#a deceptively straight couple

[fogbite]

a lovely piece that one of our headmates did of our oc Cory (right) and @weevil-friend’s gal Alex (left). They’re in gay love, your honor. 💅🏻✨

[wandaslittleweirdo]

A/N: just a little idea I had….. this is kinda intense, so viewer discretion is advised :p — masterlist.

tw: jealousy, toxic relationship, wanda holds your head under cold water, heavy dom/sub dynamics, pet names (darling, little angel, sweet girl, etc), dirty talk/coaxing, possessiveness, age gap > reader is 23 wanda is 36

dark!mommy!wanda ༝༝ fem!reader

ೀ The cool evening air clings to you as you step into your home, the light scent of rain sneaking it’s way through the open door. You had spent the day out with a friend, laughing and sharing stories that made your heart feel lighter than it had in months.

The air is heavy with the scent of incense and candle wax, and you assume it was Wanda trying new spells while you were away. You sigh, feeling the weight of the world lift from your shoulders as you kick off your shoes, your socks sliding along the wooden floorboards.

You pad your way into the kitchen and over to the fridge, the hum of its motor the only sound in the otherwise silent house. You cracked it open, the chill rushing out as you grab a bottle of water.

Wanda's embrace is sudden but comforting, her arms slithering around your waist, her chin resting on your shoulder as she breathed in your scent.

"How was your day, my sweet?" She asks as she sways you in her arms.

Her eyes look for yours in the reflection of the fridge door, a silent demand for details. You twist the cap off the bottle, the plastic crunching under your grip. "Hey, Wands," you smile, turning to face her and leaning against the fridge. “My day was nice. Met up with a friend, had dinner, watched a late movie. All that jazz.”

Wanda’s smile remained, but her grip tightens around your waist. "Which friend was this?" The sweetness in her voice now has a brittle edge to it, like a thin sugar coating ready to crack under pressure. You hesitate, the chill from the fridge seeping into your bones as your mind scrambled for the right words.

"A random one," you shrug, biting the inside of your cheek. She raises her brows expectantly, clearly not satisfied with your answer. "It was just a guy from work."

Her eyes narrow slightly, the green in them darkening like a storm approaching. "A guy?" she repeated lowly. "What's his name?”

You swallowed hard, taking a deep breath through your nose in an attempt to hide your rapidly increasing anxiety. "His name is Alex."

Her eyes search yours, looking for any sign of deception. "Alex," she murmured, tasting the name as her eyes fell to the pendant of your necklace. "I don't recall you mentioning him before.”

You feel your throat tighten, looking down at your hands and squeezing the bottle nervously. "He's a new friend. I've only talked to him a couple of times."

She purses her lips, running her tongue over her teeth. "And why didn't you tell me you were going out with this Alex guy?"

"Because it’s not like that, Wands—“

“Do you expect me to believe you went to a movie theatre, alone with a man, and that’s all you did? You just watched the movie and came straight home?” Her tone is accusing, her hand moving to play with the neckline of your dress, the action feeling more threatening than playful.

“Yes! He’s not like that, and you know I’m not.”

“You probably wanted him too. Because that’s what you sluts want, right?”

Panic floods your chest, your mind racing to find a way to reassure her. “Please, you know that’s not true!”

You try to pull away, but she holds you still, tutting you when she sees your lip quiver and your eyes water in fear of what she might do to him, or you. Her thumb traces your cheekbone, the gesture eerily gentle despite her harsh words. "You know I can read your mind," she reminds you softly, her fingers coming up to caress the side of your forehead. "So tell me the truth, Y/N—“

“I am, I didn’t do anything! Just fucking drop it, Wanda!”

Your reaction surprises the both of you, her eyes widening and her hand pulling back slightly. You feel the blood drain from your face as you realise what you had said, your heart picking up its speed. A moment passes, and your words seem to finally sink in, watching as her jaw clenches and her nostrils flare.

Suddenly, her hand flies up, and she grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking you forward and pulling you away from the fridge. You gasp, stumbling as she drags you across the kitchen, the floorboards protesting underfoot. She stops at the sink, her grip unyielding as she twists the faucet handle.

The cold water gushes out, and you feel the first droplets hit your face, the chill of them making your breath hitch. She bends you over the sink and stands behind you, your shaky hands gripping the cold counter to keep yourself steady. “What are you doing?" you choked out, your eyes wide with horror.

“It seems to me you’ve forgotten your place, Y/N,” Wanda says, her voice deceptively calm. "Maybe after this, you’ll remember to watch your mouth."

Without warning, she plunged your head under the stream of icy water, holding you there as you sputtered and squirmed. Your lungs burn as the shock steals your breath away, the world around you reduced to a muffled roar as the water fills your ears.

“Shh, you’re okay. Mommy’s got you,”

“The more you fight me, the longer I hold you here.”

“I know it’s cold, honey, but it’s for your own good. Just a little longer,”

“Sweet girl, why do you always push me to this point?” Her voice is a mix of feigned disappointment and pity as she continues to hold your head under the frigid water. You struggle, your hands slapping against the sink and counter, trying to break free, but her grip remained firm. Your eyes squeeze shut as you choke on the liquid invading your nose and mouth, each gasp for air met with more water.

"I'm sorry, mommy!” you manage to gasp out, your voice high and desperate. She doesn’t flinch hearing you beg, cruelly watching the water soak your hair and distort your features.

Wanda didn’t move until your struggles weakened and your body went limp. She pulls you up from under the water, and you gasp for air, your vision blurry and your hair plastered to your face. You cough violently, a mix of water and blood splattering back into the sink.

"Look what you made me do," she murmurs, looking down at you with faux empathy. "You know better than to speak like that to me. If this happens again, you give me no choice but to teach you a lesson. Do you understand?”

You nod, hysterical as tears stream down your cheeks. Wanda turns off the faucet and tugs your head up, her voice like steel. "I said, do you understand?”

You let out a hiccup, your voice trembling as you nodded again. "Yes, mommy. I understand. I only want you, no one else, I promise.” The corner of her lips twitch into a small, proud smile hearing your frantic response, the storm in her eyes finally starting to simmer down. Her thumb strokes your cheek, smearing the mascara trails that the water had left.

“My little angel," Wanda whispers, her grip on your hair loosening. "You always know just what to say to make me happy."

She gently pulls you up from your position over the sink to turn you around, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you close to her chest. "I know you don’t like when I hurt you, but mommy just wants what’s best for you, okay?”

"I know, I'm sorry," you murmured into her blouse, another sob rocking through you. “I won’t see him again.”

Wanda visibly relaxed hearing your words, letting out a soft sigh as she stroked your wet hair.

"That’s my girl.”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

[bluebeary-jay]

A promise softly sung

Astarion x f!Reader/Tav

Summary: before the battle that will decide his fate, Astarion is terrified of losing you to Cazador. you comfort him after a nightmare. (set at the beginning of act 3)

Tags: hurt/comfort, BIG angst and some fluff, poor boy doesn't believe he's deserving of love :( let's hold him until he changes his mind

Warnings: mentions of trauma, self-deprecating thoughts, memories of past abuse and torture, c*zador, being unable to move (briefly), tadpoles mention (idk if that's a trigger)

Word count: 2.1k

A/N: hiiiiiiiii my darlings <33 soo this is something else from what i usually write but i finished bg3 recently and i LOVED IT but i'm on a trip rn so in the absence of my pc i found some inner inspiration to write something again. honestly i missed writing very much but i had the biggest block for almost a year now but maybe it'll get better now that my classes are starting again and i'll be needing a distraction lmao. anyway comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated and don't be shy to send in a request! and as always, happy reading!!! <3

He was there again.

Astarion loathed those hard, stone walls as much as he feared them. It was here that he once spent an entire night, having infernal script meticulously carved into his skin. It was here that he was punished every time he disappointed his master, every time he didn’t do well enough on his mission. It was here that he was reminded time and time again how worthless, pathetic and meaningless his existence was. It was here he returned in almost all of his nightmares.

But now you were here, too.

Astarion couldn’t believe this, but no matter how much he blinked or willed himself to wake up, the view before his eyes didn’t change. It was you, chained by the wrists to the ceiling where he was hanging so many times before, your toes just barely scraping the ground that was already splattered with your blood. Your clothes were ripped to shreds and cuts and bruises covered almost every inch of your skin. Astarion wanted to run up to you, to get you somewhere safe and far away from this place, but he found that he was unable to move. It wasn’t shock seizing up his limbs, but magical paralysis which he had experienced a couple of times during combat. Even though he knew it was a spell that was holding him in place, he still fought against it with all the strength he could muster – but to no avail.

Your eyes, full of tears and fear, met his briefly before you looked past him at someone else.

“Ah, my sweet, insolent boy,” whispered a voice straight from Astarion’s deepest, darkest nightmares, causing him to tense up in terror. A hand – pale, all too familiar in its deceptive tenderness – brushed his jaw from behind before grabbing his hair roughly. The vampire spawn could do nothing but watch as his head was tilted back and he came face to face with his master.

No, it can’t be… How was Cazador here? How were you here?!

“You’ve been a very bad boy, Astarion,” Cazador tutted, shaking his head. “Running away like that, not returning home for months… It’s no way to treat family, isn’t it?” Astarion felt a sharp sting of his master’s quarterstaff at his back, digging into the scars made by the same hand, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t even scream. “But I’ll forgive you… eventually. After all, you brought me this delectable treat…”

Both him and Cazador looked up at you when Astarion realized what – or rather, who – that bastard was talking about. He tried shaking his head, tried begging for him not to hurt you, but he still couldn’t move, his voice was still stuck past his throat and no word or sound came out. In the meantime, Cazador stood up, walking around his spawn to stand in front of you.

“His own survival was always the most important thing to him,” Cazador said almost pitifully, and only after a moment Astarion realized that this time, he was speaking to you. “He’s a selfish, contemptuous creature, after all. Say, did he tell you he loved you before he lured you here like so many others before you? Did he lie, swearing how much you mean to him?”

“Yes, he… he did.”

Astarion prayed to any higher being that it was just the power of another spell compelling you to say that, and not what you were really thinking. He tried to struggle against his own magical restraints, but whatever scroll or verbal command was used, it was far too powerful for the vampire to beat it with sheer willpower alone. He was helpless again – but worse than that, he was forced to watch you being at Cazador’s mercy, too, all while he couldn’t do anything to save you.

“I honestly didn’t think poor Astarion had it in him,” Cazador continued calmly, gliding gracefully around you and disappearing behind your back. Your own eyes, now full of hurt and betrayal, were trained on Astarion’s. He couldn’t turn away, but in the corner of his vision the elf saw a flash of a blade against your bare skin. “To give away one person who, for some strange reason, saw good in a filthy worm like him… But I’m so very proud of you, sweetling.” Cazador looked at him over your shoulder and licked his lips, so, so dangerously close to your neck. “You’ll live to serve me for centuries to come, and you can watch your lover take your place in my ritual… You did well, Astarion.”

No, Astarion cried in the prison of his own body, unable to reach you or to even stop Cazador from spilling lies into your ears. Not her, no, no, please–

“No!”

Cazador smiled widely and sank his teeth into your fragile neck, and you screamed, still looking at Astarion with this horrible hatred in your eyes…

“No, no, please! Take me, please, just don’t–”

“My love, it’s alright, you’re safe…”

“Stop! Please, just–!”

His body suddenly jerked painfully and his eyes shot open, darting around in confusion and trying to figure out where he was. Astarion wasn’t feeling the cold frigid air of the kennels anymore – instead his skin was almost hot, and damp from sweat, but there was something smooth and soft under his back… the sheets. He was in a bed, at an inn. Still panting heavily, he looked around, noting the details in his surroundings: the crooked chandelier, a little window with curtains drawn shut, his shirt hung neatly over the back of the chair… and your shoes right next to it.

At the memory of your battered and tortured body in Cazador’s dungeon, Astarion shot up with a belated sob, almost knocking you over in the process. Only when your warm hand left his cheek did he notice your presence. You were kneeling next to him on the mattress, expression worried and sorrowful, with the last traces of sleep just leaving the edge of your vision. His red eyes scanned your body, but there were no bruises, no cuts made by Cazador’s wretched blade, no burns on your wrists from the manacles he saw you in mere moments ago.

And there was no hatred in your gaze. Only love and care he didn’t deserve.

Astarion’s eyes filled with tears, but before he could run out of the room or hide under the bed, you opened your arms, gently offering him the solace within. And he, being the selfish, contemptuous creature that he was, didn’t deny himself what he wasn��t worthy of.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, petting his hair softly, while the other hand was – as always – mindful of the scars on his back. “It was a dream, my love. You’re safe here with us.”

His body shook with quiet sobs as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the soothing scent of your skin and your blood singing to him just beneath. He saw again before his eyes the way Cazador looked at him before he bit you, right in this place he was now so close to…

To give away one person who, for some strange reason, saw good in a filthy worm like him…

“I’m sorry,” Astarion choked out, finding his voice at last, which made you pause in your ministrations. “I’m so sorry f-for not doing anything… He…”

You were quiet for a couple of seconds, but then Astarion felt the most tender touch of your lips on the crown of his head, and he buried his face more into your chest.

“I’m here, darling,” you whispered. “Whatever you saw, it wasn’t real.”

He didn’t answer, instead lifting his arm and tentatively brushing his fingers just underneath your shirt. He didn’t feel any scars mirroring his own, but could still see the blood flowing from your back and down your legs, could still hear your painful scream… It brought fresh tears to his eyes again.

“I… I swear, I would never do that,” he attempted to explain himself, but his words came out in a pathetic sob, and he shook his head again, curling in on himself. “He– he was lying. I’d never…”

A fresh wave of tears wetted your shirt, but you didn’t seem to mind as you gently rocked him back and forth, cradling him safe in your arms. Old Astarion would probably scoff at the condescending action of being treated like an infant, but he knew better now. He still found it difficult, but with you at his side he was learning what true care and affection looked like, and how to accept it. You were always so patient with him, so gentle, never rushing or angry when he couldn’t give you the closeness and intimacy you deserved. Astarion loved that about you – even if he wasn’t ready to say it out loud just yet.

“My star…” you hesitated, but ultimately asked, “what did you dream about?”

The vampire took a shaky breath, unable to open his eyes or speak about what he saw. Instead, he called on the tadpole in his brain and nudged your mind with it, wordlessly asking for permission, which you immediately granted. There was at least one thing the tadpole was good for, he thought as you lived through the nightmare his weak, broken mind had conjured. If by the gods’ grace all of them managed to get rid of the tadpoles and survive this whole ordeal… and if by some miracle you still wanted to stay with him after all was done… Astarion knew he would have to learn how to communicate his feelings on his own. But not tonight. Not tonight.

You didn’t say anything for a long while, only continuing to hold him close to your chest. In this position he could hear the soothing beat of your heart, proving that he didn’t lead you to Cazador, that he didn’t turn you into a monster like him…

“We’re gonna kill him,” you finally said with your throat tight from emotions. “I promise you, as soon as we get to the Baldur’s Gate, we’ll find him and end him for good.”

Astarion knew what he should say – he should agree, or maybe jest that this is the most romantic thing you’ve ever said, or even argue that it’s not going to be that easy.

But all he could do right now was to continue clinging to you like a child, too afraid to face you.

“I’d never give you away,” he breathed, so quietly that he wasn’t sure you heard it, but he didn’t care. “Even if I had to suffer another two hundred years. I’d never–”

“I know, my darling,” you whispered back, and Astarion felt your own tears disappearing in his white locks. He still couldn’t believe why someone like you would waste your tears on him of all people, and it caused a new kind of pain to bloom in his chest. “And you’re not those things he told you. You’re… you’re everything to me, Astarion. Everything.”

Astarion wondered if he’d ever believe that. You proved to him time and time again that you can make anything possible, even change the worldview of someone like him… but with Cazador’s threat still looming, he didn’t have it in him to try and convince himself of your words.

Maybe after the bastard's dead, he concluded. Maybe then it’ll get easier and he can finally start becoming someone deserving of you.

You stirred slightly, breaking him out of his musings. Astarion hugged you tighter, sharply stopping you from moving away.

“Please. Don’t go.”

You just leaned back on the pillow and kissed his head gently again. Astarion felt the tension in his body melting away just a little, but the tears welled up again in his eyes.

“I won’t. Promise.”

And you kept your promise. Astarion didn’t fall asleep again, but your constant heartbeat under his cheek brought him some semblance of peace as he waited for the sun to rise. It didn’t feel right to let you care for him so much, to gift and envelop him with your love that he didn’t deserve… But it’d be even more wrong to take that choice away from you. He knew all about that, after all, and he'll be damned if he ever treats you the way he was treated.

So Astarion decided that he will let you love him and he will love you in return, for as long as you allow it.

Because, truth be told, he was nothing if not a selfish, contemptuous creature.

[bishopsbeloved]

a night in

kate bishop x female reader

After dinner plans are cancelled, Kate Bishop skips straight to dessert

straight up smut, kate topping, she is so fucking horny, fingering, oral (R receiving), mentions of her strap, 1.4k words

Dating Kate Bishop keeps you on your toes.

At the last possible minute, as the two of you were ready to leave her apartment in white tie attire for the high-end Valentine’s dinner reservation awaiting you, she got a call from Clint that had her huffing and grunting and tugging off her blazer.

“Stupid— fucking— superhero thing,” she’d muttered, fumbling with her quiver, “won’t— give me a, uhm, a couple hours, baby, I’ll be so quick.”

When she comes home, you’re at the kitchen counter, preparing a homemade meal in place of your prior plans. You’re still in the tight little number she picked out for you to match with her suit, figuring she’d still want to take it off you. The front door slams, and almost instantly she’s dropped her gear on the ground and made a beeline towards where you’re stood.

“Hi, baby,” you murmur, setting down the knife and turning to face her. Within a moment she’s pressing herself against your back, hands on your hips, stopping you from moving.

“No,” she sighs against your skin, her chest to your back, her mouth on your neck. She leans into you, draping herself over your back to pin you between her body and the counter, and hold you in place. “Stay.”

You’re quiet, cheeks reddening as her lithe arms curl upwards to let her hands cup your tits. Sometimes she’ll hold them just for the sake of holding them, but today she wastes no time in beginning to roughly grope them over your dress, fingers tugging hungrily at the cleavage.

“Katie,” you sigh, unable to stop yourself from leaning back, instinctively relaxing into her touch. She’s solid behind you, deceptively strong, groaning against the skin of your neck and then taking it between her teeth. You whimper.

“Was thinking of these the whole time I was gone,” she tells you lowly. She fumbles with the front of your dress, whining in the back of her throat when she can’t free your tits with ease.

“J— just my tits?” you manage, overwhelmed by her, arching your back into her touch.

“All of you,” Kate admits hoarsely, her hands moving to undo the zipper of your dress now. “Just you. Fuck.”

She’s all over you, she’s everywhere, beginning to grind herself against your ass as she trails open-mouthed kisses across the newly exposed skin of your shoulders. She tugs your dress down further still, impatiently rutting against you like a dog in heat, and you wince as you hear fabric rip.

“S’fine,” she mutters against the skin of your spine, sending shivers down it. She begins to tug you towards the sofa. “C’mere.”

“Katie, the food,” you remind her.

“I don’t— screw the food, we’ll get takeout. You taste better.”

She grips your hips as she sits on the sofa and pulls you onto her lap. The dress is somehow squirmed off of you entirely, leaving you in nothing but panties, and as Kate fights with the buttons of her own shirt you’re finally able to take her in — her pretty lips are parted as she pants softly, cheeks a little flushed, pupils blown. She looks up at you as she tosses her buttonup aside and a thrill of arousal shoots through you as her darkened, hungry eyes lock onto yours and finally your lips meet.

You whine openly into her mouth as her tongue slides against yours, and her hands make their way to your tits again, her thumbs toying with your nipples. Without the boundary of your dress you can feel how cold her hands are, and it makes you tense, squirming a little.

“Shhh, sh sh,” she soothes against your lips, “just let me play with you. Been— been thinking of you like this all night, baby, fuck.” She drags out the syllables, her voice dripping with need, and she’s not the only thing that’s dripping.

“You’re so wet, huh?” Kate muses as your wetness seeps through your underwear and onto her trousers. She jogs her leg, rubbing against your cunt and watching with amusement as you squirm. “Yeah? That feel good, baby? You want more?”

You cry out in the affirmative, and one hand stays on your tits while the other slides down to nurse your overwhelming wetness. She toys with you over your underwear, teasing your clit until you’re shivering in her arms, before growing impatient with her own games as she often does and sliding her cold hand beneath the lacy fabric. You yelp at the contact, and let out a low guttural cry as she slides two fingers into you without hesitation.

“Shh, it’s okay,” she soothes you, lazily curling her fingers inside of you as the pad of her thumb makes its way onto your clit. “Just be a good girl and take it. I’ve been outside working, I’ve been so cold, and I was thinking of this the whole time. You’re gonna be good for me and warm me up, okay? You gonna warm up my fingers?”

“Y— yes,” you cry out. You’re rolling your hips into her, arms curled around the back of her neck, and as the pleasure grows more intense your head falls forward to rest on her shoulder. You pant softly as, on every thrust into you, Kate fucks into the sensitive spot of your gummy walls that makes your vision go white.

“So— s’good,” you whine, breath hot against her skin, and you feel her shiver a little.

“Yeah?” she murmurs, picking up the pace a little. With every thrust your wetness seeps out of you and down onto her thigh, soaking it. “God, you’re so fucking tight,” she says desperately, whiny, her own hips beginning to rut up into you as she fucks you, and it’s the way that she gets off on your pleasure alone that has you gasping and teetering on the edge.

“Cum— cum on my fingers, baby,” she almost begs, an arm looped around your waist to hold you in place as she fucks you steadily, sinking her teeth into the soft skin of your neck. With a cry you obey, blinding waves of euphoria rolling over you as you clench around Kate so hard that she struggles to continue thrusting into you.

“Fuck, fuck,” she grits, fucking you through your orgasm and shuddering a little. The realisation that she’s cum in her pants just from fucking you has you whining, dragging your fingernails down her back, rocking into her. Eventually she pulls her hand from your cunt, sucking your slick off of her fingers and whimpering at the taste.

“Have to taste you,” she mumbles, almost to herself, easing you off of her lap onto the sofa and then getting on her knees. “Just take what I give you, baby, so good for me.”

Kate nudges your thighs apart, burying herself between them and running her tongue up your slit. She groans at the taste, not caring for your little whimpers of overstimulation.

“So fucking good,” she breathes, one arm wrapping itself around each of your thighs to hold you in place. You’re too far gone to muster a reply.

Kate Bishop always eats you out like a woman starved. Tonight, though, she’s hungrier than you’ve ever seen her. She laps at you messily, her nose nudging against your sensitive clit, desperate to engulf you. You’re crying out her name, writhing, and when you reach out to wind your hand through her hair she looks up at you through her lashes. Her eyes are wide and dark, lips swollen, the entire lower half of her face glistening with your juices. She blinks up at you hungrily, still lapping at your clit, swallowing everything you have to offer her, and the sight paired with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you is enough to have you cumming on her tongue. She hums approvingly against you, the vibrations only prolonging your orgasm, and you feel so overwhelmingly good you can’t even move. Eventually she slows down, sensing your need for a break, and makes her way back up your body to tug you into her arms and hold you close to her.

“So good for me,” Kate soothes you, a hand combing through your hair. “So good at taking everything I give you. So, so good, my gorgeous baby.” She waits until you’ve come down a little more, until your eyes are a little less glassy, before grinning at you. “Happy Valentine’s, sweet girl. You want to ride my strap next?”

[devilmademewriteit]

thinking about jealous reader and jealous javi

Jealous Girl

gif via @javier-pena

pairing: javier peña x afab!fem!reader

warnings: roughy sex/smut (fem penetration) so 18+ only content; fem!afab!reader; dirty talk; jealous!reader; jealous!javi; sort of dom!javi; allusions to reader having long-ish hair; pet names (baby, babygirl, hermosa, cariño); slut-shaming (reader uses the word ‘whore’); dubcon (no explicit consent, Javi is… forceful).

no use of y/n in this fic

thx 4 the drabble / short fic request!! once again this is FERAL !!! feel free to keep sending me lil drabble requests. they’re so fun to write while I work on my longer fics.

reminder that I am not using the taglist for these, but you can turn on notifs & join the list in my pinned post for my longer works !

-em <3

—

“You broke it off with me, baby, remember?”

What does it matter? What does it matter when you lock eyes with him getting head in his car, parked in some barely-hidden side-street, one block away from your dad’s salsamentaria?

What does it matter when, ten minutes later, he finds you, alone in the back room of the store, forcing back tears of frustration as your shaking hands busy themselves with fresh inventory?

You spin around, prepared to bark curses at him for trespassing into sacred, employee-only territory. He’s leaning against the door, beige suit-jacket a little roughed-up, hair slightly out of place.

“Glad to see you’re enjoying your freedom,” you reply coolly, mirroring his pose against the far wall.

He smiles. You’d known him long enough to recognize that condescending expression — the wolfish twitch of his mustache.

Toying with you for sport.

“And you’re not?” Javi asks, the casual raise of his eyebrows deceptive compared to the darkness overtaking his gaze. “Everybody’s seen you, y’know, leaving bars half-naked with guys twice your age.”

Always an opportunist, the agent pushes on, taking advantage of your stunned silence. “N’ you used to be so shy, babygirl.” A chuckle. “The fuck did I do to you, huh?”

You stammer, wanting to tear into him for his crudeness (though he was right — mixing the breakup with tequila hadn’t failed to strip you of your inhibitions), but the man denies you the chance, gliding forward in a slow, wide step.

Softly. “You wear my gifts for them? Let ‘em fuck you in all those lil’ lace sets I got for you?”

He’s close now, and you’re beginning to see red. This was part of the reason behind the break-up in the first place — neither of you knew how to manage overwhelming care without dousing it in cruelty.

Those long-awaited fighting words finally manage to breach the threshold of your lips. “Yeah, actually, I do,” you drawl, arousal levelled by a red-hot rage coiling tighter and tighter within you, “Ruined a couple pairs.”

“Bullshit.” His consonants slice through his vowels, accusatory and harsh. “Bet that pussy doesn’t even get wet after bein’ trained by me, does it?”

Try not to choke on your snarl, girl. “‘Least I don’t have to get head a block down from my ex’s shop — z’that the only way you can still get hard, Peña?” You muster up a daring smirk, shouldering his challenge head-on. “Hoping you’ll see me walk by so you can finish inside your whore?”

Bull’s eye.

“Don’t act like you give a single fuck where I’m gettin’ my dick wet, cariño.” Every inch of him bristles something fierce, but with skill and practice, he keeps his anger in check — maintains the upper hand — looming over you to consecrate the threat.

“Just pissed that I’m fuckin’ another bitch’s throat when we both know that’s what yours’s made for, right?”

The coil snaps.

Before you can stop it, your hand is in the air, gunning straight for the tan skin over his cheekbone.

In a blink, he’s strangling your wrist, holding back your palm from making punishing contact. The following pause is thick and heavy, quickly overflowing with Javi’s rage-soaked hunger. Dark and dangerous, the man hones in on your glare—

And speaks, voice low.

“Y’know, I let her swallow my load—”

“Let go of me.”

“—but you can take the next one.”

And then he flips you over, brushing off your indignant whine, flattening your back against his chest. Javi is strong (he always has been) and there’s no point in resisting (there never was). He’s unzipped himself, hiked your skirt up, wrenched your panties to the side and forced himself inside you in a matter of seconds.

Dear God, forgive me for getting my fix.

A big hand wraps around your throat while unforgiving arms form a prison around your body. He tilts your head back to face him, savouring your tightness, your suffering, and the strangled moan of pleasure dripping from your lips with his hips’ every rough throw.

“Always gonna belong to me, huh?”

His whisper settles over your skin, heightening that already-unbearable bliss. Your muddled mind and slackened mouth scramble to form words beyond full full full, yes yes yes.

“F-fuck you, Peña—” you spit through clenched teeth, squeezing your eyes shut in concentration. You fingertips grow sore, pressed to bruise along his forearms. “You’re worse than me—you-you know it.”

Javi responds with a tightened grasp and diligent, skilled digits falling to manhandle your clothed breasts. “Yeah, fuck you, too—” and it’s strained, etched with long-awaited relief, “—fuckin’ spoiled—jealous brat.”

An all-encompassing jolt to your system — he’s found that aching bundle. He carves words into your sensitive clit: you were never going to be anything but mine, mine, mine. The arch in your spine deepens; the back of your head falls helplessly against his collarbone. And despite yourself — despite his venom — you grin, catching the broken hallelujah underpinning every vowel, every touch of his desperate, repressed desire.

It’s a symphony you both sing, a thought hanging so heavy in the room it almost becomes a tangible part of your filthy entanglement.

“If I can’t have you, baby, no one else in this world can.”

—

[neckromantics]

Sometimes, when he's in a particularly impatient mood, Astarion will suddenly appear behind the people you're trying to reason with.

He skulks from the closest dark corner, silent as the grave, with his blade ready to strike at even the slightest hint that the conversation is taking a turn for the worse.

It's usually equal parts amusing and startling bc you never expect it. And suddenly, a very low risk conversation has you fighting for your life. You have to do everything in your power to keep a straight face, and that's not always easy. Especially when Astarion starts mocking whoever it is behind their back. Rolls his eyes. Uses his hand to do the "blah blah blah" gesture in time with the words they're saying. Mimes a quick stab.

You have to turn your deception skills up to 100 just to act like this dude isn't about to get disemboweled if they say something stupid, or perhaps, breathe in a way your friend finds unpleasant (seeing as he's now checking the sun's placement in the sky to judge just how long this useless drivel is taking.)

There was one time where you couldn't keep it together at all. You couldnt help it, really. Your eyes had a mind of their own- flitting back to the space above your enemy's shoulder to zero in on Astarion's pretty, annoyed face often enough for it to catch their attention. Naturally, they turned around to see what you were looking at. And, then?

Let's just say after this casualty, you learned to take a couple of casual steps back, just in case you need to avoid the so-called "splash zone."

Imagine yourself in the shoes of this poor sap. You're having what you think is a perfectly normal conversation with an admittedly nosey adventurer, and suddenly they start acting strange. You think, "damn, they seem distracted by something behind me. Is there a spider or something?"

Only to turn around and have the last thing you see be the adventurer's pale friend (that disappeared ten minutes ago, mind you) with a the bitchiest expression on his face, and the sharpest dagger to ever exist poised a milimeter away from your eyeball.

Well. At least it wasn't a spider?

[certifiedsexed]

Im a trans woman, im 18. I get periods.

Ive been on estrogen since I was 16, 2 years and three months... and my cramps are debilitating. I turn suicidal for a week every month and i sometimes throw up from the stinging/dull pain combo. there is bloating, severe depression, mood swings and extreme dysphoria.

My endocrinologist said that i should beware because my brain is decepting me and that can hinder meaningful conversation in my last meetup a month ago. i swear that im not making this up.

painkillers dont even work on my third/fourth day (i start counting the first day from when i get depressed, the other symptoms start the next day, and there is alot of sharp, radiating cramps, headache and other shittery the third day)

what should i do? am i really such a fraudster? i cant keep going on like this. its reducing my quality of life. is it really possible for me to have this much pain at a 26-27 day cycle??

So, I don't say this lightly: your endocrinologist should go to to hell! You're not a fraud and your brain isn't "deceiving" you. Those are literal textbook symptoms of something like PMDD and it's actually vile of him to straight-up diminish your symptoms and do nothing about it.

My first suggestion is get a different endocrinologist, if you can. That person is committing medical neglect against you and its loaded with medical trans/misogyny. If you can, you do not want to have to continue dealing with that.

Secondly, I want to suggest you try to find an OB/GYN. You have a few choices for dealing with it. If your AGAB is on file, it might be hard to find one that will take you, especially depending on where you live.

If you AGAB is not on file, it'll be easier to get in but medical misogyny, coupled with medical transmisogyny/transphobia is going to make getting help harder.

This does not mean you're faking it or that it's not worth trying [speaking as someone who cannot get diagnosed partially because of bigotry!], it just means people are bigoted assholes sometimes.

You might have to try numerous doctors. I cannot emphasis this enough: if you can, take someone with you! Doctors WILL treat you better.

Sometimes even going to the ER when you're experiencing these symptoms to have them run tests to narrow-down what disability you're dealing with can help. But do not let your endocrinologist force you into believing that the pain you're living with is normal or okay.

I'm not sure if this helps but I hope so, Anon! Let me know if you have any other questions or need anything else, fr. <3333

If anyone else has info that might help Anon, please add on in comments, reblogs and/or asks. Thank you.

[feroluce]

When talking about Boothill's drink order in 2.6, like. Hoyo could have just glossed it over and described it as "a few" or "several" drinks. They didn't bother to program in the actual glasses or anything- it's not like any of us were gonna count them and notice if they put in the wrong amount.

But they specifically chose the number seven, and if it IS just coincidence, it is a very very fun one.

Hsr is also known to make tarot card references- we had the online event shortly before Penacony's release, I'm pretty sure there's at least a couple simulated universe occurrences and a curio, and then Black Swan's Everything.

The Seven of Cups is a card about dreams and making choices when you have multiple options it front of you. It represents resisting self-deception and false dreams, and not letting yourself be charmed by hallucinations. It is a warning to carefully consider what is real vs what is not, which is very important in Penacony as a whole, being the land of sweet dreams, and it becomes relevant to Boothill later, when Primon starts to fuck with his head.

It can also represent someone who is "deep in their cups," which is a more polite way to refer to someone who uses alcohol as a coping mechanism to an unhealthy amount.

I hate that this could be a serious comment on Boothill being an alcoholic to cope with how much horrifying trauma he's experienced...and I have to discuss it looking at Primon's ridiculous fucking face fjkdslajldk

The overall message of the card is to stand fast, keep a clear head, and make your decision. Which suits Boothill beautifully even outside of this patch, since he is the very picture of ruthlessness and straightforwardness- he is able to see that bright clear line between action and result, and he follows it doggedly! Everything he does, he does wholeheartedly and decisively! And we see it especially well when he fights through the partial regression Primon leads him into!

Straight and clear and sure as a bullet, baby!!!

[elenamegan14]

Yandere One Piece - Irish/Nordic Fae Folk Myth X F!Reader - Prologue

It's a spooky season, and I have yet to see any Yandere One Piece reader fics based on Slavic myths and legends! Blame me for being too invested in Bramble: the Mountain King game.

---

Once, there was a childless couple who lived in a quaint village. Although the village is rich in tradition and harvest, it was also a fearsome place. Not far from them lies a great forest called the Grand Line, a home of every fae folks, each more astounding and nightmarish than man had ever known. 

But that was where our story began. 

One night, on a full moon during a winter’s eve, the couple is visited by a frail, old woman. They immediately brought her in, warmed her, and fed her. When all is done, she transforms into a beautiful fairy. A member of the fairy monarchy, Rogue. 

To thank the couple, Rogue rewarded them with something they had yearned for years: a child. And so, on the first day of Spring, a healthy baby girl was born. 

Alas, even the fairy world has it;s own rules, and the rule is crueler than the rules of mankind. A baby who is granted life by the fairy must be returned back by the ripe age of thirteen. Rogue did not want her work to go to waste, so she told the couple that they must move the child away from the village, never to enter any fairy rings at any cost, and give their child a pair of special earrings made of iron to protect them. 

Thus, the family evaded the pursuit of the fae folks beyond the age of thirteen. In retaliation, the fae folks began to terrorize the villagers - they would not stop to torment them until the child was given to them. Furious at the fleeing family for putting them into this bedlam, the villagers set up a trap to return the child back to the Grand Line. 

Eighteen years have passed, and the child grew up in the Kingdom of Goa. With each passing day, the blessings from Rogue had made the child cunning, wise, and attractive. The child was a curious oddity amongst her peers, but there was one person who despised her existence more so than the others. 

Sarie is the daughter of a notorious monarchy in the Goa Kingdom. Although she has everything in the palm of her hand, she is wicked jealous of the child’s charm and beauty. Her opportunity stuck when a vengeful villager asked her to cooperate to rid of the child’s existence in the mortal world. 

Soon after, Sarie begged her fiancee, Sterry, to arrange a special trip only for his classmates, the child included, straight to the child’s original village. Sterry and his cohorts lured the child to the edge of the forest, right before the entrance of Grand Line. Once there, Sarie threw her scarf into the middle of the fairy ring and asked the child to pick it up for her. 

The child is confused. Why should she follow such a petty instruction? Also, the child pleaded that she was not supposed to enter the fairy ring at any cost. However, Sterry and their classmates loudly demanded her to do so. 

When the child reluctantly tried to enter the fairy ring, Sterry once again ordered the child to take off the child’s iron earrings for Sarie. She tried to refuse but Sterry warned her that if she disobeyed, he would make sure that she became the enemy of Goa. 

The child had always wanted to be accepted by Sterry and Sarie - she did not understand what she had done wrong to receive his ire. The child also knew that Sarie and Sterry’s family had more power than her family did. She hastily took off her earrings and gave them to Sarie. With a heavy heart, she entered the fairy ring. 

Sterry and Sarie’s deception became light once she turned around inside the fairy ring, only to find herself alone in a strange forest. She ran back and forth, calling for her classmates. 

None answered. 

Alone, terrified, and confused, the child trekked into the woods of Grand Line on her own, in hoping to find her way home… not knowing that she had fulfilled her promise…

And break the village’s curse. 

---

You are wandering around the fogged oath, unable to see what's beyond. Suddenly, you heard footsteps. Behind you, in front of you, everywhere! You barely have a moment's rest when a mischievous-looking human-like creature appears before your very eyes. Shrieking, you fall back behind, astounded by what you see.

"Shishishi! Did I scare you?" The creature grinned hugely, enhancing his unique shaggy features with a stitched scar underneath his left eye.

Monkey D. Luffy, the Pookah, has arrived. Next

[maxislvt]

Satisfaction

Summary: Wanda really likes to take care of you. Even when you whine, pout, and insist on escaping her grasp. She knows how to put you back in your place.

Warnings: Smut, vaginal fingering, coercion, subspace technically, soft!dom!milf!wanda, sub! reader, no gendered terms

Author's note: First fic of the year!!! Go Me!!! Also, this is related to the milf Wanda Christmas fic but it's mostly because I'm obsessed with that dynamic so you don't have to read that to enjoy this!

Wanda never expected to enter the new year dating her next-door neighbor, but she was happy to say it. Spending Christmas and New Year's Eve with you was wonderful. You looked cute playing with the twins and the camera she bought you. You were already perfect and now you were perfectly hers. Everything was unbelievably great. Then, reality came along and tried bursting her bubble. 

At a staggering 5:30 in the morning, Wanda's peaceful sleep was disturbed by a bearing alarm that she certainly didn't set. 

"Dig through the ditches and burn through the witches, I slam in the back of my Dragula"

The alarm was so loud that it had practically thrown Wanda out of sleep, but you merely stirred awake. Despite the hangover you should've had, you quickly hopped out of bed. Wanda was just a little bit faster than you. She pulled you back down to bed without thought and wrapped her arms around you. "And what has my favorite photographer in the whole wide world up so early?"  A few kisses to your cheek and forehead was all it took for you to lay back down. "I'll make breakfast later. Let's just get a few more hours, okay? 

Wanda's raspy voice and affection almost pulled you back into the land of dreams, but you were on a schedule. "I'm sorry, I promise to be on the first schedule for the new year. I can't be late." Rejecting Wanda had always made you upset, but it hurt more now that she was your girlfriend. It took all your self-control to free yourself from Wanda's addictive warmth. You were shocked when the only protest you received was a disapproving groan and a soft pout. "I won't be gone that long, I promise! Just a 3-hour shift and I'll be back home before you know it." Getting ready was deceptively easy. Wanda had brought some of your things to her house earlier in the week. Though it embarrassed you to admit, leaving Wanda's house just to be less than a mile away was torture. Everything was quiet 

Then, she attacked. Wanda walked up behind you just as you put your shirt on. Her hands slipped underneath the fabric. Before you could whine, she began attacking your neck with kisses. Smoldering hot teeth had no mercy on your soft skin. One kiss after another until it began to bruise. "I think someone still owes me a couple hundred in kisses," She whispered seductively before nibbling on your earlobe. Her arms wrapped around your body and pulled you back flush against her chest. "Come on, just stay home. Please?" 

You nearly collapsed on the floor. "Ah, don't do that! I don't have anything to cover them up with!" That information only served to invigorate Wanda. All your joints had turned to jelly, but your girlfriend didn't give up her torture. "It's just a few hours," You mumbled. A gasp escaped your lips as Wanda's finger broke the barrier of your underwear.  "Why are you making it so hard to leave," You asked with a heavy whine. Of course, you received no answer as Wanda's hand went straight for the wetness between your legs. Her slender fingers ran up and down your slit. "Fine, fine! I'll stay.

Wanda rewarded your compliance with another kiss. A real one this time. Her tongue invaded your mouth without a second thought. She easily dominated you with her experience and explored it without concern. She'd suck all the disobedience out of you if she could. "Why are you making it so hard for me to take care of you, hm? It's so much easier to give in and let yourself be my precious little baby." Before you could protest, she dragged you back to the bed to continue her assault on your senses. "I'll even call in for you, give me your phone." 

Wanda was all over you. Her neatly painted nails left heavier streaks of red. Sparkles and cotton filled your head and you thought you were floating. No one had ever made you feel that way before. It was like magic. Your body would only do what Wanda wanted it to. Even if you were embarrassed and wanted to argue you could call in yourself, you reached over to the nightstand and gave it to her anyways. 

"Thank you, sweetheart," She cooed and rubbed your thighs. Wanda called your boss. When the line clicked, her voice changed completely. "Hi, I hope it isn't any trouble to you but I'm Wanda, Y/N's girlfriend. You see, they haven't been feeling well and I was hoping they could have the day off," The tone she spoke in was a lot more professional compared to the sultry tone she used to drag you back to bed. "It's fine if not, I just don't want to risk someone else getting sick too."

"Oh, no it's perfectly fine! I'm glad someone called me, Y/N will work themselves to death if you don't watch them. Just say we canceled for the day!" 

The sound of your boss's voice immediately broke the trance and you were overcome with guilt. While your coworkers spent hours putting together documents and planning for the months ahead, you'd be swaddled up and pampered like a baby. That wasn't right. "No, W-" Wanda's fingers slipped into your open mouth and your lips closed around them instinctively. For a moment, they just sat there. Heavy on your tongue and stiff as a board. Then, Wanda began to move them in and out of your mouth. It was embarrassing, but your body seemed to love it. 

"Oh, thank you so much! I'll make sure they're in tip-top shape for their next shift!" Wanda nodded and hummed in agreement a few more times before hanging up. She pulled her fingers from your mouth with a wet pop and smiled down at you. "Now, are you gonna play nice or do you need some more convincing ?" Her hands moved to pull down your pants and tossed them to the side. She gave you a quick kiss on the cheek when you nodded. "Good, now let's get you into some comfortable clothes." 

"Thank you," You whispered, unsure what else to say. Your brain would constantly switch back and forth between embarrassment and confusion. Why was Wanda talking to you like that? Was she trying to tease you with the finger thing? Is it okay to be wet after all of that? It didn't matter what the answers to your questions were, you wanted more. Pride be damned. Wanda made you feel good. 

✭✭✭✭✭✭✭✭

Wanda hadn't planned on teasing you so much. She just wanted to keep you taken care of and healthy. It wasn't her fault you'd suddenly become so compliant and mushy. You were just too cute. Walking around the house in nothing but your underwear and her baggy shirt, Wanda couldn't help but claim you. Getting you worked up was so easy. All she had to do was hold you close and whisper sweet nothings in your ear, then you'd be putty in her hands. 

That didn't mean she'd make it easy for you. If anything, putting you in such a headspace made it infinitely harder. All night you found yourself squirming and even full-on grinding against her trying to relieve the ache between your legs. Yet, it didn't matter to Wanda how obvious your need was. She wanted you to use your words. 

"Is everything okay? You've been awfully whiny, sweetheart. " Wanda bit back a smile hearing you whine as you rolled over into her lap. "I'm sorry, I don't know what 'hnng' means." She placed her book down on the nightstand and held your hips in place. "I don't know what your huffing means either," She teased. Instead of answering your obvious pleas, she simply raised her eyebrows when you guided her hand to space between her legs. "Awe, do you want me to rub your belly?" She asked in that sickeningly sweet tone she'd been using all day. Wanda kissed your face as she scratched your stomach.

You whined out in frustration but accepted the affection nonetheless. It wasn't fair. All you had to do was say a few words but your brain simply refused to. Your tongue set heavy in your mouth as you continued to whine. Grinding against her was impossible too. Only Wanda could satisfy and she'd happily do it if just asked. After several minutes of dumbly attempting to grind against her lap and whining, you finally spoke. "Touch me, please?" 

Part of Wanda, one much crueler and sadistic, considered pushing you further. Just to see how desperate she could get you. She decided to play nice. "Awe, baby, why didn't you just ask? I would've helped you hours ago." Her hand slipped underneath your boxers and toyed with your clit. Slow, tight circles sent shivers up your spine and caused more wetness to leak out. "Oh, you're such a messy thing but mo- I promise to help clean you up when we're done." 

Had you been lucid, you would've caught Wanda's slip-up. You were just too needy to notice. All you could focus on was the burning heat in your stomach begging to come out. You clung to your girlfriend and grinded against her hand. "M-more," You stuttered out. Your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head once Wanda finally thrust one of her fingers into you. You weren't a virgin, but no one had ever gone as deep as Wanda did. Just two of her fingers had reduced you to nothing but a pile of whimpers and moans. 

The small whimpers that came from your mouth were addictive. "That's it, I'm here to make it better. Just let it out." Wanda didn't miss the way your moans seemed needier as she praised you. Her fingers curled against your g spot and she hummed. "You're just the cutest little thing, aren't you?" She spread her fingers apart and enjoyed the way your walls fluttered around them. "One day, I'm going to fill you up with my cock and you're gonna look adorable!"

An image popped into your head. One of you bent over on the bed and fucked senseless by the thick red dildo you weren't supposed to see the first time you did. The thought alone sent you crashing into an orgasm. Your walls spasmed around your girlfriend's fingers until a sticky white substance leaked out of your center. Wanda's fingers continued to pound into you until you could no longer ride out your orgasm. Once you had finally come down from your high, you rolled off of Wanda and plopped down onto the bed. 

For a moment, there was calm silence. You attempted to regain your breath as Wanda lovingly played with your hair. You leaned into her touch and let her hold you until you could finally speak again. 

"I…I, uh, want to take a bath…together, please." 

Wanda kissed your cheek and smiled fondly. "I'll get the water ready. Just relax for a bit." 

[fatuismooches]

HAHXHDHSHS FRAGILE!READER GAME PLAY HUT WHEN SHE THROWS A PUFFTORRE IT EXPLODES INTO CONFETTI 😭😭 (it was dottore's idea, you were very upset at this!!!)

ALSO JXHDKFHDKEHKCDHI 💥💥💥💥💥 THE THE.. IDEA I GOT... WHAT IFFFF dottore n fragile!reader are 2 characters as 1 unit? Like Clara n Svarog in HSR... Dottore is main dps while ur doing healing on one skill, which is using the Pufftorres/Foxttores JDHDKHDKEE IDK I JUST THINK IT'S SOOO CUTE n one idle is just them being silly together.... Hfjdekgrke dottore holding reader's cheek and reader gigglinh before he huffs and turns cuz u gotta fight and all!!! If reader gets hit n hp goes below like what, 40%? 50%? Immediately switches to dottore n he gets buffs cuz no body hurts his beloved and gets away with it!!! 😡😡😡 reader having favoritism with characters... Fatui and dottore almost getting huge number healing while others get almost none (esp the archons 💀) :33

ALSO VISIONLESS CHARACTERS!!! I need that too... Dottore with a vision is SOOO off putting

Also my voice lines. I'm OBSESSED... maybe... in game interactions when in battle together??? 💥💥💥💥💥💥I can't.... Officially my Roman Empire 💔😭

IM GOING INSANEEEE RAHHHH THIS IS SO FLIPPING CUTE I CANT- Not the confetti!! The poor Puffttores didn't consent to this!! 😭 BUT BEWJDE IT WOULD BE SO FUNNY... imagine you have a Treasure Hoarder or someone cowering in fear because you're playing around with the Puffttores in your hands menacingly... and you throw it at them ready to end the guy but!! Instead both of you are freaked out by the confetti floating everywhere! Dottore gets a very passionate rant from you later that day >:((

But like. Let's not forget about how many other possibilities there are. FRAGILE READER TEASER. It is mostly scenes of them and Zandik during the Akademiya. Except, current fragile reader is there in the background, forlornly watching their former self and Zandik's memories. With every new scene, fragile reader walks behind them, their gaze growing sadder and sadder the whole time, but they do not say a word. Until, it gets to a point where their former self starts to fade away, and in a panic they run after themselves, only to be met with nothingness. They have to accept that they'll no longer ever go back to their old self. (Kind of like Raiden's teaser)

DEMO. I imagine it's kind of like Furina's in a way. Because fragile reader's demo is all in their head/a dream. It begins deceptively happy at first, bright sunlight, joyful music, and smiles. They are finally doing the things they wanted, traveling to other nations, doing things that any normal person would do. Showing Foxttore the world too. The segments are there as well, bickering as usual while fragile reader looks on happily, interrupting them and pulling them to see all the sights the world has to offer. There are no worries, nothing bad happening at all... which makes it all the more unsettling. And at the end- fragile reader wakes up with a start, in complete and utter darkness. For it was all a dream.

COLLECTED MISCELLANY. Dainsleif introducing you, but surprise surprise! Dottore takes over instead to describe his beloved!! EBWDIEWB him explaining all of the silly moves you do with Foxttore and Puffttores... 😭 all with a straight tone. You guys are so married couple 😭

AND YESSSS BRO IM LOVING THEM BEING A 2 IN 1.... do NOT separate them!! In reality... Dottore doesn't really need your support skills (he's incredibly strong after all) but!! He doesn't have the heart when you're so excited to finally be near him... :( AND OH MY GOSH A SHARED IDLE WITH BOTH OF THEM... also consider: Dottore playfully ignoring reader by looking at his notes and clipboard... and you get all pouty until you snatch it out of his hands and he chuckles... ugh so many possibilities...

Immediately getting swapped out when you get too hurt 🥺 i was thinking that happens when you're about to take a killing hit but!! That's more accurate because he'd never let it reach that point! OKAY BUT ALSO REAL. I always thought it'd be cool if certain characters got special buffs based on their in-game relationship with others (like members of the Qixing, or the Knights, Lyney and Lynette etc) We love fragile reader doting on their fellow Fatuis and shitting on the Archons!! They can stay on life support for all you care!!

AND THE BATTLE INTERACTIONS- okay hear me out. For the 2 in 1 character, you get two different ultimates depending on who your active character is. If it's fragile reader, it starts with Dottore ready to do the job for you, but you valiantly put your arm out in front of him, because you wanna protect him!! He watches on with amusement as you assault the screen with tons of Puffttores :3 (they're unlimited) If Dottore is the one on the field, before he brutally annihilates the enemies, you give him a little kiss for good luck and jump around in the background cheering him on totally ignoring how those guys are completely dead!! :3

Okay and your death voice line too - "Zandik... save me..." <3

[bat-besties]

People often say Cass’ reason for identifying as nonbinary is “not understanding gender” and while it’s often a joke, I do think it’s the complete opposite to Cass’ knowledge. (I’m using she/her for canon, this applies however and whichever way you headcanon Cass’ gender identity)

I feel it’s often coming from a place of her not understanding language, but gender is so much more than language. A lot of sociologists and gender theorists would kill for the ability to perfectly understand body language and then travel across (at least) China, Vietnam, and the US observing people in urban and rural environments, in both peaceful and violent situations. 

 In many ways, her lack of preconceptions about gender or need for language to shape her observances would make her more able to see the reality of gender performance rather than ideals. The idea that women are weak or men are unemotional would be foreign to her. 

As a child she’s isolated, but she still trains with the League of Assassins briefly. Unfortunately, the first time she is heavily gendered is as a disguise and a weapon in the most traumatic event in her lift, which undeniably shapes her attitude to femininity as this post covers. 

But as she runs, her world suddenly expands to, well, the entire world. 

Her gender identity may have come to words and self-expression in America, but the first place she would be able to really observe people is in south China, likely passing through Guangdong and Guangxi over the course of a year or two. That’s a really formative period, and as I personally think Lady Shiva is from south China (specifically Yunnan), is also unintentionally Cass connecting with her heritage. 

She’s a homeless and very traumatised nine year old, so obviously her experience would have been overall awful. However, a teenage Cass still strongly believes in the sanctity of life and the capacity for goodness in people, and I have to think that while she’s seen a lot of darkness, she’s seen a lot of goodness too. Cass isn’t always curious about things she doesn’t understand (as with her reading), but she has to have been observant to keep travelling and keep escaping from Cain. 

She will have seen the wealthy gamblers of Macau, the street vendors of small-town Vietnam, the pickpockets of Gotham. She will have seen different gender norms across cultures, even if she doesn’t know how each language reflects those norms. She would have to adjust to each new place, and refine her body language reading more generally (like how Americans smile way too much), including gendered readings. 

Cass will have seen a million couples, straight and gay. Pairs of women afraid to hold hands but projecting their nervousness on the first date like a signal. Unhappy marriages hidden by false smiles for the neighbours. Elderly couples where the man still walks on the road side of the pavement.

Considering herself an orphan, she will have seen mothers nursing their babies, fathers pushing their daughters on swingsets, sisters yelling at each other one moment and laughing the next. 

Watching unobserved, she would see all kinds of women in the city. Groups of women going from club to club in high heels, schoolgirls copying each other’s homework on the train, business women in neat makeup and a purposeful walk.  

She will have met other homeless girls like herself. Despite being unable to speak with them she might recognise the guarded set to their eyes, the way they are always poised to run - but they might have a smile for her, and a willingness to share a sheltered spot. They might have cut her hair spiky and short, or taught her to play cat’s cradle.  

Unfortunately, she will have seen predatory behaviour, men who leer or talk with deceptively friendly tones to a little girl alone. (I know she’s meant to “discover” men being attracted to her in the comics as a teen but that’s optimistic). When those men approach other girls, she doesn’t hesitate to protect them. 

But she would have seen so much joy too - boys playing football and grown men joining in, old men sitting on plastic chairs and observing the street together, gangly teen boys play-fighting.

On the streets, clustered and sometimes hidden, she would have seen people whose clothing and body language doesn’t match their bodies. Before Cass knows the words transgender and drag and gender nonconforming, she knows that these people are at risk for being different - at risk like she might be, if she couldn’t convince herself she only needs her fighting skills to protect herself. She wouldn’t need words to take each person as they look to her, to have an amorphous and wordless idea of performativity. 

And then of course, she has Barbara, and Batgirl, and finally language. 

So, I think Cass’ gender identity is something she discovers with the background of this huge tapestry of humanity she’s observed over the years. And if she goes “fuck that it makes no sense”, that’s a deeply informed, nuanced Fuck That. 

[metalomagnetic]

Snippet for It runs in the blood.

***ok, so the chapter is almost done; I just need to edit it now, and cut some scenes or arrange them around. This scene might get cut, so I decided I might as well post it here. If all goes well, we'll have the new chapter by the end of the week.***

-

“Are you afraid of me, Sirius?” 

They are in bed, Sirius regaining his breath, on top of Voldemort, his forearms supporting his weight, on either side of Voldemort’s head. 

It’s a very weird time to ask such a question, right after Sirius came. He’s still inside Voldemort. 

“Is this what you think of while I fuck you?” Sirius demands, looking down into those focused, sharp eyes. 

Should have let him fuck me instead; or sucked him off. Sirius is sure Voldemort’s mind doesn’t wander on those occasions, as it apparently does when Sirius fucks him. 

“Answer me.” Voldemort’s voice is soft, his gaze curious and intense, impossible to hide from. 

It makes Sirius wonder why he even needs to ask, when it always feels as if Voldemort can see straight into his soul. 

He tries to climb off Voldemort, but one of those deceptively thin arms coils around Sirius’ back and traps him in place, oh so easily. 

“No,” Sirius says. “Not really,” he rectifies. 

One of Voldemort’s eyebrows lifts, questioningly. “Not really,” he repeats. He sounds displeased. 

A cynical part of Sirius almost wants to ask if he’s displeased Sirius doesn’t fully fear Voldemort. 

But he knows it’s the other way around. Voldemort doesn’t want Sirius to fear him at all. 

“I’m not afraid of you,” Sirius clarifies. “But I am aware of…hmm.” Sirius moves one of his arms, his finger smoothing over the frown that appeared between Voldemort’s eyebrows. “Of how powerful you are,” Sirius goes on. “Far more powerful than I am.” 

Voldemort frowns harder. 

Sirius tries to move again, and this time he’s allowed. He lies beside Voldemort, but soon, Voldemort shifts, and now he’s glaring down at Sirius. “One only needs to worry about enemies being more powerful. I am not your enemy.” 

“I know. I’m not worried,” Sirius says. “Just- aware. I- well, you wouldn’t understand, would you?” 

Voldemort hasn’t met, and never will meet, someone as powerful as he is, let alone someone more powerful. 

When he was a child, Dumbledore; but, as he pointed out, Dumbledore was an enemy, in Tom Riddle’s mind, branded as such from a very early age. 

He wouldn’t know how it feels to fall in love with someone so out of his league, someone that could destroy him in a second. Someone that sleeps besides him, cooks for him, but, if it came down to it, someone that could easily annihilate him, on a whim. 

Sirius smiles up at him. “It feels dangerous,” he explains. “But that’s not really fear, and I like danger. Living on the edge, and all that. If you weren’t this ridiculously overpowered, I probably wouldn’t like you so much.” 

'Like' is a massive understatement. Sirius loves him, he’s obsessed with Voldemort to a terrifying degree. There lies the problem. “It’s more - I fear that I will disappoint you,” Sirius confesses. Fucking Voldemort. He knows me too well. He knows Sirius is more open after he comes, more willing to voice things he would struggle with at any other moment. “That one day-"

You’ll grow bored of me. I’ll stop being this new shiny toy. 

Though, truly, it’s been a while. They’ve met two years before. They’ve been fucking for around a year now. Sirius has practically moved in with him for a couple of months. And Voldemort doesn’t show signs he’s bored or disillusioned with Sirius so far. 

“Anyway,” he says, trying to end this subject. “I’m doing my best to catch up to you,” he jokes. 

There’s no catching up with Voldemort. Sure, Sirius is growing stronger every day, seems like it. He feels he left his peers in the dust, behind him. He feels he could destroy most Death Eaters in a one-on-one duel; most Aurors, too. 

He feels it’s possible one day, into a not so very distant future, that Sirius will become one of the most powerful wizards in Britain- perhaps even Europe, if he works hard enough. 

It’s not farfetched. Power is in his bloodline, it’s his birthright, and Voldemort’s tutelage only pushes Sirius further on this path of power. 

But he’ll never catch up to Voldemort. Not even close. No matter how many books he will read, what he will learn, how much he practices -it’s simply impossible. 

Men like Voldemort, men like Dumbledore or Merlin, are anomalies, aberrations of magic- their power is not a tangible goal. 

Rarities, exceptions. Truly, it’s a wonder they got Voldemort and Dumbledore in the same century. One of these freaks of magic usually comes around every other century or so. 

And we got two, in Britain, at once. How lucky. This island is truly cursed. 

Or blessed. 

Depends how one looks at it. 

“At least I scare you productively.” Voldemort still sounds displeased, though less so than a minute ago. 

Sirius rolls his eyes. “I’m not scared,” he insists, and he pushes Voldemort off him, with enough force to make him retreat. “Why don’t you make me something to eat,” he barks, to show he really isn’t afraid of Voldemort. “I’m starving.” 

The fact that he doesn’t get murdered or at least tortured on the spot, the fact that Voldemort actually gets up and heads to the kitchen, proves to Sirius he really doesn’t have much reason to fear him. 

[querulousmegapode]

Hello. Please, tell me what do you think about Angua. I'm personally struggling to like her after her words to Carrot, something about "why you are so supportive!?", when he didn't start a fuss about her being the werewolf.

It would be nice to see another point of view for the character. I hope it helps me to understand her better.

Thank you

Hi!! Firstly thank you so much for this ask! It’s a really fun one and I’ve been thinking over how best to answer it and figuring out what exactly I like about Angua so much, so I appreciate it a lot!

There are a few different reasons why I like her. Some of them are pretty superficial, so I think I’ll get those out of the way first.

In general I just think that she’s pretty cool! From a purely superficial standpoint she’s pretty and gets to be badass and a werewolf and that’s just kind of fun. The whole circumstances around people finding out she’s a werewolf are also just pretty funny to me.

I also really like her in terms of the way that she’s written.

I really like how Pterry writes women in general because he manages to write them in a way that doesn’t feel like it’s fitting into stereotypes about women? They’re all real people with nuances and I feel like Angua is a good example of that. Yes, she does get to be badass, but also she’s a person and has a lot going on internally. She’s got a constant struggle with trying to fit in around people and trying to be human which is something that I haven’t often seen around werewolf characters and I think Pterry explores it well.

Werewolves in media seem to go in a couple of pretty predictable ways. You get the general horror of someone turning into a werewolf and then it either seems to go in the direction of oh no the werewolf is a monster!1!1! Or oh, the werewolf has a pack and learns to live that way. For me Angua is interesting because Pterry goes okay, but what if a werewolf doesn’t have a pack?? Angua is pretty much estranged from her family; she doesn’t have anyone to help her with the experience and is generally met with fear and hostility when people find out that she’s a werewolf. She has to deal with a LOT, even people who mean well and actively like her (Cheery) inadvertently hurt her with comments about werewolves and that’s someone who doesn’t know she’s a werewolf!! I can’t imagine that other Ankh Morpork citizens are somehow kinder or more understanding. And in amongst that you get to see the inner conflict that Angua has. She comes to this environment and she doesn’t just magically adjust - she struggles with trying to maintain control when she turns and she struggles with maintaining humanity and seeming human, because that’s what people around her will accept.

I think that, for the most part, is why I can understand the way she reacts to Carrot, as it’s pretty unusual for someone to be completely supportive. I’m segueing slightly, but I do really like how her relationship with Carrot develops because it’s nice that she has someone there who accepts her without question. Carrot is just *nice*, with no ulterior motives or strings attached and that’s something she doesn’t seem to encounter too often.

The other main reason that I like Angua is how comedic her perspective is. She’s quite a funny character and consistently plays the straight man to the rest of the watch’s insanity and that’s really fun.

Her internal monologue is great for this because despite being a werewolf she’s somehow the most normal person in the watch.

I love those watch guys but Dear God none of them are normal about their job. I love Vimes’ POV very much and he’s one of my all time favourite characters, but sometimes it feels nice to just take a step back and view the watch through the eyes of someone who isn’t used to it. Angua is pretty great for this.

I also quite like seeing her go from incredulous to understanding about Carrot - she’s quite perceptive and figures out pretty quickly that he’s deceptively simple. She can also be quite dry in terms of humour, which I personally really like.

Overall I just think that she’s pretty neat! I hope that this has been helpful!

Ultimately though, if you still don’t really like her then that’s fine too!! Discworld is full of wonderful characters and the best part is that there’s no right answers about which ones resonate, even if one is particularly popular or well liked.

[joachimnapoleon]

A look at three Fouché biographies

Over the past few months I've read three English-language biographies on Fouché: Joseph Fouché: Portrait of a Politician, by Stefan Zweig; Fouché: Unprincipled Patriot, by Hubert Cole; and Medusa's Head: The Rise and Survival of Joseph Fouché, Inventor of the Modern Police State, by Rand Mirante. These are a great example of how dramatically interpretations of a historical figure can vary from one historian to another (see also the difference between Alan Schom's interpretation of Napoleon vs. that of Andrew Roberts). And also a great example of why it’s a good idea to read multiple biographies on the same figure, to gain a more well-rounded perspective, instead of simply accepting/adopting that of the first biographer you read.

Zweig is a colorful writer and his biography is highly entertaining—he actually had me laughing out loud a few times—but his depictions of Fouché are so hilariously sinister and malignant throughout that at times it almost feels like a caricature. Zweig also utilizes the least amount of primary source material out of the three biographers--hardly any, actually--and so much of what he writes in regard to Fouché's motivations and thoughts come across as pure speculation or projection, but are always stated very matter-of-factly. Zweig presents a Fouché who chafes at the smallness of the roles he is given, driven by "unflinching selfishness." "When in power," Zweig writes, "he does not work for the State, does not work for the Directory or for Napoleon, but for himself." Aside from raw ambition, Zweig attributes most of Fouché’s actions to his sheer delight in engaging in intrigue for the sake of intrigue, an interpretation that seems to come straight out of Napoleon’s venting on St. Helena: “Intrigue was to Fouché a necessary of life. He intrigued at all times, in all places, in all ways, and with all persons. Nothing ever came to light, but he was found to have had a hand in it. He made it his sole business to look out for something that he might be meddling with. His mania was to wish to be concerned with everything.” Overall, Zweig’s book is worth reading, but out of the three English-language Fouché biographies, it’d be ranked third on my list.

Hubert Cole’s interpretation of Fouché is as different from Zweig’s as night is from day. The key word in Cole’s title is “Patriot,” and Cole’s central point is that Fouché, at each point in his career, was doing what he believed was in the best interests of France, even if that meant negotiating for peace with Britain behind Napoleon’s back, or pushing Napoleon towards a divorce and remarriage for the sake of shoring up the Bonaparte dynasty, or even (repeatedly) abandoning one master to serve another. This is the second one of Cole’s biographies I’ve read, and as most of you following me already know, I loved his dual biography on Joachim and Caroline Murat, the deceptively named The Betrayers, which is actually a very sympathetic look at the Murat couple. Cole is no fan of Napoleon and doesn’t really attempt to hide it, and maybe it’s because of this that he feels inclined to look deeper at the motivations and actions of those who ended up in opposition to Napoleon at various points (and who have therefore been demonized in history books accordingly). Cole draws heavily on primary sources, from letters and memoirs of Fouché’s contemporaries, to Fouché’s police bulletins (quoted at length throughout) to argue that “It is possible… that he was a sincere and moderately successful patriot. It is not uncommon in France for egoists to be hailed as patriots, and patriots condemned as traitors.” Far from the sinister, cold-blooded figure that haunts Zweig’s biography, or the “universally distrusted, feared, and hated” social pariah of Mirante’s, Cole's Fouché is charming, a welcome figure in the drawing rooms of Paris society, with a preference for making friends rather than enemies; nevertheless Cole does not deny that Fouché could also be ruthless, ambitious, and cunning. Cole also uses numerous accounts regarding Fouché by British, German, and Russian contemporaries, “in the belief that their prejudices, if national, are less personal.” Out of these three biographies, this one was my personal favorite, as I think it provides a more well-rounded picture of Fouché as a human being.

The primary focus of Mirante’s book is Fouché’s administration of the Ministry of Police, and the biography goes into great detail about the operations of the police in Napoleonic France, its vast network of informants, subversion of the press, surveillance of emigrés, and steady stream of information flowing in from all quarters. Fouché emphasized to his subordinates how one small detail or event could be “of great interest in the general order of things by its connections with related matters of which you are scarcely aware.” Like Cole, Mirante quotes frequently from Fouché’s police bulletins, as well as from memoirs of the era (though most of the excerpts are those hostile to Fouché). Unlike Cole, Mirante’s Fouché is driven not by any higher patriotism, but—especially after his humiliating flight from France in 1810—by a deep and abiding hatred of Napoleon, towards whose final destruction Fouché is willing to go to any length. Mirante provides more detail on Fouché’s exile and final years than either Zweig or Cole, one interesting aspect of which is the warm welcome Fouché received in Trieste from Elisa Bonaparte, who had been driven from power in Tuscany largely through Fouché’s machinations with Murat in 1814. Mirante ends the book with a critical look at Fouché’s dubious, ghostwritten “memoirs,” the credibility of which he is far more suspicious than Cole, who accepts the argument of French historian Louis Madelin that they are “largely authentic and accurate.” Mirante, on the other hand, is not convinced, and concludes that the memoirs are “highly assailable, at least quasi-spurious, and shrouded in controversy and deceit.” Mirante ends by drawing parallels between Fouché’s policing methods and those of the Gestapo and NKVD in the 20th century.

Overall I enjoyed all three of these for different reasons, and taken together they offer a more complete picture of Fouché. I haven’t gotten around to reading any French-language biographies on Fouché yet, but I do have a couple works on him by Emmanuel de Waresquiel that are definitely on my to-read list.

[kikker-oma]

short fanfic? Yes!

Christmas theme? Yes!

“Wake your a**es up losers!” Wind’s voice rang through the ranch, “It’s Christmas!!”

Time rubbed his eyes and gazed at the clock. “4:00am? Seriously Wind?” He groaned and sat up. Even his wife, Malon, the strongest girl he could ever know, was still asleep.

“Wind, let’s settle down. It’s still early you know.” Warriors tried to coax the teen back to bed. Less for Wind but more for the ever waning patience.

“Nah, I want presents.”

“…Of course you do.”

Surprisingly, Four was the first one to open up his present. Beneath the red rapping paper, a beautifully crafted iron hammer, with faint beautiful markings throughout the tool, stood in his possession. “I needed a new one for quite some time… thanks guys!”

“that’s for work?? I thought it’s used to smash pots!”

“LEGEND.”

Wind was next. He basically stripped the present raw in… two seconds flat. “MONEH! I’M RICH!” The pirate yelled.

“But those are seashells?”

“I can sell seashells by the seashore.”

Twilight carefully unwrapped his gift. His fingers curled around a saddle, worn down and scratched on the edges, but filled with love.

“You know, it used to be our old girls,” Malon looked through the window to the barn ahead, “But it’s not much use to us now that she’s settling down, it’ll be much more use to you.”

That is when the couple learned great-great-great-great-great grandsons give the best hugs.

Hyrule gazed at the new pair of boots in his arms. “Woah… these are wonderful. Are you sure they are for me?”

“Knew a shoemaker once, trust me, they’ll make you run faster than ever before.” Four winked.

Hyrule gave at LEAST 20 continuous thank yous for the rest of the evening.

Legend tried to keep a stoic demeanor as he unwrapped his gift. “Romeo and Juliet? Isn’t that romance?”

“Come on, we all know you’re all for it.” Warriors smirked.

“Shut up… but thanks I guess.”

Wild ran his fingers through the embroidery scarf. “This looks stunning, who made this?”

“I did! Skyloft was pretty cold, from being in the sky and stuff, so I decided to pick one of our most famous fabrics. The embroidery was all mine though, and I’m sure it will help keep you warm for the winter months.” Sky smiled kindly.

“Will you fix it if I tear it?”

“Already have 17 backups.”

Warriors, surprisingly clad in actual clothes (not to mention his hair is perfectly brushed? Did he even go to bed?) unwrapped his gift with precision.

“A mirror? You know me so well!” He smiled, knowing the captain, this will sure come to great use.

“That’s not all,” Time smiled, “Crafted straight from the lava of Death Mountain, its sturdy for the road.”

“You really put in that much thought for me?”

“Of course son, you deserve it.”

“Careful, this one’s fragile.” Malon smiled as she handed Sky a gift wrapped in cloth.

Sky carefully unraveled the cloth to reveal a tiny, but familiar bird. He heard its name before. Clucko? No… right! It was a cucco.

“I love it! It’s so cute!”

“We are letting you keep it as long as it doesn’t come in contact with anybody in any way.” Legend grumbled.

“Darling, this one’s for you.” Malon handed Time a carefully wrapped present. Time’s fingers slowly pealed away the wrapping paper, and softness immediately enveloped his finger.

9 crochet squares, all sewn together.

A deception of a forge, intense yet pulling things together.

A vast ocean, and a red boat riding the waves.

A goat, with beautiful horns resembling Ordon.

A map, holding a sense of adventure.

A flower, holding a sort of dream like resemblance.

A sheikah crest, holding symbolism and order.

Swords and shields, crashing together yet have some sense of balance to them.

Islands floating in a vast open sky, with giant loft wings circling around.

In the middle of it all,

Home. The ranch. In the center stood a beautifully crocheted deception of Time and Malon, yet they weren’t the only people in this art. 8 other boys stood around, holding a resemblance of courage.

“Merry Christmas, old man!” The eight boys smiled in unison.

This would be a Christmas Time could never forget.

Yeah this didn’t turn out short LOL

🥹🥹🥹

Awwee this was so CUTE!!!

Each of those gifts is precious (even winds pun with the seashells lol) and Times blanket with all of the squares representing the boys is

Thank you for writing this and Merry Christmas!!!