#but be cognizant of what you're looking at when you do.

[eenochian]

it’s very funny how this fandom suddenly cares so much about sensitivity, meanwhile no one was up in arms about folks calling valeria shit like “cartel mommy” and simping for her. and, if you point this out, you get told that it’s “less important” or incomparable. way to tell victims of cartel violence that they don’t matter. y’all can’t preach about sensitivity and mindfulness while doing the exact opposite of that.

sensitivity is something that needed to be brought up a long time ago. people need to be mindful about the content they’re engaging with and producing. COD and its characters are based on very real issues and very real situations, mindfulness is needed for every single character.

seeing this only be brought up in the context of makarov and graves is honestly so, so frustrating. they’re not the only problematic characters that you need to consider when making content. western militaries like the US and UK are incredibly controversial and have devastated vulnerable people and their countries. price, ghost, soap, gaz— any member of the military, especially the special forces, is problematic. they’re not good people and should not be treated like saints, nor should they be idolized for what they do.

that all being said, the concepts of “be mindful and sensitive when making content” and “let people enjoy problematic media” can absolutely, 100%, co-exist. art is not meant to be a paradigm of moral goodness, it has always been a medium for people to explore things that are considered "taboo" in a safe space. there's a reason why "dead dove: do not eat" exists as a genre – with proper warning and precautions put in place, people can explore darker topics. for some, it's morbid interest. for others, it's a way of coping with trauma and experiences they've had in real life.

i want to repeat this just to make it very clear: be mindful and sensitive with the content you're producing. do not romanticize topics that should not be painted in a good light. don't minimize the impact of characters' actions or act like people are in the wrong for being uncomfortable with them. in this fandom especially, people treat atrocities like jokes because we're becoming desensitized to them. it's up to every individual to ensure that they don't forget how impactful a lot of this stuff is in real life. war is not a joke. terrorism is not a joke. people dying is not a joke. do not romanticize any of these things in your content, even if you're exploring the different sides of the people behind these things.

humanize the characters all you want. horrible people are still people, after all. humans are not one-dimensional beings. humanize them, but do not romanticize them.

be kind to victims, be sensitive, and be mindful about what you engage with. no one is perfect, no thing is perfect, but we can always do better. we need to approach every topic through this lens instead of picking and choosing who to support. everyone is deserving of it, everyone is entitled to basic respect. we don't need to compete and argue over who has it worse, we just need to be better across the board. support real victims. don't let media warp your perceptions of reality. be conscious of the content you make and consume.

[terrainofheartfelt]

FOR THE BIG MUSIC ASK GAME LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOOOO 🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

Artists: Joni Mitchell, Taylor Swift, Queen, Frank Turner

Albums: Pretty. Odd, evermore, Nebraska, Blonde on Blonde

this ask feels like a homework essay question but like, in a subject I'm passionate about. so it's okay. daunting, but.

Joni:

Do I know them already?: yes | no

Favourite Song: A Case of You, it has to be!!!!

(okay but also there's a recording of her playing Chelsea Morning live at Carnegie Hall and it is ~magical~)

Least Favourite Song: I mean there isn't a song by her that I dislike, but maybe one I know that I listen to the least....Big Yellow Taxi. because it makes me sad. she warned us about paving paradise and we didn't listen!!!!!!

Favourite Album: Blue 💙💙💙💙💙

Least Favourite Album: idk a lot of her discography (Blue the album of my heart) but uhhhhh the orchestral funky Both Sides Now (I just like her better when it's just her and her dulcimer <3)

Song that got me into them: oh geez my mother's always loved her. so maybe...my mom singing Both Sides Now in the car?

Seen Live?: i WISH (gimme a time machine and I will just take it to the '70s to see bands & artists play in their prime)

Rate: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Taylor:

Do I know them already?: yes | no 

Favourite Song: legally I am required to say "ivy"

Least Favourite Song: Dancing with Our Hands Tied (because it was popular when I worked retail so I heard it wayyyyyyyyy too much and now I can't stand it. is it a good song? idk. because I have too much retail trauma to determine that.)

Favourite Album: right now, it's Reputation

Least Favourite Album: Speak Now, probably? It missed me, and I haven't sought it out on streaming bc Girl's pre-1989 singing voice just...doesn't do it for me.

Song that got me into them: pfffft probably "Our Song" in the year of our lord 2006. I remember logging onto the Yahoo music website in Internet Explorer to look up her music videos, because that's the only way I could listen to her music (without buying the cds, my allowance was designated to higher musical priorities back then.) but I didn't really consider myself a Fan until the Bad Blood music video.

Seen Live?: nope. I don't really want to either. I like her best in studio. or, ideal scenario, hearing her live in Long Pond Studio, but that seems a bit of a long shot

Rate: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 her songwriting is a ten her vocals are a 5

Queen:

Do I know them already?: yes | no 

Favourite Song: Somebody to Love!

Least Favourite Song: thee ummm. the bicycle one. ah damn, now it's in my head.

Favourite Album: okay so the thing about many of these bands that I grew up listening to is that I have like, a very limited concept of which albums are which, because I just absorbed them riding in the car with my dad or my mom. I'll say A Night at the Opera bc it's a great title :)

Least Favourite Album: uhhhhh anything they released after Freddie?

Song that got me into them: probably The Muppets music video of Bohemian Rhapsody?

Seen Live?: no, alas, but I have seen P!ATD cover Bohemian Rhapsody live

Rate: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 

Frank Turner:

Do I know them already?: yes | no 

Favourite Song: not a fair question. uhm mmmmmm...The Way I Tend to Be, Broken Piano, Isabel, Poetry of the Deed, To Take You Home, Josephine....I could go on

Least Favourite Song: motherfucker truly has soooo many songs and I know a lot of them but there are many I've haven't heard. maybe Common Ground. or Little Changes.

Favourite Album: England Keep My Bones

Least Favourite Album: Be More Kind

Song that got me into them: my big brother put Nashville Tennessee on a mix cd he made for my birthday when I was...13? and I've only become more and more obsessed.

Seen Live?: HELL YES. in college my brother and my x-tian sorority big (we're both atheists now lmao) and me roadtripped 3 hours to Dallas to see him on his tour for Tape Deck Heart. One of the best live shows I've seen. He just...comes ALIVE onstage. and we met him at stage door and I took a picture with him <3 I think (hope) I still have it somewhere. I was a music major and wanted to tell him how much his music meant to me but I think I was too starstruck to say anything other than "hiiiii" and "thank you!" also thee zaniest opening act I have ever seen I'll never forget it

Rate: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 

Pretty. Odd. it isn't my favorite album of theirs, but it is a masterpiece.

Opinion on cover design: LOVE. I really enjoy the old-timey circus van vibe, evocative of Magical Mystery Tour, which seems a heavy inspiration.

Favourite song: That Green Gentleman

Least favourite song: narrowwww question because I have a pretty equal fondness for all the songs. maybe, The Piano Knows Something I Don't

Underrated track: When the Day Met the Night & Folkin' Around

Overrated track: Nine in the Afternoon (even though I adore it but it gets much more hype than any other track)

Rate: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 

evermore undoubtedly her magnum opus. the best music she's ever written

Opinion on cover design: simple, effective, lovely, sets the mood and the tone of the album. and she has such a habit of...overdoing visuals? her last half dozen music videos or so have been like, baroque in how over the top their visual design. like, willow the video does not match how the song or the rest of the album feels. idk. the simplicity here works for me, but I think sometimes she can't let something Be.

Favourite song: I already said ivy above so....no body no crime

Least favourite song: cowboy like me (it's otherwise a great song, but i so dislike the opening stanza 'dancing is a dangerous game' mam. you can do better than that. you've a whole album of evidence.)

Underrated track: closure (a Banger)

Overrated track: champagne problems (not that it's not a good song but the way it's gotten so much love as the best song on the album when happiness is like literally right there) (happiness.mp3 & peace.mp3 supremacy)

Rate: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

Nebraska

Opinion on cover design: as someone who's driven through nebraska, it's very accurate. it looks how nebraska feels. like, you're only there when you're on your way to someplace else. if liminal space was a US state it'd be Nebraska

Favourite song: oh fuck Reason to Believe

Least favourite song: Highway Patrolman

Underrated track: I mean the whole thing is underrated tbh.

Overrated track: see above. <3

Rate: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 

Blonde on Blonde

Opinion on cover design: those pursed lips....so Serious. I love a scarf moment. that look really is my aesthetic

Favourite song: RAINY DAY WOMEN but I also have a soft spot for OH. MAMA. can this really be the end? to be Stuck? inside? a Mobile? with the MEMPHIS BLUES again??? and Leopard Skin Pill Box Hat <3

Least favourite song: Visions of johanna. he can go ON about a bitch. I love him tho

Underrated track: I Want You, & You Go Your Way I Go Mine

Overrated track: is it possible to overrated a track on this album???

Rate: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 

[lxvvie]

Simon Riley is a frustrated man.

And you're the cause of it.

This... thing simmering between you two, he can't place it. Can't put a name on it, and when surety, something that took years to fine-tune, flies out the window, frustration rears its ugly fuckin' mug.

The last time Simon felt this way, he'd just enlisted. He sure as hell can't drink or fuck the feeling away—he's tried—and it pisses him off even more because all he can do is sit and feel his frustration. And stare. At you.

Fuck.

You don't stare back. At least, you don't stare back when he wants you to. He feels your eyes burning holes in his back, though. He knows you feel the same way; he can see it when he does manage to catch your gaze. You're close but never close enough. You're here, there, everywhere with him, even when you're not, and he wants to reach out and touch. Simon wants to touch you, wants to hold and handle you with care just like the military taught him how to handle his gun (bloody hell, what the actual fuck, Riley?)

He wants to touch and hold and handle you with care and he wonders how your lips would feel against his scars and fuck fUCK FUCK.

Fuck it. If you won't come to him, he'll come to you.

And when he gets the chance, he corners you. Simon feels the heat between your bodies, and you're pressing yourself against him whether you realize it. But you still won't look at him. Bloody fuckin'—

"Look at me, sweetheart," he grunts out. Not a suggestion, an order. After a beat, you do. And Simon holds your stare. He holds your stare, looks for confirmation, and when he finds it, that's when you strike.

You strike and press your lips against the corner of his mouth, against an old scar, and Simon's a fucking puddle of goo because it's everything he thought it would be and more. He leans against you, cognizant of his body weight, but it doesn't fuckin' matter, not with the way you've welcomed him with open arms.

Simon still can't put a name to the feeling. Not yet. Frustrated with you, consumed by you, fuck if he knows.

He reasons you two have all the time in the world now to figure it out. Together.

[bizbat]

He Realizes He Loves You - JJK x Reader

~ Reader is implied to be under 6ft but appearance is otherwise not mentioned.

~ Reader is implied to be fem and is explicitly fem + afab in Toji's part.

~ Including: Toji Fushiguro, Megumi Fushiguro, Satoru Gojo, Kento Nanami, Suguru Geto, Choso Kamo, and Sukuna Ryomen (in order).

~ Feel free to request a character not included!

~ Smut included for multiple characters.

~ You can find more of my works here.

~ Thank you to (@starlight5cat, @s0ph1a7, @koiromii, @totallydestiny, @local-hopeless-romanic, @dalis-raines,@ryosuku, @liargh, @llotusfeet1, @crustychoco, @cult-of-norman, @broccolihater80, @bringmethewolves, @sohstayshawol, @therealisttheillest, @midnightxsecretary, @skullzgarden, @tiatasha-01, @sardonyx005, and @dimpled-peach) for all the characters they suggested!

~ Cw: Creampie (Toji), Slight Anal (also Toji), Pet Names (also also Toji) :( Mild Groping (Choso), Slight Yandere/obsessive behavior (Geto)

He realizes he loves you.

Toji - Explicit Smut, Wc: 315

The way you're squeezing him like you don't want him to pull out, calling his name like a hymn, God he might just cum right then and there. He's losing his mind as his hips slam against your ass, his thumb in your other hole, gripping the fat of your cheek while using it as leverage to pull you pack onto him.

Fuck, have you always sounded so sweet? And have you always been this pretty? He can't remember. All he knows is that he's not sure he's ever felt this good. He knows he's not thinking straight when his hips stutter, his cock throbbing inside you, and instead of slowing down, he speeds up. If he was a bit more cognizant, he'd consider pulling out, but who is he kidding?

You're too sweet to him, he knew it from the day you met. If he was a less selfish man, he'd have walked out of your life the second he felt his pants tighten at the sound of your voice. But, he's thankful he's not less selfish. "Gonna let me cum inside ya, baby?"

But, at the end of the night, he can cum in any broad willing to spread her legs for him. The second he blows his load, he'll be heading out the door. He's done it a million times. Veni, vidi, veni. Sometimes he'll turn a one night stand to a two night stand, but he never does more than twice.

Wait, how many times has he been over to your place again? Nevermind, he's cumming now. He doesn't still his hips as the thick, creamy white substance spills out of your cute little cunt. But his brain is fried, so when your juices coat his thighs, and your fingers squeeze his forearms, all while pressing your glossy lips to his . . . How's he supposed to help himself?

"F-Fuck, love you baby."

~

Megumi - No Smut, Wc: 265

He's never been the type to "jolt" out of bed. He usually slowly comes to consciousness, his body acting as a natural clock. Tsumiki would always say he was the early bird of the two. It was always just his routine.

But today, for some reason, the second he wakes up he snaps up and out of bed, his back straight as an arrow. It takes a second for his brain to register why. It's you. Here you are, peacefully laying in his bed beside him, his sheets covering everything but your face. You must have fallen asleep here after you and the other first years had movie night.

His eye twitches as he considers what to do. He doesn't wanna wake you, you look like a little angel, granted, you have a bit of drool dripping out of the corner of your mouth, but an angel nonetheless! He doesn't wanna tell Gojo, lord knows he'd never let him live it down. He doesn't want the higher-ups to find out and get you in trouble.

His brain moves damn near a mile a minute as he thinks of possible solutions. If you were awake you'd probably tease him about the smoke coming out of his ears. His eyes anxiously dart across his room, as if something in there could possibly fix his problem-

Until you roll over, your arm limply draped across his lap. It's not really a problem, is it? Gojo can handle it, he thinks to himself as he slips back under the covers, letting you hold onto him as you sleep in.

~

Gojo - No Smut, Wc: 334

Satoru doesn't do it for praise. While the sound of his sweet girlfriend's voice thanking and complimenting him is practically music to his ears, it's not his sole motivation. He's not sure what it is.

Maybe it's the sparkle in your eyes when he gives you your favorite type of pastry, he went out of his way to visit your favorite bakery, even though it was out of his way. Or maybe it's how tightly you hold him when he brings you a new bottle of your favorite perfume, even though the manufacturer stopped selling it. Maybe it's the way you squeal his name with joy and surprise when he appears at your doorstep, a cute little kitten in his arms, a bright blue bow tied around its neck.

He's not sure. It could be all of them for all he knows. Don't get him wrong, it's more than enough to get him out of bed every day. But it might actually be the fact that you almost . . . disregard his gifts afterwards. Maybe that's not the right word, but you're so casual about everything (except the kitten ofc). The necklace he got you last month, the one with his and your initials inside of a gold heart? You wear it everyday. Never say a word about it.

The watch he dropped at least a band on, the one that has five sets of hands and tells the time in Japan and your home country? You keep that in its case next to your bed. In the entire time you've dated, he doesn't think you've ever asked him for anything material. Maybe to do the dishes or take out the trash

Maybe that's it, actually. The fact that you'd rather spend time with him. That you see him as the biggest gift of all, it plays into his ego, sure. But there's something different about the way you cherish him, versus how the world does. Regardless, the thought makes him smile, makes his heart swell.

~

Nanami - Mild Smut, Wc: 336

Nanami has a lot of regrets in life.

He regrets every missed opportunity, every untaken chance, every day he's taken for granted, when others have to struggle so much to get half as far. Sometimes, he worries the thing that will finally do him in is grief. He has nightmares about choking on all of his remorse, and his biggest fear is that the second he gets something good, he'll be too distracted to hold onto it. But he has no regrets about you. He can feel it, even when he was still a student. Nanami knows how special you are. He sees it in the way your soft hands hold his face every morning and every night. In the way your lips curl and your hips wiggle in a little dance when you eat your favorite food. In the way your voice always rasps a small "good morning, my love," even before your eyes have opened.

God, you're special to him. And he knows better than to let you get away without knowing that. So when he has you in his arms, naked as the day you were born, your eyes tired and your skin sticky, he lets you know. He leans down, his nose pressed into the crook of your neck, his lips just barely ghosting against your skin. He thrusts his hips gently, your soft smile and tiny moans encouraging him. He doesn't need to realize he loves you, he already knows that, but until now, right this very second, he didn't realize he was in love with you. And it hits him like a truck. He hadn't realized that your laugh is his favorite sound in the world, that he could eat your cooking until the day he dies, that you could scream at him for hours and hours, and he'd still think you had the voice of an angel.

But God, you're special. He mumbles into your collarbone, something he's always ment, but never fully grasped. "Ngh~ God, I love you."

~

Geto - Implied Smut, Wc: 352

You're so blessed. You have his head resting in your lap, his hair loose as your fingers card through it, his robes barely hanging onto his muscled form. He's so beautiful, you can't believe you're only getting to see him up close now. His dark eyes stare penetratingly into your soul, his soft smile making your heart feel like it's on fire.

He has invited you into his personal quarters, the familiar scent of sage, and oils wafting through the air. It wasn't uncommon for him to invite someone to his room, just to keep him warm or entertained, not that it was frequent, but it wasn't like it never happened. To say that this wasn't what you had expected upon first entering, would be an understatement.

You had introduced yourself to him, bowing at his feet as you began stating your name and how long you'd been a member, only for him to interrupt you, listing information you didn't even know he knew about you, information you didn't even know about you. You sat there on your hands and knees, mouth agape in surprise, until he placed a hand under your chin, gently closing your mouth and guiding you to your feet. You didn't think to question it, of course your lord and master knew everything about you.

He pulled you deeper into the room, going into detail about how you had caught his eye the moment you had begun worshiping him and his ideals. He explained his plan for you to lead alongside him, become his bride and second in command, only if you wanted to, of course. It was a big responsibility, hundreds of people suddenly bending to your every whim. Not to mention his two wonderful daughters.

But why would you ever say no? How could you possibly deny the prospect of being his wife- Geto-Sama's wife!? So here you are, your own robes just as loose as his as you carefully stroke his long, inky locks. You're so beautiful, he's truly blessed to have such an obedient, loving little lamb in his flock, finally, all to himself.

~

Choso - No Smut, Wc: 282

He's happy he has you here. Sat in his lap, the glow TV illuminating your pretty face, his hands up your shirt. The only thing that could make this better would be if his brothers were here, though, perhaps it's better if they aren't. He does appreciate the intimacy of it just being you and him.

He can't help himself from looking up at you, paying attention to the way you mindlessly chew on your lip. It makes his own lips part with desire. "Can-can you kiss me again?" He lightly squeezes your chest, his fingers tightening around the black lace bra under your shirt.

His curious, pleading eyes are too hard to ignore. He moans into your mouth, one hand groping your breast, the other gently holding your tummy. He rests his head on your shoulder when you finally pull away, a nervous smile on his face, he's still learning how to do it right, he hopes you don't mind. Actually, he knows you don't.

If anything, you love it. He can tell by the way you hold his cheeks when he does it, the way you giggle and kiss him more and more just to see it widen. He wants to do that for you. He wants to hold your cheeks and giggle when you smile and kiss you to see you do it more.

His heart erratically beats in his chest as he impulsively reaches out, turning your face and holding you still while he presses messy kisses to your lips. He doesn't stop the barrage of pecks when you ask him what he's doing. He just smiles. And that makes you smile. And that makes him smile more.

~

Sukuna - Implied Smut, Wc: 266

If you were to ask him about it, he'd laugh in your face. Sukana cares for no one, he does not love, he does not enjoy anyone's presence, he does not feel warmth in his chest when you kiss his cheek. Absolutely not. Never. You'd be foolish to think otherwise.

You may be his favorite concubine, who he always lets lay with him in bed after he's had his fill. Who he lets run her fingers through his hair during bathtime. Who he makes sure is seated on his lap at all times. But that does not mean he likes you. It just means he finds you tolerable. Yes, that's it.

He finds you tolerable, at most, and that's generous, even, so there you go, there's your answer. Only, you didn't even ask to begin with. You said "Good morning, my lord," and here he is, going on a rant in his head about how much he doesn't love you. Shit. He's in deep. Far too deep for anyone of his standing, and it's too late for him to pull himself out of this eternal abyss.

Curse you, wench, for having such control over him, unwittingly at that. Who do you think you are? With your adorable face, and your soft hair, and your nice smell-Wench! Mark his words, he may be steadfast in making you his bride, and disposing of any other concubines that expresses too much jealousy, and keeping his palace decorated in a way that you would find flattering, but he is not in love with you by any stretch of the imagination.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Coming Out

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: some explicit language, mention of an unsub hurting Emily 😱, vague insinuations of homophobia, mostly fluff on fluff, feat. loyal himbo Derek Morgan Word Count: 2k

Summary: Emily gets injured on the job, and all she really wants is you, her girlfriend. But she's not out to the rest of the team yet. Can she be vulnerable enough to share that part of herself with the team? Can she be vulnerable enough to let you take care of her? Takes place at the end of S3.E2.

Emily dabbed at her head and winced, checking her watch to see if it had been long enough to take more pain medication. But despite getting clocked with a plank of wood, she was glad to be on the jet, glad to be back with her team because they really were starting to feel like her team. Who was she kidding? She loved her job.

According to the pilot, the team would be landing at Quantico in a little over an hour. Emily grabbed her phone, discreetly shoving it into her pocket, before heading to the back of the plane. She needed to call you, but the rest of the team didn't know about you yet. Hell, the rest of the team didn't even know she was gay. It felt too personal, and she'd been hurt by people's reactions–people she loved and trusted deeply–too many times. She played her relationships and her sexuality close to the vest.

Reid tapped Emily's arm as she passed by.

"Oh! Are you going all the way to the back?"

Emily tensed. "Yep."

"Could you bring me a Sprite?"

She felt her shoulders relax, and she patted Reid on the arm. "Sure."

After knocking on the bathroom door to make sure that truly no one was around, she called you, her voice hushed as she rifled through tiny airplane soda cans, looking for Reid's Sprite.

"Hey, Em," you said, your voice bright.

"Hey," she said, a goofy smile spreading across her face. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing much. Saw a street rat earlier. I named him Guillermo. I think he's on the prowl for a girlfriend."

Emily laughed, covering her mouth.

"How was Milwaukee?" you asked.

"Good. Really good. We got the guy. We're on the plane now."

She could nearly hear how smug you were through the phone.

"You're glad you went back," you snickered, relishing in being right. She'd sworn that it wasn't a big deal, that it'd be easy to get another good job, but you knew her heart was with the BAU.

Emily sighed. "I am. You were right."

"You're gonna stay?"

"Looks that way."

"I knew it!" you crowed. "I'm glad. You're too good at your job to quit it."

"Thanks, love. Listen, Y/N, can I ask you a favor?"

"Of course! Anything."

Emily winced, touching the swollen bump on her head. "We land in about an hour. Can you pick me up and stay at my place tonight?"

"Wow." You drew out the vowel, milking the fact that Emily needed you for once. "You missed me that much, huh?"

"Well, yes, of course, but... I, uh... I kind of have a concussion?"

Your tone shifted immediately from smug to concerned. "What?! Why?! What happened!?"

"Unsub hit me with a plank of wood," she admitted reluctantly.

"Jesus Christ, Em! Are you okay!?"

"I'm fine, baby, I promise," she reassured you. "I just got a little banged up, that's all. But I'll need you to wake me up every few hours and make sure I'm cognizant."

"I think I have some soup in the freezer," you observed, your voice far away. You'd put her on speakerphone to rifle through the cabinets. "And I have a thermometer. I don't know, do concussions cause fevers? I've never had one."

Emily shook her head, smiling. She loved that your first response, always, was to take care of her. Emily was not used to being taken care of, and she didn't let many people do it. She certainly wouldn't let many people see it either. But she let you.

"No thermometers needed. Just you and your car and more you when we get home."

"You got it. When did you say you land?"

"In about an hour."

"Okay. I'll leave in a few."

"Oh," Emily added quickly. "And you're cleared to drive into Quantico. They know the car you drive and they've got your ID on file. Just show it to them at the gate."

You paused. "Well, that's a little Big Brother of them."

"I gave it to them a few months ago. Just in case you ever needed to come by. Sorry, I should've told you."

"It's okay," you decided, pulling on a jacket and a beanie. "It feels kind of badass to be on Quantico's list."

Emily laughed, almost excited to have a concussion because it meant you'd be snuggled right up to next to her for however long it took to get better. 48 hours at least.

"Alright, baby," she finished, Reid's Sprite in hand. "I'll see you in a bit."

"Bye, love."

Emily wiped the grin off her face before returning to the cabin with Reid's Sprite–it'd look suspicious if she was too happy coming back.

An hour later, the team was going their separate ways in the parking lot, waving goodbyes and slamming car doors under the buzzing lights.

Emily leaned on the wall outside the building entrance, relishing the crisp night air.

"You need a ride, Prentiss?" Morgan asked as he walked out, used go-bag slung over his shoulder. "You shouldn't be driving" He pointed to her head.

"No, that's okay," Emily waved him off. "I've got– uh... someone's... picking me up."

Fuck, she thought. The concussion was not helping her ability to lie well.

Morgan stared at her suspiciously.

"What?" Emily laughed, trying to act normal.

"Why are you acting shifty?"

"I'm not!" she protested.

Morgan smirked and waggled his eyebrows. "Do you have a secret boyfriend?"

"What?" Emily said, laughing a little too forcefully. "No!"

He crossed his arms and waited. "You're seriously not gonna tell me?"

Emily leaned against the brick wall, rubbing her forehead. On the one hand, she was tired of keeping you–and herself–a secret. And if anyone was going to be supportive of someone on the team getting laid, it would be Morgan. But on the other, did she really know that much about him? She didn't know his religious background. Sure, he'd defend a gay victim, but that was his job. This was personal.

Emily sighed before replying. "I have... I have a secret girlfriend."

The silence felt like it lasted hours, stretching between them until Emily was sure the chasm would never close again, and that with just a few words, just by being herself, she'd ruined any chance of a friendship with Derek Morgan. It wouldn't be the first time. It probably wouldn't be the last.

Morgan seemed to think deeply before leaning against the wall next to Emily, turning to look her in the eye.

"Prentiss, why didn't you tell us you were gay?"

Emily was afraid to look at him, but when she did, her heart soared. He looked at her with nothing but love and respect and appreciation, no hint of hatred or disgust. If anything, he looked sad that she'd waited so long to tell him.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I don't always get a good reaction."

"Well, you know nobody on this team would have a problem with that, right? Hell, Garcia'd probably hang pride flags everywhere."

"I know," Emily nodded. "I just... I don't think I'm ready yet. For everyone to know. Soon, though."

Morgan nodded, then thought for a few minutes before asking, "Is it serious?"

Emily chuckled. "Being gay? Yeah, I'd say so."

Morgan shoved her shoulder gently, mindful of the day's injuries. "No! The girl! How long have you been seeing her?"

"A little over six months."

"So, it's serious."

Emily grinned. She was glad to have someone to talk to about this. She'd held it so close for so long. She wasn't used to having anyone to tell about you. Maybe Morgan could be that person.

"Promise not to tell the others?"

Morgan put his hand over his heart. "Promise."

"I'd marry her tomorrow if she'd let me."

"Wow." Morgan raised his eyebrows, smiling lightly. "Prentiss is in love," he said, teasing her.

Emily fought a wide smile, but lost in the end. "Oh, shut up. And don't tell anyone. Especially her."

"Your secret's safe with me," Morgan reassured her. And she could tell he meant it. Emily trusted him, she realized. She trusted him to be a good friend, to keep her secrets. She trusted him not to out her to the rest of the team. He'd let her go at her own pace when it came to telling the others.

"She better be amazing," Morgan added. "I don't know how anyone could be good enough for you."

Just at that moment, a pair of headlights crept slowly into the parking lot, hesitant and unsure. It had to be you. Emily stepped forward and waved a bit, then turned to Morgan.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow?" she said.

"Not with that head, you won't," Morgan observed.

You put the car in park next to the curb and leapt out of the driver's seat, hurrying over to Emily.

"Oh my god!" you exclaimed, anger and concern washing over you. "I thought you you said you were fine!"

You gingerly touched Emily's face and pulled her head down to examine the butterfly bandage above her eyebrow.

"Look at this," you grumbled, more to yourself than anyone else. "It's already bruising." You glared at the butterfly bandage. "Did a doctor do this or you? If it was you, I think we should clean it with rubbing alcohol at home."

Morgan looked absolutely delighted, both because you seemed like a delightful person and because Emily was beet red at being observed with you.

"Y/N, I'm fine," Emily said firmly, grasping your fingers in hers and removing them from her face. "This is my colleague Derek Morgan. Morgan, my girlfriend, Y/N."

You looked Morgan over and immediately decided you liked him. Mostly because you could tell that he really cared about Emily. But also because he looked mischievous, like he'd tease her. And if there was anything you loved, it was teasing Emily. You shook his hand enthusiastically. "It's really nice to meet you," you said. And you meant it.

But you didn't have time to chat with Morgan tonight. You were too worried about Emily.

"You don't look fine," you argued, looking to Morgan for backup. "Does she look fine to you?"

Morgan grinned at Emily, raising his eyebrows. "She definitely looks like she could use some TLC."

"Oh, and she'll get it alright," you assured him, opening the passenger door for Emily. "Shall we?"

Emily bent gingerly to get into the car, and you were careful to guard her head from the ceiling.

"Derek, it was really nice to meet you," you said, shaking his hand one more time for good measure as Emily rolled down the window, staring bullets at Morgan.

"You too, Y/N," he said, looking over your shoulder at Emily. "I hope you all have a very marry evening."

Emily pointed at him aggressively behind your back, mouthing, "SHUT. UP."

"See you, Prentiss," he called as you pulled away. He laughed and called out, "I hope it's a real honeymoon from work!"

Emily's hand shot out the window, flipping him off.

Later that night, your alarm buzzed and you blinked awake. You forgot for a moment that you were at Emily's, but her strong arms wrapped protectively around your waist were enough to remind you where you were.

You turned slowly to face a sleeping Emily, brushing her hair out of her face.

"Em. Hey. You gotta wake up, honey."

She groaned, placing a hand on her head.

"Sorry," you grimaced. "Gotta make sure your brain's alright."

"My brain is fine," she growled.

"Oh, yeah?" you joked, checking the time before shaking a few pills into your hand from the pill bottle on the nightstand. "Who am I, then?"

"The love of my life, Whitney Houston."

You laughed, which made Emily laugh, too. But she quickly doubled over in pain, groaning.

"Here, take these," you said gently, handing her the pills and a glass of water. "It'll help."

She took the pills obediently and lay back down.

"You know," you said, pulling up the blankets to make sure they covered Emily's shoulders. "I may not be Whitney Houston..." You wrapped your arms around her and drew her to you, and she burrowed her head into the space between your neck and your collarbone.

"But I think I'm a close second," you finished, running your fingers rhythmically through Emily's hair.

She sighed contentedly, pressing into you, then moving one of your arms to wrap it more tightly around her.

"Why are you so good to me?" she asked, quiet. You couldn't quite tell if it was a joke or serious, but you'd reply the same either way.

"Because I love you, you nerd."

She leaned up, planting a kiss underneath your chin. "I love you, too."

Within minutes she was conked out again, and you were setting another alarm, ready to do it all over again in a few hours.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

I think you mentioned you're cis, right? Many of my friends and acquaintances right now are cis women, some not even part of the lgbtq+ community. I'm a trans girl, and I'm very bad at standing up for myself. How should I talk about language they use that makes me uncomfortable? I don't know if I'm able to explain why "biological women" is a term I'm wary of because it's so often a dog whistle, or when they talk very sweepingly about the effects of male/female socialization, or espousing very cisnormative beliefs in general. I don't wanna be misunderstood and I don't think the words they are using are necessarily wrong or bad or hateful, I've just seen them so often in that context and am a bit shaken hearing them. I also don't think they want to hurt me or are cognizant of my discomfort. I'd love your input on this.

Thank you for reading this, mx batman.

hi anon,

I am so grateful that you trust me with this question and I am so sorry if you're looking for a way to do this gently. possibly you wee hoping that I would have some insights into how to gently call out cis women without upsetting them but the gag is that almost all my friends are trans and I'm an insane bitch who will unhinge my jaw and devour people at the first whiff of transphobia.

all you need to say is something to the effect of "you may not mean any harm by it, but the terms you're using spread transphobic ideas and hurt women like me and make me feel unsafe. please find other ways to express the thing you're trying to talk about." and that has to be sufficient for these people, or they aren't your friends.

listen to me right now. you Do Not need to justify why those things make you uncomfortable. you are not required to provide a dissertation to prove that your feelings deserve to be respected. if these women are your friends they are required to give a shit about your feelings, and that includes not requiring you to provide an entire powerpoint when you ask them to stop using terms that are transphobic. when a friend says "you're hurting me," you're supposed to just stop fucking hurting them.

if they want to educate themselves, which I strongly recommend the do, there are plenty of people who are writing books and articles and video essays and podcasts that will hold the hands of cis allies trying to learn Don't Be A Transphobe 101. you ARE NOT obligated to be that person for every person in your life, and they do not have the right to demand that of you.

recently I was listening to an episode of the podcast Vibe Check, which is excellent, and one of the hosts (I believe it was poet Saeed Jones, but don't quote me on that) offered some advice to the effect of "if you tell someone that they're hurting you and you tell them what they need to do to stop, and they do it again, they've told you everything they need to tell you." live that learn that love that. being fiercely protective of your needs and boundaries is an act of protection and self-preservation and it's what you deserve; cut a bitch OFF if she won't listen to you and be a better friend.

also hey as a cis woman. and specifically as a white cis woman. do NOT let them come at you with the cis lady tears, especially the white cis lady tears. anyone who starts whining and crying and acting like you're attacking them for just asking them not to say things that hurt your feelings, run. run so fast. those women do not love you.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

The Arcana HCs: When M6 are forced to attack MC

-- to set the scene --

It was a nightmare.

Thick clouds of miasma hung over the city as you and your lover confronted the sorcerer in the fields outside its walls. Between a series of traps and some well-placed taunts, you had successfully cornered them, which meant that while victory was in sight your opponent was down to their last desperate measure.

The measure in question, it seemed, was for the most horrifying three minutes of your life as you watched your lover struggle against a vicious spell before suddenly turning on you. Their usual loving gaze was replaced with a cold glare and they didn't hesitate to lunge at you with the intent to kill. You ended up choosing to take the hits and focus your energy on dealing the last blow to the evil sorcerer instead, not wanting to waste time hurting the one you love.

As the dust settles, you're too relieved to see cognizance return to your darling's face to notice their horrified expression, or to feel your own blood soaking the ground below you.

Julian

Too busy focused on trying to keep you conscious and heal you to do anything else at first. He's already crying, tears leaking from under his eyepatch as he gives you frantic first aid

Can barely bring himself to look at you once you're safely tucked in at Mazelinka's and being tended to by visitor after visitor. You will need to remind him day after day that it's not his fault

And, yes, convince him not to leave you because of it

Still won't be able to find any peace with it until you tell him you've forgiven him, and even then struggles to believe he's worthy of it

Tends obsessively to your wounds, in a weird combination of torturing himself by constantly checking them and redeeming himself by being the one to help his uncontrolled actions heal

Is able to hold it against himself less the less he sees you suffering. Once you're fully recovered and back on your feet, it feels more like a distant nightmare

Has a new interest in learning magic, if only enough so he can protect himself against behind hijacked like that in the future

Asra

Completely numb and on autopilot. You're hurt. They're going to do whatever it takes to fix that. Just hold on, it'll be okay - it'll be okay

Refuses to leave your side or sleep for very long at a time while you're recovering. It's like his world has narrowed to your survival

Unusually quiet. As in, barely speaks unless you speak to them first, and yet hyper-observant to the point that they're bringing you what you need before you even realize that you need it

Neglects everything beyond his own basic self-maintenance in the process. It's easier to forget himself and save his own pain and guilt to be processed until after he knows you're safe

Itching to heal over any scars left over and terrified of suggesting it and seeming like they just want to brush the whole thing aside

Has to be pushed to talk about it and won't open up until after you're completely back to normal, at which point he breaks down and spends an afternoon hiccuping "I'm sorry"s into your chest

Regresses to a lot of their previous boundaries until you can tell them that you still feel safe with them physically and emotionally

Nadia

She has no doubts about you being a strong person. While she's horrified at what her body was used to do to you and the injuries you sustained, she's most upset at her losing control so easily

She feels guilty for you getting hurt, because she's convinced that she should have been able to withstand the sorcerer's spell

Surely, if she loved you as truly as you deserve to be loved, she would've been able to break free or stop it from working

Carries you back to the Palace herself and sees to it that you have everything you could possibly need, before effectively avoiding you for the next few days. She's convinced your relationship is over

Either because you're leaving her for not being able to protect you, or because you've lost your respect for her as a partner

It's also tapping into her own trauma of being trapped inside her body for a three year coma, which doesn't help the frustration

Genuinely unsure what to do with your forgiveness, understanding, and continued love and admiration for her

She doesn't know what she did to deserve you but she loves you

Muriel

The first count he holds against himself is that he hurt you. The second count is that he was so horrified and traumatized by what just happened that he froze while you were still bleeding out

Thankfully there were other people present to help you out, and you didn't have to find out what could've gone wrong

Refuses to touch you for days. If anybody else had caused the damage he sees on your body, he'd be wishing hell on them. Except not only was it his hands that did it -

He was controlled that easily. He's spent years reclaiming control and ownership of his body after being made a spectacle of in the Coliseum, and in a flash it was all taken away from him again

And it was used to hurt you. None of his nightmares adds up to the combination of violated, afraid, and horrified that he just felt

Relegates himself to being your bodyguard and keeping you provided for, but terrified that you're not safe around him until you're able to convince him otherwise

It's still a reoccurring nightmare for years to come

Portia

So angry at you for not fighting back

Already crying and scolding you while she's putting pressure on your wounds to stop the bleeding and helping you get back home

Did you think she couldn't take it? Did you think she wanted you to get hurt at her hands? Why didn't you fight her back if it would have spared you so much pain?

Why didn't you help her enforce what you knew were her own wishes, and at the cost of your safety and well-being too?

Simultaneously dedicating every fibre in her body to taking care of you. If you so much as breathe a little differently she's checking you over and bringing you whatever you need

Eventually able to find her own healing by being able to accept your love and by beating the absolute crap out of the sorcerer in question until she gets an "I was wrong" out of them

Determined to learn defense and protection magic to makes sure neither of you is left that vulnerable, ever again

Still cries when she sees the leftover scars, sometimes

Lucio

Pale from the shock of what's just happened and trying not to panic as he gives you all the first aid he's picked up through years of battlefield injuries and experience

Frantically muttering "don't leave, don't leave" through clenched teeth and pouring tears while he tries to get the bleeding to stop

Rushes you to the nearest doctor and won't leave your side

Convinced that you're not going to be able to love him after this

He knows he's done things worse than this in the past. He knows that you know that, but the thing that's made a better life possible has been his commitment to not being that person any more

And now he was that person. Event though it wasn't his choice and technically not his fault, he still did it. To you. You experienced it

Also worried that you won't understand that it wasn't his fault this time and wondering if maybe it was his fault, somehow

Able to accept your love and forgiveness pretty easily, but has a much harder time believing that he didn't lose all the progress he's made so far in making good use of his fresh start on life

[zae-heeyyy]

Piquancy- II

Summary: You wake up in Arthur's room. Pairing: Arthur Morgan X Female Reader Word Count: 1,486 Tags: High honor Arthur, developing relationship, alcohol and intoxication, fluff, before the Blackwater Massacre

previous next

A/n: Well, I got carried away with the story, and now I don't know how many parts there'll be. I split some things to give you about 1,500 words instead of 5,000. I'm having a great time writing again, and I hope you enjoy!

piquancy: a sharp or stimulating quality that provokes a strong, often intriguing reaction.

For six seconds, waking up felt weightless. You'd forgotten where and who you were, your mind mercifully blank of heartache, running, and lawlessness. In that tenth of a minute, your lifestyle of living out of tents, squatting in abandoned houses, and sleeping under the stars felt far away, like some other poor girl's life and not yours. The logical, constantly worried part of your brain stayed asleep, and only half your senses stirred.

Despite the fireplace long gone cold, warmth enveloped you from all around. Sunlight beamed through the window, illuminating dancing dust particles and kissing your skin while plush blankets shielded you from the lingering morning chill. Most of the warmth, however, emanated from the colossus of a man beside you. Arthur's heavy arm anchored you close. You were spooned against him, his chest molded perfectly into your back, and his long legs loosely tangled in yours. And at seven seconds, you were fully conscious. Heaven's floodgates opened, and you were swept away in the deluge of your life.

Getting out of the bed was like breaking through the surface after being plunged deep into the ocean; you didn't even realize you were holding your breath until you surfaced and both feet landed on the dry land of floorboards. Standing now, you glanced back at Arthur, still sleepily adrift in the sea of blankets.

Cognizant of every creek and groan of the worn wooden planks beneath your feet, you walked nimbly across the room. The ark to save you from the flood, the door, was just within reach. Before boarding, you looked back at the sleeping man with a crinkle in his brow. Worry always seemed to plague him, even in his sleep. Part of you wondered what would happen if you stayed, how he'd react to waking with you in his arms, but you didn't even get to finish the thought.

Distracted by your own yearning, you got swept away in the debris of cowboy left by the previous night's tsunami of liquor. The heel of your boot caught on his gun belt, dragging the damn thing–– and everything attached to– it across the floor. 

The rouse was up then, the room filling with the racket of scrapping metal. Arthur's cattleman fell from its holster, striking the floor with a jarring clatter. The gunslinger jolted awake, and his hand instinctively shot to his side, searching for the very weapon that caused the racket in the first place.

His shoulders relaxed when it dawned on him that he wasn't in danger and was, in fact, looking at the one person who brought him a semblance of peace. He rubbed his face with both hands, wiping away the sleep and keeping out the morning sun. The room was silent now as the two of you marveled at each other.

"You stayed?" Disbelief and hangover thickened his already deep voice. 

"You asked me to," you answered quickly, "said you didn't want to do anything stupid."

Your words hung in the air, and you cursed yourself for acting so frantic. Arthur pretended not to notice, throwing the blankets off himself and walking around to your side of the bed. You didn't realize you were frozen all that time, an iceberg finally being thawed by the heat of him next to you. 

"Hope I didn't say anything more stupid than usual," he said, bending to retrieve his revolver. Seeing his belt still tangled around your feet, he offered a supporting hand while you fished yourself free.

"Youu get touchy and when you're drunk," you mused, feeling the awakeness dissipate with his hand in yours. "And sentimental." Upright again, you dangled the belt in front of him.

He chuckled nervously, buckled himself back in, and put the gun back in its holster, "Yeah, that sounds about right. M'sorry if I– "he scratched at his beard, frowning and internally fighting to find the right words.

"Whiskey does that to a man," You joked, trying to ease the new tension between you. Arthur nodded slowly, then shook his head and turned his back to you as the memories of last night came crashing back. 

"Ain't an excuse." Shame cast a dark veil over his handsome face. "Ain't an excuse for me to do what I did. Say what I said. I mean––talkin' like that, actin' like that—" he settled back down onto the bed, clasping his hands in front of him. His jaw was clenched like you'd seen after a job gone wrong or a disagreement with Dutch. "You're too good— too sweet for me to treat you like some —"

"Arthur..." you cut in on his self-deprecating monologue, sat beside him, and laid a hand on his knee. He seized that opportunity to lace his fingers in yours.

And his gorgeous blue eyes sucked you in. You were swimming again, more like floating away in them. His eyes were water, and his voice lulled you like waves.

"Want you to know I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or self-impose, I just—" Then he stopped himself and tore his ocean eyes away from yours again. "I just let the liquor get the best of me."

Your face fell despite you willing it not to, and you started to retreat into yourself, a lump swelling in your throat. Of course, everything had been taken out of context with the effects of the liquor. You should've known better, should've known that's just how he is. He'd have danced with anybody; would've said the same things to the next woman helping him up the stairs. He didn't mean it; he never did when he was drunk.

And then his grip tightened a desperate urgency to keep your hands in his. He shook his head as if reading your mind and dispelled everything you'd thought to yourself.

"Wasn' too far gone though. Not gone enough that I don'tremember what I said—what I meant—it wasn't just the whiskey talkin'." How his rugged man could soften himself so much and take your breath away would remain beyond you. His thumb stroked your knuckles tenderly, his eyes bore into you, and he swallowed.

"I know better. If I want a lady, I gotta court her right. I might've been raised rough, but I got enough sense to know that much."

Your four hands seemed to have minds of their own, twisting together as if trying to close the distance between you.

"Oh, Arthur," it was barely a whisper. You didn't know what to say, but you scooted in closer to him.

"Ain't good at this kind of talk," he confessed, "but whatever I said, I meant it."

There was a look in his eyes, almost pleading, like he couldn't bear the thought of holding it in anymore, couldn't bear you not knowing how he felt. You placed your hand soft on his cheek.

"You are stupid," you teased, pressing your forehead to his. He returned a chuckle and locked his fingers around your wrist, needing desperately to feel your skin under the tips of his fingers. He had to make sure this was real––that you were real— that this was happening, and he wasn't still trapped in some drunken hallucination from the night before. Blood rushed to his head, turning his ears a bright vermilion. With his other hand, he caressed your cheek despite the self-doubt pumping through him. 

And then you were submerged again, his lips an undertow, dragging you beneath the waves as they cut the air from your mouth. Drowning wasn't so bad as long as you were drowning in him. 

And the kiss lingered, both of your hearts pounding in your chest. You could've just about melted into him, but you pulled away as the town clock struck eight, its chimes slicing through the moment. Your hand dropped from his face heavily into your lap.

"Should get back," you sighed. "Got chores to do and all. Don't want Grimshaw to lose her head. She ain't exactly a fairy godmother."

Arthur's shoulders lifted with amusement, and he brushed a piece of your hair out of your face with a contained smile.

"I'm sure they're handling things just fine without you. Take yer time getting back; get a meal, have bath, wash the night away. I'm sure that weren't too pleasent––sleeping beside me and all."

It was all too pleasant, and you wanted to do it again soon. But you were on your way. Arthur put his boots back on and walked you down the stairs to the hitching post. You tried not to squeal as he gripped your hips tight and lifted you onto your house.

"Come back tonight," he said, stroking the animal's muzzle. An edge of nervousness scratched at his voice once more. "Spend the night with me, for real this time."

You departed, the lingering warmth of a kiss he'd left on your hand still tracing your skin. And, of course, you'd return.

next

[justin-chapmanswers]

Sorry if this is a bit rude, but how do you consider yourself as he/they or they/he? I am questioning my sexuality and gender at the moment and seeing you (idk if ur lgbt) makes me find comfort, if you can, how did you realise you were not straight and how I can find mine! :3

Oh golly uh. Let's see if I can keep this short and then bury it under other answers. <3

Labels are fun cause they're so funky and ever-changing as you learn more about yourself. So, firstly, don't stress about finding something so perfect right away and bounding yourself to it. You're still you, any way you word it.

Gender-wise I'm in a state of def preferring they but being chill enough with he. Like whateverrrrr. It's hard to get around societal norms and perceptions, so my expectations are calibrated accordingly. I of course feel that for people who feel more strongly about a specific label, it's important to fight for it to be recognized whenever you're in a safe-enough environment to do-so. But for me, the concept of pushing for a specific label or, even more-so, of seeing other people pushing others to use a specific label for me is veryyyy anxiety-inducing. I tend to avoid spotlight when possible. But at the same time, a lot of it just comes down to not wanting to be grouped/perceived gender-ly at all. I tend to use the label agender. But I'm sure a lot of people have similar experiences with different labels. I just, ya'know, wanna be me.

Gender exploration is funnnn. There's no one right way to learning about yourself. Some people know from a young age, almost inherently, some people figure things out a lot later. It's never too late. Some people learn with outfits and styles, some with looking to people/characters who they want to be perceived more-like, some with experimenting through new names/pronouns and feeling-out how being called different things makes them feel. If you have friends you feel safe around with all of this, on or offline, can't hurt to say "hey would ya mind calling me x-name or y-pronoun for a bit?" And if you don't like it, you don't need to stick with it. But really be cognizant of it feels right to you.

Then on the romantic orientation side, that's been a much longer journey haha. I was calling myself straight through middle schooler, bi for a bit in early high school, gay starting in later high school, then for a long while. Nowadays I just say queer. Labels make things easier, until they don’t haha. For me, if you imagine a scale of feminity to masculinity with like little pegs running down the line from 0 to 10, with 5 in the middle, I tend to find myself attracted to people in like the 4 to 8 range? Something like that. But even that's not perfectly consistent! There's never going to be a perfect word for everything. That's why I like queer as an umbrella term. It's also just a cute word, I don't make the rules.

Hence earlier when I mentioned that you should just feel free to keep it open and not close yourself off. Maybe nothing'll change, but what if something does? But of course, I assume you're asking from more of a place of just starting this journey. I'm trying to get my mind back to where I started with that. I think the first time the not-straight realization hit was when a friend of mine didn't show up to an event and I was all like "why am I so miserably sad that he wasn't there?" And then a lightbulb appeared over my head and out-loud I said "aw damnit." And then things have been weird and confusing ever since.

But in terms of giving advice, it's hard to not just be like "uhh idk just hang out with people that makes you feel gooey." But obviously it's more complicated than that. A decade ago, I was taking random "am I gay" tests online. But they're kinda silly cause the questions on those would ask me to fill in information about how I feel, but how am you supposed to know how I feel without the test telling me how I feel??????? So realistically, I'd advise private journaling. Just take some time, even five minutes. Start now. Write out who you are drawn to, in any sense, and how they make you feel. Especially if you're like me and have trouble self-reflecting unless I force myself to. Like. In a Tumblr post.

There's so many ways to explore. It's also nice to look at relationships in life and media and seeing if you connect to any relationship or long to fit into someone's place within a relationship. That's why representation matters, baybeeeee! But also, ya'know, talking to people goes a long way to learning about yourself. Trial 'n error let's gooooo.

And above all: you got this.

[dropsnectar]

Pollen and Potions: Bee-men x Afab!reader

PART FOUR

So I know I said this part would have smut but it would just mess with the pacing, so the whole next section is where you will find your spice. This part is a little shorter for that reason. Anyway, I hope you like!

When you woke up, you felt incredibly warm. Your legs were tangled up with… someone elses? You would say it was someone else but human skin didn’t feel like this. It was firm and a bit fuzzy, but not like hair.  Your nose was being tickled by… fur? Whatever it was smelled amazing. 

You recognized this scent. You opened your eyes to Lyith’s round, sleeping face. His impossibly big eyes were closed, revealing his long blonde lashes. His expression was serene, and a bit of drool had escaped his half open mouth. Your sleep-addled brain vibrated with excitement. He was so cute you could just kiss him… 

Nope! Awake brain was working now, bringing some clarity to your head. Lyith and Rena had made a habit of covering your face in kisses but it had all been platonic. Excessive affection was a Bee-men trait. Probably? You thought back to yesterday, when he had kissed you and you had kissed him… was that truly platonic? 

There was a heat in your stomach, butterflies whenever he would hang off of you or tease… A part of you wanted to face these feelings but you weren’t ready yet. After all, how could a bee-men be with a human? You had heard of monster-human relations being something that could happen, but was their species even compatible with you? Was there a future there?

“You're thinking awfully hard for 8 in the morning.” Lyith breathed next to you. 

 Your awareness returned to you, and you were very cognizant of the fact that he had been holding you in his sleep. You pulled yourself back a bit so you couldn’t feel his breath on your face. He narrowed his eyes and his lip jutted out. A childish but cute pattern of his.

“W-What are you doing in my house?”

His mouth twitched. “You are a sick person. You should have someone to look after you. I’m  glad though, you only slept for a day this time.”

You looked at him, eyes squinting, “Are you okay though? Don’t you need to be at the hive for your… bee duties?”

Lyith sputtered at you, his body rocking with laughter. “And tell me, what are “bee duties”, Little witch?”

Your cheeks heated and you sat up, crossing arms over your chest.

“I just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t be in trouble, is all. What exactly is your duty in the hive anyway?”

Lyith stared up at you under his long lashes. “I am a forager. A scholar. An ambassador who goes to human town to get our supplies. Actually..”

He brought himself up and stretched out his wings. They seemed sturdy enough not to get too bothered by him laying on them all night.

“.. I used to know your grandmother. She used to let me forager her garden. Of course, she was a lot more sparing with her magic, so it was nothing like what you do.” He gave you a pointed look, “But she taught me how to speak human. An interesting person, your grandmother. We used to buy seeds for flower monsters off her. She must have had quite a life.”

You stared at him in surprise. Your grandmother had always been somewhat of a stereotypical grandmother. She’d spoil you and laugh at your jokes, leave little candies in your pocket when you weren’t looking. You had never imagined her to be the type of person to deal with Flower Monsters of all things. It also explained why Lyith seemed so trusting of you, off the bat.

“Hey Lyith?” You breathed out, trying not to think about how your legs were still touching.

“Yes?”

“Do you want some breakfast?”

***

After that, you saw Lyith almost everyday. He made a point of stopping to talk to you every time he visited your garden. Once a week he would take you to see Rena and you would work more magic over the plants. As the spring progressed into summer, the flowers changed. You learned that your magic, while creating magical nectar, only stayed within the plant and not the soil. You were right in your worry that a different approach was needed.

You met a lot more of the hive, as on their days off, some Bee-men would come and watch you work on the flowers. Not all of them were able to speak human, but they communicated their gratitude through sharing their emotions. As you experienced this more and more, you started to pick up on what could even be counted as them asking you questions. You’d try to answer in kind, putting a hand on their arm or shoulder and trying to push images or feelings at them. This worked only half the time, but when it did, the Be-men would look so pleased they would dance. 

Rena, had always seemed a bit jealous by this.

“Why don’t you speak to us like that? We speak human for your convenience you know. Aren’t I closer to you then some random creature?”

“Don’t call your hive mates ' creature’, that's rude.”

Rena would get up in your face, throwing her arms around your shoulders and touch her nose to yours. In your mind you would feel her jealousy. A possessiveness that you couldn’t help but feel a little giddy about. You tried to straighten out your feelings, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Then, you’d try to project some calm, warm energy at her. She just looked at you, sighing.

“You humans are a lot more dense than I thought.”

 Then she’d buzz off to deliver her nectar to the hive, leaving you behind in the company of her Hive mates. Lyith and Rena had been giving you more space lately when it came to your magic. You’d take more breaks, and often were given time to socialize. The Bee-mens youngest hive mate, Haven had grown especially fond of your company recently. He was your friend in gossip. 

Rena and Lyith had a habit of glossing over the issues of the hive, but Haven was very different. He would answer any question you could think of. You had learned that Rena and Lyith were actually pretty high up there in the social hierarchy, as they were both scholars who taught the rest of the hive in their free time. 

He was also very honest about the struggles of the hive.

“It's been about two decades since the last Queen died. We were having some issues with ambassadors from hives from the northern hive when a squirmish broke out. A lot of Bee-men died that day. Several of the Queen's favorite drones passed on and upon hearing the news her heart gave out.”

“Immediately? She wasn’t sick?”

“Do humans get sick before they die of heartbreak? For us it is impossible. Our bonds are our happiness. Without each other, our home isn’t a home, but an empty structure…” Haven trailed off, his expression wistful.

“But what was the squirmish about? I thought Bee-men were a friendly species.”

“You see, the two Queens had been sisters. The Northern Queen never liked our late matriarch and had been up to some mischief. She had convinced the Bunny Hybrids and the werewolves to move out of our territory. Eventually, the flower monsters left as well, and all the magic in the area just… disappeared. And Queens usually travel and make their own hives, or pick up abandoned ones. We’ve been waiting for so long!”

“Thats got to be hard. I mean, your guyses population can’t grow right?”

Haven looked at you weird.

“It’s more than that! Our Queens Pheromones give our magic structure! Without a Queen our magic grows weak and it's harder to communicate! Even making our honey properly becomes difficult because our grasp of our magic slips. We are so lucky we found you, little witch! Your magic is so easy to convert. I told you, you are a blessing!”

“But if you guys haven't been able to make honey properly for a while, how have you survived?”

“We haven’t. It's like your mana sickness. Sometimes our magic just eats us up.” You stared at Haven, your stomach turning. Haven looked at you sadly. “You should know this. Your Lyith and Rena have been sheltering you way too much. You're basically part of the hive at this point.”

You reached forward and hugged Haven. He trilled happily. 

“Honestly it could be so much worse!”

You spent the rest of the day in silence. You had known they were starving, but you hadn’t realized how badly. Something else didn’t sit right with you either. The fact that the monster races had left their territory had been something that had been bothering you. That had to be the reason why the soil wasn’t absorbing magic, right? That was the only thing that had changed?

Then it hit you. What was soil? It was broken down waste. No Monsters. No decay. No shit. And how did the Bee-men manage their own waste anyway? Could you do something with this? Could it really be that simple? 

You got so excited to tell Rena about it that it surprised you when you saw her at your door. Rena never made the trek to your house, saying that human civilization had a terrible smell to it. When you saw her face, she was crying.

“You have to come with me. Now.”

“Rena whats wrong, are you--”

“It's Lyith.”

All you could hear for a moment was the large thudding of your heart. Without another word you jumped into Rena’s arms and she held you, giving you a huge squeeze before buzzing off into the forest.

Part Five (Beware NSFW)

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Riddle Rosehearts - Platinum Jacket Vignette

"Happy 100th Anniversary"

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Riddle: Look at this massive collection of masterpieces… This museum truly is spectacular.

Riddle: Now then, I should be coming up on the exhibit displaying the Queen of Hearts soon… Aha!

Riddle: It's a painting depicting the scene where the Queen appears before her card soldiers… She looks so majestic.

???: Both her expression and the way her lithe fingers grasps her dress is utterly refined. Moreover, that red and black dress looks spectacular on her!

Rook: This work of art expresses just how charming the dignified Queen of Hearts was.

Riddle: Charming… you say? I shouldn't expect any less of an observation coming from you, Rook-senpai. I have to admit that I'd never thought of it that way.

Riddle: It's said that she would always make sure to wear this dress and her golden crown even during the most important of trials.

Rook: It must have been her regal formal attire, then. Heh, now I can't help but be curious what she wore in her own time.

Rook: I'm also curious as to what casual wear you partake in, as well, Roi des Roses.

Riddle: Eh, me? I wouldn't think it's anything that would catch the interest of the Pomefiore Vice Housewarden...

Riddle: As a rule, I don't tend to wear anything more lax than smart casual. My parents always said that I should never forego a tie, after all.

Rook: An elegant assortment that suits you well!

Riddle: Thank you. I am quite fond of the style, so it pleases me to hear you say that.

Riddle: However, there are times that my usual attire doesn't fit the situation…

Rook: Oh, is that so?

Riddle: Yes. Once, I and three others traveled to Foothill Town in order to purchase new equipment for my club activities from a store there.

Riddle: When I arrived at the appointed meeting place, everyone looked perplexed, asking if I planned on truly wearing what I had on to town.

Riddle: Since this was an errand for our club, and we would be carrying heavy objects, I had opted to wear my PE uniform.

Rook: Oh là là! True, it may be easier to move around in that uniform… But it may have been a tad impractical to wear out to town.

Riddle: Yes… I should have worn my normal clothes. Unfortunately, I didn't own a single casual outfit to wear while doing manual labor.

Riddle: So, I decided to ask Ace and Cater for help, since they're much more cognizant of fashion trends.

Riddle: Perhaps they could help me figure out what sort of attire I could wear when going shopping with my clubmates.

Rook: Those two do seem to have an eye for fashion, I agree. How did they react?

Riddle: They agreed that my normal attire was much too formal, and would look out-of-place while alongside my clubmates.

Riddle: However, it's uncertain when I may be required to join others for an errand again.

Riddle: It would be bad form to cause my compatriots to feel uncomfortable. So, I came to the conclusion that something must be done to rectify this situation.

Riddle: When I voiced that to those two, they gave me a few pointers that would allow for my current wardrobe to look slightly more casual.

Riddle: For example, I could wear my usual shirts with no tie, and with the top button open.

Rook: That makes sense, it would loosen up the stiff formal wear and make it seem more casual.

Riddle: Yes, I suppose… Although, it seems I just cannot get comfortable without my collar closed all the way, even if it to try for a more casual look.

Rook: Hm, so you're saying that change wasn't to your taste, then?

Riddle: Exactly that. I mentioned that to Ace and Cater, and after much discussion…

Riddle: Instead of changing how I wore my clothes, we decided to adjust the material and sizes of the clothes to help dress down more casually.

Rook: I see! Even a jacket can look more casual if it's made of linen or polyester.

Riddle: That's right. It was a thought that never would have occurred to me. …Heh! My card soldiers are quite excellent thinkers, aren't they?

Riddle: After that, I traveled to Foothill Town with those two and they helped me select a few new outfits…

Riddle: Next time I am to go into town with my schoolmates, I intend on wearing the clothes I bought then.

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Rook: This is a painting depicting a tale of the Son of the God of Thunder, I see. It's quite awe-inspiring with how both he and the pegasus beside him strike such gallant poses.

Riddle: Indeed. It is said that whenever he went into battle, this pegasus fought right alongside him.

Riddle: Whenever I come across one of his historical anecdotes, I cannot help but bring to mind a good partner of mine, as well.

Rook: That partner of yours wouldn't happen to have a beautiful coat of hair, now, would it?

Rook: I heard that you achieved high marks at the most recent equestrian tournament.

Riddle: You heard correctly. I believe Vorpal and I have a deep, mutual trust between ourselves. However, it was quite difficult for us to reach this point, I must say.

Rook: Oh, really?

Riddle: Yes. A little while after I joined the club, the horse I was assigned to ride was Vorpal.

Riddle: However, Vorpal was extremely prideful and would be very particular of which humans could ride him.

Riddle: No one else was ever allowed to ride atop his back in the three years since the previous club captain graduated.

Riddle: For some time after I joined the club, he wouldn't allow me to even place a saddle on his back, let alone ride him.

Riddle: Not only was he a prideful horse, but he was also temperamental. I was often vexed that I couldn't tame him well…

Riddle: But nowadays whenever I visit the stables, he'll come up and nudge me as if he had been waiting for my arrival.

Rook: I suppose that means all those days you zealously spent getting to know him finally melted his icy heart.

Rook: Beauté! What a beautiful relationship.

Riddle: I-I feel as though calling it beautiful may be a slight exaggeration… But I will say I was very pleased when he finally accepted me as his rider.

Riddle: I only learned of it later, but I heard that I was given responsibility over Vorpal intentionally as some sort of hazing.

Riddle: It seems they hoped that I would complain about how difficult it was to tame him and quit the club.

Rook: That sort of harassment shouldn't be tolerated. I'm curious as to why that sort of situation occurred.

Riddle: From what I was told, it all came about because I would chide them whenever they would slack off on training or while cleaning the stables…

Riddle: I simply spoke frankly, there should not have been any ill-will between us.

Rook: Essentially, you overcame the challenges presented to you, and claimed victory over your opponents alongside your partner.

Rook: Fufu, how wonderfully dramatic. Almost as if you were the fated protagonist of a story, going the distance to seize his destiny!

Riddle: A-Another exaggeration…

Riddle: Although, I am very proud of the fact that Vorpal and I were able to become good partners.

Riddle: No form of hazing would ever prove to be an obstacle for me. This story simply proves that.

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Riddle: This painting… It depicts the moment the Sorcerer of the Sands acquired that scarab.

Riddle: See the dark blue night sky and the bright golden light… This artwork is highly praised for the beautiful color play.

Rook: This scarab was a key that would lead the way to a magical cave when its two halves were made whole. Do I recall that legend correctly?

Riddle: That's right. It's said that the Sorcerer of the Sands granted a lavish reward to the person who brought one half of the scarab to him.

Rook: That must have meant it was something of great importance to him.

Rook: Once he had obtained such an important key, I'm sure he would have had to take great measures so as to not lose it.

Riddle: True, it is vital to keep keys safe.

Rook: Oh? Riddle-kun, do you have some treasure of your own you've kept hidden?

Riddle: I wouldn't consider it a treasure… But I do have something that I wouldn't wish for others to lay their eyes on.

Rook: Oh, my! Have I touched on a private matter? If so, I apologize profusely.

Riddle: It's nothing to fret over. I'm simply speaking of my Housewarden journal. It contains minutes from the Housewarden meetings and documentation of my duties as Housewarden, among other things…

Riddle: I also have recorded down certain information about my dorm's students, so I would not like it leaked to anyone outside of myself.

Rook: Fufu, I can see just how seriously you're fulfilling your duties as Housewarden, Riddle-kun.

Riddle: If I can keep records of even the most trivial note, I find that it allows me to understand and manage every situation that occurs within my dorm.

Riddle: Only, recently there are more things to write about. It's as if the number of incidents that require more description are increasing.

Rook: Well, that's fascinating. If it isn't asking too much, could I perhaps ask what sort of situations those are?

Riddle: That have been such incidents such as when an argument broke out between Ace and Deuce that I had to involve myself in…

Riddle: Or the time the two from Ramshackle caused a ruckus at one of our Unbirthday Parties…

Riddle: As the number of incidents that need to be recorded increase, the more effort it takes.

Riddle: My days have changed considerably from when I first assumed the duties of a Housewarden, almost unimaginably so…

Riddle: Now that I've had to report on more incidents per day, the number of notebooks I go through have also increased.

Rook: It's as though you're more keeping a diary than just keeping records! Wouldn't you say that the whole reason you've found more to write about is because…

Rook: Your daily life has become even more magnificent and satisfying compared to before?

Riddle: A diary…? I wonder if that's truly so.

Rook: Oui! I myself cannot stop the flowing composition of poems that spill from my hand whenever I am feeling inspired.

Rook: Oh, my, it seems I've kept you for far too long. I should take my leave. I'll talk to you later, Riddle-kun.

Riddle: Of course, Rook-senpai. Well then, I should head towards the next exhibit as well… Hm?

Riddle: This is a painting that shows the tea party scene from the stories of the Avidly Curious Girl.

Riddle: Not only did she invite herself to the tea party, she also drank some potions without permission. Her rude behavior is what leaves a lasting impression.

Riddle: It is said she was searching for a path home… But I'm sure at the rate she was going, she would not be able to find a path to redemption.

Riddle: Regardless of where she came from or where she wanted to go.

Requested by @farfalla049, @sakurakudo, and @a-s-k--g-a-b-i.

[ellieslittleburrow]

What it's like being Jack Reacher's girlfriend.

Pairings : Reacher x girlfriend!reader

Warnings : none

Jack Reacher-the man you've been traveling with for a while-also dating and umm..you know, jumping whenever you get the chance. He's not an easy man to be around, neither is he too high maintenance. And he's a lot of things, one of them being annoyingly vigilant.

His face is so peaceful when he's sleeping. Although the scars etched across his skin tell all the horrific things, his eyes tell so much more, always blank and never serene. His ability to remain emotionless and seemingly calm always gets to you but- there's not much to do in those moments, other than live with i-

"Will you quit staring at me while i'm sleeping?"

His hoarse and sleepy voice snatches you from your thoughts and you find yourself biting your lip in irritation-This man-

"Would you-shut up?" You retort and lean in to place a tiny a kiss on his lips.

There's the outside Reacher and the Reacher only YOU know.

The more time you spend with him, the more he softens around you and the more demeanor changes. You'd watch him as he walks over to you from time to time, relaxing as the distance between you closes. A slow kiss to his cheek and all of a sudden, his eyebrows rest and his shoulders almost unnoticibly slouch. And he is no longer the cognizant warrior he forces himself to be.

There's also the Reacher who only speaks through actions!

"What's this?" You inspect the box, a thrill running through you when you realize what was inside, a mobile game controller. "Reacher-where'd you get this?" You ask him, cocking your head to the side when another question pops into your head. "Do you even know what this is?" You squint your eyes at him and he just rolls his eyes.

"I know that would help you!? Plus-It'll keep you intertained while we're travelling. You're stupidly addicted to those games of yours."

A smile tugs at your lips and you watch him from afar, the man who'd never had it in him to be emotional. But there he is, doing just that-drowning in emotions to the point where he'd shyly need avert his eyes and look away.

You walk up to him and wrap your arms around his waist. He doesn't stop tidying up the bed but you wouldn't want to embarrass him anyway. "Thank you.."

And finally, the sassy Reacher

"I remember the way she looked at us-i've never seen someone more horrified in my life."

Laughter pierces the room but- what's making YOU smile is that rare sight of the man's teeth. He's being normal-he's laughing.

"What?"

You supress a smirk. "Nothing.." You teasingly shrug. "It's just that-I didn't know you even knew how to smile."

You tease him and he nodds. "Oh you're lacking the sight of smiles? You wanna see a smile? You wanna see some teeth?"

Reacher hovers around you and you-you're not sure what to expect, suspense kills you when he stops behind you. His hands playfully trail down your body, causing a warm sensation to tickle at your lower stomach-until he stops at your waist and suddenly, your body is bouncing on the bed and your feet are locked in place.

"REACHER NO-"

You beg him when the realization hits you but he's already be-begun as his fingers dance at the soles of your feet, you jerk and squeal.

"You wanted a smile-ooh-There's a smile-well-here it is-oh look at that-"

"Jack-J-Jack-Please-Stoop" You gasp between your fits and when he finally let you of you, you collapse onto the bed and your roll your body away from him. "Oh my god-fuck you-that was-" you're wheezing and he's smiling-and despite the abdominal pain, you can't help but smile as well.

Reacher may never say the words but his actions are clear enough. And for now, that's all you need.

----------

@nerdynarrator28

I had to force myself to post it ahahaha but its here ❤️❤️❤️🥀🥀🥀

[elumish]

I think one of the biggest things I've learned in my own process of trying to be more cognizant of my own writing is that guilt is one of the most counterproductive feelings for it.

I've looked back at things that I've written and realized that they had real, core, structural problems stemming from my own ingrained and socialized issues. These are not just one-line off-color things, but in some cases major elements of how characters are presented or engage with each other or how I did worldbuilding.

Some of it is stuff that came from my own messed up feelings about gender and sexuality and stuff growing up, and some of it is unexamined racism that came from growing up as a white person in the US. But I've looked back at them, including stories that I am still trying to get work, and though oh my god what was wrong with me.

And it's really easy to just live in that feeling. To think, what I did was so terrible and I'm so terrible and it's all hopeless and I can never do it right.

The same feeling can come from seeing posts about how white people write characters of color, about how so many people write women, about the racism and sexism and ableism and transphobia etc. in both fanfiction and published fiction. I'm terrible and it's an insurmountable problem so why bother try because I'll never get it right.

And then sometimes you end up feeling defensive about that guilty, because guilt feels bad, and defensiveness feels like an emotional fix to that, a way to say it's not really my fault or why is this MY problem when so many people are so much worse.

But if you go down that road, then you don't try and it never gets fixed. Because the people who don't feel guilty because they don't care won't fix it, and so we need the people who feel guilty because they do care to turn that guilt into action.

So my recommendation is this: if you look at your own writing or your own media consumption and feel guilty over it, or you feel defensive about it, turn it into thinking about what you can accomplish.

Because that guilt means that you recognize that you're doing something that doesn't match what you want to be doing. So think through how you can get it to be what you want to be doing.

Working to fix something is the way that you fix it. Things get better because we work to make them better, not because we feel guilty about them.

So anyway that's the lesson I've had to teach myself during my own process for this. Sometimes I am the problem, and I can feel guilty about it, or I can try to become part of the solution instead.

[charmandabear]

Office Hours - Chapter Four

Summary:

The next morning you wake up with a bang - literally. But something feels off about last night, and you can't quite put your finger on what exactly.

Pairing: Astarion/F!Reader Rating: E Word Count: 3.3k Tags/Warnings: dom!Astarion, praise kink, hair pulling, cunnilingus, shower sex, vampire bites, blood drinking, Astarion pulls some shady shit ngl

Listen. Listen. I'm taking your face in both of my hands and planting a little smooch on your forehead. This has been very light and silly up to this point, but it's going to start to get a little darker. Nothing major, and nothing that will go unresolved, I promise. But I want you to take care of yourselves and your hearts. If you'd like a warning more specific than what I've already provided, message me (not on anon, I won't publish it) and I'll be happy to tell you. [EDIT: I think I unintentionally evoked a darker image in this chapter than I wanted to, here's a little more context for it.)

In better news, can we TALK ABOUT THIS BEAUTIFUL RENDER THAT BEAKER MADE? I said the words "I wonder if anyone has rendered Astarion in a towel" and Beaker goes "I gotchu fam." Beautiful. Brilliant. Wonderful. Go follow her this INSTANT. And as always, Zaria for the betaing and the feedback 💖

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

You're barely awake when you feel Astarion’s hand resting on the bare skin of your hip. You sleepily snuggle back into him, and already he’s half hard. A barely voiced breath escapes your throat as he presses into you and plants a sultry kiss on your back. You squirm with the overwhelm of sensations before you've had a single cognizant thought. He continues peppering your back in sloppy kisses as you grind against him wantonly. His fingers dig into your waist and he pulls you into him hard, his now fully erect dick pressing into the dip of your lower back.

Good morning indeed.

You roll over and crush your lips into his, fingers tangling in his messy hair as you desperately try to taste him. He pulls your leg over his hip and you arch your back into his touch. He slips his tongue between your lips and you groan into his mouth, hungry for more.

You pull him so that he’s fully on top of you, his weight pressing down between your legs. He pushes the length of his cock up against your folds and you groan into his mouth, your pussy clenching in anticipation.

His lips leave yours and he plants a trail of kisses down your chest, pausing only briefly to suck on your nipple. Your hands grab at the satin sheets as he swirls his tongue around the sensitive bud and you cry out when he uses his dull front teeth to bite down lightly.

You slide your hands back into his curls, crushed and limp from the pillow, his usually neatly coiffed hair falling onto his brow. He looks up at you as he continues down your body, his eyes even more red and piercing when not obscured by his frames.

He reaches his destination between your legs and you whine, hips bucking into him as his cool breath tickles your folds. He parts them lightly with two fingers and flicks the tip of his tongue against the hood of your clit, pulling a deep moan out of you.

He reaches under you and pulls your legs up over his shoulders so he can get a better angle on your cunt. He licks a fat stripe up your slit and the sound of your needy keening curls his lips into a smile.

“Ggnn, ‘star-” you mumble incoherently, mouth still sticky from sleep. He slides a single slender finger into you and your ankles dig into his back.

“Mmm, so wet, and just for me?” he hums contentedly, and all you can do is mewl in response. He pumps his finger agonizingly slowly while his tongue lazily laps at your clit.

You fold your arms over your eyes, even the dim light in the room proving to be too much for your senses. Your hips instinctually roll into him, aching for more, but his touch remains frustratingly light.

“‘Starion, please,” you whine, and he rewards your neediness with a second digit. You groan around the stretch, pushing down on his hand up to his knuckles. The throbbing of your neglected clit is borderline overwhelming. You slide a hand to touch yourself but he smacks the back of it.

“Naughty,” he warns lightly and you growl at his continued teasing.

“Then fucking do your job,” you snap, and his fingers still. 

“Sorry, that was mean,” you say quietly, chagrin keeping you from looking at him. He huffs out a quiet laugh.

“Yes ma’am I will,” he purrs and dives into your cunt. Whereas his previous ministrations were slow almost to the point of painful, he now devours you like a starving man having his first meal in days. You cry out with the sudden change in pace and slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound. Astarion pulls away and in an instant his lips are next to your ear.

“But I want to hear every sound that comes out of that pretty little mouth of yours, darling,” he says in a low and dangerous voice. “I want my name dancing on your tongue when you come.” He grabs your chin and turns your head to face him. “Understood?”

You nod, your breath caught in your throat. His fingers tighten slightly and you know he wants a real answer.

“Yes,” you manage to squeak out in a small voice, your pussy aching to be touched again.

“Yes what?” he growls, and his tone sends a jolt of lightning directly to your core.

“Y-yes sir,” you stammer, and his lips stretch into a devilish grin.

“Good girl,” he coos and he finally releases your face from his tight grip. This is a new dynamic, but you're not complaining. If anything, his vaguely threatening tone is turning you on more.

He returns to his spot between your legs and continues to lasciviously lick you up like you're his little treat. He twists sounds out of you that are completely unfamiliar to your own ears. His fingers sliding in and out of your cunt, the feel of his tongue teasing your clit, the ever so faint scrape of his fangs along your inner lips, it's quickly proving to almost be too much.

“Astarion, ah-” you pant, and you're rewarded with a growl of approval from him. He increases the pace of his fingers, causing your toes to curl and your thighs to begin to squeeze around his ears.

“Look at me,” he snarls and your gaze snaps to his, his red eyes nearly black from lust. He curls his fingers just right and you crash over the edge, a string of swears and praises jumbled up with his name tumbling out of your mouth. 

He continues licking you through the waves of aftershock and you almost fear disintegrating on the spot. When you've finally made it to the other side, Astarion sits up and licks his fingers with a smug look on his face.

“Shut up,” you mumble and cover your face with your hands, embarrassed by just how hard he made you come.

“I haven't said a damn thing,” he says with a satisfied grin. He extends his hand to you to help you off the bed.

“Come shower with me,” he says, and you look at him skeptically.

“I don't think I have another one in me,” you admit sheepishly, and he barks out a surprised laugh.

“I had no expectations, although now that you mention it,” he says, giving you a salacious once-over that brings color into your cheeks, “I'm sure you do.” The way his voice drops immediately makes your pussy tingle, and you almost want to stubbornly say no. But your eyes trail down his lean body and onto his cock, which is starting to twitch lightly.

Gods, it's pathetic how down bad you are for him.

He returns to where you are on the bed and captures your lips in a soft but heated kiss. You melt into his arms and allow him to lead you to the bathroom. He breaks away from you to turn the water on and you need to grab the sink to steady yourself. 

He pulls you into the glass and porcelain box and kisses you deeply as the water soaks through to your scalp and runs down your back. He grabs what looks like a bottle of homemade shampoo from the shelf and squeezes some into his hand. It smells like him, the scent you associate so thoroughly with him. You shiver as he lathers it into your hair.

He massages your scalp and you close your eyes, leaning in to the gentle touch. You rest your hands on his hips, still dry, and lightly run your nails along the dip in his back. He shudders in response, and you open your eyes to see him looking down at you with a soft smile. You tilt your head back, letting the water rinse the suds out of your hair as you lean up to kiss him.

He repeats the process with conditioner, his touch impossibly gentle. Your hair slides through his fingers like silk and you practically nuzzle into his hands like a purring cat.

“Do you like that?” he hums under his breath. You can only answer with a pleased and sedated nod. He slides his hand down the side of your face and to your neck.

“How about… this?”

His hand suddenly tightens around your throat, not hard enough to constrict your breathing, but definitely enough to make you stand at attention. Your eyes snap open and his heated gaze boring into you causes an involuntary moan to slip through your lips. He pulls your face forward and presses his cheek to your temple. 

“You like it when I tell you what to do, don't you?” he hisses into your ear. You dig your nails into his hips as you make an incoherent noise of assent.

“Good girl. Open.”

Your mouth pops open obediently, and he roughly shoves his thumb between your lips, the rest of his hand cupping your face. You suck on it greedily, eager to please. Desperate for more praise.

What has this man done to you?

His eyes flutter closed momentarily while you work his thumb with your tongue. You claw at his lower back, pulling his hips into yours so you can feel his hardening cock, groaning when it makes contact with your thigh.

“Turn around,” he snarls and you comply, the water from the shower head splattering down your back. He grabs your waist and presses his erection into your crack, pulling a stuttered breath from your lungs.

He slides a hand up your back and into your hair, pulling your head back roughly. He lines himself up with your entrance which is already dripping for him again. He slides in easily, pushing your chest and cheek against the cool tile. You groan as he bottoms out and you push your hips back into his.

He bends over your back and lightly nips at the crook of your neck.

“Yes?” His voice is hoarse as he asks for permission. Your lips can't form words, so you pant out something in the vague shape of “uh-huh.”

The slicing pain of his fangs mingling with the sharp sting of his hand still pulling on your hair and the stretch of his cock inside you is deliciously torturous. You reach a hand up behind you and twist your fingers into his curls, keeping him latched to your neck as he drinks. He pumps in and out of you, each thrust timed with another swallow of your blood.

Your grip loosens as your life force ebbs away just a little too much and he pulls off you with a frustrated growl. He picks up his pace and takes your cries of pleasure with him.

“Say my name,” he says in a husky voice that absolutely sends you.

“Ah-starion,” you pant, the sound of your voice bouncing back to you off the tile. The grip on your hair tightens.

“Say you're mine.” His voice is starting to take on a note of hungry desperation.

“Nngh I’m- ah- I'm yours,” you manage to stammer out through your building climax and his driving pace. He pulls your head back and bites your shoulder roughly, licking the puncture wounds that form. You push against the tile into him, chasing your second orgasm of the morning.

His breathing grows ragged as his pace falters, and the throbbing of his cock as he comes brings you to your own finish.

“Fuck, Astarion!” You call out his name in the clearest voice you've been able to conjure since he woke you with tender kisses on your back. His hand tightens at the sound before his whole body relaxes around you and pulls out, lightly massaging your scalp where he had been tugging.

You're both panting as you turn around and rest your head against his chest, and he plants an exhausted kiss on the top of your head. You look up at him through hazy eyes and suddenly realize with a laugh that his hair is still dry.

“Do you want some help-” You begin to reach up to touch his white curls but he catches your hand midair.

“I- no, it's fine. I'm very particular. Why don't you towel off while I finish up here?” His voice is gentle but it has an edge to it that you can't quite identify. He sees your concerned expression and lightly kisses your lips.

“I’ll be right out, I promise. There's an extra robe in the closet across the hall.” His disarming smile is comforting, mostly. Part of you wonders if he regrets opening up last night.

You pad into the kitchen looking for a remnant of something to eat. His Majesty is sitting on the counter and assesses you with disdain. Your barely touched plate of risotto is still sitting on the table. You open the fridge to find it

empty?

Completely bare, save a few bottles with a red sloshy liquid, without even leftover ingredients from the dish he made. You furrow your brow in confusion as you look for any physical proof that he cooked for you. You snoop around, opening drawers and cabinets as His Majesty watches you with careful judgment.

No cooking implements, no pots and pans, just a few dishes and glassware.

What?

You finally open up a cabinet that houses the trash and you find a used scroll of Create Food and Water. You blink, bewildered as to why he would feel the need to lie about his ability to cook. It's almost a little cute. 

You're about to close the cabinet door when something else catches your eye. A potion bottle. You still, trying to hear if Astarion is still in the shower. It seems like he is, so you reach into the trash to pull it out.

It's an empty potion of Charm Person.

Your face grows hot as you realize what happened. And your confusion only grows, because nothing about your behavior has indicated anything but being completely smitten with him.

You rewind the mental tape of last night, that the food tasted even better the second time you tried it. You squirm with the discomfort of the knowledge.

But you only had a few bites before the two of you moved on to other activities. Your education in potion use is fairly limited, especially with one of these newer ones, but you're pretty sure that you'd need to consume more for it to have made a significant change in your faculties. The wine probably clouded your head more than the potion.

You hear the shower shut off and you freeze. Are you going to confront him about this now? Should you just grab your clothes and go? You glance at His Majesty, hoping for some sort of answer, but he just stares back at you coldly.

Before you get a chance to decide, Astarion comes into the kitchen with a towel around his waist, gently drying his hair with a cotton tee shirt.

He sees you with the potion bottle in your hand and he stops. His expression is unreadable as he looks at you over his glasses. He’s wearing the round frames again.

“Uh. Hey. You don't need to do this,” you say awkwardly, holding up the bottle. “I came here on my own accord, I don't need convincing. Or, you know.. charming.”

“Sorry, I- I don't know why I did it. Old habits, I suppose.” He shrinks back, and you're reminded of his uncertainty and vulnerability from last night. Is this… somehow related?

“Well… don't do that shit again. You can just talk to me, you know,” you say icily. Then, to lighten the mood, you add, “I don't bite.”

That makes him smile and you feel a sense of satisfaction. He walks over to you, takes the bottle out of your hand and trashes it. He punctuates the gesture with a kiss to the top of your head.

“I am truly sorry. It was out of line and you don't deserve that. It won't happen again.” He tucks a damp lock behind your ear and cups your cheek adoringly.

“It better fucking not,” you scowl playfully. Then, to show there are no hard feelings, you stand on your toes to bring your lips to his. He returns the kiss and it quickly becomes heated, his hands tangling into your hair.

You manage to pull away, breathing heavily.

“Okay, I really don't have a third, so let’s cool it,” you tease, and he responds with a sheepish grin.

***

You text Shadowheart on your way home.

-Are you still in my apartment?

-Yeah, I said I would be. How did it go? Considering the hour I'd say pretty well.

-Yeah, it was nice. Well, mostly.

-MOSTLY??? What happened. Do I need to call on Selûne for some revenge?

-Lol no, nothing so dramatic. I'll fill you in when I get home.

-Hurryyyyyyyy, you can't keep me waiting.

You wave to the doorman on your way into the building. He makes a noise in his throat and you turn.

“Yes?”

“Thou hast taken up a bosom companion,” he says in his characteristically stilted way of speaking. Your jaw drops.

“Withers!” you scold, completely scandalized. 

“Tread carefully. I would not care to see you get hurt.” He nods at you solemnly and you give him a genial smile.

“Thank you, Withers. I'll be careful, I promise.”

He responds with a judgemental “hmm,” and you laugh.

Back in your apartment, you regale Shadowheart with the night’s - and more importantly, morning’s - events. When you get to the part with the potion, you need to pull her back to keep her from reigning down violence on him. 

“I’ll destroy him. Did you tell him that? That you have someone who will commit murder for you?” she seethes and her protectiveness makes you laugh.

“I didn’t have to, I told him not to pull that shit. He seemed genuinely contrite afterwards. I don’t think he put it together just how gross it really is.”

Shadowheart gives you a look that says, “oh, honey,” but chooses to remain silent. You take a deep breath, still a little lightheaded from the morning’s activities. 

“Are you alright? You look like you’re about to pass out.” She grabs your wrist and looks at you with concern. You wave her off and cross to the kitchen to get water.

“I’m fine. Just a bit woozy. I think he drank more than usual this morning,” you say nonchalantly as you fill up a glass. Shadowheart’s silence behind you is deafening.

“You think he… what?” she spits, and you choke on your drink. You may not have told Shadowheart about the blood drinking. She knows he’s a vampire, but… oops.

“Um… nothing. It’s… it’s nothing,” you stammer, grinning sheepishly.

“Tav!” she exclaims and stalks over to you. “Te absolvo,” she incants, bapping you on the head in the process. You’re pretty sure that isn’t part of the spell.

But suddenly you feel better. The lightheadedness is gone, and you think the wound on your neck has even closed up.

“Wait, you can do that?” You stare at her, shocked. You can’t believe you hadn’t thought of this before.

“Don’t take this as permission to get your kinks in whenever you want. I can only do that so many times,” she warns, and you beam at her.

“But your spell slots refresh when you sleep,” you remind her mischievously.

“You’re about to become an absolute menace, aren’t you?” she complains. Your smile widens and she groans.

[yoonmetogether]

Not In the Cards teaser!

pairing: bodyguard!Yoongi x CEO!fem reader

genre: mafia, e2l

summary: yoongi realizes something about you, about himself, and runs. It's what he does best afterall.

warnings: implications of sex, angst, trauma, yoongi has a dark past. i hope y'all will stick around to find out, this is a long winded story i'm sorry! also reader uses a pseudonym as it’s relative to the plot.

minors dni

wc: 1k

teaser I part i. I part ii. I

When he wakes up next to you, it’s still dark out and you’re still fast asleep. Your face is just a silhouette to him, but he knows you’re beautiful, even in slumber. His heart jumps when he remembers you’re in his hoodie and he doesn’t think too much about how much he likes that. 

How is it possible to like someone he just met this much? He hands it off to the (great fucking) sex he just had. 

He does his best not to disturb you as he maneuvers out of bed and into the bathroom, needing to wash off remnants of sticky sex and sweat now that he’s cognizant. He waits until he’s started the shower to turn the lights on, ignoring his reflection as he takes off his favorite silver chain and places it on the shelf above the toilet to avoid any drains, dog tags swinging on his chest when he steps into the tub.

You're still sleeping when he returns so he quietly gets dressed, trying not to hate putting back on the clothes he wore yesterday now that's he's freshly showered but it can't be helped. A little of the sunrise has made the room a low mix of blue and grey so he can see you better as he goes to the nightstand to put on his watch. He looks over at you and smiles to himself when he hears you snoring softly. You shift on your stomach, facing away from him and just as he turns to leave the room for a morning cigarette, an etching on the back of your neck catches his attention. He has yet to put in his contacts and it's still not bright enough to see well so he slowly sits on the edge of the bed to have a better look, curiosity piqued. It has the shape of some kind of bird or plane, something with wings so he leans a little closer, pressing a fist on the mattress to hold himself up. He expects the wings to be that of an angel, a nod to your name, but when he finally sees what it is, albeit a bit blurry, his heart stops and drops to his stomach.

It is indeed a small bird but not one he expected to see on your skin. A crow. And it's drawn as if it were flying high in the sky, it's talons digging into a human skull. To anyone else, its meaning is ambiguous, but to him, to others like him, it's the symbol of enormous power, made by blood, money and greed. He would know - he has a tattoo that speaks to the gang he got caught up in as a teenager that branded him to force his loyalty. A gang that could be shredded and not missed by the organization that owns the symbol tatted on your neck.

Shit. Being who he is, relying solely on intuition and reading between the lines, he had a gut feeling that you may not be as innocent as you seem. To the average bystander, maybe. But not to him. The crow on your neck confirms it.

And for the first time in a long time, he's terrified.

Before seeing that, he'd already considered leaving before you wake up, doubting what good would come out of him staying. You don't need someone marred and sinful like him in your life.

But now if you find out about the coiled cobra on the back of his left shoulder, one of the many reasons he didn't take his shirt off or keep the lights on once you both fell into bed, he’ll be screwed for a whole different reason.

So he makes the decision that there's nothing for him to do but leave you in the dust and never look back, tacking this night onto the murky cloud of his many mistakes. Even though it makes his heart ache. All the more reason to coat it in tar, making it impenetrable to him and anyone else. In the weeks to come, he'll force it to forget you.

But it will only make him colder and bitter. Forlorn. He fucking deserves that.

He grabs his phone and his keys he left on the couch and hauls ass to the door and down to the lobby so you don't wake in time to see him disappear without a trace. But in the rush, he forgets the one thing most precious to him that he took off before he showered. It isn't until he's zipping away on his motorcycle towards the ferry, blaming the cold and whipping wind for the tears piercing the corners of his eyes, that he realizes and curses himself. The one thing he was supposed to never lose, to always take care of, he forgot. His mother was right - if his grandfather was still around he’d be so disappointed. For the rest of the way home, his mother’s words ring in his ears - he’s a fuck up who’s lost all chances to redeem himself. No one will want him. So going forth, that's what he carries with him every day when you come up in his thoughts, no matter how hard he tries to keep you out.

It's better this way. He did you a favor.

When you wake up alone, it’s not your empty stomach that makes you feel nauseous.

You rush to the convenience store for a morning after pill, because you’ll be damned if you get knocked up, especially not by someone who doesn’t have the fucking decency to leave a note, much less a phone number, after a night like that.

Fuck him. Fuck him big time for being just like everyone else. You know what your father and brothers would say - that's what you get for letting your guard down. Naive and weak-minded people only get themselves hurt. So just like you have done countless times, you pick up the pieces of your heart that were stomped and crushed and left for dead, and bury them in the recesses of your mind, keeping all of your pain to yourself. Pain is weakness, especially the kind you can’t see on your skin, and weakness is forbidden in the blood you share with your family. Maybe now the lesson will stick. But for the years to come, his eyes, his touch, his voice will haunt you in your dreams and your nightmares. You hope to all hell you never see him again.

If you do, he better watch his fucking back.

.

.

.

part i. coming soon!!! masterlist

thank you for reading! this is all very nerve wracking to me bc i'm an anxious girl and a perfectionist when it comes to writing and i kind of pulled this scene outta my ass so i could get a teaser out there so i'm not 100% confident about it.

but let me know what you think here or leave a comment if you want.

xxx - claret

thanks k bye :)

p.s this is what i imagine as reader’s tattoo

[theyapper0]

PART FOUR OF "DISHONORED GUESTS"

Charlie says how Sinners are not stagnant in the place they were when they died. They are still able to change! 

Sera: What makes you say that?

Charlie: If you truly believe the Winners here in Heaven are just as cognizant as you, me, or any other being existing between any of our realms, then I don't see any reason why you wouldn't extend that thinking towards the Sinners of Hell

The crowd begins to murmur…. The demon made a good couple points so far…

There's some back and forth but eventually the topic shifts to the Hazbin Hotel. 

The topic of discussion specifically is about their first patron, Anthony 

Sera: And how long has Anthony been in your care? Charlie: About 4 months at this point! And yes! We do!!!! He may not follow EVERY commandment EXACTLY but he’s still learning- and a lot at that!!!! 

Adam: Do we have any proof of all he's learned? 

So they get the Orb. 

The Orb shows Angel and Emily is leaning on her hands in awe, “Wow! A real Sinner! :D”

Adam is like “mmmmmmm…….*getting annoyed*

So I'm actually gonna keep everything that happens at the club with the Sinners. 

(Angel standing up to Valentino won't be ‘sticking it to the man’ it can just be considered ‘thou shalt not unto thee any graven image’ (putting Valentino’s importance/work above all else, not doing that anymore)

Sera: I don't believe it….

Emily is like… “Thou shalt not unto thee any graven image!’ Angel Dust’s boss was his graven image but standing up to him and not allowing him to speak ill of his friends paves the way for the potential of a new source of worship in above!” 

Charlie: Yes! Exactly! Angel Dust is capable of change, EVERY Sinner is with the right support! 

If they can be redeemed, WHEN? And HOW exactly can they reach the gates? Is it even physically POSSIBLE? 

Sera is completely speechless.

Sera: I…. 

Sera regains her composure, “A-And… And what, Miss Morningstar, would you say about the Commandments that a Sinner would be physically incapable of following? ‘Honor thy mother and father’ for example? 

Charlie: Well like you said, that would be impossible to follow if a Sinner’s parents are not dead yet or are in Heaven but uh….. but……

Charlie: But surely we, as Heaven and Hell, create some sort of middle ground! We could come up with a replacement for this commandment-! 

Adam: Replace one of the Ten Commandments?! 

Emily is like I don't see how else we'd be able to work around that if we didn't! It would just be for these cases of redemption-

Sera: Emily!

The whole Courtroom erupts into chaos.

EVERYONE'S shouting and NO ONE knows what's going on. Everybody's got their own ideas and opinions and it seems they all want to be heard at this very moment. 

Can a Sinner be redeemed? How could that HELL RAT date think to replace one of the Commandments! Would they have to deal with Sinners potentially ruining their Heavenly paradise? Could a WINNER get sent to Hell?

Sera shouts, “THAT'S ENOUGH!!” and a magic, angelic surge bursts through the room, quieting everybody.

Sera sighs, “This questioning stops now. We know when a soul arrives, we know when they pass divine judgment, it is our job to ensure these souls are safe”

Emily: But Sera! They CAN change!!! We JUST saw it!! 

Sera is looking down at Emily solemnly and conflicted…

Emily looks like she's lost some fight but then she glanced at Charlie, who's looking back up at her earnestly. 

They won't listen to Charlie, they don't even listen to EMILY! 

But they've heard each other… they UNDERSTOOD each other! 

Emily: NO! 

Emily: He had followed a Commandment! He's showing promise but we just decide to dismiss the whole thing?! How is that fair?! How is that the forgiving and merciful way of Heaven?! 

Charlie: Just because they're dead doesn't mean they can't change and you're not even giving it a chance! Sinners should have an option to escape Hell if they're deserving of Heaven! 

Adam is getting a little heated, “There's a reason for all this! Sinners of Hell were once human but they've made the choices that got them there and they must pay the price for all eternity!”

Charlie: But why?! 

Adam: Because that's just how it is! 

Emily: It shouldn't have to be! They're souls just like the ones up here in Heaven! 

Emily is taking Charlie's side. She's siding with a product of deviation from Heaven!! Just like-!

Adam: Sinners were humans who have done unspeakable things! VILE things! Humanity is tainted- tainted because of our-... MY foolishness. 

Adam shouts, “And it just keeps getting worse! More and more humans are turning towards sin! If you all could know how many are down there in Hell then you'd understand why we have to go down there for the Exterminations and-!

The Courtroom goes into a frenzy again

FUUUCKK!!!! Some people there knew about the Exterminations and were like “Well shit” while those who didn't know were like “The Extermi- WHAT?!”

So Emily is like “WHAT?!???” 

Basically the whole second half of “You Didn't Know” song :P

In the chaos and the shouting and stuff, Adam is still in total shock about what he had just exposed… What did he do? It was an accident! It was just the heat of the moment and he was so angry and frustrated and he didn't mean to admit anything! 

Lute looks across the Courtroom and her and Vaggie's eyes meet.

Lute: Don't think I've forgotten you”

Vaggie is tugging on Charlie's arm like, “We need to go, NOW, Charlie”

Charlie is like, “What??? Look!! We're finally getting somewhere!”

Emily agrees

Lute: Don't act so coy, HELLSPAWN! Your power grows at our disarray! You're just as bad as those disgusting Sinners, just as bad as…. HER! 

Charlie is pissed, “Take that BACK” 

Lute: Why should I? It's the truth! 

Lute looks at the crowd of people, “This nonsense has gone on for far too long!”

Lute: Why should we allow ourselves to listen to them?! 

Lute: To the Heir to Hell and a-!

“LUTE DON'T-!”

Lute: A FALLEN ANGEL! 

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

PART 5