#are they more than human in a bad or good way? or are they simply humans with great powers sometimes trying to be responsible with them

[sneepity-snoop-snorpity-sneep]

I apparently come across as the same age as my younger coworkers, possibly because I am holding the vestiges of my whimsy in a deathgrip and also because they are experiencing the highs and lows of marriage and I'm not (seriously, I once had a conversation with an old lady at an urgent care where she was talking about her kids, stopped mid-conversation and went "you don't have any, i can see it in your eyes" TTvTT). If i were a cartoon I might be failing the above person's character design test

a lot of people do NOT 'look like adults'. Hell, in my experience a lot of folks look about the same if they're between 16 and 25 depending on the person and the only real way to find out where they fall on that range is to straight-up ask them

on one hand, yes, fiction and character design in cartoons specifically is meant to convey information about the characters to the audience quickly and easily - that doesn't mean shorthand like this is a good idea

visually conveying important information about your characters to your viewers is one thing, catering to the members of the audience who become viscerally uncomfy with characters not fitting in the exact boxes they think characters (and usually real people) should fit in is another thing ENTIRELY. People are gonna surprise you and do backflips around your expectations in real life just by being themselves sometimes, and frankly fiction gets better when this part of the human experience is included (at least i think it does)

like this whole complaint could've just stopped at "I don't like it when writers/designers sexualize characters whose role in the story doesn't have anything to do with their sexuality or lack thereof" and most folks would agree - like anybody from the clone wars fandom remember what they decided to have ahsoka wear for the first couple of seasons for no real reason? but that doesn't actually have any bearing on the character themself, again, see young ahsoka running around doing jedi commander stuff and having character arcs that her clothes are coincidental for at best (girl was literally in a war zone with not only no protective clothing, but not clothing at all covering at least three vital organs hhhhhhhhh)

and also, since this seems to be about hazbin hotel, I'd like to point out that there's probably some overlap OOP is seeing between 'character is being sexualized by the writers and/or fans' and 'character is in a story that includes adult themes about sexuality, lust, etc, and is shown to visibly have a sex drive/sex life/sexual experience', as many adults do.

But i still don't really see this as a bug over a feature, i mean....yeah hazbin hotel writes adults whose lives include sex-related stuff in a very different way than other adult shows which include sexuality (gonna use arcane and castlevania here, because i just recently re-watched both), but they're also all very different kinds of stories.

hazbin hotel, while not being quite the same kind of show like say family guy or south park, where you might find over-the-top sex/profanity based comedy, is the kind of adult animation that decided to have sex be a more relevant part of the setting and sometimes plot. Characters make sexual references, innuendos, jokes, etc, all the time even when there isn't any actual sex going on, while the other two shows I mention simply have sex being A Thing Adults Do Sometimes and there isn't (usually, with a particular exception *cough cough Lenore + Hector*) anything majorly plot-relevant about it.

but as far as your audience goes, that's really a difference in preference than a sign of good/bad writing or character design. Like i'm definitely more of a fan of the latter style of including sexuality in stories about adults. The hazbin hotel take on writing adults and sex isn't my cup of tea, but neither is it a deal breaker for adult media in general for me. This may be because I am Not Going To Pay Attention To Whatever Nonsense The Horny Fans Are Doing Now. i'm just not.

like a lot of the above complains seem to be rooted in how members of the audience will see the character, which is really not the greatest way to judge a work of fiction. Inevitably, at least some fans will draw porn of any character regardless of canonical age or if the story they're from actually has any kind of sexual content or not (doesn't Disney have an official vault of porn of characters from a bunch of their kids movies/shows? yeah) and if that's an issue for you you may not be curating your own online experience as much as you should. Gotta learn to think 'Do i actually want to see/engage with this or will it just make me unhappy' before u actually look at something. I regret to inform u i dont know any way outside of experiencing the consequences of NOT doing that to learn when I should. I'm talking about the moment when i see a unfamiliar word online ending in 'philia' and i take a moment to notice my curiosity before pondering if i really care to look it up

in conclusion, trying to box actual adult's appearance/behavior into boxes on who should and shouldn't be allowed to have a visible sexuality is just kinda reminiscent on the aspects of western shame culture that presume you can stop people behaving badly by making the potential targets of that behavior act so as not to encourage it.

Understandable gut motivation. Poorly thought out reaction

Alright.

At First I Was Going To Make A Joke About How Stupid This Thing Is, But Now That I’m Thinking About It This Is Just More Gross, Infuriating, And Sexist Than It Is Stupid And Funny.

Adult Are Adults.

Fictional Adult Are Fictional Adults.

I Don’t Care What Height They Are, If They Have Curves Or Not, If Their Personality Is Childish Or Adultish, Or If They Look Like A Child Or A Adult.

They Are Adults No Matter What.

Also “ProShippers Take Her And Run”… Can You Just… Not Do Or Say Anything Ever Again?

Either That Or Change Your Ways?

[distort-opia]

There's a fascinating aspect of Ellen's character that I've seen some people touch on before, but now that it got into my head I need to go through to it too-- her nature not being of human kind. It's actually one of the very first things Orlok himself says: that Ellen is not human, and he reasserts it later. But then what is she?

"Almost a sylph," Knock says of Ellen. "His little changeling girl," Ellen says her father had described her as, when she wandered off into the forest as a child. "You mustn't be caught up in her fairy ways," Harding admonishes Anna. Hell, in the 2016 script, when the Hardings accompany Ellen on her walk along the sea shore, she and the children dance in a circle while Ellen cries out "round and round the fairy ring". Furthermore, there's more than one explicit reference to Ellen loving the sea in the scripts. Prior to the sea shore walk, Ellen fervently asks Anna to go there, because "it calms her". Later on, Anna herself says that "she loves the sea so". While this didn't make it to the movie in such direct terms, we still see Ellen looking out windows and yearning, again and again... visiting the sea twice, having a seizure in the water itself. "Look at the sky! Look at the sea! Does it never call to you? Urge you?" she cries to Anna.

It's clearly an intentional implication on Eggers' part: that Ellen is some kind of fairy-like nature elemental. The term sylph originates from the works of Paracelsus, and described as a female air spirit, though over time water has been conflated with it too. Changeling also refers to a child kidnapped by supernatural beings (interestingly birthed by the Devil or a water spirit among others, in German mythology) and replaced with... something else. And we could leave it at that-- Ellen is not entirely human. She was born with witchy and fae-like characteristics, an attraction to the wind and the sea.

When she called out in the dark, it's possible Orlok answered also because he recognized this within her. But. There is a type of female nature spirit in Romanian folklore (which ultimately pervades the mythology of Nosferatu) that has specific parallels and a particular relationship to the Solomonar, the kind of sorcerer/supernatural creature Orlok was in life. It feeds into the overarching theme of destiny and fate so beautifully. I find it all very interesting, but I got pretty long already, so I'll put the rest under the cut.

Female nature spirits can be found all over the place in European folklore, and Romania is no different. They can have many names, though the most popular one is probably iele, a name that is literally derived from the female plural "ele". Iele are fae-like feminine spirits associated with the winds and the sky, often seducing and luring men away. What attracted my attention though, is the variation/subtype of vântoase (root word vânt = wind) or the associated vâlvă. In some accounts [1], this supernatural creature is a marked human who was born with the capacity for their spirit to leave their body at night and then go towards the sky, where they wrestle with other vâlve or balauri (which are a Romanian mythical equivalent of dragons, alongside zmei). Their fights are said to be what cause storms, and rains, and other catastrophe-related weather events. When put in contrast with Ellen, the similarities are obvious... especially when it comes to her affinity for nature and her spirit "wandering off". It also must be emphasized that these spirits are not inherently evil: they can do both good and bad, bring luck or misfortune, aligning with Ellen saying that "her spirit cannot be as evil as his [Orlok's]" and that all her life she has "simply heeded her own nature".

But the thing is... a marked human born with powers is also what a Solomonar is: children able to control the weather, ride balauri or zmei, control and turn into different animals-- who are then recruited by the Devil into the school of Șolomanță/Scholomance. Although despite this demonic current association, initially Solomonari were also more of a neutral figure in Romanian folklore. They are theorized, among other hypotheses, to be a later version of Geto-Dacian ktistai, who were selected from priests or kings (Orlok is a count, a prince or voivode) and might've worshipped Zamolxe, a Geto-Dacian God associated with the sky as well as immortality (Ancient Dacian is what Orlok speaks; Zamolxe is written within Orlok's heptagram sigil; on his coat of arms, sigil and coffin there's Dacian wolves as well as balauri-- a serpent-like creature with the head of a wolf which is on the Dacian flag). Some Solomonari were believed to be protecting villages from calamity, and influenced the weather in order to grow crops more easily. But of course, when Christianity spread in the region, things from Pagan times began to be associated with the Devil, hence why the Christian Orthodox Abbess we see in the Nosferatu movie calls Orlok a "black enchanter". More importantly for us though, the Solomonar was also said to leave their body at night in a trance, riding up into the sky to fight the weather spirits. Orlok's Shadow, that we hear so much about, is an integral part of a Solomonar's powers: the ability to project one's spirit away from their body. Them riding balauri is a metaphor for them taming winds, summoning vântoase.

So. Vâlvă, vântoasă, ială and Solomonar share quite a lot of characteristics, don't they? A source I found made the comparison directly, which is what set me on this path [1]. Humans born with powers-- one typically male, one female. But the male one is schooled and part of a cult or hierarchy, taking control of the nature element, while the vâlvă/vântoasă/ială is the nature element.

Yet the expected dynamic between summoner and summoned is so deliciously subverted with Ellen and Orlok! Orlok definitely recognized someone of his own nature in Ellen. Someone born with magic, essentially. Someone not of human kind. But Ellen's power is something Orlok's kind traditionally controls. A Solomonar tames and summons the winds (vântoasele)... and don't we see Orlok's spirit call to Ellen more than once? Orlok asserts his influence through the lilac-scented lock of hair, latching onto Ellen through it. He trespasses in Ellen's dreams, brings her spirit to him in the Castle when he feeds on Thomas, and we see her naked and on top of Thomas too, eerie and with blood spilling out of her mouth (very female-spirit-who-preys-upon-men coded, which is even more directly spelled out later in the scene where Ellen provokes Thomas into having sex with her). All along, we see Ellen overcome by seizures and trances, writhing under Orlok's Shadow. This is the power he has over her.

Hah. But Orlok is not just a Solomonar, Ellen is not just a spirit of the wind, and here's where I think another fascinating layer comes in. In the movie, ultimately, Orlok is a strigoi. The strigoi is a Romanian folk creature that can be vampiric, though that's not always what it does. It's a troubled spirit that rises from the grave to prey upon the living (especially their loved ones, to whom they return to first), by eating/killing their animals, poisoning their crops, drinking their blood and creating all manner of disaster. One can become a strigoi in many ways, including a life of sin, suicide, being cursed by a witch, etc. But importantly, there's also two types of strigoi-- the alive strigoi, and the dead strigoi [2]. The alive type is a sorcerer who in life already slips into these evil behaviors with intent, while the dead type rises from the grave and mindlessly feeds upon their loved ones and their village (the revenant we see killed by the Romani vampire hunter in the film). Orlok is a mix of things that make him unique, much like how Dracula was described as atypical multiple times in Bram Stoker's novel. He was a sorcerer and a Solomonar in life (an alive strigoi, something a source from the 19th century asserted-- that Solomonari were strigoi), who was then risen from the grave by a witch (becoming a dead strigoi). As a result, he has retained all his mental faculties and his magical powers.

But the enchantress who calls upon Orlok as a strigoi is partly an air elemental. She caused him to rise from the grave, and that is how she asserts her power over him. Yet she's of the air, of the wind, of the sea... all the things a Solomonar is a master of! So I think this is a contributing factor to the Covenant Orlok makes with Ellen. When they first meet there is not only recognition of someone similar to himself ("You... You..."), but also of a specific connection between what the two of them are. He immediately seeks a Covenant with Ellen, and then when she breaks it, comes after her in person. When they first talk and Ellen rejects him, he says "You will submit."

As Eggers pointed out too, there is a huge need for possession on Orlok's side. It's left ambiguous if he wants to own her or destroy her or if he loves her... To me, this added aspect illuminates a big part of why Orlok also resents Ellen ("You are my affliction"). It isn't just that a woman has him in her thrall, a man and a Lord who wielded great power in life-- but also that she is air, a vântoasă, the element of his dominion. It's so delicious how there's a bidirectional supernatural element between them... Orlok may feel he is owed possession of Ellen, with the deeper layer of the male sorcerer taming the unknowable chaotic female elemental. But Orlok is a strigoi risen from the grave by Ellen as an enchantress, hence she is owed possession of him as her summoned Creature. So there's two tethers between them, each connected to a different aspect of their natures; Orlok is holding one end, Ellen is holding the other. (To be honest, my headcanon is that when we see Ellen levitate, that's not Orlok, it's her air-related power. She levitates upwards in the very first scene of the film right as Orlok says she isn't human, as if it's a manifestation of that. When Orlok feeds on Thomas and she is there in spirit, we see them levitate; except it's Ellen we see fall down to the ground, while Orlok and Thomas are shown to have always been on the ground. And in every scene with Orlok in person, it could be that she gets on her tiptoes progressively to get closer and closer to his face; but it also looks as if she's floating upwards.)

This ended up a way too long honest-to-God essay, but I just adore all the complexities of this movie. You can tell how much Eggers researched, how many details and references he wove into the story, all meant to connect but kept ambigous enough that multiple theories are possible. While the association between Solomonar and strigoi and vampire was something Stoker did too, that Murnau did too, none of them thought to take it as far as creating a connection to Ellen steeped also in folklore. The vampire has a supernatural hold over his bride, but now so does she. The Enchantress summons the undead Strigoi, the Solomonar summons the Vântoasă. How much more fated can you get?

I'm supplying two more in-depth sources I used below as downloadable pdfs, but fair warning, they're in Romanian:

[1] Mituri pluviale românești în context universal, Silvia Ciubotaru

[2] Șapte Eseuri Despre Strigoi, Marineasa, 1998

[hiddensideoflife]

What is Ketu Taking Away? (By transit or natal chart)

Ketu in the 1st or in Aries- Ketu here is taking away your identity.  This might sound bad to people who feel that they should never change or evolve, but releasing attachment to any one identity to allow the individual to shed layers of identities and perceptions of oneself is the idea. You may feel inclined to define yourself and where you are for others.  Releasing the focus on how others will perceive you as you need to transform, and change may be a struggle that comes and goes.

Ketu in the 2nd or in Taurus- Ketu is challenging one’s attachment to family, identity, moral values, wealth accumulation and fixed ways of thinking.  Taurus is the side of Venus that creates stability and comfort.  Ketu wants the native to embrace the ups and downs of life and the unknown.

Ketu in the 3rd or in Gemini- Ketu is taking away genuine admiration from others for your self-expression, knowledge, ideas or creativity.  Ketu is known for being a heart based, intuitive planet so this may conflict with the logical, intellectual elements of Gemini. Here a native is to learn to lean on their intuition and trust their inner knowing more than their intellect or logic, which likely will not always make sense to those around them. 

Ketu in the 4th or in Cancer- Takes away one’s motherly comfort and/or peace of mind.  This can manifest as an inimical relationship with the mother or the native simply will be nudged to pursue education or work away from their home or place of birth.  The lesson is to learn that home is within us, so learning how to cultivate this inner peace that cannot be truly fulfilled with worldly possessions and pursuits becomes a lifelong lesson.

Ketu in the 5th or in Leo- (This is the upcoming transit May 2025) Here Ketu is taking away one’s illusory self by humbling the ego.  The father is one aspect of human identity, and the Sun represents the father or authority, so this may create an inimical relationship with one’s father, father figures or authority figures.  This Ketu seeks to help the native dissociate from any identity or sense of self that is not real.  Any clinging to such identities or pushing for respect, usurping authority or position can likely result in humiliation to help the native learn the lesson. 

Ketu in the 6th or in Virgo- This Ketu can take away one’s good health or one’s logical ability to assess situations through service or analysis which might invite enemies, obstacles, poor health and debt to consume the native.  This Ketu is trying to teach a native to intuitively handle their health, obstacles, debts and everyday people as well as their acts of service.  Reliance on being able to naturally see the details and Virgo’s ability to reason logically will not work well here.  This might create disease or concerns health wise to help the native with this, helping the native to create a more unique and sometimes alternative approach to healing, service and healthy living.

Ketu in the 7th or in Libra- This Ketu takes away relationships, gives partners or connections that are risky, shady, untrustworthy, or one’s relationships in general may create obstacles and hinderances.  Relationships may create dissatisfaction for the native for any of these reasons.  Perhaps the native will meet partners who only wish to take something from them. This Ketu is trying to teach the native self-reliance, independence and assertiveness. 

Ketu in the 8th or in Scorpio- This Ketu takes away satisfaction or the relationship with the in-laws.  This could be the partner’s family or their parents.  It could be that the native and the spouse live far from the in-laws or simply that the relationship is strained and the in-laws do not like or want to deal with the native.  This Ketu can also take away or cut down inheritances and satisfaction emotionally or intimately with partners.  This Ketu is teaching one to generate stability financially and emotionally for themselves and within themselves.

Ketu in the 9th or in Sagittarius- This Ketu takes away one’s father or even father figures as well as mentors or gurus.  It could be because they pass away, perhaps one is situationally unable to connect with them or a native may be put in situations where they are receiving incorrect guidance or instruction by such people.  This Ketu wants the native to learn to reason through their beliefs and to learn to trust their own expression of their knowledge and intellect or creative ability without the affirmation from such people.

Ketu in the 10th or in Capricorn- This Ketu takes away affirmations, prestige or recognition, publicly, in the workplace or with bosses.  This Ketu is trying to teach a native to focus more on finding their own happiness and balance within, instead of focusing on getting this from the attention and recognition from the world, boss or workplace based on their actions. 

Ketu in the 11th or in Aquarius- This Ketu creates inimical relations with society, elder siblings and one’s network circles.  This Ketu is teaching one to trust their own abilities, ideas, creativity and sense of self, without validation from such people or groups.

Ketu in the 12th or in Pisces- This Ketu may disconnect a person from their subconscious, from people in foreign or isolated places or even from the traditional sense of spirituality based on their homeland or where the native currently lives.  This ostracized feeling helps Ketu teach a native to give without expectation in return. This also invites a native to connect more with feeling grounded and aligned with their purpose and spiritual destiny based on their own inner guidance.

Namaste...

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Nik being strong enough to pick Price up when he's in a bad mood and just put him on the bench of his workshop.

Price is in air jail and now at the perfect height for when Nik tugs the zipper of his flight suit down to reveal that fluffy chest, those burly arms, that glorious belly and happy trail that leads to the weapon between his legs.

Honestly I don't think John could work those cargo pants off fast enough, maybe Nik forgoes that entirely and cuts a neat hole right in the crotch and rips to get at his prize.

Price is walking (Maybe a little bow-legged) out of there a hell of a lot happier than when he walked in.

The lads chip in for a nice takeaway for Nik for helping them out (Dealing with Price's shitty mood)

Nik uses his dick as a captain tamer.

cw: anal sex, mild brat taming, a little rough.

John’s temper was nothing new. Nik had experienced it in its various permutations through the years. It was like a hurricane; loud, destructive, and indiscriminate in the damage it caused, taking out friends and foes alike. But it eventually ran out of wind; surviving it was simply a case of moving out of its way until the inevitable conclusion. And, just like a storm, it wasn’t personal, but a natural byproduct of all the pressures and stresses weighing on John’s shoulders. He was only human.

Sometimes, however, the bad mood would fail to wear itself out and John would become more cantankerous as time wore on and his frustration built. If he was particularly tired, stressed, his body wound tight, feeding his brain a continuous flow of cortisol and catecholamines, then his grizzly mood was liable to last for days. A dark cloud hanging over the base and Task Force, suffocating.

It was day three this time and Nik’s patience had worn out. It was time to give the feral bastard what he needed. The lieutenant called it ‘a good seeing to’ and the sergeants, while not quite brave enough to say it to John’s face, said he was always a bit more human after he’d been stuffed with cock. Nik had worked out it was the act of having control stripped out of his hands, his mind emptied of all but pleasure, and his body flooded with endorphins from an orgasm. It stopped the spiral in its tracks. Even if it was only a reprieve to simply clear his head, it was often enough to give him the breathing room he needed to resolve the problem. He would deny it, of course, but John surrendered every time.

Nik finished the maintenance he’d been performing on the Black Hawk’s main rotary engine and washed his hands clean in the workshop sink, careful to remove the grease and grime from his cuticles. It was late. Most of the base had either retired to the barracks, gone home to their local residences, or headed out to the pub, but John was still here, huffing and growling over the laptop on the nearby workbench. “I can’t fuckin’ believe they’re takin’ Simon for another trainin’ seminar, puts him out for three fuckin’ days—“

Nik had invited him in to discuss some intel, citing his need to continue maintenance to stay on schedule as the reason for the location and, ever diligent, John had arrived on time with his laptop in tow, unknowingly sliding right into Nik's trap. Nik turned off the taps and returned briefly to his heli to dip into his duffle bag for the lube before he approached John at the bench. He slid his hands around John’s waist just as he closed his mouth over the soft skin beneath the hinge of his jaw, sucking a mark into soft skin.

“Ah, fuck, Nik—“ John went rigid in Nik’s hands, almost knocking the laptop off the workbench as he span to face him. “You randy bloody bastard, ‘ve got work t’ finish."

Those fierce blue eyes, the stern set of John's face, they would have struck quivering fear into the heart of many a man. But all Nik saw was the stress, the tension, the bone deep exhaustion, all locked up tight behind a safety valve that needed a practiced hand to release it. “Nyet, you are done for the evening.”

“Oh fuckin’ reall—“

He didn’t finish. Nik leaned forward and swept the laptop to the side, before grabbing John’s narrow hips and lifting effortlessly him onto the bench. He shoved his way between John’s knees, not letting him clam up, the expanse of one big hand staying at the base of John’s back to keep him from wriggling away.

John wrestled with him, fists bunching in his flight suit and shoving against his chest, their first kiss more teeth than tongue or lips. But as the heat of Nik's body enveloped him, their crotches pulled flush, chests together, John stopped thrashing in Nik's arms. Nik took it as the first defeat, drawing back to nuzzle John's beard.

"Lemme up, ya muppet."

"Nyet " Nik straightened a little, creating a gap between them even if he remained between John's legs.

"Nik," John growled his warning, but it was a hollow threat.

“You will do as you are told, captain. Good boys get rewards.”

Nik knew the low rumble of his voice, the manhandling, it stirred something primal and receptive in the back of John’s mind. He watched those bright baby blues widen before they dropped to Nik’s hand, following it like a hawk tracking a mouse as Nik grasped the zipper of his flight suit and tugged it down, deliberate in the glacial pace of its progress.

John’s mouth dropped open as curls of black chest hair emerged between parting metal teeth, Nik’s dusky nipples peaking in the cool air, and John’s greedy hands slid across the heat of newly revealed skin, following the firm contours of his tits. Nik leaned forward to kiss John’s neck again, encouraging his touch, and this time his captain relaxed, his legs spreading a little further apart as his hips tilted. He was begging to be fucked. Nik would take John here as planned, and then he would take him to his bed to exhaust him into complete surrender.

Nik tugged his flight suit open to its fullest extent, his cock arching up in readiness where he hadn't bothered with underwear knowing his intentions with John that evening. He popped a few of John's shirt buttons to kiss the furry perk of his pecs, smiling against John's skin as he squirmed, opening his belt and fly with practiced ease. "Oh, fuck, Nik, no, not here..."

"Da, here," Nik replied, listening to John's tone, his body, rather than his words; the way he gasped so desperately and arched into Nik's heat screamed please, please, please. He didn't resist when Nik slid his arms beneath his thighs and grasped his waistband, lifting his arse for a moment to yank his Carhartts and boxers down his thighs.

John hissed as his flushed skin settled back on the cold surface of the workbench, eager for the return of Nik's palms around the upper curve of his cheeks and the dip of his tailbone. John had an exquisite arse; firm, muscular and round. Perfect for bouncing on a cock. Nik kneaded the top of it as he nipped along the edge of John's jaw to his ear lobe, relishing the powerful body writhing enthusiastically in his arms. Who was Nik trying to kid? John was perfect in every way, even with his penchant for sulking.

Nik earned his first needy moan when he let the tip of his cock kiss the tight furl of John's hole, the slightest pressure rubbing his wet slit against the fluttering muscle in an insistent tease. He nuzzled John's beard as he fished the lube out of his pocket and flicked the lid off with his thumb. John's hands pushed beneath the fabric of his flight suit to grip his shoulders, one looping behind Nik's neck to play in the curls at the nape of his neck. John flinched when Nik squeezed the lube onto his balls, the tube clattering on the workbench when it was cast aside. "Bastard..."

Nik smirked, smoothing warm fingers gently down the seam of John's sac to his taint, circling, teasing his rim with little tugs at the opening. When the first finger dipped inside, Nik swallowed John's groan with a kiss, tongue licking into his mouth when it fell open in a shock of pleasure. John didn't need much coaxing, his body opening eagerly around one and then two probing fingers. Nik crooked them up, John's cock flicking as Nik's fingertips rubbed over his prostate. John panted, his head falling back, the filthy noise of Nik's fingers squelching into his hole accented by his soft whimpers. Blunt fingernails dug into Nik's skin as John clung to him, his leaking cock fully hard against the unblemished milky softness of his inner thigh.

"Ah, ah, Nik... Mm, fuck... Ah..."

"Da, solnyshko. Just a little more and I will give you what you need."

Nik could make John come like this, but his balls ached and there was only one place he wanted to empty them; to watch John unspool on his cock was a privilege he deserved. He pulled his fingers out slowly, his thumb tugging down at John's slick, puffy hole as he smeared lube and precum over his crown and down his shaft, tongue between his teeth as he groaned at the sweet anticipation of what awaited. He was so hard, cock throbbing in his grip, balls already tight, and he took a moment to steady himself before sliding his arms beneath John's thighs again, John's booted feet dangling either side of his back, his trousers bunch just shy of his knees.

His fingers pressed into the flesh of John's hips to keep him still as he ground the tip of his cock over the slick skin of John's taint, lower lip between his teeth as John shivered in his grasp, hips tilting again, urging, begging with his body. Nik's tip notched against his hole and Nik held him firm as he thrust inside, John's body gaping wide around the flare of his crown and thick shaft. John quaked in his arms, thighs trembling, his soft, tortured noises nursing a primal delight deep inside Nik's chest.

Nik kept going, sinking into John's body, inch by aching inch, even as it bore down around him in desperation.

"Fuck, Nik, Nik!"

"Da, my love. Surrender to me as you yearn to..."

It wasn't simply the act of sex. Penetration itself was not surrender and John had ridden Nik's cock from above many times, in complete control as Nik ceded, leaning back into the pillows with his eyes closed. But this act, of letting the tension and frustration melt from his body, of giving in to the pleasure of sex with a man who knew how to pluck every string, of finally letting his mind empty and his muscles relax. That was surrender.

Nik pressed deeper, achingly slow, clutching heat struggling with the girth and length. Every time John's channel fluttered, pulsing between relaxing and gripping, Nik seized more ground. John's eyes rolled back as Nik nestled in his guts and finally bottomed out with a satisfied groan, John's stretched hole pressed against the dark curls of his pubic hair. Nik kissed trembling, spit slick lips, rocking gently, staying deep as he hollowed out his place in John's body. "Mm, detka. You are so tight. Relax, breathe..."

"Nik, ah, fuck, Nik. I'so much, hng."

"Ssh, I know, but you are... mm, taking me so well. All you have to do is let go."

Nik didn't give him any choice. He drew out until John's body sucked on his tip, clenching around it in greedy throbs, before he thrust his full length back in. John bit out a soft, startled cry, back arching as his nails bit into Nik's shoulders. Nik leaned into his lover's neck, the downy curls of his chest hair pressing to the warm swells of his firm chest as he clutched his hips tight to pull them into his cock. The next thrust was just as firm, just as demanding, shaking the table on which John sat.

Nik picked up a bruising pace, forcing John's body into submission with each deep thrust, wet skin slapping wetly as the table rattled under the force of Nik's hips pounding against John's arse. John clung to him, unable to find purchase anywhere but Nik's shoulders as he was fucked hard, Nik's palms providing a softer cushion for him to be pressed into, keeping him from being shoved away so that he was made to take every thrust to the hilt at an angle that sent relentless curls of pleasure arcing up the length of his body.

John shook apart so beautifully, his first orgasm was dry, triggered purely by the insistent, relentless drag of Nik's cock over his prostate. Nik felt the first tremors of it and leaned in to coach him through with whispered encouragement, "da, John, such a good boy, let it happen..."

John's body milked him in tight pulses and Nik watched in awe as John's pleasure unspooled through him, his limbs shaking, broad chest heaving in rattling breaths through loud, high-pitched whines, completely overwhelmed at the full body experience of coming on Nik's cock. It was like a molten heat that burned away the last of the tension and left him pliant and open in Nik's arms.

John's hole relaxed, sloppy with lube and wells of precum, the perfect sheath for Nik's cock, still sucking hungrily on Nik's length every time he withdrew before slamming back inside. Nik chased his high, growling into John's neck, nipping at his hammering pulse to taste the sweat on his skin. His climax crept up his spine, a vine of tension pulling him tight, and he nipped John's ear. "Touch yourself, detka."

John grabbed his cock obediently, pumping down its slick length in furious jerks that matched Nik's pace, his moans reaching a crescendo as he was trapped between two pleasure centres. Nik felt John tighten again, another orgasm, and it teased him over into his own. His hips jerked, stuttering against John's arse, as his cock pulsed its first load deep in John's body. John followed him over the brink, the flood of heat inside him making his eyes roll back as his cock painted his hand and shirt in thick ropes of cum as he was filled with it.

Nik's vision greyed, the force of his own pleasure leaving him breathless as his cock twitched in John's channel. He hadn't realised how pent up he'd been, his balls offering a seemingly endless breeding. He panted hot breaths against John's skin, the tip of his nose resting in the bristles of his beard, lips placing soft, fleeting kisses as his body finally finished. When he finally gathered enough coordination to draw out, the filthy noise of his cock withdrawing made him growl with pleasure, his seed welling at John's hole to drip down the curve of his arse to the floor.

When he lowered John's feet, his legs shook, and he lifted him off the table by the hips. "Go to your room. When I get there, I expect to find you naked in bed," Nik said.

John might have argued if he hadn't been completely spaced, his eyes soft in post-orgasmic bliss. Nik helped him right his belt and trousers and then watched him hobble out of the workshop. Once his captain had disappeared from sight, Nik turned his attention to tidying his tools, a little jelly-legged as he strolled about his workshop.

Nik would find John showered and snoozing, naked and warm beneath his blankets, about an hour later. He washed himself, removing the grime and sweat of the workshop, and slipped in beside him to rub his back and shoulders. John roused slowly, content to let Nik ease his aches, legs spreading when those strong fingers slid between them for a second round, his hole buttery soft, eager for Nik's touch. He was impossible to resist.

[cavegirlpoems]

They Think Empathy Is A Sin Because They Worship Satan, Literally, Not Metaphorically: an esay.

OK so. I am going to do something inadvisable and make a lengthy post about something other than game design, because I can and I want to.

It's a long one. Like, extremely long. So, to avoid "Do you like the colour of the sky [gone quaker, gone tolstoy, christian anarchist edition]", here's a convenient break so you can scroll past if lengthy religious diatribes aren't your thing.

To begin with, some baselines. I am writing from a Christian perspective. More specifically, I would describe myself as a Liberal Quaker. To me, at least, this involves Christianity as a communal mystical practice, with unprogrammed worship (IE no clergy) and an entirely flat religious heirarchy. Values associated with this branch of religion include honesty, charity, humility and peace.

I adopted Quakerism as a religious framework because it was the one that worked for me. I was raised in, and still live in, a culturally Christian society; as such, Christianity provided a religious framework of symbols and meanings that I was culturally fluent with, whereas other faiths would have required a steeper learning curve since I lack that baseline familiarity. That said, I try to study and understand other religions: I would say that what I've learned of Islam and Budhism - while I'm far from an expert - have been valuable to me.

Politically, I lean hard to the left and hard towards anarchy/libertarianism. I would describe my politics as antifascist first, and then largely anarcho-communist after that, but I'm a pretty big-tent progressive. I'm also a british trans woman who keeps ending up voting Lib Dem for lack of better options, if that gives you any context.

Now, let's define some terms as I understand them and intend to use them. These are all metaphors or symbols, that we can use poetically to better articulate certain ideas. I use Christian imagery here, because that's what I'm fluent with; if I was instead fluent with Jewish or Daoist or some other religious culture, I'd be expressing my ideas with those symbols instead. So.

God: A manifestation/personification/symbol of absolute perfect goodness. God is Love. That is God is absolute unconditional love for all of creation.

Jesus/Christ: Jesus is a representation of God's love for us humans taking tangible effect. Jesus is a sacrifice God made on our behalf to rescue us from Sin. Jesus is inspired by the historical figure Yeshua of Nazareth, a 1st-century Jewish religious thinker who was quite popular and then executed by the Roman occupation.

Sin/Original Sin: Sin is simple, it's when we do bad things that hurt people. Since God loves all of us and doesn't want us hurt, God doesn't want us to Sin. Original sin is part of us; the fact that we are capable of Sinning simply because we're human.

Satan/The Devil: Satan is the force that urges us to Sin.

Heaven/Paradise: A state of goodness, where - since we have escaped sin and embraced God's wishes for us, we do not suffer.

Hell/Damnation: The state of rejecting God and personally embracing Sin, and therefore suffering.

When I talk about these things, I do not mean them in the literaly sense that a fundamentalist might. I do not believe that there is an actual literal guy called Satan who is red with stylish little horns and a goattee who spends all day tempting people and poking dead souls with a pitchfork.

Rather, these are social constructs. By way of analogy, gender and money are social constructs; they're concepts that have no inherent existence in a world that's ultimately just atoms and energy in a vacuum, but because we believe in them and lend them social weight, they gain power in our lives. In the same way the concepts of God, Satan, Sin, etc clearly effect the world. Saying 'Sin' isn't real is like saying your bank account isn't real; it has a tangible effect on the world, so it's useful to discuss it.

Does this mean that I think God, Sin, etc are just made up arbitrary symbols? No. I happen to believe in them. I happen to actively choose to believe in them, because I want to invest them with meaning in my life. This is why it's called 'faith' and not 'rational observation'. But even if they were purely arbitrary ideas, then I think that - like other purely arbitrary ideas such as 'human rights' and 'love' - they're worth believing in anyway.

Lastly, the Bible. I like the bible. It's an old historical text with some incredibly beautiful writing in it, that conveys some potent and meaningful messages. It is very obviously not an account of literal fact, but interpreted through a lens of metaphor or poetry it has a lot to teach. Not everything in it is perfect - it's a historical text that has been translated and retranslated repeatedly - but IMHO you can get a lot out of it, and its writers were, as a general rule, onto something.

You will notice that these ideas are wildly counter to the culturally conservative evangelical christian mainstream. They are, however, entirely unremarkable within the framework of liberal theology.

OK. These should be our base assumptions going in. Perhaps you disagree with them; if so, that's nice for you, but here I'm describing my worldview, not prescribing what yours should be.

It is perhaps notable that I've got this far in and only just finished defining my terms.

SO.

I have observed in the past that there are - effectively - two different, largely incompatible, religions both called Christianity. On the one hand, we have what I believe in, a belief structure that champions such virtues as mercy, forgiveness, peace and humility. On the other hand, we have the mainstream conservative evangelical christian right; this version of christianity values things like obedience, authority and (most of all) punishment.

These are fundamentally incompatible belief structures. As a stark illustration of this, consider what these two christianities want for wrongdoers. One branch wants them to repent, atone and be forgiven. The other wants them to be punished and suffer for their transgressions.

I am going to differentiate between these two beliefs. Because it's my essay and I'm on my side, I will call my beliefs Christianity, and the other side Christian Fascism.

I would argue that my values are more fundamental to the underlying message of Christianity (as derived from the teachings of that guy Yeshua I mentioned) than the other approach. In no particular order:

we have the parable of the prodigal son. Here, Yeshua teaches his followers that when somebody fucks up and then changes their mind, this is to be celebrated and they are to be welcomed back. The message of reconciliation and forgiveness is obvious.

we have the parable of the good samaritan. Again, the message is clear: we must seek to do right by even our enemies.

there are many other stories and teachings attributed to Yeshua with similar messages. Forgiveness and redemption are constant themes in his teachings. He praises the humble and the downtrodden consistently.

However, most importantly, we have the central facet of Christianity itself; the crucifixion. What happens here, and why?

God comes to earth as Jesus, and - after spreading his message described above - is publicly tortured to death in one of the most horrific execution methods available at the time. This sacrifice is made, knowingly, to absolve humanity of Sin. All of humanity. No exceptions. God loves us, He wants us to be forgiven when we sin, so he suffers and dies for us to offer us a way out.

It's right there. John 3:16: "For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life." God loves the entire world so much that He made this sacrifice, so that whoever wants it can be saved. No exceptions. Whoever you are, God loves you, and sent Jesus so you can be saved if you want it.

This is the single central pillar on which the entire rest of Christianity is built.

So, yes. The 'no true scotsman' argument gets used in discussions around Christianity, but in this instance I firmly believe that it is, in fact, possible to say that somebody is doing Christianity wrong, because the central message of Christianity stands for something (mercy, redemption, charity, etc) and when somebody acts in opposition to that, then whatever they are doing is not christian.

(an analogy: suppose somebody called themselves a communist, but in practice they voted for right-wing parties, assisted the owning-class over the class interests of the workers, espoused anti-communist rhetoric, and never did anything communist. They could claim all they want: the truth remains that they are failing to be a communist through their actual behaviour. likewise any other set of principles).

So. Christianity is not Christian Fascism. Christian Fascism is, instead, fascism wearing christianity as a disguise. They are not, meaningfully, christian, they just want you to think they are. They might believe it themselves, even.

Another example: terfs. Terfs are transphobic bigots who appropriate the name of feminism to advance their transphobic agendas. They want you to believe they're feminists. They might believe they're feminists themselves. But the things they say, and do, and seem to believe are profoundly unfeminist, and feminism as a movement has a duty to reject them. That terfs wear the mask of feminism doesn't discredit the actual feminist movement.

It's idealogical parasitism. Hollowing out one ideology and wearing its skin to advance the agenda of a different, opposing ideology.

Fascists do this a lot because the actual things they want are straightforwardly evil, and being evil on purpose tends not to be popular until you're, like, super indoctrinated, so they use appropriate the language of other movements as a trojan horse.

To my mind, there is a fairly simple litmus test for these things. There are two groups in the Bible that we are repeatedly, consistently, unequivocably told to treat well. One is Widows. The other is Refugees. These two groups were hilighted by the writers for a reason; they're vulnerable demographics with fewer social connections to support themselves, who can easily be neglected or actively victimised by a society that doesn't make an active choice to support them. When Yeshua says "Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me", they are 'the least of these'.

Luckily, widows are not in the modern day at the centre of a huge culture war. Refugees, however?

So. A good litmus test. How somebody believes we should treat refugees, and immigrants more broadly. The message of the Bible is consistently to help foreigners who come to your country, to provide for them and help them settle. Jesus doesn't make any exceptions about visas or 'legal immigration' or contributing to the economy. He tells you in no uncertain terms that you must help refugees, always, every time. If you disagree with that... you're not a Christian, you're a Fascist appropriating Christianity.

(There is a massive discussion that could go here about the bible's position on sexuality, queerness, divorce, etc etc. I cannot be bothered with all that. The christian-fascist reading of these verses tends to get the most visibility, because the translations of the bible with the most visibility leaned into these interpretations. there are other interpretations and other translations that don't have these problems. I could go into more detail, but I have better things to discuss. Two key points:

the bible was written in societies where the family was incredibly reliant - socially and economically - on the husband's support. If the husband casts aside his wife and family, or stops giving a shit about them, they're totally fucked. This is the same society where 'do not let widowed women starve if they no longer have a husband to support them' is reiterated constantly. So, many admonishments against adultery etc should be read in this light: your family rely on you, do not abandon them. Many other passages - eg sodom & gomorrough - are likewise condemnation of things like sexual abuse.

more importantly, remember, the central message of christianity is one of absolute universal love so powerful that Jesus personally sacrificed himself to save us. All of us. 'The world' that God loved includes the gays and the divorcees etc. That central message takes precedent over any edge-case reading you might find that suggests that God's love has exceptions.)

There is an asymetry in public discussions of christianity (and, I think, religion more broadly).

If you have a set of beliefs that value everybody's intrinsic worth, that values considers charity and mercy good, that tells you to embrace foreigners and outgroups more generally, you will tend to the left. You will tend to adopt other left-wing ideas alongside it. Among these are ideas like cultural sensitivity, inclusivity, etc. If you believe Jesus commands you to embrace foreigners, then you will do your best not to reject them or their practices, even if they practice a different religion to you. This is doubled when christianity is a culturally hegemonic force, and you wish to do right by the meek and the humble who are being oppressed (often by that hegemonic force of christianity).

What this means is that on the left - where those following the message of Christianity properly should end up - there is an understanding that making explicitely Christian arguments is alienating and disrespectful to those you should have solidarity with. So, as a result of following (Christian) moral principles, the leftist Christian will generally not express their principles in explicitely religious terms, even when they could do so.

Not so on the right. The right doesn't have a problem with making the outgroup feel alienated or disrespecting them. Often, it quite likes this. So, they will use christian language to express their ideas.

So, even if both sides are balanced in numbers - heck, even if the christian fascists are significantly in the minority - the majority of people being vocally christian will be the christian fascists. And this presentation will reinforce the issue.

If this pattern continues within christian circles as well as in public forums - and it does in my experience - then this likewise gives the christian fascists a dispropportionate influence over what christianity becomes. So, it becomes important that in internal discussions, christian fascism be vocally opposed, and opposed in explicitely religious terms.

The fascists are not doing christianity. They do not speak for christianity, and they are not representative of the entirety of christianity. Their hollowing-out-and-puppetting of christianity to promote evil is itself an act of evil; people like this are why we have the word blasphemy.

Seeing somebody spewing hatred that results in actual, material harm to actual, real vulnerable people, and claiming that this is done in the name of Christ, is a profoundly horrific and perverse thing. It makes me feel ill to witness it.

(A further thought: traditionally, Christianity has held that Salvation is through both belief and works. That you must not only want salvation, you must act on it - which is to say, be a good person. If you claim to be saved but continue to willfully sin, that isn't good enough. So, christianity is what you do, not just how you label yourself. There is a correlation between discarding the belief in salvation by works, and christian fascism. John Calvin's spanner remains in the works to this day).

A thought on Idolatory. What is idolatory? In my view, the treatement of a man-made, worldly thing with the same reverence as holy things. If there is an object or symbol that represents a worldly, human thing that you insist must be treated with reverence and ceremony - as if it was holy - then you have made an idol of that thing.

You know, when I first learned about the way americans treat their flag, I was horrified. Because that flag is an idol. It is so obviously and clearly an idol, and yet. And yet.

Patriotism and nationalism - the revering of the state - is idolatory.

The way we fetishise cops and the military is idolatory.

Even discounting that these symbols are things that do horrific evil as their stated goals, you have taken a human thing - a political body - and treated it like its sacred.

When we consider that an Idol can be a concept or a structure, and not just a literal graven image, we start to see idolatory everywhere on the political right. This is, after all, the entire concept of 'civil religion'. The american founding fathers are not saints, the american constitution is not a holy text, and the american flag is not a holy relic, and the treatment of these things like they are is obvious and flagrant idolatory.

Read up on Tolstoy's thoughts on christian anarchism, as a logical end point of these ideas.

A little diversion on the Antichrist. I dont think Revelations is a literal predictive prophecy, I think it's a warning. It describes - through poetic and symbolic language - pitfalls the faithful might encounter, and encourages them to stand firm against them, and promises that however dire things get, good will triumph over evil in the end. It says 'things will get bad, here are some specific ways they might get bad, but you should hold onto hope'.

Who is the Antichrist in this text? It describes a type of person. Somebody wealthy and politically powerful, who achieves a position of global power and unifies disparate nations under his banner. He isn't christian, but he makes a pretence at piety and convinces the masses to treat him as a religious figure, even as he perverts and distorts religion towards his own hateful ends. He's supported by powerful cultural entities, and combined with his charisma this makes his ascent to power seem inevitable. He is utterly, utterly evil, but he also has really powerful branding that people willingly adopt. He will rise to power in a time of turmoil, sickness and widespread disasters.

Remind you of anybody?

His mark goes on the forehead and the right hand. The red maga hat, and the roman salute. I know I'm doing a paradoelia here, but surely I'm not the only one seeing this shape in the inkblots?

In times like these, I keep coming back to Revelations, and its message that even though things will get really bad, there is always hope, and God's love wins out in the end.

So. The christian fascists are not doing Christianity. They are not following Christ's agenda, which is one of universal love, mercy, and redemption. So, what are they doing, and whose agenda are they serving?

I think you see where this argument is going.

I have not discussed Satan much yet, because while I'm cogniscent of Satan's influence, my faith focusses on Christ; on mercy and redemption and fundamentally goodness rather than evil. But discussing satan becomes pertinent.

Satan is not simply a red guy with a goatee scheming to take over the world like Bible-Skeletor. Indeed, satan is not really a 'guy' at all; it's a tendency. It's the urge to sin, the temptation to not be your best self, or to be your worst self. Every time somebody pisses you off and you have that little spiteful urge to fuck them over? That idea is satan. Every time you want to take something for yourself when somebody else needs it more? Satan.

It is, I think, useful to have a concept of satan that you can personify, so you can (internally) argue against those urges.

Anyway. God loves us universally and absolutely, and wants us to flourish and prosper and do right by each other. Not doing that is Sin. So, here are some things that are sins:

the pursuit of material wealth and power at others expense (see; camels and needles, the meek and their inheritence, etc).

the defining of outgroups against whom cruelty is acceptably or encouraged.

the belief that some people are lesser; less deserving of God's grace and mercy, and so your own kindness too.

raising worldly human powers - states, laws, militaries, flags - into idols.

the - as established - blasphemous perversion of God's will towards evil ends.

These are pretty central patterns we see over and over again among the christian fascists.

They see the outgroup (queers, sluts, immigrants, muslims, people who get abortions, jews, leftists, and so on and so on) as lesser, as deserving of punishment, and they embrace the thought that God will punish them with eternal hell. (See that time pope franky said he hoped Hell was empty, and a lot of these people were furiously angry at the thought.)

They think 'prosperity gospel' isn't a blasphemous oxymoron.

They treat human authorities - cops, armies, nations - with reverence. They fucking love flags, they get extremely patriotic.

They take their hunger for power and their hatred, and they wrap it in the bible - they take God's name in vain - and sully holy things with their evil.

Plus, if we scroll back up to my tangent about the antichrist, there's a pretty good contender for the role currently, and they've embraced him whole-heartedly.

So, their worldview promotes sin.

And they are obsessed with the Devil.

But they don't see it as something they must struggle with; after all, they tend to reject the idea of salvation through works, and claim their saved because they're saved. According to them, rather than doing Christ's work making them christian, because they claim to be christian whatever they do - no matter how evil - retroactively becomes Christ's work. The things they do are good because it's them doing them, and the exact same things done by their enemies would be evil.

So they ignore that little satan-urge in their head, and displace it. They see Satan in everything else, in the outside world, in everything that isn't christian fascism. And then they do Satan's work, by seeking to punish the people they project this satan onto.

What does Satan want? He wants you to hate, he wants you to hurt others, and to profit at their expense. And their religion teaches them to hate and punish others and profit.

They serve satan. And they do it in the name of faith. They are clearly worshipping. So, who do they worship? They worship the one their actions serve.

That is to arrive at the thesis statement of this whole essay, and something I sincerely and wholeheartedly believe, in a literal sense:

the right-wing evangelical Christian mainstream worships and serves Satan.

And then what? I will confess, I am as fallible as any other human. These people - due to their hatred - hurt me and people I love. I am angry at them. I am incandescently angry at the things they do. There is a slippery slope leading from righteous indignation to hatred, and I am struggling emotionally to stay at the top of the slope, and not become actively hateful.

But rationally, how I want to feel? What my better self feels? I feel pity. Hell isn't a place with lots of bats and fire, it's seperation from God's love, and - even if they don't realise it - they turn away from God, and they suffer, and their spread their suffering. They are profoundly spiritually sick, and I want them to get better. I want them to fucking stop. I want them to step out of the dark place they've gone to and return to God's side, and to repent, atone for their actions, and find the same Mercy I want for everybody.

It's fucking hard to look at somebody who viscerally hates me for existing, and want them to recieve salvation, but I try.

I don't know how to fix them or save them. They don't want to be saved. They think our attempts to reach out to them are corruption. They think mercy is weakness and pity tempts you.

They warn each other not to give in to the sin of empathy. It's fucking heartbreaking.

[edwinisms]

I know how it sounds at first, but I really gotta feel bad for the boys that sacrificed edwin; I mean even the term “sacrificed edwin” paints them in a more sinister light than they really deserve– considering that wasn’t really, actually their intention.

they were bullies, they were homophobic (and/or were self loathing gay boys themselves taking it out on edwin, or were equally likely peer pressured into acting a certain way), they planned something stupid and mean to do to an innocent, anxious boy with the goal of scaring the shit out of him, all because he was effeminate and an easy target. but they didn’t know or expect any of the ritual stuff to be real. they were all laughing and joking during the ritual because it was just that to them– a joke. a cruel joke, but a joke.

teenagers can be mean and stupid and they usually regret it as adults and grow out of it / grow from it. they were stifled the chance to grow out of it, at least while alive. none of those boys deserved to be instakilled and sent to hell; they’re really not that much less deserving than edwin himself. they were all just kids, after all.

[gurorori]

haha oh no im definitely not at all disturbed by the prevalence of leftists on all platforms who are loudly 'anti-genocide' when it comes to the palestinian cause (and a couple others at best :3c) yet the only time ukraine [ʊkrɐˈjinɐ] leaves their mouths is in critique, in stark comparison to the former or in complaint about their (american) government sending aid.

at first what i saw often was pointing out the differences in western media framing [ukraine vs palestine], and that's fair (until the words and the agenda of western journalists are used to paint, as a whole, ukrainians who have been actively going through genocide as some kind of white supremacists hogging the blanket of global attention when they kinda just want to live and have the rights to their own land, culture, names and families)

but no one is even caring to do that anymore, today bitches just invent metaphorical scenarios and people to get mad at and to throw an entire ethnos away because wahhhh i decided that you care for X but not for Y!!!.... all while doing the exact thing they are condemning. the exact absolute same and they don't even hide it but do lack the self-awareness to realise

[applepies-with-some-looting]

FOR REAL OMG.

My first introduction to the fandom is through SQH, making me start off on a bad note with Shen Yuan because from the get go I'm just like: "Okay this is the literal CREATOR of this world, why tf is a random rich kid millennial the one who's speed running this story on easy otome-esque mode." because seriously, I mean, why not SQH?? Why did he have to actually make an effort and live through everything to reach where he is, when SY just pops in to take over SJ's body when SJ had already fought tooth and nail for his strength, body, position, and prestige? Not to mention, the system is more lax w SY than SQH??? like why??

Then I transitioned to SJ thru a fanfic where SQH saves him and of course SY is "better" than SJ I mean, a pampered third young master of rich parents?? Obviously he would be more subdued and kinder than the guy who literally had the misfortune of living in the rotting bowels of society since childhood.

Nobody wants a broken man.

They prefer those who are soft and good and kind, when a lot of those people are that way because they have the privilege to be. Like that quote from Parasite(?) "She's not rich and nice, she's nice because she's rich. If I was rich I could be nice too." It's easy to be "nice" when you've never suffered or worked a day in your life. SY didn't have to work or suffer because he was fortunate enough to be born rich, and that's why he's so 'kind' without consequence.

YQY being kind had fucked over SJ.

SJ trying to be kind and help LQG just ended up with his being accused of trying to kill him (twice).

SJ pampering NYY? It fucked him over.

SJ sparing QHT for unknowingly helping him even though its her own family at fault (and her ignorance is frankly annoying)? Fucked him over.

SJ saving and following YQY even though he thinks YQY never went back for him???? FUCKED HIM OVER.

Shen Jiu has been dealt bad cards all of his life, obviously he would be bitter, resentful, and deal out bad cards in return. I'm just pissed nobody tried enough for him yet they have the audacity to fawn over an imposter waltzing around using his face, body, power, and prestige doing things he would hate. This is why I hate calling SY or SJ as SQQ. SJ is the one who earned that name and identity but SY just gets it granted to him by the system??

In comparison to TCF (another fandom I'm in), Cale is not privileged. He had also been abused and suffered almost all his life. (pre-transmigration) But why don't I prefer the original Cale if I liked SJ? Okay, for me it kinda comes down to 'privilege' again. Og!Cale literally took over KRS's body as KRS is already a fundamental part of the company, taking over his body, strength, face, abilities, prestige, and some of his memories (+ a literal human guide) while Cale gets yeeted to a world on the verge of war with nothing but incomplete information (and emotional clownery /affectionate/). After fighting tooth and nail for survival for at least 20+ years in Korea, now he has to do it again but with ✨Fantasy DLC and Adoption✨ installed. (Though, liking SJ opened my eyes and made me like Og!Cale more, I still prefer KRS!Cale)

Compared to SY, Cale's kindness just feels more... meaningful to me. More raw, more real. Now, while he did have ppl guide him compared to SJ, I prefer him over SY simply because this is a man who suffered and was abused like SJ yet... he's still kind?? It's more admirable to me when a man who had "given in to the place that was supposed to be called home" and had to fight for the survival of himself and others for years exhibits kindness.

Because hurt people have the tendency to hurt people and unlike the kindness that stems from having a home, freedom, shelter, money, love, and family since birth; kindness that sprouted from love and the desire to help others not experience the same abuse and hurt that he did (and suffering more in the process) evokes more deep emotions and a sense of fondness within me.

Also, Cale treats the ppl around him as actual real ppl and not just characters. He has empathy, and a lot of it.

Heck, he even had the time to worry about the OG!Cale and his happiness in the middle of dealing with a fuckin war led by a thousand year old reincarnator!!!!! He only let go of his worries when it was confirmed to him via a trusted source that Og!Cale was happy!!!!

I've been into the TCF fandom for years now and it seems I've been spoiled by Cale's care and fucks to give even towards ppl that are seemingly not mentioned in the novel or those that can be deemed not rlly important. ig that's why I found SY's indifference and even hate towards the original owner of his body (and his reaction to GYX's death) to be off putting. (Though, SJ did abuse SY's fav character so rlly, I can understand. Still put off by his indifference + reaction to GYZ's death though)

Maybe it's also a plus that Cale's relationships with others aren't rlly romantic but focus more on family. I'm not against romance, it's just that SY's wife beam is a bit too potent for my taste.

This post brings up a point too: → [°_°]

Look this is just an opinion not a fact don't get into such a tussle over a stanger opinion on a book of all things which are meant for entertainment. How I view this doesn't effect you nor do you take it as fact in fact youre free to disagree don't care.

It fucking says a lot about Shen Jiu as a character and the fandom as a whole in fanfics when the majority of them make him in fanfics having a better turn around in his life is always when a respected man is attached to hip usually( Liu Qingge) or acts as a voucher for people to even see him past his shell or his lies about the true reason he goes to the brothel goes out the window because otherwise he's a liar, a no-good and lecher and scum villain and because he's so emotional and volatile people do not respect him as a peakleader at all. He doesn't have a voice like it's telling me he's so female-coded cause ladies knows how dangerous people giving character assassination at your person could do tons of damage to your future prospects in future life and honestly I really like even though the ficwriters don't outright say it cause it subtle how majority every man and person in his life have taken away his autonomy and I find the most egregious example SY not actually giving a fuck about the person of the body he's inhabited and him not emoting at all when he saw the OG being abused and still validating LBG like if even the modern man from another era doesn't give a shit either someone who has to have sensible morals in society and even he doesn't care . This dynamic reflects a lot how society often undermines individuals who don't fit its norms, stripping them of their autonomy and dignity. SJ's struggle for respect and recognition in the story mirrors real-world issues of power and validation.

Everyone prefers SY. I'm not going to act as if I'm better though in real-life same I'd like him more too but his martial siblings barley tried. If they dislike him whatevs, but you guys are not at all suspicious about the 180 change in behavior how the kid he used to hurt and abuse is now being loved and pampered wtf??? Don't you guys owe him that much to investigate.

They could have tried to dig deeper aside from the one time they test him for possession but they didn't because they prefer the new and improved him". It actually so telling how the author chose someone of such a rich and idle pampered background to be transmigrated to the villain who's origin the very opposite of that and yet seemingly integrated himself better and incorporate better relationship with them then SJ.

The cultivation world, as well as the characters within it, reflect deep-seated classist attitudes. SJ's rough background and survival tactics make him an outsider, whereas SY, coming from a more privileged background, can navigate and be accepted more easily.

What does that actually say exactly that someone of a better background get along with the peaklords but not SJ because with our SJ he's a fighter and biter, he plays dirty to win in their eyes, he a lecher every inconceivable things is literally placed onto him just based on their perception of him. Is it that unconsciously they could tell SJ is not of of them or am I looking to deep haha??? The cultivation world is very classist is not news to anyone and that being the exploration in MXTX next book and how WWX background being how he literally met his end because of it says an actually lot how she took the things from this story and incorporate it into her next book.

The entire story had me retrospectively think hard how SJ voice is silent and yet to me at least he stills haunts the narrative because of it then when you get to the reveal about his backstory it makes you fucking think of him as an actual person and not just an object as a vehicle for the main character to just insert himself in because no matter the nature of a person it stills their body.

Like i've seen some fans even reflect this saying it not his fault that he transmigrated or he deserved it's technically his body and that he's a better person than SJ. At first, I agreed but then I took some time to process this. I don't care about SJ actions and his nature if it at the expense of his fucking body. SY can live for many many years but he's not SQQ unless he reincarnated like Airplane like it makes me want to me want to debates about transmigration. SY is his own person an adult with memories he has his own thoughts and feelings so when he transmigrated he took over the manual controls but that doesn't mean he's actually SQQ because he's not he's a pampered millennial.

In Otome Isekai (OI) stories, the original souls often face bad endings, while the transmigrators, who are modern characters inhabiting and thriving in these disliked bodies, desperately try to avoid such fates. They manage to charm the original male leads and are so focused on changing the story's trajectory that they can't accept its original path. This comparison to OI highlights how these characters' actions mirror Shen Yuan's (SY) predicament. The original person's identity and struggles are dismissed for the sake of the new character's journey, leading to the erasure of the original identity.

I don't vibe much with Shen Yuan because he seems very indifferent. The world revolves around him and his bias, much like many other transmigration novels where the MCs are similar. I find it hard to connect with a MC whose actions, even bold, lack a genuine foundation with other characters because they continue to see them not as people but character roles they're supposed to fulfill. He does everything to save himself, not from the sincere intention. His reaction to the death of GXY was cold af.

I don't like transmigration stories for this reason. They're often treated more as reader-inserts for fix-it fanfiction. We rarely learn about the characters' past lives, so we end up thinking of them as the person they transmigrated into, rather than who they were before. All we know of before was he was cyber-bullying and harassing the author and a troll so an asshole, basically.

If you guys don't know about OtomeIsekai basically we have bunch of modern day Koreans jumping into european white women bodies and inhabiting their bodies and living vicariously through them basically wish-fufillment bullshit trash . 9/10 nobody notices because this is a person who is widely disliked and despised and because no-one cared for the OG soul it easier to just go under the radar hell even the MC don't give a shit to so we have another MC that become so beloved in the eyes of the ML and how she bewitched everyone into loving her.

Transmigration is literal horror. " His Present" a short story I read from novel-updates where it literally based on this very concept where his loved ones preferred the imposter ugh made me bawl.

It makes me think about transmigration. Does it truly matter if the person who took over lived much longer than the original soul does that make them "THEM" ? I actually do appreciate SJ backstory being added but like now with transmigration just popping off on internet novels where the concept is everywhere where the original soul is discarded and the new one is celebrated, kinda adds a layer of tragedy and ethical dilemma to the narrative. It questions the validity of the new identity and the consequences of such an erasure. I'm always biased for the OG souls maybe that why a lot of SJ fics make him the character who is most suppressed by his role as scum villain succeed in making him heard to be listened to and mattered.

Imma nap lol this rant was loooong!!!

[comas-are-for-sleeping]

i cant ever believe that humanity is inherently evil because then why do we have music

[throwawayasoiafaccount]

is it wrong that i live for genetic based magic

maybe???? but i can’t care 🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️

i can’tttttt care cause it’s so devious

like… what does it mean for our magical POV characters who are so new to this shit? what does it mean for future societal development? and what did it mean for past societal development?

[patricia-taxxon]

So wait, let me just ask for clarity because I want to understand. Do you support AI art?

i support art made with spontaneous and hands-off processes, i support the creation of art tools that are more art than tool & allow people to "participate" in someone else's creation vicariously a-la picrew, i don't support the institution of "AI" as a consumer grade technology industry that promises impossible things and prioritizes appearances and marketability over usability, i believe that if "AI" allowed people to siphon images directly from their brain with no effort required then it would be a good thing but I believe this is fundamentally impossible until we figure out how to read minds and the focus on arguing for or against accessibility is missing the point, i believe AI art can only ever be a pale imitation of the process of commissioning an artist who can't ever ask questions and cannot be trusted with object permanence, I believe copyright law is a head on the hydra of capitalism and doesn't serve artists, i believe that AI art isn't necessarily art theft but it CAN overfit to its data and create illegal works without telling you, which constitutes criminal levels of negligence, I believe all art is derivative in some way and some of the most seminal art made in this era of history has been far more dubiously infringing than AI art ever can be because AI art does not steal in the way a human does, I think the focus on energy consumption is transparently just a post-hoc justification for hating the thing you all already hated under the guise of environmentalism because it is a problem far from unique to AI, I think the focus on environmentalism was a distraction at best during the NFT craze too, i don't think AI art takes artists out of a job any more than stock photos or clipart does, but the proliferation of consumer-grade tools DOES run the risk of engendering bad client practices similar to the rise of machine translation and asking translators to simply "fix" a machine translated run of text at a marked down price, but this is not the fault of the technology itself and is instead a result of the ideological push being made by the biggest actors in the industry, i think AI art is ugly as sin and carries the pervasive quality of looking normal at a glance but getting worse and worse the longer you look at it, which can be interesting but often isn't, i think ai art is shit google images and the controversy is overblown but I think machine learning is here to stay and it will inevitably decentralize again after the immense costs catch up to all the corpos relying on it to win the future.

so like, yes and no.

[screampied]

oh my godddd I need choso with a breeding kink

choso and his breeding kink ★

warnings. fem! reader, breeding kink, unprotected, p i v, praise, whiny pussydrunk choso, manhandling, mdni.

you let choso shoot into you raw once, just once and he becomes addicted immediately,

it drives him wild, the feeling of goopy amounts of viscous cum pouring into you every few seconds makes his mouth water tremendously with shaky hands glued to your hips, a sweetened mewl slides out of his lips. “ohh, ‘m c-cummin’ again,” and he dryly laughs to hide his whiny moan that were trying to escape from his compressing lips. despite his voice faltering on its own, he couldn’t keep his hands off you. you lay underneath him, an ankle of yours rubbing down his back. you felt his tense muscles and its warmth grazing against your skin. “mhm, ‘s good for me—more please,” he pleads, leaning in to suck against your neck. a few strands of his hair that was naturally down tickles against your cheek. speaking of strands, a few strands stick against his own forehead as he slows his pace. it’s so much dribbling into you before a little trail of his syrupy seed starts to run its way down your left thigh. “i- i’m gonna get you pregnant, baby. i jus’ wanna make a mess out of you. make a mess outta my pretty girl.”

“you love saying that, hm?” you stroke his cheek, panting breaths departing from your lips before you arch forward.

choso was infertile—being a half human half curse, you weren’t sure if he could actually even get you pregnant but he’s always dreamt of the idea. the thought of you walking around with a rounded, swollen tummy has him nearly drooling into your collarbone. baring a fang into the crook of your neck, his sucking intensifies—you’re so full. he only gives you a silent nod, nibbling his teeth into your skin as he’s still got you stuffed full of cock. “how many babies this time?”

“m- maybe um,” he breaks away to stare into your eyes once more.

choso was sweating, a nice glossing sheet of sweat paints against his flushed face before he gulps at your direct eye contact. prying your thighs open just a bit more to stare at the volumes of cum spilling out of your cunt and onto the sheets, he sighs. “wanna give you twins.”

“. . . oh,” you tease, feeling his warm weight press against your entire body. the heat of each body makes his cravings escalate further. he wants you so bad. choso knew you were teasing from your tone alone but still, he furrowed his darkened brows.

as his dick curls into your gummy, gripping walls that forevermore clung onto him tightly, he whines. “oh? oh— what? is that not enough?”

“i was thinking more like . . five, baby,” you whisper against his ear.

whilst you’re still laid flat against your back, feeling his smooth tempo pick up again, a moan almost drags out of your throat. choso always knew how to make you feel good, vice versa. your breaths were so quickened irregular, it’s as if you’d return from a midnight job. with the back of your foot playfully slides down his stiff back muscles, you cup his chin. “maybe six . . or seven, eight . . ”

“s-so basically, you want an entire family,” he whimpers, a mere smile forming onto his lips.

within a few positions, it was safe to say choso was already pussy-drunk. you had him right where you wanted, and once he saw your nod at his question, he only moans into your neck. “okay, i’ll try. gonna try my best for you,” and a flat palm of his circles against your bare stomach. “and this pretty tummy. ‘s gonna be so full when ‘m done.”

choso was a man who never went back on his word.

he says he’s gonna breed you and that’s exactly what he does—

there was simply no sugarcoating it. it’s been about a plethora of positions and as promised, you were filled to the utmost brim with his cum. choso loves more than anything to have you in missionary. he wants to hold your face as he’s fucking his cum back into you.

a pout spreads against his lips as he feels the slippery slope of his own seed pour its way out of your cunt. he wants you to savor it. it drives him mad—with your legs wrapping around his waist, the desire to give you more of him only increases.

“ugh, ‘s good. you’re gonna be so full. take more, pretty please. saved so much for you,” and he’s just babbling.

it’s cute—he’s whimpering sweet nothings against your skin as he’s languidly swinging his hips into your very core. it’s sloppy, yet it feels almost blissful—each time he finishes inside it literally takes his breath away. chills roam all through his spine as he’s dumping such velvety amounts of cum into you. choso bites his lip at the sudden waves of electricity coursing through his veins. he has a bit of a short circuit and it’s cute. with blow irises, he gasps before making a cute attempt to kiss you, but in reality he’s just sucking on your bottom lip. “take it, t- take it, gimme a baby.”

and his words were raspy, yet his tone was whiny. his head’s spinning but he wants more. choso’s so in love, in love with love, in love with you.

“kiss me, ‘cho.” you mewl out breathlessly, moving a few strands out of his face. once he heard you said that, you didn’t have to tell him twice.

a thumb of yours massage against the bridge of his nose, tickling against the scar before you drag him into your lips. choso loudly moans into your mouth as his thrusts become more precise and slow. you glue against him so good that it’s just carnally lustful..

his hips twitch against your own as he’s shoving his own spilling cum right into your cunt. you’re sopping already, a few creamy droplets already start to rundown your thighs as you cling onto him tightly.

“mhm, i love you. i love you s’much, gonna be such a good mommy,” he whines, resuming to babble between kisses.

mwah after mwah . .

with hooded eyes, and a sheepish little grin, he gazes at your after glow. so pretty, saliva cobwebs string out of your mouth as he breaks away only to kiss you again. a hand still rubs against your tummy before it’s his turn to cup your chin. “p- princess,” he breathes in a raspy way. a tongue swipes its way against your bottom lip. his dick was still inside, idle and not moving—yet it’s just plugging feverish excess amounts of cum into you.

“yes baby.” you stare right back into his eyes, a thumb gliding against his flushed cheeks.

“i- i love you,” he whines, his heart melting from the softness of your touch. you bring a hand of his towards your mouth to kiss it. “i love you but- but ‘m not done. need to fill you some more,” and you gasp once he flips you over, making you get on all fours. “i wanna love you more, especially from behind, h-heh.”

[eulaties]

general thoughts about the 2025 小红书 boom

i feel like we're at a really interesting point in time right now, particularly in regards to the shift in american consciousness + changing world order, so i thought it would be fitting to document my thoughts about the xhs situation as a chinese american. however, please note this post is NOT speaking on behalf of any community, and i am only speaking to my own personal opinions.

the good

american propaganda is getting dismantled in real time. there's so much cross-cultural communication right now in relation to america's political issues, everyday life, and what china is really like

im already seeing people starting to learn the language, becoming interested in visiting china, etc. and i truly haven't seen this kind of mass interest in chinese culture in a long time

to be precise, the last time there was really "chinese soft power" in america was during the mid-to-late 2000s. notably this time period included the 2008 beijing olympics which was monumental for china on the global stage, as it showcased their prosperity, openness ("北京欢迎你"), and equal footing in the modern world. ive seen people compare the xhs phenomenon to this event and while both are drastically different, i do think this is an apt comparison (though obviously this xhs thing is on a muchhh smaller scale...)

so many new friendships and connections are being made!

the bad

to add on to what op said, theres definitely a difference between just generally understanding that as diaspora, most people around you will hold sinophobic views about china and chinese people VERSUS actually having empirical evidence that most normal people didn't see chinese people as human before. its jarring to say the least. like everyone is praising chinese people on xhs now, but just last week everyone was fearmongering about us?? really reminds you that in the eyes of the public, favor for any asian culture (and by extension, its people) is fleeting and will often change easily with the season

and yes, its definitely weird to see people talk about chinese people as if they've never seen a chinese person in america before. like obviously there's a HUGE difference between mainlanders and diaspora, but there's also international students that come to america to study so... ??

the memes are funny, and i like how the people on xhs are playing along with them, but something about the "chinese spy" memes rubs me the wrong way. tbh, most mainlanders actually have a positive view of westerners and america, and if they don't study abroad themselves or know anyone that went abroad, they will never truly understand what it's like to be discriminated against simply for being chinese (there's a difference between knowing and understanding ofc; not saying that they're ignorant & don't know anything lol). this is just the honest truth, just like how i'll never understand what it's like to live and grow up in mainland china since im diaspora. anyways, i kind of question if mainlanders are actually aware of the loaded context behind those words. while americans are using the "chinese spy" memes as jokes now in reference to why tiktok is getting banned, it doesn't change the fact that many other americans truly do believe that there is mass chinese surveilliance/planted chinese spies in america (i.e., see modern-day mccarthyism, like how chinese researchers are often stripped of their titles/reputations, interrogated, and then silently deported). like language and framing does matter, and it has actually affected chinese people in america, but now you guys are treating it like a joke?

anyways, even with all of the bad there's still overwhelming good that has come out of this, and i do feel like its better to be more positive than negative about these things in the long run! who knows where tomorrow will take us but at the very least i hope everyone actively continues pissing off the american government 💖 amen

[ghostfacd]

IN A WORLD FULL OF BOYS, HE’S A GENTLEMAN ! | TOM BLYTH

PAIRING. tom blyth x fem!actress!reader

SUMMARY. despite being in a world filled of childish boys, your boyfriend was definitely a gentleman, always putting you before him

AUTHORS NOTE. the third installment because we love tom blyth and yn avocot. I recommend reading part 1 and 2 for more context!

tomblyth “babe, do you think we’re together in every universe?” is that even a question?

tagged @/ynuser

view all comments

ynuser stoppp i didn’t know youd actually take the question seriously

user1 get you a man like tom blyth bc oh my god

user2 idk what yn did to manifest him but i need her ways

user3 ugh idk what he’s doing with her lol he could do so much better

➥ user4 well someone had to say it..

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

You didn’t understand how some people on the internet can be so . . . mean. Although there have been countless of fans cheering you and Tom on, it didn’t make it any less hurtful that there were still a ton who weren’t scared to be open about how much your boyfriend could do better.

It’s ironic; you think. They’re claiming they’re looking out for Tom, yet totally disregarding him and his girlfriend as human beings? Those weren’t real fans.

The reason for them hating you so much? Just for simply being with Tom. Everybody wanted him, that was your crime.

Everytime you got lost in your thoughts about this topic, Tom knew. Boyfriend instincts, he called them, but really, he was just a caring and observant person.

You tried not to break down over it, you really did, but a girl could only go on for so long before it all bursts out. Luckily, Tom pulls you right in, telling you to let it all out.

Although the world was filled with childish and hurtful beings, Tom Blyth was still who he was, a gentleman, attending to your every needs.

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

tomblyth really dgaf if you like my girlfriend or not cause i do and that’s all that matters

view all comments

user5 im cryinf the polaroid he has of her

user6 YES REAL MEN STAND UP FOR THEIR GFS

user7 ALL THE PICS HE HAS OF HER 🥹🥹

tomblythswife oh to be yn avocot and be loved by tom blyth

rachelzegler tell ‘em 🙊

user8 she doesn’t even comment on the posts he makes abt her, so self centered lol

➥ ynuser I’m right next to him rn?? cant say the same thing about you “lol”

➥ user9 OH SHE ATE YOU UP @/user8

tomblyth_daily here are some clips of tom talking about his relationship in his new interview! GET YOU A MAN THATS LIKE TOM BLYTH 🗣️🗣️🗣️

view all comments

user10 the way he’s so passionate when talking about her and being a good boyfriend, God I hate being single

user11 “they’re not even that cute” STFU AND GO WATCH THIS INTERVIEW CAUSE ??

user12 tom blyth said put aside your nonchalant attitudes, im looking at YOU MEN 🫵🫵

ilovetomblyth he’s so boyfriend it actually hurts

user13 yn must’ve saved a continent in her past life to be dating tom blyth omg

ynuser girls, before you have a meltdown over a boy: think of what balleona laurent would do. kiss and manipulate coriolanus!

view all comments

tomblyth you kiss and manipulate me too

➥ ynuser you’re gonna get me CANCELLED

user14 literal unbothered icon i love her

user15 if i were her id post a tiktok with that audio “he chose me he don’t want you”

iloveyn SHES SO FUNNY

lionsgate us when behind the scenes photo of balleona 😻

➥ user16 lmao stop who’s the admin of lionsgate

user17 balleona is such a bad person but oh is she hot

tomblyth she was like a shot of espresso

tagged @/ynuser

view all comments

ynuser i love u more than words can describe blyth

user18 ok who’s cutting onions

user19 GIRLS, GUYS, THEY THEMS, STOP SETTLING FOR BARE MINIMUM WHEN TOM BLYTH LITERALLY CALLED HIS GF A SHOT OF ESPRESSO, GIVES HER FLOWERS EVERYDAY, AND TALKS ABT HER ALL THE TIME IN HIS INTERVIEWS

➥ user20 YELL IT HARDER SISTER 👐👐👐

user21 this is so dark academica im inlove with u guys

user22 parentssss

rachelzegler my favorites

ynuser SNOW LANDS ON TOP LOSERS

view all comments

tomblyth yn, i love you but

➥ user23 LMFAOO when he doesn’t finish his sentence

user24 the second pic thank u yn

joshandresrivera on top of u maybe

➥ user25 IM DYING OML

user26 thank you to lionsgate for casting the most hottest villain couple ever

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Burns Like Rum

Ship: Astarion x female!human!reader/Tav

Summary: Astarion's hunger worsens every day and you don't have any blood to spare—but that doesn't stop you from inadvertently tempting him at every turn. Luckily for both of you, you've both got the same idea to cure him of his hunger.

Word Count: 7,840 words

Warnings: sexual content (18+), menstruating reader, hungry Astarion, mutual pining, possibly OOC dialogue, vampire feeding, soft Astarion, no particular timeline but Astarion hasn't told you anything yet

18+ Warnings: period sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), hand job, bite kink, blood kink, aftercare, use of the words cunt & cock

Note: For my usual readers, more Stranger Things content is coming, I promise! But this bitey boy currently owns my heart so I'm gonna show him some love :)

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Astarion was hungry, and it was entirely your fault, for more than one reason.

The first was that, almost a month ago now, you had let Astarion drink from you. He'd been starving, and it didn't help that the others had given him strict rules about feeding, so when he flashed those sad but gorgeous red eyes at you, complaining of hunger, you'd all but gifted him your neck.

He'd practically drained you that night. You had been weak for days. Of course, the others, namely Gale and Lae'zel, were furious with you for letting him drink from you, but the sated, content look on his face after feeding made it all worth it to you. He'd become more comfortable around you after that, too, and you'd considered that an improvement.

It hadn't been all that bad, really, for him to sink his teeth into you and drink until your grip on him had grown so weak that he'd let up to check on you. In fact, it had been...rather pleasant. He'd been gentle, careful, his bite sharp but considerate. You knew then that you'd risk becoming anemic for a week just to feel the pleasure of his hand cradling your neck and head, his mouth against your neck, his tongue soothing the bite he'd left when he'd had his fill.

But in the weeks that followed, his hunger gradually returned, and with a vengeance. It was as if he'd never fed from you at all, suffering hunger pangs he hid from the others—but you noticed, recognizing them from the night he'd begged you to let him drink from you.

You'd offered him more of your blood since then, but he'd refused you every time. He could smell your guilt, your need to make him feel better simply because you felt responsible for his current pain.

"I won't accept blood from someone who feels obligated to give it to me," he'd said, and his tone made it difficult to tell if he was being snide or kind.

Sometimes, you simply didn't understand that man.

And then three days ago, you'd been injured in a fight. It was nothing fatal, the gash in your midsection missing any major muscles and not deep enough to jeopardize your organs, but it was bloody. You'd limped your way back to camp, your head swimming, the world around you growing darker around the edges with every step.

You'd fainted in Astarion's arms—although collapsed was a better word for it, according to Karlach—drenched in blood, some of which was yours and some of which that wasn't.

"You should have seen his face!" Karlach had laughed when you'd woken up the next morning, woozy but fine thanks to Shadowheart. The blood loss kept you off your feet for the day to recover, and Karlach had taken the time to visit you.

"What do you mean?" you asked, although you already had a good idea what might have happened after you passed out.

"You put him in a right pickle, collapsing on him like that, all covered in blood and losing more of it quickly," she said. "He didn't know what to do with you. It was— It was like he didn't want to drop you, but he really did want to drop you, because all he wanted to do was drink from you. Can't say as I blame him—he's not fed in weeks and you turn up with his next meal draining out of you." You hid your face in your hands with a groan. "Why'd you beeline for him anyway? Shadowheart's tent was just a few paces away!"

You glared at her through your fingers. "You know why I went to him, Karlach!" She, of all people, would understand. She had been the first person to find out that, as much as you flirted with them all, Astarion was the one you wanted.

"Well, obviously," she said, "but it didn't occur to you that he might...have an adverse reaction?"

Rolling your eyes, you snarked, "No, Karlach, it didn't, I was bleeding out and suffering from head trauma. I just...saw someone I trusted to keep me safe and ran to him."

She cocked her head to the side. "That's sweet, but stupid."

You snorted. "Yeah, I know—Shadowheart won't stop yelling at me for it."

You hadn't seen Astarion until that night, when the group of you had gathered at the campfire. It hadn't meant to be like that; you'd seen him and had wanted to talk to him, at least apologize for throwing your bloody body at him, but Shadowheart followed you closely to keep you safe and soon the others had gathered.

It had been like a very strange family dinner, made awkward by everyone dancing around exactly why you'd gone to Astarion, knowing a hungry vampire and fresh blood were not a good mix.

The final reason you were making his hunger unbearable made itself known at the end of the night, when it was just you, Astarion, and Shadowheart at the dying fire.

She must have caught sight of the way you kept looking at Astarion out of the corner of your eye, embarrassedly looking away or pretending to gaze into the trees behind him every time he caught you looking. She tapped your shoulder and told you she needed to get rest. The "you should, too" was implied, hanging in the air along with her worry about your healing.

"I'm fine, Shadowheart, really," you insisted. "I won't rip myself open again, I promise."

"I'll keep an eye on her," Astarion promised. "Nothing too...strenuous for her just yet." Something in his voice made you shiver.

She left the two of you alone. You looked first at the fire, then down at your hands, folded in your lap. Anywhere than at him.

You didn't even hear him move. You only knew he had when you felt him sit on the log beside you, one of his hands covering your own.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice soft. "I...am sorry I didn't visit you, it's just—"

"It's just that I threw myself at you when it looked like I'd taken a shower in blood and that made things a wee bit difficult?" you interrupted, the words spilling out before you had time to process that you were speaking. Embarrassed heat flushed through you instantly.

But Astarion only gave you that soft, slightly toothy smile. You drank it in, relishing his smile lines and the brief contentment on his face. "Something like that, yes," he said. "I was...worried I might hurt you if I saw you again and you still smelled so deliciously of your blood. I'm so hungry, darling, it's unbearable. All I wanted was to feast until there was nothing left of you, and I'd never forgive myself if I—"

"Stop." You held up your hand. "Please. I don't... Don't be so nice to me, it makes me feel like I'm on my deathbed."

Astarion laughed, throwing his head back. "I'd hardly call wanting to drain you nice, my love." Almost unconsciously, your gaze dipped to his exposed neck and you wondered idly what he would do if you were to bite him back.

Probably the strenuous activity Astarion had promised Shadowheart you wouldn't be doing.

He met your gaze, a sudden depth and seriousness in his crimson stare. "Stick with me, and you might soon be on your deathbed." Pointedly, he broke eye contact with you, letting his eyes drop first to your neck and then further down your body. You tingled, the feeling reminiscent of the anemia that had possessed your body in the hours and days after he'd drank from you.

You realized Astarion was waiting for a reaction from you, hoping for something more than your stunned silence. So you let your eyes drift across his body, resting on his mouth as you said, "Doesn't sound like a bad way to go out."

From the back of his throat came a sound that wasn't quite a growl or a groan, but somewhere in between, just as needy as either sound. "Don't tempt me, darling," he whispered. "I promised Shadowheart I'd keep you safe, and you certainly wouldn't be if I did everything I want."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Astarion..."

He closed his eyes, leaning toward you, releasing a tense breath. "Darling..."

"What if I want to tempt you?" You put your hand on his leg, sliding closer to him.

"Cheeky thing," he said, eyes opening in small slits. "But only when you're healed. I can still smell the blood on you." He sighed. "You have no idea how much restraint it takes not sink my teeth into that pretty neck of yours."

You frowned. "But I am healed," you said. "Just tender. Shadowheart wouldn't have let me leave her tent otherwise."

"I can't blame you for wanting me," Astarion teased, that familiar charm honeying his words, "but I've never been wrong." He cupped your cheek, his touch taking the bite out of his words. He offered you a small, sympathetic smile.

You put your hand to your abdomen, half-expecting to find that your wound had ripped open of its own accord. Your shirt and the bandage beneath it was dry—but a sudden twinge of pain, appearing only once it had been acknowledged, came from lower. You hissed.

Astarion sat up straighter. "What is it? Are you alright?"

"Shit. I think I've figured out why you still smell blood," you said through clenched teeth.

Astarion's eyes dipped to where your hand rested. "It's that time again already, is it?"

"It's early," you groaned. You stood slowly, regretting it instantly.

He tracked you as you moved, his gaze becoming dangerous and predatory. It was the look that had scared you when he drank from you, practically convincing you he wasn't going to stop. Still, his need for you burned through you like rum, its heat spreading through your belly.

"I didn't smell it before, not under all the blood you had on you," he said. His voice was deep, dark, dangerous. "But, oh, darling—I smell it now." He licked his lips and your stomach did flips that were neither pleasant or unpleasant. The hunger in his eyes was palpable

"I, ah, have to go. For your sake and mine. Um. So, uh, goodnight, Astarion. I...I'll see you when this is all over."

He stood up quickly. "Darling, do you need—" He cut himself off as you waved away his concern, crossing the camp to your own tent.

"No! Goodnight!" you called over your shoulder.

Astarion sighed. "...Night."

~❊~

You avoided Astarion like the plague. Well, perhaps not, because while you never wanted to see the disease, you were always on the lookout for your favorite vampire.

You caught glimpses of him through the open flaps of your tent, sauntering by with a swagger you found unfairly attractive. You saw him reading on his own when Shadowheart helped you changed your bandages, his handsome face fixed in concentration. A few hours later, you heard him arguing with Gale about the very same book, which had apparently gone missing, and you hated the flutter in your stomach at the growl in his angry voice.

"Stop that," Karlach said, glancing up at you as the pair of you cooked, Karlach helping you roast root vegetables evenly.

"Stop what?"

"Mooning over him," she said, jerking her head in Astarion's direction.

Your body flushed with heat. "I'm not—"

"You are, and we can all tell, and you should just get it over with, but only if you mean it."

You frowned, tearing your eyes away from the blessed sight that was Astarion basking in the sun. "Sorry, what?"

Karlach sighed. "If you sleep with him—" You spluttered. "—it had better be because you truly want him and not because you're bleeding."

You blinked at her. "Karlach, of course I want him, you've heard me talk about him before this!"

"I know, I know," she relented, "but I have a feeling there's more to our vampire than meets the eye." She glanced over at Astarion. "Just...be kind to him, dear. He's more fragile than he looks."

You followed her gaze over to him. He was stretching, his arms lifted high above his head, undoubtedly oblivious to the two of you watching him. Want and need bubbled up inside of you, both clamoring for Astarion, agreeing that he would fulfill them both. The deep-seated lust you'd had for him since he'd first put a knife to your neck burned even brighter as the breeze that had been kicking up dust all morning played with the silver hair curling around his ears.

His nostrils flared and you knew he'd smelled you. He looked over at you and Karlach and you froze. She waved cheerily, then frowned at you when you didn't move. You swallowed harshly and went back to removing the scales from the fish in your lap.

"He doesn't like not being around you either, you know," Karlach said, returning to the task at hand. "He's always looking at you when you're not looking. You're perfect for each other like that."

"I don't want to make this harder for him by being around him," you said, glancing back over at him. He was watching you as he poured himself a glass of wine. Had it been normal circumstances, when you weren't driving him insane simply by smelling like blood, you would have teased him for day-drinking. "He's already so hungry, I'd only make that worse. It was bad enough I threw myself at him covered in his favorite snack!"

Karlach snorted. The sound of a light laugh floated over to you and you looked up to find Astarion smirking into his goblet. He beckoned you over and your eyes grew wide.

"Excuse me for a moment, Karlach," you said, clearing your throat.

Karlach followed your gaze and giggled. "More than a moment, dear. I'll come back later to help you finish this." She left the log you'd been sharing and you waited until she was in her own tent again before you jumped to your feet and practically ran to Astarion.

"Hello, darling," he purred. "Care for a drink?"

"I could go for a little," you said.

Astarion smiled, that rakish charm summoning warmth that spread through your entire body. "I hope you like red," he said, and put his own goblet to your lips.

You held his gaze as you drank. You saw his nostrils flare, his pupils growing large. You knew he could hear how your heart was racing, could smell your arousal mixing with your blood.

He pulled the goblet away from your lips and took another swig. You licked the red wine off your lower lip and heard the breath catch in his chest.

"You're starving, aren't you?"

"You have no idea," he whispered.

"I might," you said. "Thought I'd say it's a hunger of a different kind."

Astarion's smirk was so wide you could see his fangs clearly. "Oh, really, darling?"

You nodded, taking a step closer to him. He breathed in deeply. "We could help each other, you know. Satiate our hungers."

His eyes grew dark, trained on yours. "Is that so?" He raised his hand, nearly brushing your cheek, but stopped himself just before he touched you. "You'd let me soothe your pain by..." His gaze dropped to your waistline. "...eating from you?"

A tremor passed through you at the sound of his voice, deeper than you'd ever heard it, laced with a danger and a seduction you were embarrassed to find attractive. Your body was tuned to it, his words seeming to drop like a stone from your ears to your core, spreading fire through your veins and melting your organs.

Astarion took a small step closer to you and took your chin in three gentle fingers, tilting your head up toward him. For a moment, you thought he might kiss you then and there. "I'm going to need an answer, darling."

"Yes." You couldn't get the word out fast enough. It came out breathy, nearly lost on the wind still swirling between you.

He chuckled. "Well, then. You asked for it." He dropped the hand on your chin back to his side. "Once everyone else is asleep, come find me. We'll find a quiet place and...have a little fun."

~❊~

Of all the nights, it had to be this one where everyone came to check on you before they went to sleep. Thanks to Astarion avoiding you like the plague when the two of you had become inseparable, your monthly bleed had become public knowledge. So practically everyone in camp came to you with solutions you declined, claiming to feel fine, even though your pain had worsened over the course of the day.

You watched Astarion slink off into the forest after the sun had gone down and waited until the others were sequestered in their tents, nearly an hour later, to pull your boots back on, stand on shaky feet, and follow the path you assumed he'd taken.

You had started to believe you'd taken a wrong turn somewhere when you heard his cool voice from behind you: "There you are. I've been waiting."

Astarion stepped out of the shadows. He ran his gaze over you, observing your slightly hunched stance, your hand on your lower abdomen. Your shoulders relaxed at the sight of him; he looked softer in the moonlight. The silver light fell across his curls and the statuesque panes of his face, somehow making that face that was so gaunt with hunger unbelievably beautiful.

He looked like a poet or a god, even in just the simple shirt he insisted on wearing around camp instead of the finer silks you knew he carried with him. Or perhaps it was the simplicity that made him so godly. You couldn't tell.

A frown graced his brow. "The pain is worse now, isn't it?"

You nodded. "Just a bit."

Astarion left the small hill he stood on and came closer to you. He offered you his hand. "Come on, dear, let me make you feel better."

You let him guide you away from the path you had taken and into a small clearing just a few feet away, conveniently hidden by thickets, trees, and tall grass. He stood aside, letting you take it in for a moment, as if waiting for your approval of the place. You looked down at the mossy ground and decided it would be soft enough.

"Well, this is nice," you said, seconds before you heard fabric rustling. You turned and blinked rapidly at what you saw: Astarion, his shirt now off and in his hands. You watched him lay it down where the ground was most level. Your breath caught horribly in your throat at the sight of the scar covering his back. You fought back the urge to ask, knowing it would only piss him off.

He turned back to you with a smile. "Your bed for the evening, my love," he said, gesturing to it.

"Oh, Astarion, I can't, I don't want to get blood on your shirt. What would the others—"

Astarion cupped your face in one hand. "The others will assume I hunted something and got messy," he said. "And I'll enjoy your scent while I have it."

Flutters in your stomach nearly brought you to your knees. You looked up at him, drawing in a tiny breath, and brought your hand up to hold the wrist that cradled your cheek.

"Please," you whispered, unsure of exactly what you were begging for but knowing what you wanted.

"Promise me you'll tell me if...I'm too much," Astarion said, and you got the sense he'd changed what he was going to say.

You nodded, whispering your promise, and wound your free hand into the hair at the nape of his neck, standing on your tiptoes to push your lips to his.

It was a messy first kiss. It was little more than teeth and spit, but it felt like heaven anyway, because his free arm was winding around your waist and pressing your bodies together, his leg sliding between yours. Bliss spread through you, starting at your core.

Astarion pulled away from you. "Someone's eager, isn't she?"

You whimpered and he stifled it with another kiss, softer than the first. He was gentle, more than you'd expected from a starving man. He cupped the back of your head and your hand dropped to his hip. You opened your mouth to him and reveled in the feeling of his tongue sliding against yours. He made a soft sound of satisfaction and pushed his leg up against your clothed core. You moaned loudly, your grip on him tightening. Need flooded you and your hips pushed down on his leg, finding relief in the pressure.

The two of you pressed your foreheads together, breathing heavily.

"Shh, darling, not too loud. You don't want the others to come investigate, do you?" His cheeky tone suggested he would love it if the others found the two of you like this—or, perhaps, further along.

You wrapped both arms around his neck and buried your head into his shoulder, heat burning through you, a mix of embarrassment and pleasure. You felt like there was a pendulum inside you, swinging constantly between wanting to slow down, afraid of coming off as too eager, and desperately needing him to get to it.

Astarion chuckled. "Don't hide, love." He smoothed his hand over your hair. "You do trust me, don't you?"

You kissed his shoulder and heard his breath catch. "With my life, Astarion."

"Are you ready?"

You nodded and he walked you over to his shirt and helped you to sit on it. He watched you lay down, his gaze falling your exposed neck. There was something more than hunger in his eyes; it made your breathing hitch.

Astarion crawled over you and placed his hand underneath your head before he kissed you. You draped your arm over his shoulders, holding him close to you, enjoying the soft touch of his lips against yours. It was chaste, as were the next few that followed it in quick succession, one after the other.

One hand slid down your body and stopped at the hem of your trousers. He tugged at the shirt tucked into them. "Darling? May I?"

"Please do," you said.

"Arms up."

He pulled the fabric over your head and tossed it to the side. He looked down at your torso from where he straddled your hips. His hands skimmed over you and he leaned down, pressing more gentle kisses to your neck and collarbones. Your body tingled with remembrance, practically yearning to feel his fangs sink into your neck, to feel your blood leave you with a burning that felt like intoxication.

"Astarion." His name was a breathy cry on your lips, and you saw how much he liked the sound of it when he looked up at you, a smile curving onto the lips still pressed to your skin.

"Yes, dear?"

You gently coaxed him back up to you with your hand on his chin. "Let me kiss you."

He smiled, brighter than the moonlight falling around you, and you pressed your mouth to his. He hummed happily into your mouth, a pleasant sensation that made you reluctant to break the kiss. But you did, kissing along his jaw and down his neck instead. You nipped gently at his neck, pulling a surprised laugh from him.

"Really, darling? Biting the vampire?" Astarion's eyes were sparkling with amusement. His face had relaxed into an easy smile. It was a good look on him; you liked it.

You giggled and placed another kiss over the bite. The pair of you rolled onto your sides and you peppered his chest with kisses, your arm wrapped loosely around his waist. You went back up to his neck and sucked lightly.

"So much for the others not knowing," he teased.

You looked at him through your lashes. "What if I want them to know?"

"Cheeky little thing," he whispered, dragging a finger down the side of your face. "As much as I love this—and believe me, I do love this—I can't wait any longer. I'm starving, darling. Let me taste you. Please."

Slightly subdued, you rolled onto your back. "Alright," you whispered, your chest tightening in anticipation.

Astarion climbed on top of you again. He undid the laces at the front of your trousers and slipped his hand inside them, moving slowly and keeping his eyes locked on yours.

The moment two of his fingers slid between your wet folds, your eyes fluttered shut and a happy sigh slipped from your lips.

"There she is," he whispered, his eyes half-lidded, as he worked you gently and slowly. You felt the blood and arousal gather on his fingers as he grew closer to your entrance. He dragged them back up to your clit and rubbed in a slow circle. You gasped, arching into his touch. Astarion giggled. "Oh, you like that, don't you?"

You wriggled underneath him, trying everything in your power to get more of his touch. He smiled down at you, kissing your cheek and cooing softly at you. If he spoke words, you didn't hear them, too lost in the pleasure he easily, skillfully, brought to you.

Without warning, Astarion plunged both fingers into your entrance. You moaned, grabbing at his hair. He chuckled, curling his fingers inside you. Whimpers slipped past your lips; you couldn't have controlled them if you tried, but you were by no means trying. His smile grew with every sound you made, and you wanted nothing more than to see that smile.

Just as suddenly as he'd pushed his fingers in, he pulled them out. You whined instantly but he shushed you and removed his hand from your pants. A small streak of blood was left on the skin of your stomach as he raised his hand to his mouth. You watched raptly as he licked your blood from his fingers, never once breaking eye contact with you.

He wasn't even touching you and the fire in your belly grew at the sight.

Astarion moaned softly around his fingers. You watched his deft tongue catch every drop of blood, thinned by your arousal, from his hand. He whispered your name in a whine and you let go of a long breath.

Once he'd licked his fingers clean, he bent down and yanked your trousers off your legs. You spread them automatically and he put one leg between them. He pulled off your undergarments and sat back, admiring your naked body with a satisfied smirk.

"Look at you," he whispered.

The need for him to touch you won out over the desire for him to keep staring at you. "Astarion." His name was a loud whine, emphasized by your writhing hips.

He chucked. "Needy girl." His hand returned to your cunt, his palm applying pressure to your clit while his fingers toyed with your bloody folds. His eyes practically rolled into the back of his head, the smell of blood so heady even you could smell it.

He teased your entrance for a moment and pulled his fingers back up, the tips of them coated in thick blood that looked black in the night. He sucked it from his fingers with a toothy smile, his fangs peeking out over his bottom lip.

You pushed your hips up enough to catch his eye. "Please," you whimpered.

"Alright, love, alright," he said. He put his hand back and slipped his fingers back inside you. Relief curled through you—as did his fingers. "I'll starve myself a bit longer for your pleasure."

You cupped his neck and brought his face to yours and kissed him fiercely. He made a surprised but pleased sound into your mouth and quickened his pace. You gasped against his lips and he ducked his head to your neck, kissing you quickly with every curl of his fingers.

You twisted your fingers through his hair, rapidly kissing the top of his head, pushing your hips up into his hand. He chuckled, his breath ghosting over your skin and raising goosebumps. You shuddered in his arms.

"I've got you," he murmured, sucking a light mark into your neck. You felt his teeth prick you and saw the shudder that passed through his body at the tiny droplets of blood that appeared.

He pulled away from your neck and curled his fingers just so. You groaned.

"Astarion!" you cried, throwing your head back.

He grinned and quickened his pace. You sucked in a deep breath, fighting back tears of pleasure.

"Let go, darling," he whispered. "I've got you."

Astarion looked back down at your neck. He locked eyes with you as he pressed his tongue to your skin, slowly licking up the droplets as they began to run down your neck. The combination of his intense stare and the movement of his fingers was all you needed; with a loud cry, you came on his fingers, your walls clenching so hard around him he could hardly keep moving them.

He chuckled. "That's it, dear, that's it." He cooed softly, helping you through it with his voice, his soft touch, and gentle kisses to your lips.

You were breathing hard when he finally pulled his fingers out of you. You whimpered at the slight pain but realized your cramps had all but disappeared.

Judging by the state of his hand, you didn't want to know how bloody his shirt was. It looked as though he'd reached into someone's chest and ripped their heart out; his hand was drenched and rivulets of blood ran all the way down to his elbow.

Astarion giggled at the sight while you burned with embarrassment. "Well, well, well. Someone's happy, isn't she?"

"So are you," you said, nodding to the bulge in his pants.

He grinned. "Well, what did you expect? You were quite vocal, my needy little thing." His eyes drifted back down to your cunt, lust curling through his gaze. "Tight and wet and utterly desperate for me."

He licked a stripe up his hand, his eyes fluttering shut. "Oh, darling, you taste good." He sucked your blood off of every finger, pleasure sliding over his face.

You smiled. "There's more where that came from."

Astarion raised one perfect brow. "Can you handle another little death?" he teased.

You nodded. "I can take a few more."

He chuckled and groaned at the same time. "Oh, my love, don't make promises you can't keep."

You met his gaze as he finished cleaning off his hand. "Believe me, I can keep it."

The vampire grinned. "Very well, then. I'll eat good tonight."

He kissed you chastely as he put his hand between your legs again.

Astarion brought you pleasure unlike anything you'd ever felt before as his fingers slid over your blood-slick skin, teasing your folds and entrance with a smirk, often just barely inserting the tip of his finger before pulling it out again and tracing over your clit and smearing blood across your skin. He kissed and sucked on your breasts, leaving darkening bruises and tiny scratches from his teeth, licking up the tiny beads of blood that sprung from each nick. He kissed along the line of scarring and stitches you had gotten from your injury, fading fast but still a reminder of what had gotten you on your back for him in the first place. Now that he'd eaten a little, he was intently focused on bringing you to the edge and pulling you back, again and again and again.

He worked another orgasm out of you and was on his way to coaxing out the third when you stopped him.

"Is it too much?" he asked, frowning. His unbloodied hand moved to rest on your hip, his thumb smoothing over your skin. His eyes searched your face, looking for anything to tell him why you'd stopped him.

You shook your head. "I need more, Astarion," you gasped, slurring his name into Astari. The unintended nickname made him blush. "I need more of you. Please. Please."

The smile returned to his face, cockier than before. "Oh, darling. I need more of you, too," he said, looking into your cunt and licking his lips. "I could just eat you up."

You spread your legs wider. He settled between them. "Please do."

He breathed in deep and his eyes practically rolled back into his head. "You're going to be the death of me— Ah. Well, you would be, if I was alive."

You frowned. "Would this even be happening if you were alive?"

Astarion thought for a moment. "Let's not think about the logistics," he decided and licked the drying blood from his fingers off your abdomen. Your body trembled. He lifted your legs over his shoulders. You squeaked and smiled at him.

"Lay back," he whispered. You obliged him.

Wet warmth touched your skin just above your clit and you glanced down at him, watching him slowly lick the drying blood from your skin. He kissed your skin as he cleaned it, leaving you covered in slowly darkening bruises.

You stared at the stars as he pressed a soft first kiss to your clit. You let out a slow breath and he began to suck, his lips closing around it, his tongue licking light stripes.

You pushed your hips against his mouth. "Circles," you whispered.

"As you wish," he said, his breath fanning over your cunt and making you tremble. He went back to his feast, licking in circles this time, and you let out a soft whimper. You reached down and he reached up, lacing your fingers together and squeezing your hand. You squeezed back.

He moved further down until his nose bumped your clit and his lips found your entrance. He moaned, the sound deep and guttural, at the taste of your blood. He lapped at your entrance, his tongue sweeping up the blood as soon as it collected there. You shuddered, your breaths coming in heaves.

Astarion kissed your entrance once before he dove in, pushing his tongue into your cunt. You gasped and he laughed and buried his face in you.

Through the pleasure, you wondered dimly how he was breathing (did he, as a vampire, need to breathe?), but the thought was pushed away the moment his splayed fingers on your hip dug into your flesh and pulled you even closer to his mouth.

The sounds you were making were obscene: your moans were loud and coarse, and your cunt squelched lewdly as he drank your blood and arousal. You felt filthy, aware that the mix was running down your legs and buttocks but knowing the vampire eating you out was enjoying you too much to care.

Astarion himself was quite vocal, moaning into you and making you shiver. He whimpered, whined, groaned, and keened, growing louder with every swallow of blood. He alternated between watching you writhe and squeezing his eyes shut in pleasure.

You watched his hand slide from your hip to his bulge. He palmed himself through his trousers, hissing in pleasure, and the sight was enough to send you over the edge for a third time.

But Astarion didn't let up. He lapped at you, sucking so harshly your pleasure bordered pain, until your legs stopped shaking and your breathing evened out.

He lifted his head with a grin. "How do I look?"

You looked at him and started laughing. He was the smiliest you had ever seen him, his eyes practically glowing, and the lower half of his face was covered in your blood. His teeth were stained red and sticky blood dripped slowly from his fangs. It ran down his chin in rivulets and splatters dotted his lower cheeks like freckles. Some of it was even in his hair.

"You're ridiculous," you giggled. "And a messy eater."

He snorted. "Excuse you!"

"It's all over your face!"

He sat up with a grin, licking his lips. "You mean you are all over my face."

Satisfaction curled through you. "Yes," you said, reaching for him. He took your hand again. "Yes I am."

He wiped his face with his hand and licked it clean once again. You reached up and wiped some off on your thumb, then held it out to him. He took your thumb into his mouth and sucked. Your heart stopped beating.

"Feeling better?" he asked you, lightly placing his palm over your abdomen, applying a little pressure, and rubbing gentle circles.

"Much better," you said. "Thank you. But, ah..." Your gaze drifted from his beautiful, if slightly pink, face and down to his bulge. It was just as, if not more, prominent now that he'd gone down on you. "What about you?"

Astarion smirked. "I like your enthusiasm, but don't worry about me. Not tonight, darling."

You frowned. "Why not? What if I want you inside of me?" You walked two fingers up his leg and slowly covered his crotch with your palm. When he didn't protest and his eyes fluttered shut, you gave him a gentle squeeze. He let out a soft moan through closed lips and tilted his head back. You kissed the column of his neck and bit down gently. You sucked—hard—and a rumbling moan came from his chest.

"Because," he said finally, drawing in a ragged breath. "Because that would be a terrible waste of your precious blood." He looked at you with half-lidded eyes. "When this is over, I promise you, you can have as much of me as you want." He pushed his hips into your hand and you gave him another gentle squeeze. He gasped.

You nuzzled into him and his arm wrapped around your shoulders, holding you there. "And what if I want all of you?"

The question hung in the air. He looked at you for a long time and suddenly you saw the fragility Karlach had mentioned this afternoon, which felt like years ago instead of mere hours. You reached up to cup his cheek and, though you were stark naked, the sexual desire in the air seemed to have disappeared.

"I want all of you, Astari," you whispered. The nickname made his eyes grow wide. "All of you, in every way, for as long as possible. If you'll let me. If you want me, too."

He whimpered, and the sound was broken. You hated hearing that pain coming from him. "I want you, I do, I just..." He closed his eyes and you were suddenly very sure there was a darkness, a secret, he was trying to hide from you. You were certain it had to do with his vampiric master he'd so often complained about. "I'll try, my darling, I'll try for you."

You sat up on your knees and cupped his face in both hands and kissed him. You didn't break the kiss once as you pressed your body against his and held him tightly. You felt the scar on his back and wanted to ask but didn't, letting him keep his secrets for now.

His arms came around you, cradling your back and holding you tight to him. The kiss became a long-lasting hug, the both of you burying your heads in each other's shoulders until Astarion pulled away from you, a smile on his face. You returned that smile and sat back on your heels.

His eyes trailed over your body again. There was a note of nervousness in his voice as he asked, "Darling, would you mind...touching me again? I could use some relief."

You grinned. "Of course, my love. All you had to do was ask."

Relief crossed his face. He leaned back as you trailed your hand from his shoulder, down his chest, and back to his bulge. You tipped his head back with your free hand and kissed his neck while you rubbed him. He pushed his hips into your hand, sighing blissfully, and your hand was in his trousers in seconds. He grew loud, thrusting his cock into your hand with a power that surprised you.

"Take what you need," you told him, your voice hushed, your lips directly next to his ear. "Help me give you what you want."

He whimpered, your name a broken cry from his lips, and he cuddled into you as he came. He buried his head into your neck, hiding his eyes and barely holding back grunts. As his thrusts grew weaker and you slowed your hand on him, you felt hot tears on your neck and wondered what this poor man had been through that he hadn't yet told you.

You removed your hand from his pants and he immediately wrapped you in another hug, one strong enough to knock you down and knock the breath of you. You held him as tightly as he held you.

When Astarion at last pulled away from you, his tears had stopped but his eyes still shone with them. He kissed you softly.

"Thank you," he whispered. "I... Thank you."

You brushed some of his hair from his face. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. You were... It's just that no one has cared about me during sex in a very long time and...you did. So...thank you."

You took his hand and squeezed it. "Oh, Astarion," you cooed. "I always care about you. Like this or otherwise. You could stop this right now—or before it even began—and I wouldn't have stopped caring about you."

He smiled. "Oh, darling. I love the sentiment, but I'm not done with you yet."

Astarion kissed down your body and laid between your legs again. He licked another stripe up your cunt and you saw the coating of blood on his tongue before he swallowed. "Shall we try for a fourth? Or perhaps even a fifth?" He raised his brow, leaving the decision up to you.

You laid back. "We'll try for as many as you'd like," you said.

He bared his teeth in a feral grin. "All night it is!"

~❊~

You woke up the next morning sore and alone and with very little sleep.

Astarion had been relentless and stopped only when you simply couldn't take it anymore and he was practically drunk on your blood—all without making you bloodless and woozy. When you had finished for the final time, he had cleaned you up, helped you back into your clothes, picked up his own shirt, and walked you back to camp. He was so gentle that you didn't even mind the teasing about how you limped.

Dawn hadn't been far off as you each went back to your tents after exchanging a final, solid kiss. So you woke to the sound of everyone else beginning their day just a few hours later.

You felt the soreness in your core before you even moved. Biting back a sigh and not regretting it one bit as you pictured Astarion's happy, bloody face, you rolled over and hoped your recent injury would be enough for the others to let you sleep in.

You were wrong.

Shadowheart opened your tent a few minutes later with a urgency that made you jump.

"What? What's wrong?" you asked, blinking blearily in the bright sunlight.

"Are you alright? You never sleep in, you're always up making breakfast!"

You groaned. "Is that it? Are you just hungry?"

She peered at you. "Are you hurt? Did your wound reopen?"

"What? No! I'm fine, I'm just tired, that's all! I have lost a lot of blood recently, in case you forgot."

She sighed. "Oh. Alright. Well, just know the others are worried, too—Astarion especially."

You remembered how he'd checked in on you last night and had asked if he'd hurt you at all when you'd returned to camp and wondered if you had worried him by sleeping in. Suddenly you were grateful the others could chalk it up to his not-so-secret crush on you.

You dressed and hid the light bruises on your neck and collarbones in a high-collared shirt. You only noticed you were walking with a slight limp still after you'd left your tent and made your way across camp.

Karlach called your name and was at your side immediately. "You're limping! Are you hurt? Do you need me to fetch Shadowheart?"

You blinked at her. "What? No. I'm fine!"

"You don't look fine," Gale said, a few feet away, looking up from the book he'd been engrossed in for days. "Did you hurt your leg the other day? Or have your stitches ripped?"

"My, my," said a suave voice behind you. You turned and found Astarion grinning like a cat. "You do have quite the limp, there, darling. Are you sure you're alright?"

You huffed at him, your body remembering his touch immediately, his ghostly hands sliding across your skin. "I'm fine, I promise. Now hush and someone help me make breakfast."

Both Karlach and Astarion sat with you, Astarion very close to you and giving you a smile you couldn't help but return. Karlach stared at Astarion like he'd grown two heads, her gaze flickering between the two of you. She gasped very suddenly.

"Not a word," you hissed at her, knowing she'd figured it out.

Astarion smirked.

"And nothing from you, either," you added. "You're the reason I'm walking like this, you bastard."

He smiled sweetly at you, catching the fondness in the words. "And I gladly will be again." He took your hand and lifted it to his mouth, kissing it. Your eyes grew wide.

Karlach squeaked.

"You know nothing," you told her. "At least for a little while."

"Yes," Astarion agreed. "At the very least, tell Shadowheart nothing—I broke my promise to her to keep our dear girl from doing any strenuous activity."

You turned red and Karlach groaned, "Not before breakfast, please!"

Astarion opened his mouth—undoubtedly to say something about how you were technically his breakfast, based on the hour you'd returned to camp—but you moved quicker than he could speak. You grabbed him by the collar and yanked him toward you, kissing him heartily to shut him up.

A heavy silence settled over camp. You cracked one eye open and found the rest of your companions staring at the pair of you, mouths agape and eyes wide.

"Oops," Astarion muttered, sounding rather pleased.

You cleared your throat. "I, ah, I've been meaning to tell you all. Honestly."

Gale heaved a sigh. "How much do I owe you, Wyll?"

Your jaw dropped open. "You placed bets?!"

"Alright, you bloodsucker," Wyll said, holding his hand out and waiting for his payment from Gale. "You win."

"Yes," Astarion said, and you expected him to be wearing a smirk infused with his charm, his triumphant eyes on the others. But when you turned to him, he was staring at you, a dopey smile fixed on his face. "Yes, I did."

☞ ❊ ☜

Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Acunin

part 2 (Sweet Like Wine) {here}!

Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the Astarion taglist!}

[raynas-delivery-service]

It's truly astonishing how we're 3 movies deep, and there's still ZERO straight explanation for Robotnik and Stone's relationship.

Like yeah when 1 came out, it was good fun shipping them after the whole "pin yourself to the wall" thing and those of us who saw the potential would've stayed Stobotnik truthers regardless of what direction the following movies took. No one was expecting like... actual canon evidence tho??? In 2 Stone is shown to be visibly depressed when Ivo is gone, draws detailed latte art of their faces with tiny hearts, and has no desires other than to be in his presence once he's back (also the maid outfit lmao). Ivo, despite hating all of humanity, not only lets Stone stick around well after they've left the government, but is allowed to see him at his lowest, SHAVE HIS HEAD, and in general get closer to him than anyone else ever has in his life. (Slight S3 Spoilers but he also literally refers to Stone as "the only person he can trust" 😭, which I reacted totally normal to btw).

That's without even mentioning their natural chemistry (courtesy of Jim and Lee), or the way Stone is so down bad he looks at Ivo like he's hung the stars, or THAT PART in 3 that's basically all the confirmation I need. There's wayyy more here than an average toxic boss/henchman dynamic, and watching this all unfold in real time over the last (almost) 5 years had been such a chaotic delight. It's never not crazy to me how all of this started simply cause the filmmakers decided to give Jim Carrey someone to work off of 🤖🪨❤️