#i wish i could form opinions of my own i wish i could like stuff without feeling guiltt

[liamastatine]

this is so unfair i should stop having interests forever and ever why is everything i like always deemed embarrassing

[wheneclipsefalls]

Little Gift- Introduction

Pairing: Soft Dark Neteyam x Human Fem Reader

Beautiful Neteyam pic by @cinetrix2

Sumarry: The RDA are forced to negotiate with a certain Olo'eyktan. Luckily, there is only one thing he wants.

Warnings: dark, dubcon/noncon, suggestive, kidnapping, aged up Neteyam, dom/sub dynamics, bondage, humiliation, dark Neteyam, swearing, power imbalance, etc. (not exhaustive) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

A/N: I had this idea in the middle of the night two days ago. This will be the introduction of the mini series. It is dark content so read at your own risk.

tiyawn: love

mawey: be calm

oeyӓ: my (possessive)

Masterlist

The rope is coarse against your wrist and ankles, tied tight enough to leave squirming out of the question. However, it's the thick fabric gag that has you grinding your teeth together in discomfort. They leave you no opportunity to ask questions. No way to understand your fate before it unfolds. 

Colonel Quaritch had been even more cold and distant as you were prepared for the mysterious treck. You had been in the middle of packing your stuff, preparing to return home with the rest of the RDA when you had been dragged away and dressed against your will. 

Now kneeling here in the middle of Pandora’s forest wearing little more than sparkly scraps, you have never felt more exposed. The intricately beaded top does little to nothing to cover your hardening nipples and it’s easy to catch some of the Colonel’s brats sneaking a glance occasionally. 

“Colonel,” Lyle calls to your left. “For a final touch.” He holds a large pink ribbon in one hand, eyes snapping over to your small form with a smirk. 

“Be quick.” Quaritch grumbles but he doesn’t hide the amusement painted across his face. 

You attempt to scoot away when Lyle approaches you but he wrangles you back into place one handed. Another recom keeps you still with hands on your shoulders and before you know it Lyle is using the ribbon to tie a big bow directly over your breasts.

You muster every hateful thought into your heated glare, not that it does much to kill his mood. 

It’s obvious that you are the one left out of the joke everyone seems to revel in. Several times you wonder if all of this is some sick prank. Dressing you up only to drag you into the middle of the woods and leave you for dead. Perhaps even kill you themselves. 

However, thirty minutes of kneeling in the mud with a small army on high alert around you proves plans to be otherwise. There is something ominous about that pink bow tied around you, something even more suspicious about the traditional Na’vi clothing that has somehow been made to fit you perfectly. 

“That bastard sure likes to take his sweet time.” Mansk huffs. 

“What more did you expect from one of Sully’s filthy half breeds?” Quaritch sneers, readjusting the heavy artillery into his shoulder. 

“Makes a lot of demands too. Swear if we didn’t need these resources-” Lyle starts but is cut off.

“And yet we do. So shut your trap and pay attention.” The Colonel snips at him. It’s almost comical to see how fast Lyle straightens and goes back to scanning the terrain for movement. 

Always the Colonel’s bitch. 

You wish this ridiculous gag wouldn’t stop you from finally speaking your opinion freely. If you are about to meet your demise, the least they could let you do is get some long awaited satisfaction. 

Tension bleeds into the atmosphere. The former marines snap to attention and guns are locked into place, the formation fanning them out to combat any potential threats. 

It takes several dreadful seconds for you to see them but finally a pair of golden eyes just barely shines through the thick forest. They are in the trees, crouched to the ground, in bushes, some even swooping overhead on banshees. 

You marvel at their ability to hide in the nooks and crannies of the forest. However, even now you recognize that they are choosing to be seen. They have decided to make their presence known. 

Your heart thunders.

Tied and kneeling between the two juxtaposing crowds feels like being offered up as a human sacrifice. 

Do the Na’vi believe in live sacrifice?

Perhaps they too put up dead to their deity as a sign of loyalty. 

And you are pampered and primed for the taking. 

“Signed, sealed and delivered as promised.” The Colonel grunts, boot clad toe nudging your vulnerable form. 

Dread slinks through your veins.

What have you done to deserve this?

The Na’vi that steps out into the open is one that you can recognize instantly. Even a human of low status among the RDA knows what Jake Sully’s eldest son, and now Omatikaya Olo’eyktan, looks like. His face has become a focused target that the RDA have been working to exterminate for months. Now, it feels all for naught as they have been brought to their knees and forced to leave Pandora with little resources. The same reason you prepare yourself to say goodbye to this mysterious planet for good.

However, that was the idea before you were prepared like a trussed up main course for the taking. 

You struggle fruitlessly in the binds once more and Neteyam’s eyes center on you. Peering up at him hurts your neck as you are once again reminded of how tall and muscular the Na’vi are. His shoulders give the illusion of spanning out even further with the traditional feathered mantle he wears. 

His head slants to the side before he is prowling closer. You attempt to jerk away from his large hand coming to your face but that only ends in you falling back on your rear. His lips turn down as he inspects your tied wrists. There is nothing you can do as he holds both of them easily with one hand. 

“I was told she would not be harmed.” He speaks lowly, voice thick with a Na’vi accent. 

“She put up quite a fight. Even getting her to hold still during the shot was a pain in the ass.” Quaritch replies.

You remember all too well the fear that had overcome you when they brought out that long needle. The developed serum was a success naturally but it still racks your anxiety higher to fully breathe Pandoran air without your mask. Even more so, you feel strangely more exposed in front of this Na’vi legend without the glass to separate you from him. 

“I don’t appreciate excuses.” His golden eyes flicker towards your face and a small smile appears. “But I am pleased to see it fits.” Long fingers trace the lines of your necklace top before toying with the ends of the pink boy. 

You stiffen beneath his touch, eyeing the sheathed dagger across his chest. 

Do sacrificial ceremonies require specific clothing? 

Maybe dressing a sacrifice up in pretty ornaments and clothing proves to their deity its value. 

Either way, you hope it’s fast. The Na’vi are trained killers, but at least they should know how to end a life swiftly. 

“I would be pleased to see the resources you promised.” The Colonel bites back.

Neteyam sighs and purses her lips as if the small army around them is simply an annoyance instead of a threat. 

“Trades are not historically present between the Omatikaya and your people. I am not opposed to taking instead. Remember that.” 

You can hear the shifting guns behind you. The Colonel’s anger boils through the air and you are surprised to find no smart response coming from him. Neteyam leisurely tugs the ends of the bow, perfecting its shape and you are mortified to feel your nipples tighten beneath them. He nods his head and a few armed Na’vi step forward and hesitantly hand over a few tubes of minerals.

You recognize it as unobtanium, most likely the small amount left to mine from the last Home Tree. Your eyes widen. All of that for you? 

It wouldn’t be enough to make the RDA’s trip a success but it would surely cut down the financial loss significantly. But why give it over? Just to kill you? Had their deity sent out a bounty on your head and if so, what had you done to piss Her off so immensely?

“As promised.” Neteyam rises back to full height, hands settling on his hips. “I trust you understand what is to come to those who do not honor this agreement.” 

“Consider her a…peace offering. A special gift from the RDA.” You can hear the smirk in Quaritch’s tone, even the chuckle that Loyd fights to hold back. Your teeth dig into the fabric gag, praying more than ever that now would be the one time you would be able to rip him a new one. 

Your own special gift before you leave this life. 

“I tire of your presence, demon.” 

Quaritch scoffs but you can already hear the shuffling of retreating boots as they slowly but surely exit the scene. The only home you have ever known and now it is nothing more than a memory. You’re left to the demise of the Na’vi like a shiny object to be collected. 

And with the way Neteyam smiles and studies your form intently, you can’t have found a better analogy. Kneeling once more, large hands cup your cheeks, fingers encasing the whole side of your head. 

“Oeyӓ tiyawn, you are shaking.” He tuts, features softening at breakneck speed. Eyebrows furrowing, you watch closely as he carefully parts the hair from your face. “So nice to meet you, properly that is.” He chuckles, as if telling a joke only he knows the context to. 

Unease tightens your muscles and you’re sure that if your heart rate picks up anymore the organ will simply give out before they even have a chance to kill you. 

He sends a look to the side and instantly the rest of the Na’vi party retreat back into the forest. Your forehead creases. What is a sacrifice without an audience? 

Unless. 

Neteyam’s fingers comb through your hair.

Unless the Olo’eyktan has decided to have his fun with you before you are offered up. 

Tears spill from your eyes and you can’t stop yourself from trying to beg through the gag.

“Oh tiyawn,” His thumbs wipe away your tears. “You do not need to cry anymore. Not now that you are mine.” 

A hiccup catches in your throat, wide eyes looking up at him. 

“My sweet pet.” He husks, lips curved into a prideful smile. 

Your heart drops to your stomach.

Pet. 

How does he even know what that word means? The Na’vi do not keep pets. Perhaps he misspoke. 

But when one large hand circles around the back of your neck and you remember one thing: this man was raised by both Na’vi and Sky People. 

Frantically shaking your head in protest you try to get out words that will convince him to release you. It’s a strained effort with the cloth gag and his giant hand grasping your neck. 

“Mawey, little gift, before you hurt yourself.” He lingers over the cloth gag and for a moment you have hope that he will remove it, instead Neteyam gives you a sympathetic smile. “My poor tiyawn, I would love to remove it but I think we will need to go over some ground rules first. I’ll need you to listen without distraction for that part.” 

Your thoughts tangle into a million knots as vast ideas of what these rules may entail generate frantically. 

It would be easier to believe that a Na’vi has no purpose for a Sky Person as a pet but it’s impossible to miss the lust swimming in his golden orbs. Nor the wandering hands that now come to squeeze your plush hips. 

“You’re even more breathtaking up close.” He grins. When had he seen you from a distance? “Especially in proper clothing.” 

You can barely see through the cloud of tears over your eyes so you miss when Neteyam unsheathes his knife. That is, until you feel the cold material against your ankles. Terror grips your heart but to your surprise the Olo’eyktan cuts the rope around your feet. 

Foolishly you take advantage of this slight freedom only to be snatched around the waist and pulled onto his lap. Neteyam chuckles as if your escape attempt is the cutest thing he has ever seen. Your hips ache slightly at the stretch it takes to straddle one of his muscular thighs. 

“Misbehaving already, hm?” He raises a hairless eyebrow at you, one hand slink down to settle over your rear. Luckily he seems more amused than angry. After all, you have to admit that there was no real chance of you outrunning him in the first place. And now that those muscular arms are locked around you, there is no hope of beating his strength. 

Humiliation runs deep when you feel the first trickle of arousal stain your tiny loincloth. Neteyam’s thigh flexes and your pussy greedily takes the friction as an invitation. His nostrils flare, no doubt taking in your changing scent. 

He doesn’t further your embarrassment, however. At least not yet. 

“My father told me about these.” He muses, fingers playing with the bow once more. “It’s said to represent gifts. I always thought they were silly but now…” Heat runs straight to your core when his thumb dances over one escaped nipple. “I quite like the look of it on you, little gift.” 

A whimper escapes your lips without permission, snagging his attention. 

“Needy little pet, aren’t you?” A dark laugh rumbles his chest as his thumb casually slips underneath to bow to torment one nipple. “Do not worry, oeyӓ tiyawn. I’ll have you seeing stars before the night is through.” 

Everything in your mind says no but Neteyam’s skin is warm and his hands are skilled as one teases your nipples while the other explores your backside. Your body preens into the touch, desperate for some semblance of comfort to hold onto. And in the dangerous atmosphere of Pandoran nights, your instincts tell you that this man is what separates you from death. 

However, you are still held as prey under his gaze. 

“But first I think it is time to get you home.” He leans forwards until your noses are touching. 

“You will be more comfortable in my bed, pet.” 

And so it begins! As always, I would LOVE to hear your thoughts! <3

unofficial taglist: @pandoraslxna @tallulah477 (thought you might like it, baby) @itchaboi-itchyboy @zafrinaxyz @lilghostiequinni @criticallybella

Please let me know if you would like to be added to the official taglist for future parts

[bigwishes]

Hi there,

I was wondering if you could curse me with muscle growth so that I become one of those big dumb bodybuilders that always thinks he’s to small and keeps growing and taking roids. Smarts and stuff don’t matter. I just want to become a muscle monster. 💪💪💪😈🍆

Well that seems like a very easy thing to do, and of course I can't help myself but let a man become a bodybuilder, which in my opinion is the peak of what a man should be. It'll be a rather simple change, one you wont even notice it. Over night in your sleep you'll completely roid out into a big meathead and on top of that you'll always be filled with motivation to workout and go lift. Lets take a look at what you've become so far...

You look at yourself in the mirror, your first day on your newly inspired gym kick and you can't but help feel so pathetic and tiny. Every guy you pass seems to smile and pay you a complement, but you can't work out why, all of them are so much bigger than you. Even the guys who aren't bodybuilding or powerlifting are so much bigger than you.

You continue to flex in the mirror and a guy asks if you could give him some tips for growing biceps as big as yours but you simply shrug and explain you don't know much about the gym. The guy looks at you incredibly confused before walking away. You continue to sigh looking at your reflection wishing you could be a bodybuilder.

You step on the locker room scales to start your new progress tracking but you can't make out what the little things are showing up on the screen, you thought for a minute it might be a number but than looked down at your hands and your doubt was confirmed, it couldnt possibly be a number because numbers only went up to 10 because thats how many fingers you have.

You go out to the weights and begin to lift at random until something feels heavy. Unfortunately it was just a pathetic 2 pound weight but that seems to be all you can lift. Guys from around the gym stare at you. A few every poke their gym buddy and point at you smiling. You look in the mirror keeping an eye on your form and become overwhelmingly embarrassed as it was clear by your pathetically tiny reflection that you were doing something wrong and the experienced gym goers were having a laugh.

I hope you got what you asked for bud. I made it impossible for you to see even an ounce of muscle on your body or weight on the bar. The 2 pound dumbbells you are curling are really 80 pounds and everyone is amazed by how big you are. Unfortunately you didn't care about a brain so you are too stupid to even know how to workout correctly you just simply do your best to lift heavy, and it'll work too. You'll never get to notice it but I thought it best to remove your genetic limit for muscle growth. Eventually your traps and pecs will consume your neck and you'll become so ridiculously big it'll be a workout just to move, but you'll never notice anything. You'll always stay pathetically tiny in your own reflection...

[bellatrixnightshade]

RAFAL in Relation to Other People

Warning: I won't be woobifying Rafal here or really putting him as a victim, so this may offend or bother people who stan him and forgive all his faults. Additionally, this has some toxic stuff here so if that is a trigger then I recommend not going through with it. And if you will go as far as to AGREE with it just because "my blorbo could have possibly said it", then I'm afraid you are missing my point and would rather have you click off.

So we already know how Rafal is as a brother, but how could he act in different familial relationships, like being a lover/spouse or a father?

As a lover/spouse: I'm sorry, but whether Rafal means to or not, he would easily be that toxic person in your life. He always is right (and you are wrong), and he appears to be the type to disregard one's feelings. If he hurts someone, he hardly ever apologizes, but you have to apologize to him. The closest he'll come to is a bullshit excuse. ("It wasn't my intention.") He makes you question yourself and the validity of your opinions, because, again, he is right. You can never get through to him or call him out, because at the end of the day, you are the problem, you are inferior, you have a childish mind, you are too sensitive. He slowly picks away at your self esteem, which was already low when you met him in the first place. (People drawn to him tend to have confidence issues??)

You don't leave him maybe because he doesn't have bad intentions, because he instilled in you codependence and now you don't know what to do without him, or maybe Rafal somewhat regretted hurting you, so you accept that. And ultimately, you trusted him, you believed in him, so, stupid you has to face the consequences. Everything that happened is your fault because you should have seen Rafal wasn't a good person!

Rafal just seems wayy too sheltering and overprotective and he'd take away his lover's ability to make most of their own choices or have their own lives-- slowly but surely, and perhaps, unintentionally.

Not to mention, he is possessive af! Red flag right there.

I hope that any lover of Rafal leaves him and they see their own worth, instead of running back to him. Because to be honest, he seems like a hypocritical, arrogant, and insufferable jerk. (most of the time) Either that or Rafal gets his act together and has some self reflection. He isn't a vampire for crying out loud!

As a father: oh. The father who is very, very, VERY overprotective and sheltering. A helicopter parent, even. He makes you think sometimes, "why do I have this curse of a father??" and sometimes you wish something could happen like a virus doing its job and you are "free." (Please don't actually wish this on your difficult parents unless they are really shitty!) Rafal embarasses his kids but being rather ultrastrict and old-fashioned and they probably don't know much of the world because of him. Everything has to be "educational" (which isn't a bad thing in itself but for the love of whatever please don't overdo it and make it corny) so no video games, etc. Also if Rafal reads an article with research on how veggies can give cancer, your salads will be taken away!

Rafal will also go like, "I'm your only friend. You don't need friends because you have me," and he may break up some friendships you have. Oh also: no boys.

I feel like Rafal fits dad energy more, though even there he would be WAY too much. (Go away Rafal! Go adopt orphans and make their lives miserable instead of bothering other people.) But who knows? Maybe as the years go on he would cool down, or back off when they become adults. Unless they form a codependent relationship with him and he has to be the center of their lives, which is very possible. Let's watch Rafal slowly destroy a home because he's in the way! And of course, instead of giving his children's household space, he defends himself and puts himself in the right. His kids may call Rafal every day in a modern context and totally neglect their family. Or the family is going out? Rafal has to be there too, and his kid says nothing.

If Rafal comes home from work in a bad mood, I'm sure his kids try to run off because if they don't he will find something to criticize and they will get hour long lectures. I also feel like he'd lecture on other occasions and then get mad when his family doesn't care and they want to get back to what THEY have to do??

[mysumeow]

ꗃ LYNEY NSFW ALPHABET 2/2

warnings: afab genitalia, gn pronouns.

a/n: i sat myself down in front of my puter and told myself: im not getting up until i finish this. thats the only way i can convince myself to stop postponing everything, including stuff i want to finish (like this one lkjhasdflkjhs)

PART ONE › MASTERLIST ‹

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

I can see this guy wanting kids. He wants to give them the childhood and lifestyle he wishes he had when he was one.

So, breeding is a given.

Aside from that, he shows affinity for harnesses, restraints of any kind, sensory deprivation in the form of blindfolding, and lingerie. He prefers you to be the one getting blindfolded and teased, but he’s not against the idea of being on the receiving end.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Given that he doesn’t want to cause any type of scandal, he prefers to play it safe and do it behind closed doors. The biggest risk he’s willing to handle is having you press against a window. Your front against the glass, while he pounds you from behind. Seeing your face reflected on the window until it fogs up from heavy breathing.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

The moment you show a sliver of thigh, the cogs in his mind are already turning. Otherwise, if you’re wearing fishnets, tights, high-knee socks, or just any type of leg accessory (yes, harnesses are included too), that also makes him ogle you when no one else is looking.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He’s willing to try anything if it has nothing to do with certain bodily wastes.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He’d be embarrassed to be on the receiving end and probably cumming within the first few minutes, so he prefers to go down on you. Skill-wise, he has limited knowledge, but he takes his time with you to make sure you enjoy it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

If the pace is all up to him, he prefers a more sensual way. It’s not difficult to ask him to go faster or rougher if you want, but he likes taking his time with you. Doing it slowly, caressing your body instead of grabbing it and jackhammering into you—he’s a romantic at heart, after all. His fingers touching and playing with your most sensitive parts. He can be quite unfair in this regard because he’s not above edging you in that way, just for the sake of making you as needy as possible.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are good if he’s in immediate need of having you and his schedule is tight. He understands there are days in which he won’t be able to spend as much time with you as he wishes he could, and therefore, quickies are an easy solution to that.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’d rather play it safe. A scandal of public obscenity is something he’d prefer to avoid. If anything, he would trace his fingers against your thigh, or grip it, when you’re sitting down next to him having dinner at a restaurant. But that’s about it.  

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He’s a performer; he must have a nice amount of endurance for physical activity. He might do one long, consistent round or a multiple, reasonable number of rounds. It depends on his partner’s preference. He’s fine with either.

T = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I do think he has at least one, but he sees little need to keep it after he’s with someone. He shows interest in stimulating your body with some handy toy, like a bullet vibrator or something of the like. Open to suggestions from your part if you want to try a toy on him, too.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

If he’s feeling playful and teasing, he’s pretty unfair. He’ll keep tethering you to the edge of your orgasm, pulling away at the right time before working you up to that edge again. He doesn’t care if you’re obedient or not; if he wants to edge you for the next couple of minutes, he’ll do it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Man tries so hard to keep his voice down. He can manage in the beginning, but the closer he is to his orgasm, the louder he gets. He whines and moans, even crying your name if he has been edged for a while. You may try covering his mouth with yours; he’s going to moan into the kiss, and his sounds of pleasure slip through. Can’t shut up for the life of him (affectionately).

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Every time you visit him backstage, he has fantasized about having a quickie with you there, just before a show. This fantasy is not viable, because that would mean Lynette could catch you both in the act, and that wouldn’t be a fun experience. The same applies to when he imagines you visiting him in the dressing room before a show.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Fairly high. Aside from the reason being his age, it’s also due to him being an energetic individual, and he has to release said energy in some way or another.  

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’ll be awake if you talk to him, but the moment there’s some silence, he’s asleep.

[catscidr]

Could we get some Dottore x escaped experiment reader? Gn if possible, doesn't even have to be smut. I just can't find anything along those lines and I like your writing style :)

i. note — hehehoho i might have uuuhhh used this ask as an excuse to go off a lil and try something new teehee °ᗜ°) but this was really fun to write!! thank you nonnie for the suggestion, and thank you very much for liking my stuff enough to req something!!! i hope u all enjoy ii. includes — dottore, gn!reader iii. cw — unhealthy and toxic dynamics, no dialogue, mentions of cannibalism, mild body horror, one (1) dead body, not quite stockholm syndrome but maybe kinda, reader is a mess and dottore is not a good person (shocker). minors do not interact, age in bio or block. iv. wc — 2k -> posted on ao3 too!

To humans, running is what they do when they’re late to work, when they’re working out, or even when they’re playing games at recess as children. To predators, running is what they do in order to secure their next meal. To prey, running is what they must do so they can escape from the predator’s clutch in one piece, to not end up as a mangled corpse serving as someone or something’s food. 

You have more in common with prey than you have with humans, despite being one yourself. 

It hasn’t always been that way. One moment you were enjoying the warm afternoon sun of your home region out on a walk, and the other you found yourself thrown over someone’s shoulder with a bag over your head. 

You always find yourself reminiscing, yearning to feel the warmth you felt that day— minus the incident. You used to be a model citizen; someone people would rely on. 

A shame no one helped you when you desperately needed it. 

Your own mind is all you’re left with, as you’re clumsily tripping over your feet, rocks scraping your skin and blood trickling down your legs. The feeling is almost peaceful; but after running for so long, and with how often you’ve gotten yourself in this exact situation, you’re starting to second guess your motive for running in the first place. 

Is it a form of entertainment, are you growing bored of the four padded walls engulfing your five senses at all hours of the day that you feel the need to get the energy out of your body like a hamster does by using the wheel in its cage? Is it to leave the predicament you found yourself in after trusting someone you, under no circumstances, should have trusted? 

Or is it because you gradually have come to find yourself sharing more similarities to a dog, begging its owner to even unenthusiastically throw a plastic frisbee for a smidge of attention to fulfill your need to be seen, to be heard, and now you feel the responsibility to own up to that label you inflicted upon yourself? 

The lines between reality and your thoughts have blurred so much it frightens you. 

...Or, rather, it should scare you. After spending so much time in your own head, one would find that it’s surprisingly easy to come to distrust your own mind. You’re not sure if you should believe what goes through your head, even less believe what you feel. But at the same time, you’re all you have. You have no choice but to trust yourself, even when you shouldn’t. 

Only a select few are aware of how dreadfully strong and outright stubborn the human mind can be, whether it be from their own personal experience or from seeing others slip into a state like yours. 

Unfortunately for you, He’s familiar with your situation. Painfully familiar. 

… 

Sometimes you wish you were a luna moth. Delicate and radiant, people would be torn between praising you for your beauty and shunning you away for the crime of looking different than what they’re used to. You wouldn’t be a butterfly, would not conform to what society wants you to be. You would be able to be who you want, look however you want to without worrying over other’s opinions. 

The people that did like you, though, would treat you with care and would do everything in their power to make your stay in this world a pleasant one. A stay that would only last a week. 

Not long enough for you to become familiar with the horrors that await humanity. Seven days filled with nothing but genuine smiles, void of empty promises. 

You’d crawl out of your cocoon, eat good food, find someone to help continue your bloodline, then die somewhere peaceful and hope that your crumbling, decomposing body will bring relief to someone desperately needing something to eat. 

But you’re not a moth. 

… 

It’s unbearably cold when you come to your senses. Peeling your eyes open, you glance around to find yourself surrounded by cold limestone, barely illuminated by the cave’s entrance just a few feet away. The hairs on your skin rise from the wind guiding snow through the passageway, making you curl into yourself in a pathetic attempt to keep your body’s temperature from dropping too low. 

You look down at yourself; your pants are ripped at the hem, and you see messy splotches of brownish red staining the fabric and your skin, going all the way down to your calloused feet. You’re not sure how long you’ve been out for, but it must have been at least an hour given how the bleeding from the numerous scratches and gashes on your legs stopped without any assistance. 

The cave felt completely foreign to you, but even then, it brought you more comfort than He had. Or at least you think it does. 

You feel free. Despite the way your body shivered endlessly from the wind howling into the cavern, despite the dull but searing pain that made it feel like your feet were scorching that traveled up your legs, despite the way you couldn’t move your lips from how dry and cracked they were, split from sheer cold. 

You think this is the most freedom you’ve felt since you’ve gotten yourself stuck in His maw. 

... 

The wind is reduced to a soft, soothing melody when you wake up again. Almost calming enough for you to drift off to sleep a second time, but a nagging feeling in the depths of your gut told you that it was a bad idea to fall unconscious this time around, so you try to shake off the numbness in your limbs instead of succumbing to the call of the void. 

Standing up proves to be a challenge as your legs buckle under your weight. You catch yourself before you fall, holding onto the rough formation of a rogue stalagmite; it’s a struggle to hold yourself up, but at the very least you didn’t give yourself a concussion. 

The pain isn’t completely unwelcome, though. Your feet are throbbing, and the palm of your hand holding yourself up with the help of the stalagmite stings. As you blink the drowsiness away and the blood begins to flow through your limbs correctly again, you straighten your back to take in your surroundings properly. 

The cave’s entrance was filled with thick snow. There was enough that it would reach your stomach should you walk up to it, ignoring the snow that fell into the grotto, and not the snow that partly obscured your way to the outside world. You can’t see much outside, only the faint outline of pine trees wavering in the distance, far enough that you can only barely make out their form. 

Looking away from the blinding whites outside, you notice how utterly desolate the cavern is. Not even a single trace of a life was left behind in this cold, worn hollow. Maybe it’s better this way. You’re not sure you would have appreciated seeing even a wild hare or a fox in here, much less a bear. 

Sitting down on the rocky ground again to give your legs a break, you take a moment to think back to what got you here in the first place. 

You faintly recall rusty medical equipment, convulsing organs, and seeing Him jot down notes. You remember a plate being handed to you, the vague image of a man covered by a stained sheet of what used to be white, and the bile that rose to your throat when your gaze focused on what was on the plate itself. 

Everyone knew the Doctor was a twisted man, but you doubted He was twisted enough to force someone to cannibalize one of their peers. 

Clearly, you were wrong. 

Then, you remember making a mad dash for the thick iron doors of his laboratory. By the grace of god, you were able to leave; and you now found yourself in this desolate cavern, tucked away from civilization. 

As far as you were aware of. 

But you shouldn’t trust your mind. You knew this, yet you also knew not to trust yourself when you told yourself you couldn’t trust yourself. Simultaneously believing in logic and being a mess of paradoxical jargon— it exhausted you to think about. So you try not to. 

Whether by a stroke of bad luck or because of something else entirely, your dull sense of hearing picks up the faint sound of snow crunching beneath boots. Your hands and legs scramble to take you where you can hide as much of yourself as you can behind a rock formation, and you stare out of the cave’s entrance, holding your breath. 

The sound becomes louder. An almost gentle woosh noise accompanies the scrunch of snow, and soon after it stops, you’re able to make out a blurry figure approaching the cave’s entrance. The icy flakes make way for Him at His command, hand waving to get rid of what was keeping you physically separated from Him. 

The pure white snow behind His body glinted off his intricate accessories, the light forming a halo so otherworldly that it left you utterly breathless. 

His boots make a soft clicking noise against the limestone as He steps into the grotto, your safe haven for however long you had been here— now not. Not a single word left His lips as he assessed your rugged appearance. 

You wish He would smite you right then and there. He was most likely able to, and with ease, but you doubt He would willingly discard one of his longest-running experiments for disobeying a rule that you had broken many times before anyways. 

Your jittery gaze follows His movements as He outstretches His arm, offering you a gloved hand, silent. 

Did he know how much you simultaneously trusted and distrusted your own judgement? You stare at His hand, unmoving, heart racing against your ribcage— torn between bolting away, into the darkness of the cave, or intertwining your fingers with His, allowing Him to take you away voluntarily. 

This was mercy either way. You could either die at the hands of whatever lurked in the shadows of the grotto, or you could die at the hands of the man that brought you so much pain it morphed into comfort, solace. He stood, unmoving. Observing you. 

You knew Him well enough to know that He was taking mental notes on your behavior even now, outside of the familiar comfort of his lab in Haeresys. 

Both options were foolish, but you weren’t exactly known to be in the sanest state of mind. 

Pulling your arms away from your body, you bring a shaky hand up to take ahold of His, allowing Him to pull you up to your feet. You almost fall as a result of your nerves, but thanks to His quick reflexes you find yourself tucked in his arms, cheek pressed up against His navy cravat. The hand that wasn’t holding yours comes up to pat your head, gently untangling the knots that had formed in your hair. You melt into His touch, eyes fluttering shut to bask in the warmth He provided. 

As you stand there with Him, knees weak, body upheld by His will alone, you shove down the thoughts that brew in the forefront of your mind. Usually you would welcome the noise, even be grateful that you, at the very least, had yourself to lean on. But you find yourself wishing to lean on Him more than yourself, both literally and metaphorically, keening at the comfort He brought you. 

You knew you couldn’t trust your mind, so why not trust His instead? If you couldn’t rely on your own instincts, judgement or thoughts, then how bad would it truly be to let someone other than you become fully responsible for your wellbeing? 

... 

You were neither a moth nor human.

You were a dog.

[bonefall]

Could you tell us anything more about our girl Cricketclaw? I have vague memories of you mentioning she just took Graykit and dipped to make sure they would both survive the plague. Queen, honestly. Did she have strong political leanings? Bffs? Hobbies? Opinions on Darkstripe becoming a huge dick? Depending on who mentored her that could be a lot of tension between the two.

Hopefully I will have her summary out soon, but sure! Casual jumble about Miss Cricketclaw, daughter of Dappletail, sister of Darkstripe and Graystripe.

NOTE: you're completely correct, I initially planned for Cricketclaw to nab Graykit and bolt for a while as the worst of the plague washed over ThunderClan before TPB. On further consideration though, I NEED to change it to Darkstripe for dramatic purposes.

The sibling who saved Graykit's life dies to his brother's claws in the end, in defense of Firestar. Do you understand my vision?

So with that in mind!

Cricketclaw and Darkstripe are Dappletail's first litter.

They were suuuuuper super close as kits. Always getting into trouble, thick as thieves with the mischief to match.

They once wandered off during a bad storm and came across a lone badger. Bluestar arrived just in time to kill it all on her own, but lost a life in the process.

For Cricketkit, that was formative. Her loyalty to Bluestar is absolutely unshakable.

(Darkkit was more just traumatized by it, it affects his ability to fight even though he doesn't want to admit it)

Their paths really started to diverge when they were apprenticed. Darkpaw was given to Tigerclaw, Cricketpaw went to Redtail.

Both siblings really idolized their mentors, remaining close into their adulthoods.

Dappletail and Cricketclaw were some of the few cats who where always a bit... iffy, on Tigerclaw. They kept quiet about it though, because it was VERY vibes-based.

Dappletail (the educator) kinda felt... dismissed? By him. And Cricketclaw was seeing how her brother was changing.

Like, since when was Darkpaw interested in advanced battle moves? The only finesse this guy ever displayed was the finesse to not get jabbed by a blackberry bramble. What happened to her nerd of a brother who could tell a red knoutberry from a raspberry at a thousand foxlengths?

But... Tigerclaw was strong and respected. He wasn't like his mentor, who always gave Dappletail and her friend Rosetail issues.

And it was good that Darkstripe was finally a strong, capable warrior.

He was a lot grumpier and gruffer than he used to be but, that's growing up.

Cricketclaw was named for being the more standoffish of the two. She's the fighter, the one who was more disciplined and battle-ready. It was odd and ironic to her that Darkstripe was becoming the more aggressive one, the more time passed.

But anyway, enough of her relationship to him! She has a ton of ambitions in her own right and has a pretty strong personality.

She LOVES practical jokes. When Graykit and Featherkit were born, she was ecstatic because it meant she was going to have little siblings to confuse

She's outgoing and funny. She inherited her mother's resting bitchface. Don't let it fool you.

Like other warriors though, she will defend the territory ferociously. Bluestar is a big inspiration to her, she is brave.

I imagine she is friends with Goldenflower, though I'm not sure why. I feel like they just get along, somehow.

(In canon, she greets her in the nursery. Cricketclaw is the BB version of the "Distinctive Tabby Queen")

Depending on some timeline stuff she might have a rivalry going on with Willowpelt. They both want to be Head of Hunting eventually.

When Darkstripe skedaddles with Graykit, she wishes she thought of it first. But won't abandon her mother after they just lost Featherkit.

When Darkstripe comes back she LOUDLY defends him. For a moment, she has hope that they might reconnect, but it doesn't happen.

She is an ally of Firepaw from a young age, but can be harder on Graypaw. Mostly because Gray is her little brother, she feels more responsible for him when he acts like a brat.

Cricketclaw is the sort of person who would tell a mean xenophobic joke, but regret it if Firepaw winces.

Or, worse, she comes up with one, says it in the wrong company, and then suddenly Darkstripe is saying it unironically.

I'm not entirely sure when she dies, but it's probably at some point in TNP. She is the sort of person who would die throwing herself at something very large, like a boar, or running back towards collapsing trees to save other people.

Anyway, her favorite food is blackberries.

[lola-andheruniverse]

Anon who asked me about "sides" in the caryl fandom and which one I place myself on because you believe I "switched sides"/changed my opinions:

I'm not posting your ask because you named people and that's not something I do on my blog or generally agree with. The only instance you'll find me naming or tagging people is in fic recs posts, so that caryl authors who are on Tumblr can read them and be found by readers who'd like to reach out.

If you have a problem with the opinions, feelings and/or behaviors of a particular individual/blog, I ask you to 1) please reach out to them directly so you can express your disagreement or 2) use your block button, so you no longer see content you don't like. I believe that our fandom is big enough to hold every single caryler out there who wants to join in, regardless of their opinions, posts or feelings. People should feel free and safe to post whatever they want, either 'positive' or 'negative'. I have no problem with anyone in the fandom and I respect everyone's opinions, even when I disagree with some stuff I read.

Please, I ask you to not use my ask box to indirectly badmouth, bully or attack any caryler.

That said, the answer to your question is after the cut.

I'm not on either "side" and never have been. I'm just another enthusiastic fan that loves Carol and Daryl. Since joining the Tumblr fandom just before the pandemic (I was a lurker for many years), I've been using my own critical thinking skills and knowledge of AMC's shenanigans to form my own opinions.

I'm confident in TBOC because I believe there are concrete reasons that support how I'm feeling, from Melissa's return, to filming spoilers and rumors, to Tribeca and SDCC. You're free to agree or disagree with my interpretation of these facts, and to feel positive or negative about it.

I also continue to believe that AMC/Gimple hijacked the original caryl spinoff to highlight the richonne spinoff because it follows similar decisions made before to give Rick more screen time at the expense of all the other TWD characters. I believe Melissa had no choice but to opt out of the original spin-off and negotiate new terms to ensure that Carol's (and therefore Caryl's) story was respected and told with integrity. To me, that's why there were things to be sorted out, as she said, and why she lengthily discussed Carol with Zabel and co. even before scripts for the France spinoff were written. She was involved since the beginning, yes, but she only signed on when she got what she wanted. There is no greater supporter of Carol than Melissa and we have known this for years. I'm glad she's back in her own terms. I believe it was a pretty difficult time for her, as she expressed it by basically refusing to promote 11C or the series finale, and by not saying anything about the whole mess on SM, while other cast members/friends such as Laurie Holden and Khary Payton spoke out in her behalf.

I believe AMC tried to make money off just Daryl because he's their original character and it backfired in their faces. They also made a mistake using Norman to save face as he should have been protected from the SM backlash. Norman has never been a reliable narrator and I always take every thing he says with a grain of salt, but I don't think he's intentionally malicious. I appreciate how much he loves Daryl and is considerate of his fans, even when I don't approve of his behavior. I just wish he would keep his frustrating mouth shut. I believe Norman had lots of input in S1 and that he initially thought he could pull it off without Melissa. But there's no Daryl without Carol and no Carol without Daryl. It's crystal clear how much Norman's happy for having Melissa by his side, and how much they love each other and are excited for S2. I'm glad they are reunited, both for them and for us, but I believe everything worked out in the end because Melissa didn't give up on getting what she wanted. I believe she had lots of inputs in S2 and is satisfied and happy with the final result.

So, that's how I believe things have gone these last two years. Again, feel free to agree or disagree with my interpretation of facts. None of us will ever know exactly what happened, but each of us can decide what to believe based on our own judgment of the facts. That's what I do and will continue to do.

In the end, for me, the important thing is that Melissa and Norman are happy and that Carol and Daryl get their hard-earned happy ending. It's everything I ever wanted and I'm going to enjoy it. I hope you enjoy it too.

That's it. Caryl on!

[limbuscompanysituations]

(post canto VI) Some angsty stuff, like Ishmael being upset because Heathcliff acts totally different, all in all mainly missing the deep friendship that has started to form between them, some longing for a feeling she can't quite explain. She wishes to help him but doesn't know how to approach him properly ww

He changed.

It's normal for sinners to experience sudden, drastic changes; be it either in opinions, values or goals. Through the entirety of a bough retrieval mission, they are forced to revisit their own life stories. Their emotions change, their thoughts change, their hearts change. They change.

This change, however, is most unnatural; she would risk calling it unnerving.

He's always at a corner, doing something to his bat. Ishmael thought it would be a matter of waiting a couple days. She decides to leave him to it. Their stay at the Wuthering Heights was confusing, with a lot of it vanishing from their minds. It was clear there was something she missed here.

She's still expecting that the camaraderie that had blossomed between them would lead Heathcliff to tell her what was up. Instead, all she got was a man who was a shadow of himself. Ishmael can't handle it anymore, so she goes ahead and confronts him about it.

He iss still modifying his bat, bowing over it and completely focused on the task at hand.

"What's your problem?" She asks. It takes a minute or so for Heathcliff to slowly raise his head and look at her. It took him another half minute for him to really look at her. It's like he's deep underwater.

"What d'ya want?" He asks back. She frowns.

"So this is how it's gonna be? Hiding at corners, sanding that damned bat over and over and... carving? What happened to you? It's like... some ghost snatched the soul from inside your body."

He flinches at the word "ghost".

"Catherine." He speaks in a barely audible whisper.

"Huh?"

"Yeah, thought so." He sighs and goes back to his task. Ishmael grits her teeth, considering whether or not she'd get scolded for beating the shit out of him then and there.

"The name doesn't ring any bells to you, or anybody, for that matter. That means I still... have much to do." He quietly explains.

"You could start with growing a spine." She growls, "And tell me what the fuck happened to you." The next words she speaks hurt her more than anything, "You used to trust me."

Heathcliff pauses, shut his eyes and presses his lips into a thin line.

"Yeah I... I used to... Think many things before." His voice is weak, cracking and drifting away at the end, "And you're right. My soul was stolen, snatched out of my bones. I'm hollow, pumpkin." He chuckles, "Hollow like... birds' bones, I guess."

And for the first time in weeks, a little bit of that grief started showing through the cracks. Their stay at Wuthering Heights was brief and chaotic, but she remembers one thing clearly: the moment his mind broke, his insanity took over and he became not a friend but a foe; overcome with pain beyond what a human could bear.

"Don't call me that." She replies, "Not when you're like... this."

"Aight, Ishmael. D'ya want anything else?" He doesn't look at her.

"I want you to come back." It doesn't take a heartbeat before she says these words, and then he raises his head to look at her again, "However long it takes. I'm waiting, you stupid piece of shit. Waiting for the moment you want to tell me what the hell happened to you. I'm waiting."

Heathcliff stares at her, wordless and exhausted.

"I'm waiting." She reassures him, and turns her back, ready to walk away.

"Thanks, ginger. I... may not be all right in the head but... that's much appreciated."

Without any other word, she leavwa him be. Whether it worked or not, only time would tell. Ishmael couldn't do anything but to wait. And if it was necessary, she didn't mind having to knock some sense into him either.

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

Randomly, I had a thought on how likely it would have been for different characters to have fallen for Cloud and why they would have fallen for him and now I’m here! Once more! So going in no particular order let us begin (this is just the main sort of batch of characters, let me know if you wanna see any of the side ones like the Turks or Rufus)

Also keep in mind this is just me, my opinions and my blog. Don’t like, don’t read, don’t bring your ship hating or ship wars in here or I’ll punch you. Please and thank you!

Zack: I am being mildly biased with my own shipping head canons when I say that he would’ve fallen head over heels upon first meeting, but also it is canon that he was a chronic flirt and had multiple ‘girlfriends’. So I say it’s not entirely out of the question.

Sephiroth: before he lost his mind there wasn’t a chance in fucking hell it would’ve happened I think. Besides the whole difference in rank thing Seph was already far too traumatised and probably would have just seen Cloud as another guy that saw him as nothing but a war hero. He might have entertained the thought of sleeping with him, maybe, but I really don’t think it would’ve happened. We all know how he is after he loses his mind so I don’t think I gotta delve into that.

Angeal: probably not. He definitely would’ve taken some sort of liking to Cloud, whether as a friend he could find good conversation with or a sort of protege like Zack, I dunno. But ultimately I don’t reckon they’d have too much of a connection, not without some form of poly going on or something. Which leads me to this next one.

Genesis: I for sure reckon he would’ve fallen for Cloud. It would’ve been fucking messy and drama filled and more than likely would have stemmed from an enemies to lovers cause they’re both so incredibly stubborn and head strong, but they would end up loving each other. They’d definitely still butt heads and get into useless arguments but there were far too many pros to even think of giving up on the other.

Aerith: without the whole Cloud resembling Zack thing, maybe. There’s a chance that she could have but it would have been slow. Would’ve been one of those things where they hung out and talked and did all this stuff together so often that one day she would’ve turned around and realised she was in love with him. Like a full on ‘oh’ moment.

Tifa: this is another thing that’s mildly biased based off my own head canons but I honestly don’t think Tifa would have fallen for Cloud. If not for the Nibelheim incident and Cloud being exactly what she always wished for as a kid I do not think it would’ve happened.

Barret: definitely fucking not 😂 besides the fact that he hated Cloud when they first met, Cloud is so far beyond his type it’s not even funny. Plus I feel like Barret would either be one of those guys who’s like ‘my wife was the only woman for me’ or he just wouldn’t wanna put Marlene through the stress of suddenly gaining another parent.

Biggs: maybe. Like a heavy ass possibly honestly. I feel like it would have been the most generic romance in history and it would’ve been so unbelievably normal and it most likely would have been short lived, but maybe.

Wedge: I’m not gonna lie. Wedge gives me aromantic vibes for some reason. I dunno why, he just does. He’d definitely befriend Cloud (eventually) and be willing to wingman him or something if he needed it but yeah, I don’t think Wedge would’ve fallen for him.

Jessie: she absolutely loves flirting with Cloud and teasing him and being all over him, but she is definitely a lesbian. Don’t even argue with me! That woman is a full fledged lesbian and she only flirts with guys so heavily cause it’s funny to watch them scramble.

Vincent: nah, not really. Would they have a friends with benefits thing? Probably. But I feel like Vincent is far too emotionally unavailable and traumatised to even entertain the idea of being with someone again.

Cid: I feel like this is similar to Angeal. He’d definitely like Cloud and they’d bond over mechanic shit and complain about the people they chose to surround themselves with, but he definitely wouldn’t fall for him either. Cloud is way too young for him and not nearly his type in a guy. Plus he has a wife.

[commander-rahrah]

Talking to the Moon: Part VII

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader Word Count: ~5600 Warnings: swearing, blood, some borrowed in game dialogue, violence, nudity, canonical warnings apply!

archiveofourown: here

masterlist: here

part I: here part II: here part III: here part IV: here part V: here part VI: here

Summary: Set in Act III, in Cazador's Palace. Continuing from part 6, Astarion has been captured and forced into the seventh slot of the ritual. But there is more conflict then just the physical fight before him. There is still the fight between his broken mind and heart to finish.

Notes: Hi everyone! So, we made it to the big bad fight... Parts of this is based off of how my actual first playthrough went when completing this mission (my character got one shotted and died in the very first round LOL,) along with head cannons that I created months ago as soon as the fight was finished and I finished bawling my eyes out. There is descriptions and some dialogue pulled straight from these scenes, just like the previous chapter, but there is a lot of stuff that I added to read between the lines. I also created a scene for after the fight but before Astarion invites you to the graveyard, as I feel like that poor man needs time to decompress and think before all of that happens! I will include some other quick notes/comments up here, which is slightly spoilery for the chapter - but I wanted you to be aware before you read.

(1) There is a bit of "main character" energy from reader/Tav in this one. As it has been established, reader is blessed by Selûne and this factors in heavily into this chapter! It is a big set up for things to come for completing their own personal arc :)

(2) I know there is a lot of discourse about some people wishing you could hug/comfort Astarion after the fight, and others who believe it is his moment and to just let him be. I agree with both sentiments - so I wrote it in the way that I envision Astarion would be okay with aka he initiates it himself. This is my opinion and characterization for Astarion, and is something that as someone who has touch aversion would be comfortable doing myself.

Anyways, thank you so much for reading. I truly hope you enjoy this chapter and all of the angsty, sad, happy, tender moments it holds. As always, kudos and comments are very very appreciated ♡♡♡

·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨

It was like fire was in his veins, pain seeping into every nook and cranny of his body in a way he’d never known.

He would take whips and chains. Teeth and claws. Coffins buried in the ground again. Anything but this.

Astarion couldn’t help the broken scream that escaped from him, the sound echoing throughout the chamber before perhaps his last words escaped him. They were a desperate shout for you, your name shredding his vocal cords. He could barely keep his eyes open from the pain, but what he could see was the searing red that filled the entire room from the infernal magic. And blurry figures through the tears forming in his eyes — his friends gathering together defensively around you.

His mind was a whirlwind of contradictory thoughts. He wanted to you to run — to know that you would at least survive this… that would be his only comfort before he died. He needed you to run. To be safe. To live.

But that selfish voice in him, the devil on his shoulder, whispered and hoped you wouldn’t. Knew you wouldn’t. That hoped maybe, somehow, you could pull through. That after fighting the chosen of gods, an undead dragon, hoards of enemies… just maybe you could defeat the vampire master. Maybe Selûne was watching, and his prayers would finally be answered all these years later in the form of you.

His heart and mind continued to fight as his body kept burning, the pulling of the red magic on his limbs stretching his muscles and bones, pulsing through every pore of his skin.

But he knew what the answer would be — regardless of what he thought, what he hoped. You said it yourself, you would do anything for him. You would die here for him, if it came to it. And at this rate it would.

He was your undoing. He knew it would come to this and yet he still fell for you. Let you fall for him. Let you kiss him and teach him, comfort and protect him. Knowing it would one day lead to something like this.

An end just as violent and bloody as he was.

Astarion had never hated himself more.

His tears broke free, sliding down his face as he silently screamed from the pain and anguish. His voice too broken for anything more than a fragmented choking sound to come out.

It happened in an instant. A flare of blue magic that cut through the scarlet light around them. Then a loud snap echoed through the cave. A teleportation spell — someone was leaving.

Or coming closer.

Then your scent, so sweet and warm washed over him. His eyes closed as he breathed it in, realizing he was must be slipping into delusion from the pain. His brain, or maybe the tadpole, offering the hallucination as a final comfort before death.

“Quickly!” A male voice hissed with urgency.

The voice broke him from his stupor. Gale? He could barely open his eyes, but he forced them open the tiniest smidge.

You were in front of him, your eyes slightly glowing from the magic everywhere as they focused just behind him. “Darling,” He mumbled in confusion, so unsure of what happened, of how you were here.

You spoke so softly to him. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” He looked down to see your hands flashing with their own magic as they cut through the incantations binding him.

He felt the pressure on his ankles dissipate, his eyes flicking to you and the rest of your friends. They were shouting as they launched spells and swung their blades at the beasts and creatures under his master's control. Karlach’s scream of rage vibrated the stone floor as she cleaved through a werewolf like it was nothing.

But where was he? Where was Cazador?

And as he thought it, he appeared. His master’s red eyes piercing through Astarion as he felt the final piece of the incantation snap free, his body started to fall the few feet back to the stone ground he was hovering above.

The ancient vampire must have felt it, the spell breaking, the moment he was free. His eyes snapped to you instantly and if looks could kill… Cazador’s jaw set and his nostrils flared as he took a single step forward with his staff raised.

"Wait, no—"

And just as fast as you had appeared, Cazador was launching a powerful spell at you. Astarion screamed your name, lurching forward to shield you. But it was too late. It was as if time slowed completely as he watched you whirl around, your hair splaying as you turned to him, your eyes widening with shock. And fear.

And then you crumbled to the ground.

“Such a waste.” The ancient vampire snarled from across the dais, waving his staff as he finished the incantation.

Images flashed into Astarion’s mind of your lifeless body in his lap in the Shadowlands, the sound he had buried of your heart slowing until it stopped. You had promised back in the Shadowlands, on that tiny dock — you promised you would stay out of harms way. This wasn't happening, it was a nightmare. It should be him, not you.

No, no, no, no.

“NO!!” His words were echoed throughout the chamber as Shadowheart thrust her hands forward — a blinding, golden glow in her hands rocketing towards you, unmoving on the ground.

It struck your chest where Cazador’s dark spell had hit just mere seconds before — seeping into you, spreading across your body until it radiated with magic. Your unconscious form was raised into the air, floating with a golden outline. The tips of your silvery-white hair waving with a breeze that came out of no where. Then your eyes flashed open — but they were not their usual shade, his newfound favorite color since he met you. No, they were glowing silver, radiating authority and power as they stared at his old master.

You opened your mouth to speak as you remained floating, but it was not just your voice. A female voice that dripped with authority echoed your words, like something was speaking through you. Someone.

Gods, it couldn't be.

“Your reign of terror and abuse ends here, Cazador Szarr. I refuse to let your hate and cruelty fester any longer." You dipped your chin down, your blazing eyes narrowing as you remained locked on the ancient vampire.

Cazador cocked his head, an eyebrow raised at the spectacle of you. Astarion knew the gears were turning in his head, calculating and trying to figure out how he would turn this into an advantage. What he would get from you.

But your voice continued, the second one still joining you as you floated closer to the center dais, closer to the vampire master. "You believe yourself to be all-powerful. You believe yourself to be a blessing, a mercy to the creatures you keep at your feet. A benevolent master who can make himself a God."

Everyone in the room had stopped to watch, the ritual stopped with Astarion freed. Friend and foe both had weapons at their sides, mouths slightly agape as they tried to process what they were seeing. Who they were seeing.

There were not many beings of Faerûn who could say that they had seen a God in the flesh.

As it was Selûne who spoke through you know, who granted you this power, who had created this vision of blinding radiance in this dark, decrepit crypt.

"But what you really are… is a result, from a cycle of venom and greed and fear. And that cycle ends today.” You, she, said it so matter-of-factly. Declared so simply that it was both of your wills, so it would be so. Closing your eyes softly, your hands lifted up like you were summoning something deep within yourself.

Astarion's mouth fell open as light began to radiate out of you, silver and bright like the fullest moon on a clear night. He had become so accustomed to the talent of his friends — Shadowheart's golden light, Gale's purple and blue, Wyll's fiendish red. But this, this was something different. Pure and unfiltered power from the Goddess of the Moon. Then the light erupted, traveling so fast and loud that his elven senses twinged.

It hurled into the Vampire Master, his face mirroring yours from moments ago — filled with shock and fear. Astarion had never seen his master afraid, not in two hundred years. His steps faltered, off-kilter as he reeled from your blinding light that clung to him.

Who was the weak, pathetic boy now?

"NOW!" Your screamed, your voice returning to your own — though Selûne's power and magic still radiated off of you. Determination lined every single one of his friends' faces as they rushed forward to hurl their attacks on the Master and his creatures.

Astarion's hands were steady as his fingers unsheathed the daggers at his side, his stare deadly as he stalked towards the man who had ruined his life, broken him over and over. Cazador was trying to twirl and deflect, but the attacks kept coming as he was blinded by the light that was you. Yet, he still caught Astarion's eyes, still smiled wickedly at his spawn — even though Astarion could smell his terror and rancid blood from here.

"You are going to regret underestimating us, Cazador." He hissed as he flung his magical daggers out. They struck true, one slicing through the soft flesh of his side and the other up across his cheek.

"Agh!" The vampire's knees shook as he tumbled forward, another blast of magic hit into his back. His red eyes flickered up through his strong brow as he remained keeled over, "You don't have the balls to kill me, boy. Or did you forget that every part of you is mine?"

Astarion's nostrils flared as rage flooded through him, his vision turning red without the infernal magic surrounding them. He held his palms open as his daggers returned to them, twirling them in his hands without thought as he stepped forward once more. "You can't be owned by a dead man." He spat, before sending his daggers out once more.

"NOOO-" The ancient vampire's screams filled the crypt, bouncing off the stone floors and walls. With a poof, he turned into his infamous mist but your light clung onto him — illuminating his path as it raced for the sarcophagus nearby.

"No, no!" A deep desire for vengeance flooded Astarion as Cazador tried to escape, his voice a snarl he could barely recognize. His red eyes could focus on nothing else but his tormentor's end, his pain, his misery. He could draw it out, torment the sadistic bastard to match what he had done to him for all those years. A pounding was filling his pointed ears, the steady thump increasing as he chased after the mist. Using his vampire spawn strength he tore the top of the sarcophagus off, shoving it angrily to reveal the beaten and bleeding vampire within. "No, no! No healing sleep for you. Wake up!" He growled, grabbing him by his pretentious, soiled collar and throwing him to the ground.

Cazador weakly fought back, scrambling back onto his knees. He sneered up at his spawn looming over him, "Get your hands off me, worm!"

"I'm not the one in the dirt," Astarion spat, gripping the dagger in his hand so tightly that is already pale knuckles turned completely white. His bare chest was rising up and down, not from breath but with deep emotion. "One last thrust and I'll be free of you. I'll never have to fear you again."

The vampire spawn put on the mask he had mastered for centuries, his face a lethal calm as he suggested, "But if I finish the ritual you started, I'll never have to fear anyone, ever."

If he did this, there would be no hiding, no running. No more fear, for either of you. He would destroy anyone and anything who would come to harm you. Who would stop him? You both could be anything you wanted, matched equals backed with powers that equaled those of the Gods.

His old master only scoffed, "You think me a fool? That I would allow anyone to usurp me, speak the words, and ascend in my place? The runes I carved into your flesh bind you and all seven thousand souls to the ritual. Complete it and those bearing the scars will be sacrificed - you included. You are simply a means to an end. I made you to be consumed."

"I AM SO MUCH MORE THEN WHAT YOU MADE ME!" Astarion roared, bending down more to scream in his face. He felt the intoxicating feeling of power, control flooding through him when Cazador actually flinched, "You fucking leech." His jaw was set tightly as he breathed in the scent of blood that was filling the room, desperate, primal need suddenly filling him. He was losing his focus, his bearings — what was this all for? Who was this all for?

Safety. Agency. Freedom. Power. Control. Dominance. Ascendancy.

The words were twisting darker and darker in his head as once again his broken mind and heart battled against each other. His hands started trembling as he finally looked away from the ancient vampire beneath him. Looking up to his siblings still bound by the remainders of the spell, up the stairs to the thousands of souls — real, present souls — who were trapped down here for centuries. He could feel his heart starting to climb up his throat as two separate sides of himself battled internally.

Remember who you are, Astarion.

You had said that — so softly, with such a gentle touch as you had tried to ground him. No one had ever looked at him like you did, touched him like you did. His red eyes flickered over to you, and his half-dead heart fluttered strangely. He spoke with less of a bite, the edge disappearing, "If I do this I will be free. Truly, completely free. Isn't that what you want, my love?"

Your eyes looked at him, boring into his soul like no one else had. You stepped forward, so unafraid unlike him. There was no tremble in your hands, nor shaking in your knees. You didn't even look at the vampire master cowering on the ground, the immortal male who minutes ago had killed you. No, your beautiful eyes remained only on him as you stepped forward.

Silver was still lingering in your eyes, but he realized it was not latent power from Selûne. It was tears, threatening to break free as you spoke. The saddest smile spread your lips, your brows tugging in the middle. "I know you think this will set you free, but it won't. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador."

When would it end? Cazador had everything, his every whim met, more riches then one could imagine, thousands of spawn under his control. Even if he had completed the ritual, the vampire bastard Cazador was already plotting his next plan for cruelty by taking you. When would it end? Would any of it had ever been enough?

Could he live with himself, if he became that? Could you?

You spoke again, your voice so soft it was a whisper, "Let the cycle end here, Astarion."

His name on your lips struck him hard. It made him feel alive again, blinking back to reality. He shook himself out of the dark daze he was descending into, "You - you're right. I can be better than him." His gaze went back down to the man below him, the stirring feelings in him resolving as his fingers closed on his dagger once more. "But I'm not above enjoying this."

Fear glimmered in Cazador's eyes as Astarion fisted his long hair and plunged his blade into his chest.

And again.

And again.

Astarion imagined every lash, every carving cut, every scream and howl.

Again.

Again.

Every tremble and gulp he pushed down in an alley or tavern or forgotten hallway. Every moment of self-loathing. Every broken thought of wishing for it all to end — for someone, somewhere to just end him already.

Again.

Again.

He was covered in blood, the sticky red liquid splattering over his bare torso, creeping up his arms, neck and face. It was not appetizing, it did not cause a frenzy.

No, only a strange satisfaction.

Like a cleansing of his body and mind. His soul.

Complete catharsis.

Cazador's body had stopped moving long ago, laying mutilated at his feet.

His magical dagger, soured with the blood of his old master clattered onto the stone floor behind him. His trembling fingers losing hold of the blade, then his knees buckled and he was kneeling on the floor. His whole body was shaking, gasps escaping him as choked sobs climbed up his throat. He could not keep it down, not after all these years. Not after centuries of suppressing it, forcing it down to not give him the satisfaction.

Hot tears fell fast down his cheeks, and the howls of anguish, triumph and rage finally escaped.

Astarion wasn't sure how long he knelt in that pool of blood for. Time had no meaning at the moment, all of his senses suddenly turned off as he cried and howled.

“It’s over.”

Your voice. You.

Fluttering his eyes open, he found you kneeling in front of him. Your eyebrows were furrowed, your own cheeks stained with tears.

“It’s over,” You whispered again. You had kept your distance — your hands resting on your thighs, as you too knelt in the blood. Not from fear of him, but to give him space. You couldn’t ask to touch him, not at this moment but you needed him to know he wasn’t alone.

Astarion launched himself at you, wrapping his arms around your body as he buried himself into your neck. His cries started all over again.

“It’s over. You’re okay. We’re okay.” You continued the comforting whispers, holding him against you — you started to rock, swaying the both of you back and forth.

He couldn’t stop the sobs escaping him — they had been building up for so long and now these they had broken free he wasn’t sure how to stop. He tried blinking away the lingering tears from the bottom of his vision, taking you in. “You, he—“ He put his stained hands on either side of your face, drinking you in in. “What did I do? What did I do?”

"He's gone. He's gone." You whispered.

Astarion pushed his forehead onto yours, mumbling incoherently, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, M'sorry..."

"Shhhh, my love." You said tenderly, your fingers caressing the nape of his neck in a comforting touch. "I've got you. I've got you."

• • •

Astarion wasn’t sure how he got back to the inn.

The journey back was a blur of healing spells, quick decisions and whispers of worry. He had stumbled back next to you, your arm wrapped around his waist holding him close to you. It was his only reassurance as the rest of the world swirled around him. He hadn’t let you ask — gluing himself to you in a silent answer before your mouth could even open. Now you both were in the group’s room in the Elfsong Tavern— the rest of your companions out for the remainder of the day. He was sure there was an exchange of looks and whispered words about him before the decision was made. He was sure that if he had been really looking he would have seen pity across all of their faces. But he didn't care to. He couldn’t really bring himself to react to anything but what had happened.

Cazador was dead. By his hands.

He was free. Yet stuck. Forever a spawn. Forever fragmented and damaged probably — if how he felt right now was any indication.

But free, nonetheless, he guessed.

You had pulled across the privacy curtains and made him a hot bath, the steam and smell of oils clouding throughout the room. Hints of magic too. Then you asked him in a gentle voice if he would like to get cleaned up, gesturing down at him. Astarion blinked as he looked down at himself and his ruined clothes. The shirt he was wrapped in wasn’t even his own — Wyll had thrusted it at him in that good gentlemanly way he was trained to do since he was a boy. The knees of his pants were shredded from the stone floor he had knelt on. And blood. So much of it. There was red splattered everywhere on him — dried and caked on by now. He wondered if the feeling of Cazador’s blood would linger like the other phantom touches and feelings that haunted his skin. Maybe he would be scrubbing at it long after it was physically cleaned off of his skin too — turning his almost pearlescent skin dark pink.

The vampire could only nod at you, lifting his arms up to attempt to pull off his shirt before wincing. Even with his immortal body and vampiric strength, he was sore. The pulling and stretching of his muscles from the binding magic would linger for a while he imagined. "Help me." He muttered weakly. You averted your gaze as you helped him peel the shirt off of him, your touch the most gentle it had ever been. Astarion was so lost in his own mind that he didn't even realize he had stepped out of his ruined pants, his blood-soaked boots moments later. He barely registered his movements as he crawled over the large wooden sides of the tub and slipped into the water.

The heat of the water instantly warmed his muscles, giving him some reprieve from the physical pain that lingered. It even lifted the fog from his mind as he sat for a moment in the water, watching the water move around him slightly - barely tinting to red before some kind of enchantment cleansed it away. As he watched the blood and dirt drift off of him, he felt the numbing going away too. The tremble in his hands returned, shaking under the water as he blinked back to reality. That feeling from down in the crypt was returning — he felt like he was back on his knees in the puddle of blood, his heart crawling up his throat, his skin hot and crawling—

His red eyes flicked up to search for you, finding you seated near him but with your back turned — trying to offer privacy but to be nearby if he needed you. Astarion’s throat closed up again as he looked at you, the comfort he so desperately wanted. It was almost overwhelming. Just weeks ago, he was trying to wrap his head around why someone would want such soft, simple touches. Why someone would just want to be held, nothing more. Now he felt his body shaking and tears forming from your absence.

“Join me,” He finally croaked out to the back of your head. His voice was a weak whisper — gods, he sounded pathetic.

You twirled in your chair, looking over your shoulder to him with furrowed brows. “Astarion, I—”

But he cut you off, your name was a choked sob from his mouth. “Please,” He begged before you could say anything else.

You immediately relented, standing up, taking off your clothes unceremoniously and sliding into the wooden tub. It was the most he had seen of your body in months, and not at all how he pictured it would go. Astarion felt your knees brush his as you sat across from him. Even just the barest touch had the crawling sensation across his skin calming. He took a steadying breath, before he finally took you in.

Only your shoulders and up could be seen in the deep wooden tub. Red blood had dried all over you, shaped like handprints— his own handprints had smeared the blood that crusted over your soft skin and stained your silvery-white hair. A pang shot through him. “Look what I’ve done—” His wet hands cupped the side of your face, echoing the action that probably put the stains there in the first place. Guilt flooded through him.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” You laid your cheek flush into his hands on your face. Then you turned your mouth, pressing your lips to his palm gently. Kissing his hands like they weren’t capable of monstrous, violent things. Like they hadn’t been covered in blood moments ago. “Are you?”

He stroked his pale thumb across your cheek before withdrawing it. Instead he searched for your own hand under the water, intertwining his fingers with yours. He kept his eyes on the water, shifting slightly back and forth — thinking quietly. “I don’t— I’m not sure how to answer that, right now.”

“Take your time, my love.” You said softly, squeezing his fingers. Astarion was thankful for your calming presence, but he needed more. He knew once you longed to just hold his hand, and it was a terrifying thought. But now he needed to be wrapped up in you, held so tight he would forget where he ended and where you started. In the small space of the tub, he barely had to move before he was pressed against you. His head in the crook of your neck, his nose pressed into your soft skin, inhaling your addicting scent. His arms around your waist as he held on to you for dear life. Within an instant you had your arms wrapped around him, fingers twirling in the ends of his hair, as you comforted him.

“I— I’ve lived with this all for so long. This pain. Who am I without it?” He whispered into your ear, so afraid to admit such things while looking in your eyes. But you pulled away, just enough so you could see him. Your eyes searching his — and they were so tender and full of deep emotion. Love, he finally realized. His half-dead heart fluttered at the realization. You loved him — even as the broken, undeserving creature he was. But instead of falling into deprecation and self-loathing, he savored the realization. He let himself get lost in it, the feeling of being loved by you. The reality of being loved by you, and it was so good… after so many years of shit.

“You are so much more than your pain, Astarion,” Your thumb stroked his side gently, your hands still wrapped around him as you held him close. “Or your past. But now you can define yourself however you want to be.”

Fresh tears slipped from the corners of his red eyes as he buried his face into your neck once again. His emotions were too intermixed, too hard to communicate out loud now as they all vied for his attention. But instead of numbing himself like had for centuries, he let himself be calmed by you instead.

Astarion stayed in that tub with you until there was no trace of the blood and dirt, nothing left to remind the vampire of him. He had made a silent vow to himself to never speak that name again, to not give the dead vampire master power over himself anymore. You seemed to catch on quickly to that too, the poisonous name had not been on your lips since you left the crypt. There was of course the giant fucking ritual carved into his back. And his fangs and sanguine hunger that could only remind him of who had cursed him to this existence. But one thing at a time. Cleaning off the blood would be a start. Burning those retched clothes that he had suffered in as well…

You both were pruny, but clean, when you finally emerged from the tub. Your beautiful eyes never strayed from his face as the pale elf stood up and slipped out behind you, grabbing your extended hand for support. Damp footprints were left behind as the two of you trailed over to your bed hidden in the corner of the room.

You were lying in bed now, both of your naked bodies wrapped in the warm blankets and each other. There was nothing sexual about it… nothing like Astarion had experienced. To be fair, such thoughts were not even registering in his mind right now. But he was surprised at how much he enjoyed this — simply skin to skin with you, no lust or biting or anything.

It was the most at peace he had felt in weeks. Months. Years, really.

Despite everything else that had happened today.

His pointed ear was pressed to your chest, listening to the steady thrum of your heartbeat like it was his own personal lullaby. But he felt it stutter a few times, your breaths a bit shaky — pushing up he found you scrambling to wipe tears away from your cheeks. Before he could open his mouth, you were giving him a sad smile, "I'm fine." You whispered.

"Darling, you're crying," He said softly back, his thumb catching one of the tears you had missed, starting to roll down your freckled cheek.

"I'm just relieved you're here with me. I was terrified all day, but when he took you — when you were bound by that magic... Gods, I've never been so petrified in my life."

Now you know how I feel. He almost blurted it out, but stopped himself. No, in all of his selfish wallowing these last few hours, he hadn't even brought that up yet — that once again, you had fallen. Taken away from him, from this world. Even if was for just a moment. "I seem to remember having this conversation once before... on a dock in those wretched Shadowlands. What of your promise to me then, hmm? To stay out of harms way."

Your mouth and brows quirked down, "I was supposed to just standby and let you die?"

"I had to watch you die today. Again." His voice broke, his bottom lip trembling as he tried to keep even more tears at bay. "If it wasn't for...," He trailed off. If it wasn't for Shadowheart. If it wasn't for Selûne really — who both powered their cleric but had also done something more. Taken over for you? Imbued you? He wasn’t sure how to describe what he witnessed in that crypt. “What happened today with her? With Selûne?”

“I— I’m not sure," He watched your throat bob as you swallowed, your face furrowing as you thought. "One moment I was with you, and the next... I don’t know. I was there but not. Filled with divine fury and... I wasn't going to allow anything to happen to you. Apparently, neither was she."

Astarion placed his head back on your bare chest, your hand instantly finding the side of his face. Your fingers traced the bottom of his jaw, his strong cheekbones and up to the tops of his ear — before you repeated the smoothing motion all over.

"I will never just standby when it involves you, Starry. Whether it is a physical threat... or something deeper within yourself. I will always shield you, defend you..." You licked your lips nervously instead of finishing your sentence

Love you.

Astarion's mind finished the words instead as you trailed off. He moved his head so he instead shared your pillow, moving so your faces only an inch apart. He studied your face carefully, “Why… why do all that for me?”

Your eyes stared into his, shining with emotion before you lowered your voice into a soft whisper, “You know why, my love.”

His heart fluttered at the unspoken declaration. His cold fingers reached up, curled and delicate as he had ever been, “I can’t help but think— Do I deserve this? Am I worthy of this? Of you?”

“Astarion...." You pushed your warm, flushed check into the palm of his hand, "All you need to ask yourself is do you want this?”

Gods, your eyes and the intimate way the stared into his soul. Your lips, so tender as they pulled into a gentle smile. Your patient touch and desire for him. Your quick wit and sharp tongue. Your big, stupidly kind heart. All of it. He wanted every part of you, to call you his and for him to be yours.

But before he could gain the courage you spoke again, “You don’t need to answer today — enough has happened, my love.”

Hot tears escaped from his red eyes as you displayed your patience once again. He pressed his forehead to yours, a sob escaping him. But it wasn't a cry of anguish, or pain. He wasn't howling with rage and grief. They were tears of overwhelming joy.

The vampire gave himself a moment before letting out a little puff, “Gods, I can’t stop crying. I feel ridiculous.”

“You aren’t ridiculous.”

“I’ve cried more today than I have for my entire life I think. The first one and this one combined.” Despite the crying, he found himself hoping of having yet another life. A third on with you. A chance to start over, all over again.

“I think it’s justified,” You said kindly, "Rest, my love. We will have tomorrow. And the day after that."

At your whispered words and gentle caresses, Astarion finally fell asleep, dreaming of that promise. Tomorrow and the day after that... with you.

[nixie-deangel]

Author love!!!! What are the 5 favourite fics you’ve ever written and why?

💚💙💜💚💙💜 Nonnie, know I am laying the gentlest of kisses upon your forehead and hugging you tightly.

Honestly though Nonnie, I enjoyed writing all of these for a variety of reasons. Each piece I've written holds a special place to me. Also please know Nonnie I cried when I got thise because i've been feeling a little blah about my writing but I went back and reread these and remembered why I loved them while I was trying to figure out which of my works i would add to this because damn it was HARD narrowing it down to five once I started rereading my stuff. So you know what people you should take the time every now and again to reread your own stuff!

In no particular order, here are my favorites I've written:

You Make Me Bold, You Make Me Strong: DCEU, Clois, NSFW.

Perhaps, she thinks, maybe she’ll get him to come once more for her. Though, she muses as she tilts her head, watches the way he pants, the way he’s gripping the sheets — doing his level best not to tear or damage them — she could probably squeeze two more out of him. Before calling it a night and letting him rest. Yes, she decides and shifts, widening her knees, getting herself more balanced, she’ll get two more out of him before letting him float without flying. 

Why: Because Clark absolutely DESERVES to be railed by his petite wife and her collection of stap-ons! Like, come on! He's a good boy! He deserves to be rawed and turned into a crying, whiney, blubbering, over stimulated mess.

Didn't Know I Was Lost: Star Wars, Obikin, Modern AU.

No, no, he thinks and shakes his head before pinching himself harshly on his cheek. “Ouch,” he muttered to himself, opening his eyes as he ignored the sting. Swallowing, around the lump once again forming in his throat, he simply stares. Because Obi-wan was still there. Still wrapped up in a perfectly tailored suit and his long beige coat, sitting with no bag in front of his front door. Or both Obi-wan and Anakin both try to make a grand gesture, but only one of them succeeds at it. Also feelings are discussed.

Why: This was honestly a delight to write, despite the angsty bits of it. It kind of just poured out of me and was like my hands were possessed as the story just flowed onto the doc. Was also beyond fun to play around and pack in so much emotion to the only one bed prompt.

The Malfunction: The Flash, Coldflash, Modern/Model AU.

Because of course Iris had mentioned at the last family dinner that she had been asked to cover one of the hottest stories in Central. Barry just wishes he’d bothered to actually ask her which one because standing not ten feet from him is Leonard Snart, Barry’s ultimate celebrity crush and a personal hero of his. *AU where Len is a model and he meets awkward Barry, a tech at a photo shoot.

Why: I wrote this when I was dealing with some feelings about my body issues and this is what came out as a result of me just deciding to not give a fuck about other's opinions and being comfortable with myself! I specifically wrote it as coldflash though, because of Wentworth Miller, who's own statements about people commenting about his body, also helped me with mine.

I'll Be Your Guard Heart: TGM, Hangster, Shifter AU.

Jake only loses control when it comes to Bradley Bradshaw and he was okay with that.

Why: Because I needed Jake to be an absolutely petty, feral, over protective, possessive bitch that's hidden under a veneer of cocky asshole! Really though, it was fun to write. Fun to come up with. And it's been fun expanding upon! (because I am planning to add more to this universe eventually!) Plus it is my favorite thing I've written so far this year.

Uncovering the Meaning: The Flash, Coldflash, Soulmate AU.

“It doesn’t matter, Leo. The little freak wouldn’t love you anyway. No one could love you, boy!” Lewis taunted cruelly. Len felt himself flinch from the memory of his father’s voice from the nightmare that’d woken him up. He brought his left hand to rub at the deep scar on the left side of his chest, but after a moment, he simply laid his palm flat against it.

Why: This was the first thing I'd written in years that was longer than 2k, so it holds a special place in my heart. Plus I met my bestie @asexual-fandom-queen through writing this!

[theskoomacat]

i want to plug Pacific Drive real quick. i had a free day yesterday so i spent it in its entirety glued to the screen. i'm not proud. check out this game!!!!!!

it's kind of like a mix between STALKER and Firewatch (by vibe. in my head). (the Impact of Roadside Picnic on our society!) idk the official genre tags on the game but at its base it is a survival game with looting and crafting.

but. you're doing all that to spoil your beautiful princess (your maybe sentient cat that maybe will kill you eventually). you spend 80% of the time in your car, it's your defense against the elements and the Zone. the gameplay loop is fairly simple - you drive, you listen to scientists bicker over the radio, you loot, you lose half your car, you HAUL ASS, you get home.

the game offers a HUGE variety of stuff to explore, from anomalies to weather conditions to biomes to the weird flora/fauna to lore. there's SO much lore, idk who decided to write a blurb for every type of paint. huge game for people who love to collect stuff. and collecting stuff is sometimes a puzzle on its own because you need different tools (which are often interchangeable, thankfully, with varying efficiency).

and driving is very fun. i have a special condition called "Played Skyrim in formative years", so the mountains are a challenge to me, not a barrier. i enjoy the fact that driving being the focal point reshapes the world significantly (from the gamedev pov), because it is built to accommodate driving instead of just running around. the roads are the main focus of all the anomalies due to that, so frankly running around would be easier than dodging the roadblocks, but also you would fucking die. it's actually funny that i regularly find the roads by the concentration of anomalies instead of like. the road itself.

the game is pretty. the GIANT walls/lab megastructures blow my mind, they're so fucking huge. BUT. one problem i have is that there are too many nights. i have already toggled "Shorter nights" on, and still it feels like 60% of rounds take place at night (maybe i'm doing something wrong idk). yes, it is a challenge, but also i wish i could see the game?

the world itself is pretty fun. i have already mentioned STALKER, which is a very fair comparison since you're in a Zone filled with Anomalies. except this time the Zone is not a strictly "natural" occurence, which mixes this genre with the "fucked up mid-20th cent american science->military complex" genre. it is really interesting to see many different opinions on what the Zone is doing in the lore. and you can draw your own conclusions from interacting with it. it is as likely to harm you as help you, and most of the time it just Fucks with you (LIM shield ilu).

what hasn't i mentioned yet? the characters are fun, an old jaded scientist lady who's entombed herself within her creation, her ex-colleague and his bf/husband who stayed in the Zone to hunt cryptids, all lovely. the music is mostly good, but unfortunately there aren't too many tracks, so some get old really quick (i WISH i got tired of DOCTOR JUICE). but do check the radio from time to time, there are cool transmissions you can catch there.

idr if there was a difficulty selector anywhere, but you can make the game easier at will in the settings - keep inventory, restore the car when back home, etc. i wish i had known about these settings when i "died" at the EXACT moment i moved to another zone, because i both lost half my inventory AND was forced to continue my run due to that lmao. the game is Not easy tbh. the first time i was in the city with a hole in the center i couldn't climb out of there because it was pitch dark and my car was so so broken, it actually made me super frustrated. but when you learn all that stuff and actually plan for it and outfit your car with it mind, it all becomes manageable and enjoyable. it is decidedly not a horror game, but it Is unsettling at times. dense fog+bigfoot weather conditions made me SO paranoid, although i didn't actually see anything lol

so yeah, i totally recommend the game if you enjoy survival games. here are also some tips for people trying the game out for the first time, aka what I wish I had known:

In the beginning doing more runs (=bringing in more anchors) will be more benefitial than turning over every rock in every zone because a lot of good stuff is locked behind upgrades. One exception - quest zones with Perpetual Stability, you can explore and loot there for an hour if you want

Shorten the nights. It's not fun to stumble around blindly, especially not in the beginning while you're still learning

Hold T to teleport your car out of sticky situations and use Y to sort inventories. idk why they don't tell you that

PLAN. Look at the resources in each location has before launching and bring extra instruments/raw materials in accordance

Invest into better batteries and renewable energy, it gets more and more important as you progress. You don't really need to upgrade the gas tank until you've upgraded the engine, unless you spend 50% of the time trying to crawl up a mountain with summer tires (off-road tires are the shit)

Skip the crowbar, the impact hammer and scrapper can do everything it does

Dying is not super scary aside from losing progress, you just lose your inventory and maybe some attachments, but you will get an opportunity to find the wreckage of your car on a different run (orange tombstone? icon) and to loot it

[cherry-blossom-qf]

Necro, who was the kindest person in your life? And what was the hardest sacrifice you've made— literally or figuratively?

Apple Core, what was your most challenging experience as a Sensei?

Prince, O lord of fashion, which if your fits and/or forms is your absolute favorite?

Magomon, what's your opinion on Tamers in general?

Officer, my good sir, what was the toughest case you've helped or had to solve? Any solo cases?

UT, what are your favorite holiday traditions in the Underground and Surface world?

🩸: "There hasn't been a sacrifice thats been that hard for me to perform. The only thing I truly regret sacrificing is my ability to smell normal ever again. Seriously, I tried bathing multiple times and used every single perfume, cologne, all the scent products... AND I STILL CANT GET RID OF THE ROITING CORPSE SMELL!!

As for who's the kindest person I know? Well... the obvious answer would be Kirby... but there's also this snowman that has been helping me with my research, perhaps I could talk about them some other time."

-

🍏: "Most challenging things as a sensei? Well, to perfectly honest, it's the students that are, and I mean this in the nicest way possible, require a lot of patience from me. For example; I have this one student who is just, again I mean this in the nicest way possible, a stubborn wanna-be-cool-guy.

Don't get me wrong, he does have a lot of potential to be a Skylander and I can see him becoming one in the future... BUT he's just has a really bad habit of wanting to do things all by himself because he's 'so cool' with his high running speeds and cool dragon sword, only to get his ass handed to him one way or the other. I thought Blades' cockiness when he became a Skylander was bad, that student takes the cake!!!"

-

👑: "Favorite outfit? My goodness!! That's like picking between my own children!! But... if I had to pick just one.... like, you holding a knife to my back and forcing me to pick just one, then I'm gonna pick the robes I wore to my wedding. They were so sparkly and beautiful, I truly felt special on my special day~! As for forms, the Prince Form is my favorite. I like the height boost, elegance, and a sense of power in that form, hehehe~"

-

🎩: "My thoughts on Tamers? Well, I have said before that there have been tales and legends of humans being involved with digimon. I've always found it fascinating, as those legends have told of humans granting digimon power they could never get on their own. I kinda wished to see something like that happen one day... Little did I know that I was gonna get a human myself, hehe!!

Susie has been lots of fun to travel with, and the power she grants me and Marxamon has been incredible (tho I wish evolving into Crownedmon was so mentally scaring and painful)!! I could have never asked for a better human partner!! Me and Marxamon are her 'goodiest boys'!! 'Goodiest' is not a grammatically correct word, but I let it slide because she gives me hugs and pets!♡♡♡"

-

🚔: "Funnily enough, my toughest case was actually my first solo case!! The case of Artie Flopshark, a poker guru that was supposed to be dead, as he was killed by Flint Paper. According to some of the records, Artie's bank account was still active, depositing and withdrawing money regularly as if he was alive. And there had been reports of Artie being near abandoned graveyards across the country. Flint Paper couldn't track him down for the life of him, so he assumed it had been some kind of 'witchcraft' that made this guy untraceable. So Flint gave the case to me since I'm a mage and stuff (witchcraft and my magic are obviously two different things, but I let it slide). Sam and Max had a lot of faith that I could handle this on my own, so I took on the challenge just to make them proud. The weeks of trying to find this guy felt like the longest weeks of my life! But I was able to find him.

Long Story Short; It turned out Artie Flopshark was revived as a zombie like monster by a bunch of teenage wizards that were messing around with dark arts (kinda sounds familiar). When the wizards successfully revived him, they freaked out and left him behind. Artie was able to get a hold on that dark arts book that they coincidently dropped and used it to get around the county's graveyards. He was hosting nightly poker nights to get his funds back for his new undead life, inviting all sorts of creeps and ghouls to play games of Texas Hold'em. In fear of being killed again by Flint, Artie used magic to keep himself untrackable from any living being on earth. Which I was able to work around the effects because I'm not from earth, hehe~!!

I felt kinda bad for him since even mentioning Flint Paper made him scream in panic, so did Artie a favor and helped him get a restraining order on Flint. I got my paycheck and a celebration surprise from Sam and Max that they planned for me for completing my first solo case, a VIP trip to The Inventory for drinks, dinner, and poker."

-

💙: "Well damn, ol' gunner boy spoke in whole paragraphs! Ok, favorite holiday.... I gotta give it to Halloween, dude. Monsters seem to enjoy Halloween a lot, and I can see why, as my best memories here are sometimes related to Halloween. Like on our first trick-or-treating, Frisk dressed up as a witch and made me their little 'black cat' by dressing me in a black cat onesie. I was carried around in their backpack as we went around the neighborhood. And when I got my monster form perfected, me and Frisk did even cooler matching costumes! Mario and Luigi, Dipper and Mabel, Steven and Amethyst, Freddy and Bonnie, heck we even Sans and Papyrus a few times! (which the bros really liked)

Even though I moved out of Toriel's house after I got married, Frisk and I still go trick-or-treating together every Halloween with our matching costumes. And Frisk hasn't grown out of trick-or-treating just yet, so we'll be continuing this little tradition of ours for a few more years! And I'll be enjoying every moment."

-

🦋: "Man I sure do love being involved!" -he said to no one.

(Congratulations Blaze, you changed my QnA formatting just for this ask! Eff you and have a nice day!)

[finniestoncrane]

Getting Head

Riddlers and Rogues x GN!Reader this is a redo of this old post here that only had 5 riddlers and a handful of rogues so i decided to do a big update with everyone i write for! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw for nsfw stuff: oral sex

💚 Riddlers 💚

arkham

daddiest of all the daddies, definitely a gentle touch. he would need talked into getting head as a form of stress relief when he's too absorbed in his work because he's not the best at taking a break. he'd be very grateful once he was over the initial irritation of having to put his tools to the side. lots of praise, holding your hair back or brushing it out of your face, easing you onto him to help set the pace. he's more than willing to teach you how to do it to his preferences perfectly. he likes pulling out to cum, just to make a mess of you. "remember how we practiced your breathing, or were you not listening during my lesson? despite your inattention, you're being so good. this is definitely where your genius lies."

capullo

this disgusting man is desperate for a sloppy bj at all times of the day. he'll whine, beg, bribe and prod you, whatever it takes to get you on your knees and doing his wishes. he's not a nice boy when you've got his cock in your mouth. it makes him a bit feral, emphasises his ego and the self-imposed power status he has. he'll slap your cheek with his dick or his hand, and will call you his slut. he likes to finish with his head pressed right to the back of your throat as you choke around him, and when he's done you better be drooling and spitting his cum out over your lips and onto your chin. "don't choke, jesus. savour this moment! you should be grateful i'm even letting you suck my cock. i'm the fucking riddler! this is a priviledge."

dano

he likes you on your knees looking up at him all angelic and sweet, something for him to corrupt finally. you have to maintain eye contact with him the whole way through because he is desperately needy for love and affection. he has a thing about wearing his mask during sometimes, for the power. he'll hold your hair and push you down onto him if he's in that kind of mood. he likes having his balls squeezed hard during because he's a sucker for pain and punishment and he loves cumming over your chest. "oh god, i'm the boss. i'll show you who's in charge here, i'm in control, i have the power. you're mine and i own you... uh... if that's ok... please..."

young justice

total sweetheart, but a whimpering simp of a man. he'll fall apart the minute you take a hold of him and about two seconds in will be asking you to slow down or loosen up or stop completely so he can gather his strength up, otherwise he'll be making a mess way too quickly. he needs constant reassurance and some validation about how pretty his dick is, and if you could also lie and say he's the biggest you've ever seen that would help too. "was it... good for you? it was very good for me but you are so important... to me... so... am i a good boy?"

gotham

honestly, he could get off without the sucking or licking and have his needs fulfilled entirely by cockwarming in your mouth. otherwise, it can get too overstimulating for him and send him into a little tizzy. either way, the whole time you're down there, he will be conjuring up riddles and scheming away, and there's a lot of potential for him to forget you were there completely until he feels the sudden urge to cum. "ah but do you know why they're called blowjobs? well it's very interesting in fact! it actually goes back to..."

unburied

my god he's a particular little shit. you'd think he would be grateful that someone could tolerate him long enough to be willing to suck his dick, but no. the entire time, he's offering his opinion and critiques. it's almost like he gets off on insulting you. which... yeah that's exactly what it is. he's not necessarily rough, but he's not very gentle either. he'll thrust up into you when you least expect it. and he'll cum wherever and whenever he wants, he's going with the flow baby. "don't fuck about, use your tongue. faster! oh my god if you take any longer i'm going to get bored, genuinely. here, move, let me show you how it's supposed to be done."

telltale

you better put your best effort into this. tongue deftly flicking, lips poised and pouted, teeth back and away. take him in completely until your nose touches the tuft of grey hair at the base of his cock and he's tempted, though not willing, to offer you a compliment based on your efforts. but he can't have you thinking that you're any good at this, that would mean you had nothing to learn and there were less opportunities to practice. "please, don't disappoint me. as much as it would be detrimental to your self-esteem to do a bad job, i can assure you i will be so much worse for your already fragile ego."

twojar

his preferred method of dominance to be honest. there's something about the servitude, that you're doing it for him, that drives him wild. although credit to him, he is willing to let you enjoy yourself. in fact, he encourages it. if you could moan around his cock while you take him in, it'll only make him feel all the more powerful. he also prefers to be completely nude while you're giving him head, you can dress however you want, but his body deserves to be worshipped properly. "brains, brawns, i'm everything. it's no wonder you're down there salivating over me. tell daddy how much you like it."

💜 Rogues 💜

scarecrow

jonathan needs eye contact because he wants to see your eyes water, the tears or makeup running down your face and staining your cheeks. he likes to stretch you to your limits, mentally and physically. he likes to see how rough he can be before you're at breaking point, begging him to ease up or to stop. and he enjoys the sound of you gasping and choking for breath. if you're not afraid, you should at least pretend to be, because it's key to his ability to cum. "are you trembling? is it out of fear, or are you just very nervous? because i would be nervous too, if i were you."

two face

harvey is a gentle, if not slightly overly-enthusiastic participant. two face is a face fucker. where harvey might ease himself in and then get a little bit rough the closer he is to cumming, two face is shoving himself all the way in and taking it all the way back out so that your mouth makes an obscene popping noise, and if it doesn't, he'll choke you. harvey might choke you too, actually, but only if you've agreed to it. and if he can convince himself that there isn't a risk he might go too far. "which side will the coin land on baby? spitting or swallowing? or shall we do heads and tails for whether i'm cumming on your face or if you're going to bend over and show me your ass?"

penguin

oswald doesn't even need to cum, give him five minutes of your time just slurping on him and he'll be more than happy to throw you some spending money and take you out to dinner that evening. bonus points if you're willing to set up camp under his desk all day and give him something else to think about if his meetings are too stressful or boring. and don't feel the need to keep quiet. he's got proud sugar daddy vibes and he'd rather his colleagues knew the kind of power he had. in fact, he'd really enjoy you under a table anywhere. "this is a classy joint babe, the food takes a while to come out of the kitchen. so be nice to daddy and get under the table. you do a good job and you can have something nice and shiny afterwards, alright?"

ivy

ivy is the sweetest receiver of head. to the point where it almost feels like you're being pleasured just from her sweet words alone. she's hands on, and very keen to encourage you, stroking your hair, running her fingers over your shoulders or cheeks. she's also pretty good at directing you or helping herself along if you need some assistance. completely judgement free! she just knows herself better than anyone, but she's very keen to have you learn. "please remember that the longer you're down there, the more in love with me you're going to be. through no fault of my toxins."

mad hatter

jervis needs to know that you're having a good time while you're sucking him off, so he'll interrupt you to get confirmation that you're still very much into this. but it's fine because he doesn't mind stopping constantly. he's got a bit of a thing for the teasing, the edging, the almost orgasm denial of it all. it makes him feel extra grateful when he finally cums and you lap him up like breakfast tea. "the way your mouth can move my sweet, you really serve up quite the treat. this is wonderful, thank you, thank you!!"

harley quinn

vocal receiver of head. squealing and giggling and calling you every pet name she can think of when her mind isn't complete mush. she needs you to be silly, sloppy, loud, a little bit crazy. you can't take it too seriously, you're there to have fun, and she is definitely there for the joy. but you better make sure she comes because if you don't there will be severe and serious repercussions. "oh puddin' right there! and if ya even think about stopping i'll smother you with my thighs, ok! now KEEP GOING!"

bane

yeah there's a lot of eduardo that's definitely throbbing and massive, and his cock is no different. so rather than stretch you out and damage you, he's more than happy for you to lick on him like you're trying to get to the centre of some lollipop. he'd find it admirable if you tried to take him in your mouth, but your lips around his head and your tongue running up his shaft is plenty for him. "ah, you're strong-willed but all i need is your tongue and your smile, and your determination to get me to where i need to go."

zsasz

teeth. teeth. teeth. something about the sharp twang of pain against the pleasure of having your mouth wrapped around him, sweet and sour. and also, while you've got your lips around his head, if you could also take a hold of his cock and dig your nails in? maybe scratch just a little bit along the underside? something that'll make him hiss as well as moan would be absolutely delightful and he'd be more than happy to mark you anywhere you want with his cum as a reward. "harder, harder... harder, come on, really sink your teeth in. do it for me, how could you ever say no? and deny me this pain and pleasure?"

[syraxesrevenge]

i don't usually get involved with team stuff but mini rant (im low-key losing my fucking mind)

I don't understand people who are Team Green, and not because of their opinions on the characters. I find Team Green as some of the most complex, interesting characters in the whole lot of asoiaf.

1: First of all, the treatment of the strong boys. They act like Jace and Luke are absolute monsters; which, I don't necessarily agree with, but without bias I do agree they are not pure and cherubic angels. Lucerys is impulsive and childish, making jokes about actual trauma and maiming a ten year old who was influenced by his older brother. Jacaerys has extreme anger issues which lead to him acting arrogantly and stubbornly to the respite of his elders.

This does not mean they are *demons*, though, and do not deserve to be treated as such. I've seen people say that they were horrible for not showing a horrified reaction to Vaemond's death, that they should've felt remorse; what choice was for them to make? Lucerys was openly against the thing, wishing his own birthright upon the person who tried to usurp him; Jacaerys heard only the words "whore" and "bastards", which set him off. I do not blame him for this in the slightest; those words have been used his entire life to demonize him, villainize him and his mother.

Other people say Rhaenyra was terrible for making her sons believe they were real Targaryens, not admitting they were bastards and trying to persuade them from the throne. This take is just - abhorrent, imo. Jacaerys was taught by his grandsire, his mother, his father that he was going to inherit the throne just like his mother would before him. Lucerys and him obviously knew they were bastards - it is hard to ignore when everyone looks at you in the street, points you out, suggests you are not what you say. Jacaerys also spent his entire life, especially in the Dance, trying to prove himself a worthy heir. His traits of being well-studied and righteous were given to Aemond, because there would be no debate on who to choose if not.

"Team Green writers should've written the show! They're making the Blacks too sympathetic!"

The blacks are supposed to be the sympathetic ones. They are the tragedy of the war; the close-knit family that, in their pursuit to stay together, were torn apart and murdered by themselves. Joffrey died alone. Lucerys died alone. Jacaerys died alone. Daemon died alone. Rhaenyra was the only one who died with her son. They were the epitome of a caring, loving family - and what did that get them? Their reluctance to be ruthless resulted in the cold murder of a child. Lucerys was 13 in the book - 14/15 in the show. His death should be as hard hitting and as sympathetic as Jaehaerys, but somehow, it is not. To make a joke about Vhagar ripping Arrax to pieces is funny, to make a joke about Blood and Cheese is horrible. The double standard is just *baffling* to me.

Another thing - most of TG loves Jon Snow. They think that Daenerys was mad, that she deserved to die, that she was evil. By this precedent, if you can accept a legitimized bastard on the throne in the form of Jon, why is it *so hard* to picture Jacaerys on the throne?

"They have no personality!"

They had absolutely no screentime. The writers gave a scene to a fucking *foot fetish*, and they could not give us a scene of Lucerys, Jacaerys, or Joffrey. Especially when Lucerys was going to die in that season - he had a total of 23 minutes of screentime, and near 6 minutes of lines. That is not even half of an episode worth - especially for him to just be sitting in the background. And the times when he is talking? He is made to be the most unsympathetic character, ever. Laughing at Aemond, attacking Aemond - he is used mainly as a plot device, and it's sad, because I truly believe he deserved better than that, bc Elliot Grihault is a great actor :D

might make a part 2 if this idiot in a discord RP keeps insisting tg is righteous and perfect and amazing and MY fav characters suck ass