#falyn

[sharpxfangs]

oh biiiiig stretch

[mrsandman42069]

what if the dunmeshi lesbians where a little bit wackier

[jawlipops]

various dunmeshi probably wont finish these

[dyonisian]

Girls, blood and necromancy

[squoonsquoon]

My Druid Loth: Hecklyn! He can be a bit sassy and direct but cares deeply and shows it either through words or violence as long as you show him the same care/love.

He can probably teach threats or t0ture. If not he is good at talking and swooning strangers.

Hecklyn sounds like a delight! also special appearance from all the tavs i got sent hehe i love them all sm

[asharaks]

i always conceptualise falyns Urge as hunger bc this is something she sees as inevitable. it is rooted in her body it is primal it is part of her and she can't shake it and she can't ignore it and she doesn't have the patience for philosophy about it so it is simply Starvation, the act and the sensation. it is going to eat her from the inside out unless it is is sated and she knows it. and it has to be something physical something visceral because that is where she lives - in the moment, in the present, in the sensations of her body and the incursion of the world around her. and she is, back to the wall or not, a predator, and she will kill and she will eat.

and so the act of resisting comes down to self-denial: she is Hungry, and to eat would be a sin.

[itz-okay-to-not-be-okay]

August 13th

3:11 am -

sometimes i like of how i could’ve treated you with such care and love and i become sad again.

because that’s all i ever did… and yet i don’t know what i did wrong.

idk, i just miss you.

your laugh, your voice

your eyes

i just miss you.

it’s so hard to make genuine friends, and it’s so slow.

i loved how we connected immediately.

that’s so rare for me.

and all i wanted to do was care for you and listen.

but i guess that wasn’t enough.

we could’ve napped for hours and talked.

watched dumb ass shit together.

cuddles.

spent time together.

that’s all i ever wanted…

5:42 am -

so instead of holding you for my first time i held someone else.

instead of smoking for the first time with you?

i did it with someone else.

instead of having you as my first kiss, i did it in some stupid ass wawa parking lot with someone i never cared about.

it’s just different with out you.

i don’t think anyone or anything could make me hate you…

10:28 pm -

i miss talking to you.

especially when my friends ignore my existence.

i sit here, and i know they’re all together.

and i know they’re ignoring me.

and they make no effort to apologize or include me.

all i want is to be in the presence of someone who cares enough to listen.

[razberrypuck]

one universal trait the tidestriders share is that they are fucking HORRIFYING when angry and/or incredibly passionate about something. this is only explicitly canon to finn and gillion but I know in my heart edyn and her parents are the same (heavy emphasis on edyn.) they're all also autistic but that's besides the point

[faralyart]

MCL NEW GEN

Pues ya sabemos que ya tiene unos días de estreno del nuevo Corazón de melón o My Candy Love y pues la verdad es que tengo muchas dudas respecto a si voy a poder seguirle el ritmo, ya que quiero seguir haciendo cosas de Castiel y Yuki y más mi nueva niña pues chance y me vuelvo chango (? Pero en fin, les presento a mi nueva niña con la que voy a "jugar" esta historia:

Falyn Camero | 20/11 Escorpión | INFP | 155 cm

Le gusta: Los gatitos, pompompurin, la sandía, el grupo Crowstorm, la gente divertida y coqueta, el color morado, la empatía.

No le gusta: las mentiras, el picante, correr, el calor, la gente que juega con los sentimientos, las injusticias.

Falyn es una joven que al principio se muestra tranquila y amable, hasta cierto punto una persona introvertida, pero cuando la gente muestra cierto grado de confianza o le hablan con familiaridad termina revelando un lado divertido, vibrante y muy ocurrente. Suele estar a la expectativa en momentos de tensión, procurando tener diferentes puntos de vista para crear una opinión más solida de las cosas. Es entregada a sus tareas, pero también muchas veces rechaza sus cualidades y derechos, hasta el punto de ser alguien sumisa con tan de complacer a las personas y no meterse en problemas para pasar desapercibida.

[mothidocandart]

you know what? I get why Marcille did all that. Like hell I haven’t even watched or read Dungeon Meshi and I’M in love with Falin

[mrsandman42069]

please reblog for better answers

Marcille discovers a peculiar "monster" 🫠

[wings-of-flying]

what i want to know is how much gillion's parents cared when their son, their baby, was taken. because the way edyn and gill talked about it made it seem like they don't give two shits, but how much of that is genuine and how much of that is an act to stop the worst of the pain? how many nights did falyn and reed spend holding each other, weeping and watching their sleeping baby boy, knowing they'd have so little time with him?

it's supposed to be an honour. they're supposed to be grateful and proud. so why does it hurt so much? why do they have to explain to their daughter, only six years old, that one day her brother's going to be taken away and she might never see him again?

it isn't fair, but they have no choice. the other option, that reed suggested one night when the pain seemed unbearable, was to leave, like finn did. but they'd be followed. the elders would have their champion, one way or another

it was supposed to be a blessing, they'd thought it would be a blessing, but once it happened to them it felt more like a curse

[relidraws]

to everyone's great surprise, i did get to finish my canon world-state characters! just in time for veilguard woo!

[squoonsquoon]

hands you my tav because I think him & myka would get along well

his name is Falyn he's a half drow druid raised by his human mother in a small village who left after she passed away to try & find his place in the world & be the person she always seemed to believe he was. complete softie mama's boy who tries way too hard to make people happy because the people in his village were always distrusting of him growing up. in the circle of spores & fell In Love with the myconids & the beautiful environment upon seeing the underdark for the first time. does myka enjoy caring for mushrooms by chance? :>

aww sweet falyn! myka likes mushrooms, but her sister eli loves them! shes also a spore druid hehe

[asharaks]

our histories of hunting

astarion/the dark urge 1.2k words

we all kill what we love most.

Her hands are heavy. Her head is heavy. Her eyelids, her muscles, the leaden cage of her ribs: all of it weighed down, dead meat clinging to bone, and still her stomach churns.

Hungry, she wakes. Hungry, she watches. The rest are sleeping, no watch on tonight: not here, with the shadows banished and the Harpers everywhere. She is alone, awake, unwatched.

And then: not alone. Not unwatched.

It tilts its head, birdlike, and Falyn finds herself doing the same, mirroring the movement. Unsure if she's awake, unwilling to take the risk, she shifts forwards, onto her knees, and faces that needlepoint smile.

Astarion sleeps.

No, doesn't sleep: trances, hands curled loose at his sides, eyelids translucent blue over his eyes.

So afraid.

She should see his pulse flutter under his skin.

She should see his chest rise and fall.

She, who he ought to fear most, reaches out. His skin is cold beneath her fingertips, marble sanded smooth, seaglass-bright and shattered as easily—

—she pulls her hand away, and tries not to see the way it shakes, and she says—

—to herself, to her butler-demon-devil-at-her-shoulder, to her (partner— friend— lover—) Astarion (hers hers hers), his sleeping-trancing-nothere body—

I haven't told him, and those fishhook teeth lodge in her cheek and tug as it laughs, tips its head first one way then the other, and it (he) says, “why not”

(whisper it as you twist the knife)

no-one has to know

(confession the final words between you)

bury it with his body where only you can find it

make him a pretty corpse

so pretty so cold a dead thing walking

—and for a moment, sweetbrightbloody, she can taste his skin beneath her tongue, his blood (her blood) at the back of her throat, reclaimed, hers once more, all of him hers, redwhiteboneblood all deep inside where he belongs and her hand is a claw is a knife is a snare at his throat and his eyes are the colour of sunrise as he wakes—

—as he wakes—

—he wakes to a hand on his throat, soft breath and the allure of a warm body, warm blood, the scent of earth and metal in the air. Her fingers flex against the tendons in his neck as he swallows, eyes flickering open to face her, expression shaded as she leans over him.

“Well,” he says, like speaking to a wall, like speaking to a wolf, “Hello,” and she doesn't reply beyond teeth peeled back teeth gleaming in the emberlight teeth eyes predatorflat as she leans over him and he says,

get back

says

stop it

says

“Looking for a cuddle?”

and her fingers curl into claws on his throat, not the first time (he'd hoped the last time) but the first time like this like her and his hand closes over her wrist and all he can see is teeth—

—and he drives his fingers into the soft meat of her elbow and spins away, feels his blood (her blood) wet and hot on his collarbone. On his feet, he takes three steps back catlight fingers flex and grins against the horror, opens his mouth and Falyn

his Falyn

lunges, bare hands bare teeth, nails scything through the air where his throat should be (isn't) and he gets the sense of claws, of fangs, of hunger, the echo of it sitting pretty in the hollow of his own throat.

Firelight burns in her eyes. He slides back a step, foot brushing against—

—the ruin of her bedroll, covers thrown back. Surprisingly sweet, the way she likes to sleep near him, close even without—

—but there's nothing sweet in her eyes now. Nothing in her eyes at all, and his stomach heaves, vertiginous at the absence he sees there, no light but the fire's reflection. His own absent reflection.

She moves, sways, serpentine, and he dodges, dances, just-barely (just just just) evades the attack, ducks to the left hits the ground shoulder-first and rolls—

—over the flat width of her pillow, her nails snagging in the cloth of his shirt—

—and he bounces to his feet with her knife in his hand, the awful comfort of it heavy in his palm. She doesn't relent, doesn't stop at the threat of the blade, her weight bearing him to the ground and he—

—drives the knife into her ribs drinks her heart empty, empty as her eyes as her—

—falls, blade down and to the side—

—and to the side she rolls at the blow to her temple, head snapped back eyes rolling upwards, her body going limp as he rolls her off, rolls on top of her. He straddles her thighs, weight pressing down as her eyes unfocused, a moment's respite from the

(blood blood blood)

fury, and her hands are heavy, limbs heavy, arms heavy, fingers clenching into fists as she fights to make her eyes focus, to raise her head. The weight shifts, a cold hand closing over her wrist, ropes rough on her skin, copper hot in her mouth. She can't make sense of it beyond the animal terror, animal fury, beyond the numbness that radiates down her spine as her vision drifts.

Deep down, past the fury, past the bloodlust, she's almost proud. She hadn't thought he'd fight dirty — not like that. Not with her.

Her mistake. She opens her mouth to laugh, and a snarl echoes, nausea rising in the pit of her gut, sickstarved and angry. She rolls onto her side, world spinning, earth shattered, and something—

—ropes at her wrists, at her ankles, his weight across her hips—

—holds her still, holds her back, pins her down. A slaughtered buck hanging from a spit. Firelight gleams in her future.

She snarls.

Astarion — perfect, pretty, doe-eyed, wearing her blood like it's a right — tilts his head.

“This thing won't have you,” he says, voice soft over the roaringrushingpounding in her head, preyscent, bloodlust, his eyes steady even as she snarls, twists beneath him. “It won't win.”

The ropes grate over her wrists, bones grinding teeth clenching, and she hisses in reply, tongue too heavy teeth too sharp to form words, blood over her lips as she twists, his hands out of reach of her (teeth and fangs and boundback claws) mouth but she bites at him anyway, desperate, lashing out, not fighting for survival but for the kill, and Astarion—

—Astarion clicks his tongue and shakes his head, pulls his hands back a little further because he's seen her move, seen where incaution can land a body, and her teeth clash shut on empty air.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he says, voice light, “we ask before we bite,” and it's not all performance, almost a relief to see her like this— bleeding, broken, beneath him.

Almost.

Her eyes latch onto his: canine gold, unblinking. Blood mats beneath her head, oozing from her skull where he'd hit her, clotting ruby in her hair. She doesn't seem to notice, insensate with fury, but when she's better—

—when she's back.

He's distracted by the thought, hasn't noticed his own hands, resting gently on the warmth of her stomach. Muscles flex beneath his fingers, the snarl mapped out under his palms before he hears it, her hips bucking, and he presses himself down against her, more weight more warmth, leans on his palms to pin her down and says to those empty eyes, that hungry stare:

“Easy now, darling,” petname slipping free even as she shows him her teeth (and maybe that's why, this thing between them all teeth and blood). “You've got this. And I've got you.”