#hope I'm not overthinking but

[avaetin]

When life throws you a curveball... but you don’t play baseball.

[themeraldee]

Awkward sex prompt: homelander figuring out how to control his strength with a human reader, who still wants rough sex, but would prefer to be alive at the end of it.

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 1.2k | Homelander x gn!Reader | Realistic sex. Communicating during sex. Choking. Penetration (but not specified). Fluff at the end.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“But I want you to.” 

It really should have been no surprise to Homelander when you requested he goes a little rougher on you in bed. At first he was taken aback, stopping the pace he was fucking into you with, jerking his head back as if offended, choking on his breath in surprise. You know who he is, bringing up the use of his strength is no small ask. But you’ve shown the signs before. He could hear the spike in your heart rate anytime he’d showcase the incomprehensible strength he possesses. Whether it was him moving heavy objects, accidentally bending steel frames in his penthouse or breaking furniture—like that one time he ripped the headboard off during a particularly fine blowjob—you loved it. Though he never thought that your dirty little thoughts went straight to him using that strength on you. 

“What if I can’t hold back?” He looks down where you’re right below him, all flushed and spread out for him. He’s been giving you a damn good time but it’s like you can never get enough of him. Always wanting more, more, more.

“You can. You’ve been doing it your entire life. Adding a tiny bit more pressure isn’t gonna change anything.”

The one thing Homelander loves about you the most is the pure trust you have in him. After all you’ve seen of him you still believe that there’s no world in which he would purposefully hurt you. So to hear you all but beg for him to use strength that has more than decimated many gets his heart soaring. The feeling of acceptance and unconditional love blooms warm in his chest spreading all the way out to the fingertips currently wrapped around your neck.

“Come on, what’s the point of being the strongest man in the world if you can’t rough me up a bit? I’ll tell you if it’s too painful okay?”

Your hand sat on top, your fingers tracing over his as you squeezed your hand.

“A little more.” You guide him verbally and manually. Your hand is still squeezing around his own until you reach a point where you’re satisfied with his confidence to do this himself and you pull your hand away. “Yeah, that’s it.” You squeak out a little breathlessly as he restricts your airflow.

“That’s good?” He asks, choking on his words halfway at the way you squeeze around him while he’s still lodged firmly inside you. He jerks with his movement, giving you a very short snappy thrust but after your little intermission where you taught him how to choke even this little sensation made you moan.

Homelander’s eyes widen when he realizes the sheer potential of your request. Not only could he hear your heartbeat, your shaky breaths and moans, he could now also feel them. Right against his fingertips. The moan vibrated against his hot skin, your heartbeat constantly thrumming all around him. He felt it in the way you were tight and clenching around him and now he felt it under his grip.

He released his hand a little, settling the palm of it in between your collarbones.

“See? Wasn’t that good? I love feeling your strength, let me have a little more of it.” You say it with such conviction, inviting him in, accepting him exactly—no, especially—because of the way he is.

The last thing Homelander wants is to not be able to fulfill your needs. As much as the thought of hurting you—actually hurting you—kills him, if it’s something you find excitement in he’ll be damned if he doesn’t deliver.

He pulls you down the length of the bed a little bit to give himself more space and with a grin he pins your wrists above your head, holding them down against the mattress with little effort. He knows he’s doing something right when that startles you, you let out a cute yelp that quickly turns into a moan. God, he could eat you up with the way you’re looking at him. But he’s gonna need to leave that for round two. Now he’s here to fulfill a wish.

He slowly picks up the pace. He’s thrusting slow and deep while his other hand freely explores your body underneath him, giving it generous squeezes as he goes. He’s testing the give of you. Learning where he can apply the pressure you so desperately crave. 

He’s fucking into your faster now, grunting at the sheer heat of you surrounding his cock with every slide. His hand glides up your body, settling back on your neck. He gives you a look as if he was warning you of what’s to happen. Yet he still manages to catch you off guard. With the snap of his hips and the iron-clad grip of his hand your eyes widen in what Homelander only translates to fear.

Immediately, he lets go.

“Why did you stop?!” You look at him, your own hand gliding across where his hand was squeezing a second ago, as if to chase the phantom feeling, recreating it yourself.

“Why did I stop? You got scared and I don’t want to fucking kill you!” He sounds angry but it’s mainly to hide the genuine worry that comes with this irresponsible play. It’s already hard for him to hold back anytime you’re having normal sex. Wanting him to rough you up conjures very different imagery in either one of your minds.

“Baby, the scary part is the best bit. I know you’ll stop before it’s too much. You can feel the give of my body. Let yourself feel that, okay?” You say softly, soothing his fears. In your entire relationship he’s not managed to hurt you, you don’t imagine it was about to start now.

“Now come on, I wanna cum with your hand around my neck.” You give him a cheeky smile that breaks him out of any doubts he had about manhandling you the way you’ve requested.

He’s given you exactly what you’ve asked for. Just enough squeeze and pressure that you feel so overwhelmed with the greatness of his presence pinning you down and nearly squeezing the life out of you that you succumb to your release. Homelander follows you there, unable to hold off after seeing the way you look at him with such adoration right after he let your airways open fully and you regained your senses. 

After you’re both beyond blissed out you snuggle up to one another, locking the jigsaw pieces of your bodies together.

Homelander traces a finger across the bruised finger marks wrapping around your neck. Part of him relishes in the way he’s managed to brand you where you won’t be able to hide it easily. Even with a scarf or a turtleneck, any slight move of the garment will expose the impressive size of your lovingly placed bruises. 

The other part of him isn’t that happy about it.

“I hurt you.”

“Duh! I wanted you to!” You scoff as if it was the most obvious thing.

His fingers trace over them some more before he leans in, placing a soft kiss against the marred skin.  

“You’re fucking crazy.” He lets out a little disbelieving laugh as he pulls you closer into his arms.

“Yeah, you’ve been rubbing off on me.”

“Nope, this is all you.” 

“Maybe. Hey, can we try spanking next?”

Taglist (you can add yourself to be tagged anytime I publish a new Homelander story): @infinetlyforgotten  @rafecamsgirlll @nervoussystemss

[koiihpon]

Don’t wait up…

colored this panel from @thegunnsara's Back to the Past comic (part 6) :]

the bottom panel was so striking when I first saw it that I just needed to color it heheh sorry it took a while to finish ><

orig under cut vvvv

[goddess-of-green]

BotW Link Being a Quiet (and Sleepy) Drunk

(A/N:) Playing TotK and immediately my soul is being recaptured by Linky Winky

(Edit:) This draft is almost a year old! I started it the day TotK came out, lol

Contains: GN!Reader, could be interpreted as either botw or totk link, him being CUTE

Word Count: 474

Link's face pressed into the crook of your neck, having migrated a bit since he'd put his head on your shoulder earlier in the evening.

You smiled and lightly stroked his hair, which earned you a hum--the vibrations of which you could feel in your neck.

It wasn't like Link wasn't affectionate, he was incredibly affectionate when he's certain it's not unwanted. However, even with your constant prompting and encouragement for him to be more open with his displays of affection, he still always kept a respectful distance when you were around others.

You didn't take it personally, you knew it was just the way he was; and a part of you liked that his affection was reserved for just the two of you--that you were the only one who got to see him like that.

Still, that wasn't to say that you didn't like when Link was more open about his love for you, which was something often brought out by inebriation.

He's a quiet drunk, just as he is sober, and one might not think he's affected much at all by the alcohol, but you can tell.

You can see how his eyes linger on you for longer than usual, notice the clinginess that usually comes with him being in that state. And one thing that you loved was how he became more vocal.

Yes, he was a quiet drunk, but less quiet than when he is sober; and you relish in his soft sighs and hums as he nuzzles into your neck, unbothered by the presence of the others.

Zelda smiled at the sight of you two, but the others didn't seem to take notice. Sidon and Yunobo were in deep conversation, while Riju was idly talking about jewelry to Zelda.

Link wrapped an arm around your waist, hand settling on your hip. He seemed intent on keeping his face in your neck, and you recalled him once telling you that you always smelled good.

"Hmm..." Link sighed, squeezing your hip. You continued to stroke his hair.

Even though he became more daring when he was drunk, he'd still never touch you in a sexual way in even a semi-public context. You knew he just wanted to be closer to you. (Sometimes you wondered in amusement, if Link would attach himself to you, given the opportunity.)

Link looked sleepier than anything, and you brushed gently along his ears, coming to a decision.

"Everyone, it's been amazing to meet with you all and catch up, but I think it's about time we turn in for the night." You smiled, helping Link up, who neglected to let go of you. Whether due to trouble keeping upright or simply a desire to touch you, you didn't know.

Not that it really mattered. All you were worried about now was getting your boy to bed. 

[sunlit-mess]

I can only take so much, but lately, they have replaced my reflection. And realize I'm just as bad as them.

[im-the-j-in-anthony-j-crowley]

Good omens tag game

Name two things you have in common with Aziraphale and two things you have in common with Crowley

More reasons to love them!

Crowley

1.- Taste for black clothes and... I WANT TO BELIEVE that I look good too

2.- I love Aziraphale Dramatic

Aziraphale

1.- I love books

2.- Stubborn. Really stubborn

No pressure tags: @fearandhatred @bildads-shoes @harbinger-of-existential-dread @di-42 @sayeverythingwillbefineplease @littlekhaos626

And of course, open tags!

[mroddmod]

happy bad batch eve here's a couple s3 tech concepts i was playing w last night !

+ some alts w his goggles

[one-flower-one-sword]

"Mu Qing spat out a mouthful of blood and grimaced like he'd been stabbed where it hurt. He replied, spiteful slowly, "Thank goodness I kicked you out. If we'd kept you in the army and let you get closer to His Highness, were you going to watch him all day with your mind full of unspeakable filth? Disgusting!"

Xie Lian's heart squeezed violently. Hua Cheng had his fist raised at first, but it froze in midair when Mu Qing spat the word "disgusting." Veins bulged on the back of his pale hand. The fingers clenched and loosened, loosened then clenched.

A long moment later, Hua Cheng said icily, "For now, I won't argue with you on that point. [...]"

TGCF Volume 6, page 66

Hua Cheng's reaction here is really interesting - and gets more heartbreaking the more you think about it. I think to understand it, we need to take a look at his distorted self-image and his extreme self-blame whenever he feels he's failed Xie Lian in some way. While doing this, I think it's important to keep in mind that we're looking at these things as separate from Hua Cheng's very real - and very earned! - confidence in his knowledge, abilities, and strength. He knows exactly what he can and can't do and has no problems stating those things as facts. That "aggressive, rebellious confidence" as Xie Lian describes it is a defining part of Hua Cheng's personality and who he is as a person, that is then juxtaposed by a surprising fragility in other matters.

Right when we meet Hua Cheng at just ten years old, he's already been abused for so long and so severely that it's made him actively suicidal. He's also already internalized that his right eye is ugly, evidenced by the way that he keeps covering it with his hands when the bandages are removed after he was beaten and dragged through the streets by Qi Rong and his lackeys:

After a pause, Xie Lian smiled softly. "The doctors will see to your wounds now. Don't be afraid and lower your hands, okay?" The child heard but hesitantly shook his head.

"Why not?" Xie Lian asked.

He was silent for a long time before replying, "Ugly."

TGCF Volume 2, page 349

The right side of his face also appears to receive the most abuse when he gets beaten, as Xie Lian realizes when he sees him again a few years later and his bandages come loose after being attacked by a group of other kids:

During that scuffle, the bandages on the boy's head had been partially yanked off, giving a peek on the other half of his face. It was quite swollen, covered in black and blue bruises. It was obvious that these injuries hadn't been caused by the brawl just now. TGCF Volume 3, page 56

It can be deduced that he probably learned very early in his life that if people see his eye, he gets beaten. It seems to be known around the area that he frequently gets beaten up and kicked out by his family, to a point where even kids from wealthier families know about him and refer to him as apparently everyone else does - the "ugly freak":

"Wow, wow, the ugly freak got kicked out again!" Although these kids were all around the same age as the boy in the shrine, every single one of them was taller than him and looked like their parents fed them well. There was probably a holiday coming up, since they were all dressed in new clothes and shoes. [...] "Hey, ugly freak, are you sleeping at the shrine again tonight? Watch out, your mom is gonna beat the crap outta you when you get home!"

TGCF Volume 3, pages 54-55

This post is going to get quite long, so I'm putting the rest under a read more.

Hua Cheng seems to internalize this view of himself as something ugly and revolting to a point where even hundreds of years later, he's wary about showing Xie Lian his true form. At the same time, he seems to long deeply for Xie Lian to see and accept the real him, so he tries to test the waters when Xie Lian asks the "young master" on the ox cart what Hua Cheng looks like :

The youth laughed. "Who knows? But he's blind in one eye." He pointed to his right eye. "This one."

That was nothing outrageous. Xie Lian recalled one of the many backstory versions where Hua Cheng wore a black eyepatch to hide that missing eye and asked, "Do you know what happened to that eye?"

"That's a question everyone wants the answer to," the youth replied. Others asked because they wanted to know what Hua Cheng's weakness was, but Xie Lian asked purely out of curiosity. He didn't say anything, and the youth continued, "He dug it out himself."

TGCF Volume 1, page 175

And then again after they're back from Banyue:

Hua Cheng didn't turn around but continued to stare at the dilapidated ceiling of the shrine, and Xie Lian could only see this handsome young man's left profile. Hua Cheng said softly, "If I was ugly."

"Huh?" Xie Lian gaped.

Hua Cheng finally turned his head slightly. "If my true appearance is ugly, would you still want to see it?"

Xie Lian was taken aback. "Is it? Although there's no real reason, I never thought your true appearance would be too horrible-looking."

"Who knows?" Hua Cheng said, half-jokingly. "What if I'm discolored, disfigured, ugly, monstrous, and horrible. What will you do?"

At first, Xie Lian thought this line of inquiry was rather fascinating. So the overlord of the Ghost Realm, the one called the devil incarnate and feared by all in the heavens, would care about his looks? But when he thought about it deeply, he didn't think it was very funny anymore. He vaguely recalled, in one of the many rumored backstories of Hua Cheng, one said that he was a disfigured child from birth, or something along those lines. If that was true, then he must've grown up discriminated against by others. Maybe that was why he was particularly sensitive about his appearance.

TGCF Volume 1, pages 369-370

This quote is really long but I wanted to include all of it because Xie Lian's realization here is very important - Hua Cheng's issues don't stem from vanity but from being othered and subsequently abused because of his unusual red right eye. The society they're in shows many instances of ableism, racism, xenophobia and classism, where any attempted change to the status quo as well as anything that goes against "the norm" is regarded with instant suspicion and rejection - as Pei Ming puts it once, "Where there is abnormality, there is evil."

When he finally does show Xie Lian his true form, Hua Cheng is anxious about it up until Xie Lian remarks that it doesn't look bad:

Xie Lian examined him as he followed, smiling. "So, this is your real appearance." Hua Cheng paused slightly in his step. Maybe it was his imagination, but Hua Cheng's shoulders seemed to stiffen for a flash of a second. The moment didn't last, and Hua Cheng responded naturally. "I did say that the next time we met, I would greet you with my real appearance."

Xie Lian grinned and said earnestly, "Not bad." Xie Lian's tone wasn't teasing or consoling, the words were simply said. Hua Cheng gave a small smile back, and this time, it was genuinely relaxed.

TGCF Volume 2, page 103

Xie Lian's acceptance of his true form seems to have reassured Hua Cheng enough that he appears in it a lot more regularly after that, though it's always with the place where his right eye used to be carefully covered. He's also still too afraid to tell Xie Lian about their shared past and who he really is, and even more afraid to confess his feelings because he fears that then Xie Lian will no longer look at him with acceptance and instead see Hua Cheng as this:

He pointed at a little blood-red person on the wall. Right next to it, there were a bunch of messy, twisted, indiscernible characters - it looked like they had been written in a state of delirium or scrawled to vent the author's feeling during a period of extreme suffering. Based on those characters, Xie Lian could guess that the little blood-red person painted there was Hua Cheng himself, but for some unknown reason he had depicted himself as extremely ugly and disfigured.

[...] There was an ugly little blood-red figure at the bottom of the mural. It cupped a small flower in its hands, which it was offering to the statue.

TGCF Volume 6, pages 52-55

Hua Cheng having internalized this distorted "ugly freak" image of himself isn't the only thing tripping him up though. Every time he can't prevent Xie Lian from getting hurt or can't help him, Hua Cheng takes it as a personal failure on his part and immediately seeks to punish himself. Be that by lashing out at Eming, which is essentially an extension of himself:

Xie Lian stroked Eming. "Fangxin is still better suited." Fangxin remained motionless. Eming had tried so enthusiastically to offer itself up but was so blatantly rejected. It hopped back to Hua Cheng's side, weeping. Hua Cheng didn't spare it a single look before he smacked it with a backhand slap. "What are you crying about? This happened because you're useless! Trash!"

TGCF Volume 5, page 120

Or denying himself to touch Xie Lian, like after Xie Lian got accidentally hurt by Eming (an especially cruel punishment given that Hua Cheng had longed for Xie Lian for hundreds of years):

Hua Cheng, however, let go of his hand. "Don't mind them," he said to Xie Lian. "Come with me." His voice was low, the emotion behind it hard to discern. Yet the way he let go of Xie Lian's wrist was swift, almost like he'd been shaken off.

TGCF Volume 2, page 192

Repeatedly witnessing Xie Lian be brutalized and violated while he didn't yet have the power to stop it from happening traumatized Hua Cheng deeply and left him with a wrathful anger that he wields not only against those who wronged Xie Lian but also against himself for any and all perceived failures.

Now, what does all of this have to do with the quote that started it all? In it, Mu Qing accuses Hua Cheng that if they'd have kept him in the army, he would have kept watching Xie Lian "with his mind full of unspeakable filth! Disgusting!" (the fact that he describes a man having romantic feelings and sexual desires for another man in such a way comes off as extremely homophobic of course but that's not the topic of this post)

Hua Cheng, who hates Mu Qing deeply and with good reason, then not only stops his assault but actually goes on to say that he won't argue with him on that point for now. His inner conflict shows in the repeated clenching and loosening of the fingers in his fist - he's extremely angry and would usually never agree with Mu Qing, yet finds himself unable to deny his words. It's noticeable also that it's the "disgusting" that makes him freeze up.

So why would Hua Cheng, someone usually so confident and so unapologetically himself, concede this point to Mu Qing, someone he hates and who's just been viciously insulting him? I would argue that there are two possible reasons.

First of, if viewed through the lens of everything we reviewed in this post, Hua Cheng feels like he "can't argue" on this because he does desire Xie Lian and always has - while at the same time knowing that he, an ugly disfigured other that has repeatedly failed at keeping the God he's pledged his existence to safe from harm, could never be good enough to deserve being with said God like that.

Second of all, as I analyzed in my previous post, Hua Cheng's reaction to Xie Lian having seen the statues and murals is profound fear and heartbreak because he's so sure Xie Lian must now be scared of and disgusted by him. At this point in the story, Hua Cheng is still utterly convinced that his feelings aren't requited, which is something he can deal with. But what he can't bear is the prospect of his feelings, his very devotion, causing Xie Lian pain. Failing to keep Xie Lian safe from being harmed by others is bad enough, but hurting Xie Lian himself? Unforgivable. His fear that his desire for Xie Lian will be upsetting to him is so strong that even after the confession scene, his immediate reaction to Xie Lian even just mentioning the murals is "I'll go destroy them" (Volume 6, page 88), and he doesn't calm down until Xie Lian reassures them that he only saw a few of them and won't look at the others if Hua Cheng doesn't want him to.

[arttsuka]

Hi hello I accidentally sent this to the wrong blog at first and caused mass hysteria but could I please ask for

jedtavius with a churro going at it lady and the tramp style pretty please with fire extinguisher paste on top

Oops 😬

1st: I accidentally made a 'they're big now' drawing (churros are too big for their small selves ok? They wouldn't be able to 'lady and the tramp' it)

2nd: why fire extinguisher paste? No (I did draw a blank person using a fire extinguisher on them tho)

[oh-biwan]

[rattling cage] Do you have any Obikin fics that you've enjoyed? Your beautiful art made me slip right down the ship rabbit hole and now I need recs, any rating/theme.

-blushes, clears throat- Hi!

I like a lot of different flavors but, to keep it simple, I'll try to match my recommendations to the theme I'm cultivating on this blog so far.

First of all, I have to mention skyl_tales, they wrote some of the absolute Obikin classics and I love their work, it's very dear to me. If you haven't read anything from them yet, I strongly recommend taking a look at their works and going for anything that captures your attention!

Alright, now my conscience is clear and we can move on:

Armageddon Game by posthumous_vigor

One of my more recent obsessions. Basically, padawan Obi-Wan gets captured by Sith Anakin and then groomed to the Dark Side. What I enjoy about this one is how, even despite the unfavorable cards that Obi-Wan has been dealt, he cleverly chases down his goals... but not without twisting himself in the pursuit as well. He is an active actor in this play and ultimately it is not Anakin who Obi-Wan plays against. And by recommending this I'm recommending the whole series :).

Untouched by objectlesson

This fic has one the most predatory padawan Anakin I've ever seen. This child is just so deliciously fucked up in the head. I... I think I'll just let the author's summary speak for itself: In his darkest moments, Anakin began to think of it as his right. To control Obi-Wan’s sleeping mind, force it into a box, shut it up so he could take what he deserved. Warm skin, slack face, soft snores. And then—then—more.

pleasure, little treasure by objectlesson

A guilty pleasure of mine. And probably a very hard pill to swallow, so careful there. In this one, Vader goes back in time, kidnaps Jedi initiate Obi-Wan, and makes him his apprentice. Yes, it's very dark, a psychological horror, but this author writes with such skill and poetry that I trusted they could make me enjoy reading stuff I'd normally avoid... And I was right. The beauty in the abominable. That's why I love this author, the things they write are so refreshingly daring and so deeply fucked up on so many levels, but served in a way that makes me swallow it all up without question. (oh, I should probably mention that as of now this fic is unfinished, I seldomly pick up unfinished works, but with this one, I have no regrets :))

hold my heart more gently than you do my throat by tennessoui

This is a role reversal omegaverse AU. Master Skywalker has been captured by the Separatists, and behind the Council's back, his omega Padawan sets out to save the master in distress. It is debatable if the master in question needs the saving -noises of massacre in the background- (he did need the saving, in my opinion :)). What I really love about this fic are the horror vibes of little Padawan getting chased down the hallways of the enemy base full of dead bodies, and an unknown monster breathing down his neck, but the only thing on his mind is how to find his master and rescue him. Also, I enjoyed the final twist and how the story unfolded in the end. Satisfying. If omegaverse is your thing I definitely recommend this one.

game plan by treescape

Out of all the recommendations, I consider this to be the tame one. If all of the above made you hesitant to try, this is the one to go with. The summary: Vader keeps capturing Obi-Wan during the Wars. Obi-Wan keeps escaping. It's kind of a thing. I'm recommending this one for the banter. Some of it is just next level. Very amusing to read. Chef's kiss.

[canisalbus]

As someone whose entire extended family lives in Sicily irl and they're all super catholic i am delighted by Machete's place of origin??? I literally feel like that meme with the anime girl that's like "(Location) mentioned!!!" anytime it comes up lol

Anyways I love reading OC lore so your blog is always a treat 😎

.

[stjernespiller]

Another eye

Can also be found on AO3

You can’t see anything.

Blood drips from your face. You think it hurts, in that distant way everything does now. You try to get it out of your eye, just enough to see the fight, but your vision stays dark through the wet sounds of blood and flesh.

Stupid, you think to yourself. Stupid stupid idiot, zoning out in a battle. Should have just looped forward to the king instead of taking that bathroom break and fighting the floor boss. Couldn’t even blinding cry, so what did it matter?

Your family members are speaking. They don’t do that much in battle. You should probably listen.

Bonnie is crying.

Mirabelle heals you again, a light feeling drifting over you that does nothing to take away the weight in your stomach. You don’t know why she did it again, you just need to get this blood out of your eye and you can go back to the fight, stop zoning out just enough to beat the sadness blocking your way to asking the king the question you’ve been dreading.

Isabeau is saying something very close to you. You think it’s him, at least, from the deeper tone. You can’t hear it. Can’t fight can’t see can’t hear. You’re pathetic.

He touches your face.

It’s- new, strange, unexpected. You flinch, and he takes his hand back, like your family always does because you’re so weak you can’t even handle being touched. But the hand only leaves for a moment before it’s back again, holding your cheek. you stand very, very still.

Is the fight over? It has to be. You almost had it before you got distracted and let yourself get hit. Maybe Isabeau and Odile got it while Mirabelle was healing you. He wouldn’t be touching you like this if the sadness was still attacking, back turned to where it stood.

He wipes the blood away from your eye, unstained hand doing a much better job than yours had. You still can’t see. You still can’t hear what any of them are saying. He sounds close to tears, though.

Ah. You know why you can’t see.

It clears your hearing. Fear, for some reason, leaves when you exhale. You breathe deep in, again, and a full sense of calmness fills the space of the fear you breathe out.

The blood hadn’t covered your eye, it was coming out of it. Stupid Siffrin didn’t pay attention to the fight and lost another eye.

Isabeau is cursing, voice wet with tears. His other hand cups your jaw, keeping your head in place. He wipes more blood away, touching your eyeball with so much gentleness you feel it should heal it. Mirabelle crafts another healing spell, and Odile asks Bonnie for the one sweet tonic you picked up this loop.

You pick up your wooden arms, raising them slowly, like through a thick fog, to land your hands on Isabeau’s. He drops his hands from your face. You’re speaking to your whole party when you say, “It won’t work.”

Bonnie sobs. Someone, likely Odile, pours a tonic on your eye anyway.

You just need to get to a frozen tear. You don’t remember where they are, but maybe you could convince your family to lead you to one. If you could find some excuse. Or just swing your arms around until you hit one.

“The head housemaiden could heal you,” Mirabelle whispers, voice just as teary as Isabeau’s. “I should have taken more healing classes. Studied more on my own. I can’t do it. And by the time we get to her...”

She trails of. Crafts another healing cure. It works just as well as the others.

Healing of this scale needs to be done quick. You know, because you all talked about it when you lost your first eye, and when Isabeau showed you a small scar on his bicep. Go more than an hour or two without the right healing craft, and it’ll be permanent.

An idea lights up in your mind. You turn your head, but it all stays black, and you can’t look anyone in the eye.

“We can find a tear. Freeze me.” It’s so perfect. You almost have to stop yourself from grinning. The best excuse you could have ever asked for. “when you beat the king and everyone unfreezes, someone can help me.”

The lie is easy, as easy as all the others you’ve filled these two days with. They won’t beat the king without you. You won’t unfreeze with everyone else, and the head housemaiden will never help you. But you need to see to fight, and you need to loop to see, and you need a tear to loop.

It’s quiet for a moment. “Will that work?” Odile asks, voice strangely soft.

“It’s worth a try.”

“We’ll find a tear!” Bonnie yells. They either stamp their foot or jump in place. “We’ll defeat the king and you’ll get your eye back!” their voice is still wet. You don’t know why. Are they scared of fighting the king without you? Now you’re thinking about the loop you let them go alone. Stars, you really are an awful person. Of course they’re scared when you can’t keep fighting, and just before the king, too.

“Let’s bandage it until then.” Mirabelle says, and a piece of cloth presses against your face. It’s nice and cool. “Your coat is all dark know.”

Odile, you think, listening to the footsteps, start walking. “We can’t go back,” she says, “hopefully there will be some tears further in.”

You walk after her. The corridor is as familiar to you as the rest of this blinding house. You don’t need an eye to know the way.

Isabeau still hovers beside you, steps heavy but careful. He doesn’t offer to guide you, probably afraid to touch you, but you can imagine his arm reaching out, hovering above your shoulder, ready to steer you away from the walls or the floor or what else you might kill yourself on. Fragile little Siffrin, can’t walk on his own.

Bonnie is to your other side, rushing ahead for two steps at a time before falling back again, never straying far. They hiccup, and audibly sniff their snot in. You feel awful. The tear is close. You just need to loop.

Mirabelle walks in front of you with Odile. You can almost feel her continuously looking back at you, footsteps irregular in that familiar pattern. You don’t know why it’s familiar, and when you try to remember, it slips away like lightless sand between your fingers.

The air is tense. You slip into your mind, a little. Claude is up ahead, frozen in time with the secret ingredient. You turn a corner, and don’t think about how strange it looks to your family for you to walk through the corridor like this. Isabeau calling you graceful is there, memory pushing itself to the front of your mind, but you don’t force yourself to act as if you don’t know this place better than yourself. They won’t remember.

“Does it hurt?” Bonnie whispers besides you. You instinctively look towards them, but still see nothing but darkness around you. “Sorry, stupid question. Of course it hurts.” Their voice is still wet. They sniffle. “You just act like it doesn’t.”

You’ve been acting a lot. Almost everything feels like a secret, a lie, a play. This isn’t one of them. “It’s just an eye.”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN JUST AN EYE?!” Bonnie yells, and their voice is still wet, but it cracks in fury. “You always do this, you don’t care about anything! It’s your eye, you can’t see, you lost both of them now! You have to care!”

They hate you. You remember, now, that they don’t love you. You couldn’t get yourself to help them this loop, too tired from hearing the same thing again and again and again. In this moment, Bonnie hasn’t hugged you. In this moment, you haven’t talked with Bonnie about losing your first eye. In this moment, they still hate you.

But it’s fine. You’re on your way to a tear. You’ve all been walking this stretch for a while, Mirabelle should see Claude soon, and then they’ll find the safe room, and after that - you think you’ve seen tears there before.

“It’s just an eye,” you say again, because you can’t bring yourself to pretend any differently, that it matters to you more than having to loop and run through the third floor again. “I’ve lost worse.”

Bonnie doesn’t respond. Claude has to be here soon, right? Was she always this deep in the corridor?

"How is your eyes not the worst thing you've lost?" Mirabelle asks, so quiet you almost don’t hear her. The kind of question she doesn’t expect a response to.

You shouldn’t respond. You don’t want to respond. How can you. You can’t speak it’s name, can’t tell them anything about it, and you already didn’t help Odile this loop because you couldn’t bring yourself to follow the blinding script again when she won’t understand and won’t remember and won’t care.

“I lost my home,” you say anyway, because it’s all one big cosmic joke. They won’t remember anyway. It doesn’t matter. “And I don’t even remember it.”

Does your country matter, if no one remembers it?

Isabeau speaks up, always the emotionally mature one. “I’m sorry, that sounds awful.”

“You never remember anything,” Bonnie sniffles, sounding tired. The kind of exhausted you get calming down from crying. You wish your stupid eye would let you cry.

You’ve already broken the dam. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. “I don’t.” Isabeau tugs at you cloak, pulling you slightly towards him. He lets you go, a meter more to the left of the corridor than before, and doesn’t explain anything. You don’t ask.

“Not even the word for a stuffed animal. Or a sharpening stone, which you use all the time. Or bananas.” It seems to calm Bonnie down, listing all the things you don’t remember. You follow along.

“Not the name for all the birds in Dormount. What bonding earring are. What we did last week. My family. My country. Your names, that one time.”

It doesn’t calm you down. Or the others, for that matter. Isabeau stopped walking. The other three follow suit.

You stop too, because the others did. Then you wish you had kept going, because now you’re just standing here, and you still can’t see anything.

“Sif...” Isabeau starts, soft and careful. “I’m sorry. We’ve been poking fun at your memory, but this... We need to talk, after we beat the king.”

You don’t want to talk. Have you already made the pun on your memory this loop? Bonnie said you couldn’t remember the name, so probably, you need something else, something to divert the attention, it doesn’t matter because they’ll forget but right now they remember and you don’t want to talk.

“Aren’t there any tears here?” You ask, and it comes out harsher than you planned.

“Oh! No, not yet, but there’s a door here, maybe on the other side?” Mirabelle sounds nervous and jumpy. Did you do that? Stars, you’re awful.

Then you think. There’s a door, and you hear someone open it. Claude was before the door. She was, you know it, you can’t have forgotten that, Mirabelle stops you all and says the same thing every time.

Did you all walk past her? Did... did Mirabelle change the script? Because you’re blind now?

Your head hurts. You walk towards the door, and only need to follow the wall for a moment before you reach it, having been pulled from the middle of the corridor by Isabeau. Was that.... because of Claude? Did he pull you out of the way?

When Mirabelle tells everyone to hurry through the safe room, they do so. No one talks about taking a break, and Odile’s stomach doesn’t rumble. You’re through the room without eating or touching the star.

“There!” Bonnie yells, first out of the second door.

“A tear,” Odile says simply. “Two, actually. Pick your poison, Siffrin.”

You chuckle, just a little. Lean right. But you don’t actually know where in the room the tears are. You just know the door to the king is straight ahead.

“Can I lead you to it?” Isabeau offers. You empty your mind, think of nothing, and hold out your hand.

He guides you in an arch. Let’s go of your hand. You reach out, and dream of nothing.

[iamthecomet]

I would offer my firstborn to see mean!Dew out-mean Rain. Maybe Rain doesn't expect it. Getting a taste of his own medicine. He doesn't expect it to be so hot.

Mean!Dew. My favorite.

~~

"Kneel," Rain orders. Dew's barely in the door to his own room. Rain hot on his heels. Rain kicks the door closed hard enough that the window rattles. He glowers at Dew’s back. Persona sliding into place. Dew wants a firm hand—he’ll give it to him. He’ll give Dew exactly what he’s been hinting at all day—he’ll ruin him.

Dew looks over his shoulder, and Rain catches a glint in those copper eyes that makes his stomach twist. Apathy. Annoyance.

Oh.

Dew waves a hand, the embers in his fireplace roar to life. He shrugs his jacket off, tosses it over his desk chair. Busies himself with the buttons on his shirt. He doesn't look at Rain again. Rain says Dew's name, harsh. Another command. Dew ignores him.

Rain feels like the world tilts under his feet. Dew ignores him a lot. Turns his nose up at Rain's orders in an attempt to make punishments worse. He's used to disobedience, at least initially. But this isn't the same.

Dew's, loose, relaxed. Flippant when he shrugs his shirt off and finally turns to look at Rain. Shirtless, uniform pants slung low on his hips. Nipple rings swaying as he takes a step toward Rain. Dew cocks an eyebrow. He looks amused, like he's cat with a mouse between his paws. But then that makes Rain the--

"Dew--" "Shut up.” Rain’s words die on his tongue. There’s no argument in Dew’s voice. No desperation, no question. And Rain is grappling with what's happening. It’s unexpected. He doesn’t know what to do with the way his cock kicks in his pants at the tone of Dew’s words. At the way Dew looks through him. Past him. Like Rain is a nuisance, a burden. All he knows is he never wants Dew to stop. Rain doesn’t know what to do now. Knows if he opens his mouth he’s going to sound unsure, hesitant. And that isn’t going to work. Not if he wants to keep the upper hand. Though, he’s starting to realize that maybe he never had it. Dew's been playing this game all day. Lulling Rain into this comfortable place where he calls all the shots. But really, Rain's walked right into this. He's let Dew play him. He doesn't want to admit how much he loves it. From the minute Dew dragged his hand over Rain’s chest and up to his throat in rehearsal, Rain’s brain has been racing to catch up. And Dew’s been one step ahead of him. Making Rain chase him, making Rain do all the work just to get here. Where Dew is looking at him like he's an idiot and Rain's cock is twitching to life in his pants because of it. “Why don’t you kneel for once?” Dew says. Satanas, he sounds bored. Rain’s stomach twists again. Is this how Dew feels when Rain treats him like this?

No wonder he likes it so much. Dew gives him every opportunity to back out. Questions him with his gaze in a way only Dew has ever managed to do. Like telepathy. Never breaking character but Rain knows this is his chance to bow out. To go back to the old script or something different entirely. Instead, Rain nods, just a little, just enough. And Dew is on him. Long fingers curling in Rain's hair and pulling until Rain yelps. Dew drags him down to his level, so their noses almost touch. Copper eyes boring into Rain's. "Are you too stupid to follow simple instructions?" Dew spits. "Kneel." Rain does. Isn't sure if he actually decides to or if his legs just give out. His body following Dew's orders long before his brain catches up. He hits the floor hard, pain jolting up through his thighs. His hands fall to his thighs, palm down and useless. Rain won't move them again unless Dew tells him to. They might as well not exist. Rain's already dipping. Static crowding into the edges of his brain. He's never fallen so fast. God he wants to sink into it and never come out. Dew never lets go of him. Unclenching his fist in Rain's hair to shift his grip and curl around one of his seaglass horns. He drags a hot claw over the place they connect to his head, oversensitive all the time. Rain's eyes flutter closed, he whines. Leans into Dew's touch. It's a mistake. The sting of Dew's slap is sharp on his cheek, hot. Rain's eyes snap open. The pain goes straight to his cock. Fully hard now, tenting his uniform pants. He can feel himself dripping already--unable to hide what this does to him. How much he likes it. "Don't look away from me again," Dew demands, and Rain promises himself he won't. Doesn't want to. Rain doesn't want to disappoint him, but he knows that he will no matter what he does. It doesn't stop him from trying. Dew nudges Rain's clothed cock with his boot. Rain hisses, hips canting toward the pleasure-pain he knows that boot will provide. Too eager, he knows, he'll never get it if he acts this way. His cheeks burn, delicious shame flashing through him at his own desperation. He can't help it. Rain knows the game but can't catch up. He's falling into traps he knows how to set. Letting Dew bait him into them. It doesn't matter how good he is at this game from the other side--on this one, he's helpless. He loves it. Dew laughs at him. A low chuckle, dark. The promise in it makes goosebumps break out over Rain's skin. "Fucking pathetic," Dew sneers. He pulls back on Rain's horn, tipping his head back. Dew leans down and spits. It hits Rains' cheek in a thick glob. Burning hot and slick as it slides down Rain's face to his jaw. Rain wishes it had been in his mouth. He wants to taste it. Thinks about sticking out his tongue, trying to catch an errant drip of it. Anything to get a taste of Dew--a piece of him. "Please," Rain murmurs. He doesn't know what he's asking for. The word breaks from his mouth unbidden. He digs his teeth into his cheek to try to keep more from escaping. "You want something, water lily?" Dew says, too soft, a trap. There's something in his tone--dangerous--sing-song, that makes Rain throb. Rain knows better than to nod. He keeps his eyes on Dew's face, keeps his head and hands still. "I want whatever you want," he offers and hopes it's good enough. Dew grins down at him, predatory. Fangs sharp. Rain hopes Dew digs them into his throat. Hopes he draws blood. Rain hopes he wears the evidence of Dew's debauchery on his body for days. Dew reaches for his zipper, fingers tightening on Rain's horn. "Right answer. Open up." Rain does, sticks out his tongue for good measure. Eyes still fixed on Dew's face as Dew pulls his cock free and smacks the head on Rain's cheek. Smearing a trail of salty pre over his cheekbone. "You think you're so fucking pretty," Dew chuckles, mocking. It hits, hard. Rain's cheeks flush darker. He wants to look away, he forces himself not to. Dew strokes himself, tapping the sticky head on Rain's tongue. "You won't be when I'm done with you."

[herearedragons]

...okay this was supposed to be a tag rant on another post I was drafting, but this kind of makes a better point than what I was writing originally so let me try that again.

The thing about Edér Pillars Of Eternity and his theme of second chances is that not only that theme is everywhere for him (seriously. I did Not remember it being that present in his early dialogue but IT IS) but that his relationship with it changes over time.

At first, he's a worshipper of the god of second chances. Then, he is the one being offered a second chance, not by his god, but by a stranger who saves him from being hanged by literally just giving him something else to do with his life. Then, in Deadfire, he is the one delivering the Watcher's second chance, dragging them out of Caed Nua after it's been destroyed by Eothas. At that moment, he's closer to the embodiment of second chances than Eothas himself, which is kind of wild and exactly the kind of character arc I find fun, apparently.

[mellowdrawsthings]

:D

[lovesodeepandwideandwell]

ok this is a deeply deeply weird manifesto and i'm sorry but i feel suddenly very burdened to say it so. if you felt like we were friends and i unfollowed you, this is for you. (don't be scared this is not about problems with anyone this is just my mess. that I think is ok to have which is why I'm talking about it)

so I joined tumblr in 2020 when a) the world was isolated b) I had just moved to a new city and was living alone taking Zoom classes in my apartment. what started as a mindless distraction became such a lifeline of connection and friendship! and still such a support as things started to open back up and get busier in 2021, when I was teaching and in class in person but still struggling for close in-person friendships. I know the group dynamic on here has shifted a number of times, as some of you probably experienced from various vantage points. my use of tumblr has shifted too, on and off, as I've needed different things out of it and been in different spiritual and emotional states. and I've kind of come to realize that I probably threw myself in too eagerly in some ways. it was so exciting to have actual friends on here and for them to actually turn into friends in person, that honestly I maybe prized that dynamic too much for what it symbolized over actually valuing the people. I'm sorry for doing that.

anyway, that worked fine for a bit, but as (glory be to God) I've become much more plugged into my in-person community in the last couple years, I've felt more and more emotionally strained. I've taken up a new attitude towards my family that's much more in line with God, but also much more draining as it means I have to just pour out in prayer and love and wait with patient sorrow over some things rather than fighting and defending my perspective as always right and necessary; and then there's the church-related grief my family has gone through over the last year. I've had a very delicate and difficult friendship that pulled up a lot of unresolved stuff from a college situation and felt endlessly wearying at times. I've had another issue from college recur in a way I thought had been healthily resolved years ago. I've had this whole roommate marriage situation that as y'all know is a very weird trial and pressure. My church has been dealing with a strange and tough ongoing struggle that was already stressing me out before I started working there. My small group has been amazing and I've loved connecting with and relying on them more, but that connection also means more fully bearing the griefs of a lot of different people dealing with the different struggles of life. My advisor situation has been so weird and tough, making my academic work really hard, and then this recent church work has been fulfilling but physically and often mentally exhausting. My future location, work, and community is up in the air after a few years of stability. (I really didn't mean to make this a recitation of my woes, but honestly it's really helpful to see it all written out here; helps explain my deep deep exhaustion, I guess.)

If I ever followed you on tumblr, I love you. In a number of different ways. I feel fondness at the thought of you and at your presence; I want to know you more fully; I desire the good for you; and I find my well-being to be, at least a little bit, tied up with yours. That last one is the rub. As I'm sorting through all the callings and duties in my life, trying to identify what counts as changing my tires versus what wears my tires out, I've found that my tumblr dashboard can switch back and forth very unpredictably between one thing and the other. Often it's a delight to come on here and find my friends and the cool things we're showing each other and the joys and sorrows and goofy moments of our lives! But at other times, when what I desperately need is an escape and rest and humor to provide solace from in-person cares, I find myself pricked all over again by the sorrow of the world and the stress of sin--or even just irritated by stuff I find irrelevant or disagree with or don't want to be reminded of.

To be clear, I'm not saying anyone's doing anything wrong on here. The opposite; I love the freedom y'all have to seek out what helps you, whether that's a lot of facts and ideas or a lot of goofy content or recipes or weird TV or music or venting about life or seeking prayer or advice! We all have the freedom and responsibility to determine how to use the tools we have to aid us in pursuing the good, whether the good is a quick laugh or building up virtue. But I think for me, at this point in my life, my duty and calling has swung back towards my in-person connections in a variety of ways, and I have to honor that.

The lie of infinity that the internet offers is just that--a lie. for me, that lie right now is being laid bare in my inability to have infinite care for everyone whose path I cross. I could follow everyone on here whom I'm endeared to, could keep messaging and replying and building relationships, but it would be a lie to think I can offer that love and care to everyone I would like to. In-person friendships are limited by physical proximity and time; online friendships can't be unlimited either. I need to apologize for acting as though they could be, and committing myself beyond my limits; but also, my life has really changed, and I'm not going to be caught either by the lie that online is only worthwhile if it's permanent.

I want to be clear that I value the connections I've had with you. I've loved exchanging mail and phone calls, messaging fun things back and forth, being online at the same time or learning about your day after the fact. Please know, also, that I have gone to war in prayer for you, and I continue to do so. I wish that I knew how to love widely without feeling pulled apart and worn down, by difference and sorrow and sin (mine and yours). I hope God is sanctifying me toward that end. But right now I'm fairly convinced I need to honor my calling to in-person friendships; I need to protect my mind and heart from even little pricks and distractions, so that I can keep my desires in order and use my energy for prayer and Scripture and to do good work and love the people God's made my physical neighbors. I really do love you, and I wish we had infinite time to talk and think together. I'm so excited to be with y'all in heaven forever. And who knows--maybe my life will shift yet again (it's looking likely) and I'll have a ton of spare energy and love and will come sheepishly back looking to connect with you again. We'll see. You deserve love and attention and connection, in person and online, and I'm sorry that--at least as it feels to me--I held out the promise of giving you that and then had to withdraw it.

so. there's all that. My dash is super quiet these days, thwarting my dopamine search but pushing me towards texting friends, towards meditating more fully on Scripture, towards praying over my work and burdens. I hope you can understand and maybe even be glad that, God willing, this is how I'm able and needing to work for the kingdom right now. love you love you