#as they are beings made of force it makes sense- there's just something otherworldly about them

[meteor-moon]

there was a boy with stars in his eyes

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Alien Escape

Male Alien Yandere × Gender Neutral Reader

(CW: Noncon, oviposition, breeding, overstimulation, crying, fear, minor character death, weird alien dick, minor mentions of medical experimentation (NOT on reader), alien, implied abduction, general yandere behavior)

Word Count: 680

(Just something I typed up on my phone because it was in my head and demanded to be written, a nice little mini-fic. Hope you enjoy!)

Tears streamed down your face, and your legs burned and ached from running so fast through the labyrinthine halls. Your frenzied footsteps on the cold tile floor were completely drowned out by the incessant blaring of the alarms.

When you slipped and broke the containment field, you had doomed everyone.

At last, you had made it to the exit. But it was covered by a heavier metal door with no handle.

Of course. The entire site was on lockdown now.

Maybe you could double back and hide in one of the abandoned rooms. If they weren't sealed off by now, too.

You ran off down a side corridor, but it was a dead end. Maybe it wouldn't come this way since it wasn't the way out.

Suddenly, the alarms and all the lights turned off. Probably sucked dry due to the escaped alien's ability to absorb energy.

You huddled into a corner in the darkness, nothing visible.

Then you saw light. Coming from far down the hall. The pale sickly green glow of the alien slowly approaching.

When he entered your field of view fully you gasped. He had a struggling Colonel Hughs in his arms, a hand over his mouth.

The alien slowly walked towards you and as he did so, he impaled Hughs with a spike that protruded from his wrists causing the colonel to rapidly age before turning to dust.

The alien had absorbed his life force.

It was humanoid, but had no eyes, nose, or mouth. Scars from "research" littered his body. Its wrist spike retracted back into itself as it slowly stepped towards you.

His strange ribbed cock poking out of his genital slit and lengthening as he approached.

It looked slimy and writhed as if with a will of its own. All while glowing with the same green light the rest of his body did.

You cowered and sobbed. You weren't ready to die. You weren't ready to die. You weren't ready to die.

And you weren't going to.

The alien had no intention to hurt you. He wanted you to be his incubator.

Out of all the people in the facility you were the only one he sensed any sympathy from. And no ill will. He only sensed regret and anxiety whenever your gaze landed on him.

It was the only modicum of kindness he experienced while being captured, contained, and experimented on.

He clung to it, focused on it. It was a lifeline for him.

And when you broke the containment unit he was housed in, he was convinced you had been purposefully trying to free him.

As he loomed over you, he could sense your fear. He gently wiped your tears away with his prehensile cock before pulling you up, turning you around, and pulling your pants down.

Yes~

This would do perfectly as a receptacle for his egg.

You begged and babbled, sure that he was about to turn you into dust.

When his slimy dick worked its way into you the noises you were making progressed into screams.

He put his hands carefully on your fragile human hips as his priggle writhed all around inside you, causing you to squirm and moan involuntarily in pleasure.

If he had a mouth your alien mate would have cooed at that sound.

The alien's dick molded itself to your inside perfectly, to kiss every little fold of your intimate depths, leaking viscous goo as it did so.

After your tenth forced orgasm from your otherworldly lover your legs finally gave out and he had to hold you close as he pumped one final time into you.

He deposited a large egg inside causing your tummy to bulge out, quite beautifully in his opinion.

The creature put his hand on your head and used his abilities to make you fell into a well earned sleep.

Green slime leaked from your entrance and down your legs when he pulled out of you.

It was a good thing you were a janitor, because once he had you back on his home world you'd be dealing with this mess daily.

[cece693]

Obsessed (Dom M! Reader x Joe Goldberg)

This is my first attempt at writing smut since many lovely readers have asked for it. Don't come at me if you don't like it, but do leave comments if you want to see more. Thanks :)

Summary: It was supposed to be a one-night stand—fun with a cute guy you found in the club, but this was Joe we're talking about. Once he'd tasted you, he couldn't get enough.

tags: dom reader, Joe is obsessed, smut, reader is kind of a dick, and is as twisted as Joe but oblivious as fuck

You took the cute guy from the club back to your apartment, the promise of sex written in the hungry glances and heated touches shared between you. The night was unforgettable, not just because it was his first time, but because of how thoroughly you wrecked him. The way he responded to your touch—his initial whimpers of pain quickly melting into moans of pleasure—remained etched in your memory, even after you'd released inside him, leaving him breathless and sated.

It was supposed to be a one-night stand, just a fleeting moment of pleasure with someone you'd met on a whim. But this was Joe we were talking about. The moment he allowed you to dominate him, take his second virginity, and find himself enjoying the feel of you inside him, he was hooked.

When morning came, Joe found himself giving you a blowjob just to prolong his stay. He could've stayed like this forever—you gripping his curls, pushing his head to swallow more of his dick as saliva dripped from the sides of his mouth—but atlas, you finished and his responsibilities at the bookshop couldn't be ignored.

"Next time?" Joe rasped, throat sore from the force you utilized, but he wasn't complaining. Especially when you merely nodded before kissing him deeply, loving the taste of yourself in his mouth. You couldn't deny the present that fell into your hands—an attractive man who could fulfill all your fantasies was no easy thing to find. Of course, you agreed to see him again.

What you didn't account for was the man to make himself a permanent fixture in your life. The sex was great, otherworldly even, but you could see Joe wanted more. Small presents he'd given you whenever he'd come over, a desire to see a movie before clothes could hit the floor, sweet words he'd murmured while caressing your chest after round two. Joe wanted commitment. Plain and simple.

Too bad you didn't feel the same.

Monogamy wasn’t your thing. The idea of settling down, of being with one person day in and day out, felt suffocating to you. Relationships, with their routines and expectations, seemed dull, a far cry from the excitement and freedom you craved. You were a byproduct of a one-night stand yourself—your mother barely involved in your life, and your father? You’d never even met him. That kind of upbringing didn’t exactly instill a desire for stability or long-term commitment.

Yet, you made no motion to stop Joe. Perhaps you felt guilty over the obvious, touch-starved man who seemed to cling to every ounce of affection you gave him. His neediness was palpable, almost pitiable. How his eyes lit up when you gave him even the smallest bit of attention or the soft, involuntary sighs that escaped his lips when your hands wandered over his skin—it was like he’d been starved of human connection for far too long.

Maybe that’s why you let him linger—why you didn’t push him away when he showed up at your door with that eager smile and a hopeful look in his eyes. There was something almost endearing about his desperation, a sense of vulnerability that tugged at a part of you that you rarely acknowledged.

But it wasn’t love. Not for you, anyway.

Joe was an itch you scratched, a convenient distraction from the monotony of life. You didn’t mind indulging him in those small moments of tenderness if it meant keeping things uncomplicated. And Joe was good at playing along—until he wasn’t.

One night, you returned to your apartment with a pretty little thing you’d picked up at the club. You fumbled with the keys, grinning as your companion giggled beside you, a bit tipsy and clearly eager for what was to come. But the moment you stepped inside, the mood shifted.

Joe was already there, sitting in the dimly lit living room, his eyes locked on you with a mixture of hurt and fury. You hadn't given him a key, yet here he was, making himself at home.

"Joe?" you said, more surprised than anything else. "What are you doing here?"

His gaze flickered to the person beside you—a clear indication of your plans. The moment he realized who she was and what she was here for, a dark shadow crossed his face. The anger that simmered beneath his seemingly calm exterior erupted. Before you could react, Joe was on her, a flash of motion and fury.

It happened so fast. One second, she was standing beside you, and the next, Joe's hands were around her throat, his eyes wild and unhinged. You tried to pull him off, but it was like he had become something else, something feral and terrifying. His rage was primal, his strength unexpected, and it was over almost as quickly as it had begun. Her body fell limp to the floor, her wide eyes staring blankly.

You stared in shock, unable to process what had just happened. Your heart pounded in your chest as you took a step back, grappling with the sight before you. "Joe…what the fuck did you do?"

Joe turned to you, his expression softening, though his eyes still held that unnerving glint. “You weren’t supposed to bring anyone else here. You know that.”

Before you could react, he lunged at you. There was a sharp prick in your neck, and you realized too late that he had injected you with something. Your vision blurred, the room spinning as your legs gave out beneath you. Darkness closed in as Joe’s face hovered above you, his lips curling into a smile that was equal parts adoring and deranged.

When you finally regained consciousness, the world felt hazy and disorienting. It took a moment for you to realize you were in your own bed, your arms and legs heavy, unable to move. Your head throbbed as you tried to blink away the fog clouding your mind. And that’s when you felt it—a rhythmic, heated sensation around your lower half.

You found yourself unexpectedly captivated by the sight of Joe riding your cock, his body moving with a desperate, almost frantic need. There was a sick desire brewing deep within you, a twisted enjoyment at watching him lose himself entirely to the pleasure he found in you. The horror of what he’d done, of how he’d killed someone in a fit of jealousy, should have overshadowed everything else. Yet here you were, lying helpless beneath him, your body betraying you with every sensation, every heated pulse of his movements.

Your eyes trailed over Joe's flushed face, his parted lips trembling as he moaned your name, a mix of worship and madness in his voice. His body tightened around you with each thrust, and even in your drugged haze, you could feel yourself hardening further inside him.

"Joe…" you managed to rasp, your voice weak but heavy with something darker, something that surprised even you. His name came out almost like a growl, and his eyes snapped open, meeting yours with a fevered intensity. His pupils were blown wide with lust, his breaths ragged.

“Yes…yes.” he breathed, his movements becoming more erratic, fueled by the knowledge that you were watching him, enjoying him. “I knew you’d want this…I knew you’d love this.” He leaned down, his face hovering just inches above yours, his breath hot against your skin. “You can’t deny it—you’re mine, just like I’m yours.”

Despite everything, there was a part of you that was entranced by his obsession, the way he’d gone to such extremes to claim you. It was as if his insanity was infectious, creeping into your veins alongside whatever he’d drugged you with. You hated that it turned you on, hated that his unhinged devotion stirred something primal in you. But there was no denying the heat pooling in your gut, the sick satisfaction of seeing him completely unraveled on top of you.

Joe’s pace quickened, his body trembling as he neared his peak. “Don’t stop looking at me.” he begged, his voice breaking, “I want to see you when you come inside me. I want to know you want this as much as I do.”

You could feel your body responding, helpless against the rising tide of pleasure. His words, his desperation, all of it fed into that dark corner of your mind where desire and revulsion intertwined. Your hands, still sluggish, managed to grip his thighs, encouraging him, guiding him to ride you faster. You didn’t even know why you did it—perhaps it was curiosity, perhaps it was the thrill of seeing how far he would go.

As Joe’s movements became more frenzied, you felt yourself on the edge, the line between ecstasy and disgust blurring in the heat of the moment. You knew you should have been horrified, should have pushed him away, but instead, you let the twisted pleasure build, the sick satisfaction of owning him—of being owned by him—consuming you both.

[urdreamydoodles]

Hii it's me Anon

I been reading all your MCU and Marvel And I'm in love with it!!

Do you mind if I do two Requests? If so Thank you!! And if not Freely ignore this

MCU-

Reader is a emotionless individual with the power to summon a scythe and has the ability to either kill or pass out anyone with just a Touch(It's my Oc power so I'mma let you borrow it) Reader doesn't smile or laugh and the X-Men couldn't help but be drown to it's Unique personality like reader is calm yet sassy yet has manners and one day the X men Were doing something (Either Teaching or just being themselves) when they saw by the window the reader sitting on a Tree branch(It's spring season) and Just smile at them while waving there hand out of nowhere and Snap there finger and give them wait for it.. A BEAUTIFUL RING WITH THERE INITIALS ON IT!!

So yeah Hahahaha

Marvel

Reader is Tony Stark Daughter and the Avengers has a crush on them and Tong being a overprotective father doesn't suit well with him and would often be by the reader side But reader is dense and always busy so reader doesn't know the avengers has a crush on them

😊😊😊😇😇😇🫶 Thank you!!

X-Men (Fox Universe) x Reader (&) Avengers (MCU) x Reader

The X-Men and the emotionless and powerful reader (&) Avengers and Tony Stark's Daughter

As an emotionless mutant with incredible power, you often find yourself at odds with the vibrant personalities of the X-Men, who are drawn to your calm demeanor yet curious about the depths beneath your exterior. (&) As Tony Stark's daughter, you find yourself the center of attention among the Avengers, each of them harboring a secret crush on you, though they’re careful not to let your overprotective father catch wind of their feelings.

I hope I understood perfectly what you wanted. Enjoy! (And by the way, your oc seems so amazing.)

X-Men x Emotionless, Powerful Reader

- From the start, the X-Men were both intrigued and puzzled by your calm, controlled presence. While they were used to individuals with big personalities and intense emotions, you had an aura of quiet confidence, an almost otherworldly calm that set you apart. It wasn’t that you lacked emotions entirely, but you seemed unaffected by things that would typically stir others, which drew them to you even more.

- Your powers added a layer of mystery to your already stoic nature. The ability to kill or incapacitate with a touch meant you had to be careful with others, and this only made the X-Men more curious. They admired the restraint and discipline you had, knowing how easy it would be to misuse such an ability. It’s a constant, unspoken reminder of the power you wield, but you handle it with the same calm grace as everything else.

- The scythe you summon seems to appear effortlessly in your grasp, and it’s a mesmerizing sight. The way you wield it with precision and skill leaves them in awe. You don’t boast or flaunt your strength; it’s simply part of you, as natural as breathing. They’ve noticed that in training sessions or missions, you handle threats with chilling efficiency, never losing your composure even in the heat of battle.

- Despite your calm demeanor, there’s a touch of sass in your interactions with the team. Your responses are often so dry and subtle that it takes them a second to catch the humor or sarcasm behind them. Scott was particularly taken aback the first time you replied with a deadpan remark, only for him to realize you were teasing him. Your unique sense of humor becomes something they all secretly look forward to.

- You never raise your voice, yet your presence commands respect. You carry yourself with a quiet dignity that even the most seasoned X-Men can’t help but admire. Logan has commented more than once about your impeccable manners, the way you always say “please” and “thank you” even in battle, as if you’re a force of calm in the chaos. It’s something that sets you apart in their minds, making you all the more captivating.

- When you sit in on their training sessions or discussions, you often seem detached, observing everything with that cool, serene gaze of yours. Yet you always seem to notice the small details no one else catches, and your insights are as sharp as the scythe you wield. Sometimes, you’ll make a single, quiet comment that cuts straight to the core of an issue, leaving them wondering how you always know exactly what to say.

- It was during one spring afternoon, when the trees were blossoming, that the X-Men spotted you outside. You were perched on a tree branch, almost blending into the tranquil scene, watching them through the window with a small, private smile that caught them off guard. Seeing even the slightest expression of warmth from you made something stir in their hearts—especially since you rarely smiled, and they could feel the genuine emotion behind it.

- Without any warning, you lifted a hand and gave them a small wave, your expression as serene as ever. There was something surreal about it, as if they were seeing a rare, fleeting glimpse of a side of you they’d never known. Your calm wave held a kind of affection that made them feel strangely special, like you were acknowledging them in a way only you could.

- Then, with a small snap of your fingers, a shimmering object appeared in your hand. You held it up, displaying a beautiful ring with their initials carved into it. There was no flourish, no grand display—just a simple, quiet gesture that left them speechless. You gave a subtle nod, letting them know it was for them, and their hearts raced at the thought that you’d made something so personal.

- The ring was as intricate and elegant as your scythe, an object of beauty and symbolism. It was as if you were giving them a piece of yourself, a rare expression of affection from someone so often composed and reserved. Each member of the X-Men who received the ring found themselves glancing at it throughout the day, feeling a strange warmth each time they looked at the initials you’d chosen so carefully.

- Even though you don’t show much outward affection, your calm presence alone brings a sense of peace to those around you. On missions, your steady hand and quiet focus have a grounding effect on the team. If one of them gets too riled up or panicked, all it takes is a single look from you to bring them back down, your serene gaze serving as a reminder to stay collected.

- Over time, the X-Men realize that, even if you don’t smile often, you have a unique way of expressing affection. Whether it’s through those rare smiles, the gentle sass in your words, or the thoughtful gestures like the ring, each act feels significant. They come to understand that every small gesture from you carries weight and meaning, and it’s something they grow to treasure deeply.

- Despite your stoic nature, there are moments when you offer subtle comfort. After a difficult mission, you’ll place a hand on someone’s shoulder, briefly allowing them to feel the warmth and reassurance of your presence. These fleeting touches are enough to convey a quiet strength and support, and they come to realize that, in your own way, you care deeply for them. It’s these moments that make them grateful to have you as part of the team, a steady, unyielding force who brings a unique beauty and depth to their lives.

Avengers x Tony Stark’s Daughter

- Being Tony Stark’s daughter comes with its perks and challenges. You’ve grown up in a world of high-tech gadgets, luxurious surroundings, and a lifestyle few could even imagine. But while you’re surrounded by luxury, you’re far from spoiled. Tony’s always tried to ground you, and you’ve got a mix of his intelligence, sass, and wit that keeps everyone around you on their toes.

- Despite being in the Avengers Tower and knowing all the Avengers personally, you’re surprisingly humble about it. You don’t flaunt your connections or your father’s legacy. Instead, you’re always caught up in your own projects, working late into the night on experiments or studying, which makes you even more intriguing to those around you.

- You’ve always been very dense when it comes to romance. Friends have joked about it in the past, but it’s especially amusing (and a little frustrating) for the Avengers who have a soft spot for you. You see them as mentors, teammates, and, well, Avengers—but the idea that they might be interested in you romantically never crosses your mind.

- The Avengers are fascinated by you. Your intelligence, kindness, and determination remind them of Tony’s best qualities without any of his ego. Whether you’re discussing advanced physics with Bruce, sparring with Natasha, or just cracking jokes with Clint, each Avenger finds themselves drawn to you in a way they can’t fully explain.

- Tony is fiercely protective of you, and everyone knows it. Anytime an Avenger even so much as glances at you with admiration, Tony’s right there, subtly (or not-so-subtly) reminding them that he’s watching. He’ll throw an arm around your shoulders, shoot a warning look, or casually mention how any hurt to you would be dealt with swiftly. His overprotectiveness can get a little intense, but it’s clear he cares deeply.

- Your obliviousness to the Avengers’ crushes drives Tony a little crazy, and he constantly tries to steer you away from certain members. When Steve starts spending too much time training you, or Thor’s teaching you how to throw his hammer, Tony’s quick to intervene, often with a sly comment or an excuse to pull you away. You think he’s just being his usual, overbearing self, but he’s truly on high alert.

- Bruce Banner is one of the few people Tony trusts around you without much worry. Bruce’s calm, gentle nature eases Tony’s mind, but even Bruce can’t help but feel a soft affection for you, admiring your intelligence and curiosity. Your long, thoughtful conversations with Bruce about science or the world’s complexities are some of his favorite moments, though he keeps his admiration quiet out of respect for both you and Tony.

- Clint Barton is playful with you in a way that’s less about training and more about having fun. He’ll make offhand, flirty comments that you always brush off with a laugh. You think he’s just being Clint, which only makes him smirk more. To him, it’s a lighthearted crush, but he finds himself waiting for any excuse to spend time with you, even if it’s just swapping sarcastic banter in the break room.

- Thor’s admiration for you is almost reverent. He sees you as a rare soul—brave, noble, and wise beyond your years. He’ll often compare you to Asgardian royalty, praising your qualities in a way that makes you blush but which you assume is just Thor being his grandiose self. For him, the feelings run deep, though he’s far too honorable to do anything more than enjoy your company and shower you with compliments.

- Steve Rogers respects your intelligence and courage, which draws him to you in a subtle, almost unspoken way. He admires the way you stand up to your father and hold your own around the team, but he’s also aware of Tony’s protectiveness. Steve’s respectful nature keeps him from openly pursuing anything, but he can’t help lingering around you during training or making an effort to spend time with you.

- Natasha Romanoff appreciates your sassy yet respectful personality, seeing a bit of herself in your straightforward nature. She’s subtle, of course, but there’s an affection in the way she’ll offer you quiet advice or defend you when Tony’s being a bit too overbearing. She won’t admit to anyone (least of all Tony) that she has a soft spot for you, but it’s clear in her actions.

- It all comes to a head when you casually wave at the Avengers from across the room, oblivious to the attention you’re receiving. Tony stands between you and them, arms crossed, giving each of them a look that could kill. You’re too busy grabbing your next project to notice, but Tony’s staring down the team like a hawk, and it takes everything in them to keep their reactions hidden.

- While you remain blissfully unaware of their feelings, the Avengers slowly come to terms with the fact that maybe their admiration will always stay just that—admiration. They respect your dedication and know that as long as Tony’s around, they’ll keep their crushes low-key. Still, each of them harbors a soft spot for you, and you can’t help but notice the extra kindness and warmth that follows you wherever you go in Avengers Tower.

[theblissfulstars]

This upcoming Monday, January 13th at 5:27 pm EST, we are going to be having our first full moon of 2025 in the Zodiac sign of cancer. Being in cancer, this full moon is all about illuminating the subconscious, bringing light to dreams, other worlds and ancestral desires. This is going to be centered on primal, visceral and reactive emotions that come from the deepest places inside of us and the things that they are tied to. Family, homeplace, tradition, birth and fertility.

This full moon in cancer is at 23°, this decan is under jurisdiction of Jupiter and is tied to magic, prophecy, dreams and travel. The energies here are more ethereal, enchanted and surreal than in the other decans. Something of particular note here is the sabian symbol “A WOMAN AND TWO MEN CASTAWAYS ON A SMALL ISLAND OF THE SOUTH SEAS”. I felt called to check the sabian symbol. This image immediately evokes in my mind both the lovers tarot card and the three of cups. The imagery in the lovers denotes an archangel overlooking a man and a woman, most likely if we're following the biblical lore apparent in the story of the tarot, are Adam and Eve. This Angel who oversees their union is the ineffable presence of spirit during the process of alchemy. The combining of two or more forces into one coherent mass. There is a binding here in this degree of cancer. The South seas are warm, fertile and evocative to our nether regions. There is a need to make a decision regarding the fertile waters of our imagination here. The moon is conjunct retrograde mars, this is an incredibly volatile, intense and downright violent energy. This incredibly potent energy is opposite Pallas Athene in Capricorn, and sun in Capricorn. This has to do with authority systems and courts of law being violently challenged to a destructive degree, I wouldn't be surprised if a major court case erupted, or if some violent developments are made, maybe even regarding Luigi Mangione. The judicial quality to this moon is supported by Venus exalted in Pisces conjunct Saturn in the 9th, and the NN conjunct Neptune loosely. This definitely to me speaks to major moments of consequences regarding money in the world of politics and religion, and. There is some major karmic situation developing in the political sphere and it's about the intersection of delusion, religion and politics and it's figures. This configuration is positively supported, and may go energetically unopposed so to speak, with mars, the moon, and the sun, harmoniously aspecting the nodes who just recently ingressed into Pisces and Virgo. A basket configuration is made including Uranus and Neptune, so the otherworldly, unexpected and out of this world energy is highly present collectively and spurring major moments regarding health and healing with Chiron being caught in the basket.

With the sun in Capricorn being conjunct Pluto loosely, we can expect challenges to authority figures and the initiation of destructive cycles regarding the vital energy of traditional institutions and their figures. This is especially on political actors.

On a less collective level, this moon spells; driving issues and accidents, burns, cuts , and abrasions are things to look out for, and , if you are so inclined, mask up! Sickness is spreading with Ceres 13° in Aquarius. Emotions are intense, and volatile but also downright frisky. But with Venus conjunct Saturn, attempts at romance may be spurned if they aren't approached slowly and deliberately. Be wary and cautious of fire, and storms. Travel by water may be treacherous this full moon.

The cards pulled for this collective reading:all reversed, nine of wands, temperance, five of cups upright, eight of pentacles. Wow, what an absolutely abysmal and broken energy. We have such a sense of loss and sadness pervasive with this full moon and it's with a feeling of tiredness and timelessness, working pointlessly. This is all about running out of patience, feeling like we can't keep going into a certain direction just to be met with disappointment. But here's the thing, you can't give up.

[feraldogbites]

#eeriemirage; a dependent blog for calamityshq.

( go min si, cis woman, she/her ) PARK YEJI : the thirty year old resident that's been around the CRESCENT APARTMENTS for two months. when the infected swarmed the streets the first night, YEJI really proved how resourceful + courageous they were. however, many would argue that they can also be quite obsessive + unpredictable. five years has passed since their old life ended and the new one began, developing skills that have helped them become a MEDICAL STUDENT / NURSE within their group. it makes sense to see them thriving at the job because of their vast knowledge of drugs + glock 17.

𝙗𝙖𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙨 …

name. park yeji. nicknames. yeji, crayji (behind her back ). age. thirty. gender, pronouns. ciswoman, she / her. dob.  6th of june. pob.  jeju island, south korea. sexuality. pan romantic + sexual. role. medical / nursing student. weapon of choice.  sweet words, brainwashing:) but otherwise glock 17 with three bullets left.

𝙫𝙞𝙨𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙨 …

height. 165 cm ( 5'4 ). hair style. black, pint - straight hair. length depends on arc ! eyes. brown, appear black in certain light. tattoos. none. piercings. standard lobes, doesn’t wear them. fc. go minsi.

𝙛𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙮 …

mother.  hwayoung ( presumed dead ). father. unknown. siblings. only - child.

𝘣𝘪𝘰𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘺 … (tw of something, not sure what, ask to tag !)

yeji was born to a single mother in jeju island, south korea. her mother has always been a mess and yeji’s birth didn’t evoke any kind of a change in character.

when she was three, they moved to busan with her mother’s new boyfriend  — a leech of a man who liked to drink and gamble and cheat, yet hwayoung’s low self - esteem made her stay & endure whatever he came up with. to be fair, they matched each other’s crazy just the right amount and became the sample of a perfect relationship for yeji.

their turbulent relationship lasted for eight years until one fateful night their apartment’s front door was kicked down by masked men who trashed & stole their things and dragged her mother’s boyfriend away. yeji had never seen him again, and later, learnt that he has been mercilessly tortured and murdered for owing a lot of money to a lot of very dangerous people.

anyway, life went on. it certainly did for yeji, always a quiet child, the observer, the outsider — never inside, always outside — she had a hard time making friends anywhere they moved to. too weird, too peculiar, too creepy — the kids said, pointing and whispering. she, hurt and angry, in turn dreamt of their demise that never came. instead bitterness nestled into her insides.

she runs away from home at 17, but is it really running away when no one’s looking for you? yet, she, finally, finds her people — a group she fits in. they’re weird and eccentric and peculiar just like her, but in a cool way, in a way that other ordinary people look up to and follow. the whole ordeal is cult-y, though no one ever says it outloud. 

they teach her things she wouldn’t learn elsewhere, or so they say, about medicine and drugs and their effects on human’s body and under their orders, she sells them on the shadow market. though, she also learns other languages, like english and mandarin, which she masters in no time.

yeji returns home a day after her 26th birthday. she goes back to school, gets her high school diploma and either by sheer luck, or other powerful force, gets accepted into university majoring in nursing. her goal is to work in a nursing home -  being the one in charge, people needing her more than she needs them for once.

she’s on an internship in san francisco the day the world ends. she join a group after group, but they always crumble, always perish. then she becomes a loner, wandering and wondering if this doom is not a sign of something else, something otherworldly. yeji gets absorbed by these thoughts, delusional.

the apartment complex takes her in — perhaps for her medical skills or her words coated in honey or both — and her ‘visions’ as she likes to call them, speak to her more often.

tldr; yeji is a disturbed young woman who believes in the superiority of the zombs, thinks of them as gods, yet more and more people are starting to turn to her — because people, in every situation, need something to believe in.:)

visuals. musings. headcanons. threads. connections.

[everyones-fangirl]

Delectable Little Pet

Warnings: 18+ This will be about after ascension Astarion so expect some extreme dark romance and future triggers. Stalking. Being super forward/not taking no for an answer. CNC. Edging. Forced Orgasms.

Word Count: 5,709

Chapter 12

Cassara

It was a weird feeling—this new state of being. My whole life, I had thrived in the sunlight, relishing its warmth on my skin. I had healed, protected, and lived with a sense of purpose. Now, every new predatory instinct I had made me want to go against everything I had ever known. The sharpness of my senses, the heightened awareness, and the sheer power coursing through my veins—it was exhilarating yet terrifying. I didn’t want to admit that I liked the blood I was given. It was odd because I knew it wasn’t right; it should have been disgusting, repulsive even. But it quenched that deep hunger within me, a hunger so extreme and foreign it made me feel borderline savage. The first sip had been the hardest, my mind rebelling against the act even as my body craved it. But as the warm, rich liquid flowed down my throat, I felt a dark satisfaction I couldn’t deny. The taste was intoxicating, filling me with a strength I had never known. Each drop seemed to awaken something primal within me, a part of myself that had lain dormant, waiting for this moment. It scared me how much I wanted it, needed it. The rational part of my mind screamed that this was wrong, that I was becoming something monstrous. But the hunger drowned out those thoughts, consuming me from within.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, studying the changes. My once vibrant eyes were now a brighter, almost otherworldly green, glowing with an unnatural intensity. My skin, always fair, had taken on an almost translucent quality, making me look ethereal and fragile. Yet I knew there was a strength in me now that belied my delicate appearance. I had asked about the mirrors, unsure as to why we could see a reflection and Astarion said he had them enchanted so vampires could see. I ran my fingers through my hair, noticing how it seemed duller, lacking the luster it once had. My body, too, felt different—leaner, more defined, but there was an underlying tension, a coiled spring ready to snap. The room around me was a stark reminder of my new reality, its opulence a sharp contrast to the simplicity of my previous life.

Astarion had moved me into his chambers, and while I appreciated the gesture, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being trapped. I missed the open skies, the freedom to move about as I pleased. Now, I was confined to this space, my world reduced to these four walls. I looked around the room, trying to find some semblance of comfort. The bed was large and plush, draped in deep crimson linens that seemed to absorb the light. A small table by the window held a basin of water and a few cloths, a stark reminder of the simplicity I had once known. The only light came from a single candle, casting long, dancing shadows that played tricks on my mind. Astarion’s presence was a constant reminder of my new existence. His words echoed in my mind, a mix of promises and apologies that did little to ease my turmoil. I knew he meant well, but the weight of what I had become was a heavy burden to bear. I couldn’t blame him entirely—circumstances had forced his hand—but the resentment was still there, simmering beneath the surface.

As the hours passed, I found myself growing restless. The hunger was always there, a gnawing ache that never fully subsided. I couldn’t help but think about the blood, how it made me feel whole again, even if just for a moment. The thought was both repulsive and alluring, a constant tug-of-war within me. I sighed, wrapping my arms around myself, trying to find some measure of comfort. This new life was a strange, twisted version of the one I had known, filled with contradictions and uncertainties. I was no longer the person I once was, and I had no idea what the future held. But one thing was clear: I would not let this hunger define me. I would find a way to navigate this darkness, to reclaim some part of my humanity, even if it meant fighting against every instinct within me.

I was unsure of what to do with myself while Astarion did whatever he did when he wasn’t here. I mostly stayed in what was now our chambers, only braving the halls outside a few times and only making it so far before turning back around. The vastness of the castle, with its maze-like corridors and looming shadows, was intimidating. Every step felt like a venture into the unknown, a reminder of the life I had been thrust into against my will. So much had happened in such a short amount of time; I didn’t know whether or not I could trust the feelings forming within me. It was a constant whiplash between caring for and hating Astarion. My heart swelled at the thought and sight of him, a confusing rush of affection and longing. I couldn’t deny the strange pull he had on me, a connection that seemed to deepen with each passing day. But my brain—my instincts—told me to rip him apart for what he took from me. The betrayal, the loss of my humanity, and the sense of control I had always cherished were all gone, replaced by this insatiable hunger and a dependency on him that I resented.

I also felt more of an emotional connection to him after I turned, almost like every feeling he felt I got the slightest hint of as well. It was disconcerting, this bond that tied our emotions together. When he was near, I could sense his turmoil, his guilt, and his determination. It was as if a part of me was intertwined with his very essence, an unbreakable link that bound us together in this dark, twisted fate. The chambers themselves had become both a refuge and a prison. I spent hours pacing the room, trying to come to terms with my new reality. The lavish furnishings, the heavy drapes, and the opulent decor all felt suffocating at times, a stark contrast to the simplicity and freedom I had once known. I missed the sunlight, the open skies, and the feeling of grass beneath my feet. Now, I was confined to these four walls, my world reduced to the flickering light of a single candle and the distant echoes of a life I could no longer reach. Astarion’s absence left me with too much time to think, to dwell on the conflicting emotions swirling within me. I replayed our conversations, his promises, and apologies, trying to make sense of it all. Part of me wanted to believe that he truly cared, that he was as much a victim of circumstance as I was. But another part of me, the part that clung to the remnants of my humanity, couldn’t forgive him for what he had done.

One evening, as I lay on the bed, I caught another glimpse of myself in the mirror. The transformation was still jarring—the pallor of my skin, the unnatural glow of my eyes, the gauntness of my features. I was a stranger to myself, a haunting reminder of the price I had paid for my survival. The sight filled me with a mix of sorrow and rage, emotions that warred within me constantly. I stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the night sky. The moon hung low, casting an eerie glow over the landscape. It was a beautiful sight, but it only served to remind me of the world I was now cut off from. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, feeling the weight of my predicament settle over me like a shroud. When Astarion finally returned, I could sense his presence before I saw him. The air seemed to shift, a subtle change that alerted me to his approach. He entered the room quietly, his eyes immediately seeking mine. There was a tension between us, a silent acknowledgment of the complicated bond we shared.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice soft yet filled with concern.

I turned to face him, my emotions a turbulent mix. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Everything is so different now. I’m different.”

He took a step closer, his gaze intense. “I know it’s hard. I can’t pretend to understand what you’re going through, but I’m here. Whatever you need, I’ll do my best to provide it.”

His words were sincere, and despite my inner conflict, I felt a small measure of comfort in his presence. “It’s not just the changes,” I said quietly. “It’s the way I feel about you. It’s like I’m being torn in two directions. I care for you, but I also hate what you’ve done to me.”

Astarion nodded, a pained expression crossing his features. “I understand. And I don’t blame you for feeling that way. I just hope, in time, you can forgive me.”

I looked into his eyes, searching for the truth in his words. There was genuine remorse there, a vulnerability that mirrored my own. “I don’t know if I can,” I whispered. “But I’ll try. For now, that’s all I can promise.”

He reached out, his hand gently cupping my cheek. “That’s enough,” he said, his voice filled with a mixture of hope and despair. “For now, that’s enough.”

I couldn’t help but lean into his touch, pressing my cheek against his palm while closing my eyes for a moment. The warmth of his hand was a stark contrast to the coldness that had settled into my bones since my transformation. It was a fleeting reminder of a connection that felt both alien and achingly familiar. His other hand found its way to my waist, the touch delicate yet insistent as he gently pulled me closer. The sensation sent a shiver down my spine, a mixture of fear, desire, and something I couldn't quite name. Today, I wore a dress very similar to the first one I had put on, except the bodice was made completely out of mesh. My pale skin practically glowed behind the dark red fabric, the contrast striking and otherworldly. The skirt, a cascade of lace and silk, swirled around my legs as I moved, revealing flashes of my skin with every step.

I looked up at Astarion, meeting his gaze. His eyes were intense, filled with a mixture of longing and regret. "Cassara," he murmured, his voice a low whisper that seemed to echo in the silence of the room. “I want you... very badly. I miss making you squirm.” His eyes darkened as he spoke, and I felt a flash of adrenaline and warmth flow through me, right to my throbbing core. The raw desire in his voice, the way his gaze seemed to devour me, sent a shiver down my spine. I had always been drawn to him, but now, with this new connection between us, the intensity of those feelings was almost overwhelming. Astarion's hand on my waist tightened, pulling me even closer. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, the steady beat of his heart pounding in sync with my own. His fingers brushed the edge of the mesh bodice, the touch light and teasing, sending sparks of electricity through my skin.

"You don't know what you're doing to me," he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. "Every time I look at you, I feel like I'm losing control. And I don't want to fight it anymore." His words were a heady mix of passion and desperation, and I found myself unable to resist the pull between us. Despite everything, despite the pain and the anger, there was a part of me that wanted him just as fiercely. I could feel my own desire mirrored in his eyes, an unspoken promise of what could be.

"Astarion," I breathed, my voice barely more than a whisper. "I... I want you too. But everything is so confusing. I don't know what to feel."

He cupped my face with both hands, his touch gentle but firm. "Then let's not think," he said, his lips brushing mine. "Let's just feel. For tonight, let's forget everything else and just be together."

His words were like a balm to my wounded soul, a momentary escape from the turmoil inside me. I nodded, giving in to the yearning that had been building between us. As his lips claimed mine in a searing kiss, I felt a rush of emotions—love, lust, and a desperate need to connect. His kiss was hungry, devouring, and I responded with equal fervor. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss until I was breathless. Astarion's hands roamed my body, exploring the curves and contours with a reverence that made my heart ache. He lifted me effortlessly, carrying me to the bed with a grace that belied his strength. The feel of his body against mine, the heat of his skin, was intoxicating. I could feel the tension in his muscles, the barely restrained power, and it sent a thrill through me.

Astarion laid me down gently, his eyes never leaving mine. "You are so beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "And you are mine, Cassara. Now and forever."

His words were a claim, a vow that resonated deep within me. As he moved over me, his lips trailing fire across my skin, I felt a connection that went beyond the physical. It was as if we were bound together by something stronger than mere attraction—a bond forged in the crucible of our shared pain and desire. A gasp was ripped from me as he tore the flimsy fabric of the dress from my body. The sound of the material shredding filled the air, and a quiet pout painted my lips. I had actually liked the dress, but the thought was quickly banished as another gasp escaped me. His lips attached to one of my nipples as soon as they were exposed to him, his fingers playing with the opposite. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and need that left me breathless. Astarion's mouth was hot and insistent, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak before sucking it gently. His free hand roamed my body, caressing my skin with a reverence that made my heart ache. Every touch, every kiss was a promise, a reminder of the connection that bound us. His fingers trailed down my side, tracing the curve of my waist before slipping between my thighs. I arched into his touch, a moan escaping my lips as he found the slick heat of my core. His touch was gentle at first, teasing, but it quickly grew more insistent, more demanding. I could feel the tension building within me, the pressure mounting with every stroke of his fingers.

"You're so perfect," he murmured against my skin, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine. "So beautiful, so mine." His words were intoxicating, a heady mix of possession and adoration that left me trembling. I could feel his own arousal, hard and insistent against my thigh, and the knowledge that he wanted me just as badly only fueled my desire.

Astarion's fingers found their rhythm, stroking and teasing until I was a writhing mess beneath him. My hands clutched at his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin as I teetered on the edge of ecstasy. He watched me with an intensity that left me breathless, his eyes dark and hungry. "Come for me, Cassara," he whispered, his voice a command that I couldn't ignore. "I want to feel you fall apart." His words were my undoing. With a cry, I shattered, my body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over me. Astarion held me through it, his touch never wavering, his eyes never leaving mine. The connection between us was electric, a current that seemed to bind us together even more tightly.

As I struggled to catch my breath, Astarion moved, kneeling on the floor in front of me. He pulled me to the edge of the bed with him, his strength both gentle and insistent. "Astarion!" I began in surprise, but the look he gave me from between my legs left me tongue-tied.

"I’m not done with you yet," he said, his tone dripping with sinister promise. His eyes glowed with a predatory hunger that sent a thrill through me, anticipation coiling in my belly. He spread my legs wider, his hands firm and commanding, and I let out a surprised moan as he licked my clit with the tip of his tongue. The sensation was electric, a spark that ignited a fire within me. He took his time, savoring every moment, his tongue flicking and teasing with expert precision. Each stroke sent shivers down my spine, my body responding to his touch with a desperate need. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me open for him, and I could feel the tension building once again.

Astarion's eyes never left mine, his gaze intense and unwavering. It was as if he was watching my every reaction, taking note of what made me gasp, what made me moan.He increased his pace, his tongue swirling around my clit before sucking gently, and I couldn't hold back the moans that spilled from my lips. My hands found their way to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as I arched into his touch. The pleasure was overwhelming, a tidal wave that threatened to drown me. "Please," I gasped, my voice trembling with need. "Astarion, please."

He didn't need any further encouragement. His fingers joined his mouth, slipping inside me with a skill that left me breathless. He curled them just right, hitting that spot that made stars dance behind my eyelids. The combination of his mouth and fingers was too much, the pleasure too intense. My orgasm hit me like a bolt of lightning, my body convulsing as waves of ecstasy washed over me. Astarion held me through it, his touch never faltering, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he watched me come undone. The intensity of my release left me trembling, my body limp and spent. He kissed his way back up my body, his lips gentle and tender, a stark contrast to the raw hunger of moments before. I clung to him, my heart pounding in my chest. The connection between us was undeniable, a bond that went beyond the physical. Bound by our shared pain, our desire, and a love that defied the darkness. When I reached for him, seeking to deepen our connection, I was once again turned down, just like last time. He used the excuse of wanting it to be just about me, to spoil me so I would know how sorry he was. But the rejection stung, especially after everything we’d been through and how much he claimed to care for me. Why did he refuse to let me touch him? To please him? Hells, he hasn’t even wanted to fuck me. As we lay there with my back against his chest, my mind began to spiral down that train of thought.

The room, with its opulent trappings, felt suddenly suffocating. The velvet drapes and plush furnishings seemed to close in, the flickering candlelight casting shadows that danced mockingly across the walls. His arms around me, though comforting, also felt like chains, binding me in a way that was more emotional than physical. I couldn’t understand why he held back. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word of affection was tainted by this unspoken barrier. It made me question everything—his motives, his sincerity, even my own worth. Did he truly care for me, or was this all some twisted game to him? Was I just another pawn in his quest for control, a pet to be coddled and kept at arm's length?

The thoughts gnawed at me, each one more painful than the last. I tried to push them away, to focus on the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing. But the doubts persisted, a relentless tide that I couldn’t escape. “Why won’t you let me in?” I finally whispered, my voice trembling with the weight of my emotions. “Why do you keep pushing me away?”

He stiffened behind me, his silence more telling than any words could be. For a moment, I thought he might actually answer, might give me some glimpse into the turmoil that I could sense beneath his composed exterior. But then he sighed, a sound filled with such deep sorrow that it broke my heart anew. “It’s not that simple, Cassara,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my hair. “I’ve done things...terrible things. I don’t want to taint you with my darkness.”

I turned in his arms, looking up into his eyes. “We’re both already in the dark,” I said softly. His gaze held mine, a flicker of something—hope, perhaps—dancing in the depths of his eyes. But it was quickly replaced by the familiar shadow of doubt. He cupped my face gently, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that I hadn’t realized had fallen.

“Give me time,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Please, just give me time.” I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. I would give him time. But the doubts remained, lurking in the corners of my mind, whispering their insidious questions. And as we lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the true battle was not against the darkness around us, but the darkness within him.

The nightmare that woke me left me gasping and promptly choking on the air once it entered my lungs. It had been so vivid, so real, that the line between dream and reality seemed to blur. In the nightmare, I was back in that dreadful cave, the dank, musty air pressing against my lungs like a vice. The darkness was suffocating, and the only light came from flickering torches that cast grotesque shadows on the rough stone walls.

I was bound by heavy, rusted chains that bit into my wrists and ankles, their weight dragging me down and making every movement a struggle. The cold metal was unyielding, sending a shiver of pain through my limbs with each attempt to free myself. My skin felt raw and bruised where the chains had rubbed against it, a grim reminder of my captivity. Around me, the echoes of distant screams and tortured cries reverberated through the cavern, a haunting chorus that seemed to grow louder with each passing moment. The air was thick with the scent of blood and fear, a nauseating mix that made my stomach churn. I could feel the dampness of the stone floor beneath me, slick with a mixture of water and something far more sinister. Suddenly, I was no longer alone. The shadows coalesced into dark, menacing figures, their faces obscured but their intentions clear. They surrounded me, their eyes glinting with malice. One of them stepped forward, his cruel smile sending a jolt of terror through me. It was my captor, the one who had tortured me, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight.

"You thought you could escape?" he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "You thought he would save you? How naive." He reached out, his hand cold and clammy as it gripped my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. His touch was like ice, sending a wave of revulsion through me. I tried to pull away, but the chains held me fast, their grip unrelenting. "You're nothing," he sneered, his breath hot against my face. "A plaything, a toy. And now, you'll suffer for your defiance."

His words cut through me like a knife, each syllable a dagger to my heart. I could feel the fear rising, a suffocating wave that threatened to drown me. The other figures closed in, their laughter a chilling symphony of mockery and cruelty. They jeered and taunted, their words a twisted echo of my own doubts and fears. In that moment, I felt utterly helpless, the darkness closing in around me. My struggles grew weaker, my hope dimming with each passing second. The pain was all-consuming, a relentless assault on my senses. I could feel my strength waning, my spirit breaking under the weight of my torment. Then, just as the darkness threatened to swallow me whole, a blinding light pierced through the gloom. It was Astarion, his presence a beacon of hope in the suffocating blackness. He moved with a grace and power that seemed almost otherworldly, cutting through the shadows with ease. The figures recoiled, their jeers turning to cries of fear as they scattered before him. He reached me, his touch warm and reassuring as he pulled me into his arms. The chains fell away, dissolving into nothingness. I clung to him, my heart pounding in my chest, the relief almost overwhelming. "It's okay," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. "I'm here. You're safe now."

But just as I began to feel a glimmer of hope, the nightmare twisted once more. The light faded, and Astarion's face contorted with pain. He cried out, his body convulsing as the shadows reached out, pulling him away from me. I tried to hold on, but my grip slipped, and he was torn from my arms, his screams echoing through the cavern. I woke with a start, the memory of his anguished cries lingering in my mind. My hands went to my chest as if I could claw my lungs open. I rolled over, dry heaving over the edge of the bed. It took a moment for me to calm down, and when I did, I noticed I was alone. The sinking feeling in my heart was hard to ignore, but I forced myself to focus on breathing steadily. I found myself rubbing at the skin on my arms, trying to rid myself of the lingering sensation of chains from my dream. The cold, heavy links that had bound me in the nightmare felt all too real, a ghostly reminder of my captivity and the new reality I was grappling with. The room was silent, save for my ragged breaths and the distant, faint sounds of the mansion at rest. I pushed myself to sit up, my body still trembling from the aftershocks of the nightmare. My fingers brushed against the remnants of the dress Astarion had torn from me, now just scraps of fabric scattered on the floor. I wrapped one of the pieces around myself, seeking some small comfort in the familiar texture.

Where was he? The question gnawed at me, adding to the whirlwind of emotions and doubts swirling in my mind. Despite his reassurances, a part of me couldn’t help but wonder if he regretted turning me, if he saw me as a burden rather than someone to cherish. The thought was like a knife twisting in my gut. Taking a deep breath, I decided I couldn’t stay in this room, wrapped in my fears and uncertainties. I needed to move, to find some semblance of normalcy in this twisted new life. With tentative steps, I made my way to the door, pushing it open and stepping into the dimly lit hallway. The mansion was eerily quiet, the only sound the faint rustling of curtains and the occasional creak of the floorboards. I walked aimlessly, my bare feet whispering against the cold stone floors, my mind a tumult of conflicting emotions. Every shadow seemed to hide a new threat, every flicker of light a reminder of the darkness I was now a part of.

As I wandered, I found myself drawn to the library. It was one of the few places in this sprawling mansion that felt somewhat safe, a sanctuary of knowledge and quiet contemplation. The scent of old books and polished wood greeted me as I stepped inside, and I felt a small measure of calm wash over me. The room was vast, its high, vaulted ceiling supported by intricate wooden beams that crisscrossed like the ribs of a grand cathedral. Tall, arched windows lined the walls, their panes of stained glass depicting scenes of ancient lore and myth. During the day, which I would only imagine, the sunlight would filter through, casting a kaleidoscope of colors onto the polished marble floor. Shelves upon shelves of books stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with volumes that seemed to cover every subject imaginable. The scent of aged paper and leather bindings filled the air, a comforting, almost nostalgic aroma that spoke of centuries of accumulated wisdom. Each shelf was meticulously organized, with titles ranging from ancient tomes of dark magic to treatises on the art of war, from volumes of poetry to detailed histories of long-forgotten realms. In the center of the library stood a massive, ornately carved wooden table, its surface strewn with maps, scrolls, and open books. Heavy, high-backed chairs surrounded the table, their cushions upholstered in deep burgundy velvet. A large, intricate chandelier hung above, its crystals catching the light and casting a soft, warm glow over the room.

To one side, a grand fireplace dominated the wall, its mantel adorned with curiosities and relics from Astarion's past. The flames within it crackled and danced, casting flickering shadows that seemed to breathe life into the room. Above the fireplace hung a large, ancient portrait, its subject a stern-looking man in regal attire, his eyes seeming to follow you wherever you went. In a cozy alcove by the windows, a plush, overstuffed armchair sat beside a small table, inviting one to sit and lose themselves in a good book. A tall, brass floor lamp stood next to the chair, its light adjustable for reading. Nearby, a ladder on wheels allowed access to the higher shelves, its polished rungs gleaming in the dim light. I settled into that plush armchair, curling up with a book that I barely registered. My mind was still in turmoil, the nightmare and Astarion’s absence weighing heavily on me. The lingering sensation of chains on my arms was hard to shake, a phantom of my past that now haunted my present. I needed a distraction, something to pull me out of my thoughts. Suddenly, the library door creaked open, and someone entered. My head snapped up in surprise, and the intruder—a tiefling—promptly turned to leave as soon as she saw me. There was something familiar about her, though, and I narrowed my eyes in confusion.

“Hey! Stop!” I called after her. To my surprise, she listened and turned back slowly Her skin, a deep green hue, seemed to absorb the shadows around her, giving her an almost otherworldly presence. Her black, curly hair was cut short, framing her sharp features in a way that highlighted the natural intensity of her face. Her horns, jet-black and glossy, curved elegantly from her forehead, giving her an imposing and regal appearance. Her eyes were a vivid, glowing red, sharp and alert behind the round glasses perched on her nose. The glasses, seemingly delicate with thin, silver frames, added an unexpected scholarly touch to her otherwise fierce demeanor. They contrasted with the rest of her appearance, suggesting a complexity beyond her initial impression.

Her eyes met mine with a hint of recognition. “You..I’ve seen you before,” I said, piecing it together. “You were the one talking to Caty at the festival! Were you— No.. you wouldn’t.”

She audibly sucked on her teeth before shrugging her shoulders. “No… well— Yes, at first she was going to be my next victim, but then I started actually liking her.”

The admission took me aback. “What do you mean, your next victim?” I demanded, trying to keep my voice steady. The library seemed to close in around us, the vast space now feeling intimate and charged with tension.

The tiefling sighed, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Look, it’s not as sinister as it sounds. I needed to get close to someone at the festival for information, and Caty was an easy target. But she’s... different. She’s kind, and smart, and I couldn’t bring myself to use her like that.”

I stared at her, trying to process this new information. “So, you’re saying you genuinely care for her?”

“Yes,” she replied, her voice softening. “I never meant for it to go this far, but now I’m in too deep. I can’t hurt her.”

I sighed, feeling the weight of the situation. “Caty is important to me. If you hurt her, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

The tiefling nodded, a look of resolve crossing her face. “I understand. I won’t hurt her, I promise.”

We stood there in silence for a moment, the tension slowly dissipating. I finally broke the silence. “What’s your name?”

“Zariel,” she answered. “And you?”

“Cassara,” I replied, still wary but slightly more at ease.

“Well, Cassara,” Zariel said, glancing around the library. “It seems we both have a lot to lose. Maybe we can help each other.” Zariel's attire was practical yet stylish, tailored to fit her lithe, athletic build. She wore a fitted leather jacket, adorned with intricate patterns that hinted at arcane origins. Beneath the jacket, a simple black tunic flowed over dark trousers tucked into sturdy boots, which were scuffed and well-worn, indicating a life of travel and possibly conflict. Her fingers, long and nimble, were adorned with a variety of rings—each one different, likely holding its own story or power. Around her neck hung a pendant with an enigmatic symbol, the metal catching the light and drawing the eye. Despite the hardness in her expression, there was a softness in her posture as she spoke of Caty, hinting at a depth of emotion that belied her tough exterior.

I looked at her, considering her words. Trust was a fragile thing, especially in our world, but maybe—just maybe—this unexpected alliance could be beneficial. “Alright, Zariel,” I said finally. “Let’s see where this goes. But remember, I’m watching you.”

She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. “Fair enough, Cassara. Fair enough.”

[clumsiestgiantess]

Erica pov of chapter five! A very ominous title, but we already know who’s watching her.

all chapters linked here

[When you think you’re alone, someone’s watching]

I knew something awful was going to happen the moment that damn pile of money reappeared in my living room.  It’s always been a specialty of mine to sense that kind of thing.  Unfortunately, nine times out of ten I ignore it and continue making things worse.  I only realize this in hindsight, of course.  If I’d known the horrific punishment for using that money, I probably would’ve walked right out of my apartment the day it showed up and never looked back.  I would say going back to John is better than the torture, but it would actually be a very similar experience.  In short, I would be screwed either way.

Not that I have much of a choice these days.  Apparently my free will is the price to pay for all that mysterious money.  I'd involuntarily made a deal with some sort of devil or demon or otherworldly being, and now I couldn’t take it back.  I shouldn’t have touched that money.  Why did I take it when I knew something was wrong?  Stupid fucking logic — correcting my decisions after I already made them.  I couldn’t even make decisions for myself anymore.  It felt like I became a puppet on a string.  My movements weren’t my own, and I could feel something somewhere tugging at me — forcing me to do whatever it wanted.  The sensation always left me feeling frighteningly cold, like I was already dead.

Whatever took my body hadn’t seemed so malicious at first.  It had given me a small fortune, a mini mansion, a stable job, everything I wanted.  I thought it was a prank or strange new tv show; little did I know I would end up here, like this.  It’s all been taken from me now, except the mansion and my car.  The only reason I still have those is because I need some form of transportation, and without the mansion, I don’t have a home.  I.. god, I think I really screwed up.  I made it mad or something.  It took almost everything I’d bought.  Did I use the money in the wrong way?  But what else would they have given me a whole giant secret safe of it for?

Strangely enough, whatever was torturing me wasn’t too cruel.  I mean, having zero choice over where I went and what I did was a shit deal, but if my puppet master could really do whatever they wanted, things could be a whole lot worse.  A lot of people would do worse.  John would do worse.  He would have me right where he wanted me from square one.  I could feel goosebumps on my arms just thinking about it, even though I’m not even controlling them.  

In all the horror movies about possession and stuff, the puppet was usually hurt for fun or thrown into awful situations just to amuse whoever was controlling them.  Thankfully, that doesn’t seem to be the case for me.  All my puppet master’s done is force me to live a well-off human life.  Is it using me to live a human life for itself?  Why me?  Why not one of the thousands of other people in the city?  And if I’m being controlled like this without a single person knowing, how many other people are actually these beings in disguise?  

From sunup to sundown I was a stranger in my own body.  There were a few exceptions, though.  Once in a while I’d wake up and not be greeted by the awful sensation of being tied to some unseeable thing.  Apparently, I was given random days off.  I panicked the first time I woke without being controlled, desperate to find out what had happened, and why I could suddenly move my own limbs again.  I drove away to the middle of nowhere, trying to hide, but I’d been caught speeding down the highway in my rush to get away.  I ended up right back home because I’d forgotten my wallet in my despricity to escape.  By the time I got back, my freedom had been revoked.

My captor would also let me have freedom for social situations — when a friend or colleague started talking to me about things that whatever was controlling me probably didn’t know.  Thanks a lot, body snatching creature.  Free will, but only while I’m forced to make small talk.  Maybe it is torturing me after all.  There was one time during an event like that when I thought I finally found out what, or who, was controlling me.  The moment I was alone, in public, and uncontrolled, John showed up.  

“Had enough yet?” his sickeningly smooth voice startled me from behind as he glided over to the table where I sat.  A friend and I were at a popular cafe when he happened to saunter in at the exact moment she left.  I turned to look at him, heart dropping into my stomach.  I hadn’t seen him since the night I told him to go fuck himself.  “E- Enough of what?”  Fear seeped into my voice; I couldn’t help it.  Enough of being controlled?  I know he definitely would control me given the chance, but I thought he’d be doing so much more to me if it really is him.   “Oh come on, seriously?” he sneered.  “Surely you’ve been evicted from our apartment by now.  You bought it with my money, didn’t you?”  He chuckled menacingly, “Face it darling, you need me.”

Oh thank god; he’s not the one controlling me.  Feeling a bit more confident knowing that and the fact that I was currently in control of myself, I gave an amused sounding sneer before shooting him a steely glare.  “No, I don’t.  I’m doing just fine without you and I don’t plan on ever needing anything from you ever again.”  I loved the way his smugness immediately vanished.  Unfortunately, it was quickly replaced with rage.  I braced myself, knowing he would undoubtedly yell something stupid at me and make a big fucking scene.  He stayed silent, and that scared me more than the first option.

My eyes shot open to find him standing completely frozen and almost limp like a standing zombie.  Or a puppet.  In less than a second, I was on my knees in the booth, peering over the top at every possible person to see if anyone had anything to do with it.  I know if it’s not John then it might not even be a person, but I was desperate at that point.  Even as he wandered out the door in a daze, I followed him, excusing myself from the meal.  He looked hollow, almost — drifting into a crowded sidewalk out of sight.  Is that how I look when I’m controlled?

Suddenly, I felt almost a magnetic tug from above.  No!  No, no, no!  Shit!  It’s coming back for me!  I left the cafe, and I don’t think that’s what my puppet master wanted.  Before I could get a foot out in front of me to run, my muscles were tugged out of my control.  Thoughts that weren’t my own drifted into my head, telling me that I could stop worrying about John — he was taken care of for the foreseeable future.  That’s happened a few different times.  I think it’s some sort of message from my captor.  Usually they’re stupid, but I do agree with letting them handle John.

I tried to get away the next several times I woke up uncontrolled, but my captor found me every. Single. Time.  They must have had some way to track me down; how awful is that?  By then, I’d pretty much given up hope of escaping.  I’d just have to wait it out.  Whatever’s controlling me has to get bored of it eventually.

Months into this strange existence, I started to feel like I was being watched.  My captor certainly was not getting bored yet.  As time went on, I only became more and more aware of the thing controlling me.  Whenever I thought I was alone, someone would be watching.  They’re always here.  Don’t they have anything better to do? I thought with disdain.  What if this is a lifetime deal?  Will I have to live watching my own life play out in front of me until I die?  That- That can’t be it.  This can’t be the rest of my life, it can’t.  All I have left is looking out of my own eyes like a window, watching things happen around me like I’m seeing someone else.  Like I’m no one, like I’m nothing.  I can’t stand being like this, and I can’t even be angry or sad about it because I’m always trapped.

Eight long frustrating months passed.  Sometimes, when I woke up late at night when the thing wasn’t controlling me, I’d reminisce about my life before all this.  There wasn’t much to reminisce about, though.  My life already sucked, but at least then I could still make decisions.  I had at least a little control over what happened to me, though honestly, it wasn’t much.  Sitting on the edge of my bed in a sobbing mess is one of the best things I can have now.  I can finally have emotions besides the ones that are stuck in my head every goddamn day of my awful fucking life.  The doors to the balcony creaked open, but I barely had time to look up at them before my muscles were taken from me.  If I knew my captor was there, I would’ve been begging rather than crying.  Though, I bet I’d be crying either way.

Thoughts that weren’t mine came into my head, but this time they came with a new sensation.  A sort of.. calmness that I hadn’t felt in years washed over me like rain after a drought.  It was soothing, though I knew it was my captor doing it.  Wait.  They’re calming me down?  They saw me crying and calmed me down?  What?  Why didn’t they let me have this before?  I thought back through the other times I wasn’t controlled.  I guess I’ve never cried in front of them before.  Suddenly, I was feeling extremely tired.  I don’t know if it’s my captor doing it or just me being tired, but I was out in less than a minute.  

From then on, my captor decided to give me that sort of peace from time to time.  It helps a bit.  I don’t mind having a break from living life; I just wish I could spend the time on something besides sitting around doing nothing in my head but watch.  The calmness changed that.  It gave me weird visions of happy places and times that I’d never seen — something to do besides nothing at all.  I want to be in control more than anything when there’s free time, but while I’m at work or dealing with traffic, I decided the weird relationship between me and my captor was mutual.  They could have my body then.  Now I use the few days I have off like vacation days.  I do whatever I want until whatever’s controlling me comes back.  Then it’s back to my head and back to work.  Life again became tolerable.  I’d space out all day, letting my body be dragged from one place to another.  Until one fateful night.

I stayed at work late.  It wasn’t my choice; it was never my choice anymore.  But suddenly, it was.  Some noisy kids were making a racket down the connecting street; there was an explosive snap, and then I could feel my limbs again.  For the first time in almost a month I felt truly alive again!  I got the suspicion that this wasn��t an intentional release, and I could practically feel the presence of my captor nearby.  Taking the small chance I had, I fled down the empty street to the parking garage and my car.  If I could just reach it before I was taken over, I might be able to escape.  Despite liking the time alone to myself, I wanted it to happen on my terms, not my captor’s.

As I raced through the now eerily quiet sidewalk, I felt the thing getting closer, rapidly gaining distance on me despite running at my fastest.  I hadn’t been afraid of it in a long time, but I was starting to now.  At the last second, I dodged into an opening in the parking garage ahead, hoping to lose whoever or whatever was chasing me.  Up until that point, I could chalk up the 'feeling their otherworldly presence' thing to paranoia or delusion, but a few moments after I darted into the parking lot, a new factor made my hair stand on end.  I could hear it breathing.  Echoed breaths flooded the concrete structure, seemingly coming from everywhere at once.  Now I was more terrified of my captor than I had ever been before.

Overwhelmed, I let out a terrified scream as the breathing grew closer.  It's going to catch me, I realized in horror, and I'll never have control again!  Realizing it would take me far too long to find my car in the lot, I abandoned it and rushed out the back entrance, desperate for a busy street of some sort.  If I could slip into a crowd, whatever's rushing around invisibly probably wouldn't be able to find me.  At least they wouldn't have a clear shot at getting my body back.  Maybe if I put up a long enough chase, it'll get tired and find someone else to control instead.

Unfortunately, that plan was very short-lived.  The street in that direction was a dead end.  I scrambled into an alley, which was also a dead end, hoping that it was possible to hide from whatever's coming for me.  I stood trembling in fear as I felt and heard the thing getting closer.  It must've seen me hide down there, because it wasn't long before I could feel its presence at the entrance to the alley.  I'm trapped with no way out now.  I'll never have free will again.  Might as well put up a fight while I still can, right?  

There was a trashed glass bottle on the ground beside me, and I scooped it up in haste as I felt my captor inch closer.  With a quick swing, I shattered the back end of the bottle against the wall to my right, creating a rudimentary weapon.  "Don't fucking touch me!" I cried out with all the fury I could muster, "I know you're here!  I could hear you breathing in the parking garage."  The thing, whatever it was, stopped its advance, so I continued, voice growing a little stronger.  "What are you?!  What do you want from me?!"  I swung my shattered bottle violently through the air in hopes to deter the thing from coming any closer.

My aggression seemed to be working as far as I could tell.  My captor had backed up a ways to the alleyway entrance.  It's still hard to tell how much of an advantage I actually have, though.  I can't see the thing I'm trying to fight.  For all I know, it might have just stepped back to have a good laugh at me before taking my body again.  Maybe it realized that I'd have to go out that way eventually, and it’s just sitting there waiting to grab me once I tried to escape.  As I thought through a possible way out of there that didn't involve my immediate re-capture, I heard a chilling cracking sound.  It was like a mini earthquake.  The pavement in front of the alley split open, and soon half the parking garage crumbled to rubble before my eyes.  My heart thundered in my ears, and I was dangerously close to passing out in fright.

At that point, I was at my wits' end.  I assumed I was about to be torn apart just like the metal and concrete structure before me.  I braced myself for the worst, but was startled out of it by a very loud yelp of pain.  Looking back over at the garage, I gasped in confusion and utter horror, dropping my bottle to the ground.  A few truckloads of blood were spattered over the entire side of the parking garage.  Sitting in the middle of it was my captor, now fully visible.  It.. no wait.. she looked like a person.  Her blonde hair shone under the dim city lights, and her pale face paled even more as she slowly glanced up from her cut hands to look at me.  She looked like a person, but she was taller than almost every single building I could see.  It was too much, way too much.  This was my puppet master?  She was controlling me?  I slowly backed up to the furthest point I could, flinching as I hit the wall behind me.  Whoever, whatever she is, she could easily kill me with only a few fingers.  How can something like her even exist?

"Please, don't-" I choked on a sob before I finished my sentence.  What use was it to beg for my life?  She'd already stolen it from me.  I watched as her eyes went wide with.. fear?  It couldn't be.  She was probably just surprised that I'd spoken to her since she'd been invisible the whole time.  How did she even get this far into the city without absolutely demolishing everything in her path?  It looked like she was going to say something, but stopped as her injuries tensed with pain.  The air around her wavered like a mirage or exhaust.  One moment she was there, hunched over beside the blood-covered remains of the garage, and the next moment, she was gone.  All the gore disappeared along with her, but the destruction remained.  At first I thought she'd gone invisible again, but I realized that even the sensation of her presence was gone.  She'd simply vanished into thin air.

I stood in the alleyway for a long while after my surprisingly human-looking tormentor disappeared, still shaking with fear though she was long gone.  Finally, a car horn from somewhere in the city startled me out of my stupor.  In a daze, I trudged over to my car, which was thankfully parked near the edge of the garage and hadn't been close in the giant's crater of destruction.  Once I climbed in and let the car door slam behind me, it was as if all my emotions suddenly felt the need to re-appear at once.  I curled up in my seat, bawling in a mix of fear and anger and relief.  Why has that behemoth of a person been controlling me, and how?  I've managed to keep control of my body, but at what cost?  Will she return to take back control, or just end my life entirely?  She hurt herself in anger at me.  Surely she’ll be back for revenge.  My heart missed a beat as I realized just how helpless I really was in this situation.  I’ll die if she tries to hurt me!  Even if I don’t die, I doubt I’ll ever have control over myself as long as I live.  I’ll never feel my body ever again! By the time I stopped crying, I was dead tired.  It was two in the morning, I'd just been hunted down like a wild animal, and I was realy fucking sick of fearing for my life.  With grim determination, I started up my car and headed back home.  There's no point in delaying the inevitable.  I'm dead inside and out and I really, really just want somewhere safe to go.  But I have nowhere left.  My parents' house is a plethora of nightmares in itself.  John's place.. only in his dreams.  I guess I could sleep in my car, but I'm afraid of either getting a ticket or getting broken into.  And finally, there's the mansion I had been gifted by my captor.  There's really only one option here.  My only hope is to bet that with an almost human appearance, my captor also has almost human emotions.  She did take pity on me once before, right?  If I could just get her to sympathize with me somehow — get her to recognize how awful she's been — maybe, just maybe, I could have my own life back.

[feminaferitas]

supernatural/monster au character backgrounds

v: it's not evil - just hungry, available for shauna/jackie/misty/nat note: full background/social and timeframe setting for verse/threads is flexible dependent on plotting with partner

Cast: Shauna the psychopomp, Jackie the siren, Natalie the dhampir, Misty the hag-touched.

Shauna Shipman: Psychopomp

A psychopomp, or in essence, a reaper, is a melancholy and misunderstood figure. Associated with death but never the cause of it, Shauna is feared all the same. She arrives at the site of death and quietly begins the work of preparing the soul for its next stage of being. She does not judge or condemn the dead, but simply makes the transition to the afterlife a little easier, perhaps a little kinder. Her hunter's knife is the scythe by which she severs the threads to the mortal plane, whether or not there is a body left to carve. It is somber, solitary work to clean up the place where a life once was, but she dutifully does her work no matter how many believe her to be a butcher.

Shauna often does not know those she is tasked with ferrying, but if she learns anything of them, she writes down details of who they once were in her journal. Much of a life is lost to time, but she tries to remember the ones she helps.

She sometimes takes the form of her young self, and sometimes she is older, but Shauna exists outside of linear time and most frequently appears to be her teenage self (even if she never really was a teenager). She can also manifest in animal forms, occasionally a deer or a flock of birds waiting just beyond the body.

Shauna doesn't appear naturally to the living, unless they have some connection to the otherworldly -- the killers, those who have had near-death experiences, and others who have witnessed a lot of death may be included in this, but there isn't an exact science to it.

Jackie Taylor: Siren

What she lacks in skill and acuity she makes up for in influence. Sirens have that sort of hold on people, after all. For the longest time, Jackie never really understood why she always got what she wanted -- she just knew the universe conspired to make it happen. It wasn't until she told a guy in high school to "go fuck himself" that she finally realized there was something more to her words and her voice. That said, not everything she says is compelling -- Jackie has learned to hone "the voice" she uses to influence and beguile. In the meantime, it doesn't hurt she's gorgeous and well-liked. And that wasn't because she forced anyone to believe it... right?

Contrary to popular belief, she's not the type of siren that people think should be related to mermaids. They're more classically bird-women, but Jackie doesn't manifest any avian traits (apart from sometimes getting really sharp manicures, but that's purely aesthetic).

Jackie is skilled in vocal mimicry and even if she's not the world's best singer, her influencing abilities can be dangerous to weak-minded individuals. If she's swapped spit with you too, she's likely to have a stronger hold. If she's silenced, gagged, made to bite her own tongue, or deafened, her powers lose their effect.

Jackie also has synesthesia and can clearly see and distinguish the source of sounds (granted that they're not overpowering -- she can be prone to overstimulation).

Natalie Scatorccio: Dhampir

A cursed child often born of a vampiric father and a human mother. A mix of both worlds, belonging to neither. Natalie has always been an outcast in every sense of the word, right down to her very biology. And as she slowly learned the truth about her parentage, things began to become clearer. As vampiric offspring are wont to do, Nat was responsible for the death of her father, but it didn't do anything to solve her own affliction. It did, however, free her mother from his thrall -- but her mother still resents her daughter for what she did, even if it was ultimately a good thing.

As a dhampir, she has a weakened mix of the strengths and vulnerabilities as a vampire (though of course, stakes to the heart and decapitation will do the trick). Natalie is prone to sunburns and is sensitive to light, but is slightly stronger, faster, and more durable than humans. Religious iconography does still impact her, though she does not need invitation over thresholds and is not weak to running water.

Her blood and bile are toxic to full-blooded vampires, and her own appetite for carnage can mostly be suppressed, but she does still need to drink blood every so often, especially when injured or weak. (This is a mix of dhampir lore sources, I don't love when they're just All Vampire Awesomeness with No Weaknesses.)

Natalie will stop aging on a human timescale when she hits adulthood, if she lives that long. In the meantime, she indulges in nightlife, intoxicants, and other experiences to try to numb the pain and distract from the fact there's nowhere she truly belongs.

Misty Quigley: Hag-touched

She wasn't born a witch, and she's not innately magical. But Misty saw the sorts of powers that existed just beyond the fingertips of most normal lives and wanted some of it for herself. For those who aren't lucky enough to have natural magic, well, there's always a hag coven. Misty found a gathering of powerful women who were willing to make a bargain and bring the blonde into their society. And Misty prefers this type of wicked handiwork to simply waving fingers and casting spells. Just... don't leave strands of hair or fingernail clippings where she can find them for her "experiments".

Inspired by various hag folklore and D&D depictions, Misty's magic is based in exchange and component value -- she excels in curses, inconveniences, and changes in fortune, but she's not entire malevolent. She isn't wholly benevolent either, extracting some sort of price from those who seek her aid. And if they don't, she just has fun making whatever mischief she can -- often targeting individuals to whom she later proposes the solution to their woes.

Also, not all hags are old and ugly -- Misty resents that idea, thank you!

[dirtyoldmanhole]

made it past black flames... gunter fans know what that means. :'))))

et iz emotional pain time!!

anyway it was cool the description text for the chapter said "descend on valla" while it had "floating isle" right there on the location box.

whack geography there you have, fates!

i suppose it makes sense in terms of "descending down into the bottomless canyon" but since i'm doing an unsubtle amount of parallels to [valla = the underworld] for Symbolic Fic Reasons it was neat to see the game itself nod towards that versus an ultimately less descriptive word like "fell down the canyon".

you ever think how that sky was likely the last thing gunter thought he was going to see the first time he fell down? :') and then what he must feel like to be kinda forced to do it all over again? :'))))

speaking of the literal devil....

[internal screaming]

god this second rev playthrough is going to emotionally wreck me WORSE than the first playthrough, and that one pretty much broke my brain as is!!!!

anyway this is the first shot you see of gunter in-game since... I think it was right before the wind tribe chapter where you fought the "faceless"? i'm pretty sure I would have screenshotted it had there been another one.

i also think it's really interesting you don't see him next to azura, which feels like it'd make sense considering both of them, you, and jakob had already been down in the bottomless canyon. (ngl jakob got shafted in these little map scenes, he feels like he should be there more.)

anyway, very subtle yellow flag number one for what's coming up.

the royals have their one obligatory moment of sane 'wtf we ain't jumping down no canyon' reasoning. gunter gets this kind of random 'hey i'm alive still remember me' line for the players who aren't single-brain cell'd gunterfuckers (:P) :

corrin reveals she's prepared to sacrifice herself to valla's curse (you die if you mention anything about the otherworldly kingdom) to reveal to everyone exactly who the enemy is----

(....OUFFF can you imagine gunter's moment of panic there.)

-- everyone trades a few lines about trusting corrin, after wanting her to order them to jump.

they jump. first, hilariously enough.

so this is probably the clearest shot we'll ever get of Scarlet's flower. hold that thought for future Plot Reasons.

(i also do think it's a little interesting / a flub that the cinematographers had gunter already jump in the bottomless canyon--Scarlet and Corrin trade 3-4 lines before they jump too. then again i suppose if he was still sticking around at this point the whole "who killed scarlet" jig would be up way before it was actually resolved.)

speaking of, i still can't believe i fucking called it with possessed!gunter killing scarlet the first go around. :') all i knew beforehand is he got possessed somewhere and there was something whack with his family.

here we goooo......

whelp whelp whelp

THIS REALLY HITS DIFFERENT WHEN YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHO IT IS

GEE I WONDER

control your kinky af boytoy corrin!!! safe word is anankos!!!!!

(if you squint, you can see how the game uses anankos' cloaked model -- privately i think they should have used the great knight model since it would have been an infinitesimal 'blink and you miss it' hint but an absolute genius bonus the second time. just stick the helmet on if you don't want to give everything away. )

something exquisitely painful: guess who targeted corrin first, before scarlet dives in to save her?

:')

... whelp. nice seeing you.

damn even the game ships ryoma/scarlet hardcore.

corrin gets all of 30 seconds to grieve/freak out about scarlet dying and then enemies show up, thankfully followed by allies.

gunter's in the third wave of sprites that show up, the first being corrin, then xander&ryoma.....

... aaand i just noticed he's right next to corrin. :'))))))))))))))))))))

time to roll valla!

[asrieltheflower]

Murder drones rant with spoilers:

Wtf is up Cyn?

Like, it's not fully clear to me. They depict her to be your classic "heartless robot who mimics being normal to disguise evil plans"

But like, is she real? I've seen people suggest that absolute solver (a name the monster gave itself I might add) is the base ai of all worker drones, and the wd_program is what filters that ai into being these workers. This makes sense since the VHS tape says that one of the errors that cause zombie drones is that their wd_program or core is not connected when the drone reboots. But if that's the case then how is it that the several workers who have had plenty of casualties and don't know how to dispose of the bodies, never saw a single zombie? More so, we never saw J actually turn into one, despite dying. Instead we saw a specific organ that clearly was made by Cyn pop out and start rebuilding itself using nearby technology with the intent of fixing J. Later we see a fully rebuilt J, so clearly the personality was still intact, so why would Solver be active?

I think absolute solver isn't an AI, I think it's all Cyn. "Solver" presents itself as some sort of cosmic horror, an existence beyond comprehension that controls the drones at the core. But also it's too stupid to realize that V needs glasses to see... It's so scary with its huge form appearing from all sides without a real face... And it gets hacked by Uzi? It feels pain when N stabs it? It gets frustrated that it can't hold a knife and needs help? This is weirdly humane behaviour... Hold on a second, what if it's just a trick?

Cyn gave us the name absolute solver because she's got a god complex or something? She WANTS to be all powerful, and if you were locked in a basement for being useless, in a situation where you are powerless to do anything about it, that would make sense.

I remember hearing that in the matrix, the robots look the way they do because they hated humans and transformed themselves to look otherworldly, which I'm pretty sure is itself a reference to the biblical stories of a certain angel mutilating it's form to spite the creations of god... A certain... anti-christ? In this world of super-natural and mythical creatures crossed with SciFi I think Cyn is our Lucifer. Someone hateful to her "gods" (the humans that created her and gave her purpose). So she seeks to overthrow them. That explains why Tessa was spared, Cyn might actually care about Tessa, which explains why Cyn is also using the Drones, instead of just wiping their ai. She's a self appointed god here to help achieve the singularity (some sort of technical advancement, probably something that makes Cyn's weird god powers function without the heavy cost of needing constant oil).

It would also explain doll and Uzi. They are tapping into the same power Cyn has. But they aren't going crazy with a desire to control the world or achieve the singularity. They are still worried about their own lives, and fitting in or getting revenge or whatnot. They are still themselves. What is worth talking about is that we don't see how doll survives Vee when her parents die, and we definitely saw Uzi get stabbed through the chest when her dad left. And yet, we only see them engage in the absolute solver after the fact of both of these events. Clearly they are both zombie drones, I think the Wd_programs only purpose is to keep them satisfied with working. That's why everyone was just happy waiting behind the doors with no aspiration to leave, or even have a defense force, they have a program to keep them in line.

Who knows, maybe it's a coincidence and I'm seeing something that isn't really here, maybe the weird bracelet things are what allow solver to be used without the robots being taken over?

Regardless, I'm a bit curious of Thad, since he's one of the only people who was up for fighting back against the murder drones back in episode 1, even if it was brief he was definitely an odd one out there, being the only person who believed the WDF could help fight back. Maybe he has some plot relevance beyond ship baiting, cause god knows this show loves playing with its tropes. And the guy walked out of a fight with Solver... Like they just watched him leave? Could be just one big joke but it'd be cool

[bluerose5]

not me seeing you taking fenhanders prompts and RUNNING to your inbox, but:

something (mild and will not kill them) happens to Fenris and Anders and Hawke has to take care of them for a little while 🥹

I had fun with this one. Hope you like how it turned out. 🥰💙

~~~

The one bad thing about people who take care of others is that, oftentimes, they end up forgetting to take care of themselves in the process.

Which is exactly how Anders ended up sick, his immune system in tatters while being exposed to one too many different diseases.

In all honesty, Garrett was surprised that it hadn't happened sooner; but given their close proximity to one another, it was a miracle that Garrett didn't fall ill as well.

Fenris, on the other hand, wasn't as lucky.

For two people who had so much yet also so little in common, they certainly reacted to being sick in different ways.

While Anders was more vocal in voicing his displeasure, Fenris took a much more reserved approach. He preferred to remain bundled up in blankets, grumbling to himself until he got too warm, thus forced to shed some layers as he trudged around his mansion like a ghost in the shadows. He refused to ask anyone else for help, not wanting to be a bother, even if he was anything but.

Anders, by contrast, didn’t bother to try and make himself appear smaller than he was. Rather, he made his presence known at every available opportunity, especially when he learned that doing so often meant gaining Hawke’s attention, no matter how briefly.

For once, he was the one being cared for, and that awakened a part of him that reveled in being spoiled and loved.

Of course, put the couple in the same room, and they were sure to butt heads as they usually did.

“I despise you,” Fenris deadpanned, both of them sprawled out on Fenris’ bed together, settled atop the sheets as yet another wave of heat surged through them.

Anders sniffled, petulant, and glared at him through puffy, red eyes.

“So you keep saying, but you must keep me around for s–some—Achoo!” He was abruptly cut off by a tickle in his nose, which instantly transitioned into a sneeze that radiated painfully throughout his chest. Anders grimaced, then groaned. “Ugh, reason.”

Face scrunched up in disgust, Fenris glowered, wrinkling his nose in Anders’ direction.

“Can you at least attempt to cover your mouth, mage?”

“Of course. I shall aim to be sick with less offense.”

“I won’t hold my breath.”

“Wise choice,” Anders taunted. “Holding your breath would be detrimental to your health. Good to know your common sense is still intact, at least.”

“Why, you little—”

Before Fenris could even finish the thought, he pounced.

Anders yelped as he was forced back onto the bed, struggling until they were rolling back and forth across the sheets.

Not that he ever stood a chance.

Like always, Fenris gained the upper hand all too quickly, his strength almost otherworldly.

He straddled Anders’ waist, pinning his wrists above his head, while his precious mage sulked in defeat.

Fenris smirked.

“Do you yield?” he asked, enjoying himself way too much.

Head held high, Anders huffed, “As if.”

When he squirmed against Fenris’ hold, Fen continued to sit on top of him, not once moving an inch.

For as much progress as Anders was making, he might as well have been trying to move the Viscount’s keep.

Eventually, he surrendered.

“Oh, fine, you win,” Anders grunted, wiggling once more in an attempt to dislodge him. Playfully, he raised the pitch of his voice. “Mercy, serah! Mercy!”

“Hmm…” Fenris trailed off, humming in contemplation. “And what, pray tell, is to be my prize for this outstanding victory?”

“How about I don’t kick you out of the bed by the end of the day?” Anders offered.

Then again, maybe he shouldn’t have said that, considering the position he was in.

Fenris narrowed his eyes at him.

“Just for that—” Without warning, Fen leaned in and nuzzled his face into the crook of Anders’ neck, which wouldn’t have been that bad in theory, had it not been for one teeny-tiny detail.

Anders gagged at the feeling of Fenris’ sweat-soaked hair brushing against his skin.

“You ass!”

As soon as Fenris released his wrists, Anders shoved him off, scrubbing the sheets along his throat to rid his already-clammy skin of the extra layer of sweat.

Fenris collapsed onto the bed, winded.

At first, he trembled. His shoulders shook, but he ultimately remained silent.

Then, the first snort broke free, soon followed by another. Before Anders could comprehend what was going on, Fenris was overwhelmed by a fit of laughter. It wasn't his usual soft, reserved chuckles but full-blown, unadulterated laughter.

Soon enough, he was clutching at his side with the beginning of tears building in his eyes.

Anders watched, transfixed yet bewildered.

Seeing Fenris react in such a way was a rarity, an opportunity that Anders knew not to waste. Fenris —like Anders those days— so seldom smiled, not that there was much to smile about in Kirkwall to begin with, so such a genuine reaction was to be savored, a treasured gift to hold close to their chests.

Anders committed every detail to memory, but he wasn't the only one.

"Ahem." At the sound of Hawke clearing his throat, they jolted. Garrett spared them a knowing glance, his lips quirked up into a smirk. "Should I have brought snacks? I leave you two alone for five minutes, and I return to fighting and giggling."

Fenris rolled his eyes, shaking his head with a fond smile.

Garrett fully entered the room then, a large tray in hand. As he went to set it down onto one of the bedside tables, steam billowed up from the bowls and cups he brought along.

The warm, fragrant aroma of homemade stew mingled with the sharp, cool scent of freshly-made tea.

“Here,” Garrett said, passing them the cups first. “Malcolm Hawke’s signature elfroot tea.” When Anders wrinkled his nose, more fond of coffee than tea, Garrett shot him a pointed look. “Drink up, you. It’ll help you feel better, and it’ll give your mana a much-needed boost.”

Grumbling, Anders took a small sip. His face instantly crumpled, feigning a gag.

“Everyone’s a critic,” Garrett sighed.

“Or maybe Anders is just a big baby,” Fenris said.

Anders opened his mouth to fire back at him, but was abruptly caught off guard.

As if to emphasize his words, Fenris had picked up his cup, cradling it as he met Anders' eyes.

Not once did he look away, downing it all in one go.

Anders gaped, slack-jawed, while Garrett tsked at them in a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

Without missing a beat, Garrett swapped Fenris' cup for a bowl of stew, dropping a kiss upon his temple before giving Anders one as well.

"Madmen," he joked, "both of you."

Straightening up around the room, he soon threw open the windows, allowing a gentle breeze to flow freely inside.

“Still too warm?” Garrett asked.

“Only a little,” Anders said, pinching his fingers together.

“I’ll fix that.”

Summoning his magic to his fingertips, Fenris watched while Garrett wove his spell. He formed a sigil in the air, his lips barely parting to form the words of the incantation.

Then, once the sigil was complete, its bright blue glow lingering in the air, Garrett leaned in and blew into the light. It dissipated like sand caught up in a storm. 

In seconds, his magic blanketed the room.

The temperature dropped a perfect amount. Not too cold to be freezing, but cool enough for Anders and Fenris to pick up on the difference.

They groaned in unison, grateful for the relief.

“You spoil us,” Anders purred, his eyes trained on Hawke, leaning his head upon Fenris’ shoulder.

Fenris snorted. “Coddle us, more like.”

“As if you don’t enjoy it,” Garrett chuckled, to which Fenris remained suspiciously silent in response.

After they polished off the stew and tea, Garrett took their dishes and set them aside onto the tray.

Listening to Garrett hum a gentle tune under his breath, Fenris and Anders stared after him, captivated by his very presence.

"You know…” Fenris turned his head aside to cough into the crook of his arm, then cleared his throat. “For someone who swears that he can’t cast a simple healing spell, you really are good at this.” He waved his hand around. “At taking care of others, I mean.”

“Heh.” Flattered, Garrett smiled to himself. “I’ve had lots of practice.”

In place of the cups and bowls, Garrett returned to bed with a book tucked under his arm, his hands juggling quills, inkwells, and stationery alike.

“After Father died, I often looked after Bethany and Carver.” He shrugged. “Mother did her best, don’t get me wrong, but it was all too obvious at times that she was born and raised a noble. I was more familiar with how to prepare Father’s potions and remedies, so I did my best with what we had.”

For the first time in a long while, he was able to look back on those memories without so much pain and heartache.

He settled on the bed with the two men he loved, acutely aware of their eyes trained on him.

Garrett spread the supplies out around them, flashing a grin at Fenris.

“Feel up to some reading and writing?” he asked.

Fenris perked up at the offer, shuffling forward to appraise the assortment that Garrett brought.

“Of course.” Then, he added, “So long as Anders isn’t the one teaching me how to spell again.”

“Hmph, and what is that supposed to mean?” Anders huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Have you actually read your manifesto?” Fenris questioned.

“It’s the first draft!” 

“So you keep saying.”

While they continued to bicker, Garrett listened, completely enamored.

He was simply grateful for every second he got to spend with them.

And if he did end up catching their cold, then at least he could say with confidence that it was worth it.

[wickedsrest-rp]

Name: Leviathan Species: Human / Demon Occupation: Owner of Mephisto’s Repository Age: ??? (Looks about 34) Played by: Elliott Face Claim: Can Yaman

"There are plenty of good deeds only devils can commit. Keep an open mind, baby."

The being had been birthed with the rest of the universe, snapped into existence with no sense of what or where it was, screaming from what could have passed for a mouth, or… mouths. Then came a static hum that ripped through its neural pathways, soothing and coaxing it into a deep, dreamless sleep. One that went on for ages while the galaxies formed themselves into swirling smatterings of light in the inky, black void, the formless creature floating weightless and aimless through the stars. Until an unseen force called out to it, wreathing it in a brilliant glow and pulling it from the eternal slumber. Lights danced in front of what might have been eyes, swirling and stretching until a hole had appeared—a hole to somewhere new. The creature let itself slip into the illuminated, gaping maw, realizing with mild interest that it was no longer floating, but falling. Below it, an expanse of something blue that waved this way and that grew larger. And with a deafening crash, the massive beast slammed into its very first ocean. Dormant instincts kicked to life, and sapience was its reward.

That was a long time ago, but the creature could still recall the first cool, salty embrace of seawater that had wrenched it from its hibernation. It had made something of itself since then, mastering the abilities that had been bestowed upon it and using them to contact worlds with sentient life—in other words, entertainment. One world in particular had piqued the being’s interest, and as a result of the many trips it would make to that dimension, it had earned itself many names. Kraken, Cthulhu, Cetus, Scylla, Jörmungandr… and its favorite and perhaps the most recent—Leviathan. None of them were true, of course, none of them were the name that had been whispered in its mind on the day of its birth, but they would suffice. 

The humans—as they called themselves—were needy little things. And Leviathan, well, it was a generous benefactor. Of course there was something delightful about finding new, exciting ways to turn their own words against them. The way their self-satisfied grins would slip into a look of horror, or anger, or best of all, misery… Leviathan would subsist on that alone, if it could. This game went on for centuries until finally, stories of sea demons like the Leviathan fell out of favor with the majority of the population. And with this new rise of skepticism came a distinct lack of entertainment for the creature, or demon as it had been titled, which simply wouldn’t do. So it did what must be done and began the long, arduous process of acclimating itself to this new generation of humanity.

Things tend to get boring when life stretches out limitlessly in front of you. How many new experiences could the world possibly offer? Leviathan was thinking this to itself as it strangled the presumptuous woman that had summoned it from its home dimension, to demand power and everlasting life. Things the demon could give, to be certain, but her tone was sour; the vitriol with which she commanded the otherworldly being to bend to her will because she’d dialed the right interstellar phone number didn’t sit quite right in the pit of Leviathan’s stomach. So it killed her and her husband, and stared down at the little babbling child that was being offered in exchange for their own longevity. New experiences… it certainly hadn’t ever given this a try, it thought as it picked up the child and braced them against its now-human hip. A hand pressed to the babe’s chest, their ribcage glowing as the language as ancient as Leviathan itself was etched into bone, bonding them. Giving the child a small bit of the power that Leviathan harbored, just for the hell of it. Just to see what would happen. 

That was around thirty years ago. As the child grew, so did their power, and interestingly… Leviathan’s seemed to wax and wane. Assuming a human identity to better raise the tainted little hellion, the demon found itself shackled with emotions it had never previously experienced, realizing too late that in binding the child to itself, it had built a bridge between them that ushered the flow of demonic power in both directions. After Leviathan helped a human friend of its child defeat the greater demon that controlled their family via a cult, this bridge had to be destroyed in order for it to safely escape from this reality. It took back the power it had given the child and fled, knowing that more of its own ilk would be scrambling to ‘correct’ the behavior of the demon-killer. 

They found it, and did indeed design a method of punishing the breaking of this unspoken rule. There was no precedent for such a crime, for the greater demons had never thought of any of their actions as crimes, but they had also never feared for their own existence. Leviathan was sent back to Wicked’s Rest with a new, secret purpose. If it broke the deal it had been forced into, the punishment would be the shackles of a mantle that Leviathan had no interest in accepting, valuing its own freedom above all else.

Character Facts:

Personality: Predatory, dissolute, insensitive, volatile, impulsive, confident, protective, persuasive, charming

It has assumed the legal identity of one Chuck Jones and will refer to itself as such with strangers and acquaintances. Only those who know it quite well will call it Levi or Leviathan. Same goes with the pronouns. To most, the demon is ‘he’ or ‘they’, and it has no problem with that. It may refer to itself this way even around those that know of its true nature. 

Even in this dimension and in a human disguise, Leviathan retains its understanding of every single dead and living human language, and can respond to someone in any tongue spoken to it. This also includes the vast library of demonic tongues that have existed long before humans.

It has the ability to create verbal and written contracts with those who are willing—in exchange for whatever it deems appropriate at the time, though there is some speculation that it is collecting souls just like the old stories say. This has been turned into a rather successful business model, which Leviathan runs out of a shop of oddities called ‘Mephisto’s Repository’. On its face, it is a tourist trap that sells ‘cursed’ items, but for those who are in the know, there is a red door that leads to the back where magic deals are struck.

Despite being as old as time itself and definitely infinitely wise (definitely), Leviathan has been significantly influenced by humans and their culture and has unconsciously adopted many of their habits and quirks. It appears deeply unserious when compared to its own kind, which has always been a source of irritation for other greater demons. Leviathan doesn’t think of it as embarrassing though, it just thinks humans are neat!

Just because someone asks for something doesn’t mean Leviathan will give it. It may be all-powerful (right?) but it’s still a demon, and will still require hefty sacrifices for hefty requests. Or it may flat out refuse. Why should it have to be constantly working for the benefit of others? That doesn’t seem fair.

It LOVES mangoes and mango-flavored foods. It goes wild for that shit. If you catch it on a really good day, a mango flavored treat might just be enough to strike a deal.

[timeloopinganalysis]

My blurp opinion on Higurashi GouSotsu/Meguri

I've been inspired to write this because there were so many interesting opinions/takes/analysis on both Meguri and Sotsu. Satoko, being one of my favorite characters since the release of Sotsu, really took my interest in time loopers by storm.

I've always liked the very idea of characters trudging the fine line between good and evil, and time loopers tend to exemplify that.

Rika was very cynical in a lot of media, giving up on her friends almost immediately. All except for one person: Satoko. She could only keep going because of Satoko.

However, the exact opposite is true. Rika is, to me, a crutch for Satoko. She became Satoko's curse. Because of Rika, Satoko achieved a sort of twisted divine enlightenment by finding herself in the Sea of Fragments.

I'm not saying Rika did this on purpose, far from it, but by making Satoko her emotional support, she had attracted otherworldly forces to Satoko.

Now, the biggest difference to me between Meguri and Sotsu Satoko are the feelings behind each of her loops.

Sotsu Satoko's loops always felt angry. When she first infected Rena, she was spitting on her kindness.

Keiichi trusting Rena was Satoko's trap. Each of these loops felt like Satoko mocking and condemning each of her club members.

Something that really stood out to me was when Keiichi volunteered to be Satoko's new 'big brother'. The moment Satoko led him to her uncle's death scene was the moment I felt Satoko had essentially rejected Keiichi completely.

Now this is all conjecture, but I thought, "Satoko must be thinking, 'Who do you think you are, Keiichi-san? You can never take my big brother's place'."

Each of Sotsu Satoko's loops felt raw and angry. I loved how you could feel the emotion behind her madness.

Now, Meguri had a lot more introduction to each character. It gave each character more time rather than just giving Rika and Satoko the spotlight. This is a good thing for me.

It also tightened up a lot of loose plot points, such as the idea behind there being an original Rika in Angel Mort being left behind, or how quick Satoko was to turn evil in Eua's loops (Sotsu version). I suppose, in a way, it made Satoko more sympathetic.

However, Meguri also took away her agency. Her loops in Meguri were not driven by anger and bitterness. They were driven by hopelessness, thus making some of the Gou loops not make much sense (by an emotional perspective).

The whole uncle arc was glossed over horribly by Meguri. I know a lot of people despise the idea of reformation for Teppei. However, I think the very idea of Satoko having an actual family would be very good for her. I've made amends with people who have hurt me very very badly (I won't go into reasons because I rather not), so my perspective on this is a little different.

Because Satoko wasn't 'bitter' in Meguri, the whole uncle arc fell flat to me. I felt like Tomato-sensei didn't want to stick around with that arc for very long.

Meguri and Sotsu have great and bad points.

Sotsu had a fantastic way of showing Satoko's emotions. It showed that she's just so damn bitter about everything. Sotsu Satoko had agency that she never did in the previous arcs. Its bad points were that the club members (and every character not named Rika or Satoko) were simply relegated to side characters that have no real substance.

Meguri is pretty much the opposite. It included the club members very well. Though some other characters need a bit more fleshing out in the manga. However, it took away what I thought made Sotsu Satoko special - her emotional distress, hate, and anger towards the world, her friends, Hinamizawa, Rika, etc.

Sotsutoko is moved through anger.

Meguritoko is moved through hopelessness.

I think that Tomato should have given each of Meguritoko's loops the theme of hopelessness (sorry I keep repeating that word) in the same way Sotsutoko's loops have the theme of rage, rather than keeping manga Gou a near 1:1 copy of the anime Gou.

Those are just my thoughts. You can agree or disagree. I just like reading analysis of characters and wanted to share this for once.

[ecargmura]

Hirogaru Sky! Precure Episode 27 Review: The World Inside The Mirror Pad

I wonder what the point of this episode was. It’s not bad, but rather, it feels like a one-time thing…unless the pigs are important to the story later on. It just feels like a filler so that the Precures can do something for the weekly episode basis.

The Precures are forced to go out of their comfort zone and find a way to solve their trials to escape. Ageha gets stuck in a library where she has to learn about airplane trivia, which was something that Tsubasa picked. Sora gets stuck in a makeup room where she has to make herself look beautiful, which was something Mashiro picked. Tsubasa has to find a way to dance excitedly and in rhythm, which was something Ageha picked. Mashiro has to get to the top of a huge flight of stairs, which was something Sora picked. While it is interesting to see our heroes struggle at first, I feel like the pairings are the typical SoraMashi and AgeTsuba mix-match. I think that it would’ve been better if they had been paired up with different combinations like Sora being forced to go into Tsubasa’s trial or Tsubasa being forced to go into Mashiro’s trial. I think that would’ve added some flare to the episode and to see different character combinations. 

I think my biggest issue is that what was the point of making them go through this? They didn’t have any conflict before they got thrown into the mirror pad and suddenly, they’re forced to channel their partner’s energy into succeeding. I think this would’ve made a bit more sense if there was a bit of conflict between the characters outside of the usual duos, but that’s just wishful thinking on my part.

However, the two biggest mysteries of this episode are the Mirror Pad world and Pinkton. Why is there a whole other world inside the Mirror Pad and it’s now being revealed 27 episodes in? Is this a part of Sky Land or a whole other world? Would this mean that the Mirror Pad is not a Sky Land tool but something otherworldly? Mashiro did point out that it feels a bit like the Underg Empire, but its not. What could this mean? It’s too bad that this never gets addressed in this episode. 

Pinkton is a riot, honestly. In all honesty, Pinkton is the conflict of this episode as she was the one who caused the trial mix-up and for the last-minute villain of the day to show up. Since her name ends with ton, it makes me wonder if there is a connection with Kabaton and Minoton. Since there are multiple Pinktons, there has to be a connection, right? The show wouldn’t add in a mysterious world that feels like the Underg Empire and have pig fairies residing in them just for a one-time filler episode, right? However, Pinkton isn’t as annoying as I expected her to be. She’s a lot less sadistic as she’s nice to the Precures and doesn’t got all sadist mode if they fail. I think that’s a bit of a nice touch since these types of characters are prone to be the mischief-making, violence-loving comedic relief.

While this was filler, this episode brought about more questions than answers. I’m worried about whether this show will address this Mirror Pad world and the pig fairies in a future episode. I just hope they’re not a one-time thing. Please. I don’t want to see another long-running show not address these types of one-time things. What are your thoughts about this episode and the possible theories that it brought?

[reddevilmcnt]

@virtueofsanityx. [ ADJUST ]: sender sits in the receiver's lap in order to fix their collar or tie or other item of clothing.

The charity event was an overly embellished spectacle, the kind of gathering Dmitri didn’t usually gravitate toward. A room brimming with Hollywood elites, multimillion-dollar athletes, and socialites who thrived on curated perfection, it practically pulsed with forced laughter and too-enthusiastic chatter. Dmitri wasn’t shy, far fucking from it. In fact, his presence alone could make heads turn and conversations falter, but these events weren’t entirely his comfort zone. He preferred the more lowkey haunts that he was used to, as opposed to the choreographed social dances of the rich and famous. However, tonight, he’d made an exception, stepping into a world that felt foreign, only because the cause mattered. And, like it or not, Dmitri belonged here.

He commanded attention effortlessly, powerful frame sculpting a tailored Hugo Boss suit as though it had been made for no one else. The fabric clung to him in all the right ways, smoothing over broad shoulders and a chest built from years of brutal training, tapering down to a trim waist. His thighs, heavy and thick, tested the limits of the sleek black trousers, and the subtle shift of his muscles beneath the fabric as he moved hinted at the strength coiled underneath his polished exterior. The suit was absolutely flawless, crisp, clean lines, with an understated sophistication... but it was Dmitri who made it look otherworldly. He radiated a sheer physical force and sensuality, this dark magnetism that made people stop mid-sentence when he walked by. His cologne was rich and heady, a hypnotic blend of amber, leather, and spice that seemed to linger just long enough to mesmerize. His beautifully trimmed beard framed his chiseled jaw, and his skin had a velvet deep richness that seemed to glow under the event’s ambient lighting.

Even among the crowd of beautiful people, Dmitri stood out like a King among princes. There was something untamed about him------- an unspoken and yet simultaneously glaring reminder that no matter how well-dressed he was, he was still a brawler, a man who dominated not just the octagon but any room he entered.

And he hadn’t come alone. Reggie was by his side, his best friend and, if the tabloids were to be believed, something far more. Dmitri hadn’t hesitated to invite him, despite the subtle pang of uncertainty he felt. ...Their relationship had been in this strange limbo lately, a careful dance around hushed words, smothered down emotions, and Dmitri didn’t want to let that distance grow. Thankfully, Reggie agreed to being his plus one, but as the cameras flashed when they arrived together, snapping countless photos, he realized too late how easily the world would misinterpret their energy.

Dmitri barely had time to dwell on it once he was shuffled to a private backroom to prepare for a brief speech he was scheduled to give. Other speakers milled about, stylists and makeup artists flitting around them, but Dmitri waved them off. He didn’t need their touch-ups; everything about him was already immaculate. And so he sat down, arms resting on the chair’s edges, dark chestnut eyes focused on the mirrored wall ahead.

Without a word after that, Reggie came sliding onto his lap, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Dmitri promptly stiffened, not out of discomfort, but because the weight of Reggie against him sent his senses tangling and contorting. His best friend’s hands moved to adjust his tie with meticulous care, as though it hadn’t already been perfect, and Dmitri’s gaze glazed over, locking onto Reggie’s face. His hand twitched against the armrest, instinct urging him to settle it on Reggie’s hip, but instead, he balled it into a fist, summoning a restraint he rarely had to exercise.

Reggie, however, didn’t seem fazed. His calm, fluid movements soothed something wild in Dmitri, and when the tie was adjusted at last, Dmitri let his open hand find the small of Reggie’s back, that little bit of contact grounding him in a way that nothing else could.

"Thank you," Dmitri murmured, voice so sincere, so proper, it was obvious he was holding back much more. "Don’t know what I’d do without you."

In that moment, surrounded by luxury and pretense, Dmitri felt more tranquil than he had all evening. Reggie wasn’t just his friend-------- he was the one thing that made all of this tolerable, the anchor that kept him from drifting too far into old disorder and chaos.