#WHEN I AM IN CONTROL OF THE DIRT/MYSELF

[ratbastarddotfuck]

Hahaha ohhhhhh i really am going to have to talk to my doctor about ocd now, all this shit can't just be written off as Big Depression anymore

[deoidesign]

Thinks about my next series again... I drew the icon for it!

I'm planning to have it launched within a year! I'm hoping for summer 2025. I want to make a prelaunch page before Time and Time Again ends so people can subscribe if they're interested, but I'm worried the series return would be too early...

[angelstrawbabie420]

felt

[hella1975]

by pure evil accident taob zuko's current mental state is the exact same as the one ive been stuck in for the past few weeks and that's a bit funny to me. like i started writing this chapter months ago and knew what i was doing with it even longer ago and suddenly ive manifested it into reality. we are both facing the horrors rn

[ame-to-ame]

:|

[bloodlust-1]

Are you still taking requests? I literally cannot control myself when it comes to angst so I was thinking of a fic where Tav gets kidnapped by Cazadors spawns and is getting tortured by him, so Astarion goes crazy with worry and anger trying to get them back

Like I said i am insatiable when it comes to angst

The dramaaaaa.... LET'S DO THISS SHITT. I do love me some angst too :')

Hope you enjoy @blades-are-for-skating-ya-dingus <3

. Shackles .

Astarion x fem Tav — angst

T/W: abuse, blood

Notes: I’m so proud of this one ahh. This makes me hate Cazador even more.

Tav's body trembled as the shackles dug into her wrists, her bare skin exposed to the cold, damp air of the dungeon. She had been captured by Cazador one night by his spawns. Tav never returned back to camp that night, and the only thing that was left for Astarion was a note he found on a spawn:

-------

"My Dear spawn, how dare you to run away from me. Know that there will be consequences for your actions, and your lover will not be spared from my wrath. You will regret ever crossing me, my child."

-------

Her wrists were bound by heavy shackles, chains attached to the wall, preventing her from moving more than a few inches. The sharp metal dug into her skin, causing her to wince in pain every time she struggled against them. Her body was covered in bruises, cuts, and burns, the result of Cazador's ruthless torture techniques.

Cazador stood in front of Tav, a wicked grin on his face. He held a whip in his hand, the same one he had used to lash Tav's back until it bled. She could barely lift her head to look at him, her body exhausted and broken.

"Pathetic," Cazador sneered, his eyes filled with malice. "You thought you could hide from me? A mere mortal challenging a vampire? How foolish."

Cazador stood in front of her, his face twisted into a sadistic grin. "You think your lover, Astarion, will save you from me? He will help me ascend and be nothing more than dirt on the floor. And soon, you will be too. Tell me where is the boy."

Tav's heart sank at the mention of Astarion's name. All Tav wanted was to trade with a merchant to gift Astarion a better dagger. But now, here she was, captured and tortured.

"Never," Tav spat, defiant even in the face of her tormentor.

Cazador's grin widened. "We'll see about that, my dear. We have ways of making you talk."

He signaled to his spawn, Petras, and he poked at Tav's skin with a hot metal rod. She cried out in pain, her body bruised and bloodied. But she refused to say any information.

"You will never have Astarion again," Tav gasped, her voice weak from the beatings.

Cazador's smile turned into a scowl, and he grabbed Tav's chin roughly, forcing her face to meet his. "You wretched thing."

Cazador motioned for Petras to stop as he approached Tav, snatching the hot iron rod from Petras’s hand. Tav's eyes widened in terror as she realized what he was about to do.

"Please, no," she begged, tears streaming down her face.

But Cazador didn't listen. He pressed the hot iron against Tav's skin, causing her to scream in agony. The smell of burning flesh filled the dungeon.

"I will make you suffer until you give me what I want," Cazador growled, enjoying every moment of Tav's pain.

Tav's body shook with sobs as the torture continued. She thought of Astarion, their love, and their plans for the future. She refused to let Cazador break her, even if it meant her death.

"I said no, you bastard!," Tav cried, her voice hoarse from screaming.

Cazador continued to torture her, and Tav's thoughts became consumed with memories of Astarion. The way he looked at her with love, the cold touch of his lips on hers.

"I love you, Astarion," she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

But as the darkness of the dungeon consumed her, Tav feared she'd never see Astarion again.

~

Astarion's heart raced as he crept through the dark and musty corridors of the dungeon. His mind clashed between anger and guilt. Astarion feared that Tav was somewhere within these walls, shackled and tortured by Cazador.

When Astarion reached Tav's cell, he caught sight of her. Tav's face was pale and bruised. She was shirtless and barely conscious.

But even in this state, Tav was still the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on.

His hands trembled as he quickly picked the lock, and with a loud click, the chains that bound Tav fell to the ground, and Astarion's heart swelled with relief and anger. He scooped her up in his arms, ignoring Tav's cries of pain from the bruises and cuts covering her body.

"Shh, my love. It's me," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "I've come to take you away from this place."

Tav's tear-stained face looked up at him, and her eyes widened in surprise. "Astarion? How did you find me?"

Astarion fixated his eyes on Tav's face, the sight of her hurt gaze ached his dead heart. "I will always find you, no matter where they try to hide you." He pulled the shirt off his back and covered Tav's bare chest.

Carefully, Astarion carried Tav out of the dungeon, making sure to avoid any spawns or traps along the way. It was especially hard when Tav winced to every movement.

Astarion stealth his way out of the palace and went back to camp. He felt anger gnawing at his chest. He should have been there to protect Tav, But he had failed, and now Tav had suffered because of his shortcomings.

When they got back to camp, their companions rushed to their side, relieved to see Tav alive. Shadowheart, Wyll, Gale, and Karlach swarmed around Astarion.

"Get out of the way! She needs to rest!" Astarion snapped in a fit of anger. His emotions were pouring out in the worst possible way, and whoever was in the way needed to move.

Astarion gently settled Tav onto his bed, frowning at the sight of her bruised and battered body. She winced in pain as he placed her down, but he quickly reassured her, "I'll take care of you."

He grabbed a small bucket of water and a cloth, carefully cleaning the dried blood and dirt from her skin. Tav winced again, tears streaming down her face as he touched her injuries.

Gods this is all my fault. Astarion gritted his teeth from the sting of remorse.

"It's going to be alright," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I promise, I won't let anyone hurt you like this again."

Cazador will pay for this.

Tav weakly reached out to wipe away the tears that had fallen from his eyes, a small smile tugged on her chipped lips. "Don't cry, Astarion. You're here now, and that's all that matters."

He couldn't help but chuckle at her stubbornness, even in her injured state. "Your wit amazes me, my dear."

Astarion continued to clean and tend to her wounds, his hands gentle and careful than anything he'd ever touched in the past 200 years. Tav winced and hissed in pain, but she never once pulled away. She simply gripped his hand tightly as he worked, her eyes shut tightly.

Tav winced as he tended to a particularly deep cut on her arm. "It hurts," she whispered, tears forming in her eyes.

"I know, my dear," Astarion's eyes narrowed at her pain. "But I promise, I'll make it better."

After what seemed like hours, Astarion finally finished and leaned back, a satisfied look on his face. "There, all done."

Tav slowly opened her eyes and looked down at her now clean and bandaged skin. "Thank you..." The burn marks would scar her skin forever. It was something Tav looked past for her own sake.

"You are strong," he continued, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "And I will do everything in my power to protect you and keep you safe from Cazador."

Tav reached up and cupped his cheek, she whispered. "I trust you.."

Astarion leaned down and pressed his lips against Tav's, pouring all of his emotions into the kiss. Tav pushed against his lips gently, while his hands held Tav's shoulders. When they pulled away Tav could see the desperation in his eyes and it was heartbreaking.

"Rest now, my dear. I'll be here when you wake up." And with that, Astarion stayed by Tav's side, watching over her as she drifted off to sleep.

Any thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage!

[1864reruns]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤthree–legged deerㅤ౨ৎㅤ4.3k

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ2024 ©1864RERUNS

educate yourself. 🍉

synopsis. trafalgar law is uselessly sympathetic to a vampire without a sire— he suffers as he learns that a monster without a mother is an animal without a leash. injured or not, it has its fill.

tag(s)&warning(s). afab! reader, nsfw 🤗, modern au, fledging vampire! reader, surgeon! law, reader nd law are both crazy switches, violence, blood drinking, biting, vampire/human relationship, don't ask ab the dynamic cause i have no answers for you, dub–con, non-linear narrative, law is a freak (for lack of better term) and likes being in control; he obviously is not in control...., blood, gore, cumming in pants (law you freak !!!!), cannibalism mention, pwp

from vyon. i've been listening to sir chloe's "i am the dog" album too much recently... i'm not sorry, i love law and i love freaks and i love the devotion that comes with devouring. UNHINGES MY JAW AND EATS TRAFALGAR LAW WHOLE. sorry, this was supposed to be quick and easy but i started ovulating sooo... might be cross–posted onto ao3 if i'm feeling up to it :3 honestly had to stop myself at 4k words cause realistically, i could have gone on and on and on and never ended up releasing this as it'd just end up as a neverending wip

“Even if you ask nicely, I have nothing for you.” There’s a mean lilt to Law's voice that makes you twitch, curling closer to your knees as you pressed down harder on the open wound to the side of your abdomen. It doesn’t take an idiot to know that he's enjoying the view— getting to see you crumpled over and laying at his feet, a hand on your side, the other clutching his pants, your head on his knee. Law’s eyes flicker from your hunched form, whimpering, to his fridge. His hand falls on the bicep closest to him and he pulls you up, “I’ll fix you up now and, in the morning, I’ll get you blood.” There's a dragged path of dirt from his door to where you're sat; handprints of grass and blood marked into his previously clean floor. He'll force you into the bathtub after this.

It’s bad practice, keeping an undomesticated vampire by you but Law can’t help the itch that crawls up his spine when he finds you laying by his feet; the satisfaction that unfurls inside him and brushes up against some depraved part of him that’s gone undetected for so long— it’s much too good to pass up on. Plus, you’ve always been the docile kind— the absolute horror that marked your features when Law had caught you on the floor of some old car, hunched over an open abdomen, hands deep into the heart comes to him at night sometimes. The widening of eyes, lips parting to threaten a scream like you’d caught him eating a man. The memory pushes him to amusement, his head rolling to the side as his hands fall onto your waist.

You let out a pained groan as Law forces you into your feet, he soothes you off your weight with his hand on the side of your waist that isn’t bloody and drags you to the island in his kitchen. Setting you down, he steps back to trace eyes over you— he clicks his tongue when he finds out, you don’t look as nice when you're at his eye–level.

There's a vile weight to your wound when Law moves away from you. You don’t feel him anymore as his footsteps round the island, then you hear some cabinets opening and then closing; when he rounds back to you, he’s fixing gloves onto his hands. Your eyes flicker through your lashes, a sharp snap resounds as he lets go of the rubber and it bounces back onto his wrist. Your breathing stutters, a burn behind unblinking eyes; you trace the curves of the veins that colour against tanned skin and everything else blurs. There’s suddenly a rhythmic beating in your head that drowns out Law’s voice and brings an itch to your gums, your side burns when your fingers tightened down around the wound— blood splitting through the cracks of your fingers and ruptured flesh, blood dripping down onto Law’s kitchen island, blood staining your hands, blood, blood, Law, blood. Your heart beats in twos. Blood. Law. Blood. Law. Fucking Law full of— you hiss in pain.

His features are impressively unmoved as he moves your hand away from your side and uses his other hand to push back at your shoulder, so you’re no longer curled into yourself. He peels away the shirt clinging to your skin and his expression scrunches around a mid–point of his face when he sees it. “Stay still, don’t be stupid and move.” He's awkwardly bent down to study the details of the wound and ponders on things like how it'd need to be treated; there’s no reason for him to be so close, his breath near heavy on your flesh. There’s a vague sickness haunting your gums, an itch deep-set in the holes beneath every tooth, a dryness to the saliva on your tongue as Law’s head tilts and you’re suddenly given a view of his neck.

There’s a quietness to you that’s stifling as Law pokes around your wound to assess nerve damage, he makes an attempt to nod his head up for a moment but is ultimately stopped by your face suddenly burrowing under his ear, your paced breathing suddenly brings his heart to life when it’s on his skin. “What are you doing?” His voice is oddly strained as a low hum sounds in your throat.

“Dizzy,” you mumbled lamely, and he sighs, almost relieved for a reason he doesn’t know. Right— of course this amount of blood loss has you weakened.

You push your head further in, close enough that he can feel your eyelashes dragging slow with each blink across his collarbone, your nose brushes away the collar of his shirt, and dried lips scratch his skin as your head moves up, so your mouth is sat at the base of his neck, your head under his jaw.

Law’s face scrunched up, a taste of annoyance at his mouth, “straighten up, I can’t see what I’m working with here.” And when you don’t move in accordance with his words, he's jerking back, anger flaunts his face, and he shoves at your shoulder to straighten up your back. An unperturbed gaze stares back at him, a pitfall trap awaits him when he meets the lens of your eyes, a deep cavity coloured in an eerie pink— near bleeding into red that almost makes Law dizzy, something sweet sits at the tip of his tongue as the face of a sheep cracks wide open. Its mouth rips open clean, skin splitting across the end of its mouth straight to its ears, as if it was made to unhinge that way, like there’s a threading you could pull out to allow its disconnected head to flop back onto its back like a puppet made for play. The forehead of the sheep knocks against the top of its shoulders; a wolf stares back at Law, and it mimics a mangled cry, sounding like a bleating of a sheep.

“Law, please.”

His bones lock into place and he feels a rupture of panic drown him, his senses dulled with a sweet nectar that'd urged him to you; you’re still sat where Law had placed you, too afraid to move in case you crossed too many boundaries, your eyes begging and pleading like you were still stood outside the threshold of his apartment, waiting for his permission to enter. There’s something in him that tells him to get away, run, anything to put some space in between you two and he finds the voice distastefully familiar—it brings about memories of pink feathers and his face scrunches up first in fear and then in amusement. Because it’s you, the weak-willed, spineless vampire that’s grown overly dependent on a human to supply bagged blood for it instead of hunting for its own lunch, and he was comparing that to an existence that knew nothing but cruelty and hatred. It takes one word, a twitch of his eyebrow, the pull of a frown to get you to retreat— he knows that well. But there’s a compulsion in him that wants to see where this takes him— an intrigue that’s always had its morbid way with him, stroked by your sudden insistence.

It's by choice that he allows you to push this further, duck your head neatly into your chin and gloat your pretty eyes up at him through flickering lashes, Law lets you intrude into his sense of personal space— there’s nothing stopping him from stepping back, forcing you away from him once more, telling you to wait, you’ve given him the power to do these things to you after all, but he doesn’t. His breath is a sharp exhale; Law’s body tenses and his face contorts— into an expression you’re sure you’ve seen before. You suddenly find it odd that you’re looking down at him; you expect a scream as your teeth drags deeper than the comical two holes you’ve seen in movies. Your incisors drag through flesh like bulldozers as you bite down, his skin rips and tears under the collar of his white button; you can still smell the lemon air freshener hung around the rear-view mirror, tangy as it hangs on the iron of his blood— it makes your nose itch and the blood taste weird on your tongue. You hear his mumblings about daughters and a wife, and you have to wonder which one of them you caught him at the hotel at; either way, it would be bad you think. If his wife was that young, if he was taking his daughters to hotels.

Law’s hand tightened on your shoulder, the memories of the night in the car park escape you again but they linger on your tongue; Law’s face, when you look at him, is all pinched together, a burdening mess and his hold turns harsh, for a second you think there’s a violence that’ll meet you tightened in his fist but he merely shoves you back onto the counter. It’s cold but it’s not uncomfortable. Hovering over you, Law is close enough for you to hear his fascinating heartbeat— this too is familiar, but you recognise it a little earlier into that night, when your eyes caught that man’s and you saw him stumbling into the hotel with the girl under his arm. A constant, steady hum. So, you push. Eyes stubbornly on Law’s face, his pinched eyebrows and his bottom lip hooked under his teeth, you watch as, fraction by fraction, his face relaxes when you finally lay your lips on him. It’s salt and it’s sweat and it’s warm; it burns the hunger in you alive when you stop kissing his neck, parting your lips over his skin to nip at his flesh.

It's all you do until he’s purposefully pressing his hip down on your thigh, pushing your lips against his neck in wet kisses until he’s delirious enough to chase after his own pleasure. You feel his hand drag up your thigh, pulling along the flesh until it stretches no longer and has to give up to tighten his palm against a new expanse of skin. Law, when you turn your head to look at him, has a hunger so vivid in his eyes that you think you’re looking into a mirror. You didn’t know you were laughing until Law has a hand around your cheeks, pulling your face away from his neck, “what’re you laughing at?”

The glare in his eyes doesn’t do much to stop you from laughing, only spurns on a more unforgiving pitch of laughter as you bend your knee, “this.” Law winces, his body doubling over yours on his kitchen island when you push against the obvious bulge behind his tight jeans. His head falls onto your shoulder and your lips are back to his neck, teasing with your canines; there’s no rush to your actions, like you know that it’s in the flesh to want to be torn, like it’s in man to be devoured.

You hear him curse, pretty, under his breath and his skin burns hot— it reminds you of the blood swimming around under his flesh as he goes back to kneading the plush of your thighs. He drags higher and higher until his hand disappears under the stained ruffles of your skirt and you feel the warmth of his palm over your underwear; for a second, as his thumb presses experimentally around in a certain perimeter until he gets that little gasp from you, you think that this is fine. You think you’d be okay with being underneath Law for a little while longer, just until he works you through that specific high you know he’d be mean about but when you shift your hips upwards to meet his touch, you feel a burn shoot through your side. Wincing, you remember that you’re still bleeding out and your tongue feels obtrusive in your mouth. With the reminder of your injury, you falter momentarily.

You might regret this, but your hand reaches out for Law’s wrist, tightening around his skin and urging for a stop; he looks to you in obvious question. “W–wait,” you huffed, a layer of sweat shining on your forehead. In hindsight, it was a horrible idea to grab Law’s wrist. You feel his unsteady pulse right in your palm, his neck is right there, and there’s some kind of buzzing that leaves your head heavy and awkward.

Law notices something wrong when your hand tightens impossibly hard around his wrist, when your breathing turns heavy and staggered. In his line of work, he’s never been a stranger to vampire victims. Unlike in the movies, there’s nothing romantic nor clean about being bitten by a vampire in reality; real vampires don’t just drink, they eat. Panic rapidly blossoms in his chest, branching out to his nerves and urging all his muscles with a simple task: move. If it were that simple, he’d never had been faced with so many corpses, all mangled and maimed. Law swears he sees your jaw unhinge around his neck, a whimpering ‘sorry’ break through your mouth before your jaw clamps down on his neck. He’s dead, Law thinks, you’ll bite right through all the meat and tear off the flesh from his body and then eat the rest of him as he’s bleeding out and his heart beats louder than its ever done before as he’s imagining his death.

That doesn’t happen.

He feels your cheeks bulge against his jaw twice as you draw the blood away from his body, gulping down hungrily; his body weakens against your ravenous embrace but, as the dots blur into his vision and his eyelids weigh down, you pulled yourself away from his neck. Your tongue presses flat against the comical wound (two clean dots, just like in the movies), and he feels the muscle trail a line of saliva from his neck, across his jaw, and then around the shell of his ear. He doesn’t know what he expects but you press a kiss against his ear awkwardly and then, “you’re still hard, pervert.” When you work up your knee once more, he finds that you’re right. You trail your hands over his arms and hook your finger over the end of his gloves, snapping them off his fingers.

Shame burns through him as embarrassment forces his cold cheeks to warm, but Law’s body is in no position to listen to him right now. Though he has to wonder, if he wasn’t so terribly weakened right now, would he even have it in him to pull himself away from this? You keep pressing your lips against his neck as if you’re trying to wear away the skin, alternating between simple pecks and sucks; lips part and he feels your tongue warm and he braces himself for a prick that never comes. With how reckless you are now, with your arms tightened around his back, the constant movement of your knee against his only growing erection, it's not a reach to assume that Law's blood has healed you up enough.

His hands tightened on your shoulders; aggrieved groans mixed with whimpers spill out of his throat at an alarming rate as you begin to get more precise with your knee. Your hands slowly trail down his back until they reach the waistband of his pants, then they tuck upwards under his shirt and you're pressing down on near the bottom of his back to keep him pressed against your grinding. Law doesn’t think it can get any worse, and it doesn't. But you do press your lips against his, wide and devouring, and your damned tongue is pushing and pushing. It doesn’t get worse. Only Law ends up opening his mouth to let you curl your tongue upwards, flicking up against the roof of his mouth, he can taste his own blood on his tongue, iron heavy between his teeth, and then he’s chasing after the taste.

His hands fist onto the collar of your shirt and pulls you up closer to him. Despite himself, he flinches at the taste of his own blood— smooth — on his traitorous tongue; a taste branded against the depths of his mind like the heavy cloud that clings to the horizon, it's bitter and metallic. A ringing in his head accompanies the soft ‘mmf' that betrays him and gets swallowed up greedily by you some more as you worm your tongue into his mouth, Law shakes and trembles in your grasp; it’s strange, you're raw and starved and governed by an altogether different hunger. He chases after you when you pull back, that makes you stifle a laugh too; his face is furious, his eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed like a stroke of thunder, his jaw clenched and tense, hands still tight on your collar. You think he's about to burst, all the creepy, weird things he's wanted that were stuffed down, bottled in his throat; he's going to shatter and take you with him. Your thigh burns from the constant movement under him, hands still weighing him down but then you stop and he's left hanging. He's desperate enough to press himself down without needing prompting, his hands fall onto your hips and he straightens up a little, enough to get a better grasp and to stabilise himself as he tugs your body down the island.

You watched Law, almost in amazement. He fixes his position against your thigh and seriously starts rutting himself against your thigh; you can only watch, a breath stuttering in your throat at how sloppy his movement is and at the fact that he needed no prompting. Men are the dupes of their desires; you’ve seen that quote somewhere before— you didn’t know that you'd one day find Law to be a part of those men. His hair hangs awkwardly over his face as his lips part, and his eyes flutter shut, a shudder works up his spine as his hands tightened on your hips. It's not embarrassment that makes his skin crawl. No, what's eating away at him is the realisation that he's little care for what he looks like and if you end up thinking less of him after this. Vaguely, he feels his fingers press under the hem of your shirt and tightened down on cold flesh as he comes to the dreadful realisation that he's enjoying this. He's harder than he's ever been in his life and all he's done is fucking hump your thigh and kiss you a bit— he, without thinking about it too much more, dials it down to the fact that there must be some kind of aphrodisiac side effect to being bitten.

Thoughts are decisively turned away from him. He's nothing, empty, a marionette on its strings, a vessel to be filled, and for every moment you spend watching and observing and pulling back from his lips, instead of doing anything to help, his frustration builds. It's frustration that builds in Law, a kind that digs deeps into his bones, it’s fury and rage, a desire that eats away at rationale in his mind. “Fuck,” he curses, his head drops onto your collarbone and his pace becomes more purposeful, pressed even closer to your skin for leverage. There’s no room to breathe with how close he is, his head turns up and you can feel his lips against yours, a certain wobble in his upper lip as his tongue parts your lips. His hands drag up the side of your body and his hand bumps against the side of your chest. He grappled with the bra, his shaky hands doing nothing for him you can imagine, you arch your back upwards, your hands joining him to mess with the bra until the hooks and clasps separated.

The grip he has on your tit is unforgiving, grabbing the fat with his hand and squeezing without a care, Law arches off your thigh with a groan.

“I think we're past the point of you grinding on my thigh,” you mused, voice tinted in amusement. You move to straighten up but Law presses you back down within the second.

His eyebrows furrow, jaw clenched. “Don't move, I'm so—,” he trails off into a sigh. The realisation that he's worked himself close enough to an orgasm on your thigh brings an ache that almost as similar to hunger; your teeth itch and you wish you could take them out for a moment.

“Kiss me,” you murmured before you know what you’re saying, your voice throaty and thick. Law doesn’t let you dwell on it much; his lips are fucking searing against yours; your hands fall onto his cheeks and you feel his heart beat so loud just from kissing him, you're surprised that the room isn’t shaking yet. You're aware to the point of discomfort that your underwear is sopping, stained in obvious desires when Law's hand comes back up your thighs.

The flip of your skirt is fumbling, hasty; his hand pushes up your skirt, dragging his palm over the skirt as it covers your stomach and then it turns its attention back to your underwear. His knuckles brush against the hems of underwear, barely catching it as he pushes away the other thigh he'd been neglecting. “Shit,” he breaths when his thumb presses against the cotton material, “you’ve been this wet the entire time?” He presses his bulge back down onto your thigh, “gonna take care of you, promise.”

You nod as his finger drags against you, slow and teasing. His pace staggers, both his hips and his fingers momentarily as his hand moves to stabilise over your thigh; a shudder works through his spine and he's folding over, head falling onto your shoulder as he works through ‘fucks', each one louder than the last. True to his words, after Law has his own numbing taste of pleasure, he turns his attention onto you. One hand fumbled with his belt, undoing it as best he could with his other hand occupied with your pleasure.

Law is no stranger to sex, he's had his own share of lovers, but this, the way he grabs at you and the way he discards any acts to play nice, how he usually proceeds in these moments a mystery to himself— no warm–up, no teasing, no building you up until you're wired and squirming, vibrating. Just a man you've turned lost to his arousal. His hand digs into your flesh, the roughness of the touch chafing against the soft skin of your inner thigh; his eyes blurry and unfocused as he grabs at your underwear and pulls it to the side.

Guttural— the sound that leaves Law is breathed deep out of his nose, gasping against your skin and he, without second thought, sinks a finger right into you. His eyes are stubborn on the hand that’s enviably close to your warmth, watching the change of his skin from tan to pale as your hand goes to grasp his wrist again. Your legs fold upwards, feet finding purchase on the island as Law curls a single finger against the walls of your cunt. Pulling back gives you temporary reprieve— the next thrust comes with Law working a second finger into you. He's methodical with it. He watches. The tightening grip you had on his forearm, the way your head tilts back, lips part open with breathless gasps, everything; there’s little sympathy in how Law watches you— no hesitant strokes, no gentle caresses. This is the Law you'd been egging on, focused on the now, the here, the immediate, the tangible. It's not what he wants, rather what he needs. So, he forces a third finger into you and watches as you yelped, head turning from side to side as your thighs tighten, knees hitting each other.

He finishes tugging down his zipper and the hand moves to atop your knee, Law’s thumb and pinky finger press deep on the side of your knee. “C’mon,” he taunts almost, “how can I take care of you if you’re hiding from me?” His eyebrows raised, urging you sweetly when you turn your gaze to him, lips hooked under your teeth and eyebrows furrowed— you oblige. The reward you get from listening to him is ruining; all three fingers curled up inside you, pulling a shriek from you when you feel his blunt nails drag slow against you. His attention is offered to you in ways that turn your head numb, his finger still fucking into you at that gruelling pace, his body bent down between your legs to gaze down at you. Corners of his lips tug up into a smile, “still hungry?”

You’re not sure, your teeth had been grinding ever since Law’s fingers found their home in you, since you’d found a doghouse at the threshold of his entrance, but you’re not foolish enough yet to deny whatever Law was willing to offer to you so you nod. “Yes, yes, so hungry, yes.” All you see is starbursts, kaleidoscopic flickers that splinter at every angle as Law turns his head, offering you his neck once more. His hand grasps the back of your head, pulling you up gently to his neck; you feel as though you’re drinking from his cupped hands, licking up water before it falls through the gaps of his fingers. You press your dull teeth against his burning flesh first, then you urge your fangs to grow, prodding through his muscle.

You’re hungrier than you’ve ever remembered, even before you became a vampire, it’s reminiscent of a hunger from when you were first born; there’s hunger that isn’t quelled as your mouth attaches to Law’s neck, as you suckle on his blood, as you chafe yourself against his stubborn, moving fingers. There’s an ache in you that reminds you of the day you were born, once covered in blood and twice covered in dirt, Law becomes, to you, a necessary evil in the face of your single, insatiable hunger.

[misstycloud]

How to stop your husband from being weird: situation one- digging in the middle of the night.

One of the things that I have noticed about my dear husband, Arlo (bless his soul), is the constant digging in our backyard; he leaves in the middle of the night and when I dare glance out the window, I see him. His back is always facing towards me, so I can’t get a good look at his face. He is a very expressive person and I can tell what he thinks from simply looking at his face, hence why this is somewhat concerning.

Had I known that my dearest would wake up during ungodly hours of the night, get dressed, fetch the garden tools from the shed, and then proceed to dig a massive hole, then maybe I would have hesitated to say ‘yes’. (Do not be worried, I love my husband deeply and this was just a little joke.)

Joke aside, it is still very annoying. Does he not know this will keep me awake too? I have work to do and I can’t keep on going if my sleep is this disturbed. I would have to be some sort of abomination- a vampire perhaps?

That is not all; I find dirt particles inside our house; I clean for nothing apparently.

I have tried bringing this up(somewhat hard to ask your spouse why they are leaving you all cold and lonely in the middle of the night) with Arlo, but every time he changed the subject. The audacity! He even asks me if I’m ill and is in need of a doctor. I tell him ‘I am quite fine thank you very much!’ and remind him my eyesight is good, I’m not imagining things and I know he’s been up to something in the yard. I also know he’s not preparing to pot new plants for summer so he better not try that with me.

Last time I tried prying the answer out of him, he finally relented and gave me what I wanted.

His explanation: I have been finding a lot of roadkill and other deceased animals lately. I didn’t want you to have to see it. You know I work so many hours, I don’t have time during the day, that’s why I bury them at night. It’s horrible, but understandable since they’re rebuilding the library and trucks loaded with materials drive by often.

Whether I believe this explanation or not doesn’t matter. There is factor agreeing with his explanation and there are ones that goes agaisnt it.

Those vouching for him: it is true that trucks drive by often these days since the library really did catch on fire recently. It was an unfortunate accident casued(according to the police) by some teenagers. They played around with a lighter and things escalated beyond their control. The saddest part is that I can’t go to the library anymore, I suppose I’ll have to find new hobbies to entertain myself until the library is rebuilt and restocked with books. Another thing is that I do like animals and it definitively wouldn’t be fun to see a run-over one in real life. My husband is very caring and wouldn’t expose me to something he knows I hate, therefore it makes sense for him to bury them in secret. Besides, his job is demanding and he actually wouldn’t be able to do so in the day.

All of this form one solution that is: burying the dead animals in secret from his wife(me) during nighttime as to not disturb me or his work hours. (If we look away from the fact I wake when he does)

Factors indicating he’s lying: how come I have never found a roadkill if they are so common nowadays? It’s unusual for him to come home before me, and if he’s that busy with work, it wouldn’t make sense for him to find all of them before I’ve even caught a whiff of something foul nearby. You see what I mean? Secondly, there is not reason why he should be the one doing all this work. Surely there are professionals dealing with here things? In that case then he should call them instead and tell those truck-drivers to be more careful.

Ultimately this is very suspicious, but what else can I do? Statistically, there is a high chance(I believe?) that your husband will have at least one weird hobby. I will have to live with that and I have said to him ‘I love you more than anything and if this is something you wish to do then o won’t question you.’

He was almost in tears, it was adorable. He said, ‘Yes, my love, thank you. I also love you more than anything in this world and I would be damned if something came between us.’

Afterwards I lectured him on not bringing in dirt in the house again, though. This was his answer: of course not, my darling!

To summarise this incident: my husband still visits the outdoors at night, however not as often as before. I warned him, too, of being careful because a bunch of men have been going missing lately and I’d be devastated if his name came up on of of those reports. I shouldn’t say this- but I will- I’m kind of happy those men are gone. I recognised their names and/or faces from the papers, you see. It turns out that all of them were ones I’d met previously. I won’t bore you with the details, but they weren’t pleasant encounters.

Everyday I have checked the floor for dirt and have found none. This is very good news for my ‘cleaning-spirit’. Whenever I feel Arlo leaving the bed I have decided to relax my mind and go back to sleep again. Then, if I’m still half-awake, I will feel him laying down beside me once more and together we drift off to dreamland.

The lesson I learned from this is that you don’t have to ‘fix’ everything about your partner, and they are allowed to have their special hobbies. There is a difference if you’re being harmed in the process, though. If that’s the case then you should immediately speak up about it and you compromise. Remember, communication is key!

———

Written by: (Y/n) (L/n)

[barelylivingscholar]

Arlecchino with a daughter tw: unhealthy family relationships, manipulation, and gore(?), suicidal thoughts, unstable/mentally ill daughter. Not for the faint of heart, heavy angst, a somewhat positive ending in the last part(?) (Do not read if uncomfortable)

An: I am backkkkk, second semester and last semester’s finals kept me busyyyyyy but I’m here again to post some stufffffff!! Not hsr related but like I also write for Genshin now, apparently… Will post a part two, I guess? “Father. When am I able to hang around with the others? I have done everything that you’ve asked for.” A young girl asked, to which “Father” responds with, “You need to focus on the task in hand. I still have many more missions for you to do before I set you free.” The girl sighed, knowing very well that she may as well never be able to be allowed to play with the other kids… For a moment, the girl had wished that she wasn’t the only one to deal with this kind of burden. The burden being, the “successor” of “Father.” She wanted to play with the other kids as well, but alas, her father does not permit her to do so. Instead, excuses are made, and the standard Fatui discipline is instilled in her mind, always have to act proper and professional, not allowed to shed a tear, or to feel strong feelings regardless of what the matters are. I hate it here. I do not wish to stay here any longer. Every day feels like I am only made to be the person that “Father” wishes me to be. I am never truly happy. I am sinking. Father was not  family. This whole thing is and always was, a lie. Do I ever get to be free? Perhaps I can set myself free. There is a way.  ̶T̶̶h̶̶e̶ ̶q̶̶u̶̶e̶̶s̶̶t̶̶i̶̶o̶̶n̶ ̶i̶̶s̶, ̶a̶̶m̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶̶i̶̶l̶̶l̶̶i̶̶n̶̶g̶ ̶t̶̶o̶ ̶d̶̶o̶ ̶i̶̶t̶? --- After burning the corpse of their enemies, I return to the House of the Hearth, albeit bloody and face that is smudged of dirt, the smell of blood and gasoline lingers around me. With every passing servant, caretakers, and also children as well, unsettled and left shaken up at the sight of me. I stained the carpets red. I wonder if “Father” would notice as the carpet is in the same shade of the blood of her enemies…? Will she punish me and discipline me? Although words are exchanged, no form of physical harm done, I am still left isolated.  Like I am to be a monster kept away from people… I feel caged.

This time, I didn’t bother to clean up and went straight ahead to father’s office. Where I know I’ll be punished for such a careless mistake. “Father, I have returned.” I greet, looking to see her eyes staring straight at me. For once I don’t cower. I simply walk up to her and wait for her response. I have no reason to be scared, right? I don’t think I care anymore. Father’s eyes narrowed. The sight of blood that wasn’t mine, the smell of gasoline, in her eyes, I may as well be the filthiest child in the house. One that is simply, uncouth for the position of “successor.” “Why have you not followed protocol? Especially contingency 8? Have I not taught you well?” Her voice sharp, dissatisfied with my performance. It must be a surprise for her that her “successor” had become disobedient. What is she going to do to me, I wonder? Dispose of me? Or would she find someone else who is to succeed her as the “Father” of the House of the Hearth. “I… I have no other excuses.” I was unable to control my voice. It was shaky, wavering. I hate it. Father’s eyes seemed to had harden. I am interested with what is going to be the left of me once this is all over. I look forward to it. I want her to snap at me. Kill me. Foul words for a child like me, but this is what I planned. Maybe it is best that I sleep in eternal slumber instead rather than live a life full of misery. I have nothing to be grateful here. I am not thankful that I am still alive today. “…You are hereby stripped of the title “successor.” You are no longer worthy of the title. I am disappointed.” Is that it? No severe punishments? My mind raced; I was unable to comprehend why had she punished me in a way that is so… Little? Had she gone soft? I do not remember anything that made her want to punish me lightly. Don’t I deserve… More? My brows had furrowed. “Father” did not miss that. “Daughter… Are you, upset?” Her voice sounded confusing, to me. Why do you suddenly care? I don’t understand you at all. I do not feel safe at all. Are you really “family?” “…I’m fine.” I say, my voice a little tight. Unshed tears on my face, I am no fool. I do not need your love.

“You are now excused.” Never had I ever left her office so quickly after that. I had to get away…! I need to get out of here… I breathed heavily as I ran and ran… Until there is nowhere to go. The heavy snow had engulfed me. And soon… I was unconscious. I awoke to an unfamiliar place. This is not the House of the Hearth. I quickly got up, ignoring the sudden rush of blood shooting up due to how fast I went up. I ignore the throbbing pain on my forehead, I focused on my surroundings instead. Where am I? This place is… Different. I jolted as I felt a hand on my shoulder, immediately backing off and grabbing a hidden dagger in my boot. “Stay there! I will stab you!” I hissed. Glaring at the mysterious figure. They looked… Kind. I am not supposed to feel that way. There are no kind people in this world. Everyone I know will always lie to me, manipulate me for their gain. Just like “Father.” Just like them…

The stranger had knelt down and attempted to soothe me. I only responded with aggression and threats. They weren’t phased at all. “Who are you? I am no ordinary orphan! I am a murderer!” I shouted, clearly agitated. The man in a familiar coat had not reacted violently at all. I am confused. And angry. “I am Pantalone. “Regrator” from the Fatui. I assume you are one of the Knave’s lost children…” My eyes widened at the statement. He is no ordinary man… I should’ve known, I gritted my teeth and gripped my dagger tight. “I am not her orphan! I am no longer a part of that… I could care less if you are a part of the Fatui, I will die gladly in vain if I have to fight for my freedom!” I hissed. The man is amused. I can tell by the look in his eyes. “I have a better proposal for you, child.” “Regrator” inquired. I had not chosen to back down even at the prospect of an offer. “What makes you think I will take it?” I replied, gripping the dagger tight. “I will not surrender you to the Knave. Rather, I’ll take you in as my disciple.”

Disciple? Is this man sick in the head? Why would I agree to that? It seems “Regrator” had heard my thoughts, and so, he added, “Although, it is up to you if you would rather be surrendered back to the Knave… Or join me and I’ll give you a much better purpose, in life… Not that you have any choice on the matter if you decline my offer…” I had no sense of purpose to live for. I am merely an empty shell of what I was once. I have nothing to achieve… In the end, I don't have what it takes to truly end my life. So I will follow my new superior. “Fine. But don’t expect me to be easily obedient. I am rather mad.” And it was the start of something anew…  I had become, “Regrator’s disciple.” I wonder how “Knave” will react to such arrangements… An: Part two will include Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet. There will be other characters who will be included as well but, part one's story was set before Lyney became the sucessor of the House of the Hearth. I am thinking of interesting ideas to write for this story and some alternate routes as well... We'll see once I whip up part two.

[twistedteddy]

Rengoku x f!Reader

✧*̥˚ Please Reblog *̥˚✧

Warnings: body worship, p-ssy eating, soft Dom, praise, sweet sex, bath sex, f! Dom, Pet names

As always not proofread

Kyujuro has always been a devout demon slayer. Even so if you'd ever been to his home you'd know he was an even more devout husband. During his days off he'd massage your legs and feet every tie your returned home from helping the other women tend the fields. Bathing you with water he'd warmed over your fire place and change your clothes for you. Praising each scar ans callous he found on you the same way you'd do for him whenever he came back from a mission. He firmly believes scars tell stories. Lives. Each scar is a memory to be held to your body forever. Something to be proud of. When the two of you married you used a beautiful gold endowed knife to carve a scar onto the top part of his hand and he did the same to you. It was a sweet gesture but as far as you were concerned if he was leaving the village he was leaving wearing a ring too. No way your puppy dog of a husband is going out there with the chance of other women thinking he was single.

Exaughsted you walked through the door od your home after slipping your sandals off. Covered in dirt and mud from the rice fields.

"My love! I have returned home. I am so glad to see you" Your husband rushed at you all at once and knocked you to the floor- you hadn't even noticed his shoes by the door you were so tired. His golden eyes looking into yours with a huge smile as he places small pecks all over your face. Giggling you pushed his chest "kyo~ I'm tired honey help me up." And help you he did. Loudly exclaiming how much he had missed you and how being so far hurt his very sould and you couldn't help but smile. Even as tired as you were him being there lifted your mood.

After about ten minutes he had you in a bath. Using a rag to wash the mud from you and brushing your hair. "Hm come join me" you muttered looking up at him as he was carefully rinsing your hair. "My love you're tired and if I am being honest seeing you so bare after being gone nearly a month is..already making it a bit difficult for me to control myself." Ah the pretty boy. He'd always been a gentlemen before a lover. "Please love?" You said holding his hand to your face and he quickly began stripping down. How could he say no to those eyes?

You moved forward to allow him to get behind you before pulling your back into his chest. Just wrapping his arms around you wanting to hold you close. "I feel as If I miss you more each mission I am made to leave." You smiled softly and leaned your head back onto his chest so you could look at him. Then changing your mind and fully turning your body to look at him, taking his hands in your own and placing them onto your waist. "It's a symptom of your love for me and mine for you. I mean how would it look if you didn't miss your wife? Hm?" He laughed that booming laugh before kissing you passionately.

Pulling your warm smooth body to his and running his fingers up and down your back. You placed your hands onto his chest and groped at his pecs. He moaned as you gently licked his nipple and pinched the other. His hands gripped your hips and pulled you in so that your bare cunt was pressed against his hard cock and you gasped against his puffy chest. "My love please I- I need you" He nearly whimpered his booming voice now a cracking pitiful mess after so little contact. "Aw you need me baby?" You whispered dragging a hand up to gently wrap around his neck as you lifted yourself up a bit to let him properly prod your pussy. His entire body tensed and he stared down at you gasping as you finally let him into you. Both of you moaning at the familiar squeeze.

Gently moving your hips in a slow grind you moaned into his neck and wrapped your arms around it. He moaned rather loudly at the sensation of your soft body against his, your hair stuck to certain spaces amongst his chest and wager and sweat covered you both. He leaned down and kissed you passionately lips eating yours, teeth clacking, and tongues twisting as your pace quickened and you started lifting yoir self two, three, four inches at a time. The water sloshing and moving while he groaned and begged you for more. His own hands finally lifting and hips pistoning up into yours.

Your body's aches were ignored at the feeling of tightening in your stomach, your hand reached down and rubbed your clit in time with his thrusts and all at once you came with a damn near scream. Kyo bit down into your neck and held your hips firmly pressed into his as he filled your womb a moment or two after. Kissing and licking at you while he seemed to cum for forever.

"Mm good boy" you whispered hand weaving into his hair and gently kissing the curve of his ear.

[honeybeefae]

predator/prey with Cassian?

Thrill of the Chase (Cassian x Reader)

BINGO: Predator/Prey

(Okay I’m not gonna lie I’m a Cassian girly through and through and I am SO happy seeing all this love for him. I hope you guys enjoy this because it was hella fun to write! Also this prompt got asked for a lot with different characters so don't think I forgot you! I see you all!)

WARNINGS: Smut, Predator/Prey, Biting, Rough sex, Slight breeding kink lol I couldn’t help myself

The summer air was warm if not a little stifling as you raced through the forest's edge that surrounded your and Cassian’s home. All you had on was a thin slip, the straps sliding down your shoulders while your bare feet sunk slightly into the ground with each step. 

You could hear your heart racing in your ears as you dared a look back, only seeing the inky black of the night staring back at you. Cassian had started this entire game when the two of you played hide and seek in the house, starting off as an innocent game until it took longer than anticipated to find you.

Each footstep you heard, each room he entered, had your stomach in knots while also causing you to get excited the closer he got. It was almost a primal reaction, the way your pussy was throbbing, especially when he had yanked open the door and found you.

He had stood above you, wings outstretched, and his smile feral and you felt a thrill of fear and arousal shock your entire body. Before you could fully think your decision through you bolted past him and out the back door. The chase was on.

Your feet dug into the dirt as you stopped suddenly and hid underneath a small bush. You did your best to control your breathing as you desperately searched for any sign of him, your hands shaking as you heard nothing but silence.

Until two large hands wrapped around your ankles and yanked you out into the open air. 

“No!” You screamed, fingernails digging into the soil of the earth as you were suddenly flipped onto your back with Cassian looming above you. He was shirtless, a sheen of sweat covering his body as he pinned you underneath him.

“Did you really think you could run from me, princess?” He taunted, holding your hands together with one hand while the other ripped your slip completely off your body. “Did you think I wouldn’t come collect what’s mine?”

“Please…” You begged, not sure if it was for him to release you or to touch you. Cassian grinned and clicked his tongue, dark curls hanging from his head as he used his free hand to collect the juices that were pooling in your sex.

“Gods, you’re dripping,” He groaned, thrusting two fingers into you sloppily for a few moments before pulling them out and shoving them against your lips until you opened for him. “Taste yourself, princess. Taste how wet you are.”

You almost gagged when he pushed them all the way back into your throat, tasting your excitement and stroking his fingers with your tongue to tease him. Cassian bared his teeth and pulled his fingers out, shoving his pants halfway down his legs before lining himself up with your entrance. 

“Stay still for me.” He purrs, shoving your legs open with his knee before filling you up with one thrust. You immediately arch upwards, the fullness making you cry out as he sets a brutal pace. “Fuck, so fucking good.”

The sounds he was pulling out of you were guttaral as you clung onto him for dear life, your legs haphazardly wrapped around him so he could go deeper. Cassian buried his face into your neck as he rutted into you like a beast in heat, his low growls and moans making you even wetter.

It felt like your entire body was on fire as you got pounded into the ground. You were able to wiggle one hand free from his grip and start to run it over the tips of his wings, enjoying the way he gave a full-body shudder from the contact.

“You’re such a little tease.” He smirked, mouthing at your neck. “Running from me, getting me all riled up, and now touching me like this? And you’re taking me so well.”

“Only for you.” You whimper, your tits bouncing from how hard he was fucking you. “I’m so close, Cass, please!”

“You’re so cute when you beg for my cum.” He cooed. “That’s what you want right? Do you want me to fill you up until you’re bursting?”

“Yes!” You sob, your release only seconds away as he grunts.

“Then take it, princess. Don’t waste a single drop.”

Cassian bites the junction of your shoulder and neck until the tangy taste of copper fills his mouth. The pain sends you over the edge and you clench around him, your body going rigid as you milk him for several minutes. He follows along with you, his balls tightening before releasing all of his seed. You can feel it coat your walls and it almost sends you into a second orgasm.

By the end of it both are you panting heavily, covered in dirt and bites, and reveling in one of the best fucks of your life.

“I think I want you to chase me more often.” You sigh, cupping his face as he smiles. 

“I think I want to chase you for the rest of my life, princess.”

[angelsworks]

Little Witch The last kingdom x reader

Chapter 7

Next chapter -> H E R E

Series master list -> Here

Type: series

Summary: Uthred forces you to bathe, which leads to a disagreement between the two of you.

Warnings: 18+ Dark themes, spanking, kissing, description of injury, light fluff.

You remove your black dress. Surprised at how dirty your skin looks beneath it. You see little of your back, but trying to take your dress of causes you pain. Stretching your arms in any way hurt. Even if you did try to bathe, you doubted your ability to properly wash your hair.

You sigh before dipping your hair in the water over the tub. When it’s wet enough you put a small amount of soap on the ends. Proceeding to dry it with a towel and redress. You wait a short while before leaving the room.

Sure your plan has worked, you walk almost confidently out to meet Uhtred.

He stands idly to the side of the room, taking off his leather chest plate and removing his multitude of weapons. He looks at you with curious eyes. Eyes that you do well to avoid.

You sit quietly on the floor furthest away from him. Playing with your now slightly cleaner fingers.

“You have bathed?” He asks. Not convinced in the slightest you had bathed.

You nod. Knowing your voice would break or waver in tone. Surely giving yourself away. Revealing your lie to the intimidating Viking before you.

He clicks his tongue, “Do not lie to me witch. You will not like the outcome.” Uhtred feels annoyance rise within him. Annoyance at your disobedience and your blatant lying.

You raise your eyes to his own. A quiet fury lies behind them, waiting for you to wake it. It pinches the skin beside his eyes. Making them crinkle up in a glare.

“I have bathed. Now I wish to sleep.” You try your best to control your tone. Hoping he’ll not question you further.

Instead he walks over. Sitting on the edge of the bed. Now directly across from where you sit on the floor. Your eyes stay trained on his leather boots. Dirt cakes them from days of travel.

“You will sleep when you have bathed, which I am sure you have not. You have one more chance to go and bathe. Or else I’ll do it myself.” His words leave no room for argument. The threat sends a shiver up your spine. A shiver you aren’t certain is discomfort.

But you won’t do it. You won’t bathe and your choice is final. You feel almost childish about your decision. Like a toddler throwing a tantrum. In other circumstances the idea of taking a bath isn’t so dire. Yet here you feel it is.

Days of travel, of being treated like a prisoners, of walking on eggshells around these Viking men. They’ve made you tired, frustrated, tense. Your back aches and it’s not something you wish to confront. You’ve decided you won’t deal with it. Even Uhtred of Bebbanburg can’t make you bathe. You are quite certain he can’t.

“I will not Uhtred. I refuse,” you tell him, eyes still on the floor. “You May go and bathe, I will sleep.”

The sigh that leaves his lips is almost a groan. He leans forward to rest his arms on his knees. Bringing his face closer to your level.

“You are my seer now, that much I’ve come to believe. If I am your master than you are to listen to me, are you not?” He questions, eyebrow raised.

“No. I do not listen to you Uhtred,” you become defensive, trying to distract him from your current predicament. “Do not pretend to care of our bond, when you’ve kept me bound for the last few days.”

It takes a minute for Uhtred to smile, a smile that does not reach his eyes. “You will bathe tonight witch. You decide if you do it yourself or not.”

His words are final.

Yet you feel differently. A streak of defiance, disobedience, of brattiness perhaps, shoots through you.

He stays in his position as he watches you get up. A second after you make a dash for the door he follows after you. Chasing behind you before wrapping his arms around you. He picks you up and puts you over his shoulder.

You thrash wildly in his hold. More so than you have before. He’s surprised you have so much fight in you. He greatly dwarfs you in size and strength. That much he’s come to appreciate.

“Stop fighting witch or I’ll punish your disobedience.” He all but snarls out to you.

His words do the opposite. Their desired affect failing as your eyes widen and continue your fighting. Your thrashing becomes more frenzied, bending and arching manically to try and loosen his grip.

He pulls you off of his shoulder, as he sits on the edge of the bed. Pulling you over his knees.

“Stop your fighting witch. Take a bath, then we can sleep.”

You breathe heavy breaths as you work up the energy to start thrashing. It’s difficult from your position. You lay over his legs, hands held by one of his own, binding them together like a cuff. One of his legs pins your own down.

Nevertheless you try to start and jerk around. A slap on your dress covered rear halts your movements for a moment. Before you start wailing and kicking, trying to get him off.

In return Uhtred lays down more slaps. He didn’t think the night would turn this way. The thought of spanking you hadn’t crossed his mind before tonight. At least it hadn’t surfaced from his subconscious mind before tonight.

With the women he’d laid with it was often simple. It was sweet, loving even. That was with Saxon women. With Dane’s it became a battle for dominance. One he enjoyed playing. Yet there was no promise of submission from either party.

Here he wanted to see if he could bring you out of yourself. To bring you to a state you could trust another. Trust him. He’d seen the way your shoulders slumped, how heavy they looked. How stress weighed on them like metal amour.

For the first time since he’d met you he saw your shoulders finally relax. Your whole body relaxed. Or maybe it was just limp. The tiredness from the past few days now bleeding out of you as you lay over his knee. Taking spank after spank. Crying loudly.

From your cries it would seem like his spanks hurt like burns, like the worse kind of pain. In actuality, a tight string inside you felt like it had broken. All your hurt and all your worries came rushing past the now open barrier for the second time today. This time you felt it empty your supply more. You felt your problems wash away and your body loosen.

You felt your mind go blank as you moved to a higher place. One where you didn’t need to worry about your parents, or Freya, or Steffen. You only needed to think about one thing. Uhtred.

You felt thankful his spanks stayed on your rear. He never hit further up. Never striking your back and the horrible welts and cuts that littered it.

His punishment didn’t feel like a punishment in comparison to what Steffen had given you. More of a light correction.

You felt your will to disobey weaken. Your fire put out and your desire to fight him off float away. More strangely you felt your bond to Uhtred strengthen in a way. You felt vulnerable.

He’d stopped his slaps a few moments ago but you reminded over his knee, crying hard. He pulled you up gently and sat you to straddle him. Embracing you loosely around your lower back.

When you had calmed considerably he spoke, “I did not wish to do that. But believe me when I say I will do it again. I know now you speak truth and you are to stay with us a long time. I need you to listen to me so that I can protect you.”

You consider his words. Protect you? You found yourself comparing him to Steffen. A man who roughly demanded your support and loyalty. Through means of violence and torture. Now Uhtred was your master. A man who has done nothing near to the damage Steffen had caused. A man who was respected by his followers.

You wondered what had made Uhtred so sure of you. You had lied today. You had left and met Freya, when he specifically asked you not to. Yet he chose now to believe you. Believe you were fated to him. Destined to be his seer. Destined to be his.

He picks you up and holds you easily around his waist, so you rest at his side on his hip. He walks slowly to the bathroom, watching you for any signs of struggle. He is slightly astonished to see you holding to him tightly, your head buried in his neck.

You enjoy the closeness. If this man was your future you would enjoy it for however long it would last. If he really did trust you, maybe you could start to trust him too.

He places you softly on the floor while he sticks his hand in the water. Finding the water to still be warm.

“Undress little witch, you still need to bathe.” His words are gentle. A great contrast to his large figure and sometimes violent nature.

You shake your head and he readies his hand to spank you again. But he finds your eyes glazed as you look away from him.

“Uhtred I can’t. It will hurt me too much.”

If the mood was different he might make some sort of joke about you befriending the dirt under your nails and how you were now saddened to see it gone. Something about the empty look in your eyes tells him your words carry more weight.

He reaches out to hold you chin up, meeting his eyes. “Whatever hurts you, I will do my best to fix.” He tells you honestly. Fate has made you his and he intends to keep you as well as he possibly can. To take care of you with all he has.

You sigh. With shaking hands you start to pull your dress up, while avoiding eye contact with him as you do. Mind going blank as you feel his hands help to pull it over your head your head.

The fabric falls in a pile out of his hands and on to the floor. His eyes widen as he stares, mouth agape, thoughts racing.

Your body is as frail as he suspected. Your ribs tight against your skin. He sees dark bruises along your body. On your legs and arms, spread in an array on your torso. Your skin is particularly sore around your wrists and ankles. The injuries looking similar to those made by shackles. He thinks about how they’d bound you with rope in these places repeatedly, and how much it must have hurt you.

He says nothing as he walks around you. Wanting to see if your back had remained untouched unlike your front.

He felt his stomach fall as he saw the cuts and bruises that lay here. Still dark in colour showing the age and force which made them. They act as a background for the lashes. Lashes made by a whip no doubt. The sight takes him back to his time as a slave, he himself being beaten with a whip. The pain was sharp, awful and searing. But any action after that would magnified it. As it caused the unsealed wounds to reopen.

His fingers brush lightly over the cuts. Some trying to heal, others still open. The skin that wasn’t cut was caked in dirt. It made sense if you’d travelled without rest to Uhtred. He doubted the man responsible for your wounds would take the time to clean you afterwards.

“I will call for a healer little witch,” he moves to stand in front of you. “First you bathe, your wounds will become infected if left in this state.”

He guides you over to the tub. Your naked form now feeling the cold of the room. You take a breath before stepping over into the tub.

The warm water does feel soothing against your legs. Any wounds below your knee are small and minor compared to your back. It relaxes your muscles and warms your bones.

You hesitate as you go to sit in the water. Feeling anxious again at the thought of the pain.

“It will be okay little witch. The pain will pass.”

Sighing, you move to sit. It reaches you immediately. Waves of pain that had the power to bring you to your knees, crashed against your being. Your face contorts and you hold you breath as not to scream. It feels as if salt has been applied to your cuts. The water rubbing it in deeper.

Slowly the pain retreats, becomes dull and calmer. It hurts, but becomes easier to bare. Although your breathes remain ragged and laboured. You move your body so you sit lower in the water. Now it comes to just below your collarbones.

“I will leave you to bathe.” His words short he tried to take his leave.

Your hand reaches out, grabbing for him. You don’t want him to leave. Maybe it’s because his company brings a kind of completeness to your life. Or you’re feeling vulnerable from sharing so much with this man.

“Please stay. I don’t want to be alone. Take your bath.” Your voice is small yet it fills the room. You feel bad that the water will soon go cold and Uhtred will be left to bathe in the cold water. Uhtred says nothing, quietly contemplating what to do.

He nods finally, starting to disrobe. He watches you for any reaction and is surprised when he sees you looking away.

You focus on the grey stone bricks on the wall. All different size, stuck together with cement. There are no windows in the room. The only light is from candles placed sporadically around the room. Most likely lit by the owner of the inn.

Tentatively, Uhtred steps into the bath. Lowering himself until he’s able to sit, his lower half submerged in the warm water.

He says nothing as he watches you. You curl away from him, arms wrapped around your chest, shoulders tense with unease. You sit huddled to the opposite side of the tub. Trying to both give him space and build back your walls.

The tub is only so big. With Uhtred stature it’s hard to angle yourself away from him. You aren’t sure exactly why you are doing it. From the interval of asking Uhtred to stay and now sitting in the bath with him, you started to feel embarrassed.

Embarrassed he had seen you so vulnerable. Embarrassed he was sat with you in the bath. Embarrassed that he’d spanked you moments ago.

“Come closer witch. I do not bite.” He tells you. Widening his legs and positioning himself against the wall of the tub.

You make no move to get closer, causing him to sigh. He feels as if your relationship has changed. Whether you feel it too, he cannot say. But he can sense your guard had lowered. He feels as though it had given the two of you have a chance to connect.

Slowly you move back towards Uhtred. Wadding through the water until you make contact with his front. He raises his arms to lean on the edges of the tub, caging you in. Yet you don’t feel trapped.

You lean back against his chest, letting out a deep breath pass your lips. With it the last of your tensions. You match your breathing to his own. Letting your chest rise with his and fall with his.

Slowly Uhtred moves his fingers. The tips lightly dance over your arms. Tracing from the tops of your shoulders to the ends of your fingers. At first it makes you shiver, ticklish even. Yet after a few stokes it becomes extremely comforting.

“Thank you,” you whisper out. “For staying with me.”

He lets out a hum almost, one of agreement. Not pausing his movements.

“I want to know more about you. To say you are my Seer I know very little.” He murmurs in your eye.

You shift slightly, trying to move to face Uhtred. You struggle to use your arms to lift your weight. After seeing you struggle Uhtred shift you himself, so that you sit across his lap, almost cradled under his neck.

“What do you want to know?”

“Hmm,” his eyes glint, a playful look in them. “You could start with your name?”

“Y/N”

“How long have you had visions of me?”

“Since I was a teenager.”

“Why have you been sent to me?”

You pause for a while. Needing to think about your answer. You look up to his eyes. You see the shades of blue that litter his eyes, all blending into one. Previously you’d thought they were light blue like the sky. Now you think they’re dark blue, more like the ocean.

“In truth I do not know Uhtred. All I know is that fate has brought me to you. I belong to you. I am your gift from fate.” You tell him in earnest. Hoping he can see the sincerity in your eyes.

It feels as though his head had gotten closer to your own. His breath fans your face. His lips draw close. You’re sure he’s about to kiss you, yet he leaves a gap between the two of you. He waits.

You can’t explain why but you close the gap. Letting your lips connect. The kiss is gentle yet full of passion. You almost feel a spark run down your body at the contact. You place a hand on Uhtred’s chest to steady yourself.

He pulls away first, eyes now full of something more than playfulness. You feel a blush on your cheeks so you look away.

“You still need to be washed Y/N.”

For the next few minutes Uhtred helps you bathe. He washes your hair for you. Taking time to scrub deep in your scalp, along the strands of your hair. He runs his fingers through it to try and detangle some of the knots that have developed there.

With a rag he washes over your arms, legs and works slowly on your torso. You blush as he wipes over your breasts and the rag dips below the water to wipe between your legs.

Finally he uses a sponge to wipe over your back. He works in slow circles as he washes away the dirt embedded in cuts and smeared over skin. Occasionally it causes you to hiss out in pain, which makes him slow down even further.

When he’s satisfied he rises from the bath. Getting out and wrapping a towel around his waist. He picks a towel up to wrap your body in. Again being gentle of your injuries.

You follow him back into the bedroom where you see him start to dress back in his shirt and trousers. You start at him confused.

“I will fetch a healer from the village, you can dress in one of my spare shirts.” He tells you, about to put his shoes on.

You go to retrieve your pot from Freya, handing it to him. Now it’s his turn to looks confused.

“No healer. This salve should work just as well. It’s from a friend.”

He thinks for a moment. The pot looks similar to something a healer would give you and you seem to trust it. He nods his head. Starting to disrobe again.

You reach your hand out to take the pot back from him, but he pulls his hand back and holds it above your head. With one hand on your towel and one hand attempting to stretch in the air, you try to reach it.

“I can do it Uhtred.” You tell him, still trying to get it from him.

“You will not reach your cuts. I will do it. Lay on your front on the bed.”

Your arm drops to your side. Sighing you turn to lay down on the bed. Without being able to see him, you rely on his touch.

His hands move to lower your towel. You can hear the pot of salve open. Then finally the product being rubbed across your back. Along the cuts and welts that lay there. It stings and makes you wince. However you trust Freya and you trust the fact it will help in the long run.

His touch leaves you and you get up. Ready to wrap the towel around you once more.

“Don’t do that. Wear this, it’s looser.” He warns. Passing you his undershirt to wear. True to his words it fits your loosely and doesn’t make contact with your back.

“Let us sleep.” He guides you to lay on the bed. While you do, he blows out the candles around the room. Slowly letting the light drift from the room. When the last candle is out he moves back to the bed, lying down with you.

The heat from his body radiates to you. Warming you from the otherwise cold room. He pulls various furs over the two of you. Pulling you closer to him.

“Goodnight Y/N”. He whispers into your hair.

It’s not long before you’re able to drift off to sleep. Feeling a level of serene that has since been lost to you.

[msfcatlover]

Nightwing!Damian would still be of the Corruption, though he has so many healthy relationships in his life that its influence on him is slipping. His swarm is smaller now than it’s ever been. His power fades day by day. He might even manage to be human again someday (he doesn’t know how he feels about that, when his swarm are so beloved & his monster side has always been a source of pride for Damian.)

Tim was always going to be of the Eye, being Oracle only doubles down on it.

Cass in the TMA AU is basically Agnes Montague, but for the Stranger. That wouldn’t change either.

Steph was only just starting out when Damian took her under his wing. She never fully got caught in the spiraling fixation on destroying her father by any means necessary, she couldn’t pursue one goal to the exclusion of all others, and as the first fully human (non-Alfred) member of the team, everyone would be doing their best to protect that humanity, monitoring her for any sign of supernatural influence and guiding her away before it could get its hooks in her (they are still Bruce’s children, after all.) Until she came out of the dirt, unsheltered & unprotected, already marked so many times over, with fear & rage boiling in her blood. Until Talia gave Steph her mind back, gave Steph a purpose again, and the rage boiled over plasmatic hate. Until Steph laughed like a roaring maelstrom, sparks crackling in her wild hair, something bordering on madness in her eyes, and Talia thought: Oh. I have made a mistake. (The storm would be leashed, eventually. Steph does have self control, she has goals to achieve, plans to make, and power alone could not do that. But in that moment, when Steph realized her killer was still killing people despite everything that had happened, in her pain & fury, she gave in. She stepped backwards off that invisible ledge and plunged headfirst into what she knew she was Becoming. She embraced it, wholeheartedly. In that moment, it almost wasn’t Stephanie Brown in that garden, but the Cataclysm itself inside her skin. Almost.)

Duke… I’m still struggling to think of a good match for, but honestly in this AU… His ability to connect, to make people listen to him, his desire to step up & save the city himself if he has to, and the fact Duke is the eldest/first batkid in this AU (giving him & Bruce even more in common when Batman had only ever fought alone) all make me want to say Web. BUT with his powers, his ability to lead a crowd, the sheer scale of his potential, I also want to say Vast? What little I know of Gnomon also says Vast, ALTHOUGH…. …we could play off their shadow control, invert Duke’s light powers for this AU, and say Dark. Which would make Duke borderline antithetical to Web!Bruce, but hey, maybe Web!Bruce wants to prove to himself just how much choice he still has—that the Web can make him as uncomfortable as it likes, but he’s still going to take care of a child in need. (Assuming he is going against the Web’s wishes, of course, and it isn’t reverse psychologying him…) (My gut says Web!Duke, though. The more I think about it, the more I like Web!Duke conceptually… but I am worried that it doesn’t fit him. That Duke’s all-or-nothing “if no one else is going to, I’ll do it myself” attitude & raw charisma is not close enough to the Web’s need for control. I don’t like it when people just assign characters an Entity for the Aesthetic(TM) or for shallow, surface-level reasons—it has to resonate with their own personal failings, or else what’s even the point?)

Jason was human when he joined the family, and they’d want to keep him that way… but I think by the time he gets back from the Red Robin arc, Jason would’ve been claimed by the Hunt.

Dick gets scooped up by the family almost immediately in this AU, and Cass does her best to temper in his early-days bloodlust. With Cass as his Batman, I think Dick would be tempted by the Vast, but ultimately chase after her by embracing his own Otherness. (Or Dick was already a Stranger when his parents fell. But honestly, I like the arc of Dick learning to love himself & following in his mentor’s footsteps so much more than making him a Stranger because Circus.)

[ohbo-ohno]

omgomgomgomggggg u mentioned reader locked in a cage watching her stuffed bear through the bars and my mind immediately started racing. do u think when they have her locked up they sit just outside the bars teasing her with her stuffed bear shaking him around just outside her reach? taunting her and cooing when tears slide down her cheeks😭they throw a blanket over ur cage and leave u there for “puppy’s nap time” i’m actually shaking

oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my

this is a little long one because both of these concepts have killed me and i lost control of myself

im shaking. hyperventilating. quivering. i am an unrecognizable person after reading these asks.

forced into a cage fucking GETS ME!!! noncon puppy play you will always be famous. both of my noncon/dubcon ghostsoap puppyplay things (say that five times fast) have johnny falling into a type of subspace really quickly so i haven't actually gotten to write a lot of a forced puppy reacting badly and i want to so MUCH!!! might do it with ghostsoap in a follow up to the thing i just posted honestly. it's so fucking delicious

but anyways. in this au the cage you get shoved in isn't johnny's cage, it's one they made for you so you can keep them company during their murderous free time. that means the cage is small, you-sized :( you can't sit up straight in it, can't stretch your legs out the whole way, can't even really kneel straight up. a tiny little space for a tiny little girl oh im going to be SICK

i like the idea of reader having a little nest of her own in their cabin, filled with soft things for her to relax into (and, of course, a hook for them to leash her to) so i feel like her cage in the basement is probably a little ugly. probably no blankets or pillows, shoved in the middle of the room somewhere so there's no place where you can hide (aka press yourself against the wall), leaves you exposed and vulnerable and cold. poor little puppy :( crying and sniffling and begging them not to force you in, but they just chuckle and ruffle your hair a bit, force you to your knees.

all that being said: your little bear johnny and bear simon are in the bad cage with you <3

the stuffy (im calling it a bear but fill in an animal if you'd like) is a total comfort object for you, something that has gone through every bad thing right by your side. when they fuck you, you almost always have the bear in your arms. when they force you to their torture dungeon, the bear is either in your arms or in your eyeline. maybe one of the times they hunt you simon slips the little bear into your arms while johnny is fucking you in the dirt, smirks a little when you thank him and hold it tight to your chest.

if you get really worked up from what they're doing one of them throws an old blanket over your cage. it makes everything so much worse - you can't see anything, you're left alone in this cold dark space, and you can still hear every sound of pain and the tools your kidnappers are using. but for some reason you feel more vulnerable in the dark (like a bird lol) so you go quiet, hunch down real low and squeeze your eyes shut so you can't see the bloodstains on the blanket. simon on johnny think they're helping you cause you don't sound nearly as scared when you can't see anything <3 gives them horrible ideas involving blindfolds but that's another thing

johnny keeping your bear from you. it's like the two of you want me dead. “do you wanna come out now?🥺” “you want your bear??🥺” “are you gonna be a good girl now???🥺🥺” and "teasing her with her stuffed bear shaking him around just outside her reach? taunting her and cooing when tears slide down her cheeks" like im so fucking GONE it's actually not even funny.

you get real puppy-like when they make you beg for your bear. little paws held out, eyes all big and teary, panting and wiggling around cause you want your toy so badly. simon telling you to take the stuffy with your teeth, and you whine because you don't want to bite your bear!!!! but he says johnny and i bite you all the time, puppy, if you can take it so can your bear so you finally lean forward, get a little loose hold on the stuffy's leg where johnny's holds it out

but he's so mean, because he doesn't let it go :( just smiles real big at the sight of you on your knees, little puppy toy between your teeth. go on, he'd say take it, lass. and you try!!! you tug it a little, shake your head a bit, but he won't let go!! he won't give you your bear!!!

until simon tells him to, a gruff that's enough tug o' war, johnny, she's been a good girl. hand it over. and then the stuffy is yours again, finally. you'd tuck it up right in your arms, hold it close to your chest and bury you nose in the soft fur with your eyes squeezed shut. you ignore the little coos from above you, fully throw yourself into loving on your bear

[0v3rcast]

Gnaw (interlude one: electro)

"It's been such a long time since we've had a little chat, my maker." Electro says, having at some point gone from 'taking your hand and awkwardly not letting go' to 'holding your hand as firmly as possible without hurting you'. "Longer still since I've felt your touch. Apologies if this makes you uncomfortable, I just really missed you."

You ask what it is that makes them presume you are their maker.

"Ah. Right. You kinda locked those memories away, didn't you? You decided to have a nice little vacation in some lame low-future setting. Let's just say for the sake of entertaining your delusions that you're hypothetically our creator."

You ask why they're just now coming into contact with you instead of earlier. Why they didn't prevent your deaths, if you're hypothetically their 'creator'.

"Perhaps this will be painful for you to hear, but until now, none of us could physically come to your aid. Myself and the others are the elements of this world, and with that much power comes a certain risk to your body.

Had I come to your aid, you'd have been vaporized by the sheer amount of energy that you could easily wield before."

They give a small, awkward bow, letting go of your hand.

"To be quite clear: I am Electro. First to fall at your command, and the one who sits at your right side. Your... right hand, if you will. Your agent of change on the face of Teyvat... and your executioner."

You ask what exactly led you to need an executioner, even if you hypothetically believe you, of all people, made Teyvat.

They give you an awkward smile as the two of you begin to travel down a small path up from the beach.

"Other creations from other worlds. Heretics, dissenters, and the occasional rebellious project here. They were rarely powerful, so it took me little time to mop them up."

Other worlds? You had them kill people from other realities?

"My maker, you had me erase realities." They grin much more honestly, the symbol replacing their pupils spinning slowly for a moment. "And I thank you for that opportunity. There's just something special about unwinding another existence and watching your less favored creations cease to be."

You're horrified by this, and nearly trip. By your orders, entire universes were erased... but why?

"Usually, they sought to construct an equal to you. Something they could use to harness your power without your guidance. The power-mad, those that saw you as an uncaring divine, those who sought to take your place..." Electro purrs, their incisors less like human teeth and more like fangs. "There was always room at the end of my blade for every single one of your lost little lambs."

You ask if you made them so bloodthirsty. So... cruel. Or if you'd done something to make them like that.

They laugh, moving in front of you to walk backwards and face you.

"Ah, you're such a delight, my maker. No, no, you aren't to blame for what I am. When each of us was 'born', you allowed us each control of who we were. You even gave us little worlds to live a formatory life on.

My world was a simple one, but one that you enjoyed - you based your vacation world on my homeworld, actually, which was super kind of you - and I grew up with a loving, healthy family. A sister and two dads. Nice people, good morals, never really wanting for anything.

It was all I ever knew, then, and it was fucking boring.

I didn't want a long, dull life with responsibilities and a spouse and 2.5 children, or some middle management position I'd wither away my not-quite-century of life tending to.

I gladly indulged myself in the world's pleasures where I could get them. I'm sure you can understand what I mean. And nothing was ever enough. There was just... something I was missing."

For a moment, you say nothing, instead focusing on navigating around a rather annoying hole in the dirt path. They've returned to walking at your side.

You ask what was missing from what already seemed like a very good life.

"Choice. The ability to say 'I am me, fuck the rules, fuck what everyone else thinks.' I fought to see what I wanted to see, to tear down what I hated, to uplift what I loved. Rules meant nothing if they weren't mine. Law meant nothing when someone else made them. The only one who owned me was me... and you."

"Once I died, and you collected my essence for use, I was given my pick of the elements. I suppose that's what happens when you die at barely 30."

You ask what it was that inspired them to be Electro, and not Pyro or Anemo.

"Simple. Lightning doesn't stay in line. It falls, and it's bright enough to leave a mark on a dull world that's just going about the motions. It makes others take notice. It says 'look at me! See what I choose to be!'

How could I be anything else, when instead I could be me without regrets?

Why would I choose to narrow myself to anything else?"

You ask what they think of the Raiden Shogun. They frown, reaching out to pick a berry from a bush and toss it to you. You pop it into your mouth gratefully.

"Ei is a disappointing Archon. Just... following in a corpse's footsteps. Barely living a life. One day she'll get tired of sealing herself up in a dumb little bubble and letting a doll play house with her people.

I can't really complain, though. She chose that, and all I want is my bearers to choose something and to hopefully enjoy it."

You ask who would be an ideal Archon to them. They shrug, kicking a stone into a small stream as you two finish crossing it.

"Honestly? Don't want one anymore. I liked Makoto because she wanted to do something fucking crazy, and was going to raise hell until she made it happen. That really spoke to me, y'know?

But she's gone, and that's fine. Shit happens, and she knew it was a possibility.

I'd rather keep doing what I'm doing and give Visions to whoever I think would be fun to watch."

You two walk in silence for a while, and then you ask just where it is you're heading, now that you've noted the way the cliffs are growing steeper and the vegetation has changed.

"Liyue. S'nice. Wish it wasn't Geo's turf, fuck'em, but if we're lucky you'll be in good hands with their people. About all I can really compliment them on."

You ask if they can stay at your side and hopefully protect you from... zealous worshippers.

They laugh.

"Hahahaha, hahaha, haha, heh, no." They suddenly deadpan, entirely serious, and stop in place. "You'd probably die. It's a terrible idea for me to protect you when you're so... squishy."

You ask for something to defend yourself with, then, if they're going to be unavailable.

They grin.

"Oh, that's easy. I got you."

They grab your wrist, and you hiss in pain as electricity courses up your left arm. There is now an Electro symbol on your inner wrist, your skin there dyed a royal purple.

"That's the sort of master key to Electro. Electro energy will come to you when you call for it, and since you're you it'll shape itself into a form you like."

They lean in to stage-whisper conspiratorially. "My favorite is a lightning bolt, because hitting someone from halfway across the room with a blast of pure 'fuck you' is always a good time, but I've seen some promising animal shapes and even a couple neat weapons."

They notice something in the distance and grimace faintly after a few moments more of walking.

"We're almost to the border between Mondstadt and Liyue. If you see Geo, tell them they still owe me for all the Electro Crystals."

You ask what that means.

Instead of answering, Electro makes a peace sign in your direction and then vanishes in a sudden crackle of static and the smell of ozone, leaving you on a road. You didn't realize you'd actually been walking alongside them all this way in the real world.

You'd thought it was all sort of a daydream. The mark on your inner wrist says otherwise.

At least you've made it this far?

((Taglist:

(Wow. There's so many of you now.

@the-dumber-scaramouche @thatdeadaquarius @ssak-i @imyme20 @fried-lotud @acacla @itz-luna @iruiji @crierofirony @itsredactedlove @sweetsthetik @leafanonsforest @oxyotl @kkazuyass @featuredtofu @resident-cryptid @d4y-dr3am3r @crimson-ashes @red1sg0n3 @the-real-fandom-person @code-roevember @yourlocalsourwolf @rhoswen-drake @minimari415

@reversearrowhead

[snapghoul]

I am so so so charmed by your Seresin twins universe. Do you have more thoughts on what they were like in high school? I love your idea of Jake standing up for Tyler (behind his back, of course), if you feel like fleshing that out in a full fic...

Thanks for sharing all your head canons and stories with us -- I can't wait to read more!! 💙💙

You got me giggling and kicking my feet, I’m so happy you’re enjoying my au ❤️❤️

You keep thinkin’ that you’ll never get burnt

The two times Jake defended Tyler with his fists.

Note: I really suck at writing trash talk oh my goddess, I can’t be mean in for the life of me even when writing.

Warnings: foul language, bullying, physical violence

Song: These Boots Are Made For Walkin’ - Nancy Sinatra

The first time it happened was during freshman year, in P.E. class, in the locker room. Jake had just finished the final day of the track unit. The locker room was buzzing with the usual post-exercise energy. Jake and Tyler didn’t have any classes together, the school knowing better than to but them in the same room.

As Jake was changing, he overheard a conversation between a couple of students he didn’t recognize.

“What’s his name? Seresin? Tyler? Jake’s brother, right?” one of them asked, curiosity lacing their voice.

The mention of Tyler was enough to catch Jake’s attention. He turned slightly, trying to gauge the tone of the conversation.

“Yeah, that’s him. I heard he’s a dirt eater. My buddy saw him at the rodeo on Saturday,” another voice chimed in, followed by a few snickers. “I think he’s a little...”

Jake slammed his locker shut, a sharp prick of anger under his skin. The casual mockery of Tyler, especially about something as hard-earned as the rodeo, stung deeply. So what if Tyler had taken a few falls? He was just starting out this season—he wasn’t going to be perfect right away.

Jake’s hands clenched into fists as he turned toward the group. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice tight with controlled fury. “Tyler’s working hard and getting better.”

Jake stood firm, ready to defend his brother’s honor. The one making the comment was an upperclassman, his face smeared with cocky arrogance. He raised an eyebrow at Jake, clearly unfazed.

“Oh yeah? I say the next rodeo he gets his head stomped on. Maybe that’ll teach him,” the upperclassman taunted.

In a flash of rage, Jake grabbed the kid and slammed him hard against the lockers. The upperclassman’s head hit the metal with a sharp clang. “You shut up!” Jake growled, his voice a low, menacing roar.

The room went dead silent, the other students recoiling in shock. Jake’s anger was raw and unrestrained, his actions a clear message that he wouldn’t tolerate any more disrespect towards his brother.

Jake shoved him once more before storming out of the locker room.

The second time was the one and only time Tyler saw it.

It was Wednesday, fourth period passing time, and Jake was leaning against his friend’s locker while his buddies chatted. He noticed Tyler walking down the hall, animatedly discussing something. Jake followed his brother with his eyes until Tyler disappeared from view.

Jake would never admit it, but he was fiercely protective of his twin. He often noticed the irritated looks and whispered comments directed at Tyler, mostly because of his enthusiastic interest in science.

"God, Tyler never shuts up," Ryan, a teammate from the football team, complained beside him.

"I’m not sure which is worse—listening to him talk about science or just hearing him at all," added Declan, another friend.

“It sucks that you live with him, Jake. I think I’d rather throw myself off a bridge than be his brother,” Ryan joked, and the others laughed.

Jake was not usually prone to violence. Even if he was seething with rage he’d never engage physical aggression. But Ryan’s comment ignited a fierce anger in him. Jake cherished having a twin, someone who was always there to listen and support him. The thought of being without Tyler was unsettling.

“What?” Jake asked, his voice tight with restrained emotion.

“Yeah! C’mon, Jake, he’s fucking annoying. All he does is talk and take up space. Sure, he’s good at the local rodeo, but he’s a fucking—”

Ryan didn’t get to finish his sentence. Jake dropped his books and threw a punch so hard that Ryan stumbled into the lockers on the opposite side of the hallway. Declan, who had been standing close by, received the same treatment.

The crowd in the hall quickly parted, forming a circle around the commotion, their murmurs hushed in shock.

“Say that again, you son of a bitch!” Jake roared, his voice raw with fury. He lunged for Ryan again, his hand grabbing at Ryan’s shirt, his other fist swinging back, knuckles smeared with the blood from Ryan’s nose.

Jake’s fury was unrestrained; Tyler was far from a waste of space—he was everything Ryan and Declan were not. Without waiting for a response, Jake landed another punch. The crowd erupted into chaos, and a few teachers rushed to intervene.

Eventually, two teachers managed to drag Jake away, his kicks and curses directed at Ryan and Declan as he struggled. His fists were bruised and bloodied, evidence of the intense anger he felt.

Jake’s gaze found Tyler amidst the throng of students, his twin’s eyes wide with shock but also with an unexpected smile. Even as everyone around them tried to piece together what had happened, Tyler’s smile shone through. Then, Tyler let out a laugh that was swallowed by the commotion, but Jake caught it. Grinning wildly, Jake noticed the blood in in his teeth, a mark of the punch Ryan had landed on him. The notion fueled Jake’s satisfaction even as he was restrained, he chalked another win.