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maddmuses · 5 months ago

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Zesaer Xorlarrin

(Other character Images Here)

(BEFORE WE GET STARTED CW FOR THE FOLLOWING BEING FACTORS OR AT LEAST MENTIONED/IMPLIED IN THIS BIO (Not an endorsement of these ideas, but some of these are extant factors of the Dark Urge backstory and/or Drow society as a whole): Incest Mention/Reference, Dubious Consent, Animal Torture, Other Typical Durge stuff)

Date of Birth: Uktar 11, 1328 Dale Reckoning Place of Birth: Citadel Xorlarrin, Menzoberranzan, Northdark Titles: The Blood of The Mother, The Failed One Aliases: Zes’, Bloodspatter, The Princess, The Dark Urge Home: The Western Heartlands, The Sword Coast Gender Identity: AFAB Woman (Pronouns They/She); Disclaimer: Plural Pronouns used when referring to this individual during and after the events of Baldur��s Gate 3 as The Urge personality exists as a distinct and often opposed personality to Zesaer Xorlarrin, despite both answering to this name Orientation: Omni w/ sapphic preference Height: 5’6” (168 cm) Weight: 101 lb. (45 kg) Family: Zeerith Q’Xorlarrin (Mother/Genetic Template), Bhaal (Divine Father), Lolth (Believed Divine Mother), Kiriy Xorlarrin (Half-Sister), Berellip Xorlarrin (Half-Sister), Saribel Xorlarrin (Half-Sister), Brack’thal Xorlarrin (Half-Brother; Cover-Story Father), Ravel Xorlarrin (Half-Brother), Most Bhaalspawn (Divine Siblings) Alignment: Lawful Evil (As Zesaer) Chaotic Evil (As The Dark Urge)

Appearance A striking physical duplicate to her mother, Zesaer Xorlarrin can easily be mistaken for her mother, except in the way that they carry themselves, their style of hair, minor physical distinctions and features, and ultimately their preferred mode of dress. Zesaer is a drow with a lichen base but a distinctly dark tone which often gives it a “very dark gray” appearance at the casual glance, and this coloration is only occasionally interrupted by a small number of isolated dark blue freckles. She has soft and regal features that could easily draw comparison to her mother’s, with a sharp edge, said to be like the swords which she favors.

As a noble, Zesaer wears her white hair in a lengthy style, due to not being a traditional figure in the succession (at least as far as Zeerith and certain privileged individuals should know) her hair is pulled back into a messy knot, with occasional strands peeking out from this and framing her forehead akin to bangs, rather than a typical “youngest or middle daughter” style; in the back of this style, though, is a shorter mane that features from a sort of undercut that grows shorter as it is brought forward to the sides, a distinction in hair common among deathsingers.

Another factor that allows Zesaer to be easily and casually distinguished as a deathsinger in drow society is a white ink tattoo of a shattered longsword pointed downward on her throat. This mark is meant to allow others to easily identify Zesaer as a deathsinger for the purposes of reverence and their removal from the typical machinations of politics among drow society, at least so far as Lolth cares for them to. Deathsingers are not typically permitted to hold their station and a rank in their house at the same time, so as to ensure the effective carrying of their duties to the city, and drow interests as a whole. Accordingly, this particular tattoo marks her as both an “off-limits” target to others for random violence, but possibly also a bullseye for those meaning to target her, her house’s future, or just the deathsingers, specifically. Further, though this wouldn’t be apparent unless she was in some fashion of casual or lack of dress, Zesaer has a massive tattoo of two tentacles meant to resemble those of a displacer beast, spreading from an origin point on her sternum, wrapping each along the side of her torso, and then laying across her back, with the effigy of its spikes pointed upwards to be visible, over her shoulder blades. Finally, just above her ribs on the left side where abdomen meets chest, hidden most of the time, is a small line of Irraefay’s name, written in Drow, Elvish, and Common, punctuated by a crescent.

Often the first thing that most might comment upon, even among drow, are Zesaer’s eyes. An unusual and brilliant color of red, they almost remind the party who looks upon them of freshly-spilt blood, and glow particularly brightly when they shift into their infravision. At one point her lover, Irraeafay, had compared them to rubies set into a campfire. This feature is one of those which seems to be strangely distinct from her mother’s.

Tall for a drow, Zesaer’s build is considered to be willowy, despite having developed a somewhat impressive physique from the intense nature of deathsinger training, carrying even a few scars from this time, including a stab mark offset to the left from her navel, a clean slice scar across her bicep, and a thin faded one at the center of her throat that is obscured by her sword tattoo. From her time of being a subject to various experiments in Moonrise, there are a series of fine (mostly-healed) white fine line scars along her arms, thighs, and ribs, that were clearly self-inflicted.

Typical equipment for deathsingers are in reference to Lolth in aesthetic, carrying all manner of spider-like armor and clothing, particularly with webbing motifs. Most of the time Zesaer prefers to wear armor that is made of leather or spidersilk, but on occasion she has also been known to use magical spells to simulate armor, and in such cases will wear very obviously fine and seemingly-unwieldy clothing to give others the impression of vulnerability. In favor of gaudy options she will often use equipment that has been detailed with gold, or when she is shy on coin electrum, even if it often serves very little to no practical function. One thing that she will carry, regardless of the time, though, is a pendant of carved everfrost in the shape of a moon with the face of a beautiful drow woman carved into it, once worn and gifted to her from Irraeafay. This pendant is actually a holy symbol of Eilistraee, though a subtle one that is charmed to resemble in the face that who owns the wearer’s heart, so as to better obscure its nature among Lolthite societies.

Personality Zesaer after the incident, and even before, with Orin was often defined by her duality. A part of her who understood why the urge was wrong, with time, and that who came to desire to indulge in it. And of course with the lost memory, the part that was frightened of her urge, but then again would also give into it at times. Particularly following her time with the party, the Zesaer of judicious wickedness, and the Zesaer who gave in to whatever intrusive thought may come to her head, were little more than one in the same.

Of course, like any proper Lolthite, Zesaer carries herself with a haughtiness that is only occasionally deserved, and with a great deal of contempt for others. But at the same time, she only acts in the ways that her culture taught her to when they make sense. After all, killing and enslaving others with no regard for consequence wasn’t usually a sound decision. Also hedonistic, particularly in the times since the loss of her great love, Zesaer is unafraid to indulge in those things which she feels good, barring those of the urge that has had to be separated from herself.

But together, they’re a whole other sort of hell.

Zesaer is known to enjoy sweets and song, but will frequently shed tears without understanding why when certain songs play.

Biography Bhaal’s many plans and machinations that he engaged in, thanks to his foreknowledge of his own impending demise in the Times of Troubles, were often complicated and at points carried redundancies. The bhaalspawn broadly were means for him to resume his divine existence if he were to fall, but not all were created equally. One in particular was made both with the intention of being a suitable fallback vessel for his divine essence if he were to perish and not be able to effectively return, but also could serve to carry out his ultimate end times endgame of killing all living things, and then itself to bring a close to life on all of Toril, and possibly all of realmspace altogether.

And so, in a particularly bold move, Bhaal moved to impersonate The Queen of Spiders, Lolth, for what society would better mold a child of his into a killer than the drow? But unlike his other drow bhaalspawn that he had already begotten, this one would not be the child of himself and a mortal, but rather a being made purely from his divine essence meant to mirror the mother only insofar as it could service his cover story. A divine duplicate that was a mutual clone of the other parent, rather than a traditional divine child. Visiting Zeerith Xorlarrin in her dreams, before she changed her name to correlate with the city that would be named for her house, he masqueraded as Lolth and promised to bestow upon her a child of divine nature, a boon that would serve the woman in whatever schemes she hoped for in the future, a living endorsement of the goddess’s fickle delight in the drow’s service. Then, within a year from that day, Zesaer Xorlarrin would be born.

Zesaer’s nature as a divine child was kept from most, though, with the cover story being the same as it was with her elder brother Ravel, that she was a specimen chosen intentionally from potential breeding stock so as to best reflect her mother’s strength, rather than to be plagued with potential deficiencies and flaws that many males in their society were believed to carry. Of course this euphemism was sufficient for many to draw a conclusion on their own in most of the city, barring Zeerith’s inner circle, and Brack’thal himself who knew this to not be the case definitively.

Despite her being endorsed by Zeerith as her youngest daughter, Zesaer actively was kept from the priesthood of Lolth, and would not attend Arach-Tinilith when the time would come, as was explained to those who were privileged to inquire as to why. Zeerith, with her knowledge and devotion to Lolth, was to be truly lacking only two things in her age, a youth and continued lifespan of another five or so further centuries after her daughter would be a young woman, and powers in the arcane. So, her newest “daughter” whose body was virtually indistinct from that of a young Zeerith would be trained in arms so that she would be an even greater threat with the blade, and in arcana, so that her brain and body would be filled with magical secrets upon taking control of it, so that Zeerith may one day place her soul into the new form. And in the meantime a deathsinger was never a true detriment to a noble house to have.

Where was Lolth when all this was transpiring? Well, she simply enjoyed the new essence of chaos and unbalance that this new development brought to the table. While in some cases she would consider the existence of this divine child an affront to her design and own divinity, she understood that the presence of such a being wouldn’t supersede her own worship with any drow, and would have caused strife among them that she might think to cause herself, with no work or cost to her own essence at all.

As is typical for drow noble children, Zesaer was raised largely under the supervision of those who were functionally her siblings. Studious and isolated, Zesaer saw little of other drow who were not her relatives, aside from the occasional bodyguard or hedge case of prospective or recently-met allies who were intrigued by the existence of such a child. Concerns arose early on from her elder brothers and sisters, though, because the child seemed to show few of the typical drow impulses for violence and murder; she had not even attempted to kill any of her caretakers when given the chance, even after abusing her! Still, Zeerith considered this a matter of minimal concern, after all what would come next surely could mold her child into a proper asset in her machinations.

Zesaer, after spending her early years being instructed fairly oppressively in the ideas and ways of drow society, with no small amount of physical reminders to go alongside the verbal ones, would soon enough move onto magical and martial training by Tsabrak Xorlarrin and Talabrina Xorlarrin respectively. Her instruction was not unusual if a house was trying to cultivate a potentially versatile and powerful male who showcased similar competence in both sword and magic, without an exception in one breaking away from the other, this was a period of time in which all of Zesaer’s waking hours were consumed by either study or training, and neither were particularly forgiving. Despite the usual distinction between their gender in a matriarchal society normally preventing Tsabrak from acting against the young drow, Tsabrak was specifically empowered by Matron Mother Zeerith to do whatever necessary to make her an excellent wizard, and so he did; he relished in every opportunity to punish and torment the young woman for even the slightest shortcoming in the magical. And of course her sister Talabrina would not withhold any of her trademark harshness, if Zesaer was to be a suitable warrior for the house.

With time she would reach the age of 25, and be expected to enter the academy, Tier Breche. Zesaer publicly entered into her training under an alternative course of training; alternative in the sense that her identity was obscured, and she initially posed as a male. This procedure was considered to be most humiliating for the daughter in question by most drow, and would earn those who told her to do so, if she didn’t insist that it was her own idea. In the Grand Melee, and subsequent training, she quickly stood out as a particularly capable user of short and light weapons, which drew the attention of Phyraffyn, the Third Singer of the Deathsinger Corps.

Though the deathsingers were often recruited from all fashion of places, few females existed among them, as the training in arms within Arach-Tinilith came far later than it did for many males, prompting few to be brought up as they had already been advanced fairly far into the ways of Lolth. In fact, it was often considered heretical to abandon the way of the priestesshood of Lolth in favor of the way of deathsong, though some were still at least trained in the rudiments of the style. So most deathsingers were males, commonborn, or both.

It was thanks, mostly, to a farce such as the one her mother executed that allowed Zesaer to draw the attention of the corps and see her study at the academy adjusted once more. With her time in Melee drawn to half of its initial time, only now four and a half years, and her time in Sorcere would be the same period of time, with one year in the religious school of Arach-Tinilith, still longer than any male should see, but not so much that it would be considered an affront to Lolth in wilfully creating an ignorant noble in her ways. As a component of her training for deathsong, however, she would not spend solid blocks in either of her primary instructions, alternating year-to-year, so as to best weave together her swordplay with her magic, and not becoming overly-specialized in either, alongside another deathsong student, Belnozz (a commoner male). Due to her training becoming more mixed and atypical in nature, Zesaer’s identity, as well as her initial masquerade, were made apparent to the broader population of the school and drow society.

The next nine years of her life were especially difficult in this sense, as while she lived a life of privilege at the academy, and after 1358 had become able to mingle with the broader drow society outside of Tier Breche. Difficulties came, of course, with being the only female in male-dominated schools among drow who had not lived in the hierarchies of their society as strictly (in the case of commonborn drow) or as long (as was the case for all of them) to quite understand the consequences of acting against a female in such a place. And the academy’s leadership itself, as well as Zeerith, felt little compulsion to make this correction. After all, Zesaer’s path was in contradiction to that which was intended for all drow.

Threat of attack, assassination, and worse constantly hung over Zesaer’s head for this decade, worsening even as she began to become initiated in the path of deathsong, the deathsinger corps. steadily began to intervene and serve as a defensive force in her life, as she fast approached entrance into the organization. But was it too little too late? For it was during this period of her life that Zesaer began to feel… ***Urges***.

Intrusive thoughts. Violent… Bloody… Dark… Were these the feelings that she had come so late to? That her mother had been dismissive of the lack, while she’d heard hushed whispers among servants and siblings about her not being of a proper drow disposition?

In either case, her potential in martial exercises seemed to soar, and her magic, where before was about typical for a Xorlarrin, seemed to grow even more potent when directed at a living target, more so than any others. And soon enough, graduation came. While most of the academy would participate in the typical traditions, deathsingers, particularly females, didn’t fit into the mold in an easy way, and Zesaer might have once again been made a target if placed among the priestesses, who she was not qualified spiritually to engage in the ritual with, and would be demeaned to sit with the males.

Deathsingers, on the other hand, had their own graduation ceremony, or rather an initiation. The seven remaining schools of the deathsong (the eighth school of the darksong being cast out of polite drow society, even among this order) had a representative among them, and they would put Zesaer and Belnozz through their final trial. The Crucible of The Severed Spinner.

Each given a longsword which gave off a faint glow that would attract creatures to them, they were turned loose into a cavern that saw frequent use by the driders, as many such creatures were once deathsingers or aspirants, and they were to return, with proof that their “spinnerette” had been properly severed from Lolth, in such a way that they could no longer be a part of the mainstream Lolthite society in the same way as before, but also not to such a degree that they would be of no use to their dark lady. After all, many such deathsinging driders had wound up in such a position thanks to this very shortcoming, either becoming functionally useless to Lolth in any other form, or by proving too insidious in their training to be anything other than a potential contagion to broader drow hierarchies.

While under the influence of a strong elixir made from blood and drider venom, it would be up to both prospects to experience various visions and make their way through the dungeon, before coming to their realization and executing the mission.

Led by the shadow of a displacer beast, Zesaer would eventually come to the realization, as a trio of driders bore down upon them. This test was not to defeat a group of driders, many of whom were likely as good or better at deathsong than she, but to simply survive at the expense of your weapon. And, while Belnozz’s back was turned, she plunged her blade into his back, before forcefully snapping the sword off inside of him. This killed the enchantment that kept the blade glowing, and allowed the woman to quickly flee the scene.

Upon her return it was made clear that so long as she broke her sword, no matter what condition or who she might have returned with, she had passed the test. The driders in question were specifically compelled to attack those with the swords in-tact and ignore all others. Despite assailing and almost certainly killing her compatriot, it was a solution that was extremely Lolth-like in nature, and thus she had passed. Based on the visions she experienced, Zesaer joined the school of the displacer beast, known well for its illusionary and assassination favoring of the deathsong arts, which also personally appealed to a woman who found it easiest to come and go where she pleased to do her business.

Further training as a Deathsinger occupied the woman for a pair of decades, as the specific parts of the art which were external to what one could expect to learn in Tier Breche, including their actual sword style, The Displacer being remarked as the one which taught its fighters to wield multiple weapons at once, often matching. She studied under Deathsinger Irraeafay, a master of Displacer-Style from the recently-fallen Ched Nasad.

Training was often trying and difficult, but also often rewarding for the drow as she worked with the other female, both outcasts from the male-dominated deathsinger organization. She frequently would accompany Irraefay on her missions, but was told to observe, and watch, only fighting when absolutely necessary, and mostly saving her magical energy for their own quality of life, and use of skills to sharpen them against appropriate challenges. It was strange, as any other time she had been trained by a drow, it was like being thrown to a pack of aboleth, armed with a dulled spoon. But in this time with Irraefay she was exposed to notions of mercy, tolerance, patience, and even kindness. Their spars didn’t end with Zesaer constantly wracked with pain and wounds to heal.

She had even taught her to sing and dance, notions that nominally had to do with deathsong, but in a far greater detail than she’d been led to understand. And she had begun to experience something that could only be the embers of a fledgeling love for another drow.

Zesaer did not realize, at the time, though that while she was being instructed in the way of the displacer, so as to not draw attention, she was also being taught in the way of the darksong. Irraefay was a Darksong school deathsinger who had studied and masqueraded her way into the organization’s number, with the intention of recruiting and drawing lolthite drow away from Menzoberranzan at any chance she could, but especially once they had finished their training. But the spy, too, had failed to follow one of the basic lessons of being an Eilistraee Moondancer in the spider’s web; don’t fall for a drow whose soul is still pledged to Lolth.

The twenty years of training would eventually be punctuated by the pair being declared partners in arms, sisters to battle for drow society and Lolth’s interest wherever they could. This would bring Zesar abroad, seeing many different caverns, the disgusting state of less faithful drow cities (as none could stand to Menzoberranzan’s majesty), and even some places on the surface, her first experience with the dawn’s burning sting coming within a year of her training’s completion. And it was at this time that the voice, the thoughts, the urges, were at their weakest, in the arms of the first one to show her any true sincere kinship and love in her life. But even this was a cruel prank from her father. Just as much as Lolth manipulated the pair, so too was Bhaal manipulating his daughter.

As her 100th birthday drew near, and mumblings of her being a “privileged princess” among the other deathsingers had reached their heights, the young woman withdrew further and further from other drow. She spent more time fixating on her blooming romance, and whatever new adventures and sights might come next. And of the many centuries she still had left. When Irraefay would be called away for a mission in the spider queen’s service, she left Zesaer with a gift, a beautiful locket wrought of adamantine, with beautiful moon and spider engravings. This gift was in part a confession too, though.

Irraefay revealed herself as a spy for Lolth’s rogue daughter, a moondancer whose purpose was to rescue those from Lolth’s machinations. The things she taught and said to the drow? They were not teachings of the spider at all, but the prophecies of the moon, dressed as a “true teaching” meant for those strong enough to survive Arach-Tinilith. And though it was distressing to hear, Zesaer felt comfort and a renewed love. Once Irraefay would return, the pair planned to leave the city once more on another patrol, and from there flee to Waterdeep in the dark promenade.

But with the mentor’s departure, so soon darkness rapidly encroached again on the young noble. Her mother started requesting she appear more and more in the various ceremonies and holy days, on more than one occasion slaying the sacrifice to Lolth of a surface elf, a notion that made her feel deeply sick as she understood it to be a profane affront to that which her love held dear. And with this sickness so too returned the thoughts, the visions, and the voices. Because no matter how much it upset her that Irraefay hated those rituals. She couldn’t say the same of herself.

Her heart raced, and pulse pounded. She wanted more, and the blood tasted sweet. More than once she found her eyes lingering on the remains as they were taken away, and the reverie of flesh in Lolth’s name often followed. And in the afterglow of one such a night, so too came Sceleritas Fel.

A fiend who purported to be acting in her service, he provided the drow with interesting trinkets, and powerful magical items. He made comforting whispers and regaled the girl with stories of a “true father”, which she assumed to be Lolth.

This would all come to a head as Zeerith called her daughter to her chamber. On this tenday before her 100th birthday, her blooding was to be revealed. It would be her heretic lover Irraefay, Zeerith had been told by Lolth in a vision of the affront to the goddess that the daughter had committed, and of the perverse affection they shared. She was to make this right in the same fell swoop as she was to become responsible for her own actions as a fully-mature drow in Lolth’s fold. Any follower of Eilistraee was just as low as a surface creature, and twice as dangerous, after all. It was foretold that the apostate would return on Zesaer’s birthday, and that is when her hunt would begin.

For the next ten days, despite having no intention of following through with her mother’s monstrous request, the urges only grew stronger. She found herself mumbling on many occasions, thinking constantly of blood and viscera, and even torturing small animals to fight off boredom. Things that would have disgusted her love. Even the comfort of Sceleritas, whose visits seemed to provide a small relief from these feelings when he came, further solidified the woman’s belief that Lolth had understood all of this, and was giving her daughter one final chance to not displease the dark goddess. But still… The moon drow was a goddess herself too, no? Why would she not be able to protect them?

Because Lolth was the most powerful.

The thoughts and urges were like a ceaseless assault to her senses, causing the woman to do little other than eat, sleep, and toy with sharp things most of the time. But for a single moment, it all fell away.

In the early hours of her 100th year, Irraefay appeared to Zesaer. Hushing and pulling her into an embrace before they made their escape, she was told of the plan. They would have to march for three days, until they eventually met with a moondancer caravan that would transport them to the surface, and then move in the cover of night the rest of the way to Waterdeep. If all went well, they would reach Neverwinter within one tenday, and on the high road to Waterdeep in just less than a month total.

Her final two days with her lover were wracked with thoughts, compulsions, conflicting impulses, and elation. A mix of love and sorrow that would have broken most, and had broken Zesaer a thousand times in the days coming up.

Laying together on their last night before meeting the caravan, the afterglow of their final affirmations of their love to another, she did it. The young deathsinger completed her blooding in the moment that Irraefay’s last words caught in her throat, a declaration of happiness and love. Tears and blood mixed in that moment, but such things would also prove as the perfect disguise. A paint that allowed the noble to easily fool the moondancers she encountered into believing that a force of deathsingers had followed them on their “routine patrol” out of Lolthite paranoia, and to make haste as fast as they could. Just the type of improvisational thinking that her first love had instilled in Zesaer to make.

But Waterdeep was insufficient; after escaping from the caravan within Undermountain, she continued on her way. Somewhere far, but where Fel told her that her godly parent needed her to be. Baldur’s Gate. She would discover her status as actually a daughter of Bhaal, when meeting the cultists who would convince her of this truth, and make her their leader. Though Gortash would later imply things happened, she also had no affection for Bane’s chosen, seeing him as the exemplification of that which Lolth taught her drow to look down upon in the gender.

Power and Abilities (Lore) -Conditioning: Zesaera’s experience in the underdark and broader society has been that of a long series of harsh and challenging physical trials, but despite her status as a female in such a society, playing to the numbers game required her to rely on speed and skill, more than physical might. So, becoming lithe and fast, Zesaera ensured that she showcased her potential for speed and dexterity, an unassuming threat to those who thought her an easy target. While her physical strength contends with that of a slightly above-average athletic person, capable of benching roughly 100 lb. But her sense of coordination, balance, quickness, and agility are simply superhuman. This is showcased not only in her ability to manage and juggle many factors mentally and physically, but it seems that she can wield most any weapon suitable to her strength level with grace and accuracy, disregarding her actual familiarity with said weapon. This even is showcased when using long and awkward weapons, like paired longswords, or the now prolific dual-scimitars. This has been further practiced and honed with many hours of training and work in not only melee-magthere, but in her deathsinger training. Consistent with a harsh regiment of workouts and the need of a deathsinger to be ever vigilant and in the frontier bringing about Lolth’s justice, Zesaera is able to operate for exceptional lengths of time without rest, and is able to withstand fairly substantial blows from enemies.

-Spellcasting: Consistent with other in her species, Zesaer is a proficient spellcaster. The drowish culture regarding magic is to instruct from childhood in certain magics that one can do inherently thanks to the faerzress-rich environment of the underdark, and as a noble she is capable of simple levitation and types of illusion, but time in the Arcane academy within Tier Breche would further solidify to ensure that she had at least known the magics necessary for true faerie fire and to create globes of darkness. But specifically, as she was to be a deathsinger, Zesaer was instructed further in arcane magic, rather than the divine typically expected of a female. So, she has learned the skills necessary to cast arcane magic, and though deathsingers are traditionally wizards, the further, more specific, training instilled into her by Irraefay (in part as a darksong school bladesinger but also consistent with some interpretations of the displacer beast school) has resulted in the woman becoming a caster more akin to a bard, with a musical nature. The specific magic that Zesaer favors is always going to be situational, but Abjuration, Illusion, and a little Evocation, tend to serve her very well. Additionally, all drow have a natural resistance to magic, and while not outright immune to it, spellcasters have to hit drow elves with some serious power to get a result, hence why wizards and clerics tend to be so valued in their society. This resistance does not extend to magically-enhanced weaponry or psychic powers of any sort.

-Senses: Drow elves have especially acute senses, and are able to see in total darkness as if it were a moonlit night. Additionally, they have the ability to shift their vision into the infrared spectrum, which accompanies a glow that Zesaer is especially proud of in the case of her own eyes. This particular function is a favorite tactic of hers to intimidate (Adv. on Intimidate Checks situationally in places that aren’t bright or daytime). Thanks to the decades, at this point, that she has spent on the surface, Zesaer is no longer sensitive to the point of being debilitating during the daytime, though she will often develop migraines after more than a few hours, so she may seek some sort of hood or shelter to put herself through less pain. Also typical for an elf, she is sensitive to magical fields and can detect them, knowing when magic is occurring, or if an object is magical in nature, though not its specific function. Bright lights and bursts of sudden light otherwise, though, can still cause Zesaer to become stunned and stumble for longer than it might a normal human, leaving her dazed for several long moments. Despite working on and honing her senses as a deathsinger, Zesaer has never actually been all that detail or attention-oriented. As a result she can occasionally miss some painfully obvious things, and JUST narrowly.

-Rogue Training: Part of the typical caste of training in melee-magthere, this skill was reinforced upon further during her time as a deathsinger. After all, sneaking and stealing wasn’t always the worst idea when hoping to achieve a mission. Zesaer particularly loves to favor double-talk, and smooth-talk, pickpocketing, as well as sneaking around and performing feats of acrobatics. Despite this, she also has a fairly deep understanding of lore and local histories, making it a point to study nearly anywhere she goes. After a time in the harsh city streets, too, she has picked up no small amount of the savviness needed to survive the surface, including learning Thieves’ Cant, and the ability to move and act with both quickness and efficiency. But any Rogue worth their salt knows how to slit a throat especially deftly, of course. The underdark, and the harsh realities it taught to her, means that Zesaer will never fail to give up the first strike, and how to best exploit that first strike. This is the way of the displacer beast, to attack and exploit an enemey’s weaknesses at the most opportune time.

-Bard Training: In order to enforce versatility and ability, the school of the darksong makes sure that its practitioners are deft and capable in a broad range of skills and abilities, as well as being able to weave their magic into the song created by their blade. Thus, darksong school is especially deadly when gifted with a large weapon, or two of them at the same time, both styles which Zesaer is capable of, but the latter she favors. As an arcane spellcaster, through her bardic powers, is capable of 4th level spells intuitively. Through the power of her musical magic, she can manifest spells, or often enhances her swordplay fairly directly. Bards are also capable of performing music (Zesaer’s preferred technique is singing) to enhance the recovery of themselves and others.

-Ranger Training: Strictly necessary for her time in the martial academy, Zesaer has developed skills akin to that of the surface’s ranger. Though she mostly blends it with her stealth abilities to further depress opponents with an onslaught of fast-acting and preemptive strikes. Despite this, she still kept up with the physical exercises and drills that she was put through, which essentially makes Zesaer familiar with any type of weapon or armor. Through this, too, she has learned to act as predator on nearly any foe, nearly invisible when she hides among the shadow, and has learned to assume a variety of magical disguises thanks to this reliance on the shadow.

-Combat: As a swordswoman, Zesaer is among the most skilled in the sword coast, using the two-sword style that many know the drow for, though she doesn’t play to a hit-and-run, preferring to hit-and-kill in the early phases of any fight. Exceptional throughout her training, Bhaal has ensured this latest daughter would be a talented murderer, and her body doesn’t leave much room for the idea that she is somehow a weakling. With a keen interest in the art of murder, even if obscured by the justification that it was in Lolth’s service, Zesaer constantly seeks to improve her sword skills, to what end? She is not sure. But even prior to her amnesia, she firmly knew that she wished to be a superior in swordplay to every deathsinger that she met, and possibly any other swordsman who crosses her path.

Equipment and Possessions Prior to Amnesia (Spread to the winds): Harmonic Dueler, Rapier +2, Bhaalist Armor, Shadow of Menzoberranzan, Shade-Slayer Cloak, Bonespike Gloves, Irraefay’s Locket (Custom Item Stats TBR ;) ) After Amnesia (Act 1): Phalar Aluve, Adamantine Scimitar, Drow Studded Leather Armor, Shadow of Menzoberranzan, The Deathstalker Mantle, Wondrous Gloves, Irraefay’s Locket, Ring of Protection After Amnesia (Act 2): Harmonic Dueler, Phalar Aluve, Yuan-Ti Scale Mail, Shadow of Menzoberranzan, The Deathstalker Mantle, Wondrous Gloves, Boots of Brilliance, Irraefay’s Locket, Killer’s Sweetheart, Ring of Protection After Amnesia (Act 3; No Bhaal Run): Harmonic Dueler, Phalar Aluve, Armor of Agility, Birthright, Cloak of Protection, Wondrous Gloves, Boots of Persistence, Irraefay’s Locket, Killer’s Sweetheart, True Love’s Caress (Other owned by her romanced companion)

Powers and Abilities (Mechanical; BG3) Basic Stats (Lvl 1) Str 10 (0) Dex 18 (+4) Con 14 (+2) Int 8 (-1) Wis 8 (-1) Cha 16 (+3) Rogue (Assassin) 3/Ranger (Gloomstalker) 3/Bard (College of Swords) 6 Two-Weapon Fighting and Defense Fighting Styles Ranger Knight Favored Enemy (Humanoid: Elf) Urban Tracker Favored Terrain Dual-Wielder Feat

(Other Edition Takes TBD)

#The Lady of Seldarine Sonata (Zesaer Xorlarrin)

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todosmeiape1an · 5 months ago

Text

Adding some more💕

Episode 5:

"So, two cute girls are joining our circus trope, how exciting." he includes Kamille here, but he's telling Julia that he finds her pretty for the first time.

Episode 7:

Sahed went to visit Julia specifically, just because he wanted, that was before he knew Julia told Tonny it was him who made her contract or that she wanted to kill Tonny. So he got interested in her even before that.

Episode 9:

Sahed made an exception of going to the dining room that day. Tonny thinks it's to gloat about his defiance but we know that Sahed didn't made the pact, so what he said "I'm only here to enjoy the pleasant sight of the new circus girls!" It's true, he went to see Julia! (you could argue that he went to see Kamille too, but he never really shows interest in her and talks in plural in the same way Kamille talked in plural about Rainah and him)

Episode 13:

Sahed saw that Julia was stressed about the situation with Rainah and Kamille, and he put a hand on her shoulder "It's all right. I'll take care of it."

Episode 17: (Adding)

At the end of the chapter, Julia ends up pinning Sahed against the table, way too close.

Episode 27:

When Sahed says that Tonny and Steinheimer are a lot alike, Julia agrees making him happy.

Though, when Julia starts laughing out loud at Tonny, Sahed's gaze darkens, probably in jealousy.

Julia blushes when Sahed says goodbye. "I'll see you tomorrow, Julia. Remember, I have something to show you."

Episode 29:

Julia blushes a little at Sahed's tattoos.

Episode 31: (Adding)

From Sahed's perspective, he had a reaction seeing Julia like that and offered her some clothes.

Episode 40: (Adding)

Rainah says "Don't worry about me. I-I'll be out for a while. For lots of hours!" The stuttering and emphasis in the amount of hours seem to imply that Rainah thinks they're going to do something that takes some time (iykyk).

Episode 41:

An extension of episode 40. Julia blushes a couple of times and Sahed trusts her with her plan.

Episode 43:

Sahed offers to help Julia and looks concerned for her while she practices.

Episode 45:

They're very touchy while escaping to the attic.

Those are some of the moments I think were missing from the list 🙏💕

We have the whole list now, yey!!💖

Sahejul Moments from Season 1

Episode 8:

Kamille refers to her crush on Rainah as a forbidden romance, which also suits Julia (especially because she has "forbidden thoughts" regarding Sahed throughout season 1)

Episode 10:

Sahed pins Julia against a caravan, and makes her blush

Episode 11:

Sahed leans in and whispers in her ear. Julia's blushing intensifies, and then she runs away thinking „my heart is racing. This guy really is... terrifying” while imagining Sahed with a shoujo filter on lol. *She blushes

Episode 17:

„that boy has charmed her with those seductive eyes”*she blushes at the thought of his eyes

Episode 18: whole episode

Episode 19:

„and...to be honest, he's ...he's kinda...” [...] „Shoo, forbidden thoughts!” *she blushes

Episode 20:

Sahed: „Kamille? Shes in my room.”

Julia (blushes): „WHAT? Did you sleep together?!”

[...]

Sahed (grabs Julia): „how's your investigation of our favorite killer clown going?”

Julia (blushes, frees her arm from his grip): „Let me go! Someone is going to find out, idiot!” (she walks up the stairs thinking) „Forbidden thoughts! Forbidden thoughts!”

Episode 24:

Sahed (packs Julia): „with your (Tonny's) permission, I'm taking the pretty lady!”

(Julia thinks) „noooo! Kamille, it's not what it looks like! We're already on bad terms, this is only going to make it worse!”

Julia (screams): „Kamille, I'm not trying to steal your maaaaan!”

[...]

Sahed shows her the best view. And there is a close up of them holding hands.

Sahed (leans over her): „Im going to show you many more things.”

Julia: „What are you going to show me?”

Sahed: „everything”

Julia blushes at his answer.

Episode 25:

(Julia stands on a balcony and looks in the direction of Sahed's window/balcony (?) and wonders) „Ah, he turned on the light. He's in his room then. He's weird....what did he mean by showing me everything...?” she blushes „Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself, but...” Kamille Interrupts her thoughts, Julia realizes that she almost thought something she "shouldn't" and tries to make the thoughts disappear „What the heck am I thinking?! He is the guy Kamille Likes! Sahed stinks! He stinks, Julia, get it through your head!”

Episode 28:

Sahed (flirts/teases Julia): „that's a cute outfit. You shouldn't ruin it by wearing a blouse underneath.”

Julia (flustered): „why don't you mind your own business?”

Sahed: „Business is why I'm here. Look [...] As soon as it gets dark, I want you to go to that bridge and do the task I'm going to ask you. And then meet me in my room.”

Julia (blushes): „You want me to go to your room? At night?”

Episode 30:

Julia calls Sahed an Ah'kon instead of three eyes.

Episode 31:

Julia changes to Sahed's clothes, he dries her. (Julia blushes slightly and thinks to herself) „that was unexpectedly kind of him. It feels nice.”

Episode 32:

Sahed (blushes slightly): „That was pretty cool, huh?”

Julia (blushes): „Absolutely not! It was terrifying!

Sahed: „Deep down, I'm sure you like it.”

Julia: „I don't!”

Episode 34-36:

Her development. The Jathar situation. Sahed being surprised/shocked by her reaction/her change

Episode 40:

Rainah: „Ah, Julia! Are you here to see Sahed?” she thinks to herself „I don't know if these two have some sort of romance or planning another nationwide crime. Knowing Sahed, it could be both.”

[...]

Sahed: „You did great. Thanks for saving me, pretty girl.”

Julia (blushes): „Don't call me that!”

[...]

Julia: „Sahed...you do trust me then.”

Sahed: „huh?”

Julia: „It's the first time that you've explained something to me, instead of talking in riddles.”

Sahed: „Ah...yeah, I guess I do.”

Julia blushes, looks away and changes the conversation

Episode 42:

(Julia thinks to herself) „Wait. So Kamille doesnt like Sahed?” (She blushes intensely)

All the reasons that held her "forbidden thoughts" back, couldn't withstand them anymore

Episode 44:

Sahed: „Shhh! Be quiet!”

Julia: „Sahed! You scared me!”

Sahed (looks down, blushes slightly): „...What a cute outfi-”

Julia (blushes): „Not now, Sahed!”

He then asks her how she's feeling, and suggests that he could kill Tonny instead.

[...]

Julia: „Okay...take me back home...after saving Jathar.”

Sahed: „Yes...after that.”

Episode 46:

Dotty: „Aww, that's cute! I guess planning a murder can be romantic if you put enough macabre imagination into it.”

If there is something I forgot/ missed you can add it. Season 2 (the first few episodes will be next for now)

#marionetta #sahejul #reblog #sahed x julia

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yuljedoc · 3 years ago

Text

Lovers to Friends?

There's this multi million-dollar question why Yijin and Heedo can't remain just friends.

The fandom is divided. Is it really possible?

Aren't they friends to begin with? Was it the pain between them?

Personally...

I think that not only did the break up of Yijin and Heedo was painful, but also her separation with the Taeyang Squad.

But let's find out. Shall we?

This reminds me of a dark humor response that Heedo is back to square one:

친구 없어

I don't have any friend.

but if I may, let's grammatically correct it:

친구들 없어 = I have no friends.

I gotta put the plural 들 to put salt on the wound. Yeah. 'cause it felt like Heedo not only lost the love of her life, but the friends she made along the way.

I'll try to explain why. Bear with me, please.

In my opinion, I do think Minchae didn't even know who were Heedo's friends back then. It wasn't directly implied, yet as we can see in episode 4, Minchae's grandma, Shin Jaekyung had to introduced their names one by one.

Hence, the birth of the Dementia Theory.

We assumed Shin Jaekyung have dementia or in it's early stages of Alzheimer's and Minchae was just testing if she can remember her so called father Kim/Baek Yijin. Yeah. No shit.

Also, adding the fact that Minchae doesn't even know who Baek Yijin is, if he really is the father as we have hoped for or just for the sake that her mom and this guy were friends before. Minchae doesn't seem to know his existence.

But kidding aside, it did looked like she was seeing them for the first time or maybe knowing them only through photos. Painful take, apologies for that.

Looking further back, when Minchae first read the diary. She uttered the words:

But as we watched and analysed it, it didn't seem that Heedo wrote the first sentences in the diary pertaining to Yijin, but to Yurim.

For me, it is canon that her first love could be these 3:

1. Fencing

2. Yurim

3. Yijin

I am so sure that what Heedo meant and obviously it was Yurim.

So, why the hell does Minchae doesn't know that they became best friends? Like, how?

Two plausible explanation:

Heedo did not tell it to Minchae and Minchae has not even met Yurim.

끝

And to expound the disconnection of Heedo and the Taeyang squad, remember how she suddenly forgot the beach trip? :

I mean, how the hell can someone fails to recall being carried like this?

I'd probably tattooed this on my mind for the rest of my life. I'd write poems and songs about this. lol

Well, to tell you the truth. I am torn. 50/50.

Some even thought that she was just feigning ignorance infront of her daughter, but biologically and psychologically speaking, I must say a 40 year old Na Heedo forgetting this iconic memory is valid.

I'm not gonna talk about Heedo having the crazy Selective Amnesia Theory. Naur. Or the funny pun where Yijin's forehead flick was so strong she forgot the trip etc.

Hear me out on this first. I'll explain.

Let's focus biologically and theoretically. As someone who works in healthcare, I've seen people and even studied that it's quite possible that you wont remember everything in your past. One simple reason? Old age.

Neurons deteriorate.

I know that sounded like she's already disintegrating mentally. She's not even that old yet. Even Jaekyung remembered their names and it wasn't even shown in the drama that she met Heedo's friends. I know. It's crazy.

But somehow it's true. There are even 3 theories why we forget: physiological, neurochemical, and psychological.

And Psychologically there are 5. For Heedo's case, I think it has got to be Decay Theory. It fits.

Decay theory states that if we don’t access memories, they will fade over time.

So, why does she doesn't access it?

Maybe Heedo doesn't go about revisiting her memories. Is it?

But why?

Going back again in episode 4, where Heedo said these:

What is this? Very conclusive, right?

It might mean something...

And that something means there must be a painful meaning behind why she had to forget.

There was this another theory again back then that a very traumatic event happened to one of the gang. Like, Yijin, Yurim, or even Seungwan dying.

Yijin dying from overwork or accident. (Here comes the 9/11 & Red Luggage Theory)

Yurim taking her own life because of recurring suicide attempt.

And Seungwan will die because of her bleak outlook in life.

We were certified clowns. It made the whole fandom a carnival.

These things didn't even came true.

(Well, thank God about that. The ending was traumatising enough. )

So, what exactly happened?

This happened:

The breakup scene that caused a discourse. Some were satisfied, but majority was in uproar. Chaos was ensued. We were all depressed. I got panic attacks.

The other camp were saying that this is a beautiful closure and the other camp were all enraged that this was the end of all things they had.

So, was it that beautiful?

For me, it was painstakingly beautiful. The setting was indeed beautiful. It was Spring and what does this season even means? Blossoming? New fucking beginning? Of what, Baby? Beginning of a heartbreak? Sorry. I'm starting to cuss. I want to break something and sue this network. It doesn't make sense. It made sense, but it felt like it doesn't.

Back to regular programming.

For that very reason, I can say that Heedo forgetting the beach trip is logical because this is a viable explanation.

But the question is, what about what the Taeyang Squad? Is she still in contact with them?

We can assume that the answer is No for the year 2021.

There are three possible reasons:

1. Just Because. Some might disagree on this, but as we age we don't really have time to always be in constant communication to our friends. This is especially significant to the people we are friends with when we were younger. Though, this doesn't apply to everyone, but I can attest that this happens. It happened to me. The last time I saw my friends was at a funeral. Yup.

Also, we can also strengthen this claim from this scene:

Seungwan mentioned how they only get to see each other when someone passes away.

2. Pandemic. We know the writer wants this drama to be as realistic as possible to even include this in the present timeline, but I'd like to argue that even though there's still a panini going on, there's this thing called Internet and social media.

3. The Break Up and the Connection of Their Friendships To Each Other. Okay. It was already given how Yijin and Heedo's bond will fall apart, but what about the others?

As we can remember from 2009 funeral scene, Yijin brought his brother, Baek Yihyun and from there, a relationship kind of formed with Seungwan or should I say: rekindled.

And the fact that Seungwan and Jiwoong were diaper friends, I don't think they stopped communicating to each other either.

So basically, if what we can assume from the present time, Seungwan could be Yijin's sister-in-law now and considering the fact that Jiwoong's wife is Yurim, only Heedo was left.

Left alone? Left behind? Or she basically left the gang and turned everything into memories? 🙃

Well, that's how I see it.

On top of that, Baek Yijin and Na Heedo's relationship back then or should I say, still?

They are so much in love. Their affection to each other is so strong. I'm using "is" because there's absolutely no way that their love for each other was gone.

Heedo named her Atelier 2521, rainbow chairs, Yijin things in her old room, red car, her reaction to Jaekyung when she mentioned meeting Yijin recently, not talking about her past memories to her child, talked about it was easy to break off engagement than divorce at the funeral, supposed husband is nowhere to be seen and heard, going to the tunnel after getting her diary back, sentimentally re-imagining a supposed closure from what happened at the tunnel?

What is this sorcery?!

This further strengthened my claim that Heedo didn't moved on until she got her diary back or maybe she really didn't.

Okay. You might argue about the diary, so let's talk about.

I can't post here without breaking down. I can' revisit that scene 'cause it still breaks my heart.

But almost at the end, Heedo came back to the tunnel right after reading the response from Yijin.

Heedo wrote:

온마음을 다해 사랑했어

I have loved you with all my heart.

She used: 했어, which is a past tense. That was heartbreaking and alarming.

But, I'd just like to contest and we can collectively agree on this, I know 'cause I feel it, that she did not meant that her love for Yijin ended up right after they broke up or when she wrote that.

You know why?

Because why did she freaking ran to him to say goodbye? Wasn't that love? Did she just did that for the sake of herself? No. It's obviously because she said some hurtful words to Yijin. She meant those hurtful words, but she didn't said those things to hurt him. You know what I mean.

But what about Yijin?

Yijin didn't wrote loved, but thank you. It just meant he still loves her that time or maybe still. He had to let her go because that's what she wants. He only wants her happiness.

(Insert the romantic monologue from episode 12 with 알콩달콩/Sweetie Pie)

Also, I'm already writing another entry about the concept of moving on: 2521 edition

And I know this might sound a stretch, but remember the last freaking scene of Yijin trying to access his account? Yeah? The prime cause of my panic attacks.

She was the security question. But what's the big deal? If that's the present timeline meaning 2021, and Yijin was trying to access the account of more than 15 years. If we were to subtract 2021 to 15 means it was probably in 2006 that he made her the answer to the freaking security question: Who's your first love?

And how old is Minchae in 2021? 15, right?

This is so depressing.

Okay. If I were to really conclude now my ramblings, I am always gonna be reminded of a saying that goes...

"If two past lovers can remain friends, they are either still in love, or never were."

I cannot speak for everyone who have had lovers and first loves in the past, but this is what I believe about them and what also happened to me.

And that might be the answer why they can't be lovers to friends.

#twenty five twenty one #스물다섯 스물하나 #nam joo hyuk #kim tae ri #kdrama #korean drama #남주혁 #김태리 #skawngur

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inkykeiji · 4 years ago

Text

i can take you there but baby you won’t make it back

character: dabi | todoroki touya

notes: stepcest (kind of—ur parents aren’t married yet) with dabi-as-touya x a very naïve and inexperienced reader, normal!AU (no quirks, dabi also has tattoos over his scarred + fully healed skin), university!reader, implied yakuza!dabi, excessive use of the words niichan and good, praise kink, fingering, face fucking, title credit = save that shit by lil peep lmao uhhhh yeah i hc dabi as a very intelligent and perceptive individual soooo i feel like he’d be a master at reading a person & their emotions and then adapting his manipulation techniques

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), noncon/dubcon, slight somnophilia, emotional manipulation, toxic relationship, size difference, slight degradation, mentions of drug use

words: 7.1k

part 2.1 | part 2.2

synopsis:

“You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, when you lay awake in your bed, you’ll feel ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Your dad’s been dating Rei for a while—nearly a year, now—when things begin to get serious, and he proposes to her.

She accepts, so it’s not exactly a surprise when she suggests you guys move in with her—she’s got more than enough space, she tells you, it’s just her and her son in that big old house—and your dad seems pretty thrilled about it. This was the next step before marriage, after all.

You like Rei well enough, she’s always been nothing but sweet to you, and anyway, your father’s relationship really isn’t any of your business or concern.

It isn’t that you don’t want to move in with her—her house is in a better part of the neighborhood, a standard detached upper-middle class home, and just a short walk from a bus stop that’ll take you directly to university, which you start in a week.

It’s just…You’re a little apprehensive.

You know she has kids. She mentions them in passing every once in a while, but you can’t for the life of you remember their names, or their ages, or how many of them there are. You know they don’t all live with her, that her relationship with her ex-husband is complicated and rocky at best.

But you’re still surprised to hear that only one of them, her eldest, lives with her. She tells you he’s five years older than you are, that he’s a clever, smart boy, going off on a tangent about how disappointed she is that he didn’t go to university, because ‘he would’ve done so well—he could’ve shone so brightly.’ Something about the way she says that, the way her voice sounds almost sad, makes anxiety turn to lead in your stomach. She talks about him as if he’s already a lost cause, but he’s only in his mid-twenties, isn’t he?

You understand the moment you see him. The man standing in front of you as you shift from foot to foot unsurely in the foyer of this unfamiliar house is about as far from what you anticipated as he could possibly be.

He’s tall, skin pale as moonlight, with jet black hair and the most stunning blue eyes you’ve ever seen. But that isn’t what captivates you. It isn’t the lip ring curled around his bottom lip snuggly, and it isn’t the tongue piercing you’re about to find out he’s hiding in his mouth, either.

Every inch of the exposed skin of his arms is covered in intricate, seamlessly flowing tattoos—or, for a moment, you thought it was tattoos, plural. Upon closer inspection, you realize that each arm is actually covered in one giant tattoo, giving a new definition to the term ‘sleeve’. It’s all black ink, not a splash of colour anywhere, depicting an extremely detailed and anatomically correct mechanical arm, complete with what would’ve been joints, ligaments and bones in the form of wires and steel.

The tattoos extend onto the tops of his hands, made to look as if surgical staples are peeling his skin back to reveal the robot beneath. This same tattoo continues up his neck, along his jaw and onto his cheeks, all the way to his bottom lip, spreading across his entire face and disappearing into his hairline and onto his ears. Finally, there’s a small portion of the tattoo underneath his eyes, the surgical staples lining the edges of the face tattoos, too.

It startles you—you’re not necessarily scared, you just…weren’t expecting that. But there’s no denying the rush of breath that involuntarily escapes your lips as your eyes search his face, raking over his body in a brazen way that should make you feel shameful, travelling back up to find him smirking smugly at you, raising an eyebrow as your eyes meet again.

The look in his eyes tells you he knows, knows what you’re thinking about, knows how undeniably attracted you are to him, and scalding heat floods your cheeks.

He chuckles a little, which does nothing but add insult to injury, and sharp anger slices through your chest at the way that you stomach absolutely drops at his gravelly voice. You can’t believe yourself, can’t believe your body is reacting and responding so readily to this man—this stranger.

He introduces himself as Touya, in that rough, deep voice that forces a jolt of electricity to run through your veins. You idly wonder what your name would sound like on his tongue, how it might sound if his voice dropped to a growl, find yourself stuck thinking about this for the rest of the night.

✰ ✰ ✰

To your disappointment, and as much as you are unabashedly interested in him, you don’t interact much with Touya for your first few weeks in the house—in fact, you barely see him at all.

This only piques your curiosity about him more, finding that you’re unable to tear your eyes from him on the rare occasion that you are in a room together. He catches you staring every single time, and he has the audacity to chuckle to himself and shake his head when his gaze meets yours, your eyes quickly darting away and cheeks burning at his laugh.

You begin gathering little tidbits of information about him, purely sourced from interactions you witness in the house, desperately praying for something that’ll give you an opportunity to start a conversation with him.

Your efforts prove fruitless when, almost a month and a half since you moved in, you’ve still only spoken a handful of words to him. You do learn a bit about him through observing, though.

You discover that he’s a smoker, which really doesn’t come as a shock at all. Marlboro’s are his favourite, and he’s always got a pack in his back pocket or rolled up in the short sleeve of his t-shirt. He must have them imported—Marlboro’s are incredibly rare to find all the way in Japan.

Touya must have a lot of things imported.

You find out that every other Thursday, Touya discreetly stuffs an absurdly large wad of cash—all composed of ten-thousand-yen bills—into his mom’s hands, forcing her fingers to curl around it. She fights him on it, every time, but he’s firm and adamant that she take it. It always ends with Rei giving him a small, watery smile, Touya pressing a kiss against the side of her head and murmuring that he loves her.

After you witness this interaction for the first time, you begin to notice that, while the house looks relatively normal on the outside, it is stuffed full of luxury on the inside. Flat-screen TVs each complete with full entertainment systems, state of the art appliances that are somehow up to date with all of the latest trends (including a smart fridge—absolutely ridiculous), custom made furniture, ornate rugs, a housekeeper that drops by every Sunday…

You have no idea what he does for work, but you think you’ve got at least some sort of idea when you catch him one night, just past 2AM, exiting his room and using a thumb to brush excess white powder off his nose. His eyes catch yours, pupils blown and shining in the low light, and he smiles darkly at you, winking once as he walks away.

You don’t ask—no one ever does.

You don’t ask about the crimson splattered on the toe of his boot, or why he sometimes smells metallic, like copper, the strong scent wafting after him and invading the halls as he stalks leisurely toward the bathroom. You don’t ask why he leaves the house at odd hours in the night, and you definitely don’t ask about the soft clinking and clicking you hear through the thin walls every so often while he cleans his gun at 3AM.

You’re not sure if it’s really any of your business, anyway. So you stay quiet, and continue to wait.

The opportunity finally comes one Wednesday in October, two weeks before Halloween, when you’re in the kitchen after school busy fixing yourself an afternoon snack. Touya comes home uncharacteristically early—you rarely see him before 10PM, so his entrance scares you, and you jump a little.

“Sorry,” he murmurs as he passes by behind you, just an inch too close, just enough so you can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, shaking your head a little and trying in vain to stop your hands from trembling as you spread peanut butter across a piece of bread.

You can feel his eyes on you, and it makes you nervous, makes your skin crawl in a way you’ve never felt before. He laughs a little at your struggling, leaning against the counter next to you and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You don’t have to be so nervous around me, y’know,” he says with a smirk, eyes glittering at the way your lips part in surprise, your breath stuttering a little. “I’m your niichan after all, aren’t I?”

You hadn’t even considered using the honorific until he himself uses it.

Your hands freeze, hovering over your plate, and you look over at him slowly. “You…Want me to call you that?”

“You can, if you’d like,” he says smoothly, nonchalantly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It makes no difference to him, he tells you, but when he finally looks back at you, you think you can see it in his eyes—a sharp, small glimmer of…of something. Something that makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t decide if you like or not.

But this is it, you think, this is your opening to finally begin talking to him.

So you do. And the smirk he gives you the first time you address him by the honorific, voice quivering slightly as you ask him where Rei normally keeps the blender, is nothing short of predatory.

“It’s on the top shelf. It’s too high for you, though,” he says, voice so sickly sweet it almost sounds mocking. “Let niichan get it for you,”

It isn’t, but you let him get it for you anyway.

And he knows—knows he’s got you the moment you gasp at the honorific leaving his lips, trying to hide it behind your hand, nodding quickly and squeaking out a thank you.

It starts after that. He begins playing with you; a sick, perverse game of cat and mouse, hunter and hunted, and you play your part perfectly.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said it didn’t send wicked sparks of excitement shooting up your spine and an intense fluttering in your stomach.

And it starts slow. It starts with gentle pet names—honey, sweetheart, princess—and fingertips trailing down your arm as he passes you. It starts with a large hand placed on the small of your back, guiding you—out of the house and into his car, out of the kitchen and into the living room, out of the hallway and into his bedroom—and with little pecks on your lips stolen when no one’s watching, quick kisses that leave you feeling exhilarated despite their chastity.

Suddenly, he’s home a hell of a lot more. He’s sitting too close to you on the couch while you curl up with a textbook, his thigh pressed against you and flesh burning hot through his black jeans. He’s joining the family dinner a few times a week, idly hooking and unhooking his ankle with yours beneath the table while smirking at you from across it.

Suddenly, he’s asking you if you need a ride to school, or if you need someone to pick you up. You don’t, you tell him, the bus is just fine, but he insists. It’s what niichans do, he says. He wants to take care of you, he says.

Who are you to deny him that, really?

✰ ✰ ✰

The first time you experience Touya angry is about a month after the inciting incident, when he catches you walking home with a few of your university friends.

He had texted you earlier that day, telling you that he—very regretfully, he said—would be unable to pick you up from school this afternoon because ‘something had come up’.

You didn’t question what it was—you knew he’d lie even if you did. So you accepted it obediently, reassured him that it was fine, that you’d find another way home.

You’re pretty sure if you had told him that you didn’t have any extra change on you for the bus suddenly whatever important thing that had ‘come up’ which so desperately needed his attention wouldn’t be so urgent anymore. But you didn’t want to be a bother, or inconvenience him, so you say nothing.

Two friends decide they’ll accompany you on your walk home, so you aren’t lonely, they claim. Normally, the walk from campus to your house is about thirty minutes, but that day it takes you nearly an hour, wasting time goofing around and walking slowly as you talk idly.

Touya’s already pissed that it’s taken you so long to arrive home, that you’ve ignored all of his extremely considerate texts asking if you’re alright, but when he sees you squished between two boys, giggling as the three of you stumble up your driveway—he’s fucking fuming.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks, voice calm and monotonous, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Your head snaps up—you swear he wasn’t there just a second ago—blood running cold.

His stance is relaxed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, lazily raising an eyebrow as your wide eyes meet his. Technically, the only indication that he’s furious is the blazing blue fire in his eyes, but your friends can read the tension in the air surrounding him, shuffling a little closer to you. This minuscule action does not go unnoticed by Touya, sharp jaw clenching once.

“You had niichan worried,”

You’re frozen a few feet away from the porch, unable to find your voice, to move your legs, to breathe at all.

“I didn’t know you had an older brother,”

Your eyes do not leave Touya’s as you speak, the words hoarse. “Oh, we’re—”

“Yeah,” Touya bites, irritation finally bleeding into his voice. “She does,” his eyes float back to yours. “Come here, princess,”

Your body snaps into action, moving automatically before you can even comprehend it, allowing Touya to tuck you into his side the moment you reach him.

Your hands are shaking, but you have no control over them as your fingers curl in his white t-shirt, clinging to him. To your surprise, the arm around your shoulders hugs you closer in response, thumb caressing you.

“Thanks for making sure she got home safely,” he tosses over his shoulder, managing to make the simple sentence sound like an insult, tone bordering on patronizing, while he turns on his heel, marching you both inside.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you’re rushing to say the moment the front door shuts behind you two, Touya’s arm still wrapped firmly around you.

He looks down at you coldly. “Don’t you dare pull shit like that again,” he tells you, eerily calm voice forcing spikes of icy dread up your spine. He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in as his eyes bore into yours. “You had me worried sick,” he breathes out then, squeezing you again. You’re surprised in the sudden change of tone, feeling your chest swell at the thought of him fretting over you, a small smile gracing your lips.

“I…I did?”

Touya’s eyebrows furrow, as if he’s offended at your questioning, mood morphing in the span of a second. “Of course you fucking did,” he spits like you’re stupid, arm dropping. “Do you ever check your phone?”

“Wh-What?”

Touya rolls his eyes. “Check your phone,” he calls out airily as he begins walking into the kitchen, shaking his head a little, disappointment rolling off him in waves.

Hastily fishing your phone out of your bag, you’re astonished to see eight texts from him and three missed calls. You scroll through the texts quickly, each one making you feel more nauseous than the next. ‘Is everything okay? You should’ve been home by now’; ‘Please answer me, princess, you’re making your niichan nervous’; ‘Where are you? Answer my fucking calls already’. Guilt turns sour in your mouth and you hurry after him.

“I-I really am s-so sorry,” you force the words out, unsure as to why there are suddenly tears stinging your eyes. He isn’t even doing anything—his back is facing you as he nonchalantly begins brewing a pot of coffee.

But the thought of him being upset with you, of losing his approval, sends a sharp pain searing through your chest.

“Are you?” he asks, and although his voice holds no malice in it, it causes your whole body to stutter with a harsh breath.

“Yes,” you whimper out, latching onto his arm and tugging in an attempt to draw his eyes to yours, to see how regretful you are, the remorse written across your face. “I should’ve…That was so careless and inconsiderate of me,”

“It was,” he agrees simply, voice still light, as if he’s discussing something as mundane as the weather. “But you’ll never do it again, right?”

“Right,” you agree readily, breathing out the word before you even realize what you’re agreeing to.

“Tell niichan you’ll never worry him like that again,” he finally looks over at you.

“I-I’ll never worry you like that again, niichan, I pr-promise,”

His eyes hold yours for what feels like eons, before he finally twists his arm out of your grasp, instead wrapping it around you and tugging you against his body. You stay staring up at him, eyes wide and obedient, breath bated as you wait for your next order, so pliant and ready to serve him.

“Good,” he whispers, eyes finally softening, and you feel like you can breathe properly again. His free hand cups your face, thumb running along your lips, then your chin, then your jaw. “You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, you’ll lay awake in your bed, feeling ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

✰ ✰ ✰

He begins to trust you more. You meet his friends, each one terrifying in their own right. Jin is alright, although his brain is fried from drugs, and he talks to and contradicts himself a lot, earning the nickname Twice from Tomura.

Tomura horrifies you to your very core—a tall, lanky man with sunken red eyes and sickly pale skin who looks like he’s one bad day away from death—and Touya tells you very sternly to stay away from him.

A university student not unlike yourself, Keigo is your favourite. Keigo is the most normal, with his wild blonde hair and enticing gold eyes that always look like they’re playfully holding the secrets of the universe just out of your grasp.

Keigo’s brain is always going a hundred miles a minute, although you’d never guess it with his trademark lazy drawl, speaking as if he hasn’t got a care in the world. But he can always keep a conversation going, knows exactly what to say to avoid awkward silences or lulls in the discussion, and you appreciate that. You think he’s so cool—he has so much knowledge about the oddest things, everything and anything, ‘a walking encyclopedia’, Tomura calls it, and it fascinates you to no end.

It’s the speed, Touya tells you one night while you’re laying on the couch, your body on top of his, the pads of his fingers dragging down your back in rhythmic strokes. Speed is Keigo’s drug of choice, you find out. Speed is the reason why Keigo knows as much as he does.

“Sometimes he doesn’t sleep for days,” Touya says. “That’s how he has all the time to memorize everything he knows—though that big overactive brain of his plays a part in it, too,”

The thought inexplicably makes your heart sink in your chest, and you don’t say anything else. If Touya notices your shift in mood, he doesn’t mention it. You idly wonder what Touya’s drug of choice is, but you’re too scared of the answer to ask.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s only a few nights later when you wake with a violent jolt, breathing laboured as you absentmindedly press your palm to your chest, trying in vain to calm your racing heart.

A nightmare.

You sit in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of your own harsh breaths echoing off the walls and debating what to do next. A minute later, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, wincing when your bare feet touch the cold hardwood, and pad down the hallway.

You try to trick yourself into believing that you aren’t using this purely as an excuse to spend the night with him. It really was so scary, you reason with yourself, it really has made you all shaken up…

Who are you kidding? You didn’t even attempt to go back to sleep.

You’ve been in his room plenty of times now—sitting daintily on his bed as he introduces you to new music, new movies, new books. Stuff that reminds him of you, he says, stuff that he thought you might be interested in. You’re grateful for it; there are so many things you’ve learned in the short time you’ve known him.

That isn’t all, though. There’s no denying the warmth that spreads through your body, that tiny excited flutter in your chest, when he calls your name and interlaces your fingers, leading you toward his room and telling you he’s got something to show you.

Yes, you’ve been in his room plenty of times now. But this is the first time you spend the night in his bed.

He’s still up, soft golden light leaking from under his closed bedroom door. Your hand quivers a little as you lift it to rap your knuckles against the wood. He appears in the doorway a moment later, leaning against the frame in a black t-shirt that looks like it’s a size or two too small for him, riding up to reveal a teasing sliver of milky skin, tips of his hipbones jutting out from the waistband of his plaid pajama pants.

“Princess? What is it?”

You didn’t realize you were staring, and you jump a little at his gravelly voice.

“Oh. I, um—Well, I just…had a nightmare a-and I can’t sleep,”

You can barely look him in the eyes as you say it, your cheeks burning. You both know it’s a lie.

But he plays along.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, drawing you into his arms, into his room, into his bed.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs as he turns on his side to face you, propping his head up with a hand. “Poor thing. Was it a bad one?”

Your mouth feels like its been stuffed with cotton, rendering you incapable of speech, tongue dry and sluggish. You nod in response, heat seeping into your cheeks again at just how loudly your heart is thumping while you roll onto your side. There’s only a few inches of space between your bodies now, his hot breath fanning across your face as he speaks again.

“Do you want niichan to help you forget about it?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, and you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes searching his. Your thighs squeeze together at the way his voice has dropped an octave, low and husky, familiar heat pooling in the depths of your belly. He waits patiently, lifting a hand to caress your cheek, then runs his fingertips down your bare arm, goosebumps following.

Finally, you nod. You think you see the corners of his lips quirk up into the slightest hint of a smirk, but you blink, and it’s gone.

“Here,” he whispers, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. Hand cupping your jaw, he tilts your face up and slots his mouth against yours.

You’ve kissed before, of course—in his bed, in yours, on the living room couch, on the kitchen counter with his hips shoved between your thighs—but this…this feels different.

These are kisses with intent, with purpose, with a goal in mind. These are kisses that keep you distracted—slow, soft, messy with saliva—as his hand slips down your body and between your thighs.

Your gasp breaks the kiss, wide eyes blinking up at him then fluttering shut as he brushes a knuckle against your clit. He hushes you, nimble fingers spreading your folds before he drags them up your slit, huffing out a laugh at how wet you already are.

“Were you thinking about something naughty before?” he gasps mockingly, sliding the pads of his fingers back down as he speaks.

His hand withdraws from your shorts and he orders you to lift your hips, tugging the waistband down your thighs. You squirm a little, forcing them further down your legs until you free yourself of them completely, eyes gazing up at him again, awaiting your next command.

Legs part dutifully as his hand travels back down to the apex of your thighs, pushing a finger into your soaking pussy.

It’s slow at first, thrusting leisurely with his middle finger a few times and loosening you up a little before adding his ring finger. Sapphire eyes watch his motions, captivated by how your eager little cunt sucks his fingers in selfishly.

“Look at that, huh?” he breathes, looking down at you. “Such a pretty little pussy you’ve got,”

You open your bleary eyes to peer at yourself, mesmerized by the way his fingers are pumping in and out of you, glistening in the dim light of his bedroom. He curls his fingers and you inhale sharply, hips twitching toward his palm.

“Oh?” he chuckles darkly, knuckles nudging the spot again. “Did niichan find something, baby?”

You don’t know, you’re not sure, you try to tell him, but all you can seem to manage is pathetic little whines while you nod your head.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he’s asking as the pads of his fingers tap against that spot, your entire body jolting.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper out, a little breathlessly. “But it’s never felt like this,”

“Aw, baby,” he coos, and it’s so condescending. “Then you weren’t doing it right, sweetheart,”

He quickens his pace, chuckles at the way you try to desperately fuck yourself on his fingers at such an awkward angle.

“Poor little thing, can’t even get herself off properly,” he tsks. “You need your niichan to do it for you, don’t you?”

Soft whines spill from your throat as you nod eagerly, your stomach coiling tightly.

“One day,” he breathes, curling his fingers with a vengeance this time, your hips rolling up off the mattress. “When we have the time, I’ll teach you how to make yourself feel so good,”

He’s talking too much. You want to tell him this, tell him to shut the hell up, but every time you try to speak he presses the heel of his palm to your clit and grinds against it, effectively scattering all of your thoughts, soft mewls of niichan the only sound escaping your lips.

Can’t deny his voice is fucking hot though, a form of foreplay all on its own.

And he knows this, can read you like a goddamn book, especially when he’s got his fingers two knuckles deep inside of you. He can feel it, he tells you. You don’t even need to speak; he can feel your thoughts when his voice drops an octave and your cute little hole flutters, when he chuckles and your pussy clenches around his fingers—a slut for his voice, aren’t you?

“Pretty baby, you can’t do anything but nod dumbly, can you? Been fucked stupid by my fingers alone, huh?”

Your head barely moves, lost all control of your body by this point, only able to whimper in response.

“Gonna come all over my fingers, pretty girl?” the knuckle of his thumb begins grazing your clit in quick strokes. “C’mon, make a mess for niichan,”

And it’s pathetic, how quickly your body obeys. Your pussy squeezes once, twice, three times and you’re gushing all over his fingers, juices collecting in his palm, running down his wrist. You’re embarrassed—you’ve never cum that much before, have you?

Breathing still ragged, you nuzzle into his sheets, partially hiding your face from him. Nothing could hide the involuntary grin that forms on your lips, though. Arms snake under your boneless body, tugging a bit.

“Oh no, baby, we aren’t done yet,” Touya’s saying while he hoists you up, letting you lean heavily against him.

Head tilting in confusion, your glazed eyes find his. “Wh-What?”

He looks down at his lap and your gaze follows, a tiny whimper slipping past your lips at the bulge straining against his pants. “Doesn’t niichan deserve a nice reward for helping you forget that scary dream?”

Eyes darting back to his, you nod slowly, whispering out, “Yes. But—But…” But you’re hesitant; you’ve never done anything like this before. Shaking hands reach for the waistband of his pants, beginning to pull them down but freezing when the head of his cock peeks out.

Touya sighs. “Come on, you wanna be a good girl for niichan, don’t you?”

Of course. Of courses you do.

Then he wants you to touch him, he says. He’ll help you; he promises.

“But you gotta get it wet first,”

You ask how, and he laughs at you. “With your tongue, stupid,” he tells you.

He instructs you to kneel on the floor and you comply immediately, trembling legs folding beneath your body as you situate yourself between his knees. He inches forward on the bed a little, shuffling himself to the edge and caging you between his thighs. Bringing his cock close to your mouth, he taps the head against your closed lips.

They part instantly, obediently, his eyes flashing with something sinister as you take the head into your mouth and suck hesitantly, big eyes staring up at him waiting for approval.

He curses, his hips twitching ever so slightly, skin stretched taut over bony knuckles as a hand forms a fist in the sheets. Starting with kitten licks at first, the tip of your tongue barely touches him, tracing veins, then begins to gain more confidence as he groans a little, telling you what to you, that you’re doing good, so good for him.

Watching him through thick lashes, you have the audacity to look bashful as your tongue laves around the shaft, drenching it in saliva. A hand tangles in your hair and yanks, pulling you off his cock when he decides it’s sufficiently wet enough. Long fingers encircle your wrist, bringing your hand to form a fist around him.

“Like this,” he says, jerking your hand up and down.

You’re terrible at it, movements awkward and uncoordinated, but in that moment he doesn’t really care. He’s irritated a little, wondering out loud how anyone can be bad at handjobs while a large hand wraps around yours and forces you to speed up. Bad? Your heart sinks at the small three letter word, a hard lump forming in your throat, looking as though you may start crying.

But he cums quickly after that, ropes of searing hot white painting your cheeks and face. You watch him the entire time, panting a little, lips parted slightly and your tongue darts out to lick them, tasting him.

He laughs at your bitter reaction, and it’s such a patronizing sound.

“Don’t worry,” he says, collecting the cum off your face and forcing his fingers into your mouth. “Someday I’ll stuff your throat full of it.”

✰ ✰ ✰

You can no longer mention needing—no, wanting—anything around him anymore, because within the next few days it’s sitting pretty and perfect on your bed, propped up against your lace trimmed pillows.

He’s so good to you; you should be grateful you have such a generous niichan, one who eats you out and spoils you with gifts. You’re so spoiled.

And he tells you this, in the dead of night when you wake to find him shoving his cock into you, snarling a little at your soft whines of protest.

“Don’t be a brat,” he warns. Just be a good girl and take his cock. He does so much for you, can’t you be good for him?

Yes, yes, you want to be good for him, you want to be the best for him.

By this point you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up in the middle of the night with his head between your thighs, prepping you to take him.

“Stay sleeping, baby,” he’ll tell you, words whispered into your hair as his cockhead nudges against your hole.

As if you could ever stay sleeping when only a few minutes later he’s pounding you into oblivion, large hand clasped over your mouth so tightly his blunt nails are digging into your cheek, so hard that it’s yanking your head back, neck beginning to ache.

He tells you to be quiet, “You don’t want anyone to hear, do you? Then we’d have to stop, and you don’t want that, right, sweetheart?”

You don’t, you whimper. Of course you don’t—you want whatever he wants, you want to be his perfect little baby, you want to be told how good you take his cock, the praise mumbled against your skin in a low, strained voice right before he fills you with cum.

✰ ✰ ✰

He disappears for a few days near the end of December. You have no idea where, Touya answering your curious texts with playful quips at first before he grows tired of it and tells you to stop fucking asking.

But eventually, he returns.

The front door slams shut and your body flinches with a jolt of excitement. Adrenaline spikes your blood when you hear his heavy boots colliding with the hardwood, getting louder, louder, louder…

He passes right by you, not glancing at you at all. Moments later, the sound of water hitting the tiled shower wall echoes down the hallway.

And you wait. Patiently, you wait, like the good little girl you are, not daring to move a muscle. Eventually he re-emerges, hair still damp, a few strands sticking to his neck.

With a groan, he collapses on the couch next to you, flopping his head into your lap and gazing up at you with glazed, blown sapphire eyes.

“You’re high,” you say softly, not accusatory, just an observation. He giggles a little.

“So what if I am?”

“What did you take?”

“Oh,” he gasps mockingly. “Oh no, baby, I can’t tell you that,”

Why? The question is burning on the tip of your tongue, and you can tell that he’s anticipating that to be your next response, but you bite down on your bottom lip, holding it in. You know his answer already, can practically hear his patronizing voice—Because good baby sisters aren’t supposed to know about stuff like this.

“Can I try some?” you ask instead.

All of the mirth fades from his eyes in an instant, and he moves in a flash despite his inebriated state, so quick you can barely tell what’s happening. His large hand wraps around your bicep in a bruising grasp, pulling you towards him as he sits up, his face an inch away from yours.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he spits, cobalt eyes blazing and voice rumbling against your chest. “And if I so much as catch wind that you’re using, have a mere feeling that you’ve tried it—even just once—I’ll slaughter you and the fucker you got it from. Do you understand me?”

Surprised tears spring into your eyes and you nod jerkily, body beginning to tremble as your breath gets caught in your throat. You want to tell him that you didn’t mean it, honest, you promise!; that you were just kidding around, you swear!, but you can’t, voice mangling itself with the hitched little breaths on the back of your tongue.

He growls at your silence, his grip around your arm tightening and you cry out, terrified that he might actually crush the bone with his bare hand.

“Say, yes Touya, I understand,”

“Y-Yes Touya, I understand,” you manage to stutter out, voice returning only at the command of a direct order, tears spilling over and rolling down your cheeks in pairs. His eyes search your face for a moment, his features contorted in fury, before he sneers at you, squeezing your arm once then roughly letting go, shoving you away from him.

You fall backward against the arm of the couch, heart thumping so vigorously you’re sure he can hear it. He groans, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, exasperated.

“Fuck,” he sighs, eyes opening to glare at the ceiling. “You’ve ruined my high,”

You stare at him, breath coming out in uneven huffs, clinging to the couch.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, terrified to move lest you upset him more.

He’s silent for a moment, still staring up, until he lolls his head to the side, glancing at you through the corner of his eye. A small smirk spreads across his face.

“C’mere,” he says, nodding his head a little in indication.

“Wh-What?”

“C’mere,” he repeats. “Come make it up to me,”

Your body’s moving before you’ve given it permission to, crawling into his lap obediently, thighs on either side of his hips. His smirk widens, and you love it—you love how much control he has over you without even trying, you love the way a quiet whimper slips through your lips as his large hands begin kneading your flesh, running up your legs and grabbing your ass.

Lips trail up the column of your neck, and you tilt your head back, a silent plea for more. You can feel the way his lips curl into a grin against your skin, nipping at it a second later.

“So, how you gonna make it up to me? Huh?” he shifts his hips under you, pressing his hard cock into your clothed core. You whine a little, grinding against him.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” you breathe out while sharp teeth mar your collarbone.

“The hell you waiting for? Show me,”

You begin sliding down his body and he pushes on your shoulders, forcing you to your knees between his spread thighs. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, gaping pupils outlined by a thin ring of blue.

Holding his gaze, you lean forward with your pretty little tongue hanging out and begin licking along the straining bulge, tracing it slowly, the denim rough against your sensitive muscle. You relent though, lapping at his clothed cock in slow, long strokes, and his jeans are just thin enough for you to feel him pulse in response.

A giggle bubbles up past your lips, muffled by the denim, already beginning to feel heady as you pull simple reactions from him. Your mouth forms a cute little ‘o’ and you suck on him the best you can through his jeans, drooling all over his lap and soaking through the material.

The hand in your hair tightens into a fist, yanking hard and pulling your mouth away. “Stop fucking teasing,” he warns, a hint of something ominous in his voice.

You obey, because you always obey, tiny fingers working to quickly unbuckle his belt, pop the button, yank down the zipper. He aids you, lifting his hips and allowing you to tug his jeans down his thighs enough for his cock to spring out.

His own hand wraps around the shaft, you pausing mid-action as you reach for it.

“Open,” he demands, your dutiful lips parting immediately, letting him push his cock into the warm, wet cavern.

He sets a brutal, punishing pace from the start, refusing to give you a single moment to adjust. His other hand fists in your hair, forcing you to stay still as he rams his cock down your throat.

Reflexive tears burn your eyes, blurring your vision. You blink quickly to clear them, desperate to watch him, to catalogue all of his micro-expressions and the sound of his voice as he grunts out your name, to burn it into your mind, etch it into your very soul.

Touya’s head falls back against the couch, Adams apple bobbling with his rough whimpers, long neck and sharp collarbone on full display. If your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, you’d love to lick up his smooth skin, to trace the dips of his collarbone with your tongue and sign your name in brilliant splotches of blue and purple.

You’re gagging around his cock now, starting to feel lightheaded and struggling to inhale enough oxygen. The ache in your jaw is beginning to spread, but you ignore it, stretching your mouth open wider, to take more, to be good for him, to make him proud. It’s worth it for the hoarse, throaty moans you’re pulling from him, to hear your name shuddered out, followed by a breathy, “Fuck,”

He forces hot cum down your throat a moment later, and you choke on it, sputtering around his cock, throat spasming as it tries to force the foreign object out. He won’t let it, though. He holds your head in place, nose pressed against his pubic bone, and you can do nothing but take it, like a good little girl, like he tells you to.

But it’s all worth it. It’s all worth it, to hear his broken whines like that, to have him look down at you and pull your hair and tell you you’re good, so good for him.

And you’re sobbing by the end of it, gasping for air the moment he lets go of you, wheezing violently as your head collapses against his thigh.

“Did I—” you cough, voice raspy from having your throat fucked raw, “—Did I make it up to you, niichan?” you gaze up at him, eyelashes spiky with residual water. You’re the perfect picture of obedience, strands of hair stuck to your face where your salty tears have dried and swollen lips gleaming with saliva as you watch him with glittering eyes, waiting desperately for his praise.

He looks down at you, eyes devious and diabolical, chest heaving a little. “Of course you did,” he tells you, corners of his lips tugging up into a sharp smirk as you melt into him. “You always do, don’t you?”

#todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya #dabi x reader #dabi smut #touya x reader #dabi may be a scumbag but he loves his momma #tomura baby i’m so sorry #promise u don’t horrify me at all oof #pls come horrify me more #christ if dabi isn’t touya we’re all gonna look like goddamn fools #a buncha clowns #anyway this is my first time posting something like this #n i haven’t written smut in an extremely long time #so pls be nice #actually u should always be nice #so pls be extra nice #no one beta’d this so there’s a good chance i’ll come back to it n revise it or whatever idk i’m just sick of looking at it rn #the ‘he talks too much’ is inspired by ch 271 w hawks where he’s all ‘he’ll keep talking’#dabi shut the fuck up challenge #prone to monologuing this boy is #also sorry abt the crazy sentences with a thousand commas #apparently now i’m oscar wilde w these run on sentences #idk i still kinda like em tho #i like oscar #tw pseudo-incest #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw emotional manipulation #tw somnophilia #tw drugs

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pigspeetsandhooflikefeets · 2 years ago

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Are there any facts about the YDKJ hosts that contribute to their appearance? Like how their hair looks, how they dress, etc.

my friend asked for this info a while back so I'll relay info I told them

Nate: Very little implication to how he looks, but you can tell by his tone he overdresses. Claims to get sick after long walks so he's a bit out of shape or has asthma. Says his hair is greying, but meaningless as he can (and probably does) dye it. Does not wear open-toed shoes. Occasionally wears ties, but is sloppy with them (one has a mustard stain)

Guy: Claims to be tall (it's the milk probably). Wears glasses. Based off athletic pursuit, implied to be more in shape than the others. Claims to shave his legs on occasion. Enjoys crossdressing and wearing heels on occasion, but is embarrassed over admitting it.

Buzz: The other hosts (Schmitty) call him kiddo so he either appears and/or is younger than the others. Doesn't like/isn't allowed to eat junk food so he's potentially more lean than the others. Canonically transmasc (weird statement to make no matter how many times I say it).

Cookie: Denies being bald/balding. We know he is. Owns wigs, possibly wears them. Wears glasses. Heavyset due to depression eating/binge eating. Has a more defined chest due to taking estrogen that he doesn't actually know why was prescribed to him. Has at least one tattoo (he is ashamed of the Woody Woodpecker one) Left-handed. Has eczema (not really a design thing, but). Likes crossdressing.

Schmitty: Claims to dislike all facial hair but definitely has some based off his Quiplash 3 alt Quips. In his words, he has a fat ass. Alternates between wearing glasses and contacts. Claims to be bald once? Balding maybe? Has a tattoo. And a navel piercing. Says he’d enjoy wearing poofy dresses, but doesn’t commit.

Bob: Pale skinned. Like the last 3, heavyset. but says it's due to his sloth more than anything. Very long, yet ratty, hair that he does not trim or keep too well brushed. Facial and chest hair. Thinks he's unattractive, so likely the opposite of conventional beauty. Has at least 2 tattoos (as he says "you’ll never see any of my tattoos", plural) 34 years old.

But like a lot of these are off-jokes or random things, so it's more of a suggestion than heavy guideline.

#TECHNICALLY all my designs do fit these canon y'know #jacketybox mumbles #anonymous

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illnessfaker · 4 years ago

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someone directed me to this plural account on twit who implies that people with did/osdd-1 (and also those with non-traumagenic multiplicity) are marginalized due to existing in a "singlet-dominated" society and i think that's...kinda missing the mark. like, ppl with did/osdd-1 face discrimination and psychiatric abuse due to having "multiple personalities" being something categorized as a form of "madness," and some of that same logic extends to and applies to individuals that aren't "multiple" in any sense. it's not "multiple vs. singlet" it's "people coercively categorized as 'mad' and therefore subhuman vs. the saneism that categorizes the as such." not being "multiple" isn't an axis of socioeconomic privilege.

i think it falls in line with this weird trend on social media that people have of...over-compartmentalizing discrimination or something based off factors that aren't significant enough to render a social category "second-class," so to speak (like people with visible tattoos and piercings are discriminated against in employment, but that doesn't mean people with visible tattoos and piercings are an "oppressed group." how that social trend plays into existing systems of oppression like white supremacy is another conversation).

#op #saneism #psychiatry

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years ago

Text

Summary: There are days where Ahsoka Tano is the Commander of the 501st battalion, and then there are days where she is Anakin Skywalker's fourteen-year-old Padawan, stuck in the aftermath of a bloody battle, surrounded by the dead.Or, Anakin sings to Ahsoka. Read on AO3!

There was nothing special about this campaign, not really. They had been sent to yet another planet in need of defense against the Separatists. Their enemies had been too many and the waves of droids rolling out of the transport ships had been sheer endless, their attacks brutal and no matter what they had done, nothing had really helped. In the end, they had won, of course. Otherwise Ahsoka wouldn’t be here anymore. Padawans didn’t survive the annihilation of their battalions.

Ahsoka’s Master had led them to victory. The Separatist base had been destroyed, the civilians saved and Ahsoka did everything she could to focus on those facts but no matter what she did, how much she tried to calm her breathing or stop her hands from shaking, fear and panic closed her throat and she found herself struggling for breath.

Battlefields were loud and so was their aftermath. The troops had to be organized, orders were yelled. It was not as deafening as the fight itself with explosions and blaster fire, but right now it might as well just be.

“Please!” Ahsoka shouted as she tore white armor off a brother. He had been so excited.

“Let’s knock out some, clankers, Commander! Gotta impress the captain, maybe he’ll give me a name!”

They had laughed back on the dropship, just her and her current squad. They had been supposed to be in the easy part of the battle. They didn’t send the Shinies to the front lines if they could afford it. They would just be used as cannon fodder, too unused to how harsh the war could really get. They all followed orders perfectly, but everybody hesitated upon first impact and in these harsh bloodbaths, they could not afford even a split-second hesitation.

The Shinies had gone with Ahsoka, they had been supposed to scout, be back-up, not be ambushed by too many droidekas.

“Please, please, please!” Ahsoka cried.

He hadn’t even had a name yet, no tattoo, no scar, his armor had only just been painted. Only a little bit of blue, the 501st displayed proudly on his chest.

“I wanted to join General Skywalker’s battalion! They always tell the craziest stories about your fights!”

He hadn’t had a name, Ahsoka couldn’t even recall his number. He had was bleeding out beneath Ahsoka’s fingers and she didn’t know who he was.

She pressed her hands down on his chest, tried to focus the Force, get its chaotic strength under control so she could pour it in him with every beat. She could reanimate him still, she could save him. He had been the last one to be shot down, the last one standing to protect her because Ahsoka hadn’t been enough. She was still just a Padawan, too weak, just a student. A Knight could have done it. They would have protected their squadron on their own, but instead Ahsoka had to watch as they all protected her because a Jedi was worth more than an entire squadron. No clone could ever measure up to them.

“You’ll be a great Jedi, Commander!” His voice had been a little lighter than that of other brothers, but perhaps that had just been excitement coloring it.

“Wake up!” Ahsoka shouted with frantic panic. “Wake up! Wake up!”

“Ahsoka!” Somebody grabbed her shoulder and Ahsoka reacted on instinct.

The stench of death and blood and violence was still in her nostrils, battle-sharpened instincts told her to kill the enemy.

She didn’t even look as she lashed out, aiming for the throat or the head with the force, wanting to crush it to dust just like the Shinie’s legs had been-

Her push never met its target.

“Ahsoka!”

She looked up, stared into the worried face of her Master. He was blurry, his expression not clear and Ahsoka realized only belatedly that it was not the atmosphere of the planet turning everything hazy, but the tears in her eyes.

“Jaieh,” Ahsoka cried out. She wanted to stand up, but all the strength had left her. Blood was coloring her palms red, soaking into the fabric of her pants.

“Anakin, we have to- he’s-“ She couldn’t manage to stutter out even one sentence.

All around her she saw the men she had failed, limbs at an odd angle or torn off. Identical in death where they had been so vibrant and diverse alive, they all looked like broken toys. She could feel the bile rise in her throat. It felt as if she could taste the pain. It burned itself into her mind and she just wanted to go home.

“Oh, Ahsoka,” her master said, his voice full of sorrow.

He quickly walked over to her, first raised his hands so she could see what he as doing with them and would not lash out again. Slowly he wrapped them around her shoulders, then pulled her head towards his chest and held her close. Ahsoka buried her head in the crook of his neck, trying to drown out the noise. Her Master smelled just like everything else on the battlefield, blood, ashes, fire, but beneath all of that was the familiar scent of home, the fragrance of the detergent they used at the temple and could never really wash out of the robes, no matter how much dirt they were dragged through.

“I tried,” Ahsoka sobbed. “I promise I tried, there were just-“

“Ssh,” Anakin hushed her. “I know, I know. You did everything just right.”

“But they-“

“Ashoka,” Anakin interrupted her. “Ahsoka, listen to me. Can you do that? Just listen to my voice.”

Ahsoka was trembling. She didn’t dare open her eyes or move or say another word in fear that it would just all spill over then and she wouldn’t ever be able to stop again.

She felt her Master move her a little and then, at one go, he stood up, still holding her. She was behaving like a youngling, clinging to a crèchemaster. She could walk on her own, she had two healthy feet, but all she saw was that droid smashing the brother’s legs, him crying out-

“Paiben juvetho seka ibli deoj forpai.”

She thought it was a memory at first, that she was imagining the words that had accompanied her through so many nights in the temple. She couldn’t recall when she had heard the soothing notes at first, perhaps when Master Plo had brought her home.

“Enoji brei ormah.”

All the noise of before seemed to fade into the background. Ahsoka thought of the warmth she remembered from her clan, three of her crèchemates sneaking into her bed so none of them had to be alone. When they had been found the next morning, they had been teased just a little.

“Paiwiden juvetho seka ibli deoj forpai.”

Her Master’s voice was steady and rose with every word. Despite the armor between them, the many layers, she could feel the rumble in his chest. He was still alive, still breathing. He wasn’t going to leave her alone here, abandon her amongst the dead.

“Enoji brei ormah.”

The world was silent again. There was only the Force, peace, and tranquility. If not in world, not even within herself, then at least her Master stood unwavering. Ahsoka didn’t know how long he was walking, carrying her through the aftermath of the destruction, she only really returned to the world when Anakin interrupted his singing to let out a low pained breath.

“Kewanji kodai juvetho seka ibli deoj forpai.”

When Ahsoka opened her eyes again, they were no longer outside. The familiar insides of a shuttle greeted her. They were sitting on the ground, her Master’s eyes closed as hers had been and he was leaning against the walls of the ship. His cheeks were hollow, and he had dark rings under his eyes. He must be as exhausted as her. Perhaps this song was not just for her sake then. Ahsoka’s voice sounded rough to her, had been tortured by the many hours she had been screaming orders.

“Paikewan juvetho seka ibli deoj forpai.”

Anakin looked at her and despite the tiredness, he smiled encouragingly. Ahsoka didn’t have enough energy to return it, but she was sure he understood how she was feeling by the way she leaned against his chest and finished the song together with him.

“Enoji brei ormah.”

Everything would be alright.

Hold on just a little while longer Paiben juvetho seka ibli deoj forpai - pai is the consequential prefix that in this case says that the action you are doing (holding) will have consequences for the future - ben means to endure

Everything will be alright Enoji brei ormah - ormah actually means "warmth" but that word further implies that everything is alright with you as well, that you are warm

Fight on just a little while longer Paiwiden juvetho seka ibli deoj forpai - widen means "to fight" but also "to defend"

(We will) sing on just a little while longer Paikewanji kodai juvetho seka ibli deoj forpai - kodai is the first person plural used only to refer to "we, the Jedi"

Sing/Pray on just a little while longer Paikewan kodai juvetho seka ibli deoj forpai - kewan means "to sing" and also "to pray". In the context of Jedi praying, it means more communicating with the Force as a community, so if you want to say "let's meditate together" you could also use kewan

#star wars #tcw #Anakin Skywalker #ahsoka tano #fanfic #conlang #dai bendu

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positively--speculative · 5 years ago

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lol, someone who doesn’t want to use Google to look up the difference between culturally significant tattoos and regular tattoos to learn really wants to try to imply that I don’t know how to back up my claims? Someone who doesn’t know the differences between plural/possessives/contractions is really trying to be the smarter person?

Okay, then.

#fandom fuckery #fandom racism

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buckybarnesbingo · 4 years ago

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BBB Week 36 Roundup!

Is everyone excited for our party this weekend?! We sure are! We’ll be having our traditional round robin, games, sprints, and there will be another drawing for tokens. See you on the 19th!

And don’t forget, we have 15 more days until the end of the round.

Title: Ask For Much - Chapter 7: Frenemies Forever Collaborator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy Link: Tumblr Square Filled: Y1 - Frenemies Ship: Stucky Rating: Mature Major Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, frenemies, volunteer work, supportive Sam Wilson Summary: The last person Bucky wants to talk to after a bad 24 hours is his frenemy Sam Wilson, but the universe has other ideas. Or Sam knows way too much about Bucky’s sex life. Word Count: 1288

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Title: Ask For Much - Chapter 8: Separation Anxiety Collaborator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy Link: Tumblr Square Filled: Y4 - Lending a Hand Ship: Stucky Rating: Mature Major Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, frenemies, denial, travel for work, curating art Summary: Bucky takes the plunge, but Steve has other ideas. Or Bucky’s reminded Steve doesn’t owe him anything. Word Count: 1124

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Title: The Archive Collaborator: shakespeareanqueer Link: Tumblr Square Filled: B5 - Kink: Office Sex Ship: Bucky/Reader Rating: Explicit Major Tags: Sexual language and implied sexual activity Summary: You work in the office for the Avengers. Why does Bucky spend so much time in your office? What is he up to? Word Count: 1230

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Title: Fragile: Handle With Care Collaborator: starjargon Link: AO3 Square Filled: K2 - Handle with Care Ship: none Rating: Gen Major Tags: Memory Loss, brief mentions of PTSD, mentions of past crimes Summary: The Winter Soldier doesn’t remember how to be a person anymore. All he knows is his head isn’t right, he doesn’t want to hurt people anymore, and he used to have a name. So he finds people who understand, and hopefully, learns to be more than just a weapon. Word Count: 1344

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Title: Art: How Do I Live Collaborator: LiquidLightz Link: AO3 Square Filled: B5 - Never Again Ship: Stucky Rating: Teen Major Tags: art Summary: My main artwork for the fabulous slow-burn romantic fix-it adventure that is powercrow's Planet Hulk / MCU Endgame crossover fic "lost in time, lost in space". Featuring Planet Hulk gladiator Steve, Devil Dinosaur, Wakanda Bucky, and all your canon MCU favourites, as well as other original fantastical creatures and Planet Hulk inhabitants. In this scene, PlanetHulk!Steve is mourning his presumed-dead beloved husband Bucky. Word Count: 259

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Title: Hanukkah Collaborator: BookDragon13 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: C3 - Free Space Ship: none Rating: Gen Major Tags: Jewish bucky, moodboard Summary: Bucky and the Maximoffs Do Hanukkah together Word Count:100

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Title: Ask For Much - Chapter 9: The Envelope Collaborator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy Link: Tumblr Square Filled: U2 - Newspaper Clippings Ship: Stucky Rating: Mature Major Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, loneliness, long-distance friendship, friendship Summary: Bucky’s not handling Steve’s absence very well, but a well-timed phone call makes things better. Or Bucky and Alpine cuddle, and it’s adorable. Word Count: 1039

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Title: his body is his journal Collaborator: abitnotgoodiebag Link: Tumblr Square Filled: B5 - tattoos Ship: none Rating: Gen Major Tags: art Summary: Character design for nopowers!au I’ve been throwing around in my head

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Title: The Heart of My Own (burn it down low) - Chapter 3: The Sky Collaborator: Minka Link: AO3 Square Filled: C5 – Shapeshifter Ship: Stucky Rating: Mature Major Tags: None, but adult themes Summary: In a deep, dark forest, a city-weary deliveryman finds more than he bargained for. Word Count: 16,151

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Title: Magical Secrets Collaborator: fanbinbun Link: AO3 Square Filled: C5 - Innocent Until Proven Guilty Ship: WinterHawk Rating: Teen Major Tags: fantasy AU Summary: Wrongly accused, Bucky Barnes is left for dead by the village he called home. Word Count: 2233

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Title: Ask For Much - Chapter 10: Every Rose, Lots of Thorns Collaborator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy Link: Tumblr Square Filled: B3 - Poison Ship: Stucky Rating: Mature Major Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, reunion, best friends, music and food Summary: Steve’s home from LA. A reunion’s in order. Or Bucky has no chill. Word Count: 978

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Title: Somebody that I used to know Collaborator: kalee60 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: B2 - Kink: Shower Sex Ship: Stucky Rating: Explicit Major Tags: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Bets & Wagers, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Mutual Pining Summary: Bucky Barnes, if asked, would say he led an ordinary life. He owned a successful business, worked long hours, had a pain in the butt best friend and dated good looking men on the odd occasion - though if pressed, he might admit he was craving a bit more in the romance department. But then he literally barrels into a stranger’s life, a stranger that might not be so strange after all, a stranger who actually seems to know him very well - but for the life of him, Bucky can’t remember ever being friends with such a gorgeous beefcake, who is funny, nice and genuinely seems to like Bucky for who he is. Suddenly a ridiculous wager is cast, and Bucky finds himself with five guesses to remember how he knows this mystery man. With nothing to lose, Bucky embarks on an odd but exhilarating adventure, and soon realises that maybe, just maybe, life doesn’t have to be so ordinary after all. Word Count: 3054

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Title: Come One, Come All Collaborator: plutosrose Link: AO3 Square Filled: C2 - AU: Circus Ship: Stucky Rating: Explicit Major Tags: Alternate Universe - Circus, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Idiots in Love, Thigh Riding Summary: Bucky's new trapeze partner is a jerk he once met in Vegas. Word Count: 2296

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Title: Date Night In (Moodboard) Collaborator: ABrighterDarkness Link: Tumblr Square Filled: C3 - Free Ship: Stucky Rating: Gen Major Tags: moodboard Summary: Quiet nights for dates can be hard to come by. Sometimes, they just have to make the time fit. Going out is great. Staying in though? There’s very nearly nothing better. Except for maybe the morning after.

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Title: Art: lost in time, lost in space - Chapter 4: Falling Collaborator: LiquidLightz Link: AO3 Square Filled: U4 - Fix-It Ship: Stucky Rating: Teen Major Tags: Fanart, Planet Hulk crossover, Multiverse, Canon Divergence, Endgame Fix-it of sorts Summary: This is my banner artwork for the fabulous slow-burn romantic fix-it action adventure that is this Planet Hulk / Endgame crossover fic "lost in time, lost in space". Featuring Planet Hulk gladiator Steve, Devil Dinosaur, and Wakanda Bucky.

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Title: Soulmates? - Chapter 1 Collaborator: BookDragon13 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: K3 - soulmates Ship: Buck/Darcy Rating: Gen Major Tags: Light angst, mentions of character death, bit of a slow burn Summary: Bucky had left his soulmate behind in the war. He doesn’t think he’ll have another one, until he meets one Darcy Lewis, the grandniece of the soulmate he left behind Word Count: 3207

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Title: Obviously Oblivious Collaborator: alwaysabrighterdarkness Link: AO3 Square Filled: C4 - Jealousy Ship: Stucky Rating: Teen Major Tags: Mutual Pining, Jealousy, Avengers Merchandise, Oblivious to Lovers Summary: Steve supposed it didn’t help matters that Bucky started favoring the Avengers themed clothing that had started being sold almost immediately following the battle against the Chitauri. Iron Man and Black Widow hoodies. Hulk and Hawkeye sweatpants. Thor t-shirts. Plural on every one of them, and Bucky wore them all the time. No Cap gear. Not a one. Word Count: 4217

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Title: Loki and the Silvertongues Collaborator: abitnotgoodiebag Link: Tumblr Square Filled: B2 - Band Ship: none Rating: Gen Major Tags: art Summary: The other heroes find that if they just let these three have this outlet, everybody wins

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Title: Art: Home is with You Collaborator: LiquidLightz Link: AO3 Square Filled: Y3 - Bucky/Steve Ship: Stucky Rating: Teen Major Tags: art Summary: My final artwork for the fabulous slow-burn romantic fix-it adventure that is powercrow's Planet Hulk / MCU Endgame crossover fic "lost in time, lost in space". Featuring Planet Hulk gladiator Steve, Devil Dinosaur, Wakanda Bucky, and all your canon MCU favourites, as well as other original fantastical creatures and Planet Hulk inhabitants. In this scene, PlanetHulk!Steve and Endgame Bucky get their hard-earned Happy Ending 💞

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Title: Hot, Sticky, Sweet - Stuckony Fancraft Photoshoot Collaborator: Politzania Link: Tumblr Square Filled: Y3 - Bucky/Steve Ship: Stuckony Rating: Mature Major Tags: photoshoot, cracky as hell, gingersmut Summary: Gingerbread Tony and Steve welcome Bucky back after he’s been re-baked.

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Title: Ask For Much - Chapter 11: Ruin Me Collaborator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy Link: Tumblr Square Filled: C1 - Kink: Messy/Dirty Ship: Stucky Rating: Explicit Major Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, reunion sex, 69 (sex position), snowballing Summary: Steve doesn’t want to talk. Bucky doesn’t either. Instead, they decide to use their mouths for other things. Or Bucky doesn’t mind a mess. Word Count: 1682

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Title: Drabbles, Assemble! - Chapter 17: Armed and Ready (Winter Soldier braid) Collaborator: lbibliophile Link: Tumblr Square Filled: C3 - free space Ship: none Rating: Gen Major Tags: drabble, fancraft, tablet weaving, Bucky Barnes’ metal arm, A:IW Summary: He looks at the open case; at the dark limb with its bright tracery. He should have known this was coming. He had known.

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Title: …God, I hate you Collaborator: abitnotgoodiebag Link: Tumblr Square Filled: Y5 - yoga Ship: BuckySam Rating: Teen Major Tags: art, explicit language Summary: Bucky would really just like 20 minutes. Is 20 minutes too much to ask? (In Sam Wilson’s house it is definitely too much to ask)

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Title: Ask For Much - Chapter 12: Plenty of Nothing Collaborator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy Link: Tumblr Square Filled: U5 - “I’ve Got Nothin’” Ship: Stucky Rating: Explicit Major Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, argument, blowup, misunderstanding Summary: The morning after. Hangovers suck. Or Steve’s had enough. Word Count: 1135

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Title: K1 - Undercover as Tourists Collaborator: pherryt Link: Tumblr Square Filled: K1 - Undercover as Tourists Ship: WinterHawk Rating: Gen Major Tags: art Summary: Sooooooo I initially drew this on green scrap paper with a #2 pencil with intent to transfer it to nicer paper after and then… just liked the pencil sketch so much I kept going. And then just adjusted the color quality after Based this picture off an old photo I took of my daughter in front of the St Patricks Cathedral in Manhattan (inspired by the fact that i take pictures of everything everywhere and my bestie is always begging me to put away the damn camera, you look like a goddamn tourist!) Lastly - how do you know they’re undercover? Well, duh, if you *knew* they wouldn’t be very good at their jobs, right? eh, eh? Okay, I’ll see myself out… Also, foreshortening is still a PITA

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Title: Somebody that I used to know Collaborator: kalee60 Link: AO3 Square Filled: B2 - kink: shower sex Ship: Stucky Rating: Explicit Major Tags: childhood friends AU, explicit sexual content Summary: Bucky Barnes, if asked, would say he led an ordinary life. He owned a successful business, worked long hours, had a pain in the butt best friend and dated good looking men on the odd occasion - though if pressed, he might admit he was craving a bit more in the romance department. But then he literally barrels into a stranger's life, a stranger that might not be so strange after all, a stranger who actually seems to know him very well - but for the life of him, Bucky can't remember ever being friends with such a gorgeous beefcake, who is funny, nice and genuinely seems to like Bucky for who he is. Suddenly a ridiculous wager is cast, and Bucky finds himself with five guesses to remember how he knows this mystery man. With nothing to lose, Bucky embarks on an odd but exhilarating adventure, and soon realises that maybe, just maybe, life doesn't have to be so ordinary after all. Word Count: 6447

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Title: Ask For Much - Chapter 13: Moral Support Collaborator: buckybarnesdeservestobehappy Link: Tumblr Square Filled: K2 - Upgrade Ship: Stucky Rating: Explicit Major Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, friendship, moral support, dating Summary: Bucky can’t deal with Steve’s rejection, so he agrees to meet Natasha for Brunch. She and Sam have a plan to get things back on track. Or Bucky gets strong-armed. (Pun intended.) Word Count: 826

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Title: afternoon delight Collaborator: abitnotgoodiebag Link: Tumblr Square Filled: Y1 - kink: gentle sex Ship: BuckySam Rating: Mature Major Tags: NSFW/nudity, art Summary: There’s a Sam, there’s a Bucky, there’s a bed.

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Title: Fairy Soldier Collaborator: marvelcollabcupid Link: Tumblr Square Filled: K3 - glitter Ship: none Rating: Gen Major Tags: art Summary: Fairy Bucky with glitter

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Title: Bandages and Soot Collaborator: fanbinbun Link: AO3 Square Filled: C3 - Free Space Ship: WinterHawk Rating: Teen Major Tags: fluff, injuries Summary: “Oh, you’re new. Hi! I’m Clint. I come here often.” “I have been warned.” Bucky said with amusement curling his lips. “Got a name, or should I just give in and start calling you ‘hot nurse’?” Word Count: 2365

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Title: Holiday Recipe Video Collaborator: BookDragon13 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: K1 - YouTuber Bucky Ship: Stucky Rating: Gen Major Tags: slight swearing, sex pun Summary: Bucky and Steve make a YouTube video showing how to make their favorite Christmas recipe from their childhood Word Count: 622

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Title: The Midnight Fox - Chapter 1: Prologue Collaborator: Minka Link: AO3 Square Filled: K2 – “I Had a Plan” Ship: Stucky Rating: Mature Major Tags: royalty, bodyguard AU Summary: Amid the flashing lights, high fashion, and crystalline champagne flutes of the royal court of Estia, a deadly intrigue is brewing. There are whispers in the night; talk of a plot to assassinate the king and an uprising forged in blood and funded by stolen art. With the bars of his gilded cage closing in, Crown Prince James Barnes faces his own struggles. Dealing with a city more enamoured with a masked vigilante than him is starting to get old fast, and his stuffy new bodyguard is as infuriating as he is potentially dangerous. As chaos threatens to rip the country apart and the list of royal allies begins to run thin, the prince is forced to face the demons lurking in his past. After all, no party can last indefinitely, and no secrets remain buried forever.----Aka, the modern royalty and bodyguard AU that, like all my other fics, no one asked for but you’re bloody well going to get anyway. Word Count: 3845

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Title: Santa Overload Collaborator: BookDragon13 Link: Tumblr Square Filled: K2 - Sensory Overload Ship: none Rating: Gen Major Tags: dad Bucky Summary: Bucky attempts to take his daughter to see Santa Word Count: 262Title:

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