Latest Posts by solemniumpop - Page 3

A few weeks ago the UN reported that everyone in Gaza is facing a food crisis -and that 1 in every 4 people in Gaza are starving -a quarter of their population is hundreds of thousands of Palestinian people. EVERYONE is hungry -their medical systems have collapsed and there are imminent outbreaks of diseases. How HUMILIATING and dehumanizing it is to have to fight for basic necessities. Imagine seeing a humanitarian truck -something rare because as we know the IOF has been collectively punishing Palestinian people for months now and has been committing mass genocide under the guide of 'war.' Not letting through resources to prevent people from dying from starvation is beyond depraved. And the fact we will NEVER see this on western/European mass media is just... absolutely infuriating.

Writing Resources: Smut

Writing Resources Masterlist

Fictional Kisses

How to write a kiss

How to write a kiss scene

How to Write Better Smut

How to write romance

List of vocal sounds for smut

More smut words

Quick tips for writing sexual tension

Sexual sentences

Words and phrases to include in sex scenes

Writing sexual tension

Draw your characters like this

I did a redraw of a 2 year old self-insert piece:

They are watching a horror movie and a jumpscare popped up >:)

(Click for quality)

Here’s the old one:

Shapeshifter Anon here ^v^ 

And now for Act 2 : “Basement Life”

Entry 1 : I was lured into this pit with the promise of slutty monster men, which was true, but I can only survive off bagels and yandere shenanigans for so long. *Note - request soda for future projects*

Entry 2 : I, and some other followers, wandered around the basement looking for a way to escape and wreck havoc on the surface (spreading yandere monster whore content to the world) when we discovered a forgotten bag of bagels. I hypothesize that these were remnants from the feedings that our fallen comrades collected and left behin-/-//\\_/| -our captor opened the door...

Entry 3 : We managed to sneak the ancient bagel bag into a hidden spot unde-/-\|__-/—\||\_ ...... - distracted our captor with the mating dance of the bagel (managed to get an extra bag of bagels *Note - store the extras in-/-/\|\_/—\||_*)

Entry 4 : It won’t be long now.... our keeper can only contain us for so long, soon we will lay waste to her work room and devour all the hidden Oc’s secrets..........

... ... ... ...

Entry ?? : HAHAHAH.....MWHAHAHAHaHAhAhaaaaa!

So anyway, have fun in the attic. <:}

Okay, after reading the one about reader strutting into the monster bar, I need one where they don't get scared. Imagine, this huge dumbass walking into a den of monsters, not giving a flying fuck.

And the catch is, they have the biggest luck and the most killer charisma imaginable so they just get out of every situation somehow (that implies that stuff like this happens a lot) I need unhinged gremlin reader with god on their side, please 😩

[Outstanding, you have the power of God and anime on your side, nobody fucks with you anon.]

God rolled the dice and your stats somehow came out intelligence 0, charisma 10 and luck 20. That makes 30 altogether, you're overpowered as fuck.

You've become a bit of a phenomenon around The Clergy's Eye. A strange sort of creature feature, a minor celebrity of sorts.

Everyone knows about that one random human that walked inside the establishment one day and immediately began hitting on the majority of the workers there. Why did you do it? What possessed you to enter The Clergy in the first place? Why are you determined to fuck every asshole monster you see? How are you even still alive?!

Such are the mysteries of The Clergy's Eye's universe.

Almost every single day, you find time in your schedule to show up at the establishment with a new scheme to get into someone's pants (or lack thereof). Krulu is particularly interested in your existence, for The Clergy's unnatural aura fails to irk you out of approaching the place. The eldritch being cannot tell if you're a particularly powerful human, or quite possibly so unintelligent that his mental illusion work bounces right off your utterly concave skull.

Part of them is almost terrified of it.

The manager also isn't fond of how some employees are starting to get cozy with you. You've acquired a bit of a quasi-protection squad along time- His workers began deeming you too entertaining a human to simply dispose of, and now you've charmed them into keeping you safe within The Clergy's walls. More often than not, you actually fail to realize the levels of danger you're in. Krulu can count dozens of incidents where you were unknowingly at death's doors and escaped unscathed because some attentive fool whisked you away just in time.

It's incredible how you've moved the hearts of some of the monsters working here with your unfiltered buffoonery. Krulu themselves had more trouble convincing a couple to work here than you had getting them to adore you. It makes him livid and bitterly curious.

Gallon will go through the trouble of softening his every drink so you can drink without contracting grave illnesses, purely so you'll hang around his bar longer. Grimbly will neglect deliveries so he can zoom around you and try to drag you into sitting at a booth with him. Santi is determined to give you his phone number and doesn't even mention money when you start making hints. Morell outright refuses to cook you and even allows you to hold his cleaver. Patches and Nebul constantly beckon you to their floors so they can shower you in gifts.

You're like some disruptive therapy animal parading around the place and it has Krulu clawing at his horns. You're a menace to this business and he's sick and tired of you meddling around. You need to be terminated. Perhaps they were wrong all this time. You're not some half-wit with extreme luck, you're a mastermind. You know exactly what you're doing, this is a scheme. What are your goals? What could such a human want with his establishment? Is this revenge for what Krulu has done to your kind?

The elevator to Krulu's darkened lair chimes softly. They sigh in relief.

" Admin, finally. I must have a word with you immediate- "

" So you're the big cheese around here, eh? "

Oh fuck. Oh no. IT'S YOU. Who gave you access to this floor?

You have finally come for him.

jamie redesign cause why not. they're from harvest moon if your wondering

I totally get that yandere Miguel is a force to be reckoned with, but like… y’all are SEVERELY underestimating the capabilities of the other Spideys when it comes to fighting him.

ESPECIALLY if he keeps you trapped in the Spider Society building. Miguel would be exactly one “Spider-Person who can’t find the bathroom” away from someone figuring out you’re being held against your will. The second Miguel loses his composure about you, every single Spidey-Sense in the room goes off HARD. Peter B even considers distracting him with Mayday so someone can spring you from your jail.

You can’t convince me that almost every single Spider-Person wouldn’t have your back if they found out what Miguel was doing. He is abusing the HELL out his power and that is not at all responsible. If you get my drift.

Watch this become one of my most-attention-given posts when i’m not even a reader insert blog 🫠

listen I say this with patience bc some people may genuinely have not thought about this before but if you firmly say “AI art is terribly unethical and steals from artists” (which is correct) but then turn around and use voice AIs to generate songs/voice lines that sound like your favourite voice actors or singers……………………………………that is also AI art and it is also terribly unethical

We need everyone's help right now to protect the rainforest and Indigenous People

The Amazon Rainforest is under a massive threat. I know you've heard this a million times, but this is different. There is a piece of legislation that will decimate the rights of Indigenous people of Brazil, who have been protecting the rainforest. It's unfathomably bad. It has majority support. And they're voting tomorrow. As reported here, the Bill allows "the Brazilian government to find energy resources, set up military bases, develop strategic roads, and implement commercial agriculture on protected Indigenous tribal lands, without any prior discussion with the affected peoples."

The thing you can do—and I know this sounds overly simple—is sign this petition—and tell your friends to do the same: SIGN HERE.

As reported here, the Bill allows "the Brazilian government to find energy resources, set up military bases, develop strategic roads, and implement commercial agriculture on protected Indigenous tribal lands, without any prior discussion with the affected peoples."

Again, this bill has majority support. You may be wondering, why will a petition signed by people who don't live in Brazil make any difference? Because it will give those opposing it political air cover. It will show the world is with them.

But we need a LOT of signatures.

Please do this simple act and spread the word.

hey!! i’m doing commissions now!!

Extra character = +50% of the price of one

Background/props = negotiable (heavily dependent on what it is)

Profile Pictures:

Ref Sheet 1 = $40 [Rendered = $50]

1 full body, 2 half-bodies, 1 portrait, 1 chibi (may be liable to change)

Example (Unrendered) -

Ref sheet 2 = $25 [Rendered = $35]

1 full body, 2 portraits (may be liable to change)

Chibi sketch = $5 [colored + shaded = $10]

WILL DO:

OCs/self-insert

ships/fanart

furry art

realism

mild gore/violence

mild nsfw

WON’T DO:

mecha art

hate art

fetish art

heavy gore/nsfw

NFTs

Please provide a visual reference and/or a detailed description if applicable.

I have the right to refuse a commission that I don’t want to do/can’t do.

I have the right to post the commission piece at my discretion.

Payment will be received in full after rough draft is accepted.

No refunds.

Finished pieces can be sent through email or shared through Google Drive.

More examples :)

Reach out through my email: sk.closet025@gmail.com or through DMs!

For payment I use PayPal: @skcloset025 , and CashApp: $skcloset025

Guys, if you read on AO3 please try to create an account. So many of us writers are going to be forced to lock down our fics to registered users out of necessity to help keep AI away, and it kills us because we don’t want to stop any of you from reading.

AO3 is invite only. So if you know an AO3 user, ask if they have an invitation to give you (we’re given invite codes to share with others who want to join) because that’s an easy way to get in. If you don’t know someone you can ask, this is AO3’s instructions for requesting one from them…

I know this seems like an extra step and maybe you don’t think you need it and can just read from people who haven’t locked their fics. But this isn’t just about you as the reader. If you enjoy fics and you want to keep them coming, this is how you support your favorite writers! If our stats and comments plummet, I guarantee writing is going to start going down as well. Nobody wants that! So please consider making an account and signal boosting this as well! 🙏🏻

**NOTE: AO3 indicates (as of today) there’s 48k some people in the queue for invites and they’re sending out about 5k per day. That’s not a bad wait at all!!**

You're my favorite writer, and König is my favorite aussie man, so OF COURSE im making you write for him, hal, BEAR W ME !

Alright, what do you think about König with the “You’re here late.” prompt? The reader is part of KorTac and always worked alongside König, since they both entered about the same time, because of the readers personality, they are always fighting, one of these fights are specifically bad, leading the reader to go on a mission with another KorTac member, to help out somewhere else and take their mind off things, when the reader face a problem on the mission and ends up arriving late, König is furious.

Moths Hit the Window

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Fights with König were always loud, but this time his comments went a bit too far.

WORD COUNT: 5.9k

WARNINGS: Verbal fighting, angst, high tension, blood & stitches, wounds, canon typical violence, guns/weapons, death, suggestive near the end, fluff, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: Huge thanks to @idocarealot for the German translations!! Also, König's wearing the arachnid skin in this because I love it sm - enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You seethe. If eyes could turn red yous would be a beautiful shade of crimson—bloody knives ripping out of the cornea to strike whoever happened to get too close. It was as if the very air boiled with the force of a raging tsunami as you stomped down the local military base’s hallways, covered in blood and guts. Never had you reconsidered working for KorTac more than at this very moment. 

Maybe I should just become a mercenary, you rip at the torn-apart gloves over your hands and jerk your arm out. Passerbyers quickly avert their eyes as you shove them into a garbage can and continue on with a growl. No shitty rules, no regulations—no fucking partners.

If people happened to slide past without noticing the steam coming out of your ears, they would have immediately locked eyes on the pure elephant of a man trailing fast behind. König’s eyes were goring into the back of your neck, gray and tan garb swaying as the packs and flash grenades on his combat vest bounced with every step. Accents of red do nothing in comparison to his visible flesh—the section of his eyes uncovered by his mask and head rig alight around his obsidian gaze. 

 König was muttering to himself far under his breath, curses and harsh comments all in German that he wouldn’t say to your face. At least not right now in view of others. 

“I can hear you, you dimwit,” you hiss over your shoulder, grinding your teeth as you both make your way to the armory, “curse me out quieter!” 

“You are making a scene!” The beast grunts, that heavily accented English striking your eardrums with its harsh dialect. 

“Oh, jeez!” You raise your voice even higher, turning back forward and clenching your hands into fists as blood and guts drip off your gear—none of it yours. “I’m just so damn embarrassed, König! I’m making such a large and obnoxious display. Whatever will I do?!” Sarcasm like a valuable drug is injected into the waves of your voice. People from open doorways look out with shock, brows pulled up. 

Everyone quickly darts back away when you snap your head in their direction and send them a scathing glare.

No one was surprised to find you and the Austrian going at it again but knew well enough to stay out of the crossfire. Lest someone get roped into it.

“Fuck off!” You spit the last curse into the burning air and shove past a soldier ahead of you.

König’s dark eyes flash dangerously, lips under his mask twisting into a sneer. The man’s shoulders seem to dig in even farther, spine curling over as if a brooding child. 

This had all started the second you’d joined up with KorTac. Fresh out of the military and eager to get back into the game after a good vacation the PMC group had been at the top of your list. But if you’d known you’d be paired up with this damn mountain every chance there was just because he’d got into the game at nearly the same time as you, you’d have put in your luck with SpecGru. 

“I do not see how this is appropriate behavior,” König follows as you place your palms on the black metal of the armory door, pressing with your shoulders. “I did what I was tasked to do—”

The masked man is cut off as you whirl on your heels, the door slamming shut as his body is shoved into it with strong arms. Dark eyes go wide in surprise, feeling the dig of your nails on his abdomen as your form presses into him and the chill of the door on his spine. You feel his skin bunch under his thick shirt and even if you want to stare him down that’s just not an option. Your warm figures shuffle together with panting breaths and dangerous glints in your eyes. 

“Bull,” you drag out the word, growling it right up into his neck; sniper hood caressing your chin. König’s breath hitches with shakes of swirling emotions. “Shit.”

Shoving once more so he gets the point, you push off of him and stalk away like a feral wolf, already unclipping grenades and medical packs from your vest. 

“You’re the damn reason the target got away!” Gear is thrown haphazardly to the long table in the center of the room. The Austrian watches with predatory eyes, hands clenched so hard that they quiver. He stays still, watching, as you send scathing glances. “The reason we’re going to be here for ten times longer than we’re supposed to be!” 

“It is not my fault you failed to properly check the perimeter before you rushed in like a fool.” Volatile couldn’t be used to describe this…this was nothing short of volcanic. It was as if there were two sides of a scale filled with bullets and gunpowder—fire in the middle that was equally heating both piles as they raised and lowered erratically. König’s voice grates over the air, “I did what I could to fix your scheiße plan!”

“Don’t you shit on my plan!” You point, voice bouncing off the weapon racks as you rip the rifle strap from over your chest, chucking it away. 

“I will shit on it—it was…it was…!”  König’s voice cuts out and he can’t find the words. The Austrian descends into visceral German ramblings. “Es war so ziemlich der schlechteste Plan, den ich je gehört hab. Welcher halbwegs vernünftige Mensch geht in eine heiße Zone ohne vorher alle Zielobjekte richtig zu markieren?! Ich kann dich und deine Rücksichtslosigkeit nicht mehr leiden — du bringst mich um meinen Verstand! Hast du überhaupt ein Gehirn in deinem Schädel?”

You shake your head to yourself, heart pounding. “You’re still the one that was supposed to focus on the HVT. I rushed so he would flush out, but, no,” taking out the magazine of the rifle you hold it in your hands like an accusatory ruler that a teacher would hold. König shoves off the door and stands to his full height; arms tensed and straining before they coil around his chest in a soothing gesture. 

He hated the fighting—the constant strain between the two of you. But when you were together it could never amount to anything else. The room felt like it was a million degrees.

Your eyes stab at him, “No! You had to go and focus on me! I hate to break this to you,  König,” feet come forward and you once again find yourself close to him—breathing the same air and taking in the scent of gunpowder and blood. You point the tip of the magazine into his chest. His unseen lips pull; jaw clenching with held-back fire. “But I am not your damn mutt to keep on a leash. I had it under control.”

It’s as if you don’t realize the Austrian could snap you in half with a single kick of his leg, as if the sheer size of König had slipped your mind as a whole. His hands could snap your neck in an instant, but that was only if he got ahold of you. 

But that was a line the both of you were never planning to cross. Words were one thing in this profession, actions another. If you ever got into a physical fight, you’d both kill each other, no doubt. 

You’d like to think you’re a bit above that, but perhaps not.

König’s chest rises and falls deeply, taking in calming breaths as he tries to get his temper under control. “You didn’t,” he jeers out, “I saved your life, you Heißluftgebläse. And if you wanted to be treated less than a dog,” he grunts to you, head pulling down close to your face, harshly whispering out, “You could have simply asked me, yes?”

You both snarl at each other's throats like rabid animals, the world disappearing all around the obsidian eyes that match with yours; for a moment you get lost in the shining bits of silver in his iris that seem to burn with chilled iron. What little skin you can see is flushed and tight—hawk nose nearly poking out your eye as you’re leaned over like a giraffe near a bush.

Body vibrating, you sharply breathe, “I’m not even going to ask what that fucking means, you tool.”

“Good.” The words are bitten and fast, “because I am not telling you.”

“Great!”

“Perfekt!” You both were arguing like children. Hot faces and unwilling to let the other have the last word. If you got along it might have been funny. 

“I’m going to dump all of your Einspänner out on the tarmac.” Your sure voice echoes with a definitive promise to the tone. 

Pale lids widen in horror at the threat to the Austrian's favorite beverage, comfortably sitting in the Base’s fridge. 

“You would not,” König’s tone is deathly serious and you smirk, eyes dancing. “You…” a guttural growl meets the air, mind translating words and giving meanings, “beast of a woman!”

“Oh, is that the best you can fucking do?!” You yell, splaying your hands out widely and moving away from him. “Now that’s really a show stopper, König, I’m shaking in my damn boots.” 

“Ich komm mit dir nicht mehr klar.” König yells, moving back and placing both of his hands atop his head, knuckles white. “You’re rude—you do not even try to get along. You are loud and disrespectful; how do you live like this?!”

Your eyes slightly widen, watching the Austrian.

“Don’t try?” You echo, scoffing loudly. “What do you mean don’t try? I was the one to try and smooth things out between us in the beginning.”

“When?!” König spreads his hands out, knees slightly bent. “Because I have no recollection of such events.”

“Well of course you wouldn’t!” The heat was meeting a breaking point—words were getting more personal, sharper. Like a blade being honed for the kill slowly; being sharpened by rocks and whetstones of conviction. 

König points a finger at you, voice going low and thin, “I’ve had enough of you, yes?” His sniper hood moves rapidly with his fast ricochets of breath. “Just about enough. Would you have wanted me to let you die?”

“I had it,” your lips spit, nose scrunched, and forehead tight. The man’s chest vibrates with a mute growl. 

In all actuality, you’d never seen him this worked up before. König wasn’t above giving your quips back even if he obviously disliked it—most of that was due to the strange familiarity between the two of you. In large crowds, the man preferred to stay silent. This only added to his almost deadly aura with others, though you knew the muteness was because of social anxiety and not some built silence. He wasn’t shy per se, just afraid he’d say something wrong; mess up the conversation. You did most of the talking in meetings and you never minded it. Added him in when the topic was something he knew a lot about.

Your mind had addled it up to thinking it was cute, actually. How his feet would shuffle; his half-lidded gaze and his intense eye contact to let them know he was still listening. When he’d have to remind himself to look away with a pinch to his thigh because it was starting to seem threatening. It was endearing, even.

But around people König knew, well, he was going to speak his mind. No matter how long it takes his brain to catch up with his lips.

The only thing the two of you were good at was being moths—hitting the metaphorical window over and over on the same topics and tension points. Slamming heads and flapping wings. You were at the end of your rope just as he was.

“I should have never taken you as a partner!” He calls, feet splayed. “Should have gotten out of this the second you were assigned with me. Gott, ich hab wirklich versucht, dich zu verstehen — Ich hätte gleich aufgeben sollen.” Your lips thin, lungs stalling as all the air vacates the room. You stand still and listen to what he really thinks, fingers shaking.

König’s large form towers over all, great sparks of electricity flying out. His gear shakes as he moves, thigh straps pushing fabric to shift and conform to his body. Your blood pumps with brewing hesitance. 

Maybe this had gone too far. I’ve never seen him like this.

“I can’t stand you any longer! Pathetic squabbles that mean nothing, absolutely ludicrous plans that make little headway.” Your head bursts with aggression and what little warning signs you have are squashed. “I can’t keep saving you because you can’t do your job correctly!”

“You don’t have to save me at all!” You scream. “You can’t keep your damn eyes off of me for five seconds, König.” Feet move away quickly from the armory door as if someone had come to put away their stuff but thought better of it. The next words burst from you before you can think of the contents. “It’s like you fucking love me or something!”

König doesn’t miss a beat, but for months afterward, he wishes he had.

“Oh, do not make me laugh—” he scoffs ferally, adrenaline making him talk, “as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place.” 

Twin eyes widen and both parties immediately fall silent. A sharp inhale.

Too far.

Under the hood, König’s face goes an embarrassing shade of red all the way down to his chest. Fingers freeze. Jaw slackens.

You feel like your heart was just grasped in his grip and ripped out of your ribs with one violent motion—one sentence out of all the others enough to knock down the rebuttal that had formed on the tip of your tongue. Your throat closes up as you blink in shock.

“I-I…” König stutters, mind blanking as he struggles for words. But anger was easier than pain.

Numb fingers rip off the last of your weapons and belongings as you let them hit the floor with defining thuds as warm shame floods your cheeks. Shaky puffs of breath like a panting dog. Dark eyes watch with regretful panic, heart jumping and eyes flinching. The adrenaline it…it made him forget himself on occasion—how to properly act when not on the battlefield. It was like that with everyone but…but he hadn’t meant that.

Shame that it’s already too late.

Your fisted hand slams into his chest, brutal and unforgiving. König lets off a grunt but does nothing as you slither past, hissing into his ear, “Find yourself a new punching bag.”

His hand snaps to his breast where you had slammed your KorTac patch right into his heart, catching it. It’s many moments before he can think enough through the alarm; form words.

“I…I didn’t…oh, du blöde Kuh!” 

By the time the man composed himself, panicked tears burning in his eyes, the door had already slammed shut. His feet squeaked over the tile to an empty audience. 

—

Private Military Companies don’t have ranks. There are no Sergeants, Lieutenants, Generals or Colonels. Just people. Beyond the orders you’d been hired on, there was nothing keeping you in line with König on this mission. And those orders were loose at best.

Adhere to policy and listen to the Base’s COs. Shut up and get the job done. 

The Austrian and you weren’t due out for another week because of rotations. Since you’d failed to capture or kill the HTV that you were assigned, another group had picked up the tracks in the meantime. Like an oiled machine, the gears of this operation kept whirling. 

Evolve, or die. 

“Lieutenant!” You call to the geared-up man on the tarmac—the one heading that very same group. It had been only a few hours since the incident in the armory. You needed a distraction; blood was still running high and brain pounding for release. There were only so many times you could bruise your fists and legs on a punching bag before people started giving you nervous looks. “Need an extra hand?”

Your voice sounds strained, even to you. The man looks you over once and narrows his eyes. Nods not moments later. 

“Get tired of your big friend? Okay, how fast can you be ready for me?” You feel your shoulders loosen, a relieved sigh exiting your lips.

“Three minutes.”

“...get to it then. We move in five.” 

So that was how you found yourself backed into a corner five hours into the op from hell—bloody knife held tightly in your grip and mouth open in ragged pants. 

“Fuck,” your vest is torn and riddled with bullets; your entire chest must be bruised by now because it surely aches like it is. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You really are reckless, just like König had said you were. Maybe you’d just never realized it because he always seemed to watch your six. This…this was really bad. The comms were awash with screaming orders and panic, ringing out across the abandoned mining factory that exploded with light from gunfire and the sounds that accompanied it. You knew for a fact three soldiers were down; two KIA. 

The Lieutenant is one of them. 

Your hand snaps to the radio strapped to your chest, one eye squinted in pain at the ragged slice across your left brow line. At your feet, two heavily armed men lay dead. 

“Pull back! They knew we were coming!” But your word didn’t carry weight here. Your face twists between pain and rage. König’s comment still rings in your ears as the onset of tinnitus does, as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place. It wasn’t ideal to be thinking about this now—it was detrimental that you didn’t. 

But König and the things he did often stained your brain. No matter how much you tried to distance yourself from that fact. 

Snapping the knife in your grasp down in an arch to dispel the blood from the blade, you take a steel-laced inhale and shove off the wall. Limping, but moving. Sprained ankle. Nothing you hadn’t dealt with before.

The concrete under you is splattered with crimson viscera and you stumble over spasming bodies riddled with bullets. With a subdued shink you slip your knife into its thigh sheath, grabbing the FTac Recon strapped around your chest after slamming a fresh mag into it. With a numb calm overcoming you, you slip your forefinger into the trigger guard, poised over the easy press of the trigger itself. 

The long shadows spread over you; your head illuminated by the dull sheen of the moon as you pass under a stretch of open sky to slink into the building across the empty street. Feral yells still bounce off the air and you go to them readily, purpose settling in your veins. 

Pain flies to the back of your mind, displaced by adrenaline and the rabid puffs of breath that fall like grinding thunder from your lips.  

You wonder what König’s thinking right now—he’d without a doubt noticed that you were gone. He’d even probably gone to your barracks room to try and apologize and found it empty. That was just how he was. 

Would he be happy? You wondered. Relieved to see you out of his life? You’d both done nothing but fight, but there were moments of peace. Understanding. 

Shared meals and comfortable, yet sarcastic, comments; soft glances when the other wasn’t looking. Heat in your face and obviously shown on his when shy hands brushed. 

Your hold tightens on your gun, brows dripping with sweat as it dribbles down along with the blood. Gunfire flashes. 

Closer now.

Shadows scream on top of a raised walkway attached to an in-mountain compound, targets with trigger fingers firing on your fellows who take cover behind crumbling walls. Pinned down. You watch, unseen, from a broken window as dust and moths collide. 

Your eyes lock on the closest hostile and you raise your weapon slowly, barrel resting on the frame between shattered glass. You clock the distance and adjust accordingly; breaths falling steady. 

The small insect that keeps hitting the window plays in your mind over and over—drowning out the yells; the fire. 

Just a moth readily willing to smash into that barrier until it dies. You hum under your breath and rest the gun into the crook of your shoulder, cheek to stock. 

Your finger slams into the trigger. 

—

You stumble out of the loud infirmary with a bloody rag pressed deeply into your forehead, medical pouch under one arm. You hear rushing feet and barked orders from nurses and doctors just before the door closes, cutting off as you stake out on your own.

Limping, you reason there were others with more severe wounds than your own; as blood drips from your flooded rag, your feet take you deep into the base one broken step at a time. You’d figure it out yourself. 

Plus, the silence would give you time to think. Think about König. 

You just gritted your teeth and decided that was better than taking up space in the infirmary. 

In times like these, the Austrian would fix your wounds for you, just as you did his. While you had your disagreements and heated fights, he’d never made it as personal as he had hours beforehand. Never made it hurt. 

“Jesus,” you mutter, rubbing your other crusty hand over the mud along your chin. Everything ached and you don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. 

Flinching along like a downed bird, you shove through into the last door into the barracks; thoughts now stuck on finding a chair to sit down on before your legs gave out. The darkness of the common area was deep—staining your eyelids as you grunt, bumping into the back of the couch. 

It’s almost funny the way the lamp flicked on mere moments later. 

You hiss, eyes snapping shut as the rays attack your sight, rendering you blind for a moment. The shaking hand on your dripping rag tightens before the spark of pain makes you lighten the pressure. 

There’s a dark grunt just as you open your eyes back up.

“You are late.” König. 

He sits in one of the chairs—sniper hood still over his head yet only clothed in a large compression shirt and casual camo pants. Like a disappointed parent, the Austrian’s arms were crossed over his chest; feet resting out and crossed at the ankles. With such a big stature the look could strike fear into anyone. 

Anyone but you, that is. 

König’s dark eyes rove over you, stopping immediately on the fabric you keep to your forehead. The previous, furious, tone stops and the flash of very real concern takes precedence. His hands tighten on his biceps, thighs tensing over the cushion; spine just a little bit straighter. 

You watch and say nothing—dead-faced. 

Your heart suddenly skips beats, stuck into the framework of the man’s eyes. König’s brows peel back and a timid stutter stays in your breast.

“...Vögelchen?” Lids blink rapidly, and before you can register anything because of your blood loss and fatigue, you’re being dragged to the couch and forced to sit down. 

Strong hands encompass your shoulders and small breaths flutter in front of your face as König peels back to kneel in front of you; spying the medical pouch in your under-arm. 

“What is this?” He mutters to you, vision flinching along your body but always dragging back to the bloody rag on your face. “What did you do to yourself?” 

Scarred hands raise before pausing, obsidian eyes staring deeply into yours as if in frantic question. Your own gaze keeps him close, spying on his veiled fear at the sight of your blood and your disappearance. He’d heard about the mission, then, that much was upfront because of his earlier comment. 

The humvee had been late arriving back. Half an hour. 

“Fuck off,” you utter, shoving off the couch before you’re captured in an unyielding press again, shoved down. Your anger spikes along with your unease, “König! I don’t have the patience—”

“I’m sorry.” The fight leaves you. 

Fingers squeeze your biceps, hold lightly shaking with nerves. “I did not mean it.” Obsidian pierces you, “Please, Vögelchen, I am sorry. Utterly. I speak so fast I misplace words—get far more,” words fail as you stare so intently at him, a strange feeling swirling in your gut. König’s face was going crimson again, though not from anger. His tone was deep and honest, accent becoming more whole with emotion. The hands on your skin stay. “Rude than I intend. It is not an excuse, but…”

In the horizontal oval of his hood, you spy the dots of tiny freckles; the whispers of auburn hair. That hawk nose still points violently from behind the fabric. König never finishes his sentence, just takes a large breath and looks to the side after a moment of silence. 

Then he steals the medical pack from your grip and opens the zipper with firm fingers, taking out gloves and gauze. Needle and sutures. It’s all placed on the side table as the bear of an Austrian stays on his knees for you—bending and shifting as the bottom of his shirt rides up. 

It’s a tense affair of touching skin; warmth and hissed curses. Gentle shushing. But you say nothing through it. Until he’s up in your face trying off stitches with forceps and a needle holder, breath making his hood lightly caress your bloodless face. His fingers are large and firm, never second-guessing or stuttering over the course of directing tools that dig a needling and thread into your flesh. 

He’s warm and every motion elicits shivers. You see his form from the side of your eye; his face’s outline as the lamp light illuminates the hood’s fabric. Shadowy silhouette of König’s strong jaw that shifts with every other breath from his wide chest. 

“You’re an asshole for saying that to me, y’know.” you slip your gaze away just as he snaps over. “Adrenaline or not.” 

The needle pauses and a swift nod is given. 

“I…I know it was. No amount of apologizing can explain how very horrible I feel. It was like I was so…so…” An annoyed grunt was leveled at himself.

“Pissed off?” You offer quietly. 

“Yes! Pissed off.” Amused glances were shared, the air slowly smoothing out between the two of you. Dark eyes quickly look away from yours and König clears his throat terse-like. But softer, steadier, “I…could not bear it if I were to see you in harm and be unable to assist you. That…is why I was watching. Why I do watch you.”

Inside of you, it was like there was a pot of water on the stove, steadily boiling under the heat. Your eyes are delicately wide when the man’s hands leave your face; kneeling body still tall enough to stare into you.

“You are…” König pauses, but not to find the words. To ready himself. He takes a long breath. “You are special to me, my Vögelchen. I can not see you hurt,” a gesture to your forehead and creased eyes. As if your pain was his own. “Not like this.”

“What are you saying, König?” You whisper, face twisted with hurt and confusion. Apprehension. “You’re giving me mixed signals. We always fight with each other. I’m not saying I’m blameless, but…c’mon, now. Look at us.” 

“Not…always.” He grumbled like a child, tools placed away and hands dripping blood before he slips the gloves off. They meet the side table with a tiny toss. The Austrian leans back onto his ankles, butt to heel. He begins to look at your forehead and you can practically hear his heart break. “I do not like arguing with you, you know that, yes?” 

“Me neither,” you whisper, fingers fiddling as a sheen of anxiousness sets in. “You just,” you pause, “confuse me.”

 König blinks in surprise, head tilting and large eyes shimmering. Your mind flashes to a curious cat and you try to explain with a burning face and fast lips.

“You say we’re partners but you never act like it,” he stares and listens. When had you both had a conversation like this before? “You make it seem like you can’t trust me to do the simplest task. I’m not,” your voice betrays you, cracking, “I’m not that useless, am I?” 

He freezes, muscles going taunt. 

“U-Useless? Nutzlos? No, no,” A hand comes to capture your chin and you let him move you where he wishes. Creased eyes lock on yours. “That is not right. You’re not useless to me—how could you be?” Pained brows move in, “did I make you think like this? Like I did not appreciate your skills?” 

Your eyes burn, and the aches from your wounds mix with the pure fatigue in your flesh to leave your emotions running between sanity and sadness. A moment later you’re turning your head away. 

König recaptures it, hands finding both sides of your cheeks. He looks shaky; desperate. 

“No, please, Vögelchen, please. I need you to look at me.”

“König, I don’t—” You close your mouth before you let out the beginnings of a sob. “I can’t keep fighting with you.”

“I know, oh, I know,” his hands are so grounding it’s like you’re the inner pages of a book, and his grip the thick leather cover—leather laced with shared scars and the same that had stitched you up countless times. This push and pull had to end. “I cannot fight with you either—it tears me apart. Oh, du weißt gar nicht, wie sehr es mich schmerzt, dein wunderschönes Gesicht anzuschreien. Mit dir zu streiten bedeutet, meinen Verstand und mein Herz gleichzeitig zu brechen.” König’s thumbs run up and down your skin, still bloody with dried flakes falling to the ground. He seems not to care a bit. 

“What can I do to fix this? Anything. Anything to get us to stop doing this to each other.” You stare into his eyes, both creased and glazed over. 

There’s a brief moment where you wonder if anyone truly even knew you as well as König did—there was no one else that you shared such a deep connection with. Years upon years of being stuck at his side. 

And someone else’s hands had never felt as good as his. They were hard and callused over but cupped your face as gently as one would cup water from a rippling stream. His eyes were stars; visible skin like porcelain, his breath raised a large and wide chest with a fast-paced heart. You could sense his throat trapping air. 

König kneeled to you and bared himself. 

Anything, he had said, to fix what he had said. To stop this. 

There was one way you could think to stop this—it might not have been smart, certainly not, but…hmm…You gradually raised your hand raised from your lap and slipped it under the front of König’s hood. 

Slowly, with all the delicateness of a glass dragonfly, your fingers strayed to the side of his neck to press into tight flesh. A rapid pulse.

The man goes to stone. It’s like you’ve stolen his nervous system. Dark eyes stay locked onto yours as you gaze back, hand dragging nails up with a light pressure near to the speed of a slug. 

König whispers your name into the empty space and the oxygen seems to dry up. Warm light from the lamp cast phantoms on walls and over skin in a small moment of foreign discoveries. The Austrian swallows saliva and you feel his neck flex. You don’t answer him, just watch and feel his own hands tighten on your cheeks in warning. 

But you never listen, do you? Reckless you were called. And König had been right.

You were reckless.

Your hand had now explored like a map the indents of hidden facial scars; long and short over jaw and lips. The hand that was doing this had hiked the sniper’s hood up around your wrist so that the man’s lashes were twitching as the fabric got too close to his eyes. And you watched. And so did he. 

A twin pair of moths hitting a glass window, staring from opposite sides at one another until they realized the break in the frame. 

“Anything?” You ask in a loose tone, barely heard above the flood in both of your ears. 

König was breathing heavily but didn’t pull away. Pupils wide and body heavy to your touch. His spine briefly straightened, until he realized he had moved back slightly and immediately hunched again if only to keep your hands on him. 

“I…” he grunts, “A…anything.” Fingers touch his nose, they spread under the hood to trace the bumps and marks he keeps hidden like buried treasure. Your vision takes in the otherworldly hue on his visible skin; the glaze of rapture in his eyes yet still that ingrained heat. 

Your body shivers at the gravel in his accented English. 

Fingers stall over his lips, hood showing you the pale being of König’s strong chin and jaw. You shift your touch to the side and find chapped lips revealed to you, a small palate scar that had healed to nothing more than a line up to his nostril. 

You spare it nothing more than a glance before you look back into obsidian. Dark ether and dead galaxies devoid of stars. Swallowed in a sea of pasts and futures. You look for hesitation; for disgust. 

You find none. 

“You said that no one could ever love someone like me,” your head leans in, and your breath mingles together with an intimacy that had never been shared between this type of partners. König, as if broken from a spell, takes down a swift inhale of air into his stiff lungs. He stares with far back lids. Flashes of unidentified emotions. “Why did you say that?”

A moment of silence and of rabid hearts. The man’s lips twitch over yours as he answers slowly, not breaking eye contact for a moment. As if he did he’d be turned to rock. As if he’d miss something amazing from happening. 

He speaks with a whispered confession.

“Because if they did—I would have to kill them. Because no other than I would be able to love you more.” Your world slows and your ears strain with the breathy words. 

Face burning your lips part with shock and awe. Violent to any other, but to you this was a confession from a man that could meet you blow for blow—calm you and infuriate you all in one. Challenge you, but knew when he’d gone too far and how to properly apologize. 

He’d waited in that chair for you all night, you’d realized. 

For you to come back to him. His partner. 

You press your lips to his and hear his pitiful sounds of gasped reassurance. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you let saliva drip off of your chins to splatter onto bent knees and shaking thighs.

König’s arms cage you; capture your waist and draw you closer, lips breaking apart before you both share a wide-eyed look of momentary pause. There was no room to breathe; to think. Chests hit together and fingers tighten to a tendon-visible hold.

The man's growing smile is wide from where you still hold his hood up by his nose, and with a lick of his red and wet lips, he reconnects your awaiting mouths. 

This time, you’re the one to gasp.

“Lass mich zeigen, wie leid es mir tut, Vögelchen.”

NEW TAGLIST SIGN-UP: Here

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n

In which Papyrus attends a talkshow.

Welcome twitter users fleeing the absolute cesspool that twitter is going to become as Musk gets his way with his awful ideas! Things are better here, and hey, if you're an old user coming back, they've actually improved shit!

Here's a list of important notes for tumblr usage:

Don't censor words, particularly trigger warnings. Tumblr has a very functional blacklist (found in your settings) that can filter by post content and/or tags. But the word needs to actually be present for the filter to work. Censoring words like r*pe is actively harmful to people attempting to avoid those topics.

Use tags liberally, you have as many as you want, but don't tag unrelated shit. You'll get reported for spam really fast if you do.

Set an avatar and reblog things, otherwise you look like a bot.

You are not obligated to have your real name anywhere in your blog/bio/etc. Most people here use handles.

You can turn your ask box & anons on or off if you are experiencing any kind of harassment. You can also turn off replies on your posts, and turn off reblogs if you need to.

Tumblr has keyboard shortcuts on desktop. You can find them listed under the blog/account menu. Go learn them, they make life so much easier.

Reblog things. Seriously. Also set your dash in chronological order. You can maintain several blogs if need be, but reblogging things is normal, expected, and how you pass along stuff you enjoy.

The majority of people aren't reading your card/dni/blog bio before they reblog stuff. Posts get passed around and the OP often isn't the focal point of the post. Learn to live with it.

Fic writers: you have unlimited words, do not post fics as images.

Reblogs with comments/tags are encouraged. It's not like twitter's QRTs. The OP will see everything there. Know that before you comment.

You have a queue. This means you can set posts up ahead of time to run while you're busy. You can also completely ignore this and just spam your follows whenever you're online. Both are very commonplace

It's not weird to go through someone's blog and reblog old posts. That's actually very normal. If you add /chrono to the end of a tumblr tab then you can view an

"Spam" liking and reblogging isn't a thing that is a problem. This is invented by people I do not understand. If someone claims this is a problem, they can learn how to turn off or manage their notifications.

The only form of promotional posts that tumblr has is "blaze". There is no ad targeting or any kind of invasions of privacy with blaze. You just get subjected to w/e someone wants to show you. If you want to give tumblr some money to help the company keep going and provided an alternative to twitter, it's not a bad way to do it. You can make people look at cat photos.

Also, we have fun colors here. Plus actual formatting ability. Use it!

People lie on here for fun. Don't accept everything you see at face value, check the reblogs/replies or google something if you're skeptical! Critical thinking is good!

Above all else, be chill, use your block button if you need to, and have fun.

Some traditionally drawn papyrus doodles during break

My dearest Undertale AU community. I need your help cause some of you are victims of theft. I was informed that some freakers sell your art as pin buttons on one of our russian platforms.

I was able to contact shopkeepers, but I can’t remove them without proofs, so here’s the deal. If you see your/your friend’s artwork please, DM me with:  - Nickname - Screenshot of your drawing(s). I have screenshots with higher resolution if you need it!  -Link to this work/WIP

If you know the artist, please ping them! If you can, please spread the post.

They ARE NOT going to remove pins if I won’t find original artists, and I can’t do it alone. Unfortunately, more serious actions like money refunds require lots of time dealing with documents, and I’m not mentally ready to deal with it, I’m sorry.

@ poetax and @ lunnar-chan are already aware! Thank you.

I didn't know I needed NSFW headcanons about Venom!Simon but now that I know I need to share it with the world. Really too good man 😔 <3

My honest reaction:

Venom!Simon NSFW Hcs

Warning: NSFW CONTENT AND MDNI

A/n: @slutty-lemn thanks for this bestie and your so real for this. Something about venom and ghost that make me absolutely feral so why not both?

- Simon knows to take things slow with you and wasn’t real sure how well you would take Venom knowing how strong and cruel he can get whenever he gets too excited. He forgets how fragile us humans are and remembers to let Simon stretch you open enough for him to take over. Although, he always likes to argue about how his tongue would easily stretch you out faster and better

- You would be so determined to take Venom completely but he knows damn well he’s a mouthful so he leans down and praises you for every inch of him you swallow. Your hands would work tirelessly down his shaft pumping his unimaginable girthy cock hearing Venom’s chest rumble in pleasure. After only a moment, Venom would shrink away and Simon would return only to fuck a mouthful of cum down your throat with a loud groan

- If you were ever bratty with Simon, he would let Venom take over to punish you finding no way out of his tantalizing punishments by forcing him to eat you out without stop. His tongue lashed out as saliva would drip from it but before doing anything Venom would smile, his teeth bared looking enormous and terrifying looking at your soaking cunt and at once his tongue would dive inside you deeply hitting your sweet spot in one go causing you to arch your back and moan as Venom would growl in an animalistic manner pumping his long tongue into you as he explored every inch inside you. Ripping orgasm after another, you would paint his face with your arousal only for him to lick it off and Simon commanding him of another round

- Both Simon and Venom get possessive over you in bed causing you to become very bruised by the end of it. They would be exchanging bodies every few seconds just to get the chance to have you all to themselves. If Simon is fucking you a little too slow Venom would take over, holding your hips and ass with his enormous hands and would fuck into you even harder as he pounded you into the mattress relentlessly while calling you degrading names. Venom’s pace was torturous and the sounds he made were ravenous and primal. Simon was somewhere inside him but now there was only Venom. He has you cumming quickly around his veiny cock as he would turn back into Simon to let him soothe the marks he would leave behind

- Whenever Simon would be eating you out and you and you would be squirming or babbling too much for his liking, Venom’s tendrils would pin you down to the bed making you immobilized and if you protest or argue with him about it he would shove his tongue into your mouth to shut you up. Maybe just maybe if you behave well and be a good girl for Simon he would let you hold the reigns and fuck them however way you liked

- Simon is the perfect size for you and you could say that confidently. He stretches you out perfectly just enough to have you coming undone in seconds. Unlike Venom, he can adapt to your liking wanting to be careful in not hurting you. He would position himself inside you as his cock would slowly start to swell and throb, flicking his gaze between your facial expressions and the bulge that’s forming on your tummy. Smiling eerily as he watches how much of him you can take as he purrs at the sight of your lips parting in pleasure

- Given that Simon and Venom both have blood kinks they both love drawing blood from you, it excites them more than anything but mostly Venom since he’s eaten humans before. Simon would grab a knife and would carve his initials onto your skin carefully. Venom would scrape you, his claws digging in deep into your soft skin enough to draw blood. He’ll lick and caress you with his tongue as goosebumps would crawl on his skin from the sweet taste

- Simon at first was paranoid to masturbate when he had Venom. Being deployed for months and the constant stress left him no choice but to fuck himself quickly with a fisted hand. Venom was pervertedly waiting for his release and immediately noticed the uncomfortable look on Simon’s face. Out of nowhere a tentacle would wrap around his cock and would start pumping him quickly and he couldn’t stop the feeling of ecstasy as he was coming near to his orgasm and within seconds Simon’s lips would part as he let out a silent scream letting his cum drip all over his fist. As he came back from his high he would be mad at the fact that he even needed help in the first place but that experience changed things for the both of them

- Having sex with both of them was confusing yet a roller coaster of emotions. All of the pleasurable sensations would have you looking in all directions. Either Simon would have you in missionary ramming himself into you at a brutal pace or one of Venom’s tendrils rubbing your puffy clit at a fast pace to speed things up. Venom would be admiring through Simon’s eyes how beautiful you look taking his cock and finding pleasure in the sweet moans that would escape your lips. Every time your hips would buck or squirm from the overstimulation, a new tentacle would shoot out to hold you down. Even if he wasn’t there in front of your eyes, he was everywhere, all over you. Pinning you down from every angle as his tendrils played with your nipples or danced along your collarbone. By the end of it everything is soaked. Venom would use his long tongue to lick inside your cunt and eat the cum you and Simon would leave behind

Lmk what y’all think and should I make more stuff for Venom!Simon? If so my inbox is open for requests :)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Check Masterlist for more

❗AVOID THESE PEDOPHILES AT ALL COSTS! ❗

I was scrolling through Tumblr and came across a post of KNOWN PEDOPHILES ON TUMBLR (many of which have or want to rape actual children/minors)

THERE ARE ACTUAL PEDOPHILES ON TUMBLR TRYING TO GET IN TOUCH WITH MINORS ON TUMBLR

PLEASE SIGNAL BOOST THIS LIST AND KEEP OUR MINORS SAFE

HE HAS BEEN CHEESED.

REBLOG if you have amazing talented artist friends!

i don’t know what i’m trying to see here but it’s certainly something

Tumblr Sexyrematch info

#sanssweep SANS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Tumblr Sexyrematch info

Look, I get it. We're into Lucifer because he gives off daddy vibes but we need more headcanons where he isn't the sexiest man in existence and is just some overrated loser (affectionate)

Nobody else will do it, so I'll do it myself

He makes lame dad jokes 24/7. Mammon, Beel, Belphie, and Asmo love it but always groan in annoyance. Satan hates it because he thinks puns are easy and low hanging fruit in the realm of comedy. Levi hates it because he's supposed to be the funny one (he says he is in a devilgram chat asking what MC's type is)

He randomly interrupts the brothers just to as questions and watch. Unironically invites himself into Levi's room ask if he's winning. Often leans over Satan's shoulder to see what he's reading. Likes to watch Asmo's devilgram streams during breaks. Often buys Beel food just to watch him eat. Sneaks into the attic to watch Belphie sleep. It's not creepy. He just likes being around them and is too tired to participate.

His eyes are very dry and he uses eye drops frequently. He needs reading glasses but is embarrassed about it because everything else about him is perfect. He always wears contact lenses that make it worse

He lets Asmo put makeup on him sometimes. He won't wipe it off because he doesn't want Asmo to believe he didn't do a good enough job to impress Lucifer. He knows Asmo has a low self esteem and will actively embarrass himself to make him happy.

Always wins claw machines. Never keeps the prizes. Depending on the kind of prize is what he does with it. Gift cards are given to Mammon when he behaves. Anime merch goes straight to Levi. Cute teddy bears are gifts for Asmo, especially if they're pink or have roses. Satan gets any cat stuffed animals, Beel gets ones shaped like food. Belphie gets the bigger prizes, like oversized stuffed toys to use as pillows. Anything he doesn't like or doesn't want to give to his brothers are often give to Cerberus as chew toys. He got one for Luke once but he hid it in his closet because he thought it was cursed. Lucifer was lowkey hurt and never gave him any again.

He likes hallmark movies. He'll never admit it. He likes to imagine the love interests as Lillith and her lover because in the movies they end up with a happy ending.

Listens to cursed records while imagining his loved ones. Sappy songs about romance are applied to mc

Cried while watching the Lion King with Diavolo

MC's religious family spotting the characters with MC on the human world so they struggle to introduce them bc of their names 😭

MC: Hello, mom and dad! This is Simeon, Luke, Solomon and uhhh

Luc-Lucius?

Mam--MARK?

Levi... yes, Levi!

Sa-Sa...Santiago?

Asmo... yeah that's his name, Asmo.

Beel... Bill?

And his twin, PHIL!

Here's Dia, uh dia... jia, johnny?

And BARBIE 😃😃😃