#Control Of Fandoms Followers Challenge

[the5n00k]

I know that I will be ugly when I feel like myself again

This was inspired by TLT's Drunk and you cannot tell but it's Hawkeye's song just hear me out

(different versions because I'm indecisive)

The color palette is called summertime drunk because I'm not subtle or clever

^ this was gonna be the background but I decided it sucks and worked better as an overlay filter and I was so right

I cannot replicate what I did to make this drawing if $40,000 were on the line I'm not getting that money I just bullshitted until it looked cool

[xxsycamore]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ━ ≪ VISIONS OF TEMPTATION 2024 ≫

Welcome to the fifth annual installment of Visions of Temptation, a multifandom kinktober prompt list/creation challenge! ►Under the cut you will find both lists written down in blank format. You’ll also find a short explanation of some of the lesser-known kinks.

███ GUIDELINES

► minors DNI!

► The two lists are absolutely free to use across all fandoms, with a main focus on otome games. If you’re a writer, artist, visual graphic creator, etc., you can use these lists to create your kinktober works.

►You can share this with your followers and open requests using these lists.

► In the kink list, you can choose a kink to work with for each day of October, while in the other list, you have 31 dialogue prompts. It’s up to you whether you choose to follow one of the lists or both, and to combine them or not. You don't have to follow just one list either - mix and match them if you'd like!

► Make sure to put content warnings where needed.

► Unlike most of my challenges, this one won't have a masterlist featuring the works created for it, meaning that it won't have a deadline either - feel free to complete it at your own pace.

► About credit: Make sure to mention the challenge itself and its creator. I’d be happy to see your works, so please tag me when using my list here on tumblr! Posting to other sites is fine, as long as you credit me :)  

►In order for us to find each other's works and appreciate them, please make sure to use the tag " #visions of temptation 2024 " !

►Don't hesitate to reach out if you have a question! My askbox is always open!

►Remember to have fun and not stress over this really long challenge! ❤

targeted fandoms: Ikeseries (Ikemen Villains; Ikemen Prince; Ikemen Vampire; Ikemen Sengoku + other cybird games); Love and Deepspace; Tears of Themis; Obey me!; Mr. Love: Queen's Choice; Count of Darkness; Voltage games; Mystic Messenger; Lovebrush Chronicles; Light and Night + all other mobile/console otome you can think of. Remember, this is just the focus of the challenge - you can write for any fandom at all!

Depending on how much free time i've got on my hands, I'll also be checking out your works and reblogging them on my main blog, @kissmetwicekissmedeadly - under the tag "#vot '24 reblogs" :)

If you're wondering if I'm taking requests for my challenge, make sure to check my blog beforehand. At the moment of posting this, requests are closed - but that might change in the future.

███ PROMPTS

► both lists in blank format + handy explanation of some of the kinks under the cut.

Happy creating, everyone and may you have a great October! ❤

KINK LIST:

 Porn Actors AU  |  Anonymous Sex/One-night Stand

 Gloryholes  |  Handjobs/Fingering

 Phone sex  | Guided Touching 

 Orgasm Control  |  Bondage/Shibari

 Make up Sex  |  Mirror Sex

 Feather Play  |  Coming Untouched

 Sensory Deprivation  |  Sex Toys/Object Insertion

 Workplace Sex  |  Sex in a Vehicle 

 Choking/Breath play  | Dacryphilia

 Accidental Stimulation  |  Body Part Worship 

 Wet Dreams  |  Sexual Fantasy

 First Times  |  Role Reversal

 Fetish Clothing & Accessories |  Striptease

 Bathroom sex  |   Outdoor/Public sex

 Discipline & Punishment  |  Degradation/Praise Kink 

 Nipple Orgasms  |  Lactation/Pregnant sex 

 Blade/Gun Play  |  Spanking/Impact play 

 Intoxication/Hypnosis/Aphrodisiacs  |   Dry Humping

 Watersports  |  Begging 

 Food Play  |  Come Play

 Anal Sex/Pegging |  Size Difference

 Omegaverse/Breeding  |  Petplay 

 Massages  |  Temperature Play 

 Facesitting  |  Deepthroating

 Voyeurism/Exhibitionism  |  Getting Caught 

 Spitroasting  |  Double Penetration 

 Casual Sex/FWB  |  Switching Partners 

 Biting/Marking  |  Jealousy/Possessiveness 

 Sex Games/Dares  |  Trying New Positions     

 Cockwarming/Somnophilia  | Foreplay/Aftercare focus

Non-human characters/traits |  Sexual Roleplay 

DIALOGUE LIST:

 "I have no plans of stopping anytime soon."

"You have to say it. Use your words."

"See this? It's going to go inside you."

"Hush now. I'm only trying to help you."

"Let's see how long you can last."

"You know what happens when you do that."

"Maybe I should be punished?"

"Look at you, you're taking it so well."

 "We can go, or we can stay here and fuck."

"And here I thought you were an innocent one."

"Go on, put it in yourself."

"Where do you want me to cum?"

"Don't tease now. Be nice."

"I want to watch you come just from this."

"Beg me to be gentle."

"You thought you could get away with seducing me?"

"One more orgasm and I'll untie you."

"You look good like that. Thoroughly loved."

"I thought this is what you wanted?"

"I love that you're only making this erotic face for me."

"Poor thing, you're barely standing on your legs."

"Here, bite into this. Since you can't stay quiet."

"That's it, you're doing such a good job."

"I can't stand a second more of not being inside you."

"Did the risk turn you on so much?"

"Oh, you'll regret letting me know that you like this."

"Come here. I'll make it all better."

"You're breathtaking. It makes me desire you so much."

"Seems like we can't keep our hands to ourselves."

"You feel so good. I don't ever want to stop."

"I've got much more in store for you."

some prompts explained...

Gloryholes - A person inserting their sexual organ through a hole in the wall with the intention to be pleasured from the other side.

Anonymous sex - Here's an idea: masquerade balls.

Orgasm Control - Can include Edging, Forced Orgasms, Orgasm denial.

Make up sex - Sex after an argument.

Mirror sex - Sex in front of a mirror.

Sensory Deprivation - Blocking stimuli from one or more of the senses. Example - Blindfolds.

Dacryphilia - Being turned on by your partner crying during sex.

Sexual Fantasy - Sharing/being made to share about a sexual fantasy, masturbating to a sexual fantasy, or helping your partner live out a sexual fantasy.

Role reversal - Swapping the giving and receiving role during intercourse.

Voyeurism - secretly watching someone participate in sexual activities or do something private and intimate like taking off their clothes.

Watersports - Everything involving pee. Holding it in, Golden showers, etc.

Come play - Anything to do with a partner's cum, for example Come marking.

Spitroasting - A three-way sex act in which a person is penetrated orally and anally/vaginally at the same time.

Omegaverse - A kink-trope-universe build around a hierarchy of biological roles: alphas>betas>omegas.

Somnophilia - Intercourse while a sexual partner is asleep.

FWB - Friends with benefits.

Switching partners - Two or more couples having intercourse at the same time, swapping/switching their partners.

Impact play - Slapping a sexual partner, could be across the face or on their rear.

Sexual roleplay - doctor/patient play, boss/employee play, all kinds of play pretend.

Hope these could be of help! Remember, you can always come ask if something's unclear. Once again, happy creating! ❤

[fluentmoviequoter]

Find Your Own Happiness

Requested Here!

Pairing: (initial) Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: After a falling out with your family, you move to LA and meet Tim Bradford. When he breaks your heart to give his to someone else, you're left completely alone.

Warnings: angst! a tiny bit of fluff, r has a sister, familial reconciliation, only half of a happy ending

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Seven Months Ago

“You’re not listening to me,” you exclaim, failing to keep your voice level. “I’m just asking you to hear me out on why I think this is the right thing to do.”

“Your feelings don’t matter in this,” your mother snaps. “They are dangerous in police work, and if you can’t understand that, you’re more…”

“More what?” you challenge. “Different? Weaker? A failure? All because I want to move to LA and be an LAPD officer.”

“There’s more to it than that,” your dad says.

“There really isn’t.”

You look to your sister and cousins for help, but they sit silently at the table. No one will stand up for you, so you’ll have to give up and accept what your family thinks and wants, or you’ll have to do something for yourself this time.

“I understand wanting me to follow in Dad and Grandpa’s footsteps,” you begin, quieter and softer. “But aren’t I doing that by becoming a police officer? Why does it matter where I police as long as I do?”

“Because our family is here,” your father barks. “The people I, my father, and dozens of other family members have locked away, the victims we’ve helped through over a century are all right here. Running to Los Angeles guarantees that you’ll disappear in the sea of blue patrol cops. You’ll be meaningless there, but you can make a difference here.”

Your jaw drops as pressure builds in your eyes. “You think I’m meaningless? Following my dreams and what I think is the right thing to do makes me meaningless and I’ll disappear into the back of some LAPD directory, that’s what you’re telling me?”

“We’re only trying to do what’s best for you,” someone interjects.

“No!” you yell, turning to see everyone around you. “You’re trying to talk me out of something so that you can brag about me, control me, and make an even bigger name for yourselves! And-“ You pause to laugh, partly because you’re finally seeing your parents' true reason for supporting you for so long and partly to keep yourself from crying. “I’m glad to be the one to tell you this. A police station like the one you want me to waste away in? That is meaningless. This station isn’t big enough to make a real difference in the big picture. Los Angeles? There’s potential there. So, if you don’t want to support me unless you can control me, don’t bother calling.”

As you storm out of your parents’ house with only a day until your first day at the LAPD, you sigh and let the tears you held in roll over your cheeks. Walking to your car, you decide that if the people inside, the people who are supposed to love you no matter what, don’t care, then you don’t either. No one comes out after you, texts to check if you get home safe, and they certainly don’t tell you goodbye before you board the one-way flight to LAX.

Present Day

“If player two – that’s you - was in a TV show, what would it be?” Tim reads. He drops the card and looks at you before he asks, “What is this game?”

You shrug and write your answer on the board. “Lucy said it was fun.”

“Lucy thinks filming documentaries is fun, we can’t trust her judgement. I love you, but this game is stupid.”

You blink at him, then say, “We have to finish this round. What happened to Tim ‘finish what I start and break their spirits’ Bradford?”

“He’s tired of… whatever stupid name this game has.”

Laughing, you watch him write an answer on his miniature whiteboard. When the timer ends, you show your boards to one another.

“Blue Bloods?” you read incredulously.

“Game of Thrones?” he counters in a matching tone.

“I can fight,” you explain as if it’s obvious. “And even if I couldn’t, Oberyn Martell would teach me.”

“You have a boyfriend. I’m sitting right here.”

“A boyfriend who doesn’t wear golden robes, and who thinks I’d be in Blue Bloods.”

“You’re from a family of cops!” he exclaims. “It makes total sense!”

You try to hide how your smile drops at the mention of your family, and it seems to work because Tim checks his chiming phone rather than asking what happened. It’s been over half a year since you last spoke to your family. Close to a year since any of them told you they loved you. You know it’s over at least until you can think of a way to start a conversation without falling into the same argument as before. If you could make an arrest worthy of getting your name in the LA Times, maybe you would have something to show them you were right.

“Is everything okay?” you ask Tim.

He shakes his head, typing quickly. “That UC op I mentioned – with the guy who looks like me? Something came up.”

“Need any help?”

Tim stands, slides his phone in his pocket, and bends at the waist to kiss your forehead. “I have to go to the station and wait for Jake’s phone to ring again. I’ll keep you updated, okay?”

“Okay,” you answer, tipping your head up for a real kiss.

Tim pecks your lips, apologizes, and whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you,” you echo before the door closes behind Tim.

Looking around your empty apartment, you wonder why people who say they love you tend to leave before you’re ready for them to.

Five hours after Tim left, you get a text. Your heart drops at the noise because 2 a.m. messages and being a cop do not go well together. Reaching for your phone, you silently wish that everything and everyone is okay.

Tim Bradford Lucy and I are going somewhere with Dim’s crew. Angela has the info. See you when we get back.

 You know better than to reply, so you type Be safe. I love you and return the phone to its charger. Tim would have told you where they were going if he knew, so you roll over and try to sleep, even though you don’t know where your boyfriend is or what brought you to this moment.

Angela texts you when she leaves Las Vegas. Tim will have more to do, so you don’t expect to see him until tomorrow. Besides, it’s late, and Tim most likely hasn’t slept in the past two days. You open your text thread from him and see the unsent text, then decide to leave it. You can tell him everything in person tomorrow.

It’s after dark, but you’re not sure exactly what time it is when Tim knocks on your front door. He still has greasy gel in his hair and fake tattoos lining his skin. You smile when you see him, but he walks in with no readable expression, and his hands curled into tight fists.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly, as you close the door. “Did everything go well?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine and we got the guys,” Tim mumbles. “I- I don’t know how to say this.”

“You can tell me anything, Tim.”

“Lucy broke up with Chris right before we left,” he says. You’re unsure how that’s relevant, but maybe there’s a point to be made. “When we got back, I took her home to drop her off.”

You nod, and Tim runs his fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you whisper.

“I realized something in Vegas.”

An uncomfortable yet familiar pressure nudges against your eyes. Everyone who says they love you decides you are meaningless.

“And you’re leaving,” you finish for him, dropping your gaze to the floor. “For Lucy.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Tim defends, stepping toward you.

“But it did.” You shrug and add, “You can go.”

“I’m–”

“It doesn’t matter. Just go, Tim.”

Tim nods once before he opens the door. With one hand on the door, he says, “Goodnight.”

And then he’s gone. You press your hand over your mouth as the first tears break over your waterline. Stumbling back, you let yourself collide with the wall before you slide down it. With your knees pulled toward your chest, you drop your head and cry for Tim, for your family, for yourself, and for all of the things that you have lost. It seems impossible to keep the things and the people you care about close, and the last seven months have led you to this point too many times.

You wipe your face harshly and stand. “Not anymore,” you decide aloud. Gathering your things, you know you need a break. There’s a diner on the corner that reminds you of home, and you walk toward it as you replay every moment of your relationship with Tim. Every mention of Lucy, every moment he was distracted or seemed to enjoy double dates with her and Chris, and all the little things that should have alerted you to the fact that there was something wrong pop into your mind.

In the diner, you place your phone on the table with the keypad shining bright. You type in a number you remember even after seven months of not dialing it and press the green button.

Miles away, a cell phone beside an open case file rings, and your father answers it without reading the caller ID. He says his last name and waits for the person on the other end to speak.

“Hello, sir,” the man says. “I’m calling about your daughter.”

Your dad sits up straighter, his breath catching at the idea of anything bad happening to you. He’s dreaded this phone call since you decided to follow in his path and become a police officer. He should have kept you close, he thinks, so that he could help keep you safe.

“She’s okay,” the man adds quickly. “Physically, at least. I’m not in the position to tell you the details, but she may need someone to support her.”

“I…”

“I know the basics, I understand it has been a while since you last spoke to her, but if my daughter were dealing with this, I’d want to know.”

“I appreciate the call. I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“Wade. Sergeant Wade Grey.”

The dial tone trills once before you end the call. You planned to call your sister, but the thought of telling her that you’re heartbroken is practically admitting that your parents were right and you should have stayed home. You feel lost, and though this diner once felt like home, you need a real escape. Glancing at your phone, you sigh when you see the time. Your shift starts in six hours, so you need to go home and get some sleep. Tomorrow night, you’ll get as far from the memories of Tim and the meaningless police work you’ve grown to love.

The air is clear tonight, and you trace a random shape in the dirt beneath you as you watch the lights of Los Angeles beneath you. It’s quiet, and you wonder why you never visited the Hollywood Hills before. Tim wasn’t one for romantic outings – though he probably would for Lucy, you think suddenly – and after your first day at Mid-Wilshire, you didn’t have much time to explore on your own. So, now that you’ve had your heart broken and are completely alone, you find a pretty place and breathe.

You’re not alone, you remember. Grey heard what Tim did and helped you have a good day at work despite that. Plus, he put you on patrol far away from Tim. Grey has become like a father figure to you in Los Angeles, but you find yourself missing your blood family more often than before.

Gravel crunches behind you, and you shift so you can reach your off-duty weapon. The headlights turn off just before the driver’s door opens, and your eyes widen when your father steps out.

“Dad!” you exclaim, scrambling to your feet and rushing to hug him.

He wraps you in a warm hug, murmuring apologies as he cradles your head against his chest. He held you like this often when you were young, but you find that it’s more comforting and needed now.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” your mother says, approaching from the passenger side and joining the hug.

“I’m the most sorry,” your sister announces, smiling as she brushes your hair from your face. “I should have stood up for you. I was looking out for myself, and it wasn’t right to let you take all of that. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you,” you reply. “All of you, so much.”

“What happened?”

You pull your lip between your teeth and shake your head. “I started dating a cop. Stupid, I know. He was great, though, and I really loved him. Still do, even though he left me for his former rookie.”

“Scumbag,” your sister grumbles. Your mom taps her shoulder and sends her a scolding look, making you smile. You really missed your family.

“He wasn’t,” you reply. “I think he ignored his true feelings for so long because we were together. They went undercover together, and he couldn’t deny it anymore, not with it staring him in the face.”

“Don’t make excuses for people,” your dad reminds you. “If he couldn’t see and appreciate how amazing you are, he didn’t deserve you. Or your tears.”

You nod and wipe a tear, suddenly remembering you never told them where you were. “How’d you find me?”

“Sergeant Grey called me last night. And he gave me a few ideas about where you may be.”

“He tracked me,” you correct with a laugh. “He’s great.”

“He really is,” your mom agrees. “I can see why you picked his station.”

“So, Tim?” your sister prods.

“Grey is keeping us separated at work for now, which I understand. I just… It was a shock. It felt like everything was falling apart. I can’t lose anyone else.”

You’re wrapped in another hug as your family reminds you, “You didn’t lose us.”

As you drive back to your house with your sister in the passenger seat and your parents behind you, you feel like the hole in your heart is being bridged. Your phone chimes with an incoming message, and your sister is happy to read your messages for you.

“It’s a group chat with Wade Grey, Angela Lopez, Nyla Harper, and Aaron Thorsen. Aaron said, ‘I was team Chenford when I got here, but now’ and Nyla tagged you in a message that says, ‘Come over if you want to talk.’ And I’m not sure I should read the ones from Angela and Wade.”

“Threatening?” you guess with a smile.

“Moderately. Wade sent you a direct one, though. ‘He looks happy. Don’t let that keep you from finding your own happiness in your own time.’ He sounds like Dad.”

“He acts like Dad.”

“Then maybe you should let him set you up.”

You laugh, and when you drive by Tim’s house on your way home, you feel a tug on your heart that won’t go away anytime soon. Though you will have trouble looking at Tim and Lucy in the weeks to come, you got your family back, and maybe your relationship with Tim and the consequent broken heart was worth that.

"You didn't send the last message to Tim," you sister says.

"It wouldn't have changed anything."

"Maybe not. You can change something. Like Wade said, find your own happiness."

[messiahzzz]

i have been thinking a lot about mystra’s relationship with gale, how reducing her to “his ex” really is an understatement. she was and still is so much more than that. moreover, using the term “ex-girlfriend” in relation to her plainly feels wrong and diminishes the influence she has over him, as well as the role she played in his life since his childhood (and it also trivializes the abuse he suffered through her).

there are several instances where gale gets defensive when his companions mention or ask him abt mystra. he claims that their relationship was no less real even though most of their interactions were incorporeal.

we have already established that gale is an unreliable narrator in this particular case, still not having fully come to terms with the fact that he was groomed, manipulated and abused. he ping-pongs between bouts of realization (even in his romance), gaining clarity that he was merely used and eventually discarded and that mystra never truly cared for him, back to making light of his situation, idealizing her once again. realizing the extent of his trauma, that he is indeed a victim in this scenario, unlearning what he has been made to believe from a young age is a slow and painful journey. he is in the process of healing, but it takes time. time he deserves just like anyone else.

which makes me wonder what their relationship really looked like, once the lines between teacher, muse, and lover began to blur. i also feel like one of the reasons why part of the fandom still struggles to identify mystra as his abuser, is because she is a white woman who initially presents herself in a soft-spoken, benevolent manner… and well, the fact that gale himself is ambitious to a fault and a lil insane about the promise of power. he also briefly mentions "crossing mystra’s boundaries” when he confides in tav and tells them about his folly. (“i am, after all, the villain in this story.”) which led to a looooot of misinterpretations.

leaving the overall lore and mystra’s treatment of her other chosen aside — what we can discern from her interactions with gale in-game, is that mystra is civil as long as she remains in control and gale follows her demands, but as soon as there’s even a slight mention of challenging her power or defying her rule, she rather quickly changes her tone.

there is also one particular exchange between them that just won’t leave my head:

“you were many things to me, but never a threat. and never a savior."

even if we choose to blatantly ignore the fact that mystra is a deity, his goddess - there is no possible way that their relationship ever could have been equal by any mortal standards. the power imbalance that comes with her being his teacher and a symbol of his admiration, plus the sheer control she holds over him and his powers are simply too great. don’t even let me get started on how it is a common tactic of abusers to isolate their victims from any outside influences so they can exert full control over them. and how up to meeting tav and their merry band of misfits, every single soul he was close to was inevitably tied to mystra in one way or another. he briefly mentions his colleagues and then there’s elminster, also mystra’s chosen and former lover, and tara, who is a fine wizard in her own right. he spend so many years in service of her, dedicating his life to her, that now there is no one left he can truly call a friend. most of his little anecdotes and stories he tells are restricted to his childhood and university days, everything else was mystra.

evidently, ordering gale to detonate the orb is the most efficient course of action in her eyes. he is just as expendable as any other mortal, after all. maybe once significantly more useful given his status and the extent of his powers, but she doesn’t feel sorrow nor remorse for ordering him to end his life. his death is simply the most convenient means to an end.

another thing i would also like to briefly touch upon is the trigger/detonator itself. a dagger to the heart. it could have been literally anything else, a simple incantation. it is well within mystra’s power to stabilize the orb and also to remove it from his body entirely. but no, what she requires of gale is to stab himself. one might argue that it was simply a cinematic choice meant for a more dramatic effect, but it really leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. especially considering the fact that she is commonly known and referred to as a jealous goddess. it almost makes it seem like yet another form of punishment or mere pettiness. after his long period of isolation, gale is now surrounded by fellow humans. people he cares about, even perhaps people he might eventually consider good friends — which is enough of a reason for him to not want to die, to keep going and try to find another way, rather than to blindly follow mystra’s bidding. now there’s a group of people who support him and are genuinely invested in him staying alive. hmmm...

[utilitycaster]

One of your recent posts talked about the way BH have essentially "run out of plot" in following the Red Moon/Predathos plot and the way that the PCS are being played.

I was also curious about your thought on the interparty dynamics in the end game, particularly with recent developments. One of the issues I've had with Bell's Hells for a while now is the way they don't challenge each other (or at least not in the way previous parties have)

Yeah; they don't. And honestly I think this is a combination of just...luck of the draw of the characters they created combined with that lack of room for those characters to develop because they've been in an environment that hasn't allowed much time and space for anything but rushing to the next task. Like, as mentioned, a lot of characters are kind of here to hang out or have goals that aren't specifically tied to personal change, if they have specific goals at all. That's not a bad thing! Grog, Jester, and Fearne all share that quality and are all fantastic executions of it - and Grog and Jester do change quite a bit despite that because the story gives them many opportunities to do so, and yes, because their fellow party members challenge them. But it feels like the bulk of Bells Hells if not all of it is kind of in that boat.

I remember an early panel in which Marisha said "I don't want to think anymore" and I know Travis has mentioned something similar for Chetney, of wanting to play someone much more chaotic after playing someone so highly controlled as Fjord. Liam also talked about stepping back from being a major decision maker at some point, and built Orym to be someone who had a viewpoint but didn't specifically assert it (as we've just seen). Like, I think most resentment C3 fans have towards C2 is just jealousy and bitterness but perhaps a fairer grievance is that the cast really brought their A-Game to the Mighty Nein with a lot of incredibly complicated, driven, messy characters and due to the smaller nature of the company then combined with the scaled back production of the pandemic focused intently on them; and then nearly all of them made a bunch of fairly go-with-the-flow or chaotic characters as a breather and (not unfairly or unreasonably!) thought they'd be in a story that would give them space to become something else or that would suit them, and it didn't. As someone who likes actual play I think if nothing else this serves as a look into how fantastic overall cast chemistry doesn't translate into compelling party dynamics.

To be clear, I think Bells Hells like and care about each other, but none are really the type to both strive to be better and challenge those around them to be as well. Even their defenders in the fandom are kind of leaning on the party of NPCs line from very early on [which is funny because a lot of people HATED that line at the time; I got hate over thinking it was apt] but the thing is yeah at this point in the campaign, they shouldn't still feel like a party of NPCs. Perhaps this is a personal preference, which, to be clear, does not in any way invalidate it as criticism, but as someone with a bit of a comics background, I've never been terribly into "Suicide Squad"-esque stories but I am into stories of Person Who Has An Opportunity And Rises To The Occasion Despite Not Being The Best Choice On Paper. Ultimately, my issue isn't that Bells Hells come from humble backgrounds and tragedy (this is also...not untrue for the Mighty Nein, incidentally; in fact they had even less endorsement from powerful groups. Molly died 26 episodes in and he just stayed fucking dead because no one had Keyleth's phone number so this is another case of "your defense just makes me think the Mighty Nein achieve this in a far superior manner"); my issue is that, as Laudna put it, they kind of just walk through doors because they're in front of them. I don't need them to become classically heroic; but I do need them to have some sort of intention. And they don't. Why are you walking through doors? "Because they're there" doesn't cut it. You're here because the Exandrian Accord gave you a whole bunch of support so don't play that "i'm just a nobody with nothing" shit anymore, it's demonstrably untrue.

I had this in the tags originally and I decided, perhaps unwisely, to move it into this post because I think it's relevant, but: in case it's not apparent, I think "You! Are! Valid!" culture is fucking awful; this is what that weirdo who thinks I'm from Reddit is mad at, I think (honestly I'm not sure if they're angry, they might just be very unwell). Like, it has roots in something true and helpful; you are valid for things like your race, gender, sexuality, ability/disability, and things that have happened to you in the past. But actually no one is automatically valid for their actions. Being incurious or inconsiderate or incapable of taking constructive criticism, even if this is tied to your past? not valid. Your trauma and pain is valid; what you do in their name very much might not be. And I think a lot of people who love Bells Hells do not like this message (which, Bells Hells don't like this message, hence the repeated "whatever you do is fine" conversations) and kind of romanticize a "NO ONE IS ON OUR SIDE WE MUST DO WHAT IS RIGHT FOR US THERE'S NO GOOD ANSWERS" state in which one cannot be held responsible for action nor inaction and that's a lot of why they respond so dramatically to the increasing sense within the fandom that this party lacks the juice and does judge them for inaction. Like, I've been talking about character agency and how a lot of people's enjoyment of Bells Hells hinges on how they HAD NO CHOICES and I think we're seeing the fallout, which is that a TTRPG story (ie, a medium defined more so than anything else about player choices) about characters who were stripped of choice kinda sucks ass, and anyone who doesn't look to actual play D&D to valid their personal morality (which, in this case, usually is "the world is unfair so I can do whatever I want" anyway) would rather see a story about a character who fucking had a viewpoint and did things with it, even if it were a "bad" viewpoint. I know I'm hard on villain stans because a lot of them are actually people who are like "what if the VILLAIN were the HERO...I am very intelligent," but actually, this is the crux of why Darth Vader was very popular. It's not because people thought he was a good person; it's because he drove the story more so than the heroes much of the time, and people responded to that. Purely reactive characters are boring and to get back to your original point do not challenge each other unless someone else starts the reaction chain, and there just haven't been too many opportunities of the external nor internal variety to do it. It's mostly bad luck and again, a session zero could have fixed this, but it is what it is.

[bumblebeesweettea]

Where's Rook? R!Lucanis

Fandom: dragon age Veilguard

Rating: general

Characters: Rook, Lucanis Dellamorte, Solas, Bellara lutare, Davrin, Taash, Emmerich, Neve Gallus, Harding

Relationships: Rook x Lucanis

Genre: Angst

WARNING! This Drabble has serious game spoilers mentioned in it.

Synopsis:

The reactions of romanced Lucanis and the companions to Rooks apparent death.

___

The Fade had become a tempest, its wild magic thrashing violently in a relentless gale. Lucanis felt Spite writhe within his mind, straining against the chaos. “Merida...” he hissed, throwing an arm up as a shield against the cutting wind. As Rook plodded toward the corpse of Ghilan’nain to retrieve the dagger, a chill seeped through Lucanis’s skin. Spite was uneasy; there was something sinister about the Fade’s current swirling frenzy.

A scent permeated the air—mossy earth mingled with the tang of ozone. It wasn’t Ghilan’nain nor their companions, but something else. Someone else. Lucanis started toward Rook, doubt twisting his gut, too tenuous to voice his fears. Battling the wind, his emotions churned, a storm of dread: he needed to warn them, to tell them something was wrong, that losing Rook was unthinkable. Just as his fingertips brushed Rook’s back, a brutal force flung him aside. He’d been through enough battles against mages to recognize a mind blast.

Lucanis rolled, scrambling to keep his footing, head darting as he sought potential threats. Ghilan’nain’s body lay still, the Fade felt has stopped tearing itself asunder, but Rook—Rook was gone.

“Rook?” Lucanis called. Frantic eyes scanned the shadows, desperation edging his tone, “Rook?!” No. No, please. Not Rook. Anyone but them. Panic unfurled cold and merciless from his gut, clawing up his spine, breath shallow and quick like a cornered animal. ‘Control yourself, you damn fool.’ He forced his legs to move, shaky steps around the crater that claimed Harding’s broken form. Maker... Harding... ‘Mourn later when you're safe. Find Rook first,’ he ordered himself.

“Professor! Professor, where did they go?” Bellara’s voice pierced through, frantic, yet it barely registered. Spite surged, scratching at his consciousness, but Lucanis was too shattered to restrain him. “Where are they?! WHERE ARE THEY?!” Spite roared, the creature's wings thrashing in agitated fury. Lucanis could feel the demon’s raw fear and bewilderment. Neither of them could stand the loss of Rook. Finally, with trembling resolve, he turned to his remaining companions.

“Emmerich, where did Rook go?” he demanded, his voice strained but steady. Emmerich, the Mortalitasi, a beacon of calm amid chaos, met his gaze with a gentleness that sparked a corrosive mix of anger, shame, and helplessness within Lucanis. It was the look Emmerich often gave those in distress to put them at ease. But Spite hissed, impatient and vexed. He didn't wish to be coddled.

"I don’t know, dear boy,” Emmerich replied, a furrow knitting his brow. “There was such a torrent of Fade and magic, and now it’s vanished. I can’t sense—ah!” The older mage abruptly fell silent, a smile creeping across his face, and Lucanis turned to follow his gaze. The blue blade of the Lyrium dagger shimmered, briefly unburdening Lucanis of his dread. There they were. They’d only been temporarily misplaced. Relief uncoiled in him, limbs heavy with anticipation as he took tentative steps toward the emerging rift, yearning to welcome Rook back.

But it wasn’t his beloved who emerged.

“Smells like moss and air before lightening. Old and dangerous,” Spite rumbled. It mirrored the strange scent they’d perceived earlier. The figure materializing before them was the one from the lighthouse memories: the Dread Wolf, Fen'harel. Lucanis’s instincts bristled, eyes narrowing as he regarded the new intruder with a cold fury. He had come alone, stepping from the rift like a challenge made flesh.

"Where’s Rook?” Lucanis demanded, his voice sharpened with menace. If this man had harmed Rook, Lucanis would escort him to the afterlife alongside Ghilan’nain. Solas considered the beleaguered adventurers, his gaze serene and distant.

“They are where they need to be,” Solas replied.

“What does that mean? Where are they?” Lucanis spat, a dagger sliding from his belt, intentions bare, in his grip. Solas cast him a look—a mingling of chiding and pity—that stoked Lucanis’s ire further.

“They have played their part here. Now they take my place in the prison so that I may complete what I began,” Solas said, calm and unyielding. “I’m sorry, but their sacrifice was necessary.”

Sacrifice. Prison. The words ricocheted in Lucanis’s mind, taunting him with visions of the Ossuary. Of the torment, pain and relentless fear. Was Rook trapped in such a hell? Suffering in isolation? Or, were they...? Spite, consumed by rage and confusion, surged forth. Lucanis’s body lunged forward, wings unfurled, dagger poised. Strong arms wrapped around him, yanking him back.

“Spite, no!” Davrin’s voice was urgent in his ear.

“Give. Them. Back!” Spite howled, thrashing against Davrin’s hold, desperation unrestrained. “Give. Them. Back. To us!” Lucanis felt his elbow connect with Davrin’s face, yet the warden held fast, tightening his grip.

“Spite, please!” Davrin implored, “you’re going to get Lucanis killed.” Another pair of arms encircled them both. Taash joined them, silent but Lucanis could feel the tremble in Taash's embrace.

“Taash...” he and Spite whispered in unison. Lucanis wasn’t alone in his grief; he wasn’t the only one who had lost someone they loved. And mere moments ago.

Solas watches the scene unfold, his expression a mask of enigmatic neutrality, yet there’s a flicker in his eyes—perhaps pity, or guilt, or a fusion of both. He raises the Lyrium blade, “I am sorry, though I know you won’t believe it. A victory like this, pitted against gods, demands its toll of suffering. Stay in the lighthouse, let yourself grieve, and ready yourself for the world that awaits. Your task is complete. Thank you for everything you’ve achieved.”

With a fluid motion, he slices the air, a shimmering rent into the fade, and slips away through it. Spite, seeing his quarry vanish, flares with renewed defiance, but Davrin and Taash’s grips are unyielding. Bellara races to them, her arms encircling Taash’s waist, her cheek pressed against the sturdy bulk of the Qunari. She doesn’t anchor Lucanis and Spite, but she steadies Taash, holding them together through sheer force of will. Neve, not given to embraces, steps to Lucanis’ side, her fingers curling around his forearm with a firm, chilling grip—a deliberate touch grounding him to reality tinged with ice magic. It gave Lucanis an anchor for his mind.

“Spite,” Emmerich murmurs softly, placing himself before Lucanis, “it will be OK, you need to let Lucanis out now.” Emmerich’s voice, the pressure from the arms around him, and Neve’s cold grip were a tether to the present. The storm within him subsides. The fierce battle for control ends, leaving behind a chasm of grief. His mind drifts to Lace Harding, her laughter a memory, and to Rook, whose absence leaves a gaping wound in his heart.

His shoulders sag, the weight of loss more crushing than any foe. “Rook,” he whispers, the name a prayer and a lament. Dellamorte’s do not kneel, but Lucanis would be lying if he said his knees didn't buckle dangerously. Bellara’s eyes meet his, understanding and sorrow mirrored in their depths. She releases Taash, stepping forward to clasp Lucanis’ hand, her warmth an offering.

“We’ll find a way,” she vows, voice steady despite the tremor of uncertainty beneath. She had tears in her eye and it was apparent she was barely holding on herself. “For Rook, for all of us.”

Davrin nods, a grim resolve settling in “We’ve faced darkness before,” he says, “and we’re still here.” Taash grunts in agreement, their presence a silent pillar of strength. Neve’s grip tightens momentarily, a silent promise of solidarity.

Emmerich nods, as calm as ever, though like everyone else there was a slight tremble in his fingertips. “We’ll mourn today. And tomorrow we will rise. For Harding, for Rook. And if Rook can be found. Then we will find them.”

[jesswritesthat]

Mirio Tōgata: Zero

Fandom: BNHA // MHA — [Masterlist]

Summary: ~1.2k, fluff

• Your hunt for your absent classmate leads you to a Class 1A impromptu training session, which is entertaining until Mirio drags you into it too.

Warnings: None

>>>>——————————>

The Big Three.

None of them had placed in the sport festival during the previous year, and their personalities were one of their standout notabilities.

The festival winner though? That prestige belonged to you, as did the gold medals from each festival you'd won so far. You were not deemed apart of the Big Three, that right was truly earned by the current title holders - instead you were ground zero.

"Tōgata... you're fighting the first years?"

The sudden interruption caught the attention of the entire class, but none more so than Mirio.

"Ah (Y/n)! Our lovely ray of sunshine~"

In an instant your classmate appeared before you wearing his usual warm smile (and lack of track jacket), so when scanning the defeated students of 1A you understood why he was absent.

"I'm the furthest thing from sunshine, but this is why you're not in class? I'll take notes for you then." With your mission accomplished you went to leave, only to be interrupted by one of your underclassmen.

"Wait, you're the winner of your year groups’ last sport festival right?"

"Yes! And the one before that!" Whilst you didn't reply, Nejire was all too excited to answer on your behalf.

"We may be the Big Three, but (L/n) (Y/n) is known as Zero - which comes before one, two, and three!" Tōgata proudly followed up, leaving you diverting their praise the best you could.

"I'm only good in a fight, Mirio is by far the better hero in more ways than one. Amajiki and Nejire too.”

"So does that mean you could challenge him?" Denki casually asked the question, one that left you walking away until your arm was effortlessly caught in a careful grip - the owner unphased by your escape attempt and maintaining his upbeat attitude.

"Let's show them (Y/n)!"

"No - I’m sure they’ve seen enough of you already, literally."

"It'll be fun, c'mon demonstrate that any opponent has a weakness if you work hard enough." He fist bumped the air as if encouraging both you and them, and somehow you couldn’t find it in your cold heart to refuse him.

You heaved a sigh of defeat, a single nod of acceptance giving Mirio the opportunity to entwine your hand with own and gently tug you into the battle area alongside him.

"Are you ready? If I injure you, notify me immediately and I'll carry you to the infirmary." The blonde was always so considerate, but you'd provide the same courtesy if necessary.

"Same to you Tōgata.”

Elongated shade slithered across the ground at your will, only the most attentive of individuals would notice the minute wavering of surrounding cast shadows. For a number 1 contender and festival winner, it was natural you both got a few solid hits. Your classmate was undoubtedly strong but his attacks could be evaded and when the opportunity presented itself you took advantage like that of an assassin.

Suddenly he froze in place, the figure of you he'd punched through swished into darkness whilst he kept a smile.

"Aha! A decoy, you lured me to shadier areas of the field so I couldn't deduce that right away."

"Yeah. Even though you remained directly under light sources throughout the battle to minimise its size, you just left your shadow wide open." You remained casually seated on the ground from where you'd reformed via the shadows, fingertips placed on Mirios' silhouette.

"As well as utilising darkness, once (Y/n) touches the shadow of a living being, they gain control of them. I can no longer move or use my quirk of my own free volition." Tōgata gladly informed, then switched his attention solely to you with a softer tone. "I'm yours."

"So you give up?"

"Nope, a hero never gives up!" Again his cheerful wit returned meanwhile your expression fell to a deadpan one, knowing he would likely stay here for hours but instead you flicked to the Sensei.

"I can have him choke himself into unconsciousness, would that be considered a win?" Upon hearing your inquisition, Aizawa painfully sighed, the class looked horrified, and Mirio openly laughed.

"Ah I appreciate your dark humour."

"Alright, raise your right hand if you surrender to me." Immediately with a twitch of your fingers, he did exactly as you asked regardless of his complaints. "Look at that! Match over."

"(L/n)s' quirk isn't all that offensive considering shadows have no physical impact. Instead their way of thinking and consistent training has allowed them to exploit their quirk in such a way that allows victories over strong opponents." Amajiki explained further, addressing the utter awe of Class 1A.

"So that would mean larger groups would be an issue for them?"

"No it'd have the same outcome Mirio had with your class since both of their quirks let them phase through attacks and 'teleport'." The third year tilted his head at the sight of his friends harmoniously interacting. "They constantly learn from each other."

The class snapped to the two of you now, watching as Tōgata fussed around you like a bee buzzing about a flower. Even if you seemed mildly irritated by his concern.

"I'm fine." It was spoken exasperatedly as you brushed off dust, regardless of the morphing shadow monsters on the rock beside you.

"(L/n) is kinda scary huh?" Denki offhandedly commented when overlooking the scene which Hado chose to elaborate on.

"That's because they're already on the 'Heroes Who Look As Though They Should Be Villians' list! Y'know, because of (Y/n)s’ quirk most likely."

"Nejire, don't bring that up. It was hard for (Y/n) to hear considering they aren't even a pro yet." Tamaki quietly chastised, the girl covering her mouth apologetically but the whole class seemed invested by such trivia.

It registered in that moment, why Mirio adamantly dubbed you 'sunshine' despite the contrasting darkness of your quirk. It was his way of reminding you that you were still full of light to those around you.

Heroes support other heroes, not just civilians.

"Well then I hope you all learnt something from us! See you around, if you have any questions don't hesitate to ask!"

Yourself and Amajiki stood beside one another against the wall muttering 'please hesitate' as you sunk to the floor, waiting until Mirio and Nejire were finished with farewells. It was then Tōgata offered you his hand, pulling you to your feet before swiftly lifting you into his arms with amusement lacing his tone.

"You may be injured (Y/n), I went all out after all so naturally I’ll carry like we agreed!"

"Tōgata put me down! I'm absolutely fine!" It was a harsh reply to his ridiculous antics but nothing he wasn’t expecting considering his bemused chuckle and justification whilst walking toward the exit.

"As a helpful hero I can always carry you to your next class?"

"No! That's it, I'm letting the darkness consume me and it's all your fault." With that you dissolved, phasing through matter and reforming by his side - a playful jab sent to his arm.

"Hilarious, unfortunately you are too bright for that to ever happen (Y/n). I look forward to working together in the future.”

Amajiki and Nejire watched the display of ‘friendship’ alongside the mostly defeated Class 1A, the talkative third year speaking as freely and eagerly as usual with a geniune innocent curiosity to her voice.

"Do you think (Y/n) knows Mirios’ has a crush on them?"

"Nejire-chan!"

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

[diana-bluewolf]

It’s this blog's first birthday! 🥳 Wanted to gather some of my fav drawings and thoughts about being in the fandom.

Being in a fandom is not always easy, but it is definitely worth it. 

1. It’s a perfect soft-skill trainer. It teaches me to focus on what I can control (like my reactions) rather than what I can’t (other people’s opinions). To be myself and not be ashamed of my interests. To stop overthinking and just enjoy the process. To accept imperfection as an inevitable part of any art…and myself. To stop comprehending the terms ‘self-indulgent’ and ‘cringe’ as synonyms. To prioritise my own well-being to avoid burn-out. And most importantly, not to cringe at my art I posted a day ago 🤣

2. It's a powerful therapy tool. I mean, have you tried to write an OC? Poor things, I don't envy them, but it turned out to be a perfect instrument to understand my own head's wiring better. It's like my subconscious is speaking to me through my OC's actions. I started this blog at one of the most challenging times in my life (let's just say that characters with external and internal scars appeal to me on a personal level. Not to be dramatic. Ok, I am, sorry, it's my only flaw), and it affected Chris severely, to the extent that I couldn't even imagine it would. But all the insights I got about myself via him are priceless. 

3. It’s the best source of inspiration. I had been in the art block for years, but seeing your guys cool art reignited my desire to draw. It was difficult (to say the least) to start posting amateur art about my MC on the blog that was followed for the screenshots of the popular characters, but I’m glad I did because, in another case, I would have never met some of my friends here. My art style is inconsistent as I keep experimenting, so some of my drawings are way better than others, but I’m still growing and proud of it. 

4. And most importantly, it's brought me together with some of the coolest people in my life. I'm so grateful to everyone who follows/followed me. Thank you so much for your support now or in the past, even if you just lurk. If you regularly appear on my notifs, I do recognise you and am very grateful. Even if I don't always respond - sorry, it's just because my social battery is often very low. I'm the most introverted introvert irl, even though I don't seem like one here. I'm training to overcome my social anxiety here, can you tell? 🤣 

Here I wanted to write something about my moots, but…Well, I have no idea how to continue whatever I had intended to write because just a thought of you all got me terribly overwhelmed with warm fuzzy feelings 😑 I blame you, guys 😤 So I will just write that I love you, but know this is an understatement.

Love this fandom, its creativity and all the incredibly talented and supportive people here. You guys are the best 🤗

[zapreportsblog]

❝the witch hybrid and her companion 2❞

✭ pairing : father Carlisle Cullen x reader x imprint Seth Clearwater

✭ fandom : twilight

✭ summary : (y/n) is a young witch who Carlisle had saved from the Salem witch trials, she had been been on the verge of being fully brunt to death when he had grabbed and rescued her, she was fifteen when he had turnt her thus making her the first hybrid of both witch and vampire species.

✭ authors note : this is part 2 to this request and I’m resuming from where I left off at

✭ twilight masterlist

In the days following the revelation of Seth's imprint on (Y/N), Carlisle's overprotectiveness had reached new heights. He wanted to know her whereabouts at all times, even when he was at work. While his intentions were rooted in concern, (Y/N) found his constant vigilance suffocating.

One afternoon, feeling frustrated and in need of some space, (Y/N) decided to return to the Quileute pack's house. She was aware that her presence might not be welcomed by everyone, but she couldn't bear the overbearing atmosphere at home any longer.

As she arrived at the pack's house, Paul's abrasive greeting didn't surprise her. "Oh great, the freak's back."

Seth, sitting nearby, growled in response, his protective instincts kicking in. He shot Paul a warning glare before getting up and rushing to (Y/N)'s side. His face lit up with a lovesick smile as he hugged her tightly. "I've missed you," he murmured.

(Y/N) blushed and fidgeted under Seth's warm embrace, feeling a mixture of flattery and embarrassment.

Sam, observing the scene, approached with a curious expression. "Why are you here, (Y/N)?"

Unable to meet Sam's gaze, (Y/N) buried her head in Seth's chest and mumbled, "Just wanted to talk with Seth for a bit."

Seth tightened his hold on her, as if silently claiming her presence. He responded with a determined nod, his expression reflecting his unwavering affection for her.

Sam exchanged a knowing glance with the other pack members, recognizing the depth of Seth's imprint bond with (Y/N). While some tensions still lingered, they understood that this connection was beyond their control and something that needed to be respected.

(Y/N) and Seth, in that moment, found solace in each other's presence, away from the complexities and expectations of their respective worlds.

“Here follow me, I know where we can hang out at.”

Seth gently led (Y/N) toward the beach, their footsteps leaving imprints in the soft sand. The sound of the crashing waves filled the air, and the moon cast a shimmering silver glow over the ocean. It was a tranquil scene, the perfect backdrop for their conversation.

They found a quiet spot on the shore, sitting side by side, their toes sinking into the cool sand. They watched the waves roll in and out, the rhythm of the ocean providing a sense of calm.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, Seth turned to (Y/N), his eyes searching her face. "Something's been bothering you, hasn't it?"

(Y/N) sighed, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "Yeah, it's my father, Carlisle. He's been so overprotective lately, and it's suffocating."

Seth chuckled softly, understanding her frustration. "I get it. My big sister, Leah, can be the same way. They care deeply for us, (Y/N). They don't want to see us hurt."

(Y/N) nodded, appreciating Seth's perspective. "I know, and I love him for it, but I also need some space, you know? I want to have my own experiences and make my own decisions."

Seth grinned, his expression warm and supportive. "You're strong, (Y/N), and you've got a good head on your shoulders. You can handle it. Just be patient with him. He's learning too."

They turned their attention back to the waves, their conversation bringing a sense of understanding and reassurance. In that moment, (Y/N) felt grateful for the bond she shared with Seth, one that allowed them to share their concerns and find solace in each other's company.

As they watched the moonlight dance on the water, they knew that the challenges of their supernatural existence were vast, but with each other's support, they could navigate the complexities of their worlds and the relationships they held dear.

Seth's curiosity lingered in the tranquil night air as he turned to (Y/N) and asked, "If it isn't too much trouble to ask, what was it like back then for you?"

(Y/N) contemplated the question for a moment, the memories of those dark times resurfacing. "During the Salem witch trials?"

Seth nodded, his eyes reflecting genuine interest.

(Y/N) took a deep breath, her gaze distant as she began to recount her past. "My mother and I lived in fear, but there was a strange kind of harmony to it. We were both witches, you see. We learned magic from the grand witch, the first to be burnt alive in those trials."

Seth listened intently, captivated by her story.

(Y/N) continued, "The grand witch had been an outcast, feared and shunned by the townsfolk. But she wasn't wicked; she was just misunderstood. My mother and I were the only ones kind to her, and in return, she taught us her magic."

Seth's eyes widened with understanding. "So, you and your mother were accused because of your magic?"

(Y/N) nodded sadly. "Yes. They found my mother using her magic to make the crops grow during a particularly harsh season. The townsfolk believed it was witchcraft, so they killed her. A few months later, they came for me, fearing I was a witch like her."

Seth's expression turned sympathetic as he listened to the harrowing tale. He couldn't imagine the pain and fear (Y/N) must have endured during those dark times.

(Y/N) sighed, her gaze returning to the moonlit waves. "It was a time of persecution and ignorance, Seth. I'm just grateful that I found a family who accepts me for who I am now."

Seth reached out and gently squeezed (Y/N)'s hand, offering silent comfort and understanding. He had glimpsed a piece of her past, and it only deepened his admiration for her strength and resilience.

Seth's curiosity continued to drive his questions as he turned to (Y/N) once more. "Can you tell me what it was like when you were turned into a vampire?"

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment, her memories of the transformation still vivid and painful. "It was... excruciating. Not just physically, but emotionally as well. The venom burned like a thousand fires, coursing through my veins."

She shivered as she recalled the sensation, her voice quivering with the memories. "It was like reliving the flames from the stake all over again. But there was something else, something deeper. My own blood fought against the venom, resisting the change."

Seth's expression turned sympathetic as he listened to her describe the agonizing process. "That sounds awful. How did you make it through?"

(Y/N) took a deep breath, finding strength in the presence of her friend. "I had Carlisle with me. He saved me from the pain of the stake, and he was there to help me through the transformation as well. He's been my savior in more ways than one."

Seth nodded, his respect for Carlisle growing even stronger. He couldn't imagine the strength and resilience it took for (Y/N) to endure such a traumatic experience and emerge from it as the person she was today.

As they continued their conversation under the moonlit sky, (Y/N) and Seth found solace in sharing their pasts and the challenges they had faced.

As (Y/N) and Seth continued to share their stories and experiences, it became clear that their bond was growing stronger with each passing moment. (Y/N) had learned about Seth's curiosity, and now it was her turn to ask about his life.

"I'd like to hear more about your life, Seth," she said, her eyes filled with genuine interest. "Tell me about your family."

Seth smiled, appreciating her curiosity. "Sure, (Y/N). Well, it's just my mom and my sister, Leah, now. Our dad, Harry, passed away when I was pretty young."

(Y/N) nodded in understanding, a sympathetic expression on her face.

Seth continued, "After Dad's death, it was just the three of us. Leah took on a lot of responsibility, helping our mom, Sue, raise me. She's always been strong and protective."

(Y/N) listened intently, gaining a deeper understanding of Seth's family dynamics.

Seth's smile grew as he recounted more of their story. "Leah shifted first, a few weeks before I did. It was a tough time for us, but she managed to navigate the challenges of being a wolf. When I eventually shifted too, it was a relief to have her by my side, guiding me through it."

(Y/N) was struck by the strength and resilience of the Clearwater family, especially Leah and Seth, who had faced significant challenges at a young age. Their bond as siblings had undoubtedly played a crucial role in helping them weather the storms of their supernatural existence.

As the conversation with Seth stretched into the late hours of the night, the moon hanging high in the sky, he eventually noticed the time. With a concerned expression, he spoke up, "It's getting pretty late. I could ask my mom if you can stay over if you want."

(Y/N) smiled warmly at his offer, appreciating his thoughtfulness. "That's really sweet, Seth, but I should head back home. My family's been worried about me enough as it is, especially my dad."

Seth nodded in understanding, realizing the importance of (Y/N)'s family. "I get it. Family comes first."

As they began to make their way back to the pack's house, Seth walked alongside (Y/N), the night air filled with a sense of companionship and understanding. When they finally reached their destination, Seth turned to (Y/N) with a soft smile.

"Well, (Y/N), thanks for coming to visit and sharing all those stories with me."

(Y/N) returned his smile, feeling a sense of connection she hadn't expected when she first ventured out to the pack's house. She leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on Seth's cheek. "Thank you for being such a good friend, Seth. I'll see you soon."

Seth's cheeks flushed bright red at the unexpected kiss. He stammered a grateful but slightly flustered reply, "Yeah, definitely. See you soon, (Y/N)."

As (Y/N) turned to head back home, she couldn't help but smile, feeling a warmth in her heart. The supernatural world was filled with complexities and challenges, but it was also where unexpected friendships and connections could bloom, leaving a lasting impact on those who dared to embrace them.

As (Y/N) returned home, the familiar embrace of her family awaited her. Carlisle, who had been anxiously waiting for her, enveloped her in a tight hug the moment she stepped through the door.

"I'm so sorry for my behavior, (Y/N)," Carlisle whispered, his voice filled with regret. "I just worry about you, and I love you deeply."

(Y/N) returned the hug, her heart warmed by her father's concern. "I love you too, Carlisle. I'm grateful to have you as my father, even if I'm adopted."

Carlisle smiled, a mixture of relief and affection in his eyes. "You will always be my daughter, no matter what."

Feeling reassured, (Y/N) couldn't help but yawn. The long evening and heartfelt conversations with Seth had taken their toll on her.

Seeing her exhaustion, Carlisle gently said, "It's getting late, (Y/N). You should go to bed."

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment before making a request. "Can you stay with me until I fall asleep? Sing me the lullaby you used to sing when I was younger?"

Carlisle nodded, his heart swelling with love for his daughter. He followed her to her room, and as she settled into bed, he sat beside her. He began to softly sing the familiar lullaby that had always brought her comfort.

"The monsters gone, and it's on the run,

And your daddy's here.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful girl."

As the soothing words filled the room, (Y/N) felt her eyelids grow heavy. She closed her eyes, listening to the familiar melody, and soon, the embrace of sleep overcame her.

Carlisle watched over her for a while longer, a wistful smile on his face. His little girl was growing up, and with each passing day, she was embracing her own unique journey in the supernatural world. He knew that their family's bond would remain unbreakable, no matter how much she changed and grew.

With a final loving glance at (Y/N), he left her room, closing the door gently behind him. The night settled over the Cullens' home, and Carlisle couldn't help but feel grateful for the love and connections that bound their family together, even in the face of the challenges that their extraordinary existence presented.

[her-satanic-wiles]

Kinktober Day 4 - Topping from the Bottom

Dewdrop x GN!Reader

After a long day at rehearsals, Dewdrop just wants to be spoiled.

Masterlist ⛧ Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Words: 3.9k.

Reading Time: 16 min.

Warnings: dom/sub dynamic, edging, handjob, switch!Dewdrop, switch!Reader, teasing, topping from the bottom,

Taglist: @akayuki56 @alien-the-ghost @amazing-bobinsky @angellayercake @anonymous-appreciation @babydestinyinfluencer @bitchywitchygardener @blossomsea @call-me-little-sunshine84 @copiaspet622 @copiasslut @cosmixxdust @da-rulah @dolceterzo @dopey-fandom-girl @faithisyours @ghoulishxdelights @high-above-the-city @howlingco @inkstainedrat @kaijukimchi @kenken-the-shoggoth @ledger-kaos @magopi @megachaoticstupid @meliza1001 @miss-leto @mommy-dust @neganwifey25-blog @piaart @saintbowie @shycardinale @sisterof-sin @sister-of-sin-claudia @sodoswitchimage @the-did-i-ask @xiyingly @zombiesnips-blog

🔞 MDNI 🔞

The soft flicker of candlelight danced across the room, casting shadows that swayed with the rhythm of their breathing. Dewdrop knelt on the bed, his wrists loosely bound in front of him, his head tilted in playful submission. Yet, the glint in his eyes betrayed something else—something that hinted at a power simmering just below the surface.

He was naked, his cock hanging hard with his balls resting on his thigh. His eyes were wide and innocent, a little black from the makeup he wore beneath his mask, but he was very clearly ready and waiting for you. Calloused fingers clamped against each other to keep his loosely bound wrists where you expected them to be, but you both knew that just a little maneuvering would have him escaping his bonds and lunging at you. Perhaps there was a part of you that wanted that, but for now, you were switching roles. Tonight you were serving a different purpose.

“Ready to play, are we?” Your voice was steady, commanding, but you could already feel the control slipping through your fingers. Dewdrop was always like this—obedient in appearance - especially outside the bedroom - but undeniably in charge of every moment you shared.

“I’m yours,” he murmured, the words soft but carrying a trace of challenge. His lips curled into a knowing smile as he shifted slightly, just enough to tease you, to push you in that way he always did. His tone was nonchalant, as if he didn’t believe that you could top him like this. As if he knew that you were better suited beneath him, taking everything he gave you with a stuttered and breathless “thank you” falling from your pretty little mouth as you bounced on his cock. But, no. Not tonight. Tonight he’d be the one whimpering and begging for release. It was his turn.

You stepped forward, a deliberate pace meant to assert dominance, but even as you stood over him, the smirk on Dewdrop’s face told you who really held the reins. His gaze trailed lazily over you, as if he was sizing you up, testing your resolve.

“Go on then,” he teased, voice barely above a whisper, “do whatever you want.”

The permission felt wrong—like a challenge disguised as submission. You reached down, fingers trailing along his jaw before gripping it lightly. His skin was warm beneath your touch, his breath hitching in a way that made you think you were in charge. But you knew better. Even bound, even kneeling, Dewdrop was directing every move, his body language coaxing you into decisions that weren’t entirely yours.

You tightened your hold, leaning closer. “I thought you were supposed to be the one following orders,” you murmured.

Dewdrop’s smirk widened. “I am. But maybe I’m just better at giving you what you want.”

The air between you thickened, the power play unfolding in every glance, every touch. When you pushed him down onto the mattress, he went easily, the fabric around his wrists barely a hindrance, but the way his body moved suggested that he was letting you think you had control.

Your hand trailed down his chest, teasing, testing. Each time you slowed, his hips shifted, ever so slightly, guiding your touch exactly where he wanted it to go. It was infuriating, the way he seemed to command you without a word, without so much as a direct request.

“You’re not as clever as you think,” you muttered, but your voice lacked conviction.

“Oh?” Dewdrop arched his back just enough to press into your touch. “Then why are you doing exactly what I want?”

You removed your hand from his body, a smirk playing on your lips as you watched his fade. He hadn’t expected this.

“Then maybe I just won’t do anything,” you taunted, your voice low and teasing. “Maybe I’ll leave you here: hard and wanting. Maybe, I’ll wait until you beg for it.”

Dewdrop’s eyes narrowed, his playful expression faltering for just a moment. He shifted, testing the restraints on his wrists, but said nothing. Silence hung in the air between you, thick and charged.

You tilted your head, taking in the way his breathing had quickened ever so slightly, the way his chest rose and fell. “What’s the matter?” you asked, feigning innocence. “Weren’t you the one who said I could do whatever I want?”

His lips parted as though he was about to respond, but you cut him off, stepping back, leaving a small distance between your bodies. The loss of contact was palpable, and you could see the frustration flickering in his eyes. You had him where you wanted him now—a little off balance, forced to give up just enough control to stay in the game.

“Is this what you wanted, Dewdrop?” you continued, your voice almost a purr. “For me to take charge? Because if it is, you’re going to have to work for it.”

Dewdrop shifted again, his muscles tense under the thin fabric clinging to his skin. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and when he finally spoke, his voice was softer, but still held that familiar edge. “You don’t think I’ll give you what you want?”

You raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider it. “I think you’re going to have to beg me first.”

The smirk returned to his face, smaller this time, but still there. “Is that so?” His voice dripped with challenge, and you could see the gears turning in his head, already figuring out how to turn this situation back to his advantage. But you were ready for him.

You ran your thumb over the head of his cock, gathering the sticky precum onto the pad and watching the string pull and snap the further away you pulled. At your touch directly on his most sensitive spot, Dewdrop hissed but continued to say nothing. He was sure to be as defiant as you were… which meant the two of you were in for a long night.

“Still silent?” you asked, a wicked grin spreading across your face. “I’m surprised. I thought you liked to talk.”

Dewdrop’s gaze flickered to yours, a mixture of defiance and desire swirling in his eyes. He shifted again, the slight movement betraying the frustration building within him. “Talking is overrated,” he finally replied, voice low and sultry, as if he was savouring each word.

You chuckled, intrigued by his determination. “Is that right? Well, I suppose silence has its own charms.” You traced your thumb over him again, applying just enough pressure to elicit another sharp intake of breath. “But I wonder how long that will last.”

As you continued to tease him, you felt the tension in the room shift. Dewdrop’s defiance was becoming harder to maintain, and you could see the fight beginning to ebb away. The playful power struggle had morphed into something deeper, more intense, as you both pushed him closer to the edge.

You placed all your fingers on his head and began to massage upwards, making Dewdrop’s hips buck up to chase the pleasure. “Ah!” he whimpered, but it was a little too quiet for your liking.

“Beg for it, Dewdrop,” you urged, your voice a sultry whisper. “Let me hear how much you want this.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a fleeting moment, you saw the flicker of vulnerability beneath his bravado. But he was quick to mask it, his lips curling into a defiant smirk. “You’ll have to try harder than that.”

A spark of challenge ignited within you. You loved this game, the way it stretched out and twisted, teasing both of you with possibilities. “Oh, I will. But don’t think you’ll like where this is going.”

With that, you slid your hand away completely, leaving him aching and wanting, just as you’d promised. The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken words and simmering tension. Dewdrop’s gaze bore into you, filled with a mixture of frustration and anticipation, as if daring you to make the next move.

You kept your hand close, hovering just above Dewdrop’s aching length, your fingertips grazing him only lightly enough to remind him of what he couldn’t have. Each time you allowed the slightest touch, you could feel his body tremble, muscles tensing in anticipation. But just when he thought you’d finally give him more, you’d pull away, leaving him stranded on the edge of relief.

His chest rose and fell, breaths shallow and quick, the only sound in the room the occasional ragged exhale or the quiet rustle of fabric beneath him. You leaned in again, this time tracing a slow, deliberate line from his base to the sensitive tip, your thumb circling there just enough to draw another shaky breath from his lips. His hips jerked instinctively, chasing your touch, but you pulled away, watching the frustration bloom across his features.

For a moment, you did nothing, letting him sit in that torturous in-between, his desire palpable in every twitch of his body. Then, without warning, you pressed your hand back to him, more firmly this time, rubbing your thumb over his slick head again, collecting the precum as if you were savouring every ounce of control you had over him. Dewdrop let out a low moan, a desperate sound that made your heart pound in response.

But you didn’t let him have it. Each time his breathing hitched, each time his hips lifted just slightly, you withdrew, leaving him wanting more. His body was tense, strained, the frustration evident in every line of his form as he battled the desire clawing at him. You could feel his resolve weakening, even though he hadn’t said a word.

Your fingers traced down the length of him again, teasingly slow, before pulling away entirely, the absence of your touch now more torturous than before. He moaned again, louder this time, the sound filled with a mix of pleasure and frustration. His chest heaved, his back arching slightly off the bed as if his body was pleading for what his lips refused to beg for.

You smiled, watching as his frustration deepened, knowing it was only a matter of time.

“You’re going to h-have to touch me at some point,” Dewdrop grumbled, his breaths coming out heavy but he tried so hard to keep his voice level and not at all reflect how overwhelmed he was feeling.

You merely raised an eyebrow at Dewdrop’s grumbled words, a teasing smile playing on your lips. His heavy breaths spoke volumes, even as he fought to keep his voice steady. It was adorable how he tried to maintain an air of nonchalance, yet his body betrayed him with every slight movement, every sharp intake of breath that slipped past his control.

Ignoring his comment, you leaned in closer, your breath mingling with his as you hovered just above him. You traced your fingertips along his inner thigh, teasingly close to where he needed you the most. The way his muscles tensed beneath your touch made your pulse quicken, his body responding to you in ways he couldn’t hide.

“Is that what you think?” you murmured, your voice low and playful. “That I’ll give in just because you ask?”

Dewdrop’s brows knitted together, frustration flickering in his eyes. His hips shifted slightly, yearning for contact, and you could see the struggle etched on his face. “I—”

But before he could finish, you slipped your fingers back to him, pressing against his length again, firm yet maddeningly slow. His breath hitched, a low moan escaping him as your touch ignited that familiar spark of pleasure. You enjoyed the way he melted at your fingertips, even if he tried to mask it.

Yet you pulled away again, letting the heat of your touch linger in the air, and watched as Dewdrop’s expression shifted from frustration to desperation. He grumbled again, his voice catching slightly as he fought against the sensations overwhelming him.

“Please… you know you want to.” His voice trembled slightly, but the defiance still lingered there, even as his body betrayed him, betraying just how much he craved more.

You smirked, fully aware of the power you held. “You’re going to have to wait a little longer,” you teased, drawing out the moment as you watched him squirm beneath you, caught between his own frustration and desire.

Dewdrop’s breaths quickened, and with each teasing touch you allowed, you felt the tension between you both escalate, a potent mix of longing and challenge that promised a night filled with pleasure and patience—one that he would ultimately surrender to.

You continued your torment, drawing your fingers back, letting the heat of your touch linger just out of reach. Dewdrop’s breath came in quick bursts, each one heavier than the last, and you could see the flicker of desperation in his eyes.

“Come on,” he urged, voice laced with frustration. “Just a little more… please.”

But you merely smiled, enjoying the power you wielded over him. “Please what, Dewdrop?” you asked, dragging your fingers slowly along the length of him, teasingly close but not quite touching the sensitive spots that craved attention.

His brow furrowed, lips parting as he struggled to maintain composure. “I need you to touch me,” he finally gasped, the defiance slipping away with every moment of restraint. “I can’t take much more of this.”

You paused, allowing the silence to stretch between you, watching as he shifted restlessly. “Can’t take much more of what? The anticipation? The waiting?”

Dewdrop’s frustration boiled over, and with a breathless moan, he finally gave in. “Please! I need you,” he begged, his voice a mixture of pleading and desperation, each word laced with urgency. “I’ll do anything… just touch me.”

His confession hung in the air, raw and honest, and your heart raced at the sight of him so vulnerable, stripped of all bravado. You leaned closer, letting your breath ghost over his skin, teasing him with proximity but still holding back.

“Anything?” you echoed, a smirk tugging at your lips. “What if I want you to beg a little more? Show me how much you want it.”

Dewdrop whimpered, eyes widening as he realised just how far you were willing to push him. “I can’t… please, just give me what I want,” he implored, his voice wavering as the urgency grew stronger. “I promise I’ll be good. Just touch me… I can’t stand it any longer.”

The fire in his eyes ignited something within you, and you felt the weight of his need press against you like a tidal wave. With a final, calculated pause, you finally relented, allowing your fingers to wrap around him once more, moving with just the right amount of pressure.

As you began to stroke him, Dewdrop let out a low, relieved moan, his body instinctively arching into your touch, desperate and responsive to the sensation he’d been craving.

With your fingers finally wrapped around him, you felt Dewdrop’s body respond eagerly, his hips bucking instinctively as you began to stroke him. The tension that had been building finally found its release, and a deep, throaty moan spilled from his lips, echoing through the room like music to your ears.

You maintained a steady rhythm, your grip firm yet teasingly gentle, ensuring he felt every sensation, every flick of your wrist. You watched as his eyes fluttered shut, mouth parting slightly, the vulnerability in his expression making your heart race. He was completely at your mercy, and the knowledge sent a thrill through you.

But you weren’t ready to give him everything just yet. You slowed your movements, pulling back just enough to keep him on that razor’s edge, teetering between pleasure and frustration. “What’s the matter, Dewdrop?” you taunted softly, your voice low and sultry. “You seemed so eager just a moment ago.”

He opened his eyes, the desperation clear in their depths. “Don’t you dare stop,” he gasped, the plea laced with a hint of panic. “I can’t h-hold on much lo-oh! Longer!”

You chuckled lightly, enjoying the way his body reacted to your every move. “And here I thought you liked a challenge,” you replied, giving him a particularly slow stroke that made him writhe beneath your touch.

“Please,” he begged again, voice trembling with need. “I n-need you to—”

Before he could finish, you tightened your grip, quickening your pace just enough to send him spiralling back towards the edge. The room filled with the sound of his moans, each one more desperate than the last, and you could feel the tension in his body coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap.

With each stroke, you could sense him nearing the brink. His breath came in sharp gasps, the flush creeping up his neck betraying just how close he was. “I’m so-oh close,” he whimpered, eyes glazed over with pleasure. “Don’t st-stop. Fuck! Please… don’t stop!”

But you had other plans. Just as you felt him teetering on the edge, you suddenly pulled your hand away completely, leaving him gasping and desperate, his body arching towards you in a silent plea for more.

“Please!” Dewdrop moaned, frustration spilling over into his voice. “You can’t just leave me like this!”

You leaned in, capturing his gaze with yours, a wicked grin on your lips. “I can. And I will. But only if you beg for it.”

Dewdrop’s eyes widened, a mixture of disbelief and pleading swirling within their depths. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he gasped, frustration lacing his tone. “Please, I’ll do anything! Just give me what I need.”

You watched him closely, a thrill racing through you at the sight of his vulnerability laid bare. It was intoxicating to see someone so proud and headstrong reduced to this, teetering on the brink of surrender. “Anything?” you repeated, your voice low and teasing, drawing out the moment as you gauged his resolve.

“Yes! Just please t-touch me again!” he begged, voice shaky and raw, the urgency evident as he squirmed beneath you, the need etched into every line of his body.

You could sense the desperation radiating from him, and it made your heart race. “What if I want you to beg just a little more?” you said, leaning closer to him, letting your breath wash over his skin. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his body ached for your touch.

His lips parted, but no words came out at first. You could see the struggle within him as he fought against his pride, wanting to reclaim control yet desperately wanting to succumb to your desires. “I… I need you,” he finally managed to stammer, the raw honesty in his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

“Need me? Tell me how much you need it,” you pressed, your tone playful yet commanding, wanting to draw out the intensity of the moment as he wrestled with his own desires.

“I need you to touch me! I can’t take it anymore!” His voice broke, the strain evident as he looked at you with wide, pleading eyes. “Please, I’m begging you. Just give me what I want!”

With that, you finally relented. You took his pleading words as your cue, wrapping your fingers around him once more, this time with a firm grip that left no room for teasing. You began to stroke him steadily, quickening your pace as you brought him closer to the edge.

“Oh fu-ucking hell!” He groaned, hips shifting and chasing your hand every time you lifted off him. “So g-good. So… so fucking good.”

Dewdrop’s moans filled the air, each one more desperate than the last, echoing off the walls as you worked him closer to his release. His body tensed, muscles coiling like a tightly wound spring, ready to snap at any moment.

“Please… don’t stop,” he begged again, each word a mixture of pleasure and desperation, as if the very act of begging itself was part of the ecstasy he was experiencing. “I’m so close—”

As you continued to push him towards his peak, you relished the sounds he made, the way his body responded to your every move. You could feel his release building, and the anticipation hung thick in the air, electric and intoxicating.

“Let go for me, Dewdrop,” you urged softly, the command laced with the thrill of power as you watched him unravel beneath your touch.

Dewdrop’s breath came in ragged gasps, each one more frantic than the last as he teetered on the edge of ecstasy. “I can’t hold on… I’m so close,” he moaned, eyes fluttering shut as he surrendered to the sensations coursing through him. His body responded to you with every stroke, the tension coiling tighter and tighter, as if the very act of begging had awakened something primal within him.

“Good,” you murmured, your voice low and sultry, encouraging him further. “I want to hear you. Let it out, Dewdrop. Let me feel how much you need this.”

You quickened your pace, the slick sounds of your movements mingling with his moans, creating a symphony of pleasure that filled the air. Dewdrop’s body writhed beneath your hand, the muscles in his thighs twitching as he fought to maintain control, even as he was pulled closer and closer to the precipice.

“Please… don’t stop!” he gasped, the urgency in his voice sending another thrill through you. “I need you… I need to come!”

You could feel his body responding, the way he tightened around you, his hips thrusting against your hand in desperate rhythm. “That’s it, Dewdrop. Let go for me. I want to see you fall apart,” you urged, your voice dripping with authority.

With one final stroke, you pushed him over the edge. Dewdrop let out a breathless cry, his back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure washed over him. The sight was breathtaking: his face contorted in bliss, his body trembling as he surrendered completely to the release.

You felt him pulse in your hand, the heat of his climax spreading warmth across your skin as he moaned your name, a sound so sweet that it sent a rush of satisfaction through you. You slowed your movements slightly, guiding him through the aftershocks, wanting him to feel every lingering pulse of pleasure.

As he came down from his high, his breathing gradually steadied, and he lay there, panting and blissed out, looking utterly wrecked. You couldn’t help but admire the way he glowed, the satisfaction of having broken him so completely washing over you.

“Did that feel good?” you teased, brushing your fingers lightly along his thigh, relishing the way he shivered at the contact. Dewdrop’s eyes fluttered open, a dazed smile spreading across his face as he nodded slowly.

“Yeah… it felt amazing,” he breathed, the remnants of pleasure still evident in his voice. “You… you really know how to make someone beg.”

You chuckled softly, satisfied with the outcome of your little game. “That was the point, wasn’t it?” You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, enjoying the intimacy of the moment now that the tension had subsided.

Dewdrop’s expression shifted from bliss to mischief, a playful grin dancing on his lips. “I think I’ll need to return the favour,” he said, eyes glinting with newfound determination. “Just you wait.”

Prev./Next

[spikeface]

hiiii hello if you would ever like to rant about teen wolf s6a please do <3 i'm like five episodes in on my rewatch and i'm constantly oscillating between peeking at my phone like a proper zoomer and repeatedly asking myself where is theo my friend enemy theo.... i know he's here where is he...

Omg okay I will but you have to understand that this is the distillation of years in this fandom, the once loose coal of my irritation compressed into a diamond of haterism. There are parts of this season I love, and I've made peace with some of the stuff I complain about here. 

But we're not here for peace. :)

Never Say "Pineal Gland" Again. The Ghost Riders are fun as a plot device. People being kidnapped and forgotten, a mystical train station, that's fun! Teen Wolf loves monstrous, seemingly unknowable villains, and does great with them in two ways, both of which 6A fails at:

The first option is to get inside their heads. The alpha of season 1, the kanima, the darach, the nogitsune, the Dread Doctors—all are introduced as deeply alien creatures whose inner lives and personal connections to the main cast are slowly revealed. 6A seems like it's going down that route, because the crew spends a lot of time trying to figure out and talk to the Ghost Riders, but there's no payoff: they just want to hunt forever and that's that. No personal history with anyone, no connections beyond a willingness to mind control Parrish and a bit of nervous shuffling around Lydia.

Which might still be fine, because the second option with characters like these is to make them window dressing for a charismatic villain, a la the oni with the nogitsune or the berserkers with Kate. This framework would be great for 6A if not for the fact that the villain in this case is Garrett "Brain-Eating Nazi Lion Wolf" Douglas. 

Douglas does not get enough hate. I get that he's so forgettable, what else is there to say besides "blech," but we can do better. Teen Wolf has such fun villains: they're dramatic and camp, while also intimate and personal. They have deep connections with the main crew and almost always have a sympathetic side to them. Even the nogitsune, the most alien of the main villains, has an almost plaintive moment where it reminds Noshiko that it's only doing what it was created to, what she summoned it for.

Nothing about Douglas is challenging or charismatic or sympathetic or aesthetically appealing or well acted. Davis had a bad habit of hiring wooden blonde hunks as far back as the mechanic of season 2, and now there's one as a main villain. Douglas's closest connection is to Theo—their scene in the shed is easily Douglas's most engaging, though that doesn't say much—but their connection is superficial. How would Douglas even know who Theo was if he spent those years floating unconscious in a vat? 

His final showdown is deeply unsatisfying. By the time Scott faces him, they've barely interacted so far. What does it mean for Scott to challenge him? What does he mean to Scott? How has Scott grown to be able to face him? Why does Douglas want this power anyway? Why would this Nazi be telling a Mexican-American that he'd be a fine Hitler youth? What the fuck is happening here? 

In the end, Peter rightly points out that a brain-eating Nazi is such a low bar to clear that taking a stand against him is almost meaningless. Douglas is a mockery of the complex, charismatic, intimate, high-stakes villains of previous seasons. Damnatio memoriae is too good for him; we need to remember how bad he sucks.

If Only We Knew Someone With Lightning Powers. Dropping Arden Cho unceremoniously was gross. Following that with a season of lightning villains is gross. Having Kira's only legacy be a sword that is then given away and broken, after everything she sacrificed for it, is just foul.

Would It Kill You To Let Them Go To Prom? Teen Wolf is only sporadically interested in high school life. Sometimes, it's part of the show's appealing silliness, but 6a's indifference just gets to me. This is the final semester of senior year for Scott and co., but we get absolutely nothing. Stiles misses that final semester and apparently, so do we! There's no classes, barely any lacrosse, and definitely no prom or graduation or college acceptance letters, nothing that acknowledges this season as a rite of passage. Any hints to the characters' future are condensed into a few lines at the end. C'mon, man.

It goes beyond the expectations of a teen show. Davis is so indifferent to his characters that in the next season, he makes all the characters who should be juniors into seniors, just to add on a flimsy narrative about things ending. It's lazy. 6A, to me, also really brings out how little Davis has invested in the world of Beacon Hills. Beyond Coach, there are so few consistent background characters. The high school class, lacrosse team, hospital, and sheriff's department are all prime opportunities for recurring background characters, but the show only bothers with a few (e.g. Brett&Lori, Sydney, Danny until they dropped him without even telling the actor). Nathan, Gwen, and Phoebe are all new characters, rather than people who have existed in the background before this, and after this season, they disappear again. There's very little sense of the world of either the high school or the town in general, and it stands out in a season where the whole town is being targeted.

The Newest Werewolf. Hayden was a minor character in season 5, but still had a lot going on: a close relationship with her sister strained by the supernatural; having to work a shitty job to afford the medications for her life-threatening condition; being targeted by the Doctors; being pursued by a boy she's not sure if she likes; trying to flirt when she's naturally competitive and sarcastic; DYING; being revived by Theo and then exploited by him; fighting the Demon Wolf's attempts to get in her head; deciding to help her friends; walking a fine line to survive the Beast when she's kidnapped by him; discovering Tracy's body. Her life is rich, and ends with a groundbreaking moment where she's the first person onscreen that becomes a werewolf with fully informed consent.

In 6A, she's flattened into Liam's love interest. Almost all of her scenes are with him, and her decisions are almost entirely about him. Many of her lines are about reassuring him. The exception is her dynamic with Gwen, which is much more engaging, and to me only shows how much more they could have done with Hayden if they just let her cook. Why is Liam the only one to get scenes alone with Theo? Surely she and Theo would have stuff to say to each other. Or what about her relationship with Scott? Why is Liam the only beta to have an arc with him? Where's her relationship with her sister??

The Wailing Woman. This should have been such a good season for Lydia. The groundwork is all there! Banshees have a special power over the Ghost Riders, and to placate them, the Ghost Riders create a facsimile of someone the banshee has lost.

Hmm, whom has Lydia lost recently? Whose presence might give her a vested interest in ignoring evidence of the Wild Hunt? 

Allison would have been perfect as the deceptive product of the Wild Hunt, and would have matched the framework the show established far better than Claudia. Part of the reason the Hunt falls apart is because Lydia is instantly suspicious of Claudia, and has no emotional investment in her. With Allison, Lydia would get to say goodbye to her in a way that matches the season being set in the final semester of high school. 

This would also have built on season 5 in fruitful ways. Lydia's power makes her a target in season 5, but she has almost no agency over her power. She's driven to blow Valack's head off without any control over it. 6A could be about Lydia realizing that this fake Allison has been created for her because the Wild Hunt is afraid of her power, but only if she chooses to use it.

And with respect to Allison, Lydia has more grieving to do. She's been struggling to process her death since it happened. She spends all of season 4 trying to find a way to help people as a response to Allison's death, but then is locked in a basement for the finale. In season 5, she has to be told by Stiles about Allison's role in defeating the Beast. Lydia deserves a season in which she can properly grieve Allison. She's literally the wailing woman! Let her wail!

As a final note, I'll add that I was frustrated with the way Stydia was done in this season. I dislike it strongly but waffled on including it because I've never been a big Stydia shipper, and so I worry that this criticism will seem motivated by my disinterest in the ship, rather than my frustration with its execution. My issue, though, is not Stydia itself but how little the show explored Lydia's subjectivity. 

Imho 6a substitutes Lydia remembering Stiles for her liking him, and prioritizes exploring his feelings over hers. It's clear from the first episode that Stiles is still in love with her, even if he's accepted they'll never be a romantic couple—which is one of my favorite things about Stiles, and a great part of O'Brien's portrayal. But when it comes to Lydia liking Stiles, the show focuses on how she's the one to remember him. But that's also, apparently, because she's a banshee? They focus on that at the expense of her personal feelings for him, and when the scene is most explicitly about their connection—in the memory landscape sequence of "Memory Found"—the focus is on Stiles' feelings for her. It just didn't seem like it was about Lydia in a meaningful way. The previous season, she'd been into Parrish, which is a pairing I despise and don't want to see more of, but the fact remains it was important to Lydia. The lack of exploration of how Lydia had ended it or moved on from it felt like more dismissal of her experiences. Stydia seemed like it was ultimately about making sure the audience knew Stiles is important, at the expense of a real exploration of their dynamic, which I discuss more below.

You Don't Have To Stop But Could You. So, okay, stay with me on this one. I loved that Theo returned, and thought they did some great things with him, BUT that's not why we're gathered here today. Despite enjoying a lot about Theo's dreamscape sequence, I was really frustrated by the way it framed Tara and what its impact was clearly intended to be.

I really loved the first scenes of Theo's return: he's dirty, angry, confused, and biting. He looks exhausted with his own bullshit, but instantly attacks Liam and Hayden and then threatens to kill everyone, and lies by omission about Douglas (and his own powers?), reflexively playing his cards close to the vest. He's looking out for himself and averse to personal risk. I thought they did a good job of presenting a Theo who has the potential to change, but hasn't yet. He's not really ready to see Scott and Malia again, and reverts to flippancy. 

We also get a scene in “Ghosted” of how deeply Theo hurt Malia. She hallucinates his betrayal in connection with her guilt about her own family; both of them are still deep wounds for her. It makes sense that she would lose control at the sight of Theo suddenly showing up in Scott's living room with a little "you aren't still upset about the whole shooting thing, are you?"

But then the episode ends!

And the next one starts with the Tara dreamscape.

Again, I don't want to sound like I disliked this sequence full stop. I've written meta about its relationship with Scott's dreamscape sequence and what it says about Theo, but I remain frustrated with how the basic impact is about generating sympathy for Theo. Tara is the victim the viewer knows least (vs Josh or Tracy or Scott), her death the most ambiguous (we only see Theo watching in what could be a daze, like the one pre-resurrection Tracy was in), and her only role in this sequence is to hurt Theo. She doesn't have any subjectivity beyond that: she's not Theo's sister, betrayed by her little brother's violence towards her, ready to explain her point of view. She's a gory ghost who barely reacts to Theo, a walking prop.

Theo, meanwhile, is there to be pitiable. When he was pulled under, he was powerful, and attacking everyone, and wearing shoes. Now he wanders barefoot through the hospital, and at the sight of Tara, he just runs. Beyond some frustration with the door, there's none of the vicious anger he showed in season 5. 

To be clear, it's not that I think Theo shouldn't be pitied or doesn't have this vulnerability, and Cody Christian does a stellar job with this scene, which is also beautifully atmospheric. But in terms of the impact of the scene on the viewer, it's there to create pity for Theo at the expense of grappling with any of the violence he did. It frustrates me because the sequence easily could have addressed his violence while still making him look sympathetic.

Theo was trapped in and perpetuated a cycle of violence. The viewers don't know the full truth about Tara, but we do with Scott, Josh, and Tracy. Theo killed them. What's more, we know all three tried to have a connection with him: Josh followed him post-resurrection despite the fact that Theo had been the one to kill him the first time; Scott wanted Theo in his pack, trusted him, and tried to be there for him; and Tracy was in love with him, trying to help him, without judgement, even when he was at his lowest. It would have been much more meaningful to have Theo face them instead of Tara, or at least in addition to her. 

It also would have been more meaningful to have Theo reckon with his capacity to do violence, rather than his fear of suffering it. We all know Theo is scared of being hurt; Theo knows most of all. He's even honest about it: "I don't want to be one of the bodies, it's that simple." What he has more trouble with is confronting how he perpetuates a cycle of violence, or even that he's in one. The dream sequence as it is does have Theo confront the idea of an endless, unchanging cycle, but it would have been much more effective to have that cycle be about the violence Theo did.

Think about how it would have looked if, once Tara dragged Theo down, Theo went on to reenact any of the violence he did, over and over and over. He could push Tara off the bridge over and over, but it'd be even more impactful to have him kill Josh over and over. He already killed him twice, but now he has to do it forever.

Scott stands there, barely on his feet, betrayed and weary, and says, "Now you have to kill me yourself." 

And Theo does, over and over. 

Tracy tells him, over and over, "You're hurt. You need time to heal." 

And Theo kills her for it, over and over. 

You'd get the same progression towards despair, but now it would be much more about Theo confronting what he did. It would still be a sympathetic depiction of a lost kid, shaped and trapped by brutal forces, while addressing his own choices, and why Malia might be so upset to see him.

As it stands, the sequence undermines Theo's history and Malia's reasonable reaction to him. We get her flashback/hallucination, Theo's inflammatory return, but then an episode break, followed by an extended sequence in which Theo is nothing but helpless and pitiable, finally followed by Malia's rage. Her reaction is divorced from the catalysts of the previous episode, and the scene of her anger even contains a callback to the dreamscape ("you don't have to stop"). I've made my peace with it, but it remains frustrating as a choice from Davis, who wrote this episode.

Malia Middle Name Tate.* Again, there's a lot I love about what they do with Malia in 6A, but now is not the time for love. So much of Malia's screentime is about Stiles and Peter at her expense. Those are both huge relationships for Malia, but they're not explored on her terms. 

The last we saw of her and Stiles, they'd broken up over a complicated situation. Stiles ends things at a self-destructive moment, as Malia tells him she would accept him even if he did kill Donovan. In some ways, I think Stiles is punishing her for this acceptance out of self-loathing, but it's also about the fact that Malia's acceptance is clearly tied to her own desire to kill the Desert Wolf. She accepts what might be Stiles' violence because she wants him to accept that she plans to kill Corinne, and Stiles isn't cool with that. The two never speak about it again, though, even though Malia subsequently doesn't kill Corinne. By season 6, the two obviously have baggage, as seen in their clash over the senior portrait. 

Once Stiles is gone, we see that he's still her anchor. I thought this was an interesting choice, because Scott and Allison's breakup was what forced Scott to be his own anchor. It would have been interesting to see that for Malia, or for her to decide that she still wants Stiles to be her anchor as a friend, or any sort of arc where she processes the breakup or her own feelings or makes decisions about Stiles for herself. Instead, the anchor concept seems to exist to remind the viewer how important Stiles is in general: he's Malia's anchor! Look how lost she is without him! Stiles simply must be rescued from the Wild Hunt! Malia isn't the one to break through the veil, however, and after he's back, there's still no sense of what this means for Malia. Her subjectivity re: Stiles is just ignored. After he comes back, she doesn’t even get a scene to greet him.

It's even worse with her "arc" with Peter. The last we see of those two is in the finale of season 4, when Peter betrays her. After going out of his way to get close to her, he literally tosses her aside and tries to kill her friends. Season 5 begins with Malia confirming that she's Malia Tate, not Malia Hale. She then forgets Peter until he returns from the Wild Hunt, when she goes to take his pain and is suddenly struck with the memory of his betrayal. That's the entirety of their relationship. 

Meanwhile, Peter is busy carving the biggest revenge spiral of his life in Eichen, suggesting he hasn't changed much from the end of season 4, before he's swept away by the Wild Hunt. I didn't dislike his scenes with Stiles at the train station, but to the extent that it's about his relationship with Malia, it cuts out Malia. Stiles' contempt for how alone Peter is as a result of his actions is good, as is his desperate plea for Peter to help his daughter, if no one else—but Malia sees none of this. She goes to Peter after his return only because he seems marginally less horrible than Theo, and still doesn't trust him. And why would she? Why would the viewer? We saw how big that revenge spiral was. 

Peter does go on to sacrifice himself for Malia, but these moments are always about Peter and what he wants, and they lead to one of the most abhorrent moments of the show. The fact that Malia is forced to call him "dad" despite obviously not wanting to is just gross. It's all about what Peter wants, and honestly, why would he even want this? It's meaningless because it's forced, and it's especially foul that Lydia is written to be the one telling Malia to do this, given Peter's history with her. I hate it!!

Meanwhile, where is Henry, the father she chose? Was he kidnapped by the Wild Hunt? Did she ever tell him she's a werecoyote, or about the Desert Wolf? 6A won't tell us. We see in "Ghosted" that her mother and sister's death still haunts her, but does the season do anything with that? No.

The last grump I'll add re: Malia's treatment is how little she gets with Theo. I've already talked about how I disliked how her anger at Theo is framed, and it was especially frustrating that it wasn't followed up with anything beyond an angry quip in the finale. Liam gets a series of scenes (good ones!) where he works through his anger at Theo, and it's incredibly frustrating that Malia, after having a much more intimate dynamic with him in season 5, gets so little. I despise the writers' choice to ignore them.

*This is a tiny thing but in the birth certificate prop for Malia in season 4, you can see that her name is written as Baby Malia. So. Technically. Malia is her middle name. Baby: a beautiful name for a baby.

Mieczysław. You knew this was coming. My frustration with how Stiles was handled this season is about the ways in which it's done at the expense of other characters, and even of Stiles himself.

The premise of 6a was to work around O'Brien's absence by making it a plot point. Stiles becomes the focus of the season, but theoretically, characters could have space to work through their relationships with him, and potentially plenty more for dynamics with other characters. 

But in practice, the writers clutter the season with repeated empty claims about Stiles' importance that stifle exploration of Stiles' relationships. Yes, he's Malia's anchor, but what does that mean now, after season 5, and how does it change over the course of the season? Yes, he's Scott's best friend, but again, what does that mean now? How does the season help them grow and develop? A lot of screentime is given to the sheriff, who gets long soliloquies about Stiles' importance, but there's no sense of development in their relationship or even any context. We don't, for instance, get any sense of what it means for the sheriff to have forgotten his own son, or how this revelation relates to things like refusing to believe him about the supernatural in 3a. On top of all of that, the sheriff's consistent presence and the primacy of his relationship with Stiles only emphasizes how marginalized every other parent-child relationship is in 6a: Scott&Melissa, Lydia&Natalie, Malia&Henry, Liam&Dr. Geyer, and Hayden&Valerie get almost nothing. I wonder if Noshiko has any thoughts on the importance of your child being remembered.

Some of the references to Stiles are poignant—the Jeep, for instance—but their impression overall is that the writers thought that Stiles could be replaced with cardboard cutouts. We get a parade of props, disconnected anecdotes and lore, the useless introduction of Elias (never seen before or after and gives them no new information<3), and of course, my worstie, Claudia.

Claudia's presence is a reference to Stiles, but not meaningfully about him; Stiles only finds her at the very end, and instantly rejects her. The biggest arc re: Claudia is the sheriff's, and while I'm not, like, against the idea of him grieving Claudia, it's done at the expense of Lydia's arc. To the extent that Lydia focuses on Claudia, the show seems to be trying to suggest that Stiles is important to her, but the message is undermined by the cheap cipher. Is she thinking about Stiles because he's important to her, or because there's a fake lady in his house right now? Is her relationship to him about her feelings for him, or her role as a banshee?

And again, all of this is at the expense of something like Lydia's grief for Allison.

If we needed to pad Stiles’ absence with proxies for him, why not at least give us characters who explore his dynamic with the pack? Why not, say, a flashback scene of when baby him met baby Lydia? We have actors for both their younger counterparts. Or, better yet, why not scenes between Stiles and Scott as little kids? Again, we have the actors, and it would allow for more exploration of their relationships. It’d be especially meaningful for Sciles, given their anxieties this season, but I have more thoughts on that below.

The Alpha of Beacon Hills. The extent to which Scott is shut out of arcs and relationships is bananas. There are things I like (Scott&Liam, Scott&Lydia&Malia as besties), but we're here for the parts that frustrated me, which were numerous:

His future and dreams. This builds on my frustration with Davis's general disinterest in the characters' lives, which I discussed above, but it was an unresolved plot point for Scott last season and gets worse this season. Season 5 (last semester) made Scott's future more tenuous than ever. His dream is UC Davis's prestigious vet science program, and he's working his ass off to get into it: he's got school, extracurriculars, his job, and the constant life-or-death chaos of people trying to kill him or wreak havoc he's told he's duty-bound to stop. Season 5 Scott seems despairingly resigned to things always getting worse, but also throws himself into things like AP Bio, despite his friends' lack of faith in him (hated that scene) and his teacher's negging. Then, of course, Theo and the Dread Doctors show up, and the last we hear is that Scott has missed a deadline for a scholarship. In 6a, he's excelling at his psych elective (AP Psych?), but is still stressed about how much class he's missed.

Then we get nothing until the very end of the season, when Stiles asks in passing: "Real question is, how did you get into UC Davis?" Why is this such a tiny moment? Why is Stiles so uncharacteristically snide about this achievement, when he's been one of Scott's biggest cheerleaders, and this season is meant to be a Sciles season? Wtf?

Scira. Not one word about Scott dealing with Kira's absence. Not one word!! Everyone jail forever!

Scott&Peter. This could have been such a juicy arc. Scott's last interaction with Peter was the season 4 showdown, but Scott still has hope for Peter—a hope he's committed to even when it causes friction with his best friend. Peter's return and his tentative interest in connecting with his daughter would have been a great basis for exploring what it means for Scott to have this hope, or just an exploration of Scott and Peter in general. Peter is Scott's first supernatural villain and his own supernatural origin story, and Scott forgets him. The show gives us a beautifully devastating scene where Scott goes to help a seriously injured man and, in taking his pain, discovers that this was the man who caused him some of his own worst pain! Scream!

But then… nothing? Scott and Peter barely have interactions, never mind a meaningful dynamic. It could have been so powerful. Such a waste.

Scott&Theo. Some of this was really good! The moment when Scott walks into his house and suddenly sees the kid who murdered him standing in his living room, seemingly have once again convinced Liam to believe him! I loved it! We get a very rare moment of Scott being at the edge of his rope, ready to snap, and we can see Theo's shock. The last time he saw Scott, Scott was angry but also desperate to get away, shaking when he got close to him, staring at him with big sad eyes. But now things have changed! You can see it hit Theo. That's so good, and there are elements of the Sceo arc in this season that I adore.

But after that dynamic return, Scott and Theo split up, and we don't get any of the charged conversations and confrontations that Liam and Theo get—why not? It would have been so good!

What moments we do get prioritize Theo's perspective. In the finale showdown with Douglas, for example, he mocks Scott that a lone wolf never survives. At that point, Theo makes his entrance to declare: "He's not alone. He's got a pack."

This is so significant! It directly recalls the murder, when Theo trapped Scott alone and told him he didn't have a pack. Beyond that, Theo's risking his life in a seemingly impossible fight, just to back up Scott, without even claiming he's part of the pack, and in facing Douglas, he's confronting a demon from his own past.

But that's the point. This moment is mostly about Theo. We barely get Scott's reaction, beyond the shock of Theo's arrival, and then the tone changes with Malia and Peter's arrival. We don't get Scott's perspective on that moment, or Theo at this point, or anything else with them. Blech.

Scott&Melissa. I could go on about how their dynamic was dropped about halfway through season 2, but I'm gonna try to keep it to 6a here so please know I'm exhibiting great restraint! Anyway, they get so little. There's that devastating scene in "Ghosted" when Scott hallucinates that his mother's been murdered and doesn't yet realize it. So haunting, and potentially so resonant to their relationship: does he worry that being a constantly targeted werewolf has doomed her? That he can't protect her? That he's already lost her in some sense? How does it tie in to the fact that she's then taken by the Wild Hunt, and he's seemingly doomed to lose her, that he's lost her already? We barely linger on that moment.

We see him teach her to use a weapon, but the moment's gravity is ignored for the joke of her electrocuting her son. Melissa's arc with Chris is half-played for laughs, even though it represents a significant move on her part to become more involved. Why now? What does it mean for her? For that matter, what does it mean for her to date the man who once treated her son like a rabid dog? Does she even know about that? Does her son have any feelings about their relationship? We don't know. 

Scott&Stiles. Omg, ok, where to begin. This should have been the Sciles season, and its faults had nothing to do with the acting—the love and loss was palpable for Posey and O'Brien, and I think that gives their arc the poignancy people love about this season. They act their hearts out around some really awful writing.

The writing starts off well. It seems like the season is going to address some of the fallout and unresolved communication issues of season 5. Stiles, who's still petrified of losing everyone, is obsessed with being "needed," while Scott, who's been shackled to a nightmare since he was bitten, is desperate to no longer be required to fight. This recalls a lot of the tension of 5x01, which was never really addressed, and it's a great theme for the final semester of senior year.

The two also struggle to articulate how much they mean to each other, which seems like a lingering issue from s5. By the end of 5b, they'd affirmed that they were on the same page, in the same pack, and needed each other, but hadn't articulated their anxieties about losing each other. A season in which they're separated is the perfect way to explore it, and at first, it seems like they're going to. Scott uses his psych class to guess at how Stiles' anxieties are manifesting, as if it's been on his mind. He asks nervously if Stiles wants to split up (to look for clues), and seems relieved when Stiles refuses, as if the question is about something deeper.

Stiles, for his part, answers with meaningful intensity. He's clearly trying to express that he doesn't want to lose Scott, in the same way that his obsession with being "needed" is about not wanting to lose people, and being convinced that a crisis is the only way to hold on to them. Scott, meanwhile, sees crises as what get between him and his connections to people—they're what take people away from him, and him away from his life with them. This is a great theme to explore for Sciles, because the answer to both issues is the fact that their friendship has always been bigger than supernatural crises—older than Scott being bitten, bigger than the Wild Hunt. Scott could assure Stiles that he's never going to lose him—not because Scott needs his help, but because he wants his friendship. He'll never draw away even if it means tearing apart the Wild Hunt. Stiles, for his part, could assure Scott that no matter how many crises there are, how often Scott is forced to be the true alpha, he'll always be Stiles' friend first: "You'll always be human to me." Both significant statements after s5!

At the very least, the season seems like it's going to make these two articulate how much they mean to each other. In one of my favorite moments of the season, Stiles realizes he's going to be taken and tries to talk to Scott. O'Brien's acting is so good here, because you can see that Stiles is beyond trying to explain what the problem is. He just wants to tell Scott something like goodbye, how much Scott means to him—but he can't. There's no way he's saying goodbye, and his love for Scott is too big to articulate.

And Posey's reaction is soooo good. You can see Scott take in that Stiles is clearly struggling with something, and that this struggle is significant in the same way as the one from the previous season. He won't push Stiles to talk right now, and wants Stiles to know he isn't drawing away: "Tell me later." At the same time, he's holding Stiles to actually come talk to him, instead of stewing like he did in s5: tell me later.

But then Stiles is gone! Scream!

And then, once Stiles is gone, Scott struggles with how to articulate how much Stiles means through the hole his absence creates. All he can say is that it feels like he's missing a limb, and when it comes time to remember Stiles in "Memory Found," he gets so overwhelmed with how much Stiles means to him that he almost dies. 

All of this suggests that the payoff for this struggle is them finally articulating what they mean to each other--in the most basic way! They're traumatized eighteen year old guys, no one is expecting speeches. Just something about how their friendship answers some of their most existential worries: "I still got you."

But instead we get:

SCOTT: They still need us. STILES: They'll always need us. And, you know, I... I need you. You know that. SCOTT: I need you, too. I'm gonna miss you. STILES: No, really, I need you, though. Uh... I lost my license in the Hunt, so you have to drive.

Why is Davis so allergic to meaningful expressions of love in the context of characters leaving? So many characters disappear with no goodbyes (Jackson, Isaac, Danny), or only the briefest one (Kira, Derek). O'Brien and Posey do their best with this scene—both of them seem near tears—but the writing's joke-y tone works against them at every turn. It's Stiles' final scene before the finale, and the capstone to Scott's greatest relationship in the season and arguably his greatest in the show, and it could have been so much stronger if Davis weren't an infuriating mix of apathetic and cowardly.

This concludes this episode of Spikeface’s Sundry 6A Snipes! Thank you for letting me rant<3. 

[la-pheacienne]

grrm* kills off sansa’s direwolf in the first half of book one, gives her her mother’s tully looks, has her being referred toas “little bird”, has her follow the seven instead of old gods, has her marry a lannister, disinherits her from winterfell, has her learning SOUTHERN + politics with LF, doesnt make her warg*

stansas: the red wolf is MY queen in the north because it happened in that abomination of a season.

Ahm. I might be in the minority in this side of the fandom because i don't actually believe grrm killing Sansa's direwolf in agot was meant to be a symbol of her being cut off from the north as opposed to her siblings, idk. Like if you want to see it that way you can of course, but this angle does feel simplistic and kind of boring to me.

The reason Sansa is highly unlikely to end up as QINT is not that she's not "northern enough", or that she's "too southern" imo (what does that mean anyway, these are pretty vague and slightly ontological statements which don't really fit into grrm's vision of Westeros imo). It's not even that she's not "magical enough". The reason is that she doesn't have a ruling arc. That's not to say that she doesn't have a political arc, she does, specifically that of a courtier, a political advisor if you will. I would really like to see Sansa in control of her life and an active player exerting actual political influence. But a savvy and cunning political advisor is not a ruler, because while the arc of a political advisor is primarily inspired by the themes of political power as a means of survival and influence (very individual-centered) a ruler needs to have a broader (collective) scope, a vision and a mission which exceeds both their personal interests and the pragmatic limitations of their rule. It's not that the characters who have a ruling arc in asoiaf are never confronted with these pragmatic limitations, on the contrary, the conflict between the ruler's vision/mission and the practical limitations they face is at the heart of the "ruling is hard" premise, which is so central in asoiaf. But you do need the larger visionary aspects to be present if you want a ruling arc to feel meaningful and substantial for the reader of a high fantasy narrative such as this, aka you need someone who 1) has somehow been chosen by their people (yes even in a pseudo-medieval setting a ruler can be chosen), 2) based on specific attributes this person has (their particular skill, disposition, character, determination, bravery and most importantly their vision), 3) in order to face a specific task at hand that is particularly challenging. As I said, the originality of this work is precisely the fact that these characters who would be textbook one-note heroes in any other high fantasy narrative, are really struggling in their role here, face conflicting situations and sometimes fuck up because they can't align their abstract ideals with their reality. Ruling is hard, we get to see every aspect of this in a story that values realism and internal conflict ("a human heart in conflict with itself"). But we shouldn't get side-tracked by the pragmatic elements of the story and confuse an arc centered around survival and individual ascension to power with a ruling arc. A ruling arc in that context is not just about the specific character's survival or well-being or growth (unlike what fandom often believes), because ruling is not a reward for individual struggle, it is not a prize, it is not a token. A fulfilling ruling arc is about what the characters can do for others, what they do for the world around them, what they want that world to be, how they try to implement their ideals and contribute to a structural collective change. "We must fight the good fight". This is high fantasy with strong romantic traits, it's not Succession and it is not Magnificent Century. It is definitely not Game of Thrones, a show that treats its characters as mere players in a fight for survival and domination, while completely erasing the progressive, even revolutionary political aspects of some arcs in the book. In Game of Thrones, it's only fitting that it is in fact Sansa who becomes QINT. She struggled, she suffered, she won, great. It's all about her. There is no large, collective scope to be found here. The characters that had that scope were shown to be delusional and got punished for it.

But in the book, these core elements of a ruling art are just not present in Sansa's arc and I don't see them being present in the future books if we ever get them. And that is why she's not going to become QINT, not because of her dead direwolf or the color of her hair.

Last observation: I am talking about a fulfilling ruling arc (fulfilling for the reader), and this might raise some questions. Yes, in a story that values realism and internal conflict, characters don't always get "what they deserve" in universe, and their arcs can't necessarily be considered "fulfilling" from an extradiegetic perspective either. There is nothing particularly "fulfilling" about Rob and Cat's fate from the outside, and they definitely don't "deserve" what they got in universe. So it is true that character progression doesn't necessarily need to be "fulfilling" in the sense of "satisfying". It does need to be meaningful and coherent though, and it does have to serve as a vehicle for a broader message. That's what I personally qualify as "fulfilling", "earned" or ""deserved". There was a reason why Cat and Rob had to die, this didn't happen randomly just for shock value. In the ruling question, yes, characters will not end up as rulers in the end just because they "deserve" it for being decent and brave people (ruling is not a reward). That is true, things don't work that way. But the one that ends up as a ruler will not just get there randomly, while the characters that were preparing themselves for that role in universe end up dead, just because "realism" or "subversion". Their role and final position needs to hold meaning, it needs to feel truthful and substantial and make sense. This is a fictional world, things don't just happen just because. The author didn't spend thousands of pages showing us characters struggling to rule at a very high personal cost just to cast them aside in the end because "nobody gets what they deserve oops sorry". That's just a cheap Game of Thrones cop-out.

tl;dr: yes Sansa is not going to become QINT but not for the reasons you mention.

[maaikeatthefullmoon]

This week I have mostly been reading...

May 13-19th, 2024

New idea I've had, and hopefully something I'll have time to do once a week on a Sunday. Over the past seven days, I have devoured the following Good Omens fanfics, and I recommend these most heartily to you:

Completed works I've read this week:

Boyfriend Debut by snae_b Rated E - A & C are both porn actors. It sounds seedy. It's not. Holy Hell, it's not. It's one of the hottest things I've ever read, but also so, so sweet and delightful.

They Drink Tea At The End by @knifeforkspooncup Rated T - After a year spent in Heaven, A returns to C in the bookshop completely and utterly overstimulated in every sensory capacity. A wonderful, sweet story of them truly knowing each other and an excellent example of how the fandom relates to GO in so many beautiful ways.

Pay Per View by IneffableToreshi Rated E - A lovely story set in Canada, full of our so frequently seen miscommunication between A & C. And, as the author says: "Also, why the fuck is Aziraphale watching porn in their hotel room?! And taking notes?!"

Cranking Up The Heat by @vavoom-sorted-art Rated E - Well, the title says it all, really. And the fic's description: "The equivalent of that hot wings challenge, but with porn." Don't really want to say much more, as you've gotta see it to enjoy it.

On The Same Page by Chekhov Rated E - A fake marriage fic with Only One Bed. A & C are both authors, but two very different ones. Excellently written with very vividly described mental struggles with internal homophobia & self loathing.

A Model Guardian by Fuuma_san Rated E - As a former model, I found this fic really interesting. I'd genuinely love to know what the author's tie/experience in the industry is. C is a model, A is their bodyguard. An interesting tale which involves some great discussion on gender.

In The Room Where You Sleep by @mrghostrat Rated E - Another banger by ghostrat, posted in its entirety this week. In a reversal to many other fics I've seen, A is a vampire and C is a vampire hunter. *Homer Simpson voice* With sexy results. ;)

WIPs which have updated this week (which I devour as soon as I get the update!)

There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out by @phoen1xr0se Rated M - A is a researcher (puffins!), C is a lighthouse keeper on the island where A has run away to to escape his problems and do his research. The author has recently spent a week studying puffins - which is the ultimate dedication, if you ask me. Ch 9/26 posted this week

Find The Light by @klikandtuna Rated E - Headmaster A and Rockstar C. The story teases out a fraught history between them whilst keeping a tension between them in the modern day. Ch 4/? posted this week.

Terminus by @emotional-support-demon-crowley Rated T - Astronaut A is guided back to Earth by controller C after 92 years in space. There are many difficulties both of them have to face and they develop an amazing rapport. Ch 15/17 posted this week.

Oddity by @tsyvia48 Rated E - Actor C is contracted by (useless) Gabriel to guest curate an exhibition at the museum where A works. After getting off on the wrong foot, can they work together to pull off this show? Ch 22/24 posted this week.

Under The Summer Stars by @pannotbread Rated E - This wonderful fic has taught me more about physics than school ever did (mostly because I never did any physics, but...well). A & C have to share their time at an observatory because there is Only One Telescope. Not only will you learn about astrophysics, astrobiology, and astroecology, you'll also read some of the most poetically, beautifully written masturbation scenes I've ever seen. *ahem* Ch 6/13 posted this week.

Free by well, me: imposterssyndrome Rated E - A & C meet (again?) in an acute mental health ward after both having had mental health crises. A runs a bookshop but is very much under his parents' control. C has been homeless since childhood and has struggled his entire life. They do not trust each other when they first meet, but feel strangely drawn to one another all the same. Where will this lead them? This is a passion piece for me. There is a lot of lived experience in it, and extensive research from both professionals and peers. It has been a real journey for me to write it, and as I'm coming closer to the end it's becoming very emotional for me. Ch 43/? posted this week

[ellethespaceunicorn]

An Angel Without Wings

Title: An Angel Without Wings

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Frank Castle x Unnamed!Black!OFC

Fandom: The Punisher

Word Count: 1.8K

Summary: When she needs him to take control, he’s there for her.

Warnings: pet name (Angel), Sir kink, male!Dom/fem!Sub, slight hair pulling, spanking, vaginal fingering, unprotected p-in-v sex, creampie, mention of bodily fluids, aftercare

A/N: I’ve never written for Frank Castle. But I had a dream about him out of nowhere. And now you get fic loosely based on that dream. So, yeah. Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best. 

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

The jingle of keys in the front door alerts her to his arrival. Her knees ache from where she kneels on the hardwood flooring. Gooseflesh appears everywhere her leather and mesh lingerie set doesn’t cover. In her outstretched hands is her collar, a thin piece of black leather with a dangling tag that reads Angel. She keeps her eyes downcast until she has permission to look upon him. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices her in the dimly lit apartment. He doesn’t acknowledge her at first. He sets his keys down on the table by the door, toes off his boots, and hangs his jacket on the coat rack. Turning around slowly, he pushes up the sleeves of his henley and walks towards her.

Studying her face, he can tell she longs for this. She wants to relinquish control, but more importantly, she needs him to take it from her. 

Coming to a standstill in front of her, he looks over her body as her eyes stay on the space between them. He picks up the collar and bends forward to secure it around her neck before walking around and placing his hands on her shoulders. Her smooth brown skin under his calloused tan hands is a stark contrast.

“Who are you?” His gruff voice fills the empty room.

“Angel,” she says, placing the backs of her hands on her thighs. She stares at her palms.

“That’s right. Who am I?” He asks, hooking a finger under one bra strap and sliding it across her skin.

“Sir,” she replies.

“Good girl. Now, do you remember our system?” He challenges, the pad of one thumb pressing into the side of her neck as his fingers move to wrap around.

“Green for go. Yellow for slow down. Red for stop, Sir,” she breathes, lifting her chin slightly as his hand closes around her throat.

Leaning forward, he whispers in her ear, “That’s my sweet Angel. I wanna see this pretty little thing you’re wearing for me. Stand up.”

“Yes, Sir,” she answers, raising her body to her full height while Frank mirrors her movement. She stands in front of him, close enough to feel his body heat on her back. Close enough that his breath on her neck makes her shiver.

With his left hand still around her throat, his right hand is left to explore her body. He can feel her pulse quickening under his thumb, relishing his effect on her. 

He closes the small gap between them and toys with the waistband of her thong. His fingers follow from her thong to the garter belt she is wearing, the thick mesh straps connecting to a strip of leather sitting perfectly around her curvy thighs. He switches directions, his hand ghosting over her fabric-covered mound on its way past her tummy to her pendulous breasts that are accentuated by the mesh bra with cutouts. Groping each breast, he gives them both ample attention. Sliding his thumb back and forth against the nipples, he grows harder at the sound of her whimpers. 

Loosening his grip on her throat even further, he nudges her shoulder to turn around. Once turned, he tangles a hand in her curls. Tightening his hand, he forces her to finally look at him by tilting her head. Her big brown eyes display her vulnerability, her desire, and her willingness to submit to him.

He runs the back of his knuckles softly against her face from cheek to jawline, grabbing her chin with his thumb and forefinger. Lowering his head a centimeter, he brushes his lips against hers before taking the lead in a heart-stopping kiss. He licks inside her mouth and massages her tongue with his. Feeling her knees start to buckle, he slows the kiss and steps away from her.

She follows his movement as he steps up to the couch and sits dead center. He pats his thighs, and she knows to assume “the position”. Climbing on top of him, she lays across his lap with her ass up in the air.

Running a hand over her exposed globes, he speaks lowly to her. “My sweet Angel has the smoothest skin. And the sound it makes when I-,” He raises his hand, and it lands with a SMACK, “-hit it just right? Perfection.”

“Thank you, Sir,” she breathes, panting just slightly.

Frank adjusts himself so that she feels his growing length against her abdomen. When he feels her pushing her ass into his hand again, he lands a healthy SMACK on both cheeks. With both hands, he parts her ass and runs a thumb over the dampening gusset of her thong.

“Mmmm, gettin’ wet already for me, huh? Let’s see what happens when I lay down a few more spanks then,” he hums, putting one hand on her back while the other begins a rhythm of SMACK after SMACK after SMACK. From one cheek to the other, he delivers blow after blow until she pipes up.

“Yellow, Sir!” She sniffles, her hands grabbing onto the couch cushion.

“Good girl, Angel,” Frank says, lightly soothing her ass with slow strokes of his hand. He runs his fingers over the now-soaked center of her mesh panties. Frank groans and moves her underwear to the side, so he has access to her wet little pussy. 

With two fingers, he slides into her core, stretching her out. She moans and grinds her hips, he scissors her open. Wet, squelching noises fill the room as he adds another finger, massaging her swollen clit with his thumb. He picks up speed as her walls start to twitch around his digits.

“That’s it, Angel. Cum for me, baby,” he urges, his gravelly voice rumbling through his chest. “You can do it, Angel. Soak my fingers, girl.”

Within seconds, her heat clamps down on his fingers as she reaches her peak. Shuddering as she cums, she whimpers as he works her through her orgasm. Mumbled nonsense spills from her mouth as she tries her hardest to thank Frank for the earth-shattering climax.

Once she is calmed down from her intense high, Frank picks her up as he stands and walks to their bedroom. Laying her down softly, he steps back and unzips his pants, and pulls out his cock and balls. His uncut hard-on stands proudly as his heavy sac hangs under it. 

She licks her lips and moves to the edge of the bed on her hands and knees. Before she can reach out a hand to his dick, he shakes his head and chuckles. 

“Nah. Not tonight, baby. I’m already close to blowin’. If you get that perfect little mouth on me, it’s over. Now, turn around and get that ass over here,” he directs, watching as a sly smile appears on her face.

As soon as she is turned around, Frank grabs her hips and pulls her to him. Using one hand to press her face-down into the mattress, he uses the other to line himself up to her slick center. He slides into her warmth and lets out a grunt as he settles inside her.

Retracting his hips slowly, he leaves just the tip in for a second until he slams back in. Thrusting once, twice, three times; he sets an unremitting pace. Her moans are music to his ears as he plunges over and over into her tight slit. 

Her womanhood drools over his shaft as he reaches a hand down to play with her puffy pearl. Overcome with her impending fall over the edge, she tightens her fists into the bedsheets and lets out a wail as her depths flutter around his thick girth.

“Ohhhh fuuuuuuck, Angel. That’s it! Just like that, gimme that good shit, baby,” he rambles on, chasing his release as he fucks her through hers. “Argh, fuck! I’m gonna fill you up, Angel. Beg me for it.”

“Please, Sir! Please fill me up! I need you; I need you so bad,” she gushes, so blissfully fucked out that she would do anything for Frank at this moment.

“That’s my Angel. Ugh fuck!” Frank fucks into her one last time, his cockhead poking at her sensitive cervix. As he spills inside her, he huffs every time his dick spasms.

She sighs as her body accepts his load, a hazy smile on her face. 

Frank pulls out, watching as his jizz tries to escape. He uses a finger to catch his spend and push it back inside her. Tucking himself away, he helps her lay down with her head against the pillows before lying next to her. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, and she cuddles into his side. Kissing the top of her head, he also gives her a quick squeeze.

They are quiet for a moment until she speaks, “Thank you, Frankie. Fuck, I needed that.”

“Anytime, baby. You know I’m here for you. Anything you need. All you gotta do is ask, and I’ll come running,” he confesses, smiling down at her when she looks up at him. “Now, don��t get too comfy. We’re gonna take a bath together so I can soothe those sore muscles.”

“Frankie, how did I get so lucky to have a man like you?” Her big brown eyes focus on him while her hand cradles his face.

He chuckles before replying, “Nah, I’m the lucky one. You love me with your whole heart, you lift me on my hardest days, and the way you look at me like I hung the damn moon? You’re a saint, my Angel.”

She leans up on one elbow, looking at Frank with unshed tears. “You think you don’t do the same? Please, baby. You are my heart, my love, my everything. You came home from what I assume was most likely a hard day, and you dropped everything to give me what I needed. You, Frank Castle, are the real angel here. One of those cool, brooding angels without wings.”

“An angel without wings, huh? Sounds kinda badass, honestly,” he jokes, leaning up to place a chaste kiss on her lips before getting out of bed. He walks around to where she sits on the edge with her legs dangling. She smiles at him and swats his hands away when he tries to pick her up again.

He raises his hands in defeat and follows her as she walks into the bathroom. They get undressed as the clawfoot tub fills with warm water and lavender-scented bubbles. Frank helps her step in and then slides in behind her.

Washing her body, he massages her favorite body wash into her flesh. She returns the favor, and they exit the tub. Frank wraps a towel around his hips and uses another to pat her skin lightly from head to toe. 

Once they are in pajamas and back in bed, he pulls her back into his arms. Ghosting a hand up and down her arm until her breathing settles and soft snores escape her, he can finally rest now that she is safe and sound.

A/N: Ok, this was loosely based on a dream I had about Frank Castle. It was a little bit more *insert whip sound here* in my dream, but maybe I will include that in another tale someday.

[lilac-hecox]

My one year smoshblr anniversary was a couple of days ago. I just wanna post a little thing! I love our fandom and all the amazing people here on Smoshblr.

When I came, I was really unsure how much I'd participate since my last fandom experience ended up being horrible. But smoshblr has showed me again how much fun and how awesome fandom can be!

When I was a baby blog @japhan2024 was one of the first people to talk to me and be so kind to me and make me feel welcomed!

Additionally, @smoshidiot was one of the first people follow me back and interact with me! And she and @smoshmonker were very sweet to me when I was brand new and invited me into their smoshblr discord!

My friend Zee (who has since deactivated and I miss her 😔) was so supportive of me creatively and inspired me to write my first smosh fic Timeless which was based on her idea!

Then of course I met my wonderful @xxmoonch1ldxx, and if anything I'm so beyond thankful he sent me that message on smoshblr and we became much more than friends, we became family to each other ❤️

@punk-gremlin and I made the rarepair discord that hosts so many fun and talented members! His input on my fics was essential to so many of my works being finished or motivated to work on!

My beloved @wispmotherr who has so many times willingly followed me into fandoms and lets me squeal at her and has the foresight and control to revive so many fun challenges such as the smoshblr valentines exchange and now smoshblr big bang!

@jovenshires , who is a beloved and extremely talented moot that is so good at stoking that sense of community.

Now, my beloved @sheisaquarius-blog who is a joy to be around and @chu-tea who is so fucking funny. I love them dearly!

What I am trying to say is I love Smoshblr, I love Smosh. You all have inspired me to write and create and connect to people in a way I no longer thought was possible.

For every interaction, joke, meme, headcanon, ask, like, creation, text post, thank you. Thank you for engaging. Thank you for being a part of this community and letting me be a part of it too.

Thank you for making this community so amazing! This is to all of you, to everyone! I'm so glad you were here or are here or will be here!

[galedekarios]

Idk if you’ve been asked before but what are your thoughts on EARLY early access Gale? The Gale that has bandages on his arm in some early promotional art? There’s an old Auntie Ethel vicious mockery line for him: “I can smell what’s under those bandages wizard! You’re all rot and ruin.” I always wondered if the orb was originally going to have nastier side effects. Like it was making Gale fall apart slowly OR maybe Gale was trying to become a Lich to better handle the orb before being abducted by the mind flayers so he’s in this half alive and undead state when Tav meets him. I feel like that last one would explain the necrotic damage he emits when he dies better. Anyways those are just two tiny details that I roll around in my mind from time to time. I might be thinking too deeply about it. Maybe the writers just wanted to figure out a way to show how much the orb was hurting Gale and the bandages were a start but for some reason they decided against it.

i loved early access gale. there were a lot of uncharitable reads / bad faith takes about him back then, ranging from him being the secret bbeg, the ultimate and guaranteed betrayer, the absolute, to being myrkul because he had a triangles on the robe he was wearing (no, i'm not joking), etc etc etc.

personally, i always loved his character, though, and found him the most interesting and intriguing out of the companions.

overall, i think that he's not that much changed - however, as with all companions and a lot of the npcs, some things have been whittled down or away entirely by larian due things like fandom feedback, but that's a discussion for another time.

i don't subscribe to the lich idea myself, because i think that's not something that gale would want for himself for a multitude of reasons. having said that, however, i always enjoyed this theory:

so, early access gale had this key art, which is still one of my favourites:

left hand wrapped in bandages, the almost stone-like texture of what little you can see of his skin.

adding to that, as you also mentioned, ethel had these vicious mockery lines for gale:

Auntie Ethel: I can smell what's under those bandages, wizard. You're all rot and ruin.

and

Auntie Ethel: Come to greet death early? You'll be a lovely spectacle.

to add to this, this was the way gale talked about the orb and what he thought it was, as well as karsus:

Player: I was wondering about that “mighty lord” you told me about in your story. Gale: Ah, yes. Karsus Karsus was perhaps the most powerful wizard that ever lived. The child-who-would-be-a-god, the elves called him. And he tried. With a spell of his own devising he endeavoured to usurp in one fell swoop the power of the goddess of magic.  Mystryl, she was called then. Imagine what it must have felt like. To be a god. To know yourself to be untouchable. To be mistaken. As Karsus aimed his spell at her she began to unravel, and with her, the entire Weave. Too late did he realize what he had unleashed. It would have been the end of everything had not Mystryl sacrificed herself.  Gale: The goddess of magic is all magic. By dying, the entire weave was lost, and the spell that challenged a god failed. It was the end of Mystryl, the end of Karsus, and the end of an entire civilization. As the child-who-would-be-a-god was turned to stone, his empire came crashing down around him. The floating cities of Netheril were no more. An event that came to be known as Karsus' folly. Player: So at that moment in time, all magic was gone?  Gale: For a spell. Mystyl was reborn as Mystra. Upon her return, the Weave returned with her.  Gale: Now, so many centuries later, I tried to follow in the footsteps of Karsus, not to destroy Mystra, but to prove my love for her. I tried to control only a fraction of the magic that was unleashed that fateful day. I merely sought to return one tiny diamond to an imperfect crown. Gale's Folly one might call it. History. Repetition. It's the way things go.

some of this is still in the game.

more lore about karsus's folly:

Unfortunately, his choice was a terrible mistake, for one of the responsibilities of the deity of magic was to regulate the flow of magic to and from all beings, spells, and magic items in the world. Lacking the ability to do so properly, magic surged and fluctuated. With her last remaining bit of power, Mystryl sacrificed herself to block Karsus's access to the Weave, causing all magic to fail. The flying cities of Netheril plummeted to the earth. The severing of the link also killed Karsus and transformed him into stone, and the last thing he saw was his entire civilization being destroyed because of his actions. This was to be known as Karsus's Folly. The stone form of Karsus eventually landed in a part of the High Forest, now called the Dire Wood.[8] The city of Karse was built around its base. Karsus was never accepted as a petitioner by any god, nor did he go to the Fugue Plane when he died. Instead, his soul was bound to the Material Plane. Those with experience in pact magic could call up his vestige, where he appeared as a giant blood-red boulder,[5] like the one found in the High Forest where his petrified form landed.[8] Blood burbles up from the top of the stone, trickling down the side facing the summoner, pooling at the base. [x]

there are also lines of gale referring to this corruption he carries within as a "taint" and a "shadow", corrupting him "within", affecting his blood as well (another thing that carried over to release).

i think what might have been originally planned (and again, some of this did carry over) is that the orb not only affected gale's magic, but also his body even more severely (it still does to an extent in the release version even though this part is very, very sadly almost entirely glossed over).

putting all of this together, i think that by absorbing a part of that magic unleashed on the day of karsus's folly - the failed magic, the severing of it, karsus turning into stone, petrifying him - might have affected gale in a similar, albeit weaker fashion.

"history. repetition. it's the way things go."

karsus's folly.

gale's folly.

perhaps as the game continued this petrification might have spread, from his hand, up his arm, to his shoulder, and on, either by leaning onto the darker aspects, or by the treatment failing (the consumption of powerful pieces of weave).

maybe that concept was then turned from petrification, to a sort of corruption/rotting that ethel referred to in her lines.

either way, it would have been interesting to see, for sure.