#that should be a fic name lol

[ri-afan]

Bout to leave for work but this hit the brain after reading a twin fic on here:

Danny is Damien’s twin, but it’s fraternal. Damien only knows his sister and has mourned quietly for her.

Danny, trans, does his life and death in Illinois as per usual. There’s some ghost-meeting with Phantom for whatever but Danny’s just got eyes for his brother and Damien is like — but I don’t have a brother, I have a sister named ______. Danny’s like, yeah, no, I’m a guy, but good news, you gained a(couple)nother sister(s)!

Why didn’t Danny try find him? Idk, that could go many ways like memory issues/self-suppression due to ✨trauma✨ and by the time he gets it and goes to get research done he finds Damien died (Talia and the Clone) and was waiting/searching for his ghost while he’s scrambling with his halfa-status and it’s a whole wreck until finally —

[pixlatedvampire]

You gave those wounds to your god, Enki. Did you think they would heal so easily?

(Uh Oh! Someone gave the priest catholic guilt!)

[juustozzi]

soccer club shenanigans! also, don't mind the alt uniforms, these were drawn while I was writing and while they're not exactly fic art they share the vibe

[rawrsatthetree]

I’ve had this idea for a fic for awhile with a wizard noble background Tav that was engaged to Cazador who took a mortal fiancé to simply keep up appearances.

She doesn’t know him too well having only stayed at the crimson palace a for short periods of time for parties and chaperoned courtship. But when she does see him he’s excellent at playing the part, always kind and gentle with her even teaching her magic. She believes he’s eccentric and mysterious and maybe a bit of a heavy drinker, but she also believes he’s kind and will be a loving husband as he’s given her no reason to suspect other wise.

Also their wedding approached (as well as Cazador’s ascension) she started staying at the palace more and more. She given rather plain explanations as to why he and the spawn are only up at night, like his business requires late hours and the spawn are the servants that work the night shift with him. It doesn’t matter really as long as she placated until the wedding when he’s planning to ascend and take her as his first post-ascension spawn, perhaps he’ll even take her with a bridal ritual if she continues to prove obedient and useful.

During her stay a few of the spawn take turns staying back from hunting to play servant until their new mistress goes to bed. One night after growing restless with her routine and chaperone, she sneaks around the palace halls when she spots Astarion leaving very late in the evening. Her desire to explore the city and get some fresh air leads her to follow him. Surely it would be alright if she was with one of her fiancé’s most trusted servants, Astarion was always very kind to her, if a little timid. She could even help with whatever errand he’s running for Lord Szar, and it would give her an opportunity to learn about his businesses.

He spots her trailing him quickly, pulling her into an alley in the lower city. They argue for a bit as he begs her to return to the palace. She’s completely impossible and childishly stubborn. He’s about to loose his patience and drag he’d back by force when they’re both snatched up by the mind-flayers.

Thankfully Cazador had taught her enough magic to depend her self as she’s taken from her sheltered noble life style and forced into a dangerous adventure. Her goal, get rid of the parasite and return to her beloved fiancé. Confused, lost, and with out a chaperone or authority figure looming over her for the first time in her life. She grateful to have met Shadowheart. As they walk along the beach following the wreckage, she spots a familiar face. Her relief at seeing Astarion is short lived as he forces her to the ground and pulls a knife on her. He’s rude, mean, and forceful; so unlike the timid, kind, and respectful Astarion she had come to know. He only mocks her, there’s so much she doesn’t know so naive and stupid. But there’s a lot he doesn’t know about her as well. For better or for worse their both tasting freedom for the first time.

[fuedalreesespieces]

one thing that always gets me whenever i read inuyasha modern au fics is that inuyasha is supposedly "the slacker" or the guy who doesn't try hard on anything academia related, and that always struck me as odd bc you're telling me inuyasha wouldn't be competing with, say, koga for rank 1? that he wouldn't study his ass off in the subjects he's actually interested in? that he wouldn't pour his everything into extracurriculars he cares about? he has his aloof moments in canon but ultimately he's a hard worker and i think that trait should be reflected in aus!

plus if we're thinking about the setting here, inuyasha's canon behavior is greatly influenced by his upbringing (and later lack thereof). putting him in an environment (modern au, lack of youkai discrimination) where his talents are cultivated instead of looked down upon would give us a very different character. it's always interesting to me whenever i see canon-typical inuyasha behavior in an au where his mom is alive because it suggests that his mistrust and gruff behavior are just part of his personality and not largely a result of childhood events. i feel like modern aus are an opportunity to see how he might have grown if not for the death of his mother + father & the consistent threat looming over him as a child. what would his personality be like then? how would his first meeting with kagome go considering that? his dynamics with his older brother? his goals? it's something that could be explored in a fic taking place in the feudal realm but it's kind of difficult to just subtract the discrimination aspect that comes with that setting...just things to think abt ig!

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

violet soul

a smutty lucifer x reader fic for your enjoyment have fun <3 i feel embarrassed i was able to produce such filth :))))))

triggers warnings: dubious consent (the reader is not sober while giving consent! while they do believe they have given consent, they are not realising they're being manipulated into it!) and just like rough sex i guess haha but nothing requiring a specific trigger warning

hope you enjoy!!!

*slithers back into the void*

______________________________________________________________

You started having… dreams, recently. Very odd dreams. They feel real, way too real, and you wake covered in sweat, and the only thing you are able to think about is the dream, as if you’re still there. When you manage to fall asleep again, you simply continue where you left off. 

The dreams consume your waking life. You think about them constantly. Images, smells and sounds remind you of them. 

After a few weeks, you visit a therapist and complain about nightmares. She listens and nods sympathetically, and then she asks what the dreams are about. You open your mouth to tell her and find that you can’t. 

“They aren’t about anything, really. They are just… vivid,” you say, feeling embarrassed because of course you know what they’re about. If only you could remember right now. 

She looks at you with confusion in her eyes. “It’s okay, you can tell me,” she says gently. 

You wish you could, but you don’t know. You spend the rest of the session talking about things that don’t matter.

Later, you leave her office with a feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach. You feel like a woman possessed. 

The second you leave her office you remember the dreams again. 

In your dreams, you wonder aimlessly through a very dark place. Nothing happens, really, but it’s scary. Everything is so vivid, so lifelike. You feel the cold stone underneath your feet, the unbearable heat in the air that makes it hard to breathe, the smell of something rotten, something burning. You can never find your way out. Sometimes, you catch glimpses of… creatures. You always make it a point to avoid them. They pay no attention to you anyhow, but they are disturbing to look at, their faces contorted, deformed, burned, melted. Some have teeth like wild animals, some have no faces at all. You couldn't describe them in detail, really, you never stare. You always feel like there is someone watching you, but when you turn, there is no one around. 

The therapy session feels like a defeat and you call a friend to complain. They are sympathetic. You talk for a while, and you feel better — finally, someone understands you. Maybe you aren’t crazy after all. 

Then she asks you what the dreams are about. You open your mouth and nothing comes out. Your voice is gone. 

“Hello? Do you hear me?” your friend asks. You stare at your phone.

“I’m here,” you say, your voice miraculously returning. “My mom is calling me. I’ll call you later, okay?”

You hang up. You call your mom and another friend. You cannot tell any of them about the nightmares. Either your voice disappears, or you can’t remember a single thing about the dreams. The concern and disbelief in their voices make your stomach churn. You know they don’t believe you. You feel crazy. 

It’s evening already and you are so tired. You have run out of people to call and you’re not sure you’d even want to call anyone anymore. You feel on edge, weeks of poor sleep making you paranoid. You start wondering whether all of this is another nightmare. You try pinching yourself to wake up. It doesn’t work. You curl up on the sofa and turn on the TV, turning the channel to something mindless. 

You don’t notice when you fall asleep.

You are in that place again. A sickly sweet smell of something rotten is filling the air. The dark corridor you find yourself in is long and narrow, lit by torches that cast an orange glow onto the dark stone around you. There are doors all throughout it. You turn around. The corridor seems to be never-ending on both sides. You suppose there is no difference which direction you take, then. As soon as you start walking you see the door in front of you open and a black demon with no face steps onto the corridor. You scream and run in the opposite direction. You hear no footsteps behind you and you know it isn’t following you — they never do — but you can’t make yourself stop running. You run and you run and you run through the never-ending corridor. It’s hard to breathe, the air is so hot and it’s stuffy and you’re feeling dizzy and you hear your heartbeat in your ears, but you never stop. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been running when you find yourself at the end of the corridor. There is a grand door in front of you. Without thinking you try to open it, and it’s so heavy you have to use your entire body weight to push it. 

As you open the door, you find that the air is suddenly lighter. The rotten smell is no longer there, and instead it smells faintly of violets. Violets are your favourite flowers. You inhale deeply, relieved you can finally breathe.

The place you find yourself in is enormous, lit by torches. The ceiling is so high you aren’t sure you can see all the way up to it. You could look around for hours and still not be able to take it all in. As you observe the enormous hall, your eyes catch a glimpse a tall, dark figure standing a few feet away from you. It has huge, black wings. You wonder how you didn’t notice it immediately upon entering. The figure is looking at you. 

You know that’s the Devil. For some reason, you aren’t surprised. 

Somehow, you are now standing next to each other. 

The Devil is beautiful, you think, with their cherubic face and bouncy white curls that seem so soft, almost angelic, and you have to fight the urge run your fingers through them. 

The Devil is tall, so tall. Their stature is elegant, feminine. You admire their broad shoulders, the gentle curve of their breasts underneath their silken red robe, their imposing, black wings.

What really pulls you in are the eyes. It’s not that they’re a lovely cerulean blue, so deep you might get lost in them, it’s that they are looking at your very soul. 

They are the first to speak. 

“Finally, we meet officially, little lamb.”

Their voice sounds like the sweetest sin, silky and smooth and melodious. You find yourself enamoured with it. 

“Are you behind my nightmares?” you ask. 

“How pleasant your stay here is is entirely up to you,” they say and cock their head. 

“What do you mean, my stay here? This is a dream. I am still at home, in my bed,” you say, confused. 

“Not quite. You could be, if you so wished. But you wished to be here, didn’t you?” The corner of their lip curls slightly, as if they find all of this amusing. 

“I haven’t slept in weeks, and you tell me that’s by my own volition? That I wished to be here?” 

You can’t believe your ears.

“Think, little lamb,” they say, their voice sickly sweet. “You have called for me, don’t you remember? You said you were lonely.”

Dread fills you when you realise you do remember. It was a joke, a drunken escapade. You were out with your friends, drinking. You went into the woods. The moon was full. You were, as per usual, the clown of the group, making everyone laugh, complaining how you were the only one without a girlfriend. You climbed onto an old log, and proclaimed, “I would sell my soul to the Devil for a girlfriend! Fuck, I am so lonely!” and you laughed, and everyone laughed. They teased you, saying you surely don’t mean it, and you said, “of course I mean it,” and you spun around, took a swig of the cheap wine you brought along, and called upon the Devil three more times. 

“Tell the Devil I mean it”, you said, “tell her I’d fuck her if she would have me, I am so fucking horny,” and you laughed and everyone laughed, and you were drunk, and you don’t remember the rest of the night or how you got home. The next morning you were so hungover you barely remembered anything that happened. 

Until now. 

“Loneliness is a demon that eats at people. I would know,” they chuckle, the sweetest sound. “Especially humans… Humans crave connection, they simply long for it. And you are lonely,  my sweet little dove, I can feel it.”

“I—” you started, but they interrupt you. 

“Don’t worry, lamb, I am here to help you. That’s why you’ve asked for me, haven’t you?”

You want to tell them you didn’t ask for this, it was a mistake, you didn’t really mean it, you were drunk, you take it back—

Their silky voice cuts through your thoughts. 

“Tell me, would you like to be my friend?”

When the Devil asks you to be their friend you ought to tread carefully. 

“What happens if I refuse the Devil’s offer for friendship?” you ask.

They chuckle. They lean in, impossibly close. You are scared to death, afraid they will hurt you. You squeeze your eyes shut. You feel them in your space, around you, everywhere. Their wings flutter around you. 

They don’t lay a finger on you, however. You feel hot breath on your ear.

“I prefer Lucifer,” they whisper in your ear. You notice that Lucifer smells faintly of violets and burning wood.

“I realise you are reluctant to accept my offer for friendship. However, would you like to take a stroll with me?”

You open your eyes and see them towering over you. A shiver runs down your spine.

You are still unsure. 

“You don’t have to, of course,” Lucifer says, “but it will probably be a while before you wake. Might as well kill the time.”

They do have a point, you think. 

“I guess we can take a stroll,” you say and they grin at you. It’s a dangerous sort of smile. You find it incredibly charming. 

They offer you their arm to lean on. After a second of consideration, you take it. 

Their arm is warm, and as you link yours underneath it you immediately feel safe.

You blink, and suddenly you are in the most beautiful garden you have ever seen. Your mouth gapes open in awe. 

“Are we still in Hell?” you ask. 

“We are indeed. This is where I take my friends.”

You stay silent for a moment, taking in the beauty around you as you walk. Violets are blooming at every step. 

“How did you know violets are my favourite flower?” 

“Oh, are they? A mere coincidence,” says Lucifer and grins widely at you, flashing their white teeth.

You walk together for a while. Their strong arm is supporting you and you can’t help but be enamoured with them. Every once in a while, you feel their wing brush against your back. It sends delicious shivers down your spine. Their white curls are bouncing ever so slightly as they walk and you find yourself staring. They don’t seem to mind. The weirdest thing is, you can’t remember the last time you felt this peaceful. You find yourself thinking you could get used to this.

“Why do you want me as your friend, though?” you ask after a while, “What do you hope to gain from that?”

“Why, I hope gain a friend. And as for why I want you in particular as my friend…” they stop walking and look at you. “I do find your soul utterly captivating.”

“I must admit, I am surprised you haven’t asked what you will gain from our friendship. Don’t you wish to know?” they cock their head ever so slightly. Their piercing eyes are looking at your soul again. You feel naked. You cannot look away.

“Tell me, please,” you say.

“Think of every desire you’ve ever had. Every sinful thought that ever crossed your mind. Everything you never thought you could have. Do it.”

You do it. 

“Did you imagine it?” They take your chin in their hand. You feel your skin tingle under their fingers. They lean in, closer, closer, closer, until their nose is almost touching yours. You feel their hot breath on your lips. 

“It’s yours to have now.”

You feel dizzy. Your chest is heaving. You feel a craving, a desire you can’t name, and you can imagine the sweet gratification of its fulfilment. 

“Everything?” you ask, your voice hoarse. 

“Everything,” they say, and the hot breath that washes over your lips makes you wild. They are still holding your chin. It’s not painful but you can’t move. 

“May I… make a request then?” You are so overcome by desire that you struggle to think.

They chuckle, a puff of heat on your lips. “Greedy girl. You already made your request that night in the woods. But I will humour you. Make one more.”

You barely comprehend what they’re saying. All you feel is desire. Your eyes drift to their wings. 

“May I… touch your wings?”

You want to touch their beautiful wings so badly, but you are waiting for permission. There is a second of silence. To you, it seems like an eternity. 

Finally, they speak. 

“I said, whatever you desire. I fulfil my promises.”

They turn around slowly. You find yourself face to face with their wings. They are jet black, but you can see little veins running through them if you look closely. They seem impossibly smooth. 

You reach as far up as you can and run the back of your fingers all the way to the place where the wings grow out of their back. Lucifer shivers. 

Encouraged by that reaction you repeat the same motion again and again, then mirror it on the other wing with your other hand. Then you run your hands all along the base of their wings. 

Lucifer moans. 

The sound sends a jolt straight to your core. The wave of arousal helps you gather the courage to plant a hot kiss on their right wing. They moan again. You continue to kiss your way to the base of their wings, then all the way down along their spine until you reach the very end of it. The moans they are letting out are unholy. You fall down to your knees, your hands on their hips now. You want to continue your way down, but you are not sure if you’re allowed to. It takes an absurd amount of effort to stop. 

“Can I?” you ask, hoping, praying they will say yes. 

They turn around and look down at you. Their piercing gaze makes you dizzy, makes you want to pray to the Devil. 

They snap their fingers and suddenly you are in that grand hall from before. There is a throne there now and they are sitting on it. You are still on your knees in front of them. 

“Take what you desire,” they say.

“You may touch me here,” they touch their knee, “or here,” they move their hand upwards on their  thigh, “or there,” they slip their hand underneath their red robe. When they pull their hand out their fingers are glistening. You feel your mouth water. 

“Or even there,” they continue, their tone almost nonchalant, as they slowly, deliberately pull the robe off of their shoulders, exposing two small, perfect breasts. “Wherever you wish, my pet.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You start by kissing their leather boot. They seem to like that.

“Yes,” they say, their voice breathy, “worship me.”

And worship them you do. 

You slowly reach underneath their long red robe, running your hands over their boots and then reaching their smooth knees. You spread the robe open and kiss your way up their calves to their knees. You are moving on from their knees to their thighs, leaving a trail of hot kisses on their impossibly soft skin, when they move one of their legs up and put it over the armrest of the throne, spreading themselves in front of you. They aren’t wearing anything underneath the robe and you are met with the sight of their glistening arousal. You barely stop yourself from burying your face in those silky folds immediately — you want to kiss your way up to them, you want to savour it. 

You continue kissing their milky thighs, revelling in the way they feel under your lips. Lucifer’s breathing is getting more ragged by the second. You bite into their thigh. It feels like sin.

“Naughty thing,” they let out a breathy chuckle. “Bite me again.”

You bite their thigh again and they moan. You can’t restrain yourself anymore and you bury your face into their pussy. They grab a fistful of your hair. You suck, you lick, and there is no method to it, only lust. You are overwhelmed by how good their arousal tastes and you just want more, more, more. 

Their wings flutter around you. One of them touches your back, and you remember how much you caressing them made them moan. 

Lucifer is grinding on your face now and it’s so hot you almost don’t manage to pull away. You look up at them and say, “I want to touch your wings.”

“Go ahead, then,” they say. They are ever so slightly out of breath and their gaze is hooded and heavy. 

You climb up into their lap. With one hand you reach between their legs, running your fingers along their wetness, and with the other you start caressing one of their wings. The moan Lucifer lets out as soon as your hand touches their wing is sin itself. You start kissing their neck as you caress the wing with one hand and circle their clit with the other. You keep the motions on their clit steady, but you experiment with touching their wings, squeezing their breasts, alternating between the two, touching different spots, seeing which one makes them moan louder. What sends them over the edge is when you give their wing a hot, open mouthed kiss. They let out a high pitched moan and you feel them tense up underneath you. You continue to touch them until they push your hands away. 

Their orgasm is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever witnessed. But still, you desire more, more, more. You feel frenzied and hot all over. 

“Please,” you say, “may I request one more thing?”

“You’ve requested enough things,” they say and push you away from their lap. You fall on the floor. 

“Please, I will do anything.” 

Mistake. But you don’t care. Lust is making you lose your mind.

“Anything? Well, aren’t you a greedy little slut.”

The word sounds sinful when they say it, their gentle voice and angelic face clashing with the crudeness of it on their lips.  

They get up from the throne, silken robe closing around their legs, no longer exposing them. Their breasts are still bared. They tower above you. 

“First you get drunk, like a naughty little girl you are, then you go into the woods and call for Lucifer Morningstar, the Ruler of Hell, like they’re a servant who is here to grant your pathetic little desires.”

You are still on the floor, looking up at them. You feel like you’re about to cry, but you are also still burning with desire, the ache between your legs not waning for a second. It’s almost uncomfortable.

“And now, you ask me to touch you. Greedy, greedy girl,” they sneer. 

“However, to show you I am still interested in being your friend, I will grant your request. Get up.”

You get up as quickly as you can. You feel hot, way too hot. You feel a throb between your legs, uncomfortable, unrelenting. You wonder if that’s what happens when you fuck the Devil. 

They grab your jaw. “You like it when I do that, don’t you?”

You want to nod, but you can’t, their grip is too strong. “Yes,” you say instead.

“Let me tell you a little secret, as your friend.” They lean in. Smell of violets overwhelms you. “I like it too,” they whisper. Their hot breath on your ear almost makes you fall apart.

They let out a melodious chuckle and kiss your neck. You shiver, but you feel like you’re on fire.

“Oh, poor thing,” they coo at you. “I haven’t even started yet, and you are already falling apart. Tell me, pet, what made you think you’d be able to endure being fucked by me, hm?”

“I… didn’t think that. I didn’t think anything, I was drunk—” you say, feeling embarrassed.

“Oh, but you did, sweet lamb. You said it yourself. Tell the Devil I mean it, tell her I’d fuck her if she would have me, I am so fucking horny.” Their voice is sickeningly sweet. “Well, what if she would have you, hm? What would you do then?”

“I—I don’t know.” You can only think about the ache between your legs. 

“Hm. Well, then I shall have to fuck you and see.”

They bite into your neck. You cry out. They grab a fistful of your hair and pull you towards themselves, clashing your lips together. They forcefully slip their tongue into your mouth, claiming you, making you theirs. You can barely breathe. 

They snap their fingers and suddenly you’re naked. If this was any other scenario, you’d feel self conscious, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You are consumed by lust and you feel like you’re going crazy. 

They break the kiss. “You wanted me to touch you. Like this?” 

You gasp when they slap you. You hate yourself for liking it. 

“You like that, I know,” they say softly, “but it’s not enough. You still need more. Tell me, what would you do for more?”

“Anything.”

You’re burning. 

“Anything? Oh, I do hope you mean that.” 

They lean in and kiss the cheek they just slapped, the softest, warmest kiss that makes you tingle. It feels like heaven. They run their hands over your breasts, squeezing them with gusto, then pinch and twist your nipples forcefully, making you yelp. 

“Will you be my friend, then?” they ask sweetly, pulling you closer and squeezing your ass, making you moan.

You are too dizzy and too hot to form sentences. They spank you forcefully. You moan again, louder this time.

“Answer me.”

“Yes, yes, anything,” you say. 

They smile. It’s lecherous and it sends a shiver straight to your core.

“Finally, pet. But you have kept me waiting for far too long. I feel like some sort of punishment must be in order.” 

They snap their fingers again and you find yourself bent over their knee as they sit on their throne.

“Thirthy-three strikes. Count.”

They don’t give you even a second to process the command before they start spanking you. You lose count immediately, only aware of the delicious jolts to your core each time they spank you. 

“I said, count.” They spank you so forcefully you see stars. A single tear rolls down your cheek. “Now look what you’ve done, I have to start all over again.” 

They start spanking you again, and this time you count. It gets harder towards the end, and you can't stop yourself from crying. Your pussy is throbbing with need— you’ve never experienced anything quite that intense — and each slap on your red ass makes you flinch. Pain and pleasure mix in a delicious way and it’s overwhelming, but you still need more. 

“Thirty-three,” you finally cry out as they spank you for the last time. 

Not giving you a second to recover, they pull you up into their lap with ease. You wince in pain as your ass touches their thigh. 

“Aw, poor baby,” they say mockingly. “Let me dry those tears.”

They catch one of your tears with their finger and put it in their mouth. They moan in pleasure at the taste. 

“Delicious. Try it.” They catch another tear, ever so gently, then slip two fingers into your mouth.

“Suck.” 

You obey.

“See, you can be a good girl when you want to,” they say gently. “Yes, such a good girl.”

You melt at their praise. It makes you warm all over. They pull their finger out of your mouth with a wet pop. 

They kiss you again, this time softly, delicately. They run their nails over your back, the most gentle of touches, but it makes you shiver and burn and shake. They put one hand on your neck, tangle it into your hair, bringing you closer, closer, closer, while the other hand finds itself on your waist. They slip their tongue in your mouth, and you lose yourself in their touch. You don’t know where you end and where Lucifer begins anymore, and that ache between your legs feels like actual hellfire. Maybe it is actual hellfire. Maybe that’s what happens when the Devil fucks you. You don’t know.

Their hands are everywhere, and you aren’t sure how many hands there are anymore, and you don’t know where you are, you don’t know who you are — the only thing you are aware of is Lucifer and fire, fire, fire between your legs. 

“Yes, my sweet lamb, moan for me,” they purr, and you are surprised to realise you are moaning rather loudly and unabashedly. You are barely aware of your actions, no longer in control of your body.

After an eternity of delicious agony, their fingers graze your clit. You feel like you’re about to fall apart.

They circle your clit, agonisingly slowly, and you wail. You tangle your fingers into their soft hair, trying to hold onto something to keep yourself from falling apart. 

“Oh, darling, I am barely touching you,” they say sweetly. “I do have to ask you before you lose yourself completely, do you want to stay here with me?”

You can barely comprehend what they’re saying. “Stay?” you manage to utter through your moans. You try to rut against their hand, but they grab you by the hips, holding you still. 

“Yes, lamb, stay still for a second longer, yes, that’s it,” they coo at you. “Good girl. Yes, will you stay here with me forever? For all eternity?”

“Eternity…?” 

There is a distant alarm going off somewhere in your head, but you can’t pull yourself together long enough to think rationally. They run their fingers over your wet slit and suddenly there are no more thoughts left in your mind. 

“Yes, my sweet. An eternity of pleasure, an eternity of this,” they hiss as they slip a finger inside of you. You grip their hair tighter, afraid you will fall apart. You have never experienced pleasure as intense as this. 

“Yes,” you say, “yes, yes, yes, please, yes. I want you so much, oh please, fuck—”

They start pumping their finger in and out, slowly, hitting just the perfect spot, but it’s not enough, you need more. 

“More, please, more, aah—” you scream as they slip another finger and start fucking you forcefully. It’s the most intense pleasure you’ve ever experienced. 

“Do we have a deal, then?” they ask, completely calm and collected as they fuck you into oblivion. 

If you were in your right mind, you would have been wary of making any sort of deal with the Devil. If you were in your right mind, you would have realised your fate was sealed that night in the woods and that they had you all along. But considering the Devil is currently kuckle deep in you, you have no chance. They know that. They simply enjoy toying with their prey. 

The only thing you manage to do is to scream an ear-piercing “yes” as you come. 

When you come down from your high, the fire you felt before is no longer between your legs, and it is no longer pleasant. It is in your soul. The air no longer smells of violets — it smells like rotten flesh. 

Lucifer gives you their sweetest smile. They look like a true cherub, the prettiest of angels. 

“Welcome to Hell, sweet lamb.”

[frog-with-no-therapy]

My favorite running gag of spiderman

I'm like 90% convinced he has a another super power related to noticing hyphen, him and the rest of the spider people

[coralhoneyrose]

QUICK I MUST HAVE CHROBIN FANFIC RECOMMENDATIONS BEFORE I WRITE THEM MYSELF

Oh man, I wish I could ask you follow-up questions in order to curate these recommendations more to your taste LOL. Idk if you are interested in reading chrobin for all Robin genders, if you're only looking for complete fics, if you're comfortable with smut, etc., but in light of my inability to know your preferences, I'm just gonna cast a wide net with my recommendations and let you sort through what appeals most to you from the list. I am also going to resist talking about *what* I love about each of these fics for now or else we will be here all day, but if there are any you would like to hear more about in a follow-up, feel free to lmk. Clearly I am just excited to have any excuse to talk about chrobin and some of the very wonderful fan work that exists for the pairing <3

Also big disclaimer that this is not a comprehensive list. This fandom is 2000+ fics strong and I am absolutely going to forget some gems and personal favorites. Additional note that many of the authors on here are prolific contributors with many excellent chrobin fics and that I definitely recommend browsing their profiles for more if you enjoy anything on here. In fact, please do, because I tried to limit myself to just one selection per author here and some of these writers have so sooooo many chrobin fics that make me crazy in the best way. Okay, without further ado:

A Book of Most Curious Letters (Perhaps silly to include this one in that it's very fandom famous but it's also my all time favorite so I'm including it anyway LOL)

The Heart of the Moon

All's Fair In War and Fake Engagement

An Inevitable Encounter

Otherworldy

The Blank Man

Take On Me, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Chrom

Carrion Comfort

there's a record on and the song remains

Stunning

worthiness is no more than a brazen gambit

Convince Me

The Colours of Me, the Colours of You, the Colours of Us

Oceanic Eyes, a Radiant Smile, and a Solar Halo

I Like What We Have

A Gentle Whisper

Homecoming

For Lucina

Return

like a thief into the night

First

Between

The Rook's Endgame

Someone reaching back for me

Priorities

Okay, I'm gonna cut myself off there for now--hopefully this helps! That being said, I definitely think that in addition to reading these fics you should still consider writing some yourself if you want to~ Often times creating scratches a different type of itch, and from a purely selfish standpoint, I like having more chrobin to read too LOL. Thanks for the ask, anon!

[f1-stuff]

harem...

I knew rissa would want that one asfdhfgsh (here's the previous snippet of this fic that I shared last year). And below the cut is another little 650-word drabble.

(Warnings for the sort of insensitive language you'd expect from royalty about a bed servant? I guess? 😅 As well as my limited Spanish knowledge - anything written in Spanish is meant to signify that Charles doesn't know what it means)

The prince trains often and hard, nearly every day of the week, practicing his swordsmanship with his cousin or his instructor, Rupert. Sometimes, even the king, though much more rarely. Charles always accompanies him to these training sessions, prepared with facecloths for him to wipe away perspiration and water to keep him cool. The prince sometimes thanks him, smiling in gratitude or, on rare occasions, adding a wink that inspires Charles to blush.

He often...overhears things. It’s a consequence of (almost) always being in the prince’s company, along with his curious nature not allowing him to shut off his ears. Especially not when Charles is the topic of conversation.

“Have you had a taste, then?” the prince’s cousin, Duke of ____, asks him one day. ‘Gusto’ - it’s the same word in Italian.

“Taste?” The prince asks.

“Of the boy?” 

Charles flushes, despite his best efforts, focusing harder on the ground at his feet to feign unawareness. It’s possible they aren’t referring to him...

“‘The boy’ can hear you, tío,” the prince says. So much for that theory.

“You are evading the question,” the duke says, and Charles can hear the teasing note in his voice, but doesn’t dare look up to confirm. “I don’t understand you, cousin. You are gifted a lovely creature like that, a bed servant trained for a king, and you consign him to the role of a glorified assistant.”

The prince doesn’t respond, but Charles can see him practicing his swings and stances from the corner of his eye. He doesn’t have to work hard to imagine the impatient frown on the prince’s face. He’s seen it enough times while he responds to tedious letters at his desk in the late hours of the night.

“Is it because he’s un gabacho?” the duke asks, and the prince only huffs in response.

Charles doesn’t know the word, but he’s heard it applied to him before. He wishes he could talk to Valeria, continue their Spanish lessons or even just spend time in each other’s company the way they used to. He misses her, perhaps his only true ally in this place. He’s convinced he has her to thank for the prince’s decision to reassign him. Otherwise, he might’ve ended up in the kitchens or stables, or worse, cast out of the palace completely, condemned to a life as a beggar or in a brothel, without any other skills to make a living.

“I’m not amused by this topic,” the prince says, his tone bored.

“I am,” the duke says, laughing. “Come now, cousin. Do you not agree that he’s at least pleasing to look at?”

“I’m bored of this, Caco. I’ve told you to leave it.” The prince’s voice is hard now, annoyance lacing his words. Charles glances up long enough to see the duke raise his hands in surrender.

“I’m only curious, cousin. But I’ll leave it. For now,” he adds, a smirk in his voice. But then his tone grows more serious. “But know that I am not the only one with such questions. If you continue to show indifference toward the boy, you might find others are tempted where you are not.”

“What does that mean?” the prince asks, in a dangerous tone.

“I think you know,” the duke says. “No one would dare insult you by laying a hand on a bed servant of the Crown Prince. But he’s not your bed servant, is he?” There’s a beat of silence that feels loud, heavy. Then, the duke continues, “A creature like that will not stay unsullied for long, cousin.”

Silence again, then the prince says, “I do not care where the tontos in this palace stick their pollas.”

“Your words say one thing, but your face says another, my friend.” The duke doesn’t give the prince a chance to respond, though. “Come on, cabrón. Let us cease talking and begin swinging.”

“Finally,” the prince says, but he sounds far less enthusiastic now than at the start of their session.

WIP Wednesday

[jichanxo]

sunday six ✌

tagging @four-white-trees @passthroughtime @overdevelopedglasses @skysquid22

decided to get back to my itokura-kitakata fic again! here's the two of them arguing about whether romance belongs in mystery fiction, lmao

“There’s no objective way of reading a text, and no objective way of interpreting one either. ‘Objectivity’ is just an idea made up by boring people who think mystery fiction should be logic puzzles and nothing else. If that’s what you want from mystery, just do a crossword or something. Intellectual stimulation, with no frills. That’s what you want, right?”

“Ugh, you’re just impossible.” Itokura threw her hands up in the air. “You don’t get it.”

He leaned closer, focused. “What don’t I get? It sounds like you’re the one who doesn’t understand.” 

“You don’t understand the beauty of an elegant trick. All this extra stuff just obscures it. It’s cheap.” She raised an eyebrow. “And what are you saying I don’t get? Love? And you’re saying that you do?” 

Kitakata floundered at that. He forced himself not to glance over to where Yagami was at the computer, talking to Amasawa, lest he make everything obvious to Itokura. Besides, he wouldn’t know what he’d do if he found Yagami looking right back at him, listening to their conversation. 

“That’s not what I was saying.” 

“Then are you going to explain what you meant, or are you going to keep beating around the bush?” 

[stergeon]

three 1,000-word edeleth one shots for your reading pleasure.

[dipplinduo]

Man, I agree that Kieran needs to get himself together, but I don't like that Arven called him a project. He's basically saying that Juliana doesn't actually love Kieran and she's only with him because she has daddy issues. I guess that's the only reason you two became friends then, huh Arven?

(Context: Sweet & Sour Dipplins, Chapter 19)

Live footage of me being wildly entertained by this divisive point in S&S D LOL. But this is such a good take too!! Because yeah, calling Kieran a "project" was def more of an insult than an expression of concern. These poor characters are going through a lot of emotions. :')

[pastafossa]

HELLO PASTA 🩷🩷 i just had a random thought but like since jane hind isn’t (her? my?) actual name, in the future when she and matt get married and she becomes mrs. murdock, which name is the one that gets changed? the jane hind one or the real one? i imagine getting jane hind changed to jane murdock would be difficult since it’s a fake identity and name after all, but then again idk how all that stuff works legally so i was curious on your thoughts!!!

also, thank you for the newest chapter!! 💜 i am extremely excited to see what the outcome of this attempted mugging will be 🙈🙈🙈

The good news is this is going to actually become a plot point as we slowly explore the deepening themes of identity and the way all of us wind up having to choose who we are.

Her name is a false one, a name she took on that basically means 'Identity Unknown'. It's her own in-joke that she has no identity, no connections. In that way, it's incredibly symbolic. She's getting used to it, don't get me wrong. She's been wearing it for a few years by this point (the longest she's ever used a false name now), and most of us would start seeing it as our name after that long. We've also seen how the lines are starting to blur as she lets more of herself out and the Jane Hind identity adjusts to those gradual changes. Is she becoming Jane Hind? Is Jane Hind becoming her? Or is this still just a part she's playing?

So what happens when, yeah, she suddenly finds herself wanting a name, Matt's name, not because she needs another fake name, but because taking it would mean she was loved, cherished, and had found a place she belonged? She's only ever changed her name by burning the last one and moving on to a new identity, so the question fo what to do here is a difficult one. In theory, she could make an attempt to change her name to Jane Murdock, but there's a risk her identity wouldn't hold up, and then it might all blow up in her face, whether that's legal charges or something far worse. But if she wipes out the Jane Hind identity and 'reappears' as herself, well, there's not exactly a lot of legal documentation for that life either (since it's not like Cyrus James handed her her birth certificate or social security number when she escaped). She also barely knows that old life. Would it feel just as much like a false identity as all of the others she's worn before?

All in all, it's a very thorny issue at the moment, and while I won't spoil what's going to happen, I can at the very least confirm that Jane is going to have all the same questions, and the problem is eventually going to be solved in what I like to think is a really sweet, meaningful way. ❤️

And thank you so, so much! I've got part of that attempted mugging already written and let's just say I've had a lot of fun writing it. The muggers are admittedly having much less fun, but hey, that's what we're here for. 🤣

[robin-with-a-pen]

I need name ideas for Chilchuck’s wife NOW

[champselysees]

The pain of posting on anon is the fact that sometimes someone you know comments and you’re stuck in your cage screaming hi I know you except you’re anon so they don’t know it’s you and it’s this stupid circle—

[jessicas-pi]

Got Calvinball'd by @kanerallels and @singswan-springswan, so here's a bit of the TLC/Rebels AU I started writing this morning instead of just rambling about the plot idea like I was supposed to *side eyes my bad impulse control*

Sabine yelped in surprise as a blur of orange vaulted over her table, and a voice hissed “Please don’t tell them I’m here!” It didn’t take long to figure out who the “them” was, because a second later, three angry boys shoved through the marketplace, looking around. One of them approached her stall, and the kid who’d thrown himself over the countertop crouched as low as he could, so the guy couldn’t see him over the table. Sabine didn’t like bullies. And those boys looked like bullies to her. “Can I help you?” Sabine asked. The guy glared at her. “I said,” Sabine repeated, standing, meaningfully resting her hand on a wrench. “Can I help you?” He scowled and stormed off without a word, and Sabine sat back down and then swiveled in her chair to look at the kid and demand answers. And Sabine froze. He was dressed in casual clothes, but they couldn’t disguise him from her. The net connection in her mind whirled, flashing up lines of information in her bionic eyes as her brain put the pieces together. Ezra Bridger. Age—15. Royalty. Orphan. Under the guardianship of the Prince Regent up until his 18th birthday— She realized with a jolt that he was staring right back at her, and she gulped down her disappointment as she wondered what she’d done to give herself away. Maybe one of her sleeves had ridden up when she stood, revealing a glint of metal wrists. Or maybe he’d somehow already heard about the cyborg mechanic in the marketplace. Or maybe— Still staring goggle-eyed at her, he grinned and whispered a breathless, “Hey.” Or maybe, Sabine realized, a little bit relieved and a little bit amused, he just thought she was cute.

No-pressure tagging @seleneisrising @jedi-nurse @better-call-mau1 and anyone else who wants to join!