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atragicallycrispydude · 30 days

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I'm so excited about Slayer in Strive I think I'm gonna fucking explode holy shit

I genuinely love him so much he's so fucking cool

Let's talk about why he's so awesome:

Probably the coolest part about Slayer (in Xrd at least) is the fact that he is playing a completely fucking different game mechanically from the rest of the cast. He is, I believe, the only character on the roster who has links between his moves. He has absolutely AWFUL gatlings, such as c.s only cancelling into two moves that are a guaranteed hit, and also being a move that you CANNOT gatling into, unlike most of the Xrd cast. However, because of the recovery and the frame data on Slayer's moves, you can link into them, where if you press a button with good timing (anywhere between 1-4ish frames,) you'll still get a true combo.

For example, you can do c.s>f.s>c.s>f.s, which is a true combo.

Additionally, his teleport dash is quite cool because it is completely intangible for several frames, allowing you to get out of frame traps or other positions that could be dangerous with good timing. You can also cancel the dash with a jump, and then cancel the jump with a special move to get the dash invulnerability on the move, which is fucking hard but super useful. It's also a cross-up. This sounds pretty busted, and while it is powerful, it is EXTREMELY committal, as Slayer can only cancel his dashes with a jump and not special moves or normals (you can YRC the dash, I think, but it's 25 meter and is seemingly only useful occasionally.)

Even beyond his mechanical differences, though, the way he plays feels fucking incredible. You might've heard that Slayer has insane damage, which he does absolutely have it's kind of insane. K Pilebunker (a followup from his rekka movement dash thing) does a whopping 80 damage. That's nearly 20% of a healthbar on a character with no guts and x1 defense, or an insane 104 (~25%) against Chipp's glass bones and paper skin. From one move.

This is balanced, however, by the fact that throwing it out in neutral is a pretty terrible idea, because it's -20 on block and puts you in range for a nice c.s from your opponent. This is why I think Pilebunker is so good at representing how Slayer is as a character: he's generally big risk, big reward. While, yes, he has a nasty mixup out of Under Pressure, going into Under Pressure can be difficult due to a vulnerability to 6Ps, lows, and sometimes even throws. Additionally, it's 0 on block, so some characters can mash out of a low.

This leads into my favorite thing about his mixup. While it's pretty standard 4-way guessing on a knockdown, in neutral it shifts to being a mental game. "Make the wrong guess and Slayer will have a feast," declares his entry on Xrd Dustloop, which is perfect for him. Using Dandy Step to go into Under Pressure and its numerous follow-ups can be very scary for an opponent, especially because mashing on a low can lead to a counter-hit It's Late, which is very bad to get hit by. However, in neutral, players might attempt to use a low against Under Pressure, or even attack during Dandy Step, which is where the mind games come in. If you condition an opponent to attack your Under Pressure starters, you can use Pilebunker. Which combos into itself on counter-hit. And does 80 damage. It becomes a game of "do I want to block the mixup, or should I risk a low?" For the Slayer player, it becomes a game of "do I want to risk Pilebunker being blocked for more damage, or do I want to risk being shut down with a low?" This is just. So much fucking fun.

Add onto that his short range, poor mobility, and steep requirements for his highest damage combos (not necessarily execution, but how you need to start it,) and you have a character that will shatter all of your bones if he gets the right hit off, but can struggle to actually get that hit.

Playing him is like injecting yourself with pure joy and happiness. It feels good to land a K Pile, good to take a chomp out of someone for the forced counter-hit, good to call someone out on a meaty with Burst Dead On Time for 175 damage (what the fuck were they thinking with that. That's genuinely fucking insane)

Is he for everyone? No. Is he undoubtedly one of the coolest fucking characters in the whole franchise? Yes. Absolutely.

I need him in his new form in Strive so bad. I'm gonna have a heart attack. He's too cool. Give me Ups And Downs NOW. ALSO LOOK AT NEW PILEBUNKER

#guilty gear #guilty gear xrd #slayer guilty gear #ggxrd #ggst #ggstrive #also he goes HAHAHAHA on his Xrd j.S which is funny :)

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notstarcey · 2 months

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She Magnus on my archives til I

I itch all the time. Deep beneath my skin, where the bone sits, enshrined in flesh, I feel it. Something, not moving but that wants to move. Wants to be free. It itches, and I don’t think I want it. I don’t know what to do.

You can’t help me. I don’t think so, at least. But whatever it is that calls to me, that wants me for its own, it hates you. It hates what you are and what you do. And if it hates you, then maybe you can help me. If I wanted to be helped. I don’t know if I do. You must understand, it sings so sweetly, and I need it, but I am afraid. It isn’t right and I need help. I need it to be seen. To be seen in the cold light of knowledge is anathema to the things that crawl and slither and swarm in the corners and the cracks. In the pitted holes of the hive.

You can’t see it, of course. It isn’t real. Not like you or I are real. It’s more of an everywhere. A feeling. Are you familiar with trypophobia? That disgusted fear at holes, irregular, honeycombed holes. Makes you feel that itch in the back of your mind, like the holes are there too, in your own brain, rotten and hollow and swarming. Is that real?

I’m sorry, I know I’m meant to be telling you what happened. What brought me to this place. This place of books and learning, of sight and beholding. I’m sorry. I should. I will.

I… I haven’t slept in some time. I can’t sleep. My dreams are crawling and many-legged. Not just slithering and burrowing,. though it is the burrowing that draws me. They always sing that song of flesh. I hope you will forgive me for such a rambling story. I hope you will forgive me for a great many things, as it may be I do worse. I have that feeling, that instinct that squirms through your belly. There will be great violence done here. And I bleed into that violence.

Do you know, I wonder? As I watch you sitting there through the glass. Eating a sandwich. Do you know where you are? You called me “dear”. “Have a seat, dear.” “You can write it down, dear.” “Take as much time as you need, dear.” Can you truly know the danger you are in?

There is a wasps’ nest in my attic. A fat, sprawling thing that crouches in the shadowed corner. It thrums with life and malice. I could sit there for hours, watching the swirls of pulp and paper on its surface. I have done. It is not the patterns that enthral me, I’m not one of those fools chasing fractals; no, it’s what sings behind them. Sings that I am beautiful. Sings that I am a home. That I can be fully consumed by what loves me.

I don’t know how long the nest has been there. It’s not even my house, I just live there. Some sweaty old man thinks he owns it, taking money for my presence as though it will save him. I used to worry about it, you know. I remember, before the dreams, I would spend so long worrying about that money. About how I could afford to live there. Now I know that whatever the old man thinks, as he passes about the house with brow crinkled and mouth puckered in disapproval, it is not his. It has a thousand truer owners who shift and live and sing within the very walls of the building. He does not even know about the wasps’ nest. I wonder how long he has not known. How many years it has been there.

Have you ever heard of the filarial worm? Mosquitoes gift it with their kiss and it grows and grows. It stops water moving round the human body right, makes limbs and bellies swell and sag with fluid. Now, when I look at that fat, sweaty sack, I think about it, and the voice sings of showing him what a real parasite can do.

How many months has it been like this? Was there a time before? There must have been. I remember a life that was not itching, not fear, not nectar-sweet song. I had a job. I sold crystals. They were clean, and sharp and bright and they did not sing to me, though I sometimes said they did. We would sell the stones to smiling young couples with colour in their hair. I remember, before I found the nest, someone new came. His name was Oliver, and he would look at me so strangely. Not with lust or affection or contempt, but with sadness. Such a deep sadness. And once with fear. It didn’t matter, because no-one in the shop wanted to hear about the ants below it. I tried to tell them, to explain, but they did not care. The pretty young things complained and I left.

That was when I still called myself a witch. Wicca and paganism, I would spend my weekends at rituals by the Thames. I wanted something beyond myself, but could not stomach the priest or the imam or pujari of the churches. I knew better. I knew that it was not so simple as to call out to well-trodden gods. I never felt from my rituals anything except exhaustion and pride. I thought that those were my spiritual raptures.

I wish, deep inside, below the itch, that they were still my raptures. I have touched something now, though, that all my talk of ley lines and mother goddesses could never have prepared me for. It is not a god. Or if it is then it is a dead god, decayed and clammy corpse-flesh brimming with writhing graveworms.

When did I first hear it? It wasn’t the nest, I’m sure of that. I never went in the attic. It was locked and I didn’t have a key. I spent a day sawing through the padlock with an old hacksaw. My hands were blistered by the end. Why would I have done that if I didn’t know what I would find? The face of the one who sang to me dwelling within the hidden darkness above me. I had seen no wasps. I know I hadn’t. There are no wasps in the nest. So how else would I have known that I needed to be there, to be in the dark with it, if it had not already been singing to me?

No, that’s not right. The nest does not sing to me. It is simply the face. Not the whole face, for the whole of the hive is infinite. An unending plane of wriggling forms swarming in and out of the distended pores and honeycombed flesh. The nest is nothing but paper.

Was it the spiders? There were webs in the corners, around the entryway into the attic. I would watch them scurry and disappear in between the wooden boards. ‘Where are you going, little spiders?’ I would think. ‘What are you seeing in the dark? Is it food? Prey? Predators?’ I wondered if it was the spiders that made the gentle buzzing song. It was not. Webs have a song as well, of course, but it is not the song of the hive.

I used to pick at my skin. It was a compulsion. I would spend hours in the bathroom, staring as close as I could get to my face to the mirrors, searching for darkened pores to squeeze and watch the congealed oil worm its way out of my skin. Often I would end with swollen red marks where it had become inflamed with irritation or infection. Did I hear the song then?

Was it when I was a child, such a clear memory of a classmate telling me a blackhead was a hole in my face, and if I didn’t keep it clean it would grow and rot. Did I hear it then, as that image lodged in my mind forever? Or was it last year, passing by a strip of green they call a park near my house, after the rain, and watching a hundred worms crawl and squirm to the surface.

Perhaps I’ve always heard it. Perhaps the itch has always been the real me, and it was the happy, smiling Jane who called herself a witch and drank wine in the park when it was sunny. Maybe it was her who was the maddened illusion that hides the sick squirming reality of what I am. Of what we all are, when you strip away the pretence that there is more to a person than a warm, wet habitat for the billion crawling things that need a home. That love us in their way.

I need to think. To clear my head. To try and remember, but remember what? I was lonely before. I know that. I had friends, at least I used to, but I lost them. Or they lost me. Why was it? I remember shouting, recriminations, and I was abandoned. No idea why. The memories are a blur. I do remember that they called me “toxic”. I don’t think I really knew what that meant, except that it was the reason I was so very painfully lonely. Was that it? Was I swayed and drawn simply by the prospect of being genuinely loved? Not loved as you would understand it. A deeper, more primal love. A need as much as a feeling. Love that consumes you in all ways.

You can’t help me. I’m sure of that now. I have tried to write it down, to put it into terms and words you could understand. And now I stare at it and not a word of it is even enough to fully describe the fact that I itch. Because ‘itch’ is not the right word. There is no right word because for all your Institute and ignorance may laud the power of the word, it cannot even stretch to fully capture what I feel in my bones. What possible recourse could there be for me in your books and files and libraries except more useless ink and dying letters? I see now why the hive hates you. You can see it and log it and note it’s every detail but you can never understand it. You rob it of its fear even though your weak words have no right to do so.

I do not know why the hive chose me, but it did. And I think that it always had. The song is loud and beautiful and I am so very afraid. There is a wasps’ nest in my attic. Perhaps it can soothe my itching soul.

#the magnus archives #tma shitpost #i have too many statements saved onto my phone #magnus archives #help

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sleepdeprivedsimp234 · 5 months

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Saw a post about wanting headcannon asks… so I have arrived! Any hcs for our boy Loui? Or Florida, or York, or Gov, or anyone really. I like reading about people hcs

YESSSS I DOOOOOO :) <— not a threatening smile dw

Louisiana:

Florida has to make sure that he tells Loui if he’s leaving somewhere cuz otherwise, Loui will very much “internally” panic.

Give him cuddles 🥺 Or let him cuddle you cuz he loves it either way 🥺😭

He will get attached if you make him feel like he’s actually worth something (totally not projecting here). That has however led to some toxic friendships/relationships. Ones where he didn’t want the person to leave, so he did everything he could to make them happy even if it hurt him. (I’m not projecting shut the fu-)

Loves inviting friends over for dinner/parties

Has a catahoula leopard dog/german shepherd mix named Beau, and a black cat named Misty and he loves them both so much.

Has a habit of forgetting that he already told a story, and then he tells it again with the same amount of enthusiasm he did the first time. His friends still listen though cuz they love him and it’s adorable.

Glass bones and paper skin. Lil boy gets hurt very easily but selects the ignore button. Bent his ankle in a way it shouldn’t be able to bend? Ignore. Gets stabbed repeatedly on an evening walk in NOLA? Tis’ but a scratch. Falls off a cliff into raging waters? I’m not dead yet!! Someone tries to help him? "YOUR MOTHER WAS A HAMSTER AND YOUR FATHER SMELLED OF ELDERBERRIES-"

At this point, he’s only still alive and existing out of pure spite and stubbornness.

Gets spooked by everyone and everything.

He probably does that thing where he creeps up on people, stops when they turn around, continues when they turn back around, and then tackle-hugs them. Sometimes though, he’ll just get snatched midair and cuddled to death :]

Florida:

Makes time for him and Loui to cuddle

Actually a decent cook (he sorta lives with Loui-), but he enjoys chaos and fire so. Don’t let him in the kitchen alone.

Actually has an okay relationship with his father (wow me not giving someone daddy issues 😨😰😱), but doesn’t talk to him much. He’s kinda pissed about how much his father neglected him though.

Surprisingly, he knows when it’s not the time to joke around.

Strong man 💪 can pick up all of his friends. Yes even Texas (tbf, he’s just tall he doesn’t weigh that much but it’s still impressive-)

Great hugs 9.5/10. I say only 9.5/10 cuz he might slip you a little danger noodle for a friend.

Gov:

TIRED AF SOMEONE GET THIS MAN IN BED (NOT LIKE THAT-) AND GET HIM SOME DAMN WATER. AGUA. EAU. WASSER. FOR THE SAKE OF HIS ORGANS I BEG.

Has really bad back pain from being hunched over his desk all the time. His joints be poppin 24/7. He’s a lil crispy if you will.

Double jointed mf. Bendy bitch.

Gets treated like absolute sh*t back at the White House. He really needs better handlers.

Can’t cook for sh*t. He’s been known to make backward pb and j sandwiches and pour coffee on the bottom of the mug. Tbh he could probably cook if he wasn’t so sleep deprived.

Low iron and dizzy spells and chronic migraines. How he’s still alive I have no idea.

New York:

My precious baby I’m so nice to him. And since I’m so nice to him: I’ve given him anemia, insomnia, an iron deficiency, and asthma <3

Mans has to stand up REAL slow cuz otherwise he’ll fall and maybe pass tf out.

His brothers are always making sure that he isn’t just dropping dead to a dizzy spell.

He has poliosis :’D

He’s helpful but in the worst ways possible. If someone leaves an empty cup on the counter whilst he’s around. Cuz he will stare at them and slowly nudge it towards the edge of the counter.

————————

#welcome to the table #welcome to the statehouse #ben brainard #wttt #wttsh #wttt new york #wttt louisiana #wttt gov #wttt florida

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cealesti · 4 months

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"The Benko Gambit"?

That's a chess move, isn't it? I feel like this is either Tom centric, or Ron centric. I have my bias, obviously, because I did so enjoy how you portrayed Tom and his relationship to chess in "with eyes like these", but I would be curious anyhow cause I love chess in general.

As a gambit, it's rooted in the sacrifice of pawns, right?

Wonder what that might say about the focus character. If it's not Ron or Tom, I'm betting on Dumbledore.

oooh, what to say about "The Benko Gambit"?

edit: Right off the bat, this is a fic that's sort of a love letter to a bunch of fics I adore. The idea of Harry as Senior Undersecretary, for example, is straight out of "All For Show". The Snape & Hermione dynamic is something I only thought of after reading Hauntingly. You get it.

This is one of the WIPs I'm most excited about, definitely the one I've written more for, and probably my next big project after the "anybody else" series is eventually done with. This isn't really centered around a specific character, there's an ensemble cast to focus on, but Ron is a very important piece of the puzzle and yes, that's part of the reason I chose to go for a chess-themed title. The objective would be for every chapter to be named after chess manouvers; think "x opening, castling, y defense, check" so on and so forth.

The general strategy [of the Benko Gambit] is to sacrifice your Queen-side pawns in order to gain advantage (...) If the gambit is accepted, some of the lines that can develop are complicated and difficult to play.

This fic follows a back-and-forth structure; we go back between the trio's fifth year and the present moment of the fic, a good five years later. They're drastically different timelines: after all, in the present, Hermione, Snape, and Kinglsey are leading the Order of the Phoenix; Vee is playing at Government with Harry as his Senior Undersecretary and Ron and Draco as his Junior Undersecretaries. Susan Bones is an Auror, Luna is an Unspeakable, and this is very convenient, because Sirius Black has just popped out of the Veil, for reasons still unknown.

You may be asking: how on earth does any of that happen?

Here's a "for want of a nail" scenario: what if, in OotP, Ron doesn't throw Percy's letter away? What if - stick with me here - what if he answers it?

Wouldn't that be a hell of a gambit?

Snippet under the cut!

(September, 1995)

Tell me if you’ve heard this one before.

Three friends sit by a fireplace, late at night in their Common Room. The room is empty but for the three of them and a large ginger cat, who’s content to lay on his owner’s lap and purr up a storm. The rain pelts against the glass windows of the tower, wind whistling sharply, and though the room is warm and cozy and familiar, there’s a whisper of unease in the air.

Something that creeps under the skin, like disease. Like rot.

They’re living through a war, though many would not call it that. Many would rather call a fifteen-year-old orphan a liar, ridicule him in the papers, as quick to turn on him as they are to seek his favour, in a maddening media circus that speaks to the fickleness of public opinion.

You’re sixteen years old. You’re bright, and you’re driven, and you’re scared. You’re a target yourself, too muggleborn and too clever by half, but that’s not even the half of it, because one of your best friends has a target on his back as well, and the rest of the world is more than happy to pretend that it doesn’t exist.

Your other best friend has a letter clutched in his hand. His knuckles are white, ears red with fury and a little grief, for that letter was penned by a brother that he hasn’t seen in months. A brother who walked out on their family, blind to their reason in the face of his pride, and who now urges your friend to do the same.

Tell me if you’ve heard this one before.

The three friends ridicule the letter and the one who sent it. They sit in their fury against an establishment that was meant to protect them. They go through the school year and form a rebellion, a resistance, jump through hoops and outsmart older and more experienced wixen with little more than their guile and their will. At the end of the year, they fall headfirst into a trap. They lose the first of many friends.

This is not that story - though it might not be obvious at first.

In this story, they still fall headfirst into a trap after a misguided attempt at rescue. They still lose a friend. They still form a resistance, outsmart their watchers and all of those who would see them condemned for speaking the truth, and they do it with little more than their wits and their heart and their conviction.

But in this story - they don’t dismiss that letter.

In this story, your best friend, who is proud and brave and selfless, the epitome of what a fairytale hero should be -

In this story, he raises his head, green eyes flashing with something shrewd. Something new.

In this story, he pauses, and says:

“We can use this.”

#ron is like. my third little meow meow at this point #he gets harry's idea as soon as the words are out of harry's mouth #there's a whole lot of lore and complex plot points that happen here. i have them mapped out in milanote cause my notebooks werent enough #also am i writing tomarrymort with a side of dron and possible snackmione? ...... maybe i am. what are you gonna do about it #eve.txt #the benko gambit #writing updates #wip tag game

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your-divine-ribs · 24 days

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Unwind

Words: 2.3k

Imagines Masterlist Main Masterlist

"Stop it!”

"What?"

"You know what..."

Your boyfriend shakes his head, eyes wide with an innocence that you can see right through. "I'm not doing anything," he protests.

He's sitting opposite you in an armchair, idly strumming on his acoustic guitar but his attention is definitely not on making music. He'll glance at the frets from time to time, but every time you look up from your study notes his gaze is on you.

You tut loudly, smirking at him before you turn your attention back to your work. You have an assignment due in by the end of the week and you can't afford to be distracted. You're in your final year of university and if you manage to ace this paper you'll be on track to achieve a 2:1 at least, maybe even a First if you really set your mind to it.

"Did I ever tell you how sexy you look with those glasses on?"

You try for a stern look, peering over the top of your glasses, but you find a small grin fighting to surface when you see his cheeky smile. "Va-an," you complain. "Stop it! I know damn well what you're trying to do and I can't have you distracting me."

"Oh I'm not distracting you," he says, lifting his guitar off his lap and setting it down so it's leaning against the chair. He rises up on to his feet. "If I was distracting you I'd be doing something like this..."

You watch him walk towards you at your seat at the kitchen table, then he disappears behind you. You twist around in the seat, craning your neck. "What are you..."

"Oh, don't mind me. You just carry on.”

You feel his hands on your shoulders a second later and you stiffen, a little surprised by the sudden contact, but only briefly. His fingers immediately start to knead your shoulders, pressing into a spot on either side which has you sighing gently.

"Mmm... that's nice babe, but I really don't need a massage. I'm trying to work. You know I've got to get this assignment finished by Friday."

"Don't you think you'll work better if you're not so tense?" He replies, fingers still working along your shoulders, his thumbs tracing firm circles on your back.

"I am not tense!"

He chuckles softly. "I beg to differ!"

Okay... so maybe you are a little stressed. It's been a tough semester, and the pressure's really been ramping up these past few months. Maybe a five minute break won't hurt.

"Hmmm..." you sigh, taking off your glasses and setting them down on the table, rolling your shoulders and closing your eyes. "You are good with your hands."

Van hums in agreement, fingers deftly moving along the ridge of your shoulders as if to demonstrate. You can practically feel the knots of tension loosening as he works. You realise you're still sitting hunched over the table so you recline back in your chair.

"See... told you that you needed a break," you hear him say. "All work and no play's not good for you."

His fingers linger at your neck then move down to lightly trace your collar bone, dipping ever so slightly under the material of your dress. Straight away you know where this is headed.

"Just don’t get any ideas okay?"

His fingers still and you hear a small laugh. "Me?"

"Yes you, I don't trust you. I know what you're like."

He leans over to whisper into your ear and you feel his hair brush the side of your neck. "You're forgetting something though love."

As he speaks his hands move down ever so slightly, running along the skin just under the neckline of your dress, feather-light, causing goosebumps to break out over your flesh.

"What's that?" You ask, knowing you should stop him and continue with your work, sure that his persuasive brand of caresses are in danger of making you completely abandon your studies. You just can't quite bring yourself to do it.

He moves even closer, his breath warm in your ear as he speaks. "I know what you're like too..."

You don't reply, you just tip your head slightly as you feel Van nuzzle into your neck, his lips connecting with your skin. "And I know what you like as well," he murmurs.

Another kiss on your neck, then another, starting off light but getting firmer, his lips making wet smacking noises against your skin which ignites a tiny spark down low in your body.

"I don't have time for this," you complain, but your words are empty, you're already extending your neck, giving him easy access to the sensitive areas that make you squirm.

"Stop me then," he challenges, fingers inching down inside your dress, running along the very tops of your breasts, making your breath catch. You feel your nipples stiffen, pressing against the material of your dress.

You don't stop him, your mind losing its determination as the seconds tick by, becoming consumed by the way his fingertips feel on your flesh as they inch downwards. A small moan escapes you as they lightly brush your puckered nipples, circling your areola.

"That feel good hmm?" He breathes against your neck and you answer him with a sigh, your thighs pressing together under the table.

You reach up a hand to thread through his hair as he continues to lavish his attention on your neck, his fingers caressing you more insistently now, teasing your pebbled nipples, rolling them in his fingers and gently tugging them.

"Fuck, I told you not to distract me today," you say, but there's no conviction in your words at all as you feel a throbbing pulse at the apex of your thighs and you shift in your seat.

The sensation of his fingers alone is enough to fuel the dampness that's gathering there, but true to his word he knows exactly what you like, and the dirty talk that follows reduces you to putty in his skilled hands.

"Spread your legs for me babe, I'm gonna make you feel so good. That's it... I wanna feel how wet you're getting for me."

Your legs automatically widen under the table, your dress riding up around your thighs, anticipation sending a tingle up your spine as he continues his teasing touches. You grab the hem of your dress and pull it up even further so it's bunched up around your hips, exposing your panties.

"Mmm... good girl," he purrs, one hand trailing down to the thin cotton covering, a finger lightly tracing your sweet spot over the material.

You let out a breathy gasp, your hips pressing forward, impatient. You need to feel more. You can already see the damp patch that's formed from your arousal, feel the sticky wetness there.

He moves away then, a finger sliding under the hem to connect with your skin, just enough to stoke your fire but not to sate it.

"Please… don't tease me," you whine, your legs spreading even further, your body responding automatically to the sensations that you're experiencing, chasing the high that you know won't be long to follow.

That's the thing with Van, he knows exactly how to play your body, how to tease you until you're teetering on the edge, how to push you until pleas fall from your lips. He's doing it now, the briefest of touches ghosting over your throbbing clit, the promise of pleasure without delivering the ecstasy that you yearn for.

"Come on, don't be shy," he whispers. "Tell me how good it feels. Wanna hear you moan for me."

Heat floods your cheeks and your body simultaneously, your heart racing now as your craving intensifies.

"Give me something to moan about then," you challenge him, gasping as his fingers pinch at your stiffened nipples, a delicious pressure you feel reverberating deep down in your core.

"Shit..." you hiss between your teeth, your breathing growing ragged as he grasps the edge of your panties, pulling them roughly aside, the material sodden now.

He plunges a long, slender finger straight inside you, pulling an impassioned groan from you, your body going taut. One hand reaches up to him again, tugging at his hair, the other grasping the edge of the table top, your knuckles turning white.

"How's that feel love?" He breathes in your ear. "You want more?"

"Please..." you manage to breathe out in between the moans that are spilling from you now.

He wastes no time in introducing another finger, stretching you out, pumping fast and hard, not even letting you catch a breath, his thumb rubbing insistent circles on your clit, drowning you in pleasure. But it's not still enough. You need him.

"Fuck me," you blurt out. "I want you inside me..."

Van doesn't need any encouragement, withdrawing his fingers in an instant as you feel him straightening up, the unmistakable clink of his belt buckle as he hurriedly unfastens his jeans. You rise up on to your feet quickly, sliding the chair aside and feverishly pulling your panties down, letting them slide down your legs where they pool on the floor. All of a sudden the importance of working on your assignment is a distant notion, your need for him overriding everything.

You go to twist around but to your surprise Van's hands go to your shoulders, gripping tightly, pushing you firmly up against the edge of the table. The momentum shunts you forward on to the table top and you brace yourself on your hands, feeling Van's hard cock butting up against you.

"I want you so bad," he mutters in a low voice, dripping with need. You feel his fingers from one hand curl around your hips whilst he lines himself up with his other.

You reach around to assist him, feeling his hardness pressing against your entrance, your legs trembling already from the position you're in, prone over the kitchen table with his warm, heavy weight pressing down on you. You love it when he takes control, it thrills you, and as you feel him steadily slide into you the drawn out groan he utters sends a flush of heat between your legs.

He grasps at your hips, burying his full length deep inside you, hitting a spot that has whimpers bursting from you. You can feel yourself already starting to clench around him before he's barely even found his rhythm the penetration is so deep.

"Y/N, you feel so good... so fucking good," he groans, rutting his hips against you, the harsh sounds of flesh on flesh mixing with your passionate moans.

You reply with mewls of pleasure as he bottoms out, his thick length filling you so deliciously you can feel your eyes rolling back in your head, intensifying as you feel one of his hands slip forward from your hips, his fingers trailing between your thighs to find the swollen bud of your clit.

His caresses are like electricity, concentrated right where you need them, his fingertips sliding over your dewy skin, sending tingles of euphoria radiating through your body. Within a matter of minutes you're nearing your climax and you can tell that Van's close too, his thrusts coming harder and faster, his pants and groans filling the air, fuelling your need for him.

The moment is so raw, so intense, with every thrust his cock pounds into you, hitting your g spot over and over until you're crying out. Your body jerks beneath him as his hips piston against you with vigour, sending aftershocks up your spine. You gasp his name and hear him breathe yours, lost in each other now, a mutual desire to reach your peaks, chasing the bliss that's so close you can almost taste it.

And then the tight coil in your belly snaps as the heady waves of your orgasm wash over you, drenching you in sensation, your whole body wracked with shudders. Van follows behind just moments later, unable to hold on any longer as he feels you contract around him, a guttural growl erupting from him as he expels his release deep inside you.

"Oh my god!" You utter, panting deeply, your body slumping down on to the cool table-top, spent.

Van sinks down with you, holding you tightly, your bodies still fused. You can feel his heartbeat thundering in his chest against your back as his ragged breathing starts to slow. Then you hear a small laugh come from him as his fingers brace even tighter around your hips, not ready to let you go just yet.

"Well... that escalated quickly!" He chuckles, raising a laugh in return from you.

You shift in his arms and he loosens his grip, just enough so that you can twist your body around to face him. You remain close, pressed together, basking in the intimate moment. Even after your passionate love-making he still can't get enough of you, both of his hands reaching up to cup your face, tilting it upwards to meet his in a slow, sensual kiss.

You naturally break away after a moment, still drunk on the hazy feeling of your post-sex bliss, grinning widely at each other.

"Sorry for distracting you from your work love," he smirks down on you, his thumbs tracing over your cheeks. "Do ya forgive me?"

You giggle, shaking your head. "You're a bad influence, you know. How am I ever gonna graduate if you won't let me study in peace?"

"Can't help it. If you weren't so goddamn irresistible then maybe I'd be able to control myself."

"So it's my fault now? Oh god you're so full of it!"

You laugh, and Van's laughing too as he pulls you in tighter to his body for another kiss, the afternoon melting away as you embrace.

#unwind #catb imagines #van mccann x reader #fanfic #vanfic #smut

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theferricfox · 7 months

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[[A/N: Hi, hello! I'm alive (figuratively speaking) and I wrote a thing for the first time in a long long while. Writer's block has been eating me alive for a spell, but then I woke up on morning and said, well, if it isn't Whumptober, my dear friend.

So have a Whumptober Trigun piece. Yes, Trigun! I've fallen back in love with it lately and I have no regrets. I grew up with the '98 series on late night Toonami, and it coming back to my life has been a big boost of juicy nostalgia (and psychological damage iykyk).

Content Warnings! Smoking, Drinking, Canon-typical violence, vomiting.]]

IN THE LIGHT OF THE MOONS

He wakes up to the taste of blood on his tongue and pain surging through his chest. He’s been shot; he knows he has, and he jumps up in bed to inspect his bare chest, even as he reaches into the small pouch on the bedside table, fumbling for the small glass vials within.

But he’s not bleeding, and there’s no metal lodged in his body. His skin is as smooth and flawless as it’s ever been, save for the odd small scar he got as a child. The ones from before don’t go away, even as the blue liquid wipes away any chance of a new one.

He sighs, frustrated and unsettled. From next to him on the bed – why doesn’t this hotel room at least have a couch? – comes a soft snore, frills of blonde hair peeking out from under the sheet. He knows he won’t sleep again for a while, so he reaches onto the table again, this time for his smokes. He’s surprised to find his hand is shaking somewhat as he lights up, and inhales deeply, holding the smoke in his lungs until they start to burn. The plume that he exhales curls and drifts towards the ceiling, vanishing to join the rest of the stuffy air of the room.

When did he even pick up smoking? He can’t remember anymore. He remembers stealing from the adults a few times when he just hit his double-digits, but he knows he didn’t truly start smoking until after. And the last six years since he left the orphanage are largely a blur. They’re filled with a constant need to move and to keep moving, pulled from one job to another. They’re filled with gunfire and blood and little glass ampules.

When he first started, he drank them like the honey-sweet drinks of his childhood, even for injuries that were far from fatal. Even if the fight was over and he could have just as easily rested in a hospital for a few days, he would choose instead to crack the neck of the little ampule and gulp down the mouthful of liquid. He was told not to – this was a path that led to something like an addiction; a reliance on the serum would cause his body to stop healing as well on its own. He was warned of the potential for an overdose; the serum throwing his body’s chemistry into overdrive until it practically burst at the seams. But for the first few months after they cut him loose, he ignored the warning.

There’s something innately satisfying about the feeling of the glass cracking under the enamel of his teeth, but that feeling is amplified when the liquid slides down his throat and the power surges through him. The feeling of invincibility that comes from watching the bullets that were once lodged into his skin, his bones, his organs, harmlessly falling to the ground as though they were nothing more than paper… that’s intoxicating.

He was an orphan once. Unwanted and worthless. And now, he’s survived a total of fifty-eight otherwise fatal gunshot wounds. Compared to the dirty child he was, growing up in the sand and dust, wondering if he’ll ever be good enough to get adopted, he’s a god. The kid he was should look up to him with awe and reverence. Should.

Now, he’s haunted by scars that only he can see. The bullet that pierced and collapsed his left lung. The place where his flesh was rendered to shredded meat by heavy machine gun fire. The 9mm slug that barely grazed his heart and sent his vision spiraling and blood into his mouth. He knows all those marks are there, hidden under his skin. He sees them every time he undresses, little phantoms skittering along his skin like insects; blink and you’d miss them. When Judgement comes, they’ll all light up on his broken body, like the feeble lights of the orphanage beating back the dark for the kids afraid of the noises of the night.

He traces one of these phantom scars, once a long gash from an eight-inch blade straight into his gut. He’d scrambled to keep his intestines inside of him, fear and adrenaline racing through him as shit and blood spilled onto the floor. He’d flopped onto his back, eyes wild and hazy, and cracked open the vial so haphazardly that he drank glass alongside the liquid. It burned down his throat, a macabre cascade of flesh rending and healing, but by the time his gut had healed, it didn’t matter. He could shit glass and it wouldn’t matter; not anymore.

He’d beaten that asshole’s skull in, slamming the arm of the Punisher into his face over and over again as he bellowed some animalistic sound from deep in his chest. It was too messy, in the end. He’d spent days cleaning blood and brain and skull out of the crevices of the Punisher, every new piece he found lodged in the weapon filling him with a sense of disgust.

Now, as he sits on the bed, his cigarette halfway burned through, he wonders what the man sleeping next to him would think if he knew of all these phantom scars, or the stories of how he got them. For all he knows, Spikey can see them, too. The man has an uncanny way of seeing through people, of knowing them with just a few glances and firm handshake. Still, all the scars on Vash’s body suggest that he can’t read people for shit. They speak of betrayal, countless deceptions for which he has paid the price. And still, he continues to trust. Or maybe, he always knows he’ll be betrayed and continues to trust them anyway, deciding that the alternative is worse.

Wolfwood can’t decide if that makes him incredible or stupid. What kind of heart is crushed and smashed and burned and stabbed and shot that many times and still finds a way to wake up with a smile? He knows most of those smiles are fake, and they’re painful to look at, so painful that he’s debated punching Spikey in his stupid face every time one of those false smiles creeps onto his lips.

But still, some of those smiles are real… especially when he’s around kids, and those are the times Wolfwood really can’t figure him out. It’s almost unsettling, really, seeing that genuine smile and hearing the tinny laughter from a man so used to faking it that it’s practically his middle name. There’s no doubt that Vash has a thing with kids; they love playing with him, trust him intrinsically, and they seem to know exactly how rough and tumble they can be with him, with not a care for his reputation. Wolfwood can’t help but feel a strange clenching in his chest, watching the so-called Humanoid Typhoon around children. He knows what Vash is or, he thinks he does, and there’s something simultaneously monstrous and beautiful seeing everything that makes him inhuman melt away as soon as some kid tugs on his coat or pelts him with a ball.

Wolfwood pulls deeply from his cigarette, flooding his lungs with nicotine and smoke and exhales again, his gaze aimed at the ceiling. He exhales, idly poking the cloud of smoke with a finger as it drifts upward, and he scoffs. Who is he to call Vash monstrous? He is a monster in his own right. If he were to visit the orphanage now, he’d have no right to hug the children there, or to play with them. He couldn’t call his old friends by name and rekindle the friendships that made life bearable back then, not with his hands so soaked with blood he’s practically marinating in it. Hell, if Miss Melanie even recognized him, she’d probably beat him to death with a broomstick before he stepped foot in the building.

She would see right through him, he knows it. She would see the blood coating his skin and the scars marking the last six years of his life and she… well, she would never forgive him. Not that he expects forgiveness; he knows exactly what he deserves, has come to terms with it. But to picture Melanie, the only person he’s known as a mother, terrified and appalled by what she would see in him… the thought is almost enough to make him put a bullet in his brain.

Wolfwood crushes the cigarette into the ashtray with a soft grunt and gets out of bed. He’s aware that Vash’s soft snores ceased minutes ago, meaning he’s probably awake and trying to hide it, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to see those sad blue-green eyes tracing over him with concern. He doesn’t want to answer questions or ‘talk about it.’ All he wants is for the silence of the night to smother his thoughts.

He walks to the bathroom, silent as he can through the creaking of old wooden floorboards, and shuts the door behind him, the latch softly clicking into place. The darkness of the bathroom, with just a small window opposite the shower, facing away from the light of the moons, is stifling and freeing all at once. In here, it’s so dark that he can’t see his phantom scars. If you can’t see them, they aren’t real and they can’t get you, just like he used to tell the kids who thought they heard monsters in the dark. Big brother Nico, always there for the little ones, until he wasn’t. Now, he’s the monster in the dark, reaching into the night to pluck the souls of the living from their bodies.

The thought makes him retch, and he barely manages to maneuver over to the toilet before he vomits, the taste in his mouth acrid and vile. He heaves, over and over again, his eyes watering, snot dribbling miserably out of his nose, until there’s nothing left but empty gasping and an aching stomach. He grabs toilet paper and wipes at his face, spits into the toilet, and flushes the mess away. He sits against the cold glass of the shower door, panting into his hand, trying to stay quiet.

It doesn’t work. There’s a small, tentative knock on the door.

“Wolfwood?”

Of course Spikey heard him. Damn him.

“What is it?” He tries to smooth over the acidity in his voice, play it cool, like he didn’t just puke his guts out.

“I um… I gotta go.” There’s that tiny laughter. The one that says, This is the best lie I could come up with.

“Yeah, yeah, hang on.” Wolfwood hauls himself up from the floor and turns on the sink. He washes his mouth out, washes his hands. He wonders distantly if he should have changed that order of actions.

He walks out, casual as he can, the door revealing Vash with his hair down, shirt off to reveal all those horrific scars. Vash laughs, his hand immediately at the back of his head, all shy and quiet cunning.

“Sorry to rush you, I just really gotta go.”

Wolfwood grunts and pushes past him, walking over to the table in the room. There’s still some of the cheap whiskey they brought up earlier in a bottle on the table, thanks be to whatever god might still exist in this godforsaken world. He pours himself a shot and takes it down fast, grimacing from the taste before pouring another, nursing this one a little more. He knows what’s left in this bottle isn’t enough to get him drunk, not with his metabolism. He doesn’t care. He just needs the burn to distract him.

Vash makes a show of taking the loudest piss on the whole planet, running the water for ages afterwards to wash his hands. When he comes out, he’s all nervous giggles and wiggling, unthreatening movements.

“Man, I was sure I was going to wet myself for a moment there!” Vash starts.

“Can it, Spikey.” Wolfwood gulps the rest of the shot and pours another. After a moment’s consideration, he pours one for Vash, too, moving the glass to the other side of the table. An invitation. “I know you’ve been awake for a while now.”

“Yeah?” Vash sits obligingly, taking down the shot with as much hope of it doing anything as Wolfwood has and holds out the glass for another. He sips the second one when it’s poured.

“You’re too damn obvious. That’s your problem.” Wolfwood sips again.

Silence stretches into the room, neither man moving. The stage has been set for a macabre sort of quick-draw, but it’s one neither of them want to win.

“Can’t go back to sleep?” Vash asks as casually as he can, as if he hasn’t already guessed what woke Wolfwood up in the first place.

“Nope. You?”

There’s another moment of silence, one that Wolfwood didn’t expect. Finally, he sees Vash raise his left arm in the dim light of the moons that pokes through the curtains.

“My arm hurts. It happens sometimes. Makes it hard to sleep.” Vash rubs the forearm of the prosthesis as though rubbing out a muscle cramp.

“But your arm isn’t there, Spikey. It’s fake. It’s not supposed to hurt.” It’s a question, one that Wolfwood think might have a very uncomfortable answer.

“Yeah.”

Silence seeps into the room again, broken only by the sound of glass on glass and glass on wood as the bottle is drained. They don’t talk about what wakes them up at night.

It’s just not what they do.

#i have been tossing this around for so long you don’t even know #i just have a thing for how tragic these two are #subtle vashwood if you squint really hard #whumptober 2023 #vash the stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood #tw: smoking #tw: drinking #trigun #ferricfox writes

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mag200 · 2 years

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what's your favorite tma quote? :O also have you ever listened to the penumbra podcast?

my favorite tma quote? yeah its uh

I’m sorry, I know I’m meant to be telling you what happened. What brought me to this place. This place of books and learning, of sight and beholding. I’m sorry. I should. I will.

There is a wasps’ nest in my attic. A fat, sprawling thing that crouches in the shadowed corner. It thrums with life and malice. I could sit there for hours, watching the swirls of the pulp and paper on its surface. I have done. It is not the patterns that enthral me, I’m not one of those fools chasing fractals; no, it’s what sings behind them. Sings that I am beautiful. Sings that I am a home. That I can be fully consumed by what loves me.

and no i havent listened to penumbra yet!

#sorry for the. super long response but i had to do this :)#anon #answered #tma #jane prentiss my absolute beloved

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frostcorpsclub · 1 year

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The disability that both Typhon and his Aunt Jane have has been named!

So I wanted to draw him to show how his chronic illness affects him and explore a bit of the disability rep in this verse. His ability of ice teleportation can help some but since his disability weakens all frozen solid aspects of his body he can't use it very often without becoming fatigued. Typhon still loves to explore as he gets older, walking, touching, smelling....tasting, although he's grown out of licking rocks. His family isn't the type to coddle and treat someone with his condition like glass (at least now that Jane's all grown up) so he's been taught how to defend himself the best that he can. Growing up he did see the wild and rambunctious things his cousins and aunts and uncles would do, he'd wonder if he'd ever find his own place, he especially wondered if Pop pop (Jack) and Grandpa (Santa) were disappointed with him when it became clear he might not be able to do the things they could. Nowadays though he enjoys riding on their shoulders and using his winter-strengthened crutches to break mailboxes.

It's probably not the safest idea but what his mommies don't know won't hurt em, raise your kids and spoil your grandkids as they say. The way he felt free during these times, the wind in his hair and the breeze soothing his wounds, got him thinking as he grew into his teen years. The supernatural world is vast and large but still underground for the most part, none of the family would ever get the chance to do things like drive....but they physically could. It took a lot of convincing and the help of his least responsible cousins but he’s cemented a modus operandi for himself.

The key of the whole operation is human ableism. Even with the purple dead skin and dripping green liquid all humans see is some poor soul whose life must be oh so terribly awful! He waits on the side of the road for some abled savior's to whinge and wince at his condition enough to see stopping for him as a good idea. Sometimes they’ll talk over him and jump to conclusions so he just goes right along with it until they take him to where he wants to go, he makes up a different story for why he looks the way he does every single time but it always has that “I was born with glass bones and paper skin” energy. Typhon will ask them to take him to an address that’s meant to be some kind of medical or houseless center but really leads to an empty parking lot. When the humans ask questions he struggles to get out and fakes tears to up the pity factor, making them get out after him to console him, at which point his cousins come out of the woods. Getting a whole car full of humans to take home for dinner makes their parents all very happy! The real fun part -and the whole reason Typhon came up with this plot- is taking the vehicle for a joy ride, he doesn't need a license when the whole point is running over people and crashing in a blaze of glory!

He honestly scares his cousins a bit (not because of his face, because he screams and whoops while running over old people) at times but he's the best getaway driver mutant killer winterbeings could ask for.

#mkswinterbeings #mksfrostbitten #jackfrostmks #jackfrostmutantkillersnowman #jackfrost1997 #jackfrostoc #next next gen #Typhon Frost #admin art #hybrid kid #crutches #mobility aid #mobility issues #disabled oc

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vulturevanity · 2 years

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Walked into Candice's gym with half a plan that I forgot while trying to solve the puzzle. I'm bad at puzzles.

Anyway, Team for the fight:

Guy (Machoke. The anti-Sneasel)

Dash (Rapidash. The anti-Abomasnow)

Maren (Empoleon. The Main Guy)

Fenrir (Umbreon. The problem-solver. I taught him Sunny Day because he's better for set-ups than glass cannon Dash)

2 pivots in case things got really rough and I needed a free switch. They thankfully weren't needed.

How it went:

Guy took a Slash from Sneasel and obliterated him with Revenge

Maren melted the Pilloswine with a Flash Cannon after tanking a 4x resisted Stone Edge on switch (I think Guy took just enough damage from Slash that even a 2x resisted Stone Edge would be enough to kill, so. Oof. Crisis averted)

Fenrir the problem solver tanked two Avalanches from the Abomasnow while getting Sunny Day out just to override his Snow Warning because Froslass loves hiding in Hail and stacking up a million Double Teams

Switching back to Dash was really risky because, again, she is a frail little horse with glass bones and paper skin and a single crit of any move could , but the big tree man has stupid high HP and defense and only Dash could oneshot him

After barely surviving a Focus Blast at switch, Dash burned Abomasnow to a crisp with a Flame Wheel (I was NOT risking a Fire Blast miss)

Switched to Maren when Frosslass came out and tried to Shadow Ball Dash to death. Maren oneshot her with a Flash Cannon that fortunately hit after a Double Team. If that hadn't worked, The backup plan was switching to Fenrir the problem solver and Faint Attacking her to death.

This game is so mean sending Maylene to remind us Fighting moves are super effective against Ice types because Froslass, Candice's ace, is part Ghost and therefore immune to Fighting. Maren has been so good in these last two gyms. I'm glad I picked Piplup, even though he was kinda useless in the early game. What a champ.

#babs' in character platinum nuzlocke #giratina's gambit au #pokemon platinum #pokémon #seventh badge get!#pokemon nuzlocke

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brooklynislandgirl · 1 year

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Ben knows she’s busy, but that—and Beth’s glasses, the cat eyes—only encourages him. He can’t help coming up behind her every so often to dip his lips and nose in her clavicle. It’s her fault for wearing a scoop neck; Beth knows how he feels about those bones, the sensual sweep of her collarbone—the subclavian groove, especially those little notches on the back of her neck; he loves these bones. He doesn’t have to say it like that. He never does, choosing instead to say, from the warmth (between her shoulder and neck), “I live here now,” and, with a graze of his teeth, “Going to eat you.”

Sometimes she gets annoyed, her eyes flashing at him like supercharged labradorite orbs. Less ‘an half of all 3rd through 8th graders in New York City are proficient in reading. Ben might know this if he’d stick his nose in one of those pamphlets instead of her armpit.

Okay, okay. He’s 'going away,’ he’s picking up a pamphlet like a wet paper bag. Besides, Ben would willingly endure the occasional nipping from Beth rather than her silence. { senson @ admidoe—mhm, these are official titles }

~*~

It took her almost six months to realise Ben liked her glasses. And how silly they looked, perched on the end of his nose when he sometimes stole them away from her. No matter how he tottered around and sashayed he couldn't quite get her gait right ~for reasons she won't ever mention if he doesn't~ but it never failed to make her laugh. And as opposed to the six minutes it took to realise he likes her... scaffolding. The slight bite of his teeth along her c-spine sends shivers down her back and she can't help but arch into his waiting lips. She surmises maybe there's a chemical-reaction reason in the brain that drives him, the same way that no hoodie or sweater or tee-shirt is safe from her the moment he strips it off. She makes no attempt to touch the slices of skin he offers her on the platter of his body, though she watches their appearances like a hawk. Or why she has that pathological obsession to connect the dots when they while away hours laying together on her bed, on his couch. She maps star-charts over his body with those besotted smiles and even softer fingertips. She will love every part of him that he despises. Maybe, if they are careful with each other, they can put all the broken pieces back together, using themselves as the glue. And how does she wish he was telling the truth? That he made a home in her flesh and bones and didn't wander free. How all of her grows tight and aches when he teases her with teeth and breath and words small enough for her to understand. But what's pulling apart the seams is the fact that she needs to finish the pamphlets ahead of the Reading Initiative Drive. She's sick of licking envelopes and placing stamps, essentially begging amongst the elite of the city. But there's bigger things at stake than her feelings. She debates a moment, even if at that precise one, Ben decides to back off. She swipes at him like a cat. "Nah-uh. No. My tongue tired," she whines. "S' your turn." She fixes him with a certain look over the upper rims of her glasses. “But if you do real good? Get a reward.”

#kylo-wrecked #He Liko Alii'i|Ben Solo #Ho'okahua|Ben and Beth #Look Both Ways|Modern Verse #Brooklyn Stories|New York #{{These names are now canon *nods*}}

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father-time-and-baby-new-year · 3 years

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M-more armin vs eren drabbles please

WC: 3.2k

Title: Melted Candles

Warnings: possessive behavior, cheating, armin x reader x eren, obsession, unhealthy relationships. manipulator armin & toxic eren.

You’re fidgeting with the hem of your short dress that your loving boyfriend bought you, nursing a drink, and half-heartedly scrolling through your phone.

Sitting on the olive couch alone as the musings of a party transpire, you eye the big and colorful banner sporting the words “Happy 20th Birthday Eren!”.

“It’s like Eren to be late to his own birthday party huh?”

A smooth, gentle voice breaks you out of your trance. You turn sideways to face Armin Arlert, a pretty boy with short-cropped blond hair and wide oceanic eyes. He’s all dressed up in a deep grey turtleneck, navy dress pants, and an expensive Omega watch on his wrist.

You must have looked frightened because he chuckles as he takes a seat next to you, a respectful distance away, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. Are you having fun?”

“Uh well it’s a surprise party, it’s not like Eren knows he’s supposed to be here.” You have an immediate desire to slap a hand over your mouth after the words spillover. You wince, not entirely in love with the fact that it was your first instinct to defend Eren.

If you had been more observant, you would have noticed the corners of his lips flick upwards in amusement. But Armin is observant enough for the both of you. He notes the color of embarrassment in your cheeks and continues the subject with ease.

“Ah, yeah. That’s right. Eren hates celebrating his birthday, but they're always a good excuse to get everyone together" He pauses before grinning so wide it doesn't look genuine, "-maybe this is more for us than him.”.

There’s an underlying tension in his words you can’t make heads and tails off. It reminds you of how truly little you knew of Eren's very own best friend.

You smile brightly, channeling all the optimism you could into changing the topic: “Everyone’s trying their best today! Sasha did all the catering and managed to leave the cake perfectly alone even though it’s her favorite flavor. She has the patience of a saint today.”

As if on cue, there’s a commotion in the background. Jean yells at Sasha, “Don’t finish all the lemon-pepper wings Potato Girl!”

Armin laughs and it's a pretty sound, a sound that reminds you of a bell chime. Unconsciously, he shifts closer to you, knees knocking into yours.

“Yeah, you’re right. Connie's even hosting it, and he let us decorate his man cave."

You look at the streamers and balloons, and Armin follows your eyes.

“You did a great job decorating.”

You blush, “It was honestly a team effort. Mikasa did way more, I promise.”

“So humble”, he teased. As he smooths his slacks, your eyes can’t help but fall on the shine of the silver band on his slender finger, an engagement ring.

“Annie couldn’t make it today?” There’s a flash of a grimace on his face but he schools his features right away.

“She doesn’t really like parties,” he laughs softly, “She’s like Eren in that way.”

“Oh,” you paused. He was clearly hiding something but it wasn’t in your place to pry. You didn’t know much about Annie. In fact, you were a little intimidated by her icy demeanor and arctic eyes. It amused you at first when you learned she was Armin’s partner.

Opposites must attract, because where Annie was the cold seeping into your bones, Armin was a furnace radiating warmth.

There wasn’t much more to say with the conversation heading to a peaceful silence, until his arms lightly touch yours, “I’m really glad you came.”

His fingertips graze the sleeve of your dress.

You flush, “Well, I wouldn’t be a very good girlfriend if I didn't come to his birthday party.”

The pretty blond clicks his tongue, “I suppose.” He inhales, thumbs swiping the rim of his glass, “You’re too good for him. Do you know that?”

To say you were surprised would be an understatement. You don’t have a response ready but Armin continues, “I love Eren of course. Been friends with him since we were children but-” Deep sigh, “I feel like I barely know him anymore. No one knows him anymore.”

In a small voice, you squeak “I do.” But the unsureness of your tone made your words seem like it was a question.

Armin smiles, one that’s filled with mirth.

Boldly, he squeezes your thigh, the flesh right below where your dress ends, “You deserve better.” His oceanic eyes seem darker under the dim lighting.

Why weren’t you moving away? Were you letting his hand itch closer to roaming the softness underneath silky fabric?

You swivel your head around, praying no one is seeing anything. Thankfully everyone was too swept up in their own conversations. As if to soothe you, his hands draw circles on the soft pliant skin, “Don’t worry, no one can see us.”

The ring glints harshly. Admittedly, Eren’s soft-spoken best friend is just a little attractive. You didn’t always think to see him this way, but Armin changed, and all the general anxiety he possessed matured into a quiet confidence.

He reminds you of Eren in that way. But still, you're at crossroads here. Is Armin making a move on you? Is he warning you? Should you even be here right n-

Your internal monologue is interrupted by Mikasa clapping her hands, and then putting a finger on her lips, “We’re going to turn off the lights, ok? They’ll be here in a few minutes. When Eren starts coming in, yell surprise.” Armin hand’s leave your legs, the warmth gone.

“Oy, oy, oy. Don’t we need a signal?” Connie asks, confusion apparent on his face.

“Jesus Connie, if you can’t even figure this out, what are we going to do with you?” quips Jean.

Mikasa shakes her head.

Sasha lightly punches her best friend, “It’s okay Coomer, just follow my lead.”

“How will that work since you’re stupider than me?” The hazel eyed boy asks, voice dripping in concern. “Eh?” Sasha replies with an equally concerned tone.

Mikasa pinches the bridge of her nose, “I’m going to turn the light off now.”

Eren would be here soon. You barely register Armin putting his arm around the couch, not around you per se, but the proximity was close enough to send your heart racing.

In the switch of a light, the room was engulfed in darkness and excited giggles that Mikasa promptly hushed. And then was just the sound of breathing. You could hear yours and you could hear Armin’s.

Softly, the blond uttered, “I’m going to do something I’ve always wanted to do.” You could feel featherlight fingers tilting your jaw, and capturing your pillowy lips.

The doorknob rattled. Soon after, light from the hallway trickled in. A still moment. As soon as the kiss started, it ended. A flash of light exploded before your eyes and a cacophony of people yelling Surprise! rang out.

At the center of attention was Eren Yeager, who...did not look surprised at all. His eyes were not even adjusting to the light the way yours was. A tall redhead accompanied him, someone who you vaguely recognize as Floch.

The birthday boy was clad in a white button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows and the top button was unfastened. His dress pants were slim-fitting and black.

The green-eyed boy’s face was devoid of expression. In comparison to his stoic nature, you thought your heart was going to explode.

Wryly Armin says, “Oh look, your boyfriend has arrived.” As if on cue, Eren’s eyes locked with yours.

At that moment, there were too many things to process.

Luckily, Eren was surrounded by a small crowd of his closest friends. You could hear Jean cackle, “Come on! You’re not even surprised.”

You turned your head to face the boy who took advantage of the darkness, a scarlet blush staining your face, “Why did you-?!”

He gazed at you with shining eyes like he had found clarity, not even bothering to feign guilt. With agility only he had, he took your palm in his, “I know you used to like me.”

Blood rushing in your ears, you tear your hands “What are you doing? Eren’s right there. Don’t touch me.” You hissed, scooting away for good measure.

“You didn’t deny what I said.” The blond pointed out calmly, “Yeager is no good for you. He keeps you in the dark about his life and he’s certainly not loyal..”

“I-I can’t deal with this. I never expected this from you Armin.” You shot up from the couch, trepidation filling your nerves, “Now if you excuse me, I’m going to greet my boyfriend.” You uttered the last word with as much hostility you could muster.

Mikasa had her arms wrapped around Eren. Which was fine. They’re best friends. They’ve known each other far longer than you knew him. He thinks of her as a sister.

He thinks of her as a sister.

You walked over, looming behind them. Most of the crowd had dispersed, with only Eren and the Ackerman girl lost in their own world.

What is wrong with you? You scold yourself. You didn’t usually think like this.

“[Y/N]”

Eren noticed you right away, and Mikasa turned around to face you.

“Sorry [y/n], didn’t mean to take so much of his time from you.” The dark-haired girl smiled apologetically.

You could feel guilt gnaw at you, how could you ever suspect her? She waved to Eren, and warmly thanked you, “You did so much of the planning. Thank you.” And before you could reply, she left.

That left you alone with the man himself. “Hi.” You said shyly. He smirked, “Hi babe. Long time no see huh.”

His viridian eyes slowly roamed your appearance, head to toe. You blushed under his stare as they paused longer than necessary on the dip of your neckline, and the expanse of legs not covered by the silk dress.

“So you did all this?” He teased, vaguely gesturing to the string lights, and hanging paper flowers.

He steps closer to you until he’s just a breath away. “Hardly. Just helped out wherever I could.” You whisper.

He hugs you, his tall frame enveloping yours. You feel so safe, pressed against his chest, as his arms compass the slight of your back.

His cologne is your favorite. Subtle, and intoxicating with thick notes of spice. You sniff something else, something overpoweringly distinct.

Still enclosed in his arms, you look up to him, “Did you drink?”

He takes a step back, still wrapping an arm to your waist, “I met up with Zeke. He offered me a drink.”

“Zeke?” You questioned, “You visited your brother?”

Eren was privy to sharing details about his life and you knew virtually next to nothing about Zeke, his half-brother he came recently in contact with.

He kisses the top of your head, and you can feel the loose strands that escaped his bun tickle your face, “It’s nothing to worry your pretty little head about.”

He keeps you in the dark about his life.

“You were cozying up with Armin on that couch, weren’t you?” His tone is light, containing a thinly veiled accusation.

You laugh it off, hoping he wouldn’t notice how tense you suddenly got, “No, no. We were just talking. I was sure I was going to kill myself out of boredom just waiting for you.”

Snuggling closer to him, you stand on your tippy-toes to kiss his jawline, trying to distract him from wavering thoughts.

“Oh?” He asked, “Armin wasn’t entertaining you well enough? Well, he does have a tendency to babble about nothing.”

As he talked, you had a feeling he wasn’t really looking at you, but rather peering straight behind you.

An uneasy feeling fills your lungs, “Um Eren, let’s head to the kitchen. I can fix you a plate. Niccolo did the catering so you know it’ll be really good-”

The tall boy waved your suggestion away, “Not hungry. In fact, why don’t we head over to my best friend? I haven’t talked to him in a while.” You didn't appreciate the mocking lilt in his tone.

Before you could dissuade him, he was already pulling your wrist so you could turn, hand placed on the small of your back, leading you somewhere you definitely did not want to go.

The charming blond was still situated on the couch but this time joined by a woman who was talking rather animatedly. You vaguely recognized her by her chin-length wavy ash-colored locks. Hitch.

“-Annie is so lucky! Jesus, I can’t believe you guys are engaged! And Marlowe still hasn’t worked up the nerve to-”

Eren coughed, asserting his presence. Two pairs of eyes flitted upwards. Hitch sighed dramatically, “Well if it isn’t the birthday boy. The big 2-0. You’re not a teen anymore Yeager. Think you’re ready for the adult world?”

Your boyfriend, who was never one for false pretenses and small talk, ignored her question entirely, “Hello Hitch. If you don’t mind, I would like to catch up with Armin here.”

The woman rolled her eyes, “Guess that’s my cue to leave.” As she stood up, she looked back and forth between the boys, noting the animosity that seemed to permeate the air as they burned holes into each other.

“Why are the vibes so tense? The energies you two are radiating...is reminiscent of a pissing contest”

Without really intending to, you let out a chuckle, attracting the attention of the three people around you.

Hitch’s eyes softened, “[Y/n], I haven’t seen you in a minute. Let’s go do shots with Mina and Hanna.”

Eren’s grip on you tightened, “She’s staying right here Hitch. Enjoy yourself though”

“Funny, I don’t recall asking you. Your girlfriend can’t speak for herself?”

“Uhm, thanks for the offer Hitch but no thank you, I’m not really in the mood to drink right now.” You chuckle nervously, flashing a big enough smile that will ascertain that everything is okay.

Hitch shrugs, “Suit yourself”, and proceeds to walk away.

“Well, I suppose I have to thank you for driving her away. She’s quite...talkative.” Armin breaks the silence. He addresses you both but his eyes are trained on you, “Back already [y/n]?” An easy smile spreads across his face.

You don't look at Eren’s face to gauge his reaction, but you notice how the hand around your waist squeezes almost painfully. The boys stand up to shake hands. Armin gestures for the two of you to sit but the dark-haired boy waves it away, “We prefer to stand.”

The blond gazes between the two of you questioningly but seemingly accept Eren’s response, “Okay then. Guess I’ll stand too.”

“Where’s Annie? Trouble brewing in paradise?”

Armin’s smile hardens, “Don’t know how you’d assume that. She’s just not here.”

Unease pinpricks at you. You could feel trepidation in the air.

“What a shame. Doesn’t Annie like me?” Eren taunts before delivering a line you didn’t expect, “I recall a time where she liked me much more than you actually.”

Surprise is an understatement for how you feel. You didn’t even want to register the implication of his statement. Did Eren and Annie have a past? You lightly touch Eren’s arm in a hint of a warning, “Eren-”

The blond shakes his head, “You’re really something else, you know? Talking about another woman so brazenly in front of your girlfriend? Are you projecting your insecurity onto me since you know” he tilts his head in your direction, “[y/n] liked me first?”

You fluster immediately, jaw-dropping slightly. It was true. You did have a rather big crush on the intelligent blond boy who sat next to you in a class that bored you to sleep. But there was nothing between you two beyond a handful of platonic study dates from when you were freshmen!

Too many moving variables. He was dating Annie and not being the homewrecker type, tried to squash the interest you had. Besides, you were planning to drop that class anyways, and in a twist of fate, it was Armin who had inadvertently introduced you to Eren.

Also, how did that damn Arlert know and why was he bringing it up today of all days?!

Your boyfriend sneers, “Does that really matter when she’s with me? When she’s dating me. And. Not. You.” He punctures the last words out.

“Uhm, I’m right here-” You finally find your voice, “And I’m not really comfortable with being discussed like this.”

Armin’s eyes find yours, “Of course. Sorry [Y/n]. It’s super disrespectful of me-”

Eren cuts in with words heavier than bullets, “Shut the fuck up. Always desperate to play the white knight in shining armor aren’t you? Your duplicity makes me sick.”

As if sensing an oncoming attack, Eren pivots away from you, creating some distance.

Armin closes the gap between himself and the dark-haired boy and bunches Eren’s collar in his fist, “You don’t know how to treat people, you know that? So full of yourself that you think basic decency has an ulterior motive.”

Eren’s eyes dance with mirth, “There’s always an ulterior motive with you, isn’t there though?”. He forcefully shoves his friend, sending Armin stumbling a few steps backward, “You really like pretending you’re one of the good guys when your hands are blood-stained like the rest of us.

You can hear the blood rushing in your ear and you attempt to get in the middle of the impending conflict but Eren grabs your arm with a painful force. He growls,“Step back”. You obey.

“Don’t touch her touch like that.” Armin snarls.

“She’s my fucking girlfriend. I’ll touch her however I want. By the way, just because your little fiance is giving you a hard time doesn’t give you the right to leer at what’s mine.”

At this point you realize you come to your senses, and you leave the area quickly to get help. You scan the area around looking for Mikasa. She’s reliable and always knows what to do. You try to calm your panicked heart.

Gaining speed, you nearly fall by running into someone in the long hallway. Thankfully, the good samaritan is able to catch you in time, holding your shoulders in a firm but comforting grip.

You look up, eager to thank the man who caught you. Mullet. Tall. Slight scruff at the chin. You recognize him right away.

“Woah y/n, what are you running for?” He asks in amusement but one look at your teary eyes has him instantly concerned, “Hey, hey. Are you okay?”

“I-uh,” You’re blubbering, “Armin and Eren are acting kinda strange--I think Mikasa should calm them down.”

Jean’s eyebrows are furrowed, “Strange how? She stepped out so she��s not here right now.” You bite your lips, wondering how you were going to explain the situation.

Jean grabs your shoulder, “Hey, don’t worry. I’ll settle this. Can you take me to them?”

You nod, supremely grateful to have Jean in your corner. As you guys take a turn to the living room, you hear the excruciating sound of glass breaking. “Shit!” Jean curses.

In the middle of the living room stood Eren and Armin like centerpieces, beating the ever-living shit out of each other. You couldn’t see much beyond the fact Armin was throwing punches left and right, landing some but Eren was able to dodge most.

As you move to run forward, Jean grabs you, “No. Stop. There’s glass everywhere. You’re going to get hurt.”

You’re incredulous, “I can’t just let them hurt each other!”

Jean merely looks at you with a look of pity,

#armin arlert fanfic #armin arlet x you #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x you #eren jeager x reader #armin and eren fight over you #attack on titan headcanons #attack on titan fanfiction #tw manipulation #tw gaslighting #tw fighting #manipulator armin

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notstarcey · 2 months

Text

She Prentiss on my worms til I I itch all the time. Deep beneath my skin, where the bone sits, enshrined in flesh, I feel it. Something, not moving but that wants to move. Wants to be free. It itches, and I don’t think I want it. I don’t know what to do.

I’m sorry, I know I’m meant to be telling you what happened. What brought me to this place. This place of books and learning, of sight and beholding. I’m sorry. I should. I will.

#the magnus archives #tma shitpost #im so sorry #i love her #i love this statement #its my favourite

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mxvladdy · 3 years

Note

HI I LOVE YOUR WRITING! aaa sO I don't know if you still accept prompts but if you do could you do one with MC being fascinated by the brothers' demon forms and seeing the brothers react to them carefully inspecting their horns/wings/tails??

AHHHHH I love that you love it! And of course! :) Horns are my weak spot lmao. Hope you like!

Lucifer

Hmph. Isn’t ecstatic about you wanting to nose around in his business at first. No matter how touched starved he is, just the thought of your tiny human fingers exploring him…Well on the other hand-

At first, he thought you had some weird fetish for his demonic form. Wouldn’t be the first time a human had. But slowly he realizes you are genuinely just enamored with him. It strokes his ego sky high.

He loves it when you stroke and pet his horns. The bases of which are super sensitive. The amount of time you have spent just looking at the gold-tipped bone, he is certain you probably have memorized the number of chips and notches in them.

You start bringing ornaments and tassels for his horns. Things you made or found pretty when out shopping. He doesn’t wear them in public but likes it when you put them on him in private.

It takes him longer to let you get your hands on his wings though. Looking at the mess of his back isn’t pleasant for him.

He has a dust bath. He loves dusting, and when you help him. Ugh-it’s like his own little paradise.

He teaches you how to preen and find broken feathers to pluck. Your cooing over his soft feathers just makes him fluff up more.

He shows off his horns and wings just a touch more in public now.

Mammon

Hells yeah you can see his demon form. Why wouldn’t you want to? He is absolutely delighted to have you lovin’ all over him. He’s big on scenting.

He is especially proud of his wings, in all his forms. Leathery or feathery, they are his favorite part of his body. They are strong, reliable, and fast if he needs to protect you.

He makes sure you are extra careful about his horns though. The spirling columns of bone aren’t smooth like Lucifer’s and have a wicked sharp point on the tips. His horns grow a lot faster than his brothers. A lot of his horn upkeep is him shaving them down and oiling them.

You take delight in doing that for him. The keratin of his horns flakes quickly so you like to help with that too.

He doesn’t have much feeling around his horn area so you won’t get too many reactions from him. Now his wings~

He gets a kick out of watching you open and close his wings. You are mesmerized by his leather wings stretching to their full wingspan.

His wings look fragile upon closer inspection. You can feel the beats of his hearts through the thin membrane stretched over black bones. It almost makes you forget that you’ve seen him bludgeon demons to death with them before.

You’re so enamored with his wings you miss how flustered he gets when you trace your fingers around the base of his wings. Right where the limbs attach to his back. It’s a very tender spot that hurts most times when he touches it, but maybe because it’s you it feels really good.

Leviathan

He is apprehensive to have you inspect him at first.

Doesn’t have wings and is kinda jelly. But he has a bitchin’ tail, and you remind him often of it.

His tail is strong. A lot stronger than you originally thought. You can feel the slide and pull of thick muscle underneath his leathery skin when he swifts around.

It took you a while to get him to understand you are 1000% ok with his tail and horns being out, in public or private.

He notices that you can't keep your eyes and hands off his tail. While he never does it in front of his brothers he loves to pick you up with it. Your giggles and gasps of awe, while you dangle above him in his secure grasp, brings a huge smile to his face.

He has the most strenuous care routine out of all the brothers. His tail sheds a lot and dries out easily. It is usually a very intimate affair. Lucky for you, he likes you.

He shows you how to use his dry brush to sluff off the dead skin from his tail and scaly parts of his back. It's therapeutic to him. He talks about his newest hyper fixation while you brush and pet his tail.

His horns are a bit more persnickety. They are made up of a delicate ecosystem of coral and sea vegetation. It’s a beautiful vivid array of purple, pink, and blues. Henry and schools of smaller fish make little homes in it when Levi is in his tank.

It has to be kept moist and landscaped or it gets overgrown. He has a knack for aquatic horticulture and gives you a chance to learn too.

It naturally changes size and color based on the Devildom seasons. Your favorite displays are during the warmer seasons.

You buy little tank ornaments to decorate his horns to post on devilgram from time to time. It gets so many likes he gets so excited.

He wears your work proudly, even if it’s not up to his usual standard. His water monster brethren are jealous of the attention, and that’s what matters most.

Satan

If you bring up your interest in a scientific or educational manner, he is more willing to share. He has had far too many run-ins with witches and humans vying for him to be comfortable flaunting his demon form.

As the only born devil out of the group you have to be extra careful with his horns and tail. The bony structure of them is like fine sandpaper. Rough, course and far too abrasive for your tinder human skin.

You have to wear gloves when handling his horns and tail. He apologizes a lot about it. It angers him that he is the one brother that has to be so careful around you.

You really don’t mind though. Even through the thick leather gloves you feel the pulsing heat of his magic. You like the tingling feeling of his magic through your gloves, it’s like licking a battery.

He doesn’t need maintenance on his horns and tail as much as the others. But his horns do fall off like deer antlers.

He gets really irritated when it’s shedding season. The itching and throbbing of his horns when they are ready to fall off is maddening.

You always know when it is horn season due to the deep gouges in the stone walls around the house. You help him though this by scratching around the bases of his horns. It feels so good to have it scratched, and it’s 10x better when it’s not him.

Normally he would just dispose of his horns when they fall off or use them for alchemical purposes. Now, he gives some of them to you. You collect them and have turned a few sets into some lovely pieces of art in his opinion.

Asmodeus

Very much like Mammon- who wouldn’t love his horns and wings? He loves them, so obviously everybody should.

Absolutely eats up your praise and curious touches. He shows you the best places to pet or stroke.

His wings are leathery like Mammons but 1000x more sensitive all-round. He can sense air currents with them, so sneaking up on him to touch a wing is out of the question. As much as you would like to.

Loves see you try though. Will fake being surprised when you come at him from behind to lovingly touch a wing.

He shows you the best places to touch and examine his wings and horns. His smaller set of wings have this one spot underneath their pit that is super ticklish. When you find it, exploit it. He has the best laugh.

He admits to you that he dyes his horns. What can he say? Pink is the best color and his horns just look that much more fabulous in it.

You can convince him to try different colors, but only if you help him dye them. Starts matching colors and outfits with you and his horn color of the month.

His cleaning and maintenance routine he likes to do himself. Sorry! Nothing against you, but he is too meticulous to ask for help. But please stay and watch!

He shows off a lot more when cleaning and moisturizing his horns and wings. Stretching them out, or making sure his horns are shiny enough to catch the light of his room.

Absolutely soaks up for enamored gasps and wide eyes stares.

Beelzebub

Just shrugs when you ask to see his wings and horns.

Of course, he doesn't mind you touching them. He just finds it odd. Kinda forgot that it's not a normal occurrence in the human realm.

He has no issues with you touching or rubbing on his horns. He doesn't have any feeling in them anyway.

But, unfortunately, you can only look at his wings. The cuticle is very fragile so he can't just flare his wings out whenever he feels like the others.

You find the hard casing that protects his wings just as fascinating though. The iridescent sheen of it is mesmerizing. Your eyes can't pick up all the colors that it gleams, but it's still beautiful regardless.

You have a hard time getting any of the shell bits when they shed. Beel normally eats them and he is much faster than you.

But he will temper himself and save a few for you once he figures out why you are pouting.

His paper-thin shell casing resembles stained glass when you hold it up to the light. You have taken to making a large wind chime out of the shedding of the brother's horns and wings. His chitin is the perfect addition to give the slightly macabre piece some color.

He-and the other brothers find it kinda odd that you collect essentially garbage to them, but they chalk it up to a weird human quirk.

If it makes you happy-*shrugs*

Belphegor

Like his twin, doesn’t get the hype around it. But, if it means you’ll be spending more time with him then he won’t complain.

You pet his tail a lot when he is sleeping. His tail is soft and fluffy. It wraps around you while he slumbers, locking you in place by his side.

He wakes you up by tickling your nose with the tuft of his tail. He teases you when it makes you sneeze.

If you thought his bedhead was bad, wait till you see him struggling with the tangles at the tip of his tail.

You offer to help comb it out. Maybe even convince him to invest in a good bottle of conditioner. He takes you along to buy it and lets you choose the scent.

He has a penchant for cucumber and melon scents when it comes to his detergent and pillow sprays so you keep to that realm.

He cannot express how much he doesn’t care about upkeep so if you want to brush his tail and examine his horns go to town, means he doesn’t have to do it.

Belphie gets addicted quickly to you doting on his form. He sleeps harder and better after a session with you brushing his tail or rubbing at his horns.

You’ve learned just how to massage his scalp and where to scratch around his horns to help him fall asleep. He doesn't realize he does it himself as a self-soothing mechanism until you bring it up one night.

When you hit the sweet spots at the base of his tail or horns he can’t control the twitching and movements of his tail.

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #Obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me requests

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henry-and-the-seven-lords · 3 years

Note

Okay, so I’ve read several Obey me boys react to a sick MC hc’s/fic but normally MC has a simple cold or fever and after watching the episodes “Suds” from Spongebob, I decided why not amplify that shit? :D (It’s more of a crack, angst, and fluff)

I’d like to request head cannons of the Brothers reacting to a sick!MC BUT they are gravely ill; I’m talking sunken eyes, raspy voice, vomiting after every meal, hella frail, and they just look like walking death. To make matters even scarier, MC’s eye or arm would fall off while they’re trying to calm the panicking bois.

MC: I’m fine, it was just a cough ☺️ *eye falls out* Don’t worry about that 🙂 *puts eye back in*

What makes it hurt even more is that MC’s been overworking themselves with RAD, helping the brothers, and trying to survive the Devildom to not even worry about their health. Literally demons that would ignore/threaten MC became concerned for the new human. It doesn’t help that MC just wants to help others so damn bad. If the illness strains their legs to the point of them being unable to walk, that’s not gonna stop them from physically pulling themselves to where the brothers are to help them, noodle legs and all.

MC:*is on Death’s doorstep but hears the Brothers talk about a problem in the kitchen*

Lucifer: Beel, don’t eat the jar of you can’t open it-*damn near chokes on his tongue when he sees MC dragging their body to the boys and they look even worse than usual*

MC: I can help :D

I’m messed up for such an idea and I understand if you don’t wanna do it or don’t feel comfy with it. Something about seeing these bois become hella protective and worried for MC makes my heart happy 😭

No, I would love to do it, but MC puts her eye back!? Is she a zombie? (Maybe that is a different headcannon/AU for a different day...)

I looked up the Suds (disease) forum on the spongebob wiki and it said it was the cold with extra symptoms. So MC has an extreme cold! One that makes their eyes pop out and their arms fall off... with a dash of "I was born with glass bones and paper skin. Every morning I break my legs, and every afternoon I break my arms, at night I lie awake in agony until my heart attacks put me to sleep."

I am stuck on how to make this a headcannon set, so these are going to blurbs of little interactions the brothers have had with a gravely ill!MC

This was really fun to write and kind of what I needed to day. I hope you enjoy this and let me know if this isn't right so I can fix it!

TW: Mentions broken bones, falling out eyes, and pulling off arms

Brothers Masterlist | Dateables Masterlist

Brothers Reactions to a Gravely ill MC

💙 Lucifer and Beel ❤-

Lucifer has been going around the House most of the morning taking care of his Brothers in MC's stead. MC woke up with a terrible pounding in their head and he knew that they just needed to rest by how pale their skin was. Yet it was difficult for him to manage his brothers without them. Especially when it came to Beel and his appetite.

"Beel please do not eat the entire jar of peanut butter."

"But it is faster..."

"No it isn't, you just think it is-"

Lucifer stops his scolding as he hears smacking coming from the hallway. Both brothers look toward each other before slowly approaching the doorway.

There, pulling themselves by their hands across the dirty floor is MC. Their legs are twisted in a painful way behind them.

Immediately the pair run over with Beel picking them up in his arms and Lucifer inspecting their legs confusedly.

"MC, how did you do this?" Beels voice is lace with concern.

"Oh. I rolled off my bed and they ended up like that. I wanted to come and see how you were doing!" A smile fills their face as they stare at the two perplexed demons.

"Is there a way to fix something like this?" Lucifer face is filled with confusion.

"Oh yeah! Beel, set me down in the chair." The two brothers then watch as MC snaps their kneecaps back into place before beginning to giggle and swing their legs.

"See! All better! They are still a little too weak for me to walk though."

The two glance at each other completely disturbed.

Lucifer swallows the lump in his throat and eventually speaks up, "I didn't know human illnesses were so... brutal."

💚 Satan, Levi 🧡 and Belphie 💜 -

Satan, Levi, and Belphie were given some very important jobs. They were told to feed the sick human, give them medicine, and make them sleep. They were also supposed to help the human stay comfortable so there wouldn't be any incidents like this morning.

"Let me fix your pillow, MC" Satan reaches around gently fluffing it while they lean forward.

"You guys are so sweet, but you really don't have to do this. I am fine! Seriously!"

"I'm not so sure about that..." Levi as WI concern as he hold up a spoonful of soup to MC's mouth.

MC opens their mouth and hums in satisfaction as they taste it.

"Lucifer said there were some... complications... this morning and you need to be watched over. So we are here if you need anything." Belphie's voice is soft sleep as he speaks. His head rests on MC's lap as they card their fingers through his hair.

"Whatever you- Achoo!" As MC sneezes their hands cup in front of their face. When they remove them their eyeball sits in their hands.

The shock of the sneeze wakes Belphie and he sits up.

"AHHHH" Levi jumps back dropping the soup on the ground.

"What are you screaming about Levia-" Satan looks to Levi to see him pointing at MC's hands when he looks down he sees their eye staring back at him and he pales.

"Ugh, I got hair on it again." MC begins to pull off a hair as Belphie finishes rubbing his eyes and sees for himself what the commotion is about.

"Oh no. MC, I don't think this is normal." Belphie's voice is soft as he looks to MC's face.

"No, it's fine. See." MC then proceeds to pop their eye back in and the three watch in horror as it spins around until the iris is facing forward once again. All the while MC is smiling.

"This can't be a normal human disease." Levi says as he holds himself back from vomiting.

💛 Mammon and Asmo 💖 -

Asmo had offered to take care of all of MC's hygiene needs while they got better. He had thought it would be some good alone time with them. Sadly, he was interrupted when Mammon had insisted on helping bathe MC. Now MC sits in a warm bubble bath and Mammon and Asmo sit on the rim of the tub helping scrub MC arm and hair respectively.

"You both are so sweet for doing this. I would have been fine taking a shower after I got better." MC smiles quickly at Mammon and then up towards Asmo.

"Well I couldn't have you sitting in your own filth! Even though you look amazing all the time, a nice bath can relax your aching bone and make you feel better." Asmo has a chipper tone as he grabs some water from the bathtub to rinse out the shampoo.

"Yeah. Besides I couldn't have Asmo here doing it by himself. I didn't want him takin' advantage of ya in this state." Mammon grumbled as he gently tugged on MC's arm while scrubbing.

"I would never take advantage of them, Mammon. I am not some scumbag like you." Asmo's voice got louder as he began to scrub harder.

"I ain't no scumbag! Tell him MC!" As he speaks he tugs a little harder and the pair he a tear as MC's arm comes off at the shoulder. MC winces at the sound.

"Mammon, what did you do to my precious MC!?" Asmo clings to MC's head trying to pull them as far away from Mammon as possible.

"Nothing! I wasn't pulling that hard! Was I MC? I thought I was being gentle?!" Mammon's voice is frantic as he still holds MC's arm.

MC snatches the arm back before saying, "Calm down. Both of you. It's fine."

With a loud popping sound MC pushes their shoulder back into place. They sigh in relief and swing their arm to make sure the limb still works.

"There we go. You don't know how cold your shoulder bone gets without an arm attached to it."

MC then ducks their head below the water rinsing the rest of the shampoo out. While the two demons sit there completely dazed.

So that is what Lucifer tried to warn them about.

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missblissy · 3 years

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Hi!! I want some pain so the Hurt/comfort post, about Alastor x reader with 1, 2, 4, 12??

((Of course Nonny!! Sorry for such a wait!! I've got a lot of these to work on lol. REMEMBER!! REQUEST ARE CLOSED RIGHT NOW, EVERYONE!! IF YOU SEND ONE IN I WILL NOT DO IT! I've had a few other people send some in and I'm sorry to say I have to delete them. I do not have any more room to take any more prompt requests. Thank you everyone for understanding! NOW.... Enjoy the Modern!AU Angst >:D))

1: “We need to stop the bleeding – now!” 2: “I hate to see you hurt like this.” 4: “I want to help you, so please let me.” 12: “You’re normally the tough guy. Today, let me be tough for the both of us.”

Something about today had felt off. Ever since you woke up, it just felt... not right. As if your mind already knew what was going to happen before it actually did. But no one can really know that for sure. That's why it's called a gut feeling. And that feeling told you that today... You might just die.

You've tasted blood before. But for some reason this time it tasted sweet, rather than bitter, and full of iron. There wasn't much for you to focus on other than the lights from the ceiling flickering over your head. You faintly heard a doctor screaming, "We need to stop the bleeding! BP is dropping- Let's go! Now!"

How did you end up here again, violently broken and bleeding out? Oh, that's right... You were driving home after work. It was another late shift during the dead hours of the night. Drunk drivers were often out during these hours of the night. One just so happened to hit you, and now you're here in a hospital.

You just wanted to go home and sleep. You wanted to lay beside your husband and not have to worry about anything. That was not your case, however. And instead, you tried your best to speak. A nurse who was pushing you along the gurney said, "It's alright, we'll help you, you're safe now." But all you wanted to do was ask about your husband. For someone to tell him what was going on. You were sure he was at home, sleeping soundly and without a clue what had happened.

And Alastor wouldn't find out until the next morning. He'd wake up to several missed calls from dozens of people and some he didn't even know. This man didn't even get dressed. He ran out of the house still in his pajamas and floored it to the hospital. Along the way there, Alastor would throw a massive fit. He'd smash his hands on the steering wheel, beating himself up over not getting there sooner.

He'd curse and swear and honestly drive like a maniac. Every red light he got caught at only made him angrier with the world. His tires would spin and shoot smoke the second the light flickered green and off he rushed again.

Luckily, you were out of surgery long before Alastor got to the hospital. A nurse walked him to your room, and he found himself staring at a sight he'd never imagine. You were broken beyond belief. The nurse gave Alastor a sorry look, "Everything's stable, for now," The nurse said, "But...." She shook her head, "It was one of the worse car accidents we've ever seen. We did everything we could-"

"Coma..." Alastor said the single word, "Induced or?" The nurse shook her head.

"Brain damage, though there is still plenty of brain activity," That was good to hear. It meant you weren't brain dead... yet. The nurse gave him a sorry look, then with a nod of her head, she left him there. Alastor slowly walked into your room and closed the door behind him. He even turned all the blinds so no one could see in the little windows from the hallways. Everything felt wrong.

He stood at your bedside. Taking in everything. The tubes, the machines, the wires. Almost immediately he felt his eyes burn with the threat of tears. And when he placed a hand on your cheek he couldn't stop the waves of them rushing down his face.

The sheer pain of the situation made Alastor sob like a child for the first time in his adult life. He sat down beside you and grabbed your hand, "Dammit..." He squeezed tightly, "Dammit!" He let out a little shout and brought your hand to his cheek, "I hate this-" He let out a small cry, "I hate to see you like this, my poor dear-"

He couldn't stop the waves of tears sobbing from his eyes. He'd never let himself cry like this before, but he felt like if he didn't cry, he wouldn't have the chance to later. With anger, he ran a hand over his face, aggressively wiping his tears. He threw his glasses off his face and they clinked to the floor. Alastor's fingers ringed into his hair as he let out another sob and pushed his bangs out of his face. He had completely lost all of his composure. Every part of him was breaking down.

Alastor sat down in the chair by your bedside and buried his head in one of his hands. With his other hand, he still held firm to yours. His fingers dug into your skin as let out another sob, "Please-" He hiccuped, "Please...!" He looked up at your unconscious face with watery dark eyes, "Please be okay," He whispered the words out quickly as he brought your hand to his lips, "Please let me help you-" He spoke the words against your skin, "I want to help you- Please let me... Just!" He paused for another quick sob, "Please just give me a sign your still in there..."

He was never a man to pray to any kind of god. He didn't believe there was one, to begin with. But Alastor found himself praying, hoping that anything would happen. He couldn't lose you, and certainly not like this. You never sign any DNR papers or made it clear to your doctors that you didn't want to be resuscitated. But you did tell Alastor if there ever came a day that you needed machines to keep you alive, you had asked him to pull the plug.

With the weight of what was once just a silly conversation that had now come true, Alastor found himself drowning in misery. He rested his head on the back of your hand as sat in his chair. He looked at his glasses on the ground as tears splattered around them, "I don't want to kill you," He whispered with a cry, "I don't want to unplug you if there is a chance you'll come out of this."

The stone-cold silence lasted only a second between the beats of your heart monitor. A beep, then silence. Another beep, then silence again. Alastor found himself swelling with rage and anger, but mostly sadness. He shook his head slowly as he stared at the ground. This can't be happening... He thought This has to be a dream... This-

Something sounded off. The beeps were getting... faster? Alastor looked up and stared at the monitors. He didn't understand any of them, there were so many, but something was happening. He watched numbers flicker and change when suddenly he felt a tug at his hand.

You didn't make a sound or hardly move but you're squeezed his hand. Alastor had never been so hopeful for something so small. He shot out of his chair with enough force to tip it over behind him.

"Darling!?" Alastor firmly gripped your hand and leaned over you. He let his free hand brush your hair out of your face as he asked, "Darling, please, for the love of god- Can you hear me?"

He waited, and waited some more. Suddenly her felt your hand squeeze him again while he searched your face for any signs, "oh my god-" He whispered to himself as he watched your face twitch with pain before your eyes flickered open. With lightning speed Alastor ran to the door of your room and swung it open, "Someone get a nurse!" He shouted into the hallway, "Please!" He ignored most of the odd stares he was getting.

It wasn't a second later that a small team of nurses rushed in to check on you. You had certainly woken up and the tubes down your throat were not comfortable at all. The intubation tubes were removed, along with the feeding tubes, while others updated your stats. Alastor waited nervously in the corner of the room as he watched a team of people work over you. He felt so helpless that he couldn't watch for long. He'd leave the room and wait in the hallway, trying his best to ignore the painful coughs and groans as tubes were pulled out of your throat.

When the nurses left, Alastor quickly went back into the room and to your side. You had only just started breathing on your own again. It was much harder to breathe than ever before, but you still managed. You were still groggy, swore, and very much in pain. Despite this, you still let the smallest and weakest smile crawl along your lips, "Hey..." Was the first thing you said to your husband.

You watched as Alastor's eyes flickered all over your form. From the casts, the pins, the cuts, and bruises. He searched your face for serval minutes than began a weak laugh that sounded similar to a cry, "H-hey..." He said with a long sigh, he even tried to wear a smile that just didn't sit right on his face.

"Al..." You raised a weak and tired hand to his face. He immediately pressed his cheek into the palm of your hand and shook his head, "I'm sorry," You said. But you had nothing to be sorry for, you didn't cause this or intend for it to happen.

He couldn't say anything, Alastor was too caught up with his feelings. You watched him break down all over again as if he was still living with the fear that you might die, "Hey- hey," You raised your hand slightly and made him look at you, "I'm alright," It was hard to see him so broken down like this, "I'm okay, I'm here." You reassured him, "I'm not going anywhere."

Alastor shook his head quickly as if he didn't want to bother you with his feelings. He sucked in a quick gasp for air then sobbed out, "I'm not strong enough to deal with something like this- Ever-.... I can't lose you." He said quickly.

You couldn't really scoot over but thankfully the bed was rather large. You gave Alastor's arm a tug and he quickly climb in and curled up beside you. He was careful to stay clear of any broken bones as he made himself comfortable.

You stared at the ceiling while Alastor shut his eyes and buried himself into the crook of your neck, you used your free hand to comb his hair despite the pain it caused you to move, "That's alright," You finally told him, "No one is strong enough to deal with something like this. You're normally so tough and good at hiding your emotions. But you don't have to do that. I'm alive, I lived, I can be tough enough for the both of us, even if it's just for today."

Alastor curled himself as close as he could beside you. He wanted nothing more than to hide and forget about this day, he knew how impossible that was but he still wanted it. You could feel his tears running from his face and onto your skin. He couldn't stop crying when normally he never cried. He didn't even cry at his mother's funeral. Even though you were the one in the car accident, somehow you felt that Alastor was in the most pain.

"Please don't ever leave me," His voice was raspy and broken as he spoke against the skin of your neck.

With a sad and sorry look on your face, you did your best to pull him closer and wrap your arm around him. You pressed your forehead against his and you felt a set of tears drop from your eyes. You did your best to smile as you spoke, "I won't," You promised, "I'll never leave you, I'll always be here."

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