#need to incorporate this idea in a fic so bad

[pennedinblood]

vox & alastor: upgrades

thinking about vox upgrading over the years and losing a piece of himself each time. alastor coming to resent modern technology because a step forward for the world means a step further away from vox.

thinking about how alastor didn't mind the changes at first, when they were few and far between-- nothing more than a haircut. people get those all the time. underneath the sleeker shine of glass, vox is still the same man, until he isn't. with every upgrade, every soulless performance he puts on, he becomes a little less recognizable.

thinking about vox using upgrades as a coping mechanism. a knee-jerk response he runs to the minute he feels he's slipping, losing control of his life. it's an opportunity to be reborn, to put on a new mask, to be better and more powerful-- and isn't that what alastor was all about? power and control? well look at him now, leveling up and controlling his own (literal) presentation. how many sinners could say they have that luxury, when they are all so bound to their forms? and when they fight? clash in ways that pull at his emotions? emotions he can't hide because his system is just clearly too archaic to do so? new head. new man. he's so over it.

thinking about how, when alastor disappears, vox doesn't touch his display. no matter how much val or vel pesters him about it, no matter how scuffed up it gets, he doesn't upgrade. on the off chance that one day alastor will come back. if he changed again, would alastor even recognize him anymore?

he wants to keep some semblance of their relationship intact. he has nothing but a photograph that's long been torn apart-- nothing save for the head on his shoulders, the screen alastor had nearly broken in two the last time they saw each other. once he replaces it, it's over. there will be nothing left to show they were ever anything.

vel tries to convince him otherwise; it's like changing your hair after a bad breakup, she says. not a big deal.

and what if? after seven long years, vox finally moves on. reborn again, shedding any and all memory of his past, he changes, and grows into it. and then alastor comes back. and somehow, beneath the blue tinted display and the new features, alastor recognizes him, calls him out by name in their little spat over the airwaves, and that's really all that matters.

[venus-haze]

Baby Let's Play House (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: After noticing your exhaustion in trying to balance managing Homelander’s day-to-day and your relationship with him, he decides that you’d be happier behind a white picket fence than an office desk. You initially agree, but the housewarming party you throw reveals how differently the two of you view your relationship.

Note: This can be read as being related to My Destruction Is an Hour Late, but you don’t need to read that to understand what’s happening in this. Reader is a cis woman, but no other descriptors are used. First time incorporating Homelander’s perspective into a fic, also I took some creative liberties on how his costume works. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 4.7k

Warnings: Homelander is his own warning (I never tag his stuff as yandere because that’s just how he is), but toxic relationship that includes possessive tendencies, gaslighting, guilting. Mirrorlander makes an awful, misogynistic appearance. Sexually explicit content which involves coercion/dubcon, oral (m. receiving), brief orgasm denial and choking. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Dating your direct superior was undoubtedly an ethics violation, but the trembling HR manager who signed off on Vought’s workplace relationship disclosure form couldn’t conjure up any protests when Homelander and you showed up at her office to make your relationship “HR official.” When you’d expressed concern about how dating him would affect your career, he scoffed, ‘What are you talking about? Babe, I am your career.’ You faltered under the weight of his gaze, knowing full well he could hear your heart skipping frantically along as you thanked him for his reassurance.

He’d resisted the idea at first, one you brought up almost immediately after you’d become his girlfriend and he gave you a promotion. He was The Homelander. He didn’t need Vought’s permission to date you. It wasn’t until you reframed it as a declaration rather than permission that he was on board. Stan Edgar could read the damn form and weep. No more publicity relationships, not when he had you. It didn’t take long for things to spiral out of control from there.

Your coworkers treated you differently, with a nervous politeness that was unsettling and isolating. Loneliness settled in soon after, almost as if by design. Suddenly, Homelander was the only one you could turn to, and by the nature of your job, he was almost always there, ready to fill whatever emotional void you needed filled, from co-worker to lover. He thrived off of your dependence, each display of it a hit that coursed through his veins. An addict in thought, he couldn’t get enough of you. 

When he brought up this idea to you, not long after his grandiose proposal, you welcomed it. A cozy house in the suburbs didn’t sound so bad compared to the whirlwind of your responsibilities at Vought managing Homelander’s day to day on top of your relationship with him. 

Now, as you walked up the pathway to the front door with the last of the groceries you’d needed before the housewarming party you were hosting the following night, the white posts of the picket fence that surrounded the house looked more like teeth rising out of the ground to devour you, red roses planted along the perimeter painted droplets of blood on the unhinged jaw. You knew it was never your choice. 

Most of the time, things were good, and you and Homelander fell into a comfortable, domestic rhythm. When things were bad, however, there was nothing you could do but sit back and wait for it to end. That hadn’t happened in a while, and despite your excitement for the party, you could tell he wasn’t nearly as enthused. You foolishly hoped that the night you’d been planning for weeks wouldn’t end in disaster.

Almost as soon as you finished unpacking the groceries you’d bought, you considered what to make for dinner. Despite Homelander’s enhanced palette, he wasn’t that picky when it came to your meals. You wished he expressed some preference, though, since your Pinterest board for recipes was out of hand, even with your organizing it as best as you could.

“Hey babe,” Homelander greeted you with a smack on the ass, a domestic yet outdated gesture he favored upon seeing you in the kitchen. “What’s for dinner?”

He never used the services of Vought’s chefs after you and he began “going steady,” even though he did like their food more than yours objectively. Getting food cooked by a chef in an industrial kitchen and then brought up by an intern was too impersonal. You cooked with love, always adding a personal touch that made even the overcooked chicken cacciatore you’d served a few nights before worth eating. 

“Do you consider soup a meal?” 

“What is this, a Seinfeld episode?” he asked. “I don’t know. I guess it depends on the soup.”

“French onion.”

“That’s basically a deconstructed French dip. Sure, that’s a meal.”

“Perfect, I’ll make that, then.” you said. “I’m so excited for the party tomorrow.”

“Yeah, it’ll be a blast,” he mumbled, leaning against the kitchen counter and folding his arms across his chest.

“C’mon, I get to spend the whole night showing off my amazing fiance and our incredible home,” you smiled, giving him a kiss on his clenched jaw.

His pouty mood cracked just the slightest bit, though he didn’t like how your attention had been all over the place in the week or so leading up to the housewarming party rather than solely on him. It was all you could talk about, and to add insult to injury, you’d started ordering him around far too much for his liking. You’d ask about his day as if it were an obligation to do so, a segue into ‘Pick up these streamers’ and ‘Remember to ask Jason and Patricia about their baby’ and ‘Tell Vought you need to be home by five.’

His biggest reason for even getting you this house and convincing you to quit your job at Vought was so you’d have more time for him. Even though your work schedule had been mostly dictated by him, you found yourself exhausted most nights, passing out in bed almost as soon as dinner was over. That was no fun at all.

Far too soon for his liking the next day, your stupid friends made their way up the street and to the house, bottles of wine and wrapped gifts in tow. He realized that he shouldn’t have left so much of the planning to you. To his displeasure, the guests were evenly co-ed. Though your hugs and greetings to the men who entered your home were polite and platonic, he didn’t like it. Not one damn bit. Who the fuck kissed someone’s cheek as a greeting anymore anyway?

He watched as you played hostess, a tornado of hospitality as you ran yourself in circles around the house to refill drinks and jump in on conversations. You looked like you were having the time of your life, and his gloved hands balled into fists at his side every moment your attention wasn’t squarely on him, especially when you were all dressed up the way you were. None of them deserved to see how perfect you looked.

Finally, he crept up on you while you were speaking with your old college roommates who’d asked you to give the details on how you and Homelander got together. He was more than happy to indulge them, his arm tight around your waist as he took control of the narrative.

The version of the story that left Homelander’s mouth almost made you choke on your own spit. Of course, it started at work, with you harboring a crush on Homelander for far longer than he’d even noticed you. Your persistence was cute, though, and soon enough you’d wormed your way into his routine. Curious about your infatuation, Homelander would make excuses to keep you in the office late, until the projects became canoodling. He’d finally asked you out on a date, and you graciously offered to cook dinner for him. 

He’d flipped the whole thing on its head. You had helped him with one project, and in the months spent building up your reliability, he was the one who’d become infatuated with you, until almost your entire life revolved around him. His story was far more palatable, as evidenced by your friends’ expressions of congratulations and how lucky you were.

You supposed you were lucky in a way. Homelander made sure you had nothing to worry about, except for him, of course. His moods were increasingly volatile as he was slowly pushed out of the spotlight of The Seven. The glance he gave you, loving to the untrained eye, was a warning. Despite your hope that the housewarming party would open up Homelander to the idea of you getting a bit more social interaction outside of just him, it was proving to have the opposite effect. 

Then again, he never wanted to have a good time at the party, as you dejectedly reminded yourself. It was a shame, your friends all seemed to like him well enough, even if you did catch him being backhandedly rude to some of them a few times that night. He was so good at pretending when it came to the fans he supposedly hated so much. You weren’t sure why he couldn’t put up a front for a few hours for your friends.

By the time everyone left, you were exhausted. Drained physically and mentally from the demands of the party and your fiance, you were glad you’d opted for disposable plates and cups. The little clean up you had to take care of was just manageable enough to take care of before you headed up to bed.

“Glad that’s over,” Homelander said, drying the charcuterie board you’d handed him.

“Why were you so determined not to have fun tonight?” you asked.

“Excuse me if I don’t find entertaining your idiotic friends fun.”

“Then you suck it up and pretend, for me.”

“Don’t—don’t pull that.”

“Pull what?”

“That ‘for me’ thing. Everything I do is for you,” he said, huffing before lowering his voice, his icy glare making your breath catch in your throat. “You don’t need them. You don’t need anybody. Not when you have me.”

“Homelander, codependency isn’t—“

“Don’t pathologize me!” he shouted, slamming his hand on the granite countertop which cracked from the force he used. Upon noticing your terrified expression, he drew back a bit, letting out an unnerving laugh in an attempt to ease the tension he’d created. “You almost made me lose my temper there, missy.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, wide-eyed as you moved to take a tentative step back from him.

He quickly grabbed your arm, keeping you in place. “I know you are, darling, but a love like ours–it can’t be put into clinical terms.”

Fuck. You hit that specific nerve. It took him a while to open up about his childhood, the real one, not the Midwest little leaguer who loved god, mom, and the good ol’ US of A, in that order. That story sold comic books, it was comforting to watch on screen, the warm apple pie with a scoop of melting vanilla ice cream. Not even born in a lab, by his own accounts, but dumped from a test tube and caged like any other animal used for experimentation. Except Homelander had been a boy, scared and alone as white coats filtered in and out of exam rooms and testing labs, poking and prodding. Though, torturing was more like it, pushing him to see the extent of his powers, whether their unbreakable hero was truly unbreakable. Then he was unleashed onto the world, the weight of it on his shoulders.

Something was wrong with him, psychologically at least, and you knew the unhealthy fixation on your relationship as his sole source of emotional fulfillment would have sent you packing if it were anyone else. Every time you considered leaving, as if you even could, you just as quickly thought of how scared and hurt the most powerful man in the world looked when he recounted every painful experiment he endured, the plethora of human rights violations that became so entrenched in his identity. The ensuing tug of empathy and guilt at your heartstrings made you stay.

Still, you had to let him know that you wouldn’t tolerate an outburst like that just because you’d had a lapse in judgment when it came to your phrasing.

“I think you should stay at your old place tonight,” you said.

“Babe, c’mon, the counter can be fixed. I’ll have someone at Vought call a contractor tomorrow and—“

“That’s not what I mean.”

“You still love me right?” he asked, desperately searching your face for an answer. “Right?”

“Of course I do, but we both need space to cool off.”

He huffed, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Fine, have it your fucking way. As always, babe.”

He stormed out before you could get another word in, you mentally sent your apologies into the universe to whoever would end up being at the receiving end of his wrath. 

A few cars were lasered to smoldering hunks of metal on his way to Vought Tower. He didn’t care, the company had millions of dollars set aside each year for superhero-related collateral damage. After all, they weren’t even nice cars as far as he could tell. He was doing them a favor that’d go unappreciated, not unlike you.

Homelander’s arrival to his suite was devoid of any fanfare or announcements of his return. He was embarrassed to be back. Standing dejectedly in the dark doorway, he glared at every object in the room with disdain. It’d been a fine place to live before he knew any better, before he’d experienced what a home truly felt like. You’d once described it as like being in a museum, and he couldn’t disagree. At one time he thought it was to his taste. Now, the suite he’d resided for so many years without you felt cold, hollow, and unfamiliar. 

He looked out on the city, rage boiling in his veins. Things were fine when it was the two of you against the world. Your shitty friends had to come in and ruin that. No matter how hard he tried, it was like you refused to listen to reason and see that he did everything because he loved you. He loved you so much it hurt.

“Now this is really pathetic.”

“You saw how pissed she was.” Homelander argued weakly against his sneering reflection.

“She’s a woman. That’s their default state when they’re running the show.”

“She’s not running the show.”

“Really? So that’s why you’re banished to the proverbial couch?” his reflection taunted.

Homelander swallowed the lump in his throat. “What do you suppose I do, then? Flowers? A box of chocolates?”

“No. That’s practically admitting you did something wrong. Do you remember how you got her in the first place? You didn’t ask. You took.”

Homelander nodded along as his reflection spoke.

“What you do is remind her who’s in charge. You’re the man of the house. Take the respect, the devotion, you deserve.”

You awoke suddenly in the middle of the night to a figure standing at the end of your bed. At first, you thought it was a dream, until the figure began to move. Turning on the lamp on your nightstand, its soft glow illuminated your side of the bed, casting shadows over your fiance’s face.

“Homelander!” you gasped. “Oh my god, you scared me. What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” he said.

“You know what I mean.”

“You know the old saying, ‘Don’t go to bed angry.’ I already forgive you for tonight, but things need to change.”

“I need you to leave.”

“You don’t call the shots, babe. I’ve been way too lenient with you,” he said, a dangerous grin spreading across his face. “Think you need a reminder of who’s in charge here.”

“Honey, what’s this about? You know I love you.”

“Sure, but you don’t respect me.”

“Of course I respect you—“

“No, you don’t. By the end of the night, you will,” he said, before beckoning you over to him with a curl of his index finger. “C’mere, sweetheart. You haven’t even welcomed me home yet.”

You felt his eyes practically burning a hole through you as you silently complied, pushing back the covers you’d been bundled under and padding your way across the room to where he stood. He somehow loomed over you, stony-faced like a marble statue honoring a god with disdain for humanity. His eyes glistened as he took in your face, though, betraying the whirlpool of emotions that rushed through him whenever he was in your presence. 

Dozens of dresses and lingerie sets had been casualties of his lust and strength, the material torn from your body like gift wrap and promptly replaced within a few days. This night was no exception, as with a flick of his wrist, your satin nightgown was a pathetic pile on the floor.

Though you expected as much, he captured your lips in a heated kiss that almost made you lose your balance with his intensity. He held you close, his arms wrapped around you the way old tree limbs twist and tangle around objects left in their course, time and nature making it impossible to separate the two without irreversible damage to both. 

“John,” you whispered against his lips.

There were plenty of men named John. It was a disgustingly common name, chosen for him by Vought to give him that relatable, everyman persona. Bullshit. He wasn’t an everyman. He was a god. People praised and worshiped Zeus, Jupiter, Jesus, Homelander—not fucking John. 

Whenever you used it, though, suddenly the name was his. His. Not some stupid placeholder the white coats gave him instead of “subject whatever.” He was grateful you couldn’t sense the crack in his facade, his heart skipping a beat at how lovingly you said his name. How could you ever expect him to want to share that? Reluctantly, he pulled back from you, releasing you from his embrace. He still had a point to make.

“Get on your knees.”

You looked almost confused by his words.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warned.

Slowly, you knelt on the shredded satin that lay at your feet, and with trembling hands unbuckled his belt, avoiding eye contact with the eagle that adorned it as if the metal bird of prey were judging you. You tried telling yourself there was no reason to be nervous, you’d given Homelander plenty of blowjobs before, but his mood was always much, much lighter when you did. 

When you pulled down the spandex pants of his suit that was practically painted on him, you were greeted with an eye full of his hardening cock, already leaking with precum when you took it in your hand, eliciting a moan from him that seemed to echo through the bedroom. You stroked his cock, leaning in to give a teasing lick to the head that made his breath hitch.

“You like that baby?” you asked. “Do you want more?”

He whined, struggling to respond as you pumped his hardening length.

“C’mon, baby, use your words and—“

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he snapped, grabbing you by the root of your hair and shoving his cock in your mouth. 

You gagged, trying to adjust yourself to the sudden change. Although, you didn’t think you’d ever get used to how big his cock was. The bulge in his suit certainly wasn’t compensating for anything.

“Go on, put that smart little mouth of yours to good use,” Homelander said, fingers still tangled in your hair as he tugged at your scalp. “Or are you so helpless without me that you can’t even suck a cock on your own?”

With a whimper, you did your best to massage his length with your tongue, taking as much of him as you could, though you never managed to fit all of him in your mouth. It wasn’t without a lack of trying. You gagged again, and this time he seemed to bore of your struggle and instead began fucking your throat at a merciless pace.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re it. You’re the only one for me. Why don’t you—fuck—get that?”

Your response was a garbled choking noise as you placed one hand on his thigh to steady yourself. The other reached out to fondle his balls, prompting an erratic thrust from him that nearly knocked you over. As unpredictable as Homelander could be, if you thought too much about how much self control he used to not accidentally kill you whenever the two of you were remotely intimate, your brain would start to feel fuzzy. Or maybe it was the way you couldn’t seem to catch your breath. 

When you looked up at him through tear-filled eyes, he was barely able to keep his own open. Blonde hair flopped across his forehead, he looked at you with hooded eyelids, the faintest smirk flashing across his face before he groaned again, throwing his head back.

He never lasted all that long to begin with, woefully sensitive and touch-starved despite his experience. Normally, you found it endearing, but tonight you were grateful as you weren’t sure how much longer you could handle his mercilessly fucking your throat. 

With another involuntary thrust, his cock twitched against your tongue. You struggled to swallow his cum that was pumping into your mouth. Some of it mixed with spit as it dribbled from the corners of your lips down your chin.

As Homelander pulled his cock from your mouth, he observed your ruined state—disheveled hair, puffy lips, tears tracked down your face. Pride filled his chest as he watched you try to catch your breath. He’d never pushed you quite this far before, and he wanted so much more.

“Messy little thing, huh?” he asked, swiping what had escaped your lips on his thumb and bringing it to your mouth. 

With a shaky sigh, you wrapped your lips around his finger, weakly sucking the residue from it until he was satisfied, pulling it from your mouth.

He smiled, caressing your cheek with his wet thumb. “That’s my girl.”

You hummed in response, the most you could manage with how sore your throat felt. It was good enough for him, because he offered you his hand, pulling you up from your knees with ease. His gentleness as he laid you back on the bed felt almost foreign compared to his ruthlessness just minutes earlier. 

The reprieve was short-lived, however. As soon as he shed the rest of his suit, he pounced, his eyes betraying the intention to devour you whole. Animalistic, manic, from his predatory gaze to the prominence of his canines, he could rip your throat out if he wanted to. There was no point in trying to conceal your concerning arousal at the thought, even if he hadn’t reached between your legs to feel your wet pussy, he could smell it on you from a mile away. 

He licked his lips, leaning over you as he teased your clit while sliding his cock inside you.

“Oh my god,” you moaned.

Homelander grinned, rolling his hips against yours. “I know I am.”

He’d been aggressive in bed before, usually due to jealousy or possessiveness. The way he moved was far more calculated than impulsive, as if each thrust intentionally pushed you closer to climax as he rubbed circles on your clit instead of just him releasing pent up frustration and insecurity. 

“You love taking it all, don’t you? Love the way I fill you up?” 

His mocking tone went straight to your pussy, and you could hardly manage a coherent response as he pounded into you. Even then, it didn’t feel like enough, as you bucked your hips to get more of him.

He was studying you, observing every contortion of your face, feeling the way your wet pussy clenched around this throbbing cock as he thrust into it, the sound nothing short of obscene as it echoed with your desperate moans. Then, just as you were about to orgasm, he moved his hand away from your clit and pulled out of you so quickly, you almost started crying.

The look of hurt and betrayal on your face gave him conflicting feelings, but the one that won out was a smug superiority. He’d never loved anyone as much as he loved you, and it seemed like this ‘tough love’ approach was working. He wrapped his hand around your sore throat, his cold and intense stare as he leaned closer to your face sending a shiver down your spine that he could surely feel.

“You don’t come unless I say you can. You got that, sweetheart?” he asked, voice dripping with condescension. 

You nodded weakly, a pained whimper trapped in your throat. As soon as he gave you a wicked grin in return, you knew that he wanted you to give in to your base desires like humans do. With so much of his life spiraling out of his control, he wanted to be sure he didn’t have to worry about you. 

He released his vice grip on your throat, and, as if reading your thoughts from just a few minutes prior, leaned down, pressing a kiss to your neck before grazing his teeth down the tender flesh, feeling your racing pulse’s vulnerability.

“John,” you breathed, your voice inaudible to anyone but him.

“I know, darling. You want it so bad, don’t you?”

“Please,” you whimpered, “please.”

“It didn’t have to be this difficult, you know,” he mused, his fingers playing with your sensitive clit.

You choked out a sob at the almost painful feeling of overstimulation. “I’m sorry. I love you. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not that hard to be good for me, is it? To just do as I say?”

“No.”

“Good. I’d hate to have to remind you again,” he said, his voice soft and low as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I love you.”

The emptiness you felt between your legs was soon filled again by his cock. 

You fell limp at this point, no movements in an attempt to match his thrusts. His reflection had been right, he just needed to take what he wanted and remind you who was in charge. He was in control, all you needed to do was lie back, look pretty, and take it. You should be thanking him for making things so easy for you.

He kissed you, reveling in how sweetly you moaned in his mouth now that he had you exactly how he wanted you. Your heart was racing, he could tell you were getting close, and he was too, but he wanted you to come first, to be the one to fold and give in to him completely.

“It’s all right now, darling. I’ve got you,” he whispered.

It felt like all of your muscles tightened before your release, your hips rocking involuntarily as your orgasm rippled through your body. The pent up pleasure was almost too overwhelming, and you had to grab his bicep to ground yourself, digging your nails into his skin. It didn’t matter, it wasn’t like you could break it anyway. 

With the way your pussy squeezed his cock as you came, an unhinged moan and tears and vision clouded by stars, his own orgasm followed soon after. He never bothered with the pretense of pulling out. Filling you with his cum was right, it was natural, another way to lay claim to you. He hated condoms, but he knew his next course of action would be doing something about your pesky birth control soon. 

You winced as you moved closer to his chest, allowing him to hold your body against his. Your muscles ached, and you knew that in the morning you’d hardly be able to move at all. It wasn’t uncommon with Homelander, and he loved your dependence on him on those mornings when he’d carry you from room to room, a reminder of his strength. He was the most powerful man in the world, you might as well have been a feather.

“How’re you holding up babe?” he asked.

“Fine,” you said softly.

He smiled, stroking your cheek. “I’m glad we’re on the same page now. It’ll make things so much easier, babe, you’ll see.”

You gave him a weak smile before closing your eyes, knowing fully well that he could hear by your thumping heart that you were faking sleep.

[atomicami]

overnight sensation. (smau)

✧ character intro: core four

dina x latina masc!reader

✧ summary: in which dina, a small town artist struggling to get her name out there, is set up to work on a song with you, a trap artist from the city who’s progressively becoming more famous each day. despite you and dina having distinct tastes in music, you both make an attempt to form a song together… and maybe a little more than that

overnight sensation masterlist

✧ author’s note: hi everyone! so the idea to create this fic came up in my head one day and i’ve really needed to get it out of my system so…here we are. i also wanted to mention that the reader is latina coded in this! i doubt this fic is going to get any recognition because it’s not abby or ellie but like i said at this point i’m just posting it to get this idea out of my system. however, i’ve made a lot of visuals so far so i hope that makes up for it 🙏🏻 to all my dina lovers out there, this one’s for you.

as of now, we have four main characters in this fic. i know people usually incorporate additional characters too but since this is my first smau series i thought i’d keep it simple.

so aside from reader there’s dina of course, and there’s also jesse and manny who are dina and reader’s producers. and i know it’s unusual to implement manny as a character but the reason why i added him is literally because as long as i’m aware he’s like the only hispanic character in the game LOL but rest assured he’s not a bad character in this fic. you won’t even notice he’s there i promise!!

i don’t have a lot of people on board with me posting this other than my mutuals, but i wanted to thank these two amazing writers and their works that gave me the inspiration to make this fic:

✧ @spaceshipellie for her dina x masc!reader fics (and for responding to my anon post a while back)

✧ @phantombriide’s smau fic ‘and i love her’, by far one of my favorites out there!

i also have to say this fic has by far been the one that i have spent the most time and effort in making out of all of my works, so if y’all enjoy it please like and reblog!! i’ve been working really hard on it this past month so it truly means a lot to me 🤍

with that being said, here is the character intro for overnight sensation:

tags 🏷️: @ourautumn86 @abbyscherry @bababaka @zombholic @aouiaa @whore4abby @lunawonie

let me know if you’d like to be tagged as well!!

(might delete this if it flops though idk)

[missredherring]

What Strange Claws Are These

The Thief x Fat F!Reader

Rating: M

Word Count: 1.2k

Genre: dark

Prompt: "Oh, I'm sorry, does it hurt?"

Warnings: dub-con. f! fingering. loss of free will. kidnapping.

Summary: It's a bad idea to invite a thief in; you can't choose what they take.

A/N: This was written for @iamasaddie writing challenge 2.0!

Ok, so this probably came out as more soft grey fic than strictly darkfic, but I really tried! I wanted to incorporate the magical realism vibes of the commercial too.

Thank you so much to @covetyou and @ozarkthedog for brainstorming with me and passing ideas back and forth like we were making ice cream in a coffee can.

Not beta read; all mistakes are mine.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Hiding in plain sight is a skill he’s perfected a long time ago.

He passes by ushers and servers quietly, with a relaxed posture and his head forward. Act like you belong in a place and no one will ask what you’re doing there. They didn’t want to risk the embarrassment of accusing a wealthy patron of not being a known entity. 

It’s been a long time since he’s been observed without his knowledge. 

The sensation of eyes on him when his attention is focused on the stage is unexpected. You're watching him when he glances over, the low lights of the opera house glinting off your binoculars.

A held look, a raised eyebrow, and the tilt of your head is an invitation he graciously accepts. 

As he ascends the stairwells to the opposite wing where your box is he takes note of the rustling of unease coming from the stage. The echo of the tenor’s last note has barely had time to bounce around the domed ceiling, but the orchestra’s music ebbs to an uneasy end as the penultimate act of the opera concludes. 

One, two, three boxes to the left, and there you are, nestled in the velvet drapes of your box like a pearl, waiting to be plucked and transformed in the hands of an artisan. 

Your pleased smile isn’t the only curve you possess and he’s delighted, noting how the silk of your gown drapes over your shoulders to tuck just beneath your bust and show your decolletage to its full advantage, using the swell of your breasts to pillow a garnet pendant between them.

Away on the stage the understudy is rushing out to meet the audience with open arms, his costume only just tugged into place and his wig already coming away at the sweaty nape of his neck before the glue has had time to properly set.

The tenor’s voice starts again with the swell of the music, a quiet pitch only the thief can hear now. He’s buoyed by the success, lifting him out of need and placing him at the whims of want.

He extends his hand to you and barely waits for the touch of your fingertips before turning and leaving the box just as quickly as he’d entered.

Eyes skim over him and away again, instructed to ignore lovers sneaking off unless they cross certain boundaries. 

Leading you away, down into the dark corridors beneath the numerous staircases, he pins you against the wall and kisses you senseless.

The silk of your skirt slithers over his arms as they snake under it, lifting them to find your body underneath. Curves, he knew, but plains and valleys and dips and crevasses all reveal themselves beneath his touch. A rough sketch is forming in his mind, and he can’t wait to study every part of you in detail. 

You whine against his mouth and he allows you to pull away and gasp for breath. His hands never stop: tracing the line of your underwear, he follows the curve of your stomach to the crease of your hip. Down and up again, he watches as your eyelashes flutter on your cheek each time he gets close to the warm apex of your thighs that calls to him.

There’s a a kind of magic, he’s discovered, in taking what he wants. The sensation itching at his fingertips and weighing in his palm is as clear as if he’d reached his own hand out and taken the object of his desire.

He wants it and so it is his. 

There are no severed vocal chords in his pocket, but he might as well have pulled them from the tenor’s throat himself, the desire sharpening his nimble fingers into greedy claws. 

You’re no different. 

Even in this dim lighting, he can’t stop looking at you. A prime example of chiaroscuro done by an expert hand. The curve of your nose and the delicate bow of your mouth come in and out of shadow as you turn your head. The darkness plays over your exposed shoulders and chest as you undulate against him. 

It's a bad idea to invite a thief in; you can't choose what they take. 

He plunges one, then two fingers deep into your cunt and holds you firmly as you arch and cry, lashing out to grasp at the fabric of his tuxedo jacket. 

It truly is a skill, he thinks, and aren’t you lucky that he has an practiced touch?

He turns his wrist this way and that, curling his fingers inside of you to find the pressure points that make your muscles spasm and clench around him. His thumb moves to gather the wetness pooling around his fingers and circles around your clit. Just as with a lock, he listens to the tones of your cries, the way your eyes squeeze shut, and the way your chest expands as you desperately drag air into your lungs. 

Like calling like, he’s stoking that want just as he’s stoking your lust, bringing both to the surface. That energy buzzes through him to focus on the hand, the fingers inside of you. Those claws stretch and flex again and your hips jump into his grasp, allowing him to delve deeper, higher. 

Up and up he reaches and finally finds your heart. It’s beating so fast, his claws catch on your heartstrings and it only takes your own paroxysm of pleasure to tear through them just as he rips the orgasm from you.

The sound that wrenches its way out from your throat is ragged and raw. Drenched in shock and pain, it rings out into the darkness of their little alcove. His luck holds as the faint strains of the soprano echoes the cry.

“Oh, I’m sorry, my beauty,” He says, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead.

Tears well in your eyes and spill down your cheeks. 

He wipes at it with his thumb, the mix of your cum and tear mixing into a shining elixir in the whirls of his thumbprint. You don’t resist when he presses it to your mouth, past your lips, and onto your tongue. The slick muscle twitches, but lays submissive under his thumb.

“Does it hurt?” He asks, dropping his finger from your mouth. He feels a curl of curiosity when you don’t answer, your eyes glazing over as you look at him.

When he takes the pocket square from his jacket to wipe his hand there’s another heartbeat tucked beneath it, hidden away in his breast pocket as it calms and settles into a rhythm that matches his own.

The staircase creaks above them and the sound of footfall reaches his ear. Just in time. He takes you from the alcove. You follow him docilely and as you join the crowd, you look like every other couple leaving the opera house after indulging in an evening of art and culture. 

He’s been thinking of you as the wrong art form, he realizes. Instead of a lush oil painting, you’re a sculpture. Formed with just as much care, your form will weather into perfection after enough time under his touch.

You'll fit right in amongst the other objet d'art in the East Wing: his own Venus of Willendorf.

[somefanficrecomendations]

February Monthly Recap

I had a lot of fics this month. Every one of these deserves a dedicated post of its own but in the interest of efficiency this roundup will have to do!

BATMAN

Uptown Girl by orphan_account (Stephanie Brown/Cassandra Cain), 60k, Case Fic, Friends to Lovers Stephanie Brown has three problems: a supervillain father with a deadly scavenger hunt in the works, a mysterious rich girl who's way too interested in her life, and one really, really painful hobby. Alternatively: a different kind of Spoiler origin story.

The Lois Angle by cabezas_de_vaca (gen), 15k, Bruce & Lois Friendship, Case Fic What she had with Bruce was novel, exhilarating. She had fallen in love several times, and that was like a great swoop of a wing, a flash and flush and then long tumble, but this was like a warmth that welled up from within. This was Bruce grappling up to her thirtieth story Metropolis apartment, stowing the Batsuit in the bathroom, and watching StarTrek with her. This was her driving to the manor when she couldn't sleep, only to find she could do it there. This was having a friend. Or: Despite the long shadow Batman casts and the demands of being one of the youngest Pulitzer winners ever, Bruce and Lois manage to steady each other, in the way that only friends can. Also, there's a case they need to solve. 

the scientific method by orphan_account (gen), 20k, Sibling Bonding, Duke-centric 5 stupid ways Duke's siblings discovered how his powers worked, and 1 time he figured it out for himself. "You have no idea," Dick said. "I had to live through all of their teenage years. They were each independently obsessed with Mythbusters at separate points in their life. I'm pretty sure Cass and Tim have wanted a meta to experiment on since they were 14, but Bruce always said no."

Meet Me Where You're Going by Hinn_Raven (Stephanie Brown/Cassandra Cain), 68k, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining When things get complicated in Hong Kong, Cass requests help from Batman Inc. Unbeknownst to her, Bruce dispatches not one of her brothers, but Stephanie Brown, who Cass has not spoken to since she gave up the Batgirl mantle. Steph is eager to reunite with her best friend, but things between them are complicated. Not the least of the problems is the fact that Steph might be falling in love… but of course, Cass is straight, so Steph really shouldn’t dwell on that. Friendship and romance, conspiracy and adventure await the two of them as they try to unravel a complicated plot that seeks to stop Batman Incorporated before it can truly begin.

when you move, fall like a thunderbolt by orphan_account (Stephanie Brown/Cassandra Cain), 5k, Villain!Steph, Canon Divergence In another universe, Stephanie Brown's plans to kill her father aren't interrupted by Batman. Which means nobody stops her from tripping and falling headlong into running her own gang, and then a little more intentionally rising to the top of the underworld. Meanwhile, seeing as Bruce only has one kid who actually wants to carry on the good name, Cassandra Cain takes over as the Batman of Gotham's future. This would be a fine turn of events if it weren't for the fact that they've been dating on-and-off for ten years.

falling without caution by coffeecrowns (gen), 17k, Bad Parent!Bruce, PTSD Jason is twenty, decidedly less into murder, trying to avoid developing agoraphobia, and putting together some pieces into a life. Tim is sixteen, riding the edge of burnout, and in a show of his truly baffling survival instincts, decides Jason is friend shaped. 

MICE ON VENUS by NEOCULTUREDAUS (gen), 3k, Tim & Damian Bonding “Timothy, if this is revenge for me trying to kill you, I need you to know I’m not sorry.” Damian’s eyes were clamped shut, hands fisting Tim’s hoodie so tightly that if Tim tried moving, he simply wouldn't be able to. “I’m not trying to get revenge. And open your eyes, you can’t ride a skateboard with them closed.” Tim patronized, prying Damian’s hands off him, you know, like someone evil who didn’t care for the wellbeing of his younger brother. Or The one where skater Tim takes his artist younger brother graffiti painting

So Sweet Saluteth Me by Lishalalalalala (gen), 7k, Good Dad!Bruce Sleep deprived™ Jason hangs out with Dick then they surprise Bruce at work with early lunch and some love. This fic is inspired by farmers’ markets on those summery days and the belief that if I run fast enough the sad can never catch me. (I mean you are telling me that Bruce Thomas/Alan Wayne wouldn’t be absolutely BASKING in joy if his kids just decided to randomly show up at Wayne Enterprise and pay him a little midday visit? )

to count by miles or days or people (when will i stop missing you) by jcp_sob_rjl_lmep (gen), 22k, Angst, Hurt/Comfort When Duke is kidnapped off of the streets of Gotham on his way back to the Manor from visiting his parents, it sends the entire Batfamily into a panic. With very little evidence to go on and time slipping past them, there's no help coming as Duke is forced to make a grand escape and get himself home before his kidnappers find him once more.

birds and brothers and other assorted synonyms by Ao3time, hoebiwan, quandaries_and_contradictions (gen), 21k, Series, Found Family A Reverse Robin AU in which Damian is a tired older brother, Duke is a ray of sunshine, and Dick is a baby talon.

Emergency rooms and chicken nuggets by Lilac_hyacinth (Bernard Dowd/Tim Drake) 7k “So…” Duke drawled, sounding suspiciously wide-awake for the day shift kid at two-thirty in the morning. “If I said Damian and I are in a bit of trouble, on a scale of Jason to Cass, how likely are you to kill us?” Clearing his throat and rubbing his eyes to try to wake himself up, Tim grimaced. “What the fuck did you do?” “Nothing.” Or Tim and Bernard get out of bed at two in the morning to go across town and pick up Tim's reckless little brothers.

Pick a Pocket Full of Pennies by Trekkele (gen), 24k, Found Family, Fluff, AU-No Powers The life and times of Dick Grayson, unintentional ringleader to a gang of pickpockets, and how he learned to let go and get adopted. Or something. 

SPIDER-MAN

Death Before Inaction by hppjmxrgosg (gen), 37k, BAMF Peter Parker, WIP “Fuck off, Nicky.” “Hasn’t anyone ever told you spider-napping is illegal?” “You can’t hold me here, I know my spider-rights.” “God, you guys are so old. What are you? Like 27?” “Scale of 1 to 10, how upset would you be if I told you I banged your mom?” - Or, I got my grubby little hands on the spider-man time line and fucked around a little bit. Not much (everything) changes.

[hashtagdrivebywrites]

Y'all bear with me on my bad phone pictures and excessive notes lmao, but, uh, ask and you shall receive.

Here's my concept art for Jason in my fic Imprint, where he's a halfa and Danny's biological dad and the king father/king regent? of the infinite realms.

Here's the first ever sketch I did somewhere around chapter 2 or 3:

Featuring larval Ghost!Jason, Pit madness/Lazarus Water and little bitty Ghost!Danny.

I was already thinking about the possibility of a crown but didn't know what to do with it yet so I just left a halo as a placeholder DBZ-style, which you'll see in the next few concept stages until I finish the latest one.

Ah, the oldest concept I had for the Pit is that it laid dormant in Jason's mind and would physically pull itself out of his head, which is why it's kind of half melded with Jason's helmet in this one. And I'm still kind of considering that idea, but I'm leaning more towards it coming from the bulk of Jason's body instead, as we see it in chapter 8 of Imprint when readers get to see Jason's ghost nonsense from an outside perspective. They (the Pit) is definitely more tiger-like now, and you'll catch a glimpse of a sketch dump where I'm trying to get a handle on tiger shape language (?). They'll still be water based and colored like the pits/a lagoon. It may be hard to picture- just trust me.

Uhhh let's see....the "lantern ribcage" is a part of the design that's really important to me so you'll see me consistently playing with it as I go through these early concepts. That's his core nestled in the lower part of his ribs, visible but protected behind the iron cage of his bones.

I wanted to incorporate Jason's helmet and other parts of his vigilante/hero uniforms in his ghost form since that part of his life is deeply personal to him.

I also knew that I wanted him to have a very monstrous aspect to his design- and I can't resist slapping pointy teeth on any of my concepts that deviate from being strictly human. So those aren't going away. Nostrils to breathe smoke and fire so Jason can better emote with most of his face being metal.

Danny's default ghost form, opposed to Jason's will still kinda be the one he has in his original dimension- black and white suit and the classic DP symbol on the chest, but probably better armored and with a bat emblem thrown in somewhere. So thats what I drew him with here- though little kid sized, with an added black streak in his hair to complete the inverse of the Lazarus Pit streak he has in human form.

In ghost form, when Jason needs precision, his go-to weapon will be the All Blades, which I have kinda illustrated here.

I may kinda set the bones of this design aside to use as a more humanoid ghost form that's closer to his living form, but that's still up in the air.

Here's concept 2, which I did on chapter...5? I think? Which is when I decided I wanted to make Jason's most comfortable ghost form to be kinda big and outrageous:

This one's got some notes doodled around it- but I'll type them out in case you can't read my handwriting.

Jason was definitely leaning more toward dragon (and I'm still trying to find the balance between dragon and phoenix that works nicely for him, but we're getting there.)

I decided not to put heat pits on his face recently so that the parts of his head modeled after the helmet are smooth metal armor. I tried to elongate the head but still keep the lines of his helmet in the design.

This is also the first time I started messing with horns- which have been bent in just about every direction at this point trying to make them mesh well with the rest of his design. The uppermost notes in the image mention basing the shape of his horns off of one of his weapons. I thought that the flaming all blades would just be overkill at that point and decided to play with using the Kris knife he gets from the League. Which is....still overkill but it's less fire to draw, so we'll call it a even. There is also a note on my decision to make his horns into a pair only because of being Bruce's second son and the second Robin. (I have put way too much fucking thought into this if you haven't figured that out already).

Tried a different look for the teeth and ended up scrapping it.

I also started leaning more into making his back look as messed up as possible at this point and started thinking of the....mountain range in plated rows like a croc's back.

And here's concept 3, which also starts playing with colors and the all-tail, no-legs look that I decided to stick with:

This is definitely the biggest jump between concepts so far and was sketched up while writing chapter 7, which I think is the first time we get to experience his ghost forms (there's 2 that we saw in that chapter).

So I continued to smooth and lengthen the head and tried a different thing with the teeth- which I kept. I also felt a lot better about the lines from the helmet with this concept. I tried curling his kris knife horns forward, trying to play with their form. Those have changed since.

This is the first time I added hair, but it's hard to see. He, like Danny, has an inversed streak of black at the front of his 'do to reflect the Lazarus stripe.

Again with the halo placeholder because I was still on the fence about the crown. Started trying to make the mountains of his spine more volcanic looking. Don't know if I'm keeping that or not yet.

So the three major differences between this and it's predecessors is the 1) mantle of smoke that is constantly being expelled from his body that is supposed to imitate a kinds cloak/mantle; 2) the tail, which has since been changed into a fiery tail instead of a ghostly one; and 3) I slapped his Robin 'R' from the movie UTRH on him to make this form more...him, I guess, and also to make Bruce cry like a baby.

So the things that I have changed is the ribcage, the shape of the horns, the crown (which finally has a rough design and a name based on the fight he has to win to earn it- yes, I already have that arc scribbled out and will most likely be adding it into the story) and I added some extra stuff to the face to match the written descriptions in Imprint.

SO. -Claps hands together- I'd love to hear your thoughts on everything, and I am always interested in hearing how y'all have interpreted these characters for yourselves.

If this is something you want me to do again with other character designs, let me know and I will. I am working on Jason, of course, and the Pit, Frankie boy, Danny's big long boi form, Gotham and some other odds and ends.

(Whoops forgot tags again)

[subzeroparade]

*chant* New fic! New fic! New fic!

So excited you’ve posted a new ER fic, and with a teaser for more to come! 🎉🎉🎉

Since it’s been awhile, maybe I poke your brain on what your thoughts on the DLC are (game play, lord, sceneries, anything you’d like to share with us really)? Has it changed your headcanon on any of the characters, or did you find ways to incorporate the new lores into your interpretations? Most importantly, did you have fun?

*tagged for spoilers but just in case - spoilers •‿•*

Did I enjoy it? YES. Did I have qualms with some gameplay bits? YES but I’m a filthy casual on NG+2 or something and generally Not Good at Game. But I beat it. 

As for lore, it’s really a mixed bag. There’s a ton of stuff I’m delighted to have new or expanded lore for - Marika’s origins, Belurat and the entirety of Hornsent culture, Godwyn’s Death Knights, BAYLE???? VILE BAYLE!!!! etc etc (sometimes I listen to Igon’s voice lines just to psych myself up for real life). There are things I need to adjust my headcanon for a little, as well - St Trina, for example, has always been a facet of Miquella himself to me, a sort of alter ego he willingly takes on, which is how I enjoyed writing her in fic. To have her elaborated here as a separate person means taking that a little further if I write him/her/them again, but I think the parallel it draws between Marika/Radagon is hugely interesting as well.  

iirc there are a couple of instances in the base game where lore almost contradicts itself, but I think in some cases the DLC got a little sloppy. The timeline is also way foggier to me now than it was previously. I was a big fan of the idea that Messmer was entirely unknown to his siblings, written out of history after the Crusade (predating Marika ushering in the Golden Age of the Erdtree), but that contradicts the lore we get on Gaius and Radahn as they’re both personally acquainted with Messmer, and makes me wonder which of the other demigods might’ve been aware of him, and under what pretences might they have met. It makes for a lot of fic ideation, but I’m of the opinion that if you’re writing fic, sticking too closely to (the sometimes unhelpful) lore will stultify the work; so I’m trying to pluck little instances of new lore that interest me to bolster the story I want to tell.  

Like most of the fandom I have a huge beef with Promised Consort Radahn, and I’m still struggling with how to work that into my headcanon. To me, there is simply no reason for it. There are no indications of it in the base game, and you have to tie yourself into continuity knots for it to make any sense - and that’s just bad writing. I’m not against retconning things if they serve a purpose, but this was neither useful nor necessary (nor well done), and that’s fundamentally disappointing for a Fromsoft game. The more people aggressively try and justify it, the more I feel like the potential explanations unravel. If we’re going along with the assumption that Miquella *needs* a lord to ascend, we’ve had Candidate #1 since the base game: Godwyn. Half of what we know about base-game Miquella is that he spent time and resources trying to grant Godwyn some form of peace, while his hideous fate hangs over the narrative in perpetuity. And we give Radahn closure literally in the first act of the game. I’m a firm believer in Miquella knowing 100% what he’s about, but in this singular instance blinded by love for Godwyn and an all-consuming desire to *fix this* by resurrecting some nightmarish, malformed version of him. There’s so much juicy story to be told in Miquella refusing to acknowledge the thing he brought back is not his brother, and for all that godhood and remaking the world into utter passivity can do, it can’t retrieve Godwyn’s irretrievable soul. All that to say, I’d even take Malenia as his promised consort - it would made more sense than Radahn, too.

Anyway tldr I don’t have to think about how disappointing that is now, because the fic I’m working on is around Marika’s ascension, and more specifically Messmer and Melina’s upbringing. There’s another on the backburner but I’m on the fence about it since it hasn’t reached an outline stage yet, and I don’t start anything unless I am 100% sure I know how to finish it, and finish it well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Ty for the ask! As is the case with me, the rest of my musings on the lore come through in fic writing, because those are the texts dumps I’m good at. Here’s a little (young) Melina and Messmer wip as thanks. 

[c-rose2081]

AGDUSHFUEBDHDHD YOUR RECENT FIC WAS SO FUCKING GOOD LIKE AGHHHHHH

Bridget being such a sweet and caring liek cutie pie. Thinking Chloe might have a fear of blood or something is so adorable. And honestly now I’m just chucking every available fear or weakness Headcanon onto Chloe like she’s shopping cart of angst. Cause yeah Chloe def would have a fear of blood despite her ironic love of swords and shields.

God I knew it all along but somehow it wasn’t even fucking hitting me that Chloe in the movie migrates to her mom not only cause it’s her mom, but it’s her MOM. Her mom who’s DEAD. She’s seeing her mom ALIVE in some way and that must be so fucking conflicting to her and for Ella to have been so cold to her must have been mind breakingly painful. Cause fuck. I totally get the morally gray Ella vibes but Ella’s attitude towards Chloe the whole time was honestly just rude. Like saying that she doesn’t deserve her shoes just cause it was a good thing? Like no that’s not the point at all. The point should have been thag rewards like that are a privilege. And that assuming others have that isn’t good. Not that being rewarded for good behavior WITHOUT EXPECTING IT somehow makes you some prissy uptight monster. Like ugh I could rant about that forever I think they handled that HORRIBLY. Like they’re really trying to make Chloe look like she worked for nothing and just expects lavish gifts. Like NO?! She’s getting straight As. Working herself to the bone for swords and shields. And yes we should all just normally strive to it, but being a good person takes fucking work. Being nice and honorable and kind to all has so much strength! These are all amazing things and it’s not a bad thing at all Chloe was rewarded for it. She worked hard for all of it. It’s the assumption that everyone else’s life is similar and that their is no grey area that’s the bad part. That’s what I wish they focused on.

Anywhoooo. Chloe being rejected AND seeing the blood on her hand must have been so fucking painful. I mean it’s nearly like a graphic symbol of her mom being so brutally decapitated. And Ella with that mother line like GOD. Chloe must feel so damn alone. And I definitely think they overlooked how emotional she should be. Like they needed to incorporate the breakdown you just wrote.

and lordy it must be so fucking painful cause in a cruel twist of irony, the person who decapitated her mom is the one comforting her. The one soothing her and hugging her and taking care of her. Acting so motherly in her own way it must make Chloe miss her own mom even MORE. And any comfort from Bridget must be so damn conflicting cause she’s the enemy. But no one else is comforting her so she’ll take it. Ugh beautiful masterpiece.

LOL and of course I’m a die hard bridgella fan so it’s so fun to see more Bridget and Ella interacting. Like YES Ella stops as soon as she realized she snapped at her precious angel Bridget. YES Bridget is the only one able to get through to Ella when she’s going through something. Yes after Ella apologizes Bridget gives her a kiss and they go snuggle together. Wait huh-

anyway. Adored this fic entirely. I’m vaguely curious to see Ella’s apology now honestly. And I’m also wondering where tf red went. Like girly just disappeared without checking on Chloe 😭

Thank you for reading I’m so glad you enjoyed! I love writing angst so much, especially around Chloe and the lack of grief from Chloe’s end really bugged me in the film.

I’m not sure if I’ll actually write Ella’s apology or not? And as for Red, I actually have an idea about that. She probably goes to break down herself somewhere, cause naturally RED knows fully well how painful it is for Chloe to get rejected by her own mother, because it’s partly her fault Cinderella’s dead. She doesn’t go to comfort Chloe cause I imagine this happens right after they arrive? Like, they hardly know one another yet so they aren’t actually ‘friends’ yet.

Anyway, thanks so much for this! I always love hearing what you have to say 😊

[partyanimal167]

Hey i saw your post about wanting to do some law fics and i had an idea how about a law x fem or gn reader that is a excellent sworddswomen and can take out someone even with their sheth still on! ( like kagra from fairy tail the anime) but the catch is that when not fight shes super awkward and shy and flustered with him (because he saved her and she attracted to him and his character)Also could the fic being about their first meeting like asking her to join his crew and after time becoming a thing and going to dressrosa together, it could start with law telling the straw hats how they met

(Sorry i know thats a lot but i’ve had this idea for while now and would really appreciate it you can do it but its too much please let me know i dont want pressure you❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️)

Hi!!! Thank you so much for requesting. I'm super nervous to write about Law, but this is a really nice prompt to use. Plus, I'm so stoked that you referenced Kagura! I love Fairy Tail; that was the first fandom I wrote about when I was younger lol. I'm going to try to incorporate everything you wrote. I hope you enjoy it~

She's Just Shy, ok...- Law x F!Reader

CW: Fluff, canon au, nongraphic action, awkward reader (mood)

In hindsight, Law should have realized he wasn't lucky enough to have a normal person on his crew...but she was special to say the least...not that he would say it.

Law was trying his hardest to not break his mug as he watched you going at it with the Strawhat's swordsman. It was his fault though. He had been too deep into his studies and planning, so after continuously rejecting Zoro for a sparring match, it made sense that he would go after you. You were more of a challenge really. Law flexed that strength of his sword at any hint of danger, but you, oh, you weren't bothered by any threats at all. Few could tell the story of seeing your blade at all. A swordman's that used only her sheath, yeah Zoro would be all over that.

"TRA!!!"

Law nearly jumped out his skin when Luffy appeared hanging upside down from a rail. He grumbled into his mug. "What!"

He only laughed. "Y/n is so cool~ I bet Zoro is happy to have a strong person to fight with." he grinned. Law only grunted. "Hmm, maybe she could join my crew. OI! Zoro! Ask Y/n to-," Luffy groaned after being hit upside his head. "Nami! What was that for?"

The navigator rolled her eyes. "You can't go trying to steal people's crew members. What if someone tried to recruit Zoro?"

Luffy understood her point but still whined. "But she's so strong~ Zoro would like it!"

"She's not a pet!" Law argued back.

Luffy laughed. "Ooo, what about a competition! Y/N, would you join my crew if I beat Toroa at a game?"

You skidded across the floor and smiled at the goofy captain. "Sorry Lu-chan, I can't leave my captain yet." she beamed even as she blocked an attack from Zoro without looking. "I owe him too much." she grinned before turning her attention back to her opponent while Sanji threatened to starve Zoro if he so much as got a cut on your skin.

Luffy pouted. "Boo, I want her..."

"Be nice captain." Robin lightly chided. She turned to the doctor. "I am curious though. How did you two meet, Tra-guy?"

Your ears picked up the question. "Cap-captain, no! Don't tell them!" you nervously stammered and waved your hands.

Zoro raised a brow. "Why not? Couldn't be that bad." he grabbed a towel and tossed it to you. You wiped your face, neck, and bosom. He gulped down some water.

Seeing that your attention was back on him, Law relaxed a little. "It's nothing dramatic." he grumbled. "More embarrassing for me really..." he muttered.

"Huh???" everyone asked. For the doctor to admit that and not hold back was certainly something.

Law reclined back and spread his arms out. "I needed some assistance..."

~~~

You were finally able to relax and enjoy the warm weather after spending the morning training. Sitting and meditating was a great way for you to recenter before continuing about your day. You found a nice tree and were wrapping up when a heard some loud commotion nearby.

You opened your eyes to see a group of shady-looking men running away. A few moments later, an anxious looking polar bear was running around searching while tears seemed to be flowing from his eyes. You cocked your head to the side curiously. The polar bear cried out. "Captain is going to kill me!!!"

His uniform seemed to be unique enough from the townspeople, but not quite individualistic. You stood up and stretched. You weren't sure what to do about what you saw and decided to head back to your solitary home in the woods.

You left the busier town and continued walking casually in the woods. You knew this path well seeing as this was your childhood area filled with palm trees and secret waterfalls. You neared the summit of a hill and tensed as you felt an odd, distinct air. You dodged a knife thrown at your head and rested your hand on your sword.

A few of those men from before jumped out of the bushes. "Hehe, seems the rumors were true. What is a woman like you doing with that on your hip?"

"Looks expensive too." another added.

You met their greedy gaze with little interest. So they're robbers. You took a couple steps forward dismissively before they jumped to attack. You quickly reacted and swung your body around to dodge. You shifted on one foot before swinging the other to land in one guy's face. It would have been an easy conflict except more men appeared.

You grumbled before tying up your hair and pulling your sword from your waist.

"You got some moves, missy. But now we really know you don't need that sword. Those work better when they're out of their sheaths." he commented rudely.

You took an offensive stance and dashed to quickly to slice the shocked robbers. It only took a couple slashes or two before each man fell to the ground with serious wounds. You rolled your shoulders before sighing. You just saw them not so long ago, so their stolen goods were probably still on them. You peaked in a couple bushes before pulling out a long sword. It was heavy in your hand. You wondered how hard it would be to find its owner. Oh maybe, that polar bear would know. You continued to admire the blade when you felt the air shift once more. You turned around to see a man bring up a large hammer to swing at you. You tensed to move, but-

"Room."

An odd light feeling surrounded you for a second before you were in the grasp of a stranger. You looked up confusingly as someone could just hold you with one arm then watched as the man froze. "You're- you're-, you're the Surgeon of Death!" the man only tch-ed at the accusation before rotating his hands and muttered. "Shambles."

You watched in shocked as the various men's body parts were dismembered before shuffling around and mixing with each other. Most of them were still knocked out though and wouldn't realize the uncanny circumstance until they woke up.

The man gently placed you down and you clenched onto the sword while bowing. "Oh my gosh, thank you so much! I should have totally seen that coming. How embarrassing!" the words blurted from your mouth.

The man's gold eyes looked at you with uncertainty. "Don't mention it..." he paused before reaching his hand out, "my sword, please."

You looked at his hand then clenched tighter on the sword. "Oh, huh, is this your sword?" you laughed awkwardly. "Oh jeez, heh, sorry here-,"

"Captain!!!" a high-pitched voice echoed up the hill before the polar bear from before appeared with tears still flowing.

You brightened! "Oh bear-chan!"

The bear stopped and looked at you. He immediately took a defensive karate pose in front of the man. "Did you take my captain's sword! You- you-, woman! I'll"

"Bepo," the man interjected annoyed. "This woman just defeated these robbers. Show her a little respect." The other immediately dropped his pose before bowing.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Thank you for recovering, Kikuko!"

You scratched your cheek awkwardly and waved your hand. "Ah no problem at all. He saved my life!" you then turned and finally handed back the sword. "Thank you, again." you bowed. You straightened up. "I'm y/n."

The man seemed to relax more with the sword at his side finally. "Trafalgar Law. I'm sorry if we caused you trouble." he looked at his subordinate. "My sword was taken away while he was on watch."

"I'm sorry, Captain."

"Tch, this is why I don't take naps..." Law muttered. "We'll leave now. I don't want to bother you more."

"Wait!" you called out. "I have to repay you! That guy nearly took off your head."

Law shook his head. "If anything, we're even. I saw how you fought; you would have been fine."

Your face warmed at the compliment. "No, I insist!" Law seemed to see your stubbornness despite the flustered appearance.

"Fine."

....

Law should have known better than to get his hopes up at your seemingly normal appearance. After meeting you a couple times while at your island, you proved to have a formidable reputation that had the Marines constantly trying to recruit you though you continued to reject them. As you two got along, you were amazed by Law and his crew's tales of travels and adventure. You recalled all the commotion that happened when the Worst Generation was at Sabody as well as the Marineford War. You never planned on being a pirate necessarily, but you had your own goals that meant you needed to leave home.

Law didn't know why you were so nervous to speak to him all the time, so he was shocked when you were able to as him to join his crew without a stutter. He wasn't sure what to think. You were strong and smart. And as much as he thought that another mouth to feed would be a bother, he couldn't deny that you would be a good addition. He'd hope that you at least learn to hold a conversation with him without playing with your hands.

~~~

"Law!!! You're so mean!" you wailed as you pushed your chest against the back of his head. He immediately blushed and tried to push you off. "I'm so embarrassed!" you clung onto him.

"Oh my god, I don't know why!" Law argued. You continued to fuss and Law shyly babied you in his arms.

The Strawhats were shocked by the softer scene in front of them. "He's surprisingly soft..." Robin noted.

Luffy groaned. "Oh boo, Tra is so lucky. No way she'll join us now." For some reason, he understood now.

~~~

*sprinkles in some slight jealousy because we like that here.* Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it @dancingnewcat Please let me know how it is. I'm so happy to finally get a request~

Until next time~

[jesterwriting]

pairings: mad scientist!law x assistant!reader

word count: 2k words

contents: DARK CONTENT AHOY!!! animal death (cat), animal harm (cat), animal gore (cat), reanimator au, medical student law, medical student reader, unhinged!law, creepy!law, horror, manipulation,

note: this was originally supposed to be apart of an earlier request, but i split it up because i felt like this one had far more horror elements and animal harm that were a lot heavier and darker. you can read them together or separate or not at all! its up to you <33 im kind of obsessed with this au so i may do more with it if people are into it??

playlist: reanimator prologue & main title - richard brand

prequel to this fic

At first, you thought this was a dream come true. It wasn’t often that you got lucky enough to be paired with your crush for a project, but here you were, meeting him at your apartment for the sixth time in one month. It was more than you could ever dare to hope for. For the longest time, you had thought that you were condemned to a life of daydreams and fantasies.

Trafalgar Law was an odd man, one who was not particularly liked by his peers— aside from you, of course. He was cold, and the sort to stare if you managed to garner his, usually unwanted, attention. When he did speak, it was a snarky remark at the recipient's expense, both classmate and professor, Law had no patience for perceived stupidity you realized after weeks of study. His tattoos were off putting to most. What kind of medical student had ‘death’ written across his knuckles? You, on the other hand, found them fascinating. The story behind such morbid body art was sure to be captivating.

If only you could get him to share it.

You shouldn’t be surprised. Law was quiet, only ever speaking to prove someone wrong, or to insist that he was right. When he did talk to you, it was about the project and his own personal plans for it. You could hardly get a word in edgewise. Instead of fighting Law on it, you allowed him to do whatever he pleased with the project, following his orders dutifully, which seemed to earn you the smallest margin of his rarely given respect. Last meeting, he had even acknowledged your interjection with a nod, rather than a scoff, though he didn’t incorporate your idea at all. Progress was progress, you supposed.

Your keys jingled as you pulled them from your pocket. Before you could stick them in the knob, the door creaked open, revealing your empty living room. It was dark, no signs of life. Not even your cat came to greet you. You swallowed hard, anxiety making your saliva thicken until it was stuck in your throat as a hard glob.

You told Law where your spare key was hidden, had he forgotten to close the door after he arrived?

“Law?” There was no response. With your heart pounding, you pushed the door open further and stepped into your apartment. Floorboards creaked under your weight, making you wince. There was something that told you to be quiet, that there was someone waiting for you in the shadows, ready to strike. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

A dim light in the kitchen caught your attention, and you slowly tip-toed over to it, careful to keep your footsteps light. Carpet squelched under your shoes. Maybe Law spilled a glass of water and went looking for a rag. Surely, your organizational skills weren’t so bad he was still looking for one. You choked on an uncomfortable laugh.

Like your front door, your fridge was open. Not gaping, but a small crack to let the barest sliver of light out. A sense of dread settled on your shoulders, though you tried to remind yourself that Law was supposed to be here. Everything could be explained if he would come out. All he needed to do was make his presence known and you would know you were safe. You swallowed hard, staring at the refrigerator door. It was your only source of light in the apartment, if you closed it now, you’d be surrounded on all sides by darkness.

You blinked, cocking your head to the side to get a better view. There was something large and furry on the top shelf. Nausea roiled in your gut, threatening to spill your dinner onto the floor, as dim recognition flickered in your brain.

With your knuckle, you pushed the door open fully to get a better look. There, inside of your fridge, was your cat. He wasn’t breathing, eyes glassy and body stiff under the pale yellow light.

Your cat was dead and its corpse was in your fridge.

You couldn’t help it. You screamed.

“You’re home.”

Scrambling backwards until your lower back hit the counter, you could barely make out Law’s figure through your blurry vision. You choked on a sob and hastily wiped your eyes. He seemed bored as he leaned against the wall, almost unimpressed, though there was a glimpse of something softer in his gaze. Not concern, not yet, but close enough to it that you could pretend.

You pointed a shaky finger at the fridge. “M-My cat.”

“I know, I put it in there.” Law strode into the kitchen and closed the door with his foot. You felt better not having to look at the corpse anymore, even if tears continued to leak from your eyes. “I didn’t want it to decompose and start to stink before you were able to bury it. I know you were fond of it.”

“What happened? How did he die?”

Law shrugged, noncommittal. “I’m not sure. It was dead when I got here. I figured you would rather me not perform an autopsy in your living room considering I have no veterinary experience.”

“An-And you put it in my fridge? You couldn’t have left a note on the door or—“

Law scoffed, “And what would the note say? Cat dead, details later? Think for a second.”

The longer the conversation continued, the harder you sobbed. You loved that cat. He’d been with you for years now, through thick and thin. You’d never feel his warm body on your chest again as he slept, you’d never feel his purr rumble against your skin, you’d never be able to pet him under his chin the way he liked it ever again. It was too much to think about, grief rolling over you like a wave, threatening to drown you.

Law’s gaze softened, even if his sigh was exasperated. “We can postpone working on the project until you’re able to gather yourself.”

He turned to leave, but your hand shot out to grab his wrist. “Please don’t leave me here with him.”

The body. You couldn’t bury him. Not alone. Law thought for a moment, his golden eyes glazed over for a second before a smirk inched across his face. He only ever got that look when he thought of a plan, and this looked to be a good one. With a condescending pat on your head, Law wrenched himself from your grasp, grin still in place.

“That’s alright, Y/N-ya, I’m not going anywhere. I can sleep on your couch and help you with its body tomorrow.” His pupils shot over to the fridge. “It’s best if you leave it in there for the night, corpses are best kept cold.”

Sniffling, you gave a shaky nod. “I’ll set up the couch.”

—

It was three am when a knock at your door woke you.

The weight of mourning felt heavy in your chest and your bed felt too cold without the familiar warmth of your cat. Your heart ached at the reminder of his demise. All you wanted to do was curl up and go back to sleep. Forget about what waited for you in the fridge.

So tired, both emotionally and physically, you were ready to chalk the knock up to a dream. That was, until you heard it again, louder and more forceful this time.

An unwanted feeling of anxiety crawled up your spine. Something felt off, a sense of wrongness filled the air until it was so thick, you could hardly breathe. A horrible yowl resounded through your apartment, blood curdling and unnatural. There was a familiarity to the scream. You took no comfort in it. Your eyes shot open, and you leapt from your bed onto your feet, wired from the sudden surge of adrenaline. Hyperventilating breaths ripped from your chest.

The knock sounded again. “Y/N-ya, I have something to show you.”

Law’s deep voice sent goosebumps erupting down your arms. If you were being honest, it wasn’t the first time it had happened, but this time, there was something different about it. Dread curled in your gut, sleeping inside you like the cat in your fridge. With a cry, you covered your ears and curled in on yourself when whatever was in your living room screamed again.

“Law, do you hear that?”

You didn’t have to see him to know he rolled his eyes. “Come out, there’s something I need you to see.”

Your feet moved on their own accord, drawn by the sound of Law’s voice. Even as the thing in your living room wailed, your fingers found your knob and curled around it. The brass was cold against your palm. It grounded you. The first thing you noticed when you opened the door was that Law had blood smeared across the front of his shirt. It didn’t seem to be from any wounds, and you found yourself relieved, even if you couldn’t begin to explain where it came from.

Law was grinning, all teeth, a manic gash across his face. “I did it. A success, right here in your apartment. You must be my lucky charm.” He patted your head.

“Did what?” You peered around him.

“I’ll show you.” He paused before stepping to the side. “I did it for you, you know? I know how fond you were of it.”

There was something on your coffee table. It twitched and convulsed, mouth open in a soundless scream as its eyes bulged out of its sockets. Blood pooled around it, dripping onto the carpet. It took a second for you to recognize it through the pulsing viscera. He hadn’t been so cut up before. Instead, he had been so whole, you could have mistaken him for being asleep if it wasn’t for the glassiness in his eyes. Beside him was an empty syringe and a container of glowing green fluid.

“My cat,” You choked out. “What did you do to him?”

Law wrapped an arm around you and held you to his chest. “I brought it back for you.” He glanced at the bloody mass, a frown tugging at his lips. “There are still some kinks to work out, but this was a good test of my reagent.” Expectant, Law glanced at you. “But, I need more trials.”

“He was dead,” Your tone was flat, and your body was numb. When you looked away, Law grabbed your chin and forced you to look at the thing pulsating on your coffee table.

“Look at it. I defeated death tonight. I did what every doctor has dreamed of doing for millenia, and the first steps to realizing this were done in your apartment. You should be honored.”

“Why did you do this?”

“Because I wanted to share something extraordinary with you.” He must have seen you were unconvinced because he sighed, the motion rattling your body, still pressed against him. “I need an assistant, and you are my best option. You're respected and well-liked by your professors, they would let you get away with murder as long as you turned that sweet smile in their direction.” Law leaned down until his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. “You can get me into the morgue, Y/N-ya.”

This was wrong, you knew it deep down in your heart, but with Law so close to you, the smell of antiseptic and blood clogging your senses, you could hardly think. Once the project was over, Law would never give you the time of day again. He wasn’t the type of man who had friends. Colleagues, maybe, but not friends. If you agreed to be a part of his sick experiments, you wouldn’t have to leave him. Law would be stuck with you, bonded together by this secret. If you were his assistant, you could have him forever.

“Okay,” You said, still somewhat hollow. A tear slipped down your cheek when you pointed to your cat. “Just kill him. Put him out of his misery, I can’t stand to see him like this.”

“If that’s what you want.”

Without hesitation, Law stepped around you, scalpel in hand, and plunged it into your cat's skull. The twitching stopped. His body went slack, limp against the coffee table.

Law stood back and gave you a reassuring smile. “There. All better now.”

For a second, you let yourself believe him.

[writinggremlin]

Hi!

What's your favorite weapon to use against your Whumpees?

-- @whumporama ❤️🔪

Ooo good question! Though, I usually find it difficult to decide which weapon I should use on my Whumpees whenever it's their turn to be whumped, so I am already predicting that settling even on a top 3 will be difficult.

Let's see though... I don't think you can really go wrong with a blade or knife. They're quite versatile when you think about it. They can slice, cut and stab, yes, but they can also threaten, and even protect. Not to mention that they come in many different forms.

A pocket knife that folds neatly away, being flicked out at the climax right before the violence begins. Or being revealed and pressed against a Whumpee's neck in an alleyway.

A dagger, long and sharp. Whumper lightly trails the point along Whumpee's body, sending shivers down their spine. Maybe even using it to tilt their chin up.

A scalpel, even. A tool of precision, usually used to help save lives, but now it's use is being twisted and bastardized, slowly and methodically slicing through layers of flesh to do god knows what. Or maybe it's not for a surgery. Maybe Whumper sees themself as an "artist" of sorts, and Whumpee is their canvas. A scalpel is like a pencil to them.

Hmm... But I also like drugging too. It's definitely my go-to for lab settings. Maybe I'm a little too reliant on drugs for lab whump lmao. But c'mon-- it's right there!! And it's so versatile-- you don't even have to make it a pre-existing drug, you can make the side effects literally whatever you want!!

Yes you have the typical dizziness, confusion, tiredness, and euphoria of normal drugs, but that's not all injections are capable of. Some drugs burn (propofol does iirc, and I know potassium does too. Potassium is *super* uncomfortable when administered through IV. Best used on a Whumpee who was starved and has a potassium deficiency-- I could write a tip post on that one day), other drugs can cause odd feeling headaches that feel like pressure building up in your head (morphine does that to some people for a second before it kicks in. I am one of those people. It freaked me out the first time around ngl lol), but even that is just the surface of things drugs can do, especially in fiction.

One of my favorite fics I've read on here, Drowning by @equestrianwritingsstuff, features lab whump and a drug that makes the MC experience agonizing pain and panic. Those scenes were so fucking good imo!!! Like-- OUGH!!! Nearly yoinked it for myself, but I've already yoinked a lot from that story, and I don't want to just-- make the same thing again lol. (That's called plagiarism! :D!)

You can incorporate magic to induce a whole slew of fascinating new side effects. Add a hint of fire magic to set every single one of Whumpee's nerves alight with agony. Earth magics could temporarily petrify certain parts, if not all of Whumpee (petrify could just mean paralyze, or it could mean literal petrifaction; turning solid like stone. So solid that parts could snap off), water magics could liquify (imagine that in the lungs. As if pneumonia wasn't bad enough. The damage that literally liquifying a brain could cause too), and as for air magics... just injecting plain air straight into the veins can cause a whole slew of problems-- you don't need magic for that (you could suddenly adjust the atmospheric pressure with magic and make Whumpee suffer more as the air inside them rapidly expands though).

Speaking of magic, that's another fantastic weapon! In a fantasy setting, I feel like magic could be so common and come so naturally that it's almost on par with just-- using your bare hands. But magic is more useful and so versatile and there is so, so much you can do with it!!

Elemental magics are an obvious choice. Just look at Avatar over there. But ofc there's other elements that are fun, like ice, and electricity, and blood... Me and a friend once came up with an idea of someone who could manipulate someone's skeleton. They couldn't manipulate the muscles or their mind, literally just their bones. It'd make resistance painful, pulling and tearing at delicate tendons. The best thing Whumpee could do in that situation is just relax as much as possible, while their body gets helplessly puppeted around (technically they could overpower it too, depending on how much force the power could use ofc).

But there's so many other magic powers too that could easily be weaponized. Mind control abilities, a mind reader that knows all of Whumpee's weak points-- there's a fic I recently binged through, The Gift Of Perfect Knowledge by @internallyscreamingfrootloop, where a kid gets the ability to know the answer of any question he asks, and he's definitely used that to at least utilize the tools at his disposal.

There's even brutal powers that you can use, like super strength, and shape shifting, and blast summoning, which can give a Whumper the ability to just toss Whumpee around like a ragdoll.

But the fun part about magic is that you can make your powers be whatever the fuck you want. Take a look at my OC, Kage, for example. He might be a Whumpee, but he's also done his fair share of brutal, murderous whumping in his past. One of the powers that helps him with that, is a power that I literally just call "Ravens". He can summon ravens, crows, just any corvid really, and he can control them to make them do what he wants. Imagine a massive flock of black, cawing birds descending upon you. Imagine the last thing you see is a beak in your eye. Imagine the dreadful pain of being pecked apart and eaten alive, bit by agonizing bit. You can get brutal with magic, and it doesn't even have to be anything complicated.

Maybe magic will have to win my favorite then lol.

Honorable mentions:

Bludgeoning tools. Bats, canes, even a wall. If I'm feeling especially brutal, I might even think about just filling a bag with heavy weight, swinging it around and WHAM!!! Right into Whumpee. Sometimes a whack isn't enough, y'know?

Unconventional weapons, my beloved. A hefty flashlight, a purse, bottle of perfume or cologne (Whumper discovers that Whumpee has it while kidnapping them, proceeds to use it as an irritant, spraying it in Whumpee's mouth, eyes, and even up their nose. Whumpee can't wear it anymore because the scent reminds them of what happened now), clothes used for strangulation, or even a lack of clothes, a plastic bag for suffocation-- ugh, there's just so much you can do with the random objects you have laying around in your house. Books as bludgeoning weapons. Cards thrown so fast and hard that they cut. God I can keep going all day.

But ye, to answer your question, I think my favorite weapon would have to be magic, just in general. Second favorite would have to be anything unconventional, I like seeing the creativity of it. Mix those two together, and you have my full undivided attention.

Thank you so much for the ask!! This one was fun to talk about!!

My ask box is open and I would love to answer more!! I have plenty of ask games you can find on my ask game masterlist here! (I wanna update that completion tracking format into a tag system for better ease of use tbh. Maybe next year.)

Thank you to all who have read this far, and thank you to whumporama for both their post, and for the ask!! Hope you enjoyed my ramblings lol. Have a nice day/night/life!!! :D

[m-ayo-o]

ok... so (content planning below)

Manwha : Under The Oak Tree. Genre : smut

So I have an idea ft. Maxi, Riftan, Ruth, plus reader insert, involving oral, threesome/group sex, and guidance. It's been in the back of my mind for probably YEARS at this point and I still haven't got round to writing even an outline, but the image and idea is so clear in my head it probably won't take long to write. It's driving me crazy so I might write this one soon.

Valentine's Event : happening now!

Zodiac Event : one more tiny fic coming

Requests : still closed (thank u sm for respecting this it has been perfect, so well behaved of u all)

Thirsts/asks/chat : open

Foxtrot : ongoing! part two coming soon ft. 21+ megumi stealing toji's gf...

The Money Store : ongoing! sub toji part two coming soon because i enjoy writing it sssososo much

two longer (ish) megumi fics in progress ft. roomate au and an unusual threesome... :3

I have a paranormal fic idea that includes possession but may get quite dark. Others include mythical creatures (humanoid only, eg. succubus / incubus / hybrids etc. may go into omegaverse and hybrid characters soon)

Obviously not gonna stop writing jjk just wanna mix things up a bit.

Been enjoying lil Toru drabbles (feels like I'm practicing)

Always got Kento ideas (but I feel like it has to be particularly special to focus on it because the Kento writers on here go hard. Makes me feel like I don't need to write it as bad)

Wanna write so much for Suguru...

Got some Naoya and Choso thoughts

Also very tempted to write for the pretty boy that is Hajime Kashimo

Have a strong desire to write househusband Toji

Got a couple of tiny Yuji wips

Sukuna can suck it. (jk I can't write him for shit also the Sukuna writers out there are actually astounding)

Possible event ideas ->

1: "The Gods" event : incorporating stories of ancient myths

2: "Songspiration" : short weekly drabbles inspired by lyrics (could involve a voting system)

so feel free to come chat about anything you'd like to read in particular! ^^

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Firstly, thank you for keeping my Sterek obsession fed and watered all this time- you are the best!

Secondly, I have searched tags and can’t quite find what I’m looking for:

I am obsessed with fics where Stiles is developing magic ability but finds out he gets a huge power boost from Derek (maybe tied to Hale territory and the like) - that ultimately makes them an unstoppable force. Derek getting hurt then healed by Stiles always a plus. Do you know of any in this particular vein?

You are so welcome! And thanks to @kevaaronday because she did all the work for this list.

light a spark by raisesomehale (8/15 | 30,778 | Teen | Sterek) “It’s not” - Derek cuts off as quickly as he starts, teeth gritting with frustration - “It’s not like the others it’s… There’s a reason I came to your house last.”

Stiles’ eyebrows raise. This is hands down the weirdest Derek has ever acted around him, and it’s making him curious. 

“And that reason being…?” He rolls the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows and leans against his desk to start untying his shoes.

“I need” - Derek grits through clenched teeth - “Your help.”

Stiles just blinks at him, shoes in his hands. “That was excruciating to witness, just so you know.”

Teen Witch by Mr_Bilinski (9/? | 29,956 | Mature | Sterek) After the Nogitsune possession, a bit of the darkness remains, unseen by the Pack. Due to his connection to the Nemeton and having been possessed, Stiles finds himself more on the "super" end of the natural/supernatural spectrum. With power unseen by any before, who can hold Stiles in check? Will the darkness and the seemingly unlimited potential of what his powers could do corrupt Stiles or will he heed the infamous words of Uncle Ben?

Canon compliant up through the end of season 4. Some elements from later seasons will be incorporated with some twists.

The Spark of a Wolf by WolfMadeFromAsh (9/9 | 24,540 | Teen | Sterek) Stiles is a Spark.

WTF does that even mean? Other than the fact that he needs an anchor to maintain control and that anchor is a shapeshifter, he has no idea. It seems that everyone around him is figuring things out before him and no one is thinking about cluing him in. His best friends act as if he's not right in front of them and Derek Hale is the most reliable person in his life right now.

What the hell?

Of Mischief and Trickery by GrimReaperlover11 (14/? | 24,258 | Teen | Sterek) A fight with a witch ends in a big secret regarding Stiels' parentage being brought into the light.

a leak of light in a blue town like this by sikenlore (1/1 | 21,153 | Mature | Sterek) stiles spent the summer of his freshman year of college practically living at derek and cora’s cozy, three bedroom a-frame. he carved a space for himself in their house, in their lives.

(snippets of moments in the lives of the beacon hills pack, or more specifically, in the lives of stiles and derek, the pack emissary and the alpha.)

Born Out of Magic by sparkandwolf (4/4 | 20,850 | Teen | Sterek) “I’ve—we’ve—kept this town safe ever since we were teenagers without the help of—” Stiles couldn’t bring himself to say his name, not yet. 

“It was only a matter of time, you know?” Scott said, his voice clearly sympathetic. 

“Why are you all just standing around?” The voice was like ice through Stiles’ spine. As much as he wanted to run or to lash out at the person he thought he disliked most in the world, he froze in place like a coward. 

Even as the most powerful mage on his side of the country, he was still powerless against Derek Hale.

Or, Stiles gains magical abilities he never knew he had while battling the Darach all while slowly falling in love with the person he least expected, Derek Hale. After the pack defeats her, Derek leaves Beacon Hills—and Stiles—behind. A few years later, there's a new big bad the pack is struggling to defeat. The only thing their alpha can think to do is call on the one person who can truly bind Stiles' powers and complete their pack. 

Derek saunters back into Stiles' life as if he never left and the past seems to surge to the forefront of Stiles' mind.

Mage: Gajos by DaoOfGay (2/? | 12.472 | Explicit | Sterek) "These are the Gajos." The book whispered in delight, his voice broke in a near maniacal villain laughter before it awkwardly coughed. "Many Gajos placed their knowledge in me, in hopes of making the future generations as powerful as they were- I have the knowledge of every single Gajos that has ever lived... Including you, Mieczslaw Genim Stilinski, or should i say- Vklay Klein Gajos."

"Wait, what?" 

X-x-X

A.k.a: Stiles finds out he's from a powerful Magic family and royalty as well.

It's a little rushed.

Also cringe, but cringe culture's dead- Embrace second hand embarrassment

5 times that Stiles saved Derek and the pack, an one time they saved his life by Sivan325 (1/1 | 5,080 | Teen | Sterek) Stiles and Derek were a co-alpha to the Hale pack, and Stiles was over the moon. He enjoyed his role and was delighted that his spark gave him the power and being the alpha.

Also written for Teen Wolf Bingo - Creature AU

Heart Spark by DaoOfGay (1/? | 4,183 | Explicit | Sterek) "He's more than a simple spark, Derek-" Peter smiled softly as he held the sleeping Stiles on his arms, the entire pack either asleep or almost asleep around them: "-He's a Divine Spark of Hestia, a spark directly from the flames of the Heart, he was born to be protective, motherly, born to be a healer and to have a large family... And, of course, with the ability of providing the means of having said family."

A little shocked by his Mate's divine powers, Derek whispered a little confused: "...what?"

"Pregnant, Derek." Peter ignored how half of the entire pack just froze and stared at Stiles with shock: "He can get pregnant- In fact, he already is."

Oh. That's why everybody has been so overprotective of him recently.

"Oh."

X-x-X

Or; The one where Stiles gets a pack and Derek gets the love and happiness he deserves.

[arminsumi]

it's disheartening for writers to see "part 2 when??" comments, you know why?

because there's a lot of effort and thought behind one post. it takes far less time to read than it took for us to curate it.

the idea comes, we pen it down. then we look for inspiration to build upon this idea. we make notes on dialogue, pacing, structure. we highlight important aspects, underline the main feeling and hidden messages and subtle details we want to incorporate. we make sure everything aligns with the character to make sure they're not ooc or two-dimensional. and that's just the beginning stages of one fic idea.

then we write it. now for me, personally, when it flows easily i take two hours to write. but then there are some fics that take months. actual literal months. because the idea does not flow easily, but i hold onto it because i know it has potential. then i write multiple versions, sometimes they're 1k+ and i scrap them, all 1k+ words in the trash, just to make a "better" version which will go into the end post.

then we continue writing it, and some fics that get big wordcounts make us nervous because of all that editing and proofreading we have to do, which alone will take a long time. for me, editing can take more time than actually writing it. i have so many finished pieces in my drafts that aren't published or stay untouched because there's a complex jumble of 5k words that i need lots off energy to meticulously edit. errors, misspellings, restructuring. editing is sometimes such a nightmare that it deters me and then fics get avoided.

then there's the final touches. the banners, the warnings list, the layout, the aesthetics, etc. sometimes making banners takes a long time because of finding the right pictures and editing them too. or finding color schemes/combos that please the eye. a lot of artistic effort goes into post layout alone. there's so many tabs open it's a mess, and i constantly open and close and reopen and close, various sites for various tools to make everything look proper and neat and good for the eye and pleasing to the mind. and let's not even get started on the warnings list. it's probably my least favorite part, because i have to be very careful and proofread with a sharp eye to make sure i don't miss something that could cause the reader to accidentally have an uncomfortable experience.

and then it's published.

this baby post raised in the drafts, something that we put so much thought and care into, and now can you imagine the frown a writer makes at "part 2" comments? this whole post took a long time to make, and to just ask for more makes us feel like we're not satisfying you enough or we didn't do enough even though we did everything. it's appreciated that you enjoy it and want more, but it's still disheartening and even discouraging. imagine if you went up to your favorite author after reading their book and said "when is the sequel?" without saying anything else. it's weird. it makes us feel bad.

so please try to refrain from asking "part 2 when??" and maybe say a simple "i like this because xyz" or appreciate something about the post. even two emojis can give us an idea of how much you liked it or what you thought of it.

reblogs and comments or any feedback on the content we made is so super appreciated. writers want to know what you thought, it's fun to see reactions or understand what aspects you enjoyed. engagement is inspiring and motivational.

[sircarebearalot]

Guys I need help for a fic

If anyone knows:

- for how long did Corrupted!Carmen operate for VILE!

- what specific heists she pulled

- how old she was at the time (and how old Jules was)

In case anyone is curious (or interested in being a beta!!! Dm me!!) I’m writing a fic exploring that Carmen in canon divergent setting where she stalks a blue coat (Julia) to her home and discovers that the woman knows her and is quite clever

Then, over the time leading up to the eye of Vishnu, she steadily becomes more obsessed.

Here are my notes:

Very messy,, sorry 😣

Okay, let me walk you through the ideas/outline!!! (this is kind of for me bc i perform better with a 'audience')

OVERALL: brainwashed carmen falls in love with julia

NOTES ON CORRUPTED!!CARMEN:

Driven by emotion

Quick to react

Everything she feels is distorted to suit power and her warped mind. So what she feels towards Jules before resurfaces harshly but all wrong.

(She's gonna be very yandere!!!)

So our Carmen respected Jules, but now she feels the respect and it's all twisted so she's thinking shit like— she’s my only equal, or at least, she's the only one anyone near my level

And our Carmen admired Jules, a similar tone, but it takes on a more fascinated in a mechanical sense. Like Jules is some kind of unique specimen. Carmen is thinking, She's different from other. She's made for me.

And our Carmen, for the purposes of the fic, was in love with Jules. Or at least, damn near close to it. Maybe she was even just really really fond, to be more canon compliant. So, that affection morphs and is put through the most toxic extreme. Corrupted!!Carmen is so goddamn possesive. Really caveman (she is mine grrr) and 'VERONICA OPEN THE DOOR PLEASE VERONICA OPEN THE DOOR', like, that bad.

And ofc our Carmen was intrigued by Julia. loved her facts and passion and paid her close attention. Corrupted!!Carmen has no chill and she is like, obsessed. Like yandere obsessed. Like, watches her sleep and takes scans of her internal health constantly to make sure she's healthy. It's freaky, i'm trying to emphasize.

And, she's gonna hunt Julia down bc just like her father, the lone wolf, she does as she pleases and she leaves often to be with her booboo. (Unlike, dexter, the faculty are secure in her mind wipe to be concerned)

So... I described her to you!! Now, let me show you some ROUGH snippets I had as concept bits but I might actually include.

If you rather drop it here and hang around for the actual fic, this is our stop!! this is more for a potential beta and well, me :D. but if ur invested pls stick around

This fic will have:

toxic behavior from Carmen obv (she's like mind fucked)

it's not gonna be romantic

NO SEX

pov alterations

(S4E7) Moment of Canon Divergence

Carmen knew she was being followed.

She looks down, from her vantage on the building to see a higher up blue coat turn to her. Then, to Carmen’s astonishment, a soft smile blooms on the woman's face.

Carmen waits for the officer to show interest in attack, and when she doesn’t— she leaves.

As protocol demands.

Snippet #1: (beginning? sort of a little after carmen confronts julia in her home and is now picking her apart for answers)

"Don't act like you haven't been watching me, Jules."

Julia tucks her chin into her scarf, hiding her face... hiding her grimace. When her Carmen had coined that nickname it felt like some of the cavernous distance between them had been bridged. A play at familiarity. Now, the nickname felt a bit cheap. Like this Carmen was looking for leverage, a way to manipulate her for secrets.

Snippet #2: (just to incorporate other characters)

Graham's gaze flickers from Carmen, to Julia, and to Carmen's vice-like grip on her wrist.

He opens his mouth to say something, protest maybe, but Carmen beats him to it. Within seconds she pins Graham to the wall, speaking to him under her breath harshly.

He looks nearly gray when he moves out of her reach and stumbled backwards, away.

Snippet #3:

"Do you get it? VILE cannot know about you. Do you understand me? Forget ACME. Forget VILE. You only need to think of me."

Julia was grateful that Carmen did not look desperate or upset. No, like always Carmen's gaze was steely and unflinching. It helped. On the odd ocassion before, when Julia had let herself think of Carmen in that light, she had always picked her soft and sweet. Julia doesn't think she was wrong to think so. After all, this isn't the Carmen Julia had cared for.

This Carmen was a stranger. A dangerous one.

"I need a job, Carmen."

"You don't. I'll handle it all."

This would make communicating with ACME infinitely harder, with her constantly operating under Carmen's nose. But not impossible, and that was enough for now.

"What about my interests? If I don't do something I'll go mad."

Carmen crosses her arms. "What do you want?"

"My academic career."

"No."

Julia blinks, taken aback.

"Too many people. Too many factors. No way."

Julia fights back the urge to cry, or scream. Instead, she says, "Then my blog. My academic blog.*" She fights back a sob, or a snarl. "Please. I need it."

Looking incredibly agitated, Carmen bites out, "Fine."

"Thank you," Julia whispers, surprised and sickened by how much she means it. "Thank you, Carmen. This means so much to me. It makes me so happy."

Carmen's gaze darkens, eyes going nebulous. Insistently, she says, “I only need you, Jules. You’re the only one that understands me.”

Ironic because Julia had always felt that Carmen was more a mystery than a person. Julia forces a smile on her face as a compromise.

"I wish I understood you better."

Carmen knows the smile is forced. They both know. But the smile was Julia's compliance and that is all Carmen wants now.

"I wish you only needed me. Like I do you."

Julia's smile went somewhat shakier when she says, "I'm sure it's only a manner of time."

The way Julia said it... it nearly sounded like a guarantee.

Carmen forces herself into Julia's arms and tucks her face into the crook of Julia's neck.

Julia suppressed her shudder.

"Let's see how patient I am, hmm?" **

Snippet #4: (dialogue heavy-- needs heavy editing--, near the end... this is part of Julia's plot to manipulate CArmen into ACME to be fixed by the mind machine)

Julia is far too used to Carmen parking herself in the armchair besides Julia's bed to watch her sleep. Carmen's gaze on her is alert and hungry, waiting for any discrepancy.

“Carmen,” Julia murmurs, sitting up slowly. Allowing Carmen to track the movements. Julia takes the glass of water at her bed stand and peers into the clear liquid. After a long moment, she finally asks, “Carmen, would you kill for me?”

“Just say the word.”

The response had not an iota of hesitation. Julia had expected as much. She powers forward, watching Carmen's even breathing.

“Would you die for me?”

“I’d die with you. I’d kill to avenge you. It seems sort of useless to die for you, though. You’d live, yes, but then I wouldn’t be there to appreciate you. Someone else might… " Carmen goes tense, and Julia ducks her head. "Jules.”

Gaze carefully on her glass, Jules says “Yes?”

“Jules, would you let someone else replace me at your side?“

Carmen's voice is sharper and harder than the diamonds she steals so often.

“No," Julia says, well-rehearsed. "Of course not. How could anyone compare to you? No one knows me better than you. No one ever will.”

“Alright,” Carmen says, not believing her but not disbelieving her either. (Because a part of Julia means it. Maybe. In a twisted sort of way. No one will ever pay her such close attention--as unnerving and frightening as it is-- and no one will ever know her as well.) "Good. If someone else had you... I'd have to kill them."

She says it casually, easily, like it's a fact. It is but Julia knows the look in Carmen's eye, the watching look. Like she's waiting for Julia to react negatively. Like she's searching for resistance.

Julia doesn't give a reaction, and instead asks, “What about me then? If I died?”

Another immediate response:

“I'd burn the world down to avenge you. Everything.”

Julia snorts. "Everything but VILE."

Carmen hesitates, then says, almost more to herself, "Even then..."

Julia ignored “But what of natural causes then?“

“I don’t believe in coincidence," Carmen says dismissively, relaxing quickly. She must consider this as pleasurable, as a game of hypotheticals. As if Julia was finally leaning into Carmen's brand of affection. "There’s always someone responsible. An authority to blame.”

“What about cancer then?“ Julia asks cassually.

Carmen chuckles, amused. “You don’t have cancer, Jules. I checked last night. You're such a worrier.”

The fondness was nearly authentic and that... That is far more terrifying than anything else Carmen has ever pulled.

“I’m asking hypothetically.”

“Well, then I’d kill the doctor for failing you.”

“Even if there’s nothing that can be done?”

“Yes.”

She swallows. “What if it’s my own fault then? What if my incompetence brought upon my own death?”

Carmen’s gaze hardened, looking more suspicious. “You mean suicide?"

"No," Julia says quickly, careful not to upset Carmen. "No. Not that. But, say I slipped and fell down the stairs. Something anti-climatic. Something completely my fault."

"If that's all it takes then you are not my equal," Carmen says evenly. "Then you're not the Jules I want.”

Relief sweeps through Julia like a tidal wave. She beams at Carmen.

Carmen's eyebrows shoot up. "Did I answer right?"

"I have one more scenario for you." Julia raises the glass to her mouth and drinks, faking confidence. The cup clatters on the bedside table as she sets it down, betraying her nerves. "After this, I'll be sure of this."

Carmen rolls her shoulders back, like this is all a game. Even her gaze is competitive, a mean gleam shining.

“Carmen.”

“Yes?”

“You’re so patient with me,” Julia exhales.

Carmen softens. “That’s because you are my one and only.”

“Then you must save me, right?”

Julia grins again. This time her teeth are a bit bloodied. Carmen freezes, gaze like darts.

“What do you mean? Are you endangered?”

For the first time, Carmen looks hesitant to touch her.

“Six hours ago," Julia narrarrated. "I swallowed a pill… a very potent poison once activated. I… I just activated it. The antidote can only be found in the ACME headquarters, in their lab." Betrayal flashes in Carmen's eyes and Julia hurries to finish her sentence, before the toxins render her useless. "I have two hours, if I’m lucky, before there is irreversible damage to my vital organs.”

Carmen was apoplectic. "Julia."

“Prove it to me, Carmen. Prove to me that you love me.”

Now Carmen grabs at her, taking the collar of Julia's sleep shirt and shaking her. Now, Julia's body was limp and she flopped in Carmen's grip.

"You doubt me still? You are the cruel one. I'll prove it to you. I'll save you this once, and then, then you will spend a lifetime making it up to me. Understand?"

"G't it."

Notes:

the *, the blog is gonna be how Julia gets in contact with Player and how they devise a plan (he like starts a 'rival' blog that they 'banter' through)

the **, Carmen ends up being endlessly patient. bc her feelings are too obssessove, she doesn't really need Julia to love her back as she just needs Julia around. Also, the don't even kiss or hold hands. Its really just a lot of one-sided hugs, holdings, and face cradlings (except for when julia is trying to manipulate carmen, whcih carmen lets happen bc she liked the touch)

[needfantasticstories]

No need to post if you don’t want to, but wanted to say I really like this point. I’ve spent hours combing books and lore to try to get things right because you never know who will point out it’s wrong. For something that’s a hobby, that’s often too much work for casual fans/writers.

And personally, I like having my own takes on the character vs sticking to canon or the comic

I'll go ahead and preach to the choir, lol.

Your art has made me THINK. Has made me incorporate new ideas. It's been an absolute joy to watch you develop your Wing Bois AU and the thought behind the process and the JOY you're getting out of it is CONTAGIOUS and I feel like that's part of the fun, part of the point.

So yeah, I'll try and make sure I'm more considerate with tags, and once again MAD respect to all content makers and sharers. Let's PLAY!

More nonessential jabbering below the cut:

LU became more fun when I started to create my own fics rather than get mad about running out of ones to read. I learned fast that I have unusual tastes (specific flavors of angst) and that I wasn't alone, and that reading and collaborating with other authors is hella fun and teaches me a ton.

We all know how hard it is to "get into" this fandom. But that's supposed to be FUN, not a test. It's a million Easter Eggs we get to hunt. And we are SO SPOILED with a glut of content! It's AMAZING! (and with challenges like whump/fluff, or course there will be shorthand for characters and dumbing things down/glossing over and ignoring some dynamics and facts because we've only got a month and we need to write 28-31 fics! I only got halfway through)

I love squishy Hyrule as much as a good feral-enough-to-bite-a-man's-fingers-off Hyrule. Mine will eventually shove pottery shards into an enemies eyes when he's run out of other weapons, and then he'll cry in Legend's arms because I like it when he's both! And you can justify so much! Like what if he becomes squishy because he's gotten comfortable with having so many others who can help him chill for a change, and he discovers when he's relaxed for more than a few hours, for the first time, he is deep down kind of squishy and affectionate! Or that he hates it! It's fun to explore them. Each character version is a new dungeon to examine. Familiar isn't bad, nor is new. I love traumatized, I love not traumatized.

I'm guilty of having preferences, but heck, I've learned to embrace some of the angles I didn't like at first because I learned new details, or an author introduced a justification I could buy into and I loved it. I never would have shipped Rav and Legend, but I'm glad for all those who did so now I can enjoy MORE ships, depending on my mood or the direction of the story. And sometimes we make these boys a bit weaker than they are in their games because they're so stinking powerful, and we need them to question themselves.