#i fear it’s one of my worst traits

[nonbinarylesbianherb]

so sorry to anyone who chooses to be mutuals with me, you will be faced with the unskippable npc dialogue dms because I lack the social awareness not to dm every moot i make

[loderlied]

sharing some thoughts about deactivating here because it’s been difficult pondering idk.

[daz4i]

ik it's not good to latch onto a mental illness as your defining trait but also. babe i don't have much else going on or any other sense of identity beyond it

[ohara-n-brown]

As a late diagnosed autist I will say one of the most damaging but transformative experiences I've ever had was being misdiagnosed with BPD.

Everyday my heart goes out to people with BPD.

The amount of stigma and silencing they face is astonishing and sickening.

I took DBT for years. Therapists use to turn me away because of my diagnosis.

I would be having full blown autistic meltdowns, crying for help literally - but because I was labeled as BPD ANY time I cried I was treated as manipulative and unstable.

As if the only reason I could be crying was if I was out to trick someone.

95% of the books out there with Borderline in the title are named shit like 'How to get away from a person with Borderline', 'How to stop walking on eggshells (with a person who has BPD)'

I was never allowed to feel true pain or panic or need.

That was 'attention seeking behavior', not me asking for help when a disability was literally inhibiting my ability to process emotions.

There were dozens of times where I had a full meltdown and was either threatened with institutionalization or told I was doing it for attention.

My failing relationships weren't due to a communication issue, or the inability to read social cues. No, because I was labeled borderline, my unstable relationships were my fault. Me beggong nuerotypicals to just be honest and blunt with what they meant was me pestering them for validation.

Borderline patients can't win.

And the funny thing is - I asked my therapist about autism. I told her I thought I was on the spectrum.

BPD is WILDLY misdiagnosed with those with autism and I had many clear signs.

Instead - she told me 'If you were autistic we wouldn't be able to have this conversation'. She made me go through a list of autistic traits made clearly for children, citing how I didn't fit each one.

And then she told me that me identifying with the autism community was the BPD making me search for identity to be accepted - and that I wasn't autistic, just desperate to fit in somewhere.

I didn't get diagnosed for another ten years. For ten years I avoided the autism community - feeling as if I were just a broken person who wanted to steal from people who 'really needed it'.

Because of my providers - I began to doubt my identity MORE, not less.

Ten years of thinking I was borderline and being emotionally neglected and demonized by a system meant to help me.

To this day, I still don't trust neurotypicals. Not fully.

I know I'm not borderline now - but my heart aches for them. Not for the usual stuff. But for the stigma. And the asshole doctors. And the dismissiveness and threatening and the idea of institutionalization hanging over their head.

I love Borderline people. I always will. I'm not Borderline but if you are I love you and I'm sorry.

You're not a bad person. You're not a therapists worst nightmare, you are a human with valid feelings and fears.

Borderline people I'm sorry.

[dolphin-diaries]

Who Gets To Talk Detransition?

Originally published on Dolphin Diaries

The story is supposed to go like this: a trans cult, or maybe the medical establishment, steals a young girl under its ghastly wing. A wounded girl, a scared one, desperate for reprieve from a violent world that has whipped her into self-hatred. The kidnapping cultists promise an escape. A cure to the horror of her body. Then, mutilation follows, which a brave few will eventually try to undo—only they never quite can.

No, wait.

The story is supposed to go like this: some people are trans men. They are assigned female at birth, but they are men, and so some want to make their body male. But sometimes, a select few regret their transition. They aren’t trans men. They’re actually cis—in agreement with their sex—but they’ve made a mistake for whatever reason. They are very scarce. A statistically inconsequential minority to which we ought not cede ground. After all, why should a society be concerned with a statistically minuscule people?

Regardless of which way you tell it, two constants remain. One: the trans and the detrans are antagonistic; the detrans have been hurt by transition care and now threaten its existence. Two: those that detransition are seeking to correct a prior mistake. Be it from the right or left, the story is always that of failure and regret.

Part I: When Your Worst Fears Come True

September 2023 marked the eighth anniversary of me starting testosterone. Getting HRT was something I’d fought for with great difficulty and determination: I’d burned bridges with an abusive family; I’d come out a year prior to the entirety of my university class and had already lived as a man; I then dropped out of university so I could work a full-time job to afford HRT. I did all this with full knowledge that I could not access the legal transition system in my country. I’d be unable to change my gender marker and would have to deal with that fact in a place where most people barely know what ‘transgender’ is, let alone accept it. But I was willing to weather all of that, and to my luck, I had no trouble passing for a man, and the vast majority of friends and acquaintances accepted me.

Needless to say, I was ecstatic to start testosterone. In adolescence my masculinity had been denied to me, the feminine traits of myself and my body forcibly exaggerated to put me in my (woman’s) place. Now, it felt like having all the features I’d come to despise overtaken by new growth. Like a ruin reclaimed by fresh ivy. I wasn’t entirely content—I wanted to be indistinguishable from a cis man, untouched by any insidious womanhood whatsoever. Only I found most cis men either uninspired-looking or repugnant, so… a pretty cis man? Androgynous, but not too androgynous, so I don’t get gay-bashed?

The real end goal I wished of my body was nebulous. There was no man I could cite as the Ur-Man for me, trans or cis, neither in character nor appearance. It wasn’t for lack of the much maligned Good Male Role Models in my life; I simply resonated with none of them. But there was life to be lived anyway. So I put one foot in front of the other, and sometimes, I knew my steps were dictated as much by fear of transphobia as they were by my own desires.

There are many things to fear while living as trans. One of my most personal anxieties was detransition. A forced one would be most horrid; to be put in a position where my bodily autonomy, so hard-won, could be stripped away as if it never existed.

But my strangest fear was that I would want to detransition. Not from some cruel necessity or right-wing brainwashing or what have you; genuinely, rationally, actively want it.

I knew why I feared that. Whenever I met another trans man or heard of their stories, some jigsaw puzzles would simply not fit. I never once desired to be a man until I learned of trans men’s existence. Never sought to play the role of a man and only half-enjoyed them now, if at all. Never, not even now, dreamt of myself as a man. At times another trans man would have the same ‘odd’ pieces, but then something else would find itself amiss again. On and on that list went.

One might call this a foregone conclusion in retrospect. Shouldn’t I have known? Shouldn’t a doctor have known? But this rather ignores that the psychology and study of transsexuality are hopelessly warped with attempts to eradicate it. My country’s procedures were dated. The questionnaires I took to have my doctor conclude I’m transsexual? Those were lousy with decades-dated misogyny (do you like housework? do you get aroused by housework? or maybe by cars?) and with voyeuristic, invasive questions (how do you have sex? how do you masturbate?) There were correct answers; there was no variation, which is only allowed for the cisgender. That procedure has since improved, especially in the West, but the traces remain. How does one introspect on one’s gender when that was the model for it? How does one even attempt to unravel the relationship between misogyny and desire to abandon womanhood when to do so threatens access to medical care? What sign ought I have looked for to distinguish myself from trans men when it was demanded no distinctions exist?

One does not exit a hostile care system with a healthier, more stable identity. That is nothing short of a miracle.

September 2023 marked the eighth anniversary of me exiting hostile care with a coveted prize in my grasp. It also marked the moment I looked in the mirror and saw exactly what I’d sought to win in that hellscape: an indisputable man. Not a cis man, of course, but one bereft of all the features that had haunted me to the point of self-harm. I was free, I had won; no one would ever look at me and think me a woman—no one ever did, those days.

I had won. And in my victory, I felt nothing at all.

Part II: Failure and Regret

The Right invests much bombast into transition regret. Loud ring the warning bells: this could happen to you! Your child! A girl with so much to live for, rendered barren, flat-chested, a misshapen man-thing! You, too, will live to regret it!

It amuses me. Queerness and butchness had marked me long ago; I was never particularly buxom or fecund. Never, in the heterosexist sense, something worthy of desire. I was a misshapen man-thing far before I asked people to call me ‘he.’ The people who made sure I knew I was a monster man-woman were precisely the kinds of people that now warned me away from turning myself into what—according to them—I already was. The sheer parental panic with which I’d been forced into makeup and dresses, you’d think I transitioned already.

Even more amusingly, sometimes the Right claims to care about butch lesbians. Tomboys are being mutilated, they say. It’s an imposition of gender stereotypes; women can be masculine!

But if the Right believes women can be lesbian and masculine, what’s with the whole fixation on ruined femininity and birthing wombs?

Indeed, the Right’s acceptance of detransitioned women is full of little caveats. They are to be paraded as damaged goods at conservative rallies. Their lost breasts and ovaries will be ever-ogled, figuratively if not literally, and the ‘irreversible damage’ left by testosterone examined with morbid fascination. They are the Right’s Magdalenes. They’re proof there’s good in the transgressive—that is, that the enemy can be pitied, assimilated. As an underclass, of course. They’re never to truly cease being damaged, for they must be proof that sex can only be ruined, never changed.

For a detransitioner, there is temptation in the Right’s conditional acceptance. It offers an easy answer to their current pain. The past choice they may regret or suffer under—why, it should’ve been prevented! If only you listened to the right authorities, all would’ve been well. Not altogether different than regretting a marriage or college major. Many an adult decries stupid choices of youth—and those certainly happen—but what’s scariest of all is the notion you weren’t making rash or ill-informed decisions. I know I wasn’t. And if that is so, then it means the current self—the mature one, the one with 20/20 hindsight—could make a mistake, too.

Right-wing detransitioners take for granted there exists a guardian angel that could’ve healed them of the gendered distress they once felt and showed them a path to contentment. That is a very tall order, considering how misogynistic and hostile psychiatry and psychology are, historically speaking. And that’s to say nothing of religion. But at least they would’ve been prevented from transitioning; misery averted—right?

My guardian angel, you could say, was lack of funds. I wanted top surgery—double mastectomy—but there was no way I could afford it, not in many years’ time. Now I realise I would’ve come to regret it and would’ve likely sought to reverse its effects. So I’m all good, right? I benefitted from how flawed trans healthcare is, didn’t I?

Perhaps. But there was a reason I wanted a mastectomy, and not a frivolous one. Every time I needed to see a doctor for a respiratory infection, I did so in fear of transphobic malpractice. I would minimise the time I spent in places where my chest could be exposed—gyms, pools, beaches, goddamned corporate retreats. And then there was the way my body, breasts included, had been used to prove to me I was not just a woman but Woman, a biodestined vessel for coy giggles, cookware, and pregnancy. And how that made me feel.

Indeed, I would later find out there are women and nonbinary people that do not identify with manhood yet seek the exact same top surgery I once wanted, for similar reasons. With no regrets. They wish to take control of their body and do so. And I know that, had I been able to get top surgery in the past, it would’ve made me happy for a good while.

So what’s more important: years of constant anxiety, or lack of hypothetical regret?

The right-wing detransitioner assumes one’s current self to be the ultimate judge of one’s choices—but take that principle to its logical conclusion, and it will seem like no decision should ever be made. There is always a prospective Future You which possesses more knowledge. Always the possibility of regret. Of course, decisions in life are sort of inevitable, but don’t worry about that—the powers that be will handle that. Ancestral tradition, or a caring authority figure. That’s also all humans with exactly the same issues, but don’t worry about that either. Maybe God is speaking through them. You never know.

In the end, the prescripts of the Right march to the same grim conclusion. That the only decision you can ever make with total certainty is death.

Part III: Death, the Tarot Kind

Queer culture delights in tales of transformation. We were all once larval—in the closet, often abused and scared. Trapped in a world of rigid roles and brutal dominion. But one day, we hope to metamorphose into our true shape and to take flight above a blissful, lawless, ever-shifting sea of change.

Most queer people are cisgender, and more still do not seek to transition, but the nature of all our transgressions is intimately entwined with gender anyway. We’re all doing it ‘wrong,’ by the wider society’s definition, even the most masculine of cis gay men or the most feminine of cis lesbian women. Unsurprising, then, are the queer community’s various attempts to embrace gender variance and to lay bare the plasticity of sex.

There is nothing per se about detransition that does not fit this mould. If gender is to be fucked with, why not take it for a swing? Indeed, in my experience most queer people would agree it’s entirely possible to detransition without weaponising transphobia or lapsing rightward.

But that’s usually a hypothetical thought exercise that ends exactly there. Maybe that queer person knows a detransitioner, maybe they don’t; regardless, the lives of the detransitioned do not interact with queer ideas of sex/gender, or indeed queer ideas about anything. The only time the detransitioned are really remarked on is only to state our statistical insignificance—or rather, the statistical insignificance of transition regret. I don’t personally regret my transition for the most part, so I wouldn’t even count there.

Whereas the Right sings lyrical about all the motivations and trials and tribulations of the detransitioned (and deftly twists the verses to fit the chorus), the Left does not usually consider the lives of the detransitioned at all. Mistakes happen, they suppose. Kind of funny we ‘failed at gender’ twice. Too bad we’re so miserable, they guess. What, ‘the patriarchy made you do it’? BuzzFeed feminism is so-o-o 2010s, bro.

It would be accurate to surmise the queer community has ceded the concept of detransition to the Right. The queer stance is, in effect, ‘it doesn’t matter anyway’—a defensive and reactive one.

That is not to say the Left as a whole is to blame for grifting detransitioners or the Right itself—the blame is always, first and foremost, on the ones that actually do the harm. And the negligence of the Left doesn’t really harm those that happily push others under the bus—sadly, some people are just assholes. No, the consequences are felt instead by detrans people that have no desire to participate in the transphobia circus, and after that, trans people themselves. The Right’s deathgrip on the detransition narrative means detransition itself is conceptually tied to the Right. Because there is no alternative trans-positive narrative, there is no way to exist as detrans and not affirm someone else’s transphobia, no matter how many times you say you don’t hate trans people. After all there is only one thing people think of when they hear ‘detransitioner.’ And now you are it, whether you like it or not.

I feared I would detransition because, on some level, I knew I might. But why fear it? It’s hard to be trans. There are clear privileges to socially presenting as your birth sex. Doctors will readily help you undo transition. I didn’t want to grift—well, fucking fantastic. Easy enough to not do something. What’s the problem?

I feared it because it’s soul-crushing to know your existence hurts the people you love most. Your friends, partners, mentors. So many cis people in my past knew me as The Trans Person—and now what? How much of the good I had done would be ruined? And by what possible example could I imagine my life as a detransitioner? What is there to even aspire to? And what about everything I’d sacrificed to transition in the first place? All the strife and ridicule I endured, only to have it whispered to me from leering faces: “See? We were right all along.”

All that, to face alone.

At a certain point my resistance to the idea of detransition was motivated only by this. Only by what others would make of me against my will. Not my personal desires. Nothing else at all. To be turned into such a spectacle, a public property of a person, felt like nothing short of death.

Part IV: Afterlife

I decided to start this substack after listening to every podcast appearance by Lucy Kartikasari I could find. She is a detrans woman with a similar yet different story; she transitioned much younger, but went through a similarly arcane approval system and years of waiting; she is not a lesbian; she has detransitioned, and she speaks in favour of trans healthcare and trans rights. The name Dolphin Diaries also originates with her—or rather, with a different, anonymous user, whose idea she broadcast on her TikTok. A dolphin as a symbol of detransition; a mammal that evolved from the ocean to walk on land and then returned to an aquatic life. I find it an appealing and pithy comparison, one free of unnecessary gendering or judgement.

There are precious few voices that speak of detransition in a positive, non-right-wing light. It’s a perspective fraught with thorny, uncomfortable questions. A perspective which is easier to ignore—unless you can’t. If for no one else, I write this for people that felt the same way I did. Trapped, not by ‘mistakes’ or by ‘gender ideology’, but by the image others have painted of them before they could even protest.

I do not write this for the Right. There is nothing I can say that would sway you, and there is nothing you can say that would sway me—and believe me, I have listened more carefully and with far more good faith than you ever have. Feel free to comment how much you pity my womb, or something. I promise to leave its fertility a mystery. I’m a tease that way.

As for other potential readers of this blog: while I do believe it a failure of queer rhetoric to adequately synthesise detransition into the overall gender politic, I don’t believe it’s everyone else’s job to create that synthesis. Who better than a detransitioner, after all? I ask not that you solve my problems for me.

I ask only that you listen.

[lustlovehart]

Hard Stoned Gallery Dance

A/n: This was made like monthhsss ago, so I’m posting it as forgiveness for the lack of work i’ve been doing.

Pairing: [ Monster!Twst ] Malleus Draconia x Reader

Summary: Dancing is a beautiful past time, yet such a pretty act is ruined, when Malleus decides to let his affections for you run rampant. (Wc: 1.9k)

Warnings: Kissing & Licking, Murder/Death of Minor Characters (Not explicit), Possessive traits, Clinginess bordering obsession, a little blood, Biting/Marking

Your head leans itself on the rough surface of the stone wall. You’ve finished your objective for the day, so giving yourself this break is well deserved, ten minutes free of Crowley’s nagging is still freedom despite how it sounds. Your eyes can’t help but look up at the pretty blue sky, it stings to look at but you don’t mind the pain, seeing something so clear is worth it.

That cloud looks like a cat.

…

The taste of indulgence is quickly stripped out your grasp when the familiar sound of dragging stone resonates through the air, grating to your ears.

“Child of hunters, what may you be doing here?” His rock-hard face interrupts your view of the sky, green solid eyes look down on you as he casts a shadow on your visage.

Despite his body being made of pure stone, his eyes give a faint green glow, as if a bioluminescent moss grew there. His hair, his wings, and even his tail freely flowed as if he were just a regular Dragon hybrid. But alas, he is some sort of statue— Oh no not a statue, in his words a gargoyle.

You forgot about the difference one time and in turn, he gave you a 3-hour lecture on the difference between a grotesque and other gargoyles. Never again…

“I’m trying to hide from my boss.”

“Shall I be rid of him for you?” His mouth forms a little o as a small puff of a green flame releases from him.

“That would be a bad idea, I’d lose my source of income.” He quirks an eyebrow up at this., to be fair, you don’t think he has any clue what a “payday” is.

Despite his confusion, he lifts from his bowing form, a hand reaching out towards you in all its mossy glory. You’ve known him long enough to know what he wants.

A dance.

You don’t try to hide your exasperation as you take his invitation, albeit a bit slow. His stone body quickly pulls you up and into him. With how much tamer his form is compared to other beasts you know, it’s hard to remember that he’s part dragon, and even worse is part of the only few monsters who know magic.

So as of right now, this marks your third time dancing with one of the worst monstrosities currently on the bounty list. No maybe not one of the worst… From what you remember from Crowley’s ramblings (which isn’t much since you tune him out when possible) he’s probably the most dangerous.

You get the basic idea, but you’ve never truly seen for yourself why he’s considered so terrible. Is he not just a glorified water spout? Compared to a Kraken and an Incubus, surely his damage isn’t so grand to be warranted as the biggest beast to hunt.

“You’ll always be welcomed in my castle, you would not be short of accommodations either.” his hand rests upon your waist, pulling you closer than need be. His invasion of personal space is akin to a parasite leeching off its host, but you let him feed of you. Whether it’s from fear or a bond, you’re not decided.

Your movements are sluggish at best, but you can still remember the basic steps in the dance, your foot sloppily setting itself down where it should be, the occasional step on stone happening once or twice though.

“Considering the current state it’s in… is that even safe for me to walk in…? It looks like one good shout and the bricks holding the place together will crumble apart…”

“That is just the disguise we give it, as to not alert others of our presence. For you though, I’m willing to make it stand out if it makes you happy.” The hand lying on your waist retracts itself as he takes his other clawed limb and twirls you around, falling back into position when the spin is done.

“… I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll wait as long as it takes.” You know he’s not lying about that. You can distantly recall when a certain mystery monster had told you the tale of a longing dragon who perched himself at the opening of his window to wait for a certain hunter's return.

“Yes, he was so determined to be the first one to greet you, why he even stayed sat at the window for 5 months. It was quite endearing hehe.”

“Doesn’t it take hundreds of years for you to erode? Maybe it’ll take me 50 years to decide, by then I’ll be old and grey and you’ll be perfectly fine.” You take a step forward before the gargoyle's grip on your body tightens significantly, shrieking when he suddenly dips you down unprepared.

His freed hand takes your other arm and lifts it up to rest on his shoulder. Green sparkles are faintly flying around his lips as he slowly leans into the soft skin on your arm. His face leans in and presses chaste kisses on your limb, the gentle texture of his mouth catching you off guard as it tickles your body. Now you get it, he must’ve cast a spell to temporarily soften his lips.

He had attempted to kiss you once without taking this precaution, in turn, you gave him a face filled with discomfort at the stone texture that kept peppering you.

You can still remember the hurt face he had on when he saw your dislike towards his affections.

On his ninth kiss, his forked tongue peeks out from his mouth, licking a stripe up your skin. He finally lifts you up after the assault on your arm, his face only a few inches away from your own. It would’ve been quite the romantic atmosphere, had your nose not catch a sharp smell, and a horrible wretched one at that.

“You could be on your last breath and I’d still wait for an answer. But I hope that won’t happen.”

“Who knows, I work a dangerous job.” what is it?

The both of you twirl in unison despite the lack of music, your bodies in tandem as they move to just the sound of your surroundings. Though, your body is a little more sluggish than his own.

That stench… Is too familiar.

Eventually, your last steps fade out as you stop in your tracks.

“Is something wrong dear hunter?” Your grip on his shoulder fastens, if he was human you’re sure you would’ve broken his shoulder.

“What did you do?”

A smile is lit on his lips, his head tilting to the side, giving you such an innocent look, like he did nothing wrong.

“Whatever are you talking about?”

“The smell… Iron… This whole time I thought it was just the smell of the forest. But…” You swiftly pull a dagger out from your side, throwing it past his shoulder, the tip of the steel piercing into what sounded like wood.

He doesn’t turn back, only continuing to smile at you, as if you’re the only existing thing here, or more accurately, the only thing he cares about.

The bark of the trunk splits in half, falling to the ground, revealing the source of the stench. The top of the tree isn’t green, it’s red and brown.

4 pairs of hands stick from the leaves.

“You… What did you do Malleus–?!“ he’s quick to twirl you again, his grip on you tighter than it’s ever been. Despite your protests, he continues dancing as if you hadn’t seen anything.

You’re suddenly stricken with the memory of your first meeting with the beast, blood coating his mouth when he looked at you, pure admiration when he had finally met the muse everyone spoke so dearly of.

“Malleus, you—!“

“Tell me, dear human, was it not you who spared me?” He dips you down. “Was it not you who saw a beaten beast and allowed him to live?” He lifts you up. “Even as you walked away with a piece of stone you let go of one who’s rendered thousands over the years,” he pulls you in. “Dead” every action with your body is harsh, but not enough to hurt you, never enough to hurt you.

Because why would he ever wish to harm you?

He’d much rather smother you in affection, even when you’re exerting all your energy to kill him as he hugs you.

“It’s because you…”

“Looked so human?” He continues to keep you close, impossibly so, your skin melting into his, not from fawness, but fear.

“How did you know-“

“You’ve spared so many of us because we made you feel something in the moment,” he must be referring to everyone else… The look you gave him is dazed, caught up in the thought of every other monster you let get away. His fingers cage your chin in between them. “But don’t forget what we are.” Sparkles fly, temporarily blinding you.

When you open your vision, you’re greeted by the sight of Malleus, with the appearance of what he looked like if he was human, or at least similar to a human.

His skin isn’t rough and solid, his breaths are warm, and his hair is soft and pretty rather than a soft moss.

His eyes are a nice green, a pretty green. A color you would’ve enjoyed more had he been a human. Such a lively color shouldn’t be backdropped by crimson, yet, it is.

Behind him, several other trees collapse on themself, revealing the other tops, the same as the tree you had just seen. Views of stray limbs and vaguely familiar faces of hunters invade your mind, panic setting as you finally realize a question you should’ve asked long ago…

Why was Malleus so far from his castle?

Before you can react, your ears hear a faint whisper, eyes going heavy as little pings of thorns claw at your shoes. The last thing you see and feel, is his face leaning towards you, his finger loosening itself from your chin.

In a blink of an eye, he’s no longer the human you spared, but the monster you let escape back into the wild.

The fiendish of smiles is graced on his lips. Not because of evil, but because his smile, is so love stricken.

All because of you.

“Seems the little birdy fled the nest without permission.” Your eyes slowly flutter open, the familiar figure of a man bowing on top of you. “Now, I’ll forgive you as we weren’t expecting such a beast to appear-“

He’s immediately cut off in his sentence when a searing pain cuts through his chin.

“Augh—! How could you kick me after I spent precious time searching for you!“

“You’re the reason I’m here in the first place…!“

“I didn’t do anything!“ Despite your annoyance towards Crowley and all he stands for in your life, you can’t deny if someone had seen this scene play out in front of them, they would assume you two to be a father and his bickering child.

You attempt to stand to your full height, faltering at the pings of pain in your ankle. You suck in a breath, looking down as you nurse hurt skin.

There are briar thorns wrapped around your leg, a single rose adorning the stems, and a gentle green hue that contrasts the pure black of the floral life.

“Oh my, what were you doing last night?”

“… Night?”

“You’ve been gone for 36 hours my birdie.”

You don’t feel any different… Save for the prickle of thorns and fresh bite on your arm.

… Fresh bite?

Despite the indent, it doesn’t hurt, it’s like, he left it there as a reminder of your failures, at least to you. It could very well be his way of staking his claim on your heart.

“It’s a shame you didn’t get him when you could’ve, with your connections, you could’ve spared us a huge loss today…” you’re cruelly reminded of the people that lay to waste hidden in the trees. “We should let today serve as a reminder of what you must do.”

Crowley doesn’t look happy at the sight of so many employees who failed their jobs, yet he doesn’t look grieved either.

You… Truly, you wish you weren’t so softhearted during your missions. Maybe then, this could’ve all been avoided.

A/n: Like I said, this piece was from so long a goo, so i’m so sorry if the plot isn’t to anyone liking, but if it is, i’m happy you enjoyed it!!

[gay-dorito-dust]

You: what is something you wish people didn’t assume of you, but don’t say anything about it because it’s better that they do?

Dante: that I don’t always crack jokes or be sarcastic are my only personality traits, that I can be deeply observant and Intuitive then they give me credit for, that I mainly joke and laugh when scared half out of my mind; but I’d rather people think of me as such as it makes people less expectant of me and demand more of me then I could ever give because I don’t know how much of myself I have left either.

I have been through more then what others have and yet I’d much rather be a joke that isn’t taken seriously then one that is taken seriously, for I would crack under the pressure as easily as ice and fear the words ‘I don’t know’ ever leaving my lips in face of a enemy even I can’t stop.

I don’t want to let people down but don’t want them to give me too much hope, I’d rather be a bum now then someone who’ll fails everyone in the future.

Vergil: that I merely obtain power through unconventional means to further become similar to that of my father then mother, someone whom I thought had left me to die and thus had to fend for myself even to this day, I am still fighting even if my body is still and my sword is in it’s sheath. I still fight and am fighting.

I am someone who’s motives comes from an all too human need to protect, protect myself from harm ever befalling me again like it did when I was a child, a mere man who abandoned his heart becuase it hurt too much to bear it’s heavy weight, and yet I persevere through sheer willpower and motivation to forger keep myself and others safe, for I will not ever relive that night ever again.

I am a man who constantly thinks ‘why me’ when the worst happens, yet wouldn’t wish it upon my brother nor my son for I’d rather kill it a million times before it ever could lay a hand on either of them. I fear my brother hates me for all I’ve done, and even if he forgives and loves me as a brother does, I fear I will never be able to reciprocate such a feeling.

You: Jesus fucking Christ it was just a question-

[j-k-writes]

The Bronze Targaryen

Summary - After his mother's death in 115 AC Y/N Targaryen is summoned by his father Daemon to King's Landing in the hopes of forming a betrothal between the new heir to Runstone and Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Warnings - General HOTD warnings, Canon character death, grief and mourning (if I miss any let me know)

I tried my best with the timelines and research but between the books and show it's so convoluted so forgive me for any mistakes

A fifth arrow hit the target with a soft ‘thump’ as the sky transformed the already slick training ground further and further into mud. (Y/N) pulled a sixth arrow from his quiver, wiping the metal tip clean of any rain, before notching it and drawing the bow string back. 

“I think you’ve proved your mettle M’lord.” Called a voice from behind the young heir. 

(Y/N) turned his head, making eye contact with Osric Stone, “Leave me Osric.” 

The (H/C) teen returned to his target, drawing the string back again. He loosed the arrow and smiled to himself when he heard soft clapping from behind him. Tearing his eyes away from the target once more, (Y/N) faced the stable boy. 

“Very impressive, M’lord.” Osric smiled at him, “Now, will you please come inside?” 

“Has my mother returned from her hunt?” 

“No M’lord-” 

(Y/N) turned from the bastard boy, pulling another arrow, “Then I shall wait here until she does.” 

“You will be ill if you stay out here any longer M’lord.” 

“It’s a spring rain Osric I will survive.” He released his arrow, smirking as it pierced another down the middle. “I will remain until my mother arrives, it shall not be long now.” 

He heard Osric sigh behind him, “‘M’lord I beg you.” 

“Osric,” (Y/N) turned to face the stable boy, temper rising. He yearned to be left alone, his mother had promised she would not be gone more than a few days and yet it had been a full week since (Y/N) had last heard from her. He knew his grandfather was not worried, but (Y/N) could not help the shivers that raced down his spine when he thought of his mother’s tardiness. “I like you, but remember that I am your lord not your friend.” 

Osric straightened, “I will leave you M’lord.” 

(Y/N) sighed as he watched the stable boy retreat. He had not meant to snap at Osric, who was, no matter what he said, his friend- perhaps his closest one. But he often said things he did not mean in fits of anger, his mother did not comment on the trait, but he knew she saw him behind (Y/N)’s violet eyes when his words burned poor lords who had the misfortune of catching her heir at the wrong moment. 

He rolled his shoulder’s back, wincing at the pain of stretching the taught muscles, and pulled another arrow out of his quiver. Banishing his thoughts of worry he continued his shooting. 

“My lord,” (Y/N) tore his eyes away from his blade, setting the sharpening block down on his table. “Your grandsire requests your presence in his chambers. He claims it’s urgent.” 

(Y/N) shot up from his seat, dread coiling deep in his gut. As he strode through the halls of Runestone he already knew what news would await him when he reached his grandsire. He’d known the news was coming for days since they sent a party after his mother on the fifth day she failed to return. 

His hand shook as he brought his fist up to knock upon the door to his grandsire’s chambers. Maester Pate opened the door, his face conveying the grim news to (Y/N) before his grandsire even had the chance to speak. 

“They have found her.” (Y/N) spoke, stepping into his room and coming face to face with his grandsire. 

Yorbert sighed, rubbing his gray brows, “Yes.” 

“Is she-” (Y/N)’s voice trembled, not daring to speak his worst fear aloud. Yorbert motioned for his grandson to sit. When (Y/N) complied, he spoke. 

“She is alive but not well.” His grandsire paused, throat working as he struggled to speak, “It is said she fell from her horse and suffered a grave injury. Maester Pate-” 

“I want to see her.” (Y/N) stood, the force of his movement causing his chair to fall back against the floor. He whipped around to face the maester, who took a step back from the heir. “Where is she? Take me to her.” 

“(Y/N) please,” His grandsire said, “You must listen. You are now the heir to Runestone-” 

“You said she lived.” His grandsire paused at his interruption. 

“What?” 

“You said she lived, I cannot be heir to Runestone unless my mother has passed.” 

“(Y/N) please, sit back down.” 

Against his wishes (Y/N) complied, picking his chair up from where it had fallen and retaking his seat. When his grandsire spoke again (Y/N) seethed, there was no doubt among the Vale that the Lady Rhea was one of the best hunters in the Vale, for her to fall off her horse bad enough to be on her death bed seemed folly to her son. His hands shook as he reached past Yorbert and grabbed the pitcher of wine filling the cup placed in front of him to the brim. His grandsire sighed as he watched (Y/N) tip the cup back before standing once again. 

“I will see her.” (Y/N) steadied his voice as he spoke, “I would say my goodbyes before she passes.” 

His grandsire nodded, granting (Y/N) his leave. 

He almost returned to his grandsire when he saw what had become of his lady mother. 

She lay pale and gaunt amongst the white sheets of her bed. Her eyes were shut, and the bandage that covered her wound, brown and red with blood, messed her already tangled hair further. 

(Y/N) took his place by her side, reaching out to grasp her frail hand. “Do not let anyone in without my grandsire’s leave or mine.” 

Maester Pate nodded, closing the door behind him on his way out of the room. As the door shut with a soft click, (Y/N) returned to his mother, his tears finally coming as he watched her chest move silently. He wiped furiously at the tears spilling down his cheeks. He placed his mother’s hand on his cheek, shivering at its chill. 

“Mother,” He whispered, “They say you fell, but- but I do not believe it. Tell me what happened mother, please.” 

His mother stayed silent, eyes still closed. He doubted she was awake to hear him, but he kept speaking. He begged her to wake, to live, to speak to him, to do anything but lay there like she was already dead. He spoke about how he waited for days for her return, how he’d snapped at Osric, and how he’d apologized later. He prayed to the old gods for her recovery, and cursed his mother for refusing his wish to join her on her hunt. 

He was half-asleep in his chair when she finally woke. 

“(Y/N).” 

He opened his eyes and sat at alert at the sound of her raspy voice. 

“Mother.” 

She smiled at him, “My boy.” 

“Mother what happened.” 

Rhea paused, and (Y/N) feared she’d slipped into unconsciousness once again. She licked her lips, giving him a faint apologetic smile, “I fell from my horse.” 

“No.” (Y/N) shook his head, “Mother you would not-” 

She shushed him and he quieted, “Listen to me, do not look for vengeance where there is none. It was an accident, nothing more.” She paused before continuing, “I am sorry. You are so young, too young.” 

“I am ten and seven mother.” 

She laughed softly, wincing at the pain it brought her. “Again, too young. But you will be a good heir, as I always knew you would be.” She intertwined her fingers with his, face turning serious, “Do not let your father’s rot reach you, you will be safe from it here, but here alone.” 

“Mother what-” 

A haze covered her gaze and her coughing interrupted his question, causing him to yell for Maester Pate. He was pushed out of the way by his grandsire as Maester Pate rushed to his mother offering her milk of the poppy. She refused him, asking for (Y/N) but as (Y/N) attempted to approach her his grandsire held him back. 

“She is not right of mind, boy.” 

She shook with pain as she cried for him, and (Y/N) had to turn his face into his fist to muffle his sobs. Maester Pate soothed her and offered her milk and poppy once again, which she accepted. Minutes later she slipped into unconsciousness, and later that night as (Y/N) sat vigil by her bedside she took her final breath.

The letter came three weeks after his mother’s death. 

(Y/N) had been unconsolable the days following his mother's death. Confining himself to his chambers he left the plates of food left by his bedside virtually untouched, only exiting his bed to empty the pitchers of wine left by servants until his grandsire ordered them to leave no more. He lay unwashed in his bed, ignoring the pleas by both his grandsire and maester to eat and bathe. On the fifth day of his grief-stricken haze, his cousin dragged him from the bed, easily fighting off his weak attempts at breaking free. 

“Let go of me!” 

His cousin held him tighter, dragging him toward the bath, “You cannot let yourself rot any longer, (Y/N). It’s been almost a week, I understand your grief but we must bury your mother and your grandsire will only do so with your presence.” 

(Y/N) yelped as he hit the water, still fully clothed. He thrashed harder, only causing Gerold to hold him tighter. 

“I am sorry, but we cannot delay any longer.” Gerold gave him a pitiful look as he shivered at the cold water, the fight leaving him as exhaustion and hunger finally caught up with the young heir. “Bathe, and then eat. After the funeral I will let you get your revenge against me, but you must gain your strength back, cousin. Weakness is not a good look on you.” 

“Leave me.” (Y/N) slumped into the water, shaky hands coming to unlace his tunic. His cousin nodded, leaving him with a soft pat on his shoulder. 

(Y/N) tossed his soaked underclothes onto the floor, mentally apologizing to the poor servants sent to clean the chamber. He washed quickly, wishing the water was at least tepid instead of frigid, but he supposed it would’ve been warmer if he’d bathed when he was first asked to. Servants came in silently as he bathed, leaving fresh clothes by his bed and a plate of food by the bath. 

He ate and dressed, grimacing at the dark bruises under his violet eyes and the (H/C) stubble littering his face. He left his weapons in his chambers, and headed to meet his grandsire. His grandsire looked relieved at the sight of him, greeting him at the door to his chambers. 

“I am glad to see you out of bed, (Y/N).” His grandsire smiled at him, placing his hand on his grandson's cheek. 

(Y/N) looked to his cousin Ser Gerold, giving him a small nod before speaking, “I did not have much choice in the matter, but I apologize for my absence.” 

“Nonsense,” His grandsire shook his head, “We all grieve in our own ways.” 

His grandsire brought him close, allowing him to rest his head atop his shoulder. He whispered comforting words to his heir, sitting (Y/N) down gently by his side as he explained the funeral rites prepared for his mother and his new responsibilities as the sole heir to Runestone. 

He stood by his grandsire and cousin's side as his mother was buried, staring at the crypt in silence hours after the funeral was over. It was only when his cousin came to retrieve him for supper that he finally moved from his spot. 

The weeks after his mother’s burial passed (Y/N) by in a haze. His new responsibilities as heir of Runestone left him too preoccupied to wallow in his grief. He spent his days by his grandsire's side helping him run Runestone, and in the training yard training with the Master-at-arms and defeating the poor squires and knights who reluctantly took up arms against him. 

He was with his grandsire when the raven arrived. 

“Prince Daemon summons his son Prince (Y/N) Targaryen to Kingslanding to join him at court.” Maester Pate read from the parchment, and (Y/N) scoffed pacing around the room. 

“To what end?” (Y/N) questioned, he’d never stepped foot in Kingslanding, and his father had not spoken to him in years. Maester Pate swallowed, shooting a nervous look to Lord Yorbert, revealing to the young heir that his grandsire already knew of his father’s plans. “What.” 

“Your father hopes to secure a betrothal.” 

(Y/N) paused his pacing, “A betrothal? Daemon has not spoken to me in years and he hopes to be in charge of my marriage?” 

“I do not like your father any more than you (Y/N)-” 

“And yet you have hidden this from me!” (Y/N) seethed, “How long have you known of my father’s wishes? How long have you kept me in the dark?” 

His grandsire sighed, “I do not plot against you (Y/N), you must understand that.” 

“How long?” 

“Since the prince returned from his campaign in the stepstones.” 

(Y/N)’S face blanched, stuttering over his words as he spoke again, “Did my mother know about this? Or did you plot with her husband to steal her son away from behind her back?” 

“(Y/N) how dare-” Yorbert cut himself off, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know your relationship with your father is strained but he is still your father.” 

“I am your heir not Daemon’s!” 

Yorbert sighed once more, visibly frustrated with (Y/N), “Your mother did not wish for anyone but you to have a say in your marriage, but this is a royal summons-” 

“It’s my choice?” 

“Yes (Y/N) but-” 

(Y/N) ignored his grandsire, turning to the maester. “Maester Pate write back to Kingslanding and let them know that I will not be answering their summons.” 

“(Y/N)-” 

“It is my choice grandsire. That was my mother’s wish was it not?” 

His grandsire nodded letting the argument die out, his defeated stance making him look more than his age. As (Y/N) turned to leave the room Maester Pate spoke. 

“What would you have me write to your father, my prince?”

“Write any words you must Pate but do inform the prince that Lord (Y/N) will not be coming.”

[astarionancuntnin]

request for: @ladycroft5245

Public Display of Attention

summary: his consort - his beautiful, too kind for her own good - forever young lover. she was his, and his only, and he believed it was long overdue to make that statement clear among the rest of their group. after tonight, the only name spiling from her luscious lips would be his.

pairing: ascended astarion x reader!tav

rating: E

word count: 4.6k

cw: 18+. astarion POV, late act 3 setting (so potential spoilers), smut, big angst, depiction of racing thoughts due to low self-esteem/jealousy, very possessive behaviour and sex, public sex/exhibisionism/slight voyeurism, oral (f!receiving), hold the moan, mentions of pregnancy, breeding kink, mating press, p in v, blood/vampire bites, creampie.

a/n: songs inspo for this one were taste and who were you with last night by ari abdul, if you wanna get an idea of the vibe as i was writing this up

read on ao3

my masterlist

or keep reading down below~

It was in the little things that he noticed it the most. How she was always willing to give a helping hand to anyone who asked — and even those who didn’t, quite honestly. Gods, how it aggravated him in the worst ways. Her kindness was her most admirable trait, yet also her biggest weakness.

Then again, that's how he truly fell for her in the first place.

How she was simply too pure for her own good, and it was most infuriating at times; constantly giving people the benefit of the doubt, believing everyone was inherently good, desiring to befriend everyone and truly believing everyone had a good reason to act the way they did. As if she refused to see the corruption of this world and its people, of him, of all people.

Maybe that's also why she opened her heart to him in the first place. Maybe it had nothing to do with his charms, and although he believed he had successfully and very easily seduced her for his own protection, he kept thinking she would slip away from his grasp at any moment. 

The doubts kept growing as one night he spied on her as she indulged Wyll for a dance. Well, not as much spying as they did it right next to the campfire, anyone could see them. Then again, that might be what bothered him so much. 

How carefree they were to dance the night away, visible to all and with no shame whatsoever. How he avoided being publicly seen with her, reserving their time together in the privacy of his tent. How the voice in his head screamed, “You're wasting her time. She deserves happiness with someone whole, someone who can make her as happy as she is with Wyll. You could only bring her misery. You don't deserve her.”

And how hard he had tried time and time again to push those thoughts away, to convince himself that she did choose him, that he deserved her love, no matter how novel the concept was to him.

But when he witnessed Wyll leaning in closer, his lips reaching for hers, Astarion turned away, closing the flap of his tent. He couldn't bear to stare much longer, as his heart shattered at the thought that the moments he spent with her were but ephemeral. Gone in an instant, a bittersweet memory, and how foolish of him to believe he could have had a chance at love when he was but the shell of a man. His fear of losing her turned to resentment against not only himself, but also against their companion for experiencing what he could only dream of. 

Of course, he thought, how could I be such a fool to believe what we had could ever last?

But that night, before he could enter his reverie, she joined him in his bed. Without a single word, she snuggled up close to him and fell asleep in his arms, bringing cosiness to his bedroll with her hot skin warmed up by the alcohol flowing through her veins, and the soft beating of her heart calming his thoughts as he listened along.

In the morning, he listened in on her discussion with Wyll to learn she had turned him down in favour of Astarion. 

He couldn't begin to comprehend what had happened.

She had the opportunity to be with someone better, and yet she chose him, over and over again.

Many weeks later, when she spent her entire evening gallivanting at Gale’s side of the room at the Elfsong as he showed her tricks of the weave, standing close to her — too close — and she smiled, and laughed, and held his shoulder, and her eyes sparkled with amazement at the magic before her, it's as if everything she had ever done to prove her love became meaningless. 

He could practically hear what she was saying: Gale, you’re so talented, please, can you show me more? Can I spend more time with you? Oh Gale, how I love when you teach me the magic of the weave, when you touch me, Gods Gale, what I wouldn’t do to feel you inside me, fuck me, oh Gale���

The mere thought of someone else laying their hands on her in any way imaginable sent him down a spiral of dark thoughts. Since defeating Cazador, he only became more selfish, perhaps he would be the most selfish man she would ever know, but he was the only man she should want. After two hundred years of torment, of pure shit, he deserved better. Everything and anything he wanted, he would have.

In the past he couldn’t find it within him to keep her to himself, but now, now that he was all powerful, now that the world was his to claim, it wasn't something he would allow anymore. 

No.

This time, he wouldn’t sit by idly, waiting to rot and let those thoughts get the best of him.

He approached them, trying to appear nonchalant despite the seething fury boiling within him.

“My treasure,” he purred in her ear, interrupting Gale through yet another rambling of his. “May I have a word?” She turned her head around, caught off by his sudden presence behind her, with one hand on her waist, and the other on her shoulder, gripping firmly. When he noticed the uncertainty on her face, he answered her unspoken question. “I'm afraid this is of the utmost importance; it really cannot wait.”

He gave a quick glance at Gale to let the wizard know there was no stopping him from stealing away the woman between them. 

“Go on,” Gale said, when their leader remained silent. “We can pick up where we left off once our mighty Vampire Ascendant is done indulging in your presence, whether that be tonight or tomorrow.”

She gave him a sad smile and he nodded with a smile of his own, as she tried to apologise for cutting their time short, and it only added onto Astarion's irritation, who pulled her out of their shared room, and away from prying ears. 

“What’s wrong?” The worry in those soft, brand new crimson eyes of hers. 

Well, truth be told, he didn’t have an answer. He didn’t plan this far ahead, he just wanted to get her away from Gale as fast as possible. 

“Oh, how bothersome,” he clicked his tongue. “It seems to have slipped my mind completely.”

“Didn’t you say it was of the utmost importance?” she sighed, pouting.

“I truly apologise for cutting your time short with the wizard, but now that I have you here with me, I might as well keep you close. You do need to feed, don’t you, little love?” 

Her eyes wandered; this form was still new to her, she didn’t know yet when or even how to tell if she needed to feed. It was no bother though, he would teach her everything there was to know about it. He would be there for her, be the master he couldn’t have when he was in the same situation centuries ago.

She turned her head aside towards their room, probably thinking about Gale and how she left him hanging. Ugh, why did she have to care so much about the others?

“Ugh,” he sighed desperately. “The wizard will still be there when we're done, dear.”

When she turned back to him, she noticed his sneer in Gale’s direction and that’s all she needed to connect the dots. 

“Astarion…” She took a hold of his hand and laid it upon her chest, right over her undead, unbeating heart. His doing. “I promise you there is nothing between Gale and I, or anyone else in our group for that matter. Even Halsin made advances, and — although I am extremely flattered — I’m really not interested. You’re the only one for me.”

Her softness caught him off guard and his face softened temporarily before taking back its haughty state, rolling his eyes. 

“Obviously, I know that.” He lifted her chin with his free hand, the other laying over her waist, pulling her closer as he whispered over her, “You’ll be mine forever, after all.”

“Until the end of times,” she whispered back.

There it was, that smile she kept for him only, with her features softened, and yet, he knew that if she still had a pulse, it would be beating out of her chest.

He loved the way her eyes almost closed when he drew her in for a kiss, lips colliding in a passionate embrace. She let herself get lost in it, giving him control over this dance he knew all too well, but a dance he now took pleasure in, with her only.

His most beloved spawn.

His precious consort.

It was the first time in two hundred years he had something for himself, someone to claim as his, and he wanted to show her just how loved she would be with him, to prove to her she didn’t need to seek anyone else’s attention when she had him all to herself. She needed but to ask; anything she desired, he would give her.

But tonight, he would make that decision for her, and he would keep her all to himself.

Pulling back only slightly, leaving her wanting more, he murmured against her lips, “Now, can I interest you in joining me in bed?” 

“But I’m not tired,” she sulked. “And Gale was going to show me more tricks with the weave, and—”

“How about I show you what tricks I can do, hm?” He cut her off softly, bringing her attention back to him. He swore, if she mentions the damned wizard once more—

“What kind of tricks are we talking about exactly? Because I wouldn’t call pickpocketing the local bard a trick.”

He smiled at the memory, “I’m afraid you’ll have to trust me on this one, pet. But I can assure you, you will be exhausted by the time I’m done with you.”

It was so easy to reel her in with just but a few words. By now, he knew the telltale signs that he had caught her interest; a few quick looks as she was processing the possibilities of what this would entail, those same eyes shining as they fluttered shut, and the biting of her lip followed by her playful smile. 

“Fine.”

She simply couldn’t resist his offers. 

She lifted her chin with eagerness to meet his salacious look, and he got the impression she did so to appear taller, mightier than she really was. 

“As long as it doesn’t involve getting people hurt.”

Again, with the others’ interest at heart before her own. He wanted to roll his eyes at her request, but the only thought crossing his mind as he looked at the soft frown she was forcing along with her crossed arms was how utterly adorable she was, and how delicious the sight of her would be with that frown upside down as she panted underneath him, begging for mercy, with his name spilling from her mouth like a prayer.

The thought alone made his trousers feel much, much tighter.

Before the thoughts could overpower him, he answered her request, raising his hand. “I promise only pure, carnal pleasure for the parties involved.” 

She gave him a side look with her eyes squinted, and he just took her hand, raising it to his lips before kissing it with a smirk as a response. 

“Just follow me, little love, and I’ll show you exactly what I mean.”

And she did just as she was told, as she followed him back inside the room shared amongst the rest of their friends, to his bed. Most of their companions were already fast asleep, with some others quietly preparing for bed. Gale was among the latter, and to Astarion's demise, his bed was right next to his, with barely a partition separating their respective side of the room.

The faint light cast from Gale’s side depicted his shadow, and when Astarion noticed him reading in bed, he thought that maybe he could take advantage of their bed placement, if only for tonight.

He drew his own partition, hiding them from the rest of the room, before walking back to his consort.

“Now,” he purrs. “For this little trick of mine, I will need your full cooperation. Can I trust you to follow my every command?”

She nodded eagerly, her eyes fixated on his.

“Whatever I do, you must remain silent. Understood?”

Another nod. 

His good, little, obedient pet. How he loved that about her.

He walked behind her, leaning his head in the crook of her neck, whispering. “Good girl.”

Slowly, he reached for the lace in her back, untying her dress until it came loose. Her chest rose with anticipation, as he drew his fingers up at her front, lightly brushing his fingers against the light fabric covering her breasts. Hooking his fingers into the crown of her dress, he pulled her top down, releasing her breasts to the crispy air of their room. A warm, deep breath he released against her neck sent shivers down her spine, and she just closed her eyes as she let her head fall back onto his shoulder with a sigh, letting him work her like putty in his hands.

Gods, how he adored that she didn't bother wearing a bra out of combat. It made everything so much easier when it came to indulging his deepest desires: a light brush against the fabric here and there, just to see her nipples harden under his touch, a daring squeeze, sometimes, to feel the fullness of her chest, but his favourite was this dress of hers, and how easy it was to pull down to indulge in a quick nibble.

Maybe that’s also why he was reluctant to her being so damned touchy with the rest of their group, how close she allowed them to be to her precious body. His possession.

It’s okay, he thought to himself, no one will question my ownership after tonight.

Her dress carelessly fell to the floor when he pushed the sleeves down to reveal her everlastingly beautiful body. He pressed his body against her back, rubbing his growing bulge against her ass as he massaged her breast with one hand, while the other roamed south of her navel. A light pinch of her nipple while he reached her clit had her whimper once, potentially loud enough to already give the wizard next door an idea of what they were up to.

“Nuh uh, what did I say? Not a sound, darling.”

“S– sorry…” Her breathing was already heavy with lust.

She could try to keep quiet, but he would do anything in his power to make her crumble beneath his fingers, those same fingers that didn’t waste a second more dipping between her folds, earning another soft moan out of her.

“Already so wet for me, pet.”

He left a trail of wet kisses from her shoulder to her neck, where he licked all the way up to her ear, breathing hot air against her cool skin, while his hands kept working her up.

“Astarion…”

“My sweet, sweet thing, what did we say about keeping quiet, hm?” He dipped two fingers inside of her, and her hand flew to her mouth as she yelped in surprise. “Unless that’s what you really want? To let everyone know who owns you, body and soul? Or maybe you just want poor Gale to know what he’s missing out on?”

She only moaned louder, her palm serving no purpose as her noises escaped it, while he increased the pace of his fingers in and out of her. The lewd wet noises coming from her pussy were loud enough to be heard by their neighbour, he thought, as the shadow before them had put its book aside.

“My, my, what a depraved little thing you are, wanting to put on a show for our friends.” He pushed another finger into her and a soft cry escaped her. “You drive a hard bargain; it would be fun, wouldn’t it?” She kept whimpering and Astarion chuckled softly behind her. "We shouldn't keep them waiting in that case, should we?”

In a swift move, Astarion removed her panties, the only piece of clothing she had left, before picking her up to lay her on his bed and climbing on top of her.

Before them, Gale’s shade was seemingly depicting a far more pleasing activity than reading, with one hand visibly stroking himself and his arm resting under his head. 

“Well, well, would you look at that?” He tilted her head aside to make her watch his shadow through the partition. “Seems like our friendly wizard is having some fun of his own, wouldn’t you agree?”

Before she could answer, he left a trail of kisses down her belly, all the way to her delicious cunt that laid before him like a meal, ready for him to devour. He finally tasted her nectar with one languid stroke of his tongue from her entrance up to her clit. Her head fell back into the soft pillow, lifting the side of it to bite down as she held back a moan.

“Astarion…” She breathed heavily, “Gale is right there—”

“And? Look at him.” She turned her head aside, panting as she observed the silhouette dancing. “Clearly the man is enjoying himself, I'm sure it would torture him if we stopped now, and I did promise only pleasure for all the parties involved.” He licked his lips with a salacious smile. “I am nothing but a man of my word.” With one last look up at his lover, he dived back in, his tongue entering her at long last.

She tasted like the sun after centuries of darkness; like a springtime breeze that carried the promise of rebirth; like life, the one thing he had taken from her. Just as his heart beat anew, hers had stopped for eternity, and he liked to think that his heart would beat for them both from the moment he had made her his. Forever grateful for giving him everything.

Among the feverish moans of his beloved consort beneath him, a deep moan from across the room had Astarion lifting his head and turning it aside, where he noticed Gale’s shade now covering his own mouth in a poor attempt to hush his whimpers. Pathetic, he thought. Reduced to pleasuring himself from the pleasure of others. 

But he didn’t mind it tonight. No, everything was going according to his plan, and he would seize every chance to state his claim over her, that she belonged to him and him alone, and that the only reason Gale had the opportunity to even hear her is because Astarion allowed it. No one else.

By now, his face was covered in her juices, and he would gladly drown between her legs if it meant making her scream from the top of her lungs and letting Gale know how good she’s getting fucked, and how this poor excuse of a wizard would never even come close to experience this. Astarion’s cock only got harder to the idea of showing off his beloved — his greatest possession — with mere sounds; making her scream with the knowledge that someone was listening in, and someone got off to the sounds he was getting out of her.

His attention moved away from her entrance and over the side of her thighs, where he kissed her before biting down on her soft flesh.

Her hands flew to her mouth once again, trying to suppress her cries as they grew louder, but Astarion would have none of that. 

He paused his feast to reach for her wrists, pulling them down near her waist and pinning them to her sides, “Don’t be shy now, my treasure. Let him hear what he can only dream of having.”

With her blood now covering his lips, he moved back to her most sensitive area, where his tongue teased relentlessly and when he felt her squirming under her, he knew she was already close. He just had to push her in the right direction.

Pressing his tongue flat against her clit and swiping up and down, rubbing his taste buds over and over again where he knew she loved the most was all she needed. When she came, he plunged back inside her to drink in everything she had to offer, as her body convulsed from the waves of her orgasm. She couldn’t hold back the screams as Astarion continued to stimulate her, almost crying as the sensation became too much, but he knew her body now, better than anyone else, and he knew how to play with it to make the pleasure last.

He pulled back to admire the sight before him, as she laid eyes fluttering, dazed from the pleasure, trying to catch back her breath — one that she didn’t even need anymore. 

Little did she know he was far from done, as he did a quick glance towards Gale’s shadow to notice how his back now arched, lost to the feeling of his own hand as he sped up his pace. Surely the wizard could indulge them a bit longer.

He removed all his clothes, leaving no barriers between his lover and himself anymore, finally freeing the throbbing erection that begged for release in his trousers before he towered over her.

He hooked her legs with his, locking her in place as he positioned himself against her entrance, pausing with the head of his cock poking just against her pussy.

Their eyes met, half-lidded and full of lust. “You’ve been so good to me, little love. I believe you deserve a little treat, don’t you think?”

Her eyes flickered open, and she nodded with her mouth kept open as she breathed hard.

“Come on, you know the magic words,” he taunted.

“P– Please.”

“Please who?” He purred in her ear.

“Astarion! Please, Astarion, please.”

Always so good, so compliant for him. He would give her everything he didn’t have, he would make her his Lady, she could have the world if she only asked him, but for now, a few sips of his ascended blood to quench her thirst would suffice.

He offered his arm to her, and she held it carefully, breathing hard over the visible veins popping out before biting down to taste his delectable crimson.

As his consort, any amount of blood from him wouldn’t break their bond — she would forever be his until he decided otherwise — but he needed to be at the top of his game for this. She drank just enough to get her strength back before he pulled away, leaving her wanting for more.

The sight of her pupils dilated, her tiny fangs glistening from his blood dripping down her chin, it awakened something primal in him. He needed to fuck her, to taste her, now.

With a growl, he thrust his hips into her in one swing, and at the same time, his fangs dived right into her neck, where they had been a few nights ago when she joined him in eternity. He sipped, and gulped, tasting her blood as it was now mixed with his. How exquisite she was, how he would never tire of this, of her, of their lifeblood forever linked.

His ownership over her was clear now, and he felt oh so foolish for believing that Gale of all people stood a chance with her. No — she was completely and utterly his, mind, body, and soul.

His hips swung with languid strokes as he picked his rhythm, feeling her walls tighten around his length with each thrust. Her hands flew to his back, scratching near his scars — but not for long. Before she could do any real damage, he grabbed her wrists, pinning her down in place to focus on the real task at hand: making everyone know who she belonged to.

His fangs left her neck to find her lips, their blood mixing as their tongues entered each other's mouth, and a particularly well placed swing of his hips had her breaking the kiss, as she cried out his name.

“Gods, my name sounds divine coming from your lips, my love. Say it again.”

And she obeyed.

“Louder,” he growled, pouding deeper into her.

Again.

“You’re mine.”

And again.

“Mine. Mine.”

“Yours,” she panted. “Only yours, forever yours.”

“That's right, forever and ever after. If our lives end in this timeline, I will find you in the next one and make you mine all. over. again.” He plunged roughly into her with each of his last words, his hips slapping loudly against her with the sound of their mixed fluids. “Now, be a good girl and come around my cock, darling. Come as hard and as loud as you can, understand?”

He fastened his pace, ramming restlessly into her as his fangs dived into the other side of her neck. He bit without even drinking, biting her everywhere he hadn’t before, leaving his trace on her in ways others could never. 

The bed was a bloody mess; to anyone else she might’ve looked like a butchered corpse, but to the vampire ascendant, she was the most breathtaking sight he had ever seen.

When she came, it was with an otherworldly scream; one that could most certainly wake the dead. Her mind must’ve shattered as she convulsed beneath Astarion, completely losing control of herself. 

She was so warm now that she had drank from him, his blood running into her veins, his seed inside her womb. As her walls tightened against him and Astarion neared his own collapse, he only imagined how delightful she would look, belly swollen with his child after shooting loads after loads into her. What better way to tell the whole world he was the one to share her bed than to make her pregnant with his seed? As a spawn, this could’ve never been possible even in his wildest dreams, but as the Vampire Ascendant, it was a door that was potentially open to him once again. He just had to dare to believe. 

With those thoughts racing, Astarion came roaring, stilling inside of her as he unloaded himself, a part of him hoping he could spy over a small bump over her belly by the time they were done with their quest against the absolute. He came, and came, until she was so full of him that his come was spilling out of her onto the bed sheets, and yet, he remained inside of her. If he could, he would keep her chained to his bed and spend his days breeding her relentlessly until she was carrying his offspring. The thought alone made his cock twitch in anticipation.

With silence reigning once again over their shared room, Astarion looked back to Gale’s shadow to see a hint of his chest heaving. Whether he came or not, he couldn’t care less, this little demonstration was over.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself, wizard,” He shouted. “This was the first and last time you would hear my lover's cries of pleasure. Better have made that count.”

Not a word from the partition, but the shadow clumsily hid under its bed sheets before blowing away the light of the candle that betrayed him.

A devilish smirk now appeared on Astarions lips, as he turned his attention back to his consort, bloody, exhausted, and utterly ruined. Beautiful. 

Mine.

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

tag list (comment or message me if you want to be added!): @grimistheangerinmystares @silverfangmarks @roguishcat @nyx-knox @anacdoce @jwera @annnagennnie @angeldarkness95 @marlowethebard @hellethil @frankie-mercury @ariajc79 @ladycroft5245 @lets-just-daydream

requests are OPEN!

[dippedinmelancholy]

There’s some weird ass line in the beginning of ACOSF about Cassian tensing as Feyre and Nesta talk, looking like he thinks he needs to get between them to keep Nesta from hurting Feyre and I’m just left going ????????????

And this is a theme repeated in ACOSF, Cassian thinks Nesta will physically attack Feyre, Amren thinks Nesta will make a bunch of trove weapons to like, stab all of the IC (again, ?????????????), Rhysand shows his weird ‘I will kill you if you hurt my pregnant mate’ thing ONLY to Nesta.

I can get “Nesta has a harsh tongue that can be wielded like a weapon”, because, yeah that’s kind of the point, but she’s absolutely never shown any inclination for violence? Literally the only time she’s been violent is when she attacks Hybern and she has an exceptional amount of PTSD from that. Sure, she hurts Feyre’s feelings, but never once has Feyre feared for her physical safety with Nesta. Never once has Nesta shown an inclination to physically hurt people. Arguably, a huge characteristic of hers is that her body language is consistently tight and controlled. She goes so far to tell Feyre she doesn’t want to even learn violence, that she can be/wants to be strong without it. Not that Feyre gives any single fucks about that - or any other desire Nesta has.

And yet for some reason, over and over and over again, all of the IC apply these absurdly violent traits, threats, and ideals to her and it subtly pushes onto the reader that Nesta is absurdly violent, she needs to contained, and others need to be protected from her.

It’s just really absurd and honestly kind of insidious. That difficult women are violent, that Nesta poses this deep threat, that she needs to beaten down and lied to so that she can be controlled, because clearly their lives are in danger otherwise.

It just is another thing of the list of things against Nesta for no other reason than these idiots are cowards who can’t see her as anything but a weapon, and that ultimately, not a single one of them, Elain included, actually knows Nesta. They don’t know anything about her and so they assume the absolute worst.

[unintentionalseductress]

Why does everyone portray Caleb to be 'dark romance, zade meadows' coded? :/

Yeah he's got yandere traits to wanna keep her forever and for himself but he never implies that he'll hurt mc- instead expressing a fierce desire to protect her, so why do ppl write ffs Abt him being manipulative? Making him have 'rough jealous s*x' in which he's spewing a bunch of hurtful things just to manipulate mc to his liking?

I guess it's because of the initial show of possessiveness in his trailer, but literally every love and deepspace guy is possessive so why portray him so darkly?

I like that you portray him more realistically to his character and not so ooc because that's what it feels like most of the time

Hello there anon! I'm glad you think my portrayal of Caleb feels more realistic than some other interpretations. I really don't know where this concept of comparing Caleb to Zade comes from since Zade literally r**es the MC in that book and I simply can't picture Caleb doing that?

This might be a much longer response than you'd expected and I'm sorry, but I've been taking little notes as I went through Caleb's memories, anecdotes, and myth. I feel like most of the people that are portraying him in this sadistic way simply didn't read all the material and just clicked through to get the diamonds.

So let me start by saying, all the other 4 LI's met MC quite recently, meaning they had no say in her life and weren't there when the Chronorift Catastrophe occurred. They met her as an adult, when she'd had time to put herself together and act like a rational grown woman.

Caleb met her at the worst time in their lives as a child until Josephine adopted them. They trauma bonded and after all they've been through together, they're extremely possessive of each other. Not just Caleb, but even the MC as well. She's just as paranoid and possessive about Caleb as well, and this is evidenced in their memories which I will delve into shortly.

But imagine being so close and growing up with this person that you think you know like the back of your own hand. She and Caleb appeared to be quite close up until the explosion. Now MC had to deal with the loss of her second family, and possibly the love of her life. Yes, I said it. The love of her life, because after going through the memories, there's nothing that can be said to change my mind that these two weren't in some kind of relationship before Caleb's death.

Now Caleb is back. MC is wary of him, she's scared to be possessive of him like she was because she knows what it's like to lose him. Caleb has no idea where he stands in her life, and inside it's because he knows he fucked up. He realizes he wants her back, the same woman who was just as obsessed and possessive of him like how he was with her and he has no idea how to fix it.

Caleb imo slides into the tip of the yandere iceberg because of that scene in the main story where he says he'll rebuild their house in Linkon and they can move in together etc. To me, that's the effect of the chip (more to be discussed about that below), and also him literally breaking down because MC said his worst fear to his face; she doesn't need him anymore. How do you recover from having the one person you've loved for most of your life look at you with so much hate and say they don't need you? (reminded me of Sylus a little bit when he's told MC is disgusted by him) For him to be truly yandere, he would have locked her up then and there but he doesn't. He backs off, allows her to get back to her life unharmed, and he keeps himself busy with work. That doesn't look like true yandere behavior to me.

NOW. MYTH EVIDENCE. The part with the chips. The chips seem to exacerbate certain feelings that already exist and take them to the extreme, hence why people who are chipped are very emotionless and almost have a robotic character to them, perhaps to avoid the pain of being emotional. In his myth, we find Caleb actively fights the chip, and it puts so much strain on his body that he falls unconscious or goes into fits. I think that 'yandere' scene is because the chip and his body are at odds with each other. Even MC when she chips herself, finds herself being manipulative of Caleb, trying to make him think of memories that were only half-truths. They're both obsessed with each other, and without the chip, it was fine, but with chip, things get crazy.

Also, I think it's safe to say, Caleb hasn't shown yandere tendencies towards MC in the past pre explosion, beyond telling her to be careful during missions or to let her know when she got hurt. He wasn't upset because she wasn't staying at home, he's upset because she's hiding things from him (like when she lied about getting scratched by a cat pre explosion).

NOW ONTO THE MEMORIES. Because omg, there's so much evidence in the memories that Caleb realizes his limitations in his ability to care for her. In their bond memory Rain's Embrace, when MC is asleep on his shoulder, Caleb literally says something along the lines of "I promise not to be so overprotective of you." He says something similar in Endless Summer and Exclusive Aftertaste, stating he knows his tendency to protect her isn't good for either of them.

And to show how possessive MC was of him. In the memory Longtime Yesterday, we find out Caleb was super popular in college and many girls tried to befriend him by giving him bento boxes. His friends teased him saying "Miss Apple" helped him avoid having to accept the bento boxes. MC literally sulks all the way back to the airport and when Caleb asks her what's wrong she goes, "You have a Miss Apple," like that was a perfectly plausible explanation. Miss Apple turns out to be a hairtie that Caleb took from MC that has apple shaped beads on it and he wears it (presumably on his wrist) all the time, which drove away unwanted attention from other girls. MC was so upset prior to hearing this, and Caleb reassures her that he doesn't want anyone else's attention but her's.

In Borrowed Promise, which occurs when MC is still in high school, Caleb is visiting from college and MC has a fight with a friend who is a girl (important). Caleb notices she's unhappy and takes her to a fair of sorts to cheer her up and she tells him she's worried someone may not like her anymore. Caleb tries to act nonchalant but you can tell he's thinking MC has a boyfriend or a crush and he goes "their loss but oh well you're not for everyone." It's at this point she tells Caleb it's a girl and he's dumbfounded but his relief is evident.

And my favorite, Stage Observer. MC is helping Caleb empty his dorm since he's about to graduate from college and she finds an envelope tucked away in one of his books with cutesy apples on the surface. She mistakenly thinks this is a love letter and then gives a very confused Caleb the cold shoulder for the rest of her visit. Then on his graduation day, she softens and helps fix his tie as he's about to give his valedictorian speech. During this time, she admits she's scared about him finding someone else and he says he worries about her meeting someone else too, but he's happy having just her and grandma in his life. In his speech, Caleb talks about how people go through their whole looking for meaningful connections with people but he's fortunate to have found the one person he knows he can count on. Afterwards, MC runs to him and gives him what I think is their first kiss. And why does she do this? She says, "I kissed you so you can't have a girlfriend now!" Caleb is confused and then she finally admits seeing the envelope. Well guess what? It turns out the envelope actually holds a good luck charm she had sent Caleb but the cover got ruined so Caleb replaced it with the apple envelope. He teases her but the ending implies they now know how they feel for each other and that was the start of a more romantic relationship between them.

So there. MC is just as possessive and obsessed with Caleb as he is with her. He knows that and it's because he's so in tune with these feelings that to him, his actions don't seem out of line, because that's how he expects her to be with him as well. I think like the other boys, his love is limitless, he literally says, "I love you more than you realize" in his myth. He's struggling with mental health and trauma and I think people just want to downplay him for various reasons without delving into the complexity of his character, or the incredible history he has with MC, not from a past life, but in this very real, present one. He was there with her during a time when she didn't know a Xavier, a Rafayel, or a Sylus (maybe Zayne since Caleb mentions him).

There. It feels good to get this out. I will end this by saying, sure, Caleb qualifies as a dark romance, maybe a mild yandere, but definitely, nothing along the lines of Zade because I genuinely don't think he'd want to hurt MC by doing something that could hurt her or violate her consent.

I'm open to more discussion on this. And a reminder about my usual policy; if you have nothing nice to say, scroll on by.

[matsookawa]

Title: How Exciting

Pairing: Dracule Mihawk x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,033

Summary: Mihawk's wife has some life-altering news that has him on the edge of his seat in an emergency Cross Guild meeting.

Note: This was a request.

Despite having the last fifteen years as proof that her husband would move Heaven and Earth if it meant she was happy, the fear settling into her stomach is making that knowledge difficult to hold on to. She sits at a table in the conference room, her husband on the other end. It’s silent and [Y/N] has chosen to remain expressionless. It’s a blessing and curse to have a partner who can read every minute thing your body does, but right now it’s a curse. She can feel his eyes burning into her, yet hers remain locked on a one-inch scuff next to her hand where she’s been tapping her finger for the past five minutes. It’s the only indication of her nervousness, a trait not common in the typically steadfast woman.

The man, Dracule Mihawk, opens his mouth to inquire about her behavior and why she called an emergency meeting. Before a sound comes out, the conference room doors slam open. [Y/N]’s hand slaps down on the table and Mihawk is somewhat grateful he does not have to continue enduring the endless tapping. What he is not grateful for is the clown taking a seat at the table next to his wife, while their glorified accountant with a hook-hand sits on her other side. His eyes narrow and he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “What is this?”

[Y/N] takes a deep breath and clasps her hands on the table. Crocodile and Buggy look to her, clearly waiting for her to speak first. Mihawk immediately fears the worst. ‘Is she…. leaving me?’ His heart jumps into his throat at the thought. “I’m not leaving you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He breathes a tiny sigh of relief. “Buggy and Croc are only here as witnesses in case of legal retaliation.”

“What are you referring to, [Y/N]?” He is utterly confused and she decides it’s best to put him out of his misery. She locks him in with a hard gaze. The one she usually reserves for foes, however he can see her clench her jaw and hesitate. “There’s a bit of a… situation. One that has the potential to change things going forward.” Crocodile and Buggy’s sights set on Mihawk. His mind is a maze with each direction leading him to a horrible conclusion as to what this all must be about. ‘She is termin-‘ “I’m not terminally ill, Dracule.” He hears the clown mumble a “How do you do that?” under his breath. Mihawk decides the best option is to wait until she’s ready. After exactly thirty-six ticks of the wall clock, [Y/N] speaks.

“I’m seven weeks pregnant.”

His breathing stops, yet he remains narrow-eyed and if [Y/N] didn’t know him so well, it would intimidate her. It’s fortunate she can hold her own against anyone, even him. “And I know you do not want children. You made that very clear. So, I’ve called this meeting to announce my resignation as a member and negotiate the division of our marital assets. Buggy and Crocodile can sign as witnesses of the decision and I’ll file this with the local court.”

Mihawk sits up straight, his brain now catching up. “You think so little of me that one off-hand comment I made fifteen years ago means that your only option when you’re with child is divorce.” It’s not a question. [Y/N] swallows hard, her confident façade beginning to fall. “You have too many responsibilities. To the Cross Guild, to Zoro-“ “[Y/N].”

His chair scrapes as he stands. He rounds the table and Buggy slides his chair out of the way to make space for Mihawk to kneel beside her. Her breaths become deep and trembling and she struggles to hold his steely gaze. “I clearly have failed as a husband if that is your belief. Have I not made my unwavering fidelity and devotion to you clear? Do you not understand that every morning before you wake is spent pondering how I got so lucky to find a partner who not only understands every facet of who I am, but doesn’t seek to change it?” She has a white-knuckle grip on the armrest of her chair and tears brim her eyes at his words. He lays a hand over hers. “[Y/N], I was not in a place all those years ago to have a child. I was young and had no ambition until you came along. We’re now two of the strongest warlords on the four seas. Between your intelligence and my strength, we can handle a child.”

Tears fall over her cheeks and a choked sob escapes her. “I just didn’t want to force you into this, Dracule.” Mihawk sighs through his nose and closes his eyes for a moment. They open once more and settle on her. “I love you, [Y/N]. I am in this just as much as you are.” The woman emits a loud cry and throws her arms around him, allowing herself to slide out of the chair. He’s able to catch her and hold her in his lap. She cries into his shirt and he looks up to his associates. “You two can leave. There is nothing to witness.”

Crocodile takes a puff of his cigar and nods towards the door. This cues Buggy to stand, the hook-handed man doing the same. “We can discuss the new arrangements in due time, Mihawk. Enjoy the pregnancy while it lasts. You’ll miss it later.” Said man is tempted to ask why Crocodile sounds particularly forlorn, but lets it go as he exits. They’re close, but not that close.

[Y/N] pulls her face away from his shoulder and wipes her face with the back of her hand. She’s finished crying, but can’t help but still feel a little daunted by the entire situation. She swallows hard and looks at him while he softly gazes at her and pushes some tear-ridden strands of hair behind her hair. “You’re sure you’re up for this? It’s going to be exhausting, unrelenting, and terrifying, Dracule.” A soft smile pulls at his lips and he holds the side of her face in his hand.

“Then it will be our most exciting adventure yet.”

Note: I have a headcanon that Buggy actually does know when to keep quiet. I've also always had this idea of Crocodile having a past lover, but their relationship ending in tragedy. Feel free to request more info or a fic on that. I write more than just Mihawk, ya know.

[priyajoyy]

Dark!lottie Matthew’s x reader head cannons

From my psychotic girlfriends universe

More stuff for my psychotic girlfriends series!!!

Doing one of these for Nat and Shauna too

Deffo a bit more dark than the initial stuff icl

Warnings:

Dark!lottie, toxic relationship, abusive relationship, manipulation, cult stuff, typical Yellowjackets stuff tbh, isolation, starvation, hallucinations, etc

Not fully proof read

🦌Lotties dark traits are the most hidden from plain sight out of the girls

⭐️ while Shauna is pretty open about her toxicity and Natalie doesn’t even realise how dark she can be, so doesn’t bother hiding it, Lottie is like a dark horse

🥞 Lottie can be a lot more manipulative and good at hiding her true intentions

💌 she uses her influence in the group to control everyone and your love for her to especially control you

🌸 she sees how you all respond to her beliefs and her link to the wilderness

🍋 and she’s not apposed to using it to her advantage

⚰️ she truly believes that she has a connection to the wilderness, that it’s trying to talk through her

🐚 so when you start to have hallucinations she sees it as a sign from the wilderness, much to nats annoyance

👛 and she’s not against using this belief against you

✨ manipulating you to believe her

🍊 you can’t convince me should wouldn’t have you absolutely worshiping her during sex under the guise of the wilderness acting through her

👜 and even if you’re hesitant at first, eventually you succumb to her words the longer you’re in the wilderness for

☕️ she would also deffo treat you like a little concubine

⚽️ who just has to sleep with her and worship her constantly and nothing else

🪷 one of lotties main forms of punishment is isolation

📰 she’s not against being physical if she has to, but she much prefers to use her power to get to you menatally

🐇 she’ll convince the others to ignore you, leaving you alone and isolated for weeks at a time from everyone but her, Natalie and Shauna

🪵 it works especially well if you’re already on house arrest from Natalie, locked up in the cabins spare bedroom, pantry or simply guarded from leaving your hut after the fire

👒 you’ll be completely alone and even the three of them won’t come see you

🪦 and the worst part is definitely having to sleep alone

🥐 growing so accustomed to having someone with you at all times in the wilderness, especially all of you sleeping in the same rooms at night

🌻 and ofc she’ll be there to pick up the pieces when it gets too much and you break

🧸 she knows exactly what to do and say to get to you physiologically

💛 she can prey on your biggest fears and weaknesses and use them against you

💫 but you don’t understand, it’s harder on Lottie than it it you!!

🧚‍♀️ spending time away from you is torture!

💐 oh and Lottie would deffo love weird culty alter sex

🍂 taking you out into the woods to her special stumps or making a big ritual out of it

🧈 honestly I’d even say she’s probs get a bunch of the girls involved, watching you both under the pretence of it being an offering to the wilderness, giving it what it wants

🪽 ofc Natalie would go nuts at that idea, she certainly doesn’t want to have everyone watching you

🎀 however lot can be pretty persuasive so I wouldn’t put it past her managing it

🛼 because this girl 100% has an exhibition kink purely because of how possessive she is, wanting to show everyone your hers and they can’t have you

[nekropsii]

Aww. On one hand, I'm glad my words touched you. On the other, it makes me so deeply sad knowing even the smallest glance towards granting one basic human dignity is enough to drive one to tears. I wouldn't even call my words the bare minimum - I don't think that countering the common idea that a group isn't inherently abusive should be the bare minimum. The bare minimum should be casual respect, the same that's afforded to any other person. The bare minimum should be me not even needing to say any of this in the first place.

NPD is so heavily demonized, especially right now. There's wave after wave of people claiming "Narcissistic Abuse" is a valid term and viciously attacking anyone who breathes in the direction of contradiction, every single search adjacent to NPD results in almost nothing but article after article on, specifically, how to hurt people with NPD, or protect yourself against them... There's conspiracy theory after conspiracy theory posted online quite literally painting them as actual real demons, like, Demons, from The Bible, or linking them to the Jewish Reptilian conspiracy theory, and it's just completely and utterly gut-wrenching. Even in spaces that proclaim themselves as safe, or progressive, or bigotry-free, these unjustified, bigoted snap judgments occur. It's the worst.

NPD is not something that I have. I don't have any Cluster B Disorder, actually. But I'm sympathetic because they're all fucking human beings the world has decided is socially acceptable to turn into a Sinister Other, a Walking Otherworldly Threat, like this is a fucking fiction novel or a video game. I'm sick of it.

There's a few people in my immediate circles who have NPD. They're all good people. They're nice, they're funny, they have perspectives on things that I deeply value, they're smart, and I treasure their proximity so much. They've never done anything wrong, and certainly haven't done anything wrong purely on the basis of being some Evil, Conniving Super Villain. They're literally just hanging out, and I'm glad to know them. My life is better and more enriched having known these people. They have never wronged me, and I don't think they ever will. And even if they do, it would not be because they have NPD, it would be because they're a living being. As people, we all have the capability to harm others. Animals have the capability to harm other animals, too. Plants can harm you. This is not a trait unique to the Disordered.

Us people without NPD need to do better, to listen to our friends and siblings with NPD, to help boost them up so that we can help end this wretched fucking curse - or, at the very least, quell it. We need to help them speak louder, and amplify their cause with our vocal support. Ableism will never go away, but the least we can do is try to move towards making it not as socially acceptable to be bigoted. None of us need a Sinister Other to combat. This is not war, this is not the medieval times. We do not need this. We do not need to beat a persecution complex into ourselves to excuse persecuting others. We do not need to live in constant fear of the idea of the line cook who just wants to go home and play Dark Souls, or the office worker passing the time by thinking about their 3 cats, or the high schooler at home reading their favorite shoujo manga, or the guitarist driving home tapping their fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the radio. These are not your enemies. They are people going about their lives. They've literally never hurt you. Stop projecting your fear of abuse onto strangers - onto minorities.

My message to people without NPD is to fucking check yourself if you believe in Narcissistic Abuse, or automatically assume that people with NPD are up to something. Especially right now, that is a very, very vile, dehumanizing form of absolutely rampant ableism that we needed to take extreme steps to mitigate fucking months ago. Years, even. The best time to shoot this bigotry and burn it's corpse was the moment it started rising. The second best time is Now. Interrogate yourself. Realize that people with NPD are literally just human beings. Stop being awful to your fellow person. The way people think and speak about people with NPD is just absolutely disgusting, and everyone needs to apologize to them right now.

My message to people with NPD is simple: You deserve one billion dollars for having to put up with all of this shit. It's actually deranged. Trust me, there are others out there that think this is horseshit. You are not alone.

[acid-ixx]

I truly LOVE THIS SERIES!!! I also read the reader as female too. I really like how you delve into damiens mind on this one. He is the one I was curious about the direction you will take him in with dealing with reader. I especially can't wait for Jason's too. Will any of the batfam be romantic toward reader in future chapters?

directory !

a/n: tysm for liking it so far !! for me i prefer it if the reader is gn/male (since im also a trans guy and it's hard to find content of my preference. it's funny how a lot of ppl in my inbox call me a girl bec i am not 😭). also none of them are going to turn romantic later on. i prefer strictly writing them as platonic in the series since it's often stated that they see you purely as their sibling who differs entirely from them. although i might make another series where it is romantic yandere, but for the a&a series, they're all platonic.

yeah, damian so far is a really complicated case. both him and the reader share a trait for contradicting feelings and that really ties with them being the only ones having blood ties in the family. which drives damian's obsession even further because in my opinion he's the most perceptive (and one of the least delusional alongside jason) of your emotions, knowing the right words to tick you off or make your vulnerable.

damian is also pretty touch-starved for a sense of normalcy that he couldn't achieve with his siblings who are raised to be crimefighters (so the way he sees his relationship towards his siblings would be more of a vigilante partner than family), but once he's matured enough, he'll soon realize just how much he craves for affection. having someone like you, who's the one trying to just live, and sharing blood with him (because despite trying to distance himself away from his assassin past, he'll always have this toxic mindset of "blood is thicker than water" and you're proof of that), damian pretty much demands attentions left and right.

when i mean he demands your attention, that means he also needs affection, both physical and emotional. that means he wants you to coddle him the same way dick coddles you. he wants to bond with you through quality time so that means you'll always find your schedule packed with activities you'll spend with damian, to both make up for lost time and as a quiet apology towards you that, no, he's not gonna threaten you with a sword anymore— he even makes a show of keeping his weapons somewhere far away from you, that your baby brother is vulnerable towards you and he means no harm.

his methods of gaining your spotlight are really inconvenient, but don't point it out because all he'll do is pout towards you whilst he'd grab your hand, preferably to take you somewhere away from all your other siblings who are trying their damn best also trying to take your attention.

meanwhile jason is more protective and would rather not let you go through the same path as he did; being impulsive and letting yourself get in danger. unfortunately, the reader in the series is already pretty much in their worst state and that makes jason's need to protect you from harm's way (just like bruce), especially right after meeting him in the series would make him realize that you weren't a replacement to him and that you both pretty much share the same trauma when it comes to seeing your mother being taken away from you.

just like dick, he pretty much sees you as a kid. but unlike dick, the more you show your impulsive actions and display breakdowns, the more he acknowledges that yes, you do have flaws and you need space so he won't shove his affection down your throat but he will make sure his angel is properly taking care of themself right after, he'll make drink water right after a crying session, make you eat something if you haven't, and if you're scared of criminals trying to target you in the streets, then don't worry because the red hood will guarantee to associate you with fear.

fear that if they even dare to lay their eyes on you, their eyeballs would be ripped out of their sockets. only god knows what would happen if jason were to find one of them having filthy intentions towards his angel.

unfortunately for you, if you don't like it when an intimidating, brooding man who considers himself your brother is standing by your door, then you're out of luck because he won't even budge unless you invite him over. his obsession with you is very subtle but unlike bruce with a no-kill code, jason won't hesitate putting a buller through someone's head once his angel is in danger.

though if you don't want to see jason snap, then it'd be better if you wouldn't put yourself in danger on purpose because he will get violent towards anyone who even tries to lay their hands on you and although his grip on your body is soft, as if making sure that he wouldn't be harming you; you would further increase the chances of being locked up in your own safe haven if you try to purposely get yourself killed because that gives him all the signs that you're incapable of taking care of yourself and he wouldn't want a repeat of what happened to him with you when it comes to any other criminals.

[timkontheunsure]

Part 1 Blitz & BPD coding

Ok quick bit first before getting into the nitty-gritty. So to have BPD you need to have 5 of these 9 traits:-

(putting as by proxy with him cus damage your image is harmful to your psyche).

Poor bugger looks to have 9 of 9

Alot of BPD patterns and strategies comes from childhood trauma, and Blitz has this in spades.

Scapegoat and attachment style

Cash is clearly a narcissistic Dad, see the kids as tools.

Cash uses Blitz's love and Strong attachment to his Mum to force Blitz to be useful to him, and do what he wants.

This sends the very strong message that love is conditional. That it is bought through what he can do for another. And that without being useful love and affection will be withdrawn, because he doesn't really deserve it.

We see wee tinny Blitzo struggles with making balloon animals, is a little clumsy, has a sense of humour that not a crowd pleaser. This puts him at the bottom of the pecking order.

This position is the scapegoat. Blamed for anything that goes wrong (fire), to keep the others in line (Fizz told done on purpose), given the most dangerous jobs (rob a Goetia), and given the lest love and affection.

Narcissist see people as tools or a burden. All love from Cash is conditional/transactional.

How Blitz gets love is to be used or to be useful. This the rule.

Affection freely given can't be trusted. It is a lie. This why any Stolas shows has to be either ignored, or change to a kink of "getting plowed by people you look down on". Making himself used.

But Stolas breaks this when he says Blitz "no longer have any obligation to see me, to touch me, to bed me, you are... you are free of me." He panics that he's being abandoned; "I can be better", "I'm I not fucking you good enough" are his immediate responses. Trying to get back to the safety of what he knows.

If they're no 'obligation' then there can't be affection and he wants to Stay with Stolas. And if there's no 'obligation' Stolas telling him he cares must be a lie.

He's slowly coming to see that this isn't always the case in apology tour; when his "earning" his way through sex is rebuffed again.

(It may not be Stolas' kink; but being fucked by an all powerful prince who degraded his a little might be Blitz's 🤭).

After the accident this rule gets a second fun extra playmate that anyone who loves him will be hurt. So Blitz must push them way, to keep them safe from him. These 2 rules give Blitz the disorganised fearful-avoidant attachment style. (Woo go him, give him a cookie. Or you know all the nope, but still give him a cookie).

Disorganised fearful-avoidant attachment comes with a push-pull of wanting to be close but close relationships are scary. (Like running away from Voroskia for loving him).

He is getting better by refusing to be dismissed by Stolas, and coming back the next morning. And even talking to him at the party.

But mostly this bit: "Oh, sorry, this entire time I assumed the worst because I was convinced a prince could never love someone like me, and I've let my self hatred stop me from apologizing to anyone I could ever care about!" Blitz in a nutshell everybody.

His self hatred makes him to self sabotage any romantic relationship before it gets to deep. To protect the people he likes and makes sure they can't love him. Because he doesn't deserve it. Thems the rules after all.

Cash and the accident has taught Blitz to hate himself.  

It's also likely why Blitz thinks apologies are for pussys, and that no one deserves one anyway.  Those sound like words put in his mouth for daring to ask his dad to say sorry. 

He doesn't think he's worth it.

(Added the cuddles pic cus I like the cuddles). And Blitz still doesn't trust that he deserved to be forgiven by Fizz.

This self hatred is why he can't picture anyone loving him, let alone Stolas

"This whole thing we had going... I'm- I mean you're a fucking prince. How could you ever actually care for an imp... Me? How could anybody?" "Stolas, you are better off without me. 'Kay? You deserve so much... I don't even".

No one is allowed to want him.

End of part 1

I'll stick the link to the next part when I get done it, but might be a bit.

Next time some such fun shenanigans as:

Difficulty regulating emotions

Being a burden & how to be useful to IMP

Spitting

Massive fear of abandonment

Emotional loops

The Deal

Chronic feelings of emptiness

Self hatred & the Belief others Must hate him

(his cookie)

As normal is absolutely fine if you don't agree. This is just something I like to do.