#it's bordering on toxic and i need my space

[bloggerspam]

DPxYJ Haunted Mansion AU!

My gift fic for @pennerjones for our server's anniversary gift exchange! Dead Tired, background Dark Ages :)

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"What the hell is that." Cassie scrunches her nose, looking up at the Mansion that looms before them.

"It looks like a Castle." Bart stuffs his face with more chips, seemingly unconcerned.

"It's more of a Mansion." Tim idly drawls.

"A Mansion that just showed up out of nowhere." Kon emphatically gestures at the broken gates that are swinging open on rusty hinges.

"To be fair," Bart has somehow acquired candy, though he probably just popped over to the nearest neighborhood to trick or treat, considering the day "We just showed up out of nowhere too."

It's Halloween, and Young Justice has been caught up with, of all things, a surprise cult.

They dispatched them quickly, thanks to support from Raven, but were still somehow caught in a summoning circle that popped them out here.

Here being a random forest, somewhere in…Tim checks his wrist computer, Illinois.

They were just about to fly home, the other three arguing on who gets first shift of carrying Tim, when the Mansion suddenly appeared.

"It looks abandoned." Tim idly looks around, checking the differences. Some trees had disappeared, and he isn't sure if that means space was made for the Mansion, or if the forest itself is a hallucination.

"We can always ask?" Bart dusts his hands, finally done with his food, heading towards the gates. "Do you think they have a bathroom I can borrow?"

"A Castle this old and abandoned would not have indoor plumbing." Cassie grumbles, following after him.

"I'm telling you, it's a Mansion." Tim corrects, but Kon simply pulls him after the other two.

"Don't!" A voice yells, frantic enough to make them all stop.

All of them, that is, except Bart.

"Shit." They turn to look, and there, floating and ethereal, is a boy. A young man, really.

He's their age, seemingly, late teens or early 20s. He's bout Cassie's height, with bright glowing hair. He's wearing a uniform similar to Alfred's butler garb, sharply dressed but no less rumpled. Even still, he looks beautiful, hair flowing like some invisible wind is blowing just for him.

His eyes, though, are a toxic green. They make Tim flinch at memories rising unbidden, but his expression is despondent, and almost wrecked, and it softens the harsh glow.

"Sorry," Kon turns on the charm, walking over to the other man, "We didn't mean to trespass, it's just that this place wasn't here two minutes ago and—"

Kon stops short as a glowing green shield is erected in place of the broken gate, separating Bart from the three of them. They instantly go on alert, Kon banging on the barrier with a loud thump!

"Hey!" Cassie yells, jumping in to punch just as ineffectively at the barrier, "Give him back!"

"You're heroes, right?" The man touches down just behind Bart, who is banging at the barrier from his side, "What year is it?"

"It's 2014." Tim answers, scanning the rest of their surroundings.

The man freezes, eyes widening, before shaking his head. "Doesn't matter. Listen, Listen!"

They don't. Well, Tim does, but only halfheartedly.

Tim notes that shield doesn't extend above the gate, or past it, really. Only the entrance. The rest, the man seems to be relying on the crumbled wall surroundings to keep them out. Tim tosses a batarang and finds that it flies over just fine.

"You can't step over the border," the man puts up his hands, palms down as if placating wild animals, "Your friend here is—I'll try and get him back out but he needs to—wait!"

It's too late.

Tim has already shot out a grapple, using it as leverage to jump-climb his way over the wall. Kon and Cassie already jumping over the wall and all of them barrelling towards Bart and the man keeping him hostage.

"Fuck. I should have known a hero bearing an S could fly." The man says forlornly.

Tim tosses a bola that shoots open, only instead of capturing the man it goes through. Kon and Cassie grab Tim and Bart, flying straight up, but bang into an invisible barrier.

Cassie accidentally lets go, and is about to catch him but is beat to the punch.

Tim lands softly in strong, solid arms, held bridal style and staring up into soft features and masculine brow.

"Sorry," The man looks tired now, resigned, and that more than anything makes Tim stop squirming.

He sets Tim down gently, waiting as the others cautiously land nearby, all of them tense and disliking the idea of being trapped.

"I told you, you can't step over the border." The man sighs, covering his face with his hands and groaning into them, "I knew I should have come earlier."

"Why can't we leave?" Cassie demands, fists up and braced for a fight.

"Because you stepped over the border." His voice is irritated, "Like I told you not to."

Honestly, Tim doesn't blame him. They did after all, not listen. But.

"You had our friend." Tim quietly growls.

"Temporarily." The man rolls his eyes, hands on his hips. "Getting one of you permission to leave would have been easy. Four of you is a little trickier."

"Why?" Kon demands, crossing his arms.

"Because Vlad is a self absorbed lunatic," The man huffs, "and obsessive."

That answers their questions, but explains nothing. The team share a look, whilst the man starts mumbling to himself about amulets and knockturns. Whatever that means.

"Danny!" Two voices, young and childish, overlap each other and freeze them all.

"Heeeeeey kiddos." Danny, apparently, greets the newcomers after giving the team a warning glare.

It's two children, as expected. One dressed as a pirate, Captain's hat and everything, the other is a girl in a pink shirt and overalls covered in patches. The pirate, a boy, is stumbling on a peg leg with an abundance of missing teeth. The girl has pigtails and big buck teeth. They're both smiling widely at Danny, hands reaching up for uppies.

"Didn't I say to wait for me at the mausoleum?" Danny hefts them both up, spinning around as the children giggle.

"But a Captain's nothin' without his first mate!" The pirate boy waves his little hook, thankfully not real, around.

The girl rolls her eyes. "I told him you got work to do, but Youngblood wouldn't listen!"

"Boxlunch," Youngblood growls, "tattlers walk the plank you know! Besides. you wanted to see if there was any fresh blood anyway."

Boxlunch squeaks, looking up at Danny guiltily. Danny sighs, placing them both on the ground and kneeling down to their level.

"I know the Living fascinate you, but we're trying to get keep them out, remember?" Danny's voice is gentle, admonishing. The two children twist at their hands, looking down and guilty.

"I guess we don't want more dead to crowd the place. A ship's only got so much room after all…" Youngblood agrees, even though he clearly knows there's an abundance of room. He looks away, tipping his hat down to cover his face.

"Sorry Danny, I keep forgetting—" Boxlunch starts tearing up, biting her lip and gripping at her overalls.

Danny shushes her, holds them both in his arms to comfort. "Ghosts forget, it's in your nature."

Tim jolts. Ghosts? He shares a look with Cassie, the nearest one, and the horror on her face mirrors his. Kon and Bart aren't doing any better.

"Dead men tell no tales." Youngblood sniffles, "But will you read us a bedtime story?"

"Always, bud. I still—I still have to watch the gate, take care of these guys, but I'll be right up okay?"

"Aye aye, Danny." Youngblood jumps off, wiping his eyes with his non-hook holding hand before addressing the team, "Try to survive!"

"Hope we never see you again." Boxlunch waves to the team, sincerely. The two of them then fly off towards the side of the Mansion in the distance.

Danny watches them with a pained expression, all the way until they fade out. Ghosts.

They only looked about 7 or 8.

Tim wants to throw up.

"What did we walk into?" Kon's voice is low, regretful.

"Welcome to the Keep." Danny sighs, eyes flashing green at them when he stands back up, "You're gonna have a hell of a time trying to get out before the night ends."

Read the rest here on AO3!

[cod-imagines-fanfiction]

Valeria x female SO (sfw + nsfw headcanons)

(This woman screams bisexual to me, I just had to write this - sfw and nsfw on Valeria with a female partner. My personal take on her character!)

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SFW: -Valeria is naturally a very dominant and assertive woman, her confidence borders on overzealously. It's been hard for her to maintain relationships, especially with men like Alejandro because there are two people struggling to dominate the relationship. As such, she needs someone who can handle being ordered around (in more than one way). Her energy could either be matched by someone very similar to her (ie. another strong woman), or someone totally submissive. She can enjoy a submissive man erotically, but he'll eventually annoy her and go missing. Submissive women, on the other hand, are a piece of cake. -Has a soft spot for puppy eyes, really struggles to not give in to pleas. She'll resist giving you what you want at the moment because she will *not* let a brat order her around, but she'll give in eventually. You want her to buy you something? What does she look like, a walking ATM to you? She doesn't work her ass off just for you to waste her money on silly things! But you will find whatever you wanted on your bed within the next 2-5 business days. And your next allowance will be a bit more generous. -Could definitely enjoy being a sugar mama, so long as she gets some sugar. Money is just another way to guarantee your submission and she loves to see her partner be grateful to her. -Has some abandonment issues from her past. May secretly feel the need to shower you with material things because you may not stick around if there isn't a material reward. Will need lots of affirmative words and caresses in private when she has a low mood. -Needs good morning cuddles to set the day. If they are disrupted for whatever reason, she'll be in a nasty mood for the rest of the day. -Easily touched by your devotion. Even simple moments where you might casually mention a future together, or wanting to get matching tattoos will make her emotional. -No PDA. Not because she's ashamed of your relationship, but because she doesn't really trust anyone, even the people working for her. -You'll have a whole wing to yourself at her residence. She says it's because she likes to separate her personal life from her business, but really it's because she can't stand having people around you. If she could have it her way, you'd be locked inside forever, away from the gaze of others. She often struggles with posessiveness and you'll just have to accept it if you want to be together. -Is definitely toxic; possessive, easily jealous and prone to angry outbursts. Oftentimes, only you can calm her down.

NSFW: -Valeria can be quite selfish when it comes to sex, will prioritise herself and expects to be completely satisfied every time. Her SO will receive pleasure too, of course, but only after she's had her fun. -Often uses sex to wind down, so will expect to receive on a very regular basis. -Uses toys. If she's punishing you through sex, she'll change the size of her strap-on over the course of the night to make it more challenging for her SO. It amuses her because she likes to see you struggle and writhe underneath her. -Another perk to having you in your own little space at her residence is that you can be as loud as you want. Wants you to use your words. If you don't speak Spanish, she'll order you in her native language and then punish you for not understanding her commands. -Enjoys aggravating her SO. If you're close and begging, she'll do the opposite of what you want and will laugh as you desperately fuck yourself on her for release. -Can be easily manipulated through sex. If she's in a mood where she doesn't want to give you anything, getting her off might just change her mind. Knows this is a tactic her SO uses and will purposefully deny you things just to have sex. -One time you came without permission, so she stole all your clothes as you slept. You were only allowed to wear your underwear until you apologised to her. And when you apologise, she wants it to be sincere and emotional, completely taking all the blame for her actions. Extra kisses for you if you cry while doing so.

Notes: Felt a little inspired writing that bit where the love interest has a whole wing to themselves. I might make a short story on Alejandro kidnapping Valeria's SO for intel and interrogating them with the 141, I think that'd be so juicy!

Update: Link to the short story ^ on A03 + available on my Tumblr profile

[jpitha]

The Oxygen Breathers: Careful what you wish for.

It’s another story in this world.

Despite my best efforts, the cycles continue.

The solar years pass, and I age.

My name was drawn, and in the twilight of my life, in my final instar, I find myself speaking for the Coalition. I don’t rule, not really. The Coalition is lead by a panel of ten people. Not all races are represented, but those who aren’t trust us to have their best interests in mind.

When the humans were ejected from Coalition space, their final words were not of anger, or jealousy or resentment. All they told us was, “Beware the Felimen. They are planning something.” We laughed off their warning, thinking they were just sore losers. Thinking that they had finally felt the sting of a Coalition sapient and went back to their corner, nursing a bruise.

I wish we had listened then.

Ten solar years after the humans left, the Felimen made their move. Sweeping in to colony worlds bordering their space, they struck quickly and decisively. It wasn’t a mistake, or a miscommunication or an accident, it was war.

And we were losing.

One by one our worlds fell to them. One by one the sapients of the Coalition surrendered to the Felimen. If they surrendered before an attack began then the Felimen were magnanimous. They would send down some of their number as a garrison and replace the administrators with those loyal to them. Life would continue on their world much as it had done so before. If they chose to fight back, then their destruction was complete.

We needed help, and we only knew one place to go.

Honestly? I was surprised that the Humans would even take our calls. We sent envoys and gave them our ansible and they called back almost immediately. “Come and meet with us.” they said “We will discuss things.” Because of the dangers presented by traveling, I was chosen to speak for the Coalition and packed into a ship with a very small retinue and we took a long, circuitous route to our border with Human space. I remember thinking it was odd. They shared a border with the Felimen as well, yet I heard no reports of violence on their borders.

We met on a large human ship right on the border. This time it was my turn to suit up. Their oxygen based breathing gas is utterly toxic to me. My race is fortunate that we can be in the presence of their gas mix - for a short time - without taking damage, but it was still not recommended. Our ship eased up to theirs and a docking umbilical slid out and connected to our ship. “Administrator!” A bridge officer turned towards me. “Their breathing gas is… different than what we have on file.”

I turned sharply and unconsciously gestured surprise. “How is it different?”

They turned back to their screen, peering carefully at the display. “It seems… to be a mix of their atmosphere and ours. Half ours, half theirs. It’s odd, neither party can breathe that.”

There was a tone from the comm set. The ansible officer raised their arm. “They are hailing us, audio only.”

“Greetings Coalition vessel. This is the human ambassadorial ship Speak Softly. In the name of cooperation, we have adjusted our breathing mix to be a combination of yours and ours. The temperature, pressure, and gravity have been adjusted to be more comfortable to you as well. We will all require masks for breathing, but full pressure suits are not necessary. We will of course not be upset if you wear one anyway, but we will not be suited. Additionally, the Empress of the Human Empire herself has graced us with her presence. She will be speaking on our behalf. We await your presence.”

Empress? The humans have an empire? A single sapient that rules over the entirety of their space? How odd. While I was ruminating the commander of the ship got my attention. “Administrator Kre’kk, you’re not actually going to go over to their ship without a suit are you? That is madness.”

I raised an arm in a gesture of calm. “I will, commander. The rest of my retinue however shall be suited. If the humans wish to compromise, then we shall compromise.”

In hardly any time at all, we were ready. I was wearing my mask, and my retinue was suited up. We had dithered over taking weapons, but decided against it. This was not a show of force. We were coming to them, arm parts open, asking for their help. We were the ones who did not have the strong argument.

As we stepped through the umbilical, their airlock opened. Three humans - not suited - stood there, in their breathing masks as they had said. “Welcome Administrator. Please accompany us.”

I had to force myself to not make a gesture of fear. They were small and dense and looked like they could lift all of us at once. I had only seen images of unsuited humans in reports and had only ever seen their faces when they came to my station so long ago and got into a disagreement with the Felimen. I had ejected them from the station then, and their leader, a human named Margaret had warned me then. I wonder if Margaret would be pleased to know that she was right all along.

We were lead through their halls towards a meeting room. The human ship was bright and utilitarian. Not one bit was wasted space. It was surprising. Their ship was so large! Why were they this efficient with their use of space? Me and my retinue were taller than the humans and their ship felt like a warren. Small, winding with low ceilings. Fortunately, I didn’t have to duck, except when we passed through a pressure door; they’re not using force curtains?

After a short walk, we reached a meeting room. The guards accompanying us did not enter, but instead formed up on either side of the door. “Please, enter.” At that, their eyes flicked away from us, and took up station looking straight ahead. We entered the room and…

And I gasped sharply and made a gesture of surprise. The person sitting in the center of the long table was Margaret Kellerman! She was not in her polished vermillion suit, but instead wore a long, flowing outfit in the same vermillion color. She sat slightly elevated above everyone else and looked down at me imperiously. Her eyes widened in recognition, and she smiled broadly with her mouth closed. “Why, Administrator Kre’kk. As I live and breathe. I had not expected to ever see you again.”

Her voice! It wasn’t the translator speaking for her after all. She was speaking the trade language perfectly, without machine translation. Her voice was clear and beautiful. Following the protocol, I bent my body towards the centerpoint. A bow. “Empress Kellerman. I admit I was not expecting to see you either. When we had first met, I did not know you were royal.”

Her smile settled into something that my translator’s body language module described as a smirk. “That was by design, Administrator. One cannot advertise they are a member of the royal family and also go galavanting across the galaxy leading a small group of mercenaries. Still, it is good to see you again. I recall that you were a being of reason. Did you ever reach out to your family on the colony worlds bordering the Felimen?”

She remembered that? Impressive. “I did, Empress. My crèche mate transferred to an inner world shortly after you left and I messaged them. They are with us still.”

“Most excellent. I knew I was right in warning you.” She looked down at the people on either side of them. They looked up and she nodded. “Now then, Administrator. What can humanity do to help?”

“Just like that? You’re willing to help? We ejected you from Coalition space solar years ago.”

She put up a hand and gestured. “True, true. But perhaps we were a little too… rowdy when we first met. It’s just how we are. Work hard, play hard you know? We also were coming off our first war with the Felimen and were a little touchy. We’re willing to extend our hand to assist.” Her smile slid just a small amount. “Our assistance will not be free, however.”

Here it comes. “We anticipated this Empress. My ship is loaded down with trade goods, currency, and I have authority to offer you any price for your help.”

She chuckled. “Oh no, no, Kre’kk, we don’t want money. We want a seat on the Administration Council. We wish to join the Coalition as equals.”

I tried to hide my surprise. That’s it? There would be arguments when I returned, but here and now? It seemed almost too cheap. “I-it is done, Empress. Humanity will have a seat on the council.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. I have been given authority to speak for the Coalition. Right now I am the Coalition.”

She clapped her hands together once. “Excellent! Thank you for being so reasonable once again, Kre’kk.” She smirked again. “Not even trying to negotiate. You must be desperate.”

“We are, Empress. The Felimen seem unstoppable. They are on a war of conquest. We can only count ourselves fortunate that it is not a war of extermination.”

The small hairs over one of her eyes raised slightly. My body language module indicated that what I said interested her. “Do you wish it was? Speak carefully, Administrator.”

My chromatophores tried to cycle, to match the color and texture of the floor. I forced myself to stop trying to hide. What did she mean? “I… can’t say that I do, Empress. I dislike the war, but I… harbor no desire to see the Felimen exterminated.”

She bent down and spoke very softly to the human on one side of her. I was not able to hear what she said and I knew better than to turn up my audio amplification. “As you wish.” She raised both her hands and addressed the room. “The Felimen shall be defeated but not obliterated. We shall push them back to their original borders and set up a DMZ to keep them contained. So I order.”

“So it is done.” The rest of the humans in the room responded to her words. My retinue started. It was the first thing that anyone other than the Empress had said.

“There. Now that is out of the way, would you care for a tour? Big Stick is behind us, in nullspace. Would you like to see it? It’s pretty impressive if I do say so myself. I don’t think any Coalition races have ever been on a human dreadnought before.”

“Empress, I thank you for the invitation, but I must report back to the Coalition when they are to expect your assistance. Do you have an idea how long before we’ll see ships?”

“Oh, it’s done already.”

“I do not understand.”

“We have defeated the Felimen. All of their ships inside Coalition space have been destroyed, and all of the colony worlds that they controlled have been re-taken. Please, check your ansible.”

I turned and faced my retinue. One of them took out a pad and connected back to our ship. The ansible officer was shaken. There were reports of gigantic ships materializing out of nowhere and immediately destroying any Felimen ship they saw. Still others executed pinpoint strikes on colony worlds, seemingly only destroying Felimen administration. Already, word was coming that the Felimen were on the run, and abandoning their war wholesale.

I turned and looked at the Empress. “How?”

This time she smiled wide, with her teeth exposed. “Oh Kre’kk, we can’t give away all our secrets. However I will tell you this: None of you, not this Coalition, not the Felimen not anyone, ever presented us with a real threat. We were being nice and neighborly. We got a little rowdy and you asked us to leave. Fine. Like a good neighbor we obliged. Now you come asking for help and again, like a good neighbor, we helped. It is not our fault that you never decided to learn more about us. We were always only ‘Oxygen Breathers’ to you.” She stood. “Now then. Would you like a tour? You can’t see the whole thing, but we’ll take out enough to impress.”

Her smile was terrifying.

[thechaoticdruid]

[The Spawn Vs The Ascendant] (3)

Pairing: Astarion (s) x Tav

Plot: We get a look at Ascended Astarion and M! Tav's complicated past. Meanwhile in F!Tav's world, she has a close call with The Vampire Ascendant himself all the while Spawn Astarion and Karlach prepare to attack the Crimson palace.

Content/Warnings: MDNI, THERE IS SMUT IN THIS CHAPTER! M/m smut, oral and anal sex, I'll put some little red diving lines so you can skip it because it's not TOO important to the plot, but I just thought since y'all have been waiting forever for the next part I might as well treat you. Both a male and female Tav, alternate timeline shenanigans, Ascended Astarion is a toxic asshole as usual, emotional manipulation, verbal abuse, threats, etc, slight choking, there's also a lot of blood and gore in this part, lots of violence and action.

Part One

Part Two

Part Four

The Spawn Vs Tav Vs The Ascendant

[Savegame 2: Somewhere, A year post game]

Tav let out a sigh as he felt a cool breeze hit his face, the scent of the forest washing over his heightened senses. He could smell the blood of a deer who was leaping through the grass.  He turned his head to look at it, tongue flicking over his newfound fangs. It had only been a year since his undeath, but everything had already changed so much. 

The young vampire had finally convinced his master to allow him to travel outside of Baldur's Gate. Tav needed to get away from the city so he could enjoy the comforts of nature once again even though many of his fellow druids would sneer at what he'd become. An undead abomination.  He was able to convince The Vampire Ascendant to allow him to leave their city, insisting that this would be a romantic getaway for the two of them. 

They had left Baldur's Gate and used the fortune they acquired to purchase a lovely little holiday home on an island off the Sword Coast. 

Their villa sat on the border of the ocean shore and the luscious woodlands that stood behind it.

Tav sat crisscrossed in the sand, the warmth of the sun danced up on his skin. He was quite fortunate to still be able to enjoy it, given what he was. 

“Little Love, what are you doing out here alone?” His master's voice purred out. 

“Just enjoying the peace.” Tav replied calmly. He didn't feel like looking his master in the eyes. Things had been distant between them now. Tav did his best to try and keep Astarion from turning Baldur's Gate into a slaughterhouse, but occasionally he slipped up, like with the incident at Sharess's Caress.  

There were so many days he wished he could just go back and convince his love not to go through with the ritual. Then maybe the warmth they once shared wouldn't have gone out. But he'd been terrified at the time. They both had. Astarion was afraid of losing his freedom. And Tav was afraid so desperately afraid of losing him. If only he'd known he would have lost him anyway. 

Now Astarion was the worst version of himself, all of his darkness let loose for the entire world to see. And Tav was merely a plaything that he refused to give up. The vampling’s red eyes blinked as his master’s clawed finger tilted his chin up to look at him.

“Pet, you know I don't like when you avoid me. It makes me so very unhappy.” The Ascendant pouted, making a painfully fake sad face. It made Tav’s blood boil. Tav jerked his head away from his master's touch.

“I am at your side day and night. You sit me on your lap every day like a glorified pup for all your guests to see. Am I not even entitled to my own space just for a moment!?” Tav suddenly snapped, fangs bared as he narrowed his eyes. 

“You're the one who suggested this ‘romantic getaway’ and now you have the audacity to accuse me of not giving you space!? How dare you! You ungrateful little wretch!” Astarion snarled at him. “If you want your fucking space so badly I can arrange a nice dark cell for you back at the palace.” His master threatened.

“No….I-I…Please….I'm sorry!” Tav's face suddenly filled with fear.  “….I'm sorry…. I'm sorry…I'm sorry…” Tav grabbed hold of Astarion’s leg, his head hung as he begged. Astarion glared down at him, his expression unimpressed. 

“You will make this up to me.” Astarion tilted Tav’s chin back up.  

“Yes. I will….I promise…” Tav nodded. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~NSFW~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Appeasing his master had become a regular routine of Tav's.  He pretty much had it down to a science. Beg, grovel, flatter, pleasure, usually one or a combination of them would do the trick to calm the beast. Funny how Astarion seemingly had no regrets about turning Tav into the very thing he despised being for so many years. 

The only saving grace was Astarion was far too possessive to share Tav’s body with anyone else. 

“I love you Tav. I can't fathom why you're determined to make things so difficult between us.” Astarion pushed Tav down on the bed with one hand. The spawn frowned. His master's words felt empty despite how much Astarion may have believed them himself; there was little proof to back them up. Tav removed his shirt, deciding it would be best to just give in and lose himself in pleasure if only for a little while. He slid down his trousers and drawers, completely exposing himself in front of the other male. 

Astarion lifted his own shirt up and over his head before discarding it to the side. He then climbed onto the bed and slowly straddled his spawn. He leaned down, getting very close. 

“Kiss me.” He ordered. Tav leaned up and pressed his lips against Astarion's, wrapped his arms around his neck as his master began to grind himself against Tav's unclothed groin.

Tav moaned against Astarion's lips, letting the vampire lord slip his tongue inside. Astarion tastes Tav’s mouth, the flavors of wine and blood intertwining as their tongues dance.  Astarion pulls back and pins Tav’s wrists above his head before slowly shifting down and licking the spawn’s nipples. 

“A-Astarion!” Tav let out a whine, feeling the elven male teasing his sensitive buds, grazing them with his fangs all the while grinding himself down against Tav's hardening member. Astarion began to nibble and suck his way down Tav's body leaving a trail of bright red hickies as he went. 

Astarion moved back, hand grasping Tav's cock as he licked his lips, looking down at his pet’s leaking tip. 

“So hard for me already?~” Astarion teased gently, squeezing Tav’s length as he pumped it back and forth in his hand.  

“Ngh!” Tav groaned and dug his claws into the bed.  Astarion leaned down to lick up the precum dribbling down from Tav's tip, before slowly proceeding to begin sucking the younger man’s cock into his mouth.  Tav's eyes rolled back into his head as he felt his master swallow his length with ease. Astarion’s hand moved to grab hold and massage Tav's balls as he bobbed his head.

Tav groaned and panted, resisting the urge to thrust into his master's mouth lest he gets punished for it like last time. Astarion pulled back with wet pop before rubbing Tav's cock a few more times and dropping his own trousers. 

Tav's red eyes trail over his lover’s body as the silver haired male began to suck his fingers into his mouth, coating them thoroughly in saliva before he reached behind himself and stuck two fingers up his ass. 

“Ahh…Ahh…” Astarion moaned, pumping his fingers in and out. Tav bit his lips, he could feel himself twitch at the sound of his master's moans. 

Gods it sounded so heavenly. The pale elf continued to prepare himself scissoring before then shoving his middle finger in knuckle deep. 

Once he was ready, he shifted over Tav's cock, grasping it and slowly guiding the tip to his hole. 

Astarion lets out a low moan, an open mouth smirk forming on his face as he sits down, taking the spawn's cock deep inside. 

“G-Gods….” Tav gasped, feeling his lover clench tightly around him. Astarion stared down at Tav, a pleased look appeared on his face as he noticed his pet squirming under him. Tav reached over to grab Astarion's hips, but the vampire lord stopped, gripping his hands.

“Tut, tut, tut, bad boy. You don't get to touch me.” Astarion clicked his tongue. “Keep your hands to yourself unless I tell you otherwise.” He ordered, before releasing him and placing his hands on Tav's chest. Slowly he began to move up and down, sliding Tav’s cock in and out of his ass.

“A-Astarion….” Tav whimpered, his nails gripping the sheets as Astarion kept up the same pace, bouncing on top of him. He eventually began to move up slowly before quickly slamming his ass back down on Tav's hips, making a satisfying slap sound and causing Tav to squeak in surprise. 

“Mmmm…..You feel good inside me…” He lets out a breathy side before moving up and slamming back down.  He could feel Tav's cock leaking, coating his insides, it made movement much easier.  Astarion began to pick up his pace repeatedly slamming down on Tav with enough force that it almost felt like he was about to break his pelvis!

“Please…I..ahhh!”  Tav cried out, looking up at his master with pleading eyes as his cock began twitching inside of him. 

“What is it, pet? Do you want to move, hm?” Astarion pushed down hard against his lover, taking him in deep. He bit his lip, smirking down at Tav. “I…. might let you…” He said, playfully taking hold of Tav’s nipples and tugging on them. 

“A-Ahh!” The spawn cried out. 

“Say you're mine.” He said. Tav groaned as Astarion slowed his movement, hips sliding up and down at a much slower pace, the room was almost silent aside from the slick wet sound of Astarion riding Tav's weeping cock.

“Say you're mine.” The Ascendant repeated. There was no compulsion, no glow of red eyes, no force. Astarion wanted Tav to say it all on his own. 

“I…I…I'm yours…” Tav breathed out, making his master grin widely. 

“Again.” Astarion slammed himself down on Tav. 

“I'm yours!” Tav said more confidently.

“Good boy! ~ You may move…mmm…” As soon as Astarion gave him permission Tav began to buck his hips upwards, cock repeatedly plunging up into his master's asshole. Astarion rode Tav in time, masterfully matching his pace. He grabbed hold of the back of his spawn's head, gripping his hair as he pulled him in for a rough, sloppy kiss.  It took little time from there for Tav to reach his peak, especially with his master's ass threatening to break him.   

The two of them relaxed for a while shortly afterwards until eventually Astarion had Tav pinned face down in the pillows, balls deep in his ass. However, the second round was eventually cut short by a disturbance in the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~NSFW-END~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Masters! Masters!” A charmed servant called beating on the door to their bedroom. His face was full of fear, hands shaky. 

There was some muttering, and scuffling coming from the other end of the door, before eventually it opened revealing Astarion shirtless in only his pants. Tav laid on the bed behind him, only a sheet covering his dazed form as he panted, body covered in his master's love bites.

“What the hells do you want!?” Astarion snapped, very annoyed by the interruption. 

“M-My lord! Theres a-a…It's t-terrible.. I-I….” The poor terrified man.

“You have ten seconds to speak before I splatter your innards all over the floor.” The sliver haired vampire lord hissed out.

“M-Monster hunters! T-They're on the island! They're harassing the locals and burning down their homes in hopes to find you, master!” 

“Determined little shits, aren't they? I don't quite care what happens to the peasants on this little speck of land, but they do pay me rent so...”Astarion sighed in annoyance.

“We have to help them.” Tav said, putting his clothes on and fixing his hair. 

“Oh, not this again! You know your little hero act gets so tiresome, love.” Astarion rolled his eyes, “protect the cattle if you must, but my only concern will be slaughtering these vagabonds for even thinking about setting foot on my property.” 

Tav kept quiet but glared at him harshly. The way he talked about the people on this island honestly made Tav's stomach turn. 

“As you wish, master.” Tav said coldly, the title spoken with pure disgust.  Astarion glanced back at Tav with a surprised look. Tav had never addressed Astarion as ‘master’ before. Astarion, despite all his arrogance, pride, and determination to remind Tav who he belonged to on a regular basis, had never once compelled or ordered him to to refer to himself as such. Mostly because the way Tav had always said the vampire lord’s name had been music to his pointed ears. Astarion quickly brushed off these sickening feelings. He was not weak any longer. Such sentimentalities were beneath him.  

“Hmm…Perhaps I should put their heads on spikes, leave some of them impaled out in the fields to send a message to any of their brethren.” Astarion chuckled darkly. His ruby red eyes glanced back over at Tav who refused to look him in the eyes. It felt infuriating.

   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The roads ran red with blood, houses shot up in a blaze and a mother ran across the scene, desperately dragging her children along with her. Tav and Astarion slowly approached the chaos. Complete and utter horror flashed over the vampire spawn’s face. His undead heart breaks to pieces at the site of villagers being slaughtered all for the sake of killing two vampires.  

“This chaos has to end Magnus!” An elven woman shouted at a human man. Both of them appeared to be amongst the monster hunters.

“There are children on this island for fucks sake!” 

“They had their chance! These people are servants to the undead! They will suffer the same fate as their masters!!!” 

“My love, please!” She begged, getting on her knees. “These people did not kill your brother! They're not in control of their minds! It's the vampire’s doing! You must forgive them!”

“Osha…I-I…” The man suddenly froze. He coughed, blood pouring out of his mouth before suddenly he fell flat on his face. Blood leaked from an open wound in his back as he laid in the dirt.

“MAGNUS!!!!” The elven woman shrieked in horror.

The silver haired vampire lord stood behind the man's corpse, a wicked grin as he held Magnus’s still beating heart in the palm of his hand. He slowly crushed it right in front of the elven woman, the blood dripping through his fingers before he licked them clean. 

“Mm…Not bad.” Astarion purred.

“You…. YOU KILLED MY HUSBAND!” Osha screeched. Astarion looked back at her slightly amused. 

“Oh, was that what he was? Apologies, he was making a mess of my things.” The Vampire Ascendant merely chuckled. 

“I'll…. I'll KILL YOU!!” Osha screamed, grabbing hold of a wooden stake from her dead husband's body and rushing for Astarion head on. But before she could even make contact Tav moved in front of her and kicked her away with enough force to send her flying into one of the houses.  Tav huffed before looking around at the villagers who were utterly terrified. Astarion blinked and looked back at Tav, a slight warmth flashing through his eyes.

He still loves me….

Before Astarion could say a word Tav ran off, unsheathing scimitars from his back and cutting down any monster hunter who dared to try and stop him.  The elven monster hunter’s eyes follow him as she lays on the ground, seemingly broken and lifeless.

“Glacious!” He shouted, shooting an ice knife right at the nearby burning building before kicking his way through the door. 

“Everyone out now!” He ordered. A mother pushed her daughters through the door. 

“My son! He's still in his crib!” She cried and pointed over to a blocked door. 

Tav quickly pushed past her and smashed his way through the blocked off door with vampiric strength. He quickly charged in and scooped up the baby boy, thanking the gods he didn't need to breathe any longer. Tav quickly came back out and handed the woman her baby. 

“Thank you, my lord, thank you!” The woman said, tearing up.  Tav gave a small smile before suddenly he heard the sound of crying coming from somewhere nearby.  Tav rushed over to the scene. It was yet another smoking home. 

“Glacious!” He shot another ice knife at the fire in order to put it out. Tav quickly rushed over, a look of confusion covered his face as he noticed the front door had already been open. 

Inside was a little half elf girl with long curly blonde hair. The child knelt down by some debris, crying as a pair of motionless legs poked out from under it. Shaky sobs left her mouth as Tav moved closer.

“Come on darling, we need to get you out of here.” Tav said, kneeling down beside her. 

“I'm not leaving without my momma!” She snapped; eyes puffy as she broke down into another fit of sobs. Tav shushed the child before placing a comforting hand in her hair and pulling her into a hug. 

“It's not safe here, little one.” Tav said, “where is your papa?” 

“He got sick a long time ago….He went to sleep and n-never woke up….” She sniffed.  

“Come with me and I'll take you somewhere safe and we'll get you something to eat.” Tav eventually was able to convince the little girl to follow after him. He took her by the hand and guided her out of the house. 

“What's your name sweetie?” Tav asked as he led her back through the village. He made sure to steer her away from the sight of any corpses in hopes to keep from terrifying the poor little thing.

“I'm Abigail.” She said softly, “momma used to always call me Abby.” 

“Abigail is a beautiful name.” Tav smiled softly. He then suddenly heard footsteps and turned to see Astarion approaching. 

“There you are, I was wondering where you'd run off to.” Tav’s master licked over the edge of his mouth, a little bit of blood dribbling down his chin. “And what's this? Have you brought me a snack?” Tav glared at the other male before protectively standing in front of the small child. 

“No. Stay away from her Astarion.” Tav said sternly.

Astarion clicked his tongue, “lighten up. It was only a joke. Gods.” The pale elf sauntered over to his beloved spawn, glancing over his shoulder without a care. 

“Pretty little thing…Perhaps this is just what we need.” Astarion smirked, an idea began to form in his mind. Tav's eyes widened, he knew exactly what he was thinking. 

“Astarion no! I'm taking her to an orphanage.” 

“Love, don't be ridiculous. Think about how much better off she'd be with us as her fathers.” Astarion took hold of Tav's chin and made the shorter male look up at him. “Isn't that what you want? To have a family with me…?”

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

[Save game 1: Act 3, Crimson Palace.] 

Tav bit her lip, holding back a whimper as gripped the wooden comb tightly in her hand. She needed to move fast before the vampire lord drank enough to weaken her. She held the comb high, preparing to plunge it down into his heart from behind but before she could make contact she felt a tight grip around her wrist.  Her lover's look alike pulled back from her neck, his blood stained lips forming a frown.

“Trying to kill me already are we? Pity.” His grip around her wrist tightened, threatening to bruise. Tav whimpered, dropping the comb from hand and letting it clatter into the floor below.

“You honestly thought that dull piece of wood would actually stab me!? Ha! Desperation doesn't suit you my dear.” The vampire releases her wrist only to grasp her throat, not as tightly, but still firm enough to make her worry. “I don't want to hurt you darling, but I cannot have you misbehaving.”

“Let me go!” Tav shouted as Astarion stood, yanking her up by the collar around her neck.  The Vampire Ascendant seemed to be keeping himself rather composed despite Tav's attempt on his life.

“Oh, I will, you'll go right down into the dungeon to think about what you've done.” Astarion hissed, dragging her out of the study. “Honestly, how can you be so ungrateful! I am giving you everything you could ever want!”  

Tav screamed and fought as she was dragged down the hall like wild cat, eventually her survival instincts kicked in and she slung her head around and sank her teeth right down onto the vampire lord’s groin. 

“FUCK!” He shouted and crippled down in pain, releasing his grip and Tav and allowing her to turn tail and run like her life depended on it. She darted through a door and quickly down the hall, spotting that strange half-elf girl, Abigail staring at her as she passed. 

I need to get this godsdamned collar off of me!

Tav fled further into the palace hearing some footsteps as she came closer towards the ballroom. Swiftly she climbed into a wardrobe off to the side and closed the doors. Peaking out through the cracks as two figures approached. A glowing red eyed Shadowheart and Lae'zel entered the hallway.

“Source of my bruises, are you still in pain?” Lae'zel spoke up, placing her hand on the other female’s cheek. Shadowheart simply shook her head. It appeared the wounds their master inflicted on her had already healed. Tav calmed her breathing, hoping neither of them would detect her presence here. Thankfully however the two of them appeared more concerned with one another. Eventually the two of them walked off, leaving Tav to let out a long sigh of relief.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

[Save Game 1: Act 3, Upper City.]

“Ooh looks like he's called some guard dogs to do his bidding.” Karlach said as she and Astarion stood onto one the of the nearby buildings adjacent to Cazador’s old palace. 

“What is up with evil arseholes and always refusing to get their hands dirty?” Karlach huffed as she peeked down below. 

“They’d claim It's beneath them, but truthfully it's all over calculated foolish paranoia.” Astarion looked over the side of the roof, eyes trailing over the large werewolves that stocked over the grounds. 

“Does he honestly believe no one is going notice all his pets running around?” 

“Well this is technically you we're talking about….What do you think?” Karlach asked.

“I would never have been this stupid! Perhaps overconfident, but this it just ridiculous!”

“Hmm…Maybe he just doesn't care if anyone sees them.” Karlach hummed, “oh wait did you remember to bring the bomb arrows?” 

“Naturally.” Astarion smirked, pulling out an arrow and notching it slowly. 

“Hells yes! Let's blow these fuckers up!” The tiefling cheered.  Astarion quickly shot an arrow which flew through the air hitting one of the wolves right between the eyes. It exploded upon impact, splattering brains, blood and pieces of skull over the cobblestones. 

“Gross. Do it again!” The tiefling barbarian’s tail swatted back and forth, eyes locked on the chaos below. The vampire spawn quickly notched another arrow and hit another wolf sending bloody severed limbs flying all over the streets. He then proceeded to shoot a couple more, clearing out the frontline security.

“That should give the others an opportunity to rush the front door. Now we just sneak in through the roof.” Astarion explained.

“Got it! Leave it to mama K!” The barbarian grinned before looking back at Astarion.

“Oh no, whatever you're thinking-”

“No time! We need to get in there and save Tav!” The fiery devil insisted before grabbing hold of the smaller elf, throwing his long slender body over her muscular shoulder. 

“Karlach! Gods-dammit! Put me down this instant!” The little vampire hissed. 

“We're coming, Tav!” She exclaimed, before backing up and rushing over the building leaping across the sky while Astarion clung to her wide eyed, fingernails digging into her like a scared cat. 

The vampire Ascendant never would have guessed his windows would have been shattered by a big red beefy barbarian lady and a cat-like rogue, but here we are.

Note From TheChaoticDruid: I am so sorry for the for the wait! Honestly, I didn't really feel like too many people were invested in this story and 'This Bites' had really become my main focus multi-part fanfic wise. I'm hoping to finish up this story in about two more parts. The Spawn and the Ascendant WILL start showing down next part. Also, I usually don't add a little divider for my smut, but I felt like I just randomly decided there was going to be smut in this part (kinda spur of the moment thing), so I added the Nsfw heads up in case someone reading was not ready for it in this story. Please leave a comment or a reblog down below it really helps motivate me to write! See you guys next time!

[rivalriotrenegade]

Nikto x Reader

@oleworldblues Saw your post saying there needs to be more Nikto content and I got you! So hope you like this, it's not the best but it's what I got!

Side Note: Nikto has a form of D.I.D and often refers to himself as “we” which is why it’s written like that in the story.

About: Nikto x GN reader. This one was written in about 20 minutes and edited in 5 so it’s kind of sloppy, but still sweet. Not my best work lol. The story is just you calling him pretty. Also the use of “Andre” which is going to be his actual name in the story. 

Warnings: CHEEEEEEEESY to the MAX! Also some slightly toxic behaviors. Nikto went through a lot and hurt people hurt people, but basically he tries to use his height to ever so slightly intimidate reader for like .05 seconds. Also descriptions of kissing? Is that a warning? 

Summary: Nikto does not think he’s beautiful, if anything he thinks he’s the exact opposite. It had taken well over a year of dating before he was comfortable enough to show you his face. After seeing him maskless for the first time you began to call him “My pretty boy” He hated it at first. Honestly he thinks you’re trying to be cruel. After a while of bottling it up he finally explodes. 

It was about 10:30 at night and you're just starting to make some late night spaghetti. You knew he had a rough few weeks with KorTac and thought it’d be nice for him to have a home cooked meal. You had just put the hamburger into the sauce and realized you needed something to stir it with. “Hey pretty boy, can you pass me the spatula?” You ask.

You're caught off guard when Nikto, who had been quiet most of the night, suddenly explodes. “Don’t call me that! I am not pretty!” He snarls. You cock your head to the side not sure where all this anger is coming from. “But I think you’re pretty. Are you telling me that my opinion is wrong?” You question. 

“You’re lying! You’re lying! Do NOT lie to us!” He hisses, stepping into your space caging you between him and the counter, purposely looming over you, trying to make you back down. His eyes are wide, wild. He’s looking at you like he doesn’t know you. Your own eyes soften. It’s not the first time something like this has happened. “Oh Andre.” You say slowly reaching up to cup his face. Nikto flinches back slightly before letting you touch him. You gently caress his face. “I’m not lying. Have I ever lied to you?” You ask.

Nikto hesitates for a moment taking deep breaths trying to ground himself before whispering out a hoarse “no.” He pauses before continuing his voice cracking, “But I can’t be pretty.” You cradle his face in your hands and carefully pull him down so you’re almost eye to eye. “But you are.” You say. “You are the most beautiful person I know. You have gone through some horrible things and you survived. To me these scars are proof of how strong you really are. There a reminder that you came back alive, so how could I think that they'd be anything less than beautiful?”

Nikto stares at you, his eyes unreadable. He stares at you until it’s just bordering in to the territory of being uncomfortable and then before you even know what was happening, he’s kissing you. Usually his kisses are rough and dominating, but this one is desperate. He’s kissing you like this is the last time he’ll ever see you. His hands grip at your hips, fingers digging into your flesh, determined to keep you there. 

He sucks on your bottom lip and when you part them he shoves his tongue into your mouth. He’d never admit it, but you swear you hear him whine against you. His movements are frantic, feverish. Like any space between the two of you needs to be all but eradicated. When he pulls back your both left breathless and panting.

He then pulls you into his arms and buries his face in your neck. “I love you.” He breaths. You smile, rubbing his back up and down to sooth him. “And I love you too, my pretty boy.” 

(You swear you feel him cling to you a little tighter)

[aspiringtrashpanda]

OKAY SO my Day #8 got a little out of control (in a good way), so I'm skipping ahead to Day #9 because I'm not quite done the former yet. Don't worry, though. It's dumb and fun and will be worth the wait. This is not dumb and fun. Have some Asmo angst ✌️

Find the prompt list HERE.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

DAY 9 Prompt: Asmodeus Additional tags: Asmo out with toxic friends (OCs), alcohol, demeaning introspection This is 1.6k long, and will be continued for a future prompt

The Fall was packed, which Asmodeus considered to be a little unusual for a Thursday night. The hot air smacked him right in the face the moment the ornate doors–all frosted glass with a venomous vine border–swung open, swiveling laser lights welcoming him home. Nearly every square inch of the club was occupied by demons, all dolled up in their best dancing shoes, swinging their hips to the pulsing bass of the trance beat looping through the speakers. 

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise!” Astia exclaimed, gently tapping the pads of her fingers, careful not to knock her pointed, decorative nails together. Despite her effort, Asmo could still hear the acrylic clack, tickling some small part of his brain.  

Marbas chuckled, “Looks like word of your Asmo Night got out, my friend.” His heavy hand clapped the shoulder of Asmo’s glittering blazer, squeezing lightly. Asmo prided himself in his ability to stand tall under the pressure of Marbus’s grasp. The demon was built like a professional athlete, perhaps only a fraction smaller than Beelzebub. 

“Of course it did,” Lamiya didn’t bother glancing up from her D.D.D. as she marched ahead to the bar, slipping between sweaty dancers with the ease of a serpent through marshland. When Asmo managed to catch up to her, still typing away on her screen and leaning over the counter to put her assets on full display, she explained, “I wrote about it in an article in the last Devil Style.”

“Lami!” Asmo scoffed, though there was no venom in the expression, “You leaked my party early!” 

“Doesn’t look like any harm done,” Marbas leered at a passing succubus. She batted her lashes and melted into the crowd. “Now we can really enjoy our night.”

As Asmodeus leaned against the bar top, sunset eyes sweeping over the throng of gyrating bodies, he felt a pang in his chest. Like an arrow to the heart, pain trickled down his ribcage, collected above his diaphragm. He winced, though ducked his head to hide the expression from his friends.

What was that?

A high-pitched whine knocked him back to reality, Astia hanging off his arm as she pleaded, “Asmo, can you charm a drink into my hand?”

“Oh?” He knew what she meant. She probably hadn’t even brought her wallet. Strange that a model for Majolish had such little cash on hand. Asmo thought he himself made a decent amount for his freelance gigs. 

When he failed to jump into action, she pushed further, her chest rubbing up against his bicep. “Is there something on my face? The bartender won’t even look my way.”

“Clearly he’s not worth your time, Ast,” Lamiya sniffed, but the sound was lost on Asmo as he was overcome with the sudden need to put space between himself and Astia. 

“Yoohoo~!” Lunging to the right, Asmo waved to the bartender, the pretty demon behind the counter lighting up when they saw his familiar smile. “Can we get two bottles of your finest honey demonus?”

Why did their attention feel so good compared to Astia’s tight grip on his arm? Why didn’t her warmth thaw the chill that crept down his spine?

“Of course, Asmodeus I’ll get your tab started right away.”  Was that a sliver of pity in the bartender’s eyes? Their enthusiasm felt off. Almost… insincere.

But then Marbas was talking, snagging a serving of the demonus before the bartender could finish pouring four glasses. “Did you see that Zaramela is coming to town?” 

“Levi hasn’t stopped talking about it,” Asmo sighed, having lost count of how many times the idol’s name was mentioned at dinner the night before. “Is Devil Style running a feature?”

“Not that I’m aware of?” Lamiya finally tore her gaze away from her D.D.D. Asmo had the sinking feeling that the interest in her crimson eyes had less to do with his question and more to do with being out of the loop. As a journalist for the popular fashion magazine, she prided herself on staying in the know.

The demonus was passed out, rims of glasses clinked together. A wiry demon half the size of Marbus knocked an elbow into his lower back, and Lamiya had to hold the man back before he turned the stranger to minced bat meat. 

“What if I interview her?” The thought spilled from Asmo’s lips the moment it popped into his head.

“You?” Lamiya raised a brow. Asmo wasn’t sure he liked the connotation. “Why?”

So he did what he did best–pushed down his doubt and played his confidence card. A dazzling beam stunned his audience. “Only because I’m the most popular demon in the Devildom!” 

Yet, Marbas only laughed, “Because you won the last Bloody Moon contest?”

“Well, yeah!” 

Despite his insistence, they waved him off, Astia scrolling through her call history with a pout, “So Vito hasn’t called me yet. Can you believe it?” 

Her question sounded at the exact same time Asmo blurted, “What if we ask Zaramela to collab with Majolish?”

He was satisfied by the way the bartender’s eyes scanned him from his perfectly coiffed strawberry blonde hair to his pert bottom. He did not, however, love Marbas’s exasperated side-eye. 

“Honestly, yes.” Lamiya pointed to Astia, dragging her manicured finger towards her next target. “Asmo, what are you going on about?”

“Don’t you see the potential here?” Blood was thrumming through his veins faster than he could ever remember, turning those frozen inside bits to molten gold. He knew he was onto something here, spewing, “We have a popular idol visiting our region. That’s a great opportunity to create something new, something fresh!”

Marbus sipped his demonus, looked past Asmo’s shoulder and winked at someone beyond. Lamiya exchanged a glance with Astia. The slope of her lips sent spikes through the skin of his shins. 

“C’mon!” But Asmo didn’t care about their reactions. He couldn’t care. There was something here. An idea that was knocking the cobwebs from the creative gears in his head. This could be big! Bigger than Majolish! Bigger than Devil Style! Bigger than the Avatar of Lust himself! He was practically bouncing as he gushed, “We could design a whole new collection! Partner with Sucre Frenzy and make both party wear and casual wear, you know, for the otakus! I could even talk to Levi and see what he likes best in clothes and designs.” 

Astia cocked her head, big doe eyes fogging with confusion. “But belts are in from last season.”

“It’s true,” Lamiya asserted, “We’re still selling out of the low-slung Hip Huggers.” 

“I mean, sure, but that’s last season.” What was Asmo missing? What wasn’t he seeing? It seemed so obvious: “Why follow a trend when you can start a new one?”

A shrill synth riff lanced through the air, the bridge of whatever song was vibrating the entire building. There was a hook that Asmo recognized–Ah, right. The song was popular on FabSnap. That should have been clear by the way the crowd went wild, the way the bar cleared ever so slightly as bodies pushed into the throng by the DJ booth. 

Lamiya spun on her heel, nearly sloshing her demonus in her sprint to the dancefloor. Marbas followed suite, patting Asmo’s shoulder a little too roughly as he passed. Asmo thought he heard an amused, “Good luck with that,” though the voice sounded a little darker than he’s come to expect from RAD’s fashion club president.

“Is it a bad idea?” He couldn’t help but voice his confusion. He could feel his body slowing, as if he was coming down from a rather spectacular high. He knew what they said. The better the high…

“It’s not bad, it’s just…” Astia smiled, though there was nothing reassuring in the gesture, “You’re Asmo. You don’t do the hard work, you know?”

Asmo frowned. He didn’t?

This time, it was the bass that shifted. A smooth key change lifted the mood into something fizzy and cotton candy sweet. The bartender caught his eye, gestured to Asmo’s depleted glass. The slightest nod and more honey demonus was pouring into the crystal, over ice. 

“Oh! I love this song!” Astia was tugging his arm, now. If Asmo was being honest, he thought she had already left to go join the others. “Let’s go dance!”

There was that arrow to the chest again, launched from somewhere close, somewhere unassuming. Trying his best to put on a brave face, Asmo feigned, “I’ll be right there, hon. I just need to talk to this bartender. They’re kinda cute, yeah? Not cuter than me, of course~”

She took his answer and ran off with it. He lost sight of her instantly amidst the pulsating mass below the laser lights. 

Turning his attention to the pale, chilled demonus rippling in his glass with every pump of heavy bass, Asmo longed for the warmth he had felt mere moments ago. It had lit his entire being on fire, had burned him from within and promised the brilliance of the sun. Where had it gone? Why was he so cold?

He took a sip of his drink. Funny how even the alcohol did little to warm the sluggish blood pooling in his feet, anchoring him in place. When was the last time he’d worked for something? Spilled his heart and soul into a passion project? He couldn’t think of anything since the Bloody Moon competition…

Was he a shallow person? A shiny, reflective exterior that dazzled and distracted from the lack of depth beneath? Was that all anyone thought he was? Was that all he thought he was? 

What did he really want? 

You want them to love you. 

But as Asmodeus threw back the remainder of his drink, the vintage demonus soothing his throat in the worst way, he knew he’d take the endless reserve of his private bath over the puddle at the bottom of the shower any day.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

OBEY ME! MONTH MASTERLIST

[thickenmyblood]

I love HIUH and think about it often. Today I was thinking about Laurent and his experience with his own court-mandated therapy along with some of your recent tumblr comments.

Did he want to start therapy back when he did? I assume that if it was court-mandated it was a condition of him getting custody of Nicaise. Did he want to go on medication or did he resist? What would cause Paschal to recommend it? Damen mentioned early on in the story some fighting between Laurent and Nicaise when he first started living with them, so maybe that was it and it was worse than Damen and his rose-tinted glasses remembers.

I always assumed Laurent would be very pro-therapy (for Nicaise's well being and when he learned that Damen went too) but does he think the same thing for himself -- especially since you noted that this Laurent is very self-hating and was basically ok with being a target of Damen's unintended toxic masculinity. He also seemed to take the brunt of Agnes' well-meaning advise to him about him separating his life from Nicaise's and that ended up with Damen mad at him for not noticing what was happening.

It's all so interesting and I'd love to hear more if you can/want to share. Thank you!

hi!!!!!!!! i love these questions.

Did he want to start therapy back when he did? I assume that if it was court-mandated it was a condition of him getting custody of Nicaise.

no, he didn't want to do it, but at the same time I think of laurent as a very rational person, and so it would be hard for him to objectively say "I'm fine and don't need any kind of help" when he lost his entire family and was emotionally and sexually abused for years. it's my headcanon that he went into it thinking "I'll attend the required 20-something sessions and then I'm done", but he ended up liking paschal and also realizing he really needed the outlet (let's face it, he was NOT going to be talking to damen about any of that)

Did he want to go on medication or did he resist? What would cause Paschal to recommend it? Damen mentioned early on in the story some fighting between Laurent and Nicaise when he first started living with them, so maybe that was it and it was worse than Damen and his rose-tinted glasses remembers.

there are a few mentions in the story about how negatively laurent thinks and feels about his mother. it's implied she also struggled with mental health issues and ended up needing some kind of treatment (meds, inpatient, etc.), which laurent doesn't seem very supportive of. it's my personal opinion that laurent doesn't want to end up like her, doesn't want to relate to her in that way, and he's already at a disadvantage because he was institutionalized as a teen. so . . . yes, I think he REALLY resisted going on meds.

as to why paschal recommended it . . . we don't see this in canon because the story ends in KR and that's it for them, basically, but I imagine that once things have settled, laurent abandons his hypervigilant state and in the new calm that follows is forced to deal with all the emotional things he did not have the time, space, comfort to do deal with before. which means actually FEELING your feelings. which means . . . going a bit insane. i did a lot of trimming when it comes to the flashbacks, but there was one I sort of regret taking out because it showed laurent right before going on meds. he's in and out all the time, in public and when he's alone, and damen doesn't really notice how bad it is until they're having a conversation that borders on suicidal ideation.

“Disappear,” Damen said. “Like a vacation?” Laurent stopped scrubbing his hands. “No.” “The school year doesn’t end for another three months.” “The school year?” Damen frowned then, because— “Unless you don’t want to take Nicaise?” “Nicaise,” Laurent said, like he was hearing the name for the first time. He went back to scrubbing.

it's also mentioned in the fic that laurent has trouble sleeping. so, it's a nice combo of years of pent-up shame and self-hatred, anxiety and stress over the new responsibility of raising a kid, guilt over what happened to said kid, a baseline of depression, issues with your partner because you don't know how to be vulnerable and he's a bit too oblivious sometimes . . . yeah. laurent and nicaise's arguments def pushed laurent over the edge, too, because back then nicaise was still pretty much team uncle, which in turn brought up a lot of trauma for laurent since they're mirror characters in the fic.

i loved this ask!!! thank you for reading the story and reaching out!! i hope this reply was worth your time.

[galaxyofhair]

Reworking Starfield's Setting

I wanna make it clear that I really do love this game, but I have some serious gripes with how its written. I could go on, but I wanted to focus in on the setting itself and how the Settle Systems are configured. This is a breakdown that I wrote which would re-arrange the setting a little bit to better reflect the various conflicts and tensions that make the Settle Systems and Starfield more interesting.

This is just my opinion, and it was a fun little exercise to rearrange the elements of the setting to create something that I think is more dynamic and interesting to explore. My version admittedly steals some of the focus that the base game places on exploration as a concept by itself to be pondered and explored, but my hope was that this makes it easier to get interested in the rest of the Settled Systems---to provide some substance to the exploration.

Life Bearing Planets

There are fewer life bearing planets in general, particularly within the bounds of the settled systems. Space operates on the basis of islands: Which is to say that systems with life bearing planets are extremely valuable, and become part of a chain of life bearing 'islands' that define the shape of power. Within the borders of the UC, the only life bearing planets are: Jemison, Niira, Akila, and Volii. Polvo and Gagarin have been reshaped as lifeless planets, deserts that might have water or oxygen, but not both. Outside of the settled systems, the next life bearing planet is a good three to four star systems away in any direction---places that are far enough away that the only permanent settlements are run by pirates, spacers, or varuun.

The intent here would be to emphasize the precious nature of life bearing planets, and the power and opportunity an earth-like planet would confer to those settled on it. Additionally, even the planets that do bear life on them are no cake-walk to live on. Jemison has a unbreathable atmosphere, Niira is toxic and radioactive, Akila deals with powerful predators, and Volii is entirely oceanic. While culture and technology does thrive in the major cities, there is a stronger cultural mourning for the loss of Earth, and planet that truly could not be replaced by any other planet seen so far.

The United Colonies

The base game tried very hard to depict the UC as a mostly benevolent state with a dark past, and a potentially dark future. While they mostly succeeded on the dark past bit, it definitely felt like the version of the UC we see in-game is fairly tame.

The new UC, though still a center of civilization, diplomacy, and culture, is a bit darker. Being the keepers of the Sol system and the Wolf System, the UC has a vast empire of old martian/titan-style colonies embeddded in harsh, inhospitable worlds. Jemison is the sole world in UC that technically supports life, but even it possesses a toxic, nitrogen heavy atmosphere that keeps New Atlantis encased in a dome.

The UC suffered immensely from the lack of hospitable worlds in the immediate vicinity of Earth, and as such the UC are the masters of the contained habitat: Underground and internal colonies, space stations, domed cities. Despite considerable setbacks, the UC possesses deeply advanced technology, and a thriving heavy metals industry. With little need for a standing ground army, the UC possesses a massive navy and marine corp that dominates known space, and frequently travels beyond the borders of the UC.

The people of the UC are often split between an optimism that idolizes the glory of old Earth, and a pessimism for the future as the UC struggles to expand. This gives the UC an interesting motivation: While they are still the most powerful military, and the leaders of diplomacy in the Settled Systems, their position as top dog is waning as time goes on. Their need to expand to life bearing worlds is a big part of what caused the Narion War, and its theorized that it also influenced their reaction to the breaking of the Narion Treaty and the start of the Colony War. As members of the UC become more and more aware that the UC is doomed to collapse, it opens the door for future wars of expansion.

This gives a bit more credence to the Freestar Collective, whose constant criticisms of the UC's warmongering and expansionist mindset ring far more true now than they do in the base game.

The Freestar Collective

In this version, the Freestar Collective is far larger than the UC, but far less powerful. The FC has had the distinct advantage of owning 3 of the 4 nearby life bearing worlds---and there are more distant worlds with band new colonies on them at the edge of known space. This gives the FC a sense of freshness and optimism for the future that the UC lacks.

While the FC increased the size of their navy during the Colony War, their focus has always been on creating large local ground forces to police the vast terrestrial planets they control; Contrabands checks occur on the ground rather than space, and the FC has basically outsourced the war against the Crimson Fleet to the UC entirely. The FC's focus on ground-based activities is also reflected in their struggles with the planets they live on: on Akila the FC military are responsible for defending Akila City from the large and numerous predators that terrorize the countryside. On Niira, the remnants of the colony there still fight to survive amid the terrifying xenoweaons unleashed there during the war, as well as dealing with a toxified and irradiated atmosphere. On Volii, Neon struggles to survive on an ocean world, and the people there are actually resurrecting the naval traditions of Earth.

The FC also struggles with itself from a foundational perspective: Much like the base game, the FC is a union of independent colonies that emphasizes states rights to self-govern. While the rhetoric surrounding the FC's loose alliance of free states is centered around personal freedom and liberty from injustice (always implied to be the UC), the states themselves struggle with extreme corruption and a complete lack of accountability. Polvo employs some deeply unsafe practices and fosters a culture of shaming those who don't want to work. Akila struggles to control the many gangs and crime families who dominate the wilderness and steal land from enterprising settlers---and Neon is the same hyper-corrupt near-slave-state corporatocracy that its always been. Each of the most powerful governors is conspiring to kill the others, and Benjamin Bayu stands out among them as someone who would transform the FC to fit his vision of ruling the Settled Systems as a king.

Despite these disadvantages, the FC is still considered to be the future of the Settled Systems. It's expected that with the myriad of resources that each of their worlds offers, the FC will eventually have the infrastructure and military might to surpass the UC entirely, leaving it to slowly decay and dissolve. The question of what humanity's future will look like, from a cultural and governmental perspective, is a point of tension for both supporters and detractors of the FC.

Constellation

Rather than being locked entirely to a mansion in the nicest part of town, Constellation is a far more cryptic group that has fallen in and out of favor with the various governments of the Settled Systems over time. The Lodge now sits a little outside of Atlantis City, emphasizing that the groups' irrelevance to modern problems has placed them literally on the outskirts of society---though Walter's money has allowed them to build their own landing pad for space ships, and a tram that leads back to the city.

Within the group, there is a keen division between two factions of explorers who approach the practice two very different ways. The group who actually lives at the Lodge in Atlantis City are the Academics, who are focused on Constellation as an organization, and on staying academically relevant. These are the folks who ask the big questions, publish the papers based on Constellation's discoveries, and who help keep the organization alive. Sarah Morgan is still the leader of Constellation, and also acts as the head of the Academics' Faction.

On the other end of the spectrum are the Pathfinders, led largely by Sam Coe. The Pathfinders have a secondary Lodge on one of the minor colonies at the very edge the far side of FC space. These are the explorers who focus on the exploring by itself, as an act that has to be acted upon for it to have any validity in their eyes. They value most the freedom to explore, as well as their own personal autonomy.

The factions are not official designations, nor are they truly at odds with one another: But they do represent the competing philosophies within Constellation, making its dysfunctional family dynamic all the more dysfunctional. Sarah, being former military, understands best the need to have organization, funding, and purpose---but she also resents being stuck inside all of the time, and absolutely gets why the Pathfinders go off on their own for long periods of time. Sam is a free spirit who values his personal autonomy, a value that is reflected in his rivalry with his father and how he raises Cora---but Sam is conscious of the need for legitimacy, and encourages the other Pathfinders to make peace with the Academics, and even to occasionally go home to the Lodge.

The dynamic between the Academics and the Pathfinders is also reflected in many of the other members of Constellation: Barrett embodies the very spirit of exploration, and is always pushing you as the player to get out into the unknown---but over time it becomes clear that Barrett is exploring for the wrong reasons and is ultimately doing it so that he can run from himself. Andreja is a complete wild card, who fits the Pathfinders best if only because it lets her maintain her secrecy. She's both struggling to complete her mission because whenever she appears at the lodge it's suspicious, and she struggles to remain loyal because exploring the stars has given her a chance to explore herself.

One of the struggles that Constellation experiences is the UC itself, who consider Constellation a para-military group given all of the guns they keep for 'purely explorational' purposes. Additionally, the UC takes great exception to the group keeping alien artifacts on Jemison, a point is underscored after the Hunter attacks New Atlantis. Despite this, Sarah struggles with keeping the artifacts off-world, worried that the presence and quest for the artifacts would empower Sam and the other Pathfinders to break from Constellation entirely and enter the Unity---but conversely, Same worries that keeping the artifacts on Jemison would, aside from the public safety issue, cause Constellation to cease exploring altogether as they delve into studying the artifacts in greater detail. This conflict also indirectly reflects the conflict between the Hunter and the Emissary.

The Earth-like Planet

Somewhere deep within the Settled Systems is a truly Earth-like planet: Abundant O2 and water, manageable predators, no toxic spores, or super viruses, or super high radiation. This planet's location is currently a secret, as the explorers who discovered it are unsure of what to do with the information. Between one another, they worry that whichever faction got ahold of the information would immediately colonize the planet and begin exploiting it for resources, setting on a path to becoming like the Earth itself. Additionally, they worry that the race to colonize a truly Earth-like planet would kick off another war, one that could devastate all of the major factions for the second time in recent history. Whether or not Constellation decides to keep or expose the secret, and who they expose it to, remains to be seen.

[eldritchships]

Flatline in: Toxicity

Summary: A selection of scenes from the TFP episode "Toxicity", rewritten to include Flatline, my OC.

Author's Note: [Remembers that I can write snippets without necessarily needing to complete a whole fic] Haha cool :)

The ground bridge opened, swirling with green and blue light. Three Insecticons barreled through, wings humming as they touched down onto the volcanic rock beneath their pedes. Gathered around the ground bridge, the three watched Hardshell stalk out after them, with Flatline close behind. The Insecticons regarded Hardshell for a moment, waiting for his command as the bridge closed. Flatline’s right servo flexed, the syringe digit primed and ready, as Hardshell growled.

“Divide, and do not hesitate to conquer.” Hardshell raised his fists towards the sky in a gesture of strength. Wordlessly, the three Insecticons flew off in three different dimensions. Hardshell and Flatline transformed into their own respective flight modes. Hardshell travelled forward, in the yet-untaken direction; Ill-suited to travelling alone if things went awry, Flatline followed after him.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Hardshell came back online with a groan. Slowly, he pulled himself to his pedes, shaking off the pain in his circuitry. The beating of chitinous wings filled the air, and the other three Insecticons circled overhead, grim expressions set on their beetle-like faces as they gathered around Hardshell. Flatline’s pink helm peered out from behind one of the rocks bordering the flat expanse, which had just been Bulkhead and Hardshell’s makeshift arena, and he strode across the space to rejoin the group.

“Do you still think you don’t need me?” A smirk crept into Flatline’s voice as he looked at the twitching nub on Hardshell’s face, which had formerly been his other mandible. Hardshell was sourly looking down, at where the severed end of the mandible lay, stuck into the ground at his pedes. Without moving his visor from the spot, he snarled at Flatline. The medic flinched, taking a quick step back.

“The Wrecker left me alive.” Hardshell paused, and a hiss escaped his maw. “The last mistake he will ever make.” With an inhuman leap upwards, Hardshell quickly transformed. He and the other Insecticons veered around, charging through the air on the trail of the relic. Flatline’s helicopter form flew alongside the sole straggler, rotor blades beating hard.

-------------------------------------------------------------

As the Insecticon reached inside, muffled beeping emitted from inside of the container.

“No, wait-!” Hardshell exclaimed. The grenade hidden inside went off, exploding in a great burst of flame and force that shunted two of the curious Insecticons backwards. The third one, who had reached inside the container to begin with, wasn’t so lucky - he was blasted off his pedes, landing on his back. Jagged shrapnel of green rock had pierced through the Insecticon’s throat, and he writhed and let out a shriek before falling still, dead within seconds.

The whole thing had happened in less than a moment, too quick for anyone but Hardshell to do anything. But instead of being horrified by the gruesome state of the corpse lying before them all, Flatline perked up in visible interest.

“Oooh…” Flatline’s breathing mask slid over his faceplate, cooing as he hopped forward and crouched beside the fallen warrior. His bright blue optics glimmered with intrigue, and he reached towards the fuming shrapnel. Only for a massive clawed servo to wrap around his shoulder pauldron and yank him back. Flatline stumbled, and he glared at the back of Hardshell’s helm, as the leader stepped forward and leaned down himself. He just as quickly reared back when he recognised the substance, an arm held protectively across his faceplate.

“Tox-En.” Hardshell sneered, slowly backing away.

-------------------------------------------------------------

The Insecticon corpse trembled and wailed, apparently not as dead as it might have initially seemed. Although, that might have been because of Flatline’s prodding, probing the foul injury with a pair of forceps. He could feel the Insecticons’ optics on his back, and he heard Hardshell’s grunt of irritation, but all of Flatline’s attention was focused on their dying compatriot.

“Lord Megatron. The object we seek, it is…Tox-En.”

The Insecticon whined weakly, and Flatline smiled behind his mask as he used the forceps to tilt its chin up, further exposing the wound and allowing him to record a proper reading of the Tox-En’s toxicity. It’d been a long time since Flatline had bared witness to the substance, and he wasn’t about to waste this wonderful opportunity.

He was vaguely aware that Hardshell and Megatron were still talking over the comm-link. Flatline couldn’t hear Megatron’s side of the brief exchange, but based on Hardshell’s growling tone, he assumed the conversation wasn’t going well.

-------------------------------------------------------------

“Wrecker!”

Hardshell’s call echoed across the volcano’s solidified summit. Bulkhead looked up as Hardshell swooped down above, circling and landing across from the Autobot. He transformed, and ordered, “Put down the rock, and allow us to put you out of your misery.”

The rest of the Insecticons climbed over the lip of the volcano, claws and fangs bared. The ch-ch-ch of a t-cog joined the thrum of inhuman growling as Flatline touched down alongside them; his right servo hung by his hip, digits curled and blade primed.

Bulkhead’s optics narrowed, looking around at the group of Decepticons that currently had him surrounded.

“Gotta swat some flies…” His balance felt uneasy when he shifted his weight to his other pede, but his expression was set, determined.

Bulkhead took another grenade from his belt, flicking off the pin and throwing it at the feet of the nearest Insecticon. It peered at the grenade for the split-second before the grenade exploded, throwing it back against the rock wall. Hardshell snarled and unsheathed his second pair of arms, the taloned ends razor-sharp and ready to tear through green Autobot plating. The snarl deepened to a roar as Hardshell charged forward. Bulkhead planted his pedes, tightened his grip around the chunk of Tox-En, and thrust it upwards into Hardshell’s throat. Hardshell screamed, clawed pedes struggling for purchase on the molten rocky floor. He was held aloft by the Tox-En, spasming as the false energon’s touch dissolved through his neck cabling.

“Fair warning…” Bulkhead growled through gritted teeth while Hardshell struggled, “I’m contagious.”

The syringe-blade glanced off of Bulkhead’s armour, narrowly missing its intended target of the gap between the metal. Bulkhead winced and glanced back over his shoulder, in time to see the blade’s attached length of cable retract back into Flatline’s arm. Flatline’s optics were narrowed, and looked just as bloodthirsty as the Insecticons’ did.

“Then allow me to administer the cure.” Flatline’s arm snapped forward, the blade shooting forward at the speed of a bullet. It struck into Bulkhead’s back, and Bulkhead bellowed as he felt the weaponised syringe administering something foreign into his body. Flatline rolled his arm with one wide, quick motion. The syringe’s cable hooked up and around Bulkhead’s neck, and yanked. Bulkhead wrenched his helm against it - still forcing the Tox-En forward, not allowing Hardshell any reprieve - but a wave of nausea and weakness wracked his frame, Flatline’s poison adding to the Tox-En’s already overwhelming effects, and he hadn’t noticed the mad doctor rush towards him until Flatline’s other servo suddenly dug into his faceplate, ripping him downwards the rest of the way.

The ground rumbled as Bulkhead fell on his back. Freed from the Tox-En’s burn, Hardshell gasped and stumbled back, falling to all fours.

“You don’t look well, Autobot.” Flatline leered over Bulkhead’s fallen form, the cable still pulling taut against Bulkhead’s neck. Bulkhead blinked wearily, forced to watch Flatline’s lips curl with satisfaction. The rock was still within his grasp, and he tightened his hold around it - nothing else mattered except ensuring he still had hold of it.

Flatline slipped the syringe free of Bulkhead’s back, brandishing it like a knife while the cable was being used to strangle. Beads of energon dripped from the edge.

“Don’t worry,” Flatline pressed the syringe to the gap between Bulkhead’s neck and his chestplate. Flatline’s pseudo-soothing tone was ruined by a building laugh, “I’ll put you out of your misery.” He went to thrust, but Bulkhead’s free servo seized him by the arm. Bulkhead heaved, flipping Flatline over and slamming him into the ground in the same movement. Flatline cried out, plating groaning from the impact, and the syringe had slipped from his grasp. Bulkhead untangled the cable from around his neck and sucked air into his ventilation systems, doing his best to clear his aching processor.

Hardshell hadn’t strayed from the battle; he circled Bulkhead and Flatline, still low on all fours like a predator stalking its prey. The growl however was from Flatline, who rose to a half-crouch, the syringe-blade lashing at the air as it winched back into his servo with a soft snick. Bulkhead dragged himself to his pedes, eyeing them both. Flatline lunged forward, attempting to inject him again. Bulkhead pitched himself out of the way and punched Flatline in the back. The medibot wasn’t built for fighting, and the impact pounded him back down onto the ground with enough force to make his own processor spin. Bulkhead did himself, Hardshell, and maybe even Flatline a favour by grabbing the Decepti-Doc by the rotor blades and tossing him across the expanse of the summit. Flatline slammed into the rock with a pained shout.

On Bulkhead’s flank, another Insecticon took the opportunity to transform and charge. Bulkhead was ready for it, and swung around the chunk of Tox-En, knocking the bug out of the air. Dazed on its back, it couldn’t do anything to stop Bulkhead walking up to it, and slamming the Tox-En down against its stomach.

“Hold this.” Bulkhead ordered, as if it had a choice. The Insecticon groaned, horned head falling in defeat. With it out of the way, Bulkhead turned and placed all of his attention back onto his main adversary: Hardshell. The two circled each other, optics locked, and hackles raised.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Bulkhead’s servo retracted, deploying his giant mace. He wound back, and hit Hardshell with everything he had.

Hardshell toppled, stumbling back until his heels reached the edge of a hole in the volcano’s otherwise sealed peak. Barely managing to catch himself, Hardshell glanced down at the smouldering crater, and then back towards Bulkhead. His mouth fell open in a warbling cry as he saw Bulkhead heave the piece of Tox-En towards him.

“Catch!” Bulkhead called. The rock slammed into Hardshell’s empty servos. The force pushed the Insecticon over the last of the distance, and he fell into the crater with a shocked scream.

The air felt clearer, apart from one last presence on the volcano alongside Bulkhead. He turned, locking optics with the last Decepticon left on the mountain. Flatline stared back at him. Bulkhead’s ventilation systems heaved, his shoulders hunched. His gaze bore into Flatline, and his mace was still held at his side, ready to bludgeon whatever threat remained.

Flatline glared at Bulkhead. He looked to the smouldering crater, where the last of his muscle had vanished into, and then back to the Wrecker. Bulkhead’s helm lowered, increasing the furrow in his brow. Wordlessly, Flatline took a step back, and then transformed. He knew his chances were abysmal in a one-on-one fight, so he chose to take off, retreating from the volcano.

-------------------------------------------------------------

The mission had failed. Megatron was going to be…unhappy, to put it mildly. Flatline doubted he’d be able to avoid being reprimanded for his failure, not when he’d been assigned to assist the platoon of Insecticons. Maybe, hopefully, the Insecticons would receive the greater share of Megatron’s wrath. On the bright side, at least Flatline had escaped in better shape than Hardshell or Bulkhead.

And besides, there were other prizes more valuable than a simple victory.

Flatline chuckled, and increased his speed through the open sky. Safely nestled within his cabin, a sealed beaker rattled from the movement of its contents within. Through the flask’s thick glass, the murky glow of Tox-En shards, which Flatline had stolen from the fallen Insecticon’s throat, swirled with silent promise.

[listlessnessss]

I was discussing one of my blackpills among the repressor oracle and realized that transmasculinity has nothing to say and nothing to contribute to masculinity classic. It doesn't propose any sort of conceptual threat to men, as we try and climb up a ladder rather than take an immediate redpill, at least conceptually, there is no way for a woman to 'become a man' in any sense without the effort. (This and it being harder to be a trans woman are why ftm reppers are rarer, btw.)

This is why, in tandem with the lack of obligate social cohesion amongst males (with exceptions for marginalized male groups), many of us revert to woman in some sense. It has nothing to do with the inherent cunning duplicity and disingenuousness or illigetimacy of the individuals involved. The male alliance doesn't naturally exist and has to be artificially engineered to ideological ends or to attempt to fill some sort of need, either by the right or the left wing (toxic masculinity as a term wasn't created by complaining feminist women but rather a leftie men's 'alliance' type group, originally)-- when leftie men do this and discuss its intersections with trans, they mean the possibility that some of the men among them are... not... transfemininity poses a conceptual threat to men with which cis men must contend, and they're right to try, yes. they're not speaking to nor about ftms, the assumption is an automatic understanding with the group of origin(women) with queer people in general or a self-selecting tguy space. I'd argue that points one and two are obviously not always true but are for some reason taken as a given, and option three is a viable solution, but let's not pretend that masculinity is under any current social nor political pressure to absorb, it has not been taken to the same task that womanhood or feminism has. Yes, I mentioned that the marginalized group alliance thing exist for the males, too, and wouldn't ftms be that? Yes, you would think, but one must contend with the nature of that marginalization which is precisely that ftms are "not men". So unlike other groups, the 'base case default' of "trans" is not 'trans men'.

It is so funny to watch theorists self-styled or otherwise (go on trans twitter to see examples of this or read that medium article on 'trans masc misogyny and the red six of spades' for a summary) try so hard to avoid the next logical conclusion of 'trans women are women, and as evidence of this, they're victims of misogyny'... this argument has successfully been made, and I agree. But I also sort of think that both trans women and trans men are women and nobody on the left will ever say that but that's my blackpill. It is not a physiological blackpill, though I could spin the phrenology wheel of fortune but that's played out by every other shitty self hating trans person... this is a social, cultural, political blackpill. Again, as I've said, you may want the impossible, yes, but I will not use that against you, I will want the impossible with you and for you.

back to the medium article, it ends like this, after arguing that there's no specifically trans masculine experience: "Living on a border can mean feeling connected to everything and everybody. It can also mean feeling like nothing and nobody, particularly when the dominant culture refuses to admit that you exist. I believe it is the underlying threat of zero-ness — that fear of being canceled out, rendered unthinkable and illegible — that drives much shitty trans masc behavior." I'd argee with the author, but I'd say that the threat of nothingness and lack of conceptual existence has for us already materialized, and has been happening since forever. Curiously, no solutions to this problem are offered, but I think even though it's entierly mired in the nuances of twitter arguents between milennial microceleb wannabe public intellectual types, a culture which I couldn't give less of a fuck about personally, it's an interesting musing on the same problem.

I refuse to blame trans women for this problem, btw. And I will always acknowledge that I will always have it easier in general. But I think that the woobification and aggressively un-political and un-sexualized nature of 'transmasculine culture' is obligate, in that lack of any narrative at all and lack of a politically justifiable positive identification and lack of visibility does translate to material effects (we're more likely than not to eventually try out suicide: look it up) that memeified infantile complaints of 'erasure' don't do justice.

but I'm a dumb repressor and a self-identified autohomoerotic and a trender and a theyfab and refuse to just be butch and a faggot and have no lesbian past and am also a privileged bitch so idk.

[hexusproductions]

Flatline in: Toxicity

Summary: A selection of scenes from the TFP episode “Toxicity”, rewritten to include Flatline, my OC.

Author’s Note: Originally posted 3/2/2024. I quite enjoyed doing this snippet format, focusing on the scenes that would include Flatline rather than writing out the entire episode.

The ground bridge opened, swirling with green and blue light. Three Insecticons barreled through, wings humming as they touched down onto the volcanic rock beneath their pedes. Gathered around the ground bridge, the three watched Hardshell stalk out after them, with Flatline close behind. The Insecticons regarded Hardshell for a moment, waiting for his command as the bridge closed. Flatline’s right servo flexed, the syringe digit primed and ready, as Hardshell growled.

“Divide, and do not hesitate to conquer.” Hardshell raised his fists towards the sky in a gesture of strength. Wordlessly, the three Insecticons flew off in three different dimensions. Hardshell and Flatline transformed into their own respective flight modes. Hardshell travelled forward, in the yet-untaken direction; Ill-suited to travelling alone if things went awry, Flatline followed after him.

————————————————————-

Hardshell came back online with a groan. Slowly, he pulled himself to his pedes, shaking off the pain in his circuitry. The beating of chitinous wings filled the air, and the other three Insecticons circled overhead, grim expressions set on their beetle-like faces as they gathered around Hardshell. Flatline’s pink helm peered out from behind one of the rocks bordering the flat expanse, which had just been Bulkhead and Hardshell’s makeshift arena, and he strode across the space to rejoin the group.

“Do you still think you don’t need me?” A smirk crept into Flatline’s voice as he looked at the twitching nub on Hardshell’s face, which had formerly been his other mandible. Hardshell was sourly looking down, at where the severed end of the mandible lay, stuck into the ground at his pedes. Without moving his visor from the spot, he snarled at Flatline. The medic flinched, taking a quick step back.

“The Wrecker left me alive.” Hardshell paused, and a hiss escaped his maw. “The last mistake he will ever make.” With an inhuman leap upwards, Hardshell quickly transformed. He and the other Insecticons veered around, charging through the air on the trail of the relic. Flatline’s helicopter form flew alongside the sole straggler, rotor blades beating hard.

————————————————————-

As the Insecticon reached inside, muffled beeping emitted from inside of the container.

“No, wait-!” Hardshell exclaimed. The grenade hidden inside went off, exploding in a great burst of flame and force that shunted two of the curious Insecticons backwards. The third one, who had reached inside the container to begin with, wasn’t so lucky - he was blasted off his pedes, landing on his back. Jagged shrapnel of green rock had pierced through the Insecticon’s throat, and he writhed and let out a shriek before falling still, dead within seconds.

The whole thing had happened in less than a moment, too quick for anyone but Hardshell to do anything. But instead of being horrified by the gruesome state of the corpse lying before them all, Flatline perked up in visible interest.

“Oooh…” Flatline’s breathing mask slid over his faceplate, cooing as he hopped forward and crouched beside the fallen warrior. His bright blue optics glimmered with intrigue, and he reached towards the fuming shrapnel. Only for a massive clawed servo to wrap around his shoulder pauldron and yank him back. Flatline stumbled, and he glared at the back of Hardshell’s helm, as the leader stepped forward and leaned down himself. He just as quickly reared back when he recognised the substance, an arm held protectively across his faceplate.

“Tox-En.” Hardshell sneered, slowly backing away.

————————————————————-

The Insecticon corpse trembled and wailed, apparently not as dead as it might have initially seemed. Although, that might have been because of Flatline’s prodding, probing the foul injury with a pair of forceps. He could feel the Insecticons’ optics on his back, and he heard Hardshell’s grunt of irritation, but all of Flatline’s attention was focused on their dying compatriot.

“Lord Megatron. The object we seek, it is…Tox-En.”

The Insecticon whined weakly, and Flatline smiled behind his mask as he used the forceps to tilt its chin up, further exposing the wound and allowing him to record a proper reading of the Tox-En’s toxicity. It’d been a long time since Flatline had bared witness to the substance, and he wasn’t about to waste this wonderful opportunity.

He was vaguely aware that Hardshell and Megatron were still talking over the comm-link. Flatline couldn’t hear Megatron’s side of the brief exchange, but based on Hardshell’s growling tone, he assumed the conversation wasn’t going well.

————————————————————-

“Wrecker!”

Hardshell’s call echoed across the volcano’s solidified summit. Bulkhead looked up as Hardshell swooped down above, circling and landing across from the Autobot. He transformed, and ordered, “Put down the rock, and allow us to put you out of your misery.”

The rest of the Insecticons climbed over the lip of the volcano, claws and fangs bared. The ch-ch-ch of a t-cog joined the thrum of inhuman growling as Flatline touched down alongside them; his right servo hung by his hip, digits curled and blade primed.

Bulkhead’s optics narrowed, looking around at the group of Decepticons that currently had him surrounded.

“Gotta swat some flies…” His balance felt uneasy when he shifted his weight to his other pede, but his expression was set, determined.

Bulkhead took another grenade from his belt, flicking off the pin and throwing it at the feet of the nearest Insecticon. It peered at the grenade for the split-second before the grenade exploded, throwing it back against the rock wall. Hardshell snarled and unsheathed his second pair of arms, the taloned ends razor-sharp and ready to tear through green Autobot plating. The snarl deepened to a roar as Hardshell charged forward. Bulkhead planted his pedes, tightened his grip around the chunk of Tox-En, and thrust it upwards into Hardshell’s throat. Hardshell screamed, clawed pedes struggling for purchase on the molten rocky floor. He was held aloft by the Tox-En, spasming as the false energon’s touch dissolved through his neck cabling.

“Fair warning…” Bulkhead growled through gritted teeth while Hardshell struggled, “I’m contagious.”

The syringe-blade glanced off of Bulkhead’s armour, narrowly missing its intended target of the gap between the metal. Bulkhead winced and glanced back over his shoulder, in time to see the blade’s attached length of cable retract back into Flatline’s arm. Flatline’s optics were narrowed, and looked just as bloodthirsty as the Insecticons’ did.

“Then allow me to administer the cure.” Flatline’s arm snapped forward, the blade shooting forward at the speed of a bullet. It struck into Bulkhead’s back, and Bulkhead bellowed as he felt the weaponised syringe administering something foreign into his body. Flatline rolled his arm with one wide, quick motion. The syringe’s cable hooked up and around Bulkhead’s neck, and yanked. Bulkhead wrenched his helm against it - still forcing the Tox-En forward, not allowing Hardshell any reprieve - but a wave of nausea and weakness wracked his frame, Flatline’s poison adding to the Tox-En’s already overwhelming effects, and he hadn’t noticed the mad doctor rush towards him until Flatline’s other servo suddenly dug into his faceplate, ripping him downwards the rest of the way.

The ground rumbled as Bulkhead fell on his back. Freed from the Tox-En’s burn, Hardshell gasped and stumbled back, falling to all fours.

“You don’t look well, Autobot.” Flatline leered over Bulkhead’s fallen form, the cable still pulling taut against Bulkhead’s neck. Bulkhead blinked wearily, forced to watch Flatline’s lips curl with satisfaction. The rock was still within his grasp, and he tightened his hold around it - nothing else mattered except ensuring he still had hold of it.

Flatline slipped the syringe free of Bulkhead’s back, brandishing it like a knife while the cable was being used to strangle. Beads of energon dripped from the edge.

“Don’t worry,” Flatline pressed the syringe to the gap between Bulkhead’s neck and his chestplate. Flatline’s pseudo-soothing tone was ruined by a building laugh, “I’ll put you out of your misery.” He went to thrust, but Bulkhead’s free servo seized him by the arm. Bulkhead heaved, flipping Flatline over and slamming him into the ground in the same movement. Flatline cried out, plating groaning from the impact, and the syringe had slipped from his grasp. Bulkhead untangled the cable from around his neck and sucked air into his ventilation systems, doing his best to clear his aching processor.

Hardshell hadn’t strayed from the battle; he circled Bulkhead and Flatline, still low on all fours like a predator stalking its prey. The growl however was from Flatline, who rose to a half-crouch, the syringe-blade lashing at the air as it winched back into his servo with a soft snick. Bulkhead dragged himself to his pedes, eyeing them both. Flatline lunged forward, attempting to inject him again. Bulkhead pitched himself out of the way and punched Flatline in the back. The medibot wasn’t built for fighting, and the impact pounded him back down onto the ground with enough force to make his processor spin. Bulkhead did himself, Hardshell, and maybe even Flatline a favour by grabbing the Decepti-Doc by the rotor blades and tossing him across the expanse of the summit. Flatline slammed into the rock with a pained shout.

On Bulkhead’s flank, another Insecticon took the opportunity to transform and charge. Bulkhead was ready for it, and swung around the chunk of Tox-En, knocking the bug out of the air. Dazed on its back, it couldn’t do anything to stop Bulkhead walking up to it, and slamming the Tox-En down against its stomach.

“Hold this.” Bulkhead ordered, as if it had a choice. The Insecticon groaned, horned head falling in defeat. With it out of the way, Bulkhead turned and placed all of his attention back onto his main adversary: Hardshell. The two circled each other, optics locked, and hackles raised.

————————————————————-

Bulkhead’s servo retracted, deploying his giant mace. He wound back, and hit Hardshell with everything he had.

Hardshell toppled, stumbling back until his heels reached the edge of a hole in the volcano’s otherwise sealed peak. Barely managing to catch himself, Hardshell glanced down at the smouldering crater, and then back towards Bulkhead. His mouth fell open in a warbling cry as he saw Bulkhead heave the piece of Tox-En towards him.

“Catch!” Bulkhead called. The rock slammed into Hardshell’s empty servos. The force pushed the Insecticon over the last of the distance, and he fell into the crater with a shocked scream.

The air felt clearer, apart from one last presence on the volcano alongside Bulkhead. He turned, locking optics with the last Decepticon left on the mountain. Flatline stared back at him. Bulkhead’s ventilation systems heaved, his shoulders hunched. His gaze bore into Flatline, and his mace was still held at his side, ready to bludgeon whatever threat remained.

Flatline glared at Bulkhead. He looked to the smouldering crater, where the last of his muscle had vanished into, and then back to the Wrecker. Bulkhead’s helm lowered, increasing the furrow in his brow. Wordlessly, Flatline took a step back, and then transformed. He knew his chances were abysmal in a one-on-one fight, so he chose to take off, retreating from the volcano.

————————————————————-

The mission had failed. Megatron was going to be…unhappy, to put it mildly. Flatline doubted he’d be able to avoid being reprimanded for his failure, not when he’d been assigned to assist the platoon of Insecticons. Maybe, hopefully, the Insecticons would receive the greater share of Megatron’s wrath. On the bright side, at least Flatline had escaped in better shape than Hardshell or Bulkhead.

And besides, there were other prizes more valuable than a simple victory.

Flatline chuckled, and increased his speed through the open sky. Safely nestled within his cabin, a sealed beaker rattled from the movement of its contents within. Through the flask’s thick glass, the murky glow of Tox-En shards, which Flatline had stolen from the fallen Insecticon’s throat, swirled with silent promise.

[caeloservare]

Semi hiatus

To be fair, I don't really feel safe to write nor share my thoughts here anymore, but I need to say this.

I don't enjoy rwby anymore. I'm honest and open about it. I despise directions show took with many topics, especially about mental health and suicide. I won't change my mind about it. I won't stop you from still having fun with the show either, that'd be asshole move of me. However, blaming criticism and different opinions on ignorance or malevolence is hardly fair. Different points of view come from many factors. Attitude of "any criticism (or rwde)= hate or stupidity" is a harmful oversimplification. By now it borders with censorship and policing other people's blogs. Even more so when you add to the mix people who demand what and how others can or should write. The attitude of only one "valid" interpretation is hardly fair to anyone as well. And these combined make a seriously toxic environment for any fan activity.

You have all the rights to protect yourself from things you don't want to see. You have all the rights to have content tagged for blocking purposes. To have fun everyone needs a safe space, so make sure you're doing good and protecting yourself from trigger exposure. But also check with yourself above problems. Everyone is more or less toxic in some aspects, myself included. That can and needs to be worked on though. For a small community that is supposed to be inclusive fun after hours, these issues are killing the joy and driving people away. Myself included again.

I have no will to write here. All my favourite characters got butchered, killed off or both. Imagine how it feels to have a fave that the creators take regular shit on, openly hate on and the rest of the fandom cheers along, despite nothing ever hinted this direction in early stages. And then getting accused of being hateful and ignorant for not liking the plot twist that ruined it and very clearly not wanted around.

I still check the dash out of reflex. I'm hoping to be able to rp and have fun again, but as for now, I can't promise anything nor make any final decision.

tl;dr: be fucking kinder to one another, would you. And to me too, I didn't come here to deal with this hateful "moral high ground" kind of bullshit

[fortpeat]

hi there, i really truly don't want this to sound like i am speaking only to you specifically, but you seem to have a lot of anons approach you about this topic, so please bare that in mind with what i'm about to say. i think people in general need to stop talking about fort and peat's supposed sex lives like they know them personally and are speaking on their behalfs. it feels a bit disrespectful to me. by all means, speculate away about their characters, i'll be the first in line to talk about that, but to talk about fort and peat in that way is wrong. they're real people with real lives. and the fact that i've seen discussions where people speculate about their sexualities and whether they're having sex with each other in real life isn't fair to them. yes, we see a lot of them in our daily life, yes, they indulge us and flirt with each other, but that's a big part of them just doing their jobs. it's called fanservice for a reason. does that mean they don't genuinely love and care about each other? no. but in reality, we don't actually know these boys. and to sit in front of our computers and speculate whether these two very real boys are having sex with each other is a little strange to me. and i do not use this phrase lightly when i say that it does sometimes feed into the fetishizing fandom culture that can be so toxic amongst the queer community. and it needs to be called out and stopped when it borders on that kind of territory. and i'm hoping by sending this message you and your followers might take a step back and see where i'm coming from. i'm not being cruel or trying to police anyone, just merely pointing out that we should all maybe try and set boundaries for the parasocial relationships we have with these boys.

Well hello there.

Clearly you are trying to police me and the people who have come to my blog. If there is something that's clearly making you uncomfortable then there is a button called BLOCK which you have every right to use. But you do not get to come to my blog and blame me for something that I didn't do. I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN RESPECTFUL WITH FORTPEAT AND THEIR LIVES.

If you think that its all fanservice then that's your opinion, you don't see me coming to you and shoving down my thoughts down your throat. And I can't control what the anons send me and even if they have then I have always answered them in a way that never crosses the line.

For the record just coz we love Fortpeat and the love they have for each other doesn't mean that we are fetishizing them. Again if what you see on your timeline feels disrespectful for YOU then please block me for all I care. Curate your TL which is suitable for you. These boys have made some of my worst days into the brightest and if you can't understand where I am coming from and the love I have for them then that's your problem.

My blog is my safe space and I am sure that it's the same for atleast one person out there as well and that's more than enough for me.

And for the record my asks barely get one like or sometimes it's none. And anon I am not shouting about this in a public space like twt and tagging them. This is as private as one can be and you know what it's people like you who make it weird and wrong to talk about two humans who are affectionate with each other.

Again please feel free to use the block button. 🙏🙏 It saves us both the headache of ever having to interact.

(P.S. I can totally be nice to people who are nice to me but if someone comes into my blog and accuses me of something that I clearly haven't done so, then the "nice" is out the door)

[hibewriter]

Eyes to Welcome You Home

Masterlist   Read it on AO3

Shadow & Bone | Darklina | 7.3K | E 

Tags: Age Gap | Dry Humping | Car Sex | Stair Sex | Coach x Player Relationship

Logically, Ravka is just like any other country. Within its borders citizens in its largest cities mull about, going to and fro from jobs of a different caliber than the citizens of the countryside. Its roads are an intertwining bramble dictated by terrain and populace, a web when laid out on paper — all seemingly combining to a point at the country capital of Os Alta.  

But the most important roads, the major ones that nearly every citizen found themselves on at one point or another, were the two cross-country highways. Like all major roads in Ravka, country-Way 270 and Country-Way 40 intersect at the heart of Ravka in a spiraling complex of ten lanes and confusing exits. 

Most preferred CW-40, outside of the city at least. Once its lanes died down into a manageable system of three that traveled from the very highest point at the Fjerdian border to the very southernmost point of Shu Han. Few people minded the small airport along its route, for the traffic was rarely overbearing. 

Yet, on CW-270, which stretched from the port coast to the intersecting border of Ravka, Fjerda, and Shu Han, many found themselves in a hate-hate relationship with the long stretches of construction, passing fields and fields of farmland only to transition into worn buildings of an industrial era long gone. But, should one decide to take the cross-country road trip, they might find interest in the passing exits of small towns. Isolated stretches of road that seemed to have slipped into an ethereal space, lone streetlights, and cracked asphalt that stretched to the very depths of darkness themselves. 

It’s on one such road, two hundred and eighty-four miles away from the coastline, just before the final exit before the border crossing, was a foster home. Normally, one would not find a foster home on the edge of Ravka’s civilized society to be significant. One casually does not pay mind to the small town of Ketterdam, just twenty miles from CW-270. The old industrial buildings were covered in decades of salt and wind, brick weathered dull but still standing out vibrantly from the paneled homes and patched roofing across the town. Even less than minding the small town, people minded the downtrodden foster children. All of them were forgotten the second they were deposited on Ana Kuya’s doorstep, government checks were often “misdelivered” for months at a time. 

But that didn’t stop the house from bringing a vibrancy often lost in the grey skies of Ketterdam. 

“Malyen, get OUT .” A voice, high and sure rang through the crumbling four square. The chipped painting probably suffered from lead and other toxic materials that lined the walls, and cramped hallways with boxes full of various belongings. And currently banging on the home’s lone bathroom door, was a girl of five foot four, jet black hair swishing like silk down her back as her entire body moved with her fist. 

“MALYEN, I SWEAR TO GOD IF WE’RE LATE DROPPING OFF ROSE I WILL BREAK YOUR ARM!” She swore, continuing her pounding as a girl, no older than twelve with blonde pigtails destroyed by sleep, peeked her head out of the door across the hall.

“Linka? I need your help with my hair.” The dark-haired girl, Alina Starkov, spun abruptly, eyes wide as she regarded her foster sibling.  

“Of course, Rosie, why don’t you go ahead and get your bookbag together and I’ll grab your brush from the bathroom." She watched carefully as the girl rolled her eyes and slipped back into the room. As soon as the door softly clicked shut she spun on her heel, fire returning to her eyes as she accessed the door. 

‘Malyen, you have to the count of thr–”

The door swung open, and she was suddenly face to face with her foster brother. Had it been years ago, and she was still idyllic with her little crushes based on physical appearance, and that alone, she might have been given pause at the shirtless boy in front of her. His build was bulky as muscles strained under his skin from years of football practice and eating more than his fair share during dinner as Ana Kuya looked the other way. But instead of being charmed by his lopsided grin, she pushed her way past him, furiously turning the water to begin brushing her teeth. 

"Morning to you too, Alina." 

She fixed her eyes to glare, not responding as she rushed. He merely chuckled, seemingly amused by her frustration. She wasn't sure what was so funny. They had fifteen minutes to get dressed, eat, and load into the car – least Rose, Alina, and Malyen get detention for being late. And none of them could afford that right now.  

"Jush hurreh up Mal." She groaned around the brush in her mouth, trying not to rush through her process too much. This was her last year, she forced herself to remember. The last few months of struggling through mornings like this. 

"Relax, Lina," he sighed, heavy feet padding down the hallway. "I'm driving today remember? Ana gave me the car for the weekend!"  

She cursed, spitting the sudsy paste into the sink with fever, barely taking a second to rinse before she, too, was in the hallway. 

“What?! I need it to get to work! And practice!” She yelled, ire building as she heard the deep laugh from the boys' door. Ana was taking Charles to daycare already, their caretaker often gone before dawn. How she found a caretaker to take the boy before the sun rose she'll never know. 

"Too bad! Use a cab!" 

She scowled, sure that steam would rush from her ears if the shockingly violent cartoons were accurate. But instead, her face just grew red. Splotches of anger dotting otherwise flawless skin, fist coiled by her sides. She didn't have the money right now. Not after –

"Linka, my hair!" 

A lump swallow in her throat, closed eyes as she rushed through her calming. One, two, three –

"LINKA,"

"One minute, Rosie!" 

It was going to be a long day. 

She was right, of course. She sat through mind-numbing class after mind-numbing class. Notes were taken with a drying glitter pen – lines and loops not fully connecting but it didn't really matter. There was a good chance she would not remember a lecture about the industrial revolution in Ravka. What did it matter, when all it left in its wake was a crumbling building in Ketterdam where she listened to Mr. Botkin spew historical talking points from the country curriculum? Half the information needed was to be parsed on the single laptop Ana brought home when it was clear that the textbook – first written nearly a hundred years prior – would not do. 

And if in the margins, where she should take specific notes on figureheads and notable politicians whose influence died with them, she doodled pictures of dark eyes that welcomed her home every night then…that was her prerogative. 

Besides, as the hands on the old clock above the door ticked slowly towards two-thirty, she grew more and more restless. Even the bolt from the building to the gym, nearly a mile away, could not quell her anticipatory movements. Her pen tapped restlessly, her foot moving even faster as she lost the plot of whatever her professor said. 

Ring .

Foot met the pavement faster than her teacher could scream after her. The bell doesn't excuse you , would not work. Not today. Not as she sprinted out of the two-story building, cracked sneakers hitting concrete, then asphalt, not even sparing a glance at the parking lot. Malyen and his friends probably didn't even stay after lunch, the old 4Runner long gone from its designated space. 

One mile. Ten minutes. Part of her wished she'd taken cardio more seriously, her down days could've been spent on a treadmill (if Matthais was the one working desk at the town’s only planet fitness) or around the school's track. Even if there were cracks in the rubber walkway, sprouting leaves, and grass that the caretakers weren't paid enough to attempt to remove. 

It was good, the necessity to move fast. She couldn't feel the wind, scraping through her thin jacket. December air at the base of the mountain, nearly single digits, and yet her windbreaker was her only source of warmth. The cutting edge of air as she attempted to avoid lateness. If she were late he would notice. 

You didn't want him to notice your deficiency. 

Her lungs felt like she'd been stabbed, the sudden exertion with no stretching (another thing he'd yell at her for, but the circumstances made it unavoidable). But she persisted, ignoring the weight of her backpack and gym bag slapping against her spine with each hurried step.

2:47 . 

She attempted to slip in, unnoticed as she sprinted to the locker room. Thirteen minutes. Her limbs were a flurry of motion, clothes discarded for her practice leotard, (hand washed every night you didn’t want to waste too much water using the washing machine). Hands and feet powdered with a quickness that couldn't achieve proper usage, wrapped so quickly after she was sure there was probably a step she missed.  

She refused to be embarrassed, however. Not as she slipped into the main practice area, her legs perhaps moving faster than normal to get to her stretching corner. She ignored the pointed looks from the redhead, normally so sweet, already in the middle of her stretches. Steadfastly pretended she couldn't hear the dark-haired girl, normally not-so-sweet, muttering about her timing. She could do this. Pretend everything was fine and it wasn't a million-dollar race to even get here. No matter if she was three minutes late. 

"Starkov." 

She winced, closing her eyes as she leaned into a split. He noticed. He always notices. Aleksander Morozov may have been an army captain, or a general, with his precision. The way he demanded perfection, and if you couldn't give it to him…well then what use were you? 

"Yes, Coach?" She tried to feign confusion, slowly opening her eyes to see the man himself. Dark pools stared impassively into her eyes. Unimpressed. More likely disappointed. Not welcoming as she dreamed of them.

"Is the posted time for practice not in your email?" His voice, neutral in tone, still carried an edge to it. He could be laughing, speaking about his greatest joy, and she would still believe him seconds from brandishing a knife to stab her with. Maybe flay her and eat her. 

"It is in my email, coach." 

"Then do you simply not respect the time and sanctity of this gym?" 

"I do, coach. I'm sorry. It won't happen again." 

His arms crossed, the black t-shirt straining against his biceps as he regarded her. She wished she could tell what he was thinking. What he wanted. 

"Thirty laps after stretching. You'll work the floor today." 

"But it's–" 

"Bar is for people who show up on time, Starkov." 

Silence. She could feel the eyes on her, other athletes waiting to see what she'd do. But seconds passed, her form unmoving as she looked into those eyes. She needed to practice the bar. It was her worst event, and she needed damn near perfection if she wanted to –

It didn't matter. She swallowed her fury, finally tearing her gaze away from stern eyes and leaning into her stretch. When has she ever been able to say no to him anyway?  

"Of course, Coach." 

Her legs ached. Thirty laps had crossed into thirty-five because five of those laps were walked, Starkov. Go again. Her floor routine was in shambles. Simple tumbles had fallen flat, final landings nearly causing her to roll her ankle. 

It was two hours of failure. Two hours of his eyes on her. She felt them hovering on her – as if the other students didn’t need assistance. He didn't have to say a word. Nothing since she began but she fucking knew. The disappointment was evident when carved into stone, its edges sharper and more biting the more it sets. By the end, her mouth tasted like copper. Her breath came out in pants as she glanced at the clock. 

Maybe if she could go one more time, fix her double axle… Her eyes tracked the empty mat, ignoring her fellow athletes leaving the space as she tried to figure out what was wrong with her. 

"Practice is over, Starkov."  No dice. She sighed, dropping her hands from her hips in an act of defeat. It was no use begging for more time. Time she didn't have before she had to leave. She was already cutting it close. 

"I'm leaving, Coach. I get it." She muttered, not sparing him a glance as she slowly turned and made her way to the lockers. I wouldn't want to keep the disappointment in here either.  

She was slower this time, peeling her leotard off in a daze. Her brow furrowed as she thought of every mistake. Sprung too early on the salto, fucked up the twists, and made it seem like a salto. Constantly fucked up the landing, her balance was practically nonexistent. 

Her thoughts followed her in a haze as she jogged the next three miles to the city grocery. 

Technically, the city had an ordinance on minors working. No teenager in Ketterdam was supposed to work past eleven-thirty, nor lift more than sixty percent of body weight in a work environment, and there were mandatory fifteen-minute breaks per four hours worked. But, working at Brekker Grocery had its…well advantage isn’t quite the word. But it did tend to help you skirt around the ordinances of the city. No official paychecks meant no logged hours, which meant that she could work as late as the store was open (until one in the morning, every night of the week except Sunday when they closed at midnight). It was the only flexible job in town. The only place that would hire her. 

"Hey Kaz," she muttered as she strolled inside, past the only other cashier in the store. At least he didn’t have a choice. The son of the owner typically gets dragged into these things, whether they want to or not. 

“Hey! My dad’s out of town so it’s just me and you tonight.” She had a feeling, not seeing the rusted pickup Mr. Brekker normally drove to the store outside. But, she merely sighed, switching into the red half-apron that was probably older than her. It’s not like she could turn around now. 

“So what, did you not go to class today?” Friendly conversation. She could do that. 

“Don’t need class when you got street smarts.”

She rolled her eyes, a huff escaping her lips as she walked away from him. Kaz was two years older than her, yet they were in the same grade. She didn’t want to chalk it up to days like this, where Mr. Brekker would disappear and force his youngest to take over. But when it was a constant, something she barely had to ask about, well. It made sense.  

Shelves needed to be stocked, and she needed to spend the next…seven hours pretending she was busy. To be fair, she wasn’t certain she was necessary after ten, but who could say no to more cash at the end of the night? 

Maybe, if she didn’t open her mouth so much, she would’ve been correct about a slow night. Then she wouldn’t be dealing with a sudden influx of students, out well past their curfews, barging into the store with less than an hour to closing. Where she was forced to stand at the register while Kaz “counted” the closed registers. She didn’t know what exactly he got up to back there. Just knew that her drawer was short once, and after screaming at him for nearly an hour that night, it was never short again. Mr. Breaker wouldn’t fire his son, not for simply skimming what was technically his profits. But he would fire the little foster kid from down the road. 

And maybe she needed the job. Maybe she still did. Or maybe it was pride, mixed in her fury. 

Either way, the kids in the store gave no reprieve to her night. The sun was long gone, and she could see the sky, opening like a flower in spring. Slowly, then all at once, white powder fell cautiously from above, as if afraid to touch the ground. Deep inhales, then a sigh as she watches it begin to accumulate. Her sneakers had a hole in the sole, something she’d meant to fix this morning before she was so late. Something that would bite her in the ass as she walked back. Ice would seep into her feet, the socks would grow wet, and she’d have to be careful about falling on the ice. 

Little things in life provided much relief besides the approach of black grippy shoes, manager’s keys swinging from side to side accompanied by the carefree whistle of someone who lived two minutes from the storefront where they worked. A sound she was all too familiar with, eyeing the lone clock above the entryway. Only one-twenty-three in the morning. Maybe she’d get home before three. 

“Alright, sunshine. Get out of here.” She was out of her apron before Kaz finished his sentence, ignoring the shake of his head as she nearly sprinted to get her bag. She could go to sleep, she could rest…

If only. Exiting the grocery store was a nightmare. While the snow fell around her, silent and bright on the dimly lit street, the wind raged. Drastic and powerful, her light jacket was little more than a sheet, wet and soaking mere seconds after stepping foot outside. She held her arms close, hoping beyond hope that her body would provide the barest warmth against the elements.

She walked along the main road for just a few minutes, the street lamps illuminating her path, though as she continued her march south, toward her home and shared bed, She found herself taking more and more steps between each light. Shadows seemed to follow her, clinging to her form with each crunch of her shoe. 

The alley, her shortcut behind the town's only bar, was already layered with the week's trash, topped with fresh snow that did little to mask the smell. Her shirt, pulled up and over her nose, was not much better. But soon enough, the hazy blues and reds of The Fold's neon signs reflected off the fallen snow. A welcome sight as she stepped onto the frosted sidewalk.

"Starkov." 

She froze, turning to face the bar awning. Or more importantly, the man standing underneath it. He hadn't changed since practice, the same black joggers and t-shirt adorning his body. But his voice was just as sharp, like a predator approaching prey.

Briefly, she wondered how he could stand to stand outside, the bar door firmly shut behind him. But the lit cigarette dangled precariously out his mouth, soft smoke floating like a stream past his face, and it occurred to her that maybe he was in a rush to get outside when he stepped out. 

"Coach, I didn't see you there."

He stared at her, dark eyes roaming her underdressed form, the same bags, and jacket from practice on her back.

"You should be more observant," he said, pulling the cigarette from his mouth. " It's dangerous to be out so late."

"Yeah, well, not much of a choice these days," she shot back. She startled at her tone, eyes growing wide as she recognized the annoyance slipping into her words. She clasped her lips shut. Practice tomorrow would likely be torture, should he find himself in a bad mood. Silence stretched between them, encompassed by the air whipping around them.

She shivered, clutching herself tighter as she turned her head to look down the street. Just a few more miles until she was home. Her ears were on fire, reddened by the wind. Her hands tucked precariously into her armpits – a small shield from the growing storm. 

“Where are you going?” His voice finally broke, cutting through the wind like a sheet of paper. She sniffed, turning to look back at him. 

“Home,” her legs shifted, dancing from setting her weight on one side to the other. Maintain the blood flow, and warm yourself. It was only a few more miles. “Hopefully. Mal has the car and he went out of town. So I was walking. It might be colder than I anticipated earlier.” She paused, eyeing his patient face. It was almost expectant, how he looked at her to explain why she would be out so late, on a Friday, in the middle of a storm. 

She bit her tongue, turning her head towards the darkness once more. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, I should go.”

“Stay right there,” he sounded so sure, dropping his cigarette and stomping it out. The bar door opened in a burst, a flash of movement and suddenly it was like he never even stepped inside. A heavy jacket and keys in hand as he approached her. His hand was warm around her arm, slowly taking her toward a black truck, one she hadn’t noticed before. 

“I can walk you don’t have to leave your night,” she protested as he led her to the passenger side. She couldn’t see the face he made, the exasperated look as he opened the door. 

“Get in the car, Alina.” 

She scrambled into the seat, barely registering the door slam before the driver’s side was opened, the truck rumbling to life at the press of a button. She wanted to huff, but the heavy jacket was placed over her arms, her coach leaning over and pulling the seatbelt across her lap. She tried not to inhale him, the smoke – while fresh – took a backseat to the woodsy undertones of his body wash, still evident even after a long day in Ketterdam. 

She watched as he straightened, turning the heat up before jumping out of the car again. The snow, piled on the windshield, slowly disappeared – brushed away with precision. A well-practiced movement, years of living in the mountain town honing skills she’d yet to master. It was almost calming, watching him prep the truck for movement, her body warming to the heat flowing into the cabin. The jacket provided a weight, a smell, that had her sinking into the cool leather of the seat. 

“Do you need to tell Ana where you are?” His voice rang as he climbed back in, shaking flakes of snow off of his hands. She shook her head leaning back. 

“Rosie is staying the weekend with a friend, so Ana doesn’t really care where I am.” 

She felt him tense, the way most people do when they figure it out. She was just a second pair of hands to raise the kids, not a kid in her own home. She sighed, eyeing him carefully. 

“It’s okay. Like I don’t mind it.” She tried to explain, tried to push away those feelings. She knew what it was, the pity, the confusion. Not knowing what to do when a teenager tells you that nobody cares. “It gives me a lot of freedom, ya know. Can’t get into much trouble when you’re always busy, right?” 

She tried to laugh, but it was met with a furrow of his brow. And it was like he was looking right through her. Right through her words and into the insecurities she shoved deep down. As if he suddenly pieced the jigsaw together, even though he’d been on the edges of it for years. She’d just never let him close enough to see all the pieces. 

“Do you do this often?” 

“Do what often?”

“Walk home in the middle of the night.” 

She could tell he was itching to ask something else. Anything else really. Something more personal, more accusatory of neglect, or how life was unfair. As if she didn’t already know that. As if being the only shu girl (in a town that, despite its proximity, did not seem to care for those over the border) didn’t already teach her this. But she just shrugged, noncommital as she looked out the window at the snow falling again. 

She tried to feign indifference as the truck jolted, pulling out of the parking spot to go into the road. Braving elements she was ill-equipped to do on her own. Ignored the rumbling in her tummy as street lights began to change, the soft rumbling of the truck cabin caused her eyes to close, if only for a minute. 

“Yes, I’d like to order a deluxe chicken sandwich meal and a ten-piece nugget meal.”

“And what will that be to drink?”

She blinked her bleary eyes awake, surprised at their sudden side adventure. The sleep shook from her bones as she cast him a curious glance. The light from the restaurant illuminated the lines on his face. Sharp edges fell into shadow as he leaned against his car door, speaking to the poor drive-through attendant. 

What would it be like to touch the beard on his face?

She didn’t have much brain power, not as he pulled around, money exchanged for food placed on her lap. Drinks were placed in the cup holder. It wasn’t until he pulled into an empty space that she spoke. 

“I thought you were taking me home?” 

“I am,” he replied, pulling his sandwich from the bag. She looked at him curiously as he began rifling through their food, sauces laid between them as he began to eat. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” 

He swallowed his bite, turning to look at her with a skeptical brow raised. 

“Oh, and when’s the last time you ate?” 

She opened and closed her mouth, several times, before finally giving up. Honestly, it hadn’t been since she scarfed down that English muffin the morning before, in the sprint to school. Her cafeteria balance didn’t have enough for food this afternoon, and she couldn’t go off campus for anything. Unless she wanted to get stuck walking during lunch too.  

Attention turned to the bag, and she tried not to immediately scarf down the hot fries and chicken nuggets. Eating in silence next to the man as he seemed intent on ignoring her growing uneasiness. 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” She asked suddenly – after her last nugget was gone and she began placing trash back into the bag within which it came. He shrugged, taking a sip of his drink before slipping his own trash into the bag alongside hers. 

“I’m not a monster.”

“You’re not nice either.” 

At this, he laughed. Shrugging a bit before looking away from her, out the window at the continued snowfall. For a moment she wondered if he’d taken her to the fast food outside of town, an extra ten minutes away from everything else. It was closer to the highway, it stayed open later. Did he really just get this food because he was hungry? Did he feel bad?

“Demanding precision and dedication from someone with your skillset rarely correlate into niceness, Alina.”

“You called me Alina.” 

He turned back to her, dark eyes boring into her own. Part of them made her want to shrink away, a growing darkness that could not only be attributed to the night filling his irises. But the other part of her, a part she rarely wanted to indulge in, was drawn to it. Wanted to explore, and see just why his eyes seemed to both push and invite her in. 

“That’s your name.”

“You call me Starkov.”

“Professional context. This isn’t a professional situation.”

She blinked, mind numb at the thought. Non-professional. They weren’t friends. They rarely saw each other outside of the gym. She never thought he'd even want to see her in a non-professional manner. 

"Of course, I do," Oh. She must've spoken out loud. "But I am your coach, that would be inappropriate." 

She scoffed, shoving the last of her fries into her mouth before collecting their trash. Ignoring his amused brow as she unbuckled her seatbelt, switching positions with the trash. They'd been close before. His hands as they adjusted her legs, her arms. Holding her steady before a bar routine, catching her occasionally if she needed it. 

But there was something about this – sitting close proximity in a car, fluorescent lights traded for the dim haze of his car radio. 

"So because you're my coach we can't be friends?" 

"No."

His voice gave no room for leeway. He was resolutely not looking at her, hands firmly in his lap as his eyes gazed into the darkness. She almost felt stricken, as if he'd hit her. Her face framed red as she felt the sting of rejection for something she hadn't even allowed herself to fully want until five minutes ago. Suddenly she wanted to hide – from him, from the snow-capped shadows that encased the car. A lump formed in her throat, a pit the size of her fist blocking her throat as her eyes began to sting with unshed tears.

"Why?" she begged. He shifted as if to lean away from her. As if to leave. Her hand flew out before she could stop herself, grasping his bicep. "I'm eighteen. I can decide who I can and can't be friends with." 

He sighed, weighed by whatever plagued his thoughts. His eyes closed as he took a sobering inhale.  

"You're only eighteen," he began, the tone of a father chastising a child that didn't understand just why you couldn't have ice cream for dinner. But she didn't want a father. She didn't want to be treated like a kid.

"Yes, I'm eighteen. I can make decisions for myself."

"That's not what the world thinks, Alina."

She bristled, shifting with ease. Fitting herself in the space between the steering wheel and his chest. His entire body tensed, unwilling to move a single millimeter. Her breath ghosted his nose. His eyes remained clenched. She wanted to smack him and force him to look at her if he was so intent on being a professional. If he was turning her away he better have the audacity to look her in the eye. 

"The greatest of champions are not made because of society's expectations, but in spite of them." She stared at his face after she spoke those words. Eyebrows furrowed as he waged war within himself. Her hand came up without thinking, fingers drifting over the crease of his nose. She wanted to bask in the hitch of his breathing, the slight drop of his shoulders as he let her touch him.  His hands twitched, indecisive, before her lightly grasped her hips. 

"You deserve normal friends," his voice whispered as he shifted her further away. She almost pressed against the horn of the car before her free hand flew to rest on his chest. 

"You're –"

"A thirty-five-year-old and an eighteen-year-old are not a normal friendship, Alina." His eyes opened, dark and obsidian as the night. There was an urgency in them. A pleading for her to understand what he was saying. "One of them always wants more than the other."

The pit in her throat returned, double in size as she stared back. She couldn't look away – drawn into his gaze and unable to look away. It was like how his mere presence drew all the attention in the room, but the room was just her. 

"Do you think…" she choked on her words, blinking finally as she shifted in his lap. Trying to get right in the middle of wrong.  "That you're the only one who wants more?" 

His eyes closed again, and he leaned forward as he groaned. A pained exhale as he tried to maintain the rigid composure he had with her. For too long , she thought. Her hands rested on his forearms, eyes staring at the grey leather of the truck wall as his head landed on her chest. 

For a moment, she was just there. Feeling his warmth seeping into her bones as he breathed. And it felt right – his hands on her hips, his breath on her chest. The tickle of his hair under her chin. And it was with sudden clarity, like a lightning strike, that she felt her resolve solidify. That she knew what she wanted. What she needed from him. 

"Take me home, Aleksander." She felt him stiffen again, tension evident in him as he attempted to regain composure. Her hand flew to his hair, a soothing thread of her fingers on his scalp. "Your home. I want – please take me to your home." 

She didn't move from his lap as he sat back. Instead, she allowed herself to follow his movement, tucking her head into the crook of his neck and shifting her hips closer to his. She relished the slow rumble of the truck, its shaky movements as it backed out of the parking space. Each foot shook the cab as he tried to carefully drive with a girl on his lap in the middle of a snowstorm. 

But she didn't mind. Each bump and rumble brought her hips closer to his. Hardness pressed against her center with each movement. She bit her lip, clutching his shoulders as he navigated the streets (he did choose the fast food in town after all), but that could not stop the small whimpers she left with each rock of her hips. She barely noticed when they pulled into his driveway. Her hips still moved on their own accord, her whimpers no longer hindered as she mouthed at his neck. 

In a flash his hands were back on her, increasing the pressure as he brought her hips down harder. His head flew back, giving her more access as she began to pant. She was encased in the smell of him, woodsy smoke, and a basic soap. Each roll of her hips was a push towards a cliff, the coil inside her tightening with each roll. But it was the sound of him, the low groan in her ear as she moved that sent her over the edge. A small cry left her as she did. The flood of relief filled her body as she clung to him, thighs shaking.  

She panted, eyes lidded as she came down. Each limb seemed to come back to her separately. Her toes unclenched, and her fingers slowly released the fabric of his shirt. Each breath renewed her resolve. 

"A-Alina," he breathed. He was still hard beneath her, clutching her as if he was afraid she'd run away. "Text Ana you're spending the night somewhere safe." 

How he had the wherewithal to think of that she'll never know. And it was obvious that Ana wouldn’t care. But she did as she was told, slowly peeling herself away from his shoulder. She raised her hips slightly, reaching in her pocket for the phone she had for emergencies only. 

I'm safe, Coach took me in when he saw me walking in the storm. I'll be home when the roads are clear. 

She hissed when he turned the truck off, cabin lights blinding her. But he shifted her off his lap, opened the door, and climbed out. When he turned he offered her his hand, and she blushed as her eyes traveled past it, a noticeable bulge and a small spot of wetness staining his pants where her hips were. She wondered if she had the same stain on her jeans. 

He had her in his arms before she could blink, snapping her out of her haze. She barely absorbed the home, another two-story four square. It was better kept than Ana's, even in the dark. Floorboards that didn't creek under the weight of both of them as he carried her – legs wrapped tight around his waist – through the front door. 

Her feet were set on solid wood, a brief moment of clarity through the fog as he turned to close the door. A solid click of a lock. And then, his lips were on hers. 

Soft, demanding. If she thought she was consumed by him before, this must be what it meant to be devoured. Hands, rough and calloused, cradled her face. His thumb was against her cheek, pulling her closer as if he couldn't get enough. His fervor, all-consuming and suffocating ignites her own. Her hands tangle into the hair at the base of his neck. Her chest pressed to his. 

Their bodies moved as if possessed. Hands everywhere as they moved, lips only parting for seconds as shirts flew off with the wind. Legs moved on their own accord, strong arms pushing against furniture from his entire life – blindly leading her to the stairs.  But as her ankles hit the first step she fell back, their kiss breaking as she lay on the carpet runner. His eyes were somehow depthless as he gazed at her, eyebrow cocked as she bit her swollen lips.

"We can go upstairs," he offered. She shook her head no, her hands drifting to the front zipper of her sports bra. His eyes tracked the movement like a hawk, an almost audible gulp forming in his throat. 

"T–The living room?" Again she shook her head, her chest bared to him as he knelt. Finally, he was to feel the tightness in his chest, the same twisting feeling she felt in his presence. Breathless and needy as she unbuttoned her jeans. 

"No," she nearly whispered. "Here." 

His hands shoved hers aside, kneeling in front of her as he pulled at the fabric at her hips. Her jeans and panties disappeared in a flash. He was between her legs in a flash, the edge of the step holding her cunt to his eye level. 

"Such a pretty cunt," he murmured, leaning forward. She blushed, raising her hands to her face before he looked up. He placed a kiss on her stomach, eyes fluttering as he began to kiss down. "Don't hide from me, malyshka . I've waited long enough for you." 

She could barely get a whimper out before he licked a broad stripe down her cunt. 

It was hard to believe, as he feasted hungrily over her. She hadn't known that she could feel sparks fly in her. That her entire body would arch off the staircase as he seemed on a mission for his tongue to find every nerve in her clit. There was no feasible way for her to contain the sounds she was making, even if she wanted to.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, tugging and pulling as a finger suddenly filled her. She felt stretched wide. Far more than she could attempt herself during muffled nights, attempting not to wake her sleeping foster sister as she fantasized about eyes darker than the shadows that held her. 

And he took his time, working her into a frenzy as he slowly thrust that finger inside her. His tongue continued blatant teasing, almost torture as he pushed her closer and closer to the edge with each stripe. It was overwhelming, a plethora of senses coming together to wind her higher and higher with each passing stroke. She was hardly coherent when she broke, half sobs and moans flowing freely from her mouth as she thanked saints she no longer believed in for his tongue. 

He barely let up. His fingers, before one was suddenly two, stretched her already overstimulated cunt as he rose to kiss her. 

The salty tang of his mouth on hers, the juices from her that coated his lips, tasted like ambrosia as his pants met hers – discarded to the wayside as she felt a hardness against her side. Thick and hard as his fingers worked to bring her to that edge again. 

"Please Sasha," she whimpered between breaths, hands uselessly clutching at his sides. His fingers found that spot, pressing against her front wall as she shook, ripping a moan from her. He made to pull away, earning him a whine and a pawing at his sides like a kitten when you try to take away their favorite toy. 

"Gotta be safe, malyshka ," he murmured, attempting to get up again but she just pulled him back.

"Uh uh," she whined, adjusting so he fell right between her legs. His cock brushed against her oversensitive clit, eliciting a moan from both of them. "Wanna feel you. Is just been you… please, Sasha." 

He groaned, a soft nod as he used one of his hands to notch himself at her entrance. Her nails dug into his sides as he began to press inside, his cock larger than his fingers prepared here for. She whimpered as he pressed in an inch, only to pull back and press in another. Each time carving a space for himself. Each press split her apart so that she could be molded just for him. 

Soon their hips met, an ache scratched as he practically laid on top of her. Chest to chest, nose to nose, he didn't look away from her as he slowly pulled away, only to thrust back into the hilt again. Her breath knocked out of her throat, each thrust removing the air from her lungs and placing it in his as their bodies became one,

"Fuck," he muttered, revenant as he looked down, a bulge in her lower stomach looking suspiciously like the cock inside her. " You take me so well, so good for me. Always so perfect. " 

Each stroke hit something inside her. A stroke to flame, a second wave ( or was it the third? Fourth?) threatening to crash as his hips drove hers into the stains beneath them. There would be marks in the morning. Bruises around reddened skin, signs of how well he filled her. Signs of how little she cared about the pain when the pleasure crescendoed to the clouds. To the home of the saints.

He kisses her, mad and fervently as his pace begins to falter. Hips slam against hips, mouths at war to see who could taste who the most. He snakes a hand, switching all his weight to a side, down her torso to meet her clit, causing her to cry out.

"One more, Alina," he panted into her lips. " One more for me." 

She was never good at denying him. She'd been following his instruction for nearly four years. And he was always right. Just a few more and her toes curl, lips parted in a silent cry as her body falls apart. The pleasure overwhelms her, turns her brain to static as all she thinks of is him.  

"Fuck, so tight," he groaned, forehead falling to rest on the stair at her head. "All mine, my Aina ." It became a chant. His Alina. Over and over until he buries himself to the base, pressing into her so hard she wondered if she’d feel the phantom of his hips long after they separated. But the thought gets washed away with the tide of warmth that fills her cunt as he fills her more than she thought possible. 

Ana doesn't notice her absence for the three days Alina spends in Aleksander's bed. Nor does she notice that Alina no longer spends long nights walking home from the grocers. The woman has no time to, and another foster child was sent to her home during the winter break. A boy this time. And Alina would've helped care for the youngling, had she not been planning her departure. 

Less than a hundred and fifty-two days and she would shake off the town of Ketterdam. She would wash away the rust and dust of the city, Os Alta in her sights with a fresh diploma printed in her hands. This time she wouldn't be the only one dreaming of her own gym, a child to hold and eyes dark as the night to welcome her home. She would pack all her belongings in a new duffle bag, purchased as a reward for her acceptance to the Ravkan Olympic team. The bag would get tossed into the back of a black pickup truck, and she wouldn't think about the city again.

[sophieinwonderland]

What about the anti-endos who don’t hurt people? The ones who believe in endogenic systems, but use anti-endo as a label to prevent people who’ve traumatized them from interacting?

I think the label of anti-endo is inherently harmful because it normalizes hate. Even if you're not someone who is actively spreading hate, by using that label, you're signaling to people that it's okay. Especially when "DNI" is right there. (I don't really like these sorts of DNIs either, but it's at least better than calling yourself anti-endo.)

I'm truly sorry for the people who have had terrible experiences with the endogenic community... but being traumatized by individuals within a group doesn't give you the right to oppose every single person who falls under that umbrella.

I don't think that we would be okay with this labeling if it was basically any other group, whether a gender identity, a race, or a neurodivergence. If someone was traumatized by transgender people, that wouldn't make it okay for them to identify as anti-transgender. If you were traumatized by an autism group, it wouldn't be okay to call yourself anti-autistics. Many endogenic systems have faced harassment and been hurt by traumagenic systems, but do they call themselves anti-traumagenic? Would this be acceptable?

Not to mention that endogenic is just a HUGE umbrella.

You have soulbonders, daemonists, the former empowered multiples, tulpamancers, etc. And even those communities have sub-communities. Tulpas.info isn't the same community as r/tulpas which isn't the same community as the various tulpa Discords.

And the unique nature of the websites is never really taken into account when talking about the different communities.

A lot of the very worst stuff I see happening, the most toxic and even bordering on cult-like in extreme cases, is coming from Discord. This is because Discord servers tend to be very private, tight-knit communities. Moderators have absolute power with no oversight whatsoever, and the people most likely to want to be mods are those who tend to be charismatic and enjoy having power over other people, which is a dangerous combination.

I've heard horror stories from both endogenic and traumagenic spaces alike that are a direct result of the type of environment Discord creates.

Which isn't to say Discord is inherently bad, but people need to do a good job vetting the servers they join, and if something feels wrong, be prepared to jump ship. (But I realize the fact that you form friendships in these communities is what makes it hard to leave once you're a part of them, which is what gives them power over you.)

Every website has its own problems. Tumblr's is getting hate anons and death threats for everything from political opinions to drawing a character slightly thinner than they are in canon. Twitter's is a character limit that makes it nigh-impossible to have nuanced conversation. This is the flaw with Discord, and is the reason a lot of the horror stories to come out of it end up being much more personally harmful to the victims.

I'm sorry for the people that have been hurt by endogenic and pro-endogenic systems, but the fact is that there are bad people in every group, and that doesn't make it okay to harm and oppose everyone in a group just because someone bad in it did a bad thing to you.

I'm not saying that people's trauma isn't valid. Or that they don't have a right be hurt and angry. You absolutely do. But that anger needs to be directed at the people responsible. You don't have the right to be angry at me and other endogenic systems who are fighting for our right to exist and be recognized because someone else in an isolated sub-community hurt you.

Bigotry is never okay or acceptable.

Having said all of that, while I think publicly calling yourselves anti-endo might do passive harm, I don't really care all that much about them. I'm okay letting them be as long as they aren't actively attacking our community.

My main focus when I talk about anti-endos is the syscoursers, regardless of the label they use. Somebody calling themselves anti-misinformation while exclusively spreading anti-endo propaganda is far more dangerous to the endogenic community than someone calling themselves anti-endo while not engaging with syscourse at all.

[nasty-creeps]

Welcome to my little mental breakdown

I hate constantly being torn between caring and protecting myself.

There are so many issues in this world that I do care about and that I want to address and do my part in by idk spreading the message, educating people to provoke real change. But I can't. I have difficulties prioritising. There are things to help people right now that might be solved over the next 20-30 years but also issues that threaten the existence of humanity as a whole and that need action soon or it might be to late and become a chain reaction that triggers even more problems for people that are already struggling right now.

And it's so frustrating that so many of these problems are deeply rooted in capitalism and the patriarchy. We need systemic change but the people in power don't care. Having power seems to be so toxic and turn people who had ambitions to make a change into hypocrites. Do we really all have a price?

I also have a conflict within myself. I don't wanna be alive. I didn't choose to be here and I don't really get why anyone would. But I know that they do so I want to help.

I feel like a lot of people in my generation are educating themselves before joining a movement but don't really put the information in context if that makes sense. Yes, Russia shouldn't have attacked Ukraine. Sure, the right thing for russia to do would be to just give up and leave the borders as they were before. But that's not going to happen. And Ukraine isn't a Saint either. There's a lot of nationalism playing into their narrative and nationalism is never good. There's a lot of conservativeism in their politics, that we critic in other countries but right now all everybody talks about is that Ukraine is the good guy with a gun and Russia the bad guy with a gun. And that we have to give the good guy more guns.

Yes, there is war crimes committed in this war. Which is happening in every war. Using rape as a weapon is very common. It makes people feel in control and like they have power over someone. But even in times of peace that's not not happening. Statistics show that rate of rapes are higher around US military bases in Germany, than in the rest of the country. And here we're back at patriarchy being a original reason for this to happen. They see it as their right to get what they want. But that's an illusion. Nobody has the right to use your body without your permission.

There's no winners in war. People die, get abused and traumatized. Because of some people in power, trying to make life better for themselves.

It's not about their people. It's not for the "small man". It's for them to gain more power.

Then there is climate change. An issue that affects everyone but people refuse to do something about it or even believe in it.

Politicians care more about being reelected than making tough and partly unpopular decisions. Nobody wants to give up their privileges. But the thing is they probably wouldn't even really have to if cooperations would get their shit together. And here we are again with capitalism and the addiction to (financial) growth. There is no way to maintain infinite growth when we have one planet. At some point it HAS to stop. But they always try to convince us that their growth is something positive even tho it just means they exploit nature and people even more. Resources are limited. Space is limited. You can't expand infinitely

And they know that. But they want to profit of it as long as they can. On the cost of all others trying to survive this hellhole.

We need change but change seems impossible. Looking at the big picture there are two ways this whole thing could go. Either we get away from the idea of nationalism as a whole. Even if it's not necessarily present in an extreme way right now. We need to see us as humanity. Every single one of us has the right to a good life. So when resources are getting low, we would need to bond together, work together so we can benefit and share all the resources that different areas on earth have and can produce. Care about the issues some regions have and find ways to change it, eliminate it or how to help people affected by it.

Or we become more and more nationalist. Sure for now we have alliances between countries but if resources get low everyone is gonna fight for their own life. People in regions with bad conditions to produce food and clean water will just die. And it's gonna be a downward spiral. There are gonna be wars over resources and only the richest countries will survive.

Seeing humanity as it is now, I don't see option one being in the cards.

There are too many people who don't care. That just live their happy little lifes. But their children and grandchildren are crying for help. They know that we need to work together to make a change. But instead we see so many countries going backwards. Making laws that only rich (white) people benefit from.

Then there are people indoctrinated by the capitalist system. I don't blame them, it's force-fed to us from the day we are born. But there's also no functioning alternative for capitalism. The concept of communism is good. But it doesn't take greed in consideration. We would all have to be willing to live with the same opportunities. But privileges are hard to give up. And that won't happen. We are not able to create a society where everyone is truly equal.

And people still care more about changes in language or things that don't affect them personally, than improving the lifes of people that struggle and are discriminated against. What's the problem with using a * when addressing people? Who the hell cares if someone wants to be addressed with they/them or the pronoun of their choosing? It does not affect you. Just do it. We're so used to seeing everything through the lense of "western christian morals". We think being non binary is a new idea by confused teenagers. But it's not. Other cultures throughout history had "a third gender" or even more genders that were commonly used by people that now identify as non binary or trans. They say it's unnatural when people feel like they were born in the wrong body when in biology there are literally animals that can change their gender based on what they need to be to procreate. That not a new concept either. Let people live their lifes. You're scared of gender neutral bathrooms? 1. Thats no fucking reason to deny people do be happy and safe and 2. Advocate for bathrooms with real doors and walls. That's better anyway. I don't need my coworkers to hear if I'm going Nr 1 or 2. Even if they are the same gender as me.

There's no valid arguments against giving trans folks the same rights that everybody else has.

There is no reason to hide the fact they exist from children. It's not giving them ideas or turning or pressuring them into being trans or gay or whatever the thing they are talking about is. It's showing life. It's education. It shows that there is nothing wrong with them if they have the feeling like they don't conform with the "norm".

So there is no solution for any of these issues. There's nothing concrete we can work on to turn things around. We have to accept that things are probably gonna get worse and worse till humanity eventually goes extinct.

So does it really matter to be an activist? To spend all this energy when you can't expect it to permanently make minorities lifes better? Should we just enjoy it as long as we can? Pretend to "do our part" by using paper straws and not buying so many clothes? Is it good to boycott brands or is it just causing people to loose their livelihood? Even if the work they have to do is under horrible conditions and severely underpaid? Stop eating fish and meat if companies still mass produce or over fish our oceans? If the plastic trash that we are disposing in the ocean is killing marine life anyways?

Should we wait for the environment to be so run down, that we just don't have Oxygen to breathe anymore?

Excistential dread.

And there are so many people with different opinions on those issues. And we all judge each other for the life were living. Questioning our intentions, our priorities, how we try to make a change, if we're extrem enough, or how consistent we are. You can't slip up because that makes you a hypocrite and you did all the things you've already done for nothing.

I want to care. I want to help with every issue and every minority that needs more advocating voices. But I barely have the energy to get through the day. Even if I'm off work it's a struggle to get up and feed myself and keep my home somewhat in order. Is it doing anyone any good if I give myself up in order to being another voice in the crowd that has very little clout or power and influence? The people in my life share most of my views. They know all that.

Can I afford it? In this economy? With the inflation we're having? I don't really think I can. I can't afford to only buy biologically and regionally sourced food. And if something I need breaks I can't afford to buy a more pricey but better quality replacement. I can't even really afford to get the help I need to fight my own mental illnesses.

I feel stuck. And frustrated. I'm mad at the world and other people and myself. I feel unheard. Misunderstood.

Every day is a struggle. I felt like I don't have the energy to get through another day for years now. But my body keeps functioning and I hate it for that. I know I'm not alone or the only one that feels that way but in the end you still have to figure it out by yourself. Nobody is able to take life off your shoulders. So you are alone with it after all. And all the validation of my feelings is not changing anything when it comes to getting up, making breakfast, going to work, showering, ... .

You're alone with all that. And even more with what goes on inside your head.

So what is it? Stems my depression really from chemical imbalances in my brain? Or is it the world around me, around us, falling apart? I will never have the same possibilities as the generations before me.

Teachers that say, that 2 years after my apprenticeship I should have saved enough money to make a down payment on a house. When i struggle to buy food at the end of the month. How do you find joy if you work most of the day need to make food and do housework and sleep enough and commuting to and from work? Yes, consumerism helps us to get our little serotonin hits. But 1. You need to be able to afford that and 2 it again plays into the cards of capitalism.

People say you don't need to spend money on doing fun things in your free time. So what do you do? If you live in a city, most things you'll be able to do there will cost you money. Going to cultural events or sights please get your tickets. Wanna go to the gym or swimming? Get a membership. Wanna get out of the city to be in Nature? Pay for transportation. Wanna persue Hobbies? You need to buy gear or materials. Except for sitting in a park doing nothing or in a library there are no things that are free.

So how can you be happy. Basically don't think about stuff. You can either create your own bubble and let no upsetting things inside and/or deny everything you don't want to hear or you can care and get mad and worried and anxious. And you can soothe these emotions by buying a cool new mug, a cozy sweater, paints for a new project you're never gonna finish or concert tickets to see your friends. And at the end of the month you look at your bank account and think where did all my money go?

So capitalism and the patriarchy huh? What has that to do with not being able to keep track of your spending habits? Pretty much everything. Our current model of the 40 hour work week was not created for the "lifestyle" that we have right now. It was intended for one person to be the breadwinner and one person to be at home doing housework, run errands and Carework. Because they knew, of you work 40 hours a week, you don't have time to do that. And the salary was supposed to be enough for 2 adults and children. Now people have to take on serveral jobs to just barely survive. Capitalism controls the market. It controls prices and what you can afford. And it's goal is to make a maximum profit for a few people at the expense of the rest of humanity.