#it's either they crumble and worship me or nothing

[cynnkk]

im torn between big ass burly men crumbling in front of me w/ a body worship kink who would move mountains for me and delicate men who love me with everything they have but are pillow princesses and won't move a muscle because they know I would take care of everything

[walpu]

I really need more nsfw hcs with Aventurine, maybe a small fix where we praise and kiss all over his body, especially his tattoo <33

Remember to take care of yourself and eat, drink and sleep well, take breaks if you need to :))

Thank you so much 😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️ Finally having my annual leave so I'm a free person

Sorry if it's too short I'm still recovering 😭

kissing Aventurine's body

characters - Aventurine

notes - gn!reader, a lot of body worshipping, soft!Aven, nsfw-y but nothing explicit, no beta

If the two of you are dating, Aventurine would love worshipping your body. Kissing all over it, leaving small marks, nuzzling into your thighs etc.

However, would immediately melt if you would do the same for him.

Like I'm not kidding. Kisses on his face? Can handle it. On his neck? Crumbles a bit but still nothing he can't manage. Kissing the rest of his body? Count him dead.

He's a huge sucker for gentle treatment since no one has ever tried to make him feel loved and cared for.

His body is very sensitive so it's easy to overhelm and overestimate him so. I would say be gentle but it's honestly up to you, he would not complain either way 👀

Would whine a lot if you overestimate him tho. Which is not a bad thing at all since he's adorable when he's needy like that.

May tease you a bit, saying stuff like "my dear, who knew you're so addicted to my body, one would think you want to eat me alive" but his eyes are shining with adoration and hus silly smile completely betrays how giddy he is. Tell him tyou want exactly that and then go down on him he'll die

If you take way too much time focusing on kissing his body, he would cup your face or gently pull on your hair to bring you to his lips. He loves kissing you okay.

Gets a bit emotional when you kiss his tattoo during lovemaking sessions. It's just so overwhelmingly soft for him. Allowing you to do it is an ultimate display of vulnerability on his part.

I have a feeling that he doesn't cover his tattoo in a self-defense way like "if I'm so open about this mark that represents my trauma people won't weaponize it".

But it doesn't mean he likes when people pay special attention to it.

So yeah by allowing you to kiss it and nuzzle into it he shows that he trusts you, that he doesn't mind being so open with you.

To him it's also an ultimate proof that you love him whole, even the ugly painful parts.

[yanderemommabean]

Hey beans! Bit of an update-

This post will include mentions of abuse so, please, don't read if that will harm you in any way!

Sorry for the lack of posts lately! With how weird my school is with testing and clinicals, I've had hardly any real time to feel like I could sleep AND create. On top of that, I am still in the unfortunate position of living with my abuser, along with the rest of my family who seem to be going downhill.

While I'm hoping I can get a job to save up to move out of this state, that's going to take time, and its time I fear I don't have some nights as just the other night while bringing home groceries, I was met with my step dads gun directly in my face, and him being mad I was "Coming home late at ten at night" when it was, in fact, only 9:15 and I made myself known as I walked up the stairs.

My grandma is also a big issue, she's draining as usual but its taking more of a toll on me by the day. I no longer get food stamps either which is a reason she wants to start in on me every day I walk out of my room. The verbal abuse is one thing but she's threatening again and if I stand up for myself I'm seen as the bad guy.

My mom who used to be a person I thought I could turn to is now down a rabbit hole about "Woke" culture and now sees anyone in the LGBTQ community as brainwashers, yet when I remind her I am bisexual, she seems to backtrack a bit and say "Well no, not you, you're a good one"

She's also back into worshipping the Christian God, which I have absolutely no issue with, but she's telling me that I cant have my tarot cards or my own craft in my room like I'm some 15 year old who doesn't understand religions, and not 24 and choosing my own way in life. She keeps insisting that I pray, that I thank God, that I'm a sinner, anything to make her feel like she's scaring me into "Changing". I keep telling her she's driving a wedge between us, but it seems to be for nothing.

Every day I feel like my support net is crumbling, and I feel like this trip to save up is going to be fruitless as I don't have my own car, I have to find a way to get the doctors I need if I even get to the state I'm moving to, and so on and so on.

Any who, I'm going through a lot and can't seem to catch a break but I love you beans! I hope you're all doing good and having a wonderful day!

-Mommabean

[romanticatheartt]

Gwyneth and Rhysand

Having the same traumas:

Both being victim of SA

Rhys said quietly, “I was a prisoner in her court for nearly fifty years. I was tortured and beaten and fucked until only telling myself who I was, what I had to protect, kept me from trying to find a way to end it. Please—help me keep that from happening again. To Prythian.” ~ acomaf ch.11 “I hadn’t yet participated in the Great Rite, and we were so remote up there that I never had the chance to lie with a male, and he took that from me, too. And then he called over three of his soldiers and told them to keep going until I revealed where the children had gone.” ~ acosf ch.68

Losing their sisters in the most brutal way

“... I was supposed to be there. I wasn’t. And they slaughtered my mother and sister anyway.”... “It should have been me,”... “They put their heads in boxes and sent them down the river—to the nearest camp. Tamlin’s father kept their wings as trophies. I’m surprised you didn’t see them pinned in the study.” ~ acomaf ch.45 “... So he grabbed Catrin, because our scents were nearly identical, you see, and told me that if I didn’t reveal where the children were, he’d kill her. And when I didn’t give the children up …” Her mouth shook. “He beheaded Catrin right there, along with two other priestesses...” ~ acosf ch.68

Having the same blood rite experience:

He could still feel the crumbling rock beneath his boots, hear the rasp of his breathing as he half hauled Rhys up the slopes, Azriel providing cover behind.* ~ acofas ch.3 Nesta marveled at the hope and bravery in their faces. “I can hold them off.” *... She didn’t wait for Emerie to speak before she helped ease Gwyn onto Emerie’s back, the latter hissing at the weight upon her wings, splaying them at awkward angles. ~ acosf ch.69

They won the blood rite and have the Carynthian title. And I wonder if Rhys at any stage of his life thought he's not a real Carynthian because Cassian had to help him and if Gwyn also might feel the same. And maybe they can bond over it...

Being pretty AF:

Standing before me was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. ~ acotar ch.20 If Rhysand was the most beautiful male I’d ever seen, she [Mor] was his female equivalent. ~ acomaf ch.6 The priestess had been pretty in the library, but with that joy, that confidence as she aimed for the three priestesses, she had emerged into a beauty to rival Merrill or Mor. ~ acosf ch.29

2+2=?

Nerds...

Az, of course, had been fascinated. Rhys had built the model himself centuries ago. It could not only track the sun, but also tell time, and it somehow allowed Rhys to ponder the existence of life beyond their own world and other things Cassian had, again, instantly forgotten. ~ acosf ch.3 “I could only pick up every other word,” Rhys said. Feyre arched a brow. “You speak the language of the ancient Fae?” Rhys shrugged. “My education was thorough.” He waved an idle, graceful hand. “For exactly these situations.” ~ acosf ch.37 “Some philosophers believe there are eleven worlds like that. And some believe there are as many as twenty-six, the last one being Time itself, which …” Gwyn’s voice dropped to a whisper. ~ acosf ch.13 Gwyn let out a breathy laugh. “I mean it. I learned about a new Valkyrie technique last night. It’s called Mind-Stilling.” ~ acosf ch.38

This has nothing to do with their similarity but him being cute and protective<33

The casual smile of a male used to people either fleeing in terror or falling to their knees in worship. “Hello, Gwyn,” he said warmly. “Good to see you again.” Gwyn blushed, shaking herself out of her stupor, and bowed low. “My lord.”... You are to treat Gwyn with kindness and respect. ~ acosf ch.28

*Bonus*:

Gwyn and Rhys were injured and had to be carried to the top while Nesta and Azriel stayed behind to cover for them.

Nesta 🤝 Azriel -> we expected them to have a strong friendship and it happened in hofas. They also have so many similarities!

Gwyn 🤝 Rhys -> ...?

[owletstarlet]

patron saint of the lost causes (1/2)

“You can stop looking at him like that.” Taki’s voice is frank, but not unkind. Katsumi could not be less in the mood for whatever the hell kind of conversation this is about to be. “Like what,” he replies anyhow. “Like you broke his best friend."

(For @goodlucktai. You know what you did.

ao3 link | part 2

The thing is, Katsumi really doesn’t want to hear that he couldn’t have known what was going to happen. He knows. Knows because nobody will let him forget it. Knows from his 2AM search history the night after, curled up on his side on a guest futon in the Fujiwaras’ sitting room, feeling pinned down by the blue glow of his phone screen under the duvet.

Here’s how it happens.

***

It’s not that it’s uncomfortable, exactly, to be alone with Tanuma Kaname while walking the forty-five minute round trip between the temple and the combini through nothing but trees and rice paddies and still, thick summer air. Tanuma’s a decent guy. Quiet, thoughtful. And, as he’d made very clear within two minutes of Katsumi meeting him, fiercely loyal.

All good traits, really. But carrying a completely meaningless conversation with someone he honestly doesn’t know all that well doesn’t seem to be within his skill set. And that’s fine, it’s whatever.

It’s just that Katsumi’s starting to feel like a jackass when he’s the only one who’s talking.

School’s been out less than a week, and for some godforsaken reason he’s been talked into coming all the way out to Hitoyoshi by the group chat he’d been added to months ago, for some other godforsaken reason. The conversation had turned to potential vacation plans—the seaside, or a theme park. And it’s not like Katsumi would’ve said no; he’s got a whole month to fill here. But when Tanuma had either hedged or failed to respond altogether, the others had gotten it out of him pretty quickly that the better part of the month both before and after Obon would be full up with temple preparation and events. Apparently, even back when the temple had still stood vacant, some of the locals who had ancestors’ graves out in the crumbling cemetery there would still come out to tidy up as best they could and leave behind their flowers and incense and prayers. This is the second Obon since the temple had reopened, and not only were more visitors expected, but they’d need to be able to properly host them and provide an adequate place of worship.

From just that couple of messages, the others seemed to work out in short order just how overwhelmed he was. Which was news to Katsumi; sure, the guy wasn’t much of a texter, or talker, for that matter—but the messages had just seemed brief, concise, and apologetic.

But when they all show up on the temple doorstep a week later and Katsumi sees the way Tanuma’s shoulders sag with sheer relief, he knows the others were right.

Thus began a multi-day frenzy of scrubbing wood floors, polishing every metal surface within an inch of its life, weeding, dusting, and near-vicious refusals of Tanuma’s father’s offers to compensate them for their efforts. Katsumi certainly wasn’t against the concept of getting paid for busting his ass like this all day, but the man was drowning in paperwork and nonstop phone calls and visitations on top of whatever else it is that priests do all day, so he’d let it drop.

“He really does just radiate that dutiful son energy, huh,” Katsumi says to Kitamoto one day, leaning on a rake and blinking the sweat out of his eyes in the brutal 2PM heat, watching Tanuma pause to tug a crooked, bright red knit cap back into its place on the head of a tiny Jizo statue with endless care. He didn’t mean it as an insult, but it sounds kind of dickish coming out of his mouth anyhow. “Just looking at him is making me tired.”

Kitamoto hums. “That’s part of it,” he says, at length. “But this is his home, too.”

***

Katsumi feels sort of bad that Tanuma has to make this annoyingly long walk just because he himself doesn’t know how to get to the nearest Lawson. He’d lost a fierce, best-of-ten coin flip battle with Nishimura over whose turn it was to pick up snacks. It’s not that it’s a nightmarish distance away considering they’re on the bare outskirts of town, it’s just the late afternoon sun beating down on them that makes him ready to commit  homicide. And most of the way there between the wooded temple grounds and the main residential area is along a dusty gravel road between sunken rice fields, riddled with potholes and not especially worth it to navigate with a bike.

And Lawson isn’t even good.

Precisely none of this is Tanuma’s fault. This is an objective fact that he, of course, knows.

But they’ve only just left the store, and Katsumi ran out of random topics to fill up the stagnant air about ten minutes ago. The best he’s got at the moment, short of intermittent bitching about the heat, is his completely unfounded opinion of some new game he’d seen an ad for at the register which he never intends to play.

And Tanuma doesn’t look especially anxious, or at least not like he’s here under duress or anything—he was the one who volunteered to show Katsumi the way— but he doesn’t look especially comfortable, either. He’s already fished a bottle of tea out of the shopping bag, fiddling with the wrapper between sips and watching the dusty gravel crunch beneath their shoes. His responses aren’t rude, just a little off key, a subdued smattering of ‘oh’s and ‘hm’s and ‘I see’s that don’t always quite sync up with Katsumi’s words, a second too late or too early.  

Maybe it’s the truly ridiculous heat that’s getting to the guy. But he’s drinking his tea, and he’s wearing the same old wet towel he’s had slung around his neck all week, ojiisan style. He’d just re-soaked it again in the little sink outside the combini bathroom. It’s funny, Katsumi thinks, that Tanuma’s such a painfully self-conscious person, but then there’s these odd little things here and there that it doesn’t even seem to occur to him to be self-conscious about at all. He didn’t get out much as a kid, from what Katsumi’s heard. It’d be almost endearing if Katsumi was in any sort of mood to be endeared. As it stands it’s too fucking hot out here and now he kind of wants a stupid neck towel too.

Katsumi doesn’t want to make shit awkward, not when he’s staying in his house. But why had it been somehow easier to talk to Tanuma when they were being chased around some hell-mansion about to be murdered by some ghost-doll-things.

He’s not gonna take it personally. Even with his actual friends, where he seems most at ease, Katsumi’s seen him get fidgety, fingers worrying at a fraying shirt hem or drumming on his knee like he doesn’t always quite know how to physically handle too many eyes on him at once, or so many voices in the room. And more often than not, if one of the others picks up on this, he’s seen them seamlessly take the volume down a notch, give him some room to breathe, a little radius of calm. As though his comfort level is some sort of sixth sense for them all.

And Katsumi’s starting to wonder if running his mouth so that Tanuma wouldn’t have to was really the best course of action here. Maybe silence, comfortable or otherwise, would’ve spared them both.

Hell, too late now.

“…and it’s only available on the newest consoles, because of course it is, and even though Sakatani managed to get his hands on a copy and says he’ll let me play, apparently the graphics are kind of ass, so—uh. You good over there?”

Tanuma’s pinching the bridge of his nose, mouth twisting a little and pace falling a half-step behind Katsumi. He doesn’t really answer, just gives an absent diplomatic little hum like he has done for most of the conversation.

Katsumi stops walking.

“Hey.”

And Tanuma honest-to-god almost shuffles right past him, reaching up to rub at his temple now. He only stops when Katsumi snags the strap of the little freezer bag that he’d brought in a thoughtful yet desperate bid to keep the drinks cold and the tops of Nishimura’s chocorooms from all melting together inside the box. Tanuma blinks hard, like all the dust in the air has gunked up in his eyes.

Katsumi frowns. “Your head hurts?”

Tanuma just blinks again, nods once. The look on his face is strange. Vague, kind of.

Katsumi swears under his breath. “Hey,” he says again, louder, when Tanuma’s gaze slides away and out of focus. He grabs his shoulder, shakes him just enough to get his hazy attention back.

“Is this some youkai thing?” He tries to make the words slow and clear. “’Cause if we need to run…” Their chances wouldn’t be stellar, probably, out in the very-wide-open with no visible houses or people that Katsumi can see, but if they booked it they might make it back to the temple in 20 minutes. Barring being gutted in a rice paddy by invisible monsters.

Tanuma frowns, like he’s trying to grasp at the edges of his focus. “I don’t…”

“You don’t know? Or you don’t think so?” If there were time, Katsumi would feel like an ass for getting in his face and snapping at him. But he can feel Tanuma listing forward where he’s still gripping his shoulder, and he puts another hand under his elbow to steady him. ��Should I call someone?”

Blink, blink. Apparently, that was too many questions at once. “…hot,” is what Tanuma finally settles on, in a small voice. Then his knees buckle.

Fuck.

Katsumi just barely manages to keep Tanuma from a total faceplant. He’s not so heavy, but it’s so abrupt that trying to catch him sends Katsumi falling back hard onto his own ass as Tanuma’s knees hit the ground.

Katsumi yelped as they went down, but Tanuma hasn’t made a sound. They’re both on their knees. Katsumi’s got him by the shoulders, and his head’s lolling forward, bumping into Katsumi’s chest.

And, shit. He was not lying. Katsumi can feel the heat rolling off him. He manages to maneuver a hand up to the side of his neck, and very nearly yanks it away, hissing through his teeth.

“Right, so,” he mutters. “Probably not youkai shit, then.”

Probably not doesn’t mean definitely not, though, and even as he’s trying to lower Tanuma fully onto the parched ground, curled onto his side, Katsumi’s fishing out his phone.

One bar. He’ll take it.

He hesitates for a second, torn between dialing Natsume, firing off a group message, or just calling an ambulance. He settles on the first—Natsume’s got the fastest mode of transport, which also happens to be an apparently giant and terrifying monster, if Sensei’s own words are to be believed, so that’s two birds one stone.

He hits Natsume’s name, fingers shaking.

And, dead air. Not even a dial tone.

He swears, checks the screen. Zero bars. A stupid little red x where the bars ought to be.

Goddamn backwoods towns and their goddamn backwoods reception.

“Hey.” He lays a hand on Tanuma’s shoulder. Katsumi can’t see his face, but his breaths are coming short and harsh. “I’m gonna borrow your phone.”

Less than one minute later and he’s given it up. Tanuma’s got the same network carrier, and an older phone to boot. It’s like there’s some fucked-up barricade made of yellowing rice fields, choking air and far-off cicada screeches between themselves and outside human contact.

Well then.

Tanuma’s eyes are open now. Not a lot, but that’s got to be better than passed out. Katsumi manages to work an arm under his shoulders, get his opposite hand under his head and neck. “Let’s get some tea in you,” he says, because he’s not sure what the fuck else to do. He can feel a pulse that’s far too quick thrumming under his fingertips, can see the intense splotchy flush across his cheeks that seems to have crept up out of nowhere. Tanuma doesn’t answer him, just scrunches up his eyes against the direct sun on his face, makes a small pained noise that makes Katsumi feel ill.

Making him drink turns out to be less than an inspired plan. He doesn’t seem to register the tea at first, letting it dribble down his chin, but then after a few slow gulps, he gags. And then proceeds to be sick, all over Katsumi.

“Eh. Didn’t like this shirt, anyways,” Katsumi tells him, hoping to exude literally any emotion other than pure terror, and barely managing to turn Tanuma’s face away in time before he gags again.

By the time he finishes, there’s tears in his eyes, and his breaths are coming ragged and loud. He doesn’t seem to notice that Katsumi’s dug through the combini bag, sliding the 2 liter of mugicha under his head and neck like a pillow, and tucked the bottle of Calpis that Taki had asked for underneath his armpit. The rest of Tanuma’s own bottle he upends over his neck and chest, soaking his towel and the top of his shirt. That, at least, elicits a reaction, a faint confused “hm” that would be perfectly reasonable for anyone whose friend has just drenched them in a bottle of jasmine tea.

It makes Katsumi smile, just a bit. “Gotta cool you down. Sorry.” He’s got no idea if it’s the correct thing to do; he’s based the entire tactic on some random lackluster TV drama he’d seen years ago, where some captain of a school track team overheated during a practice, and her teammates tried to care for her on the field while someone fetched a teacher.

At the very least, it didn’t seem to be hurting. His eyes are open wider now, marginally less clouded over. Katsumi’s positioned him on his side again in case of more puking, his cheek squashed against the tea bottle, and he seems to be focused on some spot on the gravel past Katsumi. He looks like he wants to say something, mouth forming around the shape of words, but nothing comes out.

Katsumi turns. There, lying maybe a half meter away on the ground, is something small and rectangular. Some kind of talisman, Katsumi thinks; it’s made of thin pale wood and covered in some inked-in kanji and symbols he can’t make out. He doesn’t touch it, at first. “This is yours?”

Tanuma nods, just a little, then screws his eyes shut like his head is protesting the movement. But by his side his fingers twitch vaguely in Katsumi’s direction. It must’ve fallen out of his pocket when Katsumi was getting his phone. Katsumi scoops it up and places it in his palm, and Tanuma’s fingers close immediately around it.

He digs his own phone out again, an exercise in futility, and dials 119, resisting the urge to chuck it into the field as the call refuses to connect. It’s not like he couldn’t half-drag, half-carry Tanuma back towards the nearest house if he really needed to, but god knows how long it’d take, and even with his net zero medical expertise it seems like a bad idea to be moving him from this spot unless it’s on a stretcher, or on the back of a giant invisible wolf monster.

Tanuma’s staring at nothing at all again, his knuckles white from gripping the talisman. Katsumi frowns, grabs Tanuma’s wrist.

“You’re gonna break it. The wood’s pretty thin.”

Tanuma, predictably, ignores him. Even as weak as he is, with his thumb digging into the center of the thing, he’s likely to snap it in half.

But he doesn’t, or can’t, resist when Katsumi takes it from him. “Let’s keep this in one piece, huh. We need all the damned luck the gods want to chuck our way right now.” He’s about to slide it safely back into Tanuma’s pocket when he pauses, glancing down at the talisman.

“You’re sure nothing’s about to pop out and eat us, right?”

But Tanuma’s eyes have fallen shut again. He doesn’t seem to have passed out; he’s still gasping like he’s run a marathon.

“Right. Gonna take that as a yes.” He finishes tucking the talisman away, then slides his hand up under Tanuma’s fringe. He frowns. The intense heat, he was expecting. What he was not expecting was the desert-dryness of his skin. Katsumi’s own hair’s been plastered grossly to his forehead all week long, only to poke up and frizz at odd angles throughout the day. He hadn’t noticed earlier because of the damp towel and the tea-soaked shirt, but Tanuma’s not sweating.

He swallows back panic. God knows how he’s got any more panic to spare, really. “Look,” he says, not expecting an answer. “Nobody’s coming, because apparently nobody in this entire fucking town uses this road except us, so I’m gonna get help.” He blows out a breath. “I think we passed a pay phone. Ten minutes ago? Maybe less. I’ll make it five. If you get eaten by monsters while I’m gone and I ran in this weather for nothing I am gonna be pretty damn irritated.”

***

The only coffee the vending machines have, at least on this floor, is some dismal off-brand that only comes black. But Katsumi resolutely ignores the acid roiling in his stomach when Kitamoto passes him one and pops the tab. It’s something to do. Chug coffee, scroll his phone. Rinse, repeat. At least it’s cold.

“Hey.”

Something lands in his lap. A squashed-looking cinnamon roll, another vending-machine offering.

“Eat that too or you’ll puke again, probably,” Nishimura tells him.

Katsumi has to bite back the reflexive dickish retort. Nishimura looks just about as shit as Katsumi feels, but he’s still got it in him to be kind. Katsumi’s got nothing in him but raw nerves and stomach acid, at this point.

“Right,” he mutters. “Thanks.”

There’s not even a good reason anymore for the weird shitty haze over his brain. When Tanuma’s dad had called, just before three AM and only two-ish hours after they’d been forced to leave the hospital last night, the news had been good. He was awake, talking a little, and the fever definitely wasn’t gone but the numbers were creeping back downwards. They’d need a few days, at least, to run some barrage of tests and keep an eye out for lasting damage. Tanuma’s dad had been judiciously vague about just what kind of damage, but the half dozen browser pages on heatstroke currently open on Katsumi’s phone had given him a pretty grim idea.

The Fujiwaras’ house had been closest to the hospital, so they’d spent the remainder of the previous night all sleepless and huddled together on the floor of Natsume’s room. Katsumi hadn’t even put up a fight when they’d dragged his futon into the very center of the room between Kitamoto’s and Natsume’s, when Nishimura had idly flopped his own legs over Katsumi’s, or when Taki pulled up some aggressively cheerful magical girl anime on Natsume’s laptop to fill the dead air. When Sensei had tucked himself in by Katsumi’s hip and gone to sleep. When Touko-san had patted his arm, after their very late dinner, her eyes so gentle it hurt. He’d felt liminal, then, like he’d take off and run if he could just escape his own skin, but at least with the others all squashed up against him he could remember to breathe.

It's past 10 in the morning now. Visiting hours had started at 9, and they’d all piled on the first scheduled bus towards the hospital this morning and arrived before 8, anyhow. They had, of course, not been allowed to step foot out the door without a bag loaded up with bento lunches and a firm promise to Touko-san they’d be back by late afternoon when visiting hours had concluded to get some rest. Though she’d been saying something about “getting some things ready” to bring over herself for Tanuma and his dad, and based on the look on her face when she’d said it Katsumi’s half expecting her to march through the waiting room doors in the next hour or two like a woman on a mission with half the contents of the closest supermarket and drugstore loaded up in her arms. The thought makes his chest feel tight.

But they’d shown up just in time to be informed that Tanuma had an MRI among other things scheduled that morning, and that no, they did not know how long it would take.

Across from Katsumi, Natsume’s dozed off, despite his own best coffee-fueled efforts. He’s slumped sideways onto Taki, lank-haired and restless, flicking through an old magazine with disinterest as her heel bounces on the scuffed linoleum. Sensei’s perched across both their laps, still absurdly half-stuffed into the duffel bag in which they’d smuggled him through the hospital doors, which seems pretty pointless to Katsumi if he’s just going to sit there with his entire head sticking out at this point. But he seems entirely unbothered, his eyes closed; maybe asleep, maybe not. But they’re the only ones tucked over in this little alcove of a waiting room, and damn if not a soul has interrupted them for a good two hours.

It’s probably for the best that Natsume’s getting some sleep, really. He hadn’t gotten any more than Katsumi had; Katsumi had heard his muffled hitched breaths last night when they were all pretending to sleep. Out of all of them, he’s said the least this whole time.

“You can stop looking at him like that.”

Taki’s voice is frank, but not unkind.

Katsumi could not be less in the mood for whatever the hell kind of conversation this is about to be. “Like what,” he replies anyhow. 

“Like you broke his best friend,” Nishimura says, lowly, before letting out a slight oof like he’s been elbowed in the ribs.

Damn. Alright then.

None of them seem to be holding their breath for him to respond, at least. They don’t seem to know what to say, either, really. He’s weighing the pros and cons of just fleeing to the bathroom when Kitamoto finally says, “Natsume knows better than anyone that this isn’t on you.”

“Why?” Katsumi feels his gut give a little lurch. “Was it some kind of youkai shit after all, then?”

Taki shakes her head. “I mean, you’ll have to ask him, but. Sensei did go and check the area out last night and ask around and everything, and it all seemed normal.”

Sensei remains silent, naturally, but his ear flicks in Taki’s direction.

Kitamoto’s mouth twists. “What I meant was, just keeling over in random places with no warning or explanation is like. A hobby of Natsume’s.”

“We love it,” Nishimura mutters. “It’s great.”

Sensei huffs.

Katsumi glances at Natsume, still slack and dead to the world on Taki’s shoulder. And okay, maybe he kind of still looks like a stiff breeze could knock him over. But much less so than when they were kids. Less so even than the first time Katsumi had come to this town. “How many times constitutes a hobby?”

And Nishimura frowns, then honest-to-god starts counting on his fingers.

Taki watches him, mouth twisting like she’s considering it. “I guess it depends what counts as keeling over. Or what constitutes a warning.

“Enough times,” Kitamoto says, decisively.

Nishimura scuffs his toe on the floor. “And with me and Acchan, he’d just be lying through his teeth about it, for months, because he didn’t think he could—“

Could what, Katsumi wonders, but Nishimura never finishes the thought. Kitamoto bumps their shoulders together Nishimura huffs, apparently relinquishing the rant building inside him, but Katsumi thinks the look on his face, the tightness in his eyes, is just this side of grief.

“Anyways,” Nishimura says, after an uncomfortable beat, sounding only slightly more subdued. “Even if you don’t wanna hear it, you’re the Big Damn Hero in this situation. No ifs-ands-or-buts, okay. We all know it. Natsume knows it.” Taki nods, flint-eyed like she’s daring him to argue.

“You can’t predict this stuff,” Kitamoto adds, after a moment, his expression hard to parse. “With anyone. And you’ll just make yourself crazy thinking you can.”

“Okay,” is all Katsumi can think of to say. It sounds dismissive, probably, but it’s all he’s got right now. He watches Natsume scrunch up his nose in his sleep. The council hath spoken, and he is too goddamned tired to refute them.

tbc

[inquisitornocturn]

⊱─ 𝕤𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 & 𝕡𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕠𝕞𝕤 - 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟙 ─⊰

➺ 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Cazador Szarr/f!reader the dhampir/spawn!Astarion

➺ 𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕤: no y/n is used, rating - E, dead dove do not eat, incest (father/daughter), POV second person, grooming, smut, loss of virginity (in a memory), light bondage, praise kink, fingering, vaginal fingering, spanking, semi-public sex, PiV, vampiric bites, asphyxiation, biting, creampies, threatening, Astarion is very pissed in chapter 1, canon-typical violence, hair pulling, throat fucking, cock worship, cum swallowing

➺ 𝕡𝕝𝕠𝕥 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: You think you have everything you want, a loving father, one of his spawn to entertain you and protection of a vampire coven, but a master and his spawn have you caught in a middle, their jealousy, desire for control and possessiveness influencing their actions. Yet you don't want to be a doll pulled by strings, you want to be the Lady of the House, Lady Szarr, respected just like your father, Cazador, is. But that might not be what Cazador himself has planned for you, and maybe not what Astarion has in mind either. Can you stand against them - only time will tell.

➺ 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 7,506

𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: some months ago, on my old tumblr account, people wanted more to shades & shadows, and with encouragement (and people enabling me lol) i have promised to write it. well, here it is at long last! i am quite proud of this one and it took me a while to figure out in what direction i wanted to take these three chapters, but i'm glad to finally share this as it is all done and dusted, in the manner of speaking. the dove is so dead it's just bones, guys, so buckle up and, as always, enjoy♡~

➺ 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥: [link] | [on AO3] |

You stand by the sarcophagus of Donnela the Architect. You know she’s your great great aunt or something along those lines, but you feel nothing when you gaze upon the flat surface of the tomb. It doesn’t even bear her image, it’s just a smooth slab of stone that is meant to represent the vampire that once was. You never asked your father if her body is there, or well, anything that can remain after a vampire is destroyed.

Yes, you remind yourself, you’re all monsters, yourself included. You don’t get to be murdered, you are destroyed. And you stand here, wondering what happened to this woman that was taken out of this life many years before you were even born and you are left with solemn questions. Your father does not speak about Donnela, he doesn’t speak about Vellioth either. Whoever came before Cazador Szarr are being erased from the history of your family. You only know their names because you found a list of previous Vampire Masters stashed away in some crook within the palace walls. You don’t even know who wrote the list or if it’s reliable at all, but you remember the skull in the room where your father took your virginity, in the dungeons beneath the mansion, you remember the scroll, clamped within the fanged jaw of someone who was alive once.

Who was it – you do not know, but they seemed of great importance to Cazador, considering he placed the skull in such honored spot, on a cushion, as if to prevent it from crumbling apart. But rest of the memories are blurred by flashes of pain and then pleasure. Your father’s whispered words of praise, his sweaty body moving on top of you. You were smaller back then, shorter, slimmer. You felt so tiny under Cazador’s towering form as he took you three times that night, leaving you sore, but a woman at last. His daughter, his bride.

You press your lips into a thin line at these memories, your arousal stirs in the center of your body and you try not to remember that night, try not to indulge yourself in the memory of your father loving you so tenderly, so protectively. He touched you in a way one touches a wounded bird – with so much care, you have never forgotten it. You exhale with a blush, unable to stop your mind from washing over you with beautiful memories and the sarcophagus in front of you fades from your focus as you relive the touches and grazes of his fingertips, when you heard Cazador’s whispers against your ear promising eternity together, just you and him. How he filled your virgin body with his length and how he inhaled when he smelled blood the moment he took what was rightfully his. Your sigh is strained and you snap out of your thoughts when you begin feeling wetness between your thighs, soaking your underwear.

“Ah.” You exclaim and resist the urge to lift your skirts and inspect it with your fingers, you know already that you got aroused. Right in front of this tomb.

“What are you doing here, daughter?” Cazador’s voice makes you flinch because you didn’t even hear him approach and with a loud swish of your dress you turn to face a man who you love so deeply it makes your very soul ache.

“Father.” You bow your head to him and the Vampire Lord walks closer. He stops in front of you for a moment, then walks past and places a hand on the sarcophagus.

When you look at him you see him gazing down on it with an expression you can’t quite read but that looks close to reminiscence. The Szarr family ring on his finger seems to glint in the moonlight that’s coming through the trees but you’re not sure if it isn’t your mind just tricking you, adding to the beautiful live portrait of your father that you’re observing. He doesn’t come here often, to the family graves sequestered in the far corner of the garden and hidden under the trees. Just as he doesn’t speak about the Vampire Masters before him, so does Cazador avoid this part of his domain.

“You haven’t answered me.” Your father says and his eyes flick to you, making you freeze in spot for a moment, scared that he might get angry at you for being here. Your mind reels, trying to find an answer that would satisfy him.

“I come here to think, to escape the busyness of the palace if it gets too much.” You try to sound calm and not to start stammering, but your throat clenches at Cazador’s bloodstained icy glare that seems to look into your very soul.

“Is that so?” He asks silently and offers you his hand while still resting the other on the lid of the sarcophagus. “Come, my daughter.”

You take his hand without hesitation because if you hesitated – he would notice and he would punish you for it. You were always meant to do everything he tells you to, no matter what is it. But for now Cazador does not seem to be in one of his foul moods, so you let him pull you closer without fear. He holds your hand and taps the sarcophagus lid with the other, drawing your eyes to the action.

“Do you know who’s supposed to be here?” Vampire Lord asks and you pause, again trying to think of an appropriate answer, yet the cooling wetness between your legs is distracting you. Your desire may have passed but remnants of it still linger, making you want to rush this conversation and change your underwear.

“Is it Donnela?” You ask and you know there’s no point lying because he will catch you in your deceit. And you don’t want to experience what happens if he catches you lying, it happened once before and you ended up being suspended in ropes for a week while-

“You are correct.” Cazador’s voice interrupts the horrific memory and you raise your eyes to him looking up, and feeling so small in front of him once more. Previous memories, of your first night together, return, and you feel passion stir in you once again. This face that you love, this face that looks so beautiful when he’s panting while on top of you with his cock stroking your inner walls, you try to focus but it’s hard. Your dearest father, all yours.

“Why she doesn’t have her name carved?” You ask, doing your best to focus on anything else but your cunt that is becoming wetter once again.

“She doesn’t deserve it.” Cazador’s fingers absentmindedly lace with yours and he holds your hand firmly, but without pain. He looks down at the sarcophagus and frowns. “Some should never be remembered once they perish, my child.” With fingertips of his other hand he traces the stone, feeling notches and tiny crevices on the surface. It looks like your father has something on his mind.

His features look calm, almost tinged with a hint of nostalgia and you have a fleeting thought that this is a perfect chance to ask about Donnella, to ask about Vellioth, to perhaps at last learn a bit more about those who came before you, but before you can make up your mind if you should dare to speak the questions, Cazador’s gaze turns to you and his fingers leave the tomb lid, raising to your face. When you look down you see the Szarr crest ring clearly before your eyes as if he’s showing it to you.

“You will have one of your own soon enough.” Vampire Lord says while watching your expression with a small but proud smile on his face. “And when you do, my dear daughter, you will stand by my side instead of being hidden away like a precious jewel that you are.” He squeezes your fingers with his, subtly reminding you that everything he does is for you and you take his other hand with yours, holding it as if you’re a squire to a king, then lean your head kissing the ring, feeling cold metal and the edge of the gem under your lips. “You’re perfect.” Cazador whispers as he pulls his hand from your fingers and your lips, then cups the side of your face, the coldness of his touch makes you feel safe.

You raise your eyes to his and find him looking at you with smirk. The sharp edge always remains in his eyes, that cruel threat of horrors to come if you upset him, but right now he looks almost gentle as he gazes down on you. Horrible and beautiful. Breath catches in your throat and your eyes widen with adoration.

“You’re mine, aren’t you, dear?” Cazador asks in a quiet voice and his fingers work to caress your warm skin. You lean into it and smile softly, he can see the love you carry for him in your eyes. Despite allowing one of his wretched spawn to entertain you, Cazador knows that you belong to him and always will. Still, he likes seeing it in your eyes, in your face, to hear it in your words, to feel it in your body when he’s fucking you. Everything about you belongs to him.

“Of course, dad.” You smile and Cazador’s fingers slip from your cheek to your chin, gripping it and tilting your head higher, then he bends over you, pressing his lips against yours.

“You’re mine and will be mine, forever.” He whispers against your lips and you barely manage to stop a mewl escaping your mouth. The stirrings of your lust increase and you squeeze his fingers tighter. He knows what he’s doing to you and you’re sure he’s doing it on purpose. He trained you so well to be truly his and you never fail him.

Cazador’s lips press against yours once more and his fingers leave your chin before his palm rests against the small of your back and draws your body against his. With free hand you reach up and press your warm palm against his neck as you kiss him back. When his tongue nudges against your lips you part them, letting him in, and moan into the kiss, letting it wash away all the worries or questions you might’ve happened just moments ago. Your father’s tongue grazes over your fangs, a constant reminder of his legacy, and you feel him grip your fingers tighter.

You open your eyes when you feel father pulling away from the kiss and your eyes meet his. You’re gently panting, filled with need, your panties soak it all up and it’s as if he knows. He always does know.

“Even here you’re so ready for me, aren’t you? I can smell your arousal, my dear.” Cazador comments, making you blush despite wanting nothing more than to be filled by his cock until you can’t speak anymore. There’s no other man that fucks you the way he does, he knows all the tricks and games of your body, everything that there is to know about you, and he uses that knowledge against you in most beautiful, merciless ways.

“We could return to our chambers.” You suggest carefully and he lifts an eyebrow at you, feigning surprise.

“Turn around.” Cazador’s voice is a command and you pause, processing it, then let go of both his neck and his hand before you turn around. Your sopping cunt makes movement uncomfortable but you don’t betray it, just clench your fists into your skirts with anticipation. Next moment you feel your father’s hands on your waist, then on your stomach, sliding down your hips. “Lift them up, dear.” He whispers against your ear and a shiver runs down your spine. You begin lifting the skirts of your dress until they are all bunched up against your stomach and chest.

Cazador’s hands leave your hips and you watch him caress your thighs before he grips at them and moves you to face the sarcophagus. Your face flushes and you swallow hard, wondering what he has in mind yet when his fingers grip at your panties and begin moving them down your legs you know exactly what he has in mind – to take you here, on top of this tomb. Whether his reason is to defile the resting place of Donnela or just because he simply wants to fuck you – you don’t know neither do you care. You just bite on your lower lip and step out of your underwear when Cazador moves the garment down to your ankles. For a moment you stand still but then gasp when you feel his face press between your thighs from the back and inhale deeply through the fabric of your dress making you squirm slightly, blushing even harder.

“You smell so sweet, my daughter.” The Vampire Lord mutters against the skirts and you nearly break the skin of your bottom lip from how hard you’re biting on it. Your desire to have him immediately is palpable.

Yet your father seems to have half a mind to torture you in the sweetest way possible – by taking it slow. You sense him moving his face away and hear him stand up once more.

“Your hands behind you.” He commands and you pause, not sure if you should let go of your bunched up dress but decide that you should, then you move your hands behind you. A second later Cazador is tying your wrists together and from weird wet feeling on your skin you know he’s using your soaked panties to do that. “Leg up.” Vampire instructs and you inhale sharply, then lift one leg, resting your foot on the edge of the sarcophagus. “Such a good, obedient girl.” Cazador comments with a grin you can hear in his voice and you open your mouth to respond but a sudden grip on your throat makes you pause. He’s not squeezing to cut off your airflow but it’s a firm, commanding grip nonetheless.

Your father presses himself against your back and makes you lean your head back against his chest while he moves one hand, pulling your dress up again. Cold air of the night caressed your pussy that’s pulsating with need and warm blood. And Cazador is not unaware. When his long fingers begin caressing your plump from arousal folds, he exhales with satisfaction.

“You’re perfect.” He hums while his fingers play with your cunt, spreading your folds widely and letting your arousal begin to drip down your leg unobstructed.

You shiver and mewl at his touch, trying not to move your hips against his fingers, because you know you will be punished if you don’t remain still, as always, but it’s extremely hard to obey tonight. You’ve been wanting for your father even before he showed up at the cemetery part of the garden and now it’s near impossible when his fingertips are grazing your entrance and then moving onto your clit.

“You’re so wet for me.” Cazador comments with a tone that betrays his pride, he’s always proud when you’re easy for him. “You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” You nod before he even finishes his question and that makes him chuckle. “So so eager, my darling daughter. I guess that spawn of mine is incapable of doing even as little as keeping my precious girl satisfied sufficiently. Or is it that you truly don’t want any other man other than me, hm?” Cazador taunts and you lick your lips slowly, your eyelids become heavy because while he speaks he rubs lazy circles on your swollen clit, making you whimper and your propped leg tremble.

Yet you wonder if this is the right place to be touched like this, taken like this, it feels almost sinful. You feel like you can almost sense Donnela’s eyes on you, piercing through the stone lid of her tomb. And this split moment of doubt, a second of mild discomfort doesn’t go unnoticed by Cazador. His fingers do not pause but you feel his lips against your ear and his grip around your throat tightens.

“What is it, my dear?” He whispers and you swallow dryly.

“Dad… should we be doing this here?” You dare to speak but Cazador doesn’t seem phased by your question nor does it seem to upset him.

“Yes, I’m doing this here.” Your father replies in his most casual manner and you gasp because he pushes a finger into your cunt, making your body shiver in response. “Do you think I’m scared of ghosts?” He asks as he pushes another finger in then begins pumping them slowly, drawing out the sensation of your hot flesh suffocating his digits.

You moan and shake your head slightly, knowing that you wouldn’t have a say in this in the first place. You hear your body make squelching sounds as Cazador fucks you with his fingers and you whine louder now, your body slowly but steadily beginning to prepare for the orgasm, sending shivers down your spine and making your cunt occasionally clench around your father’s fingers. Cazador knows this and he pulls them out of you, then without a warning he thrusts them into your open mouth, making you gasp around his fingers. Yet you don’t protest, you move your tongue, lapping up your own arousal and hear him chuckle against your ear, a low rumble that you feel against your back too.

“Not yet, my dear, you will get yours, but only after I get mine.” His teeth nip at your ear and you whine with despair, your body craving for release.

Then he removes his fingers from your mouth and with a firm grip on your thigh he lowers your leg, pushing you forwards and bending you over the sarcophagus, his grip on your neck vanishing with your repositioning. Your right cheek presses against the cold stone and you feel your father lift your skirts, pilling them up on your back.

Smack.

You flinch when his palm connects with the skin of your ass and you moan again. You wring your arms but the improvised bonds made from your panties hold tight, Cazador, after all, is well versed in subduing his prey and right now – that’s you.

“Tell me you want me.” He demands, his words hard and cold, and you whine when you feel his thumb circle your back entrance and push against it gently, not quite breaching it but putting enough pressure as if he has half a mind to do so.

“I want you dad.” You reply in a hurry and resist the urge to rub your thighs together, impatient and eager to feel him inside of you, no matter the hole he chooses.

“Oh how I like hearing that, my dear.” Cazador chuckles and his hand leaves you, letting your stinging skin cool in the night’s air. “I met Donnela once, you know.” He proceeds to speak while you remain still, your mind barely registering what he’s talking about. All you hear is the sound of fabric being handled as he undoes his pants. “She was a woman of grace but she was weak.”

A palm returns to your rear and he rubs the cheek that he smacked before, you feel the tip of his cock aligning himself to your entrance and you wait patiently, saying nothing. Your cunt aches to be filled, your folds are drenched with your arousal and Cazador seems to be teasing the juices with his length.

“You won’t be weak, will you?” He asks in a voice that’s more curious than demanding and you slightly shake your head. It’s taking everything in you not to move, not to buck your hips against his dick in hopes to be pierced by it. Your body is screaming with desire and you nearly salivate at the thought of him claiming you. Yes, he trained you well. “No, of course you won’t. You’re incapable of being weak.” Cazador chuckles and begins to slide his cock in, slowly, savoring every inch. It makes you moan with despair, because you want him fast and hard yet he’s still torturing you in his own, caring way.

You want to beg but you know better than that so you just wait until his length is buried in you fully, coldness of it nearly making your eyes roll to the back of your head and you exhale with relief. Even when he’s torturing you like this, Cazador never keeps it up for long once his dick is inside you. For a moment he just keeps himself unmoving, enjoying the squeezing heat around his cock but then his fingers grip your hip and he begins thrusting. Slowly, almost carefully, taking himself nearly all the way out and sliding back in with ease.

“You’re such a wonderful creature.” Cazador muses and with a corner of your eye you see him watching his dick disappear in you and then come out again, and then disappear again. Your body reacts with a tremble but he doesn’t address it, seemingly lost in thought. “If only you knew how important you are.”

“I know dad, I know.” You whine, hoping that it will urge him and it seems to work as the Vampire Lord snaps out of his thoughts and shoves his cock deep before leaning over you.

You don’t know what to expect but when you feel one of his arms slide under your stomach in a possessive embrace and his other hand find your throat once more, all while he presses his chest against your back, pinning you to the sarcophagus you realize just how much he wants you right now. A second of movement and his left knee is now on the sarcophagus, giving him proper angle to begin thrusting once more.

His grip on your body makes you incapable of moving even the tiniest bit so you just close your eyes and let him fuck you, feeling his icy length moving faster and faster. You hear Cazador’s breath becoming labored the longer this continues and you feel his tongue against the back of your neck, tasting you. You hear his subdued groans and sounds of his skin slapping against yours with every thrust, the most beautiful symphony. You begin feeling yourself come close, the perch of your father’s knee on the sarcophagus giving him the ability to really use his power to slam into you with as much force as he wants to. And in a few wonderful moments he wants to give you it all.

You moan and tremble, subdued by his hands that are like a straight-jacket and your head swims from pleasure, there’s no thoughts, just your Vampire Lord and you on this tomb, loving each other in a way only a father and a daughter can. At least to you - this is perfect, complete expression of love, and you let yourself sink into the feeling, allowing it to wash over you and take all your worries away. It’s you and him and it will be so forever.

Lost in your extasy you don’t notice a presence approaching, neither does your father. He fully expected to you have you all to himself in this lonesome corner of the garden and he’s completely lost in his lust for you, fangs now promisingly grazing your skin and you wish he would bite you already. Yet you dare not beg. Szarrs don’t beg, after all.

But the figure stops and watches you two tangled in this twisted expression of love. Astarion is nearly dumbfounded when he sees your face, your parted lips, witnesses your expression that speaks of nothing else but ultimate satisfaction. He hears your moans, sees the sweat on your face and then his eyes turn to his master when he makes you cry out once his fangs sink into your neck. The spawn never seen Cazador like this, his expression filled with sensuality he never imagined seeing on a face of a man who he only knows as cruel.

Astarion realizes he sees something he shouldn’t and nearly moves to walk away, maybe hide, but he can’t, because if his master sensed him approaching he would’ve ordered him away already. So he remains still, trying to turn his eyes away but being unable to, his gaze again focused on you and your moment of utter bliss as you very obviously begin approaching your orgasm. He recognizes it even if he never saw you to be this much into it when you’re with him. Astarion’s hands clench into fists and he frowns, jealous and angry. At you, at Cazador, but most importantly at himself. The only way he even manages to get you obey is when he repeats phrases his master does, when Astarion invokes your father’s name before you to remind you who you truly belong to. Spawn’s teeth grit but he can’t look away so he watches with boiling fury in his chest, not daring to look away but not daring to say anything either.

If only he had the power like Cazador he could have anyone he wanted, including you. But he can’t even have you to want Astarion as much as you want your father, spiritually and carnally. He’s reminded of his own powerless existence and hates it.

Astarion keeps watching as you moan louder and louder, hears how your voice echoes into the night and listens to Cazador groan against your neck, his thrusts becoming erratic and hurried, rushing to grant him release that he craves so badly.

“Say it.” Cazador growls with undisguised lust the moment his fangs leave your neck and you immediately know what he means.

“I’m yours, dad! I’m your good girl!” you whine with a shaky voice, you’re trying to hold on, not to come just yet, you know he likes it when he finishes first, but his body pinning yours against the tomb lid is becoming too heavy, you can barely inhale.

“That’s right.” Cazador hisses and his grip on your throat tightens as his lips push aside the dress and press against your shoulder. “You’re mine, now and forever.” He repeats and you can’t tell if it’s a reminder to you or himself, your mind is too dazed to think, too filled with bliss you’re trying to keep at bay.

Then your father’s teeth clamp onto your shoulder tighter, so tight it’s like he wants to take an actual bite out of you. With that he comes, milking his cock with your clenched walls while you try not to come yourself. But the moment he does you let go and cry out, shouting his name into the night while Cazador squeezes on your throat nearly taking your breath away. Your cunt spasms, pulling out last drops of his seed and he keeps thrusting until he knows that your peak is passing. His hips against your body slow, then stop entirely, and you both remain still for a long moment. You hear Cazador panting against your skin with your shoulder still caught between his teeth and you smile dreamily. You couldn’t be happier.

At last the Vampire Lord releases your flesh from his bite and lifts his head, looking at your sweaty face with pride and something too close to love, but you see none of it, because by the time you open your eyes, Cazador is pushing himself from you, his hands leaving your neck and waist, his perched leg finding footing on the ground, and he pulls out of you carefully, not spilling a single drop of his cum. You gasp when you feel him push in a thumb into your cunt, then move it as if he’s confirming just how fully he filled you and it looks like the conclusion satisfies him because you feel your wrists being unbound from the bondage of your panties.

You bring your wrists to yourself, your arms feel numb and weird, but you still push yourself up from the tomb and look back at Cazador, feeling the skirts of your dress drop around your legs the moment you straighten your back, but now you see that he’s not even looking at you.

When you follow your father’s haughty gaze you recognize the silver curls and the scowl. Astarion. How long he has been standing here? You have no clue. You look at Cazador and see an arrogant grin on his face while he tucks his softening cock back into his pants and makes himself presentable once more.

You find yourself mortified for some reason. Maybe because of how Astarion is glaring at his master. With so much hate that you are sure your father will want to punish it. So when he begins walking, not giving you even a glance, you realize you’re clenching the skirts of your dress so strongly your hands are shaking. You watch Cazador walk to Astarion and lean down to his spawn’s ear, whispering something that you cannot hear. Astarion doesn’t move, his gaze now shifted onto you, and then Cazador pats his shoulder with a wide smirk as he walks off, tall and proud. A conqueror.

When your father’s footsteps fade, you watch Astarion straighten his back, his lips pressed into a thin line but he’s not moving. You swallow dryly and feel your legs move before you consciously demand them to. You briefly notice your panties tossed on the ground but ignore them and walk down the path, knowing you’ll have to pass Astarion. Your breathing stops entirely when you get closer, seeing pure rage in spawn’s eyes but you don’t look at him, you command yourself not to as you try to keep your strolling pace, but when you’re about to think that you’re safe, as you think nothing will happen when you pass the pale elf, you feel your upper arm suddenly being gripped with such force that your knees buckle and you drop down on the hard stone.

You raise your face and see Astarion come into view, his gaze filled with fury when he gazes down upon you, his lips curled into a snarl while he holds your arm so painfully you wince with an unsaid plea to be released, but it looks like he enjoys seeing you kneeling and hurting.

“You see me just as he does, don’t you? A worthless spawn! A slave for you both!” He asks in a voice that’s nearly trembling with fury and you gasp, trying to wrench your arm from his fingers.

“What? Astarion, I have no idea-“ Your own voice is shaking from pain and panic that you’re feeling at witnessing spawn’s rage that you don’t even know why you deserve it.

“SHUT UP!” Astarion bellows and you flinch as if hit.

Your eyes are wide from shock and building terror as your lips quiver, trying to form words that could save you or doom you. But spawn ignores your evident fear and finally releases your arm, now grabbing your jaw as he leans over you, bringing his face close to yours. His nails dig into your skin and you wince but keep looking into his eyes, not daring to guess what’s coming next.

“You will never see me as anything but a slave for the rest of your existence, will you?” Astarion’s voice is low and dangerous and you swallow dryly, remaining silent. Your arm throbs but you can barely feel right now. “Tell me, little dhampir, do you think being allowed to fuck you is enough?” He smirks but there’s venom in his expression, poison that you haven’t seen in him before, something that you now realize has been festering in him for a long long time.

“Astarion, what’s gotten into you?” You manage a silent whisper and he squeezes your jaw so tightly you let out a pained moan, your arms gripping at his wrist, trying to pull his hand away but it’s like trying to move a statue – impossible.

“Nothing’s gotten into me, darling. I’ve just realized that no matter how sweetly you moan for me, you will never be truly mine. Is it because I’m not your father or is it because I’m not powerful enough to kill him?”

Your heart skips a beat from sheer terror.

Kill your father? What is he talking about? He can’t be serious. He’s a spawn, surely he can’t even if he wanted to? And for you? Would Astarion attempt that just to have you all to himself?

“You’re hurting me.” You whine, trying to pry his fingers off your face and with a scoff he releases your jaw.

“You like being taught lessons, don’t you?” Spawn says while you rub your jaw with trembling fingers.

“If you hurt me my father will-“

“I don’t care!” Astarion raises his voice again and you just glare at him from under your eyebrows. Who is he to lay his hands on you? “You will be mine.” Not a promise but a threat while you watch him begin to unlace his pants. “Keep kneeling or I will snap your neck.” Another threat spoken with a tone of voice telling you that he means every word. Your knees hurt already but remain on them, watching how he takes out his semi-flaccid cock and begins stroking it with a smirk blooming on his face. “I love how easily you submit, darling. Some things even Cazador does right.”

“Just because you feel powerless it doesn’t mean you have any right to take it out on me.” You can’t help but respond, your jaw still hurts and so does your arm, and you stare at Astarion with anger instead of fear but he just grins at you. There’s no fondness in those eyes, there rarely is, and you understand only now, realize that for him – you’re a conquest, a symbol of power. To Cazador and Astarion both, it seems that to have you – is to have power.

The thought itself stirs something in your body. A response that is so deeply ingrained in you that you weren’t even aware of it until now – you want to be treated this way. Not with roughness but as a reward for being powerful. Maybe it’s just one more of Cazador’s lessons that you internalized it so deeply until it became a part of you.

“I’m not taking my anger out of you, sweet little dhampir. I’m just remind you that Cazador is not the only one who has claim to your body.” Astarion’s grin is sharp and you notice him growing harder by the second. “Open your mouth.” He commands and you look into his eyes with a scowl.

“If you hurt me-“

He slaps you so hard you see only white for a long moment, the sound of it ringing through your ears and nearly deafening you if only temporarily. Your head swings so strongly to your left that you nearly fall to all fours but somehow remain on your knees. Your anger gets replaced by shock and fear once again as you look at the spawn looming over you.

“I said open your mouth.” Astarion repeats and his voice is full of danger so you just release a shaky breath and open your mouth obediently. His expression softens at your compliance and he even smiles, although it’s a smile of a victor and not of a lover, but has he ever been your lover or just another man who wanted your body but not your soul? “See, it’s easier when you simply obey.” Spawn croons in a voice that would sound alluring if you didn’t know what danger lurked just under the surface.

Astarion’s hand moves to tangle into your hair and he roughly yanks back on them, making you face upwards. You blink couple times at the pain but keep your lips parted while he looks down on you with a smug expression. Expression that tells you he doesn’t see you, not really, maybe never have. You’re something to be used, to satisfy himself with, to remind him that the only power he has right now is power over you. And you can’t help but be turned on. You haven’t noticed through the whole interaction how Cazador’s cum seeped out of your cunt and down your thighs but now that you’re getting aroused again you realize how wet your skin is from your father’s seed and your own juices flowing freely out of your entrance.

“You’ve been taught to obey your whole life, little dhampir.” Astarion’s voice is almost soothing as he releases his hard cock and his fingers brush lose hair from your eyes, tucking it behind your ear like a lover would, but you see the storming rage behind his eyes. It’s subdued now but still present, so much like your father. “Now don’t speak, I don’t want to hear another word from you, understood?”

You nod with a blush spreading across your face and Astarion is not blind to that. It gives him a feeling of satisfaction that no matter what he does to you – you will want him and become aroused by him. It gives him that desired feeling of power. If not over anything else in his miserable slave life, then at least power over you.

“I’m going to enjoy this.” He whispers more to himself than to you and you grip your skirts, trying not to show how aroused you are becoming but your salivating mouth betrays you.

Astarion grips the base of his dick and steps just a little closer, still holding your head firmly in place just before he shoves himself fully into your mouth. You feel the tip of his cock at the back of your throat, cutting off air and you make a pathetic whine before your mouth is full and your face is smashed against his pelvis. You didn’t even have time to notice when his fingers left his length.

“Take it, pet, take it all.” Spawn croons and you let go of your dress and grab onto his pants. At first you try to pull your face away but his grip on your hair is so tight you can’t move an inch.

Your eyes begin to water and your tongue moves in protest of your throat trying to gag around his cock. You forget your stinging cheek and forget Astarion’s rage, you’re in your element now and your pussy throbs with desire even while you struggle without air. His words only escalate your desire, you can’t resist what’s in your nature.

After a long moment, by the point your head begins to swim from lack of oxygen, Astarion finally pulls your head away from his cock. You gasp for air and look up at him, tears rolling down your face and his glistening dick is still connected to your mouth by heavy strings of saliva.

“Beautiful.” Vampire spawn comments with almost soothing affection and then shoves his length back into your mouth, beginning to thrust against your face. “Good obedient little pet, aren’t you? You don’t care who you submit to as long as you do.” His words are mocking but you don’t care.

With drooping eyelids you try to swirl your tongue against his hard cock, enjoying the texture and the sensation of veins, your mouth keeps salivating, covering your chin and dripping down his balls but you care for none of this, you just want to feel him come down your throat. How the tip of his length hits the back of your throat again and again makes your whole body ache with renewed desire.

“What a cock-hungry slut you are.” You hear Astarion chuckle but his breathing sounds increasingly labored and you lift your eyes to him, finally seeing his satisfied expression and lust in his gaze that replaced the rage from earlier. He wants you so much, you realize. “Worship me like you worship Cazador.” He suddenly demands and pulls his dick out of your mouth.

He slams your face against his cock, wetness of it staining your cheek and eyelid, but you stick out your tongue and begin licking. You hear his breathy chuckle and finally he releases your hair, giving you freedom which you immediately use to drag your tongue up and down his length. When you look up at him, you see that Astarion is consumed by pleasure, his eyes clouded and lips parted. You both are panting loudly but you notice it only now.

“Tell me you want me. Tell me you need me.” Astarion says with a degree of desperation in his voice and you hesitate before answering.

“I need you, Astarion. And I want you.” You say with your own voice coarse from the rough face-fucking you have been administered just earlier and a pleased smile appears on Astarion’s face.

“Keep going.”

So you do. Enthusiastically you resume licking his cock, tracing every vein and groove with the tip of your tongue, swirling it around the soft tip of his dick, making him moan now. You feel his hand return to your hair, both of them this time, but he’s not gripping it anymore, just cradling your head while you keep covering his length with saliva. For a moment you even dip your head lower, licking his balls, taking one of them into your mouth gently, sucking on it, then giving same attention to the other one.

“Oh gods, you’re so good…” Astarion struggles to speak and you smile proudly to yourself, you always love to be praised.

After a moment longer you return to his cock and take it into your mouth fully, your tongue pressing to the underside of it and you begin to bob your head, completely focused on the task at hand. You feel Astarion’s fingers tremble against your skull and you know he’s close.

“Fuck, your mouth feels so delicious.” Spawn moans and you feel his length twitch against your tongue just before Astarion shoves it deep into your mouth and begins spilling himself down your throat.

You gulp it down, listening to him moan as he uses your mouth to milk himself of every last drop and when he finally stops you hear him panting while still firmly cradling your head. After a moment Astarion pulls back and you release his already softening dick from your mouth, letting it drop. You open your eyes and look up, noticing his flushed face, beads of sweat on his forehead and his clouded eyes, but a satisfied smirk soon pulls at his lips and by your hair he yanks you back, letting go just before you drop-sit on your feet, finally getting some relief for your knees.

Without a word you use the back of your hand to wipe your chin and lips while Astarion quietly tucks himself back into his pants.

“I hope you won’t forget who you belong to, darling.” He coos again so sweetly it’s almost hard to believe he lost his composure so utterly just earlier. Your desire is still throbbing within your body like a drum but you realize that he’s done with you, at least for now.

“So that’s what this was all about?” You ask and with a silent grunt you get to your feet, looking into his eyes with a small frown. “You saw me with father and decided you needed to remind me that he’s not the only one who can have me?”

Astarion laughs and reaches out, caressing the same cheek he hit. It feels soothing, pleasantly cold against your sore skin and you lean into his touch before you can think against it.

“Maybe. Maybe not. In any case, I had a good time.” Spawn says and you can’t help but smile ever so slightly.

“You’re easy to please then, unlike my father.” You tease him and Astarion chuckles, removing his hand from your face, then he eyes you up and down slowly, as if trying to memorize exactly how you look in this moment, disheveled hair and all, your dress crumpled and stained.

“Maybe you should consider prioritizing me instead of him then. I would be a merciful master to you.” He says and your blink few times, trying to understand if you really heard what you just heard. Does Astarion really want you to choose?

“Astarion…” You begin, trying to pick your words but he just laughs again and starting to walk away, strutting with pride of a Vampire Lord himself.

“I’ll see you around, I’m sure, my little dhampir.” He says loudly and strolls back to the palace while you remain standing there, exhausted and dumbfounded.

Suddenly you feel like you’re between a hammer and an anvil and you dread to think what would happen if both Cazador and Astarion began getting increasingly jealous over you.

One thing you are sure of, if it ever came to that – someone wouldn’t survive.

The thought makes you shudder and you hope it will never come to that.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

NSFW Gale x Gwen (Single Mom!Tav) Thoughts

A/N: I may be ace, but it's time for me to be horny on main. I've got it down bad for this autistic rizzard and need to share my thoughts. I'm writing this with Gwen in mind (masterlist here), but this mostly an excuse to share my headcanons about Gale.

Let's start with the obvious; Gale Dekarios has a praise kink

This is well trodden down at this point, but sometimes even the obvious must be stated

Gwen calling out his name, saying how perfect he is and how good he makes her feel will have him crumbling in minutes

This does lead me to my next point: Gale has a very hard time even thinking about hurting his partners, even in the pursuit of pleasure

 Not that Gale is shy or can't be more dominant in bed, but when he's in that position he’s not quite comfortable with doing anything he think might hurt Gwen, even if she insists it’s fine

Gwen has no such reservations

While they switch back and forth Gwen is more comfortable sliding into a more dominate role when asked for

She's honestly just has had more experience with physical sex and has a more casual attitude towards it than Gale

(insert demisexual Gale headcanon here)

Just imagine for a moment Gale come back home after a hard day

 Nothing seems to be going right. The students weren’t paying attention to his lecture and did poorly on their quizzes which means he’s failing them by not teaches them the material they way he should. Maybe he got into a spat with the other professors. Either way he’s frustrated and maybe takes it out on Gwen a bit. She then turns to him and in that tone says, “Stop.”

Gale finds himself pausing mid rant, realizing very quickly what he said. Gwen then tells him to close the door and lock it. Gale does and starts to apologize but Gwen gestures for him to stop and to kneel. Gale does and Gwen tells him very calmly she doesn’t want a verbal apology. In fact she doesn’t want him to say anything unless she tells him to. She doesn’t want him to think of anything beyond her next order.

As she says this she is running her fingers through his hair allowing his body to relax and slip into that mind set. Let go of the troubles of the day and focus on the task laid out in front of him by the woman he worships. A sharp tug at his scalp turns his gaze upward. She asks him if that is something he wants and what else can he do but plead for it.

Gale also has his own ways of getting Gwen to absolutely melt for him

She loves his voice; she always has and having him speak words of adoration and poetry in her ear as he makes love to her drives her wild

She holds back her own moans not wanting to interrupt him or miss a single word

Sometimes he teases her, telling her not to hold back; her sounds are sweeter than any of his words he could utter

Other times, he has mercy, letting her latch her mouth onto his skin as he continues to press words of love into her ear

Even after they've both come down and cuddled up together he still keeps talking

Luckily for Gwen, Gale also absolutely has an oral fixation so it's very easy to get him to stop rambling and start moaning

Methods including letting him suck her fingers as she rides him, letting him suck and kiss every inch of her skin he can reach, sitting on his face, or even just gagging him

Man needs to either be running his mouth or have it occupied with something else is what I'm saying

On the flip side sex not having to be as serious

Gwen laughing at one of his bad jokes and Gale laughing with her even as they move together feeling a type of intimacy he hasn't felt in ages

They try a different position, but suddenly remember they're both closer to 40 than either of them would like and giggling at how ridiculous they're being

Gale's bad knees absolutely coming up at inopportune times

Especially when he's been on his knees eating Gwen out until she's shaking around his ears

She then very coyly ask him to join her on the bed and his begrudgingly has to admit he can't really, at the moment

Luckily Gwen takes it in good humor and helps him back up happy to return the favor ;)

Gwen taking the time and energy to get it through Gale's thick skull that she adores him and his body just as much as he does hers

There is always the classic, tie him to the bed and kiss every inch of his skin and not letting him touch her so she can worship him properly

But then there is also using mirrors

Gale has a hard time looking at himself, but he loves watching Gwen

So tables reversed where Gwen forces to appreciate himself and his body as it responds to her; no gods or astral sea, just two mortal beings

While Gwen can enjoy the different kind of intimacy that comes from projecting themselves, that's only now and again

She much prefers the intimacy of feeling her husband's heart beat syncs with hers as they each come down from their climax, content to feel his weight on top of and inside her as they kiss and linger in the moment

More than once Gale teased her for being insatiable but the same can easily be said of him

They keep it in their pants enough not to scar their children for life, but it's easy to say the honeymoon phases isn't really a phase for them, more a life style

[totkdaily]

Day 85: Attack on Gerudo Town

The attack on Gerudo Town begins. 

It's hard to keep an eye on all the gates at once, and the sand makes it hard to move quickly.

I focus on taking out the hives first - and then we mop up the remaining gibdo. Gerudo Town is safe again, for now. 

Debriefing afterwards, Riju noticed that the gibdo hives became sand when they were destroyed. She wonders if the gibdo and the sand are more connected than we thought. It's a shame she and Zelda haven't had cause to spend much time together - it's exactly the kind of observation the Princess would love. 

Now that the threat is passed, we can discuss Riju's summons. She wants to show me something down in the shelter. 

Past the rolling door below is the vibrant Gerudo community I remember. I'm glad it's surviving this much, at least. 

A young girl, Delia, immediately runs up to me - and we're told off by Lorn. She's too young to talk to Voe. Lorn does not want me here - too bad. 

I find Cara, the accessory designer. I remember the shop owner she mentions - apparently she went out for supplies and hasn't come back yet. The desert must be littered with lost people. We need to sort that sand shroud. Cara says she went to the Toruma Dunes - where there are Molduga. Great. 

Beside a strangely familiar orb, I meet Rotana, a scholar. She's working on deciphering stelae, writings on stone pillars. This one says: 

“The seven heroines who protect the Gerudo. Their secret will be expressed on six stelae.”

On the other stela she has, it says: 

“The seven heroines who protect the Gerudo. And eighth channels and guides the powers of these seven.”

Rotana says the heroines are so ancient nothing is known about them - not even if they should be worshiped as a collective or as individuals. Apparently there may even have only been one at all - or conversely, eight! Hence the eighth heroine statue in the Highlands, I suppose. 

She wants to find the other four stelae and make her name in archeology. She thinks they'll be underground. I shall look out. 

I find Riju looking at a mural surrounded by water.

“Standing back-to-back with the throne, witness red pillars across a vast sea. Unite the pillars in light to reveal the lightning stone and open the way. You who can hear my voice, come to me. I await you.”

Incredible. Words directly from the sage, preserved here. 

It sounds like I should start at the throne. But I want to explore this shelter first. 

I find one of Rotana's stelae behind some crumbling rock.

She translates it as:

“The seven heroines protect the Gerudo with the powers of heart, skill, fortitude, wisdom, flight, mobility, and compassion.”

There's a Hylian here, Jules. She warns me not to misbehave - there's already a man in jail. I miss the inconspicuousness of my Gerudo clothes…

There's a kid called Aaqlet - that's the name the guy in jail said as I went by. Poor guy, he probably just came to check on his kid. And her mum isn't here either, she's working at the secret clothes shop. Aaqlet has a map, which I should follow at some point. 

The spa and the wine bar have moved down here, so at least people are still managing to do business. 

I cross the main hall again to explore the other side - and fall down a hole! The short drop ends with a splash. There's a message in a bottle.

“It's you! At long last! You, the voe reading this letter, are the voe I was fated to meet! And I am the vai you were destined for! You must hurry and rescue me! I am locked away from the outside world! Do not worry though! I will send all of my love to you until you come and find me. Stay safe and know that we will meet soon. It is our destiny, after all! -Calyban”

Oh dear. I should just put this back in the water. But where does this tunnel go, anyway? 

A bunch of places: a house in Gerudo Town, a circular path that needed blasting open, and finally a korok panel. I ascend through the tunnel and head back to the shelter. 

I find Calyban by the large hole in the shelter floor, but she wants to be left alone. Fair enough.

Another kid, Kalani, also hides her face when I approach. I leave her be and stop at the goddess statue. 

In exchange for the four Sage's Wills I've found, I grant Tulin a stronger attack. I also get three heart containers, to hopefully make it harder to blow myself up. 

I stop in at a classroom, and find myself in use as a teaching aid. Nali is too shy to look at me - but I do have that Sheikah mask… it's not enough for her. I don't actually think I have any full-face masks - I'll have to come back. 

Past where the sand seals are hanging out, I find a room that's almost a miniature of the valley of the seven heroines.

I wonder… I've seen a  few small orbs around. This would seem to be the place for them. I wonder what happens if I find them all.

I find a buried and broken stela, and manage to blow away the sand and put it back together again.

Beyond, a much larger tunnel. The valley of silent statues. 

It's already been a long day - in fact, it's nearly over. But I want to know what's down here… 

I find Nellie, who's been exploring down here a little. She doesn't seem to think much of it though - she's heading back to the canteen. 

Let's find out for myself…

[tadokorochann]

Okay but for some reason Shiggy always playing video games also equals him being chronically online and as an incredibly touch starved early twenties male individual I equate that to him consistently browsing pron sites

so like now I'm thinking about what his browser history was before meeting reader and then after

with all his posturing in the previous ask I'm imagining his desire to want to have all the control and thus taking it by force-basically what AFO has been grooming him to do with his powers and manipulating him into his perfect lil revenge puppet --so honestly it's probably involves lots of violence, humilation, debasement of one's partner?

then presented with reader and that all getting almost instantly nullified cause SURPRISE Shiggy isn't actually like that at his core- he's really just not had any good role models. Like yeah enacting violence on someone who did him wrong may still sound appealing but you're basically a stranger and oh shit you're gently touching his arm and his tummy feels a little queasy but in a good way???

And you're apparently the first person in his life with a gotdamn brain cause you recommend he wear special gloves for his quirk so all his fingers are never touching something all at once and that's a game changer cause now he doesn't have to be so cautious about being close to people--even tho he still is--but he "claimed" you and you're running with it so you're not skimping on the cuddling obligations of a kept woman! (plus Kai was also probably with holding of touch due to his germphobia so you're craving touch like hell too)

okay this got outta hand! I meant this to be an ask about you and tomura watching porn together/him starting to share gentle femdom videos with you and shyly asking if you can try them 😅😂😂😂

Yesyesyes to all of this! Personally for this au (or storyline I guess since it’s canonverse?) I envision the reader to have a powerful nullification/cancellation quirk of some kind, purely to make both Shiggy and Kai more obsessed with her 🥰

For Kai I envisioned a kind of, not worship for reader, but… reverence? Or admiration of some kind, viewing the nullification as her body’s own efforts to resist the quirk virus. Despite it in and of itself being a quirk. The same type of cognitive dissonance he has when it comes to regarding himself as clean and undiseased despite having overhaul lol. In any case it was a reason to keep her suffocatingly close, make sure nothing else could touch her, soil her, make her dirty. I know the “I’m the only one Overhaul can touch without getting hives” bnha fic trope can be overused but I 100% do not care because that’s exactly how I saw this situation with reader. But, like you said, he’s a germaphobe. So even with skin to skin contact not being a primary issue I definitely think touch was still a point of conflict. And sex was… a very specific, step by step process that HE decided every little detail about. As was this entire relationship. He controlled her clothes, diet, physical activity, hobbies, any possessions she had. There was no choice which soured things even when Kai happened to pick something she enjoyed.

For Tomura readers quirk cancellation is simply a means for him to be able to touch someone with five fingers down. Hug her. Hold her hand without fear she’ll crumble. And it’s so huge for him 🥺🥺🥺 I’m getting off track as well lmao

Definitely love the idea of both Reader and Shiggy beginning to share/watch porn together and that Tomura’s browser history and stuff changes. Bc one of the things that had me chewing on this idea the most was him having someone to be soft with, and to be able to make self discoveries with.

100% feel like Kai did not allow reader the consumption of porn either for reasons of keeping her “clean” mentally or bc of being possessive, possibly both. And domming him was a definite no, at least in this particular blurb.

Reader explores freedom of choice in regards to sex, porn, affection, food, spending time with actual people (no real companions were allowed at the Hassaikai because Kai was adamant he was ✨all she needed✨) and just generally being happy w him. And Tomura gets to begin to unpack the ideals AFO saddled him with. Meanwhile Kai gets to be armless and having a constant breakdown in Tartarus 🥰

(edit: the idea/blurb referenced is here for those who haven’t seen it)

[spicyicetea]

Forgot once again that I write on here. Oops. I've been working on some of my original yandere stories on and off between reading stuff. Can say that I have tons of inspiration for stuff and my blog may be blowing up with new content soon.

I deleted the last post about this as I scrapped some of the characters that had gotten a lot of support and wanted to revamp the characters before asking again.

I have the characters I want to use in these stories now and ideas for the plot their stories would take so wanted to provide some propaganda for each of them for people to vote on which I write first.

ALL OF THESE WILL BE FINISHED EVENTUALLY THIS IS JUST HELPING ME DECIDED WHO TO DO FIRST

The propaganda is under the cut, if you're uninterested in reading the premise feel free to just vote but for those who do want more information, read on. Descriptions of yandere behaviour, threats of violence and suggestive material below.

Lucius, the fallen angel (THE INTRO TO HIS STORY IS OFFICALLY UP, TO THOSE WHO WANT HIM GO GET HIM)

Rage, nothing but rage ran through the veins of the holy being, wings crumbling to ash around them. How dare they! How dare his god forsake him like this. He would have preferred to have been cast to the fiery pits like his brothers before him. His soft peach hair curled around his eyes, framing the wild gold. The world stops around him as your hand finds the skin between his shoulder blades. The poor entity that touched him... how their time on this earth was now rapidly depleting. Looking over his shoulder, your eyes met, his scanning the form of the being who dared lay eyes upon him in this moment of weakness.

"Excuse me... can I help you in anyway?"

In your hand was a small box, with a red plus. Having been a guardian angel he recognised it immediately, a first aid kit. You were here to help him? The scrubs covering your body told a story themself. A dedicated doctor that wanted nothing more than to help people, even the crumbling man before you. He saw you, your whole being, mind, body and soul. What a gorgeous soul... he has found his new deity. The entity he will worship to the ends of the earth, his god/goddess that he will bring forth the end of the heavens above for, no matter the cost to himself or humanity.

Edit: felt bad about Lucius’ being so short so I “finished” an old sketch of him.

I don’t like sharing my art but here (don’t remember the reference I used the sketch was quite old)

Roger, the Pirate

Once flourishing seaside towns, abandoned by the native inhabitants. Sea attacking the waves with a vengeance and an anger that would drive anyone away. Of course she was mad. Her plentiful expanses have been torn by war and now are weaponised with warships and scoundrels. As boats became more prevalent and accessible to the common folk, another threat appeared, pirates. Criminals who rode the waves in their stolen ships, raiding towns and crumbling villages. Anyone with common sense feared them, apart from your stubborn father. Your dear old dad, the soul blacksmith in the beachside village you were raised in, refused to waiver. This was his home, and he'd be damned if some punk would make him leave. The village folk stayed too, they considered him as close to a mayor as the town had. Luckily, not many pirates came to the area, despite the relatively calm waves. Hidden away in rocky coves and connected through wooden bridges, your home was well hidden and your people worshiped the sea. She was their queen, their bountiful provider and valiant protector. Your family held this tradition with a tight fist.

A large bang, rang out as the village shook. Screams... so many shrieks as your family jumped up and rushed to the village centre, your usually soft father brandishing the heirloom sword he had forged to commemorate his marriage to your mother. Pirates had rounded everyone up already, holding them at the tips of their swords, twirling their rudimentary guns as a threat. Your father hesitated, lowering his sword to not anger them, handing it off to his wife should anything go wrong. Each step he took forward was met with steps on the other end, a tall rugged man meeting him at the centre of the village. Long scars littered his body, flicking from the corner of his lips and the bridge of his nose, to the side of his throat and across his knuckles. His hair was a deep chestnut, rough and messy beneath the leather tricorn hat he wore. His eye patch was tucked into the collar of his shirt, wanting to look him eye to eye.

"We're here for your riches, but if you can't provide, I suppose your men can work off your village's debt."

It boiled your blood, how dare they try and hurt these people. These were your people! Your blood may not be royal, but the villagers treated you as such. Thousands of years ago, your family had led them onto the rocky coves to avoid the tyrannical reign of the original village lord. It felt as if your ancestors controlled your limbs as you took the sword from your trembling mother, ignoring the cries of her and your younger siblings. Brandishing the ornate blade with a profound confidence, you pressed it to the invaders chest, teeth grit.

"I am the only trained fighter here, so you either take me or leave empty handed."

He raised his bushy brows, his expression remaining unreadable. The air remained stagnant before he swatted the flat side of the blade, causing you to retract it to your side. He ripped the hat from his head, holding it low to hide... something, whatever it was, as he turned his back, clearing his throat.

"We leave at dusk lass, make us wait and we torch the place."

I apologise for the propaganda being so long but I enjoyed writing these, can you tell I like Roger. Please vote if you're interested in either. I'm going to put together a taglist for these so let me know in the replies if and who's taglist you want to be in. Please clarify which character you want to be tagged in.

[xxvergoldetxx]

I don’t know exactly why I listened to the silly lecture on YouTube. I think it was after I had just turned 19 and realised that you don’t suddenly grow up and are alright. It was something about healing from past experiences and well, I thought better sooner then later. I hadn’t known then that healing doesn’t happen overnight; so there I was, filled with anticipation to heal from all my troubles. Soon I realised that, in order to heal, you have to confront all these heavy memories you learned to suppress so well.

First thing I thought of was the relationship with my mum. Of course it wasn’t all that bad but it still does something with you when her love and hate feel a bit to similar in their extremes. Then, deeply intertwined with that, there’s religion.

When you are born a girl and a Christian you will always feel inferior and unworthy, or at least like you’re supposed to be. You think you have to work hard to be good.

So there I was in 6th grade, convincing my best friend that her father being gay was a sin, so that she wouldn’t support him and end up in hell herself. Little did I know i wouldn’t turn out quite heterosexual either. I can vividly picture that day at the Christian camp when I went to the woods and screamed at god, begged him to give me a sign that I wasn’t unlovable. Everything stayed silent and the sky seemed further away than it ever had before.

From that moment on my faith crumbled piece by piece leaving me more free than id ever felt before, but also more lonely. I had almost forgotten what religious guilt feels like until in that frantic attempt of self help, I set foot in the church i spent half of my childhood in again. I even listened to worship songs on my way home, partly because they had consoled me in the past but mostly because I missed how easy life used to be. When I realised that nothing is going to be like it was 2 years ago I was so glad and so sad that I cried the whole night. But I also realised that healing never takes as little time as you want it to, but always as much as you need it to.

[avirael]

FFxivWrite 2023

Day 09 - Fair

His last mission had been a disaster and, even if Minfilia had nothing but praise for him, A'viloh still felt more terrified than heroic about the events involving Ifrit. Just as he left her solar and decided he would crawl into bed and remain there for the foreseeable future, Thancred, who had also been there for their conversation, ran after him.

"A'viloh! Wait a moment, please!"

The Miqo'te stopped, hoped that he didn’t look too distressed and turned to face the Scion.

"Did you forget something?"

"Not exactly…I just felt obliged to tell you something. It wouldn’t be fair to keep this from you…", Thancred said. "Whether she intended to or not, Minfilia neglected to tell you something - something I think it would be best you hear from one of us."

He looked around to see if anyone was listening and then with an unusually serious expression and a quiet voice he said: "It concernes the tempered abductees that were rescued… I am sorry to report that all of them are to be put to death, the Flames with whom you were imprisoned included."

Instantly A'viloh‘s carefully put together smile crumbled and all color drained from his face. "What?? But…why?!"

"I swear to you that we would not do this if there were any other recourse - but once a man is tempered, he is tempered for life. His very existence lends strength to the primal whom he cannot choose but worship.", Thancred explained, but the information did nothing to soften the blow.

The terror on the Miqo'te’s face was impossible to miss. He sat down on a bench, that stood next to them in the hallway and buried his face in his hands. The whole experience had been horrifying enough the way it was and now this…

"I wish you never told me…", he muttered quietly.

Thancred didn’t seem to know what to reply to that. Instead he sat down beside A'viloh and still tried to find the right words, when the Miqo'te spoke again.

"This isn’t fair. Why me? By pure luck I survive while everybody else around me dies. I’m too weak to protect anyone, I don’t deserve this. This is so unfair…"

He was certain that by now he should have died at least three times but by some cruel miracle he, the most unworthy among them, made it out alive every single time...

Hesitantly Thancred put a hand on A'viloh’s back.

"Please don‘t blame yourself, A'viloh. If anybody is at fault here it is me. I arrived to late to be of any use… to you or the abductees. For that I owe you an apology and I hope you can forgive me. I should have been there when the Amalj'aa took you prisoner. But I wasn’t and you had to face Ifrit all alone."

A'viloh laughed a short, almost hysterical laugh. "By the Twelve, if you had been there you only would have ended up tempered too!"

Thancred grimaced. "That might be true but the same goes for you. My mistake nearly cost you your life. If it wasn’t for the echo you would… no, I don’t even wanna think about it. I'm sorry, I failed you utterly."

A'viloh slowly looked up and glanced at the man beside him. Thancred‘s expression was full of remorse. "You tell me not to blame myself and then you go and blame yourself instead? I don’t think there’s anything you could have done either…"

Thancred shook his head.

"No, but I should never have let it get that far in the first place. I should have known better!"

A'viloh tried his best to give him a sympathetic smile. "How would you? You’re not clairvoyant."

"But the next best thing. I‘m the Scion‘s spymaster.", he gestured at the tattoo on his neck. "Do you know what this is, A'viloh?"

The Miqo'te shook his head. He had already wondered about those tattoos they all had but never asked any of them about it.

"It‘s an Archon mark.", Thancred explained. "In Sharlayan that’s a title given only to those who are the best of the best in their area of expertise. This mark means that I should have been able to know our enemies next moves even before they do. But instead I let them fool us and let you run straight into their trap… My mentors would be ashamed of me…"

A'viloh didn’t know anything about Sharlayan but he couldn’t imagine that they were as unforgiving as Thancred made it sound.

"Don’t be so harsh with yourself. We both were there, you know how difficult it was to get any information…"

Thancred smiled at him as charmingly as ever but it somehow didn't look genuine this time. It made A'viloh wonder how much of his usual behavior was real and how much of it only a well practised performance.

"It’s nice of you to defend me but it should have been my job to find a way. Louisoix would never have allowed this to happen… I have to do better… I have to be stronger…"

A'viloh sighed. "I think that applies to both of us then…"

A while they just sat there in silence lost in their thoughts, then Thancred started to laugh, which earned him a confused look by the Miqo'te.

"Look at us!", Thancred said. "Here we are, wallowing in self-pity and being miserable!"

Now it was A'viloh’s turn to laugh.

"To be honest that’s exactly what I had planned to do for at least a day or two…"

Thancred raised a warning finger and stood up. "No no, I can absolutely not let that happen! You know what’s going to make all of this a lot better?"

A'viloh furrowed his brow and waited for the other to continue.

"Alcohol!", Thancred suggested. "Extraordinary amounts of alcohol!"

The Miqo'te broke out in laughter and Thancred beckoned him to follow.

"Come on, the first drink is on me!"

[shiyorin]

A Random Collection

This is random things from the note app on my phone. Most of them are excerpts that I had to remove because they are not suit for fics anymore, but I still love those.

"Are you kidding?" She ticked points off on knuckles. "No relationship experience? Overbearing daddy issues? Probable performance problems downstairs? You're not red flag. You're red alert."

…

She pursed lips, as if divining some great mystery. "Hmm. Three possibilities come to mind. One - you weird religious cult type dudes, taken strict vows of celibacy?"

"Absolutely not!" Guilliman protested stiffly.

She ticked off a finger. "Two - dear old dad Big E raised you all to be socially inept man - children?"

Sanguinius cleared his throat delicately. "While Father emphasized scholarly pursuits, I'm certain matters of the heart suffered no neglect."

"Uh huh." She grinned like a fox scenting easy prey. "Which leaves option three - maybe the old family jewels just… don't work so good, if you know what I mean?"

An eruption of offended squawks answered, Angron leaping to defend primal functions in crass terms best left unquoted. She threw head back laughing at their discomfiture.

…

"Seriously though boys - this lifestyle screams more red flags than a Soviet parade. Maybe consider loosering up some? Live a little?" Her grin turned wry. "Unless you actually like being walking hormones with no outlets. Each to their own, I guess."

…

"A girl enjoys keeping royalty on their toes."

"You call that keeping him on his toes? More like knocking him senseless!"

…

"Come now, where's your sense of adventure?"

"Buried alongside our sense of self preservation."

…

"You lot look like the cryptkeeper after a bender. I resemble Cate Blanchett risen from some Classical goddess."

…

"As if any of you dullard men could compare. I am art, poetry, passion given form. You're just 'thank you, next'."

…

The moral? Never judge a book by its cover, or an ape by its goggles. The Jokaero may seem quaint and amusing in their orange fur, but their tech will ruin your day in a nanosecond.

So the next time you face a goggled chimp wielding a grenade ring, do yourself a favor: back away slowly and pray to whatever gods you worship that the chimp just wants a banana, not your fiery oblivion. Because when they says "Get the fucking fool, Mr. Muffin." you do not want to be the fool in question.

…

"Well, it seems your reckless merging of xeno and imperial has finally born fruit."

"Indeed. Fruit that twitches, hisses and tries to eat your face off."

…

She smiled in satisfaction. "That'll teach you to call me not cute." She examined her reflection, preening. "Who's the cutest assassin in the galaxy? That's right, me!"

…

"A woman's got to have hobbies."

"If your hobby is torturing us, you must be incredibly bored."

…

The soapy bubble will pop. The puddle will dry. But the Firstborn will remain, sleeping in the dust of stars, waiting to be reborn. For we lit the first spark in the cosmos. And even death cannot extinguish that light. Though the ending draws near, we greet it with open arms, for at the last, we return to begin once more.

…

They persisted. And slowly, an escape plan began to form. Two parts genius, one part madness and 100% unlikely to work. This will either fail spectacularly or turn they all into newtons. Either way….

…

"Someone who knew nothing of knowledge spoke."

"Someone who knew nothing but knowledge spoke!"

…

As the Imperium fell into twilight and decay, the cat lived on. When at last the Emperor's light dimmed to an ember glow, it was still there, curled up at His foot, the one constant in a changing universe.

The story goes that when at last the Imperium crumbles to dust, cats will roam through empty Palaces once more. They will nap in thrones meant for giants, bathing in sunlight still streaming through stained glass windows. They will rule the galaxy, not through duty or destiny, but by birthright of carefree whimsy that even gods cannot defy. And so it shall always be, when at last the Imperium's golden dream fades into memory, and stray cats wander freely through ruins.

[melancholymirth]

❛ i would let you rip me apart if it meant loving you. ❛ gary again... !!!!!!

prompt

If only that were possible, and if only Garrett would allow him to offer the same—but he'd never want V to hurt himself, much less to be hurt by another. By him. But, perhaps more than anything, V wanted to prove his heart true, and he wanted to prove the depth of those emotions; he wanted to prove how full, how complete, how devastating it all was, beneath flesh and muscle and bone where he harbored the most of his pain, his joys and his love, where he had Garrett and where he'd kept him safest.

The words were breathy, hot, moist on his skin as Garrett spoke them between kisses. He made a trail from V's collarbones to the base of his sternum, and onward from there. Lips would stray to his ribs, reminding him of how little meat he had on his bones. However meager his flesh, he had forgiveness in him in spades. He wished Garrett to know it; he wished that Garrett would make love with him now not because of the principle, but because of why they always would. Simple whimsy, hearts gone too far, urges immutable; but something about it now, when it came like this, was deliberate beyond making love.

It almost felt like proving it.

Fingers came upon his thighs and held them apart, and when Garrett mouthed down, down, V sucked in a sharp breath. Hips twitched, hands were brief fists beside him. He'd almost forgotten that he had cried. He wasn't sore or brokenhearted anymore. Garrett made it up to him before they'd gotten here, starved for each other's faith; he had simply been there and breathed, and supported V's weight, and held him like nothing else existed, and kissed his brow and made promises about hearts never failing and things never changing. It was enough to comfort V, but not enough in the grand scheme—for either of them. And, now, here they were, moved on from words to action, to touch and feeling and instinct. They needed this, just to fill whatever cracks remained. And if V could make a good man feel whole again, forgiven and valued and loved, he was only happy to be here, seated on the sofa without a lick of clothing on in the middle of the day, for the sake of mending hearts. Kissing and petting, groping and nipping, Garrett on his knees before him, like a sinner in the throes of repentance.

It ultimately didn't matter what Garrett had said to him; and bless that man's heart for wanting to make up for it at all. He had done no real wrong, intended no harm, and only because V crumbled in front of him with childish tears moments ago, he felt the need to fix and heal, and to remind all over again that his love was worse than any plague, any wildfire, any god-awful, stupid thing he could say. And when words of devotion weren't sufficient, his body did the talking.

My love. Shallow, fast breaths and a pounding heart were nothing V felt ashamed for. Lust-fogged eyes were torn between a steady gaze that was fiery, hungry, and a tongue that was deliberate, teasing, making his hips squirm and his voice small with little gasps and moans.

V listened, always. Always ready to forgive because he didn't have the heart to bear a grudge, no matter how petty, against the man he loved like nothing else. He might have been driven to foolish tears before, but they were dry now. Now, he was the one who wanted to tear himself asunder for the benefit of his husband and himself. But perhaps this—letting Garrett pore over him, wash the hurt away with kisses, worship every pale inch he so much liked to—would satisfy them both, for today. V quieted down when Garrett pulled away to kiss a hot trail up his chest, more words of ardor and fealty burning through V's ears, until teeth nibbled on collarbones and hands came to his sides to squeeze. The biting, the swearing of sacred oaths; Garrett's mouth was hot on his throat, fixed over the pulse point while his mate whimpered beneath him, vocal again, brows tight, a flame in his belly, happily at his mercy. Were he any more a wild, carnivorous, unbidden beast, he may have begun his feast there—and V would have allowed it if it meant all of his soul would be bared and made plain to a man hungry for affirmations he'd never spoken for. But here was the insatiable demon, wanting to be the one ripped open instead! And V would only be happy to dive right in. Peel the flesh, bust through the ribcage and—

Ah, but that is a ghastly thought. To love another so strongly that a hellacious appetite digs itself out of the recesses of every scruple known to man was a dangerous thing to evoke, to even imagine, even on a playful, teasing whim. And the desperate devotion V and Garrett had shared was anything but a playful, teasing whim. V might have feared it, a little; but he feared worse a fracturing of ties, and so he both allowed and gave himself up more than willingly to the demonstrations before him now, enduring every heated breath, kiss, caress and tease that gave him gooseflesh, made his hips buck and his back arch and his legs squirm with indecision.

As though it'd been too long, too necessary, starved lips crashed and bit and sucked, obsessed with one another and only getting greedier. No space for even an amorous word here or there; wet, swollen gates allowed none to pass. V's heart beat against its bony cage, calling on a heat from deep within to make him flush and his belly roar with emptiness. Desperately, he hooked his arms around Garrett's neck, begging without voice to be consumed, or set ablaze, or redeemed, or saved from his own foolish mind. But he found a precious moment for words, speaking without breath. "I wish... I wish you could see inside, how rich and thick my blood, how hot my heart." He reached out to Garrett's cheek, a simple, fond touch, thumb rolling over moistened lips. "But, if you can feel it, when...our roots together join..."

Hungrily, he claimed his mate's face with both hands and pulled himself in for a another bout of kisses that were abyssal. His mind wasn't so fogged that he didn't know he was standing himself up, arms around his waist helping, eager to meet Garrett at full height without an ounce of shame about him. His fingernails caught on the fabric of Garrett's shirt, clutching like it didn't belong. He'd do away with it yet. To bite at the flesh there, hard enough to mark like he meant to eat his way through—

Most he did was slide his wanton hands under the garment, feeling up tight muscles and then lingering over hardened nipples.

A part of this, maybe a lot of this, was plain insatiable hunger. Mouths heatedly broke away, only for V to fix him with knitted brows and eyes that wanted to mist for the second time that day. But, he shook his head, denying that and any more gloom to breach his safe haven.

"Oh, please, let have me a chance. If you want to be torn apart, devoured, then let me." A flicker of light in sweet, green eyes. He had forgiven; now he wanted to give. Gently, he pressed his lips to Garrett's jaw, starting a trail of his own that took him down his throat. "I love you enough for this," he whispered between kisses, breathy and warm on ink lines both bold and fine. "And never any less." And then you can try me. As if in response, he felt larger hands reach for generous handfuls of his derriere, pulling him impossibly close as though there remained any room. V whined dryly when he felt fingers reaching between, and for that little bit of encouragement he dragged his own nails down wonderful, delectable abs. Ah, Garrett—a feast of a man.

Fuck, they had appetites.

[briarandhissecretgarden]

Briar, can you tell us some of your culture from the nether? How was your, uh, tribe or community like?

[Below is Briar's response as I felt it would be better written than drawn, though please keep in mind these are my headcanons and they are inspired greatly from theories previously made. These theories are most notably from RetroGamingNow, as I feel his concepts are closest to what I personally believe is true in the Minecraft world, as well as some additions or removals of my own personal ideas. This will also include details from Minecraft Legends, so beware of some spoilers ;0). This will grow and change as I learn and develop my concepts, but it serves as canon for my stories for now. Thank you!]

B: Stories like this one, as they often do, begin many many years ago. The Nether has always been a barren wasteland that very few could survive in, I believe there was more to it than there is now, though I have very little evidence. Either way, our people were divided into factions of piglins with different ideals in mind. These were referred to as Hordes. They are as follows. Horde of the Bastion, these piglins thrived on technology and were strong vibrant piglins. Such honor. Then there were Horde of the Spore. They built their empire upon consumption and food, always providing their people with the best, and they shared this wealth of food with the rest of the Hordes. Although some were a tad greedy, most were beyond generous. They also seemed to have an aversion to illnesses, meaning they could contract plenty, but it would never kill them nor be contagious. Lastly is the horde of the Hunt. These incredibly piglins would be hunting constantly, they were a nomadic Horde, hardly ever stopping. They tamed the first hoglins, giving birth to what is known as our Stable Bastions today. While they are no longer around today, all of us piglins are ancestors of them. For me, I am an ancestor of the Horde of the Spore. Dagger, from what I've gathered and assumed, is Horde of the Bastion. (very lucky) Either way, our people lived very comfortably in our home until our dimension was discovered. From what I understand, a race of humanoid people had come to our land, seeking resources and such, as much as my people tried to be civilized and approach them with caution, they were not too keen on keeping things calm and were more than happy to tear through our society.

We were enslaved by these people, they had us mine for Netherite and Quartz for days at a time, keeping us held down constantly. It was hell for my people, it was torture. It hurts me even now to recount it. Eventually though, we began to rise up against our oppressors. As this happened, we managed to construct Bastions in order to keep our people safe while we fought this war. We won, to cut it short, however, despite our victory, we were left a broken and ruined society. Nothing we had mined out was actually kept. Our Netherite was stolen, our people were dead. We had kept our land but we had effectively lost everything else. This is where gold comes in! We believe there was a god of mercy looking down upon us, wanting to keep us from crumbling, maybe this God had risen from the very lava that covered this land to give us the gift, but we had discovered Gold. Gold could be used very much like the Netherite we had so little of, and we built back our society, worshipping this material. It was a gift to us and we want to keep it all to ourselves. It's the reason why any outsider that comes to mine it or take it from us, is killed. It is our last hope, it is the only thing we have left that is considered ours, it's our salvation. This is also why we consider anyone who dons golden armor as our allies, perhaps that God has blessed them as well and we are kin in that sense.

This leads to the war that took place in the Overworld. I am...not proud of the fact this has happened, and I realize that the Overworld still does hold plenty of resentment toward the Nether and piglins. At any rate, the we launched an assault on the Overworld, we destroyed so much in a fit of anger, rage, retribution and grief. In a way, we wanted our materials back, our resources that were stolen. This lead to wanting justice for those who had died at the hands of those who had come before. But, I do realize, it was used to scar the Overworld much in the same way that we were scarred. We had built stronger Bastions, we had even taken up partnership with Wither Skeletons, using their Fortresses as shelter. Even still, we were destroyed by those in the Overworld. We stood no chance, it was not our dimension after all. Our 4 great leaders had fallen and the Hordes were no more. Despite everything, our lives, our resources and hope were lost. We continued on, many began to rebuild. Without the worry of Hordes, we began to form better, stronger, relationships with each other. We relied on each other in the community to help bring us out of such a depression. This is why we are so incredibly loyal to one another.

I hope this explanation helps you, my friends. My Bastion was a Stables actually, sorry I didn't answer much about me personally. It was complicated. But my Bastion was strong and filled with intelligent piglins, especially our leader. She was a wise older piglin, but despite going to the Overworld herself, it was forbidden for anyone else to go!! I learned so much from her. Suppose I should give a small little explanation of our culture currently, as it's simple. We all have one or two wiser, older or stronger piglins that serve as our leaders. They oversee the work we complete, and help us with medicine and any other troubles we face. We are all fiercely loyal to them and our people who live with us! Piglins are raised communally as well, children stay with their mothers until they are around 6-10 years old, at which point they are taken on trips to learn to hunt and survive in the Nether! After they are grown, they choose to stay in the Bastion and help with general chores, become hunters, or become Protectors, though I'm told you people refer to them as Brutes. Shame. However that seems to be it, I don't have much else to add, forgive me for talking for so long. No ones ever been this interested!!!

[heresiae]

everyone diss on the arts because they're not as economically rewarding as other fields, but this is a problem of our society, to not pay artists what they're worth (it never happened...), which should be a lot, because art is the only reason we, as humans, are sane and functioning. I dare you to spend a week without consuming anything that had an artist involved. anything.

this includes your phone. designers are artists and several designers were involved in the physical and not physical form of your phone.

also, no radio, no computer, no books, no music of any sort, no video games, nothing. take down everything you hanged on you wall for decoration (you can keep photos that YOU took or something YOU made, but nothing else).

also, since writing is an art, no news papers, comic books or magazines either (also, photographers are artists, so no consuming of photographs in any form).

you should WORSHIP theater. it's basically our the second oldest form of storytelling, the first one the regular story telling, by the fire, with only one person narrating. you add another one and you already have theater.

theater is the collector and yet the producer of so many form of arts, that cinema is still not able to rival withs the best theater productions (you will not win with me on this), but since consuming movies is cheaper, faster and way more spreadable, and theater is expensive, can be produced in one location at a time and, for some reason, we have been taught it's some luxury for the rich, intellectual or whatever, just not common folks, now many think it as a useless thing.

which is stupid, because theater was made for common folks (ok, in ancient Greece women weren't allowed anywhere inside the theaters, but this is a discussion for another time). theater was - and has been till a few decades ago - the equivalent of our cinemas and television! of course it was for common folks! you think Shakespeare made plays for the rich and educated? please! he was considered a jester compared to his other peers. and yet here we are, still playing it and thinking knowing his plays is some sort of intellectualism (he would choke on his beer if someone had told him this would have happened).

also, fun fact: after the crumble of the Roman Empire and the uprising of the Church State, theater was forbidden. no more representations on the amphitheaters, no more plays, etc. they needed to control the narrative and erase the old Roman culture.

except...

mass was way more convoluted back then and after a while they started to reenact the Bible, with dressed people, props and everything. from there, it was a minute that some folks started to banding together on wagons, with several dresses, props, instruments etc, traveling on the road bringing stories to the people. and people loved them.

people loved them so much, that nobles started to request them for their own amusement when a traveling company was in town.

and thus the theater was reborn, because nothing can stop humans to tell stories, not even the fear of hell.

bards are part of the very fabric of society, so either stop denigrating them or stop being an hypocrite and start living a very dull life (ok, you can use your phone, but only as a phone, because everything else outside messaging and calling contain a LOT of art contents, so, no socials, apps, etc. yes, you can keep the calendar. bye).

(edit for the thousand of typos I made)

People love consuming the arts, but many hate the training required to create the arts. Not every art degree is created equal, but the connections you make and the experience you gain can be invaluable.

I'm not saying every artist needs a college degree for every aspect of creating art, but art is not always created solely by performers.

Perhaps there is an actor who was self taught and got a lucky break, but the cinematographer capturing that actor needed years of training. They are literally camera scientists AND visual artists.

Maybe that punk band you love only knows four chords and just screams into a microphone, but the sound engineer recording their music probably has a college degree.

Here is a video of the sound engineer for a Hamilton production.

He uses an amazing blend of technical and artistic skills to make sure the show sounds perfect during every performance.

Check out his college degree...