#I was worried he had been on hunger strike with all the changes in the new enclosure

[alithographica]

It’s 1:15am which means it’s Sandwich Hours

[r0-boat]

Can I get a mcfuckin uuuhhhhh yandere Elliott from sdv getting pussy drunk? Whether that's just eating reader out or can't stop fucking them is up to you, I just have a need 🥺👉👈

-🍜

Yeeeeeeee

My God Elliot my first husband my love.

There is a yandere Elliott mod that I love with all my heart I will be using this as a basis!

(if you don't know there's a part in the mod where he kidnaps you and keeps you how arrested in your own farm if you try to leave the farm you'll get a cutscene where he pretty much tells you that you're 'very sick' and you need to come back)

Okay without further ado

Yandere Elliott x AFAB gn!reader

Drunk off your pussy

Nsfw

He insisted on carrying you back to the cottage in his arms. Elliot had been so busy with his next book that he had not noticed that you snuck out of the house on your own. He'll have to watch you more closely from now on.

Looking at you now, even with your heaving breaths, your chest rising and falling, your eyes red and wet with tears as you cling to him. It was hard to stay mad at you as much as he wanted to bend you over his knee and make your ass red for disobeying. He spent so many nights without you and his arms and underneath you; seeing you like this just made it harder even to consider punishing you for your actions.

To your surprise, instead of being over his lap, you lay gently on the bed. Elliot, instead of a look of disapproval, it was a look of hunger.

"You disobeyed me, my dear, normally I would punish you like I always do...but I've decided that perhaps I should... Change my methods of punishment." He purrs, licking his lips as he begins to roll down your pants, taking your underwear with it.

Not wanting to make your husband angry or change his mind, you submissively obey. Spreading your legs sweetly for Elliot.

He hums at the sight of your pussy; It had been so long since he had you like this. Maybe that's why you ran. Was it was all just for his attention? "Don't worry, my sweet, I'm here now." Elliot murmurs, his smile morphing into a crazed one. He spreads your lips apart. You felt a hot breath against your cunt before his wet tongue slid inside you.

Tasting your sweet wetness for the first time in a while He shutters.

"mmh, fuck! I've miss this."

Normally your husband would make moments like these more romantic whether it be candles around the cabin too rose petals in the bed, but. You did not deserve these pleasantries.

"No! Spread wider. Don't make me get the spread bar again. If you won't part these legs, then I will make you."He smiles.

If you were going to run away and flirt with some other man like a whore then you were going to be treated like one. Right now you are not his perfect beautiful spouse. You were his play toy pet, writhing and moaning underneath him your hand gripping his hair Your body fighting on whether you should push him away or bug against him. You had your answer You want pleasure struck like lightning feeling his fingers slip inside you in his mouth curl around your clit. Elliot knew all the best ways to pleasure you.w hat kind of husband would he be if he didn't know how to make his precious spouse cum? With him suckling your clit and his fingers working your sensitive spot inside. You tried to stifle your noises. Which made your husband frown.

"come on, my sweet, let me hear you."He begs, his eyebrows furrowing as he kisses your inner thighs.

He plays with your clit in a way you cannot resist and his fingers pick up their pace slamming knuckles deep inside you every tense of his arm.

You tried to close your quivering legs, only for Elliot to remove his hand and mouth only too strike your cunt with his hand after prying you open. Youre loving husband striking you in any way stunned you. He was sorry to hurt you like this, but if you do not listen, there'll be more where that came from.

As he feels you get close, he removes his fingers, replacing them with his eager tongue, not before licking them clean, not wanting to waste a single drop of your delicious cunt

his thumb pressing against your swollen throbbing clit.

"I miss the taste of your cum on my tongue. Are you going to be good and give it to me? Do I have to ring you out for every last drop you have? Hm?" Elliott purrs, dragging his tongue across your wet lips.

To wasted no time diving his tongue inside, brushing his nose against your clit as he licks and sucks you out like a starving man. Feverishly trying to spread you even wider, pressing your hips, making you grind your cunt against his face. You arch your back cumming on his tongue, and he rides out your orgasm moaning and bucking his own hips as he drinks every last drop of your cum.

His mouth glistens with your juices as he parts from you. His tongue lulled out, and his eyes glazed over with lust and bliss. He thought he had his fell as you tried to squirm away. He holds you down, nuzzling against your inner thigh.

"Where do you think you're going, beloved? We're not done. This is a punishment, remember?"

"I will eat your pussy; I'll make you flood my mouth over and over till You're too tired to even move from your bed tomorrow. Maybe then you'll finally stay put."

[novaursa]

Hello! Would you ever write something for Ser Duncan the Tall?? I don’t have any exact ideas but would love to see something for him ❤️

When the North Calls

- Summary: Duncan and Aegon encounter you in Riverlands, and you unintentionally steal the heart of a knight.

- Paring: stark!reader/Ser Duncan the Tall

- Note: The plot is purposely changed. Duncan and Egg were not going to join Lord Beron Stark on the Northen coast, and I've also put in how Baelor Breakspear knighted Duncan (I know he didn't) to give a short story more flare.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The journey through the Riverlands had been pleasant enough, the landscape a patchwork of autumnal hues. Duncan found himself enjoying the quiet moments between the clamor of camp and the occasional brush with bandits. Traveling alongside Aegon—Egg, as he preferred to be called—was both a challenge and a comfort. The boy’s sharp wit and hunger for knowledge kept Duncan on his toes. This latest company, led by Ser Hormon Peake, was more dubious than most, but the invitation to attend the wedding of a Frey daughter provided a welcome diversion from the usual hardship.

“Ser Duncan, do you think Lord Frey will have enough food for all the guests?” Egg’s voice broke into his thoughts. The boy was riding close, his helmet askew atop his shaved head, eyes bright with curiosity. “He has so many children already. The expense must be staggering.”

Duncan chuckled, his large hand reaching out to ruffle Egg’s cap. “You’re thinking too much on it. A man with as many children as Lord Frey knows how to manage his coffers. You just worry about your manners.”

Egg wrinkled his nose but said nothing, the tilt of his head suggesting he had more questions. They rode in comfortable silence until the sound of hooves and the glint of steel drew Duncan’s attention. A small company approached from the north, a banner he recognized fluttering in the breeze—the direwolf of House Stark, bordered by a band of silver.

“Starks?” he murmured, brow furrowing. This far south, it could mean anything: messengers, exiles, or an army on the move. But as the group drew closer, he spotted a woman at the head of the party, her cloak a deep grey, her hair dark as a raven’s wing. She rode with an easy confidence, her gaze scanning the road ahead as if searching for something—or someone.

“They’re well armed,” Egg observed. “But they don’t look like they’re spoiling for a fight.”

Duncan nodded. “Aye, but best to be cautious.”

As they closed the distance, the Stark party reined in their horses. The woman’s gaze fell on Duncan, her eyes a striking shade of grey, storm clouds before a snowfall. Duncan shifted in his saddle, his heart thudding with an unfamiliar nervousness. She was beautiful in a way that was fierce and untamed, and he felt his tongue tie itself in knots at the thought of speaking to her.

“Ser Duncan the Tall,” she greeted, her voice carrying the crisp edge of the North. “I am Lady Y/N Stark, sister to Lord Beron. What brings you to these lands?”

“Lady Stark.” Duncan’s voice came out rougher than he intended, and he cleared his throat. “We ride to attend a wedding at the Twins. Ser Hormon Peake invited us to join his company.”

Her eyes flicked to the men behind him, and a small, knowing smile touched her lips. “And you trust Ser Hormon Peake?”

Duncan felt his cheeks warm. “I—ah—thought it best to see for myself.”

She nodded, then gestured to her own party. “I’m gathering men of Riverlands to march north. The Ironborn have struck our coasts again, and my brother needs every sword he can muster.”

“We’re heading the same way,” Egg cut in, his voice eager. “Dunk and I—we’re always looking for ways to help.” He shot Duncan a look that was half-amusement, half-daring.

Duncan shifted uncomfortably, feeling every inch the awkward giant he was. “If it please you, my lady, we’d be honored to ride with you. The North’s need is greater than Lord Frey’s feast.”

Her smile widened, and Duncan’s heart gave an unexpected lurch. “You’re welcome, Ser Duncan. I could use a man of your strength—and your honor.” She glanced at Egg, her expression softening. “And you, boy. You look like you’ve a few tricks up your sleeve.”

Egg grinned, straightening in his saddle. “I try, my lady.”

The decision made, Duncan found himself riding beside Lady Stark, the conversation flowing surprisingly easily. She spoke of her home, of the cold winters and the warm hearths of Winterfell, and Duncan listened, mesmerized by the passion in her voice. He found himself speaking more than he had in a long time, sharing tales of his travels and the places he had seen. Each time she laughed or smiled, he felt a strange thrill, as though he had accomplished something far greater than winning a tourney.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the road, they made camp near a small stream. Duncan busied himself with setting up their tent, but his thoughts kept drifting to Lady Stark, her presence a constant pull at his senses. He was dimly aware of Egg’s gaze, sharp and amused as he watched Duncan fumble with the tent poles.

“You’ve got it bad, Dunk,” Egg teased, his voice low enough not to carry. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you trip over your words like that.”

Duncan shot him a warning look, but the boy only grinned wider.

“She likes you,” Egg continued, unperturbed. “She kept looking at you, like she was trying to figure you out. I bet she’s never met anyone quite like you before.”

“Enough, Egg,” Duncan muttered, feeling his face heat. “She’s a lady, and I’m just a hedge knight.”

“A hedge knight who’s been knighted by Baelor Breakspear and fought in a Trial of Seven,” Egg pointed out. “And one who’s honest and kind. She could do worse.”

Duncan didn’t know what to say to that, so he busied himself with tightening the ropes, his mind whirling. Lady Y/N Stark. He couldn’t stop thinking about her—her fierce eyes, the way she spoke with such determination, the ease with which she commanded her men. She was unlike anyone he had ever met, and he didn’t know what to do with the feelings she stirred in him.

As the camp settled for the night, Duncan found himself glancing her way more than once, his heart aching with a longing he barely understood. She was a Stark of Winterfell, sister to a lord, and he—he was just Duncan, a knight without a home.

But as he watched her laugh with her men, her head thrown back, her eyes bright, he couldn’t help but hope, just a little, that maybe—just maybe—she saw something in him, too.

[drewharrisonwriter]

Lifeline - Ch. 6: Ireland

Pairings: Dieter Bravo x Female Reader, referred to as “Honey” 

Series Summary: After basically being dropped and rejected by every PR agency in Hollywood for being such a huge liability, Dieter Bravo must work on resetting his public image in the most unexpected ways.

Author's Notes: I have been working on this fic on and off for the past year, and this story is a little personal to me. Yes, I am trauma dumping in some scenes lol but I also want to say that there will be so many unrealistic things about Hollywood, actors, and PR/Marketing agencies here, to which I apologize.

Warnings: Angst, a little drama, lots of flashbacks. More warnings to come as the story progresses.

Read this on AO3 | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Honey sat in her car, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. She stared blankly at the road ahead, her mind replaying every word, every strained look Dieter had thrown her way. The anger, the hurt, the deflection—it was all so painfully familiar. She had thought she’d built enough walls to keep herself safe this time, but the cracks were already showing, and she felt herself sinking under the weight of it all.

She’d done this before—tried to save Dieter from himself, tried to be the steady force when everything else was crumbling. But back then, she’d had something more than hope, she had him… all of him, all of his trust, his love... 

She doesn’t have that anymore. She doesn’t have him anymore. 

Now, all she felt was the gnawing dread that no matter how much she tried, Dieter was always one step away from slipping back into the darkness.

Her phone buzzed in the passenger seat—a message from Mitch, checking in, but she couldn’t bring herself to respond. She knew Mitch was worried too, but he hadn’t seen Dieter like she had, not in the quiet moments when the bravado faded and the fear bled through. Mitch didn’t know the way Dieter’s eyes looked when he thought no one was watching, the way he gripped the edge of his sanity like a lifeline. Honey knew, and that was the part that haunted her most.

Honey forced herself to start the car, driving aimlessly through the city until she found herself back at her office. 

The empty space was a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in her mind. She dropped her bag on the desk and slumped into her chair, letting the stillness wash over her. This place was supposed to be her sanctuary, the life she’d built on her own terms, far from the noise of her past. But today, it felt like everything was closing in.

She opened her laptop, pulling up her schedule, her emails, and anything to distract herself from the gnawing feeling in her chest. But as she scrolled, her mind drifted back—back to ten years ago, to a conversation that had changed everything.

–

They were sitting on the porch of Dieter’s old apartment, the night air warm and thick with the scent of summer. Honey was leaning back, her feet tucked under her, sipping on a glass of iced tea. Dieter had been quieter than usual that evening, fidgeting and lost in thought. Honey noticed but didn’t press him, waiting for him to come around. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he turned to her, a strange mix of excitement and anxiety in his eyes.

“I got the role,” he said suddenly, the words tumbling out almost breathlessly. “Hunger Strike. I got it.”

Honey’s face lit up instantly, a broad smile spreading across her lips. She jumped up, wrapping her arms around his neck in a tight embrace. “Dieter, oh my God! I knew you’d get it. This is it, this is what you’ve been working for!” She pulled back to look at him, her eyes bright with pride. “You deserve this. You’ve worked so hard.”

Dieter’s initial nerves eased as he watched her excitement, and a grin tugged at his lips. He hadn’t realized how much he needed her reaction, her belief in him, to fully accept that this was real. He started talking fast, his mind already racing with plans. “Yeah, I can’t believe it. And guess what? We’ll get to spend like six months in Ireland. I mean, can you imagine? We could explore Dublin on our days off, maybe even head to the countryside—”

Honey’s smile faltered, and she let out a nervous chuckle, interrupting his flow. “Wait, what do you mean ‘we’? I mean, I can’t just pick up and leave, Dieter. I have my job, my students…”

Dieter blinked, caught off guard. “Of course, you’re coming with me. I don’t want to do this long-distance thing, Honey. Everyone knows those never work. We’d be miserable, you’d be here, I’d be there. I don’t want that kind of strain on us.”

Honey sighed, her fingers playing with the edge of her glass. “Dieter, being together doesn’t guarantee things will work out, either. We can’t just uproot everything because it’s convenient right now. We’ve only been together for just over a year, and so much has already changed. What’s another year going to do to us?”

Dieter’s expression shifted, confusion and a hint of panic creeping in. He’d always seen their relationship as solid, something to build on, and her hesitation felt like a betrayal of that vision. “What are you saying? You don’t think we’ll make it?”

Honey hesitated, struggling to find the right words. “I think… I think relationships are complicated. We’re committed, but things change. People change. We’re still figuring us out, and now there’s all this pressure to make it work. We need to be realistic about that.”

Dieter’s mind raced, and the thought of losing her, of being so far away without that certainty, made his chest tighten. The insecurity gnawed at him, so he said the first thing that came to his mind, desperate to anchor them. “Let’s get married.”

Honey laughed nervously, caught completely off guard. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Dieter insisted, leaning forward. “Let’s elope. Before I leave, we can do it. I’ll get you on my insurance, we’ll figure it out as we go. We both want to get married, right? Have tons of kids? Let’s just do it now, lock this down before anything can mess it up.”

Honey’s smile faded, and she shook her head, her voice soft but firm. “Dieter, we talked about this. Yeah, someday, but not like this. We’re not ready. We’re barely figuring out how to live together. Jumping into marriage won’t solve anything.”

Dieter’s frustration bubbled over, his plans unraveling before him. “I’m not saying we have to start a family right now. But I want to marry you, Honey. I want to make sure this—us—doesn’t fall apart because of some stupid distance. It’s the right thing to do.”

Honey could feel the argument heating up, and her own frustrations flared. “Getting married isn’t a band-aid, Dieter! It’s not some quick fix to make us feel better. And it’s not about the ‘right thing to do.’ This isn’t about insurance or logistics; this is about whether we’re ready to take that step.”

Dieter stood up, pacing the porch, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. “So, what? We just stay here and hope things don’t fall apart? I don’t want to be stuck in some maybe-future where we don’t even try.”

“I’m not asking you to be stuck,” Honey said, her voice rising with frustration. “I’m saying we need to be realistic about where we are. You’re about to have your big break, and I’m proud of you, but it doesn’t mean we have to rush into something we’re not ready for.”

The tension thickened, and Dieter’s next words came out sharper than he intended. “Maybe we need a break then.”

Honey froze, her heart plummeting. She scoffed, masking the hurt with anger. “A break? Really? You think that’s the solution? You don’t take breaks in a relationship, Dieter. It’s either you’re in, or you’re out. And it sounds like you want out.”

Dieter’s expression softened, realizing too late the impact of his words. He hadn’t meant to push her away, but the fear of losing her had twisted into something unrecognizable. Honey stood, gathering her things with a shaky breath, her voice quieter now, tinged with sadness. “I wasn’t asking for a perfect plan, Dieter. I just wanted us to keep going, to figure it out as we went. You’re about to do something incredible, something you’ve always dreamed of. And I was willing to wait—to stay here, support you from afar, and make it work. Six months isn’t forever. But if you think a break is what you need, then we’re not on the same page anymore.”

She paused, searching his face for some sign of the man she loved, the man who’d promised they’d face whatever came their way together. But all she saw was confusion and fear, a mirror of her own emotions reflected back at her. “I wanted to be with you, even if it meant being apart for a while. But I can’t make you want that too. I can’t keep holding on if you’re not sure.”

Honey’s voice wavered, a mix of anger and heartbreak that she couldn’t quite hide. “So, go. Go do what you need to do, Dieter. I want you to have this, I want you to be happy. But don’t expect me to put my life on pause while you figure yours out.”

She turned and walked away, her footsteps heavy against the wooden porch, leaving Dieter standing there, stunned and helpless. He wanted to call her back, to take it all back, but the distance between them had already started to grow, an unbridgeable divide that neither of them knew how to cross.

–

Honey sat at her desk, her mind lost in a haze of regret and self-recrimination. The flashback of her breakup with Dieter lingered like a phantom, haunting her even now. She had built a life without him—a successful career, a polished professional persona—but moments like today reminded her how fragile it all was. Beneath her calm exterior, guilt festered, whispering that maybe she had played a part in Dieter’s downward spiral.

What if she hadn’t pushed him away that night? What if she’d gone to Ireland with him, supported his dreams up close instead of from a distance? She had convinced herself back then that she was doing the right thing, setting boundaries to protect them both, but watching Dieter unravel now made her question everything. Honey couldn’t help but wonder if she was partly responsible for the man he had become—the headlines, the scandals, the self-destruction. If she had stayed, could she have saved him from himself?

She sighed deeply, rubbing her temples as she tried to push those thoughts aside. But they clung to her, a weight she couldn’t shake. Honey was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she almost didn’t hear the soft chime of her office door. It was only when she looked up and saw Phil standing there, his familiar smile easing some of the tension in her chest, that she was pulled back to the present.

Phil had always had a way of grounding her, of reminding her that there was more to life than the ghosts of the past. He entered the room with his usual confidence, a bouquet of sunflowers in hand, and Honey couldn’t help but smile despite the heaviness in her heart.

“Hey, you,” Phil said, his voice warm as he approached her desk. He set the flowers down gently, leaning against the edge of her desk with casual familiarity. “Thought you could use a little sunshine.”

Honey smiled, genuinely touched by the gesture. “Phil, these are beautiful. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he said simply, watching her with a knowing expression. “Mitch called me earlier, mentioned it’s been a rough day with Dieter. I figured you could use something to brighten it up a bit.” Phil’s voice was gentle, but Honey could sense the unspoken question beneath his words.

She ran her fingers along the petals of the sunflowers, her smile faltering. “Yeah, it was… rough. You know how it is.”

Phil studied her, his expression softening. He knew Honey well enough to understand the weight she was carrying, even if she never fully voiced it. He leaned back, crossing his arms casually. “You don’t have to play it cool with me, you know. You’re always trying to keep it all together, but sometimes you’re allowed to just be… I don’t know, human.”

Honey laughed softly, not out of amusement but because Phil had always seen right through her. “Yeah, well, it’s easier said than done. I’ve got this whole image to maintain, right?” She tried to deflect, but Phil wasn’t buying it.

“I’m not talking about your PR persona,” Phil said, his tone light but sincere. “You’ve built all of this on your own—Trace, the clients, your whole damn empire. But every time you take on something like this with Dieter, you act like it’s just another job when we both know it’s not. You can’t keep pretending this doesn’t get to you.”

Honey’s smile faded, and she met Phil’s gaze. It was moments like this that reminded her why she’d never crossed the line from friendship into something more with him. Phil saw her in a way that made it impossible to hide, and that scared her more than she cared to admit. “It’s not that simple, Phil. It never has been.”

Phil gave a small, understanding nod. “It’s never simple with the people who matter. But that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? You keep taking on everyone else’s mess, but when was the last time you let someone else in on yours?”

Honey opened her mouth to respond, but the words got stuck. She was used to being the fixer, the one who held it all together, and the idea of leaning on someone—even someone as kind and patient as Phil—felt foreign. “I don’t know,” she admitted quietly. “It’s just… complicated.”

Phil didn’t push, but his eyes softened. “Complicated I can handle. But if you keep bottling it up, you’re going to hit a wall.” He reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a simple, comforting gesture. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

Honey took a breath, feeling a mix of gratitude and guilt. “I know. I’m trying, Phil. I really am.”

Phil gave her a soft smile, sensing her conflict but knowing better than to press further. “Just remember, I’m here. Whenever you’re ready.”

As Phil turned to leave, he paused, watching Honey for a moment. “You know,” he began thoughtfully, “I didn’t put you in this because you were the only option. I did it because I knew you’d see Dieter for who he really is, beyond the mess, the headlines, and all that noise.”

Honey looked up, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. She had always assumed Phil was just helping Mitch out of convenience, but hearing him say it like that made it feel more deliberate—like he believed in her for reasons that went beyond her professional skills.

Phil gave a small shrug, his expression softening. “You’ve always been good at seeing through the bullshit, Honey. And I think, deep down, you’ve still got a little hope left for him. I just… I wanted you to know that I see that, too.”

Honey’s chest tightened, a mix of gratitude and guilt flooding through her. Phil had seen what she hadn’t been ready to admit—that part of her wasn’t just here for a job but because she still cared. She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thanks, Phil. That means a lot.”

Phil smiled, offering one last reassuring squeeze of her hand before he left. The door closed softly behind him, leaving Honey alone with her thoughts and the bright sunflowers that seemed to shine a light on all the tangled strings of emotions she’d been trying to keep and tuck away in a box in her head.

Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

[pixiecaps]

hm okay so these are all federation owned islands. the purgatory one USED to be something known as an egg island. however it has clearly changed. this explains why the federation cucurucho cinematic referred to it as a chill place that would be heaven and paradise.

the watcher refers to them being sent there as “they were so kind to send you this way.” clearly the they is the federation. which insinuates the federation/cucurucho had some established conversation with whoever runs this island to send them here. or at least that the watcher somehow KNEW they were being sent here. but here’s the one important thing the federation knew what they were doing to the islanders because elq knew. he was aware of where he was going when he took qq’s ticket, he knew. so the federation very purposefully sent them to this godawful place while they do “maintenance” to the dark matter.

i also am taking note of the religious imagery. cucurucho calling this new island heaven and then the watcher calling them sinners and saying egg island was to be a cute place that they would have loved and specifically “People LIKE YOU do not deserve a pleasant little break from the stresses of your previous island island. so I’VE taken the liberty of changing this place.” so outright stating it knew they were coming relocated AND THEN purposefully changed the calm nature of what this island was into a hellscape as a form of punishment for the islanders because it HATES them. for whatever reason it seems to have it feels like a very passionate form of hate. it called them VERMIN. it fully leads me to believe the watcher knows a lot of information about the islanders and their pasts. or has been fed some information to believe they deserve this cruelty.

the direct contrast of this island compared to their own really strikes me as interesting because obviously they’re imprisoned on quesadilla island but purgatory truly is PURGATORY. in the lore they’ve never had to worry about dehydration, food rotting, etc. all aspects of their lives that they took blissfully for granted. almost as if the federation WANTED them to realize how good they have it. or seem to have it compared to purgatory. and as a reminder purgatory is a place to cleanse your sins so in a way the federation sending the islanders there is a way for them to get them reformed. show them true punishment for all the rule breaking. and get them to a mental state where they’re more likely to obey when they return. to be happy.

this part of what the watcher said was interesting, “i’m sure you’re already hungering and dehydrating. good. whatever makes it harder for you to live.” so again literally stating the whole point of the trials and tribulations is to make them suffer MORE.

the element of a cursed team is the most interesting because that does directly impact the attempt of working together. someone has to lose. someone will lose. “What team is that? Can you figure that out? No.” this felt interesting to me because with the whole thought of a cursed team it seems like you could figure it out easily. i’d say the majority of the audience already has their guesses. but i was thinking about taking this sentence very LITERALLY. they can’t figure it out. because it’s not decided yet. it’ll be decided at the end. perhaps. maybe. who fucking knows. but obviously the threat of all their lives and the eggs is an interesting aspect because that means if theres one cursed team the other two won’t have that punishment if they lose. whichever of the three teams wins gets a “big prize” but the main focus is on this supposed cursed team. because if THEY lose then the eggs are all dead. the probability is very interesting to me. i really wonder why that team cursed specifically and how its chosen.

anyways that was interesting

[daboyau]

reblogging a number prompt game again I see

28 :)?

... i can hear your RGH leo yelling 28 at the tv if donnie ever dies during the games oh no

Surprise! I am, in fact, still working on these requests lol. Sorry for the wait, life got distracting! i know you said Leo yelling at the tv, but then I thought “what if they were in the arena together instead? 🤔” So here you go!

why are two boys in the arena, you may ask? The answer is whatever your heart desires it to be. Quarter Quell, rules were changed, game was rigged, whatever. Don’t think too hard about it. :)

warnings for death of a sibling, mention of blood, basic hunger games stuff. Hope you like!

.

The canon sounds, echoing around the arena and leaving his ears ringing. The smell of overturned earth and old blood hangs so heavy in the air around them that Leo can almost swear that he tastes it on his tongue, and feels it clinging to the back of his throat with every breath. His hands are steady when he reaches out to grab his brother by the shoulder. He gives it a little shake.

“Get up,” he says, voice hoarse, barely even audible. He clears his throat. Tastes blood and bile. Tries again. “Donnie, get up.” 

There is nothing. The ground beneath him is wet and sticky. The air reeks of death after death after death after death after—

It strikes him suddenly that the canon had fired. The canon had fired and Donnie’s not moving. He opens his mouth again, but he can’t seem to find the strength to form a single word. A small, hurt sound comes out instead, ripped from the deepest part of his soul. He chokes on it, suddenly unable to catch his breath.

Leo shakes his brother harder. Donnie flips from his side onto his back, limp and pliant in a way he’s never been a single day in their lives. Dust rises and settles around him, further dirtying the fraying hems of his windbreaker. His eyes are still open, deep brown and familiar and beautiful and staring unseeing at the artificial sky above their heads. Leo reaches out and carefully wipes a smudge of dirt from his slack face. His hand shakes, and he recoils when he realizes his efforts had only resulted in a smear of blood left behind instead. 

Leo’d had a plan, going into this whole mess. He’d known before the train had even arrived in the Capitol which one of them would be walking away from the arena. Everything had been going as smoothly as could be expected: the other tributes moved more or less as he’d thought they would, the lineup this year was in their favor with only two Careers to worry about, and the sponsors were eating out of the palm of his hand. They’d had a real shot at winning, and Leo had already known which of them would wear the Victor’s crown. 

So why had he heard the canon?

“This isn’t funny,” he says. His voice comes out harsh and cracking, and it feels like spitting glass shards to speak and not hear a familiar voice answer with some stupid snarky remark. 

He can almost feel the gaze of the Capitol on him. The cameras’ unblinking glass eyes have all turned towards him, reflecting the harsh glare of the artificial sun. He raises his face towards them, smile stretched wide, tears clinging to his lashes. He blinks them back. Forces his smile wider, his voice peppier. 

“There’s been some kind of mistake,” he says to them, projecting his voice like dad had taught him to do, back when he was seven and insisting he wanted to put on a play for the other residents of the Victor’s Village. “I think he needs help.” 

Somewhere in the distance, there’s the hum of a hovercraft. His hands won’t stop shaking as he drags himself closer until his knees dig into his twin’s side, presses his fingers to the pulse point on his throat, then his wrist. There’s no complaints or halfhearted efforts to push him away. Black spots are dancing in his vision as he curls forward to press his ear to Donnie’s chest, holding his breath, counting to 30, then 60, then 120, waiting and waiting and waiting for the thu-thump of his heart or the rise and fall of his chest. 

“No,” Leo says, cheek squished against his brother’s still chest. “Noooo, no no no. This isn’t how it was supposed to happen." 

The hovercraft is almost upon them. Wind from its blades tousles his hair and tugs at the loose hem of his jacket. Leo squeezes his eyes shut against the dirt that’s getting thrown into his face, granules stinging his skin as they beat against his cheeks and eyelids. 

“This wasn’t the plan, Donnie,” he whimpers into his brother’s still chest. His body is already beginning to cool, and all Leo can think is, who am I supposed to bully into letting me warm my hands beneath their shirt, now? 

“It was supposed to be me,” he says, hiding his face from the spotlights bearing down on them. Someone is shouting, ordering him to move away from his brother. “Please, no…. Donnie, please. You were supposed to go home. They all need you. Please, come back. Let it be me. It was supposed to be me!” 

He screams and thrashes against the hands pulling him away. A deep voice cries out from behind him as he feels cartilage crunch beneath his flailing fists, and another curses as they meet a similar fate. Leo barely notices though, incoherent but to beg them to let him go. To save his brother, instead. He tries to explain that he wasn’t supposed to be the one to walk away, but they’re not listening. No one ever listens. 

His clings onto his brother’s hand for as long as he can, fingertips dragging, nails digging in while he wishes that Donnie could still feel it, would cling back just as harshly. His grip breaks. There’s only so much he can do against the sedatives and five full grown Peacekeepers. 

As his brother’s hand falls, limp and lifeless, to the blood soaked earth, Leo knows that neither of them will be leaving this arena. 

[mistress-of-vos]

Hi Mistress :> Do you have any Jean-Paul headcanons you’d be willing so share? (Or JeanTim, if the mood strikes you 🫣)

Hi, there!!! ❤️💛

I have many many Jean-Paul, Tim and JeanTim headcanons, so I have decided to list a few of them here, focused on the ones related to how I think their relationship would be (most of the time):

Jean-Paul headcanons:

As I stated in my latest post, I picture Jean-Paul as kind of French. I like to go with the usual canon where he was born in Switzerland (inside the order) and Ludovic took him to Gotham. However (and inspired by Dan Watters), I picture Jean-Paul spending most of his childhood and teenage years in France, educated by priests and nuns. He can get a summer in Spain or Italy when I feel generous.

Still on this, I imagine JP having certain accent and speaking tone that fall as "french man who has spent too much time speaking english". He needs to focus in order to suppress it (and usually can't do so when he's around Tim).

He has been drinking wine since he was 16, and smoking since 18. Is he proud? No, but he's hardly going to quit when you consider he's a supersoldier.

I usually change his computer science degree for a programming or engineering one, but mostly to adapt him to modern times (plus, he gives me engineer vibes I'm sorry)

This isn't a headcanon as much as the way I adapt him, but I basically copy Slade Wilson's supersoldier nature, as Jean-Paul's origin is way too scifi for the Batman mythos.

JP's a geek AND nerd. Loves LOTR, Dungeons and Dragon, comics, videogames... He's also a bit of an anime fan, but won't say so out loud.

Despite everything, Jean-Paul is religious, and attends church quite frequently. That might not help much with his daily, terrible, catholic guilt.

He has a love-hate relationship with his long hair, and truth is that he only keeps it long because Tim said he liked it and well...

And finally going into JeanTim territory: JP has always liked petite black haired people. If you picked all his partners and crushes, 90% of them look like Tim. In JP's defense, he had already developed "a type" way before meeting Tim

JeanTim headcanons:

They roleplay as Batman and Robin/Catwoman quite often. Very often.

Dick loathes their relationship. Tim constantly needs to stop Dick and JP from punching each other and open old wounds.

Damian is the one who finds JeanTim logical. Two warriors dedicated to Gotham are dating? 'Wow, must have been a surprise, father!'

JeanTim both have horrible schedules due to being vigilantes, and if it weren't because of their two cats meowing in hunger, JeanTim wouldn't get up before 10am. Never.

Jean-Paul took (back) a job at WE if only to be able to see Tim during those hours.

Yes, they have slept together at the office.

And the batmobile.

And the common showers at the batcave.

It's easier to ask where they haven't done it yet.

Tim has a choking kink, whereas Jean-Paul, worrying as he is, prefers to stick with kisses and hickeys, constantly afraid he will hurt Tim.

It took them ages to get together. Partly because Jean-Paul died, came back, then Tim not-died and came back, and then Gotham was a mess for like - an eternity. It wasn't until Jean-Paul came back from Europe that they started flirting and eventually dating.

Luke was who suffered the most while JeanTim got together. He was two "failed attempts at getting those two together" away from burning something down. Preferably Jean-Paul.

Lonnie is their second most loyal hater. Jason is a close third, rivaling with Ra's al Ghul, who huffed at the news and argued that "One day, Timothy will stop playing with that golden retriever"

JeanTim shouldn't have kids, but they will, because the narrative hates them.

Jean-Paul asks Tim to marry him barely eight months in their dating. They marry before Dick or Bruce do, which is a constant thing Alfred brings up when speaking about commitment.

In retrospective, however, Jean-Paul and Tim both have been thinking about getting married even before dating, so... Yeah, that.

Have you seen how loyal big dogs will attack anyone who looks ugly at their owner? That's Jean-Paul with Tim. And it's so obvious that it didn't take long for Gotham criminals to pick up that Azrael and Red Robin were definetely together.

JeanTim as team at undercover are the worst. They always end up leaving and going to a room rather than father information. But how could JP even resist to Tim in a bunny costume?

Tim's main nickname for JP is "Angel", and JP's main nickname for Tim is "Chaton" (kitten)

Tim Wayne-Drake headcanons:

Tim has been openly queer almost since becoming Robin. Don't ask him about his first four crushes, though. He won't answer.

While JP has a longer bed-partner list, Tim is the one with a heavier past regarding serious relationship. Jean had just one proper dating, but plenty of one night stands. Tim had few to none one night stands, yet many long, painful relationships.

In the same topic, Tim carries more traumas and insecurities born from complicated relationships. It takes JP a quite to convince Tim that he's not leaving.

Tim also drinks and smokes, but has to do so with moderation due to losing his spleen. He's trying to quit for real, but fails constantly.

Tim, being openly queer and comfortable on his gender, crossdresses in a daily basis, and wears makeup, heels and nails everyday. Yes, that includes when he's using an Armani suit for a WE meeting.

As a rich kid, Tim learned to play the piano. Nowadays he only plays when alone, or when Jean-Paul is with him. It's an intimate, childish sentiment that fills him up when he plays, and he doesn't want to taint it with his current life.

Tim wears his mother perfume sometimes, and even sprays it on his pillow when feeling lonely.

His father's cologne, in the other hand, is sprayed on coats too big for Tim that he wears on winter.

Tim has a sweet tooth, but loves eating spicy foods even if that means burning his tongue (and yes, perhaps certain eco terrorist had something to do with that...)

When burning in fever due to the clench, Tim had a shameful thought that always came back to haunt him: "If I live, if I grow up, I want to marry a man like Jean-Paul"

Hope you had some fun reading, anon! 💚

[ficbrish]

"You were my first."

Rating: Explicit 18+ only!

[AO3 Link]

[Kinktober 2023 prompt thanks to @absurdthirst! October 2nd - Sexual Frustration, Virginity]

[[TW/CW: Cptsd, blood, gore, self-hate, abuse flashback, casual suicide ideation, intense genitalia depiction (imagined), alcohol]]

Summary: Astarion drinks from a person for the first time.

Expansion of the first bite scene in Act 1. The fourth night of their adventure.

[Click here for my other Kinktober one-shots]

Astarion and Vistri trusted each other the least out of everyone else.

They were too much alike, cut from the same cloth and that cloth was absolute bullshit. Something always lurked in their eyes behind carefully crafted smiles. All of their expressions were adornments, masks. Even their movements were costumes. The two of them practically made up their own masquerade ball! Always dancing around flirtatiously, getting under each other's skin, ruffling feathers. 

Vistri knew these things, and she refused to let herself trust Astarion because of it.

So why did it feel like a betrayal to find him looming over her bedroll in the dark? Fangs bared, ready to strike. Ready to take. Her heart plummeted before she even had the chance to process what was happening. She opened her eyes and the sight of him dragged her down into a nostalgic pit.

“Shit,” Astarion jumped back the moment she stirred. He’d fucked up, made a bad call, and now Vistri was going to drive a stake through his heart. The glower on her face said it all. He’d been so close to finally tasting a real person, and now he was doomed to die without ever sating his gnawing hunger.

Gods! If she hadn't stopped him...

“The hells!” she raged, shaking off sleep as she stood.

“No, no—It’s not what it looks like, I swear!” he protested, thinking, Surely, this is the end. Vistri was going to kill him. Or one of the others if he put up a good enough fight.

Vistri scowled. The fear in Astarion’s tone and posture was a mirror. His was the exact sort of song and dance she’d put on whenever she herself got caught; when she wasn’t really sorry about anything other than the discovery. It set her heart racing, and made it ache for some reason.

She spoke with a lump in her throat, “Kind of looks like your second murder attempt from where I’m standing.”

“I wasn’t going to hurt you!” Astarion explained defensively, “I just needed—Well, blood.”

“Blood? You needed my blood? Who?—Oh…”

Somewhere between Darkvision greys and the orange glow of dim firelight, Vistri saw Astarion draped in new colors. Those red eyes, pale skin, and silver hair of his were not signs of fealty to Lolth as she'd thought, but the markings of another dark god. One, no doubt, more worrying. The scar on his neck wasn’t the shadow of an arrow or fork, but the echo of another mouth. His sharp teeth were... It’s not that Vistri didn’t have her suspicions, it’s just that she’d pushed those thoughts to the edges of her mind. She’d literally been blinded by the sunlight!

It was the first time Astarion ever admitted this to another person, his condition. He couldn't even say the word ‘vampire’ out loud, but based on the various looks shifting in and out of Vistri’s expressions, he wouldn't have to, she’d gotten there on her own.

She hadn’t reached for a weapon, but that was subject to change. Astarion swallowed, her pounding pulse as real in his senses as the smell of hot food wafting through a warm breeze. He watched her observe the hunger as it consumed him, drove him mad. His body shook with the signs.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it…” she muttered, “We even found the boar you snacked on!”

She’d only chosen to go to sleep that night because Astarion had been acting so… so pissy! He'd been equal parts dismissive and condescending that evening whenever they spoke. Vistri thought he didn’t like her much before, but he’d been acting as if he truly hated her—It grated on her nerves! Trance wouldn’t do when its semiconsciousness still left her with a vague awareness of his presence. She needed to get away, and to get away, she slept. Ironic then, how her awareness of him was what roused her now. Gods, she couldn’t get away even when she tried to!

She slapped her forehead, “The pig! Gods I was wondering why you were being such a bitch about the pig!”

Astarion was literally taken aback, “A bitch?—I was not!”

“You just now tried to steal my blood!” she scoffed, “And yes, you have been! All day and evening long!”

“Now, now. Let’s not wake the others.”

Vistri crossed her arms, frowning.

“It’s not what you think—” he said defensively, “I’m not some monster!”

Whether true or not, she could tell he didn’t really believe his own words. Reality was, part of him did and part of him didn’t, and both parts rejected the other. For some reason, it was important to him now that she didn’t believe he was... one of those. For once, Astarion had revealed his dirty secret, and needed Vistri not to let that change anything.

“I feed on animals! Boars, deer, kobolds—” he continued, “Whatever I can get.”

“The latest I recall; I am not a boar or a deer or a kobold.”

Astarion rolled his eyes in desperate frustration, “Yes, exactly! You’re not whatever I can get. You’re what I crave to sink my teeth into!”

Vistri’s breath tripped over her heartbeat and got caught up in its frantic patter.

That wasn’t an unwelcome thought, but… It’s just that he didn’t ask first! It pushed Astarion over into the “unsafe people” category, and she wasn’t allowed to like those people. Shadowheart was right, and Vistri hated him for it as much as she did for finding him ready to prey on her unconscious form.

There was just no going back from that.

“You were looking at me funny last night,” she mused, “This is why you were looking at me like that, wasn’t it?”

He nodded, not breathing.

“Wanted a nibble, did you?” she teased unkindly, holding her fear all the way down in her toes, so as not to risk it slipping into her voice.

“I’m just too slow right now,” he explained with puppy eyes, “Too weak.”

“I’ll say.”

Well, Vistri wasn’t killing him, and now she was starting to act like her usual unserious self. Astarion knew he should really stop there. He was lucky enough to just get where he was now, with her not immediately staking him.

But…

Astarion carefully considered how to phrase his proposal, “If I just had a little blood… I could think clearer. Fight better. Please."

He reminded Vistri of sobering drunks shouting out to bartenders after the pubs had closed. But it was also an ask of her. One that centered on her willingness to give herself away and made her the most important person in his world at that moment. Vistri had an easy answer for those types of inquiries.

She could see the ravenous curse glaring in his eyes. Astarion was all need, and yet he gave her the chance to decide. To be taken, or not?

And what would that be like? If she let him take her? If she just laid back and craned her neck?

No!

Absolutely not! No!

She shut her eyes to think for a moment, almost wishing Shadowheart would stir. Where’s a cleric when you need one most? She could help her say no. Or rather, wouldn’t let Vistri say yes—But she’d be absolutely insufferable about it the whole time!

Vistri fell into Astarion’s eyes the moment she opened hers.

“Gods be damned,” she whined.

“What?”

“Shhhsh! Let me think!”

Astarion’s mind was so consumed by the sight of her throat that he couldn’t come up with a retort. He just swallowed and stared longingly at her.

Gods, he was going to eat her up!

Vistri knew she was already lost, but she still had to fight it. As a last resort, she turned to the tadpoles. Even if she was doomed to give in, she could at least see the moment for what it was. She always considered pushing into someone else’s mind without permission a gross transgression, but if Astarion was willing to take without asking, then the truth was more important than his trust or comfort.

It was as simple as giving in. Vistri reached out to both their tadpoles, blending their minds so she could read his. The door she created only opened one way though. She imagined her mind as an impenetrable abyss. Nothing could breach it. Vistri would peer inside his consciousness without showing him any of her own. She pictured Astarion's mind as a sea, its waters ready to be parted, and dove in.

And as she stole information, memory, the tadpole enacted its own violation, nestling further into her flesh. It touched parts nothing should ever touch and ate things she couldn’t afford to lose. But what would that matter after tonight? Or at the end of their seven days?

“I—What’s this? What’s happening?”

Vistri forced herself to ignore the helplessness in his voice; hold tight onto her regret and push it down. There was no turning back. It already cost too much to catch the faintest glimpse.

She found the most monstrous things inside his head, but Astarion wasn’t the horror. His memories were cracked and quivering, living right at the forefront of his mind. Vistri travelled along their strings and found a hand wrapped around them in the form of dark eyes, commanding him. Feed.

Feed on the rat.

The memory was shame, and it twisted his face. Astarion grimaced as if stabbed, and Vistri hated herself in a way she never had before.

More than a command, that sinister voice was like another brain willing one's body to move. Vistri could feel Astarion's teeth, her teeth, sinking into a struggling rat, body twisting as it shrieked. She choked on the feeling of its fur on her own tongue, as viscerally as if it sat there now. She felt its bones break under her bite. Pangs of disgust and unmet need mixed up together into a particular form of sickness. Astarion was starving, and her rising empathy fueled her rage rather than quelled it. The gnaw at his core was a nightmare Vistri would never forget.

“You ate animals because you were forced to,” she spat bitterly, “Not because you wanted to.”

“I—Yes,” there was no point in denying it after all she’d seen, “Yes, I ate whatever disgusting vermin my master picked.”

Astarion spoke with a wave of vengeful revulsion, his glare and tone defensive wounds that made her stomach hurt to witness. Vistri felt like she wanted to bite someone almost as much as he did. Having nowhere to put it made her restless. So she shook her hands to rid them of magical impulses, a nervous habit of hers, “Fuck!”

“Once again, if we could lower our voices.”

“That’s horrible, Astarion!”

What sort of cruel joke was she playing at? Vistri looked sincere enough, Astarion would give her that, but why on Toril would she care? His brows knotted suspiciously.

He seemed a little confused, but Vistri thought that was understandable. Maybe he didn’t know it was horrible and was hearing it out loud for the first time. She’d been there before herself.

“Believe me, I’m well-acquainted with how horrible it all was.”

Vistri froze. Astarion couldn’t be reading her mind, could he? She pulled out her go-to check for such a spell and conjured a graphic image in her mind’s eye. In as much detail as she could manage, Vistri pictured the biggest, bulgiest, veiniest, drippiest penis she could think of. Nothing pretty about it, just vaguely unsettling and truly shocking. As she held that image, she squinted at Astarion and picked apart every aspect of his expression.

She found only sadness there. Invisible bruises, hit again and again, covered his face once she knew to look for them. There was no hint indicating he shared her conjured horror; only an agonized recollection. It didn’t just absolve him, it made Vistri feel quite terrible for thinking of a horrible penis just then.

And if he was really reading her mind… Well… I’m so sorry.

Without acknowledging her mental apology, Astarion spoke again, “So you can see why I’m slow to trust you.”

Especially if she was going to keep poking around his mind without asking. Astarion had been so ready to be rid of her just to hide the whole vampire thing, and now both that and Cazador were out of the bag in the space of one mistake. His own memories played through her head, and for some reason he couldn’t touch hers at all.

“But I do trust you,” he lied, “And you can trust me.”

Vistri paused, gathered herself, and met his deception with one of her own, “I do. I believe you.”

The grins on their faces hissed like snakes. Neither called it out, willingly entering a folie à deux. Both were desperate to believe the lies they told, each other's and their own. In a fucked up way only the two of them could manage, it turned into its own type of trust. It wasn’t real, but it was there.

For as long as they both agreed on its existence.

“Thank you,” Astarion sounded genuine and even tipped his head.

Vistri nodded back, you’re welcome.

But Astarion wasn’t done yet. The ache still rumbled through him, making his mouth water.

“Do you think you could trust me just a little further?” he asked carefully with a flourish of his hand.

Vistri raised her brows.

“I only need a taste,” he cajoled, “I swear.”

The pounding in her ears started up again. He offered a thrill she’d never tried before. A vampire. People usually didn’t come back from one of those bites, did they? It was never only just a taste, was it?

“Fine. But not a drop more than you need,” she agreed despite her best intentions.

Astarion sounded a bit shocked, “Really? I—Of course.”

The fact that even he was surprised Vistri said yes was a red flag she was fully aware of. She was very aware. If magic whispered under her skin, self-destructive impulses shouted through it.

“Not one drop more,” he promised, elation breaking through his measured voice. He still couldn’t believe she said yes; that it had been that easy. No one had ever known him for what he was and offered themselves anyway. Maybe he didn’t have to get rid of her after all.

Maybe he didn’t want to.

For Vistri, it was the ultimate moment of truth. She was either someone important enough to spare, or this would be her final night. Astarion would either take only as much as she gave, or use her up completely. It was a true test of value; who they were to each other, and who they were as people.

“Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?” Astarion offered smoothly, inviting her back to her bedroll with a gesture. If she came to him willing, there was no reason the moment couldn't be a nice one for the both of them. He had no idea what he was doing and found a certain comfort in the familiar role of hospitality.

Vistri glared at him, reading his genuine attempt at kindness as a sort of gloating insincerity. She mumbled as she settled down, “Could have started out this way if you weren’t such a bitch about that boar.”

“I was not!—You’re ruining the atmosphere now, darling.”

“Atmosphere? We’re in the dirt trying not to wake our companions who are also in the dirt.”

Astarion raised a brow, more amused at her antics than vexed, “Bit more premium than the mud, at least. Now lie back.”

They were going to try this again, with her permission this time. Vistri laid back in her bedroll fully prepared for death. She knew her worth and was ready to surrender to it.

Dirt.

Vistri was dirt. Whatever was about to happen would validate that, and it excited her enough to feel something as much as it choked her.

“I’ll haunt you,” she said.

“What?”

“If you kill me. I’ll haunt you.”

“Right.”

As Astarion crawled over Vistri, all he could think was, finally. The pulse in her throat called to him, reaching towards his like a siren diva. A completely brand-new ecstasy was his to savor, and he kept waiting for someone to snatch it away before he could have a taste. Like always.

Still, he waited. Unwilling to cross a line that would make him lose his prize. He let out a low groan, almost a growl, in anticipation of her signal.

Vistri tried to blink away the warmth that spread over her as he hovered above her. It wouldn’t go away.

She gave up and closed her eyes, making a silent bet with herself, “Go on.”

Astarion lunged forward and pierced her neck so fast it was like the punctuation to her sentence.

Vistri anticipated teeth, not mouth. Turns out his fangs were only there for puncture. The rest of it was all lips and tongue and throat. She knew there would be pain, but it was quick and sharp before throbbing into numbness. It was a strange sensation, but not overall unpleasant.

Their life forces seemed to merge at his bite. He flowed into her and through her as he took, like two rivers meeting at a frothing current. Vistri's breath would be rough and laborious if she wasn’t working so intently to be still and quiet.

Good, little prey.

Her heart beat out such a rapid, panicked tune; fighting helplessly in her chest as she gave herself to him with nothing less than a death wish. Astarion longed painfully for a moment like this for two terrible centuries, and it was so much better than he ever dared to dream. Her dragon blood was cool on his tongue, like frosted cream. The silver scales on her face had piqued his curiosity, he’d wondered before how she tasted. Now he was blessed with the knowledge, he was lost in it. Astarion didn’t exist anymore. Just the need.

He swallowed her down.

Vistri began to think that maybe she should probably stop him.

Probably.

Or she could let him continue. Give in entirely until she was all gone…

Astarion never wanted to stop. All performance was cast aside, abandoned with no grace. The only thing left in control was his cursed nature. His tongue eagerly lapped up the blood against her neck with no sign of stopping.

She let him do as he pleased. Wanted to disappear between his lips. Vistri couldn’t tell if there was something narcotic in his bite, or if that was just…

Gods, please don’t let that just be him. She felt her knees shiver, and almost let Astarion have his way.

Then another thought suddenly shouted above all the others. Maybe he couldn’t control himself. He’d said he trusted her, and if that wasn’t a lie, then perhaps he meant for her to stop him before he lost them both.

“That’s enough,” she reluctantly sighed.

Her voice reached Astarion through the dreamy fog.

“Mhh?” he moaned, yes?

He was still lapping her up as he answered, and his question broke over her skin. Vistri twitched and he mistook it for pain.

Excusing himself, he tore away from the bliss of her neck with a courteous, “Oh, of course.”

A chill came over her as his body left hers. The continued pounding of Vistri's heart grounded her in the reality that she was still alive. She’d survived Astarion's favor. Pressing her hand against the wound to stop the bleeding, she felt a sort of glee wash over her.

Standing across from each other, their chests rose and fell. Wanting more.

“That—” his words faltered, overcome by a mixture of ecstatic satisfaction and lingering bloodlust.

Vistri’s stomach flipped. Renewed vigor was palpable in his very energy, and a genuine smile spread over his gloomy face.

“That was…”

She watched him appreciatively smell the mess left on his lips. Then again delight in her taste, sucking his fingers clean of all remnants, one by one.

“Amazing.”

He wore an even wider smile. Everything Vistri was swirled inside her like strong wind.

“My mind is finally clear,” he continued, “I feel strong. I feel…" He took a deep, smiling breath, "Happy!”

That was the first time Vistri ever saw Astarion take such a complete deep breath. She learned that his shoulders sat naturally lower than she previously thought.

And this was her effect on him. Her blood in his veins.

Something about that made her want to taste him right back.

But she refused to give that urge any attention, and spoke to shake it off, “I’m looking forward to seeing you fight.”

He was grateful to her for rooting the moment in something they could actually discuss. Even if he wanted to share every detail that went into the descriptor of amazing, Astarion wasn’t sure he could put into words what this meant to him.

“Shouldn’t take long,” he smirked, “So many people need killing.”

And Vistri wasn’t one of them.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he bowed, “You’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.”

It was true, Astarion was plagued with a lingering hunger, having abided by the bounds of Vistri's consent and stopping before he was satisfied. But what really set his feet jittering was the real weight of all these brand-new feelings. No wonder Cazador kept his spawn apart from thinking prey. Even a little taste of all that life brought back so much of what he’d stolen. 

“Wait!” Vistri called out as he turned to strut away into the forest.

They bumped into each other as he twirled back around.

“Sorry,” they both said.

Astarion stepped back. She didn’t.

“Um,” she gestured at her face, “You have…”

He could feel her breasts brushing against his chest, and blinked as if that would help him to ignore it.

“What?” he asked quite shortly.

With an unsure gesture, Vistri reached up to his mouth. Even though she went slowly, questioningly, it was faster than explaining. At least in her current, near-speechless state. She asked with her eyes if she could get closer, and he answered with his own to inch closer, even though they were narrowed and suspicious.

Astarion jumped slightly at her touch but allowed Vistri to wipe her finger along the corner of his grin.

“Little bit of blood,” she murmured, and cleared her throat.

She held up her smeared finger in demonstration, and Astarion had to stop himself from grabbing it and licking it clean.

“Oh,” he said, “My, my! I have made a mess, haven’t I?”

Vistri didn’t know what to say, so she mirrored his smirk. But she didn’t want to just stand there smiling like someone thick, so she rushed herself to say something clever. Which came out thick, “Nothing that takes more than a little wipe.”

He had no idea what she was talking about and just needed to leave, “Right. Well—”

She was standing so close. He could still sense her pulse, smell the blood clotting on her neck. The demons inside him were screaming to tear her apart. Astarion had to get away, but he was held in place.

Vistri was looking at him with such a mix of emotion that it made her a riddle.

Why didn’t she stake him? Why did she let him sup? Trust him at the risk of her life?

Astarion’s eyes travelled from her neck to her lips. Now that he’d had a taste of her throat, he found himself desperately curious about all her other parts.

His stare made Vistri tremble even more than she had in the gods’ damned mind flayer pod! Which was ridiculous! She’d long ago sworn off aristocratic types. The fourth night into an illithid transformation was not the right time to fall of that wagon!

“Off you go!” she playfully pushed Astarion towards the trees, needing him out of sight. She'd normally leave herself, but had nowhere else to go besides her bedroll a few paces from where they now stood.

He obliged, but suddenly turned once more to thank her. Which crashed them into each other again.

This time, they both took a big leap back. Instead of apologizing, they shared a brief look and let out a pressure value-laugh.

Astarion became serious for a moment. His voice sounded softer and stronger than she knew it could be.

“This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”

If she answered with more sincerity, they'd both choke.

“Wouldn’t dare let you,” she smirked.

He returned it, then left Vistri alone to nurse her aching neck.

She could still feel his mouth on her skin, and her breathing hadn’t yet stilled. Shit. Now that Astarion was out of sight, she felt her bones calling him back. Vistri shut her eyes tight, willing the wanting to go away.

If it was kind, it would just go away.

There was something bittersweet about how the raw power Astarion now harnessed depended on Vistri’s kindness. A proper hunt would surely be more satisfying. The woods were full of treasure, but they felt empty. So many bodies slumbered in the shadows, but the one he truly sought was in the other direction.

It didn’t matter that she was the first person he ever drank from and had nothing to compare her to. Perhaps it was instinct, but he already knew that nothing else out there could match the fine, exquisite vintage that was her.

Astarion explained it away as just the dragon blood. It wasn’t tied to that drow at all.

It couldn’t be.

v---v                v---v                v---v                v---v                v---v

Big moment, that following morning was. Pleasantly enough, none of the others tried to drive a stake through Astarion’s heart upon learning his true nature. Nor did Vistri suddenly change her mind and call for a mob. She even stood up for him. Showed a suspicious amount of understanding.

But that’s how she’d always survived.

A bit of kindness tinged with charm, and lying back, goes a long way.

Astarion seemed the happiest that Vistri had ever seen him. Although, to be fair, they’d journeyed together less than a tenday, and not under the most pleasant circumstances. She’d seen him smile, but not like that. Not like the way he’d been smiling since—

His lips on her neck…

“Augh!” Vistri exclaimed, walking unannounced into Shadowheart’s tent, “I feel like a ripe pile of shit!”

“Were you raised in a barn?!” Shadowheart cried, startled and put out by her new friend’s sudden appearance.

“No, the Underdark—But that’s not important right now,” Vistri answered, too obsessed at the moment to exchange a bit of back and forth, “We don’t have time for an ethics debate.”

“An ethics debate? You just barged into my tent!”

“Because I needed to talk to you!” she explained, as if that answered everything sufficiently.

“I swear, if you hadn’t saved my life…”

“I know, I know! I’m insufferable. Do you have wine?”

“It is just passed sunrise.”

“Yes, and I’m very thirsty.”

Somehow, Shadowheart’s exasperated refusal to indulge her self-destructive habits prompted Vistri to spill everything. How she never felt anything.

How much she felt last night.

“You like the vampire?”

Vistri looked as if Shadow had just spat in her face, and protested, “I do not!”

While she had her crisis at Shadowheart, Astarion was literally skipping through the woods. He couldn’t remember a day where he felt better than he did this morning. With her blood flowing through him, giving back life.

Was this what it felt like to be Vistri? he found himself musing, watching the dapple of shadows dance across his hands as the sunlight trickled through the trees.

Which was a very ironic conclusion for him to draw, considering that she was just now sobbing wildly on Shadowheart’s awkward shoulder.

But Vistri never let him inside her mind despite pushing into his, not after that first initial taste; when they met on the ground in his arms, while his blade pressed into her. Too much was happening then for Astarion to really notice anything, and he only felt a hint of someone else before she instinctually shut her mind off from his. They’d shared a memory, but it was like the directions of a play read aloud, not the feelings of an actor emoted through their eyes.

It piqued his curiosity now that he spent a little time in her company. Had a taste of her.

And like a cat discovering a closed door, he was suddenly possessed by the need to pry it open.

Turns out, things were working out for Astarion better than he could have ever imagined. He could get used to his luck turning around like this. Not only did the rest of his companions accept that he was a vampire without much complaint, Vistri offered to let him feed again.

Before he accepted, it was important for Astarion to make clear that nothing would ever happen again without her say so. He could be better than Cazador ever was—wanted to be better.

“I shall wait patiently until you suggest we… dine together.”

Vistri could feel heat rising in her face. Cheesy little comments of his like that previously grated on her nerves, and now she wanted to giggle.

What the fuck was wrong with her? Did she really want him? Could she really… imagine that as a possibility?

“But until then: No more late-night surprises, you have my word on that,” he promised. Rather sincerely, actually.

It was probably due to some vampiric thrall she must be under, but Vistri decided to trust his words. Every night could be its own test, and a sick part of her hoped he’d break his vow. That he’d prove it was all good to be true; show her who she really was. Prove that neither of them were worth it.

“Thank you,” she said, biting her lip, “And if you don’t mind, I have a vow of my own to exchange.”

“Oh?”

“Pushing into your mind… I wasn’t sure if you were going to kill me, but in finding out, I also… That was for you to save or tell. Not for me to find out. Not like that. I swear I’ll never do it again. Not without asking first.”

Astarion looked a bit devastated; shook it off with a smirk, and then said, “We’re even.”

Vistri was taken aback, “Even?”

“I've only tried to stab you when we first met, and bite you while you’ve slept. A little wriggling around with my mind worm… Well, you’re not better than me after all! In fact, you’re just like me.”

She smiled and looked at her feet, “I wouldn’t go as far as that.”

Even the teasing mention of closeness was too much for Vistri to endure, and she hated him for it.

So of course she didn’t want to appear too eager! She waited a whole other day before proposing another late-night snack. Astarion took it to be a reward for his good behavior; not coming back for seconds before he was asked.

The anticipation ate at them even worse after they agreed it would happen that night, and it itched at them all day. Unfortunately, Astarion was a bit of a stress-eater, and quite literally bit off more than he could chew with a large bear that evening before they met up. Draining it just barely replaced what he'd lost, which left him punch drunk and dizzy from his own bloodlessness. Their fun was put off for another night.

Much to the vexation of both.

He didn’t want to wake her that second time, not because he didn’t want her to be present, but because he was doing his best not to be an inconvenience. Vistri wasn’t offended either; he was so obviously sure he was doing her a favor. Oh, but she wanted to be awake for it! Not asleep, not in trance, but there feeling his—

Shit. Bad thoughts! No, no, no.

It was nothing. He meant nothing. She was nothing but a source of sustenance. Vistri had a purpose, and that was that.

She was food.

But then… So was that bandit earlier. Now he was food. Astarion drunk him dry with little grace. Ripped his screaming throat from out of his neck, and the spray went everywhere! Tonight he would gently creep up to her in the dark, at her behest, and take only a little while trying his best not to cause her to stir. It was quite the contrast.

That bandit was a meal. Vistri was a treat.

Then what was this even all for?

Vistri shooed away her curiosity before it meant she had to answer that question herself.

Waiting impatiently in her bedroll, eyes shut tight, Vistri could feel her heart pounding as if it was berating her for their present circumstances.

Oh, hush! she thought, arguing back.

This wasn’t her best performance, pretending to be in the midst of trance as she was. Her focus was elsewhere, searching for his presence through her pores. Her mind froze when Astarion finally began to approach. Even without seeing, she knew he was there; could feel his proximity before he touched her. The very air changed around him, like a storm cloud. Her senses filled with something herbal and sweet, then brandy and heat as his chest crept over hers.

She held her breath, even though deep breathing was the telltale sign of trance. Vistri thought he caught her, sensing him pause for a moment. Then she reasoned she was probably making that up.

But she didn’t. He did pause. Not because he noticed she wasn’t breathing, but because he still wasn’t quite sure this was all really happening. Not just some mad trick of the tadpole.

He swallowed and let himself lean carefully down, until his body pressed into hers. He could feel her heart beating frantically, but in his distraction, it didn’t give her away. Astarion just took it as a sign she was alive. That this really was all real.

His lips met her neck before his fangs. Vistri held back a shiver, taking a deep breath against it. She stifled a moan as one hummed quietly in Astarion’s throat. She could feel it vibrate on hers, neck to neck. Feel her life and power flow into him and through him. Power. Pleasure.

It was palpable.

Astarion’s tongue moved against her skin, swallowing her.

She even lost herself for a moment. As her mind flew blissfully away, her fingers, those sluts, found their way up into his curls.

Her hands grasped the sides of his head. Vistri wasn’t trying to push him away, she just needed to brace herself against the loss of gravity. Astarion didn’t even notice at first. It just felt like part of the whole thing. It was her sudden movement as she jerked them back that brought his attention to her wakefulness.

“Are you not in your trance?” he asked in the crook of her neck.

“No,” she answered with her eyes still closed, “Do you want me to be?”

She was truly the most curious thing to him. Was she pretending to be in a trance to please him? While allowing him to drink from her? Who does that? Astarion smirked, shaking his head, “I thought you’d prefer…”

Vistri opened her eyes and looked into his. She’d been warned her whole life about elves with red eyes.

“No, I—” she blushed, “I mean, it’s quite fun. Is it not?”

“It is?”

Curiouser and curiouser.

She nodded.

“Well, that’s nice to hear.”

“Do you want to-?” Vistri gestured to her neck.

“Right, yes,” Astarion said, clearing his throat. Regaining his cool, he slyly suggested, “Why don’t you crawl into my lap?”

Vistri couldn’t breathe.

Her non-answer was a glorious victory. Astarion could tell he had an effect, a sway over her somehow. He tilted his head back, smiling with confidence, “You do want it, don’t you?”

Lightheaded, Vistri gave in and sat across his knees. Grinning, Astarion grabbed her up into his arms and dipped her dramatically with a slight growl. Vistri giggled, too loudly, and he cupped a hand over her mouth.

He shushed her, “Be still now.”

First, he brought his lips back to her throat. Then his tongue. Then his fangs.

A moan escaped Vistri this time. One, warm hand cradled the back of her neck as he drank from the front of it.

He promised it would be just a taste, and it was just a taste. She didn’t even have to hold him back this time. Astarion stopped on his own accord, before she was ever in any real danger.

When she opened her eyes, Astarion had stars in his. Just a little bit of her, and he was an entirely new person.

Self-satisfied, Vistri grinned, “You’re welcome.”

Sitting up, her head swayed forward like a drunkard and almost smashed into his skull.

“Oh, there you go,” he muttered, steadying her.

Vistri looked up at him, her face so close to his. “I’m okay,” she answered before he could ask.

“Don’t try to get up just yet. You’ll take another tumble, and who knows if I’m feeling generous enough to catch you again.”

“Bastard,” she laughed weakly.

Vistri could smell her blood on his breath. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes so the only thing in existence was the scent lingering between them. She couldn’t imagine liking this so much with anyone el—She shot up so fast, suddenly standing to escape those thoughts.

“Careful!”

Astarion must have been feeling generous because he caught her a second time.

“Oops,” she said, embarrassed.

“You ought to take better care of yourself, darling. I’m invested now.” Funny thing, that wasn't even a lie. He'd never met someone like her before.

Vistri met his grin with performative suspicion, “How heartening.”

Astarion's eyes followed the words as they bounced off her lips. He smiled realizing they were perfectly painted instead of washed clean.

She either swayed or leaned closer. Even Vistri couldn't tell if it was blood loss or an intentional inching of her feet.

“You look a bit peaked,” Astarion said nervously.

“Yes,” Vistri sighed, standing so near, “Off to bed I go.”

Even the air between them pounded. They stayed very still. His breath turned into her breath.

Then Astarion broke the spell, stepping back with narrowed eyes, “Sweet dreams, then.”

“Sweet dreams.”

But there were no dreams.

Just forbidden thoughts that ran endlessly through their minds, until even their muscles ached.

[Click here for my other Kinktober one-shots]

[voidfishing]

I am extremely intrigued by your hyperspecific taagnus lore if you feel like expanding 👀

oh absolutely 💚💚 this. turned out to be. insanely long <3

okay so. I think that after they met while joining the IPRE, Magnus became interested in Taako pretty quickly. Taako is handsome and tough and pretty and smart as hell, of course Magnus notices all of that immediately. but I can’t imagine him actively trying to pursue a relationship given the whole, yknow, they’re about to literally leave their planet. he’s got bigger picture things to focus on. but I think they do spend quite a bit of time together. Taako actively seeks him out because, despite how much he pokes fun at him, he does think Magnus is fun and cute and sweet. they get along really well, and I like to think Magnus’ pure optimism and general sweetheart behavior made him the first member of the IPRE to really get to spend quality time with Taako without Lup present.

and then I think. there was definitely some light flirting on Taako’s end that was very casual. not super forward or anything, just little things like slightly-more-affectionate pet names or passive compliments that indicated he was paying close attention. and Magnus picked up on maybe half of it. the rest of the time he was like “man Taako’s such a nice guy. what a good friend.” and meanwhile Taako was pulling his hair out going “how is he not in love with me yet I’m being so alluring”

and this dynamic continued for a little while. they got closer. the stolen century actually began. and I think things stayed that way for a handful of cycles, because I don’t feel like either of them would be super focused on starting a relationship while trying to navigate their new lives. but I do think they got closer and closer as teammates and began to rely on each other more, which neither of them placed any extra emphasis on because they were growing closer with everyone else too.

and then I think their relationship started building again a little less than a decade into the century. they’d gotten used to the pattern and their new life, they had a better grasp on the entire situation. and I think they started to lean on each other more and more. Magnus would come to Taako to vent or theorize or talk about their home, and Taako would pick up on the fact that he was seeking comfort and offer it to him, usually through small gestures like making him something to eat and patting him on the shoulder while they talked. Taako would eventually start doing the same sort of thing, showing up to Magnus’ room just to sit quietly when he was struggling in some way and needed to be near someone else. and Magnus would be so sweet and careful about offering him support without hurting his ego, which Taako definitely appreciated.

so. I think things went on like that for a bit and they just continued to get closer and more reliant on one another. and then one day Magnus is sitting in Taako’s room watching him scribble out plans for dodging the hunger and it suddenly strikes him that he’s in love with him. and he says it. and Taako just stops what he’s doing and looks and him and goes “did we not already know this?” & naturally Magnus is a little surprised that Taako recognized his own feelings before him, but he doesn’t have time to worry about that before Taako kisses him.

and I think they date for a while. they work well together and understand how to support one another. they’re a good team!! and both of them are able to find a certain kind of shelter with each other, feeling safe and loved despite facing the end of the world annually. it’s not always easy, but they make a point to work things out when it gets hard.

I don’t really have a timeline for how long they’re officially dating, but I think by the fiftieth cycle, things have changed a little bit. not in a bad way, there’s just been a shift in their dynamic that has changed the way their relationship looks; they’re no longer calling themselves boyfriends, but they’re still super familiar with and supportive of each other. I don’t think they really label the dynamic but they’ve essentially just naturally shifted into being queer platonic partners. they’re technically exes but no one would guess that from seeing them interact. they love each other so much

and oh boy. after the stolen century, after losing their memories, after being (unbeknownst to them) reunited. I think Taako is a little interested in this handsome human he’s working with. the guy’s a little dense but it’s sort of charming to him! Magnus thinks the elf he’s traveling with is very pretty, but he’s not exactly planning on dating anyone anytime soon. he wants to be good buds! and so over the course of their time with the BOB they get closer and a little more intimate with each other, but never to the point of potentially dating. there’s love there and it feels rather platonic for both of them.

and then they get their memories back. and I think it takes Taako a very long time to talk to Magnus about any of it. which is probably a good thing, it gives them both time to digest everything they've been through, and I think their friendship starts to deepen again once they do talk about their history. the love they had lost is back and only reinforced by the fact that they managed to cultivate such a meaningful relationship even without those memories. they eventually get back to where they were during the stolen century, although that takes a couple of years. their relationship is defined by mutual love and they look out for each other as they navigate living (sort of) normal lives

[floralcavern]

Wings of Fire fanfic - Glory

T/W: Ab*se

I was in my cave. Alone. Everyone else was busy hanging out with eachother. But whatever. They don't want to hang out with me. Grumpy, useless, lazy me. Whatever. I'm used to it at this point. Not like I care.

Suddenly, a bright yellow, smiling face poked her head into my room. "We're studying royal family trees!" Sunny said happily.

I roll my eyes. "I can't, remember? Kestrel said I have... private battle session again."

Sunny gave her a sympathetic look. "Oh.. well, all right. Good luck!!"

Then she leaves.

I scoff.

Luck? Ha! When have I ever had luck??

I jump off my bed, abandoning my scroll about how the weather works and, reluctantly, start heading toward the training den. But this wasn't for training. This was my punishment. Not just for existing, but for asking Kestrel last night why I didn't get any dinner.

Kestrel is in the middle of the room. "About time," she hisses in her deep accent, steam emitting from her nostrils.

My scales shift to a pale orange, but I change them to a more neutral color.

Suddenly, Kestrel is already getting ready to strike. I know it's no use to dodge and that it would only make it worse, so I just stay still.

Surprisingly, this fight only lasted 15 minutes. Usually they last 40. I enter the study room, where the dragonets of destiny are studying with Dune about royal families. 

Dune narrows his eyes at me. "That was fast," he observed. 

I shrug. "She must've been tired or not as angry," I say as I take a seat next to Starflight and Tsunami.

Starflight gives me a worried glance.

"You're bleeding.." he observed quietly.

"But not as bad as last time," Tsunami added.

"Glory, if you're gonna disrupt the lesson with taking, I'll send you back to Kestrel," he growled deeply.

I know most would object to how they weren't doing anything, but I know better and nod, keeping my emotions from splattering all over me.

When the class was over, Sunny aided me with the help of Webs. Dune and Kestrel complained on how I made the study room all bloody. Figures.

Webs exhaled. "They really should've sent you here after the fight."

"Why didn't you go get her?" Sunny asked. "Or stop Kestrel?"

"Oh nonononono. I could never do that. Stop Kestrel? You trying to get me killed? Haha!" He sounded extremely nervous and jumpy at just the thought.

Sunny gives him an extremely confused look.

Poor, naive Sunny I think. Just accept it. He's a no good, moon licking coward.

When I was patched up, it was dinner time. I head to the eating area. Again, no food for me. I was surprised to see Sunny got something, as she had annoyed Kestrel by asking her why she hurt me. But then I remember she's Dune's favorite.

I turn to Kestrel, keeping all disappointment and hunger from my eyes, but she could see through the act. I couldn't stop it from spilling out on my scales.

Kestrel hisses. "I don't feed failures."

Clay objected. "She's not a failure!" he says, getting daringly close to Kestrel's face before she slashed him and took the rest of his dinner.

"No good dragonets. Glory, another training session tomorrow. Don't expect dinner either. Next time, don't even show up in here for tomorrow. I don't want your friends 'sticking up for you.'"

I nod. I begin heading to my cave when Dune stops me. "Nope."

"'Nope' what?" I ask flatly.

"Kestrel told me you'll be sleeping near the river."

I object without thinking. "What!? But it's freezing in there!"

Next thing I know, I'm on the floor bleeding. Kestrel was behind me. She reopened my wounds.

"This time you won't be getting those treated. Now go."

I nod and head off. I curl up, trying to stay as warm as possible. I couldn't help but cry, even just a little. 

Welp, what are you gonna do? Just another day in my life as a failure...

But, before I drift off to sleep, 4 heads poke into the room.

"Took a lot of convincing to have Starflight sneak out," Tsunami snickered.

"What are you guys doing here..?" I asked.

"You really think we're gonna let you freeze and starve in here?" Clay asked. "Noooo WAY!"

"But.. The guardians!"

"Shhhhhhh!" Tsunami hissed. "They'll hear youuuuu."

Sunny jumped on top of me, her warm scales already making me less cold.

"We're never gonna abandon you."

Starflight set a piece of fish in front of me. He must've stolen it from Webs. "Never," he says.

"Neeeever!" Tsunami says with a toothy grin.

"Never," Clay says, coming over.

I stare at them in bewilderment for a moment. Before I stop myself, I crack into a smile. "Never..."

[arclundarchivist]

C3E43 SPOILERS!

Turn back!

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NOW!

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Finally! Truth revealed! Lore beheld! Mysteries deepening! And Ashton missed it all due to “things.”

The first true appearance of Planerider Ryn, awesome!

The reveal that Otohan/Cerberus/Unseelie Plot have made three devices that act as “anchors/tethers.” Worrying. Are they trying to pull Ruidus to them, tie themselves to it, or pull, and pull, and pull until everything comes the fuck apart.

And how does Ira, who stated he believes they will fail and has his own intentions for the Solstice possibly fuck it all up?

Imogen’s mom is with the baddies…can see that ending in all sorts of tragic ways.

But that only moves forward if they get outta the damn basement unaccosted.

It felt for so long like this campaign was bull-rushing towards a confrontation that admittedly felt like the End Game. Not sure if anyone felt like that? But now…with how Matt has panned it out, I think the confrontation in the Valley during the Solstice will be a similar climax to the “war” with Obann but part of me also sees Exandria getting changed in some vast unexpected way. Likely Otohan and Ludenis will return when they’re in the double digits, and the dangers *on* Ruidus beyond that.

Speaking of which.

Predathos, Ethedok, Vordo. New names but ancient ones. What befalls an eaten god? Is their death for certain, or are they trapped within this ancient predator?

This opens so many more questions. What were the Gods original, to have a Predator? Survivors of another world given intent. Multiversal Travelers. Victims Fleeing Extinction? How does Predathos compare to Tharizdun? To the Luxon?

Is it not odd that the first mortal two ascend, a Ruidusborn arose to claim the portfolios of of said fallen Gods? Fate and Winter, tied to Death? Who was she…what did she know? Did she know anything at all about the Red Moon? What did the other Gods think to see said Mortal snap up the domains of their long lost brethren?

The Deities and the Titans, historicized as enemies until Betrayal split the former United, the Travelers and the Children of the Luxon, to lock away this vast being. Who succeeded where *Tharizdun* failed.

So then, as Brennan said Asmodeus lied very little 8 centuries ago in his rants to “The Holy Man”.

A Promise had been made, a bond forged in fear and necessity and the mores of survival.

And the Prime…threw it aside because of *one* mortal. Again I ask, who where they, to be so beloved of the Gods?

Also if the city is truly home to only the Children of Predathos. Then we’ve got Aliens folks.

Also sudden thought.

Predathos is like a weird in between of Tharizdun and The Luxon, two beings that are also old and eldritch and not truly part of the main pantheon.

The Luxon is Life, Boundless Life and Light and Moment, carrying on and on, bringing back the deceased to live once more. Eternity.

Tharizdun is Destruction, an endless consuming hunger and darkness that gives nothing back but madness. It can not create only Warp. Entropy.

Predathos, Consumes Yet Gives Life. It Shatters Minds But Enlivens Their Potential. It is a Lightning Strike Competing Light and Shadow, Intensity and Finality.

One Gives, the Other Takes, the Final Makes.

Can’t wait for next time, as we delve into Fey or Shadow, Chaos or Victory. I say, Nevermind, that Blood Red Moon, the Night Will be Over Soon.

It’s been a fantastic year offering my transcriptions, theories and tales to you all! Have a Merry Holiday, and a Happy New Year!

Can’t wait for it to be Thursday Again. See y’all then.

PS: The fuck is up with that bird?

[septicwriters]

Alright! LETS GO!

Break on through to the other side!!! Part 2

The fast air on their wah down defeated them as they got their barrings. Anti went for Alastors throat as the offending demon sent out his electrocuted tentacles to pierce through the glitch. Eventually, they landed on a roof close to the hotel.

"Let me tell you, Mr. Ant-I, it's been a long while since anyone has challenged me, you better not disapoint!" Alastor warned, cracking hid neck. Antk growled, his eyes changing to black with light green balls dangling within. He held his knife tightly as Alastor stood there.

"Shall we begin?" Alastor slammed his mircophone down on the floor, and his tentacles rose, his horns growing fully. Anti stepped forward slightly and pushed off. Anti moved faster than the human eye could perceive, but still, Alastor caught him.

His microphones' beam slid against Anti's knife, making the glitch growl. Alastor parried and Antk jumped, hovering g above the world in order to kick the Radio Demon only to have his ankle be caught amd wrapped in a tentacle. They they faced a confusing moment when they electric currents canceled eachother out, leaving them both without electricity.

"Well! This is awkward." Alastor commented without his microphones backdrop. Anti grunted and slammed his knife on the tentacle, cutting it off and watching the rest of the tendril cower back. Immediately, they both exploded in power. Alastor laughed as he twirled his microphone.

"I must say, this is the most interesting fight I've ever had!"

"Y͠ou͡ ͟t͜a͟lk͢ to̴o͜ ̨m͜u͟c̷h̷!" Alastor saw his chance and sent out wave after wave of tendrils as Antk charged him. Anti dodged swiftly, swaying to and fro away from the offending limbs. He grunted as one grazed his cheek, a splatter of blood spreading alm over the tentacle and down his face made Alastor smirk.

"You sure are fast, Mr. Septic, but not fast enough." Anti regained his footing, preparing to produce another sprint when it happened. As if the small taste of his blood began a neverending hunger, because once he took a breath, three of the tentacles pierced directly through him. Anti was frozen, trembling as Alastors tentacles did as they pleased. Alastor smiled as they withdrew, pooling two large piles of blood on the floor and to join them, Anti fell to the ground, shaking.

"I'm sure it was an honor for you, Mr. Ant-I, but this is where we part ways." Alastor turned away, preparing to head back to the Hotel. The wind blew and Alastor stopped, he turned back around and found and empty roof, it was just him Alastor hummed, looking around.

"You are indeed an interesting character." Alastor mumbled, investigating everywhere for the missing glitch. The Radko Demon obviously had some questions arising, 1) was how could he move? Alastor's tendrils struck vital parts of his body, he should be immobile, slowly to bleed out and die. Sadly, for not. His next question was how does a powerful demon just disappear? It was if he was never there. Worrying, but interesting.

Just as Alastor was weighing the pros and cons to just exploding the next 7-mile radius, he expirenced something he hasn't in a long time. Overwhelming, blinding pain erupting from his shoulder, causing him to almost hit the floor. Whoever attacked him, kept himstanding, moving close to his ear.

"Wh̵o̷s̷e̴ n͜ot fa̶s̛t̸ e̶nough̡?" Alastor was frozen for a second. How did he do that? With his uninjured arm, he swung his microphone in an attempt to strike Anti. He failed as he jumped over Alastor. As Anti turned to face him, Alastor saw his eyes, red the center of Anti's glowing green irises were red, that couldn't be a good sign.

"Well, color me impressed, my dear boy. You've surprised me, but how won't do it again." Anti glitched his knife out of Alastors shoulder and eyed the blood dripping from the tip of his knife. He watched it, and chuckled, his chuckle turned into a giggle, and then his giggle turned into an all out cackle. Alastor saw the moment of weakness and shot out three more tendrils. Only for them to stop half way through their movement. Anti continued to cackle, tipping Alastor off that he did something.

"What is the cause of this?" Anti stopped his rib-bruising laugh to smirk. Anti squeezed his hand into a tight first and the tendrils exploded into a black mist that powdered the ground. Swallowing, Alastor studied the glitches hand, and found red strings. It was one thing after another with this guy.

"Fine. Now we're serious." Alastor declared and rose to his proper, overwhelming size. Anti watched with trembling suspense, a morbid curiosity overtaking him.

"Ooh! This is getting good!" Angel commented, accepting the third bucket of popcorn from Husk as they watched Alaator grow. Charlie though, wasn't so excited. He jaw hurt from getting his teeth, a chore she could no longer handle. She walked in front of the window.

"We habe to stop them! They'll destroy themselves, plus half the city! Come on, we have to-"

"Fuck!" They all jumped and turned around to see a man, and ad he stood, the notified his cat mask and cape. He dusted himself off and sneered at the portal residing on the ceiling before looking at the small crowd.

"Uh, sorry to interrupt but, have you see a man? About yay-high, sometimes pale, sometimes green, sometimes red, green hair, crazy eyes?" They all nodded and pointed towards the the window. Marvin gave a nod of thanks and went to peak put the shattered window. Only to almost fall out of it.

"Are you fucking kidding me! What the hell is this dumbass doing?" They all continued to stare at him quizzically.

"Um, challenging the Radio Demon?" Marvin turned to Charlie with a blank face.

"The who?"

Anti stared up at Alastor, any semblance of the Radio Demons original body was gone. He had a full rack upon his head as several tentacles slithered around him, his claws a menacing detail that made the blood in Anti's veins charge up with electricity.

"You will not only be a mere battle, you will be a nutritious meal for me!" Anti grew a large crazed smile as he looked up at him. Anti gotched away from sight, only to appear hovering on top of Alastors uninjured shoulder.

"You've made a mistake!" Anti gasped as he got entirely entrapped with a tight tendril.

"I'm going to watch you die!" Antj was quickly being squeezed to death, his old injuries bleeding anew, seeping through the tendrils coiled cracks. As a last defense, Anti bit into it and tore out a huge chunk. Alastor flinched and Anti's strings appeared as a chain around Alastor's neck, causing him to release the glitch.

"How dare you chain me!" With a back handed slap, Anti rocketed down into a building like a speeding bullet. The strings, vanishing.

"Right, so bottom line is, like an idiot, my brother challenged one of the strongest demons this world can conjure, correct?" They all nodded at Marvin's assumption.

"Sounds about right." Vaggie shrugged and Marvin groaned, barely able to think over the loud sounds of death and destruction just outside. The magician started to pace, ignoring Fat Nugget attempting to eat his cape.

"Alright. I think I have an idea of how to stop them fighting, but it's gonna be close." Charlie gave a soft smile.

"Whatever plan you've come up with, we'll do our best to help." Marvin smiled back and sighed.

"Okay, so, we need to get Anti through that portal. Obviously, we can't bring them through here, so I'm gonna move it. After that the portal will be, uh, a bit unstable so we get one shot. Everyone got that. Question, comments, concerns?" Theh all remained silent and Marvjn gave a half-assed smile.

"Great. Let's go wing it." Marvin sighed, already feeling the migraine conjunction g on.

Alastor stomped around, looking for the small cretin that dared to draw his blood. He bad been gone for a good few minutes, be wasn't dead. Alastor knew that much. The Radio Demon growled in frustation.

"Where are you?" He mumbled. Currently, Anti was watching from the shadows. Alastor's size may have quite a lit of advantages, but it matched in weaknesses. Any semblance of clear thought was gone for the glitches brain. He was nothing but a crazed, killing machine right now, and it was narrowing in on the kill. He took his chance.

Anti appeared right behind Alastor, keeping quiet. He found a tendril and gripped it. Flying fast to wrap it around the beast. Pulling it tight. Alastor roared amd minupulated his tendril to do the same towards Anti, gripping his throat tightly.

"Goodbye, Ant-I!"

"Hey! Alastor! Uh, down here!" Alastor stopped, continuing to hold Anti. Looking down, he saw Angel on the roof.

"Uh, are you gonna be done soon? 'Cause, I think you have trouble." Angel turned his phone all the way up and showed it to the Radio Demon. It was Vox.

"Seems a certain Hazben has lost his touch! Alastor has been fighting a nobody for a solid 30 minutes! Someone's certainly slowed down in their old age! More after these messages!" As Alastor was distracted, the others got to work.

Marvin bit his lip, trying to hold the portal steady as Charlie and Vaggie tried to pry Anti free. Anti wasn't even aware of their presence, struggling, thrashing, growling. Vaggie groaned amd plunged her spear through Alastors tentacle. Alastor screamed, and dropped Anti. That's when Husk came in, he swooped in and grabbed the glitch mid-fall, tossing him through the portal, that's when it closed with Anti and Marvin behind it. Meanwhile, Nifty was distracted, trying to clean the blood off Anti amd Alastors roof. Failing, but trying.

Once everyone calmed down, Alastor asked for some... alone time. What was he doing? No one was brave enough to ask. Let's just say Vox wouldn't be on TV for a while. Regardless, everyone took a well deserved break. Angel sighed, sipping his spiked tead.

"Well, that was a disaster, fun though." Vaggie scoffed, still shaking from stabbing Alastor.

"Speak for yourself! I'm going to be fearing for my life for the rest of my life!" Charlie gave a soft smile and brought Vaggie in for a hug.

"Who were those guys?" Husk wondered aloud, no one had answers and Angel shrugged.

"Eh, who cares? It's over and done with, they're out of our lives, let's move on. Let's go celebrate the fact we lived, I'm buying." Charlie smiled.

"That's a good idea, Angel. Have anywhere in mind?" Angel smirked.

"I might have a few ideas."

"You tucking fumbass! You go into another universe and your first thought was to fight a Demon Overlord!" Anti ignored Marbin, washing down execerdin with vodka. Schneep grumbled under his breath in German as he healed some of the demons injuries.

"What's next? The actually devil himself? You goddamn moron!" Anti sipped some more vodka qmd scoffed their battle was left unfinished, he would meet Alastor again, amd when he did, that radio bitch was dead. And that, was a promise.

Woop! We done! Finally! This was an adventure. I've written the egos to almost a masterful degree but I think I'm doing well with the Helluva verse crew. Alastor is super fun to write. Please enjoy, and send some thoughts!

[birdwatching-goesbothways]

Because you’re mine

Summary: A companion piece to my oneshot ‘Rest in Piece’, that explores Oswald’s perspective. I highly recommend reading that one first.<3

It comes as a real surprise how little ‘persuasion’ Jim needs to accept the Halászlé that Olga has prepared after the recipe of his beloved mother.

Under his constant supervision of course, a fact that the woman had been (likely still is) quite grumpy about.

He almost expected Jim to declare a hunger strike, just to personally spite him.

As it is, Jim being uncharacteristically mellow feels both satisfying as slightly concerning.

His men, careful to mind his previous instructions, quietly leave the room as it becomes clear that the detective is complying.

Jim, seemingly too engrossed in wolfing down what seems to be his first real meal in weeks, does not even notice the privacy Oswald has decided to grant him.

The sudden realisation hits him, that this is quite the domestic little scene. Them, sitting at their (his) table together. His dear Jim, tired because he works too much, eating Hungarian food that he (Olga) has lovingly prepared to make sure he is well-fed.

Nearly choking from the intensity of the warm, possessive feeling the idea inspires in him, he leans back.

Watching. Waiting.

Waiting for that moment of truth, for the flicker or realisation in the policeman’s eyes as he realises what is happening.

Jim, as always, does not disappoint.

“…Oswald, did you p… put..?”

He cant stop the chuckle, or the satisfied smirk, though not for lack of trying.

Clever clever Jim..

The fighter that he is, Jim seems to react instantly, jumping up with a speed that comes as a surprise. Had he not stumbled, he might just have made it to the door.

Not that that would have changed anything, but its impressive either way.

Managing to get to the disoriented detective just in time to prevent him from stumbling and potentially toppling to the floor, the mob boss is once again pleasantly surprised to find that Instead of continuing his panicked escape attempts, Jim lets him lead him back to his chair without resistance. Relying on Oswald’s strength to steady him.

It warms Oswald down to the bones how little Jim fights, how easily he gives up. Gives in.

To the drugs. To Oswald.

He can’t help but let out a giggle at how right it feels, to have the trembling man beneath his fingertips, so vulnerable and open.

Helpless.

All of that raw animal strength, that ever burning fire of stubborn determination reduced to nothing at the hands of someone more powerful.

The knowledge that he could do anything, absolutely anything he wanted to the man beneath him, and he would be powerless to stop it. Would just have to accept his will as law.

…It sends a dark thrill down his spine.

That particular satisfaction fades quickly, when he notices the real fear in his favourite detectives wide-eyed gaze.

“Hush Jim, not to worry,” he shushes gently, stroking Jim’s cheek.

Nearly losing his breath as instead of leaning away in disgust, Jim leans into his touch.

“It’s not dangerous, I would never hurt you.”

That’s more true than he’d normally care to admit, the piece of information a powerful weapon in the right hands.

But he does not delight in seeing Jim genuinely frightened and hopeless.

Sure, seeing the ever-brave James Gordon genuinely intimidated earlier had been… quite the thrill. A thrill he would love to repeat one day, given half the chance.

But he doesn’t want his admittedly heavy handed method to leave the policeman fearing for his life. Doesn’t ever want the beautiful contradiction of a man to feel genuinely unsafe in his company.

Perhaps he should let Jim push him against a wall the next time they meet, as an apology?

Jim may be completely at Oswald’s mercy, but merciful is what Oswald will always be, when it truly comes down to it. Time and time again, when it comes to his favourite bullheaded detective, he abandons all plans, advantages and sense simply to see him safe.

This time Jim had went too far though, tested his patience one time too often, as he forced Oswald to watch idly while he destroyed himself.

Unacceptable.

While Oswald truly couldn’t care less about another serial killer (this was Gotham after all), Jim evidently did.

That is not what has Oswald fuming though. That’s just the normal the two of them have found themselves in.

The part that angers him so is that this beautiful, brilliant man would work himself to death over something mundane like this. When he could have easily come to him for help. When he would have helped, always does.

It’s not like it’s ever easy to say no to his precious Jim.

Especially when Jim has been so good lately, cooperating readily, being polite.

Stopping by after finishing one of his cases, to thank Oswald for his help with a small but genuine smile. Staying for a shared drink, even daring to let down his guard a little.

That almost deserved a little reward, did it not?

But no, instead of coming to him, that stubborn fool had pushed himself closer and closer to the breaking point, walking around looking like a barely reanimated corpse.

It had made him furious. Jim is his, and he has no right to selfishly destroy himself to satisfy his base desire of self destruction.

Then again, seeing him him comply so easily earlier had appeased his anger a little.

Had excited him.

It makes him want to scream, the memory of how easily Jim had accepted his fate. How well behaved he had been, how easily he had bent to his will, kneeling on the ground and staring up at him like a nervous puppy.

God, it had done all kinds of things to him to see Jim kneel.

Had Jim immediately tried to get up, it would have perhaps stayed the warning as which it was intended.

But Jim hadn’t. Had only done so the moment he thought Oswald might ask him for a favour.

Which had led Oswald to believe that Jim might have minded less than he would like to admit.

God.

To see him stay down at his command, the realisation in his eyes that he would either have to put his pride aside and plead for the right to get up, or accept the position at Oswald’s feet.

The flicker of interest on his face, the barely contained hunger gone in a blink, but not vanishing quickly enough to fool anyone but himself.

For the briefest of moments, James had looked as if he knew exactly to whom he belonged. As if he liked it.

The fun they could have, if only the stubborn detective’s pride allowed him to admit some things out loud.

“…O-os.. w-wha-…?” Jim stutters, visibly disoriented by the drug running through his system.

Those glassy blue eyes, staring up at him, naked of all those protective walls they usually hold, make the mob bosses protective instincts kick into overdrive, as he answers:

“Just a little something to make sure you really get a good rest, instead of going back to work to “finish something real quick”, like you are so terribly keen on doing.”

His heartbeat quickens as Jim rests his tired head against him, golden hair slightly disheveled, eyes drooping closed.

Resting.

Finally, finally resting. After having been forced to be vigilant for so long.

As if he knew, deep down, that he was in good hands, that Oswald will take care of him if he gives in to the siren call of unconsciousness.

It had definitely not gone unnoticed, how the fear burning in the detectives eyes had calmed at his reassurances, instead of being magnified in distrust . How the comforting weight of his head had increased as the detective had leaned against him voluntarily. Resting those unruly curls against the silk of his suit.

Magnificent. Just where that troublesome detective belongs, content by his side.

Carding his fingers through soft hair yet again, he can’t help but crow: “Shhh, it’s alright dear. Just go to sleep. I’ll take care of everything.”

“I’ll take care of you”, remains unsaid, as does “because I love you. Because you’re mine.”

He simply keeps listening to the sleeping man’s steady breaths, watches as his chest rises and falls. Finds comfort in his closeness as finally the nagging worry that had been coiling in his chest like a snake for the last few weeks quiets down.

At least right here, right now, Jim is safe. Cannot be harmed or killed, because Oswald is right beside him to make sure of it.

Cannot work himself to death, because he has eaten, and now he is resting, and will finally get a good nights sleep without worrying about his job.

The fierce wish surprises him, that he could chase the nightmares away as easily. That he could drive a knife into their heart as he has driven a knife into the heart of the would-be Jeffrey Dahmer that is indirectly responsible for his dear James’ sorry state.

Knowing that, not unlike a bloodhound, Jim wouldn’t stop searching even if the murders stopped, he had left the man’s worthless corpse with enough conclusive evidence to leave absolutely no open questions of wether it had truly been him who had killed those innocents.

A little gift for Jim to wake up to, as well as a warning.

[nightsidewrestling]

D.U.D.E Part 10 - Immigrant Song (Set in 2020)

Note: This is set in a universe where Men VS Women / Intergender matches can happen.

Chapter 1: here Chapter 2: here Chapter 3: here Chapter 4: here Chapter 5: here Chapter 6: here Chapter 7: here Chapter 8: here Chapter 9: here

Tags: @piratewithvigor @tantamount-treason @thedollmaker16 @janetreader

Around 2000 Words. 18+ in places (those chapters will be marked as 'Mature / sexual content' just to be safe). Please inform me if you wish to be tagged or untagged from posts. If the text is in italics and orange it's Kirby's inner monologue. If the text is coloured but not in italics, it's either dialogue or a P.O.V change (P.O.V changes will be in bold and translated dialogue will appear in square [ ] brackets), Key below. Quick note on Geia's text colour: Yes I do know that as Greed she should be in yellow but I decided to colour the men's dialogue yellow so Geia was changed to be pink like the other women in the story outside of the main 8.

The Main 8: Damo - Bio. Vi - Bio. Billie - Bio. Geia - Bio. Kirby - Bio. Honey - Bio. Eli - Bio. Sara - Bio.

Eli's Vlog P.O.V:

It had been about a week, almost two, now Wednesday 26th August. Eli had let Kirby stay in her hotel room for a night because Eddie and Mox were arguing.

"Bonjour tout le monde. La nuit dernière a été mouvementée, dirons-nous. Kingston va se donner des coups de pied, Kirby a dormi ici la nuit dernière, il euh... foutu [Good morning everyone. Last night was eventful, shall we say. Kingston will be kicking himself, Kirby slept in here last night, he uhh... fucked up]." Eli starts her vlog, a new intro for the day.

Kirby chuckles softly, "Yeah, Edward is in the, what's the phrase, he's in the dog house. He and Moxley were arguing last night, it was loud, I left them to it. Je t'avais promis une soirée karaoké on y va toute une journée [I promised you a karaoke night, shall we go for a whole day]?"

"Oui [yes]," Eli giggles, "nous laisserons les autres s'inquiéter, nous n'avons pas da travail aujourd'hui [we shall let the others worry, we don't have to work today]."

Eli shuts the camera off, her and Kirby getting ready, turning it back on to do a 'group outfit check'. The group of Billie, Kirby, Eli and Sara all in Y2K inspired outfits.

The four girls spend the morning shopping, going to a karaoke bar in the afternoon. Signing a variety of different songs, from a variety of bands, Cypress Hill (Billie), Smash Mouth (Sara), No Doubt (Eli), Ice Cube (Kirby), Counting Crows (Sara), Savage Garden (Billie), Del Amitri (Eli), etcetera.

Kirby finds the song 'Save Me' by Aimee Mann (Quick note: Kirby sounds almost exactly like Aimee Mann when she sings) at around 5 in the evening, Eli filming her performance.

Kirby takes the microphone, clearing her throat before singing, "You look like a perfect fit, for a girl in need of a tourniquet..."

Eli turns the camera to face the door, Allie had agreed to join them and had just arrived.

"...But can you save me? Come on and save me? If you could save me. From the ranks of the freaks, who suspect they could never love anyone..."

Kingston and Moxley push past Allie, searching through the bar for someone (or something), Allie heads to the bar before joining the girls.

"...Cause I can tell, you know what it's like..."

Moxley stops Kingston and the two men head to the bar, following Allie's footsteps.

"A long farewell of the hunger strike, But can you save me? Come on and save me, If you could save me. From the ranks of the freaks, that suspect they could never love anyone..."

Moxley stops for a beer, Kingston gives him a look of 'really?'.

"...You struck me dumb, like radium. Like Peter Pan or Superman. You have come to save me, come on and save me, if you could save me. From the ranks of the freaks, who suspect they could never love anyone, except the freaks who suspect they could never love anyone, but the freaks that suspect they could never love anyone..."

Moxley gets up from the barstool and the men continue looking around the bar, having lost Allie's trail.

"...Come on and save me, why don't you save me? If you could save me. From the ranks of the freaks, who suspect they could never love anyone, except the freaks who suspect they could never love anyone, except the freaks who could never love anyone."

"Kirby?" Eddie asks dumbstruck as he stands, at the side of the couch, next to the girls.

"Eddie?" Kirby questions as she gets off the stage, handing Billie the microphone.

"That was your singin' voice?"

"Yeah, pretty embarrassing I know." She murmurs, blushing a light pink.

"Embarrassing? Sweetheart, you're a f*****' angel." Eddie grins, pulling Kirby into a deep kiss.

He wraps his arms around her and dips her, she holds onto him like her life depends on it. Eli gets it all on camera.

"Yeah, that's going in the vlog."

"F*** yo vlog." Eddie hollers, sticking his tongue out at the camera.

"Eddie, act your age not your shoe size, you child." Kirby shakes her head.

"Was that a Prince quote?" He raises an eyebrow at Kirby.

"Maybe... you still haven't told me why you're here."

"I wanted to... can we do this somewhere more private?"

Gluttony's P.O.V:

"Of course." Kirby nods, taking Eddie to the parking lot.

"I wanted to apologise for last night, I know it wasn't my best moment... I... I was wrong, it was dumb of me," Eddie turns his back on Kirby, "I just... didn't want Jon getting in the way of me doing this."

Kirby raises an eyebrow in confusion, looking at Eddie as if he's from another planet, gasping as Eddie drops to one knee facing her. Holy fuck Eddie we're in public, what the fuck is in your brain? Eddie pulls out a small black box, opening it to reveal a small amber and silver ring.

"Kirby..." Eddie clears his throat, "Kirby Raven Eirian (air-REE-ann) Aoibheann (EVE-van) Rhydderch (HRUDH-ehrkh), will you marry me?"

He learnt the correct pronunciations, he's serious, this is not a drill nor a joke. Kirby's jaw drops and she covers her mouth with both hands, nodding as she starts tearing up.

"You will?" Eddie beams.

"Yes, hell fuckin' yes, holy Mary mother of God, you learnt how to pronounce my full name?"

Eddie scoops Kirby up in his arms, kissing her deeply, putting her down so he can put the ring on her finger, "Of course I learnt how to say ya name, ya my girl, Eddie Kingston's queen."

Kirby cups Eddie's face in her hands, "Eddie, Edward Moore, Kingston. I love you, you sexy beast... God, you sneaky motherfucker, how did you pull this off?"

"I had Moxie get the ring, gave him your measurements, has him stage an argument with me. I knew you would get sick of hearing it if we got loud, texted Eli to take you out for the day, I forgot you girls had plans to come here. Put the box in my front pocket, I knew you'd think I was reachin' for a smoke, and prayed to God last night that this would work." He explains, kissing her softly.

"I think I finally understand why Vi says never to mix Latinos and Celts. 'Cause that's how the world got you, Mr 'fuck you I'm from New Yawk'." She teases.

"I don't say New York like that."

"Yes you fuckin' do. Both you and Sara say 'New Yawk' instead of 'New York'."

"Okay," Eddie rolls his eyes and smirks, "Maybe I do say it like that." He shrugs.

"I think it's sexy, like the way you say certain things, 'ova', 'whateva', 'a'ight', 'cawfee', 'dawg', 'fiddy', 'lemme', it's you and it's unique, and I love it."

"Like you calling people 'butt', or saying Sara's 'chopsy' or 'a numpty'? I think that's cute. Also, why the fuck do ya call people 'butt'?"

"It's a Welsh thing, it's slang for friend." She shrugs.

"Like how Vi says 'mate'?"

"Yeah, Eddie, where are you taking me?"

"To the car, so I can take you back to the hotel. I need to show our parents that I 'finally' proposed, so our dads stop tryin' to bet each other on when I'll do it."

"God fucking damnit da." Kirby mutters, making Eddie chuckle softly.

Eddie and Kirby spend the rest of the day sorting everything out, making sure Kirby can become a legal citizen, her visa still working for another year. All Eddie has to do is marry her within the next 12 months, applying for a green card and hoping for the best.

"Okay, paperwork is done now. I need a big cup of coffee and some food... and maybe some love."

Eddie smirks, pulling Kirby into a gentle kiss, "I'll order us a pizza, check twitter while I'm outside," he winks, grabbing both his phone and cigarettes, after a couple failed attempts, Eddie groans at the failing lighter, "babe, I need a new lighter."

Kirby grabs a lighter from her handbag, "Come here."

"You have one in your bag?"

"Like I said, my whole family smokes, owning a lighter is a necessity for me." She shrugs as she lights his cigarette.

He takes a drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke away from Kirby's face, kissing her deeply. His hands find their way to her ass, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"You know, Mike and Ash had this joke about my name... used to say I should marry a man with an 'M' surname."

"Can I ask why?" Eddie whispers, going back to smoking.

"To quote the two idiots, 'because, Princess, your initials would then spell 'Kream'.' They found it hilarious... I don't know why."

Eddie snickers, "Kream, huh, well it matches your skin tone."

"I'm not that pale."

"You stand next ro me and you are... lil miss bat tattoo."

"Is that your favourite, Eddie?"

"It's my favourite thing to look at when I'm fuckin' ya from behind, and before ya scold me, it is a tramp stamp."

"It is not, It's just over my ass, it doesn't make me a tramp."

"You go get yourself a coffee, a'ight Ma. I love ya, my sexy little lady,"

"Ma? Did you just call me Ma?" Kirby raises an eyebrow in confusion.

"Yeah, you're a sexy lady, so I called you Ma, it's a New York thing."

“Is breá liom tú, a stór mo chroí [I love you, my heart's treasure]."

Kirby leaves the room as Eddie puts his phone to his ear. Jesus, Kirby, stop smiling. You look like a damn fool. Her brain barks at her and she stops smiling, taking a deep breath as she walks, strolling down to the nearest coffee shop, picking up a coffee for herself, and getting Eddie a hot chocolate. Starting to walk back when she hears something.

"Ay yo, Mami," a young, light skinned man hollers at her, "Let me get your number!"

Just ignore him, we'll be fine.

His footsteps follow her, "playin' hard to get, Mami?"

Great, now we're being followed. Let's continue to ignore him and hope he gets the message.

The man continues to follow her, "Do you speak English? Can I teach you?"

Just a couple more steps and we'll be safe.

The man yanks Kirby by the arm and pulls her into an alleyway, keeping her backed up against a wall with a knife, ripping her shirt open. Kirby thinks fast, kneeing the man in the groin and running... straight into Eddie, full force.

"Holy shit, Kirby, are you a'ight," Eddie whispers, taking Kirby inside their hotel room, "breathe, sweetheart, breathe."

Kirby looks at Eddie, a terrified and helpless look in her eyes. He immediately understands, pulling her close and kissing her jawline.

"I thought he was gonna, you know..." She murmurs.

"Shh, I know, I'll get you a taser or somethin'."

Eddie helps Kirby relax, getting her to lay naked in the bed. The pizza had already arrived, Eddie takes both boxes and sits next to Kirby, he hands her one of them. Eddie keeps an eye on Kirby, watching as she struggles to eat, getting more concerned by the minute.

"He didn't touch you there, right?" He asks, pointing to Kirby's crotch.

She shakes her head 'no'.

"He didn't do anything, except destroy the shirt?"

"That's all he did." She whispers.

"Can I kiss you?" He whispers, his eyes locking with hers.

She nods and Eddie leans in, kissing her gently. He holds her close, being extra careful, slowly heating things up between them. Not making the situation sexual, but making out with Kirby, reminding her that she's his fiancée, telling her how much he loves her.

"When we have enough free time, I'm takin' you home wit' me. We'll get ya stuff moved in, all of it, and I'll make sure you have everythin'. I'll stock the fridge wit' coffee, you won't have ta go anywhere, I'll even get you some cake... as a movin' in present."

"I'd like that."

"I'll talk to your Da about it, so you get your things from Wales. Maybe we'll even fly out for a weekend or somethin', so I can meet the rest of your family."

[nulltune]

' there's no point if i tell you every story myself, is there? hearing everything from one person gets boring. it loses its mystique. ' ho lounges on a loveseat, setting his cheek into the palm of his hand as he absentmindedly flips through a magazine. how long had it been since she had grown curious over this sort of thing? fantastical tales, things that the human world called 'fiction.' having her as as maid and paying for her air trips to make up for her juice-spilling transgressions wasn't worth it if she was going to be so nosy all the time, but he still entertains her. ' the life of a tiger is as unique as a human being's. some have an evil, malicious spirit, and some are protective instead. what never changes is the way the world fears and respects them. '

or so it should have been, until his kin had been hunted into near extinction. the thought brings him to a soft sigh, but he remarks on nothing of his own feelings. the magazine too is set aside for a steady gaze out the window. ' mountains have always been considered dangerous. not just for reasons like landslides, but because in myth, tigers have been known to mimic humans. not just their voices to lure others, but human appearance, as well. monks, kings, wives and children... ' the carmine of his gaze settles upon her, and he can only wonder whether or not she suspected anything - well, not that he would ever tell or admit to any wild, apex secret. ' are you listening to me? why don't you go read a few books on the topic, and maybe you'll come out a wiser and more educated person . ' ( @gwisintal )

unprompted, always accepting ! @gwisintal 🐯

hazel eyes look up at him in turn, and beneath the still waters of the girl's stoic expression is a fascination in the depths of the warm hues; they appeared to be particularly striking as she listened with utmost concentration ( as she always did ) .

there was a slight worry that it was her lack of a reaction that may might've bothered him / she herself was bothered by the lack of vitality in her person; why she would remain utterly dull and hollow while others donned colorful faces and emotions. it was for that reason that perhaps not many would have indulged in the kishinami's seemingly insatiable hunger for tales and stories — all kinds, any kinds ( an attempt to fill in the blank pages of her life with that of others, maybe ) — perceiving the stillness of her expression as something more negative when such was hardly the case at all. in that regard, she supposed she ought to have a gratitude towards h... her contractor ( the exact details of her employment is still something she doesn't fully understand, really ).

it is a thing unsaid, but very much apparent in the vague details —— the way she'd turn face him in an unconscious way of showing full attention, the way the hazel eyes sparkled with a silent curiosity.

❛ i fail to see why you would think that. ❜ she says in reply, with the complete honesty typical of hakuno kishinami, and with just a dash of a mild shock. perhaps... she'd expected a fault of hers to be the case, to be the thing brought up that'd end these storytelling sessions she came to look forward. ❛ it's not... boring. ❜ neither words nor reassurance were her strong suit, so what left the woman would be nothing less than her own clumsy attempts at letting her sincere feelings be told. ❛ rather, i believe that it adds a value to it. a value that is... well, ❜ just a slight pause, an almost frustrated purse of her lips. ❛ it has nothing to do with your net worth, that much i can say, but it is... precious to me. ❜

could it be perspective ? a kind of understanding that came from a special person telling that story, a unique perception of the stories that in it itself were special. there were concepts so different from hakuno kishinami ( lacking everything, not understanding anything ) , perhaps that was why she struggled to put it to words.

still, she sought to understand. noting the sigh that leaves him, hazel gaze flits to the view outside as well. it returns to him just as she leans into her seat. ❛ i wonder why. ❜ monks, kings, wives and children... there was no set pattern she was able to observe from this, save for them being human. human... ❛ maybe they just wanted company. ❜ hakuno muses, with an expression that seemed to have softened just a little. maybe the truth was it was much more violent— a deception ending in the death of a beast or a man, two beings so different from another. she prefers her interpretation of it much more, she thinks. and that even if that were not the case, it'd be nice to be able to be friends with a tiger.

before she could voice out those thoughts, she was promptly interrupted by seungho's very lovely advice.

❛ ...understoo~ood. ❜ it was rather uncanny to hear that drawl in her usual polite manner of talking ! he didn't say anything wrong, per se — but that delivery of his ... ! ( she is aware that she would be the pot calling the kettle black in this particular topic, and she finds that a pretty frustrating as well, believe her ! ) the suggestion felt more like a "polite" way of closing the conversation shut. though, she really does see his point; and would be eager to read and learn more herself. she can't keep relying on him, after all / can't keep on leaning on others for support, lest she wants to end up all useless and alone. ❛ you are quite knowledgeable on the topic. might you have any recommendations for your reader here ? ❜

the shine in her eyes that had faded for a moment returns again, revitalized with a clap of her hands. while her face remained stoic, that was how she would convey an excitement. ❛ we can discuss them afterwards, maybe. ❜ he'd unintentionally started off a duo - book club !

[mystiika]

so far so good. he's sure was no match in a fight, but if her body language was to be believed then she at least didn't seem poised to attack — a small victory but it gave him some confidence. the immediate shock had worn off some in addition, ( how ever subtle it may be ) his thoughts started to settle.

❝ ... ❞ he considered the options in his mind. he had no reason to trust her intentions as genuine, but if she reallywas serious then maybe some of the guilt from feeding would lessen its overwhelming weight on his shoulders. tnext, as if on cue, comes a slight but silent pang of hunger striking his stomach so he turns back to face her & utters a hesitant ❝ yes. ❞ but at least able to look her in the eye.

then she beckons him closer & he slowly approaches, eyes flickering between the other vampire & the blood he was so irrevocably drawn to. she continued speaking calmly in his ear, her words enough to get him to reach out to take the unfortunate stranger into his arms, he can't help the way his tongue reaches out first, taking a long lick following the seeping blood up towards the source, as if the blood was so precious that he would be remiss to waste a single drop. he even relished the way the blood wet his lips when he drew his tongue back in. it pained him though, knowing how he'd sworn to obey his faith yet was so incredibly desperate for something as prohibited as blood.

still, he soon locates the puncture holes she'd left behind. asher wanted his teeth to sink perfectly into the man's neck, as she had. if he'd asked him why he did such a thing, he'd have been unable to answer. but somewhere, the back of his subconcious mind, he must have assumed that where she'd touch teeth to flesh could only have been the best possible location.

& so, not wanting to take too long & risk the woman changing her mind, he drinks. he makes every effort to be slow. conscious of how greedy he'd look but more so out of worry that the man was being drained enough to feed not one mouth but two. he once again takes her at her word that he'd really survive & recover. he tries to remain as calm as he can, & so also acutely aware of how this situation would have once left his heart racing, but instead... his chest was dead silent. unnerving as it was, he pushed the thought to the back of his mind & far more preferred to focus on the hot blood running down his gullet, the metallic taste that once would have disgusted him now tasting like the most delicious flavour. even the simple scent of it in the air was enough to leave him parched. he doesn't even need to pause to breathe, it's just a steady stream that quenched a thirst so so strong that if the urge grew too great, it would be enough to drive a man mad.

she doesn't stop him, but after a time he straightens himself up again anyway. he wasn't so hungry that he had no control at all, & certainly didn't want to appear greedy. the blood that he did drink was still enough to put his stomach at rest ( for a good while at least ). ❝ thank you. ❞ it feels somewhat formal for the situation, but his sincerity was rang clear. 

❝ — you said you could heal him, right? i think i did that to um.. ❞ he pauses, feeling awkward, but was more so unsure of the best choice of words to explain. ❝ ..when i got turned, the first person i... attacked... well when i looked at him afterwards i realised that his neck still looked intact. i thought i must have imagined it because of everything that happened. ❞ he feels bad taking up her time & asking such basic questions when she'd already done him one favour that night. but he couldn't pass up the opportunity to learn of something, of anything that could be of use in this decidedly new life he'd been thrust into.

Bella makes no move as he stammers through his apologies. The young thing is no threat to her, and so in return she makes sure not to present herself as a threat to him.

And then, of course, she hears it.

The rumble of his stomach.

No wonder the poor nervous thing had approached her while feeding. He was hungry.

"You don't have to go so quickly, darling." Bella tilts her head at him. He must be very young. And if he was this hungry, clearly no one was teaching him how to find sustenance that would satisfy him.

"Would you like to eat a little bit?" It's a kind offer, and a rare one. Bella wasn't one for sharing, really, but right now feeding a fledgling was more important. Before he got so hungry it became a problem that needed to be cleaned up.

Reaching out, she waits to see if he'll turn back before beckoning him a little closer. The transition is hard for them all, but especially for those who don't have anyone to show them, as she suspects is the case here.

Plus, if he's only young, there's the pesky element of morality to be addressed as well.

The man under her hands is passed out but alive, as evidenced by the trickle of blood that keeps flowing from the wounds she'd set into his throat.

"He's okay, darling." The elder encourages. "Have a little sip and then we'll heal him up and send him on his way." He'll have lost more blood than Bella normally took on her own, but it certainly wouldn't be enough to kill him.