#almost none of this is necessary and i fear it will be annoying

[loverboy-havocboy]

porn without plot i say, writing 1000 words of exposition

[hikeyzz]

am i hopelessly depressed bc my brain is just Like This, is it the meds, or is it a secret third thing my brain won't make me aware of bc it wants to continue being mopey and suffering

[90ekz]

HANDY(WO)MAN

connie springer x fem!black!reader

in which: connie never lets you jerk him off, and you show him what he’s missing.

tags: hand kink, bondage/shibari, sub!connie, black feminine reader, nicknames (princess, baby, ma), snowballing (im sorry.)

notes: been gone so long and my first fic back is about this bum :/ i missed y’all tho lol

“pleaseeee con! this would be a dream come true!” you beg to connie as your head rests in his lap. he makes a face as you mention this fact, still not understanding the appeal in all this.

see, in your almost year of dating, connie has never let you touch his cock with your hands. blowjobs? he welcomes them, just no hands. titfucking? great, take your bra off, but handjobs? he’ll get all red in the face and lock himself in the bathroom for hours if you even get close to it.

you can’t pull off his pants for him, or put your hand on his thigh, or tug him by his belt—yeah, he’s that squeamish.

“why are you so obsessed with jacking me off anyway? we do everything else in bed already—“

“exactly! we do everything else kinky in the damn world, just lemme give you a handjob, boy.” you flick the middle of his forehead lightly, watching as a blush spreads across his cheeks. you really wanted to go through with this, and he could tell.

to be clear, connie is by no means shy about sex or his own dick, considering the things you two have done in bed. despite this…

handjobs scared him.

it isn’t the act of getting one, so much as it is his fear of cumming as soon as your pretty little nails wrap around his cock. your hands were his weakness. whenever you touch him, he has to run to the bathroom just to keep from ruining his pants in front of you.

connie eyes your hands that are currently playing with the strings of his sweatpants. you’re giving him those doe eyes that you know he can’t resist, and his cock is already hardening in his pants.

“only if you want to, of course. but ya know… don’t knock it ‘till ya try it.”

“…you’re real annoying, you know that? fine, do your thing.” he smirks down at you as your own smile widens, and you spring up and begin to pepper kisses along his cheeks and neck, whispering to him how much he’s gonna love this.

somehow, none of that begging prepared for what you had in store for him.

“baby, are you sure all of this is necessary? this is… a lot for just a handjob..”

connie felt his cheeks rapidly heating as you tied not only his hands, but his arms flush against his back as well. he could barely move his upper half, due to the nature of the ropes. they extended all the way up to his biceps, and looped around to his waist and chest in a way that restricted most of his movement.

he’d always loved bondage in bed, and this was a bit excessive for his tastes, but he couldn’t complain with the way your eyes were twinkling with excitement.

“i gotta make sure you don’t try to ‘run’ like you claim i always do. you gon’ take this shit.” you lay your head on his waistband, trying not to sound condescending as he turns red.

you start slow, your hands run along his bare chest a bit first, eventually moving down his abs. the sight of your fresh set of acrylics (that he paid for; what a man) with a “C” in cursive on your middle finger sliding down his body made his dick throb.

your hands were perfect to connie. he adored everything, the size, your knuckles that were a few shades darker than the rest, your nails—even when you let them grow out a little too long, the rings that decorate them, it all just made him so weak.

at first (much to his displeasure), you just massage him through his underwear, letting him adjust to the feeling first. he lets out a few grunts and his arms instinctively buck against the restraints.

“…ma, you gon’ joystick my shit all day or you gon’ get to work?”

“don’t be a queen. i’m having my fun, so just sit back and enjoy princess.” you hold in a laugh at the whine that slips out of his mouth because of the nickname. you rotate your palm against the head of his cock, still not bothering to take off his ethikas just yet.

connie’s breath comes in a little sharper when you repeat this motion, which makes you smile. he was reacting just as you wanted him to. he takes a deep breath just as you slip your hand under his waistband and tug at the base of his cock.

“haah—oh fuck!” his hips snap into your grip as you properly jerk his cock now. you tug his underwear down, and smile when he springs to life.

meanwhile, connie is trying to find any excuse to not focus on the way your hands were pleasing him. you begin to find your rhythm and he’s making sounds you’d never heard from him before. you were doing this shit on purpose, hell, your nails were done and scraping his thighs, your fingers accessorized with golden rings on each finger and currently adding a whole new feeling to the motion on his cock.

your movements were slow and deliberate, yet so fucking good.

“oouuu shit—slow d-down!”

“‘m not even going fast, con.” you chuckled, completely enamored by your boyfriends moans. you run your teeth against the skin of his neck, your free hand holding his jaw in place. you wanted him to see what he’d been missing all this time.

connie’s eyes squeeze shut with every stroke on his sensitive dick, but you reminded him to focus. there was something so embarrassing about this compared to everything else the two of you did in bed, yet he couldn’t put his finger on it.

all that was on his mind was: “don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum.”

your thumb grazes over his slit and suddenly he’s forgetting all of his previous thoughts, spurts of cum shooting out of his tip all over your hands.

“awww, there you go baby, that’s it…” you peppered his face with kisses through his orgasm. you were a bit surprised, since you didn’t even notice how close he was to cumming. connie twitches in your grasp as overstimulation sets heavy in his bones.

“okay—okayyyy, baby! too much, shitshitshitshit-“

you giggled as you released him, watching his abdomen twitch with the waves of his orgasm rolling over him. a smug grin rested on your face as he came down, rolling his eyes when he caught you looking at him.

“don’t.”

“bae, look at my hand! you liked ittttt.”

you had a point—your fingers were completely covered in your boyfriends load, now dripping onto his lap. he’d never cum that much before, you were honestly impressed. you licked a small stripe onto your tongue before pressing your lips against his. connie gasped against your mouth with wide eyes before relaxing, his tongue swirling around yours.

you pulled away, watching the blush bloom on his face.

“ewww, nigga you gay. you just ate nut!” connie smacks his lips dramatically, exclaiming that it was your fault.

“you ain’t never jackin’ me off ever again.”

[moodymisty]

I’m not exactly a writer by any means, and this isn’t a request, I just need someone to hear me out on this before I go insane. Space Marine 2 related but I don’t think it’s got spoilers, and I’ll keep it very vague. This idea has been rotting in my head for the entire time I’ve played the game and I feel like imma explode

Setting: Space Marine 2 timeline

Imagine you’re Titus’ personal serf, or at the very least you’re tasked with cleaning and caring for that sector of Astartes rooms (with other serfs of course - at first). Titus used to be a captain so I don’t think he’d be unaccustomed to it, but you happen to be one of the first people to show him genuine kindness, even if at first it’s a bit out of fear of him. I’ll be real tho he’s got this Aura™️ about him that makes me think once he’s interacted with you the first time, you realize he’s actually not an…overly-zealous Space Marine on the verge of throwing you out the door, or spewing insults your way on how your lack of efficiency offends him AND the Emperor.

You’re probably still prepping his room or doing final rounds, and he returns from the first mission and finds you there. After deeply apologizing for the lack of urgency on your tasks, deep bow and voice near shaking, he dismisses it with a wave and says none necessary, with no demeaning sneers or stabbing glares you’re used to receiving, no threats of reprimand or orders to leave his sight.

In a bit of a shock, you dare to glance up to him ever so slightly, to see who this surprisingly calm & somewhat tired-sounding Astartes is, and boom eye contact. You have a “oh no he’s HOT” moment, but also can’t help but notice how…tired his eyes look. Maybe tired isn’t the right word. But anyways you bow one more time and hurriedly make your way out to your other duties. You can’t help but think about him tho. Uh fast forward, you probably bump into him a couple more times, and each time a few more words are exchanged between you two. You obviously have no idea who he actually is - no idea what he’s been through or what he’s been accused of. He’s just a new marine on the ship you serve. But you can’t help but feel he’s got the weight of some great world on his shoulders. The look in his eyes. The tone at which he says some things. Guarded, almost. However, he doesn’t seem to be as on edge when speaking with you, or annoyed with the small talks. So, you feel encouraged to keep these talks happening.

In Titus’ view, you’re just a mere serf, and I think that gives him some reprieve — talking to someone who doesn’t know. No suspicion. No prying questions (or digging more). Just casual small exchanges between two humans, even if one is a genetically engineered demi-god. And it’s…nice. Like he breath a little, even just for a second, without worrying about what is stressing him out.

Eventually when he comes back from another mission, perhaps a more..taxing mission, you decide to have balls of adamantium and bring him some kind of drink that you and your fellow serfs enjoy now & then as a way to help ease themselves to sleep (I imagine it’s just some kind of hot tea…I love hot tea. In some Giant Astartes size cup). Obviously you KNOW Astartes don’t need this. They literally have to eat space mush bags of protein just to keep up with the demand of their bodies. (And I’m not 100% on the lore but I think they can still consume regular food??)

you just want to show a little bit of kindness to someone in what is a very, very harsh world, and Astartes are, beneath all that augmented muscle and training, humans. Titus seems more so than the others. He showed you that rare kindness from the first interaction. So, maybe you can return a little more kindness to him, since you doubt it’s hardly something he encounters anywhere else.

Anyway I’ll try to wrap up this idea oops I don’t mean to go on a tangent anyway this small gesture turns into you both becoming closer. There’s nights you just stay with him, no talking. You know it won’t help. And you know he can’t/wont say what this great burden on his shoulders is. You just want him to know you’re there for him. Maybe you stroke his hair gently to soothe him to his scheduled very small amount of rest. Maybe he does just want some casual company, someone whose conversations are as easy and light as breathing air. eventually becoming something he looks forward to when on missions, someone to think of when especially beaten down by enemies, his one place of solace he’s had in many. many. years. and yeah uh eventually yall smooch smooch and progresses to full on you gettin dicked down and now you’re both in this relationship you can’t put a label on exactly but you can’t imagine being with anyone but him and vice versa. I can imagine Titus also being a bit thrown off from these feelings (Astartes brainwashing crashed.exe), but he doesn’t…dislike it. And the further the relationship progresses the more he allows himself to feel them. Leading to the dicking down of a lifetime. They’re both letting themselves be a little selfish. Something/someone that’s theirs and theirs alone. Just this once.

or something like that. that’s just a bare bones outline and can be altered as anyone sees fit. but this is my little version.

sorry for the novel.

- 😈🐈‍⬛

God I would do fucking unspeakable things for Titus, let me clean his quarters all day, and then when he gets back I can spend time on my back worship the Emperor with him ❤️

I love the idea of Titus falling for someone that doesn’t know about his past or even better simply doesn’t care. He just wants to move on.

[sonorousabyss]

Please. Rengoku my beloved. I need headcannons of him with a Electro Hashira. Like the electric Archon but like.. a dude. I love gay people.

-out of pocket anon

𝗞𝘆𝗼𝗷𝘂𝗿𝗼 𝗥𝗲𝗻𝗴𝗼𝗸𝘂 𝘅 𝗠𝗮𝗹𝗲, 𝗘𝗹𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗿𝗼 𝗔𝗿𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗻-𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗛𝗮𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗿𝗮 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝗘𝗹𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗿𝗼 𝗛𝗮𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗿𝗮 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿:

Much like Rengoku, M/N, the Electro Hashira would be passionate and absolute in his ideal. He yearns for a world in which humans can live eternal, without fear of demons feasting on their flesh. They are the enemy, and as such, none should be spared.

Because of this ideal, it is a known fact that he has immense respect for the master, as well as his fellow Hashira- even if the manner in which they conduct themselves is rather... unorthodox... by his standards.

When meetings come about, M/N's very confident in his stances and sticks very close to this ideal. This trait leads to fairly interesting encounters and debates, in which his stubborn insistence can be both a comfort and a thorn in one's side depending on the situation. That said, it can also make him predictable. If facts are twisted in just the right way, it's easy to gain his support, and immensely difficult to get him to change his mind.

Rengoku admires his passion. He sees it as a raging inferno that must be cherished, elegant even as it burns that which stands in its path. That said? He admires the Hashira's curiosity just as much.

When the Electro Hashira eventually does concede to being wrong or misled, his gaze has a tendency to veer outward, looking to others to see just what else he might be missing. This can lead to some very interesting takes while he reconstructs his ideals.

Rengoku is one of the few Hashira who doesn't mind being put together with M/N in missions. His rigidity is something that Rengoku finds easy to work with, despite it being a quality that others tend to dislike. They find common ground easily enough, and when it comes to mission execution? They finish jobs swiftly together. They can be flexible if absolutely necessary, but why differ from the standard protocol if it's effective?

It's no surprise to anyone when they begin sticking close to each other during meetings. With Rengoku's enthusiasm directed to his duties and the Electro Hashira's unwavering attitude, they aren't often on opposing sides of issues.

The Electro and Flame Hashiras tend to cover each other's flanks in verbal discussions as well as battles.

Pile that on top of the sheer experience they have with each other in the field, and it's a recipe for unwavering bonds. They tend to wander into each other's company quite often, sometimes without realizing it.

Both men were likely so focused on their duties that neither noticed the blatant attraction they had toward each other. Conversely, Mitsuri, Tengen, and the boss noticed their chemistry almost immediately.

Virtually any time that one of them tried to bring it up, save for maybe the boss, they were met with denial on both their parts. As far as they were concerned, they were totally just close friends and comrades. Totally.

As far as their relationship goes, Rengoku was the one who began initiating things at first. When the Electro Hashira was sequestered in their "Plane of Euthymia" in mourning of his men and those lost, he went out of his way to visit them, offer his condolences, or invite them out on excursions, work-related or otherwise. Similarly, if he happened to be by a Wisteria House that M/N was staying in while off duty or injured, he would drop by and give his fellow Hashira a visit.

This may originally have proved annoying at first, the Electro Hashira not really appreciating the intrusions in his home, but the Flame Hashira eventually grew on him. One by one he began returning the man the same courtesies, growing increasingly irritable whenever he came back injured from a mission due to being reckless, giving the man an earful. Kyojuro would always laugh heartily, promising to make up for it later.

They grew rather close over their years of service together, patching each other up between missions and supporting each other as they fought through hell and back, both men acting as a safe haven for each other.

While Rengoku was certainly more verbal about how much he treasured these "momentus occasions"- literally just their outings together- the Electro Hashira was a bit more poised and quiet about the matter, showing their appreciation through various nonverbal means of communication. Perhaps something he'd grow to regret in the aftermath of the Mugan Train incident.

AN: Sorry this one took so long, there were so many places I could take this that I didn't know where to start! Hope you enjoy it, and if you want more? You can always feel free to send another request. May your day be as wonderful as the ocean's abyss is deep.

If you're new here, I take requests. You can find my rules here.

[catwalkvivi]

well hey, since hardly anyone's looking at this corner of the website anyway I might as well take the opportunity to vent (it's annoying to do it on twitter with the character cap)

Man, social media is hard.

I see so many people posting regular content consistently for years and years without even seemingly breaking a sweat, while it's always been so difficult for me... Calculating engagement, deciding the best times to post, or, hell, even just sharing what they think/feel/made/fucking ate that day just seems, like, so easy and second nature for pretty much everyone around me. It's genuinely incredible to me that somebody can share what they've learned about idk shitty impractical tanks made in WW1 on this website and make it such an interesting read that hundreds of people engage with it!

But I've tried keeping social media accounts for art and stuff so many times now, on here, on Instagram, on Artstation, on Xitter, and eventually it just- kinda- fades away, it just feels so exhausting to keep track of all the things necessary to Chase the Algorhythm™ if you wanna have any relevancy. Is it a charisma thing??? Where do I grind to get a stat boost on my Cha???

I'd love to say it doesn't matter to me, since I've been drawing shit for myself for years now, but unfortunately artists do need social media presence if they wanna get work. Not to mention, well, I wanna reach people with the stuff I do! I want people to react to what I made, to say what they liked about it, or how it made them feel, and then when I post something I worked on for hours only to get, like, almost zero visibility? idk, man, it just kinda hurts. It's probably selfish and immature for me to say it, I know that it takes time and effort to build an audience and all that, but damn I get happy when people show me that something I've made has affected them positively. I like the connection, I like the conversations, I like meeting people who enjoy the same nerdy trash that I do!

(I was very fortunate to have an art post of mine reach a lot of notes here years ago, which was amazing, but it's such a rare thing)

God, and, like, there's all these weird unspoken rules about interacting on social media too.

The other day a friend of mine came up to our friend group and was like "oh my god this girl liked my stories on instagram it means something does she like me" and I was SO confused and then they were like "well, when somebody not on your friends list likes your stories, it means they're interested in you"

Then some time later another friend was telling me that somebody stopped liking her posts and unfriended her and how that is a horrible offense and my fucking brain hurt, like- okay I get the unfriend part kinda but there could be a hundred reasons for it??? it's not like you have a deep personal connection to all 300 friends you have on your account???

Then I see so many people out there simply sharing something they think or did only to have some rando twist what they said and come at them like they're the shittiest person on the planet that deserves everything bad in life actually (except the ones that are willingly spouting/promoting hateful shit to begin with. Those can rot in hell and I shall not mourn their demise)

Like??? It might be the Power of Autism™ in me but it always feels like I'm one step away from either making a fool of myself or offending twenty different people or both. It's both the fear of having hundreds of thousands of eyes on me and the fear of having none at all. And that makes it really difficult to share anything on the internet for me. I already have to deal with my entire existence as a trans woman making some cunts around the world mad, it sucks that I have to risk it in places where I just wanna post dumb drawings and talk about dumb things that make me happy with others.

I dunno. Word vomit I guess. Social media is hard. Interacting with humans is hard. Sharing stuff is hard. I prefer Pokémon

[baodurs]

🤥🎂🌙🌋🙉❇️🌠 - for either... or both :o

oc emoji asks

🤥 LYING - are they good liars? do they have tells to show they're lying?

my first instinct for phaedra was to say yes she's a good liar, but i'm not so sure... she's a good speaker, very poised, and good at keeping secrets & dealing with people, but i think outright lying could make her uncomfortable enough to be kind of obvious! i guess it depends on the situation and if she feels guilty. she's a competent utilitarian liar, but she's not good at prolonged deception or lying to people she knows well. if she ever tried it, she'd hesitate and just seem distressed lol

morven doesn't see much point in lying. she's usually blunt and direct (red hawke); when she does want to hide something, she's more likely to just be like "none of your business" or "i'm not telling you." beyond thinking it's usually a waste of time, she doesn't have any qualms with it, and she's a good liar when necessary. usually in the form of denying something when directly questioned—she's good at sounding dismissive or making someone feel foolish enough for asking/stonewalling them long enough that they just drop it

🎂 BIRTHDAY CAKE - when is their birthday? do they like celebrating it?

fictional calendars scare me i haven't thought much about it... but i think this thedas astrology doc is fun! using that, i'd say phaedra was born under eluvia* and morven was born under fervenial*

*assuming i just went for the most obviously fitting ones. but who knows!

phaedra looks forward to her birthday! as much as she is dutiful and self-effacing, she's always been more proud and less satisfied with her role than she wants to be, so she enjoys having a day where the weight of that lightens a bit and she can indulge in those "lesser" emotions. the key is that it's a limited (one day) and sanctioned (literally her birthday!!) form of indulgence, so she lets herself enjoy it

morven prefers to treat it like any other day. being celebrated is uncomfortable for her (if it's sincere, then it's awkward; if it's insincere, then it's annoying), but she rarely does anything big anyway. she likes her birthday as far as she can use it as an excuse to gather her family and friends together!

🌙 MOON - what is your oc's greatest wish? how far are they willing to go for it?

phaedra: her deepest desires are an inscrutable mess i fear. but the clearest and most present one is just to do right by the wardens. and she'll go very far for it! she wants them to have power and respect and she wants to be a good commander. and a good warden, really, but she struggles more with what that means.

morven: just some peace and fucking quiet to be honest!!! she has never dreamed very big. but clearly she's only willing to go so far for it, considering her entire life. she won't sacrifice much for a cause or for the greater good (she's vehemently against the circle and the chantry but too afraid of the consequences for herself and those close to her to do much about it), but she'll do anything for a person she loves

🌋 VOLCANO - how bad is their temper? is it a slow boil, or a instant explosion?

phaedra isn't a very angry character IMO. she feels a lot of frustration or resentment, but true anger is rare for her and fades pretty quickly. so losing her temper is a surprise to her and to others when it happens; she'll just seem the usual level of cold or serious until she lashes out very suddenly and then almost immediately regrets it and tries to save face

comparatively, morven is a generally angrier person with a much longer temper. it's a more familiar and useful emotion to her. i think seeing her lose her temper is also surprising but in a different way—less "where did that come from" and more "i guess i should have seen this coming but i didn't realize where the tipping point was"

🙉 HEAR-NO-EVIL - what is the worse thing your oc could hear from someone?

phaedra: that she's selfish. as a cousland, she struggled with her own ambition vs what was actually expected of her, and as a warden, she struggles with what is necessary vs what feels unacceptable (either to her the cousland that still lives in her brain!). it's her duty to her family vs her duty to the wardens vs her duty to ferelden vs her idealized sense of honor, and for someone to tell her that her own ambition or desires still won out over all of that would be worse than anything else they could say.

morven: that she's not doing enough or hasn't done enough... i think a lot about this act 1 conversation with carver:

hawke: you will not use [bethany] against me like that! she deserves better. carver: then you should have given better. hawke: i gave everything! question me, mother, yourself, but not that.

and that's really just it IMO! she's willing to accept when she's failed, but not that she still didn't give everything she could have. she wants to be malcolm, and on some level her failures become proof to her that she's not and that he was different or better, which is not Great but is something that confirms her worldview and the way she sees her father. like, if there's a flaw, then let it be with Her (and thus not with malcolm) and not with her efforts. this maybe makes her sound more fatalist than she actually is but what can you do

❇️ SPARKLE - what is their most prized possession? what do they value?

phaedra: is it passé to say the reflection amulet from the temple of sacred ashes... i think she tries to honor the idea that when you're a warden, your old life doesn't matter anymore, so she doesn't hold onto much from her origin. but this is something that reminds her of home that she got after leaving it behind, and she has a reverence for spirits, so she appreciates whatever gave it to her.

morven: having too many Things makes morven nervous, so she values things that are useful and don't feel like they're taking up space. a decent candidate for a prized possession would be something like malcolm's grimoire. (i apologize for how many of her answers are about malcolm.) but idk let's just say that for now bc i can't think of something better on the spot!

🌠 SHOOTING STAR - if they could make any wish with no repercussions, what wish would they make?

i think if someone made this offer to phaedra, she might just reject it lol... she's an envious character who wants a lot of things she can't have, but she also thinks she wasn't meant for those things/doesn't have them for a reason. it would feel wrong for her to wish them into existence (just wishing for a cure to the blight, for example, would feel to her like an insult to the wardens). she might pass the wish onto a loved one if possible <3 if she absolutely had to do it, she'd wish for something incredibly minor and practical like "i wish for mild weather on my next trip to the city" lmao

morven... hm. i think a lot of things would occur to her, and it would depend on when the offer was presented. she is not used to thinking big picture or hoping for things out of reach, so most of her wishes would be about safety/security for herself or friends. post-da2 morven is the only one who would entertain something big. first thought would be to cure carver of the blight, but i don't think she'd actually wish for it. i think she'd wish for one last conversation with malcolm, especially after legacy, bc that lack of closure is the one thing that will eat her alive until she's dead!!!!

[omgkalyppso]

Hi i've been insomnia scrolling thru étoile's tag reading as much as i can about them & i LOVE paladin characters, and the devotion => oathbreaker pipeline in particular is sooooo tasty (my first tav had that trajectory), so i was wondering if you could share more about that aspect of their character (sorry if you have somewhere else and i just haven't found it yet)

You're so very kind, thank you! (:

I have a post about what I allowed to cause their Oathbreaking in-game.

But I'm happy to elaborate! (Me @ me: That's not necessary—)

I also have a few scattered posts about the following details that I'm happy to compile in one place.

.

The [temporary camp character] I'm referring to in that linked Oathbreaking post is Arabella, and she asked if we'd found her parents. And I was like, okay let me not have this conversation covered in blood— But there was no way to back out of that conversation "neutrally," I guess, the best option being "I haven't found them yet. (lie)" And the Oathbreaker Spirit saying "Something in you has broken" for that was so annoying, but someone told me that it completely explained why the stereotype of classic d&d Paladins was Like That and why Xenk's characterization in D&D Honor Among Thieves was the way that it was.

For Xenk specifically, his inability to make exceptions to upholding goodness paired with his way of speaking ("Just because that sentence is symmetrical doesn't make it not nonsense.") is entirely constructed to avoid Oathbreaking = losing his god's favour, losing his abilities, and breaking his code of honour. Perhaps if Étoile had been able to tell Arabella, "That which can be found must first be lost." Then they would have avoided lying / Oathbreaking; or maybe they should have just been honest and ignored the blood.

.

Their mother, Wylla, being a Paladin in Tamriel (Skyrim, ESO) meant she had entirely different constraints on her morality (none). I think this means that her Oath in the Forgotten Realms was almost so vague as to be meaningless. Let me come up with an Oath to satisfy myself and move on from this point:

Oath of Kinship

Allegiance Above All. Defend those who would call you ally. Never turn against your kin.

Mercy. Offer patience and forgiveness to enemies that change their hearts.

Rivalry. Challenge peers and adversaries with pride and prowess. Flaunt wisdom and ability.

Honor Your Community. Strive to support your friends and respect the boundaries of your neighbours.

Easy enough for Wylla to reason out that anyone who looks on her with fear as they die hasn't truly changed their heart, and all who seek to injure her family isn't kin.

.

But her Oath is important because it would have been her achievements that initially inspired and motivated Étoile to continue down this path. Her training could have changed to just protecting their home if Étoile had instead pursued something more like being a priest of Auril, or to just protecting themself if Étoile had wanted to leave the mountain for any other life. It was an Oath she kept from her outset as a Paladin, which would have been around 27 years of age, until her death at 66. 39 years.

I think of Zevlor too, and how he might've been a Paladin from a young man. I'll say 23, to his Oathbreaking (whether after leaving his order when Elturel returned from Avernus or after Act 2, depending on your perspective) — I held a poll and found most people think he's 45 years old, I like 64 for Zevlor; that's either 22 years or 41 years in his Oath.

Étoile expected to live in their Oath for centuries. They were setting up a way of life for themself. They only managed from the ages of 100 to 166, but that's 66 years, and longer than either of these other two Paladins, and probably many more besides.

.

Auril, Étoile's forgotten realms deity, has had a surprising number of Chosen in my opinion, and at least two, possibly three, that seem to be concurrent. I would have assumed a god could only have one Chosen at a time!

One of her Chosen was the Neutral Good Bard Artus Cimber, a famous adventurer who held titles such as, Master Historian, Grumog's Bane, and God Slayer.

I think that such a devout and revered member of Auril's faithful was able to maintain both her favour and their alignment had also instilled a hope (or even an expectation) that Étoile would be able to get through their own trials without Oathbreaking / changing too much.

They do love people and strive to protect them, though for others that has meant death. They wouldn't have thought siding with the living of two choices (He Who Was vs Madeline) would have been perceived as the evil action, especially with how they personally felt about Madeline's actions.

They had already been allied with beings that most Paladins would have not tolerated due to stricter definitions of evil, and somehow these actions had been forgivable, but not this.

It made them a little crueller, more willing to express hatred and impatience, to side with evil beings and choices, no longer required to uphold their Oath, only their dignity.

With this in mind:

They were able to support Shadowheart through the loss of her faith and way of life, and eventually to support her in spitting in Shar's eye for the sake of reuniting her with family.

They signed Raphael's pact instantly.

Their greatest fear has always been a loss of autonomy and the Emperor's actions and presence was a direct risk to that, if not an outright flaunting of that power: Étoile remembers their body twisting on its own to find that first illithid parasite. They never used their ~Abilities~, though it can be noted that they did debate the temptations a lot in Act 2, never deciding it was worth the risk. And then knowing the Emperor had witnessed their every intimate moment, and possibly their every private thought, for the past few tendays, was unforgivable.

They liked Lae'zel more than the Emperor. Raphael had been the first entity to uphold part of a promise by giving them the privacy of their own mind for five minutes, and what did Étoile care if the war in the hells shifted in his favour. Getting the Crown of Karsus off the Material Plane sounded like a wonderful fucking idea. Mystra had made no promises to Gale about removing his or the others' illithid parasites and based on Gale's experience with her, Étoile didn't think she would! Karlach wanted to steal the contract, but Étoile thought Raphael would make a better ally than Mystra than he would make an enemy.

Étoile was like half-way through their signature when Raphael added that he wouldn't even use the Crown to dominate people on the Material Plane or whatever the fuck and like ? oh, that's nice.

They would have allowed Astarion to kill his siblings if he'd thought that was best, but they couldn't let him kill the spawn, that was too many. People he didn't know, with just as much capacity for growth as he'd had. Étoile had lived on the outskirts of a village of 400 — not even in the village! — the scope of 7000 was just so many.

While Étoile would never, under any circumstances, risk their mother's life, their relationship to her was far different than Wyll's relationship to his father. They convinced him to get out of his pact; in Étoile's opinion if Ulder truly cared for Wyll then he wouldn't want him to stay indebted to Mizora, and if he didn't then fuck him Wyll deserved better.

Their only real regret that was part of their "base canon" was not offering to go with Karlach to Avernus. I kept hoping Wyll would offer after they added that possibility, but it never happened in Étoile's primary save file. I'd like to play them again sometime, and hopefully then the end of Wyll's quest won't be bugged for them and we can finish the stuff with Ansur. Étoile was afraid, and selfish, and had things they wanted to do / people and causes they were devoted to on the Material Plane, so they didn't offer.

And I say "base canon" because keep the headcanon that a piece of the Mourning Frost / the upgraded Dead of Winter in their personal quest, is able to magically cool Karlach's raging heart and allow her to remain on the Material Plane.

.

Also sharing this post about post-canon Étoile written before the epilogue came out.

.

I think their Devotion never truly leaves them, but they can never return to their Order (which is part of why I never bothered naming it) and can never rise in the ranks. They would also feel they don't deserve the respect of a Paladin, especially ones living in their Oaths, and I feel many others would also feel this way about them. But they killed people before their Oath, during, and after. It's only their conduct that's changed, and not so much that they're unrecognizable from Neutral Good to Neutral Evil, but enough that they feel it, and enough that it terrifies those who relied on their goodness — even Astarion balks at the idea of the pact with Raphael.

.

From my Bad At Biting fic; Étoile x Astarion:

“A single night would suffice [for a vampire to turn someone into a vampire spawn],” Astarion confirmed, whilst Étoile took a deep breath between their teeth. “Death is the requirement.” He winced through his smile, waiting a moment while his gaze danced between their person and their visage. “You let me lead you very close last night.” Despite their recent understanding of their circumstances, Étoile still managed to smile in response. The answer was easy. There was a fellowship in surviving starvation in the north, and a camaraderie in those who ran from the same enemies, who sought comparable freedoms. Étoile’s mother had eaten people, and their own hands were hardly clean — not like their conscience. Denying a vampire a mouthful of blood hardly felt in-line with their upbringing. They knew their Oath, and they knew their code, the path where they met was always going to be difficult, and hard for others to understand. Even vampires, it seemed. “I trusted you would stop,” Étoile said generously, more believable in past-tense than it might have been in the moment.

From my Magic In The Air fic; Étoile x Gan (evil path) (headcanons about the limits of Auril's magic):

“Three years ago,” Étoile explained, “Auril was defeated by a group of adventurers. It’s what put a stop to her Everlasting Rime. When she died, I lost use of Ray of Frost until she was reborn on the following winter solstice.” They closed their hand, tighter than they needed to to dispel the magic. “So there are limits to the distribution of magic,” Étoile concluded. “Even innate.” Gan’s poise and patience should have felt distancing, they were ever sharp and unabashed in their valuations of their enemies and allies both, but Étoile couldn’t help feeling mollified by her attention. Étoile hoped that Gan would recognize this extension of their trust in baring this vulnerability. “Between our … victory over the grove,” Étoile said, dropping their hand to their side, squaring their posture, “and the following night, I could not use magic that was powered by my oath as a Paladin, not until that was restored by the Oathbreaker Knight, but even then, despite losing my capacity to be her Paladin, I was still Auril’s faithful, and … this spell wasn’t lost to me, as maybe I felt it should have been.” “You’re stricter with yourself than your goddess?” Gan asked, amusement in their tone and an sympathetic tilt in their brow. Étoile scoffed through a smile. “It had just been some time since— Well. I’d been living in Baldur’s Gate and among … people. If I had only been trying to live and learn, maybe I would’ve been different, but with those I grew close to, I was trying to advocate for my own manner of people — and to do that, included bending to laws and morality that are not the providence of my god. It is a relief to know that she would still have me, regardless.”

[howdy-cowpoke]

TIMING: Recent LOCATION: A dive bar. PARTIES: Monty (@howdy-cowpoke) & Owen (@apaininyourneck) SUMMARY: Monty meets Owen at a shitty bar, and they have a shitty conversation during which Monty is fearing for his unlife. Stop being so mean, Owen. He's a just a little guy. CONTENT WARNINGS: none.

—

Like most other evenings he had off, Owen was at the bar. Not the one he worked at for obvious reasons - he’d rather pay full price for the booze than have to deal with his coworkers for a second longer. Not to mention that once people assumed some sort of ‘friendship’ had been established, they tended to think themselves entitled to free drinks at The Wormhole. This place didn’t have a particularly different vibe to the slum he worked at but at least your shoes didn’t get stuck to the floor with every step. Details. 

The cow farmer or whatever his official job description was had picked a decent enough time to text him, receiving only the name of the current bar and a very short description (tall, green jacket) as a reply. If he showed up, it could be interesting. If not, there were plenty of possibilities hanging out at the bar now and the night was still young. For all of its flaws, The Wormhole did have one thing over this bar which was that no one gave a fuck if you lit up in there. The patronizing ‘sir’ with a point towards a fading ‘no smoking’ sign delivered at Owen the second he’d lit up a cigarette had almost been enough to make him wonder about changing bars. But that would mean texting that man again which seemed like too much hassle. 

Settling for stubbing out the newly lit cigarette on the table instead, earning him a very exasperated sigh, Owen reluctantly moved outside for a second attempt. He was already a few drinks in, just enough for a mild buzz, but far from drunk enough to shut down the crawling feeling that slithered up his spine once he stepped outside. It was mild, though - like a ghost of the usual thing that would make his fists ball up on instinct. Mildly annoyed, he still lit up the cigarette before his eyes started scanning the small crowd of people outside. 

—

Looking down at his phone, eyes wide, Monty held a hand to his forehead. His long, shaggy hair framed his face, soft features lit up by the little rectangle of light. Some stupid anonymous message had just made him look like a total idiot— Clicking off the screen with a groan, the zombie pocketed the device and patted both his pockets before pulling out a pack of cigarettes. What the heck—that was one way to start the night, he supposed, feeling embarrassment snaking up his spine. Popping one free and pinching the filter between his lips, he continued to poke around for his lighter for a few seconds before realizing he’d forgotten it. Ah, hell. 

Turning on the spot, as if he might see the thing on the ground rather than back home on his nightstand, where it absolutely was, the zombie glanced up to look at the other people standing outside the bar. He’d only just arrived, but after reading that figured he could take a moment to calm down with a smoke—wait a minute. 

“Green jacket,” he said as he saw the man standing opposite him. “Tall.” He spoke around the cigarette before removing it from his mouth, offering a hand to shake as he smiled up at him. “I’m the cow guy. Monty.” Wow, he wasn’t kidding, he was tall. “Uh. Can I borrow your lighter?”

—

Snapped away from his suspicious surveying of the outside crowd, Owen’s head turned and then - how adorable - tilted downwards. For a moment, crawling discomfort was pushed aside to properly assess the ‘cow guy.’ He definitely had a few years on the slayer but he wore them decently enough. Could definitely do with a haircut and Owen wondered if the man hadn’t bothered to get changed after work or if this was just his style - or lack of style. “Owen, the man of many talents,” he replied, accepting the handshake with a grin. 

He let the handshake go on for a few beats longer than was strictly necessary before relinquishing the hold, digging into his pockets for the lighter instead. “Keep it, I always carry an extra,” he offered, taking a drag from the cigarette, attention drifting for a moment as a few smokers disappeared inside. The feeling lingered. Not that he was particularly looking for a vampire hunt right at this very moment, interested in at least learning more about this man to see whether he was more fun than a hunt, but getting some sense of who was providing this faint feeling would definitely put him at ease. “So, you meet strangers for drinks a lot or should I be feeling really special right about now?” Owen asked, forcing his attention back to the man. 

—

“Gracias, amigo,” the cowboy thanked him, lighting his own and then stepping out of the way of anyone trying to get inside, leaning his back against the brick wall of the building. “Oh, very special,” Monty laughed. “Until recently, I was quite the hermit.” His voice, heavily accented and naturally staccato in nature, seemed to strain with some sort of nervous energy at the admission, despite his best efforts to hide it. 

Hey, at least he wasn’t hiding beneath a hat, tonight. 

Running a hand through that unruly hair to brush it back from his face, he took a long drag of the cigarette. “Believe it or not, I’ve been in this town for something like… five years, now, and I only know one person.” It was a bizarre thing to be telling a stranger, but Monty had found that laughing at himself was easier than being upset or cagey about it. “My animals are just a lot easier to talk to. They don’t sass me back.” He glanced up at Owen, smirking gently. 

—

Following the other’s lead in getting comfortable against the damp bricks, Owen let the other man speak. It seemed he had a lot to get off his chest, most of it being nervous energy which was fair - even non hermits had a habit of getting overwhelmed by the slayer’s… well, everything. This man seemed to be doing a good job at holding his own however despite the self proclaimed status of hermit. Seemed the one friend was keeping him socialized enough. “And look at you now! Out on the town with a scary stranger, ready to be inevitably sassed,” he grinned, shoulder bumping into Monty’s. 

A few more people wandered back into the bar but it did nothing to take the edge off. Cigarette between his lips, Owen regarded the man once again. Nothing about him screamed vampire but then again, a lot of the fuckers could put on a good show. That wasn’t the problem; the mere fact that he could stand shoulder to shoulder with Monty without feeling like he was going to crawl out of his skin was the issue. “So, five years? What was so wrong with your last place that you thought moving here was a good idea?” Owen knew what had brought him to this shithole, as well as many other hunters, but of course the monstrous and the damned were also attracted. 

—

Monty let out a laugh at the remark, figuring he had it coming. That was alright, the princesa back in his big fancy house gave Monty plenty of practice dealing with his sass. Surely it couldn’t be much harder with this guy. The only thing that was going to be harder was the touching—so many people just did it by default, and while Monty couldn’t blame them for that, it always made his needle skip. Such was the case here, the innocent nudge successfully derailing his entire train of thought. 

 Owen was asking him something, and he blinked. 

“Huh? Oh—It was, ah, complicated.” Being chased by slayers complicated. “Needed a fresh start, and I just… I just sort of ended up here, I guess. Did a lot of wandering, trying to find somewhere I fit.” Which was nowhere, of course. The one place he’d fit had been ripped away from him a very long time ago. Alan was the only reason he was still here in Maine, truth be told. He was sure he’d have moved on by now if not for the werewolf stepping up and deciding to help him be more of a person and less of a ghost. “Suppose I found that here. More than I have anywhere else, at least.” Looking up at the man again, Monty’s brows rose. “What’s your excuse, wey?”

—

The delayed response didn’t go unnoticed, filed away with the other scarce things Owen knew about the farmhand joining him for drinks. Being a hermit, it made sense that he wasn’t used to casual touch. Sucked for him but could definitely prove useful for the slayer.

Of course it was complicated. No one in their right mind could read about this place online and think this was a lovely place to settle down unless where you came from was that much worse. Or if you had a purpose here. Owen wondered which was the case with this man. Plenty of places where he could have started a cow farm. “Lot of complicated people in town,” he mused, pinching the cigarette harder between his fingers. In what way did this man fit in here? There was no chance of him being a vampire but perhaps something else? Something similar.

“I was curious,” Owen replied simply, meeting the questioning gaze with his own unyielding stare. “Wanted to see if it was true. The stories about monsters living in town.” Without taking his eyes off Monty, he took a final drag from the cigarette before putting it out against the brick wall. “Think it’s time for drinks before we continue with twenty questions, yeah?” Stepping aside to hold the door open for the other man, an unreadable smile snuck onto his face. Curiosity hadn’t really been what brought him to this town but he was definitely curious now.

—

The stare was off putting enough on its own, but the next words out of Owen’s mouth—monsters—set Monty on edge. Oh, no. He swallowed thickly, fighting to keep the casual smile on his face as he looked up at the other man, who was not breaking eye contact, making a split second decision that he had to play this cool until he could excuse himself without drawing too much attention. What good would it do to bolt now? He’d just be chased down. He’d just lead the man right back to the rest of them. 

“Monsters?” he parroted the other, doing his absolute best to sound flabbergasted by the statement. He was a shitty liar, though. “Mm. Yeah, you might be right.” Taking a final drag and trying not to think about how his hands were shaking, the zombie copied Owen’s motion and put the grit out on the wall, letting it fall to the sidewalk. He gave a small smile as Owen held the door for him, ducking into the dark interior of the bar. With his back to the other, his smile fell and he dragged a hand over his face, and he could almost feel the phantom jackhammer thump of his terrified heart against his ribcage. Almost. 

Keep it together, he reminded himself. Until you can get away without being suspicious. God, this was what he got for trying to socialize! In a place where when it went wrong, it could go life-threateningly wrong, why did he bother? What the hell was the benefit of this?!

Approaching the bar to order something, Monty let the other slide up beside him without looking up again. He just stared down at the countertop, eyes fixed on some water spots left from the condensation of the last patron’s drink. He wanted desperately to ask what the other meant by monsters, just in case this was some sort of insane misunderstanding, but he didn’t dare bring the subject up again. Nope, better to just… play along, answer whatever questions Owen had without saying anything too incriminating (always easier said than done, with Monty), and get the hell out of there. 

—

Monty was a fair enough actor. There was a good chance he’d be able to fib someone not looking for obvious signs but sadly for him, that is exactly what Owen was doing. All that TV show bullshit about people sweating and what not didn’t exactly apply when a lot of the people you were dealing with functioned differently. Even though Monty sweating at this very moment would have completely changed the tone of the current conversation. No, the slayer had been part of many conversations about the supernatural and the high pitched shock in Monty’s tone was too much. He knew something about monsters. Whether it was the particular brand of monster Owen specialized in was still to be decided.

The fact that Monty hadn’t met his gaze since the word ‘monsters’ was dropped into the conversation was another nice little tidbit. He wasn’t stupid, that much was clear. Sprinting away would have incriminated him so it seemed for now, Owen had him playing along. “Two whiskeys, neat,” he ordered, certain that the choice wouldn’t be contested whether Monty liked the drink or not. Owen had the higher ground, in every sense of the word now. With the drinks served, he slid one over to Monty and grabbed his own, free hand snaking over the other’s shoulders to lead him over to one of the empty tables. 

Once the two were comfortably seated, or most likely very uncomfortably in the other’s case, Owen took a sip of his drink and regarded the man. “So,” he finally started, tone tinted with interrogation and a hint of amusement, “I’m pretty sure you’re not human so let’s save ourselves the trouble of going through a whole thing where you attempt to convince me you are and I stab your hand to prove you’re not, yeah?”

—

As expected, Monty made no attempt to protest the drink. His cold fingers wrapped around the room temperature glass as it was offered, eyes staring blankly into the middle distance as Owen snaked an arm around his shoulders. Panic erupted in his chest, just as much a result of being in a very bad situation as it was from the firm, continued contact that lasted until Owen had found them their own table. 

He wanted to crawl out of his skin as he sat down, still not looking at the other man, far too wrapped up in his own fear to do a very good job of acting like nothing was wrong. It wasn't until Owen spoke that he seemed to stir, eyes lifting to meet the other’s… just in time to hear what he'd dreaded most. 

Looking back down at his hands, the zombie slowly withdrew them into his lap. "I… don't know what you're talking about," he muttered, brow furrowed and eyes closed—an expression in complete opposition to what he was saying. He knew, or at least he hoped that it was a bluff. That Owen wouldn't actually cause a scene in such a public place… so as long as he stayed here, he was safe. But how long would the man wait? What would he do when the bar closed and he had to leave? 

That was a problem for later. 

—

Well, it had been worth a shot. Owen chuckled as panicked hands disappeared under the table, tilting his head at the man attempting to make himself even smaller than he actually was. “Your lying was much better earlier,” he tsk-ed, taking another drink and feeling the alcohol burn on the way down. With a content sigh, he put his glass back down and pushed the still untouched one closer to Monty. “Come on, it’s a very nice year,” Owen urged, lips curled into a smile. The man would crack eventually. He hadn’t done anything to deserve not leaving for his little farm at the end of the evening but that could change if there weren’t any answers provided. Lucky for Monty, his kind, whatever it was, wasn’t strictly speaking part of Owen’s current crusade.

“Not too many farms around here so I bet I could just go there to get some answers. Or you could tell me what you are since I know it’s not human and you’re not a blood sucker.” For added effect, Owen bumped his knee against Monty’s under the table, long legs making easy work of it.

“And don’t think I won’t stab you because we’re in a bar. I’ve gotten thrown out for worse things. But we can keep things civil and just have a little chat instead.”

—

His pout deepened and he opened his eyes again to see the glass being pushed toward him. He wasn’t really sure why, but he felt compelled to take it—to do what Owen said, even if it didn’t make a lick of a difference regarding the outcome of this situation. Still, Monty obediently collected the drink and pulled it all the way to his edge of the table, still keeping the other hand firmly planted beneath his thigh. 

The mention of the farm, of him coming to the farm just made that overwhelming fear spike again. He felt sick, staring up at Owen with the agonized terror of a fox caught in a trap written all over his face. This time the touch of their legs made him visibly jump, grip on the glass tightening. “Listen, I don’t know what you want,” he breathed frantically, “But I’m not—I don’t hurt people, okay? I don’t!” Not on purpose. He wasn’t yelling, but rather speaking in a loud whisper, his gaze continuing to dart between Owen and the other bar patrons. 

—

If there had been a lick of doubt before about this guy cracking, the fact that he obediently took the glass in his hand erased it all. The glass in Monty’s hand looked close to cracking when Owen made physical contact, further showing that the man had a spine of rubber. Harsh whispers were flooding out now, excuses and perhaps a hint of pleading. Not an answer to Owen’s question, though, which he’d already repeated twice. During the panicked stream of words, one of the slayer’s hands had left the table, the other still nursing the glass of whiskey. “Still doesn’t answer my question,” Owen sighed, small knife sliding from its place tucked safely against his back and covered by the jacket. 

It was a swift move, strangely practiced for the unusual scenario of surreptitiously stabbing someone in the thigh underneath a table. His hand stilled on the other’s knee for a moment, a very strong but warning grasp to indicate that Monty should stay still. Owen left the knife there, not too worried whether or not the other man had a knife in his hands or not. Elbows perched on the table and fingers interlaced, the slayer rested his chin on his hands, smiling. Fully ready to push the other back down into his seat if he made a move to leave. “Don’t worry, I have more. Now, back to that question about what exactly you are…”

—

It all happened so fast, he barely had time to react. That said, the feeling of the blade sliding into his thigh wasn’t exactly painful—uncomfortable was a better word for it, but it was the shock of the action that held Monty in place and kept his mouth shut. His eyelids fluttered and he realized, with dread clawing its way up his throat, that he had no choice but to tell this man what he wanted to hear and just hope that it wouldn’t make his situation worse. 

“I’m…” He was staring off into space again, which was evidently a really shitty defense mechanism of his. “Dead. I mean—something bit me, a corpse that was still alive, and then I got shot years later, and I… came back.” He couldn’t remember the word for it in English, as it wasn’t one that was ever used frequently at the farm or with Alan. And for most of his long life, he’d never even had a word for it. “Does that answer your question?” 

—

Finally, some cooperation. Sometimes it could be achieved with less knives but as far as some light persuasion went, a mild flesh wound that would most likely grow in no time considering the non-human status was pretty good. Owen listened carefully as the quiet words were spoken. He’d figured out the whole dead part from the fact that his skin was still crawling, a light tingle compared to the usual feeling, but the other stuff was enlightening enough. 

Owen’s family had been very focused on vampires but the rigorous teaching had included some highlights on the other undead. Knowledge the slayer hadn’t particularly bothered to keep up with while slumming with a vampire in Boston and certainly not once the (rather personal) vendetta mission against vampires had started. Still, enough of it remained to provide him with tidbits he wouldn’t have to drag from Monty. 

“See? Wasn’t that much easier,” he said cheerfully, clinking his glass with Monty’s before polishing off his own. “So I’m guessing you’re either really sneaky about murders or somehow refrain from them. I’m tempted to believe the latter judging from how you’re handling this whole thing.” Owen’s fingers drummed on the table for the moment as he pondered the next steps of this conversation. “Lucky for you, I don’t have a particular beef with the walking dead in this town. If I do catch you munching on someone, that will of course be a different story.”

—

Releasing the breath he’d been holding (an unbreakable habit), Monty flinched as Owen moved and spoke suddenly, still keeping his gaze fixed on the table between them. The knife in his leg ached, and he just wanted to get out of there. But he felt like a hostage, even after Owen admitted that he wasn’t his preferred prey—because that made him a slayer, beyond a shadow of a doubt, and that meant that Monty was still very much in danger. It didn’t matter who Owen preferred to kill, he was built for killing undead, and Monty knew that the moment that he said the wrong thing could be his last.

Or so he had to assume, because why would he assume otherwise? 

“Of course,” he muttered sullenly, letting his free hand find the hilt of the knife and close down around it. With a soft grunt, he pulled the blade free, staring at it for a moment. The liquid that covered it was dark rather than bright red, which was not something new to him, but still upsetting. He didn’t like being dead, after all. In fact it was perhaps the single worst thing that had ever happened to him. 

Careful to move slowly, the zombie set the knife back on the table, glancing at someone as they passed, their eyes widening at the sight of the weapon. “Put it away,” he hissed, distracting himself with his first sip of the whiskey, which… quickly turned into him throwing back the entire two fingers in one go. “You’ve had your fun, no? Are you done toying with me?” Monty snapped a little more harshly than he’d have liked. 

—

Green eyes followed the movements of the knife carefully until it was placed on the table, catching the eye of a very shocked patron passing their table. Owen grinned and winked at the offended man, who scoffed and walked away faster. “You don’t like my toys?” the slayer pouted, still reaching for the knife, if only to take a better look at the dark liquid coating it. He’d never killed an undead before but reminded himself to do a bit of research once they were done here. Just in case. Especially since he was making the gracious decision to let Monty go, knowing his name and face. Grabbing a tissue, he wiped down the blade before placing it back into its spot. Still easily within reach. 

For the first time this evening, the faintest hint of some fire appeared in the zombie. It made Owen’s lips quirk with the hint of a smirk and before replying, he turned in his chair with his empty glass raised, catching the bartender’s eyes and making a gesture for two more drinks. “What, and end your first outing in years after ten minutes? Relax, it’s not like you’re going to bleed out.” Leaning back in his chair, foot bumping into the other’s definitely not on accident, Owen smiled. “So, the farm. Meat source or hobby?”

—

He didn’t owe this guy anything, that much was certain. And yet Monty didn’t feel like he had a choice but to comply. Keep him entertained and keep him off your back. 

While true, the promise that this was going to keep on for however many rounds Owen felt like buying did little to make Monty feel better about the hole in his leg that was busy patching itself up as they spoke. He flinched again at the jostling of his person—he might acclimate to it with some people, but certainly not the one that had just stabbed him—closing his eyes and bringing a hand to his face. 

“Both,” he answered curtly, wanting desperately to talk about anything other than the farm. There were other people at the farm, other undead, other targets of choice… he couldn’t give Owen any reason to want to look into it. More than he already had, anyway. “Nothing special. Small operation. Keeps me from…” His voice trailed as their second round was brought over, and the zombie kept his head down. It didn’t need to be said, did it? Never mind that it was a bold-faced lie. The farm didn’t keep him from eating people, Alan did, because Alan brought him human heads as often as he could—god, don’t think about that now. 

—

Funny how getting lightly stabbed could make people a bit grumpy. Owen had much preferred the neurotic version of the man sitting opposite him - this brooding, woe is me attitude was mildly annoying. “Smart,” Owen commented, grabbing his drink. There was nothing sarcastic about it, maybe even some respect for coming up with an idea to keep him and whoever else lived at the farm off slaying radars. If their feeding patterns were anything like vampires, animal products were like a drop in a bucket when it came to keeping them full. 

“I’m guessing you’re not too dumb to know what I am - stop me if I’m giving you too much credit, so why stay in Wicked’s Rest, hmm? Knowing that me and people like me live here.” It wasn’t often that Owen got to pick someone’s brain about these things as the people with the answers usually ended up as dust in a matter of minutes. Might as well see how long he could milk this before the rest of Monty’s resolve vanished and he either snapped or stopped answering, even with the risk of another swift stabbing. 

—

How was he supposed to answer that? Especially without pissing the slayer off, or… fuck, it didn't really matter what he said, did it? This guy wasn't genuinely interested. He didn't care. He just liked watching the zombie squirm. 

That sense of fear that had never really left, even when he'd started snapping back, dragged itself to the forefront again in the face of desperation. "I don't know," he answered somewhat honestly, both hands circling around the fresh glass of whiskey. "I… didn't know there would be any. But you're everywhere, anyway." But not in such great numbers. Nowhere was safe. He gripped the glass tightly, taking another sip. He'd not looked at Owen this whole time, and wasn't sure if he'd be able to bring himself to do it ever again. At least the other slayer hadn't shown such an interest in playing with him like a cat played with its food. 

—

Maybe it wasn’t a well known fact that hunters tended to swarm around this place like bees to honey. It made sense to Owen, to live here rather than spend ages tracking down a single vampire living their best life in some big city. There was even a dedicated hunter bar here for fuck’s sake. Maybe the undead just thought themselves invincible and didn’t plan ahead for things like people specifically bred to hunt them down. “That we are,” Owen agreed smugly, still watching the zombie over the rim of his glass. 

The other man looked so dejected; it would have been sad if it wasn’t so pathetic as well. Most of the undead had gotten way more life than they deserved yet still managed to look hurt at the fact that they weren’t allowed to stick around until the end of time, probably making more defected excuses for people as they went along. 

With his second round finished off and still nothing interesting coming from the other man, Owen sighed. He was getting bored and not so used to spending this amount of time just sitting with the crawling feeling of an undead. “Well, that’s about all the moping and self pity I can take for one night.” With no intention of taking the bill, even his half of it, the slayer pushed away from the table and stood. “Nice meeting you, Monty. Guess I’ll be seeing you around.” With a smile and a wink, he left the zombie sitting there alone. Almost tempted to wait outside the entrance and see how long it would take the man to move, instead pulling out his phone in search of some livelier company since this night hadn’t exactly gone the way he’d planned. 

—

Never in his life had Monty been so happy to be uninteresting to someone. Nice meeting you. “Can’t say the same,” he growled, hoping that it wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass later. Probably would. Ugh. 

The moment the slayer was no longer in sight, Monty heaved a trembling groan, folding his arms on the table in front of him and burying his head there for a minute or so as he tried to regain his composure. Then, once the gnashing, venomous bit of dread had calmed, he got out his phone and sent Alan a text, asking to be picked up as soon as possible. Explaining that he couldn’t leave the building without Alan there, though the why was going to have to wait until he was safely in the other’s company. 

Well, so much for going out. Going out was stupid and bad and he was never doing it again with someone he didn’t know. Never.

[carinavet]

trope rating game

tagged by @suspiciouspopsicle (It's funny how some of our answers were almost exactly the same and others exact opposites.)

rules: How much do these tropes affect your decision to click on a fic? -10 -> very dissuaded  0 - don’t care either way  +10 -> very enticed  nope -> if it’s a hard no and you’d never click on a fic with that tag or or you even have the tag blocked or you’d insta click out of the fic if it wasn’t tagged.  Bonus points for explaining the rating and whether it’s conditional.

Age gap: -5

Not for me. Kind of icky.

Codependency: Either -10 or 10. There's no in-between.

Look man, fucked up relationships can be really fun -- if they're done right. But it's the way they're done/the vibes that determine if it's amusing or annoying.

Obsession/Possessiveness, jealousy: okay in my head those are two different things. So for obsession/possessiveness it's a good 8 but jealousy is -5.

It can be really fun to take emotions into extremes. That whole "You are mine" mindset where "you" are all the person can think about, all the person wants to think about, is great.

But the "You know other men?!" mindset is just annoying.

Opposites (grumpy/sunshine etc): 10

It's about completion, it's about being complimentary, it's about watching how they play off each other and interact, it's about filling in the other's gaps, it's about--

Enemies to lovers, Enemies with benefits: 10

@suspiciouspopsicle said: "Enemies to lovers is fine, but I have a lot of trouble wrapping my head around enemies that also fuck. like...are you using protection? is your weapon in reach at all times? can you really trust them???"

Yeah that's the POINT! That fear is what makes it fun! The inevitable point when that tentative trust is tested (and fails?) is what makes it interesting! The "I trust you with my life but not with my most basic goals" is fantastic! That decision to be vulnerable with that person anyway is what makes it so emotional when you realize "Oh shit, I CAN trust you!"

Friends with benefits: -8

Eh, I just don't find it interesting story-wise.

Sex to feelings: 0

Just depends on how it's done.

Fake dating/relationship: -9

Mostly because there's fucking ALWAYS a scene where somebody says "I don't believe you're dating so you have to KISS to pRoVe It!!!" or at the very least an annoying emphasis on obnoxious, obviously put-upon pet names. Bruh maybe I just don't like pet names and fuck you if I think I'm going to put my affection on display for your benefit. Some people's relationships are chill and that's none of your goddamn business.

Friends to lovers: 0

Again, just depends on how it's done.

Found Family: 0

If I go looking for fanfic it's usually because I want someone to bang but found family can be fun too.

Hurt/Comfort: 8

Aaaaaaaaangst!

Love Triangle: -9

Laaaaaaaaame.

Poly, open relationships: Again, two different things. Poly 8, open -10.

Honestly OT3s are something I used to hate but then I played When the Night Comes and didn't have to choose between the two most attractive guys and went "oh shit this is kind of hot actually?" and now lately I've been super into MMF triads.

Open relationships, on the other hand, are lame. My fictional romance needs at least a little bit of obsession.

Mistaken/hidden identity: 5

Mostly depends on how it's done, but it can be really fun to see how someone acts when they have no expectations to live up to.

Monsterfucking: 10

Seriously, I'm looking for recs, people. REAL monsterfucking, none of that soft shit. I want to be scared.

Pregnancy: 0

Again, I'm more interested in how you GOT pregnant, but the soft relationship stuff can be fun too.

Second Chance: -5

Mostly not interested in why you need a second chance to begin with. Especially if there was cheating involved it's a hard no.

Slowburn: -8

These CAN be fun but I'm impatient, haha.

Soulmates: 0

Again, I like the "love of my life" level obsession, but does that need to be actual soulmates? Meh. Not really necessary.

Not tagging. Do it or don't.

[punk-dad-sharkz]

because I just had to partially overheat, suffocate, and almost pass out because of a very sudden school drill, I'd like to discuss the ableism & inaccessibility of the school drill system.

CW: Anxiety, stressful situations, etc

From my experience in highschool, and even a little in elementary/middle, a lot of school drills (whether be weather drills or intruder/active shooter drills) were extremely sudden and often caused a lot of distress for kids who didn't do well being thrust into these kinds of situations.

In elementary/middle, me and so many kids got horribly stressed out because of the loud alarms, flashing lights, and big crowds. Everybody was pushed and shoved into wherever we needed to go, and it just instilled fear into kids when it just wasn't necessary.

My real issue is with the ones at my highschool, which i'm currently attending. Unlike in my last school, there is no warning or announcements whatsoever about upcoming drills. Most of the time when kids do know, it's because teachers told their classes a day or two beforehand, even though they weren't supposed to.

The sort of logic behind this is "well you need to react the same way you would in an emergency," and the admins after the drill be like "oh 7 minutes, not bad, coulda been faster" which is a whole other issue on it's own.

So many students, and teachers, find problems with this approach. Since my school is heavily diverse for its area and has a high concentration of neurodiverse & mentally ill/handicapped individuals, it's by far the most ableist thing.

So many kids, and teachers, have anxiety disorders & get stressed out easily, and I think just recently they made the alarms a little quieter. The fast-paced nature of getting places is also not at all ideal for individuals with chronic joint issues, mobility issues, and people who just can't walk that fast.

It's also inconsiderate to people who have issues with the surge of sensory intake that these drills cause, me occasionally being one of these people.

There are also no mobility aids for people who need extra help when trying to get to places fast.

And, from today's experience from what prompted this entire rant, SOME KIDS WERE OUTSIDE IN THE SCHOOL'S COURTYARD. I was sitting close to the door and when the bells went off, I had to bolt outside and warn everyone. Because none of us knew beforehand, there could have been multiple kids missing from the assembly.

Hence my overheating, lightheadedness, and suffocation. One other adult came to the door and yelled for kids to come inside, but there were people too far away to hear.

Overall, I just don't find schools' approaches to drills to be in any way good or productive. It's so annoying how ableism in ingrained in so many things that we don't even notice until people are affected by it.

[chuuyanaurkahara]

Azrael Lore

this is almost word for word copied from my notes<3 (only stuff that's italics is added for additional info)

----

Basic stuff

Azrael is a 19 year old sadistic serialkiller. Due to his rather young age (in this world you're an adult once you reach the 20 year of your life due to the world being in fucking shambles otherwise) he didn't get sent to prison. Instead, four of his six arms got cut off(more of that later) and he was linked to a device that made it impossible for him to use any magic that he could potentially harm anyone with. This means he can barely use any magic, because most can be harmful.

This device allowed him to only practice song magic, as there is no known way of it being harmful. Somehow, Azrael still managed to make it dangerous. He hides this though, because he doesn't want to lose the last bit of magic he has. Someone without magic is useless to him, even if that someone is himself.

Because he isn't a full adult yet, the government enrolled him at Lasdayle High, a higher school (for problem kids). He's in class 5B alongside other 18-19 year olds. His location is streamed to the government 24/7.

If he leaves his allowed location (the entire school grounds) without notifying someone, he (forcefully) gets pulled back.

He sees friends as a burden, which is the reason why he never talked to anyone in his class. This behaviour quickly got him the nickname 'Silent Siren'. He doesn't mind the nickname. It's better than freak, monster, and whatever other things he has been called. His classmates are not aware of his past/what he did before he got into this school and think he perform exclusively song magic because he likes it.

Personality or stuff like that

Azrael is a quick learner. He can easily learn one's mannerisms and look through their facades. He mastered song magic withing months(it normally takes years to master one magic) and created many new techniques for the magic types he previously used(no i will not elaborate). He never shares these techniques. No one should just take his hard work.

He seems to lack common emotions, although he just keeps them inside very well. Azrael has possessive and jealous tendencies. If something belongs to him, it's his and no one else is allowed to have it.

He's also very mean to strangers. That way they won't interact with him. Social contact typically drains his energy. Despite his violent 'hobbies', he's unnaturally calm most of the time. He won't snap that easily, it takes several annoying variables(or one Ellie) for him to do.

He would rather slit his neck with a rusty knife than admit he was wrong. Authorities had to stop him several times from doing so.

After his arrest he is extra careful and thinks everything through at least thrice. He can't allow himself to make any more mistakes.

MF laughed when he was arrested though. He didn’t accept his failure that easily and even without magic and restrained arms and hands managed to severely hurt some police officers.

He is openly pansexual. Open in a way where you notice a tiny sticker on his notebook. If you ask him about it, he'll nonchalantly tell you he's pan.

He technically can't feel physical pain. He feels the pressure and stuff like that, but the pain itself is just not there.

He takes joy in hurting other people and/or animals. If none of these are available at the moment, he takes the next best option; himself. He just likes blood. Scars litter his body because of that (and many other reasons).

Appearance

Azrael is a 1.93metres tall individual. He has pale skin and scars that range from small to big litter his whole body(as previously stated). It is unclear where he got them from, but it is speculated that he himself was the cause of most, be it accidental or not.

He previously had two extra sets of arms(so 6 arms in total), which were forcefully removed due to the fear that Azrael may cause harm with them. Yes, the process probably was painful and no, it was not necessary to do that. Sometimes he'll forget he doesn't have the extra pairs anymore and drop stuff because he is used to switching an item between hands. He dropped so much glass and porcelain, he'd rather not pick up stuff that breaks easily. The person who amputated his extras(Jesdare, a very famous healer) also cursed him so he can't grow them back. The amputation left some very nasty scars.

Azrael has long, dark blue hair. It reaches down to about his lower back. Don't talk about how it conveniently covers the ugly amputation scars.

He almost never smiles. If he smiles for no apparent reason, run, he's planning something and you're the victim. Azrael has small fangs, which, despite their size, can still hury very fucking much.

He has red-brown eyes that, with the help of his never smiling mouth, give him a resting bitch face. No one of his classmates ever saw him blink. They are convinced he doesn't have eyelids. This got disproven when one classmate pointed out that Azrael has closed his eyes on a few occasions. He can sleep without closing his eyes.

Everything he wears has to be government approved. He usually wears a dark grey button-up and black pants.

Friends and other Relations

His family was killed by someone. He already killed that asshole though, so it's fine. His family all had extra arms. He was very attached to his (older) sister and her death hit him the hardest. He was five when his family got murdered. (His sister was seven and his parents both were 27 years old)

Azrael's probably first friend is Gloria. The woman(also 19) started their friendship. After she found out he was a serial killer, she didn’t react so okey-dokey and stopped talking to him for weeks. They were friends again once Azrael beat up Gloria's bully. She is still cautious around him though.

Dani(17 years) was his second friend. At first, they pretended to be friends, to piss of Dani's father. Then a real friendshipᵀᴹ formed. Eventually they developed feeling for eachother. In public they don’t really make it clear they're in a relationship but in private they are very sweet.

Sally(18 years) and Azrael are pretty similar. They got friends rather quickly. The only difference between them is that Sally isn’t a sadistic psycho with a long history of violence. And she's a literal demon. Otherwise they're pretty similar. They like (playfully) making fun of Lou and Ellie.

He can't stand Ellie(17 years) She's just very annoying in his opinion. Everytime she opens that stupid mouth of hers, Azrael wants to break her jaw off, so he doesn't have to hear her annoying voice. He mostly avoids the 17 year old which is hard when he wants to talk to Dani, because the two always seem to be together. Azrael is very good at keeping his act though, but he might have to unwind in his dorm after longer interactions. Unwinding can include punching his punching bag until is hands bleed, going to sleep or cuddling with Dani.

He actually doesn't mind Lou. If Azrael (playfully) bullies him, it's either because he 100% deserves it, or just 'cause. If they manage to get along though, they will cause chaos and be chaotic little shits. If Azrael's already in a bad mood, Lou's just as annoying as Ellie though.

slight nsfw/suggestive stuff coming up, skip if you're uncomfortable with that

He's not a virgin and personally made sure Dani isn’t one either. He likes tying down his partner during, well uh. intimate. moments. Maybe a bit of knife play, if the other's into it. Seeing his partner tied down, completely messed up, small tears pricking their eyes and maybe some dried tears on their red cheeks always gets him. That stuff is so fucking hot to him. He usually isn't very cuddly and stuff, but he give good hugs and kisses, etc. As previously stated, he can get extremely jealous though.

[morfanerina]

Spirit Games

Chapter 2/?

AO3

Prev - Next

The setup was reasonably creepy for the purpose. Leo had found some candles and matches while Donnie and Raph arranged the space so all the turtles could be seated in the middle of the room with the board in the center. Mikey had some crayons and found some paper sheets mostly blank. They had considered using the tablet but Donnie had feared them breaking the one piece of technology their dad got them to help their studies. Not when he doesn’t have materials to fix it yet.

The way out was cleared of everything in case they needed to escape (Raph’s demand) and a couple of spoons (Mikey’s suggestion “as spoons are silverware and silver is bad against monsters so it can protect us!”) were in between Raph and Leo.

Leo took charge. “Donnie will be the one writing the stuff, I’ll ask the questions and-"

Mikey interrupted “No fair, I wanna ask the questions!”

“Nope, I called it first!” Leo stuck his tongue out.

“The rules only suggest one ‘medium’ at a time, Leo isn’t the only one able to make the questions,” Donnie stated. The softshell was squinting, adjusting his glasses and then trying to find the best place to put the candle so he could see what he was writing and the board.

Seeing the incoming bickering Raph piped up “Leo can start and then later you can ask your questions, ‘k Mikey?” seeing his brothers frown at each other he feared they would complain but instead they nodded at the suggestion. The snapper then added nervously. “Are you sure we should be doing this guys?”

“Raph, big bro, even if ghosts did exist, Dad gave us the game,” Leo pointed out, looking annoyed. “You think Dad is going to give us something dangerous?” There was a beat of silence as the four turtles remembered the weapons fiasco that resulted in Splinter confiscating said weapons for a day. And then returning them to their place, easily accessible to mischievous hands.

None decided to point that out.

“I’m convinced, the faster we start the faster I can return to my reading,” Donnie sat down on a pillow, the rest following the example.

Leo and Mikey immediately put a finger each on the planchette and looked expectantly at Raph.

“... fine.” the snapper reluctantly put the tip of one finger, not really wanting to touch it more than necessary.

Clearing his throat, the slider awkwardly started. “Is anyone there?”

Nothing happened. Leo looked at Donnie, who shrugged. “This says to turn clockwise to ‘start it up’ then to try again.”

They glided the planchette clockwise, asked the question again and waited a couple of minutes.

“Well this is expectedly disappointing,” the softshell drawled but before he could put the paper down, the planchette quickly slid to ‘yes’. The three turtles at the board looked surprised.

“Huh. Er. Hi,” Leo greeted, unsure how to continue. He wasn’t expecting any of his brothers to actually force it to move. Mikey was almost vibrating in place with excitement while Raph paled. “So. What’s your name?”

The planchette moved to the center and then slowly spelled out the name Andy. Leo glanced at Donnie in confusion and continued asking questions, from the supposed spirit’s age to silly questions. Mikey occasionally piped up with questions about some hobbies or events. Eventually, the planchette went to goodbye.

“That was. An experience.” Donnie said, wondering who of the three had created a ‘ghost’. By Leo’s face, the whole thing was unexpected and he was the most skeptic after himself. Raph had panicked and struggled to not throw the wooden piece away the whole time so probably not him. Mikey then. “Well, I think it’s time to finish,”

“No!” Mikey shouted, eyes practically sparkling. “I wanna speak again. Maybe it will be a super old, wise one next! Or Lou Jitsu himself!”

“There’s some time left until bedtime,” Leo threw in, though he was mostly curious to see why the planchette moved this time and if he could catch it.

“... Very well,” Donnie acquiesced, curious for the same reason.

Raph seemed uncomfortable “Raph thinks Raph will stay out this time guys. Raph will just. Stay here. Not touching.” He shivered. The whole time he had the creeps even if he had partially relaxed partway, it was still a ghost talking! A dead person! How were his brothers fine with this?

Mikey and Leo settled down again.

“Is anyone there?” the planchette went immediately to ‘yes’ “What’s your name?”

They waited. Leo shivered as a cold feeling made his way down his shell, a heavy feeling curling in his chest. Raph shifted, looking to the side with an anxious look “Does it look darker to you guys?...” he whispered.

The planchette moved but didn’t stop anywhere.

“Guys? What’s happening?” Mikey’s voice trembled, a pit on his stomach as the wooden piece moved in an infinity symbol pattern.

Leo looked stunned and was silent so Donnie said “You are probably moving the planchette around. Just take your hand off.”

“Didn’t the rules say to never take the hands off without saying goodbye?” Raph asked, eyeing the closest candle as it flickered.

“Scoff, as if that would make a difference,” Donnie grabbed Mikey’s arm, stilling him and taking off his hand from the wooden piece. The box turtle gave a surprised whine as the pattern didn’t even falter and Leo looked at them in shocked horror. 

“Right. Right. Goodbye!” Leo said, and he was going to move the wooden piece to the right place when Raph startled as the candle’s flame flickered and tried to grab at the silverware, accidentally pushing the slider to his side and making him let go.

The candles went out.

“DADDY!” Mikey shrieked. In seconds the rat mutant appeared and turned on the lights to see Mikey clinging to Donnie, Leo sprawled on his side and Raph looking terrified and clutching a spoon for dear life.

“What is going on here?” he asked. He took a step inside and blinked as he stepped on a wooden piece. He picked up the planchette and squinted at his sons as they recovered from their scare. The youngest turtle started bawling and crying out for him though so answers would have to wait until he calmed him. And also calmed the oldest that looked seconds away from passing out.

Donnie eventually explained and after ordering everyone but Leo to get ready for bed he sat down next to his unusually silent middle child. “This prank went too far Blue.” 

The turtle rubbed his plastron, still feeling the heaviness on his chest. “... I didn’t do it…”

“You were the last one touching this thing.” Splinter waved the wooden item.

“But I didn’t…”

“I will have to ground you for this. You scared your brothers too much this time.” The rat looked at the board. “I should get rid of this too.” He turned his attention back to his son and stopped what he was going to say when he saw the confusion and fear on his face.

“It wasn’t me…” the turtle mumbled “I wasn’t. I thought it was Mikey .”

“Blue…”

“It wasn’t me.”

Splinter studied the turtle in front of him, trying to understand why he was being so insistent. The slider had a knack to talk his way around punishments but this wasn’t his usual spiel.

“You are forbidden to read your comics for the next 8 days.”

The rat’s certainty in his punishment faltered at the lack of any complaints from his son, who only hid his face between his knees.

“... Go get ready to bed Blue,” he ordered and helped Leo stand up. 

His son quickly got out of the room and Splinter followed silently as he went right to his room, probably to pout about getting caught in his little prank. He would have to explain the prankster’s punishment tomorrow to his brothers.

Before that though, he had to prepare himself to receive two scared turtle tots on his chair for the night.

[lanceinwonderland]

Stylized top surgery scars irritate me to no end - like surely everyone can see this doesn't actually help anyone, other than transphobes that believe they have a god given right to "always tell"? Who are you actually helping by teaching more cis people how to clock trans people? We should teach cis people why some people need to transition to live happy lives, not the details of what medical procedures we may choose to go through.

There really are two different kinds of "visibility". One is making people know this particular group of people exist and how to deal with it if someone tells you they belong to this minority. One is "how to identify all members of this group of people in daily life". The former is necessary for eventual acceptance but the latter is harmful. Like, I think the HIV/AIDS awareness campaign is a better example. People of course need to be aware of what is risky and what is completely safe, and know that our HIV treatment is fairly decent right now so it's not a death sentence even if you're unfortunately infected. But there's no campaign running around telling everyone how the meds HIV+ people usually take look like, or if someone adheres to their meds schedule extremely tightly they might be HIV+. That would be an extremely fucked up thing to do. Yet people are doing this to us all day every day.

And those "arts" are always so exaggerated. Almost like a caricature really. As if everyone who had DI has scars like two red pythons on their chest. That's not even to mention many people had keyhole or peri. Now even cis guys who had gynecomastia surgery and unfortunately didn't have their scars fade completely are regularly harassed if they ever show their bare chest, because people believe they must be trans.

I still have the fear of being clocked in super progressive places like Toronto. I've not lived there long term but visit frequently, probably every one or two months. So far it hasn't happened. I've played such hypothetical scenarios many times in my head, as in how to react if someone says something that implies they know I'm trans. I usually land on just acting very confused and slightly offended, like "what? But I'm a guy". I feel that reacting too strongly would either make them more certain in their correctness, or they would assume I'm transphobic, which I'd like to avoid. But just shrugging may also seem like an acknowledgement. Ughhh. I just wish people could stop doing this to each other. My gf stayed stealth in Montreal for 3 years so we joke around saying that must mean she's conventionally feminine enough to stay stealth almost anywhere in the world.

Another thing is whenever 99% of cis people and even a huge number of trans people hear "a trans man", they automatically think "a man with a vagina" (vice versa for trans women). As if somehow, trans people post bottom surgery are less trans than those pre bottom surgery. As if none of us has bottom dysphoria so severe that they don't wish to use their natal genitals for sex. The thought grosses me out yet I know it's true. Not gonna lie, a huge part of not wanting people to know is because I don't want them to think I don't have a dick or like think about my genitals at all. 

So many people do superficial performative things like replacing male/female or men/women with AMAB/AFAB, which literally benefits no one. I would even argue it's more transphobic than the traditional "genital shape = sex = gender" view, as it implies it's something magical that once assigned at birth, can never, ever be changed under any circumstances. A walk-in clinic my gf used to go to replaced all their "sex" fields with "sex at birth", and they even put it on your medical notes, the ones that you may need to show your employer to take medical leave. How does that help anyone exactly? She was so annoyed that she eventually left when she managed to find another doctor. I wouldn't completely disregard the possibility that it was indeed designed to out trans people, since many cis people feel they're entitled to "always know". I haven't encountered this personally but she also had companies collecting demographic data of both "sex" and "gender" in job applications. What the hell? I just put male and never out myself whatever terminology they use.

TLDR: Most people don't actually want to learn out of deeply ingrained transphobic ideas, because that would require them to reflect and maybe uproot their entire worldview.

[ro-is-struggling]

Undercover || Bucky Barnes x Plus size!Reader

Part III: The Aftermath

Summary: Your first mission with the Avengers proves to be more difficult than you expected when you discover you have to go undercover with none other than Bucky Barnes. Spending so much time together posing as an engaged couple leads to the development of feelings that you fear will change your relationship forever.

Warnigs: fluff, mentions of the reader being insecure about her body, probably overuse of pet names (doll), SMUT MINORS DNI, praise kink, body worship, dirty talk, slight size kink, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, aftercare. It's almost all smut with a sprinkle of feelings

English is not my first language

Word count: 8600+

Notes: this is my first time writing full smut so please be kind!! I don't usually write this kind of stuff, but I tried really hard on this one so I hope you guys like it!! it was supposed to be much more fluffy but I got carried away, so sorry for all the filthy things you are about to read

Tagging: @caritobbg @cassie-buckysbaby @lejuveinlegroove @lucylaufeyson3 @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @midnights-ramblings @that-girl-named-alex thank you all so much for your support!!

Part I Part II

When you finally arrived at the avengers' compound the sun was beginning to rise. You were tired and sore, and all you wanted to do was lie down in your big, soft bed and sleep for a week. But before you could rest you had to go to the trouble of removing all the makeup, hair clips and intricate attire you were wearing. All the relief you felt at finally being home disappeared, replaced by a wave of overwhelming discomfort.

"Are you okay there, doll?" Bucky asked after hearing you let out a grunt.

"Yeah, I just realized that I have to take all this shit off and it's really annoying," you explained, pointing to your outfit.

"C'mon, I'll help you."

You thought of turning him down, telling him that it wasn't necessary. And it really wasn't, maybe you would need some help with the zipper on the dress, but the rest you could do on your own. It was just annoying. The best thing you could do at that moment was to find an excuse not to be alone with him. You hadn't spoken much since the party, exchanging just a couple of words on the way back, and you were sure the situation would be awkward. How could it not when just a few hours earlier you were kissing passionately, letting your hands explore each other's bodies? You had crossed a line and you didn't know if you could go back to normal after that. You didn't know if you would be able to see him as a simple friend, a co-worker, when all you wanted was to feel his lips on yours again.

And yet, when you looked at Bucky's face, you saw the kind smile he was giving you and you weren't able to say no. Even though you knew it would be best to walk away, the truth was that you couldn't. You wanted to be close to him, to feel his touch, even if it was for the last time. You weren't ready to give up the illusion you had created for the mission. You still wanted to hug him and lie next to him, you wanted to pretend you were more than just friends. So you accepted his proposal, leading him to your room while the voice of reason in your head urged you to stop. 

The first thing you did when you entered your room was collapse on the bed. Your body bounced on the mattress from the force of the impact as you closed your eyes, relaxing into the sheets. You lay there for a few seconds, listening as Bucky moved around the room without having the energy to open your eyes and see what he was doing.

"C'mon doll, sit up for me please. You can't go to bed like this." The use of the pet name forced you to open your eyes, feeling the familiar tingle inside you once again. As you sat up in bed you discovered that Bucky had taken your facial cleansing products from the bathroom and was waiting for you to tell him what to use first.

You had never let anyone else take care of you like that. You had two hands and were perfectly capable of cleaning your own face, but you had to admit that it was a lot more relaxing when someone else did it. You just sat up straight and tilted your head up, letting Bucky gently massage your face until there was no trace of makeup left. You kept your eyes closed most of the time under the excuse that you didn't want any product to get in your eyes. And it was true, for the most part. But you also did it to avoid making eye contact with him.

You could feel his eyes on you, closely admiring every inch of your face. All the marks and imperfections you hated were clear as day under his watchful gaze. If you weren't so tired—or so desperate to feel his touch—, you wouldn't have let him get so close to you. Normally the idea of being in such an intimate situation with someone terrified you, but Bucky was different. You still felt a little nervous, but it was nothing compared to the security and calm you felt next to him. You wondered if he was able to notice the effect he had on you, if there was something special he did to make you feel that way or if it was his simple essence that captivated you.

"All done!" He exclaimed softly, moving his hands away from your face. You couldn't contain the whimper of protest that escaped your throat, and when you opened your eyes you were met with Bucky's smile. There was a warmth in his gaze that made your heart race. You noticed a special sparkle in his blue eyes, but before you could examine them closely he turned away from you to put away the products he had used in the bathroom again.

You took advantage of his absence to start fixing your hair, removing the clips and brushing it with the brush you had on the bedside table. When Bucky emerged from the bathroom you had already finished with your hair and were struggling with the intricate lacing of your shoes, trying to free your feet from the torture device that imprisoned them. He walked towards you and without a word knelt down in front of you. The air caught in your throat as you felt his hands on your leg, caressing your calf until they reached the laces of your shoes. Bucky rested your foot on his thigh and very carefully took it upon himself to free your foot from its confinement. The contrast of the warmth of his flesh hand against the coldness of his metal one gave you shivers, but you couldn't pull away from his touch. 

You followed his movements with your eyes, your gaze locked on his hands. He had rolled up his shirt sleeves, the metal of his arm shining in the warm light of your room. As you focused your attention on his right arm you noticed the veins marking on his skin, creating a path that disappeared under his shirt. You felt the urge to reach out and touch him, to trace your fingers all along his arm and not stop until you reached the back of his head, take his hair in your hands and pull him towards you to join your lips once more. There was something so sensual, so erotic, about the position you were in that made it impossible to contain your inappropriate thoughts. Having Bucky kneeling in front of you while his hands caressed your legs was getting to you and you didn't know how much longer you could take it.

"About what happened last night," his husky voice broke the silence, snapping you out of your thoughts. You turned your gaze away from his hands to focus on his face, dreading the conversation that would follow.

"It was for the mission, I know. And it worked great so it's okay. Things don't have to be weird between us, you can forget about it." You spoke quickly in an attempt to avoid the awkward conversation you had to have.

You said those things because you believed it was the right thing to say, the safe option. Of course for you it hadn't been just a mission. There was nothing you wanted more than to feel Bucky's lips against yours again. You wanted to sleep every night next to him and wake up every morning with your bodies entwined, limbs tangled between the sheets. But you couldn't tell him that because there was no way someone like Bucky would reciprocate your feelings. You had fooled yourself into thinking that something between you could ever happen. It was stupid and naive, a farce created by your mind blinded by the happiness his closeness brought you. But now that you were home you realized that confessing the truth to him would only bring you trouble.

Bucky remained silent as he worked on your other shoe. His fingers showed your right leg the same tenderness and affection as they did your left one, taking his time to caress your skin before unlacing your shoe. It was as if he didn't want to move away from you. And he didn't. He had become addicted to you, to the feel of your soft skin under his fingers, to the taste of your lips and the warmth of your body against his. The mission was over, but he wasn't ready to let you go. He didn't want to let you go.

"What if I don't want to forget about it?" Bucky finally said, his hands never stopping his caresses on your leg even though he had already removed your shoe. He lifted his head to look at you, locking his blue eyes on yours, studying your reaction.

"What?" You mumbled in surprise. You were pretty sure you had imagined him saying that. Your mind overwhelmed by his touch and your feelings for him had put words in his mouth that he hadn't said, making you hear exactly what you wanted to hear. 

But then Bucky spoke again, confirming that you weren't hallucinating. "I don't want to forget about it, doll. I want you." Bucky continued to caress your legs, his hands disappearing under your dress as he went higher and higher. The touch of his fingers awakened fire on your skin. Your heart pounded against your chest and your breathing quickened as you felt his fingertips brush against your thighs.

"Bucky…" you moaned his name as you felt him pressing a kiss on your knee. You closed your eyes for a moment, melting under his touch. You wanted to say something more, but your brain had stopped working. All you could do was react to Bucky's gentle touch, squirming under his hand as you made soft sounds of approval.

However, there was one thought running around in your head, one that you couldn't shake off even with Bucky's intoxicating caresses on your body. "Why me?" you uttered as you found your voice, opening your eyes to look at the man kneeling in front of you.

You didn't mean to ruin the moment. Hearing Bucky admit he wanted you was a dream come true, but you couldn't help thinking it didn't make any sense. You didn't understand how someone like him could find you attractive. You'd had bad experiences in the past with relationships, too many people who made you believe you weren't pretty or sexy enough to attract anyone's attention. So why was Bucky Barnes interested in you?

"What?" he looked at you with furrowed brows, his head tilted slightly to the side as he analyzed your face.

"Why do you like me?"

It took Bucky a few seconds to respond, not because he didn't know the answer, but because he couldn't believe you were asking him that. Couldn't you see how wonderful you were?

"Why wouldn't I like you?" You looked down, unable to maintain eye contact with Bucky. You regretted asking him that because now you had no way to escape the uncomfortable reality of having to explain your insecurities to him. You remained silent, waiting for the situation to resolve itself without you having to be so vulnerable in front of him.

"Answer me, Y/N." Bucky didn't want to sound confrontational or pressure you to talk, but he really wanted to know what was going on in your head. He wanted to help you realize how wonderful you were and he couldn't do that without understanding how deep your insecurities ran.

"Because I'm not Natasha!" You finally said, looking up to face him. "I'm not pretty like that. Guys don't look at me twice when I walk into the room or fight to get my number… especially not guys that look like you!" You felt tears stinging your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to cry over this. You were no longer fifteen years old and you were done crying over insecurities about your body.

"Then those guys are idiots because you're the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes on."

"You're just saying that," you muttered, lowering your gaze. You found his words hard to believe, but that didn't stop your heart from racing. A rush of warmth ran through your body, a mixture of embarrassment and love filling your insides.

Bucky's flesh hand traveled to your cheek, cupping your face tenderly as he tilted it to force you to look at him. "I'm serious, Y/N. You're beautiful." He spoke in a firm, but gentle tone. Looking into his eyes you could read in them that he wasn't lying. So why was it so hard for you to believe him? "I want to show you just how beautiful you are. Would you let me do that, doll?"

It took you a few seconds to decide on your answer. The voices of your insecurities were loud in your head, but so were your feelings for Bucky. You had spent all this time silently desiring him, longing for him to turn to look at you. And now that he was confessing his love to you, you hesitated. It was stupid. You were living your dream and instead of enjoying it you were letting your fears win. You couldn't let that happen. Bucky wanted you and you wanted him, there was no need to complicate things. 

After a few seconds of silence, you nodded slightly.

"I need you to use your words." Bucky said in a low whisper. You bit your lip, catching the flesh between your teeth and lightly biting the skin in a gesture of nervous anticipation.

"Yes, Bucky. I want you to show me."

As soon as those words left your mouth, Bucky's lips crashed against yours. Only this time your lips intertwined in a slower, more sensual kiss. He wanted to take his time with you, worship your body as if it were his religion and show you how you should be loved—how you deserved to be loved. He left you breathless, completely at his mercy. 

You missed his lips when he pulled away from you, but you took the moment to take a deep breath in an attempt to calm your racing heart. Bucky rose from the floor, his figure towering over you imposingly. You took a second to admire him in all his beauty, a part of you still in disbelief at what was happening. When he offered you his hands you took them without a second thought, rising from the bed with him. You felt even smaller next to him now that you didn't have your heels to conceal the height difference.

"Do you trust me?" Bucky whispered against your lips in a deliciously husky voice.

"You know I do." You answered him. The two of you shared a look that felt more intimate and personal than anything you had ever done before. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as Bucky leaned in for a short kiss before spinning you around.

You felt a little less nervous not being able to see his intense gaze, though you could still feel it digging into the back of your neck. Bucky's hands caressed your arms, his fingers delicately brushing over the exposed skin in an upward path until they reached your shoulders. Your insides buzzed with anticipation and a hint of nerves as you felt his hands reach for the zipper of your dress. He was torturing you, moving extremely slow to watch you squirm under his touch. He was enjoying it, you could tell by the way his breathing quickened a little more with every inch of skin he uncovered. Bucky was determined to take his time with you and you still couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

When the dress finally fell to your feet you couldn't help but tense up. You felt vulnerable standing there wearing only a set of lacy underwear. You were completely exposed under Bucky's gaze, all your insecurities clear as day despite the dim light in the room. You had the sudden urge to run away from there, embarrassment taking control of your mind for a moment. But then you felt Bucky's lips on your right shoulder and everything felt right again. You relaxed under his touch, letting the warmth of his body comfort you as you enjoyed the trail of kisses he left on your back. 

Bucky brushed his lips over all the little marks he noticed your tight attire had left on your skin, showering you with his love. When he felt satisfied he turned you around so he could look at you from the front and his breath caught in his throat because he couldn't believe he had such a beautiful woman in front of him, giving herself to him in body and soul. 

Your eyes stayed glued to the floor, too embarrassed to look up. All you could think about were your stretch marks and the strange shape of your stomach. Your breasts weren't perfect either, and you didn't even want to think about your thighs. You were terrified to look up and see disgust in Bucky's eyes, the same disgust you saw in your own eyes when you looked in the mirror on a bad day. Out of instinct, you tried to cover your body with your hands, but he caught them halfway.

"No no, you don't need to hide from me, doll." Bucky took your hands in his and brought them to his lips, placing delicate kisses on the back of them. Your eyes followed his every move, pausing momentarily over his mouth before traveling up to his eyes. In them you saw nothing but pure desire, his pupils blown wide and the blue of his iris a couple of shades darker than normal. 

Bucky wanted you.

It was not a product of your imagination or a lucid dream. No, Bucky was really standing in front of you, looking at you as if you were an oasis in the middle of the desert. His eyes admired your body as if you were Aphrodite herself and that made a wave of confidence wash over you.

"You're beautiful," he whispered against your lips and this time it was you who closed the distance between the two of you.

It was a much more desperate kiss than the previous ones, all teeth and tongues as your hands struggled to unbutton Bucky's shirt. You loved his gentle touches and sweet words. You loved that he was willing to take things slow for you to make you feel comfortable and loved, but you were starting to get impatient. You wanted to feel his body against yours, to have him physically prove that his words were real. And Bucky didn't disappoint, his hands caressing every inch of exposed skin they could find while his tongue invaded your mouth, making you moan. 

When you pulled away for air, he took the opportunity to remove his shirt—which had been left open, hanging over his shoulders—, before carefully pushing you down onto the bed. Your body bounced slightly against the mattress at the impact, your eyes never leaving Bucky's as he unbuttoned his pants. He looked so intimidating standing at the foot of the bed with his hands working on his belt. His figure towered over you making you feel incredibly small. But you loved that, you always had.

Your center tightened around nothing as you watched him crawl up to you, eyeing you up like an animal to its prey. Wetness began to slide down your thighs as you felt his hands spread your legs to accommodate his body between them, his covered erection digging against your pelvis in a promise of what awaited you in the future. 

There was nothing sweet or gentle about the way Bucky kissed you, his tongue exploring your mouth with desperation. He caught your lower lip between his teeth, nibbling seductively on the sensitive skin until he made you whimper. Then he moved his wet kisses down your neck, exploring your sensitive spots. He was observant of your reactions, noticing the sighs of approval that escaped your mouth and the way you squirmed under his touch. He took his time with your neck, kissing and biting it until he irritated the skin, marking you as his own. Only when he was happy with his art did he decide to continue his assault down your body, moving his lips along your collarbone until he reached the base of your bra. He cupped your breast with his cool metal hand, the difference in temperature sending a wave of electricity through your body causing you to arch your back into his touch. The thin lace fabric that adorned your form did little to protect you from the coolness of his fingers, but you weren't complaining. You loved the way the contrast felt against your hot skin. You closed your eyes for a moment, enjoying the way his fingers played with your nipple through your underwear, but opened them again when you stopped feeling his lips against your skin.

Looking down, your eyes were met with the most erotic scene you had ever witnessed in your life. Bucky's head rested between your breasts as he stared up at you with hunger in his eyes. His lips, red and swollen after the assault on your body, were parted, letting out shallow breaths. You held back from rolling your eyes, a moan of pleasure dying in your throat as you felt your clit throb with need. Bucky planted a delicate kiss over the valley of your breasts, his eyes never leaving yours. There was something softer in his gaze, passion and desire still prominent in his dark, dilated pupils, yet combined with something else.

He was asking for your permission, giving you the opportunity to decide if you wanted to continue with what you were doing. Bucky was doing this for you—well, for the most part. He was also doing it for him, because you were the only woman in his mind since the day he first saw you, and because he couldn't stop thinking about the warmth of your body against his. But more importantly he was doing it for you, because he couldn't believe that you didn't see the beauty he noticed in you when you looked in the mirror. Because he couldn't let another day go by without showing you how fucking hot you really were. You were a goddess among simple mortals and you needed to be treated as such.

“Please…” the plea fell from your lips in a desperate tone, your voice a sensual melody that went straight to Bucky's cock. You arched your back off the bed, presenting your body to him. That subtle invitation was all it took for Bucky to slide his hands up your back, unclasping your bra with surprising agility.

He took a moment to admire you, completely mesmerized by the beauty of your naked body, before leaning down and taking one of your nipples in his mouth. His lips closed over your sensitive skin, alternating between sucking and nibbling carefully on your hardened nipple as his fingers showed love to the other.

“Fuck, Bucky-” you moaned as your breath hitched. Your hand flew to his head, your fingers closing over the long locks of dark hair as you pulled him even closer to you.

“That’s it, baby… so good for me, so sensitive…” Bucky mumbled against your skin, moving so he could use his mouth on your other nipple. “I want to hear your pretty voice. I want to hear how good you're feeling… how good I’m making you feel.” There was a possessiveness in his voice that made your insides flutter with arousal.

“So good, Bucky,” you uttered between breathy moans, surprised by how needy your voice sounded. He had barely touched you and you were almost ready to cry and beg him to keep going if he asked you to. No man had ever made you feel that way in the past. Of course half of them hadn't even tried to satisfy you the way Bucky did, but it was still impressive.

It wasn't just the sexual aspect that had you so turned on. Sure, his lips worked wonders on your body and he somehow knew what buttons to push to get you to squirm under his body, but there was so much more to it than just that. Bucky looked at you with adoration, caressing your skin as if you were a goddess and he your faithful worshiper. He made you feel special, beautiful and sexy in ways you didn't know were possible. 

However, when Bucky's trail of wet kisses reached your belly area, you couldn't help but tense up. It was an unconscious reaction, learned by the muscles in your body after years of insecurities. He noticed. Of course he noticed! He was an expert at listening to your body. So in response, he changed the intensity of his touches on your skin. His lips placed delicate kisses over your belly in a disorganized pattern. It took you a few seconds to understand that he was showing love to every stretch mark, every scar or line on your skin that you hated.

“Such a perfect little thing” Bucky whispered against your skin. “All mine.”

The possessiveness in his words made your heart race, a warm feeling flooding your insides. You were his. He wanted you to be his and he was telling you so.

“All yours… only yours” you told him, stroking his hair gently. The tenderness of your touch contrasted with the growl of approval that escaped Bucky's lips, vibrating against your hip as he sucked and nibbled at the sensitive skin. That sent a fresh wave of arousal between your legs, the wetness dampening the thin lace fabric covering your pussy. You wanted to rub your thighs together to relieve some of the pressure that was building up inside you, but Bucky's body resting comfortably between your legs prevented you from doing so.

You were starting to get impatient, the overwhelming adoration Bucky was showing your body was almost too much. You needed something more. Your clit throbbed between your legs, your core clenching around nothing, desperate for attention. And just when you thought Bucky was going to take pity on you, his lips getting closer and closer to the place where you needed them most, he moved at the last second, continuing his kissing path down your thigh.

“Bucky, please” you whimpered as you felt him assaulting your right thigh. His teeth scraped your sensitive skin, biting down hard enough to make you gasp, not in pain but in pleasure.

“What is it, doll?” His voice was low, his lips brushing your skin as he spoke. “What do you need?”

“I need you” you managed to say despite the fog of pleasure that clouded your mind.

“Where do you need me? Here?” Bucky placed a kiss on your covered sex and the delicate touch was enough to make you let out a desperate moan. He was teasing you. He enjoyed having you twitching under his touch, lost in pleasure without even touching you where you needed it most.

"Mmhmm" you babbled incoherently, feeling Bucky's tongue trace a line over your underwear, going from your entrance to your clit. You closed your eyes, allowing your head to fall back on the bed as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten. You thought that was it, that he was finally going to give you the relief you craved, but then he pulled away from you.

"Not yet, baby. I haven't finished worshiping this beautiful body of yours." Bucky said, moving his lips over your right thigh to continue his attack. "First I need to show you how you deserve to be treated, how you deserve to be loved. Only then can I show you how you should be fucked."

You were ready to cry from desperation, but you'd be lying if you said that waiting didn't make everything more exciting. His words went straight to your core, awakening a new rush of heat inside you. And even though your brain was fried, you were able to pick up on the slight sweet tone in his voice. Your heart began to beat rapidly at the implied confession of love.

Bucky was determined to show you that there wasn't a single inch of skin on your body that he didn't adore, and he wasn't going to stop until he accomplished his task. He didn't care that his achingly hard cock was twitching inside his boxers, desperate for attention. He was proving a point, and he wouldn't stop until he did. So he continued his assault on your body, his lips kissing every inch of skin within his reach. He moved down your leg, paying special attention to your thigh before continuing his way down. When he reached your ankle, he began to move up again, enjoying the soft moans that escaped your lips. 

After what felt like an eternity, Bucky showed you mercy, hooking his fingers into the elastic of your underwear to slide it down your legs. You tried to pull your knees together, suddenly feeling exposed under his hungry gaze. But before you could do so, he stopped you, his metal hand closing over your leg to hold it in place.

"Such a pretty little cunt, all wet and ready for me." he said, his deep voice heavy with lust. His words awakened a tingle in the pit of your stomach and you knew that if he didn't touch you soon you would end up exploding.

Luckily, Bucky wasted no time, settling between your legs again. His warm breath crashed against your pussy, sending a shiver down your spine. You let out a surprised gasp as you felt him move your body closer to his face, sliding you across the bed as if you weighed nothing. He positioned your legs over his shoulders, your thighs resting comfortably on either side of his head. Then Bucky deposited a couple more kisses on your skin, moving closer and closer to your center.

"I want to feel these pretty thighs of yours squeezing my head, you hear me? So don't hold back."

You barely had time to process his words before you felt his tongue making contact with your center. He licked a long line from your entrance to your clit, his lips closing over your bundle of nerves to show it the attention it so desperately needed. Your body arched toward him, waves of heat coursing through you as you cried out in pleasure. Your hand buried itself in his hair, holding his head in place in a silent way of asking him not to stop.

And he didn't. Bucky showed you no mercy, his lips attacking your pussy with desperation. He was eating you out like a starving man, sucking your juices as if they were an oasis in the middle of the desert. Your body began to convulse with pleasure and Bucky had to use his metal arm to pin you against the mattress and hold you in place. The pressure on your lower belly was adding a new sensation that sent new waves of pleasure throughout your body, the knot in your stomach tightening more with every stroke of his tongue.

"Oh fuck Bucky don't stop" you cried out in pleasure, pressing your thighs against his face involuntarily. Your body no longer responded to you, it responded to Bucky and his skillful mouth.

He let out a groan of pleasure that vibrated against your center and made you roll your eyes. "You like that, baby?" he spoke against your pussy in a teasing tone and you couldn't do more than nod. Then you felt him insert a finger into your entrance, sliding it with ease along your slick walls. It was much longer and wider than yours, reaching places you didn't even know existed. Your muscles contracted against his finger immediately, clamping it in place.

"Such a good girl, taking me so well," Bucky murmured before attaching his lips to your clit again. His finger explored your insides curiously and it didn't take him long to find your most sensitive spot. He made sure to stimulate it at the same time as his tongue attacked your clit, moving his finger in a 'come here' motion. Every little touch sent a new surge of electricity through your body. You felt like you were on fire, the tension building in your stomach getting closer to exploding.

"I can feel you squeezing around me. Are you close? Huh? Are you gonna come on my fingers, baby?"

"Yes, oh god, Bucky, yes… I'm so close, please don't stop!" You sounded pathetic, but you didn't care anymore. You were too lost in pleasure to care about your dignity. All you could think about was Bucky, his mouth, his fingers and the dirty words that escaped his lips, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Come for me, doll. C'mon, let go for me, I want to feel you." Bucky encouraged you, increasing the speed of his movements. His lips closed over your clit once more, sucking hard. The combination of sensations and his dirty words of encouragement pushed you over your limit, the knot in your stomach snapping as you let out a loud moan of pleasure. 

Fireworks exploded behind your eyes as Bucky licked up all your juices, prolonging your high. You heard him moaning in the distance, mumbling something about how sweet you tasted, but you weren't able to say or do anything. Your brain was too overwhelmed with pleasure to react, your body tensing before relaxing on the mattress as you struggled to catch your breath. That was the best orgasm you'd had in a long time. The pleasure had taken you by surprise, leaving you completely stupid.

Once you were able to focus on the world around you again, your eyes met Bucky's. He was looking down at you, lust and adoration glowing in his blue orbs.

"There you are," he whispered with a smile, his right hand gently caressing your cheek. "You look so beautiful like this, completely lost in pleasure." There was something so erotic and yet so tender in his voice that you couldn't help but smile. A warmth spread through your body, only this time it was not due to arousal but to the love his words awakened in you.

Bucky looked at you with such admiration in his eyes that you felt the urge to cover your face with your hands. Somehow the intimacy of the moment was more embarrassing to you than having his face pressed against your pussy. You were not used to being stared at in that way, to being treated with the affection and adoration that Bucky showed you. You didn't know how to react and your first instinct was to run and hide, but you knew he wouldn't let you. So you did the next best thing: you kissed him, closing your eyes to escape his intense gaze.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, your sweet essence impregnating his mouth as you kissed. His lips moved against yours in a sinful dance that ignited a new fire deep in your stomach. You moaned against his mouth as you let your hands explore his body, one clinging to his hair while the other caressed his back, dragging your nails against his skin.

It didn't take long for you to be squirming under his body again, your hips rubbing against his in a desperate attempt to relieve the throbbing pleasure between your legs. Your hand left his back, slowly moving down his marked torso until your fingers met the elastic of his underwear, the last article of clothing separating the two of you. You stroked his hard member through the fabric, applying the lightest pressure, and Bucky broke the kiss to let out a low growl, involuntarily rocking his hips against your hand. 

A rush of confidence washed through your body, feeling strangely powerful as you saw the state he was in. With just the simple touch of your hand you were able to turn the toughest, most imposing man you had ever met into a moaning mess. It was good to know that you had as much power over him as he had over you.

"Bucky, please, I need you inside me. I want you to show me how I'm supposed to be fucked, pleasee."

"Oh fuck," Bucky cursed, surprised by the confidence in your voice. He loved it. Loved seeing that side of you and loved knowing he'd managed to get it out of you. "You sound so pretty when you beg for my cock." He whispered against your lips, giving you a deep, sloppy kiss.

Bucky didn't waste another second, pulling away from you to remove the last article of clothing that separated you. You propped yourself up on your elbows so you could watch the moment his majestic member sprang free from its confinement. A prominent vein adorned the underside of his shaft and his red tip was leaking precum. He was big, bigger than you expected, and for a moment you wondered if it would fit.

But you didn't have time for worry, because Bucky quickly returned to his place between your legs. He knelt in front of you on the bed, his hand on his cock as he stroked it lazily, his eyes admiring your body. It was truly one of the hottest things you had ever seen in your life and the way he couldn't seem to take his eyes off you made you feel like the sexiest woman in the world. 

You wanted to touch him, to feel the weight of his cock in your hand as you made him feel good. You wanted to return the pleasure he had made you feel, but before you could do anything Bucky moved, adjusting his position between your legs. You could feel him at your entrance and had to resist the urge to move your hips to impale yourself on his cock, remembering that given his size it would be best to take things slow.

"You ready, doll?" His voice was soft and sweet, giving you one last chance to stop what you were doing.

"Yes, please," you begged in a desperate tone and that was all the confirmation Bucky needed to proceed. He pushed inside you slowly, feeling your warm, velvety walls close around his member. You both let out a moan as Bucky made his way inside you, your muscles stretching to accommodate him. When he bottomed out he stayed still, giving you time to get used to his size.

Feeling Bucky inside you was unlike anything you had ever felt in the past. He was longer and thicker than your previous sexual partners, creating a delicious burn every time he moved. But it wasn't just that, no. There was a connection between you, a spark that made everything feel different, a thousand times more intense than normal. Your skin was on fire, your core tightening around his member as you admired the expression of pleasure on his face. He was indeed the most beautiful man in the world and you still couldn't believe he had laid eyes on you.

"Move, please," you said when you felt ready and Bucky began to rock his hips against yours in a slow, torturous rhythm. He wanted to take his time with you, watch every little reaction of your body, admire every grimace of pleasure on your face. He wanted to memorize your body, learn your soft spots and use them to slowly bring you to the edge of pleasure. But then you started moaning his name, moving your hips to meet his thrusts, and he knew he wouldn't last as long as he'd like.

"God, you're so tight, f-fuck, so warm" Bucky grunted as he quickened the movement of his hips. "The perfect pussy for me, taking me so well." Your walls clenched around his member, the dirty words of praise fueling the fire inside you. You could feel the tension in your stomach building again and wondered how fast he would be able to take you to the edge this time.

"You like that, huh? You like to hear me say how good you are to me, don't you?" Bucky hovered over your body, holding himself up propped on his metal arm as he let his flesh hand caress your body. The new angle allowed him to reach deeper inside you, the tip of his cock touching your g-spot with every thrust. "You wanna be my good girl?"

"Yes! I- fuck, I want to be your good girl," you cried out in pleasure, not caring about the volume of your moans. Nothing mattered to you anymore, the world around you had ceased to exist. Your brain had stopped working. All you could do was feel. Feel Bucky's cock pounding inside you, stretching your walls and filling you like no one ever had before. Feel the effect of his dirty words, which did nothing but spread waves of pleasure throughout your body. Feel the touch of his fingers drawing slow circles over your bundle of nerves, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. "Oh f-fuck, Bucky, right there, please don't stop."

You closed your eyes letting yourself get lost in pleasure as you wrapped your legs around Bucky's waist, locking your ankles together to hold him in place. Your nails clawed at his back, desperate to hold on to something firm that would keep you grounded. You were getting close to the edge, the knot in your stomach tightening with every thrust of his hips, every growl he let out against the skin of your neck.

"God, you're gorgeous," Bucky murmured, slowing down his thrusts to stop himself from cumming too soon. His eyes studied your face, admiring the frown of pleasure in your expression with pride knowing he was the one making you feel so good. "I don't know how you don't see that. But it's okay, now I'm here to show you just how beautiful you are." He brought your lips together in a sloppy wet kiss, his tongue caressing yours with desperation as he began to increase the pace of his thrusts again.

"You feel me, baby? You feel my hard cock deep inside you? It's all for you. You're the only one who can turn me on like this, shit, the only one who can get me this hard."

"Bucky, please," you begged against his lips. You didn't even know what you were asking of him, your mind too overwhelmed with pleasure to filter the words coming out of your mouth.

"I know, baby, I know. You're close, I- fuck, I can feel you gripping me tight… I've got you, just let go."

It was too much, his words of encouragement, the rocking of his hips, his fingers on your clit. Pleasure coursed through your veins, carrying a tingling sensation throughout your entire body. You felt like you were on fire, floating through the flames of the deepest hell as Bucky pounded into you in a merciless rhythm, determined to make you explode. You closed your eyes, concentrating on the pleasure coursing through you, clinging to the super soldier's body for support. You were so close, you could feel the dam inside you beginning to break, all your muscles tensing in anticipation of the sweet relief.

"Look at me," Bucky demanded in a soft but firm voice and you opened your eyes immediately, your body reacting to him as if he owned you. "I want you to look at me when you cum, I want to see your pretty face screw up with pleasure. C'mon, cum for me baby."

“Bucky, I- fuck,” was all you could say to warn him of your impending orgasm, though you were pretty sure he could feel it. Your velvety walls tightened around his cock, burying it deep inside you as you let out the dirtiest, most desperate moan of the evening. 

Your orgasm hit you like a truck, wave after wave of pleasure traveling through your nervous system. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, maintaining eye contact with Bucky as your body contracted beneath him. He never stopped moving between your legs, his thrusts becoming progressively deeper and more erratic, prolonging your high. He was close, you could feel it in the way his cock twitched inside you, your hot walls clinging to him desperate to feel his relief.

"That's it, that's my good girl, cuming so hard on my cock, fuck,” Bucky growled in an animalistic manner, hiding his face in the hollow of your neck as he chased his own high. “You're gonna take my cum? Yeah?  You're gonna take my cum like the good girl you are?"

"Yes, fuck, yes! I want to feel you cum inside me. Mark me as yours, Bucky, please," you begged in a desperate tone, your voice hoarse after so much moaning.

“That’s it. Take it, take all of me, I’m yours, fuck, I’m all yours.” He let out a string of incoherent moans and with a final thrust, Bucky came inside you, painting your insides with his seed. The sensation of his hot cum filling you almost drove you to another orgasm, but your body and mind were too tired to react. He collapsed on top of you, both of you struggling to catch your breath. His cock kept twitching inside you as the weight of his body crushed you into the mattress, but you weren't complaining. There was something so intimate about it, especially after Bucky had declared himself yours. If you had any strength in your body, you would have used it to wrap your arms around him, drawing him incredibly close to you. 

You didn't want the moment to end, you didn't want to stop feeling his warmth enveloping you or his cock resting inside you, but you knew you couldn't stay like that forever. When Bucky pulled out you felt strangely empty, your walls tightening around nothing as his cum trickled down your thighs. The two of you lay side by side, the sound of your ragged breaths echoing in the room. At least until your curiosity won over your exhaustion.

“Did you mean it?” You broke the silence, turning your head to look at him. Your question hung in the air for a moment and you almost regretted asking it. You thought you had ruined the moment, but then Bucky turned, his deep blue eyes watching your face with the same admiration as always.

“Yes,” he stated, bringing the butterflies in your stomach to life. “I want to be yours, doll. And I want you to be mine… Did you really have to ask me that after everything we did?” He added with a chuckle. He couldn't believe you still had doubts after all the time he spent showing you how he felt about you. 

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, embarrassed. “Maybe you just wanted to get into my pants.”

“I want everything with you, why do you find that so hard to believe?" You remained silent, lowering your gaze as you tried to ignore the voice of insecurity in your mind that recited a list of reasons. You knew it was stupid, that it was mostly small things that only you noticed and marked as negative, but it still got to you.

"Hey, look at me," Bucky asked you in a soft tone, his flesh hand traveling to your cheek to force you to look at him. "I want to do this… I want to give us a chance, if you want it too, of course."

Of course you wanted it! It was the only thing you had wanted from the moment your eyes fell on his figure when Steve and Natasha introduced you to the rest of the team. You had spent all this time admiring him from a distance, dreaming of the day when you'd have the courage to ask him out. There was nothing you wanted more than to be with Bucky and you weren't going to let your insecurities get in the way of your happiness, not this time.

“I do, I really do,” you said, a smile creeping onto your tired face. Bucky closed the distance between you, sealing your vow with a kiss. His lips moved softly against yours, taking the time to savor the moment, expressing through that act everything he felt but could not put into words.

When you broke apart you let out a slight whimper, already missing his closeness. If you weren't so tired you would have kissed him again, but the muscles in your body barely responded so you settled for cuddling next to him. The warmth of his figure enveloped you as you rested your head on his chest. His heart beat softly under your ear and you let the sound relax you. Your eyelids began to feel heavy and you felt yourself dozing off. But then Bucky's body shifted beneath yours.

“Don’t go!” you begged when you felt him get out of bed.

“We need a shower. We can’t go to bed like this.” Bucky laughed, walking toward the bathroom. You let out a grunt of annoyance, hating the idea of having to move. You were tired and comfortable in bed so you didn't care that you had the sticky mixture of your orgasms sliding down your thighs. You wanted to rest, even though you knew Bucky was probably right.

“Five more minutes,” you muttered, burying your head in the pillow. You heard the muffled sound of running water on the other side of the bathroom door and assumed that Bucky had decided to shower first to give you a little more time to recover. But then you felt a presence sliding you across the bed and before you knew it, you were trapped in Bucky's strong arms, carrying you as if you weighed nothing.

You squealed for him to put you down, not being used to being carried that way. You hated sitting on someone's lap or letting them hold you up, it made you feel insecure. But Bucky didn't listen to your protests. He held you in his arms with the gentleness of someone holding a porcelain doll, moving you from one room to the next with care. If he was having trouble supporting your weight, he didn't let you know. Although you doubted it considering he was a super soldier. 

When he lowered you back on your feet you noticed he had prepared the bathtub, filling it with hot water and pouring in your favorite bath salts. Steam and a sweet scent enveloped you as Bucky helped you in, holding your hands to make sure you didn't slip. It wasn't long before you were settled together in the tub. You were sitting between Bucky's legs with your back against his chest. The warm water soothed your muscles as you felt his arms wrap around you lovingly. His hands rested on your belly, but this time you didn't feel the need to move them or hold your breath to appear thinner. Bucky loved you just the way you were. He had seen you completely exposed and vulnerable and he had stayed by your side. You didn't have to hide anymore, not from him.

[definitelynotafurinasimp]

How they act when they are jealous [part 2]

characters: Amber / Barbara / Eula / Fischl / Jean / Lisa / Mona x gn!reader (seperate)

warnings: none

1st part not necessary for the plot, it only shares the same concept

a/n: somewhat part of a request, but only the Eula part. I originally planned on writing for all of the female Mondstadt characters, but I ran out of creativity juice along the way, so I hope this should be enough.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Amber

Whenever Amber would feel herself swell up with the unpleasant feeling of jealousy, she would try finding ways to distract herself, often through challenging you or the person causing her envy to different competitions. If competing against you, it doubled as spending fun time with you, and while she wouldn’t make a scene out of competing against the other person, not wanting you or anyone to figure out her true motive, letting you and others instead think, that it was simply her competitive nature shining through, something that wasn’t entirely false. And while she would often find herself enjoying those times as well, partly seeing it as making new friends, she would lie if she said she didn’t feel especially proud when winning.

But there were times when you would figure out her feelings, sometimes before, other times after she had challenged anyone, after which the two of you would sit down together and talk things through. And while acknowledging such ugly feelings was embarrassing for Amber, it would never fail making feel her better.

Barbara

Barbara had a strict policy where she wouldn’t allow herself to feel sad for more than a specific amount of time per day. And while planning to pull through with something like that might be easy, actually doing so was much more difficult. But being the good actor that she was, the deaconess of the church of Favonius would make it almost impossible for anyone to notice when she was feeling jealous.

But no matter how much work she would put into covering and bottling up her feelings, you would find out about them each and every time. You wouldn’t be able to call yourself Barbara’s number one fan if you didn’t, even though there might have been another person disagreeing with you claiming that title for yourself. The most difficult thing about helping her deal with her negative feelings was making her stop denying their existence, and while others would do it for their pride’s sake, Barbara just feared you might see her, the usually so perfect seeming idol of Mondstadt, in a different light afterwards, no matter how often you would assure her otherwise. But once you’d make her acknowledge their existence, all that was left for you to do was to reassure her.

Eula

When Eula was jealous, it was something that not only you would quickly notice. While she’d normally keep a distance to you whenever the two of you were in public, her pride and upbringing keeping her from showing her affection in any way while in public, only an idiot wouldn’t notice how she would act much more possessive about you whenever being near the person causing her jealousy. It wasn’t anything serious, she didn’t have a problem with you hanging out with them, she knew after all that you wouldn’t sully your name by being known as her significant other, if you weren’t in love with her, but almost standing shoulder to shoulder with you was an effective way of making all but the densest people realise that you were a couple. And while simply stating so would be a much more direct way, Eula’s pride as an aristocrat didn’t make that possible.

You of course knew when the Lawrence was being jealous, it was hard not to after all, but there wasn’t much you could do about it, since she would vehemently deny it and get annoyed whenever you mentioned it, so everything you could do was to weather the storm and wait for her jealousy to die down eventually, something that would happen each and every time. But you’d lie if you said you didn’t enjoy her much more blunt way of showing affection the tiniest bit.

Fischl

Probably the worst person at keeping her feelings a secret. Just a look at her blushing face whenever you ask her about it was enough to confirm your suspicions, and as if that wasn’t enough, her talking bird-companion would spill the beans at some point. And while seeing her struggle with trying to remain in character, even though her behaviour was far from that of a princess and more akin to the flustered Amy you had gotten to know and grow attached to, was adorable to some extent, her stutter, coupled with her usual, unique way of speaking, made it even harder for you to understand her, forcing Oz to translate for her. And while you were happy to have him, since you wouldn’t be able to understand her otherwise, his remarks certainly didn’t help calm her down in the slightest.

Jean

Whenever Jean felt herself get jealous, the feeling swelling up in her next was always shame. She was the acting Grandmaster of the Knights of Favonius after all, people looked up to her and you’d been nothing but supportive and caring for the whole duration of your relationship, so feeling such feelings made her feel disappointed in herself. And while others might rightfully recognise that unpleasant feelings were as much a part of life as good ones, Jean’s conclusion made her dive headfirst into one pile of work after another, somehow making the impossible possible and overworking herself even more.

When she entered that stage, the only thing managing to get her out of it was an intervention from her friends and co-workers, forcing her to go back home and to you, causing her to shamefully admit her feelings to you, fully expecting you to be as disappointed in her as she was herself each and every time, only for your words to be surprisingly caring and comforting. And while she was still far from getting that she didn’t need to be “perfect” and the people of Mondstadt would accept her flaws as much as you would, she grew closer and closer to realising it with each time.

Lisa

Lisa, being the laid-back person that she was, wasn’t someone that felt jealous often. Why would she? It wasn’t like she had anything to worry about after all, since you, her little helper, were still as flustered by almost everything she did or said, your face turning red whenever she called you by a pet name, even though you ought to have grown accustomed to it at this point.

But Lisa was still human, so even she wasn’t completely resistant to the feeling of jealousy, and while she was a polite, although sometimes overly flirty person most times, witnessing her when she felt someone threatening to take you away from her wasn’t something anyone would want to. Sure, the words that would come out of her mouth were innocent enough, but the tone of her voice was a completely different story, and as if that wasn’t enough, the static aura around her managed to make your hair stand on end for more than just the obvious reasons. Only for her to immediately return to normal once she felt as if she made your relationship clear enough to the other person, inviting you to a cup of tea with the same relaxed smile she wore most of the time.

Mona

Don’t be silly. The Mona Megistus being jealous because of you? It was much likelier that all of the stars disappeared in an instance than that happening. Although there were times when she seemed remarkably close to doing so, being both too proud to admit it, while letting out enough passive aggressive remarks to make even the densest person realise that something was wrong. And while, at the end of the day, she knew that nothing bad was going to happen, since she may or may not have used her astrology to make sure of it, your behaviour certainly didn’t help calming her down.

You knew what the best way of dealing with Mona’s jealousy was. Simply assuring her would almost always do the job, no matter how much she denied being jealous in the first place. But just because you knew what the best course of action was, didn’t mean you would take it, instead choosing to use the opportunity to tease her, causing an argument, during which you would twist her words in ways that made her even more embarrassed and caused her to get more and more defensive. The whole scene only ending, once you’d have enough and decide to play along with her, leaving you amused, although with a numb shoulder, and Mona cursing herself for falling for you in the first place.