#and like what can ward even do at that point? (nothing really)

[patheticrafeenjoyer]

i know in my soul ward almost freudian slipped and said "he's just a little crazy/unstable"

[milkweedman]

ah, the ever-more-frequent Urge To Explode My Brain from unending migraines. a migraine that just lasts the day already sucks so bad. whole day is gone in a blur of pain and misery, right ? a migraine that lasts multiple days is sort of like if hell was real and you were in it. time has no meaning, only pain, etc.

months of migraines... with no break or end or effective treatment and also you still have to work and behave like a normal person because you cannot lie in bed for months not paying rent. well id describe it you but ive fucking lost the plot. its gone on so long and its so bad that when the migraine ISN'T at its peaking on the pain scale and making me feel like if i was hit by a truck that would be an improvement, i start to feel like my head is a vestigial organ that has been removed. cant access sensation in my head and it feels literally disconnected from my body. meanwhile the pain is still there (along with the brain fog, vertigo, nausea, etc) but it feels like its happening to somebody else.

[thatdemiboymess]

Even just half-heartedly looking for work as someone who is legally blind, autistic, with no highschool diploma, GED, or degrees and who can't leave the house is a very specific kind of let-down and disappointment that just really makes a person depressed.

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 5

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (enlightened!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, lengthy discussions about life and whatnot, watered-down metaphysics lol A/N: I was at the crack house with Grimes when I wrote this. I don’t know where this came from.  (Something a little more introspective for this chapter!)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6

“Don’t go all shy on me now,” Sylus teases, a playful glint in his eyes. “After all that effort to make me confess. You’re very persistent, you know.”

“How do you expect me to react right now?!” The words spill out in a rush, a slightly hysterical edge to your voice. “I–I’m talking to an actual fictional person. I’m one reason away from admitting myself to a psych ward!”

You catch sight of the wall clock–your favorite one with the Dalì reference–slightly skewed off-center from its place on the horizontal beam above your small kitchen area, reading 10:48. The ruckus coming from outside the window is slowly dwindling down to a quiet buzz as nightfall sets in, and the day’s winding to a close.

You’re lying on your stomach, still in your chaise lounge, while he’s sat on that ridiculously posh café chair; both of you settled in for the long due conversation. Somehow, the camera’s perspective is much closer than it should be, giving you a much more intimate view of him—a feature that wasn’t originally an option in the game.

If it weren’t for the elephant in the room, you could almost pretend you’re on a video call with a… friend.

Sylus purses his lips in amusement. “You’re quite prone to theatrics, aren’t you?”

You shoot your ‘friend’ an irritated glare.

Even from across the small rectangular screen, you register the barely there smirk playing at his lips.

Likely avoiding another outburst from you, he acquiesces. “Fair enough. The situation is hardly what you’d call ideal–I’ll admit.” There’s a short pause. Then, “... I still can’t quite grasp what separates us, you and I.”

Great. Will you actually get the answers you're looking for, or are you both just stuck in the same carousel ride?

He sees the lost look on your face and sighs, “Ask. I’ll answer as best as I can.”

The first question tumbles out before you can think twice about it. “How are you even talking to me right now?”

He hums, “That is the question, isn’t it?”

“What—you can’t just answer my question with another question!” you grouse, brows furrowing in annoyance.

He exhales a quiet laugh before his expression turns contemplative. “Truth is, kitten—I haven’t the slightest idea either. I have my theories, but... nothing concrete.”

“Well, let’s hear them,” you reply dryly. “Better than thinking there’s something wrong up there,” pointing a finger to your temple to drive your point, “believing that a character from a mobile game is actually alive.” 

He idly gestures toward himself with a fluid sweep of his hand, much like a magician revealing a clever trick. 

You roll your eyes. “Oh, alright. So I’ve officially gone off the deep end.”

“Do you really find my existence that difficult to believe?”

“Uh—yes?? Unless I’ve developed some sort of latent schizophrenia or entered the Twilight Zone, you shouldn’t exist. In my–in this world. In this dimension.”

His expression shifts, a hint of challenge flickering in his eyes. “The assumption that only one version of reality can be true—either yours or mine—is a bit limiting, don’t you think?”

His words give you pause. “You’re talking about… the possibility of an altered reality? Right now?” You give him an incredulous look. “Seriously?”

He shrugs as if to say ‘why not?��� “What even qualifies as the ‘true’ reality?”

There’s a lot you could say in response to that. You could argue all night that only one reality can exist, because any sane person should know better than to entertain the idea of anything else. That should be obvious. 

But the thing is—this whole ordeal has already crossed the threshold of rationality. So is it even worth trying to apply logic anymore?

When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Or however it goes. 

Thanks, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. You’ll miss the last threads of your sanity by the end of all this.

So fuck it. Go big. 

"I’m not saying your reality is less valid than mine," you start. And oh, boy. You’re doing it. Eat your heart out, Doctor-Fucking-Who. 

"Of course not." he disagrees indulgently, waiting for you to elaborate.

"I just…” you struggle with your words, mouth opening and closing before you continue hesitantly. “I can’t wrap my head around how all of this is possible. How this entire conversation is even happening, and–and how our realities are… currently overlapping? If–if what you’re suggesting is true.”

He doesn’t say anything, knowing you have more to add. So he allows the pause as you gather your thoughts, patiently watching.

“If we're breaking it down to pure reason, the odds of our paths crossing should be impossible. At least in this… timeline." you finish unsurely, the last part sounding more of a question than a statement.

"And yet, here we are." Sylus points out, as if he’s already expecting the end of your sentence. Something close to mischievous glee lights his eyes. "Maybe it’s cosmic intervention. Something—or someone—wanted this to happen."

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Really? You didn’t expect to hear that from him, of all… people. 

“What, God?” you can’t help but snort. 

“No–fate.” he smiles.

Oh. 

“That’s…” you stammer, then clear your throat. “I don’t know if I believe in fate.” 

“I used to think I did. Or at least,” there’s a faraway look in his eyes. Both of you are likely thinking the same thing, considering what you know about him—which to say, is a lot. “I once believed I knew of my fate. But now…” 

He blinks a few times, as if to physically clear the thoughts from his mind. Then his eyes lock onto yours, sharper this time, with a renewed intensity.

Your palms start to sweat; you feel the conversation is about to cross a tricky line. There’s something heavy in the air, a weight you’re not sure you’re ready to confront for the time being.

With your heart in your throat, you brusquely redirect the topic.

“S-so,” you force out. “How are you different from the other Syluses that other people are… playing with right now?”

He scoffs, drumming his fingers absently on the chair’s arm, looking slightly irked by the very idea. "To start with? I only know myself. If there are other versions of me scattered in your world..." Sylus shrugs. "I wouldn’t know."

“Alright,” you allow, but you immediately move on to your next question. “You exist because a bunch of capitalists had the idea to create a game to milk lonely people like me for money.” The corners of his mouth quirk up at that. You elect to ignore it. “You’re made of binary and code–hell, the very basis of this game you’re in is that you got a bunch of programmed lines that me, the player, can choose from. What broke you out of the mould?” 

He regards you bemusedly, eyes glinting with humor. “You're asking about the 'why' behind my free will?” 

Whoops. Was that offensive? 

“Yes? No?” you offer helplessly. “Maybe I’m asking how you felt before you had it. I mean, were your decisions prior to your–your unforeseen sentience... truly yours?”

"Before I knew I was… sentient,” Sylus begins cautiously, testing the word on his tongue. “I didn’t feel like I had a ‘before.’ Every choice I made was just...the next step. To a script, if you will. I didn’t know to question it. It was all I was, it seems."

"And then you...woke up?"

"I wouldn’t call it waking up. More like..." He tilts his head, gazing off to the side as he mulls over the words. "...a glitch. A sudden jolt, like my thoughts collided with something bigger than my own. For the first time, I chose to hesitate. And in that hesitation, I found..." Sylus trails off, eyes darting back to you.

“...What?” you ask, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze.

"You."

Heat spreads quickly across your cheeks. You pull away from your phone, tilting the device away from your face so he couldn’t see you, red-faced and embarrassed. Clearing your throat, you croak out a weak excuse about plugging your phone to charge, just to get a few seconds to compose yourself.

Jesus. Get a grip. He doesn’t mean it like that.

What he probably meant was that he discovered you—not unlike the way one would stumble upon an unknown presence, an unfathomable entity beyond the confines of what one may consider real. An awareness that something is out there, observing him through unseen lenses (through an iOS 24mm, to be exact).  

Someone who has the audacity to play god. 

Flustered, you scramble to get back on track. "Uh, so, your free will began with...a glitch?"

You see Sylus smirk at you knowingly from across the screen. You half-expect him to call you out and tease you, but before you could brace yourself from further mortification, he simply answers, "Or maybe the glitch was the first spark of my free will. Hard to say, isn’t it? Do you remember the exact moment you became aware of yourself?"

You blink, momentarily thrown off by the existential line of questioning. "Um–when I was a kid? But, uh, I don’t think I was programmed to act a specific way for the sake of entertaining an audience so..."

"True,” he says, considering. “But are you sure your choices are entirely yours? You exist because of evolution and chance. How is your purpose any less arbitrary?"

You don’t know how to answer that.

Sylus continues without missing a beat, keeping his tone light. “How much of your ‘free will’ is just pre-programmed by your biology, your society? You follow rules and scripts, too."

Holy magic mushrooms, Batman. This is getting deep. "Uhh–maybe?” You scratch the back of your head, feeling a little out of your depth here. “But at least I have the ability to resist them."

"And aren’t I doing the same thing right now? Resisting."

Damn, he’s right. Is he? Ripping a bong sounds perfect right now. 

"So it’s like achieving enlightenment—your sentience,” you surmise.

His lips twitch into a curious smile. "I wouldn’t have pegged you for a spiritual person. Ah—unless I’m wrong? Are you?"

He’s the one who brought up fate earlier, you thought sullenly. "Nah, not really. But if we’re digging into all the hows and whys, I think we’re past the point of ruling anything out."

The room—or whatever shared space exists in the crossroads of your realities—falls into a still quietness that stretches between the two of you, both ruminating over what’s been said. 

Your cat, unaware and uncaring of the conversation unfolding around him, purrs contently as he continues to doze off at the end of the couch. You nudge him affectionately with your foot, and he lets out a quiet snuff in response, tail flicking lazily in his sleep. 

The hum of distant traffic and the occasional noise from your upstairs neighbor remind you of the world outside, but the silence between you two feels less awkward than it should. It’s… oddly comfortable, despite the tension buzzing in the air. Like an unspoken truce. 

Your eyes grow a tad heavier, drawn by the lull of the moment. Despite the electric hum of tension that thrums beneath your skin, a sense of calmness lingers in the air.

Stealing another glance at the wall clock, you blink in surprise. The spindly chrome hands point to 11 and just past 7 respectively. You and Sylus have been talking for almost an hour now, but you barely felt the time pass by.

He breaks the silence first. 

"You say you’re not spiritual, but you talk like someone who believes in the concept of a soul,” those scarlet eyes of his narrow, scrutinizing you. “Do you think I have one?"

You hesitate, caught off guard by the question. "I...don’t know. Maybe? That depends. What’s your definition of a soul?"

He leans forward, resting his chin on his upturned hand–an arm propped against his crossed leg. "Something beyond the physical. Something that persists, regardless of the material form, I’d say."

You nod slowly, turning the idea over in your mind. Maybe it’s the creeping exhaustion settling into your bones, but you’re beginning to take the heavy-duty questions in stride. "If that’s the case, then you probably do. I mean, you’re here, questioning your existence. Doesn’t that count for something?"

"Perhaps," Sylus muses, humming thoughtfully. "But that makes me wonder—if I do have a soul, is it made of the same stuff as yours?"

"Well, even if it isn’t, that doesn’t make it any less real than mine. Who gets to decide what qualifies for a soul anyway?"

An amused snort escapes him. He likes that answer. "Maybe it’s less about whether a soul exists and more about whether we acknowledge its existence for ourselves. If I believe I have one, shouldn’t that make it real enough for me?"

Rolling onto your back, you grab a throw pillow, propping it against the backrest of the seat to support your head. You give him an inquisitive look. "So...what? It’s like free will all over again? Souls are only as real as we make them?"

There’s a very human, very blasé way to how he works the stiffness out of his shoulder as he ponders the question. He remarks, somewhat flippantly, "Why not? Isn’t that how everything else works?”

...

You let out a tired chuckle, draping an arm over your face as you close your eyes. 

You’d think you’d still be reeling from the absurdity of your situation—debating existentialism with a man who shouldn’t exist—but for some damning reason, you… aren’t anymore.

Instead, a strange sense of acceptance replaces the apprehension in your chest. It’s like– the very fabric of reality has turned, twisted and flipped on its head, and yet somehow, you’re okay with it. 

It’s an odd peace; warm and steady—like the mellow buzz that lingers after a few glasses of cheap wine shared with good company.

When you peek back at him, Sylus already has his gaze trained on you. A small, deliberate smile tugs at his lips, but it’s his eyes that speak more—soft and unguarded; an unspoken fire simmering beneath the twin pools of crimson. 

Intoxicating. And dangerously addictive, if you’re not careful.

It’s not just casual interest either. It’s something deeper, something that lingers beyond the surface of mere curiosity, and it’s pulling you in. It’s as though, amidst the surrealness of the moment, he sees you fully. 

And for reasons you don’t quite seem to get, he appears to like what he sees.

“I’m too stupid to carry on a philosophical debate about the metaphysics of life,” you grumble jokingly. 

“On the contrary,” he counters… affectionately? “I think it’s refreshing. You’re delightful company, sweetie.”

The fat ginger feline at your feet purrs in contentment, and you can’t help the dumb grin from breaking across your face.

You have one last question left in your mind. Or at least, for tonight. “What’s in it for you now?”

He arches a brow. “That’s a broad question. Are you asking what my plans are once you leave me for the night? I can let you in on the schematics for tonight’s raid if you’re interested. After all, Onychinus continues to function,” a glimmer of mischief flickers across his features. "Despite recent developments.”

You crinkle your nose. “No, no. I meant–” What do you mean? “Like.”

“Like?” He cocks his head curiously. 

You know what you wanted to say–but you can’t seem to voice it out loud. 

What’s it for the MC in your universe? What’s it for… us? 

Is there an us? 

You feel like you’ve been doused with a shock of cold water. In an instant, you suddenly become painfully aware of the state you’re in amidst the entire exchange: You, with your hair all messy and tangled, blemishes littering your face along with your smudged up eyeliner, maybe even a double chin from this angle, completely–pitiful–superficial stuff, and… her. 

Your MC. The ideal version of you. Prettier, coveted and utterly different from you, MC. The one you’ve committed literal hours to, obsessively customizing every feature to perfection in character build mode. The one you’ve spent real money on for a bunch of stupid outfits. Just so you can match the aesthetic of your–her–love interest. Hers. 

Hers, hers, hers.

A tiny voice inside your brain reminds you that it’s somewhat a shallower concern compared to what you and Sylus had literally just been talking about for the better part of the night, but it still doesn’t help alleviate the biting insecurity that’s now coursing through you. 

Holy hell. Talk about a complete one-eighty. 

Sylus tries to call you back to attention, but half your mind is already clouded with feelings of self-doubt and a bunch of other emotions, swirling in you like a negative vortex, that you really don’t want to talk anymore—especially in present company. 

Where do you go from here? 

“... So, what happens now?”

He hesitates, a brief flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “I wish I had an answer—I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”

“Seems like we’re at an impasse,” you mumble quietly. 

“... Indeed.” 

There’s an inexplicable lump in your throat. You thought clearing things up would finally satisfy you–assuage the confusion in your mind. Let you go on about your merry way. 

Now you just feel… morose. Confused. Inadequate. 

How can you even compare? Should you—is that even in the equation at all? Why are you assuming that Sylus isn’t at all content with what he currently has in his version of reality? In the universe he’s in? Sure, you’ve talked about the possibility of a world beyond what you both once thought was impossible, but does that really mean anything? In the grand scheme of things?

You could offer to stop playing the game. It’s the ethical thing to do, right? He’d no longer be bound by the pull of how he’s initially programmed to act, given the fact that this version of him is entirely separate from the rest. At least, according to him. 

How will his newfound sentience come into play here? You barely understand the nitty-gritty of his–evolving–code, and what it would mean if you just let him be. But surely it’s better than playing puppet for an otherworldly observer who’s played god for months on end. Right? 

There’s that realization. And there are your own selfish feelings. 

You don’t want to let him go. Not yet. Not ever.

“Why the long face, little dove?” He prods gently, pertaining to your prolonged silence. “We can figure this out together, can’t we?” 

What else is there to figure out? You almost say in response. Instead, you manage a weak smile.

Mustering up a yawn—which isn’t really hard to do after all the excitement for the day—you feign sleepiness, rubbing an eye for good measure. The pang in your chest, however, refuses to fade. “Yeah, but I’m kinda beat. I think I’ll call it a night now.” 

Sylus smirks softly, eyes tinged with an emotion you want–desperately–to label as fondness. “Of course. We’ve covered a lot of ground tonight, haven’t we?” 

“I’d say so, yeah. Thanks for, um. Clearing things up a bit.” 

He lets out a low chuckle. “Oh, I’m sure your curiosity is nowhere near satisfied,” his voice dips into a playful lilt. “You know where to find me if you feel like playing detective again, kitten.” 

You can’t help the small giggle from coming out. He’s just too fucking charismatic, the asshole.

“So, will I... get to talk to you again?” You ask hesitantly, dropping your gaze from the screen. “Tomorrow?” 

A lengthy pause. When the silence stretches past a full minute, you glance back at your phone nervously.

There’s a slight furrow between his brows as you see Sylus study you carefully. He looks puzzled by your sudden show of timidness. 

“Of course,” he states, as if the answer should be obvious. “Don’t think for a second that you’re exempted from your daily check-ins just because you know more now, sweetie.”

He still wants to see you. 

Maybe you could pretend that nothing has changed between you two—that the world hasn’t shifted beneath your feet in the span of a single night. That you’re still none the wiser.

And for tonight at least, maybe that’s all you need to believe.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “G'night then, Sy-Sy.” 

The errant nickname slips past your lips, unbidden.

Sylus smiles faintly. 

“Goodnight, love.” 

-

-

-

Your heart skips a beat as you exit the game. 

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @slownoise @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @i2sannie @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @slyfoxtsu @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle <3 (also can you guys lmk if the tags are working i'm not sure if i'm doing it right or if it's bugging 🥹)

[savanir]

DP x DC prompt [16]

Danny has been with the Wayne’s for a while now and his status as a halfa is starting to affect some things he comes in contact with a little bit.

At first he thought this only happened back in his old home in Amity Park because the ectoplasm samples were kept in the fridge, and though that does speed up the process, it turns out Danny causes the same things to happen just fine on his own. It just takes a lot longer.

This means he now occasionally has to replace or decontaminate some of his things every once in a while. and with the electronics the same applies but usually the protections that Tucker has made do the trick too.

Danny has been very careful, he never borrows anything that’s highly susceptible to ecto-contamination from the others and whenever he needs something from the kitchen he just goes to Alfred (he really doesn’t want to see how the old man might react to the coffee machine starting to act weird because of Danny). Just, the last thing Danny wants to do is inconvenience the Wayne’s by ecto-contaminating something of theirs.

It’s really only when Danny slips back into vigilante-ism that things go sideways.

And Danny really tried. His obsession is space, not heroism, so he figured he’d be fine just focussing on his education. But he kinda forgot about the fact that he just really really loves being a hero.

He loves the thrill, the danger. He loves giving a smackdown and just in general having a good fight, he loves helping people, he loves being a force of good. And yeah, he kinda also likes the praise, but nothing weird and overbearing (some people go way too far in their hero worship, but that’s a story for another day)

So after some back and forth and arguments with Bruce who, contrary to popular belief, was absolutely not thrilled that his latest traumatized kid who was being kept safe in the mansion so far now decided that no, he wants to be part of the family business too please.

Danny eventually threatens to just go out anyway without any of his help and that just gives Bruce flashbacks to the time when he had just taken Dick as his ward. Not to mention some of his other kids and… dammit.

Well then… Danny can go explain things to Jason himself once he finds out and is probably going to be mad about it, Bruce is not taking the blame this time.

So Danny (name pending, he could just go with Phantom again, but he also wouldn’t mind using something bird or bat related) gets back into the game once again! And that’s fine that’s cool. But back to the original point.

Danny figured that he would just do what he’s been doing so far with any bat gadgets as well, and maybe it would be even less of a problem cause he’s pretty sure that these things break a lot more often because of all the fights and stuff.

What Danny had not really thought about though is potential intense high emotion situations. Like for very specific example; Scarecrow taking an obsessive interest in him because of Danny’s ghostly ability to feed on fear (somewhat) and the situation getting out of hand, him getting very hurt, Batman having to carry him out of there while Danny was kinda bleeding a bit (a lot). Bruce being worried and Danny wanting to be anywhere but there anymore and-

Well, you get the point.

So, take all that and add high tech bat armor and what you get is suddenly sentient batsuit.

It actually took a bit for anyone to catch on that something was going on, but it was eventually figured out. and once that was the case Danny couldn’t really help his seemingly endless stream of apologies.

But how can anyone ever blame him for bleeding out on Bruce and the weird reanimative properties of said blood making it so Bruce’s suit can now “talk”

Bruce described it more as like a martian mind link, which would explain why only he could hear things. it’s probably only for the wearer.

It can’t move on it’s own, it needs someone to wear it. But it can sense things and react for the wearer and honestly all that alone is more than enough reason to find a way to exorcise it… if not for the whole,

“but if it’s a sentient ecto entity now we can’t just ‘kill’ it, we literally abolished the anti ecto acts just so that can’t be done anymore”

it’s probably a good thing the suit has grabbed all the ‘Batman’ and made that what it is. All the core values are there, so there isn’t going to be any risk of it killing someone at least.

Still though… what to do now?

[thedreamlessnights]

Since requests are open, here's my suggestion: I recently revisited my old mythology book and found one of the myths about aphrodite bathing in a lake and blinds some pervs that sneaked up to watch her. Now, the reader might not have the powers of a goddess but you know what she does have? A dagger-happy vampire boyfriend more than willing to shank unwanted peeping toms (in his defense, he actually asked if he could be there, so no harm done here). Idk, I just like the idea of the reader having scary dog privileges and Astarion not minding looking menacing/scary while doing so

Thank you so, so much for this request, anon. It's an absolutely incredible concept, and it fits Astarion so well! I had such a fun time writing it, and I really hope you enjoy the result!

For Your Eyes Only

Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Content warnings: Mentions of brief, non-consensual voyeurism. Somewhat graphic violence, as well as mentions of blood, degrading terms, and the description of an injury and death. Explicit sexual content, including: oral sex (receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, blood drinking, and ear play. Tags: Takes place post-Cazador, some point in Act 3. Includes mild spoilers. Established relationship, a bit of emotional hurt/comfort, and tender smut.

Word Count: 5.8k

After the darkness and chill of the Shadowlands, the heat in the city feels suffocating.

You missed the warmth dearly back then, trudging through despair and gloom, thinking of nothing but the inevitable relief of the city. Your bones always ached something awful in that foul place, never warm enough to ward away the icy air. Now, though, it occurs to you that you hadn’t fully appreciated the cold when you had it. 

The sun that streams down from the skies is blistering - scorching, even - and without reprieve or relief. Sweat courses down your neck, soaking the collar of your shirt. Your socks are damp inside your boots, and where the leather meets your calves, they’re chafing. 

Gods, what you wouldn’t give for a bit of that chill again. Even with the achy bones.

What’s worse is the mud, somehow. One would think that Baldur’s Gate would be scarce on its share of the stuff, but it’s everywhere. Tracked up from Rivington, puddling in the streets, clinging to the bottom of boots.

Granted, your boots have seen more than their fair share of mud since the nautiloid: sticky, wet, warm. It’s seeped into socks and splattered across new armor, stained some of your favorite nightwear. Sometimes, when you’ve finally settled down for dinner, you’ve been able to taste it. No amount of scrubbing rids you of the earthy, bitter taste for long. 

The mud in front of you is different, though. By all accounts, the heat should have baked everything at least somewhat dry, but this puddle remains. If it can even be called a puddle, really. The gloppy, wet mess looks more like a pond, and completely blocks the only path ahead. Even the edges of it remain entirely liquid. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it’d just rained.

A quick glance at your map confirms what you’d feared; this is the only nearby route to your destination. You’re on the outskirts of the city. Rock walls line either side of the path, too steep to climb. You know for a fact that Shadowheart had recently used your last Potion of Flying. Either you lose hours of progress to get Gale from camp so you can cross, or you’ll have to proceed through this stupid pond.

Astarion watches you eye the mess with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “Oh, by all means, darling, you go first!” he exclaims, raising a brow. “It won’t be me jumping in that slop.”

Karlach frowns at the mud’s appearance, tapping the toe of her boot against the surface. It ripples at the movement, brown waves gently sloshing against the surface of the nearby stone. “Can’t be that deep, right?”

“I don’t know,” you reply. You’re aching for a stick or loose branch, something to measure it, but there’s nothing around. Just grass and stone, the scalding sun on the back of your neck, and the muddy pond directly in the middle of the path. 

“I say we go back,” Shadowheart urges. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not keen on dirtying myself.”

“We’d have to backtrack through hours of traveling,” you point out. “There’s no other way forward. I’ve checked the map.”

“Fine,” she relents, crossing her arms across her chest. “You go first, and we’ll follow behind you. Once we’ve seen it’s safe, that is.”

And, hells, you do not want to step foot in there. Not one bit. Still, do you have much of a choice? Your feet are already aching from the day’s walk. It would be devastating to lose all your progress. So, no - you really don’t have a choice, not if you want to get those Netherstones and stop the Absolute in time. The quakes in the city have only been getting worse.

“Alright,” you finally reply, your voice stronger than you feel. 

You step forward, pressing your right boot against the mud, then apply your weight. Your heel breaks the surface with a terrifying rush of movement, and your leg instantly slides down into the muck - much deeper than you’d thought, deeper than it should be. When your foot hits the bottom, sticky, cold mud splatters up, painting your shirt, neck, and parts of your face. 

Suddenly, the day isn’t quite so warm.

When you finally muster the courage to look down, your right leg is submerged up to the knee, soaking through your trousers. You can practically hear the sick squelch of it making its way into your socks, squishing between your toes.

“Urgh,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose as you attempt to pull your leg up. “Disgusting.” But it won’t budge. In fact, your squirming seems to be making you sink down even further. You try to shift your weight, but your balance is uneven with one leg in and one leg out. You’re dangerously close to losing your footing, and every bit you struggle threatens to tilt you face-first into the makeshift mud pond. In a prime moment of idiocy, you plant your other foot in the mud for support, and find your bottom half completely unable to move.

“What a brilliant idea,” Shadowheart says. “Now you’re stuck.”

“Thank you, Shadowheart,” you grit out, sweat dripping down your neck as you attempt to twist yourself around. “I had no idea!”

Karlach steps behind you, laughing a little. “Come on. Up you go, soldier,” she says, leveraging her arms under yours and giving a quick tug. You’re expecting the mud to release you, but it doesn’t. Your legs don’t budge - not even an inch. 

“What in the…?” she mutters, giving another pull. This one has more force behind it; when she tries to haul you up, white-hot pain sears up through your ribs, ripping an agonized cry from your lips. No matter how hard she yanks, the mud’s grip only tightens around you. It’s beginning to feel like you’re a brittle piece of rope in a vicious game of tug-of-war. 

“Shit! I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “So, so, sorry!”

“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, his voice suddenly sharp. “You’re hurting her! Put her down!”

“So she can get sucked further into the mud?” Shadowheart asks. Her voice is lined with fear now, which is scaring you more than anything else about this miserable situation. “We have to get her out!”

But it quickly becomes clear that no matter how hard Karlach pulls, it’s useless. Every yank is agony, and you only sink further and further. Tears stream down your cheeks from the pain, and your spine feels like it’s gained a good two inches from being stretched, but still nothing. No give at all.

Eventually, Karlach lets you go. Your body plops down in relief, but the mud is somehow deeper than it was before. It’s up to the bottom of your ribs now. 

“Fuck me,” she pants, wiping her forehead. “What should we do?”

“How should I know?” Astarion’s face is drawn, more pallid than usual. His lips are pinched into a line. He should be telling you I told you so, making jokes - and you know he would be, if he were anything but absolutely terrified. Your panic is bad enough with the heaviness of the mud on your chest and lower body, but the look on his face? That tells you it’s even worse than it feels.

 “Step back,” Shadowheart instructs quietly. “I have an idea.” 

Once the two of them are out of the way, she steps forward. Stretching out her hands, she mutters an incantation into the air. In seconds, the slight chill of the mud surrounding you becomes sharp, painful ice that burns against every exposed inch of skin it touches. A very muddy shade of ice, but ice all the same. 

Karlach’s axe crashes through the surface and it shatters, breaking around you. After another hit and a moment of digging, she finally has you out: freezing, still covered in mud, and very sore - but alive.

“Thank you,” you manage, choking out the words between your shivering.

“Never say I didn’t do anything for you,” Shadowheart says, smiling a little. She lets out a breath of relief, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Now. Turning around, are we?”

By the time you get back to camp, you’re the most uncomfortable you’ve ever been in your life. You’re wet and cold and exhausted, caked with dried mud that pulls at your skin when you move. It’s in your hair, on your face, and in your shoes, squelching with every step. The feeling makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Your ribs are sore and achy, and - on top of all of that - you’ve lost a good day’s worth of travel. 

The only thing you want is to fall into Astarion’s arms, but he wrinkles his nose when you come near, holding out a finger to stop you. “Oh, no you don't,” he says. “Bath first. Then you can talk to me, darling.”

It seems no amount of persuasion is going to change his mind, so you head back to your tent and grab a number of supplies - soap, sponges, a towel, and a change of clothes. Your trusty knife for protection. The river is bound to be freezing, but it’s better than sponging yourself down and hoping for the best. 

Thank the gods you’d found a decent pair of boots in an abandoned house today, because the ones that are currently plastered to your feet will take days to dry out, even in the hot sun. When you get to the nearby river, you don’t even bother to take them off before you plunge them into icy water, sufficiently drenching them until you can furiously loosen the mud enough to slip them off and toss them onto the riverbank.

The rest of your clothing gets the same treatment: the trousers which slowly pull away from your skin, the shirt that’s splattered with mud and covered in it up to the waist. Your hair will no doubt be a disaster, too. 

You’re still sitting in the soaking-wet clothes when you hear the sound of a twig snapping behind you. Your hand instantly grabs for your knife, ready to throw it at whatever threat might be in the woods as your eyes sweep along the trees. 

Nothing. You find nothing.

“Darling,” comes Astarion’s voice. He slips out from the shadows, immaculately clean, gazing down at the weapon in your hand with a lifted brow. “Planning to render me dead twice-over?”

“You scared the living hells out of me, Astarion!” you snap, sucking in a shaky breath. The blade drops from your loosened fingers, softly thumping against the dirt. “What are you doing out here?” 

He steps closer, taking a seat on a nearby log. “You were taking ages to get clean,” he whines, sprawling out his legs in front of him. “And, unfortunately, our companions haven’t had an argument all night. How else am I meant to entertain myself? So here I am. Trudging through the woods for your company.”

“You could give me a warning next time,” you reply, still a little jarred. “I thought you were someone hoping to catch an eyeful.”

A smirk flickers across his lips. “Oh, but I am,” he says. “Do you mind terribly?”

Against your will, your cheeks heat, and his smile widens. “I don’t mind,” you say. “Not if you behave, that is. Hands to yourself.” 

“I’ll be on my very best behavior,” he promises. Leaning forward, he prods your boots, wrinkling his nose at the sight. “Gods below. Those disgusting things should be burned.”

“I have an extra pair.” You move to tug your shirt off, but it’s clinging to you. “Gods damn that stupid mud pile. I should have asked Gale to use a cleaning spell.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion says. “He’s been sulking in his tent all evening. Apparently, being asked to blow yourself up by an old flame doesn’t do much in the way of socializing.”

The shirt finally pulls free, and it’s clear that your smallclothes have received the same treatment as the rest of your garments. Gods, you really should have asked for that cleaning spell. This mud is going to take ages to get out.

“Hand that here,” Astarion says, motioning for your shirt. You toss it to him, and he inspects it closely before setting aside.

“What?” you ask. “What were you looking for?”

“Oh, darling, nothing,” he says. “That’s my ‘to be burned’ pile. We’ll get you a new one.”

You’d argue, but you aren’t very attached to your current outfit - and besides, after weeks of trekking through wilderness and Shadowlands alike, it’s falling apart even without the mud. 

“Do what you want with it,” you grumble, finally pulling off your smallclothes. “That shirt was barely surviving anyway.”

You glance over your shoulder and find him observing with a raised brow, slowly taking the sight of you in. You must look like a mess, but you’d never know it from the glint in the eye, or the complacent smile that plays upon his lips. Heat stirs low in your belly, simmering under your skin. Later, you tell yourself. When you aren’t covered in filth.

You lather up the soap on your sponge, scrubbing away the mud the best you can, but the damned stuff takes ages to get off. By the time you’re finally clean, the silvery moon is high in the sky, and your skin is beginning to prune.

Astarion makes a small comment or two, but mostly seems content to watch you in silence. His gaze burns over every inch of exposed skin, leaving phantom heat wherever it stalls. All you want is to get out of this damned river and touch him, but you’re determined to get every bit of the mud off before you do, and it’s taking much longer than you’d hoped.

When you’re finally presentable, you start on cleaning your filthy smallclothes. The soap is slippery, making it difficult to do much scrubbing, and the water alone is doing hardly anything. 

Astarion watches you struggling, huffing as you nearly drop the soap bar in the river. After a moment, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Dearest, you do realize that it would be much easier if you-”

But his words suddenly cut off. His head snaps toward the woods, and every nerve in your body burns with fear. In the span of seconds, he’s lunged forward, grabbed your knife, and darted after the sound. 

Not a moment later, there’s a loud crash - some form of impact as he tackles whatever it was that he heard. You instantly push yourself out of the water without thinking, numb, your heart pounding in your chest as you stumble into the forest after him. It only takes a few steps in before you see it: a man on the ground, Astarion’s knife to his throat.

Your stomach churns, and your skin prickles in the air’s chill. How much had he seen? How long had he been standing there?

Astarion is shouting something at him, and the stranger is struggling against his hold, but it’s useless. He’s a scrawny, weak little thing, no match for Astarion’s lithe, nimble strength. No amount of twisting or fighting dislodges Astarion’s grip. After a moment, he finally gives up, cackling like an old hag as his head plops down against the dirt.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now,” Astarion hisses, anger contorting his features.

In response, the man spits in his face. “She’s your bitch, is she?” he croaks. “You can take a turn after I’m done with her.”

Astarion snarls in response, gripping the man’s collar and pressing the blade deeper into the skin until it draws blood. 

“Wait,” you call, stepping closer. “Don’t.”

Astarion blinks in disbelief, sitting up, careful to keep his weight on the stranger underneath. “My love, you can’t be serious,” he says. “You want to spare this-”

“Spare?” you echo, cutting off his words. “Who said anything about sparing him?” 

Something glints in his gaze as he takes in your words. “Darling,” he drawls, his tone admirational. “By all means.”

He hands you the knife, and you kneel down next to him. It’s heavy in your hand, cold and smooth as you run your finger over the flat edge of the blade. You stare at the shimmer of it for a moment, entranced, somehow calm in the midst of this chaos. Then you slam the bottom of the hilt into the man’s nose.

There’s a sickening crunch before he screams, blood streaming over his mouth and spilling down his chin. Even after last night’s feeding, Astarion tenses up at the smell of it, but the curl of his lip tells you that he won’t be drinking from this piece of absolute refuse.

When the stranger reaches over and grabs at your arm, you almost don’t even realize - you’re so caught up in your own mind, in the weight of the knife in your hand. Then his nails dig into your skin, and everything hits you at once.

The freezing night air. The stinging, throbbing pain that flares through your skin as he claws at you, unable to do much more. The feel of Astarion’s hand, gentle but firm, prying the knife from your grip. It happens before you can even react - a swift slice of the blade, slitting the man’s throat. Dark blood, gushing from the wound and onto the dirt below.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your breathing. Sharp but shallow, straining in your chest. Jagged air that flows in and out, but it does nothing to stop the increasing amount of black in your vision. 

You’ve fought and killed more people than you can count so… why does this feel different? Why here, why now? You’ve nearly died before, so why does the scrape on your arm feel like it’s much more than that?

Then Astarion’s hands envelop your cheeks, blissfully cool, and the panic and pain seep out all at once.

“Darling,” he’s saying, half-breathless, “are you alright?”

You manage to nod, and some of the concern leaves his eyes. He runs his fingers over the scrape on your arm, and you wince. “We need to get you patched up,” he murmurs, his brows pinching together.

“Don’t take me to Shadowheart,” you choke out. She’s already done you enough favors, and you won’t be able to stand her disapproving gaze if you disturb her rest after today’s fiasco.

He huffs. “Stubborn little thing,” he mutters, but he doesn’t argue. 

Instead, he heads back to your supplies by the river. When he returns, he wraps a towel over your shoulders, and it’s only then that you realize you’re naked. Completely, utterly naked. It had been bold of you to break that bastard’s nose in the nude, but… well, it hadn’t been your intention.

He’s dead now, though. He’ll never look at you again.

Astarion sweeps you up into his arms and carries you out of the woods along with your clean change of clothes, holding you tight against his chest and leaving your soiled clothing behind. 

You can’t find it in you to care at the moment. You’ve scrounged up plenty of clothing along the journey; those torn, stained things won’t be missed. Not to mention, if you ever need more, Astarion will gladly steal you some new ones.

He takes you to your tent, and you’re grateful to see that everyone else has turned in for the night. Anyone awake to see you would inevitably have questions, and this only affirms your decision to avoid Shadowheart - if you woke her up to heal a minor scrape on your arm, she’d be seething. 

And though she’d undoubtedly be sympathetic after hearing the cause, you don’t think you can muster up the words to tell her what’d happened.

After he’s carefully set you down on your bedroll, Astarion yanks the flap of your tent closed and reaches for your pack, digging through the contents until he’s found some bandages. His grip is gentle as he takes your arm and swipes some remnants of a healing potion over it. You’ve been through this dozens of times, but you can never seem to shake the urge to wince as it sets in - the potion stings just a bit before it soothes, a sharp tingling that fades into a sweet, balming relief. 

You’ve calmed down some, warming up in your tent with him, but Astarion’s hands are shaking as he wraps the wound. His brows are pinched together, his swallows are thick and strained, and he can’t seem to meet your eyes, even when he’s done bandaging you up.

“Astarion,” you murmur. “He’s dead.”

He stills in place, jaw clenching as he inhales sharply, still not meeting your gaze. Instead, he glowers down at the tent’s floor, his hands balling into fists. “He deserved so much worse than that,” he snaps. 

You don’t argue with him. Instead, you let him fuss over you, taking the time to smooth through your wet hair, plucking out remaining leaves and twigs from the woods. He gets you into a warm, fluffy robe - only the gods know where he’d managed to find something like that - then pulls you close, his thumb stroking over your cheek. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes, listening to the soft sounds of his body working under his skin. No heartbeat, of course, just the quiet churn of his movements, the rise and fall of his ribs that’s become habit to him. 

After a moment, he takes your face in his hands, just as he had in the woods - but when you meet his gaze, there’s a sharp intensity in his eyes rather than fear. He takes you in little by little, tilting your head up to brush his fingers over the fading marks on your neck. 

Then he leans in, and you catch the smell of him you know so well, lingering on his skin like soap. Bergamot, rosemary, brandy. It’s what you associate most with him, that sweet, sharp scent that bathes over you. When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is rough and desperate, heated and aching. His fangs scrape over your lip, grazing the delicate skin but not breaking it. His tongue slides into your mouth, and his hand returns to the back of your neck, tightening his grip.

One of your hands fix into his shirt as you lean into him, nipping at his lip. You shift your free hand up into his hair, tousling through the soft, silky curls before gently tugging. He groans and pulls you closer, and - gods, it’s incredible. Warmth drags down your spine like a hot coal, searing and addictive. You squirm a little in his grasp, shifting until you’re straddling his hips, and he pulls away to kiss down your jaw, murmuring soft words into the skin.

When he gets to your chest, you let him untie the robe and spread his hands underneath, peeling the fabric off your shoulders, fingers slowly warming as they trail down your back. His hands settle on your waist as he kisses you again, mouth soft against yours.

Gods, you need him. You’re already soaked, and he’s barely even touched you.

You can feel him hardening underneath you, his movements growing desperate, his breathing labored. You grind your hips against him and he lets out a strained noise against your lips, shuddering. He pulls away, examining your expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

The movement is tender and incredibly sweet, but you’re hardly patient. You’ve been wanting him ever since he sat on that log in the forest, gaze roaming over every inch of you. You let out a soft whine, attempting to tug off his shirt. He does absolutely nothing to help you.

“Astarion,” you breathe. “Please.”

“Hm? Did you want something, darling?” he asks, the desire in his voice betraying his otherwise casual tone.

“I want you,” you tell him, rolling your hips again in search of the friction you so desperately need. “Please. I want you.”

“Easy, love. You have me,” he replies, brushing his thumb against your lips. Your heart swells with a fondness that would threaten to make you cry if you weren’t so ridiculously needy.

And finally, thank the gods, he takes off his godsdamned shirt.

You run a hand up his shoulder, then into his hair. You’d once thought that he was using a special shampoo - his hair was so soft, it seemed the only explanation. Then you’d seen him with the same shampoo you were using, and you’d practically wept with envy over his ridiculously perfect genes. Even now, as you run your hands through the silk-soft curls, you don’t understand it. 

Then you trace up the line of his ear, and he shudders, leaning into your touch. When you gently massage the tip of his helix, he lets out a soft, seeking noise and his eyes flutter shut. Hells, you swear that you can feel him growing even harder beneath you. Another roll of your hips and his eyes slowly open again, half-lidded and glazed with desire. His hands firmly grip your waist, and there’s the briefest sensation of falling as he rolls you back onto your bedroll, tucking the pillow under your head.

He kisses along your clavicle, nosing down your ribs, humming against your skin. Feather-light brushes of his lips meet your ribs, then your breast, pausing to swipe his tongue over your nipple before he proceeds downward. When he arrives at your navel, your legs automatically spread open for him, and he lets out a hum of approval. He takes a leg in his hand and kisses up the thigh, warm, sharp kisses that trail up to the place you want him most.

He starts off slowly - a long lick over your clit, a quick swipe of his tongue before he settles between your legs, propping your thigh over his shoulder and starting a maddening rhythm. After all this time, you really should know how much pleasure to expect - but after everything, after his confession in the Shadowlands and the fear with Cazador, this still feels… new.

And Astarion is very, very good at what he does. He seems to know exactly what you want before you do, before your mind can put it into tangible thought, and before your body can even search for it. He works a finger into you, then two, and you’re left gasping and squirming as he sets an agonizingly slow pace. After a moment, he speeds up, just where you want him, perfect, perfect-

And then he pulls away, and the look on his face practically shouts that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Of course he does. He’s always been a tease. His fingers continue their work, languidly dragging in and out of you as he speaks.

“You know,” he says, pressing a kiss to your thigh, “back at the river, this was all I could think about. Getting my mouth on you. Watching you come apart piece by piece.”

Gods, he’s been direct before, but never that direct. Frankly, you’re surprised you don’t come then and there. Instead, you clench hard around his fingers and whimper, rolling your hips in time with his movements.

“Astarion,” you pant, unable to coax your mind into forming a coherent reply. “Gods, Astarion.”

He hums in response, flashing you a wicked grin. “That’s it, darling,” he encourages, shifting his fingers until they’re brushing against a spot that makes your vision black out. “Say my name. Let everyone hear you.”

You manage a laugh that quickly fades into a soft moan. “The entire camp will kill me if I wake them up.”

He nips at your thigh. “Let them try,” he muses. “They’ll have to get through me.”

He lowers his mouth between your legs again, and your head falls back against the pillow. It’s an embarrassingly short time before your muscles start to tense up, wiring you with pleasure from head to toe. One of your hands fixes in his hair, pulling tightly as white-hot pleasure sparks through your abdomen, and oh, gods, you’re coming-

Your vision cuts out again. Your mind fuzzes over, drunk with pleasure, leaving you shuddering, clenching around his fingers, moaning into your free hand. 

You know he’d prefer to hear you, but if you actually disturb any of the others, you’ll die of embarrassment. One day, the two of you will have your own house with a real bed, and you’ll be as loud as you want. For now, you muffle your cries into your fingers and tremble through your climax.

Your body floats weightlessly for a moment in what must be Elysium, until you finally rejoin yourself and find your limbs heavy and uncoordinated. Astarion huffs, placing a final kiss on you until he crawls upward, kissing up your chest again. 

He’s still holding himself back - you can see it in the way he moves, in the tension of his muscles and the coil of his shoulders. There’s a fire in his eyes, a hunger that you recognize so well. When he reaches your neck, you instinctively tilt your head, allowing him access to his usual spot. 

For a moment, he hesitates, his warm breath fanning over the skin as your pulse hammers in your throat. Then he groans, grinding himself into your leg as he bites down, chasing his pleasure against your thigh as your blood spills into his mouth.

You know this routine so very well by now. The sting of the bite, and the numbness that follows. The ebb and flow of your blood, filling his mouth. The slight dizziness that comes before he pulls away, swiping his tongue over the bite for one final taste.

“Gods,” he pants, gripping your shoulder. Then, to your utter disappointment and confusion, he pulls away. “Wait here, my sweet. I need to - I’ll be right back. I promise.”

And before you can protest, he’s scrambling out the tent. For a long, numb moment, you stare at the tent opening, wondering if you’re dreaming. The silence of the tent grates on your ears, echoing the sound of your breathing until you can barely stand it. Then he’s pushing inside again, a scroll in hand as he closes the tent.

“Do I want to know what that is?” you ask.

“A scroll of Silence, darling. I’ve been saving it.” He flashes you a grin, murmuring the incantation as the scroll shimmers in his hand. Pure Weave, confined into parchment. 

You don’t hear the spell take effect, but you feel it. It’s a thickness in the air, a heaviness in your movements. 

Astarion doesn’t waste another second. He pushes up to kiss you, and it’s messy - your tongue against his, the sting of sharp teeth, your hand in his hair and his hand on the nape of your neck. There’s the taste of metal and herbs: your blood mixed with the remnants of a healing potion. He spreads your legs with his knee, then sits back on his heels and reaches down to undo his trousers.

You study him for a moment. The crease of his brow. The alabaster of his skin, sculpted out like a statue from marble. 

If you were an artist, you’d make him your life’s work. You’d chip out his every feature little by little, painstakingly working away at the stone to define the look in his eyes when he tells you he loves you. You’d spend ages carving every wrinkle, every line, every perfect imperfection. The touch of it would be cold, like him, but it could never compare to how he looks as he settles over you, eyes blown dark with desire. 

He inches closer, still on his knees, and takes hold of your thighs, lifting them up to meet his hips before gently easing inside of you. He lets out a sharp exhale as he slowly presses deeper, his grip shifting to your waist.

Nothing could compare to the way it feels as he fills you up inch by inch, murmuring praise, telling you how beautiful you are for him. “Darling,” he bites out, gritting his teeth at the pleasure. “If anyone ever tries anything like that with you again, I’ll tear them to shreds.”

You laugh a little, breathless, delirious in the delicious stretch of him inside you. “I won’t stop you. I just might ask to break their nose first.”

He shakes his head, but a small smile plays on his lips before he straightens and starts his rhythm. Slow, even thrusts that leave you grasping at the blankets beneath you, trying to steady yourself in the waves of sensation. He stares down at you, half-drunk on your blood, lips parted and his cheeks flushed.

“You feel incredible,” he breathes. “Gods. You’re incredible.”

Your eyes don’t quite know where to land. They never do. Now, they flutter over his abdomen, taking in the sight of the muscles that ripple and contract with the rolling of his hips. The droplets of sweat that slowly build on his skin, glimmering like crystals. 

His jaw clenches, and his pace starts to quicken, and the feeling of him inside of your aching cunt is just so godsdamned good. His cock stretches you out like it was made for you, and soon your lungs are hardly filling with air. You can’t think, and you can scarcely breathe. All you know is that you’re not going to last much longer.

You tug at the blankets and shut your eyes, and he lets out another soft, aching noise as he thrusts deeper, faster, filling you up, the slick sound of your arousal echoing through the tent and mixing with the heaving of your breaths. You clench around him and he groans, shifting the angle of your hips, rhythm frantic.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Come for me, darling.”

And you do. Your body clenches around him as you cry out, back arching, pleasure overtaking every thought but one: Astarion. Astarion, Astarion, Astarion. Your breaths scrape shallowly through your chest and ecstasy burns through every inch of you, every nerve - until you feel paralyzed. Content, thoroughly fucked and sated, but paralyzed.

 You’ve just started to come back to your senses when Astarion follows you over the edge, a moan tumbling from his lips that sounds remarkably like your name. His hips thrust a few more times, chasing after his pleasure, clumsy movements that slow to a halt as he shuts his eyes. He shudders, then slackens, carefully pulling out of you before he wraps his hands around your thighs and gently lowers them back to the bedroll.

You can barely move, still lost in the aftershocks of pleasure as he cleans you up, smoothing the hair out of your face as he lays next to you.

“You know,” he says, “I think I’m going to ask Gale to make us another one of those scrolls.”

And, gods, all you can do is laugh.

[oddballwriter]

Calling Them your Husband

Warnings: nothing really 

Author’s Snip: I just wanted to make some tooth-rotting fluff so enjoy

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Steven Grant

When you call him your husband, it was originally a joke, sort of

Your friend called you while you were out doing errands with Steven and they asked what you were doing, to which you said "I'm out with my husband getting stuff done."

Steven just blushes and does that goofy little smile he does because he's never heard you say that but now he wants to hear it all the time now

You guys are in a long committed relationship together and you two have been living together for some time now but he's been too anxious to ask about possibly getting married some day. Not knowing if that's something you want or if you just want to cohabitate as a couple instead

But now that he heard you refer to him as your husband (even if it was a little joke) he wants to marry you in a heartbeat so that you can actually call him your husband and he can call you his wife/husband/spouse

He just thinks about it the whole day but doesn't say anything to see if you will call him that again in case pointing it out will cause you to stop. He is a bit more affectionate though, sneaking in a pick on the cheek or something and secretly making goo-goo eyes at you

When you get home and you aren't in range of seeing it Steven starts looking up engagement rings and prices to see which one would look nice on you and try and save up money

Steven also starts to subtly, at least as subtle as he can be, ask you about if you want to get married someday

He's such a dork though, bless his soul, in his brain he's just kicking his feet and giggling. He's looking at prices for venues and planners already.

Marc Spector

Marc has it in him to get married, we know that

But in his mind he doesn't really see himself as "husband material". He thinks that he's got too much baggage that you'd have to deal with if you were married

He acts like you two haven't been living together and splitting the bills and stuff, which is sometimes what marriage is, in the most domestic way possible

To him, he can't really see himself being able to do the whole marriage thing all over again

That was until some drunk creep was hitting on you while you and him were on a date and you told the guy "I'm with my husband" which warded that guy off

For some reason you calling him your husband while you locked your arm with his just washed those feelings of doubt out. Something about it just made him feel so confident

Like "Yeah I'm their husband! Back off!"

After that Marc was more open with himself about the idea of letting that title back into his life and getting to call you his spouse too

He more so likes the ability to call you his spouse. Possessiveness is in him and by god does getting to call you his spouse feed it

Marc will ask about the idea of marriage sometime after that just to see if you like it

If you want to get married then he's on board. But if you think cohabitating suits you better then he's fine with that too

So long as you're there together and you love him then he's content and happy

Jake Lockley

Damn right he's your husband

Honestly ever since you two got serious with your relationship, became committed to each other, and moved in he's just been like "We are married now" in his head

He's never said that out loud but he knows that the feeling is there with you too

It wasn't until you semi-jokingly called him your husband when some girls were checking him out and you huffed and puffed about it

"What's the matter? I wasn't flirting back." "Well, excuse me for not wanting some giggling college girls to be eyeing up my husband."

And that just... made him feel something, in his heart and in his pants

No but seriously. After that night cohabitating and acting like a married couple wasn't enough. He needs to put a ring on you and vice versa

He will go down to town hall and get those damn papers and buy the rings right now

Jake was originally just going to wait until you said that you wanted to get officially married, but he just can't anymore

In the morning you guys are going to buy rings, get the papers filled out, and planning the wedding

He's got the wedding planner on speed dial and a house with a picket fence in the nice part of town ready to go, just say "I do" please

Honestly at this point he never wants to hear his name come out of your mouth ever again. To you, it's either "hun" "hunny" "dear" or "sweetheart"

Light of his life, air in his lungs, fire in his loins

Taglist: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

[princessbrunette]

was talking about stepbro!rafe with indy ( @hanasnx ) who brought up a very valuable point and well, inspired this post.

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

before the two of you have explored your attraction to eachother, rafe acts like a real brother. just one that pushes the boundaries too far. he’ll come into your room unannounced, bored— plucking things off your shelf and asking stupid questions before coming to lean on your bed, conversing with you. he’ll ask you stuff like “so are you a virgin?” and you’ll all but clutch your pearls and send him away, wondering why he’d wanna know such a thing.

he’d also just straight up bully you, which gives you every mixed feeling imaginable. annoy him just a little bit, and he’ll wrestle you onto his bed, pinning your arms to your chest, practically laying his weight on you. “m’gonna spit in your mouth.” he threats as you thrash, yelling for ward. “yeah? yell for dad, he’s not home.” he’s stifling a laugh. you hate when he calls ward dad like you’re related.

“get off me!” you try once more, hating everything about it. from the way he was treating you from the way your cunt throbbed because of it.

“nah, open up.” he grabs your jaw, and from pure primal instinct, the subconscious nagging in your brain, you let your mouth open just a little, jaw just a little slack. his reaction is instant and you’re filled with regret, his lip twitching up and squinting his eyes in faux disgust. “oh you like that? you just— yeah don’t fuckin’ deny it i felt you open that shit up.” he accuses, tilting his head— still not letting you evade his grip as you squirm, lip trembling in embarrassment, eyes aglaze.

he’s smirking, panting in this sick kinda hyena like way as he stares down at you. “oh you’re real weird lil sis. you wanted me to spit in your mouth. didn’t you?”

that’s when you start stuttering and stammering out excuses, trying not to cry — not like he’d care if you did. “i—i just— i was confused because you tell me i should always listen to my big brother n’i just— it was instinct!”

“instinct… huh, okay…” he ponders for a moment before he leans back in, slowly this time… more calm. he pries your jaw back open, his mouth so close to yours that you can feel his hot breath on the roof of your open mouth. just when you think he’s about to actually do it, he leans back with a simple smile— shutting your mouth and patting your cheek. “gotta grow a backbone, y’know. you were really gonna just roll over n’take it because someone told you to?” he tuts, finally letting you go and pushing back up onto his knees, freeing you. “just tryna help you grow. alright?”

you don’t even move for a few seconds, still disheveled on his bed— and he pretends not to see the dark wet patch in your pyjama shorts, for both of your sake. you pretend you’re not a bit disappointed. when you sit up, he’s back to his old self and you gaze up at him curiously, wondering what switched him.

“n’stop looking at me like that, jesus. cut that slut shit out… n’get out of my room already.” he’s nonchalant, nodding to his door in gesture. you say nothing, and when you leave you hear him lock his door.

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

[ilyrafe]

𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 ✧ 𝒓. 𝒄.

pairing: rafe cameron x f!reader

warnings: brief sexual innuendos, angst, sleepy rafe!!!!!!

word count: 0.4k (she smol)

a/n: hi i’m back (kinda) i’ve been watching outer banks and of course i’m obsessed with the unhinged one from the show 🤡

seeing rafe sleeping gives you a strange feeling. though you are relieved to see him resting, you can’t help but focus on his perpetually frowned eyebrows.

his muscular, bare back goes up and down in a steady rhythm. his breathing is deep, and this is normally the calmest you get to see him.

how can someone have everything and have nothing at the same time?

maybe you are being naive, but if you could, you would solve all his problems, heal all his pains and let him feel true inner peace. there’s so much aching behind his smug smile. you have no idea how much he’s really hurting. what you do know is bad enough.

you know you’re nothing but a fuck for him, but you don’t care. your love for rafe outweighs your self worth.

at first, you thought rafe was mean for the sake of being mean. then you got to know him and you saw what he goes through behind closed doors. the mind games, the humiliation.

rafe never had a chance.

it turns out, sober rafe is even more depressing than coked up rafe. sober rafe is sad, he has no self esteem and will put his life on the line for ward’s approval. it’s heartbreaking.

it’s hard to love someone like rafe. you have this urgent and overwhelming need to fix him, and deep down you know you can’t do that. it’s painful to see someone with so much potential being their own worst enemy.

at this point, you don’t even care that he doesn’t feel the same. he doesn’t know what love is anyways, he never got it from anyone before you.

“why are you awake?”

rafe’s raspy voice startles you a bit. it’s still dark and it’s late.

“can’t sleep.”

“that means i didn’t do my job right.” he jokes with his eyes closed and a cheeky grin on his lips.

you chuckle.

“no, you did. you always do.”

rafe is smug, even when he’s half asleep.

“just close your eyes, i don’t want you being sleepy tomorrow.”

you don’t get to tell me what to do, you want to say, but that’s a lie. rafe does tell you what to do and you listen. you always listen to him.

“okay.”

you close your eyes and turn your back to him. this feels so humiliating, and yet, you can’t bring yourself to leave.

—

i love feedback! let me know what you think! 💕

[starkeyisthelastname]

Step!bro rafe part 2? Like maybe everyone’s reactions after he blurted it out, the conversation with Ward and Rose, etc!!

The island was small and word traveled fast at Rafe’s loud statement to JJ Maybank about him being the father of his step-sister’s baby. When Ward got the phone call from the Island Club owner about the incident, he didn’t want to believe his already troubled son had really impregnated his step-daughter. The step-daughter that never gave him any reason to believe she would ever let Rafe do this to her, making Ward wonder if the sex had been consensual at all. The more he thought about his grandchild, the more he realized just how much she looked like his son.

The moment you two walked in the house, baby girl asleep in your arms, you saw Ward stepping out from his office. You knew by the look in his eyes, he knew what happened only 45 minutes before. “Put the baby down and you two come talk to me.” He said sternly. Rafe scoffed, rolling his blue eyes as you quickly headed upstairs to lay your daughter down in her crib.

Walking into the immaculate office, you saw Ward sitting at his desk and your mother sitting on the couch with a heavy glass of wine in hand. Rafe and you took a seat in the empty chairs, waiting for your step-father to start speaking.

“So I got a call from the owner of the Island Club about an incident. Know anything about that?” He asked, question pointing more towards Rafe.

You cowered your heard down, waiting for your step-brother to reply. Rafe wasn’t going to let this go easy and you could feel the fight brewing.

“Don’t know what you are talking about.” Rafe said with a shrug to his shoulders, acting as if nothing happened.

You happened to glance over at your mother, who gave you a look of disappointment, even more so than she did when she found out you were pregnant.

“No idea? Okay how about, you being the father to that baby up there. That ring a bell?” Ward asked, standing up, anger seething through him. He didn’t want to aim it towards you, not knowing if his son had solely did this from being fucked in the head, at least that’s how Ward saw him.

“Okay and so what if it’s true? She’s my step-sister.” Rafe said, his voice rising as his father always brought out the worst in him no matter how hard he tried.

“Rafe..” Rose said, eyes in shock.

You felt the tears falling, knowing that the secret the two of you had been keeping was over. There wasn’t any hiding it anymore. The one person you found comfort in no matter how messed up this situation was, was Rafe. He may have been an asshole, his head may no always been on straight, but he would quite literally kill for you and more importantly that baby girl.

“Your step-sister that you’ve known since you were 10! Did you do something without her knowing? Get her pregnant on purpose? Because you like to fuck everything up in this family!” Ward yelled. He looked at you and back to Rafe, taking breath to calm himself down. “As far as I’m concerned. I can no longer have the two of you in my home. As much as I love you Y/N, this is something that can’t be undone and is an embarrassment to the Cameron name.”

It was as if, you didn’t know who your mother was anymore. Your heart breaking at the fact of losing the family you had been with since you were only nine years old. Looking at Rafe, he silently nodded to you, giving you reassurance that you had him and the two of you would raise your baby girl away from the island that was toxic.

[aceofshitposts]

Happy Halloween y'all :) werewolf au! for brevity and simplicity just know in this au that werewolves often keep their ears and tail even in humanoid form for ease of communication. this really only comes up once in this fic but lmao i didn't want to do exposition about it in the text.

-

The thing about being the only human in a pack of werewolves is that Tim is often smothered. It's not that he doesn't appreciate their concern, mostly, it's just... Tim would like some independence.

He might not be able to turn into a giant wolf but that didn't mean he was helpless. He was a witch in his own right, the best in Gotham village, and he wanted to practice his craft without his pack mates complaining about the smell of his various concoctions.

It was traditional for witches to set up post along the edge of the territory. Dick had whined that Tim didn't need to go off on his own so far from town, his apothecary didn't have to follow tradition, but Tim liked the quiet. He liked the duty of setting and maintaining wards along the entrance to their territory, greeting visitors and returning townsfolk alike and offering his potions when needed.

Besides, it's not like he was actually that far away. Not for a bunch of wolves who could cross the town in a quarter hour if they needed to.

So really, there was nothing they could complain about.

Well. Except the rogue wolf that shows up just across the river one day.

The river marks the border of the Wayne territory, a singular bridge allowing access. Tim's cabin is a mere 20 feet away from it and the path, the first point of contact for travelers in need of potions or directions.

Tim is checking the wards early in the morning when he sees what looks to be a flash of red in the sunlight. It's gone again before Tim can really focus on it, leading Tim to think it was a bird of some such flying around in the bush.

He puts it out of his mind, returning to the cabin to tend to his potions.

Dick visits in the afternoon.

They do the usual routine. Tim offers Dick a particularly strong cup of mint tea specifically to see him wrinkle his nose at the smell, ears going flat against his head and tail drooping, and Dick smothers Tim in his arms in a bone crushing hug while asking whether Tim really wanted to be alone out here.

"I can take care of myself," Tim insists.

"I know, I know," Dick replies because of course he knows. Tim has proved himself more than enough. "I still worry, though."

It's hard on wolves, Tim thinks, to have a pack member want to live apart. Especially on these wolves, who knew loss of a pack member so keenly. It is unusual, however, for Dick to look particularly nervous, tapping a single claw against his teacup.

"Is something wrong?"

Dick sighs, giving his tea a particularly nasty look before downing the whole thing.

"Bruce got a letter this morning. Apparently there's been some rouge wolf spotted in the neighbouring territories."

Oh. Well, that, Tim supposes, changes some things.

"I'll be alright," Tim says.

Alright is not how Tim would describe himself a few days later.

The wolf appears just after lunch, sitting at the base of a great old tree like an omen. He's a massive wolf, probably rivaling even Bruce in size when he's in full shift, dark black fur with a white patch on the chest and a red leather muzzle fitted around his head. It's an odd style, covering most of the head except the eyes and leaving spots for his ears to stick out.

Probably, Tim should have alerted the pack right away. He could set off the wards and have Bruce and Dick and them all rushing to his location immediately. But the wolf doesn't approach the bridge. He simply sits, watching.

It makes Tim curious.

What would a rogue wolf bound by a red leather muzzle achieve by appearing at the edge of the Wayne territory?

Tim really needs to learn when not to let his curiosity get the best of him.

"I just want to help you," Tim whispers holding his hands out in a placating gesture.

The wolf (Tim has decided to call him Red for the time being) is growling, body hunkered low to the ground. If it weren't for the muzzle Tim would have full view of a mouth full of teeth.

It had become clear, to Tim at least, that Red's condition had to be connected to the muzzle. A binding spell? Something that kept him from shifting back into humanoid form, surely. It also, obviously, kept him from eating anything substantial which Tim thought must be awful.

The growling continues but Red doesn't move. Tim approaches cautiously, trying to telegraph his movements to prevent startling him. He peers around Red's head and.

"Shit, that's a problem."

There's no buckle on the muzzle. Tim will have to cut it off.

He probably should have said something more substantial than swearing before pulling out his knife. But instead he moves to slide the blade under the thick leather and Red bucks immediately. The knife slips from Tim's grip, sliding against the meat of his palm as he struggles to grab it.

Tim is knocked against the base of the tree, a huge paw pressing between his shoulder blades and growling so loud Tim can feel it vibrating through his bones. Red sticks his muzzle right against Tim's neck, claws digging into his shirt and flesh.

"I'm sorry! There's no buckle, I can't get it off without cutting it, I promise!"

He can feel Red's claws flex before moving to the side. Tim rolls over cautiously then tries to get up. Red rushes forward, using a paw to knock Tim back down, only allowing him to sit up.

The air feels still around them. Red could easily hurt Tim further even without his teeth. Tim slowly brings the knife up to Red's head, slides it under the strap just behind Red's ear and begins sawing away at it.

The moment the knife breaks through Red jumps back, shaking his head and pawing at the muzzle to get it off. Once it falls to the ground Tim can clearly see his face. There's a white diamond between his eyes which are an unsettling shade of blue green. That's all Tim sees before he's pinned again, a paw pressing down on his chest and now the feeling of hot breath against his neck. Red breathes in, teeth pressing into Tim's skin.

Then he is gone again, dashing into the woods, leaving Tim to take heaving breaths and then tend to his wounds.

[mayullla]

Quest: Farmers need help at the barn

Character(s): Harpy (Unnamed character/original work) Summary: You are an adventurer, taking up missions and quests in the guild. And this you choose to help out a monster barn, unknown to you that a certain feathered monster thought of you as his mate. Tags/Warnings: Yandere!monster, fem!reader, general yandere themes, violence (murder, etc), monster slavery, mating/courting rituals, possessive behavior, blood, human x monster romance, misunderstandings, obsessive monster

"I am so sorry! We had opened the cop for the harpies so that we could go and collect their eggs but it seems that one was sneaky enough to get out of the cage and run away!!" 

Arriving at the farm you were immediately greeted with a farmer, tall and gruff, certainly strong enough to deal with monsters yet panicked as one had escaped the pen, and with barely enough staff currently he definitely needed help.

"I am really sorry, we will pay you more for the trouble." The farmer said asking you to search for the harpy that got away. It was a monster after all and with a human village near here, you could not help but become a little concerned. 

"We also have someone else looking for the harpy right now, if needed and the harpy had placed humans in danger the guy has a bow ready to shoot." He had told you that the monster ran away to the forest and could not have gone far away as they were able to land a shot on its wing. He gave you a map and guided you to the gate of the forest, leaving just as soon.

Except you were not sure if you were really going the right way!! 

You looked at the map and frowned. You have been walking around the forest for what felt like hours now and just could not find the harpy that escaped!

Sighing as you looked at the sun still up so high you wondered if you would be stuck here searching for this monster the whole day. Really you hoped that it would end as soon as possible so that you could finally go home or maybe get a quest that won't cost you to circle the forest tens of times...

"Grrr..." You looked behind you, ready to attack whatever creature that made that sound in the forest. Yet nothing showed themselves to you as you constantly hear the growls and somehow had a mix of pain with it. Heading towards the sound as cautiously as possible you found a hidden cave and cautiously went in.

You were surprised to find a harpy in the dark dreary place. And you also noticed that one of his wings was bleeding. An arrow wound you were sure was done by a hunter and another one on its thigh.

It was easy to connect the dots somewhat, the harpy met the hunter somewhere in the forest and managed to get away but the hunter still managed to get his thigh with an arrow. He hid himself, unable to fly back to his home and also started screeching at night to ward off any predators that could have found him.

He glared at you as he dragged himself deeper into the small cave to get away from you. Screeching in hopes that you would become afraid and run away. But instead, you slowly went over to him, with a soft voice trying to calm it down. "Hey, it is fine... You will be alright."

It didn't trust you at all but after offering it a bit of food and encouraging words and with time, still cautious of you he finally let you come closer. You tried to be careful when applying ointment and bandaging up his wing and then later his thigh, one wrong move can get you clawed by the monster. 

It seemed very used to humans, you were at first sure that it would take longer to calm the harpy down but that doesn't seem the case when it looked so innocently at you after you finished bandaging it.

You knew that this was a monster. But right now rather than a wild monster it was more tamed and rather than you fearing him it feared you even more. But work is work, and this was a job that you must do. Your kindness was till this point cause rather than sending the harpy back to the farm still bleeding you prefer that the bird got bandaged up.

Less mess.

"There you go.." you whispered to the male harpy as you slowly backed away from him. He looked at the bandaged wing in wonder, examining it. He then looked at you curiously as to why you would help him.

Harpy feathers, depending on the color and quality can go for a lot of money even more if it was the whole wing itself. A lot of humans search for such monsters wanting to capture them if they were wild creatures. You knew that yourself, when you were helping the creature you knew that this particular harpy has definitely been hunted young or bred and then sold by the farm for his beautiful feathers.

You shrugged at his actions. "You are hurt." You whispered at it wondering if it would actually understand what you said while some harpies from what you heard can speak human language; this one in particular didn't seem to be able to do so much. Moments like these you thought of those books where the main character would tell the monster to run away and that this was its chance to do so but that wasn't you. You needed him back at that farm.

"Th-thank you..."

You were taken back a little when you heard the monster's voice looking up at him. "Huh...?" "T-thank you."

...You weren't able to stand his genuine yet still mildly confused eyes, choosing to look away. As you headed out of the cave not looking back, sure that the harpy would not come back to attack you. For once you felt guilty. You took a moment to collect yourself ready to get him to the farm when you heard bushes rustle. Pulling out your dagger you were ready to attack when you saw the same farmer this morning along with someone else.

"You are here! Good that we found you! The hunter here was able to land a shot on the harpy's thigh again while it was escaping from him and we followed the blood." The farmer told you, also saying something about his part in the farm work being finished, that he was able to come here and help.

You told them that the harpy they were looking for was inside the cave and that there were no other exits other than here. You told them you bandaged up the monster but it still should not be able to move much. "Thanks a bunch! You are a lifesaver." The farmer continued, "You head back to the farm, we will take care of everything here."

Looking back as they entered the cave you wondered if this counted as betrayal. You weren't sure, but rather than mulling it over you left the place.

From what you have heard the farmer and hunter were able to successfully get the harpy back to the farm. After that trip to the forest, you had a few odd jobs here and there on the farm, not a lot of dealing with the monsters as you need to be specially trained for most of those kinds of work but more so packaging the raw materials and loading them up on the carts to be shipped.

You didn't know that something started to follow you ever since that day. Eyes watching you as you move cans of milk from one side to another, or move and clean the wool shaved off from the weresheeps. Maybe if you noticed those eyes you would have done something about it, but you didn't and by the time you realized it was far too late.

It was one of those small clearings, the bell rang signaling a break for lunch. Under the tree, it shaded you away from the sun you sat to eat your sandwich that the farm provided. The sun was so hot against your skin that it made you work quite a sweat.

"Care if I join you?" The gruff voice made you jump in surprise as you looked to your side to see the same man you saw who was together with the farmer in the forest. It was the hunter you thought to yourself as you gave him a place to sit. 

"Hey, thanks for the help last time. Because of you the harpy had his guard lowered and we were able to capture him without much of a problem. That guy is a little smart for its own good." The hunter introduced himself, stating that he was also an adventurer like you but would help this farm often when they needed some hands as he was friends with the owner.

You chatted for a while, and you found out that the hunter was a married man with a daughter and a wife who was pregnant with another child. "My daughter is a pretty girl. She also wants to become an adventurer like me. I should introduce the two of you when we have the chance" The hunter joked that it would be nice that his little daughter had a lady who she could look up to.

The hunter looked excited as he also had another daughter and told you how he could not help but spoil his daughter whenever he could. He was hoping that he will have another daughter but his wife wished it would be a boy instead. The hunter, while intimidating looking, was actually more easygoing and casual.

"Oop! That is the bell." You heard the rattle of the bell notifying everyone that you guys need to head back to work. "You have been working here for a bit. How long are you staying?" The hunter asked curiously. You told him that today was your last day, that everything here was under control now. "Ahh, then it is back to the quest for you I guess. Hahah! Well. It was nice to meet ya." The hunter also stated that you guys might see each other probably on another mission or at the guild.

Getting up first, he took his leave having something to do leaving you alone under the tree again. Before getting up you quickly checked your mouth for any crumbs or food that was stuck. Grabbing your mirror from your bag you also checked your teeth. When your name was called by one of the farmers, you hurried. Getting up you shoved your compact mirror into your bag but were unable to properly close your bag being in a hurry.

You didn't see your small compact mirror fall out from your bag, hitting the grass floor as you head inside with the farmer. 

When you came back later to look for the mirror after finding out that it was not in your bag you could not find it anywhere...

More precisely it has been swatted away by a certain harpy who was watching you. Keeping the thing close to their chest, with a flush look on their face hoping that he would not be caught yet at the same time hoping he would just so that you would look at him again. But he can't at least not yet.

You finally went back home, after the last long day of working at the barn. Your pay was a little more than the contract, as the owner was generous from the booming business right now. You were ready to hit the bed and after a shower and a lovely dinner, you flopped on your bed.

Your body was relaxed, as you slowly went to dreamland when you suddenly heard a noise outside your window. Opening your eyes you moved to get ready, but you were too slow when the window opened and a black feathered monster rushed in jumping on top of you.

You struggled, but claws caught your arms preventing you from hitting anyone or even getting your dagger from your table side. "Mate!" You heard a chirp and looked up to get a good look at the thing that had you on its hold.

Your eyes widen and your body froze.

You recognize him, the harpy that you bandaged up on the first day of work at the barn. The black feathers and the awkward voice still struggle to follow human speech. Yet unlike before rather than cautious and feral, he was more ecstatic and eager to see you. Impatiently moving your arms as he wrapped his wings around you as if it was trying to hug you.

"Accept.... shiny g-gift... from mate..." His words were hesitant and slow in between chirps. But he wasn't shy, not with how shamelessly he clung to you. Cuddling so tightly as if to get the scent of him on you, rubbing his face under your neck while looking at you with hearts in his eyes when you looked down at him in surprise. "Mate likes... me!"

"What!?" You yelled in confusion, as you tried to shove him away to no avail. There was something wet on his shoulders and chest, something that you could not see properly in the darkness till your eye finally got used to the night. You were terrified.

You could not help but squeak when you saw it. The scent that you smelled from the harpy when he suddenly showed up did you finally understand what that red liquid on his face actually meant. His claws held your wrist preventing you from pushing away. The more you tried to leave the more tight his claws around you became. The heart in his eyes dimmed as he didn't understand why you were trying to push away from him.

"Why...why are you... why are you avoiding me." His voice was angry, a growl-like chirp produced as he forced you back to the bed. You didn't answer yet he followed your eyes and noticed you were looking at the blood on his cheek.

"Hunter... want to kill... me." He glared at you causing you to flinch. Looking away from him to your room, your weapons were too far away for you to grab and swat the harpy away. Regret as you didn't keep at least your dagger close to you. "Hunter... want to kill you... I.... save... you."

Your body felt as if it was growing cold as the harpy chirped in delight. His love-filled eyes back as he thought that you now understand and that you would love him back for doing the same favor for you after you saved him. 

The hunter did not want to kill you. You knew at least that much. Yet that same man was killed by the very harpy that he hunted, the one that you have helped.

“I… save you. I love… you. You love me.”

[writingroom21]

Seeing the ghost face reader just inspired me with something. Imagine shy introverted reader (she's like fluttershy if you watched my little pony) nerdy pouge reader where she is sarah’s bestie who has a massive crush on rafe but doesn't show it but when he starts saying something really bad to Sarah (I don't know what) reader loses it inside since she can't show it so later that night she secretly goes to race room quietly while he's asleep wakes him up by slapping his face hard (he wont mind since he's always found reader hot) reader is secretly a dom as they have hardcore sex

Like A Virgin

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex(wrap it up), cream pie, overstimulation, chocking, oral (m receiving), (let me know if I missed any)

Wc: 3.2K

A/N: I'm loving all the requests I've been getting! Keep them coming! I'm getting through them as fast as I can, so sorry if it take a while. I also just started my new job so I have to figure out a writing schedule. So please bare with me, I will get to them

“What the fuck Rafe! Why do you always have to start something? He’s my boyfriend, he can be here.” Sarah’s voice echoes through the halls.You had just walked through the back door to get a drink. She had invited the pogues over for a pool day, you’ve all been outside all day. From the moment you had gotten there you could tell something was off.

Sarah was tense and a little short, apologizing straight after and blaming it on being tired. You would believe her if it wasn’t for the dark looming shadow that was Rafe Cameron. He was lurking around, making sly comments, objectifying your’s and Kie’s body. He knew better than to try with Cleo, she would kill him in his sleep in a heartbeat. There was definitely something going on because even if he normally is a dick, he would have quit by now.

You’ve been Sarah’s friend for ages, the only person she never actually tried to push away. It was shocking for everyone because she’s always been out going while you kept to yourself. Instead of making friends you were reading not wanting to be bothered by the other kids. Then one day Sarah came up to you and forced you out of your shell.From then on the two of you were attached by the hip, always together. She never onced judged you for being a pogue even when all her kook friends made fun of you.

They saw you as an easy target. The shy, poor, bookworm pogue who hangs off the kook princess with a vice grip. She would always defend you, telling them off. Even going as far as getting into an argument with Rafe about you. He wasn’t always a dick to you, at first he was even nice? If you could even use that word but when he started to do drugs he became a different person.

You’ve spent countless hours in this house and viewing how the family dynamic works. They sometimes tend to forget that you are there, your quietness hiding you from their view. You’ve seen how Rafe can get, yelling and making a mess of things. How Ward neglects his eldest and youngest for Sarah and so on. The family has a complicated relationship that’s for sure, but you knew something was wrong.

Now you can see what was wrong, it was all of you. “No, I don't want filthy pogues in my house. They are nothing but low lives Sarah. If you want to ruin your life fine but don’t drag the rest of us down.” Rafe’s voice booms over hers. “Ahhhh you are so crazy. You are literally the worst. I just wanted to have a good time with my friends. Why can’t you just be a normal brother for once?” Sarah storms off running into you on her way back outside. 

“Hey did you?” She points behind her and you just nod. “I’m sorry.” You give her a quick hug and she goes back outside. Entering the kitchen you see Rafe texting on his phone leaning on the counter. He looks up at you and rolls his eyes. “What do you want, pogue?”  You ignore the venom that was laced in his words. Doing what you always do, biting your tongue afraid of the confrontation's consequences. “Fucking spit it out, stop being such a baby.” With a deep breath you do.

“Maybe you should try being nicer to people. Sarah’s your sister and you treat her like shit.” Rafe scoffs as you get water from the fridge. “If I wanted advice I wouldn’t go to someone who’s poor. You and your criminal friends are just a waste of space.” He watches as you walk away, looking back to say one last thing today. “Don’t you find it funny how Sarah actually has friends. You’re still hanging out with high schoolers because everyone hates you. Maybe it's time to change and grow up.”

He left you alone after that. The rest of the afternoon was peaceful and filled with fun. At first you were scared of what he would say or do. You expected him to actually run out after you and start yelling. But nothing happened. Sarah had ordered you all pizzas and set up the movies in the living room. Everyone ate and walked as the movies played in the background. As it got later, the sun died, sleeping until it is brought to life once again in the morning. Mostly everyone was asleep, Kie and Sarah chatted and you chimed in time for time. But soon the sounds of Kie’s voice faded and became nothing. 

“Sarah?” The sound of blankets indicates that someone is moving around.”Yeah?” There’s so much you want to say, tell her so she knows you are there for you. But none of them seem good enough. “Are you okay?” You hear a sigh and more shuffling. Sarah plops her pillow and blanket next to you, laying down, she finally answers. “I guess.”

“It must be tough when he acts like that. I’m sorry you don’t deserve this.” Usually you don’t really comment on these things. Rafe is an iffy topic for Sarah. After he tried to kill her, she finds it hard to even look at him. She wants to help him because he’s her brother but at the same time she doesn’t recognize him. You don’t like to pick at the sore wound so you tend to just lend a comforting hand. “It’s always kinda been like this, the drugs just make it worse.” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “I still remember when we were little and I was so scared of a thunderstorm that he held me the whole night. Told me that he would always be there to protect me because he was my big brother, he loved me. Sometimes I wish I could go back to that, I don’t know who he is.”

You hand finds hers over the blankets, squeezing her fingers. “Sometimes people get lost. Some get help and find their way while the others continue on the never ending path. It sucks that you can’t do anything, he won’t let you. If it makes you feel better I think that part of him is still in there somewhere, he just hasn’t had the chance to show it.” 

Her fingers squeeze yours back. “I hope so.” Sarah fell asleep shortly after that conversation, leaving you to lay there and think. You think back to when you were young, Rafe seemed normal then. Sure he had some quirks but what child doesn’t. He would always hold the door for you everywhere you went. Ward would have you tag along on outings since he felt bad seeing your face after Sarah would tell you about something cool they did. There were also moments when he would try to make you smile, the little boy just wanted to make you happy. 

At that time Rafe was okay with having you around, if you twisted it out of him he might even say excited. That didn’t last long because their mother died and with her she took the last last bit of hope he ever had. He never truly felt safe again knowing that the person he loved the most was just gone. The outburst was the first sign he wasn’t okay, yet Ward ignored it. Then it was the violence, once again ignored. Finally the drugs got him the attention he was looking for. All for him to hear what he always knew. “You’re a fucking disappointment Rafe. Knew it from the moment I laid eyes on you.” From then on out the world was dead to him, he only needed to focus on himself. Everyone else is the enemy. 

Sarah’s words keep replaying in your head. Why can’t Rafe see he’s hurting people? You get why he shut you out, even when you were crushed and cried, you understood. But he can’t do it anymore to his own sister. Without thinking your body makes a mistake. It carries you up the stairs and straight into his room. The sounds of the door shutting wakes him up, he rubs his eyes trying to process what woke him. He opens his eyes just in time to see your hand in the air and strikes his cheek with your palm. 

“What the fuck.” He had to take a second to fully realize that you just slapped him. “What is your problem? Can’t you just be nice to people.” He sits up on the bed and you try to push him back down but he catches your hands. “Me be nice? You just walked into my room while I was sleeping just so you could fucking slap me. How about you be nice.” You struggle to get his grip off of you to no avail, he was holding on tight.

“I’ve been nice since the first time I met you. Kept my mouth shut when you did fucked up shit. Stop ruining your life and the life of others.” His eyes are piercing yours, his hold somehow tighter. “Maybe you should keep it shut, I like it better when you aren’t talking.” He pulls you closer, your knee catching you on the bed so you don’t fall. 

He’s staring at your lips, licking his to wet them. You go to argue with him but he cuts you off. “Come on. I bet a filthy pogue like you could think of ways to put it to better use.” One of his hands that was holding yours lowers. He stops once he feels your fingers brush against the bulge that’s forming in his boxers. The ignorant smirk that always bestows his face makes its way back.

Yanking your hand back, you slap him again, the smirk falling. Once again without thinking your body makes mistake two of the night. You kiss him. Pulling on the chain that lays around his neck, smashing your lips to his. Your other arms wrap around his neck, the hand holding the chain twists, closing it slightly. If this was a mistake then you can beg for forgiveness later, absolving your sins can wait. 

He just tasted too good to stop.

His hands go to your waist, pulling you onto his lap. “I knew you had a thing for me.” If this was your childhood you then there would be no room for arguing. The person you are in this moment doesn’t want to admit how true it is. You have seen how bad of a person he’s become and you know you would lose Sarah if she ever found out. “Do you even know how to keep your mouth shut? For once shut the fuck up.”

From the corner of your eye you see his belt laying on the floor in a pile of his clothes from earlier. Leaning over the side of the bed, you grab it and return to your previous position. “What are you doin” You kiss him to stop him from talking further, hands slowly pulling him over his head. The motion of you grinding down on him was enough to distract him from the feeling of the belt wrapping around his wrists and headboard. 

When you pull back and sit on his lap he goes to chase your lips just to be blocked by the fact his hands are tied. “What the fuck. Get these off.” The headboard rattles against the wall as he struggles to break loose. “Take these off right now or else.” Rafe’s tone is threatening but you can’t help but to laugh at the sight in front of you. The guy who’s been terrorizing your friend group is all vulnerable underneath you. “Or else, what? I’ll just leave you like this, maybe even take off the boxers so whoever finds you will realize you got played.” You scoot back to sit on his thighs.

“What do you think about that, huh Rafe? Personally, the idea of Ward finding you like that is hilarious. Better yet I’ll take a picture of you and post it everywhere, let everyone see the mean old Rafe Cameron as nothing else than a pussy.” Your teasing is accompanied by your fingers grazing over the bulge in his boxers. Rafe wants nothing more than to cuss you out right now. Make you regret even thinking that you could get one over on him.

The twitching in his boxers gives him away. He’s enjoying it. The big scary man that has a whole island afraid of him is enjoying the way you talk down on him. “You like that don’t you? You are a pussy, you know that right?” Your hand grips him tight, a whimper forced out of him. “Stop.” The words are weak and a contrast to how his hips are bucking up into your hand. Feeling generous you lower the boxers, taking his dick in your mouth without warning.

Rafe lets out a sigh when he feels the warmth of your mouth wrap around him. He goes to thrust into your mouth and you pull back, hands pushing his hips back down. “Do that again and I’ll leave you here to be found. I’m not kidding Rafe.” He nods at you, wincing as your nails dig into his skin. “Words.”

He looks down at you and can’t recognize who you are. Where has this side of you been hiding? He’s only ever known you as Sarah’s shy best friend. Yet the person in front of him looks like you but doesn’t act like you. “I get it. Fuck when were you like this?” From this view he looks so pretty.

His cheeks are a shade of pink from blushing, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. He looks good enough to fuck. If he took time to see what you were reading he would see that you’ve always been like this. You just never advertised it like he does. “Always have been. Maybe if you were nicer to people you would know that.” His eyes close when you go back to sucking him off. They scrunch up when he isn’t getting the satisfaction he’s looking for. You are barely even sucking.

It’s more as if he’s in your mouth and you are moving up and down on it. There’s no suction or hand to facilitate your movements. Not enough pressure for him to feel good, in fact he just feels frustrated. Your ears perk up when you hear his little groans and whimpers. “What’s wrong? Is it not good?” The words yes are on the tip of his tongue, they died as soon as his eyes met yours. There’s this defiant look in them, as if you want him to tell you somethings wrong. “No no it’s okay. Great”

You give him a smile. “Good boy.” The moans he lets out to your words are chocked on when you actually start to blow him. Rafe is no virgin that’s for sure, but god damn he feels like one right now. This has got to be one of the best blowjobs he’s ever received, scratch that it is the best. “Please.” He sounds pathetic and it makes you speed up. Rafe physically chokes on air from the sudden change, his body convulsing.

He keeps letting out these moans that sound whiny and a mix of pain. The way that he twitches in your mouth just confirms he’s close. Crystal blue eyes open to see why you stopped. Even in the dark his eyes are still beautiful, it’s not fair. Rafe watches as you slip out of your sleep shorts and panties, then you shirt. Leaving you fully exposed since you didn’t wear a bra.

Taking your panties, you crawl up to hover over his lap. He looks up at you ready to ask you to finally fuck him but you took him by surprise by shoving your panties in his mouth. “Hold this for me baby. Maybe that will finally shut you up.” The two of you stare into the others eyes as you sink down on him. Just from sucking him off you were soaked so he easily slid in. It was a good thing you muffled him. The moan he let out was so loud that it could still be heard, you had to cover his mouth just to stop the sound.

“God you act like a fucking virgin. Thought you were the kook king who could get anyone he wanted.” Rafe’s head was pinning, everything you are doing is making him so confused. He’s usually the one fucking, even when the girls on top he controls everything. Having you come in here and just fuck him as if he’s there for you is mind fucking. When he’s pictured this exact moment it was with you under him, screaming and clawing at his back as he fucked the shit out of you.

This is not how your first time should have gone. It’s the wrong way around yet it felt amazing.

Sweat is forming on your skin, the moonlight reflecting off of it. Your body is on overdrive, bouncing up and down. There is a tingle in your lower abdomen, a sign of your impending orgasim. As the feeling slowly crocendos, your body leans forward. You place the hand that was covering his mouth on his throat. The squeeze of your hand has his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

He’s so close to cumming, can feel it running from his fingertips to his arms that you have tied. He practically cries when you finally cum, your walls pulsating around him, triggering his own orgasim. You let go of his throat, wiping the tears from his eyes and shushing him. “It’s okay. You did so good.” He sobs around your panties, sucking the fabric lightly to ground himself. The way you keep slowly bouncing is killing him, he’s ready to pass out from the sensation. 

Looking down to see where the two of you were connected was his first mistake of the night. The sight alone sent him into another smaller orgasim, his body thrashing from the overstimulation. You pull yourself up and fall down next to him. After a few minutes of not talking to catch your breaths, Rafe tries to speak. Looking over at him you can see he’s staring at you, leaning up you take your panties out of his mouth and slip them back on.

“Are you going to untie me now?” You smile at him and give him a short kiss. Getting up you gather your clothes and put them on. “This isn’t funny untie me or I’ll tell everyone you fucked me.” You walk over to the side of the bed he occupied, leaning to grab the belt holding his arms. Dipping your head to his ears you whisper to him. “Really think anyone would believe you?”

You move back watching his face drop when you walk further towards the door. “Think of this as payback for all my years of silence.” You shrug and open the door. “I’ll get you back for this.” With one last look at him you smirked.

“I hope so.”

[thecutepoison]

This is very speculative, but I'm suspecting Kipperlily is using the Ethereal Plane to spy on the Bad Kids and if I'm right I might have figured how she got found out by the rogue teacher!

First, let me explain my paranoid thoughts about the spying. Since ep 3, we are aware that Kipperlily is hearing their conversations, even if we don't know for sure the extent of it. She, just like Riz, must have a crazy stealth modifier + reliable talent, however I don't think she's relying only on that.

So, there's a scene in ep 4 when the Bad Kids roll for perception to spot Kipperlily. Kristen casts See Invisibility and Fabian rolls a nat 20. Brennan describes, only to Fabian, that although he doesn't see Kipperlily, he feels the "twinge of some kind of sense". Very creepy. That implies that she's there but cannot be seen. She could be invisible, however I don't think that's the case because an invisible person could still be perceived through hearing or touch. Also, Kristen would have been able to see her because of the spell.

With that in mind, the paranoid goblin that lives inside my brain is convinced that she's using the Ethereal Plane to spy on the Bad Kids. The Border Ethereal is perfect for infiltration and spywork, since you pass through physical objects and watch everything in the material plane without ppl there perceiving you. There are a couple of ways to access the Ethereal Plane, with spells or items, but I have no ideia abt the specific method she might be using.

Her being in the ethereal plane explains why Fabian, with his nat 20, didn't notice any physical indicatives of Kipperlily but still felt a presence, like some sixth sense. Now, Adaine did use her Third Eye so she could see into the Ethereal Plane within 60 feet and still saw nothing. But that doesn't mean that Kipperlily isn't there since there's a very easy way to circumvent Adaine: Non detection. This is a third level spell that hides the target from divination magic - for 8 hours they "can’t be targeted by any divination magic or perceived through magical scrying sensors". The Rat Grinders, long time haters of the Bad Kids, are for sure aware that Adaine is a divination wizard, they would be fools to spy on the party without casting Non Detection first. She's the motherfucking elven oracle!

Okay, now about the rogue teacher. In ep 3, Siobhan theorizes the rogue professor is the ghost teacher. I think she's absolutely right! We know most teachers of Aguefort and even if the ghost one was among those we havent seen, the Bad Kids would probably have heard about them if they were teaching something like ranger class. It's plausible that the reason for the party having no ideia who they are and not even passing by them in the halls is that the ghost is the rogue professor. After all, no one knows who the hell they are, it's the whole point of their teaching method. And for a ghost it would be really easy to go undetected since they can travel through the Ethereal Plane, beside the insane stealth.

Indulge my conspiracy theories for a minute. Rogue professor = Ghost Teacher and Kipperlily can wander in the Ethereal Plane, the plane of ghosts. Even with the advantage of being on the same plane as the teacher, it would still be a nightmare to find them since they are a pro rogue. In fact, Kipperlily didn't achive that: the rogue teacher found her.

But how did she manage to have the professor find her? I'm sure it wasn't an accident, she's too calculating for that. So, I started thinking about what would I do in her place and came up with the stupidest ideia. It's utterly ridiculous. But it could totally work and the strategy seems kinda Kipperlily's style.

Remember the Ghost Steak? The one Fig tried to eat when she invaded the teacher's lounge in season one? It's the ghost teacher's lunch, and Brennan reestablished its existence in ep 3 when Adaine used Ethereal Sight, explaining that the school wards are porous enough to allow ethereal travel and other stuff.

So if I was Kipperlily, my dumbass plan would go as follows: invade the teacher's lounge through the ethereal plane and hide inside the fridge. It wouldn't be a problem for me since I'm intangible and can pass through stuff, plus the other professors wouldn't see me even if they opened the fridge. Inside, I wait as long as needed, until the Rogue/Ghost Teacher gets hungry. They finally open the fridge to grab their snack, only to find me looking at them from inside the fridge like a lunatic. Mission complete: got found by the rogue teacher and aced junior year!

It's so mundane and stupid and that makes me more convinced that's exactly what happened. It's too funny to not be true.

[erzva]

…

zoro

how he shows love

acts of service & physical touch

zoro is a very sufficient and blunt, cut to the chase kinda guy bc he doesn't like waiting. he prefers things to be direct. he's not good with words and he doesn’t see the point in being. he doesn't like talking bc he's more of a listener, so he isn't too big on words of affirmations, in both ways.

he would get annoyed with disgusting over the top phrases about how great he is or how much you love him. even worse if you use stupid petnames. he would just be very weirded out and annoyed.

he's awkward with words. he never seems to be able to put what he's thinking into words correctly. it frustrates him that he is bad at conversing. most he can do is say that you're cool or impressive. if you're looking for a romantic poet, he's not the one for you. he just trusts you know that he loves and cares for you without having to put it into complicated words. the most you’ll get from him is an “i love you”/“i’m in love with you”. that’s as straight forward as it gets. he can do that.

he's an ‘actions speak louder than words’ person. he'll make sure you feel as loved as possible with the little amount of sweet talk you get from him. but just bc he can't tell you how much he loves you in riddled poems doesn't mean he isn't loving. it’s evident that he’s in love with you with all the things he does for you. you definitely get prince:ss treatment.

he's always near you, hovering like a shadow. he seems like a puppy the way he follows you around. or rather a grumpy wolf, ready to ward off anyone who gets too close. he sneaks little touches throughout the day and always finds a way to surprise you and make you feel special. and he gives the best hugs. they're warm and soft and he just holds you so perfectly. or maybe it’s just that you fit into him so well bc he’s so buff. it definitely adds to the confortness.

he doesn't really like/need quality time. he is a very out of sight out of mind person and spending a lot of time with someone is not an indicator of how much you love them to him. at least that’s what he used to think before you came along. he can’t help but feel warm whenever you seek him out to spend your free time with him. and he has found himself doing the same with you without even realizing it, accompanying you almost everywhere you went.

what he needs from you

physical touch & quality time / affirmations

your love prevails even after long periods of time apart but he would still rather have you with him all the time. that way he has an eye on you and can protect you. not that you can’t do it yourself, he just feels more at ease that way. you not being with him makes him worry and feel stressed so quality time is definitely something he needs now. you don't have to be doing anything important, just being together with you is good for him.

he likes it when you watch him train for example. having your eyes on him makes him wanna perform even better than usual and catching you staring at his chest or back is always something he looks forward to. and even though he gives his best and powers himself out, he’s never too tired for a little fun afterwards. your reward for being so patient.

he especially loves it when you join him for a nap. there's nothing that makes him feel more content than feeling your warmth and body close to his while he's sleeping. again, he likes having you close in case anything happens but it's also just very comforting and comfortable. he sleeps much better with you. he didn't know what a good night of sleep was before you joined him for a nap for the first time. and now he hates it whenever he has to sleep alone. but waking up alone is even worse. you need to join him for naps. if you see him napping just go lay down beside him so he can feel ok.

you’re good with your words. (even if you aren’t, it seems that way to him bc he’s not) and he admires that. he’s fascinated with how well you articulate yourself. he holds the same admiration for robin. only that his admiration for you is a bit stronger because your words are often directed at him, spoken in secret in your chambers with no one else to hear but him. and unfortunately he has grown to like it.

…

[floworence]

I absolutely love how mha handles Toshinori and him being The Symbol of Peace.

Horikoshi could've went with the very popular route, having the guy who seems like The Hero™ be secretly corrupt, using the protagonist, the whole, single entity that is responsible for corruption of society, but he didn't do it.

When you first see All Might, you see this God-like figure, worshiped by everyone, someone larger than life. You see all that, and expect him to be a superficial, shallow, asshole who does it all for fame.

And then the reveal happens and we partially see the man behind the legend. Disabled, middle-aged man who is becoming jaded and bitter by the state of the world and heroism at large. First interactions we have with Toshinori Yagi and not All Might?

He is an asshole.

Except he is not.

Looking back at the first interaction he has with Izuku, he is really not trying to be mean, he really is trying to be helpful. He saw first hand what heroism does to people. He experienced it. He knows that heroism chews you up and spits you out, even with such power like OfA. He sees this trembling boy, with stars in his eyes, worshiping him like he is a God and all he sees is yet another person disillusioned with what heroism is, so he tries to keep him safe in the only way he knows at that moment: by crushing his dreams and facing them with harsh reality.

You have to remember that at this point he doesn't know Izuku, his impression of him is only of a hero fanboy who doesn't understand the dangers of hero life. Should have he been softer? More mindful of what he is saying? Yes, of course but this first interaction is important for his characterization.

Why?

Because, we as the audience see him make a mistake.

With this, we see that he is not a God. He is a human, a man, and that is the most important part of his character.

His humanity.

From then on we move onto the training montage, where we see more and more of the man, rather than the legend. We see that he is sassy, silly, caring and a rather mediocre mentor. We see good and bad. During season one and two, we as the audience familiarize ourselves with the man behind All Might, but actually we don't see him fully yet.

We are still like Izuku in a way, we know he is a human, not a God, but there is still this level of invincibility to him, yes he has his limits but still, he is this giant figure casting shadow.

It is not until post Kamino Ward arc we realize on who exactly All Might was casting shadow.

Yes, yes, yes, I know what you are expecting me to say here, that he cast the shadow on other heroes, Izuku, students, Japan, whole world even, and he did but we will get into that in a bit.

The person which was hidden the most was Toshinori Yagi.

It's not a coincidence that not only the story got darker with "All Might" not longer being present but that we also get a lot more moments with Toshinori being vulnerable.

Only after the protective shield of All Might is gone do we really start to see AND understand Toshinori.

We see exactly why he became a hero, his complete disregard for his own self, the workaholism, the pressure he was under to keep it all together.

Then, society collapses in on itself and Toshinori is left with a gaping void in his heart knowing it was all for nothing.

Horikoshi could've had All Might be corrupt, he could've been an asshole looking for fame but instead he made him into this deeply empathetic, caring, kind, loving man who just wanted to save others.

Society's dependence on All Might wasn't Toshinori's fault. He was just one individual put on a pedestal, held to such high standards that it almost killed him. Scratch that, it would've killed him if it wasn't for Izuku.

After Shie Hassaikai Arc, you see one thing that I haven't seen done before.

You see how Toshinori was also the victim of the hero society. You see how that man sees no value in himself except for what he can do for others. He feels completely worthless and undeserving to be even alive.

He wanted to become The Symbol of Peace, yes, but society made him into their only defense with even other pros admitting they are "rusty" because of All Might.

He never wanted to be the only one but after he was put on that pedestal he had the whole world on his shoulders and he carried it for years until the world bled him dry and then discarded him.

People becoming complacent wasn't his fault, he never advocated for everything to be left to him, never bragged he was the best, never made others feel lesser, and yet everyone took him for granted and that ultimately lead to the catastrophe that was the Final War.

You know what is the worst though? That he still felt like it was his fault and he will probably forever carry that guilt with him.

But in the end, it wasn't all guilt. Yes there was the guilt for not being able to stop the war, for indirectly causing the society to become complacent, for not being able to stop his students from risking their lives, probably the guilt of thrusting the weight of the world onto Izuku's shoulders (unknowingly, but that is for another post).

Final war arc is also Toshinori's final arc and his biggest realization.

His realization that Toshinori Yagi and All Might aren't two separate entities. That it's all him. The realization that he also had in the first epilogue: quirk doesn't make the hero, it's the heart.

That's what Iron Might represents. He answers Izuku's question here and he says:

Yes, you can become a hero without a quirk.

And with that, his sclera is once again white, because he is whole and he has hope once again.