#the amount of effort i put into this to try and make it funny instead of just a boring home tour... yall have no idea hhhddjjd | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dxxdhood · 4 months

Text

the manor

pairing: 1920s!dick grayson x fem!bartender!reader

summary: while working at a hidden bar during the prohibition, you meet a handsome stranger who invites you to a party. little did you know, you just enchanted dick grayson, one of richest men in gotham.

tags: 1920s au, smut (18+), oral (f receiving), alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, teasing, p in v, angst, fluff

wc: 4.1k

It's so cramped, trying to fit in dozens of chairs in the glorified excuse for a room, but you love the place. Laughing heard in every direction, the strong smell of your drinks, and the fumbled clinking of glasses by every patron– the speakeasy has it all. Sure, the constant threat of having the wrong person walk in and decide to report the place still manages to make you twitch on occasion, but for the most part, you don’t let it throw you off your game. Instead, you let yourself take in the fading lamps all around you, dimly lighting up the faces of regulars or reflecting into the glossy wood paneling.

“Hey, doll. You wouldn’t mind pouring me another old fashioned, would you?”

And just like that, you get taken out of it. You fix the man his drink unenthusiastically, and as he attempts to chat you up, you try your best to tune it out. Although it’s difficult to give enough of a response to placate him while also clearing hinting you’re uninterested, you make a valiant effort. He leaves with a grumble to join his friends at an overflowing table in the back.

You’re about to wipe down the counter again as an excuse to stay occupied when you spot him. A man, well put-together but not obnoxiously so. His hair is slightly long, falling effortlessly across his forehead and curving around his cheeks to frame his face. His suit is nice – nicer than most of what the regulars wear – but not overindulgently. It was more odd that he showed up in a suit at all, seeing as this bar was a more casual affair. And, though you didn’t want to acknowledge it, he was very handsome. Just the small amount of his face you’re able to see through the dim has you interested.

Luckily, he walks straight to you, sitting at a stool right in the middle of the counter. You attempt to give him a moment or so of silence, because he could definitely be meeting someone here tonight, but you can’t resist.

“Evening,” you say. “Haven’t seen you around here before, sir.”

“Just found out about this place. I can’t believe I didn’t know it was here this entire time,” he turns his gaze towards you. “It’s warm. Lively.”

His eyes are a gorgeous blue, but you try to avoid staring at him too intensely. “Well, the good people here know how to keep a secret when they need to.”

He chuckles, “I hear that. Any drinks I should try now that I’m here?”

And he’s magnetic, drawing groups from across the bar towards him, chatting him up so they can understand who the attractive stranger is. He’s so freely charismatic, engaging people he’s barely met in conversation– even involving you when you’re not too busy keeping all your orders straight. Unexpectedly, he’s confident without being arrogant, but also self-effacing without being self-deprecating. It’s an impressive balancing act, and he pulls it off without breaking a sweat.

You try not to get your hopes up past that first interaction, knowing that he’s far too invested in other people right now to pay any attention to the bartender of all people, but for some reason, he keeps peering back at you. Every laugh that rips through him and has him banging on the table, but at the end of his reaction, he looks back at you to see if you found the joke funny, too. It’s endearing, how he’s so attuned to everyone – even your – emotions, and you’d like to give more than short, snappy responses, but you’re swamped with drink requests as the night goes on. He ends up slipping away from you minute by minute even though he’s right in your line of sight.

Before you realize it, it's the early hours of the morning and almost everyone is shuffling out of the bar– if not because they finally have to, because they don’t want to worry their wives even more. The man, Dick, as you heard others calling out that evening, is still sitting at the counter in the very same spot. You try not to let your brain get ahead of itself, but still, him being out at this hour means he likely doesn’t have a wife to worry. You shake your head, chiding yourself for still being so taken with him. The night is over, he may leave and never come again.

He’s not speaking now, which is a shame because his voice is like velvet. He’s clearly had quite a few drinks tonight, so you place a glass of water in front of him as you begin wiping down tables to close the place.

His eyes widen as you leave him the water, and instead of drinking it or ignoring it, he keeps staring through the glass, foggy with condensation. He almost looks puzzled, but you can’t figure out why.

“Why did you give me this?” he chokes.

You immediately assume you’ve made a mistake, so you move quickly to cover yourself. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to. You just had a lot tonight, your head will be killing you in the morning.”

Dick is still silent. The entire room feels too large for the both of you and it’s making you antsy.

“You haven’t left yet, and it’s awfully late, so I’m not sure that anyone will be giving you a ride. If you’ll be walking home, it’d be good to get some water in you,” you continue. “So you won’t, ah, vomit before you manage to make it back to wherever you’re staying.”

You turn to face him from where you’re wiping down a chair and catch him staring. His gaze is intense, like he’s trying to read you and telegraph emotions all at once, and you’re not awake enough to compose a worthy response. He picks up the glass of water after a beat, seemingly content with whatever he found or didn’t find, and drinks it while looking at you through half-lidded eyes.

His brows are the same jet-black as his tousled hair, and having their full attention turned on you makes you unable to turn away. Your breath catches in your throat as you see a drop of water run from his lips, gently curving down his neck and soaking into his pristine shirt. You turn away, embarrassed to watch the muscles of his throat contract as he swallows, but you hear him speak clearly.

“This Sunday, after your shift, I’ll send for you,” he says. “I’m having a party at my place. Please, I want you there.”

You nod, probably mumbling an affirmative as well, too flustered to really comprehend what he just asked. Well, less asked– more demanded. You finish up cleaning the speakeasy in a daze, and find yourself counting down hours in the following days until Sunday night finally comes.

You swear Dick told you he would pick you up, but the motorist who claims he was sent by “Master Dick” is obviously not him. The older gentleman is very polite, still, and you’re hesitant to ask too many questions in fear of sounding rude. The car itself is a sleek black, with a paint job like new. That, coupled with the fact that Dick apparently has a butler is already causing you to put some of the pieces together, but even from as much as you’ve gathered, you couldn’t have imagined he was rich enough to own his own manor.

The amount of wealth hoarded in the place is apparent. From the moment you reach the grounds, you see vibrant, perfectly kept lawns transforming into a luscious garden. There are so many flowers that you can't pick out their colors individually, they all blur into one from your bumpy car ride. There are mountains on property surrounding the main house itself, and you can’t tell whether that waterfall you spotted was real or a trick of the waning moonlight.

The kind butler lets you in through the front entrance and you thank him. Gasping at the sight, your body nearly jolts backwards. The place is filled to the brim with people. Even when compared to your speakeasy, the entire foyer of the manor is proportionately more crowded. Everywhere you look, people obscure your view, all wearing dazzling outfits in pearly, silver, or dark colors. You have the self-awareness to feel underdressed, but you push past it as you attempt to wrangle your way through the crowd.

The music is loud, whatever brass instruments are playing must be rooms away, but you can still hear them clearly from your place in the arching, large first room. Everything is so invasive, you aren’t able to hear your own breathing, footsteps, heart rate, or thoughts. It’s starting to make you dizzy. You nearly bump into guests holding champagne flutes multiple times, and you shiver at the thought of having to pay for the cost of cleaning their luxury outfits, but you manage to get out of the room and into one of the hallways of the building.

You want to cry in relief, but even though the hallway is sparser than the foyer, there are still plenty of people around. There are women wrapped in furs and men wearing suit jackets crisp enough they look freshly made. They can clearly see you don’t have an outfit a fraction as impressive as they do. What happens when they find out you’re a poor, unassuming bartender?

Speedwalking through the hallway and ignoring the generations of family portraits lining the walls, you find yourself blasted in the face with nothing but noise. The aggressive sounds of people dancing along to the band, heels clacking on the ballroom floor shakes you to your core, and you truly believe you’re going to turn around and leave right then until you spot him. He’s on the dancefloor, switching partners just about every measure, his wavy hair drenched in sweat but he couldn’t care less. Dick continues dancing wholeheartedly, stomping along and swinging ladies in opera gloves around. You should leave.

But of course, at that exact moment, he catches your eyes staring at him from the doorway. He mouths a word, something resembling your name, but you run without looking back. These rich people stare at you like you’re a wild animal, but you can’t care. The buzzing air of the place is starting to rot you from the inside. You need out of this manor now.

“Wait, please!” you hear a familiar voice cry out, and a moment later, a hand is wrapped around your arm.

“Let me go!” you shout, attempting to rip yourself from Dick’s grasp. He’s even prettier up close, wearing a tailored suit that hugs his broad shoulders. His hair must have been gelled back at some point, but it’s since come undone, and it’s working for him. By god, it’s working for him.

“Listen to me, I’m sorry,” he shouts, and he says something else after that, but you can’t make it out over the music and talking.

“What?” is all you can manage to respond with.

He shakes his head before changing his grip from your arm to your hand. He begins leading you somewhere without telling you, trusting you to follow him despite not giving you any reason to. You’re tempted to leave, but his palm is so warm, you find yourself going along.

Walking through a couple of sparsely populated rooms and a flight of stairs, you arrive at a balcony. It’s beautiful, carved out of sleek, white stone with planters of flowers overflowing and growing down the sides of the railing. Speechless, you run your hand along the vines and allow Dick to talk.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I should’ve told you… I know I should have, I just…”

“Why did you bring me here?” you ask, flicking your head to glare at him. “You have so, so, so many people here tonight. You could’ve chosen any one of them to toy with.”

You shake your head as you pinch your brow, “You didn’t need me.”

He doesn’t say anything, and you look up. Surprisingly, he looks hurt even though he doesn’t have any reason to be, like he’s decided to take on the loneliness you’ve been feeling this entire night as his responsibility– which to be fair, it is. Reaching for your hand, he encloses it in both of his.

“Is that what you think? That you’re here so I can fuck around with you?” he whispers it, but you can still pick up on the anger beneath his words. Although, it doesn’t sound like it’s directed at you. “You’re so kind, so genuine. You didn’t know me – still don’t – and you still gave a shit about me. Like a real, honest amount of care, not the airs the rest of these suits put on to impress me and get on my dad’s good side.”

“And I’m not sure why I did it, inviting you here. I was so drunk at the time, and all I could think was that I wanted to see you again. You were right, by the way” he gives a hollow laugh. “The next morning, my head hurt like hell. I couldn’t remember if I actually invited you or if I imagined it. I’m sure whatever bumbling explanation I gave Alfred must have been painful to hear, but he still agreed to wait outside your work– I need to thank him again. Anyway, anyway, I really shouldn’t have done this. You probably feel so terrible, this must have been so awful to go through. God, you deserve so much better.”

He brings your hand up to his lips and he kisses your knuckles, eyes still facing the balcony floor. “I hurt you. I can’t convey how sorry I am.”

In the light of the moon, with only the muffled sound of jazz to fill your mind, you step closer to him. He’s quivering as he watches you, as if you stand any threat to him. You keep closing the distance between the two of you until there’s only a few centimeters left. You’re so close you can hear his shallow inhales and exhales.

“You can make it up to me,” you breathe, landing your lips on his, kissing him lightly. He doesn’t reciprocate at first, and though your eyes are closed, you assume he’s uncomfortable, so you start to pull away. After another moment, he leans into the kiss and wraps an arm around your waist, rubbing his thumb up and down your spine.

He sighs, bringing up a hand to cup your cheek. You curl your arms around his shoulders, hooking them around his neck for support. His tongue explores your mouth, and you gasp into him. But he only uses the opening to his advantage, placing his hand on the back of your head and pulling you into the kiss. You feel all the air sucked straight out of your lungs, but you keep yourself attached to him until you reluctantly pull away to breathe again.

Dick moves his head back, getting a better view of your face and your rising chest. “I have an idea,” he says with a crooked smile.

“Oh, yeah?” you lick your lips, not missing how he zeros in on your tongue.

“Follow me,” and without any further explanation, you see him jump the balcony’s railing.

“Dick!” you shout, running over to the side and trying to adjust your eyes to the dark.

He’s alright, waving at you from the ground next to the rose bushes. “Come on! The jump looks worse than it actually is.”

“Easy for you to say,” you scoff, taking in the wide expanse of land that Dick’s family owns as a part of the manor. “What, haven’t you been riding horses your whole life?”

“How’d you know,” he quips with a smirk. “I was always a greater fan of gymnastics, though.”

“Great, that leaves hope for me.”

He gives a small chuckle, “Come on! Just try the jump. I’ll catch you, I promise.”

Shaking your head, you place both hands on the cold railing and engage your arm muscles. With a deep breath, you push off and for a chilling second, you feel yourself travel through the air before your feet eventually hit the ground. Dick’s there, as promised, holding you at the small of your back and wrapping an arm around your front to prevent you from falling over.

His head is resting next to your shoulder, and you can hear the breathiness in his voice as he whispers in your ear, “See, wasn't so bad.”

You nod, trying to disguise the wave of desire that runs through you. He seems to have himself under control, dashingly grabbing your hand and racing across the garden path. You can barely make out the twists and turns he’s taking as he leads you from the sparse topiaries and seating areas into the thicket of bushes. The further you both run, the more you struggle to catch your breath, but you still manage to take in the gorgeous flowers around you highlighted in the moonlight.

“I’ve never been anywhere this beautiful,” you say.

You glance back at him and find he was watching you while you were enamored with the scenery. You attempt to turn your head to the side in self-consciousness, but he brings a hand up to gently tilt your head to face him. His blue eyes pierce you, and you know even if you wanted to, you wouldn’t be able to break away from his gaze.

He kisses you again, and it feels like he’s trying to swallow you completely. Gripping onto your hips, he attempts to loosen his hands after a second, but you cover his hands with your own and keep him holding on. The action has him moaning into the kiss, and he pulls away from your face ever so slightly, lips still parted, to work down your neck.

You can feel his sweet kisses turn to nips quickly, and you bring up a hand to try and stifle the noises you let out, but he removes it from your mouth. Instead, your hands interlock as he leaves a bruise on your neck. He licks at it dutifully, but he quickly moves lower, nipping at your collarbone and mouthing at as much of the smooth expanse of your chest as he can reach from your outfit.

He thumbs at a peaking nipple through your clothes, and you whimper, rooting a hand in his hair to keep yourself from falling over. Dick lets out a curse, and he moves to rid you of your top, hands resting on the closure before he asks, “Is this okay?”

You nod desperately, tugging at the back of his jacket to get him to hurry up, and he lets out a deep chuckle. He wastes no time leaving you just in your bra and bottoms, and he reaches a hand to cup a breast through the fabric. He exhales through his nose, groaning as he pushes the soft skin out from the cup and brings his head to your chest, licking at your newly freed nipple.

He continues to play with your chest, biting at it and teasing you until both of your buds are hardened, and it makes you struggle to keep your breathing even. You can feel heat coarse through your entire body despite the cool night air surrounding you on all sides, and you want – need – more.

“Dick,” you whisper, scratching at his back through his clothing. He peers up at you, meeting your gaze through his thick eyelashes and he seems to understand instantly. He peels off his jacket, leaving him only in his white button up, and he rolls up the sleeves to his elbows as he brings a hand down to cup your thigh.

“Oh my god, please!” you call out as his thumb rubs against the inside of your thighs. His tongue is still at work playing with your chest, but he brings his hand up to rub against your slit, the slick soaking your panties.

“Fuck, already?” he says, dropping to his knees in front of you. Your eyes go wide, and your body heats up like you’ve been struck with a fever. “I’ve barely even touched you.”

He peels your panties down, pooling them at your ankles, and grips your hips as he brings his face to your core. Slowly, he runs his nose against your opening, teasing you so close to where you need him. Your breath catches in your throat as he licks your folds, finally reaching inside your heat. Your toes curl, and you plant both of your hands in his hair as his tongue graces your clit, swirling lightly.

He works gracefully, quick to give you pleasure but never too much of it. Whenever your moans become too loud, he moves from stimulating your clit to dipping into opening, or occasionally licking at your thighs. The coil inside you keeps growing tighter, and you have no idea how you’ve managed to stay upright for this long. His tongue makes you feel like you’re floating, like you could stay here your entire life and be perfectly content. You find yourself scratching at his scalp, and you can hear the vibrations of his moan on your clit as he laps at you.

That slight stimulation is so near to what you need, “I’m close.”

He stops without warning and you want to curse him for leaving you. He stands up without wasting any time, and he unzips himself from his tailored pants. You watch in awe as he gives himself a few strokes before pulling you closer to him, getting your permission before sliding into your folds.

He picks you up with a start, gripping at your thighs and allowing your ankles to interlock at his back. Your gasps turn into a guttural groan, and he kisses you roughly to stop yourselves from being heard. He works himself deeper inside you, patiently allowing himself to bottom out as your walls urge him on. Once he’s finally sheathed, he gives a small thrust and it has you shivering, wanting so much more.

He gives into your demands, setting a quick pace while kissing you, swallowing up every sound you make and keeping them from himself. He’s steady with his thrusts, trying to pace himself and keep himself on hold for you, but you snake your hand to wrap at the base of his neck. Without a warning, you pull at the strands there and he grunts into your mouth. Biting at your lip, he tightens his grip on your hips as pumps inside you faster.

“Holy shit, you’re so tight,” he gasps. “So warm, I could – fuck – I could stay inside you and never leave.” You scratch at his neck, wanting more from him to finally quell the heat that keeps burning inside you.

“Dick, I need–” you start, but are unable to finish, so distracted in your daze of pleasure.

“Yeah, darling? Tell me what you need.”

You shake your head, too far gone by this point to articulate anything, but Dick seems to understand, anyway. He moves a hand down to your clit, and begins rubbing precise circles on it, finally meeting you where you need him most. You feel your walls clench around him, swallowing him further inside and hitting you where you’re most sensitive.

You open your mouth to warn him, but the words turn into a breathy moan as you cum around cock. Your climax rips through you, and every nerve lights on fire as you hear Dick briefly warn you before falling over the edge, too. Both of you lazily rut against each other, working through your joined orgasm together.

When the world finally comes back into view, you feel so ready to faint, but Dick holds your shoulders and allows you to rest on him as he lays on the grass. The chill of the night air is finally reaching past your skin, and he throws his suit jacket on top of you. Both of you stay outside in the garden, watching the moon and the stars shine on you as the night slips by.

#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x fem!reader #dick grayson smut #smut #nightwing #nightwing smut #nightwing x reader #dick grayson x you #nightwing x fem!reader #dc smut #dc comics #dc universe #angst #fluff

296 notes · View notes

pursuedbyamemoryy · 8 months

Text

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ distraction 🍂

about: you try to spend some time studying with your boyfriend, charlie, although he can’t seem to focus on his work.

warnings: gn!reader, slightly suggestive? ( just mentions of making out lol )

author’s note : in my charlie era rn?? he’s just so ahhhh i want to take a bite out of him ( lovingly ). most likely will be posting more blurbs of him in the near future <33

bf!charlie dalton is the best worst study buddy ever.

he’s smart enough and manages to get decent grades, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys studying. especially when he’s with you.

how can he possibly focus on latin or trig when you’re sitting right next to him?? instead of trying to work through the problem he’s on he’s looking at you. he’s admiring how cute you look when you’re focused. how your eyebrows are slightly furrowed and how your eyes are glued on the textbook in front of you. how your hair falls around your face so perfectly. the way you absentmindedly play with your pencil as you work through an equation in your head. everything about you is a million times more interesting to him than some stupid homework.

of course you eventually notice that he’s not putting any effort into studying, but you’ve learned that no amount of gentle reprimanding will change that. although that doesn’t mean you won’t try it. you sigh as you notice charlie’s gaze on you. “do your work.” you say, turning back to your text book.

“it’s so boring though.” he groans. “its not like i’m gonna need any of this in the future, plus i’d much rather look at you” he smirks. a lot of the time he manages to distract you, but you couldn’t afford that tonight, not with exams coming up.

“how about this. finish your homework, or at least let me finish mine and i’ll give you all the attention you want. deal?” you ask, pointing your pencil towards him in hopes that he’ll agree. there was a small smile on your face, you couldn’t help it when it came to him.

“deal” he smiles, turning back to his textbook. it works for a while, giving you enough time to finish your assignment.

after putting away all of your textbooks and school supplies you cuddle up with charlie on the couch. on most days you barely manage to get any work done, being swept up by whatever he had planned as a distraction that day. once it was a new song he was practicing on his saxophone. another day it was a funny joke he had heard and insisted on telling you. although most days it’s just him talking about nonsense that you find yourself listening to, despite how much you tried to convince yourself that you needed to focus.

and some days, when he was feeling particularly needy or touchy, it would end up with you two making out on the couch or whoever’s bed. or any nearby surface, really. his hands would slip under your shirt and onto your waist or back, his body pressing close to yours.

you turn to look at him, your head laying on his chest. “y’know, i love you, charlie, but you’re kind of a bad study buddy.” you giggle.

“oh i know.” he laughs. “what can i say, distracting you is a lot more fun than schoolwork or studying. and i love you too”. he places a quick kiss to your forehead, a bright smile on his face.

you shake your head, smiling nonetheless. maybe you should ask meeks to study with you one day if you actually want to get stuff done.

#pursuedbyamemory writes #dead poets society #dead poets fandom #dead poets fanfic #charlie dalton #charlie dalton x reader

173 notes · View notes

xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 1 year

Note

Doting husband being over protective? Yes please. Thank you!

It was taking an absurd amount of effort not to growl or glare. Bruce had to content himself with standing behind your chair and rubbing your shoulders.

You'd warned him what was going to happen. The endless demands and the frankly ridiculous comments. You'd warned him and yet- nothing could have prepared him for it.

"Dad, It's fine it doesn't have to be-"

"It's not fine. You're going to wind up getting divorced and you're not moving back home when it happens."

And that was the least offensive thing. Neither of them were happy for you. And he could feel the weight of all their expectations for you, bearing down on you. You were physically trembling under the pressure. You were the scapegoat and the golden goose at the same time. The one that was the cause of and solution to all of their problems.

"If that happens," Bruce said intervening, "she won't need to. I had her write the pre-nup herself." He hadn't. But if you wanted to he would have. Anything you wanted at that point. Instead you'd had a third party do it- worried about conflicts of interest. And the rumors that you were a gold digger.

"Maybe you're not as stupid-"

"Stop," Bruce said, his voice sinking into a growl. Just enough to make your father flinch. You didn't talk much about what growing up had been like. Not much beyond a few little funny stories. But. He'd done his homework. And he knew. And he wanted Rex to know he knew. "You're not going to talk to her like that."

"You want to make something of it?" he challenged.

"I'll let you swing first," Bruce said calmly- it wouldn't take much. Even if his public persona wasn't much for fighting. Rex was only tough enough to pick on little girls. People who weren't going to fight back.

"Probation, dad," you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. "If you go back you go all the way back and I JUST got you off your tether."

Rex growled but turned away, "C'mon Reyanne," he said.

"Thanks," she huffed following her husband as he stalked out of the room. "Next think you'll want me to wear pink to the wedding. Gag me."

For a moment, when they leave. As you listen to them bicker their way back out the front door, Bruce doesn't know what to say.

"Sweetheart I'm-"

"Don't apologize," you murmur. "I've had a lot longer to build up a callous. And a lot longer to wrap my head around the fact that they see love as transactional."

"You warned me," he said, kissing the top of your head. "I guess I just- didn't believe it."

"I've spent my whole life trying to make them love me," you say, voice wooden. "Like there's some kind of secret code that will make them act like parents but-" You break off and shrug. "I haven't found it yet... if getting engaged to a billionaire doesn't do it nothing will."

Bruce snorted and took a seat next to you, pulling you against his side, "Their loss, Sweetheart."

"I think you're biased-"

"Do you know how many people I went to school with whose parent's would KILL, probably literally, to have a kid that works as hard as you do?" He chuckled. "You're amazing. One of a kind... And I hate that they don't treat you like that. I'm just sorry I lost my temper."

"Please don't actually fight my dad."

"No promises," Bruce said lightly. "If I ever hear him call you stupid again he'll be lucky if he doesn't need a feeding tube."

"Bruce-"

"Of course it's not me doing it if Batman-"

"Bruce."

He heaved a put upon sigh and cuddled you closer, "Fine. Only because it'll upset you."

For a long moment, he let's you sit in silence. Stroking your hair and reminding you that he's there. Comforted that he knew you weren't with them. That you hadn't been alone and sad after they left. That you knew he wouldn't allow their worst behavior. "Are you hungry, Sweetheart? You hardly ate dinner."

"Just tired," you tell him. "They make me so tired."

"Let's go take a hot bath, huh?" Anything to have his girl feel better. And if it had the side effect of getting you naked well- he wasn't going to complain.

#Bruce Wayne #Bruce Wayne x reader #doting husband!bruce #ask answered #minors dni #reader insert

310 notes · View notes

dateamonster · 6 months

Text

webcomics*! webcomics baby!!! i grew up reading these bad boys like they were the sunday funnies. im serious i would get up early in so i could check my daily roster of webcomic updates before leaving for school.

webcomics sort of feel to me like my generations version of zines. not that both those things arent still around, i just mean that, in the same way that there was this big boom of super creative zine self-publishing in the 70s through the 90s thanks to the increasing access to copy machines, and later home printing, the early 00s-10s was sort of the moment people seemed to collectively realize they could kind of just upload whatever they wanted to the internet and people would actually see it, leading naturally to another boom in indie art and storytelling.

a lot of the comics that popped up around this time were sort of... rough. raw. weird. there were no rules about what a webcomic had to be other than 1) a comic and 2) on the web, so there was some freedom to be as messy or as precise as the author wanted. this led to some real bangers, and some absolute flops. but regardless of how it turned out i think theres something to be admired about the sheer amount of creativity going into these projects that, for the most part, were purely passion-driven without any guarantee of greater recognition or success.

obviously webcomics are still around, but the culture surrounding them has shifted quite a bit. most people who are willing to put in the work of a longform serialized comic In This Economy are also doing so with the hope of being able to profit or at least sustain themselves financially on their work. theres no shame in that! but it has made the webcomic scene more competitive, more polished, less experimental. capitalism at work, you know.

people arent really as incentivized to try new things and dare i say get a little weird with it when innovation doesnt pay the pills. however that doesnt mean that there arent still artists out there who are challenging that.

i got the idea a while ago that i wanted to put together a list of webcomics that have been really influential to me and my own creative efforts, but i realized that list would be a mile long and wouldnt really give me the breathing room to talk about why those works resonate with me. so i decided instead to make a list specifically of my (currently) most beloved, most influential webcomics that i feel like are doing something unique that sort of pushes the boundaries of what is considered a "normal" comic.

presented in no particular order, with all attempts made to be spoiler-free, below:

nasty red dogs and feast for a king by kosmicdream (18+)

delicious, dark, meaty comics. ffak in particular is like this massive sprawling scifi stream of consciousness thick with blood and viscera and. a lot of highly transsexual erotic cannibalism tbqh.

personally i find nasty red dogs a lot more like easy to get into story-wise, but both are just chockablock full of this beautiful grotesque unapologetic and downright indulgent physicality. its pages dripping with every fluid you can think of and some you cant, and its also compelling surprisingly empathetic characters set against a backdrop of otherworldly rituals, cosmic pre-apocolypses, and worlds inside of worlds inside of worlds. body horror heaven lives here.

mr boop and crimehot by alec robbins (very 18+)

if youre at all into weird webcomics youre probably already well familiar with mr boop, and if you arent theres really nothing i can say other than Please give it a shot, but if you havent been keeping up with alecs work since then you might not be as familiar with his current project crimehot. and thats a damn shame because it is all the comedy, unabashed horniness, and surprisingly understated storytelling of mr boop taken to its absolute max.

crimehot is set in a future where nearly every aspect of human life and culture is controlled by an all-powerful all-seeing computer algorithm. but who cares about all that when theres a ragtag team of ultra sexy ultra horny master thieves going on wacky little misadventures together!

alecs style is blunt and simplistic in a way that comes off as juvenile at first glance, and then uses that presumption to completely blindside you with its actual content, reminding me weirdly enough of memeable classic tails gets trolled. in spite of their potential as works of ironic comedy however alecs comics really give me this impression of total earnestness. crimehot in particular is so blatantly un-erotic, with its complete lack of any subtlety, comically exaggerated (and surprisingly diagetic) anatomy, and impossible physical positions, that it circles back around into becoming, indeed, kind of hot. i think silliness can be hot so sue me!

blind alley by adam de souza

departing completely from my last couple recs, blind alley is a cozy, peanuts-inspired comic strip about the day to day lives of the children of blind alley. its also occasionally a deeply unsettling horror-mystery that has just barely begun to show its hand more than two years in. its distinguishing factor to me comes from the fact that the cozy exterior doesnt seem to be there to conceal or divert your attention away from the growing sense of unease that infiltrates its panels on an increasingly frequent basis as the story progresses. it feels more like the two elements live side by side, horror and mundanity, otherworldly creatures and secret conspiracies living peacefully alongside lazy summer afternoons and goofing off with your friends. it perfectly captures the anxiety of knowing that theres something the grown-ups arent telling you, the powerlessness of being a kid.

blind alley feels to me sort of like if those "what if Nostalgic Cartoon was secretly DARK" media theories were actually real, and actually scary. i might be getting ahead of myself as the series likes to take its time and is really only just starting to peel back the layers, but what ive read so far feels makes me feel like this could be something very special.

boy island by leo fox

beautiful beautiful beautiful first of all. the dreamy, surreal visuals? the colors?? oujhjh.. boy island is set in a world split violently in two, divided into boy island and girl island, and surrounded on all sides by a sea of monsters mutants and ghosts, those sorry souls who committed the trespass of trying to cross from one land to the other, or even live outside of either! a boy named lucille must strike out on his own to make it to boy island, but in doing so begins to discover things about the world and in fact himself that reveal an even greater mission.

im making this all sound very dramatic. its a trans story. its about trans people, being trans. its also about surviving the ripples of a world laid out for you by your parents, managing grief for the ones that didnt, and a funny little blue guy named jounce. also did i mention its gorgeous? hot fuckin diggity it is gooorgeous.

vivians ghost by hal schrieve (18+)

speaking of trans comics!! (plot twist: theyre all trans comics suckerrrr) look, all of hals comics are fucking baller and im sure the book zes got coming out will be too, but ive like Imprinted on this one. its attached itself my brain. much like the main protagonist collin has been attached to by his suicide victim best friend and ex highschool bf viv!

the sketchy art style threw me off at first but it quickly becomes part of the charm and meshes very well with the chaotic pace and gutpunch emotional moments. theres a strong element of magical realism that i honestly think comics as a medium were made for. viv is a ghost, and viv is grief, and guilt, and fantasy, and shame, and glorious trans revenge taken form, and hes not even the only apparition in this story, taking the stage alongside cameos by jesus christ, a detransitioners fursona, almanda palmer, and (checks notes) gonzo for a second there i think.

as a disclaimer (or incentive, depending) no one in this story i think is someone you could really call a good person. some of them are in fact plainly terrible. they are all so undeniably fucking fascinating though. and viv himself gleefully inhabits that moral gray area, deliberately and loudly disturbing any image of himself as a pure perfect victim, blurring lines and thrusting both the characters and audience out of their comfort zone. its a challenging read thats not going to be everyone for sure, but i definitely think its worth the read.

(and if this sounds interesting to you but youre not sure you can handle it, hal has other equally good comics that are still heavy on the trans gay relationship drama but much lighter on the childhood trauma.)

what happens next by maximumgraves

if youre reading this on tumblr i hope that youve at least heard of what happens next by now. thee seminal tumblrina art of our time i swear. it starts with a true crime podcast exploring the strange story of griffin and his accomplice milo, trans teen murderers, the latter of which has since been released from the psych hospital while the former continues to serve his sentence. but thats in the past, and in the present milo still has to figure out how to live the rest of his life.

the story moves rapidly, though not necessarily chronologically, in and out of the real world and the online lives its characters frequently inhabit like its guiding you through a twisted dream. its a comic on the internet about the internet from someone clearly well aware of its more poisonous aspects, as well as the addictive quality it can have for someone who has become otherwise isolated from the world.

at the end of the day though the major appeal i think is the characters, how messy and horrible and tragic they can be, which is all you can really hope for from a largely character-driven narrative. to say much more i think would ruin the experience, but ill say what happens next absolutely delivers on its ominous title, and im waiting on the edge of my seat for the next chapter.

preeny has to repeat 6th grade by momodriller

on a Much lighter note, preeny has to repeat 6th grade is a super cute adventure series about a magical little kitty named preeny who on her first day of sixth grade is called upon to go on a great mission. its a sparklefur comic!! ive been really starting to dive into furry art lately, and if youre the kind of person who raises an eyebrow at that statement, fine, whatever, but im talking to the cool people right now so keep it to yourself.

art from within the furry subculture is such insanely creative and passionate stuff, and the focus on this subset in particular, calling back to the early 2000s deviantart xD rAWR s0 rand0m era of online culture, feels so intensely nostalgic it makes my chest ache, despite never being heavily involved in the sparklefur scene myself.

the author states in the comics description that the story takes inspiration from her experiences as an autistic child, and even before reading that man i felt it. what really makes this comic unique to me though is that the majority of characters that appear are based on adoptables the author purchased off of, as she puts it, the children of deviantart. i LOVE that. not only is that probably amazing for the kids, it makes every character feel truly unique and adds perfectly to the overall flavor of the world shes created. there is just not another comic i can think of that feels alive like this one.

broccoli soup by secretpie

ok so i know how we might feel about webtoon comics but hear me out. broccoli soup is probably the first comic ive seen to really exploit the otherwise sort of bland and restrictive format of webtoons, utilizing the excess of white space to enhance the feeling of emptiness that characterizes the protagonist broccoli's time in the blank void they call home as well as to make the sparse use of color really pop in contrast.

broccoli soup is a mysterious series thats a little hard to pin down in terms of genre. a strange little being named broccoli spends their days in a vast blankness drinking tea with their loving yet highly suspicious Best Friend and benefactor, doris. doris has the ability to move between worlds, coming and going as she pleases, while broccoli is only allowed to leave when they are on a mission on her behalf. these missions vary, but the goal is always the same: make everything Polite and Good.

as the story progresses, little by little more friends and more color come into broccolis still new existence. the art style also changes from world to world, which imo is a very nice touch. and! theres music! its an interesting project that dances back and forth between fantastical whimsy and some surprisingly dark moments. and thats the shit i like to see.

thats all for now! though if im lucky there will be many more fun stories and projects to talk about in the future. keep in mind as well that this is like barely half of all the webcomics im currently reading, just the ones that most stick out to me as really doing something special.

until next time yall!!

oh wait sike honorable mentions time

awful hospital by bogleech

the only reason this isnt up there with the rest is bc im woefully behind at the moment. ill get back to it eventually! awful hospital is an interactive multimedia horror-comedy webcomic about a hospital that is. well this hospital is simply sub-par to say the least.

hedgehog's dilemma by mellodilla

this ones still a little new to say much on but so far it looks like a cute series. what most appeals to me is that the art style looks like something that fit in seamlessly with an early 90s newspaper comic strip. in particular it has a strong calvin and hobbes vibe to me. just, you know, about wacky lil lesbian animals living their lives.

ok now im done for real

*for clarity's sake, im using webcomic here to mean "a series of comics that was first published and predominantly exists online" so even if a print version exists, i still consider it to be first and foremost a webcomic. this also includes comics that contain a multimedia or interactive element. if its a combination of pictures and words to tell a story, its a comic.

also my list is probably going to end up massively favoring serialized fiction because thats just what i like to read, but i dont necessarily think thats a required element.

#ungodly screeching #recommendations #kinda off topic but also kinda not lol #this got way out of hand #oh also if i got anyones pronouns wrong pls let me know! i tried to track everyones down

59 notes · View notes

livfastdieyoung69 · 8 months

Note

I'm back with my requests because I'm feral for cody he's literally so fine anyway maybe something with reader being with cody during the miz TV segment and going a little feral over Dom calling cody a deadbeat ykyk the usual we love feral reader i think it'd be a little funny if cody had to hold reader back because they're going for doms throat

A LOVE SO DEEP IT HARMS

(Cody Rhodes x Y/N)

Wrestling has more than one royal family

As Cody’s theme played and he walked out into the arena, clad in a suit, fans cheered in excitement for the scheduled interview on Miz TV. The second Cody sat in one of the two director chairs, The Miz began to talk, asking him questions, or more so repeating his actions of the past weeks with an incredulous tone. Considering this was Miz TV and everything had to be messy, of course, there was a surprise guest and of course, it was Dominik and Rhea Ripley, two people neither Cody nor his partner, Y/N, seemed to get along with.

Y/N watched from backstage as Cody stood from his chair as they reached the ring, standing up themselves as if they could protect him from the locker rooms. They watched as Cody egged on the fans, barely able to hear anything over the booing crowd, but able to make out Dom daring to call their husband a bad father.

If there was one thing Cody was not, it was a bad father. The little girl adored Cody just as much as he did his own father even at such a young age. Clearly, Dom wasn’t too aware of what happened backstage because Cody and Y/N brought their child with them to every Raw, every pay-per-view, every press event, everything. If they didn’t, there would be no way for them to see their baby while they both maintained their careers. Knowing the amount of effort not only Cody, but also how much effort they put into being able to travel with their child, and hell, even their dogs sometimes, Dom’s comment made them angry. Very angry.

“…a deadbeat dad. Actually, Y/N is here too, so I guess both of you are deadbeats, huh?” The boos of the crowd seemed to get impossibly louder, vibrating against the solid concrete of the building as the rest of the crowded locker room tensely watched Y/N, uncomfortable air quickly spilling into the small space.

“Did he really just say that?” Becky spoke from besides them, eyes wide and voice thick with utter confusement and anger. She received no response, and instead watched as Y/N power walked out of the room and make a quick right- straight to the gorilla.

They marched to the entrance of the arena much to the staff’s complaint, feeling no need to grab a mic, and quickly, their walk turned into a run, the crowd cheering as Y/N dived into the ring, spitfiring their rage down the throat of half the Judgement Day.

“You wanna try that again? Huh? Or do you need your mami to say it for you, you little bitch!” After they pushed Dom around a bit, Rhea stepped infront of him at the mention of her title.

“Oh, look at that, comin’ to rescue your Dom Dom? Maybe you should teach the little crybaby to keep my families name out of his mouth.” Their words held a tone of amusement at first before they inched closer to Rhea, sizing her up with a voice full of fury.

While Y/N and Rhea shoved closer to each other, exchanging many more insults, refs and other staff were quick to make their way to the ring before it could truly get violent. Cody was quick to pull Y/N away from Rhea when they backed up the smallest amount, making Rhea believe they were backing down, but Cody knew they were only making room to deck the woman right across the face.

Y/N fought against his hold, gripping at the triceps held around their waist and trying to push their feet to the floor but Cody only dragged them instead. They refused to give up all the way backstage, yelling over at Rhea and Dom as a few refs, and now the rest of Judgement Day held them back. They finally relaxed into Cody’s hold after they left the gorilla, sending a useless swat to his arm.

Cody scoffed and pinched their hip in return before carefully grabbing their elbows and turning them to face him.

“I think we need to work on your anger problem there, N/N.” Though his voice was stern, the smug look on his face let them know he was only teasing.

“Or maybe people should stop being dumbasses and leave you and my baby out of their drama.” Their aggravation, which was clearly still there, seemed to be spewing out at everyone now.

“Your baby? Hate to break it to you, N/N, but I’m pretty sure shes mine too. Wait, where is she?” Cody brought them back into his embrace, this time facing him, while he spoke, a sigh leaving Y/N as they pushed their ear into his chest.

“Becks got ‘er.” They mumbled into him, wrapping their own arms around him aswell.

“…You just left her in the lockeroom?”

“I made sure Becky had her and then I kinda just started running.” Silence came after their mumbles but was quick to fall away when they both bursted into giggles.

“Oh god, Y/N, maybe we aren’t very good parents.” Cody managed to speak through his quiet laughter, looking down at his lover with much adorance.

unfortanetly my break is over and i gotta go back to car shit on top of work so i prolly wont be able to write as much even tho i already take so long 😭 y did i think going back to school would be a good idea if i literally hated the other 12 years

anyways, i have also discovered a very deep love for aew. like i liked it, but now i loveeee it. and i love mjf (a lot😋)

#liv writes;*!#cody rhodes x reader #wwe smackdown #wwe raw #cody rhodes #american nightmare #the american nightmare

144 notes · View notes

natashasnoodle · 1 year

Text

𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝑯𝒐𝒎𝒆 - 𝑾𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒂𝑵𝒂𝒕 𝒙 𝑭𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

Masterlist | N.R Masterlist

Words: 7.3k

Summary: Your entire life is turned upside down when you discover a book of the supernatural, propelling you into days of horror just before Halloween. What or who is causing the curse?

Triggers/tags: Ghost!WandaNat, dark!WandaNat, mind control, kidnapping, blood, visions, death, burns, an all round a spooky fic. No smut but minors DNI due to dark themes and implications please and thank you <3

A good ol' Halloween fic to end off the month, was multiple days of planning and writing so I hope yous enjoy 👻

✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

The chill of October air passed through you as you headed towards the campus library of the University that you attended. The way that the wind whipped the sides of your coat to the side, letting the awful freeze of the air wrap around your torso made you curse yourself for choosing to do a Master’s degree after your Bachelor’s. If you had just gotten a job like the rest of your friends had, then you would not be traipsing to the library every evening, and instead would be at home, snuggled under the comfort of many thick blankets after another day at the office.

But instead, you were wrapping your arms around yourself in a hug, angry at the universe for your broken coat zipper as the hands of mother nature kept clawing their way through your outfit, yanking your tote bag repeatedly down in the process. By the time you arrived at the library you were already frustrated with the universe, and you hadn’t sat down to start your essay yet.

Sighing a large puff of air from your already agape mouth thanks to the struggle of climbing stairs, you collapsed into a rickety old chair, slumping down and staring at the wall ahead, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the late night that was to be had. Thanks to your procrastination, you were missing pumpkin carving with your roommates, an activity that you adored, making this essay your arch-nemesis.

Due to it being the Friday before Halloween, there were no fellow students also slumped in their seats, society beating them down as their burnt-out minds kept pushing on the invisible barriers that tried to stop them from working.

You were all alone.

Taking the opportunity, you unpacked all of your things and laid them out on the desk in front of you in a haphazard way, not caring about everything being neat in front of you. You were simply here to rush through your essay, put in the absolute minimum effort, and get home to the likely ‘after pumpkin carving party’ that would be happening. After all, C’s get degrees.

Usually, you would find any books or papers in the long line of the library resources before unpacking, in case anyone ran off with your laptop or bag, not that you had anything truly of value, your laptop was ancient. It looked like a slab of concrete and felt like one at that too, your shoulder consistently being weighed down. Every day you made a mental note to use a backpack next time, and every day you ignored yourself.

But thanks to the emptiness of the place, you wanted to walk around without your laptop. You felt silly that it felt freeing to be walking around without holding anything. It felt as though you could walk on air. There was no rush to get back to your seat, especially because your mind was still procrastinating, so you decided to fully immerse yourself in the giant bank of knowledge that this building held, having never had the opportunity to do so in the past.

You marvelled at the various books that students in other degrees would most likely groan at seeing due to reading them all the time for their assignments. It’s a funny thing. Most of the time you could do copious amounts of research in your own time and never get bored, digging down all the rabbit holes that you could find, but as soon as you needed to research something for a class, all interest is immediately tossed out of the window and stomped on.

As you mindlessly ran the pads of your pointer finger along the row of books, a small smile tugging at your lips as you slowly walked on, you missed the gust of wind that passed through the closed door and towards your desk, moving all of your items before turning the corner and running past your boot-clad feet, the thick material enough to make you oblivious.

Though when your finger landed on an old, worn-down-looking book, the gust of wind that was pooling at your feet, waiting to pounce, lifted itself into the air in a column around you, your hair flying around at the disturbance. You gasped as you felt the cool air around you, but before you could check your surroundings your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your hands grabbed the shelf in front of you to keep yourself steady.

When everything went dark you couldn’t feel your body anymore. You desperately tried to scream out in hopes that anyone in the library would be able to help you, but it was as though your voice box was clamped shut by an invisible force. No words that you were pleading to escape managed to pass through into the air.

A low humming noise whistled through the air, overpowering your senses, your mind now completely distracted by the sound. Something had control of your mind as the humming continued, getting louder and louder. It was beautiful, rough around the edges but in the perfect way. As you allowed yourself to get lost in the symphony, the edges of your vision glowed white before a blurry room came into your sights.

A dim, yet beautiful ballet room, with mirrors on every wall and pine wood flooring, revealed itself to you, and suddenly a young woman with auburn hair appeared. Once her presence was made known to you, the humming increased in volume, and as she twirled around the room in a gorgeous choreography in a black bodice and tutu, you realised that the humming was coming from the woman herself.

She danced along to the beat of her own voice, moving her body in a way that had you mesmerised, captivating you in a way that had never captivated you before. You could watch her forever, it felt like you needed to see more like you needed to walk up to her and let her gaze meet yours. It felt as though at this moment she was the only thing in the universe that mattered.

As the vision slowly moved closer to her, you could easily make out the flow of her hands. How her fingers danced along too, her entire being, every atom, going into this dance. But then it stopped.

With the humming gone all that you could hear was a painful ringing, its pitch getting higher and higher with each passing second. The woman in the room stood, head looking down at the floor with her back to you, her breathing deep yet steady as she stood still. You were forced to watch as she recovered from the dance and slowly started walking towards one of the mirror walls, her head still pointed down.

It was only when her hands grabbed onto the wall railing that you realised how cold and lifeless her skin looked, how it looked as though she could break at any moment. It was at this moment that your consciousness came back to you, but your body didn’t. You were stuck in the vision. Panic flooded your system as once again you tried to scream out for help. You didn’t know this woman, and you didn’t know where you were. But maybe she could help you.

You begged whatever divinity was out there to just let you communicate with her, to let you ask for help so that you could go home, and just as you did, she looked up. Her eyes met your gaze through the mirror and you wanted to scream in pure terror. Her face was just as paper-white as her hands which only accentuated the blood pouring from her mouth as she looked at you blankly. All that she offered you as you were begging for help was a smirk and a wink before everything went black again.

Your chest heaved and you knew that you were back in your body, but with your eyes tightly screwed shut you didn’t know for sure. The column of wind that had surrounded you slowly dissipated and was absorbed by the scratchy carpeted flooring, allowing your extremities to warm up again. However long you were under that spell, the wind had made you feel freezing to the touch. Your tight jaw chattering only proved this further, though that could also be from the fear and adrenaline.

Tentatively, you allowed your eyelids to flutter open, and you were met with the sight of your hands gripping tightly onto the shelf in front of you, knuckles painfully white as you held on for dear life. Your mouth felt dry as you tried to take in everything that had just happened, it didn’t feel real, it couldn’t be real, and yet why was your heart pounding? Why was your chest heaving with anxiety?

You shook your head and looked up, the old book directly in front of you. An internal battle began as you fought the Angel and Devil that sat on your shoulder. The Angel telling you not to take the book, you touched it and the vision started, that couldn’t be a coincidence. But the Devil told you to take it, to put it in your bag and leave.

The Devil won.

Shakily, your hand reached out and gently pulled the book out. You stared at the cover, not being able to make any sense of it, it was like nothing you had ever seen before. The brown and black book looked as though it could fall apart if you dropped it, and the patterns on the front made you want to run your finger along them, so you gave in to your instincts.

As the pads of your fingers ran along the intricate patterns, you felt a warmth run up your arm, followed quickly by a cold that made a whimper fall from your lips, the severe cold making your skin prick painfully before the feeling stopped completely, leaving as fast as it came.

You had to take the book home, it was telling you to. Ordering you to.

With haste, you moved back to your desk and stuffed the book into your bag, not caring that you hadn’t bothered to check it out. If the book told you to take it home, then you would take it home. It was like you weren’t in full control of your movements since the book was in your hands, but you didn’t notice.

Though when you looked up to begin packing your other things, you did notice that all of your stuff had been moved to the opposite side of the desk from where you had initially placed it. Though you just pinned it down to paranoia, you had just had the life scared out of you, so it was only natural for you to be overly paranoid now.

So, with a shrug you packed the rest of your things, your hands still just as shaky, and you rushed out of the library without making sure that you had gotten everything, you just needed to leave, and you never wanted to step foot in there again.

The walk home was much nicer than your work there. Other than your mind racing and being on the lookout for any sort of danger. But you felt warm, your bag felt like it weighed nothing, even with the additional book added, and no gusts of wind were hitting you, even though the trees around you were swaying with gusto, looking as though the trunks could quite easily snap. A frown rested on your forehead as you carried on speedwalking down the street, a storm was clearly coming, and yet you were feeling nothing.

It was like the book was helping you get it home as quickly as possible. Instinctually, you looked down at the book in the bag resting at your side and your feet seemed to pick up the pace, pushing you through the dark autumn night and towards the apartment you shared with your roommates.

As soon as you pushed through the people that were at the small party that you had predicted would occur earlier on in the day, you ignored the weird looks from your friends as they saw your mindless body walk through the room and into yours. Your mind was on a mission, and nothing was going to stop you from giving that book a place in your bedroom. It would be safe with you, not out in the open for just anyone to touch.

When it was placed on your chest of drawers opposite your bed, you let out a sigh of relief. The book was safe, and its hold on your mind eased. As you slowly regained some form of control of yourself, it was only then that you realised how crazy all of this was. Snippets of the terrifying vision flooded your senses again and hot tears began streaming down your face as you curled up into a ball on your bed. You didn’t know why this was happening to you and you didn’t know what to do.

If you told anyone then they would think of you as a crazy person, or someone spewing some ghost stories to freak people out before Halloween. So you did the thing any normal person would do, resorted to sobbing in your room whilst simultaneously trying to block the whole experience out, trying to allow the soft fabric of your sheets to give you some semblance of security.

It was an impossible thing to have happened, and you didn’t know if you believed your own mind. You didn’t trust yourself, and that was a scary thing.

You needed to get rid of the book.

After sniffing and wiping your nose with your sleeve, you stood shakily, your knees almost giving way, and slowly moved over to where the book lay, looking innocent as though it hadn’t just traumatised you for a lifetime. You inhaled a deep breath and closed your eyes, preparing yourself to take the leap and touch the book again, but when contact was made, a sharp pain spread across your hand, and a brief flash of an image appeared in the back of your eyelids.

You could just about make out the image of the small cabin surrounded by forests before it disappeared and you stumbled back, clutching your now wounded hand. The pain was excruciating, and you had to bite your bottom lip to avoid crying out, but when you extended your fingers and looked at your right palm, you had to stifle a scream.

An hourglass symbol appeared as your hand continued to burn, etching itself onto your skin as you stared with wide eyes, your chest once again heaving. “What the fuck”, you whispered as your body began to shake like a leaf, very aware that your clock was mocking you, reading as 04:00.

As you stared longer at the symbol a flash of recognition passed through you, you had most certainly seen this symbol before. It was plastered around years ago. A series of freak “accidents” had been slowly killing off the group of Earth’s mightiest heroes, the “Avengers”. It had been put down to a serial killer once more evidence was found, and the fact that they hadn’t been found had made the situation all the more terrifying until it all got shoved under the rug and everyone moved on with their lives.

But something about a certain death or rather, two certain deaths confused you. Most of the Avengers were murdered in plain sight, the killer clearly on some sort of power trip trying to prove to people that they were just as vulnerable as regular humans. But Black Widow, whose symbol was now burned into your skin, was found dead alongside her wife, the Scarlet Witch, in their safe house after they went into hiding once the killing patterns had emerged. Very much not a public space.

It also became clear to you, that the woman in the vision also looked like the Black Widow, a few years younger maybe, and most certainly not how she looked exactly when she was alive, but definitely her. The faces of all the Avengers were plastered around everywhere during their world-saving days, so you were sure that it looked like her.

You just wondered what this book had to do with her, especially as she was very dead. The idea that this had anything to do with the supernatural chilled you to the bone, but you shook that thought away. There must be a reasonable explanation for all of this. There was no such thing as vampires, zombies, or ghosts. They didn’t exist, and so you were safe. This was just a freak prank, nothing more nothing less. You nodded along to your train of thought, trying to convince yourself that everything was indeed okay, as you ignored the searing pain in your hand.

Lifting up the soft duvet covers of your bed, you crawled underneath them and got into a foetal position, clutching your hand that was clenched as a fist close to your chest, your bottom lip trembling as you fought back tears, desperate to fall asleep so that you could wake up and pretend this never happened. You knew that you needed to go and get something to care for your new wound, but the bathroom was across the apartment, and there was no way that you were going to risk waking up your roommates as they would most certainly ask questions. So, you would have to wait until you awoke in a few hours' time and waltz into the room as if nothing was wrong.

Eventually, your trembling body passed out from exhaustion, and your mind was finally at peace. For the time being.

---

The following day came with no issues, aside from the pain ebbing and flowing through your hand. Your roommates did wonder why you had a bandage wrapped around your hand, but you eased their fears by telling them that you had been stupid when trying to cook something new for breakfast. They believed you.

You counted your lucky stars that the damned book resting in your room did not give you any nightmares or visions that day, and just put it down to a weird fluke. It was just a prank. A very painful prank, one that made you want to kick the creator of it in the shin, but a prank nonetheless.

Having not started the essay the day prior, you had to work at double the speed yet you could only use one hand. The maths weren’t adding up, but with your mind fuelled on caffeine via various cups of coffee and cans of energy drinks, enough to make your brain go full throttle before an energy crash, you finished your essay.

Smiling, you were satisfied with the day. It had been productive, yet calm. You sat on your bed and just let the world pass you by that evening, grateful for the peace, grateful to be able to watch the sunset, and grateful to be able to fall asleep with no issues. Your sleep went undisturbed, but what you didn’t know was that the book a mere few steps away from you was awake. Wide awake, and it had been watching your every move.

The next day you went about your business once again. Attending your classes you typed out all the notes that you could, yet again with a singular hand, and the one that wasn’t your dominant one. It was tough but you pushed through, willing your body to continue so that when you got home you wouldn’t have to make notes on the slides in your own time. Whilst on campus you hung out with friends and engaged in some lovely chit-chat, all of them concerned for your bandaged hand but yet again you waved them off with a little white lie.

You allowed yourself to romanticise the day, that’s how you got through most of your University days. You brought yourself an iced coffee to sip on whilst studying with friends, organising your notes in a way that was aesthetic, yet effective; colour scheming everything with titles of cute yet readable fonts. It was all for vanity reasons but if it meant that you would go back and read your notes then you didn’t see the issue.

You also took the long route home, letting your scarf get ruffled in the wind as your boots quenched your thirst for standing on the crunchiest leaves that the local flora had to offer you. After seeing a quaint, run-down bench you decided to take a seat, resting your weary legs that had taken you from class to class that day. Though that was a mistake.

The very second that you planted yourself down on the hardwood a dizzy spell hit and it felt as though your head was spinning. Out of breath and confused you clutched onto the cool, metal armrest with your good hand, and held on for dear life as you had no choice but to let whatever was coming hit you like a brick. The nauseous feeling that was crawling its way up from your abdomen came to a swift halt when your vision went black. Though that feeling was replaced by the feeling of a pit as you anticipated what was to come, expecting it to be like the previous night.

You were pleasantly surprised at seeing the same cabin as prior instead of a dead ballerina, but it still left you feeling unsettled. Unlike with the vision of Black Widow, you were in full control of your consciousness and thoughts, which allowed you to ponder why this vision of the cabin wasn’t a quick flash like the other one had been, you were again stuck, and that feeling of dread came in full swing.

It did give you time to take in the full view of the cabin, however, and it looked to be a lovely one at that. It was solitary and looked to be a good place to get away, or to hide. The wood was dark which only made it seem more cosy and hidden away, and the large size of the building allowed for a lot of windows, each with a hanging basket coming from the windowsill, full of colourful blooming flowers. The roof was made of slate slabs, with a chimney coming out of one end, the smoke slowly billowing from it completing the aesthetic.

It was peaceful.

But then the vision changed. You were moved to see the interior, it looked just as quaint as the exterior, but something felt off. The quiet was eerie instead of comforting, and as you were moved down the hallway against your will, you spotted a photo of Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff nailed to the wall in a beautiful mahogany picture frame with golden accents on the corners. It didn’t take a genius to conclude that this was most certainly the safe house in which they met their demise. If you could feel your spine in this vision then you were sure that you would feel a chill go down it.

As you were forced to move more forward the eeriness was ever more present, and you just wanted to go home. It wasn’t until you turned the corner and into the kitchen that you saw the reason as to why. You wanted to scream when you saw the bloodied hand and arm belonging to one of the women peeking out from behind the kitchen counter, and your fear increased tenfold when you turned to see the body of Wanda Maximoff lying on the stairs, her lifeless eyes staring at you.

With all of your might, you willed your eyes to screw shut, but it was to no avail, you continued to be met with the awful sight. The vision once again changed, though you were in the same location. The only difference this time was that you could feel your body, and as you looked down at yourself you could see your hands, your torso, and your legs. Somehow you were there, so you did the first thing that you could think of. You tried to escape.

You attempted over and over again to move your legs, but much to your frustration it was as though they were glued to the floor. As tears began to pool at your waterline you screamed out for help, which was your second mistake of the evening. As soon as you shouted, “Help!”, Wanda’s mouth formed into a smile, and you felt your heart drop to your stomach as you froze, staring in horror at the corpse in front of you slowly start to stand and walk down the stairs, right towards you.

A whimper escaped your lips as you tried yet again to move backwards, the tears freefalling down your cheeks as she walked with purpose towards you, eyeing you as though you were her next meal, yet smiling at you as though you were an old friend. “Hi”, she spoke with such a gentle tone that you tilted your head slightly, showing your confusion, but you instantly leaned back as she reached out to cup your jaw, her cold skin touching your warm one.

Your bottom lip trembled when she made contact, which only made her eyes darken as she upheld the same comforting smile. “Shh, it’s okay”, she cooed and lifted her other hand, cupping your face. You cringed as her ice-cold thumbs rubbed your tears away, perhaps an innocent enough gesture if she hadn’t also been smudging blood, her blood, from her hands at the same time.

“You’re okay, sweetheart”, she whispered, and somehow you felt calm, like whoever was in charge of your visions was willing it, getting impatient with your reactions. You wanted to scream out again, you wanted to run away, but it was like your mind wasn’t yours again. “Come home, detka, come home to us”.

Your eyes snapped open and you were met with the sight of your hand gripping the bench as you sobbed. Nausea ebbed through you as you panted, why was this happening to you? What had you done wrong to warrant being tormented, haunted like this? It was a fear that you had never felt before, and you immediately got up and began sprinting home. Maybe it was because you were in possession of the book, if you got rid of the book, then you would be free of whatever curse you now held. You nodded to yourself as tears streamed down your cheeks, confirming your plan in your head. To anyone who saw you on the street, you would have looked crazy, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You just needed to get out of this nightmare.

Your feet padded heavily against the concrete as you tried to avoid any wet leaves that would send you slipping and tumbling to the floor, and weaved in and out of people who were just trying to go about their lives. With the speed you were sprinting, it took you a mere five minutes to complete a twenty-minute walk. You tossed your apartment block door open and took to the stairs, not having the patience to wait for the lift, taking the steps two at a time.

After reaching your floor, legs burning from the lactic acid, you basically slammed your door down, thankful that none of your roommates was in the living room, and flung yourself into your bedroom, staring at the book on your drawers that now had a gold glow radiating off of it. Your face hardened as you stared at it, hatred flowing through you. That book had ruined you, and it was time for it to go.

Without hesitation, you reached your hand out and grasped it, but immediately you had to pull away from it as the same burning feeling hit. You cried out in pain as you clutched your ex-good hand, and watched in horror as the silhouette of the Scarlet Witches’ crown appeared on the palm of your left hand. The pain was excruciating, it felt like all of your skin was on fire, like your body was covered in tiny soldiers, stabbing you repetitively.

All of your energy drained as you stumbled back onto your bed, your lungs rapidly filling up with oxygen before dispelling the air as you began to hyperventilate. You were at a loss for what to do. A few weak whispers escaped your lips as you tried to call out for help, but your body betrayed you, and you passed out at the bottom of your bed.

---

A pounding on the door followed by multiple yells of your name rudely awakened you from your lengthy slumber. Your eyes opened in narrow slits as you groaned at the light streaming in and attacking your retinas, drowsiness clouding your mind, rendering you unable to comprehend what was happening. Though when a series of harsh knocks yet again pounded on your door, your eyes shot open and you jumped up off of the bed, “What?!”, you moved towards your door and shouted through.

“What do you mean ‘what’? It’s halloween, we all said we were going hiking before the party later, we’re about to go and we haven’t seen you all morning”, your roommate Sharon shouted back, followed by a sound of agreement from your other roommate Maria. “Fuck”, you whispered under your breath before shouting back through, “Right yeah, my alarm didn’t go off, give me ten minutes”. You heard a couple of groans from the other two due to you making them wait, but they agreed as you stood frozen on the other side of the door. You were far too spooked to be able to go on a friendly walk with your roommates, not when you were sure that this curse was somehow going to kill you soon with the way that it was progressing.

But, you still didn’t want to tell anyone, because they would think that you were a certified crazy person, so, you rushed around to get ready for the day. Donning some leggings, a long sleeved fleece for the chilly weather, and hiking boots, you toussled your hair a bit to make it look more presentable and like you hadn’t literally collapsed hours before. Though once you were about to leave and your nerves had eased ever so slightly thanks to the drowsiness wearing off, you noticed that your hands didn’t feel as though they were burning anymore.

You looked out your outstretched palm which sported the crown, and saw that after just a night it had faded into a scar rather than a fresh burn, a nasty scar for sure, but it was confusing how quickly it had healed. After a confused huff, you ripped the bandage off of your other hand and saw that the hourglass too had formed into a swollen scar instead of an active injury. Before you had any real time to ponder, strong hands pounded on your door again. “It’s been ten minutes hurry the fuck up”, Maria’s voice sounded through, and you shook your head, lurching across your room to grab some gloves before opening the door, shooting them an innocent smile.

“I’m ready, no need to get your panties in a twist, Hill”, you smiled and walked past her towards the kitchen, seeing Sharon rolling her eyes at you with an amused glint as you reached for your water bottle, though she quickly got up to take it out of your hands. Before you could protest she hoisted her backpack up from off the floor, “Already packed you one to save time, let’s go”.

You allowed yourself to be dragged out of the apartment by your friends, laughing at the way they had practically picked you up off of the ground. When they had put you down in front of Sharon’s car you gave a faux-pout, “That hurt my arms”.

“Awh”, Maria cooed and mimicked your expression from right next to you before placing a playful kiss on your cheek and shoving you lightly into the back door, “You’ll live”. You gave a dry laugh as she threw herself into the passenger seat, your mind now taken over by worry once more, wondering why your hands burned when Maria had kissed your cheek, and how it stopped as soon as she was out of your eyeline. Though you shrugged it off when the car horn sounded, urging you to get your ass into the car.

---

The hiking trail that you had all decided to take never failed to amaze you. The wildlife that you would see as you made your way up the steep, rocky hills made your heart flutter every single time. The smell of fresh oxygen left your nose feeling grateful as you were able to escape the city air, and the way that the sun shimmered through the canopy was enough to put a smile on your face.

Plus your friends were a welcome distraction for the horrors that had recently started occuring in your life. Many laughs were shared and you all complained about the copious amounts of work you had all been doing for your studies. It was a nice change of pace, it felt like you could finally breathe through your lungs again, the hand that had a tight grasp on them momentarily released, even with the small nagging voice in the back of your mind that wouldn’t go away.

Eventually when you were at the halfway mark of the gorgeous walk through nature, you all had to make a pitstop to go to the toilet. Luckily you had all walked this trail so many times that you knew where the toilet shack was planted, and so you all made a beeline for it. You finished first and headed outside to wait for the others, wiping your damp hands on your leggings as the dryer was broken, as it was every time.

As you looked ahead, taking in the sights, something felt off. Your mind started to feel clouded as your eyes glazed over and the skin of your hands started prickling, and it wasn’t long before your consciousness was taken over once again, making you a passenger in your own mind. Desperately, you wanted to yell out for Sharon or Maria to help you, to snap you back to reality, but it didn’t work. Your mouth wasn’t following your commands, and without your permission your legs began moving of their own accord, bringing you towards the treeline and off of the designated trail.

Your legs stung occasionally as a bramble or thorn pierced your leggings and drew blood, but like before, no sound could escape your mouth and you could make no movements to prevent the pain. After a few minutes of walking like a zombie, you heard your friends shouting your name in the distance, their voices getting more and more panicked the more that they shouted for you, screaming your name as they moved around to try and see where you were, scared that something bad had happened to you. They weren’t wrong.

Another minute later their voices were finally drowned out by the distance, and your heart began to thump painfully in your chest even more than it already had, you were too far to hear them now, which meant that even if you could shout and plead for your life, they wouldn’t hear you. They wouldn’t be able to find you now.

You were all alone.

There were many futile attempts over the course of the walk to regain control of your mind, but none of them worked. Whoever had you under their spell was a lot stronger than you, and you had a grim feeling that you knew who it was, even if you didn’t want to admit it to yourself.

After what must have been an hour of traipsing through the wilderness, all signs of civilisation long out of your sights you saw something in the distance. If you could have, you would have furrowed your brows at the familiarity. A small cabin sat solitary in the clearing, worn down and old. Untouched for some years, quite possibly a decade. Flower pots lay on the windowsills, dull and dead, the old soil in there the only proof of what once was.

Your breath hitched as the realisation hit you like a truck. The cabin from your visions, the one owned by the deceased Avengers, older and unused, but the same cabin. You wanted to scream bloody murder as your feet carried on marching towards the front door. You would rather do anything else than go in there, but you were like a robot as your journey continued, up the rickety wooden steps that were clearly the victim of water damage as they creaked under your weight.

Heart rate elevating to a dangerous rate, the door opened without any external forces, as your body entered the threshold of the cabin. Only when the door slammed behind you and the sound of the lock clicking shut echoed throughout the hallway were you granted access of your own body again. Sobs racked through you as you turned around and yanked on the door, putting your foot up on the wall to try and gain more momentum. Nothing was working.

As your cries continued, you heard a noise in the next room, and immediately you turned your body to see the door to the living room slowly creaking open. The only other sound that could be heard were your sniffles, your cries abruptly stopping as even more fear flooded through you as you watched the door open. “Hello?”, you said uncertainly, cursing yourself for being so stupid. People in horror movies always got killed as soon as they said that.

Almost as though the entities within the four walls could read your mind, you heard a raspy chuckle a few metres away, though you couldn’t see anyone in the dusty room ahead of you. You whimpered as you tried to gain control of your breathing, aware of how pathetic you must sound, but not finding it within you to care. For all you knew, you were about to die. You didn’t want to die.

As this train of thought passed through you, a gust of wind appeared from nowhere and flew through you, but through the whistling sound of it, you could make out a comforting voice trying to shush your cries. Your head snapped to the side to look towards the kitchen, the direction of which the wind came from, but again you could see nothing. “Hello?”, you tried again, your voice weary from how quickly your sobs drained your energy, “Please let me out, I won’t tell anyone, I promise just please-”, you tried to bargain for your life.

However, you stopped when you noticed a faint glow coming from the living room as two people slowly came into your sight, starting as transparent and slowly coming into their full forms. You gulped as you took in the sight of them, they looked human, but they were clearly dead, their pale skin, almost white exaggerating their respective hair colours, red and brown.

You couldn’t seem to find your voice as they slowly approached you, though this wasn’t by any mind control, you were terrified. “Sweetheart”, the brunette, Wanda, started with a small smile as she rested her cold hand on your shoulder, “We can’t let you go”, her voice was sweet, but the dark look in her eyes showed you otherwise.

“Please, I just-”, you tried again, but Natasha’s finger came up to your lips to stop you from speaking, the contrast of cold and warm sent shivers running through your body, “Nuh uh. We’ve waited for years for someone to find that book, the Darkhold, we planted it in so many places, we’ve been so lonely after all these years after having our lives ripped away from us”, she seemed to be getting frustrated, but when she looked into your eyes again she immediately calmed and remembered that you were here, “But you were the first to find it, and we’re so glad”, she whispered the last part into your ear with parted lips before pulling back with a smirk at your new flushed state.

“So glad”, her wife repeated and cupped your jaw, her grasp firm as she moved your face from side to side, examining you. You stilled whilst she did this, and tried to move backwards, but her painful grip held you in place. Once she was done she looked satisfied, as though she had just won a prize, “Look at her, Nat. So pretty”, she spoke with sparkling eyes, Natasha nodding and running a hand through your hair.

“All ours”, the redhead added on, making you stumble out of Wanda’s grip, your back harshly hitting the door. Theirs? No. You needed to get out of there, and fast. “No, I- no”, you shook your head and reached for the handle, but your wrist was painfully pulled into the clutch of Natasha as she shook her head at you, warning you not to try that again. “Oh, but you are”, Wanda continued with a voice smooth like honey, “The branding says you are”. Branding?

Confusion must have been evident on your face, as the two chuckled at your expression, making you shrink further into yourself, humiliated. Wanda and Natasha each took one of your gloves off, revealing their sigils on your palms. You looked down, wide eyed as the meaning of the marks was revealed to you, and panic ran through your veins as you attempted to pull your arms away, you just wanted to go home, you just wanted to see Maria and Sharon.

Both women scowled at your thoughts before looking at each other as though they were silently communicating, and looked back at you with gentle smiles. “It’s time sweetheart”, Natasha’s words brought you out of the trance your anxiety had put you in, and your mouth opened and closed like a fish as you tried to find words to say, but Wanda distracted you. “Don’t fight it, okay?”.

Before you had time to ask what you were supposed to not be fighting, both women pressed the pads of their fingertips to the marks on your hands, and you screamed out as white hot searing flashes of pain erupted and travelled around your skin, your entire body feeling like it was on fire. “Stop fighting”, Wanda spoke with authority as they pressed harder on the marks, making the pain increase tenfold, and you were sure that you were going to pass out. Your knees went weak, but they quickly held you up with hands on your waist, white spots beginning to cloud your vision.

You were trying so hard to get out, to escape the clutches of the ghosts that wanted you to stay with them. You wanted to go home, you wanted to see your friends, you wanted to continue going to your classes, you wanted to… you wanted to stay.

You wanted to stay.

Your eyes glazed over as red clouded your vision momentarily, before everything cleared, and the pain stopped. You drew in a breath as you stood up straight, and the two women in front of you looked at you expectedly as they cautiously withdrew their hands, wondering if the spell had worked, but when you offered them a dopey smile thanks to your brain being full of thoughts about them, they knew the spell hard worked.

Their grins were genuine as you stared at them adoringly, and they both reached forward to pull you into a hug. Their cold touch no longer felt cold, the warmth that radiated off of them reserved only for you made you feel the safest that you had ever felt. As you melted into their embrace the two women smiled at each other and increased the grip they had on you, afraid that you would disappear into thin air if they let you go.

“Welcome home, detka”.

✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Comment if you want to be added to any taglists <3

Taglist: @fxckmiup

Natasha Romanoff Taglist: @diaryoflife @unlady-like-12-25-36

#wandanat x reader #dark!wandanat x reader #dark!wanda maximoff #dark!natasha romanoff x reader #ghost!wanda maximoff #ghost!natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #scarletwidow #wandanat #scarletwidow x reader #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #halloween #spooky fic #wandanat x female reader

243 notes · View notes

quietwingsinthesky · 15 days

Note

destiel and wincest for the ship ask game :))

destiel

you know, what could have been an interesting ship has been so thoroughly destroyed by bland fanon and overrunning the website with it that my only reaction is Shut The Fuck Up. you know how people have taken saying “read any other book” to harry potter fans? Discuss Any Other Ship. the only people who should be allowed to still talk about destiel are the people who are properly freaks about it.

i pray every day that a supernatural revival brings castiel back played by a woman and that’s the only way reciprocal destiel happens. i think that would be hilarious. i would love to watch a bunch of people who are so proud of themselves for shipping this Revolutionary Queer Ship™️ stumble and fall on their faces if it worked out like that. i guarantee you no one would care that Cas has always been technically canonically genderless the whole time. how do i put it. people could hallucinate a whole finale they were denied for that gay angel when he was shaped like the man they were attracted to. they wouldn’t bother to put any amount of effort into embracing it as still being a queer narrative if cas took the body of a woman, nevermind that if that did happen, it would be arguably even more queer then before. can’t hit a character with the transfem beam just to make the ship “straight” without making everything else a lot more funky around it! but it is very obvious to me, given the disconnect between what’s in the show and what people claim about destiel, that the majority of investment has very little to do with the characters themselves and a lot more to do with the attractiveness of their male actors.

wincest

so anyway, you know how everything im annoyed with about destiel is about how there’s not much investment in the show itself or its themes or the characters beyond how they serve to further a ship? so like. having been in both circles. wincest isn’t like that. there’s people who annoy the fuck out of me in wincest circles, who i think have awful takes or are just assholes, because that’s how being a fandom is. but like. at least they do the reading, you know? the thing about supernatural, and if you’re someone who has followed me only since i started doccy whoing and only knows about spn through tumblr/destiel osmosis, i’m either sorry to inform you and/or delighted to tell you, the thing about supernatural is that it’s about incest. i’m not trying to do a shipping gotcha, i’m not being competitive about who is more canon here. incest is in the text. eric kripke did not fight the network to have mary winchester kiss her father on the mouth to sell sam’s soul to the demon who would later infect his blood with a curse he could never scrub out for people to pretend like this show isn’t about incest. they reference it in the show by name multiple times when talking about the in-universe fandom of the winchester brothers. this is what the show is about. (which. the fact that this isn’t just common knowledge and people unfamiliar with the fandom know more about destiel is so funny to me. no one goes up to game of thrones and tries to say it isn’t kicked into motion because of jaime and cersei fucking and is instead about the love story of bronn and jaime.)

it’s one thing not to engage with it out of discomfort, i understand that, one of my friends doesn’t because that themes genuinely makes him nauseous. but like. that’s what the show is about. it’s about sam and dean’s codependence and how it destroys them and every relationship they have with the people around them. its about how there’s still a core of love so powerful it can beat the devil even surrounded by all that sickness and abuse. the show never stops being about sam and dean. the center was always meant to be “family is hell.”

so what i’m saying is. i vibe with wincest a hell of a lot. this is a theme that i love. i’m a little freak who likes when gothic horror is about two siblings holding on too tight when the house crumbles down on top of them. i love that the show goes hard on placing sam and dean as brothers being on the same level or above their romantic entanglements. and like. also incest kink. but mostly, i find engaging with the text of the show from a wincest lines fascinating, because it isn’t about fighting the show as it is to get the narrative you want. it’s about interpreting what was laid out for you, on purpose.

like. the way i see the great fandom war between these two ships is: you can either look at Sex and Violence and say ‘oh this is proof dean is into dudes and also cas because the siren sort of looks like cas’ or you can say ‘the siren literally word for word says that he lured dean in by playing along as the little brother that dean needs right now as he feels sam slipping away from him and choosing ruby instead.’

wincest wins. it’s in the name.

[put any ship in my ask box and i’ll give my brutally honest opinion]

#ask #tw incest #spn #anon i hope you wanted paragraphs because if you ever ask me about spn you get paragraphs.#its the autism

16 notes · View notes

dreamofmetoday · 10 months

Text

KARINA AND WINTER DYNAMIC READING

this reading was a paid request, a big thank you to the buyer!

overall:

so they’re just very out of sync, they can get along somewhat often but it’s as if every time they’re getting along they know they’re only 2.5 seconds away from them pissing each other off. they don’t really seek to be best friends but they do want to get along. i get the vibe of wanting a work bestie almost - it’s sort of like, they know a lot of members in other groups are not actual friends but when they travel together they’re able to explore the new city or country together and still have fun so they wish to achieve that sort of dynamic. they really both don’t want to waste the unique experiences that come with their job especially, knowing that these travels and events should be cherished, so it really is motivation for them to get along. in this sense they’re both definitely putting in a somewhat significant amount of effort, this effort is also coloured by what they’ve learnt about each other over the years and is genuine compromise (and comes with pushing down their feelings and inhibits some natural behaviour). so, for example, what ends up happening is essentially winter doing things like, “okay since i’m not a picky eater, i don’t mind eating what karina wants to eat so i will just go where she wants to” and karina doing things like, “instead of getting annoyed that i almost stepped on winter’s dirty laundry again, i know she is genuinely forgetful so i will just pick it up myself (or joke about it instead of addressing it angrily)”. there’s also a sense of trying to not get annoyed by what the other person says, both of them finding each other unnecessarily hurtful or irritating. however, where the problem lies is that it’s much more difficult in practice or when it’s actually happening, which is why in the beginning i said it’s as if they’re only 2.5 seconds away from pissing each other off. basically, they both tell themselves they won’t get annoyed but then when one of them actually says something annoying it’s like, “well how am i supposed to not be upset now?” and the mood shifts from being light to awkward or tense. overall, they really try to be responsible and practical with this connection but the fact that it feels like a responsibility becomes overwhelming.

how does karina see winter:

she sees winter as someone who doesn’t care what people think, for better or worse (she likes that winter is going to be who she is but finds that she’s really immature at times). she thinks winter is almost rebellious but thinks she is clever (think: giving a real answer in an interview and not a PR one but being really smart and even funny about it), karina likes this at times but it still makes her nervous. she views winter as someone who is genuinely giving, as someone who makes an effort to be a good person to other people and gives more than she receives in most cases (which karina appreciates). however, there is the sense of understanding the fact they’re not really on the same wavelength so she sees winter as someone who is inherently different from her. she also knows winter is someone who can make her laugh a lot but also someone who can make her mad easily (so karina is honest and aware of the connection in this sense, knowing winter makes her “emotional”). she has a genuine soft spot for winter, wanting good things for her and sympathising with her rather easily but it comes with a condition almost, the condition being that winter knows her place and doesn’t try to outdo her. lastly, she thinks winter can be childish and that she can be too impulsive (even in small ways, e.g. she thinks winter is likely to say the wrong thing on bubble due to immaturity and thoughtlessness).

how does winter see karina:

winter views karina as highly capable, thinking that karina just knows the correct way to do things. winter admires this about karina but thinks it also makes karina overly demanding sometimes and impatient when people aren’t as intuitive or as smart as she is. she thinks karina has great stamina and drive, that she sees karina work hard practically every single day to achieve her goals (even in small ways such as being very strict with her diet and never making an excuse to not exercise). in this sense, winter sees karina as really authentic and honest - kind of like, “when i met karina she told me she was going to make it to the top and stay there and that’s exactly what she does daily”. winter also thinks karina values money highly but doesn’t actually see her as very selfish even though she can tell karina wants to show off, she thinks karina is very generous to her family (and likely especially her mother) and tries to share and give them a lot. she thinks karina is pretty ruthless and mean sometimes but a part of winter admires this too, since she thinks a lot of people in the industry are cruel and that karina is strong for this and won’t easily be taken down. she thinks karina is pretty, seeing her as wanted by many people but also in the sense where she views it in awe a little (e.g. why does karina wake up looking refreshed everyday and i need to shower and everything before i look normal). however, she views karina as quite lonely and that her intense focus on career is harmful - both in the sense it means she focuses on other things (such as personal connections) less and also in the sense that she’s easily upset (such as crying often when she thinks a stage or variety appearance went poorly). this is also why winter thinks her and karina simply just value different things and it causes them to walk at different paces.

#aespa #kpop tarot #tarot #kpop #celebrity tarot #karina #aespa karina #dynamic reading #celebrity #winter #aespa winter

54 notes · View notes

centi-pedve · 17 days

Note

been scouring the regretevator wiki cause i was curious (terrible wiki btw i am so sorry. one page has a citation that just links to some discord bullshit which people who are not in the server obviously cant see) anyways i am getting a terrible impression of the creator(?) and i would be interested in your thoughts on this business if youd be willing to share :3

oh goodness gracious... well we do have Some thoughts and we dunno if they match your own concerns since, we purposefully don't go out looking for whatever the creator has said but yeah even from a distance it's. Not looking good. (Already mentioned some of these before but for the sake of putting it in one place we'll be redundant)

definitely has his own takes on certain characters, headcanons, and the like. it was silly at first but as time went on and the more effort he put into pushing negativity over certain things the less fun it became. we think, if you want people to dislike a character, you try and make them dislikeable within the context of the story and then let people form those opinions. rather than being weird about the fact that there are still people who do like the character and punishing them by denying them the most basic things or even involving them in the story at all because Doesn't Deserve It. yes this is primarily about unple/asant

related but... too much of a reliance on telling stories with twitter or other unofficial platforms. did we learn nothing from the dumbledore is gay tweet. like a huge amount of information on the wiki that is very important to understanding the characters are just is NOT in the game, like if you played the game fully you'd still need to rely on the wiki to be able to participate in fandom. honestly a large part of that is why we're so biased towards certain characters! unple/asant and infe/cted are the only characters with lore and trivia and such that we've bothered to go on the wiki for and memorize. we've played the game for hours and hours but that doesnt mean much lol. once again, unple/asant especially, it literally DOESN'T TALK or participate in ANY of the active dynamic story because Doesn't Deserve It but there's still things to know about unple/asant and people who like the game just want something!! like dunno the overuse of social media in storytelling just makes it so much more unfun, we don't like how information is released and the fact that we need to rely on external material that... is sometimes taken back because the creator has gone on record Just Saying Shit. favorite example vv

Which is really funny considering it has 1 piece of dialogue on the game. So it can physically speak, and is also not "mewing 24/7" by result of having that dialogue (pretty sure the creator was just encouraged to say that without giving a fuck but, whatever). but the things that happen in game are second to the creator's twitter feed AMIRIGHTFELLAS

3. the,. the ableism. we've heard people tried to bring it up with the creator in the past and they were ignored so we feel comfortable mentioning it lol. bi/ve is a stereotype of someone who suffers from paranoia really, we mean we love her but... lol... and we will say it again pe/st should not canonically have npd or aspd. like omggg the evil character that robs people has two pds negatively stereotyped as belonging to evil people we're sure there was no bias in this decision. maybe we'd be less bothered if people didn't treat it as so serious and pretend to be cluster b allies like "you have to give him some understanding cuz he has aspd and npd 🥺" like no because he's evil, also maybe it wouldn't hurt to care about real people with those pds instead of a caricature. also the half-hearted throwing around of the word "mute" for unple/asant has been pointed out as ableist by a lot of people.

tldr uhhh wuhgghh NOT A PERSONAL ATTACK nobody get us (: nobody talk us...

#asks #good morning! (starts bitching

9 notes · View notes

masterofpasta95 · 8 months

Text

The “Eggman is actually an adapted insult from Sonic!” thing that we are now proudly reminded of every 20 minutes makes me irrationally angry so I’m going to put an unnecessary amount of effort into explaining why it sucks.

Supreme dumbass (although, perhaps not pointless) nerd rage below.

This seemingly innocuous thing is somehow emblematic of everything I do not like regarding how Sonic is currently handled. It:

- is one of the most blatant “Flynn-isms” (providing an explanation to something which does not need one entirely for the sake of winning brownie points with the fandom and “solving inconsistencies”)

- treats localized material like it is “equally as legitimate” as things which the actual creators of sonic made

- instead of taking the path of least resistance, the explanation is still convoluted and contradictory with other information, therefore meaning its purpose of “solving things” isn’t even fucking accomplished

- makes Eggman, the character, less interesting.

Let’s make a ground rule clear: his name is supposed to be Eggman. We could talk about the merits of “Robotnik” as a name as much as we like, but the fact of the matter is, whether you like it or not, his original, intended name is Eggman. And it works, because this character LOOKS like a fuckin Egg Man.

“Eggman” is a great name because it makes him seem silly and non-threatening, not in spite of it. Eggman is a character defined by contrast; he’s smart, but he’s also kind of absent-minded. He sometimes looks friendly, but he can also look scary and ugly under the right conditions because of his toothy grin and vibrant, perfectly circular glasses. He’s quite jolly and funny, but also capable of extreme anger and desperation.

He seems silly and harmless, but is capable of single-handedly destroying entire ecosystems and designing scarily effective hedgehog killing machines.

He’s trying to do things he think will “improve” the earth, but he ruins it in the process.

If you make Eggman purely evil and imposing, you miss the point of Eggman. These are traits Eggman has in common with actual strangely intelligent manchildren. I would know.

However, I would argue the single most key thing about “Eggman” as a name is it’s second half: man. Eggman is generally representative of humanity and it’s insatiable desire for “progress,” at the cost of everything in its way. And, you know, the “Egg” half is self explanatory.

So, personally, I would say that there is not much reason to try and legitimize “Robotnik” in the first place, beyond it sounding cool and having a pun in it. Eggman is not only more fitting, it is more meaningful.

This is all relevant, because this “adapted insult” shit is spawned exclusively from a desire to try and make the way it was for Americans in real life- Robotnik “changed” to Eggman- the case in THE ACTUAL IN-LORE CANON OF SONIC THE FUCKING BLUE CARTOON HEDGEHOG, for some god forsaken reason. This whole Robotnik thing is also the primary headliner for how the American versions of non-American stories are now given more priority, because they are the more well-known versions, which more or less only serves to retroactively simplify the actual themes Classic Sonic was going for. Why would you do this as a storyteller, unless you were irrationally trying to make everything “equally valid?” It’s supremely shitty to do this fandom-satisfying stuff when viewed from a lens of actual artistic integrity. (And it also makes trying to convince people that Classic Sonic has more going on than it looks a god damn nightmare because they live in this ouroboros-esque feedback loop of misinformation)

And you can’t argue that his name was Robotnik in-universe up until SA1, anyways, and that all of this “wasn’t actually in the games, so it doesn’t contradict anything if it’s retconned!” These things come up all the time in these debates already, and you’re probably bored to tears of hearing about them, but I’m going to use them anyways.

Lol.

You could argue that “oh, he just adapted the insult before Sonic 2!” to which I have to ask, what’s the god damn point, then? Congratulations. He is “Robotnik” for one, maybe two games. You’re not getting what you want out of this, either.

Well, now we have an interesting question on our hands. Why WOULD he call himself “Eggman?”

This is where things become more headcanon-y, but it’s all extrapolated from actual character quirks of Eggman’s.

“Adapted insult” is honestly fiiiine as another “he’s always trying to be one step ahead of Sonic!” thing, but the logic is really tortured and it’s far more interesting to explore “Eggman” as a conscious, self-chosen name.

Consider for a moment how egotistical and proud of himself Eggman is. He genuinely thinks he is the single most awesome specimen there is, he’s so proud of his intelligence and vision that he oftentimes forgets the most basic of logic, in a “you forgot the first rule of X!” sort of way.

Eggman is also a businessman. And all businessmen are obsessed with one thing above all else: marketing.

And so, I choose to interpret “Eggman” as him deliberately selling his image as a perfectly spherical weirdo with a big mustache. It could even be something like a “superhero name,” he’s so proud of it that he wants everyone to know it and respect it. He is the Eggman, that’s what he is, and don’t ask again.

If he came up with a catchy name for himself and started plastering it everywhere, every single person would eventually know who “The Eggman” is. And it’s not like Eggman is insecure about being fat, or whatever; again, he thinks he’s perfect. “Eggman” is a name he’s both proud of and is great for marketing.

Every logo of his also fits cleanly into this “plastering The Eggman everywhere” idea; they’re all either of the word “Egg” itself, or something to do with his appearance, most commonly just straight up his face.

Oh, yeah, and as alluded to earlier, his god damn theme song is about how proud he is about being “The Eggman.”

In summary, “His name was Robotnik, and then Sonic insulted him by calling him Eggman, so he just decided to roll with it” is a dumb explanation, made entirely to both-sides something that is actively worse for being both-sides’ed, and it is significantly better characterization-wise if Eggman just came up with the name himself.

Thus concludes this week’s edition of Pasta’s Dumb Nerd Soapbox, I hope I explained myself well.

#eggman #sonic the hedgehog

26 notes · View notes

ibroughtyoumybullets · 7 days

Text

very funny how i continue to go on the internet and expect to see well though, reasonable responses like some kind of fool. do i think watcher jumping to SVOD at this moment in time is a good idea? no, not really. i don’t think they quite have the streaming numbers or appropriate primary age demographic for it to work out. i also don’t think they put out enough content at the moment for it to be worth it (forgive the pun) for most people. i think they could have pivoted more slowly, outlined their plan further out from its implementation, and considered other non-youtube options instead of doing this.

i also think it’s really silly how people will bitch and moan about google’s monopoly on video hosting and the increasing nanny-state sanitization of the internet in an effort to appeal to advertisers who want every single piece of media to be palatable for people ages 03-99+, and then when a company does attempt to get around that because they have some basic artistic integrity people become furious that they aren’t being spoon fed content for free and on demand.

i have seen a good amount of responses that boil down to “oh i can’t afford that. that sucks. good luck guys!” and that’s a perfectly normal way to react. like you can be sad about not being able to afford content you enjoy. i would feel the same way and don’t see anything wrong with that.

but it’s so laughably out of touch to act like a company pivoting their revenue source so they can free themselves from under advertisers thumbs is … a scam? scummy? somehow #problematic? it doesn’t even make sense. not everything you don’t like that inconveniences you is cancellable. join the real world.

ultimately with what little knowledge i have i get the feeling they expanded too much too fast and are now trying to fix that without having to do lay offs / cancel future plans. i have, honestly, wondered why they have so many people on staff? it certainly must make everybody’s lives easier within the company but i don’t know if i think that, or their (admittedly very very cool) offices and super fancy sets, were necessary from the get go. i think they were used to a certain standard of production coming from buzzfeed, sought to recreate that in their own company, and came to realize they just straight up can’t afford to maintain that within their current business model. and that sucks. i and a lot of other people are definitely fine with, or even prefer in some ways, a less polished standard of production but it’s clear that they Don’t and the art they want to make goes beyond dudes in a car with blue and yellow text on a screen. they are all adults with established careers - that’s perfectly logical.

ultimately i don’t even know if i’ll sub. i’ll probably test run it. they’ve made a lot of content i enjoy over the years and would like to give them a chance. do i think it will work out in the long run? no. but it definitely won’t work if people act like wanting to pay their bills and give their employees health insurance is a crime and strike them from the public record of Perfect and Awesome Creators Who Will Never Fail Us On Pain Of Death.

but also maybe i need to stop looking for level headed nuance on tunglr dot come

7 notes · View notes

magnoliabloomfield · 9 months

Text

The new label “Pick Me Girl” and the return of Y2K fashion made me realize something. If you were a teen in the 2000’s, no matter what kind of girl you were, you were a pick me girl.

But! It wasn’t your fault. During your most developmental sponge like years they drowned you in Pick Me Propaganda.

We had music:

“I’d rather be anything but ordinary please.”- Avril

“Never wore cover up, always beat the boys up.”-Avril

“She’s like so whatever, you could do so much better, I think we should get together now.”-Avril

“Paper, or plastic, don’t matter, she’ll have it. Vacations and shopping sprees, these are a few of her favorite things. She’ll get what she wants if she’s willing to please, his type of girl ways comes with a fee. Hey now there’s nothing for free. Girls don’t like boys girls like cars and money. Boys will laugh at girls when they’re not funny.”-Good Charlotte

“Christina wouldn’t wanna meet her, she hates you Brittany so you better run for cover. My girl, is a hot girl, a riot girl and she’s taking on the world. Emergency call 911 she’s pissed off at everyone.”-Good Charlotte

“Never win first place, don’t support the team, can’t take direction and my socks are never clean… LA told me you’ll be a pop star, all you have to change is everything you are. Tired of being compared to damn Brittany Spears, she’s so pretty, that just ain’t me.”-P!nk

“The waiter just took my table, gave it to Jessica Simps.”-P!nk

“She doesn’t get your humor like I do… I’m listening to the kind of music she doesn’t like and she’ll never know your story like I do. But she wears short skirts I wear T-shirts, she’s cheer captain and I’m on the bleachers…. She wears high heels I wear sneakers…”-Taylor Swift

“Im not a supermodel, I still eat McDonalds… who says I can’t wear my converse with my dress, well baby that’s just me.”-Demi Lovato

“Don’t you wish your girlfriend was hot like me”-Pussycat Dolls

“I’m the kind of girl that hangs with the guys, like a fly on the wall with my secret eyes. Taking it in try to be feminine with my makeup bag watching all the sin. Misfit, I sit, lit up, wicked. Everybody else surrounded by the girls with the tank tops and flirty words.”-No Doubt

“I’m no queen, I’m no machine, I still go to Taco Bell, raw as hell, I don’t care, I’m still real.”-Fergie

“Everybody’s looking at me now, like who’s that chick that’s rockin kicks, she gotta be from out of town. It’s so hard with my girls not around me, it’s definitely not a Nashville party. Cause all I see are stilettos, guess I never got the memo.”-Miley

And we had movies like

Cinderella Story and how she’s different because she eats burgers instead of salad and worked hard.

10 Things I Hate About You where Kat still tried too hard and wasn’t herself, she was so I to the idea that you have to be what others want you to be that she consciously chose to be the exact opposite instead of doing what she liked because she liked it.

Mean Girls where you’re different if you’re secure and confident in your own body and not an insecure catty girl.

What a Girl Wants where your cultural difference makes you better and also walking on the beach and having a steady hand with nail polish is superior to getting a pedicure.

And how many of them depicted a nerdy “ugly” girl taking off her glasses, practicing basic hygiene, adding some lip gloss and oh now her crush can see she exists and falls in love with her. Or girls are rivals over some guy who isn’t even worth it.

So, no matter if you were preppy or punk, you were putting in the same amount of effort to not be something else, which is where the return of Y2K fashion comes into play.

Whatever you were trying so hard not to be in the 2000’s or your teens in general, do it now. I bet there was something you secretly wanted from the other side and wouldn’t indulge in because you had your superiority to uphold.

I Wanna see a retired grunge skater girl in a juicy tracksuit with oversized purse and sunglasses. I wanna see a former Paris Hilton minion learn to skateboard in some unnecessarily puffy skate shoes and a neck tie over their tank top.

Also anyone who was too poor or repressed by their strict parents to finally get the things you most wanted at that age but never had.

Now we can retrospectively look back and pick and choose the good stuff from that era, like my ass crack is way too long now for low rise jeans, I’ll never wear them below my hip bones ever again, but that’s neither here nor there. The point is we need to take this opportunity to heal our Y2K selves, have a redo, “I wish that I knew what I know now, when I was younger” whole thing. So many of us have shed our pick me girl ways and whole heartedly embraced Women Supporting Women, so let’s redo the amazing fashion time that was the 2000’s with that mentality.

“Most girls are smart and strong and beautiful. Most girls work hard go far we are unstoppable. Most girls, our fight to make everyday, no two are the same. I wanna be like I wanna be like Most Girls.”

#Y2K #pick me girl #most girls #feminism #women supporting women #women empowering women

24 notes · View notes

adventures-in-a-world-of-fiction · 2 months

Text

Thinking about the Willy Wonka Experience thing, and I think they probably could have got away with it if they'd been less stingy with the sweets. I'm not saying it would ever have been good. Clearly the aim was to cut every possible corner and put in the bare minimum amount of effort to make off with as much money as possible, but there's a line between "this was shoddy, over-priced and disappointing," and "this was a scam and enough people are so angry that the police have to be called".

The AI-generated script, the lack of effects, the terrible set dressing - those were never going to be fixed without the organisers actually giving a damn, but they could have bought a pile of cheap chocolate to give out. The articles I've read talk about the actors rationing the jellybeans and still running out, even though the event closed early, but the organisers must have known how many advanced tickets had been sold. They could have bought a load of sweets so that everyone could have a couple of chocolate bars, a lollypop, a chocolate coin, and the handful of jelly beans. It probably would have only come out to a couple of quid per person when bought in bulk, still nowhere near to being worth the entrance cost, but at least people would have felt they got something for their money.

People were expecting a chocolate fountain and you can buy a cheap one of those for less than the cost of a single person's ticket. And sure, that's not counting the cost of the chocolate, but you could get a load of cheap chocolate, a bunch of wooden kebab skewers, and a pile of marshmallows, and for a cost of about 50p per person, they could have given kids the experience of sticking a marshmallow on a stick, putting it in the fountain, and getting to eat it.

With some unfortunate actor doing their best to improvise a fun time with no resources, this could have added a whole five minutes to the way-too-short experience.

Clearly it was always going to be terrible, but if the organisers had just brought in a load of chocolate bars, it could have achieved the level of badness where people just leave a one star review and tell their friends never to go, rather than become a story that makes major news. There might have been a few stories in the local paper about how it was a terrible event and the attendees all said it was bad, but it wouldn't be spoken of outside of the immediate area.

And that makes me wonder how many other events like this are going to be out there that we don't hear about because they're just terrible instead of so terrible it becomes funny to talk about it. There are bound to be other people trying to pull off something like this again, using AI for the marketing and scripts, but we're probably not going to hear about most of them because the organisers will have learned from this one and know to put in just enough effort to cross the bare minimum threshold to be considered a bad event rather than an outright scam.

#willy's chocolate experience

9 notes · View notes

omgitslin · 4 months

Text

Badsansuary day 5, 6, and 7.

Brief mentions of cannibalism in day 5 along with a bunch of other general horrortale stuff, other than that pretty much everything is wholesome.

Horror x Reader (Platonic)

Badsansuary Day Five - Good Soup

Trying something new today. 😉

Notice: this one will have a few.. Unpleasant topics mentioned, but I already stated this above.

__________

You were sick with a cold. It was unpleasant, but it wasn't bad enough to leave you bedridden. It was mostly just a snotty nose and a fever.

Horror, on the other hand, thought it was terrible. He didn't want you to get out of bed, because “sick humans are weak humans, and weak humans die.”

It's very morbid, but you've grown used to that. After all.. You were in the Underground.

Horror had informed you a long time ago that the Underground used to be.. Well, not as scary. But after a while, the CORE malfunctioned. They all lost power. Food became scarce.

Undyne went on a power trip, and the monsters started eating each other.. And other humans.

You were just glad he decided not to kill you. He never told you why, but.. Well, you were just grateful.

What you weren't grateful for was how sick you were.

You were laying in bed now, trying to rest so that you'd heal faster.

Horror stepped into the room, and placed a bowl in your hands.

It was.. Hot water and.. meat. Soup, maybe? You looked up at him with a curious expression. You hoped that the meat wasn't from what you thought it was.

Horror noticed your expression and chuckled, “it's deer, muffin. fell down a hole. now eat."

You decided not to question it. After all, Horror didn't lie about food.

So you ate the soup.

It was nice.

Horror x Reader (platonic)

Badsansuary Day Six - Pepper

Horror was in the kitchen, making some mac and cheese for dinner. You were helping him, mainly by grabbing everything he needed and giving it to him when he asked.

And eventually he asked for pepper. You handed it to him, and he put a generous helping into the mac and cheese.

He let it boil for a moment, moving on to getting the chicken off the pan and cutting it into small pieces.

He was making something similar to chicken alfredo, but with cheese instead of alfredo since there wasn't any in the pantry and you both didn't feel like going to the store.

Eventually, the meal was finished and Horror put it on two plates.

You both sat down to eat.

You could do this in relative silence, because you had lived together for some time.

In the kind of neighborhood you lived in, it would be unsafe to live alone.

Anyway. You took a bite of the mac and cheese + chicken and frowned.

“Oh my goodness that's way too much pepper-”

You said after swallowing.

Horror laughed, “yeah.. i noticed. i still got some chicken left over, if you wanna eat that instead.”

He didn't seem bothered by the ungodly amount of pepper in the macaroni.

“Yeah.. Sorry, Horror. I don't mean to be—"

He interrupted you, “don't be sorry, muffin. everyone's got somethin’ they don't like.”

You smiled at him, and went to get the chicken instead. He took your plate with the macaroni and ate it himself.

The chicken was a lot better.

Horror x Reader (platonic)

Badsansuary Day 7 - Go All Out

It was Halloween today.

You, Horror, and the rest of the boys were decorating the house to celebrate the holiday.

You kind of procrastinated until it was too late, but you were grateful they were helping you anyway.

And they were, surprisingly, putting a lot of effort into it. Decorative cobwebs, scary statues, a candy bowl that would jumpscare you when you grabbed candy, and a lot of other stuff.

They even dressed up.

It was.. Endearing.

You were helping them, too, with the things that didn't involve going on the roof. They could prevent themselves from getting hurt if they fell. You couldn't.

So, while they strung up a bunch of Halloween themed tinsel.. Or something, you didn't know the name, you decorated the window with silly Halloween window stickers.

It must've been funny for the neighbors to see you decorating so last minute.

“hey muffin, how do ya like it?” Horror called, prompting you to look at how it had turned out so far. You backed up, moving away from the window to take a look.

It was awesome.

It was spooky, but not spooky enough to deter people from knocking on the door. It clearly had a lot of care put into it, and you could tell that they actually put effort into it.

You didn't respond for a while, simply taking in the view.

“I love it,” you finally declared.

When Halloween was over, you didn't take the decorations down for a few weeks.

You were such a procrastinator..

____________________

Horror belongs to Sour Apple Studios!

#badsansuary #general horrortale creepiness #dark topics mentioned in day 5 #my writing #reader x horror sans #horror sans #and the other bad sanses but they aren't mentioned by name #but it's platonic again #3 in 1 #i love procrastinating #i need to stop doing that #anyway

7 notes · View notes

pangtasias-atelier · 1 year

Text

Cafe Chonkies

This has been in my drafts for some time but finally churned out another idea for a l3agu3 story. This is kinda jokey at the beginning cause it's funny and also cause I kept adding to this story so now it's at like 5k words lmao. Also don't worry about how any of this makes sense in canon cause I sure didn't lmao

Featuring Yo/ne, Se/tt, & Ka/yn cause this is a gift for @beepboop260 despite me being a day late lol

Warning: This is a fetish story!

“I’m to do, what?” Kayn smooths out the singular minor crease on the very bottom flap of his black suit. In his uniform, the stuffy attire never feels quite right compared to his more casual style of dressing, but with a tantalizingly nice paycheck always awaiting him, Kayn can put up with the effort of appearing somewhat proper. Said paycheck is nice enough for him to get past his small beginner belly that is clearly evident by the form fitting suit.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Kayn having questioned his boss, she ignores his pointless question. Instead, Renata Glasc pulls out a cigar. And it’s the fattest, biggest stogie known to man, it juts out a several feet in front of Renata as she lights it and takes a drag. And she blows the smoke at Kayn directly into his face as if he were a poor, small Victorian child. Which he might as well be next to her, Renata one of the most disgustingly filthy rich people in all of Valor.

Of course, with so much money built off the back breaking, dulling work from everyone besides oneself, laundering money is a necessity. Renata’s cutthroat nature involving anything and everything meant that a fair amount of what was meant to be simple “business ventures” actually flourished.

One such business being a maid cafe, the idea originally pitched by the upcoming group of interns hired to help the company keep an aware mind of the spending habits of the younger generation. And also for free labor, mostly for free labor actually. The idea eventually proposed to the companies’ executives through spinning the narrative by somehow making it about turning gender norms around by creating a maid cafe with instead butlers to allow women to regain empowerment and also even creating an lgbtqia+ friendly environment, the idea had been approved like many others all to secretly launder money.

What no one had expected — no one besides Renata who easily predicted the likelihood of such a venture gaining traction — was that the many degenerates who enjoyed going to such places would easily fund said businesses. And there was no shortage of equally degenerate individuals who would apply for such a job, especially one that paid well — nowhere near close to the amount that Renata herself earned of course.

As Kayn coughs into his gloved hand, his smoke delirious mind envisioning as if the smoke was forming around his neck and choking him, Renata takes a second drag of her fat ass cigar.

“Well? The boss shouldn’t have to be at the store for work to get done,” Blowing one more puff of smoke at Kayn, Renata passes by the no smoking sign as she goes into her office.

Now free, he takes off his gloves so as to not dirty them. Kayn first opens the couple of windows that can be opened. He takes a few deep breaths of fresh, non-smoke filled air before doing what Renata asked of him. He rummages through the store’s stock of food. Clearly told which items to grab, he grabs everything that is within thirty days of expiring. He grabs a bevy of different pastries, the sugary calorie dense sweets piled onto a couple massively wide serving trays. And after finishing that, he starts digging through the entire stock of drinks. The place trying to maintain a semblance of upscaleness — a point that allowed them to easily upcharge on everything — Kayn pulls out all the fresh ingredients close to expiring. He places them on the counter and sorts them by recipes. Having memorized a good chunk of recipes from his long time working here, the task goes by quickly as he sees which drinks can be made from just near expiring stuff. Upon completing that, Renata’s project finished, Kayn organizes the pastries a bit better to help make the bundle of food more appealing.

Eventually, he hears the faint chime of the doorbell at the front. Without even paying much attention, he walks over to go open the door, the other two employees right on time.

The two of them far newer than everyone else, the two had quickly become popular with the store’s clientele. Which when next together makes evident why both had become popular.

A fiery red mop of hair atop an outstandingly tall figure, Sett has much more than just height to draw in a crowd. His entire figure teems and bulges with muscles, Sett seeming out of place working in such a place instead of being in a bodybuilder competition. His suit is tailored just like all the other employees, the sleeves of his suit just stretchy enough to not tear from his powerful biceps that can rival the size of someone’s head even when only mildly flexed. His chest similarly strains his suit. His breast pocket had gone unused ever since joining, no room to fit anything inside with how much space his jutting chest takes up. His suit remains unbuttoned, a purposeful decision to show off the struggling buttons of his white button up. His body thick and wide, the tiny gaps of his shirt offer the smallest window into seeing his tanned defined abs. Sett’s trousers are also designed with the similar mindset of giving the customers what they want. His perky bubble butt gained through years of dedication to squats and cycling is perfectly outlined. His rear is equally a spot of admiration from the guests, many grabbing it just as they do his pecs and biceps. His strong thighs also press against the thin yet durable fabric of his trousers, the defined musculature even visible. His trousers tailored to taper along the hard contours of Sett’s body, even his bulging calves seem impressive.

Next to Sett is another rather large individual. Piercing black hair that drapes all the way down the man’s back is Yone. Yone stands at a rather short height, his slightly below average height typical of those from his country. However, his musculature is atypical. Or rather, his clear lack of it. For Yone is a complete butterball. Originally only a bit past pudgy, Yone’s time at his new job easily found him packing on the pounds. His rather sizable tummy is now doughy enough to sag down to just barely cover his crotch, his belly covering up his fat pad. The lone, singular button on his suit is actually buttoned. Although it is strained by holding back the waterfall of flab. The shape of his chunky love handles are accentuated by the flaps of his suit, the material curving outward to accommodate Yone’s flabby curves. Both his soft, squishy gut and love handles receive special attention from the cafe’s guests, Yone getting his own demanding share of attention from the usuals. The suit is tailored to make sure that it fits him well; the sleeves bulge from his bulky arms, the flabby rolls that encase Yone’s biceps outlined. Despite Yone’s top heavy figure, his rear still has a good amount of heft to it. His ass shakes and wobbles behind him, the two cushiony piles of lard stretching his pants. His thighs also shake and quiver from waddling around the store.

The fact that they joined at the same time helped further everyone’s enamorment with them, the duo practically being given almost always the same shifts like today. Which made sense with the two being a couple, Yone only applying due to Sett’s insistence. And because they both needed the money.

The intrigue of hiring a duo had captured Renata’s attention, the boss herself bothering to care about the cafe due to the enjoyment of seeing what she considered people desperate enough to work at such a place and the people degenerate enough to stay and enjoy the humiliation. The two being in a relationship was meaningless, not with Human Resources preferring to protect the company rather than the individual.

Kayn unlocks the door with the keys given to him and stands aside as he opens the door for the two to walk in. Individually of course, the doorway not quite made with the expectation of two large men entering together. Sett ducks slightly, his ears scraping against the top of the door otherwise. Yone feels the sides of his gut brush against the door, his face always turning a faint shade of blush like every day he starts his shift. Kayn flips the sign to open before closing back the door so as to avoid a draft.

Next to the other two, Kayn is far more plain. Standing at an unassuming height of just a couple inches above average. The most striking feature about him is the scar on his left eye. A feature which adds to his edgy, bad boy vibe and charm that attracts a different clientele compared to Sett and Yone. Though the two’s clientele have begun to rub off on Kayn, the longer working employee having gained a bit of heft from all the food offered to him. Far from fat, his stomach is only a small beginner’s belly. The extra food coupled with Kayn’s usual workout routine now leaves him with a slight bit of both musculature and pudge. Which the cafe’s usuals enjoy with them having another one to poke and prod and feel up.

Sett is the first of the two to notice the stockpiled food on the counter. “Oh hey, it’s clean out day,” Walking side by side with Yone, he pats his boyfriend on his doughy back with what would usually be an infectious grin if not for the only other men being the grumpy Kayn and stoic Yone.

“You wouldn’t stop mentioning it during our entire day off,” Like the rest of the employees, the trio only work four days of the week so as to not be full time and receive benefits; as such, Yone had specifically been given the day before and after today’s expected busy day. Yone waddles on over to go behind the counter, careful to properly maneuver and bump into the furniture with his large, sagging belly and wide hips. His stomach gurgles and grumbles, the fat male clearly a bit famished. Sett follows directly behind Yone; he grabs and fondles his belly, feeling the heft of it like he always does.

“I’ll prepare everything. You,” Kayn points at Yone. “Go sit on the main couch cause otherwise, you’ll eat everything before anyone gets here. Sett can help make sure everything is clean,” Kayn bossing the other around often, the other two do as told. Sett does his task with much more fervor than Yone, the obese butler grumbling as he does as instructed. Sett makes a show of his cleaning, an extra swish in his hips and ass with what should be simple movements. And flexing his huge biceps by lifting the largest pieces of furniture to dust them.

The beginning of the day is pretty much dead, which is to be expected when the first day of the month is on a Wednesday. Despite not opening until noon, the day starts off with a slow unsteady trickle of customers coming and going. But the ones that do. make sure to take advantage of the day’s special offer always provided on the first of every month — a tradition that began shortly after Yone’s employment.

Expired goods once being thrown away straight to garbage instead of being offered to food insecure people lest people believe Renata to be anything resembling a humanitarian, the business’ clientele allowed to do basically whatever they wanted to the staff — which isn’t far off from any other job offering customer service — allowed the guests to offer food to their staff. Food purchased only from the cafe, of course. But to help boost sales, and save what would usually expire, anything purchased came with the bonus of an extra pastry or small beverage, which would more often than not be fed to the usual victim, Yone. It takes approximately a little more than thirty minutes of being open before they receive any guests.

They receive two at once, the both of them clearly together.

“Welcome! Come on in,” Sett greets them with a simple flex of his right arm, not willing to show off everything right away — especially when mostly everyone today is mostly going to be here for Yone. Despite the two being usuals, they still fawn and aww over Sett. Well, one does; the other goes straight to the counter to order and bother Kayn. Sett looks down as he feels a pair of hands on his chest. “Damn, you always do get handsy. Not that I mind,” Unable to get the best look because of his chest and with his guest barely coming up to his tits, he smirks at the bit of his customer. Sett allows himself to be manhandled. He holds back his laughter from hearing Kayn’s harsh remarks as he gets grabbed, the cashier’s demeaning nature a turn on for some people.

“If you’re going to harass someone, go bother the lardass on the couch,” Kayn hands two of the free pastries, but not without getting a pat on his small tummy. Which leaves him with a scalding red blush on his face.

Sett soon ushers his own guest to go bother Yone. “Seems like your friend is done. Go give Yone a good squeeze for me,”

And so, Yone promptly ends up with both of them at the same time. The couch is thankfully wide enough to accommodate multiple people even with Yone sitting on it; Yone sits in the center while the two customers sit on each side of Yone. The two given their own bonus pastry as they await their order, they hold it out with an eager outstretched hand for Yone to eat. Their extra hands both rest on Yone’s great, big belly.

Money being money, Yone shifts into his usual work behavior. “It warms my heart to see such treasured guests once again. How may I help you?” Yone deepens his voice ever so slightly. He leans back into the couch, both of his arms outstretched on the couch behind both guests.

Both of his guests giggle to themselves, both of them used to Yone’s portrayal of the stoic, caring butler, especially when Yone basically does nothing throughout most of his shift besides eating whatever is handed to him. The two clearly together, they take turns offering their treat to the large man. Both of them rest against his cushiony figure, sinking into the sides of his flabby, rotund gut. Yone tries to take small bites of the confections — the blueberry muffin and cream cheese danish always some of his favorites — but the guests nearly shove the treats down his hungry maw, Yone forced to eat larger bites. The confections are some of his favorites, though everything is Yone’s favorite whenever it comes to whatever the guests feed him.

“Ah, such ea-” Yone’s words are cut off with the final bite of the danish shoved into his mouth. Though he doesn’t object much or at all even, instead he greedily chomps down on the offered delectable treat with a bit of a flush to his face. And before he can properly fully enjoy the aftertaste of the danish, the rest of the blueberry muffin is similarly crammed into him.

“Alright, here’s your food,” Carrying one server tray in his right hand, Kayn brings the two their food — though it’s more so Yone’s food considering everyone feeds him like a pet waiting for its treats which isn’t too far off from the truth. Small tables are situated at both ends of the couch. So Kayn places the food on each table, a decently sized bowl of soup on one table and a hefty sandwich on the other end plus a complimentary water with each serving. “Enjoy your food. Though it seems this hog is going to be the one enjoying it,” Kayn reaches forward to grab Yone’s gut. He pushes against the mass of blubber, seeing the way his hands sink into and squish Yone’s blubber. “Make sure to enjoy him as much as you can,” And with a final smack to the side of Yone’s gut, Kayn heads back to the counter to await whenever the next guest comes on such a slow day.

“Open wide,” Yone’s guests ask, no command of him. Careful to not waste a single bit of the food, one of them brings the sandwich to Yone’s mouth. He dutifully chomps down on the meal; the well toasted bread crunching as he chews on it, the warmed cured meats and cheeses seemingly melting in his mouth as the still cool spinach and tomatoes offer a bit of contrast. As he chews, his other guest wipes away the crumbs that dust his cherubic cheeks and chin. He promptly is given a spoonful of soup. A simple, warm tomato soup offered to him, Yone can taste the hint of rosemary and basil that compliments it. He can barely make out the distant grin coming from Kayn who made it exactly as Yone likes. The soup is also at just the right temperature so as to not burn his tongue. The two keep a steady tempo of feeding Yone, both of them clearly experienced at stuffing the store’s big porcine pet. Their turns of swapping are only interrupted when they bring their water to Yone and make him chug, forcing Yone to drink his fill. That and when Yone inevitably finished the sandwich first. Immediately after that, he’s promptly coerced into chugging the rest of the soup, the bowl brought and tipped to his lips while he leans his head back to eagerly devour it all.

Yone accepts everything that’s handed to him, eager to please his two guests. He keeps on eating even when they order another soup and sandwich. He eats the extra pair of free sweets and the soup and sandwich afterwards. He eats it all without a single complaint until they stop offering him food. He allows them to rub his belly, the two of them squeezing and rubbing it as if it were both a stress ball and a good luck charm before they head out.

“Good job. Now you gotta last the rest of the shift,” Sett chuckles at Yone while he picks up the plates of food. He whistles to himself, aware that even if the day will be slow overall, it will inevitably pick up.

And pick up it does; it never gets as crazy as it does on the weekends, but the customers come and go in a steady stream. All of them come for the big main attraction, Yone. The food at the cafe rather decent, everyone at least buys one thing to pawn off to Yone, the dedicated fat butler eating every single bite offered to him. He even gets a whole group at once not too far off from closing, a whole gaggle of men greedily grabbing and feeding Yone as much as he eats. Which is all of it, the plump, fat Yone taking everything offered to him. Yone’s eyes droop throughout his shift with more and more food beginning to settle inside him. But he continues to lazily nod along to whatever is said to him, Yone also beginning to speak less and less as his mind starts to focus more on the stuffed nature of his gut. He lazily opens his mouth to every forkful and spoonful of what is given to him. His stomach loses its gelatinous and saggy nature, the ball of fat growing firmer with less give to it from all the food. And his guests love it, playing and rubbing his gut. Every single pair of hands seem to find their way to Yone’s gut, his skin slowly peeking more throughout his shirt as his shift goes by.

Thankfully for Yone, the very last hour of the day has them seeing no customers, Yone able to catch his breath after the stream of guests. His gut furiously churns with so much stuffed inside him; the sound seems to reverberate in his brain, his upset belly refusing to go unheard of. Yone simply remains seated in his couch, waiting for a possible last minute guest that never comes.

And as soon as the clock hits closing time, Kayn flips the sign over to ‘closed’. After locking the door, he heads back to the counter/kitchen to clean up. Sett cleans and organizes the front of the store. Meanwhile, Yone remains seated on his fat ass, a mess of groans now that all the guests are gone. He reaches down to whatever bit of his gut he can reach. So bloated, the button had come undone some time ago by most likely one of the several many guests who’d stuffed him.

Yone is fully reclined into the back of the couch. Having not moved at all throughout his entire shift, the couch has a large Yone-sized indent in the very center. The frame sags and bends down its center from his weight. His large gut rests atop his cushiony thighs. The exposed mass of blubber making up his stomach churns and gurgles from all the food stuffed and crammed into him. His stomach is far more taut than it usually is. The popped bottom few buttons of his shirt leave the lower half skin of his bloated belly exposed, the lower bits of flab escaping and sagging down the gaps of fabric; it also shows off his happy trail, the small trail of body hair thickening and widening the further it goes down his gut. Yone is nearly a groaning mess. He attempts to assuage the bubbling discomfort in his gut by rubbing his distended tummy. He reaches down as far as he can get, his hands only really able to reach the upper echelon of blubber above his cavernous navel.

“You feeling full yet, Yone?” Yone groans as Sett pats his engorged stomach.

"Ughhh," Yone groans in response to Sett's question before letting out a small burp. "Soo full…" He remains seated on the wide couch, refusing to budge even an inch so as to not upset his tummy. His gut furiously makes its stuffed state known, his taxed belly churning and bubbling to do its best to digest the several pounds of food Yone ate during his shift; his belly refuses for its complaints to go unheard, Yone unabashedly groaning and wincing now with no guests present. He has his eyes closed.

And then he hears noise in the kitchen, the blender whirring to life as it’s put to work.

Kayn soon comes out behind the counter with a nearly full blender in his hand. And a makeshift funnel in the other.

Yone can feel his stomach churning just from him looking at the oh so full container of liquid coming his way. Yet he can’t get up, his oh so full belly making it difficult for him to do so.

“And here we have the last bit of leftovers,” Kayn has his usual shit eating grin on his face as he towers over the seated Yone. “Made sure to save some to make a special little shake for you,” Kayn delicately presses his fingers against the upper bit of Yone’s gut.

Yone tries his best to squirm away but his churning gut refuses to let him budge without a modicum of pain. Doing his best to look at Sett, he only sees his boyfriend happily grinning at the sight. Sett also has his phone pulled out, clearly recording the whole situation. That only turns Yone on, the thought of others seeing him like this-. He moans before he can finish that thought.

“You know damn well he approves of this. Now, open up,” Kayn smiles as Yone doesn’t even put up a fight, the butterball always happy to eat now, and think later. Kayn places the funnel in Yone’s mouth. Despite wishing to cram more food in his gut, Kayn does, at the least, make sure to not put any pressure on Yone while he kneels on the couch to fill him up. Kayn tips the end of the blender. The thick shake seems to slowly trickle down the funnel, Kayn never once losing his smile.

Yone accepts and awaits his fate. He has his eyes closed. The viscous, cloyingly sweet shake gushes down Yone’s funnel, the poor overstuffed man forced to accept his fat as he struggles to chug it all. He focuses on only drinking all of the shake and not his churning, gurgling bomb for a stomach that seems to kick and punch itself frown how much food Yone can and loves to put away. Each desperate, haggard gulp of shake that Yone takes is only replaced by more and more of the shake awaiting him, begging him to eat it all and satisfy the bit of his brain that craved to eat and stuff himself even more. Especially when he has an obedient audience of two in front of him. Kayn is unrelenting with the flow, but the rapid speed at which he pours the shake — and the rapid pace at which Yone devours it all — helps to make it not last too long. Soon enough, Yone finds the funnel pulled out of his mouth, the excruciating task of guzzling the entire blender worth of shake over as quickly as it began.

“Damn,” Is all Kayn can utter upon seeing just how fast and obediently Yone put it all away. Turning to look at the now done recording Sett, all he gets is a thumbs up and a grin, Sett well aware of Yone’s submissive nature when it comes to food. Yone is a mess of huffs; he can only really take in quick yet deep gulps of air to try and hopefully wait out the pain of his entire stomach aching.

“You poor thing,” Sett joining the two, he truly towers over the seated, massive Yone. Yone averts his gaze, his face flushed. “Your fatass must be emaciated to be able to eat all of that,” Sett taunts Yone, the stuffed man turning more furiously red.

Kayn’s eyes widen slightly upon Yone’s continued reactions, his behavior suddenly painfully obvious to him. “And here I thought you had a bit more self-respect,” Kayn smiles down on Yone. “But you’re nothing more than a submissive glutton,” Kayn leans forward and places a slight amount of pressure on Yone who can do nothing else but whimper. “I’ll make sure to remember that for the future,” Kayn gives Yone a wink. He also goes back to his corner of the store to clean up. But not before giving Yone a small appreciative pat on his overstuffed tummy.

Sett does the same, the two working quickly to finish everything before they get a furious work email about overtime not being a thing for them.

Yone just remains seated, trying his best to digest everything. He stays in his spot on the couch even when Kayn finishes and gives him a couple headpats before heading out. Yone waits for Sett, his boyfriend not having much left to clean.

And as soon as Sett finishes cleaning up he walks on over to Yone. Clearly unaffected by the large binges having taken place today, Sett retains every ounce of powerful muscle on his frame. "Let's get you home, big guy," Sett leans over to help him up, bringing a powerful bicep to help him up. He peels Yone up off of the couch. And Yone quickly uses Sett's body to lean on. His big gut sloshes and sways with his heavy step. His entire frame jiggles and wobbles from the effort of waddling to maneuver such wide, fat thighs. One step after the other, Yone is a mess of groans, the movement clearly upsetting his gut. A gut that makes its stuffed state known not only to Yone but to Sett as well, the churning of his stomach extremely loud.

"Hang in there," Sett rests a now ungloved hand on Yone's gut, Sett having removed his gloves immediately after work. After slowly easing Yone through the doorway, in which Yone has to walk through sideways. Both his ass and gut graze against the sides of it. The building armed and locked and secured, Sett continues helping Yone walk with such a full gut.

"I-I…" Yone manages to groan out while he uncomfortably walks despite so much food crammed into him. His porcine face creates a deepened frown from his doughy jowls.

Sett grins as he helps Yone along; Sett grabs and pinches Yone's blubbery rolls. “Come on, we’re on after work hours now. Just say what's on your mind, or your gut in your case ‘cause that seems to do most of your thinking. Not that I mind, big fella,” Sett nimbly positions himself to stand in front of Yone. Leaning down, he uses one hand to help lift up Yone’s gut; his other hand reaches all the way down to Yone’s hand, a big heaping of Yone’s fat ass gripped. Sett leans down to kiss Yone, the much fatter man doing his best to lean into the embrace, even as Sett eventually breaks apart with a deep breath.

"I'm… kinda hungry… again…" Yone whines out. He leans a bit more of his crushing weight against Sett, Sett the only one able to truly support and help him.

"Oh, don't you worry about that," Yone squirms under Sett's patting of his gut. "I'll make sure to properly fill that tank of yours, cause damn you can put away food," Sett picks up the pace.

Yone hums in agreement. Always so difficult to feel absolutely, completely stuffed, his current pretty bloated sensation feels nice but not quite enough. He takes careful steps to follow Sett's lead, stomach already churning to make room for extra food, the two always taking advantage of the job's free food to stuff him silly and plan to continue and take advantage of.

#fat story #fat fiction #male weight gain #my writing

34 notes · View notes