#story: pièce de résistance

[dangerousdan-dan]

I invited a friend over and the moment he stepped into my room he said "wow, this is like a geek shrine" and I'm not sure if that was meant as a compliment or not

[foldingfittedsheets]

Here’s a story about the time I almost lost my virginity. This is of course a social construct and by a broader understanding had already been lost years earlier at a sleepover with my best friend. But I digress.

I was dating a boy in high school. I shall call him Drama Boy. DB was big into theater, he made home movies and did stage performances at his high school.

Now. I must make this notation here, because the ending to this story will be savage otherwise, but DB put entirely too much of his mental well-being on my shoulders. He was often depressed and it was my job to constantly be helping him to regulate that.

The night our story took place we had been dating for eight months. During those months had been a ludicrous amount of making out and groping, even one lusty fumble that almost ended in penetration I vetoed on the grounds of not having a condom. It’s worth noting the first time we made out I felt physically sick to my stomach but I assumed that was normal.

But our parents didn’t give us much opportunity to really do anything like we imagined real sex to be. Until he came over for a movie night and my parents left on a date.

Scandalous, some might say, of my parents to leave us unchaperoned. But my parents were very blasé about sexual topics. They knew I was well educated and careful. Their leaving was possibly a gift of privacy rather than carelessness.

So when DB arrived for our movie night, we both knew This Was The Night. The night we’d lose our virginity.

We were both nervous and excited. The weight of societal pressure blanketed both of us, convincing us that this was the most momentous night of sex either of us could ever have.

DB chose a wretched movie. We sat through the first part dutifully before we started making out sloppy style. As I’d said previously, we’d done plenty of making out and hand stuff. Which is why I noticed that DB did not seem to be as… rigid as he had on other occasions.

A kinder more mature lens has softened my perspective. He was so nervous. But at the time I was a bit offended that I wasn’t arousing enough to have him standing at full mast. Still, we forged ahead.

I sat patiently while he tried to unhook my bra, boredly watching the terrible movie in the background as he soldiered manfully toward defeating the two clasps containing the bounty of my bosom while insisting he didn’t need my help. It took about five minutes.

That out of the way we made out some more. Then DB pulled out his pièce de résistance. A condom. This was a big get for him. His family, unlike mine, were horribly conservative and of the opinion that marriage was worth waiting for. So his opportunity to secure this vital piece of equipment had been slim.

In fact, it had been so slim, that what he pulled out was an:

Unlubricated

Glow in the dark

Novelty condom

From a vending machine

At the bowling alley.

I wasn’t terribly enthused about any of those qualifiers, but I held my tongue.

Then came the worst part. DB couldn’t admit that the stress of performance had unmanned him. He continued to pretend his wobbly erection could facilitate the rigorous activity of putting on a condom. He attempted to force the dry clinging rubber down his dick as it softened like pudding under his fumbling hands.

I butted in and made with more kissing, certain that seeing me naked had been such a let down that he was going limp because of me. Surely the sight of my boobies should have been enough! Because they weren’t, I was convinced he wasn’t really into this deflowering at all.

It didn’t help that my enthusiasm for this activity was fueled purely by teen hormones rather than actual sexual attraction. Perhaps he felt the same. It was one thing to watch his penis with clinical curiosity but another to think that my young boobs didn’t excite the same lust I felt toward boobs.

Nevertheless. The condom was more or less on. With momentous energy he tried to jam our anatomy together and rolled a critical failure. His penis lost all rigidity and oozed away from insertion.

Panicking and embarrassed he exclaimed, “I think I put this on wrong!”

To my horror he began trying to remove the condom and put it back on the other way. Health instructors of ages past screamed in my head that the condom had now been stretched and unrolled.

Trying to jam it back on was certainly not safe, especially given the slackness of the anatomy in question. It would certainly tear- if he could even get it back on.

I broke out in a sweat watching him attempt the magic trick of convincing a flaccid penis that it really wanted to get better acquainted with a desiccated rubber tube prison.

“I just remembered!” I exclaimed.

He looked up at me, wretched with despair.

“I promised my parents I wouldn’t have sex tonight. I just remembered! Sorry!”

This could go down in history as one of the most bold faced and terrible lies ever told, a blatant falsehood on par with declaring the sky was green. But his face broke out in a terrible relief.

He disposed of the abused condom and I resecured my bra and we resumed watching the horrible movie, both of us relieved in our own way to set down the burden of Losing Virginity.

The next day I broke up with him.

This remains to this day one of the most savage things I’ve ever done, breaking up with someone the night after impotence.

But remember, dear reader! It wasn’t just the sex! His depression had already worn away my patience and our communication. The foibles of the night before had just illuminated the gaps where we couldn’t talk to each other properly. I was constantly comforting him over something, shoring up his brain chemistry with my relentless positivity.

I’d like to say that’s all it was, and look more charitably on my young self. But truthfully my tender pride had also been badly stung that I wasn’t worth rising to the occasion for. Comforting him over this latest mishap when my feelings were hurt was more than I could swallow.

DB took the breakup very poorly. About two weeks later he lost his virginity with the new girl he was dating. He called me to brag, sniffing through the airwaves for hints that he’d hurt me back.

When I congratulated him with utter sincerity and not a whiff of jealousy he was furious.

We stopped speaking for years, except on our mutual birthday when we’d wish each other a cordial “Happy birthday.”

He messaged me out of the blue one day years later to catch up. He was working in food service now. Was it true I was a lesbian? Yes, I assured him, that was true. He thought that was pretty cool.

Then he told me about this bisexual girl he worked with who was interested in a threesome. Did I want to have a threesome with him and his bisexual coworker?

The audacity. I couldn’t believe it. My mind filled with savage retorts like, if you understand I’m a lesbian why do you think I’d want you to be part of that? Why wouldn’t I just sleep with her without you?

But I remembered the utterly ruthless way I’d dumped him and as penance I swallowed all of the things I wanted to say and instead politely told him I was seeing someone, but thanks for the offer.

And that was it. He’d managed to shoot his shot not once, not twice, but three times, and never managed a home run. He struck out that last time, and we never spoke again.

[ryanseslow]

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[solxamber]

Hello! I humbly request Skully J. Graves for the spooky season, please and thank you! (Ps, I LOVE YOUR VILLIANESS SERIES SO MUCH. if you put him in the series, I would love it. Thank you.

Frights and Fancies - Skully J. Graves x reader

I've finally finished the first part of the Halloween event story and here we go! Skully J. Graves for the spooky season!

(this was written before part 2 of the event was out so it might be ooc)

It was almost Halloween, and the Ramshackle Dorm looked like it had exploded in pumpkins, cobwebs, and fake skeletons. Well, not fake enough for Skully, who was currently trying to rearrange a skeleton to perfectly mimic Jack Skellington’s iconic pose.

“This is it! This is exactly how Jack looked when he stood atop Spiral Hill!” Skully beamed, leaning back with a gleeful twirl. “I could cry!”

“Please don’t,” Grim muttered, slumped on the couch like a cat who’d had enough of life. “I’ve seen way too much Halloween today. I’m exhausted.”

You stifled a laugh as Skully pranced across the room, his long coat flowing behind him dramatically. He stopped by a cobweb you’d just hung, delicately adjusting it with reverence. “Ah, this is a masterpiece! The precision, the artistry—oh, Jack would be proud!”

“I bet Jack has a restraining order,” Grim mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Skully didn’t seem to notice the sass. “You don’t understand, Grim! Jack Skellington is the Pumpkin King! He is the very soul of Halloween! Imagine... if I could bring him here, right to this very dorm... oh, we would throw the greatest Halloween party the world has ever seen!”

“You’re throwing it right now, and I hate it,” Grim muttered, pulling a pillow over his head.

Skully, undeterred, rushed over to the pile of pumpkins by the door, holding up the largest one like a trophy. “This one’s going to be the pièce de résistance! I’m going to carve Jack’s face into it—oh, the precision, the skill! It’ll be a tribute!”

You were barely able to stop yourself from laughing as Skully started sketching an intricate face into the pumpkin. It was hard not to get caught up in his excitement, even if it was a little... obsessive.

“Hey, uh, shouldn’t we maybe, I don’t know, check the snacks or something?” you suggested, trying to save Grim from further mental collapse. “We’ve got a whole room full of sweets to prepare.”

“Oh! Of course!” Skully jumped to his feet, pumpkin forgotten. “We must create a feast worthy of Halloween Town itself! Grim, you’ll love this—there will be so many sweets, you won’t be able to handle it!”

“Sounds like my personal hell,” Grim groaned, finally sitting up. “Do we have to? I was kinda hoping to nap.”

Skully was already halfway to the kitchen, humming some eerie tune under his breath. You shot Grim an apologetic look, but he was too busy glaring at the ceiling like he was making a pact with some unseen force to end Halloween forever.

The kitchen was soon filled with the smells of spiced pumpkin and sugary treats. Skully was in his element, flitting around like a Halloween-obsessed ghost, talking nonstop about Jack Skellington, the Pumpkin King, and all the Halloween traditions from his foggy village.

“And no one here at school even knows about Jack!” Skully was saying for probably the twentieth time. “Can you believe that? It’s like they’ve never even heard of Halloween!”

“Maybe they’re lucky,” Grim grumbled, stuffing his face with a pumpkin tart.

Skully either didn’t hear him or didn’t care. He had already moved on to decorating cookies, carefully icing tiny skeleton faces onto each one. “Jack’s elegance, his charisma! He’s the epitome of what Halloween should be.”

“Jack this, Jack that...” Grim sighed dramatically. “If I hear that name one more time—”

“I could name the pumpkin Jack,” Skully suggested, completely serious.

“No!” Grim snapped. “Let the pumpkin live its own life! Let it be free!”

You snorted, almost dropping the tray of cupcakes you were setting out. Skully blinked, confused for just a moment, before smiling his usual charming smile. “Ah, Grim, you always know how to liven things up.”

“I’m this close to being a ghost myself,” Grim muttered.

By the time the evening rolled around, Ramshackle Dorm had been transformed into a veritable Halloween haven. Cobwebs draped across the walls, pumpkins lined every surface, and the faint glow of eerie lights filled the air. Skully stood in the center of it all, arms wide open as he surveyed his masterpiece.

“This... this is the Halloween of my dreams,” Skully said softly, his voice full of awe. “I couldn’t have done it without you two.”

Grim gave a halfhearted wave from his spot on the couch, already half-asleep again, but Skully’s gratitude was genuine. You smiled, watching as he twirled around one more time, completely in his element.

“Well,” you said, “if Jack Skellington could see this, I’m sure he’d be impressed.”

Skully’s face lit up like a jack-o’-lantern. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely,” you replied, adjusting a crooked pumpkin. “You’ve done Halloween proud.”

Skully gave a deep bow, flourishing his coat as if he were addressing royalty. “Then, in Jack’s name, I thank you both!”

From the couch, Grim groaned. “I’m gonna need a vacation after this…”

As Skully danced around the room, humming Halloween tunes and praising Jack Skellington, you couldn’t help but smile. Sure, it had been a lot of work, but seeing Skully so happy—and hearing Grim’s constant complaints—made it all worth it.

This was going to be a Halloween to remember.

Masterlist

Also I'd love to add him the the villainess series, but I'll wait till atleast part 2 of the Halloween event to completely understand him before I do!

[kittyball23]

Any chance of a quick fic of Branch's bros showing and telling Poppy Branch's embarrassing baby photos all while he's a embarrassed grumpy pants about it? I feel we need more embarrassing loving big brothers moments.

Hi, Anon, I apologize for this being delayed. I wrote out a few drafts to this story, but was unsatisfied with the turnout until now. I do hope you enjoy :)

Show and Tell (a Trolls fanfic)

By the time that Branch had gotten his drink at the bar - a concoction his older brother called the Tropical Refresh, composed of a variety of fresh, fruity juices  - and walked over to the backstage area of the karaoke stage to find Poppy, he could already hear the bouts of giggling coming from his girlfriend. Branch had come across this type of situation a few times already, and he didn’t need to ask what had gotten her in such a lighthearted mood.

“Don’t you ever get tired of looking at that?” he asked, gesturing at the clue board that she was unashamedly ogling over.

“Nope!” Poppy chirped. “How can you ever get tired of looking at this cutie-patootie face, huh?” She reached into her pocket and showed him a little wallet-size photograph of him in his signature perm.

Branch gasped. “Hey! Who gave you that?”

“I did!” The blue Troll turned to find John Dory approaching them, looking quite proud of himself. “Don’t worry bro, I got copies for you, too!” he said, pulling out three more from his dark, aquamarine hair.

Branch groaned. “Seriously?”

“What do you mean ‘seriously’? What’s so embarrassing about a baby photo? You totally rocked the look!” JD asked, confused. Then he chuckled, nudging Branch with his elbow and speaking hushedly so Poppy couldn’t hear. “At least I didn’t show her the other box, right?”

But Poppy had heard him. She perked up and faced John Dory with curiosity. “What other box?”

JD beamed at her. “Ohoho, girl, if you like these photos, just wait till you see what I got in store for you.” Whistling Rhonda over, he entered his caterbus and pulled out a heavy-looking trunk. He struggled dragging it out for a moment, and then gave a short cry.

“Ouch! There goes my back,” he whined with a grimace, having strained himself too hard and rubbing the affected area. But the smile returned to his face a moment later. “Feast your eyes on le pièce de résistance, Poppy Seed!” he declared grandly, and then opened the trunk with a dramatic flair.

For a second light almost seemed to emit from the trunk, like it had been filled with glittering gold. When Poppy managed to focus in and see what it actually was, well, it was as good as gold to her.

“EEEE! Oh my GOSH!!” She grabbed Branch’s arm and leapt up and down with tears of joy while her boyfriend grumbled in dismay. “This is the best day of my life!”

“OOooo, really! Why’s that?” It had been Viva who’d spoken, neither one of them having heard her approaching with all the commotion Poppy was making. She noticed the trunk and grinned. “Is there a lifetime supply of candy in there? I know that would be the best day of my life!”

“Even better!” Poppy cried, stepping aside so her sister could see. Viva tucked her hands under her chin and gushed.

“Awwww…. That’s so sweet!”

Suddenly Poppy whirled on John Dory, grabbing him by the vest and shaking him hard. “John Dory! And just how long were you going to wait before you told me about this?!?!”

“You gotta ask to receive!” JD answered simply.

“Well, I guess,” Poppy grumbled, “Okay, but no more dillydallying, you have GOT to spill everything to me about these!”

But to her surprise, John Dory shook his head. “No can do, Miss Poppy…”

The Pop Queen’s jaw dropped. “WHAT?”

While also surprised to hear this answer come from his brother, Branch was actually relieved. “Oh, good.” The less embarrassment he had to endure in front of his girlfriend, the better!

But it seemed JD wasn’t done explaining. “...Not without the others to help,” he finished with a sly smile.

Now it was Branch’s turn to exclaim “What?”

And before he could stop him, John Dory had cupped his hands around his mouth and called out in the direction of the cantina. “YO, BRUCE! CLAY! FLOYD! GET YOUR BUTTS OVER HERE, PRONTO!”

A few seconds later, all three Trolls had hightailed their way over.

“What’s up John Dory?” Floyd asked.

“Why you sounding like there’s a big emergency or something?” Clay questioned with suspicion, knowing how JD had a tendency to overexaggerate matters.

“And why does Poppy look like she’s about to faint?” Bruce asked, pointing at the overwhelmed Pop Queen who was being held up by Viva and fanned.

John Dory presented the trunk to the three of them. “Does this answer your question?”

Three identical ear-to-ear smiles stretched across their faces.

“Awwww, that’s nice,” Clay cooed.

“Wow,” Floyd whispered, tears pooling in his eyes, “I really had thought these were all gone…”

“Well they’re not!” Bruce chuckled happily. “This is great!”

“You’re telling me,” Poppy mumbled, just about ready to collapse. “And speaking of telling me…” She gestured at the trunk meaningfully.

But Branch intervened, putting a hand up. “Now wait, wait a second, hold on. Must we do this?”

John Dory rubbed his chin. “Hmm. Alright, those who aren’t in favor, raise your hands,” he said, putting the decision up to vote.

As it turned out, Branch was the only one among the seven who followed through on that.

“‘Kay. Now, all in favor of sharing Branch’s totally brodacious and all-around awesome Bitty-B-baby photographs, put ‘em up!”

Six hands flew up into the air without hesitation.

Branch rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

“YAY!” Poppy cheered, clapping her hands with Viva and giving her boyfriend a great big hug in gratitude.

John Dory grinned as he reached into the trunk - full to the brim with Branch-centered memorabilia, cut-outs, magazine-clippings, and pictures - and pulled out the first item to share. Poppy squealed as he began to explain.

“Hehehe, this one” - he started, gesturing at a photograph of Baby Branch suspended on a glitter wire - “was when we were deciding how Branch was gonna make his first live appearance. We thought about having him lower down onto the stage from above, but, hehehe, he was kinda afraid of heights.”

“I was a baby, John Dory. Everything around me looked big! So… yeah,” Branch said in his defense, crossing his arms.

Bruce had a turn picking next, and gave a knowing “Ohhh,” when he saw what it was. “Debut outfit idea that, of course, didn’t work because of, well… the obvious.” When he showed the photo, it was Baby Branch with his head barely peeking out of the top of a puffy blue vest, BroZone’s signature white slacks on his bottom and trailing behind him like a gown’s train.

“I wasn’t the same size as you all back then,” Branch said with a tone in his voice that exhibited a “duh!”

“Aw, but at least you’ll fit in it now, right, sweetie?” Poppy cooed lovingly to him.

He had to smirk at his girlfriend’s neverending optimism. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Clay laughed when he pulled out the next photograph. “Ohhh, man… Grandma’s birthday,” he said fondly. “Each of us had a hand in getting together her special Fluffleberry cake. Bruce and I made the batter. John Dory and Floyd took care of the baking. And Branch, hehehe… he helped decorate. Although, I think he might’ve ended up decorating himself more than the cake.” He turned the photo around so the others could see the little blue Troll baby covered from head to toe in colorful icing and sprinkles.

“It was my first time!” Branch wailed. “And believe me, I had icing in places I didn’t even know I had.” He shuddered to remember. “It was unpleasant.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we took you to the bath right after,” Floyd said with a little grin. The grin became wider when he pulled out the next photo. “Oh my, and speaking of baths… can’t forget your first shower, can we?”

Branch’s cheeks turned red from embarrassment when the baby photo depicted him pictured from behind, the soap bubbles barely hiding his birthday suit.

“Whoaho!” JD cracked up., “Now there’s something you don’t see everyday!”

“I guess you could say it happens only once in a blue moon, am I right?” Clay joked, Bruce laughing alongside him.

“OH!” Poppy squeaked in surprise, blushing, while Viva gasped and put a hand over her mouth.

“This just goes to showcase a whole new meaning to ‘junk in the trunk!’” Branch humphed with whatever dignity he had left, referring to John Dory’s trunk of memorabilia. Although, his older brother didn’t interpret the statement that way.

“I’ll say!” he hollered, stooping down to slap Branch in the rear.

“OUCH! JD!”

The goggled Troll giggled in response to his shout.

Branch huffed and plopped down to the ground, both as a way to ensure that John Dory wouldn’t do that again and as a way to make himself comfortable. Because - as the elder Troll took his turn sifting through the trunk for another good photograph and story attached to it, and his brothers eagerly awaited their next turns, and his girlfriend sat there nearly panting in anticipation - Branch realized that he would be there for quite some time.

Yep. A nice loooong time.

[jhuzen]

old and new [gn/m.reader]

good lord i have been gone for a long time. i am so sorry, i am recovering from bloccus writicus. also i may have been… getting in touch with my thirst for strong women. women are so beautiful. i love them. to all my requesters (? how to english), please excuse my tardiness. allow me to rev my engine before delivering them once again. i’m gonna warm up with a few posts (including this). ALSO THIS STORY IS JDIADMC IDK.

𖦹 big on genshin lore because i am nerding out, creator reader but not sagau reader, like i’m talking you are a character in the story, ooh look at me diverting from my agenda of overseer reader (i blame skirk’s master).

The mere ability to create is something so vast and so elaborate, placed upon the pedestal for all to see. If one is gifted with the passion and talent to create, they are the envy of all — to craft the most divine pieces, create something so intricate that it is nothing short of impressive.

And through it all, an artist hones one’s skills until they have reached the peak — until they’ve viewed every perspective, until they’ve used every shade, until they’ve done every stroke, all of it comes down to their prized creation;

Their Magnum Opus.

That… was Teyvat to you.

It was your pièce de résistance. If the myriad of heavenly bodies that lay before your trail were thought-provoking and terrifyingly beautiful to a fault, then Teyvat was your inexplicable masterpiece, one that took trial and error as your gentle hands shaped and carved every landscape, as your breath that blew into it became the protecting breeze, and as the tears that you wept from joy became the primordial seas of the world that birthed new life forms that you managed to call a mere happy accident.

It was yours. Many worlds before it were mere prototypes, but something you’ve cherished nonetheless. To you, Teyvat was the product that will possibly never get any better and a creation that will never be bested by anything else.

You granted it laws that were akin to the past worlds you’ve crafted with your own hands, you gave it life through the creatures that crawled around the earth. It thrived and you gave it autonomy once you thought it could work on its own course with your given gifts to let it thrive.

Teyvat was your cherished creation.

And the same rings true until now upon your quiet descent. Your immaculate robes that were woven with stardusts suddenly turning into a soft silk. You walked the earth in your bare feet, the blades of grass a mere tickle underneath you as you journeyed through the world.

The breeze blew by your hair and you felt the sheer invigoration, forcing a tiny titter out of you. You embraced the fruits of your hard labor, recalling the eons you nearly wept in agony as you continued to sculpt everything down to its tiniest detail.

And out of all of that, you birthed your pride and joy, this world that could never measure up to anything else.

Your eyes which held the countless stars and worlds you’ve created soon found itself gazing across the vast lands of this realm of light you’ve created, finding the realm of void opposing the one you were on.

Countless times you’ve heard your fellow artisans question you for creating such an unconventional place to be. But you sought balance in this perfect world of yours, where every creature can walk on their own respective realms. And if you can create pure beings of light, who’s to say that you can’t create the creatures that lurk within the void?

Your feet pattered against the grass that rustled as you hoped to approach and visit the opposing realm when you felt the ground beneath your rumble and shake. You stilled yourself with ease as you looked over your shoulder.

And your eyes had never known such beauty until now.

For the first time, a creature of divinity such as yourself was gobsmacked at the sight of a huge Vishap that stood before you.

It was a beautiful one — its blue scales that blended with the water from your tears of joy that you’ve shed upon your creation, its eyes holding the purest intentions that matched its pure being. You can feel the waters surge within its very form, like a fresh cold spring on a hot summer day.

Your eyes suddenly filled with tears as you felt your heart constrict with so much love as you watched it approach you. You have never seen such beauty that it truly nearly knocked you off your feet. Your chest ached with so much want as you continued to marvel the creature that you only hoped of succeeding in creating several eons ago.

“Oh… look at you…”

Your voice, honeyed and smooth as a silk, tinkled across the lands — waking up the creations that you gave life to upon your very own creation of Teyvat. Your voice, filled with so much love and tenderness, directed to the Vishap that towered over your tiny mortal form with ease, rang out, as if to call for it to come closer.

And it does.

The earth shakes with every weighted step that it took and you followed, contrasting the loudness with the silence of your own steps. You met it halfway until the very concept of distance no longer exists between you and the Vishap.

“…Such a beautiful one you are,” you whispered, your voice emitting a lilt of care and intense joy that you managed to suppress for a good measure before it overwhelmed you.

You lent a hand and its gaze directs towards it.

The Vishap leans into your touch and you can feel the waves of the primordial sea flow through you. With it, you can feel the joy you’ve felt once you’ve reached the end of your creation. You’ve felt the nostalgic satisfaction that kept you fulfilled even until now. You’ve felt the overwhelming love and excitement that you had when you took a step back and got a good look on Teyvat’s finality.

“You, who cradled our lives in your hands,” it spoke with a bellowing voice, making it seem like your own was but a mere squeak. “…Why do you pursue a creation as grand as this?”

You took a second as you pondered its question.

“…For the love in me is much too big not to share.”

“We have anticipated your descent. Nibelung has prophesied the return of the tearful artisan.”

You felt yourself flush at the title that was given to you unceremoniously, “Are my tears so ineffably embarrassing that I deserve such a name from my beloved creations?”

It huffed at your light jest, “It is nothing more but a praise. Your tears brought life in this barren world. Your tears gave birth to a new life that not one could hope to achieve—

“Your tears are my waters, to which I have complete sovereign on. Your tears are my will, to which I am eternally thankful for.”

You felt the inevitable warmth flow through your tiny body from the Vishap’s words alone. While it was satisfying to finish Teyvat on its own, you suddenly found a level beyond that feeling after receiving gratitude from your own creation firsthand. It melted your lonely soul and you couldn’t help but feel giddy at the feeling of it alone.

Such a simple gesture it was — to thank you — and yet the feeling it gave transcends every other emotion you’ve felt throughout the course of your long and eternal life.

“May you continue to prosper with the gift I’ve given you.” You blessed it with your small voice, barely above a mere whisper.

Your palm that shaped many worlds emitted the kind of warmth from a starting kiln and the Vishap relished in the feeling, a pleased growl echoing through the empty vast land of the light realm.

“The life that I owe to you will be cherished and used to its fullest. And should I perish, I will return with memories of you, no matter how faint.” It promised in one breath.

Your silken robes billowed against the breeze that blew by again. You can only feel your thoughts and feelings mingle with the Vishap’s. For once, you are able to see how it and its fellow Vishaps came to be, how each of them walked through the light realm and claimed its own homes where they ruled with incredible prosperity and indomitable ambition.

You were able to appreciate the further creation of life on this world that you deemed perfect, and was able to see how it went when you slept to rest for a good few centuries.

It was a feeling so invigorating, that you could feel your heart swell with so much love and pride for these dragons that walked the haven you’ve created. It mattered not to you how they came to be, only that they were able to live in peace and free from cumbersome bothers. It eased your heart, knowing that they are able to propagate their kind with so much freedom under the autonomous law that you gave to Teyvat.

You were feeling genuine satisfaction.

And it feels your jovial heart, with the way it continued to nestle its luminous scaled body into your touch.

“Protect this world with all your might. And you… you that holds my tears, will be given the authority to bring judgment of all life that makes a home on this world for centuries to come.”

Among the array of emotions that flowed through you, you felt its grateful pride surge through you.

A draconic pride that will leave its mark on you.

You had hoped it was a bad dream — a childish nightmare, no matter how unheard of it was among the divinity like you.

You hoped that the constriction in your loving heart was a jest in poor taste, that it was just a passing act of scare that you will laugh at. But as your eyes gazed at your magnum opus, your heart nearly shattered into a million little pieces.

The waters that were intimately connected to your essence, your very being, was tainted with anguish and anger. You can feel the hardships that started to brew from a few tiny nicks of pain in your heart. Teyvat was quite literally anchored to you through the primordial waters that flowed through it.

And as it continued to suffer contamination from something foreign, your heart further corroded into something that inflicted pain. You can feel the blood that soaked into the waters cry for desperation, you can feel the way it boiled with so much thirst for vengeance against whatever caused the first tragedy on Teyvat in the first place.

You placed full faith on the seven sovereigns, you had given them blessings that will aid them to guard your precious creation, but you could feel the tinge of betrayal flow through your veins when you threw a quick glance and saw Nibelung seeking something far more dangerous to defend their realm.

Something not from Teyvat. Something you know the laws that you placed which granted autonomy would reject and inflict sorrow upon those that were affected by it.

You fell into a state of unrest, pained with the grief of betrayal and longing for those that fought to protect your very own creation. A part of your mind condemns you for placing such a burden on your creations that cannot be better than outworld creatures that transcend them. But another part of you screams genuine belief to those you have tasked, that they will prevail and honor your simple wish.

Normally a couple of decades was nothing to you — as it could pass as quick as a mere minute, but to experience excruciating pain that throbbed like a vile tumor on your heavenly being was not something to sneeze at. Your heart ached for so many decades as you watched the sovereigns fall before those that intruded in your lovely creation.

And as it stole the authorities of the sovereigns, like a widow bereft its lover, you were forced into a state of slumber, lasting for centuries to come.

The new world thrives with lush life, creatures alike living as though its lives weren’t owed to the slumbering deity that was consumed with so much grief after all the tragic events that happened since its arrival on your world.

Perhaps it was the gentle mercy granted upon you that you stayed asleep when it parted a new realm for humanity’s arrival. When it was challenged by someone of the same nature, resulting to more catastrophic devastation that marred your heart with more fresh scars while you slept.

Perhaps it was best that you were unconscious as your closed eyes poured out tears endlessly that would sure tire you out for years as it happened.

And perhaps it was its atonement for the damage it caused you when you woke up and saw your Teyvat as something entirely new. Something that you didn’t create, something… completely alien.

Your pride as a divine creator was shaken, but you were quick to brush it off, wanting to see just how much your precious world was defiled and turned into something you know would never pass up as befitting into your standards. It was admittedly unbecoming of you, to turn your nose up against a creation, you always held some form of admiration and appreciation towards anything. You loved — and loved so much that you had to create to share it with your creations.

But Teyvat was once your magnum opus, it was… yours. It bathed in your heavenly tears, it felt every caress of your hands as you molded it into something you called your greatest masterpiece eons ago. You broke into a sweat, slaved away for the sake of your satisfaction upon completion, and when you finished it, you cried from happiness alone.

You descended, the flurry of stardust in your divine robes coagulating into the familiar silken robes that you wore whenever you would visit the seven sovereigns.

How many years have you been asleep? Dreaming up a reality where you shared a meal with the humongous and serpentine Dragon of Verdure, where you watched the Dragon King roar with pride, and where you exchanged the most insightful and heartfelt conversations with the Dragon of Water — the one that held your tears.

The grass underneath your bare feet feels as though it had a million stories to tell you, that among those years you’ve been forced into a slumber, you had missed a good chunk of what made Teyvat into this.

But the familiarity of the empty landscape was enough to urge you to keep going forth.

And that same familiarity ended the moment your eyes landed on fallen structures — ones you’ve never seen before. You can decipher that it once stood at a towering height, just from pillars that could squash your tiny mortal form with ease should it fall at the slightest disturbance.

You could feel a sense of tyranny from these structures, a tyranny broken by a hope from perhaps the creatures that felt trapped by it. You may have been asleep when it happened, but you can almost see how the tyranny of the past ruler of this place fell against the unity of those who longed freedom.

“Freedom… huh…” You murmured softly and a breeze rustled the grass beneath you. A lone leaf from the many trees landed on your hair, prompting you to take it and look at it.

You wondered how the Dragon of Verdure was fairing. If it had the same authority over the luscious life of Dendro as it did before.

Your feet continued to take you somewhere else, as though it had a sense of where to go. You never questioned it — as alien as Teyvat was to you now, it was still your world. And as long as the primordial waters are around, it stays anchored with you.

It didn’t take long before you ended up before a civilization — one you have never seen before when you descended before it came to challenge the seven sovereigns. Your eyes widened at the sight, pupils dilating as you watched humanity flourish and thrive within that patch of rock where a city sat.

Never had you expected to wake up to the sight of humans thriving in your world where there was once none.

Your sense of cautiousness dropped in a quick second and you took yourself towards it, foot against the hard cobblestone bridge as you walked towards the walls of this… civilization.

If you looked odd approaching this city in such a state, then you were certain they brushed it off as the guards welcomed you with a smile.

“Weary traveler, welcome to Mondstadt, the City of Freedom, blessed by our beloved Anemo Archon, Barbatos himself!”

For the first time since you had woken up, you felt the same overwhelming sense of love and tenderness as you were welcomed with living mortals, living in your creation like it was a normal occurrence for them.

Never had you known that humanity, no matter how it came upon your world, could be so beautiful.

And just like the day you met that beloved Vishap of yours, you wept.

“You sure know a lot of things about this place! Paimon could even say that you’re far more knowledgeable than Zhongli could be!”

Your laugh rang through the streets of Fontaine, angelic and seeming like a song from the heavens itself.

It had been so many years — dare you say centuries even, since you first descended after sleeping for so long with all the catastrophic events that has happened. You had traveled far and wide, discovered every single hidden civilization from the time you were asleep, learned every little conflict that happened.

You had to do the hard part of reading through every ancient tome that had a different language with each ancient civilization, but filling in the gaps was much easier. Despite it being your creation, the mere fact that you gave it autonomy only meant it wasn’t always subservient to you. It had its own laws even if you were the very being that gave those laws.

It was a refreshing change, quite frankly. Teyvat treated you like any other mortal and you could see and experience how humanity managed to adapt to the laws of your creation. It was honestly tear-jerking. You may not be the one that introduced humanity — rather it was the one that caused devastation to you and your dragons, but it was nonetheless still an endearing sight that you cherished.

You had to relearn Teyvat’s new history as it began embarking on a journey as a new world, where humans thrived and dominated, where beings in a mortal body but with a higher threshold, power, and purpose called gods were the ones to govern instead of the elemental sovereigns.

Somehow throughout it all, it felt as though your world was no longer yours.

But the waters ring familiarity, as it held your feelings from all those years ago. And now it’s far more potent in the Land of Hydro that you were currently on as you accompanied the blonde traveler that gained infamy across the nations you too journeyed in the past.

You felt for them, much like you before, they had to learn the secrets of this world. Only that they had to do it blind, while you managed to fill in the blanks of the tragic past of this world. And as much as you’d like to play the hero, since your descent after your sleep, you have learned to let everything play out on its own.

“I’m not one to claim superiority over Mister Zhongli’s prowess. Surely he knows far more than I do,” you deny with a genuine conviction. You learned he was the oldest of all archons, and have a better grasp of the world than you do when you were asleep.

“Mm. Let’s just call it quits and say you and him are even!” The tiny floating guide chirped, clapping in satisfaction after her own little conclusion.

You only nodded, conceding to her whims before finding the traveler walking up to you and giving you a serving of fish and chips and a double of serving for Paimon. You thanked them kindly and they only offered you a polite smile and a nod.

“Oh! Right! We should be heading off to pick up some bounty for more mora! Are you coming, [Name]?” Paimon asked, looking at you.

You caught their gaze and shook your head, “I think I’d like to take a walk around for a moment. I’ll see you two in awhile.” You said with the same unwavering smile that offered nothing but fondness for either of the two.

With a nod from them, off they went to Euphrasie to hound her for more bounty and its fruitful rewards.

You walked through the streets, basking in the noise of every call from every vendor within the side of the street, indulging the bustling nature of the busybodies in Fontaine, and savoring the air of nostalgia that perhaps only you can understand and feel.

Your feet halted at the remote parts of Palais Mermonia, admiring the flowers while you embraced the sense of familiarity that coursed through your veins. It was a welcome feeling above all, as it was the same feeling when you first truly experienced happiness.

And what luck it was when the Iudex himself was passing by for a quick break, to take a tiny breather from the suffocating throes of workload that was hurled on him as one of his many responsibilities.

You perked up when you heard a pair of footsteps echo within the cavernous structure of the Palais Mermonia and you looked over your shoulder.

Suddenly, that nostalgic feeling increased and your heart throbbed and ached with so much longing.

Suddenly, the breeze felt like it did centuries ago.

Suddenly, the hard concrete floor felt like the gentle grass beneath you.

And suddenly, the man behind you felt like the bearer of your tears.

You took a moment before facing him and found a smidgen of confusion and surprise that broke through his otherwise stoic expression. You had heard his impartiality and people reveled in him, word of the mouth was that the great Iudex, Mister Neuvillette himself, was the very symbol of Justice in Fontaine.

You didn’t know whether or not it was a wasted chance, but it never occurred to you to even ask if he kept his promise.

To come back with the faintest memories of you.

Instead, you smiled, bowed so gracefully and respectfully to him like any other mortal who have heard of his achievements would.

But you had to give him a few words yourself; just for old time’s sake.

“Look at you now…”

Your voice, much like millions of years ago, held the same sweetness and fondness, honeyed to perfection that it can lull anyone within earshot to a sense of comfort and warmth. Your voice beckoned him to come closer.

And he does.

“You’re thriving so beautifully… living among humanity…”

You could see the way his breath hitch in his throat, and you stifle a tiny laugh and suppressed the nostalgic fondness and love in your heart that was close to bursting at the seams.

“You did well.”

And you left him then and there, like a soft breeze in passing, in search of the traveler and their tiny emergency sustenance, without you knowing, that for once, it wasn’t you who cried.

It’s true, the new Teyvat felt alien to you.

It is no longer your world, but theirs — they, the humanity that staked its claim and lived for generations, they, the creatures that survived every catastrophic event that struck this world, and they… the beings that claim dominion over it.

And as this world’s creator, you would do well to enact the safety of the life it nurtured, even if you were overshadowed by the very being that devastated you.

After all, with all the love in you, it would be hard not to share it with the world you once knew.

[redvexillum]

I had a fun time writing this. This is rated 18+ because of s♡xual theme, but no explicit s♡xual acts. This is honestly more under the category of domestic fluff. Also, this story is dedicated to my good friend Ms. 🍑. I hope this brings a smile to your face as much as it did for me when I was writing this.

Taking a deep breath, you felt a wave of cold prickling across your skin, goosebumps rising as you fidgeted in your new outfit. The leather bodice hugged you far too tightly, compressing your ribs to the point that each breath felt like a struggle against a corset designed by someone with a deep grudge against lungs.  

And then there was the devilish skirt – short and also leather, made with an obnoxiously squeaky sound every time you so much as shifted. If felt less like you were about to engage in some power play and more like you were auditioning for the world’s worst dominatrix sitcom.  

But the real kicker – the pièce de résistance - was the bedazzled g-string. It dug into places that no undergarment should ever go, each rhinestone a tiny stab to your asshole, snuffing out any lingering embers of arousal that had somehow survived the 45 minutes it took you to squeeze into this torturous ensemble.  

You loved Vox, you really did. So, when he suggested flipping the script and having you take charge in the bedroom for once, your instinct to please have kicked in. Sure, you’d agreed, even though the idea made you feel like a deer caught in the headlights.  

Now, standing here in front of him where he was handcuffed to the bedpost and wearing only his navy-blue boxers, the reality was setting in.  

Vox’s eyes darkened, a glint of mischief flickering across them as he stretched, his grin sharp like a predator who knew exactly how much he was getting to you. “Oh, baby doll,” he purred, his voice a low rumble that sent another shiver straight down your spine. “You look absolutely delicious.” 

Your eyes flicked down, and there it was – a very noticeable bulge pressing against the front of his boxers, taunting you. The hot coil of anticipation twisted in your gut, making it incredibly difficult to focus on anything other than the sinful things you could do if you just crawled onto the bed, dragged your tongue down his body, and begged him to take control. 

But no. That wasn’t the plan today. He wanted you to dominate him, to take charge, and your brain struggled to catch up with this unfamiliar script.  

“Okay,” you muttered to yourself, trying to find your inner femme fatale amidst the squeaking leather and ass-torturing rhinestones.  

The riding crop felt all wrong in your hand, like a foreign object you had no business wielding. You gripped the handle a little too tightly, trying to ease the thick lump in your throat with a big gulp. I can do this, you told yourself. You’d watched enough of Valentino’s female domination films to have some idea of how this worked. You would pull it off, and Vox would no doubt be proud – maybe even call you his “good little girl.” The thought sent a jolt of excitement through you, spurring on a shaky surge of confidence.  

Straightening your shoulders and puffing out your chest, you flashed him a grin, doing your best to exude dominance. His cock twitched in response, his body language eager and full of anticipation, as if he were already a step ahead of you, waiting for your next move.  

You took the first step toward him.  

Sqquueek.  

The high-pitched, flatulent sound was loud enough to cut through the mood like a needle scratching across a vinyl record. Your confidence shattered instantly, replaced by a mortifying rush of heat spreading across your cheeks. Your head spun with embarrassment, and the bedazzled g-string – still wedged uncomfortably in a place it had no business being – seemed to mock you. You could not wait to burn the damn thing.  

“T-that was the skirt,” you stammered, your voice barely audible over the thrum of your mortification.  

Vox blinked once, then snorted, his chuckle breaking the tension. “It’s okay, baby,” he purred, his eyes dark and half-lidded with desire. “Come to me,” 

His voice, sultry and smooth, almost helped you forget the humiliating noise. Almost. You took another step toward him, trying to recapture some semblance of control.  

Squeak-pft. Squeak-pft. Squeak-pft.  

Every step brought a new symphony of unsexy sounds, and the bed still felt miles away. Your cheeks were burning, and frustration bubbled beneath your skin as the ridiculousness of the situation settled in. That was it. You couldn’t take it anymore. With a growl of frustration, you tore the skirt off and tossed it to the floor like it was your mortal enemy.  

No more noise. Thank God. 

Glancing up, you were relieved to see that Vox’s erection had remained steadfast despite the parade of wardrobe malfunctions. His gaze had dropped to your new underwear, and you caught the hungry gleam in his eyes.  

Unfortunately, that only reminded you of the bedazzled hell you were currently wearing. You could feel the tacky gems digging into your skin, each one like a tiny bug bite against the tight ring of your ass. But you told yourself it wouldn’t last long. Soon, the torture device would come off, and you’d be free.  

With renewed determination, you took another step, then another, until your knees dipped into the edge of the bed. You looked up at Vox through your lashes, attempting to channel every ounce of seduction you could muster. “Have you been a ...” you began, your voice trembling and unsure, “a b-bad boy?” The words stumbled out awkwardly, your ears burning with embarrassment as you crawled up the length of his body.  

Settling yourself over his knees, you tried to steady your breathing. You could do this. Even if it was painfully clear that dirty talk was usually his territory.  

You were immensely grateful that Vox didn’t immediately burst into laughter or mock you for your awkwardness. Instead, he stayed in his character, his voice a deep, sultry purr. “Yes, mistress,” he replied, pressing his knee against your core.  

Under different circumstances, the pressure might have felt wonderful, but the bedazzled g-string was currently acting like a tiny dagger to your poor, sensitive backside. You grimaced but tried to pass it off as a grin, attempting to keep the mood alive despite the growing discomfort.  

Your brain scrambled to figure out the next move. What was it those dominatrixes did in Valentino’s production? Oh, right – punishment. A memory of a particularly intense scene flashed through your mind. You took a breath, straightened your shoulders, and declared, “Well, bad boys needs to be punished!” Trying to sound authoritative, you clumsily reached down and grabbed Vox’s balls.  

His eyes widened in surprise as he let out an involuntary grunt. “Oh,” he muttered, glancing down at your hand before looking back up at you, a mix of confusion and amusement flickering across his face. “Uh, baby, maybe-” 

You didn’t let him finish. You were recalling how the female dominatrix in the video had squeezed her partner’s balls and how he had moaned in ecstasy. His dick had stayed hard the whole time, and you were sure Vox would enjoy it too if you did it right. So, with a grin that was equal parts nervous and determined, you squeezed.  

Hard.  

Vox’s reaction was immediate and not what you expected. His whole body jolted, his abs clenching so tightly that his muscles rippled beneath his skin. His wrists strained against the cuffs as he let out a pained cry, “HOLY FU – AH, FUCK! HERTZ! SHIT! NO! WATTS?!” 

Wait...what? That wasn’t supposed to happen, right? 

Panicking, you squeezed harder, your fingers digging into the fleshy mass, trying to mimic the firmness from that scene in the video. But something felt wrong. Very wrong. 

“AHHH! SAFE WORD! WHAT’S THE – HAH! FU – GAH!” Vox’s TV head tilted back, and you heard the sound of metal hitting wood. Sparks of blue electricity fizzled from his head as his body convulsed slightly beneath you.  

Oh, God… Oh, God… You released his balls like they were on fire, your hand snapping away as quickly as possible. “D-did you mean ‘Signal?’” you asked, voice trembling. The safe word. You had come up with it together, though you never imagined you’d hear it used quite like this.  

Vox didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he groaned, his body trying to curl into itself. His chest heaved, and a small, pitiful whimper escaped his lips as he shifted onto his side, trembling from the aftershocks of...well...perhaps yousqueezing him too hard. 

You knelt there, frozen in horror. Your mind raced, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Did I break him?

“Oh, fuck,” you muttered under your breath, panic setting in as you quickly fumbled to undo the cuffs around Vox’s wrists. His small, pitiful whimpers didn’t help the crushing guilt that now weighed on your chest.  

“You... I think my balls are crushed,” he squeaked, voice higher than you’d ever heard it before, his eyes tightly shut in what you could only describe as pure unfiltered agony.  

Guilt slammed into you like a freight train. Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling his prone figure into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry, honey. Oh no, oh no,” you babbled, rubbing his shoulders and back frantically as if you could somehow massage the pain away. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you kept repeating, as though the words alone could undo the damage.  

Once his hands were free, they immediately shot down his groin, cupping himself protectively. It took several long, agonizing minutes before you managed to coax him out of the fetal position. Needless to say, any hopes of sexy time had evaporated faster than your confidence had earlier.  

Eventually, after what felt like a small eternity, Vox was able to sit up again, though the pain was still evident on his face. His expression softened as he looked at you, clearly doing his best to comfort you, even though you were the one who had accidentally tried to neuter him. “Voxflix and chill?” he asked, offering a small, tentative smile, his eyes lacking any trace of anger or resentment.  

Soon enough, you found yourself curled up next to him, his back resting against the bed’s headboard, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other hand holding an ice pack to his groin. The sight of him icing his poor abused balls gnawed at your conscience, but Vox, ever the charmer, rubbed your shoulder with his free hand, sensing your guilt.  

“Hey, at least we can put ball-squeezing on the no list,” he teased lightly, his tone playful.  

You bit your lip, still feeling terrible, and looked up at him with wide, apologetic eyes. “Are you really going to��be okay?” you asked, your voice soft, a small pout tugging at your lips.  

Vox leaned down and pressed a quick, gentle kiss to your forehead. “If I were still alive, I’d say my lineage would’ve ended today,” he smirked, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “But luckily, we’re in hell, and my balls will probably recover in a couple of hours.” He shrugged with a dramatic sigh, settling back against the pillows. “Perfect time for us to watch Voxtek’s latest series, ‘Yeah, I Fucked your Mom, So What?’” 

You groaned inwardly as the familiar blue Voxflix logo appeared on the screen, followed by the show’s title. Vox had been trying to get you to watch his latest spin-off series for weeks, and, if you were being honest, you’d been avoiding it ever since you barely survived ‘Yeah, I Fucked Your Sister, So What?’ which had been...not your cup of tea.  

“Voxflix and Chill, huh?” you mused, a mischievous glint in your eye as your fingers slowly traced the waistband of his underwear.  

Vox smirked, his claws gently grazing the curve of your bare arm, sending a shiver down your spine. He trailed his fingers up to your shoulder before leaning in close. “Once my balls recovered,” he growled, his voice deep and sensual, “I’ll expect a do-over, baby doll.” 

Excitement bloomed in your chest, and you nodded eagerly, already imagining all the possibilities. You’d let Vox take the lead next time, no doubt about it. With that in mind, you settled back against him as he started the first episode of the show.  

Somehow, one episode turned into four...and then eight. Hours passed, the plot getting more ridiculous with each episode, but you were somehow absolutely enraptured. The plot was so bad, yet it was strangely good?  

You had long since traded the uncomfortable leather and bedazzled nightmare for the cozy safety of an oversized, baggy t-shirt and your comfiest underwear. Armed with a bowl of popcorn and two glasses of beer, you padded back to the bed and plopped down beside Vox, the weight of the day slowly dissolving into the background.  

“What did I miss?” you asked, handing him the popcorn as you settled in, tucking your legs under the blanket.  

Vox took a handful of popcorn, grinning at you before answering, “Well, apparently the cousin, Giacomo, was actually fucking the mom while disguised as Francesca.” 

Your eyes widened in shock as you handed him a beer. “What? No!” you gasped, you jaw dropping. “He was Francesca the whole time? That’s bonkers!” 

Vox chuckled, clearly enjoying your reaction. You were completely sucked into the tangled web of the ridiculous soap opera plot, and, somehow, two whole seasons flew by in a blur of melodrama and absurd twists.  

What had started as just something to pass the time became a full-on binge session. There were moments of laughter, gasps of disbelief, and, yes, even a few tears (on your part) as you found yourself surprisingly invested in the wild antics of the show.  

Meanwhile, Vox, ever the multitasker, had his legs intertwined with yours beneath the blankets. His claws gently carded through your hair, a soothing rhythm that made you feel warm and cozy. You couldn’t help but snuggle a little closer, the comfort of his presence wrapping around you like a favourite blanket.  

The ice pack had been long forgotten, tossed to the side without a second thought. The earlier mishap with his balls was a distant memory, overshadowed by the relaxed intimacy that had bloomed between you two.  

You let out a happy sigh, resting your head on his chest. His heart thrummed steadily beneath your ear, and you felt a small smile tug at your lips.  

“You know,” you murmured, nuzzling closer to his chest, “I didn’t think I’d enjoy this show, but... I guess Voxflix and Chill isn’t so bad after all.” 

Vox smirked, looking down at you with a playful glint in his eyes. “I told you, baby. My shows always have a way of drawing you in” He paused, his voice dropping into a teasing purr. “And don’t worry, doll. We’ll still have that do-over...with fewer casualties tomorrow....because,” his eyes lit up, and his lips stretched to a wide smile, “it’s time for the next season!” 

You laughed at his enthusiasm. Snuggling closer to him, you felt perfectly at peace. “I’m looking forward to it,” you whispered, feeling his fingers lightly trace the outline of your arm, his touch sending a pleasant warmth through your body.  

And as the opening theme song of the next episode started to play, you realized that, out of all the ways you could’ve spent the evening, this – curled up beside Vox, sharing popcorn and laughter – was your favourite kind of night.  

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[call-her-sir]

(Pet play story, F-reader)

The last thing you hear as your owner takes you backstage is "Awww, look how adorable that one is! She's going to do well." Even in a presentable, civilian outfit everyone already knows what you are, what you should be.

You're brought over to a low raised counter in front of a mirror, surrounded by bright lights. There are others there, paying more attention to what they're doing than what you are, but you feel their glances. Your owner gives you an encouraging pat on the head and then starts to remove your clothes for you, piece by piece, not allowing you to even think of participating as it all comes off.

The air is warm on your bare skin as they lift you up onto the counter, making you face yourself in the mirror while on all-fours. You feel their hand between your back legs, spreading your knees to the width of your shoulders, and then you feel the cool dollop of lube and their fingers shortly follow, stroking and rubbing, circling gently and working it into every crease. You make a noise when a finger slips inside and all you get in response is a shushing.

Their touch lingers, and you long for more. You had been throughly edged recently, and it was only natural that your poor pussy responded, but it wasn't time for that. Eventually its time to add the pièce de résistance, the fluffy tail plug that curls upwards and tickles the small of your back when it is inside. Can you meet your own gaze as it goes in?

But preparations for this pretty pet aren't complete. You are manhandled into position, turned to the side as they check if your grooming meets the exacting standards set, hands tracing your body. Their fingers hold you under your chin, turning your head, and when they are satisfied, your simple leather collar is placed around your neck, just barely loose enough that they can get a couple fingers under the band, your name tag dangling. Your makeup is simple and subtle, your hair thoroughly brushed and arranged, the very picture of a healthy, vital pup.

When your time approaches, they lift you off the counter and onto the floor, and you see the adoration in their eyes as they attach the leash, telling you one more time to "be good" before leading you off. The floor is padded, soft under your hands and knees, but the hallway is darkened. You hear other people murmuring and you emerge on the edge of a stage, the lights too bright to look out at. Another pet is finishing her judging, looking cute as pictures are snapped of her from several angles, and when she is finished and lead away, your owner pulls your leash to attention, a tight fist hold only inches away from your neck.

You can barely make out the figures in the audience as you are brought to the elevated display area, but your owner continues to hold onto your leash as you are surrounded by the hands-on judges, a small number of men and women, each well dressed and professional looking. Each of them circles you, making audio notes of their thoughts. "Very vital" "Excellent specimen" "A good example of the breed." "Her owner would make a lot of money allowing her to be bred." You feel the heat on your cheeks.

The circle tightens and their are hands on your body, stroking your arms and legs, pressing your tummy. A man holds your breasts in his palms as if he is weighing them, softly squeezing. A woman monopolizes your view, looking into your face. Her index finger and thumb slip into the corners of your mouth and pry it open, stroking your tongue with her other hand. Palms rub against your bottom, spreading you open.

You almost jump as you feel a hand other than your owner's touch between your legs, rubbing softly, and his voice inviting other judges to "feel the heat coming off her loins, this one is ready to go." There are soon no less than five hands on your pussy, poking and prodding, one even sinking a middle finger deep into your core.

Its hard to say how much time passes in this state, as you are examined and played with. Judges come and go, and are replaced by others. But the final examiners take the stage and take their positions, one ahead of you and one behind. The one ahead produces one of a puppy's favorite toys, a dildo and holds the the tip of it near your mouth. It is slick still with the previous competitor's drool, and he looks down at you expectantly. When you show proper training and restraint, waiting for instructions, he finally gives you permission to perform. "Suck."

The audience continues to take notes, judging your form and techniques and eagerness while the final piece is put into place. The man behind you inserts two fingers inside you, curling downward to rub your g-spot softly as a distraction. When that fails to get the desired intensity of response, the next ordeal is added - a vibrator buzzes intensely against your clit and you shudder under the constant attention. You're a good girl. You're a good girl. Good girls don't cum. Your owner remimded you of that before the show. Be a good girl and suck. All you have to do is show that you're more dedicated to pleasing others than being pleased. Are you going to be a good girl?

[vivalas-vega]

Hello again! It's Syd 🥰🩷

I sent an ask a few days ago but I just saw your post about sending more so here I am! (& good luck on your journey quitting vape, you got this!! 🩷)

Here's an idea:

(Could be with bob, nat, jake, roost, it's up to you really) Reader just got home from work and starts rambling about work gossip with her partner while getting undressed to take a shower. The partner stops paying attention to the story as she lifts her shirt and takes off her pants, ogling at the brand new set of lingerie they had never seen her wearing before.

Reader is busy walking around the room gathering her skin care products & pajamas while going off on a tangent about a particularly annoying coworker. Noticing her partner isn't responding, she playfully asks "are you even paying attention to what I'm saying?", finally turning to find her lover on the edge of the bed with a dreamy look on their slightly flushed face, reaching for her as they ask "is that a new set...?"

Could be just fluffy with a hint of suggestive or smutty😌 feel free to change it anyway you want it!

hello !!! thank you so much for sending this request in and I'm so sorry that it took me an unreasonable amount of time to post !!! but, my first Bob fic ! this just screamed Bob to me, I took some creative liberties but I hope I did your request justice!

focus / bob floyd x reader

word count: 1k (short and sweet!)

warnings: a little spicy at the end but otherwise pretty pg-13!

“Bob, you home?” you asked, shutting the front door behind you as you dropped your keys in the bowl and slipped out of your heels and coat. Excitement had been radiating throughout your body, threatening to rattle you apart from the inside out the entire drive home. You were sitting on a rather juicy piece of intel you’d been counting down the seconds to be able to share with your partner… the first and usually only person you told anything and everything.

“Bedroom, honey!” You heard him call out and you raced down the hallway, bursting into the room with sheer glee written all over your face. “Good day at work?” he asked, amusement creeping into his tone.

“No, not at all actually. Remember that case I’ve been working on I regretfully cannot tell you anything about? Client withheld something major and I spent the entirety of my day reworking the whole thing… after I’d just done that yesterday.”

“Then what has you so excited?” He watched as you took off your watch and earrings, delicately placing them in their respective homes atop your dresser. The book he’d been reading was abandoned the second he heard your voice echo throughout your shared home. If you were even remotely in his presence there was nothing else that could hold his focus, not that he would have wanted anything else to take precedence over you anyways.

“So, in the break room today I overheard something I definitely wasn’t supposed to, regarding a certain coworker and her husband.” you started, eyebrows raised as you watched the excitement on his face mirror your own as he shifted down the bed to listen with rapt attention.

“Please tell me this is about Denise,” he almost begged. This particular saga of workplace drama was a personal favorite of you two.

“Oh, is it ever. She was on the phone with her husband in very hushed tones arguing about the pick up and drop off schedule for their kids when she suddenly said ‘this has nothing to do with him’.” you continued, placing your blazer in the hamper.

“Him, as in the kids tutor, right?” he asked and you nodded. 

“Mmhm,” you confirmed. “But the real pièce de résistance of this story is who made an impromptu stop by the office today… with flowers.” You’d already discarded your silk camisole and were sliding your favorite slacks off… a beautiful shade of emerald green fitted perfectly to your body before flaring out and creating the illusion your legs were a mile long. They weren’t just your favorite though, and you were completely unaware of the way Bob’s eyes tracked their movement down your curves into their puddle on the floor where you bent over to pick them up and he suddenly felt as if the room had gotten warmer.

“Is that so?” he asked, while his attention was hung on your every word a few moments ago, if you’d asked him any follow up questions on what you’d just said he’d have no response… he was far more interested in the black lace adorning your body, particularly in the fact that it was unrecognizable to him.

“Mmhm,” you hummed again, still blind to the way your boyfriend was looking at you as you moved around the room, lost in your after-work routine of shedding your work persona before your shower. “It’s as if she’s unaware of the fact that we all know, or maybe she is aware and just doesn’t care. It’s incredibly ballsy. You know, I actually like her husband, of course I know nothing of their home life and I know better than anyone the public façade can be polar opposite from the reality behind closed doors but he does seem like one of the good ones.” You’d paused for his response, expecting agreement or a snarky quip but when you were met with silence you turned around to find his eyes far lower than you anticipated. “Bob? Are you even listening to me?” you asked, pretending to be annoyed but really you were anything but as you saw the lovesick look on his face.

His head snapped up, eyes wide like a man caught, “sorry sweetheart, I just… is this a new set?” he asked, swallowing harshly as his hands reached out and caught your hips, tugging you to stand in between his legs. He was looking up at you with pure adoration, the kind that knocked all the air from your lungs and rendered you almost speechless. Your first meeting by chance at the Hard Deck all those months ago had done nothing to prepare you for the man before you… timid glances and bashful smiles, earnest conversation and a chaste kiss to your cheek after walking you to your car. There was nothing timid or bashful about him now, nothing chaste about the way his fingers trailed up your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake as his eyes raked your form, fire burning within those blue eyes.

“It might be,” you teased, moving to straddle his thighs and his arms were quick to cage themselves around you, locking you in place and keeping you from falling backwards.

“And you expect me to give a damn about Denise when you’re parading around this room looking like this?” he asked, pressing kisses along the column of your neck.

You gripped his jaw, pulling his face back and forcing him to look at you. “You’re damn right I do.” you shot back, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of your lips.

“My apologies, ma’am, but I’m afraid your beauty is a bit distracting.” he replied, pulling your hand away and kissing the inside of your wrist. “Besides… I think my attention would be better served elsewhere.” he added before continuing his path up your arm and to your collarbone where you couldn’t help but tilt your head back, a soft sigh falling from your lips.

“I think you might be right,” you agreed, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling his head back to press your lips to his. The previous topic was entirely forgotten now with your excitement channeled directly towards the man beneath you… the one person you wanted to share everything with and the one person who could make you gladly abandon anything and everything for.

taglist: @callsignspirit @thegodessc @failuretothrivestuff @olliepig @cruelmissdior @underaveragefangirl @grxcieluvr @amatswimming @camilaricci @nolita-fairytale @dempy @pinkpantheris @aviatorobsessed @tiredqueen73 @pono-pura-vida @binnieslove @nik2blog @waklman @abaker74 @halstead-severide-fan @percysaidnever @memeorydotcom @eli2447 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @Genius2050 @stargazer-88 @chloeforde @kmc1989 @casa-boiardi (if your name is struck through it means I couldn't tag you, sorry!)

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

Halloween HCS - Rogues Party

Alright everybody it's that time of year. My personal favorite time of year, the spooky season. So what better way to celebrate than to write Halloween headcanons for all the rogues? Going for general plus what they're doing this year specifically. Also surprise, I've added Music Meister (Clarence Rinette fan name is from @itsmalachitenow)

TW: spooky shit, murder, gore

Riddler

Thinks himself the belle of the ball, so to speak. Decked out in full elaborate costume. He has a ridiculous budget for this. Sometimes he stays in and gives out candy, but normally, he either wants to set a huge heist or go out to party. He needs to peacock every once in a while, or emotionally he'll start to wither. Matching costumes with his s/o are a must ;)

This year, he's assisting Jonathan in his haunted house venture (discussed below). The moment Jonathan announced to the dork squad what he'd be doing, all of them teamed up in their own ways to assist in making a horrific Halloween experience for the people of Gotham. Edward put himself in charge of animatronics and robotics.

The theme ended up being a literal haunted house, the entire building one giant horror maze save for several control rooms and employee areas- Which means a lot of hidden hydraulics in the walls and moving pieces Edward gets to crack his knuckles and puts together. He even rigs a set-up for an actor to fly across a room in ghostly pallor.

His pièce de résistance, however, is the start of the maze in the Library that has a hidden passageway that opens to the inside walls of the house. That plus some spooky elevators that transport guests to different levels- Jonathan couldn't have asked for better technical aspects.

The whole night he's hanging out in the control room, cackling when one of his devices gets someone. There will be parties on other nights he'll go to. He wouldn't miss this for the world.

Penguin

When he was younger he disliked Halloween because of bullying. That his face was horrific enough to scare anyone. It killed the fantasy and fun of wearing a costume. Even as his mother kissed his forehead and asked why he wasn't going out with friends-

Now he quite enjoys it. He doesn't really dress up per say, but there's always some fun parties to go to. Have some drinks, mingle, make some connections for the next big crime he's planning, then pass out in a pile of Halloween candy wrappers on his fancy chaise lounge. He'll do his best to save you your favorite if you tell him.

Now, if his s/o wants to dress up, it's a slightly different story. He'll be surprisingly anxious about it. Certainly it's not a lack of money or that the idea is displeasing to him. He doesn't want to be an "ugly" monster, but he "can't" play someone handsome. There's definitely a mental block there that he can't quite get past emotionally.

HOWEVER. If you suggest a mobster for him and being his little moll/arm candy? Period piece? He can do that. Big old cigar and everything. Probably commissions Jervis for the work. The guy will make sure it's all accurate.

He rolls up to the Halloween party at Harley's place with a box of "goodies" he has one of his underlings haul in. Expensive chocolates filled with liquor. Don't ask where he got it. Tonight is gonna be a fun night.

Mad Hatter

Halloween is a special time for Jervis when he can get really wild with costuming. Besides patching and creating things for other rogues, of course. If there is any kind of contest, he is likely going to win it. In fact, he's been banned from several around the city for winning too many times. If his s/o doesn't ask him to do their costume, he will pout a little. Even if he can't do the entire thing, let him help! He has an eye for this, you see. And maybe one year, they'll dress up as Alice, for him?

Of course he gets put in charge of costuming for the Haunted House production. Period accurate post-WWI clothing? Give him something difficult to do, why don't you? He does have to be told to keep eyes off some of the scare actors because they're all so pretty and lovely and look so good in his outfits, maybe they'd like some of his special tea- Jonathan helps him keep on point. There will be no Alice searches here.

For the majority of the night, he's manning the backstage area with Edward. Checking cameras that things are running smoothly. Then being available for actors who need a touch up! When one of the actresses comes in crying because some creep grabbed at her, Jervis is scuttling into the behind the scenes walls before Edward can stop him.

He comes back, slightly ruffled and helps the young woman calm down with (non-drugged) tea before sending her back off ready to go. The dork squad can drag the creep out from under one of the beds later and really put the fear into him. Maybe they'll kill him. Perhaps just a maiming. Depends on how lenient they feel later.

He's going to keep the costumes afterwards for different potential projects later unless an actor gets particularly attached. You never know when you'll need something like this!

Scarecrow

His Halloween consists of three things depending upon the year and the current situation: An elaborate spooky plot, a Halloween party to top all others, or a haunted house. Sometimes involving fear toxin! Sometimes not! Again, depends on how he's feeling.

Originally, he had intended on doing everything for himself for the haunted house. He's more than capable of doing it all himself, certainly. Yet, when he mentioned it to his closer companions (or as some call them, "the dork squad"), they all insisted on helping him. Annoying but... he supposes it's rather nice to enjoy this holiday with friends outside of Arkham. He's very clear, however, this concept is his and he has final say.

The story... Oh, he has fun with this. An old spinster and her daughter waiting for the prodigal son to return home from the war... several years too late. The daughter lures inhabitants to the home where the two women overpower them to keep them "forever."

His favorite part of the haunted house besides the writing, is the cellar. As the participants have been led upstairs, then faked out down to the cellar- it's a graveyard of bodies buried in the walls and the ground. Writhing. Trying to get out. They exit with the serial killer chasing them out of the hatch that leads back outdoors. With a ramp for accessibility, of course.

It's a hit! There's a line out to the street and the ten dollar ticket entry fee is definitely racking up some nice change as a bonus. He sets himself up as a scarecrow in the field at the exit, giving one last scare to the guests as they leave. He didn't even need to pump fear toxin in this time!

At the end of the night, the dork squad has drinks after the closing and Jonathan has to admit it wouldn't have been the same without his friends.

Reads "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" at least once. As is tradition.

Music Meister

Normally, Clarence Rinette is quite busy this time of year! If he's not involved with a stage production, he's decorating his home to the nines for trick-or-treaters. Big crafty, theatrical nonsense. Don't ask him how he paid for all this (he got an amazing deal through some vocal persuasion-). Someone once tried to suggest becoming a scare actor- but the truth is if he scared a child, it might actually make him cry. SO! He couldn't be a full on jumping at people scare actor.

Then he hears about Jonathan's plans for the season. Oh-ho-ho! A haunted house? For him? ("No," Jonathan quips, "it's not for you at all-") Well, he's got to be involved in this. It's a theatrical production-! ("It's not a full on production-" Jonathan informs him) ALRIGHT- but it's environmental storytelling. That's set-design. That's him!

People might not expect it of him, but he's done a bit of everything in the theater world. Backstage, lighting, sound, set design and building- and of course as a singer and lead, where he truly belongs. Yet, he's having a field day bringing in furniture for the haunted house. Setting up spiderwebs and aging some of the walls and props. Atmospheric sounds and smells for some of the rooms.

He's also in charge of assisting Jervis with makeup and making sure actors are ready- Before dressing up as an actor himself, you know. Gives himself a guide role in the Library to hype people up with the "history" of the house. Plus the hidden passageway reveal. Loves every second of it.

Victor Zsasz

Hardly registers Halloween. Every day is Halloween to this guy. Look at the people he associates with! He's surrounded by dead things all the time. How is this one time of year really that much different except everyone else is on the same page? What, he's supposed to dress up? He's got killing business to do.

Picture it. His target is walking around Gotham, feeling tipsy in their angel costume. The biggest Halloween party in town always spills out into the streets. A figure is closely following them in a full latex mask and black outfit. "Fake" machete at their side. The angel stumbles into an alleyway, the figure following close behind. The figure is Zsasz, in case you didn't guess, and he's got an angel to carve up for dinner. Cuts their heart in half as he leaves it next to their corpse. Takes a couple of their teeth for souvenirs. The rest he'll toss in the harbor. Have fun identifying that, GCPD.

If for some reason he IS home, he'll pass out candy to kids. Hawaiian shirt to cover his chest of scars. Spooks teens away that he thinks are too old. Gives handfuls of candy to everyone else. Has a straight face for every single person and the parents are definitely checking that candy when they get home (it's fine).

Might be convinced to dress up if his s/o really begs. He'd like it if they dressed up in something suggestive (for him) but he'd understand if they didn't want to. He will let them know that whatever they wear, he's probably taking it off with his knife by the end of the night.

Killer Croc

Normally, he actually doesn't like Halloween much. People assume his face is a scary costume which, frankly, is a pretty awful feeling. Sure, he can walk around easier, but it doesn't stop the stares. Now people feel inclined to ask him for photos. Or worse, they just take them without asking. More than usual.

Several parents at the daycare he sometimes works security at decide to do group trick-or-treating. They tell him he doesn't have to join in or... you know, he probably has plans, nevermind- He's already agreeing. Chaperone, he can do that. Better than staying home to watch the tube and not answer the door all night. He always leaves a bowl of candy but they always end up knocking anyways.

One of the kids gives him kitty ears and he rolls with it. If anyone asks, he makes a graveled, growling "meow" in his voice that makes the children giggle. Waylon watches the groups of people around them, glaring if any of them even look like they might try to pinch someones wallet or start bullying.

There is one Incident that occurs at a place with a porch in the downtown area. Waylon recognizes it from a mile away. A guy in a reaper costume is sitting on a chair. The other college kids are drinking beers telling kids to go up. That it's safe. They won't get scared. Then the man in costume scares the life out of them to the raucous laughter of all of them.

One of the parents seems to be trying to ask them if the children are going to get scared. Of course the people at the house lies. Instead of guiding the children away, however, Waylon grabs one of the kids by the hand and steps onto the porch to the man in costume. Leans down and gives his best crackling "meow" into the masked face of the man. Do it. Scare this fucking kid. He can smell the fear on the reaper as the kid pulls him away.

"Don't scare any more kids." He tells the college students. Shaking, they nod before going to check on their friend. Genuinely, he's very proud of himself for handling it in a way that didn't phase the kids.

Harley Quinn

If she's dating someone, there's a 90% chance they're doing some kind of matching costume situation. It's like. The rule for couples! They'll be really cute or really scary or both! Joker would NEVER do anything like this with her no matter how much she begged and pleaded. Consider this part of her getting to just be happy with herself and the things he wants to do with her life.

This year, she is throwing a party and it is going to be talked about for years afterwards. She figured if Jon isn't doing it this year, it's her time. She and Ivy attend his haunted house the night before in support. At one point she almost jumps into her friends arms with a particularly well timed jump scare out of the wall.

The theme for her party (that no one is expected to dress for) is undead glitz and glamor. We're talking the Hollywood Forever Cemetery kind of style. There's skeletons dressed in 40s and 50s red carpet affair around the apartment. Harley herself is a zombified Marylin Monroe type. Curled blonde hair and full makeup, one side of her face "split" to show fake teeth on her cheek.

There is a photo station for everyone attending with a camera she borrowed from Edward for high quality shots. Plus a polaroid. For funsies! It has props and a cardboard standee that Harley painted herself to look like an old fashioned hotel ballroom.

There's old halloween movies playing in one room for people who need a break. Food on the table in one room. Another is playing some spooky music for dancing. Everyone has a little something for them! Everyone gets a tad too drunk but overall it's a great time.

Poison Ivy

Pamela is always doing a sexy costume. She and Selina have a slight competition each year on who can show off the most tasteful amount of cleavage in an outfit and have the most heads turn. It's not malicious or catty (ba-dum), but rather a friendly thing where it's the two of them in on the joke. One year Harley convinced them to do a very cute-sy group look as the Gotham City Sirens. There's several lovely posed photos from the beginning of the night and then a very drunk selfie of the three of them at a pizza place at the end of the night. The latter is Pamela's lock screen on her phone.

For the party, Harley asked for some minor assistance which roughly translates to "keep me reigned in or I'll go way overboard." A lot of shopping and keeping in budget. Dressing up the skeletons and helping to decorate. She even allowed Harley to borrow some of her "spooky" looking plants to add to the aesthetic.

Pamela asked Waylon (who already had plans) for some recipes and added her own recipes to the mix. There's some that are more elevated since it is an adult party. There are plenty, however, that are incredibly cheesy- like crushed oreos to mimic graveyard dirt. She dresses up as a spooky Mae West with floral/vine theming. Full curves on display. There's several non-rogues who try to hit on her and she kicks them from the party.

Two-Face

His costumes are usually incredibly on the nose. Angel/Devil. Black and white vs color. One year they even did Roger and Jessica Rabbit from "Who framed Roger Rabbit?" Before you ask, obviously Jessica was played by Harv, one fake tit barely held in a dress. What normally starts out as a night out going to a party ends up with very drunk Halloween karaoke where Two-Face sings duets, both parts.

If they have an s/o, the dynamic changes a little. Do they want to do a trio costume? A couple costume and Harv and Harvey have to just agree on one harmonious look? Honestly they're fair game with whatever. It's not often they've had a third that wants to be involved in the holidays with them. Being a kind of sort-of trio can complicate things or put people off.

This year in particular they were a blend of rollerskating Ken and white fur coat Ken from the new Barbie movie. It is... hideous. It is garish. Who the hell agreed to make this- Harv is struggling with the one rollerskate on his side but at least Harvey has them standing upright. He agreed on a whim to be white fur coat ken and now it's kind of itchy.

The photos at the party, however, are fire and Harley makes copies for herself because it's so delightful. In hindsight, they had so much fun and it was one of the best years.

they do sing "Barbie Girl" by Aqua and "Barbie World" from the movie with Nicki Minaj and Ice Spice as a theme by the end of the night. There is video.

Black Mask

Ironic or no, he loves Halloween. The mythos of wearing the face of a monster to prevent yourself from being haunted or taken by spirits? That's SO his thing. Before the incident in which he "gained" his new face, he would drop insane amounts of money for costumes and sfx. Movie-quality for the big parties at Sionis. Due to being a makeup company, they had some big ones over the years for Halloween.

Now he tends to get busy, but appreciates the masks on the market. If there's a particularly good one he finds that can be set permanently, he'll add it to his collection. If an s/o happens to show him scare maze videos with their different sets and makeup, he might actually find a special interest in it.

When he finds out Harley is throwing the Halloween party this year, he's throwing his own opposing party. A better party. A party with blackjack. And booze!

The party ends up being a lot of underground folks and their partners trying to out-look each other and network. If Roman doesn't have a partner at this point, he has some arm candy in a "sexy" whatever costume to make him look good. When a partner is in the mix- he gets to drop the money on THEM on wild costume and sfx shit. Think of Heidi Klum Halloween but a team effort. Plus bonus: to do the sfx, he'll have to make a mold of your face that he gets to keep and look at amongst his collection.

Mr. Freeze

He's working, leave him alone.

Used to really like passing out candy to the kids with Nora. Fell out of it for a long time. Some years due to incarceration. Others, because of his own mourning. Now he tends to be working towards a cure in solitude far away from civilization to not be bothered for things like holidays.

What he does this year is very dependent on if he's seeing someone or not. If he's seeing someone, he rather wants to stay in and celebrate "normally." Small decorations around the house. A bowl of candy and he dresses up as a space man- The two of you sit in front of the house passing out candy. He delights seeing the kids and complimenting them on their costumes.

If he's by himself, he ends up going to Harley's party and sitting by himself with a drink in his hand for most of it. So awkward and uncomfortable but there is something about his friends not wanting him to be alone. They convince him to a group photo that he ends up framing to put in his lab next to Nora's picture.

Either way, Christmas is his time, so the moment it hits midnight October 31st, everything Halloween is GONE. Now that he's celebrating holidays this year, he's had to restrain himself hard-core so he's not that guy rushing everyone to Christmas.

Ra's al-Ghul

Does Ra's really celebrate holidays? Not unless he's with someone where that's important to them. Let's be honest, he's so old, he was there for some of these celebrations in their infancy.

His idea of celebrating Halloween is recounting the traditions surrounding it. And getting really creepy and ancient with it. I'm talking Samhain kind of thing.

He does not give out candy. If his s/o is into that, he'll kind of participate and not really Get It. Don't expect dressing up, either.

Lots of Edgar Allen Poe readings.

Bane

Didn't celebrate Halloween as a child and constantly forgets about it as an adult. Waylon reminds him to have a bowl of candy the week before because otherwise, Bane won't have anything. This has resulted in him opening the door to some very irate children wondering why he's a weirdo with no candy. Children are harsh, they'll tell you!

If he's out and about for Halloween doing villain stuff, people compliment his Luchador costume and he dies a little inside. While it sucks for him, it is one of the funniest things to see in person. No one is scared of the luchador in Gotham. The children are downright delighted. They want photos with him. There's multiple kids that run up to him speaking the most rapid-fire spanish you've ever heard in your life. There's several in their own luchador costumes that are losing their tiny minds at him. Changes his mood immensely for the better.

He absolutely gives extra candy for cute costumes and little kids, the sucker. He sees a toddler dressed as a pig and he's just cooing "pobrecito cerdo...."

Might go to Harleys party once the kids stop coming. Just to say hi and grab a beer. Feels pretty happy with himself.

[tame-a-messenger]

Damangela lives rent free on smoshtwt

...but in the most unfortunate way because have they not seen from this fixation of theirs that there's a section of us who will have a field day if Damien surprise us one day as a guest in a Starkid prod? Or another variant at Smosh where both Angela and Damien can showcase their talents and intellect? Their chaotic bickering is like treats because there's also other Smosh duos that have it too. But those fewer times where they truly shine, whether they're in the same video or not, really feels like a reward to witness it unfold.

(I am one of those who like this duo because of their musical inclinations and astounded by their way of thinking)

I simply don't know what they are trying to impose. The perfect person podcast really sealed it to me. That if what they imply is she only tolerates every interaction she had with him is simply off the marks. The pièce de résistance they can't ever refute.

Is it also not a tad reaching to practically put it on blast with their straw picking speculation that it was a Damien thing where they perceived him not being as socially adept in a way he is not in good terms to his coworkers? That's not a good look to give to someone who was masking before.

Smoshtwt can be too much sometimes,

I think I finally figured out why the interactions between here (tumblr) and there (Twitter) are so different - They partake in 'Stan' culture, while over here is a bit more rooted in classic 'Fandom' culture.

If you didn't know, 'Stan' comes from combining 'Stalker' and 'Fan' (I believe originating in the K-pop community) (though if you google it, it says it comes from an Eminem song. Funny, but I don't think that's right) so it's a bit more... intense. (either origin for 'Stan' is pretty extreme though)

That and Twitter in general festers a more hostile community. The more you make someone mad the more they interact with you, so Twitter pushes that content because of that.

(Back to your ask)

I don't know if I could physically watch a Starkid production with Damien in it, PURELY because I'd be TOO DAMN HAPPY. I'd be pausing every second and hyperventilating lol. (fr though, that would be SO FUCKING COOL!!)

It's maybe a little bit of a weird relation but, their dynamic to me is like watching a movie with incredible writing? For example of what I mean by that- Their Reddit Stories Ep really had me thinking totally different about all the situations. Literally every story Shayne would read out I would be thinking about what I thought about it, (I like to see if anyone on the couch is going to have similar opinions to me) and every. single. story. Angela and Damien came up with points I never even thought about, but were SO RIGHT!

He'd bring up something, then she'd dunk it with the most factual thing I've ever heard! (that guy not being able to wear that watch ever in front of his girlfriend !!) That whole episode is so good just for the way they both problem solve and how well they compliment each others opinions! They just have such good dialogue with each other. (Genuinely Oscar worthy writing in that episode of RS)

Every time I come across a post ANYWHERE talking about how they don't get why people even like Damangela because "Angela doesn't even seem to like Damien" it makes my eyes pop out of my skull.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN?? DO WE KNOW THE SAME ANGELA AND DAMIEN???

Like the sheer amount they both have gone on record saying how much they enjoy each others presence and love each other doesn't mean anything to them?! The amount they make each other laugh??

Like it really does come across as these Accounts just really not liking Damien more than anything to actually do with his and Angela's dynamic. (I could talk about reasons why Damien comes across as 'awkward' or 'bad with coworkers' to some people at length, but I'll save that for another day)(<-signed, Another Neurodivergent person with people issues <3)

I'm also totally convinced all the people hating on Damangela haven't seen much content with both of them in it. That's the only reason I would accept as to why they hate Damangela so much lol, they truly just don't know what they're missing out on <3

[myrtlefics]

A Statement from the Readers of Witch Weekly, Upon the Occasion of the Potter-Malfoy Wedding

We knew the first time we saw them together in public, of course! Well. Some of us knew. Some of us were still insisting the poor boy was straight, which anyone with a Witch Weekly subscription should have known was nonsense. Take that photograph on page two, November 3, 2001. We can remember it like it was yesterday, the way he was looking at Charlie Weasley on the dancefloor! His eyes were hotter than all those laser lights bouncing around! Well, and who wouldn’t look at Charlie Weasley like that? “Because he was reminded of Ginevra,” our broomsticks!

Excuse us. Some of us are a little excitable, due to the occasion.

We were saying: it was clear as a sunny day in January, those boys were head over heels on their first re-encounter. We saw all we needed to, there on page one! Among the dozen pictures from the opening of the new hospital wing, the way their gazes caught and clashed! The way their eyes kept dropping to each other's lips! And then— heads together, tilted close to hear amid what surely was a din of conversation, as if they were the only two in the world. Now that is romance, right there on the glossy page for anyone to see. And what could be more interesting than that?

So it was hardly surprising, to us, of course, when we saw them together again three issues later. We had debated it hotly in the meantime: where would they go? A formal date, a paparazzi shot of one leaving the other’s home in the early hours? A casual encounter easily explained? When we tell you, not a one of us could have predicted— except yes, fine, except Amelia, but her sight isn’t strong enough to see the biscuits in the tin half the time, so none of us listen to Amelia— well. Who, now honestly who, (besides Amelia) could have predicted the Scene at the Harpies Match?

And what a scene! Many of us screamed when we saw it! Four dozen of us dropped our tea cups and had to wait for our hands to stop shaking before we cast Reparo. Others bit our own hands nearly hard enough to draw blood, and Cuthbert fainted dead away onto a blessedly convenient chaise. That first image, the quick glances when they thought no one was looking, just missing each other's eyes over and over! The way the wind ruffled their hair, and that extra inch of throat from an open collar. That would have been enough to keep us going for another week, surely! But there was more.

Angry faces, flushed cheeks, and then! The way he stood up so quickly and strode out (on those legs, Merlin keep us), and the way he jumped up to follow! And of course. The pièce de résistance, which of course you would have seen: the confrontation against the wall of the stadium, braced against each other, furious, and— excuse us while we sigh— the Kiss.

After that it was full speed ahead, wasn’t it? We were witnessing a love story for the ages.

[mariacallous]

Guava rugelach are an edible testament to Jews embracing the new ingredients and cooking techniques that they encountered in the Diaspora. They are also a testament to my mom, a culinary magician who wielded guava like a wand, infusing its sweet tones into our meals.

Brought to Latin America by Eastern European Jews in the early 20th century, cities such as Buenos Aires, Mexico City and Caracas have embraced rugelach. While many versions of the pastry still proudly bear the traditional Ashkenazi flavors of cinnamon, raisins and nuts, that’s far from the whole tale. Rugelach in Buenos Aires or Caracas might contain dulce de leche or cabello de ángel (pumpkin jam), while a stroll into a bakery in Mexico City might reveal rugelach filled with luscious chocolate ganache and aromatic Mexican vanilla.

This rugelach dough is enriched with sour cream, and results in a soft, flakey pastry. The pièce de résistance, though, is the guava filling. 

Originating from Central and South America, “guava” translates to “fruit” in Arawak, the language spoken by the native communities of the Caribbean, where this fruit, similar in size to a passion fruit, grows in abundance. The guava’s tender skin encases a creamy white or orange pulp filled with numerous tiny black seeds. 

As guava is a seasonal fruit and isn’t as widespread as mangoes or papaya, I call for guava paste, due to its unique sour-sweet taste profile. Often referred to as “goiabada,” this paste generally has a lower quotient of added sugars and presents a superior texture for baked products. Unlike runny jams and marmalades, guava paste is sculpted into a dense, sticky block yet remains soft enough to be sliced. 

Growing up, my mom used the vibrant, naturally sweet guava as her secret ingredient, a touch of the tropics that hinted at Caribbean culinary tradition in Venezuela. It turned the simplest family recipe into an exotic treat. This recipe draws inspiration from her traditional guava bread, where history, heritage and affection were kneaded into dough and baked to perfection.

Her guava-infused creations echo loudly in my present, shaping the culinary adventurer in me and reminding me of the vital link between taste and memory. Guava rugelach are not merely a pastry but a narrative of the age-old Jewish practice of reinventing ourselves in the face of new environments. The story of my lineage in the Diaspora, one many fellow Jews can relate to, is etched in the buttery dough and sweet, aromatic filling. Each bite is a reminder of who I am: A fusion of cultures, histories and flavors.

[justasillylad]

mannn sweeney todd is so sad

its at its core a love story; everybody’s story revolves around love.

benjamin barker was in love with the IDEA of his lucy. and maybe it had something to do with him being gone for 15 years. but when the people he loved; his lucy and johanna weren’t who he remembered them to be, would he even remember them? how did he act when his lucy wasn’t young, soft, and most of all beautiful? when johanna was disguised in sailors clothes he didn’t recognize her. (that’s not a shortcoming on his side though: he hasn’t seen her since she was 1)

in his search for love and finding his life before, he let his anger consume him and destroyed what he thought he wanted.

and ms lovett, well, she was in love with a man she knew she could never have. of course sweeney wouldn’t just forget about his wife. but she didn’t think of it that way; she was BETTER than his wife. why couldn’t he see that? and it manifests in her continuous dehumanization of lucy. in “poor thing” she seems very sympathetic to her, saying poor thing in a way where she sees lucy as something to be pitied. then throughout the musical we see her chasing her out, calling her dirty (paraphrased: i’ll not have people like you hanging around my fine establishment!) and the pièce de résistance being in the final sequence. and it’s revealed she knew who she was all along. “could that thing have cared for you like me?” that’s all that lucy is to her; a thing. she’s not a tragic tale of a woman who had her husband taken away from her, tricked into trusting a man who would later rape her and take away her child, driven to suicide that failed and left her insane, no, she’s just a thing trying to take away what is hers. in this case, todd.

with judge turpin, i think it’s kind of obvious. although it could be argued that it is more lust rather than love which i wouldn’t say i disagree with.

with johanna, it could be argued she didn’t truly love anthony but i would say i disagree. maybe that’s naivety or misplaced optimism. her love of anthony and his love back led them everywhere. it saved johanna from her room where she was trapped. anthony risked his life multiple times for her and she did back. she got locked in a mental asylum because she didn’t love judge turpin (who most likely saw her as a stand in for lucy) but anthony loved her more than he was afraid of anything. it’s unclear how much time passed but johanna says last august (“will we be married on sunday? thats what you promised— married on sunday. that was last august. kiss me!”) which implies a very sizeable amount of time passed. and yet, when anthony finds her he tells todd he finally found her. all this time he had been looking for johanna, his love. johanna killed for anthony. well yes, she did kill fogg in order to escape the asylum but she also did it to be reunited with anthony. and after all the time, when she was locked away, after a brief bit of turmoil they go back to talking like they did, as if no time had passed at all.

sweeney todd is a musical about murder and cannibalism and all that jazz, yes, but it’s most importantly a story about love and how we can do both terrible and great things for love.

[rogueddie]

NSFW Steddie Fic Rec, Part 2: Bottom / Sub Eddie

Important: READ THE TAGS! Also, leave a comment and kudos! These fics are amazing and I love them and I hope y'all do too 💦

And for this one too, heavy emphasis on 'read the tags'. 🔞

Screw Todd, Steve's Her (His) Daddy Now

ArtaxLivs

Steve keeps calling himself Daddy "unintentionally" and Eddie...well, Eddie's about to lose it and do something he might (probably won't) regret.

Words : 5,087 Chapters : 1/1 ❗ : Light BDSM

AO3 : x

When You Sweat That Toxic Haze, I Love Your Smell

astromirage

“I’m sorry, shit ‘m sorry,” he whines, desperately needing to rabidly thrust into Steve’s cunt, to hold him down, fuck him until he’s cock stupid, drooling, only being able to beg for release, and Eddie’s dick.

“You better fucking be, don’t do it again,” he begins moving, propping himself up, just to work back onto his dick, doing this a few times, each drawing delicious noises from both of them.

Steve settles in, rocking against Eddie, the most pornographic sounds tumbling from his lips as he arches his back, burying Eddie’s cock in him deeper. His thighs burn as he fucks himself on Eddie, clenching around him, causing Eddie to groan, faltering in the stance he had sitting up. Their sweaty skin slaps together softly as Steve methodically uses Eddie, slowly working Eddie up.

Words : 3,661 Chapters : 1/1 ❗ : FTM Steve

AO3 : x

In My Boxers, Half Stoned

Eddywow

"You can," Eddie said, almost sounding like he was nodding along to his words. The image was too pure for Steve. "You could say anything you want to me and I'd- I think I'd be into it. Because I saw your pics and like, I know your face isn't in them but- but I really like them. Is it okay that I liked them?"

Words : 12,338 Chapters : 2/2 ❗

AO3 : x

Melt Me On Your Tongue

indelicate

“This okay?”

“Yeah it’s— shit, it’s more than okay, Steve.”

“… you’re crying, Eds.”

Eddie can’t hold back a choked off noise then, somewhere between an overwhelmed laugh and a sob.

“No one’s ever done this to me before.”

He doesn’t know if he means no one’s ever given him a bath, or braided his hair, or just any of the things Steve does for him, really.

Eddie's never had a Steve before.

Words : 5,879 Chapters : 1/1 ❗ : Mild Painplay

AO3 : x

Done Deal

morningberries

“I’m sorry, your royal highness, but I don’t accept trades, or favours, or IOUs, or promises, or anything relating. I accept cash. That’s it. End of story.”

“Are you sure?” Steve stepped forward into Eddie’s personal space and was pleased to see the other man’s round eyes grow impossibly larger. “I feel like I could offer you something that you want, that isn’t cash.”

Words : 3,644 Chapters : 1/1 ❗ : D/S

AO3 : x

The Bartender Was A Trap

MixAddams

Wouldn’t it be hilarious if Steve was just naturally amazing at DND?

Like he can see the strategy clear as day and can’t understand why the other players are taking so long to decide on their next move. He’s never caught by surprise by the story. He built his nearly flawless absolute weapon of a character in less than twenty minutes.

Eddie fucking hates it but oh boy does it turn him on

Words : 2,889 Chapters : 1/1 ❗

AO3 : x

Ozzy sucks

dirtyvalentine

And the pièce de résistance comes when Eddie tells him, "You could cover my mouth."

That one scares him most.

Because, well, "How are you going to use your safeword?"

"I'm not."

"What if you need to?"

"I won't."

"How do you know?"

"I'll never need to. Just trust me."

Words : 14,465 Chapters : 1/1 ❗ : Non-Con

AO3 : x

Emphasis: Major Trigger Warning for Rape Obviously I'm recommending this fic, but I do want to be clear; the content, what actually happens, in this fic? It's tagged Dead Dove for a reason. Heed the tags!

Open Up Baby

murdertrashbabyrat

Eddie calls him mommy one time, one fucking time, as a joke, he swears just a joke but then Steve looks at him, expression stern, hands on his fucking hips of course, and says, “Behave,” before snapping at Robin that she wasn’t putting this album on again and if she puts it on again he’s gonna destroy her and then she puts it on and he’s chasing her across the house and it’s funny and he should be laughing but instead he’s a little bit stricken over the fact that he’s fucking hard.

Words : 5,008 Chapters : 1/1 ❗ : Mommy Kink

AO3 : x

Whatever you want, Birthday Boy.

FluffyChicken

The club is fucking crowded when they arrive. Robin announces to the security man at the door that it's his best friend's birthday, and to Steve's dismay, she starts telling everyone who's listening that it's actually Steve's twentieth five birthday.

Fuck. Steve wishes to have twenty five years again.

"There you are, birthday boy!" He announces with a pretty smile that makes Steve go hot all over. Maybe he should take off his jacket.

Steve looks at his drink, the glass decorated with a silly pink umbrella, and smiles, reaching for his wallet and opening over the bar to pay.

“This one it’s on the house, handsome!” The bartender yells at him, putting his hand over Steve’s, stopping him. "Happy birthday!"

Words : 15,783 Chapters : 4/4 ❗

AO3 : x

[starrblossom12]

WHAT IS YOUR BANNER

hahahha, theres a funny story about the banner, essentially in THIS QL update it was joked that if martyn rolled a crit fail, it would mean that "its revealed the creeper is martyns soulmate", @buzzybeeboi drew the centerpiece and I added onto it with Joe and Jimmy's reaction; it is truly the servers pièce de résistance

Discord Link: HERE