strands fall in your face.

He blinks. “Wait, really?” You nod harder. “You sure?”

Something in you snaps. He can see it in your eyes. You grab him by the hand and damn near drag him out the door.

A quick trip up the stairs and across the main deck and he's pushing open the door to his quarters. You bustle past him and, once the click of the lock sounds, you grab him by the collar and yank him into another kiss, just as wet and desperate as the last.

He barely has enough time to shuck his coat about you throw him onto the bed, clambering atop him. You're a bit heavier than he expects. Not that he says that to your face, but you’re so light on your feet that he was starting to think you were filled with cotton candy. You're certainly sweet enough.

You yank his hat from his head and toss it aside. His bandana follows and his hair falls around his shoulders.

You suck in a breath. “So pretty.”

He shrugs. “Thanks-- mmph.”

He’s silenced by you standing on your knees to pull his hair out of its pigtails. This requires you to stick your tits in his face and oh my god they're like big marshmallows you smell like cinnamon.

He can't help himself. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you in closer, breathing deeply. So warm, so soft.

You giggle and the vibration makes his face tingle. You pull away to fiddle with your blouse buttons. “Wanna know a secret?” you whisper.

“Is the secret boobs?” Wow, what the hell was that? He needs to stop talking.

Lucky for him, you grin. You open your blouse and a whole lot more than he was expecting spills out. You toss the blouse to the side and plant your hands on your hips. “Va-va-voom.”

He's speechless. Shaken. Struck utterly dumb by the sight before him. All he can do is pull off his gloves and take them in his hands, pushing them, weighing them, squeezing them. There’s just… so much. Round, squishy, bouncy, threatening to surge right out of your lacy bra.

“I am but one man,” he mumbles.

That makes you giggle and that makes them jiggle. Like two sacks of...like a pair of...

...he can't think of a metaphor that isn't unpleasant, so he just sticks his face in there again before something else stupid comes out of his mouth. You laugh even more and it vibrates against his cheeks and his -- that... -- and if God struck him down at this very second he would die a happy man.

You let him linger a moment before throwing your weight forward to push him onto the bed. He whimpers like a kicked puppy as you pull away.

You nibble your lip and knit your brow up as you fumble with his belt. “I showed you mine, now you show me yours.”

He's flattered, but it's the only thing keeping his stomach in check. That can't come off yet.

He takes your hands in his own. “What's the rush, beautiful?” he says. He brings them to his lips, first one, then the other. He gently kisses your knuckles, your palms, your wrists. “This is your show. We got all night.”

You're cute when you huff. You're even cuter when your face screws up into a pout. You yank your hands away and plant them on your soft hips. “Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for this?” you whine.

That throws him for a loop and a half. You've wanted him too? Someone as clever and cute and talented as you wanted... him? He's not used to that. Not used to that at all.

He's stunned just long enough for you to get his belt open. You move on to his vest straps next, making quick work of those. He sucks his stomach in just as you pull it open.

Your eyes widen, and you break into a grin as they sweep up and down his torso. “Oh, hell-o,” you say, voice breathless.

He's bright red, he just knows it. “Hi,” he replies dumbly. He hopes the strain in his voice isn't too obvious.

You grin even wider. Your fingers ghost up his sides -- thank God it's his feet that are ticklish -- right up to his pecs. You give them a squeeze, not unlike how he palmed your breasts a few moments ago. The slightest of squeaks escapes him.

“I knew you were hiding something good,” you say. You give his nipples a tweak -- he squeaks louder -- and trail your fingers down to his waistband. “Let's see what else you've been keeping from me.”

He knows you're talking about his dick. He panics all the same.

He shoots a hand out to kill the light -- that should buy him some time -- and throws his weight into flipping you over. You squeal as he pins you to the bed and yanks your pants off.

And then he realizes. Your breasts? They're proportional.

Beneath him is the most lovely expanse of body he's ever seen. Soft and warm and squishy and made of convex curves that flow from gentle arms and smooth shoulders right into a pair of plump hips and shapely thighs.

He can't form words. He can't form thoughts. All he can do is stare with his mouth dropped open. What else can you do when you're in the presence of the divine?

And then he sees your face. Your eyes wide and unsure as they dart around the room. Your lips pressed together into a terse line. 

“What?” he asks.

The line scrunches to the side. “I'm bigger than I ought to be, I know,” you say. You sound as if you've said it a thousand times.

He gets mad. He can't help it. It's what he does. “Are you shitting me?”

You flinch a little, though more out of surprise than fear. “N-No, I don't--”

He wants to say so many things. About how this is perfection. About how you are the most gorgeous human being he's ever laid eyes on. About how this is everything he's ever wanted in life. How you're everything and you shouldn't be so damn sheepish.

But he can't get it out. All that comes out is a raspy, rude, “Shut the fuck up.”

You stare at him in shock. And not the fun shock. It's the kind where you're not sure if you've stepped on eggshells or not.

Fuck it. No time for words. He grabs your thighs and pulls you forward, yanking your panties off and sweet holy shit you don't shave down there how could you possibly be any more perfect?

His mouth waters. His cock throbs. He dives in. He drags his tongue up your inner thighs, soft and smooth and sweet as that pie.

“Captain--!” A nip to the tender flesh turns the exclamation into a squeak.

“I said shut up,” he says between kisses.

Finally, you stop talking. You only pant and moan as he shoves his face into your pussy, lapping at your already sopping cunt. Did he do this? Are you this wet because of him?

He can't help it. He stuffs his hand down the front of his pants to fondle himself. Like the desperate bastard he is, his cock’s hard and leaking already.

He grinds against his palm as he gorges himself on you. Licking, sucking, swirling, punctuating with a few nips for good measure. It's all harmonized by the most beautiful sounds he's ever heard flowing from your lips, high-pitched and whiny.

He's not sure how long has passed when you grab his head and push him away. Time flows strangely between your thighs.

You've got a crazed look in your eyes again. “I want you inside me.”

He wants to say something clever, something cool and on brand for him, like it's not time for the finale yet or but my leading lady isn't satisfied.

But that would delay being inside you and he's too addled to think of anything. He jumps to his feet and wriggles out of his trousers and shorts. If he were more aware of himself, he'd be humiliated by just how much he has to shimmy and dance around to get them off his hips, but there's not enough blood in his brain to be self-conscious.

He kicks them away in whatever direction. Something crashes to the floor and he doesn't care. He looks back to your beautiful face--

You're wide-eyed as you look at him. He follows your gaze, right down to his--

In all the excitement, he's not sucking it in anymore.

Now it's his turn to be sheepish. He sucks it in again. But he can't hold it. Too much blood in his cock. He tries again with the same result.

Unfortunately for him, it's drawn your attention even more. Off comes your bra, and you don't take your eyes off his stomach the whole time.

Now he really can't think anymore. They're just so pretty and perfect. You're so pretty and perfect. He doesn't deserve this. This is a hell of a mismatch if ever there was one. You, divinity in the flesh. Him, a fat, dirty old clown.

This is a joke. It has to be. Someone put you up to this and now you're gonna back out and he's gonna let you because you deserve better so he better just rip the bandage off now and--

“Out,” he spits. “Get out.”

You blink at him in shock, then your face hardens. You speak with the firmness of a queen who's sick of her courtiers’ bullshit. “Get over here and get on top of me.”

You're mocking him. You gotta be. There’s no other explanation. “I said--”

You look him in the eyes. Something dangerous glitters there. “Buggy, get the fuck on top of me.”

It comes out at a hoarse yell. “Stop mocking me!”

You spring upwards and, with that wild strength that surprises him every time, you throw him on the bed. It squeaks as he bounces -- actually, that might have come from him.

You've got a look on your face he can only describe as murderous. “I did not wait two months for you to chicken out,” you say. You clamber onto him. “I did not wait two fucking months for you to finally man up and say something only for you to get self-conscious!”

Fear, anger, and arousal battle for control of his body. Arousal wins. You are hot as a griddle when you're mad.

You sit yourself on his belly, just above his cock. It twitches against your ass and he's sure it's made of clouds and he groans.

“Look at me,” you say.

He doesn't. He can't. He doesn't want to see the scorn that's surely in your eyes.

You learn forward and grab his chin, squeezing his cheeks and forcing him to look. Even in the dim light, he can see the sheen of sweat on your face and the rise and fall of your chest as you pant.

“If you want me to leave, I will,” you say, “but you will never get this chance again.”

No. No no no no. He wants you. He wants you so bad. He's never had perfection this close and it's never wanted him as much as you seem to.

“Do you want me to leave?” you ask firmly.

He shakes his head so hard it hurts.

You don't grin. You simply release his chin and lift yourself up. You lower yourself on his cock and, as he watches it disappear, inch by slick inch into your hot, wet pussy, the battle is over.

He doesn't care if this is a trick anymore. He's going to get his.

He grabs your thighs and pulls you down onto him, fingers sinking into the smooth flesh. You gasp as he bottoms out, gripping the swell of his hips. He doesn't care. They're called love handles for a reason.

And then you start to bounce.

It starts in your legs. Pumping your thighs to lift yourself up and drop down onto his cock. The jolt ripples through your whole body, from your thighs to your belly to your breasts.

He's transfixed. So transfixed that he doesn't even notice you grabbing his pecs, squishing and squashing them between your gentle fingers. You tweak his nipples and he damn near howls.

He can't let you have all the fun. He pops his hand off to swirl his fingers around your clit.

But you don't cry out or moan. You start babbling. Something about eating and how hot he is and how much you love that he loves your cooking and it's all interspersed with pleasant-sounding gibberish. But he doesn't hear a word of it. You're too warm and slick and it goes in one ear and it the other.

But the sounds. God, the sounds of him sliding in and out of you. Wet and disgusting and it makes his mouth water and his cock leak and that just makes it wetter--

The slap of skin on skin and wet on wet and his moans and your chattering all mingle into a delicious symphony. 

But it stops all too soon. Your breath hitches and you bend at the waist, singing his name like a songbird, the same little melody over and over. “Buggy, Buggy, Buggy...!”

His name dissolves into little yips and gasps as your cunt flutters around his cock. It's so good. Better than treasure. Better than adrenaline. Better than a full belly after a hard day's work--

He realizes he's not wearing a condom. Fuck. “Where ya want it?” he grunts.

You don't hesitate. “In me,” you say between gasps.

In you? Inside you? Spilling his hot, wet cum into your hot, wet cunt? Your cunt? Soaking it? Seeding it? Making it even messier and sloppier and filling you up so much that--

He almost pops right then and there, but he bites his lip. “Nuh-uh. Where?”

“In me!” you spit.

He whines the most unmanly of whines. He will. He won't. He wants to. He can't. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Captain,” you whimper, “Buggy, please...”

He looks up at you. Your hands on his chest, your breasts heaving with each breath, your little belly rising and falling, your luscious thighs on either side of his hips, your lips dropped open as you pant, your bush surrounding his fingers--

God damn it.

He throws you to the side as he pops like a champagne cork. A few drops end up on you, but most of it splatters onto the underside of his belly, where it's started obeying gravity.

One hand grips the sheets and the other grips something warm and his hips buck and his head swims and his mouth makes utterly pathetic noises. Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes.

He crashes back to earth like a meteor strike. All he can see is white as he flops back onto the mattress, gasping for breath.

He has no idea how long it takes for him to recover. But something soft tickles the knuckles of his detached hand. A shudder racks him as he turns his head towards you.

Post-orgasm haze still clouds your eyes, but they're big and round as a doe’s as you cradle his hand close to his face. You press your lips to his knuckles.

He gives a weak smile. “Hi.”

You giggle. God, he loves that giggle. He wishes he could hear it every day. He'd put it in a sea shell if he could, carry it around in his pocket and press it to his ear whenever he feels lonely. Or spin it into cotton candy. It's certainly light and sweet enough. Or whip it up onto a foam and fold it into batter like he watched you do that one time for cake...

His stomach growls. He needs to stop thinking about food.

You kiss his knuckles again, still smiling so very sweetly. “Are you alright?”

“Fuckin’ amazing,” he mumbles. It's the truth.

Detaching his other hand, he feels around on the floor. There's a towel here somewhere... Unless he threw it on the chair... Or over the folding screen...

He finds it slung over the door of his wardrobe. He offers it to you, but you shake your head. “After you.”

Suit yourself. He mops his belly up as you watch. Shit, this was a big one.

Satisfied, he tosses the towel away. He rolls over to take you in his arms, but he finds nothing. You're standing up, pulling his coat on and closing it around your front.

“Get over here,” he says. “That's an order.”

“I gotta clean up,” you say.

He panics. He can't help it. His voice quivers like a child's. “Don’t leave. Please.”

You give him a kind look that almost makes him cry. “I’ll be right back,” you coo. “I promise.”

He doesn't want to be alone. Not now. Tears prick at his eyes and his lip quivers. But you're out the door before he can stop you.

You're not coming back. He knows it. He disappointed you. How could he not? You're beautiful. You're divine. You're perfect.

And what is he? A fat old clown.

He lays there, shivering in the cold air, too afraid to move. Too aware of his shortcomings. Too aware of every flaw, every defect, every deficiency. His temper. His teeth. His nose. His appetite. His everything.

The door opens. The moonlight frames your silhouette for a moment before you close the door behind you.

He nearly sobs with relief. You don't notice, thankfully, as you shuck his coat.

He launches his arms at you as he sits upright, pulling you into an embrace as he falls back down. He lays you to the side, slipping under your arm and tucking his head in the crook between your chin and chest.

You thread your fingers through his hair. “Don't tell me you thought I wasn't coming back.”

He murmurs something he forgets as soon as it leaves his lips. You're so soft. So warm. So comfortable. And he's so exhausted.

You giggle. You kiss his forehead and slide your fingers through his hair. “Bonwee, sha.”

He has no idea what that means, but you say it with such warmth that it must be something good. He snuggles up close to you.

Rocked by the sea and calmed by your heartbeat, he drifts off.

---

He sleeps well, but he stirs a few times.

The first is when you shift out from under him, mumbling something in a language he can't place. You roll onto your side, your back to him. He doesn't like that at all and pulls you in to be the little spoon. You squeak. It's cute. He doesn't care that his belly presses against your back. 

He stirs again when his arm falls asleep and he rolls onto his side. You follow him this time. You press yourself right up against his back, breasts and belly and thighs squishing against him. You're so warm.

The final time is as the gray light of dawn slips through the windows. He's shaken from a dream and he grumbles.

“I gotta go get started on breakfast,” you whisper. “Just wanted to let you know I wasn't lovin’ and leavin’.”

That's so sweet of you. “You're so sweet,” he mumbles sweetly.

You giggle. “See you in a few hours.”

You kiss the tip of his nose and he's not even upset.

===

You had a lovely night, but you're walking a bit funny and it's making your usual bustling around the galley just difficult enough to be annoying. And the visions of your stark naked captain filling your head are making it even harder.

You're a very simple woman, like your mother before you. You like men. You like food. You like men who like food. You especially like men who like your food.

Captain Buggy's a man. Captain Buggy likes food. And he loves your food, if his constant hovering in the galley is anything to go on. And he loves it a lot and it's showing.

The memory of him lying beneath you, his warm hips against your thighs, his belly wobbling as you bounce atop him, his head thrown back in bliss, surprises you just as you're tossing a flapjack. It slams into the ceiling and stays there.

Your fellow cook, a swarthy fellow going by Bloomer, casts the new ceiling decor an odd look. He turns it on you. “You alright, girl?”

You know what? Screw this. Everyone else can handle breakfast. “I'm gonna go wake up the captain,” you say. “How's he like his coffee?”

Milk and two cubes of sugar, he tells you. You put in cream and three cubes. Man's gotta get his strength back from last night, you tell yourself as you set off across the deck. 

You knock three times on the door. No answer. You knock harder. Still nothing. You take that as a sign he may be dead and enter just in case.

Captain Buggy is, in fact, quite alive, if not also naked. He's in front of the mirror... or his face is, anyways. His body is turned completely around as he examines the reflection of his rear. He grabs a handful, thick fingers sinking into the squish. He gives it a jiggle and it wobbles.

You don't blame him. It's a great ass. Perfect for grabbing and digging your nails into. Next time, you're making him get on top so you can do just that. 

But you prefer his front. That's where all the good shit is. Soft, muscular pecs, perfect for grabbing and groping, covered in a dusting of hair that trails down to his soft belly.

His hands go there next, pinching his sides. He gives them a shake and his belly bounces. 

That little zing shoots up your gut and into your throat, that one you always get around men like him. That same one as when you first saw him from across the diner, draining a pitcher of beer. The same one you had last night when you walked in on him eating pie filling. And now, watching him preening after a wild romp.

...or you thought he was preening. He turns his body around and as his hands go to his face -- he's got a stronger jawline than you'd expected when he's barefaced -- you notice his laugh lines deepen. He lets out a grunt of disgust as his lips curl.

You frown. He's saying ugh as if you couldn't keep your hands off of him last night. Coaxing him in closer with pie filling just so you could feel his body molding against yours. Grabbing his cheeks and yanking him in for a kiss you'd been craving for months. Dragging him to his cabin and fucking yourself on him while you dug your nails into whatever soft flesh you could grab.

You close the door with a firm check of the hips. The slam startles him, but he calms as he sees you. Somewhat. There's still an uneasy look in his eye.

“G’morning,” he says. A little blush blooms across his cheeks. He avoids eye contact.

He'd be cute if he wasn't pathetic. You set the coffee down on the nearest surface and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your hands on the swell just above his hips and resting your cheek between his shoulder blades.

“Thank you for finally taking the hint,” you say into his skin.

He chuckles, a low, vibrating thrum. “I never miss a cue, baby.”

Lies. You've been trying everything. Flirting. Making his favorite food. You even went braless one day on a supply run with him and he didn't even blink. Idiot.

“Then why'd it take you so damn long?”

He scoffs. “Had to make sure I wasn't seeing things,” he mumbles.

He's so pathetic. Like a wet cat. You can't help but squeeze his sides--

He jumps away from you like you gave him an electric shock. “Stop it!” he spits.

You blink. “Stop what?”

“Stop-- Stop mocking me!”

You blink a few more times. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

The flush deepens along with his scowl. “Quit touching me like that.”

Not what he was saying last night. “Like what?”

“Stop grabbing my--” He huffs. “I know I’m fat. Quit rubbing it in.”

Pardon? Did you hear that correctly? Does he know who he's talking to? You try to keep your tone even, but you were never good at that. “Permission to speak freely, Captain?”

He blanches. “...No.”

Too bad. You grab him by the waist and throw him onto the bed. He yelps as he bounces, then once again as you straddle his waist.

“Buggy. Darling. Cher,” you say. “Do you really think I would have fucked you if I didn't think you were hot shit?”

He simmers like a boiling pot with the lid still on. “Maybe!”

Pour l’amour de Dieu, c’est un contraieuse et un tête de cabri et pourquoi ce clown so fucking stupid?

You scoot backwards, kissing your way down his chest. Each one gets a tiny grunt from him until you get to his belly. He growls and tries to roll away, but you hold fast. You gently kiss just above his navel, then the tuft of blue hair right below it.

You peer up at him. He peers back, brow knit up, questioning you.

You press your face into his navel and blow a raspberry against his skin.

Buggy squeal-laughs. You've never heard him make that noise before and it's very cute. You do it again and he devolves into laughter.

“Sto-o-op!” he cackles.

You do not. You do it again and again until he's wheezing and not scowling any more. You stare up at him, fingering the tuft of hair below his navel.

He comes down slowly, cackles turning to giggles to breathless gasps. He finally sees you staring. “What?”

“Feeling better?” you ask. He huffs, but he does nod. “Good. Now stop being mean to my favorite captain.”

He frowns a bit at that. “Who’s that? Alvida? When'd she come up?” You keep staring at him. He blinks. “Wait, you mean--?”

Gros couillion. “No, the other guy I fucked last night,” you say. He bristles. Fuck’s sake. “Yes, you!”

He blinks again. The flush returns. “You mean that?”

“I wouldn't be on top of your naked-ass body if I didn't.” You place lean in close, the tip of your nose bumping his. “And you have a very nice body, Captain.”

Just for emphasis, you grab his side, right at the fleshiest part, and give a hard squeeze. He jumps, but nods.

He tries to dive in for a kiss, but you pull away. If you do that, you'll be here all morning. You stand up, offering him your hands. “C’mon, breakfast is ready,” you say.

“I'm not hungry.” His stomach growls. He glares at it. “Shut up.”

Trump card time. “Guess I'll just have to feed all those beignets to Richie, then.”

His eyes go wide. “...you made bin-yays?”

He still can't pronounce it right, but he's getting there. “Sure did,” you say coolly. You examine your nails. “Won't be good for much longer.”

His stomach growls again. “And that pie?” 

“Should be good to go, but you better be quick. They'll go fast.”

He jumps to his feet and licks his lips. “Well, keep some for me! Lemme-- Lemme get dressed and I'll be right down.”

“Don't take too long,” you say.

You turn to leave, but he grabs your hand. With a yank and a twirl, he pulls you flush against him and into a kiss.

You melt right into it. Rough lips move against yours, his warm body molds against you, strong arms holding you tight, belly pressing against yours... his nose squishing into your cheek. Wonderful, all of it.

You separate with a pop. He grins at you and wipes his wrist along his lips. “Didn’t think I was gonna let you leave without that?”

You blush. Now he decides to be slick. “Just get dressed.”

You twirl him around and, with a flat hand, you swat his ass. Just to see it quiver. The slap echoes in the small room and he jumps, but you can't stick around to see the look on his face.

You've got work to do.

---

Special thanks to my bf, Meg, and Ollie for beta-ing!

To the Mastahpost | To the Tip Jar

[leletha-jann]

Headcanon on reasonable evidence, actually: Every Heterodyne gets their own specific pack of Jägermonster guards.

Yes, the Jägermonsters are all sworn to the family in general, but Heterodynes do unreasonable and dangerous things on absolutely no notice, and it's helpful to have a specific set of personal guards who know them as individuals well enough to respond immediately. (Of course, Jägers think this sounds like fun.)

Agatha having Dimo, Maxim, and Oggie on more or less permanent assignment to her isn't unusual; it's normal. They know this, and have encouraged her to fall into a pattern they were expecting, actually, and she didn't take any steering at all. On some instinctive level she was expecting it too. Even if Dimo keeps his promotion to General, he'll be a General on the move, from wherever Agatha happens to be. They'll be with her for the rest of her life.

Consorts get their own squads, too. At some point in the future, Gil and Tarvek both acquire a handful of their own personal Jägers, sottle-like. (They notice it happen anyway.)

Jorgi is absolutely one of Tarvek's squad, because there's no way he wasn't designed to be Tarvek's personal guard Jäger, and it will be hilarious.

I'd also love to see Agatha assign Jenka to him, because Tarvek's recently on record as missing his personal spy network, and he and Jenka would have that up and running in no time flat. They'd have fun. (Jenka doesn't hold "being Andronicus Valois' descendent" against him, because Tarvek's loyalties are firmly with Agatha, and they share a "to hell with that family in particular" attitude.) Also, it would be a neat little parallel with Tarvek giving Violetta to Agatha. Agatha could give him a sneaky lady who can kick his ass (and will if when needed) right back. For maximum humor, Füst should take to Tarvek exactly the same way the wasp eaters did.

(this, but with JAGER BEAR)

I don't know if Gil ends up with Vole as one of his pack, because I don't know where the Foglios are going with him. But I nominate this guy from book one:

And this guy from book 14:

to follow Gil around and be reassuring to him periodically.

Higgs has sort of ended up as immediate supervision of the entire triumvirate. Whichever of them is in reach, or all three of them at once. Insert Higgs looking really deadpan tired here. This face. Forever.

Jägers get EXTREMELY excited when they learn a new baby Heterodyne is on the way, and start campaigning to be on the baby's personal guard squad immediately. Of course, being Jägers, there's a lot of biting involved. I imagine months of Jägers challenging each other, not just to fights, because they did all that already, but to increasingly ridiculous and pointless challenges that they're both making up on the spot and obsessively keeping track of. The only real rule is that if you challenge someone to something, you have to do it too (otherwise how will you know who won?) They challenge each other one on one, or everyone in sight. This leads to things like most of the Jägerhorde running a screaming, pushing, biting, brawling egg-and-spoon race down the longest street in Mechanicsburg. The townsfolk line up to watch and cheer. (They're considered a course hazard, so they get to throw things.) Whoever's currently winning (don't ask me how that points math works) when the baby is born gets assigned to the baby.

Bill and Barry both had their own Jäger squads and never knew it, because their guards weren't allowed anywhere near them. Theodora was pretty much out there with a shotgun if she heard even the hint of a Jägermonster accent. Those Jägers still resent it. They feel robbed of their (most recent) chance to be trusted favorites. They might get special-pleading rights in the next tournament-to-guard-the-new-baby, assuming their brothers aren't completely fed up with their whining about it by now.

Klaus Barry had his own guards, but Bill didn't know because the Jägers were barely even allowed in the Castle by that point, so they just didn't tell him. Master of Mechanicsburg or not, the Jägers didn't trust him not to send them away even further (and rightly so).

Nobody volunteered to guard Lucrezia. Bill didn't understand the insult in that, and the townspeople didn't tell him. But every single one of them NOTICED. Ho yez.

There are only so many Jägermonsters, so by this point everyone who's still alive has been in a personal guard squad at least once. Collectively, the Jägermonsters know all the gossip, going back centuries. They'll never tell. If pressed, they suddenly lose the ability to remember last week, much less 1528. They can't be bribed, not even with alcohol, although they encourage people to try.

Canon: Jenka was in Euphrosnia's personal guard.

Seen elsewhere on Tumblr but I forgot to reblog it: Vole was one of Saturnus' pack, which is why he tried to kill Bill and Barry. Saturnus had tried, after all, and Vole was most loyal to Saturnus in particular. (If this was your theory, let me know! Credit to you.)

TL;DR: Jägers running an egg-and-spoon race through Mechanicsburg. There. Now you have the highlight of this post.

Also: ä is alt-132 (using the keypad). NOW YOU KNOW. (hopefully I also now know, because this is like the fifth time I've tried to memorize that)

[archangeldyke-all]

So uhm ….how..how about sev with a corruption kink and .. 👉🏻👈🏻 a really really sweet girl who … gets reeled in by sev‘s magnetic personality and ends up just … u know … getting corrupted 👉🏻👈🏻

i'm completely chill and normal about this ask. (i'm lying) (i'm clawing at my walls and ripping my hair out)

men and minors dni

sevika never thought she'd be into inexperienced girls.

she didn't think she'd be patient enough for it. when sevika wants to fuck someone, she wants to fuck them. she doesn't wanna teach them how to fuck, she doesn't wanna wait to fuck, she just wants to fuck and move on.

but then she meets you.

she thinks you're the cutest fucking thing in the world.

you're sweet. you're the only person sevika knows who will always toss her a smile, even when she's scowling at everyone who comes in her line of vision. it gives her butterflies.

you're kind. when sevika's upset-- most people avoid her. you don't, though. you see right through the angry glare she wears to cover up her hurt. and you ask. you ask her if she's okay, if she wants to talk, if she'd like some company. and you actually listen to her answers.

the first few times she says no-- confused by the question and trying to figure out your angle.

but after a while she realizes you don't have an angle. you're just kind, eyes genuine as you look at her, a sympathetic little furrow between your brows. so she starts being honest. no, she's not okay, no she doesn't want to talk about it, but yes. she'd like your company.

and after the first few times of that, of the two of you just sitting in companionable silence, as you occasionally tell her a funny anecdote, doodling on a napkin beside her, she starts talking too.

you're funny. you make her laugh when she least expects it, little quiet quips only meant for her to hear that make her snort and smack her hand over her mouth in embarrassment. you've got this subtle snark that not everyone picks up on-- but sevika always notices and giggles when you're a bit sassy.

and it's all these reasons-- you're kind heart and sweet nature and sense of humor-- that sevika falls in love with you.

but it's your innocence that makes her fall in lust.

you're innocent. so, so innocent. as your friendship grows and you start opening up to sevika, she's shocked to find out that you (you, the girl she's been having wet dreams about every other night) are a virgin. that you've never even had a girlfriend-- that your last kiss was in the second grade when a slimy little boy held your favorite stuffie hostage until you pressed your lips against his.

she doesn't get it. she has a million fucking questions about it.

she finally snaps one evening, drunk and deadly curious.

"so then the guy tells me they're not sellin' chicken eggs anymore and i'm like what's wrong with chi--?"

"do you masturbate?" sevika blurts. you choke on your words.

"s-sorry!?" you ask with a laugh. sevika cringes and shrugs.

"well... do you?" she asks. you blink.

"i'm a virgin sevika, not a prude."

"so... yes?" she guesses. you laugh.

"yes." you say. something in sevika's stomach flutters. "don't you?" you ask. she nods.

"do you... think about sex when you do it?" she asks. you blink at her.

"well... yeah..." you say.

"am i making you uncomfortable?" she asks, suddenly worried. you giggle.

"i'd tell you to fuck off if you were. i just don't understand where all the questions are coming from." you say.

"i--" sevika cuts herself off. what's she supposed to say? i can't stop thinking about all the ways i could ruin you? that's what she wants to say, but she thinks that might be a bit strong. "i guess i just don't get how you haven't found someone yet."

you furrow your brow.

"well, it's not like women are fuckin' throwing themselves at me, sevika." you say.

"that's not--"

"i'm not an idiot, you know, i know what sex is. just 'cause not all of us aren't fuckin' walking sex magnets doesn't mean--"

"that's not what i meant!" sevika screeches out. her eyes are wide and panicked.

"well, what did you mean?"

"i meant that you're hot as fuck and i'm trying to figure out if you're a virgin 'cause you wanna be or if i'd have a shot at fuckin' you!"

it's quiet for a minute as you absorb sevika's words.

she massages her temples with her hand, mumbling to herself under her breath. you catch a few words. what the fuck is wrong with you? and this is why i don't drink clear liquor.

"you'd have a shot." you choke out eventually. sevika's head snaps up to look at you. "i-i mean--"

"what?" she cuts you off again. you shrug.

"if you wanted. but, you know, i can't-- we'd have to--"

"take it slow, yeah--"

"and i don't think i can do the whole casual th--"

"i'm in love with you." she says. a second passes, and then sevika's brain catches up to her. she smacks her head on the table with a groan. "what the fuck is wrong with me?"

"are you serious!?" you choke out. sevika huffs.

"yes. but i really didn't mean to say it. please pretend i didn't. or if it's too weird for you now--"

you burst into laughter.

sevika's known she wants to corrupt you, but she's vastly underestimated how much she'd get off on it.

like, she thinks she's more turned on than you are-- and you're always soaking wet around sevika.

even in the beginning, when she's trying her very best to keep it romantic and polite (kisses on your cheek every chance she can, a hand around your waist or shoulders almost always, sweet goodnight kisses at your door) the sweet way you flutter your eyelashes at her as you blink your eyes in surprise, the way you shyly smile at her-- it makes her cunt throb.

she spends every moment she can looking at you. half of the time it's in sweet admiration or amusement, the other half she's daydreaming about fucking you, her eyes wandering up and down your figure.

she lets you control the pace-- but she doesn't hesitate once you give her a go ahead.

so, after your third date --homemade pizza and a movie on sevika's couch-- when you shyly smiles up at her and ask if, maybe, she'd like to stay a little longer? she just has to scoop you up in her arms and carry you back to the couch, pressing her mouth to yours.

you were fumbling against her lips, gasping in surprise and trying to keep up with her pace-- but she intentionally kept you guessing-- absolutely adoring the gentle, inexperienced press of your mouth against hers and the little moans pleasure escaping your lips.

she won't pull away from your mouth, won't let you breathe for more than a moment before diving back in-- so you push her down to your neck, moaning when she starts nibbling and kissing the skin of your throat. she growls against you.

"fuck, can i give you a hickey?" she grunts, before returning to her gentle kisses and nips. you shudder.

"yes please." you whimper.

she groans as she bites into the flesh of your throat.

you whine.

sevika's got one hand on your jaw, one gently scratching up and down your back. you grip her arms, redirecting them so one hand can fondle your ass while the other can play with your tits.

sevika moans against your neck and bites you so hard you're certain she draws blood. she doesn't-- but it was a close thing.

(it's only years later that she shyly admits to you that she bit you so hard 'cause she was cumming in her pants.)

you become obsessed with her kisses. any moment you can, you're tugging her in for a kiss.

she loves it. loves teasing you about how needy you are. loves the way you'll pout-- she always kisses it away.

(also, she calls you needy, like she's not the one tracing circles into whatever patch of your skin she can reach and staring at your lips with a cocky smirk while you talk.)

you start losing track of your dates with sevika. you guys were already close friends-- seeing each other multiple times a week-- and now that you're in a relationship (which sevika loves reminding you of because she loves the half embarrassed half proud little smile it gets out of you) but now you're spending most of your free time together.

sometimes you go out, sometimes you stay in, sometimes you just go buy groceries together or meet at each other's apartments to take a nap.

but all that being said, it's about one month into your relationship when sevika first sees you naked.

you've seen sevika naked plenty of times before. she's not shy about her body, and she loves the way your eyes get all wide and glossy, the way your lips part, and your thighs clench when she's, 'just airdrying babe, it's better for your skin or something,' after her shower for thirty minutes.

so it's really satisfying when the roles are finally reversed, and sevika's left speechless as you straddle her lap, still clothed in her boxers.

it's satisfying until sevika's eyebrows furrow and she bites her lip.

your stomach drops.

you're just like anybody else-- you have your fair share of insecurities about your body. and this is the first time anyone besides your doctor or yourself has seen you naked. you give it a second, but when she doesn't move or speak, you start to panic.

"sevika?" you squeak out. her eyes snap up to look at you. she gulps.

"fuck." she gasps.

"uhh...?"

"i'm gonna say it again, shit!" she bites her lip.

"say wha--"

"i'minlovewithyou." she says all at once. you freeze. "you're so beautiful fuck i- i wanna tear you apart but-- fuck, no-- i mean i do but-- i'm in love with you. i wanna-- you've fuckin' ruined me! and now i wanna ruin you, you know?" she babbles. you giggle.

"i knew you had a kink for the whole virgin thing!" you say, pointing an accusing finger at her.

sevika clams up, her shoulders coming up to her ears and her face cringing. "i--"

you kiss her to silence her. she slowly relaxes, her hands coming up to grip your hips.

she guides your hips down, slowly grinding your wet pussy in circles against her thigh.

you pull away with a gasp, looking down at sevika's pretty blushing face, and you giggle. "i think it's cute, baby." you whisper against her lips. she huffs.

"it's not about the vi-virgin thing. it's about you. fuck. you're so good. and i wanna make you feel so good. and it's s-s-so fuckin' hot that you let me. and i-i..."

"you love me?" you guess. she nods.

you laugh, then press a gentle, sincere kiss to her lips.

"i love you too, sevika." you whisper.

she cums, her arms wrapping around, digging her fingers into your back and tugging you to her chest. "b-baby, shit!" she gasps against your throat. you giggle, and press kisses against her head as she shakes beneath you.

you're so horny afterwards that you beg her to make you cum. she flips you onto the bed, hovering over you, pressing kisses to your face, your breasts, your stomach.

"anything, baby, you want my mouth or--?"

"mouth!" you squeak. she chuckles.

"perfect fuckin' choice." she praises, before ripping your legs apart and pinning them to the bed.

she hovers above your pussy, her mouth six inches away from you, the hot puffs of her breath making your cunt clench.

"sevika--"

"just a second." she whispers, eyes glued to your cunt. you whine and shift your hips.

"sevika!"

"fuckin' hold on a second, baby, i'm tyrin' to take a mental pictu--mpph!" you pres her face down against your cunt, cutting her off.

she tries to glare up at you, but the second she gets a taste of you, her eyes are rolling in the back of her head and she moaning louder than you are.

she doesn't let go of her grip on your thighs-- she keeps you pinned as she alternates between sucking your clit and ducking down to lap at your leaking entrance, occasionally pushing against it and slipping the tip of her tongue in.

you're squealing, scrabbling at her hair and twitching in her hold-- stuttering out half words that get cut off by moans.

she chuckles against you and pulls away, her mouth and chin covered in spit and arousal, a grin on her lips. one of her hands trails up your thigh for her thumb to begin rubbing circles on your clit.

"tell me how you masturbate." she demands. you shiver.

"fuck--"

"do you use fingers? or do you just play with this pretty clit?" she purrs. you gasp.

"i-i-- both i guess?"

"mmm. how many fingers?"

"one m-maybe two if i'm really--"

"do you want one of mine?" she asks. you groan and nod, tugging on her scalp.

"please please please please--"

"fuck, but you're so tight, honey. you know i got big fingers. you think you can take it?" she asks, her lips brushing against your clit as her thumb travels down to trace your labia.

"for fuck's sake sevika--" you start. she giggles below you before shooting up, her hand still pressed against her cunt, but her lips now smashed against yours.

she pecks little kisses on your lips as she runs her pointer finger through your folds, gathering your dripping arousal and her spit, and then she thrusts her tongue into your mouth just as she eases her finger into you.

you moan. she really does have big fingers, and a much better angle than you're ever able to reach. she chuckles against your lips.

"you okay?" she asks as she slowly eases her finger back out. you nod against her.

you're sensitive-- it's so foreign feeling someone else inside you, so pleasurable, but so strange-- it doesn't take much for you to start shaking and clenching around her finger. she keeps a slow, steady pace, and you gasp. "oh fuck-- i'm gonna!"

sevika whimpers against you, ducking down to press a kiss to your nipple before squatting between your legs and sucking your clit into her mouth.

you both cum. sevika cums at the way your tight cunt clenches around her finger, and you cum and from gentle circles she's rubbing into your g-spot.

she's obsessed with fingering you.

anywhere, anytime, sevika will snatch your wrist and drag you into the nearest empty room, before shoving her hand down your pants and massaging your cunt, sinking one or two fingers inside when you're wet enough.

"s-s-sorry baby," she whimpers against you as you claw at her biceps, muffling your moans into her shoulder. "i'll make it fast-- you just look way too fuckin' good tonight." she grunts as she sinks a finger into your cunt.

she fucks you slow and gentle against the bathroom stall, both of you giggling when someone rattles the locked door.

"shhhit you feel so good, honey." she grunts. she's always all needy and whiny right up until you cum. then: she just lets her mouth run, saying all the nasty things she's thinking out loud to you.

you clench around her finger, clawing at her shoulder. "shit baby, i'm gonna--"

"fuck, baby i love this pussy. so fuckin' tight for me an' 's all mine. god i can't wait 'til you can take my cock. stuff you nice and full, stretch you out, get you squirtin' on my dick--"

you come with a loud moan.

(outside the bathroom, you hear a scandalized gasp. you both laugh as you quickly straighten up, sevika tucking you under her arm and sneaking you out of the cafe.)

it takes a while for you to get used to her big fingers but with how often she's touching you, it's not too long before you can comfortably take two, then three.

she takes it as slow as she can the first time she fucks you with the strap. she picks out her smallest, keeps the lube on the bed, tucks a pillow under your hips.

it still stings. not enough that you don't want it, not enough to outweigh the pleasure of sevika's thumb on your clit, but still enough for you to bite your lip and whimper, clawing at her abs as she inches inside of you.

"fuck, 's big!" you whimper.

sevika cums. obviously.

she tries to keep her hips steady, but the second the words leave your mouth she's thrusting the two or three remaining inches of her strap inside of you and collapsing on top of you.

the whines and whimpers you let out below her only make her cum harder.

the moment she catches her breath, she starts grinding small, apologetic circles against you where her cock is still buried to the hilt inside you.

"shit, shit, shit, take my cock baby, just like that. fuck." she whispers. you shudder beneath her, and she starts rocking her hips a little harder. "does it feel good, honey? do you like my dick?" she asks. you claw your nails into her back.

"sevika, sevika, shit, feels so good, fuck you're so deep--"

"i love you." she says, pulling away to gaze down at your body, fucking into you with fast little strokes. "look how well your tight little cunt is takin' me. 's so pretty, droolin' all over me. you've just been waitin' for the right cock, huh, baby? knew nobody'd be able to fuck you 's good as me, right?"

you're too busy moaning to answer any of her questions, but she doesn't seem to mind. she can tell by the way you're twitching beneath her that you're close.

"gonna cum?" she asks. you nod. "good girl." she grunts.

that's all it takes for you to cum, gasping and pulling sevika against your body as you shiver and moan through the most intense orgasm of your life.

sevika holds you through it, kissing your face and praising you gently. "so fuckin' good baby."

when you catch your breath and open your eyes again, you look up directly into the face of a cockily smirking sevika. you chuckle.

"pleased with yourself?"

"very." sevika says, grinning.

"'m not a virgin anymore. 's your mission accomplished?" you tease.

she bites her lip and looks down at you.

"i got a couple new missions in mind." she whispers. you laugh.

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

[humanityinahandbag]

Steddie Modern AU: TikTok

Steve would absolutely be that guy who would not understand TikTok. He and Eddie are older by the time it comes out, and most of the content there is of young kids going completely buck wild. Steve of course disapproves, hands on his hips, huffing about no supervision these days even though he was absolutely a terror in high school.

Eddie, rock star that he is, gets it to an extent. "They're expressing themselves!" he'd say.

Steve would only shake his phone around and point aggressively to a video playing on loop of a young man dancing along to some new trendy song, trying his hardest to seem cool and popular. "This isn't expression," he'd say, mother hen voice at top volume. "This is them trying to peacock to the world!"

"You did that once, too, Stevie."

"Yeah, and I was a little shit!"

And so Steve, in an effort to curb the young teenage population and keep them from making his mistakes (mostly due to parental neglect and hopeless, crushing self deprivation), would start his own TikTok channel.

"Hey there," he says into the camera, because for all the pride around his good looks, he has zero clue how to record a video of himself. "My names Steve, and I've been noticing a bunch of you on here who are out of control! Listen to me, alright? You need to dial it back. All that shit in high school is completely null and void when you're an adult. Trust me. From a former popular asshole, there's better shit you could be doing. Now let me show you how to scramble an egg."

His videos mostly consist of simple lessons. Giving out little pieces of advice. Teaching them basic life skills he had to learn on his own. How to cook. How to clean. How to iron a polo shirt. How to style your hair. How to do laundry. How to do basic first aid.

He often becomes transparent, telling them about his own childhood.

Sometimes he brings Eddie into his videos.

"This is my husband's favorite," he says, by way of explanation as he shows TikTok how to make pasta sauce from scratch. "He used to eat spaghetti out of a can. A fucking can!"

Despite his posturing on stage, Eddie becomes shy whenever a camera is in his face, and ducks his head away, smiling quietly towards the camera. "It's not that bad," he says.

"Not that- The sodium in that could kill an elephant!" Steve laughs.

"Yeah, well... I don't want you doing too much for me."

"I like doing things for you."

Eddie flushes and ducks his head, hiding his face away behind a curtain of curls.

Steve leans over a kisses his temple, pushing him gently out of frame where he'll be more comfortable, before turning back to the camera. "Anyway, this recipe is great if you're on your own for long periods of time. Especially because you can freeze some for later. Now the trick here is garlic. Let me show you how to peel it without making a huge mess!"

It's a month later where Dustin shows up at their door and shoves his phone into Steve's face. "Why the fuck," he'd snap, "are you trending?"

It turns out, the tiny community that Steve had been lecturing to wasn't as small as he originally thought.

There are so many kids out there desperate for parental affection, and they look to Steve, feeding off his pride, his kindness, his stories, his advice. Not only that but the fact that they get to see a former bully, a former popular kid, a man who grew up from neglect, become someone happy and married?

That's just... so wonderful.

"I've been on TikTok from the beginning and I only have, like, two thousand followers."

"So what? I don't have that many."

"You've got three million, Steve," said Dustin. Steve was not expecting that, squinting at the phone screen in his face. "Three fucking million! People are stitching your videos saying you guys are their new dads," Dustin squawked. "How did you not know you were this popular!?"

"I didn't know how to check my follower count!" Steve said, sincerely. It wasn't like he actually checked the thing! He just enjoyed making videos.

"You're so old."

"Hey," said Eddie from the kitchen, "don't talk about your mother that way."

"Yeah!" agreed Steve. "Don't talk to me that way! Now get into my next video so I can introduce you to your three million siblings."

And that is why I firmly believe that, if given the chance, Steve (and subsequently, Eddie) would absolutely become the internet's favorite parental figure(s).

[icycoldninja]

Fluffcember #25 (Sparda boys x reader)

Sparda boys spending Christmas with their S/O

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS Y'ALL

¤Dante¤

-Dear God, if you think he was a wacky woo hoo weirdo before, he gets even crazier during Christmastime. Gorges himself sick on spiced egg nog and iced sugar cookies, as well as stuffed turkey and mashed potatoes with extra thick gravy.

-To Dante, Christmas is all about eating. That line from "A night before Christmas" has never been applied to someone in real life more accurately than now. "Visions of sugar plums danced in their heads..."

Yeah, that's Dante.

-Plays Christmas rock music (think Jingle Bell Rock) on full volume while jamming along with his guitar in the middle of the living room, wearing naught but a Santa hat.

-Decorates the whole of Devil May Cry with like a thousand knotted Christmas lights because he was way too lazy to untangle them (Figures) and brings in a really cheap, withered looking tree like the one in Charlie Brown. Though, like Charlie Brown, you guys managed to fix it up real nice.

-Drags Vergil and Nero to your place for a fun, family Christmas, but things go south real quick: Nero ends up stealing all the treats and eating dessert before dinner, Vergil and Dante drink too much liquor spiked egg nog and have a drunken brawl in the living room before passing out in the hallway.

-At the end of the night, you had to drag all the boys into the living room and cram them either into sleeping bags or wrangle them onto the couch before exhaustedly trudging back to your own bedroom for a long night's rest. Merry Christmas.

《Vergil》

-The mature and responsible one--also the one who wants to have the least involvement with everything. Just sits in his plastic chair, reading his book, not caring nor acknowledging what is happening around him.

-It is therefore your duty to put up the decorations and cook the Christmas meals, but don't despair. You won't be alone. Nero and Dante have come over for Christmas (Vergil was against it, but they're family) and are more than happy to help--even if all they do is make messes.

-Christmas dinner with the Sparda family are typically a mixture of loud and rambunctious chattering (caused by Dante and Nero joking around) and quiet conversation with Vergil, which can barely be heard over the other two's yammering.

-After dinner has been devoured and the two idiots have left, Vergil lets out a sigh of relief--a sigh only a long suffering eldest sibling can make. Then he heads for his plastic chair, ready to delve back into the world of his book.

-Doesn't mind if you want to sit on his lap and cuddle while he reads. It is cold out, after all. ♡

-Spends the entire night chilling with you, watching movies, reading books, and eventually falling asleep in each other's arms.

♤Nero♤

-Takes after his father, in the sense that he likes cuddling and just relaxing, either by himself or with you.

-Unfortunately, he also takes after his uncle, in the sense that he's loud and loves to eat. He loves it so much in fact, that nearly all the cookies vanish before you can get to ice them, and it probably wasn't Santa.

-Has no idea how to hang decorations so he just buys a cheap wreath, throws it on the door, and decides he's done for the day.

-Dresses up as an elf and parades around with a radio blasting Micheal Buble on loop, specifically to get on your nerves and distract you from whatever you were doing.

-When Vergil and Dante come over for dinner, expect absolute chaos. Vergil cannot wrap his head around why his son--his own FLESH AND BLOOD--is prancing about dressed in a green skintight leotard. It's too much for him. He spaces out and just stares at the wall blankly, barely touching his food while wondering what influenced his poor baby boy to be this way.

-Meanwhile, Dante is having the time of his life, laughing his head off while snapping pictures to post online and to show the others so they have more excuses to make fun of poor Nero.

[dreamsclock]

“So let me get this straight,” Techno deadpans, face perfectly straight, “you’re layin’ eggs.”

( HAPPY VERY BELATED CHRISTMAS @kenjo-arts !!! you wanted emeraldduo and dream interactions or one of your aus so i combined both ^_^ i Hope You like it AND THANK YOU FOR BEING SO PATIENT. I LOVE U <333)

(THANK YOU @the-final-sif FOR RUNNING YHIS :])

Dream scowls. Under the glare and the shadow of his mask, his face is flushed. “Look,” he says, “I’m not— I didn’t even want to tell you. But–”

“But you did,” Philza jumps in, bemused, “I don’t really get why, though.”

If looks could kill, both members of the Syndicate would be dead thrice over. Instead, they remain unaffected as Dream’s cheeks turn warm enough to fry an egg – bad choice of words, Techno thinks, all things considered. He sure hopes Dream doesn’t actually fry his eggs: he really doesn’t want to get into the logistics of egg-infanticide with his dubious ally-turned-bestie.

Said bestie, however, is pulling out a clutch of eggs he holds protectively to his chest as if he expects Techno and Philza to snatch them away and begin jumping on them in malicious glee. When Philza moves closer in curiosity, Dream has a sword out before either of them can blink, unwavering and firm.

Philza raises his hands in surrender and lets out a little clucking noise. Techno thinks it’s supposed to be soothing. It sort of just sounds like a chicken. “Easy, mate,” he reassures, “I’m just looking. They’re pretty.”

“Obviously,” Dream says, half-preening, “they're mine.”

And they are pretty, Techno supposes, not that he cares much about eggs. They’re pale green and freckled with darker shades, five of them huddled in Dream’s arms. It’s impossible to tell what will hatch from them, though he sure isn’t thinking too hard about it. He’ll find out in due time, probably: one of them already has feather-light cracks speckling its side, while the others are pristine, unmoving.

…He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Dream so proud and protective over something of his before. He can’t decide if this is positive character development or not.

“I… wanted you guys to… like, hold onto them for me. For now.” Dream looks uncertain, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. In the pale light of the snow, his face is pale and drawn. “I will… come and get them. After tomorrow is over.”

“You mean the shit you’re pulling with Tommy.” Philza surmises, his expression flattening and tightening just slightly. He’s not forgotten the state Tommy had come to them in after exile: neither has Techno, who notices the way Dream’s shoulders straighten and his face grows deliberately impassive, when Philza’s anger makes itself known in the shape of one ruffling wing. “That’s tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“...Yeah, it is.” Dream allows, and says nothing more about his plans or his thoughts on the matter. Instead, he very gently and very carefully wraps the eggs in a blanket, swaddling the five of them so that only the tips of them are visible, before handing them over to Techno. His expression tightens into one of wistful yearning for a fraction of a second, before it disappears entirely behind that white porcelain mask. “I can’t take them with me, and… I don’t have any other allies. So. You know. We’re not exactly friends, but… I can pay you for it.”

Techno wants, for a wild moment, to pry the mask from his face and unearth Dream’s feelings about the eggs. His kids, he supposes.

He doesn’t do anything so lame or uncharacteristic. Rather than that, he accepts the bundle of eggs, handling them carefully, and– oh god, he cringes when one of them wiggles inquisitively. They’re warmer than he’d thought, thrumming with a quiet energy he faintly recognizes from the deepest, most inner parts of the server: which makes sense, considering they’re eggs from the admin of the SMP. Expecting anything less than slightly magical is dumb.

The aforementioned admin of the SMP shifts from foot to foot. He looks like he might grab the eggs back and make a run for it.

Taking pity on him, Techno clasps the bundle a little more securely, and offers his ally a firm nod and shrug. “Ehh, don’t worry about paying,” he says easily, “I just re-retired. I could do with somethin’ occupying my time. Even if it is five eggs.”

Philza squawks a laugh. “Never took you for a babysitter,” he teases, even as Dream relaxes fractionally, “what a career change. Never would’ve expected it.”

Techno shoots his friend a mock-glare. “I’ll have you know I have the credentials,” he says, haughtily, “you should’ve seen me before the Empire, Phil. You should’ve seen me. I was the pinnacle of babysitting, man. The pinnacle.”

“I bet.”

Dream whispers to you: so you’ll look after them for me??

When he turns to Dream, the man isn’t looking at him. He’s toying with the edge of his cloak, gloved fingers thin and shallow, and that’s when Techno realizes with a terrible clarity that Dream doesn’t plan on coming back for a long, long time.

His grip on the eggs tighten.

He’s hardly paternal, but he is loyal, to a fault.

You whisper to Dream: you have my word

And when Dream pearls away, leaving Techno with five eggs and a wonkily hand-stitched blanket, he knows it’s the last time they’ll see each other like this.

***

“Do you still have them?” Dream croaks in prison, throat slick with blood and voice hoarse from screaming. Techno wonders how long it’ll last before it gives out completely. Wonders if Dream’s voice might disappear entirely overnight. He barely uses it anymore.

“The eggs?” Techno asks, and his lips press when Dream nods. “I mean, not— not with me, Dream. Listen, I’m no Dad Of The Year, but I know not to bring five hatching eggs into a prison, alright. Jeez.”

Dream misses the rest of his ramble. His eyes light up for the first time when Techno speaks. “Hatching?” He repeats, as if he hardly believes his own words. “Like— You mean hatching hatching. Actually hatching.”

“No, no, the fake hatching.” Techno can’t keep the amused grin off his face despite his sarcasm. “I mean, they were pretty cracked when I left for here. They’re not about to start dancin’ around, but there’s not long now. Probably.”

The expression on Dream’s face is one he’s never seen before. It’s strange, wild. Hopeful.

“Okay,” his ally-turned-friend says, “okay. My eggs are hatching. So we’ve gotta get out of here.”

The firm tone is a switch from the hollow desperation he’d yelled at him before. (You were my only way out of here!) There’s determination, now, there’s reason to escape: reason, Techno knows now, for Dream to fight.

So he pushes an empty book across the scorch-marked obsidian to Dream, and offers a nod and an instruction. “Write down everything you can about this prison, Dream. I’m gonna need it if we’re breakin’ out of here.”

Dream flashes him an almost-grin, and it’s thin and exhausted and bright, and Techno watches him pick up the pen, and start to write.

***

“So.”

Dream doesn’t even look up from his dead-eyed staring contest with the wall. He just flips his middle finger in Techno’s vague direction, a silent shut up, before letting his arm fall limply at his side again.

“Soooo.”

Dream’s eye twitches. “So what?”

“I feel like we should discuss naming rights.”

“We— what?”

“Well,” Techno reasons, “it’s kind of joint custody of the eggs at this point. Sure, you birthed them—”

“That’s not how—”

“You birthed them, but I stopped Steve from eatin’ them. And believe me, that was a hard task, Dream. Almost impossible. Steve put up a valiant fight. He almost had them.”

That gets Dream’s attention. Eyes narrowing, mouth thinning into an annoyed scowl, he shuffles closer to Techno. Techno gets the impression he’s supposed to feel intimidated by Dream’s pout. “You let my eggs near a polar bear?” He demands, horror in his voice. “Techno. Seriously.”

“You remembered,” Techno beams, “you remembered Steve. Listen, you say we’re not friends, but this feels pretty friendly. I dunno. I’m just saying.”

“This— That’s not the point!”

“But no, I didn’t.Like I said, I won the battle. Steve fought hard, but I won. Good thing I’d been trainin’ so much recently. Any less and I think the eggs would’ve been breakfast.”

Dream’s eye twitches. “I don’t know why I even trusted you with them,” he mutters, antsy, “anything could happen to them.”

Techno scoffs, and offers Dream a trustworthy, reassuring look. “Dream, do I look like the kind of guy to let anything bad happen to your children?”

Dream stares dubiously back. “Yeah,” he says, “you do.”

…That doesn’t hurt his feelings, nope, not at all. He shoots his friend a pensive look. “When I get home, I’m gonna give your eggs to Philza,” he threatens, “he’ll put them in his nest. Don’t push me.”

“…You wouldn’t.”

“I would. Pass me another potato, nerd.”

The potato Dream throws at him bounces against his arm and clatters on the floor next to a splatter of blood. Techno wrinkles his nose. “Dude,” he says, “prison is lame.”

“Keep the eggs far away from Philza’s nests,” Dream warns, “or prison will get worse for you.”

***

You whisper to Philza: btw where are the eggs right now

Philza whispers to you: Why

You whisper to Philza: just answer the question phil

You whisper to Philza: where are the eggs right now

Philza whispers to you: They’re not in my fucking nest

You whisper to Philza: phil

Philza whispers to you: I’m taking them out of my nest and putting them back

Techno breathes a sigh of relief, and glances over at a fitfully sleeping Dream. “Crisis averted,” he mutters out loud, and then, “Chat, don’t be snitches. What Dream doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.”

***

And Techno’s not hurt when the eggs are the first thing Dream checks when he gets to the Syndicate. Pft, why would he be? It’s not like he’s the one that helped free him or anything, nah, course not.

“All I’m saying,” he grumbles to a cackling Philza, “is that the eggs didn’t sit in prison for three months with him. I’m not jealous, Phil. I’m not jealous. That would be crazy. They’re eggs. Not even that cool. But—”

“For fuck’s sake,” his friend laughs at him, “go inside and show him where his eggs are. He’ll be tearing the house apart looking for them.”

And Philza’s right. Dream is already pulling the chests apart searching for his eggs, as if Techno hadn’t stored them somewhere safer the very moment he’d escaped Pandora’s Vault the first time.

“Where are they?” Dream demands.

Techno nods to the wall. “I’ve been callin’ it the Baby Backrooms.” He says, proudly. “Though it’s kind of more of a Baby Hideout. Doesn’t sound as cool, though.”

A couple of swift strokes with his pickaxes tears open the wall, and reveals four large eggs, cracked but safe, huddled together in the corner of a light blue room. Dream’s gaze softens when he sees them, and steps inside, narrowly missing the bedtime story Techno’s been reading them most nights. Sun Tzu isn’t light reading, but hey, Techno’s determined to make incredible battle strategists of them yet. One of the eggs likes it the most: it wriggles whenever he pulls the book out, and he hates playing favourites, but he has to say, he’s got the most faith in that one.

“I’m back,” Dream breaks the silence to say to his eggs, kneeling down beside them and gently tracing the thick fractures along the curve of the darkest green one, “hey, hi, hi! Did you miss me?”

Techno doesn’t point out that eggs can’t talk for two reasons. The first is that he thinks Dream might actually murder someone if his moment with the eggs is disturbed. The second, slightly more alarming reason is that one of the eggs are missing.

When he’d left the room before, there had been five eggs in that room. The four now aren’t exactly inspiring him with confidence. Dream is really going to kill him if he’s lost a whole egg in the space of, like, four hours.

Dream scoops up the eggs, and turns to face Techno. There’s a look of relief on his face that’s so raw and unfiltered that it takes Techno a moment to recognise what he’s seeing. It’s like a part of Dream that had been missing during prison has been returned to him: Techno realizes with a pang that that’s exactly the case.

“I have a question,” Niki chimes in from behind them, “I have lots of questions.”

When Techno turns, she’s holding a tiny miniature version of… Dream himself.

“Mama,” it squeaks, reaching out to Dream, “Mama.”

Dream melts, right there and then.

***

“So… you laid this.”

Even someone blessed with the patience of a saint would have snapped by now. Dream, who is neither blessed nor patient, seems to be on the verge of murder someone: specifically, Tommy, who hasn’t stopped asking questions since he’d appeared at Techno’s door with questions. Four months had been enough time to solve the conflict between the server (…mostly), but it seems like Tommy’s boundaries don’t include tiny little green blobs like Dream’s newly hatched eggs running about the SMP.

“I already told you,” Dream says, “I didn’t lay them. They just appeared as eggs.”

“So you… make eggs,” Tommy says, “and then you like, you black out, and then you like wake up and find the eggs. Egg amnesia. Egg-nesia.”

Dream very visibly counts to ten in his head. Techno can’t stop himself from smirking and joining in.

“Yeah, Dream, I’m not gettin’ the science behind this whole thing,” he drawls, “can you explain it again?”

“You—” Dream splutters. A tiny version of himself with a green cloak travels by on one of the dogs, and throws himself into Dream’s arms. Dream cradles him absentmindedly. “We live in a world with a revive book and a randomly implemented three life system, and you’re confused about eggs?”

“I get it,” Tubbo says wisely, “sometimes every man reaches an age where he must lay an egg.”

“…That’s… actually not true,” Dream says, “most people don’t produce eggs randomly from thin air.”

“Who did you produce them with?” Tommy asks. “Was it George Not Found? Oh, that’s so weird. You’ve made it weird, Dream.”

“How have I made it weird? I—” Cutting himself off, Dream’s head perks up. “Hang on,” he says, “Philza’s trying to take one of my new eggs.”

Tommy’s face drops into total stupefaction. “It happened again?!” He demands. “When will the horror end?”

“What is wrong with you?” Dream groans, pushing himself to his feet and very carefully handing over his baby to Techno. “Look after Ray for me. I swear to God, if Philza is building a nest around my eggs again…”

He doesn’t finish his threat. Nevertheless, his warnings of violence are clear. Techno silently wishes Philza luck, and shifts his hold so that he’s juggling both the baby and the book in his other hand.

“I still think we should think about naming one of your eggs after me,” he says, “I was such a great babysitter. That’s why they turned out so great.”

Dream, halfway out the room, turns slowly, and gives him a very incredulous look.

“You think you were a good babysitter? So you think letting my babies play with Steve was a good idea?”

“They didn’t die,” Techno protests. “They were fine.”

“There comes a time where every man must fight a polar bear.” Tubbo says solemnly

“Tubs,” Tommy tells him, “that’s just not true. Wilbur just told you that because I wanted to see you be mauled horrifically by a bear.”

“Oh.”

“You could call one baby Blade,” Techno calls over Tubbo and Tommy. Dream laughs. “It’s not very creative, and a little hurtful, but hey, it sounds pretty cool, alright, it sounds pretty awesome. Or— Tech. I’d be fine with Tech.”

“I’m not naming a baby after you.”

Dream rolls his eyes as he walks out, but there’s a grin on his face.

You whisper to Dream: can i at least be godfather

Dream whispers to you: only if you gaslight tommy into thinking he was an egg once

You whisper to Dream: you drive a hard bargain

You whisper to Dream: it’s a deal

“Hey Tommy,” Techno calls out, “you remember being an egg? I still have pictures of you somewhere from before you were hatched.“

The look of absolute horror on Tommy’s face is priceless, and the knowledge of the title godfather makes him grin all the brighter.

[iheartpeppino]

Here's what I think the Pizza Tower cast thinks of Maurice Spaghetti...

Peppino: The poor guy can't stand Maurice. He's one of the biggest reasons Peppino doesn't come home for Christmas anymore. After putting up with his abuse for years, Peppino is just... tired of Maurice. He's tired of arguing. He just says, "I know," to every horrible thing his brother says about him. And the worst part is, Maurice seems to invite himself into Peppino's life whenever he least expects or wants it. This is because Maurice is such an asshole he literally has no friends and relies on Peppino for company.

Gustavo: He also can't stand Maurice. He HATES him, actually. Gustavo really cares about Peppino, so the fact his own brother treats him like shit infuriates him. He has threatened to kill Maurice before (remember Gustavo's catchphrase?), so Maurice is (rightfully) afraid of Gustavo.

Brick: Our rat buddy can smell a bad egg a mile away. He does NOT like Maurice and will hiss at him whenever he appears. Maurice claims that Brick is "the second-biggest rat [he's] ever seen", so he's... a little unnerved by the sight of him.

Mr. Stick: He hasn't met Maurice yet, but I guarantee you if he DID, he'd try to scam him out of a lot of money and would likely succeed. Cue Maurice crashing with Peppino until he can get his house back. Peppino is miserable and not amused by any of this.

Pepperman: Met Maurice during filming of The Noise's "Swap Mode" movie. Pepperman thinks Maurice is really unpleasant to deal with due to his negative attitude and close-minded outlook. Even a pseudo-intellectual like Pepperman runs circles around Maurice intellectually, which the pepper is happy to do, much to Maurice's frustration.

The Vigilante: Met Maurice during filming of The Noise's "Swap Mode" movie. He does NOT like him. He actually feels bad for Peppino; it must truly suck to have such an immoral piece of cow dung for a family member. Apparently the guy conned his own granny out of thousands of dollars! The Vigilante keeps a very close eye on Maurice the whole time they're around each other. Maurice feels his sins crawling on his back the whole time.

The Noise: He's generally neutral towards Maurice. He thinks all the mean things Maurice says about Peppino are funny. It's when Maurice starts spouting racist rhetoric he's like, "DUDE" and rendered completely speechless because... well, he's never heard Peppino talk like that, so where'd his fucking brother get it from!? Anyway... The Noise only hangs around Maurice if he needs him for something, like annoying Peppino. Maurice has tried befriending The Noise, inviting him to hang out, but The Noise isn't interested in being friends with a racist prick. He does, however, want to remain on Maurice's good side in case he needs him, so he just makes up excuses about being too busy.

Noisette: Noisette is not the kind of person who hates people easily. She tries to see the good in everyone. However, she sees no good in Maurice. She hates him, openly, and without regret. She hates the mean things he says about Peppino. All the bigoted, ignorant blather he spews. How he once assaulted an innocent laundromat worker and called her a bitch just because she told him he couldn't pay to do laundry using nickels. Noisette growls like a rabid dog whenever Maurice is around. Maurice is (rightfully) terrified of Noisette...

Fake Peppino: Our favorite frog man met Maurice during filming The Noise's "Swap Mode" movie... he doesn't like him at all. Maurice is loud, mean, and generally unpleasant. When they were filming Swap Mode's Fake Peppino boss fight, Fake Peppino actually tried to kill Maurice. The Noise had to step in and scare Fake Peppino off. Fake Peppino had to pretend he was simply getting a little too into his role instead of trying to actively hunt down Maurice. Playing dumb. Playing pretend... and sneaking a hiss or growl in Maurice's direction when no one else is looking. Maurice is absolutely terrified.

Pizzahead: Met Maurice during the "Swap Mode" movie. Holy mozzarella sticks, this schmuck is Peppino's brother!? And he... bullies Peppino? WHAT THE FUCK, THAT'S HIS JOB!! Pizzahead acts polite and even friendly towards Maurice at first, but as soon as they're alone together, he very calmly threatens Maurice's life, telling him to leave Peppino alone or else, all with a big, unnerving smile on his face. Maurice practically pisses himself in fear as he's forced to agree... for now...

Pillar John: Met Maurice during filming of "Swap Mode". Decided he absolutely did not like him, judging him for every hateful word that came out of his mouth. Fortunately, Maurice is so terrified of Pillar John's sheer size and strength, he doesn't pull his usual bullshit with the big guy.

Gerome: Met Maurice during filming of "Swap Mode". Gerome doesn't like Maurice at all, but he's not too bothered by his presence. In fact, he completely manages to ignore him. Maurice is insulted, but he's not about to talk shit about Pillar John's brother...

[spacer-case]

...and when the last blood-beast comes to rest unto the Earth, what next will arrive to inherit it?

i drew this sci fi piece for my portfolio, but it also turned loosely into a marcoace au because my brain got zoomies

short version: guy on a joyride (coughs ace) accidentally travels to another world filled with mythological-ish creatures, but they're actually all robots mimicking life with no real sentience of their own - except one lone, lonely consciousness (coughs marco) whose mind was digitally preserved before the rest of organic life got wiped out, and has been waiting a long time for a friend

long nerdy version under the cut:

ace's world is a fun and scrappy sci fi future world, with stuff like his hovercraft that syncs to his body's movements too

he was out riding with deuce and got too caught up in the thrill of flying that he went way out of safe bounds (not pictured: deuce panicking) and got swallowed by a giant sky beast

somehow (i haven't thought that hard about it) he appears in marco's world after this - when i first had this idea i was just thinking of a literal reference to the philosophical concept of animals as other worlds/animal alterity, a la Barbara Noske), plus i like the idea of gateways being where you least expect them

anyway yeah he gets isekai'd

enter: marco's world!! this is a land where organic life once thrived, including sentient beings (i haven't decided if they were also humans), but all organic life has long since died out and given way to a new, constructed "ecology"

it's full of seemingly mythological-ish creatures (phoenix, dragon, etc. but all are also warped from what we would imagine)!! but SIKE they are actually robots; cybernetic constructs!!! each one goes through the motions of life for many years until they steadily break down. their parts get recycled and they are remade to spawn from egg-like structures (like the one in the bottom left corner of the drawing)

and who is remaking them? MARCO! aka the last, lone remaining consciousness from the sentient race that died out. his mind was preserved digitally, but by the time he awoke he only remembers snapshots of his original life. he continuously cares for and builds all the robots, and uploads himself into different bodies whenever he wants, but no matter what he tries he can't recreate anything truly alive with its own free will

so he's lonely and sad

basically the whole thing was an exploration of the concept of a man-made mythos! and the boundaries of what defines life, will, sentience, etc. etc.

but when he meets ace - a real, living breathing organic human - it will change his life! because............because...i haven't thought that far

many questions remain...is ace's world a past version of marco's? will he find a way to restore organic life to marco's world? should he even do that? will he find a way back home? will they kiss? ? will marco get a human body?? will i ever make something bigger from this or even turn it back into ocs instead of op characters??? will they wear wigs???? when will they wear wigs????????? who knows!

but for now it is what it is hehe

i doubt anyone read all that, but if you did, thank you for your time....here i reward you with a secret:

below is an early sketch of this illustration, and underneath that, the composition originally came from A FAILED DRAWING OF MARCO!!!

the brainrot goes deep :')

[dimonds456]

Transfem Stan Thoughtdump

Okay so @/abyssalzones made a pretty good post that sums up a lot of my thoughts as well, but I have a few extra ones I'd like to add to this discussion, as well as elaborating on one of the post's points. I've been thinking about transfem Stan for a couple of weeks now and at this point I'm like "fuck it we ball" and throwing it out there. 

For one, it warms my heart whenever there's an older character who was raised in the mid-1900s/older times who realizes they're queer, or comes to terms with their identity in old age. You're never too old to realize you're part of the community, and never too late. Adding this on top of the many, MANY identities that Stan has had to take to survive in her life, it'd be like really turning over a new leaf for her. She'd get to really step into an identity that she aligns with completely, and not something else given to her or that she took to protect herself. 

Not to mention, everything regarding Ford. The fact that she had to pretend to be Ford for so long, she more than likely never had the chance to even think about taking on any other identities. She had to keep this one as intact as she could. Otherwise, she could risk loosing the Shack, and with it, the portal- her brother. No way that was happening. 

It was briefly touched in the post, but when Stan was watching that one movie and she was like "JUST LIKE ME FR", obviously the writers intended that to just be a joke since this was as far and away from Stan's identity as they could get. But we're gonna ignore that and take it at face value for a second. 

The channel introduces itself (jokingly) as the boring old lady black-and-white channel, clearly something that a manly-man like Stan wouldn't be into, and he reacts like how you'd expect. But once it gets going, he gets fully sucked into it, leading eventually to the scene where the main character, seemingly about to complete a Character Arc™, tells her mother "I'm not just a dutchess, I'm also a woman!" and Stan cheers for her, saying the "just like me fr" line. 

Without any transfem headcanons, again, this is a joke. Or you could interpret this in hindsight as Stan feeling a similar way about his father, since lines like "I'm a woman!" declared like that usually means "I'm free to make my own choices," which is a message resident make-my-father-proud-issues Stanley Pines would relate to pretty hard. Even though this isn't a conclusion Stan comes to in the show, we could easily see him coming to a conclusion like that in the future.

Now let's add the transfem headcanon back in. With that new layer to it, Stan (whose egg hasn't cracked yet) would be confused as to why she relates so hard. After all, she's a man who was raised to shove feelings down and be a manly-man man by Filbrick. She's more than likely gone her entire life trying to conform to that idea of toxic masculinity that her dad pushed on both her and Ford. Stan was always the one who resorted to punching, after all. That's a manly-man trait, so surely this goes no further right

There's a part of Gravity Falls that I feel doesn't get discussed enough, and that's the underlying misogyny of it. There's not a ton of it, but there are quite a few jokes about how men are stronger than women and the like. Stan has quite a few lines like that herself. So she would be subscribing to a similar mental state, the idea that if you like punching, CLEARLY you're a guy. Cuz that's how it works. Obviously. 

Introducing Mabel Pines, someone who is VERY much a girly-girl. She likes pink and unicorns and rainbows and makeup and sleepovers, stuff of the like. Now I could make a whole other post about my headcanons for Mabel and her queer journey, but one thing she can definitely do that "girly-girls" DON'T? Punching.

Mabel can punch. And she punches a lot. 

It's a small thing, and something I think Stan has just kinda accepted without question over the course of the series, but if she were to stop and think about it, she'd be like ".....wait a minute." and it could very well be the first piece that cracks the idea of manly-man masculinity vs just. existing as a person and what that actually means. 

Once Stan finally starts to break away from toxic masculinity and all those lessons she got thrown into her head, then her egg would finally be able to start cracking. 

As for why it even matters, first off, it just makes for an interesting interpretation of the character I haven't really seen before until VERY recently. Like, within the past 2 days recently (and maybe once like a month ago?? idk). 

But secondly, for her character, it would be a good, healthy step into really taking back her identity. Who IS Stan Pines? She's spent so long being other people, either as a form of self-defense or pretending to be her brother so she can help save him from the sideburn hell dimension, that I don't think she's really allowed herself to connect to who Stan is. 

This is true regardless of gender headcanon, but I think the transfem angle makes it so much more interesting. Who is Stan? Not even she knows. And she's starting to feel VERY confused about the whole thing. 

As for Ford, I think he'd be more than willing to support an identity journey for Stan. After all, he's traveled across dimensions and more than likely had all his teachings questioned as well. I am willing to bet money he's encountered trans people before. And, knowing Ford, he'd be open and curious to the idea, not close-minded, no matter what their father tried to teach his kids. Honestly, I could see Ford pestering Stan with questions long into the night regarding the whole thing, and taking up the whole identity mystery for himself as something the two of them can "crack" (heh) together. Just another adventure for the crew of the Stan'o'War II! 

There's SO much more but I don't wanna re-say things that the og post already said, these are just the big ones that stick out to me and what I wanted to elaborate on. 

TL;DR Stan goes on a journey of realizing that toxic masculinity Is Bad Actually and honestly so was his father, and once he accepts that and starts actively challenging his own beliefs about gender, her egg cracks and she realizes that maybe she isn't a guy at all. The rest of the Pines- but Ford especially- are supportive, and although Stan has a LOT of self-reflection to do and I could see her getting frustrated, flustered, or even embarrassed of her newfound realization, ultimately it makes her happier like this. Cuz it's her identity. She's not pretending to be anyone else anymore and she can just wholly be herself.

Thank you and goodnight

[skele-bunny]

GIVE ME MORE WATER DEW & MY LIFE IS YOURS ARU

cough anyways: ,,, water dew and delta pretty pleaseeee,,,,

There's a pipebomb in your mailbox that in 1.2 seconds will detonate. Expect it.

Where to start!! They first met in the open bay in the hospital, accidentally being sat next to each other. Just sniffing, pawing, trying to figure out this summon-mate... Unfortunately, the thing is, waters newly summoned can't be around each other that close at ALL. They're super vicious to those not from the same territory. Long story short, they tried mauling each other LMAO. They got separated and eventually had the slow meeting and calm around one another. The others tease them about it. "hey remember when you guys tried to kill each other?"

Delta was super attractive to Dew. He's never met an albino water before, just pure white that glows red and pink. Delta thought Dew was the most attractive thing he's ever seen, too. Once they were able to get past their territory differences and started being around each other, they kept attempting to court one another in the further months hehe. Little things like Dew ruffling his spine for Delta, and in return Delta would give his fallen teeth for him to have.

Swim!!! Obviously!!! They didn't really like swimming alone that much, and could always be found together in the lake; rare when not. Delta as a Moray Eel and Dew as a betta fish, they kept hiding and finding each other just for little chases. Delta was mainly the hider and Dew the seeker, just so curious and loved leading on the "hunt" for him. Delta preferred swimming at night but didn't mind negotiating with Dew to swim at sunset instead!

Speaking of hunt!!! Delta usually had the chore of assisting others with fishing and he always snuck a salmon to Dew since he knew it was his absolute favorite. Dew learned how to make sushi and he'd constantly pack Delta's lunch with at least 2 sushis rolls inside with tempura!!

Sometimes Delta would have difficulty with their second row of teeth, and Dew wouldn't mind helping brush and care for them. Dew didn't need the help but Delta always returned the favor for their own double fangs. Also is the one to help Delta with their angel fangs piercings once they got them. "You didn't have enough teeth already?"

Nesting to the fucking max. There's a little hideaway they found after spending the entire day travelling the lake, and have both a land nest and a water nest. Lotta seaweed, coontails, sunken lily pads, hydrilla, tape grass, and even small pebbles to outline it. If you see bubbles in there, don't ask. Their land one is in Delta's room as his room is bigger. So many plushies, blankets, pillows, and their clothes thrown in. Sometimes there's hoarded snacks within the mound, so they just have to dig around and not get up :3

Always linking tails during practice!!!! Delta is super stoic and doesn't move a lot, so it's such a different comparison to Dewdrop who's literally bouncing around, head banging, stomping, and swaying. They still have fun a whole bunch and always leans against each other. It sounds super cool when Dew is able to join them, two bases at once? Phew.

Spicy wise? Good god save us all. (CW - LACTATION, BREEDING KINK, EGGS)

It seemed like after spending more time together their heat/rut synced and everyone heard about it. Literally. It happened once during tour and Papa had to invest in headphones for everyone while they secluded Delta and Dew to the lounge. LOUD. AND HYPNOTIC. Before the headphones, Omega literally had to hold Alpha back. "YOU WILL BE EATEN IN THERE DO NOT!!"

Dew's always had a high egg count, now add in Delta's tentacle pumping him full? Honestly looked knocked up each time JENEKD. They preferred having sex in the tub or lake, but obviously that wasn't always possible so they'd make do. Big about breeding and Delta purring about fertilizing the eggs. They were so thankful birth control exists once they came out of their haze LMAO.

The one thing Dew honestly didn't like about their sync is Dew's chest would get super swollen and get ready to produce. Birth control or not, unfortunately that's how water ghoul anatomy is :,) Delta didn't mind helping massage the issue he helped cause, but sometimes the others would as well. Dew just melted in his hold and whining. Water ghoul milk is a lot more watery, too. One time Pebble tugged Dew's nipple, it shot out, and Delta had to coax Dew out of the bathroom while sobbing from the embarrassment after biting Pebble for doing that.

A specific thing before water ghouls fuck is they fight. Rain does this too, but he's a lot more docile since it's not with another water. One time they were in the common room, just growling and hitting at each other, fangs bared with blood. Aër tried separating only to see Dew's pants off and Delta's tentacle out, both calm the moment they seen him. "Oh! Sorry Aër, did you wanna join?" They got banned from having sex in the common room.

So about the bubbles in the water nest.... Yeah it's just Dew saying he wants to fuck. Betta fish do that to make little nests to prepare for eggs and it's very much an invitation for Delta when they're laying in their little nest. Loves touching over Delta's slit and coaxing his tentacle out just to show his own slit and teeth spread for him. Just pressed completely against each other, biting, clawing, and squirming together and desperate to keep their tails as close as possible.

Little freaks who I love so so much

[weirdmarioenemies]

This is a post about GUBBLE

Gubble is funny, we all know this. Look at Gubble, look and giggle. But Gubble is not just something to laugh at, it is something to laugh WITH! It is a fun little game full of nonsense words and weird little creatures. I highly recommend reading the manual, which you can find here, as it is actually rather funny! I will be talking about some of my favorite Gubble Creatures! So here I am, posting a Gubble. It's Friday, alright!

Gubble D. Gleep

Oh hell yeah! Look at that rendering. I never want to see Gubble in a "good" rendering style. I don't think he would be able to breathe. Gubble is the main Gubble Creature. He is a funny alien! The gleep glorp kind! He has a wacky skin color and antennae, but his big defining features are his ears, which he is very proud of. I do not know how they work! It is weird to see an alien with antennae AND ears, since I always assume alien antennae are for detecting sound, but maybe Gubble's are like regular animal antennae, and are for smelling!

Gubble makes all sorts of weird noises as he flies around in his, I quote, "mini-spaceship pod thing". He uses that to unscrew screws and pry out nails and anything else he needs to do to detach Zymbots from the surface of the planet Rennigar, and Zymbots are the levels, and you see the word "Zymbot" a LOT in this game, and I think that is wonderful.

They even put "Zymbot" on the cover of the sequel! That only makes the information more confusing than it otherwise would have been. I am all for it! But what awaits you, among the Zymbots...?

Wangry Wobot

"They are red and they are angry. Unfortunately, they don't know what they are angry about, but they know they like to follow aliens around."

Look at this! See what I mean? The manual is so delightful! Wangry Wobot... such a wonderful name! This wobot is wangry... or I should say, this wobot is angry, because the description informs us that it is angry, and Wangry Wobot is its name. All it does is walk, but in a funny way, with those legs sliding back and forth on its body, not bending or anything. I love how flat and minimalist this thing is. Built and programmed just to walk around, yet built with the capacity for anger...

Wangry Wobot Wannabee

"They are not-quite-red (blue actually), but they want to be every bit as angry as the Wangry Wobots. They haven’t learned how to follow aliens yet, so they just wander around aimlessly. Pathetic, really, but oh well…"

Hey! Be nice to them! If Wangry Wobot is Gubble's Goomba, then the Wannabee is Gubble's Goombrat. These are even more endearing with their personality! They look up to Wangry Wobots so much, like a younger sibling or maybe even a child, a freshly hatched robot from a metal egg. I wish we had funny robots like this in real life, but the only ones they make in real life these days are evil. Hopefully it will one day be economically feasible to fund some funny robots that walk around town and do literally nothing but kind of get in the way. Would be cool!

FlatWorm

"These guys like to sneak up on you unnoticed and cause grief and misery."

Wow! I would not have expected to see notable Creature Representation in Gubble of all things, but here we have a platyhelminth that at least I think is pretty clearly a stylized planarian! This one is a funny shape, like a shoehorn, and has a funny depth to it, like it was cut out of a sheet of dough. Now, normally I would be telling you that no animal is morally bad, they don't have the capacity for it, but we are told in FlatWorm's description that it is, indeed, messed up and evil. Just get away from it, please! Get back to the zymbot! Had you forgotten about the zymbot?

Orb

"They just roam around over your head. They're orbs, ya know?"

I am not sure I know! But they are cool orbs! Good job making some orbs! Their eyes make them look like giant ostracods, the most orbtastic creature of all!

Slug Bug

"An example of the bizarre Rennigar fauna. Man, somebody must have gone pop-eyed when that monster was created."

Created??? These creatures were Created??? Even the non-mechanical ones? By who? Mad scientists? Gubble God? I don't know! Whoever it was, I don't think they know what a slug is, though. Pincers, segments, bristles, this is all bug, no slug! Like some kind of larva to me. The five eyes are goofy, but most insects technically do have five eyes, with two compound eyes and three little ocelli on top!

Drone

"Originally used as repair drones, these spidery-looking things will use their pinchers on you just as effectively. Stay out of their reach!"

Look, it's Drone! Like they keep putting in the cartoons to keep them timely! I am fascinated by the manual for calling these "spidery-looking", since it is clearly some kind of roboshark head with pinchy claws. Did you know? Real spiders do not look like robosharks! However, I am not saying the manual is WRONG. Maybe "spider" means something entirely different than the way we Earthlings use it. After all, we say "level" instead of "zymbot", like a bunch of knuckleheads!

Uurrgghh

"The stories go that the Uurrgghhs used to be somebody's eyes and were stolen. Now they roam back and forth looking for their owner. And if they can't find their owner, you would do as well. Want a pair of alien eyes?"

I will bookend this post with another of the silliest enemy names. We really go from Drone right to Uurrgghh. Awesome! Uurrgghh is almost a fantasy creature, a classic eyeball with bat wings, but it has this cool metal exoskeleton or helmet with droopy horns, and three tentacles emerging from the bottom, so it is also fittingly sci-fi, which I think is very fun. I don't think they looked like that when they were just someone's eyes, but put on this protective outfit to stay moist and healthy while flying around with no eyelids. Would you welcome them into your sockets? They don't HAVE to replace your current eyes. They could all be friends!

So those are just some of my favorite silly things from Gubble! If you did not know much about Gubble, I hope you have a new appreciation for it! Be careful out there on those zymbots!