#in many ways that is a benefit cause nothing gets lost

[colorisbyshe]

i have almost 8000 songs on my phone and it's like... surely i don't LOVE all of these songs, so i think i'm gonna devise a way to slowly listen to all almost-8000 songs lal the way through and see which ones i love

and maybe which ones i downloaded in 2010 an have just refused to let go of

[clairdelunelove]

around the clock

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

genre: fluff! (working drabble!)

warnings: slightly suggestive, cursing, handyman!ghost

synopsis: ghost finds comfort in always being busy, whether that'd be completing household maintenance or chores but what does he do when there's nothing else to fix? well, it's simple, he goes over to your place–

a.n. hi lovelies! life's been picking up BUT it's finally spooky season! ��� pls take handyman!ghost to compensate for the fact that I dropped off the face of the earth for a bit <3

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ghost would definitely have the characteristics of being a handyman– specifically, yours.

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paid leave was a valuable but rare benefit that many military personnel took advantage of. traveling, relaxing, or staying with family were typically on the itinerary for most. to catch up on lost time. to ground and comfort them with the humanity that they might’ve forgotten about while on the battlefield. a solace for their minds, souls, and hearts to rest. service members could request leave at any time, fortunately, but ghost never had a reason to. he found comfort in being constantly busy. proved to be less on the mind. an escape from the pain that frequents him whenever he opens his eyes and follows him into his sleepless nights. he recalls price mentioning his unhealthy coping mechanism– the word ‘escapism’ leaving his lips in a sympathetic grimace. a sensitive emotion that reached the captain’s eyes and caused ghost to uncomfortably shuffle on his feet. he wouldn’t label it as ‘escapism,’ per se, just favors his hectic life. so when he chooses is forced to take his paid leave, ghost keeps himself active; repairing his plumbing system, fixing broken light fixtures, or testing any of his home appliances to ensure they’re working properly. he’s continually restless. likes strenuous and taxing work. makes it easier to fall asleep at the end of the day. and, by the off chance there’s absolutely nothing left to maintain in his compact flat (because a couple bare rooms, small porch, and no backyard is hardly a feat to clean), he’ll sit on his threadbare couch. might tap his fingers against his thigh while the living room clock obnoxiously ticks. the silence is deafening, ironically. his heavy-set eyes float to glance at the time and upon noticing this is the predicament he’ll be in for a couple more weeks, he abruptly gets up, pockets his keys, and makes his way to you.  

ghost who stiffly stands at your front door when you answer the familiar knock. frankly, you’ve noticed the way he knocks on your door is strikingly different than how he does on missions. a strong rap but not powerful enough to scare you. it’s a sign that’s irrevocably him. served as an indication of his presence. it was up to you whether you wished to entertain his trivial inquiries. you peep your head out first, not quite believing the sight before you, and he raises a brow at your widened eyes. “simon?” you ask incredulously. his plain balaclava shifts when he catches how you intuitively open the door wider for him. to make room for him in your home. “remembered you asked about patchin’ and paintin’ your walls,” he explains like it’s ordinary to recall a conversation from weeks ago. astonishingly, he was right. you had, offhandedly, mentioned that you nailed picture frames to the wall which created noticeable holes that you didn’t know how to fix. you reminisce at how he held back an amused scoff when you emphasized that it was an honest mistake on your part. didn’t entirely think it likely that he’d personally fix it. “oh,” you glance at the rather large toolbox in his hand as your voice trails off, “like, you want to fix it right now?” he offers a singular nod as a response.  

ghost who’s a second away from packing up his home repair tools/gadgets and heading back home when you glance behind you to stare at your place in contemplation. your lower lip caught in-between your teeth. he hesitates. isn’t accustomed to the sensation even when he has a weapon in his grasp. his mind whirs. the green-eyed monster of jealousy bleeding its way into his heart. “unless,” he dreads the words before they leave his lips, “you have a bloke to help ya with it?” his words are stiff. ghost shifts to lean against your doorframe in an attempt to ease off the bitterness in his voice. drawn to the movement, you can’t help but become aware of how he fills the entire entryway with his physique. your cheeks burn. a quick shake of your head followed by a resounding, “no, I don’t and I haven’t called a handyman either.” and it’s the perfect remedy to quell his discontent. his rigid posture loosens with the answer. while you step to the side to welcome him in, you hurriedly clarify with an awkward laugh, “had to think for a bit because I didn’t want you to see how much of a slob I am,” and hope that the joke lands. the universally polite comment to excuse the untidiness. ghost isn’t focused on the clutter, however. he’s basking in the fact that you’re not seeing anyone. offhandedly throws in a murmur of, “not a problem, sweetheart,” when he eases by you. and the way it borders raspy satisfaction reduces you to a puddle. 

ghost who allows his gaze to wander to your decorated walls and dainty furniture while you explain where the tactless gaps in the walls were at. picture frames encasing friends and family were thoughtfully tacked onto the walls. trinkets lined the shelves to serve as memoirs. he stops himself from reaching up and picking one up for closer inspection. wouldn’t be fair if he did. truth be told, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d put up a photograph in his own flat. his loved ones and comrades stayed etched in his mind. recurrent and persistent. your place, on the other hand, seems well-inhabited, lived-in, and loved. he could almost spot the glow that you managed to sprinkle everywhere you went regardless of the situation. a feature that endlessly puzzled him. the addictive familiarity that accompanied you and made every place feel like home. ghost likes it. it’s comfy and cozy– you. and his mind slips into the possibility of adding a few pieces of him in your home. his work boots at the front door. his toothbrush residing beside yours in the bathroom. his shirt in your closet. “need any tools to help fix the damage I made?” your witticism forces him out of his train of thought. halts the delusion from straying too far. he’s quick to recover, however, and murmurs, “got everythin’ I need here,” while his eyes are solely fixed on you. a declaration that’s spoken as profound as a pass of thunder. and you wait with bated breath, mind whirring to reciprocate the sentiment but ghost is already trekking past you. he gets to work almost immediately by using a putty knife and a joint compound to patch up the holes in the walls. but goodness– his eyes. the raw dedication that manifests and bleeds out when he glances over to you. his words are a certainty that he grasps onto. 

ghost who, unsurprisingly, fixes the blunders in the walls with ease. it’s a minor task that’s covered with a gentle hand and some paint. nothing that he can’t fix. but truthfully, the afternoon passes far quicker than usual. with fleeting smiles and stolen glances whenever his focus shifted to you. it was spotting your figure, halfway hidden behind the kitchen entryway, from the corner of his eyes. it was finding you tampering with his tools whenever his back was turned and hearing your soft laughter when he halfheartedly chided your roaming hands. a serenity disguised as a luxury that ghost could never afford. “want to hear a construction joke?” your voice fills the house; he prefers it that way. yet, your inquiry falls flat because he’s short-circuiting. with a hand on his shoulder, you lean forward to inspect the spot that he’s working on. forces the two of you closer. your breath is a hot puff against the shell of his ear and he visibly pauses. you’re warm. he turns his head sideways, purposefully staring ahead, and decides to indulge you, “sure.” “hm,” you hum and the pleasant noise goes straight through him, “I’m still working on it.” and when you’re rewarded with an amused huff from his lips due to the punchline, a grin stretches across your face. it’s a meager detail that he imagines as he trudged back (with heavy feet) to his bare flat later that evening. yet, it’s the only solace that allows him to sleep a little easier that night.  

ghost who questions his rationale when he’s hauling his lawnmower and other tools onto the back of his pickup truck just for you. well, he supposes you never did ask him to mow your lawn but your front yard is in need of his care. his personal touch. afterall there were various benefits of keeping a lawn clean and tidy. encourages new grass growth and deters pests– or so he justifies. surely it’s not due to the appreciative smile you throw him when you tug your curtains back to find him trimming the edge of the grass. he hears the click of the window opening before your voice calls out to him, “you didn’t need to, si!” but ghost has never given half an effort to seek your favor. lives his life in extremes. so he spares you a glance while genuine words leak from his mouth that he attempts to mask in his surly voice, “jus’ wanted to.” and hastily wretches the starter cord on the lawnmower so it roars to life. pretends not to catch onto your longing stares when the sun’s rays are scorching and he’s compelled to shed a couple layers off. sure, you had tasks at hand rather than blatantly gawking but it could wait. and he didn’t particularly mind the attention. especially when you’re seated by the window so prettily with your face perched atop your hand. admiration pooling in your wide eyes. you watch with bated breath as he one-handedly tugs off his bulky sweater to reveal a fitted black shirt and dirty jeans. a combination that has you visibly gulping as he continues pushing the machine across the lawn. he’s a tantalizing brew of brawn and power. a darkness that you wish to traverse upon. satiates you with a knowing look when he stretches and the fabric of his shirt is pulled taunt across his broad chest. and he huffs in delight when you hurriedly reach out to yank the curtains closed. 

ghost who picks you flowers (weeds) but doesn’t know the difference. he ends up discovering a clump of golden dandelions growing near the edge of your fence and decided to pluck them. pinches the stems in between his fingers until it breaks. ends up harvesting a handful of them. the question is: what does he do with them? he saunters over to your front door, raps his knuckles against it, and patiently waits for you to answer. of course. then, he hands the dandelions to you, unblinking but brimming with good intentions. because he’s not aware that dandelions are the most notorious weeds that many desire to get rid of. just acknowledges that they’re pretty and you’re pretty– so it only makes sense. another gift for you. anything for you. he watches as you absentmindedly twirl the stems in your grasp, speechless. and, without warning, he’s flushed for a reason far beyond just the weather. a terrible queasiness that was unlike any he’s experienced. his mannerisms are fidgety, mind itching to leave, and save him the humiliation of offering you weeds. but then your lips break into a wide smile. a dazzling one. knocks the breath out of his lungs. you’re uttering repeated ‘thank you’s’ though, clearly too distracted to notice his predicament, before scurrying into your kitchen. he’s left stunned while you call out, “how did you know I have a pretty vase to match with these?” 

ghost who’s knocking at your door in the early mornings, greets you with a gruff, “mornin’,” and slinks past you into your home. doesn’t even pause despite the fact that it’s barely the crack of dawn and the sky is still hazy from the remnants of last night. the birds are barely tweeting out to each other, still testing to find a harmony to start the day. you’re as bright as the sun, however, when he offers a glance to you. an expression of stupor and excitement conveyed on your face due to his arrival. he’s stopped by a couple times now yet the warm buzz never dims: if anything, it flourishes like the row of flowers he planted on your front porch. vibrant and all-consuming. “still finding stuff to fix, si?” you joke while tilting your head. you stop him by the kitchen counter just as he’s about to state that everything looks maintained for now. “‘course,” he rumbles as his gaze sweeps to you, “soon you won’t need me though.” his statement is heavier than he expected and he opens his mouth to thwart the abrupt negativity but you beat him to it. the words tumble from your lips, “pretty sure I can always find something here that needs to be fixed.” your voice is soft as you add, “just as long as you want to stay.” he watches as your eyes flicker to the floor but it’s too late. ghost has already seen the tenderness that belongs wholly to him. your vulnerability that he wishes to cradle in his grasp. his hands clasp and unclasp by his sides before he finally mentions, “your fence needs fixin’ today. don’t want the strays comin’ in and fuckin tramplin’ on everything.” 

ghost who’s true to his word and tirelessly works to replace your fence posts even in the scorching heat. scratches the back of his neck while muttering something about how they’re rotted on the bottom. and it’s almost hypnotizing to observe how he works. methodically checking each panel’s angle to see how severe it is. he detaches the surrounding pickets and stringers from each post in order to pull the wooden planks out. it’s demanding manual labor, more exhausting than his previous projects, which is why he requests your help. “just need ya to hold these up for me and I’ll straighten out the rest. can you do that for me, pup?” he explains as he hands you a singular fence post. and you try– you really do since he asked so nicely– but the wood is coarse against your fingertips and the sweltering sun hits the nape of your neck too harshly. you huff, voice bordering a whine, “I can’t do this anymore, si.” and ghost, the saint he secretly is, just raises his head to peer up at you. he’s currently on his knees, denim jeans caked in dirt, and dripping with enough sweat that the edges of balaclava curl at the edges to expose slivers of pale skin. “be good for me, will ya?” an inquiry that sounds more like a command due to his thick accent. his dark eyes search for yours, squinting in the sun’s rays, before he goes back to digging around the base of the fence post. however, when even the rare sight of his bare skin does little to serve as a reward against the extreme heat, you’re pouting again, “can’t we do this another day–” “oi,” he interrupts you when his large hand blindly reaches back to clamp over your knee. his thumb moves to caress the inner portion of your knee and you can vaguely discern how each of his fingers press against your skin. featherlight touches that sear your skin. his gaze snaps to yours, a dark brow arching at your unwillingness to move. the next demand leaves his lips in a low, tempting voice, “behave.” 

ghost who’s a sucker for your large, beseeching eyes and only shakes his head when you prance back into your house. you’re humming a light tune when you skip up the steps, away from the harsh weather, and leaving him to continue angling fence posts alone. it’d be a crime for him to deny your wish. and it’s not like he bends to your every whim. sometimes. he huffs, half in amusement and half in disbelief, before hauling another slab of wood. it’s not like the task was terribly difficult. he’s proficient– a machine that rather enjoys ruthless duties. just assumes that teamwork would lessen the strenuous work. and having your company was always pleasant. he’s in the act of lifting another fence post when he spots you bounding towards him, a glass cup in your hands, and a radiant grin on your face. his heart flips. pounds against his chest like a sledgehammer beating against fragile wood. “made some lemonade,” you offer and raise the glass to him, “for the hard worker.” notices the hesitant tremble in your fingers and your sudden shyness compels him to inwardly crumble. like you weren’t already the cause of his peace. there’s a swirly straw and a decorative umbrella in the drink which catches his attention. calloused fingers skimming the edge of the vibrant garnish, he’s silent. has never gotten this treatment from another person. it's foreign to him but not unwanted. his eyes are unblinking, caught in a trance, before he’s murmuring honest appreciation for your generosity.

ghost who prods, a bit of humor in his voice, as he sips at the beverage, “a bit sweet, yeah?” coerces himself to ease the smirk that threatens to overtake his face when he recognizes how your eyes widen in alarm. recognizes the panic that spreads within you when you quickly suggest, “is it? let me try.” and he’s more than happy to comply. wordlessly edges the straw between your glossy lips so you can take a sip. half-lidded eyes trained on how your lips curl around the straw, an action that serves as his newest vice. one that he’s certain will take ages to treat. constant time that’d be spent with you. always you. “you’re right. it’s kinda too sweet,” you naively remark, flicking your eyes up at him. you’re so sweet to him– soft voice and all. he’s not looking at you, however. no, ghost lifts the straw to take another sip and as he pulls away, his tongue darts out to lick his lips. to chase after the taste of you. memorizing it. saccharine and gloss. a primal act that has you aching for more. “m’fault then,” his amused voice was snuffed by his blank expression as he gently gripped your jaw. you watch as he slowly blinks, blond lashes sweeping against his cheek, and lowly hums, “forgot I like sweet things.”  

[yandere-sins]

Favorite

You are Astarion's favorite blood sacrifice. He decides to reward you for it.

Characters: Yandere!Ascended!Astarion x GN!Reader Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Warnings: Yandere, Vampires, Reader nearly dies, Blood being mentioned in all manners, Biting, Death mention, Minor sexual hints, Desperation, Possessiveness, Obsessiveness, Minor violent acts (not directed at reader except biting)

a/n: I don't have a big Halloween story for you guys, but I've been trying to get back into writing more and I've been working on this story the last couple of days, so I hope you enjoy it ♥ (I mean it's vampires so that's almost Halloween-themed right???)

Darkness is a vampire's best friend. 

It shields them, hides them, benefits them—all without expecting something in return. It's nature's way of making up for all the pain and suffering it put its less loved children of the night through, and they welcome it, moonlight glistening on their skin, their perception so much sharper without the fear of sunlight's burn. 

Like eager partners in crime, a vampire's gifts are amplified by what the darkness provides. They stalk in the shadowy coat of the night; see the prey that wants to stay unseen. Their voices, mellow and honeyed, sound even sweeter, whispered in the ears of those who wander into the vampire's hunting grounds as the creatures lure their prey with promises of grandeur. Fame, money, lust. It seems to be all that their food desires. What more could someone want who's unaware of being tricked? And so they follow wherever the masters of night command them. 

Deeper and deeper into the darkness.

"Hello, darling."

You came to hate it—all of it. The darkness, the night.

The whispers and touches, promises and the hunt. You knew he had many more like you, living blood banks stored in cold, dark cells. You heard them scream every night when the bell rang twelve, the darkest hour of the day. Sometimes, you recognized the cries as the ones from days before, but you never knew when would be the last time you'd hear the poor souls lost in the darkness. New ones came and went, but you were the only one that remained after every night. 

Somewhere between three and four months, you lost count of the days spent here. You tried to remember how many times you'd been visited, but one miscount, and now you didn't know if it had been one or ten years. You would have expected to get mad in the darkness, alone and aching from your shoulders to your ankles, with no place on your body unbitten. But Astarion was punctual—perhaps the only good quality about him. That was the only thing to keep you grounded down here.

He didn't miss a single day of feeding or, as he called it, spending time with you. 

Alongside your meal, he showed up at exactly midnight every night, someone always there to close the door behind him without fail. You had never seen his face, but you had felt it plenty of times beneath your fingertips, enough to know he was one of those handsome bloodsuckers who kidnapped and locked you here. At least for now, as long as you were pretty enough in his eyes as well. Eyes that you felt creeping over your body the moment the only door to the outside opened, only more darkness waiting behind it. They mustered you, devoured you perhaps, an appetizer before the main course. 

You knew nothing of your nightly visitor besides his punctuality and his name. There was no face to associate it with, just the feeling of his cold skin and the sharp pain of his fangs in your memory. And yet, something told you he was special even among his kind. Somewhat… superior. He still had the capability to be gentle if he wanted, never causing you to cry out in agony like the other sacrificial lambs did. And more importantly, after all this time, you were sure he was the one keeping you alive.

"Astarion," you greeted him, simply, calmly. Hiding the shiver in your voice despite the room growing colder ever since he stepped inside. It was hard to say if you were still afraid of death when it was a constant threat like a noose hanging above your head. Perhaps you dreaded surviving more than dying if you thought about it, your heart growing heavier with fear and loneliness every day. But at the same time, you grew more and more desensitized to the screams and pain and more used to the darkness.

Hugging your body with one arm, you used the other to walk along the wall to your chair, the wood creaking as you sat down, scooting it closer to the table. He liked it when you did what he wanted without him having to ask you to. Astarion's steps were non-existent, but you needn't wait for or invite him to join you. You could always count on his chest pressing against your back the moment you sat down as he leaned over you from behind. It was a familiar yet suppressive feeling. A reminder of your position. 

You were below him, prey to be consumed. Yet, he treated you more like a pet, almost beloved, but at best, you were well-cared for. You doubted he could feel anything towards you that wasn't belittling. You'd not thrive in the darkness on your own, but Astarion knew how to keep you alive. A waft of roasted chicken drifted into your nose, hearty and mouth-watering, and you had no doubts it would be accompanied by sides that would nourish the dire lack of vitamins you had. He had always insisted on you finishing your plate, feeding you himself if he had to. It couldn't go that you'd not eat what he graciously provided. But this was the only meal you were given every day, and the loss of blood made you too hungry to strike.

You tried once. For almost a week, you starved yourself until you could not do it anymore. Continuing not to eat when you were starving and food was served in masses to you cost too much willpower that you didn't have. Likewise, eating the food with the condition that you had to sit on his lap and thank him for every measly pea he fed you one after the other was enough humiliation to never try that again. And Astarion had been happy since with your plate wiped clean.

"You smell delightfully today," he mused as he drew back from the table. You felt his lips brush over your bare shoulder, your breath hitching when he pressed them to the nape of your neck. You'd not put it past him to eat before you, even though he seemed satisfied waiting for you to finish most of the time.

"Garbor gave me new soap today. Roses, I think," you breathed, reaching forward to the cutlery that, no doubt, laid beside the plate Astarion brought. It just appeared, almost magically. But you were pretty sure it was there all along, Garbor, the guard, probably cleaning and switching it out while you were asleep. You didn't even know if his name was Garbor; you merely decided to call him that. After all, no one would speak to you here aside from Astarion, even if you knew they existed in the shadows. 

"Sure, if that's what you want to believe," Astarion chuckled, his comment profoundly unsettling as you knew what he meant when he said you smelled nice. Your blood. To him, you must have smelled as mouth-wateringly as your meal did to you. You had always empathized with animals, wishing for them to live their lives as best as possible, even if they were destined to be slaughtered. Ironic, now that you were cattle to a vampire, likely being fed according to Astarion's tastes. 

"Next time, I think I'd like something citrusy again. The last soap was divine."

His hands driving up your arms made you nervous. They were unfettered by your movements as you aimlessly tried to pierce meat and vegetables onto your fork, your eyes never adjusting to the complete darkness of the basement cellar. You weren't a vampire, after all. Despite the time spent down here, the broken fear and authority between you two, he could still make you nervous. And you talked when you were anxious, to the point you wanted to bite your own tongue off.

A mix of a chuckle and a scoff escaped him as he wrapped his fingers around your neck, his nails resting softly against your throat while his thumbs ran up and down the sides of your spine in feathery touches. Slowly, reassuring you of his presence. And the ability to snap your neck with this formidable cut-throat necklace. He readjusted his touch a few times until his pointer fingers pressed against your pulse on one side, your gullet on the other. Enough for you to eat and breathe, but you didn't dare to move your head. 

"I shall tell… Garbor, to fetch that for you. Anything else? Another pillow? A new shirt? Would my darling fancy some earrings? We just so happen to have someone donate a wonderful pair of rubies that would look so beautifully dangling from your ears."

A shudder went through you; the word 'donate' was not one to take kindly. People donated to charities and beggars. Not to someone who could put meat on a plate every day for you and obviously had no saintly bone in his body. Gulping down the chicken that got stuck on your tongue as you listened to the sultry voice of your captor, you put down the fork for a moment to think, clearing your throat as best as you could with his hands still pretending to be a necklace. 

"A candle maybe, and a book. I feel like now's a great time to pick up a new hobby."

You heard the grin spread on Astarion's lips as he chuckled, his thumbs curling inwards until you felt his nails press against your skin. "I do so very like those entertaining ideas of yours, sweetling. But alas, I'm afraid I cannot give you that. You'd end up preferring the book over my company!"

"How could I ever, Sir? I wasn't planning on going on a paper diet."

This time, he actually burst out into laughter, hands disappearing into the darkness as you presumed he held his stomach from the ache of amusement. You wasted no time to stuff two more bites into your mouth as long as you had the freedom that was oh-so short-lived. His hands banging on the table in front of you created an explosive sound in the small confinement you called home. Compared to the cold body pressed against you, his breath skimmed your ear warmly, his voice like honey dripping right into your ear. 

"That's why you're my favorite. Those little witty comments of yours have saved you so many times, you know?"

The food you were so eager to sneak into your mouth now threatened to fall out of it as you couldn't find the strength to swallow. Some instinctual part of you waited for him to attack, exploit your vulnerable self. It readied you, muscles tense, body paying attention to everything it could perceive (which was shamefully little with your senses so inferior to the vampire). But then there was the rational part of your brain, currently occupied with the warmth of his breath gracing your ear and cheek, and his words. 

Favorite. You were his favorite.

You forced yourself to finish chewing, slowly, embarrassingly aware of Astarion waiting for another 'witty' remark from his favorite. Favorite late-night amusement? Favorite person to take care of? Favorite blood bag? You felt his eyes drilling into your jaw expectantly as you chewed your food properly before you leaned forward to reach for the cup of water that was unmistakably always on the table. Perhaps because of the darkness, you were so very aware of your hair brushing his nose and the deep inhale it caused Astarion to take before he pressed his face into it, gripping a bunch of it with one hand and forcing you to halt. 

"You're my undoing, pet."

"Really?" you said in your most convincing, surprised voice, trying your hardest to sound as fake as possible. Revealing his thoughts to you might have given you a chance to bargain with him, even though this cell and the darkness had long become much safer than anything he could offer. In reality, you knew better than to trust the words of a vampire, yet found yourself truly surprised about the reverence they were spoken with. "It's hard to imagine I could do such a thing. I'm just sitting here."

Astarion hummed, amused, satisfied with your remark once again. Another chance at life, how you noted duly. Perhaps he liked the challenge of you playing his game, neither of you ever speaking the whole truth and coating your words in sarcasm and fake friendliness. Or maybe vampires were accompanied by madness that made them prefer prey who didn't cave as easily into a begging, sobbing mess. Prey like you.

 "It's been years—no, decades since I last took a liking in someone, and you have no idea how much I longed for companionship like yours. It's exciting and a bit of a tease. I couldn't bring myself to kill you yet."

"How very gracious of you," you praised, hoping he didn't pay close attention to your face, a grimace edging into your features.

"You know, I might even be convinced to return you to the light. If you ask, nicely."

And suddenly, there it was. You gulped as you felt your stomach twist anxiously, suddenly attacked by something you had long abandoned. Hope. A glimmer of it, at least. You remembered the days when you had still banged at the door, demanding and reasoning with anyone who'd hear you to release and let you go home. The early nights when you dreamed about the sun and the warmth of being surrounded by people. And now the time had finally come to reclaim those wishes, almost bringing you down to your knees. 

You knew you couldn't be so foolish as to retort to being a boring, begging nobody. You had to be his favorite. Crawling over the dirty floor and clinging to him for dear life wasn't going to cut it, no matter how much you wanted to. Because yes! Yes to the surface, yes to leaving all of this behind. Escaping him would be much easier when you weren't locked in the darkness. You had waited so long for the sweet embrace of death and endured so much pain when you were forced to survive pitifully like this. You even became his favorite. And now it was paying off—if you played your cards right.

"Ah… I don't know," you sighed. You could hear your own voice, thin and nervous. Excited. Your mouth was dry, but your heart was banging against your rips. Undoubtedly, he knew that, but you hoped Astarion would forgive your very appropriate reaction. Maybe even fancy it.

Every flinch of your muscles and every word carefully uttered was driven by a hope that Astarion could easily crush if he disapproved. You never saw yourself as exceptionally talented with words, but if that was what he wanted, he should have it. Your mom would scold you for being a brat, but this vampire here favored your attitude enough to keep you alive, so it had to be good for something. "I was just starting to get comfortable here. It's so… cozy."

"Well, I have it cozy up there as well. Cushioned chairs and silk sheets—only the best for my best."

It was strange to hear his voice in the same tone as his usual banter, even though you could detect another tone swinging in the background. It was but an insignificant waver, one of uncertainty and doubt. Desperation. Maybe not as much as you, but he wanted you to agree, his reasons unclear. And yet, your heart setting out a beat must have given away that you recognized his wish since he added, "You were always a marvel. But imagine how good you'd look by my side up there. My consort. My favorite."

"W-Well, are the beds soft?" you pressed out quickly, trying to avoid the sensual allure of his voice being murmured into your ear. You didn't mean to stutter, biting your own tongue before deciding to calm yourself with deep, quiet breaths that you hoped he didn't notice. But you knew that everything he said went straight to the unreasonable part of your mind, the one a vampire knew to manipulate so well. But in your desire to get out of here, eagerness and giving in too easily could cost you everything. 

"Very," he mused, and you were relieved to hear him still in good spirits, his next words almost a lilt. "Soft and warm. Like you."

"And the food?" you asked, gulping. You didn't care for the beds or the food. 

"Oh, the food!" 

His exclamation caught you by surprise, as did the sudden disappearance of his body. For a moment, you thought you had ruined your chance. Had gone too far with your hesitance. But next you knew, you felt his hand fall to your shoulder again, running down your arm until he had your wrist in his palm, lifting it to his face. Astarion planted one kiss below your thumb, then moved on to kissing the pulse beneath it. 

"It's delightful! Delectable! The best you ever had. And me for dessert. You won't lack anything,  I promise."

His promise meant very little to you, and yet, as he littered your wrist with kisses, you couldn't help but cave. It was everything about this situation, the hope, the reverent kisses, the empty promises, that blinded you from the danger. You hadn't questioned his intentions or the price you'd have to pay. Not when he spoke to you as if he was laying the world at your feet, promising you the moon, the stars, and everything beyond.

"Ask me, pet, and you can have it all. The luxuries, the world, me. All you have to do is ask, darling."

There they were, the simple, honeyed words every human wanted to hear. All feeding into your own desperation so perfectly as if they were made just for you. As if you were the only suffering fool in this world, and perhaps to Astarion, you were. The grin curling his lips upwards against your wrist revealed just how much of a fool he took you for when you opened your mouth again.

"I…" you hesitated. But not long enough. You had too much to lose, despite not knowing what you were going to lose agreeing to this. "I want to go to the surface."

"Do you now?" he smirked, and you felt the hard edge of his teeth as his lips parted in a wide grin. 

"I want to, Sir. I want to be your favorite. I want to be by your side. Please take me with you."

For a moment, there was silence, then Astarion let out a hum of satisfaction followed by a deep breath.

"Oh, you are, darling. You are my favorite. I've longed for this moment for so long, yearned for it every damned day and night, and finally, it's here. Let's be together forever, alright? It'll hurt only a little, and then we'll always be together."

"What will hurt?" you asked before you felt the sharp pain of his teeth sinking into your arm. You knew this pain, the searing burn of his fangs piercing your skin. You had felt it a hundred times, no, a thousand. But this one was short-lived, blood dripping from your hand as you bit your lip, holding back the tears. No one liked tears, and you were too close to your goal to ruin it now. 

"Endure it," he purred, and it was almost a shame that he noticed, considering how much you fought yourself to keep your composure. "You'll have to bare this beautiful neck of yours if you want to be mine, darling."

There was another moment of hesitation, the taut skin of your neck always hurting the most if he bit it. But why even did he have to bite you? What good were two more bites of you in this dark cell when he could assume you'd be at his beck and call upstairs as well? Astarion couldn't know of your feeble escape plans yet, so he had no reason to doubt your devotion. And even if he did, wouldn't he enjoy feeding from you in one of the more comfortable beds he mentioned?

But pondering was of no use to you. You had to comply if you wanted your dreams to come true. Turning towards him and laying your head to the side, you could feel your hair fall out of the way, baring your neck so beautifully. "Yes, Sir," was your short, meager reply, and yet your arm immediately fell to your side, one of Astarion's hands wrapping around the back of your head while the other weighed down on your shoulder, keeping you in place. 

 "That's a good pet," he mumbled, face inching closer to your body with every spoken word. You braced yourself for the pain, the burning, the mess it would make, and you took it like a champ, which you probably were after all those bites—at first. However, all the bites before eventually ended. They never lasted more than a few minutes at worst. But not this one, and that's when you realized your mistake. 

You gasped as you reached for him, grabbing his clothes like a lifeline to hold onto. Tears fell freely as the pain didn't stop, your body growing lighter while Astarion had little problems keeping you in place. "It hurts!" you sobbed as your thoughts became less reasonable, less controlled. Everything began to swim, and though you were sitting, you felt like you were going to fall. But even as you struggled to stay conscious, Astarion didn't stop, didn't care. 

By the time you realized you were going to die, it was already much too late. Your life was drained out of you with all of your blood. At least you didn't have to feel the pain of your crushed hope or the desperation of, once again, being stuck in this cold and lonely darkness. If you were honest, you looked forward to escaping all of this, as had been your destiny for so long. At least this way, you'd be free, too. Differently than you thought, but free nonetheless.

"Mhm, darling. Even now, you're ravishingly beautiful."

You could hear the voice, but your body had no blood left to supply your brain, so it could understand anything. You didn't even feel his uncharacteristically warm fingers smear a thick fluid to your lips, slipping in to coat your tongue, reflexes working even when you were as good as dead. 

"And you're mine. All mine."

At least you wouldn't have to die in this dark cell, though you had no strength left to think about what shithole you'd be thrown into instead. Your body was but a sack of skin and bones in his arms as he carried you outside, your head empty like your blood vessels. But even as you lay dying in Astarion's arms, getting carried away, you knew one thing for sure: You hated it. The pain and the blood. The cold and this evil man that had held you like a cattle for so long only to kill you just like everyone else in the end. You hated him. You hated everything.

And most, you hated the darkness that continued to surround you, enveloping you mercilessly as it cooperated with your murderer. Unaware that you, too, were meant to succumb to it. That your dying body was changing into that of a child of the night, a spawn to the very same lonely vampire you so willingly promised eternity to in exchange for what you believed had been your path to 'freedom'. The same freedom you'd never have now.

Because you were his favorite.

And he'd never let his favorite spawn leave.

[scribblestatic]

So, like, if you've read SVSSS far enough, you know about the Bingmei vs Bingge part. And there's all sorts of stories with Bingge (basically a PIDW Binghe, not SVSSS Binghe) finding his own shizun in various ways.

Well, what about if he manages to summon a Shen Yuan, but his soul is in Shen Jiu's body? Which, like, wouldn't really be a problem, except he's already been torturing Shen Jiu for a good while now and he's down an eye and all of his limbs are mostly stubs at this point. Thankfully he still has his tongue and penis, which, after so often demanding Shen Jiu be castrated, he's pretty jazzed that didn't happen.

Shen Yuan, being the absolute freak he is, probably wouldn't mind too much. After all, he'd read this part of the story and cheered it on. Just cause he's now experiencing it himself, doesn't mean the revenge was any less cathartic.

Though, well, the dreams he has about what Shen Jiu went through does dampen his enjoyment of his suffering (so many lives lost that he can do nothing about, so much torment that just cycled on because no one thought to seek help, because the world was built so firmly on cruelty)...

And perhaps he'd woken up sobbing at times, crying his apologies to Binghe as though he was the one who had done all those terrible things to him, but he didn't, but those dreams were so vivid and felt so real

The girls at the Warm Red Pavilion, were they okay? Shen Jiu never had sex with them, only kept company to avoid the boys when he couldn't sleep and trained them in the four arts and gathered information from them, gods, he'd misunderstood Shen Jiu and thought him a remorseless villain and enemy to women

Liu Qingge, fuck--

At least now he can help Binghe actually enjoy his life and perhaps stop the cycle of abuse from continuing. Besides, cool motive, Shen Jiu, still child torment. And though the results were quite drastic, it was the dog-eat-dog world of xianxia China, and life was generally unfair. No reason to make Binghe's life needlessly unfair on top of everything.

But yeah! Now that he's in Shen Jiu's body, he and Luo Binghe get to talk, and Binghe, for the first time in his life, experiences regret for his actions, because now his lovely new kind shizun can't card his fingers through his hair or twist little braids into it. Moreover, Shen Yuan somewhat mourns over the fact Binghe's hair is straightened--he loved reading about his bouncy curls.

So now, imagining that, after time, Shen Yuan becomes a more prominent figure in the empire, especially post-marriage. He has a lovely eyepatch and wears soft red, black, and gold clothes, heavy on the red and gold. This nearly limbless man helps Luo Binghe do his taxes and works out various tips on using beasts to the benefit of the empire and remembering small notes about other races that allows the Demon Emperor to be both magnanimous and fierce in whomever's eyes he meets.

Others can't decide if Shen Qingqiu's mind was utterly broken, if he was cursed to act against his own will, or if he was possessed by some strange spirit. Regardless, the realms have never been in such peace before now.

Moreover, Luo Binghe has started changing.

While he can never regain the height lost to a childhood full of suffering and a lack of nutrients, he can change in other ways. He actually eats healthier because Shen Yuan insists on having him eat as well. He steadily stops straightening his hair, letting his curls return until they're like clouds. His muscles grow in firmer and his chest broadens.

Also, as he and his kind shizun speak further, even though he explores the worst parts of himself and uncovers those dirty, evil deeds and the ways they truly hurt him, Xin Mo doesn't get the chance to latch onto them anymore. As painful as discussing those things are...releasing them is exceptionally freeing. So, a sense of inner strength and ease he never had before starts to settle in his body, and his qi, usually constantly battling, stabilizes more than before, his heart demons no longer so adamant or strong.

As a side-effect of both parts, he was already handsome, but now, he's even more so. A wise, secure man no longer so strongly gripped by hatred, lust, or greed. Someone unforgivable to many, but becoming okay with forgiving himself.

Indeed, what a man!

Which is kinda a shame for Luo Binghe's many wives, because he's been heavily trimming down on his harem. Political marriages are substituted for other exchanges, fervent troublemakers are sent back to their homes (the ones who dared to attack his A'Yuan are never heard from again, strangely), and wives who simply ask for divorce are granted them, receiving a hefty gift for at least being loyal whilst married.

So, previously, a harem once numbering into the hundreds falls to the tens, and the remaining ones are either ambivalent or antsy.

Then, as though to answer everyone's burgeoning questions, he names Shen Yuan his empress during a meeting and proclaims that they will make preparations for his crowning ceremony.

I feel like that'd really set off what remained of Cian Qiong Mountain Sect.

Hmm... I think I'll talk more about this later.

---

Part 1: here Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Part 11+: links on Part 10

AO3

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Confessing to a FWB that they caught feelings and want something more, and the FWB rejecting them and saying they dont feel the same way TW: AFAB Reader, 18+ MDNI, ANGST, Verbal Assult, Emotional Abuse

Adam

When you two first started hooking up, it was right after Eve left Adam, and you had lost your long-time partner to another angel.

It was a win-win. You both could hate fuck the old emotions out of yourselves till everything was fine again.

Sometimes, you two would go on 'dates,' but they were always precursors to what would come later that night.

You wouldn't lie. The dick was divine, and Adam was great at making you scream and cum in ways your ex never did. However, it was just that sex, nothing more.

Till it was more, and you knew you were fucked. Adam would choose specific food he knew you liked, or please you extra in bed by eating you out longer, or even he would stay a bit later and cuddle for an hour after sex.

You saw these as clear signs that he wanted more than just Freinds with Benefits, so you were reasonably hurt when you saw him flirting with Lute and feeling her up.

Was he doing all this for you just to make you feel okay while he was all up touching another woman? Were you even unique to him anymore, or had your pussy not been good enough.

That next night while you two fucked he could tell you weren't in it like you used to be and asked what was wrong. That is when everything went downhill.

"Bitch I am not into you like that; I will fuck who I want when I want. What the fuck do you mean I was treating you nicely? I just wanted good pussy."

You were heartbroken, not only were you destroyed by your ex but now Adam was destroyign you again.

"We are nothing more than fuck buddies. If you can't get that through your skull, you are no better than the bitches I fuck beside you."

Hearing he fucked others behind your back was painful, you had been souly fucking him but he kept true to his word sleeping with many others.

Alastor

He only wanted sex when it benefited his animalistic urges, and you wanted sex to get over someone. Pretty much a good way to establish a powerful allyship.

Alastor had the joy of no one seeing him weak, while you had the pleasure of fucking yourself silly to forget the pain an ex caused you.

The only downside was that Alastor was obscenely nice in bed, probably stemming from his upbringing, but it made you care more than you wanted to.

He was rough when you needed him to be, but he had these really soft sweet moments where he would hold you close and fuck you gently.

Eventually, what was a sound deal of him fucking you to relieve stress and you to relieve pain became you needing him like a fish needs water.

You tried to play it cool and see if he might be interested in something more. He took care of you after sex and cleaned you up, brought you food, and held you till you passed out.

You knew only of lovers doing that, not whatever you classified yourselves as.

One night, you finally found the courage to discuss it, and boy, you should've kept all your thoughts to yourself.

"I find it obsured you even remotely think this is possible, I fuck you out of necessity to keep face not because there is any feelings for you."

You could only sit there, wide eyes and mouth hung open as he yelled at you for stupidity.

"I already hate fucking you I think it is repulsive this primal need to mate and be with something, I don't even consider us friends."

That one stung the worst, you thought at least even if this conversation went to shit you could still be friends but hell that's even out the window.

As soon as he said his peace, he stormed off to god knows where. When you went looking for him to apologize, you heard it outside his door, the moans and begs of another.

He found someone else to complete his deal, and that someone was no longer you anymore.

Lucifer

He was a desperate and lonely man after Lilith, and you were a desperate good-looking sinner that didn't want to fall into Valentino's hands or be killed for not screwing someone.

It was an easy deal. He would fuck you to get over Lilith, and you would be safe from danger while here in hell.

Lucifer, though, was a lover, even if he was just fucking to forget, and you couldn't lie. You were attached.

You had many conversations and open communication about how this will never go anywhere and that when he was ready for a partner, it wouldn't be you solely because of the whole using your sex for healing thing.

You held on to hope, though, that time and chemicals from sex would change things.

One particular night you thought you had struck gold as Lucifer held you closer after a long passionate fuck session. Instead of chasing you out, he kept you beside him and even let you sleep in his room for a week.

However, you shouldn't have been so naive and shouldn't have opened your mouth and lost your protection.

"I told you I will not stay with you; you are a toy to help me get over my ex-wife. Why would I love a sinner like you where there are thousands to choose from."

You held your arms close to your body as you cried. All you wanted to know was if there was indeed no chance, and this must have been the straw that broke the camel's back as it lashed out at you.

"I will never love you; you are not something to be loved. You are simply a toy, that is all. I protect you so I can feel better about myself, nothing more, nothing less."

The fight was long and primarily grueling, and he said hateful and hurtful things from his hurt place. This leads you to believe that you should have never done this and just worked for Valentino.

Husk

When Angel was released from Valentino, Husk and Angel planned to fight for his freedom from Alastor. However, Angel had other plans for his freedom, leaving Husk high and dry.

You had just become a new soul of Alastors, and Husk was your guide through all the fucked up horrors that were Alastor and his shitty contracts.

With that said, there were many nights where you and Husk would end up drunk and between the sheets dancing through the moonlight.

It was a silent agreement that you two would do this once a week to ease the tension and pain of being under Alastors' thumb. However, it also became hard for you to understand your own feelings.

One day, Husk was worshiping you; the next day, he made you feel used and like a toy. Yet, one week, he treated you like royalty in every session you two had.

You almost thought he had a change of heart about your relationship, just like you had months prior, and that excited you to feel loved and no longer lonely.

However, when you broached the topic, you didn't expect the thrown glass bottles and the yelling that followed —enough yelling that Alastor and his other souls were alerted to watch you crumble.

"You really think I give two shits about you, kid? You are just a desperate nutcase who, like everyone else, fell for the radio demons' stupid tricks."

You held your breath and tried to ignore the laugh tracks and claps from the radio demon watching Husk berate you for your sex life.

"You are nothing more than a cheap discount whore; at least Angel was fucking wanted by someone other than a washed-up alcoholic."

You didn't know what to say. You wanted to fight back, but everything hurt, so you just ran—it's all you could do. Things had been tense for a long time, and Alastor used that to his advantage to torment you both.

Vox

All he had wanted was Alastor; every time he could get close, it was like walking five steps backward. You were the closest he could get to the radio demon without getting burned.

You were born and killed in the same period, though instead of having deer or doe-like characteristics, you had a bear motif.

Shy, timid, and easily malleable, Vox quickly seduced you to use you to his advantage.

The nights would be long and passionate or brutal and rough, depending on what Alastor did that day to piss the man off.

You knew your place, that you were just a replacement Alastor and a knockoff made to please Vox when he was too overwhelmed to discuss his issues with Val.

When things began to shift, though, and Vox started to target Charlie over Alastor, you had hope. Vox was sensual and sweet in bed, showing his faithful, fifties husband's lifestyle.

He was almost domestic with you, tenderly touching you, hugging you from behind, helping you cook meals.

However, you allowed a false sense of security to overtake you and lull you into believing that he would love you as you had grown to love him.

"You are worthless, have no powers, and are barely above a speck of dirt. What makes you think I will or would ever love you? I already have Val and Vel. I just use you to get my fill when they can't scratch my itch."

You should have know this was where it was going, it was only fairytale dreams where the contract owner loved the contracted. You kept your head down, allowing the assault to continue.

"You would be better off dying in the next extermination so I could have more useful information about the angels than living here next to me saying this idiotic bullshit."

You tried not to let his words hurt you, but you knew you loved him and that this would only hurt you more and more the longer you held on.

Prompt assistance: @literallurker

[scekrex]

Hey absolutely love your stuff (obviously since I keep requesting lol) anyways could I request Adam who somehow survived after getting beaten up by Lucifer and stabbed who even knows how many times by Niffty gets found by the reader who while an overlord isn't that powerful is super rich (I also picture them being like a mix of Alastor and Vox where like Alastor still holds a lot of more old timey views but also tries to adapt with the changing views like Vox) and decides to take him back to his mansion to try and help him survive (wants to make a few bucks later using him) after a bit the two share an oh fuck moment when they realized they have caught feelings. I hope you have a wonderful day/night!

Overlord reader?? Uh fuck yeah!! I fucking love this ask so much xoxo/p

Bird of Hell's Paradise

Chains on my lips just add flames to the fire

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language & sexual tension

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

The battlefield was a mess through and through and while the devil and his daughter had built up the hotel again, a new, more inviting looking building was now located on the lonely hill in the pride ring, you still felt Adam's presence. The residents of the hazbin hotel must've already forgotten about him and therefore didn't notice you at all, too caught up in their doing.

The first man was badly injured and while you normally wouldn't care for such things, especially because it was an exorcist angel, this case was special. Because not only was the brunette laying in front of your feet the first man god had ever created, no, he was also the leader of said exorcists. You could only imagine how many sinners and Hellborn people would pay a good amount of money to harm him, even if it was just the slightest injury possible. So you bowed down and scooped the passed out man in your arms. If these sinners and even Lucifer didn't care for him, you would put him to good use. For your own benefit that was, but no one had to know about that yet. So you carried the first man across the entire pride ring of hell until you reached your home. The brunette man in your arms was still unconscious and given the blood he had lost and the hits he had taken that was pretty normal.

Once inside your mansion, you headed to the hospital wing, walking through the building with slow, heavy steps that echoed through the empty hallways. The hospital wing was close to the entrance, a decision you had made after stumbling through the doors with a fatal wound that had been exposing your guts. It was quicker to reach in an emergency and while those rarely occurred, you didn't like the risk. You put the first man down onto one of the beds, your claw sliced smoothly through the fabric of his once holy robe to get it out of the way. You needed to take care of the stab wounds the nifty little demon girl had caused. The stabs were deep but nothing you couldn't fix. You gave Adam one last glance before you stepped over to the medicine cabinet and for a quick moment you asked yourself why Lilith and Eve had left Adam, he wasn't bad looking at all, quite the opposite. And Lucifer had mentioned that Adam had ‘kinda let himself go’ which meant back when the two women were married to him, he must have looked even better. You quickly shook your head, what in the devil's name were you even thinking?

With wound cleaning supplies and a healing potion you stepped back to Adam's bed, the first human ever seemed to be slowly waking up. He braced his palms against the mattress, tried to lift himself up but you were quick to push him back down, the more he moved while his wounds were still ripped open the more blood he lost. And while Adam would be able to recover either way, the more blood stayed inside of his body, the better. At least that's what you thought. “Stay,” you hummed as you cleaned the blood from his skin. It was unusual to clean off golden blood instead of the red mess you were so used to. But you didn't mind, didn't care even.

Adam flinched away from your touch, tried to lift himself up yet again. Your hand took a hold of his throat and held him down by it, “I said stay, stupid angel.” Adam's eyes seemed to clear up a little, the fog that had covered his golden eyes, had made them seem yellow, lifted and the brunette stared at you, clearly not knowing what to feel. You saw anger in his eyes, rage and hatred but at the same time there was fear. Fear and pain.

Once the blood was no longer staining his perfect skin, you took the potion you had grabbed, popped the cork and held the smooth, cold glass against his bottom lip, “Open up,” you demanded, yet your voice stayed gentle. Adam hesitated and you really couldn't blame him. “It will cause your wounds to heal,” you explained to the former leader of the exorcists and he seemed to consider his opinions for a moment. Then he actually parted his lips and let you spill the disgusting liquid onto his tongue. His face scrunched up at the bitter taste and he kept the liquid in his mouth. “Swallow it, Adam.” Adam looked up at you, once again seemingly considering alternatives he had. Given the fact that he did as you told him, there hadn't been many.

Adam checked his chest as the wounds that had caused enough pain to make him pass out healed quickly. The only hint left that they ever even existed were golden scars that seemed to be permanent from now on, but the first man couldn't complain, could he? He was still alive and on top of that there was no more pain. The first man frowned at you, mistrust was lingering heavy in his eyes as golden orbs followed your every move. Yet he remained silent, not a single word was falling from his lips.

Your hand that had been holding him down by his throat let go of him and Adam was sitting up right in his bed in an instant. His hands traced over the new found scars, you watched him in silence. There was something about him, about his vibe that was different. It wasn't the fact that he was an angel, no, even though that made his vibe different too, but it was something soft, something afraid to break. You cleared your throat loudly and Adam's eyes were on you within a heartbeat, while mistrust still lingered heavy in them, curiosity was close behind and you couldn't help but catch yourself that you were curious about him too.

-

Adam always bragged about being the first man, like that was his biggest accomplishment and if you looked at it from a different viewpoint it wasn't even his accomplishment but God’s, Adam didn't create himself after all. Yet it was the only thing worth mentioning whenever he didn't want to do something, “I’m the fucking man, not your fucking housewife, I'm not gonna fucking clean that.” You sighed as you took a step towards Adam and he flinched, trying to back up but his back hit the kitchen counter sooner than expected. Your hands grabbed a hold of his waist and you effortlessly lifted him up to sit on said counter, Adam was taken aback by that.

It had been a couple of weeks since you had found and saved him and the mistrust that had been filling his eyes from the first second on had never truly left them. He would always leash out on you only to back down as soon as you reacted in some way that seemed too unpredictable for him. “When will you learn to think before you speak?” Your voice held a certain amount of softness, it always did when you were speaking to Adam. The guy wasn't a threat to you, not in his current situation. And you were trying to use that to your advantage. Because he was scared, basically a deer in the headlights, why not put that fear to use? You nudged his knees apart to stand between his legs, still taller than him you hovered over the first man with a mix between a sly grin and a soft smile. “When you start to suck my fucking dick,” you chuckled as his choice of words, very aware that he simply wanted you to fuck off and leave him be, you acted oblivious to that. One hand was placed on the counter to steady yourself, right next to his thigh, the other grabbed his chin to tilt his head upwards, forcing the brunette to look you in the eyes.

“Right now? Right here?” your voice sounded so delicious, Adam wanted to eat it up, in fact, he wanted to devour you entirely, feast on every piece you had to offer and only stop once he swallowed it all. In Christ's holy name, what was he thinking? Your lips were so close to his, so so close, all he would need to do was - he leaned into your touch, why he wasn't sure, it was as if his body was following a call sent to him by nature itself. And then his lips met yours and a low groan spilled from his throat as his hands grabbed your shoulder firmly, he was afraid you'd pull back, that you'd leave him like Lilith and Eve had and he didn't even know why. Why was he afraid of losing you, a sinner, a man he barely knew? He couldn't wrap his mind around it. And yet he kissed you like his life was depending on it.

The hand that had been braced against the counter was now on his thigh, squeezing the soft flesh playfully and drawing a delicious sound from Adam's lips. Oh you could drown in the noises the first man made, the little huffs and puffs, his groans that he tried to keep as quiet as possible, the whimpers he would later deny. Adam was the most beautiful creature that had ever set a foot into hell and you mentally punched yourself in the face for wanting to use him to make money. There was no way you'd use such a divine, holy and glorious man for that, no. Adam was yours, your little secret and you'd keep it, keep him.

When you two partened a sting of saliva connected your lips and both of your eyes were hazy, he looked blissed out and it was then that you decided you wanted to see him like that more often - as often as possible. You were to lean in yet again, wanting more, needing more. But your phone rang. “Pick it up, bet it's something fucking important, they don't fucking call overlords for shits and giggles, do they?” You knew Adam was right and you hated it. You pushed your body away from the first man's and you saw how he wanted to reach out, wanted to keep you close but didn't say a thing about it. You grabbed your phone off the dining table and answered the call, “The fuck do you want, Vox?” It was the first time Adam had heard you speaking so vulgarly, you usually seemed to be collected, considering your words wisely, but that? In the name of God, that was truly something else. And it was ridiculously hot. “No I fucking can't, ask someone else,” and with that you hung up, tossed your phone carelessly back onto the table and found your place between his legs yet again. “Where were we?” you hummed through hooded eyes. And it was only then that the two of you seemed to realize what exactly you had just done, what you were about to do again.

Both of your eyes widened and the next thing you felt were Adam's hands on your body, not just your shoulder this time but also your waist, your chest, your thighs, your back. It seemed as if he was claiming you with his hands and the worst part of it? You truly didn't mind, you even enjoyed his touch on you, leaned into it and closed your eyes to fully focus on his hands roaming over your body.

Fuck, you had fallen deep for this man, way deeper than you ever thought you'd fall. But Adam had followed you, had fallen with you.

“You were about to suck me off,” Adam mumbled, his voice already sounded fucked out and you hadn't even started yet.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Errors, “Errors,” and Sci Fi

@strawberry-crocodile

tvtropes calls stuff like the wolf example "science matches on" which I think is a pretty fair shake

This.  This is what’s got me thinking so much about errors.  There’s a certain danger, here.  A certain way that this particular effect — delicious dramatic irony — tempts the mind when reading old stories, even true ones.

What do you know about R.M.S. Titanic? I ask my class every year, and the first hand rises.  “It was unsinkable,” the student inevitably says, and everyone is nodding, “or so they thought.”  I write the word UNSINKABLE on the board, underneath my crude drawing of a ship with four smokestacks.  It will be crossed out before the end of the hour, but not for the reason they expect.

“I find no evidence,” Walter Lord, preeminent biographer of the ship’s survivors, wrote, “that Titanic was ever advertised as unsinkable. This detail seems to have entered the collective mind so as to create a more perfect irony.”  Indeed, historians’ examinations of White Star Line documents show the shipbuilders themselves worried it would be so large as to risk collision; they stocked several more lifeboats than 1910s regulations required.

The War to End All Wars (deep breath, satisfied exhale), also known as World War ONE. Chuckle.  Shake of the head.  What if I told you that this phrase, used primarily in American newspapers after the fact, wasn’t meant to be literal? Nowadays we’d say The Mother of All Wars, or One Hell of a Fucking War, but we wouldn’t mean literal motherhood, literal intercourse.  What if I said the armistice and the Lost Generation and the Roaring 20s were all braced for another outbreak of European conflict, and yet we still failed to prevent it?

Did you know they were so confident in the safety of the S.S. Challenger that they put a civilian schoolteacher onboard? I do, because I’ve heard that one repeated many times.  Only, see, it’s got the cause and effect reversed.  Challenger launched on a day the shuttle’s engineers knew to be dangerously cold, because the first civilian in space was on board. And NASA knew its shuttle project would be cancelled entirely, if they couldn’t get that civilian’s much-delayed entry into space in the next two weeks.  So they launched on a cold day, and killed her instead.

These are all what cognitive science calls Hindsight Bias on the personal level, what sociology calls Presentism on the cultural level.  Social psychology’s a little of both, is primarily interested in why you’re sitting on your couch in a Colonize Mars shirt watching PBS and chuckling at the fools who believed in El Dorado.  It wants to know why the mind flees straight from “marijuana will kill you” to “marijuana will cure cancer” without so much as a pause on the middle ground of its real benefits and drawbacks, its real (mild) risks and rewards.

And they can paralyze the sci-fi writer, if you think too much about them. Jetsons is futurist one decade, retro the next.  “There are no bathrooms on the Enterprise,” the creators of Serenity say smugly, as if Gene Roddenberry should’ve simply known that decades later it’d be acceptable to show a man peeing in full view of the camera, nothing but the curve of the actor’s hand to protect his modesty.  “No sound in space,” the Fandom Menace says, “No explosions in space,” and “A space station can’t collapse in zero-G.”  Only then NASA burns a paper napkin outside of atmosphere, transmits music using only the ghost of nearby planets’ gravities, and logs onto Reddit long enough to point out the Death Star would implode in its own gravity field.  And now we’re the ones pointing, the ones laughing, at those earlier point-and-laughers.  Self-satisfied, smug in superiority.  As if we did the work to find out ourselves, instead of just happening to be born a little later than George Lucas.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

If you’re still doing prompts, could I request 15? Thank you!

Heyo so sorry for the wait!!! Hope you like it!

Kill.

It's not a word he's unfamiliar with. He's condemned people to be killed before, he's killed people before, but it has always been for his benefit. It has always been to protect himself, to gain money, and not once had the thought of killing to protect someone else crossed his mind.

That is until he met you.

You were kind, your heart open to any who came across but you still hid your darkest secrets deep within, secrets only he was privy to. While others held him at bay with a stake, you had let him in, dancing along to his melody in those late nights, whispering words that were so unfamiliar yet familiar. Maybe it was the way you said them, with that earnest look in your eyes, stirring emotions he thought he had lost a long time ago.

His hands ghost over your skin, tracing pattern after pattern as he has done so many times before, but this time he means every stroke. He wants to feel you, to hear your breaths in his ears, your blood thrumming through your veins. All he can give you is himself, his body, his ability to kill, and none of it can even begin to compare to everything you've given him.

His daggers sink into flesh as lifeblood pours out onto the floor, staining it a deep crimson. He stands over the man who tried to kill you, chest heaving for breaths he doesn't need and dodges as a dagger flies in his direction. With a flash of steel, his daggers bury themselves in yet another threat and sweet crimson liquid floods his tongue. He turns to check on you but you get to him first, anxiously fretting over him.

Your fingers brush along his bloodied strands of hair, sending tingles up his spine whenever your warm skin makes contact with his cold undead skin. His own bloodstained hand reaches up, fingertips hovering over your hand as he watches you, lost and confused. You glance around, checking that no one else is watching before slipping your hand into his, giving his hand a squeeze. Your hand leaves, now stained with the blood that is on his hand but you're smiling softly, gazing at him with such fondness that a strange warmth blooms in his chest.

He's never felt this way before.

He slips out of camp that night, dagger in hand and sinks the blade into the shadowy figure leaning against the tree. The figure drops to the ground, knife clattering in the dirt which he picks up, stowing it away before disposing the body. He sneaks back into camp, silently ducking into his tent where you continue to lie fast asleep.

He gets rid of his bloody clothes, hiding them in a corner he knows you will never find and slips into the bedroll you share, watching as your chest gently rises and falls, your sleep undisturbed. You shift, burrowing closer to him and he wraps an arm around you, burying his face in your hair.

You mumble something incoherently, clutching at his shirt so that you can curl up against him, nestling in his embrace. He feels a tightness in his chest, a flickering warmth spreading through his body that causes tears to prick the corners of his eyes.

No matter how bloodstained his hands are, how dirty he is, you always hold him without any reservations. Your hands always cradle him, gently caressing his face, whispering words of reassurance, love, and care. Whenever you hold him, you look as if you're holding the whole world in your hands. Your devotion to him, the way you always make your neck available to his fangs, the way you speak up for him when he struggles to, nothing he does can ever come close to paying the debt he's racked up.

So he does the one thing you can never bring yourself to do — kill. He plunges his daggers into the hearts of his enemies, your enemies, he tears open the throats of any who dare to hurt you, and cuts down all who stand against you. He kills and kills and kills, hoping that with each life he takes he can get just that little bit closer to repaying you.

And then you whisper the words he needed to hear.

"Repay me? Hmm I suppose you could do that by spending more time with me." You flash him a wide grin, his favourite laugh slipping from your lips. "There's nothing to repay though, really."

When you say those words, a weight is lifted from his chest but doubt still lingers. His gaze searches you for lies but you really mean it, and he's at a loss. His fingers brush over the hilt of the dagger tucked into his belt, unsure of what to do now.

He watches as you leave to talk to the others, mind churning with questions. All you want is for him to spend more time with you, and he supposes he can do that, but is there really nothing more he can offer you? He turns the dagger in his hand, its steel catching the sunlight and feels its reassuring weight in his palm. No, he can still offer you his daggers, for there will always be those who try to take advantage of your kind nature, and he will make them regret it.

With a twirl of his dagger, he thrusts the blade into your would-be assailant, relishing in the assailant's shocked face as his body collapses to the floor, covered in blood. His gaze turns to your figure standing in front of a fruit store, oblivious to the danger you were in moments before, and lets out a small huff of annoyance, making his way over to you.

Even if he constantly watched your back, you could at least have some sense of self-preservation. Still, it gave him a purpose, it made him feel needed. His daggers were still useful, his ability to kill was still put to good use, and that made him feel less anxious.

Maybe one day he wouldn't feel the need to prove his worth by killing, just like you clearly hope he will, but for now he will pull back his urge and only eliminate those who pose a grave threat to you. Only to protect that smile of yours.

He feels you rest against his shoulder, hands automatically finding his and can't help but smile softly to himself. No matter who he has to kill, he will protect you, your smile, your laughter, and all that you stand for.

[danwhobrowses]

Since Critical Role's big endgame battle has begun (as of ep. 113) and looks to give us a fair handful of Lv. 20 combat across the board with VM and later the Nein - and also since the Omen Archive are yet to do a level up overview for Bell's Hells to Lv. 15 like I expected them to do after ep. 112 - I find myself optimistically and curiously wondering how Bells Hells would shape up should they reach Lv. 20.

Admittedly, I do remain worried about how underleveled they are; I know it's intended since the Hells are the 'underdogs not meant to be in this position' group but still, for comparison Essek debuted at Lv. 15 in C2 and Vox Machina ended their campaign at Lv. 18 when the stakes were slightly lower than what we have with Ludinus, the Vanguard, the Imperium, and Predathos. Still, with nothing we can do but pray they make it out alive - and I hope they do - I've decided to indulge that rare bout of optimism and deep dive into what would their Lv. 20 state look like? While also considering what they may add during this final arc should they level up in between like they did the last time they were on Ruidus.

We're gonna go through each character one by one for this, so I'll start with my favourite (aka the one I wanna talk/ramble the most about).

Ashton is perhaps the easiest endgame build to tell class-wise, it's likely Tal will have them go the full 20 since Grog has already done the Fighter dip and there's not many other multiclasses that can be of a greater benefit to them; the intrigue however with Ashton focuses on the ASI they get at levels 16 and 19, the first one particularly if there's still a level up mid-battle. The obvious route for the first ASI is to get back the CON they lost in the shard incident - which I still find an unfair penalty since they gained nothing from surviving the bold and deemed impossible action, 'your reward is you get to live' doesn't stick with me given that the 10 rolls (well, 9 plus the resurrection ring) are proof of survival anyway - and absorbing Dusk Hunger sadly didn't give back, adding to their DEX instead - which, also kinda stubborn of Matt, adding 1 AC isn't exactly worthy of absorbing a legendary item especially compared to what Orym got with Ishta, they were better off trying to dual wield it if Matt's not gonna give stats that'll suit Ashton's wheelhouse, STR and CON, and let the tank be a tank - so it will likely fall into Tal's hands to get Ashton's stats to where they want them to be. Either way, Ashton's STR and CON are going up if they hit Lv. 20 as pure Barbarian, Primal Champion adds 4 to both and increases their max to 24, so without ASI Ashton will have 22 STR and 20 CON by Lv. 20 anyway, with ASI however Ashton can go 24/22 in either direction - and we can't rule out more absorption in the future, since Legendary loot may be yielded from this endgame battle plus Otohan's Backpack, Zathuda's storage cloak and maybe any other armour from the two could be Legendary items just gathering dust among the group, but if Ashton were to take any of them they'd have to wait a day since the Harness only grants 1 permanent and 1 temporary buff per person, and each person who uses it on the same day risks it breaking by 20%. However, we also can't rule out Ashton taking a feat instead of ASI, it's a slim chance but there are some feats that can be of use for Ashton in general or specifically vs Ludinus; Mage Slayer, Strike of the Giants (Hill or Stone Strike, of the two I'd go for Hill because of it causing the prone condition, which will help Ashton and allies, like Orym with that 1d6 extra Force Damage, stack critical damage), and Great Weapon Master could be powerful if they don't focus on ASI. The Tough feat is always good for being tanky too, but such a feat would likely only be used at the Lv. 19 ASI/Feat domain to get the most out of it. The only other places Ashton can get major potential buffs - outside of any new enchanted items that aren't armour - are from Dunamancy and their Titan powers, but neither have provided a clear opening for improvement as of yet. Ashton hit their final Dunamancy path at Lv. 14, where they got Mark of the Messy End (which compared to Essek getting access to stuff like Reality Break doesn't seem to balance out but I guess Wizards are glass cannons so Dunamancy does more with them), but there is a quiet, lingering mystery over how Potions of Possibility and Luxon Beacons will behave if Ashton and their Dunamancy brain interacts with them, given how they have many potions on hand, in general and gifted to them by the Kryn Dynasty before they met with the Nein, and Ludinus using Luxon Beacons as power sources, there is potential for Ashton's Dunamancy to increase that way - or simply through Matt adding an extra Dunamancy path in place of an ASI/Feat, a Dunamancy-based feat, or swapping Primal Champion with something else. The Titan Form could also improve by level, and I kinda hope it does, it's powerful but given the time limit and Exhaustion it's still below the level of Grog's Titanstone Knuckles in terms of utility, if more power or less limitations are imposed the higher their level it could scale Ashton up further in a similar manner to having a Vestige or, in Orym's case, a Relic of the Red Solstice.

Speaking of Orym, you'd assume that he'll also go for the clean 20, but this is Liam O'Brien we're talking about - he gave Vax a Druid level for his love of Keyleth, so you can't put it past him to add a level in Bard for Dorian. Like Ashton, Orym has 2 ASI waiting for him at levels 16 and 19, due to maxing his DEX - and absorbing Ishta overclocking it (a DEX increase that actually makes sense as a Finesse blade Fighter, adding +1 to AC and attack rolls and a higher DC for enemies to save against superiority die attacks) - Orym has already dipped into feats a lot but could always find room for more. Great Weapon Master, Shield Master, Mage Slayer, and Tough again at level 19 are viable options for Orym and his build, but there's also a unique option of, instead of taking a level in Bard, Magic Initiate: Bard in lieu of Dorian; taking the feat lets him gain the 4th attack Lv. 20 Fighter yields while adding some handy Bard magic such as Friends, Thunderwave, Command, Bane or Cure Wounds - all of which are Level 1 Bard spells. While adding a level in Bard would be a nice gesture, the Magic Initiate feat would probably work better for Orym's build if he wanted to reference his connection to Dorian this way, since he doesn't need 4 extra 1st level spells and he already has a lot of proficiencies and bonuses to cover his rolls anyway, plus he still carries the sending stone if he doesn't want to do either. If he went for ASI, Orym could try to rival Ayden's passive perception by buffing his WIS, but I doubt anybody would hold it against him to be less perceptive than a god. Regardless of ASI and feats, a pure 20 in Fighter does up Orym's lethality immensely, getting a potential 12 attacks with two Action Surges - the second gained in Lv. 17 - in one round (16 attacks if hastened and 17 if hastened and a Time Rage Mark of the Messy End - which I believe allows you to attack with Bonus Actions - is used on an enemy), which would make him an extra efficient killer and protector for combat, which suits his character as well. While multiclassing is an uncommon trait to reference a partner, in Orym's case it's probably moreso cute but unnecessary flavouring.

Adding an element of their partner into their build is something Imogen has done already with decent effect, however. Imogen is another pure 20 likelihood; she has 2 ASI, a Metamagic choice, her final Origin Feature - Warping Implosion: essentially you teleport and anyone within 30 feet will be caught in a gravity fissure - and Sorcerous Restoration - 4 sorcery points restored per short rest - waiting for her at the full 20. As alluded, she already has Laudna influences in the Shadow Touched feat and a vial of her blood in her equipment so she needn't use a feat or a multiclass in further reference to her, which means it comes down to what options she chooses for her ASI/Feats and future skills. With her CHA maxed out already, the two ASI would need to go elsewhere or to feats; War Caster could be used to help her concentration spells, such as the reskinned Hunger of Hadar, Telekinesis, and Investiture of Lightning, unused spells such as her mother's Reverse Gravity, Hold Person, or Globe of Invulnerability, or future 8th-9th level spells such as Dominate Monster, Gate, and Mass Polymorph (turn them all into horses!). Otherwise using one of those ASI to add 1 to INT and WIS will add to saving throws of those stats (+1 for INT and +2 for WIS), she can also remove all her stat negatives by adding an ASI to her STR in place of a feat. Imogen also has options with choosing a final Metamagic from Sorcerer; she has Quickened, Distant, and Twinned Spell already, so the next one needs to also be helpful in combat; the potential of Extended and Transmuted Spell are decent, but Heightened Spell may be the best fit for her - spending 3 Sorcery points to impose disadvantage on a spell save can be very useful when using Imogen's spells such as Psychic Lance, especially against powerful magic users like Ludinus. Going a little extra meta with things, Imogen at Lv. 20 is only going to exist in one-shots or guest appearances - which means short rests aren't likely to faze her as much, also recovering 4 out of a total of 20 Sorcery Points per short rest isn't a lot when you get all of them back after a Long Rest. If Imogen were to pull a swerve and multiclass she could simply sacrifice an ASI for an 18/2 split or just take a 19/1 dip without it doing any negative effect to her current build. Of the multiclassing options, I find that the Tempest Cleric could gel pretty well with her build; connecting her lightning magic and her storm analogies (and her attempt to reach out to the Stormlord) from a narrative perspective, while combat-wise she'd get to use Wrath of the Storm to damage anyone that attacks her (as many times as her WIS, so 1-3 depending on her ASI usage) and, if she goes for the 18/2 split, she can use the class' Channel Divinity to max out a spell's lightning damage - which if used on a 9th Level Lightning Bolt is 76 damage without enhancements! - she also gets some minor healing to add to her repertoire, and with a group without a pure Cleric you can't really have a shortage of players who can heal even if it's a little bit. I can't see any other dip doing her as much benefit, so the full 20 is more likely, even if the maxed out Lightning Bolt would work wonders.

You know who also knows Lightning Bolt? Well, a fair amount of players and NPCs but also Dorian! Let's talk our Boy in Blue - no I did not say 'Blue in Boy' in my head when typing, shush! - he's our last PC likely to be a pure 20 of the group, also because the rest have already multiclassed, but like Imogen there is also the opening for a little bit of multiclassing. The ASI in levels 16 and 19 are probably best put into maxing his CHA stat that's currently at 16, DEX could also go up to 20 for additional Gambolcleft damage but the sword is pretty powerful as it is - it depends if Robbie wants Dorian to focus on Spell or Melee output for stats, but casting is probably the better way to go. Not many feats would help Dorian outside of maybe Tough and War Caster, perhaps Slasher but they do seem like minor additions he can go without, so ASI is likely the best route to take for him. Unlike with Orym where a dip in Bard wouldn't do much good mechanically, Dorian could easily take a dip in Fighter and have it be a solid investment; the Bard's Lv. 20 ability Superior Inspiration only helps if you've used up all of your Inspiration, and as said with Imogen that probably won't come up in a one-shot scenario where Lv. 20 Dorian would likely appear, but by Lv. 19 he will already have added spells from any magic class via his final dip into Magical Secrets - and honestly I have no clue what one he could take because like, all of the spells! Wish is probably the go-to one but Dorian doesn't want anything from the gods so maybe not? - and he'll already have a 9th level spell slot from earlier levels. A 1-level dip in Fighter can give Dorian Second Wind for some self-healing and another Fighting Style to choose from: either Superior Technique - like Orym has - or Duelist would suit best, and if Robbie sacrifices an ASI he can go up to a 2nd level for Action Surge, which is handy should he focus on melee. There aren't many other 1-level dips that would suit Dorian narratively, there was probably Warlock potential in EXU: Prime when the crown was in play but since, again, the group lacks a pure healer, Dorian is probably better off investing his stats and skills towards Bard spells - which in turn bolsters DPS as well as healing.

From one Bard/DPS healer to another, Braius debuted with some pretty high stats to begin with, with only WIS being a negative modifier. As a 12/3 multiclass he can go a few different directions - much like his character arc and selection of deity - but it leaves him at a crossroads - also like his character arc. The 12 levels in Oath of the Ancients Paladin means he's locked out of getting Bard's Magical Secrets, if he maxes out his remaining levels in Bard he gets 2 ASI, a College of Tragedy feature (make crits be at rolls 18, 19 and 20 after an ally is hit with a crit plus a '+10 on a roll but a -10 penalty on the next' skill), Countercharm, and his Bardic Inspiration dice will go up to 1d8, but all of those are kinda covered by Dorian's higher level Bard class and Ashton's Mark of the Messy End while in Luck Rage to a higher or better extent. The 3 levels in Bard however has locked Braius out of Paladin's Aura improvements and the big Elder Champion buff, which is a big loss, if maxed out in Paladin they'll get Cleansing Touch - end a spell on yourself or anyone you can touch as many times as your CHA, one ASI, a 5th level spell slot (handy for Banishing Smite, Circle of Power, Destructive Wave, and Summon Celestial), and Undying Sentinel - which is just a once-a-long-rest Relentless Rage with no CON save. Build-wise, it would be best for Braius to go one of three different paths; either go for a 15/5 split - so no 5th level spell but he gets 1 ASI, Undying Sentinel, and Font of Inspiration for the 1d8 inspiration - a 14/6 split - where we swap Undying Sentinel for the college feature, or go the unique path and add a third class - while the 5th level spell slot has powerful spells Braius' combat is much more melee-based so it is a less likely option. A 14/3/3 triple split sacrifices his ASI/feats but 3 levels in Fighter gives him another Fighting Style, Action Surge, Second Wind, and a Fighter subclass to add to his combat prowess. One unlikely Fighter subclass that could suit Braius is the Rune Knight; with 3 levels Braius will have access to 2 runes, which can be tied to his character's artistry, to add to his gear - the Fire and Cloud Runes being the most useful to him from what I see - they would also get Giant's Might as a skill for an extra 1d6 of damage once per turn. Fighter isn't the only class Braius can benefit from though; he would only need to dip 2 levels in Cleric or Druid to gain their subclass-based abilities; a Shepherd Druid would give the group a slight benefit with the Hawk Spirit skill, using a reaction to attack with advantage and having advantage on perception checks, but similar to Imogen he'd probably benefit a bit more from dipping into Cleric - particularly Grave, War, Ambition, and Peace Domain Clerics, who each have abilities that can further empower him. A dip in Barbarian would be handy for Danger Sense - not so much Rage because you can't use spells - maybe opting for the Zealot path subclass, which also suits narratively, for an extra 1d6 damage, or a dip in the Monster Hunter Ranger to aid in picking out weaknesses. A 12/4/4 split could also work, forgoing Cleansing Touch to grant Braius 2 ASI or feats if Sam wanted them; with that they can balance their WIS to 10 and then max out their CHA and another +1 elsewhere, or just do a feat like Fey Touched - since he was touched plenty by a Fey Hag all across her manor - to max the CHA and gain a spell like Hunter's Mark to aid in combat.

Speaking of Hunters, Chetney may not have been designed to survive the campaign but with Travis rolling the fatal 0 when playing as Grog that old man is still, somehow, kicking. If Travis doesn't pull a Bertrand and allows him to continue defying the odds and live to Lv. 20, Chetney would be in a similar position to Braius - having gone the Tealeaf route and locked himself out of the full 20 in Blood Hunter by having a dip in Rogue - in being in a crossroads of classes. If he invests his remaining levels in Blood Hunter to 19, he still gets a lot from the class; 2 Order Features (advantages on bloodlust saving throws and on any branded creature, then unlimited hybrid transformations on the next feature), 2 ASI, and an extra Blood Maledict. Chetney's 1-level dip in Rogue however means he could also invest into any Rogue subclass for a 17/3 split (or a 16/4 split if he sacrifices a Blood Maledict for 2 ASI over one) instead; Assassin would help his damage output especially since he likes going Invisible, but the Revived subclass would be funny implying that he died but miraculously came back and no longer needed to risk dying in his sleep because he doesn't need to sleep anymore. Chet could also triple class like we suggested with Braius; 3-5 levels in Artificer - since he's a toymaker his toys can be infused beyond the enchanted distractions, going for the Armorer subclass can also be handy for the Thunder Gauntlets ability too, 2 levels in Fighter - for Action Surge, 2-4 levels in Monk - which has decent potential if his chisel is made a dedicated weapon plus the possible boons from Kensei, Mercy, or Open Hand paths, or even 3 levels in Ranger - where Hunter, Gloom Stalker, and Monster Slayer subclasses each have skills that could help Chet in combat, can all be seen as options, but it can also run the risk of being overcomplicated. Despite a Feat sidestepping Chet losing control in his Hybrid Form, logic says that Chet would likely stick with the 19/1 route since the feat only imposes a disadvantage against losing control and he can still do collateral damage, character-wise he'd likely want to keep his Lycanthropy on lock as much as he can. Plus, going to 19 Blood Hunter levels yields unlimited transformations and the second ASI hits at Lv. 19; with the two ASI - which he cannot get from triple classing - he can max out his STR and buff up his CON, DEX, and/or CHA for any additional bonuses, he has no negative stats so any are fair game. I don't see any feats that'd be too helpful, but outside of AC or DC boosts from increasing CON or DEX, upping CHA could also help with persuasion and being persuasive and tricksy.

Persuasive and Tricksy are some of many words you can use to define Fearne, who is also a Rogue multiclass. Her current 10/5 with Wildfire Druid as the majority allows her some wiggle room for her to go a few different directions. The 5 levels in Rogue have locked her out of a second ASI in Druid, the timeless body (not really a big deal for a fey), additional Wild Shape perks, and the 9th Level Spell Slot though, but if she invests only into Druid levels for the full 15 she does still gain one ASI and her Wildfire Feature 'Blazing Revival' - where once per long rest Mister can sacrifice himself (I don't think it's a permadeath sacrifice just like an 'off the board until resummoned' sacrifice) to revive her to half HP if she's downed - alongside a 6th, 7th and 8th level spell slot. If she goes for an even spread of 10 levels each with Rogue's Arcane Trickster however, she gains 2 ASI, 2 more proficiencies, Evasion, Magical Ambush, and a few more lower level spells. Both have valid directions - and as much as Fearne is a 'collector' I think a third class probably won't suit her and will perplex Ashley further - for her character even with mixing the level splits; a 12/8 split will grant her 2 ASI and a 6th level spell slot, while a 14/6 split grants one ASI, a 6th and 7th level spell slot, the Blazing Revival, and 2 proficiencies. Since Fearne doesn't do many sneak attacks and uses her Rogue abilities more for pickpocketing, it would probably be sensible to lean more towards Druid; a 15/5 split if she wants that 8th level spell slot for Sunburst, Incendiary Cloud, or Feeblemind, but a 14/6 split if she can do without - Plane Shift could narratively be on her radar so she can travel to the Feywild as she pleases, but Fire Storm is still a mighty 7th level spell that can be additionally buffed by her titan form which as mentioned with Ashton could also potentially scale up with levels - would give her more stuff to work with, plus extra Druid Levels buffs up Mister's health so he could be looking at 75-80 total HP (5+(Druid Level x 5)) depending on whether Fearne goes level 14 or 15. Since Fearne took War Caster already from her last level and her WIS is already maxed out, ASI to CON could be looked into to add health, AC, and DC, while also improving her chances at holding concentration for her saving throws, alternatively she can up her DEX to improve her pickpocketing so she can finally claim one of those eggs, since she's tragically 0-2 on that. Feat-wise, there is still the Elemental Adept: Fire feat to bypass enemy resistances to Fire too, lots of enemies will have Fire Resistance after all, so if she doesn't want to use ASI there is still that to use it on. So level-wise there is some wiggle room but class-wise she is better off picking one to focus on.

Our final member of the Hells Laudna has already picked her focused class; on a 12/3 Sorlock with her patron bound to a soul anchor - get fucked Delilah - she has implied to go pure Sorcerer from herein. Marisha has previously stated that she saw no gain in any more Warlock levels even when Delilah was still active and while a 6th level in Warlock would grant her an ASI at Lv.4 and unlocks Grave Touched - change damage to Necrotic plus 1 extra damage die when in Form of Dread, which is pretty solid - it does indeed suit narratively for Laudna to avoid more Warlock levels. The 3 levels she has gained from Warlock though have (war)locked her out of her final Sorcery feature of Umbral Form - which would've made her resistant to everything but Force and Radiant Damage, so like Braius' Primal Champion it's quite the loss - but she still looks to get Shadow Walk which aids her mobility, providing that there's darkness or shadows in the vicinity, as well as one ASI and another Metamagic option by continuing the Sorcerer's path, not to mention a dangerous 9th level spell slot. Unlike Imogen, Laudna opted for Empowered Spell in her current Metamagics alongside Quickened and Twinned, doing Heightened or Transmuted probably wouldn't suit Laudna like it does her partner though. Instead, Careful Spell could be a good choice for Laudna since her CHA is maxed out, so she could pick 5 creatures to auto-succeed a saving throw to a spell she sends, but since she doesn't have many AoE spells Extended Spell may be the better fit to keep up concentration on spells like Animate Objects, Mirror Image, or any future powerful concentration spells she'll have access to like Eyebite, Globe of Invulnerability, Reverse Gravity, or Blade of Disaster - which Delilah used pretty effectively in Aeor - ongoing. Even so, the one ASI remains; the Amulet of Health puts her CON to a fixed 19 so if she added one CON it'd be 16 without attunement, which is still pretty good but worthless if she just keeps using the amulet, she could put +1 in her woeful STR so it's a -2 rather than -3, or opt for feats such as War Caster - for those powerful concentration spells - or another Eldritch Invocation with Eldritch Adept, such as Armor of Shadows or Eldritch Spear, which may be more fitting for her fun scary nature.

And that's all of them, for a TL/DR I expect Ashton, Orym, Dorian and Imogen to do the pure 20 for their classes, while Chetney will go 19/1, Braius and Fearne go 14/6, and Laudna goes 17/3. But if it were me, the only ones I'd adjust from those would be Dorian (19/1, adding Fighter), Imogen (18/2, adding Tempest Cleric), and Braius (14/3/3, adding Rune Knight Fighter) just from a meta/fun perspective. Either way I'll just be happy to see them make Level 20, so fingers and every other digit I have stay crossed for whichever route they choose.

[unknown-cold]

People will never understand the grief and suffering that Caitlyn went through, they will never understand the complex characters who always did good things but unfortunately the world didn't do them justice. The characters who go through stages of despair, grief and anger, these are the characters the writers wanted to give you so that you understand the complexities of humans through fictional characters. They want to send you a deeper message than just this evil character who wants revenge. It's more complicated than that.

So let's get into the topic and why I made this post:

First Caitlyn never wanted to kill the child to get to Jinx. You never saw a character who was controlled by anger. Caitlyn saw nothing in front of her except Jixn, the person who completely destroyed her life. She became obsessed with Jinx in the same way that Jinx was obsessed with Caitlyn. Let's take another example of an angry and vengeful character, which is the character Ellie in tlou2. We saw her literally kill everyone in front of her to get to Abby. She even went as far as to kill Lev if Abby didn't fight her. Anger and sadness are emotions that are difficult to control. These emotions are what control the person.

And The Big Problem is no one hated Ellie back then, huh?? So why Caitlyn now 😑

But the sad thing for Caitlyn is that unfortunately the demon Ambessa is in the picture and she will definitely play an important role in changing Caitlyn's personality. Of course, as is known, Ambessa will benefit from Hex weapons and other things for her personal goals.

Another thing that caused Caitlyn to lose her mind was when Vi accidentally compared Cait to the person who killed her mother and had been trying to kill her multiple times. And Jinx had killed many people in Piltover more than once. All of these things came together on Caitlyn until she completely lost control of herself.

Bc in the end it is her city and she has the right to defend it and defend her people.

So honestly I don't blame Caitlyn, I'm not saying what she did was right, but AGAIN Vi unintentionally compared her to the person who killed her mother and caused her a lot of suffering, as Jinx kidnapped her, tortured her, and tried to kill her several times.

(Imagine someone comparing you to the person who killed your mother and ruined your life)

And in the end Caitlyn will realize her mistake and try to fix it and she will know that Ambessa was manipulating her all the time, and she will know that she is the cause of most of the problems in Piltover.

I'm sure Caitlyn's redemption arc will right all the wrongs she's done and will make up for everything to the Zaun people and Vi.

And mark my words, bc Caitlyn is the only character who knows the problems that exist in Zaun and surely after she gets rid of her anger that is eating her from the inside, she will do the right thing bc that is the core of the Caitlyn that we knew in season 1.

So please trust the writers and don't rush to judge characters until we see how they end first.

[arieswritez]

glad you and this account exist, I feel like there’s a lack of Mark lovers lmao! but omg I can’t stop thinking about him, I feel feral but for the purpose of discussion I have to ask: what do you think his d!ck would look like?

cw; scummy bf!mark x gn!reader, abusive relationships (physical & emotional), angst, stalking, spying, harassment, manipulation, gaslighting.

a/n; i am super late but mark would have tHEE prettiest dick ever !! & i'll prove it!!!! in fact, his dick is SO pretty you'd let him do heinous things if it meant having it in your mouth teehee 🫶🏾🫶🏾 (& because i am not normal: i went on a tangent .. ik ik you didn't ask for this.. lemme alone!!! )

bf! mark who you always wanted to give the benefit of the doubt to. who'd always hide his snide comments under a playful half smile and the guise of it being "just a joke".

bf!mark who'd tell you not to worry about his relationships with other people. who'd say you were just being insecure and that he didn't know how to be with someone that like you. bf!mark who'd always make you cry whenever you voiced your opinions because he always made you feel so stupid, didn't he?

bf! mark who soon turns into exbf!mark because one day he just .. loses it. or at least, that was his excuse.

you've lost your temper many times before. with others. with him. but his anger is much more different than your own.

your anger simmers: the first symptoms of a poison muddying your mind with annoyance. the type that renders you silent with a lump in your throat. your tongue swollen with words unsaid because. . you know better. and your parent(s) had warned you time and time again about being cautious of what you say to those you love.

mark's anger is a roaring boil. explosive with scalding steam.

mark's anger is a burning fire caused by popping oil and you're the water who was naively thrown onto it in order to extinguish it. his anger is just as unpredictable as it is brief. and although you were used to the smallest of inconveniences turning into shouting matches, you thought you had mark all figured out.

plead your case. stand your ground.

wither.

apologize.

admit you were wrong.

even if you were sure you weren't.

it was the only way you could end your arguments. and you were good at playing that game. until you weren't. until the eggshells you were walking on cut the soles of your feet. up until that point, you'd never seen mark's ego so hurt.

and the backhand he gives you sends you to the ground with your right ear ringing.

as soon as you hit the floor, he's on his knees before you, cradling your face, so inconsolable anyone would've thought you hit him.

the soft press of his kisses, peppering across your face contrast with the burning sting of your cheek as he murmurs, "i don't know what got into me! i just get so angry - i swear i didn't mean to hit you that hard!"

and as you stared at him with a blank expression, your mind raced, trying to find an excuse as to what could've warranted that reaction. but for the first time, your mind went blank. and although you nodded along with his apologies and allowed him to wipe the tears from your eyes, you knew there was nothing mark could do to fix it.

you let him think everything was ok. you smile at his jokes and let him cuddle you in his sleep. . even if his hands always found themselves wrapped around your throat.

then, one day, you just. . disappear. block him from everything and register to online classes instead of in person. you stuff his 'borrowed' hoodies and expensive gifts in a garbage bag and leave it in front of his dorm.

you even go as far as to donate all the stuffed animals he gave you.

well. .

almost all.

there is one you specifically like. mostly because debbie was the one who picked it out for you. you always had a soft spot for her.

you still do. so much so that, despite the fact that you want nothing to do with mark - and the fact that you're terrified of him - you find yourself missing her.

so you keep it.

and, sure, you know there's a psychology book somewhere stating it hinders your ability to truly move on. and maybe it's right.

maybe looking at it makes your brain revert back to bittersweet memories of mark and debbie. the way she'd made her home a safe space. you're sure she'd be ashamed to find out of everything mark put you through. but you decide to keep your distance. keep the peace, and all. you couldn't bare telling her why the two of you broke up.

but you still have the text message she sent you.

i'm sorry things didn't work out. you were good for mark. we miss you.

little do you know: the stuffed animal was mark's favorite, too.

but not for the same sappy reason.

& yes, it's because he placed a tiny camera into the cute bear :)

it was a risky move but you were far too predictable. his mother was practically a saint to you. he couldn't imagine you throwing her gift away. after all, what had she ever done to you? thank god for debbie.

now, he doesn't have to be with you to watch you cuddle the stuffed toy. he doesn't have to stand underneath your window to hear you sob into its soft fur. and it's addicting, really, watching you just be in the comfort of your room because you've completely exiled him from your life. and really, who do you think you are? you make him angry enough to hit you and you're the victim?

you didn't know how and when to keep your mouth shut. that's something you should learn. and seeing as how your parent(s) hadn't sat you down and talked to you about it. . mark figured he'd be the one to teach you that lesson.

but you're spoiled.

you're sensitive.

and you obviously don't take kindly to discipline.

and as much as he loves to keep his little secret of watching you on his phone screen. . it kills him to know you won't let him anywhere near you.

but don't forget it: you still belong to him <3 and in any moment that he wants you, he could very easily have you.

one night, with the plushie at the foot of your bed, he watches you squirm. his brows furrow, rolling onto his stomach, getting comfortable as he stares at his phone screen, wondering if you're having a nightmare. the night vision camera captures the way your body moves, every toss and turn. . and then. . every miniscule roll of your hips.

he watches you kick off the blankets and he feels his cock throb in his sweatpants when he sees you aren't wearing any bottoms. . . or underwear. his hands are shaking as he watches you begin to touch yourself. and the sounds you make have him so enraptured that he barely registers when he starts to grind against the bed.

you must feel vulnerable. . watched? . . because you grab the plushie. but you don't just chuck it away. you don't look directly into its eyes and call mark an asshole like he feels you will. no. instead, you hug the stuffed toy to your chest. and even though mark can't see a damn thing anymore - you're covering the camera, fuck - he can hear you perfectly now.

the way your breath hitches and hiccups. your whines, the gasps, the faint whispers he has to strain to listen to. . incoherent whimpers of please and yes, and as he humps his bed. . it's the whisper of his name that throws him over the edge.

a few days later, you receive a message from a strange number with a video attached to it.

in hindsight, you should know better. you've been on the internet long enough to know not everything is meant to be clicked on. but for some reason, you don't think twice to open it.

on the screen, you only see a white light, before you realize it's a flashlight from a phone.

and then a cock comes into view.

you're far too surprised to turn your phone off.

it's so hard it looks painful.

it's thick, thick enough that the fist that comes into view doesn't completely wrap around it. the head an angry red, a drop of pre beading from the tip.

the fist gives a few experimental strokes, then up to the head, where it squeezes, milking, and the drop of precum smudges and dribbles across knuckles. the hand slides down again, and cups the tan, plump, balls at the base.

you hear a groan. and something about it makes you throb. you can't quite put your finger on why. . but you find yourself too transfixed to look away.

you watch as the stranger strokes their cock with growing fervor and the way their hand moves gives you a familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach. there's a small voice in the back of your mind, whispering could it be. your face scrunches up in disgust but you still can't tear your eyes away from your phone screen. nor can you deny the way as your heart picks up speed.

it's only when you hear his voice that your suspicions are confirmed,

"miss you so bad, baby." mark's voice drawls, the breathy words cut off by a groan. "need you here with me again."

you should block him.

you should change your number. your fucking government name and area code if necessary.

you should delete the message, turn off your phone, and be over the whole situation but you don't. his whines and moans arouse you like some sort of fucked up pavlovian response and before you know it, your hands are working along with his.

you'll regret this. the little voice tells you matter-of-factly when you pick up speed the same time he does.

you'll regret this. it hisses when your breath catches in your throat. when your face burns as you close your eyes and work yourself in a frenzy, hips rolling, imagining . . wishing . . mark was there with you, too.

you'll regret this. when you muffle a cry of his name with the palm of your hand when you hear the soft, expletive filled whispers of his orgasm. he sounds so good. so pitiful it reminds you of the first few times the two of you were intimate. times in which mark pretended he was gentle and sweet. when he pretended the hickies he sucked into your neck were purely accidental.

he sounds like your mark.

you'll regret this. this time, the voice sounds tired. like a disappointed friend at their wits end, trying to talk you down from relapsing from an addiction.

the voice goes silent.

obviously tired of you once you save the unknown number into your contacts.

[dis-4str0]

parkour civilization headcanons (YAYAYY)

i have been thinking a lot about the movies recently so here are my dumb silly headcanons because they make me very excited and wanna jump about :PP

inspo from: @finlin000 @harvocel

spoilers? small general tw

evbo and other parkour noobs were extremely malnourished, they were starving essentially, especially since they ate raw meat all the time

because of it being raw meat I think many if you didn’t die or get sent to prisons for reasons you would probably die or get sick often from consuming raw meat, especially if they didn’t change it out often. you could probably imagine the amounts of parasites people consumed because of it

the moment evbo was no longer a parkor noob he refused to eat chicken. even when it is cooked. just the smell or possible mention of it probably making him gag and get flashbacks of having to force down the slimy substance without throwing up (which he did a few times) over and over. Same goes for raw beef but a little less since he managed to tolerate it later.

less angst, more about technicals (idk) >:| !

leather boots for noobs are horrible. after a few years (if one survives long enough) they probably start to rot and fall apart. those things stick like hell since noobs don’t have resources to take care of them. They only benefit being they might grip the ground better.

noob class is the poor class in a kindom, they live in poverty and fear and are only really there to be test subjects (as seen in the prisons) or just a population ig. They are kinda like toys for high class

parkour pro’s have way better boots. They are more sturdy, easier to keep clean and done but nothing too fancy, they are built for work. boots aren’t customizable. more foot at our though

parkour pro’s are the work class of parkour civilization, along with that they are also probably some of the more parkour training focused of the levels (masters as well but probably starting off of knowledged learned as a pro)

the lost civilization (chain or the advanced) is centered around knowledge, mostly around parkour but they are the only level with books/library’s (I think), this also led to the level finding out about parkour racing

parkour advanced boots are like iron except a little more practical. Leg armor and padding armor for the longer jumps on the level too. Especially since they had different areas with different types of parkour

if there was a parkour religion it would mostly be centered on the advanced level

parkour masters are the level of wealth and riches, yes they still have some form of jobs but they run the economy

when you become a parkour master you get the standard gold boots but you are able to customize them to your liking. They can be tailored towards the specific user (example seawatt’s boot are more sandal like.) the boots now have knee padding too and are made to withstand harder and higher jumps

masters like to show off their boots and skills, a lot.

parkour champions have there boots custom made with great care and detail (maybe by a parkour pro or above). Only mad with the best material. stretch up the leg to around the knees. mostly likely always enchanted (hence the regeneration and lack of hunger)

it is an honor to be the one who gets to make the boots though

the parkour champion is treated like the royalty of society and the higher the level you have, the influence you have too.

thats about most of them but I might edit later with more cause I am tired and wanna sleep. Yay 🎉:))

[midnightmoonytales]

hey can I ask Slytherin x reader what if the reader got into detention with Mattheo and Theodore and like in the first episode the detention was to help hagrid do something in the forbidden forest and the reader got lost and they all panic just to find tomorrow morning that the reader was peacefully eating breakfast at the campfire she build and be like "look guys I found a unicorn hair " sorry if it is to long I just can't get it out of my head

A/N: Uhm first off...I love this. Ya'll are feeding me, and I'm supposed to be feeding yall. It's also not too long, my dear; great ideas come at great lengths. sometimes. I started writing this at work and continued it in class - I totally have my priorities straight lol. I also apologize if it aint that good - I felt bad for how long it took to get this out

CW: Animal abuse, friends being sarcastic assholes to each other, death?. Lmk if I missed anything.

DON'T HURT ANIMALS - IF I FIND OUT YOU HURT AN ANIMAL IM COMING FOR YOUR KNEES

Summary: Mattheo and Theodore drag you into one of their little schemes, resulting in the three of you getting detention. What will they do when they seem to have lost you in the forbidden forest.

Not edited

WC: 2.8K

<><><>

It was an eerily quiet night in the castle. Too quiet, no student nor teacher in sight…not even a ghost. Halting to a stop, looking around suspiciously, straining your ears in search of a noise - maybe Peeves' vexatious schemes or Ms. Norris's beady paws- yet you heard nothing other than the wind blowing through the trees. Shifting the stack of books in your arms you continued your stroll back to the Slytherin common room. You spent the last beading hours of free time scrunched up over piles of books, preparing for OWLS. Chimes of the bells noted there were only a few minutes until curfew, most students had already found their way back to their common rooms - rather hoping to not be pulled into detention. 

You hadn’t worried about increasing your pace, seeing as the dungeon was only around the corner and down the stairs. Even if you didn’t make it inside the common room before the last chime of the bell, the prefects didn’t tend to be in the area till five after. Clocking when and where at certain times, after falling asleep one too many times in the library. The sound of rapidly increasing footsteps and the shout of inaudible yells caused you to stop at the corner, confused. Peering over your shoulder, you noticed dumb and dumber running from a fuming filch and Ms. Norris. The smell of burnt skin filled the hall as they approached, you didn’t have time to question what they did before they forcibly grabbed you by the arms and continued running, the books you had just checked falling onto the floor. 

You would think that the best place to hide would be the common room which was less than thirty feet away, and the benefit of Filch not being able to access inside. Unfortunately, Mattheo and Theodore dragged you down a different route. Up the stairs on the left, past the dragon statue, only to ascend up more flights of stairs. There was no reason that you would have to run away with these two - until the last bell of the night chimed, ringing through the halls - now you had no choice but to run from Filch. 

The boys were ready to dash left - until you forcefully grabbed them by the collars - forcing them down a different path away from the group of Ravenclaw prefects that patrolled that section of the castle. The last thing you needed was to get busted by a know-it-all Ravenclaw prefect. Your legs were aching and your chest felt like it was going to burst from running all around the castle non-stop, but Filch was still on you. That lot of you hastily made your way to the moving stairs near Gryffindor Tower in hopes of losing Filch. He might have enough joy from throwing students into detention to fill his stamina for a while, but sooner or later it would have to die out. 

You rounded the corner, the stairs were about to move and if you didn’t get on them now, you would be caught by Filch. The three of you booked it with what energy you had left, jumping over the gap created by the stairs moving. Mattheo and you landed barely just making it. Theodore on the other hand wasn't as lucky - holding on by his hands from the stairs trying to pull himself up before the stairs reconnected to another. Hastily, Mattheo and you grabbed him by his shoulder, hoisting him onto the stairs with you. Filch yelled at you all from his place on the bottom set of stairs that led to the third floor of the castle. 

As you all caught your breaths you made it into the hall, taking the long way back to the common room. Grateful for the breeze cooling you down, you didn’t realize how hot it had gotten running. The adrenaline pumping through your veins makes it feel as if your body is cold. Maybe this was the feeling Mattheo and Theodore were always looking for. The excitement…the rush. The boys were rambunctiously laughing and hitting their hands together, sweat flinging from their heads as they moved around. Already feeling gross, choosing to speed up faster to get in front of them and away from their sticky sweat. 

Rounding the corner, you immediately halted to a stop as you peered at the silvery-gray tabby cat, its eyes glistening eyes staring up at you before it morphed into a lanky woman in green robes, with pristine-pinned up gray hair. Any amusement that you previously felt earlier instantaneously drained from your body. At that moment, you wished it was Filch who had caught you and handed you off to Professor Snape, that would have been more tolerable. Maybe a little scrubbing of the cauldrons or the mopping of the dungeon floors. Mattheo and Theodore weren’t far behind, too busy messing around to notice the presence standing before them. As they approached your side, your hands quickly smacked them upside the back of their heads. Their quick remarks died out on the tips of their tongue as they finally recognized the women standing before them. You could almost see their souls physically deflating. 

“Professor McGonagall, looking good tonight,” Mattheo said with a wink, shooting finger guns at her. A swift bludger to the side would have been better than being forced to see Mattheos’ weak attempts at smooth talking his way out of another detention. She remained motionless, but her presence was still ever so threatening. Hands clasped together in front of her, quizzical brow sitting high on her face. The wind appeared to be enacting a mirthless taunt as her eyes bore into you all. 

“And what are the three of you doing away from your common rooms after curfew?” She questioned expectantly, her gaze piercing through your soul. A chill ran up your spine at her awaiting stare. There was no good lie for being on the other side of the castle during this time of night. Ms. Norris wouldn’t be the only cat you would have to watch out for in the halls from now on. It was like you were second years all over again, running into Professor McGonagall in her animagus form when you were roaming the castle - similar to tonight. 

A horsed breathing appeared from behind you, turning around slightly, you noticed an extremely out-of-breath Filch and Ms. Norris. You hadn’t heard his lopsided footsteps coming, too focused on the trouble you had gotten dragged into. If your fate wasn’t sealed before it would definitely be now. “T-they were,” Filch started, leaning over to take a breath, “They were setting things on fire, burned the end of poor Ms. Norris’ tail in the process, ma’am.” It felt like you had hit a brick wall. Of course, that's where the smell of burning flesh came from. Not even wanting to know how they managed to get Filch's mangey snitch involved. Leave it to Mattheo to set things aflame. 

With that, the professor requested that you all followed her to her office as she decided your fate. Maybe you would have to clean all of the animal droppings from today's Care of Magical Creatures class. Maybe she would have you scrub the great hall, or have you organize the entire library with the librarian. That would be a bore for sure. She sat at her desk silently, gazing up at the three of you every couple of minutes. Taking it upon yourselves to sit and relax before you found out your fate. Mattheo and Theodore took it upon themselves to start flicking pieces of paper at each other, not caring if it hit you in the process. It was a bad idea to decide to sit in between the two. “I’m surrounded by bloody idiots,” you groaned as you rubbed your temples, slipping further into the chair. 

“Hey, at least we’re hot,” Theodore barked out, flicking a piece of paper straight at the side of your head. Mattheo laughed in the background, giving Theodore a high-five. Maybe you could get away with their deaths, that sounded more appealing than sitting with them. 

“The only thing hot in here is the heat radiating from the lanterns,” you shot out with a laugh. Earning a ‘Hey!’ from the two boys sitting next to you. They weren’t going to be the only ones having fun tonight, especially not after dragging you into this. Mattheo and Theodore weren’t bad looking, but you would never confess that. It would go straight to their already small heads. They shared a singular brain cell most times for crying out loud. 

It didn’t take long for McGonagall to shush you all.  Standing up from her desk, pulling her glasses off to hang from her wrinkly neck, “Enough, tonight you three will be helping Hagrid in the forbidden forest.” She continued, gesturing to where Filch was standing in the corner, “Mr. Filch will guide you all there.” Filch's grimy smile spread across his face at the news. Groans left all of your mouths, going into the forbidden forest was a death wish. While Hagrid was never rude to anybody, unless they deserved it, being around him could be a bore. That was all left for Weaselbee, freak brain, and four eyes. You would think they were a gamekeeper like Hagrid with how much they hung out with the giant. 

<><><> 

The whole way to Hagrid's hut, Filch was going on and on about how he wishes he could punish students like he did in the old days. He even wished the lot of you a fake ‘good luck’, along with a ‘we’ll see if you're even alive tomorrow. His sickening laugh filled your ears as you pushed past him, ready to get this detention over with. Hagrid warned everyone of the danger promptly before rushing you all into the forest, complaining that it was us against the poachers. Whatever that meant, he didn’t elaborate until a while into the search, remembering that you didn’t know what you were searching for.

It had been an hour since you entered the forbidden forest with Hagrid, searching for an injured unicorn. Poachers had been on the rise and news got to Hagrid that an Unicorn managed to escape from their capture. Everyone was on high alert, between the acromantulas and dungbogs and the other creatures that resided in the forest, it wasn’t particularly the safest. Using your wands wasn't an option either, Hagrid was keen on it. Saying, ‘We don’t wanna get their attention,’ or something along those lines. Your attention is focused elsewhere. It was hard to see through the thick trees with only Hagrid's lantern. 

The forest was dense and never-ending, fog covered the grounds making it hard for you to see where you were stepping. You swore you stepped on a pile of bones at one point, the crunch under your heel leaving you disturbed. That poor unfortunate soul. The further you walked into the forest, the harder it became. You swore your ears were playing jokes on you, a distant wailing ringing in your ears every now and again. It almost seemed to be beckoning you away from the group. 

<><><> 

Mattheo had lost count of how long you all had even been inside the forest. He wasn’t really paying attention, to begin with. To him, this was just another unfortunate detention. The poachers had to get the unicorn by now, their “attempts” at saving the creature were slim. It was the cycle of life anyways, there would be more unicorns in the future, but it's illegal so gotta go save 'em he guessed. He rolled his eyes at the idea, shoving his hands into his pocket. 

Theodore and he tried messing around - whacking each other and jumping around - but were immediately stopped by Hagrid. Told that if they messed around they would scare the unicorn or attract poachers. Not that he cared much, he knew spells to easily get away from them or kill them. But he couldn’t mess up his father's plans, so getting away was the only option. Opting to mess with his wand in his pocket to entertain him. 

After a while he started growing hungry, having missed dinner. He knew you typically carried snacks in the pockets of your robe, turning around he was bamboozled to see you were no longer there. Smacking Theodore, he prompted him to turn around, becoming equally confused when he noticed you were gone. “Oi, where is she?” He quipped, stopping to look through the dense trees for any sign of you. 

“No idea mate, she was there a few minutes ago,” Theodore commented, walking back to where you were less than five minutes ago when he checked. He searched the bushes for any sign of struggle or broken branches but saw nothing. It was as if you vanished into thin air. There was no way in hell you would have gotten away from them without making some sort of sound. 

Hagrid turned around at the sound of their voice, “What are yer’ talkin' bout?” He questioned, raising his lantern so he could get a better view of the boys. “And where's yer’ friend?” He searched around the area, worried that someone might have snatched you up from behind, but he was sure he would have heard footsteps. “We ought to find her, let's go.” He grumbled, not only was he searching for a unicorn, he was now searching for a missing student. 

They had spent hours searching for you. The boys offered to split up to find you but were shut down. Hagrid couldn’t have more students to go searching for, finding you now was already hard enough. They had run into an acromantula nest at one point but luckily weren’t spotted. That was the last thing they needed. Theodore was unlucky as he had fallen into a hole, Hagrid spent five minutes pulling him out as Mattheo was dubbed over in laughter. That would be the highlight of his night. There was no way in hell that he would ever let Theodore live that down in his life. At this rate, they were lucky if they were to find you by daybreak. 

The sound of laughter filled their ears, the three of them going on to high alert. Or, well higher alert, their shoulders tensed with stress as they were already searching for you. Believing it ought to be a poacher camp nearby. Mattheo and Theodore grabbed their wands out in preparation, worried that if they stumbled upon a poacher camp, so could you. Hagrid was getting ready to sneakily guide them away when they heard your voice.

Stopping, Theodore pushed the bushes apart ever so slightly to try to find you. Hagrid and Mattheo stood over his shoulder to see. They all sighed when they noticed you sitting on the ground, a small fire lit in front of you with an injured unicorn sitting at your side. They stepped through the bushes, “We’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Mattheo spat in disbelief, “and with a bloody unicorn at that,” He was absolutely exhausted from searching damn near the entire forest for you, and you just happened to be with the one thing they came in here for. 

“Awh, you guys do care about me,” You gushed, tightening the fabric from your robe around the unicorn's injured leg. “And all this time I thought you were just heartless children with parental issues,” you laughed. You had broken off from the group when you heard the distant wailing. Normally you wouldn’t be bothered to look, but something in your gut told you to. When you reached where you heard the wailing, it happened to be the unicorn you were looking for.

 Her leg had a large gash in it and she couldn’t walk anymore. She looked exhausted. Approaching her slowly, you made sure to put your wand away and walk towards her with your hands where she could see them. She was a sight to behold, her coat shining as if it was moonlight. You understood why her coat was so valuable. It took her a while to trust you but eventually gave in. Ripping the end of your robe, made a makeshift bandage around her leg, having to tighten it every once in a while when she moved. Pulling out a baggie of mixed nuts, you offered some to her, while you didn’t know about unicorn diets you hoped she would eat some. Luckily she ate away, and when she didn’t leave after a couple hours you made a small, unnoticeable fire to keep you warm until morning. She snuggles up to your side, safely.

“Maybe we should have left you to die,” Mattheo grumbled, ready to smack you for making them worry. But they would never tell you how worried they were, they wouldn’t hear the end of it if they did. At the end of the day, or well morning, they were just glad you were safe. This would definitely go down as one of their most eventful detentions. 

<><><>

@ghostofscarley @devilishwitchfantasies

[ballad-of-birdy-lamb]

Hi!! I’ve just discovered your blog, could I request Ted x female!Reader, maybe general romantic headcanons? Tyyy 😊 (I’m so insane for this man, so happy to find another ihnmaims writer on here aaaa)

I need you to run to me, run to me, lover.

Ted (IHNMAIMS) x Female! Reader romantic headcanons Summary: Romantic headcanons of Ted and female! Reader Warnings: talk of outdated ideas (just feminine ideas but nothing extreme), basic IHNMAIMS violence (references to AM's torture, possessiveness on Ted's end. Word count:874 (pretty sort sadly) ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

Any feminine presence outside Ellen isn’t common in the group, so you being a part of the group and staying with Ted is what he takes pride in. He’s got a lovely lady he gets to kiss and keep for himself that treats him well. He’s never been more grateful for someone in his life since you said you reciprocate his feelings.

The group also sees your love as a benefit, Ted shuts the fuck up more often now that you’re on his arm. He doesn’t go on as many rants about his hatred for all of them since you just kiss him, and he gets quiet from embarrassment.

Ted would view you as an angel if you’re a lot kinder than he is, not only because of his insanely religious ideas, but because that’s what AM will try pushing in his mind. It’s more likely because the AI wants to see if you’ll lose feelings for Ted if he’s beyond clingy.

Religious ideas definitely have an effect on him, especially with AM fucking him over. The religious ideas would be so much worse in the relationship, the idea you’re an angel would become worse. Worshiper ideals. But that worship from him to you won’t fly with the AI, if anything, it’ll cause him to be more inclined to hurt you.

Speaking of clingy, it’s to an insane extent. Ted is always sleeping next to you or in your arms, holding your hand on the journey for the canned peaches, and sobbing in your arms when he sees fit for a good cry. Ted isn’t extremely pleased at the idea either, usually trying to push away before that lost dog mindset sets in. Open your arms and he’ll go back eventually. You make him so soft! How cruel you are!

Unironically, it’s a “us against the world” sort of thing for Ted, and he’s right to an extent. AM is against you, the others don’t care (meaning for Ted: they want to take you away), and he believes it. If anything, it won’t make him better with relationships, he’ll be insecure and he’ll say you’re trying to leave him too. It’ll cause him to hold you a little closer at night.

He’s gone so long without real romantic love to the extent he is so desperate for nice lady touch. As much as he denies it, he’s desperate for a feminine presence (which plays into his lost dog habit of following you). Ted will also keep you very close.

When Ted is tortured, he’ll go crawling to you again. Not only because he genuinely wants you to take care of him but because you’re so soft. He knows for a fact you’ll help him, going into your arms will be met with kisses and soft touches, a great contrast from the usual treatment from AM.

As little as his family life affects him under AM’s hold, he’ll be a husband for you. Ted will do things for you a husband would: being soft to you, saying nice things (when he isn’t having bouts of anxiety), and pulling you along when AM gives him delusions again. Don’t worry though, he’ll hold you real tight just so you feel better.

If you’re a lot more feminine, he’ll view you as needing protection (what do you expect he grew up in the 50’s/60’s). Ted will keep you in the center of the group with Ellen, keeping you close but not close enough for discomfort.

If you ever find a way to get something as minute as makeup, give him kisses with lipstick on, he likes knowing you left a mark. Not only to taunt the others about having a lover, but also to know you like kissing him.

Calls you his wife so the others know you’re his. It’s met with laughter and taunts from AM since he thinks marriage is an entire joke in the first place and will mock you with it. “You must be such a pretty wife to Ted if he goes out of his way to say such nice things about you,” AM would muse. Of course, Ted didn’t take it too seriously, he knew AM said that sort of stuff whenever he felt fit.

“You’ll stay my wife forever, right?” Ted muttered; the rest of the group having gone off to sleep. You sat against one of the deckplates, holding his head against your chest. His grasp on your body got tighter, making you slightly uncomfortable but you knew it wasn’t his fault for all of his worries.

“Of course,” you nod, brushing his hair from his face to kiss his forehead. 

On the journey for the canned peaches, he’ll mutter about how sweet it will be. He’ll feed you the peaches and get to see you smile a bunch, not just because he kissed you, but from genuine happiness. He’ll start thinking of ways he could turn it slightly romantic, hoping his anxieties don’t get the best of him and he tries running off with you, coming back just to find the peaches eaten up.

At the end of the day, Ted is anxiety filled and knowing you’re there to hold his hand helps just a little bit more.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

My IHNMAIMS masterlist

My request list

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

It's Valentine day, and some fan service when Crewel daughter lost a bet and wearing a bunny outfit that hugs her curvs bit too well ( think of Jessica Rabbit level of sexy ) and all confident of her body as she sings on stage for them

All the boys reaction seeing both display and the show

I'm not doing all of them

🖤🖤🖤🖤

Valentines Performance | Yandere TWST x Crewel Daughter Reader

First and foremost Crewel’s daughter never loses a bet

But charity does look good on her record so she’d do it

Heck you might even suggest it

“What? I know from my head to my toes that I’m practically irresistible. Of course you’d want me to be the main performance.”

You wouldn’t do it for just some boys wishing to ogle you for their own desires

That would be of no benefit to you

In fact, you’d force Crowley to pay

Who in turn forces your admirers to cough up a significant amount

But if you’re going to go through the trouble of dressing up and performing it will be for a good cause and for a good paycheck

So many lonely, sad people on such a day is something a princess shouldn’t ignore

If you have curves than great but even without you’re just as alluring 

But like everything you do it has the boys drooling:

Azul Ashengrotto

He was proud to be apart of the latest cashgrab charity that the school was fundraising

And he was even happier to call upon you under that pretense

Its been years since he’s heard you sing

He can only imagine what its like now 

And with the excuse of being practice he’ll hear the chords you so casually ring out as the charity dinner is mapped out

But only when you’re fully made up and singing does he feel like his investment was truly worth it

“A-a-ah (Y/n) that was–”

“Amazing, I know. I can tell you’re excited but don’t go inking all over the floor before the finale.”

“Y-yeah.”

He really does have to stop himself 

He’s just so enamored 

One day he’ll have to ask trick you into singing a serenade to him

“A mate’s song needs to be, at the very least, decent enough to attract. Naturally, (Y/n) would exceed that, she truly is a prime mate and the only one I’d ever bother chasing after.”

Kalim Al Asim

He loves that you’re scheduled to perform

Money isn’t an object anyway so he’s happy to pad your paycheck and donation

He just loves loves loves anything you do 

You could go outside in a chicken wunzie and sing horribly he’d still fling his money in your direction

But as he watches you appear on stage make up done, dress hugging tight something burns

His cheeks get warm and suddenly his clothes feel too hot to wear

A yearning that Kalim barely acknowledges to dangerous takes over and he’s in a daze for the entirety of the night

Don’t interrupt the performance 

Don’t bother him while he’s watching you sing in that sultry tone

Or you can see what its like when Jamil’s happy to follow Kalim’s orders+

“(Y/n) you should sing more often! Your voice is so beautiful!” 

“Thank you, Kalim.”

“Will you be doing another set? I’d love to play along side you!”

He’ll be replaying your performance in his head for years to come

Always letting a smile come to his face

“Wow I can’t get her voice out of my head! Maybe I should ask her to sing to me everynight!”

Vil Schoenheit

If he isn’t hired himself to join you he’ll donate his talent with a small fee

But to be seen by millions as the most beautiful dream couple 

Neige could never

But ego aside he loves nothing more than performing with you side by side

Brought back to the days you two would make little plays and shows for your fathers to watch 

Now this was just fate in work, wasn’t it

That you two would be preparing a duet that’d have the world talking for weeks 

“Are you ready to delivery our harmony of ecstasy?”

“You know I am. I like your trim by the way.”

“And I yours. Though we both know anything you wear is better than couture.”

For this moment and this moment only will he encourage the hunter to share his recordings

He won’t be able to hear your voice out in the crowd

But it couldn’t compare to the sound of being beside you

As it was always meant to be

“Becoming a duo? Who’s to say? We both have big plans for the future but naturally we’ll be together asitsalwaysbeen.”

[coldlovehotblood]

Trouble

you had wanted something more for so long, and izzy toys with you until you hit breaking point.

w/c: 4,446

warnings: drug use, mild and brief smut (more details here)

a/n: i can’t decide if it happy with this or not… but pls enjoy!! (thank you violet for being so patient😭)

Chess is a game of strategy: one of calculated back and forth, back and forth. White then black, white then black. There is no mercy, and so you have to be smart if you want to get anywhere.

Similarly, you and your best friend had this peculiar back and forth, back and forth. White then black, white then black. A strategic to and fro you have yet to name that had begun to toe the line of danger.

The only difference between the two is how a game is started. For chess, it can be a rather formal affair, but for you and Izzy’s, all it took was one look to initiate play.

Call it bedroom eyes if you want, but that look created a wildfire of twisted pleasure that could only stop by burning until theres nothing left to burn. The fire would show it’s ferocity through depraved actions taken by each player. The white of neutral friendship darkens at the flip of a switch.

It was so much more than a look of seduction, it was an invitation to let yourself go entirely. It was an opportunity to let loose every carnal desire, every twisted need that spreads like mould over your conscience, any sick fantasy that's made you drip. You play this teasing psychological push and pull and its the most deliciously torturous thing you’d ever experienced. Who are you kidding, anything is delicious if its him.

You and Izzy had broken the boundary of ‘just friends’ long ago. There were too many feelings involved to call it ‘friends with benefits’ either, and no one wanted to question it, so the two of you had spent those last few months walking a tightrope called ‘The Game’.

Neither of you let on if it was causing emotional turmoil of any kind, but on one particular night, things changed.

You had attended one of the band's shows and were pressed right up to the edge of the stage. Of course, you had chosen the side you knew Izzy would be standing on. You had decided not to tell him you were coming, so when the lights brightened fully and you caught his eye, a great smile came over his face as he played.

You were enjoying yourself. You were enjoying watching him perform along with the others. He continuously looked over to you with that smile of his, and when he did, he’d strum his guitar a little harder, fall into the beat of the song a little further, and gradually he lost himself to the music. When he sang along with Axl, his voice was as sultry as always. You couldn't help how your cheeks reddened when you heard it.

Izzy had always belonged to the stage, it was where he was most in his element. He had always stuck out to you more that the rest, shone a little brighter while performing alongside his bandmates. You knew exactly why, but didn't dare say it out loud and often even to yourself, as you pushed the thought away by instinct at that point.

You watched him walk all over the stage like he owned it, because he did. The unit Guns and Roses took over every stage they stood upon and blessed it with their flash flood of talent. There was no way everyone else in the crowd wasn't falling over themselves for him.

Heartthrob piece of shit.

You watched him saunter and strut up and down the stage brazenly, knowing how it made him look.

That’s something you couldn’t stand about him: the fact his cockiness was absolutely justified. Who wouldn't be proud to show off their skills when they are that good? It was both infuriating and mesmerising. As much as you teased him for thinking he was so great, he genuinely was fucking brilliant. The way his hand slid over the fret bar, knowing exactly where to go without a second thought. The way his fingers plucked away with precise strength and speed. It was incredible to watch.

He looked over to you and saw you staring. He wasn't totally sure what it was that had you so gripped, but he came over and sat down right in front of you, high-fiving some lucky people on the way.

He had settled himself directly in front of you, legs hanging off the stage's edge. So close you could smell his cologne and watch each bead of sweat trail down his skin.

"What are you doing here?" you shouted over the crowds roars.

"What are you doing here?" he replied, "'cause I'm doing my job."

"Well I don't know who you are, but I must say, your playing is great."

"Just great? ‘S that all I'm getting from you, doll?"

Doll.

Your gut curled.

"Excuse me?"

"Got a problem, sweetheart?"

You wanted to scream 'you're no fair' right in his face with the whole crowd watching because he knew what he was doing, but all you could do was gaze at him with a slightly dazed expression as your cheeks heated up for the umpteenth time that night.

You looked right into his eyes, lips slightly parted, and blinked slowly.

A smug, knowing grin took over his face. One that only you would know the meaning of.

The game had started.

He hopped up and continued playing, and the rest of the show went as usual, but he was being a bit more adventurous. A bit more annoying. He had sat down on the other side of the stage and tucked another woman’s hair behind her ear, smiling all silly and knowing at her. He knew what buttons to press a bit too well. He knew you too well, too intimately. He knew what got you going and what pissed you off the most.

Once the show had been closed, you stormed through the venue to the dressing rooms. There was no resistance from security; they knew your face. As you went down each hallway, your anger bubbled more and more in your stomach where that curl was felt earlier.

Bursting into the dressing room, Axl laughed and punched Izzy’s shoulder.

“Ooo someones in trouble.”

“Mmh,” you hummed, not even looking his way, lasering on Izzy only.

You motioned for him to move.

“Get up.”

“No.”

“Yes. Up.”

“No, thank you.”

He was impossible. You walked out, slamming the door behind you.

The night hadn't even properly started yet and he already had you fired up, ready to punch a wall.

You had almost reached the end of the hall when you heard a door open and close behind you, and then he was there, grabbing your wrist, with the same smirk he’d had plastered over his face all night.

“Come, honey.”

You seethed at him.

“No. I can’t look at you.”

“I doubt that.”

He ever so gently guided you back down the hall. However much you hated him in the moment, you could never deny him. No matter how hard you tried. He brought you to another room, a separate dressing room, and locked the door, sitting you down on a couch pressed against the wall.

He sat beside you. You turned away.

“What’s wrong?”

“You know what the fuck is wrong, don't play dumb.”

“I wont lie to you, I'm on a great adrenaline high right now, so you're gonna have to be a bit more specific.”

You huffed, curling into the arm of the sofa, putting distance between the two of you.

“I thought you said we wouldn't bring others into this—” you paused, thinking of what to call it, “This thing we have.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“But we arent exclusive, right?”

You stopped playing with the hem of your skirt to look him dead in the eyes.

“You said you weren’t interested in a relationship, but said that no one could get in the way of us. Make your mind up.”

It was Izzy’s turn to pause.

“I guess I did, but just because I was flirting with someone else doesn't mean I want a relationship with them, or that I was breaking the rules.”

His eyes lit up with realisation when you glared at him.

“You’re jealous, arent you?”

You scoffed, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Oh you so are.”

You got up from your seat and started pacing the room, looking at the floor to avoid seeing his smug face in any of the mirrors.

“I am not jealous.”

“I knew you could be, but this bad? Damn, if I had known it riled you up this much, I would've done it a lot sooner,” he said with a laugh, “And more often.”

“But that's just it. I don’t want you to. It pisses me off beyond belief to see you looking at anyone else with the eyes you look at me with.”

“But this is what we are, isn't it? We push and pull. It’s how we’ve always been.”

There was the truth, and it stung to hear it said out loud where you couldn't escape. Over the months this ‘game’ had spanned, you had toyed with the idea of something more serious with him. Something more significant. Because when the round had ended and the two of you were left with the afterglow, things felt so easy, and as if they could be normal. With the shape of your bodies resting against each other like jigsaw pieces, it felt like everything was in it’s rightful place. There was a warmth that settled in both of your stomachs and drew you closer, both physically and maybe metaphysically. And when your legs tangled and chests touched as gold started to seep through the curtains with daybreak, it was as if your souls had tethered.

But it was nothing serious. At least, that's what he kept saying. Even though, when shitfaced drunk, he said sweet things and kissed you softer than usual. Even though, when he was shot up on ridiculous amounts of heroin, he held you close and looked at you as if you hung the stars in the sky. Even though, when he tried to snort so much it clogged his nose, he always looked out for you and made sure you were alright and safe. With the amount of teasing his bandmates did, you'd think the two of you were together, but that was far from the truth, wasn't it?

It was in that moment you realised that push and pull had slowly bisected you without your knowlege, the halves so close to equal it was infuriating. It had split a ravine in you, leaving enough space for a nasty feeling to fester and feed on your emotional whiplash.

“What if I don’t want it to be push and pull, Izzy?” you hissed, “What if I wanted to be yours?”

He furrowed his eyebrows.

“Aren’t you?”

…Was he serious?

“You’re joking.”

“About what?”

“But you literally said you weren't looking for anything serious.”

You stormed over to the makeup table on the other side of the room and began tearing it apart in search of something to hide the fact tears were gathering in your lower lash line.

“Well yeah, but I never said I didn't want anything with you.”

You stopped your furious rifling through the drawers and looked at him behind you in the mirror.

You couldn't believe him as he sat there, one leg over the other, leaning as nonchalant as ever on the arm of the sofa as if he didnt just drop a bomb on you.

“You're unbelievably difficult, and it's fucking infuriating.”

“You love it.”

You leapt up from the makeup chair and stood over him, getting right up in his face, so close you could feel his steady breaths on your skin.

“You better be serious or I swear to God above, Jeffery, I will ruin your life.”

He looked straight into your blazing eyes with his own half-glassy gaze.

“I’m serious.”

You raised your brow, not sure if you should believe him in such a state- still letting the post-show adrenaline fizzle out at its own pace, still letting the screams of the crowd feed his ego by letting them echo in his head, but he reached up, held your cheek and repeated himself with more conviction. More finality.

“I’m fucking serious, ok?”

He leaned in and kissed you gently with such reverence and care. Every flame within you was snuffed.

“I swear im serious,” he whispered.

That’s all it took for you to lean in yourself and kiss him back. His lips were smooth and he tasted like sweet whiskey as your mouths moved together. He reached out to your hips and pulled you closer till you were sitting snug on his lap. The feeling of his solid body against yours made you feel a bit more firmly tied to your own. He centred you without trying. Your fingers played with the hair on the nape of his neck and he giggled into your lips before pulling away.

“Where’d you go, tiger, hm? What happened to that heat?”

“Why don’t you say my name for once, or have you forgotten it after collecting so many other sluts?”

You chased his lips but he pulled his head away, letting out a full laugh at your words, head tilting back to rest against the sofa. He said your name. It sounded good from him. He made it sound nicer than you thought it was. His low timbre shaped it into something beautiful for you. But your name or not, anything sounded beautiful from him.

“As if i could forget it. You’re my favourite one. You get special slut perks.”

“Ew, stop making me sound bad.”

“If you’re bad then what am I?”

“A man. Men are awful.”

“Very funny.”

This time he grabbed your hair and tugged you closer. The rougher kiss made you moan into his mouth, and to such a sound he let out a pleased one of his own.

“You act like ‘slut’ doesn't get you wet,” he teased.

“Because it doesn’t.”

He suddenly let go of your hip and slithered his hand up your thighs, under your skirt and straight to your core, where he gently touched over your clothed heat.

“These soaked panties beg to differ.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“No.”

“Please,” you forced out impatiently.

“Say it like you mean it.”

A huff escaped you.

“Please.”

He gave you a pointed look. This was him testing the waters, trying to figure out what exactly you needed from him. He knew there were times when you wanted to go slow and let time drip steady like treacle, and times when you wanted to go impossibly fast and rough, to the point where every touch left stinging skin. He knew you inside and out. back to front.

“Please, Izzy,” your voice edged on a whine. You looked at him, eyes wide and needy, body open and expecting.

He had you sussed. He leaned in and gave you what you wanted.

You didn't understand how the taste of jack daniels lingered in his mouth still as he kissed you deeper. It was one of the only constants of the man. Something you had come to associate with him. A fact so deeply ingrained into your mind that if you were in a bar and the sweet smell you knew so well hit your nose, you walked out. It was strange and maybe a bit insane how loyal you were to this man, but, as scary as it was to admit to even yourself, you were head over heels for the fucker and wanted nothing else.

Was it avoidance, or devotion?

He slid his hands over the swell of your ass and pushed up from under your skirt again, making it bunch at your waist. You groaned at the sensation of cold skin meeting yours. You started to grind into him a bit and he let out an appreciative noise in return before pulling away again, lifting your hips and putting you on one knee.

“Hold on, baby,” he said as you opened your mouth in protest. He quickly unzipped and unbuttoned his jeans and reached into his boxers. You assumed he was going for his half-hard dick with impatience, but much sooner than you expected, he retracted his hand with a small, clear bag in clutch. You rolled your eyes in response, feeling almost fond. Only he would be desperate enough to hide extra in his boxers, of all places. it was sad. But you were his, didn't he say?

“What’s that?” you ask, starting up a slow grind into his thigh again in an attempt to feed the heat boiling in your core.

“’S a speedball,” he muttered as he then tested each front pocket of his jeans to produce a dollar bill.

You stopped grinding to look at him with worry. A speedball was… The last thing you wanted to see him doing. The concoction was a catalyst that had sent too many people you knew into awful states and more often than not, lead them to quick deaths. It was dangerous, and you didn't like that he was just casually fishing this out of his jeans. He saw the look on your face and rolled his own eyes.

“What? it’s not even that much.”

He was right. There was only a little bit in the bag, but that didn't make it feel any safer. You didn't know what amount looked safe and you highly doubted he knew either.

“Where did you even get it?”

“Don't worry about it. Wanna split?” he held it between two fingers and gestured towards you, a sly smile settling on his face. You shook your head in response. His face fell a bit. “It should be safe enough. Sure you don't want a little bit? I'm here, I wouldn't let you go overboard.”

“I really don't think you should take it, Iz, speedballs aren't safe—”

“And coke or dope is? It’s all the same stuff, and look at the size of this fuckin’ thing. It’s nothing.”

Your face twisted up further in disagreement and his eyebrows furrowed.

“Fine then, I’ll have it. Forget I asked. C’mere,” he huffed and began lifting you again when you tensed.

“What? I'm not taking any—”

“I’m snorting off of your collar,” he pushed out, visibly becoming more irritated, grabbing your hips tighter “Now come here.”

“Izzy—”

“Just let me take this shit so it’s gone!” he forcefully lifted you to sit fully in his lap.

The sudden shift left you kind of shaken. You’d never seen him get so worked up over drugs, but then again, you had never stopped him from taking anything before. His habitual substance use should've bothered you more than it did, but you were just as bad, normally joining in, which was why he offered in the first place, but knowing he was going to take something you knew was so dangerous set you on edge and made every nerve in your body spark a little bit. Enough to get through the thickening fog of lust. You just hated the fact you cared so much about someone who cared so little.

He began roughly pushing your leather jacket off your shoulders and threw it across the room.

“Why are you being so difficult, baby? This could be so easy,” he whispered harshly into one ear as his hands reached for the hem of your white shirt to push it up your torso. You helped him by pulling it the rest of the way, and his face fell into gorgeous content once again. You decided then that he’d be fine. This was just a one-off of him trying out a different kind of high; a trial to see how a different kind of punch settles.

He made his usual path up and down your body. Admiring the way your lace bra adorned your chest, admiring the way your tits fell out of it when he unclipped it hastily, breaking a few of the clasps in the process. He sucked a harsh bruise into the crook of your neck and brought his hands beneath your thighs to lift you as he stood up, turning and depositing you onto the sofa again and pushing you, softer than expected, by your shoulders to lie down.

He was a sight for sore eyes normally, but from beneath him, where the sparse light from one of the Hollywood mirrors haloed him and obscured his face slightly, he made your heart race.

He loomed over you as he opened the little bag and tapped most of its contents into the dip of your collar bone. You barely felt the powder as it fell onto your skin. Izzy had this glint in his eye as he straightened out a line. A dangerous one that made your stomach tighten a bit. Maybe this wasn't a good idea, but had it in front of him now.

Once he’d rolled up the bill, you watched him lean down, eyes locked onto yours as he brought the self made tooter to his nose before his head dipped and he inhaled sharply. The bill tickled your skin as he moved it. He sat up and threw his head back with a breathy groan.

“Finally,” Izzy whispered.

You weren't happy, but you couldn't stay mad at the sight before you.

His finger traced where the line had been and he tapped your jaw with his other hand.

“Open.”

“I told you I'm not-”

“Open that fucking mouth,” he spat, hand now clamping either side of your face, squishing your cheeks to part your lips. He shoved the finger he’d brought along your collar under your top lip and dragged it along your gums. You nipped his finger with your teeth as you tried to shake your head free. He retracted his finger with a hiss, let go of your face and slapped you.

Hard.

“I’m being nice and cleaning up. Let me be nice and we’ll have a good time.”

“Are you deaf or something?!” you cried.

“No, and neither are you, last time I checked. Listen to me next time.”

He rolled his eyes and moved down your body again, this time taking off your lace underwear.

“You’re being an ass, Izzy.”

“Okay?”

His attitude to this whole thing was confusing.

And scary.

Sure, you were often rough with each other. Sure, you and him took drugs together all the time. The difference was that all of it had been loosely agreed. This sudden introduction to a new drug had put you on edge. This was too new, and he was being so careless.

He moved between your thighs and pushed your legs up a bit, putting you on full display for him.

“You’re going to listen to me this time, and listen well,” he spoke, looking at you sternly, “I’m going to eat you out and you’re going to be quiet.”

You nodded meekly.

His head dipped towards your dripping heat.

Knock, knock, knock.

Izzy tensed up immediately. You felt him begin to pant from between your legs as a muffled voice came from outside.

“Izzy? You there? We gotta go, man. They won’t let us stay here any longer cause they say we’ll do shit… Or something… I don’t get the fuss but we gotta take our shit and go.”

You recognised the voice as Slash, but Izzy seemed to not, looking at the closed door with wide eyes. The knocks now turned into bangs.

“Are you here or not? We’ve looked everywhere-“

“He’s here!” you called innocently, “just give us a sec-“ you were cut off by a hand coming over your mouth. Izzy scrambled over you and reached for his back pocket, pulling out a switchblade. He retracted the blade and held it in front of him, looking extremely unsure. You could see the quick rise and fall of his chest above you.

“No way you guys are fucking in this dump- Hurry up!” Slash shouted.

The sound of footsteps faded but Izzy still stared at the door, back taut like a bowstring, hand holding the switchblade shaking slightly. You very carefully moved his hand off of your mouth and said his name softly.

His head snapped towards you and he harshly whispered, “Shut the fuck up! They’re going to hear you.”

“That was Slash, baby.”

“No, it wasn’t. Don’t you dare fucking lie to me right now.”

You reached up to touch his face, and he flinched as your hand met his clammy forehead.

“It was. It’s okay. Calm down.”

You guessed it must have been given just cocaine in the little bag, not a speedball per his request. His paranoia only came on so strong when coke was in his system.

He leaned into your touch and sagged a bit, tears forming.

“It was them, I know it was.”

“It wasn’t. I promise,” you said gently as you sat up and pulled him close to your bare chest, “It’s just me and you.”

His hands dropped to his sides and he just let you hold him for a bit as he twitched. He got like this when he got scared.

You had to pick up his pieces once again.

You’d do it as many times as you had to.

You guided him to sit properly on the couch and you got up, looking for your clothes and dressing again. As you looked over at him once more, you realised that this couldn’t go on. Both the stupid game and his drug habits.

You shook yourself out after hastily tucking your shirt into your skirt, feeling that strange blurred alertness that came with coke yourself.

As you guided him out of the dressing room to the waiting group, holding his sweaty hand tight, you decided that you would have a serious talk with him about this.

About you both.

Because he was in trouble, and, in turn, so were you.