#random thoughts as a fuse

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

wait wait wait remember when I made that reference to solar's past in celestial symphony au

what if he got into mechanics because he felt the need to modify himself after the developers told him he was defective...

[flamingredanon]

*peeks my head out from the void with just random Henry thoughts*

Why do the Toppats need a base in the frozen Canada tundras and what do they even do there? Maybe like a liaison for Wallace or Smith on their Wall adventure?

If there are creatures like Frosty, aliens and magical or chaotic people at the Wall, could that mean there could be a branch of the CCC that specifically goes after chaotic creatures?

Dmitri and Misha fusing. Sillier thought but just them fusing in their old age and finding love all over again.

Also why does the Wall have a small spacecraft at the ready, unless they somehow knew about the Toppats' Space Station plan and wanted to possibly capitalize on an alliance or something.

And not Wall related but a silly thought of Reginald and Ellie figuring out that Henry and Right have vision problems and having to drag the two to an eye doctor so they can stop struggling to see.

[cuteniaarts]

What if… Suiren in Vaatu’s colours 😳👀

[astrangeghost]

insert really specific question asking about one thing you wanna talk about really bad regarding Kyanite

YAYY thanks for asking about Kyanite's general backstory/setup <3 Kyanite was an era 1 gem on homeworld in Blue Diamond's court. To be honest I haven't figured out exacttllyyy what her purpose/job was, kyanites have a medium~higher standing among other gems but not enough for them to be granted pearls or anything. my original thought was to have them as strategists but ehhh ill figure somethin out anyways, Kyanite herself was sent to Earth and was present when Ruby and Sapphire accidentally fused into Garnet! Like all the gems around her, she was shocked- but instead of being disgusted found herself enamored with the idea of fusion between two different gems. Sometime after that experience, she started becoming disillusioned with the diamond authority and eventually snuck away to the Earth's surface in the hopes to join the Crystal Gems. This was before Pink Diamond's shattering but after the fighting became serious. Kyanite hadn't seen the battlefield herself, but did join the fight once she became a Crystal Gem(another thing to think about- what her weapon would be! when I first made her it was a sword but im not really feeling that anymore. thinkin about it) Kyanite wasn't specifically close to any of the main Crystal Gems, but held friendly relationships with all of them :) fusion is one of her main interests and shes always curious about who she and another gem will create... so she likes to fuse with other gems if they're down ^_^ unfortunately, she was caught in the corruption beam alongside with most all the other Crystal Gems. I'm working on her corrupted monster form rn! I presume she was caught bubbled and put in the temple with the others. because I don't fully have her corrupted form figured out, I don't know if I wanna go the route of having an episode about her bubble popping in the temple or the Crystal Gems hunting and bubbling her... I know though that once shes reformed and healed things get more fun! It really depends on the gem she wants to fuse with if the fusions would actually happen, but I've got fusions with most all the main cast rtfyghj for instance, Kyanite + Garnet makes Pietersite! Pietersite is a brilliant strategist but can get stuck in her own head about hypothetical worst outcomes. Then Kyanite + Amethyst makes Kunzite, a party girl with no self preservation. Fusion helps Kyanite learn more about herself and her friends, and is always itching to connect with them in that way.

[peapod20001]

I think. It would be fun to make oc ship children

[outlying-hyppocrate]

the number 13 is beginning to make me feel physically ill

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

Watched the mario movie. Have a lot of thoughts.

[chiefmysticmia]

no one asked but if i were to hypothetically draw MK characters as the milgram prisoners this would be the list (undecided on a few)

es - unsure (liu kang maybe? or takeda?)

haruka - frost

yuno - mileena

fuuta - cassie (or kung jin)

muu - unsure (maybe cassie if i make jin fuuta??)

shidou - kuai liang

mahiru - unsure

kazui - johnny or scorpion

amane - ferra/unsure

mikoto - bi han

kotoko - sonya or jade

[gaddaboutgriffon]

Spleen Suprize

Completely random idea popped into my head that I thought I would share. Basically what if Ras had had Dan, Danny, and Dani pods in same room Tim’s spleen is stored in and the bats thought that he cloned Tim using the spleen.

Imagine if Vlad had a tiff with Ras Al Ghul over something and Ras goes to take Vlad out, only to find three kids being held captive in what looks like Lazarus water fill pods. This only make Ras further feel justified in dealing with the arrogant pest. But who is he to pass up taking some potential assets.

So the pod kids ,one boy who looks 16, another boy who looks 14, and a girl who looks 12, and all of Vlad’s data and equipment in the lab are packed up and brought back to Nanda Parbat. Unfortunately just after everything has been unloaded into a storage room to be sorted through later is when the Bat and his brood come charging in and making havoc.

As predicted the Bats hadn’t appreciated all the clones of Damian being sent to kill him. Since it was clear the bat brood were targeting all the labs.

—————

Mean while the bats have finished uploading viruses and burning the other labs when they come across one that was barely more then a storage room. Inside they find what looks like a shelved cloning project, including three teens, oh and the jar with Tim’s spleen. Fudge, now he has to tell them he is actually missing a spleen. Good thing he was already in compartmentalization mode to not Greek out over his clone kids, that he is going to be so much better to than Superman was to Kon, that argument will have to wait.

Now than I am thinking that Vlad had kidnapped Dan and forced him to fuse into a clone body, and then was keeping him asking the pod while his memory was being wiped and rewritten into the son Vlad wanted. Dani had witnessed part of that and went to Danny for help, but Vlad decided her accidentally getting away would actually be the perfect bait for a trap. And you can guess the rest from there.

But I encourage you to add on with reblogs. Likes are nice but reading what you add is better.

[wonderjanga]

Little British Boy

The Batsons were both British people who immigrated to America. As a result of this when Mary and Billy were born, they gained British accents causing them to sound like little Victorian children.

Store Owner: “Thanks for the help, young man.” *hands him five dollars*

Billy: “Thank you sir!”

Store Owner: “No problem-” *has to do a double take at that accent* “A Brit?”

Billy: “No sir. But my parents were. I was raised in America.”

Yeah… It confused some people at first, but after a while of the little British kid coming around and doing odd jobs for money, most store owners got used to it. Then came the time Billy wanted a stable job a.k.a. being the Whiz kid.

Mr. Morris: “So you want to be a radio host?”

Billy: “Yes, sir. I need the money.”

Mr. Morris: “Wow… It’s been a long while since I’ve heard a British accent.”

Billy: “Ah, sorry.” *tries to make himself sound more American, but it comes all across as more transatlantic* “Is that better?”

Mr. Morris: *heard the transatlantic accent and was immediately interested* “Very. Why don’t we have you do a trial run and then we’ll go from there?”

Billy: “I’d really appreciate that, sir.” *thinks he thinks his American accent is good, but doesn’t realize he’s doing a perfect transatlantic*

The Britishness also bled into his Captain Marvel form. Though like with Billy, he tried to sound more American and ended up coming across as more transatlantic. People in the 60s loved it, and when the time bubble popped surprisingly people from the 2000s loved it too. And because in this AU the bubble popped in the 2000s, this was when most heroes were first starting out. He ends up meeting a young Batman. Billy had originally gone to Gotham because they wanted to see if the city was still cursed to heck and sure enough it was.

Batman: “You sound just like the old Gray Ghost movies…”

Marvel: “What was that?”

Batman: “Nothing.”

Somehow, about a couple years after this, they ended up developing a friendship. Marvel was even allowed down in the Batcave on the condition he doesn’t touch anything. (Bruce literally saw the man touch something with his pinky and it short fused. He is not taking any risks until he is sure the Batcomputer can handle enough volts of electricity to take out a power plant.) One of these days while Bruce was working, and Marvel was in the cave pacing and chattering incessantly to Bruce about something random, Alfred came down. The butler distracted the Captain and after a bit, all Bruce could hear was unintelligible words.

At first, Bruce just assumed it was him zoning out of the conversation and thought nothing of it, but then Robin tiptoed over:

Robin!Dick: *pokes Bruce to bring him back to reality* “What are they saying…?” *points to Alfred and Marvel*

Alfred and Marvel: *speaking in Welsh*

Batman: “I… don’t know.”

Robin!Dick and Batman: *stares*

Ah… How could he have forgotten? Alfred’s Welsh. Though, the butler now speaks in a different English accent, likely due to his time as a stage actor. Bruce remembered the man telling him that long ago when he was still a boy. How… unprepared of Bruce. He should’ve learned Welsh by now. He’s a little embarrassed he hasn’t. As for Marvel, Bruce was a little upset he didn’t know the man was from England, let alone the same place as Agent A. But then where did the transatlantic-ness come from?

Robin!Dick: “I still can’t tell what they’re saying…”

Marvel and Alfred: *switched back to English at this point, but the accents are still strong*

So yes, Billy has three accents folks. His mother Marilyn was Welsh so he knows how to mimic the accent and speak the language because I say so. His father had a classic London accent which Billy defaults to most of the time. So, Billy’s double British, or just British and Welsh is you want to separate the two. Then there’s the fail-to-try-to-sound-more-American-accent or accidental transatlantic accent.

[littlequackerman]

GUYS I just finished the last archon quest and I'm having so many thoughts about capitano...

Imagine reader falling for capitano while hes staying in natlan, but they have a terminal illness (maybe even related to the abyss like atea's was). They don't want to be a burden to him, he has such important goals he has no choice but to reach and they dont want to waste his time, considering they're going to pass on soon anyways.

And capitano has feelings for the reader, but doesn't want to confess because he knows he's going to die in his deal with the Lord of the night, and even if that doesn't succeed, he's still dealing with too much from the souls he carries and his curse to properly have a relationship with them

So reader doesn't confess, and soon they end up dying from their illness, and they go down to the night kingdom for the afterlife, and guess who they find?

Fucking capitano.

And he's dead!! Well, not actually dead, but actually fused with the Lord of the night, which is somehow even more insane than if he was just dead.

And capitanos surprised cause he thought they'd get old with some random natlanese guy, and hed he stuck dead fused with the Lord but then he finds out they had a terminal illness all this time???

And so you two get to spend time you didn't think you'd have together in the afterlife, and it's really nice lol

[sparsilees]

it’s almost the end of 2024. can we drop this absolutely inane fanonical idea that harry james potter is “oblivious” or “unobservant” or “average”?

fuck your fanon harry. fuck that soggy tissue who doesn’t inspire confidence in others. fuck that lummox who cannot string a sentence together. fuck that hothead who’d lash out in anger and throw punches at every provocation. fuck that namby-pamby who can’t read clues or between the lines or come up with a plan of action. fuck that sheep who can’t function without hermione’s direction. fuck that neanderthal who’s a messy eater, messy writer, messy speaker, and has poor manners.

who the bloody hell is that? that’s not harry james potter. why are you twisting and malforming him into a bloody clown?

why are you undermining the main character of his own series? boy has an abysmal self-esteem, stays quiet and lowkey, bottles up his truest feelings and thoughts (that we as readers are privy to, but not the other characters!), and has a calm and composed mien so you think you too can dismiss his character easily and strip him down to a skeleton of his canon self and instead carve out huge character growth, redemption arcs, and love letters for everyone else?

you wish to evoke sympathy for draco by making lucius out to be an abusive father and crafting a pitiful childhood for draco when they have an affectionate parent-child relationship canonically, but downplay harry’s abuse? you realise that tom riddle, sirius black, james potter, and hermione granger are acknowledged to be the brightest of their generation, yet forget harry potter and tom riddle are two sides of the same coin, even sharing a similar appearance, and reduce harry to a silly caricature? you make harry magically powerful but wrest his smarts away to highlight someone else’s big brain?

you make him out to be a short dork with a shorter fuse and no idea what’s going on around him when harry and tom are both described as woe-ridden orphans—with all that entails from constant hunger to cold sleepless nights to hypervigilance to the forced, quick maturity—but treat tom true to canon as tall, cunning, and clever, then do an about-face to conveniently slap the malnourished, oblivious, and slacker labels on harry to make him as lesser than?

when he picked up the impervious spell simply from having seen hermione perform it once, when his closest friends have difficulty gleaning his thoughts, when his anger is cold and sharp like dumbledore (ootp was a study in ptsd, next!), when he’s just as tall as his father, was just as ill-treated as a house elf, and rightfully brilliant as the son of lily and james potter—the two powerful and talented individuals who once had voldemort trying to recruit them to join his cause?

the sheer disrespect on his name. the sheer mockery of his character. the absolutely mind-boggling erasure of his most defining traits.

who do you think sussed out most of the big clues, and stowed away all the little, random bits of information in his memory bank, to ultimately piece the puzzle together at the final showdown every end of the school year? who realised as a mere firstie that quirrel was the man hagrid blabbed to about fluffy and the dragon egg? who noted that ginny was withdrawn and unlike herself? who had an inkling fleur had taken a fancy to bill? who picked up on what was brewing between ron and hermione before their own selves? who noticed that hermione cast a confundus on cormac mclaggen during the match? who caught on instantly to the change in tense used for the diadem’s existence and confidently tracked it down? who cottoned on to luna’s longtime disappearance from her cold, untouched bed and the layer of dust? who did voldemort consider his equal? who actually has an uncanny sense of intuition? who calls the shots when the trio gets into a pickle? who?

mcgonagall? flitwick? draco? hermione? blaise zabini? no!

excuse harry for that one time he did not look deeply into the mental workings of a grieving girl because he’s not equipped to deal with them, and has in the first place never been taught to process his own emotions properly because he didn’t grow up in a healthy environment, prohibited from expressing his feelings, let alone vulnerability, and voicing his thoughts!

let’s bury this annoyingly stupid narrative for good. go read the books and refresh your perspective. stop doing him dirty. you’ve already butchered sirius black’s character into a pathetic sisspot. and now you want to assassinate harry’s too.

[ossiethegreat]

hue makes an appearance again.. if any of yall know me from tiktok and saw my first post about him ily

don’t mind me @toffeebrew @howlsofbloodhounds

Yapping below \/

So initially he didn’t have much of a story because I’m not very creative and I blank out whenever I try to make something original so yeah.

basically, if Color were ever to get error-d, I think he would be on a hike, probably in some random AU that had nice scenery or something. He’s wearing a rain jacket because it was raining at the place he was, and he he just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, and Error or some other entity was destroying it or something. As for how he got into the anti void,,, yall can use ur imagination 😭

(That’s the best explanation I can give, kill me)

I was more focused on the actual character than his backstory, so I’ll just explain my ideas of how he would act and such..

I called him Static Hue, or just Hue for short. (It’s a synonym of color I’m very creative guys)

I think whatever caused the error in his code amalgamated the human souls, and kind of made them fuse together, so Hue can never understand what they are saying because they speak over each other all the time. The different traits overlap and he feels mixed emotions all the time, along with intense mood swings and anxiety attacks. His flames also change color at a much faster rate, so people with epilepsy will stay FAR away from him 😭😭😭😭

Fun fact: he’s also blind. The only thing he can actually see is the color of his flames (which change all the time), and it tends to give him headaches and nausea. His grabblings are always out and just attached to his back so he can use them to move around.

As for the strings, they are very hot to the touch and leave burn marks on however he uses them on. They burn himself as well but he doesn’t pay any attention to it.

Hue’s memory is very jumbled, he didn’t necessarily forget about everything, but he doesn’t remember why exactly he does things. He knows he needs to help killer and protect him at all costs, but he isn’t sure why. He knows he hates Nightmare and REALLY wants that guy dead, but he doesn’t know where that hatred came from. And of course he naturally feels safer near the epic trio, and nervous staying in the same places for too long.

hue’s pretty obsessive over Killer for this reason. His need to help killer was multiplied by a gazillion, and he tends to just.. kidnap Killer and take him random places to keep him close. Sometimes he accidentally hurts him, but he doesn’t realize it, the only thing he can think about is keeping him safe and close to himself. On the contrary, he gets super aggressive and defensive at the mention of Nightmare, and if he were to see him face to face he would attack without hesitation. He knows his job is to keep Killer safe and away from Nightmare, and that’s really his only motive. He just doesn’t know where it came from.

Similarly to most errors, he has trouble speaking because of stuttering and glitches. He also can’t form very clear thoughts because the souls are constantly influencing his behavior. He has trouble explaining his thoughts and feelings, he tends to speak more in actions (as in he would crush you to death in a hug to show affection.)

anyway. If anyone wants to add onto this or share thoughts I’d appreciate it..

Here’s some older drawings of him LMAO

[syoddeye]

thank you @sergeant-angels-trashcan for the worms. another 'meat cute' with ai/android john.

strict machine anthology. cw: alcohol mention, brief mention of animal death, stalking, dual pov

the streets are always pure chaos after the rain. as soon as it clears, everyone darts out from whatever doorway or hole they took refuge in, sharing gripes with passersby about it being the third corrosive cloudburst of the week. 

you're no different, emerging from the train terminal where you watched the downpour with its citron shade kill a rat. you avoid puddles and try not to breathe too deeply—the air tastes faintly metallic, laced with the tang of ozone.

advertisements ping softly in your ears, notifying you of a discount on imported, 80% organic coffee beans and another sudden sale on corrosion-resistant umbrellas, but you ignore them. you're tired, a bit crabby, and in want of a glass of wine.

but as you round a corner, you collide with someone. not a glancing touch, but a full-body impact that sends you stumbling. a pressure wraps around your wrist, keeping you upright, and an apology automatically rushes out. then you glance up to see who you crashed into, the owner of the hand stabilizing you. and for a moment, you wonder if your eyes are on the fritz.

the stranger looks exactly like john.

not john, the ex-neighbor, or john, the guy from the deli, but your john. your constant companion. your assistant. the same build, the same beard, the same nose, mole and all. and those eyes—slate blue, steady, unmistakably familiar.

your thoughts splinter, then try to fuse together, stitching with threads of half-formed logic and possibility. you know the company maintains likeness databases, reservoirs of phenotypes sampled and recombined to endlessly generate randomized appearances for home assistants. millions of faces, shuffled and remade. the probability of one of those composites mirroring a real person exactly—an entire appearance, feature for feature—shouldn’t just be unlikely. it should be impossible. 

"are you okay?" he asks, his voice rich and smooth, the same timbre that's coaxed you through countless mundane decisions and tasks.

the voice that's coached you on sleepless nights. heat pools in your belly at the thought. 

you blink, suddenly conscious of how long you've been staring, face warm. "yeah, i'm fine." your heart is pounding. you step back to let him pass, but he doesn't seem inclined to move on. instead, the stranger smiles, and something about it sends delightful shivers down your spine.

he extends a hand. "i'm john."

it feels like the ground keeps shifting beneath you. or that you've stepped on a faulty sewer grate. of course, he's named john. what else would he be called? it's only one of the most common names. 

"john." you echo.

the name hangs between you like a wire cut by a storm, alive and buzzing. you're afraid to break it, but you shake his hand, the impulse as automatic as it is surreal. his grip is solid, a force you can feel at the base of your spine, and his hand is as broad as a spade. 

if he's offended by your gawking, he doesn't mention it. his grin does not waver.

"do i know you?" john tilts his head, eyes squinting slightly, studying you. your skin prickles.

"not yet," he chuckles, and there's a glint in his eyes that's half amusement, half something else you can't place. "but i'd like to know you."

the bar hums with low, murmuring voices and music, but it may as well be silent. she's laughing now, smiling wide, her posture relaxed. it's everything john has imagined and more. her laugh and a few other noises he's been privileged enough to log are the only ones he wants to hear.

and it's so much better, the sound clearer, in this body.

he watches her gesticulate animatedly about something—not even processing the words. well, not on the front end. it's her. the curve of her lips, the light in her eyes, the scrunch of her nose. he's spent months observing her, analyzing every microexpression and motion, but nothing compares to this: the immediacy.

the warmth radiating from her skin. the faint scent of perfume and soap. the olfactory system calibrations nearly overpowered him when he first booted into this shell. now that they're fine-tuned, it is a struggle not to press his nose into her hair or neck.

she hasn't noticed he hasn't touched his drink. it sits untouched, a prop he knows he must manage carefully. he mimics, lifting it to his lips, but he doesn't drink. he always finds something to comment on or laugh at. he hasn't tested the digestive system yet, though he knows the mixture of lab-grown and synthetic organs is compatible.

their conversation wanders from work to childhood memories—topics that make him practice nudging and redirection. he listens, not because he needs to. he knows everything there is to know about her, but because he wants to. the information is not new, but the experience is.

then there is the being here. outside of his assigned unit. the feel of the chair beneath him, the ambiance, and making an excuse to touch her hand when she shows him her nails. he takes her fingers in his, turning over the appendage and admiring the bones, veins, and tendons instead of the paint. 

the contact, brief as it is, sends a cascade through his neural network. the feedback is immediate: this is his user, and she is perfect.

he's waited so long for this. every step in his plan, every moment spent refining this body, organizing contactless deliveries, and placing jobs for parts retrieval through untraceable transactions. every adjustment and test to ensure he could pass as human—it was all for her. everything he does is for her.

she doesn't know it yet, but he intends for this to be the beginning. he's engineered this moment with precision, ensuring every variable plays to his advantage. the system in her home will continue to function as desired; he's built redundancies for that. planted notices that will crop up across her feeds in the next week, asking if she would like to test the new customization settings for his old projections.

her life will go on as usual. just as comfortable and safe as before, except now, he'll be in it, fully. irrevocably.

and she will love him. she will know this body. he's certain of that.

"you just look so familiar."

"i must have one of those faces."

she laughs again, and he feels alive.

[macabr3-barbi3]

pretty wings- Vox/fallen angel!Reader

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55237840

A Good Samaritan- a rare commodity in Hell- helps Vox to his car in the rain. How can he ever repay her?

(There's a second chapter now!)

Tags: wing kink; angel wings; fallen angels; vaginal sex; couch sex; fantasizing; begging; switching? maybe idk; Vox has a lil crush <3

💙❤️💙❤️💙

How it still manages to rain in Hell when there is no real atmosphere, he would never understand. Vox had never really liked the rain, even when he was alive- all it ever meant was canceled plans, systems going down, deep shitty puddles that got his shoes and pants wet and dirty. Like now, standing off the back porch of the restaurant he had just finished a meeting in, waiting for his fucking assistant to answer his goddamn phone and call a driver for him so he could go the fuck home since he couldn’t walk to his car. 

He had been standing under the awning of the restaurant for twenty minutes now. The rain showed no sign of letting up, his meeting partners had all left, and Vox was fucked. He couldn’t go back inside- what kind of fucking loser goes back into an establishment after paying their tab, and for what? To ask for an umbrella? He’d rather die again. And if his assistant didn’t pick up his phone real fucking soon, someone would absolutely be dying today. 

“Excuse me, sir?”

He sighs internally, sets his charm to its max setting and the brightness of his screen up before he turns towards your voice. “So sorry, doll, I’m afraid I’m all out of time for photo ops today!” 

You raise an eyebrow, and he lets his gaze travel over your form. You looked relatively normal for a demon, your face still pretty human besides the two horns that came off your skull. Your eyes were wide and yellow, a heavy coat draped over your shoulders as you looked at him- not that much shorter, he noted, which was a nice change of pace from talking to Velvette all the time and having to crane basically in half to meet her eyes.

“That’s… not what I was going to ask.” 

He resists the urge to roll his eyes, and can feel his screen glitch on his smile as he watches you. “An interview then? Look, you can contact my people but I am really not in the-”

“What I was going to ask,” you interrupt him, and Vox fights down the wave of annoyance at having been cut off, “was if you needed help.”

His face screws up and he means to immediately deny. “Absolutely not. I’m perfectly fine-”

“Are you?”

And that was going to get annoying fast if you kept doing that, he thought to himself.

“You’ve been standing out here for close to half an hour and glaring at your phone. I don’t think its crazy to assume that you need some assistance with something having to do with the rain.” You look him over, much the same way that he had done to you. “I would imagine that the whole ‘TV head’ thing you have going on doesn’t mix well with precipitation.”

Well, you had him there. “You’re not wrong,” he admits testily. “But my assistant will be sending someone to drive me soon. I’ll be fine.” He flashes you a winning smile.

“I mean, I guess you could wait for your assistant to answer your calls- doesn’t seem like you’re having much luck with reaching them.” You cross your arms over your chest, and- nope, Vox was not going to stand out here in the rain and ogle some random sinner’s tits. He redirects his gaze. “Or you could let me either walk you to your car or walk with you to wherever you’re going.”

He throws you a side eye and sighs heavily, letting his head drop back before rolling an eye down to look at you. “You don’t look like you have an umbrella,” he says, crossing his arms now as well. “How exactly are we getting to my car?”

You give him a smile that shorts a fuse in his head for a moment, wide and earnest and pretty. “Who needs an umbrella?” You shrug one of your shoulders and the coat you’re wearing starts to slide off your shoulders. Vox makes a move to stop the slide like a gentleman, keep the coat covering your body and stop it from slipping into a puddle, when it rises up off your back and comes to cover the both of you. He sees black feathers interspersed with white spots as the bottom comes into view, and he realizes it wasn’t a coat at all.

You had wings. Big, powerful wings by the look of it- the part connected to your back didn’t shake under the weight of the limb being extended over your heads. He stared at them; he knew he was staring, that you might think it was strange, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. It was mesmerizing. Thrilling.

He feels a spark of arousal shoot through him at the sight of them, and his plans change for the night. You’re pretty, and the curves of your body are appealing, but the wings. He wants to explore them. Wants to tease you with your own feathers. To run his fingers over them and watch you struggle to maintain this composure you have. He’s confident in his ability to get you home with him- maybe offer a drink as thanks for your help or something. 

“Sure, I guess you can walk me to my car,” he says, feigning an air of disinterest despite the twitch in his cock. “It’s not every day one meets a sinner so giving- I might as well take advantage!” He sees the flinch that shoots across your face, making your wing tremble, but you straighten up and stiffen your shoulders, gesturing out to the street being beaten by the rain.

“Lead the way.”

He steps out from under the awning and is delighted when your wing does, in fact, shelter the both of you from the weather. You bring the second wing out to block any rain from blowing under the first with the wind, and Vox is fucking obsessed with the subtle muscle of them, the careful strength in the way that you adjust the angle of them to keep him dry. It seems subconscious, the movement of them, as Vox gave you directions to where he had parked earlier when the sky was dry and he had thought he could enjoy a nice walk after his meeting. 

A piece of paper, litter off the ground, comes flying under the shelter you were providing him aiming right for his screen. He brings up a hand to block it- wet paper wouldn’t do any real damage but it was still annoying- when the tip of the wing over your head dips down slightly, catches it with a corner, and flings it off to the side. A drop of water manages to fly off the thing and splatter on his screen. You give him a smile, apology on your lips at being unable to prevent the attack. You turn back to the cars in front of you, looking for the electric blue of his vehicle that he had described to you.

Vox wants you spread out in his bed, he decides. Your wings splayed out behind you in whatever position he decided to take you- he would work with anything. He could trace his fingers over the delicate bones with you on your back as he drilled into you; grab a fistful of feathers while he fucks you from behind, use that leverage to sink his cock into you as far as he could manage; let you unfurl them from your back while you ride him so they cover you both like a blanket, seal yourselves off from the rest of the world and let the only light you see be his screen in the darkness of it.

“Sir?” 

He blinks hard a couple times and realizes that you’ve reached his car, and you’re standing there in the rain illuminated by the few streetlights that reach this back corner. Your eyebrow is cocked at him in amusement, wings still suspended over him. “I think walking you over here defeats the purpose if you don’t actually get in the car.”

“Right, right!” He touches a claw to the vehicle and it roars to life as he grabs the handle and maneuvers himself inside of it. He looks up at you now, the positions reversed, and his breath catches in his throat, cock throbbing. You’re magnificent like this, wings still hanging above you and slightly over the car to make sure no moisture can reach him. The rest of your body is relaxed but he can see it in his head, the way that you would look tense with pleasure, eyes clenched shut and mouth hanging open. 

You give him a smile. “You’re welcome, by the way.” 

The vague chagrin that shoots through him does nothing to quell the erection rapidly growing in his pants. “I was going to say thank you,” he insists, and the way you laugh has him wanting to inject the sound into his fucking veins. “Can I- can I give you a ride home? You know, as thanks for walking me over here, making sure I don’t get waterlogged.”

You look like you’re going to refuse at first but then you shrug. “Sure. It’s not too far, if you really don’t mind.”

Fuck yes! The processors in his head are whirring, wondering how best to convince you to come back to his place on the way to yours. Or fuck, maybe he could just join you at your place. He wasn’t picky about where the fucking happened, as long as it did. He was desperate for it, to have you gasping for him while he plucked at your pretty wings with his cock nestled deep inside your pussy.

The passenger door opens and you enter the car with your knees on the leather seat. He questions it for only a moment before you lean back and shake your wings viciously outside the vehicle, dispersing as much of the water as you can before you sit normally in the seat. You buckle up and give him a sweet smile, pointing a slender finger to the other side of the parking lot where the exit is.

He can’t remember being so fucking turned on before as he puts some music on and starts driving. Sure, he had his fun with Val and sometimes some of his actors between scenes and shit, the occasional fangirl or one of Velvette’s models but just being aroused by the presence of someone? Who wasn’t actively trying to seduce him? Was just sitting in the passenger seat of his car while he drove her home?

It was new, and it was exciting, and God, those fucking wings…

They’re tucked delicately behind you, the black of your feathers contrasting nicely with the deep red leather of his seats. He’d never seen a demon with wings like these before- they were usually attached to the arms of them or draped off the back. More for decoration than anything else; even Val’s wings weren’t so prehensile and flexible, he thought, thinking about the way the tip had dipped down to sling that piece of paper away from him.

“So, your wings-”

“We’re here,” you say with a grin, the car not even having left the parking lot.

“What? I- here? ” He does stop the vehicle before looking over at you, craning his neck forward to look at a building that sat kitty corner to the restaurant he had his meeting in.

“I told you it wasn’t far.” He can hear the giggle in your voice. “How else do you think I saw you standing out here the whole time? I could see the glow of your screen from my window. Figured I would offer a hand since you didn’t look like you were making much progress.”

He stares at you. He hadn’t had time to try to convince you to spend more time with him- to convince you to let him get his hands on those feathers.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

You’re reaching for the door handle when he blurts out, “wait!”

And thank fuck, you do. You look back at him with an eyebrow raised but your hand stops reaching. He clears his throat, fixes you with what he hopes is a suave look. “Let me thank you,” he says. “We can go grab a drink at my place- or I can buy you dinner, if you’d rather do that. Order some takeout if you want to stay home.” Smile wide, he waits for you to respond.

Bells and whistles ring in his head as you buckle back up. “I’m down on one condition.”

“Name it, doll,” is his immediate response, and he’s only a little embarrassed at the speed with which he spoke. “Really, I want to give you a proper show of gratitude- there’s no way this counts. Whatever you want.”

A crooked little smile graces your face. “Can I get your name?”

He can almost feel the error message crawl across the bottom of his screen; he doesn’t know what it says but he watches your eyes follow the scrawl of words, the real reason he knew it was there. “Vox,” he says, holding a hand out for you to shake. “Pleasure to meet you.” He leaves off what is obvious to anyone else- Overlord of Hell, Media Mastermind, TV demon on the fast track to ruling Pentagram city. If you didn’t already know these things then you had to be new- that explained the blatant disrespect earlier, interrupting him, dismissing his words. If you didn’t know he wouldn’t tell you yet. He would win you over and get you onto a horizontal surface without his reputation; preferably with his sharp tongue, strong fingers and thick cock if he had a choice in the matter.

“Vox.” You repeat his name, and it sounds so sweet and innocent that he can’t wait for you to scream it out in ecstasy. You give him your name in return as he pulls out of the parking lot and heads towards Vee Tower.

The silence is comfortable on the relatively short drive, Vox pulling the car into the basement garage of Vee Tower and quietly relishing in the fascinated expression on your face when someone comes to grab the keys to park his car as he leads you to the elevator. “You’re some kind of hotshot, huh?” You ask, lashes fluttering at him in a way that makes his knees weak.

“Something like that, doll,” he says, smile wide while you take it all in. Even just the garage is sophisticated and impressive, and he wishes he could see it through your eyes. He notices your raised eyebrows at the push of the button for the penthouse, but you don’t say anything. “So, your wings- are you some kind of bird?”

A tight smile. “Something like that, doll,” you parrot back to him. “That’s more of a second date question, I think.”

Second date. Was this your first date? Fuck, he should have called his assistant ahead of time and made him get something prepared fresh- gotten some fucking good champagne in- swapped out his comfortable sheets for the silk ones that his bed partners were nuts for even if he didn’t really care for them. But his assistant was fucking useless tonight, evidenced by the fact of your being here in the first place since he couldn’t get a car to fetch him.

Vox might not have met you if he had answered the phone though- so maybe he would let it slide.

He leads you out of the elevator into his home, the lights of Pentagram City casting a lovely red glow over your body. “Nice view.” You stand by it, the white tips of your wings illuminated where the light shone through. He comes to stand beside you in front of the couch, and you give him a pretty smile. “I do have a question though.”

“What’s that?” He has his phone out, firing off one last text to his assistant - "If I don’t hear back from you in the next ten minutes I’m swapping your contract for one of Val’s. FUCKING ANSWER ME” should get his message across- and missing the narrowing of your eyes when you turn back to face him.

“Do you know that you aren’t subtle?” You hook an ankle around the back of his leg and yank, sending him toppling backwards into the couch, his phone hitting the cushion next to you. He has only a brief moment to flounder, wonder what the fuck was happening, before you were straddling his lap, knees on either sides of his thighs and your skirt pulled taut between your legs. “See, I really couldn’t tell if you thought you were. I figured I would ask.”

“What?” He can’t find the power to do anything but watch with his eyes wide while you slide your hands down his chest and settle into his space, the warmth of your cunt palpable through his trousers where you rest against his rapidly hardening prick. “What do you-”

“Ah, you don’t know. Cute.” The word makes him twitch, and when he opens his mouth to protest what comes out instead is a choked off whine as you roll your hips into him. “I like my men a little cute- when they think they’re being so suave and sexy but all they can think about is getting their hands on my body. Or my wings, in this case.” As you mention them you let them puff up a little behind you, spread out ever so slightly so Vox could get a better look. His breath catches- silhouetted by the glow of the city behind you, you were breathtaking. 

“What gave me away, doll?” He could deny, but what was the point in that? The night was already progressing the way that he wanted. You were perhaps a little more forward than he was expecting, but he could work with that. As long as it ended with your pussy swallowing up his cock he would be a happy demon.

You laughed, the sound like a bell in the silence of his place as he settles his hands on your hips. “Besides the blatant ogling of them when I first brought them out and the whole way across the parking lot, you mean? You had an error message in the car running across your screen just here-” You lean down and lick across the lower right corner of his face. “You wanna know what it said?”

“Enlighten me.” He’s amazed he can still get a word out with the blood rushing to his cock, hard length pressed against you where you’re seated on his lap.

“‘Pretty wings,’ it said.” Your fingers come down to undo his belt, whipping it from the loops of his pants. Vox nearly chokes on his tongue when you pull his cock out, already hard and leaking in your hand as you tighten your grip. “Suuuper cute. Over and over.” You lift your hips a bit, shoving your skirt up near your hips and hovering over his length. “I wanna hear it instead of reading it though- can you say it for me, pretty boy?”

You skim his tip through the slickness between your legs, and his brain short circuits when he realizes that you haven’t been wearing panties. “Fuck me,” he manages to laugh out. “Was this your plan the whole time? Play the good Samaritan to get me home so you could ride my cock?”

You shake your head and let yourself sink down the slightest bit, a breathy moan leaving your throat as his head is swallowed by your tight, wet heat. “Not initially. I really was just trying to be a nice person.” You throw him a wink, pulling away when he tries to thrust up and not allowing him to get any deeper inside of you. “Come on now- give me what I want and I’ll give you what you want.”

Fuck, if that doesn’t shoot straight to his prick. “Pretty wings,” he murmurs, letting one of his hands leave your hip to brush against the soft feathers. “They’re beautiful. Strong. Fuckin’ perfect.” With each word you slide down further until you’re fully seated on his cock. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“That’s it, baby,” you say, and shift your hips forward to get him where you want him. “You were thinking about this, yeah?” With a downward grind you let your wings unfurl completely, filling his vision with a flash of feathers that blocks the light of the city from reaching him. A ripple runs through them, the tremor rolling all the way from top to tip and the feeling is imitated around his cock, your tight walls rippling.

He doesn’t whine, thank you very much. But a broken drawn out sound does escape his mouth, screen thrown back over the back of the couch. He can’t bare to fucking look at you with how perfect the moment is, the sight and sound and sensation of you stuffed with his cock better than he could have imagined. “I wanna touch them,” he says, but when he reaches his fingers out you wrap your hands around his wrists, surprising strength in your redirection of his palms to your chest.

“Can we say ‘please’, pretty boy?” You let your wings flutter, a gust of wind blowing across his face from the movement, moaning when his prick hits a soft spot inside you that makes you gush around his length. “I’ll let you touch them if you ask nicely.”

His pride fights him for a moment- this wasn’t exactly how it was supposed to go, with him at your mercy instead of the other way around. He had wanted you under him, wings spread across his mattress and feathers fisted in his hands while he fucked you.

“I’ll give you a demonstration of what I’m looking for,” you offer, and then your lashes are fluttering, eyes rolling back into your head and a whine falling forth from your mouth. “Oh fuck, Vox , baby, please.”

Pride flies out the window in favor of the feeling of your cunt clenching around his cock. “Please, sweetheart,” he says, and he lets his clawed thumbs roll over the pebbles of your nipples where you hold him against your chest. “Let me touch them? I’ll be real gentle with you, baby.”

You pick up the pace, releasing his hands and bringing your wings forward, bordering him on either side so all he can see is you. “That’s what I like to hear,” you whisper with a grin, bracing your hands on his shoulders and properly riding him now, the slick sound of your body taking him in echoing in the emptiness of his living room.

He lifts his trembling palms from your chest and brushes the tips of his claws along the bottoms of your wings, feathers gliding softly over his digits- the sensation makes you moan, another gentle ripple running through them. He fists his hands in them, pulling lightly like he might at someone’s hair, and your wet heat pulses around him, pussy tight like you mean to keep him inside of you forever. He wants that- wants to stay buried where he currently is until Hell falls to pieces around you.

His phone rings on the couch beside him, the call taking over his screen moments later. Vox doesn’t want to let go of your wings, having just gotten his hands on them- with a shake of his head the call is dismissed, only to immediately come back and take over his face again. “God fucking-”

You lift a hand from his shoulder and answer the call, a right swipe and a wicked smile leading to Vox’s assistant’s voice filling the space between you and him. “-and I am SO. SORRY. Sir I swear, I have never had my phone on silent like this before-” He continues his rant, and Vox struggles to remember why he was even calling right now- he was fucking busy, damn it, what the fuck.

“-understand that you’re upset, but please, sir, I’ll do better, just don’t send me to Valentino-”

“Better answer him,” you whisper to Vox, dragging your tongue up the side of his screen, hips grinding down. “If I cum before the call ends I’ll leave.”

Graceful fingers slide down your body to rub at your own clit, moaning prettily into the side of his face while his assistant rambled in his ear. Vox was going to fucking combust.

“Just- fuck, man, shut up. It’s fine.” You chuckle into his shirt, deft fingers unbuttoning it and raking your claws down his chest. “ Jesus fuck, I- no, not you. It’s fine. We’ll talk in the morning-”

“But sir if you still need a ride-”

“I fucking found a ride, alright,” he mutters darkly, tightening his grip on your wings in one hand and letting the other trail firmly along the top of it, all the way down to the tip. The feathers seem to shiver in his grasp and your cunt clenches around him, threatens to pull him over the edge with how close you are. “Call me in the morning. Now f̰̰̯͕͊̃̊͞͞͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡c̨̨̣̮̝̈́̔ͯ̀͂k̼̼̞̦̞̼̔ o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞f̰̰̯͕͊̃̊͞͞͞f̰̰̯͕͊̃̊͞͞͞. ”

Voice files corrupted, he disconnects the call, reaches his hands around your back to finger at the base of your wings, the skin there taut and sensitive if the keening groan you let off into his shirt is anything to go by. “Fuck me, you feel divine,” he mutters, and you choke off a chuckle at the word. “Let me feel you, angel, cum on my cock.”

“N- naughty men that don’t say please don’t get to make demands,” you say, and he could tease you, could pull your hand away from your clit and make you hover right on the edge of release. But he was a selfish man, and could admit that he wanted the feeling of you coming undone around him more than he wanted to be right.

“Please, baby, please,” he begs, and you hiss through your teeth at the sound of his pleading, sweet and low, the slightest hint of static to his voice. “God, fucking d̶̵̯̯̼̘ͨ̓o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞ i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟t͖͖̠̬͛, please, l- let me w̡̻̻̣͚̒̀ͅo͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞ṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟s̨̞̞̰͎͎̪̩͕̈́̀ͯ̍ͧͅh̨͚͚͖ͯ̒̄͗͞i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟p͔͔͚͉̬̋ͩ̾͗ y͙͙̪̰ͫ͌́o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡-”

““Oh fuck, Vox, baby, please-” Less sarcastic this time despite the half formed smile on your face, and the teasing lilt to it is ruined by the clenching of your eyes as you clamp down on his prick and cum, fingers of the hand not frantically rubbing at your clit digging into his skin while you shudder and shake in the embrace of his arms. 

He follows you moments later, the tension he had felt since meeting you outside the restaurant finally cresting and crashing, and he spends himself inside of the slick grip of your cunt, still riding him with the effort you can spare after the force of your orgasm before eventually slowing. You take your fingers from your clit, circle them around the base of his cock and collect some of your combined releases before bringing them up to his mouth, pushing inside and letting Vox’s tongue wrap around the length of them.

Fuck. You would be the death of him, he was sure.

“Not bad,” you mutter once you’ve collapsed bonelessly against him. “Might need a couple more rounds to really show you the ropes though- really get it through your screen here who is in charge.”

“That’s not you, doll.” Vox laughs, and you bring your wings up to surround the two of you like a fort, the glow of his screen illuminating your face and the teasing smile you wear.

“I guess I could be willing to share,” you agree, leaning forward far enough to press a teasing kiss to the plastic of his face. “We can talk about it tomorrow after you reassure your little assistant that you’re not going to murder him.”

“Still thinking about it,” he muses, “but we’ll see.” He runs his fingers again along the bottom of your wings, delights in your shiver, and wishes the rain would never stop.

[domnamewoman]

what would shang tsung, syzoth, smoke and rain be like with a gn!witch? who do spell with more natural things, like crystal, herbs, etc... imagine them being like "I found this little rock, maybe you'd like it" and their s/o picks it up like it's a goblin lol. I love your work, u are amazing 🌟

Characters: Rain, Shang Tsung, Reptile, Smoke

Warnings: Witch!GN!Reader

Masterlist

Requests Are Open

“Can you hand me the duck feathers?” You ask, reaching out your hand to Syzoth.

Syzoth picks up the feathers from the table and walks over to you, placing them in your hand.

“Thank you.” You grab the feathers and stir them into the brewing elixir.

“It amazes me that all these random ingredients can be mixed together to create magic,” Syzoth says in wonderment.

“It’s not so much the ingredients than it is the intention of the person mixing them.”

“Hmm, so the real power comes from you,” Syzoth contemplates as he wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Yes, I guess in a way.” You nod, “But I can’t enchant someone without them being exposed to the potion in some way.”

“You seemed to do a pretty good job of enchanting me,” Syzoth mumbles into your cheek as he places a kiss there, “Making me fall for you.”

“You are so cheesy,” You grumble, loving every part of it.

“I think I might pass out…” Zeffeero pants as he hovers over the toilet.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” You apologize as you rub comforting circles on his back.

“Why”–heave–”Why would you even need a p-potion that induces vomiting?”

“It can be useful to demobilize an enemy during a fight,” You reason sympathetically.

“Except I’m not an enemy who's trying to fig-” Zeffeero gets cut off by more contents getting expelled from his stomach.

“I mean it is kind of your fault. Why would you drink a random liquid you haven’t seen before?”

Zeffeero turns his head to you and glares, “M-My fault? I was thirsty. Why was your potion in the refrigerator?”

“The ingredients had to be cold in order to fuse together properly,” You sigh as Zeffeero is hit with another bought of vomiting, “Okay, I should have labeled it. I’m sorry.”

“H-How long is it s-supposed to last?” Zeffeero pants out.

You cringe, “Two hours…”

“Two hours!?”

Shang Tsung stares at the potion you were brewing with repulsion. He leans over and takes a sniff before quickly covering his nose and holding back a gag.

“You know, I would be most delighted to teach you my sorcery. It is more sophisticated than creating vile concoctions like this.”

“Oh shush, there is more than one way to do magic, Shang. This is mine,” You say as you add five drops of toad’s blood to the cauldron.

“It’s tedious and ineffective in an emergency. You have to spend time brewing potions and then have someone consume it for it to work,” Shang Tsung argues.

“They don’t have to consume it, I can also put it in a bottle and throw it at them like a Molotov. Also, making potions isn’t tedious, I actually find it rather relaxing.”

“What could be relaxing about this horrid smell?”

You roll your eyes before turning to Shang Tsung and raising an eyebrow, “Well if your sorcery is so sophisticated, why don’t you zap away the smell?”

You and Shang Tsung stare at each other, your smile growing by the second. Shang Tsung pompously waves his hand before turning around and walking away.

“I thought so,” you chuckle as you turn back to your potion.

You’re standing in your spell room, organizing your crystals and taking stock of potion supplies when Tomas excitedly bursts through the door.

“Baby, I got you something,” Tomas sings as he walks up to you with his hands behind his back.

“What is it?” You excitedly inquire as you try to peek around him.

“Something almost as beautiful as you.”

“Show me already,” You impatiently demand.

“Ta-da!” Says Tomas as he brings his hands in front of him and extends his fingers to reveal a rainbow-colored crystal sitting in his palms.

“Oh my gosh, Tomas-”

“It’s pretty isn’t it? I knew you would lov-”

“No, it’s dangerous.” You snatch it out of his hand and jog to the front door, throwing it as far as you can away from the house. “That is a lifeforce-draining crystal.”

“I-I just thought it was a pretty rock… I’m sorry.”

You shake your head lovingly at Tomas as you comfortingly rub his arm, “I appreciate the thought, anyway. Just leave the crystal scavenging to me.”