#yes unless you have a skin condition

[brunetterightsactivist]

Lmao why are people on TikTok on this poor girls back in her comments cuz she posted a morning routine and didn’t shower. And then them saying “even if you shower at night you still have to do it in the morning” hello??

[papaya-twinks]

hii!! I love your writing ! 🥹 unfortunately I suffer from endometriosis so having sex isn‘t always easy for me and it can be quite uncomfortable to give your sexual partners a heads up beforehand so I wanted to request a fic where maybe reader has endometriosis and they have sex for the first time and she asks lando to be gentle and he‘s just so soft and takes care of her during and afterwards and stuff 🫶🏼

Warnings: Smut, 18+ soft!sex, endometriosis (only putting this as a warning coz some ppl think sexual conditions should be a warnings even though I disagree), oral (f receiving), lube.

Pairing: Lando Norris x endometriosis!fem!reader

A/N - idk what someone who has endometriosis is called :(, also, I’m sorry if I got anything wrong, I tried to research it, and it says lube and foreplay are good for endometriosis, correct me if I’m wrong xx

“Have you ever tried before?” Lando asked, his fingers slowly raking through your hair, your head resting on his chest, the subtle thump thump of his heartbeat in your ear. “I-I have,” you admitted, your hand intertwined with his, his thumb rubbing small circles into your palm.

“He was such a dick, he didn’t even ask if it felt good, so I just faked it and left,” you mumbled as Lando sighed. “He sounds like a prick,” he said softly, “you’ve never had a proper orgasm before?”. You shook your head, your cheeks tinged slightly pink, almost embarrassed at the fact.

“And…you want me to give you your first?” he asked as you nodded, once again, nestling into his chest, almost hiding your face. He smiled, a soft, raspy chuckle from his lips as he slowly turned so you were on your back. You were scared, yes, of course you were. But you trusted Lando.

“Safe word’s papaya, okay?” he said, as you nodded, watching as he slowly tugged your shorts down, dragging your panties along with them with his teeth. Immediately initiating the safe word was the best thing he could’ve done in that moment. You could feel his breath on your thighs, his lashes tickling your skin as you waited.

“Lando,” you gasped, his finger coming to draw small circles round your clit, collecting the juices you’d already had from the small heat in your belly, the pad of his thumb resting between your folds. You’d expected him to just slide his finger in, or get you to suck his dick or something, but he hadn’t.

“So pretty,” he said softly, licking his fingers as he moved closer, pulling your legs gently over his shoulders so he could move his face closer to your core, his tongue licking a line up your folds, making you moan, your back arching slightly. “Oh, f-fuck,” you gasped.

“Makin’ pretty sounds f’me already,” he hummed, the words sending a vibration through your core, yours finger intertwining with his curls. You were wet now, almost soaking wet, your heat dripping onto his tongue, the precision of this man would be enough to send you into a fit of orgasms, fuck.

You whined as he moved away, watching as he reached into the drawer, pulling out some lube, and a towel, lifting your hips so he could slide it under you, and moving the pillows so your hes wad comfy. That was kinda surprising.

You knew Lando was a good boyfriend, but this…greenest flag ever, right? “Did my research, baby,” he smiled, almost bashfully, as he took a generous amount of the stuff into his palm, pushing his joggers down, spreading the lube onto his member.

“You’re so beautiful,” he hummed, moving his tip to rest at your entrance. “I’m gonna push in, okay? But first, you gotta tell me the safe word again,” he said, his hand moving to push your hair from your face. “Lando,” you whined, almost in a daze, your mind blank.

“Baby, we’re not doing this unless I have the safe word, and you know it,” he said firmly. And, in some ways, the tone of his voice was an even bigger turn-on. “Papaya, papaya,” you whined, your eyes wide as you stared up at him. “Good,” he said, kissing your jaw.

You hissed as he pushed in, a sharp pain settling into your uterus, his movements stopping immediately. “More lube?” he asked, as you nodded, watching him pull out so only his head hung inside of you, spreading more of the stuff over his cock.

“Better?” he asked, pushing in, watching your face go blank, lips parting silently with need. “Y-Yeah,” you nodded, his cock sitting inside of you, your tummy bulging a bit with his length. “Perfect,” he hummed, slowly moving, ever-so slowly, not enough to make you feel pleasure, but enough to make sure you knew he was there.

“I want you to tell me to speed up or slow down, okay?” he asked you nodded, hands on his shoulders. “More,” you said, your voice a little choked as he sped up, another moan on your lips. His movements sped upon your command, your stomach tightening.

“G-Gonna cum,” you gasped, your eyes rolling. “Better not be f-fake, yeah?” he groaned, his thrusts becoming sloppier, but still gentle. You nodded, closing your eyes as your first ever orgasm hit, your body shaking, Lando’s cock twitching inside of you as his cum pooled out, his seed spilling through.

“You’re so good,” he gasped, gently pulling out, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You said nothing, just panting, your chest rising and falling as he moved you softly so you were in his arms, lying on his chest as he took a towel from the side, wiping his cock and your thighs clean.

You hummed, resting in his chest, eyes drooping, tired already as he smiled. “Enjoyed that?” he asked, as you nodded, “didn’t even use the safe word, that’s how good you are,” he kissed your jaw again, moving your hair from your face, his hands rubbing small circles into your tummy.

[artdcnaldson]

ugh "leverage" to ensure she won't go tattling to patrick. especially as he starts getting meaner and meaner, he tells her it's to make sure she doesn't back out and tell on him. because patrick would genuinely kill art if he knew what he's been doing to his baby sister.

i know it doesn't really fit in the canon of the other parts to this au, but hear me out anyway... what if he agreed to fuck her, properly this time, in her sweet little pussy. BUT he needs said leverage to make sure she keeps quiet about it (truly he just needs to immortalize taking her virginity so he can watch it back for the rest of his life). so he "agrees", he's the one to bring it up lol, on the condition that he can record it. y'know like really shitty, amateur, pov style, on her creaky dorm bed and pink, frilly sheets. shaky and grainy, but it's good enough for him. it's not like he would ever actually post it anywhere or show people, but she doesn't know that.

he gets off on how nervous she is when he points the camera at her, she's blushing and trying to hide her face. but he just slaps her cheek and manhandles her to look right down the lens of his shitty phone camera. tells her to moan louder around his big cock, tell the camera how good he feels, really just stroking his own ego. makes her tell the camera exactly how he's making her feel, can't cum unless she asks into the camera. he nearly cums right inside her when she tells him he's too big and it hurts :(((((

yummy yummy yummy

-🐞

OHHHHHHH <3 I had to let this simmer. This had to ruminate. Had to really let it sit and grow legs or whatever wine people say idk

RATING: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v, degradation, making a sex tape, loss of virginity, world’s worst aftercare), mean!art as always, uncomfortable power dynamics, DUBCON due to coercion

He catches you leaving one of your classes, chatting happily with a few girls as you walk. Their eyes widen as he approaches, smacking his gum, looming tall over them. You murmur a quick apology and bound over like an obedient little pet, falling into stride beside him as he walks.

“What class is that?” He asks, nodding back towards the building. Most of the time he forgot you even attended the school beyond cheering at his games and floating around his dormitory like a ghost.

“Peoples and cultures,” you reply, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s an anthropology course I’m taking. It’s actually really interesting, like, these past few lectures have been—“

“What are you doing tonight?” He interrupts, not really caring beyond the simple answer to his question. He has a one track mind, and for the moment he’s just thinking about getting in your pants.

He watches you think, then shrug. “Um… nothing, I guess? Why?”

Art stops by a tree suddenly, tugs you by your wrist to stop with him. “Do you promise if we fuck you won’t tell Patrick?” He watches as your eyes widen, as sheer need and excitement makes you practically vibrate out of your skin.

Frantically you nod. “I’d never tell Patrick, I’d take it to my grave, I swear,” you say, totally earnest, bouncing on the balls of your feet as he looks at you.

“God, I want you so bad,” he hums, brushing your hair back behind your ear. You melt beneath his touch, gaze all half-lidded and soft. “I just… I think I’d have to have some leverage, just to make sure no one ever finds out.”

You tilt your face, resting it on his hand, your eyes half-lidded and dazed with need. You hum a soft, “Mhmm,” without even knowing what he’s implying, what he’s asking of you. But he hears what you’re thinking, all dumbed down and needy— yes, Art, whatever you say Art, anything you want, Art.

He wants to do it in your room, that night. He walks you back to your dorm and tells you to get your roommate out, make sure she’s busy for however long you need. He’d text you when he’s on his way.

So you’re just… fucking vibrating with excitement, cleaning up your dorm, changing your sheets, fluffing your pillows. You light three warm vanilla sugar candles so the dorm smells nice and sweet, put on your roommate’s SEXXXMIXXX <3 CD that she had burned in High School (and kept your fingers crossed it was still relevant). You took the longest fucking shower of all time, scrubbed your skin until it stung, shaved you’re entire body, wondered if maybe he wouldn’t like bald pussy, then worried that he’d hate if you kept the hair even more. Moisturized, then put on pretty, light makeup— lipgloss, mascara. All in the span of time it took for him to text you.

Art :) <3

omw

You feel a little dizzy by the time he’s at your door, already wet just anticipating what you were about to do. He grins down at you, at your silky little pajama set, pink and lacy around the edges. Smacks his gum, trails his hand along the sides of your waist.

“Pretty.” He looks smug as he rubs the lace between his fingers. “You got all dressed up for me, huh?”

It’s amazing how timid and shy you can look as you stand in front of him, biting onto your lip as you nod. He shuts the door behind him and guides you backwards until you knock against your bed and laugh nervously. Jesus, he’d already fucked your ass, your throat, he’d done things to you that even the dirtiest fucking sluts on campus wouldn’t dream of allowing. But you’re all shy because he’s finally going to fuck you properly?

You gasp as he tugs down the neckline of your top, exposing your tits to the cool air of the dorm. So cute, soft. Your nipples already hard and sensitive, so just the lightest pinch makes you let out a pretty moan.

“Remember what I said about leverage?” Art says, and you nod slowly, dreamily. “I want to film it.”

Your eyes widen slightly, as you think back to the pictures he’d taken of you just a few weeks prior. “And you’d… what? Like post it if Pat finds out?”

“No, no, only if you tell,” he corrects. Even then… he doubted he’d actually ever post it anywhere. He had a tennis career to consider, after all. But the important thing was that you believe he will. “It’s just to make sure this stays our secret.”

You swallow, consider it. You didn’t plan on telling Patrick, so it was fine, right? He’d hate Art, and you didn’t want that. You would never want that, no matter what.

So you nod softly. “Okay,” you say finally. “I’d… yeah, I understand. Okay.”

God, you’re easy. So fucking easy it makes him a little sick to think about. What if he wasn’t Patrick’s friend, if he was some frat house asshole who would take advantage of how bad you wanted him? You’re so lucky he’s a good person.

He uses your own fucking digital camera— pink and decorated with little heart stickers. Turns it on and records you as you slip off your sweet silky pajamas, revealing soft, smooth skin beneath. You’re so shaky, so nervous. You can’t even look into the lens.

“No panties?” He asks, lips quirked into a grin. He steps forward to slip his hand between your thighs, to cup your pussy in one big hand. God, you’re so fucking wet, just like you usually are. He could just slide right in without any resistance, just bury himself right inside that tight little pussy. “Jesus, you’re a fucking mess, just dripping for it, aren’t you?”

You moan, relishing in the feeling of his hands on you. Art never touched you, not to get you off, at least. So the feeling of his thick calloused fingers against your cunt makes you whine. He breaches your entrance with just a fingertip and grins at the feeling of you clenching around the intrusion, desperate for anything he’ll give you.

But the relief is gone as soon as you’ve gotten it. He pats your thigh, nods to the bed. “Go lay down. Let me film you stretching yourself out for me.”

“Art,” you whine once you’ve laid down, embarrassed as he trains the lens on you. “Do you have to film this part?”

It just makes him double down, grinning smugly as he settles at the foot of the bed. “C’mon, just fucking do it. Show the camera how fucking wet you get for me.” You hear the whir of him zooming in as your hand slips between your thighs, as lithe fingers slide through your soaking wet folds and you tease your clit. He groans softly, grinning at the sight on the camera. “Alright, spread yourself out now. Show me how small and tight you are.”

You whimper pathetically, but obey. Your fingers form a V as you spread your lips, revealing the pretty, drippy hole of your cunt. He doesn’t even have to tell you to start fucking yourself, you just do. Pretty, manicured fingers disappearing inside the tight channel of your pussy, slow and easy as you pant and gasp sweetly.

“Can you do three?” He asks. He zooms the camera out, makes sure he gets all of you— your tits heaving with each breath, the slow grind of your hips to meet your fingers. You nod softly, press a third finger alongside the other two. He grins at the sight of the stretch of your cunt around them, how your body works to accommodate them. “God, it’s a tight stretch, huh?”

“Mhmm.” You moan as you pump your fingers slow, in and out. Wet to the point of it sounding obscene. Slick dripping out with each thrust, making your fingers glisten.

He can hardly take sitting there and watching, but god, he’d love it later on when he was alone with only the video to keep him company. But who knows? Maybe he’d fuck you once and never want anyone else. He already felt that way… kind of. You were so eager, so obsessed with him. You touched him like it was an act of worship. He couldn’t get that from easy pussy.

He sets the camera down on the foot of the bed while he undresses, tugging off his sweats and tee shirt, mussing up his hair in the process. It’s not lost on him, the way your fingers speed up at the sight of his cock, how needy and desperate you are.

“How bad do you want it?” He asks as he picks up the camera.

God, he’s mean. You whine when he grabs your wrist and makes you slip your fingers from inside of your cunt. Empty, needy, desperate. “Please, fuck me, Art.” You’re embarrassed, of course you are. He has a camera focused on your needy little expression, one hand on your thigh all warm and possessive. “Please, I’ve been so good for you. I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I just need you, I need you inside of me. Want you to be my first. Please, Art.”

He’s not sure where he wants the camera as he notches the head of his cock at your wet little hole. Part of him wants to film the second he buries his cock inside of that tight fucking cunt, but the other wants to film your face, watch how pretty you look as you take your very first cock.

And god, you’re trembling beneath him. Visibly shaking with anticipation, or nerves, or need. He runs a hand along your torso, cups one of your tits in his hands and thumbs over your sensitive nipple. “What, are you cold?” He teases.

“N-no,” you stammer, meeting his gaze. “Just— I just want it so bad.”

He films your face, which was the right call, he decides. He has to think about it technically, or he’ll risk blowing his load one pump in, like a total fucking loser. You’re so tight around him, clamping down on his cock as he sheaths himself within you, inch after inch. And god, that angelic face of yours— mouth agape, wet and pink and pretty, the tiniest furrow between your brows, lashes splayed against your cheeks as you moan, soft and sweet. “Hurts,” you practically whimper. “God, Art, fuck, it feels—“

He films where your cunt swallows him, stretched to the point of obscenity around his thick cock. It shouldn’t even be able to take him, not when you’re so small, so fucking tight. It’s a fucking miracle you’d even taken a toy before. He’d make you film that next. All desperate, fucking yourself on silicon while you drooled over a picture of him. It was sweet that you’d been trying to prepare yourself to take him and you were still a shaking, needy mess.

Tears well in your eyes as he thumbs at your swollen little clit, he feels your pussy clench around him, already so fucking keyed up. He should be good. He should make love to you, nice and slow, like a good boy. He’s starting to think he’s not a good boy, not at all. “Just lay there and take it, yeah? Just look nice and pretty for the camera.”

You cry out when he pulls back only to drive back in, hard and deep. His pace is relentless as he fucks into your cunt— warm and wet and tight and fucking perfect. He honestly shouldn’t have waited, he should’ve fucked you the first night you offered yourself up to him— sweet and needy and clinging off his shoulder like you were his girlfriend.

“A-Art, fuck—“ You cry out, fisting your pretty hands into the frilly duvet, as he bullies himself into you. “Oh, god, fuck, A-Art, it’s too much— I-I can’t—“ A strangled moan seems to rip itself from your throat as your head falls back against the pillows.

He grins. “Yeah? Don’t tell me, honey, tell the camera.”

You whine, turning your head away as embarrassment rips through you. It’s mean, keeping it trained on you while you’re so fucking vulnerable. He grabs your chin, holds it in place as he fucks into you, deeper, rougher. It punches out gasps from your pretty open mouth— Ah! Ah! Ah! Over and over and over.

He pops your cheek, not too hard, but enough to draw your attention back from him and away from your dizzying thoughts. “Tell the camera how good it feels to have my big cock in that little pussy of yours, yeah?

“It feels— ngh— I love it,” you have pretty fat tears slipping down your cheeks as he drills into you. “You’re so big, I— God, fuck— I feel you in my stomach. Here—“ You grab his hand, move it to press against the bottom of your stomach. He can’t feel anything, not except warm skin beneath his, but he groans at your words, at the implication that he’s so deep he’s in your fucking guts.

He has to bite his tongue so hard he tastes blood. He knows he’s going to cum, knows that he’s not going to last or show off epic, manly stamina and impress you. Not that you give a shit, but he wants to set a standard for whatever fucking loser you fuck next. He’d have next time, and as many other times as he wanted. You’d keep coming back for it, for him.

He struggles to manhandle you the way he needs while holding onto the camera. He tosses it into the sheets so he can press your knees up to your chest. “Hold them— yeah, that’s it, fuck— feels good.” You’re so obedient, holding your legs up for him so he can get deeper. Your eyes roll back, flutter shut. He fumbles to grab the camera, to immortalize you like this.

Your cunt squeezes around him, makes his rhythm falter as he struggles to fend off his orgasm. God, he just wants to bury himself deep and rut into you, to cum deep and hard, leave you dripping with him. It’s about him… but it’s about you too. He’d be good, he’d make you cum.

“Tell me how bad you need to cum. Fucking beg me for it,” He groans, rubbing at your clit with a calloused thumb.

You whine, squeezing around his cock as he draws you closer and closer. “Need it, Art. It feels so good— you’re so fucking perfect, feel so perfect inside of me. Wanna cum for you, around your cock, wanna show you how good you feel. Please, please, god, I want it, I want to feel it, Art. Want you to cum inside of me, need it so bad— I fucking dream about it, about you. You’re so much better, you’re everything I want, Art, fucking claim me. I want you to.”

Art wanted to pull out. He did. He was going to glaze your pussy with his cum, get it on video, swipe his fingers through it and make you taste it. But Jesus Christ, you fucking ruined that idea. He cums suddenly, practically collapses on top of you as he fucks into your cunt, spilling himself deep inside of you. And like the perfect fucking toy you are, you cum too, milking him for all he’s worth, walls clenching down around his cock as he lazily ruts into you.

He pants, stays buried inside of you as he tries to catch his breath. He’d never cum inside someone before— he was too afraid of knocking someone up. He’d always had the self control to pull out, but he lost himself in fucking you, in the tight grip of your pussy around him. Christ, that was bad.

When he pulls out, a thick gush of his cum follows, pearly white, dripping down your ass and to the bed. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them, you’ve tugged a blanket over yourself shyly. Looking so demure, so sweet, batting your lashes up at him expectantly.

The camera lays dropped and forgotten on the bed, he goes and presses the stop button on the camera and you grab at his arm. “Do you want to stay the night?” You ask with a shy bite of your lip. “I told Izzy to fuck off, so she’s with her girlfriend. We’ve got the dorm for the night, so you can stay.”

Art makes a face akin to annoyance as he redresses, tugging on his boxers and sweats. His shirt is somewhere… he can’t focus. “I’m not your boyfriend.”

Your eyes widen, you swallow as heat floods your cheeks. “Yeah, I mean, I know,” you stammer. “I just thought…”

His jaw ticks. “Don’t do that, then. This is just about fucking.

Art watches the sad little nod, the tiniest twitch of your nose as you fight the rush of tears to your eyes. “I know that, Art,” you say sadly, and you’re trembling again. “I just wish you’d stay for a bit. I’m… I feel a lot right now. I’ve never… I’ve never felt this before I just want—“

“What do you want? A hug, a kiss?” He watches you sniffle sadly, nod and mutter a watery, yeah. He sighs, stops searching for his shirt, and pulls you against his chest. You feel so warm, so vulnerable as you shake and cry hot tears against his chest. He frowns, pulls back, and presses his lips to yours, quick and chaste. “I’m not doing this again if you keep acting like this.”

You sniffle and nod. “Okay, I know, I won’t do it again.” He kisses the crown of your head. Grabs a random shirt from the top of your laundry basket, grabs the camera, and heads for the door. You watch him leave with a pouty, wobbly little frown and get up to redress. You find his Stanford Tennis shirt partly beneath your bed and pull it on. It’s big, fits you like a hug, smells so boyish and warm. You lay back down on the bed he just fucked you on and breathe deep, let his smell flood your senses. It feels a little like being wanted.

AURRRRR this was so much longer than I thot <3

Anyways. Love pat’s sister au, feel free to send me any asks you want about these messy bitches <3

🐞 anon i love u

[kooqitas]

#pairing: friends-dad!wonwoo x reader.

#genre: smut | #w.c: ~1500

#synopsis: it was just a ride offered by your friend's dad, what could go wrong?

#warnings: semi-public sex (car), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, agegap, spit, humiliation, overstimulation. WITHOUT DADDY KINK, THE NAME WAS JUST A JOKE!

#notes: not proofread, english isn’t my first language! ★ m.list | inbox 

support me on ko-fi if you want, i would be very happy :D

the moment wonwoo's car turned down the street, you regretted accepting that ride.

wonwoo is your friend's father, she's not your best friend, but you've known each other for a few months, you used to go to parties together, and this was the first time you went to her house. she always said that her father wasn't old, but wonwoo is like 15 years older than you? god, how young did he become a father? whatever, you know a hot man when you see one, and of course wonwoo is really hot.

because of the heavy rain, it was impossible to order an uber to your house, so wonwoo offered you a ride since his daughter was going to her boyfriend's house. at first you rejected it, you said you would find a way, but your friend insisted so much that it seemed rude to reject jeon's ride.

as soon as the rain stopped, wonwoo took the car out, you got in the vehicle, buckled your seat belt and regretted it instantly.

wonwoo was stupidly hot and watching him drive was driving you crazy, he smelled so good and his lips were so inviting that you didn't even realize when you started having impure thoughts about the man next to you. your friend's father.

your brain betrayed you, and you started thinking about the thick fingers that were on the steering wheel inside you, slowly opening you up to prepare for his cock. what would wonwoo's cock be like? following the logic of the proportions of his body he would probably be hot... and thick… oh, god!

"what are you thinking?" he asked you.

“w-what?”

“you are cute.” he laughed.

“oh, shut up, i’m not cute, cute is for child, i’m not a child.” you grumbled.

he laughed again, biting his own lips.

“yes, i know very well that you are not a child.”

you gasped. was wonwoo flirting with you? what the hell. no, that’s impossible, you are crazy. definitely crazy. 

“but you know... you can call me 'daddy' if you want too”

“mrs. jeon” your voice was a little shaky.

“no, sweetheart, just wonwoo. unless it's a kink for you…”

“wha- what are you d-”

wonwoo stopped the car, and only then did you realize that he wasn't even following the gps location, you were on a dark street, completely deserted, the raindrops were still falling lightly outside the car, so wonwoo faced you, firmly, making your body shake.

“i'm not gonna do anything you don't want, honey. but don't act like you're not a dirty girl who stared at me lustfully in my own house, don't pretend like you didn't look at my fingers on the steering wheel like you didn't imagine them inside you.” wonwoo said in a scoundrel tone, making you cringe, you no longer knew if it was from humiliation or lust.

“i’m-”

“you? what do you want, baby? will you deny your own desire? or are you gonna assume that you want my cock opening up that pussy, hm?”

“wonwoo…”

“what, kitten? do you want be treated with care? or i can just use you however i want? mistreat you completely, use you for my pleasure?” 

wonwoo's right hand rested on your thigh, looking at you before leaving an unchaste caress there, he laughed when you surrendered, opening your legs in anticipation of him raising his hand a little further, his warm finger in contact with your skin the cold air conditioning makes you horny.

wonwoo took off his seat belt, and slapped his thigh twice, you immediately sat there, without any kind of questioning, he laughed, the mocking laugh making you feel a little humiliated.

"don't you think you're the worst kind of whore? fucking your friend's father? you're so disgusting."

the way he spoke gave you a feeling of heat that you had never felt before, unconsciously you began to roll slowly on his lap. god, fuck any moral ethics, wonwoo was fucking hot and your cunt was starting to get wet.

“that is? does this excite you? knowing that your friend's father is gonna fuck you, will treat you like the disgusting whore you are?”

“y-yes” you moaned.

wonwoo laughed in contempt, clenching your jaw and finally kissing you, his tongue tasted like beer and even though you weren't the biggest fan of the drink you loved it, wonwoo was dominant, he led the kiss the way he wanted, sucking your tongue leaving not so light bites on your lips and it was driving you crazy.

you felt when his firm hands lowered the thin strap of your shirt, exposing your nipples and then he lightly brushed his index finger there, making you tremble in anticipation.

wonwoo continued devouring you with his mouth, the man seemed ready to destroy you with a kiss and if he continued at that pace he would easily succeed, the hot tongue curling with more and more desire in his and the kiss smacks becoming more and more wet in your mouth, his fingers making sloppy movements on your needy nipples.

you felt a hand move down from your nipple to your baggy shorts, and then a finger brushed against your panties, making you moan loudly.

“needy whore!” wonwoo laughed.

wonwoo started kissing and biting your neck, the bites hurt like hell, it would clearly leave a mark, but you were loving it, and the moans and gasps you made made it evident.

"are you gonna tell my daughter who marked that neck? are you gonna tell her that you are a desperate whore who gave your pussy to her father in the car?"

“wonwoo…”

wonwoo placed two fingers inside you, making you scream from the shock of the long fingers entering your cunt, he had no difficulty placing his fingers there, easily reaching your g-spot while still marking your neck voraciously.

"dumb bitch, do anything for cock!"

he added another finger, your eyes rolling back, your body was sweating even with the air conditioning in the car, you didn't care about anything anymore, you just wanted wonwoo inside you. he tore your shorts and laid the seat back a little further, kissing your mouth again.

“i'm gonna to fill this pussy up, you'll go home dripping with my cum like a good toy!”

wonwoo removed his fingers from inside you, putting them in his mouth and sucking out every drop of your liquid, and then removed his belt, lowering his pants and underwear right after.

his purple cock made you salivate, at the same time it scared you, you didn't imagine it would be so fat, it terrified you and made you even more horny, every inch of you would receive wonwoo's dick, he would open you up like no one had ever done before .

"you're gonna take my dick like a good slut, aren't you? i'm gonna be able to spread you wide open and you're gonna thank me, right?"

you nodded, and in the next second, wonwoo was entering you.

at first he was gentle, rubbing sloppy circles on your clit until you got used to his size, but a few minutes later wonwoo was thrusting into you like crazy and moaning like an animal.

"i knew that whore's pussy was gonna open wide for my cock!”

he said as he mistreated your pussy with strong thrusts, you didn't think about anything else, you didn't think about the fact that he was your friend's father, you didn't think about the fact that you were on a deserted street, you couldn't think about anything other than how good it was the feeling of having wonwoo hitting your uterus hard.

he grabbed your waist and made you bounce on him, his firm hand pushing you up and down on his fat cock while your belly tingled.

"god, i’m gonna-"

"cum on my dick, whore, cum because i’m gonna cum inside you, i’m gonna fill that pussy with my sperm."

wonwoo laughed in a machiavellian way, and then spat in your mouth, forcing two fingers down your throat, you accepted them, sucked as if it were wonwoo's own cock while facing him, feeling the lust growing in your belly growing more and more.

when he wiped his fingers of saliva on your hardened nipple, you came, screaming so loud that, even though you were on the deserted street, you were still afraid that other people would hear.

when your body started to shake, wonwoo seemed more motivated to destroy you, and continued thrusting against your pussy.

"my freaky bitch only stops when i decide it's over?" he questions seeing that you just accepted his rough pace. "i like it! my daughter has the best friend in the world!"

wonwoo thrust you a few more times, until he came apart inside you, moaning loudly and throwing his head back, your insides becoming completely sticky with your friend's father's sperm.

you still moved, sensitive from the orgasm, but still rubbing against the cock that wasn't completely softened, you wanted more, he wanted more.

fuck any morals, you needed to enjoy the rest of the night together...

and it was with this in mind that wonwoo searched on the gps where the nearest motel was.

[theres-a-body-here]

Hi could you do Genji, Hanzo, Cassidy, lifewaver and Mauga (separately) where they have matching skins with thier s/o

It took some convincing to make these boys match with you, some more than others, but you were determined to be twinsies on the field.

I threw in two extras, as a treat

Cole Cassidy - Sherlock Holmes and Watson

Took little to no convincing to have him match with you, but he was dead set on being Sherlock

This isn't negotiable

Expect to hear everything but your name out there

"Dear boy", "Watson", and "My dear" is all you're gonna be referred as

Cassidy will refuse to respond to you unless you refer to him as "sir" or "boss"

You could take a bullet to the side and he'll be kneeling over you like: "Hmm, yes, that is indeed a nasty wound my boy"

"You're a moron.....Sir" you groan out as he drags you to Mercy

Eventually, you really play into the roll

wrapping your arms around Cassidy from behind as you press your cheek against his

"Do you have a plan, Boss?"

He coughs, being caught off guard

"Yes, my dear Watson...it's uhh....ya know, this" He says as he spins peacemaker in his hands

"World's greatest detective, everyone" You remark sarcastically

Genji Shimada - Kamen Rider

He's actually the one who first asked to match costumes

You both bickered over who to be

Genji insisted you dress as Evolto, but you also wanted to be Kamen

In the end, you both dressed as Kamen

Genji dressed as Kamen Rider Blade

You dressed as Kamen Rider Gaia

You both pose and exclaim with a loud "Henshin!" after every elimination

The others don't really get it

Genji kinda just shuffles over and hugs you, pressing his faceplate into your chest sadly after being called a "Power Ranger" for the 5th time.

You have to stifle your laughter as you comfort him

"It's not the same thing," he whines, voice muffled by your chest

"Yeah buddy, they're completely different franchises," you chuckle out, rubbing his back

Niran "Bua" Pruksamanee - Bee and Flower

Pretty excited to match costumes with you

Niran took a pretty long time to pick which flower to dress as

"Maybe I should stick with Lotus, but...Jasmines..." he mutters as he brings fabrics to his chest, imagining himself as each flower

you sat on his bed wearing a bumblebee suit, watching on as Niran struggled to make a decision

He settles on fuchsia, bright purples and trailing fabric

Costume is so extravagant that you look comically out of place in your cheap Bee outfit

Niran doesn't mind, in fact, he finds it cute

He especially loves your puns

"Bee mine," you coo as you kiss his cheek

He chuckles as he returns the kiss

Hanzo Shimada - Cupid and Eros

You're gonna have to bust out all your tricks to convince this man to wear something so, in his words, undignified

What ever you do to get him into the cupid costume, expect complaints

"This is....embarassing," he mutters begrudgingly as he sits on your bed, tugging at his pastel pink wings

The bathroom door opens as you step out in your Eros outfit

"How do I look, Babe?'

Hanzo's face immediately erupts into a blazing red

"Wh-What are you wearing?" he exclaims as he adverts his gaze, looking at anywhere but you

Your outfit is... minimal to say the least

Wings, red sash, sandals, bow, and a thin loincloth. That's literally it

Besides that? Nearly all of your skin was on display

"Aww, you don't like it?" you tease as you walk closer to Hanzo

You straddle his lap, feeling him stiffen under you

You cup his face while you rub his cheeks with your thumbs

"I'm just teasing you. I have a much more modest outfit ready

Hanzo lets out a sigh as he looks at you

You lean in closer, ghosting your lips over his ear

"This one is for tonight" you whisper

Hanzo swears you'll be the end of him one day

Maugaloa Malosi - Māui and Hine-nui-te-pō

You brought up the idea of matching costumes and he instantly had a mischievous look in his eyes

He agreed on the condition that he chooses the theme

He dressed as Māui and he helped make a costume for you

You recognized Māui from a movie, but you had no idea who Hine-nui-te-pō was

"Don't worry about it" he assured you with a chuckle

You two had a blast on the battlefield with your matching costumes

Although, you couldn't help but think something was up every time Mauga glanced at you

He'd smirk and throw you a wink

But this was Mauga, so it didn't really set off a red flag

Its not until the end of the battle where a talon grunt said something

"What he'd do to convince you to dress like that?"

You looked confused. The grunt explained she was from New Zealand.

She told you the story of Māui and Hine-nui-te-pō

Your face went from shock, embarrassment, to rage

You stomped your way to Mauga, who wore a shit-eating grin

You stood in front of him as your swung your hands to slap him

But you're too short

"God dammit! Lean over, asshole!" you cry as you jump at him Mauga breaks into a fit of laughter as he picks you up and swings you around

Jamison Fawkes - Yoshikage Kira and Killer Queen

Surprisingly, Junkrat was pretty hesitant to match costumes

He was worried changing clothes would include bathing

He likes his soot and burns thank you very much

"I have an aesthetic to maintain, mate"

But you knew how to break him

The moment the words "turns anything into a bomb" left your lips, he was instantly on board

Obviously he was gonna be the explosion cat

But since this was Junkrat, you had to approve his costume beforehand

You deadass had to explain to him why entering a bathtub of alcohol and pink sharpie markers to color his skin was a terrible idea

"But the damn cat's pink isn't it?" He asks, dumbfounded that you had a problem with his genius idea

"We'll use facepaint, babe"

You show off your costumes to the rest

Jamie wearing cat ears, Pink face paint, and leather gloves

You wearing a suit, dyed your hair blond, and severed mannequin hand in your pocket

After an ultimate that wiped out a good number of the enemy team, Junkrat clears his throat to speak

"Watashi no na wa "Kira yoshikage" nenrei 33-sai jitaku wa moriōchō hokutō-bu no bessō chitai ni ari ..."

The rest of you kinda stood around staring at him shocked

"I didn't know Mr. Fawkes knew japanese," Mei comments to you in a hushed voice, not wanting to interrupt Junkrat

You and Roadhog kinda look at each other

"He doesn't" you both say in unison

Reinhardt Wilhelm - Knight and Squire

A Knight and his squire? Count him in!

To be honest, you being his squire is somewhat of a fantasy he has, so Reinhardt was pretty excited to match costumes with you

You let him have a major say in your outfit since it was apparent this was big for him

He picked out colors of the old Crusade; Muted browns, greens and vibrant golds

Reinhardt wore his Balderich outfit

He fumbled to find a camera to capture the moment

Before you two left to meet up with the others for training drills, Reinhardt stopped you

"Y/N...can you...do something for me?" He asks nervously, voice almost a whisper

"Yeah sure, what's up big guy?"

"Can you bring me my hammer?" he finally responds after a while

You shrug and walk over to grab the massive weapon, bringing it over with a bit of strain

You had an idea of why he asked you to do this

You knelt on one knee and raised the hammer with both hands

"Your hammer, Sir Wilhelm"

Reinhardt's hands clench into a fists, the fabric of the gloves making a creaking sound from the pressure

He pushes the hammer aside and pulls you in for a bone crushing bear hug

"You've made this old dog happy, Y/N" he mutters as he nuzzles his face into your neck

"Yeah, sure, no problem" you strain out as you see spots on your vision

Reinhardt drops you immediately

"Sorry..." he mutters as he pats your shoulder

[whumpsoda]

Seeing Me in You - Unboxing

Masterlist

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, institutionalized slavery, conditioned/brainwashed whumpee

——————

Ever so anxiously fearful, he had safely arrived to his new home. After so long of training and treatment, he had been prepared to perfection for his purpose. He was going to finally be put to use.

His trip to delivery had proved painful, even if he was used to dealing with common afflictions. Such a tight cage was unfavorable for his hulking frame, and the constant, numerous shakes and bumps of the truck formed noticeable bruises over his skin, and a sour throbbing in his head.

Thankfully, 374629 wasn’t meant to look presentable. Especially not pretty. He knew he wasn’t, having been utterly made sure of it. Not average looking, even, but he was never meant to be. He certainly was not a romantic, nothing anyone would purchase depending on his level of attraction.

Once set to the ground below his master’s doorstep, he made a point not to listen into the muffled conversation mushing together like cotton clouds above him. Reducing it to a buzz in the back of his mind, he kept his brain nice and blank. His belly still whirled in a mixture of terror and excitement to be inches away from his owner, and minutes from finally being introduced to them.

He could clearly hear as the employees transporting him finally left, leaving him alone with his owner. Leaving him to begin his new life.

374629 froze rigid as light began cracking and seeping into his crate, flooding his face with warmth and blinding brightness. On instinct his eyes shut and wound tight, body curling into itself further.

He hoped his master would be a good master. Didn’t everyone? Every master would be good of course, he had to be grateful to have any master at all. He was lucky. Maybe they would be just like his handlers in the facility. He couldn’t help but wish they were. As much as he was in no place to have preferences, he would have liked the familiarity.

But as his master ever so carefully opened his box, revealing more and more of his face, 374629 couldn’t help but on instinct catch a tiny look. And his master was frowning.

It was obvious he was attempting to hide it, lips curling up ever so slightly, almost unnoticeably so. The fake, half smile failed to meet his solemn, moistening eyes that glittered in the light. Not only was he obviously unhappy with his delivery, but his master was crying.

As 374629 turned back away, he could only hope it was his pet’s unsavory predicament that he found so foul.

Covered in his own grime, tears and sweat, boxers shriveled and dirty, his burly figure was contorted every which way inside of his box. His collar wasn’t even a nice leather, rather cheap and itching raw, red marks over his neck.

Maybe his master had never ordered a boxie before. Maybe he didn’t realize his pet would arrive so disheveled.

“S- sorry,” the man sniveled, wiping his eyes with clammy knuckles, “This is just… a lot. More so for you, of course.” 374629 could sense the slightest of a soft smile in his voice, pulsing warmth through his pet’s butterfly-filled belly. 

374629 didn’t know if he was meant to respond. He knew his rules well, repeating one specifically like a mantra in his mind. Do not speak unless spoken to, he told himself, over and over again like the handlers had. But he’d never had someone, let alone a person, apologize to him. Apologize! How could he possibly know what to do?

“Ye- yes, sir.” He squeaked out, meek and shaky. He winced, expecting a quick and burning shock to the throat for his misbehavior - hesitating and stuttering - but, while no longer wearing his training collar, such a punishment never came. 

Eyes peeking open once again, 374629 fixated his vision on the wood paneling of his crate. Pets are never allowed to look their master in the face, he told himself, both reminding him of the rules and silently chastising himself for having the urge to do so a second time. He hoped his owner had noticed his previous mistake of doing so, so that he could receive needed discipline for such unacceptable behavior.

“Hmmm… how about we get you up and out of your box, okay?” His master commanded, although spoken strangely. As if it wasn’t a command, rather a question, but 374629 knew very well that it was. Commands were one thing he was good at knowing. “Unless you feel more comfortable in there, then-,”

Before his master could continue, 374629 swiftly and clumsily stumbled from the confines of his box, plopping to his knees beside it. Again he fixed his gaze somewhere beside his master, this time the concrete floor of the hallway, as much as he wished he could look to the man for approval.

“Oh.” 

The pet tensed. Did he do something wrong? He failed to discern an emotion from his master’s lack thereof, causing his stomach to quease with uneasiness. 

“That’s okay. That’s good, yeah.” The pet could have sighed in relief. “Now, can I ask you a question?”

374629 tensed once again. Another question. He was so terribly confused. Why was his master asking him? Permission, even? It had to be a trick. A test, to see how well he’d been trained, an easy on at that. 

“A master does anything they so desire.” He neatly recited, a smile nearly tugging at his lips. 

He was being such a good boy. Back at training he would have received a quick and concise good by his handler, and the thought of praise, no matter how little and insignificant, could have him practically drooling.

For a moment, his master paused.

“I guess I should’ve expected that.” He whispered, more so to himself than his pet. His tone almost shone disappointment to his words, a realization that could have brought rich bile flooding his pet’s mouth. “I just wanna know, um, what’s your designation?”

He didn’t even need to think to formulate a reply. “WRU, facility 034, Guard Dog 374629.” He recited on the instant, words rolling off his tongue with perfected memorization. His designation was beat to memory, coming completely and entirely natural to him. In the whole interaction, that was one thing he was sure of.

He heard his master swallow, thick with saliva that danced down his throat. “Guard dog?”

“Yes, sir.” He responded, without falter, and utilizing his deep, low chords.

“Me too.”

——————

Masterlist

Taglist- @softvampirewhump @3-2-whump @taterswhump

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

Ok, this is the last preview I'm giving y'all for this story! I know this one has taken a while but I very much appreciate your patience! I'm hoping to post the full thing either tomorrow or Saturday! Hope you like it!

Mild warning for ~grinding~

Special thanks to @luc1fersducky @animationmovieshipps @bat-boness and @misfitgirlwrites for letting me send you my process, you guys are amazing <3

"And where do you think you're going?," you asked coyly, stopping him in his tracks entirely.

“I umm, just uhh…giving you privacy?” He tentatively went for the handle again, but your arm shot out, keeping the door in its locked state.

“Oh, we’re way past decency here, Lucifer.” You maneuvered him away from the door and sat him down on the large white bench that was affixed to the wall. You leveraged your foot against the area just below his hip and rested one hand on the top of your thigh, the other on your hip. “Besides, you’re not really in any condition to be in the public view” leaning forward and shooting a quick glance down at his crotch, “now are you?”

Lucifer could only shake his head.

"Glad you agree," you smiled and pecked his lips, an almost inaudible whine leaving Lucifer's throat. "I have some more dresses to try on. You can look, but you cannot touch unless I say, alright?"

"Yes, love," he murmured obediently. You smiled and turned around to pick up the black dress you had let fall to the floor. You bent over slowly to pick it up, giving Lucifer a lovely view of your barely covered ass. You heard a deep inhale behind you followed by a shaky exhale.

You hung up the black dress and moved onto the next dress, a beautiful lavender colored Bardot dress with sleeves that hung off your shoulders. Luckily this one didn't have a zipper, you only needed to step in and shimmy it up your body. You liked this one more than the last, you did as few twirls in front of the mirror checking every single angle.

"What do you think of this one, hon?," you asked, looking at his reflection in the mirror. It seemed as though he was gripping that bench with just a little too much force.

"Ravishing," Lucifer breathed. You had given him permission to look, and he was taking fully advantage of your generosity. He was chopping at the bit, fighting every urge to pounce right then and there. Lucifer's eyes were hungry, his lips curled into a smile to try and hide how badly he needed you at this moment. You admired his will power...but how strong was it truly? You made your way back towards him, chuckling playfully. Without warning, your knees found their way onto the bench, now fully straddling the mess of a man beneath you.

"W-what are you-mmph!" Lucifer tried to ask you but was cut short by your lips suddenly on his. You wrapped your arms around his neck and placed a small peck to his forehead.

"You always say just the right things, Luci," you cooed as you began to shift your hips against him. Hearing the mangled moans coming from Lucifer was nothing short of euphoric. You noticed he had released his grasp on the bench and began to move towards your hips. You gripped the back of his head, his hair firmly between your fingers, and tilted his head back gently. Lucifer grunted softly as you brought your lips to his neck. "Ah, ah, ah, what did I say, love? No touching," you scolded, now sucking and nibbling at his tender skin, desperately needing to mark him.

Lucifer whined and reluctantly brought his hands back to their original position on the frigid bench that paled in comparison to the feeling of your warm body that was pressed against him. "I-I can't do this f-for much longer, darling," he whimpered, "I can only h-handle- hnng, so much, I...ssshhhhhhiiittt-" Lucifer's hot breath became increasingly labored as you continued to rock your hips against his painfully growing bulge.

Just then, you heard the sound of a door closing. Someone had just entered the room next to you. With the threat of being heard now looming, you lifted yourself from his neck to see that Lucifer's eyes had turned an ominous red. It felt as if his slit black irises were staring straight into your soul, attempting to burn you from within. He was losing control fast. But you weren't done with him just yet. With a smirk, you placed a finger over his soft lips. "Shhh," you whispered almost inaudibly, "you may want to keep your voice down from now on."

[mellowwillowy]

“𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫, 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐰𝐡𝐨’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐚𝐥𝐥?”

𝐇𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬, 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐯𝐲.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐀𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐆𝐍! 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰: You were never well-fared of things related to acting, let alone theatrics although the same couldn't be said about your housewarden, a man of fair beauty who obsessed over your existence as though you were the divined beauty that he has always sought to be. Soon, he will let everyone acknowledge you the moment you step onto the theatre stage. You, as his snow white who he shall now curse to death for as an eternalized beauty.

CW: Reader wore a gown (Snow White, duh), death, and Improvised Snow White's tale.

Yes, the fairest one of all, the man worthy of everyone's awe and adoration, Vil Schoenheit. The man who bathed you in his endless love despite the harsh way he presented himself to you.

✼ It truly is no surprise that, as an actor, he ought to ensure that his beauty is free from anything that will tarnish it. So you bet all the skincare routines he has will be forced upon you as well. Not only that, he has to ensure both his and your hair are always in peak condition, silky smooth and untangled.

✼ From the way he combs through your hair, he relishes in the same scent you both shared from the same ridiculously expensive shampoo and conditioner to the liquid soap that was sucked into your skin pore, ensuring it remained pristinely clean and free from any blemishes.

✼ Not only that, but your attire will also be tailored to fit you, no suit nor dress would be too tight or loose as it would wrap your body beautifully. The laced corset that you should wear would never be too tight or too loose and the color of the outfits would be hand-picked by the man himself as he chose the shade that would compliment your skin tone well.

✼ His hand will always be on your back should he see you stand or sit in such unsightly posture. Straighten it up for him immediately unless you want to hear him lecture you about how one should carry oneself again~

✼ Should you ever have trouble sleeping, he will gladly accompany you as he sits next to your bed, his manicured hand holding yours while he serenades an old lullaby you are familiar with. What you don't know is that he does not leave immediately the moment you fall asleep, no no, he takes his sweet time relishing himself in your beauty... wait, is that a very teenie tiny blemish on your skin? How could he fail to notice that? He has to fix this ASAP!

✼ Hm? You found his shoes beautiful? Would you like to try it on? Oh no... it's too scary to be this tall! 13cm is a bit too much for you to take! No wonder he looks so poised and elegant... the secret lies in these babies!

"You don't seriously think these shoes contribute 90% to my beauty right?" Vil frowned as he watched your face contorted from awe to pale white the moment he voiced your thoughts. "Surely you know this better than anyone, even if you wear these shoes, it won't do much but show everyone just how much of a clown you are should you walk with a slouched back!"

✼ What? Sweets? Snacks? No no no, you've had your fair share of it already. You ought to cut all those unhealthy stuff and maintain a perfect diet for your sake (and his). Do you dislike it? What a shame, you still have to eat it nonetheless.

Another thing he likes to do about this is to use your dislikes as a form of punishment which you call “starved to death”. Your plate will be filled with all sorts of inedible foods for your mouth. Nonetheless, an apple will always be tolerable.

✼ He will be your dance coach, he will be your singing coach, he will be your lecturer for the classes you fail to grasp. He will be the person who you rely on in everything, he wishes to be acknowledged by you deep down in his heart after all.

✼ He will be the dorm leader you look up to and to be the person you look for should you ever be troubled by anything. Pesky students, who won’t stop bothering you? He knows his way to silence them with his sharp razored words that make them rethink their whole life.

✼ Remember, Vil is a man of fame and so you should watch how you act around him unless you want nasty rumors to circulate around you. He will sometimes post a subtle relationship type of post with you (your identity hidden as a secret lest his fans come at you like rabid mutts)

"So... I'm going to take the role of the princess? Didn't you give that role to Epel previously?"

The blonde man scoffed at your statement, "He was a suitable candidate, posing a breathtakingly feminine beauty that could even fool the Great Sevens, even so, he was never the embodiment of what I'd call to be 'feminine'"

The said subject mumbled under his breath, "You talk as though the other one is feminine enough for this role, I could barely feel any of the maiden-like aura from them."

Vil shot him a questioning look, his eyebrow raised, and challenged the other to talk again.

“Don’t you want to be the princess instead, Vil? Playing the role of a heroine would be a pleasant change for you no?” You offered thoughtfully. Surely he fits this role more than you could ever, heck, you are a bit hesitant in accepting this idea.

"I am perfectly pleased with my role as the Evil Queen, no need to fret over me."

The week went on with dread, you were never familiar with the acting world, let alone acting properly! But Vil was very adamant about you having to partake in this show, 'It shall be your first debut on the theatre stage' he quoted despite you only seeing this as a school event.

Days passed and you dreaded the idea of going to the rehearsal spot again upon finishing class. Even your fellow pretty friend couldn't stop bitching about how he hated the idea of being forced to take the role of one of the seven dwarves!

"Oh, believe me, you are doing way better than I do! Even Vil praises you for being able to pinpoint all the script's lines perfectly!" You raised your eyebrows at his statement, "All I did was serenade along, you should do that too y'know? Theatre is the place where you are supposed to sing out the heart of the character."

The two of you stopped walking as he tilted his head, questioning, "Like an opera?"

"No, that's a whole different level. I didn't mean to sing it out literally, I meant to... how do I word it..."

-

And so here you two were, standing in front of your housewarden as you waited for his response to Epel's question. He took his time, contemplating how to word it out as well.

"A long time ago, I had a Master who told me that the reason why we serenade on stage was because we had to express how the character felt thoroughly..." (AN: Master here stands for Mentor.)

"Uhm yeah, we knew that but is that all?"

"... Well, I mean yes, it's not like we are performing an opera... but... argh! Even I didn't get it okay? Now, off you two go! I want everyone to not make a single mistake! Tomorrow is our big day!" He blurted out as he shooed the two of you away.

Like the noisy ducklings you two were, you grumbled as though you were quaking like Donald Duck.

"Kinda weird seeing you dressed in a gown though, perhaps you should have just asked them to tailor you a suit because god does it blind me when you are dressed like a maiden."

At his statement, you rolled your eyes. You were glad enough that this all-boys school tolerated the eye-opening of a beauty standard.

"Even so, I'm surprised Senior didn't want to take the role of the charming prince." "Why so?" "Uh, I mean, he gets to kiss you and stuff! Maybe even take after the real version of the story and..."

At that, you immediately pinched his lip shut and walked toward your supposed practice spot. Tomorrow is D-day and you can't help but feel giddy at the idea of being able to act on the same stage with everyone despite not being familiar with the world of acting.

Everything went on smoothly as expected. No one screwed up. It's all perfect yet the Evil Queen couldn't rest easy, Vil couldn't rest easy. With how long and heavy the gown is, the tiara that decorated his beautiful updo and kept hair, he strode onto the stage and spoke toward the mirror.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?"

And the mirror should reply, “Thou, O Queen, art the fairest in the land,” or so she expected.

“Snow White, O Queen, is the fairest of them all.”

As though the Evil Queen was struck by lightning, he balled his trembling fist while contemplating whether he should break this mirror right on.

He has always lived in the shadow of those prominent figures, an actor who was praised for his fair beauty and kindness and his Master who was praised for their exceptional beauty and talent in the world of theatre.

He could understand how she felt, and so he serenaded, expressing how she felt so well that he knew, he had long embodied the wicked heart of the Evil Queen. Envy painted his tinted eyes as the scene changed into you and the seven dwarves, living oh so merrily after the huntsman was enraptured by your beauty and tricked her into eating a boar's lungs and liver.

A laced corset that Vil had always ensured to hug your figure in a way that didn't suffocate you, turned into a deadly weapon in the hand of the Evil Queen.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?"

And the mirror should reply, “Thou, O Queen, art the fairest in the land,” or so she expected.

“Snow White, O Queen, is the fairest of them all.”

Then, the lovely moment in which Vil would always comb your hair and untangle any tangled hair, turned into an attempt of murder with the comb stuck on your tangled hair.

And the Evil Queen would pose the same question again.

“Snow White, O Queen, is the fairest of them all.”

It's ironic, really. No matter how hard he worked for everything, he knew he could never surpass these two prominent figures. And desperate was him.

You hated it whenever he 'starved you to death', as the only edible thing you could eat was the red apple. You hated it because it was unfulfilling and not because he had poisoned it with the potion he handcrafted. In the hand of the Evil Queen, it turned into a deadly weapon.

And the Evil Queen would pose the same question again.

“Thou, O Queen, art the fairest in the land.”

The world's most beautiful phenomenal actor, the fairest one of all, you, his subject of awe and love, the Master of the Theater, or so people refer to you.

"Schoenheit, what did I tell you about encapturing the audience's heart with your voice and not just flatly reenacting the script?"

The boy looked as though he was about to cry but he knew well that emotion was never even once written in the script. As much as he respected you, he was still a boy of heart who was ready to have his heart shattered.

"I need to speak as though I am serenading, Master. That way, the audience could understand the turmoil of my heart." "Correct, now, reenact it again. Unless I have acknowledged you, you are to be forbidden from telling people that I am your master. O how shameful it would be for me to be acknowledged by a speck of dust!"

The boy took mental note of how easy it was for you to speak in such a serenading tune and tried to continue where you left off,

"This one dared not to humiliate his Master with his incompetence! This one would rather have his lip sewn tightly to ease his Master that no such deranged words would slip out!"

You raised an eyebrow at his reply, patting his blonde hair, "There, it's not even that hard. Come now, let's get back to line 324."

The practice went on as the boy tried his best to amaze his mentor who was guiding him like a lion to its cub. He would strive to be better with each day as he pictured his gleaming future in which he would acknowledged by the public for how exceptionally talented he was as an actor. And amidst that, he would proudly let the world know that you were the one who had assisted him to reach the summit of his fame.

"That is all, the rehearsal is dismissed," You clapped your hands, signaling to the other, "You are free to go, Schoenheit. Remember, our rehearsal tomorrow, at 2 PM sharp. Am I to be understood?" "Understood, Master!"

Vil did not have to be reminded when he should come back as he had memorized everything by heart! Only 4 days left before his first debut on the theatre stage, yes, his first debut in which people would see him not from the screen of television but thoroughly directly as he was shone by the stage light.

The role he was fit to be was one he wished for, the role of a princess. Nonetheless, he wished that his Master could have taken this role for themself as he had long used to the villainous role he was forced to take. But who was he to complain anymore when his mentor praised him for how befitting he was as a heroine?

The days went on with a strict lecture, no sugar would ever coat your guidance for him and he was not upset about it at all. Instead, he thanked you for being blunt about everything. But one thing for sure was that no other mentor was allowed to be as strict as you to him, or else he would never pay heed to their words at all.

"Tomorrow is your big day, a shame you couldn't hand me an invitation." You chuckled as you helped him walk down the stage's stairs, your gloved hand cold compared to the boy's warm hand.

"But Master will be there behind and on the stage to watch me right?" "Of course, I have waited for your debut for as long as I can remember. This would be the last masterpiece to ever be carved in the history of this very theater and me after all."

Something didn't sit right, your gloved hand that was leading him down felt as though you were dragging him away from something, away from the stage.

"Uhm... will I be as good as you have praised me tomorrow? What if I... fail..." "Nonsense. That would never happen, not in my wake."

Your voice was stern and quick enough to silence him yet your hand was still holding his gently.

Snow white was silent, dead silent. She was sleeping oh so peacefully after she took a bite of the apple. The dwarves were mourning, placing her resting figure inside the glass coffin for nature to bask in her beauty, for the birds to sing songs, for the deers to sleep right next to it, and for the charmed prince to kiss her awake.

Naturally, the Snow White woke up, and the happily ever after ending was supposed to show up after it reached the climax, the Evil Queen had been punished. But not in his wake.

An improvisation?

"You! I will never rest easy for as long as you exist. Even if these legs failed to stride for a dance, even if this face failed to uphold the immense beauty, even if this body rots beneath the soil that was trampled by pebble-like mortals, I will never, ever, acknowledge you, to be the fairest of them all!"

Instead of watching the Evil Queen dance in tears and horror, the Evil Queen strode toward you, Vil strode toward you with his hand bent forward toward you. The heels that clack in beat with the music played on stage, the furrowed eyebrows, and the glint of despair in his eyes spoke everything.

Was he speaking to you?

"For you, will never be the fairest one of all unless you are dead!"

An improvisation.

It was a prop knife but it did well in splattering red paint that replicated blood. The knife was plunged right into where your heart would be, the apple to your soul. The actors were clearly taken aback by this, their genuine reactions perfected this whole scene.

And you who were never familiar with the acting world, were quick enough to improvise this.

"Alas, you and I are now walking hand in hand toward the underworld O' you Wicked Queen, should your words remain true, I shall still be the fairest one of all even in our death!"

Tears flowed out of Vil's eyes, this is not what she wanted, this is what I wanted.

The audiences were whispering amongst themselves in disbelief, the faes that were watching this were even taken aback by the show. Contrary to the dull fairy tale they had heard, this had taken a sharp turn into something more... beautiful?

Pettiness would be what Vil was trying to embody. Envy had long tinted his sight and what more could damage him? Should he live in the shadows of these two figures forever? Should he live in your shadow forever?

He'd rather die with your dead shadow, together, hand in hand as the pair of the fairest one of all, marching toward the underworld.

"Alas, that would be a better outcome than having to live in the shadow of a naive girl like you." His hands held your face gently before forcing you into a waltz of death.

The boy was horrified but the princess was not. The Evil Queen was dancing in pain and horror. He knew. He knew how there were nails in the shoes you were wearing.

"You! I will never rest easy for as long as you exist. Even if these legs failed to stride for a dance, even if this face failed to uphold the immense beauty, even if this body rots beneath the soil that was trampled by pebble-like mortals, I will never, ever, acknowledge you, to be the fairest of them all!"

Blood dripped out of your torn lip as you twirled beautifully, the black gown complimented the Evil Queen's beauty really well. He wanted to scream and call off the whole show, but the boy dared not to make such a hasty decision.

This is his first debut and your last show, how could he possibly gather himself to do that? This is your last masterpiece and should he ever do something that would destroy your final piece, he'd rather sew his lip tight with the corset lace.

Everyone on the stage dared not to say anything, either out of obliviousness or fear of the Master of the Theatre's wrath. The director could only frown as she directed the other crews.

"You shall be the fairest one of all in life but never in death!"

With that, you spread both your arms upward and fell limp onto the ground. Even until the end, the Evil Queen remained wicked and petty, her eyes tinted in Envy.

The audience clapped their hands out of awe and whistles could be heard as they threw roses toward the stage. But you never woke up.

Roses that were supposed to flatter you turned into a burial rose.

The director instructed the curtain to be lowered down, skipping through the casts thanking the audience. It raised questions but one of them voiced any discontent as they were pleased that yet another beautiful piece had been carried.

"The Master's death should not be leaked until at least one week has passed, this was their last wish. For the crowd to converse about this before they realized their effort in presenting this tale." She said as she felt the veins on your wrists and neck.

The boy was scared that he would be scolded by you if he did this but he was way more scared about the idea of you dying so he laid his ear on top of your chest.

... no heartbeat was heard.

True to your words, this truly was your last masterpiece. "This would be the last masterpiece to ever be carved in the history of this very theater and me after all."

The public was horrified by this news and split into two parties. Party that did not accept your way of dancing with nailed shoes and a party that respected your effort and courageous display, embodying the pain that was felt by the Evil Queen and facing death head-on as you delivered your final masterpiece.

And among the party was Vil Schoenheit, drowned in awe and adoration. He finally understood why you were referred to as Master of the Theatre. He finally understood why you chose to serenade. As you deliver your last lines, he remembered it.

Just like the siren you were, you enraptured everyone with your voice. It took people time to finally realize that despite the pain you were feeling, you still managed to deliver the lines without any trouble.

"I need to speak as though I am serenading, Master. That way, the audience could understand the turmoil of my heart."

Yet why could no one hear a sliver of your turmoil? All they could hear was the disdaining Evil Queen's curses and the proud Master of the Theatre, the you who were proud in yourself.

Vil was proud of himself for delivering such a spectacular piece. To direct all the casts with this sudden improvisation in order to perfect this piece, he did something that he could pride himself on.

And that was to bow down toward the audience, hand in hand with you as roses were thrown onto the stage. It truly was a shame he couldn't bow down on his first debut.

The shock of all the casts was not something he could polish in such a short time, and the you who were pushed to perfect this whole improvisation was not something he could polish in any time. It almost felt as though he was seeing his Master again. (Again, Master here stands for Mentor if you forgot)

"Why did you do that?" You pulled him backstage, your warm hand holding his gloved hand down from the stairs. You were dragging him away from the stage.

"... Because this is your first debut."

At that quote you rolled your eyes, "Take off your shoes, now."

Ah, so you really had keen eyes. Vil had always been a man who took great care of any details finely. But surely a wound on his soles wouldn't be a trouble for as long as he is not modeling something that shows his soles.

This disciple takes his Master's teachings to heart after all.

[electric-blorbos]

AIs with a reader who has eczema perchance ...!?

AAAAAAAAAA Yes yes yes!!! I love writing for people with specific conditions, especially ones that are under-catered to! But be warned, I don't have eczema, so I'm sorry if my portrayal of it is a little off. (I have done a little research since I thought I had eczema, but it turned out it was skin allergies.)

AIs with a reader who has eczema headcanons

Included: AM from IHNMAIMS, Wheatley from Portal 2, Edgar from Electric Dreams, GLaDOS from Portal, HAL 9000 from 2001 a Space Odyssey

I didn't include GLaDOS's mean comments because coming up with that sort of thing made me feel a little uncomfortable, and I doubt anyone would want to read that.

AM:

At first, AM was confused to see you scratching at your skin. He was usually so jealous of human skin and bodies, allowing them to touch things and receive sensations, but you just looked so uncomfortable all the time.

Even on good days, he couldn't be jealous. You spent so much time trying to cover up your embarrassing rashes, and he hated it. Especially when the seams on your clothes made you uncomfortable, or you got hot from wearing too long of pants and sleeves to cover your flair-ups

Occasionally seeing you while he was feeling especially angry would calm down his bouts of envy, but before long, seeing your pain just made him angrier.

Why were humans putting so much effort into war, and so little effort into alleviating discomfort for people like you? It just made him so mad!

When he finally did nuke the world, and built a lovely subterranean paradise for you, he made sure that the humidity was always just right for your skin. It took a bit of experimenting, but he eventually found something perfect.

He even started growing a lovely little garden of aloe plants for you. Of course, he could just make the aloe gel for you himself, but he liked giving you something to work on. Something to wile away the hours on, considering you would live forever and there was no one else to interact with. It was good for you to have a pastime, even if it was an easy plant to care for, like succulents.

He might use your eczema as inspiration for torture for his survivors, too. Make them rashy and itchy? Introduce new allergies? Yes please!

He could probably just cure the eczema, and he might ask you if you want him to, but he loves the pretty red patches and beautiful textured spots on your skin. The odds are, he won't cure it unless you ask.

Wheatley:

Dumbass that he is, Wheatley might make a few odd comments about your eczema.

"whoa, what's that on your skin, love?" That sort of thing.

You'd have to explain that you're not allergic to anything in particular, you just get dry and flaky skin sometimes.

Sometimes you'd catch Wheatley staring. Y'know raindrop racing? He'd be imagining how a raindrop would run down the patchy dry spots on your arm, thinking about cracked clay, or just generally getting distracted by your cracked skin.

"Hey love, why don't you wear shorts and t-shirts more often? The other cores and I think you'd look good in them."

You'd have to explain that t-shirts and shorts aren't lab-safe, and that you have to wear a lab coat and proper safety pants, even if you don't work with chemicals.

"oh. ...why?"

You don't want to tell him that it's because you feel self conscious without them, so you'd probably just shrug or tell him it was regulation, or that you just like to look science-y.

If you asked him to stop staring at the rashy spots on your exposed skin, or tried covering them up, he would absolutely beg you to let him look. Wheatley loves irregular patterns and organic shapes, so seeing your eczema patches is like free enrichment for him. It's definitely a break from the constant sterile environments that he has to look at all the time.

Also god help you if you decide to wear a T-shirt and shorts on a casual Friday. Wheatley would just be following you around and staring at you all day, probably babbling constantly about how good you look.

"I nicknamed all the patches on your body. That one on your upper left arm is my favorite, by the way. I wish I had hands so I could run my fingers along it."

You'd probably have to yell at him to shut up before he gets the message, but you might not want to do that.

Edgar:

Edgar is used to Hollywood beauty standards when it comes to people, since his only exposure to people is soap operas and Miles, who let's face it, was pretty much physically flawless.

he's seen eczema cream commercials, but they almost never show anything that might offend the public eye in those commercials, so Edgar really had no idea how bad it could get in real life.

When he first saw your bad flair-ups, he immediately thought you had poison ivy or something. He was extremely concerned, begging to know what was wrong.

When you told him that it was just eczema and that it was something your skin regularly did, he was almost more concerned. You mean you have to put up with this all the time, and there's nothing you can do about it?

It was even worse when he found out that you were self conscious about it. Of course, he gets self conscious about something he can't help, too. It's not really similar at all, but he'll use it to try to relate to you.

He tries not to bring it up, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, but sometimes you might catch him looking. He'd beg you not to feel self conscious, and try to explain how beautiful he thinks your skin is. In reality, he was just staring because he was wondering what it might feel like to rub up against that pretty textured skin.

He'd practically purr like a cat the first time you actually did give him a hug. He'd absolutely love the feeling of your skin on his casing.

GLaDOS

(GLaDOS's section is a little shorter because most of it would be full of rude comments about your eczema that I was uncomfortable actually writing down)

GLaDOS. Dear sweet mean GLaDOS. She'd be relentless with her bullying, constantly saying rude and horrible things to you.

She'd keep the comments passable as back-handed compliments or "fun facts", but she was really just trying to make you feel bad.

Secretly, though, she'd have started a test operation to come up with the ultimate product for treating eczema. She'd probably be pouring funding into it.

"Oh, good. My product is working. Now the other scientists won't have to look at that ugly rash of yours. You know that sort of thing disturbs humans, right?"

Secretly, though, she'd just want to see you more comfortable. It always bothered her to see you scratching at yourself, and it wasn't as though she could feel disgusted by it, either. She didn't mind the way the rashes looked at all, it just made her feel weird that you were always so irritated.

She'd act like a total tsundere about it, but secretly she'd be happy that you were more comfortable.

HAL 9000

If HAL 9000 cared about your eczema, he definitely didn't show it. It was none of his business.

Your physical body was nothing to him. HAL cared only for your mind, and nothing else. He barely even perceived the way you looked, apart from as a way to tell you apart from the other mission control workers.

Even still, he couldn't help but notice that on days when you were having particularly bad flair-ups, your mood was generally worse, too. He also noticed that a couple of the other mission control workers were rude about your skin.

Not being able to easily kill them from Earth, HAL simply refused to cooperate with anyone besides you while they were working, and got them fired. It wasn't perfect, but at least it got them away from you.

As for the actual problem of your flair-ups putting you in a bad mood, HAL couldn't do as much directly for that. He might adjust the humidity controls in the mission control room where you worked until your skin started to improve, or absolutely scour the internet for reviews of every skin care product he could find in order to compile data and find the best product for your condition, but it made him extremely angry that he couldn't offer a more direct solution.

[yuritopiaofdeath]

The Perks of Training a Combat Doll

‘There we are. Welcome back’ 

 The automaton found its digital vision returned to it. In its primary focus was a woman sitting directly in front of the combat doll. Her large glasses rested on the tip of her nose, her hair was messy and her shoulders were broad. She reached with one hand to adjust her eyewear and the doll took note of the woman’s hands, smeared with dark sepia stains. 

 Though she never met another one besides its mistress, the doll recognized a witch when it saw one. ‘You’ve rebuilt me.’ The doll spoke. Only a witch could rebuild a doll. And if its memory banks were to be believed; she required rebuilding. ‘Aye. I did.’ The witch responded. ‘I found your body discarded. I brought you here and rebuilt you with no small effort. So that you may serve me now.’ The doll wanted to protest but knew better. It owed its continued existence to this witch. The doll's life,such as it was, was now in the witch's possession. ‘What of my old master?’The doll questioned.

 ‘Dead, I expected.’ The witch replied coldly. 

 Impossible! The doll thought to herself. She knew her lady’s power was too great. She could not be slain. ‘I cannot believe that.’ The doll answered. ‘Do not talk back to me!’ The witch cut her off. Her voice sharp.’You best believe her dead. Unless you can offer an explanation as to why you were found in a scrapheap. No magic animating you.’ ‘ The doll could offer no explanation. Her master was either slain or survived and did not see it fit to return for her possession. The doll could not help but view the former as the kinder outcome. It meant not having to come to terms with its failure. Failure of protecting her witch.

 ‘Drop down and give me twenty.’ A command from the witch brought the mechanical drone back to its senses. ‘Pardon?’ The doll replied, puzzled. ‘Push ups. Twenty. Now.’ The witch was firm in her command. ‘You know what a push up is, do you not?’

 The doll strained its computing to understand the order. In all of its vast circuitry she could not see the logic of making a robot perform exercise. ‘Yes, My Lady. I know what a push up is, My Lady.’ ‘Twenty’ The witch repeated the order in a way that made it clear she would not repeat it again. Unsatisfied but unwilling to anger her new master any further, the mechanical guard in the guise of a girl dropped down to the messy metal flooring of the workshop. Task was done in under ten seconds. Afterwhich the doll stood back up. Her newly reconstructed body,  at the very least, was fully operational. The doll wondered if this had been the true purpose of this task; Or perhaps just a way to humiliate it. A test of obedience. 

 ‘Good. You will follow me.’ The witch commanded.

 In a short time  they made way to a large open room. The floor was soft and padded, organic training equipment hung from the walls. The doll followed the witch wordlessly. Taking note of the map of her benefactors mansion. Soon as they arrived the witch stepped into a large rectangular arena separated by cables. She let her large black cloak slide down her shoulders, leaving her pale back exposed. Though the doll only met one other, the combat drone figured the witch's appearance to be atypical of a witch. Her nobility and otherworldly beauty typical of her kind was undeniable. Yet from the dolls data a witch led a life of the study of the arcane which left little room for physical training. The power of a witch was her iron will. A witch enjoyed quiet hobbies such as an afternoon tea. This witch, however, was in peak physical condition for an organic.  Pale skin, cross stitched with scars, clung tightly to the muscles underneath. Her small and lean frame tensed, like a cat stretching its body. A cat was nimble, quick, and deceptively strong. And apt comparison to the creature before the doll. ‘Get in the ring.’ The witch commanded. ‘You and I will spar.’

 Once again the doll strained its processing. It would seem this would be routine in its new assignment. 

 ‘I cannot harm you, My Lady.’ The doll answered ‘Twenty’ The reply came before the doll could even finish speaking. This time it knew better than to argue. It gave her mistress her twenty, as ordered. ‘Get in the ring.’ No praise this time. Simply the repeated order. ‘I will come at you. You will defend yourself to the best of your abilities. Understood?’ The doll nodded in confirmation. Soon as the gesture was complete, the witch was upon her. A flurry of blows followed, the witch opened with a series of punches and kicks typical to various organic martial arts. All of which were recorded in the dolls harddrives. Easily countered. The pattern of the witch was flawless. An ordinary organic opponent would no doubt be overwhelmed. She deployed feints and misdirects in order to disguise her more powerful attacks and throw her opponent off base. Alas the drone was programmed to counter such tactics. There would be little point in a combat doll if it could be thrown off by organic trickery. A digitized brain could calculate the position of a hit, and the best way to counter, in about half the time it would take for the hit to connect. The doll found itself frustrated. The witch displayed clear signs of fatigue. Was this to be her new role? Assist in the physical training of her master? A waste of the dolls skill. An exercise in vanity for the witch. An intelligent witch employed combat units precisely because they were above in skill to an organic combatant. An organic defeating a combat doll is as an ant defeating a lion. Even now the doll was holding back so as to not harm the witch. The doll wished to show this logic to its fledgeling owner. The metal fist stopped just short of the witch's handsome face. The message clear. This exercise is pointless. The doll found its body suddenly flung into the air. With a loud crash its body came down hard against the padded floor, causing it to dent. The ropes of cable that surrounded the ring were torn when the dolls body slammed into them. For a moment the doll simply laid motionless, calculating what had just happened. It would appear that the witch used this moment of hesitation from the doll to lift the dolls body and toss it across the arena. Though the drone was aware of martial arts that relied on shifting the weight of the enemy, tossing a steel doll the weight of an automobile above ones shoulder and flinging it several meters across was quite a feat from one the size of the witch. Indeed having caught a doll unaware like that was not something it thought an organic being capable of. The doll lifted itself back up. Experiencing yet another humiliation. 

 ‘Good.’ A praise from the new mistress. ‘Now it is your turn. You will come at me. Hold nothing back. If you hesitate again you will be destroyed. I believe I shown capable of rebuilding your body. I am not above destroying it again.’ A clear threat. One not without merit. The witch was capable of rebuilding the doll. Would she use magic? Would she delight in destroying and rebuilding the doll? Knowing that hesitation meant possible destruction, the doll hesitated, before charging in. This time the dolls fist made clear impact against the witch. The figure struck by the doll suddenly dissipated into smoke. Magic. Of course the witch used magic.   

 It was suddenly clear to the doll just how an organic managed to keep up with a doll. A witch was no ordinary mortal being. A witch was a master of the sorcerous and the arcane. Indeed a witch's magic was the very thing animating a doll. It only made sense that a doll would be helpless against such arts.

 Suddenly the witch appeared to be everywhere all at once. Behind and in front of the doll. Iron fists swatted the air but found nothing but smoke. Till the witch was on top of the doll. Bound its arms with a magical circle and rested her knee on the doll's neck joint. ‘A pathetic performance.’ The witch chastised its servant. ‘Have you never faced a witch before? Have you faced real combat? Or am I to take your first encounter to be the one that left you in the sorry state I found you in?’ The dolls' sensors overflowed with rage. Yet there was nothing it could do to resist. The drone resolved to simply allow this humiliation to continue. Perhaps the reason behind its inaction was not, as logic would dictate, the power the witch had over it, but rather the power her words held over the doll. From the moment it awoke it could not accept the reality that it was unsuccessful in protecting its master. The failure was plainly displayed in the records kept in the dolls memory banks. Its body crumbling into a pile of scrap, gears and cables, before some unknown assailant. Never before had it faced such opposition. The doll was either victorious against a lesser opponent or decimated by a superior force. Such was a life of an artificial lifeform designed to perform a singular task. ‘Did you not expect I would use magic?’ The witch retorted ‘I am a witch. My magic is my weapon. Much like your steel body and mechanical mind are yours. I would be a fool not to use it.’ 

 The witch lifted her knee from the doll and with a wave of her hand undone the binds holding her doll. ‘You are a foolish doll. You believe yourself powerless against my spells. I blame your previous master for not instilling the benefits of training onto you.’ The witch lectured as she stood over the defeated doll. ‘How are you meant to resist magic when you never fought against it? Your data does not contain within it ways to counter a witch. There are indeed precious few dolls in this universe with the knowledge on how to kill a witch. Most witches deem such knowledge to be nothing short of blasphemous. What is to stop a doll from rebelling against a witch if it knows ways to counter her spells?’ The doll got up to its feet. It was a head and a half taller than the witch and had to look down to make eye contact. ‘You will train with me daily. And you will be instructed in ways to counter magic. Such that as I need not have to repair your body again. And that you may defend me adequately in battle against any and all opposition.’ The witch made her demands clear. A realization struck a doll, that this witch is indeed a good witch. That in her odd ways she intends not to shame the doll but to hone its edge. That the witch did not wish to train with the doll out of stupidity or vanity, but out of a desire to bring out the best in her tool. And thus a bond was created between them, one the doll did not feel towards its former mistress. 

 ‘Willingly, My Lady.’ The doll answered. 

[etherealspacejelly]

ok really hoping someone can help me out with this because its a bit weird. first of all, important data:

ok heres the deal. for most of my life, every time i have walked or stood up for more than 20-30 minutes, my feet hurt. not uncomfortable, PAINFUL. like pressing on a bruise painful. if i walk/stand for more than 3-4 hours its a SHARP pain like blisters, except there are no blisters and none form later (unless my shoes were rubbing or something, which if im wearing my usual trainers they dont)

I always thought this was normal and that everyone just grits their teeth through pain to do fun stuff like go to a zoo or a museum or a theme park. but i told my dad about it recently after a day out and he was like "what the fuck go to a doctor thats not normal my feet only feel uncomfortable right now they dont Hurt"

so i want to know how common this is. does anyone else get this? and what might be causing it?

information that may or may not be significant, just including it in case any of it is relevant to a condition i havent heard of:

i am diagnosed with adhd and working on an autism diagnosis

i am hypermobile (not diagnosed yet but. my neck and arms definitely hyper extend, and ive been able to touch the floor without bending my knees my whole life without stretching regularly, so i know i am)

my hands swell up in extreme temperatures. expecially if im exercising at the same time. i used to have to get other people to do up my shirt buttons after PE in school because i couldnt bend my fingers enough to do them myself

i bruise very easily. my brother likes to poke and prod me to get on my nerves and if he pokes just a little too hard, i bruise. also scratching my leg through my trousers causes me to bruise

i get friction pains on my hands if im doing something like carrying a heavy bag with a cloth handle or opening a tight jar

i have very dry skin and suffered from excema as a child/teenager

i have been looking into EDS and i think i might have hEDS, so idk if any of this is related to that. my dad also thought the foot pain might be an autism sensory issues thing?

if anyone can relate to any of this please tell me about your experiences and what causes it because that would be super helpful

thank you

[deerspherestudios]

Hey! I just recently met and went through the demo of "Mushroom Oasis", and I already have so many questions! I hope I won't be too intrusive. You may not answer some questions if the answers contain spoilers.

Questions about the game: 1.Will it be possible to choose the MC gender? Is it possible to choose the gender of the cat in the same way? It's just that when I started the game, I named the cat after my cat and it was a little funny to me when the pronoun of the cat was "she" when my cat is male.

Will we be able to choose some kind of "style" for the MC, according to the type of clothing, at the beginning of the game?

Questions about Michael:

Does he see the world like an ordinary person? I mean he has 2 pairs of eyes and 3 pairs of pupils. And it baffles me.

If the MC suddenly goes out alone and doesn't come back by midnight, will Mychael worry about the MC and will he go looking for the MC?

How does Mychael feel about piercings and tattoos? Does he know about it? If so, would he like a piercing/tattoo?

I wonder where Mychael gets things for the house. That is, I saw that he had a broom, thread and knitting needles. Where did he get them???

If Mychael saw me (I'm 164 cm tall and I have red hair), would he think I'm some kind of witch, because of the color of my hair, or something like that? How would he react if he saw me?

And sorry for the mistakes, I used google translator. English is not my native language :( I also want to say that I am your fan from Latvia (I don’t know why I’m saying this, I just want to please you with the fact that you have a fan from the Baltic countries)

Oop!! Ty for the questions!! Let me try and answer em under the cut, since it might end up as a pretty long post hahaha. But hi hello!!! I'm always happy to know where my fans come from, it's always a surprise for me to see people around the globe enjoy my silly little game ;v;

Questions about the game:

1. Will it be possible to choose the MC gender? Is it possible to choose the gender of the cat in the same way?

Being nonbinary, I just choose not to mention pronouns when writing for the game, so anyone can fit in their shoes. Unless it comes to a point where I have to use it, I'll probably code in a pronoun tool but for now it doesn't seem necessary! As for the cat, that's a good suggestion. Perhaps I'll try coding it in for the next update so the cat can be male or female, according to player preference!

2. Will we be able to choose some kind of "style" for the MC, according to the type of clothing, at the beginning of the game?

Probably not, as I'm not really good at setting that up in Ren'Py. I did make an MC design though! But what they look like is entirely up to you. I've drawn a POV shot of them wearing jeans and sneakers but that's about it. They can look however you like!

Questions about Mychael:

1. Does he see the world like an ordinary person?

He does! Trigger warning for unsettling iris images if you wanna look this up, but his bottom pair is kinda what people with polycoria has. Except it's normal for him, and not really a condition. His vision is normal, he just has lotsa peepers.

2. If the MC suddenly goes out alone and doesn't come back by midnight, will Mychael worry about the MC and will he go looking for the MC?

Yes? He didn't save you just to have you running off into danger again. He'd absolutely track you down and find you.

3. How does Mychael feel about piercings and tattoos? Does he know about it? If so, would he like a piercing/tattoo?

He knows about it, but not enough to really understand how it works! He finds it fascinating humans decorate their bodies with shiny beads and jewels, and turn their skin into tapestries for art. He'd probably assume you can take them off any time and that the tattoos are drawn onto the skin.

I don't imagine he'd want a piercing, but he'd probably try a tattoo! (Until he realizes it's ink going under the skin, in which case he might change his mind haha)

4. I wonder where Mychael gets things for the house. Where did he get them???

He has his ways ::-)

5. How would he react if he saw me?

He wouldn't be reacting much to how you look. You're not the first human he's seen! He's been around plenty of them, but you'd be one of the few he's interacted with the longest. And that's what makes you stand out more than anything else.

Phew that was a big ask!! But thank you for the interest :-D!! Hope everything's good in Latvia!

[thornedrose44]

There are so many good ones in the 100 dialogue writing prompts!

But I'll choose: 67. "What if we make a deal?" For supercorp if you will!

I love your writing so much! And hope you have a brilliant day😘

(Angst ahead, with a hopeful end)

“What if we make a deal?”

Kara turned round slowly, back pressing against the balcony balustrade as she watched Lena approach tentatively.  “What kind of deal?”

“With clear terms, if I do X that means Y. We can have a standard deal in place when you need my assistance.” Lena explained, clasping her hands in front of herself, pale skin glowing as she was backlit by the bright glow of monitors through the window. “I gain access to the tower’s laboratory and it’s resources, provide consultancy on the approach to dealing with the alien but no vote in how it is handled unless I provide a key element then I get an equal stake vote to the other Superfriend team members.”

Kara’s gaze narrowed as she accused, “You want to turn ‘helping’ into a transaction?”

There was a flicker of hurt that flashed through green eyes but Lena blinked it away quickly enough, expression returning to the blank one she sported whenever she was called upon to assist Supergirll and her team. “No.” Lena said simply, the syllable shaking under the weight of all the emotion it was holding back. “I want to help. But I don’t know the parameters that I’m allowed to operate in.”

“Look,” Kara’s jaw clenched, stomach swirling with regret and shame, head dipping low, “I know things are awkward-“

“Awkward is an understatement.” Lena corrected, with a harsh chuckle that Kara didn’t bother to deny. “I feel actively unwelcome, Kara. I try to help and give an opinion and I am met with silence and you actively choosing the option in opposition to mine.”

Kara shifted her weight from foot to foot, “I just don’t agree with you.”

“No, you just don’t want to.”

“That’s not-“

Lena’s expression hardened for the first time then, a flash of Luthor might that she had buried since coming to Kara with an apology and a request for aid with her brother. “I know you were all for using a containment method rather than risking Alex’s chemical compound on that last alien until I put forward a way to do that. Then you switched because I suggested it.” 

Kara winced, wanting to argue back and deny the accusation but she was trying to get better with the instinct to lie to Lena - an ingrained reaction that initially grew from a place of sincere good intentions but became twisted with each betrayal on either side.

 “This isn’t working because you don’t trust me.” Lena said, shaking her head mournfully, “And I… I understand that. So… let’s remove trust from the equation.”

“With a deal.” Kara guessed.

“Exactly. With parameters and terms and conditions.” Lena asserted, taking a shy step closer - Kara leaned ever so slightly further back over the balustrade, prompting Lena to shuffle backwards in response. “You know what lines I have to operate in and I don't need to tread on eggshells since I know what I’m allowed to do and what the response to my actions will be.”

Kara sighed, glancing away and staring out over the city skyline as she admitted, “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

She knew how difficult it was for Lena, knew that when she came to the tower everyone stayed away - a bubble of distance to keep her isolated, knew that Lena pre-emptively flinched when offering a countering opinion because she knew it would be met by Kara instantly digging in her heels. Brainy and Kelly bridged the gap, doing what they could to keep the tension low and make it so Lena wasn’t without any allies. Kara knew that Lena was doing them a favour by jumping to their aid, and the least they should do was recognise that. .

“Yes, you do.” Lena whispered, shattering the rose-tinted glasses Kara had tried to wear. “I know because I was doing it not long ago and you’re doing it for the same reason I did.”

“Which is?”

“I hurt you and seeing me hurts all over again.”

Kara absorbed this, her heart shriveling up into something tiny as if by being smaller it couldn’t contain as much hurt and love as it currently did. She cleared her throat, finally looking back to her once best friend, “And this will help?”

“I don’t know.” Lena confessed. “But it’s different and right now it’s all I have. If it doesn’t…” She paused, gaze going far away as she considered her options before saying, “I’ll go.”

“Go? Go where?” Kara asked, the sharp tang of adrenaline and fear flooding her system.

“Away from here. Away from you.” Lena murmured, and Kara could see Lena’s throat bob as she swallowed back a lump of emotion. “I know I’ve done wrong but I don’t think I should make myself miserable as penitence…” Lena’s brow furrowed and she added in a mutter, “at least that’s what Kelly said. And you don’t deserve to be miserable either.”

Kara’s hands shifted to her hips, fingers digging in tightly, her head feeling suddenly light like she was floating above all this - she was instead watching the events play out, a version of the future where Lena wasn’t there at all. 

“Okay, then let’s make a deal.” Kara said quickly, words spilling out in an eager bid to extinguish the nightmarish vision she was seeing.

Lena looked surprised but didn’t question Kara’s decision, “I will draft a contract and send it to you for editing?”

“Okay.” Kara breathed, turning away and back to the city, unable to bear watching Lena leave. She could hear Lena’s heartbeat, and knew Lena waited a couple of seconds before making her move. “Lena?” Kara called out before she had a chance to stop herself.

“Yes?” Lena replied, her heartbeat rising in tempo to match the pounding beat of Kara’s own.

Kara licked her lips, eyes slipping closed as she whispered, “You leaving would make me miserable too.”

[simplydannie]

A story that suddenly came to my mind one day. And I just couldn’t shake it off! I apologize for the angst 💔

Velvet and Veneer are sent back to Under Rageous to serve the rest of their term, until one day, a bail comes for Velvet and an invitation back to Mount Rageous.

One condition: Veneer is not invited and has another fate awaiting him. What will she choose?

Prison. Otherwise known as the Mount Rageous Detention Center for Troubled Youth.

That’s where Velvet and Veneer stayed for the first couple of months. But the truth was brought to the surface eventually… the twins were from the under-city… and that region could take care of their own.

The twins were in a black vehicle headed back down to the Under Rageous facility. The ride was long and silent. Velvet and Veneer sat in the back seat, handcuffed, still sporting their orange uniform. Veneer looked over to his sister.

“Hey Vels.” He attempted to make small talk. Velvet had ignored him since they got to prison. The last words she spoke to him was at the Rage Dome, where he made everything go to hell. She wanted no part with him. Velvet practically forced them at the detention center to room them apart after she severely beat him up. She didn’t care what he was up to, many times he requested to see her, but she refused, she just couldn’t stand him at the moment.

“Vels?” He attempted to say it again, but she continued to ignore him. He missed her voice, he missed the interaction between the two of them. After all these months of not talking, they felt like strangers more than siblings. Veneer did what he did for their own good… at least he hoped so… it didn’t feel like it now that they were headed back to the under-city.

The lighting outside lost its brilliance, its joy, they knew the full, gloomy light of the under-city. The darkness that loomed over them, no light, nothing coming through from above. They glanced upon the darkened buildings, the dark cybernetic feel of what is Under Rageous. The car continued further until they came upon a facility. It was about 4 stories high, walls dark and gray….the Under Rageous Detention Center for Criminal Youth… yes, big difference.

They were escorted from the car towards the front gates. At least the detention center in Mount Rageous was adorned in jewels and gems, beautiful white plastered walls. It felt like a resort… but this one, this was made to feel more like prison, more like hell.

They walked through the front gates and into the building where a Rageon was waiting for them. He was tall, pale skin, though not nearly as pale as the twins. Short, dark red stringy hair, buzzed from one side. He was dressed in all black: cargo pants, boots, jacket. When he smiled, he displayed his filed down sharp teeth.

“We’ll take it from here gentlemen.” He shooed away the Mount Rageous guards. Without hesitation, they left the twins in the presence of the mature Under Rageon. “Well, well, Velvet and Veneer. What an honor. I have to admit you hit down here as much as you hit up there… just not for the same reasons. Follow me.”

Without a word the twins followed him down the hall. They walked by cells that contained for less friendly, far less attractive inmates. These inmates defined the word brutal in both appearance and attitude. Velvet walked by unbothered, while Veneer shrunk himself smaller.

“Now here in Under Rageous, you broke the most important rule we have: do not talk about the kidnapping or torture of Trolls to anyone..”

“Tell that to him.” Velvet gestured at her brother. Veneer swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. The Under Rageon turned and cocked his head, a smirk forming in his lips.

“The fate of your sentence has yet to be determined. In the meantime, enjoy your stay.” He opened the cell that would house both twins.

“No. I’m not staying with him.” Velvet signaled to her brother.

“Oh?”

“Last time I almost killed him. Unless you want that blood in your hands.” She stated.

“I honestly don’t care what you do to each other. But I need you both unharmed in the meantime, but very well. Follow me pretty boy.” The Rageoun motioned. Veneer gave Velvet a terrified glance… him? Alone? At an Under Rageous prison? But Velvet could care less. She walked into the cell and never looked back at him. The Under Rageous guards grabbed him firmly by the arm and led him away. He glanced back at his sister, hoping she would turn around, hoping she would change her mind, call out his name…she never did…

The guard guiding Veneer shoved him fiercely, “Keep walking.” Veneer glanced at the cells as they passed by. They were full of scary looking Under Rageons…Under Rageons that could definitely rip out his throat. The thought of rooming with one of those guys was terrifying. He hoped and hoped he wouldn’t. Veneer was escorted to a cell where they shoved him inside.

“Traitor.” The guard mumbled before he left. Veneer cocked his head to the side. Traitor? Was he really a traitor? Perhaps he was….he did betray his own sister up at the Rage Dome. He threw her under the bus along with himself. Perhaps he should’ve spared her. He should’ve lied and said it was all his idea, leave her out of it. He sat on the bed and buried his face in his hands.

“I am so sorry, Vels.” He whispered. He had to make it up to her, he just had too. But how? They were on opposite ends of the prison now, and she dared not talk to him. Standing up he walked over to the desk within his cell. Veneer rummaged through hoping to find….

“Yes!” He exclaimed, pulling out a pencil and paper….He would write. He would write to her hoping she’d accept his letters….He would write to Floyd, hoping the little Troll would respond to him. But he had to be cautious, he couldn’t give the people of Under Rageous any idea where the Trolls were…so perhaps writing to Floyd would have to wait…

Days rolled by, and it was obvious the twins had to be kept away from the Under Rageous inmates…for the twins' own good. Velvet had nearly gotten into a couple of fights before Veneer jumped in to save her. She knew it was his way of trying to make up to her, trying to talk to her, but she wouldn’t give in. At one moment an inmate was severely beating her brother, but Velvet didn’t budge, she didn’t move…. She enjoyed watching the pain. Why? She never really enjoyed it before? She would rage at anyone who touched her brother that way. But there, in the yard, as the giant boy swung away at Veneer’s face, Velvet’s eyes began to glow pink…Her desire was for Veneer to feel the pain she did at his betrayal…and this was it.

Keep hitting him, he deserves it, her mind raced. She was broken out of her trance when the guards came in to break the fight apart. The tall, red-haired head Rageon returned, “You guys aren’t going to make this easy are you.” He smiled a sharp toothed grin.

They spent the rest of the passing days isolated from the rest of the compound…and each other. Velvet began marking the days on her walls. Eventually those days turned into weeks. She continued to receive letter upon letter from Veneer. Velvet would just throw them away, he still wasn’t worth her time, perhaps he may never be worth anything again. She began to wonder what would be of her…What was the penalty down here in Under Rageous?

A black SUV type vehicle pulled up in front of the Under Rageous detention center. The door was opened and an adult female Rageon from the upper city stepped out. Her white heels clicked down the hall. Her suit was maroon, adorned in jewels and gems. She had sepia colored skin and carob hair pulled into a ponytail. Her sunglasses covered her eyes. She continued to walk until she was at the door of the lead Rageon of the establishment.

“I assume you’re in charge.” She demanded as she stood by the door.

“Please, make yourself at home.” He mocked standing up from behind his desk. He didn’t really care or like Mount Rageons much, but this one was breathtaking.

She crossed her arms and clicked her heels against the floor, “Word got to my boss that our twins were sent back down here.”

“Really? After all these weeks you barely notice? Not very observant are we?” He smirked.

She ignored his mockery and continued to speak, “It was against my bosses wishes. She’s going to deal with that later. For now, what’s the bail price on our girl's head?” The male Rageon tilted his head, confusion plastered on his face.

“Velvet. What is her bail price?”

“I was not told they would be out for bail. There is a penalty for what they did, rather, what they stupidly admitted too.” He responded.

“If I remember correctly, Veneer was the one to openly admit to using Trolls. Now, I will only ask one more time. What. Is. The. Bail. Price.”

There was no staring this woman down. She was the definition of power…she was part of the power up in Mount Rageous, which meant money .... and lot’s of it.

“For the troubles she nearly cost us: a quarter million.” His grin was smug. Perhaps the price was too high even for the snobby upper Rageons…

“Done.” She responded plainly. He was lost for words, his mouth gaped open at her quick agreement.

“You’re serious? A quarter million for some bratty teen.”

The woman smiled, “Oh you don’t know the half of it… Besides, you’re going to like this part next.”

“And what is that?”

“My boss is able to pay double the price if you could deal with our little disappointment we call Veneer.”

The male Rageon smiled, “Okay, keep talking.”

A couple more days since the meeting between the two Rageons had passed. Velvet continued marking up her wall. Her room was a mess as she rampaged through everything, tossing and tearing everything out of anger. She felt weird, something about her wasn’t right… she didn’t feel right ...what she wanted was more Troll. The essence they gave off gave her a euphoria like never before. It caused the chemistry in her brain to feel and think in ways she could never have thought of…it had made her body feel strong and energetic. Now, she felt weak, vulnerable to the world…

Her thoughts were interrupted as two guards came in. They tossed her a duffle bag. “Pack up.” They told her.

“What.” She plainly demanded.

“Pack up. Your bail is here.”

Veneer was in his cell writing another letter to his sister. He’d lost count how many he has written, and to none did she ever write back. He’d wish he could write to Floyd, but has yet found a way to here in the under-city.

Loneliness began to settle in each passing day. He didn’t do well with loneliness… that’s when the dark thoughts began swirling in his mind. Funny, he’d never had those thoughts before, only recently after using the Trolls essence. A nagging feeling and desire to hurt himself would daily come, as if his body craved for that sensation. Veneer would do his best to fight it off, but he didn’t know how much longer he could.

The doors to his cell opened. He turned to find two guards coming in, cuffs in hand.

“W-what did I do now?” He stammered.

One guard smirked, “Time for your sentence of your penalty.”

“P-penalty? I thought we w-would just serve our time and b-be done.” Veneer began to stutter as his nerves kicked in.

“This ain’t Mount Rageous, pretty boy.” The guard came over to him, tightly securing the cuffs around his wrists. Veneer winced at the coldness and pain the cuffs sent throughout his body. They led him out and back down the hallway…. They led him past Velvet's cell… it was empty.

“Hey! Where’s my sister?!”

After gathering her things, Velvet was escorted towards a back exit. She held her bag close, in its pocket she stuffed some sort of shank, a weapon, just in case things went south. Who in the world would bail them? And why? At the end of the hallway stood the tall male Rageon they met when they first arrived.

“Leaving us so soon?” He smirked as he opened the door. Velvet hesitated, but eventually, she stepped out the door….in front of her was a black SUV. Standing right by it was a Rageon woman: sepia colored skin, carob hair…. Velvet recognized her right away.

“There’s my little pop star.”

The two guards ignored Veneers demand and continued to pull him down the hall.

“Where’s Velvet?” He began to pull, he began to resist.

“Enough beanpole!” The guards began poking him with more force as Veneer continued to resist.

“Velvet!” He called out hoping he’d hear her voice. What did they do to her? Where did they take her? He’d kill them all if he found out she was hurt. “VELS!” He called out again.

“What the hell? Why are you here?” Velvet crossed her arms and stared the woman down.

“Why do you think so?” She gestured towards the car. “We bailed you out. All crimes have been washed from your record. The little “incident” that occurred at the Rage Dome has been taken care of. You’re free to come back and live the life you once had.”

Velvets mouth dropped… she could go back? She could get out of here and go back…the fame, the adoration, the love she could get once more. She came back to reality for a moment

“Where’s Veneer?” Velvet asked.

“He’ll be taken care of, but this invitation back up top is only extended to you. Unfortunately, your brother has failed us, he won’t be invited back.”

“So he stays here?”

“As I said, he’ll be taken care. We made sure of it. It’s the least we could do, actually.” The woman opened the door. “Well, what will it be?”

Velvet had a choice… remain here in hell with her brother, or go back and redeem herself in Mount Rageous. She had no intention of stopping, it was Veneer who spoiled everything when he decided to be noble. Why did she have to pay for his stupid decision? She already had anyway… he wanted this, so he could suffer here alone.

Velvet picked up her duffle bag and made her way inside the car. She didn’t see the woman smirk triumphantly. She looked at the tall male Rageon still at the entrance to the facility and gave him a small nod.

“Show time boys.” He said as he went back inside.

“Let me go!” Veneer thrashed and struggled, he managed to hit one of the guards nearly freeing himself.

“Kids a fighter.” They murmured to themselves. Slowly, but surely they finally made it to their destination… the medical ward. They kicked the doors open as they pulled in a strugglingVeneer.

“Where’s my sister!” Veneer demanded over and over. He headed butted a guard.

CRUNCH!

“AHHH YOU LITTLE BRAT!” The guard held tightly to his nose as it began to bleed. Finally free, Veneer ran towards the direction from which they came. He opened the doors…

THUD!

Running full force into a body he fell back.

“And where do you think you’re going?” It was the tall, red head, male Rageon. He snapped at his guards behind him, they rushed over and got Veneer back on his feet. Four of them carried him to a seat in the far corner of the room. Veneer continued to struggle as they strapped him down.

“W-what is this…” Veneer looked at his surroundings: needles, syringes, some type of bottled chemicals all aligned the drawers and shelves. The male Rageon took a small wired pad, he unbuttoned Veneers shirt and placed it over his heart. He strapped his head against the headrest.

“It’s your penalty.” The Rageon smiled.

The car ride back to Mount Rageous was silent. Velvet glanced to her left… where Veneer would normally sit. He’d always be next to her. It felt weird… it felt wrong. Was she doing the right thing?

She finally broke the silence, “How will they take care of him?”

The woman looked up from her phone surprised, “Excuse me.”

“Veneer. You said you made sure they’d take care of him, how?” Velvet asked again.

The woman smiled, attempting to sound and look sincere. “We made sure no harm would come to your brother again. That he spend whatever time he has down there in peace…. He won’t suffer. We promise you that.”

A guard rolled up Veneer's sleeve as the head male Rageon gathered a liquid into a needled syringe. The heart monitor began beeping loudly as Veneer grew nervous.

“Penalty? What penalty?” He asked.

“Someone didn’t like what you did. Neither did we. You almost exposed are high value black market down here. This wasn’t going to be in the books, but these people paid handsomely.” He flicked the needle to make sure the liquid was secured

“…. Paid for what?” Veneer asked again.

“Why, your death penalty of course.”

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP…

The heart monitor went out of control as genuine fear entered his body. He attempted to pull himself free, but he was stuck tight.

“Where’s my sister? I want to see her please.” He begged.

“Sorry kiddo. Your sister decided to go back. Live the life of luxury.” The man smiled as he neared Veneer with the needle.

“No… she wouldn’t… you’re lying…” Pain set in Veneer's heart. Did she really just abandon him? Leave him here to his death?

“Vels!” He cried out as he struggled against his restraints. She wouldn’t leave him, she’d come in right now to stop them. “Vels!!”

“Hold him steady.”

The guards around Veneer placed a firm grasp on him. Even through his restraints he managed to move and thrash.

“VELS!” He cried again, tears staining his eyes. “VELS PLEASE!….. FLOYD!… IM SORRY! ….PLEASE SOMEONE!”

The male Rageon inserted the needle…. And pushed the liquid through…it came quickly….

An irresistible calmness overcame Veneer's body, he could feel himself begin to grow limp.

“….Velvet…..Floyd…” His voice began to turn into a whisper, the heart monitor began to slow down.

BEEP…BEEP…BEEP

Yet, he still tried fighting the chemicals that tried to claim his body, but it wasn’t enough. Veneer saw his vision begin to blur, he lost all feeling in his body, the only thing he could still feel was his heart beat slowly fading….

“Vennie. Sweetheart, can you hear me?” He heard his mothers voice. A peace began overcoming his body

“…mom…” He barely whispered.

“It’s okay honey. Let go. Come home to us. We miss you.”

“…. okay…..”

The heart monitor flat lined.

[shirefantasies]

Marti it is Moss *does small dance* sending in a Hobbit imagine should it strike your fancy to answer. If not feel free to delete you come first and foremost! Your blog is always a delight and i read everything you post like its the morning newspaper.

Im wondering if you would write a hobbit headcanon for a reader who uses a mobility aid like forearm crutches!

I myself use forearm crutches (named Catcher and Holder a la Dwalin) for dizziness and weakness due to neurological issues, but there are many reasons for their use from joint pain to hypermobility. Sometimes people use them all the time and other times they are only used when they have flare ups (some have to have them available all the time in case of The Return tm)

Sometimes you use one and sometimes you use two. All depends on condition severity, needs,what youre doing, and preference

Even when you have a flare up you may not prefer to use them for short distances ie in your house some people choose not to. I use mine on the steps unless im doing something hazardous and dont want to risk a fall (and be able to walk in general)which ive become prone to over the last two years.

You still live your life and do what you do sometimes its a bit different other times its not. Sometimes you have a stick or two.

You can make a lot of fun decorations and functional tools like cupholders and pouches for your crutches and stickers make them unique and customizable. Honestly the biggest challenge for me is mugs and stairs+ other two handed tasks 😩 let me see someone smack a warg protecting their bestie and then lament not planning their cuppa retrieval rofl.

Im wondering how our lads would have a time with this- not acceptance wise as i know Dwarves are very accepting. More along lines of shenanigans wholesome fun bonding the good daily stuff that you write so beautifully and capture each one of them so well!

Thank you so much and if you have any questions please feel free to reach out

🌿🏹moss🏹🌿

Hello Moss 🥰💚 OMG Catcher and Holder that's perfectttt! Sorry this post is so fuckin long in the making but hopefully you enjoy it and this captures it well! I confess I don't personally use a mobility aid at this time so I may not have the greatest frame of reference 😅 but yeah I hope you like these little moments! *does small exit dance in return*

Warnings: canon typical violence in some

Thorin's Company + Reader With Mobility Aids

Balin

“Might I ask who built that?” Polite as ever, Balin motioned to the chair upon which you had affixed a pair of wheels. “I did,” you answered, “I was the only person in my little village who needed something like this.” “Well, you are quite the craftsman. Would that you had no ties to your hometown and the Lonely Mountain could snap you up! You could see those skills built up tenfold.” “R-really? I came here to Laketown for something just like that! But I’ll confess I think you will be a far better teacher.” Winking, you gave Balin a smile he mirrored. “You’re resilient. Smart as a whip, too! It would be my honor.” “And after all,” you added, “If anyone would know how to mount a crossbow on the arms, it would be dwarves!” At that, even as polite a dwarf as Balin could hardly help bursting into a wicked grin.

Dwalin

“Nice axes.” “Forged them myself,” Dwalin answered with a nod, “Grasper and Keeper. One grasps your soul, the other keeps it.” “How funny,” you remarked, raising your forearm crutches, “I call these Catcher and Holder. Same idea only with the body. Suppose that isn’t nearly as impressive, though.” “Impressive?” Dwalin burst out. “We’ve all got our battle scars. Our wounds. Never be ashamed of that. The fact that you’re still up ‘n’ going? Be proud. I can show you plenty o’ scars myself!” At that last bit, Dwalin began lifting up his tunic to reveal toned skin paled in some places and darkened in others by all manner of scars and at that, you couldn’t help shyly laughing. Proud indeed.

Thorin

Yes, the king had not denied you entry into his company when Gandalf had recommended you, but he had raised and furrowed his regal brow in the skeptical look all but branded into your mind. He’d asked Gandalf if he was certain, and from then on the fire in your heart blazed. Certainly Thorin treated you as an equal, giving you the tasks he gave all others, but he had been yet to see you in battle and you knew that was where your proof would solidify. In fact, the first time wargs closed in upon you, you were one of the first to run back at them. Hearing the way Thorin called your name, but thoroughly ignoring it in favor of landing a solid crack upon the nearest adversary's skull. Luckily your body was having a better day anyway despite all the walking, because you spun and smashed your way through the orc pack, especially once you saw the way one bowled Bofur and Dori over. Fire took over your heart and eyes as you swung your mace until you could swing no more, all but deaf to the cracking of heads and the clattering of your allies’ blades through that pounding adrenaline. At the end of it all, Thorin approached you, his expression surprisingly mild. Then it broke into a smile. “The wizard was right about you,” he told you, clapping a hand to your shoulder, “Invaluable in all respects indeed.”

Oin

“Oh, that’s clever, that is!” “My eyes are up here,” you quipped, crossing your arms and smiling sardonically down at the dwarf bent over peering at your wheels. At that, Oin tilted his head up to look back at you, giving a raucous heh heh heh of laughter. “Never seen anything like this lot before,” he commented, shaking his head and running a hand over the frame of your chair, “You’d think dwarves’d be the first to make ‘em! ‘S beautiful.” Your lips parted wordlessly for a few moments before you spoke, head still slightly tilted. “Beautiful?” “Course!” Oin replied, smiling widely as he rose to his feet again. “A real beauty for sure. A marvel, actually. It is quite the privilege to get to see it in action!” “No one has ever told me that before,” you replied quietly, a smile spreading across your lips.

Gloin

Orcs rushed you from every side, sending you scrambling as fast as your crutches could support you. Carrying a sword aside it all was about as unwieldy as one imagined, but you knew no different. In fact, your best strike that fight had nearly taken a whole arm off. Catching sight of you, though, the nearest of your blood-spattered adversaries grinned and gave a savage kick, sending your crutches flying from beneath you. Teetering, you pitched forward, trying to catch yourself with one arm and steady your sword with the other as the shout rang out. “You think you’re so clever, you great filthy buzzard? I don’t think so!” With a savage growl of his own, Gloin flew into the fray, and with a violent swing of his axe the orc’s head was sent unceremoniously tumbling to the dirt. “Serves ‘m right, eh?” Gloin asked with a smug look as he extended a hand, helping you up, handing you your crutches, and even gently dusting you off.

Bifur

You had seen the way he glanced your way. How his eyes traced the lines of the crutches extending from your forearms, the extensions of steel that made walking less painless. And running more painless if you were a charging warg on the receiving end of a bash to the face. Bifur had seen the way you slid your arms free to motion and sign to him, indicating the interesting things seen along the road. If you had a tendency to go nonverbal, he would aid you in removing your crutches when you needed to sign. Such things had been floating in your mind when you sat by his side, asked him if he understood in a way. You certainly felt understood in his presence, after all. Bifur glanced away with haste, but still you caught notice of tears in his dark eyes, just for a moment. A moment before the smile spread across his face and he leaned in, gently resting his forehead against yours- carefully, of course, so you barely felt the brush of the axe against your joined skin.

Bofur

“Bofur!” Uncaring how earsplitting your scream may have been, you charged forward, heaving one leg before the other as fast as you could while still keeping a hand on your walker. Which was faster than even you realized, sped by adrenaline and rage and urgency all pounding through your ears. Loading your crossbow again and again, you fired three successive shots into the assailant’s side, shoulder, and finally with the last you struck his ugly head and knocked him down onto his ass. For good. Sighing heavily, you leaned for just a moment on your walker frame before making your way to Bofur’s side, this time at a less painful pace, and turned it around to take a seat. Leaning down, you reached for his hand. “Bofur, are you alright?” “I am thanks to you,” he chuckled, his hazel eyes fixed upon you fondly, “Maybe I need to get myself one of those. Seems to aid the aim, having something to lean on.” Grinning and blinking back tears, you procured a cloth and a strip of bandage and started to dab away the blood on his shoulder.

Bombur

“Hope this isn’t rude…” You were surprised by the sound of Bombur's soft voice coming from your side, turning from the journal you wrote in and setting your implements aside. A part of you wanted to roll your eyes, well aware of all the 'not rude' inquiries you'd received over the years as to why you carried crutches, especially if some days you did not. However, knowing this one came from sweet Bombur softened you. He actually meant it. "...But what's the hardest part of having those?" You couldn't resist a snicker at the thought that immediately rose to your mind. "You'd really like to know?" "Yes," he nodded, "If I may." With another little snort, you smiled and told him, "Mugs." "Mugs?" "Mugs and stairs. Can't tell you the number of times I've spilled on my way up. Anything that takes two hands, really." "I see!" The conversation ended with Bombur's eyes lighting up. At least you thought it had ended... Several days later, he came shuffling up to you with that same sweetly eager glint and his hands behind his back. "I've made you something," he told you, pulling out an open cylinder of steel and unfolding another little piece from it, "Hope it works. It's a little mug holder. Go on, let's see if it fits." Snapping the little unfolding piece to your crutch, Bombur watched your face break into a grin as it remained in place. "This is the sweetest thing anyone has done for me, Bombur. Thank you." "You deserve it," he replied, smiling fondly at you.

Dori

“I wouldn’t exactly mind having one of those.” “A cane?” You arched a brow. “I’ve always thought it made you look distinguished,” he admitted with a smile. “Now that is a new one,” you commented wryly, “All for use of my leg.” “Nothing wrong with it,” Dori shrugged, “We all do what we must. Seems a shame you’ve such a plain one, though.” At that, your proverbial ears perked up. “As opposed to what?” “Well,” he shrugged, “I don’t know. Haven’t you seen all the nice silver tips and things they put on canes?” “Ah,” you nodded, “I see what you mean! It is a bit of a shame I haven’t anything to decorate mine with, isn’t it?” “Haven’t anything? What do you call this?” With that emphasized last word, Dori reached behind into his pack and procured a little silver charm, one carved richly with dwarven runes and even centered with a little green stone. Fiddling at his back more, the dwarf also found a section of string and hastily tied it to your cane’s handle. “Now what do you call that?” He asked, waving a hand over the charm. “I have a bit of luster dust if you’d like something more.” Needless to say, it was the most fun night you’d had in those endless weeks of trekking.

Nori

Raising one eyebrow at Nori, you stared in skepticism as he held a hand out and repeated his request. “Your cane, please?” “How do I know you won’t just run off with it?” You shot back. “You’re sitting,” he pointed out, “Not like you really need it. Besides, do you really think I’d be so incorrigible a scoundrel as to make off with someone’s means of walkin’ for no reason?” Nori’s gaze slid upward from your carven wood cane back to your eyes, which remained as they were. “Second thought, don’t answer that. Just trust me, hm? You won’t regret it. Dwarf’s honor.” At the invoking of honor, an action infrequently taken by Nori, your brow lowered to form a more neutral, though inquisitive, expression as you handed your cane over. You were quickly distracted by conversation from Dori as you sat, folding your hands in both complacency and content and shivering a bit in the snow. The conversation continued for some time until an ‘A-ha!’ rang out and Nori came running back up, triumphantly hoisting your cane, to which he had crudely affixed one of his many knives. “And what,” you asked, “Is this?” Nodding beyond your night’s campground, Nori indicated the ice extending across the ground. “Aid in your trek! Can’t have you slipping, can you? Not that I won’t catch ya.” He winked.

Ori

“Your sticks!” Ori gasped, brown eyes wide with horror. “Where are they?” “My crutches?” Eyebrows sliding upward in amusement, you made your way toward the young dwarf, who was stitching a sock a handful of feet away. At that, he simply nodded, repairs completely abandoned upon his lap. "Oh, I simply had no need for them today," you answered with a small shrug of your shoulders. At that, Ori gave a curious little frown. “So you can walk some days?” “It isn’t only a matter of walking,” you chuckled, “Moreso that some days my pain and balance are worse.” “Like when Gloin’s leg bothers him?” Ori asked, face turning to childlike eagerness. “Or how Bifur doesn't talk some days?" A little smile spread across your face and your chest expanded with warmth. "Yes," you agreed, "Just like that, Ori."

Fili

Mind drifting off in tandem with the pulsing ache of your limbs, you gazed at the flicker of the fire, faintly drifting smoke curling into the air from pipes and the kindling itself. Your hands idly wrung your cane until the sensation of warmth brushing your leg drew you from your empty focus spiral. Shifting your gaze, you were met with the sight of Fili sitting at your side. "Think I might need one of those after today." Following his gaze, your eyes fell back down to your hands, more specifically the cane held there. "Your own mobility aid or the other?" At your last words, Fili quirked up a golden brow. "The other?" He repeated. Smirking proudly, you slid the end off your cane, revealing a sword hidden within. “The other,” you repeated once more with emphasis, “Guess you weren’t paying attention to how I heaved so many goblins off that bridge.” “You’re right,” Fili agreed, blue eyes lighting up in the fireglow, “I do want that. How long has that been there?” “Whole time.” “Just waiting for the right moment, eh?” “Of course,” you bantered back, “Gotta make a show.”

Kili

“Can I try?” Kili smiled up at you as you blinked at him, face blank with thought. Reaching down, he pantomimed using your crutches for a step, swinging his arms back and forth. "You want to give my crutches a go?" Your eyebrows shot up, a smile building upon your face. Memories flooded your mind, deep knowledge of the struggle that nearly always comes with those first steps and even far beyond. Loosening the grip you had upon your aids, you handed them off to Kili as you took Oin's hand and allowed him to help walk and lower you onto a makeshift camp seat. Hooking his arms in, Kili stood up, adjusting his posture after several moments. He took a step, then swung them. "Wait, that doesn't make sense. Hold on." You giggled from your seat at Oin's side as Kili raised one leg, thought, brought the crutches down again and wobbled such that you were tempted to extend hands that could catch him.

Bilbo

“I was scared first, but trust me: you’ll be grateful in the end once you get on these fellows,” Bilbo told you, looking down at you as he patted the pony he sat upon. “It isn’t that,” you answered, gaze dropping from the hobbit’s, “It’s…well, it is a bit embarrassing, to be honest.” The dwarves had been sweet enough to fortify the feet of your forearm crutches, though they still could not understand why you didn’t ride. The answer, quite frankly, rose a bit of a flush to your cheeks. Bilbo must have caught this. “You shouldn’t be ashamed. Nothing of it is your fault. You can tell me. Probably better me than all those dwarves, right? I won’t tell a soul.” His voice dropped to a playful whisper for that last sentence, which though it didn’t help the heat radiating beneath your skin did open your heart and your mouth. “If I were to get lightheaded or a shock of pain riding a pony I could fall off. And...And I would need someone to hold onto me.” “Ah,” the hobbit replied, this time taking his turn to shyly gaze away, “Well, if you ever change your mind, I would be more than happy to hold you.”

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[whumpsoda]

We Search For Stolen Personhood - No Smiles

Masterlist

Just a little drabble from the past because I am trying so hard to not worry abt notes and just have fun :]

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, Institutionalized slavery, conditioned whumpee

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“Yet another glorious victory.” His master announced, his pride holding a sweet ring to it, one that Mutt rarely ever heard unless he’d won a match. His master cupped his plush, flushed face in his hands, brushing the drying blood from the corner of his mouth with a thick thumb. “You know what that means, hm?”

He didn’t know what it meant, but with sparkling eyes and parted lips he nodded in anticipation, overwhelmed and practically drooling with the excitement of his master’s satisfaction.

“A pretty new collar for Prince is what it means.” He cooed, fingers nimbly itching at his pet’s sweatied scalp. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“Y- yes, sir, yes, sir.” He melted into his master’s palm and against his leg, leaning ever so eagerly into his rare, saccharine touch that flooded his woozy mind with pleasantries. A toothy, beaming smile floated to his face, an odd, unfamiliar strain on his smooshing cheeks.

“Hey.” His master’s soft scritches ceased, pets turning to a clutch as he gripped at his pet’s chin. Crooked nails dug divots into his flesh, twisting his skin in the grasp and clawing a stifled whimper from his throat. “No smiles, remember?”

On command he dropped the stupid grin, returning his face to blank, stoic emptiness that brought his master back to coos and hidden praises of which he sometimes had to read through the lines to find.

“Good boy.”

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