#[ edits. ( certified messes. ) ]

[angelicapothecaryote]

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part One - A twisted fate

I'm gonna be honest: this came to me in a tired, period induced haze and I have no idea what the hell I'm doing but the bunnies would not let me stop until I finished it. Was supposed to be a oneshot... until it wasn't XD Hoping this is just gonna be a short little pet project on the side. Lemme know if I missed any triggers!

Trigger warnings: SA (not by the 141), biting, claiming, angst, depression, hurt/no comfort, self harm

[Edit 7/16/24: updated relationship tags]

The parking lot was a certified mess to navigate, a veritable winter hellscape with the continual snowfall keeping the pavement slick and churning around spinning wheels to create a thick dirty slush. Packed cars fought for spaces towards the front of the store, wanting to avoid the headache of trudging through sloppy sleet, heavy carts overflowing with expensive gifts and last minute groceries.

Parents loaded up their trunks for their upcoming banquets. Little ones chattered in youthful exuberance about brightly wrapped packages and a jolly fat man. Festively dressed bell ringers exhausted their muscles for the cause of charity, offering joyous smiles to those passing by gracious enough to offer a token. Even six inches of heavy wet snowfall were not enough to deter shoppers from their mood. Coupled with the obnoxiously boisterous music that met you at the door it was almost impossible not to get swept up in the infectious holiday spirit.

Almost.

You hadn’t bothered joining the chaotic dominance for prime parking, opting to choose the very last row towards the street instead of wasting precious minutes yelling profanities out the window to an uppity pack trying to steal your spot. The harsh wind burned your face and nipped at your skin, pulling the woolen scarf tighter around your neck and up over your bitten nose. You avoided eye contact with the chipper lady at the front, not wanting to feel guilty for not donating when you barely had enough to scrape by as it is.

Normally you avoided venturing out this close to Christmas unless absolutely necessary. Holidays haven't meant much to you in recent years since your parent’s untimely passing and you hated the constant reminder of ‘the most wonderful time of the year’. Sure, there were still your other two alpha fathers, but they’d opted for someplace warmer in their age and visitation was difficult with your busy work schedule. Your younger brother wasn’t almost worth mentioning with his new prissy family somewhere up north. That bridge was burned the day he called you a harlot.

Needless to say, you’d become something of a grinch.

You’d been miserably sick the week prior and ate through most of your stockpile of hoarded food, not enough remaining to keep blowing off shopping with the bustling crowds. If you wanted to last past New Years then a trip into town was unavoidable.

The intense blast of hot air from the overhead heaters thawed your aching bones upon entering the store, shaking the accumulated dampness from your head and shoulders but leaving the thick cloth covering the lower half of your face. It would help you in your endeavors to get through the aisles expediently without irritating your delicate omega olfactory senses. 

It got harder to distinguish the source of fragrances this time of year, when folk spent their days burrowed away from the bitter cold surrounded by the comforts of the season. A chilled glass of rich subtly spiced eggnog, smokey cedar logs crackling in the hearth, sweet woodsy pine wreaths and garlands wrapped around thick oak banisters, trees decorated with peppermint candy canes and dried strings of popcorn. 

Gingerbread, mulled wine, cinnamon, orange, clove; a bountiful buffet of complementary aromas. Your own father had smelled of cranberry sauce once upon a time (it made the holidays that much harder when he was gone). And with so many people filling the space - even with the heating fans working overtime trying to filter out most of it - it could get difficult trying to figure out whether a boozy scent originated from a lovely beta or the soaked rum cake she was placing in her cart.

Honestly if it weren't for the outrageous delivery fees you would've had the groceries dropped off instead of enduring the aggressive pheromones floating through the air. Alas this was one of your few exceptions to your hermit lifestyle.

Truthfully, it wasn’t just December that had you hesitant to leave the sanctuary of your meager apartment. 

For the past few years, you’d been battling a severe case of agoraphobia, something you’d been working on wholeheartedly with a therapist since the accident that made you so. It had crippled you to the point that even daring to have the blinds open on your windows sent you spiraling into that dark abyss of cackling distress, panic consuming every last ounce of breath until you found yourself minutes later curled up on the bathroom floor, lightheaded and queasy.

Nausea was a constant in your life, along with the cold sweat that had you sleeping on a towel just to keep from ruining your bedsheets. Lethargy was embedded in your muscle fibers. A searing ache in your throat. The painful deep tugging in your chest an ever present reminder of the uphill battle you fought each time you opened your crusty sleep filled eyes. Depression was your best friend, curled around you in a false sense of comfort where it was easier to slip into a maladaptive headspace than face the truth of your harsh reality.

But despite the physical manifestations of your trauma, you’d made good strides so far with your weekly sessions. It had been a difficult road getting to this point and your therapist praised you for your dedication to not letting it hinder the life you had ahead. You weren’t sure what it looked like, but you tried all the same.

Like a hound that heard you calling, that ominous presence that filled you with dread came crawling into the back of your skull, mittened hand discreetly itching at the wool around your neck and scratching the irritated skin beneath. Forcing yourself to take a few deep breaths until it settled, you grabbed one of the many baskets available and began the trek weaving down the rows of food.

Christmas was about a week away and the mobs were out in full force. Thankfully the items you were on the hunt for were not the same ingredients needed by everyone else. There was the occasional overlap of things like milk, eggs, bread, etc. But there was no call for a full sized turkey or spiraled ham; no sweet potato casserole or chocolate yule log to bake. Just some bologna, shredded cheese, a couple packs of ramen, and a few other household things here you were running low on. 

Maybe for the hell of it you’d stop in the frozen section and find yourself a mini cheesecake to splurge on for when you inevitably opened that bottle of fireball sitting on the shelf come next Tuesday, forced to listen to your upstairs neighbors' horrendous attempts at Christmas caroling.

Halfway through the store, your browsing was interrupted by an alluring scent swirling somewhere nearby.

Citrusy. Acidic. Sweet. Airy. 

Your scarf had slipped off your face when you bent down to grab something off the lower racks, exposing you to the freshly baked goods across the way. Someone nearby was carrying a batch of lemon cupcakes, your mouth watering as the scent invaded your tastebuds and forced a pleasant hum from the back of your throat. 

Something curled in your chest like a finger beckoning forward, begging for an acknowledgement that had you standing at rapt attention. Your body seemed to move on its own, head swiveling like a rickety chair, scanning the nearby vicinity - for what, you couldn’t say. The inner omega that prowled just underneath the surface vibrated restlessly, choking back a needy whine while your eyes swept over the closest individuals. Something primal had called out to you, throwing your hormones out of whack, piecing together invisible clues so obviously standing right in front of you. 

The summery concoction felt so out of place in the harsh winter months, swirling and nagging at the base of your spine, urgent and loud and taking up too much space until you felt like you could drown in its tang–

Your muscles locked in place, gaze affixed to something - someone - at the end of the aisle. 

A big someone. An alpha.

And he was massive.

There was a natural musculature that came with the inherited alpha genetics. Beta’s could grow to a similar size if they worked at it, but there was a casual arrogance that was impossible to mistake with the former designation. Even still, this man towered over most others in the vicinity, lesser alphas giving a wide berth to the intimidating figure currently staring down at his phone screen. Thick grey hoodie pulled up over his head, a black military jacket layered over top. Dark wash jeans led down to warm boots hefty enough to stomp a man’s skull in. Messy dark blonde hair peeked out from up top, a black surgical mask covering the lower half of his face from view.

He couldn’t have given off any more ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibes if he had it tattooed across his forehead. There was nothing sinister about his bearing per se - one hand casually shoved into a coat pocket as he leaned back against one of the dessert displays - but there was a coiled alertness that gave you the distinct impression he was more aware of his surroundings than he led you to believe.

One thing was for certain: you were never more sure of anything in your less than perfect life that that man was your scent match.

Your lungs expanded in your chest to drink in more of his scent. Palms turned sweaty, hair on the back of your neck prickled, the weight of the basket on your arm all but forgotten. Your throat parched at the prospect of getting to shove your face against his scent gland and taste the delectable lemony goodness right off his skin. 

People went lifetimes never meeting their perfect scent matches. The odds of you ever encountering one wasn’t even worth holding out hope for. Over seven billion people on the planet and you had to win an epic fucking lottery to get as lucky as you just did. Bonding ceremonies like that made the news for how rare it was. You’d never even dreamed of this happening, making peace with the idea that mates only existed in fairytale romance.

You just about dropped your groceries when he was joined shortly thereafter by another gorgeous male, slightly shorter by a few inches and not as broadly built. Rich dark skin, effortlessly cool street style, short black curls, and a dazzling pearly white smile.

This new alpha didn’t seem to flinch in the presence of the other, lemon cupcake glancing up only briefly to acknowledge the newcomer whose toasted coconut aroma barrelled right into you, colliding like a runaway freight at an unguarded intersection. Gulping down mouthfuls of air like a fish heaving on dry land, your head spun wildly at the nutty intrusion; smokey yet sweet, conjuring images of a warm evening bonfire on a lush sandy beach. 

Hope bloomed in your chest something fierce and bright. Your omega preened in unbridled delight, pawing at the surface, eager to get her hands on the two beautiful specimens whose every atom screamed ‘mine’. Tears stung behind your eyes, a mixture of relief and elation, vibrant like bursting fireworks and twinkling Christmas lights. 

What would you say to them? Do you approach them first? Should you wait for them to scent you back or try to pretend you didn’t smell them yet? What did their voices sound like? You could see their lips moving, even if the ones’ were hidden behind a surgical mask. Tenor, baritone, rumbly bass? What were their names? Where did they live? Was this really happening right now?! 

Something twisted and gnarled sunk its claws into your subconscious, rearing its ugly head in protest at the newfound revelation, but for the first time in years you didn’t fucking care. 

They were here. Your alphas. Your pack. Your salvation.

“Babes!” 

Decadent chocolate floated past you, a small apology from her lips as the omega brushed by, bumping her arm against yours on the way to her intended destination. You’d hardly noticed, too caught up in your own inner monologue and girlish fantasies to barely manage a quiet ‘no worries’.

For a split second, your eyes met coconut’s beautiful luscious brown, breath catching in your throat as the object of your desire finally seemed to take note of your existence. It was like gazing into the threads of the universe, pulling taut between you in a cosmic symphony that brought your stardust back together from whence it scattered at the dawn of time. 

A perfect part of an incomplete whole.

…until those shimmering umber pools shifted left, aimed at the bubbly figure headed right towards them. 

Huh?

Confusion as both alphas turned their full undivided attention to the dark haired omega, holding out a box of something for them to inspect and smiling when it met their approval, an affectionate pat on the head from lemon for her success that left her beaming with pride. 

That’s when you noticed it - peeking out underneath the collar of her elegant peacoat. A faint white crescent moon shaped scar, standing out against her lightly tanned skin, a matching one a little farther down. 

Mating bites. A bonded omega. 

And your scent matched alphas were gazing lovingly at her as if she’d hung the stars. 

She was theirs. They’d already found their mate. 

And it wasn’t you.

Something died in your chest, a broken scream torn silent from your soul as it condensed into a burning black hole. Agony unlike anything you’ve ever known, piercing your fragile heart and burrowing like a plague into your veins until the sickness had spread to every corner of your being. Your omega clawed at her eyes, willing the visions in front of you to vanish like a twisted mirage, begging for a bullet to erase the image of coconut planting a soft forehead kiss before wrapping an arm around her waist and turning to leave. 

A dejected whine ripped from your throat as you took an unconscious step forward, hand vaguely outreached, instincts screaming to chase after them and make them choose you instead of her. But you did no such thing. You watched helplessly as the alphas who were supposedly destined for you by the stars turned their backs on your pathetic existence.

This couldn't be happening. Why was this happening?! Please turn around!!!

With the same circulating air that had guided their scents to you, the wind in the store shifted.

Lemon cupcake went ramrod straight, whipping his head around so fast you were worried it’d go flying off his shoulders. It was uncanny the way he immediately zeroed in on your poor trembling figure, standing in the middle of a crowded aisle, uncaring to the concerned glances of the other shoppers as he unknowingly ruined your life. 

Recognition sparked deep behind voided irises before going completely neutral, steeling his expression but remaining unmoving as stone. It’s like the two of you were locked into place, orbiting each other by an invisible tether, watery eyes begging the ones staring back to please… please not leave you behind.

Coconut halted in his own step at the end of the aisle, sniffing the air for a moment with a furrowed brow, glancing over his shoulder at lemon, asking him something too far away to overhear. You can only assume the contents of his reply, the slightest shift of his mask the only tell he’d responded before coconut turned to face you as well.

This time garnered more of a physical reaction than the last, jaw dropping while staring just as unabashedly as his alpha companion. Eyes swept from head to toe, cataloging every minute detail the same as you’d done to them. Pupils dilated exponentially, nostrils flaring taking in the crisp pear scent you exuded, memorizing every facet and swallowing it down like a ravenous predator.

What a sight you must’ve made; eyes red and puffy from the tears that now flowed freely from suffering instead of the earlier jubilation, meek and sheepish and falling apart at the seams. What a piss poor impression to give the men fated to be your mates.

There was a brief moment where coconut seemed to match your initial energy, a flash of something saccharine and longing, only for it to collapse under the grueling weight of our fatalistic reality. There was an internal struggle in the crease of his brow, the downturned expression souring behind clenched teeth and tight fists. But more than that there was pity - pity at how you couldn’t have met sooner. Pity that you’d had to discover them like this, a woman on their arm and bite marks on her neck. Pity that they hadn’t had faith that they would be the lucky ones in a packed society.

You can make out a question on the chocolate omega’s perfectly pouty lips, trying to put the jigsaw together as to why her alphas were suddenly acting this way while glancing between the three of you.

Ignoring her, coconut takes a half step forward; you take two steps back. There’s an apology in your watery eyes, a hushed ‘merry christmas’ too strained for their ears. Your heart’s beating too loudly, your breath comes too shallow. You don’t even realize you’re sucking in heaving sobs until a gentle hand of a passerby lands on your shoulder, snapping you out of the chaos of your psyche. 

You can’t take it any more; the shame, the embarrassment, the gut wrenching defeat. 

The basket falls to the floor with a loud clatter, startling the people nearby who let out shrieks and gasps of surprise as the spilled contents inside break open and shatter. Eggs crack, milk pours onto the mud trekked tile, a fragile jar of strawberry jam splatters across someones pristine boots with an indignant shout.

A smooth tenor voice calls out ‘WAIT’, but you’ve already rounded the corner, barreling through the crowds of happy smiles and ecstatic giggles, too torn up inside to feel anything but desolation at the future so cruelly ripped from your fingers.

The crisp frigid air smacks the breath from your lungs, winter boots slapping on the slushy frozen ground. The squeal of brakes accompanies you as you sprint uncaringly through the bustling traffic, horns honking and voices shouting, muffled and far away as you drown in the whirlwind of your mind. It’s a miracle you’re not hit by a car, an even bigger one that you make it back to your own unscathed.

Slamming the car door shut, you smack your padded palms repeatedly against the steering wheel, banshee wailing your vocal cords raw in despair. The dark presence creeps in once more, a mocking chill down your spine as it caresses your fractured soul. The nausea comes back full force, the tugging on your chest, the burning in your throat. There’s a desperation as you tear your fitted mittens off, reaching under the woolen scarf and incessantly scratching at the irritated skin until it shreds under your nails. The pain doesn't register through your emotional torment, blocking out the inner voice until it inevitably slinks back into the shadows after its bitter lick of victory.

Panting hard, your head slumps back against the cloth headrest, stewing in the silence of misery and defeat, the distant joyful bells of Christmas the only company you have on this cold winter’s night.

It takes a few tries to fit the key in your deadbolt, blinking through tears now frozen to your eyelashes. There’s no recollection of how you even made it home in your brittle mental state. For all you knew were twelve civilians flattened like pancakes on the side of the road and a warrant out for your arrest. 

Wouldn’t that be nice? A break from having to pay bills and function like an adult.

Stumbling through the door, the sparse furnishings of your minimal studio glare at you, flipping them off as you shuck the damp outer layers from your frail form. A mess to be cleaned up another day.  

It wasn't just the rejection of your fated mates you were facing. It was the knowledge that your entire future had been ripped away and no amount of hot glue could piece it back together. Today’s revelation was the final nail in the coffin for the rest of your life.

The bathroom lights flickered with dying bulbs, something that had been on your shopping list tonight and was now being swept off the floor along with everything else you’d left behind. It didn’t stop you from locating the first aid kit under your sink, setting it on the ceramic counter and pulling out the well loved supplies inside.

You avoided staring at your gaunt reflection, not wanting to see the person looking back as you tugged at the thick scarf looped around your neck. The constricting material tore away with ease, falling into a discarded heap on the floor, revealing the torn mottled flesh hidden underneath. 

Your own set of crescent shaped scars - where the line of your neck connected to the meat of your shoulder, long since healed over and faded with time. The area surrounding it was now swollen and inflamed, raised angry red lines dotted with scrapes like a bad case of road rash, bloody from where you'd furiously clawed at your neck on the car ride home. The only time the fucker in your head shuts up - the connection tethering you emotionally gone silent once he got tired of feeling physical pain across the bond.

Memories came unbidden. Flashes of that fateful encounter coming home late from work, dragged into a sequestered shadowy overhang a few meters down the darkened alleyway. A feral alpha hopped up on something illegal, tearing into your clothes and violating the virginal space between your thighs. The muffled cries as he overpowered you, panting through a rut with his greasy fingers shoved down your throat to silence you, gagging on the musky taste. The scream as his teeth pierced your flesh, the bond snapping taut and stealing your future from you without a thought to your own wishes.

He’d fucked you ragged that night, waking up with your cheek pressed into the damp pavement and his arm slung around your waist from hours earlier. There’d been no one to turn to, no one who would care. By law now you were his - no matter the means it had been done. 

A mating bite was binding. 

You’d crawled away from him, your outfit in tatters hanging loosely over your bruised form, dried blood stuck to your neck and a stabbing pain at your apex. You felt dirty and used and wanted nothing more than to strip the skin from your bones. The unconscious form of the– your alpha flopped prone on his back, crimson stains around his mouth and his flaccid cock still half out of his trousers. The pinpricks on his arm told the tale of a junkie. It’s possible he hadn’t even been fully aware of the crime he’d committed. 

You didn’t stick around to find out.

But you paid for that decision harshly, opting for a life not attached to your abuser, at a steep tormented cost. Bonds weren’t meant to be strained for so long. It starts to cause negative impacts on the pair, the omega bearing the worst of the brunt. Nausea, sweating, pain, dizziness, fatigue. The chronic illnesses you endured day in and day out would stay with you for the rest of your life. So long as he was up and walking free - alive somewhere on the other side of the country - his greasy claws strumming your senses through the connection tethering you eternally.

Only a perfect scent match could override the original bite and free you from the oppressive bonds that shackled you to an invisible alpha - the last remaining hope you had at any semblance of happiness.

And you just lost it.

>> ✿ Next ✿ >>

[leighsartworks216]

Nuptial Bed

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Fem version - Masc version

If I messed up pronouns/genitalia descriptions, please let me know so I can edit it as quickly as possible <333

SMUT BELOW THE CUT

Warnings: swearing, explicit smut, blood, blood drinking

Word Count: 1,496

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

The door is kicked open with a loud slam, but the two souls stumbling inside don’t show an ounce of care. Another kick closes the door just as loudly.

Hands roam feverishly under shirts and into pants, tugging and grabbing at any fabric they can get their hands on to rip it off. All the while, the people stumble back toward the bed in the center of the room, a nuptial bed awaiting them to consummate the vows they made mere hours earlier.

Astarion’s fingers frantically undid buttons and ties with less precision than he normally would. But who could blame him? You didn’t care either way as you tugged his shirt from his pants and tried to clumsily pull it over his head. You laughed into the brutal kiss at the sloppiness; you were like two eager teenagers who had no real sense of what they were doing.

A trail of clothes were abandoned on the floor. Bare to each other, you climbed back onto the bed, tugging him with you by his hair. He groaned into your mouth as he crawled over you, arms caging you in and legs straddling you. The warm scent of his perfume surrounded you - bergamot, rosemary and bourbon, wafting off the sheets and clinging to his skin, mixed with the headier scent of arousal. It was intoxicating.

You pulled away from the searing kiss with a gasp. He didn’t need air, and you kept forgetting that you did. He seemed all too used to this by now, as he wasted no time trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your chin and down your neck. The dull flats of his teeth grazed, but never lingered. His fangs only teased your skin when he reached the junction of your shoulder.

“Gods,” you panted, “Star~ Need you, please.”

He chuckled breathlessly. “I don’t even get a moment to savor my spouse?”

You laugh, too, your heart skipping with delight in your chest. Your thumb absent-mindedly caresses the point of his ear. “No, your spouse demands to have you.”

He pulls away from your shoulder to press his forehead to yours. You lean into him immediately, staring at him through half-lidded eyes, pupils blown wide with desire. He grins, wide and genuine, in the orange-purple hues of sunrise filtering through the window. He’s so beautiful like this. “They already do,” he says. You smile and pull him in to kiss him once more.

Astarion hadn’t really thought about marriage. Any thoughts he did have of it told him he didn’t deserve it, as if he’d ever find a partner to spend a fragment of his long life with anyway. You weren’t sold on the idea either, to be honest. Why would you have to have a cleric certify your devotion to one another when you could do that just as well already?

And then Gale got married, and, well, Astarion suddenly saw the appeal.

It was messy trying to plan it all. Trying to plan a date where the weather would be nice and your old companions would be free from their new lives was like trying to squeeze an ogre through a keyhole, but, through sheer luck, you managed.

You spent months, between planning the ceremony and assuring Astarion that you did not need to go through this if he didn’t want to, on the hunt for a particular relic. Private correspondences with Gale finally paid off. And tonight, under the full moon, you bestowed it onto your lover: A ring that kept him from burning in the daylight.

The cold metal of the ring pressed against your cheek as he cupped your face, fingers curling into your hair to pull you impossibly closer. You pull away with a whine, lips continuing to brush together because he cannot bear the thought of moving any further right now. “Husband, please,” you beg. He sighs so adoringly at the title, sucking your lip in between his teeth. “Please, you have me.”

Supporting himself up on his knees, he runs a hand down your body to your sex. You’re already so ready for him. You’d been aroused for half the night, ever since your first dance together, when he pulled you closer by your waist.

You keen as he easily slips two fingers into you, curling once he is as deep as he can reach. He expertly works you open for him.

“Gods, you’re perfect, love.” He kisses you again, pressing his tongue into your mouth in time with a thrust of his fingers. Your hips buck into him automatically in a search for more.

You try to slip your hand between your bodies to grab hold of him, tug at his cock and stroke him as he takes care of you, but his hand falls immediately from your face to grab it. Instead, he interlocks your fingers and presses it down into the bed beside your head.

“Don’t worry, my dear partner. I’ll take care of you.” He slips his fingers from you and rubs his precum along his shaft. He has to stop himself from bucking into his hand just thinking about how it’s you that got him so turned on. He wastes little time lining himself up with your entrance; he knows he’s aligned from the sweet gasp it draws from you, swallowed up by his mouth. He begins an assault on your neck when he starts to slowly press in, eager to hear every sound you provide.

You certainly don’t disappoint. Moans and whimpers fall like prayers from your bruised lips as his cock easily glides deeper and deeper, until Astarion’s hips rest against yours. He moans shakily against your throat. He’s barely there for a few seconds before you roll your hips into his, sending lightning bolts of pleasure throughout his whole body. He draws himself out almost entirely and leisurely thrusts back in. He wishes he had half the mind to keep fucking you so slowly, so languidly. But you clench around him and he’s lost to you completely. He’s only got the sense left to build up the pace so he doesn’t hurt you, but then his hips are crashing against yours over and over again.

Your mouth is right by his ear as he draws beautiful music from your lips. Rasped swears and guttural moans mixed with light keens and whimpers. He provided a harmony against your skin; grunts and pants accentuating sighs and gasps of your name. You’re his spouse. His spouse. The thought makes his head spin.

You wrap your legs around him, ankles locked behind his back and a heel pressing into his ass, pulling him in further with each snap of his hips. You card your fingers through his hair so sweetly, being mindful the gold band on your finger doesn’t catch on any of his curls. Your interlaced hands hold each other so tightly, like you’d drift apart if you eased up even slightly.

You press chaste pecks along his ear, anywhere you can reach. “Bite me, my love. I’m all yours.”

The bite is never gentle - he’s convinced it never will be. But he does his best anyway, sucking and kissing and licking before he sinks his fangs into your neck. Your arousal floods your bloodstream with a cocktail of hormones, making you an even sweeter treat than usual. He can’t focus on the blood his tongue mindlessly laps up, not when he can feel your walls clenching around him. His hips move in desperation, faster and deeper and harder, until you’re orgasming around him and moaning his name into the room. He doesn’t last much longer. In just a couple more thrusts, his hips stutter and he presses as close as he can, burying himself as deep as possible as he cums inside you.

Your heartbeat fills his senses entirely, mixing with your breaths in a hypnotic dance. Lazily, he licks at the wound in your neck. He cleans up the new punctures, drinking the blood that oozes slowly from them until it clots, and then he cleans the surrounding skin. You taste so good. Absolutely delicious.

Once his tongue stops and he presses a light kiss to the bite, your hand in his hair slips to his cheek and pulls him to be face to face with you once more. You’re utterly blissed out. You’re gorgeous. “I love you, my dear husband.”

He kisses you tenderly. You can taste the coppery-iron tang that clings to his lips, but you don’t mind at all, not when he takes his time sharing his adoration. When he pulls away, he presses his forehead to yours and his nose against your cheek. “I love you, too, my darling spouse.”

The sun rises higher over Baldur’s Gate. Its warm rays flood the bedroom, painting you both in warm yellows and oranges. The sun rises over a new union, and he swears to make every second before it sets count, for as long as you live.

---

Tag List:

If you don't want to be tagged in smut, let me know and I can make note of it

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @phantoms-fandom-blog @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars @ashrio20 @bambamwolf87 @astarion-imagine-archive @thistrashisreadytobash @rosxtinted

[numberonecolinbridgertonlover]

What the Bridgerton character you relate to the most says about you (based on the show and my opinion) *mostly unserious edition*

Anthony - older sibling part one. That or you are the certified glue that holds your entire family together. Also, fake arse cynic, I know you want to be loved and cherished you’re just scared it will never last or no one will ever see you that way. Control freak but I get it.

Benedict - You are the personification of the quote about grief. (In case you don’t know which one I’m talking about: "How do you process grief? By running from it until it finds me in the middle of a sunny street on a beautiful day?") You have been running away from something your entire life, whether that be yourself or a feeling. Newsflash it’s gonna catch you one day. That said, you’re probably also lgbtq and camp.

Colin - gurrllll… read Benedict’s first and then come back here, you also need to hear that. You are a quote on quote pathological people pleaser. SAVIOUR COMPLEX. Girl, they’re not gonna love you even if you can bend the laws of nature for them. You’re naive, sensitive and desperate for someone, literally anyone to understand and care for you. Also, babes… you’re not unworthy of love, you just have imposters syndrome.

Daphne - I bet you loved watching Zoella in her prime. I also feel like you’re the sort of person that is constantly expecting/hoping to bump into the love of your life whenever you’re in public. You’re a hopeless romantic but I get it.

Eloise - You’re probably LGBTQ. You might have started out a feminist with the girl power quotes but have since delved deeper and have since been more radicalised. You probably struggle to connect with overt "femininity" for numerous reasons including the patriarchy and the media’s portrayal of women but you support all women regardless. Your fashion sense consists of baggy tops, jeans and jorts (RIP Eloise, you would’ve loved baggy clothes 😔) Do you own a carabiner? You’ve probably had a fuck arse bob era at some point in your life.

Francesca - girl I get it, I really do. I hate human civilisation as well. It’s loud, it’s overwhelming, it’s scary. You’ve felt like the odd one out everywhere you go and people always seem to pick up that despite how hard you try to hide it . You just want to live in peace, maybe with someone who understands you. That said, how’s that autism diagnosis coming along-

Gregory - You are the personification of that vine where the kid has a knife. ("What have you got there? A KNIFE. no-)

Hyacinth - I just know you’re funny asf. Haters hate to see you coming because they know you’re about to gag tf out of them.

Kate - older sibling part two, probably older sister. If not, just like with Anthony, the glue the holds the family together. You can stand up to haters but you can’t say no to your friends when you want to. Sometimes you’ve just got to bite the bullet and prioritise your own happiness girl.

Penelope - …where do I even begin? You were probably the person that everyone just unanimously decided they thought was weird or unapproachable and it has messed you up indefinitely. (That’s on them though girl, there is nothing wrong with you I promise 💋) Family issues. You have imagined getting revenge on everyone who has ever wronged you. Body issues (girl, you’re beautiful don’t let anyone tell you otherwise) Short.

Simon - Daddy issues daddy issues. Emotionally constipated. You can’t believe meaningless sex and substance abuse didn’t cure you.

Philip - You have anxiety.

John: Introvert™️ honestly just read Francesca’s you’re both in the same boat. You are not afraid to dip once the social battery has ran out and I respect that. You know how to set up boundaries. Though, I think you wonder sometimes if you have protected your peace a bit too much because your only friend is your pet or your mum let’s be honest—

Michaela: LGBTQ. And you’re right because she is beautiful- I bet you love the film Bottoms. Favourite artists include Chappell Roan, Renee Rapp. You like Bridgerton in a gay way (the women)

Violet: You’ve never quite gotten over that one relationship have you… you would love the song loml by Taylor Swift 😔✊.

Portia: I feel like you have been told one thing you’re entire life and you’ve kind of based your entire personality upon that only to realise when you have grown up and met new people that it’s all worthless and the very foundations of who you are are crumbling as we speak. But you look slay while it happens.

Lady Danbury: I bet you’re expecting me to tell you how much of a baddie you are… which you are but don’t pretend you’re not wearing a facade to ensure you never get hurt by anyone ever again.

Queen Charlotte: Alexa play right where you left me by Taylor Swift.

Brimsely: your gay situationship has messed you up.

[cherry-pop-elf]

George Weasley As A Dad Headcanons

Newborn/Baby Edition

Offered by your certified George Weasley Wife. I have the ink to prove it. Ask my Muts!

He’s going to be the most emotionally there for his kid possible. Once he has his first kid, it kinda dawns on him that having a big family like Molly and Arthur did might be a bad idea. He loves the idea of a big family, but is quick to realize that he just wouldn’t be there emotionally like he wants. Especially with the job to worry about. At most, three kids. If anything, he’s fine with one. That just means they get all his attention after all.

That baby is gonna be in a sling, as he runs around the shop. He’s not gonna just be the type to leave the kid to be ‘nannied’ by his partner. He’s going to be a parent. And don’t worry. He lost an ear after all. He’s gonna make sure the baby is wearing ear protection in the shop. Then again, they’ll be a Weasley. Kinda built in.

Since he’s always been the ‘emotional’ twin, he also has that emotional maturity. Such as knowing not to utterly spoil his kid, and make sure they understand the value of money. Along with poor habits don’t mean bad habits. Not to say he doesn’t love to spoil, but he’s gonna make sure they understand that being rich isn’t what makes you happy. But it sure solves alot of problems.

That baby honestly might be more glued to him than his partner! And they were actually inside being made! What can he say? He loves family. Especially children.

He is also the one to offer diaper duty. He’s kinda immune to bad smells at this point, and also has changed diapers before. Plenty of times. So it’s not like it’s a big deal to him. His job is about invent messes after all, and someone had to clean them before Molly got home. Diaper duty on him

That baby is 100% being taught Sign as well, as they grow up. Not just because of him being partially deaf. It’s good to learn anyway! Another language, a great way to communicate when they can’t speak, stimulating, it’s gonna only benigit. It can also be kinda like their own secret language they can share, since so few people know it after all. Over all be invested in the deaf community, as he would be as well

Speaking of languages, that baby is going to grow up knowing so many. Arabic, Romanian, French, oh man. Big family, lots of languages. This baby is never going to worry about a damn job with knowing tongues like that

That baby is going to be eating so good. He’s going to make everything by hand. He’s going to make baby food fresh himself, and make sure that milk is given different flavors to make sure that little ankle biter gets all the nutrients they need. That baby isn’t going to have to suffer like the younger Weasleys did

You better get used to the baby talk. This man is going to have the most straight face conversation with that baby’s babbling, yet somehow know exactly what’s going on the whole time

Like I said. He’s going to have that baby in a sling while he works. It’s gonna be matching to his suits, it’s gonna have sewn on patches, he’s gonna style

Three am baby feeding? He would have that covered…..But Ghost Fred says not to hog the baby. You two will think for the longest time you have a well mannered calm baby. Hey, bless him. More sleep for you two, and private time!

Group costumes group costumes group costumes. He will find an excuse somehow. Holidays, selling limited time products, he needs his family all matching!

Love. So much damn love. That baby is never going need to worry about coming home with a problem. That baby is never going to be scared to come out of the closet, or talk about self doubts. Never ever EVER-!

It’s one big happy family. Never worry about that. Family, well off, happy, stable, and just so full of love. Love and happiness

[dykeomania]

𝒎𝒊𝒂'𝒔 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒓𝒃𝒔: untitled (02)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: finger-fucking. you like ellie's tattoo. the end

𝐚/𝐧: mid certified mia classic containing all of the certified mia themes like getting fucked absolutely dizzy and mutual obsession and abrupt endings. started off as just a silly goofy thought and became something a little bit hornier than that (it's not that bad) (but like). lack of solid plot theme and other potential issues given the reason of yes it was just a thought at first and also because it was composed at like 1/2am. i have nothing else to really say for myself.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: (edited, because i realized i forgot this) -- vaginal penetration, domtop!ellie, pretty foul language. watching ellie while's hand while she fucks you. think that's it

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧��: 1.1k?

thinking about ellie's forearm tattoo,

being the only thing you can focus on as she's sat between your legs, stationed above you like a daydream, with her fingers so snug and deep inside your cunt that you find yourself laying there with wide, wet eyes and a stiff body, choking on every moan that's meant to be a breath but that comes out as something ripped and stretched. her brows are knit together in some weird mix of shock and determination as she curses under her breath about how she's never seen you this wet before. about how you're a fucking disaster. been itching for me to fuck you, huh?

it started with the hand that she's got splayed across your lower abdomen. the one pressing on that fucking spot that's nestled so deep inside of you, that every person you'd fucked before ellie had convinced you that it was an itch that would never be scratched. but ellie is hitting it like she's memorized the route -- which she did. passes over it with the rough pads of her fingers in an intentional combination of strokes and come-hither motions stemming from curled fingers, and then has the audacity to push her hand down against the lower part of your stomach and press on it externally. you didn't even fucking know that she could do that -- you didn't know that you would feel that.

the width of her hand splayed across your lower torso was godlike. was something out of a book, or a movie, how her hand fit your frame like it was fucking made to be against you,

and then you notice it.

it's not until you're shivering with pleasure. ellie's arm is burning, and your body is unable to decide what it wants to do between fucking up against her slickened palm in some fueled fit of greed and delirium or sitting up -- or fighting to, rather -- and watching her, in some awkward position only accentuates the tightening in your both of your cores. regardless, your body seems pretty set on gripping some part of ellie's arm. you find that clawing at her bicep makes her occasionally moan into your mouth,

you find that gripping at her forearm makes her fuck you faster.

and in the moment where you can't believe the speed and the strength at with which she is fucking you, all your eyes can do is hang on the grip that you've got on her forearm. her tattooed forearm, containing veins that bulge and accentuate the stems. the design of the fern that was once flat, and two-dimensional, and is now alive. new branches are created everytime her arm flexes when she moves in, and out of you.

for some reason, the sight is brutal. it makes you gasp. makes your pussy gush over her fingers and stop breathing before releasing an all too honest, too rooted, too teary-eyed, oh my god.

you don't manage to catch the way ellie's lower lip is caught between her teeth. nor the rosiness of her cheeks, or the baby hairs lightly sticking to the perimeter of her forehead, her upper cheekbones just beginning to gather a minor perspire-induced glow. you do catch how she looks at you, but it's only because she laughs a little. catches on too quickly. knows from past experience.

like watching me when i fuck you? gets you off watching you cum all over my fingers, doesn't it?

making such a mess all over my hand, babe.

your head falls back with some grating mix of shock and embarrassment, and the whines that leave your lips are your only bet at being able to vocalize the two.

it's cut short, because ellie's hand reaches to pull you up by your jaw, gentle and rough all-the-same,

keep looking.

makes you so fucking wet, can feel all you.

gonna keep fucking you so, so good, baby.

just gotta keep those eyes on me while i fuck you.

and you believe her.

you believe her as you feel your stomach constrict, and release. you believe it as you feel all of the air in your lungs catch fire. you believe it as the image of her tattooed arm fucking you becomes blurrier, as your lashes begin to gather moisture and stick while some stupid fucking look paints your expression on your face and your nails press deep, red welts into the leaves. you believe her as you mumble her name over and over and over again, as she momentarily presses your foreheads together, as she presses a kiss to the side of it, down the side of your cheek, down the side of your neck,

there you go, baby.

just like that, yeah?

yes, holy fuck, just like that. the phrase is something you think or sputter rather than say. some remnant of it garbles it’s way out of your mouth as you watch her, as you watch both of you. watch your hips stir into every thrust she makes, enamored, like the action was a memory of something you don't remember doing. watch as you let yourself accept it. start bathing in the sound of her fingers moving in and out of your cunt, of the friction caused by the base of her palm grinding against your clit. feel a tear streaking down your cheek as she moves works three, long, rough digits inside of you, like she knows you. like she loves you, or loves seeing you like this -- at this point, it has to be both.

to your ear, she whispers, somewhere mixed in the chaos, lips catching against the lobe of it,

i know, baby.

so good, feels so nice and tight around my fingers.

love fucking you like this, want you to cum for me.

one minute your legs are spread to let her in as deep as you can, and then they're straggling, knees scrambling to press themselves together,

yeah? gonna cum for me?

gonna make a mess on my hand, baby?

fuck, yeah. just like that, baby, cum for me.

take it all, and cum for me, just like that, just like that--

and the only time when you are able to pull yourself away from the sight, from the reality of a pleasure that was so impossible gifted to you from a girl so unreal, is when the world collapses underneath the arch of your back,

when her name leaves your lips embodying a literal, textbook, broken devotion,

while your pussy spasms and you wet the lower half of the fern that you were so focused on,

and is when your eyes roll. somewhere far, far into the back of your head.

[haihaihaitani]

365 Days of Certified Cuteness ~ *Chifuyu Matsuno*

Summary: You have no idea what to get Chifuyu for his birthday. Luckily Pete J has you covered.

Pairing: Chifuyu Matsuno X Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluffy Drabble

Word Count: 875

Warning: Mentions lingerie

Masterlist

Chifuyu’s birthday was coming and for the longest time, you had no idea what to get him. He always claimed he didn’t need anything, that being yours and spending time with you was a gift enough. However, your love language is gift giving and you were determined to find the perfect present for your hard-to-shop-for boyfriend. You just needed to trust your skills, which was easier said than done.

That’s when it struck you; literally.

Chifuyu was out with the rest of the gang and you offered to cat-sit for him. It wasn’t a problem, as Peke J loved you almost as much as he loved Chifuyu. As you were playing with the adorable kitty, he struck the most adorable pose you have ever seen in your entire life. You were reaching for your phone to take a picture to send to your boyfriend when you paused. What better present could you give him for his birthday than three hundred and sixty five days of guaranteed adorable photos of his beloved Peke J? It was an absolutely genius plan!

As soon as it entered your head, you got to work.

First, you went through your camera roll of old photos of Peke J to use for special events and the occasional Throwback Thursday. When that was done and you had a good start on the collection of photos, you scooped up the sweet cat and started taking staged pictures of him that looked like candid shots. Chifuyu would never know that these pictures were pre-planned in the first place.

At first, Peke J was a willing participant. He flashed the cutest eye and always angled his head just right to get the best shot. But after the first thirty or so pictures you decided to keep, he started to get grumpy. You couldn’t blame him, so you called it a night and fed him lots of yummy treats to quell his temper. He warmed up to that idea and took full advantage of your generosity until Chifuyu returned from his night out. He was none the wiser about your present idea and thanked you for cat-sitting.

In the week leading up to his birthday and subsequent party, you could tell he was getting suspicious of you. He was especially suspicious when you asked to borrow his cat on more than one occasion. You knew it sounded weird when you asked to spend time with Peke J instead of him. When you weren’t taking photos of the rambunctious cat, you were editing all of the photos together in a half-calendar, half-photobook. Everything had to be perfect, from the pictures, to the colors, to the layout of each page. You were not going to mess this up!

Finally, after eight days of preparations, and just three hours before Chifuyu’s party, you were putting the final touches on the wrapping that would hold your present. The package was immaculately wrapped and you used a fluffy bow to tie it all together.

With pride filling your chest, you made your way to Chifuyu’s apartment. His birthday party was a simple, intimate affair. You expected nothing less, as he was never one for big flashy parties. Upon your arrival, you were pulled into the fray. You mingled and joked with the rest of his gang of friends, and even gave Peke J some scratches for good luck.

As he opens his presents, you insist he wait until everyone leaves to open yours. Of course, this opens the door to the idea you bought skimpy lingerie just for him. You neither confirm, nor deny it, which makes Chifuyu blush like crazy.

When the party begins to wind down and everyone leaves, you take the last bottle of wine that’s half-finished and pick up your present. Taking a deep breath to calm your nerves, you sit next to Chifuyu on his couch.

“This is for you.”

He looks at it for a split-second before glancing back at you. “It’s not really lingerie is it?”

You roll your eyes. “No. It’s not. The boys were benign stupid. Just open it already!”

When he did, his jaw dropped to the floor. On the cover was his favorite photo of the three of you. “Is this…?”

You nod and scoot closer. “It’s both a calendar and a photo album. Each picture has a little description too. I made it all by myself. I hope you like it.”

���Like it?” Gently setting the book to the side, he pulled you into a tight embrace. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”

“Just being yours is enough.” You toss one of his usual lines back at him.

He laughs and the two of you spend the next couple hours drinking and flipping through the photos. He compliments Peke J on his fine modeling skills and you swear you saw the cat puff up with pride at his words.

Then Chifuyu grabs a pen and marks the date in between your birthdays and you frown.

“What’s that for?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” He winks.

When that day came, he paid you back for the book tenfold, in the form of a luxury vacation and a little velvet box. Of course you said yes.

[bbqhooligan]

On "Kendrick" Defending R. Kelly Music From Spotify bit from 2018 lies:

its important to note that it was TDE CEO Tiffith protesting against Spotify's policy on Kendricks behalf (not even him personally but anyway), basically saying Spotify's blurry ass wording of their policy and immediate picking of R. Kelly was unjust because step by step

censoring artists is bad

censoring artists on incarceration is bad

censoring artists on incarceration with vague wording and criteria is even worse

why does this start with hiphop. like all discrimination does. cuz R. Kelly may have been found guilty but a bunch of old songs where white men sang about and DID mess kids werent taken to court. so they get to stay on the platform?

like id expect Certified Tumblrinas to immediately make the connection that, YEAH, even if you pick something seemingly unanimously agreed upon like "pdf convicted people" to discriminate youre still gonna be erasing more black people than white people cuz theyre arrested and punished more. like. yall didnt graduate basic american racism understanding university im sorry. putting too much trust in what the courts say combined with putting too little mind to why this move was done by Kendrick's label equals:

Yall calling Kendrick an R Kelly defender.

its not even hard to find out, heres the link, i heard that R. Kelly defender shit and read like 8 paragraphs to figure it out. come on

edit: YALL ARE NOT GONNA BELIEVE THIS. THIS POST DIDNT SHOW UP IN THE MAIN TAG UNTIL I CENSORED EVERY PDF FILE MENTION.

[hedonistpoet06]

What If The Storm Ends? - Part 3 Five Hargreeves x Female OC

'What if Five's time during that first apocalypse was slightly different, what if he wasn't alone for all those years?'

Chapter synopsis: Five is plagued by the downfall of his own hubris which got him stuck in the mess of the apocalypse in the first place. Meanwhile, Octavia learns that the strange boy she stumbled across has kept some odd company in the shape of a plastic mannequin. Octavia soon realises that Five's attachment to Delores is no laughing matter, and now Five has to deal with two women living under his roof.

Author's Note: I've started making fic edits on my tik tok 'hed0nistpoet06' so feel free to check it out! <3

Word Count: 3367

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆

iii. Octavia, meet Delores

Five successfully time travelled for the first time on the 11th of November, 2002.

The boy’s abrupt departure was charged by the dispute he had shared with his adoptive father, eccentric billionaire and certified asshole, Reginald Hagreeves. As Five opened the obnoxiously grand wooden doors of the academy that he had called home he felt relieved at how easy it was to leave.

For 13 years Five and his siblings had endured the abuse regimented training implemented by their father and during that time simply leaving had never felt like an option to himself or the others. Where would he go? His name and face was plastered all over cheap merchandise throughout the city so if he did hypothetically leave it wouldn’t be long until some recognised him. Then he would have to deal with the repercussions of his father and he knew the man didn’t believe in the concept of mercy.

Five recalled the painful memories that plagued his childhood, all of which shared a common denominator, his father. Reginald trained them to the bone, they were more like working dogs than children to him. Both Five and his siblings had all been conditioned with the same purpose, to save the world. Five thought about the hours they spent being unethically disciplined into becoming the perfect superhuman team.

He thought about it all, the way his lungs would burn from over exertion, the metallic stench of blood which filled his mouth and the suffocating silence of his siblings after they returned home from a mission unsuccessful, terrified of their fathers wrath which was guaranteed.

But Five was finally free.

He had made the choice to ignore Reginalds dismissal of his desire to time travel, after all Five remembered that he was the one who obtained the ability to spatial jump, not his father, so what could the old man possibly know?

However, he was surprised by the fact that neither his father nor any of his siblings had made an attempt to chase after him. His father had called his numerical title from his position at the head of their dining table but made no effort to stop him from leaving. The only one of his siblings that showed any intrigue in his departure was his sister, Vanya, who softly shook her head as he proposed time travel to his father.

He tolerated her the most out of their siblings most likely due to the fact that she was powerless and therefore wasn’t driven by their ego unlike Luther who took his position as Number One within the family extremely seriously.

As Five strode through the street front he had walked down many times before he became elated at this new sense of freedom which consumed him. Because physically leaving was so easy he also grew slightly enraged that he hadn’t thought of fleeing the bounds of this time earlier.

He was ready to time travel, he knew it.

Five had dedicated an obscene amount of blood, sweat and tears into perfecting his spatial jumps, ensuring that his calculations were just right. And when the boy had conquered travelling through space effectively, he yearned to travel through time.

Five focused his energy into performing a spatial jump but instead of fixating on the distance he would cross, he focused on projecting himself forward in time.

He needed to start small, months first, then years.

Then he was suddenly absorbed in that familiar blue light and when he opened his eyes he was thrilled to see and feel the seasonal shift in the atmosphere. From the bright colours that people wore, the humidity of the city air which melted through his academy blazer and the sound of amiable chit chat, Five knew that it was summer.

“Not ready, my ass.” He mumbled under his breath, cursing his fathers previous sentiment.

He had proved him wrong and Five swore he had never felt so content with himself before, and that was saying something.

Feeling adventurous and intoxicated from his own adrenaline high, Five decided to jump again.

The success of his second attempt was confirmed when he found himself on the same street front, only it was surrounded by snow. Five recognised the winter chill amongst the gentle falling of snow and the absence of people.

One more time, Five wanted to jump one more time. Then he would be completely satisfied with himself.

Oh how Five desperately wished he could have stopped himself there. To tell himself that he did not need to make that third, fatal jump. He could practically hear his fathers voice taunting him as the old man recited the Greek myth of Icarus and Daedalus once.

“Must I remind you, Number Five of the tragedy of Icarus. The boy did not heed his father’s warning regarding the fragility of their feather and wax wings. Driven by his own self perpetuated ego, the boy flew too high. Thus, the sun melted his wings and he plunged into the sea.” Reginald had explained this the first time Five had questioned the legitimacy of time travel to him.

Five did not agree with his father but he did wish that he had acknowledged the man's wisdom instead of feeding his own hubris.

When Five jumped he was met with nothing but death and destruction. The silence that surrounded him was harrowing. The only noise that filled his ears was that of burning debris and the reverberation of his own heartbeat.

Everything was destroyed. The buildings which Five had known his whole life had been obliterated into rubble, leaving the street unrecognisable to the boy.

Five panicked as he ran through the remains of the street. Ash was falling from the sky like snow and it filled his nose and mouth, he could taste the annihilation on his tongue but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. His thoughts were consumed by one thing, finding his family.

He sprinted and hurled himself over chunks of concrete until he reached the academy, or at least what used to be left of the academy.

What stood in front of Five was now a mere skeleton of the building he used to call home. Despite all the painful memories that inhabited those four walls, Five never wished for it to be completely eradicated.

“Vanya!” She was the first to appear in his mind as he called out into the empty space before him. He heard nothing in response except for the small flickering of flames that consumed some parts of the house’s remains.

“Ben!” Five then thought about his brother who he renowned as the least idiotic of the siblings, second to himself of course. But not even Ben could outwit the grim reality of this current situation Five had found himself in.

“Dad!” He finally called out for his father, his voice breaking slightly. He expected his father to miraculously appear before him and give him some grand ‘I told you so’ lecture and then return home for him to receive his punishment for disobeying him.

He would gladly take the fury of his father over the desolate scene he was witnessing.

“Anyone!” He turned to the street and called out, silently hoping that a lone survivor or two would call for help from under the wreckage.

Once again, Five was met with silence. His own voice appeared to get lost in the endless void of grey industrial butchering.

Five tried to compose himself enough to conjure his energy into his palms and focus on shifting himself back in time. Even if he couldn’t get back to the exact point in which he left, Five wouldn’t care, he just needed to get the hell out of there.

He needed to hear the bickering of his siblings, the god awful jokes that Klaus made, Ben's cynical commentary or the sweet harmonies of Vanya’s violin which embedded itself into every corner of their house.

As Five’s hands were encapsulated by that familiar blue light his hope quickly died when he was met with physical resistance.

An invisible force was lodging itself against Five when he tried to use his power and no matter how he tried or how deeply he concentrated, he couldn’t jump. He felt like two brick walls were closing in on himself, he was suffocating. Five found the simple act of breathing difficult which only hindered his concentration.

His academy uniform was excruciatingly warm compared to his blazing surroundings and ash had wedged itself into the back of his oesophagus, only contributing to his laboured breathing.

Any attempt of using his powers to propel himself backwards proved to be futile. There was absolutely no way of rewinding his actions and erasing this decrepit, lifeless landscape from his mind.

As Five turned to face the remains of the academy once again he was met with the gut wrenching realisation that he was completely and utterly alone in this very moment.

Five crumbled to his knees, ignoring the way the concrete scalded and grazed his skin. The ash then began to rain down even heavier than before, it stuck to his hair, his hands and his skin. It was like he was being absorbed by the end of the world itself.

And at that very moment, Five Hargreeves began to cry.

— -- —

Octavia had left her base with Five the following morning to start their newly forged companionship.

She packed the few belongings that she had into her backpack, Five had so generously offered to carry some too. Octavia didn’t need to take much, mostly clothes, the few knives and other objects she had collected over the two years alone. Nothing really obtained any sentimental value to her anymore, everything which she did own was what she had found out of necessity for survival.

The only tangible object that had remained consistent throughout her time in the apocalypse was a dainty silver necklace her parents had gifted her on her 12th birthday. It wasn't incredibly fancy or expensive, just a simple silver chain and a matching heart shaped pendant and on the back her initials 'OM' had been engraved in italic writing. It may have sounded pathetic but the small piece of jewellery was her last connection to home, to her parents and physical proof that she lived a life before the world had caved in on itself.

Sometimes she found herself running the pad of her thumb over the backside of the pendant just to feel the grooves of the engraving. The silver itself was scratched due to natural apocalypse related wear and tear but she could still clearly feel and trace over the two letters which constituted her initials.

She was honestly impressed the dainty thing had lasted this long.

Despite being somewhat relieved to leave the concrete shack she called home, Octavia couldn’t help but feel a slight heaviness overcome her when she turned around to say one last goodbye to her shelter for the past two years. It kept her safe, protected and somewhat warm during the time she inhabited it and ultimately helped to sustain her survival.

However as she looked towards the boy who was already a few steps ahead of her she felt a twinge of relief knowing that she would no longer be alone.

The walk to Five’s base took the two of them half of the day to complete.

It turned out that Five resided on the complete opposite side of the city. Octavia vocalised her annoyance as the two of them hiked through the rubble of the city, the spring warmth was particularly intense that day. Five rolled his eyes and told her to suck it up and reminded her that there were far worse conditions to be in.

However, Octavia caught him complaining under his breath about why he had agreed to this deal. She didn’t take his remark too seriously, she knew well enough that he wanted this just as much as she did. Their two years of respective solitude was gruelling and unforgiving. A small intrinsic part of Octavia was almost excited to be in the presence of someone else's company for the foreseeable future, especially since Five was just about her age and easy on the eyes, although she wouldn't admit that out loud.

After what felt like an eternity of walking in the spring heat the two finally made it to Five’s base. Upon their arrival, Octavia finally understood what Five meant when he said that his place was more developed than her own. Five had sought refuge in the remains of an old library. Octavia deciphered the battered metal sign that read ‘Argyle Public Library’. The building itself consisted of a circular concrete structure that had somehow withstood the end of the world. Although some of its brick walls crumbled down, leaving it exposed to the elements, Octavia could see where Five had so evidently tried to patch it up and make it liveable. However, half of the ceiling was open, meaning there was still some exposure to the elements.

Octavia stood still in awe of the building, it was almost metaphorical how this cylindrical structure had combatted the apocalypse and somewhat succeeded. The circular architecture reminded her of something from antiquity, like one of those marble temples you’d see in ancient Greece. Only this place was made out of concrete and brick and not elegant marble. It stood proudly amongst the rubble of the city and she was slightly surprised that she hadn’t come across the building before in any of her travels throughout the city.

“Wow.. Five. It’s incredible.” She said, processing it's shockingly decent state.

“It’s not awful. It was the only building I could find that was somewhat standing.” Five walked towards what Octavia presumed was once the doorway, now replaced with a piece of fabric that acted as a curtain.

“It’s impressive.” She followed shortly behind him as he drew back the sheet but stopped abruptly.

Five shifted his weight and turned to look at Octavia. A serious expression painted his face as Octavia shot him a questioning look.

“Before you come in there is something I need to tell you.” He said sternly.

“What is it?” Octavia folded her arms over her chest, eager to hear what the boy was about to reveal.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you.” Five confessed. Truthfully, the whole walk home he had been mentally debating with himself how he was going to approach this situation.

“Five, you’re being weird.” Octavia knew that being weird wasn't exactly out of the ordinary for Five but something about his sudden shift in behaviour had irked her immensely.

“I haven’t exactly been alone all this time.” Five stated and Octavia felt her face flush with rage. She recalled their conversation only two days ago now when the two of them shared their experiences about being alone for two entire years, only to discover that the boy had lied to her.

Octavia secretly hoped that Five was hiding some stray dog and that was what he considered company. Her anger would dissipate if that were the case, Octavia loved animals, she had been surrounded by them every summer she spent on her grandparents farm. There were the usual chickens, pigs, cows but the lambs were her favourite. She especially when the lambs had just been born, no older than a few days and her grandfather allowed her to nurse them a bottle of milk and run her fingers through the soft tufts of wool.

“What the hell do you mean?” Octavia spoke up as she pulled herself out of her own memory which began to cloud her mind.

Five didn't respond. He instead drew back the curtain and gestured for her to step inside. Octavia, although weary, quickly followed suit.

She had almost forgotten about his peculiar revelation when her eyes landed on the interior of his base. It was so incredibly fitting to Five’s character that she almost had to hold a small giggle back.

The base consisted of one large, open circular room. His mattress planted in the upper portion of the room, surrounded by stacks of books. The remaining walls that weren’t completely blown out were covered in equations, the very equations Five had told her about the previous day. Octavia tried to decipher some of the formulas but this level of mathematics was beyond intelligible, it could have resembled scribble to the untrained eye. On the opposite end of the room there were two more guns leaning up against the wall, much like the rifle he wore on his back when the two of them first met. Across every inch of the room were towers of books, some in better condition than others but there was an abundance of them. Octavia almost wanted to cry tears of pure joy when she saw them sitting just a few mere feet away from her. In the centre of the space was a table, she presumed it was once some grand wooden dining table but it had obviously been destroyed. She silently chuckled at the idea of Five trying to fix it, opting for a piece of metal to substitute one of the missing table legs.

Octavia noticed that on top of the table's surface sat a mannequin. She only had the upper half of her body intact and she was missing an arm. Despite her absent appendages she was in somewhat decent condition, only a few scratches and dirt covered her bald head and she was dressed in a black and white polka dot blouse. Octavia shifted her weight between her feet as she waited for Five to say something, to maybe make a joke or laugh it off, instead he stared at its plastic beady eyes with an almost longing look in his eyes. It was honestly the softest, most unguarded expression that she had seen in the two days that she had known him.

“I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long dear, I know you hate it when I take off like that.” Five dropped his bag and rifle by the doorway and strode over to the table. He gently reached out a hand and began to rub the mannequin's plastic cheek.

Octavia quickly realised that it was neither a dog or another human person Five was referring to it was a plastic mannequin. She could only describe her as the type of mannequin you'd see in those cheap department stores with the uncanny faces that make you uncomfortable if you stare at them for too long.

“I know. I know. I didn’t mean to worry you.” He mumbled to the mannequin and Octavia was dumbfounded at his sudden shift in behaviour.

The tender and almost affectionate tone of his voice was completely foreign and seemingly out of character. She cleared her throat awkwardly, feeling as if she was interrupting a deeply intimate moment between Five and the mannequin.

Five looked back at Octavia before he gestured a hand to her direction.

“Octavia meet Delores, Delores this is Octavia. Our new roommate.” Octavia couldn't believe that the boy was introducing her to a non sentient piece of plastic.

“Are you telling me you’ve been shagging a mannequin for the past two years?” Octavia had concluded that this wasn't just an act Five was performing to get a rise out of her, he was being entirely serious.

“Don’t talk about Delores like that!” Five quipped back. His voice dramatically shifted from its previously affectionate tone to that of defensiveness.

Five found Delores during his first few weeks into the apocalypse. He considered Delores a real person, she was the closest thing to real which he could find in the debris. Her face was still mostly intact aside from a few scratches and Five was relieved to see something that mildly resembled another human being.

At first he just spoke to her in an attempt to keep himself sane, then he started to wheel her along in his metal trolley which he used on supply runs. Soon, Five wasn't exactly sure when but somewhere along the way she became Delores, it was like the name had just miraculously came to him and it suited her.

Octavia put her hands up in defeat, “Jesus, I guess you really did lose your mind.”

“Don’t listen to her, love. She doesn’t mean it.” Five said softly and Octavia rubbed her forehead in thought. Perhaps this was one quirk she would have to ignore in the name of survival.

“I swear to god Five if I have to hear you two getting it on.” She smirked at the livid reaction that spread across Five's face.

[natsuslover]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ random nobara headcanons

notes— i’m not ready to let go of my girl yet idc what gege says i still believe she’s alive and well and she’s just playing hide n seek she’s coming back to us soon (i’m coping) EDIT: MY GOAT IS BACKKKK 🔥

ft. nobara kugisaki

content: no warnings maybe some incredibly mild cursing idk

miss girl has a shopping ADDICTION

but she just calls it “retail therapy” and it’s apparently essential for her well-being

she uses all her jujutsu hush money salary on luxury brand items (mostly clothes and shoes)

has the DIRTIEST side eye known to man

like she’s judgmental asfff and you can most definitely see it on her face but she never outright says anything

unless it’s yuji megumi or gojo she very publicly scrutinizes them lmao

the biggest girls girl ever

always girls support girls even in a murder situation

but if a girl is toxic or fake or rude or pick me in any way then fuck that bitch

definitely follows that one movie trope of like reading a fashion magazine on top of a textbook in class

she’s a certified hater and i love that for her

nonstop yapper

and gossips like it’s her full time job

this girl is a pro stalker she can find anyone on instagram in like 10 seconds flat

nobara has a pretty polarized music taste imo

like one second she’ll be listening to the cuntiest music ever (think chappell roan britney spears nicki minaj type shit)

and next she’ll straight up be listening to travis scott, carti, odetari, and yeat or smth

but one thing ik fs is that she hates listening to music that doesn’t hype her up

gets to school late like everyday bc she takes too long getting ready

loves binge watching tv shows

my girl is 100% NOT a morning person loll

she’s so cranky in the mornings literally no one wants to mess with her

but she’s also one of those people that’s excited and wakes up at the crack of ass if she’s going on vacation

lowkey enjoys gaming (esp shooting games)

plays fortnite with yuji all the time

slacks off in class but somehow manages to get by on prior intelligence alone

hates coffee bc it’s too bitter

definitely prefers sweet tea or boba

LOVES trying new food

pookie is big backed in the best way possible

doesn’t really like playing sports but she looks out for her figure and works out so she’s pretty athletic anyway

definitely decorates her hammer hilt with cute rhinestones

it keeps getting messed up in battle but she happily does it again

spoiler:

she has a designer eye patch and makes sure it’s always cute and matches her outfit 😋

yall i had this in my drafts for so long before the recent chapter came out but im actually so fucking happy that nobara’s back and the trio is back together like i almost forgive gege for everything 😭😭

[rambyol]

What do you think about the fact that John made a therapy group and had one of his freinds (seemingly repeatedly) insult the Bruce doll. I find it wild that Jlhn aka Certified Bruce Wayne Simp let Willy into his group or was even his freind.

Personally i think he was using Willy as a pawn but... idk wdyt?

Oh this was a nice challenge! I get where you’re going. I wasn’t really sure how to structure this one but I hope it’s still worth the read!

Note: I’m a bit unwell at the moment so bear with any punctuation mistakes ( T_T) 🫶

The Purpose of John’s Therapy Group

We don’t know a lot of details about John’s immediate time in the outside world once he was released. All we know is that he was closely associated with Harley who in a way scouted him from Arkham to help with the Pact, and during John’s time on the outside he ‘frequented’ the Stacked Deck. The reason I’m bringing this up is because we need to know ‘Why’ John would make a therapy group. He claims to Bruce that the reason he started the group was so he could share some of the ‘expertise he learned at Arkham’ with them. Now whether he’s being genuine is up for debate.

I believe there are a few ways we could interpret the purpose behind John’s therapy group. Since this scene takes place in the very first episode ‘The Engima’, it plays on our preconceived notions of the Joker. The game tries to get us/Bruce to question John’s intentions, hence the question about whether John would be the type to Kill a man in cold blood, but if we associate John with the typical characteristics of ‘Joker’ the therapy group aspects feels a little more insidious. John was used to having some sense of control when he was in Arkham. He got along with the orderlies and knew the ins and outs of the place as well as being infamous to other inmates. To an extent, John could be trying to emulate that sense of control through this therapy group.

Now I have a billion readings of John’s character from him being a well intentioned but misunderstood dude to a sadistic psychopath but what’s fairly consistent to his character is that sense of control and power he wants over others. These two attributes are what arguably attract him to personalities like Harley and Bruce.

So its not unreasonable to think he would go after vulnerable people like Willy, a man who is a struggling alcoholic, and take advantage of them for his own gain. A detail that is easily overlooked is that John exploits Willy’s alcoholism as a means to get him to participate in the therapy group.

Exploiting Willy’s alcoholism is of course very messed up of John to do since he’s essentially scraping the bottom of the barrel to feel a sense of power and control over someone. So you’re right, he does use Willy as a pawn. (But I’ll get back to that)

Now for the wholesome reason. There is a part of me that believes that there was a well intentioned side to John with this therapy group. John tells Bruce how lost he felt once he no longer had the structure that Arkham provided and it’s possible that he would have wanted to seek out like minded people or at least people in similar predicaments.

If Bruce is kind, compassionate, and gives John the benefit of the doubt, then we see the positive result of that approach with John in the Vigilante route.

During the Boss fight with Bane in this route, Bruce is forced to pick between saving Willy or Agent Harrison from Bane. Here’s Jokers reaction when Willy dies:

Compare this emotional response to Villain Joker’s apathy when he shoots one of his own goons through the head. It’s evident that Vigilante Joker had empathy for him, at least enough for him to be upset by Willy’s death, even if for a moment.

Edit Note: To add, If Batman hesitates and doesn’t save either of the men. Joker uses his grapple to save Willy.

(also here’s ⬆️ Joker urging his team to get away because things were getting dangerous)

It’s worth noting that the existence of Joker’s team, consisting of Willy, Frank, and Lauren, all three of whom he encountered at the Stacked Deck, suggest that his time at that Bar was spent making a relatively genuine connection with these people which is reinforced when we see how loyal all three of them were to John/Joker.

That loyalty could stem from the fact that Joker gave them a purpose by utilising their skills that otherwise went neglected due to their afflictions— Just look at what Commissioner Gordon shares with Batman about Willy’s past;

“Machinist by trade. With a…storied employment history. He’s been fired from every factory and chemical plant in Gotham. Has a drinking problem, apparently.”

Despite this picture we get of Willy, Batman describes the work he put into crafting Joker’s custom batarang as “remarkable craftsmanship”. A clear sign that he’s a competent person when given the chance to prove himself (via Joker here), and if someone like Willy had been extended a helping hand with his problems earlier instead of thrown out by society and neglected then he’d be in a better position.

These people, like John, were outcasted by society, but have now banded together under a common cause, which is, to get back at Institutions/Authority groups like the Agency, one that preys on vulnerable people like them, for the harm they do. In this sense, I completely understand why John would associate with the guy.

Funnily enough, even in the Villain route, it’s assumed that Joker still kept Willy around as he’s the clown guy that introduces Villain Joker at the start of the episode and he survives the virus bomb since he was supplied a gas mask. Unlike the other henchman who gets his mask torn off by Harley so in both routes Willy does have a valuable part to play in Joker’s plan.

Messing with Bruce

Now I watched this part back a few times and the reason for this really depends on whether or not Bruce places a tracker on John. For this post I’m going with the option where he does track Johns location because there’s more to work with there since we can then assume that John could’ve planned ahead for Bruce’s arrival and set up the therapy circle so that the two things would inevitably coincide.

Why would John do that? Because it was a way to mess with Bruce. Something John does throughout the game.

It’s revealed by John that he’d speculated for some time that Bruce and Batman were the same person and when we consider John from S1 where he heavily implies that he practically knows the man’s identity as the vigilante then what we have here is another example of Johns latent sadism, except it’s enacted through an emotional/psychological sense.

This is Bruce’s reaction as soon as he enters the Stacked Deck and hears Willy yell “Batman!”, it clearly throws him off for a second. If we go back to ideas about power and control, this is arguably the one small sense of ‘power’ John has over Bruce. He would never of course out Bruce but he knows it makes the man nervous and we know this because one of Bruce’s responses to John’s accusation/reveal at the Funhouse in Ep4 is to immediately get defensive and assume he’s about to be blackmailed.

This emotional and psychological game that John plays with Bruce appears again when they’re at Cafe Triste. Maybe it’s just me but there’s a slight emphasis on the word ‘bat’ in Anthony’s delivery. Clearly implying the connection between Bruce and Batman there.

So to answer that last question, yes he was definitely using Willy in that scene as a way to mess with Bruce. On the whole however I personally think Willy’s role far outweighs a pawn and that there’s definitely a more significant aspect to the character.

[onmyyan]

Manny NSFW HC's

A/N: someone asked for Manny n I gotta give the horny ppl what they want, Marcos is next, feedback is appreciated NOT EDITED

TW'S: YANDERE,SMUT, CALLS READER MASTER, PET PLAY, PEGGING, PUBLIC SEX, BLOOD KINK, SPIT KINK, MASK KINK

Certified lover boy

Gave his virginity to you so you guys get to have the fun of discovering all his different flavors of nasty.

Blood kink, finds out when he gets a little too excited during a kiss and nips your bottom lip enough for a little bead of ruby to pool into your mouths, he apologizes immediately but when you just keep kissing him he allows himself to get lost in the feeling. Addicted to the way red looks on you.

If you scratch him deep enough to draw blood? His eyes are rollling back and he can't speak in full sentences anymore.

Spit kink he loves when you grip him by the face and tell him to open up, sticks his tongue out like the proud doggy he is and says thank you master.

Mask kink off the walls, one of his biggest fantasies involves him in a Ghostface mask, he'd stalk you all day, call after call, telling you all the bad things he wanted to do to you, how he wanted to come out of hiding just to see the pretty look on your face, sometimes he doesn't even speak, the only thing you can make out between the wet noises of him fisting his cock, are the adorable little whines and whimpers of your name, he edges himself like this alllll day, saving up for when he inevitably breaks into your home and takes you on the floor.

Please put this mf on a leash all he wants to do is follow you around staring up through those dark wet lashes, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

Moans so loud you have to gag him, he loves seeing your disappointed face as you have to sush him again, especially loves when your fingers slip into his mouth while you're securing the ball.

PEG THIS MF

He has the prettiest arch in his back, makes sure to look as seductive as he can as he looks over his shoulder, "C'mon baby please?" He'd press himself against your front, skin flushed cherry red, the pout on his face nearly too cute to resist

" I want you to destroy me. Need'ta feel you."

If you want him to top it's no problem, he just loves letting you take control.

Please choke him.

Really into the idea of filming the two of you, thinks you're the hottest couple on the planet.

Likes fancy underwear, once put on a pair of your's as a goof but uh oh he's rock hard all of a sudden?

If you call him babygirl he will latch himself to your neck to hide his red face, but with the way he's whining and subtly grinding his clothed cock into your thighs, you can guess he's into it.

His oral fixation is really present here, will suck on your fingers/strap for hours if you'd let him.

Has his left nipple pierced, it's a little heart charm and speaking of,

Really sensitive nipples, came once just from you nipping and sucking.

Obsessed with the way you feel around him, thinks it's the ultimate way to bond, to become one.

Loves playing with toys, especially the one's he can put in and forget about until you decide to mess with him and press the power button on the remote he gave you.

He immediately excuses himself from whatever he's doing, and wobbly walks his way to the bathroom, legs quivering the whole time.

He'd lock the door and try to whip out his phone to call you, key word being try as you decide to up the vibration level, hot tears trailing down his cheeks as he grips the marble counter of the sink, fingers desperately grasping for anything to steady him as his orgasm rocketed toward him with break neck speed.

He'd manage to get you on the phone, the buzz going up and down in the most evil pattern, but no matter how good it felt he refused to fun without hearing your voice.

"Hi baby boy, does that feel good?" Your tone was devilishly warm, as if you knew what a mess He was making right then, He felt himself spill over in his designer jeans, the squeal of your name gave you the insight to turn it off, "Mm-god damnit Sweets don't stop-" he whined into the receiver, hips still bucking against nothing.

"Greedy little thing." Was all he heard before the toy was buzzing back to life, he had to roughly stuff his fingers in his mouth in an effort to keep his mewls quiet, he imagined they were your own and haistly tossed his phone on the counter.

His hand would be down his pants and despite the sting from having just came his brains out, he keeps going.

Fucks like a rabbit in heat.

Quickies everywhere, anywhere.

And I mean that quite literally, you get horny at the movies? He's got his hand down your pants.

In the mood stuck in traffic? He will pat his lap with that evil grin of his and you're riding him for dear life.

He's pretty insatiable himself, when he brought you to a family dinner party he had his hand gripping the meat of your inner thigh the entire time, slow circles turned into his pinkie brushing against your clothed clit just to feel you soak the fabric.

He's holding a conversation with his Father the entire time, not breaking a sweat as he makes you tremble beside him.

Fucks you in the bathroom upstairs cuz he just can't wait till you get home.

He doesn't hide his crazy, meaning if he's pushed into a jealous frenzy (which isn't very hard) he becomes much more dominant, holds you to the bed by your throat in a way that has your head fuzzy.

You didn't even see the offender approaching you at the bar, but Manny did. And he makes it a point to drag you off to the room closest to it, knowing the creep would follow.

Before you can ask what's wrong he's on his knees, yanking your skirt up with a pout, tossing a thigh over his shoulder.

He'd kiss his way up to your core with a mean smile.

"Thanks for the meal."

Makes you cum on his fingers twice, then he's tearing off his belt and forking his tongue in your mouth to give you a taste. "Jump f'me gorgeous." Would be your only warning as the next second he'd bottom out

"That son of a bitch thinks he can look at you like that? Nuh uh this is my pussy- say it."

"Who fucks you this good huh? Nnngh-who makes you cum pretty girl?"

"Say it- want em to hear you."

When he gets possessive he gets rougher.

The times when sex is a little bit softer he likes to hold you close, moans into your mouth or skin, slow rocks of his hips would leave you breathless.

Overstimulation, but at this point that runs in the family idk

If you tell him you love him during be prepared to not leave that bed until daybreak.

[fixing-bad-posts]

I looked around and didn't see anything about this on your blog but I apologize if I missed it.

I was wondering, what does doing the work behind this blog...feel like? I guess what I'm asking is if it does anything to you. Like, I had a thought. For a flash, I imagined you as Butters from South Park in that episode where he is tasked with filtering out all the negative comments on Cartman's social media. It ended up really messing with Butters, what with him having to see all that negativity.

You're definitely not being affected to that extreme, I assume, but I wonder if you would have anything to say about the process of finding these negative posts and reading them several times to edit them. Has it exposed you to unpleasantness that you wouldn't have otherwise seen? Or is there perhaps a kind of catharsis in editing such filth?

I'm making a lot of assumptions here. Maybe I'm also asking about your process. I just think what you're doing is neat and would love to hear about your experience with it.

Thanks for reading and I hope you have plenty of reasons to feel joy <3

oh boy, i love talking about myself haha—so thank you for giving me an excuse to do so! i have answered similar questions in the past, though never at length. every once in a while, someone pops into the inbox to ask about my mental health (which, rest assured, is just fine—i don’t put this blog’s operation above anything; it’s honestly pretty low on my list of life-priorities), and it’s always quite sweet. having a mob of strangers following one’s sideblog has its perks: one being that sometimes parasociality results in some well wishes, kind thoughts, and general goodwill. which is very nice, and probably an unearned vanity-boost for my ego.

what does the work behind this blog feel like? in turns: mundane, challenging, vindicating, annoying, amusing… and probably other things that i’m forgetting. most of the work i do on this blog is actually me procrastinating! i am a certified adult with a job™, and i’m definitely guilty of slacking off at work sometimes to queue posts submissions from my inbox, which is more fun than like… proofreading financial documents and making spreadsheets. other times, i’m sitting in a café with my partner, and allegedly i’m “writing” fanfiction. but, uh, if you know any writers, you know that sometimes “writing” means, ‘looking at a blinking cursor’. so it’s in those moments that i open up tumblr and start writing image descriptions and adding tags to prep posts for my queue. that’s mainly when the blog feels mundane.

something that i think helps me avoid negative doomscroll-spirals is that i don’t actively seek out bad posts for this blog. being a citizen of the internet delivers fodder to me naturally. that, and running a semi-popular sideblog on tumblr. when i see a bad post in the wild, that’s when the feeling is annoying/challenging. challenging, because ever since starting this sideblog, hateful posts don’t feel as vicious to me. once i see them, they stop being posts and turn into word-puzzles. and i love word puzzles!

solving the word puzzle is amusing for me, as is getting to look at my resulting “blackout poem.” it makes me laugh, it stretches my brain. when i started, i used to have to read a post several times to find the ‘good post within the bad post’ so to speak. these days, i’m so used to it, i barely read the bad posts more than a handful of times. but as i was saying to my partner, one of the reasons i love found poetry (erasure poetry, and cut-up poetry) is that it uses the same part of my brain that loves scrabble (the board game). then, of course, it's vindicating to see my posts get so many notes, sometimes surpassing the original bad post. that's more of my own vanity, i'm sure.

as for the last part of your message: yes, i have plenty of reasons to feel joy. i work with people who respect me, i live walking distance from a bubble tea café, and have friends and family whom i love. i have the good fortune to be safely out as a queer person. i’m a fanbinder. i’m currently working on a long fanfiction which is getting some very nice comments on ao3. and i’ve recently decided to become a poet (like, for real).

i must admit, i’m fascinated by how you imagine me. i often wonder how i am perceived, especially because i keep many cards close to my chest here on my sideblog.

anyhow, thank you for this excuse to ramble about myself and the process of running this blog. i hope you also have plenty of reasons to feel joy 💛

[lepidopteralabyrinth]

A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE. Pawn and Arisen edition!

REPOST with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc.

Tagged by: @sangre (thank you!)

Name: Tieve

Nicknames: None :( Age: Physically? 22/23-ish Chronologically? Uhhhh half a year or countless eons, depending on how you count. Race: Pawn Gender: Cis Woman Orientation: Lesbian Zodiac: I don't know this very well…Libra? Moral Alignment: Neutral Good Class/Subclass: Mage (In D&D terms, she'd be a Cleric, 100%) Background: Not much to speak of! Interests/Hobbies: People watching, theater and any kind of storytelling. Puppets. Flower pressing. Spoken Languages: [Whatever language people in DD2 are meant to be speaking], Elvish, Dragon tongue. Profession: Healer. Sometimes tour guide. Professional "Look, Cows" person on the road trip (crucial. important.) Height: 6'2 Colors: Dark Blue/Teal, Gold, White Drinks: Fruit teas, black coffee. Alcoholic Beverages: She'll try basically anything, though she has a preference for fancy wines. She can't really get drunk, so it's more for the taste and the company. Her first time out drinking as a human is going to be a mess. Smokes: Infrequently Drugs: Open to experimentation, though they don't affect her much. Drivers License: God, no. The number of destroyed oxcarts she's caused… Ever Been Arrested: No, though not for lack of trying on the guards part.

Name: Andras

Nicknames: None :( Age: Not counting the time loop, 34. (I think I might have said 32 at some point, but for some timelines reasons I've changed it.) Race: Half-Elf Gender:

(Any pronouns.) Orientation: Lesbian Zodiac: Virgo (?) Moral Alignment: Chaotic Good Class/Subclass: Fighter/Mystic Spearhand (In D&D they'd be a Fighter or a Paladin.) Background: Andras was born in Battahl, in a village near the border. She never knew her mother – though their pointed ears have given them some ideas– but her father was a relatively successful wheelwright. Andras was fully expected to take over the family business, but after her father remarried and her half sister was born, Andras struck out on their own as a mercenary and left for Vermund. Interests/Hobbies: Sketching, historical studies. Dabbles in a lot of things! Mostly practical stuff like sewing and knots. Spoken Languages: [Whatever language people in DD2 are meant to be speaking], an unusual local dialect in Battahl, Dragon Tongue. Profession: Arisen. And delivery service. Height: 6'8 Colors: Browns, purples, and oranges. Drinks: Any kind of tea. She enjoys spiced teas in particular. Alcoholic Beverages: They'll drink socially (usually whatever the bartender suggests) but she doesn't do so often. They'd be rather fond of kumis, if some version of it exists in the setting. Smokes: No Drugs: Nope, no way. Anything that messes with their perceptions is a no go. Drivers License: They can drive very well, and they are the world's most annoying backseat driver. In a modern AU they would be forklift certified. Ever Been Arrested: Once, on purpose.

[sleepyzzzi]

!Big talk!

Once again, my blog isn't for vents, but sometimes I need to say stuff that's on my mind.

I'm a student pilot, and honestly. . .I think it's too hard for me. I have one license and some medical knowledge at this point, I'm certified, but it's getting more difficult. It's not that I didn't expect it to be hard, but I'm the only biological female in my classes, so a lot of the guys are awful and sexist. The coursework is a very heavy burden. . .but if I pull through, the pay will be good. They need pilots, I get emails day after day about it. I'm not sure what to do if I fail my part 107. I had the highest scores in the classes last year, but my simulations were less than promising, and this year my scores have dropped by 30%

What I guess I'm saying is, I think I'm going to quit. I think I'm going to become a teacher instead. The pay isn't nearly as good, that is a concern of mine, but I'm hoping to do commissions on the side that can help. I've always wanted to be a teacher, ever since I was in kindergarten. I am absolutely terrified of the future, and losing my grip on my little side as I have been lately.

Along with that, as I mentioned, I've been struggling with my little side. I haven't actually regressed for more than a few minutes in what feels like weeks. I'm not doing too well, but I'm trying my best. I constantly feel unfocused and disoriented, on autopilot. I can never tell who's fronting, or if anyone is even real. I get front stuck so much that my system seems silent and inactive for days at a time and I start to worry if I'm subconsciously faking it. I don't even know, honestly. I'm trying to distract myself, but it seems like nothing is working.

And on top of that, it feels like my incontinence is getting worse in. . .less than ideal ways. It's still embarrassing and humiliating to me. You'd think I'd be used to it, but I'm not. I feel like I can't talk about anything because I'll chase people off by being too negative, weird or clingy, I dunno.

Edit: Actually I want to say. Those guys constantly tell me that those classes aren't for women and I should go back to the kitchen where I belong. Not to mention their 'funny little nicknames' for me. For context, I have some odd looking scars all over my face and other parts of my body due to a skin condition. They look like large patches of severe acne, but they're smooth and just scars. However, these guys like to call me Deadpool or "messed up science experiment" among other things. It's terribly frustrating, and I'm already ashamed by them enough. Why are people so cruel?

SFW INTERACTION ONLY.

[got-that-oh-i-mean]

Thoughts while listening to TTPD for the first time

Fortnight: wait the first notes sound like happiness??? HER VOICE OMG tAYLOR IS THAT REALLY YOU????

TTPD: she leaves scarfs, he leaves typewriters; the tortured belongings department. WAIT THIS IS FUCKKNG SAVAGE??? "who uses typewriters anyway?" YOU TAKE MY RING OFF MY MIDDLE FINGER AND PUT IT ON THE ONE PEOPLE PUT WEDDING RINGS ON??????????? I screeeeamed, aijsdjsjkqla. this is a certified bop also.

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys: can't wait for the barbie edits! oh hey she literally mentions Ken!

Down Bad: crying at the gym is the new crying at the club. Fuck it if I can't have him rolls off her tongue so pretty

So Long, London: i died at the altar?????? kill me. NOW. the build up of the song is fantastic.

But Daddy I Love Him: big The Notebook energy

Fresh Out The Slammer: mandatory experimental song. AGAIN WITH THE RINGS????? "I did my time" does that ring a bell for you as well? I can't remember why though.

Florida!!!: I!!! suggest!!! we!!! all!!! talk!!! like!!! this!!! this one's for the headbang lovers

Guilty As Sin?: I don't know how to explain it but this feels like a typical Taylor Swift song (in a good way)

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?: I feel like this is about Scooter and all the people who wronged her in the industry and she is so right to have written that

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can): this is messed up how many times in her songs Taylor implies people are disappointed in her or judging her choices with contempt

loml: intro so pretty, but the first lyric has the same rhythm as you say "I don't understand" and I say "I know you don't". Again with the wedding oh my lord he really hurt her with that. Yeah okay this one makes me cry.

I Can Do It With a Broken Heart: this one could have such a sick music video!! i'm picturing a tennis match 🎾

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived: girl I'm sighing too. Wow stark contrast between the sighs and the last verse!

The Alchemy: Queen. Wait is it about Matty lmao? Travis?

Clara Bow: the melody is so prettyyy