#YOU JUST MEMORIZE WHAT'S WHAT RANGE AND IT MAKES SENSE

[koboldfactory]

Do you have any tips for drawing different body types? I find that mine end up looking too generic and androgynous

Sure I have a few pointers!

- Main thing is always look at references. Be that actual like anatomy models or whatever or just other people’s art with a wider range of body types. It’s important to absorb skills from folks doing the stuff you wanna draw! Not saying you’ve gotta like memorize all of the exact shapes and placements of muscle groups. Just look at things and compare them to what you draw now!

- another one that helped me was to just draw bodies bigger than you think because I had spent so long drawing pencil thin anime characters in highschool that even when I actually tried to draw muscles or fat it didn’t really make any noticeable difference. So I had to overcorrect to reach a new base point to allow me better access to a wider range of body types to draw. If that makes sense! Making arms wider in general was a big one for me initially.

Hope that helps!

Also!! For memorable silhouettes, making weird creatures with unconventional body types can help round out your cast of characters too! Like robots and monsters and stuff!!

(Also if anyone has that pdf or a link to that guide on drawing fat bodies feel free to reblog with it. I don’t remember what it’s called and I’m afk eating dinner rn)

[cripplecharacters]

Hi! I'm making a character who uses a cane for stability as they're often dizzy / unstable and in pain when walking too long or simply standing without something to lean on, especially in certain warmer conditions ( haven't yet figured out the specifics, mainly just basing how their symptoms are shown using myself lol ), and I was wondering what sort of cane related side effects(?) I should be aware of for this character ?? I've never used a cane myself, but I still want the character to seem realistic in a " this character utilizes their mobility aid realistically and for necessity other than physical injury, and using it has after effects because it's not a 100% fix-all, they're not just a character who happens to have a cane for diversity points " I suppose ??

Maybe just things like they get sweaty palms after a while and it effects grip ( is that a thing ?? ) or their shoulder might ache if they lean on only one arm for too long ( again, listing these for examples that could make sense / make sense in theory, not sure if these are smth that can actually happen ? ), etc !! Just things I should maybe consider to make them feel more real and also to more accurately represent cane usage, etc ( I also want to mention they're quite clumsy, but more of difficulty memorizing where things are placed / ADHD related bad object permanence than general clumsiness, yk. So maybe they bump into things with it or even misplace their cane a lot ?? Is there any issues with this ?? )

Thanks so much in advance for your response !

Hi!

As a cane user, here are some suggestions on showing issues that come with using a cane;

Sweaty palms in the summer, freezing in the winter. To help with the latter, some will wear gloves, others might switch hands to warm the cold one up (in their pockets, or in their partner's hand :) ).

Shoulder can ache, same for the actual hand if they're like me and grip the handle way harder than they need to. Your character might have to stretch their arm if they're using their cane for a long time.

If they use it for dizziness then they could switch it from side to side to prevent a lot of the above. Most people without coordination problems prefer to hold it in their non-dominant hand but if their shoulder hurts then they would probably switch if that's an option.

The character now only has one hand to do stuff with. This slows stuff down and somewhat affects clothing choices (e.g., a bag that goes on the side of the free hand is easier to use than a backpack). Eating most things is harder when walking, if they wear glasses, good luck cleaning them with one hand etc.

In a warmer climate specifically (since you mentioned it) good luck getting all the mosquitos away from you with only one hand.

Sometimes you can kick your cane out of your hand, and it sucks. I actually don't know if this happens to anyone else other than me since I haven't seen it mentioned much by other users but if your character's cane-side leg is strong then this is a possibility.

Sometimes (but feels like always) the cane is affected by evil forces (gravity) when you lean it against something, and it's annoying to deal with. It can be easier to just hold it between their legs if they're sitting down.

Because of this I might ask someone I'm with to hold my cane when I go to the bathroom. You don't want the handle hitting the floor. (If your character can't go without their cane then disregard this, obviously.)

Everyone bumps into things at the start. Usually you learn how big your new hitbox is with time, but it can still happen once in a while, especially if they deal with dizziness or vertigo. You can also misjudge distances and accidentally put the end of the cane off the sidewalk and that can make you trip.

You can also put it in a Mysterious Crevice (always invisible), and it can range from being mildly annoying to really scary. It can also make you trip.

The tip of the cane needs to be replaced once in a while. If your character uses their cane daily, walks a lot, and puts a lot of weight on it, they will need to do it more often.

If they get dizzy often then a wrist strap (exactly what it sounds like) would probably be good so that they don't drop it when getting up, etc.

Cane doesn't get rid of all the symptoms, it just makes walking easier/safer. If your character has issues with stability then they probably aren't gonna be running around just because they have a cane.

And, obviously, annoying people. Arguably the biggest issue when it comes to using a cane. It obviously depends on what setting the character is in, but random ableism encounters are unfortunately a part of the experience. It absolutely doesn't have to be some sort of hate crime (!!!!), including a microaggression here and there ("What happened to you?", "I'll pray for you", "Why are you using this?" etc. unprompted) is enough if your story aims for realism but doesn't focus on ableism.

I don't have ADHD and can't really speak on how that would affect anything, so I will leave it to other mods who actually have relevant experience. Hope this helps!

mod Sasza

Hello!

Oh, the perils of ADHD and a cane. I leave my cane laying around all the time at home and end up tripping over it at least twice a day. Admittedly, this could also be impacted by my low vision.

Other ways my ADHD interacts with my cane usage:

Forgetting to change the tip until it's basically flat and I'm faceplanting all the time.

Terrible sense of spatial awareness. I do kick my cane out from under me occasionally but I also miss a step very often, smack into pillars or counters or chairs fairly frequently (Either with my cane or my body), and just generally make a nuisance of myself in tightly packed spaces.

I live in a very small flat and tend to use my counters and walls more for support than my cane when I'm home so I am ALWAYS leaving it propped up somewhere and forgetting where.

Fidgeting by picking at the stickers I have on it and also picking at the wood of the handle. Also by pressing in the 'buttons' for adjusting the height.

Another spatial awareness issue: I have an ice attachment on mine because I live in the frigid lands of Canada and I am constantly kicking it when I walk. I imagine this would be a similar problem with any other attachments.

Terrible impulse control often leads to me getting stuck places because I'm able to easily get there but getting out/down/up from wherever it is is more difficult and didn't cross my mind. For example, the other day I went up a steep hill in the forest and was able to do it just fine but couldn't get down easily on my own (Eventually I ended up just butt-scooching down rather than risking a fall).

Mod Sasza covered a lot of the general cane-usage issues but just to add a few more that I encounter:

The crevice thing is a real pain and if your character lives somewhere with street cars, it can be really scary to cross the road. I always have to alternate between looking down so I don't get my cane tip caught in the tracks and looking around so I don't get hit by an impatient driver.

I can't go without my cane in the washroom so something I do is have hand sanitizer on me constantly (As well as disinfectant wipes if I can). It helps to kind of clean my hands a bit before I grab my cane again and it also helps if I do end up dropping it on the floor.

Adding onto the ableism issue: I frequently encounter able bodied people using things such as the accessible seating on public transport, accessible washrooms/stalls, ramps, etc. when there are other options for them available. This is the biggest problem for me when I go out.

This may be specific to my cane but I find that whenever I fold it up (It's collapsible) or adjust the height, I end up with grease on my hands which is a bit annoying.

The height! That's another thing. If your character uses their cane indoors and outdoors, they may need to adjust the height frequently. The other reason I don't use my cane at home is because I wear heavy boots outside and would have to adjust it every time I take them off otherwise. That said, if their shoes are thin or don't give them much height, they may be fine without adjusting it.

Hopefully some of this is helpful!

Cheers,

~ Mod Icarus

[agaypanic]

My Babysitter's a Vampire Simp Headcanons

Masterlist

Request Something!

***

Benny

Casts spells all the time just to see you smile

FLOWERS!!! So many flowers, conjured at any moment

Your locker becomes a garden tbh

Would do anything for you

If you need help, he’s there in a heartbeat

If you have a problem that can’t be fixed with a spell, he’d probably try to create his own

Favorite pastime is playing games with you

Especially when you’re playing in his room because, more often than not, you’re sitting on his lap

Your guys’ favorite game to play is Minecraft

“Y/n, where are you?” Benny asked as he built a house for the two of you.

“I’m on the other side of the hill.”

“Why are you so far away? It’s gonna be dark soon.”

“This side has more flowers.” He looked at your screen, and sure enough, you were picking flowers in a field. “The house has to be pretty.”

“Y/n, I dunno how to make the house look like you.” Benny pinched your side with his teasing and you giggled, squirming around in his lap. He kissed your temple before going in to start putting structures inside the house. “Now get over here before I have to go get you.” 

Reluctantly, you left the field and made your way to the house. Making sure to close the door behind you, you ventured inside and found Benny’s character in the bedroom.

“Aww! You put the beds next to each other.”

Rory

BIGGEST SIMP OF ALL TIME I SWEAR

The second he sees you, he’s a goner

Benny and Ethan gotta pull him down bc he starts floating

Carries all your stuff without you asking

Walks you to class all the time, even if his class is on the other side of the school

Saves a seat for you at lunch even tho it’s your unassigned assigned seat at the table

Practically has heart eyes anytime he looks at you

Talks about you all the time to his friends

They could be talking about something completely different, but he’s determined to make you the topic of conversation whenever he can

“Oh my gosh, that reminds me of the time Y/n…” and the two things will be COMPLETELY unrelated

You immediately spotted your boyfriend and your friends by your locker when you got to school. Rory seemed to be going off on some tangent, and it must’ve been going on too long because the others looked like they were about to murder him or themselves. To spare your friends, you walked fast to meet them. Rory sensed you before you could speak, turning to look at you with vampire swiftness.

“Y/n!” He looked at you like a puppy who hadn’t seen its owner in hours. When you were close enough, he peppered your face in kisses, much to the group’s disgust.

“Hey, Rory.” You laughed when he eased up on the affection, moving to greet everyone else. “Hey, guys.” They replied with their own greetings while you opened your locker. With each book you took out, Rory immediately took it from you without saying a word. “Rory, baby, you don’t have to.”

“Oh, but I insist, honeybunch.” The warning bell rang, and everyone dispersed. Rory walked you to your first period, something he did every day without fail.

“Okay, you better go. I don’t want you to be late.”

“Don’t worry, sweet thing. That’s what superspeed is for.”

“Superspeed you shouldn’t be using in public.” You took your books from Rory and gave him a kiss to tide him over for the next hour. “See you after class?”

“Always, baby.”

Ethan

Soooo nervous about being around you

Whenever he touched you, he’d get visions of the two of you together

That just made him fall harder for you

Makes flirty remarks based on his powers

“I had a vision we made out” kinda stuff

Memorizes everything about you

He believes every detail is important

Whenever he’s around, don’t even think about paying

Even if he’s broke, he’s paying for your stuff

You and Ethan were in line at some fast food place, all he could afford. You would’ve offered to help pay but knew attempts would be futile. As nice as Ethan was, he was also stubborn. Soon it was your turn to order, and you didn’t even speak, Ethan relaying your regular order perfectly, down to what sauce you wanted. He then let you lead him to whatever booth you wanted.

“You know, I don’t mind paying one of these times.” You commented before taking a sip of your drink. Ethan shook his head, dismissing the thought.

“Y/n, for the thousandth time, it’s fine. I really don’t mind.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.” Your boyfriend grinned, reaching to take your hand. He looked down, watching his thumb rub back and forth over the back of your hand. You saw a slight smirk and knew what was coming. “I just had a vision.”

“Oh really?” You bit back a laugh, flipping your hand over to interlock your fingers. “What happened in this vision of yours?”

“Well, first of all, the food is very delicious.”

“Oh, good.”

“And second, I ask you something very important.” This piqued your interest very much.

“I think you should ask me now.”

“Sorry, babe, I ask you after we get our food.” As if waiting for the cue, your order number was called. Ethan grinned, kissing your hand as he stood from the booth seat. He left, and when he returned with a tray of food, you were impatient.

“Okay, ask me the question. I wanna know.”

“Okay, okay.” Ethan distributed the food between the two of you before looking at you expectantly. “Who gave you the right to be so pretty?”

“Oh my God, Ethan.”

[writers-potion]

I have a character that is more of an entity than a human being, so he doesn’t have a heart, nor can he sweat or have any organs

It’s hard for me to describe things like “he felt his heart sink” or other expressions like that, since in the back of my mind I’m thinking “he doesn’t have a heart” ya know? Even if it’s figurative speech

My ask is: any tips on how I can describe his feelings in more impactful ways, working around the fact he’s not human? (Detail, he wants to be human)

Human Feelings for the Non-Human Character

So, I take it that you have a character who:

Lacks physiological features usually associated with expressing emotions,

But is overall humanoid, which means he doesn't have other special body features (like a tail that he can wag) that allows him to convey his feelings.

Limit the Range of Emotions

Does the fact that your character lacks organs mean that he cannot feel the full range of human emotions?

If yes, broadly categorize the emotion groups into: (1) Feelings he understands, and (2) Feelings he doesn't understand.

For Feelings Understood by Him:

Use body language

Use quirky habits

Use other body features

For Feelings NOT Understood by Him:

Describing shock, surprise and confusion

Borrow other characters' expressions

Use Body Language

Body language is a great indicator of emotion. Even if your character cannot truly feel the bodily effects of an emotion, he may exhibit the same body language displayed by normal humans. This is especially if he lives around other, "normal" people.

Instead of his "heart sinking", he may "start shaking", "feel his throat clench", "find himself wordless", "go completely still", etc. to express shock.

Use Quirky Habits

Describe a few quirky things that your reader can rely on to see how your character is doing. This is a good place to describe how he's different, or wants to be human, too.

Shredding tissue/paper to bits and eating it (I mean, he doesn't have organs, so I'm supposing he can't get sick from this) when he's nervous.

Listening to heartbeat sounds on YouTube when he's happy, imagining the sound coming from his chest.

Running non-stop for hours and hours when he's worried and want to clear his mind

Use Other Body Features

Even if he doesn't have typical body parts, we must make do with what he does have. Since he has fewer organs, all of his senses would be highly concentrated on those:

Feeling the fluids in his abdominal cavity churning when he's nervous (no organs, but I'm assuming his middle is filled with something?)

Feeling all the specific bones ache/creaking when he is angry

All of his hairs standing up, etc.

Describing shock, surprise and confusion

All other feelings that's not fully understood, or one that is being felt by him for the first time will just be shock and confusion.

In addition to the three strategies above, focus more on the mental panic that he will feel, being confronted with a situation where he doesn't know himself.

If he's in a situation where he desperately wants to feel what the others are feeling, make him try his best to mimic them, observing them in detail.

Borrow other characters' expressions

Just because someone doesn't feel something doesn't mean he cannot understand it logically. We humans "know" that we should be feeling a particular way in given situations even without sympathizing with the other fully.

Thus, let your character use stock phrases like "my heart sank" by borrowing the words of someone he spends a lot of time with. Perhaps his mother, who was afraid he'd get bullied as a child, actually taught him to express himself like others, memorizing the "right" emotional reactions like how you'd learn vocabulary.

Hope this helps! :)

[nostalgebraist]

thoughts on xDOTcom/CorralSummer/status/1823504569097175056 tumblrDOTcom/antinegationism/758845963819450368 ?

I mostly try to ignore AI art debates, and as a result I feel like I don't have enough context to make sense of that twitter exchange. That said...

It's about generative image models, and whether they "are compression." Which seems to mean something like "whether they contain compressed representations of their training images."

I can see two reasons why partisans in the AI art wars might care about this question:

If a training image is actually "written down" inside the model, in some compressed form that can be "read off" of the weights, it would then be easier to argue that a copyright on the image applies to the model weights themselves. Or to make similar claims about art theft, etc. that aren't about copyright per se.

If the model "merely" consists of a bunch of compressed images, together with some comparatively simple procedure for mixing/combining their elements together (so that most of the complexity is in the images, not the "combining procedure"), this would support the contention that the model is not "creative," is not "intelligent," is "merely copying art by humans," etc.

I think the stronger claim in #2 is clearly false, and this in turn has implications for #1.

(For simplicity I'll just use "#2", below, as a shorthand for "the stronger claim in #2," i.e. the thing about compressed images + simple combination procedure)

I can't present, or even summarize, the full range of the evidence against #2 in this brief post. There's simply too much of it. Virtually everything we know about neural networks militates against #2, in one way or another.

The whole of NN interpretability conflicts with #2. When we actually look at the internals of neural nets and what is being "represented" there, we rarely find anything that is specialized to a single training example, like a single image. We find things that are more generally applicable, across many different images: representations that mean "there's a curved line here" or "there's a floppy ear here" or "there's a dog's head here."

The linked post is about an image classifier (and a relatively primitive one), not an image generator, but we've also found similar things inside of generative models (e.g.).

I also find it difficult to understand how anyone could seriously believe #2 after actually using these models for any significant span of time, in any nontrivial way. The experience is just... not anything like what you would expect, if you thought they were "pasting together" elements from specific artworks in some simplistic, collage-like way. You can ask them for wild conjunctions of many different elements and styles, which have definitely never been represented before in any image, and the resulting synthesis will happen at a very high, humanlike level of abstraction.

And it is noteworthy that, even in the most damning cases where a model reliably generates images that are highly similar to some obviously copyrighted ones, it doesn't actually produce exact duplicates of those images. The linked article includes many pairs of the form (copyrighted image, MidJourney generation), but the generations are vastly different from the copyrighted images on the pixel level -- they just feel "basically the same" to us, because they have the same content in terms of humanlike abstract concepts, differing only in "inessential minor details."

If the model worked by memorizing a bunch of images and then recombining elements of them, it should be easy for it to very precisely reproduce just one of the memorized images, as a special case. Whereas it would presumably be difficult for such a system to produce something "essentially the same as" a single memorized image, but differing slightly in the inessential details -- what kind of "mixture," with some other image(s), would produce this effect?

Yet it's the latter that we see in practice -- as we'd expect from a generator that works in humanlike abstractions.

And this, in turn, helps us understand what's going in in the twitter dispute about "it's either compression or magic" vs. "how could you compress so much down to so few GB?"

Say you want to make a computer display some particular picture. Of, I dunno, a bird. (The important thing is that it's a specific picture, the kind that could be copyrighted.)

The simplest way to do this is just to have the computer store the image as a bitmap of pixels, without any compression.

In this case, it's unambiguous that the image itself is being represented in the computer, with all the attendant copyright (etc.) implications. It's right there. You can read it off, pixel by pixel.

But maybe this takes up too much computer memory. So you try using a simple form of compression, like JPEG compression.

JPEG compression is pretty simple. It doesn't "know" much about what images tend to look like in practice; effectively, it just "knows" that they tend to be sort of "smooth" at the small scale, so that one tiny region often has similar colors/intensities to neighboring tiny regions.

Just knowing this one simple fact gets you a significant reduction in file size, though. (The size of this reduction is a typical reference point for people's intuitions about what "compression" can, and can't, do.)

And here, again, it's relatively clear that the image is represented in the computer. You have to do some work to "unpack" it, but it's simple work, using an algorithm simple enough that a human can hold the whole thing in their mind at once. (There is probably at least one person in existence, I imagine, who can visualize what the encoded image looks like when they look at the raw bytes of a JPEG file, like those guys in The Matrix watching the green text fall across their terminal screens.)

But now, what if you had a system that had a whole elaborate library of general visual concepts, and could ably draw these concepts if asked, and could draw them in any combination?

You no longer need to lay out anything like a bitmap, a "copy" of the image arranged in space, tile by tile, color/intensity unit by color/intensity unit.

It's a bird? Great, the system knows what birds look like. This particular bird is an oriole? The system knows orioles. It's in profile? The system knows the general concept of "human or animal seen in profile," and how to apply it to an oriole.

Your encoding of the image, thus far, is a noting-down of these concepts. It takes very little space, just a few bits of information: "Oriole? YES. In profile? YES."

The picture is a close-up photograph? One more bit. Under bright, more-white-than-yellow light? One more bit. There's shallow depth of field, and the background is mostly a bright green blur, some indistinct mass of vegetation? Zero bits: the system's already guessed all that, from what images of this sort tend to be like. (You'd have to spend bits to get anything except the green blur.)

Eventually, we come to the less essential details -- all the things that make your image really this one specific image, and not any of the other close-up shots of orioles that exist in the world. The exact way the head is tilted. The way the branch, that it sits on, is slightly bent at its tip.

This is where most of the bits are spent. You have to spend bits to get all of these details right, and the more "arbitrary" the details are -- the less easy they are to guess, on the basis of everything else -- the more bits you have to spend on them.

But, because your first and most abstract bits bought you so much, you can express your image quite precisely, and still use far less room than JPEG compression would use, or any other algorithm that comes to mind when people say the word "compression."

It is easy to "compress" many specific images inside a system that understands general visual concepts, because most of the content of an image is generic, not unique to that image alone.

The ability to convey all of the non-unique content very briefly is precisely what provides us enough room to write down all the unique content, alongside it.

This is basically the way in which specific images are "represented" inside Stable Diffusion and MidJourney and the like, insofar as they are. Which they are, not as a general rule, but occasionally, in the case of certain specific images -- due to their ubiquity in the real world and hence in the training data, or due to some deliberate over-sampling of them in that data.

(In the case of MidJourney and the copyrighted images, I suspect the model was [over-?]heavily trained on those specific images -- perhaps because they were thought to exemplify the "epic," cinematic MidJourney house style -- and it has thus stored more of their less-essential details than it has with most training images. Typical regurgitations from image generators are less precise than those examples, more "abstract" in their resemblance to the originals -- just the easy, early bits, with fewer of the expensive less-essential details.)

But now -- is your image of the oriole "represented" in computer memory, in this last case? Is the system "compressing" it, "storing" it in a way that can be "read off"?

In some sense, yes. In some sense, no.

This is a philosophical question, really, about what makes your image itself, and not any of the other images of orioles in profile against blurred green backgrounds.

Remember that even MidJourney can't reproduce those copyrighted images exactly. It just makes images that are "basically the same."

Whatever is "stored" there is not, actually, a copy of each copyrighted image. It's something else, something that isn't the original, but which we deem too close to the original for our comfort. Something of which we say: "it's different, yes, but only in the inessential details."

But what, exactly, counts as an "inessential detail"? How specific is too specific? How precise is too precise?

If the oriole is positioned just a bit differently on the branch... if there is a splash of pink amid the green blur, a flower, in the original but not the copy, or vice versa...

When does it stop being a copy of your image, and start being merely an image that shares a lot in common with yours? It is not obvious where to draw the line. "Details" seem to span a whole continuous range of general-to-specific, with no obvious cutoff point.

And if we could, somehow, strip out all memory of all the "sufficiently specific details" from one of these models -- which might be an interesting research direction! -- so that what remains is only the model's capacity to depict "abstract concepts" in conjunction?

If we could? It's not clear how far that would get us, actually.

If you can draw a man with all of Super Mario's abstract attributes, then you can draw Super Mario. (And if you cannot, then you are missing some important concept or concepts about people and pictures, and this will hinder you in your attempts to draw other, non-copyrighted entities.)

If you can draw an oriole, in profile, and a branch, and a green blur, then you can draw an oriole in profile on a branch against a green blur. And all the finer details? If one wants them, the right prompt should produce them.

There is no way to stop a sufficiently capable artist from imitating what you have done, if it can imitate all of the elements of which your creation is made, in any imaginable combination.

[uc1wa]

18+ minors dni

love languages with geto suguru

tags: fem reader, oral sex, penetrative sex, uni-ish setting, feeling warm and sappy and i miss suguru so, so much, very soft

geto suguru has always been a lover. the way he’d talk about his high school friends and late parents showed it enough. he’d say their name with love, which he knew was unspoken of due to his situation but never ending in his heart. the way he’d bring up his two friends, and sometimes his lower classmen, nostalgic in the way he’d speak of memories he wished he could relive. the way he yearned to have the ability to rewind time sometimes to just have one more spare moment walking alongside them.

love never left his tone, whether it was about his bittersweet years of high school or the sweetness that was newfound ever since you introduced yourself to him.

and loving you came as easy to him as did breathing.

first came the way in which he’d speak to you once he felt himself beginning to fall. four months of knowing him, and a softness set in his voice that you had to work for. finding a small sense of trust in the man, which soon bloomed into his growing yearning to learn more about you. to hear the way you’d speak so effortlessly to him, and how he’d mumble an ‘mhm’ and reassure that he wanted to hear you. that you weren’t rambling for nobody, but for the man who requested time to be with you.

second, came the time he’d ask to spend with you. he’s always asked to meet you for dinner after a day you’d complained to him about, an attempt to make the day a little brighter. he’d pick you up between classes when he had the time, allowing you to sit in his car. and he didn’t mind if you had a reading to do before your next lecture; he’d stay quiet and mess on his phone while you quietly outlined the chapter of the textbook. geto didn’t mind what the two of you did as long as he was with you when you wanted to be with him.

and once you found comfort and security in the man, it wasn’t a rare occurrence for you to leave a key under the outdoor mat for him to allow himself into your home. he’d kick his shoes off while he awaited your return from class. and in the hours he had to wait, he couldn’t help but notice the dirty dishes in the sink and the fridge that had a little too much food for it all to be fresh. geto knows you. he has your class schedule memorized and knows what you’re learning about in each. and he knows you’re busy and finding the time to take care of yourself is hard. naturally, he finds himself scrubbing the dishes and setting them to the side to dry, playing some soft jazz music on his phone beside him and humming to the tunes with his hair tied back. and he thinks to himself… why stop there? he’s checking the expiration dates for things in your fridge, cleaning your bathtub, and running a vacuum on the expanse of the floor in your apartment. but he doesn’t forget to check the watch on his left wrist, noting that it’s a perfect time to leave and pick you up from your class. he grabs the drink you like from the coffee shop that’s on your street and is picking you up with a soft smile and an offering of your favorite.

once you and geto had shared your first kiss together, hands interlocking on the middle console of the car, domesticity bloomed between open cracks. so he decided to send you his first gift on a random sunday morning in the form of a bouquet of flowers from the mailman being placed into your hands. the flowers bright and fresh, the smell alone overtaking your senses. the flowers that suguru had sneaked into a conversation once, asking you a series of questions, and one was simply, "what’s your favorite flower?" of course, you don’t remember, and suguru's relieved when you send a photo of the flowers with a text that’s asking, ‘how did you know i loved these?" after the first gift, he’s generous with more. ranging from the treats he’d pick up when he’d pick you up from class, work, or home to that dress you eyed at that shop last week. he’s well off financially, working enough not to have a worry about rent being due, so showing his care through gifts isn’t hard when you have wandering eyes and his heart is being filled with love.

being physical with you was the last barrier suguru wanted to touch. he’s a gentleman, after all. that’s when you learn how soft his hands are and how clean his nails are. the digits long and palm big against yours. you’re the first to hold his hand, but once he realizes that the gate’s officially opened, he’s not shy to hold yours whenever the two of you are walking alongside one another. though, when palms get sweaty, his is finding your lower back and guiding you gently. a small reassurance that, if you look in the direction opposing your boyfriend, he’s still there. his touches always have meaning, never half-assed or for the fun of claiming you as his. no, his touches are soft, sensual, and meaningful. he runs his hands up and down your arms to feel the bumps that form under, touching your thighs and pushing them open softly, with permission from you.

suguru is soft the first time he tastes you, hands holding your thighs open gently as his tongue rests on your entrance. he makes sure to differentiate fucking from making love because he only realized he could do the latter with you. wanting to connect your bodies as one in the sensual movements that he showed care while doing. pushing your hair out of your face while pressing soft, assuring kisses to your skin while whispering soft words. “you’re really the one for me, princess.” once years pass and that sentence finds further confirmation, he's pressing his seed into you and flourishing under the idea of living under your care, and you, his, until your deathbeds.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Thoughts on Ron x Hermione? Were they a good pairing or should they not have been endgame

I think it makes sense that they're endgame, and I like them as a pairing. I'm not passionate about them, so you won't catch me reading/writing fic where they're the main couple, but as a side couple while Harry's having the main romantic drama, sure.

My problem with Romione is how they were written a bit. Like, in my current reread, I noticed I actually kinda shipped them in books 3, 4, and 5 but like, Romione in books 6 and 7 really doesn't do it for me.

I'll try to organize my thoughts. Like, I do like Hermione and Ron's banter, I honestly think a lot of the petty arguments Harry tunes out are just fun to them. They are both very verbose people and they enjoy bantering and arguing over petty bullshit (bar a few exceptions like 3rd year). I mean, there is a reason these two are bantering and Harry just tones them out:

“Well done, Ron,” snapped Hermione. “What?” said Ron indignantly, having managed, finally, to swallow his food. “I’m not allowed to ask a simple question?” “Oh forget it,” said Hermione irritably, and the pair of them spent the rest of the meal in huffy silence. Harry was too used to their bickering to bother trying to reconcile them; he felt it was a better use of his time to eat his way steadily through his steak-and-kidney pie, then a large plateful of his favorite treacle tart.

(OotP, 210)

“That was really, really good, Harry,” said Hermione, when finally it was just her, Harry, and Ron left. “Yeah, it was!” said Ron enthusiastically, as they slipped out of the door and watched it melt back into stone behind them. “Did you see me disarm Hermione, Harry?” “Only once,” said Hermione, stung. “I got you loads more than you got me —” “I did not only get you once, I got you at least three times —” “Well, if you’re counting the one where you tripped over your own feet and knocked the wand out of my hand —” They argued all the way back to the common room, but Harry was not listening to them.

(OotP, 596)

It makes sense they are like this. Hermione is argumentative in general and Ron grew up in a large family with a lot of siblings. He spent all his childhood arguing with people he loves — arguing over petty shit is a love language. I think, as a couple, they'd just continue doing this.

I mentioned in my Harmony post that I think Ron is closer to Hermione than Harry is. Ron is protective of both Harry and Hermione and stands up to Snape and Malfoy multiple times on behalf of both his friends (as I mentioned in the past, Ron is the friendship glue here, in my opinion) even when Harry and Hermione don't stand up to each other. And yes, Ron had his faults in books 4 and 7 (book 4 is the worst one in my opinion since in book 7 he tried to return immediately, he just removed himself from a volatile situation that can actually be super healthy as a means to calm down) but I do think he's a good friend to Harry and Hermione and knows how to connect to both of them.

Like, I kinda hate that the fandom just ran with Ron having the emotional range of a teaspoon. I mean, he's often the most emotionally intelligent person in the Golden Trio, and he should be given more credit. He is the only one of them who knows to change how he talks depending on who he's talking to on a somewhat conscious level. Hermione is too rigid in her views and doesn't really do social chameleon-ing. Harry does do it, but through mirroring and he does it differently than Ron.

And I think Romione's personalities do work really well together. They complete each other in a nice way. Hermione is all book smarts and memorization, and Ron is strategy and plans (street smarts). They are both brave in different ways and have a different temperament. Like, they get emotional under different circumstances, so one of them would usually end up being cool-headed.

Like, they both require a similar level of attention in a relationship so they work well on that front. Ron knows how to be supportive of Hermione's pursuits, even when he doesn't fully get them, and Hermione (at least in the early books) is aware of Ron's cleverness and appreciates it and his sense of humor. They are good to each other in how they push the other's worldview. Hermione pushes Ron out to rethink things he always considered fine (House Elfs). And Ron pushes Hermione to have more fun and relax a little.

The reason I have a problem with how they are written is that I hate how Hermione's crush on Ron is treated in HBP. Like, that shit was painful to read. I would've loved for them to get together without Hermione being the bitterest, meanest girl out there. Like, I don't mind Hermione being mean, she can be mean on occasion, it's part of her character. Like, I have no qualms about her using that Confundus Charm on McLaggen, that's in character. My problem is how she treated Ron when he was dating Lavender.

Like, I didn't mind the insults towards Lavender too much, that's in character (she is a bit of a pick-me girl like Ginny too, especially in book 6, but even before), but attacking Ron with birds when he never dated Hermione was overkill. Ron's shit towards Hermione and Krum in the fourth year was less extreme than this, I mean, he would never attack Hermione physically. Ron would argue with her, sure, he does so plenty, but he never did and never will attack her and it leaves a bad taste in my mouth to see Hermione willing to attack him quite violently over kissing Lavender when Ron wasn't dating Hermione, it wasn't fucking cheating, Hermione!

Like, I hate it.

In general, I like Ron more than I like Hermione, and this means it's never going to be a pairing I'm invested in, but, it makes sense and could've been done way better than it was in the books. I think Romione had potential and was done dirty.

[sinisteryanderescribe]

Hello Sia I was thinking of what Norton's reaction if Nurse Reader if she got invited into the manor

Maybe in the ashes of memories timeline Nurse Reader is like an employee that the manor hired to help with Alice, because she isn't feeling well during the part 2

Then Nurse Reader saw Norton doing during the night or something

A Memorable Face

…………………………………………………………………………….

…………………………………………………………………………….

Norton is likely to experience a range of emotions upon encountering you at the manor. Given his experiences in the mines, he might initially feel a mix of surprise, confusion, and perhaps even a tinge of gratitude upon seeing you again. The memories of the explosion, as well as the care and kindness you showed him during his recovery, could resurface, evoking a sense of nostalgia and perhaps even a renewed appreciation for you.

Moreover, Norton might undergo a transformation as he realizes the significance of you being at the manor. He may be compelled to reflect on his past behavior towards you, recognising how you had treated him with kindness and respect despite his initial coldness. This realisation may lead Norton to feel a sense of remorse and a desire to make amends for his past demeanor. Even though you may be a class higher than him, he couldn’t help but admit to having a soft spot for you.

Norton's heart raced as he stepped into the opulent halls of the manor, his mind still reeling from the enigmatic invitation that had brought him to this place. The memories of the mine explosion, the acrid scent of smoke, and the agonizing pain that had wracked his body flooded back with every echoing footstep. As he navigated the grand corridors, his thoughts drifted to the you who had tended to him during those dark days of recovery, your unwavering kindness a stark contrast to his own initial aloofness.

Meanwhile, you who was just hired by a strange manor just walked out of Alice’s room after tending to her, a sweet but noisy little thing she is. As you wandered the ornate halls of the manor, a sense of anticipation mingled with trepidation, your thoughts inevitably turning to the enigmatic figure of Norton, whose distant demeanor had not dulled the empathy and care you had shown him during his convalescence.

You’ve always wondered what could have happened to the man. After the accident of the explosion the news stated that there were no survivors but there was a few who got heavily injured and some who were reported missing…

It was under the moon's silvery gaze that your paths converged once more. Norton, his troubled gaze scanning the dimly lit ballroom, caught sight of you, a familiar figure amidst the gathering. Time seemed to stand still as your eyes met across the room, a torrent of unspoken emotions swirling between them. The years had etched lines of wisdom and resilience on your faces, yet the bond forged in the crucible of adversity remained palpable, an invisible thread that connected their souls.

For Norton, the sight of you reignited a long-buried ember of gratitude and remorse. His steps faltered as he approached you, the weight of unspoken apologies and newfound appreciation heavy on his tongue. As he stood before you, the flickering candlelight casting a soft glow on your features, he found himself at a loss for words.

…you were still as beautiful as ever.

In that fleeting moment, you beheld the man you had once nursed back to health, your hand tenderly cubbing his cheek, grazing your thumb on his cheek. His gruff exterior now softened by the passage of time. The echo of distant pain lingered in his eyes, yet beneath the surface, you glimpsed a glimmer of vulnerability that had eluded you before. As your gazes locked, an unspoken understanding passed between you, bridging the chasm of silence that had separated you for so long.

The touch of your soft skin stirred a tempest of emotions within Norton, kindling a fervent desire to express the depths of his guilt and remorse. Yet he didn’t know when to start.

With a reverent touch Norton gently wrapped his arms around you, drawing you into the shelter of his embrace. He found solace in the gentle curve of your waist, his touch a whispered vow of unyielding devotion. Pressing his lips against the crown of your head, his breath mingling with the soft tendrils of your hair.

“ Norton…”

The man said nothing but with a whispered sigh, he nuzzled his nose and face in your hair, inhaling the delicate fragrance that enveloped you. The heavy scent of your perfume stirred a symphony of memories, each note a testament to the enduring imprint you had left on his heart.

There’s so much to ask but right now, you stayed silent as you melted in Norton’s arms…

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Can you please make one of Muntant mayhem x reader? I bet you will do a awesome job on it! By the way love your content! <3

Beauty in the Bodega: part 1 (Fluff)

MM!Leonardo x reader

Part 2

--------------------

A/N: Thank you so much!😊💕💕 I’ve actually been wanting to write for Mutant Mayhem for some time now, but I just haven’t had any ideas until now💚 Inspired by when Mikey comments on Leo’s crush on April with: “Here he goes again”, and Donnie’s: “Every girl, man”, implying that MM Leo has had quite a few crushes in the past💙😏

Hope you enjoy!💚🐢

---------------------

During a grocery run to the nearest bodega, Leonardo sees a girl that makes his heart skip and his insides feel warm.

Warnings: Spelling and Mutant Mayhem cuteness💙

---------------------

The sewers beneath New York City were a chaotic blend of echoes as the four brothers moved stealthily through the shadows. With a memorized grocery list in hand, they moved silently and stealthily, just like their father had taught them to, each of them knowing exactly what to get.

Leonardo led the way, his keen eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of trouble. His younger brothers, Michelangelo, Donatello, and Raphael, followed closely behind, their ninja senses sharp as they navigated the labyrinthine tunnels, until they made it to the familiar ladder that led them to the world of the humans.

As they reached the surface, the brothers climbed the nearby fire escape before sprinting across the roof, until they found themselves on top of the building that housed the small bodega. Leo surveyed the area, ensuring it was safe, before nodding to his brothers. With practiced ease, they slipped in through the ventilation system.

In the vent just above the store, the four turtles found themselves staring down at the mostly empty store. The only human being, the ever absent minded cashier at the cash register, who was busy with a very infuriating crossword, mumbling about a word that was causing them a lot of problems.

With a quick nod from Leonardo, the brothers crawled out of the vent and split up to cover more ground. Donnie took care of the toiletries, while lip syncing to the music playing in the bodega. Raph was busy finding kitchen and cleaning supplies, while Mikey was digging his way through the best junk food. Leo found himself in the snacks aisle, contemplating the various options. He remembered what his father had told him before they went out. Make sure the Doritos were party sized. Party sized Doritos. Remember that Leonardo.

The bell above the entrance to the bodega rang, altering the cashier and the brothers to a new presence in the small store. All four of them knew what that meant - hide. With lightning fast speed Donnie disappeared up into the vent, Raph found a spot among the cleaning supplies, and Mikey hid up above on top of the long lamps. Leo stayed on the ground, hiding behind the shelves, relieved when he realized that the cashier still hadn't noticed them.

Through the shelves, he caught a glimpse of the person who had just entered the bodega, and his heart almost stopped at the sight, making him drop the Doritos bag. Of course he had expected a human, but he had not expected one looking like you did. Your presence, seemingly ordinary yet captivating, drew Leo's gaze. He couldn't help but watch as you moved through the bodega, selecting items with an easy grace.

You came into the store, humming to the music that was playing in your headphones, totally oblivious to the eyes of Leonardo that were watching your every move.

Leo’s brothers, scattered throughout the store, noticed his distraction and exchanged knowing glances. Raphael, spotting Leo's fixation, smirked and made eye contact with Donatello, who joined in the silent communication with a playful grin.

Leo tried to regain his composure, tearing his eyes away from you for a split second, as he moved to a different shelf, before you managed to see him. His heart was beating, not just from the fear of getting caught by a human, but the thought of how close you were to him. But as you moved away to a shelf further away, Leo couldn’t help but follow along, making sure that he was staying hidden.

Leo watched as you gathered your things before walking up to the cash register. You placed your stuff in front of the cashier, waiting as they groggily started scanning your items. Leo and his brothers used this as an opportunity to get the last they needed, before hurrying back into the vent, all while the cashier was focused on your items.

With all of their groceries in bags, they hurried through the vent and up onto the roof, just in time to see you leave out the front door of the bodega with your newly bought groceries, once again humming to the music in your headphones.

“It feels like / Skuba duba dabda dididaj / Skuba duba dabda dididaj / I love you / Another cliche baby”, you sang along, doing a little dance as you walked.

Leo watched you with a smile, his heart skipping a beat at the sight. There was just something about humans, especially the ones like you, that just warmed his heart. Carefree, dancing and singing down the street, without having to worry about who was watching. How he wished he could do something like that, with someone just like you.

Raphael couldn't resist a teasing comment, hitting Leo’s arm when he saw him staring after you. "Well, well, look who's got heart in his eyes again. Leo, you've got a thing for grocery shopping now?"

Donatello joined in, smirking. "I think I saw a spark between Leo and that cereal box".

Michelangelo laughed. "Maybe it's love at first sight. Or should I say, love at first snack?", he said and pulled out a pack of oreos from his bag, causing both Donnie and Raph to hold their stomach in laughter.

Leo tried to brush off their comments, a faint blush visible under his mask. "It's nothing. Let's just go home".

“Booooooring”, Donnie groaned out loud, as he followed Leonardo’s lead back to the sewers. But his brothers weren't about to let him off the hook that easily.

As they made their way back home through the sewers, Leo’s brothers continued to tease him, comparing you to all the other girls that have caught his attention over the yes. Was it really so bad that he dreamed of getting a girlfriend one day? All human teenagers his age did the same, so was it wrong of him just because he was a turtle.

As they were about to round the corner before the entrance to their home, Leo stopped in realization. He had forgotten the Doritos.

“Oh shit”, he mumbled, before giving his bags to his brothers.

“Yo, what’s happening, man?”, Raph asked in confusion.

“I forgot the Doritos”, Leo said in a hurry. “Tell dad I’ll be back in a minute! I’ll hurry!” And with those words Leo was down the sewer before any of his brothers could protest.

Leo made it to the ladder and pushed the sewer cover off, only to stop dead in his tracks. Right in front of him on the alley floor was a perfect party sized Doritos bag, with a note taped to it.

Leo’s first thought was that he should run. The fear that a human had caught him burning in his throat. But he didn’t run. Instead he looked around to make sure he was alone, before he reached out and grabbed the bag, bringing it down to the sewer. Once at the foot of the ladder, Leo took a look at the note taped to the bag. It was hard to read with his shaking hands, but he managed.

“Hey stranger! I think you dropped this at the bodega, so I thought I would bring it to you. (Y/N) <3. P.S. You and your friends are quite noisy once you get up on the roof;)”.

Leo felt like fainting. A human had brought him the Doritos that his dad had asked him for. Not just any human, but you. The pretty human from the bodega.

Heat creepy up his cheeks, as he took the note and hid it in a pocket on his belt. Thinking back on Raph’s comment, Leo couldn’t help but giggle a little. He might have a thing for grocery shopping now.

----------------------

A/N: MM Leonardo with his crushes gives me “Cliche Love Song” by Basim vibes. Also the song used💕

[lucidreamer-uwu]

What's on your D.D.D.? || Brothers Edition

~ What I think would be on their D.D.D.s ~

LUCIFER

His D.D.D. would be absolutely filled with documents. All the saved student council minutes of the meetings are there. All the projects, files, program flows, everything.

His email app would always have pending and/or unread notices. Emails he would frequently get are usually from RAD officials, Mammon's debt reminders, and other miscellaneous emails. And his emails would always have that 99+ bubble notification on the app. And no, it isn't spam-

Keeps notes for each of his brothers and Diavolo. Mammon's note has the most content, rivaling the amount of stuff that's on his to-do list note.

A MILLION alarms. He keeps the alarms as his reminders just in case his memory fails him. Which was rarely, but he still wanted to make sure. His alarms would be mainly his wake up call, feeding Cerberus, feeding Beel (or making sure he isn't about to go on a rampage), an alarm to leave the house, an alarm for the late bell, and one that is unnamed but is secretly to check on you.

His calendar app is PACKED. He always has meetings or things to do, deadlines, submissions, the whole burnout recipe.

His camera roll would sometimes be FILLED with random photos and photos of Belphie and Satan giving him the finger because they managed to get their hands on his D.D.D. Otherwise, it's usually filled with pictures of art like paintings and stuff.

Would have pictures of you and his brothers. He'd also save any pictures that are sent in his chats if it proved to be memorable or of importance to him. Also has a secret private safe where he stores all the photos that he gets sentimental over. That safe is locked tight with a password that changes every hour of the day, fingerprint required, and face recognition. If the app senses that you are not Lucifer, it will set off the curse he had conjured, take a picture of the intruder, and shut down the entire device (I bet he has his brothers' baby pictures in there). The only willing selfies he takes out of his own initiative is with Cerberus.

Normally he wouldn't have game apps on his D.D.D. but he had to download one because Luke and Levi influenced Diavolo into playing a multiplayer game and Diavolo asked him to join so that he could get more friends in the game because he needed to unlock an achievement. He did want to download the copy emoji expression game after he played it on Mammon's phone but he didn't wanna risk another incident.

Phone wallpaper would range from photos of artworks he finds good, and inspirational, motivational banners/quotes from artists he admired.

His music would be composed of vintage records, probably podcasts, and deep focus classics.

Has broken his D.D.D. because he tried texting his brothers while he was furious.

His storage is full most of the time.

MAMMON

This boy has accounts on any and ALL the banks of the Devildom. So he'd have a dedicated folder where he collates all those bank apps.

He's part of the student council so he has at least SOME files for that. He keeps it to a minimum though. His email and social media accounts are more cluttered than Lucifer's because he's often too lazy to keep it in check.

His notes app contains all his debts — and something of a ledger too. He keeps track of them not with the intention of paying them off, but to remember who to avoid.

He sets alarms to wake himself up in the morning so Lucifer doesn't beat him to consciousness, but he always manages to hit the snooze unconsciously before he wakes up. So he's extremely thankful if you're the one he wakes up to and not an angry Lucifer about to kill him, or a pissed off Levi who was ordered to wake him up.

Has some event reminders in his calendar app just so he doesn't forget to go to his part time jobs and his magazine shoots. Other events would include everyone's birthdays. (Like he'd actually forget your birthday, but he likes the look of it there anyway)

The guy's camera roll has TONS of pictures of the latest watch models, jewelry, expensive brands of clothing. Would also have pictures of his brothers doing goofy things. Has lots of party pics too.

He doesn't bother putting his brothers' pictures in his private safe. Instead, he keeps them in sorted albums — one for each brother. He keeps his blackmail folder, however, in the private safe.

His private safe would have pictures of you obviously. Your selfies together, the pictures he takes of you, with your knowledge of course, and maybe some candid shots of you sleeping and walking around or doing school work too. Besides that though, there are also images of things he wants to get you in there, like matching outfits, things he think that you'd like, clothes he thinks would look great on you, and all that. He can't risk you finding out before he actually gets it for you, he wants it to be a surprise!

Has FPS games on his phone and some multiplayer games too because he thinks that single player games are boring. Also because sometimes, it's the only way he can stay connected with Levi when he locks himself up in his room.

Lock screen wallpaper would be the best #bestfriendgoals selfie of the two of you and his home screen wallpaper would be the cutest picture of you two being all cuddly.

His music playlists would be composed of heavy metal music, pop music he likes to dance to, slow dance songs he imagines dancing with you in, rap music, and sweet love songs he has yet to gather the courage to send you.

The only one of the brothers who hasn't lost his D.D.D. Mainly because he doesn't want to even think about the price he has to pay for a new one.

LEVIATHAN

He only keeps a few school related things on his phone, neatly organized into one folder just in case he really needs it.

His email rarely has any back logs, mostly because of the fact that he regularly reads his mail to stay updated with news about any of his anime subscriptions.

Despite claiming that he's a shut-in otaku who has no social life, his social media — both personal and all his fan accounts — get a lot of notifications per day.

Notes app would be filled with his personal otaku errands, what merch he needs to get his hands on, games list, and school schedule.

He sets alarms to wake him up in the morning because he knows he can't rely on his broken sleep schedule to get him up on time. Most times though, he stays up to hear the alarm without a wink of sleep, then proceed to sleep after turning it off.

His alarms are also scheduled every thirty minutes before his anime shows are coming up.

This boy's calendar is almost as packed as Lucifer's but in an entirely different genre. Anime events, comic cons, cosplay events, merch release, anime releases, birthdays of his favorite anime characters and their voice actors, and the birthdays of his brothers', Henry's, and yours of course.

Camera roll would be filled with mostly anime pictures obviously, and cosplay outfits he likes. Some of them are of his brothers and Henry. And a good portion would also contain merchandise screenshots and photos.

Private safe? PFT as if he has a private safe... — he does but denies it because it's filled with selfies of you two and pictures he's saved of you from group chats and private chats he has. He also keeps pictures of him cosplaying in there. He'd die if anyone saw what was in the private safe, but would somehow be excited by the fact that someone had guessed his password, because only TRUE Ruri-chan fans would be able to know it!

His D.D.D.'s storage space has been long gone and is running on a single megabyte because of all the games he's had installed on it. He has a hard time choosing which game to delete whenever a new one catches his interest. It takes him HOURS to decide.

He thinks that having IRL photos as his phone wallpaper is breaking the otaku code and a total normie thing. So he has an anime lock screen and home screen.

Has anime playlists and soundtracks for DECADES. This was another sole contributor to the murder of his D.D.D. storage. (I'm convinced he likes to dance to the rhythm of "kiss kiss fall in love!").

His D.D.D. has been dropped in the toilet more times than he's willing to admit.

SATAN

A fair amount of his D.D.D. contained school related files. He was the student council secretary after all, so he has almost all the documents that Lucifer has on his D.D.D.

Unlike the first born however, Satan likes to keep his email tidy and rid of clutter no matter how stressful it was to handle all of RAD's emails.

He doesn't use social media often, even Levi's on it more than he was. But that doesn't falsify the fact that he gets a lot of fan mail and love messages. He's blocked a lot of them already, but somehow they still keep coming and don't ever seem to run out.

All his pranks and plots are stored in a safe folder of his notes app and regularly updates it, noting down which ones failed, which ones succeeded, and makes sure to also take note of how to further improve them.

He has a list of books to read in his notes app too. And a brief to-do list. Also secretly notes down things he think would be fun to do with you.

Has a short set of alarms. One for the morning, one for the night, and one for when it's time to feed the kittens at RAD.

His calendar would only be filled with the most important events like his brothers' birthdays, yes — even Lucifer's, your birthday, and events at RAD.

On the contrary, his camera roll would have a variety of contents ranging from every cat in the Devildom, pages of books he fancies, blackmail, embarrassing photos of Lucifer, you, and aesthetic library pics that he's sent you.

However sad it might be, he keeps a private safe so that he can keep the pictures of his brothers from the Celestial realm having a great time before he existed as himself. It's also where he keeps pictures of any memorable moments he genuinely finds comforting when he's frustrated. He'd rather die than have any of his brothers find out about it.

Doesn't have games on his D.D.D. BUT does have photo editors for entertainment purposes. His usual subject being Lucifer.

Lock screen wallpaper is of a bundle of cats on the sidewalk of some alleyway of the Devildom. Home screen wallpaper would be a picture of your soft smile. Makes him smile whenever he unlocks his phone to you.

He has classical music and podcasts on his D.D.D. Anger management podcasts mostly.

Misplaced his D.D.D. once and found it weeks later under a pile of books in his room. The screen was cracked.

ASMODEUS

He doesn't have space on his D.D.D. for anything school related unless it's a screenshot or picture of homework or projects he needs to submit.

It doesn't matter what app it is, social media, email, messaging app, it's always full. His inboxes never seem to be empty. No surprise there. He spends his time scanning them to give him an ego boost when he's bored.

Notes he takes are mostly the must have beauty products he needs, different self-care routines, and make-up, skin care, and moisturizing tips. Also takes note of the outfits he has to get his hands on, and ideas for his new product lines/ideas.

His alarms wouldn't be as hectic as some of his brothers' were. Just one for every essential. He's more of a timer kind of guy. He has a gazillion timers saved for 15 minutes, 30, and so on, to keep track how long he's been doing things. Being stunning requires self-control and discipline too you know!

He doesn't save birthdays on his calendar because he believes that if someone meant that much to you then you'd 100% remember their birthday without having to note it down on your calendar despite your busy schedule.

He does however, keep track of all the fashion events on his calendar. When the new season's wardrobe comes out and whatnot.

OBVIOUSLY, his camera is filled with selfies and self portraits of himself. He absolutely loves scrolling through them. He also has selfies with you in them. He takes selfies with everyone he likes so there's one photo album for that too. And one for all the miscellaneous pictures of clothes, make up, and cute color palettes.

Honestly doesn't have a private safe. His sentimental pictures are out in the open and he isn't afraid to flaunt them.

He has about one or two games on his D.D.D. He isn't good at them but he doesn't like getting left out when you play them with his brothers and the others at school.

His phone doesn't have a picture background. It has one of those aesthetically pleasing phone themes he likes having so that his apps are cutely designed as well.

He likes to listen to pop music, breakup songs, and love songs. But he also keeps party music on his phone too, along with some soothing background music to fill in the silence when he's taking some "me" time, which was often.

Don't ask him how his D.D.D. got stolen five times. He'll throw a fit and rant til the devildom freezes over.

BEELZEBUB

Just in case anyone needed it, Beel keeps student council stuff on his D.D.D. It wasn't as organized as Lucifer's or Satan's was though.

It wasn't as if he neglects his email or the messages he gets from random people, but it looked like he did because he's got piles of fan mail and school emails. He actually tries his best to answer all the heartfelt messages he gets when he has the time.

His notes were simple. Whenever he wanted to eat but couldn't, he'd type down whatever food came to his mind and was sure to have it later on. This way, he was fixated on the feeling of excitement rather than his hunger.

Also takes note of the food he wants to share with you and Belphie.

He doesn't have an alarm to wake him up because Belphie's alarm clocks have that covered. He has alarms for practice and classes though.

He takes note of all the big games he has upcoming on his calendar. Saves every important birthday and every important RAD event on it too.

His camera roll would strictly be anti-food because it's only torture for him. It does have pictures of his brothers, you, the purgatory hall residents, the demon lord's castle residents, and his game team.

His private safe has any picture with Lilith in it.

Like Asmo has games he knows you and his brothers play because he likes to spend time with you guys too.

Phone wallpaper would be a picture of the whole family, and a gym quote for the lock screen.

Workout music took the majority of his playlists.

Because he's tasted a D.D.D. before, his only comment was that it needed a bit more seasoning and hellfire mushrooms.

BELPHEGOR

The only school related files he has on his phone are homework and some student council documents that Lucifer requires him to have.

Like most of his brothers, his social media, email, and messaging apps are overflowing because he rarely checks on them and is too lazy to go through them when he actually looks at it.

"Notes? You guys keep notes?". He only takes notes of errands in case he forgets and the random date ideas he plans to take you on.

Alarms don't work on him but he keeps a ton of them anyway. One for every class, one for the morning, one for every single action he only absolutely HAS to do for the day. His brothers are starting to get annoyed because they were the ones being disturbed and needed to wake him up to shut it up because he made it so that only he could turn it off.

Calendar app is a ghost town. It only had the occasional birthday events and some important dates he wanted to remember, nothing important. He's too lazy to commit to organizing something as tedious as that.

Camera roll has pictures of him sleeping because his brothers often like to take his picture when he sleeps and has the audacity to tell him to send it to them afterwards.

He has one dedicated folder for his brothers, one for you, and one for others. He likes to take pictures of the stars so it's mixed in with pictures of the purgatory hall residents in the "others" folder.

He keeps any photo of Lilith in his private safe too. He also keeps the pictures of his brothers being sweet to him in there. He'd die of embarrassment if any of it got out.

Has any game that any of his brothers tells him to get — except Levi because he can't process anything he says when he talks about games. He'll try anything once. He often forgets to delete them though so most times he complains why his phone acts up, until Levi tells him about his storage being full.

Constellation, galaxy, starry D.D.D. background.

He saves any loud music he can find. He uses it to stay awake and plays it on full volume through his earphones when he's studying.

His D.D.D. has endured many falls from various heights. One time it fell from one of the top floor balconies of RAD because he fell asleep using it.

Hello my dreamers! It's been a while since I've last posted, hope you didn't miss me HAHA! I hope you liked this post and I know my inbox is overflowing but I'm still working on them I assure you! So keep those asks coming!

Also! If you want to be part of the tag list that I will create, comment "dreamer!" in the comments and your username will be saved to the list! If you don't want to be part of it anymore, simply send me a dm and you'll be removed.

Keep dreaming, dreamers! ♡

[katblu42]

Hand Warmers

For @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt #279 Warm Hands.

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go Characters: Gordon and Virgil Word Count: approx 953 Domestic fluff (no warnings apply as far as I can tell).

Gordon was well known within his family for suffering from the affliction of cold hands.  Virgil in particular had fallen victim to icy fingers placed against warm skin on numerous occasions.  But, in his defence, Gordon found this particular big brother was the most effective heat source for warming frosty digits. 

Of course, it also helped that Virgil was often the only brother in range when this was needed, and despite the initial grumbling, he was also usually quite amenable to lending body heat to a little brother in need.

Virgil himself seemed to always have warm hands – at least in Gordon’s experience.  It didn’t seem to matter where he was, or what he was doing, if Gordon placed a distractingly cold hand anywhere on Virgil’s exposed skin there was glorious warmth to be shared. Then those familiar, big, warm hands would soon be deployed to enfold his own and work some much needed heat into them.

It kind of made sense.  Virgil’s hands always seemed to be moving – dancing across the piano keys, applying brushstrokes to canvas, or sketching on almost any surface, artfully deploying exactly the right tool for anything that needed fixing, or gently but deftly applying first aid. 

But for Gordon the most memorable thing those well-muscled and well-used hands could do was to give expert massages to sooth overworked swimmer’s muscles, or gently relax a cramp.  He couldn’t remember how or when it started, but it had been quite a regular thing between them.  Somehow Virgil always seemed to know exactly when he needed the sweet relief of warmth and pressure working all the tension out of his back, shoulders and neck, and would be there to provide it in exactly the right measure.

He'd often wished he could return the favour, and with today’s rescue being as rough as it was, Gordon could see that now was the perfect time to do so.  But he couldn’t even approach those heavy-lifting muscles without doing some important preparation first.

Luckily, preparation was something Gordon was very good at.  He usually employed this talent when planning pranks, but the surprise he was planning this time should produce a much more favourable response.  And preparation for this one had begun during post-flight checks when Thunderbird Two had returned to her hangar.

Under the guise of restocking the medical supplies Gordon had grabbed a couple of the tiny packets containing air-activated heat packs.  Later, once checks were completed, uniforms shed and he’d showered and changed into his regular attire, the packets were opened and shaken and then clutched in each hand.

After half an hour with the little heat packets kept within reach – in his pockets when not in direct contact with his hands – he deemed himself ready to put the next phase of the plan into action.

Virgil was sitting at their dad’s desk, most likely making a start on post-rescue paperwork when Gordon decided to make his move.  Making his stealthy approach from behind, avoiding the squeaky floorboard, he gave the little heat packs in each pocket one last firm squeeze each.

When he placed his warm hands on his big brother’s shoulders he felt the muscles tense at the unexpected contact.

“Gor- . . . Gordon?” Virgil’s voice started with the low warning tone that usually accompanied an unapproved activity, but quickly rose in pitch and inflection.

“The one and only!”

As Virgil tried to turn his head to face him, Gordon gently redirected the movement with one hand and started kneading tense muscles with the other.

“What are you doing?” Virgil directed his gaze forward again, allowing Gordon to knead with both hands.  “And how are your hands so warm?  They’re never this warm!  What did you do?”

Gordon chuckled.  “Don’t you worry about that.  Just relax and let me do this for you.”

Right on cue he found and pressed against a particularly tough little knot that had Virgil groaning and relaxing into the massage as the knot released.  There was an easy silence between them for a while, broken only by the soft grunts that let Gordon know he was finding all the right spots.

“Where’d you learn to do this?”  Virgil asked somewhat sleepily.

“Kind of from you.  I’ve been on the receiving end enough times.”  He paused a moment, concentrating his attention on another nasty knot.  “But I’ve always kind of wondered how you learned to be so good at giving massages.”

“I guess it started when you decided to get serious about swimming competitively.  I wanted to be able to support you, and I had an interest in medical treatments, so I looked into the kinds of medical complaints swimmers often experienced and how to treat them.  I mostly learned from video tutorials and trial and error on unsuspecting family members.”

Gordon laughed again.  “Well, I’m very glad you did.  Of all the massages I’ve had, yours are always the best.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Gordon.  There’s no way my efforts can compare with a professional.”

Gordon paused his thumb circles long enough to offer a playful tap to the side of Virgil’s head.

“I’m not kidding, Virge.  You’re massage skills are awesome, and I need you to know I appreciate every single one you’ve given me over the years.  And if the tension that was in these heavy lifting muscles is anything to go by, I think I need more chances to pay you back.”

It was Virgil’s turn to give a chuckle.

“If you think I’m bad you should try it on Scott.  When he’s tense his neck and shoulder muscles feel like steel girders.”

They were both laughing now. “No, I think I’ll leave Scott’s tense muscles to your magic fingers!”

[crystalandparrot]

ROTTMNT x Reader

Part 1, Part 2

The flashing of cameras and the voices of reporters was the first thing Leonardo heard as he stepped out of his limo. Due to the long plane ride, Leo decided to wear comfort over fashion, although it's hard for him to look bad in anything. He wore a white wife-beater, revealing his plastron and tattooed arms. Much like his brother, Leonardo loved art, he just loved it in a more show-off sense. Of course, he let his brother give him his first tattoo, a large colored portrait of their family on his thigh. On his legs were blue sweats, a personal favorite that his agent always advised him not to wear. Expensive shoes designed for him specifically adorned his feet. Finally, silver chains decorated his wrists and neck (he would have chosen gold, but his brother advised against it. C'mon, blue and gold?), glistening with each movement. He flashed a smirk at the cameras and gave finger guns at fans. One of his bodyguards leaned close to whisper in his ear, "You have a meeting with the executive producers in thirty minutes."

"Which means I get at least twenty-eight minutes to strut my stuff." Leo chuckled. With split-second motions, Leo changed between poses, performing for the camera.

"-mask!"

Leo turned and stared into the crowd, "W-Who said that?" The crowd parted as if making way for a royal or God to walk without interruption. A small woman with a microphone in her hand shook as Leo approached. "Just now, you said something, what was it?"

The small girl stuttered, "I asked i-if you could put on y-your mask. F-for a picture for Channel 10?"

Leo's heart dropped, and his breathing quickened. A pat on his shoulder shook him out of his mini panic attack. He nodded thanks at his bodyguard and gave the reporter a quick grin, " I don't even know where that old thing went! It's been, what, psshh, five years? It's probably shoved in a box somewhere." That satiated the hungry reporters and fans, for now. Leo and his bodyguard left, heading off to the large building behind the crowd.

Okay, first things first. You don't know the old password so you can't change it to one you'll remember. So you changed the screen dimming time to never. Now the phone won't shut off on its own. Dialing your number, you called about three times with no answer. A sudden thought crosses your mind, causing your palm to hit your face. Your phone was on silent. Taking a deep breath, you quickly texted your number, explaining the situation and the password to unlock your phone. That way the turtle Yokai won't be as clueless as you are now.

With nothing else to do, you connected your headphones to the turtle's phone and searched for Spotify. It was his fault, the least he could do was spare some tunes. Wait a minute...his Spotify account...this dude was Othello Von Ryan? Man, you couldn't wait to see him again. His studying playlists kept you awake and alert through college! His barrage of random music, ranging from 80's dancing music to hardcore techno kept your mind alert and focused. Donnie, or, Othello Von Ryan, helped you with memory. Oddly enough, some of the quirky tunes in his playlists gave you memorization songs.

In fact, now that you think about it, Donnie looked an awful lot like your favorite actor--

"(Y/n)! Come in, dear! I've been expecting you!" A shrill voice called from across the street.

You looked up, spotting Mrs. Erin, the Heron Yokai. You grinned, pulling your headphones out of your ears and shoving them in your pocket. You waved at the Yokai as you crossed the street, stepping into her swampy garden. "How's your husband, Mrs. Erin?"

"Oh, Harry's fine! Come in! Come in! Let me get you a cup of tea." The old Yokai hobbled inside, her talons dragging across the waterlogged wood. You followed behind closely, used to the drab environment. You learned throughout life that the more you understand how something came to be, the more beautiful it becomes. With a clap from you, the twinkling string of lights came on. It's warm glow bouncing off the waxy leaves that broke through the cracked windows. Dew drops fell onto the wet floor, filling the room with quiet plip plaps.

A chipped cup of lukewarm tea was placed in your hand. A feathery hand pushed you down onto an old rocking chair, the owner of the hand sitting down across from you. "I want you to tell me all about this new job!" Erin grinned with a toothless smile.

"It's just a small librarian job at the school up top." You said, sipping your tea.

"Up top! With all those-those monsters?" Erin screeched.

"They're not all monsters! Some of them—"

"(Y/n). When your mother died I promised your father I'd make sure that you were safe! W-wouldn't you rather stay home? Marry a nice Yokai and settle down?" Erin tottered closer to you and grabbed your hands.

You chuckled, "I'm not exactly looking for someone to settle down with yet. I'm ready to get out there and explore! Besides, I can protect myself!" You said, proudly.

"E-even with all the humans?" Erin stuttered.

You blinked at Erin, your face neutral, "Mrs. Erin. I'm human."

"I know! B-but you're one of the good ones! I'd hate for you to go up top where I won't know what happened—Oh!" The old Yokai snatched the cup of tea from your hands and peered into the old china. She glared at the leaves and swirled the remaining liquid in the cup. With a gasp that jostled your core, Erin’s beak stretched into a long smile. She breathed a sigh of relief and set down the cup. “I was worried for nothing. You’re going to fall in love and get married to a nice, young, handsome Yokai.”

You shook your head, yet a smile still sat on your cheeks, “Maybe in a couple of years, Mrs. Erin. I’m not in any rush to get married to anyone right now.”

“Oh, I’m sure!” The Heron chuckled like she knew something you didn’t. Without warning, she began pushing you out of the house. “Okay, bye-bye now! The quicker you go up top the faster you fall in love!” With that, the door was slammed in your face, the sound echoing through the marshy area.

“Love you too.” You said flatly. You pulled the mystery phone back out of your pocket and put in your earbuds again. When you clicked onto Spotify, a notification popped up.

“Leonardo Hamato back in NYC for upcoming movie shoot, exclusive interview from Channel 10.”

Huh. How weird would it be if you ran into your favorite actor while after just moving back up top? Probably entirely impossible, but it was nice to hope, right?

"Shoved in a box?! Did you hear him?"

"I did."

"Shoved in a box?! Ugh! He's just so—"

"Annoying, pompous, overconfident, lacking in empathy, ass-like?"

Mikey turned to Donnie, his hair falling into his face as his head whipped around. "I was gonna say stupid, but yeah, those work too." Mikey nodded, turning back to the T.V, seeing the reporters final words to the camera once Leo left the cameras view.

Donnie felt himself N.E., which stood for Nose Exhale. Mikey learned that phrase years ago and thought it was more fitting than L.O.L for his emotionally unavailable brother. While it was rare for Donnie to "laugh out loud", when he found something humorous, he always let out a little breath of a chuckle through his nose.

"I just...out of everything he could have done...why'd he have to take away the one thing that..."

When Mikey paused, Donnie looked up from his purple holographic screens that he had been typing on. He saw Mikey looking at the screen sadly, and he knew it wasn't from the sad dog commercial that came on, but the interview that came before it. "That what, Michael?" Donnie asked, the screens disappearing.

"Nothing, it's stupid," Mikey sniffed, wiping his eyes before tears could escape.

"Leo is stupid, you're emotionally intelligent. You obviously have a reason to feel what you feel. You're not stupid for feeling emotions, Michelangelo." Donnie used his full name with the intention of leaving an impact.

Mikey chuckled and turned to Donnie, tears running down his smiling face, "Thanks, D."

Donnie nodded and sat up in his bean bag (yes it was his, the purple color made it obvious), "I may have taken a page or two from Dr. Delicate Touch," he shrugged.

"Nah, that was Dr. Feelings for sure," Mikey joked, knowing his brother was rather uncomfortable with feelings, but to be fair, he had gotten a lot better. Realizing this, Mikey sighed. Donnie appreciated honesty over anything, so this was something he needed to get off his chest, for his sake and his brother's. "Dad always called us by the color of our masks. Red, Orange, Purple...but Leo's not wearing his anymore. It's like he disowned us...he's not Blue anymore." Mikey began tucking his head and limbs into his shell with every word. By the end of his sentence, only his shell was visible sitting in front of the empty recliner.

This time Donnie sighed, he stood and gripped the purple beanbag so it stayed comfortably on his rear while he shuffled towards his brother. Letting gravity help him, Donnie let himself and the beanbag fall to the ground. He wiggled slightly and hummed, pleased at the fact that his position hadn't changed and the beanbag was still holding his shell and rear perfectly. Using his hand, he hesitantly patted Mikey's shell in comfort. "Leonardo's done some idiotic things in the past. I'd put this in his top ten, actually." Donnie thought aloud, but shook his head, remembering his original point, "He’s a dumb-dumb but, unfortunately, he'll never stop being our brother."

Mikey poked his head out, looking in Donnie's eyes for...something. A lie? Hope? Donnie didn't know, but whatever he found, he liked it, because the next moment, Mikey had his head and limbs out. He outstretched his arms, but didn't move aside from that. Donnie rolled his eyes, although a small smile poked at his lips. With a nod from Donnie, Mikey jumped onto him, giving him the tightest hug that he thought he'd ever received. Donnie hugged back.

Thankfully for Donnie, Mikey understood boundaries, and separated from Donnie before the hug got too overwhelming. Sloppily wiping his tears and sucking up his snot, Mikey gave Donnie a sincere smile. "Thanks, Don."

Donnie nodded, a small smile on his own lips. Out of his battle shell came a robotic arm holding a tissue. Mikey took the tissue and blew his nose as the robotic arm retracted back into the shell. "Hey-"

"I would prefer if you finished blowing your nose before you change the subject, please." Donnie asked, pulling up his holographic screens once more with the help of his Ninpō.

Mikey obeyed, then tossed the tissue into the trashcan on the other side of the room. When it landed, Mikey pumped his fist in a silent cheer. "What happened at the Mystic City? We were chasing Meat Sweats and you stopped to talk to some girl." Mikey remembered.

"Oh, yeah. Raph was texting about meeting for dinner, so I naturally opened my messages to form a reply, when—" Donnie pulled out his phone to show Mikey the texts when he immediately felt something amiss. The case was the same, the weight was equal to his phone, the model was the exact same, everything looked fine. But this is Donnie, he lost his phone for less than a day and went nearly insane when he was still a teenager. Give him a week and he might've made a phone from just things in the woods. He knew everything about his phone.

"Donnie?" Mikey called, noticing his brother's sudden silence.

Shakily, Donnie turned over the phone, noticing the background first, then the surplus of texts and calls from his phone number. He whispered something too quiet for Mikey to hear.

"What?" Mikey asked, putting his hand up to the side of his head where his ear would have been.

"This. Isn't. My. Phone."

[depraveddame]

Ineffable Kinktober, Day 2: Virginity 🌹✨

“Aziraphale…”

A tender, delicate newborn lamb, struggling to get to its ungainly feet with a determination that will only get stronger as it grows; that’s what Crowley puts Aziraphale in mind of, spread under him as silky and soft and as open as an unfurling, dewy centered lily, brow knitted in stubborn concentration as he tries to take Aziraphale’s cock, his body unused to this new intrusion of its kind but rocking towards it in spite of the overwhelming pressure and stretch.

“Breathe, Crowley; don’t push yourself, sweet thing, just relax. You are doing so well, so very well, my dear,” Aziraphale coos as he himself opposes his own corporation’s desires, fighting not to ruthlessly plunge into the impossibly tight warmth he’s splitting open for the first time, battling to keep hold of himself and to apply restraint, but it’s immensely difficult. Crowley wanting him so desperately is an inebriant unlike any Aziraphale has imbibed, which for a hedonist like himself is saying quite a lot indeed, and the slick, welcoming heat of his virginal cunt sucking Aziraphale inside despite what he knows must be at least a little pain is indescribable. He might even dare to compare it to what Heaven ought to be, in theory— warm, dizzyingly comforting and somewhere you want to return over and over and over— not the icy halls devoid of joy and pleasure.

“But I,” Crowley sucks in a breath almost petulantly through gritted teeth as he rolls his hips further, whimpering as Aziraphale sinks into him deeper— he’s nearly fully inside, now, almost engulfed in the demon, and Aziraphale can’t help but shake with the sublimity of the pleasure and the urge to fuck, to breed, “I want it— want you, angel, f-fuck, waited too long, waited so long for this.”

“I know,” Aziraphale groans as the fluttering contractions around him ebb and flow, as he finally bottoms out and catches the cry the action inspires with his mouth, soothingly kissing Crowley through it as he settles into him, as their bodies at last become flush with one another, “you waited for so long, and you kept this lovely, pretty cunt so tight for me, didn’t you,” he withdraws minutely before sheathing himself again, repeating the gentle range of lotion agonizingly slowly until Crowley’s brow finally twists into something more pleased than uncomfortable, “you spent so long, aching for me and for this, saving it for me and me alone.”

Crowley nods as his undulating, serpentine grinding grows more lissome, more fluid, and Aziraphale looks down to see his cock shining with the demon’s wetness disappearing into his swollen, glistening cunt, catching the low light they’re bathed and making his tongue jealous, but he can hardly dwell on that as Crowley’s previously hesitant, grappling attempts to open for Aziraphale grow more confident and hungry, and within minutes he’s fucking himself onto Aziraphale’s cock beautifully, his clever hips and waist already having memorized the series of movements needed to smoothly take cock and to take it well.

“Slow down, greedy thing,” Aziraphale’s hands drift down from cradling Crowley’s shoulders to latch onto the slender waist that’s haunted his dreams and shameful late night endeavors for millennia, “going to make me come far too soon, my darling— look how swiftly you’ve opened up for me, how perfectly you’re taking me— have you practiced, dove,” he can’t help it; against good sense, Aziraphale starts thrusting with more force and speed, but the burst of Crowley’s breathless moan and the squeeze of his cunt encourages his increasingly vigorous pace, “I wonder how many helpless nights you spent filling yourself with whatever you could find, when your lovely long fingers weren’t enough—“

“O-oh, f-fuck,” Crowley whimpers as he does as he’s told and slows his frantically rocking hips, but only slightly, seemingly unable to completely stop himself, “fuck, m’fingers are b-bloody useless compared to this,” his fully ophidian eyes lock onto Aziraphale’s, wide and vulnerable and breathtaking in their glittering splendor, “was made for your cock, angel, all of m-me was made f-for you,” Aziraphale’s head falls forward as what feels like very deliberate clenching hugs his cock, his hips faltering in the face of the euphoric constriction, “so you’d b-better t-take what’s yoursss, and make up for the c-cccenturies my cunt has been waiting for you to claim it.”

Aziraphale could not describe the rest of that first night to anyone in any terms resembling coherency, not after those flammable words ensnared his entire being and caught fire within, igniting what’s always been there and what he’s always known to be true, smoldering as embers in the pit of his stomach and tingling tinder in his veins. All he knows for certain is that he did as Crowley bid him to do— he claimed him over and over and in as many ways as they could manage, until they both could no longer find the strength to keep going despite their tireless joined need of more—but they have the rest of time for that.

@quefish77

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Entry 13: Grand Canyons of Scars

GIF by @mithrandirl

Bearblr Promptober Day 13: Hot Cocoa + Baking

Summary: In which Carmen has the worst panic attack of his life.

Warnings: Panic attack, swearing, trouble breathing, vomiting, pain, Carmy feels like he's dying, The Devil (Chef David) makes an appearance, written with fem reader who is a trauma surgeon in mind, she/her pronouns.

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

This is a two-parter. Second part here.

Reblogs and comments appreciated. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list.

13 Oct 2024

I’m glad I had the panic attack in the park before the one I had at home. Because if I had the one at home first, I’m fairly certain Darling wouldn’t’ve looked at me the same again.

The Devil was a food critic now. Should’ve been a downgrade from being one of the best chefs in the world, but jokes on all of us miserable fucks, he was making a fuckton of money without having to step foot in another sweltering, loud, stressful kitchen again. Not that he felt stress. He didn’t feel anything.

He wasn’t a fucking human.

You know how if there is a God, he’s out for my blood, right? Well, I have proof of that now. Exhibit A: I find out this information while chopping chocolate for hot cocoa at my apartment—aside: fuck landlords, it took him a month to fix my range, and the radiator in the bedroom still won’t fucking work—and what comes on during the ad break of the baking show I have running in the background so the place isn’t painfully quiet while I’m waiting on Darling to come up from the parking lot after a long shift?

Aside 2: She was at the hospital for 19 fucking hours, you piece of shit. You fucking deadbeat. That’s the day you did this to her.

“Part of the reason we’re seeing so many restaurants close down, especially after the COVID-19 pandemic, is because of the social culture around dining out changing,” Chef David said.

If I had any control of my body, I would’ve kept my eyes off the T.V., ran over to the remote, and changed the channel or turned it off. That’s it. It sounds so fucking simple when I write this down, but that’s not how it went. It’s not how it’s ever going to go because The Devil left gouges, chasms in my psyche, Grand Canyons of scars that I put shitty fucking rope bridges over and that I could never—and I can never, I know this—fill in. No, I froze. I froze like The Devil’s breath was fanning out over the back of my neck, and the plates were moving too slowly, and I repeated ingredients again, and I should’ve been dead I should’ve been dead I should’ve—

One of the weirdest consequences of working for The Devil was that I could remember every single word he said to me. It was paramount that I did. He spat venom at me if I missed anything he said the first time. Every little thing—down to his fucking hatred of fucking black pepper—I memorized it. I knew that tilt of his head when he sensed an excuse, that eyebrow twitch when he expected a verbal answer, the furrow that formed and dissipated in the blink of an eye when he decided something had too much in it and needed to be stripped further. He walked differently when he was going to berate me. His cadence was different when I fucked up versus when I insulted humanity for existing.

So, as I stood, a marble carving in the kitchen, knife hovering over a chunk of Valrhona 55% dark chocolate already half-shredded into flakes, all I could do was watch the white reflection coming off the blade tremble more and more, all I could do was absorb every. Single. Word. The Devil said, as the voice in my head screamed at my body to move. To do something. To make the voice stop. As I tried to fight through the noise to tell myself it wasn’t real and that it was a dream, and I couldn’t be back in New York, Darling wasn’t in New York, and I couldn’t’ve imagined her this vividly.

“… with the rise… like Uber Eats and Doordash, people are just not finding it necessary to go out to dining halls and enjoy meals. They can get a lot of the food they tend to want to eat at home on their own time without having to brace the discomforts of social expectations. This has, obviously, caused problems in the mid-to-fine dining world, where that social expectation of a dining experience is primarily what drives people in the door rather than the food itself being of some specific quality.”

Like a bolt of lightning, a searing pain erupted in my chest. The knife clattered and slid off the cutting board, off the counter, and rang as it bounced off the tile floor. I grabbed at my chest, at the thing causing the pain, as if to remove it, as if I’d find a knife there butchering me as I stood, but all I grasped was the front of my apron.

“So do you think this will change how restaurants are being run?”

“Absolutely,” The Devil said. “I think in order to survive this change in society, restaurants need to adapt to the social changes we’re seeing.”

The pain worsened and deepened and sunk into the pit of my stomach. And I tore my apron off and clawed at my shirt, trying to chase down the hands under it, under my skin, under my ribs, the ones twisting my insides around their fists.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Noma has announced that it will be closing its dining hall after the service season in 2024 and opening an option more catered to people who want to be able to take the food to-go. There needs to be a shift in the industry that corresponds to the shift in the culture.”

My knees buckled, pain exploded elsewhere—I couldn’t even tell where, it all hurt. Everything hurt. World dimmed. Noise of some kind? Was that a voice? Was that The Devil’s voice?

“Carmy? Carmy!”

I couldn’t breathe. A roaring sound. Lights in my view.

Dark again. Cold. Cold on my face. Something jostled me.

“CARMEN, BREATHE!”

I can’t, sweetheart.

The Devil finally killed me.

Tell Sugar I’m sorry.

Tell ma I love her.

Piercing cold on my chest. Light. Dark. Light. Bile. I coughed and spluttered, gasped in air.

“There you go. Cough. Keep coughing.”

Pressure on my back. Light. It kept moving.

“Breathe... Breathe.” Darling sniffled, drew in a shaking breath. “In and out, slowly, all the way... You’re okay... It’s gonna be okay.”

Kitchen floor, on my side, knife and pool of vomit in view. And the stench of bile and random noise from the T.V. and freezing cold on my chest. A hand rubbing up and down my spine. Darling sniffled again. Took a deep breath.

“Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

I could. Fuck if I could respond, though.

“Carmy, baby, are you here?” something touched my hand. “Can you squeeze if you can hear me? I’m gonna have to call for an ambulance if you’re not—”

I crushed her fingers in my grip. Fuck no. No hospitals.

“Okay.” The cold sensation on my chest left, and in its wake was numbness and, weirdly, burning. The kind that made my face hurt when walking to the restaurant in the winter.

I’d just had the most brutal panic attack of my life. And this poor fucking woman—she got back from 19 fucking hours at the hospital and had to clean up that mess and me and the cut on my arm from falling on the knife. I kept wanting to help—I knew it was my fucking mess—but I couldn’t tell which way was up or down or if I was awake or asleep or what day or year it was. And I hadn’t been properly sick in a long time, but I remembered what a high fever felt like—and this felt like the highest fever of my pathetic existence. I don’t know when the T.V. turned off, but at some point, I noticed how quiet it was.

How did I end up on the couch wrapped in a blanket?

She joined me there. In her pajamas, hair up. Brought two mugs and set them on the coffee table.

“Hi, baby,” she whispered. Pulled her sleeve over her hand and patted my cheek—since when do I cry? “Do you know where you are? What happened?”

It took me a thousand years to respond.

“Panic attack?” I didn’t mean for it to come out as a strangled whisper, but I could’ve swallowed glass, my throat hurt so bad.

Oh.

That roaring sound I heard was my own screaming.

She nodded. Her eyeliner was smudged into a haze around her eyes. “Yeah. Panic attack. But it’s over now. We’re gonna try to recover, but then we need to talk about this, okay?”

I squeezed my eyes shut. I can recall now what she said, but at the time, I couldn’t understand her. The words came to me jumbled.

“Is it okay if I hold you?”

I saw that she was holding an arm out for me. I scooted towards her and hid my face in the crook of her neck. Collapsed into her scent, her softness, her warmth. I crushed a fistful of her pajama top in my hand and squeezed her like she’d disappear if I let go. She peppered kisses all over my forehead and my hairline while she sipped her hot chocolate. Murmured little comforting things to me. She kept feeling the temperature of the second mug, and, after a while, brought it first to her lips to test the temperature, then to mine for me to taste. It had coffee notes, curtesy of the type of chocolate I used, and was rich and velvety without being overly sweet.

“That feel doable, sweetheart?”

Not exactly, but I’d troubled her so much by freaking the fuck out that I sat up and took the mug. Kept sipping it. Let it wash down the pain in my throat.

“’m sorry,” I mumbled.

“Panic attacks are not your fault, baby.”

“No, but I… I should’ve…” heat in my face. “I should’ve gotten help f-for them—”

She placed a hand on my leg. “Sweetheart, I want you to try to stay calm, okay? Just let yourself recover. I promise, we’ll talk about this and figure it out, but right this moment, you need to let yourself calm back down.”

I nodded.

(To Be Continued)

[faerievampling]

Killing Time

Chapter 7: Eternity's Promise

Summary: Astarion is alone.

Word Count: 4.9k

Pairing: Soft Ascended Astarion x Female Spawn Tav/Reader

Warning: 18+. Blood and Violence. PiV. Cunnilingus. Handjob. Masturbation. Obsessing over his consort’s panties. Obsessive and Possessive behavior. Heavy trigger warning for Panic Attack & Anxiety. Our vampire lord really going through it.

Link to AO3!

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.

Masterlist

A/N: yall this one was hard to write and took way longer than I intended, i hope I did it justice. please enjoy <3 I’m hoping chapter 8 will be out soon, I have 4 days off next week (mini vacation!) so I still intent to post chapter 8 this coming week :)

Pic by: @druidess-vp <3

Astarion believed he hadn’t forgotten what true suffering felt like: there had been too many times in his past where he was tortured, beaten, starved – no, he had certainly suffered. But the vampire lord had been out of touch with his pain for a long time, enveloped in a loving, fairy-tale-like existence with his darling consort, so perfect and submissive, for the past two thousand years. 

Astarion had everything he could ever want: riches, power, eternal love.

Even when he listened to the news from the realms, on how multiple nations had evolved to civil war, the threat of societal breakdown imminent, he had you, which was enough for him. Everything else could be rebuilt, just like the Ancunín name – but you couldn’t be replaced. 

“Involve the military. Whatever needs to be done, have it done,” Astarion demanded, his frustration growing immensely as he was acutely aware of his wife’s discomfort at the banquet; but he had to ignore it. Astarion had an incredibly powerful mind after his ascent, but that didn’t stop him from feeling mentally spread thin.

“The people are already marching to the capital of Amn. Neverwinter has been taken by a militia,” A man said; Astarion hardly bothered to memorize the faces of his advisors and other figureheads, anymore. It was easier to identify them by scent alone. 

Astarion mindlessly twists his wedding ring, the only one he had chosen to wear. He wanted to protect the Ancunín fortune and the power he’d consolidated, if possible – and most of all,  he really didn’t want to have to handle the managing of accounts during a coup. 

Suddenly, Astarion senses a strange feeling – one that he is familiar with, instantly recognizing it: a vision is coming over you, and he’s already racing towards you, wasting no time excusing himself.

“Astarion, Astarion, Astarion!” Your voice rang out in his head as you called his name over and over. Your fear was imminent, your panic rising by the second.

“I’m coming, my love!” Astarion desperately responds, but your cries only continue, racking through his mind as your fear becomes his own.

“Follow,” Astarion commands Alpohso and Ygritte, who obey immediately. 

Snip.

Astarion’s eyes widen. There is something bubbling inside him, deep in his chest, threatening to blossom as he digs his nails into his palm. It’s painful, making his heart physically ache. Your thoughts and feelings slip away from him, making that void between the two of you entirely empty: Astarion only hears his own thoughts reverberating in his mind. 

Upon viewing the Vampire Ascendant when the cord is cut with his consort, he merely pauses, his intensity so frightening that his spawn tremble with fear, dropping to their knees, ready to serve their Master in whatever way possible. He is empty, a vassal of space that is filled with a vicious anger so feral and vile that Astarion himself fears it. He doesn’t understand what’s happened: he knows you aren’t dead, because he would just know if you were, but he can’t sense you anymore, can’t probe into your mind, and for the first time in two millennia, Astarion finds himself alone.

You are his: his first spawn, his favorite spawn, his consort, his wife, his best friend, his one and only. “Where the hells are you?”

Astarion doesn’t come back to himself until he hears the high pitched screaming of a woman in his ear. He is back at the crèche, in a grand hall he doesn’t even recognize. Astarion knows he followed your scent here, to the end of the trail.

The blonde servant is holding onto a pile of blood and guts on the floor, the gore slipping through her hands as she clutches her chest. Looking at the blood on his hands, he couldnt be sure what he’d done to the spawn, but Astarion thought the servant was surely being dramatic – Ruth would heal, he was a vampire for god's sakes, and the pain the couple felt was nothing compared to how Astarion himself felt.

Something about seeing the two lovers together makes Astarion even more angry, his fury growing steady with every passing moment of your absence. Your voice plays back in his head, your image, the memory of your tender touch…

Cynthia sobs echo through the chamber of the dining hall, even louder than the crowd of gith that hung around the corridor, as she brings her wrist to Ruth’s mouth: the vampire latches on, sucking greedily at his lover. Astarion thinks it might make him feel better if he killed Ruth’s beloved; it would be an apt punishment for the spawn, but it wouldn’t be great enough. Astarion didn’t think any punishment would. Moving towards the couple, Astarion feels a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

The hand is firm, not aggressive but assertive. The hold on him isn’t trying to keep his fist, but get his attention; Astarion turns to see Lae’zel, her makeup smudged and eyes filled with common fury.

Astarion can hear the sound of the Kith’rak attempting to clear the hall, followed by a barrage of questions from the crowd. 

Astarion flinches away from her, her touch only making his skin crawl. He flits through her mind before she can even speak, gathering all the information the gith had about your disappearance. You vanished through a portal of darkness, Ziir’o had grabbed your hand, but the force was too strong, and you slipped away.

Lae’zel begins to speak, but Astarion moves past her, deciding Ziir’o should also be punished. But Astarion stops, recognizing something in the eyes of several of the gith: they, too, longed for you. It only reminded him of your absence, of that blank space in his mind that only increased, like the never ending expansion of the universe.

“You promised me forever, Tav.”

Instead of crushing the young gith’s chest and eating his heart, Astarion materializes into red mist, flitting away from the scene to scan the crèche for any sign of you. After many hours, he finds himself in the enchanted forest, zipping through the trees and murdering anything in sight.

The cavern in his chest only grows more hollow, and Astarion finds himself crying out for you with every stab, every bite, until his throat feels sore. He ran himself to the point of exhaustion, and although he would recover quickly, the wild thumping of Astarion’s heart made him feel a bit more steady. Alive, reminding him that he was still here, even if you weren’t, which means that he would just have to get you back.

Once Astarion finds his way back to your room, he numbly lays himself on your side of the bed, his nose rubbing into your pillowcase. He knows he can't waste any time, and he will only stay like this for a moment – but it’s a moment he needs, because he’s feeling your absence wash over him all over again, threatening to sweep him off his feet.

He finds himself in a daze, and there is a feeling in his heart that could only be described as frigid. Astarion brushes his fingers through his silver curls, closing his eyes as he accepts how wrong he was to think he ever understood suffering.

****

Astarion rests for only a moment before his mind is itching at him again, his thoughts on loop as his heart churns in his stomach. He felt desperate for your scent, desperate for any sign of you: he found his way to your laundry, finding the clothes you had worn to training that the servant hadn’t gotten around to washing yet. 

They smelled distinctly of your sweat, your blood, and he needed your odor close to him – gods did his chest ache. Astarion would swear on his life his heart wasn’t physically beating right in his chest: he imagined it bruised and broken, fragmented, all its pieces being held by you, leaving behind a shell of a man. 

Astarion lays your clothing on the bed, finding himself clutching your silk panties in his hand. They were white, perfect for one so demure and delicate as his beautiful spawn wife –

Bringing the crotch of your underclothes to his nose, he closes his eyes as he takes in your most intimate scent: but it only makes him feel a deep ache inside, his hardening cock only making matters worse. “I need you, Tav.”

He decides to lose himself in the moment, to escape the looming pain: freeing his member, the warmth of his hand and the fabric of your soft panties has him coming undone quicker than anticipated. His strokes are rough, fast, and he’s imagining your hot, wet mouth wrapped around the base of his cock, his tip reaching the back of your throat. Your eyes would always tear up, but you were such a champion for him –

Astarion lets out a strangled cry as he shoots thick spurts of come, careful not to soil your underclothes, his tears falling before he can stop them. 

Astarion doesn’t understand how this has happened: doesn’t understand how he will begin to fathom that you are gone. He knows he must act soon, but his entire body is aching for you, his hands shaking. His orgasm only made him feel your absence more, and Astarion is cursing himself. 

Suddenly, Astarion remembers the necklace, the warding bond, and he’s grabbing at his throat, only to find the twinkle of the gem had died. Astarion can’t help but imagine you dead, or chained up somewhere, being used – the thought makes him sick.

Moth had you. It was the only person in the world who would take you from him. Astarion had left you alone, and now you were gone, and it was entirely the worst feeling he could recall, other than when Cazador’s blade carved the symphony of the contract into his back. 

Astarion really couldn’t waste anymore time, he decided. He needed to know the specifics of how you were taken and where: he knew about several of Moth’s palaces, and who knows how many more the dragonborn might have, but he may be able to narrow it down if he could get close enough to search for your scent. 

Once Astarion’s recovered, he stuffs your panties into his pocket before gathering your things; he’s interrupted by a brief knock on the door before it swings open. Lae’zel enters, followed by the spawn and your warriors, all ten of them. Astarion hissed at the intrusion, not wanting any of them to muck up the smell of you that still lingered in the room.

Lae’zel immediately notices Astarion’s bloodshot eyes. She remembers something an old hero said, something about vampire lords not being able to love, only craving one thing. The state of her pale friend makes Lae’zel question if what the old hero said was anything more than plain ignorance. 

Their conversation happens in a snapshot, Astarion’s tone lifeless but nonetheless frightening: “This is your fault.”

Lae’zel blinks. “You needn’t be absurd. We are here to help you, Astarion.”

Astarion doesn’t respond for some time; he is thinking about your smile, his deplorable thoughts twisting this precious image to one of your fangs piercing the throat of a dragonborn. Astarion had heard Moth was known for his exotic beauty, and he is seething at the very thought of you caressing scaled skin. 

It was worse if he was taking you by force, if you weren’t enjoying it – that is only the cruelest torture, and Astarion is prepared to tear across realms to prevent this from happening. But if Astarion was being honest with himself, it hurt him more to imagine that you were enjoying your time with this other man. This other vampire…this other lord. ‘He will be her new Master.’ The thought has Astarion crawling in his flesh. He had to have you back, either way. And he was not so proud to deny help, not when it came to you.

“A wizard. We need a good one.” Astarion looked around the room, his hand involuntarily grabbing at the fabric in his pocket, almost as if to check they were still there. He would have to find something else to track you, something of yours that he was willing to part with: your adorable white panties were not one of them.

The gith nod at his request, Lae’zel sending one of the young ones to fetch a shirt of yours.There is something about Astarion’s aura that clears the room, leaving only Lae’zel and the spawn behind, who kneel whenever Astarion is idle. It deeply unsettles Lae’zel, but something about this entire situation felt off to her.

“Is it not strange, to you, that this lord betrays the nature of vampires by taking a spawn he didn’t create?” Lae’zel asks, wiping away a smudge of makeup with a finger. Drenched in sweat and a few tears, It had been a long night for her. Handling Orpheus and the Kith’rak’s reaction to the situation had her reeling: Orpehus was more apt to help, but Elan wanted the vampires gone. Lae’zel and Orpehus had the final say, of course, and she was permitted to continue doing what she was doing: gathering her fighters and spreading her cause in whichever way needed to happen. She couldn’t leave Astarion like this and knew this was the next part of her strange journey.

“It’s not that strange  if you consider the fact that this lord is utterly insane.” Astarion also thought it was rather strange how the Crystalline Spire had no windows, and it made him feel even more closed in. “And I am the only vampire alive who matches him in power. It was only a matter of time before he attempted to take me down.”

“He is a red dragonborn, correct?”

“Yes.”

“It is in their nature to hoard. You’re sure his first name is Geldon? Geldon Moth, the red dragonborn?” Lae’zel’s quizzical tone was beginning to irritate Astarion.

Astarion looked to his spawn. “Up. Gather.” Lae’zel watches uneasily as the two spawn begin to collect the rest of your things. “What do you mean to say?”

“He can’t be much older than you, Astarion. Dragonborn had only been in Toril for hardly two hundred years when you and Tav met.”

“Don’t say her name,” Astarion’s voice was a force that barreled through Lae’zel’s mind, causing her to grab the sides of her head in anguish. The corner of Astarion’s mouth twitches, relishing in the way her heart flutters with fear.

“Do you think I'm an idiot, Lae’zel?” Astarion’s heart is filled with fury, with grief, and Lae’zel backs up to brace herself for a fight. His knees are bent, and he’s nearly crouched, like a predator. “He is only a hundred years older than me. He was named and raised by humans after his parents were slaughtered, and he was created by a vampire far greater than I.”

Astarion pauses, his face softer than Lae’zel had seen before. “Lae’zel. Moth has resources beyond what I’ve amassed. He has a harem of spawn who fight for him, and even more thralls. If I could find the bastard, I could probably take him down myself, but he’s well protected. And he has what is most precious to me. I have to be careful…I have to think.”

But Astarion was having a hard time thinking of anything but you. 

Lae’zel steeled herself, clearly shaken by the situation.”And you have a hoard of gith. And the daylight. And me, of course.” She gave him a weak smile, but it was one Astarion oddly appreciated. He doesn’t return it, but stares at her for what feels like an eternity to Lae’zel before the spawn are kneeling before him once more, prepared for their next task. 

“I must do whatever to get her back. At any cost.”

Lae’zel pauses. There is something she doesn’t understand, something she’s missing: the empty look in Astarion’s eyes gives it away. But she retreats, knowing when to choose her battles. 

“We’re returning home for the time being. Ring me once your witch doctor is done with his tricks.” With that, Lae’zel watches as Astarion turns the corner, disheveled silver curls disappearing at the bend.

“Wait!” Lae’zel runs after him. “Let me come with you, Astarion.”

Astarion turns to her, unable to hide the glassy look in his eyes. He flits through her mind with ease.“You think you still love her. And what you feel for her, Lae’zel, is so very little compared to the bond I share with my wife.”

Lae’zel’s cheeks flush. “My feelings matter not, Astarion. Our friend, Tav, is missing –“ Astarion turns around, but Lae’zel continues, sensing that despite his actions, he was still listening. “I wouldn’t ever leave her behind. Gale, Karlach, Shadowheart, Wyll…none of us would ever have let harm come to her. It will be that way all my life, as it was for theirs.”

Astarion hardly reacts, already leagues away. “Do whatever you want. You know how to find me.” 

****

Astarion isn’t surprised when Lae’zel shows up with five githyanki fighters on her heels; Astarion immediately knows it’s your warriors, the ones whose scents tended to linger on you longer than the others. He meets them in the portal room of your palace, the one the Ancunín’s called home.

“Our mages have yet to find any trace of her on Toril,” Lae’zel’s words inspire only frustration within Astarion. “Astarion, tell me why you cannot sense her on your own.”

Astarion turns, his back to Lae’zel and the others. Silently commanding his spawn to escort the gith out, Lae’zel and Astarion are left alone in his office. He turns to a large painting of you, noticing it having caught Lae’zel’s eye. 

In the picture, you’re looking over your bare shoulder, your long hair cascading down your back. The expression on your face is soft, your plush lips parted in a way that made you look girlish. Your red eyes seemed to follow Lae’zel, who decided she much preferred your old eye color. 

“I’ve had many of her done over the years. That one is my favorite.” This wasn’t true, but Lae’zel didn’t need to know about the collection of lewd paintings Astarion had of you hanging in the boudoir. 

“When was this painting of her done? It’s lovely.” She asks, her tone as steady as her arm.

“Around eight centuries ago.”

“It’s difficult to fathom that much time has passed,” Lae’zel takes a breath in. “You know, I still remember how she reacted on the docks when the tadpole died.”

Astarion flinches at the thought. When the tadpole died, your vampirism became fully actualized; your hunger had become immediately apparent, uncomfortable. Your senses had drastically sharpened, the smell of blood and guts and the sound of beating hearts hitting you all at once. Your eyes widened, filling with tears as your hunger pains wrecked you. Astarion had felt it, your pain, because your vampiric connection had solidified in that moment: it was beautiful, terrifying, and it was then Astarion knew he would always be a slave to you.

Astarion had to take you away from the others, feeding you from his own wrist while doing his best to restrain you until you got your fill. If you were full, your hunger was easy to control – and a vampire’s hunger is everlasting, even if the vampire has special abilities. 

“She didn’t suffer for long that day. I’ve taken care of her from the moment I made her mine,” Astarion narrows his eyes at her, raising his voice as he feels his anger rising. “Why do you bring up the past? What relevance does this have to finding her?”

“You must know where I stand with you, Astarion. I still cannot bring myself to forgive you for turning her into a vampire. For stealing her life, which you so happily did.”

Astarion grimaces before flashing his fangs at her. He hadn’t really the energy to spare. He sighs before he speaks. “I can easily read your mind, Lae’zel. All your pointless words amount to nothing, to me, because I really don’t give a shit. The only thing I care about is getting my wife back. Hats off to you for saying it to my face, I suppose.”

“She was different after that.”

“Still on about that, are we? We both made sacrifices so that we could spend eternity together. That was my promise to her, and I intend to keep it. Let's not waste anymore time.”

****

After a long day of traversing portals across Toril, handling a divide of a once united world, and dealing with the attitude on Lae’zel, Astarion wanted nothing more than to be alone at the end of the day. He had worked through most of the night before Bethild suggested the lord should rest. He had reluctantly agreed.

“Bring me a glass of red, would you?” Astarion didn’t bother to clean his desk: he would be back in just a few hours. 

Bethild hesitated for only a moment. “Of course, my Lord.” The request was an odd one coming from Astarion, but Bethild was good and never questioned him.

Astarion was met with your favorite red wine by the time he arrived at the boudoir. He thought it far too strong and bitter to be drunk before bed, but it did taste like you: right at the fall of night, before you washed away the doings of the day. He swished the wine in his mouth, savoring its sour flavor before he swallowed. 

Astarion can’t help but dwell on what Lae’zel said: how you were different after your turning. This was undeniably true, Astarion himself having experienced it: you were overall less emotional, but more prone to violence, and you enjoyed combat far more than you ever did. But these things had only made Astarion love you more, and your feelings for him only grew, as well. Astarion would know, because he was always watching his darling.

Astarion hadn’t bothered changing since you vanished, and he realized he was still in the extravagant, elegant clothing he had been in at that stupid meeting about the mortal wars. Studying his ensemble, Astarion feels tight all of a sudden, like he buttoned his clothing too tight, or his chest was being crushed, or like he was underwater – drowning. His breathing quickened until the tips of his fingers went numb, and he was surely dying.

But Astarion reasonably knew that he couldn’t actually die like this: but something inside told him he simply wasn’t safe. Astarion grabs at his collar, yanking the buttons free as he easily tears through the fabric, and he doesn’t stop until he’s on his knees, shredded cloth at his feet. Sitting back on his heels, he brings his ring to his lips before losing all composure. His tears are hot and salty, streaming down his cheeks as his arms move to wrap around his waist. When his fingers brush the scar tissue on his back, he flinches away, not even feeling safe in his own body. 

Bringing his hand back to his mouth, Astarion bites his wedding ring, bringing his tongue to the metal, savoring the metallic flavor as he takes a deep breath. He stays like this for some time before gathering himself up. He was a mess, and as he walked to the bathroom to wash up, he caught a glimpse of himself in a vanity mirror.

He wasn’t surprised at his puffy eyes and disheveled hair. Astarion typically gazed into any mirror he could: he adored his reflection, and yours, which had been a triumph of his as a vampire. He was able to give you something that was so cruelly taken from him, and you never had to forget your gorgeous face. 

Astarion gazed heavily into his own eyes, which were the same shade of deep crimson as yours. ‘How rare. How sweet.’ 

Every thought of you burned him, like a double edged sword: to try not thinking of you hurt just as much. Astarion narrows his eyes at himself – even after two millennia of being able to see his reflection, he never got tired of it, but there was something in his expression that was just off. If he looks close enough, if he focuses only on his eyes, he can see you in him…

“I love you, Tav.” But it doesn’t fill the growing void in his chest. The words weren’t a magic spell, even if they felt like it when spoken from your lips. Astarion returns to the bed he once shared with you, your clothes littering the mattress as your beloved vampire desperately tore through your belongings, grabbing anything and everything that smelled like you. 

He should have told you that more. How much he adored you – how much he loved you. How his heart beat only for you, and everything he had in this world was nothing without you. How he felt that even with his ascension, even with everything he’s given you, he still hadn’t given enough.

Astarion stays in reverie while he can – at least until the sun comes up. For now, Astarion simply wants to live in memories of you: your smile, your laugh, your smooth, flawless skin, the pitch of your voice…

Astarion’s tongue was between your lips, your kisses languid and sloppy as the two of you lay naked in bed, silken sheets resting at your hips. Astarion has you on your back; he is perched on his elbow, curls falling out of place as he’s forgotten the world around him.

His tongue sucked and stroked your own, a trail of saliva connecting your lips when he pulled away to look at you. “My treasure…”

Astarion twitches. This had been right before Lae’zel showed up and ruined it all. Astarion goes back further, to a more lewd memory:

Your cunt was sucking his cock in, taking him so relentlessly that he felt like you wouldn’t ever let him go. His hands roamed your body, his fingers stopping to tug at your nipple, the hardening bud sensitive enough to make your back arch just from his touch.

He softly ruts into you, causing a whimper to escape your lips. “Tell me again, my favorite spawn.” Before you could respond, Astarion grasped your jaw with his hand, meeting your eyes to his. “Obey me.”

“I love you, Master Astarion.”

“Tav…” the elf moans, his mind already involuntarily flickering to another memory.

Astarion is perched at a window. He swiftly breaks the lock, entering the house silently, crouching as he approaches a sleeping man. 

The man was tall, muscular, his curly red hair and copper skin immediately having an effect on you. Astarion thought the man rather attractive himself, and permitted you to ask him to bed. He had been invited back to the Ancunín estate many times.

Astarion thinks about the way you cried out the man’s name the last time the three of you were together as he slid the dagger into his throat. The way you run your fingers through the hair on the man’s chest and groin flashes before Astarion’s eyes when the man tries to ask why.

“I won’t share in her heart.”

Astarion opens his eyes, cursing at the wretched memory. He didn't understand why he was dwelling on such things, but the pit in his stomach spoke tenfold: he had never told you the truth about the man’s death, even when you cried after hearing the news of it. He hid the information away from you, one of the few secrets he kept, and it only made his stomach churn to think about it. Astarion shakes these thoughts away as he eases out of the bed and makes his way to the balcony. He breathes in the cool night air, the stars shining bright in the sky as he looks off into the abyss of the city below. 

In the coming days, Astarion would be in agony: he wouldn’t rest, his mind flitting to you every second as his thoughts became single minded, obsessive, like he was on a loop that is purely you. Astarion has music playing in the halls continuously, because he began hearing an echo of your voice throughout the palace, and he really thought himself going mad. 

He would create many more spawn, sending them out into the night to scout for your scent. Astarion himself would do so for days, even returning to the crèche to ensure he hadn’t missed any information, but all roads lead to nowhere.

On the mantle of the fireplace in the grand boudoir, a painting hangs: you lie on your back, your breasts exposed, the expression in your eyes is hungry, wanting, and your lips are parted just enough to see the tip of your fangs. Your arms are overhead, as if you are lounging in a stretch. Your thighs are together, and when Astarion looks at the painting, he imagines spreading them, taking your folds in his mouth and pleasuring you until you’ve come undone around his tongue. Astarion has thousands of memories of you like this, desperate and whimpering for him, and something about knowing he’s fucked you, his eternal bride, far more times than his body count brings comfort to him.

But no amount of memories could replace you. Tears were unbecoming of a vampire lord, and yet they began to feel like second nature to Astarion. 

****

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.

Masterlist

Next Chapter

[tonkatsubowl]

blind. ii

dan heng x fem!reader

it's a series now! ⛧ part one. ⛧ part three.

➽ inspired by satoru gojo! what if the reader had a special ability with her eyes and often wore a blindfold?

➽ reader is a flirt!

≫ requested tags: @truesimp

after successfully infiltrating the astral express and downloading a bit of data from dan heng's computer, you returned to elios' office to deliver the flash drive where you were praised for your work.

...in truth though, the flash drive you gave to elios was a fraud. should he open it, it would only be a security error with corrupted data. you executed this flawlessly, too, due to the sake of your curiosity and admiration for dan heng.

as a result, you were given a few days off, considering you didn't exactly have any missions to do since kafka, blade and silver wolf were assigned to those missions.

elios really did fall for it, huh? after all, you had a plan for dan heng.

the moment you entered your own room, you pulled your blindfold off, looking into the mirror with those strange, stellaron-infused eyes of yours.

right... you were a test subject to a project of another world. the scientists that practically had your life in their hands had these experiments where they'd force a stellaron into someone's body to see if it was compatible. but alas, you were somehow compatible with a stellaron forced into your eyes, deeming you a successful experiment, and forced you to become a powerful soldier for the worldly military. unfortunately (?) for you... your world was... well, destroyed for whatever reason. you didn't have any memories besides you were being tortured constantly by those scientists. kafka had retrieved you and took you prisoner at first, where elios had given you the opportunity to work for him.

and now here you were, one of the best performing members of the stellaron hunters.

... and really, here you were, seated at a café in belobog. you were a regular here in belobog on your days off.

in public, you wore a pair of sunglasses that kafka specifically made for your eyes. your eyes weren't always visible, but you always had the hearts of the baristas.

you always ordered a sweet, white mocha latte, and the baristas in the café who practically had a crush on you basically memorized your order. they always created cute little foam art on your coffee that represented a cat, or a bunny... sometimes random animals whenever you paid them a visit.

while you were relaxing on your day off, you hear your phone go off, a gentle buzz and your peculiar notification ping that rang through your very ears.

".. hm?"

➽ unknown: hey, it's me.

ooh, oh my. he really did text you...

➽ ???: oh, you really did text me, dan-dan. let me add you.

➽ dan heng: your name isn't even displayed through your contacts...?

➽ ???: oh, not at all. i like to keep my identity a secret.

➽ dan heng: i see.

➽ ???: so, what brought you to text me, cutie pie? did you miss me? ♡︎ i missed you too you know.

➽ dan heng: i'm texting you because i want to know why you downloaded the information of my entire database into that flash drive... and you didn't even bother erasing everything on my computer.

➽ ???: it should be obvious to you that i stole some info from you lol ♡︎ it's for my boss.

➽ dan heng: boss? you're a stellaron hunter then?

➽ ???: was it not obvious enough, babe? why, cmere, let's talk more in person. i prefer talking to you than text.

➽ dan heng: okat.

➽ dan heng: ojay.

➽ dan heng: okay**.

➽ ???: lmao. you're so cute... but i doubt you can come here right now. you're still on xianzhou luofu aren't you?

➽ dan heng: ?? how did you know i was just there... well, i guess it makes sense considering kafka was there too. but i'm on my way to belobog right now to visit a library. we can meet up later.

➽ ???: oh, well lucky day for the both of us. i'm at the café in belobog.

➽ dan heng: alright. well, i'll be there soon.

➽ ???: see u soon cutie

there was a sly smile across your face as you placed your phone upside down on the table. you were quite excited to see dan heng again since that fateful day. it wouldn't be long until dan heng would show himself.

the café had bells attached to the door, and the moment you heard the bells jingle, you took one final sip of the latte before moving the empty mug to the side of the table, recognizing your little boy toy from a bit of a distance.

catching the glimpse of your h/c hair and the lack of visibility of your eyes, he made his way towards your table, seating himself across from you. you could hear the quiet gossiping of the baristas as they wondered if you were truly single.

"hey, baby." you cooed at dan heng, who had a serious expression on your face. "oh, you didn't bring anyone. i was half expecting you to bring your trail blazing team for a moment."

"were you worried?" dan heng raised a brow as he looked down at the menu.

"ufufu. no, not exactly. you didn't seem to bring a friend on... the first date."

you see him flinch a bit, a tint of red painting his cheeks as he coughed awkwardly.

"this is not a date." he stammered.

"yes it is.~" you cooed before tapping the table. "order anything you'd like. it's on me."

"i don't want to order anything. i'm here purely for business purposes." dan heng said, as he looked straight towards your sunglasses.

"... the flash drive. you already submitted it to your boss, no? for what purpose do you have with the information in my database?"

there was a look of amusement. he could read it too, despite being unable to see your sunglasses.

"oh, who knows? my boss was just telling me to do things. i get paid very well whenever i'm tasked with what to do, y'know. that's the work of a stellaron hunter." you tilt your head, staring at him amusingly. "oh, right..."

reaching into your pocket, you pull out the flash drive. the same one you used to infiltrate his computer.

"i still have it. i gave my boss a fake one."

dan heng froze at the sight of the flash drive, almost ready to reach out to steal from your grasp. but you were... well, faster than him, especially when you had knocked him on his ass the other night.

"...what? why do you have that? look— just," dan heng shook his head, "i doubt anything i say will sway your mind to giving me that flash drive."

"ah, ah, ah." you mused, shaking your head at him. "hold up there, dragon boy. you're rushing into conclusions too fast. do the others know about this, actually? did you tell them?"

dan heng shook his head. you read his body language — he wasn't lying.

"...i see. perfect. let's have a deal, then."

dan heng blinked, raising a brow. "a deal?"

"you heard me, cutie." you said, looking back to the menu. you might order another latte or something else in a bit...

"...what's the deal?"

"hehe. curious, are you? well..." you stuffed the flash drive away, adjusting your sunglasses. "be my boyfriend."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..." you were smiling innocently at him.

".. wh— gh-..? huh!?"

"did i stutter, babe?"

dan heng choked for a moment, coughing into his fist as he turned red. "what—? why? are you... a-are you sane right now?"

"guess i'll turn in the info." you mused.

"wait—wait. fine."

your smile widened. "oh, geez, dearie me. does this mean you're my boyfriend?"

dan heng exhaled, looking to the side. "... i don't even know your name. if i'm going to be your boyfriend, i at least need to know your name. you already know mine."

"oh, for sure. as a reward for being so obedient, i'll tell you my name.

...it's y/n. ♡"