#thats what the description reminded me of

[jazzically]

ok how bout i go through it (spoilers ahead for both the album and for tma!! i'd personally recommend going in blind and then reading this review)

lmao i say that like a question but you already know i will hold you here until you are done listening to me talk and talk and talk and t

SPOILERS BELOW!

1. spiraling down is an absolute VIBE. i am really really enjoying this

OHMG THEY SAMPLED MICHAELS LAUGH THATS SICK!!!!!! THIS IS GENUINELY INCREDIBLE. 8/10 because its a great song absolute banger but doesnt really mesh with the spiral/themes of insanity as much as it could imo

additional notes: omg how did i not catch the door opening/closing noises at the beginning and end of the song on my first listen. hello.

2. this is glorious ambiance. omg. OH MY GOD OH MYG OD THAT'S TERRIFYING

holy CRAP

HOLY CRAP DUDE JUST go listen to this i am BLOWN AWAY by the production quality and attention to detail

corruption is flawless so far

JESUS

that was 10/10 hands down glorious. very sinister. i wont spoil it for you but it's an experience

3. YAAAAAS I LOVE BREAKBEAT its chill in like a desolation type way

really really sick bass going on here holy shoes

THIS ONE IS ACTUALLY AMAZING I LOVE THEM ALL I LOVE THEMMM they're all different and magical and vibey in their own ways

ok im kinda getting the style of this artist now. i rescind my earlier comments about the spiral not being spiral-adjacent enough for me. for this style it's PERFECTION

DOES SHE FEEL IT!!!!!? BECAUSE IT'S ALL HAPPENED BEFORE!!!!!

4. OMG THIS IS ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLE. STRAIGHT FIRE

this is really reminding me of milwaukee protocol A6 (milwaukee protocol is another fantastic underrated album that i highly recommend)

5. the use of sfx in this project is completely insane it's gorgeous dude

OOOOGH

i can see you seeing me ...

oh my lord jons voice in the background

HOLY CHRIST THAT BEAT DROP

LITERALLY BONKERS

im in AWE *explodes*

this is what played during 200 actually. i make the rules

this is actually genuinely fantastic music though. i did noT expect it to be THIS good

6. WHOA I AM SPOOKED

i ADORE THIS ONE !!!!!!! IT'S PERFECT FOR THE DARK!!!!!

7. THAT WAS INCREDIBLE I HAV E NO WORDS it sounded like a lovely deep purple

8. WOW OK STRAIGHT FIRE RIGHT OFF THE BAT????

YOOOOOOOO THIS IS BEAUTIFUL

every time i think of the flesh as a fear i remember jonny saying he was proud of its justification (fear of being nothing more than your body, fear of being warped and horribly disfigured beyond recognition, fear of being hurt and of being chopped up and consumed) and YES JONNY I AGREE YOU SHOULD BE

anyway totally amazing

OH HELLLLLL YESSSSSSSSSS THEY USED A CLIP FROM KILLING FLOOR MY FAVORITE MAG (well it's the one i say is my favorite — definitely top ten at least)

IM GETTING ACTUAL CHILLS JESUS

9. AYE THAT WAS SICK

oooooh ???

HOLY FRICK.

THE USE OF DRUMS IN THIS IS BRILLIANT DO YOU HEAR THOSE RIDES CRASHING

the best way i can articulate my thoughts is this: these songs sound exactly like a poetic description of the fears they convey

OHHHH MYY GOOODDDD THIS IS SOOOO GOOODDD

!!!!!!you can tell a tonnnn of work went into these

im going to need to relisten to this all the way through,, oh my

10. i predict this one will either sound incredibly muffled or earsplittingly loud

hmm ok so far very mellow

OOOO STRINGS

this kinda beat is right up my alley

11. AAAAAAAbsolute vibe. loving it. lovvve. definitely very interesting

12. OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!!!!!! IT'S EVERYTHGING!!!!!! iT'S EVERYTHING I HOPED IT WOULD BE I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS IM SCREAMING AND SBBING DYING ON THE FLOOR i "fell" in love with the vast a while ago (he h heh) and i have NEEDDED something like this in my life this is the most amazing vast ambiance i have eEVER heard oh mygodoogodmy god new go-to unlocked 100000000000/10

13. OH M GEE LONELY IS PERFECT TOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FLAWLESS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this could work for vast too i think but it's more melancholy. it sounds like it would play in martin's domain. screaming screaming internally i feel so

its making me feel things bro

oh this is just gorgeous all around

im obsessed im CRAZY

the slow descent...into "maybe it's better this way".... the loss of self. so acutely conveyed through music.

that gentle pause that says i dont know what to do anymore now that im alone; i guess i just keep going.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I LOVVVVVE for the second half of the song they somehow made drums belong in the lonely hello??

THE ECHOES are hurting me in my soul this is BRILLIANT.

NNNNO STOP THEY ADDED MORE PAIN

14. TERMINUS!!!!!! LETS GOOOOO!!!!!!!!! oh i am fEELING this minecraft end dimension ahh sound ok get it

i really like that they put the end at the end lol

it needs no ritual, for in its infinite patience it knows inevitability

me when i slowly approach death with this playing

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

ENNNNDDDING NOTESSSS

this entire album is so so so beautiful please feel free to check it out 👍

tbh tma video game when?? and also please hire this guy for it??

HELLO. I GENUINELY CANT PICK A FAVORITE. i adore them all for different reasons.

i like how hunted is really long and sort of repetitive — it articulates that feeling of the never-ending chase. also its STRAIGHT FIRE so ive just been listening to it over and over

corruption is BRILLIANT for a variety of reasons i love love love that one

currently listening to ceaseless watcher because both the BASS and the BEAT DROP are INSANE im so normal about this audio art of this other thing that im also very normal about

ehehe thanks :D

guys btw i found this fabulous af tma fan album — fourteen tracks, one per fear — largely instrumental but it's ABsoLUTEly AMAZING. epicest ever. it's called "panopticon" and is by harvo.

[triglycercule]

hhhhidea...,,,, CUTE idea (kinda?) dust reading to phantom papyrus during night to lull him to sleep,,,, but really its just a way for him to pretend that everythings not really that shit (as if phantom paps isn't just dust's denial incarnate) and to help him NOT wake up because of a nightmare again or something

(and just because i can't resist now im imagining this with mtt. not that dust stopped reading to paps in place of killer and horror (because he wouldnt he simply wouldn't) but now the two join them for storytime. horror knocks out pretty damn fast and eventually dust falls asleep too after he makes sure that paps is satisfied with the amount he read and then killer's just left to sit there. maybe he tries to fall asleep maybe he doesn't,,,, maybe he picks up the book and continues reading but EITHERWAY,,,,,, this scene in my head so 💥💥💥😇😇😇)

[xpastelsweetsx]

I’m sorry PERFECT FOR WHO?!?!?

[invisibleoctopus]

starting to think im a bard of void instead of being a knowledge class. i have the whole bardic crisis thing (oct 13 2013. sunday) the whole opposite aspect thing before that (Gifted Kid TM where part of my personality was bring smart. is very lightcore) and just how i seem to destroy everything i touch.

my aversion to lying and how terrible i am at it because its on a physical level in my body and i have to script it in advance (yes this is mostly autism) and not liking to keep secrets and being a blabbermouth. destroying void.

destroyed by void. getting FADED with weed. self isolation and most of my time being spent gaming or on the computer/phone. my awful terrible recurring dreams (dreams are void) that i have a fucking tag for. but the horrors have become almost mundane with how repetitive they are in my dreams and thats why i dont call them nightmares

[long-death-dazai]

well I live in this dumping area. i found this oddly convenient shipping container. its weird because it had all this furntiture but no signs of anyone living in it for awhile.

"Greetings.. You're from yet another unfamiliar Realm, correct? I wonder what's similar and different between the main timeline and you.. intriguing."

(- @the-puppeteerr )

Yup! I've wondered that myself from time to time actually. I'm not too curious about it yet though.

[ask-interdimensionaltravellermu]

aaaaahhg

[luveline]

Hi Jade ! I loove your sunshine!readers, could I request one for Carmy ? Maybe someone calls her to get to the restaurant when hes feeling anxious to calm him down idk if thats good lol love ya !

ty for requesting <3 fem, 1.4k

Is it The Beef or The Bear? In your head, despite the wishes of everyone who works there (except for Ebra, who seems to have mixed opinions), you always call it The Beef. But the sign brags otherwise, and when you push open the doors, nothing inside is left to remind you of the old restaurant. It was a total gut. 

“Hi, gorgeous,” says a familiar, warm voice. 

You almost walk straight into her table, distracted looking for brown curls through the kitchen door’s little window. “Hey, Tina.” You grin at your second favourite chef. Your most favourite Sous. “You taking a break?” 

She offers you a round butter cookie from a sleeve of them. Her cup of coffee billows with steam. “Uh-huh.” 

“Hiding from a meltdown?” you ask, taking a cookie, fingers oily with butter, sugar grains falling to the floor. 

“It’s not like that,” she says. 

Well, what is it like? you think. 

Richie’s text wasn’t exactly descriptive. Need ur help with the little Bitch, he’d said. Then, when you didn’t answer, ASAP!!!!

You figured it must’ve been another rant. He’s prone to these… episodes of anger where he doesn’t realise he’s spinning out and hurting people who really care about him. You try to bring him out of it, but he’s a Berzatto. They’re all the same, sort of. Everything that’s wrong with them has been stamped into them a long, long time ago. 

He’s been better since Nat steel armed him into AA, but still. You tilt your head to one side, sugar cookie between your fingers, listening for the goings on in the kitchen. “Sydney’s here?” you ask. “I thought she was sick.” 

“Sydney gets sick, but she doesn’t take sick days,” Tina says with a loving shrug. 

You smile at her in brief goodbye for now and make your way to the kitchen, where you push in quietly. All their ‘Behind!’ and ‘Corner!’ and ‘Hands!’ makes you laugh, and you can’t take it seriously so you don’t, but you’re not trying to be dangerous in there either. 

“Hello?” you ask. 

Sydney and Richie look up from a cramped notebook at the table nearest to the door. There are employees you're unsure of prepping vegetables along the wall, but Carmy isn’t anywhere to be seen. 

“Fucking finally,” Richie says, before rubbing his face regretfully. “I’m sorry, it’s just– I texted you an hour ago, babe, you’re letting me down.” 

You laugh. “Sorry, babe,” you tease. “I have a job, just like you.” Your hands are cold where you tuck them under each armpit, crossing your arms. “Hi, Sydney. You feeling okay?” 

“No. He’s stressing me out.” 

“Which one?” 

“Both of them.” She looks like she might rub her face too. “I need him to be in here right now, he should be doing this, but he keeps walking away and– and not saying where he’s going.” 

“He is stressful,” you agree, though usually Carmy’s stress tends to bounce right off of you, “I’m gonna find him and strap him down for you.” 

Sydney just frowns. 

“I’ll see what’s up,” you say more seriously. “In the office?” 

“Out the back,” Richie says. “Smoking like his mother. He’s a fucking steam train lately.” 

It’s like they want to worry you. You give them grateful nods, sorry nods, and start to make your way out of the main kitchen, past the dishwashers and the dessert station to one of the back doors. Carmy isn’t your responsibility. You don’t have to apologise for him, you don’t have to mother him, he should commit to his responsibilities all on his own, but… it’s hard. You like apologising for him because his behaviour isn’t always on purpose, and he struggles with commitment for similar reasons. There’s this aching, stagnated grief in him that’s reawakening, there’s the stress of the restaurant, his business, the scars of the last ten years, and before that. You know it isn’t your job to come here and make him feel better, but isn’t it? When you love someone, it’s half the deal. 

Carmy shouldn’t yell at his friends, or employees. He shouldn’t chain smoke, and he shouldn’t be sitting on the low wall by the dumpsters shaking so hard with his head so low that you can see the first notch of his spine in his shirt. 

“Carmy?” you ask. 

His head ducks further down. You can hear him breathing, not too hard as to alarm you, and yet unrelaxed. 

You smile without thinking. You hate seeing him like this, but looking after him is a pleasure. “Hey, Carmen. Can I sit with you?” 

He forces his face up. “What are you doing here?” he asks. 

Trying to make sure he doesn’t tear another chunk out of Richie. “It’s my lunch break.” 

You perch on the wall beside him and snap your nearly forgotten cookie into two pieces, one side bigger than the other, which you offer him. 

Carmy takes it. Looks at it without expression, though that slowly turns to a dry ire you’ve felt directed your way a hundred times. “What the fuck is this?” 

“Cookie.” 

“I don’t want this.” 

“Could you just eat it?” You put your own half in your mouth in its entirety, all aligned to your teeth. It shatters into sweet, soft crumbs between your teeth. You talk with a hand over your mouth, “It’s not gonna kill you.” 

Carmy looks at it for a long time before he eats it. 

You watch him. He’s more tan than you’d think, that Italian gene kicking in, skin clinging to whatever sunshine it finds. He spends enough time inside that you’re surprised it can muster the energy. He looks better with it though, his curls look gold toned under the sun, and his clenched jaw doesn’t seem so harsh. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask eventually. Almost conversationally. 

“Nothing.” His hand shakes on his thigh. He turns his palm down to clasp his knee. 

“You sure?” 

“No.” 

“That one’s my favourite.” 

“What?” 

You poke toward a tattoo on his hand. It’s a simple flower, same style as most of his tattoos. “I like it ‘cos it’s just a flower.” 

“My least pretentious,” he guesses. 

“Something like that.” 

He tips his head back. 

“Richie texted me. He thinks I’m gonna… like, I’m gonna calm you down, I guess.” 

“You always do,” he says. 

You give him a long, smiley look. “So you’re in love with me?” you ask warmly, pushing up into a knee to wrap your arm behind him, hugging him before he can move away. “You’re totally fucked for me, Berzatto, that’s fucking crazy.” 

“Fuck off,” he laughs. 

You rub his arm, his skin hot in your hold. He touches your waist very, very lightly. “What am I supposed to do, anyway? I can’t cook. You and Syd are on your own.” 

“You already… already did enough.” He grabs your waist where you wobble on the brick wall, grit biting your knees, his hand comparatively soft. 

“Such a crush on me,” you tease in a whisper, his hair crushed under your cheek. 

You’re tempted to kiss his temple, but affection with Carmy is like oil and water sometimes. You give him a last protective squeeze and sit yourself down again. 

“Carm,” you say, “you know you can call me, right? Like, if you don’t feel okay.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” 

“Or text me. If that’s easier. It’s hard to say hard things out loud.” 

He laughs again. “Sorry.” 

“I know, I don’t– I don’t seem like I know what you’re talking about, I get it, but I do understand. N’ even if I didn’t, I don’t mind listening. Or laughing at you.” 

“What’s that about?” 

“The laughing?” you ask. “You tell me.” 

His hand slides behind your back in half a hug. “Guess it’s funny.” 

“Can I change my mind about the tattoo?” 

“The flowers not your favourite?” 

“No. You know which one I like best?” 

His thumb rubs into your back. “The snail.” 

“Absolutely the snail. You’re so fucking silly sometimes, I’m supposed to take you seriously when you’re yelling and red in the face with a snail on your arm?” 

You can’t see his face with your cheek to his shoulder, won’t know that he’s smiling at you with a rare aura of peace. Can’t see the wanting, either. 

[selineram3421]

Hiiii you're the first blog I check every morning and I absolutely LOVE everything you write!!

How about Alastor/Angel Dust/Husker finding the reader after attempting suicide? (If you don't want to thats fine, it can be super triggering, I just want comforttt)

I went aw and then went oh..

Lol but yes, I can do this.

Attempts

Warning! ⚠

⚠ mentions of attempted suicide-drowning/overdose/cutting, descriptive injuries, blood, mental illness mentioned ⚠

Human AU for this one:

Alastor, Angel Dust, Husk

Alastor🎙

He had noticed you becoming distant.

For what reason?

That's just the thing. He didn't know.

It did concern him though and he would check up on you from time to time.

But you would just smile and say you were fine. That you just had a hard time falling asleep last night.

There was something that still had him on edge. Something was wrong but you didn't tell him.

He was your friend, your best friend in fact! You could tell him anything...

Right?

Alastor had come to visit, bringing along some of his cooking to help cheer you up.

Time's were getting rough with the economy crashing. And you, his dear friend, lived alone with no immediate family around. It was just you and that cat that would occasionally come by for food.

He stood at the door of your apartment and knocked, waiting for you to open it and greet him.

As he waited, he noticed the claw marks at the bottom of your door, wondering if the stray cat had done it.

How odd.. He thought. They would have opened the door before the little creature could dare scratch up their door.

He knocked again.

But the longer he waited was making him slightly nervous. Tapping his foot until he could no longer stand still, he got the spare key you gave him and opened the door.

Calling out your name, he walked into your apartment and placed the place of food down on the kitchen counter. After closing the door behind him, he walked into the living room.

"Are you home?", he asked, looking around the room, spotting your coat and shoes still out.

They haven't left. Maybe they are asleep?

Something had formed at the pit of his stomach, the feeling of fear and worry cloaking his thoughts. He walked into their room after feeling it grow stronger.

Looking around, he saw that your bed was made and that everything was neat and tidy.

Then he noticed the paper on your dresser.

Walking over, he picked it up and started to read. It was odd, as it addressed whoever happened to pick it up, but then he noticed what it meant.

No no no no no-!

His hands shook and he flinched when hearing a loud splash of water.

Dropping the paper, Alastor ran to the bathroom, barging in. There he saw you in the filled bath tub, soaking wet with clothes and shoes on, gasping for air.

He said your name and rushed over, pulling you out of the tub.

"Darling, talk to me!", he said, grabbing a towel to wrap around your shaking form. "What-"

"I couldn't- I couldn't do it! I couldn't..", they sobbed, turning their head away from him as they sunk down onto the tiled floor. "Why can't I just do it!?"

Not knowing what else to do, he sat down on the floor and hugged them.

"Shh sh, its alright.", he whispered, rocking them back and forth.

They clung onto the back of his shirt, still shaking from their cries.

"Its going to be alright."

Angel Dust🕸

You were his buddy, his pal.

Someone he could tell everything to without having to worry about you running to the cops.

You were the friend that was always by his side, no matter how many times he fucked up.

You would encourage him, praise him, and just be like sunshine. It reminded him of his sister Molly.

He didn't notice when your smiles started to become a mask.

He didn't notice when you started taking drugs from his stash.

Angel had left to pick up some drinks for the both of you. The day was alright and you had asked to hang out for a while.

It was a little weird when you had started to point out every detail, but he had just brushed it off as you being observant.

Maybe it was one of those days when you would just stare at the sky.

When he got back, he couldn't find you in the room.

Weird. He thought and shrugged before sitting down on the couch to wait for you.

Opening up his drink, he went to take a sip before something caught his eye.

It was the vent that hid his secret stash.

Why is that open? No one could have known it was there but you-

His eyes widened and he shot up from the couch and ran around the place yelling out your name.

"Com' on! This isn't funny!", he yelled, opening every door that he came across. "You've nevah had drugs! You don't know how much you can handle!"

He found you on the floor, packs ripped open around you.

"No..", Angel said quietly before repeating it as he rushed over to your side. "Snap out of it!", he yelled out in a panic and shook you by the shoulders.

You were blinking really slow, pupils dilated and shaking.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!", he said, picking you up and placing you on a nearby couch. "Stay awake! I'm gonna call a hospital, ok!?"

"Sorry Angel.", you mumbled and lifted your hand to hold his. "I just wanted the pain to go away. I just wanted to sleep."

"Stay awake. I'll come back in a bit ok? Or let me find a phone with a long enough cord.", he said before running out of the room.

He held back from crying when speaking to the nurse on the phone. Doing his best to explain what was going on.

After the call, he went back to hold your hand until the ambulance came to pick you up.

He had gotten an earful for being late for a job but he didn't care about that. All he could think of was you, hoping you were alright as he worked on autopilot to get the job done.

Damn it. He thought as he paced back and forth. I should have paid more attention to them.

Angel immediately went to visit you after finishing up, rushing down the hallways to get to your hospital room with a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

He slammed the door open and found you awake, looking him up and down.

"What the fuck were ya thinking!?", he said as he made his way over to your side. "Best friends don't try to kill themselves before the other one! Best friends die tagethah!"

"I-"

"These are for you.", he said and placed the flowers on the nightstand nearby before sighing. "Why didn't you talk to me?"

Pulling up a chair next to your bed, he sat on it. Taking off his hat to brush his hair back to try and calm himself down.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?", he said looking at you. "I'm here for you, like you are for me. So talk to me."

Husk🃏

Honestly, he didn't know what to think of you at first.

You were just another person on the other side of the bar. Ordering a drink and sitting there for hours.

He knew a sad face, as it was quite common, but yours seemed permanent.

After a while, you became friends.

You weren't annoying and he appreciated your company. Sometimes when it was a slow night, he would show you card tricks.

He didn't know how depressed you actually were.

It had been a long night.

Husk had to serve some annoying assholes but other than that group it was tolerable.

What was odd was that you didn't show up.

They probably have an actual life to get back to. He thought as he cleaned up the bar.

After he locked up, he went out through the alleyway in the back. But as soon as he walked out he saw you leaning against the brick wall covered in blood.

"Oh shit!", he yelled out in shock before rushing to check you over.

He found your wrists slit, still gushing out some blood. Quickly, he ripped the bottom part of his undershirt and tied them around your wrists to try and slow the blood.

"Fucking hell!", he hissed and ran over to the pay phone across the street.

After putting in the coins, he called the nearest hospital and rushed out what was going on.

"I found them a few minutes ago! They are unconscious, but their wrists are still bleeding! I don't fucking know! Just send someone over!"

He got fed up with the person on the phone and slammed the pay phone back to its place. The change clunk down into the machine and he ran out of the booth to take you to the hospital himself.

"Don't you fucking die on me!"

After you were taken by the doctors, Husk sat on one of the chairs in the waiting room, bouncing his leg.

He hasn't beem that worried about someone since-

It's just been a long time.

It wasn't until a few hours later that you woke up. The doctors let him know that he could see you now, and he made his way over to your room.

As soon as he entered, he pointed at you with the grumpiest frown you've ever seen.

"Don't you ever do that shit again."

All you did was smile.

"Thanks Husk."

Then he did something that surprised you.

He hugged you and cried.

"You fucking dumbass.", he grumbled. "Do you know how shitty my night was? Then I find you passed out, covered in blood in the fucking dark."

"I'm sorry Husk.", you said, leaning your head on his shoulder. "I had a shitty night too. I wasn't thinking right."

Both of you stayed like that for a while.

Something that both of you never talked about was your home life. After this stunt, Husk would make sure to check in on you more.

"You owe me booze."

You laughed and agreed.

This was hard. Sorry for it being so late, but I hope you are doing better now.

~Seline, the person.

ML's for Alastor, Angel Dust, Husk

[thatdeadaquarius]

I have a random idea for some sagau crack loosely based on my dynamic with my friend so Im giving it to you because I have been enjoying your sagau language stuff :D

Imagine there are two readers that are two different people. Like, not as in clones they are just two separate people that are rlly good friends on earth. They both really like genshin and play the game, and they both have self aware teyvat citizens. Reader 1 is a whale. They invest a l o t of money on the game, have all the characters, and all the characters have five star weapons. They are like the usual sagau reader you see. They have used up so much money on getting all of the characters, and I mean A L L of them, best weapons, constellations and put a lot of care into it. The place where they really get to show off is their knowledge and love for the lore, and are really invested into it and read all of the artifact descriptions and books. They know about primordial one, the four shining shades, random useless facts about items and often rant to reader 2 about their theories. Their quest bar is always empty because they did them to check out the lore of the game, and are always searching for more lore. They basically play everyday and are always reacting and talking to the characters out loud, unaware that they can hear them.

Meanwhile, Reader 2 is a f2p who is only interested in the archon quest lore and the lore of their fav characters. Because they are f2p, their options are limited so there is some blatant favoritism. They choose their fav character to save up for, and then pull for them. After they get the character they want, they will no longer pull and save up from there. Because of this, they only have like 5 five stars and only have zero five star weapon. Their favourite character is their main(*cough* wanderer *cough*), and unlike reader 1 who uses all of their characters regularly, reader 2 sticks to this character for most of their gameplay unless they need to use someone else. However, reader 2 takes almost an entire month to finish building a character, because they go overboard with the artifact stats. You would expect to normally have a 50 180 crit ratio, but reader 2’s dps characters always, and I mean ALWAYS have 50 200 crit ratio or more. Like, their main (it doesnt have to be wanderer but Im putting him here anyways) has 70 and 200 crit ratio, is crowned, full 4 pc best in slot, and is even crowned and faruzan only needs like 200 er but reader 2 gave them 300. (Im totally not putting this here because this is what I did/j) Reader 2 is also the type to never speak while gaming, so the first time they spoke everyone turned it into a national holiday to be celebrated. They also play a lot less than player 1. Player 1 plays everyday while player 2 plays for a month straight and then takes a long break to wait for the content to pile up.

So these two gremlin besties are always speaking with each other, and are always on coop. Whenever player 1 needs help making team comps or building characters, they just ask player 2 for help. And whenever player 2 needs help understanding the lore of the game, they ask player 1. But all I can think abt is the first time they cooped. Imagine player 1 was using childe and then when the coop starts, both childe and wanderer are very confused as to wtf is going on. Like, childe is confused because he sensed a strange aura coming form them like whenever someone gets controlled by reader 1, and wanderer is confused because reader 2 seemed so excited that they were talking, but its just childe? Reader 2 always skips childe’s banners.

Thats it lol, hope this wasnt too long.

Not long at all! Or more like, I like long asks so feel free to share! :D

IM SO SORRY ITS LIKE MONTHS LATER TO GET TO YOU I PROMISE I LOVE UR STUFF AND AM SUPER EXCITED TO SEE IT,

IM JUST SLOW AND GOOFY 😭😭

Said friends in genshin like: ^^^

this kinda inspires me/reminds me of @mists-reading-nook soldier/poet/king post, you should check xe stuff!! Gave me brainrot to this day tbh, like im imaging how that “3rd King style of worship” would look like even now lmao ive been down bad 😭

☆

Sun: 2 Readers! (as desc. above), (you/they/them)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish

Stars: wanderer/childe, mentions of others i forgot to focus on any one character or nation :/

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: mild cussing language, & Trigger Warnings: none known.

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

dual symbolism everywhere, obv you both thought “for the twins” but it just kept getting out of hand the more the game updated over the months lol

like shrines/temples/churches showing up more often in new countries/areas and always identifying the same 2 gods

obv the for-the-lore player picked up on it first, and by the time the trickle-down effect happened, where characters/NPCs were outright talking about these gods, the 2nd was asking the lore knower to explain lol

the 2 gods kept getting referred to by a few names, like “The Soldier and the Scholar” or “The Sage and the Warrior” or “The Keeper and the Pursuer” etc.

after awhile of comparing both of your games, you realize that some vision users/gods tend to use the soldier/warrior/pursuer titles more often when talking about one of you, and the other gets the sage/scholar/keeper more often

u both get excited, maybe its bc you chose diff travelers or some other reason, but when u try and post abt it or otherwise ask other players u get a lot of negatives/”hasnt happened for me”s??

u both just think the games glitched or some dev is playing a prank on you two maybe,

it gets weirder when u both realize the lore player be over here getting random gifts from all the characters in the mail all the time

and just as grinding players like “ :’( my favs don't like me?? but they have the best artifacts and maxed friendship levels..”

they get flooded with multiple gifts from their main characters, most of which benefit the grind tbh lmao (like a bunch of cheaper materials or crystals to level up artifacts/weapons or to ascend that character = no more slaughtering every samurai on sight for their handguards or collected a fuckton of those blue layered mushrooms for wanderer)

god u were both grateful to this glitch ngl, it saved a lot of dumb misc tasks and was just a nice touch

no but the amount of confusion inside the game from when u first started playing together, like each of ur games began with stuff abt 1 god, then as u co-oped moved onto 2 gods (like said at the beginning)

the lore player is blabbing away like you do, which begins to be heard by the other player’s game world

like it starts as whispers in battle, then all the time, then a quiet convo in the background all the time, until they can just hear u out of earshot esp word for word when they focus!! at first the vision-users/gods got all excited bc their god was speaking!! finally!!! until I'm sure they heard narration that didn't fit/it was there sometimes even when their god’s presence wasn't?/voice sounded “off” to them/didnt fit their god…??

ok ik u were joking abt the national holiday,,, but I’m not. 😈

THE FIRST WORDS 2ND SPOKE BEING IN A PROPHECY, REGARDLESS OF WHAT IT IS THEY SAY.

Player 1, playing as Childe, steals a singular (1) sweet flower from Player 2, who has Wanderer out:

P2: “I seriously hate you. Listen to what I’m saying, I can’t stand you.”

(Wanderer panicking that its abt him- Childe freezing bc he managed to piss off a god that feels as powerful as his own- the PROPHECY LMAO- )

P1: “… you miss me.”

(everyone else: 💥vine boom sound 💥😦😨😰???)

P2: “I hate you.”

P1: “You miss me and you love me, why must we fight??”

(everyone else: 💥vine boom again💥🤨🫠??…)

P2: “I hate you-”

P1: “-we gotta good thing going on, you and I, why must we tussle??”

(everyone else: 💥yet another vine boom💥 💀💀)

(the absolute deep anxiety/pure confusion as the two harbingers heads just ping pong back and forth towards the voices lmao)

u two scare the shit out of any characters u do this with lol

they do get used to it as u talk, and the characters even manage to interact (thru hacking magical shenanigans and discord)

to send thank you gifts to player 1 for getting player 2 to talk more lol

along with sending copies of any lore books that player 2 has gotten that player 1 hasn't!

and it becomes common/tradition to exchange gifts like this to thank or appreciate the other god, like player 1 characters sending thank you gift copies of rare materials or ascension stuff that player 1 had that player 2 didn't (esp making sure to send during resinless hours lmao)

overall, 10/10, whats better than 1 god that plays one way? 2 gods that compensate for each other and now u have 2x the worshippers

(i wonder how meeting alternate versions of themselves would go, bc id like to headcanon that each of ur behavior towards them/ur unique influence has changed them a bit comparing, like they arent carbon copies anymore, not like they used to be…)

☆

hey sorry for slowing down guys!!

i just feel bad its taken me forever to get to these asks, so i wanted to take what time i could lately and charge thru them so i could spam post lol

I've also been working on fics! so that's delayed things by a lot, bc fics take longer to “respond to” than short asks or replies

my poor bsd fic

Anyway thank you so much for sending this in!!! I'm so sorry i took forever to get to it, and i hope u enjoyed response/my brain shitting this out lol

have a good weekend!! :D

Safe Travels Anon!!

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily / @justinsomniachild / @nanithefuck / @questionotmystopit

@kiyomi-uchiha777

[rosettyller]

some analysis of this scene from 2x02, because i am going absolutely insane over it:

first up: it's 2 500 BCE. They've known each other for around 1500 years at this point, but they haven't been meeting up very often; it's implied at this point, that they've only met at the Garden, and the Flood, and now here (as well as in Heaven, but there's varying interpretations about how much they each remember of Heaven).

(worth noting that these meetings are all bible-related meetings)

So, they don't know each other very well at all. This is why Aziraphale approaches Crowley so cautiously (apart from the fact that he thinks Crowley's going around murdering goats and soon kids). He doesn't know what happened to Crowley when he Fell, how he changed when he fell in with Lucifer, how God's rejection has warped Crowley's perspective or changed his morals (their meeting at the Flood seemed quite short, not enough time to get a definite picture.)

Aziraphale is still seeing Crowley as demonic, although there's already that thread of doubt - can you really see him trying to talk Hastur or Ligur out of this the way he does Crowley?

Aziraphale clings to the memory of Angel Crowley - Crowley gets quite defensive.

Here, Crowley reinforces that he's changed - personally I don't believe that he did fight in the War, but his views of God's Plan definitely got more extreme than "thats terrible god should get a suggestion box".

But, I also believe that here, Crowley is reinforcing that he is no longer an angel, and therefore no longer has to play by angel rules. He can do what he wants. He's a demon, it's in his job description.

And of course, that he is a demon, and he is Evil, and of course he would kill goats.

(more under the cut, because I just can't stop talking)

This shot is very yellow. Crowley's hair being the season 1 orange rather than red, the yellow walls, all accentuate the colour of Crowley's eyes, highlighting the physical reminder of Crowley's demonic nature.

I couldn't be bothered to gif it, but here, Crowley leans forward into Aziraphale's face. There are two reasons for this:

Get his yellow Demon Eyes right in Aziraphale face, just to hammer home his point.

It's an aggressive action, moving into someone's personal space like that. Saying, I could hurt you, I'm violent and aggressive and dangerous, I killed those goats, the kids are next.

The way the light hits Crowley's eyes in the above shot and the below shot also make them a very bright yellow. (Edit: I think someone pointed out that Crowley is making his eyes glow, but the overall yellowness of the scene serves to highlight this)

Clever wording on Crowley's part, because as we will find out, he faked the destruction of the goats to keep them safe, while making himself sound very evil.

You'll notice the repetition of "blameless"; this makes him seem even more evil, hurting the innocent, but also gives deeper insight into one of Crowley's biggest issues: hurting the innocent. What have they done to deserve this? Nothing.

This ties in quite nicely with what we have seen before of Crowley and free will; he gives people the option to sin. It's their actions that decide whether they end up in Heaven or Hell; they get what they deserve for their actions. He just makes it easier to choose Hell. (see: phone lines being down making people crankier and encouraging them to be horrible to each other, but it still being their choice, setting the holy water bucket above the door, so it's Ligur's choice to come in after Crowley that gets him killed.)

Note also the use of "long":

Aziraphale says to "tell me you want to do this". "Long" has rather stronger connotations than "want", but also rawer, more fundamental. Crowley is reminding Aziraphale that he is a demon, and that he has the traits of a demon, this is what he is now. He longs for violence, for destruction.

Aziraphale looks quite sad here. If you watch the video I linked, his previous conviction that Crowley doesn't want to do it is very strong. He fully believes in Crowley, that all he needs to do is reframe not killing the kids as within the rules of Hell, the way Crowley so often comes to do for Aziraphale ("Then you can't be certain that thwarting me isn't part of the divine plan too. I mean, you're supposed to thwart the wiles of the Evil One at every turn, aren't you?" "If you put it that way, Heaven couldn't actually mind me thwarting you.").

Aziraphale believed Crowley was still good, that the angel he remembered was still in there. But Crowley rejects it - and it hurts. Crowley has become what a demon should be.

Crowley looks quite sorrowful here, too: he already cares for Aziraphale (he fell in love at the Garden), and it hurts to decieve him, to disappoint him, to hurt him.

I would argue that here, Crowley is scared.

He's in shadow, which dims the yellows; his undemonic nature is about to be revealed.

And that is not safe, because Hell does not send rude notes. And here, Crowley is not doing just any temptation, but trying to help Satan win a bet (supposedly). And out of every demon in Hell, Satan is the one you want to piss off the least.

But here, Crowley is scared because Aziraphale could reveal him - because Aziraphale is on God's side, and because it is revealed that Crowley is not nearly as demonic as he makes himself out to be. He's vulnerable. Aziraphale could scorn him, hurt him. But instead:

Aziraphale is incredibly smug. "I knew I was right", he says. "I knew you were still good".

And here is another issue: Aziraphale conflates God/Heaven/angels with good, and demons/Hell with bad.

And Crowley does not see Heaven as good. He doesn't want Aziraphale to see his angelic core past the demonic exterior. He's on his own side.

This, for Aziraphale, confirms that "the angel you knew is not me", is not correct.

And I think, out of the three minisodes, it's this one that does the most for fleshing out Aziraphale and Crowley's frames of mind this series, and why they choose what they choose in ep6.

Aziraphale has been proven right about Crowley's angelic nature, and that he wants to do good, but can't, for fear of Hell's retribution.

And Crowley does not see Heaven as good. He recognises that being an angel again will not allow him the freedom to do good. (as Aziraphale had to try and talk a demon into helping him save the kids from God.)

[mj-iza-writer]

Whumptober Day 15

Childhood Trauma - Painful Hug - Moment of Clarity - "I did good, right?"

Warning descriptions of nail pulling and finger breaking. Child abuse.

"Whumpee, I need you to look up at me", Caretaker gently took Whumpee's hand into their own lap and set it on a towel.

Whumpee's lip quivered as they slowly looked at Caretaker.

"It's alright," Caretaker promised, "I'm just going to trim your nails. They're growing a little jagged now."

Whumpee nodded worriedly.

"I'm not going to do anything else", Caretaker reminded, "if I need to file them down to shape them, then I will let you know. This will not hurt at all."

Whumpee nodded again.

Caretaker checked in regularly with Whumpee as they snipped away the mishapened nails for Whumpee.

"You're doing so good", Caretaker smiled.

"Thankyou", Whumpee whispered.

"I know you don't like to talk about it, and I completely understand. I'm always curious why your nails grow so oddly", Caretaker tried to keep the conversation going to help Whumpee stay relaxed, "I don't really know a lot about you still. You've left a lot out about you past, and thats fine, but do you think I'd be better at helping you if I know a little more."

Whumpee sniffled as they thought about what to say. They shook as they handed over their other hand for Caretaker to trim.

"I uhm had a fun day with my step mom. My parents had separated when I was young. My dad remarried, but my mom grew jealous and hateful... and vengeful. I went home with her after my visit with my dad. We got our nails done during that fun day with my step mom. They were so pretty. I got sparkly pink nails... I loved them so much", Whumpee paused to take a deep breath, "my mom didn't like them... in fact she hated them. She pulled them off saying that I was a horrible child for having this done.... for having fun.... without her. She still wasn't happy, even with my nail beds bleeding. She pulled each of my fingers back until they snapped."

Caretaker was both shocked and horrified as they listened.

Whumpee continued, "the police were called for a child screaming. Apartment walls are only so thick."

Whumpee looked down at their hands, "I haven't had my nails done in years. The doctors all said they wouldn't grow back right", Whumpee let out a small sob, "my dad and step mom took me in, but no matter what they did. I never wanted my hands touched again. They use to take me to the doctors to have my nails cut until it became too much. That's why I was put into medical care and you got stuck with me."

"Whumpee I am so sorry" Caretaker sighed. This hadn't been fully documented in Whumpee's notes. Not yet, at least. They would update later while Whumpee took their nap. "I promise I don't feel stuck at all."

Whumpee kept their eyes on the floor.

"Are you feeling okay", Caretaker set the nail clippers aside, "that was a lot to talk about."

Whumpee nodded, "it hurts to talk about it. All of it. My mom didn't love me, and my dad couldn't handle me. Why did it take a complete stranger to show me acceptance. Am I really that bad... that hard to love?"

Caretaker hurried to get closer to Whumpee. They let the nails and towel fall to the floor.

"You are not hard to love and accept Whumpee", Caretaker pulled Whumpee into their arms, "sometimes people lack the compassion aspect of helping others. Without that, most people have a hard time caregiving. Others sometimes get in over their head. Helping someone they love... thinking they would get better, but it may never happen or it happens differently than they expected. They may grow upset or mad, thinking they've done something wrong. They love you. They just didn't understand that these things take time. They gave up too early. I, for one, am very happy that you are in my care."

"I still don't want to see them", Whumpee whispered, "I don't feel loved by them. I'm thankful for you though."

"You don't have to see them. That is completely your choice. I support whatever you choose", Caretaker promised, "is there anything you need from me to help you. You were holding a lot inside. Do you feel overwhelmed or uncomfortable."

Whumpee shook their head no, "can we stay hugging for a little while longer? It feels good."

"Yes absolutely. We can hug for as long as you want, and whenever you want."

Whumpee cautiously peaked in on Caretaker later that night.

"Oh Whumpee. You're still awake", Caretaker leaned forward in their chair, "did you need me?"

Whumpee looked down before taking a deep breath, "I did good, right? Please tell me I did good today. I really need to hear it."

Caretaker smiled lovingly at Whumpee.

"Whumpee, you did great today. I promise", Caretaker stood and walked toward Whumpee, "you did so good."

"Thankyou", Whumpee smiled weakly, having assurance is comforting."

"I know Whumpee", Caretaker wrapped them in a hug, "I know."

Whumpee buried their face into Caretaker's stomach, "thankyou."

"You're welcome."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe

@whumprince @kaz-of-crows

@mis-graves @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

@sausages-things @ragin-cajun-fangirl

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@deafeninglittlecrown @jumpywhumpywriter

[azewritessillystuff]

Hiiii:) could I please request some Scaramouche/Wanderer fluff?🩷

OFC 💙💙💙✨✨✨✨

~Without your hat, my dearest hat guy.~

Warnings: none

Genre: fluff, Gn!reader x Wanderer (No pronouns and bodily descriptions but written with Fem!reader in mind 😅), 

An: Ofc I can 💙 I hope your not disappointed 😭😭 Ily your works and I hope you like this one 🫣 If its bad you can tell me 💙

Summary: Your boyfriend always has a (annoyingly big) hat which serves him no purpose aside from aesthetic and to hide his cute blushing face! So when you see a group of birds, a mother protecting her eggs from a ruined nest, you finally get an idea on how to use his hat 😏

“Without your hat, my dearest hat guy”

“You’re just, my dearest guy right? Isn’t that nice?” You insist, your pouting face already starting to quell your boyfriend’s annoyance. “Tsk. First, I should be your only ‘guy’. Second, that does not excuse you taking my hat while I was asleep. Can I not have a night when you don’t try something?” He scoffed, huffing in already waning irritation. His sharp gaze met your huffy one as you continued to stare at him with a look akin to a puppy. Thats hardly fair, in all honesty, who allowed such a cute human to exist? He thought as his expression softened. “Argh, argh fine, how long do you think those birds are going to use my hat as a nest?” He demanded sharply, yet with no bite. The wanderer  decided also to deny the way his chest seemed to leap when your expression brightened into a smile.

“…Hmm…maybbbee a month or two?-”

“You’re explaining to Nahida, not me.” He shot back, rubbing his forehead while sighing, his mind already on the many questions he will receive both from The Dendro archon and his peers in the Akademiya. How troublesome. As if that torture method in the name of homework wasn’t enough. “You owe me  days of kisses and a month of cuddles for this.” He huffed, turning to meet your eyes again, trying to keep his usual stern demeanor that always seemed to disappear with you. Damn you and your pretty face.  

His words, though, brought out a cheeky smile from you as you spread your arms cheerily, “Oh, I’m rich in those. I think I’m paying extra.” You declared as he sighed, pulling him into a hug and kissing his forehead gently, making his whole body feel weird and warm. He gently nuzzled your chest with his head affectionately, reminding you of a cat. Fiercely affectionate but in denial of so. ‘Scarameow…’ you thought to yourself, causing you to giggle lightly. The wanderer bumped your chest, already knowing you well enough to think you were making fun of him for the nth time.

“…What?” Nahida gave you two a confused smile, seemingly still trying to absorb the situation. How ironic, the goddess of knowledge herself struggling to comprehend the wanderer let someone (who survived) take his hat and use it for a bird nest of all things! Wow…was he…growing? Perhaps she was tearing up like a proud mother, so happy the wanderer seemed to have finally let someone close to his heart again. “Sooo…Yesss…would you mind explaining to all our dear guy’s classmates, oh greatest dendro archon?” You asked weakly, quite embarrassed. You could also immediately tell that the ‘guy’ in question was holding back a laugh and probably a couple of teasing words that might get him in trouble with Nahida.  “I…see. Well, birds usually will live in a nest for maybe a month or two? So hat guy…sure…I can explain to your classmates in the meantime.” Nahida offered, outstretching her hand with a pleasant smile. Wanderer seemed to relax at that, his shoulders slightly less tense- as tense it could get, anyway. “…Alright-“ You nudged him on the shoulder, giving him a sharp glance, “I mean, -Thank-you“ he managed, the words obviously not often leaving his lips. 

“Awww…they hatched!!!” You gushed, gasping excitedly, tugging his arm as if he didn’t have eyes too. He sighed, turning to look at the nest of birds, a mother and her newly hatched chicks, with a appalling gaze. This nest, by the way, was still inside his hat. How irritating it was. To be fired by questions every day about where his hat went, and how someone actually convinced him to lend it. Usually he didn’t even allow anyone to touch his hat, much less borrow it for a good time. 

“Yay. Do you think I’m getting that back any time soon?” He sighed in an exasperated tone, glancing at the birds nested in his property. They looked very comfortable. Maybe he wouldn’t mind them staying there a few more months.

“Nope. Sooo…I guess I still owe you more cuddles and kisses?” You giggled, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “Of course you do. And there is interest.”

“I’d be happy to pay~”

THANK YOU SM FOR FIRST REQUEST 💙💙💙💙💙 

[triglycercule]

i love doodling swapinverse like hello drawing characters aside from the normal mtt is lowkey therapeutic 🧡🧡🧡 anyways i FINALLY FINALLY finished crash's lore!!!! and vice.SER is connected to him,,,, theyre interconnected!!! i forgot how much i liked crash's design (not the design but all the little gimmicks in the design. figuring out all the hanging ribbon bits is annoying but hey it looks good)

[lovinglylibelle]

—why do you not have a cat shikigami?

-navigation || masterlist-

fushiguro megumi x reader || fluff

requests: OPEN

description: the title says it all

Today was a boring day, and with no missions and nowhere to go, you decided to bother your beloved boyfriend, Megumi.

You were currently lying on his bed with your head hanging from the edge of it as you looked at the Divine dog that was lying down peacefully in front of you.

"Megumi?"

"Hmm?"

"Why do you not have a cat shikigami?" you asked, sitting up and facing him.

"Huh?" he asked, looking up from the book he was reading.

"Like you know how there is Nue, Orochi, Gama, Bansho, Cookie..." you recalled, naming the ones you remembered as you ruffled "cookie"'s fur.

"Cookie?" Megumi asked, confused

"I am still working on that," you shook your head, mentally scratching the name off your list.

"No but like, what i mean is that you literally have so many animals as your shikigami and yet there isn't a cat."

"And thats a problem because...?" The book that he was holding now closed and by his side as he watched you, amused at your antics.

"Because cats are amazing! They're independent, smart, and honestly... they remind me of you." Megumi couldn't help but blush at that, proud that you thought of him like that and glad that you didn't see his face in the midst of your reverie.

"You are literally exactly like a cat, Gumi. It would have been such a perfect fit... right, star?" you asked, cupping the little face of 'star' who looked at you innocently.

"Is Totality not enough for you?" he teased as you gaped at him, bewildered that he would even suggest such a thing.

Megumi was having the time of his life as he watched you struggle with a small smirk.

Cute.

"That's such a stupid name and i love my Star very much,"

You moved next to Megumi, sitting by his side as you continued,

"i just thought that it would have been nice to have a cat playing around the house, much better than that Mahoraga anyway."

"That's fair... i guess its because the previous curse users didnt really think about it or something?" he said, entertaining the little setback that you were experiencing.

"That's very cat-phobic of them, honestly. How can anybody forget cats?" you said with a dramatic flair but truly, how can anybody forget cats? they are majestic and just perfect.

Megumi laughed, shaking his head at your anger. He found it adorable but he would never tell you that. He noticed that you were now sulking with a little pout on your lips and before he could think it through, the words tumbled out of his mouth.

"We could always adopt..." he suggested, looking at you for a reaction.

And with the way he saw your eyes light up and your head whip towards him, he knew that he said just the right thing.

"Are you serious!?" you asked, excitement coursing through you with that little hope.

He nodded. Really, he would adopt a cat if it meant you'd be happy. He would do anything to make you happy. Besides, Megumi would be lying if he said that he didn't watch funny cat videos on his phone all the time. He liked the thought of having a cat.

"Yeah, it'll take some time but we can adopt a rescue cat."

"Oh my god! Megumi, thats so-" you squealed, your excitement mingling with a deep sense of affection for him.

As if feeling your excitement, Totality too, started to happily wag his tail in excitement.

You cooed at the dog, watching him with a loving smile as Megumi put his arm around you.

"You are amazing." you said, snuggling into Megumi who was admiring his shikigami too.

He pretended to have not heard it though, otherwise it would have been quite hard to hide the blush that was forming on his face.

God, you're going to be the death of him, he thought, as he glanced at you, now talking excitedly to Totality.

And he couldn't help the small smile tugging at his lips. He was glad that you were happy... it made him happy.

taglist: @quirrrky @asunflowerana { send an ask to be added <3}

a/n: idk how i thought if this but i just love cats and Megs reminds me of them. (i am thinking of making this a series, megumi and his shikigamis x you or something...} if you like this, please like and reblog, it would mean a lot 🤍🎀 click on the title for more!!

[joannasteez]

the aftermath

pairing: tattooist!cm punk x reader warning: mentions of needles, and biting, and explicit descriptions and dialogue pertaining to sex. tattooist!punk (this warning is more for me cuz he makes me delusional sometimes) authors note: nothing really. just enjoy! if so, don't be afraid to let me know! inspired by @kill-the-artiste master class in ✨tension✨… please go read. RUN NOT WALK! word count: 3500 tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling @2-muchsauce

in for a penny of pain, in for a beauty by the pound

@ WARNING: all work is of quality but more importantly is done with respect to the bodies health and limits

the way your apartment window faces, you never get the sun till a ways after high noon. so no. this isn't your apartment. exhaustion playing in your legs. a good, sated, tired ache. like if you bend or extend too much too quick they'll cave in and collapse without warning. they'll remind you of how horrible it is, to make assumptions about a perceived strength. especially when it's so obvious that you aren't ready to leave the cool touch of his sheets. his. oh shit. because the bedroom in your apartment doesn't get much sun with the way it faces and it for damn sure isn't cream colored and littered with wood framed portraits. memory like a teasing trickle in of rain. little droplets collecting—his teeth grazing, the patient mischief of a wolf, sinking in to pull skin—till they ripple and pool together. a throb of something journeying to live between your thighs, swirling till it breaches skin again in an effect to make you shiver, to make you shift against the sheets because he,—"you can't stay still for shit can you?"—that's what he'd said. making rough impressions in your thick soft skin. holding and groaning and amused. buried amidst the pillow of your inner thighs, eager tongue dipping to lick against the desperate pulse of your clit. whimpers and moans and near shrill begging, and—oh God—your stomach swirls. embarrassment this deep exhale as your head falls in your hands. 

and for a second, the world plummets into something disgusting. a disturbing shade of gray. laughter breaking beyond the crack open of the bedroom door. because he could be laughing at you right? mulling over and recounting the events of the night with a buddy and having a go at making you miserable enough to delight in some fucked sort of amusement at the helpless way you moaned and teared for him. but thats not what it is. it's quiet chatter and early morning comedy. little hums of his early day coarse voice and a bold, earthy warmth. coffee. your mouth watering and the emptiness in your belly going about a great terrible violence as it growls and shudders. a hickory note of something twisting the air, the back of your throat dry, and seemingly—well...not seemingly, because that sort of implies some lack in surety. you'd made good, disgusting, honest, work of voicing just how much fun you were having. that much you remember, and fortunately, you remember everything. alcohol forgone for the sake of lucidity. because you know what he is. a buddy of yours just as clean and straightedged. 

in a fuller state of honesty, it'd be accurate to say it was all like form of reverence. an eagerness to please. anything if it meant him peeling your jeans off quickly. and yes, he'd done it. but it was more patient than you'd wanted. like he was reciprocating that reverence. studying and planning. 

his dresser draws are wooden, much like the rest of his decor. a polished mahogany that brings more warmth to the room. 

rolled up t-shirts sorted in no particular fashion, the fit of it snug as it falls over. 

at the corner foot of the dresser lays last nights underwear. a predetermined pick. simple, and black and lacy. nearly tattered to bits because his patience had eventually reached a max capacity before he dove headfirst into being a damn brute. 

underwear is a hot commodity when you ball on a budget. he owes you. 

you sift for something reasonable. a checkered pair of boxer briefs that fit more like boy-shorts, but it works. slipping your jeans over them. and his bathroom isn't so much huge but it is lived in. comfortable. the tiles, a sage green with minor cracks made more from age than from some man made disruption.

and thank God almighty. he's not the three-in-one type. a wash cloth and a toothbrush laying lonely along the bathroom counter, separate from the other things. you hum. going about a quick wash up. 

and whats that saying? it's only awkward if you make it awkward. because hell, there was nothing tricky or particularly delicate about fucking your tattooist right? you could do a small stint away. go cold turkey from your favorite past time. a silent walk of semi-shame and a few months till your next appointment would do the trick. enough time to forget such a destructive allure living with his words and the way he said—"you been waitin for this for a while huh? so pretty, lettin me touch you"—things. his every expression an accusation. exposing the unspoken things living behind just barely placid eyes. desires, fantasies and half baked plots for his attention.

the pain of a needle is no worser than this. cant be. cant be worser than the creak of the floors, announcing your entrance to the kitchen. his little chuckling smile forming less loose and more attentive as he drinks you in. an unabashed performance of observation that makes the skin crawl. a shiver really. green eyes cool, heavy, and exacting, like metal. like the prick of his needles. wandering with ease—your jean dressed legs, a clinging t-shirt that rides up some as you walk and the slow but sure appearance of indentations about your neck that indicate his penchant for tasting, biting —while stuck between a casual, early morning call and your performance of feigning indifference. 

he hums. a response to whoever is holding him over the phone. tongue slipping over his bottom lip before he's turning back to the stove.

coffee sits in a mug littered with dog breeds. the steam of it curling up thick. a plate half dressed next to it. just finished buttered toast and still hot eggs. his arm reaching over to drop bacon on it. teeth baring as he laughs into his call. flits of his eyes that motion for you to eat. stationing to lean against the long stretch of marble that makes up the kitchen island. a focused attention. assessing your quiet take to indulging in whatever this is. because he didn't need to make you breakfast, didn't need to brew you coffee and leave you comfortably tucked in the sheets. but then again, he'd more than generously put you to sleep. wore your nerves and bones down. rendered you to a bout of tears even. yeah. he owes you breakfast. your fork digging into the eggs. and a new pair of damn underwear. 

"yeah, i need you opening up shop for me today...", he gives. a sweet, feminine voice sighing deeply over the other end. loud and long enough to reach you. something in your stomach swirling odd and quite disgusting. sharp and twisted up. "...i'll be a little late, got caught up in something this morning...", the folding over of the words along his tongue giving your skin a chill. a ride of a shiver up your back. his eyes slipping over your face. a pale green leaving their edged, assessing, impressions. "...i owe you one...alright...", his thumb tapping the screen to end the call. 

the bacon is salty on the tongue. satisfies the nothingness on your palette. your fork poking dumbly. like you'll find brilliant words amidst the plate. a sick little smirk on his mouth. loving your inability to look at him without wavering. 

why in the absolute hell did you fuck this man? the fit of his boxer briefs odd under your jeans. poorly shaped to hips and thighs, the material not made to take that kind of stretch. 

"you owe me new underwear...", that declaration of it too feathered. not strong enough. not sure. his lips spreading more. joy taking his face up wholly. feeling it as he casts his eyes over you. "...i'll send a receipt or something...".

"noted. how do you like to take it?"

excuse me? your throat drying up. fingers clutching the fork tight. your belly flipping stupidly quick. too damn excitable. 

"what?"

the mug of coffee he'd poured for you in his hand. the sugar jar close by. spoon ready to be used for it's stirring purpose. an elation pouring from his cheeks that makes you want to curl in. "coffee". a slow, near patronizing reiteration. "how do you like to take your coffee". 

"oh...", breath a little caught in your throat. the unsettled frenzy under skin an oddity. because this very regular, slightly older, very good looking, self assured man, shouldn't have such an affect. "..um...a little sugar, a lot of cream". 

and he does it to perfection. listens and performs. giving short flits of his eyes to yours. stirring and assessing. an appraisal. your neck heating from the sensation of being examined. satisfaction brightening him up at such rough handy work made the night before. smug fucking asshole. that curling scrape of the spoon against coffee filled porcelain winding up your curiosities to a nagging degree. sensitivities under the skin too plain and forthright to ignore. too well suited actually. like they've taken up a comfortable residence after just one night of being made pliant. had others felt this way once upon a time? sat where you sit now? being made by themselves to snuff out the disgusting giddiness of some post-night spectacle. a green, rotten, world of a feeling in the pit of your stomach now. 

"do you—...", finding the phrasing, forming properly on the tongue, "...you usually get caught up in... things...like this?" 

a scoff but it's fully amused. his lips spreading, a chuckle slipping into words. "is that a 'do i regularly fuck my clients question', cause if so then no". the mug sliding along the marble island. coffee prepped pluming thick still. "you're the first. congrats". 

this fucking guy. "oh?"  that bite of irony in him, troubling the skin playfully, as if to lure you out from behind that disconcerting wall you've so diligently built, in an attempt to evade him. his eyes and that little smirk he feels the need to keep along his mouth. "i didn't realize you were some sort of prize". 

his head tilts, gaze slipping up and over and about. appraisal again. the look you give at the arrival of an object of affection, desire after some time. a satisfaction born from the restoration of a familiar, comfortable thing. your jaw shifting soft as you chew. lips pursing over the mug to sip tenderly. a drip of coffee falling off and away from your mouth. his pace quick as he plucks a napkin to hand you.

"i mean...", his body leaning in against the island. elbows pressing to the marble to bring him closer. his hair a little messy and untamed. "...i don't think so, but you were lettin a lot loose last night. little noises and such. i figured you were just so happy and satisfied...", grabbing his own mug to sip from. delighting in the silence, in the astonishment his teasing is leaving you to settle in. "...felt like you'd won something". 

your cheeks are warm. hot even. stomach suddenly full off of his domestic efforts of a hot breakfast. your fingers gingerly pushing the plate away towards him, but the pull and roll of your eyes speak of something a little more heated than some gingered, cautioned disposition. his cockiness doing awful work. irking your nerves and reeling you in just the same. and maybe it's your turn to appraise. to examine and assess. his early morning, kitchen attire very obviously calculated enough to bring about some dead-brained, teenaged, short circuiting. chest shirtless and his legs covered in mesh shorts. arms tatted and muscled. grays and dark brown hair like a fine patch work on his face. admirable things of course, but you've already, obviously, given yourself away in revealing how much of it you find appealing. he doesn't need more. 

an attempt to bruise should work. if not successful, at least give it a go right?

"you were alright", you shrug. chest hammering, near implosion. his eyes casting down, daring for an evasion. "i give it an A minus. there's always room for improvement". 

"ouch", he laughs. a wide, bright, light expression. dumping your finished plate into the sink. "if i knew i was getting tested on performance, i'd have strove for higher marks...". sipping from his mug again. a head shake to express disagreement. "...but some of the judgement here is a bit range-less...doesn't really grasp the full effect of my—"

"dick?"

you stiffen just after the leave of it. a thought never meant to be expelled but here you are, fighting the urge to curl in and hold your head. heart beating terribly hard. embarrassment rife. 

"...capabilities...but now i see where your heads at. i think this is grounds for some rescoring. you're impaired". 

"by what exactly?" 

he hums. that head tilt again. "you were a little eager last night, which, given how long you been wantin and schemin, is very understandable, but those good, true bits of judgement are from how well you can savor it right? you gotta stop and smell those roses". 

you scoff. "scheming is a reach". 

his eyes roll. pushing off the edge of the island. "an observation". shuffling back slightly to make a bodies worth of space. his hand motioning. "come here". 

"for what—"

"please", like he's sweetening the give of a request. an appeal. like he knows just the chord to strum to produce the work of some easier follow through. 

eyes softer but exacting. a clever lure in. like last night. like when he fit and slotted his mouth against yours and breathed deeply. fingers gentler and patient, pushing in to soothe the quake of your thighs. your body undone beneath him. performing a beautiful release with the song of all those little noises he couldn't help but to bring up now for his amusement. palms slipping between your legs then for more. to spread and curl. a dangerously steady feed in, swirling along the tender beginning of your pussy. toying and prodding, suckling your neck, and then a knuckle deep stroke that sorely excites already sensitive nerves. your legs pressing in to trap him to a stillness. his mouth at your ear. hot breaths, your skin shivering. a kiss to the shell of it before his delicate "please". that manner of request unfolding your legs easy. the simplicity of it forcing you to moan for him as he'd sought to take more from you.

your thighs press together hard, memory bursting till its coursing along every bit of skin. but you don't make to indulge him. testing the waters of this defiance. because he's obviously looking to stretch some authoritative muscle. "open, spread, be still", those the tender taste of his commands filling your mouth as he kissed you last night, and in your daze you complied swiftly. as eager as he'd said you did. the whole of him used to control. used to finely straddling lines of danger and succeeding well. what with his needles and their sharp, biting impressions. so no, you don't move, letting the thickness of the air settle deeper. playing at a naive rebellion done only by fragile little prey thought invincible. because this is it, isn't it? the thing that gets him going. sets his bones hot and fingers achy. 

it's a finger over licks of a fire, a push of the limit after already being burnt to a beautiful consumption. your brows pulling. hands palming your knees tight. "you bite". 

he smirks. bares teeth. steps calm to cover the distance. the patience of a wolf. "only upon request". 

his island chair is one that swivels. a short creak breaking as you turn to face him. laughing breathy, wry, shifting in place, searching for comfortability under the weight of his presence. his hard body slotting between your thighs. coffee on his tongue as he nears, mouth ghosting shy. his nose slipping at yours. a hard swallow in your throat as you feel him press in to wedge you against the chair and the island. "i never asked", a little docility to your voice. adverting your eyes, closing them, to refuse his own, another small performance. something refractory. his chest warm as you press forward into him. a hot hand running up along your back till its situating to cradle your nape. 

"you didn't oppose". 

his teeth sinking in to pull at your bottom lip. sharp enough for an abrupt wince. attempting to pry yourself from his grip, that palm at the base of your neck strong. corrective. short breaths huffing into his mouth as he kisses your lip. a light play at a remedy. the affection of it sweet and dotting enough that you rush in for more, much to his sudden displeasure. his throat humming, the confirmation of some long standing observation. the column of your neck warm from the run of his free thumb. that slip of a touch shivering you whole. hands gripping into the waist band of his shorts. knuckles aching. a terrible make at reprieve.

"being skittish is just a natural little condition of yours huh?" 

"no". your voice airy. feathered for him. 

"so just with me then?...", skimming his mouth at your cheek. a simple kiss to the apple of it. "...cause i can't really give you what you need when you're all excitable and eager like this...". another lingering kiss at the corner of your mouth. "...need some patience".

a near unbreathable daze forms about your head. eyes dim. the scent of him filling your nose till its blooming in your lungs. fingers curling and sweeping and releasing along his skin. at old tattoos and taut muscle. a pulse at the heart of your thighs that teeters your nerves on the verge of inconsolable. his fingers squeezing perfect at your neck. a purr of a moan in your mouth. "what else do i need?" 

his mouth slots for a full kiss, done up with breath and purpose. your palms holding firm at his waist for stability as he pulls you in. "a little direction". his tongue peaking to slip. a lazy lick at yours. your breath hitching at the wet curl of it. lips parting to receive. smirking as you whimper against him. "don't need you gettin distracted, then all of your attention gets eaten up by trivial little shit. you start making the real poor decisions then". 

"like pepsi logo tattoos...", you muse. "...and fucking your tattooist raw...", a languid, tongue filled kiss. air harsh through the nose to make up for the overtake of his mouth. the slipping noise of it lewd to the ears. makes your skin hot. hotter. urges erupting sure. a fragile hiss playing off your mouth, his teeth finding refuge over your lip again. a grunted moan hitting the air. his hands tucked under your knees, rushing to pull your thighs in, body at the edge of the island chair. you feed your tongue in again. eagerness unabated. "...you're not the first man with too many gray hairs trying to be my handler...", a snicker thats more like a scoff. a teasing tug at the waist band of his shorts again. making to release him but never getting to it. his mouth at your chin and your jaw, nipping and licking into your neck. "...i make your dick harder just a little more than all the others so now you want to manage me? make sure no one else is gettin in on this huh?..."

he digs into your leg. a harsh pinch that makes you jerk into him. "i'd only be offended if you didn't like me so much, didn't wanna fuck me so badly", his nose knocking into yours again. a bruising kiss by the firm pull of his lips. "something tells me you like a little correction...", a hand keeps your thigh cinched to him and the other releases your other leg to journey near the zipper of your jeans. "...being commended". 

his middle and ring fingers venture between. a faint circling where your jeans cover over the throb of your clit. the pace and patience of his touching and his mouth quaking your bones. irritated with an eagerness he seems to want to handle so insistently. 

his phone rings. 

you whine in protest. the slip away of him abrupt and emptying as he fishes for the phone. 

"relax", he muses. kissing the corner of your mouth. 

but he answers anyways. settles into the call so much till his brows pull. a focus that leads into that faithful disappointment of having to prioritize. green eyes casting over. taking stock of your face. his thumb soothing your lip, just where he'd bitten. 

the emptiness grows, occupying this shitty liminal space. and it only gets worse. the neediness he'd corralled snuffed out quick. something about "forgotten early appointments" and "taking you where you need to go". 

there are many valuable little notes to give to the self. an unwieldy feeling under the skin as you make to get your belongings. going about a terrible attempt of acting like he wasn't just about to give you a three-peat of last nights little fun. so close to feeling all of him just meticulously fed into you. 

the biggest note of all though. toughing your shoes on. annoyance playing unabashed. don't fuck your tattooist. 

[anonbinaryweirdo]

"to love was to lose" wanderer x reader

(angst, hurt/no comfort), this was something i initially wrote for a mutual to get back at them for the angst they sent me but i posted it later as you can see.

gn reader, unspecified pronouns or descriptions of reader, other than hands. no beta we die like real alphas (literally)

to love was to lose.

thats what he learned.

through endless memories of his dwelling past, hes learned time and again that love, platonic, romantic, or any sort of affections in general were not for him. they never were. they always ended with him being the one hurt, the one having to live through the suffering and grief of the loss of something and someone he cherished most.

his "heart" was always the one to be shattered, treated like a useless piece of nothing; abandoned, left in the cold. he gave it away, foolishly, only to never see it again.

but you returned it to him, the moment even a small sliver of your sunshine shone into a minor, practically unnoticeable crack in his high, hard walls, everything came tumbling down.

you gave him purpose. you gave him life. you gave him a purpose for his new life.

he walked this new open road for you and you alone.

the feeling of your hand in his…it felt so warm, so surreal to feel someone else's warm palm against his own.

you held his fragile heart in the palm of your hands.

…but he didnt understand why your hand felt so cold now.

it was always so warm, it always brought him the most content feeling; the way your fingers traced idly over his hard knuckles, the way your thumb rubbed circles on the inside of his hand, the way your warmth would always be there...the way he would instantly know he was at home and peace whenever your fingers were intertwined.

why was it so different now?

your hand was limp in his, and it had gotten cold. so, unbearably cold.

he didn't even recognize it as your own anymore. it felt so...different. the opposite of what it would have usually been.

how did he let this happen? how could he let another slip through his fingertips?

naturally? he blames you.

you were the reason he let his guard down.

you gave him hope.

you gave him a reason to move forward, even on this sad, miserable plane of existence that has done nothing but hurt him time and again.

you made him unconsciously utter the words he forbid himself to say for so long.

"I love you, [Name]."

he said it. not often, but he said it. and he always meant it.

you promised you'd stay and he believed you.

when you said forever, he knew, that deep down, you didnt mean it. and yet, he was still hopeful, that this "love" would be everlasting.

you're no different from all the others.

he willingly gave his heart to you, and you ran away with it, off to a life of where he cannot follow.

he can only wish he could. in fact, he wants to.

you reminded him, after so long, that love was never for him.

and it never will be. not ever again.

i think wanderer's sad guys idk